Front Cover
 Mothering Sunday
 Owney, of the mail-bags
 The lilac
 Tom Sawyer abroad
 Historic dwarfs
 Broken friendship
 The lament of the outgrown...
 The cat family in our country
 The disappointed sailor
 Toinette's Philip
 An imaginary case
 Young George
 A man-o-war's menagerie
 An accommodating lion
 Recollections of the wild life
 A Kansas cyclone
 A boy whaler
 The story of a dagger
 A lesson in electricity
 The brownies in fairyland
 King of pleasure
 The needle in the haystack
 Taking dolly's photograph
 How the little kite learned to...
 Through the scissors
 Editorial notes
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00280
 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: VID00280
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 386
    Mothering Sunday
        Page 387
    Owney, of the mail-bags
        Page 388
        Page 389
        Page 390
    The lilac
        Page 391
    Tom Sawyer abroad
        Page 392
        Page 393
        Page 394
        Page 395
        Page 396
        Page 397
        Page 398
        Page 399
        Page 400
        Page 401
    Historic dwarfs
        Page 402
        Page 403
        Page 404
        Page 405
        Page 406
    Broken friendship
        Page 407
    The lament of the outgrown doll
        Page 408
    The cat family in our country
        Page 409
        Page 410
        Page 411
        Page 412
        Page 413
        Page 414
        Page 415
    The disappointed sailor
        Page 416
    Toinette's Philip
        Page 417
        Page 418
        Page 419
        Page 420
        Page 421
        Page 422
        Page 423
        Page 424
    An imaginary case
        Page 425
    Young George
        Page 426
        Page 427
        Page 428
        Page 429
        Page 430
        Page 431
        Page 432
        Page 433
    A man-o-war's menagerie
        Page 434
        Page 435
    An accommodating lion
        Page 436
    Recollections of the wild life
        Page 437
        Page 438
        Page 439
    A Kansas cyclone
        Page 440
        Page 441
        Page 442
        Page 443
    A boy whaler
        Page 444
        Page 445
        Page 446
        Page 447
        Page 448
        Page 449
    The story of a dagger
        Page 450
        Page 451
        Page 452
    A lesson in electricity
        Page 453
        Page 454
        Page 455
        Page 456
        Page 457
        Page 458
        Page 459
        Page 460
        Page 461
    The brownies in fairyland
        Page 462
        Page 463
        Page 464
    King of pleasure
        Page 465
        Page 466
    The needle in the haystack
        Page 467
        Page 468
        Page 469
        Page 470
        Page 471
    Taking dolly's photograph
        Page 472
    How the little kite learned to fly
        Page 473
    Through the scissors
        Page 474
        Page 475
    Editorial notes
        Page 476
    The letter-box
        Page 476
        Page 477
        Page 478
    The riddle-box
        Page 479
        Page 480
        Page 481
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

4 V--H-W [H14444-+



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V.- VN






MARCH, 1894.
Copyright, 14, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.



No. 5.

WHAT Should I do if the children did not
come to see me ? They cheer one up so, and
bring in so much life and freshness. I espe-
cially appreciate this just now, as I have been
confined to the house for two weeks with a
sprained ankle. How pleasant it was that Tues-
day, when little Alice Gregory came to dine
with me and stay a while into the evening!
After dinner she drew a low chair up to the
fireplace, and sat there, telling me most inter-
esting stories of what "all the girls" were do-
ing at school, and how hard the lessons were
growing, and how she had been perfect in
them for two whole days. I just enjoyed it,
as I lay on my couch and watched the little
maid, and thought how exceedingly sweet and
lovable she was; full of life and earnestness,
a pretty picture, with the firelight sending such
a warm glow over her yellow locks and happy
And, by the way, I learned something from
Alice; at least I think I should not know quite
as much as I do now, if she had not spoken as
she did.
Miss Constance," she said, after a mo-
ment's pause in the conversation, "do you
know what next Sunday is ?"

Next Sunday ? I repeated. "Why, no;
is it different from any Sunday?"
"I heard some one say that ever so long
ago they used to call it 'Mothering Sunday.'
What does that mean?"
"' Mothering Sunday,'" I echoed again. "I
never heard of it. It can't be anything very
important" (as though I knew everything that
was important).
Then she drifted on to other subjects, and
we forgot the question till just as she was
ready to go home, when a thought came to
me suddenly and I proposed that we should
each study up about Mothering Sunday, and
that she should dine with me on the next Tues-
day, when we would compare notes as to what
we had found. So I went to work and hunted
in all the accessible books that I thought would
help me, and she did the same for herself, and
so we had a good talk over the matter when we
next passed an afternoon together.
Now I can tell you that "Mothering Sun-
day" is the fourth Sunday in Lent, and is often
called" Mid-Lent Sunday." No wonder that
Alice and I did not know what it was; for the
custom which gave rise to the name, like many
another delightful old custom, has passed away,



and so the name has become almost forgotten
I suppose you all have read stories of ap-
prentices, young lads who were "bound out,"
as they called it, to learn a trade, or to work
for some farmer for a term of years.
How would you like it, my boy-just home
from a spin on your new "safety"-to be tied
down to work day after day, under a master
who was not always easy to please, and who
would allow you only Sundays and an occasional
" day off" to go to see your mother.
And you, my dear girl, with your happy home
and days brimful of enjoyment, what would you
think of a life exactly opposite to yours ?
For, in the days of long ago, as well as in
our own time, there were many young girls
who found it best to leave their homes and
make their own way in the world.
Would you not be glad of an occasional Sun-
day when you could array yourself in all your
best finery, and go to see your mother, taking
care that you wrapped your little present up
very carefully, so that you could watch her evi-
dent pleasure and surprise as she untied the
string, took off the wrapper, and brought to
light the treasure which you had bought for
her with your "very own earnings "?
That was "Mothering Sunday," the fourth
Sunday in Lent, when absent sons and daugh-

ters- particularly the young apprentices -
would return to their homes with some little
present for both parents, but more especially
for the mother. An ancient custom, and a de-
lightful one it seems to me.
Imagine the joy of Peggy or Thomas, the
pride of the mother in the simple gift, and the
admiration of the small brothers and sisters who
gathered around and longed for the time when
they also would be out in the great unknown
world and could come "a-mothering."
Perhaps it was not an apprentice or a serving-
maid, but some young housekeeper who would
come from her own home, and with a most
important air would present her mother with
some pasties or a simnell" of her own mak-
ing. The simnel, or sinnel, was a kind of rich
sweet cake offered as a gift at Christmas or
Easter and especially on Mothering Sunday."
We may be sure that it was a happy time, and
that the mother admired the gift and praised
the giver, and rejoiced that her Thomas was
such a fine, steady lad, or that Peggy was so
strong and rosy and loving.
In one of his poems, Robert Herrick, the
early English poet says:
I '11 to thee a simnel bring,
'Gainst thou go a-mothering;
So that, when she blesses thee,
Half that blessing thou 'It give me.



ONE raw autumn day, some six years ago, a
little puppy crept into the Albany post-office
building for warmth and shelter. He was a
homeless, hungry little fellow, shivering with
the cold, and even to be just inside the door
seemed like bliss compared to the street.
Everybody was busy with their own concerns,
and nobody saw him. The homeless little dog
took courage, and ventured farther and farther

into the warmth and comfort. There was a
door opened, and he slipped through it. In
one corner was a pile of leather mail-bags;
he curled himself up among these and went
to sleep.
In the morning when the clerks went for
the bags they found him there. He could
not tell them where he came from; but the
wag of his little tail and the pleading look



in his brown eyes said plainly, "Please let go where they went. By and by, when the men
me stay!" and they did. began to overhaul the bags, they found Owney
That noon one of the post-office clerks just as he had been found that first day in the
brought in a bottle from his dinner some soup office, asleep among them. They were men
for the puppy, and the next day another kind- who knew who Owney was and where he came
hearted man treated him -
to a piece of steak.
Days went by and .
nobody came to claim
him. Neither did he wan-
der away from his new
quarters. He liked his
new home, whatever his
previous one had been,
and meant to stay there.
As one and another came
in and saw him, they .
would say:
"Whose dog is that ?
And then the postal- .-.- .
clerks would reply, giving .
him a playful pat:
"Owney! Owney! who
is your owner ?" -
After a time everybody
called him Owney."
Under good treatment
Owney grew very fast,
and soon became a very
wise and intelligent lit-
tle terrier. From the first
night that he had slept
on the mail-bags he had
been very fond of them. e
He often wondered, in his .
dog way, where they went -
to when they were tossed
on to the wagons and
.carried off. One day he
made up his mind he
would go with them and
see; so, when the driver .. $'
jumped on his high seat '.- f
and drove off, Owney "
trotted on behind. He saw
the bags flung into the car,
and when a good chance OWNEY HAR
came, he went in after them. Nobody saw him, from, and they took care of him and brought
nobody missed him; but Owney and the mail- him back on their return trip.
bags were old friends, and he was not afraid to But Owney had learned the secret of the


mail-bags. Neither did he dislike the steady
jogging of the train and the attention which
he received. Soon after he took another trip.
This time he was gone for several weeks, and
his friends at Albany thought they had seen
the last of him; but one morning he walked
in looking a little thinner, a little more ragged,
but very wise and happy. Though glad to
be at home again, he had evidently enjoyed
his trip very much. Where he had been, of
course, was only conjecture, but it was thought
he must have been a long distance. His friends,
afraid that he might go upon another journey
and perhaps be lost, took up a subscription and
bought him a collar. This collar was marked:
Albany Post-Office,
N. Y.

To this collar was fastened a card asking
the railroad postal-clerks to fasten tags to
him showing where he had been, in case
they should encounter him traveling about.
It was not a great while after this that
Owney was gone again. His way of travel-
ing was to jump aboard the first mail-car he
met, and when that reached its destination
and was emptied, he would take any other
that was standing in the station ready to
leave. If he ever got tired and wanted to
go home nobody knew it; and as he could
not ask questions as to the way, the only
thing for him to do was to keep on going.
He went to all kinds of places and met all
kinds of dogs. Some days a generous postal-
clerk would give him a good dinner, the next
day he would have none, but it was all the
same to Owney so long as he had the excite-
ment and change.
He went to Chicago, Cincinnati, and St.
Louis, and they attached checks to his collar.
Then he went on through Salt Lake City to
California, and from there to Mexico. In
Mexico they hung a Mexican dollar on his
neck. From there he came up through the
South, finally reaching Washington. His col-
lar was hanging full of tags and checks, and
poor Owney was weary of the heavy load
about his neck. Postmaster-General Wana-

maker saw him and took pity on him. He
carried him out one day, and had a harness
made for him; then he took the badges from
his collar and fastened them to his harness,
as you see in the picture. If you look
closely you will discover the Mexican dollar,
and also a King's Daughter's badge which
someone presented to him.
Owney did not tarry long in Washington,
but was soon off again with his new harness.
The farther he went the more checks he had
to carry, and the heavier grew his load. At
last the attachments alone weighed over two
pounds, and poor Owney was tired of carrying
the dangling things about with him.
A Boston postal-clerk saw him and took pity
on him as Mr. Wanamaker had done; he car-
ried him home to his house, and wrote a let-
ter to the postmaster at Albany, telling him of
the dog's difficulties. Word came back to take
off the harness just as it was, and forward it
to them. This was done, and the harness with
its attachments can be seen any time in the
post-office building at Albany, preserved in a
glass case with Owney's picture.
Once in his travels Owney reached Mon-
treal, and, happening to follow the mail-bags
to the post-office, he was taken possession of
and locked up, while a letter was sent to Al-
bany telling the officials there of his where-
abouts. A reply came to let him go and he
would take care of himself. This the Cana-
dian postmaster refused to do till the cost of
feeding and keeping him was paid, in all
amounting to two dollars and fifty cents. A
collection was called for among his old friends,
the money forwarded and Owney released.
Everybody in the postal-service in the
United States knows him, and perhaps the
next time he visits Canada he will not be a
Owney is a cross between an Irish and a
Scotch terrier. His fur is short, gray, and curly.
He has beautiful, intelligent brown eyes, but
somewhere in his wanderings has lost the sight
of the right one, probably from a hot cinder.
When he wore his harness and railroad deco-
rations, he was a dog of most unusual appear-
ance; but he gave up the straps and medals
some two years ago, and now there is nothing



to distinguish him from any other gray mongrel
cur. I had heard about Owney from a friend
who in his travels had met the dog; but last
summer, while out camping, I became ac-
quainted with him. One of our party was a
post-office railroad clerk, and on the day he
started for our camp Owney appeared in his
postal-car. My friend managed to lure the
dog to our camping-ground. Owney seemed
pleased at first with the broad fields, and en-
joyed now and then a dip in the sea. But two
days and two nights were enough for him. On
the morning of the'second day he disappeared.

At half-past six in the morning Owney was
still in our camp; but at half-past eight he was
reported in the Old Colony station in Boston.
He must have caught the first boat for the city,
and made straight for the railway station.
Where he is now, I don't know; and if I knew
to-day, he might be half-way to California a few
days later. His home is with the mail-bags;
and nothing would induce him to ride in a
passenger-car. But no accident has ever yet
happened to a train when Owney has been
aboard, and the railroad postal men are begin-
ning to look upon him as a "mascot."



THE lilac stood close to Elizabeth's window,
All purple with bloom, while the little maid
Her stint was a long one and she was
And moaned that she never could get it done.

But a wind set stirring the lilac blossoms,
And a wonderful sweetness came floating in,
And Elizabeth felt, though she could not have
said it,
That a friend had come to her, to help her

And after that she kept on at her spinning,
Gay as a bird; for the world had begun
To seem such a pleasant, good place for
That she was amazed when her stint was

And the pale-browed little New England
Outside of her lessons, had learned that day,
That the sweetness around us will sweeten,
If we will but let it have its way.





[Begun in ite November number.]

TOM said it happened like this.
A dervish was stumping it along through the
desert, on foot, one blazing hot day, and he had
come a thousand miles and was pretty poor, and
hungry, and ornery and tired, and along about
where we are now, he run across a camel-driver
with a hundred camels, and asked him for some
ams. But the camel-driver he asked to be ex-
cused. The dervish says -
Don't you own these camels? "
"Yes, they 're mine."
"Are you in debt ? "
"Who-me? No."
"Well, a man that owns a hundred camels
and ain't in debt, is rich -and not only rich,
but very rich. Ain't it so ? "
The camel-driver owned up that it was so.
Then the dervish says -
"Allah has made you rich, and He has
made me poor. He has His reasons, and they
are wise, blessed be His name. But He has
willed that His rich shall help His poor, and
you have turned away from me, your brother,
in my need, and He will remember this, and
you will lose by it."
That made the camel-driver feel shaky, but
all the same he was born hungry after money
and did n't like to let go a cent, so he begun to
whine and explain, and said times was hard,
and although he had took a full freight down
to Balsora and got a fat rate for it, he could n't
git no return freight, and so he war n't making
no great things out of his trip. So the dervish
starts along again, and says -
"All right, if you want to take the risk, but
I reckon you 've made a mistake this time, and
missed a chance."
Of course the camel-driver wanted to know
what kind of a chance he had missed, because

maybe there was money in it; so he run after
the dervish and begged him so hard and
earnest to take pity on him and tell him, that
at last the dervish give in, and says -
Do you see that hill yonder ? Well, in that
hill is all the treasures of the earth, and I was
looking around for a man with a particular good
kind heart and a noble generous disposition,
because if I could find just that man, I 've got
a kind of salve I could put on his eyes and he
could see the treasures and get them out."
So then the camel-driver was in a state; and
he cried, and begged, and took on, and went
down on his knees, and said he was just that
kind of a man, and said he could fetch a thou-
sand people that would say he was n't ever
described so exact before.
"Well, then," says the dervish, "all right.
If we load the hundred camels, can I have
half of them?"
The driver was so glad he could n't hardly
hold in, and says-
Now you 're shouting."
So they shook hands on the bargain, and
the dervish got out his box and rubbed the
salve on the driver's right eye, and the hill
opened and he went in, and there, sure enough,
was piles and piles of gold and jewels sparkling
like all the stars in heaven had fell down.
So him and the dervish laid into it and they
loaded every camel till he could n't carry no
more, then they said good-by, and each of them
started off with his fifty. But pretty soon the
camel-driver came a-running and overtook the
dervish and says-
"You ain't in society, you know, and you
don't really need all you 've got. Won't you
be good, and let me have ten of your camels?"
Well," the dervish says, I don't know but
what you say is reasonable enough."
So he done it, and they separated and the
dervish started off again with his forty. But


pretty soon here comes the camel-driver bawl- a lot more things that 's valuable. Come-
ing after him again, and whines and whimpers please put it on."
around and begs another ten off of him, saying The dervish says--
thirty camel-loads of treasures was enough to I was n't keeping anything back from you.
see a dervish through, because they live very I don't mind telling you what would happen if
simple, you know, and don't keep house but I put it on. You 'd never see again. You 'd
board around and give their note. be stone blind the rest of your days."
But that war n't the
end, yet. That camel-
driver kept coming
and coming till he
had begged back all
the camels and had
the whole hundred.
Then he was satisfied,
and ever so grateful,
and said he would n't
ever forgit the dervish
as long as he lived,
and nobody had n't
ever been so good to
him before, and lib-
eral. So they shook
hands good-by, and
separated and started
off again.
But do you know,
it war n't ten minutes
till the camel-driver
was unsatisfied again
- he was the low-
downest reptyle in
seven counties -and
he come a-running
again. And this time
the thing he wanted
was to get the dervish
to rub some of the
salve on his other eye.
Why ?" said the
Oh, you know,"
says the driver.
Know what ? "says
Says the driver -
"Well, you can't fool me. You 're trying to But do you know, that beat would n't believe
keep back something from me, you know it him. No, he begged and begged, and whined
mighty well. You know, I reckon, that if I and cried, till at last the dervish opened his
had the salve on the other eye I could see box and told him to put it on, if he wanted to.



So the man done it, and sure enough he was as
blind as a bat, in a minute.
Then the dervish laughed at him and mocked
at him and made fun of him; and says -
Good-by--a man that 's blind hain't got
no use for jewelry."
And he cleared out with the hundred camels,
and left that man to wander around poor and
miserable and friendless the rest of his days in
the desert.
Jim said he 'd bet it was a lesson to him.
"Yes," Tom says, "and like a considerable
many lessons a body gets. They ain't no ac-
count, because the thing don't ever happen the
same way again-and can't. The time Hen
Scovil fell down the chimbly and crippled his
back for life, everybody said it would be a
lesson to him. What kind of a lesson? How
was he going to use it? He could n't climb
-chimblies no more, and he had n't no more
backs to break."
"All de same, Mars Tom," Jim said,
""dey is sich a thing as learning' by expe'ence.
De Good Book say de burnt chile shun de
"Well, I ain't denying that a thing 's a les-
son if it's a thing that can happen twice just
the same way. There 's lots of such things,
and they educate a person, that 's what Uncle
Abner always said; but there 's forty million
lots of the other kind-the kind that don't
happen the same way twice-and they ain't
no real use, they ain't no more instructive than
the smallpox. When you 've got it, it ain't
no good to find out you ought to been vacci-
nated, and it ain't no good to get vaccinated
.afterwards, because the smallpox don't come
but once. But on the other hand Uncle Abner
:said that a person that had took a bull by the
tail once had learnt sixty or seventy times as
much as a person that had n't, and said a per-
son that started in to carry a cat home by the
tail was getting knowledge that was always go-
ing to be useful to him, and war n't ever going
to grow dim or doubtful. But I can just tell
you, Jim, Uncle Abner was down on them
people that 's all the time trying to dig a les-
son out of everything that happens, no matter
But Jim was asleep. Tom looked kind of

ashamed, because you know a person always
feels bad when he is talking uncommon fine
and thinks the other person is admiring, and
that other person goes to sleep that way. Of
course he ought n't to go to sleep, because it 's
shabby; but the finer a person talks the cer-
tainer it is to make you sleep, and so when you
come to look at it it ain't nobody's fault in par-
ticular, both of them 's to blame.
Jim begun to snore -soft and easy-like, at
first, then a long rasp, then a stronger one,
then a half a dozen horrible ones like the last
water sucking down the plug-hole of a bath-
tub, then the same with more power to it. And
when the person has got to that point he is at
his level best, and can wake up a man in the
next block, but can't wake himself up although
all that awful noise of his'n ain't but three inches
from his own ears. And that is the curiosest
thing in the world, seems to me. But you
rake a match to light the candle, and that little
bit of a noise will fetch him. .I wish I knowed
what was the reason of that, but there don't
seem to be no way to find out. Now there
was Jim alarming the whole Desert, and yank-
ing the animals out for miles and miles around,
to see what in the nation was going on up
there; there war n't nobody nor nothing that
was as close to the noise as he was, and yet he
was the only cretur that was n't anyways dis-
turbed by it.
We yelled at him and whooped at him, it
never done no good, but the first time there
come a little wee noise that was n't of a usual
kind it woke him up. No, sir, I 've thought
it all over, and so has Tom, and there ain't no
way to find out why a snorer can't hear him-
self snore.
Jim said he had n't been asleep, he just shut
his eyes so he could listen better.
Tom said nobody war n't accusing him.
That made him look like he wished he had n't
said anything. And he wanted to git away
from the subject, I reckon, because he begun
to abuse the camel-driver, just the way a per-
son does when he has got catched in some-
thing and wants to take it out of somebody
else. He let into the camel-driver the hardest
he knowed how, and I had to agree with him;
and he praised up the dervish the highest he



could, and I had to agree with him there, too.
But Tom says-
"I ain't so sure. You call that dervish so
dreadful liberal and good and unselfish, but I
don't quite see it. He did n't hunt up another
poor dervish, did he? No, he did n't. If he
was so unselfish, why did n't he go in there
himself and take a pocket-full of jewels and go
along and be satisfied ? No, sir, the person he
was hunting for was a man with a hundred
camels. He wanted to get away with all the
treasure he could."
"Why, Mars Tom, the dervish was willing' to
divide, fair and square; he only struck for fifty
"Because he knowed how he was going to
get all of them by and by."
"Mars Tom, he tole de man de truck would
make him blind."
"Yes, because he knowed the man's char-
acter. It was just the kind of a man he was
hunting for-a man that never believes in any-
body's word or anybody's honorableness, be-
cause he ain't got none of his own. I reckon
there 's lots of people like that dervish. They
swindle right and left, but they always make
the other person seem to swindle himself. They
keep inside of the letter of the law all the time,
and there ain't no way to git hold of them.
They don't put the salve on-oh, no, that
would be sin; but they know how to fool you
into putting it on, then it 's you that blinds
yourself. I reckon the dervish and the camel-
driver was just a pair-a fine, smart, brainy
rascal, and a dull, coarse, ignorant one, but
both of them rascals, just the same."
Mars Tom, does you reckon dey 's any o'
dat kind o' salve in de world' now ?"
"Yes, Uncle Abner says there is. He says
they 've got it in New York, and they put it on
country people's eyes and show them all the
railroads in the world, and they go in and get
them, and then when they rub the salve on the
other eye the other man bids them good-by
and goes off with their railroads. Here 's the
treasure-hill, now. Lower away!"
We landed, but it war n't as interesting as
I thought it was going to be, because we
could n't find the place where they went in to
git the treasure. Still, it was plenty interesting

enough, just to see the mere hill itself where
such a wonderful thing happened. Jim said he
would n't a-missed it for three dollars, and I
felt the same way.
And to me and Jim, as wonderful a thing
as any was the way Tom could come into a
strange big country like this and go straight
and find a little hump like that and tell it in a
minute from a million other humps that was
almost just like it, and nothing to help him but
only his own learning and his own natural
smartness. We talked and talked it over toge-
ther, but could n't make out how he done it.
He had the best head on him I ever see; and
all he lacked was age, to make a name for him-
self equal to Captain Kidd or George Wash-
ington. I bet you it would a-crowded either
of them to find that hill, with all their gifts, but
it war n't nothing to Tom Sawyer; he went
clear across the Sahara and put his finger right
on it.
We found a pond of salt water close by and
scraped up a raft of salt around the edges and
loaded up the lion's skin and the tiger's so as
they would keep till Jim could tan them.


WE went a-fooling along for a day or two,
and then just as the full moon was touching the
ground on the other side of the Desert, we see
a string of little black figgers moving across its
big silver face. You could see them as plain as
if they was painted on the moon with ink. It
was another caravan. We cooled down our
speed and tagged along after it, just to have
company, though it war n't going our way. It
was a rattler, that caravan, and a mighty fine
sight to look at, next morning when the sun
come a-streaming across the Desert and flung
the long shadders of the camels on the gold
sand like a thousand grand-daddy-longlegses
marching in procession. We never went very
near it, because we knowed better, now, than
to act like that and scare people's camels and
break up their caravans. It was the gayest
outfit you ever see, for rich clothes and nobby
style. Some of the chiefs rode on dromedaries,
the first we ever see, and very tall, and they go
plunging along like they was on stilts, and they



rock the man that is on them pretty violent and
stir him up considerable, I bet you; but they
make noble good time and a camel ain't no-
wheres with them for speed.
The caravan camped, during the middle part
of the day, and
then started
again about the
middle of the
afternoon. Be-
fore long the
sun begun to
look very curi-
ous. First it
kind of turned
to brass, and
then to copper,
and after that
it begun to
look like a
blood red ball,
and the air got
hot and close,
and pretty soon
all the sky in
the west dark-
ened up and
looked thick
and foggy, but
fiery and dread-
ful like it looks
through a piece
df red glass,
you know. We
looked down
and see a big
confusion go-
ing on in the
caravan and a
rushing every
which way like
and then they .
all flopped
down flat in
the sand and laid there perfectly still.
Pretty soon we see something coming that
stood up like an amazing wide wall, and
reached from the Desert up into the sky and
hid the sun, and it was coming like the nation,

too. Then a little faint breeze struck us, and
then it come harder, and grains of sand begun
to sift against our faces and sting like fire, and
Tom sung out-
"It's a sand-storm-turn your backs to it!"


We done it, and in another minute it was
blowing a gale and the sand beat against us
by the shovel-full, and the air was so thick with
it we could n't see a thing. In five minutes
the boat was level full and we was setting on




the lockers, all of us buried up to the chin in
sand and only our heads out and we could
hardly breathe.
Then the storm thinned, and we see that
monstrous wall go a-sailing off across the Desert,
awful to look at, I tell you. We dug ourselves
out and looked down, and where the caravan
was before, there was n't anything but just the
sand ocean, now, and all still and quiet. All
them people and camels was smothered and
dead and buried--buried under ten foot of
sand, we reckoned, and Tom allowed it might
be years before the wind uncovered them, and
all that time their friends would n't ever know
what become of that caravan.
Tom said -
Now we know what it was that happened
to the people we got the swords and pistols
Yes, sir, that was just it. It was as plain as
day, now. They got buried in a sand-storm,
and the wild animals could n't get at them, and
the wind never uncovered them again till they
was dried to leather. It seemed to me we
had felt as sorry for them poor people as a
person could for anybody, and as mournful, too,
but we was mistaken; this last caravan's death
went harder with us, a good deal harder. You
see, others was total strangers, and we never
got really acquainted with them at all. But
it was different with this last caravan. We
was huvvering around them a whole night and
most a whole day, and had got to feeling real
friendly with them, and acquainted. I have
found out that there ain't no surer way to find
out whether you like people or hate them, than
to travel with them. Just so with these. We
kind of liked them from the start, and traveling
with them put on the finisher. The longer we
traveled with them, and the more we got used
to their ways, the better and better we liked
them and the gladder and gladder we was that
we run across them. We had come to know
some of them so well that we called them by
name when we was talking about them, and
soon got so familiar and sociable that we even
dropped the Miss and the Mister and just used
their plain names without any handle, and it
did not seem unpolite, but just the right thing.
Of course it was n't their own names, but names

we give them. There was Mr. Elexander Rob-
inson and Miss Adaline Robinson, and Colonel
Jacob McDougal, and Miss Harryet McDougal,
and Judge Jeremiah Butler, and young Bushrod
Butler, and these was big chiefs, mostly, that
wore splendid great turbans and simmeters, and
dressed like the Grand Mogul, and their fami-
lies. But as soon as we come to know them
good, and like them very much, it war n't Mis-
ter, nor Judge, nor nothing, any more, but only
Elleck, and Addy, and Jake, and Hattie, and
Jerry, and Buck, and so on.
And you know, the more you join in with
people in their joys and their sorrows, the more
nearer and dearer they come to be to you.
Now we war n't cold and indifferent, the way
most travelers is, we was right down friendly
and sociable, and took a chance in everything
that was going, and the caravan could depend
on us to be on hand every time, it did n't make
no difference what it was.
When they camped, we camped right over
them, ten or twelve hundred foot up in the
air. When they et a meal, we et- ourn, and it
made it ever so much homeliker to have their
company. When they had a wedding, that
night, and Buck and Addy got married, we
got ourselves up in the very starchiest of the
Professor's duds for the blow-out, and when
they danced we jined in and shook a foot up
But it is sorrow and trouble that brings you
the nearest, and it was a funeral that done it
with us. It was next morning, just in the still
dawn. We did n't know the diseased, but that
never made no- difference, he belonged to the
caravan, and that was enough.
Yes, parting with this caravan was much
more bitterer than it was to part with them
others, which was comparative strangers, and
been dead so long, anyway. We had knowed
these in their lives, and was fond of them, too,
and now to have 'em snatched from right
before our faces whilst we was looking, and
leave us so lonesome and friendless in the mid-
dle of that big Desert, it did hurt us.
We could n't keep from talking about them,
and they was all the time coming up in our
memory, and looking just the way they looked
when we was all alive and happy together.


We could see the line marching, and the shiny
spear-heads a-winking in the sun, we could see
the dromedaries lumbering along, we could see
the wedding and the funeral, and more oftener
than anything else we could see them praying,
because they don't allow nothing to prevent
that; whenever the call come, several times a
day, they would stop right there, and stand up
and face to the east, and lift back their heads,
and spread out their arms and begin, and four

ing a little cheerfuller, and had had a most
powerful good sleep, because sand is the com-
fortablest bed there is, and I don't see why peo-
ple that can afford it don't have it more. And
it 's terrible good ballast, too; I never see the
balloon so steady before.
Tom allowed we had twenty tons of it, and
wondered what we better do with it; it was
good sand, and it did n't seem good sense to
throw it away. Jim says -


or five times they would go down on their
knees, and then fall forwards and touch their
forehead to the ground.
Well, it war n't good to go on talking about
them, because it did n't do no good, and made
us too downhearted.
When we woke up next morning we was feel-

"Mars Tom, can't we tote it back home en
sell it ? How long '11 it take ? "
Depends on the way we go."
"Well, sah, she 's wuth a quarter of a dollar
a load, at home, en I reckon we 's got as much
as twenty loads, hain't we ? How much would
dat be ? "




Five dollars."
"By jings, Mars Tom, le's
shove for home right on de
spot! Hit 's more 'n a dollar
en a half apiece, hain't it ?"
"Well, ef dat ain't making'
money de easiest ever I struck!
She jes' rained in- never cos' f
us a lick o' work. Le's mosey
right along, Mars Tom."
But Tom was thinking and
ciphering away so busy and
excited he never heard him.
Pretty soon he says -
"Five dollars-sho! Look '
here, this sand 's worth-worth
-why, it 's worth no end of
How is dat, Mars Tom ?
Go on, honey, go on!"
"Well, the minute people
knows its genuwyne sand from
the genuwyne Desert of Sahara,
they '11 just be in a perfect state
of mind to git hold of some of
it to keep on the whatnot in a
vial with a label on it for a
curiosity. All we got to do is,
to put it up in vials and float
around all over the United
States and peddle them out at
ten cents apiece. We 've got "WHEN THE
all of ten thousand dollars' worth of sand
in this boat."
Me and Jim went all to pieces with joy, and
began to' shout whoopjamboreehoo, and Tom
"And we can keep on coming back and
fetching sand, and coming back and fetching
more sand, and just keep it going till we 've
carted this whole Desert over there and sold
it out; and there ain't ever going to be any
opposition, either, because we '11 take out a
"My goodness," I says, we '11 be as rich
as Creosote, won't we, Tom?"
Yes,- Creesus, you mean. Why, that der-
vish was hunting in that little hill for the trea-
sures of the earth, and did n't know he was

walking over the real ones for a thousand
miles. He was blinder than he made the
Mars Tom, how much is we gwyne to be
worth ? "
Well, I don't know, yet. It 's got to be
ciphered, and it ain't the easiest job to do,
either, because it 's over four million square
miles of sand at ten cents a vial."
Jim was awful excited, but this faded it out
considerable, and he shook his head and says-
Mars Tom, we can't 'ford all dem vials-
a king could n't. We better not try to take de
whole Desert, Mars Tom, de vials gwyne to
bust us, sho'."
Tom's excitement died out, too, now, and I
reckoned it was on account of the vials, but it



was n't. He set there thinking, and got bluer
and bluer, and at last he says-
"Boys, it won't work; we got to give it up."
"Why, Tom ? "
On account of the duties."
I could n't make nothing out of that, neither
could Jim. I says -
"What is our duty, Tom ? Because, if we
can't git around it, why can't we just do it?
People often has to."
But he says-
Oh, it ain't that kind of duty. The kind I
mean is a tax. Whenever you strike a fron-
tier-that 's the border of a country, you
know-you find a custom-house there, and
the gov'ment officers comes and rummages
amongst your things and charges a big tax,
which they call a duty because it 's their duty
to bust you if they can, and if you don't pay
the duty they '11 take your sand. They call
it confiscating. Now if we try to carry this
sand home the way we 're pointed now, we
got to climb fences till we git tired -just fron-
tier after frontier-Egypt, Arabia, Hindostan,
and so on, and they '11 all whack on a duty,
and so you see, easy enough, we can't go that
Why, Tom," I says, we can sail right
over their old frontiers; how are they going to
stop us ? "
He looked sorrowful at me, and says, very
"Huck Finn, do you think that would be
honest ? "
I hate them kind of interruptions. But I said
nothing I did n't feel no more interest in such
things, as long as we could n't git our sand
through, and it made me low-spirited, and Jim
the same. Tom he tried to cheer us up by say-
ing he would think up another speculation for
us that would be just as good as this one and
better, but it did n't do no good, we did n't
believe there was any as big as this. It was
mighty hard; such a little while ago we was so
rich, and could 'a' bought a country and started
a kingdom and been celebrated and happy, and
now we was so poor and ornery again, and had
our sand left on our hands. The sand was
looking so lovely, before, just like gold and di'-
monds, and the feel of it was so soft and so

silky and nice, but now I could n't bear the
sight of it, it made me sick to look at it, and I
knowed I would n't ever feel comfortable again
till we got shut of it, and I did n't have it there
no more to remind us of what we had been
and what we had got degraded down to. The
others was feeling the same way about it that I
was. I knowed it, because they cheered up so
the minute I says Le's throw this truck over-
Well, it was going to be work, you know, and
pretty solid work, too; so Tom he divided it up
according to fairness and strength. He said
me and him would clear out a fifth apiece, of
the sand, and Jim three fifths. Jim he did n't
quite like that arrangement. He says-
"'Course I 's de strongest en I 's willing' to
do a share according but by jings you 's kinder
pilin' it onto ole Jim this time, Mars Tom,
hain't you?"
"Well, I did n't think so, Jim, but you try
your hand at fixing it, and let 's see."
So Jim he reckoned it would n't be no more
than fair if me and Tom done a tenth apiece.
Tom he turned his back to git room and be
private, and then he smole a smile that spread
around and covered the whole Sahara to the
westward, back to the Atlantic edge of it where
we come from. Then he turned around again
and said it was a good enough arrangement,
and we was satisfied if Jim was. Jim said he
So then Tom measured off our two tenths in
the bow and left the rest for Jim, and it sur-
prised Jim a good deal to see how much differ-
ence there was and what a raging lot of sand
his share come to, an' he said he was powerful
glad, now, that he had spoke up in time and
got the first arrangement altered, for he said
that even the way it was now, there was more
sand than enjoyment in his end of the contract,
he believed.
Then we laid into it. It was mighty hot
work, and tough; so hot we had to move up
into cooler weather or we could n't 'a' stood it.
Me and Tom took turn about, and one worked
while t' other rested, but there war n't nobody
to spell poor old Jim. We could n't work good,
we was so full of laugh, and Jim he kept fretting
and fuming and wanting to know what tickled



us so, and we had to keep making up things to spelled him,.and he was as thankful as he could
account for it, and they was pretty poor inven- be, and would set on the gunnel and heave
tions, but they done well enough, Jim did n't and pant, and say how good we was to him,
see through them. At last when we got done and he would n't ever forgit us. He was
we was most dead, but not with work but with always the gratefulest feller I ever see, for any
laughing. By and by Jim was most dead too, little thing you done' for him. He was only
but it was with work; then we took turns and black outside; inside he was as white as you be.
(To be continued.)


" I AM sorry," said their teacher,
" To keep you, Tom and Joe;
I do not like to punish you,
Because it grieves me so."
But hopeful Tommy whispered
To naughty little Joe,
" If she 's so very sorry,
Maybe she 'll let us go!"
Agnes Lewis fitchill.

0 MARCH wind, blow with all your might!
Set disordered things aright.
Rustle every dry leaf down;
Chase the cold all out of town;
Sweep the streets quite free of dust;
Blow it off with many a gust.
Make the earth all clean again,
And ready for the April rain.
Thomas Tapper.

VOL. XXI.-51.

29c is~u~aae


JOSEPH BORUWLASKI, usually called Count
Boruwlaski, was a dainty little mite of a man
born a century and a half ago in Polish Russia.
He was very tiny, very sweet-tempered and
charming, and the beauties of his mind and
person were known and admired in nearly every
court in Europe; for he was a great traveler,
and lived to be nearly one hundred years old.
He was just two years older than the French
dwarf, B6b6, and, like the latter, he measured
about eight inches at the time of his birth.
Fancy a baby that could lie extended on a page
of ST. NICHOLAS, and leave two spare inches to
tuck in at his feet!
Notwithstanding Joseph's diminutive size,
he was neither weak nor puny; he learned
to talk and to walk at the same age as other
infants, and his mother declared that in his in-
fancy he gave her as little trouble as any of her
six children.
He had five brothers, some short and some
tall, and one sister, Anastasia. She was very,
very tiny; so short, indeed, that she could
stand erect under the little Count's arm. She
was a perfect model of symmetry and beauty,
with a lively, cheerful temper, and a kind, be-
nevolent heart.
When Joseph was scarcely eight years old
his father died, leaving the widow and six chil-
dren very poorly provided for. The little
Count, who was often called "Jotujou" (toy) in
the early days, went to live with a rich lady, a
friend of his mother's. He remained with this
kind benefactress for four years, and although
he measured only twenty-one inches at this

time, his progress in his various studies was not
in proportion to his stature. He was remark-
ably intelligent, and so amiable and vivacious
that he became a general favorite with every-
body. On a certain Countess Humieska he
made so strong an impression that she was ex-
tremely desirous to have Joujou attached to her
household. His first benefactress was not willing
to give him up, but after a good deal of talking
and pleading, Joujou went to reside with the
Countess. Six months after, when this lady
started on a tour through France and Germany,
she resolved to make Joseph the companion
of her travels. At Vienna, the little Count, who
was now just fifteen years old and twenty-five
inches tall, was presented to Maria Theresa,
Empress-Queen of Austria. This august lady
had a great fancy for dwarfs, and several were
attached to her court, according to the fashion
of the time;- but she declared that Joseph was
one of the most astonishing dwarfs she had
ever beheld. His witty remarks and quick
answers to questions delighted her, and his
dancing and other accomplishments filled her
with wonder.
At this time Austria and Prussia were at war,
and one day, when some courtiers compli-
mented the Empress on a recent Austrian vic-
tory, she turned to Joseph, who happened to
be in the room, and asked him what he thought
of the Prussian monarch.
"Madam," replied he, "I have not the
honor to know him; but were I in his place,
instead of waging a useless war against you
I would come to Vienna and pay my respects
to you, deeming it a thousand times more
glorious to gain your esteem and friendship


than to obtain the most complete victories over
your troops."
. This long speech from such a small person
pleased the Empress so highly that she caught
the manikin up beside her, and covered him
with caresses. Indeed, the little Count's dig-
nity frequently suffered from the amount of
handling and dandling to which he was com-
pelled to submit, but he bore his trials with
patience, and always had an amiable reply
ready for any question.
While he was still at the A.iu.riirn court,
the Empress desired him to: perfi:rni a Pc.lsh
dance. This he executed .itIh ur -l

the tiny finger of the Count, where it fitted to
perfection. Boruwlaski was delighted, but the
little girl was perhaps not so well pleased.
Poor child! she was then the Princess Marie
Antoinette, daughter of Maria Theresa; but
afterward she became the beautiful and unfor-
tunate Queen of France, and perished upon the
scaffold many years before the death of Boruw-

I -- .--- -' -.. "-

that Maria Theresa, as ___ __'"
usual, was delighted.
Boruwlaski's little
hand being acciden-
tally in that of the ':
Empress, she noticed
that he was appar-
ently looking at a

mond ring which she U

Do you think the
ring pretty? she in- -
quired. -'.
"I beg your Ma-
jesty's pardon," re-
plied Boruwlaski, "it -r '
is not the ring I am ... S
looking at, but the ,
hand, which I beseech .-
your permission to .'.'.
kiss"; and he raised -
it to his lips.d h

been the immediate .coo- OMAN OLD PRINT.)
This speech pleased
her Majesty so much
that if the ring had -- -
not been entirely too
large it would have ..
been the immediate livcbyX.Coope, (rRON AN OLD PRINT.)
reward of the courtly ( T 0 O) .a S,
reply. At this moment
a very charming little ///>^
girl, about five years
old, entered the apartment. The Empress called laski. The little Court preserved the jewvel as
the child to her side, and, taking from her baby- long as he lived.
hand an exquisitely jeweled ring, placed it on Boruwlaski and his kind benefactress re-



mained at Vienna for six months, during which
the happy little dwarf pursued his studies and
took lessons in dancing from the court dancing-
master. From Vienna they went to Munich,
and thence to Lun6ville, where Boruwlaski
made the acquaintance of King Stanislaus's
famous dwarf, B6b6. The two midgets must
have been a quaint pair, but the story of their
meeting, of the quarrel, and of B6b&'s attack
upon his guest, are more properly narrated
in the less eventful life of the French dwarf.*
From Lun6ville the Countess, with her charge,
proceeded to Paris, where Boruwlaski became
a great favorite with the royal family and the
court. The Queen, being a native of Poland,
was particularly kind to her little country-
man, and it is a wonder that Joseph's small
head was not turned by all the flattery and
admiration he received. He never showed any
vanity, but on the contrary seemed to feel
afraid that people would consider him as only
a plaything or a toy; and he never exhibited
any passion or ill-nature. He liked to be
treated with decorum, but did not take offense
at those who made free with him on account
of his small size. He remained in Paris more
than a year, and, although he was a favored
guest at many entertainments, he still found
time to pursue his studies. He took music les-
sons and learned to play the guitar from the
most famous master of the day; and all these
accomplishments he found very useful when in
after life he was called upon to support, not
only himself, but a wife and family as well.
During his stay in the French capital, M.
Bouret, a celebrated government official, gave
a grand entertainment in honor of the little
Count. Everything was done to show that the
banquet was intended for Boruwlaski. There
were tiny plates made, proportionate to the size
of the wee guest; and the knives, forks, spoons,
and dishes were on the same small scale. The
food consisted of very diminutive things, and
the roasts were ortolans and beccaficos-ex-
tremely rare and delicate little fowls, even
smaller than our own reed-birds. Boruwlaski
probably enjoyed the feast, although he was
always very temperate in his eating, and drank
nothing but water.
After leaving Paris, the travelers passed a

short time in Holland, and returned to Warsaw,
where they settled. Here little Count Joseph
was much pleased to find that he had ceased
to be an object of curiosity, and that his friends
gathered about him to listen to his entertaining
conversation rather than to view a wonder of
nature. He was now about twenty-five years
old, and had attained his greatest stature, thirty-
five inches.
At this time, he received the sad news of the
death of his sister, Anastasia. She had been
under the care and protection of a Polish gen-
tlewoman who was very rich and very fond of
the little lady.
Indeed, when Anastasia fell ill, and died
after two days' illness, her patroness was so
much affected that for a time her life was in
danger, and Anastasia's name could not be
mentioned in her hearing; nor was Joseph per-
mitted to visit her lest his presence might
revive her grief.
Stanislaus II. had now ascended the throne
of Poland, and he took a great fancy to the
dwarf and showed him many favors; while the
Countess Humieska, who was really very fond
of him, continued to care for Boruwlaski's needs.
But, alas! at the age of forty, Joseph's tender
little heart was deeply touched by the beauty
of a young lady in the Countess's household.
Her name was Isalina Barboutan, and at first
she laughed at all Boruwlaski's attentions and
offers of marriage. The Countess remonstrated
with him and tried to bring him to reason, but
he paid no attention to her advice. As he
still continued obstinate, she finally ordered
him to leave the house, and she also sent
Isalina away.
Finding himself turned out into the cold
world without money or occupation, the little
Count was much distressed. He appealed for
help to the King's brother, and still kept up his
attentions to the fair Isalina. The King at last
was pleased to approve of the match, and the
young lady consented to marry him. His Ma-
jesty gave the bridegroom one hundred ducats
a year, but this was not enough to support him-
self and wife. Some of his friends suggested
that a second visit to the courts of Europe
would help to fill his purse. The King had a
fine traveling-carriage made for Boruwlaski, and

* See ST. NICHOLAS for November, 1893.




the dwarf and his wife set out on their travels
in November, 1780. When they arrived at Vi-
enna, Boruwlaski found, to his great sorrow,
that his former friend and patroness, Maria
Theresa, had just died; but he made the ac-
quaintance of an English gentleman who urged
him to visit England. After giving a grand
concert in Vienna, which was attended by all
the nobility, he left that city, provided with
letters of introduction to nearly all the Euro-
pean courts.
In Hungary, he gave another concert, for
which the son-in-law of the Prime Minister,
Prince Kaunitz, lent his band of musicians.
During the concert, the prince's little grand-
daughter, about six years of age, never took
her eyes off Boruwlaski, and, when the music
stopped, she ran to her father and begged him
to buy the little man for her!
After Hungary, he visited several German
courts, where he was well received, and then,
contrary to the advice of his best friends, he
resolved to make a tour to some of the most
uncivilized countries. Considering that his ob-
ject was to earn money, and that he did not
travel for amusement, he seems to have chosen
a singularly inappropriate route. He jour-
neyed into Turkey, Arabia, Syria, Astrakhan,
Finland, and Lapland; but he frequently had
reason to repent his obstinacy, and he afterward
confessed he was more than once badly fright-
ened by the unrestrained curiosity of the natives.
On one occasion a large number of savages
surrounded the hut occupied, by the small
musician and ordered him, in language more
forcible than polite, to come forth. Boruwlaski
was filled with consternation, not knowing what
they might want with him; but he concluded
to obey the command. As soon as he ap-
peared, they ceased their chattering, came close
to him, examined him attentively with admira-
tion expressed in all their gestures, and finally,
"thanked the sun for showing them such a
Boruwlaski was so relieved and overjoyed to
perceive they meant no harm that he played
them a tune on his guitar, and the enraptured
listeners returned the compliment by present-
ing to him some valuable sables. With these
furs and some other gifts, but with very little

money, he at last, after many troubles and
disappointments, managed to reach the more
hospitable shores of old England. While cross-
ing from Ostend to Margate, however, he nar-
rowly escaped shipwreck, and was four days
on the angry Channel, where his ship was dis-
masted in the gale. In London his earliest
patrons were the Duke and Duchess of Devon-
shire. They were very kind to this little stranger
who could scarcely speak any English. Indeed,
at this time the Count had many troubles.
A short time after his arrival in London, an
enormous giant, over eight feet high, likewise
visited the city. Being desirous of seeing the
two together, the Duke and Duchess took Jo-
seph with them to call on the big man. Each
was very much surprised at the other's appear-
ance. The giant stood quite motionless view-
ing the tiny being with looks of astonishment,
while Boruwlaski gazed up at the tall man in
wonder, if not in.awe. At last, the giant, stoop-
ing very low, presented his hand, which would
have held at least a dozen of Boruwlaski's,
remarking, as he did so, that extremes had
evidently met.
Boruwlaski was presented to the Prince of
Wales, afterward George IV., and, on May 23,
1782, appeared before the King and Queen and
other members of the royal family.
All this time, however, he was in constant
trouble, finding it very hard to provide for the
support of his family. It was very painful to
him to be obliged to exhibit himself as a dwarf,
but he dearly loved his wife and child, and,
rather than see them suffer, he commenced giv-
ing concerts and exhibitions, traveling through
England and Ireland, visiting the large cities.
This tour lasted for three years, when the
Count again returned to London, in 1786. On
his way he stopped at several provincial cities,
among them Leeds, where a market woman,
with a large, portly figure, said to him that there
was no hope of his ever getting to heaven.
Boruwlaski retorted that if the gate of heaven
was narrow he thought he stood a better chance
than she.
In London he resumed his concerts and
exhibitions, but it was very hard work for him
to earn enough to live upon. At last a Polish
princess, hearing of his troubles, paid his debts



and freed his mind from care. He now began
to write the history of his life. It was published
in 1788, and is entitled "The Memoirs of Jo-
seph Boruwlaski, the Celebrated Polish Dwarf."
In 1792 he visited his native country; but he
soon returned to England, where his exhibitions
became more successful, and in a few years he
retired, and passed the closing years of his life
in ease and comfort. Near the end of the last
century, he was persuaded by some officials in
charge of Durham Cathedral, on their promise
to allow him a good income, to take up his resi-
dence for life in Bank's Cottage," near Durham.
Boruwlaski was anxious to present a copy of
his book to King George IV., whom he had
formerly known as Prince of Wales; so, in July,
1821, just before the coronation, he was intro-
duced at Carlton House by Mathews, the cele-
brated actor. His Majesty treated his two
visitors, the old Polish dwarf and the player,
with great kindness. On entering the royal
apartment the King raised the little Count in
his arms, and embracing him, said, My'dear
old friend, how delighted I am to see you! "
Then he placed Boruwlaski on the sofa beside
him. The little man did not consider he was
occupying a suitable position, so he'sprang
down with the agility of a school-boy and bowed
himself at the King's feet. This his Majesty
would not permit, and again raised him to the
sofa. When the Count said something about
sitting in the presence of his sovereign, he was
graciously told to consider for the time that
there was no sovereign there.
In the course of conversation the Count ad-
dressed the King in French, but his Majesty
informed his visitor that his English was so
good it was quite unnecessary to speak in any
other language. It seems that Boruwlaski's
broken English was quite fascinating.
After a slight pause the King remarked,
"But, Count, you were married when I knew
you. I hope Lady Boruwlaski is still alive and
as well as yourself."
"Ah, no! Majesty, Isalina die thirty year!
Fine woman! Sweet beauty! You have no
idea, Majesty."
"I am sorry to hear of her death; it must
have been a great loss to you, Count."

"Dat is very true, Majesty! Indid, indid, it
was great sorrow for me!"
The King next inquired the age of the
Count, and, when he was told, gave a start of
surprise, observing, You are the finest man
of your age I ever saw."
Before the visit was,ended King George
accepted the book the Count presented to
him, and asked Boruwlaski to receive from
him a little case containing a miniature watch,
beautifully studded with jewels, and a superb
chain and seals. As he handed the gift to
Boruwlaski, he held the book in his other hand
and said: "My dear friend, I shall read and
preserve this as long as I live, for your sake,
and in return I request you to wear this for
mine." Then the King said, out of hearing of
the dwarf, I could not point out a more per-
fect model of good breeding and elegance than
the Count. He is really a most accomplished
and charming person." The King took him
aside and conversed with him, even going so
far as to show him his coronation robes, and
little Boruwlaski left Carlton House, overcome
with gratitude for the kindness shown him.
Joseph returned to Bank's Cottage, where
he lived peacefully and quietly till the day of
his death, which occurred on the 5th of Sep-
tember, 1837, when he was ninety-eight years
of age. His remains were placed near those
of Stephen Kemble, in the Chapel of the Nine
Altars in Durham Cathedral, while in a parish
church near by a tablet of white stone bears
an inscription to his memory. So well was he
beloved by the inhabitants of Durham that a
bend in the river Wear, which almost surrounds
the city, is still called the Count's Corner."
One of his little shoes and a glove are now
in the Philosophical Institution in Bristol. The
sole of the shoe measures on the outside five
inches and seven eighths.
The following playful epitaph on Boruwlaski
was published in the Newcastle Journal soon
after his death:
A spirit brave yet gentle dwelt, as it appears,
Within three feet of flesh for near one hundred years;
Which causes wonder, like his constitution strong,
That one so short alive should be alive so long.




ONCE upon a time there was a little goblin,
and also a little bird; and they were great
friends. And the goblin was no bigger than a
pinch, but the bird was as big as a song. And
the goblin said to the bird:
"You live far up among the sunbeams, and
here I am down among the beetles; take me
on your back and let me sit on those clouds."
And the little bird said, With pleasure!"
and he leaned down among the grasses and
let the goblin climb on his back. And the
goblin sat astride of his neck, and took tight
hold of his top-knot, and so they went soaring
up into the blue.
But soon the goblin felt a fierce wind blow-
ing; and he shivered and said: I am cold."
The bird said, Creep in under my feathers."
In a minute the goblin looked down and
was very much afraid. "We are going too
high," he cried; I shall fall, and strike on a'
blade of grass, and be cut in two "
Pooh! said the bird; "we 're not as high
as the tree-tops." And they sailed over the
forest, and the goblin could not speak for fear.
Please, please," he whispered, let me off
on a tree, and I will slide down to the ground,
and never again ask to leave my dear home."
But the bird said, Bother your home You
wanted to sit on the clouds; now keep still
and be happy."
And so the goblin fell to whimpering, and
shut his eyes and hid his head, and held on
with his hands and his feet, and gave up all
hope of ever seeing his home again.

But the bird grew more and more excited as
they swept higher and higher into the wide
blue air. And he forgot all about the goblin,
and all about the trees and the grass, and al-
most all about his mate and his nestlings,
and he opened his mouth and sang so glo-
riously that it seemed as though the sun shone
brighter and the sky grew bluer and the trees
below them fairly danced. But the goblin
grew angry, and he wanted to prick the bird
with his long nails; only, he did not dare.
"You are a mean old thing," he wailed.
" Here you are singing and I am so miserable.
Stop your noise and take me down; you had
no right to bring me to such a place as this."
And the bird said, "Shame on you! Open
your eyes and see how glorious it is! We are
all alone with the sun, with the whole sky for
our kingdom, and the earth far, far away.
How can you long for your hole in the ground,
when you are climbing the clouds and playing
with sunbeams ? Wake up, and be happy "
But the goblin was n't happy at all. "This
is your cloud, is it, that looked so bright and
rosy from my own dear green little world?
I declare, it smells like a fog, and it makes me
sneeze, and I don't like anything up here, and
I shall shut my eyes again-so there! And if
you don't start down I shall hold on to your
wing so it won't move, and you '11 have to drop."
And the bird was very much disgusted in-
deed, and said, I have a mind to pick you off
and drop you. You may be sure that if these
breezes will forgive me for your speeches I will
never trouble them with you again." And so
he sailed softly back to the spot where he found
the goblin, and shook him off, and flew up
with a song.
And the bird and the goblin were never
friends again.




OH, listen well // -
While a tale I tell
Of a poor, unfortunate dolly,
Who wasborn in France
And given by chance
To a sweet little girl named Polly.

ii. _'.^w
A wee little girl
With hair all a-curl,
And dimpled cheeks and '5
When I and she
Took an airing, we
Were the joy of all beholders i
Day after day,
As time passed away,
We 'd nothing to do but keep jolly;
But it could not last,
For she grew so fast,
This dear little girl named Polly!

ti /~


First she was
Eight, nine, ten, eleven,
1 then she was four times three!
She out-grew her crib,
Her apron and bib,
I now-she has out-grown Me !


Forgotten, forlorn,
From night till morn
I 'm left in the play-room corner;
From morn till night
In the same sad plight,
Like a pie-less Little Jack Homer!

And Polly, she
At school must be,
Or else the piano strumming,
While I sit here
Growing old and queer,
Vainly expecting her coming.

With a frozen stare
At the walls I glare,
My mind to the question giving,
If the life of a dolly
Out-grown by Polly
Be really worth the living!


.I 1-

(Thirdhfafer of the series, Quadrufeds of North A merica.")


IF I could only conjure up and place before
you nine family groups representing each of
the nine species of the cat family found in the
United States, I am sure you would feel proud
of our wildcat products. The whole of North
America possesses only one species, the margay
cat, which is not found in the United States.
The Lone Star State furnishes a home for no
fewer than seven feline species. If Scotland is
the land o' cakes," we can match it with
Texas, our land o' cats.
Gather them all together for once, not in
childless pairs, as Noah did, but of each species
an entire family, and .see what a gallant show
they make.
Let us begin at the beginning, and cultivate
the acquaintance of each family group in its
turn, politely and even deferentially; for it will
not do to snub the head of a family which has
knife-like claws and fangs to match.
Now, do not be too much afraid of these
creatures, for none of them are half as fierce
and bloodthirsty as they pretend to be, or as
people generally suppose. There is only one
species in the whole delegation that an ex-
perienced keeper of animals would hesitate to
attack with a club, if the necessity arose. Let
us learn to know animals as they actually are.
Unfortunately most of us are taught from our
earliest childhood to "kill all snakes," and to
be mortally afraid of all wildcats! Both these
precepts are based on ignorance, and often
do serious mischief in causing timid people to
become terribly frightened without the slightest
cause. Now, suppose one of us, armed with
nothing more than a good hickory club, should
meet somewhere in the jungle ten cats repre-
senting the ten different feline species of North
America, I '11 wager that with even that humble
weapon one courageous man could in three
minutes cause the wildest stampede of wildcats
that ever hunted for tall timber since trees were
VOL. XXI.-52. 4c

first made; and the chances are as nine to one
that even the jaguar would run with the rest.
JAGUAR. The lordly Jaguar is the king of
(Fe's on'ca.) all the American Felida, and right
proud are we to have him for a fellow-country-
man,-provided he does not make himself too
numerous Of all the great cats now living,
he is second in size only to the lion and the
Bengal tiger. South of the United States he is
universally called el Tigre (tee'gree), which is
simply the Spanish for tiger. He has the big
chest and loins, thick neck, big arms and legs,
and bullet head of a heavyweight prize-fighter,
clothed in the most gorgeous skin ever given
to any animal of the cat family. He is the
most stocky in build of all the cats, being very
different in shape from the more lithe and flat-
bodied lion, tiger, and puma.
But it is his glorious colors that first attract
the beholder's attention, and hold it longest.
On a ground color of rich golden yellow, which
is darkest on the back and shoulders and grows
paler as it descends to the legs, are arranged
with regular irregularity large rosettes of black
and brown. These rosettes are the prominent
distinguishing character of the Jaguar, by
which any child can recognize him instantly
wherever found. The head, top of the back,
base of the tail, lower joints of the legs, and
the feet are plentifully besprinkled with round
black spots, not rosettes. Ordinarily the eyes
are light yellow, to match the body color; but
when the animal becomes enraged, they turn
the color of green fire, and then it is high time
to get out of the way.
The Jaguar is an edition de luxe, bound in
black and gold.
The northern limit of the Jaguar's range was
once found in southeastern Texas, on the Bra-
zos River. In Texas this animal is commonly
called a leopard. It is found in Mexico, all the
Central American States, and throughout South

Fi .

4IJ :k


_ ', -. -.


Q' ~:ti"-~i


t N'T



~I ~. .-_ ~-1 ~1


America as far as the Rio Negro of Patagonia.
The Jaguar always lies in the densest cover he
can find, and in the tropics is fond of frequent-
ing the vicinity of rivers, whereby he may stalk
and spring upon the tapir and capibara, and
the deer that come to drink. In the grazing
countries he kills cattle and even ponies, and
does not hesitate to drag a yearling calf a quar-
ter of a mile. He is fierce and bloodthirsty
with lower animals, but will not attack his mas-
ter, man, unless really forced to do so in self-
OCELOT, OR Next in beauty comes the Ocelot,
TIGER-CAT. or Tiger-Cat. In point of size it
(FWe'is pr-da'is.) is perhaps a little too large to
make a square meal for the jaguar. In color
markings it is the most changeable cat under
the sun, and "Uncertain as the markings of
an Ocelot" would make a very good pro-
verb. Usually he looks like a small edition
of the jaguar, with rosettes on the body, and
two narrow black stripes running diagonally
downward across each jaw; but every now and
then an individual departs completely from
this color plan by displaying two or three long
and broad horizontal stripes on each side of his
body. These body stripes are each composed
of a middle band of fawn color, which is bor-
dered on each side by a black stripe. But it
seems as if no two specimens are ever marked
alike. I believe the two stripes across the jaw
is the only marking that is constant in all speci-
mens; but even that may play tricks on us in
the next specimen we examine.
The prevailing ground color of the body is
a mixture of gray and brownish yellow, the
former prevailing, so that the Ocelot has, on
the whole, a much colder or whiter tone than
the jaguar. Otherwise than this, it is spotted
on the under parts, legs, and tail very much like
the jaguar. A mounted specimen in the Ameri-
can Museum of Natural History measures thirty
inches in length from nose to tail, the tail is
fourteen and one-half inches long, and the
height at the shoulder is about thirteen inches.
The range of the Ocelot is almost exactly
identical with that of the jaguar, except that it
once extended as far northeast as Arkansas.
It is nowhere a common animal, and I have
spent many weeks in regions where it was well

known to exist, without ever once getting sight
of it. The favorite prey of this fierce-looking
creature is the rabbit and such small creatures,
even birds sometimes, and-least of all desira-
ble prey for him to catch alive-the porcu-
pine, whose quills form a thrilling reminder
of the wearer's untimely end long after his
flesh has gone into Ocelot bone and sinew.
MARGAY, OR is the only other highly-
AMERICAN TIGER-CAT colored cat in North
(Fe'lis t-gri'na), America. It is a little
smaller than the ocelot, and not quite so hand-
some. The legs and feet are spotted in true
leopard fashion, but the shoulders, sides, and
back are plentifully besprinkled with small, ir-
regular rosettes, or else big black blotches,
which on the shoulders are lengthened into
semicircular bands. The ground color is bright
tawny above, and lighter below. The speci-
men in the American Museum of Natural His-
tory, from which the figure shown on page 413
was drawn, measures twenty-four inches in
length of head and body; tail, ten inches;
and height at the shoulder, ten and one-half
inches. Of all the American _Felidce the Margay
Cat approaches nearest to the domestic cat in
temper and habits. In South America, where
it is commonest, it is often tamed, and allowed
the freedom of a house, because of the rats it
exterminates. It is said to make, when caught
young and well treated, a very docile animal.
In its wild state, however, it is death on poultry
and young pigs; and wherever a house stands
at the edge of its jungle home, it makes itself a
great nuisance. I once shot a bold and au-
dacious specimen on the Essequibo River, in
South America, about midday, as it was in the
very act of carrying off a duckling from a spot
within thirty yards of the house.
The home of the Margay Cat is in the
heavy, low-lying forests of tropical America,
from the State of Vera Cruz in Mexico, south-
ward through the whole of Central and South
America to Paraguay. Even hunters seldom
see it save along the margins of watercourses, a
very favorite resort for forest-dwellers generally.
PUMA. We come now to the American
(Fe'icon-sco'-or.) story-writer's best friend, his chief
pet, his reliance in every emergency,--the Puma,
or Cougar, also known as the Panther, Mountain


IF; 7

.- -. I..

Lion, California Lion, Plain Lion, Painter, Cata- ling stories of adventure, that have been writ-
mount, and-almost anything else you please. ten and published about the Puma, were to be
Let me give him one more name, and call him collected and placed end to end, they would
the Story Lion! Owing to his size, agility, reach a good part of the way from Buffalo to
alleged fierceness, and very wide geographical New York. I have even contributed one small
distribution, he is the story-teller's animal par story to the grand collection myself, so I know
excellence. I venture to say that if all the thril- how it is.



The Puma is an overworked animal, and it west thereof. Southward he ranges through
is no wonder he has a bad temper. Even Mexico and Central America, the wooded por-
a sheep would have a bad temper if he were tions of South America, and even the desert
liable to be called up at all hours of the night, pampas of the Argentine Republic and Patago-
winter or summer, and set to work chasing nia, quite to the Strait of Magellan.
boys, men, and even horses in the dark, along Leaving possible giants out of the question, the
lonely and dangerous roads; to swim cold length of a fairly large Puma from nose to tail
streams, or scramble over rugged rocks, or made is about fifty-six inches, the tail alone thirty-one
to climb frightfully high
trees and jump down
on some man or boy, .
far enough to dash out
the brains of even the
toughest and most ex-
perienced Story Lion
that ever lived or died.
The paces and places
this poor animal is put
through every year, are
enough to excite com-
passion in the hardest
heart, but still the har-
rying goes on. The
printers want the
"copy," and therefore
Felis concolor must per-
form, sick or well. I
protest that it is time
this poor animal were
retired from the story-
making business, at
least for a time, and
some younger and
tougher species put in-
to the literary treadmill
in its place. Suppose
we take the polecat
for a change; he is '
quite as dangerous
to human life as the
'Puma, and his rabies
and bad odor together
give good reason for
Thanks to our long-
standing acquaintance with the Puma, it is un- inches, and the height at the shoulder twenty-
necessary to give here anything like a complete eight inches. There is no authentic record of
outline of his life history. At present he is at a Puma that measured, before skinning, over
home in Florida, Montana, Wyoming, Colo- eight feet two inches in total length, although
rado, Texas, and all the States and Territories many stretched flat skins have exceeded that.


As to the courage and temper of the Puma,
I think exact justice has not yet been done
him. The hunters, trappers, pioneers, and
story-tellers give him a fearsome character, and
make him out to be bold, bad, and blood-
thirsty. On the other hand, all the naturalists
this side of Dr. John Godman call him the
prince of cowards, and declare him to be ut-
terly lacking in feline courage. Now, in my

courage to the pound avoirdupois as does the
jaguar, the leopard of India, or even the tiger
YAGUARUNDI CAT are two strangely formed
(Fe'is yag"u-ar- n'di) cats belonging to our
AND EYRA CAT fauna; both very much
(Felis ey'ra) alike in everything save
color, and both quite marten-like in form.
Both are of very rare occurrence, and their

lower ngures lrawn iroAl mite Upper ngure trom mounteo specl-
in National ZoOlogical Park. THE PUMA AT HOME. men in T. S. National Museum.

belief, both are wrong. I am certain that
while the Puma's fierceness has been colored
too highly by one class of writers, his lack of
courage has been equally overdrawn by the
other class. In civilized countries, where the
man with a gun is on hand in season and out
of season, there is not now a single mammal
which will not flee from his presence if he is
allowed to do so. Very, very few will fight
civilized man except when cornered, but quite
a number will readily fight savages, who have
no firearms.
I believe the Puma possesses just as much

respective habits and life histories are but
little known, even to naturalists. The Yaguar-
undi, when adult, is about thirty inches in
length of head and body; the tail is twenty
inches, and height at the shoulder about twelve
inches. Its general color is a peculiar dirty
yellowish gray, entirely uniform over the whole
animal's body, limbs, and tail. It occurs in the
United States, on the northern bank of the Rio
Grande, between Laredo and Brownsville,
Texas; and thence southward, in numbers that
are few and far between, through Mexico, Cen-
tral and South America, to Paraguay.




The Eyra cat has precisely the same range.
Its color is a uniform bright red, without any
"markings whatever, and in form and size it
is almost an exact counterpart of the Yaguar-




undi. It is by far the rarest of all our North
American Felide. I know of but two speci-
mens in the United States, one of which, taken
in Cameron County, Texas, is in the American
Museum of Natural History, and the other is

in Dr. Merriam's Department of Agriculture
collection in the city of Washington.
BAY LYNX. Of Lynxes we now have
(Lynx n/fis.) four species. The com-
SPOTTED LYNX. monest in our country is
(Lynx rufus macu-a'tus.) the Bay Lynx, or Wildcat,
CANADA LYNX. which is also the smallest.
(Lynx Cau"a-den'sis.) Next in size comes the
Spotted Lynx of the Rocky Mountain region,
which is a sort of connecting-link between the
species first named and the big-footed, ear-

tufted, steel-gray Canada Lynx of the north.
Recently Dr. C. Hart Merriam has described




a new species of Lynx, from Idaho, very much
like the spotted variety, and given it the pop-
ular name of Plateau Lynx, and the Latin
name of Lynx Baileyi.
The Spotted Lynx may well be taken as a
type of the genus Lynx. The Lynx differs from
a typical cat in having a short, "bob" tail, with

long, lightly built legs, a short, deep, but flat, body,
and a round head. The fur is long, thick, fine
and fluffy, and stands well out from the skin.
The Lynxes are all expert climbers,and, although
they prefer timber, the Spotted Lynx wanders
far from it in search of game, as I have more
than once chanced to discover to his sorrow.

-t..~' *-
.A.p El

SAID this old sailorman:
"A quiet life was my plan;
While surrounded with juvenile faces,
I 'd rig little boats,
And tell nice anecdotes
Of ships, storms, and strange furrin races -
The old style, don't you know?
But, oh dear, it won't go,
For these kids know all I know and more
With their learning' and travel.
When yars I unravel,
They rises and votes me a bore!

Their papas and mamas
Takes them on the steam-cars,
And the boats with their buzzin' twin screws,
North, south, east, and west,
Till my timbers be blest

If anything I tell 'em 's news!
They have met the Khedive,
And they laugh in their sleeve
'Cause his cook's uncle's nephew I know.
I '11 weigh anchor again,
And I '11 search the blue main
For the land where the real children grow! "

S." _--



Autt1r of "Lady Jane."

[Begun in the May number.]



IT was the time of the sweet olive and jas-
mine when the little pilgrims neared their jour-
ney's end. For fully two months they had been
on their wearisome way, and every day their
difficulties and sufferings had increased because
of Philip's failing strength.
Exposure, hunger, and cold had done their
work on the delicate frame of the boy until. he
grew so thin and wan that one looking at him
would have said that his days were numbered.
Toward the last it was almost impossible for
him to walk any distance without resting; he
complained of feeling tired and sleepy, but
never hungry; and had it not been for the
kind country people who gave them a "lift"
now and then on their carts, and the good-
natured conductors on the different freight-
trains, who helped them along from one place
to another, Philip would have fallen by the
way, and his weary little body would have
been left behind, asleep in some obscure grave.
In spite of the boy's physical weakness, his
moral courage never failed. He was as hope-
ful, as confident, as cheerful, as when they first
set forth. Sometimes he would start out with
feverish energy. "I 'm not sick," he would
say resolutely; I 'm only tired, and we must
go on." For a little distance, while the excite-
ment lasted, he would press forward eagerly,
but suddenly his strength would fail, and he
would sit down by the wayside exhausted and
Then Lilybel would use every argument to
encourage him to make another effort. Some-
times it would be some smoke, or the sound
of a cow-bell, or the rumbling of wheels; and
when these signs failed and Philip did not re-
VOL. XXI.- 53. 47

spond to Lilybel's allurements, the sturdy little
negro, whose greatest virtue was his fidelity,
would take up his frail burden and trudge on
until he reached the assistance that he had
In this way they progressed slowly and
wearily, until at last one night found them
near the shore of the lovely lake which stretched,
an impassable barrier, between them and their
promised land. It was May; a great round
moon as bright as a silver shield shone above
them. They were in a forest of pines; the wind
soughed and murmured among the boughs, the
air was sweet with the resinous odor of the sap
that flowed from the wounded trees, the earth
was strewn with the fragrant needles of the pine
until it was as soft and soothing as the most lux-
urious bed.
When Philip, exhausted from his day's strug-
gle, stretched his suffering little body on the
friendly earth, it was with a feeling of thankful-
ness that he had made his last march, that the
journey was over; for he thought the soughing
of the wind among the trees was the murmur-
ing of the lake, that they were on its very
shores, and had but to cross its sparkling waters,
when in truth it lay flashing in the moonbeams
miles and miles away. He was very ill that
night; his face was flushed and hot with fever,
and his eyes were large and bright when he
raised them to Lilybel, who sat beside him cry-
ing in his low, whimpering way.
"What are you crying for, Lilybel ? asked
Philip, dreamily. He seemed to be floating up,
and up, among the trees toward the silver shield
of the moon.
"I 's er-cryin' 'ca'se ye're sick, Mars' Philip,
an' wes can't git ercross der lake. Now wes
yere, we can't git ercross. We 's can't walk er-
cross dat water, an' New 'Leens is jes' on de
oder side, an' wes can't git ercross 'ca'se wes
can't walk," repeated Lilybel, dolefully.


"No," said Philip; "we can't walk any
more, but we can stay here and rest; we can
stay here always."
No, we can't stay here, Mars' Philip. Wes
got ter git ercross," returned Lilybel, decidedly.
It 's like Mammy's garden," murmured
Philip; his mind wandered as he drifted off into
a feverish sleep.
But hit 's a mighty long way from dar, an'
wes got ter git ercross," still insisted Lilybel.
"The sweet olive 's in bloom, I smell it; and
the jasmine, too."
No, Mars' Philip, it ain't no sweet olive, dar
ain't none yere. It 's jes' dem piney trees what
yer smells."
Come, Dea, let 's go to the Rue Royale be-
fore the sweet olive withers."
"What yer talking' about, Mars' Philip? Yer
can't go ter Rue Royale till yer cross der lake";
and Lilybel bent over the sick boy and looked
into his face with eyes full of alarm. "He 's
ersleep, an' he 's dreamin' out loud. My, my,
he 's awful sick, he 's got der fever. An' how 's
I er-gwine ter git him ercross der lake ?"
Suddenly Lilybel ducked his head and lis-
tened; then he lay down flat and put his ear to
the earth. Dat 's er train, shore; an' it 's
over dar. It tain't fur, an' it 's er train what's
gwine ter. cross der lake,-my, my, if wes war
on dat track wes 'd git took over, shore; dey 'd
take on a boy what's sick and most dade,- he 's
got der fever, an' he 's er-dreamin' out loud,-
dey 'd take him on, an' I 's got ter git him dar.
I 's got ter wake him. Come, Mars' Philip,
yer 's got ter git on my back, I 's got ter tote
yer! "
But Lilybel spoke to deaf ears. Philip was
in a deep stupor, unconscious of pain or weari-
ness, and when the little negro lifted the heavy
head it fell back inertly on its pillow of pine
"It ain't no use; he won't wake; I 's got ter
tote him like er baby, an' dem little mices, too.
I 's got ter tote dem on my back, an' Mars'
Philip in my arms."
There is no undergrowth in these pine-forests;
one can see long distances through the vista of
trees, and Lilybel, later on, caught the faint flash
of a light and heard again the rumble of a train.
This decided him in what direction to go, so he

arranged his burdens as he best could, and, tak-
ing Philip in his arms as tenderly as he would a
sleeping infant, he trudged off toward a large
tree which stood stripped of bark, bare and
white in the moonlight.
The little negro, burdened as he was, could
not walk far without stopping to recover his
breath; therefore when he came to a comforta-
ble spot he would put Philip gently down, and
sit beside him until he was sufficiently rested to
be able to lift him up and push on a little far-
ther with careful steps and eyes fixed on his
landmark shining whiter and more distinct the
nearer he approached it.
This difficult and tedious performance occu-
pied a greater part of the night, and much to
Lilybel's joy when the morning dawned he
found himself in a clearing, and only a few
paces from a railroad. When it was light
enough for him to see a little distance ahead,
he also discovered that he was near a water-
"Now wes safe," he said exultingly; dey'ss
got ter stop yere ter water der injine, an' I 's
only got ter git Mars' Philip up by dat tank an'
wait till der train cums erlong."
This feat, which was nothing compared to
what he had accomplished through the night,
was easily performed, and when Philip awoke
at last from his long, heavy sleep, he found
himself lying on the grass in the shadow of
the water-tank, and Lilybel sitting beside him
bathing his face and hands with cool, sweet
"I done tole yer we 's near der railroad,"
said the little negro delightedly, when Philip
sat up and looked around him with surprise.
"Where are we? Have we crossed the
lake ?" asked Philip, still confused and a little
"No, wes ain't crossed yit; but wes gwine
ter on der'fust train what comes erlong."
"How did I get here, Lilybel ?" questioned
Philip. I went to sleep under a pine-tree,
and I don't remember waking."
"No, yer did n't wake; I done toted yer
while yer wuz asleep," replied Lilybel, proudly.
"And the children,' too ? "
"Yes; der mices, too," returned Lilybel, with



Philip smiled and laid down contentedly. In ter
a few moments he was asleep again, while Lily- ne
bel sat beside him patiently watching him. At gr
last he awoke greatly refreshed; the fever was th
gone, and his head was clear; but he was very slo
weak. ter
It was getting on toward noon, and Lilybel st(
looked and listened for the train which he was an
sure would come. w
"I hears it now, Mars' Philip," or, I sees er ce
smoke," was his constant encouraging remark,
to which Philip listened, a gentle smile on his fig
lips, and his eyes full of expectation. lai
But at last they heard a distant rumble, di
then a rushing and a snorting, and a heavy T1



'--4 ._'.

freight-train hove in sight. It was a mo-
-" ;, --- ---*^. I ,.

V. 1, l< i ,. "

freight-train hove in sight. It was a mo- "-
ment of intense anxiety for the little pilgrims.
Would it slow up at the water-tank, or would lif
it not? Philip forgot his weakness and tot- H

ed to his feet. Lilybel stood perilously
ar the track and waved his tattered cap. The
eat thirsty monster came swiftly on, glaring at
em with its bright eye, snorting and puffing,
wer and slower. "Yas, yas, it's er-gwine
stop!" shouted Lilybel. "Yas, it 's done
)pped!" And sure enough, with many a jolt
d shiver, the long train drew up before the
Iter-tank, and the men jumped out and pro-
eded to quench the thirst of the fiery dragon.
When the conductor saw the little tattered
ure of Lilybel standing near the track, he
ughed and said: Hello, scarecrow! Where
d you come from? What you doin' here?"
hen, noticing Philip, who was leaning feebly

sk inut the
sidn eI the
ba itc-ri, he said,
V r' 't ..' kin.dly.

I*yteacr, a r ehlir one,
S I s an' sick;. :t:'. I guess."
Philip lil'ted his cs and
;rnmile' : the gentle, irrdier-Jl smile
went tTragilt t.- the min' heart.
SWa'.iting kr the tram;n. ii \Want to
board it to cross the lake ?"
If you please, sir," replied Philip eagerly.
'm sick; I can't walk any more."
I guess you can't," returned the conductor,
ing the boy gently. Ye 'er about used up.
ow far have ye footed it? "




"From Chattanooga," said Philip, evasively.
"Ye have, have ye ? Well, no wonder ye 're
nothing' but skin an' bones! Yes, get in. I '11
cross yer."
"And him, too ? indicating Lilybel.
"The little scarecrow ? Oh, he can get in.
The two of you won't weigh more 'n a cat.
Here, Bill! he called to the brakeman, can't
you fix up something for this young one? He
looks as if he 'd faint away. Don't believe he's
had anything to eat for a week. Footed it
from Chattanooga! Just think of that."
"Plenty o' pluck fer such a bundle o' bones.
Yes, I '11 get him something," replied the brake-
man, looking kindly at the boy. Most starved,
ain't ye ?"
No, I 'm not hungry, thank you," returned
Philip, still smiling; I 'm only thirsty."
"Thirsty! Well, I '11 make ye a drink in two
winks." And turning to a shelf he poured some
black coffee from a can into a mug, and then
taking a small flask from his pocket he poured
something from it into the coffee, and putting
in some sugar he stirred it well.
"Here, my little man; drink this an' it '11
set you up," he said cheerily, giving the mug
to Philip. It '11 give you strength; it '11 cure
you right off. You '11 be well afore ye git
Philip drank the black draught greedily, and
lay down contentedly on the hard seat of the
caboose, while Lilybel sat beside him and
munched some corn-bread and bacon supplied
by the generous brakeman.
While the train rolled on toward the lake
Philip lay looking through the open door of
the caboose. Suddenly he cried, Oh, there 's
latania and cypress; I see the moss waving in
the wind. We 're in Louisiana, are n't we? "
"Yes; we crossed the line a way back. We're
near the lake, and we '11 be in New -Orleans in
an hour or so."
At the sound of the magic words Philip
brightened instantly. He was well and strong
now; he sat up and looked eagerly to catch
the first glimpse of the lake. He was all ex-
citement, all energy. "So near, so near," he
whispered to Lilybel. "Oh, there 's the lake!
How wide, how blue, how beautiful! It is like
sailing on the sea." And while he chattered

and laughed the train rolled over the long
bridge across the shining placid water of the
beautiful lake.


WHEN the train rolled into the station Philip
could hardly wait for it to stop, so eager was
he to get off.
"We will go to Rue Royale and find Seline
first," he said joyously to Lilybel, who suddenly
seemed much subdued, and not so elated as one
should be over the termination of so many diffi-
culties and untoward adventures.
"I aspects my ma 's gwine ter whip me fur
running' erway. I 's mos' feared to go dar. I
guess I '11 go on der levee first, an' wait ter see
ef she 's er-gwine ter whip me."
Seline won't do anything of the kind," re-
turned Philip, confidently. She '11 be too
glad to see you. Come on, and I '11 see that
she does n't scold you."
My ma she thinks I 's dade," said Lilybel,
still doubtful of his welcome; "' an' I aspects
she '11 be mad if I cums ter life."
Philip laughed his old merry laugh. "Oh,
come on, and don't be afraid. Seline 's so good
she won't hurt you." With hasty thanks to the
kind trainmen, he almost flew out of the sta-
tion, into Elysian Fields, and up Rue Royale,
scarcely stopping to take breath as he hurried
along. He was no longer a little, soiled, de-
jected pilgrim; he did not think of his weak-
ness, his ragged, dusty garments, his tangled
hair and grimy skin. After many days of
hope deferred, of pain, weariness, and anxiety,
he was once more Toinette's Philip running up
Rue Royale to find Seline.
At the cathedral close he stopped a moment
to look into the garden. How lovely it was!
Yes, there was the sweet olive in bloom, the
jasmine dotted with white stars, the borders
purple with violets. Pressing his thin face
against the iron railings, he breathed in the
familiar perfume greedily. Oh, it 's lovely to
be home! he said, beaming with smiles; "and
what will Seline say ? Won't she be surprised
to see us! "
So confident was Philip of finding Seline in




her old place that the possibility of her not be-
ing there had never occurred to him; and even
when he reached the very portico of the old
bank and saw no trace of her or of her stand
he could not believe his eyes, but stood staring
in blank amazement at the vacant spot-the
place where she always sat smiling a welcome
the moment he came within her line of vision.
But now there was nothing there, absolutely
nothing, that belonged- to her. The stately
columns, the fine portico, were dwarfed and
mean without Seline. The place seemed
wretchedly dreary and empty, and the cold
gray stone struck a chill to his heart.
Where 's my ma ? gasped Lilybel, his eyes
starting out with surprise. She 's done gone;
she ain't yere," and he. gave a sigh half of
relief: the chance of punishment was again
Philip said nothing; he could find no words
to express his disappointment. Brushing away
the hot tears, he entered a shop near the bank
and made inquiries for Seline. In the old days
every one in the neighborhood knew Seline,
but this was a new tenant; he had been there
only a year, and he had never seen a stand un-
der the portico of the old building in all that
time. Philip went out discouraged, and asked
the same anxious questions at several other
places. Oh, yes, the old colored woman; she
had n't been there for a year or more. They
could n't say where she had gone." That was
all the information he could get.
"I aspects my ma 's dade," whimpered Lily-
bel. He could see no other possible reason for
her abandoning her old stand.
Oh, don't say that! cried Philip, sharply.
" She is n't dead; she 's only gone away, and we
must find her." Then, pulling himself together,
he tried to meet this unexpected emergency
with courage.
After a moment's silence, he said quite cheer-
fully to Lilybel: You go to Seline's house and
see if she is there, and if she is n't there try
to find out where she is, and I '11 go to St.
Mary's and ask if Pere Josef has got back.
I '11 wait there for you on the steps. Hurry
as fast as you can, and bring Seline with you."
Lilybel did not stand upon the order of his
going, but scuttled off as fast as he could to do

Philip's bidding. Besides, he, too, was somewhat
anxious to know what had become of his "ma."
After he had gone, Philip retraced his steps, a
forlorn little figure in the bright spring sun-
shine. When he passed the cathedral on his
way to St. Mary's, he did not notice the flowers
nor the fragrance of the garden. His head
was bent dejectedly, and his step was slow and
At the entrance of the church he waited for
a priest who was coming out, a gentle-looking
old man. Philip stopped him, and with a quiver
in his voice asked if Pere Josef had returned.
Pere Josef ? Oh, no; he is n't back, but
he 's expected-he 's expected any day." And
with a glance of mild curiosity at the tattered
boy the old priest passed out.
Philip's face was radiant in a moment. "Any
day, any day! he repeated. "Well, perhaps
he '11 come to-day. I '11 sit on the steps and
wait for Lilybel, and it may be that he '11 come
while I 'm waiting."
Pere Josef did not come, but after a while
Lilybel hove in sight breathless and excited.
She ain't dade!" he cried as soon as he was
within hearing distance, "but her ain't dar
nudder. A colored lady tole me her 's done
move away more 'n a year, an' she don't know
whar' her's gone. She aspects her's gone ter de
country. I 's bin on der levee, an' one of dem
luggers is er-gwine up der ruver ter-night, an'
I 's er-gwine ter go on her ter find my ma fer
yer, Mars' Philip, an' I 's gwine ter bring her
back. Dat lady, she gub me some biscuit and
fried chicken, an' I 's brought it ter yer, 'ca'se
I '11 git plenty ter eat on dat lugger. An',
Mars' Philip, yer jes' wait yere till I come back
with my ma," and hastily putting the paper of
food in Philip's hand, Lilybel darted off and
was out of sight in a moment.
That night, when the old sacristan of the
Archbishop's palace was closing the gates of
the garden, he found a forlorn little figure
curled up on the grass in a corer, sound
asleep with one arm clasped tightly around a
small bundle.
Some poor little wanderer," thought the old
man. "I won't disturb him; he can't do any
harm here. I '11 let him sleep." And so
Philip was left to dream away the night in the


Archbishop's garden under the shadow of St.
Mary's Church.
As soon as it was light, he was awake; and
without waiting to say bon jour to the old sac-
ristan he sallied forth, weak in body but
strong in heart. With the morning had come
the determination to find Dea. He knew she.
lived on Viller6 street, but he had never been
there, and was not certain of the exact locality.
Still, he thought he could find her by inquiring
from door to door.
On his way to Villere street he stopped to
look in his Mammy's old garden. It was very
early, and there was no one near to witness his
surprise when he saw how the place was
changed. The stucco of the wall was repaired
and freshly colored, the iron scrollwork of the
gate was as bright and fresh as new paint could
make it. The vagrant vines no longer trailed
over the walls, the Pittosporum trees were care-
fully trimmed, and the walks and borders newly
cleaned. And there, in front of Toinette's
little cottage, was a pretty, graceful house, new
and white, with slender columns, deep galleries,
and cool, shady awnings. Was it possible that
this was the old neglected garden ? It is true,
there were the broken white pillars with their
masses of verdure; the oaks and magnolias;
and the rose-garden fresh and blooming. But
where was his Mammy? Where were the Major
and the Singer ? They were gone, and strangers
were there. It was no longer his home. With
a heart-breaking sob he turned away and has-
tened down Ursulines street toward Viller&.
For some time he wandered up and down,
meeting with no success. He could not find
any one who had ever heard of the artist in
wax; but at last, when he was almost discour-
aged, he stopped at a cottage and obtained
some information. "Yes, it was in the very
next house that they lived,-an artist and his
little daughter; but they were gone. A strange
monsieur came and took them away a long
time ago. And it was said that they had gone
to France."
This was the most unexpected and the most
crushing blow of all. He had never thought
of it; but what was more likely than that Dea's
rich uncle had taken them away with him?
For some time he leaned against the fence of

the deserted cottage, and cried bitterly. He was
getting very weak and hopeless now. Then
he took up his little bundles and went away
slowly and dejectedly, back to St. Mary's
Church, his last and only asylum.
And while Philip sat waiting on the steps of
the church, tired and ill and seemingly deserted
by all, in New York his nearest of kin, al-
most as discouraged and hopeless as he, were
using every means that wealth and influence
could command, or that repentant, anxious
hearts could dictate, to discover the homeless,
suffering boy.
SEVERAL days had passed since his arrival,
and Philip still lingered around St. Mary's wait-
ing for Phre Josef and Lilybel. He had seen

Pere Martin pass in and out several times, but
he had not made himself known, because he



~liI--;II I


remembered that Mr. Ainsworth was in corre-
spondence with the priest of St. Mary's, and
that through him they might learn of Philip's
return to New Orleans; and P&re Josef's friend
did not recognize "Toinette's Philip" in the
sickly, tattered boy who lingered so persistently
around the steps of the church.
After a day or two the old sacristan became
interested in the child and offered him food, and
even a pallet to sleep on, in one corner of his
little room in the lodge at the gate of the Arch-
bishop's palace. He saw that the boy was ill,
and that he had not always been the neglected
little vagrant that he appeared to be, and the
anxious, pathetic inquiries for Pare Josef, who
was one of the sacristan's favorites, added to
the pity he felt for the boy.
Every night as Philip entered the lodge he
would ask the same question in such a sad and
patient voice that the old man almost wept.
Do you think Pere Josef will come to-mor-
row, Mr. Sacristan?"
And the sacristan would answer, as cheerfully
as he could, Oui, mon enfant, I think he will
come to-morrow."
With a great deal of mystery, and many hints
as to the necessity of secrecy, being so near his
reverence the Archbishop, Philip had uncov-
ered the little cage and showed Pdre Josef's
children to the sacristan, and he had almost
forgotten his troubles and disappointments to
laugh with the old man over their droll tricks.
One night he was very ill again; he had fever,
and dreamed out loud, as Lilybel said. All
night he talked and talked, sitting up on
his pallet with wide, bright eyes and smiling
lips. His delirium did not take the form of
stupor, as it had that memorable night in the
pine-forest. He was happy, even merry; he
laughed over his little tricks with the poor
"doll"; he called the sacristan Mr. Butler, and
chattered with him as he had with Bassett in the
time of their pleasant companionship; he lived
over the brightest days of his life,- the later and
darker period, his dreary pilgrimage, and even
his recent disappointments seemed all forgotten.
The old sacristan, alarmed at his high fever,
his restlessness and delirium, sat by his little
pallet all night, gave him copious draughts of
fresh water, and tenderly bathed his burning

hands and face. Toward morning the fever left
him, and he sank into a deep, refreshing sleep.
When he awoke, the sacristan and the priest to
whom he had spoken on the day of his arrival
were bending over him. They were talking in
a low voice, and he heard them repeat the word
"hospital" several times. They were going to
send him to the hospital. He was very ill, he
must go where he could have proper care.
The hospital!-to Philip that meant only
one thing: it was a place where people were sent
to die; when once they entered there they never
came out-except to be carried to their last
resting-place. He was very ill, but he could not
die before Pere Josef and Lilybel came back-
no; he could not go to the hospital. He said
nothing, but lay very quiet until the priest and
the sacristan went out. As soon as they disap-
peared within the church he got up, and, taking
his little bundles, tottered feebly into the street.
The glare, of the sun hurt his head; he felt
faint and weak, but he hastened on down Ur-
sulines street until well out of sight of St.
Mary's Church. He could stay there no longer;
that last asylum was closed to him. If he went
back, he would be sent to the hospital, and he
would never see P&re Josef and Lilybel. Lily-
bel would be sure to come with Seline; they
would look for him on the steps of St. Mary's,
and he would not be there, and they would
never know where to find him.
This last calamity was almost overwhelming;
but he must not give up, he must keep on his
feet, because if:he fell in the street he would
be picked up and sent to the hospital, and then
what would become of the "children"? Some
one might steal them, or they might get lost if
he were taken away from them. Then he
thought of St. Roch's. If it were not so far!
If he could only get there-there on his Mam-
my's grave, surely no one would disturb him !
But the hospital! the hospital! kept ringing in
his ears. He could not, and he would not, go
When he was far enough from St. Mary's to
feel somewhat safe, he found a shady doorway
and sat down to rest and consider what he
should do; but he could not think, his head
whirled strangely, everything seemed moving,
even the street and the houses; then he felt




sleepy, and was about to close his eyes when a
rough voice smote upon his ear.
"Git out er dat, you young one; I 's er-
gwine ter clean dese steps an' dis yere ban-
quette," and looking up, Philip saw a stout
negress with a pail of water and a broom, wait-
ing to begin her work.
Philip tottered to his feet and went on down



Ursulines street blindly and dizzily, like one in
a dream. It seemed to him that he had walked
miles, when, without knowing how he had come
there he suddenly became aware that he was
again before the Detrava place.
The great oaks on each side of the entrance
made a dense shade. It had rained during the
night and a sweet, moist odor filled the air.

Again Philip lingered and looked in through
the iron scrollwork; he was so weak and
tired that he could not stand, so he sat down
before the gate, and resting against the stone
post, he looked up into the great waving
branches above him. There were birds hopping
about among the leaves. Yes, there was a
mocking-bird and a cardinal, and innumerable
little brown birds.
Suddenly the mock-
ing-bird broke into
a clear, liquid strain,
and spreading its
wings soared away
into the distant sky.
Philip watched it
dreamily. Was it
the Singer? He
was not sure; but,
oh, how he wished
he could follow its
flight into that in-
finite restful blue!
s How fresh and
dewy the garden
looked! What en-
chanting fragrance!
What soft shadows
among the waving
vines! It was like
looking into Para-
dise. If they would
Only open the gate
and allow him to
enter and lie down
-: in the shade under
his favorite tree! It
was there still, he
could see it, and he
could see people
FORWARD." moving on the
shady galleries, and
in the rose-garden, a tall dark man was walking
back and forth. In his hand he held a book,
but oftener he looked up at the sky, as if his
treasures were there.
While Philip strained his eyes to watch the
man, he suddenly saw appear on the gallery a
radiant white figure. It was a young girl-or
an angel, he could not tell which Then a stout





colored woman came in sight and handed the
radiant creature a nosegay of white flowers tied
with trailing white ribbons, and a small white
book, which the young girl took in a grave,
gentle way; then, with graceful, sedate steps,
she slowly descended to the garden, followed
by the woman and a large dog.
At the entrance of the rose-garden the man
met the gracious young creature, and lifting the
cloud of net from over her face he stooped
and kissed her gravely and tenderly. Then
the little procession came on down the walk,
the girl stepping daintily in her white shoes,
while she held her cloud of lace away from the
intruding roses that would fain caress her. She
was surely no mortal. To Philip, in his bewil-
dered condition, she seemed a spirit, a radiant
creature from another world. The slender
white-robed figure, with its misty veil and crown
of flowers, seemed to float and float toward him.

Was he dreaming; or was he already dead,
and was it a sweet vision of eternity ? It was
surely Dea's face under the veil. It was surely
Dea's soft, grave smile that he saw; her low,
gentle voice that he heard. And the woman
behind her was Seline; yes, Seline! And the
dog? Why, the dog was Homo! And they
were at the gate. If he could stretch out his
hand he could touch them. He heard the key
rattle in the lock, the old gate creak and slowly
open, and in a voice that seemed to reach only
to heaven, he cried, Dea! Seline!" and fell fee-
bly forward into a pair of strong arms stretched
out to receive him. From a long murmuring
distance he heard a soft voice say, It is Philip !
yes, it is Philip!" and he felt himself clasped
and carried away-away, he knew not whither,
for he drifted into blissful rest, while faintly and
dimly he heard the rustling of leaves, and the
far-off singing of birds.

(To be concluded.)


By E. L. Sylvester.

If one little boy-being
Healthy and strong-
Can keep a house echoing
All the day long, eo

Just think, if you can,
What an earsplitting noise
There 'd be in a house
Holding nine little boys

VOL. XXI.-54.




As George Courtenay was coming from the
garden into the house, his mother, seeing him
approach, ran to meet him at the door.
George," said she, "your father!"
And then she stopped short and looked about
her as if she were afraid of being overheard.
It was in England, in 1685, the days of
"Monmouth's Rebellion." Sedgemoor had been
fought, and King James's soldiers were scouring
the land in search of those that had been with
the rebel Duke, and all the west country was in
a stir. So that when George saw his mother's
face, and the look in her eyes, he knew that
from his father there had at last come news.
He drew her to one side.
"Mother, is he here ? "
Nay! Oh, George, I am all a-trembling! "
She pressed her hand against her side. He has
been here my husband your dear father,
George. 'T is not ten minutes since he is gone."
"And I have missed him "
George,"-she put her arms about his neck
and drew him to her, and whispered in his ear,
-" there are soldiers coming "
"Who has told you ?"
"It matters not- 't is true. And, George,
your father needs but an hour clear. Treach-
ery has been at work; some one has set the
soldiers on his track. There is a boat biding
for him in Watcombe Bay. If he could be
secure of but an hour's start, he would be into
it, and safe away."
George looked his mother very straight in
the face.
"An hour clear, you say?"
"But an hour! Your dear father! What
shall we do ? "
"He shall have an hour, Mother, and to
spare. I would that I had seen him first,
though but to have had one word from him.
Go thou into the house and stay within. He
shall be safe, as I am my father's son."

He drew her to his breast and kissed her.
Then he ran away from her and up the stairs,
and so to his own room. And when he was
there, all alone, he put certain things into a
kerchief, and made them in a bundle. And
with this bundle in his hand he slipped off
down the stairs that led to the outer buildings,
fearful lest, if he came down the other way, he
should meet his mother, and she should ques-
tion him as to the stratagem that was in his
head. And through the kitchen he stole, and
through the door, and thence into the stable.
There he opened the bundle that he carried
and laid its contents out upon the ground.
The soldiers came riding up the avenue. It
was scarce five minutes since George had shut
himself inside the stable. Sergeant Huffham,
that was in command, cried out to them as they
came riding on:
"Keep sharp eyes on both sides of you.
There 's treason thick enough to keep an army
close hid-let alone a rebel knave like this
George Courtenay!"
They had gone but a few yards further when
a trooper pulled up his horse, and cried: Is
that not some one there behind yon tree ? "
The sergeant looked where the trooper
"And so it is! Stand forth and show your-
self, whoever you be, if you would not have us
And the whole troop stood there, and held
their carbines in their hands so that if the com-
mand was given they might be ready to fire
among the trees. And while they stood thus,
as if in obedience to the sergeant's call, there
came from behind the trunk of one of the trees,
a man. His beard was wild and untrimmed as
if it had not seen a barber or a pair of scis-
sors for a month past. And in like plight was
his head; for he wore no hat, and his long
hair was in a shock of tangles as if it scarce


had known a comb. His attire, which, so it
seemed, had been handsome and a gentleman's
once upon a time, was all in rags and travel-
stained. Indeed, his whole figure did present a
picture which one would have thought had
touched the hardest hearts. But these soldiers
that Colonel Kirke had brought to work the
King's vengeance in those parts, they had no
hearts as in those dark days many an honest
gentleman learned to his pain.

all those parts unto this day-for it was from
Tangier that last they had come.
But when this pitiful figure stood in front of
the troop, and braved them all so boldly, the
sergeant flew into a rage. The sergeant splut-
tered out a torrent of abuse-for most unlamb-
like was the speech of the Colonel's Lambs."
And he cried:
"You shall smart for this an extra smart or
two! Who are you, knave ?"

oil .4

-A ^ 1^*';i

t -



-i '

This pitiful figure that came from behind
the tree seemed in no way frightened when
he saw the soldiers standing there, and knew
himself discovered. He came to a little open
space among the trees, within a dozen yards of
where they were, and crossed his arms upon
his chest, faced them, and in a loud, clear voice,
he cried:
"Fire, an you will, butchers from Tangier!"
For those soldiers, that Colonel Kirke in a
bitter jest did call his "Lambs," were known
unto the country-folk as Tangier butchers";
and as "Tangier butchers" they are known in

"Knave, thou callest me ? Know, thou blood-
bedrabbled butcher, my name is as well known a
name as any name in Devon, and as honored, too.
I am George Courtenay, thou slaughterman!"
Then the troopers gave a cry that was half
joy, half rage.. And the sergeant said: So at
last we have you, you black traitor! We 've
tracked you this many a day, over hill and over
dale, and now, at last, like a rat 't is sure you
are no better!-we 've tracked you to this hole.
If you do not curb your saucy tongue, we '11
find a means of stilling it. You '11 serve the
Colonel's purpose as well without this silly prat-

ing. Gag him, put a bit into his mouth, fas- Madam would have none of her. "I have no
ten his hands behind his back, and tie him to a need of you," she said. I 'm not of those
horse's crupper. We '11 hale the rogue along!" that swoon. Took! John Maned!--what do
And, behold! Up at the house there was you mean?"
tribulation, and there was sore dismay; for one And Madam looked so stern and spoke all
came running hastily that cried: at once so fierce, that John's terror but grew
"Madam Courtenay! Madam Courtenay! the greater. Down on his knee he fell -
The master's took! It was no fault of mine," he cried. I 'd
And this fellow that did make the din was have died rather than he had been took."
one John Maned, an awkward clown. He did Then went Madam to him and laid her hand
tend the poultry and the pigs. And with that, gently on his shoulder, and in her own soft
like the clown he was, he fell a-blubbering so voice she spoke:
"I do well believe you would
."-.-'.:--i'a ha.e died for him. Calm yourself,
S' --- \':uti foolish fellow. Speak plain, so
that I may know what it is you
-' wouldd say."
Then, between his sobs, John got
-' out his story. It seemed that as
he was coming to the gate which
op'eed on the great avenue of chest-

Ioiild come out of it. John, in his
I I_ fnghlt, crouched down behind the
2lL' ""Z" hedge. He perceived that to one
,IIf the horses was tied a man. One
i rend', of a rope was tied about his
k" .:, the other end was fastened to
Si, the horse's crupper. His
f ,', hands were bound be-
'''. hind his back. "'T was
IIT the master," blubbered
I John. "And," said he,
that ,,..1 "when all the soldiers
by re had got into the road,
son 't the officer in command
sob.ng cried, 'Halt!' and he
he s,::rc,: turned in his saddle and
cciul. either '-- he shook his fist at the
stand or r 'r-ak. avenue of chestnut trees:
And.-I L.:o:-h.i e I ned ''I' 'Thou traitor's house!'
"boo-hoo!" So that the -I he cried. 'Ihave taken
noise he made brought from you your master,
Madam Courtenayinto the DOWN N H K H F the traitor Courtenay,
hall, and all the household. I'T WAS NO FAULT OF MINE,' HE CRIED." and when I have de-
"John Maned, what is that you say ? livered him to those that have a score to settle
The master's took! bawled John; the with him, I will return for more. Dost hear,
master 's took! thou traitor ?' And with that," said John, the
Madam gave such a start that her tire-maid officer did strike the master on the back and
stepped out to catch her if she fell. But went on, 'Because of your saucy tongue, I




will come back again for all that thou hast left
When Madam Courtenay heard these words,
in silence she put her arm through young Mis-
tress Dorothy's and went with her into the
morning-room. And when they were alone
and the door was closed, Dorothy," said she,
"your brother has used me ill. He gave me
his word that, so I understood him, at his own
risk 'he would hold my dear husband free from
Mother," answered Mistress Dorothy, "be
not too hasty in'blaming George. Perchance
still he has some plan to set my father free."
"Plan to set your father free! Didst hear
yon fellow's tale? They 've yoked your
father with a horse and beat him! If I
had known that 't was part of my son's
scheme that his father should be captured
first, I would have gone myself unto these
men and offered them my life for his. Oh,
my dear husband, 't is because your son has
failed in his duty that they have taken you
from me!"
As Madam, in the fullness of her grief, lifted
up her hands to the high heavens, a voice was
heard, speaking behind her, that said:
"Wife!" The lady, on a sudden, turned.
There, leaning through the window, which
stood wide open, was a man.
Husband! she cried, and with a strange,
glad cry she ran to him.
Hist!" said he. "Let me enter! I think
that none has seen me come." And when he
had entered, and while his wife hid her face
upon his shoulder, and wept for very joy, said
Mistress Dorothy:
So, Father, after all, George set you free."
"George set me free? What mean you,
Dorothy ? "
"Why, Father, was it not George ? "
"Was what not George ? I 've seen nothing
of George-that gallant, well-loved son of
mine--this many and many a day."
His wife, as she looked into her husband's
face, forgot in her amaze to cry. Why," said
she, "if it was not George, who was it then that
freed you from those knaves ? "
I know not what it is of which you speak.
No knaves have laid their hands on me. If

they had, I do not think they would ever easily
have let me go. I have been down unto the
bay. There I found the boat was in waiting.
Those that were in it brought me sure and
certain word that that black crew at Taunton
had vowed if I escaped their grasp to take
their vengeance upon you, my wife, and upon
all my kith and
kin. Which
when I heard,
I straight came
back again; for' /
you must with' .
me, Wife, and
the chicks as 0'
well, and we
will all of us "'
sail across the -. "
water. In Hol- Q',
land have I
good friends,
and there we 1
will abide till i 'l
England again IY '
is free."
"But," cried
his wife, "if it
were not you
John Maned )
saw tied at the
horse's tail, who
was it, then? And THE CURATE HELD OUT A
what of George ? SMALL PIECE O PARCHMENT."
While Squire Courtenay looked in the lady's
face, as though he could find neither rhyme
nor reason in her words, again a voice was
heard speaking from back of them.
May I come in ? and when they turned,
there, through the window, again there leaned
a man. It was the curate, that reverend clerk,
Tobias Pratt. He fetched his lean and lanky
body into the room. "Speak not so loud,"
said he. "I '11 close the window, lest we be
And when he had shut the window, he came
to Madam Courtenay, and he said,-'t was in
a whisper that he spoke:
I came but now along the road from Tarre,
when whom should I encounter but a troop of
rough soldiery. And, to my grief, I perceived



that to one of the horses' tails was a poor crea-
ture tied. I seemed to know him, and, though I
cudgeled my brain, I could not think just who it
was; and that although he looked me straight
in the eyes with a look that spoke as plain as
I speak now. They had tied a gag about his
mouth, but, as I apprehend, 't was loosely tied,
for with a convulsive effort of his poor jaws
he forced something between his lips which
fell upon the ground. When the troopers were
gone from sight, I looked to see what it might
be. An it please you, Madam Courtenay, it
was this."
On which the curate held out to Madam a
small piece of parchment that was folded in a
sort of square. On it could be faintly seen
these written words, "To Madam Courtenay.
Bear this in haste, thou trusty friend!"
"Why," cried the lady, "it is George's
hand! What fresh mystery is it that we have
here ? "
She undid the parchment. Inside of it was
writ this note in such faint characters you
scarce could see the words:
DEAR MOTHER: I write this word ere I leave the
house. I shall send this to you if my plan succeeds.
Then you will know that with my father all is well.
They will have taken me for him. Be not concerned for
me. It is but right, if there is need of it, that I should
give my life for him. Your son, GEORGE.
Kiss Sister Dorothy.

Why! cried Mistress Dorothy, when with
streaming eyes her mother had read these
words aloud, now all the riddle is solved I
see just how it is! You know, dear Mother,
how George loves to disguise his proper self
and make himself like another, for masques and
such like frolics. I understand just what it is
that he has done. He has made himself look
as much like father as he could. Then he has
placed himself just where he knew the soldiers
would be sure to come. And when they came,
they have supposed that he was Father. I
make no doubt that is the truth of it! They
have taken him captive, Father, for you!"
My foolish, true-hearted son so said the
squire. My gallant lad! Dorothy, we '11
have him back again!"
Oh, Father, if we could !"
If we could? I tell you, Dorothy, we will!"

From Watcombe to Taunton, where beneath
the castle walls were quartered Colonel Kirke
and his Tangier regiment, 't is as the crow flies,
full fifty miles; and fifty miles of not the best
of traveling
when one is
a stranger in
the country,
and knows
not thenear-
estroads. It
was in early I.
when gruff
\ e Sergeant
took his

,, yet it was
pone o sprisoser
well on to-
Si ward night
It when they
o reached Chud-
leigh. Even
then he had been driven to annoy the prisoner
more than once to inquire from him the way
to go.
When they reached Chudleigh, the sergeant
put up at a certain inn which was called "The
Merry Countryman." There were the ser-
geant and his six troopers and the prisoner, all
in the large room of the inn together. For it
would never do, the sergeant said, to let his
prisoner from his sight. He was too precious.
There were the sergeant and his troopers,
seated at the table, eating and drinking of the
best the inn could give; and there, on the
floor in a corner, lay the prisoner, his hands
still tied behind his back, and the gag still in
his mouth. When the sergeant had had his
fill, he bade one of his troopers bring the pris-
oner to the board.
"Take out the gag," said he. So they took
out the gag. Wouldst have something with
which to break thy fast, traitor?"
The prisoner answered him never a word.
He looked him straight in the face, and never
flinched. The sergeant, that was at all times
of a choleric temper, flew into a rage.




Dost hear thyself spoken to by a king's offi-
cer, and by a gentleman, thou saucy rogue ?"
A gentleman thou art ? So 't is the butch-
ers now are gentlemen ? "
"Thou callst me butcher? I will butcher
thee just where thou art! "
"I can well believe it, since 't is thy trade.
The sergeant stayed not to finish. He stood
up in his place, and, leaning across the board,
caught the prisoner by
the beard as if he meant
by means of it to drag
the prisoner's head with-
in the reach of his right
arm. He gave a tug,
and, behold! instead of
bringing with it the pris-
oner's head, the beard
came by itself, clean
away. Great was the
sergeant's wonder. He
stared at the beard which
he had in his hand, then
at the prisoner's face,
then back at the beard.
"Why," he cried,-
his brains were never of
the best, and perchance
they were a little less
clear than before his
supper,-" I 've drawn
the fellow's beard clean
from him by the roots!
Serve him right, the
rogue! So now, by my
word, I will have his
hair also."
Another grab he gave
across the board. He
hitched his fingers into
the tangled thatch that
crowned the captive's
head. Then he gave a "T1
mighty tug, so mighty a one that, not meeting
with the resistance which he had, as of course,
expected, he lost his balance, and toppled
backward on the floor. There, for a moment,
did he sprawl, blinking and half dazed. The
troopers ran and helped him up. When he

found himself again upon his feet, he looked,
and, behold! there in his hand he held the
captive's hair.
"Why," he roared, his hair is come looking
for his beard! Then he stopped, and stared
at the prisoner, who, with a smile upon his face,
looked back at him across the board. The
sergeant was dumbfounded.
"What miracle is this ? 'T is nothing but a

Then said the prisoner: "Nineteen I was,
last birthday, an it please you, gentle sir!"
"This is not George Courtenay!"
Indeed, sir, but it is."
"This is not George Courtenay that fought
at Sedgemoor, and was one of Duke Mon-




mouth's chiefest captains, and on whose head
a price is set! "
Nay, sir, I am his son."
His son! His son! In his fury the ser-
geant stamped his foot upon the floor. "And
have I journeyed all these miles, and taken
prisoner the wrong man after all, and thought
I had the right ? Tell me what trickery is here,
thou "
Here more abuse fell from the sergeant's lips.
"'T is very simple, sir. I heard that you
were close at hand. My father needed but a
breathing-space, and he would be clear away. I
guessed that you had never seen my father. So
I turned play-actor for the nonce. I made my-
self to look as much like my father as I could.
Then I placed myself where I knew you would
be sure to come. And when, with your sharp
eyes, you spied me out, you asked me who I
was. And I said I was George Courtenay.
And so indeed I am. For though I am not
my father, I am my father's son."
Thou -! Thou -! For this I '11 have thy
With that the sergeant rushed at young
George as might some mad beast. And then a
strange thing happened. For they had tied the
captive's hands behind his back, and he had
held them there, so they had supposed that he
still was bound. But it would seem that all the
time he had been working hard to loose them,
and at last had gained his purpose. For when
the sergeant rushed at him, on a sudden young
George brought both hands to the front, and
before they were aware, had snatched a naked
sword that lay upon the table,-it was the ser-
geant's own,-and had fallen back a step or
two, and had swung it in their faces. And while
they stared at him bewildered and surprised -
'T is not the first time," said he, grown
men have been outwitted by a lad. It but
remains that seven full-grown men shall fall
upon one that is but half-grown, and, maybe,
you '11 beat me yet. But, mark this!--I think
that I '11 have at least one of your lives for
mine! "
The whole thing had been so sudden, and
he looked so desperate, as he stood there with
his sword in hand, that, with one accord, each
man gave back. The sergeant stormed:

"What are you staring at, you louts ? Pick
up your guns, and shoot him like a dog!"
In an instant, before they had time to do
the sergeant's bidding, young George dashed
forward, and with one blow he struck the can-
dles from the table, so that all the room was
dark. There was then a nice to-do.
Look to the door! the sergeant cried. If
the rogue escapes, every man of you shall hang! "
While the troopers were stumbling about
them, audibly seeking for the door, it was flung
open, and some one that stood upon the thresh-
old cried:
What-all in the dark! Is George Courte-
nay here ? "
"Yes, Father, I am here."


Said the sergeant: Didst hear the young
rogue say 'Father'? 'T is the old rogue 's
come! He 's run into our clutches! Have at
them, lads. We 'll net them both, the father
and the son!"




Well said i" cried the newcomer, in a voice
that rang out even above the hubbub, loud and
clear and bold. Spare neither the father nor
the son, the old rogue nor the young! Have
at these Tangier gentlemen! Forward! Give
them their fill of steel! "
It seemed as if a dozen armed men streamed
into the room. There was such a clatter and a
din, and there were cries of "A Courtenay! A
Courtenay !"
"On my word!" the sergeant gasped,-and
from the noise he made it seemed as if a dozen
men were upon him at once,-" I do believe
Courtenay's whole force is back again!"
Any one that stood without might have
known from the tumult that a famous fight
was being fought within. And it was all done
in the dark; so that none knew with whom
it was he fought. Suddenly was heard a voice
that said :
Quarter Spare my life Quarter, I say! "
Then there was another voice that cried:
"Will Peppercorn- 't is never you "
Then the first voice: "Sam Jones, is it you
that speaks ? "
"Will Peppercorn, 't is never you I have
been fighting ?"
"But I '11 swear it is! You 've carved me
into pieces, too."
Then was heard the sergeant's voice: "With
whom is it that we fight ? It seems to me that
I have killed a dozen men and more. And
that another dozen men have half-killed me.
Silence! Then there was silence like the si-
lence of the grave. I do believe that there 's
none but ourselves left in the room. For the
last quarter-hour we 've fought each other for

our lives. In the dark, the rogues have stolen
away. On my word, this is a pleasant country
to hunt for traitors in! Where is that confounded
It was soon seen where the door was, for as
the sergeant still was speaking, it was opened,
and there came an old woman with a lan-
tern in her hand. It was the woman who kept
the inn.
"Oh, sirs!" said she. "What is 't a-doing? "
"Doing?" the sergeant screamed. "'T is
we 've been done. Where are those rogues of
Courtenays, witch!-the old rogue and the
Sirs, I thought it was they that were locked
in, and I thought it was you that went into the
stable a little time since, and saddled all the
horses,-your own horses, sirs,--and rode off
with them into the night."
Our horses ? Rode off with them into the
night ?"
"Yes, sirs, indeed; and they 've taken every
beast, for I-'ve been into the stable, sirs, to see.
And, sirs, I found this hanging on a nail behind
the door."
The woman had in her hand a naked sword.
She held it out to Sergeant Huffham. The
sergeant took it. To the handle was a paper
fastened, on which were written words. The
sergeant was no great scholar. It was with
difficulty he made out what words were written.
And when he had made them out, his anger
was not cooled. Thus it ran:
Sergeant, I give you back your sword. For the beard
and wig which you tore from me by the roots, keep them
in memory of the capture that you made. This comes,
Young George, Sergeant, young George!

-- (

VOL. XXI.-55.




AILORS are the chil-
dren of the sea. Cut off
as they are from so
much that makes life
merry, they take to
simple sports and pets. This
Sis especially true on the big
S'' white ships that sail in the
S service of Uncle Sam. In
these new vessels the Jack
A. Tar is really of very little ac-
count. Sails have been ban-
ished, and the engines and
boilers-the "lungs," as the navy calls them -
do all the work. A steam-engine steers the
ship, and Jack has become more of a soldier
than anything else. Even the pike and cutlass
are out of date. The next naval duel will be
fought with machine-guns, torpedoes, and rams.
So the hundreds of sailors who form the com-
plement of a modern American man-o'-war
have duties that little resemble those performed
on shipboard in the old navy, when clouds of
canvas had to be handled, and when sea-battles
were fought yard-arm to yard-arm.
There 's lots of scrubbing and drilling and
painting going on; but so many hands make
short work of the tasks, and then comes play.
The most comfort Jack takes is in cultivating
pets, and on board every war-ship some sort
of a menagerie is to be found. The best and
most unique happy family" in the navy is
that kept on the San Francisco," the splen-
did flag-ship of the North Atlantic Squadron.
Though the dignity of the navy is at its highest
development on a flag-ship, that formal stiffness
which great men have about them is well-nigh
banished from the San Francisco by the antics
of "Billy," the ship's goat. Admiral A. E. K.
Benham flies his pennant from the peak on the
San Francisco, but Billy has n't as much awe
for him as he has for the captain of the fore-
castle, who is mighty quick with a rope's end,

and considers all goats abominations. Neither
does he fear Captain J. Crittenden Watson, the
San Francisco's commander. Captain Watson
is a very brave man, and has seen service.
There is a famous picture of the old "Hart-
ford" passing up Mobile Bay, called "An Au-
gust Morning with Farragut"; and Captain
Watson, then a lieutenant, stands in an exposed
place on her quarter-deck, quite undismayed by
the storm of battle, just as indeed he did on
that great occasion; but he always steps a little
quicker when he sees Billy loitering around aft.
The truth is that Billy is somewhat spoiled.
He is the idol of four hundred prank-loving
sailors, and his education is anything but what
a nice little black-and-white goat's should be.
But Billy is privileged because he would be
able to write A. B." after his name if he knew
how. That means he is an old sailor who has
crossed the line and has been around the Horn.

The San Francisco was built in the city whose
name she bears ; and as she was the first war-
ship to be constructed on the Pacific coast,
San Francisco could n't do too much to show


appreciation of that fact. Gifts were show-
ered upon ship and crew. Down in the ward-
room is a case of beautiful silverware, and
every cover has for a handle a solid gold
grizzly bear; and this does very well indeed
as a testimonial, but it is nothing to Billy. San
Francisco supplied Billy as well. He was little
more than a kid when the ship sailed away for
Valparaiso to have a hand in settling the Chil-
ian squabble that made so much noise in the
fall of 1891. After that the San Francisco
took her time about getting around Cape
Horn, but Billy improved it all until now he
is an accomplished sailor. He took part with
the ship's crew in the Columbian naval re-
view, and was every inch as good a goat
as the British capricornus on the big cruiser
Billy is a privileged character. He has the
run of the ship, as sailors say. His favorite
loafing-place is on the "bridge" with Lieu-
tenant Kimball, the navigating officer, but he
is as much at home on the quarter-deck as the
forecastle. Every day the men are formed in
line for an exercise walk around the gun-deck.
When the drum taps to "fall in," Billy scampers
to the head of the line and marches .to the
piping of the fife as long as he can. When at
sea the roll is so heavy that Billy's sharp hoofs
can find no foothold, and after a desperate
struggle he is pitched headlong into the scup-
pers. The line does not wait, but Billy finds
sweet revenge in bracing himself against a
stanchion and butting every pair of legs that
goes by. It fills him with keen delight to butt
a marine; but that is part of his education.
On the day this portrait was taken Billy was
not feeling very well. He had eaten a box of
matches, and the phosphorus did not agree
with him.
Billy's finest fun is in chasing the ship's cat,
"Little Man," who is the second member of
the happy family, and a very important one.
Little Man and a brother were born on the
ship's first voyage. The mother cat died, and
then the brother fell overboard and was lost
at sea. These bereavements nearly caused
Little Man to die of grief, and gave him
his name: the sailors kept advising him to
"be a little man," and by and by the phrase

became his name. He is coal-black with snow-
white toes, and can be called handsome. He
is dignified and proper, as behooves a cat on
a flag-ship, except when Billy gets after him.
Billy has no use for dignity.





When the ship put into New York last
September a little gray kitten came aboard
to keep Little Man company. "Puss" is
nothing but a landman, and Billy does not
bother about him.
The queerest member of the family is
"Satan," the iguana. Satan is a native of
Chili, though his kind abounds throughout


the American tropics. He is a big, fat, lazy,
homely reptile, who was not more than a foot
long when he boarded the ship in the harbor
of Valparaiso. Ugly as he looks, the iguana



makes a very palatable stew, and there is
a suspicion that this was to have been his
destiny before he became a pet. He is
more than two feet long now, and likes to
lie on the deck near the hood around the
smoke-stack, where the climate is tropical.
When the sea is rough a lanyard is tied
around him abaft his forearms so he won't be

hurt in the slamming of the ship. A little
soft tack and a fly or two keep Satan
happy. He does not care for attention, and
at times really gets too much for his own
When the sun is warm, Satan, the cats, and
Billy like to idle in a quiet spot together.
They are all friends.


AN Athlete, one vacation,
Met a Lion in privation
On a desert where the lion-food was rare.
The Lion was delighted
That the Athlete he had sighted,
But the Athlete wished that he had been elsewhere.

The Athlete dared not fight him,
And he recalled an item
That was published in some journal

he had read,


/' '

4 ,



~r~i~-~ ------~I--r



Of a lion that retreated,
SDisheartened and defeated,
N, When an unarmed hunter stood'
upon his head.

On this hint from print
S. The Athletepromptlyacted,
And brandished both his shoe-
heels high in air.
Upon his feat amazing
The Lion sat a-gazing,
And studied the phenomenon with care. -

Said the Lion: "This position
Is quite against tradition,
But I '11 gladly eat you any way you choose;
Inverted perpendicular
Will do I 'm not particular! "
He finished him, beginning with his shoes.

Tudor Jenks.





THE training of the Sioux boy begins when
he listens, to the songs of war, the songs of the
chase, and the songs of the Great Mystery,"
or Wakantanka; and these were the lullabies
which we heard in our infancy. Of course
there were some boys who were deprived of
the training they needed, even in the wild life;

but the true and loving parents were as am-
bitious and hopeful for their children as any
civilized and educated parents could be.
Very early the Indian boy assumed the task
of preserving and transmitting the legends and
stories of his ancestors and his race. Almost
every evening a myth, or a legend of some deed
done in the past, was narrated by one of the
parents or grandparents, and to it the boy lis-


r 1'


tened with parted mouth and shining eyes. On
the following evening he was usually required
to repeat it.- If he was not an apt scholar, he
struggled long with his task; but, as a rule, the
Indian boy is a good listener and has a good
memory, so that the stories were tolerably well
mastered. The household became his audience,
by whom he was alternately criticized and ap-
This sort of teaching at once enlightens the
boy's mind and stimulates his ambition. His
conception of his own future career becomes a
vivid and irresistible force. Whatever there is
for him to acquire must be acquired; whatever
qualifications are necessary to a truly great
warrior and hunter, he must seek at any ex-
pense of danger and hardship. Such was the
feeling of the imaginative and brave young
It becomes apparent to him early in life that
he must accustom himself to rove alone, and
not to fear or dislike the impression of solitude,
but acquaint himself thoroughly with nature.
Much has been said about Indian children's
"instincts." To be sure, we inherited some
of the characteristics of our ancestors, but the
greater part of our faculties we had to acquire
by practice. All the stoicism and patience of
the Indian are acquired traits. Physical training
and dieting were not neglected. I remember I
was not allowed to drink beef soup or any warm
drink. The soup was for the old men. The
general rules for the young were never to eat
their food very hot, nor to drink much water.
My uncle, who educated me, was a severe
and strict teacher. When I left his teepee for
the day, he would say to me: Hakada, watch
everything closely and observe its characteris-
tics"; and at evening, on my return, he used
to catechize me for an hour or so. On which
side of the trees is the lighter-colored bark?
On which side do they have most regular
branches ?" It was his custom to let me name
all the new birds that I had seen during the
day. I would name them according to the
color, or habits, or the shape of the bill, or
their song, or the appearance and locality of
the nest--in fact, anything about the bird
which impressed me as characteristic. I made
many ridiculous errors, I must admit. He

then usually informed me of the correct name.
Occasionally I made a hit, and this he would
warmly commend.
He went much deeper into this science when
I was a little older-that is, about the age of
eight or nine years. He would say, for in-
stance, How do you know that there are fish
in the lake ?" "Because they jump out of the
water for flies at midday." He would smile
at my prompt but superficial reply. What do
you think of the little pebbles grouped together
under the shallow water, and how came the
rivulet-like and pretty curved marks in the
sand under the water, and the little sand-
banks? Where do you find the fish-eating
birds ?-by the fishless water? Have the inlet
and the outlet of a lake anything to do with
the question?" He did not expect a correct
reply at once to all the voluminous questions
that he put to me, but he meant to make me
observant and careful in studying nature.
Hakada," he would say to me, you ought
to follow the example of the shunktokeca [wolf].
Even when he is surprised and runs for his
life, he will pause to take one more look at
you before he enters his final retreat. So you
must take a second look at everything that you
may see.
"It is better to view nature unobserved. I
was once an interested and unseen spectator of
a contest between a pair of grizzly bears and
three buffaloes-a rash act for the bears, for it
was in the moon of strawberries, when the buf-
faloes sharpen and polish their horns for
bloody contests among themselves. By the
way, Hakada, I would advise you never to ap-
proach a grizzly's den from the front, but steal
up behind, and then throw your blanket or a
stone in front of the hole. He does not usu-
ally rush out for it, but comes out very indiffer-
ently, and sits on his haunches on the mound in
front of the hole, before he makes any attack.
While he is displaying himself in this manner,
aim at his heart. Always be as cool as the
animal himself." Thus he warned me against
the cunning of savage beasts, by teaching me
how to outwit them.
In hunting," he would resume, you will be
guided by the habits of the animal you seek.
Remember that a moose stays in swampy or low





land, or between high mountains near a spring
or lake, for thirty to sixty days at a time. Most
large game moves constantly, except the doe
in the spring; it is a very easy matter then to
find her with the fawn. Conceal yourself in a
convenient place, as soon as you observe any
signs of the presence of either, and then call
with your birchen doe-caller. Whichever one
hears you first will soon appear near you. But
be very watchful, or you may be made a fawn
of by a large wildcat! They understand the
call of the fawn or of a doe perfectly well.
"When you have any difficulty with a bear
or a wildcat,-that is, if the creature shows
signs of attacking you,-you must make him
fully understand that you have seen him and
are aware of his intentions. If you are not
well equipped for a pitched battle, the only
way to make him retreat is to take a long,
sharp-pointed pole for a spear, and rush to-
ward him. No wild beast will face this un-
less he is cornered and already wounded. All
fierce beasts know the common weapon of the
larger animals-the horns. If they are very
long and sharp, they dare not risk an open
fight. They always prefer to surprise the
enemy. In this respect they are not far dif-
ferent from men.
"There is one exception to this rule: the
gray wolf will attack fiercely when very hun-
gry. But their courage entirely depends upon
their number: in this they are like white men.
One wolf or two never attack a man. They
will stampede a herd of buffaloes in order to
get at the calves; they will rush upon a herd
of antelopes, for these are helpless; but they
are always careful about attacking men."
Of this nature were the instructions of my
uncle, who was widely known at that time as
the greatest hunter of his tribe.
All boys were expected to endure hardship
without complaint. In savage warfare, a young
man must of course be an athlete and used to
undergoing all sorts of hardships. He must
be able to go without food or water for two
or three days, or to run for a day and a
night without rest. He must know how to
traverse a pathless and wild country without
losing his way either in the day or night time.
He cannot refuse to do any of these things, if

he claims to be a warrior. Sometimes my
uncle would waken me very early in the morn-
ing, and challenge me to fast with him all day.
I had to accept. We blackened our faces
with charcoal, so that every boy in the village
would know that I was fasting for the day.
Then the little tempters would make my life a
misery until the merciful sun hid behind the
western hills.
I can scarcely recall the time when my stern
teacher began to give sudden war-whoops over
my head in the morning, while I was sound
asleep. He expected me to leap up with per-
fect presence of mind, always ready to grasp
a weapon of some sort, and to give a shrill
whoop in reply. If I was sleepy or startled,
and hardly knew what I was about, he would
deride me, and would say that I need never
expect to sell my scalp dear! Often he would
vary these tactics by shooting off a gun just
outside of the teepee while I was yet asleep,
at the same time giving blood-curdling yells.
After a while I became used to this.
When Indians went upon the war-path, it
was their custom to try the new warriors thor-
oughly before coming to an engagement. For
instance, when they were near a hostile camp,
they would select the novices to go after the
water, and make them do all sorts of things to
display their courage. In accordance with this
idea my uncle used to send me off after water
when in a strange place and after dark. Per-
haps the country was full of wild beasts, and
there might be scouts from hostile bands of In-
dians lurking about our camp. Yet I never
objected, for that would show cowardice. I
picked my way through the woods, dipped my
pail in the water, and hurried back, always
careful to make as little noise as a cat. Being
only a boy, my heart would leap at every
crackling of a dry stick under my feet, or dis-
tant hoot of an owl, until at last I reached
our teepee.- Then my uncle would perhaps
say, Ah, Hakada, you are a thorough war-
rior!" empty out the precious contents of
the pail, and order me to go for a second
Imagine how I felt! But I wished to be a
brave as much as a white boy desires to be a
great lawyer, or even President of the United


States! So I silently took the pail, and en-
deavored to retrace my footsteps in the dark.
With all this our manners and morals were
not neglected. I was made to respect the
adults, and especially the aged. I was not al-
lowed to join in their discussions, or even to
speak in their presence, unless requested to do so.
Indian etiquette was perfect in these respects,
and I am glad to say that it is still observed
by some. We were taught generosity to the
poor, and reverence for the Great Mystery."
Religion was the basis of all Indian training.
I recall to the present day some of the kind
warnings and reproofs that my good grand-
mother was wont to give me. Be strong of
heart-be patient! she used to say. She told
me of a young chief who was noted for his un-
controllable temper. While in one of his rages
he attempted to kill a woman, for which he

was slain by his own band, and left unburied as
a mark of disgrace--his body simply covered
with green grass. If I ever lost my temper,
she would say, "Hakada, control yourself, or
you will be like that young man, and lie under
a green blanket / "
In the old days, no young man was allowed
to use tobacco in any form until he had
become an acknowledged warrior, and had
achieved the public respect. If a youth should
seek a wife before he had reached the age of
twenty-two or twenty-three, and been recog-
nized as a brave man, he was sneered at and
considered an ill-bred Indian. Especially he
must be a skilful hunter. An Indian cannot
be a good husband unless he brings home
plenty of game.
These precepts were in the line of our train-
ing for the wild life.

(To be continued.)



BEING an enthusiastic wheelman, I fre-
quently take long rides into the country. The
evening of June 21 found me on the road from
Topeka to Lawrence. The heat of the noon-
day sun had given way to a slightly cooler
temperature, and the blue dome was dotted
here and there with floating white clouds.
There was scarcely breeze enough to move
the wilting foliage of the lofty trees on the
bluff north of the road. The whole world
seemed at peace. I could hear in the distance
the peculiar cry of the farm-hand calling the
pigs to their evening feeding. The milkmaid
was busy with the cows.
As I moved slowly along, delighting in the
glorious beauty of the landscape, and in its
peaceful activity, I noticed that the air felt so
close and sultry that I found exertion difficult;

and this, with a rustling in the trees and the
veiling of the sun's face, prompted me to turn to
the west, where it seemed that a thunder-storm
was gathering. It moved along rapidly-only a
summer shower. To the left, along the bluff, the
gentle drops of rain were falling with a lullaby-
like patter on the thickly clustered trees of the
hillside forest. I had dismounted from my wheel,
and was watching the progress of the storm
that, passing so near me, had not touched me.
But, all at once, with a mighty roar like the
rending of the heavens, a dark greenish cloud
with tints of yellow and black, its massive folds
writhing in and out like serpents at battle,
emitting vivid flashes of lightning, came over
the bluff a quarter of a mile east of me. It was
shaped like a huge top, its irregularly formed
upper half revolving rapidly while the lower


VOL. XXI.- 56.





end swept the earth along a path a quarter of a swept along, skirting the bluff, where it stripped
mile wide. foliage and bark from the trees, and now and
Startled as I was, I could not take my eyes then swooping down on some farm. So sud-
from this awful messenger of destruction. The denly did the storm burst that many had to
crash of the buildings first struck filled the flee with all speed to their cyclone-cellars, the
air with flying debris, in which fragments of only safe refuge from these fearful storms.
houses, furniture, trees, farming implements, hay- After a course of half a mile along the bluff,
stacks, and telegraph-poles-all were propelled the funnel-shaped monster swerved to the right.
by a wonderful, irresistible current of ruin and It swept through huge wheat-fields, where it
disaster, snapped off the drooping heads of the almost
Eighty rods wide the death-dealing cyclone ripened grain, and then tore on through the lit-



`''~~"" "


tie village of Williamstown, transforming what
was the moment before a lovely village of the
plain" into a scene of devastation. Houses,
barns, and other buildings were destroyed, and
human beings carried through space as if they
were but feathers.

aborigines had their home, stood a huge wal-
nut-tree that bore on its ample bole the dis-
tinctive symbol of the Sac and Fox tribe--the
turtle. Tradition says that this rude carving is
the record of the triumph of the combined Sac
and Fox tribe over the warlike Kaws. This


Many lives were lost, and many homes lit-
erally swept from the face of the earth. There
were many miraculous escapes. A baby, six-
teen months old, was discovered by the road-
side several hundred yards away from the house,
asleep and uninjured. An old lady sixty years
old was carried a mile from her home and
lodged safely in the wide-spreading branches
of an oak-tree, unhurt. A family of six sought
refuge in a small space under the stairs; the
house was carried away with the sole exception
of that portion, and the family escaped injury.
A house was completely swept away; but the
family cat and her kittens under the porch
were not disturbed.
In this historic neighborhood, where the

tree, with its branches unbroken, but every
leaf stripped from it, was found a mile east
of where it had stood sentinel-like for half a
century, near the ruined house which marked
the spot where the first settlement in Kansas
was made.
All that remains of this first dwelling is the
foundation wall, laid many years ago by Daniel
Morgan Boone, son of the famous Daniel
Boone of early Kentucky fame, and the first
white settler in Kansas. In the house first
erected on this foundation was born, August 22,
1828, the first white child in Kansas. Napo-
leon Boone was his name, and he was the son
of Daniel Morgan Boone, and a grandson of
Daniel Boone.



In less than eight minutes, the cyclone had
transformed the peaceful village and plain into
a scene of wide-spread and awful desolation;
and the dreary night that followed was spent
by the dazed and grief-stricken survivors in
searching for their nearest and dearest, or for
some trace of their destroyed homes. Then,

with daylight, came not only the curious, won-
dering crowd of sight-seers, but also the kind
hearts and tender hands of those who sought
to care for the sufferers from the storm. In-
habitants of neighboring towns gave freely of
their sympathy and substance. All that human
kindness could do was done.



GEORGE DUNHAM, of Provincetown, Massa-
chusetts, though only sixteen years of age, is a
"shell-back" in experience. For, if all goes
well with him, he will complete this summer
his tenth whaling voyage in the good ship
"William A. Crozier," of which his father,
John A. Dunham, is master. George is ar-
ticled as an able seaman," but the old salts
of Provincetown say he should be articled as
" mascot," for the Crozier has sailed in wonder-
ful luck ever since George has been aboard her.
He has whaler blood in his veins. Before
his father, his grandfather was one of the Nim-
rods of the sea," losing a leg by getting it foul
of the line when fast to a whale; but, with a
jury-leg lashed to the old stump, he sailed three
more voyages, and even served in the boats.
The Crozier is a typical short-voyage whaler.
She is of 109 tons burden, with a capacity of
600 barrels, and carries three boats, of which
she lowers two. Officers and crew number
eighteen. In rig she does n't differ from the
general run of fore-and-afters, but you know
the whaler by the try-works just abaft the fore-
mast-two i6o-gallon kettles set in brick.
George began aboard the Crozier as a cabin-
boy when seven years old. He went through
one hurricane when he was so young that they
locked him in the cabin for fear that if he came
on deck (as he would have been sure to do)
he might be washed overboard. The vessel

generally sails from Provincetown in February
or March, and cruises on the Hatteras and
Charleston grounds, and sometimes off the
West Indies, returning during the summer, the
voyage usually lasting six months. Aboard ship
the same duties are exacted of George as of
any other "able seaman"; but he shares the
cabin with his father, the mate, the steward,
and an elder brother, who, however, is only
nineteen. Both boys deserve the privileges of
the cabin and quarter-deck, for they are able
navigators. Captain Dunham never "takes
any sights," leaving that wholly to them. They
can "bring down the sun" with the oldest
On one of his voyages George kept the log.
It is a terse record of the voyage. Perhaps
those of you who never saw a vessel's log would
like to read a complete day's entry in George's.
Here, for instance, is the entry for March 1o,
the day the Crozier sailed from Provincetown:

9 A. M.- Got under way from Provincetown Har-
bor. At 12 noon passed Race Point. At 6 P. M. lost
sight of Chatham Light. Saw one brig and a steamer.
At 8 P. M. set the watch. So ends this day.

"So ends this day" always concludes a day's
entry in a log.
The entry just quoted started the Crozier on
her voyage. The next entry of interest is dated
April 22:




At 2 P. M. raised a school of whales. At 3 P. M. low-
ered. Whales went to windward. At 5 P. M. lowered
again. Struck one calf. At 8 P. M. took the whale on
deck whole.

This school of whales had been schooling
to such good purpose that they knew enough
to escape to windward when the Crozier low-
ered her two whale-boats. But later on the

boats had better luck, and one of them secured
a calf.
The whales are raised," or sighted, by the
lookout. There are usually three or four men
aloft on the Crozier. George often goes aloft
in the mate's stead. On some voyages he has
sighted more whales than his father.
"Thar she blows!" sings out the lookout,





the moment he sees a spout. Then all is ex-
citement on deck. The boats are lowered and
the crews make the planks quiver in their eag-
erness to have their boat the first to go on,"
or approach near enough to hurl the harpoon.
The rivalry is intensified when boats from an-
other ship are pulling for the same prey, and if
the other whaler happens to be a British vessel,
the boats race as if it were a matter of life and
death for them -instead of for the whale.
They tell a story of Captain Jethro Daggett, of
the "Apollo," Martha's Vineyard, whose boats
had a way of "bringing black skin and cedar to-
gether" ahead of all rivals. An English whaler,
who had come on board the Apollo for a little
"gam," or visit, said, as he looked about:
Are those the boats that beat everything in
these waters ? "
Look at the crew, not at the boats! was
Captain Jethro's breezy reply.
The Crozier's boats are officered one by the
captain, the other by the mate. They are regu-
lar whale-boats, twenty-eight to twenty-nine feet
long, with a cut in the bow through which the

aged. The oars are called "leading," "tub,"
"midships," "bow," and harpoonerr" (" har-
pooneer" they pronounce it). When a boat
"goes on," the harpooner draws in his oar and
prepares to "strike." He does n't always suc-
ceed. "Larboard boat went on and missed
three times is one of George's entries.
When the whale is struck the harpooner shifts
with the officer. This explains why he is often
called the boat-steerer. The critical moment
has arrived. The whale once fast, the future is
narrowed down to dead whale or stove boat."
Therefore the killing of the whale is in the hands
of the officer. He must judge nicely, though on
the spur of the moment, when to lay on or off,
and meet all the emergencies caused by the un-
foreseen actions of the wounded leviathan.
Sometimes the whale will rush through the
water, drawing the boat after him at lightning
speed, and almost tearing the loggerhead out of
the stern, the while the line is taut as a fiddle-
string. Or he may "sound," or dive, and fathom
after fathom of line be rapidly paid out. Woe to
him who gets foul of the smoking line It of-

line passes, and in the stern a post over which ten means loss of leg or arm, or even instant
the line may be checked if it is running out death; for the diving weight of tons at the
too fast. The officer sits in the stern, from other end tells before knives can be whipped
where the line, which is coiled in a tub, is man- out and the line cut. And where will the whale





come up ? Perhaps right under the boat, stav-
ing it, or raising it up with him and spilling all
hands into the sea, where they will sink like so
many stones unless they know how to swim or
unless another boat is at hand to pick them up.
He may appear a little to one side, and in his
convulsions shiver the boat with one lash of his
tail, or splinter it between his jaws. I saw on
the shore at Provincetown, last summer, a stove
boat from one of the Provincetown whalers.

The captain had been thrown out over the
bow; the others jumped. Fortunately there was
another boat near by to save them and kill
the whale. Captain Dunham has had the keel
of a boat broken in two, and the boat stove in
three places; and has lost all of a boat's crew
but one, the whale literally taking the boat
down after him.
In the old days the whale was killed with
a lance in the hands of the officer. It required



eye and nerve for the fatal thrust at the rolling,
plunging monster. Now, however, they use the
bomb-lance, which is shot from a heavy brass
gun, and explodes within the whale, usually with
fatal effect. But, risky as going in the boats is,
George does n't hesitate to make one of the crew.
In fact, he grumbles when Captain Dunham
leaves him aboard to assist the ship-keeper.
George, you will remember, said in his log
that they took the whale on board whole.
They could do this because it was a calf. Usu-

bailed it into the cooler, from which, when
cool, they drew it through a faucet into a cask
holding about ten barrels; then barreled it and
stowed it in the hold. A large sperm-whale
will yield fifty barrels. The Crozier cruises for
sperm-whales, Captain Dunham selling the oil
in New Bedford. The long-voyage whalers
who double the Horn and sail far north into
Arctic waters, cruise for right whales, which
yield the valuable bone. The whaler who
chances upon a whale with the morbid secre-

" -~-- : -~I _---_--~- )_-7=_~;- --:-.-~~ ~-- ;
-2: 2 -~- -~--_-:. 1'. -.=.--
:,Y' -- :.5


ally a whale is fastened alongside the vessel,
and the cutting is done from a platform. The
day after the Crozier got the calf, they "set the
works going," with "all hands employed in
working on whale, boiling and stowing down
oil." This means that they started the fires in
the try-works, and as the kettles filled with oil

tion known as ambergris, which is used in per-
fumery, considers himself in great luck; for
ambergris commands a high price. A small
quantity which Captain Dunham secured on
one voyage sold for ten thousand dollars.
Two entries in George's log tell of another
whaling custom.

- -~--



May 2. Raised a school of whales. Mated with the
"Philips." Got one, took him alongside the Philips; made
him fast for the night.
May 3. At daylight went on board the Philips to get
the head of the whale.
Both vessels, being about equally near the
whales, agreed to unite in the chase and share
alike in the result. The head, which fell to the
Crozier, though about only one third of the
whale, would yield as much oil as the remain-
ing part; for the head contains a well of oil.
When the liquid has been boiled out, sailors,
sometimes to the number of eight or ten, jump
into the enormous cavity and scoop out the
half-liquid mass at the bottom.
May Ii. Went on board a brig to send some letters
This is the only method of communication
with home on one of these voyages. Possibly
news from family and friends may be received
from some whaler that left Provincetown a few
weeks later, but often the six months' voyage is
a blank as far as news is concerned. In the
old days of three-year and longer voyages, ves-
sels two years out would'receive the first letters
or news of any kind from some vessel that was
perhaps a year out from the same port. Think
of all that might have happened to wife, chil-
dren, or sweetheart during that year! When
these long-voyage whalers met, the officers
and crew would exchange visits. This was
called "gamming," a term that still survives
on old Nantucket, the nursery of the American
whaling industry, and among the long-voyage
The Atlantic Ocean is rather a large space
in which to recover lost property. But George
notes that on May 19 Captain Harvey, of the
'E. B. Crowell,' came on board. He picked
up the Baltic's' boat. We took it to give to
the Baltic." The Baltic was another whaler
hailing from Provincetown, and had lost one
of her boats in a blow.
On August 21 George made this entry:
Put up the fore-topmast, and scraped the masts, and
kept her away for home.


The ship was full and ready to lay her course
for Provincetown. From that time on, they
would rather sight Highland Light than all
the whales in the Atlantic.
"So ends this day and voyage," wrote
George as the anchor-chains rattled, and the
anchor-flukes caught the bottom of Province-
town Harbor. Now all that remained was fol
each member of the ship's company to receive
his "lay or share in the proceeds of the voy-
age. George as an able seaman was entitled
to a hundredthh lay," or to one barrel in a
hundred. The Provincetown crews are some-
what miscellaneous, with a strong dash of'the
Portuguese and negro. The latter often insist
on a hundred and fortieth, instead of a hun-
dredth, lay, thinking that because the former is
the larger number it would mean a longer lay,
whereas it allows them but one barrel out of
one hundred and forty.
The whale-fishery was at one time an enor-
mous industry in the United States. It reached
its height in 1854, when 602 ships and barks,
twenty-eight brigs, and thirty-eight schooners,
with a total tonnage of 208,399, were engaged
in it. By 1876 the fleet had dwindled down
to 169 vessels, and it is doubtful if fifty are now
at sea. The introduction of kerosene, and the
increasing scarcity of whales, seem to be the
causes of this decline.
Some remarkable voyages were made in the
old days. "The Pioneer" of New London
sailed in June, 1864, for Davis Strait and Hud-
son's Bay, returning in September, 1865, with
1391 barrels of oil and 22,650 pounds of bone,
valued at $i50,ooo. In 1847 the "Envoy,"
of New Bedford, was sold to be broken up; but
her purchaser refitted her and she made a voy-
age worth $132,450. On the other hand, a
vessel made a five years' voyage, and on her
return the captain's lay was only eighty-five
dollars. But, as the Nantucket captain, whose
vessel returned from a three years' voyage as
clean as she went out, remarked: "She ain't
got a bar'l o' ile-but she 's had a mighty fine
sail! "

VOL. XXI.-57.

The Story of a Dagger.

) -


IT hung on the wall of Don Miguel's little
shop in the Haytian town of Jeremie.
The old man looked a harmless figure
enough, as he sat day by day on a bench out-
side of his'low door, with his dreamy eyes fixed
on the blue waters of the Caribbean Sea, and
the smoke curling lazily up from his cigar.
Little children went fearlessly in and out,
buying his sweetmeats and fruits, and occa-
sional travelers picked over his treasures of
sea-shell and coral in search of souvenirs, and
thought him, with his gentle manner and soft
words, more interesting than his wares.
But night wrought a change. Then the
sailors from the ships in the harbor were wont
to congregate in the little garden back of the
shop, and while they sat at Don Miguel's tables
and bought his fruits, they listened to the mar-
velous stories he told of his wild life at sea;
and his dark eyes would gleam again with
youthful fire, and his soft voice take on a
fierce, intense quality.
The dagger which hung on the wall figured
in most of these stories, and while he eagerly
sold his other knives, this one remained, viewed
with admiring awe by his cronies, and with
loving pride by himself.
But one night Rodrigo, a swarthy Spaniard,
a stranger in the port, but a man after Mig-
uel's own heart, made such a generous offer,
that the long-cherished dagger, with its sharp-
pointed blade, and its ivory handle twined with

fanciful gold wire, was taken down from the
wall, fastened by its delicate chains about the
stranger's waist, and the keen blade hid in his
sash of red and black.
With a hasty "Adios!" he summoned his
sailors and was pulled off to his ship, a low,
rakish-looking affair with something so sinister
and mysterious about her appearance as to
bring a complacent smile to Don Miguel's
watching face.
The steel is in true hands again! he mur-

Robert Neal, having suffered the wounds
and imprisonment of a sailor's lot in the War
of 1812, was, after the declaration of peace,
sent as captain of the brig "Margaret" to
bring home the guns and other property of a
privateer left at Rio de Janeiro as unseaworthy.
When in the latitude of the West Indies on
his return, the Margaret was boarded by the
captain of a British man-of-war, who said he
was in pursuit of a noted pirate vessel which
had captured several merchantmen in the vi-
cinity. He described the vessel and offered
protection to Captain Neal.
The latter thanked him, but declining his aid,
brought up the privateer's guns from the hold,
and arranged temporary port-holes for them.
Then handspikes were rigged out in sailors'
clothes and placed about the deck to give the
appearance of a numerous crew.


Toward evening a vessel answering the de-
scription of the pirate was described. She was
low and rakish, and flew a black flag. All
night she lay off and on, and the next morning
bore down upon the Margaret.
Captain Neal was ready. When within good
distance he rounded to, and delivered a well-
directed broadside of bolt and chain shot which,
coming from an innocent-looking merchant-
man, caused the pirate to put about with all
speed. The Margaret gave chase, sending her
iron compliments again and again, and soon
came up with the crippled marauder.
All seemed quiet on her decks, but as Cap-
tain Neal, at the head of a boarding party, ap-
peared over the side, Rodrigo, the leader, with
Don Miguel's dagger in his hand, sprang upon
him, some of the crew who had been shamming
dead or dying leaped into action again, and a
hand-to-hand fight ensued.
Although outmatched in size and strength,
Captain Neal had no thought of giving up.
His father had fought under Admiral Nelson,
and he was worthy of his race-as he had
proved in many desperate encounters during
the war just closed. He struggled grimly with,
the fierce Spaniard and, after receiving some
sharp pricks from the dagger, managed
to secure it and turn it upon his foe.
This ended the fight. The pirate
crew, seeing their leader wounded
and overpowered, gave up the
In due course of time the
Yankee captain sailed proudly i
into the harbor of Portsmouth,
New Hampshire -his native

Captain Neal and his men received a goodly
sum of prize-money, and he was welcomed
with hearty pride and affection by friends and
Brave, handsome, and of good family, he
was an ideal hero to his pretty sweetheart, Mar-
garet Manning. She looked at him with ad-
miring eyes, and listened with glowing cheeks
to his stories of adventure, as side by side they
paced the box-bordered paths of the old gar-
den, bright with sweet-smelling flowers, which
made beautiful the grounds of her stately colo-
nial home.
Here he brought her curious trinkets, strange
shells, quaint jewels, silken stuffs, and one
never-to-be-forgotten evening, a ring. Here too
he gave her the Spanish dagger with its rusty

.,Nll i

t (i

town-bringing not only the privateer's can- blood-stain; and sweet Margaret grew pale, and
non for which he had been sent, but also a shuddered at its touch, for she thought of the
captured pirate vessel and crew. peril which her lover had escaped.


She put the weapon away with her other
treasures, and it remained with them as the
years went on.

Once more the clarion cry of war rang
through the land.
Margaret Neal slept in the peaceful grave-
yard and her sailor husband lay beneath the
cruel waves; but their descendants were pos-
sessed of the old brave spirit, and sprang to do
or die for their country.
One day, in 1864, news of a great naval vic-
tory thrilled the pulses of the North, and every-
where celebrations were held to honor it.
In the old seaport town of Portsmouth, the
grandsons of Margaret and Robert were pre-
paring a big bonfire of their own; for their
father, another Captain Neal," was an officer
on one of the victorious ships, and the tele-
graph had brought the glad tidings of his
Little Robert the youngest of the flock-
longed to help his brothers, but was hustled
about, and always in the way, it seemed.
However, his time came. Hatchets and jack-
knives were too dull, or there were not enough
to go round, and Rob was hurriedly sent to the
house for a carving-knife.
Cook was busy preparing for. the festivities--

he could get nothing from her. In seeking his
mother he passed through the library, and
there, in a hastily opened drawer, gleamed the
old Spanish dagger.
He carried it triumphantly to his brothers,
and they used it to split the pine bits which
served for the foundation of their bonfire. In
return Rob was allowed to light the beacon
which that night helped to flash out the joyful
news over land and sea.
But the poor old dagger bore many an hon-
orable scar as the result of that day's patriotic

Another generation passed. In a modern
drawing-room where the curios of every coun-
try are aesthetically combined, where soft rugs
from Persia, Japanese screens, quaint Chinese
jars, Queen Anne chairs, soft Oriental otto-
mans, and bits of medieval armor appear in
artistic confusion, sits the "Rob" of the bon-
fire days--now grown to man's estate.
His little daughter, Margaret, leans against
his knee begging for a story, and while the
ruddy flames light up her eager face, he gazes
up at the picture of his gallant ancestor, the
first Captain Robert Neal, and tells her this
tale of the dagger that now hangs in the place
of honor beneath the old portrait.



You bring me the words of an old refrain,
And ask me to make the meaning plain;
Three little people who wonder why
The world is wide and the heavens are high.

But how would a guess from each one do?
So, Master Harry, and first come you:
For the ships on the sea, and the stars in the sky,
The world is wide and. the heavens are high.

And what do you think, with your dreamy air,
Little Blue-Eyes on the cushion there ?
For flowers to blossom, and birds to fly,
The world is wide and the heavens are high.

Last and least of the wondering three,
Here is wee Freddy, and what says he?
To play with marbles, and kites to fly,
The world is wide and the heavens are high.

Ah, well, a reason you each have found,
So now the riddle to me comes round:
And this is the guess I venture why
The world is wide and the heavens are high.

Up the great hillside our feet to set
A little farther and farther yet;
To try forever and still to try,
The world is wide and the heavens are high.




THERE are young people as well as old who
often inquire, "What is electricity? I will tell
you what wise men think it is, though none of
them are quite sure that -they know.
Everything you can see, feel, taste, or smell,
is called matter; as wood, stone, water, air, gas,
steam, a plant, an animal; and that which
makes matter move, work, or do something, is
called energy. It is energy which makes water
flow, fire burn, wind blow, the sun shine, a
weight fall, a plant grow, a boy play or study.
There are a great many kinds of matter, and
the same matter in different forms has different
names. Water in one form is called ice, in
another, steam. Wheat when ground is called
flour, and flour when baked is called bread.
So energy shows itself in many different ways,
and gets different names. We call it vital en-
ergy when it makes a plant or animal live
and grow; muscular energy when it makes a
man work, a boy run, a girl walk. When en-
ergy makes fire burn, water boil, expands steam
in an engine, or mercury in a thermometer, we
call it heat; when it makes the sun, or a
lamp, shine, we call it light. Gravity energy
makes a weight fall, water flow. Magnetic en-
ergy makes a magnet attract iron. Electric
energy makes an electric lamp shine, an elec-
tric motor rotate and turn a fan, or drive a
car; makes a telegraph click, or a telephone
whisper a message into your ear.
Now of all this we are quite sure, but what we
are not so sure of is, just how energy acts on mat-
ter, so as to make it do these various things, and
especially how electric energy acts; but I will
explain to you the way it is supposed to act.
All matter is made up of very small particles
called molecules, which are so small that you
could not see one of them with the strongest
microscope; but you can think how small they
are, when I tell you that if a single grain of

flour were divided into a million parts, one of
these parts would be bigger than a molecule.
So you see there would be a great many mil-
lions of them in a bit of matter no bigger than
a grain of wheat.
Now it is supposed that energy keeps all
these little particles in motion in different
ways; and one kind of motion we call heat,
another kind, light, and another kind, electri-
city. So when you put your hand on any-
thing warm, that which you call heat is the
motion of these molecules. This makes the
molecules of your hand move in the same
way; and if the molecules of the article you
touch are moving very fast, much faster than
those of your hand, you say it is hot; or, if
much slower, that it is cold. And this is what
makes a hot iron feel different from apiece of
ice; for there is some heat in everything, even
in ice.
If you place the ends of a piece of copper
wire in the flame of a lamp, the wire will soon
become so hot as to burn your hand; and, in
like manner, if you pass a very strong current
of electricity through it, the wire will burn your
hand, though it may become only slightly
warm. So we see that the effect of the elec-
tric energy on the wire is similar to that of the
heat energy, and we infer that, in each case,
this effect is a very rapid motion of the mole-
cules. This motion may become so rapid, when
heat or electricity is applied, that the wire may
become red-hot, or even white-hot, giving light.
And so we infer again that the light, like the
heat and the electricity, is a kind of motion.
You may wonder how the molecules of a
solid body can have room to move. But if
you look at such a body through a very strong
magnifying-glass, you will find that it is not
nearly so solid as you thought, but is full of lit-
tle holes or spaces called pores; and there are


millions of still smaller spaces which you cannot
see with the glass, so that the little molecules
have plenty of room for the kinds of motion
described, motion which you cannot see, but
can feel.
Now you know there are some kinds of mat-
ter, as air or gas, which are so thin and light
that you cannot see them, though you can feel
the air and smell the gas; and there is a kind
of gas called hydrogen, which is so thin that
it cannot be long confined in such a vessel as
will confine the gas which we bur, for it will
go through the pores. But there is believed
to be a kind of matter called ether, which is
so very thin that we can neither see, feel, nor
smell it, but which fills all the spaces between
the molecules of all other kinds of matter; and
when these molecules are put in motion by
electric energy, they produce little waves in
this ether, which move very rapidly and put
other molecules in motion; and thus the en-
ergy travels through all other kinds of matter,
as air, earth, water, and metal wires, to great
But you must remember that it is the en-
ergy alone which travels, and not the ether or
other matter. When a pebble is thrown into
water, little waves spread out in circles, but
the waves do not travel-the energy travels
and makes the waves. If you place a number
of marbles in a row, touching one another, and,
standing at one end of the row, shoot a marble
so as to strike the nearest one, the marble at
the farther end of the row will bound away
and all the others remain still. The energy
travels through the row, each marble acting
against the one in front of it, till it reaches the
last, which, having no other in front, expends
the energy by bounding away.
The molecules in a wire are like this row of
marbles. Electric energy applied at the end
of the wire travels through the molecules with
a wave motion in them and the surrounding
ether, and makes a telegraph click at the other
end, perhaps a thousand miles away, or oper-
ates some other electric instrument.
But this energy travels much more easily
through some kinds of matter than through
other kinds. It goes very easily through a
copper wire hundreds of miles long, but can

hardly be forced through a piece of glass or
hard-rubber a quarter of an inch thick. We
do not know why this is so; perhaps because
the arrangement of the molecules in the copper
is different from its arrangement in the glass
or hard-rubber. We call those substances
through which electric energy travels easily,
conductors, and those through which it will
hardly travel at all, non-conductors; and we
use conductors to convey electric energy, and
non-conductors to confine or stop it, and the
one is just as useful as the other.
Please notice the difference between elec-
tricity and electric energy. The supposed
wave motion of the molecules and ether is
electricity; the energy acting in such a way as
to produce this motion is electric energy.

THERE are different ways of generating, or
producing, electricity. For such work as elec-
tric lighting and driving machinery it is gener-
ated by a machine called a dynamo. This is
made from either a ring or a cylinder of iron,
on the outside of which are wound coils of cop-
per wire in different ways. If a ring is used,
the wire is wound round it as shown in Fig. I;
if a cylinder is used, the wire is wound on it
lengthwise, and over the ends, just as you
might wind twine lengthwise upon a tin can.


This wire is generally wound in three or four
layers, like thread on a spool, and often in deep
grooves cut in the surface of the iron, and is
fastened in these grooves by wedges, or bound



by strong bands or hoops if a cylinder is
used. It is wrapped with cotton before being
wound, and thus it is insulated; that is, the
thread, which is a non-conductor, keeps the
wire strands from touching each other, so that
the electricity must follow the wire and cannot
cross from one strand to another, as it would
do if the wire were bare.
The iron used is not hard and brittle, like
common cast-iron, but is the kind known as
soft iron, which is easily bent or dented by a
hammer; and the ring or cylinder is made of
a great number of thin plates or rings of this
iron, insulated from one another with paper,
and bolted together.
This part of the dynamo is called the arma-
ture, and when electric energy passes through


these coils of wire, this armature becomes a
magnet. You know that a common magnet
is a piece of steel which will attract iron or
steel; but if a copper wire is wound round any
piece of iron, and an electric current passed
through the wire, the iron will become a mag-
net, but it will cease to.be one when the current
ceases. The wire coil itself also becomes a mag-
net while the current is passing through it, but
not nearly so strong a one as the iron within
it. A magnet of this kind is called an electro-
magnet; and the armature is such a magnet.
The ends of a magnet are called its poles;
and when a straight magnet is suspended, as at
A in Fig. 2, one pole always points north, and
is therefore called the north pole and marked
N, while the other points south, and is called
the south pole and marked S. But in an elec-
tromagnet these poles depend on the way the
wire is coiled, and the direction of the electric
current through it. If the wire is coiled as

shown at B, and the current flows in the di-
rection shown by the arrows, the north pole
will be on the left and the south pole on the
right. But if the current flows in the opposite
direction, as shown by the arrows at C, the
poles will be reversed, the north pole being on
the right and the south pole on the left.
Magnets are often bent into the form of a
horseshoe so as to bring the poles near each
other, as shown at D, where, as you see, the
wire is wound as at B and C; but the direc-
tion of the current, and therefore the position
of the poles, as represented at C.
The armature has an axle or shaft on which
it can revolve, as shown in Fig. i, and is
placed between the poles of one or more
electromagnets, as in Fig. 3, which shows a


cylinder armature so placed. These magnets
are generally made in the horseshoe form, of
soft cast-iron, with insulated copper wire wound
round it, leaving the ends and middle bare;
and have large pole-pieces, curved inside, which
partly inclose the armature, but do not touch it,
about a quarter-inch space being left on each
side, so that the armature revolves without
touching. The whole space between the pole-
pieces, in which the armature revolves, is called
the magnetic-field, and hence this stationary
magnet is called the field-magnet.
On one end of the armature shaft is a band-
wheel, which does not show in Fig. 3, by which
the armature can be made to revolve by a belt
connected with a steam-engine or water-wheel;
and on the other end is a cylinder called the
commutator, shown in Figs. i and 3, made of a
number of copper bars, insulated from one an-
other with mica, or some other non-conductor,
and bound together at the ends with insulated



steel rings. The ends of the armature coils are
soldered to these bars, as shown in Fig. I, the
two ends of each coil to two adjoining bars, so
that the electric current, in going from one bar
to another, must go by way of a coil, because
it cannot go
through the
terial which
separates the
bars; and, in
this way, the
electric cur-
rent goes
bar and every
This little
4) will help
you to under-

same nature as coal,-or sometimes of several
strips of sheet copper overlapping one another
-each brush being divided into two or three
parts, or sections, as shown, and pressed against
the commutator by springs. The two ends of
the coils of copper wire, wound on
the field-magnet, are attached, as you
see, to two little binding-posts on the
left, and the other two ends to two
binding-posts like them on the right,
which you cannot see; and each of
these is attached underneath to the
two larger binding-posts on the right
and left, in front, which are connect-
ed with the two brushes by short
wire conductors, as shown; and in
this way the field-magnet coils are
connected with the armature coils
through the brushes and commutator
bars; so that the elec-
tric current must
go through both
sets of coils.
The arma-
ture has north
and south
poles, just as
the field-mag-
net has, and
their position
depends on
the direction
of the electric


stand how it is done. Here is a plan of three
of the coils and four of the bars; and the
coils are flat, which is the way they are often
wound, and the bars are insulated from each
other by air spaces. Now you can easily see
that an electric current entering the bar on
the left, as shown by the arrow, must go
through every bar and coil before it can leave
by the bar on the right; and it goes just the
same way through the bars and coils shown in
Figs. I and 3.
On the commutator are placed the ends of
two brushes, as they are called, one on each
side, as shown in Fig. 3. They are not made
with hair, like common brushes, but are either
strips of carbon,- a hard black substance of the

current, as in
the magnets
represented by
Fig. 2. But as
it mightbe hard
for you to un-
derstand how a
ring, which has
no ends, could
have pbles, I
have represent-
ed, by Fig. 5,
an iron ring
wound round
with wire (as in
the armature of




nn h~ ~~



Fig. i). If an electric current should enter
from below, and leave above, as shown by the
arrows, it would divide, each half of it going
round one half of the ring; and the two halves
of the ring would become two magnets, with
their north poles joined together above, and
their south poles joined together below.
Now, this
is just what
armature of
a dynamo,
whether it is
-4 1 made like a
ring or like
a cylinder.
The current,
through a
/ bar, enters
FIG. 5. by a brush,
and, divid-
ing, goes round through the coils on opposite
sides, and leaves by the opposite commutator
bar and brush, producing two south poles at
the brush by which it enters, and two north
poles at the brush by which it leaves, if the
wire is wound in the same direction as on this
ring. But as the two poles of each kind are
close together, it is more convenient to speak
of them as one north pole and one south pole.
If the current entered the coils of this ring
above and left below, the poles would be re-
versed, just as in the magnets B and C in Fig.
2: the south pole being above and the north
pole below. But if, instead of this, the ring
were turned half-way round, and the current
entered below and left above, as before, then
the part which was a north pole above would
be below, and be a south pole; while the part
which was a south pole below would be above,
and be a north pole; because the current in
the wire would be reversed, though its direc-
tion, from bottom to top, would be the same as
before. So you see it is necessary only to turn
the ring half-way round to reverse the poles in
the iron, and the direction of the current in the
wire. And just the same thing is true in the
armature of the dynamo when wound like this
ring. While the current enters by the lower
VOL. XXI.-58.

brush and leaves by the upper brush, the north
pole will always be above and the south pole
below; but the poles in the iron, and the direc-
tion of the current in the wire, will be reversed
every time the armature is turned half-way
round, no matter how fast it is turned.
But this occurs only in the armature, because
it is the part which turns or revolves. The
current through the field-magnet coils always
goes round in the same direction, from one:
brush to the other, and the poles of this magnet
are not reversed by turning the armature.
As the ring in Fig. 5 has only two coils, the
current and poles would be reversed only once
at every turn, or revolution; and the action of
the armature has been described in the same
way, so that you could understand it better.
But an armature has a great many coils, the
armature shown in Fig. i having forty-two
coils. And there must be just as many bars in
the commutator as there are coils in the arma-
ture. The commutator shown has forty-two
bars. Now, in Fig. 6, you see three armatures,
A, B, and C, and the ends of the commutator
bars, with the brushes pressing on them, above
and below. At A are shown two bars connected
by two coils; and the action of this armature
would be just the same as has been described;
the current and poles would be reversed twice
at every revolution. But at B are shown four
bars connected by four coils; and the current
and poles in this one would be reversed four
times at every revolution; that is, every time
two opposite bars come round to two opposite
brushes. At C are shown eight bars connected
by eight coils; hence the current and poles in
this one would be reversed eight times at every
revolution. And in the armature shown in Fig.
I there would be forty-two such reversals at
every revolution. The arrows above show the
direction in which each of these armatures
The north pole of a magnet will attract the
soutli pole of another magnet, and the south
pole attract the north pole; but two north poles
or two south poles will repel each other. That
is, two poles of opposite kinds attract each
other, but two poles of the same kind repel
each other.
So, in the dynamo shown in Fig. 3, or in any



dynamo, it requires force to pull the north arma-
ture pole away from the south field-magnet pole,
and push it round toward the north field-mag-
net pole; also to pull the south armature pole
away from the north field-magnet pole and push
it round toward the south field-magnet pole, so
as to make the armature revolve; and this force
has to be supplied by a steam-engine or a water-
wheel, by means of a belt on the band-wheel of
the armature. But when the armature is forced
round so as to bring two opposite commutator
'bars in contact with the two brushes, the poles
:reverse, as has been explained, so it has to be
forced farther round, and then they reverse

which is called the residual charge. And when
a dynamo has been generating electricity and is
stopped, there is also a residual charge left in it.
This little charge is multiplied very fast when
the armature begins to revolve: the armature
increasing it in the field-magnet, and the field-
magnet in the armature, just as lighted shavings
kindle other shavings, till, in a second or two,
the full electric current is being generated.
In order to make use of this current, a long,
large, copper wire, or a cable made of a great
many small wires bound together, is connected
with the dynamo brushes and extended to elec-
tric lamps and other electric apparatus. This is


again. And so, in order to keep it turning or re-
volving, the force has to be continually supplied.
But every time the poles reverse, a wave of
electricity is generated in the coils; for electri-
city is generated by magnetism in this way, as
well as magnetism by electricity in the way that
was explained. And as the armature revolves
very fast, often at the rate of 2000 revolutions
a minute, and there are several reversals during
each revolution,-42 in an armature like Fig.
i,-these waves follow each other so fast that
it is impossible to distinguish between them;
often going through the coils at the rate of a
hundred thousand or more in a minute; and
this is what is called the electric current.'
But there must be a little magnetism and elec-
tricity to start the generation of this large quan-
tity, just as a match is required to start a fire;
and this is produced by the work done in mak-
ing the dynamo, which leaves a little magnetism
in the iron and a little electricity in the coils,

called the external circuit, and it is supported
on poles with glass or other insulators; or, in
large cities, is inclosed in insulating material in
tubes underground.
One end of this circuit is often connected
with the field-magnet coils and the other end
with one of the brushes, so that the whole cur-
rent goes out from the armature by one brush
through the field-magnet coils, and then
through the external circuit, in series; that is,
one after another, the field-magnet being
wound with coarse wire, large enough to carry
the whole current, A dynamo made to be
connected in this way is called a series wound
Another way to make a dynamo is to use for
the field-magnet coils fine wire, through which
only a small part of the current can flow (just
enough to generate the magnetism) and con-
nect both ends of it with the brushes; while the
main current flows through the large wire of the




external circuit, both ends
of which are also connected
with the brushes; so that
the current divides as it
leaves the first brush, the
two parts going round
through the two circuits to
the second brush. The fine
wire circuit is called the
shunt, and a dynamo made
in this way is called shunt
Every dynamo, whether
it is series wound or shunt
wound, which has a com-
mutator by which the cur-
rent is made to go direct-
that is, without reversal-
through the field-magnet
coils and external circuit, as
has been described, is called
a direct current dynamo. But
they are often made without
the commutator, and are
then called alternating cur-
rent dynamos, because the FIG. 7.
waves of current flow alternately, first in one
direction and then in the opposite direction,
not only through the armature coils, as in di-
rect current dynamos, but also through the
field-magnet coils and external circuit. Such
dynamos are usually made with many field-
magnets placed all around the armature in a
circular rim, like the spokes of a carriage-wheel
around the hub, except that they do not touch
the armature, and are stationary, while the arma-
ture (like the hub) revolves; and their north
and south poles alternate all around; so that,
as the armature revolves, each armature coil,
after it has passed a north field-magnet pole,
must pass a south field-magnet pole, and so on
all around the circle, the current reversing and
a new wave being generated as each pole is
passed; so that the waves follow each other
with great rapidity.

ONE of the commonest uses of the electric
current is to produce the electric light. For
this purpose, a lamp, like the one shown in Fig.

7, is made, in which are placed, end to end, two
rods of carbon of the same kind as that in the
dynamo brushes. This carbon is first ground
fine, then made into a soft paste, then molded
into rods, and then baked hard.
These carbon rods are attached to two brass
rods, a short one below and a long one above,
as you see. The upper brass rod.extends up
into that round brass case which you see, and
there goes through a flat ring, or washer, as
shown at A in Fig. 8. This washer is hinged
to the lower end of an iron rod, which can
move up and down inside a coil of copper wire
without touching it. One end of this coil
presses against the brass rod, and the other end
is attached to the external circuit from the dy-
namo, so that the electric current can go
through the coil, the brass rod, the two carbon
rods, and back to the dynamo through the wire

L 11


connected with the lower brass rod, as shown
by the arrows. When this happens, the iron
rod becomes a magnet and is drawn upward by
the magnetism produced in it and in the coil,



and tilts the washer, as shown, so that it grips
the upper brass rod, and lifts it and the carbon
rod attached to it, about jq of an inch from the
lower carbon rod; and in this little space a
very bright light bursts out, called the arc light,
because it is curved in an arc, which means
part of a circle, or like the new moon.
The ends of the carbon rods get white-hot
and give a great deal of light also, the upper
one the most; the lower one burns into a
point, and a little cup-shaped hole, called the
crater, burns out in the upper one, as shown
at A in Fig. 8; and from this crater the light
is radiated downward.
The light is caused by the electric energy
forcing its way through the carbon, which is
not a good electric conductor, and therefore
gets very hot; and, as it burns, it fills the little
air space between the rods with hot carbon
vapor, which is also an imperfect conductor,
though better than cold air. But, if the light
is extinguished by any accident, the electric
current cannot go through this air space, and
is therefore stopped entirely; and as this stops
the magnetic attraction also, the iron rod drops
down through the wire coil by its own weight,
so that the edge of the washer rests on the lit-
tle post, as shown at B in Fig. 8. This loosens
the washer's grip on the brass rod, which also
drops down and brings the carbon points into
contact again, so that the electric current can
go through them and through the coil, as be-
fore, and the iron rod is then instantly lifted
by the magnetism, the washer grips the brass
rod, the carbon points are separated, and the
lamp lighted again.
As the carbon points burn slowly away, the
space between them gets too wide for the elec-
tric current to go through it easily. This
makes the current weaker, and therefore weak-
ens the magnetic attraction in the coil and iron
rod, so that after a while, the rods drop down
again and the carbon points come closer to-
gether. This makes the current and the mag-
netic attraction strong again so quickly that the
rods are pulled up before the upper carbon
point can touch the lower one; thus the space
between them is made the right width again.
This arc-light is suitable only where a very
bright light is wanted, as in the street, or in a

large room; but where a milder light is re-
quired, the incandescent electric light is used.

THE lamp for this purpose is made as shown
in Fig. 9, with a little glass globe about the
size and shape of a pear, from which nearly all
the air is pumped out. But before this is done,
a very fine piece of carbon not much bigger
than a large thread, and about five inches long,
called the filament (which means thread), is
placed inside the globe, being first bent round,
like a horseshoe, or in some other convenient
shape, so as to fit without touching the glass.
The ends of this filament are attached to two
pieces of fine platinum wire, which pass through
the glass stopper and
are embedded in it.
To these are at-
tached the ends of
the copper wire, or
external circuit, from
the dynamo, so that
the electric current
goes into the globeby
one platinum wire,
goes round through
the filament, and
comes out again by
the other platinum
After the stopper,
with the filament at-
tached, is put in, the
glass is melted round
it so as to be air-
tight, and the air is
pumped out through
a little hole in the
bottom of the globe, CENT LIGHT.
where you see the point, which is afterward
stopped by melting the glass.
The filament gets white-hot-that is, incan-
descent-when the electric current passes along
it, because it is not a good conductor, giving a
bright but not glaring light; but it does not
bum, because there is scarcely any air in the
globe. The wires do not get hot because they
are good conductors.
A large dynamo will supply enough electric




current to light fifty or sixty arc-lamps, which
are arranged along the wire of the external
circuit in a series, the current going from lamp
to lamp. But as a much smaller current will
light an incandescent lamp, a dynamo of the
same size will supply current for several hun-
dred incandescent lamps, which are arranged
on small wires connecting the two large wires
or cables from the dynamos, just as the rounds
of a ladder connect the sides. There is gener-
ally only one lamp on each of these small wires,
though in a chandelier, or an illuminated sign,
where the lamps are all lighted or extinguished
at the same time, there may be several.
The lamps may be near the dynamo or a
long distance from it--perhaps two or three
miles, or much farther. And the wires may
extend in various directions from a central
station where there are several dynamos sup-
plying current for electric lamps and other pur-
poses all around it in a town or city.

WHEN the electric current is employed to
operate machinery, an electric motor is re-
quired. This is made just like a dynamo, but
is generally much smaller; so that one large
dynamo can supply current for several motors,
each of which is placed near the machinery
which it operates, and connected by wires with
the dynamo, which may be a long distance
from it.
When the electric current from the dynamo
goes through the coils of the motor, it generates
magnetism, and the poles of opposite kinds in
its armature and field-magnet attract each other,
while those of the same kind repel each other.
This causes the armature to revolve; and as
the armature poles are being continually re-
versed, as in the dynamo, the rotation is kept
up continuously.
Please notice that in the dynamo it is the
power supplied by the steam-engine which
makes the armature revolve in opposition to
the magnetism, and generates the electric cur-
rent; but in the motor it is the electric current
supplied by the dynamo which generates the
magnetism which makes the armature revolve.

Any kind of machinery may be operated by
the motor, by means of a belt connecting the
band-wheel on the armature shaft with the band-
wheel on the machine; but when the motor is
employed to run an electric car, it is connected
by gearing- that is, cog-wheels-with the car
axle; and these motors are inclosed in very
strong, water-tight iron cases, under the cars.
The armature of the motor will revolve with
nearly the same force as the armature of the
Sdynamo with which it is connected, if both
machines are the same size; and the dynamo
with nearly the force it gets from the steam-
engine or water-wheel. This force is measured
by a unit called a horse-power-based on the
average power or force which a horse can exert.
So a steam-engine of one hundred horse-power
can operate a dynamo of nearly one hundred
horse-power, which can operate a motor of
nearly the same horse-power as the dynamo.
I say nearly, because there is always some loss
when power is transmitted in this way from
one machine to another.
But the dynamo, as has been stated, is gen-
erally employed to operate several motors. So
a dynamo of one hundred horse-power can
operate two motors of nearly fifty horse-power
each, or ten motors of nearly ten horse-power,
or twenty of nearly five horse-power, and so on.
The motors, as you see, get their power from
the dynamo, and the dynamo, in this case, gets
its power from the steam-engine; it does not
generate any power itself. it only changes the
mechanical power which it gets from the steam-
engine into electric energy and transmits this
energy to the motor, which changes 'it back
into mechanical power and applies it to use-
ful work. So you see, these two electric ma-
chines connected by wires, are simply a con-
venient apparatus for transmitting and applying
Now I hope you understand something
about what electricity is; how it is generated
by the dynamo, applied by the electric lamp
for making light, and by the electric motor for
power. I have left out a great many things
which you will be better able to understand
when you are older and have studied more.

(See page 476.)


(In Two Acts.)



Characters represented.
PRINCE ALDEBARAN ....Ruler of the Brownie Band. DENNIS O'ROURKE .....From Killarney.
CHOLLY BOUTONNIkRE.. The Brownie Dude. PROF. KATCHAKOFF .... A Russian ex-Nihilist.
MAJOR TELLOFF........ Ofthe Brownie War Office. WAGNER VON STRAUSS .A MusicalProduct ofthe Rhine.
PATROLMAN MOVEON... The Brownie Police Force. FURANSKINS ........... An Eskimo.
BILLY TACKABOUT ...... Whoe hs Weathered Many a Gale. WAH SING ............In the Laundry Business.
TUTTI ........... Te Brownie Twins BEETLE, WASP, HORNETLeaders ofthe Enemy.
FRUTTI ............ QUEEN FLORA .........Goddess ofthe Flowers.
UNCLE SAM ............ Ofthe Land-ofthe Free. TODDLEKINS ......... o n.
JOHN BULL ...........From Lunnon.." TIPPYTOES ........... ee Attendants cfthe Queen.
DONALD MACCRAGGIE..From the Highlands. ESTHETICA ............ With a Love for he Beautiful.
HEART'S-EASE, GOLDENROD. Ladies-in- Waiting to the Queen.

"The Brownies in Fairyland" is designed for a whole evening's
entertainment. It can be played upon any ordinary platform or
stage, and requires no scenery. The piece in reality is nothing
more than a series of recitations and choruses. Nothing difficult has
been placed in the way of the boys and girls who may essay the
various r61es.
For the Brownie costumes, refer to any of the Brownie books.
The Fairies may wear the pretty white dresses such as little girls

Scene.-The garden of Queen Flora. Potted plants, palms, etc.,
can be banked about at back and sides of stage as profusely
as desired. Gay festoons and wreaths of paper flowers,
hung here and there, will add brilliancy and color. At
rise of curtain Queen Flora and her Fairies are discovered.

OPENING CHORUS: "Flowers, Pretty Flowers!"
Flowers, pretty flowers, blooming everywhere,
Filling all around you with your perfume rare,

usually have. These can be adorned with bright sashes, ribbons,
paper flowers, tinsel, beads, spangles, and whatever else feminine
ingenuity may suggest to add brilliancy and color. The costume of
Queen Flora should have a train. She should wear a crown
made of pasteboard and gilt paper, with beads or bits of colored
glass to give it the appearance of beingjeweled. She should also
carry a gilded wand, at the end of which is a star. The costume of
Esthetica should be fanciful and an exaggeration of the "esthetic."

Just a simple posy brings of hope a ray;
Oftentimes a rosebud care will drive away;
Dainty little creatures of the sun and dew,
Oh, the love we cherish in our hearts for you!
QUEEN (looking around):
And now, my Fairy Congress, to make clear
Why I have called an extra session here.
Some wicked monster that we know not of

* Copyright, 1893, by Palmer Cox. All rights reserved. (See page 476.)


Is waging war upon these flowers we love;
The roses droop and fade, the lilies die,
The violets wither, when he passes by;
The beauty even of the smallest flower
Is blighted by the wicked monster's power;
While in the guise of insects fierce and strange,
SHis minions round these lovely gardens range.
If this destruction is not stopped, I fear,
No flower will soon be left our hearts to cheer!
Shall this thing be ?
ALL (with one voice) : No, never!
.QUEEN: It is well!
Yet how can we undo his cruel spell ?
HYACINTHE: Alas, our magic is in vain, I feel!
EGLANTINE: We must have help!
MORNING-GLORY: To whom shall we appeal
To save the flowers ?
QUEEN: Yes, that is the question;
Perhaps some one can offer a suggestion ?
(She looks around.)
TI-PPYTOES: We might ask Jack the Giant-killer strong.
QUEEN: There was a time when he could right a wrong;
But since the Giants are no longer found-
The last in a Killarney bog was drowned-
In dull disuse his sword is laid away,
And he himself retired upon half-pay!
TODDLEKINS (suddenly, while she claps her hands):
The Brownies!
QUEEN: What! Those little elves so shy,
They never yet were seen by mortal eye -
Whose harmless pranks both young and old delight,
And whose strange power vanishes with night ?
ALL (with one voice): The Brownies! Yes, the Brownies !
QUEEN (taking a few steps forward, with her wand up-
raised): 'T is agreed!
Would they were here now in our hour of need!
ESTHETICA (looking upward toward the right) :
Oh, what is that up yonder ?
A balloon!

(All look upward toward the right, following the imaginary course
of the balloon until it is directly above them)

QUEEN (walking to andfro) :
Some voyagers, I dare say, to the moon;
Some daring mortals who explore the blue
In hopes they may discover something new.
ESTHETICA (pointing upward, in the direction ofleft):
No, now it 's falling to the earth again !
And-look !-the basket 's full of tiny men;
Some from the ropes hang limp as any rag,
While others clutch for dear life to the bag!
QUEEN (excitedly): Why, they 're the Brownies!
ESTHETICA: Yes, beyond a doubt!
Already I can see to pick them out.
There 's the Cadet, who seems so full of pride!
And there 's the Chinaman, just at his side!
EGLANTINE: The sailor, with a glass!
MORNING-GLORY: There are the Twins,
Gray-bearded, and as much alike as pins !

The Student, who with knowledge is imbued!
DEWDROP: The Jockey!
STARLIGHT: The Policeman!
ROSELEAF: And the Dude!
ALL (clasping their hands together, and speaking with
one voice): We do so like the Dude I
QUEEN: Yes, 't is the daring, persevering band!
What kindly fortune brings them now at hand ?
ESTHETICA (pointing lower, in direction of left) :
See. Now they 're falling faster than at first.
(A toy balloon or bladder is exploded out behind the
EGLANTINE and ROSELEAF (in alarm):
Oh, what was that?
ESTHETICA (excitedly): Their big balloon has burst!
They '11 all be dashed to pieces !
(A number place their hands before their faces.)
QUEEN: No, not so!
They 're dropping in a parachute below!
It makes me dizzy !
(She turns away.)
ESTHETICA (clutching her by the sleeve) :
Look, your Majesty!
The parachute is caught up in a tree !
With frantic haste they grasp the branches round;
See how they slide like monkeys to the ground!
Some landing on their feet, some on their head,
More striking hard and flat, with limbs outspread!
QUEEN: They're coming!
ESTHETICA: Oh, my head is in a whirl!
DEWDROP (to Sunshine): Are my bangs straight ?
EGLANTINE (to Roseleaf) : Are my crimps out of curl?
MORNING-GLORY (to Starlight): How do I look?
ZEPHYR (to Hyacinthe): Am I a perfect fright?
TODDLEKINS (running over to 7Tppytoes) :
Do tell me if my sash is fixed on right!
(All make a hldicrous show of arranging their toilets.)
QUEEN: Swift to the palace boudoir we '11 repair;

'T were better to consult the mirrors there!
(All hurriedly go out at the right, just before the Brownies, with
Prince Aldebaran at their head, enter, singing, from the left. The
Brownies enter slowly, at one time pausing to look around, at an-
other stretching out their arms.)

CHORUS OF BROWNIES: "We 're a Band."

We 're a band,
Heart and hand,
Coming fresh
From Brownie Land!
All for fun,
Round we run,
Beneath the sun!

In the night
We delight
To come forth
And show our might.
Hide away
Jn the day;
That-our motto
Is always!

PRINCE ALDEBARAN (looking around): Are we all here ?
BILLY TACKABOUT: Aye, safe and sound at last!
But for the tree that sou'-sou'-western blast
Would soon have swept us o'er the foaming brine



Where fish were waiting for a chance to dine !
(He hitches his trousers, and then looks through his glass.)
(Professor Katchakoff, Furanskins, Dennis O'Rourke, Wagner
von Strauss, Wah Sing, John Bull, and Uncle Sam, in the order
named, advance to the footlights and stand in a row, facing the au-
dience. The others, in the background, form a semicircle.)
Oi have n't the last avershun
To inform yees, to wan soide,
How it wuz Oi left would Oireland,
Fitch is still me joy an' provide.
It wuz n't bekase av votin',
Or av j'inin' the police;
Or an aldermon av bein',
My inflooence to increase;
Shure, it wuz n't fur these raisins
To Ameriky Oi wint,
But bekase Oi 'd strong objickshuns
When it came to payin' rint !
(He retires, and the others move a step is before.)
I gome py dis pig goundry here
Among der vree der stand,
Und garry a trompone or trum
Der blay me in some pand!
(He retires, and the others move a step as before.)
I thought I 'd take a twip, ye knaw,
Acwoss the ocean wide,
To show the mannahs of a man
Fwesh from the othah side.
These people have no history
Of which one cares to speak,
And once were Indians, winning though
The fowests like a stweak.
But now they 're gwowing civilized,
And follow in our way,
With eye-glass, cwopstick, and with cane;
And some good fowm display.
I 'm wathaw glad I 've cwossed the pond
The Yankees' land to see,
And find out what old England lost
Through that high tax on tea!
(He retires, and Uncle Sam steps to the center of the stage.)
UNCLE SAM : There 's not a land in all creation
That pleases me, I vow,
Like this same independent nation
In which we 're living now!
Talk of the Alps and Pyrenees,
Or of the Andes speak;
We've got Mt. Hood, Mt. Washington,
Mt. Shasta, and Pike's Peak !
Talk of the beauty one may see
In England, Spain, or France;
I see more beauty here to-night,
Wherever I may glance!
That 's why I love these western shores,
And praise them everywhere,
And say the grandest land outdoors
Is our Columbia fair!

(While he retires back, there is heard in the distance the sound of
the Fairies' voices, gradually growing louder.)
FAIRIES: Just a simple posy brings of hope a ray;
Oftentimes a rosebud care will drive away!
WAH SING (with his hand to his ear): Hark, voices !
PRINCE ALDEBARAN (looking in the direction of right):
Yes, the singers come this way!
Let's try to think of pretty things to say!
(All retire, with Prince Aldebaran and Cholly Boutonniere foremost,
to the left of the stage, where they assume thoughtful postures, while
the sound of voices grows more distinct.)
FAIRIES : Dainty little creatures of the sun and dew,
Oh, the love we cherish in our hearts for you!

(While they are singing the last line, the Fairies, with Queen Flora
and Esthetica foremost, enter from the right. Fairies.and Brownies
stand regarding each other.)

I am, most gracious Queen, yours.to command,
Aldebaran, ruler of the Brownie band!
(He bends on his knee before Queen Flora. She extends
her hand, and he lifts it to his lips.)
QUEEN (as Prince Aldebaran rises):
Your Highness is right welcome at my court;
I 'm called Queen Flora.
(Aside to Esthetica.)
'Oh, my foolish heart!
Queen Flora! How familiar that name seems !
I know you; I have seen you in my dreams !
We 're pleased to meet Queen Flora and her elves;
(Turning to the Brownies.)
Now, don't be bashful! Introduce yourselves!

(He offers his arm to Queen Flora, and they retire slowly back.
Toddlekins and Tippytoes approach Cholly Boutonniere, on whose
coat-lapel Esthetica is pinning a sunflower. He does not notice
them. In the mean time the Fairies and Brownies are mingling
together back, and a hub-bub of introductions is going on. Extrava-
gant bows, courtesies, and the pinning of flowers to the Brownies'
coats, accompany the introductions, and all are talking at the same
time. Suddenly the Brownies and Fairies are paired off, and the
noise instantly subsides.)

"They're Different! Yes, Different!"
I could tie my own cravat when I was six.
At the age of three my playthings were a bore.
While at seven I 'd enthuse over patent-leather
ESTHETICA: I was reading Emerson when I was four.
I was very careful of my trousers' crease.
ESTHETICA: All my baby gowns I wanted cut en train.
How I longed for a silk hat I could take and crush
out flat.
ESTHETICA: Just a lily was enough to turn my brain!



Oh, they 're different! yes, different, from others
of their kind;
And a duplicate of either would be difficult to find.
Oh, they 're different! yes, different, as any one
can see;
Whoe'er they may resemble, they are not like you
or me

PRINCE ALDEBARAN (coming with Queen Flora to the
center) :
Sweet Queen, all you have said has saddened me;
What would this world without the flowers be?
Right gladly will the Brownie band, I know,
Engage to rid the flowers of their foe;
(Turning around.)
Men, for the flowers if need be will you fight ?
THE BROWNIES (with one voice): We will!
PRINCE ALDEBARAN (to Queen Flora):
Trust to the Brownies' mystic might!
We '11 save the flowers !
QUEEN FLORA: 'T is no easy task!
And your reward?
PRINCE ALDEBARAN: Yes, one, sweet Queen, I ask.
Most freely will I grant all you demand.
Nay, what I plead so humbly for- your hand!
QUEEN FLORA (aside): My heart is his already!
(Aloud.) I agree;
Swift, Prince Aldebaran, may your victory be !
PRINCE ALDEBARAN: Enough-and thanks!
(He kisses her hand and rises.)
I must not longer stay!
'T is time my army brave was on its way.
Now that the band is gathered, safe and sound,
Let no more time be lost, but gather round
The weapons most befitting war's alarms;
To arms, my faithful band !

THE BROWNIES (as all but Prince Aldebaran and Cholly
Boutonnidre go out at right) :
To arms! To arms!
QUEEN: May victory soon crown your efforts bold!
PRINCE ALDEBARAN (pointing skyward):
It will, believe me, ere yon moon grows old !
(The roll of a drum is heard from the right.)
Hark! (All listen.)
Was not that the rat-tat of the drum ?
(The roll is repeated.)
Farewell, sweet Queen!
(Extending both hands to Queen Flora.)
My faithful subjects come!
(While the Fairies retire to the back and the right, the Brownies
enter from the right, to the march prelude of music. They bear, as
a soldier would, a musket, flags, imitation swords or guns, etc., with
a sprinkling of brooms, tennis-rackets, croquet-mallets, and other
articles easily obtained, such as the fancy may suggest to give a
ridiculous tinge to the scene. Cholly Boutonniere falls in, while
Prince Aldebaran places himself at the head of the troops. They
then march or execute various evolutions, if desired, keeping time
to the music.)


BROWNIES: We 're off to the war, to do or die!
FAIRIES: Ta-ra-ta! ta-ra-ta! ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra!
BROWNIES: No cowards are we, when danger's nigh!
FAIRIES: Ta-ra-ta! ta-ra-ta! ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra I
BROWNIES: With heads erect, we '11 gaily march away;
We have not the slightest doubt we will conquer
in the fray.
What e'er the numbers of the foe may be,
The Brownies, the Brownies, will win the victory!
FAIRIES: Go, ye heroes, go to glory!
Hist'ry '11 tell of you in story;
How you all emerged victorious
From a struggle that was glorious!
(The Brownies march out at the left, to the piano afterlude, while
the Fairies are cheering and waving their handkerchiefs.)
Tableau. Curtain.

[End of A ct I. Conclusion next month.]



IF I were to ask you what animal or fowl
had the most pleasure and the least anxiety in
life, I wonder which your choice would be ?
No doubt many of you would say, Oh, a
bird, a wild bird, has the best time: nothing to
do but to build nests and sing songs, and catch
the early worm !" Swaying on branches in sun-
light, flooding the world with beautiful music,
the wild bird is indeed suggestive of happiness.
VOL. XXI.- 59.

But he has many cares and sorrows. Both
he and his mate are full of anxiety from the
dawn of spring until the chill of autumn days.
Nests must be built in a secure and safe
retreat. Often, when the nest is half completed,
a storm, or some unfriendly bird, destroys it.
Again, after the eggs are laid, a cruel boy steals
them, compelling the birds to find a new retreat,
and deposit new eggs; and their days and



nights are never free from fear of owls, reptiles,
and huntsmen, until their little brood is hatched
and flown.
No; surely the wild bird's lot is not the sym-
bol of happiness.
Well, then, the tame canary ? I hear you say.
No, indeed; who would picture perfect happi-
ness in a cage, no matter how gilded its bars, and
what freedom from care might be found within ?
"The pet horse of some rich lady or gentle-
man, then?"
Such horses are very well cared for, without
doubt; and yet they are frequently galled by
ill-fitting gear, or rubbed by saddle-girths, or
chafed by sharp bits, and so suffer much pain
of which their owners know nothing. And
they are surely very often greatly fatigued, and
yet obliged to bear -their master or mistress to
one more pleasure-resort, being unable to make
a protest. Often, after they grow old, they are
sold to a hard life, by heartless men who cared
for them only while they were young and strong.
No; we cannot give our ballot for the horse.
"How about the dog?"
Well, the dog a pet dog has a very
good time, I must confess. It is cared for,
amused, admired, and well fed. The trouble is,
it is too well fed. A pet dog almost invari-
ably gets too fat, and has asthma and rheuma-
tism and all the other dis-
eases of luxurious livers.
Then its disposition inter-
feres with its happiness.
Dogs are very jealous an-
imals, and they suffer al-
most if not quite as much
from this passion as peo-
ple do; and they become
very irritable, and I am
sure no irritable disposi-
tion can be called happy.
Then, too, certain months
in the year he is in fear
of dog-catchers, or he is '
obliged to endure the ag-
ony of the muzzle. So we -,.-~
cannot vote for the dog.
The cat, then ? "
Ah, now you have it!

An ideal of absolute care-free comfort and
content is the house-cat. Petted, caressed, and
admired, he lies in his mistress's lap, or on soft
cushions, and dreams the hours away until
* hunger bids him awaken. Then he is served
with choice bits of fish and fowl, and his thirst
is slaked with rich milk. He walks in the gar-
den when the mood is upon him, and a house-
hold springs to obey his summons when he
announces his desire to return to the family
circle. He accepts the affection lavished upon
him with pleased serenity; but he does not
know the pangs of jealousy, and his dignity and
composure are never marred by peevish or irri-
table moods, so long as he is not teased or
tormented; and there are no ignominious muz-
zles and no disgraceful pounds to shadow his
midsummer pleasure and freedom. A Sybarite
in his enjoyment of the comforts and luxuries
of life, he takes each day as it comes, and lets
the world jog by as it may, and those who will
bear life's worries and burdens. If he has his
saucer of milk, his dish of meat, and his cush-
ion, it does not matter to him if the skies fall.
The dog would howl, the bird shriek, the horse
neigh, but the house-cat would curl his paws
under his chest and prepare for another nap.
Most fascinating, aggravating, and comfortable
of pets, all hail to you, King of Contentment!




4 -

HERE is a Nor-
g6nland story of
a peasant and a
princess who fell
in love with each
other. The peas-
w ant used to rake hay
near the palace, and
on pleasant days the
prin cess would take her sew-
Sig and sit on a stone bench
outside the walls. So, in this
way they happened to meet,
and saw each other often.
But one day the officious prime minister told
the king about them.
"I would hardly have believed that a tiller
of the soil would presume to fall in love with
a princess," he added, when he came to the end
of his story.
"Why," said the king, "why, I never heard
of such a thing; a common stupid peasant
daring to love the daughter of a king t Con-
found his verdant impudence. I '11 have the
fellow swing! He was so excited he forgot
to speak in blank verse.
The two offenders were brought before the
monarch, and he told the peasant he must
make up his mind to die.
But the princess pleaded with her father till
he finally said, to quiet her, "I will tell you
what I will do. To-morrow my trusty prime
minister" (here the prime minister looked very
virtuous) "shall take a pitchfork, which I be-
lieve is the name of the article used in hand-
ling masses of hay, and dig a hole in that
haystack which I see through the palace win-
dow. Into this, my daughter, you shall drop
one of your needles; you shall do it yourself
so as to know it is there--one only--and
not a knitting-needle, either. Then my trusty
prime minister shall cover it over with hay.

This young man shall be carefully guarded
till to-morrow morning, and on no account be
allowed to make any purchases at a needle-
store. I will then give him one hour-just
one hour-to do what has never been accom-
plished in my kingdom: he can find the needle
in the haystack 1 If he does it in that time I
will spare his life-and let him marry you !" he
added, laughing.
At this the peasant looked very unhappy, but
the princess managed to whisper something in
his ear before he was led away, and he smiled
for the first time that day.
The next morning all the court, and the
guards, and the people gathered in a ring
around the haystack. The prime minister
marched up and picked up the pitchfork.
Then he dug a deep hole with it, and waited

for the princess. She approached slowly, leaned
over, and extended her hand. Those who had
keen eyes saw something glitter in the sunlight


for a moment, and the needle had fallen among
the myriad blades of dried grass.
The princess looked contemptuously at the
prime minister and turned away. That official


S^ r '':


'F.I.1 .-f'.," -,-.> "/*' S

-- ... ,

vindictively pitchforked the hay all over, ad-
justed his glasses, and walked back grinning
maliciously. Now all the people craned their
necks as the peasant was set free and stepped
into the circle. But he did not. go near the
haystack at first. He walked round and round
it, his eyes cast down and a thoughtful look on
his face. Some of the people began to laugh
and said he had lost his wits. Others said it
was merely the stupidity of a peasant. The
royal mathematician announced that he had
sat up all night, after procuring measurements
of the haystack and needle, and had calculated
that the peasant had i chance of succeeding
out of 9,777,333%' of failing in his search.

After he announced this the people were very
Suddenly the peasant seemed to remember
that he had no time to waste, and he walked


deliberately toward the big pile of hay. Stoop-
ing down he felt round the edge of it.
It 's in the middle if it 's anywhere," cried
a pert little page.
The peasant stopped feeling near the ground
and, rising slowly and cautiously, put his hand
in the hay. Carefully he felt round while the
people sent word to see what time it was by the
royal sun-dial. But the hour was not nearly
gone, and while they were watching, the peas-
ant drew out his hand with something in it.
The needle was found!
At this the people set up a loud cheer, and
the king looked very much embarrassed. The
prime minister was even more annoyed-pre-





- -
rn~ ~"i'~p~-"'-C.4tj r~- -


tending to think the needle had not been found,
and, approaching, he demanded to see it. The
peasant handed it to him and mischievously
pricked his finger as he did so.
Why," cried the prime minister, "why, I see
how he found it! Look, your Majesty, this
needle has a long, long thread !"

-~i_ -


x~V Y; II~~CT~-r
J' ;' 'Jr. .e

Of course," said the princess, mocking him;
"what 's the use of a needle without a long
thread ?"
And, being a spoiled child, her father, who
was standing by, did not reprove her.
And so the princess and the peasant were
married and lived happily ever after.

I' -' -.
**'%) &







GOOD-DAY, my friends, and a happy spring-time
to you, one and all! The March wind-ahead of
the almanac this time -is blowing all sorts of letters
and items upon this pulpit, some short, some long.
I '11 show you first a few short ones, and then,
my schoolboys and schoolgirls, you shall have a fine
account of a birds' singing-academy, written for
you by my learned friend and bird-lover, George
Ethelbert Walsh.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: For "many a moon"
some sparrows had been in the habit of coming to our
roof to take their morning bath. Recently the roof
was altered, so that water no longer remains on it, strange
to say; and yet, for weeks after this change the same
little sparrows came back day after day and carefully
balanced themselves while they put their heads first on
one side and then on the other, down upon the dry roof.
In short, they went through all the motions of taking
their baths, as of old. After a while, finding this to be
rather dry fun, they hied away to a puddle on the flat roof
of a neighboring shed, and soon were clean and happy
again. Your friend, B. L. B.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Toddlekins wishes very
much to know why a dog always turns around two or
three times before he lies down. Can you tell him the
reason ? Your sincere admirer,
THE Little Schoolma'am says: "Tell Toddlekins
that according to a very wise man who understood
the ways and whys of many things, dogs turn
around two or three times before they lie down,
not because there is any special need of their doing
so nowadays, but because dogs, in their original
or wild state, while ranging the plains had to make
their own beds in this fashion, of the grass or of
fallen or dried leaves. They did n't have dog

basket-cradles and cozy kennels in those wild days,
Master Toddlekins. This habit of dogs has simply
been retained by them from their ancestors.

PUTTING armor on a coward will not make him fight.
It is a poor sermon that will not hit a sinner somewhere.
The truth we hate the most is the truth that hits us the
Why is it that when a man tells his story, "I-said"
generally gives us all the wisdom, and "He-said," all the
stupidity of the dialogue?

ONE of the best cage songsters that comes to us from
across the water is the little bullfinch, a small, shy bird
which inhabits the well-wooded districts of Asia, central
and southern Europe, and parts of England. It is
found in this country only as a captive. At home the
bullfinch attacks the young buds of fruit-trees, and in-
curs the enmity of the gardeners all through Europe;
but the bird is such a sweet singer and whistler that his
fault in this respect is overcome by his excess of good
qualities. In Germany thousands of bullfinches are bred
and trained for the market
every year, and many are
imported to this country
as cage-birds.
At Hesse and Fulda are
several celebrated sing-
ing-schools where these
singers have their voices and ears trained almost to per-
fection. Germany has supplied to the world some of the
grandest human musicians; and she excels as well in
cultivating and training the little bird-musicians sent
forth to all parts of the world.
The little bullfinches are raised in confinement, and
when very young they are divided into classes of six
each. Each class has a separate room, where the six
little birds are shut up in darkness, with plenty of food
near them. This is before they have yet learned to
whistle and imitate the songs of other birds. Suddenly
the sweet notes of an organ startle the birds, and cause
them to hop around in their dark prison. As the music
continues, their spirits become enlivened. Soon they pick
up some of the food and chirp forth a few crude notes in
imitation of the music. Light is then gradually allowed
to enter the room thus increasing the happiness of the
singers, and they break forth into
ecstatic song. The music is con-
tinued all day, and the enthusi-
astic birds try to follow and imi-
tate it until fairly exhausted by
their efforts.
This is the preparatory school;
and after each class of six has spent some time here, the
several birds are handed over to training-boys whose busi-
ness it is to continue their instruction. The advanced
pupils are taken into separate rooms where organs are
played from early morning until night. The organs used


are ordinary organs that have soft, pure, flute-like notes,
with nothing harsh or disagreeable in the sound. Some-
times birds are trained by means of the flute, but in the
larger establishments small organs are commonly used.
Everything is done for the birds' happiness, and the
little creatures are kept in the best of spirits. The owner
comes around every day or two to examine his pupils.
So well does he understand the natures of the little singers
that he reproves or praises the various ones in a manner
that they perfectly understand. This training goes on
for eight or nine months,
when the birds are ready
i '. for their diplomas. If their
voices have acquired firm-
ness, and they do not forget
or leave out passages in their
songs, they pass the exami-
nation, and are permitted to leave the singing-school.
There are different grades of pupils in these bird-semi-
naries, as in every other large school, and, while the
majority can remember only a simple air with a short
prelude, there are some intelligent ones that can be taught
to whistle as many as three different airs, without spoil-
ing or confusing them. Such bright birds are often kept
longer in the seminary, and a postgraduate course is given
to them.
In this course they are taught to imitate the songs of
other birds, which they do to perfection; but care is taken
to preserve their memory of the early education. They
are also taught amusing tricks, which increase their value

as performers. The birds
From these German semi-
naries are distributed all
over the country, and
are sold for good prices.
Sometimes on first being
taken from their sem-
inary home the bullfinch becomes gloomy and quiet, and
refuses to sing. This is an important period in its life,
and the new owner should at first occasionally play the
air that the bird has been accustomed to hear on the organ.
This will cheer the captive's drooping courage, and start
it into song once more.
These bullfinches begin their training about four days
after they are out of the shell, and are not dismissed until
nearly a year's instruction has perfected their voices.
Like the parrot, they are
very attentive, and they will
learn someofthe harshnotes "'
of their parents if allowed
to remain with them many -
days. They never pipe until
they can feed themselves,
and then they are given correct piping to imitate. A high,
pure, manly whistle will be responded to by them in
a full, round, flute-like tone. Bullfinches brought up
carelessly soon acquire bad habits in their singing, but
those sent from the German singing-schools very rarely
offend in this way. They carry their diplomas with them,
and they do credit to their instructors.

George Ethelbert Walsh.

- -- ~--~'-- -r-



4,, nalyltyA o%/'- ,Aen Sfay.
,just turn a litie nore fAir's ,y,
.djnd tAen perAaps: Aw', smile, .7 find
3~ou do nof even frj y ato mnid.

.. .


Aut rh-en J say.- Alo pet, Ae o still, '
sm ve ry mefry ye y -oI w'l,
.nd fAere s no need to .sy o yo4 e -
ZooA pleasant "- or you al--ways do.


"I NEVER can do it," the little kite said,
As he looked at the others high over his head;
"I know I should fall if I tried to fly."
"': Try," said the big kite; "only try!
Or I fear you never will learn at all."
But the little kite said, "I 'm afraid I '11 fall."
The big kite nodded: Ah, well, good-by;
I 'm off"; and he rose toward the tranquil sky.
SThen the little kite's paper stirred at the sight,
0 And trembling he shook himself free for flight.
SFirst whirling and frightened, then braver grown,
Up, up he rose through the air alone,
&\\ Till the big kite, looking down, could see
The little one rising steadily.
4 Then how the little kite thrilled with pride,
aM As he sailed with the big kite, side by side!
While far below he could see the ground,
S-i And the boys like small spots moving round.
They.rested high in the quiet air,
And only the birds and clouds were there.
Oh, how happy I am!" the little kite cried;
"And all because I was brave, and tried."
XKatharine Pyle.

a,~~~~,~~P11tI A4W- ~ l~IR/ L

VOL. XXI.-60.

-ziz -

FROM the Gulf of Mexico to the north pole, and from
the Lakes to the Rocky Mountains, is a vast extent of
country crossed.by no mountain chains to intercept or
retard the velocity of air-currents.
The extent of this country is equaled by none on earth.
Cold air being heavier to the square inch than warm air,
the cold air, when coming in contact with a warm cur-
rent from the south, always predominates, forcing the
warm air into the upper currents.
The cause of cyclones is the meeting of a head wind
from the north with a head wind from the south. They
meet like two vast armies of men.
The pressure at the point of meeting is so great that
the air, by compression, becomes heavier to the square
inch than wood or the human body; hence either one will
float in the same manner that wood will float in water-
it floats because it is lighter to the square inch than water.
Place water in an ordinary wash-bowl and remove the
plug, and it will be observed that in passing out the water
forms a circular reaction. Air, being a liquid, does the
same in passing either upward or downward; hence the
funnel-shaped spout of the cyclone center.
When two immense bodies of air coming from opposite
directions meet, the only egress is upward and sideways,
and in passing upward it forms the funnel the same as
water passing out of a washbowl downward.
The theory that a cyclone forms a vacuum is absurd.
Withdraw air from a glass jar with an air-pump, and a
feather within the vacuum formed will drop with the same
velocity as lead; or, on the other hand, you can compress
air until it is heavier to the square inch than wood, in
which case wood will float in the air.
The lifting power of a cyclone is caused, first, by the
compression or density of the air, and, second, by its ve-
locity. Combining the power of density with that of
velocity, which occurs at the center or funnel, no strength
can resist it. The feeling of suffocation or difficulty in
breathing when near the track of a cyclone is caused by the
compression of air.- Minneapolis Tribune.

I NEVER was more firmly convinced of the power of
imagination," said a man, "than I was by somethingthat
happened to me on the occasion of a visit to a friend. It

had been an extremely hot day, and when I went to bed
at night the heat seemed almost insupportable. It seemed
to me that if I should open the door from my room into
the hall it would make a little circulation and make the
air more comfortable; and I felt safe in doing this be-
cause I am an early riser, and I knew I could get the
door shut before anybody was stirring in the morning.
So I opened the door, with the pleasant result that I had
anticipated, and when I went to close it in the morning
S I found that I had opened not the door into the hall, but
the door into a closet."-Exchange.

SOME three hundred and odd cats are maintained by
the United States Government, the cost of their support
being carried as a regular item on the accounts of the
Post-Office Department. These cats are distributed among
about fifty post-offices, and their duty is to keep rats and
mice from eating and destroying postal matter and can-
vas mail-sacks. Their work is of the utmost importance
wherever large quantities of mail are collected; as, for
example, at the New York Post-Office, where from 2000
to 3000 bags of mail-matter are commonly stored away
in the basement. Formerly great damage was done by
the mischievous rodents, which chewed holes in the sacks,
and thought nothing of boring clear through bags of let-
ters in a night. Troubles of this sort no longer occur
since the official pussies keep watch. Each of the post-
masters in the larger cities is allowed from eight dollars
to forty dollars a year for the keep of his feline staff,
sending his estimate for cat meat" to Washington at
the beginning of each quarter.-New York Sun.

IT is a well-known fact that the "bolts of Jove seem
to have special spite at certain spots, and that the old
saying, Lightning never strikes twice in the same place,"
is as false as most of the old proverbs are. The writer
knows a tree that has been struck by lightning five times
since July 3, 1884, a gate-post standing within two rods
of that tree having twice been struck since the same date.
During the last seven years five horses have been killed
by lightning on a single knoll on the French farm, which
lies on the road leading from Flint to Flushing. Mich.,
and nearly every tree on the same farm is said to bear
the marks of the forked fury."
An open lot at East Great Plains, Conn., has been "hit
by thunderbolts," as an old resident of that place ex-
presses it, eleven times since the spring of 1788, and a
piece of woods not more than half a mile away has been
literally riddled by the electric shots. At West Heath,
Mass.,a hill near the village school-house has been struck
by lightning so often that the old settlers are tired try-
ing to keep a record of the singular occurrences. Two
miles out from the little village of Gosport, Ia., two
houses and a barn have been struck by lightning on a
patch of one fourth of an acre, and several head of stock
were killed on the same spot before it was fenced for resi-
dence purposes.-St. Louis Republic.

THE railroads do more for people than the public
knows. If a man has really bought a ticket and loses
it, he can generally finish his ride. Sickly, young, and
timid people, too, are watched to see that they do not
get off at the wrong stations, and last year a little boy
traveled alone from New York to San Francisco. Tele-
grams were sent in advance by the railroad authorities
to their agents along the line, and at certain points they
boarded the train, saw that he was safe, put him aboard
the right car when changes were made at Chicago and
Omaha, directed the conductors to give him berths and
see that he got his meals, and the little fellow reached his
mother in California after a ride as unadventurous as a
trip to Harlem.-Exchange.

A DAILY governess who, a few years ago, had five or
six children under her charge, as a special exercise, on
Friday, would request them to close their eyes, turn
around once, open their eyes and quickly close them
again, then to describe the particular objects which met
their gaze. A prize was given to the one who noted the
greatest number of things. The result was an astonish-
ing increase in the pupils' ability to observe, and the ex-
ercise was much enjoyed by them, besides being of the
greatest benefit as an educator.
The same idea has been lately carried out by another
instructor in a little different form. The pupils were seated
before a revolving blackboard. One side of the board was
blank, upon the other were numbers. The blank side was
turned to the class until all was ready. Then the board
was set revolving, and it is said that the rapidity with
which additions, multiplications, subtractions, etc., were
made as the board spun around, was really remarkable. By
such simple and ingenious methods as this are children
taught to observe and to think rapidly.- Adapted.

THERE is now,'or was until very recently, in the city
of Buffalo, N. Y., in possession of the heirs of ex-Presi-
dent Fillmore, a quill over three feet long and as large
around "as a man's thumb." This quill is a curiosity
from its size and because of its history. When the great
and brilliant Henry Clay first proved his right to be con-
sidered one of our country's foremost men, Herr Dries-
bach, a famous lion-tamer, presented to him this quill. He
had plucked it for a special purpose from the wing of an
enormous condor captured by himself on the Andes.
The purpose was explained by the condition, which
was that Mr. Clay should make a pen of it and write with
it his inaugural message when he became President of
the United States. If he failed to be elected the quill
was to remain in his hands uncut "until a constitutional
President wrote a constitutional message for all the
States," a form of putting the case which was well un-
derstood by the Whigs of that time. Twenty-eight years
passed away, but Mr. Clay's opportunity to make that
condor's quill into a pen did not come. During that
time he was twice a candidate for the Presidency, and was
twice defeated.
Four years after his death a friend received the quill
from a relative of Mr. Clay, with instructions to present
it to Millard Fillmore of Buffalo, who was a candidate


for the Presidency. Mr. Fillmore had already served
nearly three years s President by accession after the
death of Zachary Taylor. As he had been a strong par-
tizan of Mr. Clay, the friends of the Great Commoner"
hoped to see him elected. Mr. Fillmore was, however,
defeated, and the great condor's feather remained uncut.
He kept it as a sacred relic of Henry Clay.
When, in the years that followed, any allusion was
made to it, he would shake his head ominously and call it
"the fatal quill." So far as it was connected with the
decline of a great political party, there was a propriety
in so naming that singular keepsake-the fallen feather
of a wing that had once soared over the Andes. When
Mr. Greeley was first nominated for the Presidency, Mr.
Fillmore was advised to forward to him the fatal quill,"
but he declined to do so, and the ancient Whig pen,
which has waited for more than half a century to write
a constitutional message for all the States," remains still
President Lincoln's pen with which he signed the eman-
cipation of American slaves, is historically interesting
for what it did. Herr Driesbach's pen never became a
Presidential pen. It is historically interesting for what
it was meant to do, and poetically interesting from its
origin--in the grand pinion of a bird that builds its nest
above the clouds.-Lexington (Ky.) Dispatch.

I REMEMBER once to have seen the r6le of a hero played
with all the spontaneity of real genius by a poor stage
supernumerary. It happened during a battle-scene in
"Henry V." at a Philadelphia theater. In a lull in the
firing the audience discovered that a flap at the top of
the stage was ablaze. A stampede was imminent. Half
the people in the house were already on their feet. Two
men could be seen aloft, making desperate efforts to tear
away the burning scene. This added to the consterna-
tion. Another instant and a panic would have ensued,
in which many lives would have been lost.
Such was the situation when out of the troop of sol-
diers on the stage stepped a "super," and in a roaring
aside "addressed to the trembling audience, he shouted:
"Kape yer seats Don't yer see de fire is in de play ?"
The effect was magical. Few believed the statement,
but unconsciously everybody dropped back into his chair,'
and the play went on. A roar of laughter followed, and
although it was five minutes before the fire-extinguish-
ers completed their work, not a trace of fear reappeared
among the members of the audience. I never knew
that man's name, but I have always thanked God for his
presence of mind and his rich Irish brogue.--Julius
Chambers, in a newspaper letter.

EVERYBODY knows that the earth makes one complete
revolution on its axis once every 24 hours. But few,
however, have any idea ot the high rate of speed neces-
sary to accomplish that feat. The highest velocity ever
attained by a cannon-ball has been estimated at 1626 feet
per second, which is equal to a mile in 3.2 seconds. The
earth, in making one revolution in 24 hours, must turn
with a velocity nearly equal to that of a cannon-ball. In
short, the rate of speed at the equator has been estimated
at nearly 15o0 feet per second, or a mile every 3.6 sec-
onds, seventeen miles a minute.-Exchange.


"A LESSON in Electricity," printed in this number,
is intended for the older girls and boys who read ST.
NICHOLAS, and not for readers too young to understand
it. In these times, when the great, subtle force, elec-
tricity, plays so large a part in our daily lives,- lighting
our houses, propelling our street-cars, carrying messages
for thousands of miles over the land and under the sea,
and serving man in many other ways,-it is natural
that thinking and observing young folk should desire to
learn, if possible, "how the thing is done." Yet it is no
easy task to explain, even to grown-up folk, the intricate
workings of the dynamo. Mr. Philip Atkinson's Les-
son in Electricity" makes the subject clear; and not to
grown-up readers only, for, if carefully read, it can be
easily understood by bright boys and girls over thirteen
or fourteen years of age.
Our thanks are due to the General Electric Co. and
to the Brush Electric Co. for illustrations showing the
incandescent lamp and the arc lamp. The diagrams
in the article were prepared by the author.--

All readers of ST. NICHOLAS will be interested in the
news that those charming little folk, the Brownies, have
recently made their appearance upon the stage-that is
to say, they were represented by boys and girls in a play,
"The Brownies in Fairyland," written for them by Mr.
Palmer Cox. Mr. Malcolm Douglas contributed origi-
nal music for the songs, and the play has been given with
great success in New York, Brooklyn, and elsewhere
during the last three months.
As ST. NICHOLAS cannot make room for the entire
play, the publication of the second act must be postponed
until next month. But those of our readers who have
not seen the performance will be pleased to read the text
of Mr. Palmer Cox's clever little operetta, in which all the
Brownie favorites reappear.
We must call attention, however, to the fact that the
words and music of the play are copyrighted, and the
version printed in ST. NICHOLAS must not be given as a
public entertainment, except by special arrangement with
the author.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been living at Pass
Christian for three years.
We live in an old-fashioned house, situated on the shore
of Mississippi Sound. It was built about sixty-five years
ago, and is surrounded by beautiful oak-trees, from which
lovely Spanish moss hangs.
I noticed that you had not received a letter from Pass
Christian telling you about the storm on the coast a few
months ago, so I thought I would send you a description
of it.
It commenced on Sunday, October i, toward the mid-
dle of the day, just as we were coming out of church;
so we drove home in a hard shower. It rained all day
and all night. The wind howled terribly, and we could
hear the waves dashing up on the beach. We were
afraid the large trees would fall on the roof and crush it
in, so we did not sleep much. At four o'clock on the morn-
ig of Monday we looked out of the windows and saw
the waves dashing over the beach and across the road up
to the front gate. All the piers and bath-houses were
blown away, and many summer-houses were gone.
In some places, where the beach was low, the water
rushed over the grounds and up to the steps of the
The railroad bridges north and south were blown
down, so we could not get or send mail by rail for two
weeks. The people of New Orleans sent steamboats
over, and many families who were here only for the sum-
mer left on the steamboats. It was so pretty to see them
going over in little skiffs to the big steamboats which
were in the Sound, and most of them stopped in front
of our house, because we live at West End, near Bay

St. Louis. But we were glad to hear and see the trains
come in again when the bridges were built. Good-by.
Your sincere little friend, ADELE C-

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I received your magazine for a
Christmas present, and like it very much. I have been
reading the letters in the Letter-box," and thought I
would like to write to you and tell you about my Califor-
nia home. We came here from Wisconsin last July.
We live in the great San Bernardino Valley. North of
us is the Cucamonga Mountain, and east the San Ber-
nardino and Gray Back. On the southeast is the San
Jacinto Mountain, which Helen Hunt Jackson tells
about in "Ramona," which I have been reading. The
old Mission which she tells about is only a few miles
from here. The mountains are white with snow while
we are picking flowers in the valley. It seems funny
not to have snow at Christmas to have a sleigh-ride.
We found a tarantula one day,--it looked like a very
large spider covered with a kind of fur,- and have also
seen scorpions and centipedes since we came, but do
not feel afraid of them, as they run away as fast as they
can. There are horned toads here too. We can see five
towns from where we live: Chino, where there is a
large sugar-beet factory; Riverside, Ontario, San Ber-
nardino, and Rochester. In Ontario they have a street-
car which is drawn by mules. The track is seven miles
long. They draw the car up the hill, and then the mules
get on a platform behind the car and ride down.
Your friend, Mabel P- .


"A LESSON in Electricity," printed in this number,
is intended for the older girls and boys who read ST.
NICHOLAS, and not for readers too young to understand
it. In these times, when the great, subtle force, elec-
tricity, plays so large a part in our daily lives,- lighting
our houses, propelling our street-cars, carrying messages
for thousands of miles over the land and under the sea,
and serving man in many other ways,-it is natural
that thinking and observing young folk should desire to
learn, if possible, "how the thing is done." Yet it is no
easy task to explain, even to grown-up folk, the intricate
workings of the dynamo. Mr. Philip Atkinson's Les-
son in Electricity" makes the subject clear; and not to
grown-up readers only, for, if carefully read, it can be
easily understood by bright boys and girls over thirteen
or fourteen years of age.
Our thanks are due to the General Electric Co. and
to the Brush Electric Co. for illustrations showing the
incandescent lamp and the arc lamp. The diagrams
in the article were prepared by the author.--

All readers of ST. NICHOLAS will be interested in the
news that those charming little folk, the Brownies, have
recently made their appearance upon the stage-that is
to say, they were represented by boys and girls in a play,
"The Brownies in Fairyland," written for them by Mr.
Palmer Cox. Mr. Malcolm Douglas contributed origi-
nal music for the songs, and the play has been given with
great success in New York, Brooklyn, and elsewhere
during the last three months.
As ST. NICHOLAS cannot make room for the entire
play, the publication of the second act must be postponed
until next month. But those of our readers who have
not seen the performance will be pleased to read the text
of Mr. Palmer Cox's clever little operetta, in which all the
Brownie favorites reappear.
We must call attention, however, to the fact that the
words and music of the play are copyrighted, and the
version printed in ST. NICHOLAS must not be given as a
public entertainment, except by special arrangement with
the author.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been living at Pass
Christian for three years.
We live in an old-fashioned house, situated on the shore
of Mississippi Sound. It was built about sixty-five years
ago, and is surrounded by beautiful oak-trees, from which
lovely Spanish moss hangs.
I noticed that you had not received a letter from Pass
Christian telling you about the storm on the coast a few
months ago, so I thought I would send you a description
of it.
It commenced on Sunday, October i, toward the mid-
dle of the day, just as we were coming out of church;
so we drove home in a hard shower. It rained all day
and all night. The wind howled terribly, and we could
hear the waves dashing up on the beach. We were
afraid the large trees would fall on the roof and crush it
in, so we did not sleep much. At four o'clock on the morn-
ig of Monday we looked out of the windows and saw
the waves dashing over the beach and across the road up
to the front gate. All the piers and bath-houses were
blown away, and many summer-houses were gone.
In some places, where the beach was low, the water
rushed over the grounds and up to the steps of the
The railroad bridges north and south were blown
down, so we could not get or send mail by rail for two
weeks. The people of New Orleans sent steamboats
over, and many families who were here only for the sum-
mer left on the steamboats. It was so pretty to see them
going over in little skiffs to the big steamboats which
were in the Sound, and most of them stopped in front
of our house, because we live at West End, near Bay

St. Louis. But we were glad to hear and see the trains
come in again when the bridges were built. Good-by.
Your sincere little friend, ADELE C-

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I received your magazine for a
Christmas present, and like it very much. I have been
reading the letters in the Letter-box," and thought I
would like to write to you and tell you about my Califor-
nia home. We came here from Wisconsin last July.
We live in the great San Bernardino Valley. North of
us is the Cucamonga Mountain, and east the San Ber-
nardino and Gray Back. On the southeast is the San
Jacinto Mountain, which Helen Hunt Jackson tells
about in "Ramona," which I have been reading. The
old Mission which she tells about is only a few miles
from here. The mountains are white with snow while
we are picking flowers in the valley. It seems funny
not to have snow at Christmas to have a sleigh-ride.
We found a tarantula one day,--it looked like a very
large spider covered with a kind of fur,- and have also
seen scorpions and centipedes since we came, but do
not feel afraid of them, as they run away as fast as they
can. There are horned toads here too. We can see five
towns from where we live: Chino, where there is a
large sugar-beet factory; Riverside, Ontario, San Ber-
nardino, and Rochester. In Ontario they have a street-
car which is drawn by mules. The track is seven miles
long. They draw the car up the hill, and then the mules
get on a platform behind the car and ride down.
Your friend, Mabel P- .


MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I like your book very much..
I am not very strong. I am just seven. I like the parts
about snakes, earthquakes, and earthquake-waves, and
comic songs best. I like the jolly stories too. How long
do you think our little dogs will live ? One is ten, and one
is thirteen. Their names are "Jock" and "Myra."
From your loving reader, JACK.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: One bright morning in the
month of May, some of my friends or schoolmates and I
went up the mountain in search of mountain-shells. We
did not carry any dinner with us. When we found all we
wanted, we were all very hungry. There were no fruits,
nor anything for us to eat for our dinner.
When we came back, we saw a small cave by the side
of a large rock. We went into this cave so that we would
not get wet, for it was raining very hard. When we went
in we saw many young pigs in one corner, but it was very
lucky for us that the mother was not there. I and some
of the boys succeeded in catching young pigs for each boy;
and Baker was the last; he was very happy that he caught
one for himself.
He was sitting in the corner playing with his little pig,
but I and the rest of the boys were busy telling stories.
We were frightened by the appearance of the old mother-
pig. But Baker was not frightened, because he did not
notice the appearance of the old pig.
While he was playing, the little pig slipped from his
hold, and Baker only had a chance just to catch the little
thing by one of the hind legs. This gave the little pig a
chance to squeal, and this made the old mother-pig angry.
She ran in and knocked Baker flat on his back. Oh!
How frightened we were! We all let the young pigs go,
and tried to attack the mother-pig, so as to save Baker
from her.
After a while we succeeded, by driving her out with her
young ones. Baker was saved, and also the little pigs
were saved from being roasted in the oven for our supper.
Yours respectfully,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little English girl, aged
six, and have wanted to write a letter to your nice maga-
zine a long time.
I live right away in the country, where we have lots
of nice cows, sheep, and pigs.
I am staying with my Uncle Arthur in Birmingham
now; he took me with a lot of other little girls to see a
circus yesterday. I had never been to one before. We
saw a woman who swung about in the roof till I thought
she might tumble down, and some elephants and lions,
and a pretty lady on a white horse. My uncle lifted me
up to feed the elephant afterward; it was quite gentle.
I hope you will print this letter. My big sister helped
me to spell some of the words, but I wrote it all myself.
I remain your loving little friend, ETHEL C- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have been taking you for
a long time, and I like your stories very much. I spent
nearly two months at Nantucket last summer and the
people were so honest there the shopkeepers leave their
shops all alone while they go to luncheon; and the peo-
ple come in, put down their money and take what they
want. I am eight years old. NANNIE C. M- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I have never written to you
before, I thought I would tell you of a few of the many
interesting things to be seen in this great city of London.
I will not describe Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's, or the
Tower, for of these you have probably often heard, but
there are many curious things to be seen in a walk through
the old part of the city.
Built in the wall of a church is a stone called the Lon-
don Stone," supposed to be the very center of the city,
and from it all distances used to be measured. Not far
from it is a portion of the old Roman wall which once en-
circled the city, and some of the streets are called after
the different gates; for instance, Moorgate, Aldgate, Al-
dersgate, Bishopsgate, Billingsgate, Kingsgate, Cripple-
gate, etc. Some other streets with queer names are:
Bread street, Milk street, Pudding Lane, Pie Powder
Court, Bleeding-Heart Yard, Petticoat Lane, Rag Fair,
and Stable Yard.
The monument was built in commemoration of the
great fire of London, in 1666, and at one time there was
an inscription, but this has been removed. There are 345
steps to the top, and from there you can get a fine view.
In Westminster Abbey in the Coronation Chair is the
Stone of Scone, on which the kings of Scotland were for-
merly crowned. It was said to be Jacob's pillow, and
that wherever that stone was, there would be the supreme
power of Scotland.
It looks very odd to see the blue-coat boys going about
bareheaded, their yellow stockings showing beneath their
long flapping coats, and stiff little white ties around their
necks. Your interested reader,

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the second year
that I have been one of your devoted readers; my Aunt
gave me you for a Christmas present. I live quite near
the Zo6logical Gardens, and the other day I went there
to see a large orang-utan which came from the World's
Fair. He was very queer and somewhat resembles a
man. I am afraid I am making my letter too long, so
will stop now. Good-by. From your friend and well-
wisher, CARRIE K. S-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a little gray donkey.
The flies used to bite her front legs so that Papa put
trousers on her.
She attracted so much attention that one day a gentle-
man stopped to ask why our donkey wore "pants."
I must tell you how we got her. In the next street
from ours all the little boys in town used to go to tor-
ment her. Papa threatened them with arrest, but it did
no good; so finally he bought her.
She adores bran-mash, and will stand and coax in the
prettiest fashion for some one to feed her.
She will not stir from the kitchen door (after I have
been out driving with her) till she sees the pail coming,
and then if I run with the pail she will gallop after me.
We named her "Betty," after a dear old dog of ours
that died. Yours devotedly,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I wonder if you will be so kind
as to let a Canadian boy have room in the" Letter-box"
to tell you that I like ST. NICHOLAS so much that I wish
it came every week. My last birthday was in July, and I
was nine years old. I can tell you a true story of a cat.
This cat had two baby kittens. The whole family was
given to a friend who lived eight miles away, and they


were taken in a box to their new home in the country.
This was several months ago, and you can imagine the
surprise of pussy's first owner a few days since when the
old cat came in looking as though she had seen hard
times. And no wonder, for she had walked the whole way
over rough roads. Don't you think that mother must have
been very wise to remember the old home she loved so
well, and to be willing to take care of her babies until they
could safely be left to look out for themselves ?
Yours truly, TED Y- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a girl twelve years old,
and am the only girl in the family. I have two brothers,
one nine, the other five years old. I spent last summer in
Middleboro, not the town, but out on Mad Mare's Neck.
It is beautiful out there. Our old homestead is within a
mile of Great Quittacus pond, and our land runs down
to it. Two of my cousins live near our house, and we
had fine times together. There is a nice bathing shore
at the pond, and all of us went in bathing every day that
the water was warm enough. Where I am staying in
Acushnet, my grandmother's land runs down to the
Acushnet River. I am very fond of skating, and skate
every day that I can. Your constant reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I do not remember having seen
any letter in your letter-box column from my native
city. We have taken you for many years, and when you
are well read we send you to our cousins in Edinburgh,
We have the Parliament Buildings here all built on
solid rock high above the Ottawa River. Our electric
street-cars are said to be the best in the world; all the old
horse-cars are gone, and all mail is now carried by the
electric cars from the post-office to the different stations.
We have had a few accidents, but not many, and the heavy
snow does not interfere much with the cars, which are
very comfortable in the winter.
I have two little sisters and three brothers; we all enjoy
your monthly visit, and hope to enjoy it for a long time
to come. Your loving reader, HELEN McK- .


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in Boston now, but we
used to live on Martha's Vineyard all the year around.
When I was there I had a great many pets. I had a big
cat that my big brother trained to carry letters home
from the post-office, a pony that I took in bathing with
me in the summer, and a parrot that can say a great
many things.
Last spring I went out to my cousin's ranch, and I had
a splendid time. I saw the little calves branded. My
big cousin went off with the men to what they called
the "Round-up," that they have to -bring together all
the cattle; but I did not go.
I am ten years old, and they say I am very old for my
age; but I love to play dolls.
Your little friend, SARAH C- .
There are some verses on page 408 of this number that
will interest Sarah C-

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: Mabel D. H.,
Henry B. M., Carl H., Eugene B. R., Grace R., William
B. S., Bessie H., Juliet C. B., Joseph R. G., Nevah McI.,
Charlie B., Roger S. G. B., Gertrude C. C., Gordon B.,
Ora C., Harry F. S., Scott P. McN., A. E. W., Rita,
Elsie K. C., Ernest S., Katharine J. H., Edith N. G. B.,
Vera D., Edwin I. H., Helen C. S., Mary S. L., Clare
A., May H. F., Jean M., Nettie L., Clare J. A., Stella
M., W. P., A. P. A., Dora McK., Fred B. W., E. S. P.,
Bessie B. C., Eunice B., Julia I. K., Rhea L. M., Jack
K., Mary St. J. W., Louise W., Hubert S.,Jessie C. W.,
W. H. G., Mary G. M., Clarence D., A. B. E., Mar-
guerite S., Lottie G., Isabella R. M., Katherine K.,
Eleanor F. McN., Eleanor W., Frank M. W., Mary
McD., Charles K., Edith E. R., Midgie M., Clara, Car-
rie E. R., Elizabeth W. P., Leonora L., Wilfred B.,
Helen S. S., Willa C. N., Helen C., Pauline VanC.,
Harry B. W., May T., Morse O. D., Margaret O. P.,
Gertrude N. C., Ralph W. J., Lena F. W., Helen H.,
Burt W. C., Ethel J., Elizabeth L., M. I. A., Marie P.,
Rose T., Hilda M., Marjorie M., Francis R. W., Joe L.,
Fannie J., W. S. C., Wilder B., Stella B. H., Mattie E.
D., J. M. D. and Ethel.




ILLUSTRATED DIAGONAL. Kant. r. Kite. 2. Last. 3. Pens. HOUR-GLASS. I. Turnstile. Cross-words: i. Turntable. 2. Man-
4. Boot.-- CHARADE. Mid-ship-mite. uals. 3. Shred. 4. One. 5. S. 6. Ate. 7. Smike. 8. Frilled.
A Civic PUZZLE. The City of Masts." I. Trenton. 2. Havana. 9. Framework. II. Turnstone. Cross-words: i. Flatterer. 2. Man-
3. Elgin. 4. Cleveland. 5. Iowa. 6. Troy. 7. Ypsilanti. 8. Os- umit. Burin. 4. Ant. 5. S. 6. Ate. 7. Broil. 8. Granary.
wego. 9. Florence. o1. Memphis. ix. Athens. 12. Springfield. 9. Vengeance.
13. Toledo. 14. San Francisco. ST. ANDREW'S CROSS OF DIAMONDS. I. x. A. 2. Ale.
WORD-SQUARES I. .Dwarf. 2. Wager. 3. Agree. 4. Reeds. 3. Admit. 4. Almodad. 5. Eider. 6. Tar. 7. D. I D.
5 Fresh. II. i. Magic. 2. Alone. 3. Gores. 4. Inert. 5. Cesti. 2. Red. 3. Racer. 4. Decrial. 5. Deign. 6. Ran. 7. L. III. D.
III. i. Rasps. 2. Aspen. 3. Spree. 4. Peele. 5. Sneer. 2. Red. 3. Recur. 4. Decimal. 5. Dumpy. 6. Ray. 7. L.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA. "Our doubts are traitors and make us IV. I. ). 2. Hod. 3. Homer. 4. Domical. 5. Decoy. 6. Ray.
lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt." 7. L. V. I. L. 2. Yaw. 3. Yacht. 4. Lacteal. 5. Whelp. 6. Tap.
Measurefor Measure, act I, sc. 4. 7- L.
RHYMED TRANSPOSITIONS. Tinsel, enlist, listen, silent, inlets, CENTRAL ACROSTIc Jupiter. Cross-words: rajah. 2. ScUll.
linest. 3. raPid. 4. slide. 5. faTal. 6. hyEna. 7. hoRse.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the g5th 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 DECEMBER NUMBER were received, before December x5th, from "The Wise Five"-
Aunt Kate, Ottawa," Mama, and Jamie -" M. McG."-Josephine Sherwood Maude E. Palmer- Paul Reese -J. C. Threlfall-- Ida
Carleton Thallon L. O. E.- Helen C. McCleary- Alice Mildred Blanke and Co.- Uncle Mung"- Jessie Chapman -Jo and I.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER were received, before December 15th, from Sara Von S., 2 Reba L. Sipe, I -
"Kidney Bean," 4- Melville Hunnewell, 3 No Name. Phila., 3 -Ruth M. Mason, Mama, Sadie, and Jamsie, 6- Two Little
Brothers, 6--Geo. S. Seymour, 6-Gerda Estes, i-"The Clever Two," 3- L. H. K., I--Herbert L. Bingay, 6- Isabelle R. Mc-
Curdy, 5-Helen Rogers, 3- G. B. Dyer, 6-" Mr. Micawber,"3 Adele Clark, i- Alma Rosenberg, 3- H. M. Landgraff, i- I. H.
P. Rowell, 7 Eva and Bessie, 5-" Three Gigglers," S. S. S., '96, i-- Harold and Allie, 2 Rosalie Bloomingdale, 7- Morse Orton
Delplain, i.
tion making a new word, the number of letters being
always the same, and the letters remaining always in the
same order. Example: Change LAMP to FIRE in four
FINAL AscGR STIC moves. Answer: lamp, lame, fame, fare, fire.
I. Change BOLD.to PERT in four moves. II. Change
SJ BOAT to SHIP in five moves. E. W. w.



Jil. 5 ............ 6

SFROM I to 2, anxiety; from I to 3, advocates; from
0 4- 2 to 4, an heraldic term; from 3 to 4, entire overthrow;
from 5 to 6, not prudent; from 5 to 7, formed of little
squares; from 6 to 8, sequence; from 7 to 8, pertaining
to the East Indies; from I to 5, the act of suing; from
2 to 6, instigates; from 4 to 8, part of the day; from 3
to 7, secure. "ODD FISH."
ALL the words pictured contain the same number of I. IN bascinet. 2. Skill. 3. Evergreen plants. 4. A
letters. When rightly guessed and placed one below the good-natured little sprite, often pictured by a favorite ST.
other, in the order numbered, the final letters will spell NICHOLAS artist. 5. General tendency. 6. A title. 7. In
the name of a distinguished American commodore who bascinet.
died in the island of Trinidad. II. I. Inbascinet. 2. To expire. 3. To imagine. 4. Short

METAiMORPHOSES. sleeps. 5. Consumed. 6. A human being. 7. In bascinet.
III. I. In bascinet. 2. To hinder. 3. Large bundles
THE problem is to change -one given word to another of goods. 4. An Indian pipe. 5. To send back. 6. To
given word, by altering one letter at a time, each altera- place. 7. In bascinet. CHARLES B. D.



ALL of the words described contain
the same number of letters. When
these are rightly guessed, and placed
one below another, in the order here
given, the zigzag, beginning at the up-
per left-hand letter and ending at the
lower right-hand letter, will spell a
familiar name. The zigzag, beginning
at the upper right-hand letter, and end-
ing at the lower left-hand letter, will
form an equally familiar name.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Bags. 2. Anobei-
sance performed by bowing very low.
3. To cut into thin pieces. 4. With-
out contents. 5. To infect. 6. Con-
cerning. 7. To dwell. 8. Cocked on
I one side. 9. A Scottish name for a
crag or cliff. ro. A token of esteem paid to worth.
I -An interjection meaning Hail! 12. Scandinavian
legends. 13. Thin pieces of marble. '"JACKRYDER."

CHARM si pignip grispn's weset sipares,
Gitnh yb hingt het gunoy onom slifl;
Onso eht neldog tadheer saidsie
Lwil eb vore lal het shill.

1 2

3 4

5 6 7

8 9

UPPER SQUARE (I to 2, etc.): I. A chair. 2. Com-
fort. 3. Requests. 4. A trial.
SIDE-SQUARE (3 to 6, etc.): I. To try. 2. Always.
3. Half. 4. To stumble.
LOWER SQUARF (6 to 7, etc.): I. To put an obstacle
in the way of. 2. To swell or puff up m the process
of fermentation. 3. An island. 4. To remove the outer
covering. From 4 to 7, to catch. H. W. E.


.I AM composed of seventy-six letters, and form a coup-
let by Pope.
My 57-64-25-43-28 is a kind of tree. My 54-8-68-
16-12-33 form part of the body. My 51-70-19-62 is

without point or spirit. My 40-35-
5-23 is to throw violently. My I-
46-29-52-49-9-60 is to struggle. My
3-73-38-18-56 is to excite. My 76-
32-42-36-27-65 are suspicions. My
41-69-14-34 is fitting. My 71-24-
67-7-75 is to desire earnestly. My
II-48-59-21-13-53 is to inflame. My
72-37-47-20-4-66-30 is a place where
metals are cast. My 61-55-6 is a
masculine name. My 22-15-39-
58 is to diminish. My 17-31-
74 is a large bird which runs
swiftly, but which cannot fly.
My 44-50-2-45 is part of a horse.
My 63-10-26 is to hasten.


CROSS-WORDS (reading across or downward): I. Joy-
ful. 2. To expire. 3. Contrary. 4. Penetrates. 5. Roosts.
6. To behold. 7. A masculine name. H. w. E.

MY primals spell a kind of puzzle, and my finals spell
a word meaning admitted willingly.
CROSS-WORDS (of equal length): I. To restore to
freshness. 2. To lift. 3. Rubbish. 4. Sorcery. 5. An
exclamation expressive of approval. 6. The juice of the
white poppy. 7. To furnish. 8. Great fear.
L. M. B.
MY first is a covering useful,
Worn mostly by children and tars;
My second, a singular article
You always will find in bazaars;
My third is a place very noisy
With rumble and bustle and shout;
My whole-well, unless you possess it,
This puzzle you ne'er will find out.
BY starting at the right letter in the following sentence,
and then taking every third letter, the title of a play by
Shakspere may be formed.
"Papa, Lilly is now the only alert scholar at the
Banard; bestow pie on Lilly, Papa." PEARLE C.



I\ [// f

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