Front Cover
 The passing of general Bacon
 Bat, ball and diamond
 A study-hour
 Six years in the wilds of central...
 A lyric for May
 Going to the beach
 Fancy's ferry
 In the lumber woods
 Marjorie and her papa
 A submarine ramble
 Lady Jane
 Through the back ages
 The story of prince
 The story of prince
 Crowded out o' crofield
 Elsie speaks out
 The corkwells
 The royal walnut moth
 An awakened conscience
 The bunnies' Thanksgiving...
 Some spring costumes
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00227
 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: VID00227
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 passing of general Bacon
        Page 547
        Page 548
        Page 549
        Page 550
        Page 551
        Page 552
        Page 553
        Page 554
    Bat, ball and diamond
        Page 555
        Page 556
        Page 557
        Page 558
        Page 559
        Page 560
        Page 561
        Page 562
    A study-hour
        Page 563
    Six years in the wilds of central Africa
        Page 564
        Page 565
        Page 566
        Page 567
        Page 568
        Page 569
        Page 570
        Page 571
        Page 572
        Page 573
        Page 574
        Page 575
        Page 576
        Page 577
    A lyric for May
        Page 578
    Going to the beach
        Page 579
        Page 580
    Fancy's ferry
        Page 583
        Page 584
        Page 585
    In the lumber woods
        Page 583
    Marjorie and her papa
        Page 581
        Page 582
    A submarine ramble
        Page 586
        Page 587
        Page 588
        Page 589
    Lady Jane
        Page 590
        Page 591
        Page 592
        Page 593
        Page 594
        Page 595
        Page 596
        Page 597
        Page 598
        Page 599
    Through the back ages
        Page 600
    The story of prince
        Page 601
    The story of prince
        Page 602
        Page 603
        Page 604
    Crowded out o' crofield
        Page 605
        Page 606
        Page 607
        Page 608
        Page 609
        Page 610
        Page 611
        Page 612
    Elsie speaks out
        Page 613
    The corkwells
        Page 614
        Page 615
    The royal walnut moth
        Page 616
        Page 617
        Page 618
    An awakened conscience
        Page 619
    The bunnies' Thanksgiving story
        Page 620
        Page 621
        Page 622
        Page 623
    Some spring costumes
        Page 624
        Page 625
        Page 626
        Page 627
    The letter-box
        Page 628
        Page 629
        Page 630
    The riddle-box
        Page 631
        Page 632
    Back Cover
        Page 633
        Page 634
        Page 635
Full Text



The Baldwin Librarv

- -~ .. ~ ~ -~ ]IIJiiI~iiiI77TJiZ~a.ini~.'



MAY, 1890.



'T WAS in September month, o' the year 1676,
when I went back a-visiting to Babbletown,
from Wyanoke, where I 'd made my home since
being a married man; an' 't was likewise i' the
very middle o' the hurry-scurry, an' 'wilder-
ment, an' goings on of the Rebellion. Some
of you folks will be saying, I reckon, that I
did choose time none too fitly for that my
holiday visit, but war maketh no such odds as ye
might suppose in such matters, unless ye be
yourselves 'mongst the fighting ones, when,
troth, 't is another thing. Even my wife Patsey,
that's a well-behaving woman as any in Vir-
ginia, an' never speaketh a word contrariwise,
unless she's rough-spoken to why, she must
needs have at me to be putting off the journey.
Howsoever, if one giveth in to a woman one
day there 's no telling how far she '11 adventure
the next. Then my mind 't was set on the no-
tion o' going, 'fore ever that warfare was heard
tell of; besides which reasons, there was little
a-doing or selling in the shop to keep me
busy; wherefore I set off, accordingly as I had
planned, an' my gray mare Sally, being a quick,
pretty stepper at that time as ever you saw, we
made it twixtt sunrise an' dark easy enow.
'T was peaceable, in sooth, on the road, too
for ne'er a rebel, hair nor skin, did we once see,

nor governor's man neither, leastwise, ne'er
a one with worser weapon than a wagging
tongue, belike. Some of such few bodies as I
did meet said one thing, some t' other. Nat
Bacon was the name to swear by now; then
mayhap, with next comer-along, 't would be Sir
William Berkeley; notwithstanding, being my-
self (as I said afore) a peaceful body, I took up
cudgels for neither one of 'em, in passing the
time o' day. But the changes I did hear rung on
those two names when I'd got to Babbletown!
Now, when a man goeth back to his former
neighborhood, where he inhabited as a lad, after
settlement ten year or so in other places, he 's
like to be asked a-many questions (I take it) con-
cerning of his matters an' fortunes in general.
For my part, it seemeth more pest than pleasure
to be so turned inside out. I was ne'er one for
bragging, tho' I 'd got on i' the world that far a
bit better than some who might be named in
comparison. Nay, nay; I never looked to have
all the talk mine own way, but (truth to tell) as
a married man and a housekeeper, with children
coming on, I did forethink to be more civilly
asked concerning the same. I reckon 't would
ha' been warmer welcome for a fiddle-fine some-
body, with feathers waving in's hat and a jingle-
jangling spur; but ye see I was neither general

Copyright, i89o, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.

No. 7.


nor captain, nor aught but plain shop-man Muf-
fet (that some called Master Muffet, in civility),
an' for these good folks o' Babbletown, they were
in a warlike humor that time. Truly, they 'd
not done o'er much fighting,- as did appear
when I made shift to ask,- tho' how they had
made out to stay hand from the same, with hot
blood so a-boiling inside 'em, is a mystery in
nature; yet, sooth (as did no less appear), what
was lacking in action they fairly made up in
speech, for such a babbling an' chatter, such
wagging o' tongues an' clackety-clack, I never
did hear the like of.
'T,was a fine warm even, a bit past common
supper-time, when I rode into the town with
'most all the townsfolk out o' doors front of
their houses. An' by reason that ten year or so
makes a heap o' difference in such as be grow-
ing up or getting old, there were some amongst
'em I knew not as well as many I knew; yet old
ones, or young ones, or middle-aged, former ac-
quaintance or latter strangers, 't was all one an'
the same. "Bacon!" "Bacon!" was the cry at


7 I (

I:lL *:r'4''4Y 9*

I ,Ij'jd~i .

world like any wild geese in a string, or a game
o' follow my leader. An' when I stopped front
o' Tib Tucker's shop, there they came round
about me like bees in swarming-time.
Why, then quoth I, "News! What news?
(quoth I). Well; there be news a-plenty, I
reckon. But as to which be the newer, my news
or yours (saith I), in sooth, is yet to be proven
i' the comparison."
Then there a-sitting as I was on my mare
Sally, with all the folks a-listening for dear life,
I said on:
"Truly, I know little about the matter. No
fighter am I, nor ever was (quoth I), but a plain
shop-keeper, an' 'tender o' mine own business.
All I know is this: that there hath been a bat-
tle. The noise of it I did hear with mine own
ears; an' with mine own eyes I saw the smoke
o' Jamestown burning afterward.* Aye, aye;
the long an' the short on 't is this (quoth I):
Jamestown 's burnt up to ashes; old Governor,
Sir William, is chased away, 'cross the water, to
Accommack--an' him past seventy year old,

I .- I i /

/ ',.'' :

sight o' me. Who started it, goodness knoweth! poor soul, with 's head as white as tow; Vir-
But up street an' down it went. "Bacon! Bacon! ginia is turned upside down by these warring
What news from General Bacon ? For all the gentry, who to my mind be 'most as savage as

This story deals with the time of what is known as Bacon's Rebellion," which took place in Virginia, then
an English colony, in the year 1676. Sir William Berkeley, the governor of the colony, was thought to be inefficient
and was unpopular. Nathaniel Bacon, a lawyer and one of the governor's council, was called to command the
colonists who had armed ostensibly to fight the Indians, but really to oppose the governor's policy. The rebel-
lion was for a time successful; the governor took refuge on an English vessel, and Jamestown, the capital of the
colony, was burned. But Bacon's death put an end to it. A full account of the uprising may be found in ST.
NICHOLAS for July, 1882.



those savages they 'gan to fight over in the first
place-an' Master Nat Bacon is cock o' the
walk, a-riding north an' south over the country,
to win folks his own way."
Then they cried out, a dozen or so at once,
saying: Aye, aye 'T is said he 's in the next
county to ours. 'T is said he is at Gloster
Court-house this very night. Bacon! Bacon!
Bacon! Bacon! "
Is he so ? saith I. Then better thank your
stars that 't is good ten miles away an' better
stay your shouting till ye know for certain who 's
a-going to be hanged for this business. He
may be a brave one, your General Bacon, as ye
call him (quoth I), but Sir William hath the king
to his back-- aye, an' the king's armies, to boot
-when the time cometh. A pretty piece of
work it may be, so far, to your notions; but
let's wait for the end o' 't."
Yet, for all that speech, I might see plain
enough how the wind set in their sails. 'T was
always more sail than ballast with the people o'
that town, an' that's truth; tho' ne'er will I deny
that I was myself born an' likewise brought up
amongst 'em, aye, even from a little poor child to
a man grown. But did I remain 'mongst them ?
Nay, not so; not there choose me a wife,
neither. Therefore I have a right to speak my
mind; tho', for all that, a man hath little good
inside him (to my notions) who ever quite de-
spiseth or maketh naught of the place where he
was brought up. So, let nobody speak slight-
ingly to me of that town's people; yet ye see
they were but rustical, being so far away from
James City, and a tempest in a teapot is a
mighty overboiling thing. As I have said 'fore
now, I saw how the wind of rebellion was puf-
fing in their sails, past any one man's breath,
contrariwise, to hinder. As for Master Fanfare
Joy, the father o' Mistress Peggy Joy, who mar-
ried Will Steptoe,- and as for Will Steptoe him-
self,-they had both stood by Sir William from
the very first, an' were then gone with him to
Accommack; but for the rest o' the town, big
an' little, old an' young, Nat Bacon! was the
word. Each one was a-looking, faith, from his
own little loop-hole window (as 't were) to see
Bacon do great things. There was old Tommy
Grill, with one foot in the grave an' t' other
fairly hobbling--there he would be, a-saying


with a wink, Folks tell how he doth manage
his wife prettily." Whereat all laughed, because
that old Tommy he 'd always been 'counted a
hen-pecked husband, tho' I 'm thinking he did
more times than one, whereof ye know, get the
better o' his wife, in a cunning way. An'
Goody Grill, she crieth out, Folks say he '11
change the laws -and a good thing 't would
be; for of all law ever made i' this world, Vir-
ginia laws they be the most outlandish." Which
hearing, some smiled knowingly, as guessing
the reason o' that speech, for she was ducked
(as I did tell you one time), ten year or so back,
for scandal againstt the law's behest.
So they went on, each one a-fiddling the same
tune on his own proper string, an' presently who
doth come along down street but Grizzle Pate,
that they called "the poetess o' Babbletown."
Soon as I laid eyes on her I knew who 't was,
since (Heaven be thanked) there be too few
like her i' this world for the same to be easily
mistook. Here she cometh, with a ballad-book,
or some such trumpery, belike, half open in her
hand, an' her head on one side set, an' her eyes
rolled up for all the world like a dying duck in
a thunder-gust. Then, quo' she, so mincingly,
in her little fine voice, "Ah, Bacon! Bacon!
Folk say he is the comeliest gentleman that ever
was set eyes on."
Now it pleasure my heart to give her a sly
cut, and I minded well how she was ever took
aback when I called her name Grizzle. She 'd
changed it to Griselda or some such ladyfied
form on 't- about sixteen year after her chris-
tening, an' most o' the Babbletown folks they
favored the fool-creature's humor; but she was
always plain Grizzle to me. I reckon she'd ha'
been willing to change her last name for a
more romantical, if the chance had come round.
Howsoever, 't was a cracked pate, in sooth,
stuck on her shoulders. Yet, as to what she
said that time-well, there be wiser women
than she, mayhappen, that measure a man by
the same yard-rule. Aye, aye; let but a man
be prettily turned on 's outside, an' see how far
they '11 be looking within. For my part, I was
always well enough content to be as the good
Lord did make me.. If I be a trifle under-
sized an' short i' the legs, why, the less cloth it
taketh for my rigging out. Green eyes they be


as good to see with as sky-blue, I reckon -and
if one's nose turneth a bit upward hath he not
the freer play for his mouth ? Now, I flatter
me that Patsey, my wife, is a well-discerning
woman (for the female sort), with some sense
beyond her eyesight, and if she be well suited
't is one an' the same to me. As for Grizzle
Pate, poor soul I could never a-bear the look
of her; an' how some folks could call her pretty-
faced passeth my notions. She was no common,
comforting good to anybody in this mortal world.
A high romantical way she had with her, had
Grizzle, an' concerning the poetry-making, she
could rhyme fire with "lyre," an' love with
" dove," an' wail" with jail,"as prettily as the
best on 'em, I do reck who am, however, no
proper judge in such matters. Howsoever, I did
catch her up finely on her own ground that
even, for, saith I to her on a sudden, so catch-
ing her unawares, "Grizzle," saith I, "what
rhymes with Bacon ? "
Then she looked up an' she looked down, an'
she looked around about. Bacon ? quo' she,
a-thinking (yet she could not think of an answer
to that question). Bacon Bacon what rhymes
with it ? quo' she; an' there she stood foolishly,
not knowing what to say.
Whereupon spoke I, No, Grizzle, thou canst
not rhyme it if thou soundest the round O, quality
fashion. But if thou callest it trippingly, after
the manner o' common tongues, like mine an'
thine, Grizzle, why, I myself can find you a
rhyme, easy 'now. So-list you now (quoth I),
make sure this Bac'n shall be taken, in 's net
that he 's now a-spreading. He 's dreaming
finely now (quoth I), an' mayhap King o' Vir-
ginia in his mind already; but from his dream
he shall awaken, when his castle i' the air is
shaken, an' when he '11 be brakes on the wheel,
belike, or hanged as high as Haman. So, will
he not save his bacon, mark me (quoth I),
but there be all the rhymes you '11 want-aye,
an' foretelling ones at that-to start you ballad-
ing for a month o' Sundays."
Which hearing, she tossed her head so airily,
an' some o' the rest there hard by did look nigh
mad enough to cut mine off-but old Tommy
Grill he laughed a bit an' vowed that I 'd the
best on 't.
Now, it did make me right mad, in sooth, to

hear these deluded ones so a-siding with rebels
an' traitors againstt old Sir William, an' he that
was the King's own lawful governor so high
in place and honor this forty years so warred
upon in his old, ancient days by a young upstart
boy, and all because he was a bit slower, maybe,
than younger blood might ha' been, about fight-
ing the Indians. Kill them! kill them! an'let
me do it my way," saith Master Nat Bacon; an'
few then would deny 't was the thing to do with
an Indian; howsoever, Wait a bit," saith old
Sir William, "an' let me do it my way." For
all his seventy year he 'd a toughish will o' his
own. So 't was old steel againstt young fire, an'
pull Dick pull Devil betwixt 'em. For my part
(being a peaceable man), I did always take sides
with Sir William. He was a civil-mannered
gentleman, as ever I did see, for all his grand,
high way an' his fine velvet dress. I mind well
one time, when I lived in Babbletown years
agone, how I rode with a letter from Master
Fanfare Joy to his Honor, Sir William, at Green-
spring Manor-house. 'T was a fair, fine house,
outside and in, an' ne'er was I kinder welcomed
in my next neighbor's an' that 's truth. First
they had me into the big dining-room, mighty
grand an' fine, with a picture over the mantel-
shelf o' the first King Charles a-getting his head
cut off; an' there Sir William himself bade me sit
down 'fore ever he brake seal of the letter. So
there whilst that he read it slow thro' his spec-
tacles there sat I on a cushioned, carven chair,
the same as any lord. An' when that reading
was done, an' the answer writ thereto, what doth
his Excellency but thank me graciously, with
"An' I hope you 're in good health, Master
Muffet," quo' he, a-bowing, i' the court fashion,
belike. So whilst we were there, hobnobbing
together (as 't were), me an' the Governor,-
with him asking me a-many questions about
matters in our parts,-in cometh my Lady
Berkeley, an' lo he must needs go commend-
ing me to her for an honest man.
"'T is Master Muffet, Frances, my dear (quo'
he), a very honest man."
An' then, saith I,- a-making my manners,-
"Aye, aye, my Lady. I have never stole aught,
so far, your ladyship; but there 's no telling,
faith! what we may come to yet, afore we die."
Whereupon his honor did seem mightily


tickled; but my Lady ne'er cracked a smile.
Surely, it taketh your born gentleman's tongue
to say "my dear" with that soft-spoken a turn
o' voice; an' for her ladyship, I bethink me, it
must take lifelong top-breeding to teach how
to hold one's head so far on one side without
getting a crick i' the neck or keep one's eyes
so nigh shut without the lids a-coming together.
A fine lady she was, to be sure, but I did find out
't was time to go, soon after her coming in. Sir
William, he graciously walked out with me an'
showed me his orchards, for 't was in April
month o' the year an' fruit-trees all a-bloom.
Aye, aye; 't was a fine, pleasant place, for cer-
tain. Folks said how 't was mightily wasted
afterwards, when General Bacon an' his rebels
made headquarters there, after they 'd burnt
James City an' chased Sir William away to Ac-
commack. I did hear tell how that the sol-
diers did use to go parading round, a-making
mock in some o' my Lady's gowns, stays, tuckers,
an' what not, that she'd left behind her in hasty
setting-off-- with hair-powder on their heads an'
smelling bottles in their hands. Howsoever, I
misdoubt that tale, for I do not think they would
be so outlandishly a-going on.
Well, well; that next day after I did get to
Babbletown was a warm one as to natural
weather, and a warmer one still as to expecta-
tion 'mongst the folks o' that place. There was
I (a peaceable man as any in this mortal world),
catched i' the frying-pan, an' not knowing but
what next minute it might be clean into the fire.
Such a talk an' brabble did they keep on, con-
cerning Master Nat Bacon-such a wonder-
ment what he 'd be a-doing, or which way a-
riding next. In sooth, there was he, all that
long day thro' (as we did hear after time), at
Gloster Court-house town, fairly pleading his
very heart out, all to no purpose. You see, he
had looked to be finely holpen by the rich gen-
tlefolks o' that town. Ne'er a finger had they
lifted for Sir William, but ne'er a finger, neither
(for all that), would they lift againstt him for
General Bacon. Neither fish, flesh, nor good
red herring were they, in that business ( as the
saying goeth, and as General Bacon himself told
'em), or else too prudently mindful o' their goods
an' chattels to risk meddling one side or t' other.
'T was told that General Bacon had counted

'em for certain 'mongst his favorers. Howso-
ever, he was mightily mistook in that notion, as
did appear-for 't was neither men nor money,
help nor promise, comfort nor countenance,
could he get out o' them. First, he did make
'em a long, fine speech (as I did hear tell after-
ward), an' then a-waxing hotter, mayhappen,
as he perceived them cold, lo! he falleth to
pleading, with that winning tongue of his
that 't was commonly said could tie more
knots o' mischief in five minutes' space than
any other in Virginia might fairly straighten
out in a twelvemonth. Yet he could not, with
all its winningness, tie up those men o' Gloster
to his cause. Let 's wait till we hear from
England," said they, so wisely nodding one to
t' other; an' so they steadfastly stuck it out,
againstt all his prayers. Whereupon, at last, he
fell into a rage, an' with some hot flout upon
them for coward knaves (or the like), did turn
his back on that place.
Now, the Babbletown folks tho' they knew
naught concerning all this till afterwhile they
had somehow catched a notion (in sooth, I know
not why or wherefore) that he 'd be coming
their way. Every which-a-way I went all that
day long, a-walking round the town, 't would be
necks craned out o' window, and eyes a-gazing
t'wards the Gloster road.
So it passed, till even came, an' still no Gen-
eral Bacon, an' still they kept on to the same
tune. In sooth, so mad it did make me (a-com-
ing at last upon some twenty people, or so, in
the middle o' the street), with their Bacon this,
an' Bacon that, an' Bacon, Bacon, Bacon--so
mad it did make me that I boiled over unman-
nerly an' brake out upon them.
"What! crieth I; "will ye still be at it ? Can
ye eat this bacon that ye be crying up ? Will it
nourish you-bone or body? A pretty price
ye 're like to pay for 't, and a merry feast ye '11
have on 't when the king's army cometh to
pick the bones some fine day, from England.
Now, heaven knoweth (quoth I),'t is for no end
o' mine own I would advise you. Yet, to be
sure, a man might take shame, in day to come,
a-telling when one asketh him, mayhappen,
Prithee, where were ye born an' raised ?' -
a man might take shame to say: ''T was i' that
town where all the folks were afterward hanged.


Howsoever (quoth I), that 's neither here nor
there an' for your own good, I do advise you,
let well enough alone."
Now, at that speech they did look 'mazedly
after me as I walked away; but I saw 't would
make little difference in their foolish minds.
An' pretty soon thereafter who doth come along
in front o' me -with
her eyes rolled up to -
skyward, and paper ---
in one hand -but -
Grizzle Pate.
Then I spied ---
somewhat writ upon -
the paper, and a
notion catched me -
on the sudden to ;'I'''
see what 't was. So, 1 i
thinks I to myself, ,
how the wisest of --
men saith, "Answer
a fool according i
to his folly"; an' I j;
quoth I, "Good
day to you, Grizzle.
An' what have you
Whereupon she ',
came down out o' 'S
the clouds, an' fell
a-smirking so bash- --
fully, with head on --
one side. An' first
she said 't was but
a small thing, next -
to nothing at all,
an' not worth any- SO I MADE B

body's note; yet, for all that talk, I might dis-
cern she was a-dying to show the same; an'
presently (sure enow) she let out how 't was a
poetry-ode she'd been a-writing in honor of
General Bacon.
Now, when that I asked her to read it out
(for I was right curious to hear the stuff), lo!
she did thus begin:
"0 Muse! descend-" an' here she was
catched with a cough, being tickled in her throat,
with her own fool-vanity, belike. 0 Muse de-
scend-" saith she, an', fetching her cough, was
a-going on; howsoever, I did want to sense the

meaning on 't as we went along, an' hang me
if I knew what that outlandish word might
mean. So I made bold to ask her, What was
a Muse ? "
Now, poor Grizzle! I 'm half thinking she
did hardly know much concerning it herself.
Mighty red she got -but she went on to say,



glib enough, how that a Muse was a kind o' fly-
ing woman, that poets an' such always called
upon to come down from the sky, or wherever
she inhabited, to help 'em with their rhyming
business. Then I looked to skyward and all
around, on hearing this, but no such a creature
did I see. I have seen many a fly-away
woman," quoth I; "but never one flying down
from the skies. Prythee, Grizzle, where is she ? "
Howbeit, what doth the silly wench then
(a-laughing at my plain question as 't were the
most outlandish thing in this world) but say that
nobody did ever see this flying woman at all.



"'T is only in a mindful sense, Master Muffet,"
quo' she; "for you neither see her with your
eyes nor hear her with your ears. 'T is all in-
side your heart, as 't were," quo' she; an'
then she went on to say, in a manner of confi-
dence, that truly (for her part) she did never
feel herself much beholden to that lady; not-
withstanding, 't was ever the right way an' the
most truly poetic (as everybody did say), to
begin with somewhat or other about her.
So then she went on:
" O Muse! descend; descend on flapping wing!
'T is Bacon's praise great Bacon's name I sing.
O Bacon! let heroic verse tell o'er
How all past use thou turnest hind part afore.
Thou art not stuck, but stickest, and all thy foes
In pickling brine of tears thou dost dispose.
In smoke of their own town thou smokest them well;
Our state thou curest ill humors dost dispel.
O'er cracklingblaze thou'rt neither boiled nor roasted -
Thyself's the fire at which the tyrant's toasted.
O Bacon!-"
Now, how much more o' the stuff she 'd
there writ down, i' faith, I do not know; only I
heard no more then, for just as she spake that
last word, the sound on 't was taken clean out
of her mouth as 't were by every tongue in
Babbletown. Soon as I heard that screeking I
did guess who must be coming now. Zounds!
what a scramble and a tumbling out o' doors,
heels over head, was there, to be sure! with
everybody, big an' little, singing out "Bacon!
Bacon! Bacon!" at top voice. Everybody was
a-running one way, t'wards the main middle
street o' the town. "'T is he! 't is he! 'T is
General Bacon himself!" crieth one to t' other.
There came old Tommy Grill, hobbling along,
as eager as any young sixteener among 'em;
an' there came Goody Grill, fairly puffing for
haste. So I went along with the rest of 'em
to see what was toward now; an' Grizzle--
there was she too-with her poetry-ode in
hand, an' her high romantical way, a-sailing
nigh after.
'T was nigh on to sundown by this while, so
that one might smell the supper a-getting in
most houses as we went a-down street; but I
reckon a many folks in Babbletown did eat
burnt bread that even. If there was one house-
wife 'mongst 'em all that stayed indoors by her
bake-stone, my name 't is not Thomas Muffet.
VOL. XVII.-67.

There we all went, a-down the crossway, hurry-
scurry-an' just as we fetched to the main
street the great wonderful show came along.
Now, 't was General Bacon himself, sure
enow, and others of his company, a-riding back
to York River by this nigher road than they 'd
afore taken in going northward. Mayhap twenty
gentlemen, or so, they counted -all a-horse-
back, prettily armed with sword an' pistol as
ever ye did see, an' finely set off with spurs
a-jangling an' plumes in their hats a-waving as
they went. Heaven ha' mercy on us all! It mak-
eth me right sad this day to think how many
on 'em there faring so gallantly did swing from
the gallows-chains in less 'n three months' time.
Aye; for all they were but rebels, an' the law
must be well minded, one could not help some
pity an' that's truth.
Now, as for him, their leader, Master Na-
thaniel Bacon, I did know (some way), which
one was he that time, the second I clapt eyes on
him, there a-riding i' the midst. He was a
smallish, slim gentleman, yet most comely-
shapen withal, and a graceful rider as ever
backed horse. That much there 's no denying.
His face, it might ha' been well-favored enow,
in pleasant humor. 'T was fair in feature an'
shaping as any you '11 find, but zounds! of
all the black looks that ever I did see he looked
the blackest then. Ye see, let alone the passion
of 's mind that time, the fever that 'fore long
carried him off untimely was already raging in
his veins. His eyes they were blood-shotten
an' the brows above 'em knitted, like any
woman's in a rage. Surely he must ha' been
turned againstt everybody and everything that
even. His lips they 'd a mocking set. Some
o' his comrades did off with their hats an' bow
to the folks as they passed along--but as for
Master Bacon, he never made sign or spake
word. 'Way up street a-front of 'em, on one
hand an' t' other, 't was lined with the towns-
folk, and as they passed along the people did
run out i' the roadway after 'em; so that there
was all Babbletown (so to speak), like a flock
o' sheep getting bigger every minute, a-running
at their horses' heels.
Everybody hushed speaking, or crying Ba-
con! Bacon!" after the first clamor on 't, for
all were straining to hear what word the General

might be a-going to say next. I 've a notion that
Grizzle was half-minded to 'gin reading out her
poetry-ode, for I saw her look at the paper an'
fetch breath hard, now and again -but she 'd
ne'er quite face for 't, belike. General Bacon he
looked mockingly, first on one side, then on
t' other. Twice or thrice he half-oped his mouth,
and (I promise you) everybody fairly held
breath at that; but still no word he spake. I
did hear one o' his comrades ask another, saying:
" What is the name of this place ? An' when
he made answer, Babbletown," Master Bacon
he smiled to himself in a right curious fashion,
but yet he said nothing at all. Mayhappen if
he 'd seen more able-bodied men, fit for soldier-
ing, amongst 'em there round about, an' fewer
old, ancient gaffers, women, an' lads, he 'd ha'
been the more civil-spoken.
Now, those poor shuttle-wits of Babbletown,
that had been so a-singing that high and mighty
gentleman's praises to the skies, they were a bit
took a-back by this behavior-as one might
plainly see. Still they kept on after him, and I
with the rest, clean to the town's edge; for all
kept on a-thinking somewhat must be surely
coming next minute; an' so it did come, for-
sooth, tho' 't was somewhat vastly different from
aught they 'd run out to hear or see. Well, as
I said afore, we went on alongside of him,
an' hard after, as nigh as we might to the
open, outside the town; and there, lo! what
doth he do, on a sudden, but rein in 's horse
Then everybody else stopt too, at that, with
mouths agape and eyes a-gazing. There they
stood, whiles he looked round about on all. He
smiled to himself right curiously at sight o' Griz-
zle and Goody Grill, one so fat and t' other so
lean, a-standing side by side; an' Sam Crook,
too, hard-by, with his hair blown back, clean
forgetting the" matter o' his ears. His face (I
do mean General Bacon's face), 't was like a
mocking woman's, or a lad's--half mad, half
merry in deviltry. He oped his mouth, an' he
spoke one word: Buzz-z-z," saith he; just this
way an' this loud betwixt his teeth -yet loud
enow, I warrant, for them there a-listening to
hear. Aye, aye; 't was a civil, pretty thing to
say, an' mighty fine behavior for a general, as

they called him. What he meant by the same,
or whether he did so mean aught of anything
at all- goodness knoweth! Now, I do think
't was surely the most outlandish turn i' this
world. Can you sense meaning in buzz ? Can
you make head or tail on 't ? Nay; 't is no
sensible word, out of any spelling-book, at all.
Ne'er another word he spake if one may call
that a word properly. "Buzz-z-z !'' quoth he, as
one may mock back, mayhappen, at a swarm o'
bumblebees; so with that he spurreth his horse,
and off he goeth a-down the road, with his
troop--clattering behind him. An' that was the
first an' the last we ever did see of the great
Master Nathaniel Bacon.
Well,. well, well! what a take-down it was, to
be sure! I needs must laugh a bit in my sleeve as
we all went 'long back into the town; but I was
half misliking it, too such a slight as 't was
to the place where I '11 ne'er deny I was born
an' raised. They never said much at first, be-
ing (I reckon) well-nigh past speech with the
amazement of this set-back. One thing I re-
member, for certain; namely: that all the wom-
en-folks had found out in that passage how
General Bacon was no more comely than civil-
spoken. For my part, I did think his looks well
enow- yet as for the civility, that was another
matter. His manners might ha' been better for
mending, and that 's truth; and if handsome is
as handsome does (as the old saw runneth) 't is
no wonder you never cot*ld pay anybody in Bab-
bletown after that time to say General Bacon was
aught else than the ugliest man i' this mortal
world. There 's no mistreatment that giveth
such offense as to be made nothing of at all;
yet I reckon the Babbletown people were the
rather holpen than hurt by that slight and one
thing I know for certain, they were civiler to a
plain man the day after it so befell than they 'd
been the day afore.
Aye well! 't was a bad, black business, that
rebellion--and a bad ending it came to, for
both sides. As for the silly ones at Babble-
town they 'd ha' been willing enow to catch on
if General Bacon had held out a finger, I reckon;
but I be right glad he did not, for 't would ha'
gone againstt the grain with me, some way, to
hear they were any of 'em hanged.





WHILE laying out a base-ball ground is quite
a task, it is not more difficult than marking tennis-
courts, and the result is much more lasting.
The nature of the ground, and its surroundings,
practically determine the general position of the
field; and on this account it is usually convenient
to take what is technically known as the back-
stop" for a starting point. The back-stop is
usually the front of the grand stand," or a con-
venient fence; and the rules provide that the
back-stop must be at least ninety feet behind
the home-plate. There is no advantage in mak-

ing that distance greater, so measuring ninety
feet directly into the field from what is to be
the catcher's back-stop, locates the home-plate.
By fastening a tape at the home-plate, and carry-
ing it out 127 feet 4 inches in a straight line
into the field, the position of the second base
is found. Taking a line 180 feet long, fasten
one end at the home-plate and the other at sec-
ond base. Then seizing the line in the middle,
carry it out first on one side, and then on the
other, and where it is taut the locations of the
first and third bases are determined. To deter-
mine the location of the pitcher's box, measure
50 feet on the line from home to second; this


point will be the center of the front line of his
position. The principal points having been thus
located, lay out the pitcher's box 53 feet long
and 4 feet wide, then the two batsmen's positions,
one for left-handed men and one for right-handed
men. These batsmen's lines inclose two rectan-
gular spaces, each 6 feet long and 4 feet wide,
the nearest line being 6 inches distant from the
home-plate, and extending 3 feet in front and
3 feet behind the center of that plate.
Having thus marked out the field, we proceed
to fix permanently the various points. In doing
this, if the field is to be a permanent one, it is
best to make use of the most improved appa-
ratus; but if the field is only a temporary one,
there are various devices which save expense,


and which answer the purpose quite satisfacto-
rily. The home-plate is, by the rules, a whitened
piece of rubber a foot square, sunk flush with
the ground, its outer edges being within the
lines to first and third bases. An excellent sub-
stitute for rubber is a piece of board painted
white, or a bit of marble such as can be readily
obtained at any marble-yard. The first, second,
and third bases are canvas bags, 15 inches
square, stuffed with any soft material, and so
fastened as to have their centers at the corners
of the diamond which we already have marked
out. They will thus extend several inches outside
the diamond. The customary method of fasten-
ing the bag is by means of a leather strap pass-
ing through loops upon the.bag and directly

around the center. This strap is slipped through
an iron staple in the top of a post driven firmly
into the ground at the corer of the diamond,
and the strap is then buckled on the under side
of the bag. The wooden posts and the iron
staples can be easily obtained, and it is quite
worth while to have them rather than to let the
base be movable, or to use a stone, which may
be the cause of some serious injury to a runner.
As for the bags, they can be home-made by pro-
curing pieces of canvas (or old heavy carpet) and
stuffing them with excelsior or rags, or, best, hair
from an old chair, lounge, or mattress. If nothing
better offers, shavings from any carpenter's shop
will answer. The straps may be obtained at a
harness maker's, or a piece of stout clothes-line
can be substituted.
Next, the pitcher's box must be permanently
marked. This is done by flat iron plates or
stones six inches square, sunk even with the
surface at each corner. Wooden posts of
smaller dimensions will answer equally well.
It is customary to have the in-field well
turfed, and this turf should extend behind the
lines from second base to first and third for
quite a distance, in order that "the short-stop
and second-base man may play well behind
these lines. The turf of the out-field is not of
so much importance. The turf of the in-field is
cut out from the pitcher's box to the back-stop
to a width of about nine feet. It is also cut out
along the base lines, about one-third that width.
After the turf has been thus cut out, the spaces
are filled with hard, well-packed earth until level
with the field. All this turfing and cutting out
of lines is intended, of course, for a permanent
field, and where expense is of minor considera-
tion. As'a matter of fact, the players will very
soon make the base-lines and batting-crease
quite marked on any field. Many a good in-
field has no turf on it, and is called a "scalped "
field. The batted balls travel faster and lower
on such a field, but with greater regularity.
To make a fair division of labor in laying out
a field for immediate use, let three boys agree
to furnish the iron staples, and posts (preferably
of cedar) for the bases and pitcher's position,
seven in all. The four for the pitcher's box may
be anywhere from three to six inches square
at the top, and two feet long; those for the bases



being three inches in diameter; and all of these
sharpened to drive in like stakes. The staples,
three in number, should be two inches wide.
Let three others agree to furnish the bases: one
boy to provide the six inches of canvas or carpet
cut about sixteen inches square; another boy
to furnish three two-inch straps with buckles,
or else sufficient rope to answer the purpose.
These straps must be at least three feet long.
Let the third boy see that the bags are looped
for the straps, stuffed, and securely sewn. Let
three others agree to furnish the home-plate
and to bring to the ground the following imple-
ments, to be used in laying out the positions and
marking: a tape line 200 feet long, a supply of
cord, a sharp spade, a sledge-hammer to drive
stakes, a small hammer to drive in staples,
some lime to mark out the lines, and a pail to
wet it in. If any boy has a tennis-marker, let
him bring it; it will save labor. In marking out
the field for a match, there are a few lines to be


made which are omitted in the above descrip-
tion, as they are only necessary at an important
game. For instance, in ordinary games the
imaginary line from home to third is enough to
show the "foul" ground, as the base-line worn by
the runners makes a fair guide. As a matter of
actual law, however, the foul-lines are lines drawn
along the outer edges of the home-plate, and
passing through the outer edges of the first and
third bags. The foul-line thus does not run exactly
along the base-line which we originally marked
out, but, starting with it, is 7Y inches from it
at third and first. It is, of course, wholly within
the cut of three feet where the turf has been
taken out. These foul-lines should extend to
the boundaries of the ground, and should then

be prolonged back of the home-plate to the end
of the field, forming the "catcher's lines," as they
are called.
The coacher'ss" or "captain's lines are de-
termined by taking two points fifteen feet from
a foul-line and seventy-five feet from the catch-
er's line, then drawing two lines on each side,
one parallel to the foul line, the other parallel
to the catcher's line.
The "players' lines" are drawn from the catch-
er's lines, fifty feet from the foul-lines, and parallel
to them. As both these coacher's and players'
lines are drawn merely to keep the men in their
proper places, where they will not interfere with
the game, and as the catcher's lines are in turn
drawn as points of measurement for the other
lines, it is hardly worth while to go to all this
trouble except for an important match.
For the benefit of those players whose club
treasury is in such a prosperous condition as
to make unnecessary the home-made devices de-
scribed above, it is well to say that a set of
base-bags with straps and spikes can be
purchased at any base-ball outfitter's for
$4, $5, or $7, according to quality, while
a rubber home-plate costs $7, a marble
-- one $3, and an iron one $i.
The next articles for our consideration
are the implements for the players. The
"'"-- best ball to purchase is the regular
s' "league" ball. These balls are the most
uniform in manufacture and quality,
'and give the best satisfaction in the long
run. They can be purchased for $1.50,
with a discount for quantity. It is worth while
to purchase more than one, because it often
happens that wet grass ruins the cover of
the ball. For this reason, when a base-ball
has been used in wet weather it should be put
aside, and the next time the nine wishes to prac-
tice on a wet day this ball, which will be as hard
as a rock, should be brought out. As soon as
it is wet it softens again, and it is just as useful
as a new one would be after fifteen minutes'
wetting. This constant wetting rots the covers,
but a harness-maker will re-cover the balls, and
they may be used for practice. In the kinds
of bats there is far more variety. The most fa-
vored is of ash, second-growth, and thoroughly
seasoned. These can be purchased for from




twenty-five cents to one dollar each, according
to the quality of the wood. Lighter bats are
made of willow; and the cheapest, of basswood.
These do not last so well as ash, however. The
rules specify that the bat shall not be over 2%2
inches in diameter, nor more than 42 inches
in length. In selecting a bat, individual taste is
the best guide as to matters of weight and bal-
ance, but the grain should be examined care-
fully, in order that one may not choose a stick
that will leave him in the lurch by breaking just
as he becomes accustomed to it. The grain
should run lengthwise, and not cross sharply,
particularly over the handle. A knot in the han-
dle will often lead to a break, but one farther
down toward the end is not of any moment. If
a bat is varnished highly, the handle should be
scraped, so that it will not turn easily in the hands.
The first-base man and catcher should each
wear gloves to protect the hands from the con-
stant pounding of the ball which playing
these positions involves. Any one can make a
very serviceable pair of base-ball gloves out of


a stout pair of buckskins. The fingers and
thumbs should be cut off at the first joint for the
basemen, and if any extra padding is needed,
pieces of felt can be sewn on. The catcher's
gloves may be made in a similar way, except

that the left-hand glove is kept whole and the
ends of the fingers reinforced by heavy leather
tips. A shoemaker will put on these tips, and
they should be about an inch and a half long.
Both gloves should have padding in the palm
and over the ball of the thumb. This padding
can be made of as many layers of felt as are
desired, sewn in when the glove is turned wrong
side out. Many of the best catchers prefer to do
their own padding. The pads should be so cut
that they run up into the finger a little way, and
thus form a protection for the base of the fingers.
By those who wish to purchase gloves, and thus
save the trouble of making them, the catcher's
gloves can be purchased for $3.50 and $5. The
basemen's gloves cost about $2.50. Everyman
who intends playing behind the bat should wear
a mask, and it is best to purchase a good one,
as the cheaper ones are likely to be fragile, not
well made, and may perhaps be broken by a foul
tip. While an accident from a broken mask is
very unusual, as the wires are so bent as to
spring outward when broken, still it is not well,
for the sake of a slight saving, to run any risks
of this kind. A good mask will cost from $2
to $4.
A body protector is also an admirable inven-
tion, and saves many a bruise. The cheaper
ones are made of leather and canvas, and cost
about $5. The best are made of rubber, and can
be inflated so as to form a kind of air pillow.
These cost from $6 to $To.
Individual uniforms next attract our attention.
A tennis or cricket suit, or any set of flannels
will answer nicely. A flannel shirt and an old
pair of long trousers tied or strapped in at the
ankles was an old-fashioned uniform, and it is
just as serviceable to-day. The most convenient
trousers, however, are of the knickerbocker pat-
tern, and it is well to pad them heavily at the
knees and along the side of the leg and thigh,
particularly if one is to do any sliding to bases.
This padding can be made by quilting in any
heavy pieces of cloth. The long stockings should
be heavy and stout, and extend well above the
knee. The shoes should be broad and easy,
with low heels, and may be of canvas or leather,
the latter being the most lasting. A triangular
spike is placed on the sole of each shoe in order
to prevent slipping, and of these spikes, the



broad ones are the easiest and best. Sometimes
a smaller plate is worn on the heel as well.
The pitcher should have upon the toe of his
right shoe a metal plate, to prevent the speedy
wearing out of the shoe in pitching. This plate
is a sort of cap, and covers the inside corner of

can put one on. A

the shoe. Any shoemaker
cap with a visor is the most
convenient form of head-
gear, and *interferes least
with the player's comfort.
Complete uniforms can be
purchased from the out-
fitters for from $5 to $30.
Below is a list of the sepa-
rate articles, showing the
range in prices: Shirts,
$2.00 to $5.00; trousers,
$1.75 to $4.50; stock-
ings, 50c. to $1.50; caps,
50c. to $i.oo; belts, 25 c.
to 30c.; shoes, $2.00 to
$7.00; spikes, 15c. to
75c.; toe-plate, 50c.
Base-ball is a game so
entirely dependent upon
the condition of the ground
and weather, that it never
can become, in our cli-

mate, an all-the-year-round pastime. No one can
play base-ball when the fingers are numb with
cold, nor can there be any play upon a ground
covered with snow. But the sport has become
so scientific, and practice is so essential to its
highest development, that quite a proportion of
the players have now taken up some systematic
winter practice. Particularly is this the case
among college and school nines. Professionals,
making a business of following the game, can
travel to Southern cities, where they may antici-
pate the Northern season by several weeks of
.outdoor practice, but those who seek it merely
as a pastime cannot enjoy any such means of
attaining additional skill. College and school
boys, therefore, have recourse to gymnasiums,
where, by a judicious use of certain apparatus,
they prepare themselves for the regular field
work. Some of the best equipped of these
gymnasiums have long, low alleys, completely
bounded by two walls and a wire netting, in

which throwing and batting can be practiced.
These are known as "cages." The irregular and
indiscriminate use of the apparatus, or even of
the cage, results in little good to the player, but
a systematic and well-directed use of both tends
to put a nine into the field in a superior condi-
tion for the work required. In addition to this,

-^" *-%^\<7'.> <>c '


the benefit to the general health of regular exer-
cise during the winter and early spring is not to
be disregarded as a factor in the problem of
developing successful nines. The use of the
apparatus should be directed toward the devel-
opment and strengthening of the various mus-
*cles which are to bear the brunt of the labor
when on the field.
Many of the exercises really need no equip-
ment such as a gymnasium affords, and one can
take advantage of any room at home. A pair of
dumb-bells, the Indian clubs, a rope fastened to
the ceiling or a beam, an old foot-ball hung as a
"punching-bag," another rope, on which a heavy
"spool" slides freely, stretched from a point
about the height of a man's shoulder up to the
opposite wall, where it joins the ceiling-such
an amount of apparatus will give full opportu-
nity for the best kind of exercise. The only
part needing any explanation is, perhaps, the
sliding spool. This is an admirable device for



cultivating the muscles used in throwing. The
point at which the spool would come in contact
with the ceiling should be well padded with
some rather inelastic substance, in order that the
spool may not rebound too severely. By throw-
ing the spool along the rope a number of times
daily, any man can acquire a powerful throw.
The winter work of a college nine will give a
good idea of the methods practiced in indoor
preparation. There are usually at least twenty
candidates for positions, and, as it is impossible
that all should practice the same work at the
same time, these candidates are usually divided
into squads of perhaps four men each. The

times are so arranged as to give to each squad
an allotted hour in which they can have the use
of the cage and other apparatus. These squads
are still further subdivided into pairs, and, while
two of them occupy the cage, the other two
make use of the running-track and apparatus.
In the use of the cage the men do not attempt
to practice violently, but rather to acquire good

form, both in batting and fielding. One of the
men pitches for the other to bat, and the batter
endeavors to meet the ball squarely, with the
bat moving on a line. He also is particular to
accustom himself to meet the ball at any height,
and to stand firmly on his feet when striking.
In fielding practice one of the men bats ground-
ers for his comrade, who stands at the other end
of the cage, and, picking up the ball, throws it
at a spot marked on the end wall at about the
height of a man's chest. The batter does not
drive the ball as hard as possible at his compan-
ion, but at a medium rate of speed. In pick-
ing up and throwing, the first thing to acquire
is quickness and freedom of movement. Ac-
curacy and force come very rapidly in this daily
practice, so that a player soon finds it simple
enough to take the ball cleanly and get it easily
down to the mark. On the running-track, the
men take a few turns to limber them up, and
then practice quick starting, and short, sharp
spurts at full speed, rather than the more leis-
urely, lorig-continued run of the men who are
training for boating honors.
In connection with the running-track one
should mention a device for practicing sliding
to bases which has proven of the greatest practi-
cal advantage to players. One of the college
nines, by making use of this sliding bag during
their winter practice, acquired such dexterity as
to have for that year a record in stealing bases
more than three times that of any other nine
in the association. This sliding apparatus may
be rigged up in a variety of ways, the only ob-
ject to be attained being the arrangement of a
yielding cushion upon which a man may prac-
tice sliding until he acquires sufficient confidence
and dexterity to make it no effort of will for
him to plunge headforemost at the base. The
first one of these cushions consisted of a frame
about fifteen feet long and three or four feet wide,
upon which was tightly stretched a piece of
The work with the boxing-gloves is designed
to improve the man's general muscular develop-
ment, make him quick and firm upon his feet,
and rapid in judgment and action. The men
usually devote most of the time to going through
a certain set of exercises, rather than to indulg-
ing in slugging" matches. The dumb-bells,




Indian-clubs, and other general apparatus in a
gymnasium are used with a view to acquiring a
uniform development as well as a considerable
range of muscular action. Whenever any player
is inordinately or unevenly developed in any
set of muscles (particularly if he has over-devel-
oped the shoulders), he is not encouraged to
strengthen the already too-powerful muscles,
but is so trained as to give them flexibility and
freedom of action. Exercise that toughens the
hands--such as swinging on the flying-rings,
or rope-climbing is found to be useful.
After the men have gone through their round
of exercise, they take a shower-bath, are thor-
oughly rubbed down," and then their training
is over for the day. The amount of time re-
quired is probably not more than an hour or an
hour and a half, and yet the effect upon the con-
dition of the men is quite noticeable before the
end of a month. In no respect is the result of
this gymnasium work more evident than in the
improvement in throwing. Not only is it the
exception to find men who have undergone this
winter work suffering from lame arms when they
begin practice on the field, but the accuracy
and strength of their throwing is also greatly
increased. One of the reasons for this is, that in
throwing in the cage the player is compelled
to throw the ball low, because of the low ceil-
ing, which continually operates to improve the
player's ability to shoot the ball along on a line
rather than up and over."
The winter training outside of this regular
gymnasium practice, is not considered to be of
any very great importance. The men pay no
special attention to their diet, but avoid every
kind of excess. An outdoor cage is sometimes
erected, in which the men may have outdoor
practice in pleasant weather. The chief ad-
vantage of this cage is the better light for bat-
ting. It is also possible by its use to get a
little real practice on taking grounders. The
outdoor cage is usually a very crude affair, and
consists of netting so strung on posts as to en-
compass an alley about seventy feet long by
twenty wide.
With the first warm sunshine that comes after
the frost is out of the ground, there stirs in the
heart of the base-ball player an intense desire to
get into the field and begin playing. I remem-
VOL. XVII.-68-69.

ber a young man who used to work in clock
factories in Connecticut. Although an excel-
lent workman, he never seemed to secure any
permanent position, but drifted from one town
to another. Early one fall he applied to me for
a position, and as he showed that he knew his
trade he obtained employment. He worked
admirably and well, through the winter and even
into the spring. One day,-and it was a beauti-
ful day, everything just turning green and the
sun shining as bright and warm as in midsum-
mer,-I missed him, and asked the foreman of

-/ ,/ .. .-( :-. -'-":

the room what had become of him. Oh, he 's
off," was the reply; "he '11 get his kit to-morrow,
and you won't see him again till next fall."
I took pains to meet the young man the next
morning, when he came to take away his traps.
"What's the matter ? I inquired. "Nothing,"
said he, "'cept yesterday I heard a blue-bird
singin', and I don't do any work in shops after
that." A similar yearning to be out of doors
tempts the ball-player. Many times the fine
weather is treacherous, and premature practice
is cut short, or even rendered detrimental to the
welfare of a nine, by damp, chilly winds. As
a rule, it is wise to take advantage of only the
very wannest days, practicing in the early after-
noon, until the weather is fairly settled. The
New York nine were once obliged to take a



vacation, after a few weeks of practice in a cold
spring, because so many of the men had lame-
nesses of one kind or another from exposure in
inclement weather. When a college nine goes
on the field for the first time, there is usually
a superfluity of enthusiasm, which leads players
to practice too long or too violently. Captains
have learned this, and, unless they are carried
away by the same tendency, do not encourage
any long practice during the first weeks. After
that, as the men become "broken in and the
weather improves, the players are allowed to
do more work. All the men playing in the
out-field can practice together, as the work of
the three fielders is much the same. These men
take positions in the out-field in something of a
cluster (not so near, however, as to interfere with
one another), while a batter knocks fly-balls out
to them which they take turns in catching. A
most important preliminary to this practice is
the selection of an experienced man to bat the

ball. There are many men who may be good
players but to whom knocking flies to an out-
field is an utter impossibility. Such men may
have to hit the ball a half-dozen times before
sending a fly-ball near any of the fielders. Again,
it is not advisable to select a man who knocks
only the simplest kind of flies every time,- al-
though such a man is to be preferred to the wild
hitter who sends the men chasing a half-dozen
failures in order to receive one catch. The
batter should be able to knock high flies, line
hits, long flies, and occasionally a sharp, hot
grounder. His object is to give the fielders as
much practice of every kind as possible, and a
good man will gauge the ground the fielders
can cover, and, while avoiding "running them
to death," will occasionally give each man an
opportunity to make a brilliant catch. Nothing
encourages and improves the candidates so much
as keeping their ambition thoroughly aroused
during the entire time of practice.





S^._^;'_- --I I Ii _

OH what a mystery
The study is of history!
How the kings go ravaging
And savaging about!
Plantagenet or Tudor,
I can't tell which was ruder;
But Richard Third,
Upon my word,
Was worst of all the rout.

Alfred was a hero,
Knew nor guile nor fear, oh!
Beat the Danes and checked the Thanes,
And ruled the country well.
Edward First, the Hammer,
Was a slaughterer and slammer;
And Bruce alone
Saved Scotland's throne,
When neathh his blows it fell.

Edward Third was great, too,
Early fought, and late, too.
Drove the French from Cressy's trench
Like leaves before the blast.
But Harry Fifth, the glorious,
He, the all-victorious,
He 's the one
I 'd serve alone,
From first unto the last.

Oh! what a mystery
The study is of history !
Queens and kings,
And wars and things,
All shut within the book.
Though sometimes a trifle bloody,
'T is our best-beloved study.
If you want to see how good are we,
Why, only come and look!




THE natives credited me with possessing
supernatural power, a belief which I did not
correct. It assumed at times rather a ludi-
crous aspect. I had one man with me who could
speak just a little English and could under-
stand a word or two of the native tongue.
His services were constantly brought into re-
quisition by the natives wishing to ask me
through him some question or other. My read-
ing a book puzzled them greatly; they thought
it an instrument of magic with which I could see
far into the future, and even asked me to look
into my Talla Talla" (mirror) and inform them
whether a sick child would recover; or would
inquire concerning the success of some friend
who was engaged on a trading expedition far
On a few occasions I was able to turn to my
advantage the fact that they thought me a wizard.
.For instance, one day, soon after my arrival
at Lukolela, ten large canoes, each containing
twenty or twenty-five men to visit the white-
skinned stranger, put in to my beach, and the men,
landing, crowded up to see me. At that time I
had learned a few words of the native language, so
the strangeness of my tongue lent interest to the
interview and caused considerable amusement
to the natives. They were evidently well satis-
fied with the time they had spent with me. They
had been deeply awed and much amused, and
to commemorate the interview, they thought they
could not do better than to take away with them
something to remind them of the occasion; but
unfortunately they selected as mementos my
only knife and fork. I knew that if I attempted

to get these things back by force, there would
be a general stampede, shots exchanged and
blood shed, and that I might lose one of my
men, perhaps without regaining possession of my
property. Still, the knife and fork were invalu-
able to me, and I was not inclined to see them
leave the station without making one effort to-
ward their recovery, so I set my wits to work and
the result was a happy idea. In my medicine-
chest there was a bottle of citrate of magnesia;
taking a quantity of this harmless-looking drug
with me and assuming a grave demeanor, ac-
companied by two or three of my men, I walked
slowly down to the assembled natives; then
through my interpreter I gravely informed them
that I had discovered that my knife and fork had
been stolen,-by whom I did not know just now,
but I was determined to find out. I then went
nearer to the beach, and inviting the principal
chiefs of the party to come and witness my
power, I threw a little magnesia into a pool
of still water, which effervesced and bubbled
up in an alarming manner. "Now," I said, "your
canoes are filled with people and merchandise;
all your wealth is in these canoes, and they can
not live in rough water. They will be swamped,
will sink, and you will lose all. You see what
I have done in this small body of water. I am
going to extend this commotion over all the
river from here to your village. I will make
the water so rough that it will swamp any craft
that ventures on it, and I am going to keep the
water in that condition until I get back my
knife and fork! Now, I will leave you; talk it
over among yourselves. Put off from shore if
you care to risk it. I do not wish to take your
lives, but still I must have my knife and fork."


They talked the matter over, and I was pleased
to find my ruse successful. My awful threat
remained unexecuted, for before nightfall my
knife and fork were restored.
With returning health my spirits revived. I
was anxious to leave my hut and to acquaint
myself with my novel surroundings.
Although I had not yet been able to visit any
of the villages in the district, I had become
quite familiar with the faces of most of my
neighbors. The stream of inquiring visitors
never ceased, and my Zanzibari boy the most
attentive of servants-had much trouble in pre-
venting them from disturbing the few snatches of
sleep I obtained in intervals of fever. At first,
I was unable to distinguish one black visitor
from another; their features seemed cast in the
same mold, and there was no external aid to
Each face was disfigured by the same scars
cut deep in the flesh over the temples, and
carriedin three lines back to the ears; this is the
tribal mark of the Ba-Bangi, who inhabit the
country in which I then was living.
The idea occurred to me of utilizing my new
friends by obtaining from them, word by word,
their peculiar dialect to enrich my vocabulary.
When the natives saw that I was anxious to learn
their language, they evidently turned over in their
minds the fact that I was from a new country,
and would have some strange tales to tell when

1_ i .


I was able to make myself understood. They,
therefore, took the greatest interest in teaching
me the words they thought would be most use-
ful to me.
One man, for instance, would enter the hut,
raise his finger up to his eye, and inquire by
signs whether I knew the native name for that

organ. If I shook my head to signify ignorance,
he would pronounce the name very distinctly,
and I had to repeat it until my pronunciation
satisfied him. He would then point in succession
to his nose, ear, mouth, etc., and endeavor by
constant repetitions to
impress their names on
my memory. When the
lesson was concluded,
he would gravely say,
" Vake mboka," which
is synonymous with our
" Good-by for the pres-
ent," and depart with
the air of one who had
acquitted himself of a
duty he owed to society, -
-only to reappear ,
on the following day
with a fresh string of
names for me to com- .
mit to memory. After- "
a while, my friends dis- "
covering that when I NATIVE BASKET AND JAR.
heard a new word I immediately made a
note of it, the more intelligent among them
would come into my room when they had any
information to give, pick up my note-book, and,
handing me my pencil, insist on my writing
down in their presence all they told me. If
suspicion was aroused that I was trying to shirk
my duty in this matter, they would request me
to read aloud the different words with which
they had furnished me.
By this means, I soon had a large stock of
nouns at my command, and by attentively lis-
tening to the conversation around me I added
to these a few useful verbs, and acquired some
knowledge of the' formation of sentences. No
tutors could be more gratified in the progress of
a pupil.
I very soon passed from halting sentences
to easy conversations. And from the moment
that I was able to explain myself in simple lan-
guage and understand the questions addressed
to me in return, I ceased to feel lonely or
isolated, or to look upon my neighbors alto-
gether as strangers. My knowledge of the lan-
guage assisted me in obtaining an insight into
the native character, and in understanding to


some extent their peculiarities of manner and
Natives who have associated much with Eu-
ropeans become reticent. They comprehend the
great difference separating their modes of life and
thought from those of the white man, and they
will endeavor to conceal as much as possible
feelings and prejudices they know will be mis-
understood. But my Lukolela neighbors had
seen but few white men,-in fact, the majority
of them had not, until my arrival, ever seen
one,-and certainly none had met a mundele
(white man) who could speak their language;
so they chattered away with the frank unreserve
of children, revealing in their conversation very
many good qualities mingled with much that
was savage and superstitious. As soon as I was
able to get about, I made frequent excursions to

/ ,

the different villages sprinkled over the district
of Lukolela. These villages consisted of groups
of fifty or more low, grass-thatched houses, each
dwelling divided into two or three rooms. In
course of time I came to know almost every
man, woman, and child in the district.

My Station was separated from the nearest of
these clusters of huts by a thickly wooded for-
est, through which I cleared a path; and, divid-
ing my settlement at its extreme limit from the
village, )was a stream about seventy yards wide.
By driving piles at distances across this, I was
able to build a good, strong bridge, which, to-
gether with my forest path, made communica-
tion with my dusky neighbors a very easy
matter. It was my custom each morning to
saunter down to the villages, and pass from
group to group exchanging salutations with the
natives and learning the news of the day.
There was always something new to interest
me: The traders loading up their canoes in
preparation for a visit to some neighboring vil-
lages in quest of ivory or red-wood; the differ-
ent artificers busily employed at their separate
trades, working copper
and brass into heavy
bangles with which to
encircle their wives' necks
and ankles, to satisfy the
feminine craving for finery,
or beating iron into keen
and sharp-pointed spear-
heads or queerly-shaped
", ', knife-blades or, with
t nothing but an odd-look-
ing little adze, fashioning
from a rough log of wood
an artistically carved chair
Sor slender lancewood pad-
dle; the potter, equally
ingenious and artistic in
S his way, transforming with
his cunning hand a mass
of black clay into vessels
almost as graceful in de-
sign as those of the an-
.. cient Greeks.
Pleasant sounds of busy
life are heard from every
dwelling, and the little
clusters of huts, hemmed in by forest trees,
seemed pervaded with an air of peace and con-
The principal employment of the natives
near by, was fishing. This is an important in-
dustry with the inhabitants of the riverside vil-



lages, as not only do they live almost entirely
on the fish they catch, but the yield of their
nets is bartered with the inland tribes in ex-
change for other commodities. The early morn-
ing the fishermen devote to repairing and replen-
ishing the stock in trade of their calling: traps
and nets are carefully examined, and all injuries
repaired before the sun is well up. The river
at this part teems with fish, of every size and
variety. Their haunts and habits are thoroughly
well known to the fishermen, whose curiously
minute observations have taught them where
to spread their nets with a certainty of the
largest haul. There is one large yellow fish,
the "mbutu," esteemed a great luxury on the
Congo, which lives upon the soft, succulent
stems of the swamp grass, and, as a rule, feeds
about eight or ten inches below the surface of
the water. The fisherman, with spear poised
ready for the throw, glides noiselessly along in
his canoe, skirting the fringe of these grassy
swamps, carefully watching to see the slightest
trembling of a stem of grass, which tells that a
fish is nibbling. Suddenly he deftly plunges his
weapon below the surface, and almost invariably
a fat mbutu is drawn to the side of the canoe,
struggling on the end of the spear. All along
the Congo and its tributaries are large bays
where the water is invariably sluggish; these
places are the resorts of shoals of fish. In the
rainy season, when the river is swollen, the na-
tives build walls of cane mesh-work across
the mouths of these bays; so that when the
river falls, all the fish are securely penned in;
openings are then made in the netting, and a
basket-trap attached over each. The fish endeav-
oring to escape by these apertures are caught
in the traps. With but little effort, a plentiful
supply of fish is secured at this time of the year.
Sometimes, during a rapid fall of the river, thou-
sands of fish are taken this way in a few days.
Near to these fishing-grounds the natives build
rough, temporary huts and also construct low
tables of sticks about I% feet from the ground.
The fish are placed on these tables, and are
smoked perfectly dry by means of large fires
placed underneath.
The hard toil of many weeks was beginning
to tell in the improved appearance of my Sta-
tion. The site was thoroughly cleared of tree-

roots and weeds. My men were working well,
and I myself had not been idle, for I had to
educate my Zanzibari in handicrafts of which I
knew little, and to transform my men into car-
penters, sawyers, plasterers, etc., as the occasion
required. And I had now well under way a
large house destined to supersede the little hut
in which I had been living since Stanley left. It
was not an ambitious structure, but
i' v-e l.fty,- ~d airy, wvit wall
c.- ..-'. :,d ,.r ,li it.re 1 l ajil
S-, ii r a !'in: .-rk .. t,, .i. r

pr.-. 're- I Ih d edu-i t.l :i..
t\\ ':, f my meA t.:, u-_ / -
th, l,:,r,. rin--a-i -
sr wit -i r h.a ,i hn d.. .. &

at each end, used by two men. One stands upon
the surface of the ground and the other is in a
deep pit below the timber which is being cut),
and soon had a fine stock of planks made
from the trees which I felled in the neighboring
forest; and with the assistance of a young West
Coast African, who had a natural bent for car-



entering, I soon had doors, windows, shut-
ters, and all the necessary wood-work, ready for
my new house. Up to this time I had been
compelled to make shift with my trunks and
boxes for chairs and tables, but now I was able
to enjoy the comfort of a table and chair of my
own manufacture, and for the first time I appre-

at times over extensive shoals, where we saw
quite a herd of hippopotami huddled together
in the shallow water. They stood motionless,
like smooth, black rocks. There was not a
sign of life in the herd as we approached until
we had paddled within fifty yards of them,-
then all was tumult and confusion. Suddenly


_- -_. -
--- ", .- .;-- _- ---- --- -- -~r- -- -
~---- -;~. =i~-- -~IR ;- '--IRE--

-- .- ,

.... .
__ -, :_- _j : _-:~
.. ..._ _
.----__ ----- .- ==--. ---_-
_~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~i :_:::_--:__-: : -___ ::. -. :-__._- o -+-._--- ---
= = __ -- --- - :- -_ :- --. --- :: : -- 7 -: -
:-: -.--_ ~5i :_ : -=-:-_--- :- _--s -- __-- -- -- _

ciated the possession of those useful articles of
My health being thoroughly restored, I did
not confine myself to station work, but fre-
quently made excursions into the neighboring
districts, learning all I could of the tribes
inhabiting them.
Hearing that there were several large villages
on the opposite shore, a little lower down-river,
I decided to visit and make friends with the
people. Mbunga was the most important place,
so I decided to make there my first visit. I
equipped my large canoe with twenty-five pad-
dlers some being my own men and some being
Lukolela natives and started off early one morn-
ing to seek out Ndomb6, the chief of Mbunga.
Our course lay through numerous small chan-
nels between thickly wooded forest islands, and

startled from their morning sleep, with loud
snortings they plunged deep into the river, dis-
appearing entirely from sight, and leaving only
a stretch of troubled water in the place where
they had herded. Sometimes we would see a
number of these unwieldy monsters swimming
midstream, their bodies submerged, and only
their great heads showing above the surface.
We would leave the river in their possession and
skirt along the banks so as to avoid a collision
-in which the canoe would fare badly. As
I was anxious to reach Mbunga, I could not
spare time for any shooting on the journey, so I
resolved to save all my cartridges for the hippos
I might meet on the return journey to Lukolela.
Making all haste, I managed to reach Mbunga
before nightfall. I found the people there very
wild, some portion of them even hostile, and I

---- ----- --- ----'------- -- ------- -----


succeeded in establishing friendly relations only
by going through the ceremony of blood-
brotherhood with the most important chief
of the place, Ndombe. My first view of this
village impressed me with a sense of the char-
acteristic cruelty with which native rumor cred-
ited these people, for nearly every hut was deco-
rated with the whitening skull of some slave or
victim, while suspended from the branch of
a large tree in the center of the village was
a roughly-made basket containing the same
ghastly trophies.
The natives themselves were lazy and filthy
in their habits; plantations were few; and al-
though extensive fishing-grounds were situated
close to their villages, but little effort was made
to reap any benefit from them. The natives had
a besotted look, and during my few days' stay in
these villages I noticed that, though little food
was eaten, an enormous quantity of fermented

early one morning, and about a mile and a half
from the village I came upon a herd of hippo-
potami. One of them offering a favorable shot,
I fired, but only succeeded in wounding the
animal. I had with me at that time a Snider rifle,
which is not a very serviceable weapon in the
hunting-field, its power of penetration being in-
sufficient for big game. The sting of the bullet
tended only to infuriate the animal; he threw
himself wildly out of the water and plunged
about in all directions. A few of my paddlers
kept cool, but most of them, not accustomed to
this kind of thing, dropped their paddles and
clung wildly to the gunwale of the canoe; some
were screaming, while those who retained their
paddles endeavored to force the canoe in a direc-
tion opposite from my intended destination. All
this commotion rendered it very difficult for me to
take a shot with any certainty of aim, so that,
although I kept on hitting the brute, I could not

sugar-cane juice was consumed, and toward the succeed in reaching a vital part, and each succes-
evening of each day the villages were crowded sive bullet that struck rendered the monster only
with noisy and intoxicated savages, the more furious. At last he caught sight of us,
Having decided to return to Lukolela, I left and seemed, all at once, to recognize that we




were his enemies. He came on, plowing his
way vhcou'gh the water, and struck any canoe a
-To n w which., .... .- :;-: : it, threw several of
rmy nen into the water. Fortunately, he did not
them up, but, .--' .. under the canoe,
kept ..1 i'- .-il, on for a short distance.
In the mean time I had as:.', ...1 to pick up
the men from the w'ater,-just in time, for he
returned and made another charge.
As he passed for a second time under the
can.oe, my hU ner, "*-. Nsanda, dexterously
plunged a spear into him, which, striking in the
side, seemed to r .. 1i- him greatly. He was
anow beooaminag exhausted, and his movements
became ssoawer and slower. Each time he rose
to the surface he *-. Lt I-1 a pitiable sight, with
dte Mbood streaming from his many wounds. I
w-as -no able, b a v .--... I. tr: .1 s;. i behind the
iear, to enid the poor brute's r& -i-:.i r s. and after
a few ,i. .- bin. struggles he sank from sight,
leaving Ahe water all around us -:. _.' :.. .- with
his IMood. A !I ,:.1 -n. ia" when killed in the
water in- aarib'ly si-ks; the body does not rise
ifor several hours, the duration of submersion de-
1... lId. oin Lhe 'r.- ., r.. r ,ituFr .." the water. Know-
ing ;i I' I walt:ed 1 -' .. -; on the bank of the
,rier, .anid after three ours sawv my game rise
sloe.ly (to it( e surface.
IBy ill nis taimvie the inhabitants of the surround-
ing ..i-. l-.-.attractedl 1.: the firing of my rifle,
laiad iamtauied itler large war-canoes. There
maulstb ihawe iboee ait Least ,. .of ':. each canoe
fllI edwr anait ed warrios. I had managed
[oty mu get o any e ...t .i ......- in : '. water
wliem these 1 surrounded m e. I noticed
Ital t i.i iliiad coii.Ie .*-' i. .5 for a quarrel,
.eacli ... .rariledn wkh Spear ac knife. Id :.
ltiahoraght to iteiwiafthte ame by their formidable
,I.'.- .1,', :Soie of ,the f olde r en.i jumped out
,uOf llae'ir- ,ca,,aoes, 4dam,:ed a_ i round the '
.. .. .... r ,i.... iiii .i. their kit ves, and invited
ite o.,uthelrs to ancode ,i tid caut tp the meat, say-
g: hlite anit ls no right to this mncat.
itl,ipl oill tako A i. 1...... In t iws. H e i J, .J it in our
(siricIt. L- His C4eL ,i 1,s e a 'smit s hare', ibut
lIe ,cali,Ot iep t it0 mdnane and sIootl omur gtne
arhiii take l1 xav0 y wiVbh hmw oNow itf Ley ha4d
I: .alkedql Le I i 4 of te tMt, $I
xouthit l x lltfegly y le a ,ciccdicl i to tleir reuewist;
Qibii, K ,i,;,1 1.] ,' o i i. m 1e by a *! .

of force, they were i u liin'; an li, wrong
course, I II.Ln 1, c. called off my men, ten
of whom had rilles and could be thoroughly
trusted, and gave them orders to load,
Fortunately, on the sand bank where I had
beached my canoe were several little clumps
of grass, and an old tree or two that had been
washed ashore. Taking advantage of this cover,
I placed my men in safety. I then walked
forward, and explained to the excited natives of
Mbunga that I had come there as a friend. I
did not wish any trouble, but that the hippo-
potamus belonged to nobody till he was dead;
now, as I had shot him, I considered him mine.
Moreover, I was going to do what I liked with
him. I would keep him all, if I chose, or I would
sink him to the bottom of the river. I should be
guided in the matter by my own will only, and
if i,.-, thought they were strong enough to take
him I invited them to make the trial. Said I,
" These men of mine are armed with the same
weapon with which I killed that animal. You
have not such thick hide as he had, so I advise
you to quickly retreat." At first my speech only
incensed them, for some headstrong, fiery young
men immediately proposed to take the meat from
me by force. One even went so far as to jump
out of' the canoe and make for the hippopota-
mus; but I covered him so promptly with my
rifle that he saw I meant what I said. Slacken-
ing his pace, his countenance, which at first
denoted only savage arrogance, now assumed
a look of intense fear, and, dropping his
knife down by his side, he skulked back to his
The chief, Ndomb6, who had been made
my blood-brother, happened to be in one of the
canoes, so I called him by name, and said I was
surprised by the treatment I was receiving at the
hands of his followers. Also, I advised him to
speak with the people and to explain to them
the : .., of any hostile demonstrations. All the
canoes were then brought together, and the
i., na-... natives appeared to have decided
among themselves, lhat a white man's powder
and shor might lend ,. *.n.r'iig Iforce to his
argraients, for they hastened to tell me that I
wvas in r..: right, I lthen informed them that
I had no ihl,'lil;n, of .il.l,[iiJ all the mcal with
Dme, I was not -'- -.1 ; I wanted somne of the



neaat tiar ..i. it. lN II r :,. 11 shoAa lnii d~c(tie

"d ot' ii !e t1m ... I', ., ;m-n ne msn- bt ked-
lb olha :, I-Il -ih ij.ive rgu ome '....: fr ..i.. ,'l
aml ;iii if .Thme rumaiindr Qf t e .air if shall
Iri '. am~r .-iam ig esm e t! IibutnoL t on ie manr
im to c(it t pie eatif flte miat. d own maena
shall do tihit. HB y gM a im i' 1..:. and what I
say, I tmea. I shall et he ae, and if one o ynaur
mesn rri -,i. t cut thie meat Wiithiot i. per-
risiasu, if sih All comn:ider it the coammenceiment
of .. -riii '..: Shall shoTot timr domain' This
rbit ig I. M y n my poui t ad the desired ef ect
S1yt a -s ar .. K.ied diatache otnAl I had
culrt uap as mainm of the animal as I warited. I
did not take even :',i I left them .i..- three-
quarters. When Ir .E i I them and handed them
their -idr .-- b e .u n.. M .- speech and
showof I :.r i ..-- .L avery good r t
parted the best. aiof i.r7-. cad I left this savage
crowd to -.i ame g thema selves for the re-
mainder of the meat. For a long time after
leaving dhis scene, wre could hear their wild and
excited tatr as they squabbled over their ,:::-
der. The si t of blood always I r' .. t the
savage. It is to him what the red rag is to a
It was dark before I again neared Lukolela.
From a great distance I could see the in .; of
many torches sprinkled about the shore. As I
approached, a hum of voices was borne toward
me on the still night air. All the .-ill1 *. were
-.i rl- t.!.1 on the strand, anxious to hear what
fortunes had befallen us on our journey. t When
the prow of my canoe drove sharply on the
beach, and the hustling crowd discovered our
freight of hippo-meat, great was their joy. All
were eager to bear a hand in unloading the
canoe, and a great torch-lit crowd of yelling
negroes escorted us on to the Station. Most
of the meat was distributed in the village and
was roasted over large fires. Far into the night
I could hear the sounds of revelry which suc-
ceeded the great banquet. Standing on my
beach, I watched the bonfires flaring down in
the village, while lithe black figures crossed
and recrossed in the fitful light, mingling in wild
and joyous dances. The shadows of great for-
est trees hung over them, and all around was
intense darkness. Songs and laughter came

eelaiing dnoagh the woods until the embers
ihad turned to ashes and .*r morning light was
gliimmieaing on the hoxlwoe,
I was hai pleased -i. hunting expe-
dititomhadendeds -'o ... I .C iIi, The E-dUangi
areborn hunvtes, and the surest way in which a
strangeIr an gain their esteem is to exhibit skill
ard prowess in the fi--.- A Bes, I am ii ,id
thatinmy 1. with my "- JIL .. I had been
,T of .\ i... I ii; !' that led to expectations
of great things, which I more than doubted
nmy own .:..:i, to 1 .,i'fr1. I ;:'i that, in this i, .1
hunt, I stood on trial 1 i, i.. the whole ii .. and
was -.. r pleased to be able to establish a
secure r-i ,r i..n as a hunter by a feast of
hippo- eat. Whenever I could snatch an op-
portuni t afer ',.', I would scour the country
round in search of big game. My villagers
were il.!1l eager ':.., the chase, and were anx-
ions to bring me the first news of a wandering
herd of '.Lu,li,,. s or of elephants. Until now
I had been known among the natives as MJwana
.. or son of Stanley. From this day I was
known i;r-.iul'.Irt the district as Makiulal "
li r.:lh'., An,,.. -', a name bestowed by the na-
tii --.n.l upon distinguished hunters, my success
in supplying the x ;l.-,. with feasts of hippo-
potamus and buffalo meat having earned me
this proud title.
Four months of pioneer work, diversified by
trips into the interior and hunting excursions,
had passed rapidly away, when, one January
afternoon, a fisherman brought news to the Sta-
tion :1.Lo, while spreading his nets in a reach of
the river just above Lukolela, he had sighted a
flotilla composed of three steamers :1.. i ina down
stream. It was Stanley and his followers return-
ing from Stanley Falls. All was now excitement.
My men were as eager as I was to give the
great explorer a hearty welcome on his return.
We all hastened down to the beach, and with
cries of "Sail HO !! Masua* / /" (boats)," Bwana
kAubua anarudi / (The big master is returning),
we hailed the first glimpse we caught of the lit-
tle fleet as it rounded a distant point. My Zan-
zibaris and few Houssas donned their brightest
cloth in honor of the occasion, and presented a
really fine appearance as they lined the beach
to await the arrival of the boats. A strongly
flowing current and rough weather had told on



the little fleet, and the new paint that looked so
bright and gay only five months before at Leo-
poldville had faded and blistered under the
scorching sun. When Stanley landed, I noticed
that he too showed signs of hard work and
exposure, but, bronzed and weatherbeaten, he
seemed a picture of rugged health. While I was
saluting my chief, I noticed that he was regard-
ing me with a curiously quizzical look in his
eyes. At last he inquired in an anxious tone
of voice for the poor young Englishman he had
left at Lukolela on his voyage up-river last fall.
He added that he feared the very worst had be-
fallen him, for when he last saw him he was in a
very bad way, emaciated and cadaverous. He
feigned great surprise when I hastened to assure
him that I was the sickly youth for whom he
expressed so much concern, and that I never felt
better in my life. Stanley complimented me on
my improved appearance, and bestowed much
kindly praise on the progress of the work on my
Station. There was not very much in the way of
improvement that I could show him as he in-
spected my little patch of territory. But there
had been many difficulties to be overcome,
owing to the nature of the soil and the sur-
roundings. He was also much pleased with
the friendly relations that existed between the
natives and our settlement.
That evening Stanley narrated the history of
his expedition on its journey to the falls. He
told how he found the Stanley Falls region in
the hands of the Arabs, who had made it their
headquarters for raiding incursions into the sur-

rounding country in search of ivory and slaves,
and how he had founded a station at that dis-
tant point, fifteen hundred miles from the Atlan-
tic Ocean, and placed a young Scotch engineer,
named Bennie, in charge. He dwelt upon the
contrast between his cordial reception by the
various tribes scattered along his route, on his
last voyage, and the hostilities he encountered
on all sides in his great journey in '77.
The patience, diplomacy, and justice he had
exercised enabled him now to pass through the
savage and cannibal tribes of the upper Congo
without firing a shot tribes who in '77 attacked
him at every turn, answering his offers of friend-
ship by flights of barbed and poisoned arrows;
and where once compelled, by sheer hunger, for
days to fight for food, the natives now wel-
comed him with exclamations of joy, and placed
at his disposal the best their villages contained.
The following day, after Stanley had given
presents of cloth and trinkets to the Lukolela
chiefs in exchange for the goats and fowls they
brought him, I witnessed the departure of the
flotilla, and then returned to my work, cheered
by many kind wishes and expressions of ap-
proval from my chief.
Stanley, onbiddingme good-bye, had promised
me that assistance should be sent from Leopold-
ville, as the work was heavy for one man. This
was good news to me, as the presence of an-
other white man at the station would relieve the
feeling of isolation which sometimes crept over
me when I looked on the black faces crowd-
ing round me, and remembered the many leagues





that separated me from the nearest Europeans.
I have mentioned the friendliness toward me
of the tribes bordering on the Station, but there
was trouble in store from another quarter, and
this, too, made me wish for some one with
whom I could take counsel when unexpected
difficulties presented themselves.
Just below the villages of Lukolela there was
another native settlement called Makunja, over
which presided Mpuk6. This old chief had, since
our first landing, assumed a hostile and unfriendly
attitude; he was continually catching and some-
times killing the friendly natives of Lukolela, as-
signing as a reason for this aggression the fact
that they were friendly with me. I warned old
Mpuk6 that if he continued this policy I should
be compelled to punish him. In answer to my
remonstrance he sent word to me that he was
"Mokunj6 Monen (the big chief) of this part
of the country, and that he intended to fight,
and to burn to the ground all the Lukolela vil-
lages; that I was an intruder, and before many
days were past he would burn and destroy my
Station and the huts of all who wished me well.
He also added that his vengeance would not be
complete until my head decorated the roof of
his house. Mpuk6 was evidently in earnest, for
early in the morning after I had received his
ultimatum, I was startled from sleep by a crowd
of natives running into the Station with the in-
telligence that the villages were being attacked.
I could hear, while they spoke, the loud reports
of old flint-locks in the distance, and abreast of
the villages I could see the Makunja war-canoes
with armed warriors who were challenging the
Lukolela villages to fight. The Lukolela men
implored my aid in repelling this attack. As I
was the principal object of Mpuk6's wrath I de-
termined to assist them to punish the old tyrant,
whose threat anent my skull had put me on my
mettle. I took ten of my men, well armed with
rifles, and went into the villages. Here every-
thing was in a state of confusion. Spears and
knives were being sharpened, flint-lock muskets
charged. The warriors were rushing here and
there, donning their charms and rubbing char-
coal on their faces, to render themselves as for-
midable-looking as possible. The women were
all making for my Station, loaded up with babies,
and baskets containing their goods and chattels.

The Lukolela villages and those of Makunja were
separated by a mile of swampy forest, through
which ran a narrow zig-zag foot-path. As the
only way to effectively punish old Mpuk6 was to
attack him on his own soil, I led my men in this
direction. When we were about half way several
volleys were fired at us by the natives lying in
ambush, one charge just grazing my head; and,
from the thick cover, spears were hurled, which
stuck quivering in the beaten ground. The sharp
crack of our Snider rifles, however, soon scattered
these skirmishers, who made off in the direction
of their village, where all the stragglers, gather-
ing together, made a last stand,
and greeted our approach with a
random fire of slugs and spears. /


This was soon silenced by a volley from my
men, and we entered the enemy's village. All
the inhabitants had fled at our approach; there
was not a soul to be seen, but from the skirting
woods rose little puffs of smoke, followed by loud,
re-echoing reports from overcharged muskets,
enabling us to guess the whereabouts of the
enemy. When I had time to look about me, I
found that I had four men seriously wounded.



Mpuk6's threat of skull decoration had evi-
dently been used often by him, and judging by
the roof-tree of his house, profusely decorated
with these ghastly ornaments, it had often been
fulfiled. I burned the houses to the ground,
and throwing out my men on either side of the
path, leaving sentinels on the limits of Lukolela,
we returned to the Station unmolested. At night
an incessant drumming was kept up by the two
villages. The mournful wail of the Makunja
people, wafted over the river, told that our rifles
had done their work. Every now and then the
drumming and singing would cease, and threat-
ening speeches would be exchanged as to the
fight to-morrow. The next morning, I again
proceeded to the villages, and ordered one of
the Lukolela chiefs to inform Mpuk6 that I
trusted that the punishment of yesterday would
be sufficient warning to him, for I did not wish
to continue the fight. Curses heaped upon my
head were the only answer the furious old chief
returned to my peaceful overtures, curses invok-
ing horrible calamities both to myself and my
unoffending relations, and involving my cousins,
uncles, and aunts in a common and bloody
destruction with intricate details.
As I listened to this answer, "Itumba!./
Itumba / //" (War, war!) was echoed and re-
echoed by a savage mob of Makunja warriors,
and to the left a crowd of the enemy in the
plantations were mimicking with excited contor-
tions of limb the dissection which they intended
practicing on us later on in the day. I found,
however, that their courage was only skin-deep.
With a few of my Zanzibari, and some of the
natives of Lukolela, who were emboldened by
the success of the day before, we soon quieted
their fire and cleared them out of their position,
following them up all the morning until the old
chief Mpuk6 announced that he had had
enough of fighting and proclaimed his willing-
ness for peace.
Reluctantly, I had been compelled to shoot
a few of the enemy; but they never forgot the
lesson, and old Mpuk6 became most friendly
toward me, and even condescended to include
me in the family circle, always referring to me as
" Mwana Ngai" (my son), a condescension on
his part which I was hardly able to appreciate,
as it devolved on me a filial duty of periodically

supplying presents of cloth to my would-be
dusky parent.
Although I was at Lukolela nearly two years
after this, old Mpuk6's thrashing had damped
all warlike ambition on the part of the natives,
and these were the only shots I had to fire in
defense of my position while at Lukolela.
I found that at Lukolela I was in the center
of a country abounding in big game. I had my
choice of hunting hippos, elephants, or buffa-
loes; but for an exciting day's sport I preferred
taking my gun in search of the last-named ani-
mals. There were any number of them in the
district. I once saw as many as three hundred
securely herding within a few hours' walk of the
Station. The ground they were gathered on was
a bare patch, of about three hundred yards in
diameter, nearly round, in the middle of a large
grass plain. In it were a few pools of water, and
in the center of this patch was a tongue of grass.
I took advantage of this cover, and was thus
able to approach within twenty-five yards of the
herd. The
were now
--- upon three
-=g sides of me.
,Some of
S- ,I them were
basking in
AFRICAN SEAT. the sun,
others wallowing in the muddy pools; a few old
stagers seemed to be on the lookout, as they
would browse a little and then raise their heads
and look in all directions to make sure that no
enemy was near. The little ones were frolick-
ing about, playing like young lambs. For some
time I watched the scene in silence from my
cover, almost loath to disturb the picturesque
groups by the crack of my rifle; but the sporting
instinct was too strong for me, and, persuading
myself that the loss of one of that herd would
make little difference, I picked out one that was
offering a fair shot, and fired. I knew that I had
hit fatally, but was surprised to see that my
wounded buffalo was surrounded by several
others, who immediately grouped themselves
around him, and helped him along in their
midst. I followed the track, and was rewarded,




after going a few hundred yards, to find my
game quite dead. The others must have actually
carried him along until life was extinct and they
had to drop him. This strange fact has often
been noticed by hunters. Elephants will do the
same thing, often helping to raise a wounded
comrade from the ground where he has fallen.
The uninviting appearance of the feathered
occupants of my poultry-yard suggested to me
that a little wild game would be a release from
the monotonous diet of the insipid African fowl,
which, unfortunately, we were compelled to make
our staple meat food. This biped is to be seen
dawdling around every village, plumage all awry,
and presenting a picture of a dissipated, long-
legged, skinny, half-feathered, prematurely old
bird. Occasionally he will attempt to crow,
putting his feet as firm as he can on the ground,
throwing the weight of his body forward so as
to get good purchase, and then with a painful
effort commencing a hideously screeching noise.
He seldom gets more than half-way through his
crow. Ending with an indistinct internal wheeze,
he totters off thoroughly exhausted with his
exertions. For table use he is not a success; no
amount of fine cooking will change his tasteless
nature: when you curry him you taste only the
curry powder and condiments; as a roast the
butter is the conspicuous part of the dish; and
in a soup you have only the taste of the water.
I remember one occasion particularly, when
in order to change the monotony of my menu
I decided to try for a buffalo. So, early one
morning, with six of my blacks, I manned my
canoe, and crossed over to the other side of the
river, where there was a large plain in which I
was generally successful in finding game. Ar-
rived there, we struck off into the grass, and after
walking a few miles the fresh trail of a large
buffalo warned us to be on the alert. Carefully
following the tracks, we presently saw, about
twenty yards ahead of us, the black head and
shoulders of a large bull just peeping out above
the tall grass, listening attentively as if warned
of the approach of an enemy. I took a quick
aim and hit him in the shoulder, when he charged
right down on us. Finding that the long grass hid
us from view, he tore about wildly searching for
us, snorting with pain and breathing heavily, be-
ing exhausted by his bleeding wounds. I was

only once able to get a snap shot at him as he
passed through a little patch of short grass, but
this time I did not drop him. My second bullet
only increasing his rage, he sprang off wildly
into a neighboring swamp.
I followed him, sending my native hunter
round one way while I took the other. I had
gone but a few yards into the swamp, when
my attention was diverted by a cry for help from
Bongo Nsanda, my hunter. I knew by the
tone of voice that he was really in danger,
so I crept hastily along in the direction from
which the cry had come. As I drew near I
found that Bongo Nsanda was indeed in need
of help. He was hanging by the topmost
branch of a young sapling, which was bending
lower and lower with his weight, and was now
almost within the buffalo's reach. I was only
just ii time, for the impetus with which the
maddened brute was charging would have
rooted up the tree and flung my hunter to the
ground, and he would have been gored into a
mangled mass. But I was fortunately able to
avoid this tragic ending by putting a bullet be-
hind the shoulder into the heart, which sent the
beast headlong to the earth writhing in his death
struggles. So instead of having to celebrate my
hunter's funeral rites, as at one time seemed
more than probable, I had the more savory
experience of eating a buffalo steak.
Not many months passed after Stanley's de-
parture before the flotilla re-appeared at Luko-
lela. This time, however, without Stanley, who
was on his way to Europe, and had surrendered
charge to Captain Hanssens, a Belgian military
officer. The boats were heavily freighted with
supplies and provisions for the new Stations
up the river. With my consignment of neces-
saries was landed a stalwart young English-
man, who handed me a letter from Stanley
introducing the bearer as D. H. G. Keys, my
promised assistant. My new comrade was
full of good nature and high spirits. As I
had now been away from England fifteen
months, and as our postal service was rather
erratic, my knowledge of recent home news
was exceedingly limited. So, after the boats
had steamed up-river and we were left to
ourselves, Keys, who had just come from the
old country, would spend many hours in re-


counting to me such of the events that had hap-
pened since my departure as he thought likely
to interest me; and when he had exhausted his
news, he would sing over the new songs of
Gilbert and Sullivan's latest, till I was able to
pick out the gems of the opera on the strings
of my old banjo. Keys was by nature suited
exactly for the pioneer life among wild people
that we were to lead together. He was always
kind and forbearing in his dealings with the



natives, whose child-like ignorance pleaded
strongly with him in excuse for their many faults.
He possessed, too, a certain natural charm of
manner which made him instantly a favorite in
the villages, where he would freely mingle with
the people without that frigid dignity which
Europeans so often think it necessary to as-
sume in their intercourse with the African- a
fruitful cause of much of the disappointment and
ill-success which many unfortunate pioneers have
met with in their attempts to benefit and civilize
the savages of the interior.

There was much to be done at this time in
obtaining concessions of territory from the chiefs
in the district. I was frequently making excur-
sions by land and water on the business of the
Expedition, visiting and conciliating various
tribes and entering into agreements with their
head men. When I was away, Keys, of course,
was in charge of the station, and it was pleasant
to know that the work was not falling into ar-
rears during my absence, and to look forward to

.. d

-. -- At.

a hearty welcome from my comrade when I re-
turned. When we were together, our talk would
turn naturally to dogs, guns, and game. I would
tell Keys all my experiences with hippopotami
and buffaloes, and show him the best hunting-
grounds for big game in the neighborhood. We
little thought, as we laid out our plans far ahead,
that the close of a short season would find only
one gun in the field. For the present we ar-
ranged that either one or the other should go on
a hunting-trip each week to replenish the larder
and keep the men in good humor. One day it




was Keys's turn to go. He started off in high
spirits, saying to me as he went away, Have a
good lunch ready, old man,- back about one,-
shall be awfully hungry,-always am when I
come home from hunting." I could not ac-
company him, as I was busy that day looking
after station matters. One o'clock passed, two,
three, and then, as he was usually punctual in
returning at the appointed hour, I began to
have a fear that something was wrong. I
felt sure that something had happened, and
as time wore on and brought no news of
my canoe, this foreboding of evil tidings in-
creased. At last, just as the sun was sinking, I
saw my canoe returning, but my straining eyes
could catch no glimpse of poor Keys. There
was in the canoe an ominous gap, which ar-
rested the beating of my heart, and upon its
arrival at the beach I found that my presenti-
ment was sadly converted into fact. I then
learned the story of his death. Having come
upon a herd of buffaloes, eager for the sport he
fired away until he had exhausted his stock of
cartridges; he was then in the midst of a large
plain, but was-suffering so much from thirst that
he decided to make for the river, which was
distant about half a mile. He took with him
one Houssa and a little native boy. When they
had proceeded a few hundred yards they had to
traverse a stretch of very long grass, upon enter-
ing which they were startled by the snorting and
tramping of an enraged buffalo. The two fright-
ened blacks skipped off the patch and hid in the
tangled cover. Keys also tried to escape. The
brute charged here and there, at one time beat-
ing down the long grass within a yard of the
two blacks. Then, at last, suddenly sighting
poor Keys, he charged furiously at him. One
slight moan was all the blacks heard. Death

(To be coa

must have been instantaneous. It was a sad
blow for me; the remembrance of it is still vivid
in my mind. We had been the best of friends;
no angry word or thought had ever passed be-
tween us. He had left me that morning full of
life, rejoicing in his youth and strength. I fan-
cied I could almost hear the echoings of his
eager calls, hurrying his men to the hunt, and
faint lingering notes of his joyous farewell shouts
seemed to reach me as I sat alone while the
gloomy shades of the fateful day gathered darkly
round the desolate station._ They had placed the
body in his room on the narrow camp-bed. All
the weary night I paced restlessly up and down
the mud floor of the house, listening and watch-
ing, intensely expectant for something, I knew
not what, to break the horrible monotony of my
watch, and assure me that all was only the fancy
of a feverish brain. At times I was convinced
that I was deceived, and that my friend still
lived; that he was wounded, badly wounded,
but not dead, and I would seize the lamp, enter
his room, and fearfully pull aside the white cloth
that covered the body, striving to force imagina-
tion to lend motion and life to the still form of
my dead comrade. The strain at last became
unendurable. Before the dawn broke I was lying
delirious with fever in my own room. When I
regained my senses I found my men gathered
round me, anxiously awaiting the first sign of
returning consciousness. They had found me
lying on the..floor in the other room, and had
carried me to my own bed.
I buried poor Keys just behind the station
house. A great silk-cotton tree throws its shade
over the grave -a heap of stones encircled with
a rough wooden paling, at the head of which
stands a little cross bearing his name and the
date of his death.


E. Jr Glave.

VOL. XVII.-70.



ALL the earth will soon be bright
With a twinkling amber light -
Vagrant airs will gently stray
Down the shady wooded way,
When the brooklets will rejoice
In a limpid, lisping voice.
Then will come the gladsome hours
By an unseen spirit led,
And the field will flame with flowers
Beryl, lavender, and red.

Soon the cozy nest will sway
In the honeysuckle spray;
And the happy bird will sing
Through the garden on the wing;
And the tulips all unfold
Cups of purple, rose, and gold.
Then will wave the fragrant clover,
'Neath a peaceful, turquoise sky,
For the bee, the merry rover,
And the pretty butterfly.

Prithee, do not fancy now,
When no leaf is on the bough,
When the earth is white with snow,
That 't will always rave and blow.
Soon the birds will come and cheep
Winter, surly soul, to sleep.
And, by magic song o'ertaken,
In a pleasant dream he '11 stray
All the summer, but to waken
When the birds have flown away.


EXT day we all went to the beach
in a sail-boat. And Marjorie ran after
the waves and the waves ran after Marjorie.


Then at noon we sat down on the sand in the
shade of some rocks and ate our luncheon.
"We shall have to wait till the tide goes out
before we can gather any shells," I said.
"Why ? said Marjorie. Does n't the tide
like you to have them ?"
Frankie laughed at that, but Marjorie did not
see anything to laugh at. Then after a while
Frank and Marjorie went away by themselves
and gathered a great many lovely shells-three
handkerchiefs full. And when they came back
Frankie was laughing again because Marjorie
wished to know where the tide had gone.



"And could you tell her, Miss Frank ?" I in-
Well," said Frankie, I know that the moon
has something to do with the tide."
"Where does the tide go to, Jack?" said
"Why," said I, it is this way:
WHERE does the tide go when it goes out?
The Man in the Moon knows pretty well.
In fact, he knows beyond a doubt -
But the Man in the Moon won't tell.
Now when it goes, on tiptoe we
Will search the sands for a lovely shell.
The Man in the Moon will see us, maybe -
But the Man in the Moon won't tell."

-- T-_-



S -. DON'T think you want
--; to tell me a story, do
you, Jack ?" said Mar-
S It was Marjorie's bed-
time, and sometimes, as
a great treat, I would
tell her a story after her
mamma had tucked her
in her crib. So I said,
"Yes," and told her a
little story. Then Marjorie said she would tell
me a story.
Now," she said, "you listen, and don't you
go to sleep. Are you listening ?"
SYes," I said; "I am listening."
"Well-1-1," began Marjorie, "er, a, once upon
a time there was a, there was a, a,-a little boy.
And er, a,-a BEAR ate him up!"
"My! I said. How dreadful!"
Yes," said Marjorie; "and, and then, he fell.
off a house and broke both his legs 1"'




Dear me! said I; "that was very shock-
"Yes," said Marjorie; "and then he broke
both his arms! "
Oh! said I. "What did they do with
him? "
"Well," replied Marjorie, shaking her head,
"I don't know what they did with him, but I
guess they threw him away; 'cause he ain't any
more use then, you know."
No," I said; I should think not. I don't
think little boys are of much use, anyhow."
Some boys are," said Marjorie.
Well, maybe some are," I said. Now I
will tell you a story, and it is about a little boy
that was not of any use at all. Only, they did
not throw him away, they made a bird out of
him. Then after that you must go to sleep, and
to-morrow we will put both of our stories in the
book, and draw pictures for them."
"Yes; but, Jack," said Marjorie, "I can't
draw a picture of a bear. Don't you know, I
tried the other day, and you said it looked like
a turnip ?"
"Did I ?" I asked.
"Yes, you did," said Marjorie.
"Well," I said, "I will draw it for you."
"No," said Marjorie, "I will tell you what
let 's do. Let 's put in the picture I drawed of
the torchlight procession. Won't that do ?"


r -


A-t ---

"Well," I replied, I don't know that bears
ever have torchlight processions, but I do not

think that matters. We can write to the editor
of ST. NICHOLAS and tell her all about it."
"Yes," said Marjorie. "You write and tell
her that I don't know how to make a bear.
And now tell me about the little boy."
"This is


NCE there was a little boy,
And, for no reason why,
From the day of his birth,
.- H nothing else on earth
.)e Did he do but whine and

He cried so very, very
That no one would go near him;
The people said, It beat the Dutch!
Why, the Man in the Moon could hear him '

This boy's home was on the beach
Where the sea-gull's scream is heard,
And if there 's a bird knows how to screech,
The sea-gull is that bird.

They scream their best when the winds blow high
And the sky grows dark and hazy;
But let that boy begin to cry
And he 'd drive the sea-gulls crazy.

Until, at last, they said, 'Oh, joy! -
We must be very dull-
This child 's no use at all as a boy,
But he 'd make a splendid gull!'

So off they flew and told the king:
They told him not to doubt it;
That this boy's scream beat everything !
That 's all there was about it.

The king he saddled his best curlew;
He flew down the wind like mad !
(I think 't was a funny horse, don't you ?
'T was the only kind he had.)




You 'VE crossed his ferry many a time. Perhaps
you did n't know it.
He seats you in his ferry-boat and then begins to
row it.
He dips his oars so softly that you can not even
hear them,
And lo! you land at Fancy's docks before you
know you 're near them.

Oh! Fancy's land looks very grand with struc-
tures high and airy,
And bright impossibilities to mislead the un-
And presently you find yourself, no matter what
your station,
A-building castles in the air, that have n't a

And yet it is n't difficult to rear them till they 're
Than anything you ever saw in turret or in
And Fancy seems so wondrous kind, he gratifies
each notion -
You 've not a whim but is indulged through his
extreme devotion.

Old Humdrum-town you left behind seems sadly
With school, and books, and lessons that you're
tired of reciting.
But lo! what 's this? Your castle shakes! Its
walls are all a-crumble!
You stand amid a ruined mass, alive, but very

Then Fancy rows you home again it does n't take a minute;
You would n't know his boat 's so swift that you were really in it.
But at a word (with such a shock!) false Fancy lands his wherry.
What does he care for foolish folk who daily cross his ferry ?


By F. F.

AN important industry of the northern por-
tion of the southern peninsula of Michigan is
the converting of its forests into lumber.
Many and varied are the processes employed
from the day when the trees are felled in their
native forest, to the day when the lumber, into
which they are manufactured, is used as flooring
or sheathing for a building in some distant city.
After the trees are sawn off, as near the roots
as possible, the trunks are cut into logs of
various lengths the shortest being, as a rule,
sixteen feet long. The men called swampers"
then clear away the underbrush; poles are cut
and set in position; and the logs, being placed

upon the poles at right-angles to them, roll into
a compact tier, whence they are easily loaded
upon sleds and hauled to the decking ground."
This is in a central part of the region where
the trees are being cut, and through it extends
the main road to the nearest place of shipment.
Usually the hauling'of logs is done by means
of sleds, which are about twice the width of the
ordinary sleigh. The "bunks" or frames on
which the load rests are from ten to twelve feet
long. These bunks are two in number, one at
each end of the sled, crossing it at right-
angles to the runners. The logs comprising
the load shown in the picture are sixteen feet


in length. Logs of twice that length are quite
common, but comparatively few are shorter.
To load the logs upon the sled, a team of
horses is hitched to a heavy chain, which is
brought over the sled, around and under a log,
and hooked to the side of the sled. Then the
log is rolled up an inclined way, made of two
poles, just as heavy barrels are loaded upon a
truck. Two tiers of logs having been thus
formed are secured by a chain, which gives a
firm foundation. The upper tiers are then loaded
and likewise secured, the foremost of the last two
chains being twisted tight by a stout sapling,
called the binder," which, being chained to the
last, or binding chain," binds the whole load
securely, but so it can be unfastened instantly.
The teamster now mounts the load and drives
it over the icy, slippery road, to its destination,
usually to where the logs are to be rolled into
the river. The rear chain is now unfastened,
the binder is removed, and the other chains
are unfastened on the side of the load next the
banking ground. The logs are now "stamped"
and "scaled." That is, each lumberman has his
own private stamp put on each log before it is
rolled into the river. The banking-ground men
then pry the first log of the lowest tier out of
position, which causes many others to follow it
to the ground without further effort on the part
of the men. After the last log thus started
reaches the ground, the next one holding those
above it in position is loosened, with similar
results, and in about twenty minutes from the
time the chains are unfastened, the last log is
unloaded, and either rolled into the river where
it floats with the current and joins a "jam," as
they call a dam formed by floating logs, or be-
comes one of those forming a "rollway," or
mass of logs on the ice, if the river be frozen
over. In spring-time the rollway is "broken,"
that is, the logs forming it are loosened,- and
the logs are guided to the mills along the river-
bank or to the mouth of the river.
Where an extensive tract of timber, owned by
an individual or a firm, is at too great a distance
from a river to admit of the logs being hauled
by means of sleds or wheels, a railroad is built,
and the logs are decked conveniently near it.
When the timber in one region is cut for a dis-
tance of several miles on both sides of the rail-

road, the track is taken up and relaid through a
new timber-section. The logging-car is broader,
though not longer, than the ordinary car, and
two of them may be arranged to carry ex-
tremely long logs-which are seldom more than
sixty feet in length -by means of a wooden
beam used as a coupling, which can be extended
or shortened as required, thus increasing or di-
minishing the distance between two adjoining
cars. These logging-cars, in some cases, carry the
logs to the banking ground, where they are rolled
into the river and become a part of the drive.
The drivers break the jams -that is, sepa-
rate the logs composing them and follow the
logs in their course down the current, to open
or prevent new jams. In early spring, when
the ice breaks up, rude rafts are constructed,
upon which the men live while driving" the
logs. These driving crews number from twenty
to one hundred men. Occasionally a number
of boys under sixteen years of age may be found
in a crew. Not infrequently the boys will
"ride" a log down the current as fearlessly,
and with as little danger of upsetting into the
water, as an old and well-practiced river-driver.
At the mouth of the river, a large area of the
water into which it empties is inclosed, and into
this basin the logs are driven, and there remain
until they are sorted out, according to the stamps
they bear, for their respective owners. Here
they pass into the hands of the saw-mill owners.
The lumbering firms themselves are frequently
mill-owners. In some cases the logs are "driven"
directly to the mills, to be made into lumber.
The woodsmen live in rude log camps, which
are much more comfortable than they appear.
A small crew numbers from twelve to fifty
men; a large crew from seventy-five to one
hundred and seventy-five. Boys from fourteen
years of age upward are useful in the lighter
kinds of work, clearing underbrush from the team
roads, rollway-ground, and decking ground, and
chopping the limbs from the felled timber; and
also as teamsters. They are also frequently
employed as assistant cooks and dish-washers,
and to do chores generally" around camp.
These men and boys are very generous, and are
always ready to aid one another in illness, or in
the other emergencies that arise during their
hard life in the woods.

' Al.

-I **a. -


'r '"?'.-;. ^ '--.'* ; ..*
*<^ .^^


; I





You 'VE crossed his ferry many a time. Perhaps
you did n't know it.
He seats you in his ferry-boat and then begins to
row it.
He dips his oars so softly that you can not even
hear them,
And lo! you land at Fancy's docks before you
know you 're near them.

Oh! Fancy's land looks very grand with struc-
tures high and airy,
And bright impossibilities to mislead the un-
And presently you find yourself, no matter what
your station,
A-building castles in the air, that have n't a

And yet it is n't difficult to rear them till they 're
Than anything you ever saw in turret or in
And Fancy seems so wondrous kind, he gratifies
each notion -
You 've not a whim but is indulged through his
extreme devotion.

Old Humdrum-town you left behind seems sadly
With school, and books, and lessons that you're
tired of reciting.
But lo! what 's this? Your castle shakes! Its
walls are all a-crumble!
You stand amid a ruined mass, alive, but very

Then Fancy rows you home again it does n't take a minute;
You would n't know his boat 's so swift that you were really in it.
But at a word (with such a shock!) false Fancy lands his wherry.
What does he care for foolish folk who daily cross his ferry ?


By F. F.

AN important industry of the northern por-
tion of the southern peninsula of Michigan is
the converting of its forests into lumber.
Many and varied are the processes employed
from the day when the trees are felled in their
native forest, to the day when the lumber, into
which they are manufactured, is used as flooring
or sheathing for a building in some distant city.
After the trees are sawn off, as near the roots
as possible, the trunks are cut into logs of
various lengths the shortest being, as a rule,
sixteen feet long. The men called swampers"
then clear away the underbrush; poles are cut
and set in position; and the logs, being placed

upon the poles at right-angles to them, roll into
a compact tier, whence they are easily loaded
upon sleds and hauled to the decking ground."
This is in a central part of the region where
the trees are being cut, and through it extends
the main road to the nearest place of shipment.
Usually the hauling'of logs is done by means
of sleds, which are about twice the width of the
ordinary sleigh. The "bunks" or frames on
which the load rests are from ten to twelve feet
long. These bunks are two in number, one at
each end of the sled, crossing it at right-
angles to the runners. The logs comprising
the load shown in the picture are sixteen feet


? the


And when he heard that little boy yell
He thought his ears would split,
And so he turned him into a gull,
And nobody cared a bit."
"I think his mamma must have cared," said
Marjorie's mamma.
Yes, Jack," said Marjorie: "I guess his
mamma cared."
"Well," I said, perhaps his mamma cared."
"And I think that after a while his mamma
went and told the King of the Gulls' that her
little boy would be good now and not cry any
more, and that then she persuaded the king to
change him back again into a little boy," said
Marjorie's mamma.

Did she, Jack ?" asked Marjorie.
Well," I said, come to think of it, I don't
know but she did."


ERE is my red dolly,
SJack," said Marjorie;
"won't you put her in
the book?"
"Oh, yes, certainly,"
said I. "Although
there is -not much of
her left to put in. She



looks like the little boy in your story, who fell
from the house and broke both of his arms and
legs, and as if the bear had almost eaten her up,
but had not quite finished her."

I don't care," said Marjorie, pouting, she
is very nice, and I love her, I do "
"Well, I did not mean to say anything un-
kind about her, Sweetheart," I said. I have
no doubt she is very nice. So, if you will ask
her to sit up in the chair there, and tell her not
to move while she is having her picture taken,
I will see what I can do."
Oh, she won't move, Jack," said Marjorie,
eagerly. "Jack, she is just the bestest dolly
you ever saw "
There," I said, finishing the picture; do
you like that ? "
"Yes," said Marjorie; "that is lovely. Now
let me draw her. There! Is n't that lovely,
too ? Now, write some po'try about her, Jack,
--won't you, please ?"

"Well, let me see. I don't know anything
that rhymes with dolly, except Polly. Her
name is not Polly, is it ? said I.
No," said Marjorie; her name is not Polly;
it is Red Dolly. 'Cause, don't you know, she
had on a red dress when you bought her for
Oh, yes," I said; "of course, I ought to
remember. Well, here is a ballad:

,aow9 my-

/pAt OF 115--


Dolly dear, last year, when you were new,
You were quite pretty, that is true;
Though now you look so queerly.
Your cheeks were red, and your eyes were blue,
You 'd arms and legs, and feet you had, too.
There were few in the city so pretty as you,
Dolly dear, last year, when you were new;
And Marjorie loved you dearly.
But now your cheek 's no longer red;
Your arm is broken, so 's your head;
You 're blind, and bald, and deaf, and lame;
You 're-But Marjorie loves you just the same,
Dolly dear."






YES, I have seen some queer things in my
walks under water."
The speaker was a tall, athletic man, who but
a few moments before had resembled some strange
monster, as he rose from the water encased in
the heavy armor of the professional diver.
"But," he continued, "I can tell you that I
don't follow the calling from any love of sport.
It is a dangerous business at best--it shortens
a man's life; and every time you go down, some-
thing may happen that will anchor you firmly to
the bottom."
"How did you come to be a diver? asked
one of the younger listeners.
"Well," was the reply, "I might say that it
was by chance. When I was a lad, I lived in
London, and, like all boys, found the docks and
the great ships that lay there, hailing from all
parts of the world, a great attraction; so a part
of every day that I could gain for myself was
spent in walking about the great piers.
One afternoon, I was watching some riggers
at work on a large ship. Upon her rail was sus-
pended a sign that read (I can see it now), 'For
Calcutta, Bombay, and the East Indies, Septem-
ber 30, 18-.' I was wondering what kind of
a place Bombay was, when a man stepped ashore,
and, coming up to me, said, My lad, can you
find me a good swimmer about here ?' I'm a
fair swimmer myself,' I answered. You?' he
exclaimed, eying me from top to toe. 'Why,
a shark could use you for a toothpick!'
I was not very large," continued the diver,
"but I happened to be a good swimmer, and

would not be laughed out of it. So finally he took
me aboard and down into the cabin, where the
captain asked me whether I could dive under the
ship's keel and see if her copper had started. As
I had often dived under vessels for the fun of it, I
replied that I could, and in half an hour I was
overboard and swimming down to the place.
There, instead of a 'start,' as they call an opening
in the copper, I found something sticking in the
hull,- what do you think? Nothing more nor
less than the sword of a sword-fish.
When I told the captain, he said I had
done as well as a diver, and gave me a sovereign.
Of course everybody heard of it, and when-
ever there was anything lost overboard, or a
vessel's bottom to examine, I was sent for. From
calling me Richard, they soon took to giving me
the name 'Diving Dick.' So you see it was
very easy for me to slip into diving as a business.
When I first began this work at regular
wages, the divers went down in diving-bells;
but still the armor was generally worn. They
have improved the armor so much that now it
is comparatively easy to go down. In old times,
we had to grope around and do the best we
could; but now we carry an electric light, have
a telephone attached, and are able to talk or
signal to those above. My armor, as you see,"
said the diver, pointing to his suit, which looked
like the cast-off shell of a curious animal, "is
of thick, heavy rubber and in two parts,- the
trousers and shoes being in one piece. The
head-piece is of copper, with two eye-holes, or
windows of glass, that screw on. In deep water,


where the pressure is great, a thick breastplate
of copper is used; heavy weights are hung from
the back, and we often put a weight of fifteen
pounds on each foot. That, of course, is to keep
the diver from floating. Three lines and tubes
are now generally used. One tube lets air into
the helmet, another takes it out. Then there is
the telephone wire, and a signal-rope besides;
so that in shallow water there is little or no dan-
ger. If the tube should
break, or your suit be cut
in any way, there is a pos- -
sibility of drowning before -I

blown completely over, and then had sunk in a
channel inside the reef. The exact place was
not known. Consequently, the only thing to do
was to go down and hunt for her. So we
started in twenty feet of water, and, all holding to
one rope, so as not to lose each other, sepa-
rated, gradually walking down a hill into deeper
"I think we had gone about a hundred feet
before I felt a twitch on one part of the
line, and, looking around, I saw several
S large, black objects coming for us. Be-
fore there was time to think, a school

they can haul you to the ---- of porpoises came dashing by. I
surface; but, luckily, such stood quite still, and probably
accidents seldom happen. they took me for a rock or
"In i856, I went down other natural object, for
ten fathoms, in rough water, one of them passed so
off the coast of Portugal, closely I could have
to a steamer that had sunk, touched it, and an-
nobody knew exactly how. -O .other grazed the
I landed on her foreyards, tube. But my
and then went down the companions
shrouds, finally dropping to ,
the deck. As I struck I
heard a gurgling sound, and
had just time to signal to
be hauled up, when I felt -
the water on my face. I
had lost my senses when I
came up. I went down
again and found that, in
descending the first time,
my tube had passed over
what had been the port side-
light, and the sharp-edged
broken glass had cut the
rubber, letting the water in
upon me.
"Then there 's some
danger from animals; not
because they are fierce, but
because they are big. They
may be caught accidentally
in the ropes or tubing.
Some years ago, with two
near the Florida coast. The wreck, this time, tried another plan; they struck at the porpoises
was a ship loaded mainly with cotton. She had with their pikes. For a time we were in a regular
struck on a bar during a hurricane, been school of these fishes, and were afraid the tubes


would be fouled; but they left us before long,
and we again took up our march.
We must have walked an hour, I think, be-
fore we found the ship; and then she was so cov-
ered with sand that we had come upon her bul-
warks before we knew it, thinking her a sand-
hill. All her masts had been carried away,
and she was lying upon her side, almost cov-
ered. Fortunately, the hatches were battened
down, or she would have been filled with sand.
By the aid of crowbars, we soon broke them off,
and then we saw a curious sight. All the light
cargo nearest the hatch began to rise, the inside
air forcing out barrels, boxes, planks, and bales
of stuff in rapid succession, so that there was a
regular procession of objects climbing up from
the ill-fated ship. These were caught by the
wreckers above us and hauled ashore.
This place was a famous spot for fishes,
and many were beauties, being striped with
bright green, yellow, blue, and red. Others
had long streamers, and looked like the harle-
quins and columbines in pantomimes. I no-
ticed that there was the greatest difference
between them in their habits. Some were shy,
and darted away at the slightest motion; while
others seemed to think me a huge fish, and
came near me as if curious to see what I was
like. Some swam over my arms and let me
move my hands toward them. But most were
shy. As to the stories of sharks, they are in
the main not true. I have had a shark come
within five feet of me, and when I raised my
arm it darted off in such a hurry that the boil-
ing of the water nearly threw me off my feet.
Ofcourse, there maybe cases
where a very large shark
might attack a diver; but
if he should attack one wear-
ing the modern diver's hel-

met or armor, I think the shark would have a
hard time of it-copper and glass would not
make a very good mouthful.
"A friend of mine had a funny experience,"
the diver continued, seeing that his audience
were interested. "He was walking along on a
sandy bottom, when suddenly he was lifted up-
ward, then thrown quickly backward, and, if it
had n't been for his pike, he would have fallen
over. For a few seconds the water was not
clear. Then he saw that the cause of his up-
set was a big skate that had been lying partly
buried in the sand- asleep, perhaps. He had
stepped with his leaden shoes right on its back.
I 'm sure it would be hard to tell which was the
most scared.
"Among the strange things that may be seen
by divers is the ocean forest, off the Eastern
coast. The sandy bottom there is covered with
the hardened roots of great trees, and in some
instances parts of trunks are standing, showing
that the coast there must have settled, and that
the sea has rolled in over the land.
"Sometimes we go down at night, and then
the scene under water is often a beautiful sight.
Every jelly-fish and living creature seems to be
ablaze with light; your rope appears to be on
fire, and every motion makes the water glimmer.
The crabs and fishes sparkle, many with a light
of their own. So, you see, instead of being a
dark and barren place, as the majority of people
seem to regard it, the ocean, even at the great-
est depths, is probably made bright by the very
animals that most need the light."
The boys bade the diver good-bye, feeling
glad that they did not have
to share his perils, but re-
getting that they could
not see the beauties of
which he had told.



i.' RR;
II ~~iWk,

I climbed and I climbed to the top of the tree;
High up in the branches I stood.
Below in the field was a man with his plough,
And I called him as loud as I could .

He stopped,and he looked at the hedges and lane,
And no one at all could he see,
For he never once thought, as he wondered and stared
I was up in the top of the tree .

I swung and I swayed with the tree in the wind ;
I was not afraid I would fall ;
The maple seeds spread out their little green wings,
And nobody saw me at all .



THE next morning, the sick woman still lay
in a heavy stupor with the crimson flush of fever
burning on cheek and brow. Madame Jozain
sent Raste across the river for Dr. Debrot.
Before Raste went, Madame Jozain took the
traveling bag into the kitchen, and, together,
they examined its contents. There were the
two baggage-checks, the tickets, and money,
besides the usual articles of clothing and odds
and ends; but there was no letter, nor card, nor
anything, except the monogram J. C. on the
silver fittings, to assist in establishing the
stranger's identity.
"Had n't I better take these," said Raste,
slipping the baggage-checks into his pocket,
"and have her baggage sent over? When she
comes to, you can tell her that she and the
young one needed clothes, and you thought it
was best to get them," and Raste smiled
knowingly at Madame, whose face wore an
expression of grave solicitude, as she said:
Hurry, my son, and bring the doctor. I 'm
so anxious about the poor lady, and I dread
to have the child wake and find her mother
no better."
When Dr. Debrot entered Madame Jozain's
front room, his mind was not so clear as it would
have been a few years earlier, and he observed
nothing strange in the situation. He had known
Madame, more or less, for a number of years,
and he might be considered one of her friends.
Therefore, he never suspected that the young
woman lying there in a stupor was not the friend
from Texas, whom Madame represented her to
be. And she was very ill; of that there could be

no doubt-so ill as to awaken all the doctor's
long dormant professional ambition. There were
new features in the case; the fever was peculiar.
Of one thing he was certain: there would be
no protracted struggle--the crisis would arrive
very soon. She would be either better or beyond
help in a few days, and it was more than likely
that she would never recover consciousness.
He would do all he could to save her; and
he knew Madame Jozain to be an excellent
nurse, for she had nursed with him through an
epidemic. The invalid could not be in better
hands. Then he wrote a prescription, and
while he was giving Madame some general
directions, he kindly patted the golden head
of the lovely child, who leaned over the bed,
her large, solemn eyes fixed on her mother's face.
Shortly after the doctor left, there was a rip-
ple of excitement, which found its way even into
the sick-room-the sound of wheels, and Raste
giving orders in a low voice, while two large,
handsome trunks were brought in and placed
in the corner of the back apartment. These
two immense boxes looked strangely out of
place amid their humble surroundings, and when
Madame looked at them, she wondered what
she would do with them, if the woman should
die. When the little green door closed on the
trunks, it seemed as if the small house had swal-
lowed up every trace of the mother and child,
and of their identity.
For several days the doctor continued his
visits, and every day he departed with a more
dejected expression on his haggard face. He
saw almost from the first that the case was hope-
less; and his heart ached for the child. Every
day he saw her sitting by her mother's side, pale
and quiet, with such a pitiful look on her little
face, such repressed suffering in every line and


expression, as she watched him for some gleam
of hope, that the thought of it tortured him and
forced him to affect a cheerfulness and confi-
dence which he did not feel.
When Madame would tell her that she must
be quiet for her mother's sake, it was touching
to witness her efforts at self-control. She would
sit for hours, silent and passive, with her mother's
hand clasped in hers.
Whatever was good in Madame Jozain showed
itself in compassion for the suffering little one,
and no one could have been more faithful than
she in her care of both the mother and child;
she felt such pity for them, that she soon began
to think she was acting in a noble and disinter-
ested spirit, by keeping them with her, and nurs-
ing the unfortunate mother so faithfully. She
even began to identify herself with them: they
were hers by virtue of their friendlessness; they
belonged to no one else therefore, they be-
longed to her; and, in her self-satisfaction, she
imagined that she had not been influenced by
Sany unworthy motive in her treatment of them.

One day, only a little more than a week after
the arrival of the strangers, a modest funeral
Swended its way through the narrow streets of
Gretna toward the ferry, and the passers stopped
to stare at Adraste Jozain, in his best suit,
sitting with much dignity beside Dr. Debrot
in the only carriage that followed the hearse.
"It 's a stranger, some relative of Madame
Jozain," said one busybody. "She came from
Texas with her little girl, less than two weeks
ago, and yesterday she died. Last night the
child was taken down with the same fever, and
they say she 's unconscious to-day, so Madame
could n't go to the funeral. No one will go
to the house, because that old doctor from the
other side says the fever may be catching."
Madame Jozain belonged by birth to the
Bergerons, and among the family possessions
was the Bergeron tomb in the old St. Louis
cemetery. It was now opened for the first time
since Madame Jozain's father was placed there,
and the young widow was laid among those
who were neither kith nor kin.
When Raste returned from the funeral, he
found his mother sitting beside the child, who
lay in the same heavy stupor that marked the

first days of the mother's illness. The pretty
golden hair was spread over the pillow, under
the dark lashes were deep violet shadows, and
the little cheeks glowed with the crimson hue
of fever.
Madame was dressed in her best black gown,
and she had been weeping freely. At the sight
of Raste in the door, she started up and burst
into heart-breaking sobs.
Oh, mon chier, o mon ami, we are doomed!
Was ever any one so unfortunate ? Was ever
any one so punished for a good deed ? I 've
taken a sick stranger into my house, and nursed
her as if she were my own, and buried her in
my family tomb, and now the child 's taken
down, and Dr. Debrot says it is a contagious
fever, and we may both take it and die. Is that
what one gets in this world for trying to do
good ?"
"Nonsense, Mum, don't look on the dark
side; old Debrot don't know much, Perhaps
the fever is n't catching. Anyway, it will keep
people from prying about here, and finding out
everything. I '11 keep away for a while. You
won't take the fever. The child '11 be better or
worse in a few days, and then we '11 leave this
place, and start fresh somewhere else."
Well," said Madame, wiping away her tears,
much comforted by Raste's cheerful view of the
situation. No one can say that I have n't
done my duty to the poor thing. I mean to
be kind to the child, and nurse her through the
fever, whether it's catching or not. It 's hard
to be tied to a sick-bed this hot weather; but
I 'm almost thankful the little thing 's taken
down, and is n't conscious, for it was dreadful
to see the way she mourned for her mother.
Poor woman, she was so young and pretty, and
had such gentle ways!"



EVERY one about that part of Good Children
Street knew "Pepsie." She had been a cripple
from infancy, and her mother, Madelon, or
" Bonne Praline," as she was called, was also quite
a noted figure in the neighborhood. They lived
in a tiny single cottage, wedged in between the

pharmacist on the corner, and M. Fernandez, tel above was decorated with a clock, two vases
the tobacconist, on the other side. There was of bright paper flowers, a blue bottle, and a
a narrow green door, and one long window, plaster parrot. The floor, the doorsteps, and
with an ornamental iron railing across it, even the sidewalk were painted red with pow-
dered brick-dust, which
harmonized with the
faded yellow stucco of
S.. the walls and the dingy
'''' green of the door and
ho, batten shutter.
Sc t i att Behind this one little
front room was a tiny
Kitchen and yard, where
i-- t Madelon made her na-
S o i.lines* and cakes, and
I where "Tite Souris" (Pe-
L thehI rom ite Souris, a half-grown
negro girl, instead of a
"little mouse ") washed,
cooked, and scrubbed,
Sh and "waited on Miss
Ro smf .r a Peps" during Madelon's
I "absence; for Madelon
W was a merchant. She
,, .had a stand for cakes
and pralines on Bour-
bon Street, near the
French Opera House,
and thither she went
every morning, with her
basket and pans of fresh
pralines, sugared pecans,
and callas t tout c/aud,
a very tempting array of
-dainties, which she was
sure to dispose of before
she returned at night;
while Pepsie, her only
child, and the treasure
of her life, remained at
home, sitting in the high
PEPSIE AT WORK. chair by the window.
through which the interior of the little room And Pepsie, sitting at her window, was as
was visible from the outside. It was a neat much a part of the street as were the queer little
little place, less ugly than one would expect houses, the tiny shops, the old vegetable woman,
it to be. A huge four-post bed, with a red tester the cobbler on the banquette,f the wine-merchant,
and lace-covered pillows, almost filled one side or the grocer. Every one knew her: her long, sal-
of the room; opposite the bed was a small low face with flashing dark eyes; wide mouth with
fireplace hung with pink paper, and the man- large white teeth, which were often visible in
Round cakes made of sugar and pecan nuts. t A small cake made from rice, and sold hot. t Sidewalk.


a broad smile; and the shock of heavy black
hair twisted into a quaint knot on the top of her
head, which was abnormally large, and set close
to the narrow, distorted shoulders, were always
seen, from mom till dewy eve," at the
window; while her body, below the shoulders,
was quite hidden by a high table drawn forward
over her lap. On this table, Pepsie shelled the
pecans, placing them in three piles: the perfect
halves, those broken by accident, and those
slightly shriveled and a little rancid. The first
were used to make the sugared pecans for which
Madelon was justly famous; the second to
manufacture into pralines, so good that they had
won her the sobriquet of" Bonne Praline; and
the third pile, which she disdained to use in her
business, was swept into a box, and sold to
merchants who had less principle and less
All day long Pepsie sat at her window wield-
ing her little iron nut-cracker with much dex-
terity. She saw whatever went on in the street;
her bright eyes flashed glances of recognition
up and down; her broad smile greeted in cordial
welcome those who stopped at her window to
chat, and nearly always there was some one at
Pepsie's window. She was so happy, so bright,
and so amiable, that every one loved her, and
she was the idol of all the children in the neigh-
borhood not, however, because she was liberal
with pecans. Oh, no; with Pepsie, business was
business, and pecans cost money, and every ten
sugared pecans meant a nickel forher mother; but
the children loved to stand by the window, out-
side the railing, and watch Pepsie at her work.
They liked to see her with the pile of nuts and
bowl of foaming sugar before her. It seemed
like magic- the way she would sugar them and
stick them together and spread them out to dry
on the clean white paper. She did it so rapidly
that her long, white fingers fairly flashed between
the bowl of sugar, the pile of nuts, and the paper.
And there always seemed just enough of each,
therefore her just discrimination was a constant
When she finished her task, as she often did
before dark, Tite Souris took away the bowl
and the tray of sugared nuts, after Pepsie had
counted them and put the number down in a lit-
tle book, as much to protect herself against Tite
VoL. XVII.-72.

Souris's depredations as to know the exact
amount of their stock in trade; then she would
open the drawer in the table, and take out a
prayer-book, a piece of needle-work, and a
pack of cards.
She was very pious, and read her prayers
several times a day; after she put her prayer-
book aside, she usually devoted some time to
her needle-work, for which she had a real talent;
then, when she thought she had earned her
recreation, she put away her work, spread out
her cards, and indulged in an intricate game of
solitaire. She was passionately fond of the
game; she was very systematic and very con-
scientious; but if she ever purloined any time
from her duties, it was that she might engage in
that fascinating and time-stealing game. She
even went so far as to decide doubtful questions
by it; to whatever query she might propose, two
games out of three would give her an answer,
for or against.
In this way she passed day after day, always
industrious, always contented, and always happy.
She was very comfortable in her snug little room,
which was warm in winter and cool in sum-
mer, owing to the two high buildings close
by; and although she was a cripple, she
suffered little pain, unless moved roughly or
jarred; and no one could be more carefully pro-
tected from discomfort, for although she was over
twelve, Madelon still treated her as if she were a
baby. Every morning, before she left for the
Rue Bourbon, Madelon dressed the girl, and
with her strong arms lifted her tenderly into
the wheeled chair, where Pepsie drank her
coffee, and ate her roll, as dainty as a little
princess. She always was exquisitely neat; in
summer, she wore pretty white sacks, with a
bright bow of ribbon at the neck, and in winter,
her shrunken figure was clothed in warm, soft
Madelon did not sit out all day in rain and
shine on Bourbon Street, and make cakes and
pralines half the night, for anything else but to
provide this crippled mite with every comfort.
As I said before, the girl was her idol, and she
had toiled day and night to gratify her every
wish; and as far as she knew there was but one
desire unsatisfied, and for its accomplishment
she was working and saving, little by little.

Once Pepsie had said that she would like to
live in the country. All she knew of the coun-
try was what she had read in books, and what
her mother, who had once seen the country,
had told her. Often she closed her eyes to shut
out the hot, narrow street, and thought of green
valleys with rivers running through them, and
hills almost touching the sky, and broad fields
shaded by great trees, and covered with waving
grass and flowers. That was her one unrealized
ideal,- like Carcassonne in the French poem,
- and she feared she was to reach it only in



ON the other side of Good Children Street,
and almost directly opposite Madelon's tiny cot-
tage, was a double house of more pretentious
appearance than those just around it. It was a
little higher, the door was wider, and a good-
sized window on each side had a small balcony,
more for ornament than use, as it was scarcely
wide enough to stand on. The roof projected
well over the sidewalk, and there was some at-
tempt at ornamentation in the brackets that
supported it. At one side was a narrow yard
with a stunted fig tree, and a ragged and dis-
couraged rose-bush straggled up the posts of a
small side-gallery.
This house had been closed for some time,
much to Pepsie's sorrow; for she was always
interested in her neighbors, and she had taken
much pleasure in observing the ways of this
household. Therefore she was very tired of-
looking at the closed doors and windows, and
was constantly wishing that some one would
take it. At last, greatly to her gratification, one
pleasant morning late in August, a middle-aged
woman very well dressed in black, who was
lame and walked with a stick, a young man, and
a lovely little girl appeared on the scene, and
stopped before the empty house. After looking
at it with much interest, they mounted the steps,
unlocked the door, and entered.
The child interested Pepsie at once; although
she had seen very few high-bred children in her
short life, she noticed that this little one was

different from the small inhabitants of Good
Children Street. Her white frock, black sash,
and wide black hat, had a certain grace uncom-
mon in that quarter, and every movement and
step had an elegant ease, unknown to the
good-natured little creoles who played around
Pepsie's window.
However, it was not only the child's beauty,
her tasteful, pretty dress, and high-bred air that
interested Pepsie; it was the pale, mourn-
ful little face, and the frail little figure, looking
so wan and ill. The woman held her by the
hand, and she walked very slowly and feebly;
the robust, black-eyed young man carried a
small basket, which the child watched con-
Pepsie could not remove her eyes from the
house, so anxious was she to see the child again;
but, instead of coming out, as she expected they
would after they had looked at the house, much
to her joy she saw the young man fling open
the shutters and doors, with quite an air of own-
ership; then, she saw the woman take off her
bonnet and veil, and the child's hat, and hang
them on a hook near the window. Presently,
the little girl came out on the small side-gallery
with something in her arms. Pepsie strained
her eyes, and leaned forward as far as her lame-
ness would allow, in order to see what the child
It 's a cat. No, it 'sa dog. No, it is n't.
Why, it must be a bird! I can see it flutter its
wings. Yes, it 's a bird; a large, strange-look-
ing bird. I wonder what it is!" and Pepsie,
in her excitement and undue curiosity, almost
tipped out of her chair, while the child looked
around with a listless, uninterested air, and
then sat down on the step, hugging the bird
closely, and stroking its feathers.
"Certainly, they 've come to stay," said Pep-
sie to herself, or they would n't open all the
windows, and take off their things. Oil, I won-
der if they have!"
There was a rumbling of wheels in the street,
and a furniture-wagon, heavily loaded, drove
up to the door. Pepsie watched the unloading
with great satisfaction.
At the same moment, the active Tite Souris
entered like a whirlwind, her braids of wool
sticking up, and her face all eyes and teeth. She




had been out on the banquette, and was bursting
with news.
Oh, Miss Peps- Miss Peps, some un's done
tuk dat house ov' yon'er, an' is a-movin' in dis
ver' minit! It's a woman and a boy an' a little
yaller gal. I means a little gal wid yaller ha'r
all ove' her, an' she got a little' long-legged gos-
lin', a-huggin' it up, like she awful fond of it."
"Oh, stop, Tite, go away to your work,"
cried Pepsie, too busy to listen to her voluble
handmaid. "Don't I see them without your
telling me. You 'd better finish scouring your
kitchen, or Mamma '11 be after you when she
comes home."
"Shore 'nuff, I 's a-scourin', Miss Pep, an'
I 's jes' a-dyin' to git out on dat banquette dat
banquette 's a-sp'ilin' might' bad ter be cleaned.
Let me do dat banquette right now, Miss Peps',
an' I 'm gwine scour lak fury, bymeby."
"Very well, Tite, go and do the banquette,"
returned Pepsie, smiling indulgently; but mind
what I say about the kitchen, when Mamma
Such an event as some one moving in Good
Children Street was very uncommon. Pepsie
thought every one had lived there since the
flood; and she did n't blame Tite Souris for
wishing to be out with the other idle loungers to
see what was going on, although she understood
the banquette ruse perfectly.
At last, all the furniture was carried in, and
with it two trunks, so large for that quarter of
the city as to cause no little comment.
"Par exeiple said Monsieur Fernandez,
"what a size for a trunk Madame yonder must
have traveled much in the North."
And straightway, Madame Jozain acquired
greater importance from the conclusion that she
Sad traveled extensively.
Then the wagon went away, the door was
discreetly bowed, and the loungers dispersed;
but Pepsie, from her coign of vantage, still
watched every movement of the new-comers.
She saw Raste come out with a basket, and
she was sure that he had gone to market. She
saw Madame putting up a lace curtain at one
window, and was curious to know whether she
intended to have a parlor. Only one blind was
thrown open, the other was bowed all day,
yet she was positive that some one was at -, oft'

behind it. "That must be Madame's room,"
she thought; "that big boy will have the back
room next to the kitchen, and the little girl will
sleep with Madame, so the room on this side,
with the pretty curtain, will be the parlor. I
wonder if she will have a carpet, and a console,
with vases of wax-flowers on it, and a cabinet
full of shells, and a sofa." This was Pepsie's idea
of a parlor; she had seen a parlor once, long ago,
and it was like this.
So she wondered and speculated all day; and
all day the pale, sorrowful child sat alone on
the side-gallery holding the bird in her arms;
and when night came, Pepsie had not sugared
her pecans; but Madelon did not complain of
her idleness. It was seldom the child had so
great a treat, and even Tite Souris escaped a
scolding, in consideration of the great event.
The next morning Pepsie was awake very
early, and so anxious to reach the window that
she could hardly wait to be dressed. When
she first looked across the street, the doors and
shutters were closed, but some one had been
stirring; and Tite Souris informed her, when she
brought her coffee, that Madame had been out
at "sun up," and had cleaned and "bricked"
the banquette "her own se'f."
"Then I 'm afraid she is n't rich," said Pep-
sie, with a sigh, because if she was rich, she 'd
keep a servant, and perhaps after all she won't
have a parlor."
Presently there was a little flutter behind the
bowed blind, and lo! it was suddenly flung
open, and there, right in the middle of the win-
dow, hung a pretty gilt frame, surrounding
a white center, on which was printed, in red
and gilt letters, Blanchisseuse de fin, et confec-
tions de toute sorte," and underneath, written in
Raste's boldest hand and best English, "Fin
Washun dun hear, an Notions of al sort." And
behind the sign, Pepsie could plainly see a flut-
ter of laces and muslins, children's dainty little
frocks and aprons, ladies' collars, cuffs, and
neckties, handkerchiefs and sacks, and various
other articles for feminine use and adornment;
and on a table, close to the window, were boxes
of spools, bunches of tape, cards of buttons,
skeins of wool, rolls of ribbons,-in short an
assortment of small wares which presented quite
an. attractive appearance.


And, hovering about them, Madame could be
discerned, in her black skirt and fresh white sack,
while, as smiling and self-satisfied as ever, she
arranged her stock to the best advantage, and
waited complacently for the customers who she
was sure would come.

For the first time, since the death of the young
widow in Gretna, Madame breathed freely, and
began to feel some security in her new posses-
sions. Everything had turned out as Raste pre-
dicted. The young mother slept in the Ber-
geron tomb, and the child was too young to
give any but the vaguest information about her-
self. She did not even remember the name
of her parents, for, since her recovery from the
fever, she seemed to have forgotten much of
her previous life. Her illness had left her in a
pitiable condition. She was weak and dull, and
did not appear to care for anything but the
blue heron, which was her constant companion.
Whether she was conscious of her great loss,
and was mourning for her mother, Madame
could not decide. At first, she had asked con-
stantly for her, and Madame had really believed
it necessary, for the child's sake, to say kindly,
and with caresses which were not returned, that
her mother had gone away for a while, and had
left her with her "Aunt Pauline," and that she
must be a good little girl, and love her Aunt
Pauline, while her mother was away.
Lady Jane looked at the woman's bland face
with such solemnly scrutinizing eyes, that Ma-
dame almost regretted deceiving her, even for her
good, but Lady Jane said nothing; her thoughts
and memories were very busy, and very far away.
She had not forgotten so much as Madame fan-
cied she had, neither did she believe so much as
Madame thought she did. But she was not
then able to keep things clearly in her mind.
So whatever of doubt or regret passed through
her little brain, she made no sign, but remained
quiet and docile. She never laughed, and seldom
cried. She was very little trouble, and scarcely
noticed anything that was going on around her.
In fact, she was stupefied and subdued by the
sudden misfortunes that had come upon her,
until she seemed a very different being from the
bright, spirited child she had been only a few
weeks before.



FROM the first, Madame had insisted that the
stranger's property should not be meddled with;
at least not until some time had passed.
"We must wait," she said to the eager and
impulsive Raste, to see if she is missed, and in-
quired for. A person of her position must have
friends somewhere, and it would be rather bad
for us if she was traced here, and it was found
out that she died in our house. We might even
be suspected of wanting her money. But, if we
don't touch her things, they can't accuse us, and
Dr. Debrot knows she had the fever, so I would
be considered a kind-hearted Christian woman
and I 'd be paid well for all my trouble, too,
if it should come out that she died here."
These arguments had their weight with Raste,
who, though anything but scrupulous, was fear-
ful about getting into the toils of the law, his
father's fate serving as a warning to him of the
difficulty of escaping from those toils when once
they close upon a victim.
If, at that time, they had noticed in the jour-
nals the advertisement signed "Blue Heron,"
it would have made them very uneasy, but they
seldom read the papers, and before it occurred
to them to look for a notice of the missing
woman and child, the advertisement had been
For several weeks Raste went regularly to
the grocery on the levee, and searched the
papers until his eyes ached; but in vain. There
was nothing that referred in any way to the
subject that interested him.
Therefore, after some six weeks had passed,
Madame deemed that they were safe. The first
thing to do was to move into a distant neighbor-
hood; for that reason, she selected the house
in Good Children Street, as being as far away

as she could possibly get without leaving the
city altogether.
At first she was tempted to give up work,
and live for a while "like a lady." But she con-
sidered that her sudden wealth might arouse
suspicion, and she decided to carry on her usual
business, with the addition of a small stock
of fancy articles to sell. On these she could




make a snug little Tr.':fC. and at the same time
they ,-.:.u give additional imrn x.r...;:e and re-
*- ,: .iLir',- to her humble calling.
Among the dead woman's effects was the
,,: -7.... :. containing two hundred ',i:iar;:
which V'._i. .:..= had secreted from Raste. From
the money in the 2r;-'..;-&1-.;2 she had paid
the small funeral expenses and Dr. Debrot's
modest bill, and there still remained some for
other demands; but, L. 1 -:[:- the money, there
were many valuables, the silver toilet articles,
I 1-, laces, embroideries, and the handsome
S-I ..::. .- both mother and child. In one of
the trunks she found a writing-case full of let-
ters written in English. From these letters she
could have Ic.j rrn all that it was necessary to
know; but she could not read En Tli, .:c.ill:.-
i, .'"' ihly ,:.ritr-.: she was afraid to hb-,'.. r-.m,
-andj. ,T, ,r., I ,:..'|.:. 'L _'L. i;-.cai JAnd, >,a-.A d i .;1r -
when -.: was out, Raste burned them all in the
kitchen-stove. He would not admit it, but
Madame found the bundle of ashes, and could
not doubt he had done so. She hardly knew
whether to be glad or sorry that ci-c were
destroyed, and -.L :a-t..;:3 what she should do.
,'-.- she was 1.- ;r,;nr.- to feel that the
way of the transgressor is hard, but she silenced
the strivings of conscience by specious argu-
ments. She had not :.:.aLht the -:-r_,_.:.i:.i:
it had come to her in the visit of the 1:7I,-!
woman; she had done her best by her, and
now the child was thrown on her and must be
cared for. She did not know the child's name,
so she could not restore her to her iri-n i-. even
if there were any. It was not ;.:d- ;h .. J- were,
or i r -, .: til i have advertised. She meant to
be good to the little t-.in, : she would take care
of her and bring her up welL Lady Jane
should be a J. u-'.-r to her; .::,ri- that was
better than --;r_. her to a home for found-
a.r_. as another :J *I 1 do. In this way she
persuaded herself that she was r-:-n-1:. an honest,
charitable woman, who was I;, what was
best for the child by .r--]:r.- .in :.n her mother's
r: --r :,:i._1:: rl::,i, no effort to find her friends
or to discover her identity.
From the child's wardrobe she selected the
plainest and most useful articles for daily wear,
1--.-:' aside e the finest and daintiest, to h-.:..:_
of as her business might offer 'i ,i .rt onit- : and

from the mother's clothes she also made a
selection, taking for her own use what she con-
sidered plain enough to wear with propriety,
while the _. e:.--i.il linen, fine laces, and pretty
little trifles went a long way in furnishing her
show window I.n]i-omeily.
SXjr-~Tl, ,. :'. her assurance, she felt some
misgivings when she placed those pretty, dainty
articles in the br.,: 1 '.. -,f day before an observ-
ing public. Not only did the public terrify her,
but the child also. Suppose Lady Jane should
recognize her mother's property and make a
scene Therefore it was with no little anxiety
that she waited, the first morning, for Lady Jane's
Sc r -.i1r_.:= in the little shop.
After a while she came in, heavy-eyed, pale,
]i-til.;., and carelessly dressed, her long, silken
hair uncombed, and her whole manner that of
a i:rr:.- ., neglected child. Sh- carried the
bird in her arms, as usual, and was passing out
of the side door to the little yard without so
much as a w-l:, ;-e. when AMls.-am, who was
watching her ";-ri. ely. said to her in rather a
iterful tone:
"Come here, child, and let me button your
clothes; and you have n't brushed your hair.
Now this won't do. You're old enough to dress
-,. .r--:[. and you must do it. I can't wait on
you every minute; I 've got something else to
do." T Tn .- e asked in a softer tone, while she
smoothed the .:; -ein hair, See my pretty win-
dow. D, n'r you think it very handsome? "
Lady Jane turned her heavy eyes toward the
laces and flui:-rine. thinr: above her. Then her
I ::,L: 4 -l:v fell to the table, and suddenly, seizing
a little jewel-box (an odd, pretty silver trinket
that Madame had displayed among her small
wares), she e:cIai.nmi passionately, "That 's
my Mamma's! It's Mamma's and you sha'n't
h-i.-e it!" Turning, she rushed into her own
roomr. hir: 1iiln h little box :i.gh'dl clasped to her
Madame took no notice of her outbreak, and
did not attempt to take the box from her.
Lady Jane carried it about with her all day;
but at r i-_.t. after the little one had fallen
j-z:c-, Madame unclosed the T.i-,erc that still
clung to it, and, without a pang, consigned the
box to obscurity.
I must n't let her see that again," she said


to herself. It troubles her too much. Dear
me, what should I do if she should act like
that before a customer! I '11 never feel safe
until everything of her mother's is sold and out
of the way."

Well, I declare, if that is n't the fifth cus-
tomer Madame Jozain has had this morning,"
said Pepsie to Tite Souris, a few days after the
new arrival. She must be doing a good busi-
ness, for they all buy. At least, they all come
out with paper parcels."
"An' jes' see dem children crawl roun' dat
do'. Hi! dey don't cum ter yer winner eny
mo', Miss Peps," said Tite, with an accent of
disgust, as she brushed the pecan shells from
Pepsie's table. Dey jes' stan' ober dar ter git
a glimge uv dat dar goslin' de little' gal pets
all day. Po' chile! she mighty lunsum, setting'
dar all 'lone."
Tite, oh, Tite, can't you coax her across the
street? I want to see her near," cried Pepsie,
eagerly. "And, besides, I want to see what
kind of a bird that is."
Dem children say how it's a herrin'. I don't
believe dat. 'T ain't no ways lak dem herrin's
in de sto', what dey has in pickle. Sho! dat
ain't no herrin'. Hit 's a goslin'. I 's done
seen goslin's on de plantashun, an' hit 's a gos-
lin', sho 'nuff."
"Well, I want to see for myself, Tite. Go
there to the fence, and ask her to come here.
Tell her I '11 give her some pecans."
Tite went on her mission, and lingered so long,
staring with the others, that her mistress had to

call her back. She returned alone. Lady Jane
had declined to accept the invitation.
'T ain't no use," said Tite, energetically. She
won't come. She on'y hugs dat dar long-legged
bird, an' looks at yer solum, lak a owl. 'T ain't
no use, she won't come. She might' stuck up, Miss
Peps. She say, she don't want pecuns; ain't
dat cur'ous?- oh, my! don't want pecuns!
Well, white children is der beatenes' children!"
and Tite went to her work, muttering her sur-
prise at the "cur'ousness" of white children in
general, and of Lady Jane in particular.
All day long Pepsie watched, hoping that the
little girl might change her mind, and decide to
be more neighborly; but she was doomed to
Near night, feeling that it was useless to hope,
and noticing that Madame's customers were
becoming fewer, she sought consolation in a
game of solitaire.
Just as she was at the most exciting point, a
slight rustling sound attracted her attention, and,
looking up, she saw a little figure, in a soiled
white frock, with long, yellow hair falling over
the shoulders, and a thick, neglected bang al-
most touching the eyebrows. The little face
was pale and sorrowful; but a faint smile
dimpled the lips, and the eyes were bright and
earnest. Lady Jane was holding the bird up
in both hands over the iron railing, and when
she caught Pepsie's surprised glance, she said
very politely, and very sweetly:
"Would you like to see Tony? And that
was the way in which Lady Jane and Pepsie
first became acquainted.

(To be continued. )




What Came Next.

HE water that covered
the earth at thistime
was very hot. The
earth's covering was
still thin, and inside
of it there was a
burning mass of
matter, boiling hot.
S \ar This heated the
crust, which, in turn,
heated the water. As this ocean of hot water
surged over its crumpled bed, it broke off
little pieces of rock, and gradually ground
them into sand. It swept some of this sand
upon the little patches of crust that rose above
its surface, and made beaches, and the rest
was deposited upon the bed of the ocean.
Because of the pressure of the water above and
of the heat within the thin crust, it hardened
and baked into what is called sedimentary"
rock. "Sedimentary" comes from a Latin word,
meaning settlinggs" and you can readily see
why that name was chosen. Of course its ma-
terials are the same as those of the rock under
it, from which it was made; but the fine grains
of sand are arranged in distinct layers, and that
gives a different appearance.
As this sand was hardening and baking into
rock, anything that happened to be in it, such
as plants, or the animals that died in it, re-
mained fast; and it is because of this fact that
we can tell something of the animals and the
plants that lived on the earth in bygone ages.
These layers of rock are like so many leaves
of a history, and each of them tells the story of
the beings which inhabited the earth at the par-
ticular period when that layer was formed.
Centuries ago, in southeastern Wales, there
used to dwell a brave, warlike people, known as
the Silures. In one part of their country there
were huge piles of rocks, which always excited

curiosity on account of the strange objects found
among them. During the last century these rocks
attracted the attention of geologists. After care-
fully studying them, these scientific observers
concluded that these rocks were part of the first
layers laid down after the earth-crust was formed.
Of course portions of these layers are to be
found all over the world, but in the country of
the Silures they lie on the surface. So geolo-
gists can study them there without difficulty.
They have given to that period in the world's
history in which these layers were made the
name, "The Silurian Age."
You must not suppose that all these beds of
rock were formed peacefully and quietly. Some-
times that seething mass on the inside would
burst out, and then came a time of confusion.
The layers were bent and twisted, and very often
were melted again. If there was any metal in
the rocks (as copper, for instance) it was sent
in "rivers" here and there, breaking a chan-
nel for itself through the solid rock. These
rivers hardened when cooled, and we hear of
them now, in mining operations, as veins."
Miners speak of finding a vein of copper," or
a vein of silver," and the like. The Silurian
seems to have been the age for copper. Near
Lake Superior, in the rocks belonging to this
period, enough veins and great masses of cop-
per have been found to supply the world with
that metal for years to come. It was also the
time for deposits of salt. The waters of the
ocean evaporated over shallow places, and left
the salt. Perhaps a storm swept the waters
back, and evaporation again took place; and
when this had been repeated many times a
thick bed of salt was formed. In this way,
probably, were made all the immense salt-beds
found in the State of New York.
Now, when the hot crust was cooled enough,
and when the thick atmosphere was purified by
the plenteous rains, which did God make first,-
animals or plants ? Nobody knows, for certain,
but in the oldest layers of rock such quantities
and quantities of plants have been found that



we are almost sure that they were created first.
What kind was made first,-land plants and
animals, or water plants and animals ? As the
water covered nearly the whole earth, it is natu-
ral to suppose that life first appeared in the
water; and everybody is agreed on this point.
Whether it was plant-life or animal-life, it first
appeared in the water.
The earliest traces that can be found of any
living thing are the remains of sea-weed and of
the club-mosses that grow in wet places. Soon,
however, animals appeared, and the layers of
Silurian rock are found in some places to be en-
tirely composed of the shells of animals. Some-
times these shells are very small, but some are
larger than those of any animal now in exist-
ence. Nor is it by any means certain that small
animals were created first. Little and big seem
to have existed together. We find the shells
of animals so small as to be invisible, except un-
der the microscope, side by side with shells four
feet broad. The framework of the tiniest crea-
ture which helped to make up these layers of
rock, is extremely beautiful.
The little coral animals commenced their busy
career during this age, building limestone reefs
and making the beautiful chain coral which can
still be seen on the limestone cliffs in the West-
ern States. Another kind of animal, related to
the coral polyp, and called a crinoid," must
have greatly added to the beauty of the Silurian
seas. We find its remains in the shape of a
curiously carved, six-sided body. From each
of five sides a lily-like arm was sent off, and the
animal was fastened to the rock by a stem
running from the center of the sixth side. Pro-
fessor Agassiz called them stone lilies."
Other layers of rock are composed wholly of
the remains of queer animals called trilobites."
They belonged to the same family as our lob-
sters, and varied in size from one-sixth of an
inch to two feet in length. There were two
great depressions running lengthwise in their
bodies, which divided them into three lobes.
They had also the same ring-like divisions
running around the body as are seen in lob-
sters. They swam on their backs, and had the
power of rolling themselves into a ball. Prob-
ably this was done to defend themselves against
some foe. Many were caught in this position

when the mud was changing into rock, and kept
for us to see. In other layers of rock are found
fossils of different animals of the lobster kind.
Nothing like these old animals is found now,
So many mollusks that is, soft animals with
hard shells, like the oysters then swam in
the waters, that this age is sometimes called the
" Age of Mollusks." They were of all sizes and
shapes, and there were millions and millions of
them. There was one, belonging to the same
family as our nautilus, which was four feet
across. Another resembled a nautilus unrolled.
It was from ten to fifteen feet long, and meas-
ured a foot in breadth.
The remains of fishes are found, for the first
time, in some of the upper layers belonging to
this period. In Wales, in the land of the Silures,
they claim to have found one layer composed
entirely of fish-bones.
Now, there is something we must keep in
mind when we speak of remains in geology,
or else we shall be disappointed when we see
these fossils. If you should ever break open
a stone, and have the great good fortune to find
in it the remains of a leaf, what would those re-
mains be like? A real leaf? No, nothing
but the impression of one. No wood -no pulp.
Simply a picture engraved on the hard rock. So,
also, with the remains of a fish,--no body, no
bones,--only an impression; but so true a one
that geologists can tell even the way it swam,
and, in some cases, the nature of its food! As
you were told before, these remains are called
fossils. What a thrill of pleasure it must give
to find one yourself- to think that little bit of
world history has remained sealed up in a rock
for centuries, waiting for you to'find it!
So far, then, as we have journeyed in our
travels through the back ages, we see a world
of water, with such plants and animals as live in
water. It is true that little patches of dry land
existed, as at the close of the first period; and
these had even been increased a little by the ad-
dition of beaches. But these bits of land were so
small, compared with the vast expas.u-- 1.f ocean,
that we are justified in calling it a world of
water." It must have been a very ihili%
inhabited "water-world," since whole layers
of rock were made from the animals which
swam in its depths or p.ubklll on its r' r!;.c.


(A Trie Story.)


IS ancestry was il-
lustrious and tra-
ditional. He be-
longed to the race
of the Scottish
Chiefs" and the
Shepherd Kings."
He was a noble
specimen of the
brute creation; of
rather slender form;
a pointed muzzle;
and quivering nos-
trils, that could de-
tect the feet of his master, even where count-
less feet had passed before, and that guided him
unerringly in any quest; glossy hair, plaited
on his breast like a shield; ears erect, and
slightly drooping at the tips; and eyes that
understood and spoke all languages.
Such was Prince." He was but a dog; yet
Within the range of his narrow life he was ex-
emplary, to a degree that might well be imi-
Stated by some alleged to be of a higher type.
In manners, gentle and high-bred; to his infe-
riors, thoughtful and considerate; in his friend-
ships, fidelity itself. He knew his duty, and he
did it; he knew his station, and he kept it.
He was a native of Norway. Not of Nor-
way far across the sea, but the Norway that is
here at home, in our own Empire State; yet this
Norway is not wholly unlike that other, for
winter sits enthroned on all the frozen hills, and
summer empties her golden cornucopia down
all the valleys.
Many are the stories told to show the intelli-
gence, affection, and fidelity of Prince. He was
wonderfully knowing, and seemed to understand
sign-language, and even human speech, quite
as well as his betters. He was a farmer's dog;
and it is always surprising how much real, prac-
VOL. XVII.- 73. 6

tical help a farmer will get from a good dog.
It is said in Scotland, that a collie will do the
work of many men, and that it is this alone
which renders the business of sheep-raising
profitable in that country. There, too, these
intelligent brutes have occasionally been trained
to do something besides honest work. One
Scotch dog was so trained that, receiving in-
structions from his master as to which one of a
neighbor's flock he would like to have added to
his own, the dog would accomplish the theft in
the master's absence. Not later than the end
of the last century, a man was hung in Scotland
because he had taught his dog to do, and the
dog had done, that very thing. One is tempted
to believe that an animal so intelligent knew he
was doing wrong.
Old Prince was trained to work like any farm-
hand, and, unlike some farm-hands, would do
his work without complaining. He could be
sent to the farthest part of the farm to bring
anything that was wanted, if it was not too
heavy for him to carry or to drag. On one
occasion a visitor was present who doubted that
Prince was as clever as his owner claimed.
When the company were leaving the hay-field
for dinner, the visitor was asked to drop his
handkerchief where Prince could not see it.
Arriving at the house the loss was explained to
Prince, and he was told to fetch the handker-
chief. He bounded off, and soon returned
bringing it. When directed, he would go to
any certain field, and from a large number of
tools, would select and bring home one named.
I have known boys who would take all day to
do such an errand, and probably bring the
wrong thing after all.
One day Prince was told to go to the woods
where the men had been chopping, and to bring
home the axe. He was gone a long time, much
to the surprise of all; for when Prince had an


errand to do, he never played by the way.
Finally he returned, dragging with him a heavy
beetle. I suppose that very few city boys, and
not all country boys, now, know what a bee-
tle" is. It is a ponderous wooden mallet,
for driving the steel wedges used in splitting
logs. Of course everybody thought it very
strange that he should have brought this instead
of the axe; and Prince himself looked at his
master evidently very tired, and very much wor-
ried, and saying, as plainly as looks could, that
there was something to explain. So the men
hurried down to the woods for a solution of the

9 --' --

mystery. There they found the axe deeply set
in the end of a log. Poor Prince had actually
almost gnawed the handle off in his efforts to get
the axe. Finding this impossible, he had brought
the beetle instead, thinking, perhaps, it might
do. Faithful old Prince! There is something
very touching in this attempt to do his duty.
There was no worker on the farm that could
not have been spared quite as well as Prince.
How many steps he saved tired feet! Every night
he would go to the distant pasture for the cows,
never missing one, although the hills in the
vicinity are very high and the valleys are very
deep. And even the cattle came to know him as
a friend. You may be sure that for all this
faithful service Prince received many a kind
return. Indeed, he was regarded almost as a
member of the family.

But, alas! even faithful friends grow old, and
the best of servants lose their usefulness. And
to Prince there came a time when age told upon
him. The speed went from his nimble legs;
and, I am sorry to say, some of the sweetness
went from his temper. All were forced to admit
that the farm-work required a younger hand.
But what was to be done with Prince ? It was
well known that he would never stand the giving
of his honored place to another. It had been
tried, but made trouble at once. Prince took
it as an insult. He grew insanely jealous. In
fact, he seemed to recover some of his lost youth
in his determination to
remain at his post. He
was too nearly human
not to resent being
So the farmer thought
he would try to find
some one who would
take Prince, and give
him a home, and be
kind to him in his latter
days. The next time
the farmer went to Lit-
S. tle Falls to trade, he
I took Prince with him;
S- and, while there, called
-- -. -- on his groceryman,
and asked whether he
would accept Prince as
a gift. He told of the dog's intelligence and
faithfulness, and said that, while Prince had lost
his usefulness on the farm, he was still a good
dog to have about a house where there were
children. "I want the old fellow to have a
good home for the rest of his days," said the
farmer, with some feeling. The grocery-keeper
said he would be very glad to take him; and
so it was arranged that when the farmer was
ready to start for home he was to come and
leave the dog with the grocer.
Prince was a silent listener to this arrangement,
and, as events proved, was doing some very seri-
ous thinking. When the farmer was ready to
leave for home he looked about in vain for
Prince. The dog was nowhere to be seen. He
went back to all the places he had visited, and
finally to the hotel-stable, where he had left the




team; but Prince was not to be found. At last,
he started for his home, twenty-five miles away,
wondering what could have become of the old
dog. Nothing of the kind had ever occurred
before. Could Prince have gone home ? Possi-
bly. On arriving, sure enough, there was Prince.
He had not approved of being given away!


But, as has been said, a younger dog was a
necessity on the farm, and in course of time one
was found, and installed as Prince's successor.
But old Prince made this young dog's life very
miserable. On every occasion he would snap
at him, and otherwise manifest the bitterest ani-
mosity. Although the veteran's teeth were
nearly gone, he was in physical strength far
superior to the little fellow, and he bullied him
The new-comer stood this as well as he could
for some time; but one day he disappeared.
All supposed that he was tired of being abused,
and had gone away to escape from his oppressor.
Not so, however. After two or three days' ab-
sence he returned, bringing with him a large dog,
that had never been seen in that region before.
Then these two dogs pitched into old Prince,
and must, literally, have whipped him to death;
for the poor fellow crawled around behind the
barn, stretched himself out, and made a full
surrender to our last great enemy."
Then the big dog disappeared as strangely as
he had come, and that was the last ever seen of
him by the people at the farm.
Poor Prince! We all know the story of the

Welshman who erected a splendid monument to
the memory of his faithful dog, as told in the
poem, Beth- Gelert-" Gaylord's Grave." I think
that dear old Prince, too, deserved a monument.
The story of Prince, as here related, is so
remarkable in many respects, I fear there may be
misgivings on the part of some as to its absolute
truthfulness. I had not the honor of a personal
acquaintance with Prince, but the facts here
given came to me from one who did, and whose
veracity I can not question.



"DUKE was a fine setter. When he was a
puppy, his master had to go on a long journey,
and left Duke with a professional dog-trainer to
be cared for and taught during his absence. I
am afraid Duke did not fare very well, for
when; nearly a year afterward, he came to stay
with us, he looked quite thin and wretched, and
had a hang-dog air. He soon improved, how-
ever, under a generous diet and kind treatment.
Duke became especially fond of big Brother
Ned, and always ran to meet him when he
came home, jumping up and licking his hands,
and evincing in every way the greatest delight
at Ned's return.
One day, Brother Ned came home the back
way. Now, in a direct line with the fence, and
not far from the gate, was a well, said to be
more than a hundred feet deep. The water was
very low in it at this time, and there was no
chain and buckets, for we never used the water
from it. But, very carelessly, it had been left un-
covered. It was so near the fence, and looked
so much like a part of it, that it might easily be
overlooked by any one; and, certainly, Duke
did not see it. He ran with a joyful bark to
leap over the fence, and went down down
into the water. Brother Ned gave the alarm,
and we all ran to the spot; but what could we
do to save Duke ? As we looked into the well
we could see nothing but two eyes, which glowed
like coals of fire up through the darkness, and
we could hear Duke whine pitifully and scratch
the stones at the sides of the well. There were



some men working on a house near by, and they
ran to help. Taking a long rope and a short
piece of board, they attached the board as you
would put a seat in a swing, and lowered it into
the well, thinking that the poor dog might be
able at least to support himself on it until some
better method could be devised for hoisting
him out.
But we thought that Duke could do nothing
with the board.
We heard him paw the board, and he gave
short, sharp little yelps as if to let us know that he
understood we were trying our best to help him.
Then one of the men said he would go down,
if a stronger rope was brought. So the men be-
gan to draw up the swing. What could make
it so heavy? They leaned over and peered
down into the darkness. The two gleaming
eyes were certainly moving about, as the men
continued to draw up slowly and steadily. Could
it be that the dog was tangled in the line?
Carefully, now Another pull and another, and
the board comes into the light. Hurrah! It
is Duke! He is hanging on by his teeth to the
rope close to the board. We scarcely breathed.
Would he be able to keep his hold until they
could get him to the top ? How dreadful if he
should fall back now No, here he is safe at
last! cowering and shivering at our feet. We
carried him into the house and wrapped him in
a warm blanket before the fire, for it was a
chilly day in early spring. His mouth and his
paws were bruised, from his frantic efforts to
gain a hold on the slippery sides of the well.

He seemed conscious of the great danger he
had escaped and grateful over his deliverance, for
there was a new intelligence in his eyes. He
crept nearer to our feet as we sat around him,
and he licked the hands reached down to caress
Was it through instinct or reason, or was it
only by accident, that Duke caught and held
the rope?

.,.... .~,,
;s: ,t.
-~-- -----4_




MARY OGDEN would have withdrawn into
some quiet corner, at the sociable, if it had not
been for Elder Holloway and Miss Glidden,
who seemed determined to prevent her from
being overlooked. All those who had called
upon Mrs. Murdoch knew that Mary had had
something to do with that extraordinary num-
ber of the Eagle, and they told others, but Mrs.
Murdoch escaped all discussion about the
Eagle by saying she had not read it, and
referring every one to Miss Ogden.
Mary was glad when the evening was over.
After hearing the comments of the public, there
was something about their way of editing the
paper that seemed almost dishonest.
Jack was still up when she came home.
I 've used my time better than if I 'd gone
to the party," he said. "I 've studied the
map of New York. I 'd know just how to go
around, if I was there. I am going to study it
all the time I 'm here."
Mr. Murdoch was better. He had had a
comfortable night, and felt able to think of
business again.
"Now, my dear," he said to his wife, "I 'm
ready to take a look at the Eagle. I am glad it
was a good number."
"They talked about it all last evening at the
sociable," she answered, as she handed him a
He was even cheerful, when he began; and he
studied the paper as Jack had studied the map.
It was a long time before he said a word.
My account of the flood is really capital,"
he said, at last, and all that about Crofield
matters. The report of things in Mertonville
is good; that about the logs, the dam, the bur-
glary,-a very extraordinary occurrence, by
the way,- it's a blessing they did n't kill Mrs.
McNamara. The story is good; funny-column

good. But-Oh, gracious! Oh! Mary Ogden!
Oh my stars What's this ?"
He had begun on the editorials, and he
groaned and rolled about while he was reading
"They 'll mob the Eagle!" he said at last.
"I must get up! Oh, but this is dreadful!
She 's pitched into everything there is! I
must get up at once!"
Those editorials were a strong tonic, or else
Mr. Murdoch's illness was over. He dressed
himself, and walked out into the kitchen. His
wife had not heard him say he would get up,
but she seemed almost to have expected it.
"It's the way you always do," she said. "I 'm
never much scared about you. You '11 never
die till your time comes. I think Mary is over
at the office."
I 'm going there, now," he said, excitedly.
"If this work goes on, I shall have the whole
town about my ears."
He was right. Mary had been at her table
promptly that morning to make a beginning on the
next nullmber; Jack was downin the engine-room;
Mr. Black was busy, and Mr. Bones was out, when
a party of very red-faced men filed in, went
through the front office, and climbed the stairs.
"We '11 show him!" said one.
"It '11 be a lesson he won't forget!" remarked
another, fiercely.
He '11 take it back, or there will be broken
bones!" added another; and these spoke for the
rest. They had sticks, and they tramped heav-
ily as they marched to the "sanctum." The
foremost opened the door, without knocking,
and his voice was deep, threatening, and husky
as he began:
"Now, Mr. Editor-"
"I 'm the editor, sir. What do you wish of
Mary Ogden stood before him, looking him
straight in the face without a quiver.


He was a big man; but, oddly enough, it oc-
curred to him that Mary seemed larger than he
Bob!" exclaimed a harsh whisper behind
him, "howld yer tongue! it 's only a gir-rl!
Don't ye say a har-rd word to the likes o'
her! "

Other whispers and growls came from the
hall, but the big man stood like a stone post for
several seconds.
"You 're the editor ? he gasped. "Is old
Murdoch dead,--or has he run away ?"
"He 's at home, and ill," said Mary. "What
is your errand ? "
I keep a decent hotel, sir,-ma'am--
madam-I do,-we all do,-it 's the Eagle,
you know,- and there 's no kind of disorder,-
and there was never any complaint in Merton-
"Howld on, Bob! exclaimed the prompter




behind him. "You 're no good at all; coom
along, b'ys. Be civil,- Mike Flaherty will never
have it said he brought a shillalah to argy wid a
colleen. I 'm aff!"
Away he went, stick and all, and the other
five followed promptly, leaving Mary Ogden
standing still in amazement. She was trying to
collect her thoughts when Mr.
Black marched in from the other
room, followed by the two type-
setters; and Mr. Bones tumbled
upstairs, out of breath.
Mary had hardly any ex-
planation to make about what
Mr. Bones frantically described
as "the riot," and she was in-
lined to laugh at it. Just then
SMr. Murdoch himself came to
0ii the door.
Jack stopped the engine, ex-
claiming, "Mr. Murdoch! you
here ?"
"What is it? What is it?"
he exclaimed. "I saw them go
out. Did they break anything? "
1, "Miss Ogden scared 'em off
,?< in no time," said Mr. Black.
Mary resigned the editorial
chair to Mr. Murdoch. Bones
brought in two office chairs; Mr.
Black appeared with a very high
stool that usually stood before
one of his type-cases; Mary
. preferred one of the office chairs,
and there she sat a long time,
replying to Mr. Murdoch's ques-
ME ?'" tionsandremarks. Shehad plenty
to tell, after all she had heard at the sociable,
and Mr. Murdoch groaned at times, but still he
thanked her for her efforts. Meanwhile Mr.
Black went to the engine-room with an errand
for Jack that sent him over to the other side of
the village. Jack looked in the little cracked
mirror in the front room as he went out.
"Ink enough; they 'll never know me," said
Jack. "I 'm safe enough. Besides, Mrs. Mc-
Namara was n't robbed at all. She was yelling
because she thought robbers were coming."
He loitered along on his way back, with his
eyes open and his ears ready to catch any bit


of stray news, and paused a moment to peer
into a small shoe-shop.
It was only a momentary glance, but a ham-
mer ceased tapping upon a lapstone, and a tall
man straightened up suddenly and very straight,
as he untied his leather apron.
"That 's the fellow he exclaimed, under his
breath, but Jack heard him.
"He knew me! He knew me! I can't stay
in Mertonville !" thought Jack. "There 'll be
trouble now."
He started at a run, but it was so early that
he attracted little attention.
His return to the Eagle office was so quick
that Mr. Black opened his eyes in surprise.
I 've got to see Mr. Murdoch," Jack said,
hurriedly, and upstairs he darted, to break right
in upon the conference between the editors.
Jack told his story, and Mr. Murdoch felt it
was only another blow added to the many al-
ready fallen upon him and his Eagle. "Per-
haps you will be better satisfied to leave town,"
said Mr. Murdoch, uneasily.
I 've enough money to take me to the city,
and I '11 go. I 'm off for New York!" said
Jack, eagerly.
New York? exclaimed Mr. Murdoch.
"That's the thing Go to the house and get
ready. I '11 buy you a ticket to Albany, and
you can go down on the night boat. They 're
taking passengers for half a dollar. You must n't
be caught No doubt they are hunting for you
Mr. Murdoch was right. At that very mo-
ment the cobbler was in the grocery kept by Dea-
con Abrams, shouting, We 've got him again,
Deacon! He's in town. He works in a paint
shop -had paint on his face. Or else he's a
blacksmith, or he works in coal, or something
black or dusty. We cah run him down now."
While they went for the two others who knew
Jack's face, he was putting on his Sunday clothes
and packing up. When he came down, there
was no ink upon his face, his collar was clean,
his hair was brushed, and he was a complete
surprise to Mr. Black and the rest.
"I can get a new boy," said Mr. Murdoch,
as if he were beginning to recover his spirits;
"and I can run the engine myself, now I 'm
S well. I can say in the next Eagle that you

are gone to the city, and that will help me out
of my troubles."
Neither Jack nor Mary quite understood what
he meant, and, in fact, they were not thinking
about him just then. Mr. Murdoch had said
that there was only time to catch the express-
train, and they were saying good-bye. Mary
was crying, for the moment, and Jack was
telling her what to write to his mother and
father and those at home in Crofield.
"It 's so sudden, Jack said Mary. But
I 'm glad you're going. I wish I could go,
I wish you could," said Jack, heartily; but
I '11 write. I '11 tell you everything. Good-bye,
Mr. Murdock's waiting. Good-bye! "
The Eagle editor was indeed waiting, and
he was very uneasy. What a calamity it
would be," he thought, to have my own devil'
arrested for burglary. The Inquirer would en-
V -

joy that! It is n't Jack's fault, but I can't bear
Meanwhile Mary sat at the table and pretended
to look among the papers for a new story, but
really she was trying to keep from crying over
Jack's departure. Mr. Murdoch and Jack had
gone to the station.
There was cunning in the plans of the pur-
suers of Mrs. McNamara's burglar this time.
Three of them, each aided by several eager



volunteers, dashed around Mertonville, search-
ing every shop in which any sort of face-black-
ing might be used, and Deacon Abrams him-
self went to the station with a justice of the
peace, a notary-public, a constable, and the
man that kept the village pound.
"He won't get by me," said the deacon,
wisely, as Mr. Murdoch and a neatly dressed
young gentleman passed him, arm in arm.
Good morning, Mr. Murdoch. The Eagle 's


Keep your satchel with you. I 'm going back
to the office."
"Good-bye," said Jack, pocketing his ticket
and entering the car.
He took a seat by an open window, just as
the train started.
"Jack 's gone, Mary," exclaimed Mr. Mur-
doch, under his breath, as he re-entered the
Eagle office. "Have those men been here
again ?"

.II I,

*sk6 i~s S1T~


improving. You did me justice. We 're after
that same villain, now. We '11 get him this
time, too."
Deacon," said the editor, gripping Jack's arm
hard, I '11 mention your courage and public
spirit again. Tie him tighter next time."
"We will," said the deacon; "and I 've got
some new subscribers for you, and a column
Mr. Murdoch hurried to the ticket-window,
and Jack patiently looked away from Deacon
Abrams all the while.
"There," said Mr. Murdoch, "jump right in.

No," said Mary. But the chairmen of the
two central committees have both been here.
Elder Holloway said they would. They will
call again."
"What did you say ? the editor asked.
"Why," replied Mary, "I told them you
were just getting well."
"So I am," said Mr. Murdoch. "There 's
a great demand for that number of the Eagle.
Forty-six old subscribers have stopped their
papers, but a hundred and twenty-seven new
ones have come in. I can't guess where this
will end. Are you going to the house ?"



I think I 'd better," said Mary. If there 's
anything more I can do--"
No, no, no! Don't spoil your visit," said he,
hastily. "You 've had work enough. Now
you must be free to rest a little, and meet your
He would not say he was afraid to have her
in the Eagle office, to stir up storms for him.
But Mary made'no objection she was very
willing to give up the work.
Mr. Murdoch came home in a more hopeful
state of mind, but soon went to his room and
lay down.
My dear," he said to his wife, the paper 's
going right along; but I 'm too much exhausted
to see anybody. Tell 'em all I 'm not well."
Mary was uneasy about Jack, but she need
not have worried. The moment the train was
in motion, he forgot even Deacon Abrams and
Mrs. McNamara in the grand thought that he
was actually on his way to the city.
"This train 's an express train," he said to
himself. "Does n't she go! I said I 'd get
there some day, and now I'm really going!
Hurrah for New York! It 's good I learned
something about the streets -I '11 know what
to do when I get there."
He had nine dollars in his pocket for capital,
but he knew more or less of several businesses
and trades.
In the seat in front of him were two gentle-
men, who must have been railway men, he
thought, from what they said, and it occurred to
Jack that he would like to learn how to build a
The train stopped at last, after a long journey,
and a well-dressed man got in, came straight to
Jack's seat, took the hitherto empty half of it,
and began to talk with the men in front as if he
had come on board for the purpose. At first
Jack paid little attention, but soon they began
to mention places he knew.
"So far, so good," remarked the man at his
side; "but we 're going to have trouble in get-
ting the right of way through Crofield. We '1
have to pay a big price for that hotel if we
can't use the street."
"I think not," said Jack, with a smile. "There
is n't much hotel left in Crofield, now. It was
burned down last Sunday."
VOL. XVII.-74.

"What ?" exclaimed one of the gentlemen in
front. "Are you from Crofield ? "
I live there," said Jack. Your engineer was
there about the time of the fire. The old bridge
is down. I heard him say that your line would
cross just below it."
The three gentlemen were all attention, and
the one who had not before spoken said:
I know. Through the old Hammond prop-
"It used to belong to Mr. Hammond," re-
plied Jack," but it belongs to my father now."
Can you give me a list of the other owners
of property ? asked the railway man with some
I can tell who owns every acre around Cro-
field, boundary lines and all," answered Jack.
" I was born there. You don't know about the
people, though. They'll do almost anything
to have the road there. My father will help all
he can. He says the place is dead now."
What 's his name ? asked the first speaker,
with a note-book and a pencil in his hand.
"His is John Ogden. Mine's Jack Ogden.
My father knows every man in the county,"
replied Jack.
Ogden," said the gentlemen in the forward
seat, next the window. My name's Magruder;
we three are directors in the new road. I 'm a
director in this road. Are you to stay in
Albany ?"
I go by the night boat to New York," said
Jack, almost proudly.
Can you stay over a day ? We '11 entertain
you at the Delavan House if you '11 give us
some information."
Certainly; I'll be glad to," saidJack; and so
when the train stopped at Albany, Jack was
talking familiarly enough with the three railway

Mary Ogden had a very clear idea that Mr.
Murdoch preferred to make up the next paper
without any help from her, and even Mrs. Mur-
doch was almost glad to know that her young
friend was to spend the next week with Mrs.
One peculiar occurrence of that day had not
been reported at the Eagle office, and it had
consequences. The Committee of Six, who had


visited the sanctum so threateningly, went away
beaten, but recounted their experience. -They
did so in the office of the Mertonville Hotel,
and Mike Flaherty had more than a little to say
about that gurril," and about the black eyes
of her," and the plucky way in which she had
faced them.
One little old gentleman whose eyes were still
bright, in spite of his gray hair, stood in the door
and listened, with his hand behind his ear.
Gentlemen," exclaimed this little old man,
turning to the men behind him. Did you
hear 'em ? I guess I know what we ought to do.
Come on into Crozier's with me- all of you.
We must give her a testimonial for her pluck."
Crozier's ? asked a portly, well-dressed man.
Nothing there but dry-goods."
"Come, Jeroliman. You 're a banker and
you 're needed. I dare you to come!" said the
little old man, jokingly, leading the way.
Seven of them reached the dress-goods counter
of the largest store in Mertonville, and here the
little old gentleman bought black silk for a dress.
You brought your friends, I see, General
Smith," said the merchant, laughing. One of
your jokes, eh ? "
"No joke at all, Crozier; a testimonial of
esteem,"-and three gentlemen helped one
another to tell the story.
I '11 make a good reduction, for my share,"
exclaimed the merchant, as he added up the
figures of the bill. "Will that do, General?"
I'll join in," promptly interposed Mr. Jeroli-
man, the banker, laughing. I won't take a dare
from General Smith. Come, boys."
They were old enough boys, but they all
"chipped in," and General Smith's dare did not
cost him much, after all.
Mary Ogden had the map of New York out
upon the table that evening, and was examin-
ing it, when there came a ring at the door-bell.
"It's a boy from Crozier's with a package,"
said Mrs. Murdoch; and, Mary, it's for you!"
For me ? said Mary, in blank astonishment.
It was indeed addressed to her, and contained
a short note:

"The girl who was not afraid of six angry men is
requested to accept this silk dress, with the compliments
of her admiring friends,
"Seven Old Men of Mertonville."

Oh, but, Mrs. Murdoch," said Mary, in con-
fusion, I don't know what to say or do. It's
very kind of them! but ought I to take it ? "
This testimonial pleased Mr. Murdoch even
more than it pleased Mary. He insisted Mary
should keep it, and she at last consented.
But not even the new dress made Mary for-
get to wonder how Jack was faring.

The lightning-express made short work of
the trip to Albany, and Jack was glad of it, for
he had not had any dinner. His new acquain-
tances invited him to accompany them to the
Delavan House.
As they left the station, Mr. Magruder took
from his pocket a small pamphlet.
"Humph!" he said. "Guide-book to the
New York City and Hudson River. I had
forgotten that I had it. Don't you want it,
Ogden ? It 'll be something to read on the boat."
"Won't you keep it ? asked Jack, hesitating.
"Oh, no," said Mr. Magruder. "I was
going to throw it away."
So Jack put the book into his pocket. It
was a short walk to the Delavan House, but
it was through more bustle and business,
considering how quiet everybody was, Jack
thought, than he ever saw before. He went
with the rest to the hotel office, and heard Mr.
Magruder give directions about Jack's room
and bill.
"He 's going to pay for me for one day,"
Jack said to himself, and until the evening boat
goes to-morrow."
"Ogden," said Mr. Magruder, "I can't ask
you to dine with us. It 's a private party--
have your dinner, and then wait for me here."
All right," said Jack, and then he stood still
and tried to think what to do.
I must go to my room, now, and leave my
satchel there," he said to himself. "I don't
want anybody to know I never was in a big
hotel before."
He managed to get to his room without
making a single blunder, but the moment he
closed the door he felt awed and put down.
"It 's the finest room I was ever in in all
my life! he exclaimed. "They must have
made a mistake. Perhaps I '11 have a bedroom
like this in my own house some day."




Jack made himself look as neat as if he had
come out of a bandbox, before he went down
The dining-room was easily found, and he
was shown to a seat at one of the tables, and a
bill of fare was handed him; but that was only
one more puzzle.
"I don't know what some of these are," he
said to himself. I '11 try things I could n't
get in Crofield. I 'l1 begin on those clams with
little necks."
So the waiter set before him a plate of six
raw clams.
That was a good beginning; for every one of
them seemed to speak to him of the salt ocean.
After that he went farther down the bill of
fare and selected such dishes as, he said, "no-
body ever saw in Crofield."
It was a grand dinner, and Jack was almost
afraid he had been too long over it.
He went out to the office and looked around,
and asked the clerk if Mr. Magruder had been
inquiring for him.
"Not yet, Mr. Ogden," said the clerk. "He
is not yet through dinner. Did you find your
room all right ? "
"All right," said Jack. "I '11 sit down and
wait for Mr. Magruder."
It was an hour before the railway gentlemen
returned. There were twice as many of them
now, however, and Mr. Magruder remarked:
"Come, Ogden, we won't detain you long.
After that you can do what you like. Thank
you very much, too."
Jack followed them into a private sitting-
room, which seemed to him so richly furnished
that he really wished it had been plainer; but
he found the men very straightforward about
their business.
They all sat down around the table in the
middle of the room.
"We 'll finish Ogden first, and let him go,"
said Mr. Magruder, laughing. "Ogden, here 's
a map of Crofield and all the country from there
to Mertonville. I want to ask some questions."
He knew what to ask, too; but Jack's first
remark was not an answer.
"Your map 's all wrong," said he. "There
is n't sand and gravel in that hill across the Co-
cahutchie, beyond the bridge."


u CKUritL. .

"What is there, then?" asked a gentleman,
who seemed to be one of the civil-engineers, pet-
tishly. "I say it 's earth and gravel, mainly."
Clear granite," said Jack. Go down stream
a little and you '11 see."
"All right," exclaimed Mr. Magruder; "it
will be costly cutting it, but we shall want the
stone. Go ahead now. You 're just the man
we needed."
Jack thought so before they got through,
for he had to tell all there was to tell about the
country, away down to Link's bridge.
"Look here," said one of them, quizzically.
"Ogden, have you lived all your life in every
house in Crofield and in Mertonville and every-
where? You know even the melon-patches
and hen-roosts !"
"Well, I know some of 'em," said Jack, col-
oring and trying to join in the general laugh.
"I would n't talk so much, but Mr. Magruder
asked me to stay over and tell what you did n't
Then the laughter broke out again, and it was
not at Jack's expense.
They had learned all they expected from
him, however, and Mr. Magruder thanked him
very heartily.
I hope you '11 have a good time to-morrow,"
he said. "Look at the city. I '11 see that you
have a ticket ready for the boat."
"I did n't expect-" began Jack.
"Nonsense, Ogden," said Mr. Magruder.
"We owe you a great deal, my boy. I would n't
have missed knowing about that granite ledge.
It's worth something to us. The ticket will be
handed you by the clerk. Good-evening, Jack
Ogden. I hope I '11 see you again, some day."
"I hope so," said Jack. "Good-evening,
sir. Good-evening, gentlemen."
Out he walked, and as the door closed be-
hind him the engineer remarked:
He ought to be a railway contractor. Bright-
est young fellow I 've seen in a long time."
Jack felt strange. The old, grown-up feeling
seemed to have been questioned out of him, by
those keen, peremptory, clear-headed business
men, and he appeared to himself to be a very
small, green, poor, uneducated boy, who hardly
knew where he was going next, or what he was
going to do when he got there. I don't know



about that, either," he said to himself, when he
reached the office. I know I 'm going to bed,
next, and I believe that I '11 go to sleep when I
get there!"
Weary, very weary, and almost blue, in spite
of everything, was Jack Ogden that night,
when he crept into bed.
"'T is n't like that old cot in the Eagle office,"
he thought. I 'm glad it is n't to be paid for
out of my nine dollars."
Jack was tired all over, and in a few minutes
he was sound asleep.
He had gone to bed quite early, and he
awoke with the first sunshine that came pouring
into his room.
"It is n't time to get up," he said. It '11
be ever so long before breakfast, but I can't
stay here in bed."
As he put on his coat something swung against
his side, and he said:
"There! I 'd forgotten that pamphlet. I '11
see what 's in it."
The excitement of getting to the Delavan
House, and the dinner and the talk afterwards,
had driven the pamphlet out of his mind until
then, but he opened it eagerly.
"Good!" he said, as he turned the leaves.
" Maps and pictures, all the way down. Every-
thing about the Hudson. Pictures of all the
places worth seeing in New York. Tells all
about them. Where to go when you get there.
Just what I wanted "
Down he sat, and he came near forgetting his
breakfast, so intensely was he absorbed by that
guide-book. He shut it up, at last, however,
remarking: I '11 have breakfast, and then I '11
go out and see Albany. It's all I've got to do
till the boat leaves this evening. First city I
ever saw." He ate with all the more satisfac-
tion because he knew that he was not eating up
any part of his nine dollars, and it did not seem
like so much money as it would have seemed in
Crofield. He was in no haste, for he had no
idea where to go, and did not mean to tell any-
body how ignorant he was. He walked out of
the Delavan House, and strolled away to the
right. Even the poorer buildings were far
better than anything in Crofield or.Mertonville,
and he soon had a bit of a surprise. He
reached a corner where a very broad street

opened, at the right, and went up a steep hill.
It was not a very long street, and it ended at
the crest of the hill, where there were some
trees, and above them towered what seemed to
be a magnificent palace of a building.
I '11 go and see that," said Jack. "I '11 know
what it is when I see the sign,- or I '11 ask some-
His interest in that piece of architecture grew
as he walked on up the hill; and he was a little
warm and out of breath when he reached the
street corner, at the top. Upon the corner,
with his hands folded behind him and his hat
pushed back on his head, stood a well-dressed
man, somewhat above middle height, heavily
built and portly, who seemed to be gazing at
the same object.
"Mister," said Jack, "will you please tell me
what that building is ? "
"Certainly," replied the gentleman, turning
to him with a bow and a smile. "That's the
New York State Miracle; one of the wonders
of the world."
"The State Miracle ? said Jack.
"What's your name ?" asked the gentleman,
with another bow and smile.
"Ogden,-Jack Ogden."
"Yes, Jack Ogden; thank you. My name's
'Guvner.' That's a miracle. It can never be
finished. There's magic in it. Do you know
what that is ? "
"That's one of the things I don't know, Mr.
Guvner," said Jack.
"I don't know what it is either," smiled Mr.
Guvner. When they built it they put in twenty
tons of pure, 'solid gold, my lad. Did n't you
ever hear of it? Where do you live when
you 're at home? "
"My home's in Crofield," said Jack, nbt
aware of a group of gentlemen and ladies who
were standing still, a few yards away, looking at
them. I 'm on my way to New York, but I
wanted to see Albany."
Mr. Guvner put a large hand on his shoulder,
and smiled in his face.
Jack, my son," he said, go up and look all
over the State Miracle. Many other States
have other similar miracles. Don't stay in it
too long, though."
"Is it unhealthy ?" asked Jack, with a smile.




The portly gentleman was smiling also.
"No, no; not unhealthy, my boy; but they
persuade some men to stay there a long time,
and they 're never the same men again. Come
out as soon as you 've had a good view of it."
"I '11 take a look at it anyway," said Jack,
turning away. Thank you, Mr. Guvner. I '11
see the Miracle."
He had gone but a few paces, and the others
were stepping forward, when he was called by
Mr. Guvner.
"Jack, come back a moment!"
"What is it, Mr. Guvner ? asked Jack.
I 'm almost sorry you 're going to the city.

It's as bad as the Capitol itself. You '11 never
be the same man again. Don't get to be the
wrong kind of man."
I'11 remember, Mr. Guvner," said Jack, and
he walked away again; but as he did so he
heard a lady laughing, and a solemn-faced gen-
tleman saying:
"Good morning, Gov-er-nor. A very fine
morning ?"
"I declare!" exclaimed Jack, with almost a
shiver. I 've been talking with the Governor
of the State himself, and I 'm going to see the
Capitol. I could n't have done that in Crofield.
And I '11 be in New York City to-morrow "

(To be continued.)

(At Twilight, in the Parlor.)


You 'RE vexed with me to-night, I know,
I won't ask you to kiss me.
There 's Nursie calling me!- I spect
You 'll be right glad to miss me.
I 'm sorry that I plague you so;
I guess I kill you nearly;
I guess you '11 never half believe,
But I do love you-dearly.
Oh, I do love you dearly.

I never meant to break your watch,
I thought I 'd just be trying
How fast the little wheel would turn
When something started- flying;
And whiz-z it went, and then stopped short;
I never meant to- never;
An' now you say it 's spoilt for good.
Can't it be mended ever ?

I never thought one little touch
Of pretty red upon it
Would spoil your picture yesterday;
I wish I had n't done it.
I thought I 'd like to help you some,
You 'd left the brush right ready;
I believe you 'd think 't was pretty, too,
If you looked at it steady.

I 'm sorry that I tore your frock.
That ruffle was so spreading.
My feet are little to look at,
But they 're right big for treading.
An' then I woke you from your nap;
The monkey was so funny,
I laughed out loud, before I thought,
To see him counting money.

I never mean to be so bad;
But everything I 'm doing
Just turns right straight to naughtiness;
There 's always mischief brewing,
So Nursie says, here in my head;
I 've cried my eyes out nearly;
You won't believe one single word,
But I do love you dearly.
Indeed, I love you dearly.

There 's Nursie calling loud; good-night.
Why, Sister, are you crying?
Oh, me! I never meant- there! there!
Let me the tears be drying.
Oh, oh! That hurts but still it's nice.
An' you '11 forgive--sincerely ?
Oh, hug me close, an' kiss me, too,
For I do love you dearly.
Oh, I do love you dearly!





I' SHOULD like to introduce to the readers of
ST. NICHOLAS a most interesting family,-pre-
sented to me one evening by a Lilliputian of my
acquaintance,- the Corkwells. I don't know
much about them, because I have only met
them casually in society; but they are intimate
friends of hers, and I shall let her explain who
they are, and give such fragments of their his-
tory as she was kind enough to favor me with
as we looked through the portfolio of sketches
which serves her in lieu of an album.

NO. I. NO. 2.
No. i.- This is Mrs. Corkwell. She's the
mother of them all. She 's looking at her
husband. He 's very interesting sometimes.
She's a good mother, and does n't like to beat
her children ever. Mrs. Corkwell 's lazy."

No. 2.-" This is the big boy, Bob. He's home
from school. He 's had his teeth knocked out
playing base-ball, you see,--all but one. I don't
like to draw boys their legs is so different."

No. 3.-" This one, you know, is Lily. She's
ten years old. She 's a good child. She's like
her mother."

No. 4.-" She 's Helen. She 's just getting
over scarlet-fever. She 's awful pale, is n't she ?
She's had mumps, and chicken-pox, and small-
pox, and yellow-fever -just an awful lot of

No. 5.-" Here 's Tom. He's just an awful

NO. 3. No. 5.

NO. 4.

NO. 6.

NO. 7.

bad boy. He's bad all the time. He looks like
Dr. Corkwell. But his head ain't right; there
was n't enough paper, so I could n't help it. I
think he looks Japanese."

No. 6.-" This one, now, is Frank. He 's
awful sly."

No. 7.-" This is the baby, Jeanette. She 's
cross-eyed in one eye, but you don't notice it."


No. 8.-" This is the nurse.
Her name is Elizabeth- Eliz-
abeth Caton. She 's awful
cross and fretful. Look at
her mouth! She 's a horrid
old thing! She brought them
all up, and they just hate her."

I then ventured to ask
where the father of the family
was, and what he was like, and
this was her reply:
"There ain't any yet! I
have n't made him. But I
will. I '11 cut him out quick
with the scissors and do his
face afterward."
She accordingly produced
in a twinkling this highly re-

No. 8.
spectacle practitioner (No.
9), whose nattiness in dress
and blandness of address
must strike the least obser-
vant eye, and said:
"Here he is! He 's a
doctor. But he don't never
ask anything when he goes
to see people, like some. I
wanted to give him coat-tails.
He would have looked so
nice with coat-tails, but they
got cut off."
NO. 9- No. io.-"She, I mean
Mrs. Corkwell, and him, I mean Dr. Corkwell,
has both of them got mothers. They are both
nice old women. This is Mrs. Corkwell'smother,
Mrs. Dixon. I don't often give them teeth -
they don't look nice. But I had to, Mrs. Dixon

is so very cheerful. She's always smiling, 'most.
And she talks my, but she talks! "

No. ii.--"Well, now, this is Dr. Corkwell's
mother -old Mrs. Corkwell. She 's nice and
quiet. Don't you think the Doctor looks like
his mother? I think he 's just the image of her.
Her cap is tied under her chin. Mrs. Dixon's
cap won't stay on that way 'cause she wears a
wig. Hers has to be tied on the side. You '11
see it in the picture that way."

/ .-

NO. 10. NO. II.

Can anybody doubt that the Corkwell family
exist, after this, though what they live on, consid-
ering the Doctor's rigid determination never to
take a fee under any circumstances, is more than
I can say. I should think his practice would
be extensive, and the vulgar question of mere
emolument he leaves to less lofty minds. My
young friend tells me he is a homypath "
sometimes and sometimes a allypath." I am
afraid he is not a graduate of any medical col-
lege, and is decidedly eccentric. But I like a
man of original views and generous aims, and
I must say for my part that I wish Doctor Cork-
well (and his family) well. May they live long
and prosper!




"WITH patience wait for it," were the first
words which came into my mind as, in the
night of May 5, 1889, a slight tapping noise at-
tracted my attention. On looking in the direc-
tion of the sound, I found the stranger, who first
knocked and then entered into the world with-
out waiting for a friendly "come in," was no
other than a beautiful Royal Walnut Moth
(Ceratocampa Regalis). "With patience," be-
cause, for eleven years, I had waited in vain for
the perfected state of this rare and beautiful
The first caterpillar of this species was given
me on August 30, 1878. After going through
his moultings successfully, and forming at length
a perfect chrysalis, he failed to appear, and
remained in his casket without power to reveal
what might have been."
Again and again other specimens were secured,
and carefully watched through different changes,
but all died before the perfect insects appeared.
On September 6, 1888, a fine specimen was
given me by a friend; and this, after more than
eight months' delay, is now the beautiful Cerato-
campa before me. Looking back at a record
made on September 8th of that year, I find this
entry: "Watching my Royal Walnut. He eats
silently and rapidly, the walnut-leaf melting
away in front of him. He clasps the leaf with
his first pair of russet-colored feet, and eats
downward, so that his head bends toward the
ground. The last two pairs of his long-spined
horns lie back gracefully. The first short pair
stand forward like ears. The second pair lie
across the third, now, as he eats. He eats so as
to leave a crescent in the leaf. The long nar-
row point of the leaf shakes like an aspen as he
eats, until he cuts it off and drops it. There are
three round black dots on each of the two last
pairs of horns on the little yellow part which is
next to the head. The three pairs of horns are
tipped with black. There are two pairs of horns

on the second and third segments. The long
point of the walnut-leaf, which he could not eat
(being unable to hold it, because it is so delicate),
he took with his fore feet, and lifted it gently out
of the way, and then began in a new place."
For the next day the entry is: "The Royal
Walnut keeps very still. Has lain for a half
hour in the same position head bent down, so
that the first pair of horns rest on the floor of
his prison." Upon September loth, "I gave
my Royal Walnut his last meal." At noon he
was walking slowly on the earth with which a
large box had been filled for him. After an after-
dinner nap, I again went to his box. The un-
tasted spray of walnut-leaves lay unwithered on
the surface, but no trace of the caterpillar was
to be seen. Not a movement of a grain of
earth above him. He had buried himself.
After a month had passed, curiosity overcame
prudence, and the earth was shaken back to see
if a perfect chrysalis was below. There he lay
in his imperfect, half-rounded bed--made by
moistening the earth about him and as still as
if dead."
The chrysalides of many moths will be seen
to show frequent signs of life; but the stillest of
all still things is the chrysalis of the Royal Wal-
nut. You may watch it for days and weeks, or
even watch its shadow, and you will see not the
slightest movement. The smooth, plump, black
head, with its two slanting breathing-holes, is as
still as a rock, and its rings (with the two queer
flat little humps on the front one) are as still as
the head. Again and again you say, If there
is any life in it, how can it keep so still ? Then
you satisfy yourself by stroking it very gently,
with the faintest touch of your finger, along the
side, and lo, a little cringe, showing the slightest
shrinking from the touch. That is all. Again
it is as still as a rock. After long watching
another stroke, and another almost imperceptible
cringe. It bides its time. So must you.


The eggs of the Royal Walnut closely resem-
S ble the Malaga grape in shape and color. They
are clear (unlike those of the Luna and Poly-
phemus moths) so clear that the larvae can be
seen through the delicate amber shells, long be-
fore they are broken for exit. At first the cater-
S pillar is nearly black. It changes in appear-
ance, however, with each moulting, at one time
being pale-green, again almost a chocolate, and
finally a deep dark-green, with pale bands of
blue. The ten spined horns with which it is
armed giveit
S'-'cV '"tol a menacing
... and formid-
,' able appear-
I; ance; but it
is at all times

kw^ '1 -

is curious to note the different expressions used
by those who look at it. Horrible creature! "
one exclaims. "It is almost beautiful-so
richly shaded," says another. One writer says
of this caterpillar, "It is handsomer than the
beautiful moth it produces." But, although it
has rich colors, curiously shaded, I should say
it took some nerve to see the beauty, as the
form is certainly unattractive. That from so
formidable a creature such an exquisite moth
should be produced seems little less than a mir-
acle. In color the moth is entirely different
from the caterpillar. Its fore wings are of a
grayish olive color, veined with lines of a pecu-
liar shade of red best described, I should say,
S as nacarat red. The hinder wings are red, with
S yellow spots of irregular form in front, and olive-
colored spots behind, between the veins. The
thorax is yellow, bordered with red. The an-
tennze, or feelers," are amber-colored and, in
the female specimen which I have, appear to
be ringed, when viewed by a microscope.
The moth is gentle and quiet. It takes no
notice of offered sweets, and shows no sign of
possessing a tongue. For a short time it gives
VOL. XVII.- 75.

its silent beauty to please, makes provision for
other silently beautiful moths (one hundred and
twelve eggs were laid by this one), and dies.
The most touching thing in the life of the
Royal Walnut is its self-burial. This was
carefully watched and timed in one specimen
(which, however, failed to develop an imago).
I will close this sketch by a quotation from a

record, kept at the time, of two Royal caterpil-
lars, one of which thus buried itself: "On the
3oth of August, 1882, I was fortunate enough to
find two specimens of this caterpillar on a large
walnut-tree. They were of a mulberry-brown
color (probably being in their second stage),
with heads of glassy brilliancy; brown feet,
striped with black; and light, diagonal side
stripes separating the spiracles or breathing pores.
Both were watched through their last moultings,
and one of them changed into a chrysalis on the
surface of the earth in his box. He had taken
no food for a week previous, and the opportu-
nity of watching him make the chrysalis was
unique and full of interest. He lay upon his
back with feet uppermost, and the head of the
chrysalis appeared earliest. It was large, and
of a delicate pea-green at first. The small, old
brown head of the caterpillar is now gliding
down very slowly on the top of the newly formed
chrysalis, as it lies on the spined horns below,


and looks so meek and helpless as it is pushed
down by the retreating skin. The sides of the
chrysalis, as they appear, are tinted with pale
red. The spiracles are oval and brown-bor-



dered; the antennae stand out clear amber.
Looking with my microscope, I can see the im-
mature parts of the moth's head arranging
themselves; the part where the head is, and in-
ner part of the vest, not yet being closed. If
this space closes over (as it seems to be closed
in a perfect chrysalis), it will be very strange to
see how it is done. The other Royal caterpil-
lar is eating his leaves contentedly on the wal-
nut branches above him (he is on a spray
growing from a bottle of water in his prison), in
blissful ignorance of his own coming change."
This chrysalis was not as perfect as those
formed underground. That of the second,
which buried itself, is the one shown in the pic-
ture. The record of its change is under date of
September 13:
I watched my Royal Walnut bury himself.
About half-past eleven A. M., I saw he had done
eating, and was very restless, so I put him on a
box of earth. It was a touching sight to see
him take charge of his own funeral. Slowly he
walked around, surveying the ground; and then,
at one corner, chose his lot, and began going
down, very slowly, head first, and a little way at
a time. He would raise up the back part of his
body, nearly vertically, every little while. This
earth was fine and mellow, and I thought how
difficult it must be for him to go down into the
hard ground under the walnut-tree. Nature is
wonderful in her workings:--Why do the Poly-
phemus, Luna, Cecropia, and Prometheus make

cocoons, while the moths of the Grape, Tomato,
and Walnut bury themselves in the ground?
Why does one never change its own way, and
try another's plan--some preferring a tomb,
and others a burial ? Ten minutes past twelve,-
forty minutes in all,- and the last speck of green
and brown has disappeared. By close watching,
with a magnifying glass, I learned a new and
wonderful thing. I saw plainly the reason he
did not go down faster. He was making a
smooth, soft tunnel for himself! He threw from
his mouth quantities of water or mucilage, and
thus softened and worked the earth, until the
whole tunnel was really plastered, and then, by
a succession of strong upheavals, he threw the
dry earth over the back part of himself (rather
than draw that in), until he was hidden from
sight. The earth above him trembled and moved
for several hours after, as if he was still at work
in his burial-place below." The 'oval earth-cas-
ket, which the caterpillar made, was much more
complete than the one which held the chrysalis
of my Royal Walnut moth. It was, probably,
partly from the gentle breaking of this, to see
the chrysalis, and from the jarring in taking its
likeness given in the picture, which prevented
the appearance of the perfect insect. One who
witnesses the wonderful transformation from the
creeping, ungainly worm to the exquisitely dainty
moth, winged and fitted for a higher life, is
reminded of the words of Scripture: "It doth
not yet appear what we shall be."






I- Merry little urchins, full of fun and noise.
Not a care or trouble. Happy little boys
S' Watch that little fellow; hear him gaily jest,
S'-- ]' -Ii He is very lucky, winning from the rest.

'i '! .| I I hear a girl's voice saying: Tom, you must
not play
SAnd keep, the marbles that you win. What
will Mamma say ?"
S. "Oh," replies young Tommy, with a happy
I, smile,
As he adds more marbles to his growing pile,
S',, JL l "; l" Nobody's a-cheatin', we 're all a-playin' fair,
And I 'm almost certain Mamma would n't
1 care."
i l' So the game continues. Tommy still is
.. And he never questions whether he is sinning.

'. Tommy's luck is changing, and the happy
-,,. Leaves his face as quickly as the marbles
leave his pile.
Now the game is ended, and he counts the
Crockeries, mibs, and ..- t -. all, oh, all are
THROUGH my open window, summer breezes Give me back my marbles!" Tommy .' :iI
straying, weeps.
Bring the shouts of school-boys with their Mamma says it 's wicked, when you play for
marbles playing. keeps!"




HERE were always many
needy families about
"i' whom Mother Bunny
i "''could tell when the
SBunnies asked her ad-
vice in making out their
lists, and they often
wondered how it hap-
pened that such a quiet
home-body as their
mother knew so very
S much about the poor,
the sick, and the unfortunate folk in the North
Village, and what they needed to help them
through the winter.
The Deacon was always willing the Bunnies
should give away all the things they raised in
their own part of the garden, if they wished to
do so.
This year the Bunnies had a l~rge bin of vege-
tables and several barrels of apples of their
These were chiefly windfalls," which they had
gathered on shares, the Deacon having told
them they might have one-half of all they could
find on the ground in the orchard before the
time came for picking the late fruit from the
The week before Thanksgiving Day, the Bun-
nies had great fun in filling the baskets and
bags and labeling them for Gaffer to deliver on
Saturday, when they could go with him and see
that no mistakes were made in finding the right
The Widow Bear and old Grandmother Coon
were Bunnyboy's favorites, and each had an
extra parcel from his stock.
They found the Widow Bear living in a much
more comfortable place than the old hovel, and
she told them that Tuffy was a good and help-

ful son, and his wages helped her to clothe the
younger children and to keep them in school.
Grandmother Coon thanked Bunnyboy for
his gifts, and said the Bunnies were growing
up to be just like their father."
Cousin Jack repeated this remark to Mother
Bunny, who seemed pleased to hear it.
Mother Bunny said she was afraid the neigh-
bors would spoil the children by praising them,
but Cousin Jack said they were all sensible Bun-
nies, "and besides," said he, "we all need a
little encouragement, now and then, to make us
do our best another time."
Then he told her that the trip had given him
a new idea about
gardening-how to
raise two crops a ,
year from the same,
Browny said that ''Jt i
could not be done. '.

I : I


I I1 .


,-" '

But Cousin Jack said, "The seed you planted
in the spring yielded a good crop of vegetables,


and now a wagon-load from your garden h,
yielded another harvest of happiness to other
as well as to yourselves."
At the tea-table on Wednesday evening tl-
Deacon turned to Cousin Jack and said," It
just ten years to-night
since we re-christened
Rab Bunny, is it not ?"
Cousin Jack looked
S veryhappy as he replied,-
"Yes, Uncle, but I have
not yet told the Bunnies
that part of Rab's story."
Something in Cousin i
Jack's voice and manner i
kept the Bunnies quiet,
until, after thinking a !'
minute, he said, Per-'
haps this evening will be I
a good time to finish -
Rab's story, for there is
a Thanksgiving flavor
about it which I am ?
sure Rab will never for-
get so long as he lives." .' ---
So away went all the '-
Bunnies to the library. .
Cousin Jack began .
the story in this way:
"When Rab was about
fifteen years old, sickness and trouble came
M other Deer, and Rab felt that he must fir
some work to do.
"Schoolmaster Bear told Rab that he wou
help him with his studies in the evening, ar
gave him a letter of recommendation.
In this letter he wrote that Rab was quick
at figures and wrote a plain, neat hand,' ar
also that he was 'prompt at his tasks, willing
learn, and a trustworthy boy.'
Mason Beaver's brother, who was a civ:
engineer, needed an assistant to carry the cha
and help him about the office writing, and wh(
Rab showed him the schoolmaster's letter ar
asked for work, he gave Rab the place on tried
Rab was very happy and a little proud wh(
he carried his first month's earnings to Moth
Deer and asked her to let him help her, no
that she was in trouble.
Mother Deer was sorry to have Rab lea,

his school, but, as it seemed to be the only way
to keep their pleasant home, they all made the
best of it, and together shared the dark days as
they had shared the brighter ones.
For more than a year, Rab's earnings spared

S, -2' /

to Mother Deer many anxious hours and bought
id her many comforts during her long sickness.
One sad day when Hazel and Rab stood by
Id Mother Deer's bedside, to say good-bye to her
id for the last time in this world, she whispered to
Rab, You have been like a son to me all these
:k years. Be good to Hazel when I am gone; be
id true to yourself; be brave and do right, and all
to will be well.'"
Cousin Jack's voice was unsteady and his
il- eyes were full of tears, but after a moment's
in silence he said:
en Well, well, we must not let Rab's griefs spoil
id our evening, for there were many strange things
al. yet to happen to him."
en Turning to Bunnyboy, he said, "You wished
er to know the other day, what became of Hazel
w Fawn, and I will tell you now.
Kind relatives of her mother, who lived in
ie a distant city, took Hazel home to live with


them, where she grew up to be as lovely and
gentle as her mother.
Her name is Mrs. Deer now, and she is
very proud of two little ones who call her
Mother, and whose names are Hazel' and
'Rab' in memory of the old days at Deer
Bunnyboy asked, "Cousin Jack, where is
Silva Fox ?"
You will be surprised," replied Cousin Jack,
when I tell you that you already know her.
Silva is now Miss Fox, of the Orphans' Home,
whom you met when we rescued Toddle Tum-
blekins Coon from the marsh."
This pleased the Bunnies, and they talked
about Silva until Browny interrupted by asking,
"What was Rab doing all this time ? "
To shorten the story," replied Cousin Jack,
e will skip a year of Rab's fitting himself
to enter a Naval academy.
Kind friends promised to secure him an
appointment to enter this great school if he
could pass the examination; and when he had
succeeded in winning that prize, the world
seemed very bright before him.
Dressed in the handsome uniform of the navy,
and among a jolly lot of mates of his own age,
the new cadet was as eager to excel in drilling,
and ship-practice, and
in his studies, as he
had been to beat his -
old schoolmates in -
running, swimming, or k N
"All went
on well and
smoothly for
several months, but
one day an accident
happened, whereby
he was stretched on a
hospital bed, maimed
and crippled.
"Instead of the T
grand life Rab had RAB AS A CADET.
planned, which was to be full of action and hero-
ism, there he lay helpless, with the prospect be-
fore him of being only a disabled pensioner of
the government he had hoped to serve.
He had been injured, too, before he had seen

any real service, and partly because of his own
In trying to fix a new fuse to an old torpedo-
shell as an experiment, the charge exploded,
and a fragment of iron injured his right knee.
"The surgeons were kind and skillful but they
gave him no hope of his ever being able to do
active service again.
One day, as he lay in the hospital, brooding
bitterly over his misfortunes, a visitor came to
his bedside, and, after speaking kindly with him,
she offered to write letters for him to his family
or friends.
The visitor was plainly dressed, and Rab no-
ticed that the only ornament she wore was a
patch of red cloth in the shape of a Greek cross,
which was sewed to her dress.
"The big tears came into his eyes as he said
to her, I have no family and only one near
friend in all the world, and I do not wish her to
know yet that I am crippled and helpless.'
"Then she told him her name was Sister
Gazelle, and that she belonged to the Society
of the Red Cross.
"Rab remembered then what the Red Cross
meant; for he had read about this brave band,
who went about the world nursing the sick and
helping the unfortunate.
"Sister Gazelle's manner was so quiet and
friendly, that in answer to her questions Rab told
her the story of his childhood and the little he
could dimly remember of his father and mother.
All he knew about his parents was the story
told by the old nurse who brought him away
from his home in the South when he was a little
"Sister Gazelle became very much interested
when he spoke of his Southern home, and asked
him what the nurse had said.
"Rab replied that she told the master at the
Poor-farm that he was Dr. Jack Bunny's son,
and his father and mother were both dying of
the terrible fever when they had sent her away
with the child to save his life.
When Rab had finished speaking, the Sister
took his hand in hers and said: Cadet Bunny,
it is very strange, but I know more of your sad
history than you know yourself, for I heard it
from your own mother only a few years ago.'
Rab was so surprised and delighted that he




could hardly believe he was not dreaming, and
he cried out, 'Is it true? Have you seen my
mother, and is she still alive ?'
"The eagerness in his voice and the trembling
hope in his eyes made it hard for the kind Sister
to tell him that he had no mother living, but
with great gentleness she said:
"' I am sorry to give you more pain, but your
dear mother wore the Red Cross for several
years after your brave father's death, and at last
laid down her life, as he had done, in caring
for the sick and suffering.'
Then the Sister told him how often and fondly
his mother had spoken of him, and how long
and patiently she had tried to find some trace of
him, or of the nurse in whose care he had been
sent to his father's brother in the North, at the
time his father died.
"The only word that ever came to her was
from this brother, who wrote her that the nurse
must have lost her way with the child, for no
trace of either could be found.
While she lived, the sorrowing mother never
quite gave up hope of finding her child, and
so she toiled on from hospital to hospital,
always searching for some one who could tell
her the fate of the little one.
"Then came her last sickness, when Sister
Gazelle had met her and cared for her until the
Rab listened as only a lonely orphan could
listen, who heard for the first time about his
own mother's love and sorrow for him, until at
last the good Sister said she must not talk with
him any more that day, but would come again
in the morning and bring him the pictures she
had of both his father and mother.
"Cheered by her kind words and hopeful plans
for his future, Rab began to feel that there
might yet be a place for even a cripple, who
was willing to make the best of his lot in life
and to try to be cheerful about it.
"As the days and weeks .went by, he grew
stronger and was able to get out-of-doors on
his crutches to practice what he called A lame
dog's arithmetic, putting down three and carry-
ing one,'- as he hopped about the yard.
"One morning, a few days before Thanksgiv-
ing Day, Sister Gazelle came again, and with
her was a stranger.

"As Rab came toward them, the stranger
gave him a quick, keen glance from head to
foot, and then placing both hands on Rab's
shoulders, he said heartily:
"' So I have found you at last! You are Dr.
Jack's boy, and no mistake! I am your uncle.'
"When the first surprise of their joyful meeting
was over they all sat down, while the smiling
Sister told Rab how she had found his uncle by
advertising in the newspapers of the North,
asking the brother of Dr. Jack Bunny to send
her his address.
The brother had seen the advertisement, and
the kind uncle had come to take him to his own
home in the country, several hundred miles far-
ther north than Rab had ever been.
The next day all the arrangements were
made for Cadet Bunny to begin a new life with
his own kindred.
"On the evening before Thanksgiving Day,
after a long ride in the cars, Rab and his uncle
arrived at his new home, where for ten happy
years he found enough to make him glad and
thankful every day of his life."
"Where is Rab now, and what was his uncle's
name? asked Bunnyboy, with a wise expression.
Cousin Jack replied slowly, "I thought you
had guessed my secret by this time, but if you
have not, I can say only that the last I knew of
Rab, he was living with his good friends at Run-
wild Terrace, spending a great deal of time tell-
ing stories to a lot of good-natured Bunnies; and
that his uncle's name was Deacon Bunny."
I thought so, a long time ago," said Pink-
eyes, "but I did not dare to say it, because your
name is not Rab."
Rab was only a nickname," said Cousin Jack,
"which was changed to Jack, my real name,
when I came to live with my uncle and aunt,
just ten years ago to-night."
Then the Bunnies were so noisy, talking to
and hugging Cousin Jack, that the Deacon and
Mother Bunny came into the library.
"Where is Sister Gazelle now ? asked Pink-
"Your mother had a letter from her to-day,
and perhaps she will tell us," replied Cousin
Sister Gazelle is still wearing the Red Cross,"
said Mother Bunny.



Then she added, I have a surprise for you,
too; for Sister Gazelle is coming to-morrow to
visit us, and I have invited Miss Silva Fox to
meet her and dine with us."
The Bunnies were doubly surprised and pleased
with this news, and Pinkeyes said, How strange
it is that Sister Gazelle found our Cousin Jack
for us, and Cousin Jack found our Cuddledown."
That is just what I was thinking about," said
Bunnyboy; for if it had not been for her kind-
ness we might not have had either Cuddledown
or Cousin Jack with us now."
Then the Deacon looked at his watch and
said, Come, the story is done, and it is time
all you Bunnies were asleep, for to-morrow will

be a busy day if we are as thankful as we should
be for the blessings we enjoy."

And now, while they say good-night," we
will say good-bye," and join in wishing the
Bunny family many years in which to share their
happiness with others, and many glad re-unions
on "Thanksgiving Day."




IN our suggestions for spring costumes, we
show a design for a child of six, one for a girl
between twelve and fourteen years, and one for
a young girl of fifteen. For the costume of
the latter, fawn-colored camel's-hair is an excel-
lent material. The yoke and the trimming
upon the sleeves are of velvet, a trifle darker in
shade, but of the same color as the gown. The
velvet can be embroidered with slender gold
threads in delicate arabesques. The back of the
gown is in one piece, extending from the neck
to the lowest hem of the skirt, in polonaise form.
The hat is of tan-colored straw, faced with the
same velvet as that in the yoke, omitting, of
course, the embroidery. The crown of the hat
is surmounted by small, white flowers, with a hint
of green leaves threaded through them.
For the girl of twelve years, it is suggested
that in the main part of the dress gobelin blue
India silk be used; with, perhaps, a small fig-
ure in a deeper shade of the blue, or in black.
The broad, crinkled belt is of blue velvet; and

the little jacket, which finishes at the back in a
straight, close line at the waist, is of the same
material. The short, cap-like sleeves are of
velvet, laced with a blue cord. A similar cord
edges the jacket. The frill collar around the
neck is of the finely pleated India silk.
The under-sleeves are made of the same silk,
"accordion pleated," and finished with a pleated
frill. The full skirt is gathered at the waist-line,
and again at the neck between the two jacket-
fronts. The hem of the skirt is trimmed with
four or five rows of narrow ribbon velvet, of the
same shade as the velvet used in the belt and
the short sleeves.
For the child's costume, dark green-and-blue
wool plaid may be used for the skirt and for the
crown of the Scotch cap. The little jacket of
black velvet is trimmed with frogs of black silk
cord, and plain silk cord edging the jacket and
collar. Around the crown of the cap is a roll
of the velvet, finished with a silver ornament
fastening the two square-tipped black feathers.

VOL. XVII.-76.



WELL, now, this is delightful! Here comes
May, the most promising month of all the twelve,
smiling through the wakingbranches, and stirring
the very floor of my meadow; and here are you,
my sunny rioters, eager to go a-Maying in any
pleasant way that presents itself. Skipping,
laughing, blossom-hunting, wreath-making, feeling
glad and grateful, through and through this
it is to go a-Maying! Ah, if not only young
folk but old folk, busy folk and sorry folk, all could
go a-Maying, what a blessed thing it would be!
Let us unite, therefore, in singing this bright spring
carol, which my birds have just brought in from
your friend Emma C. Dowd:

Oh, that will be a merry time,
When all the world goes Maying!
From every tower, in every clime,
The bells will ring, the bells will chime,
When all the world goes Maying !

Then sorrowing folk will all grow gay,
And care will go a-straying;
And busy folks will stop to play,
And wrong will cease for one sweet day,
When all the world goes Maying!

Weakness will walk in strength's own guise,
And time will make delaying,
And love will shine from out all eyes,
And wisdom will have grown more wise,
When all the world goes Maying !

Then prison doors will widely swing,
Pain will go roundelaying,
Banners will wave, and anthems ring,
And every voice will laugh and sing,
When all the world goes Maying!


A SHREWD boy named Joseph lately startled the
fellows in the Red School-house by announcing that
before school-time the next morning he would con-
fidentially tell any boy who brought him a good
apple the surest and easiest way to make a dollar.
Well, before nine the next morning, that lad, as
you may well believe, was well supplied with apples
- and six boys' heads were not quite as empty as
they had been before. For Joseph had whispered
to each in turn that to make a dollar, a fellow had
only to take one a, two 1's and a d, an r and an
o, and, by putting them together properly, he would
have made a dollar in less than no time.
I suppose, in the same spirit, Joseph would be
quite charmed to learn from Laura G. L- 's in-
structive little letter, which you shall now see, how
money was first made:
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: You asked us if we could
add some words to the dear Little Schoolma'am's list of
interesting derivations of popular words, so I have found
a few for you.
Money is from the temple of Juno Moneta, in which
money was first coined by the ancients.
Pecuniary is from pecus, a flock; flocks and herds of
animals being originally equivalent to money or things
constituting wealth.
Cash, in commerce, signifies ready money, or actual
coin paid on the instant, and it comes from the French
word caisse, a coffer or chest in which money is kept.
Groat was a name given to a silver piece equal to four
pennies in value, coinedby Edward III. The word(groat)
is a corruption of grosses, or great pieces, in contradis-
tinction to the small coins or pennies.
Shilling and penny are both Saxon words: the penny
was first coined in silver, and is originally derived from
the word pand, to pawn, with the diminutive suffix "ing";
the next shape the word took was pennig; and then
followed our penny.
Of course our word cent is from centum, a hundred,
for the cent is a hundredth part of a dollar.
Dollar has a curious derivation. The first step back
makes it thaler, then thal, a valley, but thal originally
meant a deal or division; so the gold or silver was dealt
or divided into pieces worth a thaler, the German form,
or dollar, the American.
But I must close this very monetary letter.
Your admiring reader, LAURA G. L--.


CLINTON A. MONTGOMERY sends you, all the
way from Michigan, directions for making a very
pretty and interesting experiment.
First of all, he says, you must choose a windy
day for the trial; whether it is clear or cloudy,
cold or hot, makes no difference; but it must not
be rainy or murky weather.
Now, take a polished metal surface of two feet
or more in length, with a .straight edge (a large
hand-saw, Mr. Montgomery says, will answer the
purpose). Hold this metallic surface at right-
angles to the direction of the wind. For instance,
if the wind comes from the west, then hold the
metallic surface north and south. But, instead of



holding it perpendicular, you must incline it about
42 degrees to the horizon, so that the wind, in
striking it, 'will glance upward and flow over the
edge of the metal, as water flows over a dam.
Now sight carefully along the edge of the metal
at a sharply defined object, and you will see the
wind pouring over the edge in graceful curves.
Of course, you understand that wind is nothing
more nor less than air in motion. You will hardly
ever fail in the experiment if you make your obser-
vations carefully.


DEAR JACK," writes Angus E. Orr of Georgia,
Mr. Holder wrote in the ST. NICHOLAS many
months ago about 'How Some Birds Are Cared
For,' and now I should like to tell you how some
eggs are cared for. Away off in the Antarctic Ocean
there is a bird called a penguin, which cannot fly,
but which swims like a duck. It swims better than
a duck, in fact, and dives well, too. Now, the
penguins are fishers by trade, and they have to
work like beavers, so to speak,-harder than bea-
vers, indeed, to make a decent living. So hard do
they have to work that they have no time to set on
their eggs as a hen does. And they can't run off
like the ostrich and leave the sun to be mother to
their eggs, because the sun only looks sideways on
the penguin's part of the map, and itis 1 kl I. :. ..'
there any time, even in August. So, how in the
world do they hatch? Well, the mother penguin
has a pocket in her skin like the one in which apos-
sum carries her babies. And when she lays an eo".
she simply puts it in her pocket and quits 1.r-,n;
till that one hatches. Yes, she puts it in I-.-
pocket and goes nilhiin She never intrusts the
egg to any one but h-:-i.-l, and then she knows
just when the little bird will break its shell and
open its mouth for a meal. Now, that is what I
call a lively way of setting.'"

So far, so good. And now that you have given
your polite attention to scientific matters, here is a
legend which Jessie E. R- :.. -: has written out
for you. She says it was told to a missionary
by a native of the island where the legend grew:

THAT there is a man in the moon has been told
in the tales and songs of many countries, but it is
known only to the wild islanders of the Pacific
Ocean that he is so fortunate as to have a wife.
I .:. -.-i c:. -:. Il r.i i call him Marama, a name
that seems 'c-.-. rP,.-..-:; ,i,_- to the soft and gentle
moonlight. .': -':.!- heir legend, he, many
years ago, -,:! t. :,: i.:wn upon a certain fair
and industrious young girl who lired upon that
i:--.1 l i. .-.-iti-l ',: :-J her h to behiswife. The
maiden was as r..:-.. -,1 as .-i, f-r -r --, and at first
objected that he lived at an inconvenient cl.:',..- :
but Marama speedily built a bright new moonbow
from the island to his home, and over this shining

bridge the lovely Ina traveled sakfly to her new
abode. She haslived thereir -rt,--*r!,.;. ,',.''' .-
since, and she still keeps her' ... -,',;.; 7i.
spots upon the moon, which are sonetimnies fisl-
ishly fancied to be the eyes, nose, and ?mnath of a
broad, shining face, are, in fact, but the great heaps
of cocoanuts which she ,;JJl i .-' stores Up
family food.
Like the women of her native '1... J, Ina has
great skill in the manufacture :. I! -:';.; an is
anxious to make it very smooth and white, Ea-
joying such unusual ,. .-.:*;:..- of spu, she
stretches her broad sheets out against the sky to
bleach, and these are what the people of aithir
nations call white clouds. To render the lfaibic
perfectly -- n '., r. she beats it with stwsna, just as
she did on earth, and she is so meal in her w lsk
that these stones often crash -::iF: -.r and s=alke
the sound which by us is called ti-,. ri ,.'. To leam
that these stories are true, it is only nef osarfi y t
watch the sky on a waPr~nm '"-i : .1".. ,r ,.1.,.1,It
is -.iIL .r down, and see t- i ...'.. i ;'.. i1.
that quiver rr. i the air as the i. I.. -, ...
the Moon h'tIil-':, .-r- up her siets Mf d6irlt],,
and shakes them vigorously before f ldiing tdinem

I'. ;--r **--.. CA.L
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PI.IT : IlB She iriAtaln y
ST. NICHOLAS I read what you said ablan the
shrub which tied a knot in itself I i -ft.,-.J!.. -
would write and tell you about a twist in a enuta-
lvptns tree in front of our honae.i. IHeme ims a
,l-,.r, -A of it. The trunk gin,. '..1;; Thi finS- a
little way, then bends oNe j.,-'.ii' .ii. ttine
in 'iL Q. iaSntes a didtdke
W. "''. #iuDiStEinM utMu

STe ti. dtt m iis rs
S : .iabh-me gimndi, b.. hmw

itgmottthee II slsselt ken.
S l m' It hlisaishiiten-am ll.r-i.
S "' as I Ia e i .- fl Ti[.-r -
wiarhd ie fa: i --n i
-'" .has abateil m atb att-
I ^' shun eEmM tunmiifn MEait

;' ClChiinee sftqp aud1 IalEk
'd i r .-. .-.i ; Iajm.-.rn ji, I

iit 'dmla tme ttdde i twit airl
.plaBy minse tiflicm.
17 Vunlirmosln;awunt .p .n i
am f R-anii mtlis Wawll

COULD the ftree, when i. :1 '.' 1 i-1-. lh ie
been twisted and.-i ., i. .l -: ri ;., tfit
way W. P. G. dresciiibesw? TIhe dmikarnm aasys lhe
has heard somewknhei tthalt as flet tvilt if 3 ltrtt tbth
tree 's inihineid Some one amny hIw ... Itlitt ttiliis


ST. NICHOLAS readers will be glad to know that
Helen Keller, the blind little girl of whom they read in
the number for September, 1889, has written a story
which will appear in the magazine before long. Mean-
while, we print with pleasure this letter which she has
sent to the Letter-box:
SOUTH BOSTON, March, 1890.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am very happy because you
are going to print my little story. I hope the little boys
and girls who read ST. NICHOLAS will like it. I wonder
if any of them have read a sad, sweet story called Little
Jakey." I am very sure they would like it, for Jakey is
the dearest little fellow you can imagine. His life was not
so full of brightness as "Little Lord Fauntleroy's,"
because he was poor and blind; but I love them both,
and call them my dear little friends. This is the way
Jakey tells of his blindness:
"Ven Gott make my eyes, my moder say he not put
ze light in zem."
I used to think when I was a very small child, before
I had learned to read, that everybody was always happy;
and at first I was grieved to know about pain and great
sorrows, but now I understand that if it were not for these
things people would never learn to be brave and patient
and loving. One bright Sunday, a little while ago, I
went to see a very kind and gentle poet. I will tell you
the name of one of his beautiful poems, and you will then
be able to guess his name. The Opening of the Piano "
is the poem. I knew it and several others by heart, and
I had learned to love the sweet poet long before I ever
thought I should put my arms around his neck and tell
him how much pleasure he ehad given me and all of the
little blind children, for we have his poems in raised
letters. The poet was sitting in his library by a cheerful
fire, with his much-loved books all about him. I sat in
his great easy-chair, and examined the pretty things, and
asked Dr. Holmes questions about people in his poems.
Teacher told m abo e about the beautiful river that flows be-
neath the library window. I think our gentle poet is very
happy when he writes in this room, with so many wise
friends near him.
Please give my love to all of your little readers.
From your loving friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about a dog.
There is a provision store across the street, where
they keep two large bulldogs. Not long ago, one rainy
morning, when the gates of the back yard were opened
to take out the business wagon, one of the dogs rushed
out into the back alley, and brought in a miserable little
puppy. He was about as large as you could grasp in
your hand, all drenched with rain, and shivering with
cold, and the bulldog took the puppy into his own kennel
with him.
When one of the girls of the family heard of it, and
went out to see them, the bulldog jumped around in a
very excited manner, and would hardly let her come
near the little stranger. But, at last, he took her into

his confidence, and let her take the puppy into the house
to be warmed and dried by the fire; but the big dog
followed them in and insisted on doing his share to
make the little fellow comfortable, lying down by the
fire, and taking him between his big paws.
I think it was very strange -don't you ?- that a sav-
age bulldog should take any interest in a miserable little
stranger like that.
I suppose he heard him crying through the night, and
felt sorry for him. I think the ST. NICHOLAS is
splendid, and that "Crowded out o' Crofield" is just
"a daisy." Your little reader, GEORGE M. R--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I do not know whether you
ever had a letter before from Algiers or not. If you
never had a letter before from Algiers, this will be the
first one; if you have had one letter before from Algiers
this will be the second one; if you have had two letters
before from Algiers, this will be the third one.
Algiers is where the Soldier of the Legion lay a-dying
in. It contains French persons, Arabs, donkeys, and
English residents. The English residents come here
on account of the climate, which is very bad in winter.
They like a bad climate.
I have no pony, or dog, or donkey; but in Spain I
had fleas, and now I have a cold. I was in an Arab shop
a few days ago, where there was an Arabian cat. The
Arabian cat sat on a cane-seat chair, and when I
scratched my fingers under the chair the Arabian cat
would play with them. There are many other strange
animals in this country.
Everybody reads ST. NICHOLAS in our" family, even
the children. We like you very much. My favorite
piece is a poem called "A Valentine," published several
years ago. I think that was perfectly splendid. I wish
you would have a serial poem, by the same author, to
run for two or three years.
I was thirty-four years old last October. That is all
I can think of about Algiers.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We read the account of the
"Great Storm at Samoa," in your February number, and
we want to tell you how deeply interested in it we were.
We saw H. M. S. Calliope launched five and ahalf
years ago in Portsmouth harbor; and, besides having two
brothers in the Royal Navy, we are, of course, interested
in anything concerning ships at sea."
I can well remember the thrill of horror with-which I
listened to the first accounts of the dreadful hurricane at
Samoa, and the thankfulness which filled our hearts to
learn that our own ship, the Calliope, had escaped.
It does one good to read of all the heroism displayed,
both by the Americans and Samoans, though it is so un-
speakably sad to think of the numbers of lives that were
lost. I can not bear to think of the relatives of all those
brave men. Words fail one in speaking of their terrible

Yours very truly,

K. R. 0--.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about a pet
dove I have. His name is Ramond," but I call him
Ramie for short. To-day he made me cry of laughing
-he was so funny. I set him on my bureau before the
looking-glass. At first he did nothing, but he soon found
the dove in the glass. His feathers stood straight up in
the air, and he dashed at the glass, which gave his head
sounding bump. He immediately jumped back a few
yards, eying his opponent for a few minutes, and then
walked away, utterly disgusted. As he walked, of course
the one in the glass walked, too. He looked around
again; the dove in the glass was by his side. His feathers
went up again, and he made another spring at the glass,
but not so hard as the first one. When he got by the
glass he began to coo, then to neigh like a horse, and jump
up and down, and going around in a circle, the dove in
the glass doing the same thing all the time. At last, he
got so exasperated that I took him away, all the time
jumping about in my hand as if crazy.
I have taken you for three years, and hope to take you
for fifty more.
I remain your loving reader, CHAS. N- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little army girl, and love
it more than I can tell.
In your January number, a little friend of yours said
it was so very funny to ride in an ambulance with four
mules. I ride in one every morning to school, and it
keeps us very warm and comfortable.
My father goes out on the range (target-grounds) every
summer, and when we lived in the South he was gone
over a month from us, because the range was over three
hundred miles off.
If you had room to print it, I would tell you the won-
ders of Great Salt Lake.
I hope to see this letter in print, as I never have seen
one from Utah before.
Your loving reader, MARGUERITE R- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: It has always been my ambi-
tion to write you a letter, but I have never thought that
I had anything interesting enough to tell about. Just
now I am in Antwerp, Belgium, on my way to school in
Germany. There are some things here that might inter-
est some of the readers who have not happened to hear
about them. Antwerp, as every one knows, is a very
ancient town. It has a beautiful Gothic cathedral, with
a chime of about one hundred bells, which ring out
sweetly every half hour of day and night.
This place is, perhaps, best known for being the birth-
place of Rubens, the great painter. On my first visit to
the Museum of Ancient Paintings," I saw the Belgian
artist who was born without arms. You will wonder
how he can paint if he has no arms; it is because he
has managed to teach his toes to act as fingers, and with
them does wonderful work. When he visits a shop and
wishes to pay for anything, he nimbly draws the money
from his shoe, and puts it on the counter with his toes.
The Belgian trades-people are very funny. There is
always great fighting over prices with them. One market-
day I saw a woman, after much squabbling, put down a
reasonable price, seize her article, and run off, followed by
the scolding market-woman, who soon got discouraged
and gave up the chase.
ST. NICHOLAS seems like a dear old friend, as it fol-
lows me across the ocean. I have taken you since I was

three years old, and am now eleven. I am happy to see
"Jack" in his old place again, and hope he will never
leave it. My Mamma and I enjoy the picture puzzles
in the Riddle-box," and, together, we have guessed
them all. A loving reader of your magazine,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The reproduction in your Feb-
ruary number of the drawings of Master Clement Scott

tempts me to fulfill a desire I have had for several months,
to send you the inclosed efforts of my little daughter
of six years.
The most spirited, Marching to Georgia," was sug-

gested by the favorite song, freely indulged in by mem-
bers of the family. The ship, full-flagged, rather than
full-rigged, and coming in to port, was an effort wholly
of the imagination. The fact of the sun, moon, and
stars shining simultaneously may suggest an inconsis-
tency in the minds of even your youngest readers, as
well as the presence of petticoats on the deck of a" man-
of-war." Very truly,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In the January number, I read
an acknowledgment from a "Young Mother," who
expresses her delight in still reading ST. NICHOLAS. I
wish to do likewise, and will add that my people "at
home still read you with much interest, as they have
since'76 -"Grandpa and Grandma" still perusing your
delightful pages.
I have two boys, the older being a little over two years
of age, and he now teases to look at ST. NICHOLAS, call-


ing one of last year's numbers the doggee book," from
the illustrations of dogs which it contained.
Wishing you all success, and hoping that 19oo will find
you with undiminished prosperity, I remain, as ever, your
devoted friend and reader, MRS. H. C. S- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I don't believe I ever have
seen a letter from Louisville on your pages, and have
often wondered why some Kentucky girl or boy did not
write a letter to represent our own State. I, however,
will take advantage of their failure to do so, and write
and tell you something that will not only surprise many
other Southerners, but will, doubtless, disappoint them as
much as it disappointed me. I read it the other day, and
this is what it was:
The real truth is, that Dixie' is an indigenous North-
ern negro refrain, as common to the writer as the lamp-
posts in New York City seventy or seventy-five years ago.
And no one ever heard of Dixie's Land being other than
Manhattan Island, until recently [this was printed in
1865], when it has been supposed to refer to the South,
from its connection with pathetic negro allegory. When
slavery existed in New York, one Dixy owned a large
tract of land on Manhattan Island and a large number of
slaves. The increase of the slaves, and the increase of the
abolition sentiment, caused an emigration of the slaves to
more thorough and secure slave sections; and the negroes
who were thus sent off naturally looked back to their
old homes, where they had lived in clover, with feelings
of regret, as they could not imagine any place like
Dixy's. Hence, it became synonymous with an ideal
locality, combining ease, comfort, and happiness of every
description. In those days negro singing was in its
infancy, and any subject that could be wrought into a
ballad was eagerly picked up. This was the case with
'Dixie.' It originated in New York, and in its travels
it has been enlarged and has gathered more moss.' It
has picked up a note' here and there. A chorus has
been added to it; and, from an indistinct chant' of two
or three notes, it has become an elaborate melody. But
the fact that it is not a Southern song can not be rubbed
out. The fallacy is so popular to the contrary, that I
have thus been at pains to state the real origin of it."
I almost hope it did give him some pains to write
about it; but even if it is true, we Southerners won't
relax our claims on Dixie any more than Americans
will give up My Country, 't is of Thee." My letter
is much longer than I intended to write, and I should
love to see it printed. Remember, it is from a devoted
reader, who prides herself on being

I saw a letter from Fannie H. B- Phoenix, Arizona.
Phoenix is my home. I have lived there six years. I
am in Redlands, Cal., now, with my grandmother and
grandfather. About a year ago I saw a letter from a little
girl from some fort in Arizona.
I have a brother who was born on the 8th of February,
1877, and I was born on the 8th of February, 1876. So
I am just one year older than he is. I am very fond of
hunting and fishing. So is my brother. My brother
got a shotgun for a present last year, so he gave me his
My grandfather has a large orange-grove here. And
he has two greyhounds to keep the rabbits off. Their
names are "Lion" and "Tiger." I was very much

interested in that story you published in November,
"Coursing with Greyhounds in Southern California."
I remain, your admiring reader, ALMA C. H. M- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl seven years
old. My papa is an army officer, so I have traveled a
great deal, but I have managed to get the ST. NICHOLAS,
which has pleased me very much. "Juan and Juanita"
was the first story I ever understood, and I liked it very
much, because the last name is my mamma's, and I have
given it to Dolly who came on Christmas. I will tell you
all about her another time, if you will let me. Last week
I went to see Little Lord Fauntleroy played, and as
my mamma had read it to me I understood it.
Your interested reader, ZOE A. D- .

HERE are two interestingletters received several months
ago at the publication office of ST. NICHOLAS.
UNION CLUB, BOSTON, Jan. 16, 1890.
DEAR SIRS: The inclosed note speaks for itself. I
threw off the train, lastAugust, a copy of ST. NICHOLAS,
and asked the finder, if a child, to send to you and order
the magazine for one year. To-day this reply is received,
and I write to ask you to send ST. NICHOLAS for one
Kindly send bill to me and I will remit.
12- 19, 1889.
DEAR SIR: Whilst looking over the ST. NICHOLAS
which you so kindly threw of the train a few miles west
ofHelena, afew months ago, I discovered on the fly-leaf
a note desiring that the little one who found that maga-
zine might benefit by it for a year, and send the bill to
you. As it is near Christmas, I will be very happy to
accept it as a Christmas gift.
Wishing you a merry Christmas and a happy New
Year, Very truly yours, MARY BEATRICE BRIEN,
Nine years old.

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters which we have received from them: Hal-
lie H., Ethel D., Marjorie B., Merritt C. B., D. E. J.,
L. S. C.,Mayne J. F., Edith M. B., Lucile E. T., Edna
K. G., Bessie H., Catherine D. C., Ethel, Eric McC.,
May H., Ella C. D., Elsa C., Lulu C., Mamie L. T.,
G. M., Harold M., Edith K., Ada W. B., Charles G.,
Lindsay M., E. N.,D. N., M. M., Elizabeth A., Marian
L., Alice and Ellen, Harry G. W., T. F., Jo. C. S., Adile
H., Daisy and Buttercup," Bertha N., Percy M., Gen-
evra and Margaret, Julie McC., Heloise, Fanchon DeP.,
"Fiddle," Maud H., C. M. B., Lizzie R. J., Mollie G. K.,
Florence G. G., Sam K. M., Frederick H., Beulah G.,A.
L. I., Otto G. H., Grace A. L., M. W. V., Jex," Helen
R. M., Carrie and Fred N., Helen L. S., Frank P. G.,
" Stars and Stripes," Kate S., Mabel E. F., Robert S. H.,
Charles C. R., Marion C. B., R. H. W., E. S., Allyn
F. W., Rita P., Miriam C., Sara C. B., Belle L. R., Eu-
genia, A., Elsa C., M. and E. Allen, Frank H. T., Ethel
Y. C., Lizzie W. F., Ruth O., N. H., C. W. M., Louis
H. H., L. D.,"H. H. G. R. R.," Lalite L., Dancie,"
Genevieve and Dorothy, Sallie S. and Mary R., Josephine
G., Nannie B. J., A. E. J., Kathleen H.



A FRENCH ZIGZAG. Poisson d'Avril. I. Paien. 2. Court. 3. P. Through hedge-row leaves, in drifted heaps
Moine. 4. Lisse. 5. Frais. 6. Sabot 7. Gener. 8. Adieu. 9. Left by the stormy blast,
Asile. o1. Eveil. ii. Perte. 12. Lacis. 13. Senil. The little hopeful blossom peeps,
WORD DWINDLE. Fragments. 2. Garments. 3. Magnets. And tells of Winter past;
4. Gasmen. 5. Games. 6. Game. 7.Gem. 8. Em. 9. M. A few leaves flutter from the woods,
Two ESCUTCHEONS. I. Centrals, Shakespeare. Cross-words: That hung the season through,
i. Transepts. 2. Perchance. 3. Chaos. 4. Hakot. 5. Creel. Leaving their,place for swelling buds
6. Testy. 7. Repel. 8. Steve. 9. Snack. so. Orb. ii. E. To spread their leaves anew.
II. Centrals, Saint George. Cross-words: r. Intestate. 2. Dis-
parity. 3 Trice. 4. Tenet. 5. Vital. 6. Vigil. 7. Press. 8. ABSENT VOWELS. Easter. x. The more haste, the less seed.
Dross. 9. Horal. o1. Aga. ii. E. 2. Be it ever so humble there's no place like home. 3. The greatest
MUSICAL ACROSTIC. Normann Neruda. Cross-words: I. Rondo. strokes make not the sweetest music. 4. Who touches pitch will be
2. Spohr. 3. Largo. 4. Gamut. 5. Chant. 6. Canto. 7. Minim. 8. defiled. 5. Half a loaf is better than no bread. 6. You may lead a
Tonic. 9. Theme. 1o. Verdi. zi. Gluck. 12. Pedal. 13. Shake. horse to water, but you can not make him drink.

To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS "Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE FEBRUARY NUMBER were received, before February i5th, from M., Aunt M., and S." -
Maud E. Palmer-Zach Brogan, Jr. Emma Sydney -Pearl F. Stevens-Maxie and Jackspar- Bessie Lasher- William H. Beers-
A. L. W. L.-"Solomon Quill"- A. Fiske and Co. Russell- Charlie Dignan-Jo and I. -E. M. G.-F. and N. S.-J. B.
Swann- A Family Affair--Jamie and Mamma- F. Gerhard- "The Wise Five, minus One" -Helen C. McCleary -"S. S. S." -
"Miss Flint"--Ernest Woollard- Maud Taylor-A. and 0. Warburg.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE FEBRUARY NUMBER were received, before February z5th, from Paul Reese, 8- Carrie Thacher,
3 June Jacquith, 2- King Richard, i-Anna K. Himes, 3- I. and W. Swan, i Charles Beaufort, 6-- "Three Owls," 3-Alice
D., i-Lucia and Rowena R., i-E. and G. Shirley, I- "Mrs. Malaprop," I-C. U. B., --Katie Van Zandt, 4-M. Cassels, i-
Clara and Emma, 6--M. E. Woodhull, 6-"John and Jennie," 7-N. M. Eldridge, i- H. H. Herrick, I--E. M. Cassels, i-
Nodge," 8 -L. S. Haehnlen, i Carrie Rosenbaum, 3 M. S., Mortimer Wilber, x- Walter G. Himes, M. R. Berolzheim,
i- Gertrude and Lester, I--J. B. B., Jr., 2- M. Selina Lesser, 2- Josephine Sherwood, 8 Lindsey Morris, 5- M. L. Crowell,
i -E. W. Ayres, --Anon, I -R. H. C., B. C., and M. B. C., 2-Maude Wilson, 3 -Capt. White, 3 May and 79," 7-"Dic-
tionary," 4- L. Anthony, i- E. Adams, I "Misses McClees," Catharine C. C., I- Oliva L. and Sadie N., A. W. B., 5-
Honora Swartz, 2-W. E. Eckert,'--Louie and Elfie, 2-J. Augur, i-Hubert L. Bingay, 6- "Infantry," 8-Arthur B. Lawrence,
3 Instantaneous and Grandpa," 4 Flordelene," 2- Carita, 2- Bessie Eads, I-- B. A. Stead, r W. Everett Verplanck, i "Dr.
Sarah," 7-Ernest Serrell, 7--Charles L. and Reta Sharp, 6-F. H. Shakespeare, i- "Tivoli," 8-"The Owls," 7-" The Lancer,"
4- Effie K. Talboys, 7-Nellie and Reggie, 8-F. D. Woolsey, 7-H. C. Skinner and B. H. Shannon, i- Carolus, 4-C. M. Carr,
4 John W. Frothingham, Jr., 7 Grace Olcott, 8- Mamma and Arthur, 3 Anna E. Wells, 7 Maud Huebener, 8 Hagerstown,"
6-M. D. and C. M., 6-C. F. W., 2-Annie and Mary, 3--James and Charles Collins, 7-Ida C. Thallon, 8-Nellie L. Howes,
8- Lovers of St. N., 6- "Polly Flip," 5 No Name, Balto., i Mamma and Marion, 5 -J. and D. White, 6 -H. C. Skinner, 2-
Grace, Gladys, Victorine and Isabel, 3 -Kendrick Family, 2-A. P. C. and A. W. Ashhurst, 3-Adele Walton, 7- "Dame Durden,"
6-J. B. and R. C. Hartich, 6-"E. and Gabriel," I- Mattie E. Beale, 7-Evelyn Halden, 3- C., --E. N. Johnston, 2.

ANAGRAM. been rightly guessed and placed one below the other, in
I. TRANSPOSE the following letters and make a name the order in which they are numbered, the initials will
beloved by all Americans. spell the name of famous general who died on May 5th.
ENJOIN THE RIGHT: FLEE WAR. The final letters will spell the name of an island always
associated with him. c. B.

fr I I2

^ .^r 4 t 15t I 1
6. L 4 1
: 6 17
-.^ .''7 . I8

T o .. ..

... .I 22

S. -1 before; from 3 to 14, a measure of weight which, in
S-- ,.France and Holland, was equal to eight ounces; from
:- 4 to 15, expenditure; from 5 to 16, a noisy talker; from
5.- '- ~ -'6 to 17, indisposition to move; from 7 to IS, to purloin;
'' from 8 to 19, the name given to molluscous animals
i ""- which form holes in solid rocks in which to lodge them-
selves; from 9 to 20, a musical term which means a
gradual decrease in tone; from ro to 21, aerial naviga-
IN the accompanying illustration eight objects are tion; from II to 22, the quality of being youthful.
shown. All of these may be described by words con- From I to II, a certain holiday; from 12 to 22, articles
training the same number of letters. When these have in use on this day. F. s. F.



I. A QUESTION. 2. A small bag for money. 3. To
pass along smoothly. 4. To upset. 5. A wallet.
Diagonals, from the upper left-hand letter to the lower
right-hand letter, a hideous dwarf who figures in one of
Dickens's works. A. P. C. A.

FROM I to center (six letters), an ecstasy; from 3 to
center, a series of arches; from 5 to center, leaving no
balance; from 7 to center, often made with soapsuds;
from 9 to center, to come down suddenly and violently;
from II to center, indigenous; from 13 to center, to fix
on a stake; from 15 to center, a scuffle; from 17 to cen-
ter, a bird allied to the thrush.
Perimeter of wheel (from I to 18) spells a long word,
meaning a change into another substance. H. A. G.


* 30
* 33
- 36
* 39

from 17 to 18, a pernicious drug; from 19 to 20, the
month of the Jewish calendar answering to April; from
20 to 21, snug little homes; from 22 to 23, to bestow;
from 23 to 24, a city of Austria in which a famous coun-
cil held its sittings in the sixteenth century; from 25 to
26, a wilderness mentioned in the nineteenth chapter of
Exodus; from 26 to 27, a country of Southern Asia;
from 28 to 29, a city of Northern Italy; from 29 to 30,
the town of France in which Calvin was born; from 31
to 32, the tree which is the emblem of peace; from 32 to
33, a frame to support a picture; 34 to 35, the father of
Galen; from 35 to 36, a relative; from 37 to 38, a French
word meaning applause; from 38 to 39, fretful.
From I to 37, an explorer; from 3 to 39, his successor
in investigating the place named by the figures from 2 to
COEM, wiht eht sewpona ta rouy alcl,
Thiw metkus kelp, ro finek;
Eh swedil het sledidate labed fo lal
How ghiltest should shi file.
Eth mar hatt sevird tis ohbuntug swolb
Tiwh lal a sitopart crons,
Gimth nabir a tarnty thiw a sore,
Ro bats mih twih a thron.
A Y 0 E .
A. E E
YE .-I.E
I 0
0. .0
E .

I. MAY-DAY necessities. 2. Turned aside. 3. A min-
eral which was named in commemoration of the battle
of Jena. 4. A musical term for the first or leading part.
5. A masculine name. 6. A sheltered place. 7. A mas-
culine nickname. 8. A letter from Paris.
ONE of the Holy Twelve myfirst is named;
A legal word that means "avail," my second;
Of things both long and round my third is framed;
A carriage good in man, myfourth is reckoned;
My last, andfifth, will make the square complete -
A word with thoughts of labor done replete.
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.
EXAMPLE: A vowel; a verb; a texture of straw or other
material; horses or oxen harnessed together; water in a
gaseous state; a director. Answer, a, am, mat, team,
steam, master.

FROM I to 2, a priest of an ancient religion in Great I. I. A vowel. 2. An article. 3. Hastened. 4.
Britain; from 2to 3, pertaining to Holland; from4to5, Adjacent. 5. Wrath. 6. Jeopardy. 7. A military con-
a feminine name; from 5 to 6, the American aloe; from trivance for destroying life. 8. Retrieved. 9. Making
7 to 8, a monkey-like animal found in Madagascar; from more beloved. 10. Flowing round.
8 to 9, a city of France; from o1 to II, the Christian name II. I. A vowel. 2. A preposition. 3. A kind of
of a famous angler; from II to 12, a Scriptural name liquor. 4. To resound. 5. The angular curve made by
found in Genesis xxv: 13; from 13 to 14, a kind of nut the intersection of two arches. 6. One of the earliest
which grows in India; from 14 to 15, a confection of and most learned of the Greek fathers. 7. Alien. 8.
sugar; from 16 to 17, a Territory of the United States; Proffering. CHARLES P. W.



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