Front Cover
 The soul of a butterfly
 Sea-gulls - From the light-hou...
 The boy bears
 From house to house
 The mystic sign - Two little...
 A floating home
 The civilized king and the semi-barbarous...
 The bilged midshipman
 The baby's creed
 Our five o'clock tea
 The great man of the family
 Two little old ladies
 The King's Dwarf and his dog...
 Little Ike Templin
 Housekeeping songs. No. VI (words...
 A rhyme for little folks
 How a little boy camped out
 The brownies in the orchard
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover


St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00204
 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: UF00065513:00204
 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
    The soul of a butterfly
        Page 883
    Sea-gulls - From the light-house
        Page 884
        Page 885
        Page 886
    The boy bears
        Page 887
        Page 888
        Page 889
        Page 890
        Page 891
        Page 892
        Page 893
    From house to house
        Page 894
        Page 895
        Page 896
        Page 897
        Page 898
        Page 899
        Page 900
        Page 901
        Page 902
        Page 903
    The mystic sign - Two little Confederates
        Page 904
        Page 905
        Page 906
        Page 907
        Page 908
        Page 909
        Page 910
        Page 911
        Page 912
    A floating home
        Page 913
        Page 914
        Page 915
        Page 916
    The civilized king and the semi-barbarous giant
        Page 917
        Page 918
        Page 919
        Page 920
        Page 921
    The bilged midshipman
        Page 922
        Page 923
        Page 924
        Page 925
        Page 926
        Page 927
        Page 928
        Page 929
        Page 930
        Page 931
    The baby's creed
        Page 932
    Our five o'clock tea
        Page 933
    The great man of the family
        Page 934
        Page 935
        Page 936
        Page 937
        Page 938
        Page 939
        Page 940
        Page 941
        Page 942
    Two little old ladies
        Page 943
    The King's Dwarf and his dog (picture)
        Page 944
    Little Ike Templin
        Page 945
        Page 946
        Page 947
    Housekeeping songs. No. VI (words and music)
        Page 948
    A rhyme for little folks
        Page 949
    How a little boy camped out
        Page 950
        Page 951
        Page 952
        Page 953
    The brownies in the orchard
        Page 954
        Page 955
    The letter-box
        Page 956
        Page 957
        Page 958
    The riddle-box
        Page 959
        Page 960
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text




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VOL. XV. OCTOBER, 1888. No. 12.
Copyright, i888, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.



OVER the field where the brown quails whistle,
Over the ferns where the rabbits lie,
Floats the tremulous down of a thistle.
Is it the soul of a butterfly?

See how they scatter and then assemble;
Filling the air while the blossoms fade,
Delicate atoms, that whirl and tremble
In the slanting sunlight that skirts the glade.

There goes the summer's inconstant lover,
Drifting and wandering, faint and far;
Only bewailed by the upland plover,
Watched by only the twilight star.

Come next August, when thistles blossom,
See how each is alive, with wings
Butterflies seek their souls in its bosom,
Changed thenceforth to immortal things.

"_S '}1-~~Jl 1,1"-_ .-t- '-."._'_" a. ,. ;.

-, .. .... T ......07**-*,. _>



DURING summer I seek in vain for the gulls
which thronged the harbor in the colder days. A
crowd of gay little land-birds sings in the scattered
trees on the island; but the grave, silent gulls have
slipped away while we welcomed the summer so
gladly. But few remain, and those we rarely see.
Though they do not come near us, or sweep
through the sky in clouds as in winter, still a
little company gathers on the bar, when the tide
is out, coming unnoticed and from no one knows
where. In the inner harbor one always sees them
among the docks, and hovering near the surface
of the water quite fearlessly, in summer as well as
in winter. From my perch on the cliff, farther
out at sea, I can not find my winter friends in the
fair warm days. When they are close around me,
I love to watch them with a spy-glass, following their
flight to see the pretty bent head that turns from
side to side, to balance danger against the tempta-
tion to swoop down upon a bit of floating food.
The wind buffets them, but not to turn them
from their course; they fly before the wind or
against it in the same strong, deliberate way, bent
ever upon some errand that calls for their most per-
sistent effort.
Although they are such Quaker-birds, in soft
dull coloring and sober ways, as one commonly
sees them, it is true that they have a very real
delight in giving themselves up to a frolic. But
they are fond of being alone and quite motionless.
I have seen a solitary gull stand on the top of a bar
over which the tide was slowly rising, watching the
little waves break over his toes, not moving to a
higher and drier point till his feet were quite
covered with water. I hoped the little fellow
would wait till the tide lifted him, as it floats a
stranded boat.
The shoals in the harbor are their common
meeting-places, and they gather there in large
companies, turning their dazzlingly white breasts to
the sun as they stand. The contemplative mood
follows a successful hunt, I think; for at other
gatherings their energies are spent in digging
clams, screaming and fighting, too, over their
work. They know very well that the clam-shell
will break if it be dropped from a height upon the
rocks below, and as the clam is quite beyond their
reach till the shell is broken, they rise and dart

down, one after the other, clams and gulls together
falling through the air.
A lazy and wily gull is sure to be among them,
watching for an opportunity to seize the clam opened
by his neighbor's efforts. Clam-digging is always
done far from the mainland and larger islands-
unless on hungry days, when they are less wary.
The broad mud-flats at low tide, are their chosen
fishery grounds, and very pure and dainty they
look against the dark moss and mud. I often
wonder how they know at what time it is ebb-tide,
and how they let one another know, scattered as
they are in the inner harbor and bay, that the
rocks are bare. But surely as the hour comes, a
snow-storm of gulls drifts down upon every shoal.
They chatter and scream in a noisy chorus. In-
dignation and complaint one hears, but little else.
It is often a mournful sobbing, and never by any
chance a merry or musical note that they sound.
It is quite unusual for them to cry when on the
wing, always eager about their living and anxious
for their safety. So it seems as if at resting times
they spoke of all their experiences at once, and as
if complaint were the burden of all their speech.
In these quiet times, when the sun is shining
and the wind still, it is easy to forget that the gulls
are, of all other birds, "storm-swift," and hap-
piest in the wildest gale that blows. There is a
long bar, not far from my window, where the break-
ers roll in from the sea, tumbling and rushing with
foam in a storm. At the end of the bar they dash
against a breakwater with a force that sends a cloud
of spray into the air. This is a favorite haunt of
the gulls. Perhaps they come for the drift-stuff
that the sea washes up; but, looking from my win-
dow, I can see nothing that they may get; only
that the cloud of birds hovers over the surf, and
one by one they sweep among the billows and are
lost to view. After the mist falls, and while the air
is clear before another billow breaks, the soft white
gull, lost in the surf before, rests calmly on broad
wings, quite unhurt, poising and swerving as the
wind sweeps fiercely by.
Once, in a winter storm, I walked under the cliff
to find out how strong was the wind they rode on
so calmly, creeping close to the rock for fear the awful
waves should drag me down in their backward swing.
The stinging cold wind beat against me, and the


cme e


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S- .. __ K O- .. .


::Iir ..... It.ch fell around me tingled in
I ,I ..I:..: against my cold cheeks. This
Si ri.: ii,.1 ig storm-wind; in this the gulls
i.. :r. i. :. -.... i-eyed and strong of wing.
ih. ri..: ...-time, when many days andc
-..tr_ ..i i_ .ir r cold have filled the harbor
i1i. .-! lf-l... the gulls walk about upon the:
i .:.....l. !,r. surface with evident satisfac-
Iii.'. -..als lift brown heads to peer
i.. .:. :e with wondering baby-faces,
-.J- .!., rlii..ir soft, shapeless bodies to a
i-..! I.:i i: .I: the gulls. A gull and a seal
S1,, -; ,!! I..: ;ea on a block of ice, in serene
anI ...:i. w, :d companionship, one some-
rI:..: :...: I have a very pleasant memory
,.. -i .-:ii:,i, ;tately, solemn gull I once saw
-.Iiii-, I. itself in a pond of water that
I. ., ., ..: lock. The water was very dark
,!1 ,._ij.. ii.': ice, and the tide was carrying
itl: !.. .-ii i -: sea, drifting its pretty freight
I.i ..., and beacons and passingvessels.
ilh. .-uU1 -lilned from one foot to another,
1: :-:.i-,: ..... : Aarm under his plumage, while
I,: i.. !-,,,.:.:. himself on the other little pink
i -i r l.-i ,,-sted on the bare ice.
1,. r I. -,. bent this way and that, he ar-
i .Ir .:l i- t others, looking into the little
i-...-,l-n,... before him. He took a sip of
*i:.. ...I. -rill another, having lost all fear
:! i:i- .ir.-i eagerness for food, in full en-
ri. .i.1 Il is happy hour of gull-hood. A
steamer passed so close as
almost to crush the little ice-
- craft in itswheels-but the gull
did not flinch or look up.
Though the raft tipped uneasily
in the wake of the steamer,
and the swell rolled over it,
even then he did not put down
his tucked-up foot. At last,
in the climax of restfulness
of soul and body, he nestled
down on the ice, and rested
his soft white breast on the
cold slab without shivering.
They are so often quite alone
in their rest or amusement that
they have about them a dignity
S and reserve quite peculiar to
_W themselves.
I have watched what might
have been a little fairy-boat,
Rocking on the waves- but al-
S ways fascinated to wait till
S it slowly spread broad white
wings and rose out of the sea.
They drop down to rest with a


l i__F -, ,... r1 o n n t.:., t -- r

in: i,, l et r rI t ,-,: q.. -

water, and drop low in their light among noisy
fa:,: ... nrs hve called th,,e ml,.: .
qIn'!, the iupp:. hr.:,l r..v :l, whe: r t_ s .a the

tow-boats and moving craft of all kinds, the gulls
are peculiarly fearless and tame. Farther out, the
same gulls are so fearful as to make the entire circuit
of an island rather than cross it in flying. But
there is a wharf they venture to approach, perhaps
because, in their eagerness to seize food thrown
from it, they forget how near thby are coming.
Old men at the almshouse drop bread-crusts into

-.- -.- -- ---

-- 7-,- -

the sea at high water, and the gulls gather to seize
them as they go out on the tide. On a calm, fair
day in April, I counted a hundred and more, ven-
turing nearer and nearer shore till I could see quite
plainly the markings on the wings. It was not so
easy to get the bread as it had seemed to me it
would be, for in swooping they sometimes miscal-
culated, and many turns and twistings in the air
brought them to the surface just a little away from
the sailing bread-crust. No gull rested on the water




till he had secured a piece of bread; so, while some
rested, many still swept to and fro over the tantaliz-
ing prizes. Many pecks at one piece, while still on
the wing, gave each only a mouthful of the water-
soaked bread. Those at rest, as well as those on
the wing, clamored noisily, and fought vigorously
among themselves. The water and sky were deep
blue and the air quite warm and still; and the
bright gulls, poising and swooping, filled all the
noonday picture of the sea. No vessels were in
sight; only the noisy, busy gulls claimed one's
attention, drifting with spread or folded wings out
to sea with the tide.
I remember wishing once, many years ago, that
I could have a gull in my hands. The old fisher-
man to whom I spoke brought two which, with
much skill, he had taken on the wing. For the

moment I was eager and glad over my prizes. But
when I lifted their soft white heads, and held
them all blood-stained and drooping in my arms,
I reproached myself for the careless wish that had
caused their death. The dull, half-closed eyes
reproached me, too. I have wished that I might
hold one, alive, and frightened, and struggling, just
to let it go again, as I catch and then make free
the little cliff-sparrows that tumble in at my window.
The sailors say that gulls go out to sea to sleep
on the waves; and I have watched them at day-
break, lazily rising out of the path of a steamer,
far out at sea, as if wakened from sleep. There
are some rocky islands far out in the bay that may
give them shelter. But the night hides them, and
the morning brings them, so we may keep the
pretty fancy that they sleep on the waves.



ANYBODY would have thought Ben Parley's age
to be about fourteen. His coarse tow trousers were
rolled up to his knees and his bare feet were dang-
ling in the water. He sat on an old log, a little out
from shore, while two other boys, of about the same
age but very differently dressed, did their part of the
fishing from a nice dry spot on shore.
I say, Andrew," exclaimed Ben, as he pulled
up a very pretty speckled trout, what do you and
Sam think of this for a lake ? "
"'T is n't so big as Quinnebunk," said the larger
of the boys on shore. "Is it, Sam ?"
"Well, no," said Sam; "there is n't so much
water, but there 's a great deal better fishing."
"It used to be different," remarked Ben. "The
Quinnebunk Hotel has caused the change. Too
many summer-folks from the city fish there nowa-
days. Did n't I tell you I'd show you better luck
up here?"
"Well, ye-es, you did," replied Sam, a little
sulkily. What of that? You've done nearly all
the catching. "
"I ought not to be blamed for that. Both of
you have had bites enough; and you 've used up
all your bait and half of mine. Why don't you
jerk 'em,-- so,- and pull 'em in ? "
"I rather think I know how to catch fish," grum-

bled Sam. "'T is n't that.. They seem somehow
to get away while I 'm landing 'em."
"That's bear-catcher's luck," chuckled Ben as
he felt another tug at his line; but it was his turn to
miss, and only a bare hook came out of the water.
"Bear-catcher's luck?" exclaimed Andrew.
" What's that?"
"This kind of luck," said Ben, as he squirmed
around on the log to bait his hook. His yellow
hair was only a shade or two darker than his ragged
straw-hat, and his merry brown face had as many
freckles as the speckles on the finest trout that he
had caught.
"What 's a bear-catcher ?" asked Sam.
"Bear-catcher? Don't you know what a bear
is ? Neither one of you fellers ? I 'm glad I 'm not
a city boy. I 'd rather have been brought up here,
in the mountains."
"Bears?" almost shouted Sam. "Not know
bears ? We know what bears are as well as you do.
We 've seen all sorts of bears in the menageries.
Black ones and white ones. Grizzlies, too, and all
sorts and sizes. We 've seen more bears than ever
you saw up here."
"Well, now, I think not. Why, these woods
are the places where they catch 'em for you city
people to look at- "


How do they catch 'em ?" asked Andrew sud-
"I thought you did n't know that. I know where
there 's a bear-trap."
A bear-trap ?"
A real bear-trap ?"
"Yes, indeed! "
"Where is it?"
"Show it to us! "
"Certainly. Haul in your line, Sam. Some-
thing's on it- "
Trout! Good one shouted Sam as he lifted
his neglected rod; but the charm of the fishing had
been broken, for he added, Is it far from here to
where that trap is?"
Far? No. It's only a mile from here, along
the mountain."
"A mile, Sam," said Andrew. "Do you feel
like walking another mile and back, before we set
out for the Quinnebunk Hotel? "
I'd like to see a bear-trap. Maybe we'd find
a bear in it."
"Not a bear," said Ben. "'T isn't the right
time of year. It's in the fall they catch 'em.
Even then they 're not easily caught. That's what
'bear-catcher's luck means."
The three boys together had secured a good
string of fish, but it would have been twice as large
if Ben Parley's friends from the city had caught
as many as he had.
That would have been a little too much to ex-
pect of them; for they had never in their lives, till
then, spent a summer among the lakes and mount-
ains, while Ben had been born and brought up in
the very midst of all the trout-fishing and hunting.
Perhaps, however, Andrew and Sam Butterworth
could have shown him some things to puzzle him,
if he had been as near their father's house in the
city as they were to Ben's log-cabin home, on the
shore of Quinnebunk Lake, just beyond the big
new summer-hotel.
"No bears?" said Sam, disappointed. "Well,
let's go and see the trap, anyhow. It won't do us
any harm to walk a mile or two further."
"I don't care for just a mile," said Andrew, for
the interest of it was growing upon him. He and
his brother had quite a number of questions to ask
while they were winding up their lines.
Are there really many of 'em ? said Andrew,
doubtfully, at last.
"Burnie Burnie Burnie !" shouted Ben at
that moment, as loudly as he could. But he replied,
"Bears? Oh, yes. Thisis a great country for bears,
in the fall. That dog--"
But in winter began Sam.
"Burnie i Burnie! Burnie! What's become of
that dog? Burn-ie -In winter? Oh, the bears

all go to sleep in hollow trees in winter.- I wish I
knew about that dog-- "
"All winter?" exclaimed Andrew unbeliev-
ingly. "Come, now! What do they live on?
Don't they eat? "
"Burnie Burnie Burnie !-Eat? No, no-
body eats when asleep. They don't get hungry.
They're as fat as pigs when they crawl into the
hollow trees and they just stick their forepaws into
their mouths and go to sleep.-Where 's that
"Go to sleep !" exclaimed Sam. They can't
sleep all winter ?"
"Burnie Burnie There he comes !- Oh, yes,
but they do, though. And they come out thin as
fence-rails in the spring."
"Here 's your dog," said Andrew. "He's fat
enough to go into a hollow tree, now."
"He's always fat. But'he used to be a good
bear-dog. You'll see him show interest when we
get to the trap."
"Let's hurry," said Sam. It's near noon now,
and we're more than five miles from Quinnebunk."
Yes, we are," said Ben; but what of it ? It's
all the way down-hill and there 'll be some supper
when we get there."
Supper! groaned Andrew. "I'd like some
dinner! "
There's lunch in the basket," said Sam, but
let's keep it till we see the trap."
"And we'll cook some fish," said Ben. We
can make a fire."
Can you cook? "
Of course I can. I'd be ashamed of myself if
I could n't. I'll show you. Come along. Come
on, Burnie. Bears, Burnie bears "
Ben's dog was large and fat; but for all his over-
fed and clumsy appearance, he had reached them
at very fair speed. He was of no special breed,
but had many characteristics of the Mastiff family.
He now stood looking in the face of his young
master, with an expression which seemed to say:
"Bears? Now, Ben, do you mean to say bears
to an old dog like me, at this time of the year?
Don't I know you came up here to catch fish ?"
He was a dog of sound mind. He knew those
three boys were unprepared for bears. There was
not a gun among them. It was of no use to try
to agitate him by any wild talk about game and
hunting; but, when they set out,-he-was willing to
trot along dignifiedly behind them. There was,
at least, no danger that any wild animals known
to those woods would try to run away with a dog
of his size and weight.
Ben Parley's "mile," to where he was to show
his friends the trap, was one of those long, full-
grown miles that are to be found only in a



very rough country. Andrew Butterworth and his
brother began to wonder if the show would be
worth the hard work it was costing them. They
were just about to say this, when Ben led them out
from under the dense forest on the mountain-side,
into a long, grassy, open space leading down to
the shore of a very small lake. It was scarcely
bigger than a pond; and Sam said so, at once.
"Ye-es," replied Ben; "it 's little, but it's
deep. Some folks say there is n't any bottom to
it. They can't find any."
There must be one, though, somewhere."
Of course," added Andrew. "There must be
something to hold the water up."
Folks have sounded for it," said Ben.
"I don't care," said Sam with great energy.
" It's too small a lake to go all the way through."
But you don't know where it goes to, nor what
keeps the water up.-There 's the trap, anyhow."
Where? Where ?" exclaimed the other two,
at the same instant.
Up there, among the rocks."
I can't see it," said Sam.
Come along; I'll show you. It's a fine old
trap.-Bears, Burnie! Bears !"
The long walk was all forgotten as they followed
Ben across the slope. Even Burnie seemed to
arouse himself to something like an interest in the
proceedings, and he actually sniffed at several
trees and bushes.
They had to pass quite near to the shore of the
beautiful little sheet of water, but they hardly
looked at it. Then, just as they began to climb
a gentle slope, Ben pointed straight ahead and
"There 's the trap "
There was a great mass of broken, tumble-down
rocks above the slope, and right before them,
in the face of the shattered ledge, was a sort of
cleft, or opening. It was about ten feet wide at
its mouth, and six feet high; and somebody had
taken the trouble to roof it over with logs. It was
a queer roof, and it jutted out at least six feet,
straight from the rock, with a very heavy log at
its outer edge.
"It 's a sort of house," said Andrew; "but
I 'm sure nobody would live there who could
help it."
That 's so," said Sam. "Now, Ben, where's
your trap ?"
Why, there it is."
I don't see any trap."
Why, don't you know ? That's the bear-trap.
All of that."
"Now, see here," said Andrew indignantly,
we 're city boys, but you can't make us believe
that. Do you mean to say the bears go in there

in the fall and go to sleep, and that men can come
and catch 'em before they wake up ? We 're not
so stupid as that."
Bears have some sense, too," said Sam.
I did n't say any such thing," exclaimed Ben.
" I only said that was a trap. So it is. Bears
have been caught in it, too. All the trouble about
it, is the drop. It don't work well. Sometimes it
gets stuck. It's stuck now."
What 's the 'drop' ?"
"Don't you know ? Why, that's what catches
'em. Come around on top and I'll show you."
Burnie had taken several good sniffs at the out-
side of that trap. He had whined, too, through
sorrow at finding it empty, and he now sat down
before the mouth of the cave, as if contented to
remain outside for the present.
The boys clambered up the ledge till they could
look down upon the log roof.
"There," said Ben, "do you see that long
What Ben called a pole was a long, stout hick-
ory sapling, with the bark left on. It was strongly
fastened, at its outer end, to the log at the edge
of the jutting part of the roof. It lay, from the
middle of that log, directly back across the middle
of the roof. There did not seem to be any need
of a ridge-pole to so flat a roof; but there it was,
and Sam remarked:
That's to hold the logs down."
Hold 'em down? said Ben. "Why, that's
the spring-pole. The catch is hung to it, down
inside. All that frame of logs beyond the edge
of the rocks, works on hinges--wooden hinges.
Don't you see them now ? That's what they call
the 'fall.' When it falls, it shuts up that place in
there as tight as a drum."
"Ye-es," said Andrew. But who 's a-going to
wait up here and watch for bears, till they come
crawling in so he can let that down on 'em? "
"Nobody, of course. Come on down, now, and
I '1 show you the catch."
Down they went, and in a moment they were
Now don't you see? said Ben. "That stick
hanging down through the roof is notched to the
spring-pole. They just bait it at the lower end
and leave it. Then a bear comes and gets hold of
the bait, and it's tied on tight, and he pulls. Bears
are very strong. As soon as he pulls hard, he
jerks the spring-pole loose, down comes the 'fall,'
and then he's caught."
I see," said Andrew. It 's only a great big
"That's all. Nobody stays around, or the bears
would scent danger and be scared away. The
men who are trapping don't come near it for days



and days; and then they only come in the morn-
ing, to see if the bait's all right or if anything 's
been caught."
It was all very clear, now they knew it was a
"rat-trap" on a large scale, made of rocks and
logs, and Sam suddenly remembered that he was
"All right," said Ben, the moment Sam men-
tioned this. I '11 start a fire and we 'll do some
Ben," asked Andrew, "is n't that trap set
now? "
"Yes. It 's been set ever since last fall. It
would n't go off very easily, though."
"I wish we had something to bait it with-we
might catch a bear."
If we waited till next fall, perhaps. Only I 've
heard it's so hard to set off the trap that the bears
sometimes pull the bait from the hook and walk
away with it. I '11 make the fire in here, against
the rock. Then we '11 go down near the lake and
clean some fish."
We might catch some more," said Sam, but he
forgot this purpose in the excitement of gathering
dry wood and bark for the fire.
Ben had matches, and the side of the rock made
a good fire-place. There was a bright blaze flash-
ing up in a few minutes. It was easy work to clean
a few fish, and it was capital fun to cook and eat
"Those Quinnebunk Hotel folks," said Sam,
"won't mind if we don't bring 'em home. There
are any number of boarders out a-fishing for 'em,
all the time."
They 're real good, though," said Ben. "I
say, look at old Burnie. You couldn't get him to
put his head in here."
Why won't he ?"
He? He's the wisest old dog you ever saw."
But he is n't a bear; and then the trap is n't
Ben was putting more wood on the fire just
at that moment, and Burnie opened his mouth
with a long whine. Then he pawed the grass and
looked very uneasy.
He does n't like it," said Ben. He's afraid
we might bait it for him."
"We've no bait," said Sam; "but I can hit
the catch."
He picked up a rather heavy piece of stone, as
he spoke, and before Ben or Andrew knew what
he was about, he had thrown it. It was a good
straight throw, too, for a boy of Sam's size, and
considering that the stone was so large. It struck
the hook on the trigger of the catch, fair and square.
Only a stone, to be sure, but it was as good as a
bear, for it sprung the trap.

Snap crack crash bang!
The crackling overhead sounded, for a moment,
as if the roof were falling. Then all that part of it
which jutted beyond the rock and made the "fall "
came swinging down against the open front with a
loud slam, and the three boys were caught!
They were trapped, like so many bears or
rats or mice.
Well! Now you 've done it !" exclaimed Ben.
Andrew gave a frightened scream when the fall
came down, and Sam turned pale.
They all jumped up and stood looking at the
catch for a moment; then they turned and made a
rush for the fall.
Burnie was outside pawing at the bottom log
and whining as if trying to get in. Ben could
hardly help saying to him:
"Bears, Burnie !-bears "
Burnie threw up his heavy old head and uttered
a long, mournful howl, and then stood staring at
his young companions and wagging his stumpy
tail as if in pity for their misfortunes. He must
have been studying the situation, too, for just
as Ben repeated, "Bears, Burnie! he gave a
yelping bark and trotted briskly away toward the
He 's gone to find somebody to help us out,"
said Andrew.
"He 's scared, I think," said Sam. "Ben,
what '11 we do?"
"Let's eat our dinner first. Then we'll see.
I'm hungry as a bear."
They could eat, but even while a fish was broil-
ing, or while they were eating it, they continued
to walk around their prison and study the predica-
ment they were in.
We won't get out of this in a hurry," said Ben.
"Let's keep some of our fish for supper."
There's plenty of'em," began Andrew bravely,
but Sam was depressed because he was the cause
of the mischief, and he almost whimpered.
What would Father and Mother say, if they
knew we were caught in a bear-trap? Can you
open it, Ben ?"
"No, nor can anybody else, from inside. The
biggest bear in the mountains would have to wait
here and keep house .till somebody came to let
him out."
Yes, but we mist get out! "
That's the way bears always feel when they're
caught. It spoils their appetites. Sometimes they
won't even eat the bait after the fall comes down -
unless they 're left a good while in the trap."
Sam and Andrew felt that the same sort of feel-
ing, or the broiled trout, had spoiled their own
appetites. It was hard to take it so coolly as Ben
did, but they tried their best to be cheerful.



All the machinery of that trap was studied again
and again, until they knew only too well how
heavy and strong it was.
"How can we ever get out?" said Andrew
mournfully, at last.
Oh, the folks will come for us."
"Nobody knows where we are."
Burnie does. He'll show them."
Do you suppose he's gone to tell ?"
I should n't wonder. Why, that dog knows
more than most men. He's not a city dog. He
was raised among the mountains."
Andrew and Sam had their doubts of Burnie's
wisdom, and they made another effort to stir the
fall. They could only shake it a little.
Don't you see the latches at the sides ?" asked
They looked, and at either side of the opening
they saw a log on the ground with a deep notch in
it. When the fall came down, its outer log fell
just into those notches so as to be wedged against
the rock by them. It was very rude work, but, as
Ben said:
No bear ever could shove it open. They 're
cunning old fellows, too. If the floor was n't rock,
it would have to be of logs, just like the roof."
What for ?" asked Sam.
If it was n't, the bears would dig their way out.
We would, too. I wish those cracks between the
roof logs were just a few inches wider."
All they're good for now is to let out smoke,"
said Andrew. "Oh, dear! "
"Oh, dear !" echoed Sam.
Ben Parley tried to put a bold face on it. He
knew a good many stories about bears, and he told
several of them, one after another; but it was not
of much use. All three of them were beginning
to understand sympathetically how a bear feels
when trapped.
Ben! exclaimed Sam at last, suddenly,
"there 's Burnie! "
There he was, indeed, down on the shore of the
lake, lapping the water. He had been rambling,
perhaps, and had become thirsty.
"Burnie Burnie shouted Ben.
The old dog turned from the water and trotted
slowly up to the front of the trap, but he only
sniffed all along the lower log of the fall, lifted
his head, and howled.
That's of no use, Burnie," said Ben. "We 'd
all howl if that could do any good."
"I feel just like it," Sam said mournfully.
Hurrah shouted Ben, suddenly springing to
his feet.
"What's the matter? Do you see any one
coming?" asked Andrew.
No, I don't; but--"

"I wish you did. I 'm getting thirsty. Why
did you hurrah ? "
"Because I can unlatch the trap "
"Canyou? How?"
Why, we can burn off the latches. And then
we can pry the logs open. Fire, boys,- fire !"
Burnie answered him, outside, with a great
bark, and pranced up and down as if he expected
something joyful to happen.
"We'11 do it. Come on!"
Fire will burn wood, especially if the wood is very
dry. The boys pushed out some blazing brands,
first, and placed them against the log latches.
They had gathered a great heap of dry stuff for
their own fire, and it followed these brands, piece
by piece, till Ben's new idea was all in a blaze,"
at each end of the fall. There was fun in it, as well
as hope, and Burnie barked a vigorous approval.
Won't the men who own this trap be angry ? "
asked Sam.
"Perhaps they will," said Ben calmly. "It 'll
cost 'em some work to set it to rights again."
This seemed likely, for the fire was now rapidly
burning the latches. Fire, however, is a queer sort
of tool, and it can not be handled so safely as
an ax or a saw. Other tools stop working when a
man lets go of them; but a fire is apt to continue
upon its own account as long as it finds anything
at hand.
So it was with that fire. The log latches burned
away nicely, and the boys thought that was the
right place to stop; but the fire went to work on
the logs and framework of the fall.
I say, boys," exclaimed Ben, "if it spreads all
over them and gets to the roof, this cave will be
an oven."
We '11 be roasted alive! groaned Sam.
Oh, dear!" said Andrew, it's getting warmer
every minute "
The fire was climbing, climbing, and Burnie's
bark, heard through the flames, was turning into
something like a whine.
The smoke went up nearly straight, for there
was no wind to blow it in upon them, but what
Ben Parley called the weather in the trap very
soon grew uncomfortable.
Hotter and hotter; but at last the heavy lower
log of the fall was suddenly loosened and rolled a
"Hurrah!" shouted Ben. "The pins are
burned through!"
"Pins ?" said Sam. Was that thing fastened
with pins?"
"Wooden pins-See?--held the logs to the
the frame. More logs will tumble soon. Then
we can crawl out."
"Crawlout? How?"


In the middle. The fire's at the ends. We '11
have room enough. Only, it 'll be a hot creep."
See old Burnie dance around," said Sam.
" He does n't mean to get himself singed."
'' Trust him for that. I wish he was a man with
an ax."
"This oven's getting warmer," said Andrew.
"The smoke is terrible."


They were already crouching down at the back
of the trap, to be as far as they could from the fire.
"Boys," shouted Ben, "See! See! The fire
has reached the roof! We 're in for it, now "
Crash down came the second log of the fall,
and a shower of sparks was followed by a smudge
of smoke. Another log followed and rolled away a
little. It looked as if there was to be one bonfire in
the mouth of the trap and another over their heads.
Now, boys," shouted Ben Parley, suddenly,
"Get ready. There 's room to go through in the
"Follow-ugh-my-ugh-leader," coughed Andrew
very bravely, but Sam's mouth and eyes had toe
much smoke in them for any uncalled-for exertion.
Hands-ugh-and-ugh-knees! said Ben, as he
scuttled across the rocky floor. Out they went, and

Sam, who came last, barely got through in time to
escape the fall of another burning log.
Oh, how good it seemed to draw a long breath
of fresh air, and then to take a draught of cool,
fresh water from the lake !
"We're not roasted this time," said Ben.
"That oven'll be hot enough to roast a bear,
very soon," said Andrew. See the roof blaze "
"No more
bears will be
caught in that
;1,' trap,"saidBen.
; .... "They're cun-
ning, though.
If they knew
--- how we got out
S they'd all carry
matches, so as
to be ready."
Burnie now
Sa marched back
and sat down
in front of the
sl fire, at a safe
distance, as if
the whole affair
were a puzzle
to be studied
out and whined
"Boys," said
his master,

will burn all
night. Let 's
go home."
They will
find it pretty
hard to believe
marked Sam, "when we tell 'em we trapped our-
selves for bears and then burned our way out."
The walk home seemed much shorter for having
such an adventure to talk about; but when they
came to the turn of the road near the Quinnebunk
Hotel they felt that they had been through a great
Deal that day.

At that very moment, there was Ben's father
on the steps of the hotel piazza, talking with a very
anxious-looking lady and with a gentleman who was
trying hard not to seem anxious.
"No, ma'am," Mr. Parley said, "they won't get
lost. My Ben was born in the mountains. He kin
find his way anywhere."
"Mr. Butterworth and I were thinking somebody
should go- "



"There, Parley," exclaimed the gentleman,
" there they are now, with that dog of yours- "
I 'm so glad exclaimed his wife. Where
can they have been ? "
Oh, they 've been roaming over the mountain,"
began Ben's father; but the boys had hurried a
little, with all that story to tell, and were now near
enough to cause Mr. Butterworth to exclaim:
Sam Andrew Why are your faces so black-
And your clothes covered with ashes added
their mother. Oh, boys, where have you been ? "
Mother," shouted Sam, we 've been playing
bears "
We got trapped, too," said Andrew. And
Ben Parley set fire to us and burned us out."
"Ben," said his father sternly, "what have
you been up to?"



There were other .people on the piazza, and
several men who were in the road joined the little
group that gathered so quickly to hear those three
sooty boys tell their story.
Ben told it, with frequent interruptions from
Sam and Andrew, and he told it very well, for Mr.
Butterworth remarked:
Maria, he came near burning them up; but
he saved their lives "
A tall, weather-beaten man at the bottom of
the steps then slapped Mr. Parley on the shoulder
and said:
It's all right, Parley. That trap belonged to
me and my partner, but it 's all right. I 'm glad
the young boy-bears got away. It's the first time
I ever heerd of three young bears a-trappin' their-
selves at our fall, and then burnin' down the trap
over their own heads. I won't charge you a cent!"

.'-r "

SI' ,

i '






GOOD-BYE, Eunice," said Mrs. Primwell, in a on Twenty-third street. I shall learn there where
business-like tone, stooping low to kiss her small my duty lies for the afternoon. I am never sure
seven-year-old daughter, as she drew on her neat what work is before me when I leave the house;
cashmere gloves. Be a good girl. Don't hinder and this week I am also on the Visiting and Relief
Sarah at her work, or idle away the hours yourself. Committee." Mrs. Primwell gave a sigh of vir-
Remember 'Time lost can never be regained,' tuous and highly enjoyable martyrdom. "At our
and Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands last meeting, there was some talk of our visiting
to do.'" the Home for Indigent Inventors to-day. In that
A lonely look crept into the child's face. When case, I may not return before seven this evening.
will you come home, Mother ?" she asked, raising But I have told Sarah not to delay tea, and I have
her dark eyes to the clear-cut, practical face set in left work for you, my dear; there are six exam-
bands of reddish-brown hair beneath a plain black ples set down ready on your slate. See in how
velvet bonnet, many cases you can obtain the correct result at
"That I can not tell you," returned her mother, the first working. Then you will find another
in her precisely modulated tones. We go first to pillow-case, ready basted, on the work-stand in my
Sthe special meeting of the Good Samaritan Society, room. Try to take the over-and-over stitches a


trifle closer together than you did on the first one.
When your lessons and sewing are done, you may
amuse yourself with the illustrated paper your
father brought you last night. That is all, I
think. No! -I had very nearly forgotten my
Quarterly Report. Run up quickly, Eunice, and
bring me the small black note-book on my table."
The little girl obeyed promptly. Then she said
"Good-bye" again, rather wistfully, and stood at
the window, her small face pressed close to the
pane, watching her mother, who walked briskly
down the street in the spring sunshine, hailed a
car at the corner, and sailed jingling out of sight.
Then Eunice turned away, the corners of her mouth
drooping with patient resignation, and brought her
slate and pencil.
Poor little Eunice hated arithmetic, and made
such sad work of it that Mrs. Primwell, who had
always had a "wonderful head for figures" her-
self, groaned in spirit over this sad deficiency in
her only child. But, as Miss Lydia Hatcher, she
had been a most thorough and efficient teacher for
eleven years, before she finally resigned to become
Mrs. Primwell and take charge of a docile class of
one; and the habit of years was yet strong upon
her. She untiringly explained and re-explained the
points that puzzled Eunice's little head; heard her
repeat her multiplication-table regularly every
morning, and said to herself that by the time the
spring term opened and the child began to attend
school again, she should understand thoroughly
everything as far as she had gone-which was
more than could be expected from the ordinary
instruction of a country school.
It was now six weeks since the Primwells had
moved into the city from the far-away village of
Turnersville, which had been home to Eunice all
her little life. The morning lessons had gone on
regularly so far; but Mrs. Primwell, having been
at the head of half-a-dozen societies, benevolent or
literary, in Turnersville, had brought letters of
introduction to the foremost workers" here at
her new home; had been speedily recognized and
welcomed as a lady of great executive ability,"
and already held an active place on the staff of a
temperance society, two city missions, and a liter-
ary and scientific circle; and the days were grow-
ing more and more frequent when little Eunice
was left alone, as upon this day, to puzzle through
her tasks as best she might.
The six examples were done at last. Only two
had come out right the very first time. It was al-
most I o'clock, afullhour since Eunice had watched
her mother out of sight. She supposed she ought
to go upstairs after the pillow-case, but she sat still
a few moments longer in her low chair, her little
hands folded over the slate in her lap, and looked

wistfully about the room. Here were the same
carpet that had covered the floor of the Turnersville
sitting-room,- only turned now, and re-sewed to
fit the long, narrow room,- the same chairs and
lounge, and the walnut table on which lay the same
books that had been there as long ago as Eunice
could remember: Pope's Poems," in gaudy red
and gold; Goldsmith's Traveller," in contrasting
dinginess of black covers and rusty edges; Ba-
con's Essays," "Young's Poems," and the great
brown leather photograph-album. Between these,
on the polished surface of the table, Sarah's duster
had left little streaks and dabs of dust; but Eunice
did not see this. She was looking up at the square,
yellowed diploma that had been presented to Miss
Lydia Hatcher on her successful graduation from
the Turnersville Female Seminary. Opposite this,
and similarly framed in narrow gilt molding, hung
something even more precious in Mrs. Primwell's
eyes,- her Teacher's Life Certificate," a wilder-
ness of wonderful curves and flourishes, wherein
little Eunice could make out only a long word here
and there.
She turned her eyes from the scroll, this bright
April morning, and looked straight before her out
of the window again. For some reason she felt
more lonely just now than she had ever felt be-
I wish," she said slowly, aloud to herself, I
wish I was back in Turnersville. I wish I could
see Molly Merriman, or Jeanie Appleby, or even
Judy Ketchum I I have n't anybody to go to see
here, or to play with. We don't know even the
people next door, and we 've been here- six -
weeks. It's dreadful! There was dear old Auntie
Briggs lived next us, at home. She used to tell
stories, such nice ones. Oh, I wish I could go to
see her this afternoon. I wonder who does live in
this next house, anyway I suppose my mother
would know if she did n't have to go to the asylums
and societies and things, so much."
Eunice was standing at the window now, looking
over at the neighboring house of neat red-brick.
A canary, swinging in the bay-window, just then
began to trill his joyous little song; themapleswhich
lined the sidewalk waved their branches, laden with
tiny swelling buds, gently to and fro in the soft
spring air, and seemed to beckon to the lonely lit-
tle figure at the window; and, with a sudden burst
of sunshine, an idea came to her which made her
clasp her two hands tightly together. A faint flush
tinged the clear pallor of her cheeks, and her brown
eyes grew larger than ever.
Suppose she should start out, herself, this very
morning and become acquainted with some of these
She opened the window and leaned out, her


heart beating fast with unaccustomed daring. I
have n't done the pillow-case," she thought. But
at that very moment a hand-organ, away down the
street, struck up the jolliest and most inviting of
jigs. Come out into the sunshine, sunshine,
sunshine it seemed to say; and in less than two
minutes a dozen children came dancing and skip-
ping along to the sound of the music. Eunice
shut the window and ran upstairs.

Lady.Jane, then, should go calling, too. Eunice
would take her in the black velvet work-bag that
Mrs. Primwell carried to the Helping Hand Sew-
ing Society. Eunice ran into her mother's room
after it, and spied a small pile of tracts on the writ-
ing-stand, on top of five or six Chautauqua books
and "Ebenezer Evans, D. D., on Self-Culture," in
two volumes.
My mother would like to have them 'stributed,"


People don't stay long the very first time," she
said to herself. I can go to a good many places
before luncheon-time. I shall begin right next
door, and go from house to. house, as my mother
and the other ladies do when they carry tracts and
things. My mother '11 be so pleased to have me
pay some 'tention to our neighbors, when she
The neglected sewing, the picture-paper,- every-
thing was forgotten, as Eunice hurriedly smoothed
and braided her thick dark locks afresh, and
brought out her best brown felt sailor-hat, with
the long ribbons, and her Sunday gloves. Then a
new thought came.
Maybe there will be a little girl to play with,
somewhere. I will carry Lady Jane."
Pulling open the lowest drawer of her own small
bureau, she took out a blue-eyed china doll some
six or eight inches in height. Poor dear the doll
had lost both feet in an accident long ago, and had
been put into long dresses and trains to hide the
deficiency; but no less was she the darling of her
little mother's heart.

thought the child. So half-a-dozen of the tiny
pamphlets went into the velvet work-bag. Then
Eunice marched, with a very dignified but noise-
less step, downstairs and out at the door. She
stopped at the bed of early spring-flowers before
the parlor windows, and snipped off three daffodils.
Then, with the yellow blossoms in one little hand,
and the work-bag on her arm, her head very erect,
and the toes of her small boots turned outin proper
position, she made her stately way out of the gate
and down the street.
Eunice rang at the red-brick house and waited
politely two, three,- four minutes, perhaps. No
answer. Again she pulled out the creaking white
knob, and far away in the basement a bell tinkled
faintly. But nobody came to open the door. At
last, after the third,-a very vigorous ring,-the
window directly over the door was thrown up, and
out came a somewhat frowsy head, belonging to a
pretty, youngish woman, wearing no collar in the
neck of her loose wrapper, which she held together
at the throat with one hand, while she called in a
high-pitched voice:



"What do you want, little girl?"
Eunice was so startled that she nearly fell back-
ward from the top step, in trying suddenly to look
up into the speaker's face.
"I wish to see the lady of the house," she an-
swered simply.
Well, I'm the lady of the house," was the some-
what impatient answer; "but I'm awfully busy up
here, and I don't want to come down unless it 's
very necessary. Did you come to borrow something,
or what ? "
The child's face lost a shade of its bright expect-
"No, ma'am. I live in the next house, and I
came over to get acquainted. I did n't know but
I 'd find a little girl -somewhere, somebody I
could play with."
Well, if I ever laughed the lady, looking
Eunice over from head to foot, and evidently much
amused by the child's grave little face and grown-
up air. After pausing a moment, she said:

much disappointed and perplexed, went slowly down
the steps. Then she turned, and flung up her head,.
carrying it with its usual proud, independent turn.
I don't believe she 's very nice," she said to
herself. I '11 just leave her a tract,- that 's what
I '11 do Maybe it will make her behave better to
people who come to see her."
She stopped and selected True Repentance
Explained" from the velvet bag, and, running
lightly up the steps, poked it under the door. This
done, she skipped down again and tripped with a
hop-and-jump to the gate; then, recollecting her-
self, turned out her toes once more and fell into her
stately little walk, determined not to be dismissed
so unceremoniously from the next house.
Here a very different experience awaited her.
The door was opened before the bell had half done
jingling, and she was shown into a charming par-
lor, where three pretty young ladies in becoming
morning costumes were playing at fancy-work to
the accompaniment of lively remarks from a young


No, there are n't any children in this house. gentleman in a huge easy-chair opposite them.
Besides, I 've so much on my hands this morning Eunice looked from one to another of the merry
that I think you'd better run home now, and come little company, feeling rather bewildered for a mo-
some other time to 'get acquainted.' ment; but, not being shy by nature, she promptly
She lowered the window, and, laughing to her- explained that she was making calls from house
self, sat down again to her sewing. Little Eunice, to house to get acquainted.
VOL. XV.-57,



The three young ladies looked at their small vis-
itor, and then at one another with laughing eyes, but
they politely begged her to be seated. When she
had taken a chair with a manner as much like her
mother's formal-call air as she could assume, the
dark-haired sister in blue said (just as though she
were speaking to a grown-up visitor, Eunice thought
I am sorry not to have the pleasure of your
acquaintance. What is your name, please? "
Eunice Primwell," the little girl answered sim-
ply; whereupon, the young lady introduced herself
as Miss Temple, and her two sisters as Miss
Adelaide and Miss Helen. Then she said:
Allow me to present Mr. Dudley, Miss Prim-
At this, the young gentleman rose, and, laying
one hand to his heart, made a most impressive bow,
and declared himself delighted to have the honor ";
which made little Eunice regard him very earnestly
for a moment with her serious, questioning eyes,
and then, holding her head a trifle more erect un-
der the big sailor-hat, turn to golden-haired Miss
Adelaide, with a wise remark about the weather.
It was very cold when we came away from
Turnersville," she observed reflectively. My
mother said it was not any time to move, but Papa
said we 'd have to, 'count of business, and he had
his way for once. But I 'most wish he had n't. I
do get so lonesome when my mother 's gone to the
Dorcas, or the Orphan's Home, or some of those
"Did you ever! The dear little thing said
Miss Helen, aside, to her sister, who was bending
over her crocheting to hide the smile that would
come as she looked at their quaint little visitor,
whose small feet were so very far from the floor as
she sat bolt-upright in the big chair.
Miss Primwell, won't you be so kind as to give
me one of those flowers for a boutonniere ? begged
Mr. Dudley, with great gravity. I dote on yel-
low." But Eunice shook her head.
I brought them for sick people," she said with
Miss Helen's bright eyes danced.
And what has the little lady in the bag, I
wonder? May I see? she coaxed, gently laying
one hand on the velvet work-bag. Something
rustled inside.
Tracts, most likely," suggested Mr. Dudley,
idly rolling his cane back and forth across the
knees of his gray spring trousers.
Right for once, I declare cried Miss Helen,
as she drew out a small pamphlet. Of all things !
Just listen And as gravely as she could, for
laughing, she read the title, "'What do our Young
Men Most Need?' The very thing for you, Mr.

Dudley And she handed it over to him, in the
general laugh that followed.
Eunice was the only one who did not join in the
merriment. She had been thinking fast. Her
heart beat harder, and her eyes blazed. They
were laughing at her They had only made believe
to treat her like a grown-up lady !
She slid down from her chair, her face pale, and
her lips compressed. At the same moment Miss
Helen, the youngest and gayest of the sisters, drew
Lady Jane from the velvet bag, and held her up
before the rest.
"And if here is n't the dolly How delicious! "
she cried. But Eunice, with the air of an offended
princess, put out her hand for her treasure.
I think I shall go now," she said stiffly. I
don't think I care to get acquainted with people
who laugh and make fun."
Oh, you dear little thing," interrupted Miss
Helen, impulsively drawing the small figure toward
her. "No, don't go. Why, we were n't laughing
at you. We would n't do that for anything."
"No, indeed, my dear child. You must n't
think of it; and it was very kind of you to come
to see us," chimed in the eldest pretty sister.
"And you must come again," said Miss Adelaide,
bending to kiss the grave, puzzled little face.
The proud, hurt look softened. "Thank you,
ma'am, but I think I will go now," the child re-
peated with a doubtful air. She could not feel
quite sure, after all, that the young ladies really
wished her to stay. She hardly knew whether to
be glad or sorry that she had started out to make
friends with her neighbors.
You can keep the tract. I brought them to
give away," she added over her shoulder to Mr.
Dudley. Nobody laughed this time. All three
sisters kissed her warmly, and made her prom-
ise to come again to see them; but as little Eunice
shut the gate behind her, she looked down the
street and hesitated whether to go on, or turn back
toward home. But the thought of the lonely house
brought no charm, and just then, glancing across
the street, she saw at a window a cheery old lady's
face, bordered with wavy white hair, so like the
silvery bands about dear old Auntie Briggs's placid
forehead, that her mind was made up in an instant.
The old lady herself came to open the door. But,
alas !- she was so very deaf that the little girl al-
most despaired of making her understand a word.
Lady of the house ? she repeated, when Eu-
nice had stood on tiptoe and shouted the sentence
close to her ear. Oh, yes. That's me, just now,
I s'pose, for 'Lizabeth 's gone out this morning.
She 's my son's wife, 'Lizabeth is. Come in, deary ;
I was right tired o' setting here alone. I'm glad
to see you." And she led the little girl into a cosy




room where a wood-fire snapped and crackled in an
open stove, pussy dozed undisturbed on the mat,
and several geraniums in full bloom made a pink
and scarlet glory in the sunny south-window.
If only it had not been so hard to make the old
lady.hear her, Eunice was sure she might have en-

joyed visiting her almost as well as if she had been
Auntie Briggs. She was very friendly, and asked a
great many questions. What was Eunice's name ?
Where did she live? How long had they been
there?' Where did they move from? Did they
know a Mrs. Jonas Purcell she that was Viola
Starkins -who lived at Turner's Mill? When
Eunice, looking puzzled, cried, "Turnersville!"
very loudly in her ear, she only smiled more cheer-
ily than ever, and said, Oh, yes; it was named for

the saw-mill there." She had heard all about the
place from Mrs. Jonas Purcell's daughter Clarinda,
when she visited 'Lizabeth last Christmas-time.
And how was Jonas's folks getting on, anyhow?
When Eunice had shouted, for the third time,
that she did n't know Mrs. Jonas nor her daughter
Clarinda, the old lady
looked disappointed for
a moment. But she
went on chattering and
ii asking questions as
brightly as ever; and
S' when Eunice, tired of
S saying the same thing
S so many times in so
i loud a tone, rose to
; ) i go, the old lady slipped
a scalloped cooky into
,i. her hand, and kissed
I' her heartily. In return,
Eunice gave the old
lady one of the three
daffodils rather wilt-
ed now from being
clasped so long in her
:l 1smallwarmhand. "For
_1. if she is n't sick," she
ST said to herself, it must
i'' Ibe just as bad not to
SI i hear anything."
The old lady had no
trouble in understand-
\ ing this kind little act.
She took the blossom,
and patted the small
'I giver's shoulder; and,
promising to come an-
other day soon, Eunice
I.i. tripped away with a
bright face, to try her
fortune at the next
This was of fine gray
stone, so imposing that
/- the little maid's face
grew rather doubtful as
E DOR." she looked up the long
flight of steps, only to see in one of the corner win-
dows a card with "To Rent" printed on it in large
letters. She dropped down on the lowest step, and
looked back along the street.
"One-two-three; this makes only four
houses I 've been to And my mother goes whole
squares, some mornings she said in astonish-
ment. She was beginning to feel hungry as well
as tired. She took.the old lady's cooky from the
velvet bag, and nibbled off the scallops, oneby one.



Suddenly the notes of the ".Blue Danube waltz
came from an organ around the corner. Eunice
forgot her weariness. She sprang up and ran to-
ward the music. Maybe there would be a monkey,
and she could give him the rest of her cooky.
But just then the waltz was broken off in the
middle of its gayest strain, and the organ-grinder,
without a monkey, and with a frown on his dark
face, shouldered his instrument, and slouched off
down the street. A servant in a white cap and
apron was standing in the doorway of the house
before which he had been playing. Evidently she
had been sent to order him away.
Oh, somebody is sick," thought little Eunice,
walking more slowly and gazing up at the windows
of the beautiful house. She had passed it before,
and thought how lovely it must be to live in such
a home. The avenue on which it stood was much
broader and finer than the street in which the
Primwells lived, and this house, to Eunice's eyes,
was the most beautiful she had ever seen. It was
a pale primrose-yellow, and it had a tower, and
bay-windows all the way up to the third floor, and
piazzas at the front and side; and at one end a
conservatory full of blooming plants. There was
a beautiful lawn all around the house, with an arbor
surrounded by the evergreens and shrubs. Most
of the other houses had only a narrow strip of
green in front.
Eunice stopped short, and looked hard at the
two stone lions that guarded the wide gateway.
Should she go in, up the broad paved walk, and
try her fortune once more, this sunny morning?
The maid was still standing in the doorway, look-
ing away down the street. She had a good-nat-
ured face. Eunice closed the gate behind her with
a resolute click, and marched boldly up the path.
"I've come to call on the sick person, if you
please," she began, politely.
The puzzled expression, which had appeared on
the girl's face, deepened. She hesitated for a mo-
ment; then, as she looked into the sweet earnest
eyes raised to hers, she seemed re-assured.
Ef it's Master Guy ye mean," she said kindly,
"he's in the liburry, an' much good may ye do
him; fur it's the worst way he 's in, this marnin',-
till it's meself can do nothing at all with him," she
added, half under her breath, as she paused at the
end of the wide hall, threw open a door, and van-
ished precipitately.
Eunice had a glimpse of rows and rows of books,
and pictures looking down at her from the tops of
the shelves; but she hardly noticed them, for across
the room in a great invalid's chair, with one band-
aged ankle resting on a pile of cushions, and his
pale thin face turned wearily toward the window,
sat a lad of thirteen, who glanced.over his shoulder

impatiently at the sound of her footsteps, and then,
wheeling slowly around, regarded her with silent
astonishment from a pair of very blue and very
eager eyes.
What he saw, standing irresolute just inside the
doorway, was a slight, small figure all in soberest
brown, with a world of sympathy in the sweet
demure face and pitying eyes, and two yellow
daffodils clasped in one little hand,- the only bit
of bright color in the picture.
"I 've come to see you, and give you these," said
the clear childish voice, as the little visitor advanced
and held out the daffodils half shyly. I suppose
you are Guy? And how did you hurt yourself?
I am so very sorry! "
"Yes, I'm Guy,-more's the pity," said the
boy, impatiently brushing his tumbled curls back
from his high white forehead. "Thank you for
the flowers. You're very kind, I'm sure. Just
bring them here, please; you see I can't stir from
this chair," and he waved his hand with another
quick nervous gesture toward his bandaged ankle.
" Pony shied and threw me,-a week ago yester-
day, it was. Might have been worse, I suppose,
for it's only a sprain; but the doctor did say he'd
rather have had a break. It's bad enough, I can
tell you. But now sit down -there's a low rocker
--and tell me what your name is," he added
gently, but with the air of one quite unused to being
"And so you came on purpose to see me, Miss
Primrose?" he asked with a smile, when Eunice
had obeyed him. Shake hands."
The child put her right hand in his. "I said
Primwell," she remarked with some dignity.
I know. But it ought to be Primrose; that
just suits you!" He drew her gently toward him.
I say, just let me try one of these yellow daffys
-so. You don't mind, do you?" He was pin-
ning the blossom at her throat with nervous fingers
while he talked, and now he tipped back his head
to look at her with an artist's pleasure in his eyes.
"You've no idea how that bit of color lights
you up. You look as pretty as a pink "
Eunice regarded him gravely.
You must be mistaken," she said, drawing
back slightly. "I 'm not pretty. My mother
tells me that often. She says little girls should
think of their manners and not of their looks, and
'handsome is that handsome does.'"
Master Guy seemed to find this very amusing.
The corners of his mouth twitched in spite of him-
self, and the blue eyes grew very merry. He even
forgot his pain. What a deliciously quaint little
study she was, to be sure! He had not found any-
thing half so amusing for many a long weary day.
Where had this sweet, sober little piece of prim-



ness started from, to walk into his life so unex-
pectedly? Guy studied her again in silence. The
little girls he was used to seeing, wore jaunty little
blue and scarlet caps and bright-colored cloaks
and dresses. Their wavy hair floated free around
their rosy laughing faces, as they skipped and ran
and rolled hoops down the avenue, and played
hide-and-seek among the evergreens in the park.
They did not talk like grown-up people. They
lisped, or made deliciously funny blunders over
long words. They could not sit demurely, with
folded hands, looking at you so seriously with the
faint pink color coming and going in their cheeks.
I wish," he said aloud, that you would take
off that big hat. Won't you, please ? I want to
see your face."
Eunice obeyed again.
But I must n't stay very long," she said, as if
suddenly remembering something, "because it
must be most luncheon-time. And my mother
may come home- and there 's the pillow-case."
The pillow-case! "
Eunice nodded. I did n't do one stitch she
said, with a gleam of daring mischief in her face.
And then she related all her morning's advent-
ures. "I get so lonesome," she said, "when my
mother's gone to the Z. W. E. A."
To the what ? "
Why, don't you know? To the Z. W. E. A.
That means Zealous-Women's-Employment
-Agency," she said slowly, as though reciting
something learned by rote. "My mother goes
every Wednesday. There 's a Band of Burden
Bearers, too. And the Helping Hands- "
The merriest laugh that the library had echoed
for many a day interrupted her.
"I beg your pardon," cried Guy, as soon as he
could recover himself; "but you 're such a dear
little mite, you know, and those long words oh,
it's too jolly and he laughed again, but so kindly
that Eunice joined in, at the last, though she could
not quite understand his merriment. His next
question puzzled her still more.
"And so you started out to seek your fortune,
little Una? And where is your snow-white pal-
frey ?" he asked playfully, his face growing fanciful.
I don't know what you mean," said she, with
wonder in her brown eyes. "What is a palfrey?
And you should n't call me Eunie; my mother
does n't approve of nicknames."
But Una is n't a nickname at all," protested
the boy, "and you'd like me to call you that, I 'm
sure, if you knew the story. Una was a lovely
princess who went to seek her Red-Cross Knight."
The child's eyes had been growing larger and
darker than ever. She clasped her hands together
and bent forward eagerly.

Oh, who was the Red-Cross Knight ? she in-
terrupted softly. It sounds like a fairy-story."
That 's just what it is,- the best one I know.
The knight wore a red cross on his shield that 's
how he got his name; and he fought dragons and
killed them, and Saracens. And nothing could
hurt him because he wore the Red Cross. See,-
here 's the book; I was reading it over only yes-
terday." He fumbled among the books and papers
scattered over a table within easy reach from his
chair, and brought out a large thin volume, full of
the most exquisite illustrations, which he held open
for Eunice's delighted gaze.
"- oh she sighed softly, as, leaning over
his chair, she spelled out the title at the head of
the page, The Fanry Queen. And is this Una,
the princess? And did she walk along-so-
beside a lion? Oh, I wish I could read about
it! she cried, pointing to the picture before her.
"My mother thinks fairy-stories are foolish -but
I don't," she declared, in a burst of confidence,
drawing another long breath, her face glowing with
Guy laughed again at this. He put his arm
around the little girl and drew her nearer to the
great arm-chair.
"You shall read it. Yes, that's Una. Is n't
she beautiful ? And see how protecting the grand
old lion looks. See how she lays her little hand
on the old fellow's back without a bit of fear.
That 's one of the prettiest parts of the story, I
think," and the boy's fine, pale face grew dreamy
again. The lion came upon Una resting in the
wood, and when he saw her, so innocent and
beautiful and helpless, with no one to take care
of her, instead of rushing at her and eating her
up, he grew as mild as possible in a moment,
and fawned at her feet; and after that he was her
protector- that is, till he was killed, poor old
beast! They traveled miles together. He would
not leave her, and nobody dared to molest her.
You shall hear all about it. And now don't you
like me to call you Una? I declare," he added
suddenly, looking from the picture to the child's
face, "she has eyes like yours! Just so big and
soft. And there's another thing; I was feeling as
savage as a wild beast this morning, cooped up here,
with nobody to say a word to, and this confounded
ankle,-I beg your pardon, but you can't knowhow
it pains me,- but just see how you 've tamed me,
Princess. I don't look now as if I wanted to devour
anybody, do I ? "
They both laughed merrily at this, and in the
midst of their fun the astonished maid appeared at
the door.
And will ye want your lunch now, Master
Guy ? she began.


Of course we do," interrupted the boy gayly.
" I had n't thought of it, Mary, but 1 'm actually
hungry. And, Mary, bring us something particu-
larly good; you know I don't have company every
day," he added as the kind-hearted servant obeyed
joyfully, wondering what had come over Master
Guy, to be sure "
Little Eunice tried to protest that she could n't
stay she must go home; but she was so happy
with her new-found friend in this delightful world
of books and pictures and fairy-tales, that she cofild
not hold out long, and Guy would take no denial.
Do you think I am going to sit here alone and
pick at a chicken-bone and a mouthful of toast?
Nonsense! My mother is out, too. She won't
be home till dark. Aunt Marcia 's sick, away at
the other end of town, so she had to go to see her.
I should be all alone again. I can't think of letting
you go," he cried, and then he leaned forward and
his blue eyes grew suddenly wistful. "I had a
little sister once," he said slowly. She died years
ago. I 've missed her ever since. I wish-Could
not you make believe to be my sister and come to
see me often- every day? Will you, little Una? "
I 've always wished I had a brother, just about
as big as you are," said kind-hearted little Eunice.
I '11 be the best sister I know how."
Such an afternoon as that was 1 First came the
luncheon. Eunice herself poured the chocolate into
the dear, wee, pink-and-white cups, hardly larger
than those of her best doll's-tea-set; and Guy ate
sandwiches and fruit, and two pieces of cake, and
declared nothing had tasted half so good since he
was hurt. And then they laughed and chattered,
and told stories and looked at pictures, and Una-
as he always called her-took her dear new play-
fellow into her entire confidence, and showed him
Lady Jane, and told him about the tiny arithmetic
and spelling-book which she had printed, and bound
in scarlet paper for the use of the dolls, when she
kept school for them.
In return, Guy told her all his dreams and fancies
-how he hoped to be a wonderful poet some day,
or an artist; how he had never been strong like
other boys, and so had amused himself with books
and drawing-paper while they ran and wrestled
and played all sorts of outdoor games.
It was four o'clock before Eunice ran home at
last, her little head so filled with thoughts of Guy
and the lovely library, and princesses and lions
and Red-Cross Knights, that she could not have
told whether she was skipping over common bricks
or over shining rubies. She was brought out of
her enchanted world by the sight of her mother
standing in the doorway, with anxious eyes and
firm-set mouth.
Mrs. Primwell prided herself upon knowing

"how to govern children judiciously," as she ex-
pressed it. She never allowed herself to scold, or
otherwise betray anger. Her voice was clear and
steady, and her forehead smooth, as she interrupted
her little daughter in the midst of her eager story.
"That will do, Eunice. I do not care to talk
with you any longer at present. Of course, you
can not expect such unjustifiable conduct to be
passed over with no punishment whatever. Go
upstairs now. Brush your teeth thoroughly, and
give your hair one hundred strokes. Be sure to
see that your window is down two inches at the
top. Then undress and go to bed at once."
The child's sensitive face flushed, and she choked
back a sob; but she held her head proudly, and
only said, "Yes, ma'am," with her lips as tightly
compressed as her mother's own.
I was so lonesome !" she said to herself, as she
turned away. "And I thought my mother would
be pleased." The little face was pale now, and
her whole figure drooped dejectedly as she slowly
climbed the stairs. But, short as the distance was,
little Eunice had not reached the top of the flight
before her tender conscience stirred reproachfully.
She recalled the anxious, troubled look her mother's
face had worn as she stood on the step, looking up
and down the street.

It was naughty," she confessed, "to go away
so and stay such a long time. Oh, how would I
feel to come home some day and find you gone,
my own Lady Jane,"-she hugged her treasure
closer with penitent tenderness-" and look, and
look in every room and go upstairs and ask
Sarah-and not find you anywhere! And my
mother had been standing in the door a long time,
waiting to see her little girl come home. But oh,
it was so beautiful! "
Her eyes grew bright again and her heart beat
faster as she crept into bed, and, cuddling Lady
Jane close to her cheek, lay with wide-open eyes,
living over and over every incident of the day, till
at last she fell asleep.
Early next morning, while Mrs. Primwell sat
absorbed in the day's Chautauqua reading, Sarah
brought in a note. Shutting the book over an
Ancient History topic, to keep the place, her mis-
tress read the creamy sheet with several unusual
changes of expression. At the first glimpse of the
signature, Helen Cary Kingsbury, in the round,
graceful hand she well remembered, a vision rose
before Mrs. Primwell's astonished gaze. She was
Lydia Hatcher again, teaching in the old, brick
school-house, and fair-haired Helen Cary, with her
blue eyes and gentle, persuasive manners, was just
across the hall, with her own class of boys and
girls. How they all loved her! How they tried
to please her! She herself, the renowned Miss


Hatcher, never had better order in her own room,
and yet their methods were so different! She
remembered there had always been a bunch of
roses or pinks, or a rosy-cheeked apple, on Miss
Cary's desk. Her own pupils -they did not fear
her exactly,-but did they love her? Mrs. Prim-
well turned to the beginning of the note and read
it through, slowly, a second time:

"Your dear little daughter has done wonders for Guy already.
He seems thoroughly roused from his listless, despondent mood.
Lend her to us often every day, if you can spare her. Her bright
sweet friendship will do my poor boy more good than any other
medicine. What an unspeakable treasure she must be to you, dear
friend. I can well imagine how full your hands and heart are with
your home-duties, and the outside-work in which you are so active.
It is a noble work, but one I have never been able to engage in, my
time has been so filled with a mother's cares. Perhaps when I see
you, you can show me how to reconcile the two. How much there -
will be to talk about, after all these years of separation But I write
hurriedly to ask that you will let dear little Eunice come to us again
to-day. I have a friend with me this morning, or I should have
gone myself to make the request. But I shall see you very soon."

Mrs. Primwell's usually methodical and well-
disciplined thoughts were dancing and whirling in
wild confusion by this time. So the lame boy-
the Guy- about whom Eunice, her "unspeakable
treasure," had been trying to tell her yesterday,
was Helen Cary's son! And Helen lived on the
next street, and was coming soon Would they
find each other greatly changed since the days
when they had eaten their luncheon together in
the brick school-house, and talked over their hopes
and ambitions for the future ? How confiding
Helen used to be She could see the sweet fair
face raised to her in appealing deference. And
she Helen Kingsbury was coming to her for
advice, now, as in the old days A strange sensa-
tion of uneasiness crept over Mrs. Primwell as she

sat with thoughtful eyes fixed on the friendly little
note. "Active in outside-work"-that she had
always been and she truly had been an instru-
ment of good to many. But how about her "home-
duties," her "mother's cares"? Had she not
trusted too much to rules and precepts in direct-
ing little Eunice's life so far? Did not the child
need more of her companionship, her home ex-
ample and loving counsel? Suppose, instead of
falling into kind hands yesterday, Eunice had
strayed into the homes of want and wretchedness
she herself knew only too well? Mrs. Primwell
rose abruptly, and went to the foot of the stairs.
Eunice," she called gently; come here, dear;
mother wants you."

I know a rosy, dark-eyed little maid of sixteen,
whom all her friends call Una. She is a trifle old-
fashioned, and very womanly in her own demure
way; but her face is a very bright and happy one,
and her mother's eyes often rest on it with a smile
of tenderest love and pride. There is a certain
stalwart young Harvard student, who seems to
be on the best of terms with both mother and
What a little Home Missionary you have been,
Una, though you never dreamed of such a thing
when you began," he said once, his mischievous
blue eyes full of affectionate gratitude.
"Have I? she replied gayly. Well, it did
not all come from that baby-attempt of mine to do
good by going 'from house to house.' It came
from our mothers' thinking so much of each other.
But you were really awfully cross' before that
day," she added, with a happy little laugh, for
everybody says so."




O GORGEOUS poppy, of rich renown,
Show us the way to Sleepy Town.
Baby must go he's tired of play;
But yet I think we have missed the way."
Then tranquilly up and down
Waved the flower of rich renown,
And softly it seemed to say,
This way this way- this way-
Is the way to Sleepy Town."

0 ripening wheat, all golden-brown,
Show us the way to Sleepy Town.
How shall we find where the starlight gleams,
On the City of Sleep in the Land of Dreams ?"
Then soothingly up and down
Went the wheat, all golden-brown,
And whispering seemed to say,
This way this way this way -
Is the way to Sleepy Town."

0 little one, with the curly crown,
Have you learned the way to Sleepy Town,
Where faintest music, and softest light,
And sweetest blossoms enchant the night ?"
Then drowsily up and down
Went the beautiful curly crown,
While the tired eyes seemed to say,
This way- this way this way -
Is the way to Sleepy Town."




WHEN the boys reached home it was pitch-dark.
They found their mother very anxious about them.
They gave an account of "the battle," as they
called it, telling all about the charge in which, by
their statement, the General and Hugh did won-
derful deeds. Their mother and Cousin Belle
sat and listened with tightly folded hands and
blanched faces.
Then they told how they found the wounded
Yankee soldier on the bank, and about his death.

They were startled by seeing their Cousin Belle
suddenly fall on her knees and throw herself across
their mother's lap in a passion of tears. Their
mother put her arms around the young girl, kissed
her and soothed her.
Early the next morning their mother had an
ox-cart (the only vehicle left on the place) sent
down to the spot to bring the body of the soldier
up to Oakland, so that it might be buried in the
grave-yard there. Carpenter William made the cof-
fin, and several men were set to work to dig the
grave in the garden.


It was about the middle of the day when the
cart came back. A sheet covered the body. The
little cortege was a very solemn one, the steers
pulling slowly up the hill and a man walking on
each side. Then the body was put into the coffin
and reverently carried to the grave. The boys'
mother read the burial service out of the Prayer-
Book, and afterward Uncle William Slow offered
a prayer. Just as they were about to turn away,
the boys' mother began to sing Abide with me;
fast falls the eventide." She and Cousin Belle and
the boys sang the hymn together, and then all
walked sadly away, leaving the fresh mound in the
garden, where birds peeped curiously from the
lilac-bushes at the soldier's grave in the warm
light of the afternoon sun.
A small packet of letters and a gold watch and
chain, found in the soldier's pocket, were sealed
up by the boys' mother and put into her bureau
drawer, for they could not then be sent through the
lines. There was one letter, however, which they
buried with him. It contained two locks of hair,
one gray, the other brown and curly.

The next few months brought no new incidents,
but the following year deep gloom fell upon Oak-
land. It was not only that the times were harder
than they had ever been though the plantation
was now utterly destitute; there were no provisions
and no crops, for there were no teams. It was not
merely that a shadow was settling down on all the
land; for the boys did not trouble themselves
about these things, though such anxieties were
bringing gray hairs to their mother's temples.
The General had been wounded and captured
during a cavalry-fight. The boys somehow con-
nected their Cousin Belle with the General's cap-
ture, and looked on her with some disfavor. She
and the General had quarreled a short time before,
and it was known that she had returned his ring.
When, therefore, he was shot through the body
and taken by the enemy, the boys could not admit
that their cousin had any right to stay upstairs in
her own room weeping about it. They felt that
it was all her own fault, and they told her so;
whereupon she simply burst out crying and ran
from the room.
The hard times grew harder. The shadow
deepened. Hugh was wounded and captured in
a charge, at Petersburg, and it was not known
whether he was badly hurt or not. Then came
the news that Richmond had been evacuated. The
boys knew that this was a defeat; but even then
they did not believe that the Confederates were
beaten. Their mother was deeply affected by
the news.
That night at least a dozen of the negroes dis-

appeared. The other servants said the missing
ones had gone to Richmond to get their papers."
A week or so later the boys heard the rumor
that General Lee had surrendered at a place called
Appomattox. When they came home and told
their mother what they had heard, she turned as
pale as death, arose, and went into her chamber.
The news was corroborated next day. During
the following two days, every negro on the planta-
tion left, excepting lame old Lukey Brown. Some
of them came and said they had to go to Rich-
mond, that "the word had come" for them.
Others, including Uncle Balla and Lucy Ann,
slipped away by night.
After that their mother had to cook, and the
boys milked and did the heavier work. The cook-
ing was not much trouble, however, for black-eyed
pease were about all they had to eat.
One afternoon, the second day after the news
of Lee's surrender, the boys, who had gone to
drive up the cows to be milked, saw two horsemen,
one behind the other, coming slowly down the
road on the far hill. One horse was white, and, as
their father rode a white horse, they ran toward
the house to carry the news. Their mother and
Cousin Belle, however, having seen the horse-
men, were waiting on the porch as the men came
through the middle gate and rode across the field.
It was their father and his body-servant, Ralph,
who had been with him all through the war. They
came slowly up the hill; the horses limping and
fagged, the riders dusty and drooping.
It seemed like a funeral. The boys were near the
steps, and their mother stood on the portico with
her forehead resting against a pillar. No word was
spoken. Into the yard they rode at a walk, and up
to the porch. Then their father, who had not once
looked up, put both hands to his face, slipped from
his horse, and walked up the steps, tears running
down his cheeks, and took their mother into his
arms. It was a funeral- the Confederacy was dead.
A little later, their father, who had been in the
house, came out on the porch near where Ralph
still stood holding the horses.
Take off the saddles, Ralph, and turn the
horses out," he said.
Ralph did so.
Here,- here 's my last dollar. You have been
a faithful servant to me. Put the saddles on the
porch." It was done. You are free," he said to
the black, and then he walked back into the house.
Ralph stood where he was for some minutes with-
out moving a muscle. His eyes blinked mechan-
ically. Then he looked at the door and at the
windows above him. Suddenly he seemed to come
to himself. Turning slowly, he walked solemnly
out of the yard.



THE boys' Uncle William came next day. The
two weeks which followed were the hardest the
boys had ever known. As yet nothing had been
heard of Hugh or the General, though the boys'
father went to Richmond to see whether they had
been released.
The family lived on corn-bread and black-eyed
pease. There was not a mouthful of meat on the
plantation. A few aged animals were all that
remained on the place.
The boys' mother bought a little sugar and made
some cakes, and the boys, day after day, carried
them over to the depot and left them with a man


:. '

n. '


land. One day the boys were walking along the
road, coming back from the camp, when they met
a little old one-horse wagon driven by a man who
lived near the depot. In it were a boy about Willy's
size and an old lady with white hair, both in deep
mourning. The boy was better dressed than any
boy they had ever seen. They were strangers.
The boys touched their limp little hats to the
lady and felt somewhat ashamed of their own
patched clothes in the presence of the well-dressed
stranger. Frank and Willy passed on. They
happened to look back. The wagon stopped just
then and the lady called them:
Little boys!"
They halted and returned.
We are looking for my
son; and this gentleman
tells me that you live about
I,' :I. here, and know more of
; the country than any one
'' else I may meet."
S Do you know where
any graves is? -Yankee
graves?" asked the driver,
-: cutting matters short.
S" Yes, there are several
S' .. down on the road by Pigeon
'l "* Hill, where the battle was,
and two or three by the
creek down yonder, and
.' there's one in our garden."
i "Where was your son
killed, ma'am? Do you
know that he was killed?"
-- asked the driver.
_-- "I do not know. We
i'i' fear that he was; but, of
S- course, we still hope there
may have been some mis-
Si take. The last seen of him
was when General Sheridan
S went through this country,
last year. He was with his
company in the rear-guard
-and was wounded and left
on the field. We hoped
She might have been found
"- in one of the prisons; but
there is no trace of him, and
we fear- "
She broke down and be-

there, to be sold. Such a thing had never been gan to cry. "He was my only son," she sobbed,
known before in the history of the family. my only son-and I gave him up for the Union,
A company of Yankees were camped very near, and--" She could say no more.
but they did not interfere with the boys. They Her distress affected the boys deeply.
bought the cakes and paid for them in greenbacks If I could but find his grave. Even that would
which were the first new money they had at Oak- be better than this agonizing suspense."


What was your son's name ? asked the boys, removed the shock was terrible. She gave a stifled
gently, cry, then wept with uncontrollable grief.
She told them. The boys, with pale faces and eyes moist with
"Why, that's our soldier! "exclaimed both boys. sympathy, turned away their heads and stood
"Do you know him?" she asked eagerly, silent. At length she grew calmer.

/// f' i, -


V:^ **e

"Is--? Is-?" Her voice refused to frame the Won't you come home with us? Our father
fearful question. and mother will be so glad to have you," they said,
Yes, 'm. In our garden," said the boys, almost hospitably.
inaudibly. After questioning them a little further, she
The mother bent her head over on her grand- decided to go. The boys climbed into the back
son's shoulder and wept aloud. Awful as the of the wagon. As they went along, the boys told
suspense had been, now that the last hope was her all about her son,-his carrying Frank, their



finding him wounded near the road, and about She was much impressed by the appearance of
his death and burial, the place, which looked very beautiful among
"He was a real brave soldier," they told her, the trees.
consolingly. "Oh, yes, they 're big folks," said the driver.
As they approached the house, she asked whether She would have waited at the gate when they
they could give her grandson something to eat. reached the house, but the boys insisted that all



"Oh, yes, indeed. Certainly," they answered.
Then, thinking perhaps they were raising her
hopes too high, they explained apologetically:
"We have n't got much. We did n't kill any
squirrels this morning. Both our guns are broken
and don't shoot very well, now."

should come in at once. One of them ran forward
and, meeting his mother just coming out to the
porch, told who the visitor was.
Their mother instantly came down the steps and
walked toward the gate. The women met face to
face. There was no introduction. None was needed.

'' '


"My son--" faltered the elder lady, her
strength giving out.
The boys' mother puther handkerchief toher eyes.
"I have one, too;-God alone knows where he
is," she sobbed.
Each knew how great was the other's loss, and
in sympathy with another's grief found consolation
for her own.


THE visitors remained at Oakland for several
days, as the lady wished to have her son's remains
removed to the old homestead in Delaware. She
was greatly distressed over the want which she saw
at Oakland,-for there was literally nothing to
eat but black-eyed pease and the boys' chickens.
Every incident of the war interested her. She
was delighted with their Cousin Belle, and took
much interest in her story, which was told by the
boys' mother.
Her grandson, Dupont, was a fine, brave, and
generous young fellow. He had spent his boy-
hood near a town, and could neither ride, swim,
nor shoot as the Oakland boys did; but he was
never afraid to try anything, and the boys took a
great liking to him, and he to them.
When the young soldier's body had been re-
moved, the visitors left; not, however, until the
boys had made their companion promise to pay
them a visit. After the departure of these friends
they were much missed.
But the next day there was great rejoicing at
Oakland. Every one was in the dining-room at
dinner, and the boys' father had just risen from
the table and walked out of the room. A second
later they heard an exclamation of astonishment
from him, and he called eagerly to his wife,
Come here, quickly! and ran down the steps.
Every one rose and ran out. Hugh and the Gen-
eral were just entering the yard.
They were pale and thin and looked ill; but all
the past was forgotten in the greeting.

The boys soon knew that the General was mak-
ing his peace with their Cousin Belle, who looked
prettier than ever. It required several long walks
before all was made right; but there was no dis-
position toward severity on either side. It was
determined that the wedding was to take place
very soon. The boys' father suggested, as an ob-
jection to ah immediate wedding, that since the
General was just half his usual size, it would be
better to wait until he should regain his former

proportions, so that all of him might be married;
but the General would not accept the proposition
for delay, and Cousin Belle finally consented to
be married at once.
The old place was in a great stir over the prep-
arations. A number of the old servants, including
Uncle Balla and Lucy Ann, had one by one come
back to their old home. The trunks in the garret
were ransacked once more, and enough was found
to make up a wedding trousseau of two dresses.
Hugh was to be the General's best man, and
the boys were to be the ushers. The only diffi-
culty was that their patched clothes made them
feel a little abashed at the prominent r6les they
were to assume. However, their mother made
them each a nice jacket from a striped dress, one
of her only two dresses, and she adorned them with
the military brass buttons their father had taken
from his coat; so they felt very proud. Their father,
of course, was to give the bride away,- an office he
accepted with pleasure, he said, provided he did
not have to move too far, which might be hazard-
ous so long as he had to wear his spurs to keep
the soles on his boots.
SThus, even amid the ruins, the boys found life
joyous, and if they were without everything else,
they had life, health, and hope. The old guns were
broken, and they had to ride in the ox-cart; but
they hoped to have others and to do better, some
day. The "some day" came sooner than they
The morning before the wedding, word came
that there were at the railroad station several boxes
for their mother. The ox-cart was sent for them.
When the boxes arrived, that evening, there was a
letter from their friend in Delaware, congratulating
Cousin Belle and apologizing for having sent "a
few things to her Southern friends.
The "few things consisted not only of neces-
saries, but of everything which good taste could
suggest. There was a complete trousseau for
Cousin Belle, and clothes for each member of the
family. The boys had new suits of fine cloth,
with shirts and underclothes in plenty.
But the best surprise of all was found when they
came to the bottom of the biggest box,-two long,
narrow cases, marked "For the Oakland boys."
These cases held beautiful, new double-barreled
guns of the finest make. There was a large supply
of ammunition, and in each case there was a letter
from Dupont promising to come and spend his
vacation with them and sending his love and good
wishes and thanks to his friends -the "Two Little






THIS is a tradition of the Illinois Indians.
It was a tale told by their old men to the young
warriors in whispers, so that the women might not
hear. It was a tale their old women cackled shrilly
to the young maidens, so that no wigwam might
lose it. For it was a tale, as each heard it, to
shame their young warriors, and to make proud the
hearts of their young maidens. The Illini have

passed away forever. Under mighty mounds,
grass-covered and flower-crowned, their bones are
laid, yet not forgotten. They have given their
names to the streams, lakes, and towns of the white
race that came after them; and through these
their traditions live, to this day, in the memories
of white men.
Four hundred years ago, when all this new world


was for the red man, a bright stretch of that prairie
land, which now forms so large a part of the State
of Illinois, once attracted the fierce eyes of a roam-
ing party of Iroquois. These had come from the
East. There had been no need for them to stray
so far away from their villages. Their hunting-
grounds at home were vast; their skies were filled
with birds; their rivers teemed with fish. But the
Iroquois, coveting the vaster hunting-grounds to-
ward the setting sun, found the Illini across their
way. So they hated them.
A peaceful band of Illini had built their lodges
on a beautiful stream. On its bank were ancient
oaks and stately walnut-trees, shaded by which they
could lie and dream in the hot hours of a summer's
day. From the edge of the wood, and as far as the
eye could see, extended the grassy prairie, gay with
scarlet lilies, phloxes, and morning-glories. Dear
was this prairie to the very heart of the Illini. The
Great Spirit had given it to their fathers for them
to enjoy its sweet breath, and to their children
after them. There, -for uncounted moons, had
they passed their days in a careless, happy, lazy
But one day-long-remembered as full of the
Sun and his glory, of the sweetness of flowers, of
the song of birds, and of the hum of bees -while
warriors, squaws, and children were rejoicing in
their plenty and fancied peace, yells that curdled
the blood echoed from the prairie on one side, and
the forest on the other. Too well were those cries
known in the villages of the Illini. Too often had
they been the signal which presaged massacre,
torture, and slavery. Too often, when the echoes
died away, had their wigwams and their fields been
left in smoking ruins. What they said was, We
Iroquois are come !
It was a band of this tribe which, creeping from
the neighboring prairie, had swept upon them
with such fierce and sudden slaughter that the un-
prepared Illini were driven for refuge farther into
the woods on the other side of their village. There,
in the shadows which hid them from danger, the
fugitives gathered, one by one, to unbend their
bows, to dash them in despair upon the ground,
to curse the Iroquois, and to mourn this new
shame which had fallen upon them. Among them
all, there was but one- a girl--who refused to
mourn with her people.
Watseka was her name.
Although young, Watseka was well known for
her proud spirit and her beautiful face. As was
fit in her sex, this young girl had stood with the
crowd of weeping women and children a little
apart from the gloomy warriors. She read their
hearts, saw their tears, and heard their moans.
The cowardice of the men made her eyes dry,

kept her lips closed, and roused all the fierce-
ness of her wild nature. Who would take revenge
on these grim-painted, scalp-loving warriors,-
upon these who had swept upon her people, to kill
them as they would deer, and to drive them from
the land the Great Spirit had given them? She
gave no heed to the cries of the women. She
frowned as she saw that the warriors, with brave
curses still upon their lips, were creeping farther
and farther back into the shadows.
Then Watseka burst into heroism. Forgetting
that, among warriors, no talking squaw had right
to a place, she sprang forward and put herself in
the path before them. With flashing eyes and
curling lips she spoke:
Men of the Illini, right are the Iroquois when
they boast that they have put the dress of squaws
upon you, and hoes into your hands. Turn back
to your village. You can not miss the path your
burning wigwams have made it clear. Your women
and children are here--to-day. Do you know
where they will be when the sun shines to-mor-
row? Have no fear! The Iroquois will know how
to make your wives cook their corn, and your
daughters fetch them water. To-night, they count
the scalps and feed atyour fires on the deer they
have killed on yourhunting-grounds. What! You
will not go, then? Good Watseka will show you
how to be men. Come with me, women of the
Illini We have not gathered our corn to feed
the Iroquois."
All the women turned to Watseka. Grandams
saw in her bright eyes that spirit which, when young,
they themselves might have had, and loved her for
it. Each mother looked upon her through tearful
eyes, wishing that the Great Spirit had spoken to
her daughter instead. The hearts of the young
girls beat proudly because one of themselves had
been called upon to rouse their tribe against the
thieving Iroquois.
No second call was needed. Old and young
crowded eagerly around her, each woman arming
herself with the first hatchet or stick that fell in
her way. And even the boys--who, with black
looks and bent heads, had been following their
fathers -left the braves, and ranged themselves
with flashing eyes beside their mothers and their
Watseka's spirit was over them all.
But, as it turned out, the women of the Illini
were not to fight that day. Watseka's bitter words
brought back the blood into the warriors' veins.
Slowly from darkness they came into the light
like owls: but upon the sleeping Iroquois they fell
like wolves !
So they won back their wigwams.
It is good to know that the chief of her tribe did


not forget to honor Watseka. Her exploit was
long told among their traditions, and in the sum-
mer brightened many a weary hour in the wig-

Nor has the race, which arose when her own
people were fallen forever, wished her story to be
forgotten. The river by which the Iroquois were


warns when the braves were on the war-path. routed is still known by their name; and a fair
After Watseka had passed away, so long as the town, rising in the land so loved by her, proudly
Illini were a people, her name was handed down in bears the name of the heroic girl who in the day
every generation to the most beautiful and the of despair redeemed her tribe, and turned their
bravest girl of the tribe, shame into honor.


.. .. .. ..




You all remember having read in your histories
about the first voyage of Columbus, and have not
forgotten that when the three little vessels were
only halfway across the broad expanse of the Atlan-
tic, they sailed through great masses of floating
sea-weed. The sailors thought these sea-weeds
must have been torn by the waves from some
neighboring coast, and therefore believed their
voyage was nearly ended. But, as they sailed
onward, anxiously straining their eyes to catch the
first glimpse of land, all the sea-weed was left
far behind; and it was not until many long days
had passed that the distant line where the sky and
water met was broken by the shore of the New
Now, the naturalists who study sea-weeds have
given the name of Sargassum to the kind that mis-
led Columbus. They have found that the Sargas-
sum (which is also called Gulf-weed) probably does
not need to grow fast to the shore like the common
sea-weeds you have seen at the sea-side in sum-
mer, but has little round air-bladders, or floats,
which buoy it up so that it seems able to grow and
flourish at the surface of the sea, even many hun-
dreds of miles from land. Vessels in the very
middle of the Atlantic Ocean often sail for days
through the floating meadows formed by this curi-
ous plant, and sometimes even powerful ships have
hard work to push their way through.
One calm September day, I was cruising about in
a little steamboat, off the Southern coast of the
United States. The sky was cloudless, and the
bright sunlight streaming down into the clear
water enabled us to see far below the surface.
We could see great jelly-fishes lazily flapping
along; and now and then a shark would dart by,
making the small fishes scatter in every direction
as he passed. Presently we saw masses of this
Gulf-weed floating about us, and seizing a long-
ihandled net, I fished up a piece as we steamed
I suppose many people would have thrown it
away as a useless piece of weed; but we knew bet-
ter than that; for, when we came to examine it
carefully, we found that the Sargassum was the
home of a number of strange creatures which were
VOL. XV.-58.

so curious and interesting that I must tell you
something of them. Here is a picture of the Sar-
gassum just as it looked after being fished up, and
put into a big glass jar full of pure sea-water.

.3 .l -








The round knobs on the stem are the air-
bladders, which keep the plant afloat so that it
rises and falls with the waves, and drifts along
on the tides and currents. Perhaps this piece had
drifted hundreds of miles, for the Gulf Stream,



e-.- ,



which flows northward like a mighty river from
Florida and the West Indies, may have borne it
onwards for many weeks.
Our sea-weed may therefore have been a great
traveler, and may have had some strange adven-
tures on its way. We may be sure it has weathered
some great storms, and has been well tossed and
shaken about by the big waves. The white gulls
have wheeled about in the air abbve it, or even
brushed it with their wings as they paddled along
beside it. Perhaps some savage shark has given
it a slap with his huge tail, as he darted by in pur-
suit of his prey.
Could the Sargassum speak, it might tell us
whether there really is a sea-serpent or not But
it tells no tales; it floats there in the jar very
quietly and unconcernedly, and so we must see
what we can find out from it for ourselves. If you
look closely at the picture, you will see some very
odd things indeed. After we had fished up the
Sargassum, one of my friends was watching it in
the jar. Suddenly she exclaimed, "Why, the
sea-weed is alive/ It is moving its leaves."
We could hardly believe our eyes, and yet some
*of the leaves certainly were waving to and fro,
though the water in the jar was perfectly quiet.
What could it mean? All at once we became
aware that there, crawling on the plant, were two
large sea-slugs, which had entirely escaped our
notice. And the curious part of it is that their
bodies were of exactly the same color as the stem
of the Sargassumn; and that each one had grow-
ing from its body three pairs of things shaped and
colored precisely like the leaves of sea-weed, but
really parts of the animal. These were the "mov-
ing leaves" which had excited our wonder. To
make the illusion more perfect, the leaf-shaped
appendages were covered with little, branching,
tufted outgrowths, closely resembling something
growing on the real leaves of the plant, about
which I shall tell you presently.
Here is a picture of one of these curious animals
when separated from the sea-weed. It is really
., very similar to
a snail without
any shell, or like
i"- one of the slugs
.... ..,_.." !-., you may have
seen on damp,
\ '. decaying wood,
S..' or upon apples
S lying beneath
the trees in the
Sgarden,- only,
the imitation-leaves disguise its real character.
The pointed end is the tail, and the other end is
the head. The front pair of false leaves are short

and blunt, and look very much like some of the
dead or imperfect leaves of the plant. The conical
structures on the front sides of them are feelers,
or tentacles, of which the sea-slug has great need,
for it has no eyes and must guide itself in another
The two sea-slugs are easily seen in the illustra-
tion, because they are not colored. But I can hardly
tell you how perfectly they resembled the sea-weed
when alive. Their bodies were a beautiful, reddish-
brown color, exactly like the stem of the Sargassum,

*' '_- -

.i .".. ; .. ',
'---- # V L .1-,

speckled with pure white and dark brown, imitating
the spots and patches on the latter. The imitation
leaves were olive-green, precisely like the real
ones, with a few darker blotches to imitate the
stains and decayed spots. Altogether, you can
hardly help fancying that the sea-slug has dressed
himself up in the sea-weed's clothes and is play-
ing a sort of masquerade.
But the sea-slug has been disguised as a plant
for a good reason. For the sea is full of hungry
fishes, always roving about on the lookout for just
such a tidbit as a sea-slug. The sea-slug therefore
has been colored and shaped like the sea-weed
it lives on, in order that, when some sharp-eyed
fish comes swimming along, he may never dream
so tempting a morsel to be near. I suppose he
looks at it and turns up his nose, saying to him-
self, Pooh that's nothing but an old sea-weed "
and off he goes, while our sea-slug no doubt laughs
in its sleeve and says, Sea-weed, indeed "
This wonderful resemblance is an example of
what naturalists call Protective Resemblance,"
which in this case is so perfect as to merit the
name of "Mimicry." Because, you see, the animal
mimics the plant, and is thus -protected from its
Now, let us see what else we can find on the
Sargassum. In the first place, you see a queer
little crab on one of the leaves. He is such a little
fellow that we must magnify him a great deal to
see just what he is like.
Here he is as he looked under my magnifying


glass. He has two huge black eyes, with which he
keeps a good lookout, and at the least alarm he
whisks around to the other side of the leaf in a
twinkling, just as a woodpecker dodges behind a
tree. When alive he was beautifully marked with
red and black, and so transparent that you could
look into his body and see that his heart was beat-
ing and his stomach digesting his last meal.
A little higher up, two barnacles are grown fast
to the stem, with their arms spread out in the
water. You can see them better in the two separate
pictures, one of which shows the barnacle from the
side and the other from in front. What does he
do with the long, hairy arms? If we watch him
for a few moments, we see the arms suddenly
pulled entirely in they shut up just as you close
your hand by folding your fingers together. In
another instant the arms are put forth again, and

.3 -.


\ 1I


make a grasping or clutching movement in the
water, after which they are again withdrawn. So the
barnacle goes on, continually grasping in the water,
and, of course, you have guessed what he is doing.
Yes, he is fishing -he is trying to make a meal
of the microscopic creatures which are swimming
about in the water. You see, the barnacle is
grown fast at one end to the sea-weed, so that he
can not swim about in pursuit of his tiny prey.
He must wait for the unlucky little fellows to come
within his reach. And as he is stone-blind, having
no eyes, he can not keep watch, so as to throw his
net at just the right moment; he has to keep
grasping away at hap-hazard, and be content if he
makes a catch only now and then. But woe betide
the little shrimp or worm that is unwary enough
to come within reach The long arms instantly
close on it; it is dragged down into the terrible
jaws, torn to pieces, and eaten. And then the

lucky fisherman begins to throw his deadly net
Now look carefully at the picture, and you will
see two or three little star-shaped objects attached
to some of the leaves. If we magnify one of these,
here is what we see. There is a little coiled tube,
as hard as stone, within which lives a little worm,
which the naturalists call Spirorbis. When he puts
out his head he spreads out in the water a star-
shaped circlet of feathery arms, which looks very
much like a delicate flower. A very dangerous
flower it is though, this pretty star of feathers,
for it is another fishing-net like that of the bar-
nacle,- only, the feathers are held quite still, and
move only when the animal is alarmed or when
they close upon some unlucky little creature which
ventures too near. If the Spirorbis is alarmed, he
instantly pulls in his head with its fishing-net,
and when he goes into the tube he securely corks
up the opening with a kind of stopper or plug,
which he pulls in after him. You can see the
stopper in the picture, occupying a position opposite
to one of the arms. A curious fact is, that the
stopper is hollow, and in this cavity the mother
Spirorbis carries her eggs until the young ones are


--- - ----
,~ ---=~----_---_ ---


hatched. The eggs are shown in the figure as little
round balls.
Are you getting tired of the sea-weed? Well, I
will tell you of just one more thing, and then we will
leave it. You will see little dark patches on some




of the leaves. In the real sea-weed these patches
look like small tufts of moss. But these moss-like
growths are really colonies of microscopic animals,
which have been called -....-.'. the zoological
name for "moss-animals." Under the microscope
we see a most curious sight, which I have tried to
show you in this drawing. Each one of the tiny
specks has become a flower-like creature, looking
not very unlike a dandelion or field-daisy. But
you would think them very wide-awake flowers,
for they are all swaying back and forth, moving
the arms about in the water, and every now and
then one of them disappears in a twinkling. In
its place is left an oval opening; and, if you watch
carefully, the flower gradually and cautiously comes
forth from the opening again, and spreads out in
the water its graceful crown of arms.
You see, each moss-animal has a little stony
house, or cell, in which it lives, and from the
mouth of which it can spread out a flower-like
fishing -net,
not so very .
unlike that of
the Spirorbis.
All these cells .
are so joined ,
together, that !i
they form a -',.
kind of coral, '
somewhat like i
that of real -'i
coral-animals 'I I
which make ;, -
the vast coral- i -
reefs or coral- -. ,, ,
islands. The
fishing-net is .
interesting in
its structure.
Every slender '
arm is covered !i[I
with little vi- -1'
rating hairs "MOSS-ANIMALS."
small to see in the drawing), which are constantly
waving to and fro when the arms are spread out.
All the paddles move together, and in such a
way that a little whirlpool is made in the water
around each animal, and the bottom of the whirl-
pool leads right into the creature's mouth, which
is in the middle of the flower.

You have read the stories (which you must
not be too ready to believe, though) of the great
maelstrom, or whirlpool, off the Norway coast, into
which boats and men are said to be drawn, and
after circling round and round, faster and faster,
and ever. approaching the middle, are at length
sucked in and swallowed up by the mighty waves.
Well, the whirlpool about each moss-animal is
equally terrible, in its way, to the little creatures
swimming in the water; for if they once come
within reach there is no escape they are sucked
in and swallowed alive be-
fore you could say Jack
Robinson. And here I must
tell you something curious.
The bodies of all the moss-
animals are joined together,
like a lot of Siamese twins;
so that whatever each one
eats benefits all the rest, \
and there can be no quar- r
reling among them over
their dinners. ,
The little feathery tufts
on the lower leaves are
animals, too, and are called
H-ydroids; and, under the
microscope, they much resemble the moss-animals.
Like them they have separate heads and mouths,
but their bodies, and even their stomachs, are
all joined together.
Besides the sea-slugs, crabs, barnacles, Spiror-
bes, Bryozoa, and Hydroids, many other little
creatures grew fast to the sea-weed. But I must not
try to tell you about these, for very likely you
have had quite enough sea-weed for one time.
It is a curious thought that there are countless
thousands of these sea-weeds in mid-ocean, drift-
ing about at the surface of the sea, every one the
home of a little society more or less like the one I
have told you about.
A poet once said:

There 's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace."

And no doubt our little crabs and barnacles,
with their queer traveling companions, are quite
happy and well content in their floating home,
though a thousand miles from land and buffeted
about by winds and waves.




;' THERE was once a civilized
SKing, who governed a highly-
1 i improved kingdom. His father
.r.I ,and grandfather before him
'/ had been men of intelligence
1 and enterprise, and when he
came to the throne he found
', affairs in a most comfortable
I^ condition. His palace was
Slighted by electricity, and had
elevators, electric bells, and all
rTH KING'S MINISTERS. modern conveniences. He was
anxious to complete the work
begun by his ancestors, and to make life the easi-
est possible business for himself and all his sub-
jects. He therefore encouraged inventors to perfect
new plans for labor-saving machines of every kind.
He formed the Royal Council into a Committee
on Patent Rights, and for a long while its mem-
bers were kept exceedingly busy. But by and by
nearly everything was invented and patented -
more contrivances, of course, than you or I ever
heard of or imagined. The whole country was one
whiz and whir of machines and engines, and most
people had nothing at all to do. They could not even
shell peas, or catch fish, or play chess. Then the
King was nearly contented. But there were two
things still on his mind. He saw that there was
too much time on hand among his subjects, and
nobody had yet invented a machine to use up time;
in fact, there was great need of a machine to
kill the time saved by the other machines. And,
besides this, there was a region just beyond the
northern border of his kingdom, governed by a
certain Count, who happened to be a semi-barbar-
ous Giant. This region remained almost entirely
unimproved, and the King could not rest until he
had made some effort to civilize it. He thought
that it would be better to persuade the Giant than
to command him, especially as the territory was
really his. So he determined to invite this Giant
to his court, and for that purpose sent a messenger
boy with a polite note, requesting the pleasure of
Count Burlybear's company.
This messenger boy's name was Jimmy, and he
was a very small, bright lad, with short, sandy
hair and a great many freckles. He proceeded as
rapidly as possible, by train, to the border of the
kingdom, and enjoyed the journey, as he bought a

quantity of roasted peanuts in the cars, and looked
out of the windows and whistled most of the time.
By and by he came to the terminus of the last
railroad, and after that he was obliged to travel by
stage-coach. The coaches were immense in the
Giant's country, and when there happened to be
no other passengers, the messenger boy felt very
lonely after the novelty of the thing wore off, and
bounced about when the road was rough, like a
single little grain of corn popping in an unusually
big popper. He was glad when the coach stood
waiting a while at some village inn, as this gave him
an opportunity to get out and play marbles with the
boys of the neighborhood. The marbles and the
boys were inconveniently large, but Jimmy gener-
ally won in spite of that, and could also teach them
some novelties and improvements in the game.
In his own good time he came to the Giant's
castle, but found difficulty in getting admitted. He
had expected merely to have to ring loudly, and
when the bell was answered, to say "Burlybear?"
and hand in the note, and his book, and the pen-
cil which he kept dull on purpose. But as there
was a horn to wind instead, hung very high, he
had to sit down on the edge of the moat, swing his
feet, and pitch pennies, until somebody happened
to come. They were improved pennies, quite dif-
ferent from any coin which we have seen.
All this took days and days, and meantime the
King had leisure to attend to the other matter
which was worrying him. He summoned the
Noblemen of the Royal Council, and proposed to
them that they should at once consider some plan
for using up the waste time of his people.
"Your Majesty," said the First Nobleman, "I
would suggest that as we have improved nearly
everything else, we now devote ourselves to im-
proving the Public Mind. If the minds of the peo-
ple were improved, they could use up a great deal
of time with them."
That is a very good idea," said the King
thoughtfully; "but, after all, we already have
plenty of schools; improved ones, too, in which
the condensed extract of all knowledge is intro-
duced into the ears of the children by our new
"If Your Majesty will permit me to explain,"
said the First Nobleman, putting his glass in his
eye, I am not speaking of schools; schools, in


the ordinary sense of the term, have really nothing
at all to do with my proposition, which is simply,
by some means, to so improve what I might call
the thinking-machine of every boy, and even every
girl, in the land, that all waste time might be used
up in thinking."
That is not bad," said the King doubtfully.
"But what would all this thinking produce ?"



"I am afraid, Your Majesty," said the Second
Nobleman in a low tone,-" I do not wish to make
needless objections,-but I am afraid it would be
likely to produce Books."
That would be most unfortunate," said the
King, as there are already so many books that
we were talking about an act for the suppression
of literature. Let us, however, have the exact
facts of the case. I will call for the Court Librarian."
And His Majesty stepped briskly to the telephone.
He had rung up the Royal Central Office and
had just been put into communication with the
Library, which was at some distance from the pal-
ace, when the semi-barbarous Giant, Count Burly-
bear, entered the apartment unannounced, the
footmen having been so exhausted by pulling off
his boots, which were as tall as themselves, that
they really had no breath left. The clever King
pretended not to see him, for he felt that it was an
excellent opportunity to show off the telephone sys-
tem, seemingly by chance. The noblemen of the
Royal Council of course could not see him if the
King did not, and made themselves very busy with
their portfolios.
"Hallo hallo!" said His Majesty; and applying
the little cup to his ear, he awaited with a quiet
smile the response of the Court Librarian.
Now the Librarian was a nice old gentleman
who did not care for telephones, or indeed for any-
thing modern; and the King had bothered him

considerably about card-catalogues, patent indexes,
and other things which he thought unimportant. He
was quite absent-minded, besides being deaf; and
at present he was deep in an immense folio, prepar-
ing for a treatise in which he intended to prove
that nothing really new was of any real consequence,
and that everything which was of any real conse-
quence was not really new. So the King hallo-
halloed" until he became tired, and received no
reply whatever. The Giant Burlybear did not al-
together understand, but he could see that the
King was provoked and disappointed, and as it
seemed to him quite ridiculous that anybody should
be talking into a little cup, and saying nothing but
" Hallo!" he burst out laughing. This made a
tremendous noise, but the Royal Council did not
dare to notice it. Then the King became very
angry, and ordering the Royal Central Office to con-
nect him with the Chief of Police, instructed the
latter instantly to confine the Court Librarian in the
most improved dungeon. After smoothing his
countenance, he next turned to the Giant, and
started as though he saw him for the first time.
"Why, my dear Count he exclaimed, holding
out his hand, I am delighted to see you. Pray,
how did you travel? "
"In my boots, of course," said Count Burlybear
gruffly. He was a neat-looking Giant, being, as I
have said, only semi-barbarous. He used soap,
and dressed in the English style, except that his
overcoat and cap were furred like a Russian's.
"H'm," said the King. "You would probably
have reached here earlier, if you had taken one of
our numerous railroad lines."
"Don't know what' they are, and don't care,"
said the Giant. "Magic boots are good enough
for me."
"But surely," said the King, "you must have
seen "
Can't pay any attention to such things," said
the Giant. I go over the tops of the hills with my
magic boots, and don't stop to look at such non-
The King smiled indulgently, for it had been
proved long ago that there never were any magic
boots in all the world.
"My dear fellow," said he, your boots, if you
will allow me to say so, are stupid, heavy, old-fash-
ioned, slow-going articles. Now I '11 tell you what
we '1 do. We '11 have a go-as-you-please race to
my city of Balderdash, five hundred miles away;
and the one that comes in second shall perform
any labor the winner may command." This was
very cunning of the King, as it would be an easy
way of getting the Giant to do exactly what he
wished. If you have confidence in your boots,"
he concluded, you will agree to this."



"Confidence in my boots! cried the Giant.
"I should think I had. It'sa bargain; we 'll start
now. Bring my boots, there! he roared; and in
came the poor footmen, staggering and tugging
with his great boots.
Oh, wait a little, wait a little," said the King
soothingly. "You have n't dined." And before
dinner he secretly ordered his pet locomotive, his
special car, provided with all the luxuries you can
imagine, and a single baggage-car stored with the
necessary machines which now took the place of a
personal retinue, to lie in waiting in a tunnel not
far from the palace.
At dinner (which was wonderfully good,- they
had raisin-puffs and whipped cream for dessert),
Count Burlybear got into a better humor; and the
two started upon their race in a perfectly friendly
way. The Giant had taken off his furred coat, and
the King had put on a light crown. His Majesty

:. \

flying smoke. He took no more interest in these
things than if they had been the shiny threads of
spider-webs, or the openings of ant-hills. The King
sauntered on till the Giant was out of sight, and then
quietly got into his special car, sat down in a plush-
covered revolving chair, and unfolded an improved
newspaper. He felt peaceful and happy, and after
a few minutes, lulled by the rapid motion, he fell
into a doze. Soon, however, he was awakened by
a shock and a great crashing noise. He sprang
up ; there was loud, confused talking outside, and
the train did not seem to be moving.
What 's this? What 's the matter? cried the
King; and he rang for the porter.
The porter did not come at once, and when he
did appear his face, though polite, was troubled.
"May it please Your Majesty," said he, "a strange
and unfortunate occurrence- "
"Collision ?"


began to walk along at an ordinary pace, with a
walking-stick in his hand, as though he intended to
go the whole distance on foot. The Giant looked
at him with a good-natured, but rather contemptu-
ous smile; for he could see that the King was noth-
ing of walker. Indeed, most of the people of that
country were weak, because, nearly everything be-
ing done by machinery, they took little muscular
The King, on the other hand, could hardly keep
from laughing, as he thought of the special car,
lying in the tunnel, and how much faster his pet
locomotive could go than poor ignorant Burlybear's
Off went the Giant, striding away at a rapid rate
over the hill-tops, and paying no attention to the
shiny steel rails that ran in all directions through
the land, the trestles and tunnels and whistles and

Nay, sire," replied the porter. "We are now,
as Your Majesty doubtless perceives, at the entrance
of the great Cinderchoke Tunnel. During a
trifling delay, caused by a hot-box, a huge bowlder
of rock fell from the hillside with great violence,
slightly damaging our locomotive, and obstructing
the track."
Of course they have telegraphed back for assist-
ance? said the King in some excitement.
That, Your Majesty," said the porter regret-
fully, "is the worst of it; something mysterious
has happened behind us, and the telegraph wires
are down."
The King lost his improved temper, and for sev-
eral minutes made it very unpleasant for the porter.
He would, perhaps, have been still more excited,
had he known how it all happened. The Giant's
magic boots were really quite fast; and besides, he



/,4 i

was able to go straight on, while the railroad some-
times curved around the hills. When the King's
S train came to a standstill on account of the hot-box
the Giant was not far in the rear; and he was able to pass
it before it was ready to start again. In doing so he ac-
cidentally knocked down the huge bowlder with one of his
boots, which had enormous power when they were once
set going. As for the telegraph wires behind, those had
/ been broken in the same way, at a point where the Giant's
path over the hills was nearly on a level with the tops of
the poles; and the Giant had only growled a little as he
tripped, making no more of the affair than if some mis-
chievous boy had been tying knots in the grass.
Next morning, as he was comfortably having his
breakfast at the best hotel in the city of Balderdash,
with four napkins tucked under his chin, and eating a
great many boiled eggs at once, the King entered the
1 dining-room looking extremely crestfallen.
Good morning, Your Majesty," said the Count,
with a grin. You see I was right to have confidence
in my boots."
S"What do you wish me to do?" asked the King,
"You must get yourself," said the Giant Burlybear,
a pair of magic boots."
"And how is that to be done ? inquired the civilized
I'11 tell you all about it after breakfast," said the Giant, spreading half a loaf of bread like a
biscuit. "It 's rather a difficult matter. You have to kill a wild bull with one blue eye and
a frizzly tail by moonlight, without assistance or weapons; and you must tan his hide and make
the boots yourself. But I '11 give you the full particulars later."
But how long will this take ? said the King, in distress; for he did notlike to think of meeting
that kind of an animal by moonlight, and he did not know what would become of his kingdom
while he was away on the expedition.
Oh, about a year and a day," said the Count. Perhaps you had better appoint a regent."
The King thought a while. He did not like to choose any of the members of his Council, because
they would be likely to do new things, which he preferred to do himself. Then he remembered
the messenger boy who had so faithfully done his duty in delivering the note to the Count, and the
Court Librarian, who had been so hastily imprisoned without trial, and who would at least be certain
not to do anything new. He tore two pieces of paper from an old letter which he had in his
pocket; one was long and the other was short. He shut them up in a railway guide, with the
ends showing, and asked Count Burlybear to pull one out. The Giant drew out the short one.



So the messenger boy reigned over the improved
kingdom for a year and a day. And the Court
Librarian was just as well pleased that it had
not fallen to his lot to be regent, for in the im-
proved dungeon he had everything heart could

wish, and plenty of time to work at the great
treatise in which he intended to prove that noth-
ing really new was of any real consequence, and
that everything which was of any real conse-
quence was not really new.


* ;,, ~. 7- -

4 7 .:




" Rain, rain, go away,
Come again another day "

OH, the dancing leaves are merry,
And the bloss'ming grass is glad,
But the river 's too rough for the ferry,
And the sky is low and sad.

Yet the daisies shake with laughter
As the surly wind goes by,
For they know what is hurrying after,
As they watch the dim, gray sky;

The clovers are rosy with saying-
(The buttercups bend to hear)

" Oh, be patient, it 's only delaying-
Be glad, for it 's very near "

The blushing pimpernel closes,
It is n't because it grieves-
And down in the garden, the roses
Smile out from their lattice of leaves !

Such gladness has stirred the flowers
Yet children only complain:
" Oh, what is the use of showers?"
"Oh, why does it ever rain?"

... L_ J. ..

I!, ,1" D ", T H ,i,!.I.,- *, j t .ii.r..

-% -. il 0 i--- 'j .1 L l" I .i-
,, .. i ii r

spCn th L -

1 I ',olu boy wlhum we nauled Lth bca-
Calf," because he was all the time blubbering) who
seemed to be so thoroughly miserable. Why, I 've
known that Bilged Midshipman to refuse to join a
swimming party of five as good fellows as ever
walked-I was one of them, myself--and to
spend all the afternoon of a half-holiday in moping.
None of us knew much about him except that
he had been a midshipman and had been bilged.
This much he said himself, when Clarence Det-
wiler, by virtue of seniority, asked him about him-
self on the first day that he came to the school. He
didn't begin regularly, but in the middle of the
term, and so he was something of a curiosity.
"Yes," he said sadly, "I was a midshipman at
Annapolis, but I was bilged! Then he turned
away and looked as if he might take to crying-
blinky about the eyes, you know.
Now, not one of us had the least idea of what

Iu'.' '.i s e it .rl : 1c 1 ';..: J J] : 'l [ i: l. i- :

fashion; and sometimes he succeeded.
.-l ,.; .. li' f L -M i, C h i ,m +,,,2. I t ,i, i r ;r,.. [ L i.

t,_, i. I L. i .- l. r i. n,!, l; | .' l;.; ,r;r

*I r *; lh ] r.l l ,1 Ll l _I ,' I '" l .- 0 1c i ['I ,ll ,_-,t, .''. .l
Il .i i ',, b r t.,b .; A h, l !, I. *,,-1 I -L ,i l 1, -,. 1. t).| i ,
hUimseHll agicable, In a. IIchellully-dlibinaL SOIL uf
fashion; and sometimes he succeeded.
His first success was won by splicing the clothes-
line. In the interest of Science, a lot of us had
borrowed the clothes-line from the laundry and
had begun a series of very interesting experiments
on the Levitation of Solids. For want of better solids
to work with, we were using ourselves each one of
us knew about how much he weighed -and we
were levitating ourselves up into some remarkably
fine chestnut-trees. In the midst of an interesting
experiment- we had Pud Douglass up in the air-
the clothes-line broke. It was a new line, but Pud
was too much for it. Luckily, he was only about
ten feet up, and the tumble did n't hurt him. But
the clothes-line separated into two pieces; and
what made it worse was that the break was just
about in the middle.
We were in something of a dilemma. We knew


that a knot in the middle of the new line would
excite critical comment, and probably would lead
to very unpleasant consequences. For, apart
from the fact that we had obtained the line rather
informally, the chestnut-trees were quite out-of-
bounds. We felt low in our minds. Then we
all went back to the school and were as dismal
as possible. However, we comforted ourselves
a little by abusing Pud for being so inordinately
Close by'the wood-shed we fell in with the Bilged
Midshipman. He was in his usual mournful mood;
but we were mournful too, so we stopped to tell
him of our tribulations.
Pooh said the Bilged Midshipman, when we
had told our tale of woe. "Is that all?"
We said that it was, and that we rather thought
it was more than enough.
"Pooh said he again (he was a great fellow
to say "Pooh! "). Just you let me have the line
and I '11 splice it so its own mother won't know it's
been broken! "
We were too much pleased to stop for argument
with him over a clothes-line's having a mother, and
we all sat down in a row behind the wood-shed, and
little Billy Jenks pulled the line out from under his
jacket. What Billy wished to do, was to go
straight to the Doctor and tell him all about it and
offer to pay for the clothes-line-but that always
was Billy's way.
The Bilged Midshipman really seemed almost
cheerful for once; and he went to work with a will.
He made what he called a "long splice." It was
a wonderful piece of work. He untwisted two
strands of the rope for three or four feet, and then
he crutched them together," as he called it.
Then he untwisted some more from one of the ends,
and into the space where the strand had been he
twisted a strand from the other end. He did this
both ways from the crutch," and ended up by
tucking all the ends snugly away. When he had
cut the ends off smoothly and had rolled the rope
under his foot, it would have taken a pretty good
pair of eyes to see that it ever had been broken !
It seemed almost a miracle to us, and only pru-
dential reasons kept us from giving the Bilged
Midshipman three cheers on the spot. But we all
shook hands with him and told him solemnly that
we thought that he was "a brick." For a minute or
two he seemed really pleased. Then he subsided
suddenly and his countenance grew as dismal as
Clarence Detwiler's on the day when he ate more
green apples than were good for him.
What's the use of it all?" he said, half to him-
self. "I'm bilgbilged,bilged! Then he went sor-
rowfully away.
After that he often did bits of knotting and

splicing for us, and seemed to find it rather com-
forting. But he always ended by going moping
off, muttering to himself something about bilging.
It was very mysterious.
We looked up "bilged" in the dictionary, and
found that it was "nautical" and meant having
a fracture in the bilge." As applied to a mid-
shipman, the nautical" was good; but the rest
was n't. To cut things short, I may say that we
all were completely puzzled. Finally, we con-
cluded to have the matter settled definitely. It
was growing too rasping to be borne. So we called
a meeting of the school and elected Clarence Det-
wiler Chairman, and little Billy Jenks Secretary-
not because there was anything in particular for
a secretary to do, but because we wanted to make
things pleasant for Billy. You see, Billy's father
had just failed and he was naturally a little cut
up about it.
When the meeting was fairly under way, the
chairman appointed Pud Douglass and me, a Com-
mittee of Two to bring in the Bilged Midshipman.
As he was just around the corner of the wood-shed,
waiting to be brought, this did not take long-
and he could have been brought even sooner if
" Clumsy" Skimples had n't tumbled down from
above among the rafters just as the procession was
entering, and so spoiled the effect. But "Clumsy "
was always tumbling down from somewhere or
other,-he generally kept himself bumped black
and blue,-so nobody minded it much.
Detwiler made a speech, in which he explained
that we all were curious to know how a fellow who
seemed to be all right could be bilged, if the dic-
tionary gave the true meaning of the word; that
we did not wish to press him too hard upon a
delicate subject; but that, as we now cherished a
very high esteem for him as a companion and as
a a boy, we should be very much obliged to
him if he would explain this mysterious matter
once and for all. Detwiler was a capital hand at
speech-making, and this speech was even better
than usual. When he concluded, we all clapped
our hands, and then we looked at the Bilged
Midshipman and waited for him to begin.
He blinked his eyes for a minute or two, in
his queer, sorrowful way, and then he braced up
and said he supposed he might as well tell about
it, and have done with it; we'd all been kind
to him and we had a right to know.
You see," said the Bilged Midshipman, "down
at Annapolis bilged' is what they call it when a
cadet fails to pass his examinations, or is sent
adrift for misconduct. It's a sea term, and means
that a barrel, or cask, is stove in and done for;
a cadet is done for when the Academy throws him
overboard, and so the sailors say that he is bilged.


That's all; was bilged -terribly! Then he
hitched up his trousers in sailor fashion- he was
as fond of this action as Dick Deadeye-and looked
dismaler than ever.
If you don't mind telling," said Clarence Det-
wiler, the meeting would like very much to know
what bilged you. Everybody in favor of his telling
what bilged him, will please say 'aye.'" (Of
course we all said "aye.") "The ayes have it,
Well," said the Bilged Midshipman, in a most
forlorn and solemn way, "it was a cat; a big,
black Tom-cat Yes, I know it sounds queer, but
it's true, all the same; that cat finished my naval
career bilged me You see, it happened in this
way: It was the beginning of my second year at
the Academy, and my prospects were bright. I
had passed the examinations and stood well up in

my class, and the professors seemed to like me.
But I could n't get along comfortably with the
Commandant of Cadets. He was a peppery sort
of aman, a Commander in the service; and he had
a way of snapping a fellow up short and setting him
down hard, that made it uncomfortable to get
along with him. And then he never would listen
to what a fellow had to say. He was always talking
about discipline. His pet speech was : 'The disci-
pline of the service demands, my boy, that when I
give an order you are to obey it, instantly and im-
plicitly. Discipline and argument are utterly in-
compatible.' He 'd say this over a dozen times a
day: and so we always called him Old Discipline.'
"Well, I had a way of sliding into scrapes and
Old Discipline had a way of catching me. At last
things began to look squally. The Admiral who
was a trump -sent for me and gave me a good



talking-to, just such a talking-to as my father
gives me sometimes; and he made me see that
it really would n't do for me to be careless, if I
'ever hoped to be an officer and a credit to the
service,' as he put it. He was just as kind as he
could be, but he wound up -by telling me that I
must steer a straight course or take the conse-
quences; and, to give me a clear idea of what the
consequences would be, he said that if I was re-
ported to him again for misconduct during the
term I certainly would be sent adrift from the
Academy. I promised him with all my heart that
I would turn over a new leaf then and there. And
then the old gentleman, in his kind way, shook
hands with me and said that he was sure I really
meant to be steady, and would live to be as good
an officer as ever trod a deck."
The Bilged Midshipman stopped for a minute
or two and seemed very low in his mind. "It
makes me feel dismal," he said presently, when
I think what the Admiral must think of me now.
But it was n't my fault that I was bilged.- at least,
not entirely.
For a week or two after I was warned,' I was
the best-behaved cadet in the Academy. 'Old
Discipline' was on the lookout to catch me tripping,
but I was on the lookout not to trip, and he
could n't. Two or three times he thought he
had me, for the cadets were always playing tricks
on him, but every time it turned out to be some-
body else, and I was not in the wrong.
"But he did catch me at last, and that wretch
of a black Tom-cat was at the bottom of it. The
cat was a good-for-nothing sort of a cat that used
to drift about the Academy grounds by the kitchen.
It was forever getting picked up by the cadets and
put into places where a cat did n't belong such
as the professors' desks and the officers' hat-boxes.
Well, one day it happened that the Command-
ant had to go down to the Norfolk Navy Yard for
some stores, and a detail of cadets was told off to go
with him. On the strength of my recent good con-
duct I was put in the detail; and I was glad enough
to have the little cruise. Just as the tug was push-
ing off from the Academy wharf, Old Discipline'
found that he had forgotten his valise- and as he
was going to stay all night at Norfolk and go to a
ball, and as the valise contained his dress-uniform,
leaving it behind was not to be thought of. So he
ordered the tug back to the wharf and, as I had
the bad luck to be standing close by him, he
directed me to jump ashore and run up to the
Academy and get it. It was in his room, he said,
all ready. Now this was orderly-service, and he
had no business to send me on it. But I did not
dare to hesitate; and I feared, too, that if I made
the least objection, he would order me ashore and

go off without me. I did n't like to give in when
I knew I was right, but neither did I like to lose
the cruise; so away I went as fast as my legs
would carry me.
"I found the valise all right, seized it and
bolted back to the tug-but I hadn't taken a
dozen steps before I thought I felt something alive,
squirming around inside the valise. Then it
flashed upon me, all in a minute, that one of the
fellows had stowed the old black Tom there, in a
coil with the Commandant's dress-uniform. When
I found that the Commandant, in his hurry, had
left his keys hanging in the lock of the valise, the
whole business was clear to me, and I just chuckled
with delight. I put the keys into my pocket and
hurried toward the wharf. But before I reached
the tug I had stopped chuckling, and was thinking
over the matter seriously. Of course I had n't
much sympathy with the Commandant, but I could
not help worrying over my promise to the Admiral
that I would keep out of scrapes. I stopped and
attempted to open the valise; but either I mistook
the key or failed to understand the lock, for I
really could not open it. I tried faithfully until I
dared delay no longer, and then feeling I had done
my best, I ran for the tug. Still, I was very un-
easy, and afraid of blame or something worse. To
be sure, I had n't put the cat in the valise, and I
did n't even know, positively, that there was a cat
in it at all. It was n't my valise and it was n't
my cat; and, finally, the Commandant had no
right to send me on orderly-duty. This was one
side of the case. On the other was my promise
to the Admiral that I would do my best to behave
like an officer and a gentleman while I remained at
the Academy and I could n't help admitting to
myself that a cadet reasonably suspected of having
anything to do with stowing a cat in the same
valise with a dress-uniform might well be thought
neither officer-like nor gentlemanly.
Well, the long and short of it was that by the
time I got down to the tug, I had made up my
mind to tell the Commandant about the cat, and
thus to clear my conscience of breaking my promise
to the Admiral; and I must confess that I thought
it would be rather good fun to see the Commandant
open his valise and let black 'Tommy' come
bouncing out of it on the deck, while all the sailors
and cadets would be grinning at the jolly lark and
at the way 'Old Discipline' would rage over it.
But, as things turned out, I did n't have a chance
to tell, after all,-more's the pity!" Here the
Bilged Midshipman stopped for a minute or two to
be miserable.
When I got down to the tug," he went on,
Sthe Commandant was hurried and flurried-
for the Admiral had come down to the dock in the



interval, and had asked why the tug had not
started-and so, as I tumbled on board and
handed him his keys, he blazed away:
"'Now, sir, I should like to know where you
have been spending the morning. Are you so
utterly incapable of all useful duty that you can not
run an errand without dawdling over it all day?
Take the valise below, at once, and remain below
until we reach Norfolk Boatswain, see that the

But somehow, right in the thick of it I remem-
bered my promise to the Admiral. So I gulped
down the lump, by a great effort, and began:
'If you please, sir, I--
"'But I don't please,' he said angrily. 'Go
below, sir!'
"'If you please,' I began again, for I was deter-
mined to do my duty, 'in the valise there 's--
I don't think he'heard what I was saying, he


lines are cast off. Mr. Pivot, you will oblige me
by getting under way immediately.'
I was all in a rage at this unfair attack. It
was n't my fault that the Commandant had come
off without his valise, that he had ordered the tug
to wait while he sent back for it, and that the
Admiral had come down and caught him at the dock
when he ought to have been well down-stream;
and I knew that I had n't dawdled a bit. Then, to
crown it all,.he had ordered me below for the cruise,
and so spoiled every bit of my fun. A big lump
came up in my throat, and I felt rather wicked.

was in such a passion. He burst out: 'How dare
you reply! The discipline of the service demands
that when I give an order you are to obey it in-
stantly and implicitly. Discipline and argument
are utterly incompatible. Go below, this instant!
You are under arrest. I shall report you to the
Admiral for gross misconduct !'
"That settled the whole thing. There was
nothing more to be said. I went down into the
cabin and I hope you fellows won't think it was
mawkish-I just burst out crying. The whole
business was so wretchedly full of injustice. Here



I was trying my best to do my duty as an officer
and a gentleman, and, for no fault of mine, I was
under arrest and was to be reported for mis-
A sort of sympathetic thrill ran around the wood-
shed. Clarence Detwiler formulated the sense of
the meeting by observing that the Commandant
was a terror "; and little Billy Jenks crossed over
from the secretary's seat on the saw-horse -
and put his arm over the Bilged Midshipman's
shoulder. Billy always was a good-hearted little
After, a while the Bilged Midshipman went on
with his story: After all," he said, "I don't
believe that the Commandant would have reported
me, when he came to think the matter over quietly,
if it had n't been for the cat and he certainly
had a right to raise a row over that part of the
performance. You see, there was a stiff east-wind
blowing that kicked up a heavy swell in the bay,
and the tug rolled and tumbled about so that you
fairly had to hang on with your teeth to keep your
footing,' as one of the cadets said. Down in the
cabin, things went bumping around in a very reck-
less sort of way, and I had to stow myself between a
locker andthe after-bulkhead to keep from bumping
about, too. The valise was down in the cabin; and
as it was not clewed fast it had the range of the
whole place sailing away first to starboard and
next to port, and then taking a long roll up and
down amidships, as the tug pitched in the short
seas. Of course no cat was going to stand such
nonsense as that without remonstrance; especially
such a determined old scoundrel as Tommy. At
first he sent up a lot of plaintive me-ows !' but
presently, when he found that me-owing' did n't
do any good, he took to howling at the very top
of his voice, and trying to scratch his way out.
I could hear the sound of tearing cloth as he
rattled his claws through and through the Com-
mandant's dress-uniform, and as I was in a rather
wicked frame of mind by that time--I did n't
object. If ever poetical justice got hold of fellow
it was then and there -and the fellow was 'Old
Discipline and the poetical justice was that ripping
and raging cat who was tearing those ball-room
clothes to scraps and tatters. I felt in my bones
that there was a tremendous storm ahead for me;
but I was so angry that I had n't much sympathy
with the Commandant."
The wood-shed responded promptly to this senti-
ment, Clarence Detwiler leading.a roar of laughter
at the Commandant's expense. Only little Billy
Jenks looked solemn. When we had got through
laughing he said that he thought it was all right
so far as the Commandant was concerned, but he
could n't help feeling that it was rather rough on

the old cat. (You see, Billy was a very soft-
hearted little chap about animals. Why, that
little fellow once wanted to fight Clarence Det-
wiler, who was three years older and a whole head
taller and who had taken boxing lessons, because
Detwiler was going to drown a stray puppy so as
to see whether or not he could bring it to life again
by a plan that he had been reading about in some
scientific paper. Detwiler was angry at first, but
Billy was so much in earnest about it that he
wound up by shaking hands with Billy and letting
the puppy go -"sacrificing Science to Friend-
ship," as he explained in his clever way. But
that has nothing to do with the story.)
When we were all through laughing, the Bilged
Midshipman continued:
"Well, the Commandant did not go to the
ball! He came back to the Academy the next
day, raging, and the storm which I knew to be
brewing burst out at once. I have never heard
what he said to the Admiral, but the case against
me was black enough. The upshot of the matter
was that I was dismissed from the Academy right
out-of-hand-just 'bilged' without being sum-
moned or having a chance to say a word in my
own defense. This seemed to me the crowning
injustice of all. I did not think that the Admiral
would have treated me in that way, and I had ex-
pected to make it all right when I was summoned:
for, you see, I really had tried to do my duty, and
could have explained the whole matter so that the
Admiral and all other officers would have seen
that I was not to blame. But I had been in mis-
chief several times since I entered the Academy and
so everybody believed I had been larking again:
and so I came to grief. Instead of believing me in-
nocent until I was proved guilty, I was believed
guilty from the start,-for there certainly seemed
to be plenty of evidence against me,- and I was n't
given even an opportunity to prove my innocence.
But I did n't see all this as plainly then, as I
do now, and I was angry at the clear injustice which
had been done me, and concluded that the sooner
I got away from the Academy the better. If the
Admiral did not believe in me after my promise,
it was he who was not behaving like an officer and
a gentleman, this time. I hated him, and I hated
everybody, myself included; and I was eager to
get away, and so I did n't even try to explain
matters and have my dismissal canceled. The
Admiral had lost faith in me, and that settled the
whole matter.
And so, the short and long of it was, that I was
'bilged'-kicked out of the service in disgrace-
all because some other fellow had put that miser-
able black cat in with Old Discipline's dress-uni-
form That 's all there is to tell. And the reason



I 'm so miserable is that I can't help thinking all
the time that if I'd kept reasonably steady from
the start I should not have been dismissed at all.
It was the cat that finished me, but the root of the
whole wretched business was my bad name.
I did love the service with all my heart, and
I 'd give almost anything to get back into it again;
but I'm out of it forever and I've nobody but my-
self to thank for my bad luck "
The Bilged Midshipman sat down on the pile of
kindling-wood just behind him and blinked his eyes
quickly. I' m not sure that he would n't have
broken down altogether, but just then Clumsy
Skimples managed to tumble from the top of the
wood-pile, bringing a whole load of wood down with
him, and this raised a general laugh, and gave
the Bilged Midshipman time to recover. When
Clumsy had finished piling up the wood, and things
were quiet again, Clarence Detwiler made a very
handsome speech, in which he told the Bilged Mid-
shipman how sorry we all felt for him and how badly
we thought that he had been treated while in the
service of our common country (Detwiler said that
over twice, and we all applauded); and how, in
short, we all hoped that it would n't happen again.
Others of us made sympathetic speeches, and the
meeting wound up by adopting a preamble and res-
olutions in which we just gave it to the United
States Government in general and to the Comman-
dant at the Naval Academy in particular.
But what seemed to please the Bilged Midship-
man more than anything else, was the way in which
little Billy Jenks got up from the saw-horse, walked
across the wood-shed and said that he thought the
Bilged Midshipman was a gentleman, all the way
through and he would like to have the honor of
shaking hands with him. So Billy and the Bilged
Midshipman solemnly shook hands, and then the
small chap, in his dignified way, walked back
across the wood-shed and sat down on the saw-horse
again. Billy was such a queer little dick! He was
always doing odd, old-fashioned things in the most
natural sort of a way; and yet, when you came
to think about them, you always saw that they

were just the right things to do, and you could n't
help respecting Billy for doing them. It is a sol-
emn fact that there was more real, downright dig-
nity about that little fellow than there was about
Clarence Detwiler himself-- though, of course, no-
body at the school would have dared say so. And
so the Bilged Midshipman seemed better pleased
with Billy's shaking hands with him that way, than
he was with our vote of censure upon the National
Then the meeting broke up.

Now perhaps you think that this is the whole
story of the Bilged Midshipman. But it is n't. At
least, it has a very short sequel that is a great deal
pleasanter than the story itself.
When the Bilged Midshipman was sent home, it
seems, he told his father just how the whole thing
happened, and his father, without saying anything
to his son, wrote it all out and forwarded it to
the Admiral. The Admiral immediately began
an investigation of the case, and the result of it all
was that the cadet who put the cat in the valise was
found out, and was "bilged in no time. Then
the Admiral wrote back that he thought it would
be a good plan to let our Bilged Midshipman stay
at school quietly until the next term at the Acad-
emy began, without telling him that he was all
right, so as to give him a good opportunity to think
over what had happened and see what his failure
to maintain a good record at the Academy had cost
him,--it was to give him a sort of moral lesson,
you see. And that was just what his father had
concluded to do. Next year he was reinstated at
the Academy, and two years later he was graduated,
almost at the head of his class. He is an Ensign
now, cruising around out on the East India Station.
I had a letter from him the other day, telling how
he had been in a rumpus with a Malay pirate,
and had ridden on an elephant, and had eaten
And so, the short and long of it was, you see,
that the Bilged Midshipman was not really bilged,
after all !



INNOVATIONS are likely to be feared, or at least
misrepresented. When tea was first used in Eu-
rope it was bitterly attacked by many writers. In
1640 Simon Pauli, physician to Frederick III. of
Denmark, in an essay against the beverage, speaks
of the "raging, epidemical madness of importing
tea into Europe from China." But it found ad-
vocates and was believed to be a sovereign remedy
for many diseases.
In 1664 the East India Company presented to
King Charles II. a package of two pounds and
two ounces of tea purchased in Holland, at a cost
of ten dollars a pound. His idle majesty seems to
have sipped his fragrant cup with pleasure, for the
next year he graciously accepted a second tribute
of twenty-two pounds, at twelve dollars and a half
a pound. In 1676, when the times were turbu-
lent and the.people impoverished by long years of
civil disturbances, the importation was nearly four
thousand pounds, which supplied the demand of
the next six years and sold at an average price of
five dollars a pound. But by 1710 the elegant
society of Queen Anne's court had made tea fash-
ionable, and the importation reached a million
pounds, of which three-quarters were exported by
England to other lands. Slowly but surely the
delicate herb made its way into popular favor also,
though Dr. Johnson, at ninety, thought it neces-
sary to apologize for himself as a hardened and
shameless tea-drinker, whose kettle was hardly
allowed to cool; who with tea amused the evening,
with tea solaced the midnight, and with tea wel-
comed the morning."
The tea-plant grew for endless centuries in Cen-
tral Asia, and the guileless Celestials blandly
assert that the drink was invented by Chin Nong
some five thousand years ago. A poetic version
makes it sixteen hundred years ago, and gives the
following account of its earliest appearance: In
VOL. XV.-59. 9

the reign of Yuen Ty in the dynasty of Tsin, an
old woman was accustomed to proceed every morn-
ing at daybreak to the market-place, carrying a
cup of tea in her hand. The people bought it
eagerly, and yet from the break of day to the close
of evening the cup was never exhausted. The
money received was distributed among orphans
and beggars. The people seized and confined her
in prison. At night she flew through the prison
windows with her little vase in her hand." If you
care to do so you can read this story and enjoy it
in the original Chinese of the Cha Pu," or
"Ancient History of Tea," and will no doubt
find the translation exact.
Tea was not heard of in China again for three
centuries and a half, when a "Fo hi" priest is
said to have advised its use as a medicine. In the
ninth century, an old beggar from Japan took
some of the seeds and plants back with him to
his native land. The Japanese relished the new
drink, and built at Osaka a temple to the memory
of those who introduced it. This temple is still
standing, though now almost seven hundred years
old. Gradually the people of Tartary and Persia
also learned to love the drink, and serve it at all
hours of the day.
The honor of introducing the herb into Europe
may be considered due equally to the Dutch and
Portuguese. Early in the seventeenth century tea
became known among persons of quality in
Europe, and in 1602 some Dutch traders carried a
quantity of sage (which was then used to make a
drink popular in Europe) to China, and by some
ingenious device succeeded in making the almond-
eyed tea-drinkers think it a fair exchange for an
equal quantity of very good tea, which was brought
home in safety and without the loss of a single
Dutchman. It is probable that the Dutch traders
put to sea immediately after handing over the

sage and without waiting for the Chinese to express
their opinion of sage-tea.
Tea now began to arrive in England in small
packages from India and Holland, and was con-
sidered a choice present and a great luxury, as it
sold for twenty-five dollars a pound.

The plant, when growing naturally, is a small
tree, sometimes attaining thirty feet in height. In
cultivation it is pruned down to about three feet,
giving it a flat top, because in this shape it pro-
duces many twigs and a plentiful growth of leaves
at a height convenient for picking.

_-_ . '


Toward the end of the seventeenth century, the
East India Company began importing tea from
China as a part of their regular trade. Tea-culture
has since been introduced in many other countries,
-we may instance Mexico, Brazil, Chili, New Zea-
land, Tasmania, Australia, Java, and Ceylon,-
while many experiments have been made, and are
now being made, to cultivate the plant in other
places, and especially in the southern States of our
own country. During the war the experiments were
postponed, but have since been renewed with some
very encouraging results. Portions of the Carolinas,
Tennessee, and westward to the Missouri river, and
southward to the Gulf of Mexico, including Texas
and Mexico, doubtless will be found to offer the
most favorable conditions that the United States
afford for tea production, as these regions furnish a
long growing-season and a high degree of moisture.
The botanical name of the tea-plant is Camelia
Thea, and its original home was India.

The best soil is a rich, sandy loam, well drained
and well watered. Hill-sides were formerly consid-
ered the proper home for the plants, and Chinese
pictures usually represent tea-gardens as located
among impossible hills; but flat ground, if well
drained, serves equally well. The herb flourishes
best in partial shade, and though it matures in
eight or ten years, it lasts for more than a genera-
tion. Many of the best gardens in India were
planted forty years ago.
The Chinese process of preparing tea is some-
what shorter than a Chinese play, and includes
twelve operations and three days' time. The
youngest leaves are believed to make the finest teas.
The Indian processes are as follows: (i) wither-
ing the leaf in the sun; (2) rolling the leaves, by
hand or machine, without breaking them; (3) fer-
menting, which is caused by piling the leaves up
together and leaving them to ferment; (4) sunning
on mats, until the color is darkened; (5) firing or




roasting over a fire until the leaf is crisp. To
make green tea, the withering and fermentation
are omitted.
The English prefer black tea, and the Ameri-
cans green tea.
The Chinese, Russians, and Persians receive
their tea pressed into bricks, which are often used
as money in Asia. There are rare teas which
none but princes drink, the product of particular
gardens under the most careful culture. They
are cured by slight firing and are still damp when
in best condition for use. In fact, all teas lose so
much of their quality by exportation that we can
never hope to taste the best until we either drink
it in Asia, or raise it upon our own soil.
The annual consumption of tea, outside of Asia
and the overland trade, is now over three hundred
million pounds, of which England takes more than
half, while America takes but one-quarter. This
is less surprising, however, if we reflect that Amer-
ica consumes about seven times as much coffee as
tea. The Russians drink nearly as much tea as
the English. The Dutch and Germans are great
tea-drinkers. The French, like the Americans,


of Moscow are universally patronized, and the
quantity consumed is enormous.
Considered in relation to mankind, we see that
Camelia Thea has many virtues and a few faults.
Properly prepared, the infusion dispels fatigue,
relieves drowsiness, and stimulates mental activity.
Like coffee and cocoa, it tends to diminish the
distress and faintness caused by hunger. Tea in
moderation is not a harmful stimulant. To the
aged, to the very poor, and during any scarcity
of good food, it is really a great blessing; for it
contains a little nourishment, and owing to its
volatile oil, to the,heat of the drink, and to the
sugar and milk usually added, its revivifying effect
is often very marked.
A Chinese writer says: "To make tea, it is an
old custom to use running water boiled over a
lively fire. That from springs in the hills is best,
and river water next, while well-water is the
worst. Do not boil the water too hastily; as,
first, it begins to sparkle like crab's eyes, then,
somewhat like fishes' eggs, and lastly it boils up,
like pearls innumerable springing and waving
about. This is the way to boil the water."


prefer coffee, consuming twice as much coffee as
the English.
The Russians receive the best tea, as it is trans-
ported to them overland, retaining all the flavor
of the slightly fired brick-teas. The tea-houses

There are other ways of preparing tea,--per-
haps you may find one more to your liking. In
China, salt and ginger are sometimes added. The
Japanese powder the delicate leaves and beat an
infusion of them to a foam with chop-sticks. The

_ Ir~_~~l~

I .'-

I '
j i



rr r -

I~a x:-: ~
~b-~7.. .

-2,0- 1'.-

,iI, -


Russians drink the liquor clear,- as do the Chinese
ordinarily,- often adding a slice of lemon, or lemon
juice. In Switzerland, cinnamon is added, while
the Persians prefer to flavor with fennel, anise-seed,
cloves, and sugar. Tartars enjoy a soup of brick-
tea, salt, milk, and flour-dumplings fried in oil; and
a salad of tea, tallow, fat, cheese, and salt.

But, after all, the unflavored draught, in pretty
cups, with cream-jug and sugar-bowl, arrayed on a
spotless cloth, thin slices of bread, cold meat prettily
garnished, and fresh fruit, will make one wonder,
with Sydney Smith, what the world did before tea
was known, and thankful for having been born in
these happier days.



I BELIEVE in my Papa,
Who loves me oh, so dearly !
I believe in Santa Claus,
Who comes to see me yearly.
I believe the birdies talk
On the boughs together;
I believe the fairies dance
O'er the fields of heather;

I believe my. dolly knows
Every word that's spoken;
I believe it hurts her, too,
When her nose is broken.
Oh! I believe in lots of things,-
I can't tell all the rest -
But I believe in you, Mamma,
First, and last, and best!



0 cLocR


MARIA ANGELICA said to me, A
L.:l '- 1 .: an esthetic five o'clock tea;
\ ,. 'li A ear faint lilies,
A i.I J .i-ffadowndillies,
.A,1111 .i ii ush and smile at the company."

V'.: ill not have much to eat," said she,
S1. .icker or two, and some very weak tea;
And I 'll read some stanzas
From ancient Romanzas,
.-\iid that will be nice for the company."

She invited a hundred and thirty-three;
And, when the time came, quite ready were we.
But, I mention with pain,
We were ready in vain,
For not a soul came of the company !


( p


I .

" p. :

i."' / :


And, somehow or other, it seems to me
That the cracker or two, and the very weak
And the beautiful stanzas
From ancient Romanzas,
Must have come to the ears of that company !

- /


(Being Leaves from His Early Diary.)


I AM only a little boy, and have caused great
regretment in the family owing to not being a girl.
I have heard Uncle Jack say so a hundred times;
indeed, I try to feel sorry myself, and just when
I 'm getting a little sad, I see that female orphan-
asylum go by in pink calico, and suddenly I grow
so glad about it that I could cry with joy.
I am writing my life because I am to be a great
man when I grow up, and then it will please peo-
ple to read it. I am the last of a great many boys,
so many that I generally count them on my fin-
gers, and they have really turned out very well.
They have become men and are hard at work,
and there 's only me left, at present, except when
Thomas gets lazy and comes home (his name is
really Tom, but I believe in Biography the whole
name is generally used). I made him very angry
once when he came, by saying that if all our boys
were such prodigals the price of veal would go up.
I heard him tell Father, afterward, that he thought
I was a changeling; so I asked Uncle Jacket what
that meant, and he said he believed it was a sort
of gosling. (I call him "Uncle Jacket" for Bio-
graphical reasons, though he is generally known
as Uncle Jack.)
Mother used to say that I was more anxiety to
her than all the rest of her boys put together,

and that worried me so I could n't help crying
about it sometimes when I was alone. I asked
Uncle Jacket why it was and he said, "Folks
nebber knows when dey's well off," and 'lowed,
"Mis' was frettin' 'cause I did n't wear out de
knees 'er my trousers, like dem udder children ";
but that was n't it, because when I took the scissors
and cut the knees quite out of my best pair, Mother
was very angry about it, and made me wear
them as a punishment, for ever so long. When I
was much littler, people used to say I could n't
live long, I was so dreadfully old-fashioned; and
though I had some curiousness to know what
dying really was like, yet it was very depressing to
feel it so near.
One day, being low in my mind, I went to the
garden to see Uncle Jacket to consult with him
how I could weather the storm; then somehow I
could n't find him, and that was the last straw on
the back of the I forget now which animal, but I
will ask Thomas; sometimes he knows those little
bits of Natural History quite unexpectedly. Well,
I sat down and put my apron over my face and
wept bitterly. I was very little, you see, and wore
such things then; indeed, I think they must have
wished for a long time that I was a girl, for I can
remember quite well when they dressed me like one.


*P -

-1 -_-'.- .. ..:.- ^ /,_


,-' '* i .f ,'.' e ,i *:' : s, v. ; --^ ;
F. ,-: i \ -- .. '** ,, .., i ; ,- -



To resume our narrative: While I was weeping, I
heard some one say quite decidedly, Hallo, young
un, what 's the matter with you? I dropped my
apron quickly, and looking up, saw a rather pleas-
ant peddler standing by me, with a large pack on
his back and another on the ground. He was hot
and dusty, but was looking at me cheerfully.
You're a poor little babby to be crying here all
by ye'self," he repeated. What 's the matter ?"
"Please, I 'm dying of old-fashion'ness," I said,
sobbing again at the thought.
He gave a long whistle, notwithstanding that it
is impolite to do so in company. That is all I


remember quite well, but I know that he some-
how got the idea that what I had eaten had
made me sick, and insisted on my taking some
pills at once. He said they would cure me of
anything. I remember how long I hoped they
would cure me of old-fashion'ness, but they did
n't, for even after that people often said I had it.
He gave me also a yellow handkerchief with the
Declaration of Independence in the middle, and
Uncle Jacket and I did enjoy that eloquent burst
exceedingly. But when I took it out at the table
that night, my brothers shouted at it, and made
such fun of it that I hid it; and not one of them
has seen it since. Even Mother laughed at it.
I have read the lives of a great many people, and
most of them are bound in red, and are by Mr. J.
Abbott, Esq. They are beautiful and thrilling and
made me think of writing my own life. They used
to belong to the boys, who must have used them
with very grimy hands, and who made pictures ot
Mary Queen of Scots dancing with Xerxes, and
such"things, on the empty pages; but I have my
doubts about their having read them, for once when

I was thinking it over and did n't have the book I
asked Edward (that's Teddy, you know) how many
battles Napoleon averaged a year, and he told me I
was getting perfectly unbearable. I said, "Alas!
I have been that for many a long year," and he
muttered something quick, under his breath, and
rushed off, as if I had hit him. Indeed, it is very
queer, they often seem more afraid of me than I
am of them; perhaps it 's because they know I am
going to be a great man However, it is a melan-
choly fact.
One day my brother Robert (the lawyer of the
family) asked me, when I came home from a visit,
what I had been doing, and when I said, I have
spent all the long hot hours making mental reser-
vations," he cried, "Do you know you frighten
me, child ?- you absolutely frighten me Then
a big lump came in my throat, for I liked Bo-I
mean Robert, the best of all, and I crept away to my
study, and after a while I thought I would write to
him, and that comforted me a little, and this is
what I wrote:
MY DEAR BOB: I regret exceedingly having frightened you just
now and I can not think how I did it; but it was quite accidental.
I would not hurt you for the world.
Your affectionate HUGH.
Robert was always kind to me after that. He
called me up and gave me a long lecture about
using big words, and spelling too well; and said I
must play like other boys, and fish, and ride, and
shoot, and not look at a book for two years, and I
was sorry when he went from home, though he
interfered sadly with my studies. Uncle Jacket
is perhaps the best companion I could have; he is
not much of a scholar, but he appreciates learning
highly in others, and rather likes not understand-
ing what you say to him. He is quite familiar with
Mr. Abbott's great people, though he is not always
respectful in his way of speaking of them. For in-
stance, he calls Queen Elizabeth Lizbeth," and
Xerxes, "Jerks"; but he means well. He was
much interested when I acted the death of Mme.
Roland-though he dozed off; but he says he
always does that when he is interested.
Thomas, I am sorry to say, laughed at me one day
because Iwas bowing to the pump and saying, "0
Liberty Liberty how many crimes are committed
in thy name! and since then he is always bowing
about the house -to the hat-rack, the big clock,
and the bed-posts, till I have been tempted to wish
that Mme. Roland had perished otherwise.

I have been sadly disturbed in my mind, and
by a most unexpected cause. My eldest brother,
whom I never saw but once, is going to send one
of his sons to pass the winter with us, to get ac-



quainted. How curious it will be to have a nephew
in the house! But will it be pleasant? To be
sure I can read him "Abbott" and Headley,"
"Vicars and Mosheim's Universal History," and
" Gibbon indeed, all my best treasures. How
strange it will seem to have a fellow-student in
these interesting pursuits !
Uncle Jacket does not take at all kindly to the
idea; indeed, when he first heard of it, was pain-
fully sarcastic.
My stars he cried. Is we never had 'nuff
boys in dis here house, dat Missus am looking' 'bout
fur mo' ? Mark my words, Honey, dey jes wants
some pusson to put over yo' head. If you 'd ebber
tuck up wid any er Mas' Tom's onpurlite tan-
trums dey 'd ha' let you 'lone. Boy,
indeed A boy Mas' John's eldest
boy!" And Uncle Jacket began
to hoe so furiously that I knew it
would not last long, and sat down
to meditate on what he had said.
Thomas, who was enjoying one
of his many rests at home, made
me still more uncomfortable that
night at tea.
Well, Hugh," he cried, there
is a good time a-coming; a time
of black eyes and bruised noses.
John says his Frank is a perfect
little filibusterer."
My heart sank. I said to myself, )j;
"Will he care for the Abbotts?"

Legions on top of the armoire to make a place for
that bed- Varus himself is tin, but the Legions
are acorns, and it was so interesting when they
were formed in battle array. I do not know the
exact number of men in the Legion. I would
have looked it up, but the family have a prejudice
against my using the dictionary, and Father has
positively forbidden me to touch his Unabridged.
I think if I ever get to heaven the first thing I
shall ask there will be, Please to let me have a
dictionary of my own." Uncle Jacket was dis-
gusted when I mentioned it to him, and said,
"Some folks is getting' mighty close in dere ole
age"; and muttered something about camels
threading cambric-needles, that I did n't quite

bed in my room, for I am now to /
share it with Francis. Oh, if they
would only let me be alone!
What shall I do with a strange
boy in my room?
Uncle Jacket is furious; he says
it reminds him of the persecutions o ll
of the Rev. Moses Gillial for setting
fire to a circus-tent--a most in- -
teresting recollection of "before
the war," which I never tire of
hearing. I wish Mr. Abbott had p Fn
known about it, and had written
his life. He was tarred and feath- PUMP AND SAYING, 'O LIBERTY! LIBERTY! HOW MANY
ered, and Uncle Jacket says it was CRIMES ARE COMMITTED IN THY NAME! '
only because he was-- something or other. Later catch ; but he was called off to cut stove-wood, so
on he was hung. I believe he set fire to a house he could not explain.
and the people could not get out quick enough.
It is strange that they should have put Francis
into my room, for I have known seven of my Francis has come He is taller than I, though
brothers to be here at once, and yet it was not triflingly younger, and is greatly admired by" all
at all crowded. I have had to put Varus and his the family.



Uncle Jacket says Handsome is as handsome
does, when it 's boys on a visit"; but Mother says
that he is beautiful, and that he reminds her of all
her sons except me, and everybody except Uncle
Jacket wishes I was more like him.
I was immersed in study when he arrived, and
they called me down, and the first thing I heard
when I entered the parlor was a great shout and
"Hallo Are you the last of my ninety-nine uncles ?
I 'm afraid all my respect and good behavior will
have to end with Uncle Tom."
"Indeed, then, you are mistaken, Master
Frank," said Thomas, before I had sufficiently
recovered to consider what Robespierre would
have said under the circumstances (I was then
reading his life).
"Allow me to introduce you to the great man
of the family, your famous, world-renowned Uncle
Hugh! "
Mother cried, Tom reprovingly, and Francis
laughed and seemed surprised that I did n't. I
could have shed a few tears-Thomas often makes
me weep; but it is unmanly, so I kept them back,
and shook hands with Francis.
He never seemed to feel like a stranger within
the gates," at all. Mother said, "Shall Hugh
show you to your room now? and he cried, "In
one moment, dear Grandmamma t He was lean-
ing against Father's knee, and I saw with surprise
that he was examining the seals on his watch-
chain,- those seals about which I have always
felt such secret curiosity, but which I have never
had in my hand in my life.
I took him up to our room, and he was de-
lighted. "Is n't this jolly t" he cried, looking
around. I 'm so glad they put us together; I
have always had one of my brothers with me,
and it would have been dreadfully poky alone."
I said nothing. But he did not seem to mind my
silence. He went on about his "people at home,"
splashing his head in a basin of water, and taking
it out in a most reckless way. I think he spoiled
three clean towels drying that one head! When I
spoke of it to Uncle Jacket afterward he thought
it a bad sign, and looked gloomy. Some folks,"
he said, has mighty little respect fer water; dey's
fur too fond er foolin' wid it fer my taste."

At tea that night, Thomas and Francis went on
in a wild way, exchanging remarks -which were,
however, unworthy of a place in a Biography.
Mother said she had n't had so gay a meal since
the last six boys left home.
When we went to our room again, I must say
Francis was very pleasant. He never said any-
thing about, O Liberty! Liberty though

Thomas had acted it for him many times that
evening; but sat down on the floor, and pulled the
things out of his trunk to show me what he had.
All his little brothers and sisters had given him
something when he came away; and he had a
photograph of his mother, in a frame. That he put
on the table; and it made him sad for a little
while. He said she was "such a dear, sweet,
jolly little mother," which I fear was not quite a
respectful way to speak of her. But I was much
astonished to find how young she was; she did
not look any older than our Thomas, and Francis
assures me that she has not a gray hair in her
head !
I was grieved to see how few books he had.
I had hoped so for an Unabridged. There were
some school-books, but none so advanced as mine
were when Robert put an end to my regular studies
last year.
I brought those old things," Francis said, "to
please Papa; and," he added, tossing them into a
corner, "they'll be rather handy for throwing at
each other. I hope that '11 be the only use they 'll
ever be put to."
I smiled faintly, and my heart would have sunk
lower, had it not already descended as far as was
anatomically possible. I began, "I have never
tried the effect of an outward application of knowl-
edge- but he looked so astonished that I
stopped. You may be sure I refrained from all
mention of Mr. Abbott.
I say," he remarked, when we were at last in
our beds and when the candle had been put out in
the most extraordinary way I ever saw. I must
digress here to tell about it: Francis left it on
the table, and when I offered to get up and blow
it out he said, "Pshaw, I '11 show you how to do
it without that trouble," and threw a shoe at it.
The shoe missed the candle and knocked over
the picture of his mother.
Dear little Mammy," he cried, "it's not your
first mishap,- is it? Now, Hugh, it's your turn."
I cast a look of dismay at my :,..- ri .....
clothes and hesitated, but I did not like to acknowl-
edge that I had never thrown a shoe at anything
in my life; so I picked up one, and threw it quickly
and very crookedly, for it hit the wash-stand, and
upset the pitcher, and there was the sound of break-
ing china. I started up, but before I could see
what damage had been done, Francis threw his
other shoe, struck the candle, and we were in total
darkness !
There! he cried triumphantly, "is n't that
a great deal more amusing than blowing it out?"'
But the pitcher? I asked anxiously. Did it
break?" Only the handle," he answered, yawn-
ing, and that 's of very little use, after all."


But I thought the handle was of great use, and
lay listening sadly to the water trickling from the
washstand down upon my pretty blue carpet.
Then it was that Francis began, "I say, you 're
a very queer little chap, are n't you? "
"I don't know," I said. "Why?" "Oh, I
heard Papa telling Mamma about you. He said he
did n't doubt that you were the swan in the duck's
nest, if your people only knew how to manage you.
But from all accounts they did n't, and he was
afraid you would not amount to much, after all,"
I did n't answer this. I lay still, reflecting how
mistaken my brother John was, and how he did n't
know that I was going to be a great man some day,
and how surprised he would be when he read it in
the newspaper. I believe Francis wished me good-

my executioners to change it.) Frank said, as
we went along, Papa told me that Uncle Jacket
was the most conceited old darky that ever lived."
That was not kind in John; but Uncle Jacket al-
ways told me that none of my brothers had a
proper respect for age, and I am afraid it is too
true. I saw at once that Uncle Jacket was in a
distant mood: he looked over Frank's head and
said, "Sarvant, sir," as if he were speaking to an
elderly person and was n't quite sure whether it was
a visitor or a tramp. Frank was pleasant enough-
he always is; but as Uncle Jacket wouldn't open
his lips about anything except the crops, we soon
got tired and came away.
I could see that Frank was not at all impressed
by Uncle Jacket; so I soon led him away to my


night, and made a few commonplace remarks; but
the last thing I remember distinctly was thinking
that I was Robespierre, and was throwing stones
at the King and Queen, while every one was crying,
"Is n't he a great man "

The next day the family seemed much pleased
to hear about our throwing our shoes at the can-
dle, and Mother only regretted a little that she
had n't given us plainer china.
The truth is, Hugh might have had old Dres-
den, without any danger of his spoiling it, and I
forgot that there was a real boy with him. To-
day I will take .out everything too fine for you,
and then you may do what you please."
Now our room looks not unlike a barrack, so that
we may throw shoes for our amusement!
When breakfast was over, the interesting meet-
ing took place between Uncle Jacket and Frank.
(I am sorry to say I find it difficult to remember to
call him Francis. I will leave a private note for

Siege of Troy, in mud. This interested him deeply;
but Iwas aghast to find that he knew nothing about
it, and I don't believe he could have named a
hero on either side to save his life. He was sur-
prised to find I knew so much of it without the
book; and when I found it was unusual, I begged
him not to speak of it; for I greatly feared that the
family would immediately level the walls of this
second Troy.
I was uneasily considering this danger when I
saw Thomas coming, evidently looking for us; but
I was by no means pleased to hear him suggest
our taking a ride.
Frank was delighted, and all my excuses were
pooh-poohed. Before long I found myself upon
the back of a hateful little Creole pony, that always
does with me just whatever it pleases. My brothers
have been trying to induce me to ride ever since I
wore girl's clothes; but the first attempt resulted in
convulsions, and the second in a broken arm, after
which their ardor abated for a few years. Then
Robert resumed, and made many unpleasant ex-



periments, which ended in my being able to keep
on when they let me hold the mane with both
hands; but against this they have a most unac-
countable prejudice.
The ride that day was very pleasant to Frank,
who took to it, Thomas said, "like a duck to
water." I was generally going sideways some-
where in the rear. When they galloped, my horse
galloped; and when they stopped, it stopped too.
Thomas very kindly looked around from time to
time to see if I was still on, and shouted back
instructions about the reins, which I had wrapped
around the pommel and held all together. When
we reached home I had to be lifted down, for I was
quite too stiff to move; and then I was assured it
was good for me, and would toughen me, but I
did n't feel any of that result just then.

Well, Frank has been here for a month now,
and altogether I have enjoyed it very much. His
ideas of amusement are a little strange, but the
family think them all right. He turned up his
nose at Varus and his Legions, and said he liked
live soldiers; so first he drilled me, because he
said I could n't be an officer till I had been a
private; and then he drilled a whole lot of little
darkies. He has also originated an exhausting
sport called Hare-and-Hounds," in which Thomas
sometimes joins, always to my regret, as we get a
much longer run with him than with any one else.
I have had to give up reading in my room at
night, for Frank knocks the candle out as soon as
he sees me open a book. I do not protest as much
as I would if I were not so sleepy after such hard

My heart is broken What do you think Frank
has done? It is perhaps unkind to tell of it, but
how would my Biography be complete without it ?
Perhaps I did mention Mr. Abbott too much, but
only because I wished Frank to appreciate him;
so I was quite unprepared for the dreadful shock
that awaited me on returning yesterday from town,
where I had been undergoing dentistry. Frank
was in high spirits, and as soon as we went to our
room, led the conversation to Mr. Abbott, in whom
he seemed unusually interested. I launched forth
as I never before have done to any one but Uncle
Jacket, and soon seized the "Life of Cortez."
Heavens! it would not open. I grew perfectly
cold, and grasped the Mine. Roland "- that was
likewise a sealed book! I caught them all in my
arms, and sank upon the floor in such an agony
of tears that Frank was frightened, and said a
great deal to which I could not listen. Indeed he
was terribly distressed about it. He said he never

knew people cared so much for books, and that he
only meant it as a joke; and as he had spent his
whole day in carefully pasting them together, page
by page, it did seem unkind in me to take it so
hard; but I loved those books like people, and I
took them up into the garret and laid them in a
corner. I just could not bear the sight of their
red backs.
Frank wrote to his mother to send him his
edition of Marryat to replace them, though I beg-
ged that he would not. This is his letter which
I copy (Biographies are generally full of them):

DARLING MAMMA: Please pack and send me the whole lot of my
Marryats. 1 want to give them to Hugh in place of his old red
Abbotts, which I stuck up with paste, till not a one of them
would open. It was too funny seeing him trying to get into them,
but he grieved himself just almost sick over them, and then I felt
bad enough, I can tell you So please send me the Marryats as quick
as ever you can. Your lovingest son, FRANK.

Uncle Jacket has been speaking very disrespect-
fully of Frank, which made me so angry. He
began by indirect remarks, which were of course
not easy to answer, such as, "I am t'ankful none
of my wives ever had red hyar. It's de wuss kind
of sign."
Now, Frank's hair is not red, but a beautiful
gold color. I 've heard Mother say so, and I told
Uncle Jacket, but he only sniffled scornfully and
made no reply.
After a while he made more remarks, such as
saying that the Rev. Moses Gillial had told him
never to trust "a blue-eyed man, nor a yaller-
haired gal." Not thinking him pleasant, I rose
to go, when he burst out with so many unkind
things that I would not stand it, and told him at
last that if he ever spoke so of Frank again I
would cut him. Then he was unhappy, and apolo-
gized so often that I grew quite tired of for-
giving him; but he would not believe me until
I gave him fifty cents, which I did at last, glad
to purchase peace so cheaply.

I have been thrown more than ever with Frank,
since my affair with Uncle Jacket; and we have
been riding till I am getting along much better as
to stiffness, and am no longer decrepit the next
day. We have also fished, and I have got over a
little of my feeling for the creatures themselves;
but never about the worms, so Frank put them on
till Father heard of it, and forbade him. Now I
fish without any bait at all, which I much prefer,
as it grieves me dreadfully to catch those poor
unsuspecting animals. Sometimes, after we are
in bed, Frank politely asks me what was in
"Abbott," and he is much interested in the




stories of great generals, though he occasionally
shows his interest, as Uncle Jacket did, by going
to sleep. He does not care at all about the women,
and calls Mme. Roland "a regular old school-
marm ; but I think, in his head, he likes the story
of the Rev. Moses Gillial most of all. He chuckles
and chuckles over that just as long as he can keep

The Marryats have arrived, and Father was so
surprised at the size of the package that he asked
what it meant, and we had to tell him. He seemed
rather pleased than otherwise, and said that Frank
should not have pasted the books, yet we had both
behaved so well since, that he would make each
of us a present of a gun.
Frank was wild with delight, but I have a great
dislike to fire-arms, and summoned courage enough
to ask Father which cost more, the gun or a set
of Abbott.
No, no, my son," he said at once, positively,
"there are books enough in the house. I shall
get each of you a gun because it's quite time that
both you boys were learning to shoot. Why, sir,
you had n't a brother who did n't beg me for one
fully two years before I thought he could be trusted
with it!"
Frank was so glad that I tried to be glad too,-
but oh! they are such noisy things and do smell
so of powder!
We took the Marryats up to our room, and
Frank wrote my name in every volume (only he
spelled it wrong three times), and I did my best to
look as if I preferred them to Abbott. Frank
showed me his mother's letter, which was so sweet
that I wished I had a pleasant young parent at a
distance who wrote me such nice letters (besides
my own mother, of course).

The guns have come, and are very pretty to look
at. Thomas took us out and we had a fine day,
though tiresome. I found my gun and the cart-
ridges very heavy to carry, and the old furrows in
the fields made dreadful walking. I fired several
times, butit made me fearfully nervous; and as I
always shut my eyes, I did not hit anything worth
mentioning; though I must state that, to my
great regret, I did, as Thomas angrily expressed it,
"pepper the dog." But fortunately it was from
some distance, and except that he left and went
hurriedly home, there was no harm done.
Frank killed two partridges, each of which was
served on a dish by itself, and they were eaten by
Father and Mother. I humorously offered to bring
the dog to Thomas, on another dish; but he failed
to see the joke, and I was lectured pretty generally

about carelessness with fire-arms. If they would
but let me lay them aside and return to my plow-
shares !
Uncle Jacket considers it a great waste of good
powder and shot, to give us guns, and is always
telling of the 'possums he could shoot with one,
and the owls, and the hawks, till I feel that it is
indeed a mistake to keep such a sportsman in the
garden, and put me into the field.
We have shot now pretty frequently, and I have
only killed one bird; it must have flown across the
muzzle of my gun, for, my eyes being shut, I did not
see it. I could n't eat anything all day. I hope I
may never kill another bird! As Thomas leaves to-
night, our next day's sport will be under the charge
of Uncle Jacket.

Well, we have had our first day with Uncle Jacket,
and if I had not known what a shooter he was, I
should have thought him timid. He made us walk
in Indian-file: Frank first, me next, and himself
last; and told us on no account to turn around
and fire. I did not shoot at all, but Frank killed a
good many poor little birds, and one rabbit, which
I took to be a cat as it ran past.

How can I ever write the dreadful thing that has
happened! Instead of being a great man, I am
nothing but a murderer! I have shot Frank! He
is dead! It was weeks ago; but I have been ill all
the time since,- and I am afraid they would n't like
to have me write now, if they knew it. I will try to
tell how it happened: It was the next time we went
out with Uncle Jacket, and we were walking in In-
dian-file, as before. I did not shoot-I never did
with Frank so near in front of me; but I stumbled
over the rough ground, and my dreadful gun went
off, apparently by itself. I heard Frank scream,
saw him throw out his arms and fall, and as I ran
to him he smiled and said, You 've shot big game
this time, old fellow, and no mistake ; and then
I don't know what happened, as my senses left.
There that was all. It seems so little to tell, and
I go over it and over it, till sometimes I 'm afraid
something has gone wrong with my feelings,
because I can't cry at all, though it used to be so

Well, I will go on with my story. The first thing
I remember is seeing Mother come to the foot
of my bed with a strange man whom I supposed to
be a doctor, till I heard him call her Mother," and
then I knew it was my brother John, and I hoped
he had come to put me to death as Queen Tomyris
did Cyrus after the loss of her son. They did not
know I saw them, and he said in a low voice:


Poor Mother, it will be hard to have your Ben-
jamin taken from you, but I honestly believe that
the only hope for him is my nurseryful of children."
Who was mother's "Benjamin ? None of the
boys are called Benjamin. She answered, Oh,
John do you think Alice would really like it ? "
Why not ?" he said quickly; you can't sup-
pose we have any feeling toward that poor child ? "
"No indeed," Mother said, burying her face in her
hands in the saddest way. "It is we who are to
blame, not poor little Hugh."
I did n't like to see Mother grieve, so I tried
to rouse myself; but they noticed that I was dis-
turbed and hastily went out. Were they talking

'II II:. I
''~ *1 :1

I'. (I
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go down stairs. I had never met John, but I knew
why. I heard the doctor tell Mother in a low tone,
one day, that it would be dangerous to bring him
in; perhaps they thought I would try to murder
him, too. As I went slowly down the stairs for
my legs were so trembly that I could scarcely bal-
ance upon them -I met Thomas coming up, and
expected to hear him revile me bitterly; but to my
surprise he did n't. He only patted me on the head
and called me "poor little chap Perhaps he
feared me as a desperate character.
When I got to the door of the library, I steadied
myself as well as I could, and then crept anxiously
in. I saw Father sitting by the fire, and John on a

low chair by the sofa;
Sand as I drew nearer
I, he saw me and smiled,
pi ,1 but held up his finger
. 'l/ II and said, "Hu-sh! he
is asleep !" I looked
S toward where John
pointed, and there,
lying with his head on
ill, a pillow, very white,
'-'V-- .- but living, breathing,
lay Frank!
I can never tell how
I felt at that moment.
The walls of the room
I. whirled around, and
S I fell-- I fear I would
have made a noise, but
That John caught me.
It was some hours be-
fore I came to. When
I did, I was on my own
bed, and both Mother
and John were there
beside me. I am not
S generally a reproach-
S ful person, but I could
not refrain from ask-
ing bitterly :
"How could you
all let me think I
had killed Frank "
I must say I never

I -


about me? Have they changed my name to Ben-
jamin to conceal my identity? I wondered then
and have often wondered since; but they still call
me Hugh when speaking to me.

Such a strange, wonderful event has happened
since I last wrote, I can hardly hold my pen to put
it down.
At last I was better, and they let me dress and

saw two people look more astonished. They
both assured me that they had no idea I thought
him dead, as when hurt he had never lost
consciousness, and, indeed, though somewhat
seriously wounded, had not at any time been so
ill as I. They had never referred to his accident
because the Doctor had forbidden them, my
ailment having retired to some contingent part-
the brain, I believe.
They left me to be quiet, but I cannot rest till I


write it down as well as the tears will let me, that
Frank is alive! alive alive !

Oh, what it was to wake this morning to the
feeling of not being Frank's murderer At first I
could n't think what made me so happy; and
then it suddenly came over me, and I felt quite
weak and giddy. I am sorry to say I did not act
at all like a great man, for instead of saying any-
thing pretty, like Liberty! Liberty! I was
seized with a wild desire to throw something at the
pitcher, as we had done that first night. I reached
out, and took up a shoe, and gave it a little pitch
into the air, about as far as the foot of my bed.
Just then I heard a laugh, and the voice I never
expected to hear any more said, Are you prac-
ticing to hit me better another time, Hugh?"
And the next moment Frank was at my side.

Since last I wrote I have become a great deal
better; and, except for a little lameness, Frank is as
well as ever. As we both have to keep very quiet,
and I am not allowed to read to myself, Frank is
reading Marryat aloud to me. The family feared
at first that even this would be too much for me;
but as my dear Frank skips all the words he
does n't know, and mispronounces many he thinks
he knows, I have not been over-excited as yet. He
is very kind; he stops at the end of every chapter,
and tells me all I have missed, and'in that way I
manage to follow. It is wonderfully like real history.
As soon as we are both quite well, we are going
home with my brother John; that was what he
and Mother were talking about when I was ill.
I felt unhappy at deserting Father and Mother,
but Thomas at once offered to stay quietly at home
till I came back. Then there are all those awful
little children of John's; but Frank was so hurt
when I seemed to think the number large, that I
have never dared to tell him how I dread them.
My only comfort is that Frank and I are not to be
separated; for I don't think I could stand that,

uttered a reproachful word -indeed, no one has
except Uncle Jacket. I have not seen him, but
the cook's little boy says he blames me most
severely; and says it was all my fault for not mind-
ing him; that he told me as plain as anything not
to shoot at "pussons"; and, most unkind of all,
he adds: It 's sumpin' Mars' Hugh lamed out er
dem horrid, red, murderin' ole history books."
To-night is our last evening at home. Frank
is wild with delight at the thought of seeing his
mother; but he is so sweet and affectionate that all
the family feel dreadful at having him go. Strange
to say, however, they seem to mind most about
me, and are as polite to me as if I were already a
great man. Thomas, indeed, said the house would
be quiet without me; and I think he meant it for
satire, for Father cried "Tom !" quite sharply, and
Mother began to wipe her eyes. She said it was
only smoke from the tea-kettle, and I have no
doubt it would have been, only the spout was
turned the other way. It was more natural for it
to be from smoke than from me.
A number of the boys are at home to see John,
and they talked to me so pleasantly about what I
am reading. Why, at one time, even Mr. Abbott
was discussed with great interest..
After tea I slipped out to say good-bye to Uncle
Jacket. He was very sorry that I was going, and
gave me a little bag on a string to wear for good
luck. I think he said it had a snake's tooth and a
rabbit's foot, and other things of that kind, in it,
and his mother had put it on him fifty years ago
for luck; but it never brought him any, so now
he kindly gave it to me.
I thanked him, and gave him my only gold-
piece, and took no revenge for his unkind remarks
behind my back, except to hope, just as I left him,
that he would n't have to take any boys out to
shoot for a long time to come. I think he felt it.
I must stop now and pack my journal, so this
is all-for the present.
John says there is no reason why I should give
up hoping to be a great man; but that there are
many kinds of greatness, and he will see if he can-
not help me to win the best kind.

John has been so kind to me, and has never Frank is calling me. I must stop.



'3" --,-^ _t'r ;.:- ,- I -
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I, -' .. .. -

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Two little old ladies, one grave, one gay,
In the self-same cottage lived day by day.
One could not be happy, because," she said,
: So many children were hungry for bread ";
And she really had not the heart to smile,
When the world was so wicked all the while.
The other old lady smiled all day long,
As she knitted, or sewed, or crooned a song.
She had not time to be sad, she said,
When hungry children were crying for bread.
So she baked, and knitted, and gave away,
And declared the world grew better each day.
Two little old ladies, one grave, one gay;
Now which do you think chose the wiser way?

WL'V. e:




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AFTER ''' first extended walk that little Ike had
accomplished, with such unexpected success, inter-
est in his career subsided considerably. Frequent
allusions were made to the scene described last
month, but instead of being gratified by rehearsals
of his notable achievement, Little Ike showed that
he would prefer to have it blotted from the memory
of mankind. His appetite for victuals in every
form underwent no apparent diminution.
In the midst of his supper, one day, it occurred
to him to resort to the well for a drink of water.
In time his mammy grew tired of stopping her
work whenever he was thirsty, to hand him down
a gourd from the pail that rested on a shelf beyond
his reach. Finally she said to him:
"Boy, what ail you, anyhow? G' 'long out-
doors an' try to be some use to somebody, 'stid o'
eat'n' up an' drink'n' up ev'ything Mis's got on her
plantash'n "
Judy was a woman who fondled her children
much while they were babies and helpless. After
that, neither her husband, nor always her mistress,
could mitigate her harsh rule; although whenever
any person except the latter even threatened to
touch them angrily at any age, Judy was instantly
fired with resentment. It was charged among the
negroes that Till and Neel sometimes wantonly
provoked grown people for the sole purpose of
enjoying, if only temporarily, returns of maternal
Little Ike, thus driven out, stood for a moment
near the door and looked at the well, which was a
few rods distant, situated diagonally to both kitchen
and "the white house." But he turned his back
upon it instantly, as if it were too painful to be thus
reminded of the source of his most recent disap-
pointment, and began to walking the opposite direc-
tion. When he had reached a spot on a line with
the end of the kitchen, he filed to the left, and again
to the left when he had reached the rear side; and
pursuing this line until he had gone some distance
beyond the well, turned again and came to the
latter. Stepping upon a hewed log that lay there
to enable the younger drawers of water to manage
VOL. XV.-60. 9

the bucket, he was pleased to find this utensil, as
it was resting upon the ledge, half full of water.
Conscious that his time was short, he clambered
up to the ledge, got upon all-fours, grappled with
one hand the rim of the bucket, and with the other
the well-rope, and, first taking an anxious glance
toward the kitchen and a fond one toward the
contents of the bucket, plunged in his head. He
had taken only a few sips, when the call of his
mother at its accustomed pitch sounded from the
door of the kitchen.
And here I find myself under the painful neces-
sity of recording a most terrible scene. I suppose
that it will never be known precisely how it hap-
pened, although no one, as well as I remember,
ever suspected Little Ike of a deliberate intention
to commit the awful crime of suicide. It may have
been that he had not known the use of his legs long
enough for the present extreme need, and that his
knees may have given a tilt to the bucket,- or, in
his haste, he may have pressed too hard upon the
rope, and that the rope yielding, obedient to the
pull, destroyed both his balance and that of the
bucket. At all events, down they went together
to the bottom, a distance of nearly thirty feet.
The mother, who had seen him at the moment
when the descent began, ran shrieking to the well,
where she was joined by Mrs. Templin the moment
"Oh, Mis's, Mis's, Mis's! My po' orpfing chile
have fell in de well, an' broke he naik, an' drowned
hese'f on top o' dat, -an' he my precious baby,-
an' de las' one I got! "
Mrs. Templin, after dispatching Till to the field
for the men, said:
"I 'm sorry in my heart for you, Judy. But
maybe he has been mercifully saved from drown-
ing. Lean over and look down as I turn the wind-
After a few turns, she knew by the feeling that
the bucket had risen to the surface of the water,
which was some four feet deep.
"Now call him," she said.
Li'll' Ik'y Li'll' Ik'y shouted Judy.
Ma-a-a-me!" came up a sharp, plaintive answer
from the great deep.
Is you down dar, precious? "
"Eth, e-eth, 'm."


"Well! Is you killed?"
" No-no-no, 'm."
"Well, well! Is you drownedd"
" No-no-n-n-no, 'm."
" Well, well 1! Is you done gone all ter pieces ?"

-In .k. I^

10 i
,,< f I i


the child to hold fast to the rope, while she herself
would turn the windlass.
Dar now, you hear dat? Missus say she wan'
my nice little darky to ketch tight holt ter de
rope,-tight es a tick; an' she say she gwine


No-n-n-n-no, 'm." draw him up wid her own blessed hands. Missus
"Is anything de marter wid Mammy's precious say she can't 'ford to lose likely little fellow like my
boy-baby ? Little Ike, dat she can't. Yer hear, Mammy's pre-
I-k-k-k-co-o-old cious sugar-lump ? "
Well, well! Whar is yer now? E-e-e-eth, 'm."
"In -in de b-b-bucket! The winding began, and the mother being urged
Mrs. Templin then directed the mother to urge to encourage Ike as much as possible during the




ascent, she did as well as she could by such cheer-
ing remarks as these:
Jes' look at dat! Missus givin' her little nigger
sech a nice ride En Mis's done tole Mammy ter
kill six chick'ns, an' fry one o' 'em, an' brile one, an'
make pie out de res', an' all fer Li'll' Ik'y's dinner.
An' she say she gwine make Daddy barb'cue two
pigs dis very evening an' nobody ain' to tech a
moufle on 'em 'cep'n' Li'll' Ik'y, ef he '11 holt on ter
de well-rope. An' she say, Mis's do, she jes' know
her gweat big Little Ike ain' gwine let dat rope
loose an' not git all dem
goodies "
It is probable that in so brief
a while never was promised a
greater number of luxuries to
a child, even one born to lofti-
est estate. Chickens, ducks,-
indeed, the whole poultry-yard
was more than exhausted; every
pig on the plantation was bar-
becued to a turn. During the
ascent Little Ike was informed,
with solemnest assurance, that '
eatables of every description
would be at his disposal forever.
The time does not suffice to
tell of other rewards, promised i
in the name of the munificent
mistress, in the way of cakes, I I
pies, tarts, syllabubs, gold and i
silver, and costly apparel. All I-
this while Mrs. Templin, with-
out uttering a word, turned the L
windlass slowly, steadily. \I I
When the bucket with its
contents reached the top, and
was safely lodged upon the
ledge, the mother seized her pre-
cious darling, his teeth chatter-
ing the while with the chill, and
dragging him fiercely forth, '
said in wrathful tones:
"A-cold, is yer? Well, ef
I be bressed wid strength, an' ef dey is peachy-
trees enoughh in de orchid, an' in de fence-corners,
I'll warm yer. You, dat has skeert me inter fits,
an' made me tell all dem big stories,- an' dem on
mist'ess,- dat I jes' knows I never ken git fergive
fer 'em." And still holding him, she began strid-
ing toward the kitchen.
Judy !" called her mistress sternly, Judy, put
that child down this minute! Are n't you ashamed
of yourself? Instead of being thankful that he
was n't killed, there you stand and are so angry
with him you look as if you wished to kill him,
yourself. Now take him to your house and put

some dry clothes on him. Then send him to me in
the house where I'll have Till make some coffee
ready for him. And mind you now, Judy, if you
lay your hands on that child in anger, that won't be
the last of it.- Do, for goodness' sake, try to learn
some reason about your children "
Judy led him off sullenly, and, in spite of her
mistress's injunctions, muttered direful threaten-
ings, louder and louder as she proceeded, ending
thus, as, having clothed him, she dispatched him
to the white house:

"Never you min', sir; wait till Sunday, when
mist'ess go ter meeting an' you 'll see. An', boy,
ef you ever skeers me dat way ag'in, I'll put you
whar yer won' wan' no mo' water an' no mo' meat,
an' no mo' noth'n'. Idee / People all talk'n' 'bout
my chile git'n' drowned same as puppies an' kitt'ns!
Ought ter be 'shamed o' yourself. I is. I jes' 'spises
ter took at yer G' 'long out my sight! "

Ten minutes afterward, while Little Ike was in
the kitchen luxuriating in coffee, biscuit, and fried
chickens, she was singing in cheerful voice one of
her favorite hymns.


F __________



I. With a skip and a hop And a jol ly dish mop And a
2. She has marshaled each ware With an or der ly care, And she

- -zr z

pan of bub bling wa ter, With the
dain tily dips it un der; Not a

lin- en so
drop, not a

dry And her
dint, Not a






------------ 0 -

=0 =F.-
k9 P-


fin gers so spry,
spec kle of lint,

~i^-=~. =^= _==-

On ly look at lit tie daugh ter !
For her cleans ing is a won der!

_~ _~l~__ _~=^g==^"==^.J:^^^= ^=-=

A4 Z ZZ~ -_

See the tinkling glass,
In a sparkling mass,
And the shining silver round it;
For, you know, there's a way,
To turn work into play,
And the thrifty lass has found it.

So the plates and the knives,
Lead hilarious lives,
And the cups and saucers rollic;
Even kettles and pans,
In her generous plans,
Take the scraping for a frolic.



OH, I '11 tell you a story that nobody knows,
Of ten little fingers and ten little toes,
Of two pretty eyes and one little nose,
And where they all went one day.

Oh, the little round nose smelled something sweet,
So sweet it must surely be nice to eat,
And patter away went two little feet
Out of the room one day.

Ten little toes climbed up on a chair,
Two eyes peeped over a big shelf where
Lay a lovely cake, all frosted and fair,
Made by Mamma that day.

The mouth grew round and the eyes grew big
At taste of the sugar, the spice, the fig;
And ten little fingers went dig, dig, dig,
Into the cake that day.

And when Mamma kissed a curly head,
Cuddling it cosily up in bed;
" I wonder, was there a mouse," she said,
Out on the shelf to-day ?"

" Oh, Mamma, yes," and a laugh of glee
Like fairy bells rang merrily-
" But the little bit of a mouse was me,
Out on the shelf to-day "




ONCE there was a little boy who all summer
long had been very anxious to camp out over
night. Behind his mother's house was a large
garden as large as a whole city block and at
the far end of it was a little knoll, or hill, with
rocks cropping out. It was behind this hill that lit-
tle Paul wished to camp, for from there the house
would be out of sight, and it would be "just like
truly camping." So his mother gave him a large
old crumb-cloth for a tent; a pair of blankets and
a sofa-cushion for a bed; a tin pail full of bread,
cold meat, and hard-boiled eggs, and some ginger-
bread and apples for his breakfast; also a bottle
of milk, a tin cup, a wooden plate, and a small
package of pepper and salt. She then gave him
some cotton to put in his ears -to keep out little

brought from the barn a large bundle of hay to
spread under the blankets, so as to make a com-
fortable bed. By twilight everything was ready,
and Paul kissed his mother, his aunt, and his big
sister good-bye, and, shouldering his cross-bow,
marched away to the Rocky Mountains "- as he
called the little knoll.
He pinned back the doors of his tent with big
catch-pins, and then sat down on the ground. Every-
thing was dreadfully still; but the bright tin pail
and the bottle of milk looked very comfortable in
the soap-box cupboard; the brave cross-bow, with
its pin-pointed arrows, promised safety; while the
blankets, sofa-cushion, and the soft hay were all
that any reasonable camper could ask for.
But it was so dreadfully still! Not even the
smallest baby-breeze
was stirring; through
a hole in the crumb-
cloth shone a star, and
the star made outdoors
seem stiller yet. Paul
unbuttoned one shoe
S_ and then the other,
and sat for a while
I listening. Then, sud-
sit\~ .denly kicking off his
. shoes, he scrambled
Sunder the blankets and
: t lay quite still. He
was a very small boy,
and somehow camping
'i out was n't delightful
,^ in every way.

S It was nearly half-
Spast eight. Mamma
g was knitting, the aunt
was sewing, and the
r : big sister was standing
C on the dictionary, re-
hearsing her elocution
1_._- "- 4. exercise. Nobody but
hall-door softly open,
bugs and things. She had the hired man help and the tiny feet gostealingupstairs. Whentheelo-
him drive the stakes and fasten the crumb-cloth cution exercise was over, Mamma said she must go
over them. The hired man, of his own accord, and find the mate to the stocking she was knitting.


So she went upstairs;
but, before looking for
the stocking, she went in-
to Paul's room. There,
in the starlight, she saw .
the brown curly head
cuddled into its custom-
ary pillows. She was a
good and faithful mam-
ma, and so she did not
laugh- out loud. She
stooped over the half-hid-
den head and whispered, ',
"Were you lonesome,
dear?" and Paul whisper-
ed back, "' Kind of lone-
some,-and I heard some- i'"i l" i
thing swallowing, very
close to my head. And I
so I came in. And- '
you won't tell, will you,
Mamma ?"
Faithful Mamma did n't
"tell,"-not until long afterward when Paul had
grown to be so old and so big that he went truly
camping far away to the Rocky Mountains.

And what was the "swallowing" that Paul heard
so close to his head ? I think it must have been
an imagined noise. Don't you?




-' -/ little girl
Who had a curious
i. ,, way
S 'Of ordering all her
S.. \-- friends about,.
S -- Ten-twenty times
a day.
" Oh, Mary," she would say, "come here,
And brush my hair for me "
And Jennie, please hang up my dress -
See, here 's the wardrobe key "
And, Oh, I 've left my fan downstairs;
Jo, fetch it,- that 's a duck "

And, : Where 's my glove ? Do find it, dear.
Oh, mercy -just my luck "
Or, Horrors there 's no water here.
Oh, won't you fetch some, Kate? "
Or, Here 's a pin; just catch my dress.
Please hurry, I am late! "
Or, Lend me, quick, a pen, a stamp;
I 've got this note to write "
Or, Whisk my dress off, will you, Bet?
This shoulder 's almost white."
" Come here go there do this, or that! "
To every one she 'd say;
And yet she was a charming girl
But for this curious way !



~ , IN -TEi iPULIT


Now for a good long talk. October is at hand,
rustling her bright leaves softly, as is her wont.
Some of you young folk are in the cities, more are
in the mountains, a few linger by the sea, and the
rest are a-meadowing somewhere, watched by the
stars and the daisies, and wading barefoot in mur-
muring brooks and streams. But what of that?
All who hear me are near me, and we shall speak
of many things to-day in the warm light of changing
oaks and maples.
First, you shall hear this pretty verse story, writ-
ten on purpose for you by your friend, Mattie B.
Banks. She very properly calls it


" I went out to Dreamland last evening," said Sue.
" I looked all about me, and there I saw you;
We gathered sweet flowers, and built pretty
We laughed with the brooklets and cried with
the showers;
The air was so fresh and the sky was so blue,
We'll go there, most surely, this evening," said

" Oh, no answered Lulu. "Why, I went there,
I looked all about me, and there I saw you.
We slid down the hillside, and rode by the rill-
And skated and slipped on the pond by the mill-
'T was frosty, and chilly, and white, it is true,
But still we will haste back this evening," said Lu.

" I really can't see through this puzzle," said Sue.
" You know you saw me, and I know I saw you;

We both went to dreamland, but mine was a
And yours, I should say, was a freezing, ice-
I don't understand it;-do you ? said Sue.
" I don't understand it at all," said Lu.

HERE is a letter which will at least startle the'
sea-gulls, if it does not succeed in scaring my dear
nineteenth-century boys and girls.
DEAR JACK: Some of your "chicks" who are specially interested'
in the sea-serpent, about which ST. NICHOLA has just printed a most
interesting article, may not be aware that the monster has lately
shown himself again. The New Yorke Times and the New York-
Herald of July 2ist gave us telegraphed accounts from Boston of
how Captain Trant and his First-Officer of the steamer "Venetian "
saw, or felt sure that on the morning of June 2ist they saw, the mon-
ster disporting in the waves off George's Shoals, not very far from.
Captain Trant, after landing, said that what appeared to be about
thirty feet of the serpent's back was out of the water. First-Officer
Muir. in speaking of the incident, said:
"We were heading to the westward. There was a mirage that-
day. There were a number of whales about, and just ahead a large-
shark had been showing himself for some time.
Suddenly I saw, about five hundred or six hundred feet away, a
large round body that showed just above the surface. I brought the
long-glass to bear, and distinctly saw a rough, scaly skin that could
have belonged to nothing else than a sea-serpent. I called the cap-
tain's attention, and he saw it also; but while he was reaching for
the double-glass to see it better, the serpent sank out of sight. The
captain and I both saw about thirty or forty feet of the creature's.
body. It seemed to be about one foot thick across the back. The
head and tail were both under water, so I can't tell how long the:
whole thing was; but I am sure it was a serpent, and a big one."
So, dear Jack, you see the story is vouched for, at least.
Yours truly, ROBERT G. B.
YOUR Jack has received many answers to the
question asked by Fanny, Marian, Diana, and
Eleanor," in the May number: "Are there blue
anemones?" The answers all say, Yes," and
they come from the four points of the compass,.
north, south, east, and west.
From Canada, Gertrude Bartlett, of Toronto,,
says: "Often have I found blue anemones in the
woods near Oswego, by old Ontario; also, in the
groves near Toronto; and in both localities they
are quite as common as their pink and white sis-
ters." And Cora Rose says: "I have gathered
beautiful bunches of the blue variety from 'The
King's Garden,' in Palermo, Sicily."
C.. D. M. Houghton, of Faribault, Minnesota,
declares that the anemones analyzed by the botany
class there "were of all shades from blue to light
Edna Hardeman, of Aspen, Colorado, writes:
" Here in the mountains, where I live, there are
many blue anemones. I gather them everyday, and
they bloom very early in the Spring, and are often
seen coming through the snow." Sarah G. Spald-
ing, also of Colorado, confirms Edna's testimony,
while Charles B. Wooster, of Eureka, Kansas, says:
" There are a great many blue anemones in Kansas.
We children call them 'Daisy Wind-flowers.'"
A. Scott Ormsby, of Summit, N. J.; Mabel
Brunz, of Mount Vernon, New York; H. S.
A." of New York City, all write me that there are
blue anemones. Green Cricket," of Monroe,
N. Y., says: "They are quite common where



I live, in Orange County, about fifty miles from
New York City." Alice B. writes: "They grow
wild in the South of France"; Lillie A. Cutter
sends word from Paris that she has picked many
pale blue anemones in the woods of Bavaria; and
Jessie Robb learned, "by looking in the cyclope-
dias, that there are, besides pink and white ones,
blue, yellow, purple, red, striped, and creamy
violet anemones. Their native regions are, in
order of prevalence, Southern Europe, North
America, Siberia, the rest of Asia, South America,
and South Africa."
Letters have come, also, from Grace G., Cornelia
Tremaine, Grace S. of Tremont, N. Y., Annie
Babcock, and LillieWatkins, about blue anemones.
Nearly all say that the shade of blue is dark,
often purplish, and many contain nicely pressed
specimens of this lovely wild flower-differing in
shade and ranging from the size of a large crocus
to that of the smallest violet-for all of which
your Jack tenders his hearty thanks.


DEAR JACK: In the June number of ST. NICHO-
LAS, a question is asked as to the watch-dog bat-
talion of the Prussian army.
It is now about three years since the Germans
began to train dogs for outpost service in time of

war; the first experiments were so successful that
a regular dog-corps is now in existence.
The dogs all are Pomeranians. Each dog wears
a light iron collar and a pouch for letters. He is
taught to detect a foreign soldier and to know the
difference between a foreign uniform and that of
his own land.
By certain sounds and gestures he is taught to
give his master notice of his discoveries, and he
has to run from post to post with letters in his
pouch, besides looking up the wounded and strag-
glers of the regiment to which he belongs. Every
company has two or three dogs, so that the corps
numbers two score at least.
France and Russia have followed the example
of the Germans, and are training dogs in the same
manner. I am indebted for this information to an
English periodical.

DEAR JACK: I think that the Little School-mistress's strange
word with its contradictory meanings is "bound." The boy was
"bound" to go swimming, but had he been "bound" he could not
have gone. She held a book which was handsomely "bound." The
school-girl could bound" every State in the Union.

[CORRECT answers have been received also from Mugwump "-
Bessie Scott and her friends Lila F. Heath--Etta R.- Gwen-
dolen Reid F. W. D.- Alice W., and a young girl of Ludlow, Vt.
who does not give her name.]


tr. -~

AW 'Y*

1'] --- 'r~:~
i;- ~;:r--
~-';-I ~_.~z~




- .. ---" .






HE autumn nights began to fill
The mind with thoughts of winter
When Brownies in an orchard
Where ripened fruit was hanging
Said one, "The apples here,
S indeed,
Must now be mellow to the seed;
And, ere another night, should be
Removed at once from every tree.
For any evening now may call
The frost to nip and ruin all."
Another quickly answer made:
This man is scarcely worthy aid;
'T is said his harsh and cruel sway
Has turned his children's love away.
If this be true, 't would serve him right
If frost should paint his orchard white."
"It matters not who owns the place,
Or why neglect
thus shows its
A third replied.
"The fact is
That fruit should
hang no longer -
If worthy people -
here reside
Then will our
hands be well
applied ;
And if unworthy
folks we serve,
Still better notice
we '11 deserve."
"You speak our ,
minds so full .,/
and fair,"
One loudly cried, "that speech we 'll
But like the buttons on your back,
We '11 follow closely in your track,
And do our part with willing hand,
Without one doubting if or and."

/ ./

Then bags and baskets were brought
From barns and buildings round
With kettles, pans and wooden-ware,
That prying eyes discovered there;
Nay, even blankets from the beds,
The pillow-slips, and table-spreads
Were in some manner brought to light

To render service through the night.

If there 's a place where Brownies feel
At home with either hand or heel,
And seem from all restrictions free,
That place is in a branching tree.
At times, with balance
fair and fine
They held their stations
in a line;
At times, in rivalry and
To outer twigs they scat-..
tered wide;
And oft with one united
They shook the tree with
might and main,
Till, swaying wildly to ,
and fro,
It rocked upon the roots
And apples that were forced to bide
A shock like this, from every side,
And through the trial held their own,
Were green enough to let alone.
So skilled at climbing were they
The sum of accidents was small:
Some hats were crushed, some
heads were sore,
Some backs were blue, ere work
was o'er;
For hands will slip and feet will
And boughs will break, and forks
And hours that promise sport sublime
May introduce a limping time.

So some who clambered up the tree For neither tramps nor thieves were here,
With ready use of hand and knee, But Brownies, honest and sincere,

- ..- ..-I. .. ..
-. .. .'... .. .'- '-" '. .
.-_- ". 4 v.: ^t; 1-." : ;- -- "
-',- i i," : '

-" .. -" \ -- .- '
Y "---- '/"' : "
..--- .. .---7 : ,. -. ...

i;.. \ .
"- '.- 1 -..' .-

... i. 1 -i ,-

'*r-- -',. \ - '" "- --

ir -. 0
._, --.

-, --- -- -..

Than by the trunk, you may depend. Before they felt the morning breeze.
The startled birds of night came out And well they gauged their task and time,
And watched them as they moved about, For ere the sun commenced tq prime
Concluding thieves were out in force The sky with faintest tinge of red
They cawed around the place till hoarse. The Brownies from the orchard fled,
But birds, like people, should be slow, While all the fruit was laid with care
To judge before the facts they know; Beyond the reach of nipping air.
_--_ : .u ; L' r : T

.. ,.-,, ," ... : .-.. L'. ..
.."-.-- ot e :,-"".. ' '.. ,o l 2e c n ... -.---d -k m a. _o -.= ,,:- t_ -i ) O .-L,-.
-..':=_-- ){:- ,),k,- ,,u ,:y .. ... ---, _..or ,he _,t .h m o n b z...,,, _,.
-- I" . -- strte --rd of ,ih ca" out "n -el "'- ga ge th i ,tak a'-' -

l'"'''U'. jug -..';-, the- -at thyko;Beodterec fnp i'-.,-;


ST. LouIS, Mo.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My brother and I wrote to you once before,
and were delighted to see our letter in print.
We still take you, and think there is no nicer magazine or paper
in the United States. I enjoyed Sara Crewe; or, What Happened
at Miss Minchin's," "Little Rosalie," and "Trudel's Siege" very
much, and the other stories are interesting too.
Papa gave my brother Clifford and me a pony on our birthday (for
it comes the same day, as we are twins) and we have lots of fun riding
out on the boulevard to Forest Park with Papa every pleasant even-
ing. I go riding one evening, and Clifford goes the next; but we
can't do that now, for Papa sent the pony to pasture last week,
because we are going to New York soon, and then sail for Europe.
I don't want to go and leave my pony and all my dogs, a bit, and
begged Mamma to leave me at home with my aunt; but she said
she could not do withoutmea whole year, and I don't believe I could
do without her either.
Good-bye, dear ST. NICHOLAS.
Your true friend, CLARENCE S--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would write and tell you about
our "Young Ladies' Military Company" at the State University of
Nebraska. There were already three companies, A, B, and C, of
boys, and the band, which we think is the best part.
We organized our company of girls about the first part of April.
Our uniforms are much the same as those of the Girls' Military
Company" which you told about in your January number.
The boys were very incredulous when we told them we were going
to drill with their guns, and declared we could n't do it. The guns
were very heavy at first, but we persevered until we could drill the
whole hour without any inconvenience. The first time we drilled in
public we only had about half-an-hour's notice, and were, conse-
quently, very nervous. But we got along splendidly, and everybody
was astonished to see us do so well. After that we, with the rest of
the battalion, were reviewed by the governor, and he paid us some
very pretty compliments.
We had a great deal of honor given to us, as Company D, and sev-
eral invitations, one especially of which we felt quite proud, from the
xst Regiment, to visit them in camp and join them on dress-parade,
assuring us that we should have every attention shown us and be well
cared for by the wives of the officers, etc.
We have a splendid captain, and we are all very proud of her. We
have had our photograph taken as a company, and they are going
to have one framed and hung in the new Armory, or Grand Memo-
rial Hall," as it is called.
Next year we expect to have a much larger company, for every
one is anxious to join, now that it has been proved a success.
I remain, yours truly, A "CADETESS."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have seen no letters from here. Morris-
town isa very pretty and healthful place. I have five hundred paper
dolls, and I make them grow; that is, I cut off the heads and put them
on older bodies. Some of them look very funny, but others look
better than they ever looked before. I know most of their names, and
I do not know what I would do without paper dolls. I like the
story Aimee the best, in the July number; but think Juan and
Juanita" about the best story I have ever read. I go to Sunday-
school here, and like it very much. I am a little girl only eleven
years old. I hope you will print this letter, as I want very much to
see it in the "Letter-box."
Your very interested little reader, MOLLIE K.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I saw in a recent ST. NICHOLAS an
account of a boy going to the top of the Capitol, I thought I would
tell you about my going up to the top of the Washington Monument.
It was a hot day, but it was very cool inside the walls. It was so
dark that we had to take a candle to see. There were over nine
hundred and thirty steps, and we were very tired when we got to the
top; but we were well repaid for our walk, because the view was so
beautiful. We could see almost fifty miles in all directions.

We have bought the ST. NICHOLAS ever since you began. The
stories I like best are The Tinkham Brothers' Tide-Mill," Little
Lord Fauntleroy," and "Sara Crewe."
I remain your constant reader, W. T. T-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My Uncle Will has sent you to me for
about two years, and I could not do without you. My favorite
stories are "Juan and Juanita," "Drill," and "The Two Little
This place used to be the Indian Reservation. The Indians moved
away from here seven or eight years ago. Barneston is built right
on the Indian grave-yard. In digging cellars many queer things,
such as knives, revolvers,bracelets, beads, thimbles, and other articles
are found. They were buried with the Indians.
I have not got any pets but a little two-year-old sister, and she is
the best pet I ever had.
From your loving reader, WILLIE T.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy five years old, and I can't
write yet, but my sister is writing this letter for me. I enjoy hearing
all your stories, but my favorites are "Little Lord Fauntleroy,"
"Driven Back to Eden," and His One Fault"; and I think "Davy
and the Goblin is the best of all. Yesterday was the Fourth of July,
and we had a splendid time. We shot off a great many fire-crackers,
and I never had so much fun in my life. I will say good-bye, and
perhaps I will write again. Your friend, THOMAS W.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I do not suppose you have ever before
had a letter from here, as there have not been many children here
since the days of the Washington family. We are spending a few
weeks with our father, who is the superintendent. Last fall, the old
deer-park was restored. There are nine old deer and seven fawns.
The fawns have a reddish-brown coat, with white spots and stripes
down the back. Two of the deer have twins; and they look so
beautiful, frolicking and jumping through the green grass and honey-
This year the buildings of the old slave-quarters are to be restored.
.I was 'delighted with Little Lord Fauntleroy," and I have read
it over again and again. Sara Crewe; or, What Happened at
Miss Minchin's," was a lovely story, and so was Prince Fairy-
I think that you are the nicest magazine there is, and I thank
you ever and ever so much for sending it to us.
I am your faithful twelve-year-old reader,

DEAR OLD ST. NICHOLAS: Your pageshave gladdened our house-
hold for several years, but I could not express to you how much you
have been enjoyed. I stopped taking you for a few months, three
years ago, but soon discovered what a necessary factor to my hap-
piness you were, for I really felt lost without OLD ST. NICK."
One ofyour chief attractions, to me, is your Letter-box "; for there
I receive information from ST. NICHOLAS readers, all over this great
wide world, and become almost acquainted with them. I have never
seen a letter from our city, so I propose to send my mite in its
Indianapolis is the greatest railroad center in the world, and has
the largest number of side-tracks. Our Belt Road, by means of
which transportation is carried on without going through the city,
completely incloses the place. Though a girl, I am interested in
such things, partly because three of my brothers are railroad men.
We are proud of our grand new State-house, our Court-house, our
new Union Depot, and have reason to boast also of our public
institutions, our 'machine-works, our fine residence and business
houses, and, last but not least, our newly-acquired natural gas. Our
city's most recent elation is, however, in view of the fact that the
Republican candidate for President, General Harrison, lives at


I was deeply interested in your article concerning Miss Alcott.
Her death was truly a great loss to all. I have read all her books,
many of them several times, and consider them the best of any
I have read.
Your devoted admirer, ROSE.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you since "Juan and
Juanita" began; that was December, 1886. I like that story very
much; before it finished, another one began ("Jenny's Boarding-
house"). So I have kept on till now. The "Two Little Confed-
erates" and the Brownies are very nice.
I have neither brother, sister, nor father. Only Mamma and I.
I will be twelve years old next September.
I remain, your loving reader, A. J. D- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken you for over three years,
and like you very much. We liked "Juan and Juanita," "The
Kelp-Gatherers," and "Drill," the best. We also i-. ..1.1 Jen-
ny's Boarding-house" was nice. We hope J. T. I I ? will
write another story soon.
We have two large volumes of you bound. We are studying teleg-
raphy and are getting along very well.
Your constant readers, IRENE AND JIM.

My DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl, nine years old. I
write from Halifax, down by the water. We used to live in the coun-
try; we had six cows, two calves, and two horses named Frank and
Harry. I liked Harry best because I could drive him; they were
both white. We used to have a brown horse called Dick, but Papa
sold him because he bit my brother. We had lots of hens and
chickens, and one beautiful dog called Fido; he was a beauty, and
would follow us every place we went. We live in Montreal, which
is a beautiful city; and we are down here only on a visit.
I got you in September. My papa gave you to me for a birthday
present. I like "Sara Crewe," but I like the "Brownies" best
of all. Your loving reader, MARY G. K-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two little-American girls. Our
father is Greek, our mother is American. We have a beautiful fawn
which our big sister named Donatello, after Hawthorne's Faun. We
have a donkey with seventeen names, but we call him Tanto.
We expect to go back to Greece this summer. Donatello is crying
for us, so we must stop. ZANTZA AND HELLE V--.

Mv DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a boy of eleven years. I have
four sisters, one older, and the other three younger than I. We
are spending the summer at Squirrel Island, in Maine. This island
has the ocean on one side and Booth Bay on the other. We can go
in bathing later in the summer; the water is now too cold. The
wind blows very hard here sometimes.
Your magazine is the very best out. I must stop now for fear of
taking up too much room.
Wishing you very long life, I remain your constant reader,
J. S. D-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are living on a ranch, and we thought
we would write and tell you about some of the good times we are
having. We go riding horseback, and enjoy it ever so much, espe-
ciallywhen \e go on the mountains. Sometimes when a large party
go out riding we have cavalry lessons from a man who used to be in
the army. We have very fine horses on the ranch; some of them
are very spirited. We like to ride them and go teanng along.
One day we took a long walk up the mountains. Coming home
we came upon a colony of tarantulas. Some of them were large,
and we did not stop to play with them.
There is a beautiful creek in front of our house, and we have a
boat there. We like rowing very much. We have to work some,
too, for we have to keep the weeds out of the garden.
The story we like best is Drill." We are very sorry it has ended.
The boys were real nice boys, we think. We like the Two Little
Confederates" and "Tom and Maggie Tulliver" very much also.
We have Shetland ponies to ride and to drive; so, of course, we
enjoyed the story of Jumbo very much. We have a very, very
small one that we think must look like Jumbo.
Your three friends, LISA, FLOSS, AND ROYAL.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never seen a letter from this place,
and as I have just seen something very interesting I thought you
would like to hear from me.

From this place we have a fine view of the beautiful snow-clad Mt.
Hood which is over 14,000 feet high.
At ri o'clock on the night of the 4th of July it was illuminated
with 2oo pounds of red powder; it could be seen quite plainly from
here, although it is 70 miles away. After the red-fire had burned
out, a salute of 13 bursting-bombs were fired from this place.
The afternoon of the 4th was devoted to the amusement of the en-
listed men of the command. They had all kinds of athletic sports
and games, consisting of foot-races, sack-races, wheelbarrow-races,
jumping, etc., concluding with a very exciting game of base-ball.
Prizes were awarded for all these things.
The evening was devoted to fireworks, and altogether it was a
very pleasant day.
At half-past 4 in the morning, a salute was fired of 13 guns and at
noon 38 guns were fired. 1 hope this will be of some interest to
you as you give me so much pleasure every month.
Most sincerely, H.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I buy you at the book store every month
and I think your stories are the best I ever read. I liked Little
Lord Fauntleroy very much, and my sister Marian had a good cry
when we heard that Miss Alcott was dead. I was awful sorry, be-
cause I think her books are just splendid; but I did n't cry.
I was born in Scotland, but I have lived in America ever since I
was three years old, so my education has been purely American.
We went to Scotland and England last year, and I enjoyed visit-
ing the ruins of castles and the places Sir Walter Scott tells about.
I have read all his books, but I liked Ivanhoe and Rob Roy best. I
have a little Scotch collie that I brought home with me, and his name
is"Ivanhoe." I -,i .1, i,. 7. .... i ... i i .. med Rob
Roy," and he is I ...t .- I ... .r... I I- ... .....: ,r home, and
he prefers to get his dinner at some neighbor's rather than at home.
We live in the suburbs of Memphis and we each have a pony.
Mine is named Hero, Marian's is Vivian, and Ellen's (she is my little
sister only three years old, but she can ride) is named "Brownie."
She thinks the Brownies in ST. NICHOLAS are the "nicest'ittle boys."
Marian and I call her pony Ellen's Tree," the name Jo" gave to
the tree-limb, in Little Women."
I am your admiring reader, ALAN A.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have come out to the Azores to spend
the summer. One of my uncles sends you to me. Iam always very
glad to get you. I enjoy best the stories called Two Little Confed-
erates." and "Drill." The others I like too. I am always very
much interested in the Letter Box. We see very funny things
here. The women wear very large hoods called capotes, and the
men, a hat with a large cape to it, called a ca-rafuca. For a pet I have
a little white dog. He came from Demerara in the West Indies. He
is full of fun but will be quiet when told to. I call him Scamper. I
have a brother and sister. They are both older than I. Mybrother
likes very much to tease me, but I love him for all that. He has a
Newfoundland puppy named Baron. A friend on the island gave it
to him. We go often on donkey-excursions and have plenty of fun.
Good-bye, from
MARIAN N. (1o years old).

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in China. Although so far away the
ST. NICHOLAs comes to my sister and me, and we enjoy it very much.
As I looked at the beautiful moon to-night, I wondered if you would
not like to hear the Chinese story about the sun and the moon. They
say they are brother and sister. The moon is the elder brother, who
thinks it is his duty to look after the sun, his younger sister. One
day the sun asked the moon if she could go out at night. The moon
answered, You are a young lady; it would 1-.: -in.r-unt f- ---. to
go out at night." Then the sun said, "But -. I -. I I ... at
me when I go out in the day-time." So the moon told her to take
the golden needles she wore in her hair, and stick them into the peo-
ple's eyes when they looked at her. This, the Chinese say, is the
reason why you can not look at the sun without hurting your eyes. I
am twelve years old, my sister is eleven, and we have always li ed in
Pekin. Your admiring friend,
HELEN i1. W.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have read your letters with a great deal
of interest, and have often wondered whether you would find one
of my letters worth publishing. I am fortunate enough to have a
good uncle, who makes life delightful to me. One of the good
things that he has done was to take me to Europe last summer, and
as I look back over the three months that I spent in traveling there I
hardly know which day of pleasure to select for you. I have decided,
however, to tell you about my visit to Windsor Castle, and as you
prefer our letters should be brief, I must omit many little incidents.
Through the influence of a lady, whose daughter had formerly
been maid-of-honor to the Queen, and who knew one of the present
maids-of-honor, we were admitted to the Castle while the Queen was



there. An attendant escorted us at once to the apartment of one of
the maids-of-honor, which we reached after mounting several flights
of stairs. I was really disappointed to find a room which was only
large enough to hold our party of three, and the three ladies-in-wait-
ing. It was very simply furnished, which was rather surprising, as
one expected to find everything very splendid in Windsor Castle.
Lady Evelyn M., to whom we were presented, was graceful,
pretty, and attractive, in a simple white dress with white ribbons; her
only ornament being a pin representing a trumpet of gold with a
crown of diamonds and pearls above it. The pin, which was in
memory of the Jubilee, was given to her by the Queen, who had
also given others similar to it to all her maids-of-honor with a request
that they would always wear them in her presence. They told us a
little about their life, and that it was always a great pleasure to do
anything for the Queen, as she expressed so much gratitude for their
slight services. The King of the Belgians, and other royal visitors,
were in the Castle, and the maids-of-honor would look about anxiously
at times, fearing to cross their pathways. They then led us through
the state apartments of the Castle, which were very gorgeous.
From a corridor we entered some magnificent rooms. In the
Green Drawing-room, with green-silk hangings, we saw the rare
Sevres china arranged in glass cupboards around the walls, some
beautiful bronzes, &c. In the Red Drawing-room were the portraits
of the Queen's parents, the Duke and Duchess of Kent; the Prince
and Princess of Wales, and others. This was a very brilliant room,
with its red hangings and crystal chandeliers. We saw a most inter-
esting room, containing a fne collection of portraits by Van Dyck,
the celebrated painter, who was born at Antwerp in 1599, and who
was much encouraged by Charles I., and painted many portraits of
him, his children, and his wife Henrietta Maria. Man hi wif y of these por-
traits are in this room, and were painted between 632 and 1641. One
picture contains portraits of his eldest son, Charles II., his eldest
daughter Mary, and his daughter Elizabeth. This is the picture
which all the children who have studied Miss Yonge's little history
know so well. Another group contains Anne (who died young)
holding the baby James II., Charles II. who is in the middle, and at
his left are Elizabeth and Mary.
In the Throne-room there are pictures by Benjamin West, an
American artist, who showed talent in drawing at the age of seven,
and, self-taught, began portrait-painting at sixteen, making his brushes
from hairs stolen out of a cat's tail. The throne is of carved ivory,
and stands under a candy ndsdeopy of blue velvet, with the rose (England),
the shamrock (Ireland), and the thistle (Scotland) embroidered upon
it. The Waterloo Chamber contains many portraits of the hero of
the Battle of Waterloo. A portrait of the Duke of Wellington was
especially fine. I wish that I could tell you of all the things that I
saw in a great hall containing many presents which had been given to
the Queen. Among them were the bullet that had killed Lord Nelson,
beautiful swords, shields, and rare guns. I was greatly interested
in the Queen's private chapel, which was very pretty, although
small. It was a little circular chamber fitted with pews. The Royal
Library had a great many illuminated books, and drawings by cele-
brated artists. A little corner of this library was particularly interest-
ing, as it was the place where Queen Anne was sitting when she
heard of the victory of Blenheim. From this window there is a beau-
tiful view of Eton, Stoke Poges, &c. The state bedrooms were
gorgeous, with their beautiful gilt bedsteads, and bed-coverings and
canopies of rare embroidery. We passed through the room which
the King of the Belgians had occupied the night before.
I am afraid that I have made my letter too long to ask you to listen
to my story about the outside of the Castle and its surroundings.
The towers were veryimpressive; the round tower especially, which
was built in the time of Edward III., for- the Round Table of the
Order of the Garter. The cloisters and ivy-covered walls were beau-
tiful. We finished the day by a luncheon at the Deanery, and a
look into the Albert Memorial Chapel, where we saw the monument
to the Queen's youngest son, Prince Leopold, Duke of Albany. The
statue of the prince is of white marble, and there is a carving of his
favorite dog at his feet. About the tomb there were fresh flowers,
which the Queen sends there every day. We had butlittle time to give
to the beautiful Saint George's Chapel, which we visitedhurriedly, and
then joined the family at the Deanery, at afternoon-tea on a picturesque
little piazza, buried in ivy and roses, with red-cushioned couches,

against the old, gray stone walls; and the attractive little tea-table
with its bright silver and pretty surroundings was very charming.
A drive to the end of the Long Walk, planted two hundred years ago,
brought us to the statue of George III., to which we bade farewell
and then turned toward London. GERTRUDE B-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have found great enjoyment in my leisure
hours in following out the suggestion, in your March number, of past-
ing colored figures on large pieces of cardboard. My pieces were
17 x 14, with borders of gold or silver, and presented a very fan-
tastic appearance. I am sure many more than those who have
testified have found pleasure and profit in the employment, not to
mention the children who were benefited by the pretty gifts.
Yours very truly, FANNY S. E-- .

DEAR ST. NICIOLAS: Our family has taken you different years
since 1878, but during all that time 1 have never written to you. I
have never seen a letter from here, so I think I would like to write
to you and tell you about my dogs.
I had two of them. I had bits and harness for them, and drove
them just as I would a span of horses. They made a well-matched
team. One was more intelligent than the other. His name was
Jack, and I thought a great deal of him. I taught him to bring in
wood from the barn. One morning we found him dead in the barn.
He had been poisoned. I felt very sad over his death. It spoiled
my dog-team forever. I did not take ST. NICHOLAS for the year
containing "Juan andJuanita," but sawso much about the story in
the Letter-box" that I regret not having done so.
Your sincere reader, G. T. M-- .


As TWO weeks this summer on a farm was spent,
I saw many birds as I came and went.
I saw the wild canary and her eggs of blue,
And also the king-bird, who with nesting all was through.

And a robin in the apple tree had just hatched out her brood;
And I often liked to watch them as they went to gather food.

And the swallow, with her nest so high up in the loft,
With their eggs in nests made by feathers so very soft.

And the chippy with her nest in the honeysuckle near,
That would eat crumbs on the porch without showing any fear.

I saw the blue-bird in the stump as she sits and waits and waits,
Till by the time the eggs are hatched her ardor all abates.

WE thank the young friends, whose names follow, for pleasant
letters received from them :
Lucy L. Eastman, Clare L. B, David E. W., Charlotte R., Little
Richie, A. B. and F. S., Dorothy M. and Jacqueline A., F. M.,
Eunice M. S Grace S. and Evelyn G., Margot and Ellen Champlin,
E. M. H., Bertram Holmes, S. P. E. and S. B. E., W. M., Lloyd
R. Coleman, Jr., Laura M. Hadley, Alice Richardson, Grace Hecht,
Lizzie B. Ritchie, A. R. A. and G. W. M., Nellie C., Lillie Mast,
John Oppie, Barbara D., Ella M. D., Lila Heath, Ida C. Hubbard,
Hattie Goodwin, Ned Devlin, Adsle and Fanchon. Jessie A., Helen
F. Douglas, Patty D. Adams, Jennie M. Wells, Bell Farrar, Kitty
L. R., Mary Ellen Sigsbee.


WE regret to say that the verses in our September number, entitled "A Chinese Story," and there credited to W. J. Bahmer, by whom
they were offered to ST. NICHOLAS, prove to have been written years ago by Mr. C. P. Cranch. The discovery was made too late for us to
withdraw the poem, as the number containing it was already off the press. We are sincerely sorry that, through the imposition practiced
upon us, ST. NICHOLAS has attributed Mr. Cranch's clever poem to the person who plagiarized it.



COMBINATION RHOMBOID. Across: i. Nabal. 2. Miles. 3. Devil.
4. Seton. 5. Repel.
WORD-SQUARE. I. Novel. 2. Obole. 3. Volee. 4. Elect.
5. Leets.
A PYRAMID. Cross-words: .A.A. 2. Ara. 3. Abaca. 4. Ala-
PECULIAR ACROSTICS. Third row, Michaelmas; seventh row,
roast goose. Cross-words: i. Camphoric. 2. Philology. 3. De-
collate. 4. Rehearsal. 5. Gladiator. 6. Prejudges. 7. Colophony.
8. Commodore, 9. Practiser. to. Inspirers.
LETTER PUZZLE. Begin at H in "sham." Harrison and Morton.
CUBE. From i to 2, Cordelia; 2 to 4, annealed; i to 3, cavalier:
3 to 4, reflexed; 5 to 6, stranded; 6 to 8, diademed; 5 to 7, simulate;
7 to 8, executed; I to 5, caps; 2 to 6, arid: 4 to 8, deed; 3 to 7,
ANTONYMS. Grant. i. G-rant. 2. R-ally. 3. A-base. 4. N-ever.
5. T-rail.

HALF-SQUARES. I. I. Cromwell. 2. Receive. 3. Octave.
4. Mease. 5. Wive. 6. Eve. 7. Le. 8. L. II. i. Humboldt.
2. Unaided. 3. Marred. 4. Birds. 5. Odes. 6. Led. 7. D. D.
8. T.
Pr. The cricket chirps all day,
O fairest Summer, stay 1 "
The squirrel eyes askance the chestnuts browning;
The wildfowl fly afar
Above the foamy bar
And hasten southward ere the skies are frowning.
GEORGE ARNOLD, in Se'ptember."
ANAGRAMS. x. Overcoats. 2. Pantaloons. 3. Trousers. 4. Waist-
coat. 5. Newmarkets. 6. Polonaise. 7. Raglan.
BEHEADINGS. Cleveland and Thurman. x. C-rank. 2. L-oath.
3. E-rode. 4. V-aunt. 5. E-late. 6. L-east. 7. A-vail. 8. N-once.
9. D-raft. to. A-pace. II. N-ones. i2. D-rill. 13. T-will. 14. H-edge.
15. U-tile. 16. R-oily. 17. M-oral. 18. A-void. 19. N-opal.

To ouR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the i5th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, before July i5th, from Maud E. Palmer--G. P.- Russell
Davis Louise McClellan Nig and Mig Ida C. Thallon Nellie L. Howes Pussy Willow and Cousin George "-A. Fiske and
Co.- C. A. I.- Harry J. Childs.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, before July 15th, from Katie V. Z., 3- F. and M. Leech, i -
"Dudle," 2 Amy F., i -" Zanoni," W. A. Jurgens, 2- Arthur L., 8 -Jessie and Nellie H., 4- M. F. Wilson, i- Agnes H.
MacA., M., E. and J. Champlin, i C. Mondschein, 2-" Patty-pan and Kettle-drum," 5- No name, Norwich, 2- Paul Reese, 9
- Alpha, Alpha, B. C., x A. Koppel, 2 Enileve R., E. A. Armer, 2- L. Day, i Frost Thom, 2 Austin, 2 -"Socrates,"
ix N. S. Reich, I R. Packard, i A. H. R. and M. G. R., to M. H. Munroe, 2 Ruby M., Blanche, Alice and Rosa, 3 -
Fussy and Stony, 3 -" C. D. W.," 3 -Emma E. P., 3 -" A. Omega," 7 W. A. Lieber, i M. H. Dabney, 2 Florence B., i -
H. G. B., M. Strong, 4-Violet and Pansy, i Clara and Emma, I--E. S. Hine, 7- Plato, 2 L. A. and H. M. Stiles, i -B. B.
Wise, i -A. Major, I -" Mugwump," 2- Grace Kupfer, ti Janet T. H., i -" Ardmore," M. G. Cassels, M. McConnell, I
-" Kye," 4-"Hypatia," -aF. Abeken, --S. and B. Rhodes, ro-"Two Chums," 3-Y. Campbell, E. Richmond, I-
"Banana," 7--L. F. Heath, 2 A. H. Dey. -" Long Islander," 4-Nellie C., -B. P. S. F. C. B., 3 Rena and T- H.
C. Ware, 2--L. S. Fitch, A. M. Bingham, 5-" Mr. Mahoney and others, 3 Marion and Addie, 2-" Electric 1 .- '2- D.
L., -G. A. Hill, 2- Clara D. C. and Sarah M. S., I- R. and J. Mayer, 6- Louise, Helma and Florence, 4 Jack and Jill, I Ada
C H., ix-H. Mattison, a-Howard K. Hill, i H. R. H., 7-Lillie, 4-San Anselmo Valley, -Effie K. Talboys, 7-G. M.
Dwinnell, i-" Edgemere," 4 Pet and Pug, 5- Etta R., 3-" Infantry," r Rag Tag," 4 J. P. Mitchell, i-"Pyramus and
Thisbe," 5-J. B. Scullin, Shullsburg, Third Grade, o H. F. H., a- C. A. I., "Chunk," 4 Blousabella," 3 -" Tea and
Coffee," 2- Monell, i- Marie L. E., R. Lloyd, 4 -"Three Blind Mire," 6--Ruth and Rob, lo-" May and 9--W. F.
Brillingham, Jr., 2- Lehte, 4 Lauretta K., 2 Nellie and Reggie, 9 G. Eveline Butlin, i "Herring,

I. BEHEAD a certain word, and leave a large bird. 2. Behead a
certain word, and leave a tree. 3. Behead a certain word, and leave
everything. 4. Behead a certain word, and leave obsolete. 5. Be-
head a certain word, and leave rage. 6. Behead a certain word, and
leave iniquitous. 7. Behead a certain word, and leave adroitness.
The beheaded letters are all the same. ELSA BEHR.


I. IN pansies. 2. A pronoun. 3. Relating to the hours. 4. Rob-
bers. 5. Satisfied. 6. Conducted. 7. In pansies.
ENCLOSED DIAMOND: T. In pansies. 2. A feminine name.
3. Enraged. 4. Consumed. 5. In pansies. F. s. F.

ALL of the words described contain the same number of letters.
When rightly guessed, and placed one below the other, the initials
will spell a time to which some give the name of Nutcrack Night.
i. A son of Oceanus. who was also the father o' .:. The
mother of Apollo and Diana. 3. The island on I.-. "' ... fell,
after being hurled down from heaven, and where he established his
forges. 4. The son of Erebus and Nox and the god of Sleep. 5. The

goddess of the Dawn. 6. A son of Dmdalus. 7. The youngest of
twelve brothers, all of whom, with the single exception cf this one,
were slain by Hercules. 8. One of the Muses. 9. A daughter of
Nisus, King of Megara. io. The mother of Sarpedon, who was
driven from the island of Crete by his brother Minos. sa. The god
of Fire. 12. A dark and gloomy region in the lower world.
"R. H. OIBOIiD."


I. I. IN robin. 2. A speck. 3. A feminine name. 4. A term of
endearment. 5. A French general. 6. A small ornament. 7. Rage.
8. To obtain. 9. In robin.
II. In action. 2. Base. 3. The surname of a statesman of
to-day. 4. A fish. 5. A comrade. 6. An admonition. 7. The
French word for queen." 8. A bulky piece of wood. q. In action.
III. i. In armies. 2. A fish. 3. Enclosed. 4. Gathers. 5. Flower-
ing trees. 6. Staggering. 7. To imbibe. 8. To lean. 9. In
armies. Z. M. S. AND H. C. G.

My first is in locker, but not in shelf;
My second in money, but not in pelf;
My third is in carol, but not in song;
My fourth is in righteous, but not in wrong;
My fifth is in marrow, but not in bone;
My sixth is in iron, but not in stone;
My seventh in dragon, but not in horse,
My eighth is in gangway, but not in course;
My ninth is in summer, but not in fall;
My whole is a poet well-known to all;
Born in October, seventeen-seventy-two,-
His name I know well. Do you know it, too ?




II. ACROSS: x. A botanical term for a berry. 2. A fishing-float
used principally on the Pacific coast of South America. 3 An old
word meaning a drone. 4. A coin.used by the ancient Hebrews
and about one-twentieth of a -hekel in value. 5. Pulverized vol-
,. canic substances.
S. DOWNWARD: I. In ball. 2. The eleventh month of the Jewish
civil year. 3. A projecting part of a wheel. 4. To choke up. 5.
A Turkish coin of small value. 6. Any subtile invisible fluid sup-
posed to flow from a body. 7. The juice of plants. 8. An excla-
mation. 9. In ball. c. B. D. AND POUNCE AND CO.


COTREBO gornnim l woh het uns
Sligertt no noglwig kosch dan feash;
No pelap scrip tiwh lemowl dogl.
No nodrew-dinteap flea !
-_- Tercobo geevnin a kolo, eth nomo,
,---- Keil noe ni yarfildan neighdebt I
Ton-rodos kajc trofs sibet parsh; niwthi,-
0 Dogo rou trifs reif si dilgeth! H. c. S.

S r = ACROSS: I. In ship. 2. A pendant. 3. A sly fellow. 4. A
-- __--- Polish general who was killed on October ix, 1779. 5. An English
3 .--- statesman and orator who was born about 1729. 6. An enclosure.
7. In ship.
DOWNWARD: I. In ship. 2. To clean. 3. A large pill. 4. An
English artist who died on October 26, 1764. 5. Shaded with trees.
6. To enlarge. 7. In ship. FRANK SNELL1NG.


2 13
3 14
4 15
f 5 i6
EACH of the eleven objects pictured above may be described by a 7 8 9 1o 0i x2 18
single word. When the words are rightly guessed and placed one FRon I to a vagrant; from 13 to 8, a Saxon king; from ii
below the other, the second row of letters will spell what now may be to9, species f hard wood; from I5 to 10, peril; from 16 to Ix,
een on al siOIDS. three-fourths of mild; from 17 to 12, a conjunction; x8, in letter;
7, in letter; from 6 to 8, a boy's nickname; from 5 to 9, to make
I. ACROSS: i. The head. 2. Adjacent. 3. Parched with heat. regular trips; from 4 to o1, a recluse; from 3 to aI, came up; from
4. Songs. 5. A nation. 2 to 12, a species of madness; from x to 18, pertaining to heat.
DoWNwARD: i. In leopard. 2. An article. 3. A drink. 4. A JENNIE M. THOMAS.

i ~~ %.~