Front Cover
 The light that is felt
 Visiting Santa Claus
 A talk about painting
 The hand-organ man's little...
 Davy and the goblin
 Sweet Miss Industry
 The hare and the tortoise
 The little unknown
 The snow-man - Menhaden sketches:...
 The mongol and the maiden
 Personally conducted
 The little old man of Dyre
 His one fault
 The king's feast in Rufus's...
 Among the law-makers
 Imprisoned in an iceberg
 What the philosopher said...
 Nicholas Alexandrovitch, crown...
 The pop-corn dance
 The St. Nicholas almanac
 Santa Claus
 For very little folk: Madie's...
 The letter-box
 Agassiz association - Forty-fourth...
 The riddle-box
 A dear little school-ma'am
 Back Cover


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mods:accessCondition type restrictions on use displayLabel Rights All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
mods:identifier OCLC 01764817
mods:languageTerm text English
mods:physicalLocation Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in Special Collections, George A. Smathers Libraries
code UF
mods:name personal
mods:namePart Dodge, Mary Mapes
date 1830-1905
mods:roleTerm authority marcrelator Creator
mods:note Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
"A monthly magazine for boys and girls."
Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
funding Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
mods:publisher Scribner,
mods:placeTerm New York
mods:dateIssued December 1884
mods:recordIdentifier source ufdc UF00065513_00151
mods:recordContentSource University of Florida
mods:relatedItem original
mods:extent 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
mods:title St. Nicholas.
mods:detail Enum1
mods:caption Vol. 12
mods:number 12
No. 2
mods:topic Children's literature
Literature for Children
St. Nicholas.
Saint Nicholas
mods:typeOfResource text
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METS:structMap STRUCT1 mixed
D1 Front Cover
P1 Page
D2 Frontispiece
P3 Plate
D3 Note 3 Chapter
P4 Unnumbered 4
D4 The light that is felt Poem
P5 81
D5 Visiting Santa Claus 5
P6 82
P7 83
P8 84
D6 A talk about painting 6
P9 85
P10 86
P11 87
P12 88
P13 89
P14 90
P15 91 7
D7 hand-organ man's little girl
P16 92
D8 Davy and the goblin 8
P17 93
P18 94
P19 95
P20 96
P21 97
P22 98
P23 99
P24 100
P25 101 9
P26 102 10
P27 103 11
D9 Sweet Miss Industry
P28 104
P29 105
P30 106
P31 107
P32 108
D10 hare tortoise
P33 109
P34 110
P35 111
D11 unknown
P36 112
P37 113
P38 114
P39 115
D12 snow-man
P40 116 (MULTIPLE)
P41 117
P42 118
P43 119
P44 120
P45 121
P47 123
D13 mongol maiden 13
P48 124
D14 Mikkel 14
P49 125
P50 126
D15 Personally conducted 15
P51 127
P52 128
P53 129
P54 130
P55 131
D17 old man Dyre 16
P56 132
D16 His one fault 17
P57 133
P58 134
P59 135
D18 king's feast in Rufus's hall 18
P60 136
P61 137
D19 Among law-makers 19
P62 138
P63 139
P64 140
P65 141
P66 142
D20 Imprisoned an iceberg 20
P67 143
P68 144
D21 What philosopher said Christmas-day 21
P69 145
P70 146
D22 Nicholas Alexandrovitch, crown prince Russia 22
P71 147
P72 148
D23 pop-corn dance 23
P73 149
D24 almanac
P74 150
D28 25
P75 151
D25 For very folk: Madie's Christmas 26
P76 152
P77 153
D26 Jack-in-the-pulpit 27
P78 154
P79 155
D27 letter-box 28
P80 156
D32 Agassiz association Forty-fourth report 29
P81 157
D29 riddle-box 30
P82 158
P83 159
D30 dear school-ma'am 31
P84 160
D31 32 Back
D33 33 Spine
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St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00151
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Portion of 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
Subjects / Keywords: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
serial   ( sobekcm )
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
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
System ID: UF00065513:00151
 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
        Unnumbered ( 4 )
    The light that is felt
        Page 81
    Visiting Santa Claus
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
    A talk about painting
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
    The hand-organ man's little girl
        Page 92
    Davy and the goblin
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
    Sweet Miss Industry
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
    The hare and the tortoise
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
    The little unknown
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
    The snow-man - Menhaden sketches: Summer at Christmas-time
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
    The mongol and the maiden
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
    Personally conducted
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
    The little old man of Dyre
        Page 132
    His one fault
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
    The king's feast in Rufus's hall
        Page 136
        Page 137
    Among the law-makers
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
    Imprisoned in an iceberg
        Page 143
        Page 144
    What the philosopher said on Christmas-day
        Page 145
        Page 146
    Nicholas Alexandrovitch, crown prince of Russia
        Page 147
        Page 148
    The pop-corn dance
        Page 149
    The St. Nicholas almanac
        Page 150
    Santa Claus
        Page 151
    For very little folk: Madie's Christmas
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
    The letter-box
        Page 156
    Agassiz association - Forty-fourth report
        Page 157
    The riddle-box
        Page 158
        Page 159
    A dear little school-ma'am
        Page 160
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


Al Ig Oil






In consequence of unavoidable delays, it has been found impossible to present the proposed colored fvuntispiece in t/iis
Chistimas issue of Sr. NicHOLz.s. We are, however, most happy to give in its stead a very fine wood-enograving of
Velasquez' portrait of a little Spanish Infanta (or princess), the daughter of Iing Philtip V. of Spain. An article about the
great Spanish painter Velasques and this powerful mo'narch, who was his ifabon and friend, will appear in the January
ST. NICHOLAS, in the '"Stories of Ar and Artists."
The picture here showa is one of a series of engravings, from, the works of the old masters, nous being made for
THE CENTURY. MAGAZINE by ifr. T. Cole, directly from the paintings in the European galleries. It is here printed in
advance of is publication in THE CENTURy, by the kindpermission of the editor of that magazine.




[Copyright, 1884, by THE CENTURY CO.]



A TENDER child of summers three,
Seeking her little bed at night,
Paused on the dark stair timidly.
"Oh, mother! Take my hand," said she,
And then the dark will all be light."

We older children grope our way
From dark behind to dark before;
And only when our hands we lay,
Dear Lord, in Thine, the night is day
And there is darkness nevermore.

Reach downward to the sunless days
Wherein our guides are blind as we,
And faith is small and hope delays;
Take Thou the hands of prayer we raise,
And let us feel the light of Thee!

VOL. XII.-6.

No. 2.


" WE want to do something for Santa Claus,"
Two little children were saying;
" Let us go and find him, and thank him, be-
He is'always' bringing us beautiful things.
Let us carry him something as nice as he
They laughed, and they went on playing.

" Oh, he lives away over the mountains of snow,"
Said the fair little maid named Lily,
" And the Northern Lights on his windows glow;
But the good Great Bear will show us the
And will wrap us up in his fur robe gray,
If we find the journey chilly."

" Let us start in the morning," said Marjorie
(She was little White Lily's sister);


" By two o'clock, or at most by three,
The moon will be rising, and we will go
With our new red moccasins over the snow!"
And Lily said "Yes," and kissed her.

The children were tired, and they both slept
But, almost before they knew it,
They were tiptoeing over the frozen ground,
Over wide white fields where grew not a tree,-
Over the crust of the Polar Sea,-
You never would think they could do it

" Are we almost there, dear Marjorie ? "
Said the breathless little White Lily;
" I am cold and weary as I can be!
I wish we never had started at all!"
And she cuddled under her sister's shawl,
The air was so very chilly.



"Oh, yes; Oh, yes; we are almost there!
Don't you see the North Star shining?
And here is the house of the good Great Bear;
He will surely be kind to us, because
He is second cousin to Santa Claus;
See! he sits at his table, dining."

So the Great Bear asked the children in,
And made them sit down at his table!
A chain of stars hung under his chin,
And a jeweled pointer was in his hand,
By which all the pilgrims to North-Star-Land,
To keep the straight road are able.

" Will you show us the way to Santa Claus?"
They said, after eating and drinking.
" Oh, that is against the Christmas laws,
Which are strictly obeyed in North-Star-
Land ";
But the Great Bear leaned his head on his
And sat for a moment, thinking.

" He hung up his coat here, an hour ago-
There! drop down into the pocket!
I hear his sledge-bells over the snow;
Oh, don't be afraid! he will treat you well."
They heard a Halloo! and before they
could tell
How it was, they were off, like a rocket.

How the reindeer flew! how the stars whizzed
But the children so close were hidden,
They scarcely could open the edge of an eye;
They could neither speak, nor wiggle, nor wink,
They could only breathe very softly, and think
Of the ride they were taking unbidden.

At last they arrived at Santa Claus' house,
And he, as he threw off his jacket,
Cried, Wife! did you hear the squeak of a
mouse ?"
For the children were frightened, and could not
keep still:
Ho! ho Mrs. Santa. look here, if you will!
Here's a new-fashioned Christmas packet!"

So Santa Claus' wife put her spectacles on,
And came and peeped over his shoulder,
For she thought that her husband clean daft
had gone,
His eyes grew so large in his shiny bald head.
"Please do not be vexed with us," Marjorie
And Lily exclaimed, growing bolder:

" We wanted to see where you live, Santa Claus !
To thank you, and bring you a present;
But we could not find anything, sir, because-"
" Why, you've brought me yourselves, dears, and
now you must stay,
And make Mrs. Santa Claus merry and gay;
No home without children is pleasant."


The children, c,.it,; -.-: tii .1 a i. -.:,rl, Frj.-,.
A sob and a :-i. rii ri.... n..,!,.:i .
But good M rs. -,, :, 1 i 1 ,u_ .::un.. ,: rl-,h.nI tid,
And said, Sar.iL, ic. n.... l:.i,'r I-., th[ -m
stay !
Such .m idgets v,-.il,. .1-n -I, i..: ri, l i ii .
So please tak.- I :i.. ii i:... r.: tl. i r.. i i l.:. '

W hen the reind,-,r ...i ., i ri i i .. di, Jr.
The children ,:, h:idl, r -ii, .
They were wat':Iin Irh.: Noiir.tiii Li c li Ice-
But Santa Clau l iifr.:.i ith-in i i-r.: i.: h i .-i.
And whipped up r!i., r.:il,-,:r,: ;iil '.lt-. c.h iik .'. ,.
W ith a chirrup! ....1. ** ... .i r-...ri, "

And was n't it uI'ii.ii : -n i li th in -. .p
And eagerly %....r ill.J h-r:ri
For Santa Clau:, ,: i l ,iirini. ,-r,:p.
And ask if the littl,: IIl:; liiin lI:. n,
Their presents ii.n.: tlh.I. iyi-:--lir i-lig!
Down, down, i !.r7c.:. the -. -ilr-t .Ji-e'!

But, somehow, C-1: 1 ..-' lti. :irl- :r r: ..-
Neither Marj.:. 'i ..r \\Vir.: L.I,.-
How they were I. r d,:.., r li .ir .. .r r. ii [h ,..ugh.
How they cam I-_. -, ,-i:; i.:l.d b, -_ide.
In their own litil. i :... t th- in.r.nriir -.ide.
W hen the Chlii:tl i --i i n Ibr:. = .: ..lil,

But there was i: .:; : ii-.J:! r -..i: l. ...
Tied up with a -d ei I. .l.l
And Cakes fro. Sa'-..t ,_ '-i ..'.i.." t i:. :L:
And their stockii :- er,: Itill .: i. .e L tI'ill ii i..
Such as nobod, ,.i: bu.I-t -. t.n', r
Though they .:.ll U.i i tli .d :L i 1:....-.

And when Mar :.-.!- t.i!l- .:.- -.-i ...: r;-.,-
And wonders rthii :.:pl.: d.jl' t Ii.:. r.-
To see Santa C: .. -., lih.: i: .:l:i ..i t,
W hite Lily will '..p !i.- : .:- I.Iu.-,
And say, TheLi.:'i M 1. :...a lu, tiL .,: -
Or else I ha-.: dainld -ibit h. r."


i, v,,



,, i 'la '




Do You remember, dear reader of ST. NICHO-
LAS, your first paint-box-the very first ? Oh, how
well I remember mine, though it was so many
years ago! One summer morning I and my doll
were standing on a chair to look out of the parlor
window, when my uncle came by -a merry young
uncle just home from school. "Come with me to
Grandma's," said he, "I 've a new paint-box";
and with that he lifted me out of the window, and
I ran along beside him to Grandma's, wondering
what a paint-box would be. I was a little more than
three years old, and had never seen paints nor
noticed pictures, excepting in some toy-books; and
in those days toy picture-books were very ugly
things, with glaring color and careless drawings.
When we arrived at the dear old house in
Fourth street, my uncle put me on a high chair
at the writing-table, in a quiet, sunny corner of
the dining-room. Then he produced the paint-
box and a large plate to rub the colors on, and
some nice white paper. Then Uncle showed me
how to dip a brush in water, and leave a little
drop on the plate. Then a cake of paint was
rubbed gently on the plate, just in the drop of
water; and presently a beautiful patch of moist
color would appear on the plate. The cake, care-
fully dried, was put back in its place in the box.
When we had every color on the plate, and dear
Uncle had allowed me to rub some quite by my-
self, he asked me what pictures I would have, and
he drew with a sharp outline anything for which I
asked,-a little girl going out to walk, a little
dog running after her, a gentleman on horse-
back, a horse galloping, a little boy, a house, a
cow, an elephant. Then I dipped my little brush
into water, and took a little paint on it, and very
carefully filled up the outline. The elephant be-
came brown, the cow red, the house a red house
with green window-shutters of the old Philadel-
phia pattern; the little boy grew very red in the
face, and black as to his coat; the horse was blue,
because there was no other chance to use that
favorite color; and the little girl and the dog
were quite artistic and natural. Oh, how exciting
and how difficult it was! though the chief diffi-
culty seemed to be in keeping the colors from
running together and smearing over the outline.
When dinner came I did not at all wish to
stop for food, as it seemed to me that I was
just beginning to improve. After dinner my uncle

drew some more outlines, and I even learned
to draw a pretty face, but I could not so well copy
anything else.
For many days the paint-box was my greatest in-
terest and delight. My mother let me have bristol-
board and paper in abundance, and when I began to
go to school, by the time I was five years old, I had
found that things much more wonderful than any
I had imagined, could be done even with black
A young artist, Mr. Furness, who painted many
beautiful portraits before his early death, came to
my father's house to make a crayon portrait of my
two little sisters. They were very young children,
and he told them wonderful fairy tales, so that it was
their great pleasure to go into the library where
he was at work. I, too, was allowed to be in the
room and to watch his drawing. I did not realize
then how very kind he was. I did not know how
troublesome it must be to an artist, with two rest-
less children to draw, to have another child looking
over his shoulder; but now I know how patient
and kind he was, and that the crayon picture
which I saw grow like magic under his hand was,
indeed, no ordinary portrait. It was drawn on a
warm gray paper; sometimes he used a delicate
point of soft, black crayon, sometimes he put on
the palest shadows with a stump (a short, thick
roll of leather, or paper, cut to a point, and used
for softening pencil or crayon marks). But what-
ever Mr. Furness did made the little faces more
and more like my sisters. The drawing was as
large as life, and therefore there was room to give
every feature its exact form; and besides this, the
expression of the faces was as if they would speak,
and yet it was done without any colors, and merely
by copying exactly the shape of every shadow.
First, Mr. Furness put in the general shadows
over the whole of the eyes and hair, under the chin,
nose, and mouth; then the darkest shadows in the
nostrils, and under the eyelids; then the shape of
the eyes and eyebrows, the shape of the lips; then
the more delicate shadows that made the light
softly melt into the shadows, but how he did it I
could not discover. To see these shadows well, all
the windows of the library had been darkened
except one, so that light and shadow should come
from one direction only. When I had noticed
everything that Mr. Furness had in the way of
materials, and watched with wonder the picture


grow under his hand, I resolved to make a trial.
But it seemed very bold to attempt to do what he
had done,-so bold that I wished to try without
any one knowing about it. I knew it would be
difficult, and that I could not make my drawing
beautiful, as his was; but still I wished to try and
to hide my effort carefully away, so that no one
would laugh at me. I had some pennies in my
money-jug, so I managed, when we were walking
with our nurse, to get some paper of the right
kind and some crayon at a little shop that we
often passed. When my materials were safely in
the school-room in my own special cupboard, then
I had to find some one willing to be portrayed.
There was our dear little sister Trudy, the youngest
of us all, at that time about two years old!. She
was always willing to be my pet and to play that
she was a doll, or to be put into the doll's bed.
Trudy was generally awake very early in the morn-
ing, and she was quite pleased when I took her out
of her crib, while nurse was still asleep, and carried
her to the school-room. She sat on the table and
was as good and still as a mouse for fear any one
should hear us, and really I did make a beginning
at the picture, though it was even more difficult than
I had imagined. As soon as I heard the servants


stirring about the house, I hid away my work,
and we slipped back to bed so quietly that Nurse
never knew we had been away. We had many
of these stolen morning sittings, and Trudy was a
dear, good little sister, as she has ever been.
Though she was so tiny, she helped me all she
could by being very quiet, and I tried to tell her
some of the fairy tales that I had heard Mr. Furness

tell the bigger girls. At last I thought the picture
was as good as I could make it. It did look rather
like Trudy, though the curls were a little like cork-
screws, and the shadows were smeary here and
there, and would not melt softly into the light as
they ought to do. It was very disappointing, cer-
tainly; but still perhaps it was fit to show to Papa,
so that he might tell me if I could be taught to do
Before he came to breakfast, my drawing was
pinned on the door, and I was very happy to find
that both Papa and Mamma were quite pleased with
it, and knew at once that it was intended to look like
Trudy. After a few days I heard that Mr. Furness
had seen my drawing and that he would permit
me to go to his studio twice a week for lessons.
That was a happy winter for me, when I continued
to learn from my kind friend. He set me to draw
from casts. A hand was the first study, and then the
head of the beautiful Clytie. Then the perception
of beauty came upon me all at once. I longed to
give my whole life to study it, to portray it. All
other studies were to me quite unattractive. In
my mind's eye were ever-changing pictures, which
some day I would paint.
Mr. Furness soon went to Europe; and the time
came when I was sent to a large
school where I was ashamed to
be behind in my classes, and it
was as much as I could do to
keep a middle place. On half-
holidays I sometimes made a
crayon drawing of one of the
scholars, but never with the
success that I longed for. All
the time I used to keep saying
in my heart, Some day I shall
get through with these lessons
and begin to draw in earnest."
At last, when I was twenty-one
S years old, I did begin, but that
,, was very old to begin in ear-
S nest. Since then I have worked
constantly. And still I love my
paint-box better than I did that
first day, and year by year I
struggle to do better work.
T IAM A HORSE." Now that I have told you how
I began to paint, I will tell you
about children who come to my studio to have their
portraits painted, and how we do it.
A great many little children come to my studio
to have their portraits painted. If they are old
enough to talk and ask questions, they wish to look
at my easel and at my palette. The easel is a
sort of standing frame, which has a movable shelf
to hold the canvas on which the picture is painted,




and a crank, by turning which you can raise or
lower the shelf.
Then the palette is a thin mahogany board with
a hole for the thumb, so that I may hold it easily
and a handful of brushes as well. On my palette
I put fourteen colors, squeezing them out of little
tin tubes, in which they are put up and sold to
When the palette is ready and the canvas on the
easel, I am ready to begin. At first, perhaps during
all the first sitting, I only play with the little child,
or get his little brother or sister to play with him un-
til I see some natural and pretty movement that is
picturesque. I like best to paint two children to-
gether, because that seems to me the most natural
way. So soon as I have seen a position that I like,
I persuade baby to sit in .a little chair made fast on
atable-a "throne" we painters call it-high
enough for me to see his.faie:opposite mine,-while I
stand and walk backward often,tdo get'the right view
of baby and of the picture. I hav i keep two things
in mind: first, to paint the portrait; secondly, how
to amuse the baby. If he is very little, we gener-
ally make believe that I am a horse. I tie the reins
around my waist and baby drives me. When I
wish to see him laugh, I caper about like a very
wild horse; sometimes I am an omnibus horse, and
stop every minute to take up passengers, and when-
ever we stop I run to my canvas and try to put in
a good touch. Sometimes, if baby will keep very
still for two or three minutes, I reward him by be-
ing a saddle-horse, and take him on my back for a
gallop about the studio. All this does not seem
to leave much time to paint, and that is just the
difficulty. If I made baby sit in his chair, tired
and worried, he might look cross, and his Papa and
Mamma would find my portrait ugly. They would
say I had not caught his sweet expression," and
other people would not ask me to paint their
children. That would be very bad for me; there-
fore, be it ever so difficult to romp and play and
paint all at once, I have learned that with patience
it can be done.
There was one dear little boy in America who
found an ear of red Indian corn in my studio, and
he was always quite happy for an hour to pick off
with his tiny fingers one grain at a time, until his
cap was full of corn; this he took into the street
to throw to the "chickey birds." I took care to
have a new ear ready for him whenever he came,
and he was as quiet as a mouse with it. On page
90 is a sketch from his portrait. You see heis feed-
ing pigeons. The pigeons had to come to my studio,
too, and they were not much quieter than children,
for I tried to catch their motions as they flew
The strangest models I ever had were a family

of rats. You all must know the story in Robert
Browning's beautiful verses of the "Pied Piper of
Hamelin," and how the rats followed the piper into
the river and all were drowned. Of course he after-

ward piped away the children, and though I should
have preferred to paint.that scene, I felt that I had
not the skill; so I began to paint a picture of the
piper followed by rats.
Of course I could not paint a rat without see-
ing one. I found an old gypsy whose face was
wild and queer, and I painted him as the piper.
He liked the story much, and did not think it at
all extraordinary that rats had followed the piper,
but he felt sure that it was not the music that
charmed them.
"I know the reason," said he; "the man put
anise-seed oil on his shoes. Rats will run anywhere
after that." As the old gypsy knew so much about
rats, I asked him to bring me two alive, which he did.
At first I kept them in a cage, and tamed them until
they would eat from my fingers. They were very
fond of sugar and candle-ends, biscuits and meat,
and bird-seed, and for a special treat a drop of attar


of roses.. Cheese they would never touch! Per-
haps they had heard, how traps are baited with
it. Finally,-,when they seemed to have become
friendlyto me,. I let one rat- out of the cage,- for I
needed to see him run. All the rats in my picture
were running. I had sketched in more than a
hundred rats, all tearing, and jumping, and run-
ning, and some beckoning to other swarms of
rats coming on after them, less distinctly seen.
When my tame rat was joyfully frisking about,
I watched his movements, and carefully corrected
each one of the rats in my painting to make
them quite natural. I put my tame rat on a
large table at a safe distance, but I did not know
how rats can spring, and I was startled when he
suddenly jumped upon my shoulder. I caught
him by the neck and put him on the shelf of my
easel. Then he ran along my mahl-stick to my
palette and tasted some paint. Very bad for you,
Mr. Rat! I never had such a sitter! He was
always taking -.1n!!, jumps of a few yards, or eat-
ing unwholesome things, or biting holes in the
chair-covers, or else sneaking about the corners of
the studio, where it was very difficult to find him.
To me he was quite gentle, but I never returned
his affection; to tell the truth, he was too ugly.
When the picture was finished, I took the rats
to a quiet corner, near a stable, and let them run
away to take care of themselves.
Perhaps you think that artists ought to paint
"Lout of their heads." No artist who does not
paint "from life" (as painting from models is
called) ever gives his pictures a look of real-
ity. We may be able to paint a marble floor
from a small piece of marble, or a brocade dress
from a yard or:two:of the material; but even to
do this we must have made studies of large sur-
faces. of marble when opportunity has offered,
and we must sped days ini studying the folds of
drapery in a dress worn by a living model before
the special material of the brocade can be copied
into it. If we wish to represent any material oi
substance well, we must at least have a piece of
it before us, and, as the most important of all
things we can paint are the faces of men and
women and children, it follows that we must em-
ploy people to pose for us.
Here in London, where I am writing, there are
several hundred people whose business it is to sit
for artists. Some of them, who are particularly
beautiful, are engaged every day in the year, and
may earn from a dollar and a half to two dollars
a day. They must keep still for hours, and often
stand or kneel in tiresome positions. However,
the models generally take a great interest in the
pictures they sit for, and like to do their best for the
artists who employ them.

Among the models are some very little children,
who began to sit when they were mere babies. I
have often wished that some rich children could
see how patient these little ones can be, when they
understand that.they are earning money to buy
food and clothes. I have tried for days to persuade
a fine little boy, in smart silk stockings and fine
shoes, to keep his feet still long enough for me
to paint them; but at the end of two minutes
his feet would skip away with his stockings and
leave me in despair!
When I find that a child can not sit quietly
to have his dress painted, I-send for Georgie
Munn. He is very proud to put on the beautiful
stockings and shoes. I make a chalk mark on
the throne where his little feet should go, and he
will keep carefully on the mark. He has a few
minutes for rest at intervals during each hour, and a
long rest at dinner-time ; but he will keep very quiet
while we are working, and will not move without
leave. He is a very little.boy, so his mother keeps
her arm around him to steady him, and talks to him
in a whisper'without disturbing me. She teaches
him to count, or to sing little songs, or to spell.
Every now and then he tries to guess what there
will be for dinner. With so good a boy to help
me, I can paint very quickly; and when little Mas-
ter Restless comes next day to sit for his portrait,
he is surprised to see the dress quite finished.
Last summer I was at Goodwick, on the coast of
Wales. One day I had climbed far up a hill among
wild fields of gorse and heather all golden and pink
with flowers. Below the great cliffs lay the spark-
ling sea, and the rocky headlands of the coast, one
beyond another, blue and faint, with shining bays
between, stretched away to the north. My hill rose
still above me, and there on its summit were the re-
mains of a vast circle of great stones, rudely shaped,
and placed there at least two thousand years ago
to serve in the mysterious worship of the. Druids.
A little stone cottage was near them. Two little
girls suddenly appeared coming up the steep hill-
side from the sea. They carried great tin cans; but
when I asked what they had in them, they could
not speak English nor understand any language but
the strange and beautiful Welsh,-a language
spoken in England before Romans, Danes, or
Normans had set foot in the country, and now only
remembered in these lonely Welsh hills. Since
they could not understand, I lookedinto their cans
and found them filled with water. The girls had
evidently gone a mile down the cliff for water
from the nearest spring, and were taking it to their
home among the Druid stones. I liked them so
much, as they stood smiling at me, that another day
I brought my paints, and when they passed I
sketched them. This pleased them very much,


E GN [See next pagre.


and they would come with their water-cans and
stand among the heather, as. still as if they were
being photographed. By degrees I learned that
theii father was a sailor in a sailing-ship, and in
another year would be coming back from South
Now, I must tell you of two English boys whose
picture you have on page 89. You will like to' see
them because they are the grandchildren of the
great poet Tennyson. Every child knows "The
May Queen," and the lovely story of the "Sleep-

K-1 I I'\I)
-- 9jrk----

quite a Pegasus, for Charley declared it could fly
away. *
Here are two more dear little friends of mine, Eus-
tace and Percy Loraine. One day, when I had just
begun this portrait, a beautiful pheasant was sent
to me. The pheasant has feathers like burnished
bronze, and a purple and green throat,- a most
splendid bird, that English gentlemen raise with
great care and expense in the spring and shoot
in the autumn. Eustace wished to hold this bird,
and little Percy stood on tiptoes to touch its soft


ing Beauty," and knows that Tennyson, now Lord
Tennyson, has long been the great poet of our
day. These little boys, Alfred and Charles, often
visit their grandfather in his peaceful country
home. Lord Tennyson dedicated a collection of
some of his latest poems to little Alfred in a verse
beginning- Golden-haired Ally whose name is
one with mine." Alfred has hair of a rich golden
shade, and Charley has dark eyes and hair like
silver floss. I used to call him moonbeam and Alfred
sunshine. Alfred loved to listen to stories one after
another, as fast as they could be read to him.
Charles liked to invent his stories, and told me
the wonderful adventures of a sugar pig that
came to live in his nursery. I think the pig was

breast, and both boys were sad to see it dead. The
pheasant was so beautiful, and they looked so gentle
holding it with pity, that I painted them as you see
them in the engraving. The father of these chil-
dren, Sir Lambton Loraine, is a brave captain in the
English navy, and you American children must
hear about him, so that you shall not forget the
great service he did to some unfortunate Americans.
It was in the year 1873, when the Cubans were
in insurrection against Spanish rule. Spanish
ships were blockading the ports of Cuba to prevent
the rebels from receiving arms or help from other
countries. The "Virginius" was an American
steamer, and had been suspected of running the
blockade, but this had not been proved. It sailed

* For the story of Pegasus," see ST. NICHOLAS for December, 1879.



from Kingston in Jamai-
ca, pretending to go to
Port Limon in Costa
Rica, and had taken one
hundred and fifty-five
passengers on board.
Four of these were lead-
ers of the Cuban rebell-
ion, but the rest were
peaceable, innocent peo-
ple, going to Costa Rica
on business or to join
their families, and who
had no wish whatever to
enter Cuba.
In spite of his agree-
ment to land these pas-
sengers at Costa Rica,
the captain of the "Vir-
ginius" contrived to get
a cargo of arms, and
then set sail direct for
Cuba. The Spanish
ships spied the "Vir-
ginius" as it neared
land, chased it into the
open sea, and captured
it there, contrary to in-
ternational law. When
the Virginius was
taken into Santiago di
Cuba, the Spanish Gov-
ernor declared all on
board to be pirates, and
had them tried by court-
martial as fast as it could
be done. The four rebel
chiefs were shot first;
and then thirty-seven of
the crew, who were most-
ly English or United
States citizens, were bru-
tally shot to death. The
court-martial sat all
night, but, before they
had time to shoot any
more of the unfortunate
people, the news of these
butcheries reached Ja-
The English Governor
immediately protested,
and ordered the Ni-
obe," which was com-
manded by Sir Lambton
Loraine, to sail at once
for Santiago di Cuba.



The Spaniards were amazed to see the
"Niobe" steaming full speed into port without
saluting. Before her anchor touched bottom,
her brave commander was lowered in his gig,
and on landing went directly to the governor,
General Burriel. He was enraged that England
should interfere. The Virginius" was an American
ship, and he claimed that it was no affair of Eng-
land. Sir Lambton Loraine replied that, in the
absence of a United States war-ship, he took the
responsibility of protecting citizens of the .United
States, and upholding the honorofher flag, and that
if any more innocent blood were shed he would
sink whichever of the Spanish men-of-war should
be nearest to the "Niobe." After that, General
Burriel began to listen to reason. No more people
were shot, and finally, when the American ship
"Juniata" arrived at Santiago di Cuba, eighteen

days after the last executions, the "Virginius"
and the surviving prisoners were surrendered to her
in the presence of the Niobe." All through the
United States, from east to west, people were full
of enthusiasm for the brave English commander,
and for the friendly aid of England. I am sure you
will like to see these very little boys, whose father
you must not forget.
Now, boys and girls, I must stop talking, and
wish you a merry Christmas. I wish that on this
day you could see some of the glorious paintings
which ancient artists, especially in Italy, have
left us. They never wearied of painting the little
Jesus in his Mother's arms, and sometimes with
angels or saints or the wise men of the East
coming to adore him, and -they knew how to give
these pictures the peace and beauty of another

[NoTa.--The children's, portraits in this article arc engraved from photographs of the original paintings by Mrs. Anna Lea Merritt,
furnished by the artist with the kind consent of the Honorable Lionel Tennyson, and of Sir Lambton Loraine.-ED.]


BY H. H.

FROM nine in the morning till six at night
A weary march for the strongest feet-
She trudges along, a pitiful sight,
To be seen every day in the city street.

Oh, how do you think she feels when she sees,
In the pleasant parks on a sunny day,
The rows of nurses, all taking their ease,
With children who 've nothing to do but play?

She is tired, and hungry, and cold and wet; "Whq have nothing to do but play!"-The
She trembles with wretchedness where she stands; thought!
But she knows if she falters a moment, she '11 get She can not imagine it, if she tries;
A cruel, hard blow from the cruel hands. Nor how such wonderful playthings are bought,-
The dolls that can walk and open their eyes!

Her tambourine feels as heavy as lead;
She wearily shifts it from side to side;
Her poor little knuckles are bruised and red;
Her pale, sunken eyes show how much she has

But she must keep step to the gayest tunes,
With merry, quick flings of her tambourine;
And watch for the crowds, in the late afternoons.
-How soon they forget the sad face they have seen !

" Who have nothing to do but play It seems
To her that such children in Heaven live.
Not all her wildest, most beautiful dreams
A happiness greater than that could give.

O children, who 've nothing to do but play,
And are always happy, do not forget
The poor little children who work all day,
And are tired and hungry and cold and wet!







IT happened one Christmas eve, when Davy was
about eight years old, and this is the way it came
That particular Christmas eve was a snowy one
and a blowy one, and one generally to be re-
membered. In the city, where Davy lived, the
storm played all manner of pranks, swooping down
upon unwary old gentlemen and turning their um-
brellas wrong side out, and sometimes blowing
their hats quite out of sight. And in the country,
where Davy had come to pass Christmas with his
dear old grandmother, things were not much better;
but here people were very wise about the weather,
and staid indoors, huddled around great blazing
wood fires; and the storm, finding no live game,
buried up the roads and the fences, and such small-
fry of houses as could readily be put out of sight, and
howled and roared over the fields and through the
trees in a fashion not to be forgotten.
Davy, being of the opinion that a snow-storm

was a thing not to be wasted, had been out with
his sled, trying to have a little fun with the weather;
but presently, discovering that this particular storm
was not friendly to little boys, he had retreated
into the house, and having put his hat and his
high shoes and his mittens by the kitchen fire to
dry, he began to find his time hang heavily on his
hands. He had wandered idly all over the house,
and had tried how cold his nose could be made by
holding it against the window-panes, and, I am
sorry to say, had even been sliding down the bal-
usters and teasing the cat; and at last, as evening
was coming on, had curled himself up in the big
easy-chair facing the fire, and had begun to read
once more about the marvelous things that hap-
pened to little Alice in Wonderland. Then, as it
grew darker, he laid aside the book and sat
watching the blazing logs and listening to the
solemn ticking of the high Dutch clock against
the wall.
Then there stole in at the door a delicious odor
of dinner cooking down-stairs-an odor so sug-
gestive of roast chickens and baked potatoes and
gravy and pie as to make any little boy's mouth



water; and presently Davy began softly telling
himself what he would choose for his dinner. He
had quite finished fancying the first part of his
feast and was just coming, in his mind, to an extra-
large slice of apple-pie well browned (staring
meanwhile very hard at one of the brass knobs of
the andirons to keep his thoughts from wandering),
when he suddenly discovered a little man perched
upon that identical knob and smiling at him with
all his might.
This little man was a very curious-looking per-
son indeed. He was only about a foot high, but
his head was as big as a cocoanut, and he had
great bulging eyes, like a frog, and a ridiculous
turned-up nose. His legs were as slender as
spindles, and he had long-pointed toes to his shoes,
or rather to his stockings, or, for that matter, to his
trousers,-for they were all of a piece -and bright
scarlet in color, as were also his little coat and his
high-pointed hat and a queer little cloak that hung
over his shoulder. His mouth was so wide that
when he smiled it seemed to go quite behind his
ears, and there was no way of knowing where the
smile ended, except by looking at it from behind-
which Davy could n't do without getting into the
Now, there's no use in denying that Davy was
frightened. The fact is, he was frightened almost
out of his wits, particularly when he saw that the
little man, still smiling furiously, was carefully
picking the hottest and reddest embers out of the
fire, and, after cracking them like nuts with his
teeth, eating them with great relish. Davy watched
this alarming meal, expecting every moment to see
the little man burst into a blaze and disappear, but
he finished his coals in safety, and then nodding
cheerfully at Davy, said:
I know you "
".Do you? said Davy faintly.
Oh, yes! said the little man. I know you
perfectly well. You are the little boy who does n't
believe in fairies, nor in giants, nor in goblins,
nor in anything the story-books tell you."
Now, the truth was that Davy, having never met
any giants when he was out walking, nor seen any
fairies'peeping out of the bushes, nor found any
goblins about the house, had come to believe that
all these kinds of people were purely imaginary
beings, so that now he could do nothing but stare at
the little man in a shamefaced sort of way and
wonder what was coming next.
"Now all that,-" said the little man, shaking
his finger at him in a reproving way, "all that is
very foolish and very wrong. I 'm a goblin my-
self,-a hob-goblin-and I've come to take you
on a Believing Voyage."
Oh, if you please, I can't go cried Davy, in

great alarm at this proposal, "I can't, indeed. I
have n't permission."
"Rubbish!" said the Goblin. "Ask the
Now, the Colonel was nothing more nor less than
a silly-looking little man made of lead that stood
on the mantel-shelf holding a clock in his arms.
The clock never went, but, for that matter, the
Colonel never went either, for he had been stand-
ing stock-still for years, and it seemed perfectly
ridiculous to ask him anything about going
anywhere, so Davy felt quite safe in looking
up at him and asking permission to go on the
Believing Voyage. To his dismay the Colonel
nodded his head and cried out in a little cracked
"Why, certainly! "
At this, the Goblin jumped down off the knob
of the andiron, and skipping briskly across the
room to the big Dutch clock, rapped sharply on
the front of the case with his knuckles, when to
Davy's amazement the great thing fell over on its
face upon the floor as softly as if it had been a
feather bed. Davy now saw that instead of being
full of weights and brass wheels and curious works,
as he had always supposed, the clock was really a
sort of boat with a wide seat at each end; but be-
fore he had time to make any further discoveries,
the Goblin, who had vanished for a moment, sud-
denly re-appeared, carrying two large sponge-cakes
in his arms. Now, Davy was perfectly sure that he
had seen his grandmother putting those very
sponge-cakes into the oven to bake, but before he
could utter a word of remonstrance the Goblin
clapped one into each seat, and scrambling into
the clock sat down upon the smaller one, merely
"They make prime cushions, you know."
For a moment, Davy had a wild idea of rushing
out of the room and calling for help; but the Gob-
lin seemed so pleased with the arrangements he
had made and, moreover, was smiling so good-
naturedly that the little boy thought better of it,
and after a moment's hesitation climbed into the
clock and took his seat upon the other cake. It
was as warm and springy and fragrant as a day
in May. Then there was a whizzing sound, like
a lot of wheels spinning around, and the clock
rose from the floor and made a great swoop toward
the window.
I 'l steer," shouted the Goblin, and do you
look out sharp for light-houses !"
Davy had just time to notice that the Colonel
was hastily scrambling down from the mantel-shelf
with his beloved time-piece in his arms, when they,
seated in the long Dutch clock, dashed through
the window and out into the night.





THE first thought that came into Davy's mind
when he found himself out-of-doors was that he
had started off on his journey without his hat, and
he was therefore exceedingly pleased to find that
it had stopped snowing and that the air was quite
still and delightfully balmy and soft. The moon
was shining brightly, and as he looked back at
the house he was surprised to see that the window
through which they had come, and which he was

Sure enough, at this moment the Colonel's head
appeared through the flaps. The clock was still
in his arms, and he seemed to be having a great
deal of trouble in getting it through, and his head
kept coming into view and then disappearing again
behind the flaps in so ridiculous a manner that
Davy shouted with laughter, and the Goblin smiled
harder than ever. Suddenly the poor little man
made a desperate plunge and had almost made
his way out when the flaps shut to with a loud
snap and caught him about the waist. In his
efforts to free himself, he dropped his clock to the
ground outside, when it burstwith a loud explosion
and the house instantly disappeared.

:i ; iiI.73-fX


quite sure had always been a straight-up-and-down,
old-fashioned window, was now a round affair with
flaps running to a point in the center, like the
holes the harlequin jumps through in the pan-
How did that window ever get changed into a
round hole?" he asked the Goblin, pointing to it
in great astonishment.
Oh," said the Goblin, carelessly, "that's one
of the circular singumstances that happen on a
believing voyage. It's nothing to what you '11 see
before we come back again. Ah!" he added,
"there comes the Colonel! "

This was so unexpected and seemed so serious
a matter that Davy was much distressed, won-
dering what had become of his dear old grand-
mother and Mrs. Frump, the cook, and Mary
Farina, the housemaid, and Solomon, the cat.
However, before he had time to make any in-
quiries of the Goblin, his grandmother came drop-
ping down through the air in her rocking-chair.
She was quietly knitting, and her chair was gently
rocking as she went by. Next came Mrs. Frump
with her apron quite full of kettles and pots, and
then Mary Farina, sitting on a step-ladder with
the coal-scuttle in her lap. Solomon was nowhere


to be seen. Davy, looking over the
clock, saw them disappear, one after
a large tree on the lawn; and the Gob

him that they had fallen into the

witch-hazel tree and would be well taken care of.
Indeed, as the clock sailed over the tree, Davy
saw that the trunk of it was hollow and that a
bright light was shining far under-ground; and to
make the matter quite sure, a smell of cooking was
coming up through the hole. On one of the top-
most boughs of the tree was a nest with two spar-
rows in it, and he was much astonished at discov-
ering that they were lying side by side, fast asleep,
with one of his mittens spread over them for a
I suppose my shoes are somewhere about," he
said, sadly. Perhaps the squirrels are filling
them with nuts."
You 're quite right," replied the Goblin, cheer-
fully; and there's a rabbit over by the hedge
putting dried leaves into your hat; I rather fancy
he 's about moving into it for the winter."
Davy was about to complain against such liber-
ties being taken with his property, when the clock
began rolling over in the air, and he had just time
to grasp the sides of it to keep himself from fall-
ing out.
"Don't be afraid cried the Goblin, she's
only rolling a little," and as he said this, the clock
steadied itself and sailed serenely away past the
spire of the village church and off over the fields.
Davy now noticed that the Goblin was glowing
with a bright, rosy light, as though a number of

side of the candles were burning in his stomach and shining
the other, in out through his scarlet clothes.
lin informed "That's the coals he had for his supper,"
thought Davy; but as the Goblin continued to
smile complacently and seemed to be feeling quite
comfortable, he did not venture to ask any ques-
tions, and went on with his thoughts. I suppose
he'll soon have smoke coming out of his nose, as
if he were a stove. If it were a cold night I'd ask
S- him to come and sit in my lap. I think he must
be as warm as a piece of toast! and the little boy
was laughing softly to himself over this conceit,
when the Goblin, who had been staring intently at
the sky, suddenly ducked his head and cried
Barkers! "- and the next instant a shower of
little blue woolly balls came tumbling into the
clock. To Davy's alarm they proved to be alive,
and immediately began scrambling about in all
directions, and yelping so ferociously that he
climbed up on his cake in dismay, while the Goblin,
hastily pulling a large magnifying-glass out of his
hat, began attentively examining these strange
"Bless me! cried the Goblin, turning very
pale, "they're sky-terriers. The dog-star must
have turned upside-down."
"What shall we do ? said Davy, feeling that
kitchen of a this was a very bad state of affairs.

"The first thing to do," said the Goblin, "is to
get away from these fellows before the solar
sisters come after them. Here, jump into my
hat "
So many wonderful things had happened already
that this seemed to Davy quite a natural and
proper thing to do, and as the Goblin had already




seated himself upon the brim, he took his place
opposite to him without hesitation. As they sailed
away from the clock, it quietly rolled over once,
spilling out the sponge-cakes and all the little dogs,
and was then wafted off, gently rocking from side
to side as it went.
Davy was much surprised at finding that the hat
was as large as a clothes-hamper, with plenty of
room for him to swing his legs about in the crown.
It proved, however, to be a very unpleasant thing
to travel in. It spun around like a top as it sailed
through the air, until Davy began to feel uncom-
fortably dizzy, and the Goblin himself seemed to
be far from well. He had stopped smiling, and
the rosy light had all faded away, as though the
candles inside of him had gone out. His clothes,
too, had changed from bright scarlet to a dull ashen
color, and he sat stupidly upon the brim of the
hat as if he were going to sleep.
If he goes to sleep, he will certainly fall over-
board," thought Davy; and with a view to rousing
the Goblin, he ventured to remark, I had no
idea your hat was so big."
"I can make it any size I please, from a thimble
to a sentry-box," said the Goblin. "And speaking
of sentry-boxes-- here he stopped and looked
more stupid than ever.
"I verily believe he 's absent-minded," said
Davy to himself.
I'm worse than that," said the Goblin, as if
Davy had spoken aloud. I'm absent-bodied,"
and with these words he fell out of the hat and
instantly disappeared. Davy peered anxiously
over the edge of the brim, but the Goblin was
nowhere to be seen, and the little boy found him-
self quite alofie.
Strange-ldoking birds now began to swoop up
and chuckle at him, and others flew around him, as
the hat spun- along through the air, gravely staring
him in the face for a while, and then sailed away,
sadly bleating like sheep. Then a great creature
with rumpled'feathers perched upon the brim of
the hat where the Goblin had been sitting, and
after solemnly gazing at him for a few moments,
softly murmured, I'm a Cockalorum," and flew
heavily away. All this was very sad and distress-
ing, and Davy was mournfully wondering what
would happen to him next, when it suddenly struck
him that his legs were feeling very cold, and look-
ing down at them he discovered to his great alarm
that the crown of the Goblin's hat had entirely
disappeared, leaving nothing but the brim upon
which he was sitting. He hurriedly examined
this and found that the hat was really nothing but
an enormous skein of wool, which was rapidly
unwinding as it spun along. Indeed, the brim
was disappearing at such a rate that he had hardly
VOL. XII.-7.

made this alarming discovery before the end of
the skein was whisked away and he found himself
falling through the air.
He was on the point of screaming out in his
terror, when he discovered that he was falling very



slowly and gently swaying from side to side, like a
toy-balloon. The next moment he struck some-
thing hard, which gave way with a sound like
breaking glass and let him through, and he had
just time to notice that the air had suddenly be-
come deliciously scented with vanilla, when he fell
crashing into the branches of a large tree.

THE bough upon which Davy had fallen bent far
down with his weight, then sprang back, then bent
again, and in this way fell into a sort of delightful
up-and-down dipping motion, which he found very
soothing and agreeable. Indeed, he was so pleased
and comforted at finding himself near the ground
once more that he lay back in a crotch between
two branches, enjoying the rocking of the bough
and lazily wondering what had become of the
Goblin, and whether this was the end of the
Believing Voyage, and a great many other things,
until he chanced to wonder where he was. Then
he sat up on the branch in great astonishment, for
he saw that the tree was in full leaf and loaded
with plums, and it flashed across his mind that the
winter had disappeared very suddenly, and that
he had fallen into a place where it was broad
The plum-tree was the most beautiful and won-
derful thing he had ever seen, for the leaves were


perfectly white, and the plums, which looked
extremely delicious, were of every imaginable
Now, it immediately occurred to Davy that he
had never in his whole life had all the plums he
wanted at any one time. Here was a rare chance
for a feast, and he carefully selected the largest
and most luscious-looking plum he could find, to
begin with. To his disappointment it proved to
be quite hard and as solid and heavy as a stone.
He was looking at it in great perplexity, and punch-
ing it with his thumbs in the hope of finding
a soft place in it, when he heard a rustling
sound among the leaves, and looking up, he saw
the Cockalorum perched upon the bough beside
him. It was gazing -sadly at the plum, and its
feathers were more rumpled than ever. Presently
it gave a long sigh and said, in its low, murmuring
voice: Perhaps it's a sugar-plum," and then
flew clumsily away as before.
"Perhaps it is exclaimed Davy joyfully, tak-
ing a great bite of the plum. To his surprise and
disgust, he found his mouth full of very bad-tasting
soap, and at the same moment the white leaves of
the plum-tree suddenly turned over and showed
the words "APRIL FOOL printed very distinctly
on their under sides. To make the matter worse,
the Cockalorum came back and flew slowly around
the branches, laughing softly to itself with a sort
of a chuckling sound, until Davy, almost crying
with disappointment and mortification, scrambled
down from the tree to the ground.
He found himself in a large garden planted with
plum-trees, like the one he had fallen into, and with
walks winding about among them in every direc-
tion. These walks were beautifully paved with
sugar-almonds and bordered by long rows of many-
colored motto-papers neatly planted in the ground.
He was too much distressed, however, by what
had happened in the plum-tree to be interested or
pleased with this discovery, and was about walking
away along one of the paths in the hope of finding
his way out of the garden, when he suddenly
caught sight of a small figure standing a little dis-
tance from him.
He was the strangest-looking creature Davy had
ever seen, not even excepting the Goblin. In the
first place, he was as flat as a pancake, and about
as thick as one; and in the second place, he was
so transparent that Davy could see through his
head and his arms and his legs almost as clearly
as though he had been made of glass. This was
so surprising in itself that when Davy presently dis-
covered that he was made of beautiful, clear lemon-
candy, it seemed the most natural thing in the
world, as explaining his transparency. He was
neatly dressed in a sort of tunic of writing-paper,

with a cocked hat of the same material, and he had
under his arm a large book with the words HOLE-
KEEPER'S VACUUM printed on the cover. This
curious-looking creature was standing before an

^ w *~-: -' "


extremely high wall with his back to Davy, intently
watching a large hole in the wall about a foot from
the ground. There was nothing extraordinary
about the appearance of the hole (except that the
lower edge of it was curiously tied in a large bow-
knot Jike a cravat), but.Davy watched it carefully
for a few moments, thinking that perhaps some-
thing marvelous would come out of it. Nothing
appeared, however, and Davy, walking up close
behind the candy man, said very politely, If you
please, sir, I dropped in here "
Before he could finish the sentence, the Hole-
keeper said snappishly, Well, drop out again-
quick "
"But," pleaded Davy, you can't drop out of
a place, you know, unless the place should happen
to turn upside down."
"I don't know anything about it," replied the
Hole-keeper, without moving. I never saw any-
thing drop- except once. Then I saw a gum-
drop. Are you a gum ?" he added, suddenly
turning around and staring at Davy.
Of course I'm not," said Davy, indignantly.
"If you'll only listen to me, you'll understand
exactly how it happened."
"Well, go on," said the Hole-keeper, im-
patiently, and don't be tiresome."
"I fell down ever so far," said Davy, beginning
his story over again, and at last I broke through
something --"
That was the sky-light! shrieked the Hole-



keeper, dashing his book upon the ground in a
fury. That was the barley-sugar sky-light, and
I shall certainly be boiled "
This was such a shocking idea that Davy stood
speechless, staring at the Hole-keeper, who rushed
to and fro in a convulsion of distress.
"Now, see here," said the Hole-keeper, at
length, coming up to him and speaking in a low,
trembling voice. "This must be a private secret
between us. Do you solemsy promise ? "
"I prolemse," said Davy, earnestly. This was n't
at all what he meant to say, and it sounded very
ridiculous; but somehow the words would n't come
straight. The Hole-keeper, however, seemed per-
fectly satisfied, and picking up his book, said:
"Well, just wait till I can't find your name," and
began hurriedly turning over the leaves.
Davy saw, to his astonishment, that there was
nothing whatever in the book, all the leaves being
perfectly blank, and he could n't help saying,
rather contemptuously:
How do you expect to find my name in that
book? There's nothing in it."
"Ah! that's just it, you see," said the Hole-
keeper, exultingly;
"I look in it for the
names that ought
to be out of it. It's
the completest sys- N
tem that ever was
invented. Oh! here ',
you are n't he
added, staring with ,
great satisfaction at
one of the blank
pages. "Yourname
It 's nothing of
the sort," said Da-
vy, indignantly.
"Tut! Tut!"
said the Hole-keep-
er. "Don't stop to
contradict or you'll
be too late;" and
Davy felt himself "THE CROWD BE
gently lifted off his
feet and pushed head-foremost into the hole. It
was quite dark and rather sticky, and smelt strongly
of burnt sugar, and Davy had a most unpleasant
time of it crawling through on his hands and knees.
To add to his distress, when he came out at the
further end, instead of being, as he had hoped, in
the open country, he found himself in a large room
fairly swarming with creatures very like the Hole-
keeper in appearance, but somewhat darker and
denser in the way of complexion. The instant

Davy came out of the hole, a harsh voice called
"Bring Frungles this way," and the crowd
gathered around him and began to rudely hustle
him across the room.
That 's not my name cried Davy, struggling
desperately to free himself. It is n't even the
name I came in with! "
Tut! Tut! said a trembling voice near him,
and Davy caught sight of the Hole-keeper, also
struggling in the midst of the crowd with his great
book hugged tightly to his breast. The next
moment he found himself before a low platform
on which a crowned figure was sitting in a gor-
geous tin chair, holding in his hand a long white
wand with red lines running screw-wise around it,
like a barber's pole.
"Who broke the barley-sugar sky-light?" said
the figure, in a terrible voice.
The Hole-keeper began fumbling at the leaves
of his book in great agitation, when the king, point-
ing at him with his wand, roared furiously: "Boil
him, at all events! "
Tut! Tut! your majesty- began the Hole-



keeper confusedly, with his stiff little tunic fairly
rustling with fright; but before he could utter an-
other word he was dragged away, screaming with
"Don't you go with them!" shouted Davy,
made really desperate by the Hole-keeper's
danger. "They 're nothing but a lot of molasses
candy! "
At this the king gave a frightful shriek, and
aiming a furious blow at Davy with his wand,


rolled off the platform into the midst of the strug-
gling crowd. The wand broke into a hundred
pieces, and the air was instantly filled with a chok-
ing odor of peppermint; then everything was
wrapped in darkness, and Davy felt himself being
whirled along, heels over head, through the air.
Then there came a confused sound of bells and
voices, and he found himself
running rapidly down a long
street with the Goblin at his side.



BELLS were pealing and toll-
ing in all directions, and the air
was filled with the sound of dis-
tant shouts and cries.
"What were they?" asked
Davy, breathlessly.
Butterscotchmen," said the
"And what makes you that
color ?" said Davy, suddenly
noticing that the Goblin had
changed his color to a beautiful

gravel, two chicken bones, a bird'snest with some
pieces of brown soap in it, some mustard in a pill-
box and a cake of beeswax stuck full of caraway
seeds. Davy remembered afterward that as he
threw these things away they arranged themselves
in a long row on the curb-stone of the street. The
Goblin looked on with great interest as Davy fished

'"' -N .'~Y


"Trouble and worry," said the Goblin. "I
always get blue when the Butterscotchmen are
after me."
"Are they coming after us now? inquired Davy
in great alarm.
"Of course they are," said the Goblin. "But
the best of it is, they can't run till they get warm,
and they can't get warm without running, you
see. But the worst of it is that we can't stop with-
out sticking fast," he added, anxiously. "We
must keep it up until we get to the Amuserum."
"What's that? said Davy.
"It's a place they have to amuse themselves
with," said the Goblin,-" curiosities, and all that
sort of thing, you know. By the way, how much
money have you? We have to pay to get in."
Davy began to feel in his pockets (which is a
very difficult thing to do when you 're running
fast) and found, to his astonishment, that they
were completely filled with a most extraordinary
lot of rubbish. First, he pulled out what seemed
to be an iron ball, but it proved to be a hard-boiled
egg, without the shell, stuck full of small tacks.
Then came two slices of toast firmly tied together
with a green cord. Then came a curious little
glass jar filled with large flies. As Davy took this
out- of his pocket, the cork came out with a loud
"pop and the flies flew away in all directions.
Then came, one after another, a tart filled with


them up out of his pockets, and finally said, envi-
ously: "That's a splendid collection; where did
they all come from?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Davy, in great
"And I 'm sure I don't know," repeated the
Goblin. "What else is there ?"
Davy felt about in his pockets again and found
what seemed to be a piece of money. On taking
it out, however, he was mortified to find that it
was nothing but an old button; but the Goblin ex-
claimed in a tone of great satisfaction, "Ah! hold
on to that and ran on faster than ever.
The sound of the distant voices had grown
fainter and fainter still, and Davy was just hoping
that their long run was almost over, when the street
came abruptly to an end at a brick wall, over the
top of which he could see the branches of trees.
There was a small round hole in the wall with the
words "PAY HERE" printed above it, and the
Goblin whispered to Davy to hand in the button
through this hole. Davy did so, feeling very much
ashamed of himself, when to his surprise instead
of receiving tickets in return, he heard a loud ex-
clamation behind the wall, followed by a confused
sound of scuffling, and the hole suddenly disap-
peared. The next moment, a little bell tinkled
and the wall rose slowly before them like a cur-
tain, carrying the trees with it, apparently, and he





and the Goblin were left standing in a large ope
space paved with stone.
Davy was exceedingly alarmed at seeing a den!
mass of Butterscotchmen in the center of tl
square, pushing and crowding one another in a vei
quarrelsome manner, and chattering like a flock (
magpies, and he was just about to propose a hasi
retreat, when a figure came hurrying through tl
square, carrying on a pole a large placard bearin
the words:

At the sight of these words, the mob set up
terrific shout, and began streaming out of tf
square after the pole-bearer, like a flock of shee]
jostling and shoving one another as they went, ar
leaving Davy and the Goblin quite alone.
I verily believe they're gone to look at Ta
button," cried Davy, beginning to laugh in spite a
his fears. "They called me Frungles, you know
"That's rather a nice name," said the Gobli:
who had begun smiling again. It's better thz
Snubgraddle, at all events. Let's have a look
the curiosities;" and here he walked
boldly into the center of the square.
Davy followed close at his heels,
and found to his astonishment and
disappointment that the curiosi-
ties were simply the things that
he had fished out of his pockets
but a few minutes before, placed on
little pedestals and carefully pro-
tected by transparent sugar shades.
He was on the point of laughing
outright at this ridiculous exhibi-
tion, when he saw that the Goblin
had taken a large telescope out of
his pocket and was examining the
different objects with the closest
attention, and muttering to him-
self, "Wonderful! wonderful!" as
if he had never seen anything like them befoi
"Pooh!" said Davy, contemptuously. "T
only wonderful thing about them is how they ev
came here."
At this remark the Goblin turned his telesco
toward Davy and uttered a faint cry of surprise ; a
Davy, peering anxiously through the large en
saw him suddenly shrink to the size of a sm
beetle and then disappear altogether. Davy hi
tily reached out with his hands to grasp the te
scope; but it, too, disappeared.
The next moment he felt something spring up,
his back. Before he could cry out in his terror,
head was thrust forward over his shoulder, ai

he found the Goblin, who was now of a bright
purple color, staring him in the face and laughing
with all his might.

"GOBLIN," said Davy, very seriously, as the
little man jumped down from off his back, "if you
are going to play such tricks as that upon me, I
should like to go home at once."
Where 's the harm?" said the Goblin, sitting
down on the grass with his back against a wall and
smiling contentedly.
"The harm is that I was frightened," said
Davy, with great indignation. But as he spoke,
a loud rumbling noise like distant thunder came
from behind the wall against which the Goblin
was leaning, followed by a tremendous sneeze that
fairly shook the ground.
"What 's that?" whispered Davy to the Gob-
lin, in great alarm.
"It's only Badorful," said the Goblin, laugh-
ing. He's always snoring and waking himself
up, and I suppose it's sleeping on the ground that


re. makes him sneeze. Let's have a look at him,"
he and the Goblin led the way along the wall to a
*er large grating.
Davy looked through the grating and was much
pe alarmed at seeing a giant, at least twenty feet in
nd height, sitting on the ground, with his legs
Id, crossed under him like a tailor. He was dressed
all in a shabby suit of red velveteen, with a great
as- leather belt about his waist and enormous boots,
le- and Davy thought he looked terribly ferocious.
On the grass beside him lay a huge club, thickly
on studded at one end with great iron knobs; but
a Davy noticed to his great relief that some little
nd creeping vines were twining themselves among



these knobs, and that moss was growing thickly
upon one side of the club itself, as though it had
been lying there untouched for a long time.
The giant was talking to himself in a low tone,
and, after listening attentively at the grating for a
moment, the Goblin shrieked:
"He 's making poetry and throwing himself
upon the ground kicked up his heels in a perfect
ecstasy of delight.
"Oh, hush, hush!" cried Davy in terror.
" Suppose he hears you "
Hears me said the Goblin, discontinuing
his kicking and looking very much surprised.
"What if he does ?"
"Well, you know, he might not like being
laughed at," said Davy, anxiously.
"There's something in that," said the Goblin,
staring reflectively at the ground.
"And, you see," continued Davy, "a giant who
does n't like what's going on must be a dreadful
Oh! there's no fear of him," said the Goblin,
contemptuously, motioning with his head toward
the giant. "He's too old. Why, I must have
known him, off and on, for nearly two hundred
years. Come in and see.him."
"Will he do anything?" said Davy, anxiously.
"Bless you, no !" said the Goblin. "He's a
perfect old kitten"; and with these words he pushed
open the grating and passed through with Davy

following tremblingly at his heels. Badorful looked
up with a feeble smile, and merely said, "Just
listen to this ":

My age is three hundred and seventy-two,
And I think, with the deepest regret,
How I used to pick up and voraciously chew
The dear little boys whom I met.

I 've eaten them raw in their holiday suits,
I've eaten them curried with rice,
I've eaten them baked in their jackets and boots,
And found them exceedingly nice.

But now that my jaws are too weakfor such fare,
I think it excessively rude
To do such a thing, when I'm quite well aware
Little boys do not like to be chewed.

And so I contentedly live upon eels,
And try to do nothing amiss,
And I pass all the time I can spare from my meals
In innocent slumber- like this.

Here Badorful rolled over.upon his side, and
was instantly fast asleep.
"You see," said the Goblin, picking up a large
stone and thumping with it upon the giant's head,
" you see, he's quite weak here. Otherwise, con-
sidering his age, he's a very capable giant."
At this moment a farmer with bright red hair

-I J

I __



thrust his head in at the grating, and calling out,
"Look out, there!" disappeared again. Davy
and the Goblin rushed out and were just in
time to see something go by like a flash with
a crowd of people, armed with pitchforks, in
hot pursuit. Davy and the Goblin were just
setting off on a run to join in the chase, when
a voice said, Ahem!" and looking up, they
saw Badorful staring at them over the top of the
How does this strike you ?" he said, addressing
himself to Davy:

Although I am a giant of the exhibition size,
I 've been nicely educated, and I notice with sur-
That the simplest rules of etiquette you don't pre-
tend to keep,
For you skurry off to races while a gentleman's

Don't reply that I was drowsy, for my nap was
but a kind
Of dramatic illustration of a peaceful frame of
And you really might have waited till I woke
again, instead
Of indelicately pounding, with a stone, upon my

Very probably you 'll argue that our views do
not agree,-
I've often found that little boys have disagreed
with me;-
But I'm properly entitled, on the compensation
To three times as much politeness as an ordinary

Davy was greatly distressed at having these
severe remarks addressed to him.
If you please, sir," he said earnestly, I did n't
pound you."
At this the giant glared savagely at the Goblin
and continued:

My remarks have been directed at the one who,
I supposed.
Had been violently thumping on my person while
I dozed:
By a simple calculation you will find that there
is due
Just six times as much politeness from a little
chap like you.

"Oh! you make me ill! said the Goblin,
flippantly. "Go to sleep."
Badorful stared at him for a moment, and
then with a sickly smile, murmured: Good-after-
noon," and disappeared behind the wall.
Davy and the Goblin now hurried off wildly to re-
sume the chase, when the Goblin suddenly stopped,
and by an ingenious twist of his body sat down on
his long shoes or stockings, and began to rock to
and fro like an animated little rocking-chair.
Dear me exclaimed Davy, perfectly amazed,
"I thought we were chasing something."
Of course you did," said the Goblin, compla-
cently; but in this part of the world things very
often turn out to be different from what they would
have been if they had n't been otherwise than as
you expected they were going to be."
But you thought so yourself- began Davy,
when to his distress the Goblin suddenly faded
into a dull pinkish color, and then disappeared
altogether. Davy looked about him and found
that he was quite alone in a dense wood.
continued )



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"TRAMP,-tramp,--tramp!" Thatwas the boys
going down-stairs in a hurry.
Bump,-bump That was the bicycle being
zigzagged through the hall.
"Bang!" That was the front door slamming be-
hind both boys and bicycle, leaving the house quiet
for a time, though the sound of voices outside
suggested that a lively discussion was going on.
The bicycle fever had reached Perryville and
raged all summer. Now the town was very like a
once tranquil pool infested with the long-legged
water-bugs that go skating over its surface in all
directions; for wheels of every kind darted to and
fro, startling horses, running over small children,
and pitching their riders headlong in the liveliest
manner. Men left their business to see the lads
try new wheels, women grew skillful in the binding
of wounds and the mending of sorely rent gar-
ments, gay girls begged for rides, standing on the
little step behind, and boys clamored for bicycles
that they might join the army of martyrs to the
latest craze.
Sidney West was the proud possessor of the
best wheel in town, and displayed his treasure
with immense satisfaction before the admiring
eyes of his mates. He had learned to ride in a
city rink, and he flattered himself that he knew
all there was to learn, except such feats as only
professional gymnasts acquire. He mounted with
skillful agility, rode with as much grace as the
tread-mill movements of the legs permit, and

managed to guide his tall steed without much
danger to himself or others. The occasional head-
ers he took, and the bruises which kept his manly
limbs in a chronic state of mourning, he did not
mention, but concealed his stiffness heroically, and
bound his younger brother to eternal silence by
the bribe of occasional rides on his old wheel.
Hugh was a loyal lad, and regarded his big
brother as the most remarkable fellow in the
world; so he forgave Sid's domineering ways, was
a willing slave, a devoted admirer, and a faithful
imitator of all the masculine virtues, airs, and
graces of this elder brother. On one point only
did they disagree, and that was Sid's refusal to
give Hugh the old wheel when the new one came.
Hugh had fondly hoped it would be his, hints to
that effect having been dropped when Sid wanted
an errand done, and for weeks the younger boy
had waited and labored patiently, sure that his
reward would be the small bicycle, on which he
could proudly take his place as a member of the
newly formed club; with them to set forth, in their
blue uniform, with horns blowing, badges glitter-
ing, and legs flying, for a long spin,- to return
after dark, a mysterious line of tall shadows,
" with lanterns dimly burning," and warning
whistles sounding as they went.
Great, therefore, was his disappointment and
wrath when he discovered that Sid had agreed to
sell the wheel to another fellow, if it suited him,
leaving poor Hugh the only boy of his set with-


out a machine. Much as he loved Sid, he could
not forgive this underhand and mercenary trans-
action. It seemed so unbrotherly to requite so
long and willing a service, to dash hopes so ar-
dent, to betray so blind a confidence, for filthy
lucre; and when the deed was done, to laugh,
and ride gayly away on the splendid British Chal-
lenge, the desire of all hearts and eyes.
One morning, Hugh had freely vented his out-
raged feelings, and Sid had tried to make light of
the affair, though quite conscious that he had
been both unkind and unfair. A bicycle tourna-
ment was to take place in the city, twenty miles
away, and the members of the club were going.
Sid, wishing to distinguish himself, intended to
ride thither, and was preparing for the long trip
with great care. Hugh was wild to go, but hav-
ing spent his pocket-money and having been for-
bidden to borrow, he could not take the cars as
the others had done. No horse was to be had, and
their own steed consisted of an old donkey, that
would have been hopeless even with the induce-
ment offered in the immortal ditty:
If I had a donkey that would n't go,
Do you think I'd whip him? Oh, no, no!
I 'd take him to Jarley's Wax-work Show."

Therefore poor Hugh was in a desperate state
of mind as he sat on the gate-post watching Sid
make his pet's toilet, till every plated handle, rod,
screw, and axle shone like silver.
I know I could have ridden the Star if you
had n't let Joe have it. I do think it was right
down mean of you."
This was strong language for gentle Hugh, but
he felt that he must vent his anguish.
Sid was whistling softly as he oiled and rubbed,
but he was not feeling so easy as he looked, and
heartily wished that he had not committed him-
self to Joe, for it would have been pleasant to take
"the little chap," as he called the fourteen-year-
older, along with him, and do the honors of the
rink on this great occasion. Now it was too late;
so he affected a careless air, and added insult to
injury by answering his brother's reproaches in
the joking spirit which is peculiarly exasperating
at such moments.
"Children should n't play with matches, nor
small boys with bicycles. I don't want to commit
murder, and I certainly should if I let you try to
ride twenty miles when you can't go one without
nearly breaking your neck or your knees," and
Sid glanced with a smile at the neat darns which
ornamented his brother's trousers over those por-
tions of his long legs.
"How's a fellow going to learn, if he isn't
allowed to try? Might as well tell me to keep

away from the water till I can swim. Just give
me i chance and see if I can't ride as well as some
older fellows who have been pitched 'round rather
freely before they dared to try a twenty mile spin,"
answered Hugh, clapping both hands on his knees
to hide the tell-tale darns.
If Joe does n't want it, you can use the old
wheel till I decide what to do with it. I suppose a
man has a right to sell his own property, if he
likes," said Sid, rather nettled at the allusion to
his own tribulations in times past.
." Of course he has; but if he 's promised to give
a thing, he ought to do it, especially after he 's had
work done for him to pay for it. That's what
makes me angry; for I believed you and depended
on you, and it hurts me more to have you deceive
me than it would to lose ten bicycles; and Hugh
choked a little at the thought, in spite of his at-
tempt to look sternly indignant.
"You are welcome to your opinion. Take
the cars, if you want to go so much, and stop
bothering me," retorted Sid, getting cross because
he was in the wrong and would n't own it.
"You know I can't! I've no money, and must n't
borrow What's the use of twitting a fellow in that
style? answered Hugh.
"Take Sancho, then; you might arrive before
the fun was all over, if you carried whips and pins
and crackers enough to keep the old boy going."
This allusion to the useless donkey was cruel,
but Hugh held on to the last remnant of his tem-
per, and made a wild proposal in the despair of the
"See here, why can't we ride and tie? I 've
tried this wheel, and I can ride it well. You 'd be
along to see to me, and we 'd take turns. Do,
Sid! I just long to go, and if you will, please, I
wont say another word about Joe."
But Sid only burst out laughing at the plan, in
a thoroughly heartless manner.
No, thank you. I don't mean to walk a step
when I can ride, nor lend my new wheel to a chap
who can hardly keep right side up on the old one."
I hope I sha'n't be as selfish when I 'm seven-
teen. I'll have a bicycle yet,-A, No. I,-and
then you '11 see how I '11 lend it, like a gentleman."
"Keep cool, my son. If you are so* smart a
lad, why don't you walk, since wheels and horses
and donkeys fail. It's only twenty miles,- nothing
to speak of, you know," replied Sid.
"Well, I could do it if I liked," said Hugh.
"I 've walked eighteen, and was n't half so tired
as you were. Any one can get over the ground
on a bicycle, but it takes strength and courage to
keep it up on foot."
You 'd better try it," suggested Sid.
"I will, some day," spoke up Hugh; and fearing




he should kick over the tall bicycle that stood so
temptingly near him, Hugh walked away, trying
to whistle, though his lips were more inclined to
tremble than to pucker.
"Just bring my lunch, will you ? Auntie is put-
ting it up; I must be off," called Sid, so used to
giving orders that he did so even at this unpro-
pitious moment.
Get it yourself. I 'm not going to do errands
for you any longer," growled Hugh; for the trod-
den worm turned at last, as worms will.
This was open revolt, and Sid felt that things
were in a bad way, but would not stop to mend
them then.
Whew here 's a tempest in a tea-pot. Well,
it is too bad; but I can't help it now. I '11 make
it all right to-morrow, and bring him round with a
nice account of the fun," thought Sid. "Hullo,
Bemis going to town? he called, as a neighbor
came spinning noiselessly by.
Part of the way," replied the wheelman. I '11
take the cars at Lawton. It 's hard riding over
the hills, and a bother to steer a wheel through the
streets. Come on, if you 're ready."
"All right;" and springing up, Sid was off,
forgetting all about the lunch.
Hugh, dodging behind the lilac-bushes, heard
what passed, and the moment they were gone ran
to the gate to watch them out of sight with long-
ing eyes. Then he turned away, listlessly wonder-
ing how he should spend the holiday his brother
was going to enjoy so much.
At that moment Aunt Ruth hurried to the door,
waving the leather pouch well stored with cake
and sandwiches, cold coffee and pie.
Sid 's forgotten his bag. Run, call, stop him "
she cried, trotting down the walk with her cap-
strings waving wildly in the fresh October wind.
For an instant Hugh hesitated, thinking sul-
lenly, Serves him right I wont run afterhim" ;
then his kind heart'got the better of his bad humor,
and catching up the bag he raced down the road
at his best pace, eager to heap coals of fire on Sid's
proud ihead,-to say nothing of his own desire to
see more of the riders.
They will have to go slowly up the long hill,
and I'll catch them then," he thought as he tore
over the ground, for he was a good runner and
prided himself on his strong legs.
Unfortunately for his amiable intentions, the
boys had taken a short cut to avoid the hill, and
were out of sight down a lane where Hugh never
dreamed they would dare to go, so mounted.
"Well, they have done well to get over the hill
at this rate. But they 'll not keep it up long,"

panted Hugh, stopping short when he saw no signs
of the riders.
The road stretched invitingly before him, the
race had restored his spirits, and curiosity to see
what had become of his friends lured him to the
hill-top, where temptation sat waiting for him.
Up he trudged, finding the fresh air, the sunny
sky, the path strewn with red and yellow leaves,
and the sense of freedom so pleasant that when
he reached the highest point and saw the world
all before him, as it were, a daring project seemed
to flash upon him, nearly taking his breath away
with its manifold delights.
Sid said, 'Walk,' and why not ?-at least to
Lawton, and take the cars from there, as Bemis
means to do. Would n't the'old fellows be sur-
prised to see me turn up at the rink? It 's a
quarter past eight now, and the fun begins at
three; I could get there easily enough, and I
will, too! I 've a good lunch here, and money
enough to pay car-fare from Lawton, I guess. If I
have n't, I '11 go a little further and take a horse-car.
Here goes,"-and with a whoop of boyish delight
at breaking bounds, away went Hugh down the
long hill, like a colt escaped from its pasture.
The others were just ahead, but the winding
of the road hid them from him; so all went on,
unconscious of one another's proximity. Hugh's
run gave him a good start, and he got over the
ground famously for five or six miles; then he
went more slowly, thinking he had plenty of time
to catch a certain train. But he had no watch,
and when he reached Lawton he had the pleasure
of seeing the cars go out at one end of the station
as he hurried in at the other.
I '11 not give it up, but just go on and do it
afoot. That will be something to brag of when
the other chaps tell big stories. I'll see how fast
I can go, for I 'm not tired, and can eat on the
way. Much obliged to Sid for a nice lunch."
And chuckling over this piece of good luck,
Hugh set out again, only pausing for a good
drink at the town-pump. The thirteen miles did
not se6m very long when he thought of them, but
as he walked them they appeared to grow longer
and longer, till he felt as if he must have traveled
about fifty. He was in good practice, and fortu-
nately had on easy shoes; but he was in such a
hurry to make good time that he allowed himself
no rest, and jogged on, up hill and down, with
the resolute air of one walking for a wager.
There we will leave him, and see what had be-
fallen Sid; for his adventures were more exciting
than Hugh's, though all seemed plain sailing
when he started.

(To be concluded.)



/To a stray fpotografh of a child.)

Y little girl with curling hair,
And wondering look in either eye,-
I picked you up, I scarce know wh,.:. 1
And kept you, though I scarce ki,.... .I'
In gayest Sunday garb arrayed,
Your plump feet in their Sunday :!i.:..
I know that you, my pretty maid,
Are some one's pet-no matter .i.:.-.!

I see the soap upon your face,
The traces of the brush and comb,
Ribbon and ruffle in their place,- '-
The anxious care they took at hom: '
Dressed and undressed, and once mc.: e
dressed, 'I
With doubts of blue and red al.1 ..., I
green,-- '-. -
Until at last they all confessed I' r,
A lovelier child was never seen. '--

Aunt, cousin, nurse, and grandmamma,
Mamma herself, pronounced you sweet;
Then, toward the sky-light glimmering far,
They led you toddling down the street.
While you -it was your first, my dear! -
With apprehension all alert,
Marched in a maze of fun and fear,
And wondered if the man would hurt.




':,. 4


That chair! That lofty, leathery chair
Wherein they placed you mounted high;
The Cyclops camera standing there,
And staring with its great glass eye!
They changed your legs, they changed the light;
They posed you this way, posed you that;
Until at last they got you right,
And left you with a parting pat.

i moment !-Ah!--What mischief wrought
Within that moment's little term!
The sunbeams sped as swift as thought,
And registered-a fatal squirm!
The man came back and shook his head;
He dared not show Mamma that face.
But Better luck, next time he said,
And fixed you once more in your place.

Next time, forsooth! a great success,-
Except indeed no nose was there;
Next time, a countenance to bless,-
Only the eyes were not a pair!
Next time, a perfect gem appears,-
Save that the mouth gaped like a chasm,
While dress and eyes and legs and ears
Were mixed in one chaotic spasm.

Again, again, and still again
The product hardly human seems!
The brow of one besieged by pain
That for her "soothing syrup" screams!-
A sleeper's fear-a maniac's whim-
Something to startle and enthrall,
Like sculptured faces fierce and grim
On some cathedral's moldering wall.

VOL. XII.-8.



Yet still he "took" and "took" anew,
And bless'd King Herod's heavy hand,
Which all the Hebrew babies slew
Through all the weeping Hebrew land.
With dreadful frown and eager haste,
Fresh negatives he tried and tried;
And wondered what 't would cost to taste
The luxury of infanticide!

Soon daylight will to darkness pass,
The shower of sunbeams soon be o'er;
And must we give it up ? alas !
And must we dress that child once more?
Apollo, grant your brightest ray!
Blue skies, 0 be not overcast!
O Science, do your prettiest, pray!
-The prayer is heard-a hit at last!

9_ b--.2

HIT !-But when they brought it home,
The doubts so grave, the gabble such,-
No master canvas hung in Rome
Was ever talked of half so much.
Some thought it like, and others cried
They never should have known it, never "
While thus each critic testified
Himself or herself mighty clever!

S \', "Likeness, indeed! I'm sure there's none;
It looks as much, or more, like me!"-
(This sweet remark in acid tone
Was from a maid of fifty-three !)
Too short!" said one; "too long!" another;
Too young a third; "too old !" the next;
Too pretty!" added to the bother;
Too plain !" the differing jury vexed.



Y V-


Whatever merit it possessed,
Whatever of perfection lacked,
At last they placed you with the rest,
Within the album broken-backed.
Then in your pasteboard niche displayed,
You slumber'd snug as snug could be,
Till by some accident you strayed-
Were lost, poor child! and found-by me!


HAT doubts these pictured features bring
Of all that makes life ill or good!
Whether you passed away with spring,
Or bloomed in perfect womanhood.
Whether they saw you grow in grace,
As girlhood's hour went winging by;
Or on your quiet, marble face
Dropped the hot tear, and sobbed "Good-
bye "

No Let me think, the season o'er
Of maiden joys and soft alarms,
Mother and wife, you proudly bore
Your own wee baby in your arms,
That you, yourself in turn mamma,
--h -1

-JL -,.- - -- - - .-- ----

Made the newtreasure bright and sweet;
Then toward the sky-light glimmering far
You led ter toddling down the street.
bye! "





A SNOW-MAN stands in the moonlight-gold,
Smoking his pipe serenely.
For what cares he that the night is cold?
Though his coat is thin and his hat is old,
And the blustering wind blows keenly.

He has heard the children telling in glee
That Santa Claus would visit
This night their beautiful Christmas tree;
And it is not strange he should wish to see
How this can happen,-now is it?


He sees through the window the children bright,
And hears them merrily singing
Round the Christmas tree with its glory of light,-
When out from the chimney, in bear-skins white,
Comes good St. Nicholas springing!

And the Snow-man laughs so hard at that,
That when his laughter ceases,
A pipe, a coat, and an old straw hat,
Two lumps of coal and a flannel cravat,
Are all that is left of the pieces!



MENHADEN is not to be found on any map of
Long Island. It is so much like a number of
other places, however, which are on the map, that
it is easy to describe it to one who knows the
Great South Beach. It is chiefly sand and sky and
water, with a distance of marshes seen through
the breaches the ocean has made in the sand
dunes that line the coast.
In the summer one can know but little about the

ways of wind and water at Menhaden. The seven
life-saving men, in the little house behind the sand
dunes, could tell us something more about them;
for they stay there all winter (when the cottages at
Menhaden are as silent and lifeless as a row of snow-
thatched bee-hives) to watch over those same wild
ways, and to guard against the terrible mischief
they can do. But in summer we only know that
the wind is sweet and cool, and that the water is




the most beautiful thing on the face of the earth.
Beautiful in motion or at rest, if it ever really is at
rest; and with a voice that to hear once is to love
and never to forget.
Menhaden is a good place for children, and for
children's mothers who count that summer happy
which has no history except the short and simple
annals of good appetites, red checks, and sound

of baby-carriages, or bare-footed children, or
slender-footed girls in tennis shoes. Only the
big, far-apart tracks of booted men- the men
from the life-saving station-who go plodding up
and down, on their night marches, through the
winter storms.
A young lady, whom the Gannet and Robinson
children called Aunt Emily, spent part of one


slumbers. Like the sand, which is its portion,
Menhaden is clean and quiet. But if it wishes to be
gay, it has only to take the dummy-train across
the marshes from its little hotel to the big one at
Broad Beach. It may consider the sunset and
the evening-colored ocean; it may dine sumptu-
ously and listen to the music on the crowded
piazzas of Broad Beach, and return at bed-time
to find its babies asleep in the cool upper cham-
bers of its cottages, with a mile or two of surf
booming along the shore for a cradle-song.
The tram-road has a brief summer engagement
with the hotel and the cottages. When that is
over, its shrill, high-piping whistle ceases, and
Menhaden is left to its water-paths and to the
long path of the beach. But by this time there
is no Menhaden to speak of. There are no babies
to be wakened by the whistle; no papas to take
the train. The great beach-path shows no tracks

summer at Menhaden with her sister, Mrs. Gan-
net. Mrs. Gannet had taken one of the cottages.
Aunt Emily could draw a little, as many young
ladies do. Not so very well, perhaps; but so well
that her friends said she must keep on."
She had brought her summer's sketches with
her on her return to her home with the Robinsons,
who lived in the country. The children found
them on the table one evening during the Christ-
mas holidays. They made a circle of heads and
bright, bent faces around the lamp, and began turn-
ing over the drawings. Is that all ? they said,
when they had come to the last one. The children
always expected more of Aunt Emily's pencil than
it had ever been able to accomplish. Repeated
disappointments had not taught them its short-
comings. Besides, children, as a rule, think in col-
ors; when they imagine a place, they see the blue
sky and the colors of the houses and the people's


clothes. The Menhaden sketches were in black
and white. Aunt Emily felt obliged to do some-
thing to save the show from being a total failure.
She took up the first sketch and tried to supply its
deficiencies with words. The sandy road, which
looked as if it were on its way across the marshes,
went in reality only to the tram-way station. The
man was Peter, and the cart, Peter's cart. His
horse was called Neighbor," and was a bright bay
in color. The water-barrels were painted blue.
Did n't they think blue was the very cleanest and

shall never know where they went to !" Could n't
she ask some one? the children suggested. No,
because some one would tell her they went to
Hempstead or to Freeport. When we go sailing
in the meadows, we '11 not go to Hempstead, will
we, Lucy? and we '11 not go 'outside' and fish for
anything; and we '11 not go ashore and creep about
in the marshes and shoot at anything; we will just
sail and sail, and if the wind stops we will stop "
"And eat our dinner in the boat," said Lucy.
"A very good idea, too !" Aunt Emily agreed,

----- ---- ----- -----------

best color for a water-barrel; could they think of
any other color that held water better? The chil-
dren were not disposed to dwell on this question.
Were those Aunt Kate's black stockings ? No, they
were part of the Wetherels' clothes. They had so
many! The Wetherel clothes-line always had its
colors displayed. There were the ample garments
of the papa and mamma, like the National Ensign,
and there were the lively Union Jacks flying, the
emblems of all the little Wetherels of various sizes.
Those gray shadows on the side of the sand hills
were in reality masses of a pink flower called the
Sabatia. All the cottage parlors and dinner-tables
were dressed with it while it was in blossom. And
the sail-boats -"It gives me a pang when I think
of the sail-boats," Aunt Emily said, and those
strips of water that went somewhere up through the
salt meadows,--we never once followed them I

and with that they turned to another sketch,-The
foggy-day sketch, and the cottages, half-hidden by
the slope of the beach. It was the last of Sep-
tember, Aunt Emily explained. Menhaden had
begun to look lonesome, as if it were lost on
that great stretch of barren beach. The hotel was
closed, and the cottages,-all but four, and in two
of these the people were packing their trunks.
Hammocks had been taken down from the piazzas,
and curtains from the windows. The ladies were
saying good-bye to one another, and hoping to see
one another next winter, in town, and saying what
a happy summer it had been, and how well the
children were, and what a pity it was to go away
just as a fire on the hearth was so pleasant, and
the marshes were getting such a color, and the
sunsets were so perfectly wonderful! There were
no more lawn-tennis and archery on the strip of

'4 ....'-'j-Ri40-

- it- -






sunlit sand in front of the cottages; no white-
armed girls, in bathing dresses, running across it
to the surf; no troops of children clambering up
the sand hills, or racing on the high board walks,
or tending their dolls on the steps that lead down
to the sand. The little summer play was over.
Down falls the curtain of autumn fogs. Only one
belated mamma, and one little lonesome child,
left outside, as it were, between the drop-curtain
and the footlights, which we might consider, if one
chose to keep on with such fancies, the long,
flashing lines of surf,- the one positive light in the
gray, dull picture.
Ever so far down the shore some young fellows
in knickerbockers, with low-pointed guns, are
crouching along, trying to get a shot at the flocks
of sandpipers. Out of the cottage called "Bright
Light" comes a young girl in a dark dress, with
braids of fair hair hanging down her back; she
climbs the little slope and clasps the flag-pole with
one arm, swinging slowly around and around it,
and looking out toward the ocean. Perhaps she is
bidding it good-bye. Now she leans away from
the pole, at the length of her slender arm, and
looks up at the sky, as a canary-bird will lean from
its perch and peer upward toward the roof of its
cage. Then she goes in the house, and the next
figure that comes out against the fog-curtain is
the pretty nurse-maid from cottage No. 5. She,
too, is bare-headed and fair-haired, with a long,
white apron blowing out from her neat waist, and a
pair of solidly turned arms uncovered to the elbow.
Her hands are pink, as if from washing., She is
looking for the youngest child, whom they call
"Babes." Babes is nowhere to be seen, and so
she goes in. The fog grows thicker and darker.
The cottages look like a procession of shadows.
Aunt Emily's paper gets sticky, her india ink is full
of sand, and a boy in jerseys comes prancing down
the beach, and scatters a lot of sand over the
"That's me," says the unconcerned Alfred,
Aunt Kate's eldest, who has come with Aunt
Emily dn a visit to his cousins.
I wish me' would take his elbows out of my
work-basket," the mother protests.
Alfred removes his elbows from the basket, and
plants them contentedly on one of Aunt Emily's
crayon drawings.
This boy has more elbows," Aunt Emily says,
taking his blonde, close-cropped head under her
arm, and more boot-heels than any boy I know !"
Alfred twists his head out of its yoke, and moves
farther off.
"Why don't you tell about that walk?" he
What walk? There were so many."

"The one we took. Down to the old wreck."
Well, then," Aunt Emily continued, "I sent
Alfred up to the house with my things and walked
on down the beach, and after a while he caught
up with me-"
After a while It was n't two minutes."
"After two minutes, then, we were tramping
together down the shore. It was low, low water;
" dead low water," the fishermen say. The beach
was broad, and it sloped like the deck of a ship.
The sand was firm, and yet soft enough to give a
little spring to the step. Alfred is now a very good
height to walk with; his head comes nearly to my
shoulder,' and he can keep step, even when he
is n't thinking about it. He does n't talk much,
but that morning the waves broke softly, with little
pauses, and we heard them saying 'Hush, hush,
hush-s-s-sh!' all down the shore- "
"Aunt Emily !" said Alfred, the truth-teller,
staring at the narrator when she made this extra-
ordinary statement.
"Did n't you hear them, Alfred? You must
have been thinking about the crab in your trou-
sers pocket." (The children laughed at this-
all except Alfred.) "For you know there are
quiet days on the beach," Aunt Emily continued,
"and there are talking and laughing and shout-
ing days. This was n't one of the shouting days.
When the tide is out and the beach is bare and
the sun is hidden, so one can look about with
eyes wide open, the shore is like a story-book.
But it takes a wise reader to read that book;
wiser than any of us, I 'm afraid. Every little
shell that leaves its print in the sand has its own
story; its parents and its home and its queer,
silent habits of life, as unchangeable as our own.
Every draggled bit of sea-weed could tell us won-
derful things about those floating gardens where
it grew. The wave-marks tell how the waves
pushed one another, and trod on one another, as
they crowded up the beach; but all this pushing
and hustlingwas done very smoothly and softly. The
signs of it are not much like the foot-prints of a
crowd of human feet trampling the sand; they
are faint tracings making a continuous pattern in
curves, like all the sea patterns-one curve inter-
rupting another, or overlapping it. The beach
looks like a perfect waste, strewn with tangles
of eel-grass and sown with shells. But everything
is done by law. The wind that piles up the sand
into hills, and the waves that tear it down, even
when they are doing their wildest work, work by
law. The dunes on those south beaches grow
higher and steeper from east to west, showing the
direction of the heaviest winds. They fit the shore
as your nose fits your face." (The children all
look at one another's noses.) However they may,



be, you can not imagine them any different in that
particular place. The beach-grass fits the sand
it grows out of. Fancy those silky, dark-green
meadow-grasses on top of the sand dunes. How


I '

back. Dal, bring your specimens; perhaps you
have captured one of their sisters or a cousin."
Dallas, a boy of thirteen, the eldest of the
group, brought his latest entomological specimens,

0 i'

. .-'' '. .
. : , . ,, _

l -


foolish they would look, and how much less ex-
pression they would have in a high wind. Every-
thing perfectly fits every other thing on the shore;
but besides that beauty of harmony, there is the
other, perhaps more thrilling, beauty of contrast.
I used to think of that when we met the baby
toddling over the sand. He is just beginning to
walk,.making little rushes, with both hands out,
and then stopping and tottering on his feet a
second, and sitting down very suddenly. His eyes
are brown, and his hair is like thistle-down. His
tracks in the sand are about so long I You never
saw anything so lovely, and so helpless, and so
bravely unconscious of its own helplessness." Aunt
Emily was talking now to the children's mamma,
who smiled over her sewing, thinking not so much
of contrasts as of the little nephew she had never
seen, and how happy his mother must be with
Could you think of anything more out of place
on that bare, sand beach than a baby or a butter-
fly?" Aunt Emily continued. "We found two
butterflies that day, dead, with their wings folded

pinned on the under side of a white paper-box
cover. Aunt Emily recognized at once a relative
of the ill-fated Menhaden butterflies. Its color
was a deep orange-brown, veined with black, and
spotted with white to make it more splendid. One
of its fan-shaped wings would have made a gor-
geous painted window for a fairy's palace. Dal
informed the company that this was called the
Archippus butterfly. The children protested
against that name. They considered it too ugly
for anything.
Mamma looked up from her work and wondered
if it were not the children's bed-time.
There was a groan of remonstrance from the
"Let us finish the walk," Aunt Emily begged.
"You know of course that butterflies do not live on
beaches any more than babies do. They are waifs
from the land. The land breeze blows them out
to sea-the butterflies, not the babies-and they
can not 'beat' back with their frail wings. The
tide had carried our butterflies in. But when we
saw them they were quite dry; their wings stirred



a little, as if there might be a flutter of life left.
We found another messenger from the inland, a
willow-leaf, turned a yellowish pink. The north
wind had brought it to us, across the treeless
marshes, to tell us summer was gone, and we too
had better pack up and go; or perhaps to remind
us that the woods would soon be as beautiful as
the shore."
"And we saw the life-saving man's tracks,"
Alfred interrupted. "We went to see them drill
one morning early. But they did not drill that
time. Then another morning we went-but the
drill did n't begin for ever so long. We found
some flowers and a wild-bean vine, with little beans
and blossoms on it, and some of those grasses with
queer tops. But the mosquitoes were so thick in
the marshes, we had to get out of there pretty
quick. We climbed up on the sand hills where the
wind blew. And we coasted down the steepest
side -"
"But the drill, Alfred," interrupted Lucy.
The drill was when they opened the big doors
and ran out the surf-boat -three men on a side.
Then they got hold of the ropes and dragged out
the mortar-car."

"But you are not the only listener, Dal,"
Mamma said.
Aunt Emily explained to Lucy as well as she
could how a ball, with a line fastened to it, is fired
from the mortar out over the wrecked ship. The
sailors on the ship seize the line, and by means of
it they haul aboard the hawser which the surf-men
send out to them, and make their end of it fast.
They know just how to manage these ropes, because
tied to the "whip-line" is a "tally-board," on which
are printed directions in different languages for the
handling of the ropes and the hauling-tackle.
The men on the beach fasten their end of the
hawser to the sand-anchor and tighten it, so there
is no slack; then they prop it up high above the
surf by means of a wooden crotch, so it makes a
kind of rope bridge between the vessel and the
shore. Then the surf-men send out the "breeches-
buoy"- a pair of big canvas knee-breeches, made
water-tight, and with an air-filled roll of canvas,
which comes up under the arms and acts like a
"That is for old sailors," said Alfred. "They
have a 'life-car' for the women and children."
Aunt Emily remarked that the men went through

-' L
- L:u

r '.P -.

"Oh, I know all about that!" Dallas inter- the drill with great deliberation. They did not
ejected. "I read about that in a magazine one make it in the least dramatic. But these same
winter. And there was a picture of the men draw- men, who lounged through the life-saving drill
ing the mortar-car along the beach in a storm." on a bright summer morning, with a group of


ladies and children looking on, would be the
very ones to strain every nerve, on the winter
beach, working for the crew of a ship ashore in
the surf.
"The most beautiful place on the shore is just
beyond the wreck," Aunt Emily went on. The
beach swings out in a great shining curve, shaped
like the blade of a scythe, with the edge toward
the water. And the waves topple over and fall in
swaths of foamy ripples when they touch the beach.
The curve runs out in a long, low sand-spit. Just
behind it the sun sets, and the most wonderful
skies lean down, so low, it seems as if the path of
the beach led right into them. Going west, you
feel as if you could walk forever, with that sky
before you; but when you face the other way, sud-
denly you feel very far from home. The east is a
cold dark-blue-an evening blue. The cottages,
too, are so far away they look like a toy village
some child has set up on the beach and left there,
forgetting to put them back in their box. We
never felt tired going west, so we always went too
far. Then the tide would come in and drive us up
the beach where the sand is soft, and we would fag
along and stop sometimes to rest, and lie flat on
the beach, and feel as if we were afloat between
sky and water. It was hard to get up again and
go on after those blissful rests. It was a kind of
pilgrim's progress all the way home. And some-
times we met two 'shining ones' coming toward
us to tell us we were late, and dinner was waiting."
Now, tell 'em about the 'new wreck,' Alfred
said, in his character of assistant showman.
"'Aunt Emily had better hire a hall," said Dallas,
who was promptly reproved by his mamma.
"Well, about the last of July we had a 'dry
south-wester.' They did not call it a storm. Your
Uncle Walton said, 'You don't call this a wind!
If it should start up now and blow, you could n't
stand on this walk !' We did n't stand; we leaned,
and held on to our hats. The sand was flying in
a stinging shower. Everything seemed to have
turned pale. The spray hung like a fog over the
ocean, and as far as one could see, the water was
in a gray tumult. The grasses on the sand dunes
were blowing as if they were tearing themselves out
by the roots. Everybody who had n't been driven
indoors hunted for a 'lee.' We took it all as a
kind of lark; I 'm afraid we even-wanted it to blow
harder. About the time the ladies who had been
taking naps began to dress for dinner, somebody
discovered that bit of wreck--just a darker gray
spot against the mist that hid the horizon. And
then the whole place went wild. The beach is very
shoal and the heaviest seas broke far out. The crew
had been having their struggle for life out there in
plain sight of the shore, while we all were looking

on as if it were a play. The boat had capsized,
and the two men had been clinging to it and
washing about there for hours. If it had been a
larger vessel, and grounded farther out, there would
have been a tragedy, very likely; for the life-
saving station was not open then. It was a little
fishing-sloop. As they drifted in, the mast broke
off, and somehow the floating mast and the sail
clinging to it helped them to keep the boat straight
for the shore. They came up the beach into
water waist deep. But once the people found out
what was going on, they made the most of it. They
were sure it was a genuine shipwreck. The hotel
fairly emptied itself out on the beach,-first the
big boys and men. There were n't many men,
for the 'husbands' train' was not in yet. Then
the ladies, with their bangs blowing straight out
in front, and the waiters in their aprons,-the
porters, the cooks, and the scullions,- and a few
heavy-footed men, like fishermen, who followed
along after the rest, and seemed to know that the
real danger was over, and that the men would get
ashore all right if only the crowd did n't suffocate
them with their sympathy.
"The captain was a quiet, manly fellow. They
tried to make a hero of him; but he was thinking
of his boat more than of himself. He did not even
come ashore at first, but stood in the surf doing
what he could for the poor desperate thing. He
would not take the brandy they offered him. He
never had touched it, he said very pleasantly, and
he did not need it then. But if brandy could
have revived the wounded sloop, no doubt he
would have accepted the 'last measure' of Men-
haden's best. He was the guest of one of the
cottages that night. Not a very lively guest, per-
haps. He had escaped with his life, and no doubt
he was thankful, as the bravest and most self-
reliant men are not ashamed to be. But his boat
was gone, and with it a good many years' work,
and two or three hundred dollars besides, the price
of his last cargo. The contrast must have been
rather cruel between his own outlook and the easy,
graceful, summer holiday life of his entertainers."
I don't believe he was thinking about them at
all, or troubling himself about comparisons,"
Mamma said. "He was probably thinking only
about his people at home, and what he would do
next. Your sloop captain was a man of action."
"All the same, I wont have my picturesque little
situation spoiled. Can't you fancy him steering
his way cautiously through the courses of the Mau-
rins' dinner? And he must have worn some of
Mr. Maurin's clothes."
"Ah, well, Lucy is sleepy. She does n't care
about the captain, now we have him safe




Lucy and Alfred must go to bed," said Mamma. ered his spirits as soon as he went to work upon his
-"Arewe tired of the captain, too? Aunt Emily boat. Perhaps they liked his looks, too. He had a
asked, when the children had gone.
I think we could hear a little more
about him, if you can," Mamma replied.
They heard him about two o'clock ijj
next morning, tramping about in his 1
room overhead. The gentlemen at I
Menhaden made up a handsome
purse for him, but he would not take
it. He had no family of his own, he
said. His brothers did their share
toward keeping a comfortable place
for their mother and a sister who was
lame. Perhaps he was a little ungra-
cious, but then he had nothing left
but his pride, and why should he
take their money? When they urged
it upon him, he only laughed and
said: 'Keep it for my widow. I may
not be so lucky next time.'
"The week after the wreck I spent I
elsewhere. When I came back, the
captain's affairs had taken a turn. The
boat, it seems, was not past mending.
They had 'beached her,' and three
or four 'longshore-men, friends of the ,
captain, and captains or ex-captains
themselves to a man, I 've no doubt,
were at work upon the boat, calking
her seams, I believe. Whatever it was
they were doing, they seemed to be
taking their time about it. Every
morning, when the children were run-
ning about in their night-gowns, try-
ing not to get dressed for breakfast,
they were on the watch for the 'boat
captains,' as they called them. At this .
hour they were generally to be seen
tramping over the sand from their
camp on the inlet. Their long shad-
ows reached before them a long way,
like a path they were following. The
boat was held down to the beach by
hawsers. She leaned on her ways, and I .
looked very despondent on those bright '.
mornings. She grew to seem very hu- I'l 41
man to us. The boat and the boat's
captain were great favorites at Men- '' I 1
haden. The young fellows who ran 'II, ,"
about in their bathing-suits, showing I,
their white, boyish muscles, could not I
help admiring this brown viking of 1 M
the fishing-smack,' and remembered GOING OUT TO PLAY IN THE
his pluck the night he came ashore.
The .girls liked him for his misfortunes, which they fine profile, and quite a high-bred line from the
probably exaggerated, for the captain had recov- back of his head to the nape of his neck."


"You seem to have looked at the captain,"
Mamma remarked.
"I look at everything; don't you? And I enjoy
everything I look at, I 'm happy to say, if it is only
good of its kind.
"The captain, I am sure, was one of the cleanest,
and bravest, and best of his kind. The girls would
have made a pet of him, no doubt, as they did of
his boat, but they were rather afraid of his short
answers and long silences, and his way of not
appearing to see them when they were around.
"After the boat was mended they waited weeks

before they could get her off through the surf.
The wind was wrong, or the tide, or there was too
much surf, or too much wind, or both. The chil-
dren clambered over her all day, and in the even-
ings the young people took their turn. Not one
of the cottage piazzas could make such a pretty
show on moonlight nights as the sloop's deck.
Every one missed her when at last they dragged
her away over the sand on rollers and launched
her in the inlet. So the captain had his summer
at Menhaden with the rest of the cottagers, only
he took his cottage away with him when he went.

(A Bric-d-Brac Ballad.)



.-ID the Greenaway girl at the stile,
Who has always an amiable smile,
To the ivory man who was brought from Japan
(He was sharpening a sword all the while):

I can not understand why you frown! "
I 'm desirous of putting you down,"
He replied. "You 're so new, and your frock is
so blue,
And your sisters are all over town!

" I am ancient" (he stated his age),
" And am said to Exhibit a Stage ;
See the tint of my flesh!" "My complexion's more fresh,"
Answered she, "and my manners engage!"

" I 'm expensive" (he mentioned his price),
" While a dime, I suppose, would suffice
To obtain one of you You '11 excuse me--it 's true "
" Yes, I know," said the maid, "but I 'm nice!"

And I heard them, and straightway decide,
Till the Mongol abandons his pride,
And the maiden reveres his position and years,
They shall stand on the shelf side by side.


1884J MIKKEL. 125

YouR Holrz F,irT: *Iil i Ti-IE EAST-
==- SHIREt EE lI&CF-,EA3vI..

YoutR HORNS iOi'rrT T),'(WD ThiL WEST-

iNE+WME- 'AT AT fjt -





WHEN Thor was twelve years old, he had to go
out into the world to make his own living; for
his parents were poor, and they had half a dozen
younger children, who also had to be fed and clothed.
As it happened, Judge Nannestad, who lived on a
large estate down at the fiord, wanted an office-
boy, and as Thor was a bright and active lad, he
had no difficulty in obtaining the situation. The
only question was, how to dispose of Mikkel; for,
to be frank, Mikkel (in spite of his many admi-
rable traits) was not a general favorite, and Thor
suspected that when his protector was away Mikkel
would have a hard time of it. He well knew
that-Mikkel was of a peculiar temperament, which
required to be studied in order to be appreciated,
and as there was no one but himself who took this
trouble, he did not wonder that his friend was gen-
erally misunderstood. Mikkel's was not a nature to
invite confidences; he scrupulously kept his own
counsel, and was always alert and on his guard.
There was a bland expression on his face, a kind
of lurking smile, which never varied, and which
gave absolutely no clew to his thoughts. When

he had skimmed the cream off the milk-pans on
the top shelf in the kitchen, he returned, licking
his chops, with the same inscrutable smile, as if his
conscience were as clean as a new-born babe's; and
when he had slipped his collar over his head and
dispatched the kitten, burying its remains in the
back yard, he betrayed no more remorse than if
he had been cracking a nut. Sultan, the dog,
strange to say, had private reasons for being afraid
of him, and always slank away in a shamefaced
manner whenever Mikkel gave him one of his
quiet sidelong glances. And yet the same Mikkel
would roll on his back and jump and play with the
baby by the hour, seize her pudgy little hands
gently with his teeth, never inflicting a bite or a
scratch. He would nestle on Thor's bosom inside
of his coat while Thor was learning his lesson, or
he would sit on his shoulder and look down on the
book with his superior smile. It was not to be
denied that Mikkel had a curious character -an
odd mixture of good and bad qualities; but as, in
Thor's judgment, the good were by far the more
prominent, he would not listen to his father's ad-
vice and leave his friend behind him when he went
down to the judge's at the grand estate.
It was the day after New-year's that Thor left
the cottage up under the mountain, and, putting



on his skees,* slid down the steep hill-side to the
fiord. Mikkel was nestling, according to his
wont, in the bosom of his master's coat, while his
pretty head, with the clean dark snout and dark
mustache, was sticking out above the boy's collar,
just under his chin. Mikkel had never been so
far away from home before, and he concluded that
the world was a bigger affair than he had been
aware of.
It was with a loudly thumping heart that Thor
paused outside the door of the judge's office,
for he greatly feared that the judge might share
the general prejudice against Mikkel, and make
difficulties about his board and lodgings. Instead
of entering, he went to the pump in the yard and
washed his friend's face carefully and combed his
hair with the fragment of a comb with which his
mother had presented him at parting. It was
important that Mikkel should appear to advantage,
so as to make a good impression upon the judge,
And really he did look irresistible, Thor thought,
with his bright, black eyes, his dainty paws, and
his beautiful red skin. He felt satisfied that if the
judge had not a heart of stone he could not help
being captivated at the sight of so lovely a creat-
ure. Thor took courage and knocked at the door.
"Ah, you are our new office-boy," said the
judge, as he entered; but what is that you have
under your coat ?"
It is Mikkel, sir, please your Honor," stam-
mered Thor, putting the fox on the floor, so as to
display his charms. But hardly had he taken his
hands off him, when a sudden scrambling noise
was heard in the adjoining office, and a large
hound came bounding with wild eyes and drooping
tongue through the open door. With lightning
speed Mikkel leaped up on the judge's writing-
desk, scattering his writing materials, upsetting an
inkstand by an accidental whisk of his tail, be-
spattering the honorable gentleman's face and
shirt-front with the black fluid. To perform a
similar service-on the next desk, where a clerk was
writing, to jump from there to the shoulder of
a marble bust, which fell from its pedestal down
on the hound's head and broke into a dozen
pieces, and to reach a place of safety on the top of
a tall book-case were all a moment's work. The
hound lay- howling with a wounded nose on the
floor. The judge stood scowling at his desk, rub-
bing the ink all over his face with his handker-
chief, and Mikkel sat smiling on the top of the
book-case, surveying calmly the ruin which he had
wrought. But the most miserable creature in the
room was neither the judge, with his black face,

nor the hound, with the bleeding nose; it was
Thor, who stood trembling at the door, expecting
that something still more terrible would happen.
And knowing that after having caused such a com-
motion his place was forfeited, he held out his
arms to Mikkel, who accepted the invitation, and
with all speed at their disposal they rushed out
through the door and away over the snowy fields,
scarcely knowing whither their feet bore them.
After half an hour's run, when he had no more
breath left, Thor seated himself on a tree-stump
and tried to collect his thoughts. What should he
now do? Where should he turn ? Go home he
could not; and if he did, it would be the end of
Mikkel. The only thing he could think of was to
go around in the parish, from farm to farm, until
he found somebody who would give him something
to do.
"I hope you will appreciate, my.dear Mikkel,"
he said to his fox, "that it is on your account I
have all this trouble. It was very naughty of you
to behave so badly, and if you do it again I shall
have to whip you! Do you understand that,
Mikkel ?"
Mikkel looked sheepish, which plainly showed
that he understood.
"Now, Mikkel," Thor continued, "we will go
to the parson; perhaps he may have some use for
us. What do you think of trying the parson ? "
Mikkel apparently thought well of the parson,
for he licked his master behind his ear and rubbed
his snout against his cheek. Accordingly, by noon
they reached the parsonage, and after a long parley
with the pastor's wife, he was engaged as a sort of
errand-boy, whose duty it should be to do odd jobs
about the house. Mikkel was to have a kennel pro-
vided for him in the stable, but was under no cir-
cumstances to enter the house. Thor had to vouch
for his good behavior, and the moment he made
himself in any way obnoxious it was decided that
he should be killed. Poor Thor had nominally to
accept these hard conditions, but in his own mind
he determined to run away with Mikkel the
moment he was caught in any kind of mischief.
It seemed very hard for Mikkel, too, who had been
accustomed to sleep in Thor's arms in his warm bed,
to be chained, and to spend the long, dark nights
in the stable in a miserable kennel. Nevertheless,
there was no help for it; so Thor went to work
that same afternoon and made Mikkel as comfort-
able a kennel as he could, taking care to make the
hole which served for entrance no bigger than it
had to be, so that no dog or other enemy should
be able to enter.

(To be concluded.).
Norwegian snow-shoes, made to slide over the surface of the snow. They are nearly six feet long, about the breadth of the foot, and
polished on the under side. In the middle there is a band for the foot, and sometimes a little knob to steady the heel. They have to
be made of tough wood, well seasoned.





'" .

j. -

.. .. 3
~ I- =i~tOxc~ kr-rs ~ m-; -




IT is not by any means a humble city to which
I am now about to conduct you; it is an old city,
which from time to time has been as proud as any
in the world; it is Genoa, called by the Italians
La Superba, because of its many magnificent pal-
aces, and because of its imposing appearance, as
it rises in terraces above its bay on the side of a
crescent-shaped hill. It was called Genoa, so say
the people who make it their business to look into
these things, from the Latin word genu, a knee;
because at the place where the city stands, the land
is bent around the water so as to give the latter
the shape of a bended knee.
As I have said, Genoa has been a proud city.
As far back as the days of the Romans it was an
important sea-port. It was independent, and gov-

erned itself, and its power increased greatly. Other
towns looked up to it for protection against the
Saracen pirates; and it acquired possession, not
only of islands in the Mediterranean, but of lands
and ports in the East; its commerce was very
extensive, and it took a prominent part in the
crusades. It made war against Pisa, and utterly
defeated the navy of that city; and there is reason
to'believe that the great tower of Pisa has never
stood up straight since.
But, in spite of its wealth and its power, Genoa
has been obliged to bend the knee about as
often as any city that I know of. In the tenth
century it knelt down to the Saracens, who cap-
tured it; and afterward it bent its knee to Venice,
its great rival in commerce. For many years its
nobles were arrayed against each other as Guelphs
and Ghibellines, and whenever either party was
defeated, it would call in some foreign power to
help it; and in this way the city, at different times,

* For a description of the Pont du Gard, see the opening paper of this series in the last number of ST. NICHOLAS.


fell under the control of various kings and princes
of Europe. The Turks took away its Eastern
possessions, and long afterward it was captured by
Germany, and was twice taken possession of by
France. It now belongs to the United Kingdom
of Italy. But, although it is no longer independent,
Genoa stands up very erect in its own estimation;
and it has a right to do so, for it is the first com-
mercial city in Italy.
Genoa is a bright and lively place, where the
people seem to keep awake all day, and there are
a great many things to see there. An American
boy or girl could not go into any part of the city
without finding something interesting. We will
first visit some of the palaces, and on our way we
will pass through the street of the goldsmiths.
Genoa is almost as much celebrated for a peculiar
kind of gold and silver work as it is for its palaces,
and we shall wish to stop and look at the shop
windows in this busy little street. There are
no sidewalks, but the whole street is a footway
paved with large smooth flag-stones, and if a car-
riage or wagon appears in it, it moves slowly among
the people. Nearly every little shop belongs to a
goldsmith, as they are called, although they work
more in silver than in gold, and the productions
of these artisans consist almost entirely of small
articles and ornaments made of fine silver wiie,
often gilded, and woven into the most delicate and
beautiful shapes. Work like this is not to be seen
in such perfection anywhere as in Genoa. Some
of the shops are entirely open in front, so that you
can stand in the street and look at the large cases
filled with this fairy-like gold and silver work, and
if you wish to buy some of the articles, you will
find that they are not at all costly.
From this street we turn into another, with tall
houses on each side, and shops and people every-
where. We soon pass an immense house which
was once a palace, but is now used for other pur-
poses. Looking up, we see that one of the great
windows in the second story is open, and a lady is
sitting at it. She is dressed in very bright, though
somewhat old-fashioned, attire. Flowers and vines
cluster inside the window, and there is a hanging
cage with a bird. As we stop and look at her, the
lady does not move, and in a few minutes we per-
ceive that the window, the lady, the open shutters,
the sash, the flowers, and the cage are all painted
on the wall in a space where you would naturally
expect to find a window. This used to be a favorite
way of decorating houses in Italy, and in Genoa we
shall frequently see these painted windows, some
closed, and some partly open, some with one per-
son looking out, some with two, and some with
none. The lady at this window has sat and looked
out on the street for hundreds of years. Under

her window, into the great entrance of the palace,
used to pass nobles and princes. Now there are
shops in the lower part of the palace, and you can
have your shoes mended by a cobbler in the court-
We soon reach the street which contains the
greatest number of palaces, and which is now
called the Via Garibaldi; and here we should
stop to take a look at the outside of some of
the palaces of the Middle Ages. They are but
little injured by time, and look very much as they
did when they were inhabited by the nobles of
the sixteenth century. One of the first things
which will strike some of us in regard to these
palaces is the total absence of front doors, or
doors opening on the street. It is not the custom
in Europe to build houses of any pretension with
doors on a public thoroughfare. These great
Genoese palaces, often five or six stories high,
are built around a central court, which is entered
by an archway from the street. Carriages go
through this archway, and people walk through it,
and they find doors enough when they get into
the court-yard, which is often large and hand-
some, and adorned with fountains and statuary.
The ground floor is devoted to offices, and serv-
ants. On what we would consider the second story,
but which in Europe is called the first floor, these
palaces frequently contain great picture-galleries,
consisting of long suites of rooms filled with valu-
able paintings; and in the third, fourth, and
sometimes even in the fifth story, are the domes-
tic apartments of the family. These palaces are
as large as our great hotels, and there are no
elevators to take people to the upper floors; but
Europeans do not mind going upstairs; and the
upper floors are often considered the most desirable
of all.
The staircases, which sometimes open from the
court and sometimes from the inside of the
building, are great features of Genoese palaces,
many of which are worth going to see simply
on account of their grand and imposing stair-
ways, which have been designed by celebrated
architects. They are always of marble or stone,
and this fashion prevails in large houses all over
southern Europe. An Italian lady once said to me
that she had heard a very strange thing about
America, and that was that our staircases were
built of wood; and when I told her that was the
case, she said she did not see how we could ever
be willing to go to sleep in a house with wooden
stair-ways; for, if they were to take fire, how
could we get out? Houses on the continent of
Europe are much safer than ours in case of fire.
In Italy it is seldom that a large dwelling is
burned down; for as walls, floors, and stairs are



almost entirely stone or brick, there is very little
to burn.
We can not go into all the palaces in this street;
for, although it is quite short, it contains over a
dozen of them. Some of the Genoese palaces
are still occupied by members of the noble fami-
lies for whom they were built in the sixteenth

tures, and find other floors, and seemingly endless
suites of other rooms, many of them of much
beauty and magnificence,-we wonder how one
family could ever have needed so many rooms,
and so grand a house that must have cost so much
money. But we must remember that these nobles
had great numbers of servants and adherents, who


century, but visitors are generally admitted to
portions of all of them, especially the picture-
galleries. As we walk through room after room
of these immense edifices, the walls covered with
valuable pictures and the ceilings painted by
celebrated artists, and then mount grand stair-
ways adorned with ancient and modern sculp-
VOL. XII.-9.

all lived in the palace; and they entertained, be-
sides, many visitors, so that their families were
very much larger than any of those to which we are
accustomed, even the very richest and most im-
portant of us. One of the grandest palaces in this
street is now called the Palazzo del Municipio, for
it belongs to the city. Another magnificent one



is the Palazzo Rosso, so called because it is built
of red stone; and, nearly opposite, is the Palazzo
Bianco, or white palace.
But the Via Garibaldi, called in old times the
Via Nuova, or new street, does not contain, by
any means, all the great palaces of Genoa. In the
Via Balbi, near by, are many of these palatial build-
ings, and, among them, the Royal Palace, which
is occupied by the King and Queen of Italy when
they happen to be in Genoa. In the great en-
trance archway we see some soldiers and a porter,
or custodian, dressed in uniform; and if we look
as if we would give him a franc when we come out,
this latter personage will conduct us through the
palace, provided, of course, that the royal owners,
who usually reside in Rome, are not there. We all
wish to know how kings and queens live, and so
we go through the rooms of this palace; the grand
saloons, and the smaller ones, the dining-halls the
Queen's bed-chamber, and the King's bed-chamber.
Here is the furniture they use, and the beds they
sleep on. Everything is very sumptuous and hand-
some, but we notice that the King's bedstead,
which is of iron, richly gilt, looks old, with some
of the ornaments rubbed off. If King Humbert
were one of our rich men, he would probably have
a new bedstead; but, as he does not come very
often to Genoa, he doubtless considers this good
enough. I think you all will agree that in this
palace, as well as in many others, there is nothing
that seems to us very cozy, according to our ideas
of such things. The floors are of rich marble, or
tiles, and the furniture, though magnificent and
costly, appears stiff and too orderly. But in win-
ter carpets and rugs are laid down, no doubt; and
when the King and Queen are here the tables and
chairs are probably pulled around a little and
things appear more homelike.
In the Pallavacini Palace, which is even finer
than that of the King, after passing through a
number of stately apartments, all cold and splen-
did, we are shown into a sitting-room, occupied by
the family in the afternoons and evenings, which is
carpeted, and looks almost as comfortable as some
of our rooms at home. But among the ornaments
and bric-k-brac in this apartment is a wonderful
silver vase, by the celebrated Benvenuto Cellini,
which is something not to be found in our sitting-
The last palace we shall visit is the Doria Palace,
the most interesting in the city; and on our way
there we meet a gentleman we know. Every one
of us is acquainted with him, and we all feel under
great obligations to him. He is very tall and pale,
but his figure is grand and imposing, and he stands
up high, where everybody can see him. It is
Christopher Columbus,-and where should we

Americans have been without him It gives us a
strange sensation, in this Italian city, with its queer
streets and tall palaces and its unfamiliar sights of
every kind, to come upon this statue of good old
Columbus, whom we have all known so well from
our earliest childhood, and whom we have been
accustomed to look upon somewhat in the light of
the grandfather of our country. The Genoese think
a great deal of Columbus, who was born in this
neighborhood, you may remember, although they
did not do much for him when he was alive. But
there are always people who are willing to honor a
successful man after some one else has given him a
chance to show what he can do. At the foot of the
statue is a kneeling figure representing our country
thanking Columbus for having discovered her;
and the whole stands in a beautiful open square.
There are other mementos of Columbus in the
city, and in the Municipal Palace two of his letters
are preserved.
At a little distance stands the palace to which
we are going, which was presented by the city, in
the year 1522, to the famous Admiral Andrea
Doria, who, by his naval victories, gave peace and
safety to Genoa, and who was called the Father
of his Country. The Admiral was not far from
sixty years old when this grand palace was pre-
sented to him, and it might have been supposed
that he would not have many years in which to
enjoy it. But the situation seems to have agreed
very well with him, for he lived to the age of ninety-
five. This palace is somewhat different in plan
from the others in Genoa; and we first enter a long
portico, or loggia, which looks out upon an exten-
sive and beautiful garden with summer-houses.
Mounting to the first floor, we walk into the
great entrance-hall, on the walls and ceiling of
which are fresco-paintings by Del Vaga, a famous
pupil of Raphael. We enter room after room,
with the ceilings and walls covered with paint-
ings and decorations; and one of these, a small
apartment, is so painted as to give the idea
that it is partly in ruins. There are vacant
places in the ceiling from which stones seem to
have tumbled out, vines creep through wide
crevices, and on the top of broken places in the
walls there sit owls and other birds. A person, not
understanding the fancies and freaks of old-time
architects and artists, might be a little startled on
entering this room, and might imagine that if he
shook the floor with his tread the walls and roof
would come tumbling down upon him. In an
apartment, called the Titan Hall, is a portrait of
the old Admiral and his favorite cat, wherein the
cat looks as if she enjoyed the palace quite as
much as her master. Here, too, are the chairs in
which Doria used to sit, and many other articles




of his furniture. On one side of the house is a
long room, the outer wall of which is of glass.
Here the old gentleman could walk up and down
when the sun shone, and look out upon his great
gardens and his villa, which stood upon a terraced
hill opposite, as well as upon the beautiful harbor
of Genoa, and-at the same time-be as comfort-
able as if he were sitting before the fire. This
palace still belongs to members of the Admiral's
family, but they live in a vast square palace in
Opening from one of the piazzas or squares,
which are found everywhere in Genoa, is a little
street called a salita, which is probably different
from any street you ever saw before. It is but a
few feet wide, and consists of a series of broad
steps, paved with cobble-stones, which lead us
downward for a long distance to a little piazza
nearly surrounded by tall houses; on one side of
which stands the small dark church of San Mattco.
This is where old Admiral Doria used to go to
church. Over the altar hangs the long sword he
once wore, and in a vault below he is buried.
The little church is filled with beautiful sculptures
and works of art, and on the outside are many
inscriptions relating to the Doria family, some of
whom attended service here at least two centuries
before the Admiral was born.
There are a good many churches in Genoa,
and most of them are very different from this dark
little building. One of them, the Cathedral, is a very
large and old edifice, built of black and white mar-
ble, and in it, carefully guarded, is a cup or vase,
said to be the Holy Grail, or the cup used by
Christ and his disciples at the Last Supper. This
was captured in the Holy Land, by the Genoese,
during the Crusades. People who wish to believe
that this cup is the Holy Grail, do so, and those
who do not, do not. Another church, Santa An-
nunziata, which is now attended by the rich people
of Genoa, is gorgeously ornamented, and has
the greater portion of its ceiling covered with pure
When we enter any of these churches we do not
open a door, but are obliged to push aside a corner
of a great heavy leather curtain, which hangs in
the door-way. There is always an old woman or a
poor old man to pull aside this curtain for us, in
exchange for a copper; and inside we find a sacris-
tan, or sexton, fond of a little silver, who will show
us everything in the church.
Genoa is, as I have said, the great commercial
city of Italy, having now outstripped her former
rival, Venice, in this respect; and the large har-
bor is a very lively and interesting place. In
order to see it to the best advantage, we go upon
a broad marble terrace, built high above the

crowded streets, and extending for half a mile
along the harbor. This terrace, which was con.
structed for the purpose of giving the citizens a
promenade by the water-front, where they would
not be interfered with by the crowds of people
and vehicles in that part of the town, is about
forty feet wide, and the floor is very smooth, so that
persons may often be seen here skating on roller-
skates. It is a delightful place on which to enjoy
the fresh sea air, and to look down on the harbor,
stretching far out before us, crowded with steam-
ers, sailing-vessels, and small boats, and shut in by
long moles, or walls, with light-houses on them.
Any one who likes to see sailors can have a fine
opportunity of seeing them in Genoa. In the busy
streets near the harbor are to be found hundreds
of mariners from every part of the world. Here
they stand and sit about and talk and smoke,
and some of the old fellows look as if they had
lived nearly as long as the famous Admiral him-
self. These sailors, many of whom wear red
woolen caps, and gay sashes around their waists,
have often a piratical look; and it is said that it
is not always safe for strangers to wander among
them in certain parts of the town. But there are
so many of us that we can go where we please.
There are plenty of youngsters, boys and girls,
to be seen about the harbor, in which place the
idea probably came into the head of the boy
Columbus that he would like to be a sailor, and
see what was to be seen in other parts of the
world; and for aught we know, some of the rough-
looking little fellows whom we see sitting on the
posts, or running up and down the stone steps
which, in some places, lead to the higher parts
of the town, may yet turn out to be hardy naviga-
tors. But there are no more continents for them
to discover,- unless, indeed, they go into the
Arctic or Antarctic regions, where the climate, I
fear, would not suit a Genoese.
Near the marble terrace, at one end, is an old
building, which used to be considered one of the
most important houses in the world. It was
the bank of San Giorgio, a great banking-house
of the Middle Ages. In the time of the Crusades
it furnished money to the bold knights who went
out to recover the Holy Land from the Saracens,
and for centuries it was a most wealthy and power-
ful institution. No matter what happened to the
Republic of Genoa, whether the Guelphs or the
Ghibellines were uppermost, whether she was
ruled by her own nobles, or Doges, or whether
outside potentates were called in to take part in
her government, the great bank of San Giorgio
always stood firm. It owned large possessions in
Corsica and other places, and there was a time
when there was reason to believe that if it had


not been for foreign wars it would have acquired
possession of the whole of the little republic. But
now the old building is no longer a bank, and the
great painting of St. George on horseback, which
adorns the wall facing the sea, has been almost
worn away by the rain and salt breezes of hun-
dreds of years. It is now used as a Custom-house,
and we can go inside and see statues and pictures
of some of the famous men of Genoa; but it is
much more interesting, if we can do it, to imagine
that we see tall knights, with a great cross em-
broidered on their clothes, coming in to talk to
the officers of the bank about the money that is to
take them to Jerusalem.
If we wish to see for ourselves how Genoa ob-
tained its name, we can go to the church of Santa
Maria in Carignano, a stately edifice on a high
hill, and ascend to the upper part of the great
dome. From this high point we can see the whole
city spread out beneath us; the surrounding coun-
try, with its hills, its groves, and its villas, and a
line of fortifications nine miles long, with its forts

and ramparts; while to the south, the bright blue
Mediterranean stretches far away. And when our
eyes have taken in all the landscape we see how
the water comes into the land in the shape of the
bended knee.
When we have walked through the lively and
crowded streets of Genoa; when we have been in
the small piazza in front of the Exchange, filled
with men, talking and clamoring about the price
of stocks and that sort of thing as earnestly as if
they were in Wall street; and when we have vis-
ited the new Galleria Mazzini, a long passage, like
a wide street, used only by foot-passengers, cov-
ered the whole length by a high roof of glass, and
lined on each side by handsome shops, and alto-
gether very agreeable for a walking or shop-
ping expedition in wet weather, we will go to a
place visited by nearly every one who comes to
Genoa, which is not at all lively or bustling, but
very much crowded. This is a cemetery called the
Campo Santo, or Holy Field. But we must post-
pone our journey through this until another time.


1884.] HIS ONE FAULT. 133




THE sun was just beginning to shine over the
wooded hills and hazy pasture-land; for it was now
September, the month of rapidly shortening days.
Kit found a few people astir in the village, and
met two or three teams on the road; but no one
had seen Dandy Jim and his rider. Then a milk-
man overtook him, and gave him a ride of a mile,
but had to turn off on a by-road, while Kit fol-
lowed the tracks. These were fast becoming
obliterated; but by searching carefully at forks
and crossings, he could still see enough of them
to decide which direction the rogue had taken.
He got another ride in a farmer's wagon; and
afterward hung on behind a carriage that was go-
ing his way; thus getting over much of the ground
about as fast, he thought, as if he had a horse of
his own. The morning was pleasant; the air cool
and sweet after the shower; the roadsides were or-
namented with golden-rods and asters; while here
and there a sapling or sumach by the fences, or a
trailing woodbine on the rough stone walls, touched
the landscape with the first bright hues of autumn.
But for the great anxiety attending it, Kit would
have enjoyed his journey, on such a day, amid
these smiling farms.
The road he was on was a great thoroughfare
leading to Boston, forty miles away; and he was
not long in making up his mind that the rogue
had gone thither to dispose of the horse. It was
a discouraging prospect for a boy of sixteen, with
less than a dollar in his pocket, and with no friends,
whose influence he could enlist in his behalf, on
the way or in the city itself. But it would be
something, at least, to know what course Dandy's
rider had taken.
About four miles from home he came to a fork
in the highway, and dropped off from behind the
carriage (not without regret) to trace the tracks.
They had quite disappeared, either obliterated by
the increasing travel or, as Kit thought more
probable, because the thief had turned off on the
turf to baffle pursuit.
He was carefully looking for them in the sand
and in the still wet grass, when a farm-boy came
along, of whom he made the usual inquiry: Have
you seen anything of a man on a dark-brown horse,
almost black, with a braided foretop ?"
"The man almost black, with a braided fore-
top ?" said the young fellow, with a grin.

No; the horse. I can't describe the man,"
replied Kit, irritated by such untimely levity.
I did n't know but you meant the man," said
the fellow; and I did n't want to answer your
question unless I could do it straight and square.
An almost black hoss, with a braided foretop, and
a rider?"
"Yes; with little roundish mottles of a lighter
brown, about as big as your thumb, along the
under side of his body."
"The rider ?" inquired the boy.
"No; the horse," said Kit, indignantly; though
he had wit enough of his own to laugh at the fel-
low's drollery afterward.
"Was he trottin' or canterin' ?-I mean the
hoss," the wag added, as if anxious to avoid fur-
ther misunderstanding.
Kit explained that Dandy was a trotter, being
more accustomed to the harness than the saddle,
but that he could gallop when urged.
"But, trotting or galloping," he demanded,
" have you seen any horse at all?"
Yes, I have."
A dark-brown one? "
"Rather dark; though I did n't notice the
braided foretop and the mottles."
With a rider ?" cried Kit, eagerly.
No, he had n't any rider; he was one of a pair
ahead of a two-hoss wagon," was the disappoint-
ing answer; and Kit turned again to look for the
tracks, angrily resolved to waste no more words
on so unpromising a subject.
What have ye lost ?" said the fellow. Can
I do anything for ye ? "
Not unless you answer my questions seriously,
if you answer them at all. I have lost a horse;
and I should think you might do as you would like
to have me do by you, if you were in my place."
Sho Why did n't you say so before ? I did
n't know you 'd lost a hoss "
You might have known; I was inquiring for
Have you lost a rider, too ? You was inquirin'
for a rider with the hoss."
Kit changed the topic abruptly.
"Which of these two roads goes to Boston?"
he asked.
'"Don't neither on 'em go to Boston; they stay
right where they be," said the funny boy.
That's a pretty old joke," said Kit; and un-
less you can think of a fresh one, you'd better not


try to joke at all. The thief is probably on his way
to Boston, and I want to know which road to take
to find him."
"Take either on 'em, and you '11 most likely
find he 's taken t' other, for they are both roads to
Boston," said the rural joker.
He was speaking the truth about the general
direction of the roads, however; and he afterward
atoned for his impertinence by joining in the search
for Dandy's tracks.
Here; what's this ?" he cried. Kit hastened
to see; and there, cutting through the thin

look for tracks at the crossings they passed. At
one of these a drove of cattle had come into the
highway,-as if they had been invented on purpose,
Kit said, to follow and cover up all traces of the
stolen horse. A mile or two farther on he described
a cloud of dust in the distance, and exclaimed:
"There's the drove of cattle!" The man
touched up his horse, and they soon came up with a
drover, to whom, as he was urging on the laggards
of the herd, Kit put his usual question.
Yes; I 've seen sich a hoss- Whay shoo "
said the drover, cracking his whip at a yearling by

--- L
2 -.;


turf of the roadside into the brown sandy loam
beneath, the prints of Dandy's hoofs re-appeared,
- or some extremely like them.
Thank you ever so much," exclaimed Kit,
heartily forgiving the fellow's waggery. This is
the way he has gone And he was off again.
He next made inquiries and begged a ride of a
man driving in a light carry-all; and he was en-
couraged on finding everybody so ready to help
him when his story was told, even the roadside
wag having hardly proved an exception.
The man in the carry-all agreed with him that
the rogue had probably gone to Boston with the
horse; nevertheless, he stopped to allow Kit to

the fence. "Jest after daylight this--go 'long
there! will ye? "-(crack, crack!)-" this morning. "
Kit's heart gave a leap of expectation, and he
described more particularly Dandy's marks.
It was skurcely light enough for me-whay
there ho ho -for me to notice the mottles on
his sides; but I remember the git along, now !
-the braided foretop," the drover interruptedly
Where was he ? Kit eagerly asked.
Six or eight miles back-Gee git!" said the
drover, impartially addressing Kit and the cattle.
"Before you struck this road?" put in the man
in the carry-all.




"Long afore. We had jest got the drove
started. Whoop Jerusalem Boys, look out for
the gap in that fence "
"What sort of a chap was riding him?" Kit
asked, in a fever of excitement.
A youngish chap, not much more 'n twenty, I
should jedge-hillo! hillo!-A fair-spoken feller;
nothing' particularly noticeable about him. He
wanted to sell me the hoss, and turned and rode
with me-hish! 'sh!-for half a mile or so.
'T wa' n't so dusty then as 't is now." (Crack,
crack! went the drover's whip.)
How was he dressed ? Kit continued.
Re'ly, I can't tell: I did n't give much 'ten-
tion to him; but I kin' o' looked the hoss over,-
whish! ho He offered him dog-cheap."
How cheap !" cried Kit.
"He offered him for fifty dollars."
"Dandy Jim for fifty dollars "
"I've got the chink right here in my pocket,"
said the drover, pausing to wipe away the dust
under his black felt hat. "But I was jealous
everything wa' n't jest ship-shape; feller stumpin'
me for a trade that time in the morning an' offering'
a beast for less 'n half he 's wuth. Should n't
wonder if you could overhaul him, for he '11 be
offering' his hoss along on the by-roads."
Kit had thought it a great good fortune to get a
ride of two or three miles with the man in the
carry-all; and indeed it was, for it had enabled
him to obtain this positive information from the
drover; but now he had to turn back on his
course, which he hurriedly prepared to do, having
asked a few more questions, and thanked both
men for their assistance.
"You 're welcome, far 's I 'm concerned," said
the drover, wielding his whip, and shouting again,
"Ho! hillo! Whish! Jerusalem! git along there!"
as he followed the cattle, and the cloud of dust.
"I 'd like no better fun than to drive with you,
and help run down the horse-thief, if I had time,"
said the man in the carry-all. "You've only to
follow back the cattle-tracks to the yard they left
at day-break, and it wont be long before you hear
of the rogue again. Good-bye and luck to you "
With hopes stronger than ever, if not of over-
hauling the thief, at least of finding where he
disposed of the horse, Kit set off on a run to return
to the cross-road. He had slackened his speed to
a walk long before he reached it, and he followed
it more and more wearily until noon.
Beyond the yard where the cattle had been
penned for the night, he thought he could make
out Dandy's hoof-prints again; but they were
bafflingly uncertain, and he soon gave up trying
to trace them. Nor could he by inquiring hear
anything of the horse or its rider.

I suppose people along here were hardly
stirring when he passed," thought he, as he kept
on, still without losing hope. "Or may be he
wished to go farther away before offering to sell
Dandy to anybody but a passing drover."
He turned off at forks and crossings to look for
tracks and make inquiries, but always came back
to the road he was following, after losing time and
strength and patience in these fruitless excursions.
He was growing quite disheartened and bewil-
dered, when he came to some stone-layers eating
their dinner beside an unfinished bank wall.
We have been at work here since half-past six
this morning," said one of them, "and we have
seen no man on horseback."
Kit sat down on a stone with a weary sigh.
"What could have become of him?" he said,
thinking aloud rather than addressing the men.
"It must have been near six when he left the
drover; and I don't believe Dandy could have
traveled so far as this in half an hour. I don't
know what to do !"
He had eaten his bread and butter while driving
with the man in the carry-all; and now he could
not help looking wistfully at the boiled eggs the
men cracked on the edges of their dinner-pails. He
was glad, however, they did not offer him what
he would have been ashamed to accept, and
yet might not have had the resolution to refuse.
"I tell you what I think," said one, at last;
"I think I have seen your man."
"When? Where?" Kit asked quickly.
"You know, boys, when I went for the drill. Com-
ing through Hillard's grove, I was near stumbling
over a man stretched out fast asleep on the ground,
while a hoss was grazing in a grassy hollow. I think
that was your man, and I think that was your hoss."
Kit thought so, too, so surely that he forgot all
about his hunger and weariness and waning hopes,
and was on his feet again in an instant plying the
stone-layer with questions.
"He sat up, and put on his hat, which had
fallen off where he slept, and looked at me saucy-
like; but as I said nothing to him he said nothing
to me. Yes, it was a darkish hoss, with a saddle,
and his bridle was slipped back on his neck, with
the reins made fast to a loose branch on the
ground, to keep him from walking away. It was
about three hours ago, and that is the grove, in
sight, yonder; you 've just come past it."
The speaker had not noticed Dandy's distin-
guishing marks; but there could not be much
doubt that the horse he had seen was Dandy him-
self. He told Kit how to find a grass-grown wagon-
track leading into the woods, and the grassy
hollow where he had seen the grazing animal and
the sleeping man.





IN the good old days of merry England the
Yule-tide festivities greatly surpassed our present
Christmas celebrations in splendor.
We all have read about the wild ringing of the
bells, the troups of singers caroling in the crisp
night air their quaint old Christmas ballads ; about
the sumptuous feasting, the ceremony of bringing
in the boar's head, and the mystic spell of the
mistletoe bough.
But now let me show you how the glad Christ-
mas merry-making went on in the king's palace.
Close by Westminster Abbey, where all of the
English sovereigns are crowned, and where many
of them lie buried, there stands a grand old build-
ing known as Westminster Hall. It now forms a
part of the Parliament Houses; but it is nearly
five hundred years older than any other part of the
In the olden times the king's palace was at
Westminster, and it was for this reason that
William Rufus, the son of William the Conqueror,
here built his great banqueting-hall in the year 1097,
which was known as Rufus's Roaring Hall," and
later, "Westminster Hall."
It is an immense stone-floored room stretching
-when you stand in its center,-away from you,
above you, around you on every side, until you
feel quite lost in wonder.
The old roof, with its great rafters of timber,
reaching, unsupported by pillars, entirely over
the hall, is the second largest in the world.
SWhat strange sights that old roof has looked
down upon! How many sounds have echoed
through those vaults !
If we could have peeped in there on -Christmas
night six hundred and seventy years ago, we
should have seen the old hall crowded with
knights and ladies, pages, courtiers, and min-
strels. Down the center stretched the great oaken
table, groaning with good things; while at the
upper end, in all his royal attire, sat the king.
And the merry laugh went 'round, and the joy
was unbounded; and so was the king's bounty,-
for the poor, as well as the rich, had enough and
to spare that night.
And yet this king was not a good king: King
John, the brother of Richard the Lion-hearted,
was a very bad man.
King Henry III. used to have his great Christ-
mas dinners in Rufus's Roaring Hall; and once,
when he himself was at his other palace, at Win-

chester, he did not forget the poor, but directed
his treasurer to fill the great hall for one week
from Christmas-day with poor people, and feast
them there."
The next king, Edward I., continued the Christ-
mas feasting at Westminster Hall. His son- who
was the first Prince of Wales-used to enjoy these
merry times.
King Edward III. was called a "right royal
provider of Christmas cheer." If this meant that
he was even more generous than his father, lavish,
indeed, must those feasts have been. In fact, we
still read of the rich "soups of the brawn of
capons; of blanc-manges, tarts, and pies, and
countless other good things, in the preparation of
which his cooks excelled. But the years 1358 and
1362 were especially blessed with festivities. The
Christmas dinner in Rufus's Hall, on the former
of these two years, was graced by the presence
of three great kings. At the end sat the English
monarch, with his crown upon his head; on his
right, the captive King of France; on his left,
King David of Scotland.
At the next great feast these were joined by the
King of Cyprus. The cooks did their best; jellies
of all colors, and in all shapes, of flowers, trees,
beasts, fruit, fish, and fowl; confections of cin-
namon and ginger, and grains of paradise," for
dessert,- these, and other delicacies, did the king's
grace (and the king's cooks) provide.
But still greater feasts were coming; for when
King Richard II. ascended the throne, he outdid
all his predecessors in his Christmas hospitality.
The old hall had fallen into a very dilapidated
state, and Richard rebuilt it, and there it stands
to-day just as he finished it.
An old chronicler tells us, that when the king
completed the new hall he determined to give "a
house-warming"; from all accounts it must have
been a heart-warming to many a poor soul.
Two thousand cooks prepared the feast, which
ten thousand of the king's subjects were bidden to
enjoy. The good king was attired in cloth-of-gold
garnished with pearls and precious stones.
The feasting, hospitality, and rejoicing continued
throughout the entire week. It was a season of
universal merriment and good-will.
There is no palace at Westminster now, and
there are no more banquets in the old hall. It
was not until the times of Good Queen Bess that
the Westminster celebrations came to an end.



Each king strove to be merrier and more charitable
than the last; but times have changed. This
year, when the deep-toned Westminster clock

Has the world forgotten that Christ was born?
Have kings forgotten the poor? No. In every
home there is to be a feast. The poor have Christ


peals out the advent of the glad Christmas-day,
it is dark in the banqueting hall. There are
shadows only on the old, old roof; shadows on
the old stone floor. The old kings are sleeping
in the neighboring abbey. The voice of the min-
strels is no longer heard.

and Christmas in their own houses now. In the
morning the church bells will ring. Millions of
happy voices will call," Merry Christmas !" Twice
as many million twinkling eyes will peer into half
as many million well-filled stockings. No need for
kings and cooks to make us happy!


(Recollections of a Page in the United States Senate.)




THE second day of the session I began to feel
at home, and in the course of a week con-
sidered myself qualified to do anything required.
I had to become familiar with all the various
rooms and nooks and corners of the Capitol,
and learn exactly where to go when sent upon a
message. It became necessary for me to acquaint
myself with every senator and officer of the Sen-
ate, and this of itself was quite an undertaking.
There were the Secretary of the Senate and a num-
ber of gentlemen who attended to the clerical duties
in connection with the proceedings of that body.
Then there was the Sergeant-at-Arms, whose duty
it was to execute the commands of the Senate in
preserving order and punishing offenses, and he
had quite a corps of assistants, among whom we
pages counted ourselves not the least by any
means. More formidable in numbers was the
House of Representatives. I had to be about as
well posted in regard to the members and officers
of that body as of the Senate itself, because the
senators were constantly writing notes to the
representatives, and sending us on other messages
to the other wing of the Capitol. And, furthermore,
there was a large army of dignitaries, public offi-
cials, and prominent citizens, who were constantly
coming to the Capitol to visit or confer with con-
gressmen, and it was useful to know the names
and faces of as many of these as possible.
The senators would send us on every conceiv-
able sort of errand, and I found my store of
information rapidly increasing each day. Occa-
sionally, however, I would be puzzled. Some of
the senators were rather reckless in their chirog-
raphy, and frequently one of them would simply
hand to me a letter or a scrap of paper with some
writing on it, without saying anything at all, ex-
pecting me to understand what he wished. I
would turn these notes upside down, sideways,
and cornerways, and could hardly tell from
the hieroglyphics whether the words were good
old Anglo-Saxon or Hebrew. If a fly had fallen
into an ink-bottle, and, after being extricated,
had walked over the paper on which such scrawls
were written, dragging the ink after it, the tracks
on its line of march could have been almost as

readily translated into the English language. But,
though I was very young and not especially pre-
cocious, I studied these various eccentricities, or
styles-I was about to say "systems"-of legisla-
tive handwriting with such ardor, that I finally be-
came able to read them all. So well known did
this accomplishment of mine become, that I was
frequently appealed to by persons about the Cap-
itol to decipher writings of other people, and,
strange as it may seem, senators have actually
asked me to read their own marks which they

making. I


have been unable to recognize after
joked a senator about this one day,
and told him I thought it was curi-
ous he could not read his own hand-
writing. He did not like to acknowl-
edge this fact, and declared that he
"Well," said I, picking up a letter
which he had just written and which
lay upon his desk, "I'll wager, sir,
you can't tell what word that is," and
I put my two hands upon the sheet of
paper so as to cover all of the writing
except that particular word.
Oh," he exclaimed, as if I were
doing an unreasonable thing in cover-
ing up the other words, "take your
hands away "
But then he could not make out
the word, even by the help of the
others or the context of the letter, and
laughingly admitted that he had for-
gotten what the scratches were in-
tended for. At another time, I saw
on a desk a piece of paper that had on
it a comical likeness or image of a
human skeleton in miniature-a pro-
file view of the skull, the ribs, and
the other bones, even to the foot. I

wondered who the senatorial artist was, and in
handling the paper I chanced to turn it an-
other way. And what do you think it was? It
was n't meant for a skeleton, after all. It was noth-
ing else than a very hasty autograph of Senator
George F. Edmunds.
But even if the handwriting had been legible,
the meaning of the inscriptions was frequently be-
wildering. For example, how in the name of
common sense was an ordinary mortal (and espe-

* Copyright, 1884, by Edmund Alton. All rights reserved.



cially a young mortal, fresh from the pages of
Shakspeare and Scott) to know that the memo-
randum H. 432 meant that the senator wanted
" House of Representatives Bill, No. 432 "? Yet that
was an easy enigma compared with some others.
One useful rule of conduct, however, I learned
at the very beginning of my experience- I never
betrayed my ignorance to a senator. Had I done
so, he might not have had sufficient confidence in
my ability to entrust me with an important mes-
sage, and might have called anotherpage. If, there-


W :A -Firs.
fore, a senator asked me to carry a dispatch to
the House of Representatives and hand it to a cer-
tain member, I would undertake the charge with
perfect self-possession, and if I did not know the
member, I would manage to find him by inquiry
after I got to the House. Sometimes I would be
sent for a certain book, and I would hardly know
where to go for it-whether to the Senate Library,
where are kept books only of a particular class,
or to the Law Library, which contains works on
purely legal subjects, or to the immense Congres-
sional Library, including hundreds of thousands
of volumes; and sometimes I would have to try
each of these libraries before I could get the book.

But I always succeeded in doing it, and without
waste of time on my part. Only once, during the
whole term of four years that I was in the Senate,
did a senator ever feel provoked at the manner in
which I executed any order given to me. It was
a memorable day. He was making a very im-
portant argument, the galleries were packed, and
every one was listening intently to what he was
saying. In the course of his speech he had
occasion to refer to a certain book, and, searching
through the pile he had upon his table, found
that the one he needed
was not there. I was
standing at the end of
the clerk's desk, and,
looking straight at me,
he called out:
"Bring me the third
volume of the Trial of
Queen Caroline."
I supposed that he
would not be able to
proceed with his speech
without the book, and
I felt very anxious to
bring it to him as quick-
ly as possible. I knew
the book very well, hav-
ing had occasion to get
it before, and that it was
in the Law Library on
the floor below, under-
neath the room occupied
by the Supreme Court.
It was quite a distance,
[ it but I had my slippers
Son, and I almost flew
through the marble cor-
ridors, going down the
winding stair-way in a
manner that must have
astonished people who
REND. (SEE F. 141.)
saw me. Rushing into
the room, gasping for breath, I said to the librarian:
"Senator- wants the third volume of the
Trial of Queen Caroline, please."
It was a book that he could have found and
given to me in a very few moments, but for some
reason or other he did not seem inclined to rise
out of the chair in which he was sitting. After
waiting a short while and realizing that every mo-
ment's delay detracted from my glory, I again
appealed to him:
"Wont you please get me the book? The sen-
ator is in the midst of a speech, and is waiting
for it." But the librarian answered: "Well, he
can wait." And then he continued to sit there,


perfectly unconcerned, for prompt, polite, and intellige
fully five minutes. Soon, in possibly feared he h
came a page, who shouted when perhaps I ha
to me very excitedly: "You -- treatment, for af
'd better hurry up with that -- --- ." journed he
book!" And the librarian of the dela
merely smiled sardonically- had brou
"but neverawordspakehe." I as soon a
Two or three minutes saidnothing f
later another page en- explanation s
tered, more excited than the pages, ho
the first, and I really be- -- tered about
lieve that, before the libra- tor scold m
rian condescended to get the. and told ho
book, nearly every page in -__ idly sat in h
the Senate was there to es- -- out of sheer
cort me back in disgrace to the Sen- the senator d
ate Chamber. The errand would I but I heard
ordinarily have taken perhaps five librarian a li
minutes; if the librarian had acted jwas chiefly re
promptly, I believe I would have ac- of its forcible
complished it within three minutes; I presume the
as it was, the delay was at least fifteen me as respond
minutes, and when I reached the Sen- was not.
ate, I hardly had the courage to give It required
the book to the senator, who was still macy to execu
speaking. As I approached him with ' sions commit
it, he gave a majestic wave of his hand, ting into diffi
saying very sharply and in a tone that sent on very
was heard by every one: "You may involvingsecre
take it back. I don't want it now." had to convey
This made the tears come to my eyes. tion to ungent
I knew I had done the best I could; j duties there
yet all my good intentions and earnest / of all gr
effort went for naught. I suppose the / from t
spectators were unanimously of the opin-
ion that I was a very lazy and stupid
boy. Since that occurrence, in my ,
battle with worldly affairs, I have
frequently been unjustly
suspected and accused by
people who knew nothing
of the facts, but based their
judgment merely upon ap-
pearances, as in this case. But
people who do not know the
facts in any matter have
hardly the right to form
much less to express, an
unfavorable opinion of a fel-
low-man. That is the way
I have always felt since I be-
came old enough to look at things
And so, although I felt stung, I
gritted my teeth and walked quietly to my
place. I had made quite a reputation for being

:nt, and the senator
ad hurt my feelings,
Id not merited such
ter the Senate ad-
asked me the cause
y. I stated that I
ght the book to him
s I could get it, but
further, thinking that
efficient. Some of
ever, who had clus-
it to hear the sena-
.e, here interposed,
iw the librarian had
is chair, apparently
wickedness. What
id, I do not know,
that he gave the
ttle discourse that
narkable on account
adjectives. If so,
Librarian regarded
sible for it; but I

considerable diplo-
ite many of the mis-
ed to us without get-
culty. I have been
important messages
ecy and tact, and have
unpleasant informa-
lemanly beings. My
w me among people
ades and conditions,
he President of the

;01 United
States to
the humblest
person in the land.




People would come to the Senate and send in
their cards to senators who did not wish to see
them. Many of these were "bores," and we can not
blame the legislators for declining to be bothered.
But, on the contrary, I have often seen poor men
and women haunting the doors of the Senate day
after day, beseeching just one moment's interview,
with an earnestness that always aroused my sym-
Some of the senators, not knowing these people
or not wishing to be troubled at the time, would
give various excuses for not coming out. On one
occasion a very pleasant-looking lady, who evidently
wished assistance in some matter of great impor-
tance to her, asked me to hand her card to a sena-
tor, whose name I shall not mention, and I did as
she requested. The senator looked at the card,
and at once said: Tell the lady I am very busy,
and must ask her to excuse me."
I accordingly gave the message to the lady.
"But," I added, "if there is anything you desire to
say to him, I shall be very glad to carry the mes-
sage." She then explained that her husband was
an invalid soldier and had what is known as a
" pension claim" against the Government, and
that, as a law of Congress was necessary before
the claim could be paid, she wished some senator
to introduce a "bill" (which is the first step to-
ward a "law," as I will hereafter explain), in
order that her family might get the money and
relieve their urgent wants. She further stated
that she was not acquainted with any members
of the Senate or House, but had presumed to ap-
ply to this senator, as he was from her State. I
then told her that I did not think he would be
likely to trouble himself much about the matter,
but that, if she desired, I would speak to Sena-
tor-Pratt, who was Chairman of the Committee
on Pensions of the Senate, and that as he was
a very kind-hearted man I was sure he would
assist her, although he was not one of the two
senators from her State. She said that she
would be grateful if I would help her in any
way, as'she did not know what to do. I took her
papers and went to Senator Pratt, told him all
about the case, and asked him if he would not do
what he could. He said, "Where is the lady?"
I told him she was waiting in the reception-room,
and he replied, "Well, take me to her," which I
did. The result was that the senator introduced
the bill for her, and that it passed through both
Houses of Congress, was approved by the Presi-
dent, became a law, and she got her money within
a few weeks.
It was thus very often in our power to aid stran-
gers and others. I have many a time spoken with
senators who refused to see deserving people

seeking interviews, telling them that the applicants
were old or delicate or some other facts to excite
their interest, and the senators as often would
change their minds and go out and see the persons.
But while the pages could be considerate and
obliging, they could also be otherwise, if their
dignity were involved. We could be as "aggra-
vating as any boys can be, when we wished, and
some folks must have thought us little demons.
While we were employed to wait upon the
senators, outsiders would encroach upon our
good-nature and ask us to do things which they
could do as well themselves, and when, per-
haps, we had our hands full of other work. We
always refused to attend to these matters, if they
were put in the shape of a demand instead
of a request. There were several newspaper re-
porters in the gallery over the Vice-President's
chair, to which I have referred, who frequently
ignored our rights. A reporter would wish to ask
a question of a senator, and, not caring particularly
to come down the stairs and send in his card,
would drop a note from the gallery, expecting one
of us to pick it up and hand it to the senator to
whom it was addressed. This was a rather officious
request sometimes, as we were tired and worn
out from excessive running, and would hardly feel
like going up to where the reporter was, in the
roundabout way in which we should have had to
go, to deliver him the information called for, and
then come all the way back. But, whether we were
tired or full of activity, we did not like the matter-
of-course manner in which some of the reporters had
demanded our services ; and we would often let the
note remain where it had fallen on the carpet.
Sometimes, out of pugnacity, we would surround
the paper and walk around it, gazing at it ap-
parently with great curiosity, but evincing no
inclination to touch it. Finally, when the reporter
would lean over the edge of the gallery, and, in
a very obsequious manner, would bow his head
and smile and go through a lot of gymnastics to
indicate to everybody else in the galleries that
the "squib" would not go off," and that he
would be exceedingly obliged if one of our ex-
cellencies would graciously convey the paper to its
desired destination, one of us would pick it up;
but not until then.
In addition to the duties belonging to the
position of page, I soon became competent to
assist officers of the Senate in various ways; at
one time, relieving a door-keeper at his post;
at another, acting as a scribe, or private secretary,
to a senator. But the honor or privilege that I
particularly enjoyed was that of hauling up the
flag. Every day, when the Senate met, a flag would
be hoisted to the top of the staff on the roof


of the Senate, to notify people of that fact, and
it would so remain until the Senate adjourned for
the day, when it would be lowered. The same
thing was done as regards the sessions of the
The man who had charge of the Senate flag,
not caring about the trouble of ascending the
tedious stairs leading to the roof, finally permitted
me to act for him. Accordingly, every day, a
little before the time for the meeting of the Sen-
ate, I would get the keys and go aloft, and,
having arranged the flag and halyards, would
wait there with the rope in my hand, ready
to act. When the steam-whistles all over the city
began to blow, announcing twelve o'clock, I would
haul away until the flag reached the top of the
pole, and, after fastening the rope near the bottom,
I would descend to the Senate Chamber, with a pro-
found conviction that I was, after all, a very impor-
tant personage. Sometimes I would have so many
other matters to attend to, that I would forget to
haul the flag up for several hours after the meeting
of the Senate; and then sometimes I would go home
after the Senate adjourned, forgetting to lower it,
and it would remain there during the entire night.
But no great harm resulted from these omissions,
except that occasionally senators, not observing the
flag, would stay at home when they should have
been at the Senate, or, seeing it waving, would
trudge to the Capitol only to find that the Senate
had adjourned and that they could return whence
they came.
That flag, although to me an object of devotion,
gave me more or less annoyance. Frequently, at
such a height, the wind blows with considerable
violence, and, in a stiff breeze, after hauling the
flag to the top, I would attempt to fasten the hal-
yards, and not be aware, until some one mentioned
the fact long afterward, that I had left the flag at
half-mast. This was caused by the rope slipping
while I was fastening it at the bottom. Of course,
the flag at half-mast being an indication that a
senator or some other great functionary of the
Government was dead, this state of affairs was
somewhat embarrassing. But I capped the cli-
max one day. The Senate had been in session
for several hours, when in came a senator who had
just arrived at the Capitol, and inquired of a group
of fellow law-makers what the Senate was in dis-
tress about. He thereupon narrated something

that caused them to chuckle as if it were a good
joke; and after they had enjoyed themselves for a
while in this way, one of them sent for Cap-
tain Bassett, and spoke to him. The Captain then
came to me and told me to go up to the roof and
see if the flag were all right. I could not imagine
what could be the matter with it, but when I
stepped on the roof I at once beheld the cause of
the mirth. In raising the flag I had hauled away
on the wrong rope, and there was the grand ensign
of our Republic floating serenely in the breeze -
upside down !
Of course, during the few days that it took me
to become familiar with my duties, the Senate con-
tinued its sessions. That is, it did not suspend
them on my account; but nothing extraordinary
happened until the twentieth of December, when
both Houses of Congress adjourned to the sixth of
January. As neither body can adjourn for a longer
period than three days without the consent of
the other, it became necessary for both Houses to
agree to this, which was done by means of a Joint
Resolution. Not much business is transacted by
Congress during the month of December. The
Congressmen hardly arrive in Washington and
unpack their trunks before they begin to think
about Christmas and New Year's, and wish to
depart for their far-away homes to enjoy the ac-
customed festivities about their own firesides.
Upon re-assembling in January, both bodies ap-
plied themselves to work in good earnest, and
my labors increased in proportion.
But while attending to the duties demanded of
me, I was very observant of the manner in which
the law-makers attended to their own. Having
become connected with the Senate and intro-
duced to it, as I have described, and feeling,
with the natural conceit of an American boy, that
I thereby became a part of the Legislative Depart-
ment of the Government, I considered that I ought
to inform myself thoroughly about the powers of
Congress, and therefore resolved to watch closely
the proceedings of each body in the great business
of legislation. As some of you may wish to know
the result of my observations, I will endeavor to
state briefly the course pursued in the enactment
of a law, giving you, however, fair warning to arm
yourselves with dictionaries. And in this connec-
tion I will redeem my promise to explain the mode
of electing Congressmen.

(To be continued.)





SAIL ahoy came a shrill hail from the fore-
top of the trim bark "Laughing Polly," as it
bowled along in the latitude and near vicinity of
the South Shetland Islands.
"Where away?" answered a tall man with a
tremendous voice, who was pacing up and down
the quarter-deck, muffled in a great pea-jacket.
Dead ahead came the voice of the lookout,
who was the captain's son. He had taken the
watch so as to be the first to sight land after the
long run to the south.
The captain swung himself into the rigging,
gave a glance at the supposed vessel, and then
dropped, to the deck again with a loud laugh.
"Your ship is an iceberg," he called out. "A
pretty sailor-man you are," he added, "not to tell
an iceberg from a whaler."
"I can-see her spars," shouted back the boy,
who would not acknowledge his mistake; and in-
deed the nearer they approached, the more the
object appeared like a vessel on the same course as
themselves. It seemed a veritable ship, careening
slightly in the brisk breeze. There were the white
top-sails, with the shadows on them distinctly
visible, and Ned -for that was our look out's name
- almost thought he made out a pennant at her
mizzen-peak. So remarkable was the sight that
the sailors all gathered in a group forward, and
watched the strange sail. But on getting within a
mile of it, they plainly discerned that it was an ice-
berg of enormous dimensions, and which even, at
that distance, seemed to tower above them. Its
resemblance to a ship was quickly lost, and it
loomed up a great mountain of blue ice, moment-
arily changing its shape and color.
The captain had just given orders to shift the
course of the vessel, when a cry of astonishment
rose from the crew, who were still watching the
distant berg. The captain and mate rushed for-
ward, and saw the cause of the excitement. The
ice-mountain had changed its position, and instead
of being upright was heeling over. Faster it moved,
until finally, fairly overbalanced, it fell over in the
water with a mighty crash, hurling into the air great
waves three times as high as their mast-head, and
sending out huge rollers on either side, while vast
blocks of ice seemed to break off and float away.
It's gone," shouted Ned excitedly.
"No, it is n't," said his father. Just keep your
eyes on it."
The words were hardly spoken by the captain

before a still more remarkable phenomenon oc-
curred; the iceberg appeared gradually rising from
the sea, slowly resuming its original shape, like an
island of ice being forced above the surface by
some invisible power. Slowly but perceptibly it
rose, until finally the astonished sailors saw the
gigantic berg, almost as large as before, rocking
and oscillating, again upright upon the surface.
In the meantime a series of waves from the
scene of action had reached them, and Ned was
nearly thrown from the foretopgallant-top, where
he was still clinging. The ship pitched so violently
that it seemed almost as if they had experienced a
series of tidal waves.
It's only an upset," said the captain, as Ned
rejoined him ondeck. "You see, one of these great
bergs floats about until it gets top-heavy, which is
occasioned by the lower portion, a thousand or
fifteen hundred feet below, striking, perhaps, a
warm current that melts it away, until finally the
exposed portion overbalances the base, and over it
goes with a thundering crash, as we have seen."
I had no idea a berg as large as that could
tip over," said the young sailor.
I have seen larger ones than that roll,"
replied the captain. "There seems to be no
limit to their size. An iceberg was observed some
years ago, not four hundred miles from here, that
was two and a half miles long, over two miles
broad, and a hundred and fifty feet high, and it
must have weighed fifteen hundred million tons.
Yet that was by no means a large one. I have
seen them off Cape Horn nearly eight hundred
feet high; and a mass of icebergs was once seen
sixty miles long by forty broad, and three hundred
feet high. As only one-tenth of the whole mass rises
above the water, the higher out of water, the larger
they are, and one which exposes two hundred feet
would probably have eighteen hundred feet under
The conversation was here interrupted by a hail
always welcome on a whaler. Whether it was
" There she blows or "Whale o' !" they could
not make out; but seeing the lookout pointing
toward the floating island, they turned that way.
The vessel had suddenly passed a projection
of the berg that showed them its broad side and
snowy peak looming three hundred feet into the
air, and near the top, frozen in the icy block,
was the black body of an immense whale.
"Never mind the boats," said the captain, re-



44. .'-.

Mr- it-;


covering from his astonishment, and recalling an
order which he had given upon hearing the hail.
"Well, that beats all my experience in thirty
years' whaling," he continued. "A fin-back in
an iceberg !"

A frozen whale in command of a ship of ice,"
said Ned. "And to think that we saw it rise three
hundred feet from the water !"
"It's the greatest leap on record," exclaimed
his father, "and as such jumps don't occur every



A-- p~~ ~~

ME- _2


day, we may as well have a nearer view "; and, in-
structing the helmsman, the whaler was hauled
a point or so on the wind. It was soon found,
however, that a nearer view of the whale would
involve being becalmed in the lee of the berg, so
the boat was lowered, and the captain and Ned
were soon being pulled toward the huge prisoner
of the ice-island.
As they approached, the sight became still more
remarkable and impressive. The sight was very
tantalizing to the whalers, as there above their reach
was the game they were in search of, but it was out
of their power to dislodge it from its bed of ice,
and they reluctantly rowed back under the shadow
of the berg. Looking up at the imprisoned whale,
they saw that it was a rorqual nearly one hundred
feet in length-the largest of living animals.
As the wind had died down, they could not leave,
and so they witnessed the effect of sunset on the
ice-island. The tall peak was flooded with golden
lights; dark shadows crept up its sides, gradually
changing the golden radiance to gleaming silver,
then to gray, which was in turn lost in the approach-
ing gloom. But soon the moon appeared, bathing
the berg with its silvery light and bringing out with
startling distinctness the frozen giant
Late into the night the sailors watched the island
of ice, fearing that perhaps the surface current
might bring them dangerously near it, but finally
the wind sprang up, the sails filled, and the frozen
whale was soon lost in the distance.
Upon the return of the whaler, two years later,
the story was told, and it was found that several
sea-captains had observed similar sights. One had

seen a polar bear so imprisoned, while others told
of enormous rocks and boulders that the bergs
lifted from the sea. The presence of the whale in
the berg was explained in a remarkable way. The
huge animal was not entombed at sea, but it had
been washed upon the thick ice-sheet in the lee of
some antarctic island (these sheets sometimes ex-
tend many miles from shore); the snow from the
shore had blown over it year after year, melting
and freezing, until finally it was surrounded by
hard, clear ice; the weight, ever increasing, forced
the sheet under water, and as the snow was con-
tinually piling up on the top and changing to ice,
the great mass with the imprisoned whale finally
projected far out under the sea. The snow contin-
ued still melting and freezing, but piling upward.
And then its weight, or perhaps a heavy gale, de-
tached the mass from the field, and it floated away,
an island of ice, bearing the captured whale be-
neath the sea.
As we have seen, the warmer currents wear
away the submerged portion until the berg be-
came top-heavy and overturned, bringing the long-
imprisoned monster high up in air.
Sometimes, instead of being frozen in and carried
to sea, whales are forced far inland. Captain Pendle-
ton, who accompanied one of the United States ex-
peditions to the Antarctic Sea, saw a whale two hun-
dred and eighty feet from the surface of the water,
in an ice-cliff eight hundred feet high. Whales and
their skeletons have not only been found above the
level of the sea at South Shetland, but a mile and
a half inland away from the shore -wonderful
examples of the power of frozen snow and water.



THE Philosopher lay on the soft fur rug, with
his toe in his mouth, thinking.
Though not remarkably large in any other re-
spect, he was a very great philosopher. Indeed,
his entire life had been spent in profound cogita-
tion upon most important subjects. He had reflected
and experimented upon the phenomena of light
and sound, with gravity so undisturbed and inter-
est so absorbed as to draw upon him the admiring
observation of all who knew him.
The Philosopher was bald-headed! Philosophers
are apt to be. Arduous and protracted mental
effort is said to result frequently in the removal
of nature's beautiful covering from The wondrous

cage of thought." But in the case of this particu-
lar philosopher, the danger of overtasking the
brain had become earlier apparent: his hair had
never grown at all! The round head, which held
such remarkable ideas, had always been bald!
The Philosopher was also toothless Was he,
then, so very aged ?
Being constantly absorbed in the consideration
of matters of so much greater importance, he
had given little heed to the passage of time ; and,
perhaps for that reason, he could not have told you
his own age; but he was certainly of the opinion
that he had lived very long indeed. A settled
dignity and calm was expressed upon his counte-


nance, as of one too long familiar with events to be
disturbed by their changes. Indeed, he could not
remember when he had not been alive; which
would seem to imply that he had always lived.
He did not object to being without teeth. He
thought that, in the nature of things, bones ought
to be covered with warm, rosy flesh. His own
were; and he did not care to make an exception
in favor of teeth. They might as well stay where
they were; he had a conviction that this would
save him a great deal of trouble.
Besides, it left more room to put his toe in his
The Philosopher believed thathe had discovered
the true design and purpose of the human toe.
He observed that the community at large seemed
to suppose that it was intended to be tied in clumsy
leather bags and to be walked upon. This the
Philosopher felt to be an error. He did not propose
to walk. Why should he give himself so much need-
less trouble ? People knew where he wished to go,
and what he liked to have; and it was not only
their obvious duty, but their highest pleasure, to
carry out his desires. The Grand Turk himself
was not more serenely sure of being carefully and
devotedly served. Then, if that soft, dimpled
foot was not meant for walking, for what was it
Upon this problem the Philosopher had ex-
pended much thought, while holding that chubby
member in both hands and scrutinizing it closely.
Usually he looked at it after the manner of ordi-
nary mortals; but sometimes, when his interest
was most absorbing and the question what to do
with it especially perplexing, he would look on the
left side of his foot with his right eye, and on the
right side of it with his left eye,--the method by
which all great metaphysicians endeavor to exam-
ine both sides of a subject.
It was in one of these rapt moments that an in-
spiration came to him: the object of the toe was-
to complete the circuit! Quicker than thought he
popped it into his mouth. The experiment abun-
dantly justified his conclusions: he had undoubt-
edly discovered the chief end of man. From that
hour, whenever he wished to indulge in deep and
continuous thinking, he was careful first to arrange
this return circuit for the current of thought.
The Philosopher had his own revered divinity,
and his religious beliefs were at once strong and
steadfast. The divinity of life and love which he
worshiped was embodied in a female form.
She often appeared to his delighted vision, com-
ing from he knew not where, in the immensities
of space; but never failing to bend over him, with


heaven shining in her eyes, and smiling on her
lips. His faith in her was boundless; he trusted
her love more fully than his own wisdom or
strength; and he knew that in her tender care were
perfect safety and happiness.
The Philosopher never gave utterance to the
thoughts which thrilled his being. He knew the
power of silence,-the mighty influence of a nature
strong enough to repress at will all expression of
itself. In vain had proud friends and admiring
followers besought him for a single word. In vain
they said to each other, What do you suppose
he is thinking about? He only turned his large
blue eyes upon them in a silence the mystery of
which shut them out from all communication with
the wonders of his inner life. They might observe
him, and, if they were wise enough, read the proc-
esses of his mind from results; but he never
deigned further to enlighten them.
Not that he did not desire to speak; of course
he did. Sometimes a thought arose so grand and
strong as almost to lift his soul away from its clay;
or a loving feeling, so sweet and tender as to bring
heaven's angels down to his side. At such times
his heart overflowed with longing to tell his happi-
ness; but he was aware that "The wine of thought
should have ample time to settle and clear, before
being drawn off into flasks of speech"; in accord-
ance with which decision, he would thrust his rosy
fist into his mouth, as a stopper to keep the words
It was on Christmas-day that he lay on the rug,
thinking. And he was thinking of Christmas,-of
all the love and blessedness it holds; all the for-
getfulness of self and thought for others which it
At this moment his beloved divinity bent over
him; and as he looked up into her beautiful face
she said, in the language which such divinities
oftenest use, "What was him finkin' about, old
Pessus? Was it Kissmus? So it was; what does him
fink about it? and with that she pulled the little
rosy connecting link of thought from his mouth.
That was too much for even his powers of re-
pression. He had to speak then. All his love
and his deep comprehension of the truest wisdom
found voice in a moment.
The Philosopher smiled as he gave utterance,
for the first time, to his opinions concerning Christ-
mas. And the Philosopher said:
"Ah-h, Goo-oo-oo-o "
Philosophers need not necessarily speak the
English language. Indeed, it has long been con-
sidered essential that the profoundest thought
should not be too easily understood.




THE Boy-prince whose portrait is here given,
and who may one day rule the Russian Empire, is
the Grand-duke Nicholas, eldest son of the Emperor
Alexander III. and Princess Maria Dagmar (Day-
dawn), of Denmark, now the Empress Maria
Feodorovna. His distinctive title, as eldest son
and heir, is the Czarevitch, which means the son
of the Czar. All Russian boys and girls are des-
ignated as sons and daughters of their father.
The Russian termination evitch or ovitch means
son of; evna or ovna, daughter of; Alexandrovitch
is son of Alexander; Alexandrovna, daughter of

Alexander. The younger sons of the Czar would
be George or Michael Alexandrovitch, but only the
eldest is spoken of as Czarevitch. The name
which the Empress took when she was admitted to
the Russian Church signifies the daughter of
Feodor (Theodore), this being one of the names
of her father, King Christian of Denmark.
Grand-duke Nicholas was born May 18, 1868, at
Czarskoe Selo (Czar's village), an imperial summer
palace, fifteen miles south of St. Petersburg.
This spacious palace stands upon the Neva
bank, over two hundred feet above the water,


and is surrounded by extensive grounds so per-
fectly kept that you can hardly find even a dead
leaf upon the lawns. The interior is adorned
with precious marbles and mosaics, costly bronzes,
tapestries from the Gobelin looms, and all that
the Empress Catharine II., who completed it, could
bring together to add to its beauty and grandeur.
It has always been a favorite residence of the
imperial family, and its park an attractive resort
for the people. The first railway in Russia was
built from St. Petersburg to Czarskoe Selo.
Crown princes have so much to learn that they
must begin early and lose no time. Until his
ninth year the education of the young Grand-
duke was superintended by Madame de Flotow,
one of the ladies of honor who had followed the
Princess Dagmar from Denmark to Russia. In
1877 the charge was given to Lieutenant-General
Danilovitch, who has arranged the Prince's hours
of instruction in accordance with those of the
military gymnasiums. His regular lessons are
from eight in the morning till three in the after-
noon, but with such intermissions that they never
exceed five hours a day. His afternoons are spent
in walks with the Emperor, or in outdoor sports,-
riding, swimming, fishing, fencing, gymnastics,-
of all of which he is very fond; and his evenings
are devoted to preparing for next day's lessons,
reading, and keeping a diary. He is an excellent
scholar and linguist; enters into his studies with
much spirit, and speaks fluently Russian, Danish,
French, German, and English. The crown princes
of England and Germany may study if they like
at the universities, but the heir of Russia must be
educated by private tutors.
Last May, upon his sixteenth birthday, the day
on which the Prince became of age, he renewed
his oath of adherence to the orthodox church, the
ceremonies taking place in the chapel of the Winter
Palace at St. Petersburg. As heir to the Russian
throne, he accompanied the Emperor and Empress
to their recent meeting with the sovereigns of Ger-
many and Austria.
In person the Prince is slight and delicately
formed, with fair complexion and auburn hair;
and he usually wears a sailor costume, which suits
his slender figure. He is a member of the Preo-
brajensky (Transfiguration) Guard, the famous
regiment founded by Peter the Great; and by

birth he is Attaman (chief) of all the Cossacks of
the empire. It is his privilege to wear the uniform
of any regiment he pleases. This in which he is
pictured is that of the Hussars.
Neither for crown princes in Europe, nor for
boys and girls in America, can we predict what
the rolling years will bring; but we will all give
our best wishes to


Son of the dauntless sea-kings,
Heir of the mighty Czars,
What stately crowns his brow may wear,
His breast what jeweled stars !
All night the red auroras flamed
Down from the ice-fields lorn,
And the winds blew swift from the southern
To greet his natal morn;
The guns of the Fortress thundered;
The church-bells thrilled the air;
Te Deums glorious stole to heaven
By many an altar fair;
A thousand thousand prayers went up
That the Lord might guard and guide
The boy who lay in his mother's arms
By Neva's brimming tide.

God help the lad whose words may bless
Or blight where'er they fall,
From woods Carpathians' winds have stirred,
To China's winding wall;
And from Solovetsk, whose crosses gleam
Athwart the Frozen seas,
To soft Crimean vales that dream
In balm and summer ease!
God grant that the Russian peasant
The Khivan by the border,
The roving Kalmuck of the steppe,
The valiant Cossack warder,
The Pole by broad-armed Vistula,
The Tartar by the sea,
And all the countless clans and tribes
Swayed by the Czar's decree,
May find that might and right are one
Within the vast domain,
And dwell in peace and loyalty
When he shall come to reign!


1884.] THE POP-CORN DANCE. 149

_o .


Pret-ty lit- tie pop-corns, toasting by the fire,

Pop! pop! pop! pop! pop! pop! pop! pop!
(Here begin to dance.)

Pop! pop! pop! pop! pop! pop! pop! pop!

Pop! pop!pop pop pop!pop!pop!pop!pop! pop!pop! pop!
(Dance forward.) fDance backward.)

Pret-ty lit te pop-corns, toasting by the fire: I

do not think they could JUMp much high er.
(At the word yUMP, jumP as high as you can.)

-(U 1/




-i ..- = cs .... '" nI17
= . . ,,,% .. -_ ,,.. ],- .













Sun on
H. M.

Holidays and Incidents.

q near Saturn.
John Flaxman, died 1826.
Thos. Carlyle, b. 1795.
Alex. Dumas, died 1870.
(7th) near Regulus.
2d Sunday in Advent.
C near Jupiter.
John Milton, born 1608.

C near Spica.

(14th) ( near Venus.
3d Sunday in Advent.
Louis Agassiz, d. 1873.
Jane Austen, died 1775.
Beethoven, born 1770.
Samuel Rogers, died 1855.
Turner (painter), d. 1851.
Shortest day in the year.
4th Sunday in Advent.
Geo. Eliot, died 1881.
Washington,.resig'd 1783.
Vasco de Gama, d. 1525.
Thos. Gray, born 1716.
Chas. Lamb, died 1834.
ist Sunday after Christmas
( close to Aldebaran.
d near Saturn.
Beaconsfield, born 1805.

THE sun, as he's nearing the end of his course,
Now drives with the goat in the traces;
And Santa Claus' reindeer are close to him now,
As on toward Christmas he races.


CLEAR the track! Quick, turn back!
Here come the sleds with the boys!
Rosy cheeks! Funny freaks!
And never-ceasing noise.


(See Introduction, page 255, ST. NICHOLAS for January.)*

DECEMBER 5th, 8.30 P. M.
SATURN is still our only evening star; he is now at his
brightest and is still in the constellation Taurus. We have
now many of the constellations and stars in view that we be-
gan the year with. Not only Taurus but Orion is fully
above the horizon. In the east is Procyon of Canis Minor,
The Little Dog, an hour high. This name Procyon means
Before the Dog, because it always rises a little before Sirius,
the Dogstar, which we can see just above the horizon in the
south-east. The Twins Castor and Pollux are in the east
also, but without JUPITER, their brilliant guest of last spring.
Above them is Capella in Auriga, The Charioteer. Lyra is
low down in the far north-west, and when it sets will remain
below the horizon but a few hours. The Square of Pegasus
and Andromeda have passed to the west of our south mark.
The most conspicuous star over our mark is Hamal, some-
times called Anetis. It is in the constellation of Aries, The
Ran, one of the constellations of the Zodiac. The sun is
some distance below this star on the 2oth of April, and passes
between The Pleiades and Aldebaran on the 2ist of May, as
mentioned in The Skies for January.


IT'S very cold this morning," said a little Christmas-tree out in the forest, one windy December day;
"though I 'm fir from head to foot, I am all in a shiver."
"You'll be warm enough before long," said the Old Oak, "I've seen the woodman looking at you
several times lately."
I know I've branched out a good deal for myself the past year," said the little Tree proudly, and I
should not wonder if Santa Claus were very well satisfied with me, when I come to be all dressed up for a
Christmas party."
Ho-ho-ho! laughed the Old Oak, "you and your family are too green; you should have put on brown,
dingy jackets like the rest of us, and then you might live to a green old age, as I shall."
Just then the Woodman appeared.
"Well! cried the little Christmas-tree, as the woodman bore it away, "it's a great honor to be chosen,
and Christmas comes but once a year."

*The names of planets are printed in capitals,-those of constellations in italics.











SNOW! Blow! Chill! Thrill! That's the way I come, Mother, but I'm a jolly, cheery fellow for all
that," cries December; "and I'm going to wrap you right up in a mantle of royal ermine, and make a real
Queen of you, with a crown of my own diamonds, and give you a long rest from your labors. We are
going to have gay times; there are so many Christmas-trees which I have to attend to, that I expect to be
busy with Santa Claus every spare moment. I must drape the forest trees with snow; and there 's a deal
of freezing to do: I can't have the brooks and streams running around so. I must put a stop to that right
away. And then, such festoons of icicles as I have to hang here and there."
Well, my dear," said Nature, "you are a jolly and cheery fellow, sure enough, and I shall be very glad
to have my robe of ermine, for it is getting cold."


OH, Santa Claus is a merry Prince,
He rules o'er the Christmas-tree!
His castle is built in fairy-land
On the topmost peak of Glee.
The name of the castle is Joyousness,
And down through its gardens gay
Run Happy River and Merry Brook
To Laughing Sea away.
The frisky leaves blow here and there
In the sweet little dancing breeze,
And fairy birds frolic the livelong day
Through the beautiful wind-swept trees.
And here in the gardens are growing the toys
That ripen for Christmas-day,

And our merry Prince has to tell the time
When they 're ready to garner away.
And how, do you ask, does he bring them to earth ?
-In a beautiful fairy boat,
That sails along through a white-cloud sea,
Like a graceful swan afloat.
And when he draws near to the frozen earth,
He leaps to his loaded sleigh,
He dons his furs and grasps the reins.-
Then, Hurrah! away, away! "
Now, if you can peep beyond the clouds
On some wonderful Christmas-eve,
I 'm sure you will see him sailing down,
His beautiful gifts to leave.


I-- -I



MADIE is a very happy little girl; and this is why her smile is so bright. She is
called the middle child of the family, because she has a brother Joe, who is older,
and a brother Benny, who is younger than she is. The boys are playing horse now, for I
can hear Joe saying: "G-e-t up!" But Madie does not like to play horse. She
would rather run about in the snow with Trip, her dear little black and
white dog.
Now I will tell you about Madie's Christmas, just one year ago.
She and Joe and Benny were very happy on that day, for they had a
L f i'r Christmas-tree full of bright little candles, all lighted, and pretty presents
which their Papa soon handed them from its branches. Madie put hers
in a nice pile, all but the best doll. She carried that in her
arms nearly all day, and said, I love her, oh, ever so much
already "-Joe liked his Punch-and-Judy show very much,
and said it was by far the best thing on the beautiful tree;
and baby Benny was made very happy by a lovely silver
rattle. This was a year ago, you know,
when Benny was only fifteen months old.
Well, once during the day, Madie was not
glad, and her smiles went quite away. I'11 tell you how it was: She
; Ty", dressed herself in her Mamma's elegant silk skirt, for fun, and with her
doll in her arms knocked at her Papa's door.
"I'll play I am a big lady" she said; "and, oh,
how surprised Papa will be to see me! "
But' Papa wanted to have some fun, too. So
he made believe that he could not open the door.
Madie knocked and knock- ,' ed, and Papa talked to her
through the door; at last he stepped back so that she
might come in. Madie did not know this; and she
knocked and pushed so hard, that-what do you
think ?-The door flew open, and Madie fell down
flat, and bumped poor dolly's head upon
"--"T--i the floor! Ah, how badly she felt! She
S forgot to be good, and cried, and stamp-
ed her little feet. She even threw off
the long skirt that had made her look so a
fine, and wrapped dolly up in it, and told
S' her, crossly, to "lie there." Papa, to
make Madie laugh, got down on his knees
and begged his little girl to forgive him. But she frowned and turned her back. Then
he went softly away, and when Madie turned to forgive him, she saw that she was all




alone. "0! Papa! Papa!" she
cried, as she ran up stairs. "Come
back-I'll forgive you! "

Sthe door; and when she knocked
I and begged him to let her in, he i i
made believe cry. "Go away i "

he said just as Madie had said it f
when she was naughty. "But
I'm good, now! begged Madie, laughing. "I don't
want you sobbed Papa in fun. "I want the fine lady
again with her little girl." So Madie ran down and
put on the skirt as fast as she could, and then with her
doll on her arm she met Papa in the hall.
Good-day, sir !" said she very sweetly; "I 've brought my little girl to see you,
and we wish you a merry Christmas, sir."
The same to you," said Papa with a bow,
Sas he caught his little girl in his arms and
Kissed her,-"and now take off your fin-
a ery, and put on your white fur coat, for
you are to go in the carriage with Mamma,
to bring your cousins. We all shall have I \
a happy Christmas dinner together!" .
S" Oh, oh, how lovely!" cried Madie,
~' w d laughingwith joy; and Benny clapped his little hands,whileJoe held
him up to the window to see the horses come prancing to the house.
"Joe!" called Madie from the steps-"Mamma says you and Benny may
come, too! "
"Me tan't," said Baby stoutly. "Me doin' to see Doe work his Punce-and-
Doody!" .

4| *





CHRISTMAS comes but once a year; but it
strikes me that it comes uncommonly early some-
times, that is, for Jack-in-the-Pulpits, who, so to
speak, are cultivated by ST. NICHOLAS. Here
my birds have hardly finished picking up the
crumbs from Thanksgiving feasts, when, lo! a
sound of joy is heard, the East is aglowwith a new
light, and little "Merry Christmases" begin to
tingle and sparkle deep in everybody's heart, ready
to spread and grow until, on the blessed day, they
leap forth in happy speech and great love for all
the world in general, and every one in particular!
I can see that you already are conscious of this
same Christmas something -

Ha! Ho! I feel the glow,'
But what it is I hardly know;
It must be Christmas coming, 0!

Bless me! what a grand thing it is to be able
to make other folk happy,-rich folk, poor folk
(most especially poor folk), young folk, old folk,
sick folk, well folk, -to start a summer in their
souls right in the middle of winter -a summer of
roses, lollipops and trumpets and drums! God
bless you, my beloved, and keep you in peace and
goodness and joy till Jack says Merry Christ-
mas" to you again !
Now for business. What matter shall we dis-
pose of first ? It shall be the letters. Here is one
from Angie:
NEWBURG, June 7, 1884.
MY DEAR JACK: This afternoon as I was sitting on the back
piazza watching a thunder-storm come up the river, I seemed to see
clouds, or, rather, quite a few miniature feathers, about as large as
a pencil-dot floating through the air, when I looked across the river
or at the sky. It never happened to me before, or, at least, I think
it never did, although it may have done so. Perhaps, this is quite
common, but, if it is not too much trouble, will you print this note,
and let the dear Little School-ma'am's scholars give me an answer?
Your constant reader, ANGIE M. MYERS.

The Little School-ma'am says that Angle's ex-
perience is not an uncommon one. She thinks
that she may have been watching the lightning, or
else the sun as it was being alternately hidden
and revealed by the clouds.
But why should watching either the lightning or
the sun make Angle's eyes act in this remarkable
manner ? Have any of my boys and girls any ex-
planation to offer?

HERE is a letter from the Deacon:
DEAR JACK: Let me show your youngsters some words that
a good and gifted man once wrote in the fly-leaf of a new book.
The book had been bought by a young Boston mother foi her only
boy, and she was in the cars on her way home from New York,
when she was joined by Wendell Phillips, who chanced to be on the
same train. They were old friends, and the mother soon showed
Mr. Phillips the book, which was entitled, Stectacles for Young
Eyes. He glanced over it, and then, taking a pencil from his
pocket, rapidly wrote these few lines on the fly-leaf:
Better loves to read
Than to play;
Hear him with mother plead,
SBring me a book from far away.'
The mind's.food,
Are good;
But never clutch
Too much.
Good soul, sound stomach, strong brain,-
These are the chain
Which hold the world in your hand
And govern the land.
These serve God the best,
Till he gives you rest.
If you'd fill life with true joy,
My boy,
While you use these 'SPECTACLES
Remember to get strong
As well as wise.
"Wendell PhilliZs."
This was some years ago. Frank, who is now a man and well
worthy of his noble old friend, lately showed me the book. Ibegged
him to let me copy the lines for your young folk.
Yours truly, SILAS GREEN.

HERE is a picture of a curious and sedate old
fellow, who not only seems to have on an over-
coat, but one that apparently belonged to his
great-great-grandfather. It is long in the sleeves,
high in the neck, and seems to be a little narrow
in the back. In fact, this overcoat is such a close
fit that it never comes off, as it is the peculiar
marking of the bird, and is made of curious feath-
ers that appear almost like scales.
If our comical-looking friend could talk, he would
tell you that this picture was taken while he was on
a visit to Her Majesty the Queen of England, and
was boarding at the London Zo6logical Gardens,
and that he belongs to the exalted order of
Spenisci. Between you and me this high-sound-
ing word only means that he is a penguin, who
lives in some of the Queen's dominions in the
Antarctic regions, and, like all the feathered in-
habitants of out-of-the-way countries, he seems
very strange and curious and not at all bird-like.
Note how far back his feet are; how erect he
stands; how long his arms are, and how much



like fins they look. You would almost think him
a fish, and should you see him in the water you
would be sure of it, for there he dives along just
like one, and experts have taken his brothers and
cousins for small porpoises as they jumped from
wave to wave, using their long wings just like fins.
On shore they stand upright, and march along in
great bodies, so that from a distance they have
been taken for soldiers.
Our friend in London, as I am told by C. F.
Holder, the naturalist, is the representative of a


is the nursery where the mothers and young live, curious little fel-
lows covered with wool. If any of your friends, dear Jack, should
go on a hunt after penguin eggs they would be awfully puzzled, as
perhaps after seeing an egg from a distance, when they got to the
spot they would find no egg there, while the old bird would protest
with its 'urr-urr-urr' that it knew nothing about it. Old sailors
used to say that the birds carried their great eggs under their arms,
but that was a mistake. The missing egg will be found in a pouch
right between the bird's broad-webbed feet. So you see some of the
penguins not only have overcoats, but pockets in which the egg is
carried about on land and kept warm, and is the only nest the pen-
guin has. Some of the penguins, as the jackass of the Cape of Good
Hope, build a nest near the shore; and what a nest it is! Perhaps
there will be a collection of pebbles, then a covering of the white
and blue shells of a goose barnacle; then some sea-weed, and then,
in the case I have in view, half
a dozen rusty nails, a piece of
wood from a wreck, the nozzle of
an old glass bottle, and the cover
of a tin can--curious material,
your children will say, for a nur-
sery! Such a nest was found
in the Falkland Islands, and the
objects were taken from a hut
deserted by whalers. Several of
the birds had taken possession
of the hut and built their nests
on the floor, and made violent
objection when the rightful own-
ers returned."

All these facts, you
-- must understand, are
taken down from my
friend Holder's personal
Information, and my
Birds assure me that he
; knows a great deal
S. about birds and beasts,
S M. e' r, a k and all manner of living
.,. j s w e things.

... DOG.
Oct. 2d, x884.
S I was lying at my master's feet
the other evening when his sister
was reading to him out of ST.
NICHOLAS (which they think
,very much of, by the way) about
"ol the advanced ages of dogs and
other animals, so I thought that
I would get her to write to you
and tell you about a dog that is
-bi'g ifhe isn't old.
I was given to my little master
.o...... n his twelfth birthday, and I
_- -"think everything of him, and he
thinks just as much of me, you
-may be sure.
I am a full-blooded Newfound-
land dog of the St. John's breed;
-__ ---I am one year old, my weight
------ -_-is 145 pounds, my height, 3
r--inches, my length, from tip of
____ __ I nose to tip of tail, is 70 inches,
"THES t WITHANVERCOA. - and what is more, dear Jack,I
Every day I go with my mas-
large tribe, all looking in general alike, but hav- ter to a restaurant to get my meat, and I carry the basket in my
ing certain differences, so that they form various mouth there and back.
I am the biggest dog in this city, and I heard a lady say one day
families. that when I growl it shakes the house. I expect that you will
think me a very self-conceited dog; but everybody tells me that I am
"Some," Mr. Holder's letter says, "are king penguins; others noble and handsome, so I begin to think that it is so.
are jackass penguins, while others, again, are called rockhoppers. Yours truly,
They are all confined to the Antarctic regions, and live in rookeries LIONEL LOVERING.,
on the desert islands in such vast numbers that no one could count
them. They live in regular cities of grass, divided off into streets,
alleys, and lanes, along which the penguin families pass just as P. S. Lionel is my real name, but every one in the family calls
people do in their own homes. The king penguins divide their me Lion for short.
settlement into two portions: a larger and a smaller, and the latter L. L.




DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The principal of our Sunday-schoolis going
to get up a "Children's Christmas Club," like the one you told about,
so that we may give presents to all the poor little children. I think it
will be lovely to see them made so happy. We have to pay ten cents
to enter, and ten cents every month. This money must be earned,
not exactly by work, but by some self-denial or something like that.
I have a lovely Sunday-school teacher, who will help our class to
dress dolls and make pretty things. We used to have a dog, a cat
and little kittens, three cows, a great number of chickens and ducks,
and two horses. But we moved and left them all with my grand-
father. I have taken ST. NICHOLAS ever so long, and like it very
much. The account of the Pertland "Christmas Club" in ST.
NICHOLAS for last December gave us the idea of getting up one.
Your friend, EUGENIE L.

"An admiring friend, M. D.," will please accept our thanks for
the compliment of the following lines which he kindly sends to the
Letter-Box :
(New version.)
It was time he should come, and I thought he might be
In the package the postman had handed to me;
I tore off the wrapper incredibly quick,
And saw "in a moment that it was ST. NICK,"-
Not he whose one visit occurs in December,
Whom all little ones by his gifts can remember,
But dear old ST. NICK, with its goodness and cheer
That brighten our household each month of the year !

WELLSBORO, PA., September, 1884.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am ten years old, and we have taken
you eleven years, so I have had the ST. NICHOLAS all my life. You
don't know how glad we are when a new number of you comes.
There is a scramble and a rush, for we all try to get a look at it first.
I say "all," for there are a good many of us-five girls and two
boys besides me.
I read Marvin and his Boy Hunters," and wished it was longer;
and the Spinning-wheel Stories" are splendid We have an old
dog named Towzer. He is a very good dog, but rather hard on
cats. Whenever he sees one, he 'll chase it till it runs up a tree.
But still he never hurts them. One day he saw a little kitten drown-
ing in a stream, and he just put his nose in and lifted it out, and let
it run away without chasing it. Was n't he good? There's ever
so much more to say; but as I don't want to fill up any more room
in your precious magazine, I'11 stop.
Your loving reader, FRANCES P- .

KINCARDINE, ONT., February, 1884.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a Canadian girl, living on the shores
of Lake Huron. I want to tell you about the range of ice hills which
are formed along the lake shore every winter, and which have the
appearance of a range of miniature mountain-peaks, rising sometimes
to a height of twenty or thirty feet. Some of these are hollow, with an
opening leading to the water, and each wave as it surges into the
opening sends forth a jet of spray and pieces of ice from the summit
like a real volcano. It is a splendid sight to see a range of ice
mountains stretching for miles along the shore, most of them snowy
white and others of a mottled appearance, owing to the sand thrown
up by the waves. The ice during the winter season stretches out as
far as the horizon, but it is often taken nearly all away by the wind.
From your true friend,

KANSAS CITY, Mo., October, 1884.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I have intended for some time to write to
you, but have put it off, as little folks are very apt to do, and,
Mamma says, big folks, too! But now I have something that I
must tell you. I have had a real Jumbo day just as big in pleas-
ure as Jumbo is as an elephant, and with Jumbo, too. Barnum's
circus has been here, with Jumbo and Queen and the Baby, and I
enjoyed seeing Queen and the Baby so much after reading the
October ST. NICHOLAS. Queen looks so gentle and quiet, ittloes
not seem as if she ever could be in such a rage. Of course, in a
large city like this, it is difficult to find vacant ground for the large
tents, and it happened that the place finally chosen was very near
where I live, only half a block from the back of our yard. There
were thirty elephants with the circus, but the ones which interested
me most were the three I first mentioned, and which have become
so well known to all of us children who read the ST. NICHOLAS, as

I do. While the parade was going through the streets in the morn-
ing, the keepers brought those three elephants to the hydrant
near us and gave them their bath. You never saw anything
so funny as Jumbo was; he would fill his trunk with water and
throw it first over the left side of his body, then the right side, then
over his back, and next under him on his stomach. Sometimes he
would lift one ear and throw the water in there. Several times the
keeper took hold of his trunk and led him away to give Queen and
the Baby a chance to get near the tub, but before he could fairly
turn around, Jumbo's trunk was over his head and into the tub
again. Sometimes he threw the water over the Baby, who seemed
to enjoy it very much. Again, late in the afternoon, they brought
these three out to the hydrant, and my papa took me out close to
them. I did enjoy it all so much, and I wished all the little children
could have had such a day with Jumbo as I had. I watch for ST.
NICHOLAS every month, and think I like best the articles that tell
about circuses and cats. Your constant reader, SARAH C.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am a little girl nearly ten years old, and
am spending some time with my grandma and aunt in the mountains
of Virginia. We are all natives of New Orleans, La. This is the
first letter I ever wrote to you, and I hope you will not throw it in
the scrap-basket My mamma, who is in Montgomery, Ala., wrote
me that my little sister, who is only eighteen months old, said one
night, when she was sleepy, "Mamma, my eyes are gone." I
thought the remark so original I would write it to you.
I am so delighted with ST. NICHOLAS, and, although not a sub-
scriber, I have been taking all the numbers for the past three or four
years, and have three or four volumes. The stories are all so pretty
I can't say which I like best
I would like to write of the lovely scenery around here, but I
wont tire you any more; so I remain, your new and admiring little
friend, EDITH C--.

BESSIE H., Brooklyn: Concord, Mass.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: A young girl and her little brother were
out on a boating expedition with some friends. The little boy
asked his sister to throw a wet handkerchief on the top of the water,
in such a way as to make it puff out like a balloon. She replied
that she could n't do it then with her gloves on, and told him to
wait. He said nothing more about it until they had landed, and
then he repeated his request. She again told him that he must
wait until they reached home, and then remarked to one of the
party that her little brother seemed to think that it was a great
attainment to be able to make a balloon out of a handkerchief.
Was that a correct use of the word "attainment," or would it
have been better to say "accomplishment"?
We have been having quite a little controversy as to whether or
not it was making a right use of the word, and so I thought I would
ask you to settle the question for us, and we will agree on whatever
you decide. Yours truly, ALFREDA P.
It was an allowable use of the word attainment, but accomplik-
ment would have been a better word in that special instance.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken your magazine for eight
years, and like it very much. I like Miss Alcott's and Frank
R. Stockton's stories very much.
The town in which I live is all undermined by coal-mines, and
sometimes parts of the town sink down, and the outskirts of the
town are all full of mine-holes. I am thirteen years old, and I don't
think I shall'ever be too old to read you. Yours, etc., F. C. L.

WE heartily thank the following young friends for the very
pleasant letters we have received from them: Stephanie Marie
Coster, Georgie and Lucy, Victorin, A. McClees, Maybell E. H.,
Kate, "Edie," Clifton D. Pettis, "Papa and I," Christine M.,
Gettie Nagel, Meredith Hanna, A. E. C., May Bell Mayer, Flor-
ence P. Boss6, Stanley J. T. Platts, Mabel H. Chse, C. Higbe,
Reid Simpson, Blanche McC., Flora Gros, Mabel Pollard, P. W. S.,
Louise Adele Ken, George Walkem, N6rah Hamilton, M. E. K.,
L. I., Gussie, Benny, and "Skye," Mary B., L. F. L., Kittie
Greenwood A., Geo. W. Stearns, A. Lincoln Fisher, K. Emmet,
W. B., Lillie, Virginia D'Orfeuille Start.


1884.1 THE LETTER-BOX. 157


To ALL the members and friends of the Agassiz Association we
wish a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Although the summer has its advantages in affording objects for
collection, and warm days that invite us out-of-doors, yet the winter
is, after all, quite as friendly to our work, for we all are quietly at
home or at school, and have leisure for that patient study of our
specimens which is our real purpose.
The most prominent feature noticeable this month in the progress
of our Association is the greater earnestness of the members and
the more substantial character of the work reported.
Superintendents of schools are coming to take an interest in the
A. A., and they see in it a practical solution of the problem ofintro-
ducing the study of Nature into the public schools.
The effect of our Convention is apparent in the formation of new
Chapters, and in the stimulus received by old Chapters.
The Chapters of Iowa have formed a State Assembly, like the
city Assemblies of Philadelphia, Boston, Buffalo, etc., and the invita-
tions to their next annual meeting, in August, 1885, are already
issued. It will not be long before all our larger cities will have these
valuable and powerful Assemblies.
Let each one do his utmost to raise the standard of the work done
in his Chapter, and to extend the knowledge and influence of the
general Association. By the way, there is properly only one
"Agassiz Association," consisting of many local Societies. It is not
right, therefore, to speak of the Blanktown Agassiz Association,"
but rather of the "Blanktown Chapter of the ST. NICHOLAS
AGASSIZ AssocIATION." Any other form leads to confusion. The
new Chapters of the month are as follows:

No. Name. No. of Members. Address.
703 Philadelphia (X)........ .2..S. K. Biddle, 449 W. 2d St.
704 Canastota, N. Y;........- 5. Chas. E. Beebee.
705 Philadelphia (Y).......... 9..Miss Edith Earpe, 64x N.
43d St.
706 Canandaigua, N. Y........ 2..Lansing Burnett.
707 Spenceville, Cal......... 4. Miss Maude M. Smith.
708 Poughkeepsie, N. Y....... 4..P. T. Bourne.
709 Philadelphia (Z).......... x..H. D: Allen, 2305 St. Albans
710 San Bernardino, Cal......2o..A. S. Guthrie.
711 Glens Falls, N. Y......... 5..E. R. Wait.
712 Brooklyn, N. Y. (I)....... 4..I. E. Underhill, 227 Ray-
S mond St.
713 Old Chatham, N. Y....... 2..R. W. Morey.
7x4 Concord, N. H ........... 6..Brian C. Roberts, 76 Rum-
ford St
715 Bloomington. Ill.......... 4..Spencer Ewing.

545 Fall River, Mass ............. 0. K. Hawes.
The Lenox Chapter has for exchange, geodes and various fine
mineral specimens, mounted woods (labeled), birds' eggs, and
Central American ferns. Address for particulars, William Andreus,
Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass.
The Sec. of Salisbury, Mass. (A), is Ralph Halley, instead of Miss
Helen Montgomery.
Minerals, insects, and birds, for large and rare insects, or other
specimens in general.--G. W. Altman, 534 Clinton St., Buffalo,
N. Y.
I should like to correspond with Edgar G. Banta. His name is
almost like mine.- Edward G. Banta, Osceola, Iowa.
Perfect A rgynnis Cybele, A rgynnis Bellana, and Vanessa Cardni,
for other butterflies.-Miss McFarland, r727 F. St. N. W.
Washington, D. C.

138. Swarms of Btterflies.-We have had a swarm of thou-
sands of golden-brown butterflies on our maples.-E. G. Banta,
Osceola, Iowa.
139. Cardinal Head (?).-I found near Long Branch, in a
clump of elder, the nest of a large bird. The bird is black, and has
a cardinal head. The nest was fully five inches in length and three
in width, and was fastened by four corners to the branch. The eggs,

three or four in number, were of a lilac tinge, with irregular black
marks at the larger end. I should like to know what bird it is.-
Mary H. Tatnall.
142. Insecls in Snow. --August 5, I was coming down one of
the highest mountains of Colorado Grey's Peak. Near the sum-
mit was a large snow-bank, far above timber-line. In this snow was
a large number of living insects, flies, mosquitoes, and bugs.
Without moving I counted over twelve different kinds. They were
burrowing in the snow and traveling around in their little caves.
Perhaps the banks are the breeding-places for the mountain insects,
as ponds are the homes of the insects lower down.
It will be worth while for the members of the clubs near the
mountains to study the snow-banks and note down what they see.-
Rev. W. D. Westervelt, Denver, Colorado.
x43. Cynthia Huntera.-This butterfly, hitherto very rare, has
this year been quite abundant here. I found the larvae on the
"Dusty Miller." They are black at first and covered with spines,
but become light gray as they grow older. There were three broods
this season.- Eugene H. Home, Stratham, N. Y.
144. Katydids.-"When a boy I lived in Kentucky. Black
locust-trees surrounded our house. When the katydids began to
sing in the evening, we children used to gogo out into the yard and
touch tree after tree with our fingers. No matter how light the
touch, it caused the singing to cease, and a moment or two after our
fingers were removed it would recommence. Sometimes there would
be as many as ten katydids on a single tree, and no matter how
close we approached, or how near we placed our fingers to the tree,
the music would continue; but the lightest touch would cause it to
stop instantan eously. At the time, I did this for mere amusement;
but, in thinking of it in later years, I am puzzled to account for it."
Such is the singular story told me by a gentleman in whom I have
the utmost confidence. Have others of the A. A. had any similar
experience, or will any one give an explanation of this strange fact?
- Frank M. Davis, St. Louis, Mo.
145. Wheelbug."- I noticed in the June ST. NICHOLAS your
question in regard to the so-called "wheelbug."
Its scientific name is Redumius novenarius say; Prionotus crista-
tus (Linn.); the eggs are of a square-flasked shape, and are de-
posited in a hexagonal mass, containing seventy or more. The
young larve are blood-red, with black markings. The larvae, pupm,
and perfect insects feed on any insects they can overpower, not
sparing one of their own kind. The imago is a singular insect, of
slow motions when undisturbed, and has on the back of the thorax
a wheel-like crest, having from eight to thirteen prongs, which is not
possessed by the larva and pups.-Yours truly, Alonzo H. Stew-
art, Chapter 275 (E), No. 204 Fourth St., S. E. Washington,D. C.


WILMINGTON, DEL., October, 1884.
Dear Sir: This Friday we will commence a new year of hard
study of natural history. Last year we collected a great many
natural objects, but I think that this year there will be more work
done than before. Hoping that it will be of more interest to us, I
remain, yours, etc., A. E. Keigwin, Sec.
691, Red Bank, N. J. This is our first report, and we have little
matter yet to present beyond the fact of our organization. The sug-
gestions given in the hand-book were found very helpful; and, with
their assistance, we experienced no difficulty in drafting a constitu-
tion and putting ourselves into working order.
Our first need being a cabinet, it was agreed that each member
should be his own judge as to form and material. To one, it proved
to be a set of shelves; to another, a series of drawers; while, for the
general collection, we constructed a larger cabinet, toward which
each one is to contribute.
Our attention has been confined this summer mostly to the gather-
ing of sea-shells, birds' eggs, and different varieties of leaves, to the
arranging of which we purpose devoting our winter evenings.
Thanks to ST. NICHOLAS for pointing out to us the way to convert
work into play, and to mingle so admirably pleasure and instruction.
--Persie B. Sickels, Sec.
256, Newton Upper Falls. Chapter 256, A. A. is still advancing.
We have added two new members. One of them is a girl who is
very much interested in natural history, especially entomology. She
is a very pleasant girl, and one whom we all like, but is very unfor-
tunate in one respect. For a long time her eyes have troubled her,
and now the doctors tell her that her eyesight will never be stronger,
and that eventually she will be blind. So for her the Agassiz As-
sociation is a help,-one thing in which she can interest herself.
In our study we have dropped all other departments of science,
and give our whole attention to birds. We find it very fascinating,
and some of our members are growing to be quite expert in distin-
guishing the numerous birds, and in describing their nests and eggs.
One member reports finding bluebirds' eggs the 9th of March,


which is earlier than ornithologists give the time. One question that
perplexes us, and upon which we desire more knowledge, is, Do
robins and other birds, if their nests are troubled and some of the
eggs taken, eat the remaining eggs, or otherwise destroy them; and
if not, what does become of the other eggs? For often they are
gone when it is almost certain that no one has approached the nest
since some were taken. One member insists that the birds eat their
own eggs. Some of the A. A. are probably wise enough to know.
- Sincerely yours, Josie M. Hopkins, Sec.
47, Hazleton, Luzerne Co., Pa. Harlan H. Ballard. Dear Sir:
I submit to you our third report. Our membership has increased to
eight, and we expect soon to give an entertainment. Have our
cabinet full to overflowing, and will soon get a show-case.
In answer to the question in report 42,-how to get fossils from
the rock,- the slate in which the fossils here (carboniferous age) are
found has a great cleavage, and even in impressions, and more so in
fossils, will crack open at the specimen. The fossils generally have
a thin covering of glossy coal, which preserves the form and per-
haps makes them easier to get out.-Yours very truly, Thos. F.
686, Lunenburg, Mass. Our days of infancy are being passed
quietly, but we feel that we are growing. We number seven active
and three -honorary members.
We have met regularly every other Saturday but one since our or-
ganization. As a safeguard against the admission of any but
workers to active membership, we have introduced the custom of
making the acceptance of an election consist in reading a paper be-
fore the Chapter, and we find that this regulation works very well.

Each member is expected once in two months to read a paper or
give a talk before the Chapter on some subject which he has been
especially working up.
The chief difficulty we have to contend with is a hanging back in
this matter of writing essays; in this difficulty we presume we are
not alone.-J. S. Pray.

We conclude this report by giving you the following very kind
offer of Professor A. Ramsay, of London:
"Although I live a long way off, I should like to be allowed to
show my appreciation of your work by offering to help in any way I
This, I am well aware, does not amount to much, because my
time is so fully occupied with scientific matters in this country; but
whatever I may want in this respect shall, I hope, be made up in
willingness. I will volunteer to do what I can to answer questions
in Physical Geography.-Yours faithfully, A. Ramsay, 4 Cooper
Road, Acton, London, W."
[ Will the Secretaries of Chapters kindly be punctual in sending
in their bi-monthly reports ?]
President's address: Mr. HARLAN H. BALLARD,
Principal of Lenox Academy,
Lenox, Mass.



EACH of the sixteen small pictures in the above illustration may be described by a word of four letters. Take the first letter of the first
four words, the second of the second four, the third letter of the third four, and the last letter of the last four words. These sixteen letters
will form a Latin quotation that is always associated with the Emperor Constantine.


THIS differs from the ordinary cross-word enigma, by requiring
two answers instead of one. The first letter of each answer is "in
noisy, not in still," the second "in slaughter, not in kill," and so
on until the two words have been spelled. One of these words is a
name for Christmas Day; the other, a name for the season.

In noisy, not in still;
In slaughter, not in kill;
In trammel, not in hook;
In viewing, not in look;
In rivet, not in wed;
In living, not in dead;
In trident, not in prong;
In yearning, not in long.
EACH of the words described contains eight letters. When rightly
selected and placed one below the other in the order here given, the
third row of letters (reading downward) will spell a festive season;
and the sixth row, a parasitic growth much in use at that season.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Appeased. 2. Acting. 3. Fondled. 4. Arch-
bishops. 5. Assaulted. 6. Those who provide food. 7. One who
reckons. 8. Soldiers trained to serve either on horseback or on foot.
9. Those who examine metallic ores. CYRIL DEANE.

MY first was so dense that second lost my way. "Oh, third!"
said second, this.irst is enough to w/ole anybody." MAX.

I. SYNCOPATE a blemish from to fail of the intended effect, and
leave muddy. 2. Syncopate alimb of a man from heating, and leave
a limb of a fowl. 3. Syncopate a little demon from artlessly, and leave
artful. 4. Syncopate a negative from to imply, and leave the fruit
of the pine. 5. Syncopate a label from the childishness of old age,
and leave a deer. 6. Syncopate a pony from the weight of goods
carried in a ship, and leave sound. 7. Syncopate a tavern from a
small fish, and leave to cut grass. 8. Syncopate the oily part of
milk from shrieking, and leave to utter melodious sounds. 9. Synco-
pate a possessive pronoun from at what place, and leave a personal
pronoun. eo. Syncopate a sign from an instant, and leave a familiar
abbreviation. sI. Syncopate to cut off from muddy, and leave an

emissary. 12. Syncopate an emmet from a closet, and leave to in-
spect closely. 13. Syncopate to work for from cautious, and leave
a color.
The initials of the syncopated words, arranged in the order here
given, will spell the name of an ancient bishop whose feast is cele-
brated in December. PAUL REESE.

I. NOT liberal toward the opinion of others. 2. Reflected. 3.
Measured. 4. An architectural embellishment. 5. A boy's nick-
name. 6. A boy's nickname. 7. In emend. FRANK.

I. BEHEAD an exclamation, and leave to need. 2. Behead a shelf,
and leave a margin. 3. Behead a summary of Christian belief, and
leave a pastoral pipe. 4. Behead oxygen in a condensed form, and
leave a belt. 5. Behead a pronoun, and leave an inheritor. 6.
Behead a hard blow, and leave a bunch.
The beheaded letters will spell the name of a well-known writer.
r. IN diamond. 2. A title. 3. Lakes. 4. Chooses. 5. Guid-
ance. 6. To correct. 7. Inflexible. 8. A kind of sauce for fish.
9. In diamond. "NAVAJO."

THE diagonals, beginning at the top, spell the name of a plant
sometimes called the Christmas-flower.
CROSS-WORDS: x. An evergreen. 2. To break. 3. A military
salute. 4. To pace. 5. A strong rope. 6. A manufacturing town
of England. 7. An inundation. 8. A subterranean chapel. 9. To
elevate. DYCIE.


REBUs. "Of all those arts in which the wise excel, CUBE. From I to 2, rascal; 2 to 6, leaves; 5 to 6, dishes; I to 5,
Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well." rimmed; 3 to 4, tomtit; 4 to 8, tether; 7 to 8, tanner; 3 to 7,
NUMERICAL ENIGMA. tumult; I to 3, rat; 2 to 4, lit; 6 to 8, sir; 5 to 7, dot.
"Praise Him for our harvest store, COMBINATION PUZZLE. Primals, Name; finals, Less. Cross-
He hath filled the garner floor; words: i. NelL. 2. AchE. 3. MisS. 4. EelS.
And for richer food than this, METAMORPHOSES. i. One, ode, odd, add, aid, rid, rod, cod, coo,
Pledge of everlasting bliss." too, two. 2. Fish, fist, gist, girt, gird, bird. 3. North,.forth, forts,
CHARADE. Sea-man-ship. fords, lords, loads, roads, roods, roots, boots, booth, sooth, south.
INVERTED PYRAMID. Across: I. Barbarian. 2. Sealion. 3. 4. Earth, garth, girth, girts, girls, gills, galls, gales, gates, hates,
Drips. 4. Eve. 5. E. hater, water. 5. East, last, lest, west. 6. Calf, call, cell, sell, seal,
HALF-SQUARE. I. Sarcastic. 2. Aversion. 3. Relapse. 4 veal. 7. Pink, pick, peck, peak, beak, beam, seam, slam, slag,
Craves. 5. Aspen. 6. Siss. 7. Toe. 8. In. 9. C. slug, slue, blue. 8. Lion, lien, lies, ties, tier, bier, beer, bear.
PECULIAR ACROSTICS. Fourth line, Thanksgiving; sixth line Pi. Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson,
Proclamation. Cross-words: i. mulTiPlex. 2. cipHeRing. 3. Yet our full-leaved willows are in their freshest green.
belAbOred. 4. barNaCles. 5. sacKcLoth. 6. conStAble. 7. Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing
triGaMous. 8. digItAted. 9. priVaTion. zo. decisIons. Ir. With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.
chiNcOugh. 12. conGeNial. "ThirdofNovember.
THE names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be
addressed to ST. NICHOLAS Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY Co., 33 East Seventeenth street, New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER were received, before October 20, from Arthur Gnde-Blanche Sherry-
Maggie T. Turrill- Francis W. Islip- Hugh and Cis- "Daisy, Pansy, and Sweet William "- Harry Wheelock.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER were received, before October o, from Mabel L. and Florence E., Ix-Paul
Reese, io-" Onlagiskit," 7 Louise D. Pitkin, I Alice R. Douglass, 3 -" Navajo," 7 -No name, New York, I -" Luck," 8- Harry
Creed, Albert Casey, r May Lanahan, 3 Hallie Woods, -" Pepper and Maria," 9- M. Simpkins, 5- Clare and Constance
Hubert, M. Barnett and M. Gowm, --W. Davis, -G. F. F., I-D. C., 3-Claire Starkey, I-Pearl W., -Victor, I--Ida
Maude Preston, Mabel and Frankie, 3- Lilian Osborne, Mabel C., Ella Vivian, 5 -Lidie Le Maistre, i-Johnny Duck, Ix
--Cora Felson and Theresa Scott, 2-L. E. M., x-Bob Howard, 2--Harry J. Light, 5 Robin Hood," 7-Louise, Addie. and
Eleanor, 6- Alma Hoffman, Effie K. Talboys, 6 Jennie E. Denman, I C. M. L., 9 -Walter Kinsey, i- H. H. C., I Maude
Bugbee, -S. R. T., 2-E. M. Lewis, 8- Blanche McC., s -" Tweedledum and Tweedledee," 4- L. H. B., 2-Tiny Puss, Mitz
and Muff, o S. H. Hepner, I Pencroft," 4- May Warren, 3 Blanche Sherry, "Grantham," London, 6 Herbert Gaytes, 5 -
Alex. Laidlaw, 4 Margie Ware, r- Pliny O. Dorman, i- Emma A. Warner, 8- Marian C. Hatch, s-L. I., 9-Alice M. Burbank,
I-Miles Turpin, 8- Olive, Ida, and Lillie G., 4- Lulu Fargo, 3-Edith L. Young. 3-T. R. and E. R. S., 12- E. G. C. and H. E.
B., 6-" Shumway Hen and Chickens," o- '" Two Cousins," 6 S. and S., 8- Clara and Mamma, 2 Jennie L. Dupuis, 3-" I,
Me, and Myself," 2 Ida and Edith Swanwick, 6 -" Captain Nemo," 4 E. Muriel Grundy, 8 -"Jimmy Jones," 4 Harry S. Adams,
-Daisy, 7- apa, Eleanor, and Maude Peart, and J. Spiller, 7- Majorie L., 3 G. and A. Cooley, 3- Mabel Cholwell Miller, ro-
George Habenicht, 2 Petsy and Beatie, a Mary P. Stockett, 8 Hessie D. Boylston, 2- Tom and George, 4.




WITH her funny little glasses you 'd have thought her very
If it was n't for the laughter that was peeping from her eyes;
Just the queerest and the dearest little school-ma'am ever
Whose way of teaching boys and girls was certainly her own.

" I give my brightest pupil," in a pleasant tone she said,
" A little corner by himself to show that he is head,
And, to spare the tender feelings of the dullest boy, I put
All the others in a circle so you can't tell which is foot.

" Whenever any pupil in his lessons does n't miss,
I encourage his endeavors with a penny sugar-kiss;
And, since this slight upon the rest might too severely fall,
I take the box of kisses and I hand 'em round to all.

" I 've asked them what they 'd like to be a dozen times or
And each, I find, intends when grown to keep a candy store;



So, thinking that they ought to have some knowledge of their
I 've put a little stove in, just to show them how it's made.

"Enthusiastic? Bless you, it is wonderful to see
How interested in such things a little child can be;
And, from their tempting taffy and their luscious lollipops,
I 'm sure they'll do me credit when they come to open shops."

And, with a nod that plainly showed how free she was from
She deftly smoothed the wrinkles of her snowy apron out-
Just the queerest and the dearest little school-ma'am ever known,
Whose way of teaching boys and girls was really her own !


-' - ----- ^ --- -- -
'o- 'c__ _>r


jL. Z-r"~~