Front Cover
 Driven back to Eden
 Davy and the goblin
 My valentine
 Tyrant Tacy
 Englis kings in a nutshell
 Little red-riding-hood and the...
 His one fault
 The little knight
 A queer partnership
 Personally conducted
 Ralph's winter carnival
 Frowns of smiles? - Among...
 Winter days
 The brownies' return
 Stories of art and artists - Sixteenth...
 Circe's auction
 For very little folk
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 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 February 1885
mods:recordIdentifier source ufdc UF00065513_00153
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. 4
mods:topic Children's literature
Literature for Children
St. Nicholas.
Saint Nicholas
mods:typeOfResource text
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2 4 No. 4
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METS:structMap STRUCT1 mixed
D1 Front Cover
P1 Page
D2 Frontispiece
P3 Plate
D3 Driven back to Eden 3 Chapter
P4 241
P5 242
P6 243
P7 244
P83 245 5
P8 246 6
P9 247 7
P10 248 8
P11 249 9
D4 Davy and the goblin
P12 250
P13 251
P14 252
P15 253
P16 254
P17 255
P18 256
P19 257
P20 258
D5 My valentine Poem
P21 259
D6 Tyrant Tacy
P22 260
P23 261
P24 262
P25 263
P26 264
D7 Englis kings in a nutshell
P27 265
P28 266
P30 268
P31 269
P32 270
D8 Little red-riding-hood February wolf
P33 271
D9 His one fault
P34 272
P35 273
P36 274
P37 275
P38 276
P39 277
P40 278
D10 The little knight 10
P41 279
D11 A queer partnership 11
P42 280
D12 Personally conducted
P43 281
P44 282
P45 283
D13 Ralph's winter carnival 13
P46 284
P47 285
P48 286
P49 287
D14 Frowns smiles 14
P50 288 (MULTIPLE)
P51 289
P52 290
P53 291
P54 292
P55 293
P56 294
P57 295
P58 296
D15 Winter days 15
P59 297
D16 brownies' return 16
P60 298
P61 299
P62 300
P63 301
D17 Stories art artists Sixteenth paper 17
P64 302
P65 303
P66 304
P67 305
P68 306
P69 307
D18 Circe's auction 18
P70 308
P71 309
P72 310
P73 311
D19 For very folk 19
P74 312
P75 313
D20 Jack-in-the-pulpit 20
P76 314
P77 315
D21 letter-box 21
P78 316
P79 317
D22 riddle-box 22
P80 318
P81 319
P82 320
D23 23 Back
D24 Spine
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St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00153
 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: UF00065513:00153
 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
    Driven back to Eden
        Page 241
        Page 242
        Page 243
        Page 244
        Page 245
        Page 246
        Page 247
        Page 248
        Page 249
    Davy and the goblin
        Page 250
        Page 251
        Page 252
        Page 253
        Page 254
        Page 255
        Page 256
        Page 257
        Page 258
    My valentine
        Page 259
    Tyrant Tacy
        Page 260
        Page 261
        Page 262
        Page 263
        Page 264
    Englis kings in a nutshell
        Page 265
        Page 266
        Page 267
        Page 268
        Page 269
        Page 270
    Little red-riding-hood and the February wolf
        Page 271
    His one fault
        Page 272
        Page 273
        Page 274
        Page 275
        Page 276
        Page 277
        Page 278
    The little knight
        Page 279
    A queer partnership
        Page 280
    Personally conducted
        Page 281
        Page 282
        Page 283
    Ralph's winter carnival
        Page 284
        Page 285
        Page 286
        Page 287
    Frowns of smiles? - Among the law-makers
        Page 288
        Page 289
        Page 290
        Page 291
        Page 292
        Page 293
        Page 294
        Page 295
        Page 296
    Winter days
        Page 297
    The brownies' return
        Page 298
        Page 299
        Page 300
        Page 301
    Stories of art and artists - Sixteenth paper
        Page 302
        Page 303
        Page 304
        Page 305
        Page 306
        Page 307
    Circe's auction
        Page 308
        Page 309
        Page 310
        Page 311
    For very little folk
        Page 312
        Page 313
        Page 314
        Page 315
    The letter-box
        Page 316
        Page 317
    The riddle-box
        Page 318
        Page 319
        Page 320
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


Al Ig Oil






[Copyright, 1885, by THE CENTURY CO.]





WHERE are the children ? "
"They can't be far away," replied my wife,
looking up from her preparations for supper.
"Bobsey was here a moment ago. As soon as
my back is turned he's out and away. I have n't
seen Merton since he brought his books from
school, and I suppose Winnie is upstairs in the
Daggetts' apartment."
I wish, my dear, you could keep the children
at home more," I said, a little petulantly.
"I wish you would go and find them for me
now, and to-morrow would take my place for
just one day," she replied.
Well, well," I said, with a laugh that had no
mirth in it; "only one of your wishes stands
much chance of being carried out. I 'll find the
children now, if I can without the aid of the police.
Mousie, do you feel stronger to-night ? "
These words were spoken to a pale-faced girl of
fourteen, who appeared to be scarcely more than
twelve, so diminutive was her frame.
Yes, Papa," she replied, a faint smile flitting
like a ray of light across her features. She always
said she was better, but still she was never well;
and her quiet ways and tones had led to the house-
hold name of Mousie."
As I was descending the narrow stair-way, I
was almost overthrown by a torrent of children
pouring down from the flats above. In the dim
VOL. XII.--6.

light of a gas-burner I saw that Bobsey was one
of the reckless atoms. He had not heard my
voice in the uproar, and before I could reach him,
he, with the others, had burst out at the street
door and was dashing toward the nearest corner.
It seemed that he had slipped away in order to take
part in a race, and I found him squaring off" at
a bigger boy, who had tripped him up. Without
a word I carried him home, followed by the jeers
and laughter of the racers, the girls making their
presence known, in the early December twilight,
by the shrillness of their voices and by manners
no gentler than those of the boys.
I put down the child he was only seven years of
age -in the middle of our general living-room,
and looked at him. His little coat was split out
in the back; one of his stockings, already well
darned at the knees, was past remedy; his hands
were black, and one was bleeding; his whole little
body was throbbing from excitement, anger, and
violent exercise. As I looked at him quietly, the
defiant expression in his eyes began to give place
to tears.
"There is no use in punishing him now," said
my wife. Please leave him to me and find the
I wasn't going to punish him," I said.
"What are you going to do? What makes
you look at him so ?" she asked.
He's a problem I can't solve-with the given
conditions," I replied.
Oh, Robert! you drive me half wild. If the
house were on fire, you'd stop to follow out some


No. 4.


train of thought about it. I 'm tired to death.
Do bring the children home. When we 've put
them to bed, you can figure on your problem, and
I can sit down."
As I went up to the Daggetts' flat, I was dimly
conscious of another problem. My wife was grow-
ing fretful and nervous. Our rooms would not
have satisfied a Dutch housewife; but if order is
heaven's first law," a little of paradise was in them
when compared with the Daggetts' apartments.
"Yes," I was told, in response to my inquiries;
Winnie is in the bedroom with Melissy."
The door was locked, and after some hesitation
the girls opened it. As we were going down-stairs
I caught a glimpse of a newspaper in my girl's
pocket. She gave it to me reluctantly, and said
Melissy" had lent it to her. I told her to help her
mother prepare supper while I went to find Merton.
Opening the paper under a street-lamp, I found it
to be a cheap, vile journal, full of the flashy pict-
ures that so often offend the eye on news-stands.
With a chill of fear, I thought: "Another prob-
lem." The Daggett children had been down with
the scarlet fever a few months before. "But here 's
a worse infection," I reflected. "Thank heaven,
Winnie is only a child,,
and can't understand
these pictures; and I -
tore up the paper, and
threw it into its proper -
place-the gutter.
"Now," I muttered, ,
I 've only to find Mer- -* '['
ton in mischief to make
the evening's experi-
ence complete."
In mischief I did find
him,-a very harmful
kind of mischief, it ap- *
peared to me. Merton I'J
was little over fifteen, "'
and he and two or three ,
other lads were smok-
ing cigarettes which, to..
judge by their odor, '
must certainly have
been made from the -
sweepings of the manu-
facturer's floor. MELISSA DAGGETT.
Can't you find any-
thing better than that to do after school?" I asked,
severely, as I called Merton to my side.
Well, sir," was the sullen reply, I 'd like to
know what there is for a boy to do in this street."
During the walk home, I tried to think of an
answer to his implied question. What would I do
if I were in Merton's place? I confess that I was

puzzled. After sitting in school all day, he must
do something that the policeman would permit.
There certainly seemed very little range of action
for a growing boy. Should I take him out of
school and put him into a shop or an office ? If I did
this, his education would be sadly limited. More-
over, he was tall and slender for his age, and upon
his face there was a pallor which I dislike to see in
a boy. Long hours of business would be very
hard upon him, even if he could endure the strain
at all. The problem which had been pressing on
me for months almost years grew urgent.
With clouded brows we sat down to our modest
little supper. Winifred, my wife, was hot and
flushed from too near acquaintance with the stove,
and wearied by a long day of toil in a room that
would be the better for a gale of wind. Bobsey,
as we called my little namesake, was absorbed -
now that he was relieved from the fear of punish-
ment -by the wish to punch the boy who had
tripped him up. Winnie was watching me fur-
tively, wondering what had become of the paper,
and what I thought of it. Merton was somewhat
sullen, and a little ashamed of himself. I felt my
"problem" was to give these children something
to do that would not harm them, for do something
they certainly would. They were rapidly attain-
ing that age when the shelter of a narrow city flat
would not answer; when the influence of a crowded
house and of the street might be greater than any
we could bring to bear upon them.
I looked about upon the little group for whom
I was responsible. My will was still law to them.
While my wife had positive little ways of her own,
she would agree to any decided course that I re-
solved upon. The children were yet under entire
control, so that I sat at the head of the table, com-
mander-in-chief of the little band.
We called the narrow flat we lived in home "
The idea! with the Daggetts above and-the-Rick-
etts on the floor beneath It was not a home, and
was scarcely a fit camping-ground for such a fam-
ily squad as ours; yet we had staid on for years
in this long, narrow line of rooms, reaching from
a crowded street to a little back-yard full of noisy
children by day, and noisier cats by night. I had
often thought of moving, but had failed to find a
better shelter that was within my very limited
means. The neighborhood was respectable, so
far as a densely populated region can be. It
was not far removed from my place of business,
and my work often kept me solate at the office that
we could not live in a suburb. The rent was moder-
ate for New York, and left me some money, after
food and clothing were provided, for occasional
little outings and pleasures, which I believe to be
needed by both body and mind.



While the children were little so long as they
would stay put" in the cradle or on the floor -
we did not have much trouble. Fortunately, I had
good health, and, as my wife said, was handy with
children." Therefore I could help her in the care
of them at night, and she had kept much of her
youthful bloom. Heaven had blessed us. We
had met with no serious misfortunes, nor had any
of our number been often prostrated by prolonged
and dangerous illness. But during the last year
my wife had been growing thin, and occasionally
her voice had a sharpness which was new. Every
month, Bobsey became more hard to manage.
Our living-room was to him like a cage to a wild
bird, and slip away he would, to his mother's
alarm; for he was almost certain to get into mischief
or trouble. The effort to perform her household
tasks and watch over him was more wearing than
it had been to rock him through long hours at
night when he was a teething baby.
These details seem very homely, no doubt, yet
such as these largely make up our. lives. Comfort
or discomfort, happiness or unhappiness, springs
from them. There is no crop in the country so
important as that of boys and girls. How could I
manage my little home-garden in a flat ?
I looked thoughtfully from one to another, as
with children's appetites they became absorbed in
one of the chief events of the day.
Well," said my wife, querulously, how are
you getting on with your problem ? "
Take this extra bit of steak, and I '11 tell you
after the children are asleep," I said.
I can't eat another mouthful," she exclaimed,
pushing back her almost untasted supper. Broil-
ing the steak was enough for me."
"You are quite tired out, dear," I said, very
Her face softened immediately at my tone, and
tears came into her eyes.
I don't know what is the matter with me,"
she faltered. I am so nervous some days that I
feel as if I should fly to pieces. I do try to be
patient, but I know I 'm growing cross."
Oh, now, Mamma! spoke up warm-hearted
Merton. "The idea of your being cross! "
She is cross," Bobsey cried; she boxed my
ears this very day."
"And you deserved it," was Merton's retort.
It 's a pity they are not boxed oftener."
Yes, Robert, I did," continued my wife, sor-
rowfully. "Bobsey ran away four times, and
vexed me beyond endurance,-that is, such en-
durance as I have left,- which does n't seem to be
very much."
"I understand, dear," I said. You are a part
of my problem, and you must help me solve it."

Then I changed the subject decidedly, and soon
brought sunshine to our clouded household. Chil-
dren's minds are easily diverted; and my wife,
whom a few sharp words would have greatly irri-
tated, was soothed, and her curiosity awakened as
to the subject of my thoughts.
And think deeply I did while she and Winnie
cleared away the dishes and put Bobsey into his
little crib. I felt that the time for a decided change
had come, and that it should be made before the
evils of our lot brought sharp and real trouble.
How should I care for my household? If I had
been living on a far frontier among hostile Indians,
I should have known better how to protect them.
I could build a house of heavy logs and keep my
rifle always near while at work. But it seemed to
me that Melissa Daggett and her kin with their
flashy papers, and the influence of the street for
Merton and Bobsey, involved more danger to my
little band than all the scalping Modocs that ever
whooped. The children could not step outside the
door without danger of meeting some one .who
would do them harm. It is the curse of crowded
city life that there is so little of a natural and at-
tractive sort for a child to do, and so much of evil
close at hand.
My wife asked me humorously for the news.
She saw that I was not reading my paper, and my
frowning brow and firm lips proved that my prob-
lem was not of a trifling nature. She suspected
nothing more, however, than that I was thinking
of taking rooms in some better locality, and she
was wondering how I could do it; for she knew
that my income now left but a small surplus above
At last Winnie too was ready to go to bed, and
I said to her, gravely:
Here is money to pay Melissa for that paper;
it was only fit for the gutter, and in the gutter I
put it. I wish you to promise me never to look at
such pictures again, or you can never hope to grow
up to be a lady like Mamma."
The child flushed deeply, and went tearful and
penitent to bed; and Mousie also retired with a
wistful look upon her face, for she saw that some-
thing of grave importance occupied my mind.
No matter how tired my wife might be, she was
never satisfied to sit down until the room had
been put in order, a green cloth spread upon
the supper-table, and the student-lamp placed in
its center.
Merton brought his school-books, my wife took
up her mending, and we three sat down within the
circle of light.
Don't do any more work to-night," I said,
looking into my wife's face, and noting for a few
moments that it was losing its rounded lines.


Her hands dropped wearily into her lap, and
she began, gratefully:
I 'm glad you speak so kindly to-night, Robert,
for I am so nervous and out of sorts that I could n't
have stood one bit of fault-finding,-I should
have said things, and then have been sorry all
day to-morrow. And I'm sure each day brings
enough without carrying anything over. Come,
read the paper to me, or tell me what you have
been thinking about so deeply, if you don't mind
Merton's hearing you. I wish to forget myself,
and my work, and everything that worries me, for
a little while."
"I '11 read the paper first, and then, after
Merton has learned his lessons, I will tell you my
thoughts,- my purpose, I may almost say. Mer-
ton shall know about it soon, for he is becoming
old enough to understand the 'why' of things.
I hope, my boy, that your teacher lays a great
deal of stress on the why in all your studies? "
Oh, yes, after a fashion," said the boy.
"Well, so far as I am your teacher, Merton,"
I said, I wish you always to think why you should
do a thing or why you should n't, and to try not to
be satisfied with any reason but a good one."
Then I gleaned from the paper such items as I
thought would interest my wife. At last we were
alone, with no sound in the room but the low roar
of the city, a roar so deep as to make one think
that the tides of .life were breaking into waves. I
was doing some figuring in a note-book when my
wife asked:
"Robert, what is your problem to-night, and
whatpart have I in it?"
So important a part that I could n't solve it
without you," I replied, smiling at her.
Oh, come now! she said, laughing slightly
for the first time in the evening; you always
begin to flatter a little when you want to carry a
Well, then, you are on your guard against
my wiles. But believe me, Winifred, the problem
on my mind is not like one of my ordinary brown
studies,- in those I often try to get back to the
wherefore of things, which people usually accept
and do not bother about. The question I am now
considering comes right home to us, and we must
meet it. I have felt for some time that we could
not put off action much longer, and to-night I am
convinced of it."
Then I told her how I had found three of the
children engaged that evening, concluding:
"The circumstances of their lot are more to
blame than they themselves. And why should I
find fault with you because you are nervous? You
could no more help being nervous and a little im-
patient than you could prevent the heat of the lamp

from burning you, should you place your finger over
it. I know the cause of it all. As for Mousie, she
is growing paler and thinner every day. You know
what my income is; we could not change things
much for the better by taking other rooms in
another part of the city, and we might find that
we had changed for the worse. I propose that we
go to the country and get our living out of the
Why, Robert! what do you know about farm-
ing or gardening?"
Not very much, but I am not yet too old to
learn; and there would be something for the chil-
dren to do at once, pure air for them to breathe,
and space for them to grow healthfully in body,
mind, and soul. You know I have but little money
laid by, and that I am not one of those smart men
who can push their way. I don't know much be-
sides book-keeping, and my employers think I am
not remarkably quick at that. I can't seem to ac-
quire the lightning speed with which things are done
nowadays; and while I try to make up for speed
by long hours and honesty, I don't believe I could
ever earn much more than I am getting now, and
you know it does n't leave a wide margin for sick-
ness or misfortune of any kind. After all, what
does my salary give us but food and clothing and
shelter, such as they are, with a little to spare in
some years? It sends a cold chill to my heart to
think what would become of you and the children if
I should be sick or anything should happen to me.
Still, it is the present welfare of the children that
weighs most on my mind, Winifred. They are
no longer little things that you can keep in these
rooms and watch over; there is danger for them
just outside that door. It would n't be so if be-
yond the door lay a garden and fields and woods.
You, my overtaxed wife, would n't worry about
them the moment they were out of sight; and my
work, instead of being away from them all day,
could be with them. All could do something,
even down to pale Mousie and little Bobsey. Out-
door life and pure air, instead of that breathed
over and over, would bring quiet to your nerves
and the roses back to your cheeks. The children
would grow sturdy and strong; much of their work
would be like play to them; they would n't be
always in contact with other children that we know
nothing about. I am aware that the country is n't
Eden, as we have imagined it,- for I lived there as
a boy,-but it seems like Eden compared to this
place with its surroundings; and I feel as if I were
being driven back to it by circumstances I can't
There is no need of dwelling further on the
reasons for and against the step we proposed. We
thought a great deal, talked it over several times,



and finally my wife agreed that the change would
be wise and best for all. Then the children were
taken into our confidence, and they became more
delighted every day as the prospect grew clearer
to them.
"We '11 all be good soon, wont we ? said my
youngest, who had a rather vivid sense of his own
shortcomings, and kept those of the others in
mind, as well.
Why so, Bobsey ?" I asked.
"'Cause Mamma says God put the first people
in a garden and they were very good, better 'n any

So it was settled that we would leave our narrow
suit of rooms, the Daggetts and Ricketts, and go
to the country. To me naturally fell the task of
finding the land flowing with milk and honey to-
which we should journey in the spring. Mean,
time, we were already emigrants at heart, full of
the bustle and excitement of mental preparation.
I prided myself somewhat on my knowledge-
of human nature, which, in regard to children, con-
formed to comparatively simple laws. I knew that
the change would involve plenty of hard work,
self-denial, and careful managing, which nothing

-. :1'.


folks afterward. God ought to know the best place
for people."
Thus Bobsey gave a kind of divine sanction to
our project. Of course, we had not taken so im-
portant a step without asking the great Father of
all to guide us; for we felt that in the mystery of
life, we, too, were but little children who knew not
what should be on the morrow or how best to pro-
vide for it with any certainty. To our sanguine
minds there was in Bobsey's words a hint of some-
thing more than permission to go up out of Egypt.

could redeem from prose; but I aimed to add to
our exodus so far as possible the elements of advent-
ure and mystery so dear to the hearts of children.
The question where we should go was the cause
of much discussion, the studying of maps, and the
learning of not a little geography.
Merton's counsel was that we should seek a
region abounding in Indians, bears, and "such
big game." His advice made clear the nature of
some of his recent reading. He proved, how-
ever, that he was not wanting in sense by his readi-


I c
*Lj h~-l-

ness to give up these attractive features in the Melissa Daggett was of a very different type,- I
choice of locality, could never see her without the word "sly" com-
Mousie's soft black eyes always lighted up at ing into my mind,-and her small mysteries
the prospect of a flower garden that should be as awakened Winnie's curiosity. Now that the latter
big as our sitting-room. Even in our city apart- was promised chickens, ducks, and rambles in the


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ments, poisoned by gas and devoid of sunlight,
she usually managed to keep a little house plant
in bloom, and the thought of placing seeds in the
open ground, where, as she said, "the roots could
go down to China if they wanted to," brought the
first color I had seen in her face for many a day.
Winnie was our strongest child, and also the
one who gave me the most anxiety. Impulsive,
warm-hearted, restless, she always made me think
of an overfull fountain. Her alert black eyes
were as eager to see as was her inquisitive mind
to pry into everything. For a girl she was stur-
dily built, and one of the severest punishments we
could inflict was to place her in a chair and tell her
not to move for an hour. We were beginning to
learn that we could no more keep her in our sitting-
room than we could restrain a mountain brook that
foams into a rocky basin only to foam out again.

woods,- Melissa and her secrets became insig-
nificant, and a ready promise to keep aloof from
her was given.
As for Bobsey, he should have a pig which he
could name, and call his own; and for which he
might pull weeds and pick up apples. We soon
found'that he was communing with that phantom
pig in his dreams.
By the time Christmas week began, we all had
agreed to do without candy, toys, and knick-knacks,
and to buy books that would tell us how to live in the
country. One happy evening we had an early sup-
per and all went to a well-known agricultural store
and publishing-house on Broadway, each child al-
most awed by the fact that I had fifteen dollars in
my pocket which should be spent that very night in
the purchase of books and paper. To the chil-
dren the shop seemed like a place where tickets






direct to Eden were obtained, while the colored pict-
ures of fruits and vegetables could only portray
the products of Eden, so different were they in
size and beauty from the specimens appearing in
our market-stalls. Stuffed birds and animals were
also on the shelves, and no epicure ever enjoyed
the gamy flavor as did we. But when we came to
examine the books, their plates exhibiting almost
every phase of country work and production, we
felt that a long vista leading toward our unknown
home was opening before us, illumined by alluring
pictures. To Winnie was given a book on poultry,
and the cuts representing the various birds were
even more to her taste than cuts from the fowls
themselves at a Christmas dinner. The Nimrod
instincts of the race were awakened in Merton, and
I soon found thathehadsethis heart on a book that
gave an account of game, fish, birds, and mam-

cut from the woods until you have earned money
enough yourself to buy what you need."
The boy was almost overwhelmed. He came
to me and took my hand in both his own.
"Papa," he faltered, and his eyes were moist;
" did you say a gun? "
Yes, a breech-loading shot-gun, on one con-
dition,- that you '11 not smoke till after you are
twenty-one. A growing boy can't smoke in safety."
He gave my hand a quick, strong pressure, and
was immediately at the farther end of the store,
blowing his nose suspiciously. I smiled content-
edly and thought: I want no better promise. A
gun will cure him of cigarettes better than a tract
Mousie was quiet, as usual; but there was again
a faint color in her cheeks, a soft luster in her eyes.
I kept near my invalid child most of the time, for

F.,-t ..... i *AS TABLE.

Sfear that she would go beyond her strength. I
made her sit by a table, and brought the books
\ that would interest her most. Her sweet, thin face
I',,1 ;-- was a study, and I felt that she was already secur-
Se ing the healing caresses of Mother Nature. When
-4 we started homeward, she carried a book about
flowers next to her heart.
S.Bobsey taxed his mother's patience and agility,
k / *I.II for he seemed all over the store at the same mo-
_-- ment, and wanted everything in it, being sure that
1,fifteen dollars would buy all and leave a handsome
S margin; but at last he was content with a book
illustrated from beginning to end with pigs.
A What pleased me most was to see how my wife
enjoyed our little outing. Wrapped up in the
children, she reflected their joy in her face, and
looked almost girlish in her happiness. I whispered
in her ear : Your present shall be the home itself,
mals,- a natural and wholesome longing. I my- for I shall have the deed made out in your name,
self had felt it keenly when a boy. Such country and then you can turn me out-of-doors as often as
sport would bring sturdiness to his limbs and the you please."
right kind of color into his face. Which will be every pleasant day after break-
All right, Merton," I said; "you shall have fast," she said, laughing. You know you are
the book and a breech-loading shot-gun also. As very safe in giving things to me."
for fishing-tackle, you can manage with a pole "Yes, Winifred," I replied, pressing her hand


on the sly; I have been finding that out ever
since I gave myself to you."
I bought Henderson's Gardeningfor Profit and
some other practical books. I also subscribed for
a journal devoted to rural interests and giving sim-
ple directions for the work of each month. At last
we returned. Never did a jollier little procession
than ours march up Broadway. People were going
to the opera and evening companies, and carriages
rolled by filled with elegantly dressed ladies and
gentlemen; but my wife remarked: None of
those people are as happy as we are, trudging in
this roundabout way to our country home."
Her words suggested our course of action during
the months which must intervene before it.would
be safe or wise for us to leave the city. Our
thoughts, words, and actions were all a roundabout
means to our cherished end, and yet the most
direct way that we could take under the circum-
stances. Field and garden were covered with
snow, the ground was granite-like from frost, and
Winter's cold breath chilled our impatience to be
gone, but so far as possible we lived in a country
atmosphere, and amused ourselves by trying to
conform to. country ways in a city flat. Even
Winnie declared she heard the cocks crowing at
dawn,. while Bobsey had a different kind of grunt
or squeal for every pig in his book.
On Christmas morning we all brought out our
purchases and arranged them on a table. Merton
was almost wild when he found a bright single-
barreled gun, with accouterments, standing in the
corner. Even Mousie exclaimed with delight
when' she found some bright-colored papers of
flower-seeds on her plate. To Winnie were given
half a dozen china eggs, with which to lure the
prospective biddiess to lay in nests easily reached,
and she tried-to cackle over them in absurd imita-
tion. Little Bobsey had to have some toys and
candy, but they all presented to his eyes the natu-
ral inmates of the barn-yard. In the number of
domestic animals he swallowed that day he equaled
the little boy, in Hawthorne's story of the House
of the Seven Gables," who devoured a gingerbread
caravan of camels and elephants purchased at Miss
Hepzibah Pyncheon's shop. Our Christmas dinner
consisted almost wholly of such vegetables as we
proposed to raise the coming summer. Never
before were such connoisseurs of carrots, beets,
onions, parsnips, and so on, through almost the
entire list of such winter stock as was to be obtained
at our nearest green-grocery. We celebrated the
day by nearly a dozen dishes which the children
aided my wife in preparing. Then I had Merton
figure out the cost of each, and we were surprised at
the cheapness of much of country fare, even when
retailed in very small quantities.

This brought up another phase of the problem.
In many respects I was like the children, having
almost as much to learn as they,--with the advan-
tage, however, of being able to correct impressions
by experience. In other words, I had more judg-
ment; and, while I should certainly make mis-
takes, not many of them would be absurd or often
repeated. I was aware that most of the homely
kitchen vegetables cost comparatively little, even
though (having no good place for storage in
our flat) we had found it better to buy what we
needed from day to day. It was therefore certain
that, at wholesale in the country, they would
often be exceedingly cheap. This fact would
work both ways. Little money would purchase
much food of certain kinds, and if we produced
these articles of food, they would bring us little
I will pass briefly over the period that elapsed
before it was time for us to depart, assured that the
little people who are following this simple history
are as eager to get away from the dusty city flat
to the sunlight, breezy fields, brooks, and woods as
were the children in my story. It is enough to say
that, during all my waking hours not devoted to
business, I read, thought, and studied on the problem
of supporting my family in the country. I haunted
Washington Market in the gray dawn, and learned
from much inquiry what products found a ready
and certain sale at some price, and what appeared
to yield the best profits to the grower. There was
much conflict of opinion, but I noted down and
averaged the statements made to me. Many of the
marketmen had hobbies, and told me how to make
a fortune out of one or two articles; more gave care-
less, random, or ignorant answers; but here and
there was a plain, honest, sensible fellow who showed
me from his books what plain, honest, sensible
producers in the country were doing. In a few
weeks I dismissed finally the tendency to one
blunder. A novice hears or reads of an acre of
cabbages or strawberries producing so much.
Then he figures, "If one acre yields so much, two
acres will give twice as much," and so on. Inquiry
and the experience of others showed me the utter
folly of all this; and I came to the conclusion that
I could give my family shelter, plain food, pure
air, wholesome work and play in plenty, and
that I could not for some time provide much
else with certainty. I tried to stick closely to
common sense,-and the humble circumstances
of the vast majority living from the soil proved
that there was in these pursuits no easy or
speedy road to fortune. Therefore, we must
part reluctantly with every penny, and let a dollar
go for only the essentials to the modest success
now accepted as all we could naturally expect.



We had explored the settled States, and even the
Territories, in fancy; we had talked over nearly
every industry, from cotton and sugar-cane plant-
ing to a sheep-ranch. I encouraged all this, for
it was so much education out of school-hours;
yet all, even Merton, eventually agreed with me
that we'd better not go far away, but seek a
place near schools, markets, and churches, and
well inside of civilization.
See here, youngsters, you forget the most

important crop of all that I must cultivate," I said
one evening.
"What is that? they cried in chorus.
"'A crop of boys and girls. You may think
that my mind is chiefly on corn and potatoes.
Not at all. It is chiefly on you; and for your sakes
Mamma and I decided for the country."

At last, in reply to my inquiries and my answers
to advertisements, I received the following letter:
"MAIZEVILLE, N. Y., March Ist, 1884.
"Dear Sir: I have a place that will suit you, I think. It can
be bought for a sum inside the figure you name. Come and see it.
I sha'n't crack it up, but want you to judge for yourself.
I had been to see two or three places that had
been "cracked up" so highly that my wife
thought it would be better to close a bargain at

once before some one else secured the prize,-
and I had come back disgusted in each instance.
The soul of wit"-which is brevity-was in
John Jones's letter. There was also a downright
directness which hit the mark, and I wrote that I
would go to Maizeville in the course of the fol-
lowing week.

(To be continued.)








THE road was very dreary and dusty, and wound
in and out in the most tiresome way until it seemed
to have no end to it, and Davy ran on and on, half-
expecting at any moment to feel the Roc's great
beak pecking at his back. Fortunately his legs
carried him along so remarkably well that he felt
he could run for a week; and indeed he might
have done so if he had not, at a sharp turn in the

road, come suddenly upon a horse and cab. The
horse was fast asleep when Davy dashed against
him, but he woke up with a start, and, after whis-
tling like a locomotive once or twice in a very
alarming manner, went to sleep again. He was a
very frowsy-looking horse with great lumps at his
knees and a long, crooked neck like a camel's; but
what attracted Davy's attention particularly was
the word RIBSY" painted in whitewash on his
side in large letters. He was looking at this and
wondering if it were the horse's name, when the
door of the cab flew open and a man fell out, and




after rolling over in the dust, sat up in the middle
of the road and began yawning. He was even a
more ridiculous-looking object than the horse, be-
ing dressed in a clown's suit, with a morning gown
over it by way of a top-coat, and a field-marshal's
cocked hat. In fact, if he had not had a whip in
his hand no one would ever have taken him for a
cabman. After yawning heartily, he looked up at
Davy and said drowsily: "Where?"
"To B. G.," said Davy, hastily referring to the
Hole-keeper's letter.
All right," said the cabman, yawning again.
"Climb in, and don't put your feet on the
Now, this was a ridiculous thing for him to say, for
when Davy stepped inside he found the only seats
were some three-legged stools huddled together in
the back part of the cab, all the rest of the space
being taken up by a large bath-tub that ran across
the front end of it. Davy turned on one of the
faucets, but nothing came out except some dust
and a few small bits of gravel, and he shut it off
again, and sitting down
on one of the little stools,
waited patiently for the
cab to start.
Just then the cabman
put his head in at the

stand, and I don't care to lose my place on it;"
and Davy accordingly jumped out of the cab and
walked away.
Presently there was a clattering of hoofs behind
him, and Ribsy came galloping along the road
with nothing on him but his collar. He was hold-
ing his big head high in the air, like a giraffe, and
gazing proudly about him as he ran. He stopped
short when he saw the little boy, and giving a
triumphant whistle, said cheerfully: How are
you again?"
It seemed rather strange to be spoken to by a
cab-horse, but Davy answered that he was feeling
quite well.
So am I," said Ribsy. The fact is, that when
it comes to beating a horse about the head with a
three-legged stool, if that horse is going to leave
at all, it 's time he was off."
"I should think it was," said Davy, earnestly.
You '11 observe, of course, that I 've kept on
my shoes and my collar," said Ribsy. It is
n't genteel to go barefoot, and nothing makes

window, and winking at
him confidentially, said: '
" Can you tell me why C /
this horse is like an um- /
brella?" /
"No," said Davy. ',
Because he 's used ,T
uf," said the cabman. -'
I don't think that 's i. '
a very good conundrum," \X
said Davy. V :
So do I," said the Y',
cabman. But it 's the
best one I can make with -
this horse. Did you say .
N. B. ?" he asked. "---
No; I said B. G.," __________-
All right," said the
cabmann again, and disappeared from the window, a fellow look so untidy as going about without a
Presently there was a loud trampling overhead, collar. The truth is"-he continued, sitting down
and Davy, putting his head out at the window, in the road on his hind legs, "the truth is, I 'm
saw that the cabman had climbed up on top of not an ordinary horse by any means. I have a
the cab and was throwing stones at the horse, history, and I 've arranged it in a popular form
which was still sleeping peacefully. in six canters-- mean cantos," he added, hastily
Oh don't do that," said Davy, anxiously, correcting himself.
I 'd rather get out and walk." I 'd like to hear it, if you please," said Davy,
Well, I wish you would," said the cabman, in politely.
a tone of great relief. This is a very valuable Well, I'm a little hoarse-- began Ribsy.


I think you 're a very big horse," said Davy,
in great surprise.
"I'm referring to my voice," said Ribsy, haugh-
tily. "Be good enough not to interrupt me again; "
and giving two or three preliminary whistles to
clear his throat, he began :

"It's very confining, this living in stables,
And passing one's time among wagons and
carts ;
I much prefer dining at gentlemen's tables,
And living on turkeys and cranberry tarts."

That's rather a high-toned idea," said Ribsy,
Oh! yes, indeed," said Davy, laughing; and
Ribsy continued:

"As spry as a kid and as trim as a spider
Was I in the days of the TurniA-top Hunt,
When I used to get rid of the weight of my
And canter contentedly in at the front."

By the way, that trick led to my being sold to
a circus," said Ribsy. "I suppose you 've never
been a circus-horse ?"
"Never," said Davy.
Then you don't know anything about it," said
Ribsy. "Here we go again !"

"It made me a wreck, with no hope of improve-
Too feeble to race with an invalid crab;
I'm wry in the neck, with a rickety movement
Peculiarly suited for drawing a cab."

"I may as well say here," broke in Ribsy again,
"that the price old Patsey Bolivar, the cabman,
paid for me was simply ridiculous."

find with surprise that I'm constantly sneez-
I 'm stiff in the legs, and I 'm often for
And the blue-bottle flies, with their tiresome
Are quite out of reach of my weary old

I see them !" cried Davy eagerly.
Thank you," said Ribsy, haughtily. As the
next verse is the last, you need n't trouble your-
self to make any further observations.

"I think my remarks will determine the question
Of why I am bony and thin as a rail;

I'mn off for some larks to improve my diges-
And point the stern moral conveyed by my

Here Ribsy got upon his legs again, and after a
refreshing fillip with his heels, cantered off along
'the road, whistling as he went. Two large blue-
bottle flies were on his back, and his tail was flying
around with an angry whisk like a pin-wheel; but
as he disappeared in the distance, the flies were
still sitting calmly on the ridge of his spine, ap-
parently enjoying the scenery.
Davy was about to start out again on his journey,
when he heard a voice shouting Hi! Hi! and
looking back, he saw the poor cabman coming
along the road on a brisk trot, dragging his cab
after him. He had on Ribsy's harness, and
seemed to be in a state of tremendous excitement.
As he came up with Davy, the door of the cab
flew open again, and the three-legged stools came
tumbling out, followed by a dense cloud of dust.
"Get in! Get in!" shouted the cabman, ex-
citedly. "Never mind the dust, I've turned it
on to make believe we 're going tremendously
Davy hastily scrambled in, and the cabman
started off again. The dust was pouring out of
both faucets, and a heavy shower of gravel was
rattling into the bath-tub; and, to make matters
worse, the cabman was now going along at such
an astonishing speed that the cab rocked violently
from side to side, like a boat in a stormy sea. Davy
made a frantic attempt to shut off the dust, but it
seemed to come faster and faster, until he was
almost choked. At this moment the cab came
suddenly to a stop, and Davy, rushing to the win-
dow, found himself staring into a farm-yard, where
a red cow stood gazing up at him.



IT was quite an ordinary-looking farm-yard and
quite an ordinary-looking cow, but she stared so
earnestly up at Davy that he felt positively certain
she had something to say to him. "Every creat-
ure I meet does have something to say," he
thought, and I should really like to hear a cow -"
and just at this moment the cab-door suddenly flew
open and he pitched head-foremost out upon a
pile of hay in the farm-yard and rolled from it off
upon the ground. As he sat up, feeling exceed-
ingly foolish, he looked anxiously at the cow, ex-
pecting to see her laughing at his misfortune, but
she stood gazing at him with a very serious ex-



pression of countenance, solemnly chewing, and
slowly swishing her tail from side to side. As
Davy really didn't know how to begin a conversation
with a cow, he waited for her to speak first, and there
was consequently along pause. Presently the Cow

said, in a melancholy,
lowing tone of voice:
"Are you a market-
gardener? "
"No," said Davy.
Because," said the
Cow, mournfully, "there
's a feather-bed growing
in the vegetable garden,
and I thought you might
explain how it came
That 's very curi-
ous," said Davy.
Curious, but com-
fortable for the pig," said
the Cow. "He's taken
to sleeping there, lately.
He calls it his quill pen."
"That 's a capital
name for it," said Davy,
laughing. What else
is there in the garden ?"
"Nothing but the
bean-stalk," said the
Cow. You 've heard
of 'Jack and the Bean-
stalk,' have n't you ? "
"Oh! yes, indeed!"
said Davy, beginning to
be very much interested.
" I should like to see
the bean-stalk."
"You can't see the
beans talk," said the
Cow, gravely. You
might hear them talk -
that is, if they had any-
thing to say, and you
listened long enough.
By the way, that 's the

"Then you must be the cow with a crumpled
horn "
It's not crumpled," said the Cow with great
dignity. "There 's a slight crimp in it, to be sure,
but nothing that can properly be called a crump.


~~_ "'


I ~I

I. :-r~ *I

house that Jack built. Pretty, is n't it ? "
Davy turned and looked up at the house. It
certainly was a very pretty house, built of bright
red brick with little gables, and dormer-windows
in the roof, and with a trim little porch quite over-
grown with climbing roses. But it had a very com-
ical appearance, for all that, as the cab-door was
standing wide open in the walk just a little above
the porch. Suddenly an idea struck him, and he
exclaimed :

Then the story was all wrong about my tossing
the dog. It was the cat that ate the malt. He
was a Maltese cat, and his name was Flipme-
"Did you toss him ? inquired Davy.
"Certainly not," said the Cow, indignantly.
"Who ever heard of a cow tossing a cat? The
fact is, I've never had a fair chance to toss any-
thing. As for the dog, Mother Hubbard never
permitted any liberties to be taken with him.."


I'd dearly love to see Mother Hubbard," said "And when I ventured out one day
Davy, eagerly. To order him a coat,
"Well, you can," said the Cow, indifferently. I found him, in his artless way,
" She is n't much to see. If you '11 look in at the. Careering on a goat.
kitchen window, you '11 probably find her perform-
ing on the piano and singing a song. She's c .
always at it." '
Davy stole softly to the kitchen window and
peeped in, and, as the Cow had said, Mother Hub-
bard was there, sitting at the piano and evidently
just preparing to sing. The piano was very re-
markable, and Davy could not remember ever
having seen one like it before. The top of it was
arranged with shelves on which stood all the
kitchen crockery, and in the under part of it, at
one end, was an oven with glass doors, through
which he could see several pies baking.
Mother Hubbard was dressed, just as he ex- ,
pected, in a very ornamental flowered gown with '
high-heeled shoes and buckles, and wore a tall ""* ..
pointed hat over her night-cap. She was so like. '
the pictures Davy had seen of her that he thought "
he would have recognized her anywhere. She ,
sang in a high key with a very quavering voice,
and this was the song:

"I had an educated pug,
His name was Tommy Jones;
He lived upon the parlor rug
Exclusively on bones.

" I went to a secluded room
To get one from a shelf;
It was n't there, and I resume
He 'dgone and helped himself

" He had an entertaining trick
Of feigning ke was dead;
Then, with a re-assuring kick,
Would stand upon his head.

-- ._- --

"I could not take the proper change
And go to buy him shoes,
But what he 'd sit upon the range
And read the latest news.

could not go to look at hats
But that, with childish glee,
He 'd ask in all the neighbors' cats
To join him at his tea / "

While Mother Hubbard was singing this song,
little handfuls of gravel were constantly thrown at
her through one of the kitchen windows, and by
the time the song was finished, her lap was quite
full of it.
"I 'd just like to know who is throwing that
gravel," said Davy, indignantly.
"It 's Gobobbles," said the Cow, calmly.
" You '11 find him around at the front of the house.
By the way, have you any chewing-gum about
you ? "
No," said Davy, greatly surprised at the ques-
"So I supposed," said the Cow. "It's pre-
cisely what I should expect of a person who would
fall out of a cab."
"But I could n't help that," said Davy.
Of course you could n't," said the Cow, yawn-
ing indolently. It's precisely what I should ex-
pect of a person who had n't any chewing-gum."
And with this the Cow walked gravely away, just as
Mother Hubbard made her appearance at the
"Boy," said Mother Hubbard, beaming mildly
upon Davy through her spectacles, you should n't
throw gravel."



I have n't thrown any," said Davy.
"Fie !" said Mother Hubbard, shaking her
head ; always speak the truth."
I am speaking the truth," said Davy, indig-
nantly. It was Gobobbles."
So I supposed," said Mother Hubbard, gently
shaking her head again. "It would have been
far better if he had been cooked last Christmas
instead of being left over. Stuffing him and then
letting him go has made a very proud creature of
him. You should never be proud."
"I'm not proud," replied Davy, provoked at
being mixed up with Gobobbles in this way.
"You may define the word froud, and give a
few examples," continued Mother Hubbard, and
Davy was just noticing with astonishment that she
was beginning to look exactly like old Miss Peggs,
his school-teacher, when a thumping sound was
heard, and the next moment Gobobbles came
tearing around the corner of the house, and Mother
Hubbard threw up her hands with a little shriek
and disappeared from the window.
Gobobbles proved to be a large and very bold-
mannered turkey, with all his feathers taken off
except a frowsy tuft about his neck. He was
pounding his chest with his wings in a very dis-
agreeable manner, and altogether his appearance
was so formidable that Davy was half inclined to
take to his heels at once; but Gobobbles stopped
short upon seeing him, and, discontinuing his
pounding, stared at him suspiciously for a moment,
and then said :
I can't abide boys "
Why not? said Davy.
Oh, they 're so hungry! said Gobobbles,
passionately. They're so everlastingly hungry.
Now, don't deny that you 're fond of turkey."
Well, I do like turkey," said Davy, seeing no
way out of the difficulty.
"Of course you do !" said Gobobbles, tossing
his head. Now, you might as well know," he
continued, resuming his thumping with increased
energy, that I 'm as hollow as a drum and as
tough as a hat-box. Just mention that fact to any
one you meet, will you? I suppose Christmas is
coming, of course."
Of course it is replied Davy.
It's always coming! said Gobobbles, angrily;
and with this he strutted away, pounding himself
like a bass-drum.



"THIS is a very sloppy road," said Davy to
himself, as he walked along in the direction taken

by the turkey; and it was, indeed, a very sloppy
road. The dust had quite disappeared, and the
sloppiness soon changed to such a degree of wet-
ness that Davy presently found himself in water
up to his ankles. He turned to go back, and saw,
to his alarm, that the land in every direction
seemed to be miles away, and the depth of the
water increased so rapidly that, before .he could
make up his mind what to do, it had risen to his
shoulders, and he was carried off his feet and
found himself apparently drifting out to sea. The
water, however, was warm and pleasant, and he
discovered that instead of sinking he was floated
gently along, slowly turning in the water like a
float on a fishing-line. This was very agreeable,
but he was, nevertheless, greatly relieved when a
boat came in sight sailing toward him. As it
came near, it proved to be the clock with a sail
hoisted and the Goblin sitting complacently in the
How d' ye do, Gobsy ? said Davy.
Prime !" said the Goblin, enthusiastically.
Well, stop the clock," said Davy; "I want to
get aboard."
I have n't any board," said the Goblin, in great
"I mean I want to get into the clock," said
Davy, laughing. "I don't think you're much of
a sailor."
I 'm not," said the Goblin, as Davy climbed
in. I 've been sailing one way for ever so long,
because I don't know how to turn around. But
there 's a landing-place just ahead."
Davy looked over his shoulder and found that
they were rapidly approaching a little wooden pier
standing about a foot out of the water. Beyond
it stretched a broad expanse of sandy beach.
S"What place is it?" said Davy.
"It's called Hickory Dickory Dock," said the
Goblin. "All the eight-day clocks stop here,"
and at this moment the clock struck against the
timbers with a violent thump, and Davy was
thrown out, heels over head, upon the dock. He
scrambled upon his feet again as quickly as pos-
sible, and saw to his dismay that the clock had
been turned completely around by the shock and
was rapidly drifting out to sea again. The Goblin
looked back despairingly, and Davyjust caught the
words, I don't know how to turn around when
the clock was carried out of hearing distance and
soon disappeared on the horizon.
The beach was covered in every direction with
little hills of sand, like hay-cocks, with scraggy
bunches of sea-weed sticking out of the tops of
them; and Davy was wondering how they came to
be there, when he caught sight of a man walking
along the edge of the water and now and then


stopping and gazing n .. i:: r. : out to sea. As the
man drew nearer, .--- '.. .-. that he was dressed in
a suit of brown leather and wore a L.:t.-.r. ';-:.
hat, and that a little procession, consisting of a
dog, a cat, and a goat, was r_.-I1 .. ,r!. ,i;;.-_-.TT. at
his heels, while a parrot was .i-.L.i... upon his
shoulder. They all wore large _:'. i, 1K linen col-
lars and black cravats, which gave them a very
serious appearance.
Davy was ''! L .l certain that the man was
Robinson Crusoe. He carried an enormous gun,
which he loaded from time to time, :;' '-h ".' aim-
.: --i. ," at the sea, fired. There was nothing
very alarming about this, for the gun, when fired,
only gave a faint squeak, and the '-*. :j. which
was about the size ofa sall orange, dropped out
-iI.?..c t upon the sand. j. 'L .' ".. I. 1 1- .i. 1
he, always seemed to be d SI- I;.'W.: I 5 at this
result, peering long and anxiously out to sea, after
every shot. His animal companions, however,
seemed to be ;.- alarmed whenever he pre-

to Robinson and handed him the Hole-keeper's
letter. Robinson looked at him suspiciously as he
took it, and the animals eyed him with evident
Robinson had some Jiffi. ulr.; in opening the
letter, which was sopping wet, and took a long
time to read it, Davy meanwhile waiting i.,:i. -r.:1: .
Sometimes Robinson would scowl I-.-- rr,- J as if
puzzled, i; 1 hl.:c. :- : .-.- would chuckle to himself
as if ---I amused with the contents; but as he
turned theletter over i-t :-..ir:i.- ic. Davy could not
help seeing that it was simply a blank sheet of pa-
per with no writing whatever upon it except the
address. This, however, was so like the Hole-
I:-.. .- way of doing things that Davy was not
much surprised when Robinson remarked : He
has left out the greatest lot of comical -;.I; I "
:.-. : i'-,.'. down, buried the letter in the sand.
Then picking up his gun, he said: You may
walk about in the grove as long as you please,
provided you don't pick .... i ..."

'9 *`

_Mm RSaa ammmiii "i L HiAi lut U lMit TiHi RiEiTEsd L&aW i Or ACItA TUi-ENS,'

pained tio me; aind scaunpering off, hid behind the 'What -.. said '.. very much sur-
little Rhisl of sa ntil u the pg5m was 1-.1. i' .1 .;- i prisefd.
when they wa ldmremt aandl after saollemny watch- "Thiis one," said Robinson, 1 H. -7,i :. pointing
iiig theTir aseraste rellad his piece, follow him out the tufts of sea-weed. "Ti beach-trees,
along rthe beach as btarei Thiis s was a si ridic- you Lnovw; I planted 'em. r Il I had to have
ldous that i. liad great L.imi inie in keeping some place to go shooting in, of course,"
a serious eSpiessio n t hibs face as he waked up '"Can you shoot with id :. ? si d *





"Shoot? Why, it 's a splendid gun!" said
Robinson, gazing at it proudly. "I made it
myself-out of a spy-glass."
It does n't seem to go off," said Davy, doubt-
That's the beauty of it! exclaimed Robin-
son, with great enthusiasm. "Some guns go off,
and you never see 'em again."
But I mean that it does n't make any noise,"
persisted Davy.
Of course it does n't," said Robinson.
"That's because I load it with tooth-powder."
But I don't see what you can shoot with it,"
said Davy, feeling that he was somehow getting
the worst of the argument.
Robinson stood gazing thoughtfully at him for
a moment, while the big bullet rolled out of the
gun with a rumbling sound and fell into the sea.
"I see, what you want," he said, at length.
"You're after my personal history. Just take a
seat in the family circle and I '11 give it to you."
Davy looked around and saw that the dog, the
goat, and the cat were seated respectfully in a
semicircle, with the parrot, which had dismounted,
sitting beside the goat. He seated himself on the
sand at the other end of the line, and Robinson
began as follows:

"The night was thick and hazy
When the 'Piccadilly Daisy'
Carried down the crew and captain in the sea;
VOL. XII.-17.

And I think the water drowned 'em,
For they never, never found 'em,
And I know they did n't come ashore with me.

Oh! 't was very sad and lonely
When I found myself the only
Population on this cultivated shore;
But I 've made a little tavern
In a rocky little cavern,
And I sit and watch for people at the door.

I spent no time in looking
For a girl to do my cooking,
As I'm quite a clever hand at making stews;
But I had that fellow Friday,
Just to keep the tavern tidy
And to put a Sunday polish on my shoes.

I have a little garden
That I 'm cultivating lard in,
As the things I eat are rather tough and dry;
For I live on toasted lizards,
Prickly pears and parrot gizzards,
And I 'm really very fond of beetle pie.

The clothes I had were furry,
And it made me fret and worry
When Ifound the moths were eating off the hair;
And I had to scrape and sand 'em,
And I boiled 'em and I tanned 'em,
'Till I got the fine morocco suit I wear.


I sometimes seek diversion
In a family excursion
With the few domestic animals you see;
And we take along a carrot
As refreshment for the carrot,
And a little can of jungleberry tea.

Then we gather as we travel
Bits of moss and dirty gravel,
And we chip off little specimens of stone;
And we carry home as fiizes
Funny bugs of handy sizes,
Just to give the day a scientific tone.

"If the roads are wet and muddy,
We remain at home and study,-
For the goat is very clever at a sum,-
And the dog, instead of fighting,
Studies ornamental writing,
While the cat is taking lessons on the drum.

We retire at eleven,
And we rise again at seven,
And I wish to call attention as I close
To the fact that all the scholars
Are correct about their collars
And particular in turning out their toes."

Here Robinson called out in a loud voice, First
class in arithmetic!" but the animals sat per-
fectly motionless, sedately staring at him.
"Oh! by the way," said Robinson, confiden-
tially to Davy, this is the first class in arithmetic.
That's the reason they did n't move, you see.
Now, then! he continued sharply, addressing the
class, "how many halves are there in a whole ?"
There was a dead silence for a moment, and
then the Cat said gravely, "What kind of a
hole ? "
That has nothing to do with it," said Robin-
son, impatiently.
Oh has n't it though !" exclaimed the Dog,
scornfully. "I should think a big hole could have
more halves in it than a little one."
"Well, rather," put in the Parrot, contemptu-
Here the Goat, who apparently had been care-
fully thinking the matter over, said in a low,
quavering voice: "Must all the halves be of the
same size?"
Certainly not," said Robinson, promptly; then
nudging Davy with his elbow, he whispered, He's
bringing his mind to bear on it. He's prodigious
when he gets started "
"Who taught him arithmetic?" said Davy,
who was beginning to think Robinson did n't know
much about it himself.

Well, the fact is," said Robinson, confidentially,
"he picked it up from an old adder that he met
in the woods."
Here the Goat, who evidently was not yet quite
started, inquired, "Must all the halves be of the
same shape?"
"Not at all," said Robinson, cheerfully. Have
'em any shape you like."
"Then I give it up," said the Goat.
Well! exclaimed Davy, quite out of patience.
"You are certainly the stupidest lot of creatures I
ever saw."
At this, the animals stared mournfully at him
for a moment, and then rose up and walked gravely
"Now you 've spoiled the exercises," said
Robinson, peevishly. I 'm sorry I gave 'em
such a staggerer to begin with."
"Pooh !" said Davy, contemptuously. "If they
could n't do that sum, they could n't do anything."
Robinson gazed at him admiringly for a mo-
ment, and then, looking cautiously about him to
make sure that the procession was out of hearing,
said coaxingly:
"What's the right answer? Tell us, like a
good fellow."
Two, of course," said Davy.
"Is that all?" exclaimed Robinson, in a tone
of great astonishment.
"Certainly," said Davy, who began to feel very
proud of his learning. Don't you know that
when they divide a whole into four parts they call
them fourths, and when they divide it into two
parts they call them halves ? "
"Why don't they call them tooths?" said
Robinson, obstinately. The fact is, they ought
to call 'em teeth. That's what puzzled the Goat.
Next time I 'll say, 'How many teeth in a whole ?'"
Then the Cat will ask if it's a rat-hole," said
Davy, laughing at the idea.
"You positively convulse me, you 're so very
humorous," said Robinson, without a vestige of a
smile. You're almost as droll as Friday was.
He used to call the Goat 'Pat'; because he said
he was a little butter. I told him that was alto-
gether too funny for a lonely place like this, and
he went away and joined the minstrels."
Here Robinson suddenly turned pale, and
hastily reaching out for his gun, sprang to his
Davy looked out to sea and saw that the clock,
with the Goblin standing in the stern, had come
in sight again, and was heading directly for the
shore with tremendous speed. The poor Goblin,
who had turned sea-green in color, was frantic-
ally waving his hands to and fro, as if motioning
for the beach to get out of the way; and Davy




watched his approach with the greatest anxiety. great force, and turning completely over on the
Meanwhile, the animals had mounted on four sand, buried the Goblin beneath it. Robinson
sand-hills, and were solemnly looking on, while was just making a convulsive effort to fire off his
Robinson, who seemed to have run out of tooth- gun when the clock began striking loudly, and he
powder, was hurriedly loading his gun with sand. and the animals fled in all directions in the wildest
The next moment the clock struck the beach with dismay.
(To be continued.)

HE came one blustering, snowy day
In February weather;
He carried on his dimpled arm
A portmanteau of leather.

He tapped against my window-pane;
He said: "You sly old fellow,
Come, tell me of that little maid
With curly head and yellow,

" The music of whose broken speech
A happy home rejoices;
Whose prattle has a sweeter sound
Than other people's voices."

I looked amazed, the saucy boy
Looked back at me with laughter.
He said: My name is Cupid,-
And your Valentine I 'm after! "



A LITTLE yellow village-wagon was being pulled
slowly over the cobble-stones near the bathing-
houses at Newport by a fat and lazy black pony,
urged on to its work by a young girl between fif-
teen and sixteen years of age.
"Come, hurry! shouted a boy from the smooth,
hard sand beyond. Give him a whack with the
The girl in the wagon put down her head very
much as her pony was doing, but not from the
same motive. Tacy Blundel was not lazy at any
moment- at this particular moment she was in
any but a lazy mood -the little down-drop-
ping of the chin signifying, instead, a sudden up-
rising of temper. A very small thing for a girl to
become angry about, to be sure; but Tacy was
constantly losing her temper over just such small
things. With a sullen look on her face, and her
chin crushing the ruffle of lace at her throat, Tacy
drove her pony over the stones, with not an added
jot of celerity, and without using her whip, much
less the handle of it. Robert, or Bobby Blundel,
as every one called him, had a mutinous expres-
sion on his jolly red face as she came up, but he
did n't say anything except to give a rather short
demand to "heave out the things"-the "things"
in question signifying his bathing-clothes. As he
received the bundle, he reached forward to help the
young girl who was sitting beside Tacy to alight.
But the young girl smiled and shook her head.
"What! you are not going to bathe?" he
"No, not to-day," said the girl.
Why not? said Bobby. "You've changed
your mind rather suddenly, it seems to me."
The girl smiled and blushed uneasily. She was
evidently embarrassed. Bobby glanced at his sis-
ter Tacy, inquiringly. Tacy knew what that glance
meant, but did not respond to it; instead, her sul-
len expression deepened, and giving her pony a
little flick with the point of the whip-lash, she drove
off, leaving her brother standing on the beach-sand,
where, in a moment, he was joined by the two other
Blundel brothers-Jimmy and Charley.
What's up ? inquired the two in a breath.
Oh, Judy is n't going in, this morning," grum-
bled Bobby.
Why not ? inquired the two others.
"I don't know; ask tyrant Tacy. Tacy is n't
going, so she's managed that Judy sha'n't,"
replied Bobby. She's wheedled her somehow."

Bother I wont stand it. Tacy I" and Jimmy
Blundel shouted his sister's name lustily, and
started to run after the yellow wagon. Bobby
seized his brother's arm, and cried:
No, no, don't. We shall get a good scolding
at home if we provoke Tacy."
But Jimmy Blundel, too indignant to care for
anything, but his one fixed idea, wrenched him-
self away, and tore after the little wagon, which
was moving leisurely just then. Coming up to the
wagon suddenly, he grabbed the fat pony's head
before Tacy knew what had happened. She had
dismissed her sullen looks, and was talking very
pleasantly with her girl guest.
I say," cried Jimmy, as he caught the pony's
head, "why must Judy give up bathing because
you 've given it up, Tacy? Judy 's going home
next week, and she came here especially on ac-
count of the bathing; her father wanted her to
bathe every day."
She can go if she wants to," answered Tacy,
all the old sullen looks coming back.
Oh, no! I don't care I just as lief not,"
hurriedly answered Judy, anxious to avert the
She does care," retorted Jimmy, regarding
only his sister as he spoke. Then swiftly turning
about and putting out his hand, he pounced upon
Judy's bathing-suit at the bottom of the wagon.
"There that proves it!" he cried. "Come Judy,
we all are waiting for you."
"No, no; I really can't. I don't- Oh, go
away, Jimmy! "
Her distress was so genuine that Jimmy ceased
his urging, but he turned like a tiger on his sister.
It 's all your doing; you 're a perfect tyrant.
I will say so, and you may have a dozen tantrums
for all I care and flinging the bathing-suit back
into the wagon, Jimmy let go the pony's head and
started off.
Well, you '11 catch it," said Bobby, to whom
he presently related his exploit.
I don't care," doggedly replied Jimmy. "Tacy
is a tyrant. When everything suits her to a T,
she can be as pleasant as anybody; but the min-
ute anybody criticises or opposes her, she gets her
own way by falling back on that heart-disease of
hers. I wish Ihad heart-disease Jingo! I'd go
off in a tantrum and get a bicycle quicker than a
wink! "
Bobby smiled, then sobered a little, and said






generously: "Tacy is n't a bit mean and selfish
in other ways. She '11 give you anything she
has. She gave me that jolly knife of hers with the
pearl handle last week."
"Well, if she 'd keep her temper, she might
keep everything else," said the unpacified Jimmy.
"Tacy's been spoiled," put in Charley. "I
heard Uncle Dick tell Mother so the other day,
and Mother asked him what could be done when
the doctor said, after she was so sick, that they
must be careful and not let her get excited."
While the boys were thus discussing her, Tacy was
driving along on the smooth, hard sand with her
friend Judy. She was trying to act as if nothing
were the matter, and talk to Judy pleasantly and
politely of other things; but it was difficult work,
for she knew, and she knew that Judy knew, that
something very much was the matter. Deep down
in her heart Tacy was perfectly aware that she had
done a selfish thing in keeping Judy from bathing.
It had happened that none of the family nor any
of her cousins, who were generally glad to drive
with her, were able to go that morning, and Tacy
never could bear to go alone. The boys were off
early, fishing; and she had engaged to meet them
at the beach with their bathing-clothes. Sud-
denly it occurred to her, why should n't Judy for
once drive with her, and not take a bath that day ?
The idea, once in her mind, took firm hold. She
was proud of Judy,- Miss Julia Elwood, as society
would know her some day,- for Judy was a great
favorite and much sought after everywhere, and
Judy was, moreover, a loving and sweet little body,
with whom Tacy could always get on nicely. And
this meant so much- so much even that Tacy
herself did n't know. As her uncle Dick had said,
Tacy had been spoiled by her invalidism-by
knowing, as she could not help knowing from what
she had heard so long, that she must always be
considered and given way to for fear some excite-
ment would injure her. That great illness of
Tacy's had occurred when she was seven years old.
She was a bright, promising child then, with a
lovely fair complexion and golden hair. The ill-
ness hadiresulted from an accident. Some neigh-
bors' children had enticed her over the lawn to
play at fire-works one summer day. Her ignorant
little hands had seized upon a toy cannon, and in
one blinding flash there suddenly came an explo-
sion that took away all those golden curls and
ruined that lovely white and pink skin. The shock
and suffering threw the child into a fever. It was
thought a great mercy that her eye-sight was spared,
and for a long time her mother was so thankful
for this that she did not give much thought to any-
thing else. But as the days and the months
and the years went by, it was found that Tacy

would never again have her pretty, smooth com-
plexion, and that her hair would never again grow
with that soft, silken abundance. Her face was not
seamed with scars, but there was a roughened,
thicker look to the skin, and she was uniformly
pale except when, at some emotion, an unbecoming
reddish flush would spread all over cheeks and
brow and nose. Before Tacy entered her fifteenth
year, she was fully conscious of her looks,-that
is, that there was something to mark her as odd
and unlike other people, to make her unalterably
plain. She was sensitive to beauty in others, and
sensitive to the lack of it in herself. As time went
on, from day to day she grew more and more sen-
sitive, and this made her moody and shy and often
irritable. She began at last to exaggerate her de-
fects, and to be suspicious of criticism if people gave
her more than a passing observation. All this pro-
duced a condition of mind that rendered her a very
exacting and difficult person to live with. With
some very generous and noble qualities, which, if
cultivated or allowed full and free action, would have
made her welcome and beloved by every one, the
wild weeds of self-indulgence were fast overcom-
ing her, and rendering her disagreeable and un-
In short, Tacy was a tyrant, as Jimmy had said,
and it all had grown out of that long-ago accident
which had placed her in the position of an invalid
to whom all must defer, year after year. "Tacy
must have this," and Tacy must have that," and
" Tacy must not be crossed or worried or troubled
whatever happened," had been reiterated so
many times that at last Tacy herself had formed
the habit of expecting everything and every-
body to give way to her. She meant to be
good; she meant to be kind. She gave freely of
her pocket-money, and bestowed her possessions
generously when opportunity offered; but she
never thought of giving up herself, her will, and
her way. She criticised right and left with an
unsparing tongue; but if some one happened to
make a suggestion of criticism upon her, she re-
sented it with instantaneous wrath. But she had be-
come so used to the words, poor Tacy," that she
constantly thought that she was a little martyr to
her misfortunes, and more sinned against than sin-
ning, upon every occasion. Driving home that
morning, after her encounter with her brother
Jimmy, she was pricked by conscience deep down
in her heart for keeping Judy from her bath; but
she constantly excused herself at the same time by
blaming her brothers for their selfishness.
There was extra company to luncheon that day,
and the boys took an early dinner, and were away
fishing until night, so that by the time Tacy met
them again, which was at breakfast the next morn-


ing, something of the first freshness of the unpleas-
antness had worn off. Tacy, too, had been put in
great good humor by the fact that she was to have
her mother's special friend, lovely Mrs. Arkwright,
to drive with her that morning, Judy and the boys
going together in the omnibus, or drag. Tacy
was a great admirer of Mrs. Arkwright, and well
she might have been, for Mrs. Arkwright was full
of the most gracious kindness and tact. And Mrs.
Arkwright liked Tacy, though she knew Tacy
through and through, as Tacy had no idea that
she did. Every one in trouble found a friend in
Mrs. Arkwright, and Tacy, as they drove on
through the lovely Newport lanes and by-ways,
began to pour out hers, and it was not long before
her good friend had a very clear idea how affairs
stood just then.
Oh, it is such a pity! thought Mrs. Arkwright.
"No one has ever told Tacy-no one has had
the courage or the tact to know how to tell her
just how it is. If some one could tell her,- could
open her eyes,-I 'm sure it would n't do her any
injury, but a great deal of good. Nothing can be
so injurious as these constant quarrels and this
morbid state of feeling that she has; and Tacy
has really noble qualities,-so loving a heart "
And thinking thus, Mrs. Arkwright looked
around tenderly, pitifully, smilingly at Tacy, who
was in the midst of her grievances. Tacy saw the
look, and responded with a smile of her own, and
presently broke out impulsively: "Oh, Mrs.
Arkwright, you are so kind and good and sym-
pathetic, I feel sure that you would always love
me, whatever I might do !"
And then Mrs. Arkwright thought: I wonder
if I might not tell her some day. If the right time
comes, I will."
The time came sooner than she anticipated. It
came on the occasion of the lawn party that Tacy
gave in honor of her friend Judy. Everything had
gone on very smoothly in all the preparations, and
Tacy was in high spirits, with not a flaw or ripple
to disturb her serenity. But just before her guests
began to arrive, as she was standing with Judy and
her brothers by the great window that opened on
the front lawn, she reached out her hand and
pulled down a beautiful big bunch of scarlet
kalmia which grew near. Judyhad a knot of scar-
let kalmias on her shoulder; why should n't sie ?
"Oh, don't, don't!" suddenly cried out
Charley, who was the little artist of the family.
Don't what ? asked Tacy, turning her eyes to
him, as she thrust a long pin through the bit of
grass that held the kalmias, and thus attached
them to her shoulder, just at the left of her chin.
"Why, don't put on that scarlet," explained
Charley. It looks horrid !"

"But Judy has it, and you thought it lovely on
Judy a moment ago."
"Well, I think so now; but you're not Judy.
Judy has dark hair and eyes, and it somehow
matches Judy; but it fades you all out, and makes
your skin look yellow and bricky. Here, I'11
get you something for a shoulder-knot," and
the boy put out his hand to pluck some of the
pale late roses that grew close to the kalmia.
In a moment, Tacy had flung down the kalmias,
and in the next moment had cried:
"I don't want the roses; I wont have them!"
"But, Tacy, wait a minute," began Charley;
"your hair and skin-- "
I can't help my hair and skin," sobbed Tacy.
"I wasn't saying that you could," Charley
hastened to say. I didn't mean -- "
"You meant to be rude; I do think my
brothers are just the rudest boys in the world,"
she cried, turning to Judy. They are always find-
ing fault with me for what I can't help-always
picking flaws and criticising me. I can not help
my bad skin, nor my hair I I wish I could.
I wish I could look like you, Judy, and then "
Oh, Tacy, Tacy, don't, don't cry! Charley
only meant that you were blonde and I brunette.
Oh, you must n't cry, you mustn't, Tacy; for see,
somebody is coming up the drive," said Judy.
But it was too late; the tempest of sobs already
had the upper hand. Charley's words had touched
the sorest and most sensitive spot in her nature,
and Tacy could only fly frantically to her room to
hide from her approaching guests her falling tears
and struggling sobs.
Judy started to follow, but a gentle touch de-
tained her, and a low voice whispered :
"I'll go, Judy."
It was Mrs. Arkwright, who had come into the
back drawing-room a few minutes before and heard
everything. She had come to matronize the party
in place of Mrs. Blundel, who was ill with neuralgia.
Going slowly up the stairs, Mrs. Arkwright waited
a few minutes outside Tacy's door,-waited until
the tempest of sobs had subsided a little,- then
softly turning the knob, she went in. Tacy thought
it was Judy and did n't move.
"Tacy," called Mrs. Arkwright's sweet voice.
Tacy sprang up from the bed, where she was
lying face downward.
Oh, Mrs. Arkwright, were you there, did you
hear?" she asked.
"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Arkwright calmly.
"Did you hear what Charley said about my
skin ?" asked Tacy.
I heard it all, dear," said her friend.
Oh, Mrs. Arkwright, you don't know what I
suffer. It comes out everywhere this misfortune




of mine. Strangers look at me and feel at once
that I am ugly; but to think that my own brother
-" and Tacy sobbed convulsively.
"Tacy, wait a moment. You think I love you,
don't you ? asked Mrs. Arkwright.
Oh, yes, yes; I hope you do, Mrs. Ark-
wright," Tacy answered, earnestly.
I love you very dearly, Tacy," Mrs. Arkwright
went on. "I lost a little girl once who would
have been just your age if she had lived, and you
look like her, Tacy."
I ? asked Tacy, in surprise.
"Yes; she had blue eyes like yours, and there
sometimes comes into your eyes an expression so
like my Mary's that I want to take you in my
arms and keep you for my very own," she con-
Tacy forgot for the moment her own grievance
in this wonderful fact that was being told her.
I love you so much, Tacy, that I am going to
talk to you, to tell you something just as I should
my Mary if she were here and placed as you are."
Tacy laid her hand over her friend's without
I not only love you, Tacy, but I admire very
much certain qualities that you have."
"Oh, Mrs. Arkwright."
You like to be loved, Tacy ? "
"Better than anything, and nobody does love
me, but Mamma andPapa and you; I am so-so
hideous. It is pretty people who are loved by
"Not by any means. They attract at first, but
they don't hold merely by beauty. The most
popular persons whom I know, those who are best
liked, are quite plain."
But not disfigured-not like me."
Tacy, dear, you think too much of yourself."
Yes. The way to be liked, to be loved, is to
like to love others, and wish to make them happy,
not yourself. Tacy, if you would try to forget
yourself, your disfigurement, as you call it, which
you very greatly exaggerate, and not constantly
make other people uncomfortable by taking of-
fense at every slight thing that 's said,-things
that are never meant,-if you would put all this
aside, and give up your way and your plans, and
act as,-well, just as if you were the prettiest
person in the world,- pleased, confident, and
cheerful,- you would find yourself in a short time
with more friends than any mere rosy beauty; for
you have so much brightness, so much -what shall
I call it ?- magnetism, to attract and draw people.
Why, Tacy, the other night at the concert at the
Casino, you were listening with all your soul in
your face; and Mrs. Bernard said to me, 'What

a fine, interesting face Miss Blundel has! Tacy,
you never look plain -hideous, as you call it-
except when you are angry."
All the time that she was talking, Mrs. Ark-
wright had Tacy's hand in hers, and Tacy's head
held against her breast. As she ended, she
pressed her closer still, and said, softly:
My Tacy is not going to be angry with me -
with one who loves her so well that she wishes her
to be thoroughly appreciated by other people, and
happy, as she certainly can be."
Tacy drew a long, deep breath, and then lifted
her head. There was a new look on her face-
a look of wonder and timidity combined. As
she met Mrs. Arkwright's eyes, she blushed, then
said, with a noble candor that proved the existence
of the generous qualities Mrs. Arkwright had dis-
cerned : Nobody ever found fault with me like
this before-nobody ever found fault with me at
all, except the boys, and that was generally when
they were angry. Oh, I have been like a silly
baby And now-you must be right, for you love
me and I will try ; I will try."
Mrs. Arkwright bent down and kissed her. I
knew that you could bear the truth, dear Tacy, and
that is a great quality-few people can bear the truth
when it is unflattering. Now come, let us go down."
Neither the boys nor Judy knew just when Tacy
returned, for they were busy talking to the guests
who had arrived; but they were one and all not a
little surprised when they suddenly saw Tacy
pleasantly chatting to a group of girls, with not a
trace of her recent tempest of tears. Throughout
the rest of the day it was the same,-Tacy was
trying to conquer herself. It was no easy task.
Now and then some one's will conflicted with
hers. Once, it was Jimmy's, who had arranged a
game of tennis, when she had planned to go row-
ing from the pier at the foot of the garden, for the
Blundels' house was near the bay. At first, she
began to speak in her old imperious fashion, then
she recalled "Make them happy, not yourself;
give up your way." She had promised to try;
and in a moment she had gained a firm hold of
herself, as it were, and was saying:
Oh, if you had planned a tennis-game, it's all
right. We will go rowing by and by, if you like."
Jimmy dropped his tennis-racket, and stared up
in amazement at his sister. His action-- his look -
more than anything, conveyed to her some idea
of what a tyrant she had been--of the fear in
which they held her. So it went on ; if she ac-
cepted any plan, or fell in with any opinion with-
out resistance and objection, the boys and even
Judy showed such visible amazement that it was
embarrassing. It was not easy to meet all this,
but it nevertheless opened her eyes.




That night, after all the guests were gone, Tacy
went down to their own private pier at the foot of
the garden, to think things over. Sitting there,
in the shadow, quite unseen, she watched the boats
in the harbor, and wondered if she had not, on the
whole, been happier for her new efforts. Soon
familiar voices struck upon her ear, and she saw
a boat drifting toward their landing. The voices
were those of Bobby and Jimmy. She was just
about to speak to them as they rowed toward the
stair-way, when she heard Jimmy say:
If Tacy would be like that always, she 'd be the
nicest girl I know. I like her better than Judy,
when she's in good humor, because she has so
much 'go' in her."
Tacy held her breath with amazement. Better
than Judy pretty Judy !
"But was n't she angry though with Charley,"
he went on. And Charley never meant what she
thought he did. She 's got it in her head she 's
a fright, and she 's always thinking about it, and
thinking other people are thinking about it. Al-
most conceited that is, I should say."
Tacy looks well enough when she's pleasant.
She looked very pretty to-day," put in Bobby.
Yes, Tacy is lovely when she 's in good humor.
But when she's angry,- Oh, my!" and Jimmy
stopped short, with an emphasis that spoke more
than words.
Perhaps it needed just this comment to put the
final proof before Tacy, and to show her that she
was on the right track at last. Not all at once did
she succeed in keeping on this right track; there
were moments and hours when she faltered and
slipped, but little by little her better judgment and
her sense of justice got the upper hand, and little by
little the boys forgot to be on the defensive, forgot
the bitter title of "Tyrant Tacy," and her old ways
in her new ways.
A few months ago there was another lawn party
at the Blundels'. It was a much gayer and larger
party than the one I have just spoken of, for Tacy
was now eighteen. Tall, slender, and graceful,
she stood, the center of an animated group, as Mrs.
Arkwright came down the wide path toward her.
Mrs. Arkwright had just returned from Europe,
where she had been for a year, and she saw a
great change in Tacy.
What was it? She had not grown to be a
beauty by any means; she had the same pallid,
uncertain-colored skin, but there was a different
aspect about her altogether-a look of life and
health and brightness. Mrs. Blundel joined Mrs.
Arkwright as she paced slowly along.
"You are thinking how well Tacy is looking,
Mrs. Arkwright, I know. She began to mend
two years ago. You remember how irritable the

poor child used to be ? I always said that it was
her state of health, and you see I was right. She
is very different now."
Tacy at this moment caught Mrs. Arkwright's
glance. The next moment she had Mrs. Ark-
wright's hands in hers, and a moment later, she
had turned from the animated group about her
and was walking down the lawn with her friend.
How well you look, Tacy! "
Tacy laughed.
That was what Mamma was saying to you,
Mrs. Arkwright; I knew by her glance. Dear
Mamma! I feel like a fraud, Mrs. Arkwright."
What do you mean? "
Why, Mamma thinks my better behavior is all
the result of a sudden improvement in my health,
when"- and Tacy laughed again, half sadly-" it
is my better behavior that has improved my
health. Oh, when I think of the hot rages I used
to have over trifles You opened my eyes, Mrs.
Arkwright, and when I began to see myself as I
really was, I hated myself, and when I began to
mend those hot rages, my health mended."
I have n't a doubt of it, Tacy; and you look so
bright and happy now "
The two walked down the garden together, and
presently came upon Jimmy, now a tall lad of
fifteen. He was at the awkward, "hobble-de-hoy"
age, and shrank from parties. He was trying to
escape from this one at that very moment, and
Tacy knew it. But she said nothing about it; she
only slipped her hand over his arm, and asked him
about the new tennis-rackets.
"Jimmy has a genius for making improve-
ments," she explained, and he has made a great
improvement on the ordinary racket."
Jimmy then felt called upon to explain also, and
the next minute, they had come upon the tennis-
ground, and almost before Jimmy knew it, he was
sending the balls flying, and very soon after, he
was playing a vigorous game with some young
people, forgetting his hobble-de-hoy-hood and his
dislike of parties. But as Tacy walked away, he
looked over his shoulder, and called to her:
Can't you stay, Tacy, and take a hand ? "
Not now, but I will by and by, Jimmy," she
said pleasantly. And as Tacy walked away, Mrs.
Arkwright noticed that it was like this with every
one; Tacy was wanted to take a hand in every-
thing that was going on.
When, at the end of the day, a very young, shy
girl said to Mrs. Arkwright, "Tacy makes people
so comfortable she had touched the secret spring
of Tacy's popularity.
She made people comfortable, because she had
learned a gracious tact through forgetting her-




PUg HEgt.


TO "h,"

WITH a Saxon King's word, and a Norman Duke's sword,

(io66) In te:
To h

(i ,On i 7e1 o

leading his horde,
n-sixty-six, twice crowned, to make sure,
is son, s

William fFus,

S \ his throne should inure -
A soldier, a statesman, a ruffian, whom fate
In the New Forest slew by the hand of his mate;
(1087) Brought to England a child, crowned in ten-eighty-seven,
(If Heaven save the mark!) arrow-sent into Heaven!

his brother,- husband, father, and son
Of Matilda, three women whose names were
but one;
Called Beauclerc for his lore, yet at logical feud,
When not in alliance, with Anselm the Good.
He witnessed young Oxford fare forth to renown,
(x0oo) With the century's close receiving his crown-
But having no son, of his William bereft
By the waves, to his daughter his kingdom he left,
(1`35) In the year thirty-five, as he fondly believed;
But with all his fine learning, the King was deceived,
For sister Adela's son,

To account himself other than very ill-used;
And as England elected him, daughter Matilda
Found nothing but title-deeds whereon to build a
(1154; Firm throne for her race, through nineteen troubled years, Arms
When Stephen, the winning but weak, calmed her fears

Henry I.


Queen Matilda.

of Stephen.

it if 11 !



By departing this life; and her own boy was reckoned
The sole King of England, as

4erlry El geeonr2j
Of legal repute, with nothing to fleck it
But the ill-advised murder of Thomas h
His youngest son bad, and his oldest
(1189) In the year eighty-nine he sank down,

his third son, rough, bluff absentee,
Came home twice to be crowned, then
roamed off over sea;
Crusader and captive, betrothed to young Alice-
But bold Berengaria shared his sea-palace-
Not only the Heart, but the head of a Lion--
He found, like his father, no home-throne to die on,
Whose death to his base brother

power did bring,
S(Ix99) Being thus, in ten years, third Plantagenet King;
S''' I Him his own barons forced, all our freedom to cede,
John. When he signed Magna Charta at green Runnymede;
(1216) But his fighting was stopped in twelve-hundred-sixteen,
And his small

appeared on the scene.
Fierce quarrels with Leicester, his brother-in-law,
And prison and blood, his first forty years saw;
Henry II. (272) Then victorious peace until seventy-two,

Ed wa rDG,

his son, came with all the ado
Of the warfares of Wallace, and Balliol, and Bruce,
With now and then, triumph, and now and then, truce,
(1307) Till the seventh year dawned of the centuries' teens,-
And his son

Edward eeondJ,
on Isabel leans,-
A monarch most weak, but the curse of his life
Through his twenty years' reign was his Jezebel wife.

Henry II.

Richard I.

Edward I.

Edward II.





Then his son,

Edjwapdl ^l2pGi, -

(1327) and Philippa the fair,
For fifty years fought at Crecy and Poitiers,
And o'er Balliol and Bruce,- nor before then nor since,
(1377) Braver warrior was seen than their son, the Black Prince;
Whose son,

Queen Philippa. Black Prince.

Richard II.

Henry IV.

Henry V.

Henry VI.


Riearc3 geonr

a minor, the r
Of Wat Tyler put down, but hin
By his own cousin Hal, in thirte
John of Gaunt's son, King

self was put out
en ninety-nine,-

John of Gaunt Wat Tyler.

lenMPy Le FpourPtL

of the line.
Fourteen years the old wars he fought in his turn,
And first gave the law that made heretics burn;
He built up the church, not for God, but himself,
And the Commons made strong, not for right, but for pelf.
Yet he pensioned old Chaucer, be sure to remember,
And died like a saint in Jerusalem Chamber.
His son,

"Henrpy jf{J, F

won at wild Agincourt-
Brave soldier, pure statesman, what would you have more?

His son,

e er y f ixlx E

(in fourteen twenty-two
An eight-months-old babe) took his wife from Anjou,
Marguerite, but lost France through Orleans' brave maid;
Fought rebellion at home, was defied by Jack Cade;
Now prisoner, now king, through the wars of the Roses--
A pure, gentle scholar, in cloud his life closes;
Last legal Lancastrian. Then to the throne

bore the White Rose alone;
Son of Richard of York from third Edward descended,
But in twelve years he died and his kingly line ended

Edward III.


His son,


By the murder of

in the Tower, -.
With his poor little brother in one midnight hour-
Edward V. That

in fourteen eighty-three, _____ .
Their uncle, assassin, base monarch might be; ---.
Though in two years at Bosworth, his red sun went down,

Mepy tle feveEn1

' (1483)
Richard III.

J ^ (1485)

Henry VII.

2_0 "`Herlnpy U^e EiLt,

-'. L- White and Red Roses blended,
And thus to your joy my long ditty is ended.
Henry VIII.


Not so fast I am ordered again to the fore,
And when kings must be rhymed, there are kings in galore!
(rsog) In fifteen and nine Henry Eighth brought the hope
Of peace, and wrenched England away from the Pope.
But fickle and savage and selfish, though able,
He slew his best friends, who ate salt at his table;
Killed two of six wives-if you think he was good,
With his loves and his murders-why, you have Mr. Froude
His son,

EGwapIl fixLJ,

in fifteen forty-seven,
For six shining years rose, a star in our heaven;
Then glowered bloody

(1s53) ill-nurtured, ill-mated
Learned, stupid, sincere, and right heartily hated,
(55ss) Till the year fifty-eight,- when uprose in her glory

assumed England's crown;
A Welshman, a Tudor, an offshoot of Lancaster,
He flung off Bellona as far as man can cast her!
Piled up gold, wed the daughter of Edward the Fourth,
With his young Margaret bound King James of the North;
With his

(d47)d VI

Edward VI.





James 1.


Chlrles I.

,?, (1649)

Oliver Cromwell.

Richard (6
Cromwell. (1660)

._ .. _
Charles II.

James II.


6liza LeL2,

Queen of all art, song, and story.
Proud maiden, great monarch ah! never a crown,
On the brow of a man, shone with brighter renown I
Strong-willed in the fire and the faults of her blood,
Old England yet knows her as Queen Bess the Good.

JamS RirSL,
her successor, in sixteen and three,
Proved a Tudor diluted in Stuart to be,-
The rickety son of the Queen of the Scots,-
He escaped from Guy Fawkes and his gunpowder plots.
Forced our Pilgrims and Puritans homeless to flee,
From his bigoted tyranny, over the sea;
But when he expired, in sixteen twenty-five,
There were Puritans still left at home and alive -
His son,

to the scaffold to bring;
Who lied like a Stuart, but died like a king,
In the year forty-nine, when forth with his sword

Oliver Cromwell,

the Scourge of the Lord."
Yet his' country knows well that no king has bedecked her
With loftier bays than her sturdy Protector,-
Held her high for nine years; then the power he had won
Gave in death to the weak hand of

his son,
Who cared not for honors, or army, or throne;
So, in sixteen and sixty, came back to his own,

ela2r@ S second,

with welcome most loyal and glad,-
Kindly, careless, and witty, false, clever, and bad,
For twenty-five years, then died with urbanity;

james second,
his brother, devoid of humanity,
Dull, dogged, and cruel, sent Jeffries to slaughter,-
Himself soon sent right about over the water.


Mary Stuart.

Guy Fawkes.

(r688) Remember the year of sixteen eighty-eight,
When his good daughter,

Mary. William II.

Mapay, an William
the Great
Of Orange, both Stuarts, born cousins, began
Fourteen years of freedom, which simple

seen rnne

Carried honestly on to a full
dozen years;
Until brave


George I.


George EIe Firp<
h El

) 4 tl e ectorLU, ap.pearl
Not much of a king, but enough, it was granted,
To keep out the Stuarts-the only thing wanted.
Though the Stuart in Hanover blood was alone
The force that bore him to the proud island throne.
(1727) Thus from twenty-and-seven to seventeen-sixty,
His son,

George 1I.


George III.

re (1820)

George IV.


William IV.

Geopge ELe feconr2,

on the throne firmly fixed he;
Whose brave, stolid rule would have been far more sinister
If he had not been led by a wise wife and minister.
His grandson, k

Geopre 9I1irj,
the next sixty years stood
In royal estate, stubborn, honest, and good-
We should be ungrateful to pass coldly by .
The dear King who gave us our Fourth of July !
Of his son,

Geopr e LIe FourLip ,

the less said the better:
For his reign of ten years is old England no debtor;
Nor can

William tl2e FRouril2

be thought over-much given i:'
To King-craft, though King until thirty-and-





-\ .


Then welcome

heir of each grace
Victoria. And each virtue that marked all the Kings of her race;
Not alone in the East is she greatest and best,-
We own the sweet sway of Victoria West! i, _
By her womanly worth, without contest or -(a
She has won back the Empire her grand-
father lost.-
Her white hand was peace when our trouble was sore;
By that sign, she is Queen of our hearts evermore.
The liegance of love sea nor sword shall dissever.-
God's blessing be on her forever and ever!


"Where are you going, my pretty maid?"
I 'm going to my grandmother's, sir," she said.
"Then 1 must eat you, my pretty maid."
"Certainly,- dear little boy! she said.






KIT'S heart almost jumped over the bars before
him, in his exultation; but he managed to tumble
along with it, and in a moment he was at the
horse's head.
Dandy was not hitched, his bridle having been
taken off with the saddle, and thrown over the
boards separating that pen from the next. Kit ex-
amined the forelock and found it not braided, but
crinkled, as the young farmer had described. He
backed him around to the light and saw the mot-
tles under his sides. He lifted his feet, one after
another, and saw that he was shoeless before and
shod behind.
Then he gave a chuckling, gleeful laugh, thrilled
through and through with the delight of his dis-
covery. It was no feverish dream; he had the
stolen horse at last!
He dropped the topmost bar, and tumbling out
again, saw Mr. Cassius Branlow hastening toward
I've found him I've found him said Kit,
triumphantly, feeling amply repaid for all his pains
and forgetting once more his hunger and fatigue.
You don't say !" said Cassius. Well, that's
better luck than I expected. I had just discovered
these wagons and was coming over to have a look
myself. Is that the saddle ? "
That's the saddle, and that's the bridle. I 've
found everything but the thief. I 'd give some-
thing now," said the exultant Christopher, "to set
eyes on him I "
What would you do ? Mr. Branlow inquired.
"I'd find the policeman I spoke to, and have
the scoundrel arrested. I'dpay him forgiving me
all this trouble "
Yes, that would be fun, though you might be
giving yourself a deal more trouble. I know how
these things work; and I advise you, now you've
found the horse, to secure it, and not mind much
about the thief, who will be too shrewd to get
caught. That is," added the friendly Cassius,
unless you care more for revenge than you do
for your own convenience."
"I 'd like to punish him "said Kit, with spark-
ling eyes.
In that case, we can leave the horse and go
off one side and watch when he comes to take it,"
suggested Mr. Branlow. We might lie in am-
bush under these sheds; but the trouble is, he is

probably watching us, and will keep out of the
I wish it were n't quite so late," said Kit.
" I'd like to take Dandy home to-night."
To do that, you'll have to start at once; and
I advise you not to lose time by stopping to punish
"He may have sold the horse," said Kit, growing
thoughtful. I think I 'd better see the police-
man I spoke to, anyhow. He was more interested
in the racing than he was in my story; but he
told me to look for the horse, and if I found him,
to come back and let him know."
Of course, you will act as you please," Mr.
Branlow replied, discouragingly. "But I advise
you to do nothing of the sort. Tell him you've
found a stolen horse; and what will he say? He
will say, 'Prove property, and take him.' But how
can you prove property ?"
"Why, I know Dandy, and Dandy knows me!
You know me, too, Cash Branlow "
"But the policeman does n't know you, nor
me. I can swear I have known you three or
four years, and believe you to be an honest boy.
But how will he know I'm not a rogue myself?
At such times the best men are likely to be sus-
pected," argued Mr. Branlow.
"There 's something in that," Kit admitted.
Then if the thief comes forward, matters may
become more mixed. Suppose he 's an honest-
appearing fellow, as many of these rascals are;
swears up and down the horse belongs to him,
and you are the rogue, trying to get it away?
What'll be the result? You '11 both be arrested,
probably, and kept nobody knows how many days
in the lock-up till your uncle and two or three
witnesses can be sent for and the thing is at last
straightened out."
I had n't thought of all this," Kit replied.
"As a friend, let me think for you, and show
you how to take advantage of the situation. Pos-
session is nine points of the law. Here you are.
Here's your horse. There's the saddle. Clap
saddle on horse, pitch self on saddle, and off!
Any complications regarding the thief, or any
supposed new owner he may have been sold to,
can best be settled after you have the horse safe in
ycur uncle's stable at home."
I see," said Kit, bewildered by this rapidly
uttered advice.
They are just calling another heat, over on



the trotting-ground," Mr. Cash Branlow contin-
ued. "Everybody is crowding to see it. The
coast is clear. You 've just time to run over to
the pie-shop and get a bite for your journey. I '11
have everything ready by the time you come
back. Or will you start on an empty stomach ?"
Kit felt that his stomach was almost too empty
for that, and considered this counsel good.

If, "'- "'"', ; "'" ,f] y- -.
S, 7'. i, ,, '

"Dandy was fed at noon; and now, if I am have
fed," said he, "we can make the home-stretch in guard.
a hurry It w
"Now you talk sensibly," replied Cassius. It that h
was lucky you came across me just as you did! difficult
Do you need any money? "-putting a hand into any m
his pocket, next tl
No, thank you; I have some. Only look out with it
for Dandy while I am gone; and for the thief, if he "H
comes around," said Kit. to him
"How shall I know him ? asked Cassius. which
"Have n't I told you?" said Kit. I picked have b
VOL. XII.- 8.

complete description of him in making in-
on the road."
deed said Cassius, gayly. That 's
Give us the points."
young fellow, not much over twenty," be-
ood!" exclaimed Branlow, getting his fin-
eady, and touching the tip of his left fore-
finger with the tip of his
right. Young fellow,
not over twenty -"
"Sallow complexion,"
Kit went on. "Smooth
face. Suit of dark,
checked cloth. Narrow
brimmed straw hat. Me-
dium height."
"'All right," said Bran-
low, having recited each
item after Christopher,
and tallied it duly on its
particular digit. Me-
dium height," adding
the thumb of his right
hand to his little mne-
monic system. I have
him! I should know him
in the biggest crowd by
such a description as
that. "
Would you?" said
Kit, wondering at this
confidence. I've been
afraid I might pass him;
so many men dress and
look about alike."
"That's true. Butit
is n't probable any two
men have all these six
points," said Branlow,
holding up his four fin-
gers and two thumbs.
"Now make tracks, fill
your pockets, and be
back here by the time I
put on the saddle and bridle. I '11 stand

as a great satisfaction to Christopher to feel
e had a friend to aid and advise him in this
lty. For all the trouble was not over, by
means, when he had found the horse; the
hing, he now saw, was to get safely away

ow kind he was to offer me money he said
self, as he hastened away toward the bakery
Branlow had pointed out. "I would n't
believed that I should ever be so glad to see



Cash Branlow. He must have changed a great
deal since he worked in the shop."
That was not exactly years and years ago, as
Mr. Branlow had said, in his extravagant way, but
barely eighteen months. He had been a restless,
untrustworthy fellow then. He was an apt me-
chanic, but inclined to slight his work; and he
could never stick to it long at a time. When tired
of staying in one place, and doing one thing, he
would suddenly pack his little kit of tools, and
set off on his travels, picking up a precarious living
as an itinerant tinker.
He was about twenty-six years old, though he
appeared somewhat younger; and in the past four
years he had come back twice to Mr. Downymede's
shop, working for him a few months at a time in
the intervals of his wanderings. Kit had a faint
impression that he had been sent off the last time
for some discreditable conduct, but he could not
remember what it was.
"Mother never liked him," the boy thought;
"but she will be glad to know he has done me this
good turn."
Still, even with Cassius Branlow to stand guard
over Dandy, Kit was unwilling to be out of sight
of the horse many seconds; he looked back as he
ran, and in a very short time might have been seen
returning, his pockets bulging with oyster crackers,
and a half-eaten wedge of pie in his hand.
Cassius advanced a few steps to meet him,
beckoning impatiently.
Stow the rest of that inside your coat," he
said, alluding to the pie; "and tumble into that
saddle as quickly as ever you can."
His hurried manner of speaking filled Kit with
a kind of trepidation, though he could n't see what
fresh cause there was for alarm.
"The trotters are coming around in the last
heat," Branlow muttered excitedly. "The races
will be over in a minute. Then there '11 be a rush !
We must be out of this, you know, before the
crowd comes."
Have you saddled and bridled him? said Kit,
stopping at the bars which his friend had let down
for him, and peering into the shed.
He is all ready," said Branlow, following him
in. "Foot in stirrup there!" giving him a
boost. Don't hit your head the roof is abom-
inably low. How are the stirrups? I took 'em
up a few holes by guess."
"They are all right," mumbled Kit, with the
last of the pie-crumbs still obstructing his speech,
while his pockets dropped oyster crackers with
every motion he made. "Where do you live now,
-if I should want to know? "
He had that day resolved and re-resolved that
he would "think of things in future ; and he aft-

erward prided himself on having, in a moment of
haste, considered a point which might prove im-
Right here in the village ; at work in the stove-
store. Don't stop to thank ne said Cash, with
the utmost urgency, helping to get the reins into
Kit's hands; for Kit was not much of a horseman,
and the lowness of the shed-roof compelled him to
bend forward awkwardly on the horse's neck.
See who comes to take him; spot the thief if
you can, and let us know mumbled Kit, with his.
mouth in the horse's mane.
I '11 spot him if he comes around," replied
Branlow. I have him on my fingers: dark com-
plexion, checked shirt, and the rest."
"Sallow complexion, dark, checked suit," Kit
corrected him, as he rode out from under the shed.
"To be sure," cried Cassius. "I understand.
Good-bye, and good luck to you!"
And having led the animal well over the bars,
Branlow gave it a parting slap. It started away
at a trot.
"Good-bye !" Kit called back across his
And he was off.


THE racing was over. The cheers for the vic-
tors swelled in the damp evening air, and died
away. A thin mist, rising from the river and the
shores, was mingling with the nimbus of dust above
the trotting-course, and the black mass of humanity
there against the twilight sky was breaking up into
scattering throngs, when a boy, wearing a base-ball
cap, mounted on a dark horse, rode out briskly from
the fair-ground, passed beneath the huge symbol of
an ox-yoke over the gate-way, amid a few dodging
pedestrians, and disappeared down the dim street.
Kit knew there must be a nearer way home
than the roundabout one by which he had come,
and he found by inquiring that he had taken it on
leaving the village. He watered his horse at a way-
side trough, and was pleased to find him so spir-
ited after his day's jaunt.
But, of course," he thought, "it has n't been
so hard on Dandy as it has on me. He has fed
and rested, and now he knows he is going home."
The short twilight of the fall equinox was deep-
ening into night; and the moon would not be up
for an hour. But with the plain road before him,
Kit did not care for the gloomy prospect. His food
refreshed him; he munched his crackers as he rode.
The air was deliciously cool, and he found rest in the
saddle after having been so long on his aching feet.
The horse needed little urging. His hard trot-
ting shook Kit up badly; but his canter was not



so objectionable; and when tired of both canter
and trot, Kit found him capable of a fast walk.
You do well, Dandy, after your day's run
with a thief!" he said cheeringly. "I did n't
know there was so much go in you. I wish I could
have found the rascal; and it seems as if I might
have found him."
He was not at all satisfied with his failure in that
particular; and now, with twinges of conscience, he
reflected that Dandy might already have been sold
to an innocent purchaser.
It was almost like stealing my own horse !" he
thought, with a troublesome sense of something
wrong in the transaction. I 'm afraid I ought
not to have been so ready to take Cash Branlow's
advice. With him to help me, nobody could have
taken Dandy away again. Though I might have
been bothered a good deal, as he said; perhaps
hindered a day or two, till Uncle Gray could be
sent for."
Still he was haunted by an uneasy feeling that
he had not pursued the most courageous and
upright course, together with very disagreeable
memories of things he had heard said of Mr. Cash
Branlow in East Adam village.
But he seems changed; he certainly was kind
to me," Kit comforted himself with thinking.
"Why should he have taken such pains to help
me away with Dandy, if he had n't thought it was
for the best? Anyhow, I have the horse! And
Cash can attend to any one who comes to claim
it, just as well as if I were there."
Meanwhile, the autumnalnight had closed around
him, damp and chill, with far-stretching shadows
infolding farms and woods, and silence disturbed
only by the thud of his horse's hoofs, and occasion-
ally an insect's melancholy note. No light save
that of the stars shining hazily overhead, and here
and there a gleam in some wayside window as he
But now the soft radiance of the rising moon
began to brighten the east. It grew to a dome of
fire, and rolled up, a vast burning ball, on the hori-
zon, with an increasing light, which mingled silverly
with the, mist that mantled the earth. Then the
shadows passed from Kit's mind, and he thought
only of the triumph of taking Dandy home.
Unaccustomed to the saddle, he was tired enough
of it before long. He made the horse trot, can-
ter, and walk; he tried all possible positions, ex-
cept riding backward, to ease his jolted body and
sore limbs. He missed the way two or three times,
and once went some distance out of it before he met
a man who set him right.
At last he began to recognize familiar scenes,
and knew the streets of his native village, which
however, in the moonlight, appeared strange and

romantic to him, as he rode through. He remem-
bered the anxious haste with which he traversed
them on foot in the morning, which now seemed
many days ago, and with a glad heart he patted his
horse's neck.
The belfry clock was striking eleven as he ap-
proached his mother's house, and saw a lamp burn-
ing in the front window.
"She is sitting up for me he thought, with
a thrill which sent quick tears into his dimming
eyes. My but she '11 be pleased "
He rode up to the little gate. Before he could
dismount, the maternal ears, intently listening
within, caught the sound of halting hoof-beats,
and a window was thrown open.
'"Is that you, Christopher?" said the widow,
putting out her head.
Yes 'm cried Kit, eagerly. I've found
the horse "
I 'm thankful! she exclaimed, devoutly, a
great burden of anxiety lifted from her mind by that
good news. "I did n't believe it possible! I have
been concerned about you all day, and have blamed
myself for letting you go away with so little money.
How did you succeed ? Your uncle has been here,
and he said it was a wild-goose chase."
"So it was," cried the exultant Kit. But I
have caught the goose."
Can't you come in and have some supper?"
his mother asked.
No, I'm notvery hungry. I must hurry along
and let Uncle Gray know. I '11 see you, and tell
you everything to-morrow," he added.
You've had a hard time, I know said the
sympathetic mother.:
"Yes, but I have ,emy pay; the nut's all the
sweeter for the .:r-k. -," answered Kit, with a
laugh. "I'm -'l, Idl I saw you. Now go to
bed and sleep."
"Yes, I will. Bless you, my son Good-
night! "
And Kit rode away in the moonlight. The sound
of the hoof-strokes could be heard long after horse
and rider had disappeared up the half-moonlit,
shadowy street; and it was not until they had died
in the distance that the window was closed, and
the widow turned away from fondly gazing and
listening, murmuring, "Bless the dear boy "
with a sigh of grateful relief.
The lights were out in his uncle's house when
he came in sight of it; nobody was sitting up for
him there.
Yet good Uncle and Aunt Gray were not asleep.
He was too conscientious a man to feel quite at ease
about the boy he had parted with angrily in the
morning, let alone the loss of the horse; and she




had flung out more than once her very positive
opinions on that painful subject.
He had come home late from a harassing day's
quest of both boy and horse; and, in his nervous
state, he thought it too bad that instead of the
sympathy he craved, she should bestow upon him
so much superfluous good advice of the retrospect-
ive sort.
"There 's no use tellin' me over and over ag'in
what I 'd better have done," he replied to one of
her arguments, groaning and turning on his pil-
low. "Why can't ye tell me what to do now?
You are so wise about things past and done for, I
wish you could show half as much wisdom re-
gardin' the present and future Tell me how to
find the hoss, for one thing."
One would think your life was bound up in a
hoss !" Aunt Gray replied. I don't see as it's
any very terrible calamity if we never see Dandy
Jim again. You 've money enough to replace
him without feeling it."
I don't care about the hoss said Uncle Gray,
"I wish you had been of that opinion in the
morning," his wife answered quietly. "One
would have thought you cared something about
it by the way you took on. It seemed to me
you cared more for it than you did for Christo-
pher. The idee of your fairly sending the boy off
your premises, and ordering him never to set foot
on 'em again without the hoss "
"There it is ag'in I had no notion he would
take me at my word," said Uncle Gray.
Anybody who heard you would have thought
a boy of spirit would take you at your word," Aunt
Gray replied, with calm persistence. "And Chris-
topher is a boy of spirit; you '11 admit that."
"Yes, he 's good enough in his way!" Uncle
Gray grumblingly admitted, "if 't was n't for his
one fault."
That 's nothing to be wondered at in a boy
of his age. All boys are heedless. It is n't because
he 's my nephew that I stand up for him," Aunt
Gray continued; I believe I should have just as
much patience with him if he were yours; and I
sometimes think you would have had a little more."
That 's as unjust a charge as you ever made
in your life, which is saying a good deal! ex-
claimed Uncle Gray, resentfully. "I 'm sure I
could n't have borne with him more if he 'd been
my own son."
I am glad you will have that thought to com-
fort you," she replied, in her cold, peculiar tone,
which she could use with the most cutting effect;
though I can't help wondering a little if you
would really have stood by and seen a boy of your
own go off, as Christopher did this morning, and

not have called him back, even if you had been in
a passion."
Another groan from Uncle Gray.
I was in a passion; I '11 own that. I was out
of all manner of patience with the boy. But I
supposed he would just go off, mebbe an hour or
two, looking' for the hoss, and then come back, or at
least go home to his mother. He 's probably
there, abed and asleep, by this time,-as we ought
to be here, 'stead of frettin' the blessed night
away over what can't be helped."
"He was n't back there at eight o'clock, so
Abram said. And now, if you can sleep, not know-
ing what has become of him, or whether you '11 ever
see him again, all I can say is, I 'm glad you have
so easy a conscience."
There was a silence of a few minutes, broken by
Uncle Gray's restless sighing and turning; when
suddenly Aunt Gray said, -" Hark "
"What did you think, or imagine, you heard? "
said Uncle Gray.
A horse And 't was n't imagination at all;
I hear him now! It's Christopher!" And Aunt
Gray started up.
Can't be!" said Uncle Gray, hoping she would
contradict him. "No such good news as that! "
"It is The horse has stopped at the barn.
He '11 find everything locked up."
She was up in a moment, lighting a lamp; then,
her garments thrown loosely on, she hastened to
undo the back door.
Some one was there before her. She slipped
back the bolt and looked out. A boy, in a base-
ball cap, stood in the moonlight, with one foot on
the step. It took her a moment to recognize him
(she had never before seen him in that cap); then
she exclaimed:
"Christopher you have come "
Yes, Aunt," said Kit. And I want the key
of the stable."


WHEN Kit, after his day's tramp and his long
night ride, dismounted in his uncle's yard, he could
with difficulty stand upon his feet. He felt as if
the body they bore belonged to some one else, and
that it weighed a ton. He was so stiff and lame
that when he had lifted one leg up over the door-
step, he could hardly lift the other.
It was then and there he was met by Aunt Gray,
whose second question was uttered with joyful
eagerness as she peered out at him from the kitch-
You have brought back Dandy ? "
I have brought back Dandy," Kit replied, with
quiet exultation.


i885s. HIS ONE FAULT. 277

She was asking more questions, fumbling for
the key on the door-post,- when a loud voice
washeard, proceeding from the bedroom. It was
Uncle Gray calling out excitedly to know if the
comer were indeed Kit, and if he had really found
He wont believe it till he sees you and hears
your story," said Aunt Gray. So you may as
well come in and give an account of yourself."
I'11 slip Dandy into the stable; then I'11 come
in and tell how it all happened," said Kit.

penders up on his shoulders as Kit entered the
room, where the lamp was burning on the bureau.
" How did you manage it ? "
I got on the trail, and stuck to it; and when
I lost it, I looked till I found it again," said Kit;
" for I was n't going to come back without the
horse "
"You must n't take what I said too much to
heart," replied his uncle. I spoke too hasty, and
I did n't really mean what I said. Though the
truth is, you had tried me dreadfully with your


Elated by his aunt's surprise and joy over the
success of his expedition, he took the key she gave
him, and went limping vigorously to the stable,
the door of which he threw open, leaving the reins
on the horse's neck and waiting for it to walk
Cone, Dandy, are you, too, rusty in the hinges ?
Or don't you know your own stable when you come
to it at this time o' night? Well, you're a stupid
Dandy, I should say! Are you asleep? "
And taking the horse by the bridle, he led it
into the dark stall. The mare in the stall beyond
gave a whinny of welcome, but had no whinny in
response from Dandy Jim.
Kit left the animal to stand with saddle and
bridle on, while he went in to speak with his uncle
and get a lantern.
"Wal, f'r instance; you 've done it, Chris-
topher!" said Uncle Gray, slipping his sus-

heedlessness; and when I found you 'd left the
stable-door unlocked, and Dandy was gone in con-
sequence, that was the feather that broke the
camel's back."
I don't blame you a bit," said Kit with earnest
Well, I'm rej'iced to hear you say that. And
it's all right now you 've brought Dandy back.
But where in the world-how did you find him?"
asked his uncle.
"At the cattle-show, over in Peaceville. I
traced him there, and found him in a shed. There
was nobody with him at the time, and I just took
him and rode him home, answered Kit.
Wal, you were smart, I must say ejaculated
Uncle Gray. "And you did n't manage to get
hold of the thief ? "
"No; he.was in the crowd watching the races,
I suppose. I should have been glad enough to catch


him if I had had time, and could have been sure
of doing it. But it was growing dark, and I thought
Dandy was of the first importance."
"That 's right, that 's right," said Uncle Gray,
approvingly. "You 've been smart, for once.
Think of the fellow's surprise, coming' back, to find
the hoss he had taken had been taken from him !
A boy so, I don't know as you could 'a' done any
All I was afraid of was that he had already sold
Dandy to some one else," said Kit, glad to free his
mind of the only doubts he felt regarding the
I see," said Uncle Gray; "but you could n't
well help that. The hoss is mine, and you had a
right to take it, no matter whose hands it had
fallen into. You've brought it back, and that's
the main thing."
The worthy man chuckled with pleasure, so
well satisfied with the said main thing" that he
could not think of criticising any part of Kit's
"I don't know that I should have got away so
well, if it had n't been for Cassius Branlow," said
"That fellow!" said Uncle Gray. "Have you
seen him?"
Kit explained briefly.
"Wal, f'r instance! I'm glad to know of his
doing anybody a good turn. He owed it to you,
for your pa's sake, if he did to anybody. Your pa
befriended him, and tried to make something of
him, long after most folks had given him up as
a bad job. I don't know but he gave ye good
advice, under the circumstances; but I hope he'll
find out who went to claim the hoss, and let us
know. Brought Dandy home in good condition,
have ye?"
I think so," said Kit. You need n't put on
your boots; I can attend to him. He 's been
watered. He wont need anything but hay to-
night, will he ? "
Mebbe not. I'll go out and see how he looks,
after he 's cooled off a little; and see to lockin' up
the barn ag'in," added Uncle Gray.
Meanwhile, Aunt Gray had lighted the lantern
for her nephew, and left it waiting on a chair while
she placed a little supper for him on the kitchen
I '11 go out and give Dandy some hay, and
bed him down, before I eat anything," said Kit,
"and see if I can't shut up the barn myself, for
once, without leaving the key in the door."
He could afford to speak cheerfully now of his
blunder of the previous night.
There 's no need of Uncle's going out at all,"

he added, stepping with the lantern into the moon-
lit space between house and barn.
The stable-door was in shadow; but the lan-
tern lighted it up, and threw its glimmer into the
stalls beyond. In the farther one, the mare, putting
her nose around the edge of the partition over the
manger, to sniff at her neighbor, just then gave a
vicious squeal.
What 's the matter with the vixen ? said Kit.
" She 's the only creature on the premises that
is n't glad to see you back again, old Dandy Jim "
He hung his lantern on a hook designed for it,
where it would partly light both barn and stalls.
Then he went up into the loft and threw down some
hay into Dandy's rack. Finally he came around,
and slapped the sedate nag in a friendly way be-
fore removing the bit.
"I'm pretty well, thank you; how are you, old
boy ? he said, slipping the bridle off and the hal-
ter on, to the momentary annoyance of the animal,
already nipping at the hay. "Seems to me you
appear to feel strange!" he added, as he un-
buckled the girth.
He took off the saddle and hung it in its place,
and scattered straw for Dandy's bed. Then he
brought the lantern and held it where he could look
the horse carefully over and see what it was that
did not appear just right about it.
Suddenly the solid globe seemed sinking away
from beneath the feet of Master Christopher. He
started back,, then bent forward again with a cry,
consternation freezing his soul. "0 my life! 0
my life he moaned in a tremor of wild terror
and dismay, which would have made even an
enemy pity him.
Still a faint, ghastly hope struggled against his
fear. It must be the long day's jaunt which had
somehow wrought an astounding change in the
horse. Kit looked more closely at its sides, where
no mottles were to be seen; but that might be ow-
ing to the imperfect light. He pulled down the
head, and held with shaking hand the lantern to
the forelock, which had not the least appearance of
ever having been braided; but it was just possible
the night dews had straightened the crinkled locks.
Lastly he lifted one foot after another, and found
them shod before and behind !
With horrible sickness of heart he leaned back
against the side of the stable and tried to gather
his wits together,- tried to remember how the
mistake had happened, and think what was now
to be done.
But to his scattered wits there was only one thing
The horse he had brought home was not Dandy

(To be continued.)





(A Valentine.)


THE knight of olden time, they say,
Went bravely out to battle,
And stood serene amid the strife,
The din and roar and rattle,
Because he carried on his arm
A ribbon or a glove,
And fought and won, or fought and fell,
All for his lady-love.

We boys may be like knights, they say,
Although our lives are quiet,
And though we may not ride to war,
With martial clank and riot,
Yet we may still be brave and true,
And fight against the wrong,
And, like the gallant knights of old,
Help other lives along.

So, Cousin Alice, you, I see,
Wear ribbons with your dresses;
Please, will you spare one pretty bow
From off your braided tresses,
Just to remind me, day by day,
I must be good and true,
A valiant knight to serve the right,
Because-I 'm fond of you?

Then, Cousin Alice, let me wear
Your pretty colors gayly,
And they shall make me kind and true,
And brave and gentle, daily;
For, like the knights of olden time,
I promise, "honor bright,"
If you 're my little Valentine,
To be your faithful Knight.




As MOST of my young J1
readers are doubtless well
aware, there is a contin-
ual warfare between the
insects and the birds, the
latter finding in the for-
mer their natural food.
Knowing this, any excep-
tion we may find to the
rule must seem very
remarkable, especially
when we see, as in the
accompanying picture, a
bird and a spider not only
on terms of the closest
friendship, but actually
partners in house-build-
ing. The bird is the pur-
ple sun-bird named by
naturalists Nectarinia
Asiatica. It is common
in many parts of India,
where it flits among the
trees in gorgeous garbs
of deep purple-blue,flash-
ing green, gold and yel-
At the nest-building
time, the sun-bird search-
es the woods until it finds
the large shining web of
a certain kind of spider. i Ii01
This it proceeds forth- I.'
with to
appro- ,, wt
without fur-
ther cer- '",' ,
canwell im-
agine t:,aar
there has bI- n
some under i t: rd c
between 1Alsr-:. M pidcr &
The web I, g&!crii!., .:pu
between :.:, -It:.ur !n.b-,. 3nd upon this neighboring camp. At first the spider must be
web the bird begins to place all sortsofrub- somewhat astonished at the capacity of its net for
bish, such as bits of grass or fiber, and pieces of catching such strange flies. But, curiously enough,
paper and cloth picked up or stolen from some as fast as the bird places these objects upon the



web, the spider secures them with its silk, spin-
ning industriously and assisting its friend as much
as possible. Finally, when the materials have ac-
cumulated until they reach the limb, they are
fastened to it, and bound over and over, first by
the bird and afterward by the spider. Now the
nest begins to assume a definite shape; in appear-
ance like a bottle, a flask, or a dome; the grass
and twigs being generally wound in and out by the
bird and then covered by the silk of the spider, both
bird and insect working harmoniously, until they
have made a perfect dome-shaped nest hanging in
the midst of the web, partly supported by it and
partly hanging from the limb. In some nests an
entrance is left at the bottom; but usually it is at
one side near the upper end, with a little platform

or awning built out over it by the bird, to keep
out the rain.
The nest would now naturally be a very con-
spicuous object; but the spider's work is not yet
done. It continues to spin its silken web around
the nest, carrying the threads from one part to
another, inward and outward, forward and back,
until finally, after spinning miles and miles of silk,
the nest is completely hidden behind a screen of
Here, together, the partners live; the spider
rearing its young on the outside, and the sun-bird
caring for its eggs and young within. In this queer
partnership the spider is, evidently, not the loser,
as it certainly gains peace and protection from the
presence of its feathered friend.




THE Campo Santo is in some respects a peculiar
cemetery. One thing which makes it very differ-
ent from what we expect to see in a city dating
from the Middle Ages, such as Genoa, is that there
is nothing at all antiquated, or old-fashioned,
about it. It will be to us a curiosity. of modern
This Campo Santo is about a mile and a half
from the city, and is built in the form of a vast
square court, with the tombs of the rich in raised
galleries on the four sides, and the graves of the
poor in the flat ground in the middle. All the
galleries are built of white marble, with roofs and
long lines of pillars; and the tombs are generally
placed along the inner side of the galleries, and the
greater part of them are surmounted by groups of
life-size statuary. It is these statues, allof them the
workoffamousmodern Italian sculptors, which give
to the place its queer and peculiar character. Many
of the groups consist not only of statues of the per-
sons buried in the tombs, but life-like figures of the
surviving relatives dressed in modern clothes. In
one place you will see a father on his death-bed,
his wife, dressed in the fashion of the present day,
sitting by his side, while his son, a young man in
double-breasted sack coat and striped trousers,
and a daughter, with a polonaise and pleated skirt,

stand at the foot of the couch. These figures are
so well done that they almost seem to be alive;
and as the members of the family come year after
year to the cemetery, they must be content to
see the clothes they were sculptured in getting
more and more old-fashioned. Some of the de-
signs are fine and artistic, although to our ideas
very strange.
In one part of the grounds we perceive a young
lady richly attired in a dress with a long train trim-
med with a double row of ruffles and lace, and wear-
ing a cape edged with scalloped lace, kneeling at
the foot of her father's tomb, while a grand and
beautiful figure of Christ rises out of some clouds just
in front of her, and with one hand over the recum-
bent statue of her dead father, and one over her
head, offers her consolation. In another place
there is a group of two sisters, who are kneeling by
the door of the tomb of a third sister; the door of
the tomb is partly open, and the buried sister, in
company with an angel who holds her by the hand,
has just come out of it, and is rising toward the sky;
as these figures are life-size, the effect is very
striking. Close to this tomb is one which is
planned upon an entirely different idea; a large
old angel with a long beard and a very grim and
severe countenance is sitting solemnly upon a
closed tomb. His expression gives one the idea that
he has looked around upon the young lady who


has been liberated by the angel, and that he has
said to himself: The person in the tomb on which
I am sitting need not expect to get out until the
proper time comes." There isno doubt that these
groups are considered very appropriate monuments
to deceased friends and relatives by those who have
placed them there, but some of them can not fail
to strike Americans as strange and odd. Some of
the monuments, however, are very beautiful, with-
out any of these queer fancies; and there are many
portrait-statues of deceased persons. One of these
is a figure of an old woman, exactly life-size, who
was known in Genoa as a great friend of the poor.
She used to carry them bread and other things
which they needed, and she is here represented
wearing the dress in which she walked about the
town, and carrying a loaf of bread in her hand. The
statue was ordered by her before her death, and
she was very careful to have it made precisely like
her; her gown, her stiffly-starched clean apron,
her cap, and the material and pattern of her shawl
and allher clothes are exactly imitated. Altogether,
she is one of the most life-like old women in mar-
ble that you are ever likely to see. In contrast
with this statue is a beautiful marble figure of a
little child lightly dressed, who is stepping with an
airy tread above a mass of flowers. The action is
so free and graceful, and her expression so lovely
and natural, that her parents, when they come
here, must think they see their little daughter
bounding out to meet them.
On the side of the great square opposite the
entrance to the cemetery is a large circular chapel
with a lofty dome. It is approached by a flight
of steps, and presents an imposing appearance.
The interior of this white marble edifice is very
handsome, the dome being supported by great
columns of black marble, each cut out of a single
block. But the most charming thing in this build-
ing is a wonderful echo. The man who shows the
place to visitors stands under the dome, and sings
a few notes; in a moment these are repeated,
clear and loud, from the expanse above. The
effect is so fine that we make him go through the
performance over and over again.
About five miles from the city is the celebrated
Villa Pallavicini, which is considered one of the
great sights of Genoa. We can go to the place by
a line of horse-cars, which here have the English
name of tramways.". In many parts of the con-
tinent of Europe, where horse-cars are now quite
common, this English word has been adopted; and
if it has no other good effect, it may teach the
French the use of the letter W, which is not rec-
ognized in their language. The villa belongs to
a rich and powerful Italian family, and visitors are
allowed to see it. When we reach the great gate

we apply at the porter's lodge for a guide, for
people are not permitted to go. about the grounds
alone. After walking up abroad avenue, we enter
another gate, and soon come to the house, a beauti-
ful and spacious edifice, with marble porticoes, and
terraces. A few richly furnished rooms are shown,
but as the Pallavicini family reside here part of the
year, we can not see the whole of the house. But
it is not this princely residence that we come to
see; it is the extensive pleasure-grounds around
the house, which are planned in a manner very
different from anything to which we are accus-
tomed. These grounds, which lie on a hill above
the house, are very beautiful, and are crowded
with all sorts of imitations of natural objects, with
queer and ingenious devices of many kinds, as well
as with most lovely groups of flowers and plants;
while a great variety of evergreens and other trees
are so arranged as to give the grounds the appear-
ance of a wood, although they are placed with such
skill that the sun is, by no means, always shut out.
As we walk along the winding paths leading up the
hill, we see great masses of camellias, oleanders,
roses, azaleas, and other rich flowers; some of the
camellias being as large as small trees. Plants
from every part of the world are to be found here,
coffee, tea, vanilla, sugar-cane, camphor, and even
specimens of the cork-tree. But we shall see that
the person who designed these grounds had an eye
for the queer and surprising as well as for the
The walk through the grounds will occupy us
about two hours, and we shall see something novel
at every turn. Speaking of turns, there are swings
which revolve like great wheels instead of merely
going backward and forward, and in which we can
take a turn if we choose. Near these is a hand-
some little marble edifice, built on the occasion of
a visit that the Empress Maria Theresa made to
this villa.
When we get to the top of the hill, we see a
castle, strongly fortified, but which appears to have
been somewhat damaged. These damages are all
artificial, and the castle was built to look as if it
had sustained a siege. All about are evidences of
the great fight which never took place. Near by
are a number of graves which are intended to rep-
resent the resting-places of the men (who never
existed) who fell during the siege. Among them
is the handsome mausoleum of the imaginary com-
mandant of the castle, who died an imaginary
death during the imaginary conflict. The person
who planned these make-believe vestiges of war,
which cost a great deal of money, must have had
an odd idea of making a place interesting. We
can go into the castle, and from the tower we have
a grand view of the sea and the country, as well



as of the extensive Pallavicini estate, which ex-
tends for a great distance.
Coming down the other side of the hill, we reach


a grotto, which is entirely artificial, but with real
stalactites and stalagmites, brought from real cav-
erns, and all arranged in the most natural manner;
with a subterranean lake, over which we are taken
in boats. On this side of the hill is a wide and love-
ly landscape-garden containing several lakes, one
of which is quite large. As we walk along, we see
some ordinary swings, and if we sit down in one of

them, a jet of water sends a fine shower all over us;
in another place, in passing through an open path,
and the sun shining brightly above us, we find our-
selves in a sudden show-
er of rain. This is occa-
sioned by our stepping
on a concealed spring in
the path which immedi-
ately surrounds us with
thin high jets of water,
which fall in sparkling
drops upon us. There
are other tricks of this
kind, and they must have
been very amusing at
first to the Pallavicinis,
although I do not believe
they asked the Empress
Maria Theresa to sit down
in one of the squirting
swings. The large lake is
very beautifully arranged,
wide in some places, and
narrow in others, with
all sorts of curves and
bends, and with pretty
little bridges crossing it
at different places. We
can get into boats, and be
rowed all over it, passing
under the bridges, among
little islands, and into
the shade of the beautiful
trees which line its banks,
some of them drooping
their graceful branches
into the water. In some
places the banks are rich
with flowers, and every-
thing is planned to look
as natural as possible. In
the center of the widest
part of the lake stands an
exquisite marble temple
surrounded by columns,
NTO, AT GENOA. and containing a statue
of the goddess Diana.
Some of you will think this Grecian temple the
prettiest thing in the whole grounds.
We will now leave the Villa, with its beauties,
its queer surprises, and its imitations; and we must
also leave the bright, bustling, and interesting
city of Genoa, with a hope that never again will it
be obliged to bend the knee to a foreign foe or a
domestic disturber of its peace and prosperity.





a -il ,n


RALPH RODNEY'S uncle lived in Montreal, and
Montreal was to have a winter carnival. Natu-
rally, Ralph Rodney's uncle invited Ralph's father
and mother to visit Montreal during the carnival
and to bring Ralph with them; and, naturally,
also, when Ralph Rodney's father and mother
accepted the invitation, Ralph was about the
happiest boy in Boston.
Of course, most of the boys and girls know what
a carnival is. It is a jolly good time out-of-doors
in the warm Southern cities, like Florence and
Rome and Naples in Italy or like New Orleans
in our own land, where it is a sort'of festival of fun
and masquerade and fancy dresses during the four
weeks just preceding Lent. But Montreal has n't
a particularly "warm Southern climate," and the
idea of a "winter" carnival rather sent the cold
shivers through Ralph Rodney's anticipations. He
had never been so far North before, and he had
fears about freezing his ears and his nose.
I wish my seal-skin cap was larger and that my
ear-tabs were snugger," he confided to his mother;
but she assured him that his aunt and his cousins
in Canada would show him just how to protect
himself from the cold, and that he need not borrow
Well, the longed-for time of departure arrived

at last, and one crisp January evening Ralph
Rodney, with his father and mother, took the
night train on the Boston & Montreal Railroad, en
route for the winter carnival.
A ride of fifteen hours brought them in safety to
Montreal. They crossed the great Victoria Bridge,
and Ralph scarcely knew which was the greater
wonder--the big bridge, or the broad St. Law-
rence, white with its winter covering of ice and
snow. Ralph's indefinite fears as to whether the
custom-house officers would not arrest him as
a smuggler, because he happened to be carrying a
few presents to his Canadian cousins across the
line, were speedily set at rest; and once out of the
Montreal station, he enjoyed hugely the ride in
the comfortable hack sleigh, almost smothered in
great buffalo-robes. He was soon taken to his
uncle's door. On the way there the sleigh passed
the ice palace, erected for the carnival in Dominion
Square, near the great Windsor Hotel. It was
built of large cakes of ice, two feet thick, having
a high central tower, and smaller towers at the four
corners. From the top of the towers waved the
flags of different nations, and under the morning
sun the glittering, dull blue structure looked more
like a fairy creation than the result of three weeks'
hard labor of men and horses.

* The ice palace is of a new architectural design each year.





Ralph's cousins, Charlie and Clara, were de-
lighted to welcome him. Breakfast was hardly
finished before they were initiating him into the
mysteries of Canadian costumes and sports. Long
knit stockings and deer-skin moccasins were
brought out. and he was told that these were the
ornld p .-p' r ih n r t,:- ._ :.r ii rl'ii._ di,', aLid li ihr
C -1 ,:,- r n,:... T h. -r i e,;r, ...I p.:.. n.r- n r
cap: .: : ri t ar'': bil1- i, n. .ii. .:h ihe:,

lar ,- r i: rh.- ii .1. i pr.:..:lu -:d n; -: R ., lph

e Ar: N -. h.i e ..a ir, -

0 1 i d i i i i - '

.:ed ri : .e t.:. a .

to :ic r l t: L .

S r.,- arid
s~d, Al

,.. 1',

of snow-shoes, and showed him how to fasten
them upon his moccasined feet by a peculiar knot,
which would not slip. Charlie gave him some
indoor lessons, and told him that he must not

"" -_p k h1-,I .,. d of
ri" ip li. -io ii iii irLi r i ir -i: rC
[l'i': -_.ri,:,.' ---]-I,:' : c l- r anr.,l,._.-, ,,r c' .. ry'
one-L ,ul, i r., r. ar i-, 1 a

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hi; -:-h.- c i4 i 2-11111 r!F.-,]r
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curely bound to it by deer thongs or sinews, so
as to make a light and strong flat sled. These
varied in length from four to eight feet, and were
generally covered with a carpet or cushion. Lastly,
Ralph's cousins presented him with a new pair

concluded that he had got the peculiar shack "
movement necessary, and was anxious for the time
to come, when he could prove to his cousins his
apt scholarship.
Lunch over, a start was made for the tobogganing


slide. There are several of these slides at Mon-
treal, on the mountain-sides, built and kept in
order by clubs of young men, who are very fond
of the sport. The winter is the dull business
season in Montreal, as the great river is blocked
with ice; and many who are exceedingly busy in the
summer months have much spare time during the
winter. But they are not idle; they play then
about as hard as they work in summer, and chief
among their sports is toboggan-sliding. The club
dress is a very pretty one, made of white blanket-
ing, one club being distinguished from another by
the colors of the blanket-borders, and also by their
sashes and toques.
When Ralph's party came in sight of the Mount
Royal slide, it was crowded with club members,
their friends, and spectators, and presented a very
novel and picturesque appearance. Ralph had
brought an extra toboggan with him with the inten-
tion of steering himself down the slide, but, when
he saw toboggan after toboggan, loaded with two
or more sliders, dash down the steep shoot of the
starting platform, glide at railway speed along the
icy incline, jump several inches into the air over
the smooth bumper, or cahot*, and then take a final
plunge down the long slide between the great
snow-banks, his confidence in himself rather gave
way, and he concluded to postpone his experiments
in steering until the slide was less steep or less
crowded. But Charlie, who looked like a young
Polar bear, in his white suit, was not to be put off.
Ralph must slide and he would guide him. So,
together, the two boys mounted the platform, Char-
lie carrying his toboggan upon his shoulder as
a soldier would carry his musket. When they
reached the top of the slide, Ralph looked down with
fresh misgivings. The pitch was so steep and the
toboggan which had just started went so swiftly, that
he would gladly have backed out. But his pride
and Charlie's Oh, pshaw, there's nothing to be
afraid of!" alike led him to take his place upon
the toboggan, which Charlie was holding upon the
"Are you ready ? said Charlie.
Yes," said Ralph, as ready as lever shall be."
Well, then, hang on cried his cousin as he
jumped on behind Ralph, sitting on sideways, with
his left foot extended backward to serve as the rud-
der with which to steer their course. Away they shot
down the steep declivity, with the wind rushing and
whistling about Ralph's ears. As he approached
the cahot he instinctively shut his eyes, and he did
not need to be told to hold on, for the terrific pace
and the bumping motion of the toboggan made
him grasp the low side-piece in desperation. The
cahot once safely passed, he began to enjoy his
rapid slide, and he had just begun to wish it was

longer, when the toboggan in front of them slewed
around and "spilled" its load off. Before Charlie
could steer to one side, they too were upon the
wreck, and were themselves "spilled." In an in-
stant another toboggan came dashing among them,
and thus three sled-loads were promiscuously
mixed up upon the slide. Fortunately no one was
badly hurt, for these toboggans are so light and
elastic that the chances of injury are very much
less than with our heavier steel-shod sleds, and in
a few moments all were up again, laughing at their
mishap and brushing off the dry snow. Ralph was
initiated now, and as eager for another slide as his
cousin could have wished him to be. He was sorry
enough when his aunt summoned them home to
dinner. On his way down the Cdte des Neiges
road he tried steering his own toboggan on the
steep places, and soon found that it answered the
helm," as the sailors say, very readily. So he de-
termined that the next day he would try the mount-
ain slide alone, and soon show his cousin Clara
that he could steer her down the shoot as well as
her brother could. Under Charlie's supervision
he also put his efforts in snow-shoe walking to a
practical test, and though his first attempts were
rather disastrous, he soon mastered the science and
became really skillful with the snow-shoes.
Dinner was hardly over before it was time for
them all to go down to Dominion Square to see
the inauguration of the ice palace, and the torch-
light procession of the snow-shoe clubs. Their
first view of the palace on reaching the Square
was enchanting. It was brilliantly illuminated
with electric lights, which shone through its sides
and gave it the appearance of a large structure of
ground glass. A band of music was playing in-
side, and thousands of people in their warm furs
and gayly colored head-dresses were crowding
about it. A slight snow was falling, the air was
cold, but dry, and the whole scene made Ralph
think of pictures he had seen of winter sights in
Moscow and St. Petersburg. Soon there was a
cry of Here they come," and then at the north-
ern end of the Square the torches of the snow-
shoe clubs were seen approaching. On they came,
and after several hundred had filed by, and their
torches had surrounded three sides of the Square
with a line of light, at a given signal, a shower of
rockets ascended from the middle of the Square,
Roman-candles were let off from the whole line of
snow-shoers, and the ice palace was brightly lighted
with colored fires, one tower being red, another
green, and another blue. The effect was almost
magical. Ralph was well acquainted with Fourth
of July fire-works (as what American boy is not ?),
but to see such effects in a snow-storm was novel
indeed. He watched the whole parade-a

*A cahot is a hole worn in the slide by the frequent passage of the toboggans.




thousand snow-shoers in their picturesque white
suits, and then returned home, and from the win-
dows of his uncle's house he watched the line pass
and repass across the top of the mountain and then
wind down its side, doubling back and forth in the
descent four or five
times, until finally
he saw it as it
sank into

the mellow shade,
Glitter like a swarm of
fire-flies tangled in a
silver braid."

Ralph Rodney's
first day at the car-
nival was but the
beginning of a se-
ries of days that
were filled with de-
light, and crowd-
ed with sights and
scenes to be long
remembered. He
became an enthu-
siastic tobogganer,
and was soon up
in all the ways and
talk of the noble
ice-slide; while "
Charlie held his
enwrapped atten-
tion with an excit-
ing account of how
he had once gone
tobogganing down
the ice-cone of the _
Falls of Montmo-
renci, near Quebec
-a great winter
resort for Cana-
dian tobogganists. -
Charlie told him
how the ice-cone THE ICE-Ct
rose over a hun-
dred feet high at the foot of the Falls, where it
is made larger each day by the new spray that
freezes upon it, and he told him of the great cavern
in the cone, and of so many other wonders that
Ralph was anxious to add Quebec, also, to his winter
trip, and enjoy all the glory of tobogganing down
the great shoot of the Montmorenci Falls. Space

does not permit to tell of his jolly snow-shoe trips
over the mountain, or how he went to the fancy-
dress skating carnival at the Victoria Rink, or how
he watched the curling clubs at their exciting games
upon the ice, but you may be sure that he consid-

ON_ FL -


ered his visit to Montreal a grand success, and
his only regret is that Boston can not be moved to
Montreal, so that he may have winters cold
enough to afford more of sport than of slush,
and more of downright winter fun than is possible
amid the too-frequent dampness and the chilly east
winds of the usual Boston winter.




WHERE do they go, I wonder,
The clouds on a cloudy day,
When the shining sun comes peeping out
And scatters them all away?
I know!-They keep them and cut them down
For cross little girls who want a frown.
Frowns and wrinkles and pouts--oh, my!
How many 't would make -- one cloudy sky!

I think I should like it better
A sunshiny day to take
And cut it down for dimples and smiles,-
Whtat beautiful ones 't would make!
Enough for all the dear little girls
With pretty bright eyes and waving curls,
To drive the scowls and frowns away,
Just like the sun on a cloudy day.

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




WHILE the chief business and object of Congress
is legislation, each House possesses certain other
functions and privileges of great consequence.
After I had been in the Senate a few days, I be-
came acquainted with one of the special powers
belonging exclusively to that body.
The President of the United States is the head
of the Government. He is the Commander-in-
Chief of the Army and Navy of the United States,
and of the Militia of the several States when called
into the actual service of the United States." He
is charged with the execution of the laws at home

and the protection of our rights abroad. To
properly perform this great trust, he has thousands
of assistants,- cabinet ministers (or heads of de-
partments) ; ambassadors, ministers, consuls, and
other agents in foreign lands; judges, attorneys,
and a variety of civil officers. The law-makers
have provided, by statute, that he may appoint
many of these minor assistants without consulting
the Senate; the others, however, can only be
appointed with the permission of a majority of
the Senate, except during the recess of that body.
For the welfare of the country and the advance-
ment of its commercial and general interests in its
intercourse with other nations, he has also author-
ity, with the concurrence of two-thirds of the sen-
ators, to make treaties with foreign powers.f

Copyright, 1884, by Edmund Alton. All rights reserved.
t The Constitution, Article II., Sec. 2, cl. 2, declares as follows: He shall havepower, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate,
to make treaties, provided two-thirds of the senators present concur; and he shall nominate, and, by and with the advice and consent
of the Senate, shall appoint ambassadors, other public ministers and consuls, judges of the Supreme Court, and all other officers of
the United States, whose appointments are not herein otherwise provided for, and which shall be established by law: but the Con-
gress may by law vest the appointment of such inferior officers, as they think proper, in the President alone, in the courts of law, or in
the heads of departments."





If he wishes to appoint a man to an important
position in the Federal service, he so notifies the
Senate, stating the name of the person and the
office which he desires him to occupy. This nam-
ing" of the person is termed a nomination." As
various official places are constantly becoming va-
cant by the death, resignation, or discharge of the
people holding them, a great number of these nom-
inations are annually sent in to the Senate by the
When it is found desirable to enter into a treaty,
the President confers, through the Department of
State, with the foreign ambassador or minister to the
United States, or, by means of our own diplomatic
agents abroad, with the home officials of such
foreign power in their own country; an agreement
satisfactory to each side is drawn up and signed by
the representatives of the re: .i:. t i.c .: :.uri rc a-i l
this agreement or draft ol rl.i: rear, -i. trir -
mitted by the President to trl- S~.rcnt.:.
Whenever any of these :.nonun-i....n. ..r di.a!t
of treaties, or any other co d,-rnrili .::.. .n jri.:a-
tions are submitted by the Pr.-id-nr., tl-i Senit.
considers them in what is k nr:... n- .
"executive session,"- tha:. I
session devoted to action
upon messages from the
President, in which : .
case the proceedings are ,i ,I-
secret, the galleries and
floor being cleared of -
spectators, and the Sen-
ate sitting with closed /
doors." Only a few offi-
cers in addition to the
senators are allowed to
remain in the Chamber.
Even the pages are ex-
cluded. All the doors
leading to the Senate
are shut and, together a
with the gallery-stairs,
securely guarded against "
intruders. Those highly. -
valued and confidential
officials, Captain Bassett ._
and Mr. Christie, then, '
for the time being, took
upon themselves our duties
within the Chamber, con- THE
veying the messages to the various
doors at which we were stationed in small relays.
Instead of remaining at our proper posts, how-
ever, we were more likely to be wandering up on
the dome or in some other far-away place quite
out of reach. An executive session was, with us,
what a recess is to a school-boy, and we varied
VOL. XII.--19.

the monotony by promenading from door to door,
changing stations with each other, racing up and
down the corridors, catching ball on the portico, or
doing such other things as might suggest them-
selves. My post was in the vestibule at the most im-
portant or main entrance, and we all used to de-
light to assemble in that small space with only
the wooden doors separating us from the Senate
Chamber- and, standing up in the marble niches
and on the floor, "make the welkin ring." More
than half of Mr. Christie's duty seemed to be to


." t.~- -
I/ i i i

2 _


put his head through the door and tell us to keep
quiet. I do not think our efforts were ever appre-
ciated by the law-makers on the other side of the
partition. In the goodness of our hearts, we had
no other purpose than to give the senators a



These executive matters are referred to commit-
tees for examination in the same manner as legis-
lative measures. For example -the nomination
of a person as postmaster in a certain city, is
referred to the Committee on Post-offices and
Post-roads; a nomination
as judge, to the Commit---- -- -
tee on the Judiciary; the .-
agreement or draft of a
treaty to the Committee
on Foreign Relations.
The committees discuss
the matter and report
their views to the Senate
in secret session. Some
of the senators may not-
like the man nominated --- --
for a certain office and S:
may oppose the "confir-
mation" of the nomina-
tion, as the approval or
"advice and consent"
of the Senate is styled.
Then the friends and en-
emies of the man have a
debate over the matter.
Of course, outsiders are
not supposed to know
what they say, but it is
presumed that the ene- f
mies tell everything they
know or have heard
against the man, to show
that he is unfit to hold
the proposed office; and
his friends, as true friends
should, show the falsity of
the charges, or otherwise
answer or dispose of them.
A treaty goes through THE CAPITOL
nearly the same course as
a bill. A vote is then taken upon the confirmation
of the nomination, or ratification of the treaty. If
a majority vote in favor of the person, the President
may appoint the man; otherwise not. If two-
thirds so vote in favor of the treaty, the treaty is
ratified by a "resolution of ratification," and,
when also ratified by the proper foreign authority
with whom it is made, the ratifications are ex-
changed between the officials representing the two
governments (either at Washington or such other
place as maybe named in the agreement), and the
treaty becomes law, binding upon us and upon the
other government.
One day, shortly after my appointment, I
returned to the Senate Chamber, having been sent
on a message to the House of Representatives. As

I entered, I heard a great deal of bustle, and,
looking up toward the galleries, I saw all the peo-
ple going out. I supposed that the Senate had
adjourned, and at once rushed for my awl and
tape, and began to do what is called "filing."


Every morning we distributed on the desks of the
senators such bills, reports of committees, and
other public documents as had been printed and
received from the Government Printing-office.
Having given the senators an opportunity to
examine them (though few ever did so, after all
our trouble), we joined these documents together
with tape, arranged in their proper order, that
each senator might have a complete set at his desk
ready for use and reference. It was usual to attend
to this every forenoon, filing the documents dis-
tributed the preceding day; but when the Senate
adjourned early in the afternoon, we would do as
much of the work as we could that day, in order
to have more leisure time to ourselves the follow-
ing morning.





It was my duty to attend to Senator Sumner's
files, and so, kneeling on the carpet, beside his
desk, I was soon busily engaged, and did not pay
any attention to what was going on about me.
I had teen at work there, I do not know how long,
when, all of a sudden I was startled by some
one catching hold of my ear, and, glancing up,
I saw Senator Sumner gazing at me with evident
curiosity. I noticed that the galleries were entirely
empty, and that the doors were closed. I then heard
somebody talking, and realized that business was
being transacted in the. Senate. I could not un-
derstand it at all. The Senator continued to look
quizzically at me, and finally asked what I was do-
ing there. I told him. Well," said he, "you 'd
better get out of this as soon as you can," and,
lifting me gently (!!!) up by the ear, he exhibited
me to the surrounding senators. I was so small and
had been so quiet that none of them had seen me,
and they all smiled when I bobbed up so unexpec-
tedly, like a Jack-in-the-Box. There was something
in the air, though, like the mystic whisper of a
fairy, that advised me to take to my heels, and
I ran for the nearest door. To my horror, it
was locked! Then I ran to another, and found
that also .locked. I was a caged animal, and
my fright increased every moment. Happily,
I caught the eye of Captain Bassett, and. he mo-
tioned toward a certain lobby door. I rushed; to
my surprise it opened, like the entrance to the
Robber's Cave, and I thanked my stars when I
got out! Just beyond the I:l:,y I found a group
of people collected in the corridor who seemed to
be amazed to see me appearing from that quar-
ter. Then, for the first time, I was told what
an Executive Session of the Senate was, and
how awful were its deliberations. I was informed
that it was a deadly crime for any one to lis-
ten to such proceedings, and for some time aft-
erward I was in a state of terror, fearing that
I should be arrested and punished. However,
my fears were finally quieted by Senator Sumner,
who explained the matter to me, and, saying that
no harm had been done in that instance, advised
me to be more careful in future. And I was that
is to say, I have many a time since then lain awake
on one of the gallery-seats, and heard the senators
discuss "secret business with closed doors !
This incident apparently caused Senator Sum-
ner to take quite an interest in me, and he seemed
to acquire an especial fondness for catching me by
the ears. Often have I attempted to pass the
Senator, while he was walking to and fro on
the floor of the Senate, -only to have both my
ears seized good-naturedly, and to be asked some
kindly question. I shall always remember one
of these adventures -for it was an adventure! He

had sent me on an errand. Having returned,
reported to him the answer, and received his deep-
voiced thanks, I started to move away, but he had
caught me, and continued his slow march-I in
front-Indian file. As he was a tall man and I
a very small boy in comparison, I had to walk on
tiptoe to ease the pain, and even then it seemed
as if my ear would come off my head. The worst
of it was that he at once became so lost in thought
that he forgot he had hold of me, and mechanically
paced up and down, with his long strides, while I
danced a mild war-dance, for some minutes,-it
seemed to me hours,-to the intense amusement
of all who observed it. The more I struggled, the
more did I increase the agony, but I at last 'man-
aged to wriggle away from his grasp. The sudden
" emptiness of his hand caused him to realize the
state of affairs, and he begged my pardon so ener-
getically, and the spectators smiled so audibly,
that the proceedings of the Senate were inter-
rupted and Mr. Colfax actually had to tap with his
gavel to restore order !
But it was, after all, an honor to be noticed,
even in that fashion, by so distinguished a man as
Senator Sumner. He had the widest reputation
of any of the senators, and the first question most
visitors to the Senate would ask was:
"Which is Charles Sumner ? "
He was one of.the greatest statesmen that have
ever graced the halls of Congress, and I found him
to be one of the kindest men in the world. He
was an ideal American gentleman, was always
polite to every one, and I never heard him utter a
cross or hasty word. He had an extensive corre-
spondence and received letters from all parts of the
globe. At one time, while I was a page, I had a
mania for gathering stamps, and as those on many
of his letters were very rare, I asked the Senator if
he would kindly put the envelopes in his desk, so
that I could get them, instead of tearing and throw-
ing them upon the floor. He said he would save them
for me with pleasure, and, sure enough, the next day
he came to the Senate with a large collar-box in his
hand. He put this in the drawer of his desk, and
whenever he opened an envelope with a foreign
stamp attached, he would tear off the stamp and
deposit it in the box. Several weeks afterward he
called me to him and handed me the box, filled with
the choicest and most curious collection, saying:
" Now, if you will empty the box, I will fill it again
for you." And he was true to his word. I have
met hundreds of eminent men in my life; none,
however, more prominent or with more cares to
burden or distract their thoughts than this grand
senator from Massachusetts; yet I think few of
them would, under similar circumstances, have
gone to so much trouble merely to humor the


whim of a boy. I might mention numerous other
incidents of his extreme gentleness of disposition,
but this will, I think, suffice to convince you that
law-makers can have hearts as well as minds.
Secret sessions, by the way, are unpopular.
There are some executive and legislative matters
proper to be discussed only with closed doors, but,
as a general thing, the people who employ these
law-makers in Congress, demand the right to
oversee them at their work. The members of the
House, being directly under the control of the peo-
ple, evidently fear them more than the senators.
As a consequence, they hold secret sessions only
on exceptional occasions. It was not until 1795-
nearly six years after the meeting of the First Con-
gress that the Senate recognized the justice of
the demand for open sessions on the part of the
people. Before that time, all its sessions had
been conducted with closed doors. Now, how-
ever, its debates and proceedings, like those of the
House, are always open to the public, except when
it is engaged upon executive or other peculiarly
confidential affairs.
It is a breach of confidence for a member or an
officer of the Senate to disclose the transactions of
a secret session, until the removal of the injunction
of secrecy by a formal resolution of that body.
Still, newspaper correspondents generally manage
to find them out, in some way. So well known
was their accomplishment in this direction, that
senators would oftentimes go to the reporters for
information as to what had been done in secret
session, instead of the reporters to the senators !
Once, a senator, going to the Senate rather late in
the afternoon, met a correspondent coming from
the Capitol. The law-maker asked what was being
done in the Senate. Oh, nothing important,"
was the answer. "They have just gone out of ex-
ecutive session and are now discussing the subject
they had up yesterday." The senator was evi-
dently interested in some nomination or other
business, and so he persisted and asked the
correspondent what action had been taken in
executive session. The newspaper man coolly
eyed the senator for a few moments, and then
cautiously remarked: "Well, you Congressmen
are getting to be such free talkers, I think I 'd
better not tell you "
Whether or not the journalist was induced to
tell the senator what had been done, I am unin-
formed. If not, it is the most remarkable case of

" golden silence in the annals of the world. The
general opinion of reporters and correspondents
of the Press is that they are very clever and very
wise. At the same time, some of them occasion-
ally overstep the lines of propriety in their eager
quest for news. The circulation of rumors and
gossip is not apt to do good, but, on the contrary,
generally results in harm. Newspapers, however,
sometimes publish such rumors to "amuse" a
certain class of readers who are equally talkative
and regardless of domestic happiness and the
rights of private character.
The American people want to keep informed in
regard to the workings of their government and
they are entitled to the information. But some of
them are altogether too inquisitive, and think that,
by virtue of their American citizenship, they are
entitled to know, and to criticise as much as they
please, whatever is going on in the boundless uni-
verse of space !
Now, I have abruptly drawn you to these sub-
jects, in order to define briefly two sacred rights
guaranteed by the Constitution, and of which
you may have heard much said "Freedom of
Speech and Liberty of the Press." f
Freedom of Speech means the right of a full
and candid expression of honest and honorable
opinion. The Constitution allows you to protest
against the hardships of the laws. It allows you
to remonstrate against cruelty and injustice. It
allows you to worship your Creator as you may see
fit. The Constitution and the laws are based upon
and recognize the precepts of Christianity,t and
any rights secured by them must be exercised
within the limits of decency and honor.
And the Liberty of the Press is still more im-
portant. It means: The right to print and pub-
lish the truth, from good motives and for justi-
fiable ends." That is all. Where vituperation
begins, the liberty of the press ends." For if it is
wrong to give vent to spite and venom in conver-
sations with a few, how much more criminal is
it to put those thoughts into imperishable type,
to be scattered among the masses of the present
day, and to be perpetuated for years to come!
The Constitution does not bestow upon these gen-
tlemen of the pen the privilege to assault, either
through malice or caprice, or as a source of
profit, the faults of private life and character. That
is not the Liberty of the Press That is not the
theory of the Constitution !

Here is the rule on the subject: Any senator or officer of the Senate who shall disclose the secret or confidential business or pro-
ceedings of the Senate shall be liable, if a senator, to suffer expulsion from the body; and if an officer, to dismissal from the service
of the Senate, and to punishment for contempt."
fThe first amendment to the Constitution is as follows: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or
prohibiting the free exercise thereof: or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to
assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."
1" There never has been a period," said Professor Story, one of the greatest jurists of the land, in which the common law did not
recognize Christianity as lying at its foundation."




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THE secret sessions of the Senate were of com-
mon occurrence, that body devoting more or less
time nearly every day to the consideration of
Executive business. Frequently, upon motion of
a senator, it would go into Executive session in
the middle of the afternoon, after which the doors
would be re-opened to the public and it would re-
sume its legislative session. I became accustomed,
therefore, to this proceeding in a very short time,
but had scarcely concluded my investigations con-
cerning this feature of senatorial power, when I
was given a chance to witness a ceremony of
equal interest.
The Constitution thus declares the qualifications
of the President and Vice-President of the United
States : No person except a natural-born citizen
0 * shall be eligible to the office of President;
neither shall any person be eligible to that office
who shall not have attained to the age of thirty-
five years, and been fourteen years a resident within
the United States." And: "No person constitu-
tionally ineligible to the office of President shall be
eligible to that of Vice-President of the United
The manner in which they are chosen is rather
bewildering: Each State appoints, every four years,
in such manner as its Legislature may direct, a
number of officers termed electors, equal to the
whole number of senators and representatives to
which the State may be entitled in Congress.
Those electors meet in their respective States and
vote, by ballot, for President and Vice-President,
" one of whom, at least, shall not be an inhabitant
of the same State with themselves," and they then-
make up distinctlists of all persons votedfor as Presi-
dent, and of all persons voted for as Vice-Presi-
dent, and of the number of votes for each, which
lists they are required to sign and certify, and
transmit, sealed, to the city of Washington (that
being the seat of the Government of the United
States), directed to the President of the Senate.
Upon such a day as Congress may assign for that
purpose, the President of the Senate, in the pres-
ence of both the Senate and the House of Repre-
sentatives, opens all the certificates, and the votes
are then counted. The person having the greatest
number of votes for President, is declared Presi-
dent, if such number is a majority of the whole
number of electors appointed, and the same as to
the Vice-President. In the event of no person
having such majority, either for the office of Presi-
dent or Vice-President, the Constitution confers

upon the House of Representatives the power to
choose the President, and upon the Senate the
power to choose the Vice-President, under certain
restrictions. Thus, we observe here another and
highly important power belonging to each of the
Houses of Congress.
This system of the indirect election of President
and Vice-President has descended to us from the
early days of the republic, when the country was
in its infancy, and the population was scarcely one-
twelfth its present size. Though the individual
citizen does in effect vote for President and Vice-
President when he casts his vote for what is termed
the electoral ticket presented by his party con-
vention, the plan by which these electors are
themselves elected, and by which they, too, go
through the show of a Presidential election before
the final conclusion is given in the official canvass
of the votes in Congress, is complicated, round-
about, and awkward. It would be altogether sim-
pler for the people to choose these high officers of
government directly, without the clumsy contriv-
ance of the Electoral College. When you become
law-makers of the country, I shall expect to see
the Constitution amended in this respect. At any
rate, please give the matter your thoughtful con-
The manner of opening and counting the votes
will be found in what is known as the "Twenty-
second Joint Rule of the two Houses of Congress.
That rule provides that the two Houses shall
assemble in the Hall of the House of Representa-
tives at the hour of one o'clock P. M., on the
second Wednesday in the February next succeeding
the meeting of the electors, and also provides the
course of proceeding when so assembled.
As the constitutional terms of President Grant
and Vice-President Colfax would expire on the 4th
of March, 1873, electors had been duly chosen by the
votes of the people in the month of November, 1872,
and these electors had met and voted for a Presi-
dent and Vice-President of the United States for
the succeeding period of four years, and the sealed
certificates had been forwarded to Washington.
Accordingly, on the second Wednesday (the 12th)
of February, the certificates were to be opened
and the.counting of the electoral votes was to take
place. When the day arrived, the Senate met at its
usual.hour and began to transact ordinary legisla-
tive business, in which, however, no one seemed to
take much interest. The sight-seers crowded the
galleries of the House of Representatives, the galler-
ies of the Senate being almost deserted, only such
persons occupying them as were probably unsuccess-
ful in obtaining admission to the other House. After
the transaction of some unimportant business, Sena-
tor Pratt arose and began an elaborate speech on



the Pension Laws. But everything had a holiday
appearance. The senators, the pages, and the other
"'officials" felt like children about to go to a
picnic, and were anxious for the hour of one
o'clock to arrive and put an end to their agony of
The proceedings of each House of Congress
are recorded by short-hand writers, the most emi-
nent in their profession, everything said and done
being actually reported and printed. The publica-
tion containing this report was then The Congres-
sional Globe; since the 4th of March, 1873, it has
been The Congressional Record. In order to be
accurate, I have examined the pages of the Globe,
and will quote from them occasionally in referring
to the proceedings of Congress.
Right in the midst of Senator Pratt's speech,
Mr. McPherson, the Clerk of the House of Repre-
sentatives, appeared at the bar of the Senate (and
by the "bar" I mean the end of the center aisle)
and delivered the following message:
"Mr. President, I am directed to inform the Senate that the
House of Representatives is now ready to receive the Senate, for the
purpose of proceeding to open and count the votes of the electors
of the several States for President and Vice-President of the United
Shortly afterward, the hour of one o'clock hav-
ing arrived, the Vice-President said:
The Senate, preceded'by the Sergeant-at-Arms, will now repair
to the Hall of the House of Representatives."

Thereupon Mr. French, the genial Sergeant-at-
Arms of the Senate, arose and walked toward the
main door leading to the House, followed by the
Vice-President and Secretary. Then the senators
fell in line, two by two, and the procession began
to move. Certain other officers of the Senate
joined the ranks, and as nothing would be regular
or complete, according to our notions, without the
presence and co-operation of the pages, we went
along as a matter of course, sandwiching ourselves
in between the venerable Solons wherever we could
find an aperture wide enough to accommodate our
small bodies.
The line of march led us through the great
rotunda of the Capitol, which was crowded with
people who had gathered to see the novel and im-
posing sight. When we reached the House, our
arrival was announced by an officer of that body;
and as we entered, all the members and officers of
the House rose to their feet to receive us, and re-
mained standing while the senators were being
seated in the chairs provided for them in the east-
ern section of the Hall near the Speaker's desk.
The Vice-President, as the presiding officer of the
joint convention of the two Houses, took his seat
in the Speaker's chair, the Speaker, Hon. James G.
Blaine, occupying a chair on his left. Senator

Sherman (who had been appointed by the Senate
to act as a teller in counting the votes) and Rep-
resentatives Dawes and Beck (the tellers on the
part of the House) took their seats at the Clerk's
desk, at which the Secretary of the Senate and
Clerk of the House were also stationed.
After the confusion on the floor and in the gal-
leries incident to our entrance had somewhat sub-
sided, the Vice-President rose and stated:
"The Senate and House of Representatives having met under
the provisions of the Constitution for the purpose of opening, deter-
mining, and declaring the votes cast for President and Vice-Presi-
dent of the United States for the term of four years commencing on
the 4th of March next, and it being my duty, in the presence of both
Houses thus convened, to open the votes, I now proceed to dis-
charge that duty."
He then proceeded to open and hand to the
tellers the votes of the several States for Presi-
dent and Vice-President, commencing with the
State of Maine. Senator Sherman read in full the
certificate of the vote of that State (and the cer-
tificate of the Governor as to the election of the
electors), giving seven votes for Ulysses S. Grant,
of Illinois, for President, and seven votes for Henry
Wilson, of Massachusetts, for Vice-President. Then
Mr. Dawes read the certificate of the vote of the
State of New Hampshire, and so they continued,
each teller reading in turn. When the vote of the
State of Mississippi was reached, Senator Trumble
objected to its being counted, for the reason that
the certificate did not show that the electors of
that State had voted "by ballot" as required by
the Constitution. Other objections being made,
the Vice-President said:
Three questions having arisen in regard to the counting of the
votes for President and Vice-President, the Senate will now with-
draw to their Chamber."
Thereupon we re-organized in procession and
marched out of the Hall in as pompous a man-
ner as we had entered it an hour previous. Up-
on reaching the Senate Chamber, the Vice-Presi-
dent called the senators to order, and they at once
began to discuss the objections made, the House
in the meantime, as soon as we had retired from its
Hall, having begun to do the same thing. After
discussion, and when the senators had passed resolu-
tions setting forth their decisions upon the matters,
the Secretary was notified to inform the House
that the Senate was ready to proceed with the
count. In a little while the Clerk of the House
appeared and stated that the House had also reached
a conclusion; whereupon we formed into line for
a third time and re-entered the Hall of the House
at thirty-five minutes past three o'clock. (I take
this time-record from the Globe.)
The Vice-President resumed the chair, and an-
nounced the result-that both Houses agreed to
the counting of the electoral votes of the State of



Mississippi, and that the same would be counted,
but that as to the three votes of the State of
Georgia there was a disagreement between the
Houses, and that therefore those votes would not
be counted.*
Then the tellers again went to work, but struck
another point of dispute when the votes of Texas
were announced. Objections being made, the Sen-
ate again retired in a body, reaching its Chamber
at four o'clock and twenty-four minutes P. M. After
discussion as before by both Houses, and a conclu-
sion having been arrived at by each, in about half
an hour we again, and for the fifth time, organized
in procession and re-entered the Hallof the House.
The Vice-President announced that both Houses
had agreed to the counting of the votes of the
State of Texas, and the same were accordingly
counted. Then the tellers proceeded as before
until objections were made to the electoral votes
of Louisiana and Arkansas, when we again re-
tired to the Senate Chamber, and entered into a
discussion lasting about an hour and a half.
Meanwhile, the shadows of night had begun to
creep around the building, and, while we were
straining our eyes in the gloaming, the Chamber
was illuminated by a sudden flash from the
electric wires above. Well, we finally came to a
decision, and returned to the Hall (which, to-
gether with the rotunda; had also been lit up)
"at seven o'clock and forty-five minutes P. M."
The Vice-President stated the decision. Both
Houses having agreed to reject the votes of
Louisiana, and there being a disagreement as to
the votes of Arkansas, the electoral votes of the
two States were not counted. All the certificates
having been opened, the tellers were instructed by
the Vice-President to announce the result of the
vote. Senator Sherman complied with the direc-
tion of the Vice-President, reading in detail the
votes as cast by the electors of each State that were
ordered to be counted; after which the Vice-Presi-
dent announced:
"The whole number of electors to vote for President and Vice-
President of the United States, as reported by the tellers, is 366,
of which the majority is 184. Of these votes, 349 have been counted
for President, and 352 for Vice-President of the United States. The

result of the vote for President of the United States, as reported by
the tellers, is, for Ulysses S. Grant, of Illinois, 286 votes; for B.
Gratz Brown, of Missouri, 18 votes."

He stated other straggling votes for different per-
sons for President, and the result of the vote, as
reported by the tellers, for Vice-President,--Henry
Wilson, of Massachusetts, receiving 286 votes for
Vice-President (the same number that General
Grant had received for President), being more than
the votes in favor of other persons for that office.

"Wherefore," continued the Vice-President, slowly and with
great solemnity, I do declare that Ulysses S. Grant, of the State
of Illinois, having received a majority of the whole number of elec-
toral votes, is duly elected President of the United States for four
years, commencing on the 4th day of March, 1873; and that Henry
Wilson, of the State of Massachusetts, having received a majority
of the whole number of electoral votes for Vice-President of the
United States, is duly elected Vice-President of the United States
for four years, commencing on the 4th day of March, 1873."t

And then, after a pause, he added:

The object for which the House and Senate have assembled in
joint convention having been accomplished, the Senate will retire
to its Chamber."

Thereupon, at about eight o'clock, amid a per-
fect thunder of applause and uproar, we slowly left
the Hall. Cheer upon cheer for the men thus de-
clared elected to the highest offices in the gift of
the Republic, rent the air,-cheers in which all
joined, senators, representatives, officers, and
spectators. It needed only the firing of a hundred
cannon, the blare of a brass band, and the
"swish" of a few sky-rockets, to render the
demonstration truly American.
The Speaker resumed the chair, but the noise
was so great that business was impossible, and,
almost immediately, the House adjourned for the
day. Upon returning to our deserted Chamber, a
resolution was adopted by which Senator Sherman
was appointed to join such committee as might be
appointed by the House, to wait upon the gentle-
men who had been elected President and Vice-
President, and inform them of their election.
Then, being too demoralized to transact further
business, "at eight o'clock and seven minutes P. M.
the Senate adjourned."
ontinued. )

The 22d Joint Rule provides: No question shall be decided affirmatively, and no vote objected to shall be counted, except bythe
concurrent vote of the two Houses."
t The Joint Rule says: The votes having been counted [by the tellers], the result of the same shall be delivered to the President of
the Senate, who shall thereupon announce the state of the vote and the names of the persons, if any, elected; which announcement shall be
deemed a sufficient declaration of the persons elected President and Vice-President of the United States, and, together with a list of the
votes, be entered on the journals of the two Houses." If you watch the papers closely, you will see an account of a similar ceremony on
the second Wednesday of February, 1885, to declare Grover Cleveland elected as our next President.
I To prevent either House from defeating the intentions of the Constitution, the Rule thus concludes: Such joint meeting shall not
be dissolved until the electoral votes are all counted and the result declared; and no recess shall be taken unless a question shall have
arisen in regard to counting any of such votes; in which case it shall be competent for either I-ouse, acting separately, in the manner
hereinbefore provided, to direct a recess, not beyond the next day at the hour of one o'clock P. M."





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T6Y must walft their % Z/gyl

y lotf (A % st ? and sa~~t e
/Thrn fAt ca&~s (O9" 1

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rl -I'M6




ONCE while the Brownies lay at ease
About the roots of rugged trees,
And listened to the dreary moan
Of tides around their island lone,
Said one: "My friends, unhappy here,
We spend our days from year to year.
We're cornered in, and hardly boast
A run of twenty leagues at most.
You all remember well, I ween,
The night we reached this island green,
When flocks of fowl around us wailed,
And followed till their pinions failed.
And still our ship at every wave
To sharks a creaking promise gave,
Till half in sea, and half on rock,
She shivered like an earthen crock,

And spilled us out in breakers white,
To gain the land as best we might.
Since then, how oft we've tried in vain
To reach our native haunts again,
Where roaming freely, unconfined,
Would better suit our roving mind.
But, hark! I have a plan will chase
The cloud of gloom from every face.

" To-night, while wandering by the sea,
A novel scheme occurred to me,
As I beheld in groups and rows
The weary fowl in deep repose.
They sat as motionless as though
The life had left them years ago.

See The Brownies' Voyage," in ST. NICHOLAS for June, 1884.






The albatross and crane are there,
The loon, the gull, and gannet rare.
An easy task for us to creep
Around the fowl, while fast asleep,
And at a given signal spring
Aboard, before they spread a wing,
And trust to them to bear us o'er,
In safety to our native shore."

Another spoke: I never yet
Have shunned a risk that oth':r-: ia .

But here uncommon dangers lie,
Suppose the fowl should seaward fly,
And never landing, course about,
And drop us, where their wings gave out ?"
The first surveyed, with wondering eye,
His doubting friend, then made reply:

" To shallow schemes that will not bring
A modest risk, let cowards cling!
.A Brownie to advantage shows,
The best where dangers thickest close.
But, hear me out: by sea and land,
Their habits well I understand.
When rising first they circle wide,
As though the strength of wings they tried,
Then steering straight across the bay,
To yonder coast a visit pay.
But granting they for once should be
Inclined to strike for open sea,

The breeze that now is rising fast,
Will freshen to a whistling blast,
And landward sweeping, stronger still,
Will drive the fowl against their will."

Then no dissenting voice was raised,
But all the speaker's wisdom praised,
And at his heels, with willing feet,
They followed to the fowls' retreat.
'Twas hard to scale the rugged breast
Of crags, where birds took nightly rest.
But some on hands, and some on knees,
And more by vines or roots of trees,
From shelf to shelf untiring strained,
And soon the windy summit gained.
With bated breath, they gathered round.
They crawled with care along the ground.
By this, one paused, or that, one eyed;
Each chose the bird he wished to ride.


When all had done the best they could,
And waiting for the signal stood,
It hardly took a moment's space
For each to scramble to his place.
Some grabbed a neck and some a head,
And some a wing, and more a shred
Of tail, or aught that nearest lay,
To help them mount without delay.
Then rose the flaps and piercing screams,
As sudden starting from their dreams
The wondering fowl in sore dismay
Began to bring their wings in play.
Some felt the need of longer sleep,
And hardly had the strength to cheep;
While others seemed to find a store
Of screams they never found before.
It was, indeed, a daring feat
To ride on such a dubious seat.

But off like leaves or flakes of snow
Before the gale the Brownies go,
Away, away, through spray or cloud
As fancy led, or load allowed.
Some birds to poor advantage showed,
As, with an illy balanced load,
Now right or left at random cast,
They flew, the sport of every blast;
While fish below had aching eyes
With gazing upward at the prize.
They followed still from mile to mile,
Believing fortune yet would smile.
But with no common joy, indeed,
The Brownies saw -the isle recede;
While plainer still before them grew
The hills and vales so well they knew.
" I see," said one, who, from his post
Between the wings, surveyed the coast,




" The lofty peaks we used to climb
To gaze upon the scene sublime."
A second cried: "And there 's the bay
From which our vessel sailed away! "
" And I," another cried, "can see
The shady grove, the very tree
We met beneath the night we planned
To build a ship and leave the land!"

Thus, while they talked, they quite forgot
The dangers of the time and spot,
Till, in confusion now at last,
The birds upon the shore were cast.
Some, crashing through the branches, fell
And spilled the load they bore so well.
Some, somersaulting to the ground,
Dispersed their riders all around;

And others, still, could barely get
To where the land and water met.
Congratulations then began,
As here and there the Brownies ran,
To learn if all had held their grip
And kept aboard throughout the trip.
SAnd now," said one, that all are o'er
In safety to our native shore,

Where pleasant grove and grassy lea
In grandeur spread from sea to sea,
Such wondrous works and actions bold,
As time may bring, no tongue has told.
But see, so wasted is the night,
Orion's torch is out of sight;
And ere the lamp of Venus fades
We all must reach the forest shades."





of Gaspar Estevan and Maria Perez, and was
called Murillo for his grandmother on his mother's
side, as it was a custom in that section of Spain
known as Andalusia to give children the fam-
ily names of the mother's immediate or more
remote ancestors. Murillo was born at Seville
during the last days of the year 1617, and was
baptized on New Year's Day, 1618. Thus, he
was eighteen years younger than Velasquez, whom
he outlived twenty-two years. He died in Seville,
in 1682.
It has been said that the family of Murillo
was once rich, though this was not the case when
he was born. But though his parents were
poor, they were respectably connected, and de-
cided, when their son was still a child, to edu-
cate him for the church. This proved to be
impossible, for when sent to school, he so neg-
lected his books that he scarcely learned to read
or write, though he could draw such pictures
as showed that nature had made him an art-
ist. Fortunately for the child, his uncle, Juan
de Castillo, was one of the leading painters of
Seville, and was only too happy to teach his
nephew the pure and dignified art which he prac-
ticed. The aptness and industry of the boy soon
made him a favorite pupil, and Castillo carefully
taught him to prepare his canvas and his colors,
and to do many things then necessary for an art-
ist to know, but which are now done for them by
other workmen.
Murillo's earliest pictures represented fruit,
game, and various utensils; but before he left Cas-
tillo's studio he painted two Madonnas, which are
still, preserved in Seville. About 1640, Castillo
removed to Cadiz, and Murillo was left penniless
and alone; for his parents were probably dead, as
nothing more is known of them, and the young
artist seems to have had no assistance from any
In some respects the customs of the artists of
Seville resembled those of the Greeks, who placed
their pictures on exhibition in public places, where
they could overhear the opinions expressed by those
who saw them. It sometimes happened that a good
work thus exposed brought an artist speedily to pub-
lic notice; and in Seville the patronage of a wealthy
noble, or of a cathedral chapter, might be gained

in this way. The weekly market of Seville, called
the Feria, was held in front of the Church of All
Saints. It was attended by hundreds of people of
all conditions, from gypsies and country rustics
to monks and well-to-do citizens. To the Feria
flocked the poor artists, displaying their works,
and, with brushes in hand, changing them to please
the taste of chance customers, and receiving orders
for still other pictures. Here Murillo worked
about two years, during which time, having painted
a great number of Madonnas, banners, flower-
pieces, and the like, he sold them all to a ship-
owner to be sent to Mexico or South America, and
started for Madrid, filled with a desire to see better
pictures than existed in Seville.
Doubtless, this determination to travel had
largely grown from hearing the tales he had been
told by Pedro de Moya, who had been his fellow-
pupil under Castillo, but afterward had joined the
Spanish infantry. After campaigning in Flanders,
he had gone to London, and continued his art-
studies under Vandyck. Moya never wearied of
telling Murillo of all the wondrous pictures he had
seen, and at last the latter could no longer endure
the narrow boundaries of Seville, and the dreadful
drudgery of the Feria. He went on foot across
the grand old Sierras to Madrid, and arrived there
without money or friends; but he had heard much
of Velasquez, who was a Sevillian, like himself, and
a favorite with the Spanish monarch. To this
great man Murillo made his way, and asked for
his advice and letters to his friends in Rome, for
to that city the young painter wished to go. We
can fancy the interview- the young man, all en-
thusiasm and ready to brave every hardship to see
the world, and rise in his art; the elder one, more
calm, and knowing how slowly one should make
haste, yet interested from the first in his young
countryman. They talked long and freely. Velas-
quez wished to hear of all that was being done in
Seville, and Murillo opened his heart to the kind
and patient listener he had found. The result was
that Velasquez took the youth to his own house
and gave him freedom to study in the galleries
of Madrid.
In these galleries, therefore, Murillo worked
early and late during almost three years. Velas-
quez was frequently absent on journeys with the
King, but when he was in Madrid he freely gave
his advice and assistance to the zealous pupil, and
when the copies reached a certain excellence, he

* Copyright, 1881, by Clara Erskine Clement. All rights reserved.



generously brought them and their author to the
notice of the sovereign.
At length Velasquez thought the time had come
for Murillo to go to Rome, and offered him assist-
ance for the journey. But Murillo had deter-
mined to return to Seville, and in 1645 he settled
himself there, never leaving it again for any con-
siderable time. The city of Seville had formerly
been the capital of Spain, and was rich in histor-
ical associations, architectural beauties and treas-
ures of many kinds. There were a hundred and
sixty towers upon the old Saracenic walls of the
city; the fair Guadalquiver was here bordered by
gardens yielding luscious fruits, gorgeous flowers,
and rich perfumes; the Moorish mosques were
converted into churches, and upon one hundred
and forty altars incense was ever burning. In
Murillo's time, Seville was the richest city under
the Spanish rule, and the Duke of Alcali, who had
great wealth, and was himself a scholar and
painter, as well as a soldier, made his palace a
home for those who loved art and letters.
The Franciscan monks of Seville had a fine
convent ornamented with three hundred marble
columns, and about the time of Murillo's return to
his native city they had collected a sum of money
for the decoration of its minor cloister. The price
they offered for the work was too small to tempt
such artists as had made their reputation, but it
proved the key to fame and fortune to Murillo,
who undertook the work. He painted eleven pict-
ures, which occupied almost three years' time; but
when they were completed, he held the first place
among the artists of Seville. Nobles strove with
one another for his pictures and to have their por-
traits from his hand, while monks and priests
overwhelmed him with orders for altar-pieces. For
one hundred and seventy years these pictures were
the pride of Seville, until Marshal Soult carried
all but one of them beyond the Pyrenees and
scattered them throughout Europe. It makes this
Marshal of France no less a robber that the result
of this sacrilege ewas a blessing, but soon after
he had stolen these paintings the convent was
Not long after the painting of these Franciscan
pictures, Murillo was married to a maiden of Pilas.
He was painting an altar-piece,, in this village,
when he first saw Donia Beatriz de Cabrera y Soto-
mayor. She was of a high family and had a
fortune, and from the time of their marriage
Murillo's house was one of the most agreeable in
Seville, and his position in society was elevated
and secured by the associations and influence of
his wife as it could have been by no patronage or
friendships. Thenceforth the domestic life of the
great painter was peaceful and happy, and the

management of his household was dignified and
prudent. History does not give us any special
account of Dofia Beatriz, neither is there any pict-
ure which is known to be her portrait; but a
resemblance in the faces of several of Murillo's
Madonnas indicates that they were painted from
one model, and this has led to the belief that they
preserve the likeness of his wife. It is certain that
his boys, Gaspar and Gabriel, were models for his
pictures of the Infant Jesus and St. John; and it
is said that some of his most beautiful representa-
tions of the Virgin were portraits of his daughter
From the time of his marriage, the history of his
pictures made the story of his life, which was
varied only by his association with the Academy
of Seville. But what a volume could his pictures
tell of thought and of work, numbering, as they
do, three hundred and eighty! How many days
and hours of intense labor do they represent, and
what a noble monument they are to his genius and
his industry! It is probable, too, that since his
death more money has been paid for a single pict-
ure of his than he received for the entire work of
his life. One hundred and twenty thousand dol-
lars were paid for Murillo's painting called The
Immaculate Conception" now in the Louvre. It
was bought from the Soult collection; and at the
time of its sale this was believed to be the largest
price ever paid for a single picture.
Murillo painted in three distinct manners, and
it is customary to divide his career as an artist into
periods agreeing with his change of style in the
treatment of his subjects. His first manner is
calledfrio, or cold, and extended to about 1649.
A study of his pictures gives the impression that
during this period he was more or less influenced
by the manner of the various masters whose works
he had copied, and was in reality establishing a
manner of his own. This he soon did; for" his
artistic powers were too strong to allow him to
remain an imitator, even of the best painters of
the world.
His second manner, called cdlido, or warm,
extended over about twenty years and was never
entirely given up; for after he adopted his third
manner, called vaporoso, or vapory, he still painted
pictures in his second style. For this reason there
is a marked difference in the works of his latter
years, and some critics insist that his three man-
ners should not be attributed to different periods
of time, saying rather that he used them for dif-
ferent subjects-that is, the cold, or frio, for
gypsies and beggar-boys; the warm, or cdlido, for
saints; and the vapory, or vaporoso, for religious
subjects. But it is more intelligible to follow the
usual method and speak of the different periods


when each manner seems to have ruled his work
for the time.
The most important pictures of his first period
were those of the Franciscan convent; but the
studies of beggar-boys, which belonged to this time,
are very celebrated works. It is a curious fact that
notone of these treasures remains in Spain- though
they are seen in galleries in various other countries
of Europe. Nothing can be truer to nature than
these pictures of Spanish boys; they are marvel-
ous in design and execution. To this earliest
period, also, belongs the portrait of the artist
which is most admired; Murillo kept it as long as
he lived, and it then remained in his family. It is
now in the Louvre, and several engravings have
been made from it; it is so painted that it appears
to be drawn on one stone slab which rests on a
second slab, on which Murillo's name is inscribed.
After the first period in his painting, Murillo's art
was almost entirely devoted to the representations of
religious subjects; he was the painter of the church
as truly as Velasquez was the painter of the court;
indeed, some writer has called Velasquez the painter
of Earth, and Murillo of Heaven.
At the beginning of his second period, his fame
was so great that he could not accept all the orders
that were given him. Large, grand works were
rapidly sent out from his studio, to be the pride of
churches and convents. A remarkable work in his
second, or "warm," style was "The Infant Christ
appearing to St. Anthony of Padua." The Divine
Child is represented as descending in a flood of
glory, surrounded by a band of cherubs. The
saint, who is kneeling, regards the vision with a
rapturous expression and stretches his arms toward
it. On a table at the side is a vase of white lilies,
and we are told that birds have been known to peck
at them as they did at the grapes painted by
It is said that the Duke of Wellington offered the
canons of the Seville -cathedral as many gold
pieces as could be laid upon the two hundred and
twenty-five square feet of this picture, if they would
sell it; it would amount to $240,000, but this did
not tempt the chapter of the cathedral to part with
their gem. In 1874, the figure of St. Anthony
was cut out of this picture and brought to America.
It was offered for sale to Mr. Schaus, of New
York, by two men; he bought it for $250, and
through the Spanish consul it was restored to
Seville and replaced in the picture.
A picture of "St. Thomas of Villanueva dis-
tributing alms," now in the Museum of Seville,
is thought by some to be the best work by
Murillo; others prefer El Tinoso," or "Queen
Elizabeth (of Hungary) washing the head of a
Leprous Boy." This is in the Academy of St. Fer-

nando of Madrid. These titles give an idea of one
kind of subject of which this great master painted
many pictures. He received commissions for them
from hospitals and religious brotherhoods that
placed them where they would teach charity and
good works to the hundreds who saw them. Few
of these now remain in their original places, but
they are the gems of the various galleries to which
they now belong, that of Seville being richer than
all others in the works of Murillo.
Murillo had always cherished a wish to have an
Academy of Art in his native city, but one circum-
stance after another had made it impossible to
establish one. In 1658, however, he had overcome
the opposition which certain prominent artists had
made to it, and was happy in seeing that before
long his wishes would be realized. He used all his
influence, and worked hard to make the necessary
plans and arrangements, and on New Year's Day,
1660, when he was forty-two years old, the first
class in this Academy met, Murillo being at its
head. He remained in this responsible position
two years, during which time a constitution had
been adopted and such rules made as assured its
success. From this time Murillo was less prom-
inent in the Academy, but he never lost his interest
in it, for through its aid he hoped that young artists
would escape such hardships as he had suffered in
his youth, and would be properly instructed in a
worthy school.
We can not trace Murillo's work step by step.
His fame became so great that an envoy was sent
from Madrid to ask him to enter the royal service;
he declined this hbnor, but some of his works had
been sent to the capital and had there won for
him the admiration of Italians as well as of his
own countrymen; He was called a second Paul
Veronese. During his later life he lived in much
comfort in a beautiful house near the Moorish wall
of the city, and not far from the church of Santa
Cruz. This house is still preserved and can be
visited by travelers; it was here that he died.
Murillo's life had always been pure and good;
and in his later years he became very devout in his
religion; he spent much time in prayer, and
would often remain in church from midday to
twilight,-forgetting all the outer world with its
cares and labors. He was also very charitable, and
gave away so much that when he died he had but
seventy crowns in money. He painted his splen-
did pictures of saints and beggars to earn money
to give to the living poor and worthy ones who
were always about him. His life seemed to be a
complete illustration of the words which were
placed upon his tombstone, Live as one who is
about to die."
When we understand that this was his habit of



life and thought, we can see why the pictures that
he painted during the last twelve years of his life
helped so to make people religious, and seemed
to be so full of the spirit of the subjects he
painted. These great works were done for the
Hospital of St. George, called La Caridad, and
for the Capuchin church just beyond the walls of
Seville. Even in the present time La Caridad is a

great blessing to the poor. The inscription above
its entrance says: This house will stand as long
as God shall be feared in it, and Jesus Christ be
served in the persons of His poor. Whoever en-
ters here must leave at the door both avarice and
pride." There is still in the archives of this hos-
pital an autograph letter from Murillo, in which he
asks to be admitted a member of the brotherhood
which bore the cares of this house.
VOL. XII.-20.

The eight pictures he painted here include the
noblest of his works. Three only of them re-
main in their places, the others having been stolen
by Marshal Soult. Two of the three represent
Moses Striking the Rock" and the Miracle of
the Loaves and Fishes."
The pictures which were carried away were The
Queen Elizabeth washing the head of the Leprous
Boy," "Abraham re-
S ceiving the Angels,"
The Prodigal's Re-
turn," "The Healing
of the Paralytic," and
The Release of St.
Peter," The "Queen
Elizabeth," now in the
Madrid Academy,
shows that saintly sov-
ereign in her crown and
veil, surrounded by dis-
eased beggars and the
brilliant ladies of her
court, who watch the
queen while she cares
for the suffering- boy
with her own hands.
Few pictures in the
world have been praised
as this has been. It
has been said that the
boy is worthy of the
brush of Paul Veron-
ese, an old woman near
by, of that of Velas-
quez, and the queen
herself, of that of Van-
dyck. The next three
works in the above list
were sold by Marshal
Soult to the Duke of
Sutherland, and are
now in Stafford House,
London. The Heal-
ing of the Paralytic"
is also owned in Lon-
don, and Soult received
thirty-two thousand
Y HIMSELF. dollars for it.
When painting the pictures for the Capuchins,
Murillo dwelt in their convent nearly three years,
it is said, without once leaving it. He painted for
these monks twenty pictures with life-size figures,
and several smaller works. Seventeen of these are
now in the Museum of Seville, for the monks had
the wisdom to send their pictures to Cadiz for safe-
keeping before the "Plunder-master-general of
Napoleon," as Soult has been called, could reach




them. When the French wars were ended, the pict-
ures were returned to Seville. I can not speak of
them separately, but will say that the Madonna called
"La Virgen de la Servilleta," or the Virgin of the
Napkin, now in the Museum, has this pretty story
connected with it. The legend is that the cook of
the convent grew very fond of Murillo during his
long service to the artist, and when the time came
for them to be separated, the cook begged the
painter for a keepsake. The painter said he had
no canvas left; the cook quickly gave him a nap-
kin and asked him to use that; with his usual good-
nature, Murillo assented, and soon painted this
picture, which is now one of the famous art treas-
ures of the world. It is not large, and represents
the Virgin with the Child Jesus, who leans for-
ward, almost out of the picture, as if to welcome
any one who approaches it. It .has a brilliant
color, and so affects one that it is not easy t .turn
away from it...
During the later years of his life Murillo painted
many other important works, most of them in the
vaporoso manner. He also painted two portraits
of himself. One of these has a careworn, ,weary
look; the other, in which he holds a crayon in
one hand, and a drawing in the other, has a hap-
pier face.
Six years before his death Murillo saw his only
daughter, Francesca, bid farewell to the world, and
enter a convent. It is said that he had repre-
sented her face more than once in the pictures of
the Madonna. His son Gaspar was a canon at
Seville, and Gabriel, also a priest, had gone to
America, where all traces of him were lost.
Gabriel was a good painter, and imitated the style
of his father, but made no reputation as an artist.
So it happened that in his last days Murillo was
left alone with his art and his religion to a quiet,
peaceful life, interrupted only by orders for new
pictures, and occasional honorable reminders that
his fame was growing greater and extending itself
more and more. When his end came, he was
employed on an altar-piece for the cathedral of
Cadiz. While on a scaffolding, before this picture,
he fell and so injured himself that he lived but a
short time. He made his will, but grew worse so
rapidly that he could not sign it, and he died in the
arms of his friends, with his son Gaspar by his
His funeral was attended with great pomp. Two
marquises and four knights bore his bier, and a
procession of true mourners followed him to his
grave. He had requested that he might be buried
in a chapel of the church of Santa Cruz, beneath
Campaia's picture of the "Descent from the
Cross," a spot where in life he had often knelt to
pray. The French destroyed this church, but the

tablet which is placed in a wall near by points out
the place of Murillo's burial. In the Plaza del
Museo, near the gallery in which so many of his
works now hang, the city of Seville has erected a
stately bronze statue of Murillo.
It is a singular fact that both the church of Santa
Cruz and that of San Juan, at Madrid, in which
Velasquez was buried, should have been destroyed.
From this coincidence we are led to think of
the very many points of similarity in the charac-
ters and the lives of these two artists. Each
had an admirable character, and each met the
recognition which his virtues merited. Velasquez
was much associated with royal personages and
lived a life which made him prominent among
men; but though Murillo put aside a court life by
his own choice, he received many flattering ac-
knowledgments of his genius, and was also much
considered by those of high rank in the church -
an equal honor in Spain with court prestige.
Another point of resemblance between these two
great Spaniards was their desire to help others;
for, to individuals and to all that led to the advance-
merit of art, they were equally generous and un-
selfish. It chanced, singularly enough, that their
two slaves and color-grinders became painters, and
were treated with equal kindness by their owners.
The slave of Velasquez was Juan de Pareja, a native
of Spanish America. He secretly practiced paint-
ing, and on one occasion, when King Philip visited
the studio of his master, Pareja showed the king a
picture which he had finished, and throwing him-
self on his knees, begged his majesty's pardon for
his audacity. Philip and Velasquez treated himn with
kindness, and gave him his freedom, but he served
his master as long as he lived. The works of Pareja
are not numerous; a few are seen in the Spanish
galleries, and there is one in the Hermitage, in
St. Petersburg.
The slave of Murillo was a mulatto, named
Sebastian Gomez. He painted in secret until he
ventured to finish a head which Murillo had
sketched and left on his easel. An account of
this incident has already appeared in ST. NICHO-
LAS.* The master did not resent this freedom,
but was happy to have made Gomez an artist.
The works of Gomez are full of faults, but their
color is much like that of Murillo. He died soon
after his master, and but few of his pictures are
As artists, Velasquez and Murillo each had a
large following of personal friends, and exercised
a great influence upon the art of their country.
Another characteristic which they had in common
was versatility of talents; for it is true of Murillo,
as of Velasquez, that he painted all sorts of sub-
jects, and his landscapes were inferior to those of

* See Murillo's Mulatto," ST. NICHOLAS for November, ISSr.





no Spanish painter except Velasquez himself.
This variety in his art is in danger of being
forgotten when we speak of Murillo, because his
fame rests so largely upon his religious works. It
is none the less true that the few portraits which
he painted are above praise, and in England and
other countries he was first famous for his beggar-
boys and kindred subjects, painted in his early
days and in his first manner.
The color of his pictures is remarkable, and his
power of representing the beauty of childhood,
youth, and womanhood gives him the same place
among Spanish painters that Correggio holds
among those of Italy. Perhaps, after all, the
quality of Murillo which has gained the truest
admiration for him is his ability to make the
loftiest subjects plain to the uneducated mind. To
sum up all, whether we regard him as an artist or
as a man, we can use no words but those of praise.


THIS artist is sometimes called the "Michael
Angelo of Spain," because he was an architect,
sculptor, and painter. He was born at Granada
in 1601, and died in 1667. He studied painting
under Pacheco, Herrera the elder, and Castillo,
the same masters who instructed Velasquez and
Murillo. As a sculptor, Cano was the pupil of
Montafies, a famous artist. His architectural work
was principally confined to retables, or altar-
screens, and these he finished with heavy orna-
mentation. Some fine architectural drawings from
his hand are in the Louvre, and are simple and
elegant in style.
His versatile talents secured him a high rank
among artists, and his turbulent temper made
others unwilling to interfere with him, as he hesi-
tated at nothing when angry. .In 1637, he fought
a duel and fled to Madrid, where Velasquez treated
him with great kindness. In 1644, Cano's wife
was found murdered in her bed, and he was sus-
pected of the crime; but though he was put.to the
torture, he made no confession, and was released
as an innocent man. He still held his office as
one of the painters of the king, was drawing-
master to Don Carlos, and had employment on
important works; but he decided to give up all
these advantages and go to Granada. Here his
fiery temper led him into more difficulties; but he
was repeatedly employed by wealthy persons and
by religious bodies, though he gave away so much
money in charity that his purse was often empty.

When this was the case, and he wished to do a
kindness, he would go into a shop and beg for
pen and paper; he would then make a drawing,
and mark a price upon it; this he would give to
the needy person, with directions as to where a
purchaser could be found. Large numbers of
these charitable art-works were collected after his
He was determined to be well paid for his work;
and on one occasion when he had made an image
for an auditor in chancery, in Granada, his price
was disputed. Cano demanded one hundred
doubloons. The auditor asked how much time
had been spent in making the image; Cano
Some five and twenty days."
"Ah!" said the auditor, "you demand four
doubloons a day."
"You are wrong," replied Cano; "for I have
spent fifty years in learning to carve such an image
in these few days."
"Very well," answered the auditor; "I have
spent my life in fitting myself for a higher pro-
fession than yours, and now am satisfied if I get
one doubloon a day."
At this Cano flew into a passion, exclaiming:
"A higher profession, indeed! The king can
make judges out of the dust of the earth, but God
alone can make an Alonso Cano "
And he dashed the image upon the pavement,
where it fell with such force that the auditor ran
as fast as he could, fearing that Cano might throw
him down next.
Cano loved sculpture better than painting, and
when weary of his brush he often took up his
chisel for rest.
Very little can be known of the sculpture of Cano
except by going to Spain. It is very beautiful,
and some of his work has been compared favorably
with that of Benvenuto Cellini. His masterpiece
in carving is in the sacristy of the cathedral of
Granada, and is a statue of the Virgin, about a
foot in height; but wherever his sculpture is seen
in the churches of Spain it commands admiration.
There are portraits of Cano in the galleries of
Madrid and in the Louvre. His pictures are
not numerous, and are mostly in Spain, though a
few which were carried off by Soult are seen in
other countries. One of his latest works was a
Madonna, which now hangs in a chapel of the
cathedral of Seville, and is lighted only by votive
tapers. It is finished with great care and is a
worthy crown to the many labors of his stormy
but benevolent life.





Author of "His Majesty Myself," etc.

[BY the ransom and disenchantment of the juvenile
victims, this little "miracle-play may be made the means,
at sociables or church fairs, of raising money for what-
ever happens to be the object in hand. And as the half-
dozen ransoms here arranged, if made by individuals,
can scarcely result in any considerable amount, the
returns and the fun may be considerably increased by
allowing the spectators to make clubs or combinations
to raise the amount of ransom demanded by Circe for
each victim of her spells. Circe, in every case, may state
the sum she must have,- to be devoted to some definite
object,-and the friends or admirers of each victim can
canvass for the same, thus creating mingled amusement
and profit. ]
The costuming can be left entirely to the taste or dis-
cretion of those in charge. Costume always improves a
performance; but in such a one as this, much may, of
course, be left to the imagination. Posture and panto-
mime frequently make up for the deficiencies of toilet.
Masks representing the head of nearly every animal
mentioned are easily procured, and appropriate drapery

can supply the rest. The disguises, when dropped, can
be laid at Circe's feet.

Open stage. Scene -a forest or grassy plain. CIRCE,
in old Grecian costume, comes forward, wand in hand.
CIRCE. My name is CIRCE, and the foam
Of ocean breaks about my home.
An island 't is, /Egea named,
And all-around the world I 'm famed
For turning people-never doubt!
And by a touch, sirs-inside out.
Now this explains it:
How do we know the folks we meet?
It is not by their hands, or feet,
Or eyes, or nose, or ears, or hair,
Complexion dark, or red, or fair.
No, 't is by what each person is-
Their character, both hers and his-
The vain, the mean, the good, the proud,




The cross, the sweet, the low, the loud,
The sorrowful, the full of fun,
The stingy or the generous one.
Now there remains it
This to add: when least expected,
Each sort of person is reflected,
As in a mirror, by some thing
Which creeps, or crawls, or flies on wing-
By dog or fox, by snake or deer,
By mouse, or frog, or chanticleer.
Some are exactly like an ox,
Some are twin brother to the fox;
Some look like mice, some like the cat,
Some have the features of a rat.
You see a man who 's harsh and rough,
Forever growling, "Sure enough! "
You cry, "They are a perfect pair;
This gruff Sir Surly and a bear-
And each to each so seems to suit;
'T is hard to tell, if you 're put to 't,
Which is the man and which the brute."

Now, I 'm a sorceress, 't is true,
Yet this, in truth, is all I do:
Whenever boy or girl I find
With character too deeply lined,
To something wrong too much inclined,
I change them by a sudden touch
(The change does not amount to much)
Into such of the forest host
As that one doth resemble most;
And with me now I bring a few,
To show you, sirs, what I can do.

Scene opens, and discovers a group of those thus trans-
formed into peacocks, frogs, owls, foxes, swine, roost-
ers, rabbits, lions, parrots, snakes, magpies, etc., etc.

[A PEACOCK comes forward and speaks.

Behold in me a little girl, and guess
What was my fault ? too great a love of dress !
Instead of art, and decorating vases,
Music or French, I worshiped frills and laces,
Rings, charms, and bangles, more than girlish
graces. i
My study was to catch the latest fashion,
And style and fit were my absorbing passion.
No other thought had I, until-Oh, mercy!-
One day I found that into this by Circe
Was I transformed. "Since that is all you care
Dame Circe said,-" Mere outward show,-why,
A peacock be, and learn, my lassie, whether
The joy you seek lies all in dye and feather !"
Release me, O my friends! and I will never
Devote myself again to dress forever !

[Walks up and down, displaying her feathers.

I certainly am very grand. Observe
How gorgeously my splendid colors serve
To call attention to each rainbow curve;
And yet (boo-hoo !), how awfully absurd
To be (boo-hoo!) at best a horrid bird!

[While she walks to and fro, CIRCE comes forward, and
says :

Since, then, Miss Peacock has a lesson learned,
She has, I think, by sad experience earned
Change to her former self-from false to true;
And so, friends all, this chance I offer you.
If, for love of the cause, there is any one here,
Or any to whom this poor peacock is dear,
Or a madam or miss, who, while trembling for fear,
Says, "Bless me for this very thing who can say,
To a peacock I, too, may be turned any day,"
If there's such a one here who will handsomely pay
For a touch of my wand, why, then, lo and behold !
Miss Peacock's a lassie again, as of old.
[The ransom being duly paid, CIRCE touches the fowl
with her wand, saying:

By the power which can constrain
Dust to flowers, and dust again,
Wiser than you were before,
Be a darling girl once more!

[The PEACOCK drops her disguise at CIRCE'S feet, ex-

On your head rain richest blessing!
I have done with foolish dressing!

[A MONKEY skips forward, and says:

There 's many a thing which people care for:
Some love dress and some love honey,
Some love pleasure, some love money;
The only thing on earth I cared for
Was to be funny.
Now fun is good; but then, please hark ye,
Too much even of fun there may be.
A boy 's a boy, but not a baby.
Now that was my defect, for, mark ye,
I was a gaby--
That is, I was forever joking.
I felt that I would surely die, sir,
If, at least, I did not try, sir,
A laugh provoking
By puns, jeers, cranks, or broad grimaces,
Quips, shrugs, contortions, gesture,
In every way to test your
Solemnity of faces.
When, lo! Dame Circe touched me, saying.
Be Punch's flunky;



Go on forever playing,
And be a monkey "
You see, dear friends, my sad condition,
Ape, baboon, and chimpanzee,-
A worse ye surely may not see;
In view of such profound contrition
Will not some friend my ransom be,
And take me from this sad position?
[The ransom is paid as before, and CIRCE touches the
MONKEY with her wand, saying:
By the power which can constrain
Showers to seas and seas to rain,
Wiser than you were before,
Be a happy boy once more!
[The MONKEY throws off his disguise, exclaiming:
On your head be benedictions!
I am through with contradictions-
Half a boy, and half a jack.
From this hour I will not lack
Manly sense, and, with my fun,
Still be steady as the sun.
[An OWL comes forward.
If you think because I 'm wise
I am in this horrid guise,
You're mistaken. Would you think,
As I sit here,-blink, blink, blink,-
Once a little girl I was ?
Changed to this, alas because,
When I could not have my way,
I would go aside and stay
In some corner, very mad,
Sulky, silent, glum, and sad,
Hateful as a little lout-
Doing naught but pout, and pout.
While the more they begged and plead,
I was blue and dull as lead.
Till one day, said Mrs. Circe:
Well! poor child, 't would be a mercy,
Since you wear that wicked scowl,
Just to make you all an owl!"
Now you see what she has done,-
In good earnest I am one!
How--to-whoo, to-whoo, to-whit !-
Of this form can I be quit?
Whom-to-whit, to-whit, to-whoo!-
Shall I owe my rescue to?
Oh! release me, please, and I
Will be-yes, I '11 truly try-
Sweetest girl beneath the sky.

[The ransom is paid, and CIRCE touches the OWL with
her wand, saying:
By the power which can constrain
Flowers to frost and back again,

Wiser than you were before,
Be a darling girl once more!

[The OWL throws off her disguise, exclaiming:
On your head be blessings ever!
Owl again will I be never.
Of all joyous girls the queen,
Brighter child shall not be seen!

[A FROG comes forward and speaks.

There was an old woman, and what do you think,
She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink;
Victuals and drink were the chief of her diet,
And yet this old woman could never be quiet.
Not an old woman, Oh, no, sir, I'm not;
Nor even a girl. A boy am I.
Like corn in a shovel when heated red-hot,-
The why and the wherefore, I can not tell what,-
But I never am still while a moment goes by.
I sit, and I stand, run, tumble, and jump,
Head foremost down-stairs, with many a bump.
Leap, wriggle, and hop,-north, east, west, and
Till people exclaim, with a shriek and a thrill,
"What was that? Goodness gracious My
heart's in my mouth!
Oh, can't you, oh, can't you, oh, can't you keep
still! "
Had Dame Circe but made me a snail or a clam,
In my shell I could hide; but just see what I am!
I would not have cared had it been, say, a
But oh, the disgrace, sir, of being a frog!
I can not sit still, not a bit can I stop-
But forever and ever go hoppety hop!
Oh, help me, please--somebody; help, for I
If I hop on much longer, I '11 hop myself
Restore me, restore me, and call me a dunce
If I learn not, at least, to be quiet for once.

[Continues to hop about with despairing gestures of
entreaty. The ransom paid, CIRCE comes forward,
touches him with her wand, and says:

By the power which can constrain
Pain to joy, and back again,
Wiser than you were before,
Be an earnest boy once. more!

[FROG throws off his disguise, exclaiming:

Thank you kindly, friends. Behold me!
Now no more shall people scold me,
From henceforth I '11 sit quite still-
Sure as you 're alive, I will!





No more frogs for me, I thank you.
Frogs, henceforth I will outrank you;
If enchantment still is legal,
Let me, Circe, be an eagle.

[A PIG runs forward with importunate grunts:

Stop please stop don't leave me out
Just for this degrading snout;
The more my hoofs you do despise,
These hairy ears, these greedy eyes,
So much the more, oh, heed my cries !
And rid me of this swinish guise.
Your heart is neither stone nor steel,
Then listen to my piteous squeal.
I was not greedy. Hear me state
How very few the things I ate:
Four slices were the most that I
Demanded of a cake or pie;
Beyond six saucers of ice-cream-
That is, at once-I 'd never dream.
Or, when my appetite is fickle,
Two plates of chow-chow or of pickle;
A pan of doughnuts, say some twenty
Of figs or cookies, are a plenty;
A peck or so of ginger-snaps;
A quart of pea-nuts as it haps.
I 'm never helped to pudding thrice-
That is, unless it 's very nice;
The float and jelly never count.
Nuts? raisins?-they to naught amount.
Release me, and I '11 never eat
Oatmeal or gruel, bread or meat,
Nor anything except what's sweet.

[CIRCE comes forward and speaks :

To you, Sir Pig, r`o change I fetch;
I leave you to yourself-poor wretch!
I wrong you not: your nature's such
You are beyond my feeble touch.
Your only change, as you grow big:-
To be so much the more a pig!

The PIG runs grunting back, and a LITTLE GIRL,
changed into a sparrow, hops forward.

Tweet-y-tweet, and twitter, twitter!
Oh, my doom is really bitter! '
Though I 'm nothing but a sparrow,
Dreading boys with bow and arrow.
Once I was a girl like you, dear,
And oh what then did I do, dear ?
Nothing only simply this -
I could never gossip miss.
On the street and at the table,
Tittle tattle, fact and fable,-
Circe said made such a Babel
With my chatter, chatter, chatter,

And my everlasting clatter
Over every little matter-
Peep, peep, peep! and tweet, tweet, tweet!
Whomsoever I did meet-
That she changed me to a sparrow
Does it not your bosoms harrow?
Curdle, friends, your very marrow ?
Since it makes you weep, I pray you,
Since my woe must sore dismay you,
Hasten !-Neither stop nor stay you,
Till you rid me altogether
Of this horrid beak and feather.
Free me, and no more I gabble.
Talk, of course, but never babble.
Laugh in glee, but never titter,
Be what to a girl is fitter.
Please release me-twitter, twitter!

[Breaks from her disguise as she sees the ransom
paid, and follows the sway of CIRCE'S wand, and
stands forth as a lovely little girl once more.

Thanks, a thousand thanks, dear friends;
Here my woful bondage ends;
This for all my grief amends.
High in air let sparrows soar,
I 'm a little girl once more.

[Other transformations may be arranged as may ap-
pear fit or desirable, and then CIRCE steps to the

Thus it is that Circe tries you,
Thus in form can she disguise you-
Ever since the long ago,
When Ulysses' folks, you know,
She transformed to grunting swine,
As you 've read in Homer's line.
Every boy or girl she turns,
For deliverance quickly yearns.
But the power which can constrain
Hurt to health and back again,
Can not change their natures till
Each one helps by worth or will.
When in nature and in heart,
From their hated robes they part,
Then their false disguises all
At Dame Circe's bidding fall
At her feet, unused to lie,
Till still other children try
To degrade their natures, when
Circe charms them on again.
For the happiness you 've made,
For the ransoms you have paid,
Circe thanks you with delight-
Bids you, each and all, Good-night!



r-7 T--
, . .. . ..
' I \,

J 1
I ". I \
^-', ,' --" ^... .., "

*k I p

/' V :, I I

SAID a hazy little, mazy little lazy little boy

It can be stopped, I .m sure it can, and so I'd like to know,
q''" --- :r ---.. 2
~~ ~ ._ -_ --

,,o .... h ,.dm l ,.,, i ng :.' m u. v r . ,_. ,..,: -- : __,__. .. '

' .,' ,h -ror ca ,,!. ,"i ~ ',.. wid mi. want "" ":"


".~- / '


- + i':?
'It ~~
'-~1 ,1
V i t..

B- Va


Said a quizzy little, frizzy little, busy little girl:
"What can be more delightful than to see a windmill whirl?
It loves to go, I'm sure it does, and hates to hang ker-flop;
Now, what on earth can ever make a windmill want to stop ?"




GOOD-MORROW, my Valentines! There is so
much to say to you this month that I hardly know
where to begin. I did intend to show you some
letters about the Golden Horn, but Deacon
Green says the Golden Horn will "keep" (I
should think so; it has kept some hundreds of
years already I), and so we will save that subject
for March. Meantime, here is something about


YoU, all, will be interested in this letter from
two young Chicago friends:

Last June we were going to Havre on the steamer St. Laurent."
I had read The Castaways," by Jules Verne, and we thought we
would write a letter, too, and throw it overboard. So we wrote
one, and asked whoever found it to please write and tell us when
and where he picked it up. Then we put it into a bottle, which we
*corked and sealed with sealing-wax, and threw into the ocean two
days before we arrived at Havre, June 13, i834. We returned home
the 27th of August, and on the 6th of November we received a letter
from a man saying that he had found the bottle on the shore of
Tralee Bay, County Kerry, Ireland, on the ist of September, 1884.
Papa wrote to the man, to thank him, and he came and brought
back the letters, which he had brought with him to this country.
They were stained and partly rubbed out on account of the wine left
in the bottle. It had been out eighty-one days, and been carried
over two hundred miles. Yours truly, E. AND E. McC.


THERE are bird watchers and bird teasers. This
little Baltimore boy is a bird watcher of the right
kind, you may be sure.

BALTIMORE, December I, r884.
DEAR JACK: I thought I would write you a little letter on the car-
dinal grosbeak. I saw a pair of these birds once fly to a tall cedar-tree,
each with a straw in its beak, and after a while they came out again

and flew to the woods, and came back again to the tree; and I
knew then that they were building a nest. I did not disturb them,
but in about two weeks I went back again to the tree and found a
nest with two eggs in it. Although the books say that the cardinal
grosbeak is of a bright vermilion red, the color of these birds was a
dusky red with a black stripe under the eye, and they had a crest
on the top of their head; their bills were thick and strong. The
color of the egg is a bluish-white, spotted amber brown, more
thickly toward the large end; and sometimes the egg is almost
covered with brown. The length of the birds I saw was about
seven inches. Yours truly, EDWIN L. T.

The Little School-ma'am tells me that many of
these beautiful birds have been carried to Europe,
and that in England they are called Virginia
nightingales, on account of their clear and musical
Look out for them, my young Southern friends.
They are not merely pleasant-day birds. The
wetter and gloomier the weather, the livelier their
song; and that reminds me of the dear Little
School-ma'am, bless her cheery heart !
Well, it's a free country._ We all may copy this
little trait of the cardinal grosbeak, if we feel
like doing so.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Can any of the readers of ST. NICHOLAS
answer me this question? How and when did our forefathers receive
their surnames? Suppose our great-grandfather was a Mr. Brown,
his father was a Mr. Brown, and, of course,, is father was a Mr.
Brown, and so on back to Adam and Eve. Now, please tell me how
so many families received their surname.
Your faithful reader, HAZEL McC.


HERE is a terse, practical letter sent by a little
friend in answer to G. M. B.'s November question
- "Do Ants Bury their Dead ?"

SocoRRO, NEW MEXICO, Dec. 12, 1884.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I have tried it, to see if it would
come true. I took a dead ant and put it in front of a living ant; it
took it and carried it into the hole. H. B.

But still the doubt remains. Was it an hon-
orable burial, H. B., or was there afterward a feast
in the ants' home too dreadful to contemplate?


DEACON GREEN once went to a grand show of
birds and various animals. The birds sat on green
boughs, or upon dry, mossy stumps, and the ani-
mals stood around, looking, so the Deacon said, as
if each one owned the show. But for my part I
suspect they did not feel anything like that at all;
- it is only the Deacon's pleasant way of. putting
it, for these birds and animals were stuffed, and
if anything on earth can feel meaner than a stuffed
animal, I'd like to know it. Still, the Deacon in-
sists that he saw some who really seemed to be
enjoying themselves. These were a half dozen
squirrels arranged in a group, and each holding a




musical instrument, upon which he appeared to be
playing. Dear, dear,- what a doleful thing! Oh,
no -I forget the Deacon said it was quite
lively Here is a picture of the scene, drawn by
an artist who knows every animal by heart Well,
well, look at the harpist and the banjo-boy and
the one with the great fiddle; and the middle one
playing the flute! I suppose I ought to be de-
lighted, but I am not, and if a taxidermist, as
animal-stuffers are called, ever comes my way,
I '11 give him a piece of my mind, or my name is n't
Jack. The Deacon tells me that taxidermy, or
animal-stuffing, is really a very useful art. When
you think the matter out for yourselves, you pos-
sibly will find that the Deacon is right,- but I am

alive and as well as ever. Papa says that this undoubtedly is a true
story, for he has known of similar instances.
This tortoise was rather severely punished for
being too slow in his movements, but he certainly
was more fortunate than the poor whale of which
you read in the December ST. NICHOLAS.

TALKING of whales, Deacon Green tells me that
a party of fishermen lately witnessed a strange
sight at Cape Flattery, which, as you all undoubt-
edly know, juts into the Pacific from Washington
Territory. A school of about thirty or forty large


only a Jack-in-the-Pulpit, and I feel like saying to
these spurious stuffed squirrels what a live one
once said to the mountain:
Neither can you crack a nut."

DEAR JACK: My brother and I read in our paper last night about
a tortoise that became inclosed in a solid block of ice last winter.
He was cut out of his cold prison in the spring, and, after a brief
exposure to the sun, he revived, and actually began to move about,

whales, says the Deacon, some of them Ioo feet
long, were having a herring feast. The little her-
rings, which were there in great numbers, became
easy victims to the whales. The huge creatures,
after plunging deep into the sea, would come up
under the herrings, open-mouthed, swallowing
their victims by the hundreds.
Poor little herrings But for the cruel monsters
that thus persecuted them, they might be living to
this day, happily eating all the still smaller fish that
might come in their way !



"OLD Subscriber": The Spinning-wheel Stories are not sup- THE portrait of Murillo on page 305 of this number of ST.
posed to have been written many years ago, but the occurrences NICHOLAS is reprinted from The Magazine of American History
narrated are supposed to have taken place many years ago. by kind permission of its editor, Mrs. Martha J. Lamb.

BY a misprint, the name of the author of the Pop-corn Dance,"
printed on page 149 of our December number, appears in the Table of
IT should have been stated in the Table of Contents of the Contents as James C. Jackson. It should have been J. C. Johnson.
December number that the picture illustrating Mr. Douglass's
verses, "A Dear Little School-ma'am," was drawn by Mr. D. "S. Hen and Chickens": It is not necessary to fil out every
Clinton Peters. item in the answers.


A FRIENDLY correspondent sends us the following true incident,
which will be sure to amuse our readers:

Little E--, a small boy recently emancipated from kilts, walked
into the nursery one morning, and was quite disgusted upon find-
ing it had not been put in order for the day (one of the rules of
the house being that no playthings should be brought out until the
sweeping was done). He left the room for a short time, and finding
matters no better upon his return, exclaimed impatiently: "Well!
has n't this room been sweeped yet?" Why, E- ," said his
mother, "do you think that is good grammar?" "Oh, well, then,"
said he, "has it been swopen ? "

BIRMINGHAM, ALA., November 18, 1884.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would write you a little letter,
and tell you that I like you so much that I do not know how I could
get along without you. I have learned a great many things from
your delightful pages. Your book is instructive, as well as enter-
taining and amusing. A little boy goes to our school who also
takes ST. NICHOLAS. His grandmother teaches our department.
I get poetry from the pages of ST. NICHOLAS to recite to her every
Friday evening, and she likes it very much.
I am eagerly looking forward to the coming of the December
number of ST. NICHOLAS, for it is always crammed full of good
things, just like old Santa Claus's pockets; and I have come to
look upon it as an important part of Christmas.
Your little reader, ETHEL M. S.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have been taking you for two years,
and like you very much. My greatest pleasure is to read the "Art"
stories, and the puzzles. I have just read Mrs. Anna Lea Merritt's
story, and have started to work again. There is no chapter of the
Agassiz Association in our neighborhood, and so I content myself by
keeping collections of my own, and now I must say good-bye and
not take any more of your valuable space. Yours truly,
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Just let me tell you something I
thought very funny. In our kitchen there is a shelf about three
feet above the stove. On it there
stood a candle, and when looking
at it to-day, I found that the heat
had drawn it down to this position.
I never saw anything like that be-
fore, and it surprised and amused
me. Like some other persons, I
grow older every day; but I do not
think I shall ever grow too old for
you to come here every month and
make your welcome visit. When
I said I grow older like some peo-
ple, I had in my mind's eye some who either grow one year in
every five, do not grow at all, or else grow younger.
Yours truly, HARRY B. S. (14% yrs).

ST. JOSEPH, LA., October, 1884.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have written you three letters, none of
which I have had the pleasure of seeing in print; but (being of
those who never say die ") 1 shall try again. I have something

to tell you that I thought touching. I once had a beautiful
cat; she was named "Jet," and one day she (for the first and last
time) found herself the happy mother of five lovely kittens, and
when the kits were a month old, one morning Jet brought one of
them and laid it at mamma's feet and sat mewing, till she took it in
her lap; then, after one more look at "kittie," she went out as if
satisfied, and presently returned with another and went through the
same maneuver, until mamma had all the kittens. Then she, Jet,
jumped up too, and after licking all five, she put her forepaws on
mamma's shoulder and softly rubbed her head up and down her
cheek, and then ran out of the room; when we saw her again, ten
minutes after, she waslyingin her babies' old bed,- dead. Good-bye.
From your loving reader, MOINA M. S.

LAS VEGAS, NEW MEXICO, October 13, 1884.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the first letter I have ever written
to you. I live out West here, and I suppose it may almost be
called out of the world. Some of us have formed a club to stop
using slang. When we say a slang word, we drive a nail in a
post, and if we say a sentence without a slang word, we take a nail
out of the post. I have not much time to write this time.
Your affectionate reader, AGNES M.

HERE are some verses written and illustrated by a little girl:

In a silver cradle rocking
There lies a baby fair,
Smiling and dimpled and happy,
With long, soft, golden hair.
But now a strange thing happened,-
Happened very soon;
The cradle that held the baby
Became a "gold balloon."
Baby became a jolly man,
And sailed the gold balloon;
And children looking upward cried:
'See the man in the moon."
OMAHA, NEB., 1884.




MIDWINTER is not commonly considered to be the most favor-
able time for beginning the study of Nature, yet the following list
of newly formed Chapters is longer than any we have been able to
report for several months. In fact, it is now precisely the time to
form Chapters, so that the organization may be perfected, the room
and cabinet secured, and everything arranged for the reception and
study of the first flowers and insects of the Spring.
While the AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION seeks no notoriety, but prefers
to do its quiet work in a quiet way, it is nevertheless pleasant and
encouraging to feel that it often is recognized as useful by those
whose approval is most desirable and whose judgment must com-
mand respect.
That the members of our 754 Chapters may share with us this satis-
faction, we shall quote a few paragraphs for the quickening of theirzeal.
The Critic says: This good work is not only instructing chil-
dren in practical things, but is teaching them to find their amusement
in wise and simple ways. The good it is doing is incalculable, and
we heartily wish it God-speed."
The Boston Advertiser says: Such an association as the A. A.
should organize local branches with schools, public and private,
wherever their influence can reach."
The next is from the Dial:
The career of the 'Agassiz Association' is full of interest. Its
object was the study of Natural History, and its work was so pleas-
ant and profitable that in 1880 the president published in the ST.
NICHOLAS MAGAZINE' an invitation to the young people all over
the United States to form classes or local chapters,' bearing the
name and having the purposes of the original society. Within three
years and a half, more than seven thousand students, young and old,
were poring over the pages of Nature in accordance with a system-
atic plan. * By uniting so many thousands of young people
in one common healthful and beneficent occupation, he has set in
train a multitude of saving, joyous influences, which will affect them
to the end of their lives. Happy are the children who are enrolled
as members of the 'Agassiz Association.' "
We quote from Science: "The benefit accruing to science from
the humble work of those who endeavor faithfully to popularize its
teachings is not always recognized by the investigator. Yet such
work is worthy of no doubtful recognition. An excellent example,
perhaps second to none in this country for its success and beneficial
results, is the founding and conduct of the 'Agassiz Association.'
The conductors of this enterprise have done something permanent
and effedtual toward spreading a taste for self-culture in an almost
new sense, as far as the majority of the people are concerned. They
have taught thousands how to work with whatever means were at
hand, not only for their own intellectual improvement, but for that of
their children and neighbors. This must eventually affect the
curriculum of the public schools through the creation of a demand
for better and more natural methods of instruction."
The Herald and Presbyter says: "Agassiz has been honored by
the Society."
Nature, the leading scientific magazine of England, in a long and
friendly review of our work, says that our method "should be of
much utility to those who desire to train up the,young with a love
for Nature, and a desire to study her products and ways." It adds
that the history of the A. A., on the whole, is "a very gratifying
story of successful and voluntary effort."
Our good friends need have no fear that their kind encouragement
will have any other effect than to lead us, in all humility, to devote
still more anxious thought to our work, that the A. A. may become
more and more worthy of their favor. By ourselves we can do little,
but if all who are interested in this method of-education-will con-
tinue to extend their generous aid, we believe that in a few years our
Association may attain to a degree of usefulness toward which it
has, as yet, taken but a few halting steps.
By way of further encouragement, we print the following volun-
tary offer of assistance from Professor Thomas Egleston, of the
School of Mines, Columbia College, New York:
"My Dear Sir. In the last number of Science, I find a notice
of the 'Agassiz Association,' about which I was very much inter-

ested in the spring, when you described its work to me, and had
intended to write to you, but my illness and the pressure of other
things while I was in Europe drove it out of my memory.
It occurred to me then, and seems to me now, that I might per-
haps be of use and help your Association very much by exchange
of minerals.
"We have at the School of Mines a very large number of dupli-
cates. I am not at liberty to give them away, but I can exchange
them for other minerals, and should be very glad indeed to do so.
Among our duplicates are many species, some of which are rare,
others more common. If I could, in this way or any other, help the
Association, 1 should be glad.
Yours truly, "THOMAS EGLESTON."
[Prf. Egleston's offer will be widely accepted, and may undoubt-
edly be construed to include a willingness ta aid students in the
determination afspecimens, provided the rues for sucl correspond-
ence, as detailed in the "Hand-book," be strictly observed.]

ON the list of the scientists, whose assistance is one of the most
valuable advantages of the A. A., no chemist's name appears, and
some of our members write that we do wish there were some one
to whom we might feel at liberty to refer our puzzling questions in
the study of chemistry." Should this appeal fall under the benevo-
lent eye of some philanthropic chemist, we are confident that he will
volunteer his services to aid the rising generation.
And, by the way, will not some scientific friend suggest a simple
course of observations in mineralogy (or any other science) that our
young friends can pursue at home, with such occasional direction as
he may have time and disposition to give by mail?

No. Name. No. of Members. Address.
731 Baird's Mills, Tenn. (A).. 4..Harry P. Bond.
732 Brookline, Masi. (B).....20..Miss Bessie P. Noyes.
733 Detroit, Mich. (D)....... 5..W. A. Johnson, 70 Fort
Street, W.
734 Detroit, Mich. (E)........ 4..Frank Van Tuyl, 136 Selden
735 New York, N. Y. (R).... 8..Miss Jessie Andresen, ro9 W.
43d Street.
736 Gilman, Ill. (A)......... 5..Willie Crooks.
737 Polo, I11. (A) ............ 4..Henri N. Barber.
738 Mt. Gilead, O. (A)........ ..F. B. McMillin.
739 Ledyr4l, Conn. (A)...... 7..Edwin Gray.
740 New York, N..Y. (S)..... 6..H. P. E.:.h. .. 7thAvenue.
741 Meadville, Pa. (C)........ 6..Ward -: l..:r
742 Jefferson, O. (B)......... 4..A. E. Warren.
743 Detroit, Mich. (F) ...... 30..Geo. P. Codd (High School).
744 E. Providence Centre (A). 5.. S. W. Bridgham.
745 Carlisle, Pa. (A)......... 8..S. W. Haverstick, Box 522.
746 Helena, Montana (A)..... o.. S.H. Hefner, Box 566.
747 Lexington, Ill. (A)........ 4..W. B. Merrill, Box 213.
748 Wilmington, Del. (D).... x..Miss Anna V. Swift, 1309 Del.
749 Philadelphia, Pa. (C')..... 6..A. W. Billstein, 627 N. 6th.
750 Sioux Falls, Dakota (A). .1o..Sioux K. Grigsby.
751 Plymouth, N. H. (A)..... 6. .Wi. P. Ladd (Holderness
752 Cincinnati, O. (C)........ 5..Miss Nellie Furness, 582
McMillan Street.
753 Springfield, Mass. (A).... 4..Harry A. Wright, 54 Bowdoin
754 Paxton, Mass............ 4.. F. L. Bill.

679 De Pere. Wis. (E), has joined 148, De Pere, Wis. (B).
630 New York, N. Y. (Q), hasjoined 87, New York (B).
373 Beverly, N. J. (B), hasjoined 372, Beverly, N. J. (A).

665 So. Framingham, Mass... 4..W. E. Harding.
164 Jackson, Mich. (B).. .. Mrs. Noah Gridley.
367 Boston, Mass. (C)........ 6..Miss Annie Darling.

33z New Orleans, La. (A).... 4..Percy L. Benedict, 0243 St.
Charles Street.



Galena lead ore, for sand from the shore of any lake except Lake
Michigan.-Ephie Klots, Sec. A. A., Bloomington, Illinois.
Fine gold, silver, and iron ores.--E. Y. Gibson, Jackson, Mich.
Butterflies, moths, and cocoons, for same.- Malcolm MacLean.
417 Washington Street, Wilmington, Del.
A collection of three hundred and fifty shells, one hundred species,
all labeled, for r,,: .-.:, ..-:, lepidoptera, or ten dollars cash.- E.
Hamilton, 96 F :.. -. ,r. E,. :,r Grand Rapids;,Mich.
Minerals and fossils, mounted insects, inounted objects for the
microscope. Also wanted, correspondence in West and South-west.
-E. P. Boynton, Sec. Ch. 64, 303 3d Avenue, Cedar Rapids,
Lepidoptera and Coleoptera. Write first.--G. M. Edwards, 1205
Dorchester Street, Montreal, Canada.
Iceland spar, asphaltum, geodes, agates, salt crystals, oolitic
sand, and thirty other labeled minerals, for fossils and minerals.-
Arthur G. Leonard, Salt.Lake City, Utah, Box xo86.
My collection of insects for exchange is exhausted. To any one
that has not received the promised box of insects, I will either send
back t.e :ri -.i .. or a collection of eight species of beautiful mosses.
-E. L .,rp t. ., Pine City, Minnesota.
Mica crystals and star-fishes, for Florida moss, sponges, or sea-
beans.- Miss Lunette E. Lamprey, Concord, N. H.

Samia cynthia cocoons, for those of Luna and Maia. Other offers
of Pupa and Coleoptera entertained.-A. C. Weeks, Counselor-at.
law, 2o Broadway, New York.
Orange-blossoms and leaves, pieces of the banana or leaves, Span-
ish long moss, Mississippi river sand, cotton in pod, alligators'
teeth, and leaves ot the Japan plum, for bird-skins.- Percy S.
Benedict, Sec. 331, 1243 St. Charles Street, New Orleans. La.
Minerals and cocoons of Polyphemus, for cocoons of Atacus
Cynthia and Attacus Luna.- Win. P. Cook, Ashland Avenue and
Fuller Street, Chicago.
Eggs blown through one side hole, for same.-J. G. Parker Jr.,
3529 Grand Boulevard, Chicago.
Trap rock, Concord granite, quartz crystals, jasper, iron ore,
fossils, etc., for minerals. Write first.-Brian C. Roberts, 107 N.
State Street, Concord, N. H.


714, Concord, N. H. (B). Our Chapter has thirty-two members.
Our address is 1o7 N. State Street, instead of 76 Rumford, as last
December. We have talked about fleshy fruits. The berry is fleshy
throughout. The pepo is fleshy within, but has a hard rind. The
melon is a pepo. The apples a pome. It grows from a compound
pistil, which forms the seed-cells, and the calyx grows thick around
it and forms the part that we eat.-Brian C. Roberts, Sec.


EACH of the nine small pictures may be described
by a word of five letters. When the words are
rightly guessed and placed one below the other, in
the order here given, the central letters, reading
downward, will spell the name of a familiar object.


FROM r to 2, a testator; from 3 to 4, named for
an appointment or an office; from 5 to 6, softens in
Cross-words: i. A consonant. 2, A wand. a. To
delay. 4. To cut off or suppress, as a syllable. 5.
Mercenary. 6. An effigy. 7. The chief of the fallen
angels. 8. Open to view. 9. Is conveyed.
i. Extensive. 2. A kind of musical composition.
3. To enrich. 4. To reverence. 5. A citadel.
MvYfrest asserts your power to do;
My second, that you 've done it;
Pray be my whole, and tell me now
The answer, if you 've won it.

EXAMPLE: The age of watching. Answer, espion-
age. The age of weakness. Answer, dotage.
x. The age of learning. 2. The age of servitude.
3. The age of method. 4. The age of submission.
5. The age of favors. 6. The age of commissions.
7. The age of examination. 8. The age of security.
9. The age of thievery. o1. The age of equality.
xi. The age of cultivation. 12. The age of diminu-
tion. 13. The age of reproach. 14. The age of
plenty. AM. A. P.





CENTRALS, reading downward, a watering-place of New Jersey.
Cross-words: I. Sometimes on the dinner-table. 2. To con-
struct. 3. To mimic. 4. In definite. 5. A girl's name. 6. To
adorn. 7. Petitions. LOU.


S- 5 9
S. 5 9o
2 6 1o
3 7 1
4 . 8 . 12

FROM I to 5, a portion of food; from 2 to 6, a stronghold; from 3
to 7, a small Turkish coin; from 4 to 8, a species of salmon; from 5
to 9, a wise man: from 6 to ao, harmony; from 7 to 1x, competent:
from 8 to 12, tumult; from I to 9, a communication; from 2 to Xo,
luck: from 3 to ii, a fable; from 4 to 12, a state carriage.
The letters represented by the letters from 5 to 8 may be trans-
posed to form words meaning sailors, small quadrupeds, artifices,
and a luminous body. DYCIE.

I. BEHEAD a large flat-bottomed boat, and leave an animal. 2.
Behead an agreement, and leave to perform. 3. Behead to discover,
and leave an emissary. 4. Behead dainty, and leave something
gathered in winter. 5. Behead to examine with care, and leave a
cup for liquids. 6. Behead an office in the king's household where
they take care of the linen for the king's table, and leave distorted.
7. Behead to stagger, and leave a snake-like fish.
The beheaded letters will spell the name of an English poet much
admired but seldom read. JOHN BLACK.


My first is in Punch, but not in Judy;
My second in brisk, but not in moody;
My third and my fourth you can find if you strive
In knitting and flitting; my next, number five,
Is in singular, strange, and is found in amusing;
My sixth, in abuse as well as abusing;
My next is in urgent, in urchin, in hurry,
And if you look farther you 'll find it in flurry;
My eighth is in grass-plot, but not in a lawn;
My ninth is in morning, but not in the dawn;
My tenth is in hurt, in head, and in hand,

And more than this surely you can not demand.
My whole is a town in the old Keystone State,
And its name- but I '11 leave that for you to relate.


THE primals name a mischievous elf who "looks not with the eyes,
but with the mind," and the finals, a supposed affliction of his. Each
of the five small pictures represents a cross-word, and may be de-
scribed by a word of four letters.

THE diagonals, from left to right, reading downward, spell a
small anchor having several flukes; from right to left, insnared.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Courageous. 2. To make ready. 3. One of
the Southern States. 4. To offer for consideration. 5. Relies upon.
6. Resolute. 7. To pillage. F. s. F.


NOVEL ACROSTIC. First line, Whittier; third line, Browning.
I. WiGht. 2. HeNce. 3. Idiot. 4. TiNge. 5. ToWel. 6.
IrOns. 7. ErRor. 8. ReBel.-- CHARADE. Cur-tail.
SYNCOPATIONS. Rainbow. i. g-R-ape. 2. bre-A-d. 3. bra-I-d.
4. bri-N-g. 5. ta-B-le. .6. f-O-und. 7. s-W-ing.
Be thou the first true merit to befriend;
His praise is lost, who stays till all commend.
PI. Poems, like pictures, are of different sorts,
Some better at a distance, others near;
Some love the dark, some choose the clearest light,
And boldly challenge the most piercing eye;
Some please for once, some will forever please.
EASY ANAGRAMS. I. Paris. 2. London. 3. Rome. 4. Berlin.
5. Madrid. 6. Lisbon. 7. New York. 8. Madras. 9. Liverpool.
io. Denver. I. Austin. 12. Calcutta.
HALF-SQUARE. I. Epiphany. 2. Pamlico. 3. Immure. 4.
Plume. 5. Hire. 6. Ace. 7. No. 8. Y.

DOUBLE CROSS-WORDS. Twelfth Night, Happy New Year.
ILLUSTRATED KITE PUZZLE. Central letters, Franklin. Cross-
words (beginning at the top): r. iNk. 2. chIna. 3. raiLing. 4.
chicKweed. 5. furNace. 6. trAps. 7. aRm. 8. F. Rebus on
the kite: For age and want save while you may;
No morning sun lasts a whole day.
HOUR-GLASS. Centrals, Zigzags. Cross-words: I. puzZles. 2.
spice. 3. aGe. 4. Z. 5. PAn. 6. paGes. 7. preSent.
FRAMED WORD-SQUARE. From I to 2, frOstwOrt: from 3 to 4,
snOwstOrm; from 5 to 6, boOkstOre; from 7 to 8, anOnymOus;
Included word-square: i. Ice. 2. Con. 3. End.
EASY WORD-SQUARES. I. I. Gray. 2. Rule. 3. Alma. 4.
Year. II. i. Ride. 2. Idea. 3. Dear. 4. Earl. III. i. Sham.
2. Hale. 3. Aloe. 4. Meet.
DOUBLE ACROsTICS. I. Primals, Carlyle; finals, Emerson.
Cross-words: i. CravE. 2. AlarM. 3. RetinuE. 4. LemuR.
5. YamS. 6. LimbO. 7. EmancipatioN. II. Primals, Chelsea;
finals, Concord. Cross-words: I. CambriC. 2. HerO. 3. En-
viroN. 4. LaconiC. 5. SagO. 6. EideR. 7. AsteroiD.

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 PUZZLES IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER were received, too late for-acknowledgment in the December number, from
Maud I. Mudon, London, i.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER were received, before December 2o, from Paul Reese-" Navajo"-
Frederick Winthrop Faxon-" Pepper and Maria"-Maggie T. Turrill-Clara Louise Burt-Harry M. Wheelock--"R. E. Buss"-
Ida C. L.-Tiny Puss, Mitz and Muff--Trebor Treblig--Gertrude and Papa-" Shumway Hen and Chickens "-" One from 1873 "-
Arthur Gride Emily M. Craft Henrietta V. C.- Eric Palmer Little Mary B.- Hallie Pearce Ruby R. Radcliffe Ethel W.
Marsh-Bertha M. Clarke-Arthur Marsh-Upton Lindsay McCandlish--Walter Mathews-Archie V. Thomson-Robert James
King-Lily R. B.- Ella Bisell-Mamie Young- Lide Blaisdell-Annabella and Georgealice Schley- Maud I. Mudon- R. D. Smith
-A. Lincoln Fisher-Mary and Margaret Houston- Maude K.-Helen Porter -Pearl M. Steele-Alice D. Heustis.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER were received, before December 20, from "Man in the Moon," 3-Lily Wells,
2-Annabella and Georgealice Schley, i-Alice R. Douglass, 3-Emma Findlay, I Elise Ripley, i Emma and Willie H., 2- May
and Julia, r-Morris D. Sample, 8-Lilly M. Topeka, i- Ethel Rhoads, Edith M. Boyd, I-" Loemo," 2-Godfrey Pretz, 5-
Rob't J. Harrison, 5- Lettie and Edith Sands, 2- Josephine Casey, I Arthur Mudge, 2- Mabel D. Smith, i Effie K. Talboys, 5
-George Habenicht, I Herbert Gaytes, 6- Sadie and Bessie Rhodes, 6- Henry V. Hubbard, I Maud Green, i Josie Wilhelm, I
--L. G., 8--Margaret and E. Muriel Grundy, 8 -Willie Sheraton, 3-F. L. Watson, x- Edith L. Young, 4-Genevieve, 4-
Mary P. Stockett, 6.




MORE Hows ?" and Whys ?" could Benjamin say
Than a clock can tick minutes in course of a day.
'T was "How do you know ?" and "Why can't I go ?"
Till his horrible fate you see here below.

"--^~ *