Front Cover
 Christmas every day
 Little Lord Fauntleroy
 The stranger cat
 My grandmother's grandmother's...
 The secret of it
 A Chinese game-song
 New bits of talk for young folks:...
 Nick Woolson's ride
 From Bach to Wagner
 Shoe or stocking? - George...
 The king of the frozen north
 Big Hans and little Hans
 Santa Claus on snow-shoes
 Ready for business
 Answered riddle jingles
 Christmas stars
 Among the law-makers
 The Brownies tobogganing
 For very little folk: Why Coralie...
 The letter-box
 The Agassiz association: Fifty-seventh...
 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 January 1886
mods:recordIdentifier source ufdc UF00065513_00166
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. 13
mods:number 13
No. 3
mods:topic Children's literature
Literature for Children
St. Nicholas.
Saint Nicholas
mods:typeOfResource text
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ufdc:SerialHierarchy level 1 order 13 Vol. 13
2 3 No. 3
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METS:structMap STRUCT1 mixed
D1 Front Cover
P1 Page
D2 Frontispiece
P3 Plate
D3 Christmas every day Chapter
P4 163
P5 164
P6 165
P7 166 4
P8 167 5
D4 Little Lord Fauntleroy
P9 168
P10 169
P11 170
P12 171
D5 The stranger cat Poem
P13 172
P14 173
D6 My grandmother's candle 6
P15 174
P16 175
P17 176
P18 177
P19 178
D7 secret it 7
P20 179
D8 A Chinese game-song 8
P21 180
P22 181
D9 New bits talk for young folks: Captain Bright Eyes and Lady Quick Ear 9
P23 182
P24 183
D10 Nick Woolson's ride 10
P25 184
P26 185
P27 186
P28 187
P29 188
D11 From Bach to Wagner 11
P30 189
P31 190
P32 191
D12 Shoe or stocking 12
P33 192 (MULTIPLE)
P34 193
P35 194
P36 195
P37 196
P38 197
P39 198
P40 199
D13 king the frozen north
P41 200
D14 Big Hans little 14
P42 201
P43 202
P44 203
P45 204
P46 205
P48 207
D15 Santa Claus snow-shoes 15
P49 208
P50 209
P51 210
P52 211
D16 Ready business 16
P53 212
P54 213
P55 214
D17 Answered riddle jingles 17
P56 215
D18 stars 18
P57 216
P58 217
P59 218
D19 Among law-makers 19
P60 219
P61 220
P62 221
P63 222
P64 223
P65 224
P66 225
P67 226
D20 Brownies tobogganing 20
P68 227
P69 228
P70 229
D21 For very folk: Why Coralie was ill 21
P71 230
P72 231
D22 Jack-in-the-pulpit 22
P73 232
P74 233
D23 letter-box 23
P75 234
P76 235
P77 236
D24 Agassiz association: Fifty-seventh report
P78 237
P79 238
D25 riddle-box 25
P80 239
P81 240
D26 26 Back
D27 27 Spine
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St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00166
 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: UF00065513:00166
 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
    Christmas every day
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
    Little Lord Fauntleroy
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
    The stranger cat
        Page 172
        Page 173
    My grandmother's grandmother's Christmas candle
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
    The secret of it
        Page 179
    A Chinese game-song
        Page 180
        Page 181
    New bits of talk for young folks: Captain Bright Eyes and Lady Quick Ear
        Page 182
        Page 183
    Nick Woolson's ride
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
    From Bach to Wagner
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
    Shoe or stocking? - George Washington
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
    The king of the frozen north
        Page 200
    Big Hans and little Hans
        Page 201
        Page 202
        Page 203
        Page 204
        Page 205
        Page 206
        Page 207
    Santa Claus on snow-shoes
        Page 208
        Page 209
        Page 210
        Page 211
    Ready for business
        Page 212
        Page 213
        Page 214
    Answered riddle jingles
        Page 215
    Christmas stars
        Page 216
        Page 217
        Page 218
    Among the law-makers
        Page 219
        Page 220
        Page 221
        Page 222
        Page 223
        Page 224
        Page 225
        Page 226
    The Brownies tobogganing
        Page 227
        Page 228
        Page 229
    For very little folk: Why Coralie was ill
        Page 230
        Page 231
        Page 232
        Page 233
    The letter-box
        Page 234
        Page 235
        Page 236
    The Agassiz association: Fifty-seventh report
        Page 237
        Page 238
    The riddle-box
        Page 239
        Page 240
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


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JANUARY, 1886.

[Copyright, 1885, by THE CENTURY CO.]



THE little girl came into her papa's study, as
she always did Saturday morning before breakfast,
and asked for a story. He tried to beg off that
morning, for he was very busy, but she would not
let him. So he began:
"Well, once there was a little pig
She put her hand over his mouth and stopped
him at the word. She said she had heard little
pig stories till she was perfectly sick of them.
"Well, what kind of story shall I tell, then ? "
"About Christmas. It 's getting to be the
season. It 's past Thanksgiving already."
It seems to me," argued her papa, that I 've
told as often about Christmas as I have about
little pigs."
"No difference! Christmas is more interest-
"Well!" Her papa roused himself from his
writing by a great effort. Well, then, I'11 tell
you about the little girl that wanted it Christmas
every day in the year. How would you like that ?"
"First-rate! said the little girl; and she
nestled into comfortable shape in his lap, ready for
Very well, then, this little pig,- Oh, what
are you pounding me for ?"
"Because you said little pig instead of little
"I should like to know what's the difference
between a little pig and a little girl that wanted it
Christmas every day "
Papa," said the little girl, warningly, "if you

don't go on, I '1 give it to you And at this
her papa darted off like lightning, and began to
tell the story as fast as he could.

Well, once there was a little girl who liked
Christmas so much that she wanted it to be Christ-
mas every day in the year; and as soon as Thanks-
giving was over she began to send postal cards to
the old Christmas Fairy to ask if she might n't
have it. But the old Fairy never answered any of
the postals ; and, after a while, the little girl found
out that the Fairy was pretty particular, and
would n't notice anything but letters, not even
correspondence cards in envelopes ; but real letters
on sheets of paper, and sealed outside with a mon-
ogram,- or your initial, any way. So, then, she
began to send her letters; and in about three
weeks or just the day before Christmas, it was
-she got a letter from the Fairy, saying she
might have it Christmas every day for a year, and
then they would see about having it longer.
The little girl was a good deal excited already,
i. i '- .. f. i old-fashioned, once-a-year Christ-
mas that was coming the next day, and perhaps
the Fairy's promise did n't make such an im-
pression on her as it would have made at some
other time. She just resolved to keep it to her-
self, and surprise everybody with it as it kept
coming true; and then it slipped out of her mind
She had a splendid Christmas. She went to
bed early, so as to let Santa Claus have a chance


No. 3.


at the stockings, and in the morning she was up
the first of anybody and went and felt them, and
found hers all lumpy with packages of candy,
and oranges and grapes, and pocket-books and
rubber balls and all kinds of small presents, and
her big brother's with nothing but the tongs in
them, and her young lady sister's with a new silk
umbrella, and her papa's and mamma's with po-
tatoes and pieces of coal wrapped up in tissue
paper, just as they always had every Christmas.
Then she waited around till the rest of the family
were up, and she was the first to burst into the
library, when the doors were opened, and look at
the large presents laid out on the library-table -
books, and portfolios, and boxes of stationery, and
breast-pins, and dolls, and little stoves, and dozens
of handkerchiefs, and ink-stands, and skates, and
snow-shovels, and photograph-frames, and little
easels, andboxes of water-colors, and Turkish paste,
and nougat, and candied cherries, and dolls' houses,

pouring in that the expressman had not had time
to deliver the night before; and she went 'round
giving the presents she had got for other people,
and came home and ate turkey and cranberry for
dinner, and plum-pudding and nuts and raisins
and oranges and more candy, and then went out
and coasted and came in with a stomach-ache, cry-
ing; and her papa said he would see if his house
was turned into that sort of fool's paradise another
year; and they had a light supper, and pretty
early everybody went to bed cross.

Here the little girl pounded her papa in the
back, again.
Well, what now ? Did I say pigs ? "
You made them act like pigs."
"Well, did n't they?"
"No matter; you ought n't to put it into a
Very well, then, I '11 take it all out."


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and waterproofs,- and the big Christmas-tree, Her father went on:
lighted and standing in a waste-basket in the
middle. The little girl slept very heavily, and she slept
She had a splendid Christmas all day. She ate very late, but she was wakened at last by the other
so much candy that she did not want any break- children dancing 'round her bed with their stock-
fast; and the whole forenoon the presents kept ings full of presents in their hands.


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"What is it?" said the little girl, and she
rubbed her eyes and tried to rise up in bed.
"Christmas Christmas! Christmas !" they
all shouted, and waved their stockings.
"Nonsense It was Christmas yesterday."
Her brothers and sisters just laughed. We
don't know about that. It's Christmas to-day,
any way. You come into the library and see."
Then all at once it flashed on the little girl that
the Fairy was keeping her promise, and her year of
Christmases was beginning. She was dreadfully
sleepy, but she sprang up like a lark a lark that
had overeaten itself and gone to bed cross- and
darted into the library. There it was again Books,
and portfolios, and boxes of stationery, and breast-
pins --

You need n't go over it all, Papa; I guess I can
remember just what was there," said the little girl.

Well, and there was the Christmas-tree blazing
away, and the family picking out their presents,
but looking pretty sleepy, and her father perfectly
puzzled, and her mother ready to cry. I 'm
sure I don't see how I'm to dispose of all these
things," said her mother, and her father said it
seemed to him they had had something just like it
the day before, but he supposed he must have
dreamed it. This struck the little girl as the best
kind of a joke; and so she ate so much candy she
did n't want any breakfast, and went 'round carry-
ing presents, and had turkey and cranberry for
dinner, and then went out and coasted, and came
in with a-

"Papa! "
"Well, what now? "
"What did you promise, you forgetful thing?"
"Oh oh, yes! "

Well, the next day, it was just the same thing
over again, but everybody getting crosser; and
at the end of a week's time so many people
had lost their tempers that you could pick up lost
tempers anywhere; they perfectly strewed the
ground. Even when people tried to recover their
tempers they usually got somebody else's, and it
made the most dreadful mix.
The little girl began to get frightened, keeping
the secret all to herself; she wanted to tell her
mother, but she did n't dare to; and she was
ashamed to ask the Fairy to take back her gift, it
seemed ungrateful and ill-bred, and she thought
she would try to stand it, but she hardly knew how
she could, for a whole year. So it went on and
on, and it was Christmas on St. Valentine's Day,
and Washington's Birthday just the same as any

day, and it did n't skip even the First of April,
though everything was counterfeit that day, and
that was some little relief.
After a while, coal and potatoes began to be
awfully scarce, so many had been wrapped up in
tissue paper to fool papas and mammas with. Tur-
keys got to be about a thousand dollars apiece -

Papa "
Well, what? "
You 're beginning to fib."
"Well, two thousand, then."

And they got to passing off almost anything for
turkeys,--;. i'-.. .-, humming-birds, and even
rocs out of the Arabian Nights,"- the real tur-
keys were so scarce. And cranberries-well, they
asked a diamond apiece for cranberries. All the
woods and orchards were cut down for Christmas-
trees, and where the woods and orchards used to be,
it looked just like a stubble-field, with the stumps.
After a while they had to make Christmas-trees
out of rags, and stuff them with bran, like old-
fashioned dolls; but there were plenty of rags,
because people got so poor, buying presents for one
another, that they could n't get any new clothes,
and they just wore their old ones to tatters. They
got so poor that everybody had to go to the poor-
house, except the confectioners, and the fancy
store-keepers, and the picture-booksellers, and
the expressmen; and they all got so rich and
proud that they would hardly wait upon a person
when he came to buy; it was perfectly shameful!
Well, after it had gone on about three or four

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months, the little girl, whenever she came into the
room in the morning and saw those great ugly lumpy
stockings dangling at the fire-place, and the dis-
gusting presents around everywhere, used to just


sit down and burst out crying. In six months she
was perfectly exhausted; she could n't even cry
any more; she just lay on the lounge and rolled
her eyes and panted. About the beginning of

- .

*^ -*


October she took to sitting down on dolls,
wherever she found them,- French dolls, or any
kind,- she hated the sight of them so; and by
Thanksgiving she was crazy, and just slammed
her presents across the room.
By that time people did n't carry presents
around nicely any more. They flung them over
the fence, or through the window, or anything;

flowed, and then they used to let them lie out in
the rain, or anywhere. Sometimes the police used
to come and tell them to shovel their presents off
the sidewalk, or they would arrest them.

"I thought you said everybody had gone to the
poor-house," interrupted the little girl.
"They did go, at first," said her papa; "but
after a while the poor-houses got so full that they
had to send the people back to their own houses.
They tried to cry, when they got back, but they
could n't make the least sound."
"Why could n't they ?"
"Because they had lost their voices, saying
' Merry Christmas' so much. Did I tell you how
it was on the Fourth of July ?"
No; how was it? And the little girl nestled
closer, in expectation of something uncommon.

Well, the night before, the boys staid up
to celebrate, as they always do, and fell asleep



and, instead of running their tongues out and taking
great pains to write "For dear Papa," or Mam-
ma," or "Brother," or Sister," or Susie," or
'"Sammie," or "Billie," or "Bobby," or "Jim-
mie," or Jennie," or whoever it was, and troub-
ling to get the spelling right, and then signing
their names, and "'Xmas, 188-," they used to
write in the gift-books, Take it, you horrid old
thing!" and then go and bang it against the front
door. Nearly everybody had built barns to hold
their presents, but pretty soon the barns over-

before twelve o'clock, as usual, expecting to be
wakened by the bells and cannon. But it was
nearly eight o'clock before the first boy in the
United States woke up, and then he found out
what the trouble was. As soon as he could get
his clothes on, he ran out of the house and
smashed a big cannon-torpedo down on the pave-
ment; but it did n't make any more noise than a
damp wad of paper, and, after he tried about
twenty or thirty more, he began to pick them up
and look at them. Every single torpedo was a big

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raisin Then he just streaked it upstairs, and
examined his fire-crackers and toy-pistol and two-
dollar collection of fireworks, and found that they
were nothing but sugar and candy painted up to
look like fireworks Before ten o'clock, every boy
in the United States found out that his Fourth of
July things had turned into Christmas things;
and then they just sat down and cried,- they were
so mad. There are about twenty million boys in
the United States, and so you can imagine what
a noise they made. Some men got together
before night, with a little powder that had n't
turned into purple sugar yet, and they said they
would fire off one cannon, any way. But the can-
non burst into a thousand pieces, for it was nothing
but rock-candy, and some of the men nearly got
killed. The Fourth of July orations all turned
into Christmas carols, and when anybody tried to
read the Declaration, instead of saying, ":When
in the course of human events it becomes neces-
sary," he was sure to sing, "God rest you, merry
gentlemen." It was perfectly awful.

The little girl drew a deep sigh of satisfaction.
And how was it at Thanksgiving? she asked.
Her papa hesitated. Well, I 'm almost afraid
to tell you. I 'm afraid you '11 think it 's wicked."
Well, tell, any way," said the little girl.

Well, before it came Thanksgiving, it had
leaked out who had caused all these Christmases.
The little girl had suffered so much that she had
talked about it in her sleep; and after that, hardly
anybody would play with her. People just per-
fectly despised her, because if it had not been for
her greediness, it would n't have happened; and
now, when it came Thanksgiving, and she wanted
them to go to church, and have squash-pie and
turkey, and show their gratitude, they said that
all the turkeys had been eaten up for her old
Christmas dinners, and if she would stop the
Christmases, they would see about the gratitude.
Was n't it dreadful? And the very next day the
little girl began to send letters to the Christmas
Fairy, and then telegrams, to stop it. But it
did n't do any good; and then she got to :,ii;._
at the Fairy's house, but the girl that came to the
door always said Not at home," or "Engaged,"
or At dinner," or something like that; and so it
went on till it came to the old once-a-year Christ-
mas Eve. The little girl fell asleep, and when
she woke up in the morning -

She found it was all nothing but a dream,"
suggested the little girl.
"No, indeed!" said her papa. "It was all
every bit true "

Well, what did she find out then ? "
Why, that it was n't Christmas at last, and
was n't ever going to be, any more. Now it 's
time for breakfast."
The little girl held her papa fast around the
You sha'n't go if you 're going to leave it so "
How do you want it left ?"
Christmas once a year."
"All right," said her papa; and he went on

Well, there was the greatest rejoicing all
over the country, and it extended clear up into
Canada. The people met together everywhere,
and kissed and cried for joy. The city carts went
around and gathered up all the candy and raisins
and nuts, and dumped them into the river; and
it made the fish perfectly sick; and the whole
United States, as far out as Alaska, was one blaze
of bonfires, where the children were burning up
their gift-books and presents of all kinds. They
had the greatest time!
The little girl went to thank the old Fairy be-
cause she had stopped its being Christmas, and
she said she hoped she would keep her promise,
and see that Christmas never, never came again.
Then the Fairy frowned, and asked her if she
was sure she knew what she meant; and the little
girl asked her, why not ? and the old Fairy said that
now she was behaving just as greedily as ever, and
she 'd better look out. This made the little girl
think it all over carefully again, and she said she
would be willing to have it Christmas about once
in a thousand years; and then she said a hundred,
and then she said ten, and at last she got down to
one. Then the Fairy said that was the good old
way that had pleased people ever since Christ-
mas began, and she was agreed. Then the little
girl said, What 're your shoes made of ? And
the Fairy said, Leather." And the little girl
said, "Bargain's done forever," and skipped off,
and hippity-hopped the whole way home, she was
so glad.

How will that do ? asked the papa.
"First-rate !" said the little girl; but she
hated to have the story stop, and was rather sober.
However, her mamma put her head in at the door,
and asked her papa:
Are you never coming to breakfast? What
have you been telling that child ? "
Oh, just a moral tale."
The little girl caught him around the neck
[e know! Don't you tell what, Papal
Don't you tell rwat.' "







I EDRIC'S good opinion of
"', :. the advantages of be-
[ 1 '. ing an earl increased
greatly during the next
Week. Itseemedalmost
I impossible for him to
:i.. realize that there was
scarcely anything he
might wish to do which
he could not do easily; in fact I think it may
be said that he did not fully realize it at all. But
at least he understood, after a few conversations
with Mr. Havisham, that he could gratify all his
nearest wishes, and he proceeded to gratify them
with a simplicity and delight which caused Mr.
Havisham much diversion. In the week before
they sailed for England, he did many curious
things. The lawyer long after remembered the
morning they went down-town together to pay a
visit to Dick, and the afternoon they so amazed
the apple-woman of ancient lineage by stopping

before her stall and telling her she was to have a
tent, and astove, and a shawl, and a sum of money
which seemed to her quite wonderful.
For I have to go to England and be a lord,"
explained Cedric, sweet-temperedly. And I
should n't like to have your bones on my mind
every time it rained. My own bones never hurt, so
I think I don't know how painful a person's bones
can be, but I 've sympathized with you a great
deal, and I hope you '11 be better."
She 's a very good apple-woman," he said to
Mr. Havisham, as they walked away, leaving the
proprietress of the stall almost gasping for breath,
and not at all believing in her great fortune.
" Once, when I fell down and cut my knee, she gave
me an apple for nothing. I 've always remembered
her for it. You know you always remember
people who are kind to you."
It had never occurred to his honest, simple,
little mind that there were people who could forget
The interview with Dick was quite exciting.
Dick had just been having a great deal of trou-
ble with Jake, and was in low spirits when they
saw him. His amazement when Cedric calmly
announced that they had come to give him what
seemed a very great thing to him, and would set
all his troubles right, almost struck him dumb.
Lord Fauntleroy's manner of announcing the object
of his visit was very simple and unceremonious.
Mr. Havisham was much impressed by its di-
rectness as he stood by and listened. The state-
ment that his old friend had become a lord, and
was in danger of being an earl if he lived long
enough, caused Dick to so open his eyes and
mouth, and start, that his cap fell off. When he
picked it up, he uttered a rather singular exclama-
tion. Mr. Havisham thought it singular, but
Cedric had heard it before.
I soy! he said, "what 're yer givin' us?"
This plainly embarrassed his lordship a little, but
he bore himself bravely.
Everybody thinks it not truefat first," he said.
" Mr. Hobbs thought I 'd had a sunstroke. I did
n't think I was going to like it myself, but I like
it better now I'm used to it. The one who is the
earl now-he's my grandpapa; and he wants me
to dp'eanything I like. He 's very kind, if he is an
earl; and he sent me a lot of money by Mr. Havi-
sham, and I 've brought some to you to buy Jake



And the end of the matter was that Di..:. ,.- ,r i..i he stared at his young benefactor and felt as if he
bought Jake out, and found himself the pos- might wake up at any moment. He scarcely
sessor of the business, and some new brushes and seemed to realize anything until Cedric put out his
a most astonishing sign and outfit. He could not hand to shake hands with him before going away.

believe in his good luck any more easily than the Well, good-bye," he said; and though he tried
apple-woman of ancient lineage could believe in to speak steadily, there was a little tremble in his
hers; he walked about like aboot-black in a dream; voice and he winked his big brown eyes. And


I hope trade '11 be good. I'm sorry I'm going
away to leave you, but perhaps I shall come back
again when I 'm an earl. And I wish you'd write
to me, because we were always good friends. And
if you write to me, here's where you must send
your letter." And he gave him a slip of paper.
" And my name is n't Cedric Errol any more; it's
Lord Fauntleroy and-and good-bye, Dick."
Dick winked his eyes also, and yet they looked
rather moist about the lashes. He was not an
educated boot-black, and he would have found it
difficult to tell what he felt just then, if he had tried;
perhaps that was why he did n't try, and only
winked his eyes and swallowed a lump in his
I wish ye was n't going' away," he said in a
husky voice.. Then he winked his eyes again.
Then he looked at Mr. Havisham and touched his
cap. '' Thanky, sir, fur bringing' him down here an'
fur wot ye 've done. He's -he 's a queer little fel-
ler," he added. I've allers thort a heap of him.
He 's such a game little feller, an'-an' such a
queer little un."
And when they turned away he stood and looked
after them in a dazed kind of way, and there was
still a mist in his eyes, and a lump in his throat, as
he watched the gallant little figure marching
gayly along by the side of its tall, rigid escort.
Until the day of his departure, his lordship
spent as much time as possible with Mr. Hobbs in
the store. Gloom had settled upon Mr. Hobbs; he
was much depressed in spirits. When his young
friend brought to him in triumph the parting gift
of a gold watch and chain, Mr. Hobbs found it
difficult to acknowledge it properly. He laid the
case on his stout knee, and blew his nose violently
several times.
"There's something written on it," said Ced-
ric,-" inside the case. I told the man myself
what to say. From his oldest friend, Lord Faunt-
leroy, to Mr. Hobbs. When this you see, remem-
ber me.' I don't want you to forget me."
Mr. Hobbs blew his nose very loudly again.
"I sha'n't forget you," he said, speaking a
trifle huskily, as Dick had spoken; "nor don't
you go and forget me when you get among the
British arrystocracy."
I should n't forget you, whoever I was among,"
answered his lordship. I 've spent my happiest
hours with you; at least, some of my happiest
hours. I hope you '11 come to see me some time.
I 'm sure my grandpapa would be very much
pleased. Perhaps he '11 write and ask you, when
I tell him about you. You you would n't mind
his being an earl, would you? I mean you would
n't stay away just because he was one, if he invited
you to come ? "

I 'd come to see you," replied Mr. Hobbs,
So it seemed to be agreed that if he received a
pressing invitation from the earl to come and
spend a few months at Dorincourt Castle, he was
to lay aside his republican prejudices and pack
his valise at once.
At last all the preparations were complete;
the day came when the trunks were taken to the
steamer, and the hour arrived when the carriage
stood at the door. Then a curious feeling of lone-
liness came upon the little boy. His mamma had
been shut up in her room for soine time; when
she came down the stairs, her eyes looked large and
wet, and her sweet mouth was trembling. Cedric
went to her, and she bent down to him, and he
put his arms around her, and they kissed each
other. He knew something made them both
sorry, though he scarcely knew what it was; but
one tender little thought rose to his lips.
"We liked this little house, Dearest, did n't
we?" he said. "We always will like it, wont
we ? "
"Yes-yes," she answered, in a low, sweet
voice. Yes, darling."
And then they went into the carriage and Cedric
sat very close to her, and as she looked back out
of the window, he looked at her and stroked her
hand and held it close.
And then, it seemed almost directly, they were on
the steamer in the midst of the wildest bustle and
confusion; carriages were driving down and leav-
ing passengers; passengers were getting into a
state of excitement about baggage which had not
arrived and threatened to be too late; big trunks
and cases were being bumped down and dragged
about; sailors were uncoiling ropes and hurrying to
and fro; officers were giving orders; ladies and
gentlemen and children and nurses were coming
on board,- some were laughing and looked gay,
some were silent and sad, here and there two
or three were crying and touching their eyes with
their handkerchiefs. Cedric found something
to interest him on every side; he looked at the
piles of rope, at the furled sails, at the tall, tall
masts which seemed almost to touch the hot blue
sky; he began to make plans for conversing with
the sailors and gaining some information on the
subject of pirates.
It was just at the very last, when he was stand-
ing leaning on the railing of the upper deck and
watching the final preparations, enjoying the ex-
citement and the shouts of the sailors and wharf-
men, that his attention was called to a slight bustle
in one of the groups not far from him. Some one
was hurriedly forcing his way through this group
and coming toward him. It was a boy, with some-




thing red in his hand. It was Dick. He came up
to Cedric quite breathless.
I 've run all the way," he said. I 've come
down to see ye off. Trade 's been prime! I bought
this for ye out o' what I made yesterday. Ye
kin wear it when ye get among the swells. I
lost the paper when I was trying' to get through
them fellers downstairs. They did n't want to let
me up. It 's a hankercher."
He poured it all forth as if in one sentence. A
bell rang, and he made a leap away before Cedric
had time to speak.
Good-bye he panted. Wear it when ye
get among the swells." And he darted off and
was gone.
A few seconds later they saw him struggle
through the crowd on the lower deck, and rush on
shore just before the gang-plank was drawn in.
He stood on the wharf and waved his cap.
Cedric held the handkerchief in his hand. It
was of bright red silk ornamented with purple
horseshoes and horses' heads.

There was a great straining and creaking and
confusion. The people on the wharf began to
shout to their friends, and the people on the
steamer shouted back:
Good-bye! Good-bye! Good-bye, oldfellow "
Every one seemed to be saying, Don't forget
us. Write when you get to Liverpool. Good-
bye Good-bye "
Little Lord Fauntleroy leaned forward and
waved the red handkerchief.
"Good-bye, Dick!" he shouted, lustily. "Thank
you Good-bye, Dick "
And the big steamer moved away, and the
people cheered again, and Cedric's mother drew
the veil over her eyes, and on the shore there was
left great confusion; but Dick saw nothing save
that bright, childish face and the bright hair that
the sun shone on and the breeze lifted, and he heard
nothing but the hearty childish voice calling
" Good-bye, Dick! as little Lord Fauntleroy
steamed slowly away from the home of his birth
to the unknown land of his ancestors.

(To be contkzzrcd.)


,I. .




'i -= -- little girl with golden hair 1
Was rocking in hergrand-irins li.,r r
i 1 When in there walked a S -r] t_
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-" jt was a Cat with kinky ears '
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'i And very aged for it's years.
The little girl remarked"0 Scat!" ,-
i I think here's nothing strange in h --"
q:, 1 1

ut presently with stealthy tread
The cat, which at her word had fled, ec .,-
SR\eturned with cane, and boots and hrt_ -,1;.
:' ,.-," (1 fear there's something strange in thii) '--
1 .... .


j IL -xcuse me, and he cat bowed low,
I. hate to trouble you, you know,
- i .;" ,I But tell me, have you seen a rat ?'
(';I know there's something strange in that
I ,. -,

he little girl was very shy-
S"Well really I can't say that 1
i, Have seen one lately, Mr Cat:'
I (-I'm sure there's something strange in that)

"- have rt you?" the Cat replied;
Si"'Thanks, I am deeply gratifed.
I 1 really couldn't eat a rat."
.-i ;i(WWe all know what to think of that.)

'IL nd then the Cat with kinky ears
9/ And so much wisdom for its years
/ ,!j retired, with a soft pit-a-pat
I(And that was all there was of that).

N.P Babcock.

r ..,^ ,

L- _
'" _- I




THERE were no Christmas celebrations in my old
Puritan home in Swanzey, such as we have in all
New England homes to-day. No church bells rung
out in the darkening December air; there were no
children's carols learned in Sunday-schools; no
presents, and not even a sprig of box, ivy, or pine
in any window. Yet there was one curious custom
in the old town that made Christmas Eve in many
homes the merriest in the year.
It was the burning of the Christmas candle;
and of this old, forgotten custom of provincial
towns I have an odd story to tell.
The Christmas candle? You may never have
heard of it. You may fancy that it was some beauti-
ful image in wax or like .. i, 1- -i1 iiil, 1 This was not
the case. It was a candle containing a quill filled
with gunpowder, and its burning excited an in-
tense interest while we waited for the expected
I well remember Dipping Candle Day; it was a
very interesting day to me in my boyhood, be-
cause it was then that the Christmas candle was
It usually came in the fall, in the short, lone-
some days of November, just before the new
school-master opened the winter term of the school.
My grandmother brought down from the garret
her candle-rods and poles. The candle-rods were
light sticks of elder, some fifty in number, and the
poles were long pine bars. These poles were tied
two each to two chairs, and the rods, after they
had been wicked, were laid upon them at short
distances apart.
Wicking the candle-rods is a term of which few
people to-day know the meaning. Every country
store in old times contained a large supply of balls
of cotton candle-wick. This wick was to be cut,
put upon the candle-rods, twisted, and tallowed or
waxed, so as to be convenient for dipping.
How many times have I seen my grandmother,
on the longNovember evenings, wicking her candle-
rods! She used to do the work, sitting in her easy-
chair before the great open fire. One side of the
fire-place was usually hung with strings of dried or
partly dried apples, and the other with strings of red
peppers. Over the fire-place were a gun and the
almanac; and on the hearth there were usually, in
the evening, a few sweet apples roasting; and at
one end of it was the dog, and at the other the cat.

Dipping candles would seem a comical sight to-
day. My grandmother used to sit over a great
iron kettle of melted tallow, and patiently dip the
wicks on the rods into it, until they grew to the
size of candles. Each rod contained about five
wicks, and these were dipped together. The proc-
ess was repeated perhaps fifty or more times.
A quill of powder was tied to the wick of the
Christmas candle before dipping, and the wick
was so divided at the lower end that the candle
should have three legs. The young people took a
great interest in the dipping as well as the burn-
ing of the Christmas candle.
My grandmother's candle-rods had belonged to
her grandmother, who had lived in the early days
of the Plymouth Colony. They had been used
since the days of King Philip's war.
There was a story of the dark times of the
Indian war that my grandmother used to relate on
the night that we burned our Christmas candle;
a story that my grandmother told of her grand-
mother, and of the fortunate and timely explosion
of one of that old lady's Christmas candles in
the last days of Philip's war, when the sight of a
hostile Indian was a terror to the unarmed
"It was well that candle went off when it did,"
my grandmother used to say. "If it had not, I
don't know where any of us would have been to-
night; not here, telling riddles and roasting
apples and enjoying ourselves, I imagine. I
have dipped a powder-candle every season since,
not that I believe much in keeping holidays, but
because a powder-candle once saved the family."
She continued her story:
"My grandmother was a widow in her last
years. She had two children, Benjamin and my
mother, Mary. She lived at Pocassett, and the
old house overlooked Mount Hope and the bay.
Pocassett was an Indian province then, and its
Indian queen was named Wetamoo.
My grandmother was a great-hearted woman.
She had a fair amount of property, and she used
it for the good of her less fortunate neighbors.
She had kept several poor old people from the
town-house by giving them a home with her. Her
good deeds caused her to be respected by every
The Indians were friendly to her. She had



done them so many acts of kindness that even the
haughty Wetamoo had once called to see her and
made her a present. The old house was near an
easy landing-place for boats on the bay; and the
Indians, as they came from their canoes, passed
through the yard, and often stopped to drink from
the well. It was no uncommon thing, on a hot
summer's day, to find an Indian asleep in the street
or under the door-yard trees.
"Among the great men of the tribe was an In-
dian named Squammaney; Warmmesley he was
sometimes called -also Warmmesley-Squamma-
ncy. He was a giant in form, but his greatness
among his people arose from his supposed magical
power and his vigorous voice. It was believed that
he could whoop and bellow so loud and long as
to frighten away evil spirits from the sick, so that
the patient would recover. All the Indians regard-
ed old Squammaney with fear and awe, and he
was very proud of his influence over them.
When an 'Indian fell sick, Warmmesley-
Squammaney was called to the bed-side. If old
Warmmesley could not drive the evil spirits away,
the patient believed that he must die.
Squammaney did his supposed duty in such
cases. He was a faithful doctor. He covered
himself with dried skins, shells, and feathers, and
approached the hut of the patient with as mys-
terious and lofty an air as one of the old-time
physicians of the gig and saddle-bags. As he
drew near the hut, he would rattle the dried skins,
and howl. He would look cautiously into the hut,
then run away from it a little distance, leap into
the air, and howl. Then he would cautiously
return, and if the case were a bad one, he would
again run away, leap into the air, and howl. At
last he would enter the hut, examine the sick man
or woman, and utter mysterious cries. He would fix
the mind of the sufferer entirely upon himself by a
kind of mesmeric influence; then he would begin
to move in a circle around the patient, shaking the
dried skins and beads, bobbing his plumes, and
chanting an Indian ditty. Gradually his move-
ments would become more swift; he would howl
and leap, his voice rising higher at every bound;
he would continue this performance until he fell
down all in a heap, like a tent of dried skins. But
by this time the mind of the patient was usually
so withdrawn from his sufferings as to quite forget
them; and consequently it often happened that
the invalid and old Warmmesley-Squammaney
rose up together, and indulged in hand-shaking,
thus concluding an exhibition of some of the re-
markable effects of mesmeric influence, which were
possible in those old times as well as now.
In his peculiar way, old Warmmesley once
cured of rheumatism a Puritan deacon who re-

warded him by calling him a 'pagan.' The deacon
had been confined to his room for weeks. Some
Indians calledto see him, and, pitying his condition,
set off in great haste for Warmmesley. The latter
came, in his dried skins, with his head bristling
with horns and feathers. The astonished deacon
forgot his infirmities at the first sight of the ter-
rible object; and as soon as Warmmesley began
to leap and howl, and shake his beads, shells,
and dried skins, the white man leaped from his
bed, and, running to the barn, knelt down and
began to pray. There his wife found him.
It is old Warmmesley,' said she.
The old pagan said he, rising up. What
was it, Ruth, that was the matter with me ?'
"My grandmother had caught the spirit of
Eliot, the Indian apostle, and she used to hold in
the old kitchen a religious meeting, each week,
for the instruction of the praying Indians' of
the town. The Indians who became Christians
were called 'praying Indians by their own peo-
ple, and came to be so called by the English.
Among the Indians who came out of curiosity,
was the beautiful Princess Amie, the youngest
daughter of the great chief Massasoit, who pro-
tected Plymouth Colony for nearly forty years.
Warmmesley came once to my grandmother's
meetings, and tried to sing. He wished to out-
sing the rest, and he did, repeating over and over
n 'He lub poor Indian in de wood,
An' me lub God, and dat be good;
I 'll praise him two times mo' '

"Just before the beginning of the Indian war,
my grandmother offended Warmmesley. The
English had taught him bad habits, and he had
become a cider drinker. He used to wander about
the country, going from farm-house to farm-house,
begging for 'hard' cider, as old cider was called.
One day my grandmother found him lying in-
toxicated under a tree in the yard, and she forbade
the giving of Warmmesley any more cider from
the cellar. A few days afterward, he landed from
his canoe in front of the grounds, and came to the
workmen for cider. The workmen sent him to
my grandmother.
No, Warmmesley, no more.' said she firmly.
'Steal your wits. Wicked '
Warmmesley begged for one porringer-just
Me sick,' he pleaded.
"'No, Warmmesley. Never. Wrong.'
"' Me pay you! said he, with an evil look in his
eye. 'Me payyou '
Just then a flock of crows flew past. Warm-
mesley pointed to them and said:
"'It's coming-fight-look up there! Ugh,


ugh !'-pointing to the crows. 'Fight English.
Look over'-pointing to the bay-' fight, fight-
mepayyou! Ugh! Ugh!'
My grandmother pointed up to the blue sky,
as much as to say that her trust was in a higher
power than man's.
Warmmesley turned away reluctantly, looking
back with a half-threatening, half-questioning
look, and saying 'Ugh! Ugh!' He evidently
hoped that my grandmother would call him back,
but she was firm.
The upper windows of the old house over-
looked the bay.
It was fall. The maples flamed and the oak-
leaves turned to gold and dust. The flocks of
birds gathered and went their unknown way. The
evenings were long. It was harvest time. The
full moon rose in the twilight, and the harvesters
continued their labors into the night.
"Philip, or Pometacom, was now at Mount
Hope, and Wetamoo had taken up her residence
on the high shores of Pocassett. The hills of
Pocassett were in full view of Mount Hope, and
between lay the quiet, sheltered waters of the bay.
Philip had cherished a strong friendship for Weta-
moo, who was the widow of his brother Alexander.
Night after night the harvesters had noticed
canoes crossing and recrossing the bay, moving
like shadows silently to and fro. The moon
waned; the nights became dark and cloudy; the
movement across the water went on; the boats
carried torches now, and the dark bay became
picturesque as the mysterious lines of light were
drawn across it.
From time to time a great fire would blaze
up near the high rocks at Mount Hope, burn a
few hours, and then fade.
It was whispered about among the English
that Philip was holding war-dances, and that Wet-
amoo and her warriors were attending them. Yet
Philip had just concluded a treaty of peace with
the English, and Wetamoo professed to be a friend
to the Colony.
War came on the following summer, stealthily
at first. Englishmen were found murdered mys-
teriously in the towns near Mount Hope. Then
came the killing of the people in Swanzey as they
were going home from church, about which all the
histories of the Colonies tell; then the open war.
Philip flashed like a meteor from place to
place, murdering the people and burning their
houses. No one could tell where he would next
appear, or who would be his next victim. Every
colonist during the year 1675, wherever he might
be, lived in terror of lurking foes. There were
dreadful cruelties everywhere, and towns and farm-
houses vanished in smoke.

Wetamoo joined Philip. She had some six
hundred warriors. Philip had made her believe
that the English had poisoned her husband Alex-
ander, who was also his brother, and who had
succeeded the good Massasoit. Alexander had
died suddenly while returning from Plymouth, on
the Taunton river. The mysterious lights on the
bay were now explained.
"Before Wetamoo joined Philip, one of her
captains had sent word to my grandmother that,
as she had been a friend to the Indians, she
should be protected.
I have only one fear,' said my grandmother
often, during that year of terror,-' Warmmesley.'
Warmmesley-Squammaney had gone away
with Philip's braves under Wetamoo. He was
one of Wetamoo's captains. Wetamoo herself
had joined Philip like a true warrior queen.
The sultry August of 1676 brought a sense of
relief to the Colonies. The warriors of Philip
were defeated on every hand. His wife and son
were captured, and, broken-hearted, he returned
to Mount Hope-the burial-ground of his race
for unknown generations-to die. Wetamoo,
too, became a fugitive, and was drowned in at-
tempting to cross to the lovely hills of Pocassett
on a raft.
The war ended. Where was Warmmesley-
Squammaney? No one knew. Annawon, Philip's
great captain, had been captured, and nearly all the
principal leaders of the war were executed; but old
Squammaney had mysteriously disappeared.
Peace came. October flamed, as Octobers
flame, and November faded, as Novembers fade,
and the snows of December fell. The Colonies
were full of joy and thanksgivings.
"' I am thankful for one thing more than all
others,' said my grandmothers on Thanksgiving
Day; 'and that is that I amr now sure that old
Squammaney is gone where he will never trouble
us again. I shall never forget his evil eye as he
said, "I will pay you! It has troubled me night
and day.'
"That fall, when my grandmother was dipping
candles, she chanced to recall the old custom of
the English town from which she had come,
of making a powder-candle for Christmas. The
spirit of merry-making was abroad upon the return
of peace, and she prepared one of these curious
candles, and told. her family that they might invite
the neighbors' children on Christmas Eve to see
it burn and explode. The village school-master,
Silas Sloan, was living at the old house, and he
took the liberty to invite the school, which con-
sisted of some ten boys and girls.
Christmas Eve came, a clear, still night, with
a white earth and shining sky. Some twenty or




more people, young and old, gathered in the
great kitchen to see the Christmas candle go off.'
During the early part of the evening 'Si' Sloan
entertained the company with riddles. Then my
grandmother brought in the Christmas candle, an
odd-looking object, and set it down on its three
legs. She lighted it, blew out the other candles,
and asked Silas to tell a story.
Silas was glad of the opportunity to entertain
such an audience. The story that he selected for
this novel occasion was awful in the extreme, such
as were usually told in those times before the
great kitchen fires.
"Silas -' Si, 'as he was called- was relating an
accountofaso-called haunted house, where, accord-
ing to his silly narrative, the ghost of an Indian

Si's narrative that they I l'i i. dared to breathe,
clung to one another with trembling hands as the
dog sent up his piercing cry. Even Si himself
started. The dog seemed listening.
The candle was burning well. The children
now watched it in dead silence.
"A half-hour passed. The candle was burning
within an inch of the quill, and all eyes were bent
upon it. If the candle sputtered, the excitement
became intense. 'I think it will go off in ten
minutes now,' said my grandmother.
There was a noise in the yard. All heard it
distinctly. The dog dashed round the room,
howled, and stopped to listen at the door.
People who relate so-called ghost stories are
often cowardly, and it is usually a cowardly nature



used to appear at the foot of an old woman's bed;
and some superstitious people declared that the
old lady one night, on awaking and finding the
ghostly Indian present, put out her foot to push
him away, and pushed her foot directly fthrolulg
him. What a brave old lady she must have been,
and how uncomfortable it must have been for the
ghost!-But, at this point of Silas's foolish story,
the dog suddenly started up and began to howl.
The children, who were so highly excited over
VOL. XIII.- 12.

that seeks to frighten children. Si' Sloan was
no exception to the rule.
The excitementof the dog at once affected Silas.
His tall, thin form moved about the room cautiously
and mysteriously. He had a way of spreading
apart his fingers when he was frightened, and his
fingers were well apart now.
A noise in the yard at night was not an un-
common thing, but the peculiar cry of the dog
and the excited state of the company caused this


to be noticed. My grandmother arose at last, and,
amid dead silence, opened the shutter.
I think that there is some one in the cider
mill,' said she.
She looked toward the candle, and, feeling
confident that some minutes would elapse before
the explosion, she left the room, and went upstairs,
and there looked from the window.
From the window she could see in the moon-
light, Mount Hope, where Philip had so recently
been killed, and also the arm of the bay, where
Wetamoo had perished. She could see the bay
itself, and must have remembered the lights that
a year before had so often danced over it at night.
She lingered there a moment. Then she called:
Silas Silas Sloan '
Silas hurried up the stairs.
"They both came down in a few minutes.
Silas's face was as white as the snow.
S' What is it?' the children whispered.
There was another painful silence. Grand-
mother seemed to have forgotten the candle. All
eyes were turned to her face.
Then followed a sound that sent the blood
from every face. It was as if a log had been
dashed against the door. The door flew open,
and in stalked two Indians. One of them was
'Ugh! said Warmmesley.
'What do you want ?' demanded my grand-
Me pay you now !-Old Squammaney pay
you. Cider!'
He sat down by the fire, close to the candle.
The other Indian stood by his chair, as though
awaiting his orders. The young children began
to cry, and Silas shook like a man with the
'Me pay you !- Me remember! Ugh !' said
Squammaney. 'Braves all gone. Me have re-
venge-old Squammaney die hard. Ugh! Ugh !'
The door was still partly open, and the wind
blew into the room. It caused the candle to flare
up and to burn rapidly.
"Squammaney warmed his hands. Occasionally
he would turn his head, slowly, with an evil look
in his black eye, as it swept the company.
The candle was forgotten. The only thought
of each one was what Squammaney intended to do.
All the tragedies of the war just ended were
recalled by the older members of the company.
Were there other Indians outside ?
No one dared rise to close the door, or to at-
tempt to escape.
Suddenly Squammaney turned to my grand-
White squaw get cider. Go go '

"The Indians threw open their blankets. They
were armed.
The sight of these armed warriors caused Silas
to shake in a strange manner, and his fear and
agitation became so contagious that the children
began to tremble and sob. When the sound of
distress became violent, Squammaney would sweep
the company with his dark eyes, and awe it into
a brief silence.
My grandmother alone was calm.
"She rose, and walked around the room, fol-
lowed by the eyes of the two Indians.
As soon as the attention of the Indians,
attracted for a moment by the falling of a burnt
stick on the hearth, was diverted from her, she
whispered to Silas :
"' Go call the men.'
The attitude of Silas on receiving this direc-
tion, as she recalled it afterward, was comical
indeed. His hands were spread out by his side,
and his eyes grew white and wild. He attempted
to reply in a whisper, but he could only say:
: Ba-b-b-ba '
Squammaney's eyes again swept the room.
Then he bent forward to push back some coals
that had rolled out upon the floor.
Go call the men,' again whispered my grand-
mother to Silas; this time sharply.
"'Ba-b--b--b-ba!' His mouth looked
like a sheep's. His hands again opened, and his
eyes fairly protruded. His form was tall and thin,
and he really looked like one of the imaginary
specters about whom he delighted to tell stories
on less perilous occasions.
Squammaney heard Grandmother's whisper,
and became suspicious. He rose, his dark form
towering in the light of the fire. He put his hand
on the table where burned the candle. He
turned, and faced my grandmother with an ex-
pression of hate and scorn.
What he intended to do was never known, for
just at that moment there was a fearful explosion.
It was the powder-candle.
A stream of fire shot up to the ceiling. Then
the room was filled with the smoke of gunpowder.
The candle went out. The room was dark.
White man come Run !' my grandmother
heard one of the Indians say. There was a sound
of scuffling feet; then the door closed with a bang.
As the smoke lifted, the light of the fire gradually
revealed that the Indians had gone. They evi-
dently thought that they had been discovered,
pursued, and that the house was surrounded by
"At last my grandmother took a candle from
the shelf and lighted it. Silas, too, was gone.
Whither? Had the Indians carried him away ?



Late in the evening the neighbors began to day, but he never visited the old house again.
come for their children, and were told what had Whatever may have been his real belief in regard
happened. The men of the town were soon under to people of the air, he had resolved never again
arms. But old Warmmesley-Squammaney was to put himself under a roof where he would be
never seen in that neighborhood again, nor was likely to meet Warmmesley-Squammaney.
his fate ever known to the town's-people. That After this strange event, two generations of
was the last fright of the Indian war. grandmothers continued to burn, on each Christ-
Silas returned to the school-room the next mas Eve, the old powder-candle."



ALL the long spring-time it grew and it grew
'Mid the clovers green on the cool hill-crest.
And it smiled at the sun; and it never knew
That it was different from the rest,

Until, one night when the moon had power,
And the rest of the clovers were sleeping fast,
The fairies came at the fairy hour
And spied the leaves as they flitted past.

Swiftly they wove a mystical ring,
And danced and chanted a wonderful spell,
And the four-leaved clover, listening,
Learned the secret of power, and learned it

And, proudly silent, it raised its head
And stood 'mid its three-leaved brotherhood,
And waited for some one, fairy-led,
To find the charm and to prove it good.

It waited bravely and waited long,
Till, all on a golden autumn day,
Sweet Effie, singing a careless song,
Through the hill-side meadow took her way.

Her eyes, like stars in the evening blue,
Were quick as the fire-flies' flashing light;
And she spied the clover where it grew,
And plucked it quickly and held it tight.

Where shall dear Effie her treasure put,
That the charmed spell be not undone?
Shall it be in the leaves of her Bible shut
To wither and dry as time goes on ?

Shall her purse receive it? Thieves may steal!
Or her locket? The slender string may break!
And the sweet girl-heart is quick to feel
That "luck" is naught for her own sole sake.

She looks at her sister's wedding-ring;
Shall she twist it over the circlet fine,
To be of some good and beautiful thing
To the happy young wife a pledge and sign ?

Or, over the door, as a guarding charm,
Shall she fasten it high, that the fairy kin
May hover and watch and keep from harm
All going out and all coming in?

And then, her mind made up, she goes
Across the room where the baby lies,
As fragrant-fair as a new-born rose,
With a world of wonder in his eyes.

She slips the clover into his shoe,
The dear little shoe so soft and small,
And tightly ties the ribbon blue
Round the pink-white ankle,- that is all!

And the clover smiled in its hidden nest,
And it bent itself to its destined task,
To work the spell of the charmed behest;
What better fate could a clover ask?

The baby laughed, and the baby crowed;
And Effie she smiled; and neither knew
The fortunate gift that the leaves bestowed,
Nor all that the fairies meant to do.



LET us have a
game," said Wong
Hay to her play-
mates. "Go, Loy
Yow, andhideyour
So Loy Yow, a
bright, red-cheek-
ed little Chinese
girl,' blinded" her
eyes, and therestof
the players fell into
line with their
hands held open in
cup-shape behind
them, while Wong
Hav circled around
the line lightly touch-
ing the open hands as
she passed, and croon-
ing in a peculiar Chi-
nese sing-song tone
the following little:
game-song, much as i.
American children '
sing, "Tread, tread
the green grass," or -.
"Green gravel, gree .'-
gravel, how green th.. .
grass grows":
"Come, maidens all, and stanI ... -
Put back your flower-like ..I. I
The pledge now flies, it fli. .
To the Eastern land the I ..-.
'Tis the lantern feast! Nin'l. ..
Now, maidens, lift your fkc I. I ..-.



K 4

To Loy Yow, whom they now called
" Hide-Your-Eyes," Wong Hay now sang: "LOY YOW CAME OUT, AND, USING A LC
"Come, thunder-shower, with all your power, TO THE ONE WHOM SHE SUSPECTED OF
And open this four-fingered flower HAVING THE LITTLE PLEDGE."



Meantime, as she sang, she had dropped into one of the hands the little pledge -a thimble or
some little keepsake selected for the occasion, much as American children use a button in a similar
game. At the words, "Maidens, lift your golden-flower hands," as it is literally translated, all the
hands were raised high above their heads, but closely shut, so that none could tell who held the
little pledge.
At the words addressed to Hide-Your-Eyes," Loy Yow came out from the shed, and, using a long stick
as if it were a wand, pointed to the one whom she suspected of having the little pledge.
She was not successful, however, for the hands opened and nothing was found there. So she had to
try it all over; while Wong Hay walked about again, and sang the little oriental melody.
The second time, she looked very closely into the faces of her Chinese playfellows, and she saw so
funny a look on Qui Fah's that she immediately pointed her out. Qui Fah's hands were opened

f? -5~:



amid much laughter and merriment, and there was
the sought-for keepsake! Then they changed
places, and Qui Fah became Hide-Your-Eyes."
Here is the song as it looks written in Chinese;
except that in this instance the Chinese characters
are arranged like English words, so as to read from
left to right, instead of in the Chinese fashion, in
which they are placed so as to be read downward,
beginning at the right upper corner.

(To Hide-Your-Eyes.)


It was a curious picture to see these little Orien-
tals, dressed in their blue blouses and dark, wide-
flapping pantaloons, with their long black hair fall-
ing in a heavy braid carefully pasted back from
the face with a sort of shiny gum-arabic polish, all
playing, with as much freedom and merriment
as any circle of American children, their odd
Chinese version of Button,. button, who has the
button ?"
This game is a popular one among all Chinese
children, but the rhyme changes according to the
different dialects. Here is a translation of the one
presented in the Chinese text taken down exactly
as sung by a little Chinese girl in San Francisco:

Come, maidens all. and stand in line,
'Tis the lan-tern feast! Ninth moon commands

--r-- --f- ..
Put back your flower like hands to mine;
Now, maidens, lift your flower-like hands;

The pledyl nv flies, it flies a way
Come, 1 .-.- ..- shower, with all your power,

To the East-ern land- the land of day.
And o pen this four-fing-ered flower!

Ninth month ninth day indicates a special
fite day in October. A certain flower in China to
which the four-fingered hand is compared, contains
long, ri.. i; Ii I 1, ., which hang down something
like the four fingers. No one but an Oriental would
ever have thought of comparing a hand to a flower.
Among the different dialects is one version of
this little song-a fragment-which is rhythmic-
al and easy to catch, and when rendered into Eng-
lish spelling is something like this:

Pi lan doo, pi lan long, Len doo

-- -CT -s -~
huey, ki ni fong, Hueykue gong, kue gong

yon, Yon me chay, goo li day.

In their own language, Chinese words have
peculiar accents, and it is these accents that make
them sound particularly heathenish to our ears, and
render the Chinese so difficult a language to learn.
But the music of the little croon-song, Pi Lan
Doo," slightly imitates the peculiar Chinese mode
of accenting; and I could imagine it when given
with an accompaniment of cymbals, together with
an eccentric, shrill tin whistle and a drumming on
a heavy board, as conveying a very fair idea of a
Chinese orchestra.
As a song, it can be very easily attempted by
any child there is something catchy and provok-
ing in its meaningless repetition that clings to the
mind, as if it contained some very queer idea in-
deed, and belonged to some very queer race.




ONCE on a time two travelers, in search of a
home, arrived in a country where they had never
been before. It was entirely unlike any land they
had ever seen, though a very beautiful country.
The sun shone bright, birds sang, flowers bloomed
everywhere, there were great groves of tall green
trees, and high mountains, and wide rivers. Smooth
roads led off in all directions.
"Ha!" said the travelers, "this is an easy
country to go about in; with these good roads, it
must be very plain traveling."
The bystanders smiled when they heard the
travelers say this.
Shall we tell them the truth ?" they asked
among themselves.
"No," answered a white-headed man. "It
would not be of the least use. They would not
believe us."
There was one thing in this country which struck
the travelers as very strange. Every one looked
old very old indeed. The new-comers were not
so impolite as to say so, but in their hearts they
Dear what an antiquated set they are They
look as if they had lived here forever."
"Will you not take guides with you?" asked
one of the old men. "If you really think of
settling in this land, they could show you the best
places. Great treasures exist in our country for
people who know how to find them; but great
dangers also, which a stranger might not suppose."
Oh, no; thank you," answered the travelers,
politely. We shall just follow the roads, and go
wherever they lead us. We wish to see the whole
country; and one way will be as good as another."
Just then there stepped up the oddest little
couple, a man and a woman. They were so small,
they looked almost like dwarfs. The man wore
a shining silver helmet, so bright that it seemed
to light up the whole place, even in broad daylight.
And his keen eyes were as bright as his helmet.
The woman was very slender and graceful, and
was dressed all in green. On her head was a
twisted turban of green gauze, partly hiding her
short fair curls. Her rosy little ears were set in
this golden hair, like pink pearls, and her face was
lovely, with its sweet smile and thoughtful look.
She seemed to be listening all the time. And

so she was, for this was Lady Quick Ear, who
could hear the smallest sounds, at a greater dis-
tance than any one else in that country. She had
been noted for this all her life. The little man in
the shining helmet was her husband, Captain
Bright Eyes. When the two were married, every
one said:
"Now, there can not remain anything in the
world worth knowing that these two will not find
out "
And so it proved. There was hardly a day that
one or the other of them did not make some new
and wonderful discovery. They were always to-
gether, and they were always busy, searching,
searching, listening, listening. To and fro they
journeyed, the brightest, happiest couple in all the
land. The real occupation and business of these
serviceable little folk was to go about as guides
and companions, and they were always watching
for strangers who should be eager to see the won-
derful beauties and treasures they had discovered.
They were often saddened by seeing how few peo-
ple really cared for these beauties and treasures.
For most travelers hurried through the country,
and away again, hardly looking at anything. But
sometimes visitors would come who wanted to see
everything that the little guides could show; and
these visitors always went away rich with treasures,
and bearing a lasting affection for Captain Bright
Eyes and his wife.
When the white-haired man who, as I said, was
advising the new-comers, saw Captain Bright Eyes
and Lady Quick Ear coming up, he continued:
Here are the two best guides in all our coun-
try. There is not an inch of it they do not know.
I wish you would be persuaded to engage them.
I assure you their help is invaluable."
Captain Bright Eyes looked steadily at the
strangers, but did not speak. Lady Quick Ear,
also silent, stood with downcast eyes. They never
were known to press their services on any one.
The two travelers whispered together. They had
very odd names, these travelers. One was called
Search Out," and the other, Never Mind."
What a fuss about nothing !" said Never Mind.
"I believe they want to make money out of us;
that 's all."
"I'm not sure," replied Search Out; "they
may be right. I think we 'd better take them
Do as you please," answered Never Mind.





" Throw your money away, if you like. I shall go
by myself, and we '11 see who fares best."
All right," said Search Out, much hurt at his
friend's readiness to part company with him.
" All right; I shall take the guides. Good-bye "
So Search Out set off with Captain Bright Eyes
and Lady Quick Ear, and Never Mind set off
alone on another road, and that was the last they
saw of each other for many a year. How many, I
can not say, because in fairy lands and fairy stories
time is not kept as clocks keep it, nor reckoned as
almanacs reckon it. You see, they had started
out on roads so different and with plans so differ-
ent, that there was not one chance in a million of
their coming together anywhere, and the odd thing
was that they really did meet at the same place
where they had parted. And there was a crowd
of bystanders, as at their first coming. Not the
same ones; most of the old, white-haired people
were gone; but other patriarchs had taken their
places. In this country the inhabitants were all
the time changing, the old disappearing, the
young turning old, and new ones becoming known.
It happened, that on this day, when the half-for-
gotten travelers returned, two strangers had just
arrived (as Search Out and Never Mind themselves
had arrived, a lifetime or so before), seeking a
home, and anxious to explore the new country. It
seemed to these strangers that every one was
watching for something to happen.
"What are you all waiting here for?" they
"There is to be a grand ceremony, presently,"
was the answer. We are to welcome the distin-
guished traveler, Search Out, who has been ex-
ploring our country for a long time, and who is
coming back laden with treasures of all sorts.
Discoveries so grand as his have never before been
made. We shall welcome, also, the two guides who
have accompanied him everywhere. They-- "
At that moment, a burst of music was heard,
and the head of the procession came in sight.
There sat Search Out in a beautiful chariot drawn
by four milk-white horses. With him were Cap-
tain Bright Eyes and Lady Quick Ear. Captain
Bright Eyes' silver helmet flashed in the sunlight,
and Lady Quick Ear's green gauze turban looked
as bright as young birch-leaves in spring. Behind

them came a long train of wagons, laden with
the treasures they had brought.
When the procession stopped, Search Out stood
up in the chariot and made a speech to the people.
He told where they had been; how they had dis-
covered mountains of gold and silver and precious
stones; .il. where all sorts of grain grew
higher than men's heads; plains with natural oil-
wells to supply fuel and light; seas full of soft,
furry creatures; and forests of rare woods.
" Plenty for everybody and to spare," he said.
" There can not be another country so rich as
this in all the universe."
As he finished speaking, Captain Bright Eyes
pointed out to him a miserable, ragged fellow in
the crowd.
There," he said, is the friend who came to
this country with you. He seems not to have
Search Out looked. It was, indeed, his old com-
rade, Never Mind, so aged, so altered by suffering
and poverty as hardly to be recognized.
The next day, when the two new travelers, who
had seen this spectacle and had heard reports of
Search Out's discoveries, were about to set off on
their own journey, there came up to them an old
white-haired man, and said, as the other old man
had said a lifetime or so before to Search Out and
Never Mind:
Will you not take guides with you? If you
really mean to settle here, they could show you the
best places. We have great treasures, as you
have seen, but dangers exist also, which a stranger
might not suspect. Captain Bright Eyes and
Lady Quick Ear are here still. If you take them
along, you will not regret it."
While these words were being spoken, Captain
Bright Eyes and Lady Quick Ear stood by, silent,
They looked not a day older than when they had
gone with Search Out.
Oh, nonsense said one of the strangers.
We don't want any guides. We can follow the
beaten path."
To be sure," said the other. In a country
with such roads as these, who wants guides ? "
So they set off alone, and were never heard of



IT was a cold, gray Saturday afternoon. There
were clouds of snow in the sky, and plenty
of snow already fallen on the earth, while the
woods seemed frozen as stiff as ship-masts. Ollie
Phipp was at home with something the matter;
the girls of the neighborhood were doing crochet-
ing, so cheerless was it out of doors; and Nick
Woolson, who, if given freedom, never staid in the
house except to eat and sleep, was out, you may
be sure, and wondering what sort of fun could turn
up with so little to do, and so few to help him
do it.
He could go to the barn, of course, and look at
the cows out of the corners of his eyes, and grin
a little because they were having a rather more
stupid time than he was; or he could go to the
cellar and get an ice-cold apple to chew, which
was n't a bit warmer on the red side than on the
yellow; and he could get some hazel-nuts from the
darksome attic, and easily spend two hours in ex-
tracting the meat from a handful of them.
He had taken his sled out with him, however; and
a savage, hard, heavy little sled it was. Just now
its sharp runners poked at his rubber boots threaten-
ingly, as much as to say that, if he abandoned it
for any other sport, there might be a future tumble
on snow or ice to punish him. So Nick gave his
sled a jerk by the cord in response, leaving no doubt
that he was master of that impertinent plaything,
although he considered and met its demands; and
off he sauntered up the highway.
It would have been impossible for Nick not to
come upon something to do, after starting off into
the world outside his father's gate in this trusting
manner. It was delightful to have no notion what
his occupation was to be, and yet to be sure that
it was coming on from before or behind, or from one
side or the other. It was not likely to come from
his own brain, for he had no definite plan nor fancy
as to how it would be jolly to pass the time from

now until supper. Of course, there was his sled.
Perhaps it would be well to bring his sled into con-
junction with a hill. The image of a very steep
and-from the top -an inviting hill came to Nick's
inner vision, and he began to wonder whether it was
well covered with snow, and whether the snow there
had frozen as stiff as everywhere else. It would be
very lonely, if he went to that hill to coast all by
himself. No one ever went there, except in summer
to cut hay if they could, in spite of the seven-
league-booted grasshoppers. The gate and wood-
path leading toward the hill of which Nick was
thinking suddenly presented themselves at the side
of the road, and Nick marched directly toward them
with a dogged thud of his rubber ankles, as they
struck together in a fashion denoting dauntless re-
solve. A delicious cold chill passed over his heart as
he realized that the real Nick Woolson was carrying
off the timid Nick Woolson, with the intention of
making him play in as lonely a spot as the country
could boast. The hill shone like silver and gold
in the afternoon sun, and shadowed away toward
the valley and the neighboring woods with great
blue spaces that looked like lakes of magic water.
After he had advanced some distance, Nick turned in
a circle, and in every direction he beheld a pict-
ure of stillness. He pulled off one of his mittens
and felt in an inner pocket of his coat for his par-
ticular treasure, for which he had bartered a poc-
ket-knife, with one blade missing. It was a small
china Buddha, about an inch and a quarter high,
and as ugly as Buddha knows how to be. He
touched the little idol's smooth surface, and his too
great loneliness was banished.
It seemed all a dream while Nick was floating
down the icy hill-side on his sled so fast that the
trees left behind him in the distance were like vague
memories of trees dancing a horn-pipe to keep
their toes warm. But it did not seem as if he had
ever dreamed in his life when it came to climbing



the hill again, after his dizzy rush; for he had to
break a hole into the hard snow every time he
planted his foot, and then had to wrench his heavy
sled with force after him, or coast to the foot of the
hill on his back, whichever he preferred. Nick
thought of going home, when he had nearly
reached the top. But as soon as he found him-
self safe and sound on the summit, he sat right
down on his sled and skimmed away to the blue
valley sea. As he flew down-hill a second time, he
thought to himself that he was contented with being
a boy. He sat still in the valley for moment, appar-

nerves must have been superbly steady to allow of
his indifference. But who ever arrived at the real
feelings of a fox? As Nick looked up at the top
of the hill from which he had descended, reluct-
antly viewing the steep distance he would be
obliged to climb if he wanted another swallow's
flight, he described a being standing there, very
much like a sturdy young man with a small bag in
his hand. He shouted down to Nick:
"Fine coast !"
Nick grinned, and forgot to answer.
Give us your sled a minute called the young

'~ IvI P fj


I; -I

''--i .L
"Y. ~ ~
:I fiV

h i



ently knowing that a fox was about to steal with a man again, using his disengaged hand as a speak-
springing tread across an open space, turning his ing-trumpet.
fat cheeks full upon Nick, and wearing an expres- Nick thought there was something wanting to
sion of countenance which seemed to say that, this proposal, and refrained from answering until
of the two, Nick was immeasurably the less safe. he had reconciled himself to its absence. The hill
Considering that Nick looked very queer, with a was certainly high.
gayly striped scarf wound about his ears, the fox's 'I'll--tell-you what-we'lldo,-if-you'll-


come up here!" the distant figure hallooed, not
abashed by the youngster's still sitting quietly
astride of his sled. But Nick did not move, after
all, and the young man sat down on the snow to wait
until the boy thought fit to respond. The inaction
which ensued was distasteful to Nick, and he began
the difficult ascent, and arrived, puffing for breath.
The young man let him rest for a moment, during
which the two eyed each other, and then he asked:
What on earth made you come to this solitary
spot ? "
Nick wound his sled-rope around and around
his finger, and replied:
What made you come ? "
"'Why, I 'm going over to the pond, for a
Nick looked longingly at the coarse linen bag.
Do they ever skate on the pond! he asked,
as if he knew they never did.
Once in five years, if they 're willing to have
a delightful time," said the young man. "It is
frozen over this year, I hear, and I mean to try it.
But give me your sled, first; I wish to recall old
"Not that way cried Nick, as the young man
laid himself flat on the sled, which disappeared
under his tall figure. This iced snow will carry
you like fury, and you '11 be smashed to nothing! "
The young man looked up with one sparkling eye.
It 's worth .. I ,"he answered, and was
off. Nick reflected coldly, that in case the sled
and its rider were lost to the world in a mingled
mass of bones and splinters, at any rate he could
go skating on the skates next day. But the
young man had no sooner reached the base of the
slope, having guided himself in a masterly way
with his toes, than he picked himself up, and
strode up the glistening surface. Nick had never
seen so agile and delightful a giant.
Thanks, old fellow," said the young man, not
caring to sit down to rest, but taking up his skate-
bag with a sweep of the arm. "Follow me, and I '11
carry you all over the pond on your sled, as I skate.
It will be the finest half hour you ever spent."
Nick was of the same opinion.
Oh, what fun he exclaimed, trudging be-
side his new friend (for from that instant he looked
upon him as a friend). "Where did you come
from? "
Oh, I 'm a college man sojourning in the coun-
try for a little while! And the young man smiled.
"I've been here before, and I know about the
resources of this pond. You see, there 's going to
be a sunset soon, now, and then the young moon;
and it will be lovely out there, depend upon it.
We '11 get home to supper by seven, I think."
Nick's heart bounded. Here was a real under-

taking! He skipped along, heavy as his rubber
boots were supposed to be.
They wont be anxious, will they ? asked the
young man kindly.
I suppose they may," Nick thoughtfully re-
sponded, "but I think it will hardly do them
much harm ; and I think it would make me ill to
go home without having all this lark. A person
must consider himself, now and then."
Right you are assented the young man, as
if he repeated the same motto to himself every
hour of the day. So that point was settled.
The fir-trees were laden with firm snow, and
were very much like marble trees that had notbeen
quite quarried out of the earth, for their lower
branches and the bent tops of the bushes were still
fastened beneath the white surface. The pedes-
trians often burst the fetters of the snow-shackled
branches as they passed, either by too near a step,
or, apparently, by merely breaking the dead still-
ness with their distant foot-falls. The very birds,
overtaken at long intervals, seemed dumb as fancies;
and once a hidden tread of some wild thing passing
along in the obscurity of the underbrush and the
clustered tree-trunks, sounded like the passing of
a huge animal, which Nick's companion thought
likely to be a lioness escaped from the menagerie
which had lately been spilled on the railroad track.
Several animals were said to have been lost.
Nick thought he never should be more excited or
wonderfully jubilant than he began to be now. To
be sure, he stepped along with the persuasion that
each moment might be his last in this world, and
he glanced now and then at his companion's big
figure with pleasure in the sense of its protective
power. But he really enjoyed the great danger
in which his companion allowed the lad to imagine
himself. And when one is enjoying a danger, pray
what is there to worry about ? Whereas, to enjoy
a pleasure often means to dread its consequences.
Suddenly the great pond, or lake, as some called
it, lifted itself up before them, black as night in its
white and black rim of snow and fir-trees. While
the sun cast an orange light over one side of the
sky, against which the woods reared their pinna-
cles, Nick's new friend hurried on his skates, and
slid off on the ice. He sailed about for a minute
or two, and then came back to the pond's edge.
.... i ?" said he.
Nick left land on his sled at once, the young
man caught the rope, and away they all shot,-
skates, sled, young man, and Nick in bliss.
So wildly fast flew the collegian that, with a
whizzing touch here and there of Nick's skillful
heels, the sled never swerved to right or left.
Every little while the young man would turn his
head far enough to say:




Jolly fun, eh? or, Glad you tried it?" or,
"All right? "
And Nick would shout back, rapturously: "Fun,
and no mistake! Go on! "
The ice had frozen suddenly, and in clear
weather, so that hardly a dash of white broke
the extraordinary blackness beneath them, which
was splendidly terrifying. To float over what he
knew was almost endless depth, as if it were water
in a still but liquid state, made Nick's hair curl
over, and his heart warm within him. Great
gulping reports flew back and forth through the
pond, as they scudded on, as though it were
laughing, and would soon immerse them in a
dangerous smile from its parted surface. Once
the young collegian flew toward the center of the
pond, wishing to cross by a central route; but
somehow he switched aside just in time. Why?
Oh, because the ice did not quite reach from shore
to shore, so very deep were the waters. Nick
guffawed with surprise, and a rejoicing that he still
lived. Boom! gulp! went the cracking stretches
about them; whir went the sled; click! went the
skates; boom went the lake, again. The moon was
suddenly looking at them, slender and silveryin the
immense, sparkling heaven. But Nick could never
have enough of such pastime as this. As he sat on
his sled, behind the never-tiring youth who faith-
fully held the cord, he almost believed he had come
to a land of magic, and would never cease flying.
He reflected that if he put his hand into his pocket,
now, to feel Buddha's smooth hooded crown, he
would find the sage gone. He could not really be
Nick Woolson any more, nor his coat his.
Tired?" called back the young man.
Nick gasped with astonishment.
"I?- not if I know myself! Which was, as
has been seen, by no means a certainty. But ex-
pressions mattered less now than usual.
And on they flew. And then they stopped.
The young man dropped the sled-cord, and drew
a deep breath. Nick laughed. It seemed to indi-
cate just what they both felt so well that the col-
legian grinned, in a benevolent way.
This is a perfect cove we 're in," he said.
"You sit still, and I '11 show you some patterns."
With these words he revolved and revolved, first
in one style and then in another, with nervous
turns ending in graceful sweeps. Nick's eyes were
fastened upon him in a fascinated manner.
All at once a terrible sensation pervaded Nick's
being. He no longer had a moment's doubt as to
his existing in a downright world, with Buddha
occupying his pocket. He was hungry. And
there were two miles and a half of snow to strug-
gle over before he could get anything to eat. He
never carried food in his pocket, for a reason easily

guessed. He found that he could never resist
_ .LI..1;,, it up.
"Tired?" again asked the -..11 i ., knowing
with the penetration of youth that something had
come over Nick.
"Oh, no But I wish we were at home, and
had one of mother's apple-pies !"
"And a good glass of creamy milk, too, would
suit me," said the collegian.
"And you ought to try the doughnuts Nick
exclaimed, as if he were about to hand them across
a table.
"And some steaming tea in an old-fashioned
tea-cup," added the stranger.
And Johnny-cake," said Nick.
They might have known better! Two more
restless, desperate creatures than they were not to
be found anywhere in the vicinity, after calmly
calling up before them food that could not really
be tasted.
I think we must be going home, at all
events," concluded Nick's companion.
Up jumped Nick immediately.
To iy home," he said. My mother always
likes to have me bring my friends home; and
she gives them the best she has. I have school-
.mates whose mothers never let them invite any-
They were well on their way by this time, and
Nick's new friend cheerily replied:
I like you better now than I did to begin with,
and you seemed a fine little chap then. Go home
to supper with you? I would n't miss it for the
world! "
They chatted busily, hardly daring to stop a
moment, lest the pangs of famine should make
them speechless forever after. Nick's head swam
around, until his nose seemed facing the pond,
he was in such a faint hurry. His sled was
very heavy and cross, and he wished it were good
to eat.
At last-it is marvelous how soon that distant
time of at last comes about Nick shouted:
There 's Mother's and he ran in at the gate.
The stranger followed, bound simply upon hon-
est amusement, and wisely setting aside annoying
scruples. The result was that he and every one
else were very jolly and sociable.
Mrs. Woolson had been very much frightened,
for Nick was particularly careful to be on time
for meals, although he never could guess correctly
about school-hours. His father had laughed the
matter off at supper, and remarked that Nick was
growing older, and would soon begin to do all sorts
of surprising things. If it were summer-time now,
he said, he should have supposed the boy had run
away to sea, as he had tried to do himself. But none



of the females of the household were mystified by
the good farmer's philosophical behavior, for they
knew very well that Mr. Woolson's only son was his
daily comfort and delight, and that he was a little
anxious at Nick's absence.
When Nick entered out of the bleak evening
air, Mrs. Woolson probably had a vague sense of
astonishment that a tall figure should be looming
up behind him, as if her son had brought his
future manhood along, having come across it on
his winter ramble. But she would not have greatly
minded if Nick had brought twenty men at his
back, so long as he came himself,
as round and rosy as ever, and
merrier than she had seen him in
all his life.
Oh, Mother, I hope you kept
supper for us. We've had such a
glorious time! But/Sungry! -oh!"
"Nick," whispered his sister
Elspeth, who is this? ",
Oh, I don't know his name.
Mother, I don't know what his /
name is, but this is a new friend
I've met to day, and brought to .
tea; I told him you were always 'i
jolly about my doing so."
Mrs. Woolson was evidently '
suppressing several emotions, from .
laughter to ejaculations of dismay; "
and Elspeth was leaning up against
the entry-wall, with eyes fixed upon
the new-comer.
"Glad to see you!" said Mr.
Woolson, holding out his hand to
the collegian as his deep voice re-
verberated up. the stairs and
through all the bedrooms (for the
house had always been too small
for his height and breadth).
We've been a-waitin' for you
quite a while, sir! "AWAY -T
Everybody laughed right out,
and the young man joined in as he shook hands,
and then slapped his knee.
Thank you, sir! he answered. That 's the
best welcome I ever had, for I never deserved any
so little. My name is Fairfax, and by profession I
am a student, and we '11 tell you the rest when --"
but, by this time, Elspeth was bustling about and
Mrs. Woolson was sitting at the tea-tray. Mr. Fair-
fax was made to feel perfectly at home, and had
his tea from an old-fashioned cup,-one of those
which Mrs. Woolson valued as highly as she did
the memories of her wedding year; for Nick
had rattled out a great many pieces of information
instead of breathing (so it seemed), and among

the first of them had announced Mr. Fairfax's
love of old porcelain.
The two famished persons ate and ate; and
when they wanted a particularly unwarrantable
relay of any good thing on the table, they would
spin a wilder yarn than before about their exploits;
and then pass their plates; and while Elspeth's
gray eyes were stretched at their widest and her
mouth was silently opened in admiring delight, she
would heap up chicken and butter, or carve a
huge ungeometrical portion of apple-pie. And Mrs.
Woolson shook the tea-pot frantically for the fifth

.I U

lf c'.P


time; while cousin Dabby Larkin tipped up the
milk-pitcher at Nick's glass so often that, as she
said afterward, she "would n't have been inside
his jacket for twopence "
What an evening it was How Mr. Fairfax was
taken into the midst of the Woolson heart, for be-
ing the dear, downright, roguish fellow that he
was! Nick felt as if he had returned from a long
journey. He was never quite the same boy after-
ward, although his life seemed just the same.
But it is good to feel that one has changed.
Inside there, where one's thoughts wake up, and
sometimes will appear to be a little too much like
rows and rows of twins. It was good for Nick



to feel that he cared more for the great pond
than he had cared yesterday for swapping strings
for empty physic-bottles, which was then the
most exciting thing he had experienced. Not
that he could ever despise strings and bottles,
but he realized that there was something higher
and larger than either of those interesting inven-
When Mr. Fairfax was ready to start back to
the village, a fine snow was falling, which was the
beginning of a long storm; and Nick never had
another chance of stepping upon the pond
in winter. But, until he returned to college, Mr.
Fairfax often walked to the farm for a chat with
the Woolsons. In the whole course of his life

Nick never forgot the pleasures which this young
man had brought in his wake. But if he felt that
an enchanting outlook had been given, once for
all, to his quiet existence through his glimpse of
a wonder of nature in company with some one
from a gayer sphere than his own, Mir. Fairfax, on
his side, often remembered, when feeling lost in
the wide world, that he had a true young friend un-
der the apple-trees, whose honest eyes and dauntless
figure had once captivated him in the most unex-
pected way. Two people can not strike hands
cordially,- without a shadow of disagreeable
reserve,-and not gain from each other some-
thing, and, perhaps, even the most treasured in-
fluence of their lives.

(A Series qf Brief Papers concerning ike Great .ilsicians.)



Leipzig, May 22, 1813. Great, as critic, poet,
and musician, the life of no composer offers a
more fascinating history than does his, from the
moment that his mission first shaped itself in his
mind until the final triumph of his hopes.
His parents were people in moderate circum-
stances; his father, a policeman, died when the
child was a baby. His step-father, Ludwig Geyer,
an actor and painter, wished to make a painter of
little Richard, but the child showed no taste for
that art. Geyer died when Richard was in his
seventh year, and when his mother told him
that his step-father had hoped he would be some-
thing, he was much moved, and as he himself re-
lates, "'then I too thought I should be something."
When he was nine, he went to school, where he
was-the despair of the teacher who instructed him
in music; he paid no attention to his practicing,
but seized every opportunity of repeating the mel-
odies that he had heard, especially those of Der
Freischiitz," which had already kindled his power-
ful imagination. Ancient history, mythology,
Greek and Latin were his favorite studies, but his
heart was really .in none of these, for he had a
secret aim which absorbed all his thoughts and
feelings- he was a poet! In his eleventh year, he
won a prize for the best poem on a dead school-
mate, and soon after this he translated the first
twelve books of the Odyssey. He taught himself
English, and immediately became so absorbed

in Shakespeare that he decided to write a tragedy.
For two long years he toiled, and during this
period he contrived to kill off forty-two people in
his drama. He was forced to relent, however, and
to recall them as ghosts in the last act in order to
have performers enough to play the parts. Mean-
time he had left Dresden, where he had been
living, and entered a school at Leipzig, but he had
so neglected his studies for musical composition,
that he was put back a class; this so discouraged
him that he gave himself entirely to his tragedy.
When he had nearly finished it, he first heard
Beethoven's music. This had so strong an influ-
ence over him that he determined to set his tragedy
to music, and purchased a book on thorough-bass
to prepare himself for his task. So fascinated did
he become with the study, that he determined to
be a poet no longer, but that music should have
the devotion of his life. When his family learned
of his tragedy, they were much troubled, for they
felt it was the cause of his backwardness at school;
but when they found him to be writing music, they
were in despair, for they believed it to be nothing
more than a fancy, and that it might do the
boy great harm. He was not to be discouraged,
however, and composed in secret. But at last he
was placed under the instruction of Theodore
Weinlig, a man steeped in the spirit of "Father
Bach," who put him through a six months' study
of counterpoint. Now he learned and loved
Mozart, but Beethoven's wonderful strains held his
heart by day and night.
In I .4.1. 1. ..:: i'' .1 a position as conductor in the



Magdeburg theater, where he only remained a year.
Filled with the music of Beethoven's symphonies,
most of what he heard seemed dull and trivial, and
he determined to write an opera; he worked with
the greatest enthusiasm, and in 1839 he started for
Paris to produce his Rienzi." In company with
his wife he embarked on a sailing vessel bound for
London; the voyage was long and tedious, doubly
so to Wagner, whose heart was beating with love
for his opera, and who could scarcely wait to hear
it sung. While on the sea his thoughts ran largely
on the legend of the "Flying Dutchman "-the
man who is doomed to wander forever over the sea,
an exile from home and all he holds most dear.
The story fascinated Wagner, for he too felt far
from home. Arriving at Paris, he found that it
was impossible to have his opera produced, even
though Meyerbeer interested himself in it. After
many struggles and disappointments, he felt there
was no hope for him in Paris, and his heart turned
again to Germany. A deep longing for the father-
land possessed him ; he determined to write a great
work, which should be worthy to be sung there. As
he sought for a subject on which to found his opera,
he remembered the story of the "Flying Dutch-
man." He took this for his theme, and into it he
poured all the homesickness of his own soul.
While composing it, he was obliged to support
himself by writing popular operettas, but he was
content to do this, for he was working with a high
purpose. After finishing the work, he sent it to
Leipzig and Munich, where it was rejected. Great
as this blow was to him, he was somewhat en-
couraged on hearing that his "'Rienzi," through
Meyerbeer's influence, had been accepted at Berlin.
He now set out for Germany, and as he looked
down into the Rhine the tears swam in his eyes,
and poor artist as I was," he says, "I swore to
be true to the fatherland." His life shows how
true he was to his vow. His one dream and ambi-
tion was to build up German art. The German
stage had long played only French and Italian
operas, but he determined to give it a German
opera, that the country which had produced a
Bach, a Mozart, and a Beethoven should no longer
turn to any other country for its opera. He reached
Germany filled with this high resolve ; this alone
he determined to live for-if need be, to die for.
In 1842 Rienzi," and in 1843 Tannhauser,"
were given at Dresden ; but, though they were re-
ceived at first with great enthusiasm, the public
neither appreciated nor understood them, and
Wagner felt there was no hope for him even in the
German theater. The aim of the stage was not
high,-indeed, it had no aim; and Wagner, in
disgust at its frivolity, wrote a series of articles
against it, which drew upon him a bitter opposition,

and gained him many enemies. In the revolution
of 1848, he was obliged to flee from Berlin and seek a
refuge in Paris. While there, Liszt-who was living
at Weimar-secured the production there of Wag-
ner's "Lohengrin," and Wagner now no longer
felt the pang of exile, for his opera had found a
home on German soil. And soon a greater hap-
piness was to be his. On his return to Germany,
King Ludwig had just ascended the throne of
Bavaria ; and one of the first acts of the young
prince was to hold out a helping hand to Wagner.
He bade him write, and assured him of the royal
protection and help,--a royal promise, and
royally kept; for, from that time, the prince and
the musician were the closest friends. Wagner
took up his residence at Munich, where he devoted
himself to writing, and determined to build a
theater of his own, for only in such a house could
his operas be correctly interpreted. To under-


stand why this -was necessary, we must glance at
_- ij-

some of Wagner's views on art.
In the Italian and French operas, which, until
Wagner's day, had been played throughout Ger-
many, the hole stores s is laid o the arias which the
various artists are to sing. People go to such an
opera to be amused, and, after hearing it, give no
thought to the libretto nor to the composer, but
talk only of the singers' voices; the opera itself is
of little consequence; the people are only con-
cerned with the singers. The artists themselves
look upon the operas simply as opportunities to
show their voices to the best possible advantage.




Wagner believed that an opera should have a
noble aim. So in everything he has given us,
there is some divine struggle going on between the
characters of right and wrong, in which the right
triumphs. As the contest progresses, we ourselves
are lost in the characters before us, our noblest
feelings are aroused and strengthened. Wagner
believed, furthermore, that the subject and words
of an opera were not less important than the
music; and he has expended as much of his
own spirit in writing the librettos of his operas
as he has poured into his music. No note of the
music is for show; every one interprets some word
or idea that is in the words; and every thought
and act of the character is interpreted in the music,
even if it be so insignificant a circumstance as
jumping up a bank or running down a flight of
steps. The performers, too, are expected to love
their work, and to sink themselves in their parts;
they must cease to be themselves and be the char-
acters they represent. So that in one of Wagner's
operas, every one, down to the smallest person con-
nected with it, is necessary to its production; poet,
musician, artists, orchestra,-all are great, for each
can say, "but for me this could not be In order
to accomplish his ideas, Wagner decided to build
in the heart of Germany a theater in which a
yearly festival should be held, and where German
opera should be sung by German artists, so that
the people who came thither from all Germany
should know at last that Germany, too, had
its opera. He addressed a circular to all in
sympathy with him, for help; Wagner societies
were formed throughout Germany and other
countries for the purpose of contributing money to
his project; and, in 1872, the corner-stone was laid
at Bayreuth, with an address by Wagner and a per-
fect rendering of the Ninth Symphony. In i ,
the theater was finished, and at last the great com-
poser had carried out all his aims. The theater is
very plain; there is no ornamentation within to
distract the eye from the stage, and everything is
sacrificed to the opera itself.
Wagner now settled at Bayreuth in a beauti-
ful house given him by the King -of Bavaria.
Within, one is constantly reminded of the com-
poser's work; a beautiful frieze in one of the halls
is covered with pictures from his opera of the
';-l..i.:I.n ";. his dogs were called Frigga,
Freya, and Wotan, after characters in his works,
and a son was named Siegfreid, after one of his
famous heroes.

In 1882 Wagner's last opera was produced. In
this opera of "Parsifal," his aims are carried to
the highest point; the opera is religious in its tone,
and those who listened to it felt as if they were
listening to a religious service. So 1i. ....., _-i1i was
this Wagner's intention that he left explicit injunc-
tions that nowhere outside of Bayreuth should the
opera be produced. In the summer of 1882, he
took a trip through Italy; while at Venice he com-
plained of feeling ill, and suddenly died of heart
disease, February 13, 1883.
Few in any art have had a loftier or nobler
career than Richard Wagner. Had he not been
a great musician he would undoubtedly have been
a poet; but music took him to herself. With
noble aims, he battled against all that was low
and false in art. Though tried by poverty and
persecution, he remained faithful to his highest
convictions. He was one of the rare souls who

Thought it happier to be dead,
To die for beauty than live for bread."

In reading the lives of these masters "From Bach
to Wagner," we find there are a few threads that
bind them all together. Perhaps that which has
impressed us most deeply is the sorrow that most
of them were called on to suffer. And yet through
all, how loyal they remained to their art, cherishing
it like the very lamp of life when all else was dark
about them To Beethoven it was friends, to
Mozart it was food, to Schubert it was life. So
far from feeling that genius gave them a right to
shirk labor, they thought it laid them under bonds
to dedicate their lives to it-from Bach, who has
taught every musician who succeeded him, to
Wagner, who felt that he had a message for the
whole world. Nor can we who wish to interpret
the music of such men succeed solely by drudging
at the piano, great as that toil is, but we must
throw our whole heart into the music. Play as
you feel," said Chopin; but if one feels nothing,
how can one really play? So we must cultivate
ourselves in every direction, educating ourselves
in every department of study, and in music espe-
cially by hearing the best music rendered by the
best performers, by listening to the symphonies
and solos at the Symphony and Philharmonic con-
certs or rehearsals, the oratorios given by Oratorio
Societies, and the operas as we may have the
opportunity. It were worth all this and more, far
more, to draw music from the piano.





IN Holland, children set their shoes,
This night, outside the door;
These wooden shoes Knecht Clobes* sees,
And fills them from his store.

But here we hang our stockings up
On handy hook or nail;
And Santa Claus, when all is still,
Will plump them, without fail.

Speak out, you Sobersides," speak out,
And let us hear your views;
Between a stocking and a shoe,
What do you see to choose?

One instant pauses Sobersides,
A little sigh to fetch-
" Well, seems to me a stocking's best,
For wooden shoes wont stretch! "

[A Historical Biograpfly.]




IN 1732, when people spoke of Virginia, they
meant commonly so much of the present State as
lies between Chesapeake Bay and the Blue Ridge
mountains. In the valley of the Shenandoah
River, just beyond the first range of mountains,
there 'were a few families, chiefly Irish and Ger-
man, who had made their way southward from
Pennsylvania; the Governor of Virginia, too, was
at this time engaged in planting a colony of
Germans in the valley. Still farther to the
westward were a few bold pioneers, who built their
log-cabins in the wilderness' and lived by hunting
and fishing. No one knew how far Virginia
stretched; the old charters from the King had
talked vaguely about the South Sea, meaning by
that the Pacific Ocean ; but the country beyond the
mountains had never been surveyed and scarcely
even explored. The people who called themselves
Virginians looked upon those who lived beyond
the Blue Ridge very much as nowadays persons
on the Atlantic coast look upon those who settle
in Dakota or Montana.
Down from these mountains came the streams
which swelled into rivers,- the Potomac, the Rap-
pahannock, the York, and the James, with their
countless branches and runs and creeks. Look at
any map of eastern Virginia and see what a long

coast line it has, what arms of the sea stretch in-
land, what rivers come down to meet the sea, and
what a network of water-ways spreads over the
whole country. You would say that the people
living there must be skillful fishermen and sailors,
that thriving seaport towns would be scattered
along the coast and rivers, and that there would
be great shipyards for the building of all kinds
of vessels.
But in 1732 there were no large towns in Vir-
ginia- there were scarcely any towns at all. Each
county had a county-seat, where were a court-
house and a prison, and an inn for the convenience
of those who had business in court; usually there
was a church, and sometimes a small country
store ; but there were no other houses, and often
the place was in the middle of the woods. The
capital of Virginia-- '.' 11, l,,-I.. had less
than two hundred houses; and Norfolk, the
largest town, at the head of a noble harbor,
had a population of five thousand or so. A few
fish were caught in the rivers or on the coast, but
there was no business of fishing; a few boats plied
from place to place, but there was no ship-building,
and the ships which sailed into the harbors and up
the rivers were owned elsewhere, and came from
England or the other American colonies. There
were no manufactures and scarcely a trained me-
chanic in the whole colony. Yet Virginia was the
most populous and, some thought, the richest of
the British colonies in America. In 1732 she had

*The Dutch Santa Claus.


half a million inhabitants,- more than twice as
many as New York at that time.
Where were the people, then, and what were they
doing ? They were living in the country, and raising
tobacco. More than a hundred years before, the
first Englishmen who had come to Virginia had
found that they could raise nothing which was so
much wanted in England, and could bring them

pleasure was, and sometimes wished the weed had
never been discovered. The King of England did
not like it, and he wrote a book to dissuade people
from the use of tobacco; but every one went on
smoking Virginia tobacco as before.
The company which sent colonists to Virginia
promised fifty acres to any one who would clear the
land and settle upon it; for a small sum of money

* '.

NV -.




-'V .

--,.~ Y. -

so much money, as tobacco. Besides, these Eng-
lishmen had not been mechanics or fishermen or
sailors in England; they had for the most part
been used to living on farms. So they fell at once
to planting tobacco, and they could not raise
enough to satisfy people in England and other
parts of the Old World. All the fine gentlemen
took to smoking; it was something new and
fashionable; and, I suppose, a great many puffed
away at their pipes who wondered what the

VOL. XIII.-- 3.

one might buy a hundred acres; and if any one
did some special service to the colony, he might
receive a gift of as much as two thousand acres.
Now, in England, to own land was to be thought
much of. Only noblemen or country gentlemen
could boast of having two thousand or a hundred
or even fifty acres. So the Englishmen who came
to Virginia, where land was plenty, were all eager
to own great estates.
To carry on such estates, and -I.'-; .l to raise

N -


-',F, L . l | - -

i i-







- I


.1 ,, I


tobacco, required many laborers. It was not
easy for the Virginia land-owners to bring these
from English farms. They could not be spared
by the farmers there, and besides, such laborers
were for the most part men and women who had
never been beyond the villages where they had been
born and had hardly even heard of America. They
lived, father and son, on the same place, and knew
little about any other. But in London and other
cities of England there were, at the time when
the Virginia colony was formed, many poor people
who had no work and nothing to live on. If
these people could be sent to America, not only
would the cities be rid of them, but the gentlemen
in the new country would have laborers to cut
down trees, clear the fields, and plant tobacco.
A.:.:..1 .1.. _;i many of these idle and poor people
were sent over as servants. The Virginia planters
paid their passage, sheltered, fed, and clothed them,
and in return had the use of their labor for a cer-
tain number of years. The plan did not work very
well, however. Often these "indentured servants,"
as they were called, were idle andl 1, .. II ..1. to work
-that was one reason that they had been poor
in London. Even when they did work, they were
only bound" for a certain length of time. After
they had served their time, they were free. Then
they sometimes cleared farms for themselves ; but
very often they led lazy, vicious lives, and were a
trouble and vexation to the neighborhood.
It seemed to these Virginia planters that there
was a better way. In 16I9, a year before the Pil-
grims landed at Plymouth, a Dutch captain brought
up the James River twenty blacks whom he had
captured on the coast of Africa. He offered to
sell these to the planters, and they bought them.
No one saw anything out of the way in this. It
was no new thing to own slaves. There were slaves
in the West India Islands, and in the countries of
Europe. Indians when captured in war were sold
into slavery. For that matter, white men had been
made slaves. The difference between these blacks
and the indentured servants was that the planter
who paid the Dutch captain for a black man had
the use of him all his life-time, but if he bought
from an English captain the services of an indentured
white man, he could only have those services for
a few months or years. It certainly was much
more convenient to have an African slave.
There were not many of these slaves at first.
An occasional shipload was brought from Africa,
but it was not until after fifty years that negroes
made any considerable part of the population.
They had families, and all the children were slaves
like their parents. More were bought of captains
who made a business of going to Africa to trade for
slaves, just as they might have gone to the East In-

dies for spices. The plantations were growing larger,
and the more slaves a man had, the more tobacco
he could raise; the more tobacco he could raise,
the richer he was. Until long after the year 1732,
the people in Virginia were wont to reckon the cost
of things, not by pounds, shillings, and pence-the
English currency,-but by pounds of tobacco-
the Virginia currency. The salaries of the clergy
were paid in tobacco; so were all their fees for
christening, marrying, and burying. Taxes were
paid and accounts were kept in tobacco. At a few
points there were houses to which planters brought
their tobacco, and these warehouses served the pur-
pose of banks. A planter stored his tobacco and
received a certificate of deposit. This certificate
he could use instead of a check on a bank.
The small planters who lived high up the rivers,
beyond the point where vessels could go, floated
their tobacco in boats down to one of the ware-
houses, where it made part of the cargo of some
ship sailing for England. But the largest part of
this produce was shipped directly from the great
plantations. Each of these had its own storehouse
and its own wharf. The Virginia planter was his own
shipping merchant. He had his agent in London.
Once a year, a vessel would make its way up the river
to his wharf. It brought whatever he or his family
needed. He had sent to his agent to buy clothes,
furniture, table-linen, tools, medicine, spices, for-
eign fruits, harnesses, carriages, cutlery, wines,
books, pictures,-there was scarcely an article
used in his house or on his plantation for which
he did not send to London. Then in return he
helped to load the vessel, and he had just one
article with which to make up the cargo tobacco.
Now and then tar, pitch, and turpentine were sent
from some districts, but the Virginia planter rarely
sent ... il.;.. but tobacco to England in return
for what he received.



LET us visit in imagination one of these Virginia
plantations, such as were to be found in 1732, and
see what sort of life was led upon it.
To reach the plantation, one is likely to ride for
some distance through the woods. The country
is not yet cleared of the forest, and each planter, as
he adds one tobacco-field to another, has to make
inroads upon the great trees. Coming nearer, one
rides past tracts where the underbrush is gone, but
tall, gaunt trees stand, bearing no foliage and look-
ing ready to fall to the ground. They have been
girdled, that is, have had a gash cut around the
trunk, through the bark, quite into the wood;



thus the sap can not flow, and the tree rots away,
falling finally with a great crash. The luckless
traveler sometimes finds his way stopped by one
of these trees fallen across the road. By the
border of these tracts are Virginia rail-fences,
eight or ten feet in height, which zig-zag in a
curious fashion,- the rails, twelve feet or so in
length, not running into posts, but resting on one
another at the ends, like a succession of W's.
When the new land is wholly cleared of trees,
these fences can be removed, stick by stick, and
set farther back. No post-holes have to be dug,
nor posts driven in.
Now the tobacco-fields come into view. If the
plant is growing, one sees long rows of hillocks
kept free from weeds, and the plant well bunched
at the top, for the lower leaves and suckers are
pruned once a week; and as there is a worm which
infests the tobacco, and has to be picked off and
killed, during the growth of the plant all hands
are kept busy in the field.
I have said that there were scarcely any towns
or villages in Virginia, so one might fancy there
was some mistake; for what means this great col-
lection of houses ? Surely here is a village; but
look closer. There are no stores or shops or
churches or schoolhouses. Rising above the rest
is one principal building. It is the planter's
own house, which very likely is surrounded by
beautiful trees and gardens. At a little distance
are the cabins of the negroes, and the gaping
wooden tobacco-houses, in which the tobacco
is drying, hung upon poles and well sunned
and aired, for the houses are built so as to allow
plenty of ventilation and sunlight. The cabins of
the negroes are low wooden buildings, the chinks
filled in with clay. Many of them have kitchen
gardens about them, for the slaves are allowed
plots of ground on which to raise corn and melons
and small vegetables for their own use. The
planter's house is sometimes of wood, sometimes
of brick, and sometimes of stone. The one
feature, however, which always strikes a stranger
is the great outside chimney,- usually there is one
at each end of the house,- a huge pile of brick
or stone, rising above the ridge-pole. Very often,
too, there are wide verandas and porches. In
this climate, where there are no freezing-cold
winters, it is not necessary to build chimneys in
the middle of the house, where the warmth of
the bricks may serve to temper the air of all the
rooms. Moreover, in the warm summers it is well
to keep the heat of the cooking away from the
house, so the meals are prepared in kitchens
built separate from the main house. Inside the
great house, one finds one's self in large, airy
rooms and halls; wide fireplaces hold blazing

fires in the cool days, and in the summer there is
a passage of air on all sides. Sometimes the
rooms are lathed and plastered, but often they are
sheathed in the cedar and other woods which grow
abundantly in the country. There is little of that
spruce tidiness on which a New England house-
keeper prides herself. The house servants are
lazy and good-natured, and the people live in a
generous fashion, careless of waste, and indiffer-
ent to orderly ways.
The planter has no market near by to which he
can go for his food; accordingly he has his own
smokehouse, in which he cures his ham and smokes

,' '.. i


his beef; he has outhouses and barns scattered
about, where he stores his provisions; and down
where the brook runs, is the spring-house, built over
the running stream. Here the milk and butter and
eggs are kept standing in buckets in the cool fresh
water. The table is an abundant but coarse one.
The woods supply game, and the planter has herds
of cattle. But he raises few vegetables and little
wheat. The English ship brings him wines and
liquors, which are freely used, and now and then
one of his negro women has a genius for cooking
and can make dainty dishes. The living, however,
is rather profuse than nice.
It fits the rude, out-of-door life of the men. The
master of the house spends much of his time in the


saddle. He prides himself on his horses, and the bear and
keeps his stables well filled. It is his chief busi- rides after th
ness to look after his estate. He has, to be sure, on the race-
an overseer, or steward, who takes his orders and hardest, sho
sees that the various gangs of negroes do their re- run, leap, an
quired work; but the master, if he would succeed, most admire!
himself must visit the several parts of his planta- With so fri
tion and make sure that all goes on smoothly. He ian is a gene
must have an eye to his stock, for very likely he his neighbor

i. *,. L ". T -_:_-:_ I.-- I ,
,I,, .. :' I, . _, *.. ... ", '
, .-. ... -- -- -_ .---_ ..

II i F
,i4 I .r

'" b ' : ,

the wild cat. With other planters he
e hounds; and they try their horses
course. The man who can ride the
ot the surest, lift the heaviest weight,
Id wrestle beyond his fellows, is the
ee and independent a life, the Virgin-
rous man, who is hospitable both to
:s and to strangers. If he hears of

-,I I 1

tt':j , -,i.--- : ':,


has blooded horses ; he must see that the tobacco
is well harvested ; he must ride to the new field
which is being cleared, and inspect his fences.
There is enough in all this to keep the planter in
his saddle all day long.
With horses in the stable and dogs in the ken-
nel, the Virginian is a great hunter. He lives in
a country where he can chase not only the fox, but

any one traveling through the country and putting
up at one of the uncomfortable little inns, he
sends for him to come to his house, without wait-
ing for a letter of introduction. He entertains his
neighbors, and there are frequent ig i..[i..;- of
old and young for dancing and merry-making.
The tobacco crop varies, and the price of it is con-
stantly changing. Thus the planter can never



reckon with confidence upon his income, and, with
his reckless style of living, he is often in debt. He
despises small economies, and looks down upon
the merchant and trader, whose business it is to
watch closely what they receive and what they pay
The Virginian does not often go far from his plan-
tation. His chief journey is to the capital, at Will-
iamsburg, where he goes when the colonial House
of Burgesses is in session. Then he gets out his
great yellow coach, and his family drive over
rough roads and come upon other planters and
their families driving through the woods in the
same direction. At the capital, during the session,
are held balls and other grand entertainments,
and the men discuss the affairs of the colony.
They honor the King and pay their taxes without
much grumbling, but they are used to managing
affairs in Virginia without a great deal of interfer-
ence from England. The new country helps to
make them independent; they are far away from
King and Parliament and Court; they are used
to rule; and in the defense of their country against
Indians and French they have been good soldiers.
But what is the Virginian lady doing all this
time ? It is not hard to see, when one thinks of
the great house, the many servants, the hospitality
shown to strangers, and the absence of towns.
She is a home-keeping body. She has to provide
for her household, and as she can not go shopping
to town, she must keep abundant stores of every-
thing she needs. Often she must teach her chil-
dren, for very likely there is no school near, to
which she can send them. She must over-
see and train her servants, and set one to spin-
ning, another to mending, and another to sewing;
but she does not find it easy to have nice work done;
her black slaves are seldom skilled, and she has to
send to England for her finer garments. There is
no doctor near at hand, and she must try her hand
at prescribing for the sick on the plantation, and
must nurse white and black.
In truth, the Virginian lady saves the Old Do-
minion. If it were not for her, the men would be
rude and barbarous ; but they treat her with un-
failing respect, and she gives the gentleness and
grace which they would quickly forget. Early in
this century some one went to visit an old Virgin-
ian lady, and she has left this description of what
she saw:
On one side sits the chambermaid with her
knitting; on the other, a little colored pet learning
to sew; an old decent woman is there with her
table and shears, cutting out the negroes' winter
clothes; while the old lady directs them all, in-
cessantlyknitting herself. She points out to me
several pair of nice colored stockings and gloves

she has just finished, and presents me with a pair
half-done, which she begs I will finish and wear
for her sake."



THE old lady thus described was the widow of
George Washington, and so little had life in Vir-
ginia then changed from what it had been in 1732,
that the description might easily stand for a portrait
of George Washington's mother. Of his father he
remembered little, for though his mother lived long
after he had grown up and was famous, his father
died when the boy was eleven years old.
It was near the shore of the Potomac River,
between Pope's Creek and Bridge's Creek, that
Augustine Washington lived when his son George
was born. The land had been in the family ever
since Augustine's grandfather, John Washington,
had bought it, when he came over from England
in 1657. John Washington was a soldier and a
public-spirited man, and so the parish in which
he lived-for Virginia was divided into parishes
as some other colonies into townships -was named
Washington. It is a quiet neighborhood; not a
sign remains of the old house, and the only mark
of the place is a stone slab, broken and overgrown
with weeds and brambles, which lies on a bed of
bricks taken from the remnants of the old chimney
of the house. It bears the inscription :
The 1 th of February, 1732 (old style)
George Wafhington
was born

The English had lately agreed to use the calen-
dar of Pope Gregory, which added eleven days to
the reckoning, but people still used the old style
as well as the new. By the new style, the birthday
was February 22, and that is the day which is
now observed. The family into which the child
was born consisted of the father and mother, Au-
gustine and Mary Washington, and two boys,
Lawrence and Augustine. These were sons of
Augustine Washington and a former wife who
had died four years before. George Washington
was the eldest of the children of Augustine and
Mary Washington; he had afterward three brothers
and two sisters, but one of the sisters died in in-
It was not long after George Washington's birth
that the house in which he was born was burned,
and as his father was at the time especially inter-
ested in some iron-works at a distance, it was


determined not to rebuild upon the lonely place.
Accordingly Augustine Washington removed his
family to a place which he owned in Stafford
County, on the banks of the Rappahannock River
opposite Fredericksburg. The house is not now
standing, but a picture was made of it before it
was destroyed. It was, like many Virginia houses
of the day, divided into four rooms on a floor,
and had great outside chimneys at either end.
Here George Washington spent his childhood.
He learned to read, write, and cipher at a small
school kept by Hobby, the sexton of the parish
church. Among his playmates was Richard Henry
Lee, who was afterward a famous Virginian. When
the boys grew up, they wrote to each other of grave
matters of war and state, but here is the beginning
of their correspondence, written when they were
nine years old.

Pa brought me two pretty books full of pictures he got them
in Alexandria they have pictures of dogs and cats and tigers and
elefants and ever so many pretty things cousin bids me send
you one of them it has a picture of an elefant and a little Indian
boy on his back like uncle jo's sam pa says if I learn my tasks
good he will let uncle jo bring me to see you will you ask your
ma to let you come to see me. RICHARD HENRY LEE."

"DEAR DICKEY I thank you very much for the pretty picture-
book you gave me. Sam asked me to show him the pictures and
I showed him all the pictures in it; and I read to him how the
tame elephant took care of the master's little boy, and put him
on his back and would not let anybody touch his master's
little son. I can read three or four pages sometimes without miss-
ing a word. Ma says I may go to see you, and stay all day
with you next week if it be not rainy. She says I may ride my
pony Hero if Uncle Ben will go with me and lead Hero. I have a
little piece of poetry about the picture book you gave me, but I
must n't tell you who wrote the poetry.
"'G. W.'s compliments to R. H. L.,
And likes his book full well,
Henceforth will count him his friend,
And hopes many happy days he may spend.
"Your good friend, GEORGE WASHINGTON.
I am going to get a whip top soon, and you may see it and
whip it." *

It looks very much as if Richard Henry sent his
letter off just as it was written. I suspect that his
correspondent's letter was looked over, corrected,
and copied before it was sent. Very possibly
Augustine Washington was absent at the time on
one of his journeys; but at any rate the boy owed
most of his training'to his mother, for only two
years after this, his father died, and he was left to
his mother's care.
She was a woman born to command, and since
she was left alone with a family and an estate to
care for, she took the reins into her own hands,
and never gave them up to any one else. She
used to drive about in an old-fashioned open
chaise, visiting the various parts of her farm, just
as a planter would do on horseback. The story

is told that she had given an agent directions how
to do a piece of work, and he had seen fit to do it
differently, because he thought his way a better
one. He showed her the improvement.
And pray," said the lady, "who gave you any
exercise of judgment in the matter? I command
you, sir; there is nothing left for you but to
In those days, more than now, a boy used very
formal language when addressing his mother. He
might love her warmly, but he was expected to
treat her with a great show of respect. When
Washington wrote to his mother, even after he
was of age, he began his letter, "Honored Madam,"
and signed it, "Your dutiful son." This was a
part of the manners of the time. It was like the
stiff dress which men wore when they paid their
respects to others; it was put on for the occasion,
and one would have been thought very unman-
nerly who did not make a marked difference
between his every-day dress and that which he
wore when he went into the presence of his betters.
So Washington, when he wrote to his mother,
would not be so rude as to say, "Dear Mother."
Such habits as this go deeper than mere forms
of speech. I do not suppose that the sons of this
lady feared her, but they stood in awe of her,
which is quite a different thing.
We were all as mute as mice, when in her
presence," says one of Washington's companions;
and common report makes her to have been very
much such a woman as her son afterward was a
I think that George Washington owed two strong
traits to his mother,-a governing spirit, and a spirit
of order and method. She taught him many lessons
and gave him many rules; but, after all, it was her
character shaping his which was most powerful.
She taught him to be truthful, but her lessons
were not half so forcible as her own truthfulness.
There is a story told of George Washington's
boyhood unfortunately there are not many
stories -which is to the point. His father had
taken a great deal of pride in his blooded horses,
and his mother afterward took great pains to keep
the stock pure. She had several young horses
that had not yet been broken, and one of them in
particular, a sorrel, was extremely spirited. No
one had been able to do anything with it, and it
was pronounced thoroughly vicious, as people are
apt to pronounce horses which they have not learned
to master. George was determined to ride this
colt, and told his companions that if they would
help him catch it, he would ride and tame it.
Early in the morning they set out for the past-
ure, where the boys managed to surround the
sorrel and then to put a bit into its mouth. Wash-

* From B. J. Lossing's "The Home of Washington."




ington sprang on its back, the boys dropped the
bridle, and away flew the angry animal. Its rider
at once began to com-
1,. ,.l hi._ 1..,.. -

.< 1-'. 1
*/ _
,- .. -
L -a ^. ':-"--*.- ,

"It is well; but while I regret the loss of my
favorite, I rejoice in my son who always speaks the
Tl .: i, . 1;i ,, .., killing the blooded
.. 1 i.. !" 1 I..I. I stories less particular,
I .. r , athletic fellow. Of
.: i .. i : I I. itmous, ever one likes

.. .... . ....... . '*- . -

---- -...

... *' ..7 7.Y, -


to remember
the wonderful
things he did
before he was
~-- famous, and
When they
grew up, used
c' to show the
spot by the
near Fred-
where he
stood and

threw a stone
ing about the field, rearing and plunging. The to the opposite bank; and at the celebrated Nat-
boys became thoroughly alarmed, but Washington ural Bridge, the arch of which is two hundred feet
kept his seat, never once losing his self-control or above the ground, they always tell the visitor
his mastery of the colt. The struggle was a sharp that George Washington threw a stone in the air
one ; when suddenly, as if determined to rid itself the whole height. He undoubtedly took part in
of its rider, the creature leaped into the air with a all the sports which were the favorites of his coun-
tremendous bound. It was its last. The violence try at that time-he pitched heavy bars, tossed
burst a blood-vessel, and the noble horse fell dead. quoits, ran, leaped, and wrestled; for he was a
Before the boys could sufficiently
recover to consider how they should .
extricate themselves from the
scrape, they were called to break- *
fast; and the mistress of the house, -
knowing that they had been in the -- -
fields, began to ask after her stock. I.-
Pray, young gentlemen," said- --
she, "have you seen my blooded
colts in your rambles? I hope. -
they are well taken care of. My --. '---:-.'
favorite, I am told, is as large as :; ". -'
his sire." "- -
The boys looked at one another,
and no one liked to speak. Of.
course the mother repeated her. ii.
"The sorrel is dead, madam," '' 1
said her son. I killed him "
And then he told the whole story. DURING EARLY BOYHOOD.
They say that his mother flushed
with anger, as her son often used to, and then, like powerful, large-limbed young fellow, and he had
him, controlled herself, and presently said, quietly: a very large and strong hand.
(To be continued.)
The illustrations on this page are copied from the original pictures in Mr. f J. Lossing's "Mt. Vernon and its Associations,"
by permission of Messrs. J. C. Yorston & Co., Cincinnati, Ohio.



-I- -


. Ps-.

_t- .

-2: -~

2- -'

..... .., ... , ., ":
1 . .

'V ^
* l'. ".? -

I\. --'
.L -



Pr" '- -4i~






IF we did not know it to be so, it would be hard
to believe that any animal could make its home in
the midst of the almost perpetual snow and ice of
the far north. And yet many more animals than
are generally supposed to do so live in that intense
cold, and have accommodated themselves to their
surroundings. For example, the mosquito, which
we are wont to think of as belonging only to the
hottest climates, has been found, with wings and
bill in good working order, as far north as man has
ever gone.
However, it is not the mosquito, but the white
bear, which claims attention just now, and it
deserves attention for the manner in which it has
adapted itself to its strange mode of life.
It is not called an amphibious animal, but might
probably be so called, for it is perfectly at home in
the water,- indeed it has been known to pursue
and capture so nimble a fish as the salmon. Nor
is it only a swift swimmer; it can swim very great
distances, as it often needs to do, for it is fre-
quently carried far out to sea on the huge cakes
of ice which, as spring comes on, break off and
float away to the south.
The polar bear's foot is unusually long and
broad even for a bear's foot, and this peculiarity
aids in enabling it to swim so rapidly. But the
great foot is of most use in crossing the slippery
ice or crusted snow. The under part of the foot
is covered with long, soft fur, which answers the
double purpose of keeping the foot warm in spite


of constant contact with the cold ice, and of pre-
venting the awkward slipping which would certainly
occur if the sole of the foot were hard and smooth.
As a rule, the white bear avoids man and exerts
all its strength and cunning in capturing its prey.
It prefers some member of the seal family, prob-
ably because the seals are usually so plump and
tender. Apparently a baby walrus is a choice
morsel for it, for it never neglects an opportunity of
pouncing on one.
In the water, the walrus would be more than a
match even for the polar bear, its huge tusks and
terrible strength making it the most formidable
of sea mammals; but on the ice, despite the fierce
courage with which both parents fight for their
offspring, the battle is too unequal, and the un-
lucky little walrus, caught napping, usually falls
a victim to the big bear. And it frequently hap-
pens that one or both of the parent-walruses are
killed in the vain attempt to rescue their baby.
Nennook, as the white bear is called by the
Eskimo, frequently displays great cunning in capt-
uring the wary seal, which, fearing its enemy,
takes its nap on the ice close by the edge, ready
to roll into the water at the first alarm. The bear
slips quietly into the water a long distance from
the sleeping seal, and then swims under water,
stopping occasionally to put out his head and
breathe, until he is in such a position that the
seal cannot get into the water without f.ii;1. ; into
his clutches.




ON the northwestern coast of Norway, the
mountains hide their heads in the clouds and dip
their feet in the sea. In fact, the cliffs are in some
places so tall and steep that streams, flowing
from the inland glaciers and plunging over their
sides, vanish in the air, being blown in a misty
spray out over the ocean. In other places there
may be a narrow slope, where a few potatoes,
some garden vegetables, and perhaps even a

patch of wheat, may be induced to grow by dint
of much coaxing; for the summer, though short,
is mild and genial in those high latitudes, and has
none of that fierce intensity which, with us, forces
the vegetation into sudden maturity, and sends
our people i ;.-_ toward all the points of the com-
pass during the first weeks in June.
In was on such a sunny little slope, right under
the black mountain-wall, that Halvor Myrbraaten
had built his cottage. Halvor was a merry fellow,
who went about humming snatches of hymns and


old songs and dance-melodies all day long, and
sometimes mixed up both words and tunes wo-
fully; and when his memory failed him, he
sang the first thing that popped into his head.
Some people said they had heard him humming
the multiplication table to the tune of Old Nor-
way's Lion," and whole pages out of Luther's
Catechism to jolly dance tunes. Not that he
ever meant to be irreverent; it was just his way
of amusing himself. He was an odd stick,
people thought, and not of much use to his
family. Whatever he did, luck went against
him. But it affected his temper very little. Hal-
vor was still light-hearted and good-natured, and
went about humming, as usual. If he went out
hunting and came home with an empty pouch, it
did not interfere in the least with his gayety; but
knowing well the reception which was in store for
him, it did occasionally happen that he paused
with a quizzical look before opening the door, and
perhaps, after a minute's reflection, concluded to
spend the night in the barn; for Turid, his wife,
had a mind of her own, and knew how to express
herself with emphasis. She was, as every one
admitted, a very worthy and competent woman,
and accomplished more in a day than her husband
did in a fortnight. But worthy and competent
people are not invariably the pleasantest people to
associate with, and the gay and genial good-for-
nothing Halvor, with his bright, irresponsible
smile and his pleasant ways, was a far more popu-
lar person in the parish than his austere, estima-
ble, over-worked wife. For one thing, with all
her poverty, she had a great deal of pride; and
people who had never suspected that one so poor
could have any objection to receiving alms had
been much offended by her curt way of refusing
their proffered gifts. Halvor, they said, showed
a more realizing sense of his position; he had the
humble and contrite heart which was becoming in
an unsuccessful man, and accepted with equal
cheerfulness and gratitude whatever was offered
him, from a dollar bill to a pair of worn-out mit-
tens. It was, in fact, this extreme readiness to
accept things which first made difficulty between
Halvor and his wife. It seemed to him a pure waste
of labor to work for a thing which he could get for
nothing; and it seemed to her a waste of some-
thing still more precious to accept as a gift what
one might have honestly earned by work. But as
she could never hope to have Halvor agree with
her on this point, she comforted herself by impress-
ing her own horror of alms-taking upon her chil-
dren; and the children, in their turn, impressed
the same sound principles upon their pet kid and
the pussy cat.
There were five children at Myrbraaten. Hans,

the eldest, was ten years old, and Dolly, the
youngest, was one, and the rest were scattered
between. It was a pretty sight to see them of a
summer afternoon on the grass plot before the
house, rolling over one another and gamboling
like a sportive family of kittens; only you could
hardlyhelp feelingvaguely uneasy about the mount-
ain, the steep, black wall of which, sparsely clad
with pines, rose so threateningly above them. It
seemed as if it must, some day, swoop down upon
them and crush them. The mother, it must be
admitted, was occasionally oppressed by some such
fear; but when she reflected that the mountain
had stood there from time immemorial, and had
never yet moved, or harmed any one, she felt
ashamed of her apprehension, and blamed herself
for her distrust of God's providence.
Besides the children, there was another young
inhabitant of the Myrbraaten cottage, and surely
a very important one. He, too, was named Hans,
but, in order to distinguish him from the son of the
house, the word "Little" was prefixed, and the
latter, although he was really the smaller of the
two, was called, by way of distinction, Big Hans.
The most remarkable thing about Little Hans was
that he had, in spite of his youth, a very well-
developed beard. Big Hans, who had not a hair
on his chin, rather envied him this manly orna-
ment. Then, again, Little Hans was a capital
fighter, and could knock you down in one round
with great coolness and sweet-tempered seriousness,
as if he were acting entirely from a sense of duty.
He never used any hard words; but, the moment
his adversary attempted to rise, Little Hans qui-
etly gave him another knock, and winked wick-
edly at him, as if warning him to lie still. He
never bragged of his victories, but showed a
modest self-appreciation to which very few of his
age ever attain. Big Hans, who valued his friend
and namesake above others, and had a hearty
admiration for his many fine qualities, declared
himself utterly unable to rival him in combative-
ness, modesty, and coolness of temper. For Big
Hans, I am sorry to say, was sometimes given to
bragging of his muscle and of his skill in turning
hand-springs and standing on his head, and he
could easily be teased into a furious temper. Now,
Little Hans could not turn hand-springs, nor could
he stand on his head; but, though he promptly
resented any trifling with his dignity, I never once
knew him to lose his temper. He never laughed
when anything struck him as being funny; in fact,
he seemed to regard every boisterous exhibition
of feeling as undignified. He only turned his
head away and stood chewing a piece of paper
or a straw, with his usual look of comical gravity
in his eye.




Many people wondered at the fast friendship
which bound Big Hans and Little Hans together.
Their tastes, people said, were dissimilar; in tem-
perament, too, they had few points of resemblance.
And yet they were absolutely inseparable. Wher-
ever Big Hans went, Little Hans was sure to follow.
Often they were seen racing along the beach or
climbing up the mountain-side; and, as Little Hans
was a capital hand (or ought I to say foot ?) at climb-
ing, Big Hans often had hard work to keep up with
him. Sometimes Little Hans would leap up a
rock which was so steep that it was impossible for
his friend to climb it, and then he would grin
comically down at Big Hans, who would stand be-
low calling tearfully to his companion until he
descended, which usually was very soon. For
Little Hans was very fond of Big Hans, and
could never bear to see him cry. And that is not
in the least to be wondered at, as Big Hans had
saved him from starvation and death when Little
Hans was really in the sorest need. Their ac-
quaintance began in the 1 .l .... manner: one
day when Big Hans was up in the mountains trap-
ping hares, he heard a feeble voice in a cleft of the
rocks near by, and, hurrying to the spot, he found
Little Hans wedged in between two great stones,
and his leg caught in so distressing a manner that
it cost Big Hans nearly an hour's work to set it
free. Then he dressed the bruised foot with a rag
torn from the lining of his coat, and carried Little
Hans home in his arms. And as Little Hans's
parents had never claimed him, and he himself
could give no satisfactory account of them, he had
thenceforth remained at Myrbraaten, where all
the children were very fond of him. Turid their
mother, on the other hand, had no great liking
for him, especially after he had devoured her hymn-
book (which was her most precious property)
and eaten with much appetite a piece of Dolly's
dress. For, as I intimated, Little Hans's tastes
were very curious, and nothing came amiss when
he was hungry. He had a trick of pulling off
Dolly's stockings when she was sitting out on the
green, and, if he were not discovered in time, he
was sure to make his breakfast off of them. With
these tastes, you will readily understand, Big Hans
could have no sympathy, and the only thing which
could induce him to forgive Little Hans's eccen-
tricities was the fact that Little Hans was a goat.


IN the winter of 187-, a great deal of snow fell
on the northwestern coast of Norway. The old
pines about the Myrbraaten cottage were laden

down with it; the children had to be put to work
with snow-shovels early in the morning, in order
to hollow out a tunnel to the cow-stable where the
cow stood bellowing with hunger. The mother,
too, worked bravely, and sometimes when the
thin roof of snow caved in and fell down upon
them, and made them look like wandering snow-
images, they all laughed heartily, and their mother,
too, could not help laughing, because they were
so happy. Little Hans also made a pretense of
working, but only succeeded in being in every-
body's way, and when the cold snow drizzled down
upon his nose he grinned and made faces so queer
that the children shouted with merriment.
Day after day, and week after week, the snow
continued to descend. Big Hans and his friend
sat at the window watching the large feathery
flakes, as they whirled slowly and silently through
the air and covered the earth far and near with a
white pall. Soon there was a scarcity of wood at
the Myrbraaten cottage, and Halvor was obliged
to get into his skees" and go to the forest. Hum-
ming the multiplication table (so far as he knew
it) to the tune of a hymn, he pulled on his
warmest jacket, took his ax from its hiding-place
under the eaves, and went in a slanting line upon
the mountain-side; but, before he had gone many
rods it struck him that it was useless to go so
far for wood, when the whole mountain-slope was
covered with pines. Fresh pine would be a little
hard to burn, to be sure, but then pine was full of
pitch and would burn, anyhow. He therefore
took off his skecs, dug a hole in the snow, and
felled three or four trees only a few hundred rods
above the cottage. When his wife heard the sound
of his ax so near the cottage, she rushed out and
cried to him :
Halvor, Halvor. don't cut down the trees on
the slope They are all that keep the snow from
coming down upon us, in an avalanche, and sweep-
ing us into the ocean "
Oh, the Lord will look out for his own,".sang
Halvor cheerily."
The Lord put the pine-trees there to protect
us," replied his wife."
But the end was that, in spite of his wife's pro-
tests, Halvor continued to fell the trees.
The heavy fall of snow was followed in the
course of a week by a sudden thaw.
Strange creaking and groaning sounds stole
through the forest. Sometimes, when a large load
of snow fell, it rolled and grew as it rolled, until it
dashed against a huge trunk and nearly broke it
with its weight.
Then, one night, there came down a great load

* A kind of snow-shoes, by means of which one glides over the snow without sinkingin nto it. Skccs are from five to ten feet long, bent
upward and pointed at the front end and cut offsquarely at the other. They must be made of tough, strong pine without knots in it.



which fell with a dull thud and rolled down and
down, pushing a growing wall of snow before it,
until it reached the clearing where Halvor had cut
his wood; there, meeting with no obstructions, it
gained a tremendous headway, sweeping all the
snow and the felled trunks with it, and rushed down
in a great mass, carrying along stones,
shrubs, huge trees, and the very soil
itself, leaving nothing but the bare
rock behind ',
it. Hov
terrible wa:
the sight! ...

lanche had wrought. All that was left of Myrlraa-
ten was the cow-stable, where the cow and Little
Hans and Big Hans had slept. Little Hans had
been very ill-behaved the night before, so Turid
had sent him to sleep with the cow; and Big Hans,
who thought it would be cruel to ask his com-
panion to spend the night in that dark stable,
with only a cow for company, had gone with him
and slept with him in the hay. Thus it happened
that Little Hans and Bie Hans both were saved.
it -- i. 'i. l r.. -:. them
. ,, ,n 1. r snow.
I:., H ,.: r- ..:ying,
'' Ii' 1 'i would
4.... .


A smoke-like cloud rose in the darkness, and a
sound as of a thousand thundering cataracts filled
the night. On it swept, onward, with a wild,
resistless speed At the jutting rock, where the
juniper stood, the avalanche divided, tearing up the
old spruces and the birches by the roots and hurl-
ing them down, but leaving the juniper standing
alone on its barren peak. It was but a moment's
work. The avalanche shot downward with in-
creased speed-hark -a sharp shriek, a smoth-
ered groan, then a fierce hissing sound of waves that
rose toward the sky and returned with along thun-
dering cannonade to the strand The night was
darker and the silence deeper than before.


WHERE the Myrbraaten cottage had stood, the
bare rock now stares black and dismal against the
sun. The rumor of the calamity spread like wild-
fire through the valley, and the folk of the whole
parish came to gaze upon the ruin which the ava-

break; and the women who crowded about him
were unable to comfort him. What should he, a
small boy of. ten, do alone in this wide world?
His father and his mother and his little brothers
and sisters all were gone, and there was no one
left who cared for him. Just then Little Hans,
who was anxious to express his sympathy, put his
nose close to Big Hans's face and rubbed it against
his cheek.
"Yes, you are right, Little Hans," sobbed the
boy, embracing his faithful friend; "you do care
for me. You are the only one I have left now, in
all the world. You and I will stand by each other
Little Hans then said, Ma-a-a," which in his
language meant, "Yes."
The question soon arose in the parish,- what was
to be done with Big Hans? He had no relatives
except a brother of his mother, who had emigrated
many years before to Minnesota; and there was no
one else who seemed disposed to assume the burden
of his support. It was finally decided that he



, i '! "


should be hired out as a pauper to the lowest
bidder, and that the parish should pay for his
board. But when the people who bid for him
refused to take Little Hans too, the boy deter-
mined, after some altercation with the authorities,
to seek his uncle in America. One thing he was sure
of, and that was that he would not part from Little
Hans. But there was no one in the parish who
would board Little Hans without extra pay. Ac-
cordingly, the cow and the barn were sold for the
boy's benefit, and he and his comrade went on
foot to the city, where they bought a ticket for
New York.
Thus it happened that Big Hans and Little
Hans became Americans. But before they reached
the United States, some rather curious things
happened to them. The captain of the steam-
ship, Big Hans found, was not willing to take a
goat as a passenger, and Big Hans was forced to
return with his friend to the pier, while the other
emigrants thronged on board. He was nearly at
his wit's end, when it suddenly occurred to him to
put Little Hans in a bag and smuggle him on
board as baggage. This was a lucky thought.
Little Hans was quite heavy, to be sure, but he
seemed to comprehend the situation perfectly,
and kept as still as a mouse in his bag while Big
Hans, with the assistance of a benevolent fellow-
passenger, lugged him up the gang-plank. And
when he emerged from his retirement some time
after the steamer was well under way, none of the
officers even thought of throwing the poor goat
overboard ; for Little Hans became a great favorite
with both crew and passengers, 1....i il. he played
various mischievous pranks, in his quiet, unosten-
tatious way, and ate some shirts which had been
hung out to dry.
It was early in April when the two friends
arrived in New York. They attracted considerable
attention as they walked up Broadway together;
and many people turned around to laugh at the
little emigrant boy, in his queer Norwegian cos-
tume, who led a i,,1i- _.. ,. goat after him by a
halter. The bootblacks and the newsboys pointed
their fingers at them, and, when that had no effect,
made faces at them, and pulled Big Hans by
his short jacket and Little Hans by his short tail.
Big HIans was quite frightened when he saw how
many of them there were; but, perceiving that
Little Hans was not in the least ruffled, he felt
ashamed of himself, and took heart again. Thus
they marched on for several blocks, while the
crowd behind them grew more and more boisterous
and importunate. Suddenly, one big boy, who
seemed to be the leader of the gang, sprang for-
ward with a yell and knocked off Big Hans's hat,
while all the rest cheered loudly; but, just as he was

turning around to enjoy his triumph, Little Hans
turned around too, and gave him a bump from
behind which sent him headlong into the gutter.
Then, rising on his hind legs, Little Hans leaped
forward again and again, and dispatched the second
and third boy in the same manner, whereupon all
the rest ran away helter-skelter, scattering through
the side streets. It was all done in so quiet
and gentlemanly a manner, that not one of the
grown-up spectators who had gathered on the
sidewalk thought of interfering. -- Hans, how-
ever, who had intended to see something of the city
before starting for the West, was so discouraged
at.the inhospitable reception the United States had
given him, that he gave up his purpose, and re-
turned disconsolately to Castle Garden. There he
spent the rest of the day, and when the night came,
he went to sleep on the floor, with his little bundle
under his head; while Little Hans, who did not
seem to be sleepy, lay down at his side, quietly
munching a piece of pie which he had stolen from
somebody's luncheon basket.
Early the next morning, Big Hans was awakened
by a gentle pulling at his coat-collar; and,
looking up, he saw that it was Little Hans. He
jumped up as quickly as he could, and he found
that it was high time, for all the emigrants had
formed into a sort of a procession and were fil-
ing through the gate on their way to the rail-
way station. There were some seven or eight
hundred of them,-toil-worn, sad-faced men and
women, and queer-looking children in all sorts of
outlandish costumes. Big Hans and his friend ran
to take their places at the very end of the pro-
cession, and just managed to slip through the
gate before it was closed. At the railway station
the bov exhibited his ticket which he had bought
at the steamship office in Norway, and was just
about to board the train, when the conductor cried
out :
"Hold on, there This is not a cattle train!
You can't take your goat into the passenger-car! "
Big Hans did not quite comprehend what was
said, but from the expression of the conductor's
voice and face, he surmised that there was some
objection to his comrade.
"I think I have money enough to buy a ticket
for Little Hans, too," he said, in his innocent Nor-
wegian way, as he pulled a five-dollar bill from his
I don't want your money," cried the conduc-
tor, who knew as little of Norwegian as Big Hans
did of English. Get out of the way there with
your billy goat !"
And he hustled the boy roughly out of the way
to make room for the other emigrants, who were
thronging up to the platform.



Well, then," said Big Hans, since they don't
want us on the train, Little Hans, we shall have to
walk to Minnesota. And as this railroad is going
that way, I suppose we shall get there if we follow
the track."
Little Hans seemed to think that this was a good
plan; for, as soon as the train had steamed off, he
started at a brisk rate along the track, so that
his master had great difficulty in keeping up with
him. For several hours they trudged along cheer-
fully, and both were in excellent spirits. Minne-
sota, Big Hans supposed, might, perhaps, be a.

.1 ,

off in different directions; and, as there was no
one to ask, he sat down patiently in the shade
of a tree and determined to wait. Presently a man
came along with a red flag.
Perhaps you would kindly tell me if this is
the way to Minnesota," said Big Hans, taking off
his cap and bowing politely to the man.
The man shook his head sullenly, but did not
answer; he did not understand the boy's language.
"And you don't happen to know my Uncle
Peter Volden ?" essayed the boy, less confidently,
making another respectful bow to the flagman.

I .1 -;fL

~I'' /I*III'

"X ----- -----



day's journey off, and if he walked fast he thought
he would probably be there at nightfall. When
once he was there, he did not doubt but that every-
body would know his Uncle Peter. He was some-
what puzzled, however, when he came to a place
where no less than three railroad tracks branched

You are a queer loon of a chap," grumbled the
man ; but if you don't jump off the track with
your goat, the train will run over both of you."
He had hardly spoken, when the train was seen
rounding the curve, and the boy had just time
to pull Little Hans over into the ditch, when the



locomotive came thundering along, sending out
volumes of black smoke, which scattered slowly in
the warm air, making the sunlight for a while seem
gray and dingy. Big Hans was almost stunned,
but picked himself up, with a little fainter heart
than before, perhaps ; but, whispering a snatch of a
prayer which his mother had taught him, he
seized Little Hans by the halter, and started once
more upon his weary way after the train.
"Minnesota must be a great ways off, I am
afraid," he said, addressing himself, as was his
wont, to his companion; but if we keep on walk-
ing, it seems to me we must, in the end, get there;
or, what do you think, Little Hans? "
Little Hans did not choose to say what he
thought, just then, for his attention had been
called to some tender grass at the roadside which
he knew tasted very sweet. Big Hans was then
reminded that he, too, was hungry, and he sat
down on a stone and ate a piece of bread which
he had brought with him from Castle Garden.
The sun rose higher in the sky and the heat grew
more and more oppressive. Still the emigrant
boy trudged on patiently. Whenever he came to a
station he stopped, and read the sign, and shook his
head sadly when he saw some unfamiliar name.
"Not Minnesota yet, Little Hans," he sighed;
" I am afraid we shall have to take lodgings some-
where for the night. I am so footsore and tired."
It was then about six o'clock in the evening,
and the two friends had walked about twenty miles.
At the next station they met a hand-organ man,
who was sitting on a truck, feeding his monkey.
Big Hans, who had never seen so funny an
animal before, was greatly delighted. He went
close up to the man, and put out his hand cau-
tiously to touch the monkey.
Are you going to Minnesota, too ? he asked,
in a tone of great friendliness; "if so, we might
bear each other company. I like that hairy little
fellow of yours very much."
The hand-organ man, who, like most men of
his c.ih(i.. was an Italian, shook his head, and
the monkey shook his head, too, as if to say, "All
that may be very fine, but I don't understand it."
The boy, however, was too full of delight.to
notice whether he was understood or not; and
when the monkey took off his little red hat and
offered to shake hands with him, he laughed until
the tears rolled down his cheeks. He seemed to
have entirely forgotten Little Hans, who was stand-
ing by, glowering at the monkey with a look which
was by no means friendly. The fact was, Little
Hans had never been accustomed to any rival in
his master's affection, and he did n't enjoy in the
least the latter's interest in the monkey. He kept
his jealousy to himself, however, as long as he

could; but when Big Hans, after having given ten
cents to the organ man, took the monkey on his
lap and patted and stroked it, Little Hans's heart
was ready to burst. He could not endure seeing
his affections so cruelly trifled with. Bending
his head and rising on his hind legs, he darted
forward and gave his rival a knock on the head
that sent him tumbling in a heap at Big Hans's
feet. The Italian jumped up with a terrible shout
and seized his treasure in his arms. The monkey
made an effort to open its eyes, gave a little shiver,
and-was dead. The boy stood, staring in mute
despair at the tiny stiffened body; he felt like a
murderer. Hardly knowing what he did, he seized
Little Hans's halter; but in the same moment the
enraged owner of the monkey rushed at the goat
with the butt end of his whip uplifted. Little
Hans, who was dauntless as ever, dexterously
dodged the blow, but the instant his antagonist
had turned to vent his wrath upon his master, he
gave him an impetus from behind which sent him
headlong out upon the railroad track. A crowd of
men and boys (of the class who always lounge about
railroad stations) had now collected to see the
fight, and goaded both combatants on with their
jeering cries. The Italian, who was maddened with
anger, had just picked himself up, and was plung-
ing forward for a second attack upon Little Hans,
when Big Hans, seeing the danger, :1 ... himself
over his friend's back, clasping his arms about his
neck. The loaded end of the whip struck Big Hans
in the back of the head; without a sound, the
boy fell senseless upon the track.
Then a policeman arrived, and Little Hans,
the Italian, and the insensible boy were taken to
the police station. A doctor was summoned, and
he declared that Big Hans's wound was very dan-
gerous, and that he must be taken to the hospital.
And there the emigrant boy lay for six weeks,
hovering between life and death; but when, at the
end of that time, he was permitted to go out, he
heard with dread that he was to testify at the
Italian's trial. A Norwegian interpreter was easily
found, and when Hans told his simple story to
the judge, there were many wet eyes in the court-
room. And he himself cried, too, for he thought
that Little Hans was lost. But just as he had
finished his story, he heard a loud Ba-a-a in
his ear; he jumped down from the witness-stand
and flung his arms about Little Hans's neck and
laughed and cried as if he had lost his wits.
It is safe to say that such a scene had never be-
fore been witnessed in an American court-room.
The next day Big Hans and Little Hans were
both sent by rail, at the expense of some kind-
hearted citizens, to their uncle in Minnesota. And
it was there I made their acquaintance.





THERE'S a storm brewing," said Tempestuous
Moody, bringing in a large forestick, and groaning
as he laid it on the fire.
It was one hundred and two years ago, or his
baptismal name would not have been Tempestu-
ous; though I dare say he would have groaned at
any date, for he could hardly have existed at all,
whatever the year or century, except as a rheu-
matic town pauper, doing "chores" for his
Ah ? said busy Mrs. Vane, paying no more
heed to his words than to the singing of the tea-
kettle, high up in the fire-place.
"Yes, a trimmer of a storm, sartin sure," pur-
sued Tempestuous, thrusting his hands in his
pockets and watching his mistress as she swung
the heavy iron pot of bean porridge upon the great
" lug-pole to warm over for breakfast, and set
her corn-cakes to bake in the Dutch oven before
the fire.
Yes, Nancy, I 'm afeard it's so; the clouds
do look threatening," said dear old Mr. Vane, who
had just entered the kitchen, and was trying to
warm his chilled thumbs in his scanty silver hair.
The brisk housewife set down her red box of
" Labrador tea,"- or dried raspberry leaves -
with a thud.
0 Grandsir, not a real drifting storm ex-
claimed she, thinking of her husband, Lieutenant
James Vane, who was on his way home from the
wars." He had left Annapolis more than two
weeks before on horseback, and should have fin-
ished his journey by this time, but he had to
cross a very wild country, and was probably now
in the very heart of the Massachusetts wilderness.
Maybe father 'll get snowed up, the way Cap-
tain Tuttle was," suggested little Asa, who could
remember nothing about his father except his
three-cornered hat and silver knee-buckles.
"No, no; I look for him any minute," said the
mother with a reassuring smile; but her fingers
trembled slightly as she pinned the blue and white
cotton kerchief closer about her throat, and went
to the west window, followed by the three elder
They were far from neighbors, and the most
they could see through the small panes of glass
were the familiar black stumps of their own clear-
ing," partially hidden under the December drifts,
and overhead a lowering sky, with now and then a
whirling snow-flake. The storm had begun.

There was a grand mountain-view from the back
door, but that was obscured now; and presently
the unsightly stumps and the tall well-sweep were
thoroughly whitened by the fast-falling snow. A
great storm had set in, a storm to be measured by
feet, not inches--first the snow, then the wind
following close after it.
Tempestuous groaned; but Mrs. Vane tried to
smile, and her head never drooped as she drew
her soft brown hair up higher than ever and fas-
tened it with a goose-quill. Grandsir" Vane
looked at her admiringly, and told droll Indian
stories, and nothing could have been cheerier than
his cracked old voice, unless, may be, the chirp of
a cricket. Dear Grandsir Did he ever think of
his fine old mansion in Boston, where in by-gone
days he had often tossed baby Nancy up to the ceil-
ing and kissed her under the Christmas mistletoe,
according to the quaint old English fancies? Did
he ever sigh for the bright candelabras she called
"stars," for the richly tiled fireplaces, the heavy
oaken doors, the well-groomed horses, the faith-
ful, keen-scented hunting-dogs ? Nobody knew.
And what had become of these treasures
galore?" Ah, the pitiless British soldiers had
seized the house and plundered it; and the little
that was left, the childless old man had freely
given to his country in the hour of her need. And
here he was now, in the heart of the wilderness,
shivering under as rude a storm as ever beat
against a settler's cabin.
For two nights there was such a shrieking and
howling of the wind, such a rattling of the hinged
windows, that even the children sleeping in the
loft awoke at intervals and thought anxiously of
their father.
Good Mr. Vane folded his aged hands under
the blue woolen counterpane," and prayed that
" Nancy might not see any more trouble; for 0
Lord, thou knowest she has had a hard time for
the past three years, and more than once it has
a'most broken her heart to send her poor little
children to bed with nothing for supper but mo-
lasses and water. She 's a Christian woman, and
bears up and bears up ; but I pray Thee, 0 Lord,
don't try her too far I 'm afeard it is n't in her to
stand much more."
The storm was over at last. On the third day
the sun arose in a generous mood, and looked
with a neighborly smile toward the log-cabin of
the Vanes. What had become of it? The place



VOL. XIII.- 14.


where it used to stand was nothing now but one
S.e,,ld drift of snow, capped by the very tip of
the stone chimney, which served as a needful
breathing-hole for the buried family inside.
The children came down the ladder in the
morning, rubbing their eyes and asking what
made it so dark? To their surprise, no cheerful
blaze greeted them from the big fireplace. The
snow had dropped into the ashes overnight and
quenched the deeply-buried coals. The fire was
actually out! This in itself was a dire calamity.
What shall we do? What shall we do?"
wailed Ruth, echoed by Isaac. And oh! what
was that in the dim corner a bear? No, it was
only the beloved grandfather, shielded from the
cold by his bear-skin coat and coon-skin cap,
while he patiently clicked together two pieces of
flint in order to strike a spark.
Tedious process A friction match would have
done it instantly and saved all the trouble; only,
you see, if they had waited for a friction match,
they would have waited fifty years !
"Now I know what it is that's happened;
we 're buried alive screamed Patty hysterically.
Whereupon the other children screamed, too, and
they all walked into the fireplace it was as big
as the bedrooms at some watering-places-and
gazed with curiosity and despair up the chimney,
whence came their sole ray of light.
"We were never snowed under before-- never
any deeper than the tops of the windows," said
Ruth; "shall we ever get out?"
Yes, indeed, some time," replied her mother,
smiling with high courage.
Well, but I s'pose we can't go to school any
more this winter, nor to meeting' either," remarked
Isaac, by way of experiment.
At the delightful suggestion, little Asa had to run
behind the door of the "Hampshire cupboard" to
hide his smiles. He knew it was wicked; but oh !
the joy of not going to meeting' to be scoldedby the
tithing-man -of not going to school to be flogged
by the master !
"Don't be discouraged, youngsters! said the
guileless grandfather, rubbing his hands as the
fire began to curl up the chimney-"Go to
school?-of course you will! Not to-day, I 'in
afeard,- no, not to-day; but there are more days
a-coming. And Tempestuous, you'll be obleeged
to make a road to the barn, for the stock must be
fed and watered, whether or no."
The stock consisted of a pig and cow. Tem-
pestuous was "beat," so he declared. I '11
undertake anything in reason, but I can't get to
the barn "
His mistress turned and looked at him. She
was a woman who did not mind such trifles

as impossibilities. "Yes, you can," she said;
" you can get out of the gable window, and walk
on snow-shoes. The barn can't be quite buried,
for it is higher than the house. And you must
take a shovel with you to dig your way back."
The chore-man seemed quite dazzled with the
brilliancy of this scheme, till he reflected on the
labor it would cost.
Yes, ma'am," he whined; only it is n't at all
likely I can open that gable winder. But I '11 try
it, if you '11 wait till I get limbered up,--say, along
about the middle of the forenoon."
And then he limped along to the settle.
Mrs. Vane had many trials, and not the least
of them had been this dead-and-alive man, neither
servant nor boarder, who was never "limbered
up for any serious undertaking till along about
the middle of the forenoon." But as he could
not be driven, she wisely said no more.
After breakfast, he condescended to help Mr-
Vane put on the yule-log which had been brought
in overnight.
This is what they call Christmas-day, young-
sters said the grandfather with a genial smile.
" Christmas-day they call it; we can not afford to
make any jollification; still I see no harm myself
in a yule-log," added the old patriot, gazing com-
placently at the red blaze, already hot enough for
a barbecue.
"And I myself see no harm in a candle," said
the house-mother, lighting a tallow dip with reck-
less prodigality.
"Ah, well, it 's a white Christmas, Nancy, a
pretty white Christmas; but the Lord sent the
weather, and we '11 bear it."
The children's faces had brightened wonderfully.
See me said Isaac, riding a chair across the
floor; I 'in Paul Revere a-horseback "
"See me; I 'ma 'lobster "-meaning a British
soldier,- said little Asa, winding a scarlet comforter
about his neck.
"Well, well, let 'em caper," said the tender-
hearted grandfather, turning to wipe away a tear as
he mused. Poor things--fatherless, far's I
know And here's a cold, stormy winter upon us,
and not a bit of meat in the house."
Perhaps Nancy divined his thoughts, for she
paused in her work to stroke his withered cheek and_
"That 's right, Grandsir; James is safe in the
Lord's keeping, wherever he is, and we '11 not
waste the day sighing "
"No, we '11 not, Nancy. No, we'll not; you
have the right kind of courage, my dear, that can't
be killed out, any more than Canada thistles."
Oh, Mother, say, may n't we parch corn and.
eat apples, and play fox and geese, seeing it 's




Christmas ? pleaded young Paul Revere, meeting
with a header," as his horse rode into the settle.
Yes, if you don't make too much noise. And
maybe we '11 roast those big potatoes and have some
hasty pudding and molasses for dinner," replied
the mother, well aware that nothing was better cal-
culated to raise the tone of the family spirits.
It 's a terrible pity we could n't have a spare-
rib to roast; such a complete good fire for it,"
observed Tempestuous, the kill-joy, looking up at
the hook over the mantel-piece, from which he had
often seen a juicy spare-rib suspended by a string.
But that was in the good old times before James
Vane had gone to fight against King George, silly
creature Tempestuous had always kept his po-
litical views to himself, but the war was over now,
and he could hurrah for George Washington as
loud as the rest.
There was something weird and unnatural about
the day. The candle looked as if it did not know
why it was burning, and the tall clock in the corner
ticked as if it were talking in its sleep. The por-
trait of Oliver Cromwell, coarse-featured and stern,
glowered from the wall in disapproval, and the
profiles of great-grandsir and grandma'am Har-
vard "-black as ink, and suspected by little Asa
of being negroes-looked down with astonish-
ment; that is, if they could be said to look at
all, having no eyes, and only one eyelash apiece.
But the white Christmas went on all the same.
It came to be "along about the middle of the
forenoon," and Tempestuous was gradually be-
coming limbered, and wondering "whether or no
that cow and pig would n't want to see him," when
suddenly a peculiar sound was heard overhead -
"a trampling, crushing sound," Patty said, "as if
it was in the chimney."
They all listened for it and it ceased; but pres-
ently, when they were talking, it began again,-.or
so Patty said, who was nearest the fireplace,-
and it made her nervous.
It 's a strange day. Oh, if Father would only
come sighed she.
"Where can he be ? asked the other children,
for the twentieth time.
Ah! If they could only have known If they
could only have guessed !
The good man had been greatly hindered on his
journey by the storm, as they rightly supposed.
For the past two days, as his horse could not go
through the drifts, he had been obliged to leave

the animal behind, and walk on snow-shoes. To-
day he had traveled in this hard way for ten miles
over hills and valleys of snow, till now, at eleven
o'clock, he was actually standing on his own white
roof, faint and exhausted, listening to the prattle
of his children. How had he been able to distin-
guish his own buried house, lying silently in its
" white sleep ? The outline of the chimney had
been his only landmark. Still there he stood now,
well muffled in bear-skins, his pockets full of
candy and toys for the little ones-the kind
father! but waiting for the right moment to re-
veal himself.
How he longed to see as well as hear How
famished he was, after a fast of nearly twenty-four
hours And what a savory odor was wafted to his
nostrils from the pot of pease boiling on the lug-
pole Yet the sound of his voice would terrify the
children, and he dared not speak. He laughed
silently at his absurd position, but it was a tanta-
lizing one, and was fast becoming unendurable.
At last, when he could wait no longer in his
eagerness to see and embrace his family, he threw
a snow-ball down the chimney, shouting as it
bounced upon the fore-stick :
Don't be afraid It's only Father."
The people of those early days had strong
nerves, perhaps; at any rate, no one fainted.
And, of course, after a moment they understood it
all; and then the children shouted Grandsir "
said, The Lord be praised!" Tempestuous
sprang from the settle without groaning; and
Mrs. Vane, who always had her thoughts about
her, exclaimed: Wait, James We '11 take the
fire off the andirons and cool the chimney, and
then you can come down "
For nobody thought of stopping for Tempestu-
ous to dig out the gable window. He had to do it
as soon as his master saw him, let me tell you, and
I am glad to record that the imprisoned "stock"
were found alive and weli.
But was n't it a strange home-coming for Lieu-
tenant Vane? And did any man ever drop
down upon his family more unexpectedly ? I 'm
sure no one ever met with a warmer reception !
And it is my opinion that he is the first Santa
Claus who ever ventured into a New England
chimney. If you doubt it, Patty's granddaughter
can show you the very snow-shoes he wore on that
strange white Christmas a hundred and two years





-J -3i--- -.




.r i 1 l Hi i- r- -, fond of
,\ .-, ... ,.i. w,,, :ingstory
". L -'- L - ;j-_- -- .1 I r l.. .1.1 ,., Illustrate
"', ~- .4-: -.I i 'I ": ,.. between
,( i---_-- ,,.....i.,,.-,- .ndmernm-
"' beisufli hen ownpiofession.
DraKIt appears that Mr. Alexander, an
Eminent English architect, was in a
certain lawsuit under cross-examination by a dis-
tinguished barrister who wished to detract from
the weight of his testimony, and who, after asking
him his name, proceeded:
You are a builder, I believe ? "
"No, sir," was the reply, I am not a builder :
I am an architect."
They are much the same, I suppose ?"
I beg your pardon, sir; I can not admit that;
I consider them to be totally different."
Oh, indeed perhaps you will state wherein
this great difference exists."
"An architect, sir," replied Mr. Alexander, "con-
ceives the design, prepares the plan, draws out the
specifications -in short, supplies the mind; the
builder is the bricklayer or the carpenter. Thebuild-
er, in fact, is the machine; the architect, the power
that puts the machine together and sets it going."
Oh, very well, Mr. Architect," said the lawyer;
and now, after your ingenious distinction without
a difference, perhaps you can inform the court who
was the architect of the Tower of Babel? "- to which
question Mr. Alexander made the prompt and tell-
ing rejoinder:
"There was ino architect, sir, and hence the
Mr. Alexander evidently had a very good opin-
ion of his profession, and, considering the difficulty
with which success in it is attained, he was cer-
tainly justified in thinking well of it. For, it
is only fair to say at the outset that the boy who


: ..1 ,,

-,: .- 1 .:-
' I FI llll -

his study.
But to the

U 1

L' '.- F

(I l.!r'P;I.

i/ I i .:I

youth who can afford to labor and to wait," and
who has a proper talent for the occupation, the pro-
fession of an architect furnishes a very agreeable,
lucrative, and genteel field for earning a living.
At the age of fifteen, a boy can tell whether he
is fitted by nature and circumstances to be an
architect. To begin with, he should have an
artistic mind; at all events, a mind that is not
positively and absolutely mechanical in its opera-
tions. A distinguished architect informed me,
much to my surprise, that he was not by nature
sufficiently artistic for the purposes of his profes-
sion, and, in that regard, he had to rely on well-
qualified assistants. On the other hand, there
must be a taste for mathematics, for, while the
purely artistic mind can give the architectural idea
beauty in form, it will of itself fail in the power of
construction. The boy should understand algebra
and geometry; should have learned to draw from
casts and from life, and should begin to cultivate
his taste, which little word, as defined by Webster
is, nice perception, or the power of perceiving
and relishing excellence in human performance;
the faculty of discerning beauty, order, con-
formity, symmetry, or whatever constitutes excel-
lence." And this effort should be directed, not
only toward art, but into literature and music, also.

* Copyright by G. J. MANSON, 1884.

II \'




In art, it would be well to make a special study of
color. A term or two in one of the schools of
technology and design would be very beneficial;
for in such an institution, coming in contact, as
he will, with other pupils, and having all sorts of
difficult problems forced upon his attention, his
intellect will be quickened and his progress helped
by the spirit of competition. But the mere fact
of having graduated at such an institution will
be of no help to him unless he has made good use
of the advantages it affords. The schools are not
to blame,-but too many boys, while able to nnswner
questions put to them in regard to special studies,
are not able to put to practical use the learning
they have acquired. Such, at least, is a complaint
often heard from practical architects.
Having finished his school studies at the age of,
say, seventeen, if the boy is able to spare the time
and the money, he should go to Paris and there
become a pupil in the School of Fine Arts. This
is practically a free school. There is an initiation
fee amounting to ten dollars, and dues are assessed
each month to the sum of about one dollar and
twenty cents of American money,-these dues
being applied to the purchase of material for the
school. Boys and young men from all countries go
there to study painting, sculpture, and architect-
ure; and, it may be said, there is no part of the
world where better accommodations and more in-
spiring influences can be found for the study of
these arts than the capital of France.
To enter the architectural branch of this school,
the candidate must pass an examination in ele-
mentary mathematics, history, free-hand drawing,
and architecture. He is obliged to obtain a certain
number of points," or good marks, as we should
call them, before he can be considered a pupil.
There are two classes in the architectural school,
the second and first. The beginner enters the
second class, and while there passes an examina-
tion in mathematics, including analytical geometry,
conic sections, geometry, perspective, and survey-
ing. Then there is an examination in architect-
ural construction, which is partly oral, and partly
consists in making an original design for a building ;
the student has three months' time in which to
make this plan. In the meanwhile, he hears lect-
ures on various topics pertaining to his studies.
Aside from this, every two months there is a
twelve hours' competition," each student mak-
ing the sketch of a building which, during the
two months following the competition, is to be
wrought out and elaborated, under the direction
of a professor. These sketches are publicly ex-
hibited and inspected by a committee of twenty or
twenty-five of the most eminent architects of Paris.
The committee render judgment upon them, and

award first" or 'second mention," according
to the quality of the work. To become a pupil
of the first class, one must have passed six exam-
inations and have obtained six first mentions "
in the competitions of which I have just spoken.
In the first class, there are no more examinations,
but the contests are much more difficult. The
competitions are still public, and a jury still gives
its judgment on the work of the pupils.
There is no specific time for graduation; a
student graduates when he has received the
required number of first mentions." It would
hardly be possible, under the most favorable con-
ditions, to graduate in less time than two years
and six months. iMany pupils remain at the
school from five to eight years without being able
to enter the first class.
After graduating from this school, the pupil
enters the office of an architect, in some European
or American city, at a salary commensurate with
his abilities. There he will very soon acquire a
practical knowledge of his profession, and after
a while will be able to open an office for himself.
But let us suppose that the boy could not afford
to go to Paris, and that he has graduated from one
of the Technical Schools of Design, of which there
are several in the country. What does he do
then? He enters the office of an architect. In
England this is considered a great privilege and
has to be roundly paid for; but here no charge is
exacted, and the student occasionally, though only
for a short time, gives his services gratuitously to
his employer. His first work will be what is called
"inking." The "plan of a building is first
made in pencil, for the reason that during the
progress of the drawing erasures may have to be
made. When the drawing is considered to be
correct, the lines are inked over by the begin-
ner with a ruling-pen. Under the direction of his
employer, he will also be studying books on archi-
tectural construction. The best book on this
subject is an English work, entitled "Notes on
Building Construction." in four volumes, three of
which have been published. And here it may
be said that the literature of architecture is vast.
Some of the most useful books are in the French
language; hence a knowledge of that language, or
at least the ability to read it, is exceedingly desir-
The boy's progress will depend on his talent and
industry. After a while he will be able to make a
plan of a floor in a small house ; then of several
floors; then an elevation," which is a representa-
tion of the flat side of a building, drawn with
mathematical accuracy, but without the slightest
attention to effect; and from that he will grad-
ually work into details and complete knowledge.


While working for his employer, and learning
the theoretical part of his profession, he will not
have had many opportunities, during the ordi-
nary hours of business, to have seen work in the
course of execution. These opportunities he must
seize as best he can. His office hours will not be
so late that he can not, if he is so disposed, find
time to visit buildings in course of erection and see
how the work is being done. For the architect is
a sort of clerk of the works, and is obliged to see
that the plan he has made is being carried out
according to the specifications. He must obtain a
knowledge of all the materials used in the con-
struction of a building,- the wood, the stone, the
iron, the plumbing pipes and fittings. All this
seems quite formidable, but it is not a severe task.
The information is picked up gradually during
the progress of office work, and the effort in ob-
taining it will hardly be felt.
The question of what wages the student will
have while he is in the office is a very difficult one
to answer. There is no settled rate of pay for
young men in such positions; the general rule
seems to be to pay them what they are worth.
One assistant may be making six or eight dollars a
week, and another, in the same office, twenty dollars
a week, both having been there the same length
of time. It may be said, however, that after he has
been in an architect's office for five years a young
man, who has the proper talent and has been
faithful to his work, should be earning from twenty-
five to thirty dollars a week. If he has been in-
dolent, he can not expect such wages. A promi-
nent architect informed me that he had employed
in his office men fifty years of age who were
absolutely inaccurate in the simplest details of
the art; because they had never taken the pains
to thoroughly learn their profession.
But the enterprising young architect will prob-
ably wish to open an office of his own. To do
this successfully he must secure patrons through
personal acquaintances and influential friends.
When he starts, he will know something in regard
to what he can depend upon. He has a certain
circle of friends and acquaintances. From these
he ought reasonably to expect a certain number
of commissions, and, if he does good work, he will
be recommended from one to another, until his
services are in demand. No rule can be set down
in such a case any more than in regard to a
lawyer's or a doctor's practice. It all depends upon

the man and his surroundings. For some time,
he will have to make plans of small private houses
and private dwellings. When he has become the
architect of some public building, and has de-
signed a structure which not only pleases his em-
ployers, but attracts the attention of the general
public, it may be safe to say that he is on the
high road to pecuniary fortune.
For drawing the plan of a house to cost six
or seven thousand dollars the architect receives
from three hundred to three hundred and fifty dol-
lars; in short, as a rule, his fee is five per cent.
on the cost of the building. But upon buildings
costing one hundred thousand dollars or more, the
price paid the architect is usually a matter of
special agreement.
During his early years, his greatest expense will
be for books. As already stated, the literature of
architecture is extensive and, it'might be added,
expensive; but books the young architect must
have, and many of them. His capital lies as much
in his head as in his fingers, and the more he
knows, the better able will he be to do his work,
and the better work will he be able to do. He
must be a constant student. The taste of the
public changes; new styles of building are de-
manded; new materials are introduced in their
construction. A few years ago, terra cotta began
to be extensively used in building, and forthwith
all the architects had to make a special study of
that article, which, as you know, plays an impor-
tant part in some of the finest buildings in our large
cities. The student must read also good periodicals
relating to his profession, and, if possible, some of
the French publications, which are very good.
If a young man fails in making at least a good
living as an architect, it seems to me it must be
through his own fault. From what I have said, he
must see that the full knowledge for the profession
is not easily acquired. It takes time, and a long
time, to become proficient in it; but this will not
deter a youth whose ambition and talent lie in
that direction. Some travelers," says Bishop
Hall, "have more shrunk at the map than at the
way; between both, how many stand still with their
arms folded !<" Once having started on your archi-
tectural journey, pursue it bravely, perseveringly,
patiently, to the end. Above all, having made up
your mind to be an architect, look to it that you
do not stand with folded arms lingering by the



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S 'i T a window,
S- .. trying to count
"- the stars in the
'' ..; Christmas sky,
S' '' i ; stood two little
S-'- -children. The
; '-. little girl and
i the little boy
Sad both been
-- .i. born in a far-
vay country
-' called Germany;
:'', ..'.- md the hut in
Si which they were
S..ight have been
in -. '- ,7i iy, so smoky and
que ii' .- 'I it within, and
so 'I..!- i .1/"' I r., was it by trees
with. r L. I' t 'twasreallyinthe
Stai. ..!, ; i N. Jersey, and the
tre: l I .... I-. ebranchesabove
it were part of the woods that crowned
one of the '- Orange Mountains.
The father of the two children had
come to America, two years before, strong-hearted
and hopeful,- poor fellow! -with his rosy-cheeked
youngwife and two chubby, round-eyed babies.
But the rosy-cheeked young wife had died, and
he was left all alone in a strange country with his
two little children to keep and care for; and at
first he had succeeded very fairly,-by tilling,
scraping, and clearing the small patch of ground
he owned. But at last came a year when, be-
tween the potato-bugs in the ground, and the
chills and the fever in his own bones, he had a
sorry time; and on Christmas Eve of that year,
he had been more than a week in bed, aching in
every joint, and perfectly helpless with the worst
attack he had yet known.
The children, poor little things, were very good,
and cared for him to the best of their small ability.
Meenie was only five years old, but rather tall for
her age,--indeed, she was quite as tall as Otto, who
was six, and more helpful than many an American
boy of twelve. He kept the fire bright with broken
branches which he picked up, and fed his sister
with bread and sausage as long as there was any
with which to feed her. The father could eat
nothing, and Otto munched his crusts dry. That
night he had given Meenie the last bit of bread;
there was not a crumb more in the cupboard, nor



a scrap of sausage, nor a penny with which to buy
any. And if there had been heaps of pennies, Otto
would not have known where to spend them, for
their father did all their shopping, such as it was,
at the TiP three miles away, and they them-
selves rarely stirred outside the woods.
The father turned in his sleep and muttered
strange words, for the fever had mounted to his
head. Meenie was frightened, so Otto took her
to the window to count the stars, and, as they
watched, a thought came into Otto's mind.
It was Christmas Eve-that he knew perfectly,.
for his father had been telling them about it con-
tinually for weeks before, and had even talked of
it in his sleep during the last few days. And when-
ever he spoke of Christmas he would tell them the
story of the wise men following the star until
it led them to the manger where the little Christ
child lay. He had heard it read and told so often
by the good pastor of his little native village that
the words had never lost themselves in his
mind, and he was always able to repeat it, and in
exactly the same way, every time they wanted to
hear it; and it was of this story that Otto was think-
ing as they counted the stars. He wondered which.
star it was -it must have been that large bright
one so nearly overhead; perhaps, if he were to
follow it, he too might find the Christ child, and
then all their troubles would be ended; -he might
try at least.
"Meenie," he said,--in German, as he could
not speak English,-"I am going to follow that
big star there, and see if I can find the little
Christ child."
"Yes, and Meenie will go too," answered
Meenie, :',..i 1-.: her head with satisfaction.
"No, no, Meenie, it will be too cold, and young
will be too tired."
But Meenie only smiled, and repeated, "Meenie-
will go too So Otto said no more.
He built up the fire with the largest sticks he
could find, and placed a tin cup of water by his
father's bedside, in case he should awake and beh
thirstybefore their return; then he wrapped Meenie
up in the queer, green, knitted scarf she always;
wore out-of-doors, and they crept from the house.
It was cold, cold, i. ,~iiiii cold The sky was
black and cold; the stars were-shining and cold;
and the wind came in long cold gusts that made
the trees shudder, as if they missed their summer
clothing. The snow was frozen so stiff on top that



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oling fast to each othr, the half ran, half sli don the hill, until they reached the open gate.
There were st t unt a lg between the evergreens, mor steps, and then a
,r ,, I I- ,I a1'o_ -

1 -,Ill ,,, I. .- h .,, ,, I .... ,,,,,I d e d

:e out in a floo iuponte,,, I,. ", ,,m ,,,_ b t r s d, "cm M "

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i~~~11 _! ._-_ -?% = .0I.... ,.I, h., I. .,.. I

There were steps to{] ount, a long :i-,__..I. walkr between the evergreens, more steps, and then a


swinging door. Otto pushed this open, and they
found themselves in a perfect sea of children. Just
then the lights went down, down; there was a
burst of music, organ and childish voices singing:
Ring out the bells for Christmas I "
At the same moment, there blazed forth at the
farther end of the room a tree glorified to its top-
most bough as with hundreds of stars.
Dazed by the light, the warmth, the music, and
the tree with its stars, the two little Germans
clung to each other, and stared at everything,
half-frightened, all-bewildered. It was so strange
and beautiful, the voices rising and falling softly,
the air fragrant with the smell of pine and cedar,
and the wonderful tree gleaming in the distance.
The music stopped, and some one began speak-
ing near the tree; then there was a ripple in the
sea of children, and a wave of little girls went up
the room to the speaker, returning to their places
with various bright-colored parcels. This was
repeated with wave after wave, until Otto and
Meenie became used to it, and almost ceased
wondering at it; then they began to remember
why they had taken the journey, and Meenie
whispered: Where is the Christ child? "
I don't know. I am looking," answered Otto,
peering anxiously about the room.
At the sound of their voices, an old gentleman,
at whose heels they had been standing all the
time, looked down at them through his big gold-
rimmed spectacles, and said: Hallo Where did
you come from, you queer little people ? "
Otto could not understand, but felt that he was
being, questioned about something, and so ex-
plained why they had come out that evening.
The old gentleman, in his turn, could not under-
stand ; he looked puzzled for a minute, then touched
the shoulder of a young lady who was just in front
of him, and said: "Belle, here's a chance for
you to try your German."
The young lady turned with a rustle of silk.
Oh, you dear little things! she cried, kneel-
ing down by the children and looking at them with
eyes as brown and soft as her own seal-skin muff;
then she said something to them in German,
in which there seemed to be a great many kins,"
and Otto eagerly responded.
What is it, Belle ?" questioned the old gentle-
man. Belle in a few quick words told him of the
sick father, the empty cupboard, and the long cold
journey to find the Christ child.
"Poor little things; poor little things!" said
the old gentleman. Here, Belle, I say, where 's
the candy or something? Here," seizing a
gilded horn that dangled from her hand, "now
little sloshkin, or whatever they call you, take
this; I think you can understand that."

And while Meenie was understanding it," he
had an earnest talk, first with Belle, and then
with an old lady, who came bustling up to them,
and the result was that the two children pres-
ently found themselves tucked under buffalo robes
in a soft-cushioned sleigh, being whisked along
over the icy road, and next in a big room before a
blazing fire, where the old gentleman fed them
with all sorts of goodies, sweet and savory, until
Belle and the old lady interfered out of regard for
the children's lives; then they were again put in
the sleigh, with the old gentleman, the young
lady, the black driver, and quite a number of bas-
kets and bundles.
Here the little wanderers fell asleep, and so they
never noticed the long dark road over which they
had so wearily journeyed before, nor the big soft
star now disentangled from the cloud and shining
clearly upon them again.
The black driver, who knew the way by more
than one route, took a turn where there was a
clearing in the woods, and so drove the sleigh
almost up to the door of the "little Dutch house,"
as he called it.
The father had been dozing, waking, and dozing
again, all unconscious of his children's absence; and
now he became suddenly wide-awake, to find the
room aglow with fire-light and candles, and a num-
ber of people bustling about; after one ach / of
astonishment, he lay back, placidly staring at
them in that big baby sort of content so peculiarly
German, and at the loaves of bread, the plump
hams, the pies, and the endless parcels that were
being heaped on the table; at the old gentleman
who felthis pulse, and gavehimapowder to swallow;
at the black man who filled one corner of the room
with a pile of wood nearly half as high as himself;
and finally at his own two little children, now fast
asleep beside him, under the thick soft blankets
which the young lady spread over them all, while
she spoke words of kindness in his own tongue.
Then his big blue eyes grew piteous instead of
placid, and the tears came trickling down his hol-
low cheeks, whereupon the old gentleman immedi-
ately began to feed him with soup, and scold Belle
for crying, as if th tears were not running down
his own dear old face.
It was not until ... :r -rL;, was placed so that
Otto would have no trouble, the fire safely banked,
and the father sleeping soundly, that the old gentle-
man and his party left the "little Dutch house."
The stars were gleaming frostily in the Christ-
mas morning sky as they drove home, and as Belle
looked up at the largest and brightest of them all,
she promised herself that the little German boy
and girl should never regret their long journey
in search of the Christ child.



(Recollections ofa Page iz the United States Senate.)


H- C-.._ -


,,. 1, -- F .



THE city of Washington, as the seat
Federal Government, is of interest to all p
Americans. It is styled the
City of Palaces, and the term
is just; yet its architectural
features do not surpass in
beauty its natural loveliness,
and it is called also the City
of Magnificent Distances. Let
us not end our record until
we have noted a few of its
I shall imagine that I have
encountered a. young and
sturdy tourist standing in the
center of Judiciary Square,
with a guide-book in his hand,
not knowing which is north
or which is south, or in what
direction he ought to go. The
first thing I do is to turn his
face toward the west, so that
he may "get his bearings," as the say:
Upon his left is the City Hall, with it5

courts of justice; upon his right, the large brick
PITOL. Pension Building.
Leaving the park, we walk but the length of
of our two short blocks, when we reach the marble
atriotic headquarters of the Postmaster-General, occupy-

-i J

S..- ... - .


ing is. ing an entire square,- a building interesting from
3 local the outside, and equally interesting within, because

-Copyright, 1884, by Edmund Alton. Al rights reserved.



of the curiosities collected in the Dead-letter divis-
ion, and the army of clerks busily at work in the
various rooms.
As we emerge through the northern door, we
are at once confronted by the splendid Patent
Office, with massive columns, lengthy corridors,
expansive Model-room, and its array of glass cases
filled with the creations of American ingenuity.
This building covers twice as much ground as its
neighbor across the way, and is the official home
of the Secretary of the Interior, with a few of his
subordinate officers, such as the Commissioners of
Patents, of the General Land-office, and of Indian
Affairs, and their hundreds of clerks. As the
Secretary has not room here for all his immense
force, the other bureaus, including those of Pen-
sions, the Geological Survey, and the Census, are
located elsewhere.
Continuing onward toward the west, we soon
arrive at the Treasury Building, dingy and solemn
in its external appearance, as seen from the Fif-
teenth street side, but very attractive when we reach
the elegant Cash-room, and gaze from the gallery
upon the Eldorado of wealth below. As we can not
get any of it, however, without a law of Congress,
there is no need to stop and trouble Secretary
or Treasurer.
Passing out upon the northern steps, we see on
the opposite side of the street the Department of

:----, ------- --
I- -- -



Justice,- the brown-colore
Attorney-General, and the
Within a stone's-throw, t

same side as the Treasury, is the Executive Man-
sion, or "White House," with its East-room, Red-
room, Blue-room, and other historic apartments.
This is the place to find the President, and to
apply to him for almost :~' Il-,i,. -. from an office to
an autograph.
Passing by the conservatory, and leaving the
White House grounds by the western gate, and
glancing, as we go, at the equestrian statue to the
north, we appear before the edifice dedicated to
the uses of the three Departments,- the State,
the War, and the Navy.
This completes the tour of the Executive De-
partments; so, if we wish, we may take our way,
like the course of empire, a few streets further
westward, and visit the National Observatory,
where, by the wonderful telescope, we can get a
good look at the Man in the Moon.
Within full view of the White House, and but
five-minutes' walk to the south, is the Obelisk, or
Washington Monument. Of course our young
tourist goes there, and perhaps enters the elevator
and takes a voyage up, up, up, for more than five
hundred feet. When he is up there, of course,
there is nothing to do but to take a look at the
surrounding country through the peep-holes,"
and then come down.
Having reached the bottom, the nearest build-
ing of consequence is the Bureau of Engraving
and Printing, where the Government makes its
Paper money. Passing through the adjoining
square, belonging to the Department of Agri-
culture, we cross a street, and enter the grounds.
of the Smithsonian Institute,-the abode of
mummies and stuffed boa-constrictors, and other
queer creatures. Here our friend may revel in
curiosities to his heart's content. He may enter
either the Institute or the building on the other
side, which goes by the name of the National
Leaving this, he soon reaches the Botanical
Gardens, where he sees further curiosities in the
shape of exotic plants and flowers. As he quits.

S this last inclosure, there looms up before his eyes
the Capitol. With a few steps he enters the
i sacred precincts of its grounds. I call them
sacred, for they are. The building and its sur-
S rounding park are not under the control of the
-- = city authorities, but are governed immediately
: -- by the two Houses of Congress, with their special
------ officers of police. By city authorities," I mean
the officers of the municipal government, which,
EPARTMENT. as I have told you, is entirely subject to the will
fd hiding-place of the of Congress.
Court of Claims. Of course, he has not seen all the offices in which
o the west, and on the the executive affairs of the Government are con-




ducted. Neither has he visited all the points of in-
terest which he ought to visit. The outskirts of the
city, with their natural scenery, are a realm of
delight. Far over upon the eastern hills of the
Potomac is the beautiful Asylum for the Insane.
At the extreme end of the city is the Government
Arsenal. Farther on, around the Eastern Branch,
is the Navy Yard; farther still is the Congres-
sional Cemetery. Due north of the Capitol is the
dreary-looking building presided over by the pub-
lic printer. On the hills above is the Soldiers'
Home; and it would be well for the sight-seer to
take a jaunt into its woods, if for no other purpose
than to gaze through the long vista of trees, and

If I could persuade him, he would, upon recross-
ing the river, pursue his journey beyond the
Georgetown Heights, and look at the reservoir,
the chain bridge, the still more wonderful Cabin
John Bridge, and the great falls of the Potomac.
If he prefer the works of art to the works of
nature, he may find some entertainment in the
city. The Executive Buildings contain portraits
of the presidents and cabinet officers of our his-
tory; and there is the Corcoran Gallery of Art,
with choice paintings and sculpture.
But we may as well assume that the fatigued
young tourist has not taken my advice, but has
remained stubbornly at the Botanical Gardens.

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see the Capitol perched in the little opening at
the end-a lovely picture set in a velvet drapery
of leaves.
If our young friend have a horse, I advise him
not to return from the Home without taking a ride
along the bridle-paths of Rock Creek on the west;
if not a lover of nature, he may as well go a few
miles in the other direction, and tramp over the
famous In.I,-, ....n...' of Bladensburg. But he
really ought to cross il ,..,. 1, the city and over the
river to Arlington Heights, and go through the
National Cemetery, with its thousands of white
slabs marking the resting-place of the heroes of
our war, and the pathetic monument reared to the
memory of "IThe Unknown Dead."

Entering the Capitol walk, till recently shaded by
arching trees, he comes upon the statue of Chief-
Justice Marshall, at the foot of the terrace.
Before he begins the ascent of the steps of
the Capitol, lie should observe the grand colon-
nades on the three porticoes; if he wishes to see
more, he will find them on the northern, southern,
and western balconies. And before entering the
Rotunda, he may well pause to inspect the figures
on the bronze doors.
On the walls of the Rotunda are some large
framedpictures, representing the "Pilgrim Fathers"
on their way to this country, the Baptism of
Pocohontas," the Surrender of Cornwallis," and
other incidents in American history. Higher up


on the walls is a frescoed circle, illustrative of cer-
tain epochs in our country's career. At the top is
the canopy, where the visitor sees General Wash-
ington and the thirteen States, with an angel blow-
ing a horn. I presume it stands for Fame. In the

building. I take my companion up another bronze
staircase, and bring him into the President's room
at its head. From this I take him into the Senate
lobby and Marble Room, where he may notice, as
in the President's room, the indefinite multiplica-


groups surrounding this central assembly, he may
discover figures resembling other men well known
in the annals of the nation.
In another moment we are in the old Hall of
Representatives, with its many statues and its two
mosaic portraits. I confess that I am not very
fond of all the works of art about the Capitol. I
shall take the liberty to pass them by in silence.
I ought, however, to praise the figure of History,
standing in her marble chariot, with her book of
record before her. One of the interesting features
of the room is its "echoes"; by putting his ear
to the wall, the listener can hear everything that
is said by the people passing through the Hall,
even to a faint whisper. Another amusing pas-
time is to try to discover faces and figures in the
breccia columns.
A few steps farther, and we enter the present
Hall of Representatives, containing a few pictures.
Without pausing to look at them, we pass into the
lobby and reception-room, and find the walls dec-
orated with the portraits of the many Speakers
who have, in the past, presided over the House.
Leaving the House lobby near the Speaker's
room, and descending the bronze staircase, we pass
around through the long colonnade on the floor
below, and soon reach a circular room filled with
the pillars that support the Rotunda. Having
passed this, we reach the Senate wing of the

tion of rooms, caused by the reflections of the
opposite mirrors.
Again going into the lobby, we turn to the left
and look into the Vice-President's room. An
object of interest here is the little looking-glass
purchased many years ago,- a -purchase de-
nounced by the senators as an act of reckless
extravagance !
Turning to the right, we step from the lobby

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into the Senate Chamber. It contains no paint-
ings, but if my companion is like the average
sight-seer he will mount the steps and sit in the




chair of the Vice-President, and handle the his-
toric little gavel that has descended with the memo-
ries of former times to the senators of to-day. He
may also look at the little snuff-boxes, not quite so
old, but playing as important a part in the tradi-
tionary lore of that body. Near Captain Bassett's
chair is another box, containing an instrument
that puts in motion the automatic pages." This
is a new contrivance of electric wires, after the
fashion of the fire and messenger alarms, and
saves the human pages much labor in hunting
up" senators on a call of the yeas and nays, or
when their presence is wanted for anything else.
The wires connect with all the committee-rooms
and other places frequented by the law-makers;
and by one, two, three, or four turns of the
machine, a tinkle is set up all over the Senate
wing, signaling to the senators exactly what is
being done. If curious, the stranger may wan-
der into the cloak-rooms and imagine how the
law-makers make themselves comfortable when
a tedious talker is occupying the floor in the
Making our exit by way of the eastern door,
and taking a glance into the Reception Room,
and perhaps walking out to the bronze doors,
we turn to the right and pause at the steps lead-
ing to the ladies' gallery. Midway up the stairs,
is a representation of the battle on Lake Erie,
and on the floor above there are some other
Walking around the gallery corridor, and notic-
ing upon the doors the sections reserved for the ex-
ecutive officers, diplomatic corps, and families of
congressmen, we descend the staircase opposite
to that we have just ascended.
At the foot of the steps, and in the same relative
position as the statue of Franklin, is a statue of
John Hancock, whose bold signature on the
Declaration of Independence is familiar to the
Half-way up these stairs is a representation (or
an alleged representation) of the battle of Chapul-
tepec. Of this painting I do not know what to
say. It is mystifying to most spectators. No one
knows what the different soldiers are about. They
seem to be going in all directions. There are
several horsemen in the battle, but one always
struck my fancy. He is on a fiery steed, and is
apparently leading some gallant and desperate
charge. It used to trouble me, when a page, for
I was very anxious to know what general it repre-
sented. I never knew until recently. During the
last special session of the Senate, the galleries
were almost daily cleared for the transaction of
executive business, guards being stationed at the
steps to prevent persons from entering. One day



i _. -

"I i, '',


a little fat man came into this place, and, with a
grand gesture and a funny brogue, called the at-
tention of the guards to the picture.
"IDo you see that man on that horse? he
asked, pointing to the gallant charger. Well, I
am that man "
Saying which he slapped himself forcibly on his
chest, and pompously disappeared. He repeated
this performance on several succeeding days, but
did not give his name- simply saying:
"Iam that man "
Continuing the descent of the stairs to the sub-
terranean regions, I show my friend the coal cel-
lars and other dismal places where the pages
delighted to roam, and also the heating and ven-
tilating apparatus, with its donkey engines and
huge fan that sends air up to the Senate. And on
the way up I stop at a dark little room and hint
vaguely at its contents. I can not enter, because
Captain Bassett has the key. But I have been in
it in times gone by, and know some of its mys-
teries. There is perhaps more valuable bric--brac
in it than in all the rest of the entire building-
the exclusive property of the Captain. What he
particularly prizes is one of the old lamps used




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when the Senate met in its old
quarters. The Chamber was then
lighted in the style of the eight-
eenth century. Lamps were fast-
ened to the desks of the Vice-Presi-
dent and Secretary; and on each
senator's desk rested a candle.
These candles were of sufficient
length to burn through half a
night, but at the opening of a door
a draught would extinguish them.
Captain Bassett was one of the two
pages then employed, and he had
to be constantly answering such
calls as, Here, page, light my
candle and "Here, page, snuff
my candle!" from such men as
Daniel Webster and Henry Clay.
Returning to the principal story,
we pass around the south side of
the Senate to the central corridor,
observing opposite the main en-
trance to the Senate a venerable
clock that, being too tall for the
shelf, has stood many years on the
A short distance down the corri-
dor we reach the old Senate Cham-
ber, which, as I have told you in
a previous chapter, is now occu-
pied by the Supreme Court.
Passing onward, just before we
come to the Rotunda, is a door
which I open to show the way to
the Dome. The ascent is very
complicated. We first wind around
some iron steps, then enter a cold
stone passage and go up other
steps, and finally emerge upon an
iron walk, in the open air, from
which the pages used to clamber
Iout upon the roof. As a visitor is
not permitted to do this, however,
we continue the journey up some
more winding iron steps, and fin ally
reach a door where we pause for a
moment to catch breath. Grasp-
Sing the iron railing, we assist our-
selves to the top of a steep flight,
-and reach a grateful landing where,
Sfor the first time, we look down into
the Rotunda. We may also go out-
side and wander on the "battle-
But we have not yet reached
our destination. Up, up, we go,
the stairs becoming steeper and






steeper. Stopping occasionally to rest and to
view the huge braces and iron net-work that sup-
port the Dome, we attain the gallery. We amuse
ourselves for a while by looking down from the
immense height upon the people on the floor, and
also try the whispering properties of the place.
Then we continue our climb, pass above the can-
opy, and, as further ascent is barred by the gate
leading to the chandelier which lights the Dome,
and immediately beneath the Goddess of Liberty,
we go out upon the balcony. This is the pinna-
cle I have described a view from it on a summer
night. But it is as grand by day as it is entranc-
ing by the light of the moon and stars.
From this extreme height, it is proper to go to
the extreme depth ; so I hurry the young tourist
down and take him to a spot hundreds of feet

';i -

If our young friend should wish to see the laws
made by Congress since the beginning of the Gov-
ernment (in round numbers, fifteen thousand), I
may take him into the Law Library, and show him
the statutes-at-large. If he should wish to judge
of the amount of discussion expended by the legis-
lators during a century, I should escort him to the
Senate Library, and point out hundreds of heavy
Journals, Globes, and Records. If he should wish
more information as to the performances of the law-
makers, I have only to show him the Document
Rooms, and study the amazed look upon his
countenance as he gazes about him. Room after
room is literally filled with the bills and other
measures that have been introduced.
Next in order, our young friend may well visit
the Library of Congress, with its myriad of books.


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below. This is the crypt, designed for the sepul-
ture of the remains of Washington -a small oblong
vault two stories below the Rotunda floor, and
exactly in the center of the building. For more
than half a century a light was kept burning in
this place, guarded by an officer. This custom was
not abandoned until after the Civil War, when the
office of Keeper of the Crypt was finally abolished.
VOL. XIII.-15.

There he will find works of sage, humorist, novel-
ist, scientist, and poet, all mixed up in grand
confusion,-books of archmology, philosophy, and
travels, fiction, music, poetry, and statistics,-all
helter-skelter, here, there, and everywhere,--on
the floors, on the railings, on the steps, and in the
windows, wherever the ingenuity of the librarian
could make room for them to lodge in the ex-


tensive domain over which he presides. And yet,
with all his economy, he has not space to hold
them all. They clog the steps of the tourist
on the floor below, they obstruct the passage

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of the officials when traversing the galleries
above. In his desperation, the librarian has cried
out to Congress to give him a decent reposi-
tory for his books; but Congress has, for years,
done nothing but smile at his perplexity. Crowded
from shelf to floor, from floor to wall, he has
finally been driven to the very dungeons of the

building! And there, in the circular space sur-
rounding the crypt, in a part of the room devoted
to broken statuary and the night councils of the
pages, he has had to seek temporary shelter for
the books; and there, within a short
-vhil. .,iunlss Congress shall speedily
... [, !i,, relief, this series of mine,
S, n. .v been nearly finished, is
i ": i !' -I stained d to be entombed I

-I:i .i. a few of the wonders of
ri ,_ .,,tr.:.1. I leave the young tour-
!i .' !.ind the other points of in-
r. it by himself.
I the has entered the city by
way of the Potomac, the
first object that met his
view, as the
boat, having
:1 passed Mount
. Vernon, turned
.''--'-. ; the bend in the
'- river, was the
S, Washington
'-''Monument in
I ., the distance;
'' the second was
'. the Capitol.
Leaving it in
the evening by
S I the railway, as
the cars pass
the eastern
SI branch and the
bend of the
road, those

same two ob-
jects are the
last in sight.
And as he
travels rapid-

ly away, and
watches the
dark form of
I the Goddess of
more like a
beautiful star in its transit than an eclipsing plan-
et-sweep slowly and gracefully across the face
of the spotless and loftier shaft beyond, he will, if
a sensitive and reflective young fellow, carry with
him a pleasant remembrance of the Federal city
he has visited, and will realize, better than before,
the grandeur of the authority centered there.

(To be cointinted.)





.. I




ONE evening, when the snow lay white
On level plain and mountain height,
The Brownies mustered, one and all,
In answer to a special call.
All clustered in a ring they stood
Within the shelter of the wood,
While qern-ct fier. hbri"fhte-r yrPw
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We '11 not depend on other hands
To satisfy these new demands;
The merchants' wares we '11 let alone
And make toboggans of our own;
A lumber-yard some miles from here
Has seasoned lumber all the year.

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We might enough toboggans find
In town, perhaps, of every kind,
If some one chanced to know where they
Awaiting sale are stowed away."
Another spoke, Within us lies
The power to make our own supplies;

There pine and cedar may be found,
Like ancient castles, piled around.
Some boards are thick and some are thin,
But all will bend like sheets of tin.
At once we '11 hasten to the spot,
And, though a fence surrounds the lot,



We '11 skirmish round and persevere,
And gain an entrance, never fear."

This brought a smile to every face,
For Brownies love to climb, and race,
And undertake such work as will

Bring into play their wondrous skill
The pointers on the dial plate
Could hardly mark a later date,
Before they scampered o 'er the miles
That brought them to the lumber piles,
And then they clambered, crept, and squeezed
And gained admittance where they please
For other ways than builders show
To scale a wall the Brownies know.

Some sought for birch, and some for pine,
And some for cedar, soft and fine.

With large selection well content
Soon under heavy loads they bent.
It chanced to be a windy night,
Which made their labor far from light;
But, though a heavy tax was laid
On strength and patience, undismayed

They worked their way by hook or crook,
And reached at last a sheltered nook;
Then lively work the crowd began
To make toboggans true to plan.
The force was large, the rogues had skill,
And hands were .ih, -l... .:r still;
So here a twist, and there a bend,
Soon brought their labors to an end.
Without the aid of steam or glue,
They curved them like a war canoe;
No little forethought some displayed,
But wisely double-enders made,




That should they turn, as turn they might,
They'd keep the downward course aright;
They fashioned some for three or four,
And some to carry eight or more,
While some were made to take a crowd
Arn-1 r....m f-,r hlf thl- -r1 -1 .---Id

We '11 often muster on the height,
And make the most of every night,
Until the rains of spring descend
And bring such pleasures to an end."

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MAY could not see why her dol-ly daugh-ter should feel ill. She had
been well e-nough the night be-fore, but that morn-ing, Mam-ma May said
she found her dar-ling in a high fe-ver, with a bad head-ache. May took
her up, be-cause Co-ra-lie nev-er could bear to stay in bed; and she gave
her a dose of wa-ter, out of a bot-tle, to cure the fe-ver. Then she made
some gin-ger-bread pills, and gave Co-ra-lie a pill ev-er-y hour through the
day. But when night came, the doll was no bet-ter, and Mam-ma May said
to her moth-er, I must sit up all night The dear child must not be left
a-lone." Why not put her crib on the ta-ble be-side your bed," said her
moth-er. You would not take cold then." "Yes, I sup-pose that would
do," said May. But of course I shall not sleep a wink, Mam-ma " Oh
no! said her moth-er. "Of course you will not." So May put Co-ra-lie
to bed, and tucked her up nice-ly, and then she set the crib close to her
own bed, and put on one of Aunt Sue's night-caps, be-cause nurses al-ways
wore them: and then she went to bed her-self. She tried lard to keep
a-wake. But by and by her eyes hurt her, and though she was not a bit
sleep-y, she shut them for a few min-utes, just to rest them. Pret-ty soon
she heard a lit-tle noise, and thought she saw-what do you think? she
thought she saw Co-ra-lie out of bed, and slid-ing down the leg of the
ta-ble. May thought that the doll was walk-ing in her sleep. "I must
not wake her too quick-ly !" she said to her-self, for she might go
cra-zy." But Co-ra-lie real-ly looked very wide a-wake. She ran
straight to the lit-tle drawer where Mam-ma May kept her good-ies, and
she took out the box of can-dy that Un-cle Jack had sent a few days be-
fore, and then she be-gan to eat as fast as she could. It did not seem as if
a doll could eat so fast. Then May was an-gry. "You wick-ed doll !" she
cried. "You greed-y, bad child! No won-der you are sick! I 'm sure
you ought to be "-Just then in came her moth-er with a lamp, to see what
was the mat-ter. Mam-ma," cried May, I know now why Co-ra-lie is
sick She has been eat-ing my can-dy! "What do you mean, dear?"
said her moth-er. Here is poor Co-ra-lie in bed, fast a-sleep. And where
is your can-dy ? I thought you had put it a-way." May looked and looked,
and, sure enough, there was Co-ra-lie in bed: and no can-dy was to be seen.
" Well, Mam-ma," said May, at last, it is real-ly ver-y strange. I just shut
my eyes for a few min-utes to rest them. You know I told you, Mam-ma,
that I should not sleep a wink." Yes," said her moth-er; I know you did."


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S J A CK -1 N- -HiE -P ULI 'IT.

AH, but my birds were happy last year, on a day
late in the bright December! That dear Little
School-ma'am had told the children of the red
school-house about some good little German kinder
who made dainty sheaves of full wheat, and, tying
them to a high pole, set it up as a Christmas feast
for the birds,-and how the birds from every
quarter soon plunged into it with delight, and in
their turn chirped a happy Christmas carol for the
Well, hearing about all this, what did my blessed
children of the red school-house do, when Christ-
mas was near, but set up in the very snow a fine
affair like a May-pole, excepting that it held out
long chains of golden wheat-And that was the
secret of the chirping and chattering and flutters
of delight, among my birds.
And now for this item about

DEAR JACK: I send you this account from a
newspaper which may interest your boys and girls.
Yours truly, C. E.
"Some imaginative and d. .l.. iIll learned
German scholars tell us that every snowflake is in-
habited by happy little beings, who begin their
existence, hold their revels, live long lives of hap-
piness and delight, die and are buried, all during
the descent of the snowflake from the world of
clouds to the solid land. These scholars also tell
us that every square foot of air possesses from twelve
to fifteen million of more or less perfect little be-
ings, and that at every ordinary breath we destroy
a million, more or less, of these happy lives. The
sigh of a healthy lover is supposed to swallow up
about fourteen million. They insist that the dust,
which will, as all know, accumulate in the most
secure and secret places, is merely the remains of
millions and billions of these little beings who

have died of old age. All this, of course, is mere
guess-work. But I do know that the snow in some
parts of the world is thickly inhabited. I have
seen new snow in Idaho black with little insects.
People there call them snow-fleas. They are as
lively as possible, and will darken your footprints,
walk as fast as you may. They are found only on
the high mountains, and only in very fresh and
very deep snow. They, of course, do not annoy
you in any way. They are infinitely smaller than
the ordinary flea, but they are not a whit less
lively in their locomotion."

IF you don't believe it, dearly beloved, just read
this letter that has come all the way from South
PARA, October z2st, 1885.
DEAR JACK: I wonder whether you have ever had a letter from
Brazil or the Amazon River.
I am a little girl who lives at Para, near the great river, and in a
country house near the town. We sometimes have many strange
and pretty birds and animals in our garden parrots, guaras, large
turtles, sloths, and monkeys. Once we had a tame deer that was
just like a watch-dog, only instead of barking he would run against
people with his horns. So he had to be fastened, like any savage
We also had two peacocks that slept at night in the branches of a
high tree. The bats pestered them greatly. When the peacocks
came down for their meal, very late in the morning, they looked
tired and weak. So ever after, a night-lamp was hung in the tree
to frighten the bats away.
I will tell you a story I once heard of what happened to Mr.
Agassiz when he was here, many years ago. He used to put his
" specimens,"--as he called his beetles, insects, and other little scien-
tific findings,-into a barrel of rum in order to preserve them. One
day Mr. Agassiz received a present of a very nice little monkey,
and told his black servant to take it home. He, supposing it was
for the same purpose as were the "specimens," dumped it also
into the barrel. Mr. A. was indeed very sorry and vexed about it.
You know we have two seasons here the wet and the dry. In
the wet season everything gets damp and moldy. We even have to
bake the matches in the oven, or else they wont light quickly. Now
I must say good-bye.
Your little friend and admirer, AMY E. S.

LAST month the Little School-ma'am told us
about the pastures of Norway and now she sends
you another message concerning the carjole pecul-
iar to that cold, queer country. The name car-
jole sounds like some sort of humorous bird; but
the little lady says it is simply the national and
peculiar carriage of Norway. The carjole is drawn
by one small and always very sober horse, and it
is just like a spoon on wheels. You sit in the
bowl, and it is a tight fit. Your legs stretch out
straight along the handle, as though you were sit-
ting in the bottom of a canoe. The end of the
handle is turned up to brace your feet, and there
you are, filling the inside full. You either may
drive yourself or be driven by a small child, perched
somehow on the outside. The harness is made up
largely of rope, and the carjole, ...... 1i to the Lit-
tle School-ma'am, looks as if it were made of frag-
ments saved from Noah's ark, or picked out of the
wreck of Pharaoh's chariots. But the whole affair
is strong, and takes you safely to your destination.





DEAR JACK: Of course all your boys and girls
know what the cactus is-a green, grotesque-look-
ing plant, almost covered with sharp spines and
bearing a most gorgeous flower; but I am sure
they do not know all of the uses to which the cac-
tus can be put, nor do I believe that the most in-
genious guesses could come near to the truth.
Take the prickly pear, for example. From one
species is obtained a beverage called colinche, a
liquid used in water-color painting, and a color-
ing matter to make candy look attractive. Then
it is used for feeding certain tiny in-
se.l: \ !.:h ,,_ 0..:, ,: . . .I -,,:.1

in I... l. I....1 .. .
d r ,- .. ..l r . . .I !,1 :
hr- i. l.. !.- ,.. -
er ,. .1 r.. i ,

of .
bh ir. I ,:
bh ,, ri, .... i
to ,i ,.i...
arI I

ar.. [ n.
EL:""'- ,

g r., i ,t I i.,-
fu i...I ii
gr-: ..

p rS ...,! . 1 ,,..




boon to
the Kaf-
firs, who
often, in
seasons of drought, almost live on the prickly
fruit, while hungry cattle will greedily eat the
leaves. As for the ostrich, it simply revels in
dainty morsels of cactus-leaf .... -!,- with sharp
But, after all, the oddest use of the cactus pre-
vails in Cape Town, South Africa, where its leaves
are made to serve the purpose of visiting-cards.
Fancy carrying about in your coat-pocket a lot of

thick leaves covered with spines as sharp as need-
les! But, wait a moment. The leaves of the par-
ticular kind of cactus so used are not very prickly,
and, moreover, they are not carried about, but are
left growing on the plant, which stands at the foot
of the front steps.
When a lady calls she has only to draw out one
of those ever ready hat pins, with which ladies are
always provided, and with the sharp point scratch
her name on the glossy, green surface of a leaf.
A gentleman generally uses the point of his pen-

.- -. ,

- _-- -, -/ -- -

SiI '

.. .'..

Sdays, appropriate a branch of
,,,, ,, I, ,

'' I ,, .
II,, ,' I_

l i as, appropriate a branch of

I1... r*. i"* to that purpose.
Une gentleman in Cape Town has a cactus plant
which is nearly fifteen feet high. Its great thick
leaves are almost all in use as visiting-cards, so
that he has a complete and lasting record of his
visitors. It cannot be said that this practice adds
to the beauty of the plant, but then it is oddity and
not beauty that is desired in such cases.
There is one cactus, not so plentiful as that just
described, which is of a very accommodating char-
acter. It not only has smooth leaves, but the spines
it has are so large and stiff that they can be used
as pens for writing on the leaves.
Yours truly, J. R. C.





T d 'A44^ ^h/^%

o~wT /~lQ^

OUR older readers are no doubt familiar, through the newspapers,
with the leading incidents in the career of that brave and philan-
thropic English General, Charles George Gordon, whose advent-
urous and helpful life came to a close in the Soudan, last winter.
Lord Tennyson has sent to the readers of ST. NICHOLAS, with the
above personal greeting in his own handwriting, an announcement
of a proposed charitable institution in London, which is to be estab-
lished as a memorial of General Gordon.
Among the many philanthropic thoughts that animated the British
hero was a desire to help, in some practical way, the poor boys
of overcrowded London. And the committee having the memorial
in charge wisely concluded that in no better manner could they
honor his memory and perpetuate his unselfish devotion than in
founding an institution that should rescue English boys of the
poorer classes from the criminal influences amid which so many
grow to manhood in that vast metropolis.
Lord Tennyson, to whom General Gordon had often expressed
his benevolent wish, Archdeacon Farrar, and other distinguished
Englishmen whose names are familiar on both sides of the sea, have
interested themselves in the project, and a committee has been
appointed to perfect and execute the plan which has grown out of
General Gordon's own desire.
It is designed that the Gordon Boys' Home should accommodate
about 500 boys, between the ages of fourteen and eighteen, and give
them a training that shall prepare them for a self-supporting and help-
ful career. It is at this period of life that growing boys really need
help. Too old to continue in the institutions designed for the care of
children, and too young to engage in the real struggle of existence,

they are more exposed to temptation and more readily led into the
downward path than at any other time of life. Desiring to extend
to such lads a helping hand, the Gordon Boys' Home appeals for
aid from all those who, in various parts of the world, have learned
to regard with admiration the life of General Gordon, and who wish
to bring his example home to those he worked so hard to benefit.
The Committee's circular states that subscriptions may be sent to
the Lord Mayor of London at the Mansion House, or to Mr. George
C. Russell, Secretary of the Gordon Boys' Home, 2o Cockspur street,
London, S. W., from whom all desired information may be obtained.
This announcement is of special interest to our young readers
in England. But General Gordon's memory belongs to all the
English-speaking race, and there are many Americans who share
the British admiration of the heroic soldier -among them, our own
poet, Whittier, who expressed a desire that the Laureate should
write a poem on Gordon. This wish came to the knowledge of Lord
Tennyson, and he sent to Mr. Whittier the following note containing
lines which the English poet had written for the Gordon monument
in Westminster Abbey:
DEAR MR. WHITTIER: Your request has been forwarded to me,
and I herein send you an epitaph for Gordon in our Westminster
Abbey that is, for his cenotaph:
"Warrior of God, man's friend, not here below,
But somewhere dead far in the waste Soudan,-
Thou livest in all hearts, for all men know
This earth hath borne no simpler, nobler man."
With best wishes, yours very faithfully, TENNYSON.


QUEBEC, November 7, 1885.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Your interesting and useful magazine
pleases me very much. I have been reading over the letters from
the little girls and boys in your Letter-Box, and I thought I might
contribute one also. I notice that most of them are written by
little American children, but I am a little Canadian girl, ten years
of age, and live in the old-fashioned city of Quebec, which I know
all your people think a very funny place; some call it the old Cu-
riosity Shop." I don't see ..i '-..;. so very queer about it, but I
suppose that is because I .: i. I here all my life. I know we
have some very jolly times in it, especially in the winter. We gen-
erally have snow about this time ofyear, but this season we had snow
on the 3xst of October; it was about three inches deep, but did not
remain, and it has been raining now for a week. I suppose you
have heard of our w;ntr rp-,, -, .. ,,... -. snow-shoeing, skat-
ing, etc. The one i I .. -. r I..i'- ... I we have some grand
hillshere. C ... .1.-. r I .-. though; and they are so
cold! The .. .I . .I. f rI.-. i l., .- great trouble in getting
to school, and sometimes have to put on my snow-shoes to help me
along. Last year the snow in some of our narrow streets reached
snrh 1-i-ht that in walking along we looked into the second-story
S... I r 'I.. houses, and indeed with some of the small ones we
could almost have seen down the chimney, which would have been
very convenient for you, St. Nicholas.
I have a great deal more to say, but in case you should think my

letter worth putting in your magazine, I would not like to take up
too much of your valuable space, so I will bid you good-bye for the
present. Yours very truly, BELLE.

ALEXANDRIA, VA., November ro, 1885.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You were given to me last Christmas, as a
present, and though 1 received many nice presents, you give me
more pleasure than all. I am always so glad when you come, for I
love to read your grand stories, and I think the little Brownies"
are the cutest little creatures, and especially the industrious Irish-
man and the 1, "Dude." I was so sorry when "Driven Back to
Eden" was -"',. i.. i I was reading in the I-istory of New York
that when the Dutch first settled that place, some sailed over in a
ship called the Goede Vrouwn," on the prow of which was carved
an image of St. Nicholas; so that was the first time St. Nicholas
ever visited nm4?'.i and I know he has, from that time to this,
given many .l.. -.h I and boys very much pleasure, and although
he used to come only at Christmas, we are glad that he still has his
headquarters at New York, and comes once a month instead of once
a year. I live in the quaint old city of Alexandria, Virginia, in sight
of the church in which General Washington worshiped, and I have
frequently sat in his pew, and have visited Mt. Vernon," his home.
Your devoted reader, LLUCIA.



DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl eleven years old, and
live out on a claim in Dakota. I look forward very eagerly for the
coming of your bright pretty face every month, and enjoy every-
thing there is to read, from the first to the last page.
I lived in the Black Hills" two years. I ... -.. I ,;.-. .' the
time how Mr. Palmer Cox ever.thought of .. ...... .. as
the pictures of those "Brownies," all so different and so many of
them. We have a hearty laugh over every picture.
I have a pony to ride.
S.caught me two "jack-rabbits"; they T.- be immense
,11 their ears are almost as long as mules' I are white in
the winter and gray in summer.
This is my first letter to a paper of any kind. I hope it will not
prove tiresome. With the best wishes, from your' :.. *. .]

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My papa has a friend who is an artist, and
he came to see us the other evening and told us that he had been
. ..old costumes," and then h. r '
i..i .. .. He said it showed how I..,I i ..I J 1 i
hundred years ago, when good Queen Bess was on the throne of
England." We were all delighted with the drawing, and he gave



it to us. The other day we asked him if we mightn't send it to St.
Nicholas, for other children to see, and he said we might. So
here it is. Isn't it funny? Mamma said the children's dresses
were almost as stiff as the furniture. I think so too.
Your loving reader, EFFIE H.

LONDON, October 26, 1885.
D R ST. NI S: It was asked by William S. .Toance, in
the October number of ST. NICHOLAS, which legs the tadpole oas
first. The fore-legs come first. I had one that I caught and kept
in a pickle-jar. I watched the tail gradually disappear. The change
took from three weeks to a month. I had a friend who tried to
keep some in a tin pail, but they always died. Since the August
number was issued, I have traveled from my home in San Francisco
.. .. .. -- I '

to London, but I still take ST. NICOcLAS with the s lt-r- I
remain, your constant reader, I '- H
remain, your constant reader, "_ I 2! ...

TER-BOX. 235

BROOKLYN, October.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I have taken you for five years, and en-
joy reading your stories very much. I have been away thirteen
weeks this summer, and I have had a delightful time. Just before
I came home we went nutting, and gathered twenty-eight quarts of
hickory-nuts and about six quarts of butternuts. I enjoyed gather-
ing the nuts very much, as 1 never had been nutting before.
I am very fonr -'1-l .--".-7 .n-1 one day, as 1 was taking a walk
in the woods, I: ... I ,.,., .. I drew him. I have also drawn
five or six pictures of my brother's dog.
Sincerely yours, LotUISINA W.

LAWRENCEVILLE, TIOGA CO., PA., November, 1885.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy about six years old. I
take the ST. NICHOLAS, and have .1 ;C:n. I can read
the most ofit, and was very much ...I; I.' I .. he two stories,
"His One Fault" and "Driven I ..I I .. I read the
"Patient Cat" to many visitors. "The Coast-Guard" I have
learned to recite, as well as many others. In cold weather, I have
the most ." ''r! kind of croup, and am very much confined to
the house 1. "ST. NICK" is a most welcome visitor. I
have a papa and mamma, and Cousin Julie lives with me. I can-

not write w-'ll ensnh, so Grandmamma writes for me. I live in a
pretty old ..- -- 11.. hills of northern Pennsylvania, and am very
happy here, where I remain, your constant reader and loving friend,

WTASHINGTON, D. C., October 25, 1885.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: 1 take you every month and always enjoy
reading your interesting stories. Your November number came the
-. 1 T surprised to see such a different cover on you,
I .., I ,, .. i. i ., 'r tthan the oldone. Then, too, itwill every nice
to look for -. I i -..* month. I have read our first
chapter of' i I i i .'' ,. md I think it is very interesting
indeed. Itdoesnot take me long to read you, and then when I finish
I wish it was time for your next number to cone.
I must not write any f. f-sr r m taking my letter too long
for your valuable space. ,"'. - reader, MARV R. C.


SOUTH ORANGE, November, 1885.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two girls, twelve and thirteen years
old. We shall not tell you which is twelve or which is thirteen, butshall
leave you to guess. We like the ST. NICHOLA --"'- m'-h 11n-1 hinl-
it is the nicest magazine we have ever read. ... ; ,
Alcott has begun to write again, as we like her stories very much.
Last month's number was very interesting; and we are anxiously
expecting the Christmas number.
Yours truly, NELLIE N. and BESSIE F.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are three cousins, and we are visiting
our Grandma-at least two ofus are. One of us lives here, and he
is the one who takes you. We saw a letter in your August number
where three wrote in one letter, and we are going to do the same.
I am George; I am going to do the writing because I take you.
I would write with ink. only Grandma wont let me. I like His
One Fault" better than any other story; I always read it first. I
began to take you last year, and I think you are just splendid. I have
one pet, .i "; r.~-r he says lots of things; his name is Jock.
I am -. !.. I '.,. you so well that Mamma is g .. 1
for my brother Art and me. I have no pets, but I I I
am just learning to ride it, so I get a great many falls.
I am Art; I don't read any stories at all; I am too young, but
Grandma reads all the letters, poetry, and Brownies to me. I have
found the dude and policeman in all the pictures. I live in Detroit,
so does Amos. We hope you will print this; it has taken us two
hours to write it. GEORGE (9), AMos (8), ART (4).

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My brother George, and my cousins,
Amos and Art, wrote to you about two weeks ago, and are waiting
impatiently for the next ST. NICHOLAS. I live'wayoutin the country,
and as no little girls live near us, and the boys will not play with a girl,
I have a pretty lonesome time of it; but I should be still more lone-
some if my dear St. NICHOLAS did not come thetwenty-sixth of every
month. It is the only thing I have to read, as it is the only child's
book in the house. Now, what do the children think of that, who
have lots and lots of books of their own? We began to take you last
CSr.t^-nor s"-u were my birthday present, and this year you are
SI . : My favorite stories are "Little Britomartis" and
I '. ... ,iI to Eden." I am glad school has commenced, but
the boys are not; boys are not the least bit like girls, are they ?
Yesterday was my birthday; I received a cover for my ST.
NICHOLASES, a ring, some note-paper, and a handkerchief
I remain your friend, URANIA.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two friends who have come out
here to live. Our winter home is in Tombstone, a town about thirty
miles from here. There are live-oaks all over the place, and we
think it ought to be called Oak Cafion instead of Ash.
We had quite an excitement, last spring, about the Indians (the
Apache tribe), who came out of their reservation and were killing
people all through New Mexico and Arizona; but there were twelve
men here, so we were not much afraid, and most of the danger is
past now.
The only things we are much afraid of now are rattlesnakes, taran-
tulas, centipedes, and scorpions; some of each of them have been
found here since we came.
All the girls on the ranch have been poisoned by the poison oak
vine. The poison comes out on the face and hands; they swell up
and a sort of rash spreads over them; it is anything but pleasant.
We have a great many pets,- six dogs, four cats, five pigeons,
a canary-bird, a burro (donkey), and ever so many cows and horses
and chickens.
We must now say good-bye, as we are afraid this letter will be too
long, and we want it to be published, as it is the first we have ever
written to a magazine. PENELOPE AND DOROTHY.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about a cat that we
know. Her name is Daisy, and she is a Maltese. Her master has
taught her to stand on a table, about two and a half yards off from
him, while in one hand he holds a hoop covered with tissue paper,
through which she jumps, and lands on his shoulder. Jumping
through two rings one inside the other-and through a very small
one just large enough to let her body go through, are some of her
tricks. Daisy can also swing, jump over her master's hands, turn
so:rersaults and walk the tight-rope. Of course, after each trick
her master gives her a piece of meat.
Your constant reader, E. F. G.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you of a little trick that your
readers may like to know. It is to tell how many spots are on dice
without looking at them. A pair of dice being thrown, tell the
thrower to count the spots on one of them, and add five to the sum,
then to multiply the result by five, and to add to theproduct the num-
ber of spots on the remaining die. This being done, request the
thrower to name the amount, and after subtracting twenty-five from
it, the remaining number will consist of two figures, which will be the
same as those on the dice. Yours truly, OSCEOLA."

PEMBROKE, November 3, 1885.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I do not think any of your little readers
look forward to the coming of ST. NICHOLAS with more pleasure
than 1 do. I am eleven years old, and go to school every day. I
have a great number of dolls, with which 1 amuse myself I am
-. j till the snow comes, for I am anxious to go out
I,.h,-. I I. two 1-..1 .. called Go Ahead," and the
I I I ng" 1I ... is the best, and can beat any
sleigh in town.
Now, dear ST. NICHOLAS, I think I have written enough, so I will
close my letter with best wishes for the coming season.

MILWAUKEE, November 5, 1885.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My Uncle Jim sends you to me every
year. I am seven years old, and I have a bank; and if Uncle Jim
does not send you to me this Christmas, I am going to take three
dollars out of my bank and send it to you myself, because I love you
so much. HARRY H.

BRISTOL, October 4, 1885.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl ten years old, with
one brother, papa, and mamma. In summer we go to our cottage
at the seaside. I want to tell you about a spider I saw down there.
One day my cousin and friend and I went out on the rocks, and we
saw a spider with a lot of fuzzy things all over his back. I stepped
on him, and what do you think the fuzzy things were ? They were
little bits of spiders about as big as a pin-head. If I had known
that they were baby spiders taking a ride on their mother's back, I
don't think I should have put my foot on them.
We have taken ST. NICHOLAS for seven years and have them all
bound, and we read them more than any of our other books. Hop-
ing that I shall always have ST. NICHOLAS, I am,
Your constant reader, ANTOINETTE N-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two little boys who live at Helena,
Montana. We spent last summer at Nahant, Massachusetts, with
Uncle Martin and Auntie Anna. We had never seen the ocean
till we came there, and Uncle Martin made up a verse about us;
perhaps you would like to hear it.

"Cornelius and Alfred came out from the West
All on a bright summer's day,
To see the great ocean, so bright and so blue,
To read the ST. NICK, and make hay."

.'- ... i .i .t. : r h, but we like it immensely I
I .'' ..j .... '''i.. grows in Montana, and we do
not know the name. Perhaps you or some of your readers can tell
us, as we have often seen questions answered in your dear Letter-
box. It had six long, dark-red petals, with a bright yellow center;
the stamens were rather short with large heads; and the stem was
I. ,i. -.: NICHOLAs is the very best book there is, and
"His One Fault" perfectly fine.
Please thank "1 'T. : 1 r us, and do print our letter in the
Letter-Box, as i i .. 've sent you.
Your sincere readers, CORNELIUS N- .

ST. PETERSBURG, Sept. 29, 1885.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: America is my native country, but just
now I am traveling in Europe with my parents, brother, and two
friends; and I i. .1r .l'rt li e to hear from one of your little
readers in the .. -n .. i...
One day we all took a drosky ride, and as a drosky accommo-
dates but one passenger, we each had a separate one except brother



Bob and myself, who rode together. We looked very funny, no doubt,
for the drivers kept in line almost all the time. We drove past the
Emperor's winter palace, which contains five hundred rooms. It is
an immense orange-covered building, with statues on the top all
the way around. Since then I have been through one hundred and
eighty of these rooms, and I do not think it is nearly so fine as the
summer palace of Katherine II., at Tsarkoi Selo, which is a spa-
cious building, profusely gilded oni the inside, and was formerly
decorated on the outside with gold leaf, which is now almost entirely
replaced by bronze. In one room the chandeliers are made of pure
crystal, and the walls of another room are entirely covered with
amber, while the floor is mahogany inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
The church, which is under the same roof, is ornamented with lapis
lazuli. In the palace is a room ..1.: .-.'1 I r' for a gymnasium.
Among other things is a highly I i.: .. I plane, upon which
the imperial children coasted on bits of carpet. The guide allowed
Rob and myself to slide down five or six times.
I think the little Russians must have a hard time learning their
alphabet, as it contains thirty-six instead of twenty-six letters. Rob
and I are able to spell out some of the signs as we pass by.
I must now close, hoping soon to see a number of ---- 1 hi-hly
prized magazine. Your loving friend, MABEL S. i '

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Here is a little puzzle-story that may in-
terest your readers :
A Dutchman purchased a farm in Minnesota. As he could not
speak English, he hired John Jones to act as his interpreter, as well
as to assist him with farm work.
One day during harvest, the Dutchman, who was at work in the
field, sent word home to his wife that he had hired six extra men,
and that she must provide dinner for them. To do this it was neces-
sary that she should purchase provisions from the neighboring town.
But John Jones was at work in the field, and neither she nor her
son Hans could speak a word of English.
In this dilemma, her eyes fell upon the Bible of John Jones, which
was on the table beside of her own Dutch Bible, and the following
plan suggested itself. Finding the names of the articles she needed
in her own Bible, she marked the corresponding passages in the
English Bible.
Little Hans harnessed the horse, and going to town with the two
Bibles in his wagon, he had no difficultyin making known his wants.
He purchased from the -.. -. ... i-.:.-. .-...... .-,. in (i) Psalms,
lxxxi. 16; (2) Isaiah, vii. .., ,. ; ....... I .. ; From the baker

he bought (4) Psalms, cxxxii. 15; (5) 1 Kings, xvii. 13. From the
butcher he bought (6) ,1-. .. ( :-~o .n..
His motherhadalso .. .1 I . i. t.I ... W here
did -.. --
i I cooking utensils had been broken, i- -lice it, a
word had been marked in (9) Leviticus, vii. 9.- .... ....* things
had to be replaced, and Hans's mother marked the last word in (io)
Judges, v. 25, and a word in (ri) Genesis, xl. T. Hans also found
marked the last three words in (12) Exodus, xxxix. 37. In case this
could not be had, he was to buy something mentioned in (3,) Mat-
thew, v. 15, which would answer the same purpose.
Aft r -i-in" h1is errands, Hans returned to the grocer's for his par-
cels, 1 i. warm and thirsty, he pointed to (14) 2 Samuel,
xxiii. 15. The grocer pointed to (15) I Timothy, v. 23. This Hans
refused; but he was grateful when a glass of ...i '. mentioned
in (16) Hebrews, v. 12 was handed to him. I ,. his grati-
tude he pointed to one word in (17) 1 Thessalonians, v. 18, and
then, turning to (18) Ruth, ii. to, he marked the latter half of the
The grocer, pleased with the lad's intelligence, . him a hand-
ful of the two articles last named in (x9) Genesis, : i... I, and some
of the fruit mentioned in (20) Jeremiah, xxiv. 2.
Hans was so delighted with his success that on his return, when
his mother'sent him to call the men to dinner, Hans wished to carry
the Bible with him, that he might point to three words in (2r) John,
xxi. 12. This his mother would not allow him to do, although he
gave as his reason (22) Exodus, iv. 1o. Reference to the last word in
(23) Exodus, iv. 2 brought him to instant obedience, and he meekly
pointed to the parenthesis in (24) Exodus, ix. 28. c. L. v.

WE must thank the young friends named in the following list for
pleasant letters:
Fannie S. Ludlow, Bunnie Steele, t ..., ndon, H. M.
Rochester, Flossie M. Keith, Evelyn, !.i !...... Annie B. K.,
Bella Emra, Phebe Kelley, Mildred W. Strong, Louis W. M., Ralph
M. Fletcher, Willie Heyde, Myrtle H. Foster, E. M. Cope, Herman
Nelson Steele, Elsie Rose Clark, Beatrice P. K., Irene I. Hayes,
Elsie B., Alice Lynde, Maude S.," Laura L., Jeannette M., Lloyd
R. Blyn, Mary Higley, Jessie Ludlow, Viol .i r i Cammie
Reyburn, H. Clarke, Harry Stearns, Helen : ...... .... Bond,
F. W. S., Amelia McKellogg, G. Reese .r i Louis T. Wil-
t'.rlie H. Robertson, Alice Cary, E. C..., !.atrina B. Ely,
'ii. i S., Helen Smith.

h r-

I_ 'h~~ihsjYs~ j' i

A pJ; X c.,'. ,~I I LI m:.r

OuR wish is equally cordial that all our other ists may have a
happy year, but we mention mineralogists in particular, because
they are peculiarly fortunate in the prospect of the assistance of
Professor W. O. Crosby of the Boston Society of Natural History.
In reference to our appeal for aid in this department, Professor
Crosby writes:
My college work is well started now, and I have decided to
give the work in your departments of mineralogy and geology a
trial. Before undertaking a series of lessons, I desire to become
more familiar with the Association and its methods of work; and I
propose now, if you think it expedient, merely to answer questions
and identify specimens; i. e.- to give assistance and instruction to
individuals only, until I am more fully initiated."

Professor Crosby will need no introduction to the members of the
A. A., for his Cominuuon ineli mrals and Rocks, and his valuable col-
lections of minerals have already made his name familiar and welcome
to us all. All wishing to avail themselves of this offer may address
him, care of Boston Society of Natural History, cor. Berkeley and
Boylston sts., Boston, Mass. Stamps must, of course, be inclosed for
reply, and if specimens are sent for identification, the postage for
their return must also be inclosed.
'Thcrc is also good news for our ornithologists and mnammalogists,
for Mr. A. W. Butler, Secretary of the Brookville Society of Natural
History, writes:
"Anything I can do in the way of answering questions, etc., re-
garding Ornithology and Mammalogy, I will do."
Address Mr. Amos W. Butler, Brookville, Ind.



THE prize of fifty labeled specimens of shells offered by Mr. Harry
E. Dore, for best collection of Moilusca, has been awarded to Mr. G.
S. Marston, of De Pere, Wis., President of Chapter 679. Mr. Dore
writes: "He showed much interest in gathering so many species,
and deserves credit."


AT our very delightful convention in Philadelphia, the opinion
was expressed that similar meetings should be held not oftener than
once in two years. In accordance with that view, no efforts have
been made in that direction in 1885. But we must be thinking
about 1886. Many Western Chapters were unable to be represented
at Philadelphia on account of the distance, and there is a strong
feeling that this year we ought to hold our convention in such
a place as to give them a chance. The indications are that the
Association may receive an invitation from Iowa, and there are
many reasons which would make such an invitation extremely hard
to resist.

MANY of our young friends will avail themselves of the following
offer, which no one can fail to appreciate.

My son and I are both engaged in the Astor Library, and shall be
happy to assist any Chapter with reference to books. Our library
has a very fine collection of books on all branches of study pursued by
the A. A., and if we can be of any service, you are at liberty to use
the name of the undersigned for any such purpose.
One of the Librarians of the Astor Library.


336, Pine City, inmt. Everything nro.re ..no finely. I took
my collection of insects to the Pine Cou ,r I .. .- I took first pre-
mium.-Ernest L. Stephan, Sec.
m, Lena E, Mass. I have seen a young bird hatch from the egg.
It was in a hanging nest about four feet from the ground, on a small
oak. The egg cracked around iL. i- .-.. ... I piece came off
like a lid.-Eugene H. Home, C 1. ... -.. ,or ...., N. H.
[This observation is quite correct. The young chick does not ick
a hole through the shell, as is commonly supposed, nor burst it, but
using a sharp foint on the upper mandible as a cutter, it turns its
headaroundnearly in a circle, and cuts one end of ike shellof" like
a lid." The hard, sharp point afterwarddfalls qof ]
605, East Orange, N. J.- During the past eighteen months Ch. 605
has increased from a membership of five, until we now have twenty-
four active and eight honorary members. We have a balance of
twenty dollars in our treasury. We have started a small library, the
society appropriating fifteen dollars and the individual members
contributing books. So you see we are not dead, by any means.-
Loren. L. Hopkins, Pres.; Walter W. Jackson, Secretary.
569, Ludington, Mich. We start anew this fall. We have twelve
boys between the ages of twelve and fifteen, and more to join. We
have also four grown members. We study geology a-nd Imrn-il"-,
and with the help of some ladies have raised I.'' .. I II..
with which to get a cabinet and perhaps some books. We are
making collections of minerals, shells, woods, corals, etc. We
found some very curious lightning-tubes on a sand-hill by the lake.
They were caused by the ii.l-... ..... weeds, and fusing
the sand around them. I i. .. .... ..... yard in length, but
very brittle. The i ... 1 were in the earth, the smaller they
were.- Mrs. A. E. I .11
[ The technical name is Fulgurite. ]
3635 LocusT STREET, PHILADELPHIA, PA., October 27, '85.
I have to report both satisfaction and regret for my summer work.
I did not accomplish near as much as I had hoped to, but have no
cause for complaint. I collected a number of alcoholic specimens of
marine invertebrates, among which were some very fine stalked bar-
nacles. The New Jersey coast is not all that can be desired for Bi-
ological work, though it is quite rich in molluscan life. For some
months past 1 have been pursuing a course in Vegetable Biology,
and my two weeks' vacation enabled me to make considerable prog-
ress; the mosses particularly struck my fancy, and afforded many
exquisite objects for the microscope. At present I am studying in
rmy room two species of moss, corn, earth-worms, and some water-
insects. One thing which, if it turns out well, will give me more
satisfaction than any or ,.., .......... efforts is the formation of a new
Chapter in Doylestow., i i l....k if members of the A. A. would

try to organize a Chapter in any place that contains none, the
A. A. would spread much faster than its present good rate of
growth, and would amply repay any trouble spent in such mis-
sionary" work.
In one cell of a mud-wasp's nest, I found twenty plump, fresh
spiders, besides the larva; in another, a few dried spiders and no
trace of egg or larva; did the mother forget to lay :.. . 11
of the spiders come to, and eatit and the others? i. .11 ..i.
us on this point ?-Wm. E. McHenry.
158, Davenflort, Iowa. Our Chapter has held Toetin_- -e""
week but one since our last report, which have been ..1 ,' .1: .
At present we have sixteen regular, three corresponding and nine
honorary members. During the summer the society had a delight-
ful camp-out near the city, while individual members took longer
; ....... ... one making a canoe trip down the Maquoketa river in this
- ., iile two others came down the lower part, of the Wapsipini-
con river in a skiff. The former of these rivers flows through a
deep valley formed in Niagara limestone; the cliffs in many places
., :i. I, 1. the water to a height ofalmost two hn-
'. I -,... 1. I. i lied a nonthlypaper, the "Hawkeye Ob-
server. The Iowa Assembly of the A. A. meets here next August.
-Edw. K. Putnam, Cor. Sec.
777, Seneca Falls, V. Y. We are thoroughly organized and meet
every i i. boys have built a club-house on one
of the ..... I. I. . eight feet wide, ten feet : 1
., 1. ~ ea stove, so we can keep warm. I
I I .... I.... ... oneend. Wehave not got our cabinet
in yet, but it consists of collections of birds' eggs and preserved
snakes. We have a snake five feet seve- ,.--1..l .,. .;.1.: i.i 1
Some of the boys have a collection I I , .. .I ...
get along all right. We have ten members; we take two papers,
and are getting 1 r.. :ry well. We all like the study. Some
weeks we have ,1: about some bird or some animal, and
whoever fails to write is charged a fee of two cents; and for ab-
sence a fee of three c .1t. .. 1 We held a meeting last
night, and a motion .. ,.,,.I, i. I : out my report and send
you. One of the boys has abadge which cost one dollar and a half,
andwe think of sending and getting one. As soon as our cabinets
are in we are going to invite our friends to see them.-- Lester G.
Seigfred, Sec.
687, Adrian, MXick. As most of our members were away from
home the past summer, we did not do very much work, although
some of us caught some very fine specimens, and a great many of
them under the electric light. We made an exhibit at the County
Fair some weeks ago, as you will see by the inclosed clippings,
taken from the daily papers. We took twelve dollar i ......
and our expenses were very light-only for the :.- -.-
show-cases, our membership ticket, and some glass that was broken.
We have had our rooms with the Adrian Scientific Society for the
past year, but we have rented rooms by ourselves, and move this
week. We have had several applications for membership, among
which are some from ladies. After we get our roomsin shape, we shall
admit them. We expect to take up so- .. r '.i.' r .
but what it will be has not yet been .1. i '; i. .
Packard's Guide, and find it invaluable in the study -r :.I--.; 1- -
Several members have other valuable books, which th., I. 1 I
Before closing I will try and give you a short description of our ex-
hibit at the fair. We had a space 24 x 14 feet. Along the front we
had our show-cases, two of them filled with insects, and the other
with birds' eggs. There were over 3000 specimens of insects, among
which was the Hercules Beetle, and a grasshopper over six inches
long. There were over 500 birds' eggs, among which was a set of
5-- TI -n-r -red Owl and a set of Annas humming-bird and nest; a
: ... .. of sea curiosities; alcoholic specimens; an alligator
over six feet long; and many minerals and curiosities of all sorts.
ConrldersMl I.l.W hty r-q roused by a pig's-tail whistle. I inclose
a I i, I -, I i i-.i sr it is not very good, as the light was
very bad, and it was only my second attempt at photography. We
are in very good shape now, and when we get settled in our new
rooms we hope to get down to some sound work. With our best
wishes to yourself and the A. A., I am very truly yours,- Edw.
J. Stebbins, Sec.


Birds' eggs and minerals, for eggs.-E. A. Burlingame, 337 Broad
St., Providence, R. I.
Insects. A large collection. Correspondence desired.- Samuel
F. Gross, Jr., Box 177, Morristown, Pa.
Cecropia, Promethea, and other cocoons, for lo, Luna, and other
desirable pupse or butterflies.--James L. Mitchell, Jr., Grand
Hotel, Indianapolis, Ind.
Birds' eggs, blown -i.... ,. ,-. .... .i, hole in i .
for same.- Frank W. ..r -.l', -. Chapel s,. :.'. i-I .:-
Rhode Island Lepidoptera.- Lucian Sharpe, Jr., 56 Angell St.,
Providence, R. I.
Microscopic objects, for Lepidoptera and Coleoptera. Send lists.
-T'. Mills Clark, r17 East 17th St., New York.
Californian ferns, for those of other localities or countries. No
poorer mounted specimens desired. Write first, stating what you



have. Address Miss M. E. Parsons, P. O. Box 674, San Rafael,
Marin Co., California.
Lava, Sandwich Island shells, petrified wood, sulphur quartz,
rattlesnake rattles, gold quartz and mica, for -.. ; 1 :....
minerals, fossils, or shells- Miss Gertrude ". -.., I .
of Berkeley, Alameda Co., California.
555. Olympia, Washington Ter., P. Box 23. Determined
phanerogams of Oregon and Washington Ter., determined Puget
Sound clams, Pacific coast wood-mosses, diatoms, crude, cleaned,
and mounted, for determined species only. Specific offers requested.
-Robert Blankenship, Sec.
Fossil Cyathophyllum, Dictophyton and "petrified moss," mag-
netic iron ore, and silver ore. Chapters t --vi- .ny of these may
address W. H. Church, Bath, N. Y., Sec i

No. Name. No. of lMembers. Address.
897 Charlestown, Mass........ 6..George K. Sargent, 50 Russell
898 Southport, Conn.. ...... 4..Warren G. Waterman.
899 PiH-r l-. n. Al a. (A) .... 5.W. C. Watts.
900 .-.. Cal........ 7..Harvey Loy, 733 Pine St.
90o Hartford, Conn. (F) ...... 6..W. H. Gilbert, 68 WoosterSt.,
Hartford, Conn.
902 Mobile, Ala. (A) ....... 6..Louis Tucker, N. E. Cor.
Church and Conception Sts.

903 Covington, Ky. (A) ...... 6..Lloyd Stephenson, 8x6 Scott
904 Williamsport, Pa. (A) .. ..W. G. Wallace, i West 4th
905 i.;i. .1, 1 (H )..... .... 7..Jus. B. Fite, --- 22d St.
906 i..... ... Conn. (A)... 'T: Bessie B
907 Meriden, Iowa (A) ..... i Weintz.
908 Toledo, Ohio.......... .. ..... r5 Washington


203 ". -.. . ... 4 .James C. Valentine.
882 -.- .., .. .! 6..F. E. Stanton. (M3embers


PLEASE remember that, in accordance with our new plan, proposed
in November issue, reports will be due during the first week in Jan-
-- -.Chapters i-oo inclusive.
S... vited to join our Association.
Address all communications intended for this department to the
President of the A. A.,
Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass.



i. More dainty. 2. To accustom. 3. Solid bodies with six equal
square sides. 4. To raise. 5. Reposes.


THE central word of each diamond is the name of a famous yacht,
and the objects pictured around the boats form the answers to the
I. l. A letter from Europe. 2. An abbreviation for a month.
3. A weapon. 4. A victorious yacht. 5. Barbarians. 6. A verb.

7. A letter from Spain. II. 1. A letter from I -.,..:.i 2. A
couch. 3. An extra dividend. 4. A fine yacht. I. I. with
dust. 6. An inclosure. 7. A letter from France.
A. W. S. AND H. W.


ACROSS: I. A city in Massachusetts. 2. A feminine name. 3.
To mend. 4. The thin part of milk. 5. An insurgent.
DOWNWARD: i. A consonant. 2. A verb. 3. To lay over. 4.
Ages. 5. A bishop's cap. 6. 43,560 square feet. 7. Part of a
wheel. 8. Myself. 9. A consonant. "ANN O'TATOR."


I 'n a word of two words, on that pray depend;
My first is one's comrade, his helper, or friend;
My second's a victor,-'tis first and 'tis last,
'T is high and 't is low,-'t is with confidence cast;
The king, queen, and courtier must bow down and yield,
As it vanquishes often the best in the field.
Of all my six letters, the first two, you '11 see,
Stand for one of the States of our famous country.
My third, fourth, fifth, sixth, is a fabric so fine,
That patience and skill to produce it combine.
My second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth, you will find,
Can reduce any lady to stoutness inclined.
It is white, it is black,- has its friends and its foes,
Whether worn at the waist or quite near to the toes.
In my whole the great monarch relinquishes life;
'T is the scene of much gayety, splendor, or strife;
The abode of a prince o'er a lordly domain;
Come, read me my riddle,- the answer is plain.
M. B. C.


I AM composed of one hundred and thirteen letters, and form a
verse of four lines.
S- .----- .'----, is talented. My 74-98-32-82-4 is one of
S..-. ' .. i. My 39-86-44 is very small. My 27-77-
112-30-35-68-63 is proceeding by degrees. My 71-1o-41-1-66-8 is
a sickness. My 106-49-80-37-13 is part of a rake. My 1zo-18-57-
47 is a garden 1 5. y 25-20-90-84-6 is a tenth part. My
g92-lo-60 is I i .. I -- -" is one or the
other. My 55-5-22-99-76 are .i... ..-1 ....... My 79-97-
108 is to compete. My 43-o2-51-15-94-9-58-81 is to bear down
byimpudence. MIy 42-62-zz-11-36 is attracts. My 17-67-89-33-
105-85-46 is a plant bearing beautiful flowers, which grows abun-
dantly in Scotland. My 72-S9-93-29-21-3-107-73 is asperity. My
--- ; of eloquence -m-7r tho-neent Egyp-
SI ..-- .--.. is tendency. .- .-. is the
S-.. -- - is two. My -. -.
is a small pointed piece . 1-64-54-12 is '. T .
name common in Germany. GILBERT FOREST.




.*": i r '.,; '71s *l ..

,,l . ., .' :

_ ,-- ,

kr- | .
-1 I

1- . ,

',r' lIi'.V'51 fiT7T477




EACH of the eight objects numbered may be described by a word
of five letters. When rightly guessed, and the names written one
below the other, in the order here given, the central letters reading
downward will spell the name of a church-festival celebrated in the
early part of January. s. R.

FROM what poem by J. G. Whittier are the lines taken from which
the following "pi is made?
Het vewa si ribaekng no eht hesor.-
Teh cohe dafgin rofm het miche,-
Gaani teh haswod omevht ore
Eth aild lapte fo mite. HENRY C. t.



7 . . 8
From I to 2, a large country; from 2 to 6, certain parts of a car-
riage; from 5 to 6, the sort of palms which bears dates; from i to
5, proclaimed; from 3 to 4, a common plant; from 4 to 8, taking
leave; from 7 to 8, scattering; from 3 to 7, dexterity; from I to 3,
affirms; from 2 to 4, to shun; from 6 to 8, to pain acutely; from 5 to
7, small coins.
INCLUDED WORD-SQUARE: I. Clever. 2. Pertaining to the cheek.
3. Single. 4. To rove at large. 5. Plentiful in forests.
MY first is in water, but not in land;
My second in foot, but not in hand;
My third is in lark but not in wren;
My fourth is in five, but not in ten;
My fifth, and last, in eagle you 'll see-
My whole, a general brave was he,
Who died in the moment of victory. PERCY V.

LETTER CIRCLES. The Pilgrims Landed-Our Forefathers' PATCHWORK. Upper Pyramid. Across: I. P. 2. Air. 3. Al-
Day. Turn-over. Here-unto. Ear-ring. Plat-form. Inter- lay 4. Steeped. Right-hand. Across: i. D. 2. Em. 3. Nag.
oceanic. Lace-rate. Gods-end. Right-fully. Inn-ate. Mat- 4. Tied. 5. Ode. 6. Is. 7. D. I owner. Across: i. Ripened.
tress. Samp-hire. List-en. Ai-red. None-such. Dan-dies. 2. Towed. 3. Dew. 4. R. Left-hand. Across: i. S. 2. Al.
Err-ant. Dock-yard. 3. Age. 4. Mile. 5. Lop. 6. We. 7. R.
TRANSPOSITIONS. Christmas. cared, raCed. 2. there, etHer. Little of all we value here
3. charm, maRch. 4. miles, smIle. 5. siren, riSen. 6. caution, Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year
aucTion. 7. timid, diMit. 8. dam, mAd. 9. sages, gaSes. Without both looking and feeling queer.
FAN PUZZLE. From I to 6, stress; 2 to 6, weaves; 3 to 6, inters; In fact, there 's nothing that keeps its youth,
4 to 6, stings; 5 to 6, shots; 6 to 7, section. So far as I know, but a tree and truth.
NOVEL ACROSTIC. Second row, Christmas; fourth row, mistle- The One floss Shay."
toe. Cross-words. i. sCaMp. 2. cHaIn. 3. gRiSt. 4. gIrTh. WORD-SQUARES. i. Rural. 2. Uvula. 3. Rumor. 4. Along.
5. pSaLm. 6. sTrEw. 7. sMiTh. 8. bArOn. 9. aSpEn. 5. Large.
THE names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the I--1-- a Answers should be
addressed to ST. NICHOLAS Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY Co.. 33 East Seventeenth street, Ne i
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE NOVEMBER NUtMBER were received, before NOVEMBER o2, from Paul Reese Made E.
Palmer -"B. L. Z. Bub, No. i"-" San Anselmo Valley"-"Betsy Trotwood"- J. W. Islip.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER were received, before NOVEMBER 20, from Marion S. Dumont, 2 Dl_-"g,'
and Susan," t H. A. Ck., 4 -" Jack Frost," I -Ethel Morton, i Lucia C. Bradley, 2- Oscar, Charlie, Ben, and Jack, 2 i... I
and Simpson, i Ned L. Mitchell, Fannie L. Arm- t nn r Fannie and Norma, i Fannie M. Condict, Celia Loeb, Edith
Van Wart, 2- Ella Martin, 2- J. Rowland Hugh .I Walton," 3 Henry Loveman, i R. Earle Olwine, i-" Poor Rich-
ard," I .. Fannie Keller, 2 George S. Seymour, 3 -"Pez," 4- Maud an I I.. I-Charlie D. Mason, 3-Lilly Mac-
donal K. Tarboys, 6-"Pepper and Maria," 7-W. S. H., r -" . I* Folks," 6-"Summit," 3-LottieR.
1'" .. 1..11, 2 -Lulu May, 9-H. A. C., 6-Eddie Loos, 2-"S. Army," 3 Maud Guild, i-Mary M. McLean, 2- Alta F., -
SI.. i Oliver, 3-"Emma Gination" and L. L., 3-Percy Alfred Varian, 5- Maria and Fly-catcher," 3-Blanche Dixon, 2 -
Adelaide R. Husted, 4-" Jumbo" and "Sambo," 2- Freddie F. Bowen, 2-Harry Hayden, -"Multum in Parvo," 4- Kittie H.
Loper, 2-Louise Joynes, 2--M. G. H. -' I enson, 2 M. B., Lillian E. Roberts, i- Lizzie 7'-:- n Edith L.
and Jennie S. Govan, r Bessie C. Pike, ... i. Meyer, Hesse D. Boylston, 3 Mary E. Peck, e -. I .., i .1 ... Grant, 4 -
Ella Francie Kight, -- .... Elizabeth Rose, 4-Eva Bear, 4- Odie G. Turner, 4 Mary A. I..; t. 4- Nina M. C. Pooth, 4
T. tI. Dobbs, .. Glueck, 4- Irene P. Turner, 4 T-; Brown Price, 4- Sam i .1 Jennie and Florence, 4-
-i i.. --Ethel M. Bcnnett, Lucy W. Mitchell, i .. Keeler, 2-James K. Houston, Jr., 4--"Elfin John," i-
"Nip and Tuck," 2-" Judith," 9 -Hilda M. Kempe, 2-Violet, Nina, and Ethel, 3-Florence R. Greer, --Belle B. Murdock,
-- Henri, 3- Melzina L. Smith, 2 -Raymond B., 2- E. I. Schultz, i William Chase, I Edith Stanley, I Elliott H. Seward, 5-
Avis and Grace Stanton Devenport. 5 M. L. Joynes, 2 Carey and Alex. Melville, 9 Clark Holbrook, 3 No Name, Philadelphia,
3 Daisy and Mable, 7 Lottie Hahn, 2 Llewellyn, John, and Mamma, 3 Mary B., 4 -Sara and Zara, 8 0..1. : 1 -
Eleanor and Maude Peart, 6- Edith L. .... i r'-,^nr .^l- i -James E. Brown, 3-" B. L. Z. Bub, No. i i..
2-M 2- .. i I, i--ClaraE. McLeod, 1.