Front Cover
 The little-red-apple tree
 Betty's by and by
 The boy king Edward vi
 How a single shot won a fight
 How a single shot won a fight
 A wee little play-house
 Through the back ages
 A rat's chevaux-de-frise
 A copper brazier
 Will and won't
 Bat, ball, and diamond
 Butterfly honey
 Through a detective camera
 The brownies on the canal
 Lady Jane
 The chief bread-baker to the...
 Crowded out o' crofield
 The Gwynne's little donkey
 The tale of a tub
 An old English folk song (Illu...
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00232
 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: VID00232
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 little-red-apple tree
        Page 987
    Betty's by and by
        Page 988
        Page 989
        Page 990
        Page 991
        Page 992
        Page 993
    The boy king Edward vi
        Page 994
        Page 995
        Page 996
        Page 997
        Page 998
    How a single shot won a fight
        Page 999
    How a single shot won a fight
        Page 999
        Page 1000
        Page 1001
        Page 1002
    A wee little play-house
        Page 1003
    Through the back ages
        Page 1004
        Page 1005
        Page 1006
        Page 1007
    A rat's chevaux-de-frise
        Page 1008
        Page 1009
    A copper brazier
        Page 1010
        Page 1011
        Page 1012
        Page 1013
        Page 1014
    Will and won't
        Page 1015
        Page 1016
    Bat, ball, and diamond
        Page 1017
        Page 1018
        Page 1019
        Page 1020
    Butterfly honey
        Page 1021
    Through a detective camera
        Page 1022
        Page 1023
        Page 1024
        Page 1025
        Page 1026
        Page 1027
        Page 1028
        Page 1029
        Page 1030
        Page 1031
        Page 1032
        Page 1033
    The brownies on the canal
        Page 1034
        Page 1035
        Page 1036
        Page 1037
    Lady Jane
        Page 1038
        Page 1039
        Page 1040
        Page 1041
        Page 1042
        Page 1043
        Page 1044
    The chief bread-baker to the king
        Page 1045
        Page 1046
        Page 1047
    Crowded out o' crofield
        Page 1048
        Page 1049
        Page 1050
        Page 1051
        Page 1052
        Page 1053
        Page 1054
        Page 1055
        Page 1056
    The Gwynne's little donkey
        Page 1057
        Page 1058
        Page 1059
        Page 1060
        Page 1061
        Page 1062
        Page 1063
    The tale of a tub
        Page 1064
    An old English folk song (Illustration)
        Page 1065
        Page 1066
        Page 1067
        Page 1068
    The letter-box
        Page 1069
        Page 1070
    The riddle-box
        Page 1071
        Page 1072
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

II' itjI'

(SEE PAGE 994.)

r \

k ii~




OCTOBER, 1890.
Copyright, 189o, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.



THE Little-Red-Apple Tree!
Oh, the Little-Red-Apple Tree!
When I was the little-est bit of a boy,
And you were a boy with me !
The bluebird's flight from the topmost boughs,
And the boys up there so high
That we rocked over the roof of the house,
And whooped as the winds went by !

Ho the Little-Red-Apple Tree!
With the garden beds below,
And the old grape-arbor so welcomely
Hiding the rake and hoe,-
Hiding, too, as the sun dripped through
In spatters of wasted gold,
Frank and Amy away from you
And me, in the days of old.

Ah! the Little-Red-Apple Tree!
In the edge of the garden-spot,
Where the apples fell so lavishly
Into the neighbor's lot;-
So'do I think of you,
Brother of mine, as the tree,-
Giving the ripest wealth of your love
To the world as well as me.

Oh, the Little-Red-Apple Tree!
Sweet as its juiciest fruit
Spanged on the palate spicily,
And rolled o'er the tongue to boot,
Is the memory still and the joy
Of the Little-Red-Apple Tree,
When I was the little-est bit of a boy,
And you were a boy with me!

No. 12.



"' One, two, three !
The humble-bee!
The rooster crows,
And away she goes "

AND down from the low railing of the piazza
jumped Betty into the soft heap of new-mown
grass that seemed to have been especially
placed where it could tempt her and make her
forget or, at least, "not remember "- that
she was wanted indoors to help amuse the baby
for an hour.
It was a hot summer day, and Betty had been
running and jumping and skipping and prancing
all the morning, so she was now rather tired;
and after she had jumped from the piazza-rail
into the heap of grass she did not hop up nim-
bly at once, but lay quite still, burying her face
in the sweet-smelling hay and fragrant clover,
feeling very comfortable and contented.
Betty Betty "
"Oh, dear! thought the
little maid, diving still deeper
down into the light grass,
" There 's Olga calling me to
take care of Roger while she .,
gets his bread and milk ready.
I don't see why she can't wait
a minute till I rest. It's too
hot to go now; baby can do
without his dinner for minute,
I should think. Just a minute -
or so. He won't mind. He's
glad to wait if only you give
him Mamma's chain and don't
take away her watch. Ye-es, "'
Olga I '11 come by and

of dandelion he had stumbled across quite
too large and fluffy for comfort, though it was
such a pretty yellow.
Betty lazily raised her head and peered after
I wonder where you 're going," she said
half aloud. The humble-bee veered about and
came bouncing back in her direction again, and
when he reached the little grass-heap in which
she lay, stopped so suddenly that he went career-
ing over in the most ridiculous fashion possible,
and Betty laughed aloud. But to her amaze-
ment the humble-bee righted himself in no time
at all, and then remarked in quite a dignified
manner, and with some asperity: "If I were a
little girl with gilt hair and was n't doing what
I ought, and if I had wondered where a body
was going and the body had come back expressly
to tell me, I think I 'd have the politeness not

''. 'tf -r- -- S'"
R' I -
.!-.*.* "* -V -\ '., *7


A big velvety humble-bee came, boom to laugh if the body happened to lose his balance
against Betty's head, and got tangled in her and fall,- especially when the body was going
hair. He shook himself free and went reeling to get up in less time than it would take me to
on his way in quite a drunken fashion, thinking wink,- I being only a little girl and he being a
probably that was a very disagreeable variety most respected member of the Busy-bee Society.


However, I suppose one must make allowances
for the way in which children are brought up
nowadays. When I was a little -"
"Now, please don't say When I was a lit-
tle girl,'- for you never were a little girl, you
know," interrupted Betty, not intending to be
saucy, but feeling rather provoked that a mere
humble-bee should undertake to rebuke her.
" Mamma always says When I was a little
girl,' and so does Aunt Louie, and so does every-
body-and I 'm tired of hearing about it, so
there !"
The humble-bee gave his gorgeous waistcoat
a pull which settled it more smoothly over his
stout person, and remarked shortly:
In the first place, I was n't going to say
'When I was a little girl!' I was going to say
'When I was a little leaner,'-but you snapped
me up so. However, it's true, is n't it ? Every-
body was a little girl once, were n't she ?-
was n't they ? hem confusing weather for
talking; very. And what is true one ought to
be glad to hear, eh ?"
But it is n't true that everybody was once
a little girl; some were little boys. There! "
Do you know, whispered the humble-bee
in a very impressive undertone, as if it were
a secret that he did not wish any one else to
hear, that you are a very re-mark-a-ble young
person to have been able to remind me, at a
moment's notice, that some were little boys?
Why-ee! "
Betty was a trifle uncomfortable. She had a
vague idea the humble-bee was making sport
of her. The next moment she was sure of it,
for he burst into a deep laugh and shook so
from side to side that she thought he would
surely topple off the wisp of hay on which he
was sitting.
I think you 're real mean," said Betty as he
slowly recovered himself; I don't like folks
to laugh at me,- now! "
I 'm not laughing at you now," explained
the humble-bee gravely; I was laughing at
you then. Do you object to that?"
Betty disdained to reply, and began to pull
a dry clover blossom to pieces.
"Tut, tut, child! Don't be so touchy. A
body can laugh, can't he, and no harm done?
You 'd better be good-tempered and jolly, and

then I '11 tell you where I 'm going, which, I
believe, was what you wished to know in the
first place, was n't it ? "
Betty nodded her head, but did not speak.
Oho! said the humble-bee, rising and pre-
paring to take his departure. (And now Betty
discovered, on seeing him more closely, that he
was not a humble-bee at all, but just a very cor-
pulent old gentleman dressed in quite an antique
fashion, with black knee-breeches, black silk
stockings, black patent-leather pumps with large
buckles, a most elaborate black velvet waist-
coat with yellow and orange stripes across, and
a coat of black velvet to correspond with the
breeches; while in his hand he carried a very
elegant three-cornered hat, which, out of re-
spect to her, he had removed from his head at
the first moment of their meeting.) So we are
sulky ? he went on. Dear, dear! That is a
very disagreeable condition to allow one's self to
relapse into. Hm, hm! very unpleasant; very.
Under the circumstances I think I 'd better be
going, for, if you '11 believe me, I 'm pressed for
time, and have none to waste, and only came
back to converse with you because you ad-
dressed a civil question to me, which, being a
gentleman, I was bound to answer. Good "
He would have said "bye," but Betty sprang
to her feet and cried: Please don't leave me.
I '11 be good and pleasant, only please don't
go. Please tell me where you 're going, and if
--if you would be so good I 'd like ever and
ever so much to go along. Don't do may
The little gentleman looked her over from
head to foot and then replied in a hesitating sort
of way: "You may not be aware of it, but you
are extremely incautious. What would you do
if I were to whisk you off and never bring you
back, eh ?"
You don't look like a kidnapper, sir," said
Betty, respectfully.
"A what ? inquired the little gentleman.
"A kidnapper," repeated Betty.
"What 's that ?" questioned her companion.
"Oh, a person who steals little children.
Don't you know? "
But why kidnapper? insisted the little old
I suppose because he naps kids. My Uncle



Will calls Roger and me kids.' It is n't very
nice of him, is it? she asked, glad to air her
"Child-stealer would be more to the point,
I think, or infant-abductor," remarked the old
gentleman, who saw, perhaps, how anxious Betty
was for sympathy, and was determined not to
give her another opportunity of considering her-
self injured.
He seemed to be very busy considering the
subject for a second or so, and then he said
"But if you want to go, why come along;
for I must be off.
But don't make
a practice of it,
mind, when you .
get back." .,
"You have n't.
told me where,
yet," suggested
"True. So I
have n't," said
the old gentle- L--
man, setting his '-
three cornered
hat firmly on his
head and settling
the fine laces at i t. I
his wrists. "It 's .
to By and By. -'' '
And now, if "
you 're ready -
He tookIN A
He took Bet-

ty's hand, and she su
ing through the air in
-not touching the
seeming to skim alon
effort at all.
If you please, Mr
she suddenly remen
know the name of the
ducting her on so del
"Bombus," said he
Esq., of Clovertop M
"But you 're not
quired Betty.
No; why? returnr

Because you said 'MManse.' A manse is a
minister's house, is n't it ? asked Betty.
"No, not always," Mr. Bombus replied. But
I call my place Clovertop Manse because it be-
longs to me and not to my wife -do you see?
I call it Manse because it is a man's. It is per-
fectly plain. If it was a woman's I 'd say
"Well, I don't think you 're much of a humble
bee-" began Betty, and then caught herself
up short and stopped.
Mr. Bombus gave her a severe look from un-
der his three-cornered hat, but did not reply at

'. 4 .

, *-I

I* .
,, ,; ;,, '. ,. ;1' .

S i ', '


ddenly found herself mov- once, and they advanced on their way for some
a most remarkable manner little time in silence. Then the gentleman
ground with her feet, but said:
g quite easily and with no "I 've been thinking of what you said about
my not being a humble-bee. Of course I 'm
-," she paused because not a humble-bee, but you seemed to lay con-
ibered that she did not siderable stress on the first part of the word; as
gentleman who was con- if you had a special meaning. Explain "
ightful a journey. Poor Betty blushed very red with shame and
cheerfully, B. Bombus, confusion, but the gentleman had a command-
anse, Honeywell." ing way with him and she dared not disobey.
a minister, are you ? in- "I only meant, sir," she stammered, I only
meant I did n't think you were very hum-
led the gentleman, quickly. ble, because you seemed very proud about the





I ,


';: ';


place's being yours. I thought you were stuck
up,' as my brother says."
"Stuck up ? Where? queried Mr. Bombus,
anxiously. "Pray don't make such unpleasant
insinuations. They quite set my heart to throb-
bing. I knew--I mean I saw a humble-bee
once," he remarked impressively; and would
you believe it, a little boy caught him and im-
paled him on a pin. It was horrible. He died
in the most dreadful agony,- the bee, not the
boy,- and then the boy secured him to the
wall; made him fast there. So he was stuck
up. You surely can't mean-"
"Oh, no indeed! I meant only proud," re-
plied Betty contritely, for Mr. Bombus's face
had really grown pale with horror at the re-
membrance of the bee's awful fate, and she
was very sorry she had occasioned him such
Then why did n't you say only proud'? "
asked her companion sharply. "You said 'proud'
and then added' stuck up.'"
Betty thought it was about time to change the
subject, so she observed quietly that By and By
seemed a long way off.
Of course it is a long way off," replied her
companion. Don't you wish it to be a long
way off ? "
Betty hesitated. "Well, I don't think I ever
wished much about it. Can you tell me how
many miles it is from some place I know about ?
You see, Mr. Bombus, I am pretty sure it is n't
in the geography. At least, I don't remember
that I ever saw it on the map. Could n't you
tell me where it is ? "
Mr. Bombus considered a moment, and then
asked, Do you know where Now is ? "
Betty thought a minute, and then replied, I
suppose it is Here, sir."
Right!" assented the old gentleman promptly.
"Now, if you had said 'There,' it would have
been wrong; for Then is There. You see, this
is the way: When we have lived in Now until
it is all used up, it changes into Then, and, in-
stead of being Here, is There. I hope it 's
plain to you. Well, you asked me where By
and By was. That 's the very thing about it:
it never was, not even is; it's always going to be,
and it 's generally a rather long way from Now;

your own calculations as to the distance of By
and By."
"But I don't know anything about calculat-
ing distances," said Betty dolefully.
"It does n't matter," remarked Mr. Bombus;
"for even if you did you could n't apply it in
this case. But we 're getting on in our journey.
Yes, indeed, we seem to be really getting on."
"Why, I should hope so!" returned Betty.
"It seems to me I never flew so fast in all my
life before and for such a long time. If we
were n't getting on, I think I should be discour-
aged. We seem to be almost running a race,
we go so quickly."
"We arerunning arace,"observed Mr.Bombus.
Betty opened her eyes wide and said: "Why,
Idid n't know it. When did we begin? "
"When we started, child. Pray, don't be
stupid," replied her friend a little severely.
But with whom are we running it ? queried
With Time," whispered Mr. Bombus confi-
dentially. One always has to beat him before
one can get into By and By. And then it de-
pends on one's self whether one likes it or not
after one gets there."
But even as he spoke Betty seemed to feel
herself hurried along more rapidly than ever,
as if she were making a final effort to outstrip
some one; and then she was brought to so sud-
den a standstill that she had to do her best to
keep from falling forward, and was still quite
dizzy with her effort when she heard a panting
voice say, "That last rush quite took away my
breath! and found herself being addressed by
Mr. Bombus, who was very red in the face and
gasping rather painfully, and whom she had,
for the moment, forgotten.
Betty said, My, Mr. Bombus, how warm
you are Sit right down on the grass and cool
off before we go any further, please."
Oh, dear, no!" objected her companion.
"That would be terribly imprudent with these
cold Autumn winds blowing so, and Winter just
over there. I 'd catch my death, child."
"Why, I 'm sure," replied Betty, "I don't
know what you mean. It's as summer as it
can be. It 's a hot August day, and if you
can't sit outdoors in August, I 'd like to know

so if you know where Now is you can
make when yo n.


Allow me to inform you, my dear child, that
it is n't August at all; and if you had half an eye
you 'd see it, let alone feel it. Do those leaves
look as if it were August ? and he pointed to

,. ... '; "- "-, i '- :-
*-- ....

', : -. "

I- -


a clump of trees whose foliage shone red and
yellow in the sunlight.
Betty started. Good gracious!" she ex-
claimed. "How came they to change so
early ? "
It is n't early," explained Mr. Bombus.
" It 's the last of October,- even later,- and
keeps getting more so every minute."
But," insisted Betty, it was August when
I first saw you,- a few hours ago and,- "
"Yes, then it was August," assented Mr.
Bombus, "but we 've got beyond that. We 're
in By and By. Did n't you hear your mother
say it would be October By and By. Well,
here we are in By and By, and it is October.
Time is jogging on, back there in the world,
but we beat him, you see, and are safe and
sound--far ahead of him--in By and By.
Things are doing here that are always going
to be done behind there. It 's great fun."
But at these words Betty's face grew very
grave, and a sudden thought struck her that
was anything but great fun." Would she be
set to doing all the things she had promised
to do "by and by"?

"I 'm afraid so," said Mr. Bombus, replying
to her question though she had only thought it.
" I told you it depended on one's self if one
were going to like By and By or not. Evi-


dently you 're not. Oh going so soon ? You
must have been a lazy little girl to be set about
settling your account as quick as this. See you
later! Good but again he was not permit-
ted to say "bye," for before he could fairly get
the word out Betty was whisked away, and Mr.
Bombus stood solitary and alone under a bare
maple-tree, chuckling to himself in an amused
fashion and it must be confessed, spitefully.
" It'll be a good lesson for her. She deserves it,"
he said to himself, and Betty seemed to hear
him-though she was, by this time, far away.
Poor child! she did not know where she was
going nor what would take place next, and was
pretty well frightened at feeling herself powerless
to do anything against the unknown force that
was driving her on.
But even while she was wondering, she ceased
to wonder; and what was going to happen had
happened, and she found herself standing in an
enormous hall that was filled with countless
children, of all ages and nationalities,- and
some who were not children at all,- every one
of whom was hurrying to and fro and in and
out, while all the time a voice from somewhere


i890.] BETTY'S BY AND BY. 993

was calling out names and dates in such rapid into By and By, and here they were to be
succession that Betty was fairly deafened with done, and do them she must. On and on
the sound. There was a continual stir in the she went, until after a while the tasks she
assembly, and people were appearing and reap- had to perform began to gain a more familiar
hearing constantly in the most perplexing man- look, and she recognized them as being unkept
ner, so that it made one quite dizzy to look on. promises of quite a recent date. She dusted her
But Betty was not permitted to look long, for room; she darned her stockings; she mended
in the midst of the haranguing of the dreadful her apron; she fed her bird; she wrote a letter;
voice she seemed to distinguish something that she read her Bible; and, at last, after an endless
sounded strangely familiar: space and when tears of real anguish were cours-
Betty Bleecker," it called, began her ac- ing down her cheeks, she found herself amusing
count here when she was five years old by the the baby and discovered that she had come to
World calculation. Therefore she has the un- the last of her long line of duties and was can-
done duties of seven years World count to ceiling her debt to By and By. As soon as all
perform. Let her set about paying off her debt was finished she felt herself being hurried, still
at once and only stop when the account is sobbing and crying, back to the place from which
squared "; whereupon Betty was again whisked she had started, and on entering heard the same
off, and had not even time to guess where before voice she had listened to before, say: Betty
she found herself in a place that reminded her Bleecker's account is squared. Let a receipted
strangely of home and yet was not home at all. bill be given her, advise her to run up no more
Then a wearisome round of tasks began, accounts, and send her home."
She picked up pins; she opened doors; she At these words Betty wept afresh, but not
shut windows; she raised shades; she closed now from sorrow, but for gladness at the thought
shutters; she ran
errands; she de-
livered messages; -
she practiced
scales; she stud- /
ied lessons; she -.
set her doll-house
in order and re- ,-..,-
placed her toys; ,
she washed her ,
face and brushed I"
her hair; she
picked currants I \ -
and stoned rai-'
sins; she hung
up her skipping-
rope and fastened- /
her sash, and so .
she went on from '"I : .
one thing to an- I, ,, ,
other until she .
was almost ready .
to cry with weari-
Half the things THUNDER, 'RBETTV'!" (SEE NEXT PAGE.)
she did she had forgotten she had ever of returning home. And before she could even
promised to do. But she had sent them realize it, she was standing beside Mr. Bombus


again, with something in her hand which she
clutched tightly and which proved to be a signed
receipt for her debt to By and By. Then she
heard her companion say: Like to look about
a bit before you leave? By and By 's a busy
place, don't you think so ? And Betty replied
promptly: Oh no, sir. Yes, sir. Not at all,
sir. If you please, sir," quite too frantic at the
thought of having to go back, even for a mo-
ment, to answer the questions.
But all the while she was very angry with Mr.
Bombus for bringing her there,- quite forgetting
she had pleaded with him to do so,- and his
smiling at her in that very superior fashion pro-
voked her sadly, and she began upbraiding him,
between her sobs and tears, for his unkindness
and severity.
It would only have been harder in the end,"
replied her companion calmly. "Now you 've
paid them and can take care not to run up any
more debts, for, you mark my words, you '11 have
to square your account every time, and the longer
it runs the worse it will be. Nothing in the

world, in the way of responsibility, ever goes
scot-free. You have to pay in one way or
another for everything you do or leave undone,
and the sooner you know it the better."
Betty was sobbing harder than ever, and when
she thought she caught a triumphant gleam in
Mr. Bombus's eyes and heard him humming in
an aggravating undertone, In the Sweet By
and By," she could restrain herself no longer,
and raised her hand and struck him a sounding
blow. Instantly she was most deeply repentant
and would have begged his pardon, but, as she
turned to address him, his cocked hat flew off,
his legs doubled up under him, his eyes rolled
madly, and then with a fierce glare at her he
roared in a voice of thunder:
And there she was in the soft grass-heap, sob-
bing with fright and clutching tightly in her
hand a fistful of straw; while yonder in the wis-
taria-vine a humble-bee was settling and a voice
from the house was heard calling her name:
Betty! BET-TY! "



AT the distance of about an hour's ride from
London is one of the most beautiful palaces in
England. The silver Thames runs by its park,
and emerald meadows with intervening spaces
of forest surround the old, harmoniously tinted,
brick building. It has no flare of red, such as
latter-day bricks afford, but a soft blending of
hues,-dull crimson, seaweed purple, purplish
brown,-it is full of varying lights and shad-
ows; subdued in sunshine, warm in color on a
cloudy day. The palace covers eight acres, and
contains one thousand rooms. There is a Great
Court and a Clock Court, a Fountain Court and
a Kitchen Court; there are wonderful clusters
of ornamented brick chimneys, beautiful terraces,
gardens, and greenhouses, with the largest grape-
vine in the world; there is an elm beneath

whose branches played Charles the Second,
when a boy; there are yews planted by Wil-
liam the Third; and the remains of Queen
Anne's orange trees.
The famous Cardinal Wolsey built it for him-
self, and the completed structure he named
Hampton Court. His arms were sculptured
over the doors,-his taste arranged, his money
furnished, this regal home. Here, at all times,
two hundred and eighty beds were kept ready
for strangers; here he received ambassadors and
princes; and here came to visit him King Henry
the Eighth, with his first wife, Catharine of
King Henry often paid friendly, informal visits
to Wolsey; hawked, hunted, jested, danced, at
his will; and, withal, expressed so warm an ad-


miration of his host's splendid home, that event- he died while Henry and Anne were enjoying
ually it was presented to him, even as it stood. their honeymoon at Hampton; nor could he
But the magnificent gift could not avert disgrace foresee that in three short years it would be her

from the donor. Henry had now a second turn to meet disgrace. One day a queen-
wife, Anne Boleyn; and as she regarded Wolsey the next she was beheaded in the Tower, and
with anything but favor, the King's "awne Jane Seymour occupied her throne.
goode cardinal" was soon a prisoner under This queen also was fond of Hampton Court,
charge of high treason. Friendless and stricken, and there, in the autumn of 1537, was born her
SOne historian of Hampton Court says that the queen shown in this painting is Catherine Parr. But another
authority states that the portrait is one of Jane Seymour, added to the picture after her death.



son Edward, ere long to be the sixth of his
name in the list of English kings.
The grim father was wild with delight when
the prince was born. True, he had daughters
--Elizabeth and Mary; but this was a son, a
veritable heir to his throne! On such an oc-
casion it was impossible to do too much, and
accordingly, the christening was celebrated with
unusual splendor. Magnificent carpets, with
hangings of red silk and cloth of gold, decked
the rooms through which the procession was to
pass. A fire-pan full of coals, with a goode
perfume," was provided to keep the baby warm;
the christening vessels were of solid silver, and
all persons concerned in the ceremony were
ablaze with jewels.
Then there was a grand procession to the
chapel where the service was held,- first came
the attendant noblemen and servants, bearing
each a torch or taper; next, Princess Elizabeth,
afterward Good Queen Bess," herself so young
that she was carried in aims; then, borne under
a canopy, the baby-prince, with a train many
times longer than his body; then the Princess
Mary, who was to be godmother; then more
attendants, more tapers, and at last the pro-
cession reached the chapel, and the baby was
duly christened. His name and titles were pro-
claimed, splendid gifts were presented, a Te
Deum was sung, refreshments were passed-
the young princesses being treated to spiced
wafers and wine; and finally, with a tre-
mendous blare of trumpets to conclude the
ceremony, the child was carried back to its
But only twelve days later the queen mother
died. Here, where she had been wife and
mother, she now lay in state, watched night
and day by her ladies, until she was borne to
Windsor for burial.
Although motherless, the little Prince Ed-
ward thrived. His household was organized
on a scale to correspond with his christening,-
with a chamberlain, vice-chamberlain, steward,
and governor; an almoner, a dean, and many
other high officials; but most important for the
baby's comfort, with a nurse and rockers "!
King Henry drew up with his own hand a
list of rules "for the best care and management "
-as he wrote it of the holle realmes most

precyouse joyelle [jewel], the Prince's Grace."
No strangers were to visit him without special
order (which was seldom granted); and no
visitor must touch the prince except to kiss his
From Hampton the baby-prince was re-
moved to Havering-at-Bower, for change of air.
Here came to visit him the lords of council; and
the Lord Chancellor Aubrey reported, in the
quaint spelling and lofty style of those times,
that they had never before seen so goodly a
child of his age, so mery, so plesaunt, so good
and lovyng countenauns, and so ernest an ye,
as it were, a sage juggement towards every
person that repayreth to his Grace; and, as it
semyth to me, his Grace encresith well in the
ayer that he is in, he shotyth out in
length, and wexith ferme and stiff, can stedfastly
stond, and wold avaunce hym self to move and
go, if they wold suffir hym."
Lady Bryan, one of the court-ladies, made
up frequent reports ; in one letter telling Crom-
well that "his Grace hath mnj teeth; uj fol
[fully] out, and the forthe apearethe." In
another letter she expresses the wish that the
King could have seen the young prince on
Easter night, "for his Grace was marvelowss
plesauntly desposed. The mensterels played,
and his Grace dawansed and played so wan-
townly [merrily] that he cold not stend still, and
was so fol of pretty toyes [ways] as ever I saw
chyld in my leyf."
About this time the little prince probably
looked very much as he does in the first por-
trait of himself, by Holbein;- with a chubby
face, made chubbier by the close-fitting linen
cap, above which is a bonnet of red velvet, with
a white plume. The dress is of red velvet, around
his neck is a gold chain, and he clutches a rattle
in one dimpled hand. All his biographers agree
that he was a very pretty child, and especially
do they praise his brilliant, starry eyes.
Until he had passed what old Hayward calls
the weak and sappie age of sixe," he was
brought up among the women. After that age
none but men were members of his household, and
Dr. Coxe and Mr. John Cheke were appointed
to care for his education. They certainly made
the boy study, for, in the short course of his life,
he learned to speak French, Italian, and Latin;




he could read and write Greek; and also he
had a fair understanding of natural philosophy,
logic, music, and astronomy.
To these attainments was now to be added a
practical knowledge of government. He was
only nine years old when Henry died,- leaving
his throne to a boy-king. Edward the Sixth was
duly proclaimed, but until he should be eighteen,
his uncle, the Earl of Hertford, was made pro-
tector of the realm, being also advanced to the
dignity of Duke of Somerset.
To Edward's acts as king his historians have
given undue praise,-as in reality they were the
acts of his uncles and council. But he studied
diligently, thought seriously, and behaved with
a gravity which, no doubt, befitted his station,
though, to our modern eyes, it seems rather
unchildlike. A certain William Thomas had
frequent interviews with Edward, and could
hardly say enough in his praise. He calls
him "the Bewtisiest creature that lyveth under
Sunne; the Wittiest, the most amiable and the
gentlest Thinge of all the world. Such a spirit
of Capacitye, lernynge the Thinge taught hym
by his Schoolmasters, that it is a wonder to
heare say."
Edward wrote a number of letters to differ-
ent friends,-some in Latin, some in French, a
few in English; but, for the most part, they are
stiff and devoid of interest. One of the pretti-
est is to his father, thanking him for a present
of jeweled buttons, and other ornaments. An-
other is to his sister Mary, assuring her that al-
though he does not write often, he loves her
well, just as he cares most for his best clothes
although he wears them seldom.
But the most interesting memorial of King
Edward is his Diary, "that most judicious
journall" as his biographer describes it. It was
begun about the time of his accession to the
throne, and kept up until six months before his
death. The writing is excellent, and the spell-
ing fair.
Although the Diary gives no clue to his
tastes and amusements, other writers have
mentioned his great liking for perfumes, his
attachment to dogs, and his enjoyment of ten-
nis. These are the only boyish traits recorded
in his precocious history,-and even these had

little indulgence. When he should have been
playing or exercising, he was bent over his desk
in study, or solemnly attending councils of state.
Meanwhile, there were changes in the king-
dom. When Edward was only eleven, one
uncle had been put to death; and now the
Duke of Somerset was deposed from the Pro-
tectorate, and shortly afterward executed.
His king and nephew calmly signed the death
warrant, recording in his journal one day that
"the Duke of Somerset had his head cut off
upon Towre Hill, betwene eight and nine acloke
in the morning." If he felt any grief, he did
not express it, even in this private record. Be-
sides, says Hayward, the courtiers did their best
to dispel any dampy thoughts which the mem-
ory of his dead uncle might cause. The com-
mon people, despite their love for Edward, seem
to have blamed his apathy on this occasion.
Mrs. Elizabeth Huggons was actually brought
to trial for too frank speeches on the subject,-
having been heard to say, among other things,
that the young king showed himself an un-
natural nephew, and to express the wish that
she had had the punishing of him.
No doubt it had been good for him,-that
same discipline,- in season But now the end
was close at hand. In I551 he fell ill of small-
pox and measles, and never regained his strength.
Within two years, despite the efforts of all his
physicians, he was dying of consumption. A
little before the end, not knowing that any
one could hear, he prayed softly aloud for
the Welfare of his kingdom; "--indeed," he
urged, "I tried to do my best." And finally, "I
grow faint," he murmured; "Lord have mercy
upon me, and take my spirit." These were his
last words. His breathing grew fainter, then
ceased. The poor little king was dead.
He was buried August 9, 1553, having lain
in state a whole month. With funeral chants
and drooping banners, with solemn pomp and
grieving hearts, he was borne to Westminster
Abbey-the immemorial resting-place of Eng-
lish royalty.
His story may be fitly ended with a line from
an epitaph written at the time, and expressing
well the love of the people for their young king:
"Adewe pleasure! Gone is our treasure! "




C J~ E I





r.*- ul
Ja ':-

" WHEN I was at the party,"
Said Betty (aged just four),
"A little girl fell off her chair,
Right down upon the floor;
And all the other little girls
Began to laugh, but me -
I did n't laugh a single bit,"
Said Betty, seriously.

Why not?" her mother asked her,
Full of delight to find
That Betty-bless her little heart!-
Had been so sweetly kind.
Why did n't you laugh, darling ?
Or don't you like to tell ?"
I did n't laugh," said Betty,
"'Cause it was me that fell !"



;, Pr o:i3ELY what all the row
S. "as about, I don't pro-
." fess to remember,"
S said the old quar-
.-: termaster, as he lit
.his pipe afresh, and
S~ i .. puffed and pulled
T' at it until it was un-
der full headway, and
LIOwing like a live coal;
but the Chilians and Peru-
vians were at war with each other,
and we had been in the harbor two weeks,
blockaded by the former, who had a fine fleet
outside. We were having altogether a lazy time
of it on our steamer, and had nothing in the
world to do, until the blockade should be

raised'or an earthquake should shake out some
new channel through which we might get to
sea. Of course the captain and agents were
out of temper, but the rest of us did n't care
how long the blockade lasted, as we were draw-
ing good pay right along.
"The town lay in a basin-like formation of
the shore, with large white stone forts at both
ends of the harbor, mounting a few heavy .rifled
guns, of English make; and there were batteries
back of the shipping wharves at the foot of the
hills. Our ship lay inside of the forts, and well
protected by a stone jetty. She was just out of
range of the Chilian fleet, which generally rode
at anchor, in a line across the harbor's mouth.
"The blockade was not exciting. For days
not a shot would be fired by either side; but



r.*- ul
Ja ':-

" WHEN I was at the party,"
Said Betty (aged just four),
"A little girl fell off her chair,
Right down upon the floor;
And all the other little girls
Began to laugh, but me -
I did n't laugh a single bit,"
Said Betty, seriously.

Why not?" her mother asked her,
Full of delight to find
That Betty-bless her little heart!-
Had been so sweetly kind.
Why did n't you laugh, darling ?
Or don't you like to tell ?"
I did n't laugh," said Betty,
"'Cause it was me that fell !"



;, Pr o:i3ELY what all the row
S. "as about, I don't pro-
." fess to remember,"
S said the old quar-
.-: termaster, as he lit
.his pipe afresh, and
S~ i .. puffed and pulled
T' at it until it was un-
der full headway, and
LIOwing like a live coal;
but the Chilians and Peru-
vians were at war with each other,
and we had been in the harbor two weeks,
blockaded by the former, who had a fine fleet
outside. We were having altogether a lazy time
of it on our steamer, and had nothing in the
world to do, until the blockade should be

raised'or an earthquake should shake out some
new channel through which we might get to
sea. Of course the captain and agents were
out of temper, but the rest of us did n't care
how long the blockade lasted, as we were draw-
ing good pay right along.
"The town lay in a basin-like formation of
the shore, with large white stone forts at both
ends of the harbor, mounting a few heavy .rifled
guns, of English make; and there were batteries
back of the shipping wharves at the foot of the
hills. Our ship lay inside of the forts, and well
protected by a stone jetty. She was just out of
range of the Chilian fleet, which generally rode
at anchor, in a line across the harbor's mouth.
"The blockade was not exciting. For days
not a shot would be fired by either side; but


- at other times the men-of-war, taking advantage
of a good tide or wind, would steam in closer and
fire away at us in a lazy fashion all day, the forts
replying at longer intervals. Occasionally the
enemy's shells would strike the water or burst
quite near us, but usually the shots passed over and
beyond the vessels, falling among small houses, of
the poorer class, in the town down by the water.
"The blockaders ventured in too close one
day, and, a stiff off-shore breeze springing up,
some of the big guns in the fort, served with
extra powder charges, plumped a few holes in
them--to their evident confusion, for they

- ." i

promptly got out of range and there remained.
We were usually very quiet at night, but one dis-
mal rainy morning there was a great commotion
outside, with much banging of guns. The re-
ports sounded at one moment like muffled thun-
der, or, when the wind shifted against the fleet,
like some one shutting a heavy barn-door
sharply. At about breakfast time, we were sud-
denly startled by escaping steam. We rushed on
deck to see, lying beside us in the misty rain, a
long, low torpedo boat. We expected immedi-
ately to be blown up, and our captain was on

the bridge vociferously assuring those on the
little stranger that we were neutrals; nor did
he stop until one of her officers politely assured
him that they were Peruvians, and that, under
cover of the attack of a Peruvian ironclad on
the blockading fleet, they had stolen in quietly
during the confusion.
"It did not take long for the blockaders to
find out that the town had been reinforced by
a torpedo boat, for she immediately began a
system of attack and annoyance which made
their lives both day and night one continued
round of apprehension and misery.
She was a handy lit-
tle open boat, with a
good outfit, and could
steam about eighteen
miles an hour. She had
been brought from Eng-
land by speculators and
S sold to the Peruvians
down the coast. They
had named her 'La
Chiquita,' the Little One.
She would lie beside us
all day at the stone pier
with steam ready, her
crew sleeping about the
decks in the hot sun, most
of the time, while her
officers played dominoes
under an awning aft,
i and plotted meanwhile
some novel method of
frightening the block-
aders. Occasionally,
0 STEADY HIMSELF AGAINST when they knew the en-
emy were at dinner, they
would make a rush down the harbor in a most
warlike and threatening manner. Then the foe
would beat to quarters, slip their anchors, and put
themselves in a state of commotion, whereupon
the torpedo boat would come leisurely back to the
dock. In this way they made the Chilians burn
tons of coal which it was difficult for them to
get, and for which they had to pay big prices.
It was at night, however, that La Chiquita
was in her glory, for in a few minutes after her
departure from the dock there would be banging
and booming of guns along the enemies' line,



and we could tell about where she was by the
uproar around her. Once she stole out close
along shore and with a rush came in from the
sea through the Chilian ships.
"Their guard boats were unprepared for this
attack; and before they knew it she was along-
side the admiral's ship, and exploded a torpedo
which blew up two or three small boats at ,the
gangway, hurt several sailors, and smashed glass
and windows. Then she made off into the har-
bor before a gun in the fleet could be brought
to bear on her in the darkness.
"This scare was too much for the Dons,'
as the Chilians are called, so they put their
heads together and sent to Valparaiso for help.
It came finally, in the shape of two brand-new
torpedo boats of German make; each of them
was larger, and faster than La Chiquita.
The day after they arrived, a slight defect
had been discovered in the machinery of our
little dock companion; and as her native engi-
neer had fallen sick of a fever at the same time,
and was not quite up to duty, one of our engi-
neers, a Yankee boy by the name of Clark, from
Boston (and a smart fellow he was, too), volun-
teered to tinker up the engine. While their own
man was up in town getting some supplies, Clark
was putting the engine to rights, when a tele-
gram arrived aboard stating that the enemies'
two torpedo boats had started early that morn-
ing to go down the coast. The lookout at the
harbor entrance had sent word that the fog was
becoming heavier, and the Peruvian commander
ordered La Chiquita out to take advantage of
the situation by doing what mischief she could.
"The boat, of course, was ready in a few
minutes, but their own engineer was ashore, and
the fog prevented their signaling his recall from
the town. Go they must, and something must
be done at once. But what ? While they were
discussing the question, Clark, who had finished
repairing the engine, was about putting on his
jacket, when the captain drew him aside and,
after explaining matters, asked if he would act
as engineer for that trip, saying, it would be
nothing more than an excursion or frolic and
that he would be well paid. Now, the Yankee
boy had long been wishing for a trip of this
kind, but despaired of getting leave of absence
for any such purpose. Here was an oppor-
VOL. XVII.- 123.

tunity, and an excuse for taking advantage of
it, and while coolly replying that he would do
it as a favor,' he turned on steam, and in a few
minutes the saucy little boat was-lost to our
view and speeding out into the fog with a grand
scheme of surprise for the Chilians.
"But, as very often happens, the surprise
was destined to come from the other side; for
the Chilian torpedo boats had started down the
coast only as a ruse, and under cover of the fog
had stolen back again, and were quietly lying
behind their men-of-war prepared to give their
little annoyer a warm welcome.
"Quietly and swiftly La Chiquita stole on
until the largest of the enemies' ships was seen
to be near,-a dull gray mass without a sign of
life about her and apparently at anchor. Still
closer ran the torpedo boat, and all was quiet
on the big ship. She was almost alongside,
and yet the sleepy sentry did not heed. The
young Peruvian captain rubbed his hands in
glee at the glorious opportunity afforded him,
and he had just made the signal for the lower-
ing of the torpedo when 'Bang!' went the
sleepy sentry's gun.
"' Never mind,' cried the gay captain, as he
felt the bullet pierce his cap. You are awake
at last, my boy, and just too late!' But no!
A dark object darted out from beyond the
ship's stem, and behold-there was one of the
absent torpedo boats To add to the consterna-
tion of the Chiquita's crew, the second torpedo
boat now hove in sight, rounding the frigate's
"'We are in a trap,' yelled the captain.
Stop her! Back her! Starboard your helm.
Hard!!!' and he fairly danced with rage as
the bullets began to sing about him.
In less time than it takes to tell it, the Peru-
vian surprise party' was in full retreat through
the fog, followed closely by the Chilian boats
and a hail of small shot which dashed up the
spray all around them. The big ships, too,
were in pursuit, surging and rocking, their black
smoke and their masts visible above the low-
lying fog.
"For ten minutes the race progressed finely,
the crew of the fleeing craft doing their utmost
to escape the fierce pursuers. The officer dis-
tributed his men about the boat so as to



give her the best possible balance. Soft coal
was being burned and dense black smoke and
sparks were pouring furiously from her funnel,
but it was evident that the two other torpedo
boats were overtaking her, although the men-
of-war were dropping behind.
"The officer looked anxiously at Clark and
asked, Can not you make her go faster ?' Clark
glanced at the steam-gauge and at the safety-
valve, from which a jet of steam was already
flying, and shook his head. He screwed down
the valve a little, however. The gauge showed
ten pounds more pressure, but that was all he
dared put on. La Chiquita was rushing' like a
streak' through the water, faster than she ever
went before, but it was of little use. The
larger boats were steadily gaining. A few min-
utes more would have ended it. It was too
bad, for La Chiquita was almost in the harbor.
She had run out of the fog and could see the
forts, which dared not fire, however, for fear of
hitting their own vessel. The Peruvian sailors
crouched in the bottom of the boat while Clark
coolly tended his engine, parts of which moved
so fast that, as he afterward told me, they looked
like a whirling blue mist.
"' Sefor,' said the officer to Clark, we have
done our best, but it won't help us. They are too
near to us, we must give up,' and as he said
this he proceeded to take from his pocket a
handkerchief to wave in sign of surrender.
Clark glanced back, and there, not four hundred
feet away, was the first pursuer, her sharp snout
cutting the water like a knife and throwing the
spray to each side. He observed quickly that
from her brow projected a spar, on the end of
which was a large, black, pear-shaped, vicious-
looking torpedo, its head studded with percus-
sion caps. This torpedo was ready to be thrust
further forward to blow up La Chiquita as soon
as they should come within striking distance. As
Clark's keen glance returned along the boiling

wake of his own boat, he noted in the stern-
sheets a rifle which belonged to the captain.
It was just like the one with which the engineer
used to 'pick off' squirrels from the hickory-
nut trees, at home in 'the States.'
He motioned to the captain not to wave his
flag of surrender. He gave the engine one more
drenching of oil, and the safety-valve another
twist, then seized the rifle, carefully adjusted the
rear sight, wiped the oil from his trigger finger,
raised the piece to his shoulder, and took aim.
He stood solid as a rock, with feet wide apart
to steady himself against the rolling of the boat.
His head was bare and his sleeves were rolled
up to his elbows. What can he be going to
shoot at?' muttered the captain. No one is
visible on the other boat.' But he noticed that
as the pursuing boat, now but three hundred
feet away, rose and fell with the swells, and its
torpedo bent and swayed from side to side on
the end of the spar, the muzzle of Clark's rifle
was following it. Now up, now down, now this
way, now that, it swung, as if avoiding that keen
eye looking through the sights. But, finally, for
one moment it paused and was quiet. It was
that for which Clark was waiting. There was a
sharp report from the rifle! The torpedo, struck
by the bullet fair and square on one of the caps,
exploded with a tremendous report. The spar
and torpedo flew in fragments through the air,
and, as the on-rushing boat emerged from the
cloud of smoke, it was seen that her bow was
shattered and split, and that she was sinking
rapidly, while her crew were heard calling upon
the other Chilian boat for help.
"Clark laid down the rifle and turned his
attention to his engine again as if nothing had
happened, and, amid the booming of guns and
the dipping of flags in salute, La Chiquita ran
into the harbor and was soon at her moorings,
thanks to the cool Yankee boy who had saved
the vessel with one shot."



DEEP a-wood there's a wee little play-house I've
Roofed o'er by the leaves growing thickly
Where the elfin-folk troop, with their spirits
O' nights when their watches are pointing to

They have cunningly raised up a stage of green
And a spider has spun a fine curtain across,
While the footlights are fireflies ranged in a row,
With their wing-shaded lamps shining full on
the show.

A pompous frog orchestra fiddles away,
While the lily-bell dressing-rooms dreamily sway,

As the little play-people, with fast-beating hearts,
Look in mirrors of dew to make up for their

All around sit the spectators, holding gay chats,
With the ladies bedecked in the highest of hats,
Till a tinkle is heard on a gold buttercup,
And gloves beat pit-a-pat as the curtain goes

Oh, the wonderful plays these small actors strut
I would like to attend one, I 'm sure would n't
But, if we both went, it would fill them with
And there would n't be any performance that




The Age of Giant Mammals.
WE now come to a time in our history of the
ages, when the earth's surface began to look
as it does at present with mountain peaks,
plains, winding rivers, valleys, and the blue sea.
Ferns and mosses grew in damp places, and
trees and plants, which now grow only at the
tropics, were scattered over the whole earth.
This abundance of tropical vegetation did
not last throughout the entire age. The crust
of the earth was becoming so thick as to greatly
modify the heat from the interior, especially at
the poles, where at length it began to grow
cold. At one time in the history of the period
vast seas of ice extended over the plains.
This age saw all the high mountains raised
up. The melted interior could find no easy
vent through the hard crust, and in forcing its
way out it rose high into the air.
The rock-making was particularly interesting,
because little animals and plants did the most
of it. All the magnificent buildings of Paris are
made of limestone taken from quarries near the
city. These quarries are composed of layers
made entirely from the tiny shells of micro-
scopic animals. No less than one hundred and
thirty-seven species exist in these limestone
beds. There were other little beings, not so
small, that did an enormous share of rock-build-
ing. They have received the name "nummu-
lites," from the Latin word "nummus," meaning
"money," because their shells resemble coins.
In Germany they are commonly called the
"devil's money." They are so perfectly formed
that one cannot help thinking, on first looking
at them, that they have been stamped with a
die. In some places mountains of great height
are made of their shells. In Egypt the layers
are of such extent that since centuries before
Christ the rock has been used for building pur-

poses. The ancient Pyramids and the Sphinx
are made of this rock.
Beds of lignite, a kind of half-finished coal,
are also found amongst the rocks of this age.
With it is found the yellow amber, which is only
fossil resin from a species of pine tree. It is
abundant on the shores of the German Ocean.
Insects are often found preserved in it as per-
fect as on the day they were imprisoned. The
first bee of all the ages was found in amber,
"an embalmed corpse in a' crystal coffin."
With it were found fragments of flower and leaf,
as if the resin dropped on the flower upon which
the bee had alighted, and enveloped both.
It is probable that the first bird made its
appearance in this age. In the new red sand-
stone of the age before, footprints have been
found which look as if they had been made
by gigantic birds; but geologists think they
may have been tracks of birdlike reptiles.
The remains of this age, however, are surely
those of birds, for tail and wing feathers have
been found.
There were a great many different species of
crocodiles, tortoises, and turtles. We are told
of one crocodile, twenty feet long, which had
feet as large as those of a rhinoceros.
The fishes generally resembled those of the
present day. There was one shark that meas-
ured one hundred feet from head to tail. A
shark is quite a curiosity now, but in those days
sharks were the rule and not the exception.
But it is not on account of its birds, or its
fishes, or its reptiles, that this age is noted. Its
one distinguishing feature is the immense num-
ber and huge size of its mammals, or milk-giving
animals. They were distributed over all the
earth. Animals of the same class, which live
now only in warm climates, then roamed over
the whole globe from pole to pole. Its great
water-mammal, the whale, differed from ours
only in size. There is one variety of fossil whale


found in the Southern part of our own country,
and each bone of its spinal column is a foot and
a half long and a foot across. An English
geologist, who once visited America, says he
saw the skeleton of one whose spinal column
extended seventy feet.
For many centuries, at different places on
the continent of Europe, people discovered
gigantic bones. Little curiosity was excited,
until at length some workmen in the quarries
near Paris found some bones which were
brought to Cuvier, the famous French naturalist.
He had just. made himself eminent by giving
an unlooked-for decision regarding some fossil
remains found in Siberia. He compared the
bones with human bones and with those of
animals now living, and concluded that they
belonged to animals different from any that
now inhabit the earth. From his knowledge
of bones he drew pictures of two animals, to
which he thought the bones must have belonged.
When he made known his opinion, it caused a
great deal of argument. Soon after, complete
skeletons were found in the quarries, and these
proved Cuvier's pictures correct. These ani-
mals were neither tapirs, nor horses, nor rhinoc-
eroses, but resembled all three. They, as well
as all the other mammals of this period, were
thick-skinned, like our elephants. They varied
greatly in size- some were as large as cows,
others as small as rabbits. They probably
wandered in peaceful herds through the val-
leys, in quest of pasturage.
The giant of all the mammals was probably
a beast called by a name meaning the terrible
animal." Why it should have received this
name is a mystery, because there is no evidence
to show that there was anything "terrible"
about it, except its size. It was eighteen feet
high. Its head was four feet long. Its trunk
was like an elephant's, and from its lower jaw
projected two tusks, curving downward. It
lived on a vegetable diet. As it is supposed
to have inhabited lakes, rivers, and marshes,
like our hippopotamus, it may, some naturalists
think, have used its tusks to draw itself up on
the banks.
An animal that ought to interest us greatly,
because the only five perfect skeletons of it that
have ever been found have been found in North

America, is the mastodon. It was considerably
larger than the elephant. One skeleton was dis-
covered with the remains of its food between
its ribs. They showed that it lived, in part at
least, on the small leaves and branches of spruce
and fir trees. Away back as far as 1739, when
the French owned the Mississippi Valley, a
French officer was traveling toward the Great
River, guidedby some Indians. Whenhereached
a salt marsh in Kentucky, called the Big Bone
Lick," where quadrupeds resorted to lick the
salt, he found its shores covered with the bones
of this animal which he did not know. He
brought some of them home with him; and
Buffon, another famous French naturalist, pro-
nounced them the bones of an elephant whose
species had died off the earth. Great quanti-
ties of these animals must have roamed over
North America, for when, in 1763, the English
took possession of the French region, cases were
filled with these bones and sent off to England.
The great Siberian mammoth, a species of
elephant of this period, was from sixteen to
eighteen feet high and twice as heavy as any
elephant existing to-day. Its tusks were from
ten to fifteen feet long, and curved upward with
a great sweep. We know all about this animal,
for at least two specimens retaining the skin
and the hair have been found preserved in the
ice in such perfect condition that dogs and
wolves have fed on the meat when it had been
dug out of the ice.* Its body was covered with
long black hair and red wool. Its trunk was
like the elephant's, but its legs were shorter.
The further north naturalists go, the more
remains of this animal are found in the ice.
There must have been a temperate climate in
the places over which they roamed; for the hair,
while it shows the animal could resist some cold,
is not heavy enough to ward off the cold that
exists at present in Arctic regions. Nor if the
present low temperature had prevailed there,
would there have been food for these vast herds.
It is inferred that the cold came suddenly, and
killed them; if they had been dead any length
of time before the ice enveloped them there
would have been some decay.
Northern Siberia, and especially the islands
off the coast, were great herding-grounds for
these monsters. Some of the islands are com-

* See ST. NICHOLAS for April, 1887.



posed entirely of mammoths' bones and sand,
frozen together in the ice. Tusks weighing from
i50 to 200 pounds are exported to all parts of
the globe, and it seems impossible to exhaust
the supply. It is said that the Chinese wrote
of these mammoth remains five hundred years
before Christ. When theattentibn of the learned
men of Europe was called to them, a great
many disputes arose. It was suggested that
they were the remains of Indian elephants
swept up there by the flood. When they were
found farther south, it was said that they were
African elephants which Hannibal had brought
with him when he came over to Italy to fight
the Romans; but Cuvier claimed that an Indian
elephant would remain an Indian elephant no
matter where it was carried, and that these re-
mains differed from those of any known species
of elephant. It at once roused great interest
in geology, and more specimens being found,
what Cuvier said was proved true.
There is a mammoth in the museum at St.
Petersburg of which a curious history is told.
One day a Siberian fisherman saw a rounded
mass enveloped in ice. He was attracted by
its strange shape, and for four years he watched
it, the ice melting a little each year. At the end
of the fourth year, it had melted sufficiently for
him to see that the object inclosed in the ice
was a mammoth. The tusks projected from the
ice, and he cut them off and sold them. At the
end of the fifth summer, which was very warm,
the ice melted so fast that the mammoth dropped
by its own weight. An Englishman traveling
through Russia, and hearing of the monstrous
animal that had been discovered at the mouth
of a river in northern Siberia, went there to see
it. The wolves had eaten a great deal of its
flesh, and the natives had cut off more and fed
it to their dogs, but there were portions left with
the hair upon them. He collected all of the
parts that remained (it was minus a foot, which
the wolves had perhaps carried off), bought
back the tusks from the merchant to whom they
had been sold, carried them to St. Petersburg,
and sold them to the Czar for about $6000.
The skeleton is now in the Imperial Museum.

The name mammoth comes from a Tartar
word meaning earth-beast." It is a tradition
amongst the natives of Siberia that it lives down
in the earth, and whenever it comes into the
sunlight it dies. Its remains have been found
in England and in North America.
During the age of mammals, the sloth, the
ant-eater, and the armadillo were represented,
only on a much larger scale than now. The
oddest of all the odd animals we have met, was
the "great wild-beast," an enormous, massive,
sloth-like creature, twelve feet long, all of
whose bones were twice as thick as an ele-
phant's and whose tail was two feet across.
It burrowed in the earth for food and shelter,
and pulled down trees to feast on their green
shoots and twigs. There was another of the
same family which had a double skull. It
fed on trees like the first, and was so clumsy
that it could not get out of the way when
the trees fell; so sometimes its outside skull
was cracked, and healed up again without any
serious injury. There was a creature six feet
long, of the armadillo family, that had a coat
of mail. The scales were arranged in the form
of rosettes. It resembled somewhat an im-
mense turtle.
Besides these strange animals, troops of tigers
and hyenas, which are now confirmed to tropical
countries, roamed over the land. Great cave-
bears had their homes in all parts of Europe.
There is a famous cave in England, called the
Kirkdale Cave, the floor of which is covered with
the bones of elephants, tigers, hyenas, bears,
and wolves. It is supposed to have been the
home of hyenas. These bones are all bitten
and broken, showing that the hyenas dragged
the animals into the cave, to feed upon them
Toward the close of the period, after the
reign of ice, the ox, the horse, the deer,
and other animals useful to man, began to
The fields were rich with grasses and grain.
Fruit trees added to the beauty of the scene, and
the fair home was ready for him who was to be
a little lower than the angels."



We went to hunt for chestnuts
One fine October day,
And in the windy country
We wandered far away.

We built a fire of brush-wood
Beneath the sheltering-hill ,
Among the rustling corn-shocks
The wind was never still.

We played that we were gypsies,
Who never sleep in beds,
But lie beside their fires
With stars above their heads.

But when the air grew frosty ,
Beneath the chestnut tree
We filled our bags and baskets ,
And hastened hore to tea.




SEVERAL centuries ago, the peasantry of Fries-
land finding their country invaded by a mounted
army, and having no cavalry to put in opposi-
tion, conceived the idea of stopping the advance
of the horses by putting in their way pieces of
timber, pierced in X fashion by stout rods of
wood, tipped with sharp iron points. It was
impossible for the horses of the invaders to
make any way against this ingenious device,
and, with a grim sort of humor, the soldiers
dubbed it the horse of Friesland, or, those par-
ticular soldiers being Frenchmen, cheval de
Friesland. This was presently corrupted to
cheval-de-frise, or, in the plural, chevaux-de-
What the Frisians did then, soldiers who are
put on the defensive have done ever since; and
so have gardeners who grow tempting fruits, or
gentlemen who have attractive dooryards in
the city. In fact a cheval-de-frise, properly con-
structed, is so good a barrier to progress, that it
seems to suggest itself naturally to both man
and beast; for it is not only the soldier who
constructs one according to rule, or the gar-
dener who makes one off-hand by sowing broken
bottles in mortar on the top of his wall, who
has thought of this method of repelling inva-
sion. A great many birds recognize the value
of thorn bushes for nesting places, and one bird,
at least--the road-runner of our western, or
southwestern, plains--displays now and then
a sound knowledge of the practical uses of the
chevaux-de-frise. It is said that its hatred of
rattlesnakes is so intense that when it finds
one asleep in the warm sand of the deserts it
will gather the spiny leaves of the prickly pear-
a species of cactus -and surround the snake
with them in such a manner that it is im-
possible for the beleaguered reptile to escape
without passing over the spiny wall, a thing he
cannot do without becoming impaled upon the
sharp spines.

But the most remarkable story of the use of
the chevaux-de-frise by one of the lower ani-
mals is told by a correspondent of the St. Louis
Globe-Democrat. He writes from the south-
west, where the arid, sandy, desert lands and
the intensely hot sun combine to produce a
varied growth of cacti. Some of these rise in
imposing columns of great size, some creep
along the ground, some bear flowers of the most
exquisite hues and shapes, some bear fruit that
is juicy and almost luscious, and all are armed
in a greater or lesser degree with the sharp
spines spoken of in connection with the prickly
Among the worst of these cacti in this respect
is the one called toyo. Perhaps it is the very
worst; for not only is it covered to an unusual
degree with the spines, but they are so sharp and
so easily detached from the .plant, that one has
only to lightly touch them to cause them to pene-
trate the flesh and to separate from the cactus.
More than this, there seems to be a poison in the
spines for man or beast, and the consequence is
that a toyo thicket is one of the most highly re-
spected places in the desert. Snakes, coyotes,
and other reptiles and beasts give the toyo a
wide berth. The birds seem to understand this
and make the thickets their homes. .
For the birds to use the' thickets for nests
seems natural enough, however, and it is not of
this fact that the gentleman referred to speaks in
his letter. He was fortunate enough to discover
a party of rats engaged in building a veritable
fortification, or chevaux-de-frise, of the toyo
spines about their burrow. He had some diffi-
culty at first in discovering what the rats were
about, but by making a circuit, and stealing
cautiously upon the workers, he was able to
see what they were doing. His own description
is as follows:
Some were at the toyo thicket, cutting the
thorns, others were transporting them with cau-


tious haste to the vicinity of the nest, and still
others were setting them in the earth in such a
way as to make a perfect and formidable che-
vaux-de-frise. All the points were turned out, and
so thickly were the thorns planted that even the
tip of one's finger could not have touched
the crround without I v.Wund from the
needlle pi::rit."

da-, : -. l ii . til n i .t r -i t

spin.-: ,. -t :.n rru e:tc'. l Ir-'.n 'k,. t.'
the u.-' I.- o:,n c.it" I r 1i e i "

visit.Z.i tihl m ,a.il, -for
sor,.: rim lo,- n, er Li,.for, l ie -C'
dis-:.- rerd iii.- sr,.:..ij| r- r
pos ;:. % u li.:h the I'.rtii- '.
cat o!.: .1 : l,,-,:n cr .t ,-..,. ...
i ,ic ,.'.'."nin- ,"t h-i z1 i ,, I i" I i-

a s ii':ll-. ri .t, at :.oni- ili ni'- frir
the rin-:, ,:,me run r ii n 7 ,ith,
dent L-eni t' i i.- r In a m...tI -
th e -.- -- -i l- .,, : i ,ri .1 :[re. r ,r-.- ...
of r;L'i -. r i-i[.i _.' I 'r., i ,:-, 1 r,-p- z _
p ir _, :t,:,re r.:> ,r[.. ,r..;r,"-- l.. r .i Islee
opir -i -' i i *. -- r u -t
had "'r i.iih i,.rf,,-, l-it n,:: -" -
of tl't,:," s[..:.!i .,:- [.,, il rl'i,,- lr l,:|.. i *-*^ '.?.-.,
o f r i.h,- .. n. ,i ,ill j ti ii i i -i, K'
t h e l i e ,. r i i i [ ,Ji ,| ,' i rC ,.
Th.in : n-,,:l.- i .;rf.-r-- i t r: iI.-r
of rl _!. -._ 3 ,-,:i -:12c,: rdttler

Arrived at the fortification, the snake attempted
to cross it, but was repulsed by the spines and
drew angrily back. Several times he made the
attempt, but seemed satisfied at last that the
fortress was impregnable. Coiling himself he
waited, hoping, perhaps, that some
1', ii-v -ry or n v r.1-,,r ,1 r t- it ,,uld
,:rirtill,: L ui thin u r- l.in. g lI(J -

'' /, t ->.[. 'r -J t rc.-.eic N ii, e
Ir -. .i,' ,- !-\ r cd

S_ ." ..' ,'" t. h '-: ti e

il I. I.:c i .k into
'th, ,_.lc:,r the first

,1',, :',', l" I, '


at some distance, winding his way along in chase movement of the enemy, as if fearing that he
of the fleeing sentry. He evidently smelt a rat,' knew some wile yet to be practiced.
but was in no hurry, as if sure that the refuge The observer afterward learned that it was
of his intended supper was easy of access and usual for the wood-rats of that region to thus
at no great distance." protect themselves.
VOL. XVII.- 124.




FIERCELY fighting,
v. ith revolver in right
hand, sword ready in
left, his fair beard be-
*^ grimedwith dust,stood
Armand Leslie, one of
the few white men who remained to rally the
cowardly rabble of Egyptians enrolled under a
valiant commander for the relief of the garrison
of Toka in the Eastern Soudan. Desperately but
hopelessly he fought, his hot Irish blood bright-
ening through the deep tan of his sunburnt fea-
tures as he fired his last cartridge. Then, hurling
the useless weapon into the surging crowd of
fanatics, he seized his sword; but before he could
strike the cruel Arab spearmen overcame him.
And so died the genial, handsome Irish sur-
geon, Leslie.
We first met in a country very different from
the Eastern Soudan. To say that the roads were
muddy in that part of the world where we were
then would be as mild a statement as to express
an opinion that the atmosphere of Bombay in
the full burst of the monsoon is rather moist.
The streets of the Servian town of Nisch, in
the last week of the year 1876, were mere quag-
mires. In attempting to cross them there was
always a doubt whether the liquid mud would
be over one's ankles, as high as one's waist,
or up to the neck. The highways and byways
were rivers, estuaries, and pools of mud. The
houses were built of the same material, and in
fact most things were muddy in that Turkish.
frontier town.
To watch a company of troops crossing a road
was an amusing sight to one seated comfortably
at a first-floor window. The men would break
off from the narrow sidewalk of cobbles into
Indian file, and extend at least three paces as

they took running leaps through the mire. For-
tunate were those who succeeded in arriving on
the other side with the pasty soil only up to their
knees. The cause of all this muddiness was a
rapid thaw following after many weeks of hard
frost, a thaw for its rapidity and thoroughness
peculiar to this part of the Balkan peninsula.
In a few hours it would freeze just as quickly,
converting the streets into glacier-like surfaces
again, necessitating the immediate calking of
our horses' shoes, and the covering of our
boots with raw-hide, perhaps a discarding of
them altogether for the moccasin of the Bul-
garian peasants. The shining crust of mud
reflected the deep cobalt-blue of the bright
sky, the morning I rode from my lodgment to
the hospital barracks, a few miles out of the
town, and, for a wonder, I arrived almost spot-
less, although my horse's shoulders were drip-
ping little mud-pies on the threshold of the
barracks as the Turkish sentry saluted us.
It had been my firm intention not to indulge
in much walking or riding till Nischava roads
had resumed their normal state of hardness, but
a letter that morning had been delivered to me
by the hospital orderly, from the chief surgeon,
asking me "to come and be of rather impor-
tant service to him." I was always open .to
calls in this way from the workers under the
Red Cross; hence this letter from Armand Leslie
and my fortitude in facing the mud.
"Well, what is it, Leslie ? said I, after the
usual greeting a la turque, for he followed the
Orientals in always offering coffee to callers.
"It is, as I stated in my note, rather impor-
tant business," replied my friend. Please don't
smile. It is a question of waterproof sheeting,
beef-tea, condensed milk, and blankets. I have
just received from Constantinople a large supply



of these things for hospital use. You are aware
that I am the only British surgeon left in Nisch,
and that I remain simply to wind up the So-
ciety's affairs, and to hand the hospital and stores
over to the Turkish authorities before the New
Year. That, as you know, will be the day after
to-morrow, when you and I have arranged to
journey together in the morning to Constan-
tinople to taste once more a little luxury and
"Yes," I said, and nodded.
"Well, these things," he continued (pointing
from the window to the yet unloaded wagon in
the yard), must be distributed to the patients
before we leave, and I want you to assist me in
the work."
Certainly, my dear fellow," cried I, "but
why not hand them over in store to the Turkish
officials ? "
"There's the rub," said he. I can't do it."
Can't do it ? I queried.
"For a very good reason," replied Leslie.

- I,,
-A *r '/

manufacture mackintoshes out of the waterproof
sheeting belonging to the hospital."
"The scoundrels! I broke out indignantly.
But the doctor quickly placed his finger on
his lips to enjoin silence, just as an Armenian
surgeon in seedy uniform passed under the
"You see that young man? said he. "I
caught him only yesterday stealing the sheets
from under the patients; and he shamelessly
told me what kind of a waterproof he would
have made of them if the pieces had not been
cut too small. Their unblushing effrontery is
too much for me. My poor patients shall not
be robbed.
It is my intention to frustrate such little plans
by distributing the stores to each patient, and
cutting all the sheeting into lengths impossible
for rubber coats. It is to assist me in this work
that I have sent for you."
I spent the morning with Leslie in measuring
out the sheeting. In the afternoon we passed




, ty



" These miserable officials would trade with the through the wards giving away the hospital com-
Franks of the town with the beef-extract and forts, and delivering to each man a pot of Liebig's
condensed milk; make winter jackets of the extract and two tins of condensed milk. After
blankets, to cover their own bodies; and would the distribution we returned through the rooms


: i


to explain to the patients the proper use and
cooking of the provisions. On entering the
first ward, for this purpose, to our dismay we
discovered that most of the invalids were sit-
ting up in bed ravenously eating their respec-
tive shares of beef-extract and condensed milk
with their fingers. We never heard what effect
this concentrated mixture had upon their diges-
tive organs, for we started early next morning
for Constantinople.
But, at all events, Leslie's patients were, for
once, not robbed of their rations.
It was the eve of the New Year. A bitter
frost had set in during the night. The roads
were as hard as they had been soft a few hours
before. The tower of skulls glistened in the
bright sunshine, as we halted at the grim trophy
a few miles from the town. This ghastly edifice
was built after a Servian rebellion about sev-
enty years before. The Serbe prisoners captured
by the Turks were marched to this spot. Men,
women, and little children were decapitated,
and their heads built up with plaster in hori-
zontal rows, making four walls three feet thick
and fifteen feet in height. Many of the skulls
had already rolled out of their niches, and had

S...---- -_ ..P

been trampled into the earth or carried away
by jackals or wolves. A few still remained to
tell the terrible story, and to bear witness to the
barbarity of the Moslem. We traveled all day,
toiling over the rough roads of the Balkans to

Lom Palanka, where we arrived as the sun sank
in a large red ball behind the row of poplars
flanking the road and surmounting the pictur-
esque ruins of the old Turkish fortress.
When we entered the courtyard of the inn, dark-
ness had fallen. The burning charcoal, fanned
into a state of purity for heating purposes by boys
seated round the braziers on the balconies, gave
forth a glow of comfort and hospitality. The
inn was well patronized that night and rooms
were scarce, so Leslie and I decided to share
the same apartment, one opening upon the bal-
cony of the courtyard. We divested ourselves
of our furs, and, assisted by a servant who poured
water over our hands from the long spout of a
kind of tea-kettle ewer, we were able to wash in
a primitive way at one of the troughs fixed on
the balustrade at the corners of the quadrangu-
lar balcony. The soapy liquid drained through
holes in the trough to the flags below, falling
on the backs of some herons we had noticed
flapping about the yard. One irate bird, with
shrill cries, lazily settled himself upon the roof
of the cook-house opposite, and looked down
from this point of vantage with calm dignity,
mightily puzzled, no doubt, as to why mankind
should carry on its wash-
ing so far into the night.
We dined in the caf6
below on meat soup,
baked turkey, and plenty
of red pepper. The wine
ofthe country cheered our
--'- drooping spirits, and after
coffee and cigarettes we
P played a game of French
billiards on the rickety
old table in the center of
L' the room, and soon after
retired to rest. There were
*'. two small trestle bed-
,'#;i steads, set end to end on
S the side flanking the door
of our room. A window,
well closed with wooden
shutters, opened, as did the door, to the balcony.
The night was exceedingly cold. We rolled
ourselves in our blankets and furs, and were
soon fast asleep. I was too tired and weary
to dream, but suddenly I found myself awake,



sorely depressed and miserable. The room was
oppressively warm. I tried to rise in bed to relieve
myself of one of the furs, but all power of move-
ment seemed to have left me, and I had a
horrible feeling of suffocation. I tried to call
my friend, but my tongue was powerless. At
last I was able to repeat, hardly coherently:
"Leslie, Leslie!"

.' ,
:" :.. -". ".' ..'--'>: i ,;
. ..-. .
, -, V

XA;~ ;


Then he awoke. I could hear him trying to day!
sit up in bed. I tell
Heavens! Villiers," cried he, I think I am bed,
dying! mana
"That's exactly my feeling," I was now able yours
to whisper, I never felt such pain in my life "; Wil
for my head ached as if a blacksmith was taking I turn
it for an anvil, and with swinging regularity gled
beating out, on my cranium, a red-hot horse- of my
shoe. An appalling sickness overcame me. I lie's si
heard Leslie, with a groan, fall back in his bed. each
In this way we both lay for some time, till the T
doctor in short, weak gasps exclaimed: heard
"How hot the room is! It was cold a chi

1- we went to bed. What on earth can
le matter ? Good heavens he cried, and
great exertion he struggled to a sitting
ire once more. Try to get out of bed
e are-lost, Villiers."
No use," I faintly murmured. I can't

We must," said Leslie, "or we are dead
men! Look! Look!"
and he pointed to the
center of the room.
My heavy eyes slow-
F. ly followed the direction
i of his arm, and there,
Close to the floor, was
a dull, ruddy glow; a
glare like that from the
eye of the fiery dragon
S of legendary lore.
S"That fire," gasped
my companion, is un-
S purified charcoal. We
Share being slowly poi-
The terrible truth
flashed on me in a mo-
ment. A brazier of in-
sufficiently burnt char-
coal had been placed
in our room after we
had fallen asleep.
S- Villiers," continued
Leslie, "unless we can
manage to crawl to the
CHINK IN THE door we shall probably
never see the light of
Listen to me," he went on, "and do as
you. Shift yourself to the edge of the
and roll over to the floor." This I
ged to do. "Now, for your life, drag
elf up to me! "
th excruciating agony racking every limb,
ied over on my back and gradually wrig-
along the floor with alternate movements
Sshoulder-blades. At last I reached Les-
de. Then, shoulder to shoulder, we assisted
other to the door.
hank heaven! murmured Leslie, and I
him inhaling the pure night air through
ik in a panel of the door. I then took



my turn and placed my mouth to the narrow
opening. The cool, fresh air immediately gave
us strength. We were soon able to rise on
our knees and unlatch the door, and then a
wave of frosty air swept over us.
After an inexpressible feeling of thanksgiving
for our safety, a reaction set in of bitter revenge-
fulness toward the cause of our dire sufferings.
We instinctively crawled back into the room,
and seizing the copper brazier, dragged it out
upon the balcony, and by a supreme effort
tilted it over into the courtyard below.
With a loud crash it fell, scattering the live
charcoal into a thousand stars. The herons,

and redder, as they gradually died into white
The ringing noise of the swinging iron bars
under the hammers of the Bulgarian bellmen,
announced the dawn of a New Year, from the
wooden signal-tower in the town, before the ser-
vants in our hostelry began to bestir themselves.
The cook, crossing over to the kitchen, was the
first to notice the advent of the copper brazier
in the center of the courtyard. There was
quite a motley little group gathered round it be-
fore anybody began to look about for the cause
of its advent. We were at last discovered, still
with our heads over the balcony, and staring

---4 --- -.1 I

I, ,

' li.

disturbed once more, rose with wild cries into hard at the crowd below. Unconscious, stiff and
the air, flapping themselves over the roof of the cold, we were lifted, and placed on our beds.
inn. Then all was silent. We lay prone, stretched Not till another dawn lighted Lom Palanka were
outside our room, with our heads over the edge we in fit condition to continue our journey.
of the balcony, deathly sick and absolutely How the metal brazier came into our room
helpless. With vacant eyes we watched the we never were able to discover. Appalled by
stars of that detestable charcoal turn redder so serious an accident, the servants denied all



knowledge of it. Could it have been in re-
venge for Leslie's laudable action in the matter
of the hospital stores? In the mixed crew

in the Eastern Soudan, I identified poor Armand
Leslie's body.
I could not help thinking, since we must all

of officials at Nisch, perhaps one might have die, it was indeed a happy fate that his brave
been vindictive enough for so dastardly a heart should cease to beat while he faced a val-
deed. iant foe, rather than that so noble a soldier
When, five years later, I shared the fortunes should be stifled to death by the poisonous
of Sir Gerald Grahame's avenging army to Toka, fumes from a copper brazier.



How naughty and blunt a cruel I won't" "I will" can be naughty, I won't" can be good,
While sweet things distil from gracious I will." And children decide it. If only they would
Make those strong little words always pull
Yet, sometimes they do change so queerly the right way,
about, 'T would give us bright sunshine the cloudiest
The meaning of each can be turned inside-out. day.




r. L ,.ir. \ E. RICHARDS.

IN the Land of Rinktum
(Riddle, riddle, rink),
All the happy people-weeple
f Never stop to think.
Through the streets they laughing go,
Curtseying to high and low,
With a nod, and a wink,
With a jig, and a jink.
1 Happy land of Rinktum Rink!
I will go there, too, I think.

In the land of Rinktum
(Riddle, riddle, rink),
Every little noisy-boysy
Lemonade can drink.
In the street, all a-row,
Lemon fountains fall and flow,
i lT With a splash, and a dash,
*With a gold and silver flash.
Happy land of Rinktum Rink !
I- will go there, too, I think.

In the Land of Rinktum
(Riddle, riddle, rink),
Every bud 's a rosy-posy,
Every weed 's a pink.
Candy shops, lollipops,
Barking dogs and humming-tops.
SHappy land of Rinktum Rink!
I will go there, too, I think.

';~. 1 ;








WHEN old college ball-players get together
they are always glad to recall the exciting game
or games of their college course, and I have
noticed that as a rule the players of the present
day are by no means disinclined to listen to
the tales. Sometimes, I confess, the younger
players seem rather sceptical of certain incidents
narrated by the veterans, and I must admit that
the magnifying mist of a few years' distance may
perhaps lead the older players into exaggeration.
However, I shall conclude this series with a
few of these stories. I wish to play over again,
"for fun," a few incidents from games upon
which once seemed to hang my stake of hap-
piness for the time. If I exaggerate, I hope
the boys will forgive me and remember that
they, too, may some time need a little leeway in
telling how they won or lost.
Of all games in which I have played, the most
remarkable for a sudden revulsion of feeling
VOL. XVII.-i25. I

was one between Harvard and Yale played
upon Jarvis Field, in June of 1882. It was in
the days of the Intercollegiate Association, and
Yale had already lost a game to Brown and
one to Harvard, so that it was the general im-
pression that Yale would lose this game and be
practically out of the race for the championship.
About seven thousand people were gathered
about the field and they seemed an unbroken
mass of crimson. Just a few stray bits of blue
showed where an occasional Yale sympathizer
sat. Yale went first to the bat but failed to
score. Harvard followed suit. In the second
inning, a muff by the Harvard first-base man
followed by the Yale catcher's making a two-
bagger" hit gave Yale a run. Our happiness
was short-lived, however, for in the third inning
Harvard made two runs, followed by another in
the fifth. Yale scored one in the seventh, but
Harvard matched it with one in the eighth, so
that we began the ninth with Harvard four to
Yale's two. I think we had not the least hope of
I remember feeling, as we came in for the


ninth inning, that this defeat would settle our
chances of the championship, and thinking how
the crowd of boys who, as I knew, were sitting
on the Yale fence awaiting the news, would hear
it and dwindle away in silence to their rooms.
Our first man at the bat in the ninth inning
went out quickly; and our catcher followed,
with the same result. Wilcox, the last man on
our batting list, came to the bat. Two men out,.
two runs to reach even a tie, and three to win!
I noticed that the crowd was leaving the field,
and that the young rascal who had charge of
our bats was putting them into the bag.
Here, you! stop that! cried I, for we all
were superstitious about packing up the bats
before the last man was out. Besides, I was
the next batter, if Wilcox should by any chance
reach his base, and I wanted my bat. Two
strikes," I heard the umpire call and then at the
next ball, to my great joy, "Take your base,"
and Wilcox trotted away to first. I remember
thinking how much I would give for a home-
run, and then there came a good ball just off
my shoulder and I hit it with all my power.
It went between third and short-stop on a
swift drive, but bounded high, as I afterward
learned, for I was meanwhile running at my
best speed toward first. When I was fifteen
feet from that base, I saw the baseman give a
tremendous jump up into the air and I knew
somebody had made an overthrow. How I
ran then !-for every base I passed I knew was
one nearer to tying the score. As I came dash-
ing past third-base, I saw Wilcox just ahead of
me, and we crossed the home-plate within three
feet of each other. Our next batter took his
base on poor pitching and stole second; the
next followed with a base-hit past second which
brought the first runner home with the winning
run. We then went into the field, put three
Harvard men out and won the game--when
probably half the seven thousand spectators
were already on their way home with a victory
for Harvard in their minds.
I remember a singular case of an undecided
match which was played at New Haven in
I881, between the New Yorks and the Yale
nine. Brouthers, who has since become so
remarkable a batsman, was on the New Yorks
at that time. The case in dispute occurred in

the sixth inning, but owing to the indecision
of the umpire no settlement was reached,
although the nine innings were played, leav-
ing the score a tie, according to Yale's claim,
or a victory by one run for the professionals,
if their claim was allowed. Yale was at the
bat with two men out, and Gardner a Yale
man-was running to second when the ball
was pitched. Walden, our striker, sent a base-
hit, upon which he tried to take second. The
fielder, instead of throwing home as he had at
first intended, seeing Gardner well along be-
tween third and home, fielded the ball to sec-
ond. The umpire, as soon as he saw the fielder
change the direction of his throw, forgetting
the necessity of noting the time when Gardner
crossed the plate, ran down into the diamond
to obtain a nearer view of the play at second.
Walden was put out, but so far as human eye
could judge exactly at the moment when Gard-
ner crossed the plate. The umpire did not see
Gardner at all, and was therefore wholly unable
to say whether the run counted or not. At the
end of the ninth inning the New Yorks refused
to play further, claiming the game. It was some
slight satisfaction to the college nine that just a
week later they met the New Yorks again and
defeated them by a score of ten to four.
One of the most exciting contests in which
I ever took part was a game with the Provi-
dence League nine, in 1881. Yale had had a
remarkably strong nine the previous year, and
many of the players had remained in college,
so that our nine was really a veteran organiza-
tion. We, as well as the college in general, had
been looking forward to this game with more
than usual interest as the Providence nine had
some old scores to settle with us. Yale lost
the toss and we went to the bat. The first two
men were put out easily, but Walden came to
the rescue with a three-base hit. Allen, our
next batsman, drove a swift ball to short-stop,
which gave him a base-hit, and Walden scored.
Allen started for second on the first ball pitched,
which the batsman hit safely, and Allen scored.
Our next man went out at first, leaving Gardner
on second but Yale with two runs for a begin-
ning. We took the field and easily retired the
first two men on the Providence list. Then
Farrell came to the bat and knocked a two-base


hit. Ward stepped up to the plate and broke
our hearts by sending the ball out into the track
for a clean home-run, Farrell of course scoring.
The next man went out to first and we came in
to the bat with the score tied. Our first batter
sent a high fly into the field, but luckily it was

and Yale came to the bat in the first half of
the ninth, with the score five to three in her
favor. Two runs seemed like a safe lead, but
we were anxious to increase it. One man
out -two men out, and Badger came to the
plate. Two balls were pitched, and then he hit

r-- lv

j,,. -- -.. -_ .s|
, -- -- f --^ ^I


not caught. The batter then attempted to
steal second, but was put out. The next striker
reached first-base safely but was forced out at
second by his successor's ground hit. With a
man on first and two out, we had little hope of
scoring, but Hutchison, our batsman, made a
safe hit upon which the runner managed to take
third. Hutchison went to second on the first ball
pitched, and Lamb brought them both home
by a double. The third man went out on a fly,
but Yale was jubilant with the score four to two.
Providence failed to score in her half. The
third inning went by without a run; but in the
fourth, each side scored one, thus keeping Yale
still in the lead, five to three. In the fifth inning
neither side crossed the plate, although Provi-
dence had two men on the bases who were
retired by a double play. The sixth inning
went by, the excitement growing more and
more intense, and both sides playing a perfect
game. In the seventh, Providence again had
men on bases, but another double play swept
them off. The eighth inning was another blank,

a beauty into left center for a home-run! How
the crowd cheered! The next man went out
easily, but six to three was surely safe.
Providence came in, and I well remember
that Joe Start and Johnny Ward looked any-
thing but pleased at the prospect. After one
man went out they seemed to find the ball,
and Gross, Matthews, and Denny each made a
hit which, with clever base-running, brought in
two runs. Denny stole third by a desperate
slide, having gone to second on a throw home
which failed to catch Matthews. One man out,
a man on third, one run to tie the score! the
Yale audience hardly dared breathe as McClel-
lan came to the bat. He hit a sharp grounder
to Hopkins, who was playing first-base for Yale,
and Denny came down the line for home as if his
life depended upon that run. Hopkins took the
ball cleanly and drove it in to the plate just as
Denny, in a cloud of dust, threw himself across
it! Safe! said the umpire, and the score
was tied. McClellan had gone straight on to
second, and as old Joe Start took his place at



the plate, I know more than one of us felt that
the victory we had counted on was gone.
McClellan took all the lead he dared, on every
ball, for he meant to come home on a hit. The
third ball pitched suited Start, and he hit it
squarely along the ground, but straight at Hutch-
ison who was our short-stop. McClellan was
within three feet of third when Hutchison got
the ball and sent it over to Hopkins, putting
out Start. Meanwhile McClellan was taking
his run home just as fast as he knew how. But
Hopkins was too swift for McClellan, the catcher
put him out, and six to six was the score!
I don't know how it was with the spectators,
but I know that the nine Yale men in uniform
were glad the inning was over.
The tenth inning had no long-drawn-out sus-
pense about it. Lamb, who was first at the bat
for Yale, made a single. Walden, the next bats-
man, immediately followed with a three-base
hit; Gardner took first on wild pitching, and-
the writer had the pleasure of sending them
both home by batting a single; being, later, the
third man out on a double play. Then the
Providence players went out one, two, three,
and we rode home with our heads in the air.
Perhaps you think that all the games I re-
member are those in which Yale won. Naturally
those are the ones I like best to recall, but in
the same year that we had rejoiced over such
a game won from Providence, we visited Prince-
ton and learned that some other boys could play
ball too. The game was not of particular inter-
est until the fourth inning, when Yale by a home-
run of Hutchison's had just left the score six to
one in her favor. Princeton came in to the bat
and set about overcoming this long lead. Their
first man took first-base on balls, stole second on
a passed ball, third on a fielder's error and came
home as Schenck, a Princeton batsman, drove
the ball past short-stop. Then Harlan, their
next batsman, went out, short to first, and his
successor, Winton, struck out. Archer, who
came next, brought Schenck home with a hit,
but the following batter ended the inning by a
fly. Score, six to three in Yale's favor. There
was no scoring in the fifth and sixth innings,
although Yale succeeded each time in getting
men on bases. In the seventh, Yale again began
with a single but failed to do anything more and

Princeton came to the bat. Winton struck three
times, but the Yale catcher dropped the third
ball and then threw wild to first. Archer struck
out. Winton then came home on a wild pitch
and a passed ball, the Yale battery evidently go-
ing to pieces. The next Princeton batter went
to first on balls. Then another was put out,
and a Princeton player named Wadleigh, came
to the bat. He was quite equal to the oc-
casion, and sent a fine three-base hit into left
field, bringing a run home. But the succeeding
batsman went out, and the eighth inning opened
with the score six to five in Yale's favor. The
game was becoming decidedly interesting.
One, two, three, Princeton put us out as we
came to the plate. We returned the compliment
when they came to the bat, so far as two men
were concerned, but under these circumstances
Princeton proceeded to brace again. Harlan
hit for three bases, Winton followed with a
single on which Harlan came in and tied the
score. Archer followed with another single, on
which Winton took third and scored what
proved to be the winning run, while the next bat-
ter was striking out. We came to the bat for the
ninth, and after two men were out, Platt made
a two-base hit for Yale and I succeeded him,
with a chance to tie the score by batting him in.
I hit the ball hard, driving it, as we all thought,
over the head of a Princeton fielder named
Loney, but by a magnificent jump he reached
and held it, and the game was over. Then a
sad and quiet little band of men stole away to
the train and left New Jersey.
When asked what play I recall as most sin-
gular in my remembrance of college games, I
tell the tale of a game Yale once played with
Brown University at Providence. The field
there was backed by a stone church behind
center, and an occasional very long hit would
strike it. In an open field such a hit would
have resulted in a home run. Yale had, I
believe, made some objection to the ground on
that account; but on this particular occasion, as
it proved, the church assisted Yale very materi-
ally. The game was a commonplace one up
to the ninth inning, Yale having scored six runs
and Brown none. When Brown came in to
complete the game, in the ninth, the crowd had
already become considerably diminished, and



the few remaining were standing about the edge
of the field making ready to go home. The first
man at the bat made a hit, the second followed
with another. The third man went out on a fly
to the Yale pitcher. The next batsman made
a base-hit, which was so slowly handled in the
field that the first two men scored, the batter
going on to second on the throw home. The
next man at the plate hit a grounder to second,
who attempted to throw the runner out at third,
but threw wild and both men scored, thus mak-
ing the score, Yale, six; Brown, four. The next
batter took first-base on balls. The Yale pitcher
struck out the following batter. The runner
who had taken his base had meantime stolen
second. A home run now would tie the score,
and the Brown man at the bat evidently real-
ized this, for he made a long drive into cen-
ter field. The Brown crowd yelled madly with
delight; but the ball struck the church and
bounded back to the fielder, who turned in-
stantly and fielded it home, putting out the man
who was running in from second by the veriest
scratch I ever saw on the ball-field.
I don't know that any man on the Yale nine
ever earned the heartfelt gratitude of its every

member to such an extent as did George Clark,
our right-fielder in a game at Cambridge in
1880. The game was one of those intensely
exciting contests which sometimes occur be-
tween closely-matched nines. We had scored
two runs in the first inning, and Harvard had
scored one. From the end of that first inning,
both sides had been struggling desperately to
score, but without success. Repeatedly, men
had been on the bases, and some one or two
had been thrown out at the home-plate. Har-
vard came to the bat for the ninth inning and
their first batter went out by a throw from short-
stop to first-base; a second batsman followed
with a base-hit; a third went to first-base on an
error which gave the runner second. The next
man batted to third, thus forcing out the runner
at that base. The next batsman, whose name was
Fessenden, came to the bat and hit what cer-
tainly appeared to all of us, and to the specta-
tors, to be a home-run over the low rail fence
on the right-field side. Clark had started on
the instant the ball was batted, and coming to
the rail just as the ball was passing over, he
reached far out, and to our supreme delight,
caught and held it, leaving us winners.



HEY, my gay rover
Skimming the crest of the clover,
Happy-go-lucky, ne'er-do-weel fellow,
Idlest of creatures alive! -
Why not provide you a hive,
And store it with good things dulcet and mellow ?
I '11 come, by and by, to see how you thrive.

For butterfly honey
Is rarer than Oberon's money:
I 've heard of a few that found the bright penny,
But if ever you left one sip
Of sweet on a petal's tip,
At least, 't was never my luck to find any,
Though searching the blossom from heart to lip.

'T will be my good pleasure
To come and partake of your treasure;
Wine o' the lilac and daffydowndilly,
And all the dainties you found,
Making your May-morning round,
And midsummer thefts from the rose and the lily:
With goldenrod cordial the feast shall be crowned.

(The Butterfly Replies.)
Ha, ha! but I 'm wiser
Than you, my thoughtful adviser,--
My eloquent friend,- my silver-tongued suitor !
I am no slaving bee,
To pay you your lordly fee!
Ha, ha! -a hive for a gallant free-booter!
No honey of mine you ever shall see!




YES, this is to be a detective story.
And to properly begin this story I must tell you
that there once lived a man who had a camera.
At the time of which I speak every second
person was not an amateur photographer, as we
find the case nowadays. There were then only
a few cameras in the world, and these were so
clumsy and queer that no self-respecting mod-
ern camera would think of finding in them the
slightest trace of family resemblance.
Now, this man, who lived in France, and
whose name was Daguerre, had made some won-
derful discoveries in his littered Parisian work-
shop, and the news had gone out over the world
that the reflection of a landscape or of a person's
features on the face of a piece of metal could be
permanently fastened on the glossy surface.
Everybody agreed that this was a surprising
thing; and Daguerre was soon bothered by a
multitude of people from many countries who
wanted to know how it was done.
Of course these first sun-pictures were very
different from those we now call photographs.
There was certainly one very important fact
about the whole series of experiments. There
was not a child-portrait among them.
But one day,-and this really brings me to
what I started out to tell,- Daguerre led into
his new photographic studio a little child. The
inventor had been fussing over his chemicals
and wished to try a new and daring experiment
in picture-making. At this time, the poor sitters
had to keep still for a very long while-so long
a while that the matter of "looking pleasant"
had never even been thought of. And to help the
sun and the camera along, it was found advisable
to whiten the subject's face with powder. Da-
guerre induced this child to let him powder her
face, and his notion was that with great care he
might then accomplish the first child-portrait
with the camera. But when she had been lifted
into a very high seat, with a clamp at the back

to hold the head still, and an awful glare of
light falling in upon it all, the little sitter's cour-
age began to escape. Daguerre tried his best
to get her interested, and to secure a promise
that she would look steadily at a certain point
until he should have finished the picture. The
sitter made promises, but it was all too terrible.
And when, by mere accident, she saw a reflec-
tion of her own whitened and frightened face in
a little mirror on the wall of the studio, her lip
quivered, two tears ran down over the white
powder, and a startled sound told the anxious
photographer that he must make his first child-
portrait some other day. It was months later
when Daguerre made his first portrait of a child.
For a great many years it continued to be a
very difficult thing to make pictures of the baby.
Of course there are babies who sometimes keep
very quiet, even while they are awake. At least
I have read about them, and probably nobody
would go to the trouble of writing such things
if they were not true. Babies of that kind never
gave much trouble. When the photographer
danced about the camera, flinging himself like
a Harlequin, making surprising faces, and pinch-
ing a rubber tube to bring a chirping noise from
the "little bird" with blue feathers, these babies
always gazed with an interested smile in pre-
cisely the right direction, and kept on gazing for
the right number of seconds.
But unfortunately the average baby has al-
ways been of a very different kind. If the faces
and the tin bird frightened him, he began to cry.
If they amused him, he began to giggle and
clatter his heels. He never felt altogether like
keeping absolutely still. So the inventors
who were thinking out new kinds of lenses and
plates were compelled to give up a good part
of their time in devising baby charmers," like
the tin bird. These struggles in the gallery
had, too, the result of giving the baby a bad
reputation; that is, a bad reputation among



the photographers, who counted the adventures
with the children as among the necessary evils
of the business. The people at home natu-
rally regarded the baby's conduct in a much
less serious light; yet even they seemed to feel
that somehow the baby was responsible for the
failures. Nobody seemed to think very much
about the baby's rights in the matter.
They all were trying to make the baby slower
when the thing to do was to make the camera
Happily, photography did by degrees become
steadily more rapid. Not only were more beau-
tiful lenses made to carry the image through
into the dark interior of the camera where the
silvered plate stood ready to receive its impres-
sion, but the plates were made increasingly sen-
sitive to light, until only a fraction of a second
was required to do what once had occupied
several minutes. To the baby this change was
immensely important. No more iron clamps
on the back of the head, much less dancing by
the photographer, and almost no shouting at
all. As for the tin bird, his poor throat became
dry and rusty from disuse.
The photographer now began to have very
different feelings toward the baby. The patter
of little feet on the gallery stairs no longer filled
him with uneasy emotions. Indeed, the hard-
ened professional photographer has actually wel-
comed the baby, has actually received him with
a smile-a real smile, and not merely a pleas-
antry to gratify mamma. Baby has been pub-
licly invited (in a sign by the door) to come up
and be photographed instantaneously. After
being abused and distorted (by the lens) for so
many years he was even made the medium of
artistic effects." This was a great triumph for
photography; but it was a 'greater triumph for
the baby.
The triumph, however, was not complete.
The little people could at last be photographed
very quickly, and even when they did not sus-
pect what the lens was doing. But all this
had to be done in a gallery, where the children
find themselves so strangely surrounded that
it is difficult to feel sufficiently at home to look
natural. The great bare reflecting screens, the
rustic rails, the artificial grass, and the glare of
the skylight very often produce an effect on the

young sitter that does not please the critics at
home. Baby, even if allowed a little liberty of
movement in front of the gallery camera, must
be kept nearly in the same spot. It became
clear after a time that if this difficulty was to
be overcome, the baby must not be taken to
the camera, but the camera must be taken to the
So long as the camera remained upon its awk-
ward tripod it could make no such journey, and
Mahomet had to keep on coming to the moun-
tain. But by and by, after much puzzling by
the inventors, the problem was solved, and the
mountain went to Mahomet. The hand camera
put away the tripod altogether, and the camera
began to do its best traveling with no legs at
It may seem that I have spoken of these ad-
vances in photography as if they were designed
and carried out solely with a view to the suc-
cessful photographing of the baby. You will
say, perhaps, that I have been speaking fanci-
fully; but would not that success be worth all
the efforts of the inventors ? And it is a curious
fact, which I should wish you to notice in this
development, that William Schmid, who first per-
fected and patented a detective camera, had
no sooner finished his work than he began pho-
tographing the children: children at the school-
house gate, in the Bowery, and Central Park;
children in the dockyards and in Madison
Square. It seemed as if the inventor instinc-
tively turned to those child figures whose traits
had theretofore been so difficult to represent
either with brush or camera.
Before the "detective appeared there had
been no means of catching those quickly vanish-
ing phases of character and action which we
now so delight to study; and the discovery that
the portable picture-box could be carried and
operated without exciting suspicion, among the
children (or among their elders either, for that
matter), was a promising discovery. It was like
striking a new vein of precious metal in an
abandoned mine. It opened up opportunities
for picturing much that was curious, much that
was beautiful, and, above all, much that was
true. When people get old and vain (as some-
times happens), they do not wish cameras to
tell the exact truth, but to flatter them a little,



or perhaps considerably, as the old portrait paint-
ers did before the days of the camera; and a
special artist known as the retoucherr" takes
the negative and softens all the wrinkles and
blemishes. In fact, it is customary to make eyes
larger or noses smaller "to order." But chil-
dren who have no wrinkles, and are not old
enough to wish this way or that about the length
of their noses, are generally best pictured when
the camera tells the truth about them.
Now, the hand camera that started on this ca-
reer has made its appearance in a great number
of shapes and sizes; or rather, it has tried not to
make its appearance, traveling about in disguises
like the detectives of romance. It has tried to
look like an artist's color-box, like a doctor's
satchel, or like a commercial traveler's sample-
case. It has wrapped itself in leather, and it has
hidden under brown paper with an innocent look-
ing string. It has been made small enough to
stow in a pocket, to shoot through a button-hole.
And it has traveled the world over; which,
considering its youth, is quite an accomplish-
ment. The watchful glass eye of its "finder"
has glistened in the tropics and among the ice-
floes of Baffin's Bay. As like as not it is at this
moment blinking in Tokio, on Pike's Peak, and
on Boston Common-or might be, if the sun
made it possible. If, as I have said, the camera
never traveled so well as it has since losing its
legs, it never proves so valuable as under those
circumstances when any other kind of picture-
making is out of the question. Like Mark Tap-
ley the detective "comes out strong" under
On the ocean steamer, for instance, it is (unless
its owner is sea-sick) completely at home.
To young people the deck of a modem ocean
steamer is only a big play-house; not quite
big enough, to be sure, for all of the corners not
forbidden (and some that are) will be searched
out in time; but containing a very fair quantity
of romping room. Under the brilliant ocean
sunlight the figures of the children form tempt-
ing subjects for the camera. Changes of
weather, with occasional banishment to the
cabin in stormy hours, keep deck games from
becoming tiresome. Ring-toss never goes out
of fashion. The hoops of spliced rope always
seem so delightfully nautical. When the game

reaches a crisis, and all the rivalry of the oppos-
ing sides centers its intensity on one ring that
spins through the air in the direction of the
stake, the photographer presses the trigger of
his camera.
Why did n't you wait a moment ? exclaims
the ring-tosser, "- so the picture would show
that my ring won the game! "
In the dingy steerage of the vessel the chil-
dren have less room to play, but they have gay
times nevertheless. They are nearer the pilot's
bridge and the wheel-house, and nearer where
the seamen gather. They watch curiously the
movements of anybody with a uniform. They
scamper over the hatches, tumble occasionally
down the steep stairways, squeeze into coils of
rope and go to sleep, or dance in delight when
the steward appears with the dinner bell. Here
and there, a sick baby with a very white face is
being sung to sleep without cradle or rocker.
No white-aproned nurses are busy in this part
of the ship. The children seem to be taking
care of themselves. Even very little people will
be found sitting quite alone like Mr. Mills's
"Steerage Baby."
It so happens that the hand camera, which is
a kind of quick sketch-book, has subjects both
sad and gay; and the camera, like the artist's
pencil, is very likely to follow the barefooted
youngsters with tattered clothes, not only be-
cause these little figures are picturesque in them-
selves, but because their life, spent so largely out-
of-doors, is full of variety and interest. Their
games are carried on with very few of what the
artist and the stage manager call accessories."
In the villages of Europe it is sometimes aston-
ishing to watch a group of boys engaged in the
liveliest sport over some trifling toy, or with no
implement whatever. Probably games become
livelier as the "accessories disappear.
The traveler finds among the children a very
truthful reflection of the life about him. When
the world has trouble, the children show it very
quickly. Their poverty and sickness seem more
terrible than the distress of those who are older.
And when they seem unconscious of trouble, and
are still merry in the midst of all kinds of mis-
fortune, their condition appears only the more
pitiful. The cheerfulness of poor children is
a very good lesson for the world.



In a city like New York, one sees, of course,
children of every race and every degree. In the
tenement districts, particularly in what are com-

only called the quarters," there are children
everywhere-the landscape is full of children;
in the windows and doorways; in the gutters;
indeed, a camera aimed in almost any direction
would find examples of child character. The
hand carts backed against the curb, the grocers'
wagons, the coal bins and shutter boxes swarm
with little people, whose laughter and chatter
send up a din such as we have all heard in the
monkey department of a menagerie. That a
very small person can make a very large noise
was discovered long ago. When there is a whole
regiment, a whole army of boys and girls, all at
the age when the voice is loudest in proportion
to the owner's smallness, the effect is remarkable.
In the Italian or the Hebrew quarters, for in-
stance, it is surprising to find that the children
seem never to grow above a certain size. They
are always little; that is, in broad day when the
camera is abroad. The truth is, that when they
have grown to any considerable size (whether it
is a matter of size or age I have never discov-
ered) they are sent off to work. It is a matter
of getting them out of the way. In the evening
they are all back again, big and little, in a great
screaming and romping mass, with an occasional
VOL. XVII.--26.

discordant note from some little one who is hurt
and is crying as loudly as possible. But this is
after photographic hours, unless the detective
be aided by the flash light," which, by making
the brightness of day for a second or so, gives
the camera an opportunity to catch a doorstep
group, or a night camp in a grocer's wagon.
Upon expeditions into these regions the oper-
ator of the camera is perhaps astonished to find
that the thoughtless, harum-scarum children,
apparently so absorbed in their play, are the
first to identify the camera and the first to
comment upon it. Mr. Schmid tells me that
when he first went to Europe with his de-
tective, children in the German villages, where
a hand camera had never before been seen
by old or young, said "Picture box!" at once.
This was the more surprising and perplexing to
the operator, since older eyes seldom noticed
what he was about, or suspected that the black
box contained a lens.
Nowadays it is not so remarkable that the
camera, even when adroitly disguised, should be
often detected, for its fame has extended. The
trouble is not that the young observers object
to the photographer's attentions, but that they
should be aware of his intentions at all. They




are entirely willing
to be photographed.
S" They are sometimes
j- too willing. They
gather about the cam-
era in droves and de-
i mand to be "taken."
And since the next
best thing to a picture
in which the camera
has worked unnoticed
is one in which it has
had a great deal of
attention, the operator
yields to circumstances
S and seeks the best
'W- i' method of securing a
AN ITALIANO BABY, platoon of portraits at
SYDNEY B. GRIFFIN.) once. The result is
often something of a "rogues' gallery."
Perhaps the best plan will be found to be an
offer of a money prize to the boy or girl in the
group who will laugh the best. This will test
the good humor of the little spectators, and the
picture, taken when the grins are broadest, will

illustrate in a very amusing way the differing dis-
positions of the children.
It is an easy thing to laugh when there is
something to laugh at. But when nothing
funny has happened, laughing to order is a very
different matter. The other day a certain Ger-
man gentleman urged an amateur to photograph
his two children when they were laughing. On
a certain afternoon the amateur came with his
camera, but on hunting up the children it was
discovered that while the little girl was quite
willing to smile, the boy was in a very bad
humor. In fact the boy had just been punished
by his father, and when he was asked to laugh
never felt less humorous in his life. But the
camera was there and the father was set upon
having the performance proceed. He repeat-
edly urged the boy, whose mouth did not get
beyond a slight twitching at the corners. Then,
becoming exasperated, the father shook his fin-
ger and exclaimed, You laugh now, or I vip
you again!" And it was under this awful
persuasion that the boy made the heroic ef-
fort whose result is shown in Mr. Simpson's




the schools. Whole
armies of them swarm
in the street. The
., rest are blacking
,- .boots or selling news-
t 4'1r 1 papers.
When a newspaper
delivery wagon stops
in one of the down-
town streets, and there
is a rush of boys to-
ward the heap ofdamp
evening papers, the
spectator is able to
vr discover in the quick-
ly gathered group the
curiously varied na-
tionality of these lusty
little venders. He is
able to discover also
that the strongest get
Victor Hugo, who told his grandchildren It is all quick as a flash, for the delivery
some wonderful tales, had more than one story wagon only halts a moment, then starts forward
whose hero was a Paris gamin. Victor Hugo with a string of boys, like a kite-tail, straggling
always thought the Paris gamin quite the most behind. It is easierwith the camera to catch a
extraordinary kind of being in the world. Ev- galloping horse than to photograph on the
erything changes very
rapidly in Paris, and per ---
haps the street boys of F
that big city are not such
as they were when Victor V .
Hugo found them so sur- .
prising; but it seems to -4.
me very doubtful whether ..
gamins anywhere are .
more remarkable than. A -
the gains of New York.
In New York there is 4 .
surely every possible kind
of boy. Some of these
kinds are of a very sad
description. The emi-
grant children of whom
we caught a glimpse in i
the steerage find play-
mates no better off than
themselves. And they '
are all in the way. A



wing one of these incredibly quick and daring
boys, who seem underfoot everywhere, dashing
in and out of street-cars, and mixing up with the
very legs of the horses.
In the warm weather the lemonade man and
the "hokey-pokey ice-cream man receive the
most marked attentions from the bootblacks
and newsboys. The ice-cream is sometimes
sold in a small cup without a spoon, and some-
times it is sold on a piece of grocer's brown
paper. It is considered a dainty either way.
For the same money-one cent-the lemon-

ade man parts with a glass of his "ice-cold"
About these stands there seem to be three
classes of boys (with an occasional girl): boys
who are taking their cream or lemonade, boys
who have previously taken their cream or lem-
onade, and boys who wish they could take either
cream or lemonade. Those who have once
been patrons do not let the stand-keeper for-
get the fact. They like to loiter about, to criti-
cize the stock and help manage the business.
Occasionally the stand-keeper, tormented by
the increasing crowd, the inconvenience to cus-

tomers, and hints for a free taste, disperses the
company in great wrath. But of course the
boys are soon back again. On the outskirts of
the crowd is to be noticed now and then a de-
mure youngster who is either hopelessly without
the money to buy who has never been a cus-
tomer and scarcely hopes to be; or who is wav-
ering under a terrible temptation to spend some
of the money he should take home.
When the camera follows the children it is
pretty certain to come upon picturesqueness
and entertainment. Street children have what
Newspaper peo-
ple call a "nose
for'news." They
instinctively fol-
low the right
i clues in getting
at the liveliest
e things that are
happening, or
that are at all
likely to happen.
If there is a fire
anywhere, or the
police have made
an arrest, or there
has been a run-
away and a
smash-up, they
always know it.
They know the
precise hour at
which the circus
procession will
r come by, and
caravan does actually heave in sight there
is more boy than procession. Many yards
ahead and many yards behind, trots and shouts
and tumbles the crowd of children; while
upon each side of the way, piled upon door-
steps and rolling along upon the sidewalks,
are thousands of little people of every age
that can walk at all. This sidewalk army is
densest opposite that section of the caravan in
which is found the platoon of elephants. Of
course the elephants are the biggest things in
the procession. This is probably an unanswer-
able explanation of the fact that this element of





the parade is always the most popular. At
rate, the elephants always receive the lai
measure of admiration and peanuts. Even
lions, leeringwith ill-tempered majesty from
jolting cage, have not half the followers.
whatever the further explanation may be,
true that the elephants are always the most
tographed of all the parade attractions.
In the tenement districts of the big citie
halls and alleys, on shop steps
and even on curbstones, are
scattered what artists and
writers like to call "types"; i
little child figures that seem to
have been always just where C4
they are, to belong to the door-
ways and alleys and side-
walks. Scientific men tell us
that tree and plant insects
gradually grow to have the
colors of the trees and plants
they live upon. It sometimes
seems as if tenement children
acquire just the gray-brown
colors of the dingy regions
in which they have to live.

i*~' Naturally, some of
I the most amusing and
/ /delightful things in
I street life among the
children are those
which the camera
operator sees when
he has n't his gun."
And these little
glimpses pass never
to be seen again. The
kaleidoscope turns
and the whole scene
tumbles into another
shape. But this dread-
ful accident the ac-
cident of not having
the camera at hand
when the fortunate
combination occurs
-makes us more ap-
preciative of those oc-
S_ casions when every-
BY THE AUTHOR.) thing is favorable.
I remember one very sultry afternoon, when
even children moved slowly in the streets, com-
ing upon one of those outdoor soda-water
fountains that spring up in the hot season. At
the rough table built beside the pompous freezer
sat a very little girl who was trying faithfully not
to sleep at her post; but it was difficult on that
particular day for anybody to keep awake, and
this vigilant guardian of a not very flourishing




soda-water business
had slowly passed
out of the dull hum -
of that stupid street
into the sweet quiet' .;
of the land of
dreams. Her chair
was tilted forward
until her chin rested
on the oilcloth of
the counter and a
ically held her head
in position. I was
very thankful to
have left in the
camera one plate .
upon which to get
an impression of t
this queer and lone-
some little figure.
Just after I had ..
touched the trigger,
a customer ap- (FROM A
peared, a man with a satchel, who leaned
over and imitated the E-ow!" of the morn-
ing milkman very close to the child's face.


Brought back so suddenly from dreamland the
girl started up, stared at the customer, and by
an unfortunate turn fell under the table. Had
another plate remained
in the camera I should
have liked to photograph
the child as she came forth
again. A person who
has spent his last cent
cannot feel poorer than
an amateur photographer
who has exposed his last
t.' plate and finds occa-
"' H sion to use more.
S i If we leave the poor
4 quarters of the city and
make our way among the
parks and smarter ave-
nues, we shall find that
after all children are pretty
much the same sort of
creatures even when their
clothes are very different.
-. --.. -' They love noise, even if
S they do not make so much
SON ) of it. Mr. Muybridge



*1. ~- .- I-.-
-r, ePk=~

7.'- -~
RF~ -


photographed a great many four-footed animals,
and found that every one of them moved one
foot after the other in precisely the same order,
with a single exception. I have forgotten
which animal it is that breaks the rule. I
have photographed a great many different
kinds of children when they did n't know
I was about it, and I have seen thousands of
photographs taken by a great many other people
who have the same weakness for making pic-
tures of little folks, and I have been surprised
to find how many things all boys and girls
do in very much the same manner. The
habit of children is a kind of universal lan-
guage. Pictures of their unconscious actions
express more than the poetry of motion; they
often express the poetry of conduct.
This strong family resemblance in the habit
of children often makes us forget how very
different is child-life in one quarter from child-
life in another. For one thing, Baby's life is
entirely different. On Cherry Hill, minding

the baby is one matter; on Madison Avenue
it is quite another. The minding, on Cherry
Hill, is in the hands of a child scarcely bigger




than the baby, who is trying to amuse herself and the
baby at the same time. This is difficult in more ways
than one, as everybody has found who has ever tried.
Strangely, those who are minding the baby in the region
of the white-aproned nurses are trying to accomplish a
feat of the same kind. It is one of the ways of people,
large or small, who are set to mind the baby.
Mr. Simpson's picture of the "up-town babies is

What a crusade among the old
barns of the countryside What
riots in the orchard! What hay
Sides and picnics!
,ll :. in p s The city streets are dim and
uncertain of light. Summer light
e g at the sea or in the country has
no such uncertainty. The gener-
ous blaze of the sun warms the
amateur's heart, and he is ready to
Paraphrase the words of Emer-
/ \ son and exclaim: "Give me sun-
f light and a day, and I will make the
pomp of emperors ridiculous."

a reminder of how sociable nurses always are with one
another. The sunny side of a street is often lined by .
little companies of nurses and children, the nurses gen-
erally in pairs. In many of the squares, the nurses are ,I
seen gathered into conversational groups, from which
radiating lines of perambulatorss keep up a constant
oscillation. The scene is repeated wherever the up-
town baby travels. The beach and the hotel veranda
tell stories that are much the same.
To follow the children on their summer travels might
be excuse enough for the restless journeys of the de- LEAF-FROG.
tective." Think of a beach without a fringe of children (FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY WALLACE G. BLACKFORD.)



Outdoors, of course, the camera has plenty
of light, and so, with the aid of extremely sen-
sitive plates, it can work very quickly, and the
liveliest sport of the children is pictured with-
out difficulty. A thousand and one incidents,
trifling enough in themselves, offer a temptation
to the maker of pictures. When the maker
of pictures can exercise the artistic sense, can
choose the right subject and seize it at the right
moment, trifles are full of sentiment.
Mrs. Bartlett's picture, where the young hope-
ful at the lakeside is "waiting for his ship to
come in," is a pleasant suggestion of summer en-
terprise and adventure on a quiet scale. Whether
the ship would come in of its own accord, and
without special inducement, was certainly a
matter of doubt at the moment when the cam-
era shutter winked. But the captain, who in
this case finds it convenient to stay on shore,
is evidently not yet at that point of anxiety
which prompts rash measures. Surely no spec-
tator will hesitate to hope that the wind may
continue fair.
Under the brilliant light of the beach it is not
surprising that photographic plates are squan-
dered by the thousand every summer. The
frolic of the waves is "catching," and it is no
wonder perhaps that the camera is challenged
by mischievous groups; that the picture-box is
actually carried into the surf to dance for its
life and catch game" at close quarters. The
amateur's surf pictures, generally of fun-loving
friends who both tempt and banter the camera,
are probably the jolliest he has. A good beach
is one of the best of playgrounds. Shells answer
for quoits. The sand makes a good drawing
surface for caricature, as well as a bakery for
sand-pies. Foot-races and somersaults, in the
scanty but athletic costumes of the surf, are dis-
cussed again at the winter lamp over a heap
of prints from the amateur's trophies of the
The amateur photographer is the historian of
the summer boarding-house. Sometimes he has
a hard time of it, if he chooses to turn his play
into work. He is in demand as a means of
handing down to Farmer Jackson's descendants
a representation of Farmer Jackson's new barn
as it appeared at the moment when it was first
painted. But if he were left alone he would
VOL. XVII.- 127.

rather photograph Farmer Jackson's two chil-
dren in their everyday clothes, driving home the
An excursion party that goes clambering over
the rocks, or goes nutting or fishing, is incomplete
without a hand camera, which has become, some-
how, one of the necessary features of the bag-
gage. Not that it always goes without protest.
Some one may raise the point that it is a tell-tale,
that it pokes fun, that it is in the way. But the
suggestion is naturally voted down. The young
people, at least, have too good a recollection of
the pleasure caused by the last group of pic-
tures when they were shown with the stereopticon,
on a screen in the parlor, to refuse a welcome
to this silent but observant companion. At
any rate, the camera goes, and usually supplies
much of the entertainment, if not on the occa-
sion of its appearance, at least later when its
fruits are made apparent.
In country and in city the children's sports will
always be delightful material for the amateur
photographer. Whether it be leap-frog, or skip-
rope, or marbles, or "circus," or foot-ball, or
tennis, if there is action, if there is the animation
and the open merriment of youth, there is all
that the artist of the camera can reasonably wish
for. And here the amateur photographer has a
tremendous advantage over the draughtsman
with the pencil. When the painter asks the
children to keep still terrible words those two,
" Keep still! "- the photographer with portable
camera asks them not to keep still. No trouble
about models under such circumstances.
Thus there is one branch of scientific research
to which even the young people are not only
able but willing to contribute- the study of
muscular action. Mr. Levison, for instance,
has induced children to leap and run for him for
the purpose of determining certain things about
human methods of moving about. In the case
of children- the motions are often extremely
beautiful of themselves, as well as curious in
their exhibition of action. The picture on the
park terrace, in which the little girl is seen flying
through the air with arms extended, was taken
from a point so near the level of the footway
upon which the child will alight, that the figure
is thrown into relief against the sky. At the
first glance we might fancy that this figure in



worldly clothes was dropping out of the very
clouds. But the child has simply jumped from
the stone rail of the terrace with only a little
over three feet to fall.
I was reading the other day of a European
painter who, finding difficulty in getting, for his
Cupid pictures, baby-models who would be
quiet long enough to give an opportunity either
to pencil or brush, had hit upon the plan of using
a hand camera with which he followed the babies
about, snapping them in their best positions.
Then a baby (dressed as Cupid) was tossed in
the air and caught again by the mother in order
that he might photograph the astonished little
fellow in his flights, and thus get suggestions for
paintings. Whether the artist had any real success
I do not know. He must have had some very
amusing photographs at least. As for the babies,
even under these trying conditions they prob-

ably had a better time than those poor babies of
the past who were clamped under a skylight,
and had to listen to the tin bird.
In every enthusiastic photographer's collection
there are certain pictures which to their owner
outlive in interest all the others. This or that
negative may be a triumph of technique, a suc-
cessful burlesque, or a marvel of composition.
But this certain group of pictures, however de-
fective in execution, or wanting in art to the
critical eye, possesses an interest that never
grows old. I am speaking of the pictures taken
around and about the home, the home children,
the glimpses of home life, stolen in the outdoor
light of a doorway, on the steps of the porch,
in the paths of the garden. These pictures wax
in interest as the years roll. They are precious
fragments of real history to which time adds a
gentle charm.



INE night the Brownies stood
A long canal, whose silent tide
Connected seaboard cities
With inland sections of the state.
The laden boats, so large and strong,
Were tied to trees by hawsers
No boatmen stood by helm or
No mules were tugging on the
All work on land and water too
Had been abandoned by the
Said one: "We see, without a
What some dispute has brought about.
Perhaps a strike for greater pay,

For even rates, or shorter day,
Has caused the boats to loiter here
With cargoes costing some folk dear."
Another said: "We lack the might
To set the wrongs of labor right,
But by the power within us placed
We '11 see that nothing goes to waste.
So every hand must be applied

That boats upon their way may glide."
Then some ran here and there with speed




To find a team to suit their need,
A pair of mules, that grazed about
The grassy banks, were fitted out
With straps and ropes without delay
To start the boats upon their way;
And next some straying goats were found,
Where in a yard they nibbled round.
Soon, taken from their rich repast,
They found themselves in harness fast;
Then into active service pressed
They trod the tow-path with the rest.

On deck some Brownies took their stand
To man the helm, or give command,
And oversee the work; while more
Stayed with the teams upon the shore.
At times the rope would drag along
And catch on snags or branches long,
And cause delays they ill could bear,
For little time they had to spare.

With accidents they often met,
And some were bruised and more were wet;


I---.-- _~




Some tumbled headlong down the hold;
And some from heaping cargoes rolled.

If half the band were drenched, no doubt
The work would still be carried out,

For extra strength would then be found
In those who still were safe and sound.

And once, when "low bridge! was the shout
They stood and stared or ran about
Till in the water, heels o'er head,
Some members of the band were spread.

A few could swim, and held their own;
But more went downward like a stone
Until, without the plummet's aid,

It looked as if their end was near.
The order now to stop the team
Would pass along with sign and scream,
And those on land would know by this
That something startling was amiss;
And those on board could plainly see
Unless assistance there should, be,
In shape of ropes and fingers strong,
There 'd be some vacancies, ere long !
By chance a net was to be had,
That boatmen used for catching shad -
A gill net of the strongest kind,
For heavy catches well.designed.
This bulky thing the active crew
Far overboard with promptness threw.
A hold at once some Brownies found,
While others in its folds were bound,
Until like fish in great dismay
Inside the net they struggling lay.
But willing hands were overhead,
And quickly from the muddy bed
Where shedder crabs and turtles crawled
The dripping net was upward hauled,
With all the Brownies clinging fast,

'---- gLI~ ~---

,;=-;---~~~r- ~ 1~--- ~ 1'_--:---- l ;

They learned how deep canals are made.
In spite of all the kicks and flings
That fright at such a moment brings,
Through lack of art, or weight of fear,

Till safe on deck they stood at last.
Sometimes a mule fell off the road
And in the stream with all its load.
Then precious time would be consumed



Before the trip could be resumed.
But what care Brownies for a bruise,
Or garments wet from hat to shoes,

Until the city came in sight.
Said one: "The sun 's about to show
His colors to the world below.

-i. ~ ~~-

*` ii' 4!,(..
-L .ti

~t-- ~ll~i~-~--~-~-~-~ -
~c~nuvlu~ana~~r;~~~Ra~sanmmr~-w~ir, lir r I~
L --- -------,




~~-, TP
~v ,-~
,-" -F~_
--z .~ h
--- --- "

___ ~_~"'~-~


When enterprises bold and new
Must ere the dawn be carried through ?

Thus on they went from mile to mile,
With many strange mishaps the while,
But working bravely through the night

Our time is up; we 've done our best;
The ebbing tide must do the rest;
Now drifting downward to their pier
Let barges unassisted steer,
While we make haste, with nimble feet,
To find in woods a safe retreat."

s ~ ~ I






IT was nearly dark, and the day had been
very long to Pepsie, sitting alone at her win-
dow, for Madelon must remain all day and until
late at night on the Rue Bourbon. A holi-
day, and especially Mardi-gras, was a day of
harvest for her, and she never neglected an op-
portunity to reap nickels and dimes. Pepsie be-
gan to look anxiously for the return of the merry
party in the milk-cart. She knew they were not
to remain to see the night procession; at least,
that had not been the intention of Tante Mo-
deste when they left, and she could not imagine
what had detained them. And Tite Souris--
ungrateful creature! had been told to return,
as soon as the procession was over, in order to
cook Pepsie's dinner. Owing to the excitement
of the morning Pepsie had eaten nothing, and
now she was very hungry as well as lonely; and
even Tony, tired of waiting, was hopping about
restlessly, straining at his cord and viciously
pecking the floor.
Madame Jozain had returned some time be-
fore, and was even then eating her dinner com-
fortably. Pepsie had called across to know
whether she had seen anything of the Paichoux
and Lady Jane; but Madame had answered
stiffly that she had been in a friend's gallery
all the time, which was an intimation that she had
been in no position to notice a milk-cart or its
occupants. Then she observed indifferently that
Madame Paichoux had probably decided to re-
main on Canal Street in order to secure good
places to view the night procession.
Pepsie comforted herself somewhat with this
view of the case, but soon began to worry about
the child's fast. She was sure Tante Modeste
had nothing in the cart for the children to eat,
and on Mardi-gras there was such a rush that

one could hardly get into a restaurant, and she
doubted whether Tante Modeste would try, with
such a crowd of young ones to feed. At length,
when she had thought of every possible reason for
their remaining so late, and every possible plan
by which they could be fed, she began to remem-
ber her own hunger, and Tite Souris's neglect.
She had worked herself up to a very unenviable
state of mind, when she saw her ungrateful hand-
maid plunging across the street, looking like a
scarecrow, the remnants of her tatters flying in
the wind, while her comical black face wore an
expression impossible to describe.
Oh, Miss Peps !" she gasped, bursting into
Pepsie's presence like a whirlwind, Ma'm Pai-
choux done sont me on ahead ter tell yer how
Miss Lady's done got lost!"
"Lost! lost? cried Pepsie, clasping her hands
wildly and bursting into tears. How, where ?"
"Up yon'er, on Cunnel Street. We's can't
find 'er nowhar."
"Then you must have let go of her," cried
Pepsie, while her eyes flashed fire. I told you
not to let go of her! "
Oh, laws, Miss Peps, we's could n't holp it
in dat dar scrimmage; peoples done bus' us
right apart, an' Miss Lady's so little her han' jes'
slip out'n mine. I's tried ter hol' on, but it
ain't no use."
"And where was Tiburce ? Did he let go
of her too? "
He war dar, but laws! he couldn't holp it,
Mars Tiburce could n't, no more 'n me."
You 've broken my heart, Tite, and if you
don't go and find her, I '11 hate you always!
Mind what I say, I '11 hate you forever and
Pepsie thrust out her long head and set her
teeth in a cruel way.
Oh, laws, honey! Oh, laws, Miss Peps,
dey 's all a-lookin', dey 's gwine bring 'er back
soon; don't git scart, dat chile 's all right."
"Go and look for her; go and find her!


Mind what I tell you, bring her back safe, or -."
Here Pepsie threw herself back in her chair
and fairly writhed. Oh! oh i and I must stay
here and not do anything, and that darling is
lost, lost!-out in the streets alone, and 't is
nearly dark. Go; go and look for her Don't
stand there glaring at me; go, I say!" and
Pepsie raised her nutcracker threateningly.
"Yes, Miss Peps; yes, I '11 bring 'er back,
shore," cried Tite, dodging an imaginary blow,
as she darted out, her rags and tatters flying
after her.
When she had gone, Pepsie could do nothing
but strain her eyes in the gathering darkness,
and wring her hands, and weep. She saw the
light and the fire in Madame Jozain's room,
but the door was closed because the evening
was chilly, and the street seemed deserted.
There was no one to speak to; she was alone
in the dark little room except for Tony, who
rustled his feathers in a ghostly sort of way,
and toned dismally.
Presently she heard the sound of wheels, and
peering out saw Tante Modeste'smilk-cart. Her
heart gave a great bound. How foolish she
was to take on in such a wild way; they
had found her, she was there in the cart safe
and sound! But instead of Lady Jane's blithe
little voice she heard the deep tones of her
Uncle Paichoux, and the next moment Tante
Modeste entered with a very anxious face.
"She has n't come home, has she?" were
Tante Modeste's first words.
Oh, oh!" sobbed Pepsie; then you have n't
brought her?"
Don't cry, child, don't cry; we '11 find her
now. When I saw I could n't do anything, I
took the young ones home and got your uncle.
I said,' If I have Paichoux, I '11 be able to find
her.' We 're going right to the police. I dare
say they 've found her by this time or know
where she is."
"You know I told you- moaned Pepsie;
"you know I was afraid she 'd get lost."
"Yes, yes-; but I thought I could trust Ti-
burce. The boy will never get over it; he told
me the truth, thank Heaven he said he just
let go her hand for one moment, and there was
such a crowd. If that flyaway of a Tite had kept
on the other side, it would n't have happened,

but she ran away as soon as they got on the
I thought so. I '11 pay her off! said Pep-
sie, vindictively.
"Come, come, Modeste," called Paichoux
from the door, "let 's be starting."
Oh, Uncle," cried Pepsie, imploringly, "do
find my Lady Jane! "
"Certainly, child; certainly, I '11 find her.
I '11 have her here in an hour or so. Don't cry.
It 's nothing for a young child to get lost on
Mardi-gras. I dare say there are a dozen at the
police stations now, waiting for their people to
come and get them."
Just at that moment there was a sound of
voices without, and Pepsie exclaimed: That 's
Lady Jane. I heard her speak!" Sure enough,
the sweet, high-pitched little voice chattering
merrily could be distinctly heard; and at the
same instant Tite Souris burst into the room,
Her's here, Miss Peps, bress der Lor'! I's
done found her "; and following close was Lady
Jane, still holding fast to little Gex.
Oh, Pepsie! Oh, I was lost!" she cried,
springing into her friend's arms. I was lost,.
and Mr. Gex found me. A boy tore off my
mask and domino, and I struck him in the face,
and I did n't know what to do next, when Mr.
Gex came and kicked him into the gutter.
Did n't you, Mr. Gex?"
"Just to think of it! cried Tante Modeste,
embracing her, and almost crying over her,
while Paichoux was listening to the modest ac-
count of the rescue from the ancient dancing-
And I had dinner with Mr. Gex," cried Lady
Jane, joyously; "such a lovely dinner ice-
cream, and grapes,-and cake."
And one leetle bird, vith a vairy fine salad,
my leetle lady,- vas n't it ? one vairy nice leetle
bird," interrupted Gex, who was unwilling to
have his fine dinner slighted.
Oh, yes, a bird, and fish, and soup," enu-
merated Lady Jane; "and peas, Pepsie, little
Oh, non, non; oh, leetle lady! cried Gex,
holding up his hands in horror, you have it
vairy wrong. It vas soup, and fish, and bird.
Monsieur Paichoux, you see the leetle lady does


not veil remember; and you must not think I
can't order one vairy fine dinner."
I understand," said Paichoux, laughing,
" I 've no doubt, Gex, but that you could
order a dinner fit for an alderman."
Thank you, thank you, vairy much," re-
turned Gex, as he bowed himself out and
went home to dream of his triumph.



"JUST to think," said Pepsie to her mother
the next morning, Madame Jozain was n't the
least anxious last night about Lady. I don't
believe she cares for the child, or she 'd never
be willing to let Lady stay away from her the
most of the time, as she does. She 's always
fussing about her great overgrown son if he 's
out of her sight."
"And no wonder," returned Madelon. "Poor
woman! she has trouble enough with him. She
keeps it to herself and pretends to be proud of
him; but, my dear, he 's a living disgrace to
her. I often hear him spoken of on the Rue
Bourbon; he dresses well, and never works.
Where does he get his money, ma petite ? If peo-
ple are poor and don't work, they must steal.
They may call it by some other name, but I call
it stealing. Madame Jozain can't make money
enough in that little shop to support herself and
keep that boy in idleness. We must n't be too
hard on her. She has trouble enough, I can
see it in her face; she looks worn out with
worry. And we '11 do all we can for that little
darling. It 's a pleasure, she 's so sweet and
grateful. I only wish I could do more. I 'd
work my fingers to the bone for you two, my
Bonne Mamaan," said Pepsie, clinging to her
mother's neck, and kissing her fondly, "have
you thought of what I asked you? -have you,
dear Mamma? "
"Yes, my dear, I have; I 've thought of it a
great deal, but I don't see my way clear quite
"Why, you 've got the money in the bank,
I can't touch that money, my dear; it 's for

you. If anything should happen to me, and
you were left alone-."
Hush, hush, Mamma; I should n't need any
money then, for I should die too."
No, my dear, not if it was the good God's
will that you should live. I don't want to spend
that; I want to feel that you 've something. A
piano costs a great deal of money; besides, what
would your uncle and aunt think if I should do
such a thing ? "
"They 'd think you did it because Iwanted
you to," returned Pepsie, slyly.
"That would be a reason certainly," said
Madelon, laughing, "and I '11 try to do it after
a while. Have a little patience, dear, and I
think I can manage it without touching the
money in the bank."
Oh, I hope you can, Mamma; because
Mam'selle Diane says Lady learns very fast,
and that she ought to practice. I hate to have
her kept back by the want of a piano- and
Madame Jozain will never get one for her. You
know you could sell it afterward, Mamma-"
and Pepsie went on to show, with much excel-
lent reasoning, that Lady Jane could never
make a great prima donna unless she had ad-
vantages. "It's now, while her fingers are sup-
ple, that they must be trained; she ought to
practice two hours a day. Oh, I 'd rather go
without the money than to have Lady kept
back. Try, bonne Maman, try to get a piano
very soon, won't you?"
And Madelon promised to try, for she was
devoted to the child; but Pepsie had begun to
think that Lady Jane was her own her very
own, and, in her generous affection, was willing
to sacrifice everything for the good of her charge.
And Madelon and Pepsie were not the only
ones who planned and hoped for the little
one with almost motherly love and interest.
From the first day that Lady Jane smiled up
into the sad, worn face of Diane d'Hautreve, a
new life had opened to that lonely woman, a
new hope, a new happiness brightened her
dreary days, for the child's presence seemed to
bring sunshine and youth to her. Had it not
been for her mother, she would have kept the
gentle little creature with her constantly, as the
sweetest hours she knew, or had known for
many a weary year, were those she devoted to




her lovely little pupil. It was a dream of de-
light, to sit at the tinkling piano with Lady Jane
nestled close at her side, the sweet childish notes
mingling with hers, as they sang an old-fashioned
ballad, or a tender lullaby. And the child never
disappointed her; she was always docile and
thoughtful; and so quiet and polite, that even
Diane's mother, captious and querulous though
she was, found no cause for complaint, while the
toleration with which she had at first received

.--T \ \

Lady Jane was fast changing into affection.
The more they became interested in her, the
more they wondered how she could be kin to
such a woman as Madame Jozain; for Mam'selle
Diane had been obliged to show how exclusive
she could be, in order to keep Madame where
she belonged.
At first Madame Jozain had annoyed them
greatly by trying to intrude upon their seclusion;
VOL. XVII.-128.

and it had taken several polite, but unmistaka-
ble rebuffs to teach her that they were d'Hau-
treves, and that the child would be received
gladly where the aunt must not expect to enter.
Madame swallowed her mortification and said
nothing, but she bided her time to take her re-
venge. I'll show them, before long, that I
know how poor they are; and that funny little
story I got out of Tite Souris, about Mam'selle
Diane cleaning her banquette with a veil over
her face- every one in the neighborhood shall
know it! Poor, proud, old thing, she
ti...u.i hr I .: .:.-.uld insult me and I
,';, ". 1- 1 'r i,- en t it "
I. ', \ .. iil. Madame was plan-
i' r,..r' little revenge, and
II'II iI,, I r i.- 'i sing her grievances
ii!l,'' ,i,1'.: 'I': ., !herself, old M adame
,'i' 1'Hautreve and Mam'-
!. '' lle Diane were won-
l.,,dering if something
S ..". '-'' wouldd n't be done to
.' i'9 ','I get the child out of
S.' the clutches of such
an aunt.
i' It seems really
'i ,. .. .wrong,"Mam'selle
.- -Diane would say
sadly, "to leave
-her with that
S- woman. I can
not think she
Shas any right
to her; there
is a mystery
\ aboutit, and
S it ought to
Sbe investi-
gated. Oh,
(SEE PAGE 1039.) dear, if we
had some money I 'd hire a lawyer to find out!
If she really is the child's next of kin, I sup-
pose she has a legal right to her, and that no
one could oblige her to relinquish that right;
but one might buy the little girl. I think Ma-
dame Jozain is just the woman to be moved by
money. Oh, Mamma, if our claim had only
gone through! If we 'd only got what we ought
to have had, I would try to buy the child."


"Dear, dear! How absurd! What would
you do with her? said Madame d'Hautreve.
"Why, you could adopt her, Mamma; and I
could have the care of her," replied Diane.
"But, my child, that is all romancing. We
have no money and we never shall have any.
It is useless to think of that claim; it will never
be considered; and even if we had money, it
would be a great risk to take a child of whom
we know nothing. I think, with you, that
there 's a mystery, and I should like to have it
cleared. Yet we must not worry about it. We
have troubles enough of our own."
Oh, Mamma, we need not be selfish be-
cause we are poor," said Diane, gently.
"We can't help it, child. Selfishness is one
of the results of poverty -it is self, self, con-
stantly; but you are an exception, Diane. I
will give you the credit of thinking more of
others' interest, than of your own. You show
it in everything. Now about that bird. Ma-
dame Jourdain should have paid you for it and
not thrown it back on your hands."
Oh, Mamma, she could n't sell it," said
Mam'selle Diane, dejectedly. It would n't
be right to expect her to lose the price of it.
It did n't 'take' as well as the ducks."
"Well, she might have thrown in the wool
for your time," Madame insisted querulously.
But she did n't ask me to experiment with
a new model, Mamma, dear. It was n't her
fault if I did n't succeed."
"You did succeed, Diane. It was perfect,
it was most life-like; but people have n't the
taste to recognize your talent."
"Madame Jourdain said her customers
did n't like the bird's bill, and thought the
neck too long," returned Mam'selle Diane,
"There! that only shows how little the best
educated people know of ornithology. It is a
species of crane; the neck is not too long."
"They thought so, Mamma, and one can't
contend with people's tastes and opinions. I
shall not try anything new again; I shall stick
to my ducks and canaries."
"You know, I advised you to do so in the
first place. You were too ambitious, Diane."
"Yes, you are right, Mamma. I was too
ambitious! sighed Mam'selle Diane.

One morning in August, about a year from
the time that Madame Jozain moved into Good
Children Street, Tante Modeste was in her dairy,
deep in the mysteries of cream-cheese and but-
ter, when Paichoux entered, and laying a small
parcel twisted up in a piece of newspaper be-
fore her, waited for her to open it.
In a moment," she said, smiling brightly.
" Let me fill these molds first, then I '11 wash
my hands and I 'm done for to-day."
Paichoux made no reply, but walked about
the dairy, peering into the pans of rich milk, and
whistling softly. Suddenly, Tante Modeste ut-
tered an exclamation of surprise. Paichoux had
opened the paper and was holding up a beauti-
ful watch by its exquisitely wrought chain.
"Why, Papa, where in the world did you get
that ? she asked, as she turned it over and over,
and examined first one side then the other.
"Blue enamel, a band of diamonds on the rim,
a leaf in diamonds on one side, a monogram on
the other. What are the letters ?-J, yes, it's
a J; and a C. Why, those are the very in-
itials on that child's clothes Paichoux, where
did you get this watch, and whose is it ? "
"Why, it is mine," replied Paichoux, with
exasperating coolness. He was standing before
Tante Modeste, with his thumbs in his waistcoat
pockets, whistling in his easy way while she
talked. "It 's mine, and I bought it."
"Bought it! Where did you buy a watch
like this,- and wrapped up in newspaper, too !
Do tell me where you got it, Paichoux," cried
Tante Modeste, very much puzzled.
"I bought it in the Recorder's court."
"In the Recorder's court!" echoed Tante
Modeste, more and more puzzled. From
whom did you buy it ? "
From Raste Jozain."
Tante Modeste looked at her husband with
wide eyes and parted lips for several seconds;
then she exclaimed, "I told you so !"
"Told me what ? asked Paichoux, with a
provoking smile.
"Why, why,--that all those things marked
J. C. were stolen from that child's mother,-
and this watch is a part of the same prop-
erty,-and she never was a Jozain."
Not so fast, Modeste; not so fast."
"Then, why was Raste Jozain in court? "




"He was arrested on suspicion, but they
could n't prove anything."
"For this ?" asked Tante Modeste, looking
at the watch.
No; it was another charge; but his having
such a valuable watch went against him. It
seems like a providence, my getting it. I just
happened to be passing the Recorder's court,
and glancing in, I saw that precious rascal in
the dock. I knew him, but he does n't know me.
So I stepped in to see what the scrape was.
It seems that he was arrested on the suspicion
of being one of a gang who have robbed a num-
ber of jewelry stores. They could n't prove
anything against him on that charge; but the
watch and chain puzzled the Recorder. He
asked Raste where he got it; but the scamp
was ready with his answer: 'It belonged to my
cousin who died some time ago; she left it to
my mother, and my mother gave it to me.'
"' What was her name ?' asked the Recorder.
"'Claire Jozain,' Raste answered, promptly.
"' But this is J. C.,' said the Recorder, exam-
ining the letters closely. I should certainly
say that the J. came first. What do you think,
gentlemen?' and he handed the watch to his
clerk and some others; and they all thought
from the arrangement of the letters that it was
J. C. And while this discussion was going on,
the fellow stood there smiling, as impudent
and cool as if he was the first gentleman in the
city. He's handsome and well dressed, and the
image of his father. Any one who ever saw
Andr6 Jozain would know Raste was his son."
"And they could n't find out where he got
the watch?" interrupted Tante Modeste.
No; they could n't prove that it was stolen.
However, the Recorder gave him thirty days in
the parish prison, as a suspicious character."
"They ought not to have let him off so
easily," said Tante Modeste, decidedly.
"But you know they could n't prove any-
thing," continued Paichoux; "and the fellow
looked blue at the prospect of his thirty days.
However, he does n't lack assurance, and he be-
gan to talk and laugh with some flashy looking
fellows who gathered around him. They saw
that there was an opportunity for a bargain, and
one man offered fifty dollars for it. Do you
think I 'm from the West?' he asked, with a

grin, and shoved it back into his pocket. I 'm
pretty hard up; I need the cash badly; but I
can't give you this ticker, much as I love you!'
Then another man bid sixty, and he refused.
'No, no, that 's nowhere near the figure.'
"' Let me look at the watch,' I said, saunter-
ing up; 'if it 's a good watch, I '11 make you an
offer.' I spoke as indifferently as possible, be-
cause I did n't wish him to think I was eager,
and I was n't quite sure whether he knew me
or not. As he handed me the watch, he eyed
me impudently, but I saw that he was nervous
and shaky. It 's a good watch,' I said, after
I examined it closely; 'a very good watch, and
I '11 give you seventy-five.' 'No you don't,
old hayseed; hand it here,' said he.
I was so taken aback at his calling me hay-
seed-you see, Modeste, I had on my blouse,"
and Paichoux looked a little guilty while refer-
ring to his costume.
"Well, Papa, have n't I told you not to go
up town in your blouse ?" said Tante Modeste.
I wish, for Marie's sake, that you would wear
a coat. The Guiots all wear coats."
"Oh, never mind that. I don't. I 'm an
honest man, and I can afford to wear a blouse
anywhere. I did n't take any notice of his im-
pudence, but I offered him ninety. You see, I
happened to have the money with me. I was
on my way to pay Lenotre for that last Jersey I
bought from him; so I took out my wallet and
began counting the bills. That brought him. The
fellow needed the money, and he was glad to get
rid of the watch. If I had n't thought that there
was something crooked about it, my conscience
would n't have let me take such a valuable thing
for so low a price; but I considered the child. I
thought it might be all the proof that we should
have if anything ever came up; and in any
case it 's money well invested for her."
You did right to buy it, Paichoux. It 's a
large sum of money for a watch, especially just
now, when we have to have so much for Marie;
but if we can do anything for that darling by
having it, I don't mind," and Tante Modeste sat
for some time looking intently at the beautiful,
sparkling object as it lay on her white apron.
I wish it could speak," she said at length.
"I mean to make it, by and by," returned
Paichoux, decidedly.


But now, at this moment," she answered
eagerly. What a story it could tell, if it had a
voice! Well, I 'm glad we 've rescued it from
that scamp's clutches."
So am I," returned Paichoux, opening the

,/ ..


case as he spoke, and showing Tante Modeste
something on the inside of it. I can get a trace
through this, or I 'm mistaken; but put it away
now in my safe, and say nothing about it,- I
don't wish even Madelon to know that we 've
got it. And, Modeste, whenever you see that
woman, watch for something to give us a
"Oh, Paichoux, you don't know her. She 's
as close as the grave, and too cunning to betray
herself. I 'm watching her, and I mean to keep

on, but I don't think it 's any use. I wish we
could employ a good detective."
"Yes, yes, but that would cost a good deal,
Modeste; let 's wait awhile, something's going
to turn up to put us on the right track."
"And in the mean
..(i while the poor little
darling is in the pow-
Ser of that woman.
l The child never com-
'' :' plains, but my heart
aches for her. She
I has changed, this
summer. She looks
thin and weak, and
,'- '. that woman takes no
more care of her than
--' she would of a dog.
"- If it was n't for Ma-
2, delonandPepsie,and
Mam'selle d'Hau-
Streve, the little crea-
--' ---_- ture would suffer;
:-' and our good milk
1 that I send to Made-
I i j-': ~- lon has helped her
1 'i-=-" through the hot
-w. Iweather. Pepsie her-
1.1.1,P. self goes without to
S give it to the child.
If the sweet little
thing had n't made
ji friends she would
S have perished."
S ."_ Let her come
down here and play
with our young ones," said Paichoux; "she 's
no more trouble than a bird hopping about."
"I wanted to have her, but Madame won't
let her come; she 's taken it in her head to
keep the child shut up most of the time. Pep-
sie and Mam'selle Diane complain that they
don't have her as often as they 'd like to. I
think she 's afraid that the child may talk. You
see she 's getting older, and she may remember
more than Madame chooses to have known."
Well," said Paichoux, deliberately, "I 've
made a plan. Just keep quiet and wait until
I 'm ready to put my plan in operation."
And Tante Modeste promised to wait.

(To be continued.)





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THE Ogden family had said very little, out-
side of their own house, about the news of
Mary's success in Mertonville, but on that
Monday morning Miss Glidden received no
less than four letters, and each of them congrat-
ulated her over the election of her
dear young friend, and commented
on how glad she must be. "Well,"
she said to herself, of course I 'm
glad. And I did all I could for her.
She owes it all to me. I '11 go and
see her."
Mary Ogden had so much talk-
ing to do and so many questions to
answer, at the breakfast table, that
her cup of coffee was cold before she
could drink it, and then she and her
mother and her aunt went into the
parlor to continue their talk.
John Ogden himself waited there
a long time before going over to
the shop. His helper had the forge
ready, and the tall blacksmith at
once put a rod of iron into the fire
and began to blow the bellows. The
rod was at white heat and was out
on the anvil in no time, and the
hammer began to ring upon it to
flatten it out when John heard some-
body speak to him:
Mr. Ogden, what are you mak-
ing? I 've been watching you-
and I can't imagine! "
"Well, Deacon Hawkins," said
the blacksmith, "you '11 have to tell.
The fact is I was thinking -well--
my daughter has just come home."
I 'm glad to hear it and to hear
'of her success," answered the
Deacon. Miss Glidden told us.

If you 're not busy, I wish you 'd put a shoe
on my mare's off hind foot."
The blacksmith then went to work in earnest;
and meanwhile Mary, at the house, was receiv-
ing the congrat-
i ulations of her
friends. y OgdenWhy,
I I M Mary Ogden,



my dear! Are you here?" exclaimed Miss
Glidden. "I 'm so glad! I 'm sure I did all
I could for you." My dear Mary! "exclaimed
another. And Mary shook hands heartily with
both her callers, and expressed her gratitude to
Miss Glidden.
It was a day of triumph for Mary, and it must
have been for Miss Glidden, for she seemed to
be continually persuading herself that much
of the credit of Mary's advancement was hers.
The neighbors came and went, and more than
one of Mary's old school-fellows said to her:
" I 'm glad you are so fortunate. I wish Icould
find something to do." When the visitors were
gone and Mary tried to help with the housework,
her mother said positively, Now, Molly, don't
touch' a thing; you go upstairs-to your books,
and don't think of anything else; I 'm afraid you
won't have half time enough, even then."
Her aunt gave the same advice, and Mary was
grateful, being unusually eager to begin her
studies; and even little Sally was compelled to
keep out of Mary's room.
During the latter part of that Monday after-
noon John Ogden had an important conference
with Mr. Magruder, the railway director; and
the blacksmith came home, at night, in a
thoughtful state of mind.

His son Jack, at about the same time sat in
his room, at the Hotel Dantzic, in the far-away
city he had struggled so hard to reach; and he,
too, was in a thoughtful mood.
I '11 write and tell the family at home, and
Mary," he said after a while. "I wonder whether
every fellow who makes a start in New York
has to almost starve at the beginning!"
He was tired enough to sleep well when bed-
time came; but, nevertheless, he was downstairs
Tuesday morning long before Mr. Keifelhei-
mer's hour for appearing. Hotel-men who have
to sit up late often rise late also.
For this once," said Jack, "I '11 have a prime
Dantzic Hotel breakfast. After this week, my
room won't cost me anything, and I can begin to
lay up money. I won't ride down town,though;
except in the very worst kind of winter weather."
It delighted him to walk down that morning,
and to know just where he was going and what
work he had before him.
VOL. XVII.- 129.

I 'm sure," he thought, that I know every
building, big and little, all the way along. I've
been ordered out of most of these stores. But
I 've found the place that I was looking for,
at last."
The porters of Gifford & Company had the
store open when Jack got there, and Mr. Gif-
ford was just coming in.
Ogden," he said, in his usual peremptory
way, "put that press-work on the paper-bags
right through, to-day."
"One moment, please, Mr. Gifford," said
I 've hardly a moment to spare," answered
Mr. Gifford. "What is it?"
"A customer," said Jack; "the Hotel Dant-
zic. I can find more of the same kind, per-
"Tell me," was the answer, with a look of
greater interest, but also a look of incredulity.
Jack told him, shortly, the substance of his
talk with Mr. Keifelheimer, and Mr. Gifford
listened attentively.
His steward and buyers have been robbing
him, have they ?" he remarked. "Well, he 's
right about it. No doubt we can save him from
ten to twenty per cent. It'sa good idea. I '11
go up and see him, by and by. Now hurry
with your printing!"
Jack turned to the waiting "Alligator," and
Mr. Gifford went on to his desk.
Jones," he said, to his head clerk, Ogden
has drummed us a good hotel customer," and
then he told Mr. Jones about it.
Mr. Gifford," said Mr. Jones, shrewdly, can
we afford to keep a sharp salesman and drum-
mer behind that little printing-press ?"
"Of course not," said Mr. Gifford. "Not
after a week or so. But we must wait and
see how he wears. He 's very young, and a
Young fellows soon grow," said Mr. Jones.
"He 'll grow. He '11 pick up everything that
comes along. I believe you '11 find him a val-
uable salesman."
"Very likely," said Mr. Gifford, "but I sha'n't
tell him so. He has plenty of confidence as it is."
It 's not impudence," said Mr. Jones. If
he had n't been pushing -well, he would n't
have found this place with us. It 's energy."



"Yes," said Mr. Gifford; "if it was impu-
dence we should waste no time with him. If
there 's anything I despise out and out, it 's
what is often called 'cheek.'"
Next, he hated laziness, or anything resem-
bling it, and Jack sat behind the Alligator
that day, working hard himself and taking
note of how Mr. Gifford kept his employees
No wonder he did n't need another boy,"
he thought. He gets all the work possible out
of every one he employs. That 's why he 's so
It was a long, dull, hot day. The luncheon
came at noon; and the customers came all the
time, but Jack was forbidden to meddle with
them until his printing was done.
Mr. Gifford's eyes are everywhere," said he,
"but I hope he has n't seen anything out of the
way in me. There are bags enough to last a
month-yes, two months. I '11 begin on the
circulars and cards to-morrow. I 'm glad it's
six o'clock."
Mr. Gifford was standing near the door, giv-
ing orders to the porters, and as the Alligator
stopped, Jack said to him:
"I think I '11 go visiting among the other
hotels, this evening."
"Very well," said Mr. Gifford, quietly. "I
saw Mr. Kiefelheimer to-day, and made ar-
rangements with him. If you 're going out to
the hotels, in our interest, buy another hat, put
on a stand-up collar with a new necktie; the
rest of your clothing is well enough. Don't try
to look dandyish, though."
"Of course not," said Jack, smiling; "but I
was thinking about making some improve-
ments in my suit."
He made several purchases on his way up
town, and put each article on as he bought it.
The last "improvement" was a neat straw
hat, from a lot that were selling cheaply, and
he looked into a long looking-glass to see what
the effect was.
"There!" he exclaimed. "There 's very
little of the 'green' left. It 's not altogether
the hat and the collar, either. Nor the neck-
tie. Maybe some of it was starved out!"
He was a different-looking boy, at all events,
and the cashier at the desk of the Hotel Dant-

zic looked twice at him when he came in, and
Mr. Keifelheimer remarked:
"Dot vas a smart boy! His boss vas here,
und I haf safe money. Mr. Guilderaufenberg
vas right about dot boy."
Jack was eager to begin his drumming," but
he ate a hearty supper before he went out.
"I must learn something about hotels," he
remarked, thoughtfully. "I '11 take a look at
some of them."
The Hotel Dantzic was not small, but it was
small compared to some of the larger hotels
that Jack was now to investigate. He walked
into the first one he found, and he looked
about it, and then he walked out, and went into
another and looked that over, and then he
thought he would try another. He strolled
around through the halls, and offices, and read-
ing-rooms, and all the public places; but the
more he saw, the more he wondered what good
it would do him to study them.
It was about eight o'clock in the evening
when he stood in front of the office of the great
Equatorial Hotel, feeling very keenly that he
was still only a country boy, with very little
knowledge of the men and things he saw around
A broad, heavy hand came down upon his
shoulder, and a voice he had heard before asked,
heartily :
John Ogden ? You here ? Did n't I tell you
not to stay too long in the city ? "
"Yes, you did, Governor," said Jack, turning
quickly. "But I had to stay here. I 've gone
into the wholesale and retail grocery business."
Jack already knew that the Governor could
laugh merrily, and that any other men who
might happen to be standing by were more
than likely to join with him in his mirth, but
the color came at once to his cheeks when the
Governor began to smile.
"In the grocery business? laughed the
Governor. Do you supply the Equatorial ?"
No, not yet; but I 'd like to," said Jack.
"I think our house could give them what they
Let me have your card, then," said one of
the gentlemen who had joined in the Governor's
merriment; for the Governor has no time to



Jack handed him the card of Gifford &
Take it, Boulder, take it," said the Governor.
"Mr. Ogden and I are old acquaintances."
He's a prot4g6 of yours, eh ? said Boulder.
"Well, I mean business. Write your own name
there, Mr. Ogden. I '11 send our buyer down
there, to-morrow, and we '11 see what can be
done. Shall we go in, Governor? "
Jack understood, at once, that Mr. Boulder
was one of the proprietors of the Equatorial
I 'm called for, Jack," said the Governor.
"You will be in the city awhile, will you not?
Well, don't stay here too long. I came here
once, when I was about your age. I staid a
year, and then I went away. A year in the city
will be of great benefit to you, I hope. Good-
"Good-bye, Governor," said Jack, seriously.
" We '11 do the right thing by Mr. Boulder ";
and there was another laugh as Jack shook
hands with the Governor, and then with the very
dignified manager of the Equatorial Hotel.
"That will do, for one evening," thought
Jack, as the distinguished party of gentlemen
walked away. I 'd better go right home and
go to bed. The Governor's a brick, anyhow! "
Back he went to the Hotel Dantzic, and lie
was soon asleep.
The Alligator press in Gifford & Company's
was opening and shutting its black jaws regu-
larly over the sheets of paper it was turning into
circulars, about the middle of Wednesday'fore-
noon, when a dapper gentleman with a rather
prominent scarf-pin walked briskly into the store
and up to the desk.
Mr. Gifford?" he asked.
Yes, sir."
"I 'm Mr. Barnes," said the dapper man.
"General buyer for the Equatorial Hotel. Your
Mr. Ogden was up with us, last night, to see
some of his friends, and I 've come down to look
at your price-list, and so forth."
Oh! quietly remarked Mr. Gifford, our
Mr. Ogden. Oh, quite right! I think we can
satisfy you. We '11 do our best, certainly. Mr.
Jones, please confer with Mr. Barnes I '11 be
back in a minute."
Up toward the door walked Mr. Gifford, but

not too fast. He stood still when he arrived at
the Alligator press.
Ogden," he said, you can leave that work.
I 've another printing hand coming."
Jack's heart beat quickly, for a moment.
What,- could he be discharged so suddenly ?
He was dismayed. But Mr. Gifford went on:
Wash your hands, Ogden, and stand behind
the counter there. I '11 see you again, by and
by. The buyer is here from the Equatorial."
I promised them you 'd give them all they
wanted, and as good prices as could be had
anywhere," said Jack, with a great sense of re-
lief, and recovering his courage.
"We will," said Mr. Gifford, as he turned
away, and he did not think he must explain to
Jack that it would not do for Mr. Barnes to find
Gifford & Company's salesman, "Mr. Ogden,"
running an Alligator press.
Mr. Barnes was in the store for some time,
but Jack was not called up to talk with him.
Mr. Gifford was the right man for that part of
the affair, and in the course of his conversation
with Mr. Barnes he learned further particulars
concerning the intimacy between "your Mr.
Ogden" and the Governor, with the addition
that Mr. Boulder thinks well of Mr. Ogden,
Jack waited upon customers as they came,
and he did well, for "a new hand." But he felt
very ignorant of both articles and prices, and
the first thing he said, when Mr. Gifford again
came near him, was:
Mr. Gifford, I ought to know more than I
do about the stock and prices."
Of course you ought," said Mr. Gifford. I
don't care to have you try any more 'drum-
ming' till you do. You must stay a few months
behind the counter and learn all you can. You
must dress neatly, too. I wonder you've looked
as well as you have. We 'll make your salary
fifteen dollars a week. You 'll need more
money as a salesman."
Jack flushed with pleasure, but a customer
was at hand, and the interruption prevented him
from making an answer.
"Jones," remarked Mr. Gifford to his head
clerk, Ogden is going to become a fine sales-
I thought so," said Jones.



They both were confirmed in this opinion,
about three weeks later. Jack was two hours
behind time, one morning; but when he did-
come, he brought with him Mr. Guilderaufen-
berg of Washington, with reference to a whole
winter's supplies for a "peeg poarding-house,"
and two United States Army contractors. Jack
had convinced these gentlemen that they were
paying too much for several articles that could
be found on the list of Gifford & Company
in better quality and at cheaper rates.
Meester Giffort," said the German gentle-
man, "I haf drafel de vorlt over, und I haf
nefer met a better boy dan dot Jack Ogden.
He knows not mooch yet, alretty, but den he
ees a very goot boy."
"We like him," said Mr. Gifford, smiling.
So do I, und so does Mrs. Guilderaufenberg,
und Miss Hildebrand, und Miss Podgr-ms-
chski," said the German. "Some day you lets
him visit us in Vashington ? So? "
"I don't know. Perhaps I will," said Mr.
Gifford; but he afterwards remarked grimly to
Mr. Jones: "If I should, and he should meet
the President, Ogden would never let him go
until he bought some of our tea and coffee "
That day was a notable one in both Crofield
and Mertonville. Jack's first long letter, telling
that he was in the grocery business, had been
almost a damper to the Ogden family. They
had kept alive a small hope that he would come
back soon, until Aunt Melinda opened an en-
velope that morning and held up samples of
paper bags, cards, and circulars of Gifford &
Company, while Mrs. Ogden read the letter that
came with them. Bob and Jim claimed the
bags next, while Susie and Bessie read the cir-
ulars, and the tall blacksmith himself straight-
ened up as if he had suddenly grown prouder.
Mary! he exclaimed. "Jack always said
he 'd get to the city. And he's there -and
earning his living! "
"Yes, but- Father," she said, with a small
shake in her voice, "I wish he was back
again. There 'd be almost room for him to(
work in Crofield, now."
"Maybe so, maybe so," he replied. "There'll
be crowds of people coming in when they begin
work on the new railway and the bridge. I
signed the deeds yesterday for all the land

they 're buying of Jack and me. I won't tell
him about it quite yet, though. I don't wish
to unsettle his mind. Let him stay where he is."
This will be a trying day for Mary," said Aunt
Melinda, thoughtfully. "The Academy will
open at nine o'clock. Just think of what that
child has to go through! There '11 be a crowd
there, too,- oh, dear me!"

Mary Ogden sat upon the stage, by previous
orders from the Academy principals, awaiting
the opening exercises; but the principals them-
selves had not yet arrived. She looked rather
pale, and she was intently watching the nickel-
plated gong on the table and the hands of the
clock which hung upon the opposite wall.
"Perhaps the principals are here," Mary
thought, as the clock hands crept along. But
they said to strike the bell at nine, precisely, and
if they 're not here I must do it! "
At the second of time, up stood Mary and
the gong sounded sharply.
That was for Silence!" and it was very
silent, all over the hall, and all the scholars
looked at Mary and waited.
"Clang" went the gong again, and every boy
and girl arose, as if they had been trained to it.
Poor Mary was thinking, "I hope nobody
sees how scared I am! but the Academy term
was well opened, and Dr. Dillingham was speak-
ing, when the Reverend Lysander Pettigrew
and Mrs. Henderson, the tardy principals, came
hurrying in to explain that an accident had
delayed them.


WO years passed. There
was a great change in the
outward aspect of Cro-
field. The new bridge
over the Cocahutchie was
of iron, resting on stone
S piers, and the village
street crossed it. The rail-
road bridge was just below,
Sbut was covered in with a shed,
so that the trains might not frighten
horses. The mill was still in its place, but the
dam was two feet higher and the pond was



wider. Between the mill and the bridge was
a large building of brick and stone that looked
like a factory. Between the street and the
railway, the space was filled by the station-
house and freight depot, which extended to
Main Street; and there were more railway build-
ings on the other side of the Cocahutchie. Just
below the railroad and along the bank of the
creek, the ground was covered by wooden build-
ings, and there was a strong smell of leather
and tanbark. Of course, the old Washing-
ton Hotel was gone; but across the street, on
the corner to the left, there was a great brick
building, four stories high, with "Washington
Hotel" painted across the front of it. The
stores in that building were just finished. Look-

I ..




demolished, as if new ones also were to take
their places.
i i ,

,- '._ i i I


ing up Main Street, or looking down, it did not
seem th were general, the village. The new church extending
its bounds rapidly, for there never had been toone; and
both of the other churches were rapidly being
demolished, as if new ones also were to take
their places.
It was plain, at a glance, that if this improve-
ment were general, the village must be extending
its bounds rapidly, for there never had been too

much room in it, for even the old buildings with
which Jack had been familiar.
Jack Ogden had not been in Crofield while
all this work was going on. His first week with
Gifford & Company seemed the most exciting
week that he had ever known, and the second
was no less busy and interesting. He did not
go to the German church the second Sunday,
but later he did somehow drift into another
place of worship where the sermon was preached
in Welsh.
Well! said Jack when he came out, at the
close of the service, I think I '11 go back to
the church I went to first. I don't look so green
now as I did then, but I 'm sure the General
will remember me."
He carried out this determination the next
Sunday. The sexton gave him a seat, and he
took it, remarking to himself:
"A fellow feels more at home in a place
where he's been before. There 's the General!
I wish I was in his pew. I '11 speak to him
when he comes out."
The great man appeared, in due season, and
as he passed down the aisle he came to a
boy who was just leaving a pew. With a smile
on his face, the boy held out his hand and
Good-morning," said the General, shaking
hands promptly and bowing graciously in return.
Then he added, "I hope you '11 come here
every Sunday."
That was all, but Jack received at least a
bow, 'every Sunday, for four weeks. On the
Monday after the fourth Sunday, the door of
Gifford & Company's store was shadowed by
the entrance of a very proud-looking man who
stalked straight on to the desk, where he was
greeted cordially by Mr. Gifford, for he seemed
to be an old friend.
You have a boy here named John Ogden ? "
asked the General.
"Yes, General," said .Mr. Gifford. "A fine
young fellow."
Is he doing well ? asked the General.
"We 've no fault to find with him," was the
answer. "Do you care to see him? He 's out
on business, just now."
No, I don't care to see him," said the Gen-
eral. "Tell him, please, that I called. I feel




interested in his progress, that 's all. Good-
morning, Mr. Gifford."
The head of the firm bowed the general out,
and came back to say to Mr. Jones: "That
youngster beats me! He can pick up a million-
aire, or a governor, as easily as he can measure
a pound of coffee."
"Some might think him rather bold," said
Jones, "but I don't. He is absorbed in his
work, and he puts it through. He 's the kind
of boy we want, no doubt of that."'
"See what he 's up to, this morning! said
Mr. Gifford. "It's all right. He asked leave,
and I told him he might go."
Jack had missed seeing the General because
he did not know enough of the grocery busi-
ness. He had said to Mr. Gifford:
I think, Mr. Gifford, I ought to know more
about this business, from its very beginnings.
If you '11 let me, I 'd like to see where we get
That meant a toilsome round among the great
sugar refineries, on the Long Island side of the
East River; and then another among the tea
and coffee merchants and brokers, away down
town, looking at samples of all sorts and finding
out how cargoes were unloaded from ships and
were bought and sold among the dealers. He
brought to the store, that afternoon, before six
o'clock, about forty samples of all kinds of gro-
cery goods, all labeled with prices and places,
and he was going on to talk about them when
Mr. Gifford stopped him.
There, Ogden," he said. I know all about
these myself,- but where did you find that coffee ?
I want some. And this tea?--It is two cents
lower than I'm paying. Jones,he's found justthe
tea you and I were talking of-" and so he went
on carefully examining the other samples, and out
of them all there were seven different articles that
Gifford & Company bought largely of, next day.
"Jones," said Mr. Gifford, when he came
back from buying them, "they had our card in
each place, and told me, 'Your Mr. Ogden was
in here yesterday. We took him for a boy at
first.'-I 'm beginning to think there are some
things that only that kind of boy can do. I '11
just let him go ahead in his own way."

Mary had told Jack all about her daily expe-

riences in her letters to him, and he said to him-
self more than once:
Dudley Edwards must be a tip-top fellow.
It's good of him to drive Mary over to Crofield
and back every Saturday. And they have had
such good sleighing all winter. I wish I could
try some of it."
There was no going to Crofield for him.
When Thanksgiving Day came, he could not
afford it, and before the Christmas holidays Mr.
Gifford told him:
We can't spare you at Christmas, Ogden.
It's the busiest time for us in the whole year."
Mr. Gifford was an exacting master, and he
kept Jack at it all through the following spring
and summer. Mary had a good rest during the
hot weather, but Jack did not. One thing that
seemed strange to her was that so many of the
Crofield ladies called to see her, and that Miss
Glidden was more and more inclined to suggest
that Mary's election had been mainly due to
her own influence in Mertonville.
On the other hand, it seemed to Jack that
summer, as if everybody he knew was out of the
city. Business kept pressing him harder and
harder, and all the plans he made to get a leave
of absence for that second year's Thanksgiving
Day failed to work successfully.
The Christmas holidays came again, but
throughout the week, Gifford & Company's
store kept open until eight o'clock, every even-
ing, with Jack Ogden behind the counter. He
got so tired that he hardly cared about it when
they raised his salary to twenty-five dollars a
week, just after Mr. Gifford saw him come down
town with another coffee and tea dealer, whose
store was in the same street.
We must n't let him leave us, Jones," Mr.
Gifford had said to his head clerk. I am go-
ing to send him to Washington next week."
Not many days later, Mrs. Guilderaufenberg
in her home at Washington was told by her
maid-servant that, "There 's a strange b'y
below, ma'am, who sez he 's a-wantin' to spake
wid yez."
Down went the landlady into the parlor, and
then up went her hands.
Oh, Mr. Jackogden How glad I am to
see you! You haf come! I gif you the best
stateroom in my house."



"I believe I 'm here," said Jack, shaking
hands heartily. How is Mr. Guilderaufen-
berg and how is Miss--"
Oh, Miss Hildebrand," she said, "she will
be so glad, and so will Mrs. Smith. She avay
with her husband. He is a Congressman from
far vest. You will call to see her."
Mrs. Smith? exclaimed Jack, but in another
second he understood it, and asked after his old
friend with the unpronounceable name as well
as after Miss Hildebrand.
"She has a name, now, that I can speak!
I 'm glad Smith is n't a Polish name," he said
to himself.
Oh, Mr. Jackogden exclaimed Mrs. Guil-
deraufenberg, a moment later. "How haf you
learned to speak German? She will be so
astonish !"
That was one use he had made of his even-
ings, and he had improved by speaking to all
the Germans he had met down town; and his
German was a great delight to Mr. Guilderauf-
enberg, and to Miss Hildebrand, and to Mrs.
Smith (formerly Miss Pod- ski) when he
called to see them.
"So!" said Mr. Guilderaufenberg, "you
takes my advice and you comes. Dis ees de
ceety! Ve shows you eet all ofer. All de beeg
buildings and all de beeg men. You shtay mit
Mrs. Guilderaufenberg and me till you sees all
Jack did so, but he had business errands
also, and he somehow managed to accomplish
his commissions so that Mr. Gifford was quite
satisfied when he returned to New York.
"I have n't sold so many goods," said Jack,
"but then I 've seen the city of Washington,
and I 've shaken hands with the President and
with Senators and Congressmen. Mr. Gifford,
how soon can I make a visit to Crofield ?"
We '11 arrange that as soon as warm weather
comes," said his employer. Make it your
summer vacation."
Jack had to be satisfied. He knew that more
was going on in the old village than had been
told him in any of his letters from home. His
father was a man who dreaded to write letters,
and Mary and the rest of them were either too
busy, or else did not know just what news would
be most interesting to Jack.

"I 'm going to see Crofield! said he, a
hundred times, after the days began to grow
longer. I want to see the trees and the
grass, and I want to see corn growing and
wheat harvesting. I 'd even like to be stung
by a bumble-bee "
He became so eager about it, at last, that he
went home by rail all the way, in a night train,
and he arrived at Crofield, over the new rail-
road, just as the sun was rising, one bright June
Goodness! he exclaimed, as he walked out
of the station. "It 's not the same village! I
won't go over to the house and wake the family
until I 've looked around."
From where he stood, he gazed at the new
hotel, and took a long look up and down Main
Street. Then he walked eagerly down toward
the bridge.
Hullo! he said in amazement. Our house
is n't there! Why, what is the meaning of
this ? I knew that the shop had been moved
up to the back lot. They 're building houses
along the road across the Cocahutchie! Why
have n't they written and told me of all this ? "
He saw the bridge, the factory, the tannery,
and many other buildings, but he did not see the
familiar old blacksmith shop on the back lot.
I don't know where we live nor where to
find my home!" he said, almost dejectedly.
"They know I 'm coming, though, and they
must have meant to surprise me. Mary's at
home, too, for her vacation."
He walked up Main Street, leaving his bag-
gage at the station. New- new- new,- all
the buildings for several blocks, and then he
came to houses that were just as they used to
be. One pretty white house stood back among
some trees, on a corner, and, as Jack walked
nearer, a tall man in the door of it stepped
quickly out to the gate. He seemed to be
trying to say something, but all he did; for a
moment, was to beckon with his hand.
Father!" shouted Jack, as he sprang for-
"Jack, my son, how are you ? "
"Is this our house ? asked Jack.
"Yes, this is our house. They 're all getting
up early, too, because you 're coming. There
are some things I want to talk about, though,



before they know you 're actually here. Walk
along with me.a little way."
On, back, down Main Street, walked Jack
_Jvith his father, until they came to what was now
labeled Bridge Street. When Jack lived in
Crofield the road had no name.
"See that store on the corner ?" asked Mr.
Ogden. "It's a fine-looking store, is n't it ?"
"Very," said Jack.
"Well, now," said his father, "I 'm going to
run that store, and I do wish you were to be in
it with me."
There will be none too much room in it for
Bob and Jim," said Jack. "They 're growing
up, you know! "
You listen to me," continued the tall black-
smith, trying to keep calm. "The railway com-
pany paid me quite a snug sum of money for
what they needed of your land and mine. Mr.
Magruder did it for you. I bought with the
money thirty acres of land, just across the Coca-
hutchie, to the left of the bridge. .Half of it
was yours to begin with, and now I 've traded
you the other half. Don't speak. Listen to me.
Most of it was rocky, but the railway company
opened a quarry on it, getting out their stone,
and it's paying handsomely. Livermore has
built that hotel block. I put in the stone and
our old house lot, and I own the corner store,
except that Livermore can use the upper stories
for his hotel. The factory company traded me
ten shares of their stock for part of your land
on which they built. I traded that stock for ten
acres of rocky land along the road, across the
Cocahutchie, up by the mill. That makes forty
acres there."
"Father!" exclaimed Jack. All it cost me
was catching a runaway team, and your bill
against the miller! Crofield is better than the
grocery business in New York!"
"Listen!" said his father, smiling. "The
tannery company traded me a lot of their stock
for the rest of my back lot and for the rest of your
gravel, and they tore down the blacksmith shop,
and I traded their stock and some other things
for the house where we live. I made your part
good to you, with the land across the creek, and
that 's where the new village of Crofield is to
I did n't see a cent of money in any of those

trades, but I 've a thousand dollars laid up, and
I 'm only working in the railroad shop now, but
I 'm going into the hardware business. I wish
you'd come back and come in with me. There's
the store,- rent free. We can sell plenty of
tools, now that Crofield is booming!"
"I 've saved up seven hundred and fifty dol-
lars," said Jack, from my salary and commis-
sions. I '11 put that in. Gifford & Company '11
send you things cheap. But, Father,-I belong
in the city. I 've seen hundreds of boys there
who did n't belong there, but I do. Let 's go
back to the house. Bob and Jim-"
"Well, maybe you 're right," said his father,
slowly. "Come, let us go home. Your mother
has hardly been able to wait to see you."
When they came in sight of the house, the
stoop and the front gate were thronged with
home-folk, but Jack could not see clearly for a
moment. The sunshine, or something else, got
into his eyes. Then there were pairs of arms,
large and small, embracing him, and,-well, it
was a happy time, and Mary was there and his
mother, and the family were all together once
"How you have grown!" said his aunt,
"How you have grown!"
"I do wish you 'd come home to stay! ex-
claimed his-mother.
Perhaps he will," said his father, and Mary
had hardly said a word till then, but now it
seemed to burst out in spite of her.
Oh, Jack! she said. If I could go back
with you, when you go! I could live with a
sister of Mrs. Edwards. She 's invited me to
live with her for a whole year. And I could
finish my education, and be really fit to teach.
I 've saved some money."
Mary answered Jack, "I can pay all the
other expenses. Do come! "
"Yes, you 'd better go, Jack," said his father,
thoughtfully. "I am sure that you are a city
That was a great vacation, but no trout were
now to be caught in the Cocahutchie. The new
store on the corner was to be opened in the
autumn, and Jack insisted upon having it painted
a bright red about the windows. There were
visits to Mertonville, and there were endless talks
about what Jack's land was going to be worth,


9-. uvvuJJu UUI O U KUiFIELD. 1057
some day. But the days flew by, and soon his steamer" Columbia." Jack thought over all the
time was up and the hour arrived when he had circumstances attending his first trip on the
steamer, and told Mary
of his meeting with Mr.
.' Guilderaufenberg and
.,, '..." his wife and friends and
S- of their kindness to him
4 in New York.
S Mr. Dudley Edwards,
of Mertonville, went at
'- the same time to attend
"" *R-e .-. to some law business,
Q4_,-:: which, he said, required
S his presence in New
] "-A"7 A York.
'i.' '. Jack told Mr. Gifford
S1 ''ll all about the Crofield
-- L '' I~I town-lots, and his em-
In I. .. i J i I player answered:
.l., ', I'' That's just the thing
1 I' i 1 1 for you, Ogden; you 'll
S.' '1" ,i'"!i li have some capital, when
you come of age, and
.'then we can take you
'. .i I in as a junior partner.
.. You belong in the city.
S--_ -. It's the place for you.
-- --- 'I could n't take you in
S- \ any sooner, you know.
We don't want a boy."
JACK RETURNS HOME. That 's just what
to bid farewell to Crofield and go back to the you told me," said Jack, humorously, the first
city. He and Mary went together, and they time I came into this store; but you took me
were carried down the Hudson River in the then. Well, I shall always do my best."



THE five little Gwynnes were very happy when they were old enough to see him as other
children. It would have been strange enough people did, not alone as their kindest friend
if they had not been, for if ever little boys and and merriest playmate, stern and stately as he
girls were put into the world to be good and looked, but as a distinguished man of letters,
happy, they were. and the friend of all oppressed or unhappy
They were English children, and their father people not only in his own land but in all
was a man of whom they would be very proud others.
VOL. XVII.--30.


rr8nn 1


Mr. Gwynne's beautiful place was in a lovely
part of England, not far from a great manufac-
turing city, and was a charming spot to visit,
with its green-turfed lawns, far-reaching elms,
broad walks and fine driveways, and a special
little paddock for Jack,- the little Gwynnes'
beloved donkey,- not far from their Aunt
Catherine's pretty cottage.
The five little Gwynnes were all charming,
healthy children, full of fun and frolic, adoring
their handsome father, and their sweet, lovely
young mother, docile to their governess, respect-
ful to Aunt Catherine, and wrapped up, heart
and soul, in dear little fat Jack, their own don-
key. Perhaps, if they had a trial, it was their
Aunt Catherine, and that was chiefly because
they did n't understand her quite as well as
older people did. She was their father's aunt,
and ever since any of them could remember she
had lived in her cottage, knitting stockings and
saying very severe words, in a very severe voice,
about all cruel and unkind actions, and people,
too. The great trouble was, that she had been
born with the same love of justice that had
made her nephew the friend of the helpless, but
he had mixed with the world and learned to
temper and moderate his zeal, so that while
keeping all his enthusiasm for high and noble
things, he had learned patience and wisdom;
and she, sitting at home and knitting, had be-
come narrower and more intolerant, till she was
almost a fanatic on all subjects of reform.
There was n't the least doubt that the little
Gwynnes knew very well that they were happy
and lucky boys and girls-from baby, in her
carriage, up to the tallest of all; but no one
likes to be told constantly, with a knitting-
needle pointed at one, how grateful one ought
to be for being one's self, and how many
wretched and miserable children there are in
this world. Still, they tried to be as pleasant
and nice to Aunt Catherine as their papa and
mamma were, and to feel a little bit sorry to
leave her when they went off to the continent
for long, lovely trips every summer.
It was n't necessary to try, though, in order
to be sorry to leave Jack, that dear donkey, for
though there may, of course, be some other nice
donkeys in the world, such a nice one as Jack
never before had existed, never would again.

He was so sleek, so fat, so jolly and good-
humored, he did kick up his beautiful little heels
so charmingly when any of the children came
round, he played such lovely tricks with them,
he hunted for sugar in such a knowing way
through the hedges,--in short, he did every-
thing but talk; and, of course, he was the very
hardest thing of all to say good-bye to, when
they all started for Switzerland one particular
summer- even Papa looking a little sad when
he went out to give the darling donkey his part-
ing morsel of cake.
Jack felt the parting, too, most deeply; one
of the children was sure she saw tears in his
eyes as she turned to wave farewell.
Aunt Catherine stayed at home as usual, and
knitted the stockings; but she looked very often
out of the window at the lawn where the little
Gwynnes used to play, and it may be that she
missed them more than they missed her.
One day she happened to look out the other
way, on the pretty country road; and there was
a tinker with his load of tins in a cart drawn by
a donkey.
Such a donkey! His bones stuck out and his
stomach fell in, the hair had come off in spots,
his head drooped mournfully; no one looking
at him would have supposed for an instant that
he was any even the most distant relation
to Jack, the little Gwynnes' pet.
Aunt Catherine gazed at him for a moment,
and then she rang the great house-bell. James
appeared promptly and found Aunt Catherine
standing by the window, with a very severe ex-
pression on her face.
"James," she said, pointing with her knitting-
needle, James, do you see that man ?"
James said that he did.
"And that donkey, James? "
James faltered Miss Catherine was very
fierce sometimes, and he was afraid that this was
one of the times that he saw the donkey.
Bring him here at once! "
"The donkey, ma'am ?"
"The donkey !-no; the donkey's man."
James disappeared with great alacrity and
returned with the tinker, a careworn, anxious-
looking creature who, but for his loose blouse,
would have seemed as used to scanty food and
poor lodging as did the donkey.



Is that your donkey ?" Miss Catherine de-
The tinker admitted that it was.
"And your cart ?"
The tinker acknowledged that, too.
"Why don't you feed your donkey? "
The tinker answered timidly and dejectedly,
that they was seven (not donkeys) of 'm at
home, not counting the babby, and his wife
she was but poorly; and that as there was n't
enough to go round and give them a fair share,
why, the donkey he just had to-
"Humph! interrupted Miss Catherine;
"if you can 't feed the beast decently, what
do you drive him for ? "
The tinker attempted to explain that as
it was a choice betwixt driving him or one
of the children-
"Stop, man," said Miss Catherine, in the
voice the little Gwynnes most disliked, "you
talk too much. What
I want to know is,
does that donkey
know there 's such a
thing in this world
as a good meal? "
The tinker said he
was very sorry-the
donkey was a good
donkey, and as sweet-
tempered a beast-
Miss Catherine
waved her knitting-
"James," she said,
"over in the pad-
dock yonder is a
spoiled, pampered, "A TINKER WITHI
indulged little animal
that was born in clover. He has never done one
day's work in his life, and I have no doubt
firmly believes that donkeys were put into the
world to kick up their heels and be made much
of. Now, that donkey is going to learn some-
thing; -he 's going to learn how other donkeys
live, and then, maybe, he '11 appreciate his own
advantages. Go and get Jack, harness him to
this man's cart, put that little half-starved beast
in the paddock and let him find out what is
meant by a good solid meal."

Consternation overspread every feature of
James's face.
Our donkey, ma'am,-the young ladies'
and gentlemen's donkey? Jack? Why, ma'am,
if there was anything to go wrong with that
there donkey, there is n't any one of us would
ever dare to show his face again."
"Get the donkey belonging to my grand-
nephews and nieces," said Miss Catherine, im-
pressively; "take him out and put him in the
cart. Perhaps I did not speak distinctly ? "
Poor James shuddered between the horns



of the dilemma. Mr. Gwynne had always ex-
acted from servants, as from his children, the
most perfect respect for his aunt and defer-
ence to her commands, so rarely given. But
-the donkey! The family pet, the darling of
the children-such an emergency had never
The tinker, too, was far from happy; every
one, far and near, knew the Gwynnes' little
donkey,-a little aristocrat of a donkey, who
was more pampered than his master,-Where



would it eat and sleep ? What, alas! would it
eat? Suppose anything should happen to it?
What cruel fate had directed his steps up that
road this day,!
Man," Miss Catherine exclaimed, growing
rigid, and pointing all her knitting-needles, and
her work, too, at the trembling tinker, "oblige
me by leaving at once. I think -mind, I say
only that I think-by the time you reach the
road, my nephew's coachman will have returned
to his senses, and concluded to do as he has
been told."
Alas for poor little Jack! A hurried consul-
tation outside the door ended in the men's de-
ciding that, as the time for Mr. Gwynne's return
was rapidly drawing near, it would be wisest to
obey the incensed Miss Catherine, and trust to
luck for the future.
I '11 send you good feed for him every day,
and for goodness' sake, be kind to him James
entreated, and then the exchange was effected,
Miss Catherine grimly superintending it from
her window.
Days lengthened into weeks, and still poor
little Jack might be seen, each day, toiling
wearily along with his load of tins.
The pangs of hunger had not attacked him,
his stomach did not sink in, there were no
marks and welts on his smooth hide, but the
degradation of his new life so preyed upon his
spirits as to bring about a state of despair. This
so changed him that James and the tinker, fast
friends in their anxiety, longed day and night
for what came at last a telegram announcing
the return of the family.
James went at once to Miss Catherine; but
the failure of his mission was announced to the
tinker, hovering anxiously about the precincts,
by a gloomy shake of the head.
The whole household, Miss Catherine at its
head, was assembled to welcome the wanderers,
and there was such rejoicing and delight that,
for a brief moment, James forgot his terror.
Five minutes had not passed, however, when
there was a rush of the children to the paddock
to see dear Jack. James listened with a white
Yes he had expected it,- a loud cry of hor-
ror, many cries drawing nearer and yet more
near, and then a burst of breathless, sobbing

children into the room which contained the
elder members of the family.
Papa! Papa! "
Oh, Mamma something -"
"Oh, Mamma Mademoiselle Papa -
come quick!"
Something dreadful, Mamma something
has happened-"
Happened to Jack, Papa-"
"He 's got to be another color-"
He 's all scarred up -"
He 's forgotten us all even Baby! "
These appalling announcements made, the
little ones were off again like the wind, followed
by their father, mother, Aunt Catherine, and the
governess, James, with ashen face, bringing up
the rear.
Suddenly Mr. Gwynne stopped at the sight
of a small and mild-mannered donkey who went
on cropping grass, quite indifferent to visitors.
Why he exclaimed, this is n't Jack !"
Aunt Catherine stepped forward.
No," she began with much dignity, it is n't
Jack it 's a poor little friendless donkey that
never had enough to eat in his life until a month
But, Aunt Catherine," cried a chorus of
little voices, "where is Jack ? "
Aunt Catherine turned, she cleared her throat,
she felt most strangely embarrassed; perhaps the
fact that she had left her knitting on the hall
table and found herself without her index needle
put her at a disadvantage ; perhaps the small
crimson, anxious, upturned faces touched the
heart that had been filled only with the woes
of the downtrodden donkey.
Jack," she said, Jack is n't here. Jack's
- well, Jack's learning to be of use in the
world-he 's hauling a tinker's cart."
"Jack! our own dear little Jack! -"
Our own Jack -our own donkey "
Oh, Aunt Catherine,"- this from the young-
est and boldest boy,-"you 're just as bad as
you can be!"
Hush, children," said Mr. Gwynne, an ex-
pression of displeasure that Miss Catherine had
never seen before on his handsome face. "Your
aunt must have some good reason but really,
Aunt Catherine, the children's property should
not have been-"



What! exclaimed the old lady, can it be
you,-my own dear nephew, the champion of
the weak and defenseless, who has always said
so much about the righting of wrongs,- who
refuse to this unhappy donkey the exercise of
the privileges to which the fact of his existence
entitles him? Will you now sully your lifelong
record ? Will you stand by and see one of your
fellow-creatures pampered and indulged and

the baby," never again knew what it was not
to have enough to go round, and after their fair
share there was plenty left for the donkey, too.
The tinker, no longer dejected and sad, held
up his head like a man who has plenty of work
to do and does it well; and he threw many a
grateful glance at Miss Catherine's window as
he went by with his well-fed little beast.
Of course, Jack had always been so nice that
he could n't by any possibility be improved -


Pretty little Mrs. Gwynne burst into a violent
fit of coughing; and before Miss Catherine could
resume her speech, thus interrupted, "a hee-
haw" from the other side of the hedge greeted
the enraptured children, and, in another second,
Jack and the little Gwynnes were one confused
mass of legs and arms and kisses.
So Jack came back to his paddock, and his
small, distant cousin took up the daily toil again;
but his poor little stomach never again pre-
sented such a sight as on that day when its
owner first found out that there was a world in
which there was plenty to eat and nothing to do.
The "seven of'em at home (not donkeys), and

still, how do we know ? Perhaps Aunt Cather-
ine was right- perhaps the grass was a little
sweeter and more tender, now that he knew all
grass was n't quite so good -possibly his play-
days were all the jollier because he had learned
that there was such a thing as work.
And as the years rolled on, the little Gwynnes,
learning that there was more to Aunt Catherine
than impressive voice and knitting-needle,-
learning to appreciate the loving, tender heart
hidden under all her oddity,-quite forgave her
constant good advice, and even learned to
think without resentment of the temporary ban-
ishment of Jack, their beloved little donkey.




WE will open the exercises this time, dear
friends, with a cheery nutting song, which has
just been sent to ST. NICHOLAS by your friend
and poet, Harriet Prescott Spofford. It seems to
have been written in the woods, close by this very
meadow, and I am almost sure hundreds of my
boys and girls are busily occupied in the ways
here described.

Rollicking, frolicking,
Up the hill,
Chattering, clattering,
Nobody still.
Clipping and slipping,
Fast and slow,
Hustling and bustling
To and fro,
Into the nut-glades
See them go !
Battering, scattering
Big burs down,
Rambling, scrambling,
Nuts are brown,
Flurrying, worrying,
Clouds are low,
Curling and swirling,
Wild winds blow,
Out of the nut-glades,
See them go !
Whisking and frisking,
Jacket and gown,
Trippingly, skippingly,
Never a frown,
Hurrying, scurrying,
Back to town !
LUCY S., whose letter I showed you last month,
is not the only ST. NICHOLAS reader who has seen
a tame butterfly. "We have a butterfly," writes

a little Cincinnati girl, named Rosa E. Angel,
"' which we found a week ago; and to-day I put
some sugar-water on my finger and it really and
truly drank it all, and felt around for more. I
put another drop on the tip of my finger and it
sucked that up too; and it was as lively as could
be after its dinner. The weather has been very
cold and rainy ever since we found it, and so, as
our guest, it is in a big, sunny window, and still
alive, instead of having been drowned or chilled to
death. It is brown and orange in color."

Here is an interesting letter about
XENIA, Ohio.
DEAR JACK : In the July number of ST. NICHO-
LAS you showed us young folk a letter from Lottie
E. W. about some beetles burying a snake. Lottie
wanted to know if any person knew, and could tell
her anything about them, so I thought I would
These beetles are called Sexton or Burying
beetles, from the habit they have of burying dead
birds, snakes, and other dead animals of different
kinds that come in their way. They deposit their
eggs in the bodies, and when the larvae are hatched
they feed on the flesh until they are ready to enter
the pupa state. One of the commonest of these
beetles in North America is Necrophorus grandis.
This insect is black, with a red mark on the middle
of the thorax, and two orange patches on each of
the elytra or wing sheaths. H. E. ORR.

And here is another letter which I feel will in-
terest you, not only on account of its subject, but
because it is from a bright boy, now in the Male
Orphan Asylum, of Richmond, Va.


DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I read your sug-
gestion, or the dear little schoolma'am's, about
John James Audubon, the great naturalist, and I
found the following in a book about great men:
John James Audubon, a distinguished American
ornithologist, was born in Louisiana in May, 1780,
where his parents, who were both French, had
settled on a plantation. His father, who was him-
self an ardent lover of nature, early directed his
son's attention to natural objects. The youth con-
ceived a passion for the study of birds ; and a book
of ornithological specimens determined him to be-
come a draughtsman. About the age of fourteen
he went to Paris and studied for some time under
the celebrated painter David. In 1798 he was
settled on a farm in Pennsylvania by his father,
but he did not distinguish himself as an agricul-
In 181o he sailed down the Ohio with his wife
and child on a bird-sketching expedition. The
following year he visited Florida for a like pur-
pose; and for many years after he continued his
ornithological researches among the American



woods to the neglect of his regular business. The
latter he finally abandoned, and in 1824 he went
to Philadelphia, where he was introduced to Prince
Charles Lucien Bonaparte, who so warmly en-
couraged him in his plans that he determined on
publication. After two years' further exploration
of the forests of his native country he went to
Europe, with the view to securing subscribers for
his work on The Birds of America." He met
with a warm reception from such men as Her-
schel, Cuvier, Humboldt, Brewster, Wilson, and
Sir Walter Scott. The issue of his work was com-
menced shortly after, each bird being delineated
life-size; it was finished in 1839. While the work
was in process of publication in England, Audubon
revisited America three times, in order to make
further researches. In 1831 he began the publica-
tion of his "American Ornithological Biography,"
which was also completed in 1839. Audubon
finally returned to America, where, in 1844, he
published a popular edition of his works. Assisted
by Dr. Buchanan, he also published The Quad-
rupeds of America," and a Biography of Ameri-
can Quadrupeds." He died on January 27, 1851,
in his 7Ist year. Your constant reader,

MY DEAR JACK: Last summer, when I was staying at
West Chester, I went to see a lady who had a tame frog.
This frog's name was Leander, and it lived in a lake near
the house, and my friend, Mrs. J., would go out with a
long stick, and call "Leander, dear Leander," and up
would jump the frog on the stones; and it knew her,
and seemed pleased to see her. This is true. I never
knew frogs could be tamed. I like ST. NICHOLAS, and
I remain, Your faithful reader,


IT is rather too soon for me to expect answers to
the question I asked last month in regard to red
and white clovers, though I am sure many of you
are searching for the plants in fields, lanes, parks,
and all sorts of places, and making notes of the
difference between them. It is a queer difference,
and, so far as I know, very marked. Who '11 write
Talking of clovers, here is a picture-story made
for you by Mr. Brenon, and a very pleasant story
it is, too.




Two dear friends sat down to tea;
And both were sleek and fair to see.

A furious, uninvited beast
Was rushing madly to the feast.

Then safely from a tall careppa
They saw their dwelling play Mazeppa.


All went well until one spied
Great danger near. "Oh, look! she cried.

Quick as a flash they had him under,
Ere he "Jack Robinson could thunder.

Departed foe Delighted friends I
And so this thrilling story ends.






(.. = 56.)

There was an old woman as I 've heard tell, She

VOL. XVII.-13i.

rnf sf -/
__ __i____^!^ =F.-._____ ,^^ _C^
-^~ ___ -^ ^ i 1 _____
:r- P M_
^^=l Co 0--^-^= ^=; ^:^- --1^==^

The words of the text are to be recited throughout, except the line
"Lawk 'a' mercy on me, this is none of I! which may be sung ad libitum.



on a market day, And she fell asleep on the king's highway.


(The peddler approaches.)

He cut off her petticoats

all round about;
He cut off her Petticoats up to the knees,

Which made the old woman to shiver and freeze. Now when the old woman did first awake,

p pp acres.

Ij g, ...=


She began to shiver and she began to shake; She began to wonder and

S --- --- T -9-



But if it be I, as I hope it

be, I 've a little dog at home
^ ,


\i-----li~--~--v 1 I---4-11-

and he '11 know me : If it be I he '11 wag his little tail;


~fZTiii J~ I _________________________________




k -- -- =



-F --- I -- = -



If it be not I he'll loudly bark
3 [and wail."
,.,I -- --.---- r -"-!I =-----= =

poco. cres cen do. p
"4 --

8va..... ........................................ ... ...........loco.

He began to bark, and



DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Your story about Orie" in
the June number is very pretty. It reminds me of a
bird that we had when we were living in America. It was
a pigeon. It flew into Papa's office in Front Street, New-
York, one cold, wet day in the autumn, and he put it in
his overcoat pocket and brought it home. We fed it
and took care of it. In a few days it became so tame
that it was allowed to fly about the house just as it pleased.
" Birdie," as we called him, became very much attached to
Mamma and would fly after her about the house, even up
and down stairs. He loved to perch on her shoulder,
and if she did not want him there, would sit on the back
of the chair. One day Mamma was ill and not able to
get up. Birdie missed her directly, and soon found his way
to her bedroom, where he perched on her pillow, re-
maining there all day. His affection made him quite
troublesome, sometimes when Mamma wanted to be busy,
and then we were obliged to shut him up in a cage. His
end was very sad: he flew out of the window one pouring
wet day, and was frightened directly and tried to get
back, but fluttered against the pane at the top and then
flew on to a tree near-by.
We left the window open all day thinking of course
he would come back, but he did not, and two days after
we found him dead in the garden.
I remain, your friend and constant reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl, only six years
old-my name is Maude. I have two little sisters and
one brother, their names are Hubard, Eloise, and Ethel.
Hubard and I go to the kindergarten. We learn a great
many things. We draw with colored pencils. We have
paper lessons -make squares, lamplighters, and book-
marks. We sing a geography song, about the conti-
nents, capes, isthmuses, peninsulas, rivers, and islands.
Water and land are all over the earth. We learn to read
and write and arithmetic. I am in long division. We
had an entertainment last Thursday, and a very nice one.
We have twelve scholars. I spoke a Modeling Les-
son by myself. I spoke of sphere, spheroid,. oval,
ovoid, cylinder, and cone. I made grasses, grain, stems
of the flowers, cherries, eggs, and pears, and all these I
made of clay. Another girl said a piece about St. Peter
and a woman baking cakes in the ashes on the hearth.
We had calisthenics, with color bells and wands. My
wand had blue ribbons on the ends and I had orange
and blue paper on the color bells. We sang a song called
" Little Waiters "; we had aprons, caps, cups, saucers,
spoons, and tea-cloths. We had it at the Town Hall,
and we had a good audience.
Your little friend, MAUDE R- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You have so many letters from
far-off, I think I will write one from Jack-in-the-Pulpit's
home; although I have never seen him, I have read his
I go Maying every year because my birthday is on
the fourteenth of May. I am eleven years old.
I have been over to Staten Island and to a place called

Quarantine, just this side of Fort Wadsworth, where there
is a beautiful view up and down the bay, and you can
see all the big ships come into port. Quarantine means
forty days, because ships that had contagious diseases
like yellow-fever or small-pox were kept away from the
land forty days; but now it is different. When a ship
comes into port it is sighted at Sandy Hook and tele-
graphed to the Quarantine station. When the ship is
seen coming around the fort, a bell is rung for a health
officer; he goes on board a steam tug or sometimes in a
rowboat to the ship and all the emigrants pass before him,
and if there is on board the ship any contagious disease
to which the passengers have been exposed they are
taken off and the ship is fumigated. If the emigrants
have small-pox they are taken to Hoffman Island, and if
they have yellow-fever they are taken to Swinburne Isl-
and. There are hospitals on these two islands and nurses
to take care of the sick. There is a little animal, which I
think is called a microbe, which makes people have yel-
low-fever and it sometimes gets into clothing, so all the
clothing is put in an oven in a furnace where all these
little animals are killed by heat or steam. I like you,
ST. NICHOLAS, very much. 0. T. H.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My brother and I are Ameri-
cans-our home is in St. Louis -but we are now in a
French school; it is in an old castle on Lake Geneve,
and it was built by the King of Spain.
From the school-room windows we have a fine view
of the lovely blue lake and of Mount Blanc with its white
cap. It is always covered with snow, and when the sun
shines on it it is very beautiful. Our uncle in St. Louis
sends us ST. NICHOLAS as a Christmas present, but we
can not read it on week days; we are allowed to read
English only on Sunday. We don't like that very well,
for we are fond of ST. NICHOLAS.
My brother is nine years old and I am eleven. We
are the youngest boys in the school and the only Ameri-
cans. All the other boys like our magazine, and when we
get it they crowd around us to look at it.
We have seen London, the biggest city in the world, and
expect to see Paris soon.
Now I think I have written enough and I shall say
good-by, from your loving reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Though I have been a sub-
scriber to your magazine for a number of years, I have
never written a letter. While in Mexico last winter, I
thought of doing so, but we traveled so fast and there is
so much to see I did not have the time.
I do not believe many of your readers realize that
there is so strange a country so near our own. In
Europe you can not find cities any queerer or people any
stranger than these. They are so picturesque, the men
with broad-brimmed "sombreros" and many-colored
serapes," the women with their blue rebozos wound
gracefully around their head and shoulders. Such quaint
little towns, with the houses made of adobe brick, the
streets and sidewalks so narrow, and most of them paved


with cobble-stones, which makes it very hard for the feet.
The Mexicans wear sandals made of leather; we brought
a pair home, but the odor from the leather is so disagree-
able we keep them in the cellar. The cactus grows in
Mexico in great quantities; one variety is used to take
the place of a wall, it grows so very straight. The City
of Mexico is of course different from the smaller towns,
the streets are broader and there are some very good
stores. The drug-stores are very good, even finer than
ours, and they are numerous; the jewelry stores are very
The Iturbide, which was once the palace of the Em-
peror of that name, but is now a hotel, is quite a con-
trast to the Fifth Avenue. It is large and bare, no cozy
parlors, but one long narrow room with the chairs all in
a line against the wall, and a large marble-topped table
with the marble top in danger of sliding off. The room
which we occupied was said to be part of one of the
parlors, partitioned off. The beds are very hard, the
pillows even harder-I thought my neck would be
broken the first night.
The boy who answers your bell is a true native; in
vain you use your phrase-book, which never has in it the
word you need; in vain you make frantic gestures, and at
last you give up in despair. After we had been there
a while, he learned to understand a few words, and
the next American must have had an easier time. From
the roof of the hotel you can get a fine view of Popo-
catepetl and Iztaccihuatl, the snow-capped mountains
of Mexico.
While at Guadalajara, I attended a bull-fight, Mexico's
national sport. In the crowded amphitheater you get a
good idea of the Mexican, who shouts "Bravo" and
frantically waves his "sombrero." The bull-fight is a
cruel sport, and how women and even babies can sit and
enjoy it is a mystery to me. To see the horses gored,
the bull killed and dragged out, is an experience I never
wish to repeat again, and I confess I never felt more like
singing America than I did when we crossed the Rio
Grande and were again on native soil.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My sister and I have taken your
charming magazine for four years, and yet neither of us
have ever written to you. I want to tell you about Idaho
Springs, where we spent last summer. Idaho Springs is
situated almost in the heart of the Rocky Mountains and
is about twenty miles from Denver. There are a great
many mineral springs there, usually iron or soda; and the
inhabitants attribute the healing power of the waters to
the fact that the Mormons blessed them and prophesied
that a great city would one day be there. It is n't there
yet; there are only one thousand people in the town.
One nice day we climbed Santa F6 Mountain. We
walked through snow as we neared the top, and when we
did get there at last a grand sight met our eyes. There
was the Snowy Range away in the distance and to our
left was the Chief, also covered with everlasting snow, and
beside it were the Squaw and the Pappoose. We looked
for a while, but as it was very windy and cold we soon
went down again, getting some fine spruce-gum from the
trees by the way. On another fine bright day we went
up Mount Belview to see the Colorado mine that is on its
top. We went into a building which on the outside looked
like a barn, but it was filled with machinery. Presently,
out of a shaft in the ground came an iron ship," as the
miners call the box which carries the gray stone to the
surface. The stone seems worthless to the unpracticed eye,
but in reality is very valuable. After a while, an empty

ship came up which was for visitors. Dressed in miner's
clothes we got into that iron box one close after an-
other. Then down, down, down we slid, until daylight
faded from view; and by the light of the candles which
each one held we saw only the roots of the trees, then
only the logs that lined the side of the shaft, which were
covered with wet, clammy funguses. When we were
seven hundred feet down we stopped and climbed out
and sat down to wait for the other party. While we were
waiting, several blasts so disturbed the air that our can-
dles were blown out over and over again. Then, as the
others had arrived, we started through the tunnel. This
was sometimes so low that we had to bow our heads, but
in other places it was large enough for a ball-room, as
the miners said. We collected many specimens and then
we went home. I brought mine here, and I have started
a cabinet with shells from Florida and stones from dif-
ferent places, some silk cocoons, and a rose made en-
tirely of silk unspun and undyed. There is a mine in
California of great depth and so hot that the miners
wear very little and can work no longer than half an
hour each day. Some people say that some day there
will be an awful explosion there, and that it is unwise to
work it any longer. I remain, your constant reader,

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I do not remember having
seen a letter in your box from a convent girl, and I am
afraid that many of your little readers have very odd
ideas of convents and convent life, thinking that all is
dark and gloomy within the cloister walls "; but I do
assure you that you make quite a mistake. If you should
ever take a peep into our playrooms you will find us to
be as jolly a set of girls as any one could wish to see.
If it will not be a bore to you, I will tell you about
the delightful grounds which belong to our school. In
the front, a large round grass plot laid out in tasteful
flower beds containing most beautiful plants, which in the
summer resemble so many massive bouquets, is sur-
rounded by a gravel walk leading up to the main en-
trance. There it branches off to the right in a wide drive
between a hedge of lilacs on one side, and a row of vet-
eran apple trees on the other. On the left of the convent
grow the stately pines from which the school takes its
name, "The Pines." At the rear end of the convent, two
tennis-courts are laid out. There in fine weather we
play tennis, base-ball, and croquet; back of this a field of
eight acres terminates the northern end of the grounds,
while an extensive orchard marks the boundary on the
This makes my fourth year here at school and I like
it very much. There is a young lady here whose brothers
have taken you ever since you first were published. I
know also a little girl from New Haven whose school
life is made brighter by your monthly appearance.
Well, dear ST. NICHOLAS, I must say adieu, for I fear
that I have already made my letter too long. Believe
me, your most sincere friend and admirer,

WE thank the young friends whose names here follow
for pleasant letters received from them: Edith and Katie
C., Edith A. P., Kittie J., Nonie S., Epsie D. B., Mary
L., Helen P., Alice M. P., Ethel G., Mabel A., Alice C.,
Minerva C., L. D. S., Frank S., Marjorie B. A., Jessie
C., Agnes J. H., Aimbe E., Iris, Mac P., Theresa A.,
Max M. jr., Mary L. R., Alice K. H., Lulu TB., Hazel
P., Lillian L. B., John N. G. jr., E.," Helen M.



GRANDMOTHER'S GARDEN. I. Phlox. 2. Butter and eggs. 3. Snap- WORD-SQUARE, I. Avail. 2. Vesta. 3. Asses. 4. Items.
dragon. 4. Hollyhock. 5. Lavender. 6. Caraway. 7. Sweet William. 5. Lasso.-- RIDDLE. A mirror.
8. Mourning-bnde. 9. Matrimony. xo. China aster. ii. Lady-slipper, DIAMONDS IN DIAMONDS. I. I. T. 2. Tan. 3. Toned. 4. Tan-
12. Foxglove. 13. Snow-ball. 14. Marigold. xs. Hoarhound. 16. Lark- gled. 5. Nelly. 6. Dey. 7. D. II. I. P. 2. Mag. 3. Model.
spur, 17. Bachelor's-button. 18. Candytuft 19. Althea. 20. Four 4. Paddles. 5. Gelid. 6. Led. 7. S.
o'clock. ar. Crab-apple. 22. Sunflower. 23. Bouncing Bet. 24. Sage. AN OCTAGON. I. Mad. 2. Renew. 3. Medical. 4. Animate.
25. Primrose. 26. Cowslips. 27. Oleander. 28. Box. 29. Prince's 5. Decayed. 6. Water. 7. Led.
feather. 30. Cockscomb. 3x. Forget-me-not. 32. Spearmint. 33. Star A RHOMBOID. Across: i. Gamut. 2. Sates. 3. Tepor. 4. Silas.
of Bethlehem. 34. Spiderwort. 35. Ribbon-grass. 36. Solomon's 7. Demon.
seal 37. Ragged sailor. 38. Narcissus. 39. Carnation. 40. Thyme. P. September strews the woodland o'er
41. Tiger-lily. 42. Valerian. 43. Tulips. 44. Boneset. 45. Monks- With many a brilliant color;
hood. The world is brighter than before,
ZIGZAG. From r to 1o, Brandywine; from zi to 20, Stillwater. Why should our hearts be duller?
Cross-words: i. Barriers. 2. Creosote. 3. Starling. 4. Painless. THOMAS W. PARSONS.
5. Pedicles. 6. Eyebrows. 7. Waterpoa. 8. Mitigate. 9. Manifest. AN AIOM IN AXIOMS. If you eat goose on Michaelmas day,
zo. Numerate. you will never want money all the year round.
DIAGONAL PUZZLE. Diagonals, Bildad. Cross-words: i. Bun- ILLUSTRATED ACROSTIC. Initials, Harvest. Cross-words: x. Horse.
yan. 2. Sidney. 3. Milton. 4. Dryden. 5. Ramsay. 6. Arnold. 2. Apple. 3. Rocks. 4. Vanes. 5. Easel. 6. Sabot. 7. Torch.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the i5th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, before July i5th, from Mamma and Jamie -Paul Reese -
Josephine Sherwood -E. M. G.-" Mamma, Aunt Martha, and Sharley"--A Family Affair-Nellie and Reggie -"A. L. W. L."-
" May and '79"- John W. Frothingham, Jr.,- Gertrude Laverack Lisa Delavan Bloodgood -" Rags and Tatters "- Ida C. Thallon -
Alex. Armstrong, Jr.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, before July c5th, from Robt A. Stewart, i M. E. Gordon, Cecil
and Elsie, 2- Katie, x -" Rosebud and Heliotrope," 2- A. H. Nye, i- A. C. Butler, I- Louise Post, 4- F. Osborne, i Honora
Swartz, 3-"Lady Jane," I--E. G. Anderson, i -Nancy, 3- Katie Van Zandt, 4--C. Alexander, 2-"M. O. S. Quito," 2-G. E.
Ellis. E. Y. Townsend, Jr., 3- Harry B. Davis, 2- Papa and Grace, 3- Alice K. H., 3- E. and M. Harris, 2- B. L. Adair, 3-
H. M. C. and Co., 9- Effie K. Talboys, 6- No Name, Canada, 9 Bird and Moll, 9-" Squire," 8-" Infantry," 9- E. W. and L. A.
Hawkins and F. Foxcroft, 4-" The Trio," 3 -R. Anselm Jowitt, r C. Alexander S., i Arthur B. Lawrence, 3- Walter R. Tour-
tellot, 2- Clara and Emma, 5-H. V. and M., i -J. MacC., 9- Karl Otto, and Julius Sommer, 4-Benedick and Beatrice, -J. S.
K. and K. D. K., 9--M. E. Ford, i- Elsa Behr, 4-"H. P. H. S., 94," 6--Alexis J. Colman, 9-W. E. Eckert, 2- Sarah H.
Scott, 7 Nellie L. Howes, 8- Brooksby, 3 Lissie Hunter, 2- Tom and Jerry, i- Janet H. Stewart, 3- M. I. C. E., 5 Grandma
and Charlie, I Blanche and Fred, 9- Ida and Alice, 8 -" The Lancer," x -" Charles Beaufort," 7- Adele Walton, 8-Jo and I, 9 -
Rita Sharp, 4 F. L. Y., 2 Estelle Jons, 3- Marcia V., i- Nick McNick, 8 M. T. O., i Epie, George, Nannie, and Lizzie,
5-E. Sophia Stockett, 8- J. M. Taylor, x- M. Taylor, 7-James Stewart, 3.
ANSWERS TO JUNE PUZZLES were received too late for acknowledgment in the September number, from Frances Maud McGlew,
China, x.

I. I. A battle fought on October 21, 1805. 2. In-
comes. 3. Greediness after wealth. 4. An instrument
of correction. 5. Imbecile. 6. A pike when full grown.
7. A word used by teamsters. 8. A Roman weight of
twelve ounces. 9. In half-square.
II. I. The maker of a famous dictionary who died on
October 27, 1858. 2. To fill to excess. 3. In a royal
manner. 4. Longedfor. 5. A feminine name. 6. Vended.
7. A principal river of Scotland. 8. A masculine nick-
name. 9. In half-square. G. F.
SIx letters in my name are found,
And that denotes a silken sound;
These six some other words will form -
One, is a coat worn in a storm;
And one is caused by shining color;
"Enticest" will explain another;
By one an army's catering 's done;
Those who make soft music, one;
Now two more words are close at hand,-
This, thou dost when in command,
And that, is what all toils demand.
I AM composed of ninety-five letters, and am a quota-
tion from Lord Lytton, appropriate for a guest-book.
My 84-49-54-64-27-3 is a name by which Lord Lyt-
ton is often called. My 2-50-72-55-36 is a body of
water. My 33-65-12-44-90 is brilliant. My 73-34-87-
5-69 is devout. My 56-11-29-86-24-95-I3 is to trans-
gress. My 48-75-93-37 is a germ. My 47-43-58-60-
78-91 is a multitude. My 38-6-19-82-1 is powdered to-

bacco. My 42-16-81-17-51 is a prong. My 4-83-45-88-
63-18-70 is to gather in. My 53-77-35-14-59 is a ban-
quet. My 10-68-28-71-85-9-89-41 is one who gathers.
My 31-22-76-61-80-66 is to hurry. My 25-8-52-46-
57-39 is to flavor. My 79-74-32-94-20-67-15-26 is a
figure seen on the Turkish flag. My 23-62-40-92-7-
21-30 is something necessary to the making or the solv-
ing of a numerical enigma. "TOPSY AND EVA."

I. A letter from Sweden. 2. An ecclesiastical gar-
ment. 3. A joint. 4. A quagmire covered with grass
or other plants. 5. A letter from Sweden. VICTOR.

EACH of the following descriptions suggests the name
of an old-fashioned flower. Example: An old cathedral
town and the music often heard there. Answer, Canter-
bury bells.
I. A flower and a girl's name. 2. To deplore. 3.
Peace of mind. 4. A youth beloved by Apollo. 5.
Affection and epoch. 6. Sugary and a prickly plant.
7. An American author. 8. Pertaining to a dove. 9. A
sacred city and a small fruit. 10. A falsehood and the
main ingredient in sealing-wax. II. An emblem of York
or Lancaster. 12. Long may ours wave. 13. I sometimes
come before my first ceases to do my second. 14. Fra-
grant letters. 15. A dignitary of the church. 16. A
character in "Midsummer Night's Dream." 17. A coin
and regal. 18. A bog and a feminine nickname. 19.
More furious. 20. The rainbow. 21. One of the pri-
mary colors. 22. A pet, and what it might do if angered.
23. A gasteropodous mollusk. w. S. R.



EACH of the six pictures in the above illustration may
be described by a word of six letters. When these are
rightly guessed and placed one below the other, in the
order here given, the letters from I to 9 (as indicated in
the accompanying diagram) will spell the name of a very
famous Spanish author; and the letters from o1 to 20
will spell the name of a very famous English author.
Both died the same day. C. B.
Ho, sloyleo gwinss eht priplung nive,
Het weylol splame melaf orbeef,
Eht gednol-wynta sha ester danst
Drah yb rou togacet rood;
Borotec gwlos no yeerv cheke,
Cerotob shensi ni revye yee,
Wheil pu het Ihil, dan dwon eht lead,
Reh smornic brensan lyf.

EACH of the words described contains six letters.
When these are rightly guessed, and placed one below
the other in the order here given, the diagonals, from the
upper left-hand corner to the lower right-hand corner,
and from the upper right-hand corner to the lower left-
hand corner, will spell the Christian name and the sur-
name of an inventor.
CROSS-WORDS: I. A number. 2. Fragments. 3. To
pour oil upon. 4. Men who collect gas-bills. 5. Tenets.
6. Fictitious tales. A. AND E. HAAS.
ALL the words described contain the same number of
letters. When these are rightly guessed and placed one
below another in the order here given, the first row of
letters will spell a beautiful place where may be seen, in
October, what is named by the second row of letters.
CROSS-WORDS: I. To hesitate. 2. An animal resem-
bling the leopard, found in Persia. 3. An aquatic animal.
4. Deceives. 5. A small vessel, commonly rigged as a
sloop. 6. A violent assault. 7. A very hard stone.
8. A reward of merit. 9. The first of the high priests

of the Israelites. o1. A hard white substance. ii. Un-
shaken courage.- 12. A treatise. F. s. F.
I. I. The song-thrush. 2. One of certain fabulous
birds which were said to have no feet. 3. A letter other
than a consonant. 4. Something existing in the imagina-
tion. 5. Barters.
II. I. A nest. 2. Angry. 3. A famous Italian poet.
4. Complete. 5. Prophets.
III. I. To explode. 2. To come together. 3. To
mature. 4. A horse for state or war. 5. Cares for.
J. P. AND O. A. G.


UPPER HALF. Across: I. Disloyalty. 2. Senior.
3. A feminine name. 4. In string. Downward: I. In
string. 2. A note in music. 3. A masculine name. 4.
A body of water (three letters). 5. A conjunction. 6.
In string.
LOWER HALF. Across: I. In string. 2.'A serpent.
3. Certain plants found in warm countries. 4. A herald
spoken of by Homer, having a very loud voice. Down-
ward: I. In string. 2. A preposition. 3. A beverage.
4. To fondle (three letters). 5. An adverb. 6. In string.
The central letters, reading downward, spell the author
of the tragedy of Cato. N. T. M.



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