Front Cover
 The story of the great storm at...
 May Bartlett's stepmother
 A jingle
 A wonderful pair of slippers
 A valentine for allis
 Some asiatic dogs
 How Bessie wrote a letter
 Intercollegiate foot-ball...
 The little Dutchess
 Elf song
 Old chief Ccrowfoot
 A "bluenose" vendetta
 The shadow-bird and his shadow
 A morning melody
 The launching of a war-ship
 Crowded out o' crofield
 Two ways of having a good time
 Every-day bacteria
 Toddling island
 An armadillo hunt
 Clever Peter and the ogress
 The boys and girls of China
 A touch of nature
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00223
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00223
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    The story of the great storm at Samoa
        Page 283
        Page 284
        Page 285
        Page 286
        Page 287
        Page 288
        Page 289
        Page 290
        Page 291
        Page 292
        Page 293
        Page 294
        Page 295
        Page 296
        Page 297
        Page 298
        Page 299
        Page 300
    May Bartlett's stepmother
        Page 301
        Page 302
        Page 303
        Page 304
        Page 305
        Page 306
        Page 307
    A jingle
        Page 308
    A wonderful pair of slippers
        Page 309 (MULTIPLE)
        Page 310
        Page 311
        Page 312
    A valentine for allis
        Page 313
    Some asiatic dogs
        Page 314
        Page 315
        Page 316
        Page 317
        Page 318
    How Bessie wrote a letter
        Page 319
        Page 320
    Intercollegiate foot-ball in America
        Page 321
        Page 322
        Page 323
        Page 324
        Page 325
    The little Dutchess
        Page 326
    Elf song
        Page 327
    Old chief Ccrowfoot
        Page 328
        Page 329
        Page 330
        Page 331
    A "bluenose" vendetta
        Page 332
        Page 333
        Page 334
    The shadow-bird and his shadow
        Page 335
    A morning melody
        Page 336
        Page 337
    The launching of a war-ship
        Page 338
        Page 339
    Crowded out o' crofield
        Page 340
        Page 341
        Page 342
        Page 343
        Page 344
        Page 345
        Page 346
        Page 347
    Two ways of having a good time
        Page 348
        Page 349
    Every-day bacteria
        Page 350
        Page 351
    Toddling island
        Page 352
    An armadillo hunt
        Page 353
        Page 354
        Page 355
        Page 356
        Page 357
    Clever Peter and the ogress
        Page 358
        Page 359
        Page 360
        Page 361
    The boys and girls of China
        Page 362
    A touch of nature
        Page 363
    The letter-box
        Page 364
        Page 365
        Page 366
    The riddle-box
        Page 367
        Page 368
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text



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Lately Correspondent at Samoa for the Associated Press.

SOMETHING more than a year ago the politi-
cal situation at Samoa caused public attention
to be directed toward that little group of islands
in the South Pacific.
Affairs had reached a point which seemed to
make it necessary for the United States Gov-
ernment to send a strong naval force there to
protect American interests, and measures were
accordingly taken by the Navy Department at
Washington to have three men-of-war stationed
at the islands. Both Germany and Great Brit-
ain were also represented there by a strong force,
and there was consequently much speculation in
the United States, as well as in European coun-
tries, as to the probable result of so large an as-
semblage of war-vessels in Samoan waters.
This state of affairs caused my being sent to
that far-off country by the Associated Press last
February. My position was that of a news-
paper correspondent, and my mission was to
keep the American press informed of events
happening on the islands.
Owing to the aggressive policy which had
been pursued by the German naval forces, it
seemed possible that serious complications might
arise between the United States and Germany.
More than a year before, the Germans had car-

ried off the native king, Malietoa, and banished
him to an island several thousand miles away.
They had then undertaken to establish a new
government, and had proclaimed Tamasese a
native who was easily influenced by them-king
of the country. Tamasese's power did not con-
tinue long, for the great body of the natives soon
rebelled against an administration which had
been forced upon them, and they united under
the standard of Mataafa, a relative and personal
representative of the deposed king Malietoa.
At the outset of the difficulty, Tamasese's fol-
lowing was quite large, and with the support and
assistance of the Germans he prepared to resist
the efforts to overthrow him. A fierce civil war
was waged between the two native factions, and,
after a half-dozen battles had been fought, Tam-
asese was forced to leave Apia, where the seat
of government was located, and take refuge with
his few remaining followers in a strongly forti-
fied position about eight miles from there.
During the whole time that the natives were
fighting among themselves, the Germans had
openly espoused Tamasese's cause, and their
war-vessels had gone so far as even to bombard
several native villages.
They did not, however, come into open con-

Copyright, 1889, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.

No. 4.


flict with Mataafa's men until December, 1888,
when a body of German sailors landed, several
miles from Apia, and made an attack upon the
natives. The latter offered a strong resistance,
and, in the battle which followed, the Germans
were utterly routed and fifty of their number
killed and wounded. This battle led to an open
declaration of war on the part of the Germans,
and their aggressions soon became so alarming
that American interests in Samoa were thought
to be endangered.
At that time the only American man-of-war
stationed there was the "Nipsic," commanded by
Commander D. W. Mullan. The actions of the
Germans were at once brought to the attention
of the American Government, and orders were
issued for the "Trenton" and Vandalia" to
proceedtoSamoa. TheTrentonwas the flagship
of Rear-Admiral L. A. Kimberly, and was one of
the largest vessels in the navy. Her commander
was Captain N. H. Farquhar. The Vandalia
was smaller than the Trenton, but larger than
the Nipsic, and was commanded by Captain C.
M. Schoonmaker.
When I arrived at Apia, the principal settle-
ment on the islands, and, in fact, the only place
which has any white population, I found six men-
of-war lying in the little harbor in front of the
town. Two of these were the American vessels
Vandalia and Nipsic, and the others were the
German ships "Adler," "Olga," and "Eber,"
and the British ship "Calliope." The American
frigate Trenton arrived a few days later.
Much of the excitement which had prevailed
on the islands during the few previous months
had subsided by that time, and 1 felt that my
mission as a war-correspondent was likely to
prove fruitless.
But I had not been at Apia three weeks before
I was called upon to witness the greatest marine
disaster of the century, in which four men-of-war
and ten other vessels were totally wrecked, and
nearly one hundred and fifty lives were lost. A
hurricane, which is not an uncommon occur-
rence in that part of the world, broke upon the
harbor and raged with a fury hardly to be imag-
ined for nearly thirty-six hours before it had com-
pleted its work of destruction.
I prepared for the Associated Press a long
account of the storm, which was published in

the newspapers of the country last April; and
upon my return from Samoa, a short time ago, I
was requested by the editor of ST. NICHOLAS
to write a description of the great disaster, ad-
dressed especially to its readers. I have under-
taken the task in the belief that the exciting
incidents of that awful day, when many a brave
sailor met his death in the angry waves of Apia
harbor, will be of intense interest to the youth
of America, and that the examples of braver),
and patriotism which were displayed in those
trying hours will prove valuable lessons to every
boy in whose heart is growing a love of country
and an admiration of noble deeds. The account
that is here given is in some respects identical
with the news report of the storm which I wrote
last April; but I have endeavored to embody
in this a number of personal experiences and
patriotic features which impressed themselves
strongly upon me at the time and will live long
in the memory of all who witnessed the destruc-
tion of life and property on that occasion.
The harbor in which the disaster occurred is
a small semicircular bay, around the inner side
of which lies the town of Apia. A coral reef,
which is visible at low water, extends in front of
the harbor from the eastern to the western ex-
tremity, a distance of nearly two miles. A break
in this reef, probably a quarter of a mile wide,
forms a gateway to the harbor. The space
within the bay where ships can lie at anchor is
very small, as a shoal extends some distance out
from the eastern shore, and on the other side
another coral reef runs well out into the bay.
The American consulate is situated near the
center of the line of houses composing the town,
and directly in front of it is a long strip of
sandy beach. The war-vessels were anchored
in the deep water in front of the American con-
sulate. The Eber and Nipsic were nearest the
shore. There were ten or twelve sailing vessels,
principally small schooners, lying in the shallow
water west of the men-of-war.
The storm was preceded by several weeks of
bad weather, and on Friday, March 15, the wind
increased and there was every indication of a
hard blow. The war-ships made preparation for
it by lowering topmasts and making all the spars
secure, and steam was also raised to guard against
the possibility of the anchors not holding.


_ _- _


By eleven o'clock at night, the wind had
increased to a gale. The crews on most of
the sailing vessels put out extra anchors and
went ashore. Rain began to fall at midnight,
and the wind increased in fury. Great waves
were rolling in from the open ocean, and the
pitching of the vessels was fearful. The Eber
commenced to drag her anchors at midnight,
and an hour later the Vandalia was also drag-
ging. However, by using steam they succeeded
in keeping well off the reef and away from the
other vessels. The wind blew more and more
strongly, and rain fell in torrents. By three
o'clock the situation had become alarming.
Nearly every vessel in the harbor was dragging,
and there was imminent danger of collisions.
There was no thought of sleep on any of the
ships, for every man was needed at his post.
On shore, the howling of the wind among the
trees and houses, and the crash of falling roofs,
had aroused many persons from their beds, and
figures were soon seen groping about the street
looking for some spot sheltered from the tem-
pest. The tide was coming in rapidly, and the
surf was breaking all over the street, a hundred
feet above the usual high-water mark. The
spray was thrown high in the air and beat into
the windows of houses nearest the shore. Rain
fell like sleet, and men and women who were
wandering about in the storm shielded their faces
with small pieces of board or with any other
article that could be used as a protection
against the wind and sand.
I had spent the evening indoors and had re-
tired about eleven o'clock. The house which I

occupied was some distance from the shore and
was surrounded by a thick growth of trees.
Several of these had fallen with a crashing sound,
and I found it impossible to sleep. I arose and
determined to go down to the beach, for I felt
that the vessels in the harbor must be in great
danger. I reached the street with the greatest
difficulty, for I had two treacherous little foot-
bridges to cross, and the night was so dark and
the force of the wind so great that I felt I was
wandering about like a blind man. When I had
walked down to the beach, I looked across the
angry waters at the lights of the vessels and re-
alized far more clearly than before that the storm
was something terrible. I wandered along the
beach for a distance of half a mile, thinking it
possible that I might find some one, but the
whole place seemed to be deserted. The only
light visible on shore was at the American con-
sulate. I found a solitary marine on duty as a
sentry there. I exchanged a few words with
him and then retired to a temporary shelter for
several hours, until a number of natives and a
few white persons commenced to collect on the
street. The natives seemed to know better than
the rest that the storm would result in awful
destruction. People soon gathered in little
groups and peered out into the darkness across
the sea of foaming waters. Fear was depicted
upon every face. Men stood close together and
shouted to make themselves heard above the
roar of the tempest.
Through the blackness of the night could be
seen the lights of the men-of-war, and even above
the rushing and roaring of the wind and waves,





the shouting of officers and men on board
came faintly across the water. It could be
seen that the vessels were dragging, as the
lights were moving slowly in different direc-
tions and apparently crossing and recrossing
each other. Every moment it seemed as if
two or more of the great war-ships were about
to come together, and the watchers on the beach
waited in breathless anxiety to hear the crash
of collision.
A little after five o'clock, the first faint rays
of dawn broke upon the scene and revealed a
spectacle not often witnessed. The position of
the vessels was entirely changed. They had

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been swept from their
---i'- former moorings and
'- were all bearing down
Sin the direction of the
inner reef. Black smoke
S was pouring from their
-- ---- funnels, showing that
--- desperate efforts were
*-being made to keep them
up against the storm.
The decks swarmed with
men clinging to masts or
to anything affording a
hold. The hulls of the
ships were tossing about
like corks, and the decks
were being deluged with
water as every wave
Swept in from the open
ocean. Several sailing
vessels had gone ashore
in the western part of the
bay. The Trenton and
Vandalia, being farther
out from the shore than
the other ships, were al-
most obscured by the
blinding mist. The ves-
S sels most plainly visible
F were the Eber, Adler,
and Nipsic. They were
very close together and
only a few yards from
the reef.
The little gun-boat
Eber was making a
desperate struggle, but every moment she was
being driven nearer and nearer the reef. Her
doom was certain. Suddenly she shot forward
as if making a last effort to escape destruction.
The current, however, bore her off to the right,
and her bow struck the port quarter of the
Nipsic, carrying away several feet of the Nip-
sic's rail and one boat. The Eber then fell
back and fouled with the Olga, and after that
she seemed unable to make any effort to save
herself. Awful seas broke over the little vessel
as she swung around broadside to the wind.
Presently she was lifted high on the crest of a
great wave and hurled with awful force upon


the reef. In an instant there was not a vestige
of her to be seen. She struck fairly upon her
bottom, rolled over toward the sea, and disap-
peared from view. Every timber must have
been shattered, and half the poor creatures
aboard of her crushed to death before they felt
the waters closing above their heads. Hundreds
of people were on the beach by this time, and
the work of destruction had occurred within
full view of them all. They stood for a moment
appalled by the awful scene, and a cry of hor-
ror arose from the lips of every man who had
seen nearly a hundred of his fellow-creatures
perish in an instant. Then with one accord
they all rushed to the water's edge nearest the
point where the Eber had foundered. The
natives ran into the surf far beyond the point

lonely isle thousands of miles from his native
land; the savage forgot the oppression which
a civilized people had placed. upon him, and
now held out his hand to save a human life,
caring little whether it was that of friend or foe.
At first it seemed as if every man on the ill-
fated steamer had gone to his death. Not even
a hand appeared from the depths where the
Eber sank. But the breakers on the reef had
hidden a few struggling men who had come to
the surface and struck out feebly for shore.
Presently a man was seen clinging to the pil-
ing of a small wharf near by. Willing hands
soon grasped him and drew him up on shore.
He was a young man with a handsome, boyish
face, and wore the uniform of an officer. He
proved to be Lieutenant Gedeke, and was the

1~9-Lca~- I-u~

d. 'Th


where a white man could have lived, and
stood waiting to save any one who might rise
from the water. There was no thought of the
war between Germany and Samoa; there was
no sign of enmity against the people who had
banished their king and carried him off to a

only officer of the Eber who was saved. Lieu-
tenant T. G. Fillette, the marine-officer of the
Nipsic, who for several months had been
stationed on shore in charge of the guard of
marines at the American consulate, took the
German officer under his care.






Four sailors from the Eber were found strug-
gling in the water near shore about the same time.
They were quickly rescued by the natives and
also taken to the American consulate. There
were six officers and seventy men on the Eber
when she struck the reef, and of these five offi-
cers and sixty-six men were lost.
Lieutenant Gaedeke, the survivor, was almost
heartbroken over the sad fate of his fellow-offi-
cers and men. He was the officer of the watch
and was on the bridge when the Eber went
down. He said that all the other officers were
below, and he supposed they were crushed to
death. It was about six o'clock in the morning
when the Eber foundered.
During the excitement attending that calamity
the other vessels had been for the time forgotten;
but we soon noticed that the positions of several
of them had become more alarming. The Ad-
ler had been swept across the bay, being for a
moment in collision with the Olga.
She was now close to the reef, about two hun-
dred yards west of the point where the Eber
struck, and, broadside on, like the Eber, she
was approaching her doom.
In half an hour she was lifted on top of the
reef and turned completely over on her side.
Nearly every man was thrown into the water.
They had but a few feet to swim, however, to
reach the deck, as almost the entire hull was out
of water. Only twenty men were drowned
when the steamer capsized.
The others clung to the guns and masts in
safety, and as the bottom of the vessel was
toward the storm, the men on the deck were
well protected. Natives stretched a rope from
the shore to the Adler during the day, and a
number of sailors escaped by that means. But
the rope parted before all had left the vessel,
and the others were not taken off until next
day. They clung to the wreck during the long
weary hours of the day and night, and were
greatly exhausted when they finally reached the
Just after the Adler struck, the attention of
every one was directed toward the Nipsic.
She was standing off the reef with her head
to the wind, but the three anchors which she
had out at the time were not holding, and
the steamer was being beaten back toward the

point where the Eber went down.' It was only
by the most skillful management that her of-
ficers and crew were saved from the same
fate that befell the Eber. The Nipsic also
narrowly escaped destruction by being run
into by the Olga, and it was the blow she
received from that vessel which finally sent
her ashore. As she was trying to avoid a col-
lision with the Olga, the little schooner Lily "
got in her track and was cut down. There
were three men on the Lily, two of whom
were drowned, but the third swam to the Olga
andreached her deck in safety.
As the Nipsic's anchors were not holding, or-
ders were given to attach a hawser to a heavy
eight-inch rifle on the forecastle and throw the
gun overboard. As the men were in the act of
doing this, the Olga bore down on the Nipsic
and struck her amidships with awful force.
Her bowsprit passed over the side of the
Nipsic, and, after carrying away one boat and
splintering the rail, came in contact with the
smokestack, which was struck fairly in the cen-
ter and fell to the deck with a crash like thun-
der. For a moment it was difficult to realize
what had happened, and great confusion fol-
lowed. The crew believed the ship was going
down, and men ran up in the rigging for safety.
The iron smokestack rolled from side to side
with every movement of the vessel until finally
heavy blocks were placed under it. By that
time, the Nipsic had swung around and was
approaching the reef. It was an anxious mo-
ment for all on board. They had seen the
Eber strike a few yards from where they now
were, and it seemed certain that they would
go down in the same way. Having lost her
smokestack, the vessel was unable to keep up
her steam power. Captain Mullan was upon
the bridge at the time, with Ensign H. P. Jones,
the latter being the officer of the watch. The
captain remained cool and collected during the
dangerous moment. He saw that in another
moment the Nipsic would be on the reef, and
probably every man aboard be lost. Any further
attempt to save the vessel would be useless, so
he gave the orders to beach her. The limited
amount of steam which could still be carried,
was brought into use and her head was put
around toward the shore. She had a straight


* [FEB.


course of about two hundred yards to the sandy
beach in front of the American consulate.
There were then several hundred natives and
about fifty white persons, principally Americans
and Englishmen, standing near the water's
edge watching the critical maneuvers of the
Nipsic, and I remember the feeling of dread
which came over me as I saw the vessel run-
ning alongside the dangerous reef, liable at any
moment to be dashed to pieces upon it. As she
came nearer the shore I could easily distinguish

Just as the vessel struck, five sailors jumped
into a boat and commenced to lower it, but the
falls did not work properly and one end of the
boat dropped, throwing the men into the water,
and drowning all of them. Another boat, con-
taining Dr. E. Z. Derr, the ship's surgeon, and
a half-dozen sick men, was lowered in safety, but
it capsized before it reached shore.
The men were within a few feet, however,
of the natives who were standing waist-deep in
the surf, and they were pulled up on the beach




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-.. ..--

H ;'. .r - -. ,. .- .. .- ."

" "


the faces of officers who were my personal
friends, and I did not know but that I might
be looking upon them for the last time. Near
me were standing United States Vice-Consul
Blacklock, and Ensign J. L. Purcell, an officer
of the Nipsic who had been on shore during
the night. I could judge from their faces that
their fears were the same as mine. But the
Nipsic escaped the reef and her bow stuck fast
in the sand about twenty yards from the water's
edge. She then swung around, forming an acute
angle with the line of the shore.

and taken to the consulate. Several men on the
Nipsic ran to the rail and jumped overboard.
All these reached the shore, except two sailors
who were unable to swim through the current
and were swept out into the bay and drowned.
By this time every man aboard had crowded
to the forecastle. A line was thrown to the na-
tives, and double hawsers were soon made fast
from the vessel to the shore, and the natives and
others gathered around the lines to assist the
men off. Seumanu Tafa, chief of Apia district,
and Salu Anae, another chief, directed the


natives in their work. The scene was one of
intense excitement. The seas broke upon the
stern of the Nipsic with awful force, and it
seemed as if the vessel would be battered to
pieces before the men on her decks could be
saved. The waves were rolling high on the
beach, and the undertow was so strong that
the natives narrowly escaped being washed out
into the bay. The rain continued to pour, and
the clouds of flying sand grew thicker every mo-
ment. The voices of officers shouting to the
men on deck were mingled with the loud cries
and singing of the Samoans as they stood bat-
tling against the surf, risking their lives to save
the American sailors.
To one who saw the noble work of these men
during the storm, it is a cause of wonder that
they should be called savages by more enlight-
ened races. There seemed to be no instinct of
the savage in a man who could rush into that
boiling torrent of water that broke upon the reef,
and place his own life in peril to save the help-
less drowning men of a foreign country.
While Americans and Germans were treated
alike, it was plain that their sympathies were
with the Americans, and they redoubled their
efforts when they saw an opportunity to aid the
men who represented a country which had in-
sisted that their native government should not
be interfered with by a foreign power. During
the trying hours of that day they never faltered
in their heroic efforts when it was possible to
save a life.
As the Nipsic lay helpless on the beach, they
gathered about the vessel and showed a deter-
mination to risk everything to save the officers
and men aboard. Nearly all the American and
English residents of Apia were on the shore in
front of the consulate, and there seemed to be a
willingness on the part of every man to render
whatever assistance was in his power. Ensign
Purcell of the Nipsic and several other Ameri-
cans were up to their waists in the water ready
to lend a hand to the men as they left the ship.
The position was a most dangerous one, as the
waves were washing far up on the beach and
great pieces of floating wreckage were being
swept back and forth. The force of the water
was so strong that it was necessary to hold on
firmly to the life-line which was stretched from

the Nipsic's bow, and I remember once that my
grasp upon the line was broken by an immense
wave which completely enveloped me. I was
thrown violently across the rope, and then as the
water receded I was carried out with it. For-
tunately, two natives caught me before I had
gone too far, and with their assistance I grasped
the line again. There was no attempt to leave
the Nipsic in disorder. 'Captain Mullan and
several other officers stood by the rail where the
hawsers were made fast, and directed the move-
ments of the men. They came down the ropes
quickly, but the seas were rolling so high under
the bows of the ship that the men were often
entirely submerged and their hold upon the
lines broken. Nothing but the noble efforts of
the natives saved them from being swept out
into the current and drowned. As soon as
each man would come within reach, he would
be grasped in the strong arms of half a dozen
Samoans and carried out of the water. Captain
Mullan insisted upon being the last man to leave
the ship, and he finally found himself on the deck
with Lieutenant John A. Shearman by his side.
The captain, being unable to swim, did not care
to descend the rope by means of his hands and
legs, as all the others had done, so he procured
an empty water-cask and attached it to the haw-
ser. When he was seated in the cask, Lieutenant
Shearman stood alone upon the deck and started
his brave commander down the line. The young
officer then climbed down the rope, and the Nip-
sic was left alone to battle with the waves.
The Nipsic, Adler, and Eber were the small-
est war-ships in the harbor. The four large men-
of-war, the Trenton, Calliope, Vandalia, and
Olga, were still afloat and well off the reef.
They remained in a comparatively safe position
for two hours after the Nipsic was beached, but
persons on the shore were watching them in-
tently all the time. About ten o'clock in the
morning, the excitement on shore began to grow
more intense as the Trenton was seen to be in a
helpless condition. The great vessel was lying
well out in the bay, and, with every wave that
rolled in, her stern would be lifted out of the
water, and it was seen that her rudder and pro-
peller were both gone, and there was nothing
but her anchors to hold her up against the
unabated force of the storm.


The Vandalia and Calliope also were in dan-
gerous positions, bearing back toward the reef
near the point where lay the wreck of the Adler.
Great waves were tossing the two vessels about,
and they were coming closer together every
minute. The Vandalia attempted to steam
away, but in doing so a collision occurred.
The iron prow of the Englishman was lifted
high in the air and came down with full force
upon the port quarter of the Vandalia. The
jib-boom of the Calliope was carried away, and

He accordingly gave orders to let go all anchors.
The Calliope's head swung around to the wind
and her engines were worked to their utmost
power. The steamer seemed to stand still for
a moment, and then the rapidly revolving pro-
peller had its effect, for the vessel moved up
slowly against the great waves which broke over
her bows and flooded her decks from stem to
stern. Clouds of black smoke poured from her
funnel as more coal was thrown into the furnaces.
Every tension was strained in her heroic strug-


the heavy timbers of the Vandalia were shivered.
Every man who stood upon the deck of the
Vandalia near the point of collision was thrown
from his feet by the shock.
A hole was torn below the rail, and water
rushed into the cabin. It was impossible to as-
certain the extent of the damage at the moment,
but it seemed as if the Vandalia had received
her death-blow. Men rushed up the hatches in
the belief that the steamer was sinking, but they
afterward returned to their posts. Just after
this collision, Captain Kane of the Calliope de-
termined to make an effort to steam out of the
harbor, as he saw that to remain in his pres-
ent position would lead to another collision with
the Vandalia or throw his vessel upon the reef.

gle against the storm. She seemed to make her
headway at first inch by inch, but her speed
gradually increased until it became evident that
she could clear the harbor.
This maneuver of the gallant British ship is
regarded as one of the most daring in naval
annals. It was the one desperate chance offered
her commander to save his vessel and the three
hundred lives aboard. An accident to the
machinery at this critical moment would have
meant certain death to all. Every pound of
steam which the Calliope could possibly carry
was crowded on, and down in the fire-rooms the
men worked as they never had worked before.
To clear the harbor, the Calliope had to pass
between the Trenton and the reef, and it re-




quired the most skillful seamanship to avoid a
collision with the Trenton, on the one hand, or
total destruction upon the reef, on the other.
The Trenton's fires had gone out by that time,
and she lay helpless almost in the path of the
Calliope. The doom of the American flagship
seemed but a question of a few hours. Nearly
every man aboard felt that his vessel must soon

be dashed to pieces, and that he would find a
grave under the coral reef. The decks of the
flagship were swarming with men, but, facing
death as they were, they recognized the heroic
struggle of the British ship, and as the latter
passed within a few yards of them a great shout
went up from over four hundred men aboard the
Trenton. Three cheers for the Calliope was
the sound that reached the ears of the British
tars as they passed out of the harbor in the teeth
of the storm; and the heart of every English-
man went out to the brave American sailors who
gave that parting tribute to the Queen's ship.
A well-known London journal afterward re-
marked, "The cheer of the Trenton's men was
the expression of an immortal courage. It was
distressed manhood greeting triumphant man-
hood, the doomed saluting the saved." The
English sailors returned the Trenton's cheer,
and the Calliope passed safely out to sea, re-
turning when the storm had abated. Captain

Kane, her commander, in speaking of the inci-
dent afterward said, Those ringing cheers of
the American flagship pierced deep into my
heart, and I will ever remember that mighty
outburst of fellow-feeling which, I felt, came
from the bottom of the hearts of the gallant
Admiral and his men. Every man on board
the Calliope felt as I did; it made us work to
win. I can only say, God bless America and
her noble sailors!' "
When the excitement on the Vandalia which
followed the collision with the Calliope had
subsided, it was determined to beach the vessel.
Lieutenant J. W. Carlin, the executive officer,
was practically in command, as Captain Schoon-
maker had been thrown across the cabin the
night before and severely injured. The captain
was in a dazed and weakened condition, able to
do little toward directing the movements of the
ship; but, notwithstanding his injuries, he faced
the storm like a hero and stood by the side of
his first officer until the sea finally swept him off
to his death. Of all the officers who did their
duty nobly in the face of danger, none received
more commendation than Lieutenant Carlin.
Officers and men alike spoke of his conduct
in the highest terms of praise, and said that his.
cool and calm demeanor kept the men at work
when panic was almost breaking out among
them. He had been on duty since the morning
before and had not tasted food in all that time.
The Vandalia was obliged to move along the
edge of the reef, a distance of several hundred
yards, in order to reach a point in front of the
American consulate where it was thought safe
to run her aground.
Every one on shore stood near the consulate
and watched the vessel steam across the harbor.
Her draught was greater than the Nipsic's, and
it was known that she would not be able to get
very close to the shore. She came on until her
bow stuck in the soft sand, about two hundred
yards off shore and probably eighty yards from
the stem of the Nipsic.
Her engines were stopped and the men in
the engine-room and fire-room below were or-
dered on deck. The ship swung around broad-
side to the shore, and it was thought at first that
her position was comparatively safe, as it was
believed that the storm would abate in a few


hours and that the two hundred and forty men
aboard could be rescued then.
It was nearly eleven. o'clock when the Van-
dalia struck, and notwithstanding her easy posi-
tion it soon became apparent that her officers
and crew were in great danger. Nearly all the
officers were on the poop-deck, but their faces
could not be distinguished from the shore on
account of the blinding mist. The men were
scattered about on the gun-deck and on the
forecastle, holding on to the masts and sides of
the ship. In half an hour it was noticed that the

to mean certain death, for a boiling torrent of
water, covered with floating wreckage, was rush-
ing between the Vandalia and the shore.
Notwithstanding the peril of such an act, the
man fastened a small cord to his body, stood by
the rail a moment, and then plunged into the
sea. He had hardly touched the water when
he was thrown violently against the side of the
ship and knocked into insensibility.
There was no possibility of saving him, and
he drowned in sight of all who had witnessed
his heroic action.


vessel was settling down. Lying as she did, al-
most broadside to the wind, the seas broke over
her furiously and poured down the hatches.
One by one the boats were torn from their
davits and swept away. Efforts were made to
fire lines ashore, but it was impossible to do so
as the ammunition was saturated with water.
One brave sailor, named F. M. Hammer, vol-
unteered to swim through the surf with a line, in
the hope that his comrades might be rescued in
that way. It was an undertaking which seemed

By noon the entire gun-deck of the Vandalia
was under water, and from that time on the con-
dition of those aboard was the most pitiable
that can be imagined.
The torrents of water that swept over the
ship knocked the men from their feet and threw
them against the sides. Several were badly in-
jured. Most of the men sought refuge in the
rigging. A few officers still remained upon the
poop-deck, but a number had gone aloft. The
wind seemed to increase in fury, and as the hull


'1 ii, i'


---':-,: ^ ^ -:l i""
.. -. : ... . *. ..-* *'- ^ ^
_/ I_.I =-


* S

w57 '


of the steamer sank lower, the force of the waves
grew more violent. Men on shore were willing
to render aid, but were powerless.
No boat could have lived a moment in the
surf, and it was impossible to get a line to the
vessel as there was no firing-apparatus on shore.
The remembrance of those hours when the
sea was washing over the Vandalia has come to
me many times since then, and the scene is as
vivid as it was when I stood on the beach in
that blinding storm and watched the awful spec-
tacle. I recalled, then, that a few days previous
Captain Schoonmaker had been ashore and had
given me an invitation to go aboard the Van-
dalia and spend some time with him. Circum-
stances had prevented me from accepting his
invitation at the time, but I had intended to
avail myself of the opportunity of passing a few
days at least on a man-of-war, and in fact had
made arrangements to go aboard on the day
before the hurricane, but the early stage of the
storm had already set in then, and the bay was
so rough that the ship could not be reached in
a small boat with safety, so I had been obliged
to postpone my visit. I confess that, as I
watched the vessel that day and saw the waves

sweeping men into the sea, I felt that I had had
a fortunate escape.
When the distressed condition of the Vanda-
lia became apparent, three officers of the Nipsic,
Lieutenant Shearman and Ensigns Purcell and
Jones, made every effort to rescue the men; and
during the whole day and night, with the assist-
ance of several other Americans and the natives,
they labored incessantly to reach the doomed
vessel and used every means to save the lives of
the men.
A long hawser was procured, and three natives
were found who were willing to venture out in
the surf with a cord and attempt to reach the
Vandalia. The men entered the water a quarter
of a mile above the spot where the steamer lay,
and struck out into the surf with the cord tied
to their bodies.
Shouts of encouragement went up from the
shore, and the Samoans struggled bravely to
reach the sunken ship. But, expert swimmers
as they were, they were unable to overcome the
force of the current, which rushed down like a
cataract between the Vandalia and the shore,
and the men were thrown upon the beach with-
out being able to get within a hundred yards

r+g;;+ L-L . .. .




of the vessel. Seumanu Tafa, their chief, urged
the men to try again, and several other attempts
were made, but without success.
It was now evident that many of those on
the Vandalia would not be able to withstand the
force of the waves much longer and would be
swept into the sea. Natives waded into the
water and stood just on the edge of the current
ready to grasp any one who should float near
them. The seas continued to break over the
vessel, and it was not long before several men
were washed over the side. As soon as they
touched the water they swam for the Nipsic,
where they grasped ropes hanging over the side
and attempted to draw themselves on deck. A
number succeeded in doing this, but others were
so weak that after hanging to the ropes a mo-
ment their grasp was broken by the awful seas
which crashed against the side of the vessel, and
they would fall back into the current.
The first man who came ashore was Chief
Engineer A. S. Greene.
When he was washed from the deck of the

and fortunately was able to catch a piece of
floating wreckage.
He soon drifted into the current and was
swept down along the shore. The natives saw
his head above the water, and they clasped each
other's hands and formed a long line stretching
out into the current. As the chief engineer
swept by, the native farthest out grasped him
by the arm and brought him to shore.
Just before he was rescued, another man who
had been washed from the Vandalia was seen
clinging to a rope by the side of the Nipsic.
The waves had torn away all his clothing.
There were several Vandalia sailors aboard
the Nipsic by this time, and he shouted to
them to draw him up, but his voice was lost
in the roar of the wind, and after clinging to
the rope a while longer he let go and grasped
a piece of board which was floating past him.
He also was drawn into the current and com-
menced to sweep along the shore. He was
further out than Chief Engineer Greene had
been, but the Samoans were making every effort

: .. .... ''- -": .*. -

___.. ____ --.-__ ._ __.__-- -.%-^-.^ .

Vandalia, he swam to the Nipsic and caught a to reach him, and had advanced so far into the
rope. He hung there for several minutes and current that they were almost carried away
tried in vain to draw himself up, but finding his themselves. Just as the drowning man was
strength failing, he dropped back into the water within a few feet of the mouth of a small river,


where another current would have swept him
far out into the bay, the natives caught him and
drew him ashore. He proved to be H. A.
Wiley, a young naval cadet. He was carried
to the consulate insensible, and it was only
after great exertions that he was resuscitated.
It was not long after Greene and Wiley were
washed overboard, that the four officers who
were drowned were swept from the deck.
Captain Schoonmaker was clinging to the rail

refused it. At last a great wave submerged the
poop-deck. Captain Schoonmaker held on to
the rail with all the strength he had left, but the
torrent of water wrenched a machine-gun from
its fastenings and sent it whirling across the deck.
The captain was bending down at the time and
the gun struck him on the head, and either killed
him outright or knocked him insensible, for the
wave swept him from the deck. He sank with-
out a struggle and was seen no more.



on the poop-deck. Lieutenant Carlin was
standing by him trying to hold the captain
on, as the latter was becoming weaker every
minute. Every one on the deck saw that he
could not stand against the rush of water much
longer. No one knew it better than himself,
and he several times remarked to those about
him that he would have to go soon. Lieuten-
ant Carlin tried to get him up in the rigging,
but the captain said he was too weak to climb
up and would have to remain where he was as
long as possible. He had no life-preserver; one
had been offered him several times, but he had

Paymaster Frank H. Arms and Pay Clerk
John Roche were lying upon the deck ex-
hausted, but clinging with all the strength they
possessed to anything which came within their
grasp. They were washed off together. The
paymaster sank in a moment, but Roche drifted
over to the stern of the Nipsic, where he grasped
a rope. He was a large, fleshy man, and be-
ing greatly exhausted could not possibly draw
himself up on the deck. His hold upon the
rope was soon broken, but he continued to float
under the stem of the Nipsic several minutes,
wildly throwing out his arms in a vain attempt



to clutch something. He finally sank under
the vessel. Lieutenant Frank E. Sutton, the
marine officer, died in nearly the same way.
Weakened by long exposure and the terrible
strain to which he was subjected, he was unable
to retain his hold longer, and was washed over-
board and drowned.
During the remainder of the afternoon there
followed a succession of awful scenes of death
and suffering not soon to be forgotten. The
storm had not abated in the least. The wind
continued to blow with terrible force; waves
that seemed like mountains of water rolled in
from the ocean and broke upon the reef and
over the ill-fated Vandalia. The sheets of water
which fell from the clouds, and the sand which
was beaten up from the shore, struck like hail
against the houses. White men who stood out
in the storm were often obliged to seek shelter
to escape the deluge of rain and sand which cut
the flesh like a knife, and even the natives would
occasionally run for safety behind an upturned
boat or a pile of wreckage.
The Vandalia continued to settle, and the few
men who had not already taken to the rigging
stood on the poop-deck or on the forecastle, as
the vessel amidships was entirely under water.
Almost twenty-four hours had elapsed since
any one aboard had tasted food, and all were
weak and faint from hunger and exposure.
Men were now washed from the decks and
rigging a half dozen at a time, and a few, who
felt that they were growing too weak to hold on,
jumped into the water, determined to make one
last effort to save themselves.
Nearly every man who jumped or was washed
overboard succeeded in reaching the Nipsic,
and a number of them climbed upon the deck
by the aid of ropes. Those who reached the
deck assisted others who were struggling in the
water, and several lives were saved in that way.
But many a poor fellow who reached the Nip-
sic's side, was unable to hold on to a rope long
enough to be drawn up, and the seas would
wash him away and sweep him into the current.
None of them came near enough to the shore
to be reached by the natives, and those who
once got into the current were carried out into
the bay and drowned.
As I stood on the beach that afternoon, I saw
VOL. XVII.-35.

a dozen men go down before my eyes. I was
with Lieutenant Shearman and Ensigns Purcell
and Jones, Nipsic officers, and Consul Black-
lock, nearly all the time. We had been drag-
ging heavy hawsers up and down the beach all
day and had adopted every means in our power
to render some assistance to the drowning men.
As we watched them struggling in the water,
far beyond any human aid, I remember how we
felt, that we must do something to reach them;
but we were powerless. We had seen a hundred
German sailors go down, early in the morning,
and while we had recognized the horror of that
calamity we were not impressed with the same
feeling which came upon us as we saw men of
our own country suffering the same fate. Here
there was a bond of sympathy which appealed
to us as Americans, and one who, in a foreign
land, has ever seen such death and suffering
befall his fellow-countrymen can appreciate the
feeling with which we watched those scenes in
Apia harbor.
By three o'clock, the Vandalia was resting
her whole length on the bottom, and the only
part of her hull which stood out of water was
the after part of the poop-deck and the forward
part of the forecastle. Every man was in the
rigging. As many as could be accommodated
there, had climbed into the tops and sunk down
exhausted upon the small platforms. Others
clung to the ratlines and yards with the desper-
ation of dying men, expecting every moment
to be their last. Their arms and limbs were
bruised and swollen by holding on to the rough
ropes. A number had been greatly injured by
falling about the decks, and many a poor crea-
ture was so benumbed with cold and exposure to
the biting rain, and so weak from want of food,
that he sank almost into insensibility and cared
not whether he lived or died.
More than one man who was clinging to the
ratlines, gave way under the terrible strain and
fell to the deck, only to be washed over the sub-
merged side of the ship and drowned.
A hawser had been made fast from the deck
of the Nipsic to the shore, and the Vandalia
men who had escaped to the Nipsic reached
shore in that way.
The Nipsic had by that time swung out
straight from the shore, so that the distance be-


tween the two vessels was not more than fifty
yards. A small rope was made fast from the
foremast of the Vandalia to the stern of the
Nipsic, and a few men escaped by it, but before
all in the fore-rigging were rescued, the line
parted and could not afterward be replaced.
The terrible scenes attending the wreck ofthe
Vandalia had detracted attention from the other
two men-of-war which still remained afloat; but
about four o'clock in the afternoon the positions
of the Trenton and Olga became most alarm-
ing. The flagship had been in a helpless con-
dition for hours.
At ten o'clock in the morning, her rudder and
propeller had been carried away by fouling with
a piece of floating wreckage; and, to add to her
discomfiture, great volumes of water poured in
through the hawse-pipes (the large openings in
the bow through which the anchor-chains pass).
From ten o'clock in the morning until six in the
evening, when she grounded, the Trenton held
out against the storm without steam or rudder,
and her escape from total destruction was mi-
raculous. Admiral Kimberly, Captain Farqu-
har, and Lieutenant Brown, the navigating
officer, stood upon the bridge the whole day and
directed the movements of the ship. For two
hours before the fires were' extinguished, the
water was rushing in through the hawse-pipes
and pouring down the hatches into the fire-
room and engine-room. The men at work
there were in a most perilous position, as they
were so far down below the deck that if the
vessel had gone upon the reef suddenly and
sunk, they never could have escaped. Engi-
neers Galt and Matthews were in charge of the
engine-room during the time that the water was
pouring down the hatches. All the men there
stood at their posts until they were waist-deep
in the water and the fires were extinguished.
The berth-deck also was flooded, and efforts
were made to close the hawse-pipes. Lieuten-
ant W. H. Allen remained below all day super-
intending this work, but, though he was partially
successful, the force of the water was so great
that everything placed in the pipes was torn
out. It was a most dangerous post, as the men
stationed there had two decks above them, and
in case the vessel should go down their escape
was shut off. Allen and his men were deluged

with the torrents of water which rushed in
through the openings with every pitch of the
vessel. It was necessary to work the pumps
early in the day, and this was kept up con-
stantly. Men never fought against adverse
circumstances with more desperation than the
officers and men of the Trenton displayed dur-
ing those hours when the flagship was beaten
about by the gale. There was not an idle
man on the ship. The entire supervision of
affairs outside of the manceuvering of the vessel
fell upon Lieutenant-Commander H. W. Lyon,|
who afterward received the commendation of
his superior officers for the efficient services
which he rendered during the storm. Among
the officers who rendered most valuable assist-
ance were Lieutenants Graham, Scott, and Allen,
and Ensign Blanden.
By the skillful use of a storm-sail, the Trenton
kept well out in the harbor until the middle of
the afternoon, and then she was forced over to-
ward the eastern reef. Destruction seemed im-
minent, as the great vessel was pitching heavily,.
and her stern was but a few feet from the reef.
This point was a quarter of a mile from shore,
and if the Trenton had struck the reef there, it is
probable that not a life would have been saved.
A skillful maneuver, which was suggested by
Lieutenant Brown, saved the ship from destruc-
tion. Every man was ordered into the port
rigging, and the compact mass of bodies was
used as a sail. The wind struck against the
men in the rigging and forced the vessel out into
the bay again. She soon commenced to drift
back against the Olga, which was still standing
off the reef and holding up against the storm more
successfully than any other vessel in the harbor
had done. The Trenton came slowly down on the
Olga, and this time it seemed as if both vessels
would be swept on the reef by the collision and
crushed to pieces. People on the shore rushed
to the water's edge and waited to hear the crash
which would send to the bottom both men-of-
war and their loads of human lives. Notwith-
standing the dangerous situation of the ships, a
patriotic incident occurred at this time which
stirred the hearts of all who witnessed it. The
storm had been raging so furiously all day that
not a flag had been raised on any of the vessels.
As the Trenton approached the Olga, an officer



standing near Admiral Kimberly suggested that
the flag be raised. The Admiral, whose whole
attention had been absorbed in directing the
movements of the ship, turned for a moment to
the group of officers near him and said, Yes;
let the flag go up!"
In an instant the stars and stripes floated from
the gaff of the Trenton, and to those on shore it
seemed as if the gallant ship knew she was
doomed, and had determined to go down with
the flag of her country floating above the storm.
The Olga, seeing the approach of the Trenton,
attempted to steam away, but just as she had
commenced to move up against the wind, her
bow came in contact with the starboard quarter
of the flagship. The heavy timbers of the
Trenton's quarter were shivered, several boats
were torn from the davits, and the American flag
which had just been raised was carried away and
fell to the deck of the Olga. Fortunately, the
vessels drifted apart after the collision, and no
serious damage was done. The Olga steamed
ahead toward the mud-flats in the eastern part
of the bay, and was soon hard and fast on the
bottom. Not a life was lost, and several weeks
later the ship was hauled off and saved.
The Trenton was not able to get out into the
bay again after her collision with the Olga.
She was now about two hundred feet from the
sunken Vandalia, and was slowly drifting to-
ward the shore. A new danger seemed to arise.
The Trenton, was sure to strike the Vandalia,
and to those on shore it seemed that the huge
hull of the flagship would crush the Vandalia
to pieces and throw into the water the men still
clinging to the rigging. It was now after five
o'clock, and the daylight was beginning to fade
away. In a half hour more, the Trenton had
drifted to within a few yards of the Vandalia's
bow, and feelings hard to describe came to the
hundreds who watched the vessels from the
The memory of the closing incidents of that
day will cling to me through life, for they were
a spectacle such as few have ever seen. No
American can recall those patriotic features
without feeling a glowing pride in the naval
heroes of his country. I was standing with
others as far down on the beach as it was safe
to be, watching the ships through the gathering

darkness,,and every incident that occurred came
under my personal notice.
Presently the last faint rays of daylight faded
away, and night came down upon the awful
scene. The storm was still raging with as much
fury as at any time during the day. The poor
creatures who had been clinging for hours to
the rigging of the Vandalia, were bruised and
bleeding; but they held on with the desperation
of men who were hanging between life and
death. The ropes had cut the flesh on their
arms and legs, and their eyes were blinded by
the salt spray which swept over them. Weak
and exhausted as they were, they would be un-
able to stand the terrible strain much longer.
They looked down at the angry waters below
them, and knew that they had no strength left
to battle with the waves. The final hour
seemed to be upon them. The great black
hull of the Trenton could be seen through the
darkness almost ready to crash into the stranded
Vandalia and grind her to atoms. Suddenly a
shout was borne across the waters. The Tren-
ton was cheering the Vandalia. The sound of
four hundred and fifty voices broke upon the
air and was heard above the roar of the tem-
pest. "Three cheers for the Vandalia !" was
the cry that warmed the hearts of the dying
men in the rigging.
The shout died away upon the storm, and
there arose from the quivering masts of the
sunken ship a response so feeble it was scarcely
heard upon the shore. Men who felt that they
were looking death in the face, aroused them-
selves to the effort and united in a faint cheer
for the flagship. Those who were standing on
the beach listened in silence, for that feeble cry
was the saddest they had ever heard. Every
heart was melted to pity. God help them! "
was passed from one man to another. The
cheer had hardly ceased when the sound of
music came across the water. The Trenton's
band was playing The Star-Spangled Banner."
The thousand men on sea and shore had never
before heard strains of music at such a time
as that. An indescribable feeling came over
the Americans on the beach who listened to
the notes of the national song mingled with the
howling of the storm.
Men who had exhausted every means, during




the whole of that awful day, of rendering some
assistance to their comrades, now seemed in-
spired to greater effort. They ran about the
beach eager to afford help, even at the risk of life
itself. They looked despairingly at the roaring
torrent of water that broke upon the shore, and
knew that no boat could live in such a sea.
Bravely as the Samoans had acted, there was
not one of them who would again venture
into the surf, where certain death would befall
Persons on shore were simply powerless, and
there was nothing to do but remain on the beach
ready to lend assistance in any possible way
which might present itself.
But the collision of the Trenton and Vanda-
lia, instead of crushing the latter vessel to pieces,
proved to be the salvation of the men in the
rigging. When the Trenton's stern finally struck
the side of the Vandalia, there was no shock, and
she swung around broadside to the sunken ship.
This enabled the men on the Vandalia to es-
cape to the deck of the Trenton, and in a short
time they were all taken off.
By ten o'clock at night, the natives and nearly
all the white persons who had watched the
storm, seemed to be satisfied that no further
harm could come to the two ships; and the
shore, which had been thronged with people
all day, was soon deserted. The three Nipsic
officers and myself patrolled the beach all night
in the hope of rescuing some one who might
not have escaped to the Trenton. We found
but one man, Ensign Ripley, who had jumped
from the Vandalia before the Trenton touched
her, and had reached the shore. He was lying
on the beach exhausted and about to be washed
out by the undertow when we came upon him
and carried him to the consulate. The storm

had abated at midnight, and when day dawned
there was no further cause for alarm. The men
were removed from the Trenton and provided
with quarters on shore.
During the next few days the evidences of
the great disaster could be seen on every side.
In the harbor were the wrecks of four men-of-
war: the Trenton, Vandalia, Adler, and Eber;
and two others, the Nipsic and Olga, were hard
and fast on the beach and were hauled off with
great difficulty. The wrecks of ten sailing ves-
sels also lay upon the reefs. On shore, houses
and trees were blown down, and the beach was
strewn with wreckage from one end of the town
to the other.
Above the whole scene of destruction the
stars and stripes and the flag of Rear-Admiral
Kimberly floated from the shattered masts of
the Trenton, as if to indicate that America was
triumphant even above the storm. The Ameri-
can naval forces took entire control of the town,
and a guard of marines, under Captain R. W.
Huntington of the Trenton and Lieutenant
Fillette of the Nipsic was stationed in every
locality to prevent any trouble which might
arise on account of the great confusion which
prevailed on shore.
A muster showed that one hundred and forty-
four lives had been lost in the storm. Of these,
ninety-one were from the German ships Eber
and Adler. The Vafidalia had lost four officers
and thirty-nine men, and the Nipsic had lost
seven men. One man was killed on the Trenton
by a piece of flying timber, and two victims
from the schooner Lily were added to the list.
Not more than one-third of the bodies were
recovered. The others were either swept under
the coral reefs in the harbor, or washed far out
to sea.





CATHY turned, and there, between the por-
tieres that separated them from the next room,
stood Mrs. Bartlett! How much had she
heard? She had heard enough. Her cheeks
were scarlet; her eyes were bright with unshed
tears. Silent from horror in the first moment,
in the next, as she saw that look of hurt, May's
heart rose up in one pitiful, pitying, appealing
cry, and that cry was:
"Oh, Mamma! Mamma!"
Mrs. Bartlett lifted her head with a quick
start; she began to speak: "May, I -" then
her voice broke, and the tears that had been
withheld overflowed.
Just here, "Margaret, Margaret, where are
you all?" Mr. Bartlett was heard calling im-
patiently as he approached from the other room.
Margaret dried her eyes with a swift move-
ment, and, with an entreating, "Come, girls,
come with me," turned away.
Thoroughly subdued and not a little fright-
ened, Cathy made no further attempt at delay,
but followed the others as they obeyed Mrs.
Bartlett's entreaty.
Going down the stairs, Susy, pressing close
to Joanna, whispered softly:
"Joanna, did you notice May called her step-
mother Mamma,' and did you notice her step-
mother's face ? She cried, but there was a little
smile there, did you notice, Joanna ? "
Joanna squeezed Susy's hand for reply. She
had noticed, but she fancied no one else had
How the party ended, May could scarcely
have told you. Everything was like a bad
dream after this, and she moved about mechani-
cally in the supper room, answering questions,
now and then seeing that some one was served,
but taking nothing herself; once or twice she
saw her stepmother looking at her, but she
could not meet the glance. Cathy took things

more easily. Back again among the lights,
the flowers, and the young people, her spirits re-
turned in a measure, though with a wholesome
difference of restraint. May observed her ease
with astonishment. She could think of nothing
but that dreadful talk upstairs, specially of that
last sentence which her stepmother had over-
heard. And how much movie had been over-
heard ?
All the instincts of a lady were beginning to
work in May's mind, and to fill her with self-
disgust and shame. She felt like a little traitor
in her own household-a traitor to her father,
and an ungenerous enemy to her father's wife
-an ungenerous enemy from the first, when
she had willfully misunderstood, and yes, will-
fully misrepresented the matter of the garden
party. Then one by one her other grievances "
came up -" grievances that she had made
much of and confided to Cathy! Oh, those con-
fidences to Cathy! They reminded her of the
old mythological story of the dragon's teeth
that Cadmus blindly sowed. They had come
up like armed men to destroy her.
It had been part of the arrangement, when
Cathy had been permitted to spend her vacation
at the Bartletts', that she should return on Satur-
day afternoon to the seminary, that she might
be all ready for school duties upon Monday.
The party had been the excuse for extending
the hour of return to evening. Both Cathy and
May, at the beginning of the week, had urged,
but without effect, that the visit might extend
to Monday morning. Now, both felt a sense
of relief that they were to separate that night.
Cathy, as usual, was the easier of the two, as
the final good-byes were said. Her glib tongue
did not falter even when she faced Mrs. Bart-
lett, though, to her credit be it said, a deep blush
suffused her cheeks as that lady came forward
with a kindly courtesy the girl knew she did not
deserve to receive. As for May, the hardest
time of all was when the last carriage drove


away and she was left alone with her father and
his wife. Her father would be sure to say some-
thing about Cathy's behavior, though, thanks to
her stepmother, she knew he had heard nothing
of what had occurred upstairs. Perhaps, how-
ever, she could escape. It was a late hour for
her, and she would say good-night in the hall
and run up to bed. She was half-way up the
stairway when Mr. Bartlett called out quickly:
May! "
She stopped suddenly, her heart beating vio-
lently, her limbs trembling. The next moment,
she started backward, stumbled and-fell.
My dear!" and her father sprung forward,
and lifted her in his arms. She lay there quite
still and very pale. "Are you hurt ? She shook
her head, smiled a little, and tried to help her-
self. As she did so she cried out with pain:
Oh, my foot! "
She had sprained her ankle.
Send for Mrs. Marks, Margaret," Mr. Bart-
lett said, as he carried May into her chamber.
Mrs. Marks went to bed an hour ago, Ed-
ward, with a sick headache, but if it is a sprain -
I know all about a sprain-and if you will trust
me,"-Margaret paused an instant-" you and
May," and she looked down upon May with
questioning eyes.
Of course, we '11 trust you; we 're only too
glad to, are n't we, Maisie? "
May gave a shy assent in a faint "yes,"
yet there was an expression in her face that
did not escape Mrs. Bartlett's eyes. It was
an expression of dread mixed with shame.
But ignoring- all this she set about her work
of relief in a pleasant, easy manner, sending
Julie for hot water and bandages, then softly
manipulating the sprained ankle, with a touch
both sure and skillful. There was something
in this touch, delicate and firm, that brought
up to May, by sheer force of contrast, Mrs.
Marks's heavy-handed care. The light move-
ment, too, the soft-voiced orders, the ease
of everything all were so different from Mrs.
Marks's bustling ways, her step that shook the
room, her incessant talk of pity and question
and anxiety, whenever an accident put any one
under her ministrations.
By degrees, May lost something of that con-
scious feeling of dread and shame as she lay

there. Even when Julie left the room for the
night, and May found herself quite alone with
her .stepmother, the dread did not return, and
the keen feeling of shame was softened by a
sense of sorrow and humility for all that she
had thought and said. It was just when this
feeling was strong within her that her step-
mother, turning down the light, approached
the bed with the words:
There, my dear, I have put this stand beside
you with a bell upon it, and if you need me,
you have only to ring and I shall hear you and
come to you. You say your ankle does not
pain you very much now?"
Not nearly as much -just a little."
"Well, I shall be in the next room to you,
and can come to you in a moment if you need
In the next room?" May inquired with
"Yes, I shall sleep on the lounge there
to-night to be near you."
May looked up quickly, and gave a little
exclamatory Oh! "
What is it, my dear ? asked Mrs. Bartlett,
bending over her.
Nothing," very faintly.
It was then, with a final adjustment of the
bed-clothing, that her stepmother, turning to
go, said gently:
"Good-night, my dear"; and May, closing
her eyes, answered almost in a whisper:
Good-night,- Mamma."
In the next instant she felt the touch of soft,
warm lips upon her forehead. She could not
speak. She lay quite still. When she opened
her eyes, she was alone.
On Monday morning, word was sent to the
seminary that Miss Bartlett had sprained her
ankle and would not be able to attend school
for a fortnight at least.
Of course Cathy would be the first to go
and see May, thought the girls. But Cathy
seemed to be in no haste to go. She even ex-
cused herself by saying that she was not well,
when Professor Ingalls proposed that she should
take a message for him to Mrs. Bartlett. And
so it came about that Joanna and Susy were
May's first callers. It was Mrs. Bartlett who
received the visitors, and who went up to an-


nounce them to May. It happened that she
did not mention their names as she went into
the chamber-that she only said:
"Well, my dear, two of your school friends
have come to cheer you up."
"Oh, I can't-I can't see Cathy-just
now," May cried excitedly.
"But it is n't Cathy; it is Joanna, and that
quaint little girl- I forget her name," Mrs.
Bartlett answered quietly.
Oh,-Susy!" And when Joanna and Susy
went into the room the happy relief in May's
heart shone in her face, and gave her greeting
an added warmth.
By and by the girls fell to talking of the party,
of the good time they had had, and by and
by, in this talk, that last half-hour -that bad
time that had so spoiled the "good "-was
brought up, and Joanna exclaimed vehe-
mently :
I think that Cathy Bond would spoil any-
thing. She 's what Professor Ingalls would call
'demoralizing.' She-she tried from the first
Joanna colored a little and stopped.
May took up her words -" to set me against
my stepmother I know what you were go-
ing to say, but Joanna I I let Cathy
talk -I made her talk by telling her things.
My Cousin Jack said last summer that boys, if
they were rougher than girls, would be ashamed
to do some of the sneaking things that girls do
sometimes,- the things that were unfair and
like little lies. I was awfully vexed when he
said it, but now I think he was just right."
Oh, no, May," interrupted Joanna sooth-
Yes, I do,- I know he was right." Then,
with a catch in her breath, May went on and
confessed herself- told of her unfair way of
looking at things and of representing them; of
the garden party, the village-wagon, and other
"little lies as she now called them.
But you believed you were right then," still
soothingly consoled Joanna.
I read the other day in a book that people-
some people- lie to themselves and believe
it!" Susy suddenly broke forth in her queerest
Oh, Susy! cried Joanna, looking at May;

but May's lips were drawing up from their sad
lines, and as she caught Joanna's eye, she
laughed; Joanna following in a half-suppressed
"But what I can't get over," began May
again, is that that last thing that Cathy said
upstairs here, that -Mamma overheard." As
May said this, as she pronounced the word
"Mamma," she colored scarlet.
"You called her 'Mamma,' right there that
night, and, May, she knew how sorry you were
then, for I saw her smile quick and soft, and I
told Joanna about it, did n't I, Joanna ? "
Oh, but, Susy, that was the least I could do.
I had to say it. It burst out."
Why don't you say some more -let some
more what you have told us -' burst out' to
her ?" quaintly asked Susy.
Oh, I don't know how. I feel so mean
when I think of things."
"You would n't feel so mean afterward, and,
May, you do like her, now, don't you; that is,
you don't hate her now, the least bit, do you ? "
Susy did say such things! Joanna turned cold
as she listened. But May answered as if she
was relieved to speak:
"I don't think I ever hated her; it was the
There was a little pause, then Joanna said:
I think she was lovely-just lovely to Cathy
at the party. I was dancing in the hall, and I
saw and heard everything."
May thought how in the same way she had
been lovely to Cathy through the whole week.
As she thought this; Susy started up from one
of her small reveries and said brightly:
"Oh, I 've been thinking how I wish she
would like me. I think it would be perfectly
beautiful; she 's so sweet and sort of far off and
up above us, like an elder sister."
Joanna laughed merrily at Susy's sudden out-
burst, but to May the words came more seriously.
She was startled and thrilled by them.
Sweet and sort of far off and up above us."
It was n't a question of one's liking her, with
Susy. It was who and what she would like.
All at once May knew that it was this that was
of consequence to her now this regard of her
stepmother. She looked back and saw her from
the first, with that air of fine courtesy that had



never wavered. Then, through the last week,
not only courteous but generously kind. Of
course she would still go on just the same -
that was her way-having kindness and con-
sideration for people who did not deserve it;
but to have her liking, her loving,--that was
quite another thing.
May was silent so long that Joanna felt that
she was tired, and that it was time for the visit
to end.
Going down the stairs the two girls were met
by Mrs. Bartlett.
What, going so soon ? she said. Can't you
stay longer?" But when Joanna explained why
they went, she did not urge them to remain.
Left to herself, May's thoughts returned to the
miserable events of the past weeks, the mistakes
of the past month. If she could talk with her
stepmother as she had talked to the girls -as
Susy had recommended! But how could she ?
" Far off and up above us." Susy's words haunted
her. No, she could never talk to her as she had
talked to the girls. Her stepmother had been
kind to her; she had kissed her; but that was
because she meant to do her duty. Over and
over poor May pondered these perplexities. Tired
and spent at last, she covered her face with her
hands, and burst into tears. So absorbed was
she by her miseries that she did not hear the
door open, nor the fall of a light footstep. She
heard nothing until a voice close to her,- her
stepmother's voice,- said gently :
My dear, what is it ?-Are you so tired ?"
She shook her head; she was past speaking
just then. Standing beside her Mrs. Bartlett
stroked the tumbled hair with soft quiet touches,
and spoke not a word. By and by, under these
soothing strokes, the sobs grew less, and, pres-
ently, ceased altogether. Then smilingly, but
with an apologetic tone, Mrs. Bartlett said:
"I 'm afraid I have n't taken very good care
of you, my dear, to let you get so tired."
It was n't that I was tired, I I got to
thinking after Joanna and Susy went away."
"And I thought Joanna and Susy were go-
ing to cheer you up."
"Mamma! The color rushed into May's
cheeks as she said this.
"Yes, my dear."
"I -I want to tell you something. It was n't

true what Cathy said that night. I did n't-
I never hated -you."
I never thought you did. I think I under-
stand. It was-the stepmother, and I see now
how you were encouraged by that hot-headed,
foolish Cathy. My dear, I -"
No no. I I encouraged Cathy to be-
gin with. You must n't think it was all Cathy's
fault." Then, with a swift rush of words, gather-
ing up her courage with the desperate determi-
nation that had come to her, May poured forth
her confessions. All her little prejudices, her
willful injustices, were told unsparingly, and at
the end, with a little shivering sigh that was half
a gasp, she burst out:
"But I never said what Cathy -thought I
did never, never "
"My dear !"
For the first time since she had fairly started
on her story May looked up and met her step-
mother's eyes. They were full of tears, but the
lips were struggling to smile, to speak. The
girl was startled at these signs of pain. Had
she said too much in this confession ? Some-
thing of this doubt found utterance. Then the
smile gained over the tears.
"Too much? My dear, you have done the
best thing in the world for both of us. Now we
can understand each other. Oh, you poor lonely
little girl -to think of all these weeks that you
have suffered so! It makes my heart ache."
May heard these words with bewilderment.
I thought I was acting for the best when I
let things take their course and waited. I thought
you would resent my going forward, and all this
time I was leaving you to such influence no,
I am not going to blame Cathy, altogether,
but I ought to have gone forward to you at
once I could have trusted the girl who has
been brave enough to tell the truth as you
have. You would have done me justice, I am
sure. But now we are to be friends you are
not going to hate even the stepmother ? "
She smiled and put out her hand, as she said
this, taking May's cold little fingers in hers.
" No, not even the stepmother, my dear," smil-
ing now a little archly. "You have something
to forgive her, perhaps, for coming to you with
so little warning. But I had not intended to-
to come so soon. It was an-accident. My


old guardian with whom I had lived since I
was a child, was failing in health, and wished
to break up his household and go abroad; but he
made it a point that I must be married before
he went. He was very fond of your father and
had great trust in him, and he wanted to trans-
fer the care of my property, as well as of myself, to
his hands at once. I had not intended to make

life,' and probably has many years before him;
and, May, your dear mother, when she knew that
she must leave you both, said to him: Don't
live alone long. Find somebody whom you can
love and who will love you and be good to
May.' And, my dear, I love him very much,
and I want to be good to May,' and love her,
too, if she will let me."


this change for six months at least, but when
your father joined with my guardian in urging
it, I yielded, and was guided by him, as we are
all guided by those we love and trust. Your
father would have told you all this, no doubt, if
you had been a little older, but girls seem even
younger than they are, to fathers, you know;
and fathers,-I suppose fathers seem very old
to young daughters like you, May,--too old
to have any right to begin again a home-life
with somebody else. But your father is not an
old man; he is what is called 'in the prime of
VOL. XVI.-36.

May looked up into the kind eyes, without a
word, but her fingers closed with a warm press-
ure about the hand that held hers, and Mrs.
Bartlett felt quite content with such an answer.
On the last day of June of this same year, the
Bartlett grounds were gay with tents and arches
and all the rest of the pretty arrangements that
go to make up a garden-party, specially when
the garden-party is also a birthday-party.
Oh, look, is n't it perfectly beautiful!" cried
Susy Morris to Joanna, as the two went in under
the gateway arch. Just look, Joanna, there is



her name, 'May,' and underneath, 'Fifteen,'--
made of rosebuds."
But if the girls were delighted with this rose-
bud spelling of May's name and age, how must
they have felt when a few steps farther on they
found themselves under a flowery tent where
stood May and Mrs. Bartlett, distributing to each
guest, as they welcomed each, a little nosegay
of rosebuds tied with ribbon ? It was a perfect
day,- all blue sky and sunshine and soft breezes,
and everywhere the scent of roses; for the Bart-
lett gardens and hot-houses were noted for their
beautiful roses. The guests began to arrive at
three o'clock; the party was to be from that
hour until seven. The first to arrive were the
seminary class, Joanna and Susy, Elsie and
Cathy Bond, with the dozen other girls who
made up the number. Each one was in white,
Cathy in a brand-new white nun's veiling, with
knots of red ribbon here and there, and a bunch
of red roses at her girdle. May could n't help
thinking of the scarlet kalmia and the night that
it was worn, as she greeted her. Cathy, herself,
if she did not recall the kalmia, could not but
remember that first party, and her cheeks flushed
until they matched her flowers, as she stood be-
fore Mrs. Bartlett. But that lady was kindness
itself. There was not a note in her voice, nor a
look in her eyes, that recalled anything of that
past disagreeable experience.
"I hope when I am a woman I shall know
how to behave just like that," said Joanna ener-
getically, as she and Susy strolled off down one
of the garden paths, after leaving the reception
Just like what like whom ? asked Susy,
in rather a dazed way.
"Why, like Mrs. Bartlett. Did you see how
nice and easy she was to Cathy, as if Cathy had
always been nice to her,- how she took pains
to change the pink rosebuds tied with pink rib-
bon, for red ones tied with red ribbon, when
she saw Cathy's dress ? I 'm sure Cathy ought
to love her now, and not be offish any more."
Offish ? repeated Susy, still in her queer
dazed little way.
"Yes, why you know how she 's acted ever
since that night of the party. She did n't go
near May to inquire how her ankle was, until
it was nearly well, and then she went with one

of the teachers; and since then she has only
been to the house once,- once in all these six
months,- and she has had hardly anything to
say to May since "
"Well, but, Joanna, I think that 's because
she 's been ashamed and sorry. I think both
of them, she and May, have felt ashamed
and sorry, and that made them feel queer- and
keep away from each other. I-I think that
'way down in her heart Cathy would like to-
to love Mrs. Bartlett, and to have her love her
a little; for, Joanna, did you notice Cathy's new
dress, and did you notice her hair ? She might
have had the skirt made long if she had chosen
to, but she did n't; it's at the top of her boots,
like ours, and instead of piling her hair up high,
as she did that night, it is braided and tied with
ribbon. Now, I think that shows something
how Cathy feels."
"Well, but, Susy, she has been so stiff with
May and all the rest of us, whenever Mrs. Bart-
lett's name has been mentioned; and don't you
remember when May came back, after she got
well, and there were a lot of us in my room
together one day, and one of the girls said
something about a stepmother, and how May
broke out and made a sort of confession of the
mistakes she had made about her stepmother,
and explained, and took back ever so many
things-don't you remember that right in the
midst of her talk, that Cathy stuck up that little
chin of hers and marched out of the room ? "
"Yes, I remember; but, Joanna, I can see
how Cathy felt. She felt mortified, and that
made her feel cross; and she felt, too, that May
was as much to blame as she was, in--in telling
her things, and so,- well, sort of asking for
her pity, and encouraging her to talk. Don't
you see ? "
Yes, I see, you dear little peace-patcher,
but, all the same, I think Cathy might have
pocketed her cross' and just said something -
a word or two that was nice about Mrs. Bart-
lett, after being treated so sweetly by her."
"Cathy did say to me once, when we were
alone, that she guessed May's stepmother was
going to turn out better than we expected."
"She guessed May's stepmother was going to
turn out better than we expected Oh, Susy,
that is rich -and it is just like Cathy."



"But I think that shows that she 's coming
round all right."
"Well, may be she is; but it 's coming
round. That 's just it; not standing up fair
and square and saying, like May, that she 's
been in the wrong. I hate roundabout things,
"Yes, but Cathy 's always been so at the
head, you know, here at school, so popular,
that I suppose it was n't very easy for her to
come out and say she had been in the wrong."
"She 'd be a good deal more popular if she

"Tum ti tum, tum ti tum," sung Joanna, as
the sweet scraping of a fiddle-bow started off
on a bar of the Lancers." The player smiled
and dashed into a swifter movement, and Joanna,
catching Susy about the waist, the two went
dancing down the floor as light of heart as of
foot. By the time they had reached the length
of the tent, other girls came flocking in, and the
harp joining with the fiddles set them all in
In another part of the grounds there was
tennis for those who liked it, and one could hear

i-. -'~

j, I I ,
liii ;

V '''--

V -~-

-- -3
K.~~u ~~


would come out like that. There 's May-
none of the girls ever liked her as they do now."
"Yes, I know, but-oh, hark, Joanna, there's
a fiddle, two fiddles, listen! They're tuning up!
We 're going to have music!"
"And dancing! That's what it means!"
The two girls scampered toward the sound.
It led them around a corner to where stood a big
square tent, open at both ends, and charmingly
decorated; on a little raised platform above the
main flooring sat two fiddlers and a harper
tuning their instruments. .

the jubilant calls of "play," "'vantage," ringing
out and mingling with the dance-music until
late in the afternoon. Then came the bounti-
ful supper, served under the trees from prettily
arranged little tables, to which all the guests
came flocking with hearty outdoor appetites.
Long before seven o'clock, all the guests had
declared that it was the very prettiest party they
had ever attended, and that they had never
had such a "perfectly beautiful time."
At the very last, the crowning fun for the four
seminary girls came, when May drove them



home in the village-wagon. It was a roomy
wagon, but five of them-just think of it! I
don't know how they ever crowded in, but they
did, and Mrs. Bartlett helped them do it, laugh-
ing like a girl herself.
As May turned the pony's head, Susy ex-
claimed :
"But this isn't the old pony--old Jimmy!"
No, this is a new one. Is n't he a beauty ?
It 's Mamma's birthday present to me,-bought
with her own money,-and-and it was she
who gave me the wagon in the autumn. I
did n't know it until Papa told me this morning."
There was the least little bit of a conscious
pause, then they all began to talk briskly of the
pony's merits, and in the middle of this talk

) >

May asked Cathy if she would n't like to drive.
There was nothing that could have pleased
Cathy more, and she took the pretty red reins
from May with a delighted Thank you."
Mrs. Bartlett was waiting to smile her final
good-byes to them as they drove up the drive-
way past the piazza, and it was just then, as
they went whisking by, that Cathy, with a bright
red blush, kissed her hand, and called out
sweetly above the others' voices:
Good-night, Mrs. Bartlett. I 've had a
lovely time."
Susy, cuddled down in the bottom of the
wagon close up against Joanna, breathed a little
sigh of satisfaction, and gave a little squeeze
to Joanna's hand.



A MANDARIN of high degree,
Oh, bow, bow and be polite,
A mandarin from far Chinee -
Oh, bow, bow and be polite.

A mandarin of high degree,
A mandarin from far Chinee;
I am the pink of courtesy-
Oh, bow, bow and be polite.

Then take this lesson now from me,
Oh, bow, bow and be polite,
When any one e'er jostles thee -
Oh, bow, bow and be polite.

Take this lesson now from me,
When any one e'er jostles thee,
Maintain a proper dignity,
But bow, bow and be polite.




FROM the cloudy fountain Oh, it 's hither and thither,
Down to the mountain, Everywhither!
From the mountain into the vale, Blithe to hurry and flurry and shine;
It's ho, to go, to drift and sail, You take the spruce; and you, the pine;
To glisten along the wintry gale. While the tips of the hemlock I '11 make mine.
Round and round White, all white,
With never a sound, Come, spirits of light,
Hill to hollow Hill to hollow
Fall and follow; Flock and follow!
Thicker, faster, merry flakes! Thicker, and faster, flake to flake-
Over the land and over the lakes, First to the forest across the lake!
Here and there, everywhere, Softly, softly, drop we, now,
On the wings of air. Into the warm, dark bough.



HARTFORD, Oct. 5, '89.
DEAR ELSIE: The way of it was this. Away
last spring, Gillette and I pooled intellects on
this proposition: to get up a pleasant surprise
of some kind for you against your next visit -
the surprise to take the form of a tasteful and
beautiful testimonial of some sort or other, which
should express somewhat of the love we felt for
you. Together we hit upon just the right thing
- a pair of slippers. Either one of us could
have thought of a single slipper, but it took both
of us to think of two slippers. In fact, one of
us did think of one slipper, and then, quick as a
flash, the other thought of the other one. It
shows how wonderful the human mind is. It
is really paleontological; you give one mind a
bone, and the other one instantly divines the
rest of the animal.
Gillette embroidered his slipper with astonish-
ing facility and splendor, but I have been a long
time pulling through with mine. You see, it
was my very first attempt at art, and I could n't
rightly get the hang of it along at first. And
then I was so busy that I could n't get a chance
to work at it at home, and they would n't let me

embroider on the cars; they said it made the
other passengers afraid. They did n't like the
light that flared into my eye when I had an in-
spiration. And even the most fair-minded peo-
ple doubted me when I explained what it was I
was making-especially brakemen. Brakemen
always swore at it, and carried on, the way ig-
norant people do, about art. They would n't
take my word that it was a slipper; they said
they believed it was a snow-shoe that had some
kind of a disease.
But I have pulled through, and within twenty-
four hours of the time I told you I would -
day before yesterday. There ought to be a key
to the designs, but I have n't had time to get
one up. However, if you will lay the work be-
fore you with the forecastle pointing north, I will
begin at that end and explain the whole thing,
layer by layer, so that you can understand it.
I began with that first red bar, and without
ulterior design, or plan of any sort--just as I
would begin a Prince and Pauper, or any other
tale. And mind you it is the easiest and surest
way; because if you invent two or three people
and turn them loose in your manuscript, some-
thing is bound to happen to them,-you can't
help it; and then it will take you the rest of the

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book to get them out of the natural consequences
of that occurrence, and so, first thing you know,
there 's your book all finished up and never cost
you an idea. Well, the red stripe, with a bias
stitch, naturally suggested a blue one with a per-
pendicular stitch, and I slammed it in, though
when it came daylight I saw it was green -
which did n 't make any difference, because green
and blue are much the same anyway, and in
fact from a purely moral point of view are re-
garded by the best authorities as identical.
Well, if you will notice, a blue perpendicular
stitch always suggests a ropy red involved stitch,
like a family of angle-worms trying to climb in
under each other to keep warm it would sug-
gest that, every time, without the author of the
slipper ever having to think about it at all.
Now at that point, young Dr. Root came in,
and of course he was interested in the slipper
right away, because he has always had a passion
for art himself, but has never had a chance to
try, because his folks are opposed to it and
superstitious about it, and have done all they
could to keep him back; and so he was eager
to take a hand and see what he could do. And
it was beautiful to see him sit there and tell Mrs.
Clemens what had been happening while we
were off on summer vacation, and hold the
slipper up toward the end of his nose, and for-
get the sordid world, and imagine the canvas
was a subject with a scalp wound, and nimbly
whirl in that lovely surgical stitch which you
see there and never hesitating a moment in
his talk except to say Ouch when he stuck
himself, and then going right on again as smooth
and easy as nothing. Yes, it was a charming
spectacle. And it was real art, too,- realistic;
just native untaught genius; you can see the very
scalp itself, showing through between the stitches.
Well, next I threw in that sheaf of green rods
which the lictors used to carry before the Roman
Consuls to lick them with when they did n't be-
have,- they turned blue in the morning, but
that is the way green always acts.
The next week, after a good rest, I snowed in
that sea of frothy waves, and set that yellow
thing afloat in it and those two things that are
skewered through it. It is n't a home-plate,
and it is n't a papal tiara with the keys of St.
Peter; no, it is a heart my heart with two

arrows stuck through it arrows that go in blue
and come out crimson crimson with the best
drops in that heart, and gladly shed for love of
you, dear.
Now, then, as you strike to the south'ard and
drift along down the starboard side, abaft the
main-to'-gallant scuppers, you come to that blue
quarter-deck which runs the rest of the way aft
to the jumping-off place. In the midst of that
blue you will see some big red letters M. T.;
and west'ard, over on the port side, you will
see some more red letters-To E. L. Aggre-
gated, these several groups of letters signify,
Mark Twain to Elsie Leslie. And you will
notice that you have a gift for art yourself, for
the southern half of the L, embroidered by your-
self, is as good as anything I can do, after all
my experience.
There, now you understand the whole work.
From a professional point of view I consider
the Heart and Arrows by all odds the greatest
triumph of the whole thing; in fact, one of the
ablest examples of civil-engineering in a begin-
ner I ever saw -for it was all inspiration, just
the lightning-like inspiration of the moment. I
could n't do it again in a hundred years,- even
if I recover this time and get just as well and
strong as I was before. You notice what fire
there is in it what rapture, enthusiasm,
frenzy--what blinding explosions of color. It is
just a Turner "-that is what it is. It is just like
his" Slave Ship," that immortal work. What you
see in the Slave Ship is a terrific explosion
of radiating rags and fragments of flaming crim-
son flying from a common center of intense yel-
low which is in violent commotion insomuch
that a Boston reporter said it reminded him of a
yellow cat dying in a platter of tomatoes.
Take the slippers and wear them next your
heart, Elsie dear; for every stitch in them is a
testimony of the affection which two of your
loyalest friends bear you. Every single stitch
cost us blood. I 've got twice as many pores
in me now as I used to have; and you would
never believe how many places you can stick a
needle into yourself until you go into the em-
broidery line and devote yourself to art.
Do not wear these slippers in public, dear;
it would only excite envy; and, as like as not,
somebody would try to shoot you.



Merely use them to assist you in remembering
that among the many, many people who think
all the world of you is your friend,


NEW YORK, October 9, 1889.
MY DEAR MR. CLEMENS: The slipper the
long letter and all the rest came this afternoon,
I think thay are splendid and shall have them
framed and keep them among my very most
prechus things. I have had a great many nice
things given to me and people often say very
pleasant things but I am not quite shure they al-
ways mean it or that they are as trustable as you
and Leo and I am very shure thay would
not spend their prechus time and shed their
blood for me so you see that is one reason
why I will think so much of it and then it was
all so funny to think of two great big men like
you and little Willie (that is what Leo "
calls himself to me) imbroidering a pair of slip-
pers for a little girl like me of corse you have
a great many large words in your letter that I do
not quite understand. One word comencing


with P. has fifteen letters in it and I do not know
what you mean by pooled unless you mean you
and Leo put your two minds together to make
the slippers which was very nice of you both I'
think you are just right about the angle worms
thay did look like that this summer when I used
to dig them for bate to fish with please tell Dr.
Root I will think of him when I look at the part
he did the Surgicle Stich I mean I hope you
will be quite well and strong by the time you
get this letter as you were before you made my
slipper it would make me very sad if you were
to be ill. Give my love to Mrs. Clemens Susie
Clara Gene I-know and you-know and Vix and
all of my Hartford friends tell Gene I wish I was
with her and we would have a nice jump in the
hay loft. When you come to New York you
must call and see me then we will see about
those big words my address is up in the top left
corner of this letter.
To my loyal friend
Mark Twain
From his little friend
[Not Little Lord Fauntleroy now but Tom Canty of
Offal Court and Little Prince Edward of Wales.]



OLD Jack Frost who draws the picture
On your window-pane at night
Thought his poor heart was a fixture,
For he kept it frozen tight.

'T was so cold he could n't feel it,
'T was too hard to ache or smart;
He thought nobody would steal it,
Such a hard old frozen heart!

Poor Jack Frost! Before he knew it
Some one took it without leave;
For he never thought they 'd do it,
And he wore it on his sleeve !


He just aspectss he wore it sometime
In some street that Allis crossed,
And she carries so much sunshine
That it melted and was lost!

Was it you it went away with ?
Did it happen by mistake?
Do you keep it just to play with ?
Please be careful! It will break.

After thinking well about it,
This is what Jack Frost has said:
He '11 agree to do without it,
If you '11 give him yours, instead!

VOL. XVII.-37.



EITHER in Wood's
"Mammalia," the
"Encyclop adia
Britannica," Walsh's
book of "The Dog,"
"Youatt on the
Dog," nor in works
of other eminent
authorities on the
subject of dogs, for-
eign and domestic, does one find any descrip-
tion of a breed that won my admiration in Asia
Minor. One of these authorities, treating of the
English mastiff, hints that its origin may possibly
have been Asiatic, since the nomads of that con-
tinent have breeds of mastiff-like canines; but
this meager reference tells nothing further. This
absence of information rather surprised me, for
the dogs I speak of made a profound impression
on me at the time, by reason of their size and
noble appearance.
One day while traversing the desert pastures
of Kurdistan, I saw, outlined against the sky,
on a knoll not far away, the figure of a man,
and what looked like a pair of lionesses. I was
riding a bicycle (it was on my ride around the
world), and since nothing of the sort had been
seen in that country before, man and animals
stood gazing at me with blank astonishment
depicted in their very attitudes. As I drew
nearer, the animals evidently made up their
minds that, no matter what else I might be, I
was, at all events, an interloper; and so they
came bounding after me.
Dismounting as they approached, I picked
up a stone, and by so doing brought to a stand,
within a dozen yards, two of the most magnifi-
cent dogs I ever saw. Newfoundlands, English
mastiffs, Great Danes, and other splendid dogs,
I, of course, knew very well by sight; but these
two monsters that stood baying me with deep,
gruff voices were they dogs, or what? In

color, they were tawny; they had about the same
quantity of hair on their bodies as a lioness has;
the same broad massive head, the long tail; and
if not quite so large as a full-grown lioness they
were at all events the largest dogs I had ever
beheld. In addition to all these points of
resemblance, they had wild-looking eyes which
gave them a very ferocious aspect.
The man on the knoll was a Kurdish shep-
herd, and these were the co-guardians of his
flock. Although within hailing distance, the
Kurd stood and watched his dogs badgering
me as if he thought it of small consequence
whether they tore me down or not.
The dogs were such splendid animals!-
otherwise I should have felt very much like
resenting this churlish attitude of their master
toward a lone stranger, by treating them to a
revolver bullet. Had I done so, however, as I
afterward learned, there would have been no
end of trouble, for these nomads value their
dogs very highly, and regard the killing of one
of them as crime little short of murder.
Before starting into the interior of Asia, I had
thought of getting a good dog to take with me
on the road to Teheran. I abandoned the idea,
however, at Constantinople, which was very for-
tunate, as a dog would have got me into hot
water continually, owing to the necessity of de-
fending him from the stray curs of every village
passed through. Possibly I might have pulled
him through alive, however, till I reached the
Kurdish camps, when their huge dogs would
have ended his career very shortly.
It is a peculiarity of dogs the world over, to
reflect in their nature the character and condition
of their owners. The thoroughly domesticated
dog is to be found only in highly civilized com-
munities. The Kurds themselves are but semi-
civilized, and consequently their dogs are half-
wild brutes, but imperfectly trained to obey.
Like their masters, they also are possessed of a


streak of cowardice that offsets their ferocity,
and, big as they are, a resolute attitude on the
part of the person attacked will bring them to
a stand. But for this, it would be quite dan-
gerous to attempt to go through their country
on a bicycle, for one sometimes encounters as
many as a dozen of them together.
A very annoying feature of making their ac-
quaintance, is the unwillingness of the Kurds to
call them off. To do this, they argue, is to les-
sen the dogs' ferocity and courage for purposes
of attack, when called upon to do serious work.
This may be all very well from the standpoint of
the Kurds, but it is a view of the case in which
the passing stranger can hardly be expected to
meekly concur, when he is the victim. Few
travelers care to act as bait for fierce-looking,
half-wild dogs, bigger than mastiffs, for the sake
of stimulating and encouraging their savageness.
On horseback with a good whip, or even afoot,
it matters little; for one can keep them at bay
with a stick or by throwing stones; but, while
riding upon a bicycle, over some difficult trail
requiring all one's attention to avoid a header,
these big animals would often come charging
down on me, and as I pedaled along, quite
powerless to defend myself, threaten to seize me
by the legs. On more than one occasion I was
well aware that the Kurds encouraged the dogs
to give chase after I had gone past, out of a
curiosity as to my speed.
One day I overtook a party that had four
monster dogs in leash. As usual, they stood
still and watched my progress past without a
word, their wild eyes scanning me and my
strange steed with mingled apprehension and
astonishment. I had forged ahead about a hun-
dred yard, when they seemed to have made up
their minds that I was only a human being after
all, and so, in a spirit of wanton mischief, they
let slip the dogs. The dogs themselves were
half afraid of the bicycle, but for several hundred
yards they romped alongside, their big, lion-like
heads on a level with my knees, and disagree-
ably close. Their bark was deep-toned and
husky, between the roar of a lion and the bark
of an English mastiff, and either of the four had
strength enough to tear me down had his cour-
age been equal to his will.
Such encounters as this, on bad roads, where

a header was likely to happen at any moment,
were of daily occurrence, and serve to enrich,
with lively incident, my memories of the big
Kurdish dogs. Whether they would fall on me
tooth and nail, should I take a sudden spill right
among them, was, on such occasions, a serious
question to my mind. I think, however, that
such a sudden flop would have sent them scur-
rying back to their masters. Any sudden, un-
expected motion by a man generally has that
effect on any dog but a bull-dog; and more
especially on the half-wild dogs of Asia.
Years ago, when the authority of the Turk-
ish government sat more lightly on these nomad
tribes than it does to-day, and they were pow-
erful enough to do as they pleased, they were
much given to lording it over the peaceful vil-
lagers of Armenia. A fruitful source of trouble
between the two parties was these same dogs
that readily seconded their masters in bullying
and harassing the peaceful tillers of the soil.
If by any chance a villager killed a dog, the
Kurds exacted from the community to which
the man belonged, a penalty that was as unique
as it was oppressive. The dead dog was hung
up by his tail to a cross-beam, so that the tip of
his nose just cleared the ground. The unlucky
villagers were then required to bring measure
after measure of wheat and pour over it until
the carcass was completely covered up. This
wheat the Kurds poured into sacks and carried
off to their camp. The amount required to
build a mound high enough to bury the dog in
this manner, was considered by them a fair com-
pensation for its loss. From the tip of the nose
to the end of the tail many of these dogs meas-
ure, I should say, six feet. Any of my readers
may readily figure out the number of bushels of
wheat contained in such a mound.
These summary measures are no longer toler-
ated, but the Kurds and their dogs are, in
certain districts, a perpetual menace to the
villagers, and the feuds arising therefrom cause
no end of trouble. The Kurds still value their
splendid dogs so highly that it is almost impos-
sible to buy one, and the life of a villager or
stranger is regarded by them as of small conse-
quence compared with the life of one of their
best dogs.
These freebooting shepherds and their noble



canine companions have together roamed the
desert pastures of northern Asia Minor from
the earliest ages. They were the same boon
camarades they are to-day, long before the time
of Christ; and they have lived sturdily on with-
out change, while governments to which they
paid taxes have come and gone, risen and fallen,
and the settled populations about them have
changed. The Kurd and his dog have seen
the ancient kingdom of Armenia, of which they
were once tribal subjects, crumble to nothing,
and have seen the Armenians scattered like the
Jews, and the very name of the country changed,
by the Turks, to Kurdistan.
The origin of both dogs and masters is lost in
remote antiquity, and they seem quite insepara-
ble from each other and their common habitat.
The Kurd is never seen far from his tribal
pastures, and the dog, if taken away, dies of
a broken heart. An English traveler once ob-
tained a fine pair of these dogs from a Kurdish
chief, for the purpose of introducing the breed
into England. He employed a young Kurd
to accompany the dogs to Trebizond, from
which point they were separated from all the
associations of their old life. As soon as the
Kurd had taken his departure and the dogs
found themselves among strangers, they refused
to eat, and in a few days pined away and died.
Another fine Asiatic dog which deserves a
passing notice is the Persian greyhound. At the
present day he occupies a very unique position
in his native country, owing to the prevalence
of the Mohammedan faith. To the Mohamme-
dans, as to the Israelites of old, dogs are unclean
animals, unfit for man's association. The Persian
is careful that even his garments shall not brush
against the common dog, but he makes an
exception in favor of the greyhound. The grey-
hound is the only dog the Persian admits to
companionship; the only one, in fact, that can
be said to have an owner and a home in that
country. The other dogs there are half-re-
claimed pariahs that live in the streets and
belong to no one.
The Persian greyhound, when thoroughly do-
mesticated, is a beautiful animal, resembling the
best English breeds in the grace and symmetry
of its form; but, unlike the animals of those
breeds, it has long, silky hair on ears, tail, and

feet. A common custom among the nobles of
Teheran is to dye the ears, tail, and feet of their
greyhounds yellow with henna. The same parts
of dogs belonging to the Shah are dyed crimson,
as are the tails of his horses; no one but the
king is allowed to use that color.
The Persian greyhound is used to course hares
and antelopes, and the wild asses that abound
on the deserts of that country. In its wild state,
the latter animal is remarkably swift, and no ani-
mal but the greyhound can follow it over the
rough, rocky ground where it seeks refuge when
pursued. Trained hawks are used to assist in
hunting antelopes. The hawks are taught to
fly at the antelopes and attack them in the face,
thus impeding them, lessening their pace, and
enabling the hounds to overtake them.
From bas-reliefs of hunting scenes, discovered
among the ruins of ancient cities, it has been
proved that the greyhound was used by the
Persians to hunt game, three thousand years
ago. At present there are two distinct classes
of these dogs, though they are of the same breed.
There is the city-bred greyhound, kept for orna-
ment and for an occasional day's coursing; and,
among the nomads, his country cousin, a coarser
and more shaggy-coated animal. The latter is
less refined, both in limb and temper, than the
city dog; his temper is, in fact, quite fierce and
uncertain. He is not unlikely, when baffled in
the pursuit of game, to turn and attack the
huntsmen. Sometimes the Persian hunter is
compelled in self-defense to shoot his own grey-
Everybody, of course, has heard of the "pa-
riahs" of the East. Pariah is the name given
to the swarms of semi-domesticated dogs that
live in the streets of Constantinople and of every
town and city in Asia. The pariah is a mangy,
ill-conditioned brute, of wolfish appearance and
reddish-yellow color. By the Turks, Persians,
and other Mohammedan peoples, they are re-
garded as unclean animals which must on no
account be allowed to touch even their garments.
But their presence on the streets is tolerated,
and even encouraged, because they devour the
offal and refuse from the houses, and so act as
scavengers for the good of the public health.
The pariahs, in fact, are the only scavengers
of most Eastern cities.



Though despising them as unclean beasts, the
people recognize the value of their services and
treat them kindly after a certain manner. I
was much interested, while in Teheran, in the
fate of a number of these pariahs, which had
at various times fallen down into the deep dry
moat that surrounds the city. As the moat is
deep and the sides perpendicular, and no one
would ever think of helping them out, the un-
fortunate dogs were prisoners for life. But al-
though they could not "defile themselves" by
helping the curs out, many tender-hearted people
used to throw food down to them, and as there
were certain places where they could get water
this curious colony of prisoners managed to live
on from day to day. Now and then one dies
of disease or old age; but other dogs tumble
into the ditch, and so keep up the number.
A curious thing about the pariahs is the way
in which they have apportioned out the streets of
the cities among themselves. They are divided
into tribes or communities, which occupy well-
defined quarters of the city, and have sole right
to the refuse food from certain houses and shops.
Into this quarter must no outside dog venture
in search of food. If he does, the whole tribe
take after him, and, unless he is swifter of foot
than they, fall upon him; and the trespasser on
forbidden territory frequently pays for his temer-
ity with his life. A trespassing pariah racing for
his life down the streets, with a whole pack of
his neighbors in full hue and cry at his heels, is
a common sight in an Eastern city. The scene
very forcibly suggests a pack of wolves racing
through the streets after their prey.
It is this clannish spirit of the pariahs that
makes it so troublesome for the traveler to take
a domestic dog through the streets. Any strange
dog, seen on their domain, is regarded as an in-
terloper, or poacher, to be driven off or killed.
They recognize the difference, however, between
a foreigner's dog and an offender of their own
species, and in cities where the foreigner and
his dog are often seen, the pariahs content them-
selves with howling their protest against the in-
vasion of their territory, instead of falling upon
him tooth and nail.
On the other hand, the dog which the mis-
sionary or traveler takes with him into the East,
never associates with the native dogs under any

circumstances. There is as great a gulf between
the natures and habits of the two, as between
those of his master and of the natives them-
selves. The chance European traveler who
comes unexpectedly along is always welcomed
by the missionary's dog with much wagging
of tail, joyous barking, and every canine demon-
stration of delight, as if the two were old friends.
And a domesticated dog, even if his temper is
sour toward strangers, will, in his lonely home
among an alien people and an alien race of
dogs, make an exception in favor of the stranger
who comes in the garb of the Occident.
One of the pleasantest incidents of my jour-
ney through China, was a case of this nature
that happened to me in Schou-schou-foo, an in-
terior city. Some Chinese were conducting me
to a certain house, which I supposed to be the
office of a mandarin. A big black dog issued
from the gate, and, reaching me with joyous
bound, lavished upon me every token of wel-
come a dog is capable of expressing. For a
moment I was quite mystified, when the whole
matter was explained by an English missionary's
poking his head out of the door. Both he and
I were taken by surprise, for a missionary was
the last thing I was expecting to find in Schou-
schou-foo; but had I been the dog's own mas-
ter, returning after a long absence, his joy at my
appearance could not have been more spon-
Another very interesting Asiatic dog is the
dhole, or wild dog, of India. The dhole looks
very much like a pariah, but has certain marks,
notably a dark muzzle and tail, that readily dis-
tinguish him from that animal. Instead of
living in the cities, the dholes make their home
in the dense jungles of India, and shun the
abodes of man as does any other wild animal.
In packs, they hunt down deer and other large
game, and are sometimes met by sportsmen,
pursuing their prey, in silence, through the
jungle. They are said to be quite fearless toward
all other denizens of the jungle, and do not hesi-
tate to attack tigers, wild-boars, or leopards.
A pack of dholes are said to be equal to the
task of killing even the royal-Bengal-tiger, and
the natives will tell you that fierce battles be-
tween the two are waged daily in the depths of
the jungle, and that the dholes are always vic-


torious. The natives believe, in fact, that the
dholes enjoy fighting tigers better than anything
else, and are always on the war-path after these
striped monsters, and that they hunt down weaker
game only to satisfy their hunger.
Although as wild in every other particular as
wolves, the dholes betray no fear at the sight of
man. English sportsmen who have encountered
packs of dholes pursuing game, say the dogs
would pass quite close, much like a pack of Eng-
lish fox-hounds when on the trail of Master Rey-
nard, merely greeting the man with a glance of
curiosity. On the other hand, strange to say,
the sight of the white hunter's domesticated dog
frightens the dholes nearly out of their wits.
One day, an English officer went gunning for pea-
fowl in the jungle, taking with him Nimrod,"
his favorite pointer. After a few miles he ran into
a pack of about fifty dholes, that, like himself,
were wandering about in search of game. The
dholes merely looked at him curiously, and then
kept on about their business. The next minute,
however, Nimrod emerged into view from the
undergrowth. Neither he nor his master had
any idea of molesting the dholes, but the mo-
ment they saw him they became terror-stricken,
and the whole pack fled precipitately out of sight.
Some naturalists think the dhole is the ancestor
of all the many varieties of the domestic dog.
Perhaps the noblest specimen of all dogs in
Asia is the Thibet mastiff. He inhabits the
Himalaya Mountains, as that other noble dog,
the St. Bernard, inhabits the Alps. But he is a
fierce, savage animal, and is used for the pur-
pose of repelling strangers, instead of rescuing
them from the snow, as does our good friend
the St. Bernard. The Thibet dog is larger and
stronger than an English mastiff, and with a
heavy black coat. He has a peculiar overhang-
ing upper lip, and a general looseness of skin
about the face that imparts to him a strange,
forbidding expression. His very look implies a
terrible threat, and seems to bid the approaching
stranger, "Beware! And the stranger near-
ing a Bhootan village will be wise to heed the
warning, particularly if he is a European, for
the Thibet dog immediately flies into a rage,
at the sight of a white face.
This dog has been called the Guardian of
the Himalayas," by travelers who have seen

him standing guard on some rocky eminence,
warning the stranger in deep, hoarse tones, on
peril of his life to come no farther. At such
times the imaginative traveler has likened these
dogs to black canine sentinels stationed there
to guard the rugged Himalayan passes from the
advance of civilization.
Though fierce to strangers, the Thibet dog
is a very noble and trustworthy friend to his
owners. At certain seasons, all the men of a
Bhootan village go away for weeks at a stretch,
into India, on trading expeditions. On these
occasions the women and children, the sheep,
and all their possessions are left to the protection
of a pack of these powerful dogs. The intelli-
gent animals are said to fully comprehend their
responsibilities, and woe to the stranger who
presumes to come near their village at such a
time. The Thibet mastiff does not thrive when
taken from his elevated mountain home, the
"roof of the world," as it is called; but he is
not affected by removal to the same extent as
his relative of Kurdistan.
It is a great change to turn from the huge,
half-tamed brutes of Kurdistan and Thibet,
and the wild dogs of India, to a certain clever
little canine that crept into the last pages of
my note-book in Asia -I mean the Japanese
poodle. The Japanese are highly civilized;
consequently I found among them a great ap-
preciation of pet dogs. The favorite dog of
Japan is a toy-poodle that resembles a King
Charles spaniel. It has very large protruding
eyes, long silky ears, and is a great pet.
One day I arrived at a Japanese inn for the
night. After supper, as is customary with the
amiable Japs when they have a European for
a guest, the son and daughter of the landlord
determined to make things as pleasant for me
as possible. So the young man brought in his
samosan (a stringed instrument) and the young
lady her pet poodle "Yokohama," so called after
the Japanese city of that name. Yokohama
walked into the room ahead of his mistress, on
his hind legs, and at her command halted at the
door to bark and wave his paws to me, by way
of introducing himself. His hair was clipped to
resemble some animal, but exactly what he was
intended to represent I never could make out.
He wore a wide ruffled collar, so that when he


stood on all fours looking toward you, very
little of him could be seen save his head.
He was a very clever little dog; quite as full
of tricks as some dogs that perform in circuses
here. He stood up and twirled round quite
rapidly on his hind legs, to the tunes played on
the samosan, and at his mistress's command ac-
companied the music with his own voice. Apiece
of cake was balanced on his nose, but although
his mouth watered for it, he would eat it only

when his mistress gave him permission. Yoko-
hama also had a great liking for sweetened tea;
and he had been taught to sit up and hold the
cup between his paws, and drink. This clever
little Japanese dog did many other things, which,
while no more wonderful perhaps than those
many pet dogs in America can do, were enough
to show that the civilization of the people has
on dogs in Asia the same improving effect as on
those of Europe or America.



A CHEERFUL glow came through the isin-
glass in the little stove, before which Bessie was
sitting in a rocking-chair, with her feet on the
fender, and her writing-desk in her lap. But
there was no answering light in Bessie's eyes.
A discouraging cloud on her face threatened a
storm, which presently came, for two big tears
dropped right into the middle of the beautiful
sheet of peachblow paper on which she had
been vainly trying for an hour to write a letter
to the aunt for whom she had been named.
"There! I 've gone and spoiled it all, now!
I 'd like to know what is the matter with me?
It looks just horrid, anyway! And she held it
up to read it over, for the twenty-first time.
DEAR AUNT BETSEY: I now take my pen in hand
to write you a few lines to let you know that I am well
and hope you are the same. I hope you will come to see
us sometime"-
Can't think of another single thing to write,"
sighed Bessie; "and this is just the very way I
began my last letter, too. Oh dear! it 's awful
to have to write letters to old folks I wish
Aunt Betsey was in Guinea /"
Then, letting the tear-blotted paper drop on
the floor, Bessie leaned back in the rocking-
chair and looked, moodily enough, into the fire.
"It 's almost dark," she said, "and I 'm so
tired. The old letter can wait till to-morrow."
A little blue flame behind the isinglass now
attracted Bessie's attention. It was fun to watch
it leap up and fall swiftly down out of sight.
But presently it died away altogether, and there

was nothing now to see but the dull, red
pictures in the smoked mica. Bessie had often
watched these grotesque pictures before. But
they had never looked so weird as they did to-
night; for now the queer little streaks of black
and red seemed to be forming a wrinkled old
face, that was very familiar to Bessie.
It 's a perfect picture of Aunt Betsey; only,
it 's scowling-I should think it would be scowl-
ing, too. To think that I wished her in Guinea!
And she sent me all my nice paper, too; I did n't
mean to, I 'm sure; but I never know what I 'm
going to say when I get into a temper." And
a penitent look stole over Bessie's face.
"I 'm on the way to Guinea now piped a
queer little voice, I 'm on the way to Guinea;
it 's too late to be sorry. What kind of a place
is Guinea ? "
"Oh! I don't know," cried Bessie as Aunt
Betsey's image grew more real, and the eyes
more fierce, as she went on:
"You wished me to a place that you did n't
know about? You are cruel! Perhaps it's a
cannibal country "
"I did n't mean you to really go!" cried
Bessie, in dismay.
"But I must go now; for I 've started, and I
never can stop after beginning to do a thing till
it's done! shrieked the image.
But I can," whimpered Bessie, thinking of
the unfinished letter.
Well, I can't-I never do- Oh, I must go!
I must go! Cruel Bessie! Cruel Bessie!"




Don't! Oh, don't go !" screamed Bessie.
The figure all this while had been growing
larger and more like Aunt Betsey; and now it
darted forward with a hideous frown.
"OH!!" screamed Bessie.
"Why, Miss Bessie, what ails ye ? Ye must
ha' been slapin', shure," said Bridget, who was
just coming in with a light.
"I had a horrible dream," said Bessie, rub-
bing her eyes to make sure that she saw only
Bridget, and not angry Aunt Betsey. "Has
Mother come home yet, Bridget ? "
No, Miss; it's not till siven o'clock I 'm
expecting' her. Was it writing' a letter ye was,
and fell aslape over it ? And Bridget, picking
up the discarded letter, put it on the table.
I was trying to write one," answered Bessie.
"Do you ever write letters, Bridget ? "
"Shure, an' it's only to Patrick that I write
thim at all, at all," said Bridget.
"What do you generally say in them ?"
asked Bessie.
At this question Bridget blushed; but she
answered bravely:
"Whativer comes into me head I put down
on the paper entirely, Miss. If the mate is a
boilin', sez I, 'Pat, me darlint, the mate is a
boilin', an' it 's meself must write to ye quick.'"
"Would n't you like to have some of this
peachblow paper for a letter to Patrick ? said
Bessie, holding out her well-stocked writing-
Shure, an' if it 's not robbin' ye completely,
I '11 be after takin' one page fur Patrick."
Bessie gave her three sheets with envelopes.
It 's a blissed angel ye are entirely! It 's
this 'very night I '11 be writing' to him "; and,
holding the gift daintily between her thumb and
forefinger, Bridget joyfully took her departure.
Not much of a blessed angel am I," thought
Bessie, ruefully. "I feel ashamed, I do; but
I '11 write that letter now. I '11 sit down to this
table, and I '11 never get up till it 's done. I
ought to write as well as Bridget, anyway."
So, taking a fresh sheet of paper, Bessie sat
down resolutely and began to move her pen.
She wrote quite steadily for twenty minutes by
the little clock on the mantel. Then she read
it all over carefully, and, with a satisfied air, put
it into an envelope just as the supper-bell rang.

The next afternoon, when Aunt Betseyreceived
that letter, she looked quite surprised, and said:
"A long letter from Bessie? Why, something
must surely have happened!"

Then she began to read:
"DEAREST AUNT BETSEY: I am so glad you are not
going to Guinea. I dreamed that you were on the way
there, and it frightened me. I hope you won't ever go
there; for I don't believe it 's a very nice place to visit.
"It is in Africa somewhere, and I think only colored
people live there--but I am not quite sure. Anyway,
I don't want you to go. Don't you ever go anywhere-
except when you come to see us!
I like this peachblow paper that you sent me on
Christmas ever so much. There was enough of it to fill
my writing-desk all the way up to the top, so I could n't
put the lid down at first; but I can shut it now. I have
just given some of my paper to Bridget. Mother says we
ought to be kind to Bridget, and I like to give things
away, when I have plenty more left. Bridget is going
to write a letter to Patrick to-night- I know she is, be-
cause she said so. I suppose he must be her brother,
or somebody. Anyway, she writes beautiful letters to
him. Sometimes she does it while the meat is boiling.
I think she is a real smart Irish girl.
I am all alone in the sitting-room. Mother has gone
to the city; and Jim is off skating. Nobody has been in
here all the afternoon, except Bridget and the cat. Brid-
get did n't stay long- she had to get supper ready but
the cat is here yet. It is lying by the fire-- I don't care
much for this cat it belongs to Jim.
Before Mother went away she told me to write a nice,
long letter to you, while she was gone. I did n't begin
it right away. I looked out of the window at an old
organ-grinder on the other side of the street, and he
played tunes at five houses without getting a single
penny. I wonder if he will have any supper to-night.
When he had gone around the corner, I took my writ-
ing-desk, and sat down by the fire -I was going to be-
gin this letter, then; but first I counted all my sheets of
peachblow paper and all my envelopes -I wanted to
see how many I had. There were seventy-six sheets of
paper and eighty envelopes. Then I began to write;
but I spoiled my first sheet of paper. The way I spoiled
it was that I got angry and cried on it; and then I went
to sleep, and had a bad dream about you. I was sure
you were going to Guinea.
"Bridget came in to bring a light, and she woke me up.
"I have been trying to write this letter the way Bridget
writes to Patrick. I think it is a good way to write let-
ters. My paper is full now, so I will stop.
Your loving niece, BESSIE."

"How that child does improve," said Aunt
Betsey, laying down her spectacles. Whatever
made her dream that I was going to Guinea, I







WHEN the sport was first introduced the
players were called, according to their position,
forwards, half-backs, and goal-tends. The for-
wards were also sometimes spoken of as rushers,
and the goal-tends as backs. These latter names,
apparently, were more suited to the tastes of
the players, so they have become more usual,
and the terms forward and goal-tend are sel-
dom used. Beyond these general divisions
there were neither distinctive names nor, in
the early days, distinctive duties. One of the
first rushers to receive a special name was the
one who put down the ball in a scrimmage.
Originally the man who happened to have the
ball when the down was made, himself placed it
on the ground. It soon became evident that
certain men were unable to perform this duty
so well as others, and it was not long before
the duty was delegated to one man. As he
usually stood in the middle he was called the
center-rusher. This name has since given place
almost entirely to "snap-back," owing to the
universal custom of playing the scrimmage by
snapping the ball back with the foot.
VOL. XVII.-38. 32:

As the game, after starting with eleven play-
ers, was then altered to fifteen, there was an
opening made by these increased numbers for
more positions. It was in the first days of
fifteen men, that the quarter-back play and
position first acquired proper form. There was
not only a quarter-back but also a three-quarter-
back,- that is, a player who stood between the
half-backs and the backs. With the return to
eleven men the three-quarter-back disappeared,
but the quarter-back, or man who first received
the ball from the scrimmage, still remained.
The next position to assume prominence and
a name was that of end-rusher. The two. men
who played on the ends of the forward line
found unusual opportunities for the exercise of
ingenuity in the sport, and their duties were
more manifold than those of any of the other
rushers. They found opportunities to make
runs, opportunities to drop back a little, and
make fair catches of short kicks (for it was then
quite in vogue to make a short kick at kick-off),
opportunities of running along with a half-back
and receiving the ball from him when he was
likely to be stopped; in fact, to perform the
duties of the position required so many qualities
that the best all-round men were selected for


the work, and it became quite a feather in a
man's cap to be an end-rusher. After this there
were but four men on the team who were not
specifically classed and designated. These were
the two next the ends and the two next the center.
The latter took up the name of guards," as they
protected the quarter when the ball was snapped.

This picture shows the finally successful tackle of a runner who h
dashing run, throwing off the men until several have tackled him toge
ing themselves upon him, at last brought him to a standstill.

The former were called "tackles," probably
because, before the tricks in running were so
highly developed as at present, a large share of
the tackling did fall to them. This division of
players is now universal, and each position has
duties and responsibilities peculiar to itself.

It.would be to leave the subject of foot-ball
but half completed, did one fail to touch upon
the larger strategies of a campaign, and to show
how the almost unlimited lesser plays, when prop-
erly grouped, prove irresistible in advancing the
ball. The first thing to be considered is the
material at the captain's command. The foot-
ball player can never be educated to a pitch of
machine-like perfection, nor will any amount of
training make him absolutely untiring. It is
therefore necessary to start with the premise that
no one or two men can do all the work. The
object must be to use each man to the full ex-
tent of his capacity without exhausting any. To

do this scientifically, involves placing the men in
such positions on the field that each may perform
the work for which he is best fitted, and yet not
be forced to do any of the work toward which his
qualifications and training do not point. From
this necessity grew the special divisions of players
as indicated in one of the early diagrams of a
previous article. It might seem
That this division of players
would take all responsibility
from the captain's shoulders,
k 3 but it does not do this by any
means. It only insures some
sort of regularity of work for
each individual. For instance,
S{ a rusher will never be called
upon to drop-kick a goal, nor
Swill a half be forced to snap-
back the ball.
There still remains the pos-
sibility of giving any one of
these men so much work of his
own special kind to perform as
will exhaust him, and thus make
it impracticable to call upon
as evidently made a him when he is most needed.
ether, and, by throw- Here is an element quite dis-
similar to any entering into our
other popular sport, base-ball. If one might sup-
pose that it were possible in that game to let the
most rapid base runner do as much of the run-
ning for the rest of the nine as the captain
chose, we should have a temptation similar to
that which assails the foot-ball captain. It
would not be improbable that this chosen run-
ner would become exhausted under certain
circumstances; and should he happen to be
the pitcher as well, the results would prove
fatal to the success of his nine. It seems as if
no amount of calm reasoning can convince the
average foot-ball captain of this fundamental
principle. Year after year has the "one man "
game been attempted, and year after year it has
brought to grief the team attempting it. Nor
is it enough for a captain merely to transfer the
play from one player to another in order not to
exhaust any. He must do this at the proper
time and not at hap-hazard. His best runner
will be needed at some critical moment, and at
just that moment must he be used. Forwards


must not be given too much running to do early
in a game, or their tackling and getting through
will suffer. It is a serious mistake to take the
edge off their strength until one is certain of
the style and force of the adversary's running.
As a policy which, while not infallible, will be
most uniformly successful, the following may be
laid down:
Save the rushers as much as possible until
the enemy have had an opportunity to send two
or three of their (presumably) best runners up
against them; then, if the line holds these men

Early in the game, give the halves an oppor-
tunity to run once or twice, as it warms them
up and puts them in better form for catching
the ball. Nothing is more unpleasant for a poor
shivering half, who has n't had the ball in his
hands, than to be forced to make, as his first
play, a fair catch.
These ideas regarding the use of material will
suggest the details to any thoughtful captain.
The next point to be considered is the adver-
sary. In the great games, a captain usually has
some knowledge of his rivals' strength and re-

- ------ ;i~~ Lrr

This picture shows a try-at-goal by a place-kick. The forwards are lined out across the field, each one careful to be behind the ball
when it is kicked. The man lying on the ground is pointing the ball at the goal under the direction of the half-back. This man stands
back several yards, as the kick is evidently to be a long one.
without difficulty, the rushers can be used more sources before he faces them on the field. Even
freely for general play. though he may not have this knowledge, fifteen
The halves and back should not be given any minutes of play ought to give him a fairly ac-
tackling to do in the beginning of the game. curate idea of the weaknesses and strong points
Insist upon the rushers attending to their busi- of his adversary. It then remains for him to
ness so thoroughly as to avoid all possibility of a take advantage of this knowledge. It is well-
runner coming through. nigh a rule, so common is it, that a team has a


This illustrates the typical feature of the American game in distinction from the English; namely, the open scrimmage. The ball is
placed on the ground, and the snap-back stands with his foot or hand upon it, and when his quarter-back gives him the signal that all are
ready he snaps it backward. The quarter receives it and passes it to another of his own side for a kick or run. The position of the players in
this picture is excellent, showing, as it does, the points of play as one can see them only in an actual game. Beginning at the left of the
picture we see the end-rusher of the side which has not the ball. With his eyes fixed upon the center with the keenest attention, he awaits
the first movement of the ball to dash through at the man who is likely to receive it. His opponent stands watching him with equal inten-
sity, ready to block him at the moment he starts. Next stands the tackle, apparently perfectly oblivious of the man facing him, and there
is a confidence expressed in his attitude which assures one that this man, at least, will get through like a flash when the ball goes. Then
there are two men, both stooping forward so that one sees but a leg of each. Of these two, one is the guard and the other the quarter-back,
who, seeing a chance of getting through, has run up into this opening. The opposing guard is straightening himself up, in order to cover,
if possible, both these opponents. If one may judge from appearances, however, he will be tumbled over most unceremoniously by the
onslaught of the guard and quarter. The center-rush is braced for a charge, and with mouth open for breath awaits the first movement
of his opponent. He, the snap-back, has just placed his foot upon the ball, and is ready to send it back as soon as the quarter, whose back
and leg are just visible, shall give him the signal. The two men in the foreground are opposing guards, one of whom is ready to dash for-
ward, and the other to block. The man who is about to block has his hands clasped, in order that he may be sure not to use them to hold
his opponent, as that is an infringement of the rule. The other men in the rush line'we can not see, but one can rest assured that they are
as wide awake to their duties as the eager ones in view. Behind the group stands the referee with his arms folded and eyes intent upon
the ball.

strong side and a weak one. Without intention,
this state of affairs comes to exist toward the
end of a season. At this weak side of the op-
ponents, then, must the early efforts of a team be
directed. When a punt becomes necessary let
the ball be driven over on that side. When an
opposing runner comes, force him in that direc-
tion. Keep a steady press upon the weak side,
and before the game is half over the result will
be most marked.
Next, if the opponents prove to be high tack-
lers, a captain should make constant use of his

low runners and reserve his high steppers for
other work. If the opposing halves are new or
green men, he should see that they have plenty
of kicks to catch.
Another important point is to make the most
of any natural advantages, existing at the mo-
ment, in the force and direction of the wind, the
slant and condition of the ground, and the posi-
tion of the sun. These are elements of success
which no team can afford to ignore. The writer
has seen a team start out with a strong wind
and the sun at their backs, and actually throw


away half an hour of the first three-quarters by
a running game without score. Then, evidently
realizing their mistake, they began to kick, and
succeeded in making two goals in the remain-
ing fifteen minutes. Whenever a favorable wind
is anything more than moderate, a captain is
inexcusable who exhausts his men by holding
too closely to his running game, no matter if
his runners be excellent. A wind which blows
diagonally across the field is by no means to be
despised, for if a captain will work the ball to
the windward side, on his runs and passes, his
kicking will be greatly assisted. The sun, too,
plays an important part, particularly when it is
low in the horizon so that a low punt driven
hard at the half-back forces him to face directly
at the sun in making the catch.
Regarding the general conduct of a final
game, or the one upon which depends the cham-
pionship :
From the less important minor games and
from the daily practice, the captain has learned
not only the caliber of his team, but also their
strongest and weakest plays. Now comes a most
difficult act for any captain, namely, the elimi-
nation of all plays that are not sufficiently well
executed by his men to be classed on the aver-
age as successful plays. Many plays that are
peculiarly successful against weaker teams are,
from their very nature, useless against well-dis-
ciplined opponents. Such plays must be classed
with the unsuccessful ones, and must not be
used in the critical game. The object of elimi-
nating all these plays is twofold. Certain ones
of them must be given up because they would
risk the loss of the ball; and others because they
would needlessly exhaust the men. As an illus-
tration, let us take the play of short passes along
the line when running. -This has always been
a tempting play. It appears scientific and skill-
ful. It gains distance rapidly, and against a
weak team gives the team practicing it an ap-
pearance of superiority not to be denied. The
reason for this is that a weak or undisciplined
team take it for granted that they must all make
for the man who has the ball, and there is, there-
fore, a rush of several men at the runner. He
passes the ball and they all dash after it again.
This work quickly tells upon them and they be-

come tired out and discouraged, so that the run-
ners have everything their own way. With a
thoroughly disciplined team all this is changed.
One or two men may tackle together, but the
line as a whole remains steady, and when the
runner passes the ball the man receiving it has
a tackler upon him almost at once, so that he
too is compelled to pass the ball to still another
who may expect a similar fate. As all this pass-
ing must be at least on a line, and generally back-
ward, nothing is gained, but, on the contrary,
some ground is lost. In addition to this, there is
always the chance--and by no means a small
one of losing the ball in this quick passing.
Another illustration is the case of long end
throwing, or passing the ball to a runner stationed
well out on the side of the field. This play is
unquestionably strong against rushers who bunch
toward the ball, and in the smaller games it
has resulted in many a touch-down. Against
veterans, however, the play fails, because both
the end and tackle are on the alert and care-
fully guarding any player who is stationed at
the end. By the time the ball reaches him
one or the other of these men is so close to him
that he fails to get a fair start and is usually
downed in his tracks. Then, too, it will some-
times happen that an unusually watchful and
agile tackle will jump through and actually
catch the pass before it reaches the runner.
Such a catastrophe has too severe consequences
to make the risking of it otherwise than an
extremely doubtful venture. A man who thus
gets the ball is in a fair way to realize a touch-
down from it, for the only player who has a fair
chance at him is the back, and the best tackler
on a field must have an unequal chance against
a runner who has the entire breadth of the field
in which to dodge him. Yet again, the runner
to whom the pass is made may muff the ball.
This, although not nearly so serious as an inter-
cepted pass, always results in loss of ground and
sometimes loss of the ball as well.
The consideration of such plays as the two
mentioned gives one a fair insight into the
methods by which the captain must weigh each
play before entering a game of importance with
rivals who in skill, strength, and strategy are
presumably the equal of his team.





\ NCE there lived a little Dutchess,
Just beside the Zuyder Zee;
Short and stout and roly-poly,
As a Dutchess ought to be.

,' She had pigs and she had poultry,
She had lands and she had gold;
And she loved the Burgomaster,
/_ ^ Loved him more than can be told.

Y ."Surly, burly Burgomaster,
Will you have me for your love?
You shall be my pouter-pigeon,
I will be your turtle-dove.

"You shall have my China porkers,
You shall have each Dorking hen;
Take them with your loving Dutchess,
Oh, you Dutchiest of men! "

Loudly laughed the Burgomaster,
S. "Naught I care for Dorking fowls;..
v Naught for pig, unless 't is roasted,
And on that my doctor scowls.

"Frumpy, stumpy little Dutchess,
I do not incline to wed.
Keep your pigs, and keep your poultry /
I will take your gold instead.

" I will take your shining florins,
I will take your fields' rich hoard,
You may go and tend your piggies, / -i
Till your spirits be restored."

Loudly wept the little Dutchess,
Tending sad each China pig;
Loudly laughed the Burgomaster
'Neath his merry periwig, -


Till the Dutchy people, angry
Conduct such as this to see,
One day plumped the pouter-pigeon
Right into the Zuyder Zee.


-4'; :
___~c~~,~-;-= --i~--~.~;~;-;-~--~--=;=r~,,rt~f .--_l~-a~irc~_~-~,~== -_




I TWIST the toes of the birds a-doze,
I tinkle the dew-bells bright;
I chuck the chin of the dimpled rose
Till she laughs in the stars' dim light.
The glowworm's lamp I hide in the damp,
I steal the wild bee's sting ;
I pinch the toad till his legs are a-cramp,
And clip the beetle's wing.
O ho! 0 hey!
My pranks I play
With never a note of warning.

I set a snare for the moonbeams fair
All wrought of spider-web twine;
I tangle the naughty children's hair
In a snarl of rare design.
I flit through the house without any noise,
There 's never an elf so sly;
I break the toys of bad little boys
And the cross little girls who cry.
0 hey! O ho!
I work them woe,
Till crows the cock in the morning.



A -2



N,' i~~ .i F

THE most interesting Indian among many
thousands whom I saw in a trip through Canada
to the Pacific Ocean, last year, was Sapomaxikow,
the chief of the Blackfeet tribe. He is a king;
and when I met him he looked like one, was
treated like one, and was on kingly business.
He rode in an emigrants' sleeping-car, to be
sure, but the seats had been arranged as for a
bed, and on them he sat with his feet under him,
tailor-fashion, while two of his "head men" sat

in front of him and others stood close by in the
passage. "Crowfoot" is the English word for
his long Indian name, and he is widely famous
by his English name as the chief of a numer-
ous and once fierce tribe. He was going to a
busy city called Calgary, in the Province of
Alberta, which is north of our new State of Mon-
tana; and his errand was to order some of the
Indians of his tribe to leave there. Some other
Indians, of the tribe called Bloods," had also


set up their smoky tepees or tents at Calgary,
and it was feared there might be fighting, for
the Blackfeet and the Bloods are deadly enemies.
The train carried many city people from cen-
ters like New York and Montreal, and as many
as could do so, crowded into the emigrant-car to
see this once great warrior and still great leader.
He was well worth seeing. He wore a cloak of
buckskin literally covered with really beautiful
embroidery in beads of bright hues. His short
trousers were hidden, but below them were deer-
skin leggins fringed with colored wisps of the
hair of some wild animal. His leather mocca-
sins were worked all over with quaint designs in
beads, and above his queer hat--a "stove-pipe"
hat with the top torn out--was a proud plume
of eagle feathers. There are rich men, and mu-
seum companies, and even governments, that
would give hundreds of dollars to have the
clothes old Crowfoot wore that day, merely to
show to those who can not travel, and to pre-
serve for future generations the savage mag-
nificence of at least that one Indian chief.
Crowfoot is eighty years old. He has the
complexion of old mahogany, and his face is as
wrinkled as a nutmeg; but if you are a good judge
of faces you will see by his portrait that he has
a finely formed, almost purely Roman, counte-
nance-a face that reminds us of some of the
Caesars who ruled Rome in its glory. The por-
trait shows the countenance of the old savage
in repose, and one sees a hint of cruelty in the
features; but on that day when we saw him in
the cars he was full of fun;-and good-nature,
you know, is a great helper toward good looks.
A lady asked him why he had never married,
and he shook his head and laughed and told
the interpreter to say that "he could n't find
any woman that would have him." The old
chief wore a life-pass on the railroad. It was in
a little silver frame, hung around his neck by a
chain of silver. The pass was a printed card,
and it said that he should ride for nothing on
the cars as long as he lived. This is because
he is a "good Indian" who keeps his tribe
at peace and obeys the white men's laws.
I saw Chief Crowfoot next day at Calgary.
He was then dressed in moccasins, broadcloth
trousers and vest (given him by the Canadian
Government, once, when they took him to Mont-
VOL. XVII.-39.

real to show him how the white men live), a
blue flannel shirt, and his high hat and feathers.
He was visiting Father Lacombe, a priest who is
respected all over the world because he probably
knows more about the Indian languages than
any man alive. This same priest is still more
honored by all the Indians, who love him be-
cause he has spent a long life among them and
has always been truthful, kind, and generous
with them. The old priest and the old chief
were delighted to see each other. The priest
told how he had known Crowfoot when a young
warrior, fighting and hunting all the time, before
the white man came and when the buffaloes
were as plentiful on the prairie as fishes in the
sea. Once in a while the good clergyman talked
in Indian to Chief Crowfoot and told him what
he was saying about him.
"I am telling," said the, priest, "how one
night when I was with your tribe the Bloods
attacked us; how the dogs barked, the women
screamed, the children cried, and the muskets
blazed and thundered. It was in the middle
of the night, and all the Blackfeet had been
Here the old chief grunted and shook his
head, for all the world like an aged lion.
I was no fighter," said the clergyman, "but
a priest and minister of peace, and I did not
like this. I rushed out of my tepee and cried
out, Stop stop! you will kill me! I yelled
out that it was I, their priest,- for I knew the
Bloods as well as the Blackfeet "
The old chief grunted at that. He knew
the Bloods, too, but in a different way.
"But I could not make myself heard," said
the priest. "The noise and confusion were too
great. On came the Bloods, and it was life or
death for every one in our camp. There was
nothing else to do, so I changed my commands
and I shouted, 'Give it to them!' 'Fire at
them!' Beat them back!' It was a hot fight,
but a short one, for we routed the Bloods."
The eyes of the chief had been blazing, but
when the priest nudged him and said, "We have
seen a great many things in our time, old friend,"
the Indian laughed and laughed, precisely like
a white man,-just as some old general might
do to-day, if a companion should recall to his
mind the exciting scenes of his fighting career.



But this is only one side of the story, though
I suspect it is the side that many of the boys
like best to hear. While I was among the In-
dians I often thought of how many thousands
of boys in the cities are anxious to get a gun
and go among the red men, either to see them,
to live with them, or to hunt them. It is nat-
ural, I suspect, for all men must once have been
more or less like the Indians, and what is left
in us of the old nature is, to a greater or less ex-
tent, felt by boys before they grow old enough
to take their full part in the life around them.
All men were once hunters, and the spirit of
that remote past still lingers in the hearts of
But how disappointed they would be if they
could see the Indians in Canada,-where the
savages are more nearly like what they were a
hundred years ago than are our Indians in the
United States. Beyond the Great Lakes there
are few cities in Canada. The prairies, forests,
.mountains, and streams are to a great extent
what they were in the days of the Indians'
glory. True, the red men are provided with
reservations, but bands of them continually
wander out of these places and roam over the
country. As I said, I saw thousands of them -
Sioux, Bloods, Piegans, Crees, Blackfeet, and
Indians of half a dozen other tribes. But, ex-
cept in the case of old Crowfoot, I saw no dig-
nity, no grandeur, no splendid costumes, no
pride. What I did see, filled me with sadness;
for I remember when I used to think the In-
dians very different from what I found them to
be. In fact, they are, in Canada to-day, a lot of
idle, lazy vagabonds, rapidly dying of starvation
and bad habits. They are beggars and tramps.

What pride they had, what courage was once
theirs, what romance and prosperity or comfort
flavored their lives, are now all gone. Their
best friend in Canada told me that at the pres-
ent death-rate there will not be a full-blooded
Indian left on the plains in fifteen years.
Poor, poor Indians! They really lived upon
the buffaloes. The buffalo gave them their
food, their tents, their clothes, their exercise,
training, and sport, many of their implements,
- the very necessaries of their life. Now that
the buffaloes are gone, the Indians have either
to change into the white man's ways or to fol-
low the departed game to the happy hunting-
grounds." You would scarcely credit what I
could tell you of their misery, and yet not all
the truth can be told. In place of their former
tents of hide, they now live in tents of cotton
sheeting, and these are tattered and full of holes
burned by flying sparks from their fires. The
winters there-on the plains-are dreadfully
cold. The thermometer falls as low as 50 de-
grees below zero. The shiftless Indians never
think of the morrow, and therefore save no
wood. All winter long, on the reserves, you
will see the poor wretches, in these thin tents,
bent over fires of damp wood and turning
around and around, first with their faces to the
fire and then with their backs to it, to keep from
freezing to death. They are fed by the Gov-
ernment, which keeps them virtually prisoners,
of course; but those who roam the prairies beg
of white men and sell the bead-work and other
ornaments their poor, abused squaws make.
Nearly all that I found while among them to
recall the romance of the Indian is bound up in
the memory of old Crowfoot. Long may he live!


[VIRGINIA, 1744.]


"OH, Mother, I 'm glad that you sent me,
For all I was frighted to go -
The lads were so kind to me, Mother,
And the master so patient and slow.
My task it was easy a-learning,
My manners I did n't disgrace,
And-oh, Mother! my seat in the school-room
Is right by George Washington's place.

"Oh, Mother, there 's nobody like him!
There 's nobody like him, for true.
His eyes are so clear and so steady
They look one right through and through;
Yet once when he missed in the lesson
He turned as red as. a rose -
Though there's not much of aught worth the
But I '11 warrant George Washington knows.

"For what is the odds about spelling
And Latin and figures and all,
When a body can jump high as he can,
And never miss once, catching ball!
Why, when it came round to the play-time,
And the big lads were sporting so free,
Oh, Mother, you ought to have been there -
I wish you had been there to see!

"At running and wrestling and leaping
He beats every one, I declare,
And the rest might all play 'hounds' forever,
But they never could catch that old 'hare.'
Yet he 's never a bit high-and-mighty
When the little lads ask him to play,
And a-many brave tricks with the marbles
He took pains to show me to-day.

"He cut me this beautiful whistle,
All out of a little smooth stick;
Just hark how it blows! Mother, listen!
He made it as easy and quick!
And when Tony Grimes, cross-grained fellow,
Came snatching it from me to try,
I 'm thinking he was n't long finding
I 'd a friend in George Washington, nigh!

"And then we all played 'French and English'
(And very good sport did we find,
With the Frenchies- all begging for quarter
And us English hard after behind).
George Washington, he was our captain,
And, I '11 promise you, when he took hold,
Even Captain John Smith fighting 'Injuns'
Was never a soldier so bold.

"And, Mother, he says, if you '11 let me,
And Saturday morning is fine,
I can go with him all day a-fishing;
So I 'm thinking I '11 want a new line,
And a fish-hook the biggest and strongest,,
To pull in my fish safe and tight -
For I 'm sure if George Washington 's with me-
There '11 be big fish a-coming to bite.

"Oh, I wonder, I wonder if ever
I '11 be such a brave one as he!
So big, and so wise, and so gallant!
Mother dear, do you think it will be ?
Do you think if I grow fast, and learn fast,
And watch how he does every day,
That I'll ever be like for to do things
As well as George Washington's way ? "

(A Story of the United Empire Loyalists.)


BOUT the year seventeen hundred
and sixty, there was spread abroad
throughout the State of Massa-
Schusetts a report declaring that
certain extensive lands situated
\ to the northward, in Acadia,
/, of an inexhaustible and
"- marvelous fertility, were
S lying idle and might be had
'r. for the asking. From
-' the counties of
Rowley, Box-
ford, and An-
"" dover, keen-eyed
pioneers were fit-
.. ted out, carefully
instructed, and
sent forward to
reconnoiter. Report was found to have told
the truth, for once; and in a year or two a
little body of shrewd and enterprising pilgrims
set forth to take possession of their new in-
heritance. These fair lands were of vast extent,
lying along nearly one hundred miles of the
valley of the river St. John, on both shores.
They consisted, for the most part, of fresh-
water meadows, enriched anew each spring
by the floods, even as are the banks of Nile.
Scattered at most convenient distances along
those meadow-stretches, now called intervale
land," were fairy knolls and bits of upland
ground, whereon the pioneers could set their
cabins and be secure from the fury of the fresh-
ets. The bold Massachusetts settlers took pos-
session with little ceremony, as a rule, simply
pre-empting such sites as caught their fancy,
well knowing that their presence was very wel-
come to the rulers of Acadia; but a few of the

more provident took out title-deeds, against a
possible future emergency. For a time there
were hardships. Even in this paradise there
were perils to be endured, such as wolves, fam-
ine, and occasionally hostile Indians; but ere
long the settlement was firm-based in a rich
prosperity, and other immigrants came to swell
the tale.
At the time of the Revolution, all the district
which now constitutes the Province of New
Brunswick formed part of the Province of Nova
Scotia. The early settlers of the St. John val-
ley, being of New England stock, were inclined
to sympathize with the thirteen colonies in re-
volt, but in their isolation they did not dare to
declare themselves openly. The Government
of the Province watched them with some care,
but trusted to their self-interest and a remem-
brance of the exceeding liberality with which
they had been treated, to keep them from any
definite outbreak. A few restless spirits, how-
ever, could not be kept at home; and these,
organizing an expedition across country to the
Isthmus of Chignecto, where stood Fort Cumber-
land, succeeded in capturing, in a night raid, a
British schooner laden with supplies. This craft
the boyish adventurers navigated safely to Ma-
chias, in Maine, where they sold her for a good
round sum, and went home happy with the spoils
of war. This irregularity the Provincial Gov-
ernment entirely forgave, on condition that the
owners of the schooner were indemnified in full;
and so they were, to the deep humiliation of the
bold raiders. But the failure of the settle-
ment to restrain its young bloods more effect-
ually, caused a deep irritation throughout the
province against the squatters of the St. John
valley; and all the Loyalist party stored it in

The term Bluenose is applied generally to the inhabitants of the three Maritime Provinces of Canada,- Nova
Scotia, New Brunswick, and Prince Edward Island. Strictly speaking, however, it belongs only to the Nova
Scotians, while we New Brunswickers bear the appellation of" Buckwheats."-C. G. D. R.


their memories, as a sort of attempt to "run
with the hare and hunt with the hounds."
When at last the thirteen colonies found
themselves a nation, there came an evil day for
those colonists who had taken active part on the
British side. An internecine struggle of this kind
always generates the fiercest bitterness, and
throughout the colonies the two parties, though
of one blood and closest kinship, were divided
by the keenest hatred. After the intensity of
the contest, and the terrible losses and sacrifices
endured on both sides, this was not to be won-
dered at. The Royalist party found their posi-
tion in the new Republic an unendurable one.
In fact, those who had made themselves most
obtrusive beheld all their estates confiscated, and
themselves sentenced to exile. Others chose
exile, rather than endure the new rule and the
triumph of their antagonists. A great body of
these Royalists (who were some of the richest
and most aristocratic of the colonists) journeyed
into the land north of the St. Lawrence and the
Great Lakes, where they founded the Province
of Ontario. The rest sailed to Nova Scotia, and
built the city of St. John at the mouth of the St.
John river.
These emigrants from the States received spe-
cial grants and favors from the British Govern-
ment, which was mindful of all they had braved
for their beliefs; and they were formally dignified
with the title of United Empire Loyalists, a title
which has come down to their descendants. Al-
most immediately after their coming to Nova
Scotia, the Province was divided, and what was
formerly the County of Sunbury, with the old
New England settlement as its center, became
the Province of New Brunswick. At the same
time the original settlers in St. John valley, in
order to distinguish them from the United Em-
pire Loyalists, became generally known as the
"Old Inhabitants."
At this juncture, those Old Inhabitants who
had secured their title-deeds felt jubilant, and
went about hugging themselves. Others, again,
hurried off to headquarters to remedy their over-
sight. Yet others, too confident or too careless,
said they "guessed they 'd do as their fathers
had done aforetime," and these, in several in-
stances, being quietly ejected from their farms by
enterprising Loyalist immigrants glad to pay off

a grudge, had to cut themselves new homesteads
out of the bush. These unfortunates received
little sympathy, however, from their more politic
neighbors. It is while things were in this transi-
tion state that my brief story opens,- a story
which I found among the papers of a descend-
ant of the Old Inhabitants, who vouches for its
authenticity and gives me leave to publish it.
It was a summer morning in the year 1783,
and Mr. Joshua Patterson, Old Inhabitant, was
taking a complacent survey of his broad acres,
where were crops waving in the early sun and wet
with shining dew, ere turning into his cabin door
for breakfast. Mr. Patterson's cabin- and a very
ample and comfortable and prosperous-looking
cabin it was--stood on slightly rising ground by
the river, opposite the mouth of the Oromocto
stream, in MaUgerville. The morning sun
streamed into the low cottage door, and lighted
up very pleasantly a homely and appetizing
breakfast, set forth on precious old blue and white
crockery which had been brought from Massa-
chusetts in '66. Mr. Patterson had his title-deeds
in due form, and he smacked his lips and called
life good. At this moment he perceived a boat-
load of strangers disembarking at his little land-
ing-place; so instead of going in to breakfast he
waited in his doorway to receive them.
The strangers were a party of Loyalist immi-
grants, under Major Hastings. Rowing leisurely
up river, in search of a pleasant abiding-place,
the major's eyes had fallen with peculiar satis-
faction upon the well-tilled fields of Mr. Joshua
Patterson. I rather think this will suit us! "
he had remarked to his followers; and now he
had come ashore to take possession. He in-
formed the Old Inhabitant that he 'd take his
farm, which met his taste exactly; and that he
would give him just a day to clear out, bag and
baggage, as a mere vagabond squatter, who was
a rebel into the bargain, ought to do. Mr.
Patterson merely replied that he guessed he 'd
stay where he was, as he himself liked the place
pretty well; and he calculated the stranger had
better move on. At the same time he made no
stir to produce his title-deeds, being wroth at
the stranger's high-handedness.
Upon this the Loyalist major began to revile
the Old Inhabitant exceedingly; and with huge
laughter he drew his sword, and marching


into the cabin he fell upon the breakfast-table,
hacked it to pieces, and scattered all the pre-
cious old Massachusetts cups and saucers and
plates and porridge-basins. Then, seeing no
more worlds to conquer, and observing that
Mr. Joshua Patterson still objected to giving up
his farm, the gallant major paused a moment.
He drew forth a list of those Old Inhabitants
who had duly taken out their titles at Halifax,
and there he found the name of Joshua Patter-
son. The major bowed politely, bade Mr. Pat-
terson a very good morning and marched his
men off to the boat. Some three miles further
on, the major found a home to his liking, and
settled down unhindered. But from the inci-
dent of the smashing of the crockery there grew
up a certain coolness between the families of
Major Hastings, the Loyalist, and Mr. Joshua
Patterson, the Old Inhabitant; at which fact no
one will be astonished.
As the years went by the Loyalist found him-
self surrounded by a brood of stalwart sons; and,
large families being the rule in New Bruns-
wick, it came to pass that the Old Inhabitant
was in like fortunate case. Between the two
families there was now sworn feud. A whole-
some Anglo-Saxon respect for life and law pre-
vented the use of fire-arms, and, indeed, any
desire for the actual shedding of blood; but
whensoever the two families, or any members of
them, came in contact, there and then was a
fight. As both families were general favorites and
in demand at every "house raising or "wood
frolic," the chances of such meetings were very
frequent, and kept the pious settlement in con-
tinual hot water. But such was the prowess of
the two families that no one dared interfere to
quench hostilities. Now it was the Loyalists
whose star seemed in the ascendant, and again
fortune favored the family of the Old Inhabitant;
and so the dispute bade fair to prove eternal.
By the third generation, however, the family
animosity began to diminish. The descendants
on both sides became so numerous that the stock
of family hate was not enough to go round, and
little by little the younger scions would go to
singing-school together, and come home from
lodge together, and make various gentle attempts
to bury the hatchet. This tendency was looked
upon with deep disfavor by older members of

both families; and in particular by two young
householders who were the acknowledged lead-
ers of their respective clans. These were Mr.
Joshua Patterson, of the fourth generation, and
young Ponsonby Hastings, himself a major in
the militia. To these it appeared nothing short
of a sacrilege that so sacred an heirloom as their
family hatred should be suffered ignominiously
to die out. Yet their responsibilities as leading
citizens prevented them from deliberately seek-
ing a meeting.
As the mountain came not to Mahomet, Ma-
homet in due time went to the mountain. In
other words, the occasion for a meeting duly
came to the young Old Inhabitant and Major
Ponsonby Hastings. It was permitted them,
prominent citizens as they were, to carry out in
perfect form the traditions of their fine, old,
crusted family feud. The manner of their en-
counter is related with great minuteness of detail
in the family document to which I have already
referred. But I endeavor to avoid the prolixity
of the ancient narrator.
It was an afternoon in early autumn when
Mr. Joshua Patterson of the fourth generation
was strolling along the Maugerville road, whis-
tling contentedly as he thought of his goodly
acres and his thriving herds. Suddenly his.
whistling came to an end, for he had come face
to face with Major Ponsonby Hastings.
"Ah, ha! exclaimed the scion of Loyalist
stock. "At last I 've caught you! Now we '11
have it out, if you are man enough to stand up.
to me!"
To this the Old Inhabitant of the fourth gen-
eration merely replied, All right! and at the
same time he took his hands out of his pockets,
with alacrity.
Then the battle commenced. Unlike the
Homeric heroes, these two New Brunswick
champions wasted neither time nor breath in
mutual recriminations. Each knew exactly what
the other thought of him; and each was solemnly
resolved that a second contest should be ren-
dered forever unnecessary. The scene of the
struggle is described so fully in the MS. that it
may yet be recognized,- where, between two
wide-spreading elms, a bridle-path runs down
the steep bank, through a thicket of Indian
willows, to a little rough stone wharf where the



canoes and flat-boats make a landing at low
water. It would have been a difficult matter
to decide which man to back. The Loyalist
was of the larger build; but the Old Inhabitant,
on the other hand, seemed the more active and
wiry. To condense from the MS., I may say
without superfluous detail that the advantage
lay at first with the Old Inhabitant. Then the
slower blood of the larger man woke up, and
Fortune seemed to wait obsequiously upon his
fists. Again, it appeared as if the Genius of
Strife were holding the balance even, and knew
not upon which side to let the scale descend.
About sunset, the air was filled with the far-off
sound of cow-bells, as the cows wandered home-
ward for the milking. Then both combatants
lay down awhile. They were in their shirt-
sleeves, and covered with dust, for that is a
dusty country. Presently the Loyalist began to
crawl away; and through parched lips the Old
Inhabitant derided him scathingly. The Loy-
alist answered not at all, but crawled down the
bridle-path, between the dusty willows, and lay
by the water's edge, and drank a little. Then
very quietly he crept back, and prepared to re-
new the conflict. The Old Inhabitant had had no
water to refresh him; but then, on the other hand,
he had been spared the exertion of crawling, so
the struggle was renewed on even terms.
By and by, a mutual acquaintance, who was
paddling past in his canoe, caught sight of the

combat, and landed. He tried to separate the
exhausted gladiators, but was promptly made
aware that in case of interference they would
both fall upon him; so he discreetly refrained.
He paddled away in his canoe, and warned both
families; and soon there arrived certain brothers,
uncles, and so forth, who saw that, even under
the sweet light of the rising moon, the battle
still raged on.
Alas for the belligerent young Major Pon-
sonby Hastings Alas for the Old Inhabitant of
the fourth generation! They were not permitted
to fight it out. They were such battered, dis-
reputable-looking specimens that both families
were ashamed of them and of the feud together.
Over the two panting but still pugnacious cham-
pions the families shook hands, and decreed the
perpetual canceling of the feud. There, where
the ground was trampled by the feet of the
fighters, the ancient hatchet was buried with
due ceremony and many merry jests at the ex-
pense of the delinquents.
The delinquents themselves, a few days later,
when their blood had cooled and their wounds
had healed, made a heroic effort and shook
hands. They said they supposed it was their
duty, in a way, to fall into line with the fami-
lies; and each confessed, at the same time, that
he had been taught an entirely new respect for
the other's general worth and importance to the
community at large.



THROUGH the Dark Land's reeds and rushes,
Down the palm-glooms, I have heard,
Rose-lit with the sun's last blushes,
Comes the Shadow-bird.

And he leads his Shadow! Dimly
Through the sands they two advance.
Then he bows, and, somewhat grimly,
They begin to dance.

Fair his Shadow is. Each feather
Of her wild wings looks like lace.
And they whirl and float together
With unearthly grace.

One night when the Sphinx was staring
At them with an evil eye,
And the black man's stars were flaring
In the desert sky-

Then the Shadow-bird grew merry!
My sweet shadow," whispered he,
"You are looking lovely, very.
Will you dance with me ?"

"No," she said, "you hear me, do you?
You can go and dance awhile
With those lilies, nodding to you,
There across the Nile!


" No," she said, and off she started.
There was not another word.
So it was his shadow parted
With the Shadow-bird.

(She-prefers another fellow
If the truth must be contest,
Picturesque in green and yellow,
With a splendid crest!)

And the Shadow-bird now muses,
Like a priest, in temples dim,
Just because his shadow chooses
Not to dance with him.



Sing before you eat,
Cry before you sleep."

THE rising-bell rang; my Ladybird sprang
Like a lark from its nest, and as cheerily sang:
"Oh, don't!" cried old Granny, "You '11
certainly weep,
To pay for that song, before time comes to sleep."

But the little one laughed, like a child that
has quaffed
The full cup of merriment all at a draught.
" Oh, Nursey," she said, that's a silly old saw
Which, take my word for it, is not worth a straw!

"For please tell me why a body should cry?
The wind 's in the west, and the sun 's in the
And the birds have been singing since
daybreak, I know--
When the time comes to roost, will they weep
as they go ? "

Croaked Granny again, Be it robin or wren,
The chick thinks it's wiser, of course, than the
But maybe my Lady will see, before night,
Old saws and old women are apt to be right."

"She 'll see, before long, they are wrong-
they are wrong,"
Laughed Ladybird, fitting the words to her
And she kissed her old Nursey, all wrinkled
and gray,
And light as a feather went dancing away.

Now was it unwise for her carol to rise
With linnet's and lark's to the bright morning
skies ?
Not so,- for my pretty one came to her nest
As smiling and sweet, with the sun in the west.

The song that rang true when the morning was new,
Like a brook rippled tunefully all the day through;
And Granny for once had to own her old saw
Was not, for my Ladybird, gospel nor law.


Sunsets red and Quiet air;
Ponds are ice and trees are bare;
Fields are frozen far and near;
February days are here.
Bitter cold the night draws down
On the country and the town-,
But in cheerful warmth we sit,
And the nursery lamp is lit.

Then,when mother stops our play,
Father puts his book away
And he makes upon the wall
Shadow pictures for us all .
There a rabbitwags its ears
Or a grinning face appears
Or a swan with feathered wings
Ships and many other things;
Last of all a night-capped head
Then we know it's time for bed .

VOL. XVII.-40.



GREAT war-ship
is ready to be
launched. For
more than a year
she has been in the
hands of the build-
ers, and is now
ready to take the
.w. E first plunge into the
waves on which she
will ride so proudly. For months the ship-yard
has resounded to the sound of hammers and saws,
of riveting machines and trip-hammers. Huge
forges, near by, have smelted the metal with
which her steel-clad sides are covered and of
which her strong ribs and deck-beams have been
built. The great plates with which her turrets
are armored have come from rolling-mills all
over the country. The stout planking of her
decks is sawed from trees that once stood in the
forests of Maine; the mahogany which gleams
in her steering-wheel and decorates the captain's
cabin, has been brought from African forests;
the redwood finishing in the officers' quarters,
from California; and the stout beams, those not
of iron, have been fashioned from logs brought
from the live-oaks upon Government reservations
in Louisiana near the Gulf of Mexico. Her
wonderful engines, that are to push her through
the water with the strength of ten thousand
horses and work with the smoothness of a watch,
may be from makers in New York, Boston, or
Philadelphia. The boilers to supply the engines
with steam are from Chester, and the coal she
will burn is also from Pennsylvania. The great
guns capable of throwing their heavy shot to a
distance of nine miles, which will thunder from
those ports and turrets, are the result of the ex-
perience and skill of years, and come from the
Pittsburgh foundries and have visited the Wash-
ington proving-grounds. Her torpedo-boats are
from Bristol, Rhode Island, and the torpedoes
have been supplied from the torpedo-station at

Her engineers will be the most skillful and ex-
perienced men the Government can find, able
to take her engines apart and to replace them
if necessary, and the officers, the gunners, and
the sailors who are to aim her guns and manage
her in battle are to be the best the country af-
fords. She must be able to steam twenty-
four miles per hour, and also to go well under
sail, should necessity require her to do so; she
must turn quickly and back with little delay,
not only to avoid an enemy's shot but to place
her own accurately, and so as to chase or to avoid
the foe, or to dash into him with that monstrous
ram or beak, to sink or disable him.
She must be seaworthy, to ride the ocean's
heaviest billows, and of as light draught as pos-
sible, so that she may follow an enemy up shal-
low harbors and inlets.
She must be well ventilated and healthful, so
that her crew may live in her during the quiver-
ing hot winds on the African coast; as well as
snug, tight, and warm, when it becomes her duty
to cruise in northern waters in protection of our
seal fisheries on the Alaska coast or the cod-
fishers of the Newfoundland Banks.
Presidents at home and royal visitors abroad
will tread her decks, and she must be swift and
strong, and have every quality becoming a war-
ship which is to deserve the salutes of foreign
This is her christening day. Her friends and
well-wishers crowd about and wish good luck.
The workmen who have labored so long and
patiently to fashion her so grandly, the design-
ers who have thought out her proportions and
planned her various parts, the foundry-men and
carpenters who have skillfully contributed to her
perfection, are standing by idle, now, for their
work is done and the visitors fill the yard.
The roar of the great furnaces is softened the
ring of hammers hushed; the wheels of the roll-
ing-mill stop for a while, and the workmen
crowd down to the water's edge to wish her
God-speed. Two sister ships, half completed,lie


beside her, their tops and sides crowded with on-
lookers. Strings of gay flags flutter in all direc-
tions, and all looks ready for a holiday. It is
the birthday and christening day of a new ship
into our navy; not one like those glorious old
wooden-sided frigates,
the Essex or Consti- -
tution," whose white
sails carried our flag .
through hostile fleets
and made it respected
round the globe, but of
another type destined '-
to do work perhaps as .-.-
grand,- things of iron
and steel, of fire and -_
steam and machinery;
independent of tide or
wind, defying the furious
storm, a new generation
of sea-kings.
Now all is ready. The
tugs puff softly nearer on
both sides; the spectators
crowd more closely;
blue-jackets swarm up
the rigging of the at-
tendant war-ships or
stand by their guns. A
group of distinguished
people make their ap-
pearance high up on the
bow of the new ship. A
flask of wine hangs
suspended from the bow
by some red, white, and
blue ribbons, the ends of
which are held by a
maiden who is to com-
plete the ceremony of .,
christening. A signal is
given by the master work-
man, and the carpenters e'.;
saw away the last brace
that holds the vessel. A
snap is heard, and, as she
begins to move, all spring aside. The well-oiled
ways smoke and groan as she gathers headway
and rushes down, faster and faster, to the water;
she dips deep at the stern, throwing up a cloud

of spray; then rises; the maiden pulls the rib-
bons, there is a fall of something bright against
the iron side, and a dash of foaming champagne
and broken glass falls into the water, as she cries,
" I name thee Baltimore.' "

The great guns roar out a welcome, bells ring,
tug whistles blow, crowds cheer, the tugs take
her in tow, and the launching of the war-ship
is complete.





JACK was dry enough, but anybody could see
that he had had a ducking, when he marched
down the main street. He was carrying his
prizes in two strings, one in each hand, and he
was looking and feeling taller than he ever felt
before. It was just the right hour to meet
people, and he had to answer curious questions
from some women, and from twice as many
men, and from three times as many boys, all
the way from above the green, where he came
out into the street, down to the front of the
Washington Hotel.
Yes; I caught 'em all in the Cocahutchie."
He had had to say that any number of times,
and he had also explained, apparently without
trying to conceal anything:
"I had to swim for 'em. Caught 'em all
under water. Those big speckled fellows are
trout. They pulled me clean under. All that
kind of fish live under water." And he told
half a dozen inquiring boys: I 've found the
best fish-hole you ever saw. Deep water all
'round it. I 'm going there again." And then
every one asked: "Take me with you, Jack? "
He had to come to a halt at the tavern, for
every man in the arm-chairs on the piazza
brought his feet down from the railing.
Hold on I want to look at those fish! "
shouted old Livermore, the landlord. "Where'd
you catch'em ? "
Down the Cocahutchie," said Jack once
more. I caught 'em under water."
"Those are just what I 'm looking for," re-
plied Livermore, rubbing his sides, while nearly
a dozen men crowded around to admire, and to
guess at the weights.
Traout 's a-sellin' at a dollar a paound, over
to Mertonville," squealed old Deacon Haw-
kins; and traout o' that size is wuth more 'n
small traout. Don't ye let old Livermore cheat
ye, Jack."

"I won't cheat him, Deacon," said the big
landlord. "I don't want anything but the
trout. There 's a Sunday crowd coming over
from Mertonville, to-morrer, to hear Elder Hol-
loway. I '11 give ye two dollars, Jack."
"That 's enough for one fish," said Jack.
Don't you want the big one ? I had to dive
for him. He '11 weigh more 'n three pounds."
No, he won't! said the landlord, becoming
more and more eager. Say three dollars for
the lot."
"I don't know but what I want some o'
them traout myself," began Deacon Hawkins,
peering more closely at the largest prize. It's
hard times,- and a dollar a paound. I 've got
some folks coming' and Elder Holloway 's to be
at my house. I don't know but I oughter "
I '11 take 'em, Jack," interrupted the land-
lord, testily. I spoke first. Three pounds,
and two is five pounds, and -"
I '11 give another dollar for the small traout,"
exclaimed Deacon Hawkins. He can't have
'em all."
The landlord might have hesitated even then,
but the excitement was catching, and Squire
Jones was actually, but slowly, taking out his
Five! There 's your five, Jack. The big
fish are mine. Take your money. Fetch 'em
in," broke out old Livermore.
"There 's my dollar,- and there 's my
traout,-" squealed the deacon.
"I was just a-goin' to saay- at that moment
growled the deep, heavy bass voice of Squire
Too late," said the landlord. He 's taken
my money. Come in, Jack. Come in and get
yours, Deacon," and Jack walked on into the
Washington House with six dollars in his hand,
just as a boy he knew stuck his head under
Squire Jones's arm and shouted:
"Jack!-Jack! Why did n't yer put 'em up
at auction ? "


It took but a minute to get rid of the very
fine fish he had sold, and then the uncommonly
successful angler made his way out of the
Washington Hotel through the side door.
I don't intend to answer any more ques-
tions," he said to himself; and all that crowd
is out there yet."
There was another reason that he did not
give, for his perch, good as they
were, and the wide-mouthed
sucker, and the great, clumsy
bullheads, looked mean and
common, now that their elegant
companions were gone. He felt
almost ashamed of them until
just as he reached the back yard
of his own home.
A tall, grimy man, with his
head under the pump, was vig- .'
orously scrubbing charcoal and
iron dust from his face and
hands and hair. "Jack," he
shouted, where 'd you get that _
string o' fish ? Best I 've seen
round here for ever so long."
Another voice came from the ;
kitchen door, and in halfa second .
it seemed to belong to a chorus
of voices.
"Why, Jack Ogden! What a
string of fish!"
"I caught 'em 'way down
the Cocahutchie, Mother," said
Jack. "I caught 'em all under
water. Had to go right in after
some of 'em." "JACK STROL
"I should say you did,"
growled his father, almost jocosely, and then
he and Mrs. Ogden and Aunt Melinda and the
children crowded around to examine the fish,
on the pump platform.
"Jack must do something better 'n that,"
said his father, rubbing his face hard with the
kitchen towel; "but he 's had the best kind o'
luck this time."
"He caught a team of runaway horses this
morning, too," said Mary, looking proudly at
the fish. I wish I could do something worth
talking about, but I 'm only a girl."
Jack's clothes had not suffered much from their

ducking, mainly because the checked shirt and
linen trousers, of which his suit consisted, had
been frequently soaked before. His straw hat
was dry, for it had been lying on the grass when
he went into the water, and so were his shoes
and stockings, which had been under the bed in
his bedroom, waiting for Sunday.
It was not until the family was gathered at

^^{.'.'~~ *'i'i^"'2
]. .. .. .


the table that Jack came out with the whole
tremendous story of his afternoon's sport, and
of its cash results.
Now I 've learned all about fly-fishing," he
said, with confidence, I can catch fish any-
where. I sha'n't have to go to fish out of that
old mill-pond again."
"Six dollars! exclaimed his mother, from
behind the tea-pot. What awful extravagance
there is in this wicked world! But what '11 you
do with six dollars ? "
It's high time he began to earn something,"
said the tall blacksmith, gloomily. It 's hard


times in Crofield. There 's almost nothing for
him to do here."
"That's why I 'm going somewhere else,"
said Jack, with a sudden burst of energy, and
showing a very red face. Now I've got some
money to pay my way, I 'm going to New York."
No, you 're not," said his father; and then
there was a silence for a moment.
What on earth could you do in New York ?"
said his mother, staring at him as if he had said
something dreadful. She was not a small woman,
but she had an air of trying to be larger, and
her face quickly began to recover its ordinary
smile of self-confident hope, so much like that
of Jack. She added, before anybody else could
speak: There are thousands and thousands of
folks there already. Well,-I suppose you could
get along there, if they can."
"It 's too full," said her husband. It 's
fuller'n Crofield. He could n't do anything in
a city. Besides, it is n't any use; he could n't
get there, or anywhere near there, on six
"If he only could go somewhere, and do
something, and be somebody," said Mary,
staring hard at her plate.
She had echoed Jack's thought, perfectly.
"That's you, Molly," he said, "and I 'm going
to do it, too."
"You 're going to work a-haying, all next
week, I guess," said his father, if there 's any-
body wants ye. All the money you earn you
can give to your mother. You ain't going
a-fishing again, right away. Nobody ever
caught the same fish twice."
Slowly, glumly, but promptly, Jack handed
over his two greenbacks to his mother, but he
only remarked:
-' If I work for anybody 'round here, they 'II
want me to take my pay in hay. They won't
pay cash."
Hay 's just as good," said his father; and
then he changed the subject and told his wife
how the miller had again urged him to trade for
the strip of land along the creek, above and be-
low the bridge. It comes right up to the line
of my lot," he said, and to Hawkins's fence.
The whole of it is n't worth as much as mine
is, but I don't see what he wants to trade for."
She agreed with him, and so did Aunt Me-

linda; but Jack and Mary finished their sup-
pers and went out to the front door. She stood
still for a moment, with her hands clasped
behind her, looking across the street, as if she
were reading the sign on the shop. The dis-
contented, despondent expression on her face
made her more and more like a very young
and pretty copy of her father.
"I don't care, Molly," said Jack. If they
take away every cent I get, I 'm going to the
city, some time."
"I 'd go, too, if I were a boy," she said.
" I 've got to stay at home and wash dishes and
sweep. You can go right out and make your for-
tune. I 've read of lots of boys that went away
from home and worked their way up. Some of
'em got to be Presidents."
Some girls amount to something, too," said
Jack. "You 've been through the Academy.
I had to stop, when I was twelve, and go to
work in a store. Been in every store in Cro-
field. They did n't pay me a cent in cash,
but I learned the grocery business, and the dry-
goods business, and all about crockery. That
was something. I could keep a store. Some
of the stores in New York 'd hold all the stores
in Crofield."
Some of 'em are owned and run by women,
too," said Mary; "but there 's no use of my
thinking of any such thing."
Before he could tell her what he thought
about it, her mother called her in, and then he,
too, stood still and seemed to study the sign
over the door of the blacksmith-shop.
I '11 do it he exclaimed, at last, shaking
his fist at the sign. It is n't the end of July
yet, and I 'm going to get to the city before
Christmas; you see 'f I don't."
After Mary Ogden left him and went in,
Jack walked down to the bridge. It seemed as
if the Cocahutchie had a special attraction for
him, now that he knew what might be in it.
There were three boys leaning over the rail
on the lower side of the bridge, and four on the
upper side, and all were fishing. Jack did not
know, and they did not tell him, that all their
hooks were baited with flies of one kind or
another instead of worms. Two had grasshop-
pers, and one had a big bumblebee, and they
were after such trout as Jack Ogden had caught


and been paid so much money for. One told
another that Jack had five dollars apiece for those
fish, and that even the bullheads were so heavy it
tired him to carry them home.
Jack did not go upon the bridge. He strolled
down along the water's edge.
It's all sand and gravel," he said; "but I 'd
hate to leave it."
It was curious, but not until that very moment
had he been at all aware of any real affection for
Crofield. He was only dimly aware of it then,
and he forgot it all to answer a hail from two
men under the clump of giant trees which had
so nearly wrecked the miller's wagon.
The men had been looking up at the trees,
and Jack heard part of what they said about
them, as he came near. They had called him
to talk about his trout-fishing, but they had
aroused his curiosity upon another subject.
Mr. Bannerman," he said, as soon as he had
an opportunity between fish questions, did
you say you 'd give a hundred dollars for those
trees, just as they stand ? What are they good
for ? "
"Jack," exclaimed the sharp-looking man he
spoke to, don't you tell anybody I said that.
You won't, will you ? Come, now, did n't I
treat you well whilst you were in my shop ? "
"Yes, you did," said Jack, "but you kept
me there only four months. What are those
trees good for? You don't use anything but
Why, Jack," said Bannerman, it is n't for
carpenter-work. Three of 'em are curly maples,
and that one there 's the straightest-grained,
biggest, cleanest old cherry! They 're for j'iner-
work, Jack. But you said you would n't tell ? "
"I won't tell," said Jack. Old Hammond
owns 'em. I stayed in your shop just long
enough to learn the carpenter's trade. I did n't
learn j'iner-work. Don't you want me again ? "
Not just now, Jack; but Sam and I 've got
a bargain coming with Hammond, and he owes
us some, now, and you must n't put in and spile
the trade for us. I '11 do ye a good turn, some
day. Don't you tell."
Jack promised again and the carpenters walked
away, leaving him looking up at the trees and
thinking how it would seem to see them topple
over and come crashing down into the Coca-

hutchie, to be made up into chairs and tables.
Just as long as he could remember anything he
had seen the old trees standing guard there, sum-
mer and winter, leafy or bare, and they were
like old friends to him.
I '11 go home," he said, at last. "There
has n't been a house built in Crofield for years
and years. It is n't any kind of place for car-
pentering, or for anything else that I know how
to do."
Then he took a long, silent, thoughtful look
up-stream, and another down-stream, and in-
stead of the gravel and bushes and grass,- in
one direction, and the rickety bridge and the
slippery dam and the dingy old red mill, in the
other direction, he seemed to see a vision of
great buildings and streets and crowds of busy
men, while the swishing ripple of the Cocahut-
chie changed into the rush and roar of the great
city he was setting his heart upon. He gave it
up for that evening, and went home and went
to bed, but even then it seemed to him as if he
were about to let go of something and take
hold of something else.
I 've done that often enough," he said to
himself. "I '11 have to leave the blacksmith's
trade now, but I 'm kind o' glad I learned it.
I 'm glad I did n't have my shoes on when I
went into the water, though. Soaking is n't
good for that kind of shoes. Don't I know?
I 've worked in every shoe-shop in Crofield,
some. Did n't get any pay, except in shoes;
but then I learned the trade, and that 's some-
thing. I never had an opportunity to stay long
in any one place, but I could stay in the city."
Then another kind of dreaming set in, and
the next thing he knew it was Sunday morning,
with a promise of a sunny, sultry, sleepy kind
of day.
It was not easy for the Ogden family to shut
out all talk about fishing, while they were eating
Jack's fish for breakfast, but they avoided the
subject until Jack went to dress. Jack was quite
another boy by the time he was ready for church.
He was skillful with the shoe-brush, and from his
shoes upward he was a surprise.
"You do look well," said Mary, as he and
she were on their way to church. But how
you did look when you came home last night! "
There was little opportunity for conversation,


for the walk before the Ogden family from their
gate to the church-door was not long.
The little processions toward the village green
did not divide fairly after reaching there that
morning. The larger part of each aimed itself
at the middle of the green, although the build-
ing there was no larger than either of the two
that stood at its right and left.

"Everybody 's coming to hear Elder Hollo- for M
way," said Jack. They say it takes a fellow to say
a good while to learn how to preach." outside
Mrs. Ogden and Aunt Melinda led their part howe
of the procession, and Jack and his father fol- were
lowed them in. There were ten Ogdens, and and sI
the family pew held six. Just as they were as we
going in, some one asked Mary to go into the arrant
choir. Little Sally nestled in her mother's lap; pulpit
Bob and Jim were small and thin and only and s
counted for one; Bessie and Sue went in, and was w
so did their father, and then Jack remarked: singing

'm crowded out, Father. I '11 find a place,
'here is n't any," said the blacksmith.
ry place is full."
* shook his head until the points of his
ay collar scratched him, but off went Jack,
hat was the last that was seen of him until
were all at home again.
Mary Ogden had her reasons
for not expecting to sing in the
choir that day, but she went when
sent for. The gallery was what
Jack called a coop," and would
hold just eighteen persons,
squeezed in. Usually it was
only half full, but on a great
day, what was called the old
S choir" was sure to turn out.
There were no girls nor boys in
the old choir." There had been
three seats yet to fill when Mary
was sent for, but Miss Glidden
and Miss Roberts and her elder
sister from Mertonville came in
justthen. So, when Mary reached
the gallery, Miss Glidden leaned
over, smiled, and said very be-
"You will not be needed to-
day, Mary Ogden. The choir is
The organ began to play at
that moment, somewhat as if it
had lost its temper. Mr. Sim-
mons, the choir-leader (whenever
he could get there), flushed and
seemed about to say something.
He was the one who had sent
ary, and it was said that he had been heard
that it would be good to have some music,
le of the organ." Before he could speak,
ver, Mary was downstairs again. Seats
offered her in several of the back pews,
he took one under the gallery. She might
11 have had a sounding-board behind her,
ged so as to send her voice right at the
. Perhaps her temper was a little aroused,
he did not know how very full her voice
then she began the first hymn. All were
ig, and they could hear the organ and the


choir, but through, 6ver, and above them all
sounded the clear, ringing notes of Mary Ogden's
soprano. Elder Holloway, sitting in the pulpit,
put up a hand to one ear, as half-deaf men do,
and sat up straight, looking as if he was hear-
ing some good news. He said afterward that
it helped him preach; but then Mary did not
know it. When all the services were over, she
slipped out into the vestibule to wait for the
rest. She stood there when Miss Glidden came
downstairs. The portly lady was trying her
best to smile and look sweet.
"Splendid sermon, Mary Ogden," said she.
I hope you '11 profit by it. I sha'n't ask you
to take my class this afternoon. Elder Hollo-
way's going to inspect the school. I '11 be glad
to have you present, though, as one of my best
Mary went home as quickly as she could,
and the first remark she made was to Aunt
Her class! she said. "Why, she has n't
been there in six weeks. She had only four in
it when she left, and there 's a dozen now."
The Ogden procession homeward had been
longer than when it went to church. Jack
understood the matter the moment he came
into the dining-room, for both extra leaves had
been put into the extension-table.
"There 's company," he said aloud. "You
could n't stretch that table any farther, unless
you stretched the room."
"Jack," said his mother, "you must come
afterward. You can help Mary wait on the
Jack was as hungry as a young pickerel, but
there was no help for it, and he tried to reply
"I 'm getting used to being crowded out. I
can stand it."
"Where 'd you sit in church? asked his
Out on the stoop," said Jack, but I did n't
go till after I 'd sat in five pews inside."
Sorry you missed the sermon," said his
mother. "It was about Jerusalem."
I heard him," said Jack; you could hear
him half-way across the green. It kept me
thinking about the city, all the while. I 'm
going, somehow."
VoL. XVII.-41.


Just then the talk was interrupted by the
others who came in from the parlor.
"I declare, Ogden," said the editor, "we
shall quite fill your table. I 'm glad I came,
though. I '11 print a full report of it all in the
Mertonville Eagle."
"That's Murdoch, the editor," said Jack to
himself. "That 's his paper. Ours was a
Standard,-but it 's bu'sted."
There 's no room for a newspaper in Cro-
field," said the blacksmith. "They tried one,
and it lasted six months, and my son worked on
it all the time it ran."
Mr. Murdoch turned and looked inquisitively
at Jack, through a huge pair of tortoise-shell-
rimmed glasses.
That's so," said Jack; I learned to set type
and helped edit the paper. Molly and I did all
the clipping and most of the writing, one week."
Did you ? said the editor emphatically.
"Then you did well. I remember there was
one strong number."
Molly," said Jack, as soon as they were out
in the kitchen, there 's five besides our family.
They won't leave a thing for us."
"There 's hardly enough for them, even," said
Mary. "What '11 we do?"
"We can cook!" said Jack, with energy.
"We '11 cook while they 're eating. You know
how, and so do I."
"You can wait on table as well as I can,"
said Mary.
There was something cronyish and also self-
helpful, in the way Jack and Molly boiled eggs
and toasted bread and fried bacon and made
coffee, and took swift turns at eating and at
waiting on the table.
The editor of the Eagle heard the whole of
the trout item, and about the runaway, and told
Jack to send him the next big trout he caught.
There was another item of news that was soon
to be ready for Mr. Murdoch. Jack was con-
scious of a restless, excited state of mind, and
Mary said things that made him worse.
You want to get somewhere else as badly as
I do," he remarked, just as they came back from
taking in the pies to the dinner-table.
"I feel, sometimes, as if I could fly! ex-
claimed Mary. Jack walked out through the
hall to the front door, and stood there thinking,



with a hard-boiled egg in one hand and a piece
of toast in the other.
The street he looked into was silent and de-
serted, from the bridge to the hotel corner. He
looked down to the creek, for a moment, and
then he looked the other way.
"I believe Molly could do 'most anything I
could do," he said to himself; unless it was
catching a runaway team. She could n't ha'
caught that wagon. Hullo, what 's that?
Jingo! The hotel cook must have made a
regular bonfire to fry my trout!"
He wheeled as he spoke, and dashed back
through the house, shouting:
Father, the Washington Hotel 's on fire !-
over the kitchen "
Ladder, Jack. Rope. Bucket," cried the
tall blacksmith, coolly rising from the table, and
following. As for the rest, beginning with the
editor of the Eagle, it was almost as if they had
been told that they were themselves on fire.
Even Aunt Melinda exclaimed: He ought to
have told us more about it! Where is it?
How 'd it ever catch ? Oh, dear me! It's the
oldest part of the hotel. It 's as dry as a bone,
and it '11 burn like tinder "
Everybody else was saying something as all
jumped and ran, but Jack and his father were
silent. Ladder, rope, water-pails, were caught
up, as if they were going to work in the shop,
but the moment they were in the street again it
seemed as if John Ogden's lungs must be as
deep as the bellows of his forge.
"Fire! Fire! Fire!" His full, resonant voice
sent out the sudden warning.
"Fire! Fire! Fire!" shouted Jack, and every
child of the Ogden family, except Mary, echoed
with such voice as belonged to each.
Through the wide gate of the hotel barn-yard
dashed the blacksmith and his son, with their
ladder, at the moment when Mrs. Livermore
came out at the kitchen door, wiping a plate.
All the other inmates of the hotel were gathered
around the long table in the dining-hall, and
they were too busy with pie and different kinds
of pudding, to notice anything outdoors.
"Where is the fire, Mr. Ogden? she said,
in a fatigued tone.
The fire's on your roof, close to the chim-
ney," said the blacksmith. Maybe we can

put it out, if we 're quick about it. Call every-
body to hand up water."
Up went a pair of hands, and out came a
great scream. Another shrill scream, and an-
other, followed in quick succession, and the
plate she had held, fell and was shivered into
fragments on the stone door-step.
"Foi-re! Foi-re! Foi-re-re-re!" yelled the
hotel cook. "The house is a-bur-rnin'! Wa-ter!
Waw-aw-ter "
The doors to the passage-ways of the hotel
were open, and in a second more her cry was
taken up by voices that sent the substance of it
ringing through the dining-hall.
Plates fell from the hands of waiters, coffee-
cups were upset, chairs were overturned, all
manner of voices caught up the alarm.
It would have been a very serious matter but
for the promptness of Jack Ogden and his very
cool father. The ladder was planted and
climbed, there was a quick dash along the low
but high-ridged roof of the kitchen addition of
the hotel,-the rope was put around Jack's
waist, and then he was able safely to use both
hands in pouring water from the pails around the
foot of the chimney. Other feet came fast to
the foot of the ladder. More went tramping
into the rooms under the roof. The pumps in
the kitchen and in the barn-yard were worked
with frantic energy; pail after pail was carried
upstairs and up the ladder; water was thrown
in all directions; nothing was left undone that
could be done, and a great many things were
done that seemed hardly possible.
Hot work, Jack," said his father. "It 's
a-gaining on us. Glad they 'd all about got
through dinner,- though Livermore tells me
he 's insured."
"I can stand it," said Jack. "They have
steam fire-engines in the city, though. Oh, but
would n't I like to see one at work, once. I 'd
like to be a fireman "
That 's about what you are, just now," said
his father, and then he turned toward the ladder
and shouted:
Hurry up that water! Quick, now! Bring
an axe! I want to smash the roof in. Bear it,
Jack. We 've got to beat this fire."
The main building of the Washington Hotel
was long, rather than high, with an open veranda


along Main street. The third story was mainly
steep roof and dormer-windows, and the kitchen
addition had only a story and a half. It was
an easy building to get into or out of. Very
quickly, after the cry of Fire! was heard, the
only people in it, upstairs, were such of the
guests as had the pluck to go and pack their
trunks. The lower floor was very well crowded,
and it was almost a relief to the men actually at
work as firemen that so many other men kept
well back because they were in their Sunday-
go-to-meeting" clothes.
Everybody was inclined to praise Jack Ogden
and his father, who were making so brave a
fight on the roof within only a few feet of the
smoke and blaze. It was heroic to look a burn-
ing house straight in the face and conquer it.
During fully half an hour there seemed to be
doubt about the victory, but the pails of water
came up rapidly, a line of men and boys along
the roof conveyed them to the hands of Jack,
and the fire had a damp time of it, with no wind
to help. The blacksmith had chopped a hole
in the roof, and Tom and Sam Bannerman, the
carpenters, were already calculating what they
could charge old Livermore to put the addition
in order again.
"There, Jack," said his father, at last, "we
can quit, now. The fire 's under. Somebody
else can take a turn. It's the hottest kind of
work. Come along. We 've done our share,
and a little more, too."
Jack had just swallowed a puff of smoke, but
as soon as he could stop coughing, he said:
"I 've had enough. I 'm coming."
Other people seemed to agree with them;
but there would have been less said about it if
little Joe Hawkins had not called out:


"Three cheers for the Ogdens!"
The cheers were given as the two volunteer
firemen came down the ladder, but there were
no speeches made in reply. Jack hurried back
home at once, but his father had to stop and talk
with the Bannermans and old Hammond the
"Jack," said his mother, looking at him,
proudly, from head to foot, you 're always doing
something or other. We were looking at you,
all the while."
"He has n't hurt his Sunday clothes a bit,"
said Aunt Melinda, but there was quite a crowd
around the gate, and she did not hug him.
He was a little damp, his face was smoky,
his shirt-collar was wilted, and his shoes would
require a little work, but otherwise he was none
the worse.
Jack went into the house, saying that he
must brush his clothes; but really it was be-
cause he wished to get away. He did not care
to talk to anybody.
"I never felt so, in all my life, as I did when
sitting on that roof, fighting that fire," he said
aloud, as he went upstairs; and he did not know,
even then, how excited he had been, silent and
cool as he had seemed. In that short time, he
had dreamed of more cities than he was ever
likely to see, and of doing more great things
than he could ever possibly do, and when he
came down the ladder he felt older than when
he wefit up. He had no idea that much the
same thoughts had come to Mary, nor did he
know how fully she believed that he could do
anything, and that she was as capable as he.
Father 's splendid, too," she said, but then
he never had any chance, here, and Mother
did n't either. Jack ought to have a chance."

(To be continued.)




A LITTLE bird came and perched on the top
of my penholder. It had a little voice some-
what like the jingle of those silver bells worn by
fairies. It went off all of a sudden like an alarm-
clock, and in five minutes had twittered me two
songs in pigeon English. They are here written
in prose, as I have forgotten how you write in
verse. This is what the bird said in


I FLEW over land and sea, and in Paris I saw
three bright little children- Henri, Mathilde, and
Sophie. They were three little flutterbudgets,
never still a quarter of a minute, but always
saying, "Dear Mamma, what will you do next
that we may be amused?" and their mamma
would answer, You shall go with your nurse to
the puppet-theater in the garden of the Luxem-
bourg, and she shall buy you some bread to
feed the goldfish in the large fountain." So
they would sit on a shady bank, and the man
would make the little puppets (dolls dressed up
like big folks) shake hands and talk and be
pleasant, or fight and kill one another, just as
he thought fit, and the man would stay out of
sight behind the little stage, and change his
voice, and pretend it was the dolls that talked.
So it was a regular little theater, and the three
children would laugh and clap their hands if they
liked the play, and if they did n't, they would
hiss like so many geese. Then they would say,
" Now we will go on the boulevard and see the
pictures and jewels and all the handsome things
in the windows." So they did, and the next
day they came to their mother again: "Dear
Mamma, we want to be amused." Then she went

with them to the Palace of the Louvre, where
there are more curious things than you could
look at in a whole year, and the little necks
would be strained, and the little eyes would go
staring this way and that, trying to take in all
they could at one glance. Then they would hunt
up another dolls' theater and hear the Emperor's
band play in the palace garden. The next day
they would come again, and with just the same
cry: Oh, dear! Mamma, it is so dull, what can
we see that is new, so we may be amused ? "
For this was the thing of which they were
never tired; and so the good lady went with them
to the Garden of Plants, the largest menagerie in
the world, with such a noise of big birds cawing
and lions roaring and monkeys chattering, you
could never hear yourself think; only nobody
wished to think, but just to be amused. And
the three children said, "You are a lovely
mamma, but we are tired of this show; it is
good for country children, perhaps, but we have
so many nicer things in Paris that we do not like
to spend our time here "; so she took them to
the real opera that night, and they saw the
Emperor, in his box all covered with gold, and
all the people clapping their hands, and it was
a splendid place to be in, full of such grand folks
and glittering uniforms. When Sunday came
they went to the cathedral, and the priests had
on their bright clothes, and the music was grand,
so they had almost as good a time as at the
opera, except that in the cathedral one has only
a little cane-chair, and in the opera a velvet
sofa, which is a great deal pleasanter. In the
evening they stayed at home, so that on the
whole they found the day comparatively dull.
Well, they went on this way year after year,


and they studied somewhat and were ambi-
tious to excel, but they had to be wonderfully
amused all.the way along; so by the time they
were grown up, they had seen so much that
nothing could take them by surprise, and they
could never wonder about anything great. A
pity it was, indeed; and because the people in
that country are brought up in this way, they
get to think this world is wearisome, and for vari-
ety they go to war, or have a revolution at home,
or kill their king so as to have a new one, or
change their flags and the names of their streets,
and build new palaces,- anything so as not to
have a dull time in Paris. One of their rulers,
the great Napoleon, when he received a letter
saying they were displeased with him, replied:
" Gild the dome of the H6tel des Invalides; they
will look at that, and it will be a new thing,
and they will forget that they are displeased
with me."

THE little bird opened his mouth very wide,
smoothed his feathers, and went on more quietly:

I flew. over land and sea, and came upon
three other children, living in a grove on the
edge of a wide prairie, away in the West; they
had nobody to amuse them, they lived miles
away from other people, and had never seen a
city; they had no company but their mother,
except a big dog, a little kitten, and a gopher they
had tamed. Their mother had much work to do,
and though she was fond of them, she could not
send them anywhere to be amused. But she had
excellent sense, and she told them to look in the
books their father had in his room, and see what
people did out in the world; "for," she said,
"it 's all a sort of playing, anyway, this that
grown folks are so busy about; and you can just
picture it all out in your minds, and set up for
yourselves, and do the same things, if you like."
And then she told them there could n't be
better company than the big, pleasant prairie,
and woods full of oaks and hickories, and the
wide river with osiers on its banks, and shells
upon its shores. So the little people began to
think and read and imagine, and they made up
their minds they would (as they said in the
"Plan" they wrote about it all) combine the

advantages of country life and city life," having
hiding-places in trees, setting traps in the woods,
going out nutting, fishing, hunting, boating, and,
besides all this, fitting up their home as a city
to which they could return, and where they
could sell their nuts and fish and shells. They
named all the paths in the garden after famous
streets they read about, painted these names on
shingles, and fastened them to the trees. They
took the dining-room for a hotel, the sitting-
room for the city hall, the parlor for the
church, and so on. Besides these, they had
the barn for a warehouse, hiding-places in
trees for sentinels, an old bee-hive for a post-
office, and pieces of leather curiously stamped
for money. They had a full code of laws
written out, with penalties attached; a set of
city officers never yet accused of cheating the
public; a church where they attended every
Sunday; a newspaper-illustrated at that-all
written out by hand, with editorials, poetry,
stories, and a fine Juvenile Department.
They opened an "Art Gallery" up in the
garret, and had a banquet with little dishes they
had molded from clay, and set out on a bench
covered with a sheet, with pumpkin-blossoms for
a center-piece. On this occasion, speeches were
made and spring-water toasts drunk out of
acorn cups; and, later, water-color drawings of
gophers, of blue jays and red-headed wood-
peckers were shown; also sketches from nature,
and statues of all the family in clay, not very
striking likenesses, but then they were all plainly
labeled! It would fill a book to tell of all the
good times those children had! The people
who live in this western world are taught that
it is better to amuse themselves than to be
amused; to "think things out" and give new
ideas time to soak in; and so they take life more
as it comes; they would rather eat strawberries
when the sun ripens them in June, than to have
them from hot-houses in February.

So- said the little bird as I flew to and
fro, I learned that it is better to make a little
go a great way than a great deal go a little
way, in the amusement ot the frisky lambs you
call "our young folks."
And he spread his little wings and flew
through the open window.



OST of the readers of ST.
NICHOLAS have, un-
doubtedly, often heard
that a drop of ordinary
water is teeming with all
kinds of living things,
and those who possess
microscopes have, perhaps, themselves seen
these wonderful forms of life. Not all of
you, however, may understand that such water
as this is dangerous to drink, inasmuch as
water which is pure and healthful should con-
tain very few of these living organisms. If a
drop of good drinking water be examined with
a powerful microscope, we see only here and
there some living thing moving about, while
if we take a drop of stagnant water we find
it to be teeming with life of this sort. The
difference is as great as that between the few
people on the street of a sleepy country vil-
lage, and the moving throngs on the main
avenue of a great city. Now, while we do
not care to drink the water which is so full of
living things, it is, nevertheless, very interesting
to us, and we are anxious to learn what is the
nature, and what are the habits, of these inhabi-
tants of a drop of water.
When scientific men first began to construct
powerful microscopes, they thought that these
living things which they found in a drop of im-
pure water were minute animals, and so called
them animalcules. They believed that they
were animals because they could move about;
and as they saw them darting hither and thither
with great swiftness through the water, they
could come to no other conclusion.
We have since discovered, however, that some
minute plants can move with the grace and ease
of animals, and that most of these living things
of which we are speaking are microscopic plants.
The great majority of these microscopic
plants are what botanists call bacteria, the
smallest form of vegetable life. So small are
they that it would take, in some cases, as many

as fifteen thousand of them arranged in a row to
extend an inch. They have different forms, some
being round, some oval, some rod-shaped, and
others much the shape of a corkscrew, or spiral.
In all cases they are so small that one needs a
powerful microscope to study them, and in no
case can we perceive them singly with the
naked eye. When countless millions of them
are grouped together in a mass, or colony, we
can see them about as we are able to see at a
great distance an approaching 'army, of which
we are totally unable to distinguish a single
We have said that these bacteria move about;
and this is true of most of them, although there
are some which do not appear to move at all,
but remain fixed where they find a good feeding-
place. Those that have motion behave in a
very peculiar manner: some wobble about in
one place without moving forward in the least;
others dart hither and thither, back and forth, at
an apparently furious rate, rocking and twirling
about, and turning a hundred somersaults as they
move along.
Bacteria multiply very rapidly, and they do
this in a strange way. A single one breaks
itself in two; then each half grows to be as
large as the first. Then these, in turn, divide up
again, and so on, until from a single one we
have many thousands in a short time. To give
you the figures, such as they are, a single one
can multiply at so enormous a rate that in
forty-eight hours it can produce something
like 280,000,000,000 of bacteria. Great con-
sequences follow this enormous increase of
bacteria; for, while one which is so small in
itself can do little, the vast army resulting
from the multiplication of one is able to ac-
complish much.
Let us think of some of the commonest things
that are caused every day by bacteria. Every
one knows how quickly milk .will turn sour on
a warm day. If you ask what causes this
change, I answer, the great army of bacteria


performs the work. Examine a drop of the
sour milk with a microscope, and you find
swarms of bacteria in this one drop. We find
very few when the milk first begins to turn sour,
but up to a certain point we discover more and
more, as the souring goes on. The milk as it
comes from the cow usually contains none of
the bacteria which cause milk to sour, those
which do this coming mainly from the air or
from some unclean vessel.
We feel assured of this, because, if milk is
heated in bottles or jars, and then corked or
sealed so tightly that no air can get in, the milk
will not sour. The reason for this is that a
great heat will kill bacteria, and so, by heating
both the milk and the vessel which holds it, we
kill all bacteria which might otherwise cause
the milk to sour. Should we heat the milk and
then expose it to the air, however, we would find
that it would soon sour, because the bacteria
would fall from the air into the milk just as dust
falls upon the furniture, and some of these bac-
teria would be of the kind which causes souring.
Instead of doing this, we cork it tightly, and
thus preserve it sweet for many months, and
even years. Examine a drop of the milk which
has been corked up so long, and which is still
sweet, and you will not find any of those bac-
teria which are to be found in the sour milk.
Let us now try another experiment which,
if you will study it carefully, will give you much
information. Cut a piece of meat into fine bits,
and soak them in water for a few hours. Pour
off the water from the meat into a tin cup, and
boil it for five or ten minutes. Allow the liquid
to stand until cool, then strain through fine
muslin, when it will come out perfectly clear.
Pour the clear liquid into a flask, and boil it in
the flask for five or ten minutes every day for
several days. In this way you will kill all the
bacteria in the liquid. The flask should be
corked all this time with a plug of ordinary
cotton, and you will find that after undergoing
this process your broth will keep for months,
and perhaps for years. Upon taking out the
plug of cotton, the liquid will, in a short time,
begin to spoil and to smell bad. Examine it with
a microscope, and you will find it swarming with
bacteria, while there was not a living thing in it
before. This experiment indicates, I think, that

bacteria cause the spoiling of broth, and that
they are "sown" in it from the air.
A great many different diseases are caused by
bacteria, and in several cases the kind causing
a particular disease has been recognized. Thus
there is a form of bacteria always found in
diphtheria, and another in small-pox.
Boys not seldom cut or bruise their fingers
while using tools, or run splinters into their
hands. Now, when this is done, the injury
should be attended to at once, for the finger or
hand may fester and become sore, and this may
go so far as to result in blood-poisoning, often
with very serious results.
If we magnify a little of the matter which
sometimes forms about a cut, we shall find it
full of bacteria, and it is these bacteria which
cause the irritation and soreness. The cut
makes a place which is peculiarly favorable for
the growth of the bacteria, a few of which may
have adhered to the knife, and when the cut-
ting occurred they may have been sown into
the cut, or others may have been carried into
it by dust or dirt lodging there. In any of
these ways, one or more of these bacteria find
their way into the cut place, and there multiply,
causing the festering and soreness. There is
one sure way of preventing this, and that is by
bathing the cut, or keeping it wet all the time
with some liquid that will kill the bacteria or
prevent their multiplying. There are a num-
ber of these liquids, but as most of them are
poisons, it is unsafe for any one but a physi-
cian to use them. A good substitute is alcohol.
If you wash your cut finger with alcohol, and
then wrap a rag wet with this liquid around it,
your finger will not be in danger of festering.
The alcohol causes a smarting at first, but this
soon passes away.
Years ago, whenever physicians were obliged
to cut off people's limbs, the operation was ac-
companied by great danger. It was because
bacteria lodged and multiplied very rapidly in
the cut places, and then got into the blood and
caused blood-poisoning. This seldom happens
now unless surgeons are careless, because the
cut is always washed with some liquid which
quickly kills all bacteria, and is kept moist with
the same, so that they can not afterward be
deposited and developed.


Bacteria often enter the human body, and,
multiplying upon certain parts or organs, produce
particular diseases. They get into the body prin-
cipally in two ways, by the air we breathe, and by
the water we drink. Now, special kinds of bac-
teria produce only particular diseases, and for-
tunately there are not many of them in the air
or water. Were it otherwise, there would be
continual illness. It is, nevertheless, very im-
portant to breathe pure air and drink good water,
for, when these are not pure, there will be more
bacteria in them and more likelihood of there
being a few of those which may cause some
of the more serious diseases.

Most of the diseases caused by bacteria are
contagious, because the bacteria causing the dis-
ease may be carried from a person who has it to
one who is susceptible.
When we are afraid of taking a particular
disease we burn sulphur in the house. This is
because the gas which comes from the burning
sulphur rapidly kills all bacteria which might
otherwise cause the disease that we wish to
All these things teach us that bacteria are
mighty agents, and although they are the small-
est of all living things, that they can accomplish
results of the greatest importance.



ON this silver inlet's breast,
Lies an isle in glamour drest.
All its trees are small but old,
Three-score winters each has told,
And the patriarch of the clan
Is no taller than a man !
Yet these little weazened trees
That are dropping on their knees
Down before the bluff north breeze
Are gigantic yew and oak
To the island's pigmy folk.

They are full of craft and guile,
Who inhabit Toddling Isle.
Oftentimes, with quaint farewells,
They launch out in scallop-shells,
On some mighty voyage bound
To the mainland meadow-ground.
If you 're like to cross their track,
Straight about they veer and tack,
Sheltering in those tangled coves
Where they hide their treasure-troves;
If you land, they quickly flit
Into secret cave and pit;
So that never yet, I ween,
Any of their ilk was seen.
But their bond-slaves you may pass,
Weaving through the warm, dry grass

(Limber hopper," coal-black grig,
Lady-bug, and emmet trig);
And their beds you come across,
Strewn with tressed green-gray moss; -
Pillows made of silk-weed floss-
Coverlids of rose-leaf lawn-
Sweet-fern curtains, partly drawn.
You may find their banquet-rooms
Hung with white azalea blooms,
And the dainties left in haste,
If you wish, yourself may taste; -
Goblets filled with dewberry wine,
Purple beach-plums, sleek and fine,
Honey that was had in fee
From the solitary-bee,
Smilax salads cool and crisp;-
You may taste but no word lisp,
Else for seven years and a day
You on Toddling Isle must stay.
For of fern-seed you will eat,-
Be unseen, from head to feet,-
Be unheard, however you moan,
Till your captive years are flown,
Drag about a gossamer chain,
Serve the King of Elves, in pain.

Ah, my child, be wise and dumb,
When to Toddling Isle you come!


PROFESSOR: Now I know the name of this specimen of rock,-very rare-" ARMADILLO: "As a rock,-yes,- very rare! "



IT was nearly sunset of a hot day in Janu-
ary (!) when our boat left the rapid current of the
Rio Uruguay,- its broad surface dotted with
thousands of floating islets of tropical plants,-
and rowing up a shady little creek, our party of
five pitched camp on its grassy bank and began
an all-night battle with the mosquitoes.
The trip had been planned mainly in search
of rare plants, for the Doctor and his assistant,
Hans, were botanists; but I was collecting birds
and insects, our boatman, Pablo, was a river
fisherman, and Miguel, our black cook and
guide, was a carpincho hunter, whose regular
business was the chase of the water-hog or
Behind the tent stretched a rolling, treeless
plain, covered for the most part with long grass
and flowering plants, with masses of thistles in
the hollows, and here and there on the sandy
ridges a thicket of cactus and mimosa. Half a
dozen graceful pampas-deerwatched us curiously
from a safe distance as we arranged the camp,
and, still further away, Miguel pointed out several

avestruces (ostriches); but the gathering dark-
ness made it impossible to follow them that
night, especially as we were without horses.
On the opposite side of the creek, or arroyo,
lay a heavily timbered swamp, from which the
night-herons were already flapping lazily away to
the marshes beyond, whence the weird shrieks
of the crying-bird came to us constantly as we
sat huddled in the smoke of the camp-fire, won-
dering how we should live through the night
among such swarms of mosquitoes. Midnight
found me still busy with the same problem; for
my mosquifero* proved too ragged to be of any
use, and the night was so sultry that it was impos-
sible to sleep wrapped in anything thick enough
to keep out the insects. At last, goaded beyond
endurance, I seized a shotgun, and, after a
word of explanation to Miguel, started off over
the rolling plain in hope of reaching higher
ground, where possibly a breeze might sweep
away some of the tormentors. The region was
new and strange to me, and as there was always
a chance of meeting a prowling puma or a more

Mosquito netting.

I' j

VOL. XVII.--42.


dangerous jaguar, while the risk from wild cat-
tle was even greater, there was need of constant
watchfulness and care. At rare intervals, a bright
spot half-way up the eastern sky marked the
place of the full moon behind the clouds, but at
other times the sky was uniformly dark and low-
ering, making the night gloomy though the
darkness was not intense. Passing over a
rounded ridge of grass-clad sand behind the
tent, I entered a hollow filled with rank, spiny,
thistle-like plants nearly ten feet high. Pushing
hastily through these, another low ridge was
reached, then another hollow, and so on, until--
still surrounded by a dense cloud of mosquitoes
-I stopped, breathless, and dripping with per-
spiration, a mile or more from the river. The
air was heavy and motionless except that it fairly
throbbed with the shrill notes of insects, broken
occasionally by the harsh cry of the burrowing-
owl, or more rarely by the bark of a fox. Gradu-
ally, however, the ear became conscious of an-
other sound,- an indistinct, muffled noise which
at one moment seemed close at hand and at
another far away. I changed position cautiously
and located the noise near by among the roots
of the long grass, where some animal appeared
to be digging and sniffing alternately, with an
occasional grunt of satisfaction as it unearthed
some particularly nice morsel. Although the
animal was less than half a dozen paces distant,
it could not be seen; yet I felt sure it must be
a small animal, and, running over
in my mind all the possible chances,
soon concluded that it was a fox,
an opossum, or an armadillo. A
fox would have taken the alarm ere
this; an opossum or an armadillo
would be both harmless and inter-
esting, so with gun ready I pushed
forward through the coarse grass
with every sense alert. Suddenly
the sniffing ceased, the grass rustled
gently for an instant, and then the
mysterious creature went tearing
through the weeds and brambles
at a pace that rendered pursuit very difficult.
Reaching an open sandy space, however, I was
soon near enough to see that it was a fair-sized
peludo, or hairy armadillo, weighing perhaps ten
pounds or more. This was my first experience

with a member of this family, and though I knew
they were said tobe perfectly harmless, I was loath
to grapple with a beast which resembled noth-
ing so much as it did a snapping-turtle. But its
movements, in spite of its clumsiness, were suffi-
ciently quick, in the uncertain light, to keep it
out of my hands. Again and again I pitched
forward and tried to seize its tail, but without
success. A jump on the animal's shell, and a
kick which nearly sent it over, alike proved
useless, and after a sharp scramble of several
minutes my first peludo tumbled suddenly into
the mouth of its own or some other animal's
burrow; and I sat down breathless, hot, and
disgusted, wondering at my stupidity in letting
it get away after all. Half an hour later, how-
ever, another escaped in almost the same man-
ner, in spite of a charge of shot from my gun,
which rattled against its coat of mail as harm-
lessly as a handful of sand. It was now after
two o'clock in the morning, and though the
mosquitoes still followed me in clouds, there was
a slight breeze and the air seemed a trifle cooler.
Deer frequently started up from the long grass
and dashed away in the darkness, while once or
twice an ominous bellow warned me of the near-
ness of wild cattle. The possible danger from
this source, and the still greater risk from venom-
ous snakes, caused me to halt at last in an open
spot where I could wait for daylight in compara-
tive safety. Both sleep and comfort were out of

-3" (: -

r- w

the question unless a strong breeze should drive
away the mosquitoes; but evidently it was un-
safe to wander aimlessly about; and apart from
the actual danger it was very unpleasant, to say
the least, to be constantly stumbling against the



spines of prickly-pear cactus, which became more
and more abundant on the higher ground.
The night seemed interminable, but at last
morning broke,- dull, gloomy, and threaten-
ing, with a bank of inky clouds along the south-
ern horizon.
The two miles of prairie, or camfo as the na-
tives call it, which lay between me and the river,
were soon traversed, and almost as the tent was
reached came the first gusts of a strong pam-
pero. For the first half hour, the wind blew a
hurricane, and while it lasted the tent was in mo-
mentary danger of being blown into the stream.
Then came torrents of rain, and the wind be-
came more steady, though for several hours the
gale continued with great severity. Meanwhile
I had slipped off my wet clothing, and, wrapped
in a dryponcko, was soon fast asleep. It rained
steadily until afternoon; then the clouds broke
away and the sun shone forth on a new world.
Not a mosquito was left to vex us, and, in-
stead of the sultry heat of the previous day, a
strong south wind was sweeping over the billowy
pampas, and the air was so fresh and cool that
we were glad to draw our ponchos close and
gather about the fire to sip our coffee and talk
over our plans for the rest of the day. The
Doctor and his assistant spent most of the after-
noon in collecting plants; Pablo repitched the
tent, gathered firewood, and set trawls in the
arroyo; while Miguel and I hunted deer and
ostriches, and planned an armadillo hunt for the
evening. Ostriches were far from scarce, but
proved too wary to allow us a shot even at long
rifle-range; so we were obliged to content our-
selves with a fine deer which lingered an instant
too long within range of our guns. We carried
to camp the antlers, hide, and some of the meat,
although Miguel protested that after a single
taste of peludo, we would scorn to touch veni-
son. Supper was eaten with keen relish, and,
after an hour's rest, the camp was left in charge
of Pablo and we started for the prowling grounds
of the armadillo just as the clouds along the
horizon were silvered by the rising moon.
Miguel, besides his long knife, carried only a
light strong club, but Hans and I had double-
barreled shotguns, while the Doctor, who was
short and stout, carried a carbine to match.
The night was cool and the moonlight so

bright that we could walk as rapidly as we chose
without getting too warm, and without danger
from cactus or snake. The Doctor awoke all
the foxes and owls in the neighborhood by
a reckless shot after a couple of deer which
started from a belt of thistles that we crossed.
Of course the ball hit nothing, but several of
the startled burrowing-owls followed us for a
long distance, hovering about us and shrieking
dismally. Soon we reached an open, sandy
stretch, broken occasionally by stunted bushes,
or by clusters of the prickly-pear cactus bristling
with longspines. In order to cover more ground,
we now separated somewhat, keeping in sight
of one another as a rule, except when a stray
cloud passed over the moon plunging everything
into deep shadow. The Doctor, being near-
sighted, kept close to Hans, much to the annoy-
ance and even danger of the latter, for the
Doctor was very excitable and always ready to
shoot at anything which aroused his suspicions.
After several narrow escapes, however, he was
persuaded to draw the cartridges and carry his
carbine unloaded, much to our relief. We were
proceeding quietly in this way, when suddenly
Miguel darted forward, evidently in pursuit of
something. The rest of us closed in on each
side, but only in time to see him stumble for-
ward over a tussock at the very mouth of a bur-
row where a large peludo had vanished half a
second before. Miguel was quickly on his feet
again and only saying, Better luck next time!"
started on. The Doctor expressed himself more
forcibly, however, and intimated that if his car-
bine had been loaded, matters might have ended
very differently. No one could dispute this,
and the thought of Miguel's narrow escape from
the Doctor was some consolation for the peludo's
escape from us.
We had proceeded perhaps a quarter of a
mile without incident, when, on entering a little
oasis of grass among the sand hillocks, Hans
stopped short, thinking he heard a slight noise
near at hand. When it was repeated an instant
later, he stepped softly toward the spot from
which it seemed to come, and saw a dark object,
about as large as a woodchuck and almost as
flat as its own shadow, shuffling from one tuft
of grass to another, stopping but a moment to
sniff about the roots of each, and then trotting


away to the next. Reasoning as I had done
the previous night, he leveled his gun and
pulled the trigger just as the peludo emerged
from the shadow into the fulllight of the moon.
Rushing forward through the smoke to pick up
the game, he was amazed to see the peludo
scudding away unhurt, as fast as its short legs
would carry it. He gave chase at once and soon
overtook it, but it dodged suddenly and made
off in another direction, while he ran some dis-
tance past. Recovering himself, he dashed after
it again, and bringing his foot down fairly on its
back succeeded only in upsetting himself with-
out stopping the armadillo. Again and again
he overtook and stooped to grasp it, but each
time got only a handful of sand and grass. He
was rapidly being winded, while the peludo
still seemed perfectly fresh, and in all probability
we should have lost our game after all, had not
Miguel at this juncture brought his club down
on the animal's head, apparently killing it out-
right. It was only shamming, however, and by
digging its long claws into the ground was able
for several minutes to defy Miguel's knife. But
eventually a vital spot was found, and as soon as
it was dead, we began to examine it curiously.
Including the tail, it was not far from two feet
in length, and weighed perhaps seven or eight
pounds. It was little wonder that Hans's shot
had no effect, for the rounded back was covered
completely with a coat of mail formed of cross
rows or bands of thick, bony plates, so hard and
smooth that nine times out of ten they would
have turned off a rifle-bullet. The seams or
lines of skin between the bands were almost
hidden by the overlapping of the plates, and
were thinly sprinkled with coarse hair. This be-
came more abundant on the belly and legs.
The teeth, which grew only on the sides of the
jaws, were of small size, but the feet were armed
with large claws. Those on the fore feet were
especially long and strong. Altogether, it was
rather a repulsive-looking beast, and it was
hard to credit the assertions of Miguel and the
Doctor that the flesh resembled in flavor that
of young roast pig, and was even more delicious.
This species, the hairy armadillo of the pampas,
has no power to roll itself up in a ball, which many
of its relatives possess, but if attacked often
escapes its enemies by flattening itself close

against the ground and feigning death. Dur-
ing hot weather, it seldom ventures abroad by
day, but searches at night for its food of roots
and insects. In winter, however, or in dull,
dark weather, it sometimes roams about by day,
taking refuge, in case of necessity, in any burrow
at hand, or, if surprised where the soil is mod-
erately soft, it can burrow out of sight and out
of danger in a few seconds.
While Hans and I were examining this, the
first armadillo we had ever laid hands on, the
Doctor lighted his pipe and began to stroll
dreamily about, talking to himself as was his
custom, perhaps commenting on the beauty of
the night, or, more probably, congratulating
himself on the near prospect of roast peludo.
Oblivious of everything else, he presently walked
directly into a spreading tuft of cactus, and, in
backing out of this, stepped into the mouth of
an old fox-burrow and measured his length-
which scarcely exceeded his breadth-on the
ground. Fortunately the remarks which fol-
lowed were not in Spanish, for Miguel, had he
been within hearing, might have resented some
of the comments on his native land. But by
the time the Doctor's pipe was found and re-
lighted, he had recovered his good humor, and
hearing a sudden shout from Miguel, we all
started off on a run in his direction.
We soon met him carrying a plump young ar-
madillo by its tail, and at his suggestion, Hans
and the Doctor, both of whom were already
thoroughly tired out, started homeward with the
game, carrying instructions to Pablo to have a
roast ready for us on our return. The camp-
fire was plainly visible a mile or more away,
and Miguel and I were satisfied that two of us
could capture as many armadillos as four of
us,-a belief which proved fully justified. The
moon was well up, now, in a cloudless sky, and
moving objects could be made out at much
greater distances than earlier in the evening.
Another peludo was soon found digging among
the grass-roots, and after a short chase was cap-
tured. A single sharp tap with the club caused
it to sham death, and then it was easily killed.
Miguel's plan in hunting peludos, was to
pass rapidly over the bare or thinly grassed
ridges, trusting to our eyes for the detection of
game, but on entering more thickly covered



ground to proceed very slowly and cautiously,
stopping every moment or two to listen. This
proved to be an excellent method of finding the
game, and in the course -:. .,in hi.u.r i..-t il h-.. I!,
half a dozen peludos -r.- t:.. iti..u'l -.! nlr!,
one of them was actu:il,, I .iL.Iure'l. Ii r..
of their seeming clumsm ..- r ,- i.r..l,. .: m ,:.:
difficult to catch, and ,.l re m.I.rTri .:irrn..r!i
of seeing several reach ih:ir I .,,. .:, in ::il!;-r
after most exciting clh... ., .:.:r
as the second capture -.i.-: il. ', ,
turned our tired footstep- t.:. ,-l I. .1.111. ,
which could be locati-. Il.il_ ,
couple of miles dist:rnt, L,, rl
gleam of the camp-
fire against the dark
wall of the swamp.
We found one of
the peludos await-
ing us, done to a turn.
and the empty shell of an-
other showed how well
the Doctor and his
companion had im- -.
provedthe n. ,CI .
after lea'r r" '
ing us. .

4 'V

I A2


With keen appe-
tites we sat down to
our midnight feast,
and any hungry fox
which may have
watched us from the
surrounding thickets
Must have looked on
with growing despair
ashesaw seat. The
meat was rich, juicy,
and tender, justifying
..' all the praises I had
heard bestowed
upon it; but as
s-__ I looked at the
charred remains
Sof the wonderful
/shells, and thought
how strange was
the structure of
the whole animal,
I resolved that our
two remaining speci-
ens should serve a
better purpose, in
Ihi- .ause of science.




A GREEDY fellow? I should say!
They passed the apples round this way
And then he snatched-he could n't wait--
The biggest one upon the plate.

Such greediness I do despise!
I had been keeping both my eyes
Upon that apple, for, you see,
The plate was coming, next, to me.

'T was big and mellow, just the kind
A greedy chap would like to find.
He laughed as if he thought it fun-
Smeant to take that very one.


'''' tI-i ,

Clever Peter and the Ogress.

With hands and faces nicely washed,
With books and satchels too,
These little boys are off for school
While fields are wet with dew.
But when the sun grows hot and high
They loiter by the way
Until at last 'tis far too late
To go school that day.
2. .
0 naughty,naughty truant boys!
But listen what befell -
Close by, a wicked ogress lived
Down in a lonesome dell .
Now see her coming down the hill,
Now see the- children run ;
Her arms are long,her hands are strong
She catches every one .

In vain the children kick and scream
The ogress takes them home
And locks the door; then off shegoes
To bid the neighbors come.
--- But while the other little boys
Sit down to weep and cry,
The clever Peter pokes about
To see what he can spy.
He sees above the fire-place
The chimney black and wide.
"Quick,wipeyour eyes and come'"he cries,
"I've found a place to hide",
Into the cracks between the bricks
Each sticks his little toes,
And scritchy-scratchy,out of sight
One and another goes.


5. V.
And none too soon;for scarce the last i l
Is out of sightbefore
They hear the wicked ogress
Come stumping in the door.
And now she puts the kettle on, t
And now she looks about
Behind the clock behind the broom '
And bids the boys come out.

Then from the chimneyPeter bawls
"We're hiding,stupid-face'.
"Oh ho I"the ogress says'Il know;
You'reupthe fire-place"-
So up the chimney now she looks,
"I'll fetch you down"she cries .
But puff! the clever Peter blows '
The soot down in her eyes .,

All blackwith soot from head to foot
She dances with the pain .
Then stops awhile to rub her eyes
Then hops and howls again
o Out through the kitchendoor she goes
SJust when the other ogresses
Are coming up the hill.
They stop, they stare,they Quake with fear
They stand appalled to see
S" This dreadful hopping howling thing
As black as black can be .
_ 3 And now pell-mell away they run,
,,. Their eyes stick out with fright ;
t Nor do they stop till safe at home
The doors are bolted tight.

The little boys then clamber down
And stop awhile to take
From off the ogress' cupboard shelves
Her pies and ginger cake.
And when they're safely home once more
They keep the master's rule,
And never,never play again
At truant from the school.
K.Pyle. ^ '


,.,- "

,, .

I' --W-.i ,-- -

S. C K IN T H E F L T.

GOOD-MORROW, my friends! I say this because
it has an old-time, poetic sound, and a good field
preacher ought to be poetic if anything. If I should
say instead, Good to-morrow, it would be quite a
different matter. So good-morrow it is, my rosy
crowd of coasters, skaters, and tobogganers; and
now as the time is short only twenty-eight days
in this entire February we '11 proceed to business,
beginning with the letter nearest at hand:

NEW YORK, Feb. 3, 1889.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I am one of your inter-
ested readers, in the second grade of the grammar, and
twelve years of age. Seeing many stories of birds, I
thought I would tell your readers of a curious species of
bees. It is a solitary bee. She bores a tube in the limb
of a dead tree or post or any wood that is decayed. The
tube is continued, after taking a sudden turn, about
twenty inches, running parallel to the grain of the wood.
This tunnel is afterward divided into cells, in each of
which is placed an egg, with a supply of food for the
young larva. The partitions between the cells are made
of the sawdust which has collected from her boring, mois-
tened by a gummy fluid which the bee secretes. She
seems to know that the egg first deposited at the bottom
of the tube will hatch first, so she bores a second opening
at that part of the tunnel, through which the young bees
come forth in succession at their proper times. This bee
is called the carpenter bee, which is considered quite an
appropriate name for it. Yours respectfully,
Jack thinks Robbie speaks with much authority;
but Doctors disagree in science as elsewhere. A
different story is told in "Hidden Homes," pub-
lished in ST. NICHOLAS for June, 1889. Jack is too
wary of all sorts of bees to investigate for himself,
but he asks the Agassiz young people of his con-
gregation to find out which of these two distin-
guished entomologists is right, if either is wrong.


DEAR JACK: I used to think of the panther in
his native wilds as a very fierce creature, always
ready to make an attack and eat his man. Even
when he sat blinking behind the bars of a menag-
erie-cage, he never impressed me as being particu-
larly afraid of me. But hear what a traveler says
in the St. Louis Globe-Democrat.
The plain fact about the panther is that he is
a tremendous coward, and will only in the rarest
and most extreme cases give battle to man. If
three or four panthers happen to be together, as
sometimes occurs, they will present a bolder front
to a man, but even then will not fight unless cor-
nered or wounded. When warm and well fed, the
panther, if disturbed, will, with just the same feline
impudence as the house cat shows under the same
circumstances, spit and growl a little in displeasure;
but if the hunter who has thus intruded will retreat
and then, a moment later, return, he will find that
his impudent foe has absented himself, and is prob-
ably by that time making his way down the moun-
tain-side twenty feet at a bound."
Now, I should n't be surprised if that is a true
statement, after all. Even the lion is nowadays
said to be not the king of beasts, but a timid, sen-
sitive creature who pounces upon you only when
he is surprised and disconcerted, not knowing ex-
actly what else to do.
Now, let me tell you something really startling.
I am a St. Louis boy, who for two years lived on
a farm, and I can tell you from actual experience
that a lamb is really a plucky, brave little creature,
one who always takes his own part, and can give
you a header whenever you tease him too hard. I
never tried to tease a panther or a lion, but if they
are cowards, I don't care to have anything to do
with them. Good-bye! Your constant hearer,
DEAR JACK: A French writer says if you take
a long, narrow paper bag, place it so that its closed
end rests a few inches upon the edge of a table,
and hold it in place by a book or some rather heavy
object laid upon the closed end, you can perform
an interesting experiment. Well, I followed the
directions given, and performed the experiment to
my entire satisfaction, for I have a good pair of
lungs. A bronze tiger had been placed on the closed
end of the bag, and the tiger was much moved, by
what I did.
Now, what was the experiment and how did I
perform it? I should like to hear from some of
your chicks on this matter.
Yours respectfully, JOHN D. T.
"I WON'T make way for a fool! cried an en-
vious scribbler, on meeting Saphir, the famous
Austrian wit, in a narrow passage, where at first
neither seemed disposed to give place. "Oh !
I will, with pleasure," replied Saphir, stepping aside
and bowing courteously.



DEAR JACK: I would like to tell your boys and girls
about a fine entertainment which the old Roman, Lucul-
lus, once gave his guests. The dining-hall used on this
particular occasion was a grand pavilion, built in his gar-
den. The tables were set in a circle, the seats being
on the outside, while the inside was completely hidden
by curtains. The guests were not a little surprised at
this, and their astonishment was still further increased
when, at a given signal, the curtains fell, and these
Roman ladies ad elend gentlemen found that the tables
encompassed a lake, not of water, but of wine, flavored
with oranges, lemons, spices, and the petals of flowers.
On this lake six beautiful girls, dressed as nymphs, floated
Sin their small boats. Of the two in each boat, one rowed
with silver oars, while another filled the wine-cups from a
golden ladle. The air was perfumed with choicest flowers,
and rare and beautiful music delighted the ear. This
dinner lasted forty hours, and eighteen hundred different
kinds of meat, fish, vegetables, and bread were served.
M. E. L.
I NEVER give long morals, because I know you
young people don't like them. Some folks will
find one thing in a story and some another.
Once a mother succeeded very well in teaching
her child to obey and study, and to use good gram-
mar, but she could n't teach him to turn out his toes.
He was excellent, too, at finding out a moral. One
day she saw him reading a fairy tale, and felt quite
worried at seeing him poring over such trash.
But, to her great astonishment, she noticed that he
at once began to pay great attention to turning
out his toes; in fact the improvement soon grew
to be a habit. One day she asked him how it
happened. He colored up and told her that the
princein that absurdfairy
tale was a glorious fellow
and one reason that the
princess fell in love with
him was that he turned
out his toes so beautifully.
"At the end of thestory,"
said the boy, "there was
a whole lot of stuffabout
somevirtues or other such
as grace or deportment,
but I did n't care for it.
I went in for the prince."


HERE is a letter which should have been shown
you two months ago, had not my birds carelessly
mislaid it. They are now off for the winter, or they
would apologize. However, it never is too late nor
too early to speak of flowers, so you shall hear now
what Miss Goodrich has to say:
To the Little School-ma'am and the Children at the Red
DEAR FRIENDS: During the discussion that has re-
cently raged in regard to the pronunciation of ar-bu-tus
somebody suggested that all the trouble arose from our
not calling the Mayflower Epigcea reopens. Really Epigza
repens, after it is explained, is not so bad. But, as a
presidential candidate recently remarked, "it is not the
length of the stepwe are taking so much as its direction."
VOL. XVII.-43.

If we begin to use the scientific names, where shall we
stop ? The next thing will be to call the delicate spring
beauty Claylonia Virginica, which means Clayton's Vir-
ginia flower. (By the way, the botanists seem to have
had a hobby for calling things after Virginia and Caro-
lina and Canada; when they got tired of using those,
they named all the rest of the plants after foreign trav-
elers.) But there is worse yet to come. You would
never guess it,- that is, unless you belong to the Agas-
siz Association. The truth is, that the botanists them-
selves sometimes have two or three names for the same
plant! There, the murder is out! And just think how
we have been twitted ittd h having different common
names for our flowers in different parts of the country!
Since I can remember (not such a very long time,
either), the dear little bluets (about which Miss Thomas
made one of you children some verses a while ago),-
some of you call them "innocence,"- were named
Oldenlandia cericlea. Afterward they were changed
back to HoJustonia cerzilea by the great Mr. Gray him-
self. How much simpler just to call the pretty things
blues. The truth is, my dears, that the Latin names
make an herbarium look very learned; and when you
collect one I hope you will take great pains to have the
plants properly labeled. But what would your poets do
with ofoustonia cerulea in their verses ? I do not think
such terms are suitable for the finer uses of life and lit-
erature; so I hope you children, all, will take pains to
learn the common names of the flowers. I only wish
you could tell me every one; but perhaps some one will
yet make a dictionary of them.
Your friend and faithful reader of Jack-in-the-Pulpit,

A LEARNED and observing friend of the Little
School-ma'am sends you this picture of a sprig
of bitter-sweet, whose natural tendency to twine
spirally was curiously thwarted. This bitter-sweet

S grew up through a confused
pile of broken rock in West-
chester County, New York,
and, along with other vines
and branches, was cut to
decorate a room for Hallow-
e'en festivities. The friend who sends the picture
says that the shoot has tied itself into a perfect
granny-knot in its efforts to be original--a not
uncommon fate.





THE Chinese boy has been usually represented
by writers on China as a prodigy of obedience
fully invested with the attributes of dignity and
seriousness of demeanor.
The truth of the matter is that, as in many state-
ments about the Chinese, what has been observed
among a few, and at certain times only, is repre-
sented to be true of all and at all times. The aver-
age boy of the country on the other side of the globe
and directly under us, is, I assure you, astonish-
inglylike boys of more enlightened climes. He, too,
is compounded of naughtiness and goodness, obe-
dience and rebelliousness, love of play and thirst
for knowledge, wearisome curiosity and whole-
some respect for his elders. It must be owned,
however, that children in China from their earliest
days are taught to obey implicitly, never to ques-
tion the propriety of commands laid upon them
by their superiors, and never to contradict. They
are trained to remain
silent even when un-
justly punished, and
to make no com-
plaint when beaten
by their elders. In
the house they must
not sit unlessbidden,
and are not expected
to talk unless ques-
tioned. Outside, the ,
same deference to
their seniors must -f
be shown. On no
account should a boy
walk side by side
with his father, an
elder brother, or an
uncle,- and still less
precede them. He ,, .
should show his re-
spect by always following in their footsteps.
Under a pernicious system of restraint, fear con-
trols the young instead of love, and deceit is often
resorted to where truth should be told. The boy's
frank, impulsive, and spontaneous nature is re-
strained and bound down, and its development

checked at the outset. It becomes like the dwarfed
trees for which Chinese gardeners are famous,-
which are cut and trimmed and bent over and held
down by wire frames, to make them resemble some
fabulous monster or other.
Such being the method of molding his charac-
ter, and so little freedom being accorded him, it
possibly would be inferred that the Chinese boy
becomes a model of deportment; that he puts away
childish things, with all the games and sports of
boyhood, as soon as he reaches his teens, and that
he is a man at an age when American boys are
still playing marbles and spinning tops. Not so.
Before his superiors he is as quiet, studious, and
grave as you please; but out of their sight and
among his comrades he is a different being alto-
gether. Remember he has been acting a part;
maybe his mother has promised him a mango or
a moon-cake if he would be good; or perhaps his
teacher is a ferocious tyrant, ready to use the
rattan whip or walnut ruler on all occasions.
Our boy abstains from play, frolic, and fun, only so
long as he is watched. Out in the back yard,
where none but indulgent mothers or sympathiz-
ing sisters are about, or at the street corners, you
will'find the Chinese boy lively and frolicsome.
Of innocent amusements the Chinese boy can
not be said to be entirely deprived. He does not
play marbles, but he tosses pennies instead. He
plays tip-cat with great enjoyment, but knows
nothing of lawn-tennis, base-ball, foot-ball, coast-
ing, skating, or tobogganing. The game of battle-
door and shuttlecock satisfies his lofty ambition to
be a high kicker. This game is played without
other battledoors than those of nature's make, -
his own feet. The player has to assume various
queer attitudes in trying, with his feet, to keep
the shuttlecock in the air as long as possible. A
defeat must be confessed when he permits the
feathered toy to reach the ground.
The flying of kites, indulged in at all times, but
especially on the ninth day of the ninth moon,"
when everybody takes part except women and
girls, gives him an opportunity to run and expand
the lungs. As the large paper kite, with concave
wings, round painted body, and long tail, soars into
the pendent clouds and emits weird sounds from
the musical bow fastened on top, reproducing the



music of the Aolian harp, and suggesting a mes-
sage from another planet, is there a youngster who
would not be enchanted with the sport? A paper
butterfly, measuring two feet from wing to wing,
and gorgeously painted, is sometimes sent up along
the string. The wind carries it up, up, until it
reaches the kite, when, its message being delivered
(a spring being touched by the force of the concus-
sion), its wings collapse and down it comes by
its own weight.
When there are other kites buzzing in the upper
air, a battle-royal generally ensues: every one
disputing the supremacy of the skies with every
other, and attempting to dislodge all rivals by cut-
ting string with string. The kite with the toughest
cord is likeliest to come out ahead, though a little
skill may prolong the ethereal existence of those
with weaker cords. The discomfited kites are car-
ried by the four winds of heaven into unknown
regions, to be heard of no more. In this sort of

contest, where might and not right comes off con-
queror, it is not deemed disgraceful to beat a
The Chinese boy enjoys his games of running
and jumping, and he can hop on one leg as long
as the nimblest of American lads. But to be car-
ried on somebody's shoulders and play horseback-
riding is great fun for him. To wear a mask and
" make believe that he is some great hero to
frighten the girls that is the small boy's summit
of felicity.
Our small
boys have a
substitute for
base-ball a
it must be
admitted, for /
the national
game of the
Some yarn is
wound a-
round bits of
and the ball thus made is as elastic as one made
of rubber. The game consists of making the
ball bound as many times as possible. Sometimes
the ball is made to strike against a wall, and then
under one leg of the player before it is again
struck with the palm. This game is too simple
to elicit anything but scorn from a Yankee lad.
It would not be a bad idea for some young base-
ball enthusiast to go to China and teach the boys
there the American game.



A LITTLE maid upon my knee
Sighs wearily, sighs wearily;
" I 'm tired out of dressing' dolls
And having stories read," says she.

" There is a book, if I could see,
I should be happy, fuffickly!
My Mamma keeps it on a shelf-
SBut that you cannot have,' says she "

" But here 's your 'Old Man of the Sea,'
And 'Jack the Giant'!" (Lovingly
I tried the little maid to soothe).
" The interesting' one," says she,

" Is that high-up one -seems to me
The fings you want just has to be
Somefing you has n't got; and that's
The interesting' one !" says she.


THREE illustrations to Mr. Camp's Foot-ball article in this number are from instantaneous photographs taken
specially for ST. NICHOLAS, upon the Yale grounds, by Mr. Alexander Black, the amateur
photographer, whose excellent work with pen and camera is familiar to our readers.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Seeing so many interesting
letters in the Letter-box of your charming magazine,
I thought I would like to add my name to the list of
I attend a public school, and am in the highest grade.
I have a teacher, a man, who makes school so inter-
esting and instructive that I enjoy going very much.
The girls of our grade have formed a literary society, the
object of which is to cultivate a taste among us for good
books and a knowledge of how to express ourselves
correctly in speaking and writing. The society has now
a library of about three hundred books, most of which
were provided by our teacher. We have a very lively
girl for chairman, who makes the meetings very enter-
taining. One of the by-laws of the society is that every
girl, on the return of a book from the library, must have
selected some good quotation from the book to be recited
before the society.
The boys and girls of our grade are preparing to edit
a paper, which is to be named "Our Own." This, I think,
is a very suitable name, as its contents and the work of
printing it are to be our own work.
Our teacher has a printing-press which he will take to
school, and teach the boys type-setting and printing, so
there will be no printer's expenses to be taken from
the profits (that is, if there are any), and if there is a
surplus it is to go toward making the library of the
society larger.
Your devoted reader, MADELINE G--

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a girl of twelve. I live in
Baltimore in the winter, and spend the summer at the
beautiful country home of my grandma.
We have a great many pets, one I don't think you
ever heard of before; it is a ground-hog, and very 'cute.
It was found in the spring, and a dog ate its mother, so
a colored boy kept it until it became very tame, and then
gave it to my brother. It is very smart, and we all are
very fond of it. It has a huge appetite, and when it is
hungry will come out and stand on its hind legs, and,
if it sees you, will run and catch hold of your dress
and pull until you give it something to eat. Now that
the weather has turned cold, it has made a very deep
hole where it will spend the winter. We have seven
horses, Dandy," "Darling," "Daisy," "Di," Dot,"
"Dude," and Dixey"; also two dogs, one large and
black, which is my favorite; the other has not very good
sense because his tail was cut off when he was too old a
puppy; also a parrot, which is very smart, a pet lamb,
and we wanted a deer, but Mamma thought we had
We have taken you for twelve years, and are glad you
are to add eight pages.
Your devoted reader, FANNY B-- .

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl of eleven.
I love your stories very much. My home is in Finland,
but we have been here in Asia a year. There are many
interesting things; beautiful Mahommedan churches
more than five hundred years old. I wish all your boys
and girls could see them, as there are no such very old
churches in America.
We have you only one year, but some years ago, when
I was quite small, my sisters and brothers had you. Every
number that we get is sent from St. Petersburg, where
my brother, a naval cadet, reads you. I wonder if there
are scorpions in America? In our bedroom were yes-
terday killed three of those dangerous animals; also a
big snake was killed in the garden. I could write to
you lots about animals and curious things, but I am
afraid my letter would be too long.
Much love to yourself and all your boys and girls.
From your affectionate reader, ELLA V. S- .

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl, just seven
years old, and this is my own handwriting. I read and
enjoy your stories very much. My sister has been taking
you since 1880, and you published one of her letters
when she was ten years old; that was five years ago. I
was born in Montgomery, Ala., and have been to New
Orleans, and lived in four counties in Virginia,-Henrico,
Albemarle, Botetourt, and Fairfax,-and have seen the
Blue Ridge Mountains. I am taking piano lessons from
my mother. I have a little sister four years old, and she
enjoys ST. NICHOLAS, also. I always write in pencil;
so am not used to ink, and must ask you to overlook any
bad penmanship. I thought you would not read a pen-
ciled letter. I will always be your little friend,
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have noticed that a great
many of your readers have written to you, and as we
have enjoyed reading their letters very much, we thought
that we would write one also. We are twins, and, al-
though fourteen years of age, we take great comfort with
our dolls. We have two cats, named respectively, Cap-
tain Jinks and Peter the Great; they are the pride of our
hearts, but we regret to say that their voices sadly need
cultivation. Fearing that we will weary you with so
long a letter, we will close; with much love and many
good wishes for your welfare in the future,
Your devoted admirers, RAE and GAE.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two friends visiting in
Corning, and the children whom we are visiting have just
received the November ST. NICHOLAS. We have been
looking it over, and we think it is all that you promised


it should be. Our friends here have the set complete.
We are studying French and German, and we think it
would be very nice to have little French or German
stories, as you had some years ago. We saw Little
Lord Fauntleroy" played in Elmira by Ada Fleming,
and we enjoyed it immensely. We go to a private
school and study hard. Our favorite authors are Dickens
and Shakspere. We thought the story of Little St.
Elizabeth" was a very charming story, as Mrs. Burnett's
stories always are. We do so hope you will print this
letter. From your loving readers, GRETA S- .

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am a little boy nine years
old, and have been taking you for nearly one year.
I think Caracas is a very nice place, though I would
much rather live in the United States. All the houses
here are made one story high, except the Government
ones. The windows all have iron bars in front of them,
and the roofs are made of bamboo canes covered with
They carry bread around in two barrels, one on each
side of a donkey.
Caracas is in a beautiful valley surrounded by high
mountains. There are five or six rivers running through
the town, so of course there are a great many bridges.
At the edge of town there is a hill called Calvario, on
the top of which there is a lovely garden and an aviary
full of bright-colored birds.
I remain your loving reader, WILLIE M. P-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I send you a story and a letter
for your Letter-box," and hope you will think it suffi-
ciently interesting to publish.
My little boy is about eight years old, and has just
learned to write -an accomplishment of which he is very
proud. While out playing last spring, and while it was
still quite cold, he found, with some of his little friends,
a litter of kittens, in a vacant lot not far from our house.
The poor mother was dead not far off, and the little ones
were squirming around, blind, helpless, and cold. There
were four of them, and one had already perished from
the exposure. His little heart was deeply moved at
their condition, and he determined to try to save them.
He and his little friends took the three kittens, but an
older boy snatched one of them and ran away with it.
But the two were brought into the house and placed
on a bit of old carpet, in front of the furnace, hoping
that the warmth would restore them. Then he got a
sponge and some milk, and tried to squeeze a few drops
into their mouths; but in spite of all his care one was
found dead the next morning, and then he sat down and
wrote the following letter to his friend who lives just the
square beyond us:
"DEAR SIR: One of the kittens is dead. The other,
I fear, will soon do the same. There is no more to tell,
so I will close this letter.
"Yours sincerely, GRAHAM C. W- ."
Such a brief statement of such tragic import deserved,
I thought, to be recorded; and as I have no more to say,
I, too, will close my letter.
Yours sincerely, B. W-- .
P. S.- I forgot to say that the other kitten did do
the same" very shortly after.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Though we are somewhat
older than the generality of your readers, we have so

much enjoyed your stories this summer that we would
like to thank you for the pleasure you have given us.
Those who take your magazine regularly do not ap-
preciate its value so much as we who so seldom have a
copy; and that is saying a great deal, if one can judge by
the number of letters of thanks that each copy contains.
Our little nieces, who have spent their vacation with us,
have shared their ST. NICHOLAS, and thus we have
lightened many a cloudy day by your bright tales, so
well adapted to any age.
Hoping you will print this as a testimony of the high
esteem in which you are held by two lonely old women,
we are ever, dear ST. NICHOLAS, your respectfully
fervent admirers, Y. D. S. and F. T. S.

WE are glad to print these two drawings from a Book
of Battles," by Master Clement Scott, a young artist
eight years old. The original work contains a series of
drawings, in the vigorous style shown by the accom-
panying sketches, of battles on land and sea. The two
pictures here given, as the young artist's titles show, rep-
resent his ideas of the battle of the Monitorand IZerrimnac,
and of "the battle of Shenandoah."

2L a

t A:

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in a college town; it is
surrounded by mountains. Papa is a professor here.
We are near the foot of Greylock, the highest moun-


tain in Massachusetts, three thousand five hundred feet
high. There is a tower on top of it, and you can see
for a long distance.
Your loving reader, RICHARD J. R-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never written to you
before, but have for a long time wanted to tell you what
a delightful magazine I think you are; you are a great
companion to me, as, not being strong enough to run
about much, reading is my greatest pleasure. I am four-
teen years old, and have been in England, Ireland,
Canada, and the States. I am at present in the beautiful
Highlands of Scotland. The loch I am nearest to is a
very beautiful one; the hills around it are very high;
some are covered with purple heather, and here and
there a silver stream winds its way down, like a narrow
shining ribbon. The Highlanders are superstitious, and
some of their legends are very interesting. I showed
you to a little friend of mine this summer, and she has
become a devoted reader, as has also
Your affectionate friend, HONORIA P-

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the first year I have
taken your delightful magazine. I have enjoyed it very
much, especially the stories about the St. Bernard dogs,
as I have a little nephew, living in the same house with
me, who has one. The dog's name is "Prinz." He
was sent to us last July, from his native Alps, on the
steamship "Netherlands," which sailed from Amsterdam.
He was not chained on the ship, like Drapeau, but was
in a huge cage. He is seventeen months old, and is very
fond of playing ball. His shaggy coat is tawny red, and
his breast, feet, and the tip of his tail are pure white. He
has a white streak between his eyes. These marks de-
note his pure breed. He behaves beautifully, and is as
gentle as a kitten, letting his little master, who is but
two years old, roll over him, and do as he likes, until his
(the dog's) patience is exhausted, when he gets up, and
walks away with the greatest dignity. I think he prom-
ises to be more like Turk than like Drapeau.
Your earnest reader, MARGARET S. B- .

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am eleven years old and
live in Hamburg. I have never written to you before,
but I think I ought to, as you are always sent to me from
America. My name is George. I am a Brooklyn boy,
and live with my aunt, an English lady, that I may go
with my three cousins to a German "gymnasium." My
cousins take English magazines, but we all like ST.
NICHOLAS the best. We went to Travemiinde for our
vacation; it is a seaside on the Baltic. We had last
year's numbers bound together, and my dear auntie is
letting us color the pictures.
My youngest cousin is six years old; he likes the
Brownies very much; he always looks for the Dude
first. We have given my cousin the name Giant Brownie,
as he is much sunburnt. Our school hours are from
nine to three, with a short pause succeeding each hour.
The German boys do not play games as we do, like
cricket and foot-ball. My cousins and myself all remain,
Your affectionate reader, G. F. D- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I have never seen a letter
from here I thought I would write. I do not live here,
but have been here since the last of June. Victoria is a
very pretty old-fashioned town. We are living in a house
which, during the summer, was occupied by M ary Hallock
Foote. The straits are beautiful, with snow-capped
mountains all about. We are going to live in Seattle, W.
T., but we came from Dayton, Ohio. There is a nice
beach here, where we can go in wading and bathing.
We found a large number of star-fishes and sea-urchins.
Two of our star-fishes were very large. One was pink
and the other a dark crimson. They were very pretty.
There is a nice park here, too, where there is a bear
named Jennie, a seal named Joey, and lots of other ani-
mals and birds. I am very fond of drawing, and I
admire Mr. Birch's drawings very much. I have a doll
that is dressed like Little Lord Fauntleroy, and two
others named Juan and Juanita, besides a great many
others. I have three brothers and one sister. I am the
oldest and my sister is the youngest. I am twelve years
old and in the seventh grade.
From your loving reader, CHARLOTTE P- .

WE take pleasure in printing the following amusing
drawing and verse by a young friend of ST. NICHOLAS,
Daisy Dyer, who is nine years old:


I don't want to be great and famous
And have my name over the world;
I want to stay home with my mother
And have my hair peacefully curled.

We thank the young friends whose names here follow
for pleasant letters received from them: Joe Davis, Janet
C. G., Mildred Myers, Ralph A. W., "Silver Birch,"
Frank H. Newnes, Bell Farrar, Florence Montgom-
ery, Florence Peple, Kenneth Noble Hamilton, Mabel
Hughes, Nell Richards, Mary Florence Jones, Margaret
K. Cameron, May C., Amanda M. H., Emily Lee, Dick,
Mabel B., Stoughton Bell, Lena M. Chase, Anna C. G.,
Hallie W. Lucas, May M., Kathryn M. Hinsdale, R.
H. J., Bessie S. True, Ernestine Mary Burg, George
Holmes Edwards, Edna C., Theodore A. Cornell, H.
B., Henrietta L. Sprague, Hazelle M., Ada Pierce,
Robert W. Ritchie, Gertrude S. Barnes, Laura M. Dag-
gett, Addle L. I., E. D., E. A. G., Fannie M. G., H.
A. Schwartz.



PI. Twelve more beautiful months to swing
From the bending bough of time;
To bud and blossom in joyous spring,
And yield, in the summer's prime,
Rich fruit of noble thought and deed
For the autumn rest and the winter's need.
DIAGONALS. Tiny Tim. Cross-words: I. Trouble.
2. Diamond. 3. Pandora. 4. Drayman. 5. Carotid.
6. Pacific. 7. Premium.
ZIGZAG. Alexander Hamilton. Cross-words: I. Ash.
2. 111. 3. Woe. 4. Axe. 5. Any. 6. Inn. 7. Bid.
8. Pet. 9. Roe. 10. Shy. II. Lea. 12. Ems. 13. Ivy.
14. Ale. 15. Lot. 16. Sot. 17. New.
OCTAGON. Across: I. Tar. 2. Ample. 3. Battled.
4. Attached. 5. Chevron. 6. Opera. 7. Rap.
ILLUSTRATED PUZZLE. I to 13, The World's Fair.
From I to 14, Trite; 2 to 14, Horde; 3 to 14, Eagle;
4 to 14, White; 5 to 14, Ounce; 6 to 14, Rupee; 7 to 14,
Liege; 8 to 14, Dense; 9 to 14, Store; o1 to 14, Flake;
II to 14, Angle; 12 to 14, Imbue; 13 to 14, Rhine.

DIAMONDS. I. I.N. 2. Jew. 3. Jewel. 4. New
Year. 5. Weedy. 6. Lay. 7. R. II. B. 2. Cam.
3. Caves. 4. Bavaria. 5. Merit. 6. Sit. 7. A.
Webster; fifth row, Edward Everett. Cross-words:
I. Condemns. 2. Paradise. 3. Downward. 4. Variance.
5. Aspersed. 6. Chaldron. 7. Showered. 8. Grievous.
9. Prebends. o1. Mossrose. II. Pretense. 12. Greet-
ing. 13. Courtier.
PECULIAR RHOMBOID. Charles Dickens. Downward.
I. D. 2. Pi. 3. Roc. 4. Cork. 5. Hare. 6. Anon.
7. Rats. 8. Lad. 9. Ed. o1. S.
cott; 9 to 16, Fillmore. From I to 9, Proof; 2 to Io,
Rabbi; 3 to II, Easel; 4 to 12, Scull; 5 to 13, Charm;
6 to 14, Outgo; 7 to 15, Tutor; 8 to 16, Trite. II. From
I to 8, Epiphany; 9 to 16, Michigan. From I to 9,
Eliam; 2 to io, Patti; 3 to II, Isaac; 4 to 12, Plush;
5 to 13, Hayti; 6 to 14, Aping; 7 to 15, Nubia; 8 to 16,

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.
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Chapin, I-Gertrude M. Janney, --Willie H. Morrow, Jr., I-Ella Lent, I-Katie Van Zandt, 5-Mabel
Burlee, I-Amy E. S., I--Fannie H. Tolman, I-" Last Rose," I-Herman A. Webster, I--E. W. J.,2-
"Richard Coeur de Lion," I- S. W. F.,2 Grace Compton, I J. B. Briggs, Jr., I -" Stove Poker," 2- Grace
A. H., 3-" Cavalry," 3- Rae and Gae, 3-Maude G. Moss, I- Mary C. Hawes, 2-C. and C., I-Edna C.
C., I Lisa D. Bloodgood, 2 R. Lounsbery, 2 Honora S., I -Charles Beaufort, 4- Florence Bettmann, 6 -
R. B. R., 2-P. K. W., I-Jo and I, II-B. F. E., 4--Robert Boyd, I-" Grandma," 7--Pattie P. Ber-
man, 7-Clara B. Orwig, 9--Clarice H. Lesser, I- Rachel J. Kennedy, I- Maxie and Jackspar, I I-Papa,
Lily, and Little Lu, I Two Ladies of G., I Effie K. Talboys, 8 Charles Hitch, I -" May and '79," 8 -" Sir
Roger de Coverley," 3-Gertrude Henry, I-V. P. Conklin, 5-S. Z. H., 5-Helen C. Skinner, I-Elaine
Shirley, I -Margaret G. Cassels, I- Madge, 3- R. Bloomingdale, 8- Roseba and Laurida, 4-Hubert L. Bin-
gay, 8 Florence Cox, I F. B. Johnson, 2 Douglas Burnett, I Harry R. Gower, 8- Emma V. Fish, 2-
H. T. B., 4 John W. Frothingham, Jr., 5 Nellie and Reggie, II -" Little Women," 6 Alice A. Smith, 2 -
M. K. B., 8-" Infantry," Io-Pearl F. Stevens, i1 -" Miss Flint," 9- Henry Guilford, 9-Abbie Hunt, 4-
Mary Cave, 3- Rebecca Mitchell, 7- Fannie Le Boutillier, 3 -" Molly," 7 Edith W. Allyne, 3- Hildegarde
Henderson, 8 Mamma and I, 3.


S *
p i i *
K i i *

DIAGONALS, reading from right to left, downward. I.
A letter. 2. A preposition. 3. A youth. 4. Wanders
from the right. 5. Establishes. 6. To blacken. 7. The
nickname of a President of the United States. 8. An
abbreviation for one of the continents. 9. A letter.
Words reading across: I. Auctions. 2. Weeds. 3.
A play. 4. Stumps of trees. 5. Vapor. Behead and
curtail the five foregoing words and other words result.
The three central words are reversible. N. T. M.
THE letters in each of the following nine groups may
be transposed so as to form one word. When these are
rightly guessed they will answer to the following defi-

nations: I. A contrivance for expelling stagnant air.
2. Thin. 3. One who pines. 4. One who talks in
enigmas. 5. The art of magic. 6. Relating to color.
7. An abscess. 8. Formed like a kernel. 9. Quackery.
I. Tart in love.
2. Ted, eat a nut.
3. I shun glare.
4. Game it is n't.
5. Come, Nancy R.
6. Coil in tart.
7. M, I must hope.
8. Mourn life, C.
9. Mice, Sir Pim.
When the above letters have been rightly transposed,
the initials will spell the name of something all would
like to have. MAXIE AND JACKSPAR.
I. A person of wild behavior. 2. To punish by a pecu-
niary penalty. 3. A stratagem. 4. A very fine, hair-
like feather. 5. To agree. 6. Removed the bark.



EACH of the words described contains four letters.
When these have been rightly guessed, and placed one
below the other, in the order here given, the zigzag,
beginning at the upper left-hand corner, will spell the
name of the only Greek writer on algebra.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Obscure. 2. A series. 3. To let
fall. 4. To cut with a quick blow. 5. A pain. 6. Un-
ruffled. 7. Close to. 8. To pierce. 9. To avoid. Io. A

EACH of the five pictures may be described by a word
of seven letters. When these words are rightly guessed,
and placed one below the other in the order in which they
are numbered, the initial letters will spell the name of
the father of Hector; the finals, a preparation of un-
cooked herbs.
BEGIN with a single letter, and, by adding one letter
at a time, and perhaps transposing the letters, make a
new word at each move.
I. I. A vowel. 2. A pronoun. 3. To fasten. 4.
To nip. 5. A class. 6. To put into brisk action. 7.
The result of a burn. 8. Short, stiff hairs.
II. I. A vowel. 2. A preposition. 3. Clamor.

4. To partake of the principal meal of the day. 5. An
infernal being. 6. To mark the limits of. 7. Elegant.
8. To favor.
III. I. A vowel. 2. A verb. 3. To entangle. 4. A
span. 5. Visible vapor. 6. A leader. 7. Concerns.
8. A quilted bed. 9. Those who drive horses or oxen.
10. Sciolists.
IV. I. A vowel. 2. A preposition. 3. A unit. 4.
To heed. 5. Fourteen pounds. 6. Upright. 7. Wasps.
8. Curtails. CHARLES P. W.

MY first is in Tasso, but not in Boileau;
My second in Shakespeare, but not in Guizot;
My third is in Campbell, but not in Macaulay;
My fourth is in Milton, but not in Raleigh;
My fifth is in Bacon, but not in Sterne;
My sixth is in Lessing, but not in Burns;
My seventh in Coleridge, but not in Scott;
My eighth is in Hawthorne, but not in Watt;
My ninth is in Swift, but not in Tennyson;
My tenth is in Thackeray, but not in Emerson;
My eleventh is in Pascal, but not in De Foe;
My twelfth in Goethe, not in Martineau;
My thirteenth is in Montaigne, but not in Voltaire;
My fourteenth is in Tyndale, but not in Moliere.
The whole was written, as you will see,
By the hand which penned the" Heathen Chinee."
F. C.
INSERT vowels in place of the stars, in each of the
nine following sentences. When these words are rightly
completed, select from each of the sentences a word of five
letters. When these nine words have been selected, and
"placed one below the other, the central letters, reading
downward, will spell the name given to a certain day in
1. L*ck* m*n n**d n* c**ns*l.
2. *11 *s s*n r**d" *n *n.*rd*rl*h**s*.
3. M*n* h*nds m*k* lXght w*rk.
4. Wh*r* th* h*dg* *s l1w*st, m*n c*mm*nl* l**p
5. Th*t *s w's* d*l*y wh*ch m*k*s th* r**d s*f*.
6. H*n*rs s*t "ff m*r*t, *s dr*ss, h*nds*m* p*rs*ns.
7. Str**n *t a gn't, *nd sw*ll*w c*m*l.
8. Tw* *f tr*d* s*ld*m *gr**.
9. *ng*r *nd h*st* h*nd*r g**d c**ns*l.

ACROSS: I. A person afflicted with a certain disease.
2. Measures of length. 3. Drank to excess. 4. A word
of uncertain meaning which occurs often in the Psalms.
5. A Scriptural name.
REVERSED : I. To drive back. 2. A masculine name.
3. A place of deposit. 4. Drags. 5. A Scriptural name.
DOWNWARD: I. In London. 2. A printer's measure.
3. An abyss. 4. A proper name. 5. To repulse. 6. A
Scriptural name. 7. A small, flat fish allied to the floun-
der. 8. An exclamation. 9. In London.
UPWARD: I. In Naples. 2. A pronoun. 3. The end.
4. Single. 5. A person afflicted with a certain disease.
6. Certain beverages. 7. Vicious. 8. An exclamation.
9. In Naples. CYRIL DEANE.


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