Front Cover
 The Christmas inn
 The admiral's caravan
 What Willie wants
 The corner of the column
 The long hillside
 Tom Paulding
 There was a man
 Strange corners of our country
 David Cameron's fairy godmothe...
 A complaint
 Honors to the flag
 Spelling "kitten"
 The crocodile
 Afternoon tea
 The escape of a whole menageri...
 The noah's ark
 Show play
 The riddle box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00249
 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: VID00249
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
        Front Cover 3
        Page 82
    The Christmas inn
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
    The admiral's caravan
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
    What Willie wants
        Page 95 (MULTIPLE)
    The corner of the column
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
    The long hillside
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
    Tom Paulding
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
    There was a man
        Page 120
        Page 121
    Strange corners of our country
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
    David Cameron's fairy godmother
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
    A complaint
        Page 136
        Page 137
    Honors to the flag
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
    Spelling "kitten"
        Page 141
    The crocodile
        Page 142
        Page 143
    Afternoon tea
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
    The escape of a whole menagerie
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
    The noah's ark
        Page 152
    Show play
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
    The riddle box
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

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(SEE PAGE 87.)

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LONG ago, in one of England's old shires
there was a famous hostelry known as the "Sara-
cen's Head," and on the creaking sign-board was
painted a fearful paynim with gleaming white
teeth and frowning eyebrows. But one day it
became the "Christmas Inn," with the genial
device of a sprig of holly, promising good cheer
and a jolly welcome. To tell the reason of the
inn's change of name will be to give a page out
of the obscure chronicles of the common lives
of men, women, and children more than three
centuries ago. But the quaint, sweet incident
is well worth calling to mind at the blessed
Christmas season.
It is found briefly set down between items of
household expenses, and statements of journeys
to London and back, and records of deaths in
battle, and costs of trials for treason, in the
household books of the worshipful families of
the Hightowers and the Barnstaples in the years
from 1461 to 1483. It comes like a little flute's
silvery tune, between the blare of trumpets and
the clash and clang of swords in those rough
days, and is so briefly told that I shall have to
piece it out for you in my own way.

It was Christmas Eve in 1465, and snow had
fallen thick and fast, covering from sight the
charred and blackened gable-ends of many a
ruined or desolate house. There had been hard
fighting in old England, Merry" no longer
when class fought against class, section against
section, people against nobles, east against west,
and when friend and kinsman were at deadly
feud; when the white rose of York and the red
rose of Lancaster were in conflict for the Eng-
lish throne. But, for the sacred Christmas sea-
son, a truce had been agreed upon, and for
thirty days there would be no blow struck.
The Saracen's Head looked fierce and grim
in the wild wind and drifting snow; but mine
host of the inn, Thomas Curdy, came to the
door and gazed up and down the highroad
with a broad, red, jolly face of hospitality and
welcome. It was so wild a storm that he was
about to shut and bar the great door earlier than
was usual; but he would fain catch some sign
of approaching travelers, man and beast, before
doing so.
No traveler abroad to-night!" quoth he
with a sigh of regret, as he went back within

Copyright, 1891, by THE CENTURY Co. Allrights reserved.


No. 2.


the red, glowing circle of warmth thrown out
by the huge Yule logs of the blazing fire,
and rubbed his stout hands before its leaping
Marry, then, this blessed eve there will be
no drinking nor brawling here, nor quarreling in
men's cups till they come to blows, truce or no
truce!" answered Dame Curdy, contentedly,
her rosy, motherly face and fat figure seeming
to shed in its way as much comfort around her
as did the fire.
A jolly pair they were, and to see how the
flames made them ruddier and jollier and
cheerier every moment, was a sight for Christ-
mas eve. The Hightowers and Barnstaples
chronicles have little to say of this honest pair,
but nevertheless they are quite as worthy our
attention as any Lancastrian Hightowers or
Yorkist Barnstaples of them all.
Travel, good dame, travel up and down
the highroad brings good luck to the Saracen's
Head, and it 's a bad night that stops it! "
Ay, I wot-travel in peace. But no bands
of fighting-men, to give the honest house a hard
name,-and no reckonings paid either. But
in this storm, I warrant none will stir abroad
that can bide at home-not even your thirsty
cronies from the village, Hobbs and Giles."
"An' if a storm stops them,"-but here a
loud, shrill blast from a trumpet sounded keen
and clear across the wild wind.
Mine host started up, alert and ready, and
Dame Curdy wrung her hands in dismay.
More fighting-men, alack! I hear the ring-
ing of their armor now as they ride through
the gate. May the saints keep watch and ward
over us poor sinners, for that is none other than
Sir John Keightley's call! They are all the
Earl's men."
The good landlady loved peace, and hated
war, and her kindly heart dreaded the turbu-
lent scenes that old kitchen had often wit-
nessed; but her lamentations were to no pur-
pose, as she well knew. Of all people they
dared not offend the redoubtable Earl of High-
towers, or any of his stout men-at-arms.
In a few seconds, the inn was full of bustle
and confusion. Hostlers ran, maids hurried
here and there; and, while the dame gave shrill
orders in the kitchen, Thomas Curdy shouted a

welcome through the fierce blasts of wind that
drove the whirling snow through the wide-open
Across the threshold-with wind and snow-
flakes-entered the late comers: Sir John
Keightley, a weather-beaten, rugged, and
scarred old veteran of many a hard-fought
fight, and at least nine or ten stout men with
him, roughly dressed, and armed with the long-
bow, as were most of the common soldiers at
that time. But as they came out of the night
and the storm into the circle of light around
the great hearth, Thomas Curdy saw that this
was no ordinary band of fighting-men. There
were women -three of them, and one who
carried herself so haughtily that mine host, who
was used to the ways of great people, shrewdly
suspected that she was no more than some great
lady's attendant; for he had always noticed
that the great lady herself was likely to be more
simple and quiet in her ways than her maid.
And Sir John Keightley carried in his arms
a bundle which he would let no one touch, but
strode ahead in front of the great fire, and
kneeling down, began tenderly to unfasten
wrap after wrap. What a hush of amazement
at first, and then what exclamations of wonder
and delight from Dame Curdy and her women
when the last wrapping was thrown off, and out
stepped the daintiest little girl ever seen! She
was but two years and six months old; and she
laughed out merrily like the ripple of water, or
the singing of the early winds in spring through'
the young leaves. And looking up at the big
knight, with tiny hands she began to brush the
snow-flakes from the grizzled hair and beard of
the old soldier.
"Who is this dear heart ?" cried Dam(
Curdy; and a clear little flute-like voice an
swered in the softest of tones:
I 'm Lady Margery (or Marg'y," as she
pronounced it)-" Rosamond Vere."
Her hair was of reddish gold of the fines.
silken texture. It was cut square across hel
brow in front, and hung over her lace frill be
hind. Her eyes were of a velvety black-blur
color, and had a look of wistful tenderness that
was contradicted by the laughing, mischievous
mouth and the dimples that lurked in cheel
and chin. That look must have come from


the young mother who died not long after the
husband, only son of the Earl of Hightowers,
was cut down in a skirmish with the Yorkists
at Stapleton-on-the-Moor. The baby girl had
her mother's eyes and her father's chin, but the

Dame Curdy was right. This baby in her
little rose-colored camlet gown, with the gold
of her precious head for a crown, ordered her
retainers about-Sir John most of all-more
royally than the Earl dared to do. But it was,


I IiiiS.
- 4 '; *I')*-iI~


likeness that delighted the portly landlady and
made her smile cheerily, and rub her fat hands,
was to little Margery's stately old grandmother,
the countess, with her tall head-dress. For just
at that time the fashionable gentlemen wore
puffed and slashed doublets, and shoes ridicu-
lously broad like hoofs; and fashionable ladies,
like the countess, were adorned with head-
dresses ornamented by projecting horns, and
looked very grand, no doubt.
Pretty lamb, how she favors the Countess
herself with that proud turn of her sweet head!"

after all, a right heavenly rule of love, albeit a
wilful one.
She would have none of her nurse when, after
a dainty grace, she had eaten her supper of
cream and fine white wheat bread; but she ran
away, laughing so that she tripped and almost
fell, past the men-at-arms to stout old Sir
John Keightley, and climbed on his knee in
triumph-for she was sure of having her own
way there.
Sir John had been sent by the Earl to bring
home his little granddaughter, too young to


grieve over her double loss, and had fallen in
love with the little maid from the first sound of
her childish voice.
She prattled away merrily now, her silvery,
piping tones sounding curiously sweet among
the gruff voices of the rough soldiers. The men
were watching with keen appetites the stirring
of the savory dishes, as the landlady hung over
the fire, every now and then glancing at the
pretty child on the knight's knee.
Hark! hark! cried Margery, suddenly,
making with her baby finger an imperative
gesture for silence. "Marg'y hears the big
horn coming!" and laughing out with delight,
she doubled up her rosy fists and began to
blow in pretty mimicry, her eyes shining like
stars in her excitement. Then quickly chang-
ing, she clapped her tiny palms together, cry-
ing, Kling-klang, kling-klang "
They all heard now what the finer ear of
the child had sooner detected--the trumpet-
call coming nearer and nearer, and the clang
of arms.
"Who think you that these may be, land-
lord ?" asked Sir John, anxiously glancing at
the golden head against his breast.
I fear me it is Sir Joseph Barnstaples's men,"
answered mine host deprecatingly, for the
Barnstaples were Yorkists, and long at enmity
with the Hightowers faction; and again the
good dame sighed and wrung her hands in
Fearing some possible attack, in spite of the
solemn proclamation of the truce, Sir John
made his men resume their weapons while the
big door was being unbarred.
Then what a sight! No such wonderful
night had the old Saracen's Head ever known
before. Here, again, with the soldiers were
nurses-two nurses in russet kersey gowns, car-
rying each a small bundle; and out of these
bundles, when unwrapped, appeared two babies,
twin girls of eighteen months old! Sir Joseph
Barnstaples's second son had married in one
of the southern shires a rich heiress, who had
died of a fever, and now, the granddame being
dead also, the father was sending them, like the
wee lady with Sir John, under military convoy
back to his old home at Barnstaples Manor.
The women clapped their hands, and laughed

with Ohs! and "Ahs I and Dear hearts!"
-even the soldiers laughed-but nobody was
so pleased as the little Lady Marg'y," as she
gazed, with wide-open eyes and crimson lips
just parted by a smile and showing a few white
pearls of teeth, at the demure twin babies.
Barbara and Janet Barnstaples, as the firelight
danced over their little, smooth, round heads,
darker than Margery's, could not be coaxed
into a smile. Their four dark grave eyes won-
dered solemnly at all the noise and all the
strange faces, and the two little mouths were
drawn up for a cry, when all at once they
caught sight of Margery, bending forward, and
two faint little dimples showed for a moment
one on each right cheek. At least, Barbara
smiled first, and then Janet followed suit.

The snow came down thick and fast that
night, but old Sir John, wont to dream of bu-
gles sounding alarm, and of ambuscade and
skirmish, dreamed of a long-forgotten meadow
above the weir, where the blue speedwell grew
and bloomed until the ground was all of a deli-
cious blue like the angelic robes in the old
chapel windows; and waking next morning,
cast about in his mind as to whether this might
not betoken death; for had he not heard all his
life that
Flowers out of season
Trouble out of reason ?

It would seem very funny, nowadays, for an
experienced and brave old gentleman to worry
about dreams and signs, but people were not verj
wise about such things in the fifteenth century.
The same night, the old nurse was awakened
by a light foot-fall in the room, and, peeping
out from the bed-clothes, saw a flitting whit
figure cross the dusky space that was but dimli
lighted by the gleams from the dying embers.
She put her hand out for her nursling. The
little nest in the bed was warm, but empty.
Up she started in alarm, and saw--a sight for
Fairyland For little Margery, hearing one of
the twin babies cry in her sleep, and her nurse
not waking, had stolen out of bed and was busy
tucking her in and cooing to her like a little
wood-dove. The old nurse called her softly,
and the little bare feet pattered across the floor


to the bed, to be caught up and cuddled to
sleep again.
The next morning Margery would not eat
until the twins had been put one on each side
of her at the table; and then she would feed
them, giving now Barbara a bit of the wheaten
Sloaf, and now Janet a spoonful of cream. And
if she ever gave to Janet first, Janet would shake
her small head, as brown and glossy as a nut,
Sand point with her wee finger to Barbara. The
whole party were in high glee, until Margery
n.:.r;...l with displeasure that too many were
.I:.kI;, on. For the very hostlers, and the
-,.ll1.:ii,. had stolen to the doors to peep at
th.l: i1: nge sight of three babies among all those
soldiers who now seemed to be quite friendly
Together, and wonderfully quiet in their innocent

Margery turned her head quickly to Sir John,
and asked, with an air that delighted the land-
lady, "Are dose folks all so hungry ? "
There was such a shout of applause that the
intruders fled abashed, and the little lady gravely
returned to her breakfast.
Very soon the two convoys went on their
separate roads, and whether the little lady of
Hightowers and the twin heiresses of Barn-
staples ever met again, and were friends or foes,
our chronicle does not say. But the coming of
the three babies to the Saracen's Head on
Christmas eve was not soon forgotten, and in
memory of the day of good-will that grim old
Moslem was hauled down from his creaking
sign-post, and in his place swung gaily to and fro
a freshly painted holly branch with the words
CHRISTMAS INN beneath it.





I "



THE Blue Admiral Inn stood on the edge
of the shore, with its red brick walls, and its
gabled roof, and the old willow-trees that over-
hung it, all reflected in the quiet water as if the
harbor had been a great mirror lying upon its
back in the sun. This made it a most attrac-
tive place to look at. Then there were crisp
little dimity curtains hanging in the windows
of the coffee-room and giving great promise
of tidiness and comfort within, and this made
it a most delightful place to think about. And
then there was a certain suggestion of savory
cooking in the swirl of the smoke that came
out of the chimneys, and this made it a most
difficult place to stay away from. In fact, if
any ships had chanced to come into the little

harbor, I believe everybody on board of them
from the captains down to the cabin-boys,
would have scrambled into the boats the mo
ment the anchors were down and pulled awa,
for the Blue Admiral Inn.
But, so far as ships were concerned, th,
harbor was as dead as a door-nail, and poo
old Uncle Porticle, who kept the inn, had lon!
ago given up all idea of expecting them, an,
had fallen into a melancholy habit of standing
in the little porch that opened on the village .
street, gazing first to the right and then to th,.
left, and lastly at the opposite side of the way,
as if he had a faint hope that certain sea-
faring men were "about to steal a march upon
him from the land-side of the town. And Dol-
othy, who was a lonely little child, with no
one in the world to care for but Uncle Poi-
ticle, had also fallen into a habit of sitting on

7 L _1 -


the step of the porch by way of keeping him
company; and here they passed many quiet
hours together, with the big robin hopping
,-., r i : .: with the Admiral him-
self, on his ped-
Sestal beside the
porch, keeping
LL L AIIIR- watch and ward
i i Iover the fortunes
: ,i of the inn.
Now the Ad-
i ---lcl miral was only a
y yard high, and
was made of
a wood into the
.*., bargain; but he
I', was a fine figure
,i_ ,--' of a man for all
S that, dressed in
a snug blue coat
(as befitted his
name) and cana-
ry-colored knee-
'. breeches, and
i', ', |wearing a fore-
and-aft hat rak-
'' ".'. ishly perched on
the back of his
head. On the
other hand, he
''''I had sundry stray
'j cracks in the
'i calves of his legs
,' and was badly
battered about
THE ADMIRAL. the nose; but,
after all, this only gave him a certain weather-
beaten appearance as if he had been around the
world any number of times; and for as long as
Dorothycouldrememberhe hadbeen standingon
his pedestal beside the porch, enjoying the sun-
shine and defying the rain, as a gallant officer
should, and earnestly gazing at the opposite side
of the street through a spy-glass.
Now, what the Admiral was staring at was a
mystery. He might, for instance, have been
looking at the wooden Highlander that stood
at the door of Mr. Pendle's instrument-shop, for
nothing more magnificent than this particular
Highlander could possibly be imagined. His

clothes were of every color of the rainbow, and
he had silver buckles on his shoes, and he was
varnished to such an extent that you could hardly
look at him without winking; and, what was
more, he had been standing for years at the
door of the shop, proudly holding up a prepos-
terous wooden watch that gave half-past three
as the correct time at all hours of the day and
night. In fact, it would have been no great
wonder if the Admiral had stared at him to the
end of his days.
Then there was Sir Walter Rosettes, a long-
bodied little man in a cavalier's cloak, with a
ruff about his neck and enormous rosettes on
his shoes, who stood on a pedestal at old Mrs.
Peevy's garden gate, offering an imitation to-
bacco-plant, free of charge, as it were, to any
one who would take the trouble of carrying it
home. This bold device was intended to call
attention to the fact that Mrs. Peevy kept a
tobacco-shop in the front parlor of her little
cottage behind the hollyhock bushes, the an-
nouncement being backed
up by the spectacle of three
pipes arranged in a tripod i
in the window, and by the
words Smokers' Empor-
ium" displayed in gold-
letters on the glass. Dor-
othy knew perfectly well
who this little man was, I
as somebody had taken the'. .
trouble of writing his name ".
with a lead-pencil on his .
pedestal just below the f
toes of his shoes., '
And lastly there was old
Mrs. Peevy herself, who
might be seen at any hour
of the day, sitting at the
door of her cottage, fast
asleep in the shade of her
big cotton umbrella with-
the Chinese mandarin for
a handle. She was n't THE HIGHLANDER.
much to look at, perhaps, but there was no way
of getting at the Admiral's taste in such mat-
ters, so he stared through his spy-glass year
in and year out, and nobody was any the wiser.
Now from sitting so much in the porch,


Dorothy had come to know the Admiral and
the Highlander and Sir Walter Rosettes as well
as she could possibly know people who did n't

- P11F(~I

V, 1


know her and who could n't have spoken to
her if they had known her; but nothing came
of the acquaintance until a certain Christmas
eve. Of course, nobody knew better than
Dorothy what Christmas eve should be like.
The snow should be falling softly, and just
enough should come down to cover up the
pavements and make the streets look beautifully
white and clean, and to edge the trees and the
lamp-posts and the railings as if they were
trimmed with soft lace; and just enough to
tempt children to come out, and not so much as
to keep grown people at home in fact, just
enough for Christmas eve, and not a bit more.
Then the streets should be full of people hurry-
ing along and all carrying plenty of parcels;
and the windows should be very gay with de-
lightful wreaths of greens and bunches of holly
with plenty of scarlet berries on them, and the
greengrocers should have little forests of as-
sorted hemlock-trees on the sidewalks in front
of their shops, and everything should be cheer-
ful and bustling. And, if you liked, there
might be just a faint smell of cooking in the
air, but this was not important by any means.
Well, all these good old-fashioned things came
to pass on this particular Christmas eve except

the snow; and in place of that there came a soft,
warm rain which was all very well in its way,
except that, as Dorothy said, It did n't belong
on Christmas eve." And just at nightfall she
went out into the porch to smell the rain,
and to see how Christmas matters generally
were getting on in the wet; and she was
watching the people hurrying by, and trying to
fancy what was in the mysterious-looking par-
cels they were carrying under their umbrellas,
when she suddenly noticed that the toes of the
Admiral's shoes were turned sideways on his
pedestal, and looking up at him she saw that he
had tucked his spy-glass under his arm and was
gazing down backward at his legs with an air of
great concern. This was so startling that Doro-
thy almost jumped out of her shoes, and she
was just turning to run back into the house when
the Admiral caught sight of her and called out
excitedly, Cracks in my legs! "- and then




S891.] 1 fti A DLIVIIIAl

stared hard at her as if demanding some sort of
an explanation.
Dorothy was dreadfully frightened, but she
Swas a very polite little girl, and would have
Answered the town pump if it had spoken to
her; so she swallowed down a great lump that
Shad come up into her throat, and said, as re-
Sspectfully as she could, I 'm very sorry, sir.
I suppose it must be because they are so very
S" Old !" exclaimed the Admiral, making a
desperate attempt to get a view of his legs
through his spy-glass. Why, they're no older
than I am"; and, upon thinking it over, this
seemed so very true that Dorothy felt quite
Ashamed of her remark and stood looking at
: him in a rather foolish way.
Try again," said the Admiral, with a patron-
izing air.
No," said Dorothy, gravely shaking her
head. I 'm sure I don't know any other rea-
son; only it seems rather strange, you know,
That you 've never even seen them before."
If you mean my legs," said the Admiral, of
course I 've seen them before -lots of times.
But I 've never seen 'em behind. That is,"
he added by way of explanation, I 've never
seen 'em behind before."
But I mean the cracks," said Dorothy, with
a faint smile. You see she was beginning to feel
Sa little acquainted with the Admiral, and the
conversation did n't seem to be quite so solemn
Sas it had been.
"Then you should say 'seen 'em before be-
hind,' said the Admiral. That 's where
they've always been, you know."
Dorothy did n't know exactly what reply to
make to this remark; but she thought she ought
to say something by way of helping along the
i...iversation, so she began, "I suppose it 's
kind of- and here she stopped to think of
rl.. word she wanted.
Kind of what ? said the Admiral severely.
Kind of--cripplesome, is n't it? said Dor-
yli rather confusedly.
Cripplesome ? exclaimed the Admiral.
"Why, that 's no word for it. It 's positively
decrepitoodle here he paused for a mo-
ment and got extremely red in the face, and
then finished up with loodlelarious," and

U0 L It. V -nfl a7

stared hard at her again, as if inquiring what
she thought of that.
Goodness said Dorothy, drawing a long
breath, what a word! "
"Well, it is rather a word," said the Admiral
with a very satisfied air. "You see, it means
about everything that can happen to a person's
legs-- but just here his remarks came
abruptly to an end, for as he was strutting about
on his pedestal he suddenly slipped off the
edge of it and came to the ground flat on his
back. Dorothy gave a little scream of dismay;
but the Admiral, who did n't appear to be in
the least disturbed by this accident, sat up and
gazed about with a complacent smile. Then,
getting on his feet, he took a pipe out of his
pocket, and lit it with infinite relish, and having
turned up his coat-collar by way of keeping the
rest of his clothes dry, he started off down the
street without another word. The people go-
ing by had all disappeared in the most unac-

I' r .

,*.... S'

112 --

countable manner, and Dorothy could see him
quite plainly as he walked along, tacking from
one side of the street to the other with a strange
rattling noise, and blowing little puffs of smoke
into the air like a shabby little steam-tug going
to sea in a storm.
Now all this was extremely exciting, and
Dorothy, quite forgetting the rain, ran down
the street a little way so as to keep the Admiral
in sight. It 's precisely like a doll going trav-
eling all by itself," she exclaimed as she ran

I ITT~ ~ T1~~ n


along. "How he rattles! I suppose that 's
his little cracked legs and goodness gracious,
how he smokes!" she added, for by this time
the Admiral had fired up, so to speak, as
if he were bound on a long journey, and was
blowing out such clouds of smoke that he
presently quite shut himself out from view.
The smoke smelt somewhat like burnt feathers,
which, of course, was not very agreeable, but
the worst of it was that when Dorothy turned to
run home again she discovered that she could n't
see her way back to the porch, and she was feel-
ing about for it with her hands stretched out
when the smoke suddenly cleared away and she
found that the inn, and Mr. Pendle's shop, and
Mrs. Peevy's cottage, had all disappeared like a
street in a pantomime, and that she was standing
quite alone before a strange little stone house.


THE rain had stopped and the moon was
shining through the breaking clouds, and as
Dorothy looked up at the little stone house she
saw that it had an archway through it with
" FERRY in large letters on the wall above it.
Of course she had no idea of going by herself
over a strange ferry; but she was an extremely
curious little girl, and so she immediately rar
through the archway to see what the ferry was
like and where it took people, but to her sur-
prise she came out into a strange, old-fashioned
looking street lined on both sides by tall houses
with sharply peaked roofs looming up against
the evening sky.
There was no one in sight but a stork. He
was a very tall stork with red legs, and wore a
sort of paper bag on his head with FERRYMAN'
written across the front of it; and as Dorothy
appeared he held out one of his claws and said
" Fare, please," in quite a matter-of-fact way.
Dorothy was positively certain that she had n'
any money, but she put her hand into th(
pocket of her apron, partly for the sake of ap-
pearances and partly because she was a little
afraid of the Stork, and, to her surprise, pulled
out a large cake. It was nearly as big as .
saucer and was marked ONE BISKER"; and a,
this seemed to show that it had some value, she

handed it to the ferryman. The Stork turned it
over several times rather suspiciously, and then,
taking a large bite out of it, remarked, "Very
good fare," and dropped the rest of it into a little
hole in the wall; and having done this he stared
gravely at Dorothy for a moment, and then said,
"What makes your legs bend the wrong way ? "
"Why, they don't! said Dorothy, looking
down at them to see if anything had happened
to them.
They 're entirely different from mine, any-
how," said the Stork.
S "But, you know," said Dorothy very ear-
nestly, I could n't sit down if they bent the
other way."
"Sitting down is all very well," said the
Stork, with a solemn shake of his head, "but
you could n't collect fares with 'em, to save
your life," and with this he went into the house
Sand shut the door.
"It seems to me this is a very strange ad-
venture," said Dorothy to herself. It ap-
Spears to be mostly about people's legs," and
Sshe was gazing down again in a puzzled way at

her little black stockings when she heard
cough, and looking up she saw that the Stori:
had his head out of a small round window ii
the wall of the house.
"Look here," he said confidentially, there '
some poetry about this old ferry. Perhaps you'(d


like to hear it." He said this in a sort of
husky whisper, and as Dorothy looked up at
him it seemed something like listening to an en-
ormous cuckoo-clockwith a bad cold in its works.
Thank you," said Dorothy politely. I 'd
like it very much."

'I .1

"All right," said the Stork. The werses is
cill .- 'A Ferry Tale'"; and, giving another
i....- to clear his voice, he began:
-Oh, come and cross over to nowhere,
And go where
The nobodies live on their nothing a day /
tideful of tricks is this merry
Old Ferry,
And these are the things that it does by the way..

It pours into parks and disperses
The nurses.
}It goes into gardens and scatters the cats.


It leaks into lodgings, disorders
The boarders,
And washes away with their holiday hats.

It soaks into shops, and inspires
The buyers
To crawl over counters and climb upon
It trickles on tailors, it spatters
On hatters,
And makes little milliners scamper
It goes out of town and it rambles
Through brambles,
It wallows in hollows and dives into
It flows into farm-yards and sickens
The chickens,
And washes the wheelbarrows into
i.7 the wells.
It turns into taverns and drenches
The benches;
S It jumps into pumps and comes out
with a roar;
It pounds like a postman at lodges-
Then dodges
i,. And runs up the lane when they
',open the door.

SIt leaks into laundries and wrangles
With mangles,
It trips over turnips and tumbles
It rolls like a coach along highways
And by-ways;
LOCK." -But nevergets anywhere, go as itwill!
Oh, foolish old Ferry all muddles
And puddles-
Go fribble and dribble along on your way;
We drink to your health with molasses
In glasses,
And waft you farewell with a handful of hay /

"What do you make out of it? inquired
the Stork anxiously.
"I don't make anything out of it," said Doro-
thy, staring at him in great perplexity.
"I did n't suppose you would," said the
Stork, apparently very much relieved. I 've

ning-wheels, and a spindle-legged table set out
i with a blue-and-white tea-set, and some cups
and saucers, and finally a carved sideboard
which made two or three clumsy attempts to
I get through the doorway broadside on, and
Ii then took a fresh start, and came through end-
=1- wise with a great flourish. By this time the
water was quite up to the window-ledge, and as
the sideboard was a fatherly-looking piece of
-_ furniture with plenty of
room to move about in,
Dorothy stepped aboard
mc of it as it went by, and
su -, said_ D..th sitting down on a little
t s- j t-i g b shelf that ran along the
-h- h e back of it, sailed away in
the wake of the tea-table.
The sideboard be-
r te shaved in the most absurd
manner, spinning around
S and around in the water,

Among the other furni-
S- ture as if it had never
been at sea before, and
been at it for years and years, and I 've never the tea-table with a crash and knocking the tea-
made sixpence out of it yet," with which remark set and all the cups and saucers into the water.
he quickly pulled in his head and disap-
peared. c
I don't know what he means, I'm -
sure," said Dorothy, after waiting a mo- A r'-.
ment to see if the Stork would come back,
"but I would n't go over that ferry for
sixty sixpences. It's altogether too frol- .
icky"; and having made this wise reso-
lution, she was just turning to go back i
through the archway, when the door of
the house flew open, and a stream of water
poured out so suddenly that she had just
time to scramble up on the window-ledge N.
before the street was completely flooded. /
I suppose it's something wrong with
the pipes," she said to herself, in her
thoughtful way; "and, dear me, here
comes all the furniture! and, sure enough,
a lot of old-fashioned furniture came float- --
ing out of the house and drifted away .-
down the street. There was a comer
cupboard full of crockery, and two spin-
(To be continued.)

You brought a sled .. -
To me a year ago; i
And when you come again I i ;i
hope 'i i
You '11 bring along some i

A-Ob~~iYr W


By M. M. D.

ALL night long the pine-trees wait,
Dark heads bowed in solemn state,
Wondering what may be the fate
Of little Norway Spruce.

Little Norway Spruce who stood
Only lately in the wood.
Did they take him for his good-
They who bore him off?

Little Norway Spruce so trim,
Lithe, and free, and strong of limb!
All the pines were proud of him;
Now his place is bare.

All that night the little tree
In the dark stood patiently,
Far away from forest free,
Laden for the morn.

Chained and laden, but intent.
On the pines his thoughts were bent;
They might tell him what it meant,
If he could but go!

Morning came. The children. "See!
Oh, our glorious Christmas-tree!"-
Gifts for every one had he;
Then he understood.




stools. He sat on one, with a bandaged foot
resting on the other, and a pair of crutches
across his knees. He was evidently a beggar-
boy, lying in wait for passers-by, in a capital
situation for intercepting them; they must step
out of their way to get around him, or march
over his leg, which was still more inconvenient,
or wait for him to lift it, which he never did
without a whining appeal for alms.
Behind him, helping to bar the way, sat an
old cobbler by the door of the den, plying his
trade in the open air, as is the custom with the
minor craftsmen of Naples. On the other side
of the doorway, also aiding in the obstruction
of the sidewalk, was a washerwoman bent over
her tub, scrubbing her clothes on a rough stone
slab that served in place of washboard.
I was fumbling in my pocket for a small coin
to pay the toll the boy levied at his improvised
toll-gate, when his attention was diverted in an-
other direction.
A small bundle of hay fell from a peasant's
cart that was passing, and the boy, throwing
aside his crutches, ran to secure the prize on
two as nimble legs as ever boy had. He was
bearing it off with agility, when a man who
could run faster, and probably wanted the hay
more, took it from him and hurried away with
it in another direction.

T happened a good
many years ago,
when I was seeing
S Italy for the first
time, on a very large
capital of youthful
SiI enthusiasm and a
Very small capital in
: the way of money.
As it is the only
adventure I ever
had, I was, in my
younger days, rather proud of it. It had come to
be an old story with me, however, and I had
about lost my interest in telling it, when it was
recalled to my mind by an incident that rounds
it out with a curious sequel. Let me begin at
the wrong end of my narrative, and relate the
more recent circumstance first.
This occurred during a second visit to Naples,
only a short time ago. In one of my morning
rambles I came upon a characteristic street
scene near the old grotto of Posilipo.
In front of a basso-one of those human
dens that open, on a level with the street, into
the tall Neapolitan houses, and are occupied
by the poorer people both as dwellings and
shops-was a bare-headed and bare-legged
boy, near the middle of the sidewalk, on two


But neither was he permitted to get off in
peace with his booty. The old cobbler, who
had looked on placidly when the boy was the
thief, felt his moral sense outraged when the
man became the robber. He raised an outcry
that was taken up by others; the peasant,
warned of his loss, jumped from his cart, and
ran back to receive the bundle, which the man,
suddenly turned honest, advanced to deliver up
Sto him with obliging good-nature, and an ac-
cusatory shake of the hand at the boy. The
boy laughed, pleased that nobody else should
Enjoy the booty he had lost, and returned to
his crutches and his two stools. I had in the
mean while passed on, when, looking back, I
saw him readjusting his bandaged foot, and put-
Sting on a piteous expression for his next victim.
Returning in a short time and remembering the
trap, I avoided it by keeping the opposite side
of the street. But the boy was equal to every
emergency. He was on his crutches and one
foot in a moment, and hobbling over to head
me off, with the bandaged limb dangling in a
way to excite compassion in the hardest heart.
Something for a miserable cripple, good,
generous signor! he entreated, putting out his
grimy paw.
I could n't help laughing at the shameless
imposture even while I put my hand in my
If you want it," I said, showing him a coin,
run for it! You can run; I have seen you."
His whine changed to a laugh as he dropped
his bandaged foot, and all pretense of lameness
along with it, and still held out his hand for the
coin. The woman laughed, too, as she turned
from her tub, and offered to explain the situation.
Curious to know what excuse she could make
Sfor him, I stepped across the street, with the
vivacious little beggar carrying his crutches
and capering before me.
Although I could speak a little Italian, I was
overwhelmed and bewildered by the flood of
Neapolitan gabble she let loose upon me. The
old cobbler in the mean time had dropped his
work, and sat listening to her and watching me
with good-natured interest in the little drama.
I was evidently taken for a Frenchman, for,
when she appealed to him to interpret for her,
he said, with a very bad accent:
VOL. XIX.-7,

"MAonsieur est FraniFais ?"
No," I replied in the same language, but
I speak French. What is she trying to tell me ? "
"That you will do right to give something
to this poor orphan."
But he is not lame "
No, not at all lame, this one. It is his
cousin who is lame. Since he is in the hospital
to be cured this one borrows his crutches and
begs for him. A good boy, a very good boy,
I assure you! "
His peculiar pronunciation of the word gar-
;on, the French for boy," amused and startled
me; I will explain why, farther on.
"He is your son-this orphan?" I said,
looking from the man to the boy, and finding,
as I fancied, a family resemblance.
Not my son," he replied, but my grand-
son. His father is my son,

I. ,.. i.t I. .. ...:1! FI

'- i __ r i.:.. i ii w

Is n't your name Angelo" I said.

Yes," he replied, without astonishment
"Angelo Colli at your service, monsieur !"
You were once a guide on the other side of

the hill of Posilipo
1.H BEGGAR-Bov. look out of the eyes
which I succeeded at last in bringing into the
focus of my memory.
Is n't your name Angelo ? I said.
Yes," he replied, without astonishment;
"Angelo Colli--at your service, monsieur!"
You were once a guide on the other side of
the hill of Posilipo ? "


-~-. ~ .--N

~~4~I:~;-'~---- ~ -. '~-- -,' ..--~;~


"True, monsieur, I was a guide many years,
to Pozzuoli, Baja, and all that region."
"Ah! and do you remember one you guided
once, a young American who gave you a lesson
in French pronunciation? "
The old cobbler shook his head. "No, I
don't remember; I was a guide to so many
people." He remained calm and stolid while
my mind lighted up with vivid recollections.
I could n't be mistaken in my man; and I
knew that by a word, or even a gesture, I could
jog his dormant memory.
"Angelo Colli, you certainly cannot have
forgotten-" But I hesitated.

It was thirty years before that I first made
his acquaintance. An admirable guide he was
then, tireless, talkative, with a sufficient know-
ledge of the country, a fund of historical mis-
information, and some command of bad French.
I remember I had visited the tomb of Virgil
that morning (I am talking about the earlier

adventure), and gathered a leaf from the lemon-
tree that shaded it then, as perhaps it does
now if relic-hunters have n't hacked it quite
away. Then I had descended from that com-
manding hillside and entered the Grotto of
Posilipo, without any definite plan of what I
intended to do. Nothing was further from my
thoughts than to set out on such a tramp as I
afterward undertook.
But the grotto was enchanting. It is an an-
cient gallery roughly hewn through the moun-
tain, between Naples and the wonderful region
that opens upon the other side.
Narrow, lofty, begrimed with the smoke and
dust of centuries; lighted dimly by a row of
lamps that dwindled in the distance, and be-
came lost in the glimmering disk of daylight at
the opposite end; filled with the musical tinkle
of bells from the flocks of goats that had been
driven into the city to be milked at people's
doors, and were now going out again, attended by
rough and swarthy goatherds; singing peasant


girls, with burdens on their heads; donkeys them-fell back to let him have his way with
loaded with great panniers of vegetables; a me. He was very persuasive. How could I
company of soldiers-such was the grotto, think of going back to Naples when I had such
with the moving life in it, on the January a day, as might not soon come again, for view-
morning when I first beheld it, with the keen ing the finest scenery and the most curious
senses of ardent
youth open to every -
sight and sound. ..
I kept on, eager. i ; -- -
to see what was at ,'
the other end; and
there, on the thresh- M* '._ f -.
old of this region -
of wonders, extinct o
volcanoes, here a
lake that was once a tt .
a crater, there af di -
,crater still smoking, -- A"
vineyards growing .
on old lava-fields, M" i .
villas, villages, ruins, ,.
with the loveliest i
views of capes and k116 1
bays and mountain- i
forms -there, as I ""
say, I picked up my
guide. :i
Or, rather, he ;.
picked me up. It '
was Angelo Colli in '
the prime of man- -L 1 .
hood-not then the ."
grizzled and bent il!U ,
old cobbler, but a -
robust fellow of
f-I withblackhair .M .AAE
and in the prime __ --- -. -.
of health. Athletic
1;,-. I., in corduroy
knee-breeches; a
brown hat worn well
on the back of his
brim slightly rolled up in front, displaying his sights in the world? I ought at least to see the
wavy locks, low, full forehead, and strong black Grotta di Cane, or Cave of the Dog; it was
eyebrows; in place of a hatband, a many-colored close by, only a step; he could take me to it at
silken braid knotted on one side, and dangling once, and it would cost me but a trifle-almost
gaily over his ear-that was the picturesque if nothing.
not exactly handsome guide who accosted me. I found it a good many steps; but the day
The other guides there were a half dozen of was delightful, and there was nothing beneath


v v


that glorious southern heaven nor on that mar-
velous spot of earth that did n't interest me.
In the side of the old crater was, and still
is, the Grotta di Cane, or Cave of the Dog, of

till we came upon such views of sea and land,
mountains, and islands, and shores, as can be
seen nowhere but in the vicinity of Naples--
the Bay of Pozzuoli opening into the Mediter-


r. ~X

; _z Y --;--~ _- ... .. .
-- _, ., ,.--"-- .--
.. _-.- ..


which the most I remember is that at a sharp
whistle from Angelo the keeper appeared with
a trembling cur under his arm.
"What is he going to do with that poor lit-
tle thing ? I asked.
"He will place him on the ground in the
grotto; and monsieur will have the pleasure
to see his life extinguished by the bad air in
a few seconds. That is what he has fear of;
he has died in that grotto, and been brought
to life again a hundred times, to give satisfac-
tion to strangers."
"Hold on there !" I cried, "you will give me
more satisfaction by letting the dog go."
The one thing interesting about the grotto
was its position in the side of the ancient
crater. Seeing that I cared more for volcanoes
than for dying dogs, Angelo offered to take me
to one that was still active-La Solfatara-
only a short step, un petit pas, further on. If
it was not all he described it to be, then I
should give him nothing!
On we went again, leaving the lake on our
right, and the steep sides of Monte Spina on
our left, and following a footpath over the hills

ranean, Procida, Ischia, the rocky Cape of
Miseno (where, according to Virgil, 'Eneas
built the sepulcher of Misenus and gave the
cape its name), Nisida quite near (the island to
which Brutus fled after the murder of Casar),
Capri in the azure distance, Pozzuoli before us
(where St. Paul once abode seven days), and
other famous names, the mere mention of which
has a charm for the memory.
A good many steps again, the last of them
steeply ascending, brought us to the hollow
cave of La Solfatara. Angelo was n't quite
right in claiming it as a still active volcano;
that could hardly be said of a crater we could
walk about in and comfortably inspect at our
leisure. But the ground was, in places, not firm
under our feet. Choking vapors rose all about
us from the porous and hollow earth that floored
the ancient crater, and from fissures in the steep,
rough sides; and there certainly was one large
chasm from which issued a cloud of sulphurous
Of course, La Solfatara did not compare in
terrible grandeur with Vesuvius, which I vis-
ited later. But then, you cannot walk into the

,ft A

___ ~


crater of Vesuvius, and you would n't want to
if you could.
Beyond La Solfatara is Pozzuoli, between
the hills and the sea. If we descended that
way, the ancient amphitheater would be "less
than a step out of our course.
So we saw the amphitheater; after which I
was easily persuaded to keep on to the Temple
of Serapis, down by the further shore. A ruin,
but a very interesting one, it has been half-

of the splintered Corinthian capitals of the por-
tico of the temple. It was a thing of little
value in the eyes of the custodian, who permit-
ted me to keep it on my handing him an extra
It was a roughish bit of marble, about two
thirds the size of my fist, with one coarsely frac-
tured side, which fitted very well into the palm
of my hand. The reverse side was sculptured
to a bluntish edge.

- -.

- #-. 'i" 4 i 11- X



sunken in the sea, from which it has partly
emerged again, as is shown by the three great
columns, dismantled but majestic, that still re-
main upright.
What made the visit to this spot memorable
to me was a relic I picked up there. From a
heap of fractured friezes and broken columns,
,i. ". are supposed to have been overthrown
by the aforesaid shell-fish undermining their
bases, I took a fragment of marble which had
once, to all appearance, formed a corner of one

I am not a relic-hunter, but I have often
obeyed an impulse to carry off such things,
which I have invariably given away afterward,
if, indeed, I have n't thrown them away as soon
as the first ardor of possession has had time to
cool. Luckily, I did not throw this away.
We saw something more of Pozzuoli, and
finally walked into a restaurant that looked out
pleasantly on the small harbor, where we had
some much-needed rest and refreshment. We
sat long over a bottle of Chianti wine, of which

I __I~__~~_ ~ ___ 5_ _~_ _


Angelo drank by far the larger share, smacking
his lips with satisfaction, while he told me, in
his very bad French, of his way of life and of
his little family.
He had much to say of his boy; carbon he
called him (for gar;on) in his execrable accent.
He used the word so often that I became an-
noyed by it, and gave him his lesson in French,
which I never forgot, if he did.
Look here, Angelo! I said. "You speak
French very well, but your pronunciation of one
word is bad. Why do you always say carbon "
"What should I say? "
"Say gar;on."
"Very well. Carzon." And he thanked me
for correcting him.
But you still say carbon. It is not carbon,
but garcon."
I see! he replied, laughing. I must n't
say carbon, but carbon."
"You say carbon all the time! Now, give
attention, and pronounce each syllable after
me. Gar."
Gar," said Angelo.
Con." So far so good.
"Now, gar-'on."
Car-zon he exclaimed, thumping the table
And with all my drill I could n't get him to
say anything else when he came to put the sep-
arated syllables together. At last my patience
gave out, and I left him to his carbon, which
served his purpose well enough. The word, it
seems, stuck to him all his life, for it was this
word, several times repeated, when applied to
his grandson, that gave me a clue to his iden-
tity so many years after.
When we went out of the restaurant, he tried
to induce me to visit other interesting places
near by. But it was getting very late. There
was then no tramway from Pozzuoli to Naples,
as there is now, and I could n't afford a citadine.
That is what the little.one-horse Neapolitan car-
riage was called in those days. It is a carroz-
zella now.
No, I would positively proceed no further,
but I would walk back to Naples; and to get
a new experience I would return by another
route. We kept the shore of the bay as far as

Bagnoli, a little village of hot springs and a
few poor houses of entertainment, where I said
to Angelo:
Now, my good friend, we must part. I go
over the Collina," the hill or promontory of
Posilipo, beneath which I had passed, through
the ancient grotto, on my outward trip in the
"But it will soon be dark," he protested.
"It will not be safe for you to go alone."
"How not safe?" I looked at my pocket-
map. "It is perfectly plain; I shall not lose
the way."
"But the brigands! said Angelo. You
may meet with some unlucky adventure." And
he told of travelers who had lately been robbed
at night on that lonely mountain-road.
I laughed at his brigands, with a secret feel-
ing of uneasiness, however, I must admit.
"You are armed, perhaps ?" he said. "You
have a pistol? "
No," I replied; and I should n't use it if
I had."
I always liked rough old Dr. Johnson, despite
his bearishness, for saying to Boswell that he
would n't like to shoot a highwayman. And
Emerson's noble line,
Unarmed, face danger with a heart of trust,-

appealed to something deeper in my heart than
Angelo Colli could n't understand any such
nonsense as that. "What!" he said, "you
would n't kill a man who attempted to rob you? "
"I should dislike very much to kill a man to
save even my own life," I answered. "And to
save a little money !-I 'd sooner lose a great
deal than have such a deed on my conscience.
A brigand may have been no worse a man at
heart than you or I, Angelo, but for the circum-
stances that have made him what he is."
All this was incomprehensible to honest Colli.
"You have much money!" He had seen
the inside of my pocket-book at the restaurant,
and no doubt what seemed little to me, with
my hotel bills and traveling expenses to pay,
appeared much to him. "And your watch-
a gold watch, monsieur! You had better let me
go with you. They may attack you alone, but
they will not attack us two; besides, they know



me too well. It is further for me to go that
way; but you need pay me only a trifle."
Was he really so solicitous for my safety, or
was it the extra recompense he was after ? It
was not this that deterred me from employing
him, but the truth is I had had enough of
Angelo. The best guide, in an all-day excur-
sion, may become tiresome at last. My inmost
spirit was sore from the incessant sound of his
voice with its rasping accent. I longed for the
silent companionship of my own thoughts on
that lonely mountain-road.
I had taken the precaution to make some
sort of bargain with him in the morning; and,
at parting, an extra coin or two--for his pfeit
gar;on at home-seemed to touch him.
"I will go with you for nothing!" he ex-
claimed. But I would not permit that. "Well,
then, if anything happens to you, call me; call
Angelo Colli as loudly as you can."
Little good that will do," I replied, "with
the mountain between us "
That is true," he said; we shall be miles
apart. But everybody knows Angelo Colli,
and just the sound of my name may do you
"Well," I said, smiling at the idea, but still
with some misgivings, "If I fall in with any
brigands I will call you. Good-by, Angelo!"
"Bon soir, monsieur!" and he stood waving
me his adieus with his picturesque hat, remain-
ing at the foot of the road, while I commenced
the long and winding ascent.
I was weary enough; night was fast closing
in, and I had some four miles yet to go. But I
forgot everything else, even Angelo's brigands,
in the solace of that high and silent and solemn
walk. For much of the way there was no sound
but my own footsteps and the roar of the sea
breaking on the base of the promontory. As I
turned to look back from some commanding
point, the views of bays and islands, capes and
clouds, and mountain heads in the afterglow
of evening, were like glimpses of some diviner
world. Once I yielded to the enchantment,
and sat down to rest.
The glory had faded, and it was growing
quite dark, when I got up and went on. Two
or three carts or carriages passed. And now
and then I met a man, alone and on foot like

myself, to whom I gave a wide berth, with
more regard for Angelo's brigand" than I
cared to acknowledge to myself. But the most
frightful object I saw was a peasant looming out
of the gloom with a huge pannier on his back.
I had passed out of sight of the sea; there
were high walls on both sides, not a star over-
head. I had wanted solitude, and I was getting
enough of it. I could hardly see the ground
under my feet. The sound of the sea had died
in the distance, but it was n't long before I
heard it again, faint at first, then increasingly
loud, but before me instead of behind. I knew
that I had passed the crest of the promontory.
Then, as I kept on, descending the further
slope, what a sight met my eyes!-the Bay of
Naples outspread before me, with here and
there the red beam of a ship's lantern on the
dim expanse; the distant lights of Portici and
Torre del Greco on the opposite shore; and,
high over all, the pulsing fire of Vesuvius
slowly climbing and falling in the darkness
with every throe of the volcano.
Further on, a curve in the road brought me
in view of Naples, with its thousand lights,
making the mountain-side on which it is built
look like another volcano, with a core of fire
shining through innumerable holes.
I had forgotten all about Angelo's highway-
men, when suddenly the figure of a man started
out from the shadow of a wall in the road
before me. The movement was silent and
stealthy, and it was so dark that I should not
have seen him if he had not come between me
and the lights of the city.
I was on the side of the way toward the
sea; he had appeared from the other side
As he moved over toward me, I attempted
very quietly to change sides with him, or at
least to test his intentions; but as I edged over
he edged back again, and I found myself meet-
ing him face to face.
A curdling chill crept over me as I said to
myself, "Perhaps Angelo was right, after all."
It is n't courage that causes a man to carry
a deadly weapon on any ordinary occasion, and
in my cool moments I could say as I had said
to Angelo, that I would never use one. But
now I was not cool; and I had something like
a weapon in my hand.


It was the fragment of marble I had picked
up among the ruins of the Temple of Serapis.
Feeling it dangling in my side-pocket, I had
taken it out, and for the past ten minutes had
been carrying it in my hands, changing it occa-
sionally from one to the other, and enjoying its
coolness in my fevered palms.
Finding I could n't pass the man on either
side, I stopped in the middle of the road. He
stopped too. There was a moment of appalling
silence. He wore a formless sort of hat, pulled
well over his eyes; a dark handkerchief muffled
his face. There was something in his attitude
like that of a man prepared to make a violent
lunge. His head was thrust forward; his arms
were crooked up at his sides.
The sentiment of Emerson's inspiring line
suddenly deserted me; my "heart of trust" flut-
tered disgracefully.
"What do you want?" I said in Italian.
Money! he answered gruffly, in the clip-
ped Neapolitan accent, behind his muffler.
But you can't have it! I said, stepping
back, with my left side turned toward him and
my right arm swung behind.
I had quite forgotten to call Angelo Colli, and
even if I had remembered my promise to him
it is n't at all pr bable that I should have kept
it. In the crisis that had come, nobody on the
other side of the mountain could do me any
good; I must take care of myself, or, rather, of
my money. The loss of that, in a foreign land,
would involve me in endless difficulty.
As I stepped back the fellow made his lunge,
and seized my left arm. I let him hold it; he
was a powerful man, and any trial of strength
with him would have been folly on my part. I
wore a light overcoat, which was unbuttoned
and hanging open. It gave him easy access to
my pockets, which he proceeded to pilfer with
one hand while holding me with the other.
Then this, as nearly as I can remember, is
what happened.
I had the piece of marble in my right hand,
and, as he was stooping to his work, I fetched
him an upward stroke with it -not so hard as
I might, but hard enough--close under his
hat-brim. He loosed his hold of me in an in-
stant; he was the most unheroic brigand you
can conceive of. There was n't anything ro-

mantic about him. He just sprawled away
from me, and went down on all-fours in a
manner that was simply ridiculous.
But there was nothing ridiculous in the great
groan he gave as he settled to the ground.
I had started to run the moment I knocked


,# .- IR.




him over, but I had n't gone many steps
before I checked the cowardly movement, and
stopped to listen and look back. I 'could see
nothing; the fellow evidently lay where he had
fallen; but I heard another low groan.
I quickly reasoned myself out of my fears, and


went back. He was probably no more armed
than I was, or even less so, for I still grasped
the stone I had struck him with. There had been
something awkward and amateurish about his
performance that quite lost him my respect.
He was not a neat-handed highwayman.
It was an immense relief to find him strug-
gling to his feet, for my final fear was that he
would never quit that spot without the help
of other feet than his own. Hat and hand-
kerchief had fallen off; a shapely head of loose
wavy hair rose up before me. I regarded him
with astonishment.
"Angelo !" I exclaimed.
Je vous demand pardon, monsieur!" he
murmured humbly.
Why did you do so foolish a thing ? I said.
"You got what you deserved."
"True! he replied, feeling the side of his
forehead in a dazed sort of way. I am paid
for a stupid joke."
"A joke, Angelo "
"I assure you, monsieur! I wished to see
what you would really do if a man asked for
your money. After what you said, I felt a
"Well, Angelo Colli, I trust your curiosity
is gratified! And do you wish to know what I
shall do next? Denounce you to the police! "
"Oh, monsieur! he expostulated, "think
of my wife, and mypetitcarzon-carzon He
tried to correct himself, remembering my
"On one condition I will pardon you," I
replied, while he picked up his hat and me-
chanically brushed it with his handkerchief
while pressing it into shape, for I found he
had turned it inside out in order to disguise
himself. "Tell me the exact truth. You
meant to rob me!"
He shrugged expressively, and put on his hat.
"A little money is so much to us poor peo-
ple! and the loss would be nothing to you. I
would n't have harmed you. I believed what
you said, and did n't expect such a blow. If
all Americans have such fists, there 's no need
that any of you should go armed."
I had slipped the stone back into my pocket,

and I did n't explain that it was the corner of
the stone capital of a column of the Temple
of Serapis that had collided with the temple of
Angelo Colli.
His knowledge of the by-paths in Posilipo
had enabled him to get ahead of me. He
appeared extremely contrite, and again he pro-
posed to favor me with his company as far as
Naples. But I would have none of it. I left
him standing in the road, a dark and silent
figure, and hurried on.

And this was the "brigand" whom I found,
so many years later, transformed into an old
cobbler in Naples, and grandfather of the little
fraud with the crutches and the bandaged leg.
I concluded not to remind him of our pre-
vious encounter.
"So, you have a son in America ?" I said.
"America is a good place. I come from that
He turned up at me interested eyes, the
same eyes that had looked into mine, across the
table at Pozzuoli, when he told me of his prom-
ising boy so long ago.
"Do you go back there ? he inquired.
"I hope to, some time."
"Well, if you see my Angelo tell him that we
are well, and that his son is growing up to be a
fine boy, a very honest, good boy! (Un beau
carzon, un Ires honntte, bon carbon/)
And he looked with pride and -satisfaction
at the lad, who was at that moment hobbling
across the street to beg of an English tourist
passing upon the other side.
"In what part of America is your son ?" I
"In Mexico, if he has n't gone up into
"Very well. If I see him I will tell him.
Meanwhile keep the boy honest. Keep him
honest! Adieu, Angelo Colli!"
"Bon jour, monsieur said Angelo.
I never saw him again.
As for the corner of the capital of the col-
umn of the Temple of Serapis, that bit of stone
is one of the few relics I still have in my limited



THERE do not seem to be as many hares now
as there used to be when I was a boy. Then
the "old fields" and branch-bottoms used to
be full of them. They were peculiarly our
game; I mean we used to consider that they
belonged to us boys. They were rather scorned
by the "gentlemen," by which was meant the
grown-up gentlemen, who shot partridges over
the pointers, and only picked up a hare when
she got in their way; and the negroes used to
catch them in traps or "gums," which were
traps made of hollow gum-tree logs; but we
boys were the hare-hunters. They were our
property from ourchildhood; just as much, we
considered, as Bruno and Don," the beauti-
ful crack pointers, with their brown eyes and
satiny ears and coats, were "the gentlemen's."
The negroes used to set traps all the fall
and winter, and we, with the natural tendency
of boys to imitate whatever is wild and prim-
itive, used to set traps also. To tell the truth,
however, the hares appeared to have a way of
going into'the negroes' traps, rather than into
ours, and the former caught many to our one.
Even now, after many years, I can remem-
ber the delight of the frosty mornings; the joy
with which we used to peep through the little
panes of the dormer-windows at the white frost
over the fields, which promised stronger chances
of game being caught; the eagerness with
which, oblivious of the cold, we sped through
the garden, across the field, along the ditch
banks, and up by the woods, making the round
of our traps; the expectancy with which we
peeped over the whitened weeds and through
the bushes, to catch a glimpse of the gums
in some "parf" or at some clearly marked
"gap"; our disappointment when we found
the door standing open and the trigger set
just as we had left it the morning before; our
keen delight when the door was down; the

dash for the trap; the scuffle to decide which
should look in first; the peep at the brown ball
screwed up back at the far end; the delicate
operation of getting the hare out of the trap;
and the triumphant return home, holding up our
spoil to be seen from afar. We were happier
than we knew.
So far to show how we came to regard hares
as our natural game, and how, though we had
to grow up to be bird-hunters, as boys we were
hare-hunters. The rush, the cheers, the yells,
the excitement were a part of the sport, to us
boys the best part.
Of course, to hunt hares we had to have dogs
- at least boys must have the noise, the dash,
the chase are half the battle.
And such dogs as ours were!
It was not allowable to take the bird-dogs
after hares. I say it was not allowable; I do
not say it was not done, for sometimes, of
course, the pointers would come, and we could
not make them go back. But the hare-dogs
were the puppies and curs, terriers, watch-dogs,
and the nondescript crew which belonged to
the negroes, and to the plantation generally.
What a pack they were! Thin, undersized
black-and-tans, or spotted beasts of very doubtful
breed, called "houn's" by courtesy; long-legged,
sleepy watch-dogs from the quarters," brindled
or "yaller" mongrels, which even courtesy
could not term other than kyur dogs "; sharp-
voiced "fises," busier than bees, hunting like
fury, as if they expected to find rats in every
tuft of grass; and, when the hares got up, boun-
cing and bobbing along, not much bigger than
the "molly cottontails" they were after, get-
ting in every one's way and receiving sticks and
stones in profusion, but with their spirits un-
broken. And all these were in one incongruous
pack, growling, running, barking, ready to steal,
fight, or hunt, whichever it happened to be.


We used to have hunts on Saturdays, just we
boys, with perhaps a black boy or two of our
particular cronies; but the great hunt was in
the holidays"- that is, about Christmas. Then
all the young darkies about the place were free
and ready for sport.
This Christmas hunt was an event.
It was the year 186-, and, Christmas day
falling on a Sunday, Saturday was given as the
first day of the holidays. It had been a fine
fall; the cover was good, and old hares were
plentiful. It had been determined some time
before Christmas that we would have a big
hare-hunt on that day, and the boys "- that is,
the young darkies came to the house from the
quarters, prepared, and by the time breakfast
was over they were waiting for us around the
kitchen door. Breakfast was always late about
Christmas time; perhaps the spareribs and sau-
sages and the jelly, dripping through a blanket
hung over the legs of an upturned table, ac-
counted for it; and on this Christmas eve it
was ten by the tall clock in the corner of the
dining-room before we were through. When
we came out, the merry darkies were waiting
for us around the kitchen door, grinning and
showing their shining teeth, and laughing and
shouting, and calling the dogs. They were not
allowed to have guns; but our guns, long old
single-barrels handed down for at least two gen-
erations, had been carried out and cleaned, and
they were handing them around, inspecting and
aiming them with as much pride as if they had
been brand-new. There was only one excep-
tion to this rule: Uncle Limpy-Jack, so called
because he had one leg shorter than the other,
was allowed to have a gun. He was a sort of
professional hunter about the place. No lord
was ever prouder of a special privilege handed
down in his family for generations.
The other fellows were armed with stout
sticks and made much noise. Uncle Limpy-
Jack was, as stated, the only exception; he was
grave as became a "man who was a hunter
by business, and "war n't arter no foolishness."
He allowed no one to touch his gun, which
thus possessed a special value. He carried his
powder in a gourd and his shot in an old rag.

The pack of dogs I have described, fully re-
cruited, were hanging around, growling and
snarling, sneaking into the kitchen and being
kicked out by Aunt Betty and her corps of
varicolored assistants, largely augmented at the
approach of Christmas with its cheer. The
yelping of the mongrel pack, the shouts and
whoops of the boys, and the laughter of the
maids or men about the kitchen and back-
yard, all in their best clothes and in high spirits,
were exhilarating, and with many whoops and
much "hollering," we climbed the yard fence,
and, disdaining a road, of course, set out down
the hill across the field, taking long strides, each
one bragging loudly of what he would do.
Let me see: there were John and Andrew
and Black Peter, and Bow-legged Saul, and
Milker-Tim, and Billy, and Uncle Limpy-Jack,
and others now forgotten, and the three white
boys. And the dogs, "Ole Rattler," and "Ole
Nimrod," who had always been old by their
names, and who were regarded with reverence
akin to fetish-worship because they were popu-
larly supposed to be able to trail a hare. It
was a delusion, I am now satisfied; for I cannot
recall that they ever trailed one certainly three
feet. Then there were the guard dawgs":
"Hector," brindled, bob-tailed, and ugly, and
"Jerry," yellow, long-tailed, and mean; then
there was "Jack," fat, stumpy, and ill-natured;
there were the two pointers, Bruno, and Don,
the beauties and pride of the family, with a
pedigree like a prince's, who, like us, were
taking a holiday hunt, but, unlike us, without
permission; Rock," Uncle Limpy-Jack's
"hyah dawg," and then the two terriers Snip"
and Snap."
We beat the banks of the spring ditch for
form's sake, though there was small chance of
a hare there, because it was pasture and the
banks were kept clean. Then we made for
the old field beyond, the dogs spreading out
and nosing around lazily, each on his own
hook. Whether because of the noise we made
and their seeking safety in flight, or because
they were off "taking holiday,"* as the negroes
claimed, no hares were found, and after a half-
hour our ardor was a little dampened. But

* The hares, according to the negroes, used to take holidays and would not go into traps in this season; so the
only way to get them was by hunting them.


we soon set to work in earnest and began to
beat a little bottom lying between two hills,
through which ran a ditch, thickly grown up
with bushes and briers. The dead swamp-
grass was very heavy in the narrow little bot-
tom along the sides, and was matted in tufts.
The dogs were scattered, and prowling around
singly or in couples; and only one of the
pointers and Snip were really on the ditch.
Snip showed signs of great industry, and went
bobbing backward and forward through a
patch of heavy, matted grass. In any other
dog this might have excited suspicion, even
hope; there are some dogs, however, who are
natural liars. Snip was one of them. Snip's
failing was so well known that no attention was
paid to him. He gave, indeed, a short bark,
and bounced up two or three times like a trap-
ball, looking both ways at once; this action,
however, only called down upon him universal
Just then, however, a small boy pointed over
to the top of the hill calling, Look-a yander,"
and shouts arose, Dyah she go Dyah
she go! "Dyah she go!" Sure enough,
there, just turning the hill, went a "molly
cotton," bouncing. In a second we were all
in full chase and cry, shouting to each other,
"whooping" on the dogs, and running with
all our might. We were so carried away by
the excitement that not one of us even thought
of the fact that she would come stealing back.
No negro can resist the inclination to shout
Dyah she go and to run after a hare when
one gets up; it is involuntary and irresistible.
Even Uncle Limpy-Jack came bobbing along
for a while, shouting, Dyah she go! at the
top of his voice; but being soon distanced he
called his dog, Rock, and went back to beat
the ditch bank again.
The enthusiasm of the chase carried us all
into the piece of pine beyond the fence, where
the pines were much too thick to see anything
and where only an occasional glimpse of a dog
running backward and forward, or an instinc-
tive "oun-oun! from the hounds, rewarded us.
But "molly is berry sly," and while the dogs
were chasing each other around through the
pines, she was tripping back down through the
field to the place where we had started her.

We were recalled by hearing an unexpected
"bang from the field behind us, and dashing
out of the woods we found Uncle Limpy-Jack
holding up a hare, and with a face whose grav-
ity might have done for that of Fate. He was
instantly surrounded by the entire throng, whom
he regarded with superb disdain and spoke of
as "you chillern."
G' on, you chillern, whar you is gwine, and
meck you noise somewhar else, an' keep out o'
my way. I want to git some hyahs! "
He betrayed his pleasure only once, when, as
he measured out the shot from an old rag into
his seamed palm, he said with a nod of his
head: "Y' all kin run ole hyahs; de ole man
shoots 'em." And as we started off we heard
him muttering:
"Ole Molly Hyah,
What yo' doin' dyah?
Settin' in de corner
Smokin' a cigah."
We went back to the branch and began again
to beat the bushes, Uncle Limpy-Jack taking
unquestioned the foremost place which had
heretofore been held by us.
Suddenly there was a movement, a sort of
scamper, a rush, as something slipped from out
of the heavy grass at our feet and vanished in
the thick briers of the ditch bank. Dyah she
go !" arose from a dozen throats, and gone she
was, in fact, safe in a thicket of briers which no
dog nor negro could penetrate.
The bushes were vigorously beaten, however,
and all of us, except Uncle Limpy-Jack and
Milker-Tim, crossed over to the far side of the
ditch where the bottom widened, when sud-
denly she was discovered over on the same
side, on the edge of the little valley. She had
stolen out, the negroes declared, licking her
paws to prevent leaving a scent, and finding
the stretch of hillside too bare to get across,
was stealing back to her covert again, going a
little way and then squatting, then going a few
steps and squatting again. "Dyah she go!"
"Dyah she go!" resounded as usual.
Bang!-bang!- snap!-bang! went the four
guns in quick succession, tearing up the grass
anywhere from one to ten yards away from her.
As if she had drawn their fire and was satisfied
that she was safe, she turned and sped up the


hill, the white tail bobbing derisively, followed
by the dogs strung out in line.
Of course all of us had some good excuse for
missing, Uncle Limpy-Jack's being the only
valid one-that his cap had snapped. He made
much of this, complaining violently of "dese
yere wuthless caps!" With a pin he set to
work, and he had just picked the tube, rammed
painfully some grains of powder down in it, and
put on another cap which he had first exam-


ined with great care to impress us. Now, let
a ole hyah get up," he said, with a shake of his
head. "She got man ready for her, she ain'
got you chillern." The words were scarcely
spoken when a little darky called out, Dyah
she come!" and sure enough she came, "lip-
ping" down a furrow straight toward us. Un-
cle Limpy-Jack was on that side of the ditch and
Milker-Tim was near him armed only with a
stout well-balanced stick about two feet long.
As the hare came down the hill, Uncle Jack
brought up his gun, took a long aim and fired.
The weeds and dust flew up off to one side of

her, and she turned at right angles out of the fur-
row; but as she got to the top of the bed, Milker-
Tim, flinging back his arm with the precision of
a bushman, sent his stick whirling like a boom-
erang skimming along the ground after her.
Tim with a yell rushed at her and picked her
up, shouting, "I got her! I got her! "
Then Uncle Limpy-Jack pitched into him:
What you doin' gittin' in my way?" he
complained angrily. Ain' you got no better


sense 'n to git in my way like dat ? Did n' you
see how nigh I come to blowin' yo' brains out?
Did n' you see I had de hyah when you come
pokin' yer woolly black head in my way ? Ef
I had n' flung my gun off, whar 'd you 'a' been
now ? Don' you come pokin' in my way ag'in! "
Tim was too much elated to be long affected
by even this severity, and when he had got out
of Uncle Jack's way he sang out:

"Ole Molly Hyah,
You' ears mighty thin,
Yes, yes, yes,
I come a-t'ippin' thoo de win'! "


So far the honors were all Uncle Jack's and
Milker-Tim's, and it was necessary to do some-
thing. Accordingly, the bottom having been
well hunted, the crowd struck for an old field
over the hill, known as "the long hillside." It
was thick in hen-grass and broom-straw, and
sloped down from a piece of pine with a south-
ern exposure on which the sun shone warm.
We had not reached it before a hare jumped
out of a bush near Charlie. In a few moments,
another bounced out before one of the dogs and
went dashing across the field. Two shots fol-
lowed her; but she kept on till at last one of
the boys secured her.
We were going down the slope when Peter
called in great excitement:
"Heah a ole hyah setting' in her baid. Come
heah, Dan, quick! Gi' me your gun; le' me git
him! "
This was more than Dan bargained for, as he
had not got one himself yet. He ran up quick
enough, but held on tightly to his gun.
"Where is he? Show him to me; I' knock
him over."
As he would not give up the' gun, Peter
pointed out the game.
See him ?"
"Right under dat bush -right dyah (point-
ing). "See him? Teck keer dyah, Don, teck
keer," he called, as Don came to a point just
beyond. "See him?" He pointed a black
finger with tremulous eagerness.
No, he did not, so Dan reluctantly yielded
up the gun.
Peter took aim long and laboriously, shut
both eyes, pulled the trigger, and blazed away.
There was a dash of white and brown, a yell,
and Don wheeled around with his head be-
tween his fore paws and stung by the shot as
" molly" fled, streaking it over the hill followed
only by the dogs.
Peter's face was a study. If he had killed
one of us he could not have looked more like a
criminal, nor have heard more abuse.
Uncle Limpy-Jack poured out on him such
a volume of vituperation and contempt that he
was almost white, he was so ashy. Don was
not permanently hurt; but one ear was pierced
by several shot, which was a serious affair, as

his beauty was one of his good points, and his
presence on a hare-hunt was wholly against the
rules. Uncle Limpy-Jack painted the terrors
of the return home for Peter with a vividness so
realistic that its painfulness pierced more breasts
than Peter's.
Don was carried to the nearest ditch, and the
entire crowd devoted itself to doctoring his ear.
It was decided that he should be taken to the
quarters and kept out of sight during the Christ-
mas, in the hope that his ear would heal.
We all agreed not to say anything about it if
not questioned. Uncle Limpy-Jack had to be
bribed into silence by a liberal present of shot
and powder from us. But he finally consented.
However, when Met, in a wild endeavor to get
a shot at a stray partridge which got up before
us, missed the bird and let Uncle Limpy-Jack,
at fifty yards, have a few number-six shot in the
neck and shoulder, Peter's delinquency was for-
gotten. The old man dropped his gun and
yelled, "Oh! Oh! !" at the top of his voice.
"Oh! I 'm dead, I 'm dead, I 'm dead." He
lay down on the ground and rolled.
Met was scared to death, and we were all
seriously frightened. Limpy-Jack himself may
have thought he was really killed. He certainly
made us think so. He would not let any one
look at the wound.
Only a few of the shot had gone in, and he
was not seriously injured; but he vowed that it
was all done on purpose, and that he was go-
ing straight home and tell Marster," a threat
he was only prevented from executing by all
of us promising him the gold dollars which
we should find in the toes of our stockings next
So far the day had been rather a failure; the
misfortunes had exceeded the sport; but as we
reached the long hillside I have spoken of, the
fun began. The hares were sunning them-
selves comfortably in their beds, and we had
not gone more than two hundred yards before
we had three up, and cutting straight down the
hill before us.
Bang !- bang -bang! bang! went the
guns. One hare was knocked over, and one
boy also by the kick of his gun; the others were
a sight chase, and every boy, man, and dog
joined in it for dear life.



"Whoop! whoop! Dyah she go !- Dyah
she go! Heah, heah! Heah, heah! Heah,
heah,heah! Whoop, Rattler! Whoop, Nimrod!
Heah,Snip! heah, heah, Bruno! Heah,heah!"
Every one was striving to get ahead.
Both hares were picked up before reaching
.cover, one being caught by Bruno, who was
magnificent in a chase. After many falls and

We were crossing the pasture on our way
home; the winter sunset sky was glowing like
burnished steel; the tops of the great clump of
oaks and hickories in which the house stood
were all that we could see over the far hill; a
thin line of bluish smoke went straight up in
the quiet air. The dogs had gone on ahead,
even the two or three old watch-dogs ran after

I P ih4 I
P AI *ii,
Nl -


failures by all of us, Saul flung himself on the
other and gave a wild yell of triumph.
The long hillside was full of hares; they
bounced out of the hen-grass; slipped from
brush-heaps and were run down, or by their
speed and agility escaped us all. The dogs got
the frenzy and chased wildly, sometimes run-
ning over them and losing them through a
clever double and dash. The old field rang
with the chase until we turned our steps toward
home to get ready for the fun after dark.

oun, oun! Err, err, err! "
full cry.

the others, with their
noses in air.
The question of
concealing Don and
his ragged ear came
up. It was neces-
sary to catch him
and keep him from
the house. We
started up the slope
after him. As we
climbed the hill we
heard them.
"Dee got a ole
hyah now; come
on," exclaimed one
ortwo of the younger
negroes; but old
Limpy-Jack came
to a halt, and turn-
ing his head to one
side listened.
"Heish! Datain'
no ole hyah dey 're
arter; dey 're arter
Marster's sheep,-
dat 's what 't is "
He started off at
a rapid gait. We
did the same.
Yep, yep Oun,
came their voices in

We reached the top of the hill. Sure enough,
there they were, the fat Southdowns, tearing like
mad across the field, the sound of their trampling
reaching us, with the entire pack at their heels,
the pointers well in the lead. Such a chase as
we had trying to catch that pack of mischie-
vous dogs Finally we got them in; but not
before the whole occurrence had been seen at
the house.


If Christmas had not been such an occa- Uncle Limpy-Jack basely deserted us after get-
sion of peace and good will, we should have ting our gold dollars, declaring that he "told
had a hard time. As it was, we had to plead dem boys dat huntin' ole hyahs war n' no busi-
eloquently with Don's torn ear against us, and ness for chillern!"

l4 -A '

*1* ~ '






"1 -I ,


,_ ._ a.' .' .. ... _.- im .. __ .

(A Tale of Treasure Trove in the Streets of New York.)


[Begun in the November number.]
HE house in
a a which Tom
Paulding lived
t with his mother
and sister had
originally been
0 a small farm-
t house. It had
been built just
solution and by
Tom's great-
grandfather, the officer from whom the gold
had been stolen. It was a square wooden house
with gable-ends and with a door in the middle;
there was a little porch before the door with a
vine climbing by the white wooden pillars. Ori-
ginally it had stood on a knoll, overlooking the
broad acres of the farm as they sloped down
to the river. When the streets were regularly
laid out through that part of the city, making
the upper portion of Manhattan Island as like
as possible to a flat gridiron, a lower level was
chosen than that of the house. The stony hill
was cut through, and the house now stood high
on a bluff, rising sheer and jagged above the
sidewalk. A flight of wooden steps led from
the street to the top of the knoll; and thence
a short walk paved with well-worn flagstones
stretched to the front door. The house had
been so planted on. the hill that it might com-
mand the most agreeable view; but the streets
had been driven past it rigidly at right angles to
the avenues, and so the house was now cater-
cornered" across one end of a block.
In the century and a quarter since Nicholas
VOL. XIX.-8.

Paulding had bought a farm and built him a
house, the fortunes of his children and grand-
children had risen and fallen. He himself had
been a paymaster in Washington's army; and
after the Revolution he had prospered and en-
larged his domain. But as he grew old he
made an unfortunate use of his money, and
when he died his estate was heavily involved.
His son, Wyllys Paulding (Tom's grandfather)
had done what he could to set in order the
family affairs, but he died while yet a young
man and before he had succeeded in putting
their fortunes on a firm basis. Wyllys's son,
Stuyvesant (Tom's father) struggled long and
unavailingly. Like Wyllys and like Nicholas,
Stuyvesant Paulding was an only child; and
Tom Paulding so far carried out this tradition
of the family that he was an only son and had
but one sister.
Stuyvesant Paulding had died suddenly,
when Tom was about five years old, leaving
his widow and his children nothing but the
house in which they lived and the insurance on
his life. Bit by bit the farm had been sold to
meet pressing debts, until at last there was left
in the possession of Nicholas Paulding's grand-
son but a very small portion of the many acres
Nicholas Paulding had owned-only the house
and the three city lots across which it stood.
And upon these lots and the house there was a
mortgage, the interest on which Tom's mother
often found it very hard to meet.
Tom's mother was a cheerful little woman;
and she was glad that she had a roof over her
head, and that she was able to bring up her
children and give them an education. The
roof over her head was stanch, and the old
house was as sound as when it was built. Mrs.
Paulding was very fond of her home, and she
used to tell Tom and Pauline that they were


perhaps the only boy and girl in all New York
city with its million and a half of inhabitants,
who had been born in a house built by their
own great-grandfather.
The household was small; it consisted of
Mrs. Paulding, Tom, his sister Pauline, and
the Careful Katie.
Cissy Smith had once told Tom that Mrs.
Paulding was the nicest old lady in the
world,"- and Tom had indignantly denied that
his mother was old. Perhaps she was not old,
but assuredly she was no longer young. She
was a trim little woman with a trim little figure.
Her dark-brown hair was turning gray under
the widow's cap that she had worn ever since
Tom's father died. She was good-natured and
even-tempered; her children had never seen
her angry, however they might try her; to them
she was always cheery and she seemed always
hopeful. As far as she might have power, the
path of life should always be smooth before her
children's feet.
Tom Paulding was the second member of
the family; and he often looked forward to the
time when he should be a man, that he might
do something for his mother and for his sister.
Tom called his sister Polly," but her name
really was Pauline. She was nearly twelve
years old, and she was rather short for her
years; she kept hoping to be taller when she
was older.
How can I ever feel grown up, if I have n't
grown any ? she once asked her mother.
She was rather pretty, and she had light-
brown hair, which she wore down her back in
a pigtail. To live in a house with a little spare
ground about it was to her a constant delight.
One of the two trees which Nicholas Paulding
had planted before his door-step, an ample ma-
ple, now spread its branches almost over the
porch; and to this tree Pauline had taken a
great fancy when she was but a baby. She
called it her tree; and she used to go out and
talk to it and tell it her secrets. Tom had made
her a seat on one side of this tree; and there
she liked to sit with the cat and the kitten. She
was very fond of cats, and she had generally
a vagrant kitten or two, outcast and ragged,
whom she was feeding and petting. With all
animals she was friendly. The goats which

browsed the rocks on which stood Mrs. Raf-
erty's shanty, two blocks above on /Pauline's
way to school, knew her and walked contentedly
by her side; and the old horse which was always
stationed before the shanty, attached to a de-
crepit cart labeled Rafferty's Express," knew
Polly and would affably eat the apple she took
from her luncheon for him. The name of this
old horse was Daniel."
There was not an animal anywhere on the
line of Pauline's daily walk to and from school
that did not know her and love her.
The fourth member of the household, and
in some respects the most important, was the
Careful Katie. She was a robust, hearty Irish-
woman who had been in Mrs. Paulding's ser-
vice for years. She had come to the young
couple when Tom's father and mother were
first married, and she had remained with the
family ever since. She had been Tom's nurse
and then she had been Polly's nurse. Now, in
their reduced circumstances, she was their only
servant, strong enough to do anything and
willing to do everything. She could cook ex-
cellently; she was indefatigable in housework
and in the laundry; she was a good nurse in
sickness; and she had even attempted to raise
a few vegetables, chiefly potatoes and beans, in
the little plot of ground on one side of the
house. She was never tired and she was never
cross. She was a "Household Treasure," so
said Mrs. Paulding, who also wondered fre-
quently how she could ever get on without
She had two defects only, and these in a
'measure neutralized each other. The first was
that she thought she wished to go back to Ire-
land; and so she gave Mrs. Paulding warning
and made ready to depart about once every six
weeks. But she had never gone; and Mrs.
Paulding was beginning to believe that she
never would go. The second of her failings
was that she was conscious of her long service,
of her affection for Mrs. Paulding and for the
two children, and of her fidelity; and so she
had come to accept herself as one of the family
and to believe that she was therefore author-
ized to rule the household with a rod of iron.
She was so fond of them all that she insisted on
their doing what she thought best for them, and


not what they themselves might prefer. There
were times when the Careful Katie carried
things with so high a hand that Mrs. Paulding
caught herself half wishing that the attraction

On the morning after election-day, the morn-
ing after the Black Band had made Tom Paul-
ding run the gantlet, and had tied him to the
stake, and had danced a scalp-dance about him

I: 1,1


of Ireland might prove potent enough to entice
the child of Erin back to her native isle.
It remains to be recorded, moreover, that the
Careful Katie was very superstitious. She ac-
cepted everything as a sign or a warning. She
would never look over her left shoulder at the
new moon. She was prompt to throw salt over
her right shoulder, if by chance any were spilt
while she was waiting at table. She declared
that a ring at the bell at midnight, three nights
running, foreboded a death in the family.

while he bravely chanted his defiant death-
song, the imitator of Hard-Heart and Uncas
was late for breakfast.
Mrs. Paulding and Pauline were at table, and
the Careful Katie had placed the coffee-pot
before his mother and the plate of hot biscuit
before his sister; and Tom's chair was ready for
him, but he had not yet appeared.
"It 's late Master Tom is," remarked the
Irish member of the family. "Will I call him?"
The Careful Katie was fond of hearing her-


self talk, and she was always ready to take part
in the conversation at the dinner-table; but her
use of the English language left something to
be desired.
Tom will be down in a minute," said Paul-
ine; "I knocked on his door as I passed, and
waked him up, and I kept on knocking till I
heard him get out of bed, and then he threw a
pillow at me down the stairs."
An' who's to be washin' that same pillow-
case, I 'd like to know ? It is n't yous that '11
do it-it '11 be me, I 'm thinking, said the
"Katie," interposed Pauline, pausing in her
breakfast, if you were a good girl, a real good
girl, you would bring Pussy' up and Bobby,'
and let me give them their breakfast."
"An' where will I find Pussy? Bobby is
quiet in the kitchen with his feet to the fire like
a gentleman; but Pussy does be out all night,"
replied Katie, adding, "Ah, but there's the cat
now, sitting' outside the window here as easy as
you please."
Then I '11 let her have her breakfast right
away, if you will please excuse me, Mama,"
cried Pauline, rising from the table and pouring
out a saucerful of milk.
She opened the window and called the cat,
who came to the sill and stood expectant.
When Pauline was about to set the saucer out-
side for Pussy to drink, the Careful Katie saw
what she was doing and rushed across the
Miss Polly," she screamed, never be doin'
that! It 's main bad luck to pass vittles out o'
the window to a Christian, let alone to a cat."
Mrs. Paulding looked up and smiled, and
then quietly went on eating her breakfast.
Pauline," she said, presently, your own
breakfast will be cold."
But just see how hungry Pussy is," the little
girl said as she came back to table.
"I 've a sup of hot milk in the kitchen,"
remarked Katie, an' I '11 get it for her. I 've
heard it's lucky to feed a cat, an' when I go
back to the old country,-an' I 'm goin' soon
now,-I hope a black cat will walk in for a
visit, the very first day I 'm home again." And
with this, she took Pussy in through the window
and went out into the kitchen.

Sometimes I wonder how I should get along
without Katie," said Mrs. Paulding, and then,
when she frightens you as she did just now, and
overrides us all, I almost wish she would go
back to Ireland."
We should never get another like her,"
Pauline declared, "and she is so good to the
"I believe you think of them first," her
mother said, smiling.
The poor things can't speak for themselves,
Mama," the little girl responded; "somebody
must think for them."
The clock on the mantel struck eight.
"Tom will be late," said Mrs. Paulding.
No, he won't," cried her son, as he hastily
entered the room. He kissed his mother, and
then he took his seat at the table.



Switched Tom
eat about half
Sof his bowl of
Oatmeal. Then
she asked
Sm gently, How
is it you were late, my son?"
I overslept myself," Tom answered, "and
when Polly knocked at the door I was having
a wonderful dream.
It was about everything all mixed up, just
as it is generally in dreams," went on Tom,
"but it began with my floating around the
room. I often dream I can float about in
the air just as naturally as walking on the floor;
and, in my dream, when I float around, nobody
seems at all surprised, any more than if it was
the most ordinary thing to do.
"I dreamed that I floated out to Mount
Vesuvius, where there was an eruption going on
and the flames were pouring out of the crater.
There I heard cries of distress, and I found
seven great genies had tied a fairy to a white
marble altar, and they were dancing about
her, and making ready to stone her with sticky


lumps of red-hot lava. So I floated over to her
and asked her what I could do for her -"
Did n't the seven evil spirits see you ?"
interrupted Polly.
"They did n't in the dream," Tom an-
swered, though now I don't understand why
they did n't."
Perhaps the fairy had made you invisible,"
explained his sister.
"That may have been the way," Tom ad-
mitted. So I floated over to the altar and I
asked what I could do for her, and she whis-
pered to stoop down and try if I could see
three flat stones in the ground-"
Did you see them?" interrupted Polly
"I did," said Tom; "and if you '11 just let
me go on, you '11 get to the end of this story
a sight sooner."
"I won't say another word," Pauline said.
"The three flat stones were just under my
feet," said Tom. '"The fairy told me to lift
the center stone and she said that I should
find under it a large copper ring--"
"And did y-" began Polly. "Oh!" and
she suddenly stopped.
"She told me to pull on the ring and I
would find an iron box," Tom went on, "and
in that box was a beautiful silver-mounted,
seven-shot revolver loaded with seven magic
bullets with which I was to kill the seven
genies. So I took the revolver and I shot the
seven genies, one after the other; and then I
released the fairy."
"What did she give you?" asked Polly
If you don't say a word," Tom continued,
"I will inform you that she gave me three
"What did you wish for? Polly asked at
once. I know what I should like. I 'd ask
for a little bag containing all the things they
have in fairy stories-a cap that makes you
invisible, and shoes that make you go fast, and
a carpet to carry you through the air, and all
the things of that sort. You see it is always
so awkward to have the wrong things; for in-
stance, when there 's a great, big, green dragon
coming to eat you up and you want to be invisi-
ble all at once and in a hurry, it is n't any use

having a purse that is always full of money.
I should ask for them all--and if she was a
real generous fairy, she 'd count that as only
one wish."
When his sister had finished this long speech,
Tom was calmly eating the last of his oatmeal.
She looked at him, and cried:
Tom, you are just too aggravoking for any-
thing. What were your three wishes ?"
I don't know," answered Tom.
"Why not? asked Pauline.
"Because," Tom responded, leisurely, you
interrupted me in my dream exactly as you did
just now. That was as far as I 'd got when
you waked me up."
Oh, oh! said Polly. If I 'd known you
were going to have three wishes, I would n't
have called you for anything in the world.
What were you going to wish for ? she went
on. "Don't you remember now ? "
"I don't/know what I should have wished
for in the dream," Tom answered; "but I know
what I should wish for now, if a real, live, sure-
enough fairy gave me one wish. I 'd wish that
mother's income were just twice as big as it is,
so that she should n't have to worry about the
mortgage and our clothes and my education."
Mrs. Paulding held out her hand, and Tom
gave it a squeeze.
You would be glad to have that Purse of
Fortunatus that Pauline despised so," she said.
"And so should I. The mortgage does bother
me, now and then,--and there are other things,
too. I wish I had enough to let you study
engineering, since your mind is made up that
you would like that best."
My mind is made up that I 'd like best
to be an engineer, if I could," Tom responded;
"but I sha'n't complain a bit if I have to go
into a store next year."
"I hope that I shall at least be able to keep
you at school," said his mother.
I 'd like to study for a profession, mother,
as you know," he went on; "but I 'm not
willing to have you worry about it."
I think I 'd like to study for a profession,
too," interrupted Pauline. I 'd like to learn
doctor. We begin physiology next term, and
they have a real skeleton for that-ugh! it will
be great fun."


You need not shiver in anticipation," said
her mother with a laugh.
Tom," Polly asked seriously, did you ever
have convulsions ? You know I did-and when
I was only, two years old, too. So when we
girls get a-talking over the things we 've all
had, measles and mumps, and they find out I
have n't had whooping-cough,-why, then I
just tell them I 've had convulsions; and they
have n't, not one of them."
Mother," said Tom, who had been think-
ing quietly, while his sister rattled on, "you
told me once about some money that my great-
grandfather lost. Did n't anybody ever try to
find it?"
"Yes," Mrs. Paulding answered. "Your
grandfather made a great search for it, so
your father told me; and at one time he
thought he was very 'warm,' as children say,
but he suddenly seemed to lose all interest in
it, and gave over the hunt all at once."
"Why? asked Tom eagerly.
"I don't know why," answered Mrs. Paul-
ding; "nor did your father know, either."
How did my great-grandfather lose the
money?" Tom continued.
It was stolen from him," replied his mother.
"He was a paymaster in Washington's army;
and when the British captured New York, the
American army retreated up the island and held
the upper part. A large sum of money had
been paid to your great-grandfather-or rather
he had raised it on his own property, for I
believe that the stolen gold was his own and
not the government's."
"And when was it stolen? asked Tom.
I think I heard your father say that it was
taken from his grandfather during the night-
during the night before the battle of Harlem
"That was in 1776," said Tom, "in Septem-
ber. Our teacher told us all about it only two
or three weeks ago. And it was fought just
around the corner from here, between Morn-
ingside Park and Central Park. Was Nicholas
Paulding robbed during the fight ? "
Really, my son," responded Mrs. Paulding,
"I know very little about it. Your father rarely
spoke of it; it seemed to be a sore subject with
him. But I think the robbery took place late

that evening, after the battle was over,-or it
may have been the night before."
"Who was the robber?" asked Tom. "They
know who he was, don't they? "
"Yes," said his mother, I think it is known
who took the money. He was a deserter from
our army. His name was Kerr, or Carr. He
disappeared and the money was missing at the
same time."
Did n't you say once that the thief was
never heard of after the stealing ? said Tom.
"That is what I have always understood,"
his mother declared. The man left our army
and was never seen again. After the war, your
grandfather made a careful search for him, but
he could find no trace."
Did n't the British receive him when he ran
away ? .I thought the armies in that war were
always glad to receive deserters from the other
"I think he never reached the British at all."
"Then what did become of him ? asked Tom.
"That is the mystery," replied his mother.
"It was a mystery to your great-grandfather at
the time and when the war was over; and it
seems to have puzzled and interested your
grandfather, too, at least for a while."
"It interests me," Tom declared. "I like
puzzles. I wish I knew more about this one."
"There are a lot of papers of your grand-
father's, maps and letters and scraps of old
newspapers, somewhere in an old box where
your grandfather put them more than fifty years
ago," said Mrs. Paulding.
"And where is that box now? was Tom's
eager question.
I think that it is in one of the old trunks in
the attic," Mrs. Paulding replied.
Before Tom could say anything more, a shrill
whistle was heard.
"There 's the postman!" cried Pauline, jump-
ing up from the breakfast-table. "I hope he
has brought a letter for me "
The Careful Katie entered and gave Mrs.
Paulding a letter, saying, It 's a new letter-
man, this one, and he says he ought to have
left this letter yesterday. More fool he, say I."
With that, she took the coffee-pot from the
table and went out of the room again.
Mrs. Paulding looked at the handwriting for


a moment and said, It is from Mr. Duncan."
Then she opened it and looked at the signa-
ture and exclaimed, "Yes, it is from Mr. Dun-
can. I wonder what he has to say."
Tom knew that Mr. Duncan was a lawyer,
and an old friend of the family, and that he had
always advised Mrs. Paulding in business affairs.
As his mother read, Tom watched her face.



When she had finished the letter, she let it fall

back on the chair, and with difficulty kept back
her tears.
Pauline, who had been a silent spectator,
walked over and put her arms about her
mother. "How soon shall we have to go?"
she asked.
I hope we shall not have to go at all," Mrs.
Paulding answered. Mr. Duncan says that
we have sev-
eral months be-
fore us to see
what we can
do. Perhaps
the mortgagee
won't want his
money before
that time."
Or perhaps
come back with
lots and lots of
money," sug-
gested Pauline.
said Tom sud-
denly, while he
strapped up his
"would you let
me look at that
box of papers
: ....-about that
stolen gold?"
my son, if you
would like to
see them," she
"How much money was it that my great-

in her lap. grandfather lost ? he aske
"Well, Mother," he asked, "have you received "I don't know exactly.
bad news? you as much as the thief c
"Yes," she answered, "bad news indeed. Mr. ably -about two thousand
Duncan writes that the gentleman who holds the "Whew That's ten tho
mortgage on the house wishes us to pay it off claimed Tom, as he bade
soon, and Mr. Duncan is afraid that we shall going to school. Don't w
not be able to get as much from anybody else." gage. I 'm going to see i
"Well, suppose we don't ?" Tom inquired, some of that stolen money
"Then we shall have to sell this house and where it is, and I may be 1
move away," said Mrs. Paulding; and she sank out. At any rate, I mean
(To be continuedd)

I think I once told
wouldd carry comfort-
pounds, perhaps."
usand dollars ex-
her good-by before
worry about that mort-
f we can't get back
y. Nobody knows
ucky enough to find
to try."




In C Jerm1ni chiuhLrljb -Jnd r..Lan d L it
He heard the r'ers l diahter ,ino
.A11 L4 ed l keci t w l e souti d i f it ZnJ

K : ~Ji>. .



I o

here was a man 'as halt a dow n
(Its so my father tells of it ) >; ,
He saw the church in Clermont town /
.And laughed to hear the bells of it

-4 6,lahed to hear the bells that rin /


,,, P i ll,:-
t'I' !' 'hi

And there the i atteri 'ended i'

He left the Pe at break of clay

He broke his heart in Clermont town.._
At- Pontgiband they mended it.




E live in the most
wonderful land in
the world; and one
Sof the most wonder-
ful things in it is that
we Americans find
Sso little to wonder
jI at. Other civilized
nations take pride
in knowing their
points of natural
or historic interest;
but when we have
pointed to our marvelous growth in popula-
tion and wealth, we find little else to say, and
hasten abroad in quest of sights not a tenth part
so wonderful as a thousand wonders we have at
home and never dream of. It is true that other
nations are older, and have grown up to think of
somethingbesides material matters; but ouryouth
and our achievements are poor excuses for this
unpatriotic slighting of our own country. There
is a part of America a part even of the United
States of which Americans know as little as
they do of central Africa, and of which too many
of them are much less interested to learn. With
them, "to travel" means only to go abroad;
and they call a man a traveler who has run his
superficial girdle around the world and is as
ignorant of his own country (except its cities)
as if he had never been in it. I hope to live to
see Americans proud of knowing America, and
ashamed not to know it; and it.is to my young
countrymen that I look for the patriotism to
effect so needed a change.
If we would cease to depend so much upon
other countries for our models of life and
thought, we would have taken the first step
toward the Americanism which should be, but
is not, ours. We read a vast amount of the
wonders of foreign lands; but very few writ-
ers- and still fewer reliable ones tell us of
the marvelous secrets of our own. Every intel-

ligent youth knows that there are boomerang-
throwers in Australia; but how many are aware
that there are thousands of natives in the United
States just as expert with the magic club as are
the bush-men ? All have read of the feats of
the jugglers of India; but how many know that
there are as good Indian jugglers within our
own boundaries ? How many young Americans
could say, when some traveler recounted the
exploits of the famous snake-charmers of the
Orient, "Why, yes; we have tribes of Indians
in this country whose trained charmers handle
the deadliest snakes with impunity," and go on
to tell the facts in the case ? How many know
that there are Indians here who dwell in huge
six-story tenements of their own building ? How
many know that the last witch in the United
States did not go up in cruel smoke above old
Salem, but that there is still within our borders
a vast domain wherein witchcraft is fully be-
lieved in?
These are but a few of the strange things
at home of which we know not. There are
thousands of others; and if it shall ever be-
come as fashionable to write about America as
to write about Africa, we shall have a chance
to learn that in the heart of the most civilized
nation on earth there still are savage races
whose customs are stranger and more interest-
ing than those of the Congo.
As to our scenery, we are rather better in-
formed; and yet every year many thousands of
un-American Americans go to Europe to see
scenery infinitely inferior to our own, upon
which they have never looked. We say there
are no ruins in this country, and cross the
ocean to admire crumbling piles less majestic
and less interesting than remain in America. We
read of famous gorges and defiles abroad, and
are eager to see them; unknowing that in a des-
olate corner of the United States is the greatest
natural wonder of the world- a cation in which
all the rest of the world's famous gorges could

* Copyright, 1891, by Charles F. Lummis.


; i



be lost forever. And not one American in ten
thousand has ever looked upon its grandeur.
Of course, we know the Sahara, for that is
not American; but you will seek far to find
any one who is familiar with an American
desert as absolute and as fearful. We are
aware of our giant redwoods in California,-


the hugest trees in the world,-but did you
ever hear of a petrified forest covering thou-
sands of acres? There is one such in the
United States, and many smaller petrified for-
ests. Do you know that in one territory alone
we have the ruins of over fifteen hundred stone
cities as old as Columbus, and many of them
far older ? Have you ever heard of towns here

whose houses are three-story caves, hewn from
the solid rock ?
It seems to me that when these and a thou-
sand other wonders are a part of America, we,
who are Americans, should be ashamed to know
absolutely nothing of them. If such things ex-
isted in England or Germany or France, there

. ,. -r-.- t_- --4_ --

*1" 4

: i' .*I '.j It
I 71

would be countless books and guides overflow-
ing with information about them, and we would
hasten on excursions to them, or learn all that
reading would tell us.
There is no proverb less true than the one
which says, It is never too late to learn."
As we grow old we learn many things, indeed,
and fancy ourselves exceedingly wise; but that



young countrymen than a thousand of the un-
convertible older ones; and if I could induce
him to resolve that, whatever else he learned,
he would learn all he could of his own coun-
try, I should be very happy. Let me tell you
briefly, then, of a few of the strange corners
of our country which I have found. I hope
you will some day be interested to see them for
I have spoken of the


wisdom is only the skin of life, so to say, and
what we learn in youth is the real bone and
blood. I would rather interest one of my

as a gorge in which all other famous gorges could
be lost. Some of you have ridden through the
" Grand Canon of the Arkansas," on the Den-
ver and Rio Grande Railway in Colorado, and
many more have seen the White Mountain
Notch and the Franconia Notch, in New Hamp-
shire. All three are -very beautiful and noble;
but if any one of them were duplicated in the
wall of the Grand Caion of the Colorado, and
you were looking from the opposite brink of
that stupendous chasm, you would have to have
your attention called to those scratches on the
other side before you would notice them at all.
If you were to take the tallest mountain east of
the Rockies, dig down around its base two or
three thousand feet, so as to get to the sea-level
(from which its height is measured), uproot the
whole giant mass, and pitch it into the deepest
part of the Grand Caion of the Colorado, its
granite top would not reach up to the dizzy
crests of the cliffs which hem the awful bed of
that great river. If you were on the stream,
and New York's noble statue of Liberty En-
lightening the World were upon the cliff, it
would look to you like the tiniest of dolls;
and if it were across the caion from you, you
would need a strong glass to see it at all!
The Grand Caton lies mainly in Arizona,
though it touches also Utah, Nevada, and Cali-
fornia. With its windings it is nearly seven
hundred miles long; and in many places it is
over a mile and a quarter deep. The width
of this unparalleled chasm at the top is from
eight to twenty miles; and looked down upon
from above, a river larger than the Hud-
son, and five times as long, looks like a silver
thread. The Yosemite and the Yellowstone,
wonderful as they are in their precipices,- and



the world outside of America cannot match
those wondrous valleys,- are babies beside this
peerless gorge. As Charles Dudley Warner
has said: "There is nothing else on earth to
approach it."
The walls of the Grand Cafon are in most
places not perpendicular; but seen from in front
they all appear to be. They are mostly of sand-
stone, but in places of marble, and again of
volcanic rock; generally terraced" in a man-
ner entirely peculiar to the southwest, and cleft

into innumerable "buttes," which seem towers
and castles, but are infinitely vaster and more
noble than the hand of man could ever rear.
And when the ineffable sunshine of that arid
but enchanted land falls upon their wondrous
domes and battlements with a glow which seems
not of this world, the sight is such a revelation
that I have seen strong men affected by it to
tears of speechless awe.
There are no great falls in the Grand Caton;
but many beautiful and lofty ones in the unnum-


. A^


bered hundreds of side canions which enter the
greater cation. I had almost said "little caflons,"
for so they seem in the presence of their giant
mother; but in reality, almost any one of them
would shame any canon elsewhere.
Very few Americans see the Grand Caion-
shamefully few. Most of it lies in an abso-
lute desert, where are neither people, food, nor
obtainable water--for the river has carved this
indescribable abyss of a trough through a vast
upland, from which in many places a descent
to the stream is impossible. And yet the cation
is easily reached at some points. The Atlantic
and Pacific Railroad comes (at Peach Springs,
Arizona) within twenty-three miles of it, and
one can take a stage to the canon. The stage-
road winds down to the bottom of the Grand
Cation by way of the Diamond Creek Cation,
which is itself a more wonderful chasm than
you will find anywhere outside the vast uplands
of the Rocky Mountain system. A still nobler
part of the Grand Cation is reached by a wagon-
ride of seventy miles through the superb natu-
ral parks back of Flagstaff, on the same railroad.
Neither of these trips is an uncomfortable one,
and either rewards the traveler as will no other
journey in the world. But any other explora-
tion of the canon is to be undertaken only by
hardened frontiersmen.
From the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad it.is
still easier to reach one of the greatest of natural

of Arizona. Much the nearest point is the little
station of Billings, but there are the scantiest
accommodations for the traveler. Only a mile
south of the track, at that point, one may see
a low, dark ridge, marked by a single cotton-
wood-tree. Walking thither (over a valley so
alive with jack-rabbits that there is some excuse
for the cow-boy declaration that "you can walk
clear across on their backs"!) one soon reaches
the northern edge of the forest, which covers
hundreds of square miles. Unless you are more
hardened to wonderful sights than I am, you
will almost fancy yourself in some enchanted
spot. You seem to stand on the glass of a
gigantic kaleidoscope, over whose sparkling
surface the sun breaks in infinite rainbows.

You are ankle-deep in such chips as I '11 war-
rant you never saw from any other woodpile.
What do you think of chips from trees that
are red moss-agate, and amethyst, and smoky
topaz, and agate of every hue? Such are the
marvelous splinters that cover the ground for
miles here, around the huge prostrate trunks-
some of them five feet through-from which
Time's patient ax has hewn them. I broke a
specimen from the heart of a tree there, years
ago, which had around the stone pith a remark-
able array of large and exquisite crystals; for on
one side of the specimen-which is not so large
as my hand is a beautiful mass of crystals of
royal purple amethyst, and on the other, an
equally beautiful array of smoky topaz crystals.
One can get also magnificent cross-sections of a
whole trunk, so thin as to be portable, and
showing every vein and "year-ring," and even
the bark. There is not a chip in all those miles
which is not worthy a place, just as it is, in the
proudest cabinet; and, when polished, I know
no other rock so splendid. It is one of the
hardest stones in the world, and takes and
keeps an imcomparable polish.
In the curious sandstone hills a mile north-
east of Billings is an outlying part of the forest,
less beautiful but fully as strange. There you
will find giant, petrified logs, three and four feet
in diameter, projecting yards from steep bluffs of
a peculiar bluish clay. Curiously enough, this
"wood" is not agate, nor bright-hued, but a
soft combination of browns and grays, and
absolutely opaque-whereas all the "wood"
across the valley is translucent and some of it
quite transparent. But if these half-hidden logs
in the bluffs are less attractive to the eye, they
are quite as interesting, for they tell even more
clearly of the far, forgotten days when all this
great upland (now five thousand feet above the
sea) sank with these forests, and lay for centuries
in water strongly charged with mineral, which
turned the undecaying trees to eternal stone.
These latter trunks project about a third of the
way up a bluff over one hundred feet high.
They are packed in a twenty-foot deposit of fine
clay; and above them since the waters buried
them there has formed a stratum of solid sand-
stone more than thirty feet thick;! That shows
what uncounted millenniums they have been



there. The river stream which carved the station. In Chalcedony Park, as this part of the
bluffs from the general tableland, and thus at forest is called, is the largest number of huge
last exposed the ends of these stone logs, was of petrified trees to be found in any one place in
comparatively recent date- probably within the the world. One of them spans a small ravine
forty feet wide, form-
ing probably the only
bridge of solid agate in
the world. In a great
jewelry store, in New
York, youcan see some
magnificent specimens
of polished cross-sec-
tions from these logs,
which command very
high prices. The man
sawing of them told
me that a steel saw,
six inches wide and
aided by diamond-
dust, was worn down
to a half-inch ribbon in
going through thirty-
six inches of that
adamantine "wood"
-a process which
lasted many days.
In the extreme east-
ern edge of Arizona,
some forty miles south-
west of the remote
and interesting Indian
pueblo of Zufii, New
Mexico, is a strange
natural phenomenon
-a great, shallow salt
lake, at the bottom
of a bowl-like depres-
sion some hundreds
of feet deep and about
three miles across. The
last half-century. There is no knowing how with a crust of salt crystals. About in the center
much more earth and stone lay once above the rises a small black volcanic peak; and if one
logs, when the flowing waters first began to will take the trouble to ford the salt lake-which
change the face of the whole country. he will find a disagreeable, but not dangerous,
The most convenient way of reaching the task and climb the peak, he will find its
Petrified Forest-and the most impressive part crater half filled by a lakelet of pure, fresh
of it-is by a fifteen-mile drive from Holbrook water !
(To be continued.)
VOL. XIX.-9.

1_97 ~


ii XF 'A
4 b


DAVID CAMERON was poor, or at least his
father and mother were, which amounted to
the same thing; for whenever he particularly
wanted something-such as a drum, for exam-
ple, when the boys in Jonesville were getting
up a fife and drum corps, or a bicycle, or a
Waterbury watch, or even a new knife-they
usually said they could n't afford to buy such
things for him, and he was obliged to do with-
His luncheon was always the plainest and
poorest, too, of all the luncheons carried by
the boys who went to his school; and as his
mother kept no servant, she needed him most
afternoons to help her about the house and
garden. He was amiable about doing this
sort of work for his mother, and was proud

of being told-as he very often was-that he
was her "greatest comfort." It gave him a nice,
warm, agreeable feeling under his left-hand
jacket-pocket. But at the same time no boy
can really like to be poor and do without things;
so David often tried to think out some plan
by which all this could be remedied.
In the books he got out of the Sunday-
school library, he found that poor boys had
only two ways of growing rich. They sold
newspapers to support their poor sick mother,
and then some day they rushed forward and
saved a little girl from being run over by a car-
riage. She was always a rich little girl,-the
poor ones were probably too well brought up
to play in the streets,-and there was always a
tall beautiful lady in rich silks who clasped the

rescued little girl to her bosom, and wept over
the boy, and sent him to college, and gave him
all the money he wanted; and when he grew
up he married the little girl, who was by that
time a young lady. Or else the boy overheard
burglars plotting to rob a bank, and went and
told the plot to the president of the bank, in
which case it was the president who sent him
to college and whose daughter he afterward
But in Jonesville, which was a very ordinary
sort of village, a boy had no chance to do fine,
startling things like that, so David found that
these volumes hardly helped him at all.
There were other books lent him by the boys
at school, with some very excellent sugges-
tions about finding gold-mines and digging up
pirates' treasure; but in an inland town, hun-
dreds of miles from the sea, it was hardly worth
while to look for a pirate's hoard of bullion and
jewels, and his father explained to him that gold
was very seldom found in the level, grassy sort
of country around Jonesville. So the one thing
practicable that David could think of was to
make an appeal to a fairy godmother. If he
could only find one of these amiable and power-
ful old ladies, she might give him the usual three
wishes, and then he would have all he wanted
without further trouble.
So he decided that to find a fairy godmother
was certainly his best plan.
He did not mention this plan to his mother,
because he thought he 'd like to surprise her by
coming back in his great gilt coach, drawn by
six milk-white horses, with bags of gold piled
up on the front seat. He could just picture
how the other boys would stare as he stepped
out of the coach-with the chain of his Water-
bury hanging across his waistcoat-to salute his
mother and tell her he had made her rich for
life. He omitted to mention his intention to
his father, however, because his father often
threw cold water on his son's most brilliant
schemes. On the whole, he concluded he had
better not speak of the matter to any one.
When the Saturday half-holiday came he put
his luncheon in his pocket and walked into the
woods without a word. He chose the woods
because that seemed a more likely place in
which to find a fairy godmother than along

the roads or in the fields, where he had never
seen anything suggestive of fairies.
It was very dark and silent and mysterious in
among the trees. Soon all the noises of the
village died away; the cackling of hens, the
bleating of lambs who had mislaid their mo-
thers, and even the clinking of Jim Smith's ham-
mer in the smithy could no longer be heard -
only the far-away sighing of the wind in the
tree-tops, and now and again queer rustlings
and snappings that made David feel suddenly
as if he had a large, cold, empty space inside
of him.
He was not, however, a cowardly boy, and
when he had eaten the three buttered biscuits
and two apples and four slices of gingerbread
he had brought lest he might be hungry, he
felt better, and pushed straight ahead with great
energy and determination. -fve-walked and he
walked, and after a while, when he had come
to the very middle of the forest, he heard a dog
barking to the left, and immediately found him-
self in front of a large, handsome house.
The dog whose voice he had heard was a
big iron dog like those that stood beside the
front steps of Judge Murray's house. It was
rather startling to hear an iron dog bark; and
when David came near he found that this bark
sounded much like the ringing of a large bell.
This curious fact, together with the sign over
the door, "Joint Stock Fairy Company, Lim-
ited,' convinced him that he had been fortunate
enough to find the very place he was looking
for; and as the iron dog did not move nor look
his way, he summoned up courage to mount
the steps. He was looking for a bell-handle
when the door was suddenly jerked open and
a head was poked out. David knew it for a
goblin's head immediately, as it wore one of
the caps with a sprout out of the top that they
use instead of hair. This goblin looked at him
in a surprised way, and said sharply:
"What 's wanted? You need n't deafen us
with the bell like that."
I did n't ring any bell," answered David
indignantly. "There is n't any."
Oh, there is n't, is n't there ? You 're deaf
yourself, are n't you ? That bell's been barking
for the last ten minutes so we could n't hear
our ears "

.,,,, ,.,~,,,,,),


"Oh, that!" said David in astonishment,
looking toward the iron dog.
"Yes, that snapped the goblin. "What
do you want, anyway? "
I'm looking for a fairy godmother," replied
David; and said it a little shamefacedly, be-
cause the goblin looked like a very practical
person who might declare there were no such
things, but instead he pulled the door open, and
then David saw that the goblin was clothed in
a blue livery all over buttons.
"Whose fairy godmother do you wish to
see ?" he asked curtly; and David, very much
embarrassed, said he 'd like to see his own.
What name ? "
David Cameron."
"Any card ? asked the goblin, holding out
a little silver salver; but David said he had
none, and the goblin went away, leaving him

seated on a velvet toadstool, the only sort of
seat in the hall. The goblin soon returned.
"I 've got no time to fool away on boys,"
he said, with an air of superiority and of be-
ing overwhelmed with business. I 've got my
knives to clean; so just you run along up-
stairs and knock at the first door you come to.
You don't need me to show you up."
With that he vanished, and David, doing as
he was told, found himself in a room at the top
of the stairs that was lined .all with green vel-
vet like wood-moss and more velvet toadstools
about for seats. His godmother came in from
the next room in a moment. She seemed very
busy and a little cross at being disturbed, and
had a pen behind her ear. She sat down on
one of the toadstools, and after she had polished
her glasses with a cobweb she took from her
pocket, she gave him a keen look and said:


So you 're one of my godchildren ? "
Yes, 'm," answered David, a little fright-
ened; and then he ventured to inquire if she
had many, having thought fairy godmothers
had but one each.
Many! Well, I should say so," cried the
old lady. "Two hundred and thirty-seven in
all. There 's not another such overworked
godmother in the country. I am kept so busy
looking after them I scarcely ever have time
for a cup of tea or to
do a bit of knitting.
Now, what do you
want?" she went on. "
"I thought you were "
getting on very well,
and did n't need any
special attention.". .-
This sudden question
embarrassed David very .-
much, but his godmother -
had evidently had much
experience with shy boys,
and seemed to under- '
stand his mumbles, for :
when he had finished -
she said impatiently: --
"Oh, yes; I know.
All of you want to be .- .
rich, and have watches '
and coaches, and aston-
ish the other boys, and
of course I can give you .
all that; but the ques-
tion is, which sort of gift ,
will you have? Will
you take one of the simple
rotary kind, or do you
think you would rather "'ANY CARD?' ASKR
have one of the automatic self-feeders ? "
Then, seeing David's puzzled look, she said,
"Perhaps you 'd like to see both, so that you
may decide which you like best."
She led the way into the next room where
there were rows of desks on both sides, and in
front of these were seated fairies on high
stools--their wings tied up neatly in green
baize bags to save them from danger of ink-
spots-making entries in ledgers, copying let-
ters on typewriters, filing away vouchers, and

transacting other business of that sort, and so
busily occupied they did n't notice David at all.
"You see the fairy business has been very
thoroughly organized of late years," the old
lady explained to him, with much pride, as they
passed through. "It was my idea. I found
each of the fairies working independently, and
the fairy gifts and godmotherships were getting
dreadfully mixed and falling into disfavor; so I
suggested we should consolidate into the Joint



Stock Fairy Company, Limited, and systematize
the whole business. All fairy affairs are trans-
acted through our house now, and I think we
give general satisfaction."
From the counting-room they passed into a
sort of library where all the walls on one side
were covered with shelves of books, each book
having a gilt letter on the back. On the other
side were tables, some of which were heaped
with big caskets of jewels and bags of gold,
some with watches and all sorts of toys, and


others with cakes and candy. In one corner
there was a table with a most curious collection
of odds and ends-swords, pens, pencils, paint-
brushes, spades, spirit-levels, ship's compasses,
crucibles and retorts for a chemical laboratory,
and a great many other things of which David
did not know the names or uses.
There," said David's godmother, waving
her hand toward the gold and jewels and cakes
and toys, are the automatic self-feeding gifts.
If you choose one of those all you have to do is
to sit down and enjoy it. It does n't require
any effort on your part. Now these," waving her
other hand toward where the swords and pens
lay, "are quite different. They are entered on
our books as simple rotary gifts. They are only
used to work with, but extremely good work

4k I /


can be done with a fairy pen or pencil, and in
the end that work brings you all the watches
and cakes and candy you choose to buy."
David said he thought on the whole he would
prefer the automatic self-feeding gift, because it
was less trouble, and you did n't have to wait
so long, but his godmother said he seemed a
nice little boy, and she should be sorry to have
him make a mistake in his choice, because it
could not be remedied. Then going to one
of the shelves she took out a book marked D,"

and turnedf'to an entry which was dated some
years before.
"See this," she said, pointing it out to him.
And David read, Dickens, Charles. Chose
simple rotary gift. A box of quill pens was
given to him."
"I remember that little boy very well," said
the old lady. "His own godmother was out when
he came, so I brought him in here. He wanted
a bag of gold, at first, but he happened to see
one of the fairy pens over there, and he was so
delighted with it he chose pens instead. I sup-
pose you know that he practised and practised
writing with his pens until by the time he was
grown he could write the most beautiful sto-
ries,-some of them about boys,-over which
people cried and laughed, and for which they
gave him all the gold he wanted. Sometimes
we choose one of these gifts for a boy, and for
a long time he does n't find out in what way
he is meant to use it. Here is another book
labeled "F," and an entry which says: Frank-
lin, Benjamin. A brass door-key was given.' He
frowned when he received that, it seemed such
a poor sort of gift, but he sent us word afterward
that he was more than satisfied. No doubt
you have learned in school what he did with
that key. Here 's another: Howe, Elias. A
needle was given.' He
insisted thatwe must have
made a mistake, that a
needle was a girl's pres-
ent; but I spoke to him
Very sharply and said it
i// was not polite for little
boys to say they knew
'iji more than their god-
i/_'3 mothers, and in course of
%. time it occurred to him
that he could bore an eye
through the needle at
the point instead of through the other end,
and from that beginning he made the sewing-
machine. He earned a great deal of money out
of that needle, and I suppose he could have
bought all the watches and bicycles in town if he
had wanted to. One day there came a bright
young boy whose name was Henry Stanley. He
was a very polite little fellow and said he would
rather I should choose for him; so I gave him a


pocket compass. He wrote me the other day
when he got back from Africa, and says he had
found it very useful in finding his way through
those terrible forests. You can see, David," his
godmother went on, looking at him very seriously
over her spectacles, "by the number of books
here that all boys have some fairy gift given
them. In the old days we
used to give them the gift when
they were christened, but now
we generally let them wait
and choose for themselves. Of
course, if you take an auto-
matic self-feeder, you have all 7- -
your good things right away
and no trouble about it; and
if you take the other sort you
will have to work very hard
with it and wait a long time --
for the bags of gold and the -
admiration of your friends; but .
the boys who choose that kind
of gift generally manage to do
the world as well as themselves "
a great deal of good with it,
and thousands of people, long 11
after the boy is dead, are made
happy because the boy used his l
gift in the right way."
David was so moved by this
nice, instructive little talk from
his godmother that his heart
quite swelled up with lofty pur- '
pose and heroism, and he de- '''
cided to turn his back on all .. i
the fat little bags of gold and '
the boxes of diamonds and IY. 1
rubies, and to let her choose '
him the simple rotary gift she
thought best.
She picked out a foot-rule and a pair of com-
passes, though David looked longingly at a
beautiful watch. Then a big bell began to
ring somewhere, and the fairy godmother said
"Why, I declare, if that's not the Queen!

They told me she was coming to-day. Titania
is the president of the company, you know.
Good-by, David. I must go to meet her.
Take care of your fairy gift. The goblin will
show you out."
"What did the old lady give you?" said
the goblin curiously as he showed David out.


"Yah!" he cried contemptuously. You are a
softy. I 'd have taken gold, every time! "
Pshaw !" answered David in a superior
tone, you 're only a goblin," and walked away
through the woods wondering what his god-
mother meant him to do with her gifts.

3o OMpLAmNrt

THINK it really mean-don't you?-
To leave us nothing at all to do!
In a world all made to order so
A modern boy has no earthly show.
Columbus sailed across the sea,
Which might have been done by you or me,
And now they call him great and wise,
They praise his genius and enterprise,
Although when he found our native land
He took it for India's coral strand!

There 's Newton, too, saw an apple fall
Down from the branch, and that was all-
Yet they talk of his great imagination
And say he discovered gravitation.
Goodness me! -why, I could have told
Him all about it; at ten years old
I knew why things fell, and I studied the rule
For "falling bodies," in grammar-school!
There 's noble George, who would n't lie-
Perhaps he could n't. He did n't try.
But if I should cut down a cherry-tree
My father would only laugh at me.

Benjamin Franklin--what did he do?
Flew a big kite; on Sunday, too,
Standing out in a heavy shower
Getting soaked for half an hour,
Fishing for lightning with a string
To see if he could n't bottle the thing.
Suppose I should fly my kite in the rain?
People would say that I was n't sane.
Why should there such a difference be
Between Ben Franklin, Esq., and me?

I can see steam move a kettle-lid
Quite as well as James Watt did,






And I can explain about engines, too,
Bigger and better than Watt ever knew;
But somehow he took all the praise,
And I 'm neglected nowadays.
Then there 's Napoleon First, of France, -
Suppose that we had had his chance,
No doubt we 'd have been Emperors, too;
But we 'd have conquered at Waterloo.
I would n't have had old Grouchy make
Such a stupid and grave mistake:
I should have sent him the proper way
To arrive in time to save the day!

Still, what makes me feel the worst
Is Adam's renown for being first.
That was easy enough, you know;
It was just a thing that happened so.
And my sister says, "If it had been me,
I would n't have touched the apple-tree."
That 's so. If she sees a snake to-day
She gives a scream and she scoots away.

To write such things as Shakespeare's plays
Was not so hard in Queen Bess's days,
But now, when every thing has been done,
I cannot think of a single one
To bring a boy to wealth and fame,
It 's a regular, downright, burning shame!

P. S. When it 's fine, I shall play base-ball;
For you know it never would do at all
To forget about "Jack" who becomes, they say,
A very dull boy, without plenty of play.
But, wait !-when a rainy Saturday comes,
As soon as I 've finished Monday's sums
I 'm going to build a great flying-machine
That.will make T. Edison look pea-green

* Y --







S 1 ( 10 doubt most boys
and girls have met
Se with the words,
Serving the
flag"; but I dare
say that few of
them know how
literally the phrase
expresses the senti-
ments of army and navy
officers. They do not talk
much about it, usually; but they have, away
down in their hearts, a deep veneration for their
country's colors; and they do what they can to
impress the feeling on the men who serve under
them. I read in a newspaper not long ago an
interesting anecdote of that splendid old soldier
and gentleman, General Sherman. An officer at
West Point told the newspaper correspondent
that when he was a cadet General Sherman
visited the post, and, of course, reviewed the
battalion. "I was in the color-guard," said
the officer, "and when the general, passing
down the line, came to the flag, he uncovered
his head, bowed low, and his face wore an
expression of deepest reverence. This act of

veneration by the stern old soldier taught us
cadets a lesson that we can never forget."
Boys who have attended military schools
will know what the color-guard is, but perhaps
some of my young readers will not know.
The color-guard is a small body of picked
men, sergeants and corporals chiefly, who are
stationed on each side of and behind the color-
sergeant. The color-guard never leaves the
flag in action, and never does any fighting
until the last reserves are called upon. Their
business is to stand by the flag and prevent
it from falling into the hands of the enemy.
Aboard ship, one of the things that used to
be done in the good old days of wooden frigates
was to nail the colors to the mast. Hauling
down the colors in a naval fight is the sign
of surrender. When they are nailed to the
mast they cannot be hauled down; the mast
must be shot away, or the vessel sunk before
the colors can be lowered.
It is in ceremonies of various kinds that the
honors to the flag are most frequently shown.
A man-of-war visiting a foreign port will run
up the flag of the country she is visiting, and
salute it with a certain number of guns. This


is a pretty custom, but it is doing an honor
to some one else's flag, not to our own. Some-
times this honor is done under compulsion;
that is, when one country is exacting an apol-
ogy from another. The commanding officer
of a fleet, lying in front of an enemy's town,
may demand that the forts on the shore run
up the flag of the country whence the fleet
comes, and honor it with a national salute.

I.,-. ,- -,-,,

,I "':-_ 2", -/4A

may perhaps know that the flag of a ship does
not fly during the night. It is taken in at sunset;
and I think the simple little ceremony which
attends the hauling down of the ensign at sun-
set is one of the prettiest in existence. The
first time I ever saw it I was sitting on the
quarter-deck of the U. S. S. Yantic," convers-
ing with three of her officers. We had been
dining together, and were enjoying the
21_ _


This sort of thing, however, belongs to the eve
of hostilities.
I am not so familiar with the customs of
the army in regard to the flag; but in the
navy I know they are admirable, and deci-
dedly worthy of emulation in civil life. You

cool evening breeze under the awning. I knew
that it was nearly time for "evening colors,"
and I was anxious to see whether the ceremony
in the navy was different from that aboard a
first-class yacht. I speedily learned that there
was a difference.


A few minutes be-
fore sundown a bugle-
call sounded from the
flag-ship, and the call
was immediately re-
peated by the buglers
of the other ships of
the squadron.
"What is that?" I
That 's 'Stand by
the colors,'" said one .
of the officers.
Two sailors came aft,
cast off the ensign hal-
yards, and stood by i
with their eyes on the
flag-ship. In a few mo-
ments we heard bugles
sounding again; for
you must know that
on board ship many of
the commands are con-
veyed by a few musical
notes upon the bugle.
A marine came aft and, saluting, said:
"Haul down, sir."
"All right," said the officer of the deck.
"Sound off."
At that order the bugler of the Yantic blew
the lovely call, "Evening Colors."
Here it is:

The moment he sounded the first note, the
officers rose from their chairs, faced the colors,
took off their caps, and stood silent, in respect-
ful attitudes, while the two seamen slowly
hauled down the colors, bringing them in over
the rail as the call came to an end. When the
colors reached the deck and were gathered in
by the seamen, and the last note of the bugle

died away, the officers put on their caps, re-
sumed their seats, and went on with their con-
versation. Removing the cap in honor of the
colors is the common form of salute in the
navy. When an officer comes up from below
he always lifts his cap in the direction of the
quarter-deck; and all boys should remember,
when visiting a man-of-war, that the proper
thing to do when you go on board is to turn
toward the stern of the ship, where the ensign
always flies at the taffrail staff, and raise the
hat. If the officer of the deck sees you, he will
return the salute; but whether any one is on
the quarter-deck or' not, always raise your hat
when you go aboard. The salute is to the flag,
not to any person, and surely every American
boy ought to be proud to lift his hat to the flag
of his country.
The ceremony of making "evening colors,"
which I have described, is also conducted at
army posts. I have seen it only at West Point.
There it is done at dress-parade, which takes
place at 6.30 P. M. Perhaps some of my read-
ers have never seen a dress-parade. The battal-
ion of cadets is drawn up in a line of two ranks,



facing the west side of the plain. Each com-
pany in succession is brought to an order arms,
and then to a parade rest. Next the band
marches from its position at the right of the
line to the left, passing in front of the men
and back again. On returning to the right of
the line, the band stops and the buglers play
"Retreat" or "Evening Colors." The same
call is used in both army and navy. At the
end of the call a gun is fired and the flag is
hauled down. After that, the adjutant forms
the battalion in open order and turns it over to
the officer in charge, who puts the men through
a short drill in the manual of arms. When this
has been done, the adjutant orders the first ser-
geants to the front and center, where they make
their report of all present or accounted for."
When they return to their places, the adjutant
says, Parade dismissed," and all the com-
missioned officers sheathe their swords. They
then form in a rank in the center and march

forward together. They halt in front of the
officer in charge, salute, and move away. The
first sergeants then march the companies to
their quarters at double-time.
It is a very pretty ceremony, and is one of the
most picturesque sights that we can see ; but
it never impressed me so deeply as that simple
reverence to the colors shown at sunset aboard
the Yantic.
I have told you about these ceremonies to
show you how much importance professional
soldiers and sailors attach to the outward dem-
onstration of respect for their country's flag,
because I think every one of us ought to emu-
late their example. As H. C. Bunner says, in
his poem to "The Old Flag ":

Off with your hat as the flag goes by !
And let the heart have its say;
You 're man enough for a tear in your eye
That you will not wipe away.




A DEAR little girl,
With her brain in a whirl,
Was asked the word "kitten" to spell.
" K-double i-t
T-e-n," said she,
And thought she had done very well.

" Has kitten two i 's ?"
And the teacher's surprise
With mirth and impatience was blent.
"My kitty has two,"
Said Marjory Lou,
And she looked as she felt-quite content.


dropped a line
To a Fox to in-
vite him to
But the Fox
wrote to
S say
He was din-
ing, that
With a Bird friend,
and begged to de-


She sent off at once to a Goat.
" Pray don't disappoint me," she wrote;
But he answered too late,
He 'd forgotten the date,
Having thoughtlessly eaten her note.

The Crocodile thought him ill-bred,
And invited two Rabbits instead;
But the Rabbits replied,
They were hopelessly tied
By a previous engagement, and fled.


( <.




Then she wrote in despair to some
And begged them to "drop in"
to meals;
But the Eels left their cards
Witl their coldest regards,
And took to what went for their

r -4

Cried the Crocodile then, in disgust,
" My motives they seem to mistrust.
Their suspicions are base!
Since they don't know their place, -
I suppose if I must starve, I must!"




i Y;*







~/iVll '5

Miss SYLVIA RUSSELL was to be At Home"
on a certain afternoon, and she asked Mr. and
Mrs. Henry Turner Benson and family, among
other people, to come and see her. Poor little
Molly was heartbroken, when the day arrived,
because, she was not allowed to go with the
"' Family' means Flora and me, Mama, just
as much as it means Turner and Ruth and
Aunt Mary," she suggested.
My dear," said her aunt Mary, little girls
do not go to teas given by grown-up young
Molly thought this very hard, for she knew
that Miss Sylvia was fond of her, and she
cried a little when she saw Ruth and Turner
start for the tea with the older members of
the family. Her aunt Mary told her not to be
such a baby, but her mama comforted her by
promising to bring her home a macaroon and
a cocoanut-cake, and perhaps a piece of candy.
Molly sent a message by her mama to
Miss Sylvia, who, she was quite sure, was ex-
pecting to see her. Molly was afraid Miss
Sylvia would be very much disappointed when
she did not come; indeed she felt almost sorrier
for Miss Sylvia than for herself.
Bridget was putting Molly to bed when the
family came home, but Molly slipped out of the
door and ran along the passage with her little
bare feet.
"Did you give my message to Miss Sylvia,
Mama?" she asked, as she buried her curly
head in her mama's black silk gown.
"Yes, darling; and she said she was very
sorry, but that she could not have seen any-

thing of her little Molly if she had come, be-
cause there were so many, many people; and
she sent you these roses and this candy, and
she says some day soon she will have a very
small afternoon tea on purpose for you."
Molly took the pretty pink roses, and her
mama kept the candy for another day. The
little girl felt very happy as she crept back to
A few days later, when the postman came to
the door bringing big envelops with big let-
ters in them for big people, he also brought
a little envelop with a little card in it for a
little person. The direction was printed, so
that Molly could read it herself. It ran:
Miss Molly Benson and two of her family,
There was a rough little picture of a doll in
the right-hand corner next the word "family,"
so that Molly should make no mistake.
Molly opened the envelop neatly with a
pair of scissors, as she had seen her aunt Mary
do, and on the card inside she read:

Molly clapped her hands and danced with
delight, for Julia Esterhazy was her dearest


li7id Ofylvia 83ueacll,
St 88ome/,
ct;clda, c7latdch twentieth,
from tIzec to five o'clock.

'6o meet climd Julia &atethagy,


friend, who lived in the big white house just
across the way.
Molly ranged her dolls in a row, and tried to
decide which were the most deserving. Some
had been so naughty that there was no question
of taking them, and others were too small to go
out to tea with a grown-up lady; but there were
four about whom she was uncertain, and she

I ''' I* '!I',.l;:~;


finally took them into the library, that Turner
and Flora, who were studying their lessons,
might help her decide.
In the first place, there was Jenny, named
for Molly's mama, and usually called Jane to
avoid confusion. She was the oldest of all the
VOL. XIX.-r1o.

dolls, and did not look so fresh as in her early
youth, but she was the most unselfish of the
Jane's complexion seems to have suffered,"
Turner remarked. "Too many late hours, I
"I think I ought to take her to Miss Syl-
via's," Molly said, "she is so good; and then I
ought to do more for her than for the rest, be-
cause she is so ugly."
Ne-.t ojnme Sylvia Russell Benson,
u hii'. Molly felt, must surely have
[ lh honor of drinking tea with
Mliss Sylvia because she was
her namesake. She was a
fair-haired, blue-eyed doll,
with a sweet disposition
and a blue cashmere
Then came George
Washington Benson,
who was dressed in a
neat sailor suit; Molly
wished him to go be-
cause he was her only
0.I 1" Don't take George
Washington," Turner
advised; "for if he is
S the only fellow there
She '11 be awfully bored."
Lastly there was the
Princess, a very grand
personage, in a red-
velvet gown. She was
so distinguished that
Molly felt in awe of her
and afraid to leave her
.. behind; at which Turner
:'il that she did not show
.r ..: r spirit. Molly therefore left
it i._ rrrin whether the Princess
or Jane should have the pleasure. The day
before the tea, Molly caught cold; it was not
a bad cold, but as her aunt Mary was putting
her to bed she said carelessly, If it is n't
pleasant to-morrow, you won't be able to go to
Miss Sylvia's."
Molly felt that she should surely be worse if
she could not go to the tea.

' fl.r -. ". i"'


The next morning she crept out of bed at an
early hour and ran to the window. She pulled
back the blue-and-white chintz curtains softly,
that she might not wake her aunt Mary, and
peered out into the gray dawn. The night be-

back into bed this minute, unless you want to
have pneumonia."
"You won't be able to go out of the house
to-day," her aunt observed as she was dressing
Molly, a little later.

.1 Il

01. H



fore everything was brown, for there had been
a thaw which had melted all the pretty white
snow from the fields and the hills, but now, in
the places where everything had been dark,
there was a soft white powder. The ground
was all white, and the hills were white too, and
even the trees were bending under the weight
of a white burden, while from the sky, as far
up as Molly could see, floated down myriads
of feathery, star-like little snowflakes. It was
all so beautiful that she clasped her hands to-
gether, and looked at it in silence. She was
brought back to the actual world at last by her
aunt Mary.
"Molly Benson!" she exclaimed, "come

Molly said nothing; she had learned by ex-
perience that it was best not to dispute her
aunt's decisions.
I think mama will let me go. I think mama.
will let me go," she kept saying to herself.
At breakfast everybody was delighted with
the snow-storm, for different reasons.
We shall have some good coasting," Turner
"And tobogganing," added Ruth.
"I can take my dinner to school and stay
over the noon recess," said Flora.
They all had forgotten about Molly's after-
noon-tea. She sat quite silent for a time, but
at last she plucked up her courage.



Papa," she said, don't you think we may
have a thaw by afternoon? "
Not the least chance of it," her father re-
plied, with a laugh.
There was another silence.
Papa," said Molly at last, don't you think
it will stop snowing pretty soon ? "
Oh, no; we are in for a solid snow-storm this
"Papa," said Molly, wistfully, don't you
think I can go to Miss Sylvia's, even if it does
snow? "
Indeed she can't, Henry," interposed Mol-
ly's aunt Mary; she has too much of a cold.
It would be a ridiculous idea, and besides, Sylvia
won't expect the children to come in such a
Molly's spirits sank lower and lower. Two
tears trembled on the lids of her blue eyes
doubtfully for a minute; then she bravely forced
them back. Her mama looked up just in
time to catch the pleading, eager expression
of her face.
"Do you want to go very much, my little
girl? she asked.
"Very, very much," said Molly.
"But if you were to take cold and be ill,
and make yourself and all of us very unhappy,
you would wish you had stayed at home."
Molly was not sure about this, so she kept
silent. She thought she would be willing to
be sick if only she could be sure of the after-
noon-tea first.
When breakfast was over she went up to
the play-room, and, taking in her arms Jane,
who was always her comfort in sorrow, she
wept bitterly.
We are not to go to the tea, Jenny," she
said, "none of us; none of us. So you need n't
feel badly, dear, because you might have had
to stay at home. The Princess can't go, and
Sylvia can't go, and I am not to go myself."
She was still sobbing when Turner came in
to get his French grammar. Hullo!" he said.
" What 's the inatter ? "
Molly continued to sob.
It always made Turner feel sorry to see peo-
ple cry, even if they were very small people
like Molly.
"I guess I would n't cry," he said slowly.

"Would n't you like a popcorn ball if I can
get one down street? he added.
She shook her head.
Perhaps Miss Sylvia will ask you another
day," he suggested.
She 's going away for a visit pretty soon,"
Molly said in a subdued voice.
Well, if I were the clerk of the weather, I 'd
tell the snow to hold up this afternoon," said
Turner. I 'd say, Winds to the north, colder
weather, a thundering big snow-storm all
through New England, and especially on the
hills and toboggan-slide in Knightsbridge; but
in the village itself, between Main and Chatham
streets, pleasant weather, fair, southerly winds,
and a flood of sunshine.'"
Molly began to laugh, and Turner felt as if
the sunshine were coming. I wish you were
the weather-man," she said.
Everybody went out that morning except
Molly and her mama. Molly's papa went to
his law-office; her aunt Mary went to teach
the Literature class at the High School, as she
did every Friday, while Ruth and Turner took
their dinners to the High School, and Flora
carried hers to the Grammar School.
Molly's mama told her to get her work and
come and sew with her while she mended the
stockings. The little girl felt as if she could
never be happy any more, but she did not wish
to trouble her dear mama, and so she said noth-
ing about the afternoon-tea. By and by they
heard the telephone-bell ring, and Mrs. Benson
went to see what was wanted. Presently Molly
heard her say, It 's such a storm and she has
a little cold, so her father is afraid to let
her go."
Molly listened eagerly; she wished she could
hear the voice at the other end of the tele-
phone, which she was sure was Miss Sylvia's.
What could she be saying?
"You are very kind," said Mrs. Benson,
"but that will be a great deal of trouble, and
do you want to send the horse out on such a
day ?"
Molly could hardly wait for the next words.
"Very well, then," said her mama; "she will
be ready at three o'clock."
Molly ran and flung her arms around her
mother and pressed her cheek against her

148 AFTER(
hand; she was too happy to speak. Then she
caught up Jenny and hugged her too. "Jane,
you shall go to the party instead of the Prin-
cess," she said, because you are the best of all
my children. Mama, what did Miss Sylvia
say ? "
She said she would send the covered sleigh,
for you and Julia this afternoon, and that she
is sure you won't take cold if you are well
wrapped up."
Julia was already in the sleigh when it came,
and she laughed because Molly had on so
many wraps, and called her Mother Bunch."

4 4

0" I -li


Julia was six months older than Molly, and an
inch taller. Her hair was much darker, and
her eyes were a very dark brown.
"Why did you bring that hideous old
Jane ? Julia asked, as she caressed her two
pretty Paris dolls, Lily and Maud.


I love her the best of all my children,"
Molly said sturdily.
"I should get her a new head if she be-
longed to me."
"But she would n't be the same person
then," Molly objected.
When they reached Miss .Sylvia's house, John,
the man, helped them out of the sleigh and then
he handed out the four dolls very respectfully,
as if they had been live ladies.
Miss Sylvia was waiting in the-hall to receive
them; she had on her pretty blue gown with
ribbons and lace down the front of it. She
kissed both the children,
and then she shook hands
gravely with the four
I dolls, but she evidently
preferred Jane, who, she
said, looked as if she had
S force of character and re-
il serve strength. Presently
: I she led the way into the
S dining-room. At one
S end, in the bow-window,
I there was a small table
SI about as high as a kin-
dergarten table, covered
I with a white cloth. On
I it were two very small
silver candlesticks, with
ii' a yellow candle in one
and a blue one in the
1' other. Some yellow and
white daisies were in a
1i blue bowl on the middle
S. ~ of the table. There were
i, i seven places laid, with
S three small plates for Miss
Sylvia and the little girls,
and four very tiny plates
for the four dolls. There
were, besides, three small
ECEIVE THEM." white-and-gilt cups and
saucers for Miss Sylvia
and the little girls, and four tiny white cups and
saucers for the four dolls. At Miss Sylvia's end
of the table were a small silver cream-pitcher and
a white china tea-pot with a wreath ofroses painted
on it. The tea-pot contained tea made of mo-
lasses and water which was very delicious. In


front of Molly was a little china dish full of
animal-crackers, and in front of Julia a silver
dish filled with cocoanut-cakes and maca-
roons. Each doll had an oyster-cracker on
her plate, and Miss Sylvia hoped they would
not find these too large to eat; she said they
were their pilot-biscuit. Molly and Julia each
had a little card with verses at her plate, and a
barley-sugar animal. Julia's was a cat, and her
verse said:
Here 's a sweet cat for a sweet child.
She ne'er will scratch nor bite.
E'en if you bite her, she 's so mild
She '11 think you wholly right.
Molly's animal was a rabbit, and her rimes
I hope you will welcome this rabbit, my dear,
I hope you will welcome this rabbit.
He puts back his ear, for he wishes to hear,
But indeed 't is a curious habit, my dear,
Indeed 't is a curious habit.
He rushes and skips through the snow-storm,
my dear,
He rushes and skips, though 't is snowing,
And I can't keep him back,
But he makes a quick track,
And he says "To my Molly I 'ir going, my dear,"
He says, "To my Molly I 'm going."

Molly wondered why grown people did not
have molasses and water instead of tea, it was
so much nicer. Miss Sylvia seemed to think
so too, for she said a little went a great way,
and she took only very small sips, so as to
make it last a long time.
They had a merry afternoon playing games
and telling stories after they had had their tea,
and five o'clock came only too soon. Then
Miss Sylvia put on their things, and she bade
her two young friends good-by for a whole
month, for she was going away on her visit
the next week.
"What a lovely time we had! said Molly
to Julia as they were driving home. I never
had such a good time. I don't suppose we
shall ever have such a good time again."
Of course we shall," said Julia, "lots of
better times."
Julia had already begun upon her candy,
and said that it was very nice, and she advised
Molly to eat hers; but Molly saved her rabbit
and put him away tenderly in her drawer in
the bureau to remind her thenceforth of the
blissful day when she had taken afternoon-tea
with Miss Sylvia.



MANY years ago in a Western State there
lived a short, wide boy with pale hair and sun-
burned feet. His first name was Carroll. It
was a new country and neighbors were not very
near, so Carroll had few playmates with the ex-
ception of a large speckled cat named "Tom,"
who had been carefully taught to climb a tree
when any one set the dog on him, and "Jack," a
bow-legged, 6cru dog who had been taught to
dig holes in the ground so that people could fall
into them after dark.
Jack was an obscure dog, but he led a blame-
less life. Though he had no pedigree to speak
of, he showed that a self-made dog may make

himself beloved by doing right and attending
to his own business.
Carroll's two brothers were ten years his se-
niors, and so he could n't get much fun out of
them. They would leave him for days at a
time while they went away to snare suckers or
to carry an old cast-iron gun around over the
country all day, so all that Carroll could do
was to take Jack and dig some more holes in
the garden. Jack never dug out many gophers,
because he always worked where Carroll told
him, and as Carroll was only four years old, he
was n't a good judge about where to dig for
gophers; but between the two, they managed to


dig out a good many potatoes and other vege-
tables. Jack never allowed vegetables to in-
terfere with his digging. He would begin at
ten o'clock on a hot July day, and dig in a mis-
cellaneous manner till his tongue would hang
out a long distance, and the air would be filled
with his pants.
One night Carroll's father caught a large gray
rat in a wire-cage trap. The next day the boy
took the rat, Jack, and Tom, and organized a
menagerie. They traveled around the door-
yard all the forenoon giving exhibitions to them-
selves. The principal attraction consisted in
poking the rat, "Gumbo," with a long stick till
he squealed. The rest of the time was mainly
devoted to dazzling street-parades. Then Car-
roll would feed the animals and poke the rat
again to make him roar. This
showed that Carroll had the right
idea about running a menagerie.
The great trouble, however, was
that Jack and Tom did not like
the way they were fed. They
wanted to be fed with the rest
of the menagerie.
In the afternoon the colossal
aggregation gave an exhibition
in the kitchen. It was more
of a rehearsal than anything
else, for no spectators were ad-
mitted. The animals had been
fed once more, the cat's tail
had been pulled a few times, and
Gumbo had been poked till his
hyena squeals could be heard
for a long distance.
At this time the proprietor of
the great congress of rare zoo-
logical wonders, by mistake,
punched the cage door of the
enraged Gumbo so that it flew ,
open, and the infuriated beast
sprang out at a single bound!
The doors of the kitchen hip- IT WAS A
podrome were closed, and a grand panic ensued.
Both Jack and Tom would have liked to attack
Gumbo, but they had lost all their teeth and
had not felt able to buy artificial ones.
It was a trying moment in the life of the
young showman. He was very much agitated,

for he did not want his menagerie to escape.
He called Jack's attention to the matter, and
the procession began to move around the room
at a rapid rate, with Gumbo about four feet
People in the adjoining room wondered what
had happened in the hippodrome. Different
members of the family rushed to the spot.
The excitement was intense. When the family
arrived, the owner of the aggregation and his
celebrated trick-dog Jack had cornered the
ferocious brute, and the proprietor had just
stepped on him with his bare foot. The spec-
tators were breathless. The tow-headed rat-
tamer did not quail; he looked the angry
brute squarely in the eye.
All at once, Gumbo made a superhuman

struggle, and with a wild, despairing shriek, that
resounded in every part of the arena, darted up
the trousers-leg of the dauntless owner! It
was the supreme moment for prompt and de-
cisive action. The keeper seized the now thor-
oughly enraged beast from the outside and



held him. He did not hold him because he yer by profession. For years he has paid very
absolutely needed him. He did not retain him little attention to the rat industry, but if you
because of his intrinsic value, but because he suddenly address him even now with the state-
seemed to think that a rat in the hand is worth ment RATS !" you will be sure to attract his
two rats roaming around next to
the person and dragging their
cold tails after them in that de-
pressing way peculiar to the rat.
Those who have never caught
a rat under these circumstances
should be slow to criticize the
course of those who have. Here V
was the owner of a wild animal,
solicitous, a moment before, to
secure the beast, and now almost
regretting he had succeeded.
He could not send the dog
after the rat, and yet he could
not stand there patiently and wait K((,
for the rat to die of old age, for a
rat sometimes lives a long time.
There was but one thing to do,
and this he did. He had no 10
pocket in his trousers, but he -'
had a place for one. Through
this place he ran his hand slowly,
till he got hold of Gumbo. Then
he took the enraged animal out
and slid him into the den.
Carroll kept Gumbo for a long 4
time after that, but he never
poked him to make him roar.
Rats do not roar in a normal state.
Roaring is not their forte. The
voice of the rat is not suited to it,
Gumbo became more docile at last, and attention, and he. will ask who told you that
would often eat out of a stranger's hand, trying story about him.
to eat part of the hand also, to show that he But I hope you will not mention my name
liked every one, especially strangers. in the matter. It is a true story, but he did not
Carroll grew to be a man, and is now a law- want it to get out.



THE Noah's Ark 's a pleasant place,
With windows on each side,
And half the painted shingle roof
Is hinged, and opens wide.
And often Noah and his wife,
In dresses green and blue,
Take out the animals to walk
In rows of two and two.
And Noah was a cheerful man;
He always wore a smile;
But Mrs. Noah used to fret
And worry all the while.
Sometimes she 'd fret because their dog
Was looking thin and brown;
Or else because the elephant
So often tumbled down.
And when they reached the ark at last
She 'd roll and scrape about
To count the animals, for fear
That some had been left out.
Good Mr. Noah often said:
Don't worry so, my dear,
Or very soon your pretty paint
Will all wear off, I fear!"
S "Oh, dear!" she cried, "this cow is scratched r
The wolf is on his head "
And so she fretted spite of all
That Mr. Noah said.
And so poor Mrs. Noah's paint
*.P. Began to crack and fade;
But Mr. Noah still looked bright
As when he first was made.
Katharine Pyle.


Sive Frisky ponies waiting at the gate,
S hoe them, saddle them, and ride off in state.
0ne pony for my little man;, !
Two ponies make a span; iI
oThree ponies in a row;
F our ponies ready to go;
Five ponies, glo.ssy and bright
oUp street, down street,

And home again at night.



HERE comes December, my beloved,- bright
and joyous, bearing Christmas in his arms! His
wintry face beams with merry kindliness and Chris-
tian good-fellowship for one and all.
No decrepit, tottering old man he (though he
often is so misrepresented), but the stately white-
robed priest of the departing year. He will go with
1891, and we shall see his cheery face no more.
How shall he leave you, my friends ? Richer and
better for the year that has been yours, grateful for
past and present joys and with hearts full of trust,
patience, and love ? and hands ready to help others
less fortunate than yourselves? If so, all is well,
and your Jack need say no more about it.
Now we will consider

THE man does not live who can count a billion.
At least, an English billion. So says the Deacon.
Now who can explain this remarkable assertion?
I can. But I prefer to wait till some of you, my
young friends, have risen to explain.

HERE comes a story for you which sounds almost
like an out-West fairy tale, but I am told that it is
strictly true:

During the first days of Pike's Peak," when that
country was being occupied by mining prospectors, their
cabins were overrun with rats -not your domesticated,
house-mice and -rats of an old civilized community, but
rats-large, ravenous rats-with teeth and digestive
apparatus capable of managing anything from a tough
old boot to a dainty piece of breakfast bacon.
This state of affairs came to the knowledge of a thrifty
Dutchman, poor, but willing to earn a bright dollar if the
way was only pointed out, and roused his dormant ideas
to take advantage of the rat nuisance and profit thereby.
The Dutchman secured a yoke of oxen, rigged a prairie-

schooner with three stories, and filled the same with
good cats which his neighbors were glad to be rid of.
With this outfit he started across the plain for Pike's
Peak, a tedious journey of some six hundred miles.
This, with scant supplies of game, prepared the cats
for any encounter with their victims.
Their arrival spread joy among the householders, and
everything was set aside to purchase cats. When the
stock of our worthy Dutchman had been speedily con-
verted into gold-dust, he sold his team, returned on foot
across the desert plains to Omaha with over $1500, and
bought a farm near by. But the climax of this venture
was attained when his faithful oxen strayed back to him !


SOMETIMES these words are wafted past my pul-
pit from the lips of some defiant boy or girl who,
by the way, may care a great deal, in spite of this
off-hand assertion to the contrary.
I never quite knew what the expression meant,
but I suspected it alluded to a rap on the hand or
head until I one day heard the dear Little School-
ma'am explaining to the Deacon that a rap was a
counterfeit coin formerly used in Ireland as small
change. It was the smallest coin and one of the
very least worth, and so folk came to express their
utter indifference to a thing or a circumstance by
exclaiming: I don't care a rap "

Now, boys and girls of the red school-houses in
particular, and all school-houses in general, who
says there is no fun in figures ?
Your good friend E. T. Corbett sends this pleas-
ant puzzle to amuse and enlighten you on some long
winter evening. She does not claim that it is new;
but as the Little Schoolma'am declares that it not
only is curious and interesting but very well
stated, you shall have it:

THIS is an old puzzle, but it may be new to some of
the boys and girls who read this magazine.
Take your pencil and paper, and ask the person you
wish to puzzle to mention any number in three figures
between Ioo and 999.
Write the amount he mentions at the top of your pa-
per. Remark carelessly that you always put down the
answer to a sum before putting down the figures. Let
us suppose that the number given you is 346. The an-
swer to the sum is found by subtracting 2 from the unit
column, and putting this 2 on the left-hand side, thus:
346 Amount given.
S Space left for

2344 Answer to sum.
The answer is always computed in this way, from the
first amount mentioned.
Now ask for a second sum of three figures. Put them
under the 346, and then very quickly and silently write
down three figures under these last ones, in such pro-
portions that you make his last three and your three
add just 999 together. For instance, if the number given
to you is 758, you must put down 241. Now ask a third
amount to be mentioned, suppose this is 159; then you
must again add three figures to make 999, viz.: 840.
Now hand the paper to any one to add up the amounts,
which will be found correct. You see you will have five


amounts in all to be added together. If rightly done
this always causes much surprise, as the answer has been
already written.
758 .....(I) Sum given by any one to you.
S842 ..... (3) Sum given to you to put down.
'57 .... (4) Sum added by you to make 999.
631 ..... (5) Sum given to you to put down.
368 ..... (6) Sum added by you to make 999.
2756 ...... (2) Answer written next, by taking 2 from
unit column of first sum given, and
putting it on left-hand side.

Now you shall have a whiff of poetry to cool your
brains. It is a pretty tribute from Miss lone L.
Jones to our friend Last Month, who still lingers
with his crisp good-byes.

You 'VE a little warm spot in your heart,
O November,
For many a year I remember remember
The little warm spot in your heart.

You really try to be gruff,
You dissemble.
Though your voice down the chimney makes
little ones tremble
When you really try to be gruff.

You are beautiful when you are kind,
O late comer;
When you hold in your lap your sweet child -
Indian Summer,
You are beautiful when you are kind.
DEAR JACK: Here are some curious little stow-
aways which hid in a case of bananas, and, in
that novel state-room, traveled all the way from
Surinam, in South America, to a town in the inte-
rior of New York State.
Had these tiny visitors traveled as other folks
do, they doubtless would have been introduced to
the people onboard the ship as Merian's Opossum
and Babies, and, later on, it would have been learned
they were so named after the celebrated lady natu-
ralist and traveler, Madame Merian, of whose brave
voyaging I trust your young hearers have read.
Possibly, in seeking food in their native tropics,
the quaint little possums, whose pictures I send to
the children, espied great heaps of luscious fruit ly-
ing ready for exportation, and, while feeding there,
were suddenly alarmed by some natives, and hid
for safety in an open case of bananas. Or they
may have been placed accidentally in the case with
the fruit, the natives not suspecting their presence.
One thing is certain--the case, with them in it,
was nailed up, and put aboard a ship bound for
New York.
The mother possum was more fortunate than
must stowaways, however, for the case in which she
found herself so securely fastened was furnished
with a bountiful supply of good things to eat; and

whatever other discomforts she may have suffered,
hunger was not one of them.
On arriving at its destination in New York State,
the case was opened, and the men employed in
taking out the fruit were very much surprised at
seeing, on one of the bunches of bananas, the
mother possum, and the little possums on her back,

with their tiny tails firmly curled around hers, just
as they are shown in the picture.
Mother and children were not at all disturbed at
being discovered. They seemed to consider they
had just as good a right to the land of the free" as
had other emigrants. True enough, this family had
traveled in a very irregular manner: they had paid
no fare, and besides had helped themselves to some
of the cargo; in fact, they were stowaways in every
sense of the word. I believe stowaways usually are
returned to the land from which they hail, but an
exception was made in this case, and the quaint
little possums were most cordially welcomed.
HERE is a long word for beginners, which the
dear Little Schoolma'am has found in a recent issue
of a German newspaper:
It is supposed to mean Benefit Association of
Neapolitan Bagpipe Players."

"A mighty maze! but not without a plan."
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: A maze or cobweb may be a
somewhat novel mode of distributing Christmas gifts to
those who may be willing, for once, to depart from the
good old usages: the stocking hung beside the chimney,
the Christmas tree, and the more modern Christmas pie.
Here are directions for the benefit of those who have
never attended "cobweb parties."
Procure as many balls of string as there are members
in the family. They should be of different colors, that
each one may follow his string with ease, and of the same
length, that all may finish winding together.
The presents intended for each person are to be tied
to one particular string, the heaviest or largest to be
fastened to one end and placed at the back of the room
set apart for the maze. Then carry the string across the
room, tie something else to it, and secure the string to a
chair, the window-fastener, the curtain-rod, or anything
Pass the string back and forth, up and down, through,
behind, under, over, and across the furniture of the room
in every conceivable manner, until the other end is
reached, displaying as much as possible all light and at-
tractive articles, while the heavier ones, of course, must
rest on something solid. A number of little things, like
shaving-paper balls, scent-sachets, lace bags tied with
bright ribbon and filled with candy, and glittering cornu-
copias, should be attached to the string as it is passed
over the chandelier.
The hiding of small and valuable things, such as rings,
pins, and other pieces of jewelry, thimbles, money, etc.,
under the sofa cushion, behind a book, or concealed in
any other way, gives additional interest to the maze, as
the recipient comes upon them unexpectedly.
Proceed in a similar manner with the other strings,

taking care as before to show the pretty things, to avoid
snarls, and to make as many angles as you can.
The free ends of the strings should have spools or
reels fastened to them, to wind the strings on as fast as
disentangled, and should be placed near the door.
Mottoes or quotations referring to the gifts add much
to the amusement when they are found just before seeing
the objects to which they refer.
When all is ready let the master or mistress of cere-
monies precede the family, singing or saying the old song,

"'Will you walk into my parlor?' said the spider to
the fly;
"Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many pretty things to show you when
you're there.
Will you, will you, will you
Walk in, Mister Fly? "

The door of the room should be opened just as the
leader finishes the song; and after a short time for
inspection he or she should place the reels in the hands
of the right persons and bid them take all they find as
they follow the threads through the labyrinth.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken you from the
newsdealers for the last four or five years, but have
never written to you. We think you are the best maga-
zine published.
We have lived in four cities in the last two years -
Denver, Hutchinson (Kansas), Kansas City, andOmaha;
but I think Hutchinson is the most interesting in some
Hutchinson is the largest salt center in Kansas, and
one of the largest in the United States. The way they
get their salt is different, I think, from the New York way.
They do not mine it here, but drill for it. I think they


have to drill about three hundred feet before they strike
the bed. Then they pump water down the hole and it
comes up as a strong brine, which they guide into large
evaporating-pans about eighteen by thirty-six feet wide,
and about a foot deep. Under these pans are immense
furnaces which heat the pans and evaporate the brine.
Then the salt is raked out on slanting boards so that the
water can drip back into the pan. Then what water is
left in the pan is run out and fresh brine let in. After the
salt is dry it is taken away in large hand-carts to a place
they call the dump, where it is packed in barrels and
shipped away. Some of it is put into immense sifters,
and made into table salt. Most of the salt-works have
their own barrel-factory; one, I think, has at least twenty
coopers. There are about fifteen different salt-wells
there, and one company owns about half of them.
I hope this will interest most of your readers. I enjoy
the Letter-box department very much.
Your constant reader, A. H--.

THERE was once a little girl, who had a canary given
her on her.tenth birthday. She named him Cheri, be-
cause he was so dear. In the summer-time, when Lucy
(the little girl's name) went away, she gave the bird
to her friend. They said that he never sang; but when
Lucy came for him he began at once to sing. In the day-
time we put him on the piazza, and in the night we bring
him in. Well, one night he went on his swing; it was
getting late, so Lucy brought him in. Each night he did
the same. He has had a great many incidents. Once
he put his head through the wires; we had a hard time
getting it out. I have forgotten the others. We have
had him for six years; he is also very tame.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am an English girl, nearly
twelve years old. I have read all the letters in your "Let-
ter-box," but have not seen many from Dear old dingy
London," as one of your readers calls it. I had you for
a birthday present from my cousin in New York last
January, and am greatly interested in all your tales. I
think Chan Ok and The Fortunes of Toby Trafford "
are beautiful, but I am so very sorry I have not read the
beginning of the latter; it was begun in November, and
I did not have your magazine then. Perhaps youwould
like to hear how I spent my midsummer holidays. We
went to Ostend, a well-known seaside place in Belgium.
We stayed there five weeks, during which time I enjoyed
myself immensely. In the Kursaal there were children's
parties every Tuesday. I went four times; they givepres-
ents there. Once I had a lovely bunch of flowers, an-
other time I hadalittle flag, the third time I had a Japanese
lantern, and the last time I had a palm fan with flowers
stuck on it. I also went in for some children's races
while I was there, but I did not get a prize, as I arrived
third, and they gave only first and second prizes.
From your interested reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in New York in the
winter, but this summer I have been traveling through
Europe with my cousin and tutor. I am now in a place
called Biarritz, which is located in the southern part of
France and on the Bay of Biscay. I think that we are
the only Americans here. They are mostly all French
and Spanish. There is a beautiful beach here, and the

people bathe a great deal. There are some rocks out in
the water about two thousand feet away which break the
force of the waves and make the beach very safe. As I
was in Austria on the 4th of July this year, I was very
much disappointed in not having the lovely fireworks
that we see at home. But last night they had here some
beautiful ones on the water, which were lovely. I always
take you at home, but this summer, as I have been trav-
eling, I have not had all your nice numbers. But the
other day I obtained your September number, and have
enjoyed it very much.
Yours affectionately ROBINSON N- .


SEE the blossoms on the bough,
They will soon be apples now,
And then they will be put in pie
Which you can eat and so can I.

But if you eat too much of pie
You will be ill and then you '11 cry;
But if you wait a little while
You will be well and then you '11 smile.

But very much of apple-pie
Might make you ill enough to die,
That is your own fault, you see,
So don't you blame the apple-tree.
(Seven and a half years old.)

OLAS: I have
taken you about 0
three years, but
have never writ-
ten to you be-
fore. I like you
very much, espe-
cially the stories
aboutboys. Isend 1 9
you a little sketch \
I made, for I love c%
Your loving ~ -
R. H. E-

OLAS: Would you ",7
like to hear of a
visit to a prison ?
Well, I will tell you about one we made. One day
last summer, six of us drove away from the farm, in
a hay-wagon, which we called our barouchee." The
prison was six miles away, so it took pretty long to
get there. When we reached it we went in and en-
tered our names in a large book and paid fifteen cents.
We were then directed to a guide, who began to show
us the sights. We first went into the tailor-shop where
they made the prisoners' clothes, the colors being red
and black; then we passed on into the chapel, which is
a fair-sized room with a number of settees and a plat-
form in it. From there we went into the workshop
where they made boots, each man having his own work
to do, and a guard sitting up in a chair to see that all


was right. Next we passed through the court into a
building where the cells were; we were showed into one,
there being a cot, table, lamp, papers, books, and mottos;
at some doors there was a mug and some bread. We
were shown the things that they make, as, toothpick
charms, boxes, and many other pretty things made from
bones. We waited a few minutes to see them file into
dinner. A large gong was struck, and each man stopped
work, washed his face andhands, combed his hair, and
put on his jacket, and then formed in line in the court-
yard; it took some time, but at last all was ready, and
they marched in lock-step by the kitchen where there
was a hole made through the wall, and from the inside
the cook passed their dinner, which consisted of some
meat and potatoes on a tin plate; then they went on to
their cells where each had to eat alone. Don't you think
that is sad? Your loving reader,

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never seen in your
"Letter-box a letter from this part of England, so I
thought I would write to you. I like you very much,
and mother likes your puzzles. I am a girl of ten and
I have subscribed to you for seven years.
I was born in Cairo and I go to school in Paris. I
had the measles there, and as mother was doing a word-
square we found the name of my great-uncle who was
President of the United States.
Your loving reader, L. V. D. N-- .

A friend of ST. NICHOLAS, who read the story of the
Century Cat in ST. NICHOLAS for August, 1891, sends us
a sketch of another interesting cat whose home is in the
Palace Hotel in San Francisco:

OUR Palace cat is not of high degree like the Century
pet. Indeed, her color and form indicate only too
plainly her humble origin. She came to the hotel about
a year ago, I am told, looked carefully around, and, being
pleased with the prospect, decided to take up her quarters
here. In return for her board and lodging she caught
stray mice.
She has no pretty collar. Occasionally some one dec-
orates her with a bit of ribbon, evidently rescued for that
purpose from some waste-basket. Last week she wore
a yellow piece stamped Havana." Blue suits her best,
though, as she is gray and white. I don't know her true
name. Every bell-boy calls her what he pleases. Our
boy has christened her "Minnie."
A short time ago a letter-chute was put in the hotel,
that guests might post their letters without having to go
to themail-box in the office. This chute from ceiling to
floor is of glass, so if any of the letters are caught on
their way down, they may be seen and made to move
on." Minnie cannot understand what it is that rushes
down so white, and with such a hiss, behind the glass,
and she sits for hours in front of the chute trying to
solve the mystery. When she hears the rustle of an
approaching letter she crouches on the floor and springs
at it as it flashes past. Failure to catch it only makes
her more persistent, and she is on duty, on one floor or
another, nearly all the time. If one goes in the hall with
a letter to post, and she is near enough to hear or see,
she rushes to her favorite position, quite sure that this
time she will catch the elusive and mysterious mouse.

All the guests know her, and all pet her. I often
pet her in the most approved manner. She tolerates it
for a time, but as soon as she can escape, without being
too rude, she leaves me and returns to her old place at
the chute.
She is a great favorite with the children, who are al-
ways willing to post letters when Minnie is near.
I am not a child, though I read my ST. NICHOLAS
every month, and I confess to posting empty envelops
just to see Minnie crouch and spring as they pass down.

DEAR LETTER-BOX: I will try to tell about our trip
up Mount Hamilton to the Lick Observatory.
We started out on Saturday morning and drove to
Smith's Creek, and there rested and had a nice warm
dinner, and then went up the mountain.
On arriving at the summit we walked the halls, looking
at the pictures of the sun, moon, planets, and stars.
Soon Professor Campbell came in and he took us up
on the roof to see the sunset and the beautiful view of
San Francisco Bay and Santa Clara Valley.
We next went down to see the tomb in which rests the
body of James Lick, the founder.
Then we were taken into the big dome and saw the
clockwork that runs the big telescope, also the spec-
troscope, which Professor Campbell explained so thor-
oughly that even I understood it.
We then looked through the large glass and saw the
moon. If any of your readers wish to see how the moon
looks through the glass if they have no telescope to look
through, just let them find Professor Holden's article in
the July CENTURY. The moon looks just like that pic-
ture, only you cannot see so much of it at once. You
can only see one one-hundred-and-fiftieth part of the
moon at one time.
We next spent a pleasant half-hour with Professor and
Mrs. Burnham, and met their three little daughters.
Professor Burnham showed us the earthquake-register.
He also showed us the big clock that furnishes the time
for the Pacific coast.
Next we went to the Meridian-Circle Room. This deli-
cate instrument contains sixteen telescopes, and Profes-
sor Schaeberle uses it to find the exact position of the
stars. I will not try to describe it, as I know I cannot do
it justice.
After that we went to the small dome and saw Jupiter
with its cloud-belts and four moons. As I started down
from the steps on which I had been standing while look-
ing through the glass I saw two fixed stars seeming to be
about as big as Jupiter's moons, but Professor Barnard
said if they were as near us as Jupiter is they would burn
us all up.
We then had our moonlight drive home, which we en-
joyed very much.
From your little friend, BESSIE T--

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: Florrie S., N. L.
A., D. H. D., Jenny S. H., Helen D. and Julia W. H.,
Annie, Agnes, Sidney, Hattie O. S., Gerald D., George
K., K. W. F., Susan W. F., Marie and A. L., Queen
H. and Gladys H., Portia M. D., Ella J. E., Edyth P.
J., Maude V.,Anita G., Lydia K., Maude L., M. M. T.,
J. L. F., Linnetta F., Julia B. H., Anne Elizabeth D.,
Bessie W., John G., Helen G. E., E. K.




DIAMOND. s. M. 2. Map. 3. Carol. 4. Martial. 5. Martin-
mas. 6. Pointed. 7. Lamed. 8. Lad. 9. S.
DIAGONAL PUZZLE. Diagonals, New York. Cross-words: I. Nour-
ish. 2. Detract. 3. Bewitch. 4. Players. 5. Promote. 6. Prepare.
7. Derrick.
WORD-SQUARES. I. I. Talc. 2. Agio. 3. Limn. 4. Cone.
II. I. Sates. 2. Adust. 3. Tutti. 4. Estop. 5. Stipe.
ZIGZAGS. "The Golden Dustman." i. Teal. 2. Shop. 3. Beet.
4. Prig. 5. Sloe. 6. Ally. 7. Dial. 8. Gear. 9. Link. xo. Shad.
s. Chub. 12. Espy. 13. Toss. 14. Emit. Ix. Slab. 16. Kiln.
A TRIANGLE. From i to io, homesteads; ix to 19, good cheer.
I, H; 2, 19, or; 3 to a8, moe; 4 to 17, erne; 5 to 16, sloth; 6 to 15,
tenrec; 7 to 14, emerald; 8 to 13, arpeggio; 9 to 12, duodecimo;
10 to IX, sustaining.
AN EIGHTEENTH CENTURY PUZZLE. Cross-words: I. Washboard.
2. Dwellings. 3. Teaspoons. 4. Demijohns. 5. Hoofprint. 6. Foun-
tains. 7. Musicians. 8. Palanquin. 9. Vegetable. o1. Dog-kennel.
si. Ostriches. x2. Marigolds.
WORD-BUILDING. E, re, ear, race, cader, arcade, charade, cathe-
dra, cathedral.

RIMED PRIMAL ACROSTIC. Initials, William Cowper. Cross-
words: I. Waterloo. 2. Ireland. 3. Leonidas. 4. Laurel-wreath.
5. Israel. 6. Alsace. 7. Milton. 8. Cleopatra. 9. Ohio. xo. Wash-
ington. ii. Palatine. 12. Emerson. 13. Rubens.
PI. Again the leaves come fluttering down,
Slowly, silently, one by one,
Scarlet and crimson, and gold and brown,
Willing to fall, for their work is done.
And once again comes the dreamy haze,
Draping the hills with its filmy blue,
And veiling the sun, whose tender rays
With mellowed light come shimmering through.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Victoria; finals, Tennyson. Cross-
words: I. Verdict. 2. Ignoble. 3. Citizen. 4. Torsion. 5. Ora-
tory. 6. Rameses. 7. Iachimo. 8. Arraign.
He who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone
Will lead my steps aright.

To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the Isth 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 SEPTEMBER NUMBER were received, before September x5th, from Paul Reese Arthur Gride -
Mama and Jamie Josephine Sherwood-E. M. G.-L. O. E. and C. E.-"King Anso IV."-"Wareham"-Hubert L. Bingay-
Marion F., Aunt Eva and Lulu "Uncle Mung" Ida C. Thallon -"Wee 3 "-John W. Frothingham, Jr.-Jo and I -"The Wise
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE SEPTEMBER NUMBER were received, before September 15th, from "Daisy and Demi," ix-"Abuti-
lon," i -"Admiral," I-" Cantaloupes," i -J. A., Jr., A. P. C., S. W. and A. W. Ashburst, ix-Maude E. Palmer, 12-" Punch and
Judy," I -" The Peterkins," i- Elaine and Grace S., 2 -Ada Hoyle, Carrie Chester, Teddie and Jo, 6-NannieJ. Borden, 2-
Eleanor S. Tucker, I Rose Geranium, I- Tip and Tuck, Effie K. Talboys, 9 Pearl F. Stevens, so Constance and Ellenor, -
Ida and Alice, 12- Russell Mount, 4- Charles Beaufort, 12 -L. E.V., I-" Miramonte Quartette," 6 -Carita Archibald, 5 -Wilfred W.
Lonsly, 4 May and '79," 9 Nanny and Me, I Carrie Thacher, 8 -" The Diggers," 7 -" Waiontha," 5 -" Infantry," i -" Three
B's," 8-"Ed and Papa," 9-Nellie L. Howes, io-R. M. Huntington, io -"The Nutshell," 7-A. M. C., 6-R. A. T., 2-
"Snooks," 5-"Suse," 12-Jessie Chapman, 7-Elsa Behr, Dictionary and Co., 4-Annie and Grace, 2-Marguerite Speckel and
Katie Mantner, 4.


AcRoss: I. The act of seeking. 2. A sylvan deity.
3. Moderately warm. 4. A fruit. 5. A surgical con-
DOWNWARD: I r.A letter. 2. A pronoun. 3. To con-
sume. 4. To check. 5. Emblems. 6. To stir up. 7. A
small spot. 8. A word of denial. 9. A letter.
M. A. S.


2 2 .
3 13
4 14 -
5 15
6 6
7 1 7
8 ... 18 .
9 19
IO 20 .

CROSS-WORDS: I. Gathers. 2. Garlands. 3. Con-
trary to law. 4. One of the Muses. 5. One of a sect
among the ancient Jews. 6. Supplicated. 7. A village

of Italy, about six miles from Guastalla. 8. Capable of
being entertained. 9. A boaster. Io. Accumulating.
From I to Io, a name given to December 28th; from
II to 20, the patron saint of boys. FRANK SNELLING.

CROSS-WORDS: I. Soft and weak. 2. Indicates.
3. Part of a fish. A Roman numeral. 5. To peti-
tion. 6. To forebode evil. 7. A kind of woolen cloth.
Centrals, reading downward, a color.
CROSS-WORDS (of equal length): I. The chocolate
tree. 2. Lofty. 3. Cleared land. 4. A place in Eng-
land noted for its races. 5. Having a shape resembling
that of an egg. 6. A mark of punctuation. 7. A mourn-
ful or plaintive poem. 8. A quick species of dance.
9. A coral island. Io. An eye. .I. A large and bright
constellation. 12. An aquatic plant found in certain
tropical countries. 13. A well-known fruit-tree. 14. One
of the Muses. 15. The circumference of anything. 16. A
rapacious quadruped. 17. To endeavor.
When the foregoing words have been rightly guessed,
and placed one below the other, the second row of let-
ters, reading downward, will be found to be three Latin
words. They form the motto of one of the United States.
What is the State, the motto, and its translation ?




-~.1% 4,.


A. -n. .... ire dt I. J I. 1, enoI-D.

8. Turf. In casement.

i. iU t. D ItLc i. F. S. F.
i 8. Turf. 9. In casement.
{I. F. .F.

S IN each of the following sentences
i a word is concealed, the definition of
which will be found in the same sen-
tence. When these are rightly selected and placed one
below the other, the primals and finals, when read in
connection, will name a substance used for architectural
1. At the hospital Clara saw a mineral.
2. I bought a leech of Henry because he explained to
me the meaning of reverberated sound.
3. She tried an 6cru stain to cover up the red crust.
4. I ran to tell you that the man is commencing to rave.
5. Do you think Ann a good name for a girl?
The primals and finals of the foregoing double acros-
tic may be found in the following

I. In teach, not in learn;
2. In love, not in spurn;
3. In rat, not in mouse;
4. In roast, not in souse;
5. In Nathan, not in Nell;
That is all I have to tell;
For the whole, you understand,
Is something made of earth and sand.
A distinguished man of letters:

I. I. BEHEAD a punctuation mark, and leave turmoil.
2. Behead a college, and leave a beverage. 3. Behead a
grain, and leave to freeze. 4. Behead frank, and leave
to coop. 5. Behead part of a neck, and leave an animal.
The beheaded letters will spell the name of an English
II. I. Behead to frolic, and leave to put in motion.
2. Behead lifts, and leave part of a roof. 3. Behead to
stand as an equivalent, and leave tenor. 4. Behead treat-
ment, and leave sapient. 5. Behead a sudden noise, and


S h' ,, l'. B.. r .1 j.Il-.B

ii .-- L,.:h.-3IJd .[ lE rt-l: .l ; p.1ll
I h ,':,rir, : .:.t" i r r li : l p:., .



H.I o u e-li h -' l r.,n, r. ...-

A Ihig dlogu itay adiln lte
Ew'ev dah moes panstale slambre,
Dan rymer starsmich bolsmag,
Dna seros thiw oru smerblab,
Dieau, dol reay, eduia!

MY primals name a kind of watch, and my finals a
kind of rose.
CROSS-WORDS (of equal length): I. Appointed as a
substitute or agent. 2. A prominent character in one
of Shakspere's plays. 3. Brushinglightlyon the surface.
S. S.




CROSS-WORDS : I. A small snake. 2. One of a certain
tribe of Indians. 3. A pouch. 4. Despises. 5. Spiral
scrolls used in architecture. 6. That which drives for-
ward. 7. A name by which giraffes are sometimes called.
8. A male relative. 9. A horned animal. o1. Active.
II. Fiction. 12. Swift in motion. 13. A segment of
a circle. 14. To cut. 15. Banterings.
The central letters, reading downward, will spell an
object which throws light on many.




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