Front Cover
 What befell Melaatij
 A model child
 Teddy and carrots: Two merchants...
 The jonquil maid
 A rain-song
 A bird-call
 Chris and the wonderful lamp
 Long, long, ago
 Jack Ballister's fortunes
 What the lights tell
 Helios's four-in-hand
 V. and W.
 A boy of the first empire
 Three freshmen: Ruth, Fran, and...
 A tender-hearted Arab
 Men's rights in the nursery
 An unfortunate family
 Daniel Boone and the founding of...
 The squirrels, marmos, and...
 Rhymes of the states
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00297
 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: VID00297
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 530
    What befell Melaatij
        Page 531
        Page 532
        Page 533
        Page 534
        Page 535
        Page 536
        Page 537
    A model child
        Page 538
    Teddy and carrots: Two merchants of newspaper row
        Page 539
        Page 540
        Page 541
        Page 542
        Page 543
        Page 544
        Page 545
    The jonquil maid
        Page 546
    A rain-song
        Page 547
    A bird-call
        Page 547
    Chris and the wonderful lamp
        Page 548
        Page 549
        Page 550
        Page 551
        Page 552
        Page 553
        Page 554
        Page 555
    Long, long, ago
        Page 556
        Page 557
        Page 558
        Page 559
        Page 560
    Jack Ballister's fortunes
        Page 561
        Page 562
        Page 563
        Page 564
        Page 565
        Page 566
        Page 567
        Page 568
        Page 569
    What the lights tell
        Page 570
        Page 571
        Page 572
        Page 573
        Page 574
        Page 575
    Helios's four-in-hand
        Page 576
        Page 577
        Page 578
        Page 579
        Page 580
    V. and W.
        Page 581
    A boy of the first empire
        Page 582
        Page 583
        Page 584
        Page 585
        Page 586
        Page 587
        Page 588
        Page 589
        Page 590
        Page 591
    Three freshmen: Ruth, Fran, and Nathalie
        Page 592
        Page 593
        Page 594
        Page 595
        Page 596
    A tender-hearted Arab
        Page 597
    Men's rights in the nursery
        Page 598
    An unfortunate family
        Page 598
    Daniel Boone and the founding of Kentucky
        Page 599
        Page 600
    The squirrels, marmos, and sewellel
        Page 601
        Page 602
        Page 603
        Page 604
        Page 605
        Page 606
        Page 607
        Page 608
        Page 609
    Rhymes of the states
        Page 610
            Page 610
            Page 611
    The letter-box
        Page 612
        Page 613
        Page 614
    The riddle-box
        Page 615
        Page 616
        Page 617
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

4 0,i

.1 fl,

...;:" N: '

j '

I, 11 ,'


r~ I:~~!.;
1 ;




MAY, 1895.



MELAATIJ lived with her grandmother in a
little thatched cottage on the edge of the vil-
lage of 'sGravendeel, in Holland. The cottage
was built of yellow and black bricks set in
curious figures, and there was a low door so
cut in the middle that, while the lower part was
closed, the upper part might be opened. It was
painted green, and was quite overgrown with
hop-vines. Beside the door was a long wooden
bench, and on this bench might be seen several
huge cans-of brass, shining like gold in the sun.
When it is said that there were two square win-
dows, and a huge chimney about which the
swallows flew, there is little to add.
Inside, the floor was made of bright, red tiles,
and just opposite the door was the hearth, with
the fireplace, huge and set with blue tiles; and
over the fire of peat hung a large iron pot on a
crane; and from the pot, which had a shiny
brass rim, came a most appetizing sputtering
and bubbling sound.
On one side of the room, and almost filling
it, was a large mahogany double-decked bed,
built into the wall, like a closet, with doors
which were to be closed tightly to keep out
the draughts at night -such a queer bed, with
bright tulips painted in staring colors all over
it. Arranged in a line on the wall were a num-
ber of old Delft plates and pitchers and mugs,

and these, with the huge chest of linen, consti-
tuted the household treasures.
The houses of 'sGravendeel, after the fashion
of most Dutch villages, were all built after one
model, their gable ends facing the road which
followed the dijke along the canal. And at
either end of the village was a huge windmill,
painted black and white, with long arms, on
which were wide sails of tanned canvas, looking
like brown velvet against the sky.
Except on market days, few people came
through 'sGravendeel; and rarely was any noise
heard, save the screaming of the geese, or the
rumble of the two mills. The road along the
dijke led from the neighboring village of Deel-
op-den-Dyke to Dort; but, as I say, except on
market days, people very seldom wanted to go
to Dort, and the people of Dort seemed never
to think of Deel-op-den-Dyke. So, save the
waving arms of the two windmills, and an occa-
sional sight of one of the miller's men, all dusty
white, setting the sails in the direction of the
wind, there was little stirring in the village.
With the first beams of the sun, the thrifty
peasants betake them to the fields; and they
work their small plots of land to such purpose
that the whole country, as seen from the high
windows of the mills, resembles a huge patch-
work of different tones of green.

Copyright, 1895, by THE CENTURY Co. Allrights reserved.


No. 7.



The women are as busy as the men
in Holland,- indeed, busier: for while
the men rest and smoke at the noon
hour, the gleaming knitting-needles are
brought out by the vrouwen (wives), and
the blue stocking grows several inches.
But about Melaatij: It was quite late
in the afternoon, and Grootmoeder stood
knitting away by the door of the little
yellow and black house just under the
waving arms of the mill. As her lips
moved, counting the stitches, her eyes
wandered along the dijke, and at length
rested upon a cloud of dust, from the
Pronounced "Mel-lat'ty," ij being the same
asy; "Grootmoeder" is grandmother.

, ,

.i .






mid t of which came a prodigious cackling of
c-geese, and the shrill voices of children. On
Sith-i-v came, the geese screaming, running, wad-
AdI-"i *lling, and flying ahead of the children, who,
arrm in arm and stretched across the dijke,
drove them before, with a great stamp-
Sing of their wooden shoes.
-~'~,A s they passed the mill, Groot-
\ moeder caught sight of a little
figure in a crimson bodice
in the middle of the line of
;--= children.
Si Grootmoeder could hard-
ly believe her eyes.
S" Melaatij! she screamed.
i V And is it thou ? And where
I is black Tessij' ? "-grasp-
S ing the little one by the
w' .. arm, and gazing down
into her flushed, rosy
I "Ja, Grootmoeder. I
SB left her in the polder
S'the apple-tree by," said
the abashed Melaatij,
o' hanging down her head.
"And alone? and thou knowest



that Mijnheer Van der Briigge has vowed that he
will her in the pound put, if he finds her the dijke
upon again! Go thou, and bring her home! Hast
thou thy mind lost, that thou leaves the best
cow in 'sGravendeel to wander alone the pol-
der in ? And whilst thou chasest the geese
for others! A great maid as thou art, with the
head of hay upon thy shoulders! Off with
thee to bring home the black Tessij before thou
dost thy supper get!" And hardening her
heart to the grieved look upon the child's face,
she closed the door with a sounding slam.
Off went little Melaatij down the dijke, her
blue skirt flying in the breeze, and her wooden
shoes clattering noisily.
But black Tessij-the finest cow in all
'sGravendeel where was she ?

When Melaatij left her under the apple-tree
in the polder, to join the throng of
children after the geese, forgetting
in her haste to close the gate
of the bridge over the sluice,
black Tessij saw her chance,
S and started upon a tour of
S her own; and where should
she take it into her head to
go, but up the dijke, to the
i big house of the mill-owner
of 'sGravendeel, who owned
the finest tulip-beds in all the
... country around.
S Black Tessij proved that
... she had an eye for color; for
when she came to the gate
leading from the dijke to
Mijnheer Van der Briigge's
garden, and found it fast, she
jumped lightly over it, se-
lected the costliest and most
variegated bed in the garden,
went and lay down in the
Smidst of it, and, calmly fetch-
9J. ing up her cud, fell to chew-
Sing it as if a tulip-bed was the
most natural resting-place in
the world for a cow.
S.:. that when Melaatij reached the ap-
l:.lc-tree in the polder, black Tessij was no-
where to be seen. In vain she called and
called and clapped her hands; she could
hear nothing save the screaming of the geese in
the distance, and the echo of her own voice com-
ing back to her from the dijke, which wound its
dusty way along the canal. Back she climbed
again, thinking she might have missed her
among the bushes as she came along; but no
sight of the cow was to be seen.
After a moment's reflection she set off along
a footpath that led across the polder to a clump
of trees and dense underbrush surrounding the
ruins of what had once been the great castle of
'sGravendeel, which had been destroyed a hun-
dred years before.
"I shall find her here," thought Melaatij, as
she ran along and, following the path, entered
the cool shade of the trees. It was a lonely
place, but the child knew no fear. She loved




the wood, the great trees, the ferns, and the path and scurried away among the ferns, and
mosses that grew rankly among the ruins. And failing to find his hiding-place, she sat herself
soon she entirely forgot black Tessij, in the de- down on the moss, and leaned against one of
the huge blocks of stone that were scattered
about, and conned over to herself the
Wonderful stories she had heard
S. er Grootmoeder tell of
S,9 buried treasure, and of
SHeer Baron Graafe
who had lived in the
S.castle, and the beau-
tiful lady whom he
had so illy treated
that she died; and
St of the gold and sil-
Svi7 ver he had wrung
from the peasants,
V and hoarded and
%'a b n .i. buried in iron chests
in the woods. How
he suddenly disap-
peared, and no one
ever saw or heard of
him afterward. How
people had searched
.4 r and dug for the treas-
ure, but no one had
been able to find it.
It was the belief in
the village among the
peasants that the treas-
S& ure could only be found
at sunset by a maid
who had suffered a
great misfortune.
This part of the story
had ever been full of
the most delightful
i ,ystery to Melaatij. She
-di:l not understand it in
She least, but that only added
r the charm. She had often
V "i- :A h~'I',:,t a le might suffer; for that,
-.i:t a-ur.:l herself, would be to look
iike the ztu..ite ic t le Virgin in the Groote
Kcrk great church) at Dort, and wear a long
MELAATIJ AND HER GROOTMOEDER. white veil, and a wreath of flowers. Melaatij
light of the cool, soft moss and the tiny flowers often gazed long at the sweet patient face.
that bespangled it. She had never suffered anything in her life, save
She followed a lizard that jumped across the perhaps a scolding from Grootmoeder when


she did not make the butter come fast enough
in the long-handled churn; and-but she sud-
denly remembered that she was suffering now:
for, had she not lost black Tessij, the finest cow
in all 'sGravendeel ? She mounted the ruined
wall, and looked over into what had been the
cellar of the castle.
The sunshine gilded the stones in spots here
and there, and the ferns grew rank. A bird
hopped along through the bars of sunshine on
the grass, and eyed her curiously, as who should
say, Well, little girl, what can I do for you ? "
Then he twittered prettily, and who knows but
what he was trying to tell her that black Tessij was
in the best tulip-bed in the whole of
Miingarden ?



,"H ,. .
nice r
woul-d I:e."
mused M.:- '" "-
her eyes fixed R ."
on the bird, to find a huge chest of gold, and
go home proudly to Grootmoeder, and, as the
chest was brought in by the men (for of course
she could n't carry it herself), to say grandly:

Here, Grootmoeder, is a chest of gold for
thee, that thou mayst in thy old age peace and
plenty have."
Yes. She would have Pieter and Jan
Swijzel from the mill to carry the chest, and
maybe she would give them a whole silver gul-
den each. (A gulden was as high as Melaatij
had ever calculated.) Yes, a whole gulden
each; and with the rest of the treasure they
(she and Grootmoeder) would go to Dort
and live. Yes, in a fine house near the Groote
Kerk; and they would have pudding on the
table every day, and she would not forget to
buy the spectacles for Grootmoeder, whose
eyes had been failing her of late, so much so
that even the large print in the huge Bible
ou li.l' irn times run together: upon
vi hi-i Grootmoeder would
:h, close the book, lay
it carefully away in the
closet, and resume her
Yes. Pieter and
Jan would carry in
the chest before all
the village, and she
would say grandly
and proudly to
Grootmoeder, See!
I have the treasure
:f' found for thee-the
S ..reasure of the Heer
\L, iron Graafe!"
Perhaps it was buried
l re in t beneath where she sat!
: Mounting the ruined
.1.ill, she seated herself
,.ll:L a loose stone, and
,. rh .0:,,1ght her of a lucky rhyme
nl .:..ue among the children, and
,nhi-- ti!_, always repeated when-
r aiii' -d to lose anything:

"' E... h. drie-al, Graacht,
Vf-ahi i.i-ah, zcv'n-ah, Maacht! "

Nobody knew in the least what it meant, but
that did not matter at all. It was lucky, and
that was sufficient.
While repeating the lucky rhyme she beat
time to it with her little sabots upon the stone;


...~.~ .~;.:-



and when she came to the final word Maacht,"
she gave such a kick that off flew the sabot
down among the weeds below. Slipping down
from the spot where she had been sitting, she
parted the thick bushes with her hands, care-
fully avoiding the nettles, and
pushed her way among the
thick ferns to the spot where :
she could see the point of
the white sabot gleaming.
The branches, springing back,
almost blinded her; and, put- .
ting out her hands to keep
them away, she suddenly
felt the ground crumb-
ling under her feet. She
clung to the ferns and
weeds to save herself,
but the effort was use- .
less, and down she "
went, with the stones
and loose earth rattling
and falling all about her.
One stone struck her on
the head. She saw for a
moment the green leaves and
the patch of golden sky above
her; then all grew dark be-
fore her eyes, and she knew
no more.
When little Melaatij opened
her eyes again, the light was
but faintly shining through the -
trees, for it was well-nigh night-
fall. For a moment she did not
realize where she was, or what
had happened. But finally the
pain in her head and her bruised
knees became so bad that she re
membered her fall, and attempted t.: .:.. ',...
rise, catching at a sort of projection which T
jutted out from the steep bank above her; but
to her horror it moved loosely, as if it would
fall. She had barely time to roll to one side
ere the whole mass fell outward, and seemed to
crumble away. The shape of it was square,
and so remained; and when she touched it she
realized that it was iron, but so rusted that it
was like flakes of rotten wood.
There were some rags in the square shape,

and she gingerly poked them about until what
seemed to be hundreds of buttons began to run
out of the discolored mass in a stream. She
stooped and picked some of them up, and ex-
amined them closely. They seemed to her to
be like money, but such queer money
the like of it she had never
i-CeIn L-dolbre, and it was so
Lbr.o:, i and black, too! She
i '1-11 i:ome of them into her
,..:" ket.
V -t-. `-addenly from afar off
.-J ',came the "moo! of
-e a cow, and at once
she knew it for black
Tessij's cry. And then
_-W it all came to her that
S"... she had lost black Tes-
V -ij; and, forgetting the
stream of queer brown
S.nd black buttons, as
S11ll as the cruel bruise on
er temple, she hurriedly
C-iimbed up the steep bank,
1 !d ran swiftly along the
'I.ath through the wood
in the direction from
S.. which had come the
S sound of black Tes-
sij's cry.
At the edge of the
wood she paused
an instant. She
could see the top of
tlie towers of the great
IhIu li:e of Mijnheer Van der
'' Erugge, and also the brass
ti.ir tl:'lrvane shining against
t!E': .iI .t evening sky. Below,
li...i; th hid the dijke; but
Essij '!" there came sounds of shouting,
and once the familiar bellow of black Tessij.
On she ran now swifter than ever, and finally
reached the small foot-bridge that led across
the sluiceway to the dijke, then up the steep
steps; and there she saw a crowd of villagers ex-
citedly talking together, and among them Mijn-
heer Van der Briigge and the poundmaster,
driving black Tessij before them. She screamed
aloud at this.



oh.I Ii I r.
.:l, d...n't take
:. -I-,. : O h,.,s '."
:, ., i ll y,:,n
please) !"
At this Mijnheer Van
"THEY LODED THE der Briigge turned, and
BASKET." seeing a little girl with a
torn skirt and only one sabot, and a huge bruise
on her white forehead, on her knees at his feet,
What! and is it thou, Melaatij ? And dost
thou know what thy black duivel of a cow has
done ? Well, then, I '11 tell thee," he said, as
Melaatij sobbingly shook her head. She has
spoiled three hundred guldens' worth of rare
tulips; and for this-"
How much more Mijnheer would have said
no one knows; for at that moment, such was
the little thing's terror at hearing of this damage
to the tulip-bed, she excitedly struck her knees
with both hands, so that her apron pockets,
which she had filled with the queer brown and




black buttons that she found in the wood,
here gave way, and the contents rolled
this way and that about her. Mijnheer
.-to::oped and picked some of them
up. Then he glanced at
her in astonishment.
"How now," he said
harshly; "and where
and how didst thou
come by these ?"
Ah, Mijnheer,"
-" said the little thing, in
terror, "I found them
in the wood, als 't
"., U belief; and there
are hundreds and hun-
dreds more. I fell on
them, Mijnheer." And then
o r. ihe began to cry.
Nlijnheer stooped and gath-
ered them all up carefully, and
tier ordering the poundmaster to
r.tke lthe .ow poundward, he seized
tli-c ar, .:['f Melaatij, and said:
C:,nie :coni. : .-.t up and show me quickly
ire. trh. .i-Isr ,,d these. Dost thou know

N.i,-, Mijlliheer. .s 't Ubelieft."
An.d: ti-rn Mliinieer rapidly walked on in the
ir._:rir:,r in f -i ,'. I'llh the little one had come-
-,: rj-ip:il,, th:ii -e iwas well-nigh out of breath
VvlUcn they arnmcd at the wood's edge. There
Melaatij led the way, and soon they came to
the spot where she had fallen; and there was
the same little bird hopping along, his head on
one side, knowingly gazing at them; but Mijn-
heer did not care for the bird, or indeed seem
to see it at all; for he said: "Now, where is
the place where thou didst find these?"
There there, below, at the bottom of the
bank, where the stones are loose," said Melaatij,
pointing to the place.
And down leaped Mijnheer. Soon he gave
a cry: "Go to my house and bring Jan at
once, and Clies also, and bid them fetch a
Well, to make a long story short, Melaatij
soon returned with the two men, and they soon
loaded the basket with the queer brown and
black buttons which Melaatij had found. But


you must know that they were not buttons at
all, but pure gold and silver coins -so many
of them that I am afraid to name the amount.
For this was the long-hidden treasure of the
Heer Baron Graafe, and the place where Me-
laatij so luckily fell had been the very spot
where no one had thought of searching for it
in all the many long years that it had lain
there. Of course, having found the treasure,
Melaatij was entitled to a certain part of it;
and after the money was delivered to the Heer
Treasurer at Amsterdam, and the rightful heirs
appeared, and the money was divided, the Trea-
surer sent word to Melaatij that twelve thou-
sand gulden (nearly $5000) was in the bank in
her name.
Think what a proud moment it was in Me-
laatij's life when the messenger arrived in the
town, and asked to be directed to the domicile of

Jufvrouw Melaatij Taat, and the whole village
escorted him to the neat cottage, where the offi-
cial notice was delivered to the little girl, and
receipted for by Mijnheer Van der Briigge, who
was appointed her guardian! And there has
been no more talk of the terrible deed of black
Tessij, nor indeed of punishment for Melaatij;
for she is now a little heiress, and is at school
in Amsterdam--and who knows what else
there is in store for her?-while Grootmoeder
is living comfortably at the great house of
Mijnheer Van der Briigge. And I may say that
grootmoeder now has little trouble in reading
the Bible, for she has a new one of larger and
clearer print, and a beautiful new pair of gold-
bowed spectacles, through which better to read
the letters. And from where I am writing I can
see the two mills waving their velvety-brown
arms against the sky.



HER temper 's always sunny, her hair is ever neat;
She does n't care for candy-she says it is too sweet!
She loves to study lessons-her sums are always right;
And she gladly goes to bed at eight every single night!

Her apron 's never tumbled, her hands are always clean;
With buttons missing from her shoe she never has been seen.




She remembers to say "Thank you," and "Yes, ma'am, if you please ";
And she never cries, not frets, nor whines; she 's ne'er been known to tease.

Each night upon the closet shelf she puts away her toys;
She never slams the parlor door, nor makes the slightest noise;
But she loves to run on errands and to play with little brother,
And she 's never in her life been known to disobey her mother.

"Who is this charming little maid ?
I long to grasp her hand!"
She 's the daughter of Mr. Nobody,
And she lives in Nowhereland!



"SAY, boys, come 'round over here by the
fountain, an' I '11 show you something!" Skip
Jellison shouted to a party of his friends who
were seated on a curbstone, not far from the
Newsboys' Lodging House, gravely discussing
a business proposition which had been made
by Sid Barker.
"What 's the matter?" Reddy Jackson
asked, replacing'his fragment of a hat.
Come over here; an' you must be quick
about it, or the show will be ended."
Skip was so excited that his acquaintances
and friends concluded it must be something of
considerable importance to cause him to move
in such a lively manner, and they followed him
a short distance down the street, until it was
possible to have a full view of the fountain.
There the cause of Master Jellison's agita-
tion could be seen.
Seated on the edge of the iron basin, with a
newspaper parcel unrolled in front of him, was
a boy, apparently about twelve years of age,
who, to the newsboy spectators, looked pain-
fully neat and clean. Skip and his friends
saw that the boy was a stranger in the city.
The new-comer had taken from their news-

paper wrappings a small cake of yellow soap,
and a piece of cotton cloth.
Laying these on the iron edge of the fountain
basin, he calmly proceeded to wash his face and
hands, using a plentiful amount of soap; and
then, to the intense astonishment of the specta-
tors, applied the impromptu towel vigorously.
Well, that fellow's too good for down town !"
Skip said in what he intended for a sarcastic
tone. "He b'longs up at the Fif' Avenoo."
Oh, he 's jest got in from the country, an
is goin' to buy Brooklyn Bridge," Sid suggested.
"Look at him! Jest look at him!" Skip
cried, in mingled excitement and anger that
the boy should be so criminally neat.
The stranger had taken from his valise of
paper a comb, which he calmly proceeded to
use, the water in the basin serving as a mirror;
and then, to the surprise and disdain of the
spectators, he gave his clothes a vigorous
brushing with a whisk broom.
"Well, see here!" and Skip spoke in the
tone of one who is uncertain whether it is best
to laugh or be angry, "that feller 's making' me
tired. S'pos'n' we go over an' give him a
shakin' up, jest for fun. Come on and Skip
led the way across the street at full speed.
The stranger looked up calmly when they
approached, but betrayed neither astonishment


nor alarm; and Skip involuntarily halted a few
paces away, as he asked gruffly: "Say, young
fellow, what 're you trying' to do? "
Can't you see?"
I thought I did; but these chaps here made
sure there must be some mistake about it."
The boy gazed critically at those who were
surrounding him, and then replied:
"Well, 'cordin' to the looks of the whole
crowd, I should think you might be s'prised to
see a fellow wash his face an' comb his hair."
Now, don't get too fresh," Sid said threat-
eningly, as he stepped forward to Skip's side.
"We did n't come here to git the 'pinion of
any country jay."
"Then why did you want 'er know ?"
"'Cause. Say, you 'd better mind your eye,
young fellow, if you count on stayin' 'round
this city very long. There was a chap jest like
you come down here last week trying' to put on
airs: an' his folks are huntin' for him now."
"Well, you need n't be worried anybody 'll
be looking' for me, 'cause there 's nobody wants
to know where I am. So go ahead, if I 've
been doin' anything you perfessors don't like."
Sid apparently decided that it was hardly ad-
visable for him to make too many threatening
gestures, because the stranger was not at all
disturbed by them, and even seemed disposed
to court the possibly dreadful encounter.
He finished brushing his clothes, and then
packed his "valise," by rolling the different
articles carefully in the newspaper. Then, in-
stead of going away, as Skip and his friends
seemed to think he should have done as soon
as they arrived, he stood with his hands on his
hips, as if waiting for them to take their de-
parture. For a minute no one spoke, and the
silence was really painful.
The newsboys were mentally taking the
measure of this stranger who appeared ready
to defy them; and the latter finally asked im-
patiently: "Well, what 're you fellers counting'
on doin' ? I reckon I 'm no great sight for
you to stand looking' at."
Do you live here ? Skip asked.
I 'm goin' to now. Had it tough enough
getting' here, an' don't feel like leaving' till I 've
found out what there is in this city."
"Where did you come from?"

Up Saranac way."
"Rode down in a parlor-car, I s'pose."
"Then you s'pose wrong, 'cause I walked."
"You don't look it." And once more Skip
scrutinized the stranger carefully.
"I don't reckon I do. I count on keeping'
myself kind er decent. It does n't cost anything
for a feller to wash his face, comb his hair, or
have his clothes clean, an' there 's many a time
when it '11 pull him through in great shape."
Goin' to live on the interest of your money,
I s'pose ? "
"Well, you s'pose right this time," was the
quiet reply. "That 's my calkerlation; but
it '11 be on what I earn, not what. I 've got."
Dead broke ? "
"Not quite," and the boy took from his
pocket a number of pennies, holding them in
one hand, while he guarded himself against a
possible attack. "There were twenty of 'em
when I come 'cross the ferry, an' I believe none
of 'em have got away since."
"What are you goin' to do here?" Sid
asked, beginning to fancy that possibly this
stranger was a boy whom it would be worth
his while to cultivate; and, in order to show his
friendliness, he seated himself in a studied attitude
of careless ease on the edge of the basin, while
the others immediately followed his example.
"Whatever will bring in money enough for
my keep, an' a little over."
"Thinkin' of selling' papers ?" Reddy asked.
"I reckon that '11 be 'bout the first job,
'cause I 've got to make money enough for my
supper, or dig too big a hole in my capital."
"What 's your name? "
S"Teddy Thurston."
"Do you s'pose the fellers down here, what
run the newspaper business, are goin' to have
you coming' in takin' the bread an' butter out er
their mouths ? Sid asked angrily.
No, I don't reckon they will; but you see
I 'm not after that exac'ly. You fellers '11 never
find me trying' to get your bread an' butter;
but I '11 tell you what you can count on for a
fact," and now the stranger spoke in a very
decided tone, "I 'm reckonin' on stickin' to
the newspaper business, if there 's any money
in it, jest as long as I want to. I did n't travel
all the way down here to get scared the first



day. You see, I bigger it 'bout like this: Sam
Thompson, he came to the city last summer,
an' some fellows-I don't know whether it was
you or not-made it hot for him. It was n't
more 'n a week before he was glad to walk
back, although he came down in the cars.
Now I thought I 'd begin right where Sam left
off: I 'd walk the first way, an' then, perhaps,

4'--. .. .. ,, -- -

would show a green hand how to get his pa-
pers, an' where the best places were, eh ? "
"That 's jest 'cordin' to how you start in,
young fellow," and Sid arose to his feet in or-
der to make his words more expressive. "If
you want to go to work, an' mind your eye, I
don't know but it can be done; but you won't
get along this way. You 're putting' on too
.1 iiI


stand a better chance of ridin' the other, if I
had to go; but it 's got to be boys what are
bigger than I am to scare me out er the plan.
I've come to stay."
Oh, you have ? and there was no mistak-
ing the fact that Skip was sarcastic. "We may
have something to say 'bout that."
"Then you want 'er talk quick, 'cause after
I 'm settled down, it '11 be a pretty hard job to
make any trade with me."
"Where you goin' to begin business ?"
"I don't know yet. I '11 look 'round a
while, an' catch on before night, somewhere.
I reckon there are fellows in this town that

many frills--that 's what 's the matter with
you, an' they '11 have to be taken off."
"Well, perhaps they will"; and Teddy turned
as if to leave his new acquaintances. "You
see, I 'm pretty green, an' may be counting' on
doin' too much. I '11 try it a spell, anyhow."
We allers 'low, when it's 'greed a new hand
can go to work, that he stands treat the first
"Oh, I see! Well, I don't have to do that,
'cause it ain't been 'greed yet. When I want
you fellows to tell me what I can do, perhaps I
may come down 'cordin' to your idees; but
jest now I 've got too much business on hand";


and the stranger walked away, as if these
young gentlemen, who claimed to control the
newspaper business of New York City, were of
no especial importance in his eyes.
"Look here, fellows," Skip said wildly, for
he always contrived to work himself into a
state of intense excitement over the most tri-
fling matters, "the way he 's going on now,
he '11 be the boss of Newspaper Row before
morning 'less we take a hand in it."
"What are you goin' to do?" Sid asked
in much too quiet a tone to suit his excited
"Thump his head the very first time he
tries to sell a paper, to start with, an' run him
out er town before ter-morrer night."
"I don't see how you can tackle him now
when he ain't doin' anything."
Of course not; but he brags he 's goin' to;
an' the first time he tucks a bundle of papers
under his arm, I '11 give him one to re-
member "
"Look out you -don't git it the same 's you
did last week, over in Brooklyn! Teenie Mas-
sey cried in his shrillest tones, which hardly
ever failed to excite Master Skip's anger.
"Don't you mind how I got it over in Brook-
lyn! I '11 tend to my business; you tend to
yours. If we waited for you to do anything,
we'd all be bald-headed," was Skip's answer to
this taunt; but Teenie was not at all abashed.
It was his favorite amusement to arouse Skip's
anger, and rely upon his diminutive stature to
escape a whipping; for Master Jellison prided
himself upon his ability to flog any fellow of
his size in New York. You fellows meet me
in front of The Times office at noon, an' I '11
show him up in great shape, 'less he comes
to hisself before then, which I reckon he will,
'cause he '11 never have the nerve to stand up
ag'in' the whole crowd of us," said Skip.
Meanwhile the stranger was apparently giv-
ing no heed to the young tyrant who had
decided it would be impossible for him to re-
main in the city; but continued on his way
down-town, ignorant of, and perhaps careless
regarding, the fact that he was to be debarred
from earning a livelihood by selling newspapers,
if Skip Jellison's power was as great as he
would have others believe.

THE appearance of the clean-looking boy,
even though his clothes were rather shabby,
attracted no particular attention among the
small army of newsboys and boot-blacks to be
found in the vicinity of City Hall Park; and
Teddy Thurston was enabled to survey the
scene around him without interruption.
During a few moments he interested himself
in what, to the country lad, must have been a
bewildering scene; and then, mentally "pulling
himself together," he began to watch the young
gentlemen who were selling papers.
Near by him were several boot-blacks who
appeared to be doing a flourishing business;
and he said to himself, jingling the coins in
his pocket, as if trying to revive his courage:-
"If I had money enough to buy brushes an'
a box, I believe I 'd black boots for a while.
It seems as if there was a good deal of profit
in it. One of those fellows has earned fifteen
cents since I stood here, an' I 'm sure the
paper-sellers are n't doin' so well."
Just at that moment a small boy, with par-
ticularly red hair and a stubby nose on which
was a large smudge of blacking, finished his
work of polishing a gentleman's boots, and
pocketed with an air of satisfaction the three
extra pennies which had been given him.
Then, standing very near Teddy, he whistled
in the most contented manner possible.
The boy from Saranac looked at him a mo-
ment, as if trying to decide whether the city
fellow would be willing to give the desired in-
formation, and then asked:
"Say, what do the brushes cost? "
"I paid Ikey Cain forty cents for these two,"
the stranger replied without hesitation, as he dis-
played the articles last mentioned. "They're
good ones. I could n't have got 'em less 'n
a dollar down on Fulton Street."
"That settles me," Teddy said, as if speak-
ing to himself; and then, without particular
animation, he inquired, "What 's the cost of
the boxes? "
Oh, the fellers don't buy these; they make
'em. All you 've got to do is ask some man
in a store for one, an', if he gives it to you, find


a chunk of wood an' whittle out this top part.
It 's the blackin' what takes the profits off.
I paid twenty cents for that bottle last Mon-
day, an' it 's more 'n half gone already."
Teddy ceased jingling his coins, and was
about to turn away, when his new acquain-
tance asked: "Was you thinking' of shinin' ?"
"Eh ? "
I mean was you goin' inter the business ?"
"No, I can't; have n't got money enough. I
reckon I '11 have to sell papers for a while."
"You '11 be jest as rich," the small boy said
as he added another smudge of blacking to
his nose by rubbing it in a thoughtful manner.
" You see, when it rains, the fellers can sell pa-
pers all the same; but we have to lay off 'cause
nobody wants their boots shined in wet weather.
Where do you live? "
"Well, about anywhere, now. You see, I
jest come down from Saranac, to find out how
I could earn my livin'."
"What was you doin' up there ?"
"I worked for Farmer Taylor a spell, but he
would n't give me more 'n my clothes; an'
when a fellow has to work a year on the farm
for sich a rig-out as I 've got here, it don't seem
as if he 'd get rich very soon."
I ain't so sure," the boy with the blackened
nose said, as he surveyed the stranger. "You
seem to be rigged out pretty swell, an' I guess
they fed you well enough-gave you all you
wanted, eh ?"
"Oh, yes, I got enough to eat, an' a fair
place to sleep in; but it seems as though a
fellow like me ought 'er have more 'n that, if he
works hard all day for it."
"Well, I s'pose he had; but you see there 's
a good many times when business is dull 'round
here, an' if you have n't got the cash to pay right
up to dots for a room, you '11 have a chance to
sleep where you can. I 've been thinking' of
goin' on to a farm, myself; but I don't seem to
get ahead fast enough to make a break."
Teddy was rather pleased with this new ac-
quaintance. The red-haired boy was the first
in the city who had treated him with the
slightest degree of friendliness, and it would
have been gross carelessness to neglect him.
"What 's your name?" he asked, as he
moved slowly toward one of the benches, with

an air which invited the boot-black to sit
"Well, it 's Joseph Williams; but nobody
'round here calls me that. The fellers sing out
'Carrots' when they want me, 'cause you see
my hair is red."
"Yes, I could tell that in the dark," Teddy
said with a smile, as he looked at Master Wil-
liams's flame-colored head.
I don't care what they call me. If it does
'em any good to sing out Carrots' whenever
I go by, why, let 'em do it. But that 's what
makes me think 'bout goin' to farming. "
What is ?"
"'Cause they yell so much 'bout carrots. I
don't know as I 'd like sich things, for I never
eat any; but it seems as if a feller that 's so
red-headed as I am b'longs in the country."
"I don't know how you make that out."
Neither do I; but that 's the way it looks
to me. Must be nice to be where there's grass,
so 's you can get up in the morning' an' run
'round in the fields."
"Yes; but that 's what you would n't be
doin'. If you was livin' on a farm you 'd have
to hustle, an' there's enough work in the morn-
in' without running' 'round the fields, I tell you."
"What did you use ter do ?"
"Well, first place, I fed the cows. We did n't
keep any sheep; but I looked after the losses
an' pigs, an' then there' was a pesky little calf
that gave me lots o' trouble. But look here,"
Teddy added quickly, "there's plenty of time
for me to tell you 'bout a farm. Jest now I
want 'er do something' to earn my livin'. Can
you show me where to get some papers ?"
"Are you goin' inter the business sure ?"
"Only for a little while. I don't count on
selling' papers all my life. You see, I 'low to
make money enough so 's I can go inter some-
thin' regular for myself."
Oh, you do, eh ? and Master Carrots in-
dulged in a bit of sarcasm. "Well, I reckon
it '11 be a pretty long while before you earn
that much. You 'II be mighty lucky to have
all you want 'er eat, an' a place to sleep. What
have you got in your pocket ? "
"Nothin' pertic'lar. That 's my baggage,"
and in order to prove his friendliness toward
the red-haired stranger, Teddy displayed the



contents of the newspaper parcel, greatly to the
surprise of his new acquaintance.
"What's that little brush for? "
"Why, to clean my teeth, of course."
Carrots looked at his new friend in surprise
which amounted almost to bewilderment.
"Well," Teddy asked, what's the matter ?"
"Well, seems as if you was putting' on a good
deal of style for a feller that has n't got money
enough to buy the outfit for the boot-black
"I don't know as there 's anything so queer
'bout that; but you fellows seem to think

I. o -


there 's no call to keep yourselves looking'
"Well, you see, we don't claim to be swells."
"Yes, so I see," Teddy replied; then he
added: "Say, these fellows seem to be selling'
a good many papers. S'pos'n' you show me
where to buy some ?"
"All right; come along"; and, slinging his
box over his shoulder, Carrots started across
Printing House Square, threading his way in
and out among the vehicles in a manner which
seemed to Teddy almost criminally reckless.

More than once, before the short journey was
ended, did the boy from Saranac fancy he
would be trampled under the feet of the horses;
but by dint of his own exertions, aided now and
then by a vigorous pull from his guide, he was
soon standing in an ill-ventilated room, where
half a dozen fellows were clamoring for round,
flat pieces of brass.
Here-I don't want those," Teddy said,
as Carrots led the way to the desk where the
disks were being sold.
"But you 've got to have the checks if you
count on getting' papers. Give me your money.
How many do you want? "
"I '11 take twenty cents' worth, anyhow, an'
-e h Art I cri .]J:. r.. r- them as a starter"; and
lc.l) hIi rilc, rli..: prnies confidently to his

Car.:,t; I.ii,. the ci':ins in front of the busy
nri.tn :ir it.- < ,i--k. recc, ed the bits of brass, and
with them went to the
counter on which large
Numbers of newspapers
were lying, where he
received Teddy's first
'\ stock in trade.
Find out what the
"\ news is, an' yell the
best you know how,"
Carrots said, pushing
the young gentleman
;N" from Saranac toward
Sthe street door; and
'five minutes later the
new merchant was fol-
lowing his friend's ad-
(SEE NEXT PAGE.) vice to the letter, by
crying his wares in
such a manner as excited the mirth of the other
It seems to me I ain't doin' this jest right,"
Teddy said to himself, and then he waited a
moment, listening to the more experienced
It was not long before he succeeded in
imitating their cries, and had already sold four
papers when Skip Jellison, who was accom-
panied by his friends Sid Barker and Teenie
Massey, appeared in view.
There he is! Teenie cried in his shrillest



tones. "Now let's see you go for him! He's
actin' as if he owned the whole town! "
Skip prepared for battle by rolling up his
coat-sleeves, and settling his dilapidated cap
more firmly on his head. Then, running swiftly
forward, he confronted Teddy as he was on
the point of selling a paper to a gentleman
through a horse-car window.
Skip did not wait to be attacked, for he be-
lieved in striking the first blow as a means of
confusing the enemy; and before Teddy recog-
nized the boy who had threatened him, he re-
ceived a severe blow in the face which caused
him to reel backward.
The paper fell from his hand, the horse-car
continued its way, and this important trans-
action in news was nipped in the.bud, to the
serious loss of the young merchant.
Teddy was bewildered for an instant, as Skip
'had expected, and he did not recover his self-
possession until Master Jellison had struck him
once more, this time without serious effect,
since the blow, being a hasty one, glanced
from the boy's shoulder.
It sufficed, however, to throw Teddy's stock
of papers into the mud of the street, thereby
ruining several so that they would not sell to
fastidious customers; and this, more than the
i injury received, aroused Teddy's ire.
The boy from Saranac may have been igno-
Sr:iit concerning the customs of the city, but he
v, ,-; thoroughly well aware that it was neces-
;sary to defend himself; and an instant later
'Skip found he had quite as-much on hand as
ihe could attend to properly.
Teddy, giving no heed to his wares, struck
out with more strength than science, and forced
i his adversary to beat a swift retreat.
Now you 've got it! Teenie shrieked, as
if delighted that Skip had met an opponent
who was a match for him.
But Skip paid no heed to Teenie, and, raising
his fists as an invitation to Teddy to "come
on," awaited the conclusion of the battle, con-
fident as to who would be the victor.

Teddy had no idea of holding back; for this
attack was but the beginning of a series which
were intended to drive him out of business,
and it was necessary it should be repulsed if
he wished to earn his livelihood by the sale
of newspapers.
Therefore he advanced boldly, and aimed
what was intended for a stinging blow at his
antagonist's face; but it was met by Skip's arm,
and before Teddy could raise his hand again,
Teenie squeaked loudly and shrilly enough to
have been heard at the post-office:
"Cops! Hi, fellers, here 's de cops! "
Teddy was wholly at a loss to know what
was meant by this cry, although he understood
it was one of warning; and as he looked around
to ascertain the cause, Skip turned and imme-
diately started at full speed across the park,
intent only on escaping from the blue-coated
guardians of the peace.
With a cry of triumph, Teddy followed in pur-
suit; but before he had traversed twenty yards
a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder, and
he found himself in the clutches of one of the
park guards.
"I 've made up my mind that this sort of
thing 's been going on long enough," the officer
said, shaking the boy from Saranac as he led
him toward the approaching policeman. You
little ragamuffins seem, to think this park's kept
for you to fight in, but now I 'm going to
show you what 's what."
"Just let me get hold of the fellow who
knocked my papers in the mud, and I '11 show
you what 's what!" Teddy cried, not under-
standing that he had been arrested. "They
are n't goin' to drive me away from this town,
if I know myself.'
"Well, now there won't be anybody able to
do that till after you settle with the court," the
guard said, as he handed his prisoner over to
the policeman; and Teddy's face grew pale as
he realized that his attempted entrance into the
business community of New York city was to
be checked in an ignominious manner.

(To be continued.)

VOL. XXII.-69.

(A Srngtime acy)

(A Springtime Fancy.)


A LITTLE Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree,
Singing alone, in a low love-tone;
And the Wind swept by with a wistful moan;
For he longed to stay
With the Maid all day;
But he knew,
As he blew,
SIt was true
That the dew
Would never, never dry
If the Wind should die;
So he hurried away where the rosebuds grew.
And while to the Land of the Rose went he,
Singing alone, in a low love-tone,
The Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree.

The Wind swept back to the Jonquil Tree
At the close of day,
In the twilight gray;
But the sweet Little Maid had stolen away,
And whither she 's flown
Will never be known
Till the Rose,
As it blows,
f Shall disclose
All it knows
f Of the Maid so fair
r With the sunset hair.
And the sad Wind comes, and sighs,
and goes,
And dreams of the day when he
blew so free:
When, singing alone,
in a low love-tone,
A Little Maid sat in a Jonquil


la y



TINKLE, tinkle,
Lightly fall
On the peach-buds, pink and small;
Tip the tiny grass, and twinkle
On the willows green and tall.

Tinkle, tinkle -
Faster now,
Little rain-drops, smite and sprinkle
Cherry-bloom and apple-bough!
Pelt the elms, and show them how
You can dash!
And splash! splash! splash!
While the thunder rolls and mutters, and the
lightning flash and flash!

Then eddy into curls
Of a million misty swirls,
And thread the air with silver, and embroider
it with pearls!

And patter, patter, patter
)n the mossy flags, and clatter
On the streaming window-pane.

Rain, rain,
On the leaves,
And the eaves,
And the turning weathervane!

Rush in torrents from the tip
Of the gable-peak, and drip
In the garden-bed, and fill
All the cuckoo-cups, and pour
More and more
In the tulip-bowls, and still
In a crystal tide, until
Every yellow daffodil
Is flooded to its golden rim, and brimming o'er
and o'er!

Then as gently as the low
Muffled whir of robin wings,
Or a sweep of silver strings,
Even so
Take your airy April flight
Through the merry April light,
And melt into a mist of rainy music as you go.



BIRD of the azure wing,
Bird of the silver note,
Come! for it is the spring,
And high the white clouds float.
Come, bluebird, come!

Bird of the crimson breast,
Robin-we miss you well;
Robin, we love you best.
Come! for the cowslips swell.
Come, robin, come!

Bird of the circling flight
'Gainst twilight's pearly skies,
Soft call the winds of night,
Lonely the water cries -
Come, swallow, come!



TINKLE, tinkle,
Lightly fall
On the peach-buds, pink and small;
Tip the tiny grass, and twinkle
On the willows green and tall.

Tinkle, tinkle -
Faster now,
Little rain-drops, smite and sprinkle
Cherry-bloom and apple-bough!
Pelt the elms, and show them how
You can dash!
And splash! splash! splash!
While the thunder rolls and mutters, and the
lightning flash and flash!

Then eddy into curls
Of a million misty swirls,
And thread the air with silver, and embroider
it with pearls!

And patter, patter, patter
)n the mossy flags, and clatter
On the streaming window-pane.

Rain, rain,
On the leaves,
And the eaves,
And the turning weathervane!

Rush in torrents from the tip
Of the gable-peak, and drip
In the garden-bed, and fill
All the cuckoo-cups, and pour
More and more
In the tulip-bowls, and still
In a crystal tide, until
Every yellow daffodil
Is flooded to its golden rim, and brimming o'er
and o'er!

Then as gently as the low
Muffled whir of robin wings,
Or a sweep of silver strings,
Even so
Take your airy April flight
Through the merry April light,
And melt into a mist of rainy music as you go.



BIRD of the azure wing,
Bird of the silver note,
Come! for it is the spring,
And high the white clouds float.
Come, bluebird, come!

Bird of the crimson breast,
Robin-we miss you well;
Robin, we love you best.
Come! for the cowslips swell.
Come, robin, come!

Bird of the circling flight
'Gainst twilight's pearly skies,
Soft call the winds of night,
Lonely the water cries -
Come, swallow, come!



[Begun in the December number.]


"Go away!" shrieked Bob. Instantly the
genie disappeared.
"What 's the matter with you, Bob?" de-
manded Chris, determined not to reveal the
secret of the lamp if he could avoid it.
Did n't you see it ? quavered his cousin
his teeth chattering.
"Did n't I see what? "
"Why, that thing over by the window. I
could n't have imagined it."
"I don't see anything there," said Chris.
"It is n't there now," replied the trembling
Bob; "but -but Chris, I believe I 've hac
a nightmare."
"You 'd better lie down and go to sleep,'
advised Chris.
"I don't feel as if I could sleep any more
to-night. It must have been that cake I ate
at the sewing-circle; but still, that was more
than twenty-four hours ago."
"Well, you shut your eyes, and I guess
you '11 get to sleep without any trouble," said
Just then there came a sharp rap upon the
"Who is it ?" asked Bob.
"It's me," was the reply, in the shrill voice
of Mrs. Storms. I wish yeou tew boys would
remember that my room is right under yeourn
an' stop cutting' up. Ef yeou don't, I '11 hev
tew wake up yeour folks, fer I ain't a-goin' tew
be kep' awake all night."
"We won't make any more noise, Mrs
Storms," said Bob, as he turned over and closed
his eyes, whispering to his cousin: "I hope I
sha'n't have that same dream again."
Chris mentally echoed the wish as he slyly
removed the lamp from under the pillow and
placed it on the table by the bedside.

In a few minutes both boys were asleep
again; when they awoke it was broad day-
light. Bob had "slept off" the impression
Made upon him by the genie, and laughed and
joked about his supposed nightmare while he
Stressed. He told the story at the breakfast-
Stable, and Mrs. Storms remarked darkly that
in all her life she had never "heern tell of
, ennybody with a clear conscience hevin' a
As soon after breakfast as he could escape,
SChris went out to the barn with the lamp un-
der his coat, and summoned the genie.
The erratic spirit appeared in a shape even
more terrible than that he had chosen to as-
Ssume on the occasion of his last appearance.
This time he looked like a composite lion and
Sunicorn, with a slight suggestion of a war-horse.
Chris had prepared himself for a shock, but
She could not help starting nervously as the
Sgenie materialized out of thin air. However,
he said sharply:
"I '11 trouble you to change yourself into
s Pulsifer Jukes again, in as quick time as
The command was instantly obeyed: the next
Moment the genie stood before his master in the
semblance of that benevolent-looking old man.
"That 's always the way," he grumbled.
You never stick to one idea more than an
Hour at a time. I thought you gave me the
privilege of appearing in any shape I pleased."
"So I did," replied Chris, sternly; "but
Syou 've abused it, and henceforth I want you
to appear as Pulsifer Jukes unless I give you
Orders to the contrary. Why, you nearly ex-
posed the entire business by the way you acted
Last night."
I only did my duty," said the genie, sulkily.
SThen he added, "And I sincerely wish that
Young fellow had retained possession of the
lamp. I liked his looks."


And you don't like mine. Is that what
you mean ? asked Chris.
"I did n't say so," returned the genie; "but
really I don't see, for the life of me, why you
make such a tremendous secret of the fact that
you have gained possession of the lamp."
"We won't discuss the point now," said
Chris. "I want to get you to do something
for me. I 've been appointed pitcher of the
Lincolnville Baseball Club, and there 's to be
a game this afternoon. Now, I want to win
that game for the Lincolnvilles."
Oh, you do ? said the genie, with a pecu-
liar smile.
"Yes, I do. Now, between ourselves, I 'm
no pitcher at all, and I want you to help me
"You mean that you expect me to give you
the ability to win the game ?" questioned the
That 's it."
"Well, I can't do it."
"Wh-what ? stammered Chris, in dismay.
"I say I can't do it. I 'm about as able an
all-round genie as you '11 find in a day's walk;
but I have my limitations, and I can't make
you over. If you want to be able to pitch,
why, go ahead and learn how. Practise, watch
other pitchers, attend all the games you can,
and in time you may be able to play respect-
But good gracious!" exclaimed Chris,
aghast, the game comes off this afternoon."
Oh, you can't pitch in that game," said the
genie; "that 's out of the question. But I '11
tell you what I '11 do: I '11 take your place."
Did you ever play ball ? asked Chris.
"Never; but you know wie," laughed the
genie. "Yes, I '11 take your place, and no one
will ever know the difference."
"No, you won't," said Chris, stubbornly.
"I '11 play myself, and I '11 win, too."
Let us hope so," said the genie, shrugging
his shoulders. If you want me, send for me.
I don't think I 'd better make any engagement
for this afternoon."
"You may go," said the boy, abruptly; and
his slave vanished.
Chris was greatly disappointed by the out-
come of this interview. He left the barn, filled

with misgivings as to the result of the game.
How bitterly he now regretted his success in
gaining the confidence of the Lincolnville
boys! If he failed to make good his promise,
he would be the laughing-stock of both nines.
His nervousness communicated itself to Bob,
who could not imagine what had come over"
his cousin, and that afternoon the two boys
appeared upon the ball-ground with very long
faces. Bob had begun to fear that Chris was
going to make a failure of his self-imposed task,
and Chris was almost sure of it.
The field was located in a pasture just back
of Bob's house. As Chris entered it, he was
met by Nat Marston, who was captain of the
Dusenbury nine. Nat greeted him with:
Why, hallo, Chris; what are you doing
here ? "
"I'm in Lincolnville on a visit to my cousin;
that little fellow over there."
"Bob Green? Oh, I know him; did n't
know he was your cousin. So you 're going
to be one of the spectators, eh ?"
Not exactly," replied Chris, assuming an
air of importance. I 'm to pitch for the Lin-
"Wha-a-at ? cried Nat, in astonishment.
Chris repeated the assertion.
"How did they happen to put you in?"
asked Nat, with a stifled laugh.
Because they thought I could fill the bill,"
returned Chris, stiffly.
Well, I 'm glad they did "; and Nat ran
off chuckling to tell his men the news.
A few minutes later the game was called; the
Lincolnvilles were at the bat, the Dusenburys
in the field.
The Dusenbury pitcher was looked upon by
the boys as a phenomenon, for he was master
of a very peculiar and difficult curve. On this
occasion he began well for his reputation, for
two of the Lincolnvilles struck out without
touching the ball.
"Now, then, show us what you can do,
Wagstaff!" shouted Sam Reid, the captain of
the Lincolnville nine, to Chris, who was third
batter; at which several of the Dusenbury
boys smiled audibly.
As a "teaser" the pitcher delivered a ball
that was beyond Chris's reach. He struck at


it, missed it, of course, and the umpire promptly
One strike !"
The plainly expressed derision of the Dusen-
burys added to poor Chris's nervousness, and
he allowed a fair ball to pass without striking.
"Strike two!" shouted the umpire.
Then Chris "swiped" excitedly at another
wild ball; and, amid the uproarious laughter
of the Dusenbury boys, the umpire declared:
"Three strikes, and out! Side out."
The crestfallen Lincolnvilles took the field.
As Chris entered the pitcher's box, the captain
said to him, half angrily, half entreatingly:
"Now go ahead and show what you are
made of."
"I will, I must!" muttered Chris. "There's
no such word as fail."
But in this case there was. When, after a
great preparatory splurge, that was watched
sneeringly by the Dusenbury boys and in silent,
breathless expectation by the Lincolnvilles, he
delivered the ball, it hit the first Dusenbury
"Take your base! called the umpire.
With an ugly look at Chris, the batter trotted
down to first; and several very uncomplimentary
comments on his playing reached the pitcher's
ears-for which they were probably intended.
Then two men in succession took their bases
on balls, which made three bases full.
At this point Phil Bums, who was consid-
ered a "crack" batsman, came to bat, and
knocked a ball down against the barn. This
was the longest hit ever made on that field;
three men were brought home on bases, while
Phil made a home-run. The game then stood
four for the Dusenburys to nothing for the
During the remainder of the inning the Dus-
enburys batted Chris all over the field, to the
intense disgust of the Lincolnvilles, who were
not allowed to change pitchers, which they
would have done could they have gained the
consent of their opponents. When they were
finally put out by a foul fly, captured by the
catcher, and two field flies, caught by Bob and
the left-fielder, the score stood thirteen to no-
The Dusenburys trotted out into the field

with a very jubilant air; the Lincolnvilles were
correspondingly depressed.
It was a mighty lucky thing for us," Chris
heard the Dusenbury catcher say, that those
fellows took it into their heads to put Wagstaff
in as pitcher."
"I don't see it," grumbled the boy to whom
he spoke. "Why, there 's no fun in the game;
it's simply a walk-over."
Before Chris had recovered from this blow,
Bob came running up, his chubby face crimson
with excitement and mortification.
"See here, Chris," he began, "what 's the
matter with you? The fellows are all going
for me because I had you put in. Why, you're
ruining everything! For goodness' sake, brace
up !"
"I guess things will go better in the next
inning," responded Chris, with a sickly smile.
"I 'm sure they will."
At first they did. Eight runs were scored
before it came Chris's turn at bat, when he
promptly struck out. The man who followed
him sent a hot grounder into the left field,
making a beautiful base hit; after which, by
skilful base-running, he stole his way around,
getting in another run for the Lincolnvilles.
The next man succeeded in getting to third
base, where he was caught by a tricky play
between the baseman and the pitcher, and
walked down to the bench with an air of an-
gry disgust. The next player was stopped at
first, which sent the Lincolnvilles into the field
"See here, Wagstaff," shouted the captain,
as Chris advanced toward the pitcher's box,
"you can take the right field. We 've had
enough of your pitching for a while."
As Chris walked away in deep humiliation,
he heard Bob appointed pitcher. This added
to his nervousness, and in his new position he
muffed two easy flies; and the Dusenbury boys
scored eleven more runs on that inning.
Chris's ill luck continued; and at the end of
the sixth inning the Dusenburys were eighteen
At this juncture Chris walked up to Sam
Reid and said shortly:
I want leave of absence for a few minutes."
"What for? asked the captain.




"I -it 's time for me to take my medicine."
"Well, I guess you need it," said Sam, point-
edly. Go ahead, but get back in time to take
your place as fourth striker. We '11 have to go
right on."
It was time for Chris to take his medicine,
but it was not for that purpose that he ran back
to the house.
I '11 show them !" he muttered fiercely as
Ii. ascended to his room. "Those Dusenbury
fellows will be laughing out of the other side of
ti. ri mouths before the next inning is over."
SHe unlocked his valise and took out the
laIi-q and rubbed it; instantly Pulsifer Jukes
stood before him, a broad grin on his face.
I 've been expecting you to call me for the
last hour," he said. Really, I don't know
when I 've laughed so much."
"You 've seen the game, have you ?" asked
Chris, trying to assume a careless air.
"Yes," giggled the genie, "I had the curi-
o:1'r, to be on hand. Such playing! He! he!
h.:! Say, did you ever see a game of base-ball
before ? Honest, now! "
"Between you and Bob and the rest of
them," returned the boy hotly, I was so rat-
tled that I could n't play at all."
"That 's right, blame me!" shrieked the
genie. "Why don't you say it was all my
fault ? See here, what do you want this time?"
"I want you to change yourself into my
double and play the game for me."
"Enough said!" And the genie rushed from
the room.
From his window, Chris saw his representa-
tive take his place to strike. The three men
preceding him had all made base hits, and the
bases were full. The genie's appearance was
greeted by a despairing groan from the Lin-
colnvilles, and one boy said:
"If we only had a batter like Phil Burs he
:would bring in these three men; but there's no
show now."
The first ball was an easy one, but the genie
missed it by at least a foot; at which a Dusen-
bury boy called out, He has holes in his bat!"
and every one laughed, though the manifesta-
tions of mirth on the part of the Lincolnvilles
were by no means as boisterous as those in
which the Dusenburys saw fit to indulge.

When the genie failed to hit the second ball,
Chris murmured despairingly:
"He can build palaces, but he can't play ball
for sour apples. I might have known By
The genie had struck the third pitched ball
such a terrific blow that the bat broke in two.
Toward the barn, then over it, went the ball,
every boy in the field staring at it in amaze-
ment. Phil Burns's hit was as nothing com-
pared with it.
Down near third the Lincolnville coacher
was shrieking frantically:
"Sprint, you snails, sprint! Gre-e-at Scott!
was n't that a dandy crack!"
The attention of the spectators was almost
diverted from the three men already on bases,
who were running for home, by the amazing
swiftness of the genie as he scudded down to
first. Having arrived there, he stopped and
stared about him, an expression of perplexity
upon his face, as if looking for the ball.
In his excitement at this singular conduct on
the part of his representative, Chris entirely for-
got himself, and yelled, What 's the matter
with you ? Run! But luckily the tumult on
the diamond was so great that no one heard
"What on earth ails you, Wagstaff?" shouted
the captain. Have you gone to sleep there ?"
By this time the boy who had been on first
when the strike was made reached third, and
started for the home-plate, the other two having
already scored.
The genie now apparently roused himself,
and resumed his run at the same rate of speed
that had so astonished the boys when he was
on his way to first. He crossed second base
like an express train, whizzed down to third like
a flash; and in another second, after nearly run-
ning over the man ahead of him, landed on
the home-plate, having first turned a com-
plete double somersault.
He did not appear to be in the least out of
breath as he cried:
"Score Wagstaff! "
A scene of frenzied enthusiasm in the ranks
of the Lincolnvilles followed; the Dusenburys
seemed paralyzed with astonishment and dis-

- I --


Bob rushed up to the genie and shook his
hand violently, saying:
"You must n't mind what I said a while ago,
Chris -I was excited. Why, I never saw any-
thing like that run in my life."
Oh, that was nothing! replied the genie,
carelessly. "You'll see queerer things than
that if you stay right here and keep your eye
on me. As for what you said, I don't remem-
ber anything about it, and it would n't make
any difference to me if I did."
It 's awful good of you to say that," mur-
mured Bob, gratefully.
A new ball was now put into play, a small
boy having been despatched in search of the
other one.
The genie's feat seemed to have put new life
into the Lincolnvilles; every man played, as
Bob put it, for all he was worth." At the end
of the first half of the seventh inning, the home
club had scored fourteen more runs, the genie
having made another astonishing home-run.
The Lincolnvilles now felt that they had a.
reasonable chance of success; the Dusenburys
agreed with them, and were evidently losing
"You're a queer fellow, Chris Wagstaff,"
said Sam Reid to the genie. "Why did n't
you show what you could do before?"
"That's all right," responded the playful
spirit, with a knowing wink. "There 's more
to this business than you have any idea of,
my friend. Do you want to put me back as
pitcher ? "
This was exactly what the captain had in-
tended to do, and he replied:
"I suppose I may as well."
You could n't do better," the smiling genie
replied, and he took his place in the pitcher's
As Phil Burns came to bat, the captain of
the Dusenburys said to him: "Now go ahead
and show what's in you, old man! and Phil
replied with a confident smile, Don't worry!
I '11 knock Chris Wagstaff all over the field."
As the first ball left the genie's hand, it
looked very wild; observing which,'Phil de-
cided that it must pass at least three feet be-
yond the plate. So he stood with his bat over
his shoulder expecting the umpire to call a ball.

But to his amazement, the ball gave a sudden
twist through the air and passed exactly over
the plate.
"Strike one!" called the umpire.
"How did Chris ever get on to that!" mut-
tered the batter. "Well, no matter. I '11 knock
the cover off it next time."
The next ball seemed an easy one, being
apparently just where Phil wanted it, and he
struck at it with tremendous energy, expecting
to put it down against the barn at least. But
it seemed to dodge round the end of his bat,
and curved into the catcher's hands.
"Strike two! announced the umpire, while
Phil dropped his bat in amazement.
A murmur of applause rose from the Lin-
colnvilles, but was quickly suppressed by a
gesture from the captain.
His face rather pale, Phil picked up the bat,
but he could not regain his confidence. The
next ball started as well as its predecessor had
done; but as the batter struck at it, it seemed
to jump at least two feet in the air, and was
missed by Phil, though easily captured by the
"Strike three-striker out! "promptly shouted
the umpire.
As Phil walked away, his face expressing all
the mortification he felt, Bob Green shouted to
the captain, who was playing first:
Did n't I tell you Chris could do it? Are
you sorry you took him now? "
The rest of the Lincolnville Club were quite
as delighted as was Bob; if the supposed Chris
kept on as he had begun, their triumph seemed
Phil's successor at the bat, who was at best
an inferior player, was so completely demoral-
ized .by what he had just witnessed that he al-
lowed two good balls to pass without striking
at them, and then lunged furiously at one which
he could not by any possibility have touched.
As he heard the familiar plunk of the ball
as it struck the catcher's gloved hands, and the
shrill voice of the umpire pronouncing him
"out," he dashed the bat to the ground and
made room for the next striker, who, though
considered strong in his batting, also failed to
touch the ball.
As the genie sauntered toward the home-



plate, a complacent smile on his face, little Bob
turned a handspring and screamed:
"A whitewash We 're all right, boys!"
The Dusenburys entered the field this time
with very long faces; while the Lincolnvilles
came up to the bench in a sprightly manner
that was in marked contrast to their demeanor
of a short time before.
The eighth inning was, from start to finish,
a triumph for the home club, which succeeded
in obtaining eleven runs, the genie maintain-
ing his or, rather, Chris's reputation.
making two more home-run-, .-;i
ones, this time. The Dus it.nl,,
finally succeeded in gettin.- rI ,.
Lincolnvilles out, but !i.-.
genie's pitching was a-
wonderful as at first, for
he struck out three men .
in rapid succession, plac-
ing another whitewash
on the visitors. The
Lincolnvilles were'now
seven ahead.
From his station at
the window, Chris saw
the Lincolnville boys
crowding around the
genie, and it must be
confessed that he felt a
little envious.
"He played mighty
well, there 's no mistake
about that," he muttered;
"but why could n't I
have done it? I can,
another time. I don't
like the idea of taking
credit for what I have n't
done, either. I believe
I '11 go down and finish
the game. The Dusen-
burys can't possibly win THIS TIME HE LOOKE
now." SUGGE
As the Lincolnvilles gathered near the bench,
Chris seized the lamp and rubbed it. Instantly
the genie stood before his master.
"What do you want?" he asked excitedly,
wiping the perspiration from his brow. I can't
stop to fool with you now. Out with it."
VOL. XXII.- 70.


"I sha'n't need you any more this after-
noon," said Chris. I 'm going down to play
the last inning myself."
"You 're what shrieked the genie,
turning almost purple. Are you crazy?
Why, see here, I 've got things fixed now
so that the Lincolnvilles are sure to win the
game, but you '11 -"
"That'll do! Disappear!" interrupted Chris.
The next moment he was alone.




..9. I

Where have you been ? asked the captain
of the Lincolnvilles as Chris hurried down to
the diamond, comprehending that the game
had been going on during his interview with
the genie. Been to take another dose of
medicine? We want you on hand all the




time; you 're our mascot. Why, since you 've
been gone two men have been put out."
"I 'm all ready for business now," replied
Chris. "When do I come to bat?"

.- .,4 .'- .,

But Chris performed no such feat; he had
become so nervous that he pitched four "balls"
in succession, giving the next man his base.
At this the Dusenburys brightened up still




"Oh, it won't be your turn for some time
yet," answered Sam.
As it happened, Chris's turn did not come at
all, for the third batsman struck out as promptly
as his predecessors.
Having whitewashed their opponents, the
Dusenburys came in from the field feeling that
if Chris's pitching did not prove too much for
them, they still had a slight chance of winning.
The "mascot" went into the box with a
good deal of confidence in his ability to do
some extraordinary playing. But this feeling
was soon dispelled; for the first man at bat
knocked a long fly that passed over the center-
fielder's head, and he reached third before the
ball was restored to the diamond.
At this the Lincolnvilles looked rather
startled; but Bob confidently asserted:
That 's all right; it was nothing but an
accident. Watch him paralyze the next man !"

more, and the next man sent an elusive
grounder skipping past the short-stop; and,
amid great excitement, two men scored, which
brought the Lincolnville lead down to five.
Then, although the next batsman successfully
"pounded" the ball, it proved an easy fly,
and was gathered in by an outfielder.
But in spite of this slight encouragement to
the Lincolnvilles, Chris continued to pitch
badly, and the Dusenburys filled the bases.
The excitement was now at a white heat.
At this critical point it was Phil Burns's turn
to strike.
Now, then," implored Nat Marston, "bring
in those men. You can do it if you only think
so. The barn is in the same place it was be-
fore "
Chris set his teeth, muttering:
"He sha'n't send it down to the barn this



Nor did he; but he hit the very first ball, I can only catch the next fellow, I '11 save the
and sent it soaring to the furthest limit of the game after all."
left field, which had been left open. But the "next fellow" went to first on balls,
The coacher literally howled himself hoarse reached second on a pass," stole third, and
as the runners tore around the bases and came came home on a "liner muffed by Chris.
to the plate in rapid succession, Phil closing This muff and a wild throw to first allowed
with a home-run. The Dusenburys' chance of the striker to get down to second.
capturing the honors now seemed very bright; The score was now a tie. If the man on
for they had only one man out, and it was second could reach home, the Dusenburys
necessary for them to make but one run to would be victorious.
tie and two to beat. Both clubs were now literally breathless with
We 've got 'em now, boys! shrieked the suspense. As the Dusenburys were playing
Dusenbury captain. We '11 take 'em into on a "broken leg," the coacher instructed
camp, sure as fate!" the runner to take every chance; following
The Lincolnville boys were filled with con- which advice, he succeeded in sneaking to
sternation; and Sam Reid asked the umpire to third. The batter brought him home, and the
call time," which favor was granted. Then Lincolnvilles were beaten.
he walked up close to Chris was so sick at heart
Chris, and said in a that he scarcely knew how
low tone and in a --. he pitched the next ball,
wrathful, threatening and he knew still
manner: less how it hap-
"See here, Wag- opened that he
staff, you 're 'throw- caught the
ing' this game. If we ot liner"
lose, we shall know hat came
whom to blame." singing
And then, without rom the
stopping to listen bat.
to Chris's indignant cL
expostulation, he re-
turned to his place, .
and signaled to the
umpire that he was
ready to continue the
game. ".I
Poor Chris's brain
was in a whirl, and
he so far forgot him- "
self as to toss in a
ball. This, however,
proved the best thing
that could have hap-
pened; for it was
quite unexpected, "'YOU 'RE WHAT?' SHRIEKED THE GENIE." (SEE PAGE 553.)
and the batsman sent up a foul fly, which was Thus ended, in favor of the Dusenburys, the
secured by the catcher, most remarkable game ever played on that
"Two men out! murmured Chris. "Now if field or perhaps on any other.
(To be continued.)

(A Story in Rhyme.)


ONCE on a time, long, long ago
(To-day things do not happen so),
There lived a King and a noble Queen
And the fairest Princess ever seen.
She was fair, and she was stately,
And both her parents loved her greatly.
They gave her necklaces and rings,
Toys and candies, and lots of things--
Everything her heart could wish,
To a big glass globe of golden fish,
And a lovely golden thimble, too,
In an elegant case of ormolu.
Now, every Prince in that lovely land
Sought to win her shapely hand.
Some were poor, and some had money;
Some were dull, and some were funny;
Some were brave as Julius Casar,
Some were not-but none could please her.
At length the King said, "You must
Indeed, you should not longer tarry.
I 'm getting old, my hair is gray,
I may resign, now, any day;
I don't like you to reign alone--
Some worthy Prince should share your throne.
So choose whatever Prince you may
In any manner, form, or way.
Whate'er you wish, it shall be done;
But fix your choice, my love, on one."
The Queen, too, in her dulcet voice
Remarked: Indeed, do make a choice.
Propose, then, some ingenious plan
By which we may select the man.
For Princesses, the single state
Is altogether out of date."
The Princess sighed. Said she, Papa,
I wish to please you and mama.
But really, I would like some hints
To know how best to choose a Prince.
I 'd like to have one rather tall--
A king, I 'm sure, should not be small -
And not too dark, but not too fair;
No dandy, but one dressed with care;

A man as wise as he can be,
But not too wise for foolish me;
A man who writes a sparkling letter,
And if he dances, all the better;
A warrior, if he draws his sword,
A monarch worthily adored -
In short, I 'd have a perfect man,
Or one as near that as I can."
The Queen looked vexed. The father
Quite right," he said, "my darling child !
Aim high, and do your best, my dear;
But I have looked for many a year

. .-1 "- L. -. I

I ,,



To find within the whole world wide
A Prince who 's worthy such a bride:





And all in vain. But I will do
Whatever you can wish me to.
Some men are wise, and some are bright,
And some in war do most delight;
While others love the peaceful arts.
No actor can play all the parts
Upon the stage. But there 's a plan
By which to find this perfect man.
It shall be tried, and we will see
Exactly what the end shall be.
We'll summon all the Princes here,
And then we 'll prove them all, my dear,
Until, when every Prince is tried,
The best shall win a peerless bride!"

Full of devotion to the brim.
What parlous feat would one not dare,
To win a Princess sweet and fair
Who brought as portion with her' hand
The throne of such a thriving land?

Among them was a Prince whose name
As yet was all unknown to fame;
He 'd learned to fight, and dance, and sing,
But was not best at anything.
But he had pluck, and, lacking skill,
He never failed for want of will.
He did his best.
First, lists were set,


From far and near the Princes come
With sound of trumpet and of drum;
On foot, in litters, and by sea-
But all of royal pedigree,
All young, all gallant, all in trim,

And eagerly the warriors met.
With lance in rest and vizor down,
All rode to win the floral crown
With which to deck the royal brow
And win the royal beauty's bow.




The strongest won: a mighty Knight
Quite six feet tall, in armor bright.

The Prince not best at anything
Fell early in the jousting-ring
Without a word.
Then songs were sung,
And on the breezes sweet notes rung.
The mighty Knight did not appear:
For music he had not an ear-
A stripling clever won the prize,
And blushed beneath the lady's eyes.
The Prince not best at anything
Had even dared to play and sing,
But could not win.

Then came the chance
For those who 'd learned to skip and dance.
In whirls and mazes round they went
Within a lofty dancing-tent;
They pirouetted, slid, and skipped,
And on the very air they tripped.
The Minstrel and the Man of Might


Were certainly nowhere in sight;
The Warrior was by far too strong-
The Minstrel cared for naught save song.

The Prince not best at anything
Essayed a sort of Highland fling,
But yielded to a foreign Knight
Who danced upon a foot as light
As thistle-down, and won the prize
Beyond a doubt.

Then each one tries
His skill at games and riddles fit
To test his nimbleness of wit.
The three prize-winners stood aside,
They did not care to risk their pride
Except where they had proved their skill.
But still strove on the Prince of will.
Here, too, he failed again to win,
But stood quite ready to begin
Another task.

Then said the King:
"The reason that I strove to bring




Then spake the Princess, very low,
S'Unto the King: "I did not know-
t i/I/' 1 cannot dance, nor fight, nor sing.
I.' am not best at anything.
S I fear these others all would be
By far too wise or brave for me!
Pray let them go; and give my ring
S To him not best at anything.
SLet them each glory in his art,
The Prince who dared has won my
heart !"
S And so the one who gained the
Was he who every contest tried.
Who did not under trial quail
S But dared to enter, strive, and-fail!
i He did his best at everything,
S And proved a really model King.
: / To-day it might not turn out so-
I All this was-oh, long, long ago!


Together here these Princes true,
Was that no other plan I knew
By which to find what suitor best
Would prove, when I applied the test.
Some men are good, and some are wise,
And some for skill and enterprise
Are most renowned. In all the band
Which one deserves my daughter's hand?"

Then proudly rose the warrior Knight: l
"I am the winner in the fight.
Give her to me. It is my right."

The Minstrel spoke: "The wreath was mine
For minstrelsy. I must decline
To yield my claim. You can but shine
In warfare's arts, and there alone!"

The Dancer spoke in milder tone:
"What is a Prince if lacking grace?
Let War and Song take lower place; '
Grace wins the bride of kingly race!"
And all pressed forward, claims to bring, '
Save one not best at anything. THE' ONE WHO GAINED THE BRIDE.



[Bepgn in the A4ril number, 894.]

As the boat swept into the great lift and fall
of the ocean swell, Dred leaned forward and
rested his forehead upon the tiller, which he
still held. His body shook and heaved, and Jack
sat like one turned to stone. The thought went
through his mind, "He is dying! Will he die
as he sits there? Can it really be that he is
dying? Then Dred looked up, and his face
was as white as ashes. Great beads of sweat
stood on his forehead. "Some water," he said
hoarsely. Give me some water, lad."
Miss Eleanor Parker still lay in the bottom
of the boat where she had been sheltered.
Jack went forward blindly across the thwarts,
and brought out a cup of water. His hand
shook and trembled; his eyes saw, but did not
see what he was doing. His throat was con-
stricted as though it would choke him. Then
he came back with the cup of water; it slopped
and spilled over his hand. Suddenly Miss Elea-
nor Parker shrieked. She had aroused; in her
first glance she had seen the blood. "Oh, what
is it?" she cried. Dred had raised himself
again from the tiller, upon which he had been
leaning. He groaned. Jack pushed past the
young lady, without speaking to her or noticing
her. Dred reached out his hand as Jack gave
him the cup of water. It shook, and part of the
water spilled as Dred put it to his lips and, throw-
ing back his haggard face, drank it off. The
young lady was sitting staring at him, white even
to the very lips. Oh, oh! she said, wring-
ing her hands. "Oh, oh!" Jack panted; his
breath came hot in his dry mouth. He tried
to moisten his lips again and again, but they
remained dry.
The yawl, its course unheeded, had come up
into the wind. It rose and fell with the slow
VOL. XXII.-71-. 5

heaving of the ground-swell, the sail fluttering
and flapping. Dred leaned with one elbow
upon the seat beside him. "Ye 'll have to
go up forward, Mistress," he said presently, in a
hoarse voice, till I tie this place up." She
got up and went forward to the bow, where
she crouched down, hiding her face in her
hands. She remained there a long time, until
at last she heard Jack say:
"'T is all right, Mistress. You can come
back here again now."
He supported Dred as the wounded man lay
down upon the bench; then he covered him
over with the overcoats. He did not leave
Dred to help the young lady as she came aft.
She sat down upon the bench opposite to where
Dred lay. She looked at him, and then sud-
denly burst out crying. Dred lay with his eyes
closed. His face was white, and his forehead
covered with a dew of sweat. He opened his
eyes for a moment and looked at her, but said
nothing, and closed them again. Jack, his
breast heaving and choking, sat at the tiller.
He drew in the sheets, and the yawl once
more came up to its course.
The pirates must have landed from the sloop,
for they had come out across the land and
down to the beach. They fired a few musket-
shots after the boat, but the bullets went wide
of the mark; and presently, as Jack held the
yawl to her course, they were out of gunshot.
Dred lay motionless, his head upon his arm.
He had begun every now and then to sigh
recurrently. He opened his eyes and looked
at Jack and then at the sail. The young lady
was sobbing and crying; and Jack, as he looked
at Dred, felt the tears running down his own
They sailed on and on, the boat with its
tragic freight, under the bright, warm, mellow
light and the sweep of the wind. Jack won-
dered how the sun could shine so brightly, and


ithe air be so sweet and fresh. "I want another
'drink of water," said Dred, hoarsely.
"' Will you get the water for him, Mistress ?"
said Jack.
She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief,
and went forward to the barraca in- the bows,
presently coming back with a brimming cup
of water. Dred raised himself upon his elbow,
and drank it off. Then he lay down again as
he was before. For a long time he lay there with
his eyes closed. Again they sailed a long dis-
tance. Presently he opened his eyes. "You've
got to run ashore, lad," he said in a low, un-
certain voice. "I can't stand this any more;
I 've got to get ashore."
"Can I get through the breakers?" said
Jack chokingly.
"Ye '11 have to," said Dred; "for I can't
bear it here." Jack drew in the sheet and
brought up the boat with its bow diagonally
toward the shore. The sand-hills of the inlet
were lost in the distance. All danger of pur-
suit was over. As the yawl drew nearer to the
beach, Jack could see that very little surf was
running. "You '11 have to bring her around
with her bows to the sea," said Dred, opening
his eyes; "and then take to the oars and let
the surf drive her in to the beach. Try to keep
her off, lad; keep her bows steady." He panted
as he spoke.
Jack left the tiller and shipped the oars.
They were now close to the beach, and the
ground-swell was sharpening to the breakers
that broke a little further in. He brought the
bows of the boat around to the sea, and then
backed water toward the shore. Keep her
off," panted Dred; "she '11 go in fast enough
of herself."
Presently they were among the breakers;
these were not very. heavy, but enough to make
it necessary to be careful. Suddenly a coming
breaker shot the yawl toward the beach. As
the water ebbed, the boat tilted upon the sand.
Jack dropped his oars and leaped out. The
sweep of the next wave struck against the yawl
.and tilted it violently the other way. The bar-
raca and the oars slid rattling. Dred groaned,
.and the young lady grasped convulsively at
the rail.
Jack held to the bows, and when the next

wave came he pulled the boat around up on
the beach. The wash of the breaker ebbed, the
sand sliding from under his heels. Then came
another wave, and with its wash he dragged
the yawl still further up the beach. He ran up
with the bow-line and drove the anchor into
the sand. He came back, his shoes and stock-
ings and loose breeches wet with the salt wa-
ter. "You get out, Mistress," said he; "then
I '11 help Dred." She obeyed him silently.
She went up a little distance from the shore, and
sat crouching down upon the sand. "Now,
Dred," said Jack. Dred groaned as he arose
slowly and laboriously. "Easy, easy, lad," said
he, as Jack slipped his arm around him. He
laid his arm over Jack's shoulder, and heavily
and painfully clambered out of the boat. He
sat for a while upon the rail; the wash of a
breaker swept up around his feet and ankles.
"What a lucky thing 't was," said he, look-
ing down at the thin sweep of water, "that
we had high tide to carry us through the inlet,
else we 'd 'a' been lost." He steadied himself.
Then he rose, leaning heavily upon Jack. Jack
supported him as he walked up to a little bank
of sand upon the beach. He made an effort
as though to sit down.
"Can't you go a little further? said Jack.
"Not much further," he whispered.
Oh, Dred," said Jack, "I 'm afraid you 're
worse-I 'm afraid you're worse!" Dred did
not reply. His hand touched Jack's cheek. It
felt cold and limp.
"What can I do?" asked the young lady,
rousing herself.
Why," said Jack, fetch up what wraps
there are, and the overcoats, and be quick."
He seated Dred upon the sand. Dred sank
down, and lay at length. Jack supported his
head until the young lady came with a great
heap of clothes. Then Jack made a pillow of
one of the overcoats, and with some of the
clothes from the young lady's bundle they
made a shelter for Dred's face.
Bring me a drink of rum, lad; I feel sort of
faint-like," said Dred. Jack ran off down to
the boat, and presently came back with the
bottle. He poured out some of it into the cup,
and Dred drank it off. It seemed to revive
him. "Come here, lad; there's summat I want




to say to ye." Jack came close to him, and
the young lady also approached. I want to
speak to Jack alone, Mistress, if you '11 leave
us alone a bit," said Dred. She turned and
walked away.
Jack watched her as she sat down upon the
sand some distance away, wiping her eyes with
her handkerchief. The sun stood midway in
the heavens, and it was very warm. Jack
stripped off his coat and sat down alongside
Dred. Dred reached out his hand. Jack hesi-
tated for a moment; then, seeing what Dred
wanted, took it. Dred pressed Jack's hand.
" I believe I 've got my-dose this time, lad,"
he whispered.
Don't say that, Dred," said Jack. "I -"
and then he broke down, his body shaking
"I don't know," said Dred. "I kind of
think -I won't get over this. But if I should
die,- I want to ax you, lad,- don't you ever
tell the young Mistress 't was I that shot her
No, I won't," gasped Jack; I won't tell
her, Dred."
Dred pressed the hand he held. There 's
another thing I want to tell ye, lad," said
he; "and that 's about that there money- as
we took out of that there Virginia bark when
- I shot the young gentleman. 'T was true,
as I have told you, that -'t was buried; but
't were n't true that I helped the Captain bury
it. He buried it hisself one night; but I fol-
lyed him, and I see where he buried it. He
did n't know that-" Dred stopped for a moment,
as though to.gather his strength--"it belong
to Colonel Parker. It do. It was buried--
just as we got it off the bark." Again he
'stopped, panting. Well, one thing I wanted
to stay there for, Jack, was to get a chance
to raise that there money that we stole.
But I did n't say naught; for I knew where
't were hid. Well, I 've stole money and
things in my life -and I 've been a bad man,
I have. Well, lad, I can't help that now; 'tis
all over and done."
He stopped again. Jack waited a long time.
" You were telling me about the money," said
he at last--" the money that you saw Black-
beard hide."

Oh, ay! said Dred, rousing himself with
an effort. I 'd nigh -forgot about- that-
ay, the money. Well, lad,- d' ye remember
-that tree-where-we found the-young
lady the day -she tried to run away? D' ye
think ye could find it again ? "
"I think I could," said Jack.
"Well, up a little bit to the west o'--that
tree--there be a cypress,- some'eres half
grown. Ye '11 have to look about a bit to
find it. Ye '11 find a nail driv into it. I see
Blackbeard drive that nail -into it- that--
night he buried the chist. 'T is not much to
know it by-but if Blackbeard ha'n't gone
- and dug up that money,- which I don't be-
lieve he has,-it be there yet."
"Which side of the tree is the nail on?"
said Jack.
Dred did not answer for a while. "'T is
on the swamp side," said he. Then he lapsed
away into silence. He loosened his hold upon
Jack's hand, and let his own fall.
Jack recognized suddenly, with a thrill, that
Dred was a great deal worse than he had been.
He had been growing gradually weaker and
weaker, but Jack noticed it only now. Jack sat
watching; Dred seemed to be drowsing. "I
want another drink of rum," said he, presently;
"I feel weak again."
Jack got up. The bottle and cup were at a
little distance. The cup had sand in it, and he
wiped it out. The young lady was sitting a
little distance away. She arose. Is he any
better now ? she asked.
Jack could not answer. H6 shook his head.
He knew that Dred was going to die. He
was so blinded that he could hardly see to
pour out the liquor. He brought it to Dred.
" Here 't is, Dred," said he; but there was no
reply. Here 't is, Dred," said Jack again;
but still there was no answer.
Jack thrilled dreadfully. He bent down and
set the cup to the wounded man's lips, but
Dred was unconscious of everything. Jack
stood up and tossed out the liquor upon the
sand. "Mistress! he called out in a keen,
startled voice -" Mistress, come here! I do
believe he 's dying!"
She came over and stood looking down at
Dred. She was crying violently. Jack sat



squatting beside him. He reached out and
picked up Dred's hand, but it was very cold
and inert. The young lady sat down upon the
other side. They sat there for a long, long
time, but there did not seem to be any change.
The, afternoon slowly waned. It was nearing
sunset. "You 'd better go and rest a bit," said
Jack at last to the young lady; "you 're worn
out with it all. I '11 call you if there 's any
She shook her head; she would not go.
The sun sank lower and lower, and at last
set; but still there was no change. The young
lady moved restlessly now and then. You 'd
better get up and walk a bit," said Jack, as the
gray of twilight began to settle upon them.
" You're cramped sitting there so long." Then
she got up, and walked up and down at a little
distance. Jack sat still. The twilight settled
more and more dim and obscure. There was
a slight movement. Jack leaned over and
touched Dred. He drew back his hand
quickly, and sat for a moment dumb and inert.
He knew in an instant that the end had come.
Jack arose.
The stars had begun to twinkle in the dim
sky, but sky and sea and earth were blurred
and lost to his flooded eyes. He walked over
toward the young lady. She stopped as he
approached. "How is he?" said she.
"He 's-he 's dead! said Jack; and then
he put his arm across his face and began crying.

JACK was awakened at the first dawn of day
by the sea-gulls above him. They mingled for
a little while with his dreams before he fairly
awoke. He was standing up. The sun was
shining. There was the beach and the sandy
distance. Dred came walking toward him up
from the boat. A great sudden rush of joy
filled Jack's heart. "Why, Dred," he cried,
"I thought you were dead!" Dred burst out
laughing. I was only fooling you, lad," said
he. "I were n't hurt at all."
Jack opened his eyes. The sun had not yet
risen. He was full of the echo of joy, believ-
ing that Dred was alive, after all. He stood up.

The motionless figure was lying in the distance,
just as he had left it the night before.
But, after all, Dred might not be dead, and
there might be some truth in his dream. He
might have been mistaken last night. Perhaps
Dred was still alive.
He went over to where the silent figure lay,
and looked down into the strange, still face,
upon the stiff, motionless hands. Yes; Dred
was dead. As Jack stood looking, he choked
and choked, and one hot tear and then another
trickled down either cheek.
Then he began to think. What was he to do
now? Something must be done, and he must
do it himself. He must not ask the young
lady to help him. She had not yet awakened,
and Jack was glad of it. He went down to the
boat. There was nothing there that he could
use. He walked off some distance along the
beach, hunting for something. He saw some-
thing in the distance. It was a barrel that had,
perhaps, been cast up by a storm, and now lay
high and dry upon the warm, powdered sand
which had drifted around it, nearly covering it.
He kicked the barrel to pieces with his heel,
and pulled up two of the staves from the deeper
layer of damp sand beneath. He had walked
some distance away. He went back to where
the still figure lay motionless in the distance.

He was trembling when he ended his task.
Suddenly, while he was still kneeling in the
sand, the sun rose, throwing its level beams of
light across the stretch of sand, now broken
and trampled where he had been at work.
He smoothed over the work he had made.
The damper particles stuck to his hands and
clothes; he brushed them off. Then he took
down the shelter that he and she had built up
over Dred's head the day before. He carried
the oars and the young lady's clothes down to
the boat. Then he came back and carried
down the overcoats.
By that time she was awake. Jack went
straight up to her. She was looking around
"Where is he?" she said.
Jack did not reply, but he turned his face in
the direction. She saw where the smooth sur-


face of the sand had been broken and disturbed,
and she understood. She hid her face in her
hands, and stood for a moment. Jack stood
silently beside her. Oh," she said, I was
dreaming it was not so."
So was I," said Jack, brokenly. Again he
felt a tear start down his cheek.
It did not seem to me as if it could be so,"
said she. It does n't even seem now as though
it were so. It was all so dreadful. It does n't
seem as though it could have happened."
Well," said Jack, we '11 have to have
something to eat, and then we '11 start on
again." The thought of eating in the very
shadow of the tragedy that had happened
seemed very grotesque. He felt somehow
ashamed to speak of it.
"Eat!" said she. "I do not want to eat
"We 'll have to eat something," said Jack;
" we can't do without that."

The task of pushing the yawl off into the
water was almost more than Jack could accom-
plish. For a while he thought they would
have to wait there till high tide in the after-
noon. But at last, by digging out the sand
from under the boat, he managed to get it off
into the water. I '11 have to carry you
aboard, Mistress," said he.
He stooped and picked her up, and walked
with her, splashing through the shallow sheet of
water that ran up with each spent breaker upon
the shining sand. He placed her in the boat,
and then pushed it off. The breakers were not
high, but they gave the boat a splash as Jack
pulled out through them.
Jack rowed out some distance from the shore.
She sat silently watching him. Then he un-
shipped the oars and went forward and raised
the sail. By this time the morning was well
advanced. The breeze had not yet risen, but
cat's-paws began to ruffle the smooth face of
the water. Then, by and by, came a gentle
puff of breeze that filled out the sail and
swung the boom out over the water. Jack
drew in the sheet, and the boat slid forward
with a gurgle of water under the bows. By
that time the breeze had begun blowing very
lightly and gently.

They had sailed on for a long distance with-
out speaking. They sat motionless, he sunk in
his thoughts, and she in hers. Jack was trying
to realize all that had happened the day before,
but he could not do so. It all seemed to loom
big and dreadful, but there was nothing sharp
and distinct in its outlines. It did not seem to
be real. How was it possible for him to pass
through such things, and for them not to be
more real to him? It seemed as though it
might have happened to some one else. The
young lady sat looking steadily out ahead.
What was she thinking of? Of Virginia, per-
haps. Yes; that must be it. And he was go-
ing back to Virginia, too; he would soon be
there now-in a few hours, perhaps. How
strange that he should be going back there -
the very place from which he had escaped two
months before! Was there ever anybody who
had so many adventures happen to him in
two months as he? He remembered how he
had run away; how he had rowed across the
river the night of his escape; how he had
come so strangely face to face with Dred on
the wharf at Bullock's Landing. Except for
that chance meeting, Dred would have been
*living yet. How little they had thought of the
chain of events that was to bring death to him!
Dred was alive then, and well, and enjoying
himself. Now he was dead. Then Jack re-
membered how he had reached out the evening
before, and had lifted Dred's senseless hand.
There seemed to him something infinitely pa-
thetic in the stillness and inertness of that un-
feeling hand.
Do you know," said the young lady, sud-
denly breaking the silence, "it does not seem
possible that I am really to see my father again,
and maybe so soon ? I'm trying to feel as though
it were so, but I can't. It does n't seem as though
it could be so as though I could really ever
get back to Virginia. I wonder what they will
all say and do? Oh, it seems as though I
could n't wait any longer! I wonder how much
further 't is to the bay ? "
"Why, I don't know," said Jack; "but it
can't be much further. I 've been thinking
that those sand-hills on ahead must be Cape
Henry. I only saw it in the evening, when I
was on Blackbeard's sloop, the time we were


bringing you down to Bath Town; but the
hills look to me like Cape Henry. And, do
you see, the coast runs inward there ? I can't
tell whether 't is the coast making in a little
there, or whether 't is the bay."
"My father will never forget what you 've
done," said she, looking straight at him.
"Will he not ? said Jack.
He will never forget it."
Her words brought a sudden rush of delight
to Jack. He suddenly realized what a great
thing it was he had done. He had brought
her safe off from the pirates -through the very
jaws of death! Yes; it was a great thing to
have done. Yes; Colonel Parker would cer-
tainly do much for him now. Indeed, what
would he not do? As he realized it all, the
future became very bright. It seemed to throw
back a brighter light upon all those dreadful
things that had passed, and they became sud-
denly new. They were steps that he had been
climbing all unconsciously to some great success.
Do you know, you have never told me how
you came to be kidnapped?" said she. "I
wish you would tell me all about it."
"Would you like to hear about it?" said
Jack. "Why, then, I '11 tell you, if you 'd really'
like to hear about it."
And Jack told ,his adventures from the be-

It was late in the afternoon when the light
wind carried them slowly in around the high
sand-hills of the cape. Then they saw that
there were several sails in sight. One of them,
far away,- apparently a schooner,-was com-
ing down the bay as though to run out around
the cape to the southward.
See that boat ? said the young lady. It
is coming this way. Don't you believe we could
stop it, and get the captain to take us back to
Virginia? "
"I don't know," said Jack; "'t is like she won't
stop for me, but I '11 try if you 'd like me to."
He altered the course of the yawl so as to
run up across the course upon which the distant
vessel seemed to be sailing. They watched her
in silence as slowly, little by little, in the light
wind, she came nearer and nearer. "I ought
to have something to wave," said Jack, "to

make her see us. I don't believe she '11 stop
for us," he added.
"Why not my red scarf?" said the young
lady. "Stop! I '11 get it for you."
She handed the bright red scarf to Jack, who
tied it to the end of an oar. The schooner was
about half a mile away. Jack stood up in
the boat and began waving the scarf at the end
of the oar. He hallooed. As the course of the
schooner was laid, she would run past them
about half a mile away. I don't believe she '11
stop for us," said Jack; "but maybe she will.
Bear the tiller a little to the left. That's as it
should be. Now hold it steady and I '11 wave
again." Even as he spoke the distant group
of men on the schooner suddenly broke and dis-
persed. The next moment Jack saw that they
were hauling in the fore and main sails, and
that she was coming about. "She 's going to
stop, after all," he said.
The schooner had gone a little past them
before her sails swung over. Then she came
down toward them, bow on. Jack laid down
the oar, and, taking the tiller again, brought
the yawl up into the wind, and lay waiting for
the schooner to make her way down to them.
She ran down to within thirty or forty yards,
and then, coming up into the wind, lay rising
and falling, swinging slowly back and forth with
the regular heave of the ground-swell. She
looked very near. There was a group of faces
clustered forward, looking out at them across
the restless water. Another little group of
three men and a woman stood at the open
gangway. A large, rough man, with a red face
prickled over with a stubby beard, hailed them.
He wore baggy breeches tied at the knees, and
a greasy red waistcoat. Boat ahoy!" he
called out. What boat is that ? "
Jack was standing up in the yawl. "We 've
come up from North Carolina," he called back.
"We 've just escaped from the pirates."
"Is that Miss Eleanor Parker ?" called the
other instantly.
"Ay," said Jack. Then he added, "The
young lady asked me to stop you and to ask
you if you would take us up, say to Norfolk or
to Yorktown."
"Tell him papa will pay him if he will,"
said she.



"She says her father will pay you well if
you '11 do so," called Jack.
The three men at the gangway talked to-
gether for a moment or two; then the big,
stout man, who was evidently the captain of the
schooner, called out again: Colonel Parker 's
at Norfolk now, or leastwise he was there
this morning when we left. You can reach
ti... yourself to-night, if the wind holds at all."
"Oh, don't let him go!" said the young
l.1, to Jack. "Tell him how eager I am to
get back, and that papa will pay him."
1 "The young lady says she wants to get back
as soon as she can," called Jack. She says
if you take us up to Norfolk she '11 see that her
father pays you."
Again the group at the gangway spoke to-
gether. Then the captain of the schooner called
Bring your boat over here."
SJack seated himself, and set the oars into the
rowlocks. He pulled the bow of the boat
aro.:.il with a few quick strokes, and then
rowed toward the schooner. In a minute or
so he was close alongside. The men and the
woman were standing on the deck just above,
looking down at him. The six or eight men
of the crew were also standing at the rail,
looking at them. Jack could see that the
schooner carried as a cargo three or four hogs-
heads of tobacco and a great load of lumber.
"Did you bring the young lady off from the
pirates all by yourself?" said the captain to
Jack. "Why, you 're a mightily young fellow
to do that, if you did do it."
I did n't bring her off my own self," said
Jack; there was one of the pirates that helped
us to get away. But Blackbeard came up with
us at Currituck Inlet, and before we could get
away the man who helped us was shot. He
die,.i last night."
"Well, then," said the captain, "it was Black-
beard, after all, who carried off the young lady,
was it ?
S" Now," he continued, "as for taking you
back to Norfolk, I 've been talking to my mate
an.d Mr. Jackson here. Well, I 'm willing to
take ye both back up to Norfolk if the young
lad. '11 guarantee that her father '11 pay me ten
pouI..l. for doing it."

"Ten pounds!" cried Jack. "Why, that is a
deal of money, master, for such a little thing."
"Well, 't is the best I '11 do. It may lose
me three days or more, and I won't do it for
"Oh, it does not matter," said the young
lady to Jack, in a low voice. "I '11 promise him
that papa will pay him ten pounds."
Jack felt that the captain was taking advan-
tage of her eagerness to return; but he also
saw that she would not allow him to bargain.
" She says her father will pay it, master," said
he; "but 't is a great deal of money to make
her promise."
"'T is the best I '11 do," said the captain.
"Well, then, if she 's satisfied, you may come
aboard, and I '11 tow the yawl up arter us."
"Yes, I 'm satisfied," cried the young lady;
"and thankful enough."
"Very well. Here, Kitchen,"-to the mate,
-"help her ladyship aboard." He spoke with
a sudden accession of deference.
The mate jumped down into the boat,-he
was in his bare feet,-and he and Jack helped
the young lady aboard. Jack followed imme-
Here, Molly," said the captain to the wo-
man, who was his wife, "take her ladyship into
my cabin, and make her comfortable."
"The bunk ha'n't been made up yet," said
the woman.
"Well, then, make it up as quick as you
can. Come into the cabin, and the steward
will fetch you summat to eat. Fetch that bag
aboard, Kitchen; and see the boat 's made fast
"Ay, ay, sir."
Jack was standing looking around him like
one in a dream. The crew and the man whom
the captain called Mr. Jackson (whom Jack
took to be a passenger) stood staring at them.
The schooner was a common coaster. The
decks were littered and dirty; the captain and
the crew rough and ordinary.
"This way, Mistress," said the captain's wife,
and she led the way aft, and down into the
cabin. It was close and disagreeable, and
smelled musty and stuffy. Jack and the young
lady sat down by the table. The woman went
into an inner cabin beyond. She left the door


open, and Jack from where he sat could see
her making up a tumbled bed in the berth.
He could also see through the open door a
sea-chest, some hanging clothes, a map, and a
clock. The schooner was getting under way
again. Jack could hear the patter of bare feet
passing across the deck overhead; the creak-
ing of the yards; and then the ripple and
gurgle of the water alongside.
"When did you leave Bath Town?" said
the captain, who had followed them down into
the cabin.
"On Wednesday morning early," said Jack.
Now that all was over, he was feeling very dull
and heavily oppressed in the reaction of the
excitement that had kept him keyed up to
endure. His hands, from which the skin had
been rubbed by rowing, had begun to throb
and burn painfully. He had not noticed the
smart before. He looked at them, picking at
the loose skin. Nobody cares how my hands
hurt," he thought, "now Dred is gone."
"Wednesday! Why, 't is only Sunday now.
D' ye mean that ye 've sailed all the way from
Bath Town in five days in that yawl boat? "
"Is this Sunday?" said Jack. "Why, so
't is." He had not thought of that before.
How long will it take to get to Norfolk ?"
asked the young lady.
"Why, we ought to get there some time
to-night, if we have any wind at all," said the
The berth 's made up now, if your lady-
ship 'd like to lie down," said the captain's wife,
appearing at the door of the inner cabin.
After the young lady had gone, the captain
and the man named Jackson plied Jack with
questions as to all that had happened. He
answered dully and inertly; he wished they
would let him alone, and not tease him with
questions. I 'm tired," said he at last. I 'd
like to lie down for a while."
"I suppose you be feeling kind of used up,
be n't you ?" asked Jackson.
Jack nodded his head.
"Won't you have a bite to eat first ?" asked
the captain.
I 'm not hungry," said Jack. "I want to
rest, that's all."
"I 'm going to let you have the mate's

cabin," said the captain. You said I made
ye pay too much for carrying ye back to
Norfolk. Well, I 'm doing all I can to make
ye comfortable. I give my cabin to her
young ladyship, and I give the mate's cabin to
you, and if you '11 only wait I '11 have a good
hot supper cooked."
The mate came in, still in his bare feet. He
sat down without saying anything, and stared
at Jack.
I 'm going to let him have your berth for
to-night, Kitchen," said the captain.

THE breeze had been very light all night, so
that it was nearly daylight when the schooner
came to anchor off Norfolk. The captain had
come out upon deck, and he and the mate, who
had a lantern hanging over his arm, stood talk-
ing together.
"I do suppose you 'd better take -the boat
and go find his honor Colonel Parker. His
schooner was lying over yonder, where them
lights be, yesterday morning." The mate took
off his knit cap and held it in his hand while
he scratched his head. "Anyways," said the
captain, you '11 have to go and hunt him up."

Colonel Parker's schooner was still at Nor-
folk, but Colonel Parker himself was not aboard.
He had been less well again, and, having been
to the town to see the doctor, had stopped
there overnight. The mate of the coaster told
Lieutenant Maynard of the young lady's return,
then he went on directly to the town. Mr.
Maynard, as soon as he heard the news, or-
dered one of the boats to be manned, and had
himself rowed aboard the schooner on which
the young lady was.
Colonel Parker came off from the town in the
coasting-schooner's boat. The first man he met
when he stepped aboard was Lieutenant May-
nard. "Why, Maynard, is that you?" said
Colonel Parker. Maynard had never seen him
so overcome. He grasped the lieutenant's hand
and wrung it and wrung it again. His fine,
broad face twitched with the effort he made to
suppress his emotions. Where is she ?" said

I -- --- -



he, turning around almost blindly to Captain
Dolls, who, with his mate, had been standing at
a little distance, looking on. This way, your
honor," said the captain, with alacrity.
He led the way across the deck to the great
cabin. Lieutenant Maynard did not accom-
pany Colonel Parker. "She 's in my cabin
here, your honor," said the captain. I let
her have my own cabin, your honor; for 't was
the best aboard. Her ladyship 's asleep yet.
If your honor '11 sit down here, I '11 send my
wife to wake her and to help her dress."
Never mind," said the Colonel. Where is
she ?-in here?" He opened the door and went
into the cabin. She was lying upon the berth,
sleeping. She had only loosened her clothes
when she lay down the night before. She was
lying fully dressed. Nelly! said Colonel
Parker, leaning over her,-"Nelly!" She did
not stir. The door stood a little ajar. Captain
Dolls, in the great cabin beyond, stood look-
ing in. Colonel Parker did not notice him.
Nelly! he said again,- Nelly! and he
laid his hand upon her shoulder.
She stirred; she raised her arm; she drew
the back of her hand across her eyes; she
opened her eyes. They looked directly into
his face. What is it ? said she, vacantly.
Colonel Parker was crying. 'T is I-'t is
thy poor father, Nelly." The tears were trick-
ling down his cheek, but he did not notice
them. Suddenly she was wide awake. Papa!
Oh, papa! she cried, and instantly her arms
were about his neck, and she was in his arms.
She cried and cried. Colonel Parker, still
holding her with one arm, reached in his pocket
and drew out his handkerchief and wiped his
eyes and his cheeks. As he did so he caught
sight of Captain Dolls looking in at them.
The captain instantly moved away, and Colonel
Parker closed the door.
Presently his daughter looked up into his
face, her own face wet with tears. Mama,"
said she,-" how is poor mama? "
"She is well- she is very well," said he.
" My dear! -my dear! "
Once more she flung her arms about his
!neck. She pressed her lips to his again and
again. She was still crying. Oh, Papa, if
you only knew what I 've been through!"
VOL.XXII 72.(Tohe cntined.

I know I know," said he.
Oh, but you can't know all that I 've been
through--all the dreadful, the terrible things.
They shot poor Dred, and he died. And I saw
them shoot him-I was in the boat-I saw
him die. Oh, papa, I can't tell you all! Oh,
it was so terrible! He lay on the sand and
died. There was sand on the side of his face,
and the young man, Jack, did not see it to brush
it off, and I could not do it, and there it was."
"There! there !" said Colonel Parker, sooth-
ingly. Don't talk about it, my dear. Tell me
about other things. The sailor who came to
bring me off told me there was a young lad
with you when they picked you up down at the
capes. Is he the young man you call Jack ? "
"Yes; that is he."
He is aboard here now, is he not ?"
They talked together for a long time. She
had lain down again. She held his hand. He
sat upon the edge of the berth beside her. As
they talked she stroked the back of his hand,
and once she raised it to her lips and kissed it.
"'T was mightily kind of the good man, the
captain of this vessel, to bring thee all the way
back from the capes, Nell," said Colonel Par-
ker; "'t was mightily kind."
Oh, yes," said she; I clean forgot to tell
you. He did not want to bring us back at
first, but said he would if I promised that you
would pay him ten pounds."
"What! exclaimed Colonel Parker. Did
he make you promise ten pounds before he
would bring you back from the capes?"
"Yes," said she. "Did I, then, do wrong?
But oh, papa! I wanted so much to get back,
and I was so tired of being in the little boat,
and it was so dreadful! 'T was there that poor
Dred was shot, and there were marks of blood
near where he sat."
But what a rascal!" said Colonel Parker.
"Why, five pounds would have been twice as
much as it were worth. 'T was a rogue to
make thee promise that."
Oh, Papa," said she, is it not, then, worth
ten pounds to have me back again?"
He looked fondly at her. My dear-my
dear," said he, "'t were worth a million -yes,
ten million! But, nevertheless, 't was a rogue,"
he added, to trade upon thy needs."



VOL. XXII.- 72.

(To be continued.)




A RAILROAD-TRAIN cannot turn to the right
or left at will, for it is bound by the iron tracks
to go the way they lead, and the trains coming
toward it are guided in another set of tracks to
pass safely by. Therefore the engineer may
rush his train along over the guiding tracks,
through the brightness of day or the dark-
ness of night, with no fear save for the most
unforeseen and infrequent accidents. On the
sea, however, a ship can go whichever way
she is turned, and other ships may meet her
coming from any direction. The broad ocean,
then, may be looked upon as covered with an
enormous network of tracks crossing one an-
other in all directions, where a ship may be

switched from one track to another at will. In
the daytime ships can be seen from each other,
and be turned aside to pass in safety; for not
only can they be seen, but the direction in
which they are going is known. Still, even
in the daytime certain rules must be followed
to- insure perfect safety. How, then, do ships,
pursuing so many intersecting tracks, pass the
others safely in spite of the darkness of the
night ?
Imagine yourself on the bridge of a big ship.
It is really a bridge, you know, high above the
deck, extending from side to side near the bow,
and projecting a little beyond the sides so that
from each end a man can see straight ahead


without rigging or masts to interfere. It is
night, and very dark. Even the ship is only a
long dark shadow under your feet. Over the
sky may be a pall of cloud, and you peer away
into the darkness, but cannot even tell where
sea and sky come together. All is inky black-
ness above and below. Spreading outward
from the bow of the ship is a foaming, phos-
phorescent wave, which tells how rapidly she is
rushing onward over the unseen waters and into
the dangers of the impenetrable gloom. In
the middle of the bridge stands a man holding
a wheel and gazing at a compass lit up by a
little lamp. With that wheel he turns the rud-
der to keep the ship steadily pointed in the
same direction by the compass. That direction
is her track. Other ships may be on that
track; other ships may be crossing that track
in the darkness. How are they to be avoided ?
On each side of the bridge stands a man
peering continually into the gloom ahead,
while back and forth, almost incessantly, paces
a fourth man, an officer, who, like the others,
is continually gazing ahead or glancing at the
compass. He is the officer of the deck. On
him rests the responsibility of avoiding all other
vessels which may cross his vessel's track or be
approaching her upon it. Upon his quickness
and judgment depends the safety of the ship.
In the daytime he has seen one, two, or per-
haps a dozen ships around him during a single
hour, and he well knows that just as many may
be around him during any hour of the night.
How, then, is he to know where they are, and
how to keep out of their way ?
Their lights will tell.
When you face toward the ship's bow the
side at your right hand is called the starboard
side, and the side at your left hand is called
the port side. On her starboard side a ship
carries at night a green light, and it is so shut
in by two sides of a box that it cannot be seen
from the port side or from behind. On her
port side she carries a red light, and it is so
shut in that it cannot be seen from the star-
board side or from behind. If the ship is a
steamship she carries a big white light at her
foremast-head, but if she is a sailing vessel she
does not. This white masthead light can be
seen from all around except from behind.

So long, then, as the officer of the deck sees
no lights, he feels sure that there are no ves-
sels near him, and paces his watch in security;
but presently there flashes out of the gloom
ahead a small bright speck; then it is gone;
then it shows again; and one of the lookouts
who has craned his neck forward in the in-
tensity of his gaze cries out:
"Light ho! "
In an instant the officer of the deck is by his
side, glasses in hand, inquiring:
Where away ? "
Then he, too, sees it, and by it is informed
of another vessel's presence near him on the
dark ocean. Then comes an anxious time
when with strong glasses he strives to tell the
color of that faint light; for he is as yet in-

-c .'Y'2 r_. -
formed only of the other vessel's whereabouts at
the moment, and knows not which way she is
going, nor what manner of vessel she may be.
This last is what the light next reveals, for if it
be white it is the masthead light of a steamer;
but if it be red or green, the absence of a white


light reveals a sailing vessel. It is for the red
and green lights, commonly known as the side
lights, that the officer of the deck most intently
watches, for by them he can tell which way
the vessel is going. If her red light shows, he
knows that her port side is toward him and she
is crossing to his left; if it is her green light,
her starboard side is toward him and she is
crossing to his right; but if both the red and
green are showing, she is heading straight in his
direction. Thus he learns by these running
lights where the other vessel is, what she is, and
in what direction she is going; and he knows
in plenty of time whether she is on his track,
or whether she is crossing it in one direction or
the other. All that is not enough, however, to
avoid collision; for both he and the officer on
the other vessel must know exactly what to do,
and what the other is going to do. He must
know, so to speak, on just what track to switch,
and on just what track the other vessel will
switch to avoid him. This is settled by fixed
rules, which are the same the world over, and
are known to all men who follow the sea.
They are called the "Rules of the Road."
The rules of the road say that when two ves-
sels are coming bows on,-that is to say, on the
same track,-each vessel shall turn off to the
right far enough to avoid the other; that when
two vessels are crossing,-that is, when their
tracks would cross each other,-the one which
has the other on her starboard (right) hand
must turn to starboard (the right), and go be-
hind the other vessel, while the latter keeps on
her track or course; and that a steam-vessel
must always get out of the way of a sailing ves-
sel, a vessel at anchor or disabled, or a vessel
with another in tow.
Thus the lights tell, in the darkest night,
which way the ships are going, and what kind
of ships they are; while the rules of the road
tell, both for night and day, in which direc-
tion the ships must turn to keep out of each
other's way. If a vessel has another vessel in
tow, she carries two masthead lights instead of
one; and when a vessel is at anchor she has
no side lights or masthead light, but a single
white light made fast to a stay where it can be
seen from all around her.
In rivers and crowded harbors it is often im-

possible to follow the rules'of the road; and
sometimes even at sea the officer of the deck
of one vessel discovers that the other is not
heeding the rules. Then the steam-whistle is
used to tell the other vessel what the first is
doing. Thus, one whistle means "I am going
to the right"; two whistles mean" I am going
to the left"; and three whistles mean "I am
backing"; while a series of short toots means
"Look out for yourself; get out of the way! "
There is one class of vessels which is most
annoying to those who direct the course of
large steamers. These are small fishing-ves-
sels. On the Grand Banks of Newfoundland,
on the coast of Spain, and on the coasts of
China and Japan big fleets of these little vessels
are found at all times. They show no lights
at night, preferring to save the expense of oil,
and take their chances of being sent to the
bottom; but when they see a big ship rushing
down upon them, they light a torch and flare it
about. Often they pay for their folly with their
lives. The torch is seen too late, or not seen at
all, and the great iron bow of the steamship
crushes into the frail little craft, perhaps cut-
ting her clean in two; and the unhappy fisher-
men sink into the foaming wake of the churning
propellers, leaving not a soul to tell their wives
at home what became of them.
Much more can be told -at sea by lights at
night; for they can be used by ships to signal
to each other. Rockets are carried to be fired
in case of distress, and when seen at sea they
always mean that the ship or boat from which
they are fired is in great need of help. The
red, white, and blue lights which you burn in
the evening of the Fourth of July are also
made up into combinations to form a signal
code, and are called Coston Signals, after the
man who devised them. Since electric lights
have come to be used on shipboard, a Spanish
naval officer, Lieutenant Ardois, has invented a
system of signals consisting of a string of lamps
several feet apart on an electric cable stretch-
ing from the masthead to the ship's rail. Each
lamp is double, one part being red and one
white, and either the red or the white can be
turned on independently. Then in a conve-
nient place he sets up a circular disk electrically
connected with the lights, on which white and





red spots representing different combinations
of these lights are grouped together, and each
group represents a letter of the alphabet, a
point of the compass, a number, or a word. A
switch on the disk can be used to turn on dif-

ferent groups in succession until a signal is
complete. So far this Ardois System has been
used only on men-of-war, and it cannot be
read more than four miles away, because at a
greater distance the lights blend together. The
best night signal-lights are those invented by

Lieutenant Very, of our navy, and named, after
him, Very's Signals. They consist of a white,
a red, and a green star, each fired into the air
from a pistol, so that by firing one, two, or
three of them in quick succession and in differ-
ent orders, with a pause between the groups,
different letters or signal numbers can be made
until a sentence is complete. They can be
easily read from vessels twelve miles away.
On our men-of-war lights are used at night
in port to tell when the captain, or an officer of
still higher rank, is out of the ship. When the
captain is absent, one white light is displayed
at the end of the spanker-gaff. The spanker is
the sail at the stern of the ship, and the span-
ker-gaff is the spar from which the sail hangs.
Its end is called the peak, and a light hoisted
there is called a peak light. When a rear-ad-
miral is absent from his flag-ship, three peak
lights are hoisted. If he were a vice-admiral
there would be four lights; and if he were a full
admiral there would be five. If the Secretary
of the Navy were sojourning on board of a war
vessel and were temporarily absent, six lights:
would be hoisted; and for the President of the
United States there would be seven. These
lights are hoisted in a string one under the other,
and are hauled down as soon as the official
whose absence they indicate returns on board.
The hoisting of the lights, you see, means "not;
at home," and saves many fruitless official visits'
and wasted social calls. During the daytime
the going and coming of captains and flag-offi-
cers is seen and reported to all captains and
flag-officers of other ships, but after dark the
lights must tell.
In nearly every navy in the world it is the
custom for a man-of-war, when leaving port at
night, to hoist two peak lights to indicate her
character as a public vessel; and all other men-
of-war present do the same as an acknowledg-
ment that they are aware of her departure.
As soon as the departing vessel is out of the
harbor, the lights are extinguished on her and
on the vessels left behind.
On land the iron tracks lead a train safely
across mountains and past deep ravines which
would utterly destroy it should it swerve from
the tracks to one side or the other; but at sea
myriads of the countless tracks would, if fol-



'lowed, lead a ship to destruction upon rocks or
shoals, or the very land itself. How is a ship
to avoid taking one of these treacherous tracks
in the darkness of the night ?
Again, the lights tell.
Along all coasts where civilized nations dwell
or trade-and these now include nearly all the
coasts of the world-there are placed light-
houses-which are usually tall towers with pow-
erful lights on top-at such frequent intervals
that one is seldom lost to sight before another
is seen farther on. The better lights are so
powerful that they can be seen twenty miles
or more out at sea. On shoals, too, where
lighthouses cannot be built, ships are anchored
to stay there all the time, with big lights at
their mastheads at night. All these lighthouses
and light-ships are marked down on the charts;
each has a name, and books are published and
carried by ships at sea containing full descrip-
tions of each light. These lights differ one from
another, so that along any particular stretch of
coast one can tell which light he sees by watch-
ing its color and behavior, and looking on the
chart or in the light-book until he finds it.
Thus, some lights are white, some red, and
some are green. Some, again, flash red and
white alternately. Others flash out and then
for a short interval of time disappear; and this
interval is a regular one, and is written down
in seconds or minutes on the chart and in the
book, so that a navigator can time it by his
watch, and thus tell which light is flashing.
Other lights are arranged to swing a bright
beam back and forth across the sky so that the
beam is often seen long before the light itself.
Suppose, then, you are sailing or steaming
along in sight of land. In the broad daylight
the coast is plainly seen, and it is easy to fol-
low a track which will take you safely past the
shoals and headlands. By the capes and moun-
tains and villages which you watch coming into
sight, one after another, and then pick out on
the chart, you can tell at all times just where
you are, and keep steaming or sailing on in
perfect security; but presently comes the twi-
light, and all these things fade out into nothing
but a dark, irregular line against the sky, which
grows fainter and fainter until it is swallowed
up in the darkness of the night. How helpless

you would be, then, with the wind and the
unseen currents pushing you off your track, if
you could not see anything to guide you; but
out of the darkness there flashes up a big,
bright light-perhaps two or three of them-
in the direction of the unseen land. You watch
the lights, you note their color, you time the
intervals between their flashes. You go to the
compass and note the direction or bearing of
the lights from your ship, and finally you go to
your chart and pick out those lights, mark with
a pencil their lines of bearing, and where the
lines come together, there you are. Thus you
can pick out light after light as it comes in
sight, and, marking your place on the chart as
often as you please, fearlessly guide your ship
on through the darkness until the light of
another day again shows you the land.
But woe to you if you mistake one of those
lights for another, and do not quickly find out
your mistake Almost certainly you will run
into dangerous places. Not long ago a splen-
did brand-new ship started on her first trip
from England, laden with valuable freight, and
bound through the Mediterranean Sea. She
steamed across the Bay of Biscay in safety, and
then followed the coast of Spain. During a
dark night her captain picked out a light which
he mistook for the one on Tarifa Point-the
point around which vessels turn to go through
the Straits of Gibraltar. So he turned his
ship to the east, and steamed confidently on-
ward. Alas! it was not Tarifa Point, but
Cape Trafalgar, many miles to the northward.
Straight on to the coast of Spain that poor ship
rushed until she struck, driving high upon the
rocks and sand, and stopping only when she
lay crushed among the breakers, a total wreck!
The captain's mistake was no doubt due to
the tendency of white lights to look reddish in
thick or hazy weather; for Tarifa light is red
and Cape Trafalgar's white, each with a flash
lasting about five seconds. Almost the same
mistake was made by the officers of one of our
naval vessels a few years ago. The United
States steamship Despatch" left New York for
Washington, one stormy autumn afternoon. All
through the night she was in sight of the lights
on the New Jersey coast, but toward morning
the weather grew thick with spray and drizzling


rain. Then a white light was mistaken for a
red one, the ship's course was changed a little
toward the,coast, and she was soon pounding
upon the sandy beach, never to float again.
The placing of electric lights in ships has
given them another means of discovering and
avoiding dangers in the night. This is by the
use of search-lights. When these great lights
blaze out and drive their straight white beams
through the darkness, it is as if the ship herself
had eyes with which to look and see where she

is going. Thus, in the darkest night a ship'
may enter even a poorly lighted harbor, rolling
these great eyes from side to side to pick out
buoy after buoy, and point after point, until the
anchorage is safely reached. Darkness, then,
has no terrors for the careful navigator; for he
can guide his ship safely past other ships at sea,
safely along the unseen coasts, and safely into
the calm waters of a sheltering harbor, by what
the lights tell. But thick fogs are more to be
dreaded, for they hide the helpful lights.




; **"-4.


HELIOS, as you know, was the most famous never done anything else; and the oldest in-
charioteer that the world has ever seen. Just habitant had no recollection of the time when
how long he had been driving the chariot of the he began. He never missed a day -not even
Sun nobody could tell; but it must have been Sunday; and on holidays he was always up
many, many years. People said that he had and at it early, cracking his whip cheerily to



awaken the children. He was sometimes a
little late in getting a start on cold winter morn-
ings, but whenever he did so he was sure to
make up for lost time, and finish the journey
just that much earlier in the afternoon. He
seemed to dislike the cold very much, but that
may have been because he was so old. Start-
ing from the home of the Dawn in the far, far
East, he made a daily trip to the verge of Old
Ocean's stream in the distant West. How it was
that he always got back to his starting-point
before the next morning was somewhat of a
mystery. Nobody had ever seen him making
his return trip, and hence all that men knew
about it was guesswork. It matters very little
to us, however; for that question has nothing to
do with the story which I am going to tell.
The old charioteer always slept soundly in
the morning, and seldom awoke until he heard
his young sister, the maiden whom men call
Aurora, rapping at the door of his bedroom,
and making her voice echo through the halls
of the Dawn.
"Up, up, brother Helios!" she would cry.
It is time for you to begin your journey again.
Up, and delight the world once more with your
shining morning face and your life-giving
presence !"
Then Helios would hasten to the meadows
where, through the night, his steeds had been
feeding, and would call them each by name:
Come hither, beautiful creatures! Hasten,
for Aurora calleth. Ebs, thou glowing one!
tEthon, thou of the burning mane! Brontb,
thou thunderer! Sterope, thou swifter than
lightning! Come quickly !"
The wing-footed steeds would obey. The
servants would harness them to the golden car,
and Aurora and the Morning Star would deck
their manes with flowers and with wreaths of
asphodel. Then Helios would step into the car
and hold the long, yellow reins in his hands.
A word from him, and the proud team would
leap into the sky; then they would soar above
the mountain-tops and mingle with the clouds,
and grandly career in mid-air. And Helios,
holding the reins steadily, would gently restrain
them, or if they lagged would urge them for-
ward with persuasive words. It was the grand-
est sight that men ever saw, and yet they never
VOL. XXII.-73.

seemed to think much about it-perhaps be-
cause it was seen so often. If Helios had
failed for a single day, what a wonderful hub-
bub and fright there would have been!
The wife of Helios was a fair young lady
named Clymene, who lived not far from the
great sea, and who, according to some, was a
nymph, but according to others a fisherman's
daughter; and they had an only son named
Phaethon. This son Helios loved above all
things else on earth; and he gave him many
rich and noble gifts, and counseled him to be
brave and wise, and especially to be contented
with his lot in life. And Phaethon grew to
be a tall and comely lad, fond of his looking-
glass, soft-handed, and proud of his ancestry.
Some of his companions, who were only com-
mon mortals, liked to flatter him because of
his supposed wealth, while there were many
others who despised him because he affected
to look up to the Sun.
See the upstart who calls himself the son of
Helios," sneered one.
"Ah, but he will have a sorry fall some of
these days," said another.
You are a pretty fellow to claim kinship
with the charioteer of the Sun," said a worthless
loafer named Epaphos, one day. "With your
white face, and your yellow curls, and your
slender hands, you are better fitted to help your
mother at the spinning-wheel than to be a
leader of men."
But," said the boy, my father Helios, who
drives the burning chariot, and who-"
Don't talk to me," interrupted the unman-
nerly fellow-" don't talk to me about your
father, the chariot-driver. Why, you would be
frightened to death to drive your sister's goat-
cart over the lawn, and you would shriek at
the sight of a real horse. How dare you
claim descent from the charioteer of the skies ?
Nonsense! "
A pretty son of Helios, indeed laughed
the other rowdies who were with Epaphos;
and some young girls that were passing tossed
their heads and smiled.
I will show you! cried PhaEthon, angrily.
" I will do what none of you dare do: I will
ride the wild horses of the plain; I will har-
ness them to the king's war-chariot, and drive


them in the great circus! I will prove to you
that I am worthy to be called the son of
Helios! "
"Perhaps you will take his place as driver
of the sun-chariot ? A day's rest now and then
would do the old man great good," sneered
Phaethon hesitated. My father," said he,
"is one of the immortals, and I am earth-born.
And yet-and yet-"
"And yet," shouted his tormentors, "until
you have driven the sun-chariot through the
skies, nobody will believe that you are the son
of Helios!"
And they went on their way laughing.
You may sneer, and you may laugh," said
Phaethon, but the time will come when you
will honor me, both for what I am and for what
I can do."
After that there were many who made sport
of the boy's pride. They did this not because
they bore any ill will toward him, but because
they found a sort of pleasure in twitting one
who had set himself up as better than them-
selves. One by one the young men who had
hitherto been his comrades drew themselves
away from his companionship; and his girl
friends, although they still admired his good
looks and pleasant manners, treated him with a
coldness which every day became more marked.
When he passed along the street the small boys
would hoot at him and call out," Charioteer "
and derisively ask if his father knew he was out.
Even the old men who had known him all his
life advised him to buy a spade and go to work
in his mother's garden, and stop gazing into
the sky.
But Phaethon took little notice of these
taunts. Steadily, and with a determined pur-
pose, he set about making himself ready for
the great undertaking of his life. He exercised
himself daily in feats of strength; he practised
running and leaping and throwing weights, un-
til his muscles were hardened and made as elas-
tic as Apollo's bow. Then he took lessons in
horsemanship from the greatest riding-masters
in the world. He spent months on the grassy
steppes of the Caspian, where he learned to
lasso wild horses, and, leaping astride of them,
to ride them bare-backed and bridleless until

they were subdued to his will. He entered the
chariot races at Corinth, and with a team of
four outdrove the most famous charioteers of
Greece; and at the great Olympic games he
won the victor's crown. No other young man
was talked about as much as he.
A bright young fellow with a brilliant fu-
ture before him," said some.
"A fine example of what hard work and a
little genius can do," said others.
"A lucky chap," said still others,-" a mere
creature of circumstances. Any of us could do
as well, if as many favorable accidents would
happen to us to help us along."
"A vain upstart," said those whom he had
beaten in the race-" a fop with a girl's face,
and more hair than brains, whom the gods have
seen fit to favor for a day."
He claims to be of better blood than the
rest of us," said the followers of Epaphos;
"yet everybody knows that he was born in a
miserable village a long way from Athens,
and that his mother is the daughter of a fish-
But the young girls whispered among them-
selves: How handsome he is, and how deftly
he managed the reins! What if he be indeed
the son of Helios! Would n't it be grand to
see him sitting in his father's chariot, and guid-
ing the sun-steeds along their lofty road?"
And they said to him, "Phaethon, if you will
drive your father's fiery team for only one little
day, we will believe in you."
At length Pha&thon made a long journey to
the golden palace of the Dawn in the far distant
East. Helios, with his steeds, had just returned
from the labors of the day, and he was over-
joyed to see his earth-born son. He threw his
arms about him, and kissed him many times,
and called him by many endearing names.
"And now tell me," he said, "what brings
you here, and at this quiet hour of the night,
when all men are asleep. Have you come
to seek some favor ? If so, do not be afraid to
tell me; for you know that I will do anything
for you--that I will give you anything that
you ask."
There is something," said Phaathon, "that
I long for more than anything else in the world;
and I have come to ask you to give it to me."




"What is it, my child? asked Helios, ea-
gerly. Only speak, and it shall be yours."
"Father, will you promise to do for me that
which I shall ask ? "
Then Helios lifted up his hands, and vowed
by the river Styx which flows through the un-
Sder-world, that he would surely grant to his son
Phaethon whatsoever he desired. And this he
did, knowing full well the terrible punishment
that would be his in case he should not observe
that vow. Nine years he would have to lie on
the ground as though he were dead, and nine
other years he would be shut out from the com-
pany of his friends; his sun-car would be broken
in pieces, and his fleet horses lost forever, and
the whole world doomed to everlasting night.
The young man was glad when his father
had made this vow. He spoke quickly, and
said: This, then, 0 Father, is the boon which
I have come to ask, and which you have prom-
ised to give: It is that I may take your place
to-morrow, and drive your chariot through the
flaming pathway of the sky."
Helios sank back terrified at the request, and
for a time could not speak.
My child," he said at last, you surely do
not mean it. No man living can ever drive
my steeds; and although you have kinship
with the immortals, you are only human.
Choose, I pray you, some other favor."
Phaethon wept, and answered: Father, there
are some people who do not believe that I am
better than mere common men, and they scorn
me to my face. But if they could once see me
driving the sun-car through mid-air, they and
all the world would honor me. And I can
drive your steeds; for have I not mastered the
wildest horses of the desert, and have I not
driven the winning chariot in the Corinthian
races? By long years of patient training I
have fitted myself for this task."
Through all the rest of the night Helios
pleaded with the young man, but in vain:
Phaethon would not listen to any refusal.
"This favor I will have, or none," said he.
" I will drive the sun-car through the heavens
to-morrow, and all men shall know that I am
the son and heir of Helios."
At length Aurora, in her yellow morning
robes, knocked at the door, and Helios knew

that no more time could be spent in vain
"Ah, my son!" he said, "you know not
what you have asked. Yet, since I have made
the vow I will not refuse you. May the im-
mortals have you in their keeping, and ward all
danger from you "
Then the four horses were led out and har-
nessed to the car, and Helios sadly gave the
reins into Phadthon's hands.
Thy folly will doubtless bring with it its
own punishment, my son he said; and, hiding
his face in his long cloak, he wept.
But the young man leaped quickly into the
car, and cried out, as his father had been wont
to cry: "On, Eos! On Ethon, Bronte, Sterope !
On, ye children of the morning! Awaken the
world with your brightness, and carry beauty
and gladness into every corner of the earth.
Sterope, Bronte, AEthon, Eos, on with you! "
Up sprang the steeds, swift as the thunder-
clouds that rise from the sea. Quickly they
vaulted upward to the blue dome of heaven.
Madly they careered above the mountain-tops,
turning hither and thither in their course, and
spurning the control of their driver; for well
they knew that it was not their old master who
stood in the chariot behind them. Then the
proud heart of Phaethon began to fail within
him. He quaked with fear, and the yellow
reins dropped from his hands.
0 my father he cried, "how I wish that
I had heeded your warning! "
And the fiery steeds leaped upward and
soared in the heavens until they reached a
point higher than any eagle had ever attained;
then, as suddenly, they plunged downward,
dragging the burning car behind them; then,
for a long time, they skimmed close to the tree-
tops, and dangerously near to the dwellings of
men. From the valley of the Nile westward,
across the continent of Africa, they passed in
their manageable flight, and the region that
had once been so green and fertile was scorched
into a barren desert. The rivers were dried up,
and the fishes in them died. The growing
grain, the grass, the herbs, the trees- all were
withered by the intense heat. The mountains
smoked, the earth quaked, and the sky was
lurid with flame. The fair people who dwelt


in that ill-fated land hastened to hide them-
selves in caves and among the rocks, where
many of them perished miserably from thirst
and the unbearable heat; and those who sur-
vived and came forth again into the light of
day were so scorched and blackened that their
skins were of the hue of night, and no washing
could ever make them white again. Then all
living creatures, great and small, cried out in
their terror; and besought the ever-living pow-
ers to save them from destruction. And Mo-
ther Gaea, queen of earth, heard them; and,
pitying them, she prayed to great Zeus, ruler
of gods and men, that he would do something
to stop the mad course of the driverless steeds
ere the whole world should be wrapped in
flames. Zeus, from his palace on high, heard
her prayer, and hurled his thunderbolts upon
the head of the hapless Phaethon. The youth,
stricken and helpless, fell headlong from the
car; and the team of Helios, frightened into
obedience, soared aloft to their accustomed
pathway, and, though driverless, pursued their
journey to the shore of the western ocean.
Helios was there awaiting their coming, and
when he saw that Phaethon was not in the
car deep sorrow filled his heart; he covered
his face with his cloak, and it was long ere he
removed it, and his smiles were seen again as
of yore.
As for Phaethon, he fell into the great river
Po, and messengers hastened to carry the news
of his death into the country of his birth.
When those who had taunted him and goaded
him on to his fate heard what had happened,
they began at once to bewail his sad death,
and to laud his courage and skill.
Alas," cried they, a great hero, a true son
of Helios, is lost to the world! What a pity
that he did not hearken to our advice, and stay
here among his mother's kindred! Had he
done so, we would have honored him as one

having kinship with the great, and he might
have lived to see a happy old age."
"How handsome he-was!" said the maidens
who had formerly turned their faces from him,
"and how skilful and brave! In all the world
we shall never see his like again."
And the daughters of the West built him a
noble tomb of marble near the shore of the
great sea, and they caused an inscription to be
engraved upon it, which said that although
he had failed in what he had undertaken,
yet he was worthy of honor, because he had
set his mind on high things. And Phaethon's
own sisters wandered broken-hearted up and
down the banks of. the Po, until they were
changed into the tall and stately poplars of
Lombardy, and the tears which they had shed,
falling into the water, were hardened into beads
of precious yellow amber.
The old charioteer Helios, though smitten
with grief, returned at once to his duty. And
for many, many years thereafter he continued
to drive his sun-car upon their course; but it
was observed that he had lost somewhat of his
former vigor, and that his four flaming steeds no
longer pranced through the skies with the joyous-
ness of earlier times. At length, when mighty
Zeus had fallen from his lofty place, and great
Pan was dead, and Mother Goa was no more
than the great round earth, the Man of Facts
appeared, with his spectacles, and his measuring
tape, and his little memorandum book.
"Father Helios," he said, "your sun-car seems
to be rather an antiquated affair for this progres-
sive age of ours, and you yourself are rather be-
hind the times. We believe the earth can spin
around on its axis without needing to have the
sun eternally trundled about in a chariot. We'll
find room for your old rattle-trap in the back
yard, and let it stay there among the rubbish of
bygone ages. And the horses, Eos, 'Ethon,
BrontE, and Sterope, we will turn out to grass."






" EXCUSE me if I trouble you,"
Said V to jolly W,
" But will you have the kindness to explain
one thing to me?
Why, looking as you do,
Folks should call you double U,
When they really ought to call you double V ?"

* I I -


Said W to curious V:
"The reason 's plain as plain can be
(Although I must admit it 's understood by
very few);
As you say, I 'm double V;
And therefore, don't you see,
The people say that I am double you."


,. ~
i ~4
er( ,
i;---: i
I ,
~ r~zr ?. rl

~y~f~f~- -




[Begun in the November number.]

THE great Room of the Marshals had al-
most emptied itself of'guests as the Emperor
had scored the ambassador. When big nations
quarrel, little states stand from under. After
such a bout as was this, when France taunted
Russia, none knew upon whom the imperial
bolt might fall next; and both vassals and
allies had business elsewhere.
Men whispered to one another: "It means
war. Thus did the Emperor break out against
Whitworth, the Englishman, before the war that
ended in the subjugation of Germany; thus did
he score Metternich, the Austrian, before the
campaign that ended in victory at Wagram.
It is peace no longer."
But Philip thought not of the quarrels of
states, as he stood before the Emperor. He
knew he had been indiscreet. He expected
what English boys call a "wigging," and what
American boys know as a "hauling over the
"So, young Desnouettes," the Emperor broke
out, you forget yourself in the presence of my
guests; is it not so ? You dare to bandy words
with the representative of a nation, do you?
Feather-head! Can I, then, not trust my pages
to learn manners ?"
Sire, the Russian angered me, and I for-
got myself," the boy confessed.
"And does that make matters right? cried
Napoleon. Courtesy should never forget it-
Then Philip looked squarely into the im-
perial eye. "Sire," he said, "I did but follow
my Emperor."
At this bold declaration every listener looked
aghast. Courtiers knew not whether to smile

or to frown. Pages held their breath. Only
Victor, the irrepressible, whispered, "My faith!
there goes boy Philip's head."
But one never knew how to take that curious
compound of severity and sentiment Napo-
leon the Emperor. At Philip's words a gleam
of anger filled his eye; then, suddenly and
strangely, it changed to a twinkle. He tweaked
the page's ear that ear still smarting from the
Russian cuff.
Monkey! he said. One might say the
Emperor did but follow the page. What caused
it all ? "
"I said, Sire," Philip replied, "that Catch-
a-that Monsieur de Czernicheff was a spy."
"My faith, boy, you spoke the truth. I
tell you, gentlemen, the lad spoke but the
truth," Napoleon cried, turning to his courtiers,
who now saw that it was policy to smile, and
to cultivate this plucky young page. "That
silken Cossack was a spy, and none of you
dared tell him so. But you did wrong, you
page, to meddle thus with what is not your
concern. You are too honest, I fear, to suc-
ceed at court. You will be forever in the
water that is hot. We must use you else-
where. Report in the morning at my study.
I will devise some return for your over-zeal.
And Philip went.
In the Blue Room he ran against Citizen
What is this I hear, my son," that good
man said, drawing the page into a deserted
corner. "You have been baiting the Russian
bear, have you ? Tell me of it."
Philip told his story.
"So! see what hot fires we kindle at the
court," Citizen Daunou said. "A bad air, a
bad air, I fear. When boys bluster, old men
hold their peace. And what is to come of it
all ? "


That I do not know, Citizen," the page re-
plied. The Emperor is to render judgment
in the morning."
And our Philip will be a victim or a mar-
shal before another sunset," Citizen Daunou
declared. Well, if the one, you have a friend
in me, my boy; if the other-pray let me
have a friend in you, Monsieur the Marshal!
One never can count on the Emperor. He is
full of surprises. But, Philip, this means war.
We must face the bear at bay; and what
France needs is peace."
"But the glory of it, Citizen Daunou! There
is no glory in peace," cried warlike Philip.
"My son," said the old republican solemnly,
"peace hath the greater victories-nay, peace
is the greatest of all victories. He who holds
back the sword when it is in his power to strike
is the hero, the victor, the conqueror, whom
time will applaud, and posterity praise. Re-
member this. Oh, that the Emperor might feel
it! Oh, that France might make test of it!
But the blood-madness is upon us, and the Em-
pire is doomed."
Philip pondered long for a boy over
these solemn words of Citizen Daunou. But
he dismissed them finally as the theories of one
who had no love for the Emperor's methods,
and he felt glad that none but himself had
heard the remarks. For just then it was scarcely
wise to talk peace in the imperial palace, whose
indomitable master desired a new war of con-
Next morning Philip obeyed orders, and re-
ported at the Emperor's study. As he awaited
the summons to enter, what was his surprise
to see coming from the imperial sanctum his
old friend Pierre, the deputy doorkeeper of La
"What, Pierre! You in the palace!" he
"And why not, young Desnouettes?" the
deputy doorkeeper replied. Others than
pages are sometimes here. As for me- I had
an appointment with the Emperor! "
That is good !" Philip exclaimed heartily.
"I hope he did something fine for you. I
thought he might. I spoke to him about you."
"Thanks, Monsieur the Page! I am yours
forever"; and the deputy doorkeeper bowed

so very low that Philip was not certain whether
it was in thanks or in fun. A queer little smile,
too, played about the corer of the big boy's
mouth. Some day, my Philip," he said, I
may do as much for you. The Emperor thinks
well of me, and I may yet get my step. He
has given me a special service. What? Oh,
we shall see; and so, too, some day may you.
Then he passed on; and even while Philip
was puzzling over his hint the summons came,
and the page entered the Emperor's study.
So! you are there, young Desnouettes.
And how old are you now, you boy ? This
was the Emperor's greeting.
I shall be sixteen next February, Sire," the
boy replied.
"And now it is August. Sixteen is some
months away yet," the Emperor said. But
yet, sixteen is coming and sixteen is the age
for effort. See, you Philip Championship is
excellent. Did I not one day make you
champion in ordinary to the Emperor? You
are a loyal knight; but sometimes champion-
ship embarrasses. You were unwise last night.
But you were plucky, and pluck is what the
boys of France need, if France is to profit by
their service. I shall send you to Alfort."
"To Alfort, Sire! the boy cried.
"Yes- to Alfort, Sire," mimicked the Em-
peror. But not to doctor horses, or to feel the
pulses of pigs, Monsieur the Page. You shall
join the cavalry class, and learn how to ride,
and how to care for horses as one should who,
in time, may become a special aide to the Em-
"Oh, Sire, you are too good!" exclaimed
delighted Philip. It is what I most desire."
See, then," said the Emperor, "that you
give attention to your duties, and heed the in-
struction of those set apart to make a man of
you. For there are men, my boy, who really
do know more than boys, though I sometimes
feel that my pages know all there is to know
or think they do."
So Philip went to Alfort, and in that institu-
tion, since made into a great veterinary college,
the page spent several months, learning the na-
ture and needs of horses. With thirty other
boys he received instruction in the cavalry class,


and became a daring and expert horseman.
The Polytechnic School also he entered, as a
"special," to perfect himself in drawing, in to-
pography, and in penmanship; for the Emperor
had, evidently, special service in view for this
prot6g6 of his, who, in spite of his propensity for
getting into scrapes, was honest, plucky, and
loyal- the three things that would best com-
bine to make a faithful follower of the Emperor.
A pleasant thing about Alfort was its near-
ness to Vincennes, where Peyrolles was sta-
tioned as one of the drill-masters of the Pupils
of the Guard. Philip frequently visited the
Corporal, and often on "leave days" he took
the veteran to his friends in the Street of the
Fight, where he would listen with glee to the
worshiper of the Emperor, and the hater of the
Corsican, as they debated long and loud over
their pet topic Napoleon.
Cesar has become Charlemagne," Uncle
Fauriel declared; "and the republic is dead,
indeed. Why was I not a Brutus years ago ?
Now-alas!-I am too fat to be deliverer or
Mademoiselle and Philip laughed merrily


over the idea of so fat a Brutus, though Brutus
was quite a portly person, Uncle Fauriel in-
formed them. As for Peyrolles, he played a good

second to Fauriel's grumbling. "Why did I
leave a leg at Austerlitz ?" he cried. "Was it
to let another man step into the shoes I could
no longer wear, and be made the duke or
marshal I might have been?"
"Never mind, my Peyrolles," said Philip.
"You are drill-master at Vincennes. You are
helping to make dukes and marshals for
France out of your little Pupils of the Guard."
Not so easy, that," said the Corporal, shak-
ing his head. I tried to make of you, young
Desnouettes, at St. Cyr, a duke, or at least a
marshal and behold you! only a page yet,
or perhaps a horse-doctor! "
"Which may not be so bad a profession
after all, Old Mustache," cried Uncle Fauriel.
"For what is the saying: Set a beggar on
horseback, and he will ride to destruction.'
The Corsican is mounted already, and if Philip
will but keep his horses in good trim, he will
ride all the speedier to his end. And out of it
may spring a new France, a greater republic.
Good Doctor Philip, look to your horses'
The Emperor, indeed, was mounted and rid-
ing: no one yet could say to what end. For,
as 181I grew into 1812, the war-cloud swelled
in bigness, and darkened. In June, 1812, it
burst. Napoleon crossed the river Niemen
with half a million men. To cross that river,
in arms, was to break the peace. France and
Russia were at war.
During the spring months of 1812 the Em-
peror had drunk deep of power; and Philip,
too, from the Emperor's cup had drunk deep
of glory. For, though on the eve of a war
that was to embroil all Europe, Napoleon
sought, first, to dazzle all Europe with his
splendor, his resources, and his power. Six
hundred thousand men followed the imperial
eagles the mightiest army since the days of
Alexander. He set out for the war encom-
passed by glittering soldiers, and attended by
princes and kings. At Dresden he spent three
weeks in a blaze of display, marshaling his
host. Receptions, festivals, levees, audiences,
balls, reviews, shows, and ceremonials crowded
each other in dizzy succession; everywhere or-
ders gleamed and diamonds blazed; and where
he who once had starved himself as a sub-lieu-



tenant now held state as a monarch, sovereign
princes flocked to do honor to this Marvel
of the Age," and vassal kings stood as suppli-
ants in the palace of him whom men called
" The New Agamemnon."
Amid all this homage, Napoleon kept his
head. While the French served him with
idolatry, and the Allies with adulation, he
sought to give no visible sign
of superiority; he could even i :
see the funny side of it all. .
For one day Philip the page,
delaying an answer he should
have brought with speed, met
the Emperor's impatient de-
mand: How then, you page !
what are your legs for? Why
are you late ?"
True to his habit, Philip
straightway told the truth.
"Sire," he replied; I could
not help it. I came with the
answer straight. But out here
in the antechamber I got
tangled up in a lot of kings,
and had to just crowd my way
through them to get in."
Whereat Napoleon laughed,
and pulled the boy's ear and
hair so vigorously, in his ap-
preciation of the joke, that the
tears fairly started in the page's
For, as you see Philip was
in the thick of it all. Recalled
from his studies to grace the
progress to Dresden as one
of the imperial pages, the boy ,
Philip had been a part of the /
display that attended it, and,
much to his disgust, was sent '.WHA ,,,
back to Paris when the Em-
peror sounded the advance "On to Russia!"
and the Empress returned by way of Prague
to her palace in France.
* In France there was much unrest. The Em-
peror was fifteen hundred miles away, and nearly
every household had been drawn upon for sol-
diers to fight against Russia. At first came tid-
ings of victories. Then bulletins fell off; news
VOL. XXII.- 74.

came less regularly; anxiety and rumors filled
the air. None knew what to believe; and
though from the heart of Russia Napoleon ruled
France, the people of France were uneasy, and
wished their Emperor were back again, with
all the brave Frenchmen whom he had led to
the war.
But to Philip, dividing his time between his

-- *'c-

. ; ".

--- V

-. ,.-,p

* 4) '

(SEE PAGE 587.)
special studies at the Polytechnic School and
his duties as a page of the palace, there came
but little of this unrest. While the fathers and
mothers of France were waiting anxiously for
bulletins, sticking pins in their maps of Russia
at every place mentioned in the news that came
home, and thus following the advance of the
troops, the boys of France were puffed up with





glory, and longing for the day when they might
be old enough to join the Young Guard, and
march to victory with their never-conquered
Emperor. Philip's only feeling of uneasiness
lay in the fear that the war might close before
the Emperor should summon him to the field.
This fear he confided often to Corporal Pey-
rolles, and almost as frequently to Mademoiselle.
Peyrolles applauded "my boy," as he called
Philip; but Mademoiselle was full of anxieties,
conjured alike from Citizen Daunou's gloomy
forebodings and young Philip's extravagant
These occupied her thoughts one bright
October morning in this year of 1812, when,
accompanied by her old nurse, Marcel, now
grown into a sort of chaperon to the young girl
who had been her charge from babyhood, she
set out for a walk from the Street of the Fight to
the straggling Street of the Suburb of St. An-
thony. For, in that quarter of the city, in the
funny old streets (long since swept away by
change) known as the Pig-sty and the Tree
of Cracow, lived certain poor pensioners to
whom Mademoiselle was a helpful angel of
She had passed the towering plaster elephant
of the Bastille (that ambitious memorial of
tyranny overthrown, designed by the Emperor
but never to be changed into bronze as he
intended), and had almost reached the dingy
side street known as the Little Picpus, when
a carriage, dashing furiously down the Street
of St. Anthony, almost overturned her as she
was picking her way across the foaming gut-
ter; for it had rained heavily in Paris the
night before.
Bulky Nurse Marcel caught at the young
girl's arm. Before she had done so, however,
an alert young fellow, stockily built, caught
Mademoiselle's other arm, and drew her back
to the pavement and Nurse Marcel's care. But
while Pierre had one eye for the girl, he nev-
ertheless had another for the occupant of the
hurrying carriage.
"So, Mademoiselle," he said, "that was a
narrow escape. And you could have no re-
dress, had you been hurt. It was the Prefect
of the Seine's carriage. He rides as if sent for.
Something is afoot."

"Thank you so much," Mademoiselle said
prettily. I did not see him coming. Even
when one is sent for, one need not ride so
furiously, and scare people half out of their
"Ah, Mademoiselle," the boy declared with
amusing importance, "when one is, like us, in
an official station, one must do many things
that do not seem gentle-even to running
down pretty girls out for an airing."
Mademoiselle,-to me! came Nurse Mar-
cel's warning voice. But Mademoiselle was
inquisitive, and was now bound to hear more
from this young official.
And you are an official, then, Monsieur ?"
she asked the big boy.
"A deputy doorkeeper at La Force, Made-
moiselle," he replied.
"La Force? the prison ? Then you must
know Pierre. I mean Pierre Labeau a boy
on duty there."
"I am that Pierre Labeau, at your service,
Mademoiselle. And you? "
"Oh, we have heard of you so often from
Philip! Have we not, Nurse? This is Mon-
sieur Philip's friend, Pierre."
And a very forward young man he is!" cried
Nurse Marcel. Come away with me at once,
"Monsieur Philip! cried Pierre. "Is it,
then, young Desnouettes, the page, of whom
you speak? Then you-you, Mademoiselle,
perhaps, are "
Mademoiselle Lucie Daunou, of the Street
of the Fight," said the girl.
But not Citizen Daunou's daughter-is she
now, Nurse ?" Pierre demanded, so quickly,
indeed, that Nurse Marcel flushed, and said
sharply, "And why not? Who else, Monsieur
Stupid? Why, I have known her ever since
the day Citizen Daunou brought her to his
home bah, then! what am I saying ?" she
cried in startled confusion.
"Brought me-me! Why, what are you
saying, Nurse? What does it mean, that?"
Mademoiselle cried. "I never heard of it!
Oh but what is this ?"
It was a bit of torn paper blown by the wind
into the girl's hand. Even in her surprise at
Nurse Marcel's words, Mademoiselle's curiosity



as to the bit of torn paper displaced her first in-
quisitiveness, and she spread it out to read.
It was baffling; for this is what she saw:

To the Count Froc/at, Prefect
he Seine, wherever he may be found.
Ride with speed!
23d October, 1812,
6 o'clock, A. M.
REFECT.- I have the honor to
py of the decree of the Sen-
nouncing the sad ti-
of the Emperor, by a
walls of Moscow on
of this month of October
on of their command,
e the City Hall for
provisional gov-
the Republic
th speed.
Army of

How strange "cried Mademoiselle. "What
can it all mean, Pierre ? "
The deputy doorkeeper, equally curious, took
the letter, and scanned it curiously.
"'The Count Frochat, Prefect of the Seine,'"
he read. It came from his carriage then,
Mademoiselle-' decree of the Senate- an-
nouncing sad tidings of the Emperor -
walls of Moscow-month of October--the
City Hall -provisional government-the Re-
public- Army of Paris'- why, what is it, then ?
I said something was up. Something is "
He turned the torn paper over, puzzled
enough. Mademoiselle's sharp eyes caught
sight of some bold handwriting on the back
of the letter.
What is that, Pierre ? she said, pointing
to the words.
-it," the boy spelled out. I do not
know, Mademoiselle. It is not French, this.
What is it ? "
It was not French. It was Latin. Mad-
emoiselle read the two bold words, looking
over Pierre's shoulder. Fit INmpra/or '
That means, The Emperor has been.' The
Emperor has been? Oh, Pierre! What have
I found ?" she cried. The Emperor is
dead! "

Pierre excitedly struck his hand upon the
torn bit of paper.
"So! I see it all! he cried. Killed un-
der the walls of Moscow! Whew but here
is a tangle, though! "
And without a word of adieu the deputy
doorkeeper turned sharply, and dashed down
the Street of the Suburb of St. Anthony, head-
ing as straight as its crowded ways would per-
mit for the City Hall and the General
Headquarters" in the Place Vend6me.


MADEMOISELLE stood for a moment looking
after the flying Pierre. Then she said : Oh,
that poor little baby! Why, he is emperor now!
Come with me, Nurse. I must go to the palace
and tell Philip. Perhaps he does not know it,
and he might wish to hear of it in time."
But we are not for palaces, Mademoiselle,"
Nurse Marcel objected. How would I be
received there -I, the widow of a sanscu-
lotte ? They will send me to La Force, if they
do but know that once I was Citizeness' and
danced the Carmagnole."
Never fear that, Nurse," Mademoiselle re-
assured her companion. They cannot know;
and I must see Philip."
So, grumbling still, Nurse Marcel turned
with the young girl, and together they hastened
westward; for, though the Empress was at St.
Cloud, Philip's duties were largely at the Tui-
leries when he was not at the Polytechnic
Mademoiselle saw that soldiers were march-
ing that way, and that in the City Hall Square
the whole Tenth Brigade were drawn up before
the city building. Clearly something had hap-
At the palace Mademoiselle soon found
Philip. To him she told the news. Had he
heard it? she asked. Was it not dreadful?
Dreadful ? Why, it is never true," Philip
declared. "The bullet is not made that can
kill the Emperor. The letter was a trick.
Wait here a moment, Mademoiselle. Let me
report what you tell me, and inquire."


He returned speedily.
Something is wrong," he said. The square
is filling with soldiers. The horse-guards have
just galloped to St. Cloud. Every one seems
mystified. Strange things, they say, have hap-
pened. The Minister of Police has been
locked up in La Force. So, too, has Pasquier,
the prefect. The commander of the Paris
garrison has been assassinated. The City Hall
is surrounded; the Ministry of War is in the
hands of red republicans; the Senate, it is said,
has issued a decree announcing the death of
the Emperor, and proclaiming the Republic."
"The Republic!" exclaimed Mademoiselle.
"Why, Philip, how may that be? If the Em-
peror is dead, the little King of Rome is Empe-
ror. Why should the republicans have the
power? Dear me! I hope my father is not in
it all. Of course Uncle Fauriel is."
No matter what they say, I will not be-
lieve it," Philip declared. The Emperor dead!
How absurd! The Emperor cannot die. What
would become of France ? "
"Why, Philip, I suppose emperors have
died before," Mademoiselle suggested.
"-But not The Emperor," said Philip,
proudly. But, true or not, I am in a muddle;
and what a ferment will France be in! So, too,
will the city. Were it not wise, Mademoiselle,
for me to conduct you, and Nurse here, to the
Street of the Fight or at least to Citizen
Daunou's safe-keeping at the Archives ? The
streets will soon be in an uproar."
So, dodging the crowds that thronged the
streets, and yet, with the curiosity of youth, un-
willing to let slip any chance of seeing what
was afoot, the young people, with Nurse Mar-
cel clutching at Mademoiselle's arm, arrived at
last at the Palace of the Archives in the Street
of the Wheat Field.
There, in his office, they found the good
Keeper of the Archives, as cool and as calm
as ever, poring over his dusty documents, and
apparently indifferent to all the rumors and ex-
citement that filled the city.
Breathless they told what Mademoiselle had
found, and what Philip had heard.
"The Emperor dead? That is now but
ancient history, my children," remarked the old
Keeper. "Was I in it? No; nor yet Uncle

Fauriel. Do you take us for lunatics, you two ?
Why, it was but a scare and a sell. And yet,
it might have proved a tragedy--that I will
admit. But, bless you both! the Emperor is
as alive as you or I; and the hot-heads, the
crazy-pates, who sought to raise an insurrec-
tion are safe, now, under lock and key. Yes,
it was nearly accomplished- that I may not
deny; but by a lucky chance or shall we
say an unlucky one?-who can tell?-by a
lucky chance, let us call it, the plot failed; and
thanks to whom, think you ? To your friend
Pierre, my Philip Pierre, the deputy door-
keeper of La Force. He is the hero of the
hour. I have but just heard the whole story.
That crazy-pate Malet, late general under the
Republic,-you must have heard Uncle Fauriel
tell of him,- was at the bottom of it all; and
now he is in prison once more, and his head
is not worth a button. So, come; get you back
to home and duty, my children. It is but an
incident. See-it is over. Leave me to my
Citizen Daunou was right. It was but an
incident, but it well-nigh proved an event. A
cleverly laid plot against the Empire, which in-
cluded an announcement of the Emperor's
death, a forged decree of the Senate, a surprise
of the heads of departments, and the transfer
of all commands to the conspirators, had been
so skilfully carried out that it would have suc-
ceeded but for the quick eye of Pierre, the
deputy doorkeeper of La Force.
The account of the attempt is one of the
most dramatic chapters in the Napoleonic
story; but, save for Pierre's connection with
it, the conspiracy of General Malet, as it is
called, has no especial bearing upon our story.
It was one of those historic oddities that might
have changed the world's history had it suc-
ceeded. But it failed; and to-day it is almost
forgotten, though certain foolish and certain
brave men paid with their lives for their con-
nection with it.
Philip lost no time in hunting up Pierre at
La Force. From him he learned the details
of that lynx-eyed young fellow's part in the
"After I left Mademoiselle," the deputy door-
keeper said, "I hurried to the City Hall. I


could learn nothing certain; but that homely
little commander Laborde,-you know him, my
Philip, that bunged-up aide-de-camp of Dou-
cet the adjutant-he spied me. 'See, there,
you Labeau, come with me to headquarters,'
he said; 'you may be of service to me.' You
see, he knew I was on
duty at La Force, and I
I suppose he thought .
if he should happen
to be arrested and sent -
there, it would be well -.
to be in my care. So
to headquarters we
went--in the Place
Vend6me. The troops
were all about the
building, and the sen-
tries would not let us '
pass. OurlittleLaborde
:cried: 'Fools! I am
'li-.: on duty. Let me
.r.-a.' And they did.
:We went then to the
i.lj'..iI 1i's office. La-
:borde left me without.
I heard high words.
I i.-i. Laborde called ..
n,... I pushed past the '
S1.1_-, at the door, and
entered. Doucet the -" .
:adjutant was there; a''
Laborde was there;
a man in a general's
.uniform was there.
I looked at him. I
knew him. What,
'.General Malet!' I
.41, 'you here! Who
_gave you leave to quit
La Force?' My faith, / .
i-'hlw.! Hewasoneof
,-my prisoners Malet 'STAND BACK, SIS,' HE
ti,'l republican, from the prison hospital. Oh,
Lu.r he was mad! 'Fool!' he hissed at me.
:'Fool, yourself!' said I. 'Here is some-
thing wrong, gentlemen. This is an escaped
prisoner. Arrest him, and I will go for the
Minister of Police.' With that the runaway
tried to pull his pistol. We jumped at him and

pinned him down. 'An escaped lunatic ?' asked
Doucet the adjutant, as he sat on the fallen
general. 'But the decree of the Senate?' he
went on. Forged, Monsieur the Adjutant,' I
said; 'it must be a forged decree. This Malet
is a clever lunatic.' Laborde ran to the win-

(SEE PAGE 590.)
dow. A trick! a trick !' he cried. The Em-
peror is not dead. To your barracks, soldiers!
You have been duped by a lunatic!' That is
all there is to it. The plot is discovered. The
scare is over. Malet is in La Force, and I-"
You have saved France, Pierre," Philip cried,
hugging the deputy doorkeeper in delight.


"Well -perhaps. Thanks to little Made-
moiselle Daunou-if she is Daunou," said
Pierre. If Mademoiselle had not found that
bit of torn paper in the Street of St. Anthony, I
should not have been on hand; I should not
have recognized Malet; he would have suc-
ceeded, and-whew, though! what a tangle
we should have been in!"
Philip felt proud of his friends. Mademoi-
selle and Pierre had saved the Empire, and won
the thanks of the Emperor.
Long life to both of you! the page cried.
"Pierre, you will get your step."
Pierre did get his step. For when the Em-
peror returned to Paris, Pierre was made a po-
lice inspector-the youngest on the force--
and besides he received the thanks of the Em-
peror in person.
You were the only one, you boy," said Na-
poleon, "among all those imbeciles in power,
that had eyes, and could see: that had brains,
and could use them. I said you were clever.
I was right. My faith! if you were but old
enough I would make you Minister of Police.
Boy though you are, you are the best duke
among them all."
For, you see, Napoleon did come back.
That coming back is historic. The world has
not yet finished talking of it.
Philip was on hand when it happened. It
was December i8, in that eventful year of 1812.
Paris was depressed. France was distressed.
The world was astonished. Only the day be-
fore there had been made public a bulletin from
the army in Russia, in which the Emperor told
France that he had not succeeded in conquer-
ing Russia. He had not lost a battle. His
soldiers had been brave and heroic. But the
weather had proved their enemy. The cold
had been so intense that men and horses had
perished. Order had been lost. War and dis-
aster fell upon the armies of France. The Cos-
sacks had harried them. In recrossing the
Beresina river many had been drowned. But
the Emperor was alive and well.
Men shook their heads gravely over this un-
expected news. But boys are ever hopeful.
Philip had said: "Ah! the Emperor is there.
He will soon set matters right." And he had
thought but little of disaster. For his Emperor

had never known defeat! His Emperor never
could know it!
It was half-past eleven o'clock on the night
of December 18. Philip was on duty at the
Tuileries. At his post outside the drawing-
room of the Empress he sat nodding, half
Suddenly he started to his feet. The sound
of voices in dispute, as if demanding an en-
trance, came to his ears. They were in the cor-
ridor below him, at the very entrance to the
The door of the antechamber in which the
listening page was stationed was flung open.
Two men hurried in. They were wrapped in
furs, and looked rough and excited.
"Is it a new plot? Philip wondered. Be-
yond him were the apartments of the Empress
and the little King of Rome the heir to the
Empire. Philip's breath came fast. His heart
beat excitedly. He was no more than a boy,
he knew, but he would defend the Empress
with his life.
"Stand back, sirs! he cried. "This is the
apartment of the Empress. None may enter
here !"
He had no weapon at hand, but he caught
up a chair, and threatened the strangers, block-
ing their advance.
"What, boy! Why, young Desnouettes,"
cried the smaller of the two men, "do you
not know me ? "
It was the Emperor! Philip almost dropped
in surprise.
"You, Sire?" he exclaimed in amazement.
"And the Russians? Are they defeated
already! "
"Already ?" the Emperor repeated, almost
sadly, placing a hand upon the boy's head.
"We come alone. You are a brave boy, you
Philip. Come, Caulaincourt."
And, without another word, the Emperor
and his equerry pushed past the page, and en-
tered the drawing-room of the Empress.
Philip was puzzled. The Emperor coming
back thus secretly-and alone? He could not
understand it all.
But too soon he did. And so did France.
Napoleon had suffered his first defeat.
Of all that vast army, the fugitive Emperor




and his attendant were the only men who had
yet returned. Thousands upon thousands of
brave Frenchmen had left their bones bleaching
upon Russian snows. Of the half-million men
who with streaming banners and :1 -, i,,, bayo-
nets had crossed the Niemen to conquer the
East, only a paltry seventy thousand recrossed
-a tattered, frost-bitten, starving, straggling,
desperate, and weary band of defeated fugi-
tives. The invasion of Russia was a terrible
It was the cold that had done it. The Clerk
of the Weather had taken the field against
Napoleon, and the hitherto unconquered Em-
peror had been vanquished by the thermometer.

That was what he declared. That was what
Philip accepted; and, with many a sigh and
many a bitter thought, the boy, who believed
so firmly in the prowess and puissance of his
Emperor, blamed the Clerk of the Weather and
cried, Hard luck that! This General Frost
is a beast! If only, now, the weather were
a man, how the Emperor would have beaten
him! "
Poor Philip; poor Emperor; poor France!
Malet's conspiracy and Russian frosts were to
begin a new chapter in the history of their
homeland, and to all three were to bring
changes and misfortunes of which none of
them had ever dreamed.

(To be continued.)

'o$~~ C~.

0 :1 .

4-, ---4

I'll,- -:-


* T 4


.L .&. &

-A1 .------, -" .-- *
" -. j-. .. -. wst : _
i : ,. ..... -

-'. ,, -_* ** -,-- ....-.. : w
.. . ._ .

', '- -( / '
__________3 ___________ .'. "..._ o.-
e- 3

' "

J.^, ;*/- -

'% "'190






[Begun in the January number.]

... Frame your mind to mirth and merriment,
Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.
-Taming of the Shrew.

THREE days after Fran went home, she wrote
a long letter to her friends at college:

The flat is a very funny affair. In the novelty of it,
we have had hardly a chance to miss our dear old house.
My small brothers spend their afternoons riding up and

down in the elevator, to the distraction of the lower
To-day has been an uncommonly comical one; yoI
will enjoy an account of it.
All the morning I had been chief cook and bottle-
washer in the kitchen end of the flat, and was attired in a
blue-and-green plaid gingham wrapper which I had ju-t
made for Mama, and I had my hair down my back in a
braid tied, I grieve to say, with a bit of black elastic.
There came an impatient ring at the bell, and I an-
swered it. And there stood my" Aunt Majestic," as we
always call her, because, when we were children, she
used t6 stand so loftily straight and reach out one finger
to shake hands.
She lives in New York, and she does not often ven-


ture so far west as Chicago. She had not seen me for
years,- since papa took me to call on her in New York,
on our way home from Paris, when I was about thirteen.
Of course she did not know me.
So she said, Is Mrs. Townsend at home? and 1
said, Won't you be seated, madam, and I will ascer-
tain." Then I flew into Mama's bedroom, and told her
the tale, and warned her against giving me away. Well,
if you please, who should come in next, but Aunt Phoebe,
who has a sheep-ranch out in Dakota, and is perfectly
reckless of conventions and of English, too, and can't
abide the Majestic. She had n't seen me, either, for
Of course they both stayed for luncheon, and I waited
upon the table.
I smuggled the boys out into the kitchen, when they
* came home from school, and gave them all manner of
goodies as a bribe to stay there.
Well! the dear things all sat down together. Fortu-
nately Papa did not come up for luncheon, or I should
have given up the game: it is so hard explaining things
to men /
I stood around at appropriate intervals, with the salads
and things,--and my salads are not such stuff as dreams
Share made on! So you need n't pity them. Then Aunt
Maria Majestic said that she hoped that Frances had
been toned down a little by our trouble; for as a little
child she had had an irrepressible pertness of manner,
and a way of jabbering French that was anything but
agreeable. Mama laughed hysterically, and tried not to
look at me. And Aunt Phcebe said, She 's a bright
little piece, though -that 's what I always say about
Fanny. She 's peart, but she 's cute as a gopher! But
then, she's such a mere child! She '11 settle-gracious
-sakes, she '11 settle! "
I vanished into the kitchen, for Mama was anything
but happy, but kept things going as well as she could
till I got the face to go back and finish passing the
Roquefort cheese.
Then Aunt Phoebe said: "You see, I have n't been
east-to Massachusetts, that is to say-for three years,
and I must say I 'd like pretty well to go up and see
And Mama told her it was Smith, knowing how I
hate "Smith's"!
At last they got through with their eating, and every-
body fell back to let the Majestic Maria get launched.
And she slid into the drawing-room, and said she must
hurry off to meet a friend at the Auditorium for the
Philharmonic matinee. She had dropped in only to
assure us that she would never desert us because For-
tune had deserted us; and if there were anything she
could do -; but Mama said we were getting on very well;
whereupon she kissed Mama's cheek, and shook fingers
with Aunt Phoebe,- and she was off.
Then I went in and owned up to Aunt Phoebe, and
she 's laughing yet over it. And then I went to Field's
and did a little shopping, and home to write tp you
before I get dinner.
Was n't that a good little farce? But there! Aunt
VOL. XXII.-75.

Phoebe wants dinner early, so that she can go to the Battle
of Gettysburg cyclorama.
So it's good by to you, dear Boffins! With the same
feeling's, here or in the Bower,

And Ruth wrote in answer:

MY DEAREST FRAN : We had all been thinking of
the sad difference between the home-going at Christmas.
and this one for you, when your bright letter came. We
see you are, as usual, making the best of everything, and
getting fun out of it.
I do think, dearie, you are a wonder! And I take
back most humbly all I once said about your not being
a true college girl, because you liked society and home
life. You are more of a real college girl than I; for you
have shown power to adjust yourself to life, which is the
aim of education,-while I only preached!
Well, dear Fran, I 'm prouder of you than of any
other girl in our class. Nathalie said she would write
a note to go with this, but she is n't to be found So
that must wait.
With warmest love from The Bower for our cherished
absent Boffin,


O gentle Year, I 'll not entreat thee stay,-
Yet, gliding from me with the sliding sand,
Thou shalt not pass till I have kissed the hand
That gave me joys, and took but time away.
Helen Gray Cone.

NATHALIE'S two weaknesses were eating ap-
ples and lying abed in the morning. On
this particular morning, just as the rising-bell
rang at seven o'clock, she heard the sound of
sweeping in the hall, and had one energetic
thought of getting up to shut the transom
against the invading dust; but a second and
wiser one reminded her that it was her twen-
tieth birthday, and surely a little indulgence in
sleep was a proper luxury! So she dozed off
again, with a smile as she thought of Fran's
old saying, "And our little lives are rounded
by a bell! "
When-at last fairly up and ready for break-
fast-she opened the door, she saw what all
the ostensible noise of sweeping had been. It
was an ingenious cover for great preparations
Tied to the door of No. 28, by strings of
different lengths, rolled apples of all sizes,


shapes, and colors, with appropriate mottos,
one from nearly every one of the fifty girls in
the Hubbard House. One was dedicated to
the "Apple of Mine Eye "; one inscribed with
the legend "Wilhelm Tell"; while on twenty
or thirty were comical verses, such as this:

Oh, Nathalie,
Never your temper rumpling,
We sigh for thee,
Die for thee,
Your teeth our fair skins crumpling!
For we are going to turn you
Into an apple-dumpling!

In the midst of the rolling apples stood the
three legs of a small round table. On it, in
the center, was a potted mullein plant-for
Nathalie had been detected cutting out a
newspaper slip on How to redden the cheeks
by rubbing them with mullein-leaves" !
All about the table, depending by bridal-
looking white ribbons, were boxes of flowers,
which Nathalie was trying in vain to crowd
into one tall, slim vase, two little fat ones, and
a small three-cornered glass bonbon dish, when
in rushed Ruth's new room-mate, already al-
most a Boffin, with two more parcels from the
florist's, and warned the excited girl that she
would better be going down to breakfast, be-
fore the dining-room doors were shut. There
are only two girls and three biscuits left now,
so run along!" she said, kissing Nathalie on
the end of her nose. And Nathalie ran along,
rather dazed, but exceedingly happy.
When she walked into the breakfast-room,
one of the girls said, laughing, "' Lost to sight,
to memory dear!'" And Nathalie laughed,
too, and blushed, without the aid of a mullein-
leaf, behind the great bunch of Marechal Niels
that she had tucked into her belt.
The day went on, like any common day,
through recitation periods and meal occasions,
with intervals for examining Nathalie's mail-
In the evening the Bower gave a Dickens
party, an entire surprise to Our Mutual Friend.
Mr. Boffin explained that he had always wished
he were in the same book with that delightful
Bleak House Guardian," and some of the
rest of Charley's" acquaintances; and that

he had availed himself of the larger liberty
of American'soil to gather together some of
these folk for a friendly chat.
A queer concourse it was, and a merry one.
Imagination and the T. Q. costume-wardrobe
had done their best. Popcorn took the place
of the Boffin veal-pie, and little Oliver Twist"
boldly asked for more.
"Agnes" half shrinkingly poured out a cup
of tea for the squirming "Uriah Heep." Mr.
Micawber" playfully embraced Mrs. Micaw-
ber" when she said she did n't know when she
was going to get her lessons for the next morn-
ing, and assured her that something would turn
up. And the stern "Widow Defarge" sat in
the corner and knit and knit, and answered
questions with grim composure.
But at last the ten-o'clock bell put an end
to the knitting and the corn-popping-and to
Nathalie's first college birthday.
It would have been perfect if we had only
had Fran here," was Nathalie's last remark, as
she hurried off to her little room, storing up all
the details of the fun for Fran's next Boffin
Be useful where thou livest, that they may
Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still.
George Herbert.

THE last two weeks, of the spring term were
the most eventful of the year. Northampton
was full of proud friends of the graduating
class, and was at her best of bright sunshine,
the air not yet too warm, the roads not yet
dusty, the trees holding out a generous leafy
shade, the river wide and peaceful.
The boarding-houses about town had a less
poetic conception of June, and put their rates
at Commencement figures. Lucky were such
of the outside" boarding students as had
made their bargains fast for board at regular
rates until the middle of June"; or such as
had fallen to landladies in whose souls was
developed a sense of true fairness distinct from
a wish to make all they could.
For the balance of supply and demand was
quite lost. Many of the undergraduates had
chosen this time for visits from their friends.



Ruth, fortunately, had been early in the race,
and had secured for her mother and Elsie a
room in Elm Street, within short walking-dis-
tance of the college.
Great was the rejoicing at the Bower when,
at the last minute, Fran wrote that Aunt Phoebe
had obtained for her a pass on the railroad
which would take her to Springfield, and that
she would be in Northampton for Commence-
ment week. Mrs. Chittenden and Elsie man-
aged to squeeze her in with them, and the
whole town held no happier family reunion "
than that of the three Boffins.
But poor little Elsie had managed, in the
short walk to the college grounds, to turn her
foot on a stone, so that she had to stay at the
Hubbard House most of the week, unable to
move from the "Trojan Horse," and claiming
all the Boffins' odd minutes for her amusement.
The child was a new element in the Bower,
and a keen delight to the Boffins. There was
a half conscious, half earnest competing for the
first place in her favor; and even Ruth, who
had always been Elsie's idol, was a bit piqued
that Elsie chose Nathalie to stay with her
one afternoon, while the others took a long-
planned drive to Mount Holyoke. Nathalie
was devoted to the sunny, affectionate little
girl, and at Homewood had given long hours
to her tiny ladyship's entertainment.
"Tell me some more of those fascillating sto-
ries about your brother Fred," Elsie begged
"I will, duckie," Nathalie answered willingly,
sitting down by the little maid, and stroking
the soft curls as she told another of the little
home stories Elsie liked so well.
Elsie clapped her hands. "I do like boys'
stories and games! Will you show me, some
time, how to play some of the games you 've
told about, when you come to Homewood ? "
SNathalie smiled and promised, and had a
sweet, womanly vision of the future as she lifted
the tiny maid, with the clinging arms about her
neck, and carried her for a "little journey round
the room."
" I do love you, 'Thalie," Elsie sighed con-
tentedly. Can't you come and live always
.very, very near Homewood, and bring Fred ? "
: "I don't know about Fred," Nathalie an-

swered, laughing and kissing the soft, clinging
little bundle.
No man can guess what faculty or feeling a new object
shall unlock, any more than he can draw to-day the face
of a person he shall see to-morrow for the first time.

IN the mean time, Ruth and her mother and
Fran were driving along one of those straight,
uneventful bits of country road that seem like
certain monotonous stretches of a quiet life,
when Ruth rather abruptly remarked:
"There is something on my mind, mother
dear, that I wish you and Fran to know."
Something in the tone made Fran, who was
sitting in front, face around so suddenly as to
run the risk of upsetting the surrey by the sharp
jerk of the horse to the left.
I have decided to study medicine. I have
a fair start in the natural sciences now, and I
mean to do as much as possible in biology and
anatomy at college, and then take my P. G.
[post-graduate] in medicine. I have just lately
made up my mind that I long to be a doctor."
"A bird-doctor ? said Fran, who never lost
a chance to poke fun at the Audubon enthu-
siasm of her room-mate.
No; a child's doctor," answered Ruth, with
a quiet, half shy earnestness which shamed
Fran's humor. I do really, really mean it.
Mother dear, what do you think of it ? "
"You must ask papa," said Mrs. Chittenden,
being that kind of woman. She had a dread
of all such discussion, and now she settled back
in her corner, arranging some wild flowers that
Fran had picked for her.
You know, mother, don't you, that I don't
wish to do anything in the woman's-rights line ?
I 've always thought a woman-doctor for little
children would be the greatest treasure to a
community. But I never thought of doing the
thing myself till one day last week. Since then
I 've decided."
Well, you 've surprised us this time Fran
exclaimed. Why, Ruthl, who 'd have thought
it! Our Boffin going in for a 'sphere,' and a
novel, picturesque one, too I 've had that
idea, myself, that men-doctors can't understand



children as well as women could and they
frighten them half to death! Why, it's a bully
"I never knew you so slangy before!" re-
monstrated Ruth, deeply gratified, however, by
Fran's way of taking her news.
"It 's a habit of my early youth!" Fran
groaned melodramatically; "and in seasons of
preternatural excitement it returns with all its
former terrors!"
So they talked carelessly of other things; and
the last few days of the term slid past, with
hardly another mention of Ruth's plan.

As will happen in this workaday world, most
of the parting words of the Boffins were -not
of the past, nor of the future, of the Family "
- but of train-schedules and trunk-expressmen,

and of the ten-dollar deposit to hold her new room
in the Hatfield, for which Ruth had forgotten
to make any allowance in her pocket-money.

But as ideal things, too, have a trick of hap-
pening in this real world, we may take one
last glimpse ahead -just seven years ahead!
At Homewood again. Will Chittenden and
Nathalie are bending over their darling two-
year-old, fast asleep, while Ruth looks on with
a smile of deep, rare joy; and Elsie, now grown
nearly as tall as her elder sister, is forced into a
waltz down the hall outside by the rejoicing
Fran, into whose ear she whispers:
"I 'm glad Ruth did not get married, as you
and Cousin-Nathalie did; because she 's mak-
ing little Willy get well, and mothers can't
make their children get well, can they? "


- /. ,


SAID Ali Ben Hassan, a kind-hearted man,
" I '11 treat my poor camel as well as I can.
"To temper the heat, I will shade the poor fellow
With my second-best, apple-green cotton umbrella.
"With a pair of blue goggles I 'll shield his poor eyes
From the glare of the sun, and I '11 keep off the flies
"And cool him, at times, with my big palm-leaf fan!"
Said Ali Ben Hassan, a kind-hearted man.

41 ".

;5~4~1 '~WCY



WHEN Polly's winter hat came home,
As gay as it could be,

She begged to wear it in the house,
And out to early tea.
And then she said to brother Ted -
They both were tiny mites-
" I 'm glad that wearing pretty hats
Is one of women's rights! "

L. E. Chittenden.



SOPHIA'S hair was just as soft as any silk that's
And as for fine complexions-well, I 'm sure
that she had one.
Her disposition, too, was kind; she 'd never
frown or pout-
But Punch, our puppy, chewed her, and let all
her sawdust out.

Evadne I remember well, and also my surprise
And joy when I discovered she had automatic
She used to sleep as soundly as a mother could
desire -
But she only stared and rattled after falling in
the fire.

Louisa looked a perfect pet, and positively
In pretty frilly baby clothes, with cap and shoes
She would have grown up tall and fair, I very
often think-
But Charlie flayed at clergyman, and christened
her with ink.

And now here 's Arabella, who may some day
learn to speak:
For talking ought to follow if one cultivates a
She '11 probably be famous for her eloquence
and wit-
But accidents will happen, so we must n'tcounton it.

I--L=---T-^~- '-


WHEN Polly's winter hat came home,
As gay as it could be,

She begged to wear it in the house,
And out to early tea.
And then she said to brother Ted -
They both were tiny mites-
" I 'm glad that wearing pretty hats
Is one of women's rights! "

L. E. Chittenden.



SOPHIA'S hair was just as soft as any silk that's
And as for fine complexions-well, I 'm sure
that she had one.
Her disposition, too, was kind; she 'd never
frown or pout-
But Punch, our puppy, chewed her, and let all
her sawdust out.

Evadne I remember well, and also my surprise
And joy when I discovered she had automatic
She used to sleep as soundly as a mother could
desire -
But she only stared and rattled after falling in
the fire.

Louisa looked a perfect pet, and positively
In pretty frilly baby clothes, with cap and shoes
She would have grown up tall and fair, I very
often think-
But Charlie flayed at clergyman, and christened
her with ink.

And now here 's Arabella, who may some day
learn to speak:
For talking ought to follow if one cultivates a
She '11 probably be famous for her eloquence
and wit-
But accidents will happen, so we must n'tcounton it.

I--L=---T-^~- '-



DANIEL BOONE will always occupy a unique
place in our history as the archetype of the
hunter and wilderness wanderer. He was a
true pioneer, and stood at the head of that
class of Indian-fighters, game-hunters, forest-
fellers, and backwoods farmers who, generation
after generation, pushed westward the border
of civilization from the Alleghanies to the Pa-
cific. As he himself said, he was an instru-
ment ordained of God to settle the wilderness."
Born in Pennsylvania, he drifted south into
western North Carolina, and settled on what
was then the extreme frontier. There he mar-
ried, built a log cabin, and hunted, chopped
trees, and tilled the ground like any other
frontiersman. The Alleghany Mountains still
marked a boundary beyond which the settlers
dared not go; for west of them lay immense
reaches of frowning forest, uninhabited save by
bands of warlike Indians. Occasionally some
venturesome hunter or trapper penetrated this
immense wilderness, and returned with strange
stories of what he had seen and done.
In 1769 Boone, excited by these vague and
wondrous tales, determined to cross the moun-
tains and himself find out what manner of land
it was that lay beyond. With a few chosen
companions he set out, making his own trail
through the gloomy forest. After weeks of
wandering, he at last emerged into the beauti-
ful and fertile country of Kentucky, for which,
in after years, the red men and the white strove
with such obstinate fury that it grew to be
called "the dark and bloody ground." But
when Boone first saw it, it was a fair and smil-
ing land of groves and glades and running
waters, where the open forest grew tall and
beautiful, and where innumerable herds of
game grazed, wandering ceaselessly to and fro
along the trails they had trodden during count-
less generations. Kentucky was not occupied
by any Indian tribe, and was visited only by

roving war-parties and hunting-parties who
came from among the savage nations living
north of the Ohio or south of the Tennessee.
A roving war-party stumbled upon one of
Boone's companions and killed him, and the
others then left Boone; but his brother came
out to join him, and the two spent the winter
together. Self-reliant, fearless, and possessed of
great bodily strength and hardihood, they cared
little for the loneliness. The teeming myriads
of game furnished abundant food; the herds of
shaggy-maned bison and noble-antlered elk, the
bands of deer and the numerous black bears,
were all ready for the rifle, and they were bold
and easily slain. The wolf and the cougar,
too, sometimes fell victims to the prowess of
the two hunters.
At times they slept, in hollow trees, or in
some bush lean-to of their own making; at
other times, when they feared Indians, they
changed their camping-place every night, and
after making a fire would go off a mile or two
in the woods to sleep. Surrounded by brute
and human foes, they owed their lives to their
sleepless vigilance, their keen senses, their eagle
eyes, and their resolute hearts.
When the spring came, and the woods were
white with the dogwood blossoms and crim-
soned with the redbud, Boone's brother left
him, and Daniel remained for three months
alone in the wilderness. Then the brother
came back again with a party of hunters; and
other parties likewise came in, to wander for
months and years through the wilderness; and
they wrought huge havoc among the vast herds
of game.
In 1771 Boone returned to his home. Two
years later he started to lead a party of settlers
to the new country; but whi'e passing through
the frowning defiles of Cumberland Gap, they
were attacked by Indians, and driven back,-
two of Boone's own sons being slain. In 1775,


however, -he made another attempt; and this
attempt was successful. The Indians attacked
the new- comers; but by this time the parties of
would-be settlers were sufficiently numerous to
hold their own. They beat back the Indians,
and built rough little hamlets, surrounded by
log stockades, at Boonesborough and Harrods-
burg; and the permanent settlement of Ken-
tucky had begun.
The next few years were passed by Boone
amid unending Indian conflicts. He was a
leader among the settlers, both in peace and
in war. At one time he represented them in
the House of Burgesses of Virginia; at another
time he was a member of the first little Ken-
tucky parliament itself; and he became a col-
onel of the frontier militia. He tilled the land,
and he chopped the trees himself; he helped
build the cabins and stockades with his own
hands, wielding the long-handled, light-headed
frontier ax as skilfully as other frontiersmen did.
His main business was that of surveyor, for his
knowledge of the country, and his ability to
travel through it in spite of the danger from
Indians, created much demand for his services
among people who wished to lay off tracts of
wild land for their own future use. But what-
ever he did, and wherever he went, he had to
be sleeplessly on the watch for his Indian foes.
When he and his fellows tilled the stump-dotted
fields of corn, one or more of the party were
always on guard, with rifle at the ready, for
fear of lurking savages. When he went to the
House of Burgesses he carried his long rifle,
and traversed roads not a mile of which was
free from the danger of Indian attacks. The
settlements in the early years depended exclu-
sively upon game for their meat, and Boone
was the mightiest of all the hunters, so that
upon him devolved the task of keeping his
people supplied. He killed many buffaloes,
and pickled the buffalo beef for use in winter.
He killed great numbers of. black bears, and
made bacon of them, precisely as if they had
been hogs. The common game were deer and
elk. At that time no Kentucky hunter would
waste a shot on anything so small as a prairie-
chicken or wild duck; but they sometimes
killed geese and swans when they came south
in winter and lit on the rivers.

But whenever Boone went through the woods
after game, he had perpetually to keep watch
lest he himself might be hunted in turn. He
never lay in wait at a game-lick, save with ears
strained to hear the approach of some crawling
red foe. He never crept up to a turkey he
heard calling, without exercising the utmost care
to see that it was not an Indian; for one of the
devices of the Indians was to imitate the tur-
key, and thus allure some inexperienced hunter.
Besides this warfare, which went on in the
midst of his usual vocations, Boone frequently
took to the field on set expeditions against the
savages. Once when he and a party of other men
were making salt at a lick, they were surprised
and carried off by the Indians. The old hunter
was a prisoner with them for some months, but
finally made his escape and came home through
the trackless woods as straight as the wild
pigeon flies. He was ever on the watch to
ward off the Indian inroads, and to follow the
war-parties and try to rescue the prisoners.
Once his own daughter and two other girls
who were with her were carried off by a band
of Indians. Boone collected some friends and
followed them steadily for two days and a
night; then they came to where the Indians
had killed a buffalo calf and were camped.
Firing from a little distance, they. shot two
Indians, and, rushing in, rescued the girls.
On another occasion, when Boone had gone
to visit a salt-lick with his brother, the Indians
ambushed them and shot the latter. Boone
himself escaped, but the Indians followed him
for three miles by the aid of a tracking dog,
until Boone turned, shot the dog, and "then
eluded his pursuers. In company with Simon
Kenton and many other noted hunters and
wilderness warriors, he once and again took
part in perilous expeditions into the Indian
country. Twice bands of Indians, accompanied
by French, Tory, and British partizans from
Detroit, bearing the flag of Great Britain, at-
tacked Boonesborough. In each case Boone
and his fellow-settlers beat them off with loss.
At the fatal battle of the Blue Licks, in which
two hundred of the best riflemen of Kentucky
were beaten with terrible slaughter by a great
force of Indians from the lakes, Boone com-
manded the left wing. Leading his men, rifle




in hand, he pushed back P
and overthrew the force
against him; but mean-
while the Indians de- .e*
stroyed the right wing '
and center, and got in
the rear, so that there
was nothing for Boone's .-
men except to flee with
all speed.
As Kentucky became '
Settled, Boone grew rest- ,'
less and ill at ease. He ,
; loved the wilderness; he .
loved the great forests 1
Sand the great prairie-like
glades, and the life in
the lonely little cabin,
Where he could see'from
the door the deer come
out into the clearing at -
n._ 1.iril. Theneighbor-
h1-..1 of his own kind .
i i..... him feel cramped ,
:,il ill at ease. So he
i.. ed ever westward 'D
i.llh the frontier; and '
a. K.-.tucky filled up he
i-. ....i the M ississippi "
ar,.! ...itled on the bor- DANIEL BOONE
d'-- of the prairie country of Missouri, where
Ruled the territory that has since become the



State of Missouri, made him an alcalde, or
judge. He lived to a great age, and died out
on the border, a backwoods hunter to the last.

(Fourteenth paper ofthe series on North American Quadruapeds.)


IN the great Squirrel Family (Sci-u'ri-dce) there THE SQUIRREL FAMILY.
ar,. many animals besides true squirrels; and Nunlberfpecies Newspeies Prent un. ,br.
ir ..rder to start fair with our subject, we must Flying Squirrels.... 2 .. .. 3
fir I know what they are. In this family, also, Tree Squirrels ..... 2 37 57
Chipmunks ........ 6 33 39
as .:11 as those described in the previous paper, Ground Squirrels... 17 .. I6 33
n,.i. new species have been discovered during Prairie Dogs....... 2 .. 3 5
tlri,; Ist ten years, and the following summary. Woodchucks ....... 3 .. I 4
will show this as briefly as possible: 50 .. 91 14
'Ti. Beaver is omitted here for the reason that ST. NICHOLAS for June, 1893, contains an admirable paper
about him, by Mr. Tappan Adney, fully and finely illustrated.
VOL. XXII.- 76.


THE FLYING SQUIRREL is such a graceful, big-
sid-u-rofte-rus ol-u-cellna) eyed and cunning lit-
tle sprite, that it always
makes me think of an elf. The small boy does
his coasting on a snowy hillside, the otter does
his on a steep bank of snow, or of mud, but
this exquisite little creature actually goes coast-
ing in mid-air! More than that, he enjoys it
hugely; and in groves where Flying Squirrels
are numerous, dozens have been seen at night-
fall pursuing this sport together.
Of course the Flying Squirrel has no wings,
and he does not really rise and fly; but good
Mother Nature has kindly given him a wide
fringe of skin running nearly all the way around
his body, which forms a very perfect parachute.
When he leaps from his tree-top into the air,
and spreads himself, his parachute and his
broad, flat tail enable him to float down easily
and gracefully, in a slanting direction, until he
alights low down on the trunk of a tree perhaps
fifty or even one hundred feet distant. Then
he clambers nimbly up to its top, chooses his
direction, and launches forth again, quite pos-
sibly to the same tree from which he started.
His flight is simply a sailing downward at an


of about forty-five degrees, with a grace-
eep upward at the last, to enable him to
e Flying Squirrel is only a trifle over nine
s in length over all," of which the tail is
four; and, even when it is fully flattened
nd spread for sailing, it can be almost
ed by a page of ST. NICHOLAS. They
ery sociable in their habits, and nest in
v trees, where there are from five to seven
g in each family. Sometimes when the
en have grown so large as to fill the nest
nfortably full, the old ones are literally
led outdoors; and around the city of
ington they frequently build summer nests
emselves close by the oak-tree home.
the Tree Squirrels (genus Sci-u'rus) there
ifty-seven species and subspecies; but
are- not so many individuals that any boy
in can go out with a nasty old shot-gun
kill a dozen of them in one day without
guilty of pot-hunting and murder. I
known men to boast of having bagged "
y-eight, thirty-six, and even forty squirrels
e day,-as if they had done a thing to be
Sof! Proud of what? Of waging elab-
orate and scientific war-
fare on the easiest of all
game" to kill.
(Sci-u'rns Car-o-li-nen'sis
In the East the NOR-
REL is the commonest
species, and that which
is most widely known
There is no need to
describe it here; bu:
when you come to de-
scribe its nesting habits.
beware of making as
:- sertions as to what ih
does not do. In Wash-
ington I once heard a
lively three-cornered
dispute on this subject,
which was quite in-
structive. One boy




asserted that the Gray
Squirrel nests in hollow ."'
trees, beech or oak
preferred. Another de-
clared that in summer
it builds a nest of green
leaves, for summer use
only. A third con-
tended that the summer
nest is built of bark
strippings from cedar-
trees, made into a big,
round ball. Within a '
month we collected,
within ten miles of i
the National Museum,
three fine nests which
proved that all three : t
of the disputants were
right! Moral: Never
base a general statement on insufficient f
The strangest fact about the Northern (
Squirrel is its extreme variability in color.
ture seems to have determined that this
ture should violate every known law of c
marking in animals. In a fairly large colle(
of skins, you may find perhaps twenty w
will show twenty distinct gradations, from
typical whitish-gray to jet black!
This species inhabits the entire nortl
Quarter of the United States, from the
souri River to Washington, D. C., and so
ern Canada.. It prefers hard-wood forests w
nuts are abundant, is very social and plh
in its habits, and no longer exists anyw
in sufficient numbers to do harm to the far
During the last century, and even as lat
the year 1819, Northern Gray Squirrels
so numerous that they occasionally colle
in immense numbers, and indulged in a g
Migration, usually eastward or southward,
:vouring so much corn and wheat en route
the farmers always killed as many of their
.possible. In 1819 Audubon encountered
army of these squirrels swimming the (
River about one hundred miles below Cir
nati. Now, however, their numbers are
few to make up such excursions, and their
are taxed to the utmost to live snugly at h
without being shot. I have kept many of t

r .* r' ,

acts. squirrels as pets; but outside a good stout
Gray cage I never liked them very much. They are
Na- too nervous and irritable, too ready to bite or
crea- scratch, and far too ready to gnaw things that
olor- in your opinion do not need to be gnawed.
action The place for a squirrel is a grove, and in my
which opinion no grove can be called complete with-
the out a good big family of them.
least brother of
(Sci-u'rus Car-o-li-tlnen'sis Car-o-l-nen'sis)
Mis- the preced-
ruth- ing species, but brownish-yellow on the back
here instead of whitish-gray, and a little smaller in
lyful size. Its range begins where the other leaves
here off, and extends throughout the Southern States
mer. into Mexico; but members of this species
e as scorn to show the black color-phases so com-
were mon in the North.
cted All three varieties of the big Fox SQUIRREL
rand were named after the red fox;
de- FOX SQUIRREL. but, sad to say, so far as color
(Sci-u'rus ige'-r.)
that (Sci er) is concerned, almost any fox
a as except the blue one might have stood as god-
San father. In the matter of color variations, the
Ohio Gray Squirrel is bad enough, surely; but as a
icin- turncoat the Fox Squirrel is positively awful.
too Probably no two naturalists could write inde-
wits pendent descriptions of the standard color of
ome this species, and have them agree.
hese The Fox Squirrel is large and stoutly built,


and its hair is coarse and rather harsh. The
color of a typical specimen of the Western
variety is a mixture of dark red, black, and
white on the back, and cinnamon-brown under-
neath. The type of the variety known as the
SOUTHERN Fox SQUIRREL is much paler, and
more inclined to be gray and white. But the
color variations of both varieties of the Fox
Squirrel are most bewildering. When Audubon
and Bachman encountered this harlequin, the
varieties of tint in different specimens were so
great that among fifty or more skins they could


not find two exactly alike; and so in their plate
they thought it necessary to reproduce three,
" an orange-colored one, a gray one, and one
nearly black "!
The three varieties of this species-of which
the NORTHERN Fox SQUIRREL is the third-
inhabit the whole of the central, eastern, and
southern United States, and-it not infrequently
happens that two sharply contrasted colors are
found in the same family.
In California the big CALIFORNIA GRAY
(Sci-u'rus fos'sor.) man like a big,
man like a big,
overgrown Northern Gray Squirrel. In Ari-
zona and New Mexico the pert-looking and
very pretty ABERT'S SQUIRREL looks like the
same creature with the
ABERT'S SQUIRREL. addition of a fine, showy
(Sd-u'rus A'bert-i.)
tuft of hair rising above
each ear, an ornament by which this species
can be recognized anywhere at sight.

THE RED SQUIRREL, has always seemed to me
or CHICKAREE a sort of connecting link
(Sci-u'rs Hud-soni-s), between the foregoing
tree-squirrels and the chipmunks. Although
a true tree-squirrel, and a very active climber,
he spends quite a large portion of his life
upon the ground, and loves a rail-fence almost
as dearly as does a chipmunk. Not only that:
when the upper floors of his tree are all occu-
pied, he blithely makes his nest under its
roots until some third-floor lodger moves out.
Oftener, however, he builds a big round nest,
of the soft, fibrous bark
of the cedar, in the
top of a sapling, thirty
or forty feet from the
ground. In the Amer-
ican Museum at New
York you may see a
beautiful group, the
work of the late Jenness
Richardson, showing a
family of Red Squirrels
and its nest, which is
in the top of a honey-
locust tree, and partly
- --hidden by the leaves
of a Virginia creeper.

The cunning little Red Squirrel is one third
smaller than the northern gray, but twice as
saucy and interesting. It inhabits the north-
eastern quarter of the United States, and south-
ern Canada, and finds its way even as far north
as Alaska. It is most abundant, however, ir
the Middle States and New England. In Cali
fornia it is represented by a subspecies, large.
than itself, called DOUGLAS'S SQUIRREL, 0!
PINE SQUIRREL, which is found everywhere iii
the forests of giant.
DOUGLAS'S SQUIRREL, or pinesandspruceso,
PINE SQUIRREL. the Sierra Nevadh
(Sci-'rus Hd-soni-s Doug'las-i.) mountains. Johl
Muir declares the Pine Squirrel to be th<
most interesting of all Californian squirrels, anc
he asserts that it surpasses all others in force
of character, numbers, extent of range, anc
Next below the tree-squirrels come the Chip-
munks, of which our dear little friend of the
rail-fence, the COMMON CHIPMUNK, is the type.




COMMON CHIPMUNK. You all know -
(Ta,,a.s stri-a'us.) him well-the
little midget
who suddenly flashes ahead of you
upon the fence-rails as you pass along .
a country road. If you stop to look
at him, he will return the compliment,
and keep as still as a stuffed squirrel
so long as you care to watch him.
When you thoroughly alarm him,
however, chain-lightning is not
much quicker in its movements than
he. His home is generally under
the roots of a tree, but a crevice
among rocks is also quite good
enough. He is too small to be killed
for food (so the pot-hunters think),
what he eats is never missed, and so
he survives in places' where all the
tree-squirrels have been either killed
or driven away. There are a num-
ber of subspecies of this type scat-
tered throughout temperate North
America, in nearly all the timbered
regions, and in many of the desert regions also.
*: Leaving all
rl Ie 11' ;--
.Ii o l,-ii



in holes in the ground. Some are gray, but the
bodies of many of them are gorgeously striped
with yellow and black stripes, and lines of dots.
When you see a yellowish-brown streak dart
across a prairie or a meadow, and, stopping
suddenly, .assume the form and fixedness of a
tent-peg a foot high, you may conclude that
the creature you have seen is a ground squirrel
and a spermophile.
The most familiar form of this group is a lit-
tle fellow whose Latin name is almost as long
as himself-the STRIPED SPERMOPHILE, of the
central United States.
STRIPED SPERMOPHILE. The last mouthful of
(Ser-,,op'i-uis tri-de'cem- his Latin name means
in-c-a't us.)
"thirteen-lined." Of
the thirty species in this group, or genus, sev-
eral are so destructive to growing grain that they
have been made the subject of an elaborate re-
port to the Commissioner of Agriculture by
Mr. Vernon Bailey, of Dr. Merriam's Bureau of
Ornithology and Mammalogy.
Less active and daring, but more sociable in
his habits, and far more interesting in disposi-
tion, is our old friend of the plains, the PRAIRIE
DOG. He is about as much like a dog as he



is like an elephant,-he
PRAIRIE DOG. has four legs, and he
(Cy'no-mys lu-do-vi-ci-an'us.)
can't climb a tree,-and
although he is a jolly little fat-paunched, stub-
tailed PRAIRIE MARMOT, his name will be Prai-
rie Dog to the end
-_ of his chapter. He
S, always lives "in
S town," and gener-
'1/ ally owns a lot
about thirty feet
S square, free of all
:- bare as a brick-
yard. Like the
THE COMMON CHIPMUNK. Brahmins of India,
he welcomes you no farther than his front door,
and I have yet to see a man who has beheld the
interior of his bedchamber. I once tried to lay
bare the inner secrets of a Prairie Dog's domi-
cile; but after digging down six feet or more, we
took soundings, found no bottom," and threw
up the contract. Plainsmen say this creature
burrows down until he strikes water; and if
they should say that he finally strikes fire also,
I would not dispute it.
I have seen some Prairie Dog towns that I
thought of vast extent; but one which was de-
scribed to me by Mr. Arthur B. Baker, of the

Washington "Zoo," is the largest on record,
so far as I know. It begins in Trego County,
Kansas, five miles west of the hundredth meri-
dian, and extends along a divide north of the
Smoky Hill River, practically without a break,
into Colorado, a total distance of about one
hundred miles! The town varies in width from
half a mile to five miles, and on the top of the
divide the nearest water is 350 feet below the
surface! Do the "dogs" burrow down to that
water ? Hardly.
Last of the Squirrel Family, and least like
a squirrel, is our neighbor of the "stump lot,"
look stupid, and even act so
WOODCHUCK. upon occasion; but for all that
(Arc-to'mys mo'nax.)
he is a wise animal. He knows
enough to live chiefly upon clover and grass
and let the farmer's grain and vegetables care-
fully alone,- for which consideration the farmer
tolerates his presence in his meadows. While
a pair of red squirrels will sometimes store up a
bushel and a half of nuts for winter use, the
Woodchuck stores up nothing save a plentiful
supply of fat under his skin, and, with that to
draw upon, he blithely goes to sleep in his bur-
row about the first of November, and sleeps
soundly until March.
With the slaughter of foxes and large bids





of prey, the Woodchucks in-
crease in number. In Orleans
County, New York, the father
of my young friend Mason L.
Davis owns a farm on which is
a "stump lot" that is literally
swarming with Woodchucks.
In 1894 Mason and his brother .
shot over one hundred of them.
Were those animals to breed
unchecked, they would soon
be in absolute possession of *
the entire farm.
Did you ever see or hear of
an animal called the SEWELLEL?
Unless you live on the Pacific
Coast, the
SEWELLEL. chances are
(A!-lo-doniti-a rt'fus.) "1 -
you will be
obliged to say No." Then let m,. ii!I.. ..
stranger from the very far West. i Ii ,
only a few places in some of the r ..,,r..i. ...
northern California, Oregon, Was,,in...... :.ji,.
southern British Columbia, and h! I ..... -i i
many. Besides the one above, he -ii .. ...
the MOUNTAIN BEAVER, and SHov i'i
He looks like a tailless muskrat, t....!. I I ..
beaver, fights like a little fiend wl,. i.,.,....l ir

to bay, is sociable in habit like the prairie
dog, can climb bushes four feet high, and is the
only mammal known to me that really prefers
to burrow in wet, boggy ground. The Sewellel

. s ..r,, ,. ,- .
l. l... i.

Ii,. I ... I '.,-

S1.! I InI, .i
., iI 1 -
, ..t Ii,.



created. The
larger of the two species measures sixteen inches
in length, and weighs four pounds.
This strange creature was discovered by
Lewis and Clark in 1814. Its life history and
character remained but little known, even to
naturalists, until 1885. In that year Dr. C.
Hart Merriam instigated a search for it, which
resulted in the capture of a fine series of speci-
mens in Placer County, California.



A HAPPY Maytime to you, my hearers! In a
few weeks you '11 have the month of roses, yet the
world is at its fairest now, to those who love the
early wild-flowers-but you must find them for
yourselves, and I know you will. No need of de-
scribing them to you, my children; already you
have had handfuls of them, and more are to come:
arbutus, that began its delicate pink blooming
under the very snow; anemones, wild azaleas,
bright-red columbine; violets, tall and yellow; vio-
lets, white and low; violets, blue and timid, hiding
among the dried leaves of last year- and then the
quaint purple-red wake-robin, that in spite of its
name is apt to sleep until after the robins are wide-
awake and busy. May is themonth of young bloom,
- overhead, in the trees, underfoot, in the mold, by
brooks, in crannies, and up and down the hillsides;
and every tiny leaf, every smallest growing thing,
is worthy of study and of love.
"All's right with the world "

sang the poet long ago, my children ard you can
sing it as well to-day.

IT is too soon to gather fern-seed; but before
long there '11 be plenty. You must know just where
to look for it, though, even after you have found
the fern. I know of one young girl who found a
good deal last season, and this is the story she told
about it, given you in verse by Agnes L. Mitchill.

IF you gather all the fern-seed,-
The little green fern-seed,-
And put it in your shoe, so they say,
You can see a thousand things,
You can fly, too, without wings,
And nobody can see you on your way.

So I hunted for the fern-seed,-
The little green fern-seed,-
And I filled up all the space in my shoe;
Then I hurried home to try
If they 'd know that it was I.
And the first thing mother said was
Here is Lou!"


THE ferns in my meadow are uncurling their
pretty fronds, and soon the delicate leaves will wave
their tender green. But they never can be very
tall,- certainly not so tall as the ferns that a little
Honolulu friend of mine describes. She says the
stems were thicker than her papa's thumbs, and
they towered away up over his head. Now, who
among you have seen ferns as tall as these, sup-
posing this Sandwich Island papa to be about six
feet high in his boots ?

HERE comes a bright little bit of live grammar
straight to this pulpit. It was written for the Little
Schoolma'am by my eleven-year-old friend Anna


I 'M a little pronoun. My names are who,
whose, whom.
When I do anything, people call me WHo.
When I own something, people call me WHOSi.
When somebody does something to me, I aim
called WHOM.
If you see me, you may be pretty sure there is a
noun somewhere around.
I 'm not just a common pronoun: I 'm a rela-
tive pronoun. All pronouns cannot have people
with them constantly, as I can.
Sometimes I'd like to be by myself, as my cousin
I (who is a personal pronoun) can be.
I go with a very select set of nouns. They 11
tell about people, pot mere things.
Sometimes ignorant people put me with thc e
ordinary nouns that mean only things. But it is
better not to do so, as I belong to persons only, Iot
to things.
To think of it! I can go with even those very
stuck-up proper nouns.
The noun I go with is called my antecedent.
I would give you a few sentences, and see if )ou
could find me in them; but it is much better to let
you, make some for yourselves: only be sure not to
put me with those nouns that mean only things.


A POOR little girl in the Red School-house has
No, she will not die of it; but she must be cuied
pretty soon, the family say. The English name
of her serious complaint, or habit, is nail-bitinig.
Yes, the dear child bites her nails, and her poor
little stubby fingers are getting very tired indeed
of Onychophagia-so are her teeth. But she en-
joys-it, or thinks she does, poor child !



OLAS you showed your young friends some Reflections
of a Cat," sent by Amy G. One of these feline thoughts
was, Vo one but a cat knows howi we always manage to
land on ourfet.'" If the cat's opinion was correctly re-
ported, the cat was behind the times.
From a traveled Puss in Boots I learn that the French
Academy of Sciences has lately given much time to this
puzzle, and a certain M. Marey claims to have solved
it. The camera was used to find out how
cats turn while falling. A cat was held
three or four feet from the floor, back -
downward, and dropped. During the -.
fall the camera was arranged to take i .
fourteen pictures of the moving cat.
The photographs proved that the cat
first put its fore legs down toward its ,
body, and then brought them around
toward the ground -using the rear half
of the body to give the resistance. Then,
being half over, the hind legs and tail -
were revolved, while the fore part of the
body served in turn as resistance, thus 3
bringing all four legs undermost.
The wise men are still disputing about
the question, but the silent camera has by
far the best of the argument.
I send you a diagram, drawn after the
I am one of your older readers, and
the father of two "little folks who en- i

I thank you very much, J. T., --. -
and do not see how any cat after
this can accuse mankind of not DIAGRAM.
having looked into the cat-landing problem. Dea-
con Green says the solution reminds him some-
what of an experiment sometimes attempted by
small boys- namely, lifting one's self by one's own
ears; but then, the Deacon is not strictly scientific.
Besides, there are the photographs.


HERE is a letter which claims to come from a
Persian cat; and surely no American cat could
have written it. The dear Little Schoolma'am
tells me that this legend of Ali is known in Persia,
and that to this day all the cats of that country
always land upon their four feet in falling:

hope that you the English will pardon of this from one
who know only the wisdom of the East, lacking the
knowledge of arts in the West. But I have -tre Sr.
NICHOLAS seen of April-- our month Ramadan-i that
tells of the cat, how he fall ever on feet. And say I my-
self, "Why do not the Moslem tell their legend? So I
write you how that Omar had envy of Ali, successor of
our Prophet, and would show him in error. Omar, tak-
ing in hand one bit of wheat, spake thus to Ali, saying,
"Tell me, shall this be now food for me ? Then speaks
All, in trust that he will overcome Omar, No. Thou
cannot have food of it." Then Omar made to swallow
,the bit of wheat, but it fell down even fo the floor. The

cat of Ali made a jump and did catch the wheat, like as
a mouse, and made a swallow of it. So Omar went con-
fused away, and to the cat of the true faith Ali in thanks
granted a gift that forever it should not fall but on feet.
And thus it rests as Ali willed it, not in Persia by itself,
but the world around.
And this, a true account for the faithful, do we ever
make to be known to our kittens, little ones.
In the name of the Prophet, peace.

ST. LouIS, Mo.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I lately read in our
Globe-Democrat a true account of some birds, told by Os-
wald Grafton; and as it proves that birds sometimes
may be really charitable, I copied the story for you and
your congregation. Here it is:
"A pair of robins had their nests in the fence near
the house, while a pair of catbirds had built theirs in a
bush close by. The two pairs hatched out their young
at about the same time; but soon the robins disappeared
entirely, and I concluded they had been killed. The
young robins appeared to be starving. When the cat-
birds came with a bit of food for their young, the baby
robins would thrust up their heads and make a great
noise. Presently it was noticed that the catbirds were
feeding the hungry orphans. Every night, too, while
one of the catbirds covered its own young, its mate per-
formed the same service for the young robins. In this
way both broods were reared, the robins growing up as
strong and lively as though they had been cared for by
their own parents." Yours truly, DOROTHY J--

THE Little Schoolma'aih informs me that Pro-
fessor Hornaday is telling you about squirrels this
month. Well, we '11 have a little overflow meet-
ing out here. Here is a true squirrel story told in
a letter that has just been brought by my birds:

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT : One day, not long ago, I
was walking in Central Park, and as I came down a cer-
tain path I saw several squirrels playing on the grass.
Another one was quite by himself, lying at full length
on one of the highest branches of a tall oak-tree; and
from what happened soon after, I think that he was ex-
pecting a friend.
Presently I saw a gentleman come down the path,
stop at the foot of the tree, look up, and call, "Come!
Come! Here I am!"
The squirrel seemed to have been waiting for this
voice, for at the first sound he ran quickly down the tree
to the lowest branch, gave one flying leap, and landed
on the gentleman's shoulder.
"Will you have your dinner now ? he asked.
The squirrel answered in his own language, which I do
not understand. I suppose he said, "Yes, thank you,"
for the gentleman put his hand into his pocket and drew
out a nut from which he took the shell; then, turning
his head toward the squirrel, he fed him the kernel-
the gentleman holding it between his lips.
It was a pretty sight to see the squirrel put his little
head close to the face of the gentleman. After watching
him eat a few nuts I walked on (as the dinner promised
to be a long one), leaving two very happy friends under
the big oak-tree. Yours truly, M. B. M.

VOL. XXII.-77.





Oh, wonderful river Wisconsin!
How lovely are your dells;
Oh, beautiful State of Wisconsin!
How good are your springs and wells.
SHow lovely the breezes that fan you
The glorious summer through,
1 From woods sweet-scented with balsam,
That shadow your lakes so blue.
-Of cities you have Milwaukee,
-Along Lake Michigan shore,
And Madison, named in honor
Of'president number four.

7o P,\ e-
O /'We%




Oh, wonderful river Wisconsin!
How lovely are your dells;
Oh, beautiful State of Wisconsin!
How good are your springs and wells.
SHow lovely the breezes that fan you
The glorious summer through,
1 From woods sweet-scented with balsam,
That shadow your lakes so blue.
-Of cities you have Milwaukee,
-Along Lake Michigan shore,
And Madison, named in honor
Of'president number four.

7o P,\ e-
O /'We%


SThe river brought the Indians
From prairies of Dakota; '. '
So cloudy seemed the water,
They called it Minnesota."
i Now together are the cities
Minneapolis and St. Paul,
By the River and the Rapids
; And the "Laughing Waterfall
SThe mills in Minnesota .:
Are running every hour, ,
, Sawing and planing lumber,
And grinding wheat to flour.
The air of Minnesota
Is fairly cool and dry;
Though wide awake the State -
It has a Sleepy Eye.-

'-- ?.

r.- -, ^- _. "-- ,' -

*" Turbid water" is the meaning of the Indian name Minnesota."


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am eleven years old, and I
have studied the different wild birds for four years, and
find them very interesting, indeed. In May, 1894, I had
a very nice time watching a pair of house-wrens (Troglo-
dytes aidon). It was very interesting to watch them build
their nest. After working a little while, they would both
come down on the fence and sing for about five minutes,
and then go to work again. They were very tame; I
could stand within fifteen feet, and they did not mind it
at all. I find all birds very entertaining to watch and to
study. I like ST. NICHOLAS very much.
Yours sincerely, EDMUND R. P. J- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: An amusing scene occurred in
a trolley-car in a suburban part of Newark, on a stormy
night of last winter. There were only two men in the
car. Presently one of them opened a large bundle which
he held, and took out a link sausage. Then he took out
his jack-knife, and stuck the sausage on it. Then he
opened the door of the little stove on the seat of the car,
and cooked the sausage at the fire and ate it.
This is a true story, for the other man in the car was
my uncle, and he told this to met

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am ten years old, and I live in
the picturesque village of East Haddam, which is situated
on the banks of the Connecticut River.
The article which was in one of your numbers about
Nathan Hale reminds me of the house in this town
which is famed for its historical associations. It is a
small, weather-beaten house where Nathan Hale used
to teach school. It is now occupied by an old woman
nearly one hundred years of age, who has lived there
ever since she was a year and a half old. It has been
removed from the little school-yard where it stood when
the brave soldier taught in it, and an addition has been
built on to it.
One summer evening I was passing by the house, and
the door facing the street stood open, and I crossed the
threshold which had been crossed so many times by the
British soldier in the days long since passed by.
I would like to tell your boy and girl readers about
my Literature Album. Mama selects pictures of noted
men and women from different papers and magazines
and pastes them in a large scrap-book. Mama cut pic-
tures of Emerson, Bryant, and Tennyson from late num-
bers of your magazine and put them in the album. I
also have pictures of Charles Dickens and his wife, Mr.
and Mrs. Bayard Taylor, Edison, Louise Chandler Moul-
ton, Lady Henry Somerset, Frances E. Willard, and
many others, and a few selected poems and stories.
The window where I am writing looks up the river
toward Hartford.
It is a beautiful view in summer, but in winter the ice
and snow have a dreary look.
Across the river, behind the hills, the sun has just set,
flooding the water with crimson and gold, and making it
seem like fairyland.
Your devoted reader, LUCILE V. R- .

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Since I wrote to you last, our
family has moved from Vera Cruz to my mother's cotton-
plantation in southern Coahuila. I have n't even seen
half of it, for it contains 173 square leagues. There are
about twenty different ranches, each with its majordomo.
We live in the principal one, which is called "Hornos ";
this means "ovens in English, and they say it is a very
appropriate name in April and May, for it is then ex-
ceedingly warm.
I miss my home by the sea, but am very contented
here. My brothers and I study at home. We have
three teachers. For amusement we go horseback-riding
to the different ranches, and we play tennis, cricket, and
croquet. Each has his own garden. In the summer
we shall have quantities of grapes, figs, pomegranates,
watermelons, and muskmelons.
Your devoted friend, C. M- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken you for three
years, and are very fond of you. I don't know what
we 'd do without you at all. I am a little girl twelve
years old, and the oldest child in our family. I have
two sisters and one brother. We children, with two boy
cousins of ours, have a family monthly paper, of which I
am the editor. I can tell you it keeps me pretty busy.
It contains stories, poetry, riddles, jokes, advertisements,
notices, etc. We all enjoy Chris and the Wonderful
Lamp" very much, and read it at the table when ST.
NICHOLAS comes. Your affectionate reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You have been in our family
so long, you are like a dear old friend, always welcome.
A few days ago I chanced to notice the date of our first
bound volume, 1874-twenty years ago. The date in-
stantly recalled a picture of three little girls--Anna,
May, and baby Adele (who used to say, "Mama, I do
think Palmer Cox nice to make such funny little Brown-
ies'") -bending over the pages of ST. NICHOLAS, ad-
miring the beautiful pictures, reading and chatting about
the bright, interesting stories.
Jack and Jill," Donald and Dorothy," Little Lord
Fauntleroy," "Lady Jane," "Polly Oliver," and a host
of others, have become household names in our family.
Later, when school-girls, the three would often look
over the bound volumes for something they had read
years before. Many times have I heard May exclaim:
Why, mama, what should I do without ST. NICHOLAS?
It helps me so much in my history and literature." Now,
two little grandchildren, Ammie and Earl, are learning
to love "Dear ST. NICK." We were all greatly inter-
ested in the stirring story of "Decatur and Somers."
Your July number was splendid; I hope you will give
us more like it, that our young sons and daughters of
these United States of America may understand the true
meaning of Abraham Lincoln's immortal words: "That
this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of free-
dom ; and that government of the people, by the people,
for the people, shall not perish from the earth."


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I don't take you. You are sent
to me; but I like you just the same. Maybe some of the
readers would like to hear from the Land of Evangeline.
A great many people come from the United States every
year to visit the scene of Longfellow's famous poem
"Evangeline." It is a beautiful country. One can still see
the old French cellars and dikes, also the old elms and
willows planted so long ago. I have heard that a cane
made from one of these old trees was presented to Long-
fellow. Mama told me that the children used to bring
apples from the old orchards to school. Maybe you will
think the English cruel in driving the French from their
homes, but it was the best they could do under the cir-
cumstances. The French kept encouraging the Indians
in acts. of outrage against the English. We live quite
handy to the Shubenacadie River; in summer we have
fun bathing in the river. The name Shubenacadie means
abounding in ground-nuts. Good-by.
Your reader, ROLAND McN-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl fourteen years
My cousin Eleanor, who resided in College Point,
Long Island, sent all her ST. NICHOLAS magazines to
me, from 1886 to I890. She left for London, England.
I have read your bound volumes during a year, and
have already come to the January, '95, number. I think
it is just the best book out.
I live three thousand miles from New York, right in
Montana, amid sage-brush, prairie-dogs, and mountains.
Yesterday a man brought twelve coyotes to town to
get bounty, fifty cents each; they looked as if they had
come from a museum.
I have a little pony called "Dolly." Last summer
Dolly took me to Dayton, Wyoming, and back, 150 miles
each way. I stopped overnight with my father at Indian
houses. My pony goes seven miles an hour, but loves
to go five miles, and delights to walk two miles an hour,
if I will let him. Respectfully, AMY H- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little Western boy ten
years old, and live on Puget Sound, in Olympia, the
capital. You Eastern people do not realize what Puget
--Sound is. You might think that it is only as large as
Long Island Sound. And you might think there are no
islands in it, but it is so dotted up with them that it is
sometimes called the" Mediterranean ofAmerica." There
is one island seventy miles long in it. Last summer we
camped on Fidalgo Island, where my little brother and I
used to catch large crabs and cook them on the beach,
then eat them. We used to go sailing very often, be-
cause there were two sail-boats right in front of the house
we camped in. It was an old hotel with twenty-seven
rooms. The West is not all cities-- the way it is where
you are published. We have some very valuable cedar-
trees growing all along the shores. We have just had
the large State seal brought to Olympia; it is eight feet
square, and is made of pieces of wood that grow in Wash-
ington. We have very good fishing here, and now smelt
are so thick that men cut a long pole and drive nails
through it, and just rake them out. I like halibut the
best-a very large, flat fish that weighs sometimes one
hundred pounds. We have good salmon also; and we
spear salmon. We have a friend visiting us now from
Portland, Oregon, and she said that a Chinaman speared
a salmon on First and Salmon streets at the time of the
flood. I have taken you four years, and am always glad
when the mailman brings another number. My little

brother, though only six years old, likes Chris and the
Wonderful Lamp"; but I will stop because now I think
you will know more about Puget Sound.
Your sincere friend, TREMAIN H--

No. 38, TsuKrIJ, TOKIO, JAPAN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the second time that I
have written to your splendid magazine.
I have lived my life of thirteen years in Japan, except
two years which I spent in the United States, between
my fourth and seventh birthdays.
We have very good times in Japan,on the whole.
There are about twenty American boys in Tsukiji, over
ten years old and under eighteen; all of us (except four)
go to the Tsukiji school, which has four teachers-one
American, two English, and one German.
At this school I study Latin, Greek, English Litera-
ture, Geometry, Physiography, Arithmetic, Algebra, Eng-
lish History, Universal History, and Ancient History.
Japan and China, as you no doubt know, are at war,
and the Japanese have won several great victories.
The cities Seoul, Asan, Phyong-yang, and Pingyang
have been captured from the Chinese in Corea, and
Port Arthur in China. A naval victory has been won
off the Yalu River.
Port Arthur is a seaport, and its loss will be a heavy
one to China, since it contains the only dock in China in
which a large man-of-war can be repaired after being
injured in a fight.
The Japanese do not call the city Port Arthur," but
' Riojuncon." The Japanese talk of it as the Gibraltar
of Japan."
The Yalu River is the boundary-line between China
and Corea.
The Japanese fleet, consisting of eleven cruisers, and
commanded by Admiral Ito, was cruising around the
mouth of the river when the Chinese fleet, commanded
by Admiral Ting, and consisting of eleven cruisers and
two battle-ships, came up, and a battle ensued.
Four of the Chinese ships were sunk, and the rest
more or less severely injured.
Most of the Japanese ships sustained slight injuries,
but none were lost.
The Japanese won through superior skill and bravery.
Hoping that you will print this letter, I am
Your interested reader, JOHN C. MACK--

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Perhaps you would like to hear
from a girl who spends her winters in Florida. At
present we are at anchor on this river, for which our
boat is named. There is no habitation within a long
distance of us, although there are two empty houses on
the bank, and we rowed over to see them this morning.
One of them had an alligator's skin nailed up on the
side of it.
Our boat is a naphtha yacht, made for cruising in these
waters. At present she is rocking considerably, but a
true sailor prefers some motion to a quiet sea. We are
within a few miles of the Gulf of Mexico, and must
expect some rough water.
It is very warm here, although we have some cool
weather, just the same as Northerners have cold winds
during their summer months.
The place where e we are, when not boating, is as far
south as one can go by rail on the west coast of Florida;
but one can go by steamer to several other places farther
I have your delightful magazine every month, even in
this far-off place. Ever your devoted reader,


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never seen a letter in
your Letter-box from this part of the United States,
so I thought I would write you one. The climate here is
very warm in the summer, and not very cold in the win-
ter. We seldom have snow in the valley, but we see it
every year on the mountains. In the springtime the
country around us is lovely, we have so many varieties of
wild flowers, and everything is fresh and green.
Two years ago we went down to Pacific Grove, which
is a small town on the sea-shore near Monterey. We
stayed three months, and had a lovely time. We had
lots of fun going in wading and bathing in the surf, and.
having picnics. We saw several whales while there;
they would come up in the bay, quite close to the shore,
and once one jumped up out of the water.
There is a beautiful drive there which is eighteen miles
long. It winds in and out among the woods, and nearly all
of it is along the ocean. We went around it and stayed
all day. A great many seals live on some rocks which
are quite near the drive in the edge of the ocean. They
are always barking or fighting, and are very inquisitive.
Sometimes they will come close to the edge of the beach,
to see something that looks strange to them.
There is also a place called Point Lobos, and part of it
was once a volcano. It is of a very peculiar formation,
and is so hard that even a small rock cannot be broken
off without great difficulty. The place where the crater
was is now on the level with the ocean, and forms a
pretty little bay. It is thought that at one time there
was a great eruption there, which caused the change.
There is a large mountain near us, which was also a
volcano, but is now extinct.
Your sincere friend, LUCIA S-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you for nearly
five years, but have never written you a line.
I live in Montana in a little town called Granite, and
it is well named, as granite is about the only kind of rock
one finds here. It is a very nice place to live during
the summer-time, but it is dreary enough in winter.
There is about three feet and a half of snow here now,
with promise of more to come. I have a pair of Norwe-
gian snowshoes, or "skees," and have great fun riding
on them. I use a pole with a spike in one end, and go
flying down the hillsides. I have a dog called "Snyder,"
who often follows me on my snowshoeing trips.
I must close now; so, wishing you a long life,
I remain your reader, A. NEIL C- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Our papa has taken you for a
long time, nearly ever since you began. We love your
stories, and look forward every month to your coming.
We go to Christ Church, where Washington used to go,
and sometimes we go down to Mount Vernon on the
electric cars. In the park there are live deer, and they
will eat out of your hand. Once we gave them some
crackers. We belong to the Band of Mercy for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. We have a little
kitty and we call it "Tiger," on account of the stripes on
its back. We go to the Capitol sometimes in Washing-
ton, and to the National Museum, where there are many
wonderful and curious sights.
We remain your loving readers,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In February, 1891, you speak
of some queer dwellings people in South America have,
and show us a picture of a Glyptodon's armor. The other
day my papa took me to see three or four very fine
shells, heads, and queer tails of the prehistoric arma-
dillo. A rich man, who had lived many years in South
America, made a present of these to his native city, Va-
lencia. You can imagine how glad I was to see and
recognize these immense dwelling-shells from your
drawing, since you mention they are so rare that the
only perfect one of them exists in Paris.
My papa says since they have several, they ought to
sell one or two of them. I wish they would, and America
would buy one, that my little friends might see them too
some day.
I am, dear ST. NICHOLAS, your faithful reader,

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought some of your
readers would like to hear about what we do in the
West. I am only twelve years old. I have been taking
you for a year. I enjoy your stories very much. Just
now I am reading "A Boy of the First Empire." I find
it very interesting. I do not go to school, for I have a
governess in the house to teach my brother and me. I
have learned to recite Harriet F. Blodgett's pretty verses.
My teacher knows Harriet F. Blodgett, for she was a
schoolmate of hers. We live on a ranch, and we have
a lot of horses and cattle; they feed on the ranges in
summer, but we have to gather them up in the winter
and feed them till the next spring. Some of them are
sold then, and the rest are turned out on the ranges till
the next fall. I live seven miles out of the city of Ver-
non, in Okanagan, British Columbia. It is a very fine
country for wheat and fruit of all kinds, and wild fruit is
very plentiful. The mountains inclose our valley on
all sides. They look very beautiful in the summer, when
they are all green and covered with bright flowers of all
We have a very cold winter here, but it does not last
long. There is an Indian reserve not very far from us.
The Indians speak a language called Chinook. They are
taught shorthand by the missionary priests, and they
learn it very quickly, we are told. One day we went to
mass at the Reserve, and they all read their prayers and
sang hymns out of their shorthand books. They also
have calendars for the year, and the calendars also are in
the same writing.
Now, dear ST. NICHOLAS, I will say good-by.
Your friend, MARY G-.

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: Julia B., Anna E.
J., Miriam S., Margaret E., A. H. T., Wm. M., Ger-
trude C., Anna L. M., Abby E. S., Barbara W., Anna
P. C., Henry L. W., Amelia V. S., Blanche E. S.,
Katharine A., Nora V. S., Alice H., E., Leroy F. B.,
Lottie W., Robert E. R., Loretta M., Alice L. and
Charlotte J. H., Mabelle H., Consuelo V., Chauncey S.
DeW., Isabel C., Marion L. G., Effie B. and Bessie G.,
Etta and Agnes S., Rosalind L., Adele R. H., Katharine
O'D. and Bessie F., Anne B. J., L. R. L., Mary E. B.,
Nelson B. W., Sue J., and Mabel B.


ILLUSTRATED DIAGONAL. Dante. i. Dunce. 2. Camel. 3. Candy.
4. Sloth. 5. Mouse.-- CROSS-WORD ENIGMA. Stamps.
ZIGZAG. Washington Irving. Cross-words: i. Wasp. 2. Last.
3. Lost. 4. Dish. 5. Bait. 6. Gnaw. 7. Gate. 8. Star. 9. Loon.
To. Dean. n. Whig. 12. Drab. 13. Vale. 14. Hint. 5I. Fang.
x6. King.- RIDDLE. The letter A.
TRIPLE ACROSTIC. From I to 6, Bulwer; 13 to 18, Lytton; 7 to
12, Pelham. From I to 7, bishop; 2 to 8, umpire; 3 to 9, laurel;
4 to to, warmth; 5 to ir, enigma; 6 to 12, ransom; 7 to 13, patrol;
8 to 14, energy; 9 to 15, Levant; 0o to 16, Hamlet; on to 17, ada-
gio; 12 to 18, maroon.-- CHARADE. Bad-in-age.
DIAMOND. i. C. 2. Cad. 3. Cares. 4. Caramel. 5. Demit.
6. Set. 7. L.-- HOLIDAY ANAGRAMS. April Fool's Day.

DOUBLE AcROSTIc. Primals, Mozart; finals, Wagner. Cross-
words: I. Mellow. 2. Olivia. 3. Zigzag. 4. Amazon. 5. Ravine.
6. Terror.
CONCEALED AQUARIUM I. Skate. 2. Eel. 3. Salmon. 4. Dace.
5. Smelt. 6. Goby. 7. Tarpon. 8. Whale. 9. Shad. zo. Perch.
IT. Oyster. 12. Whiting. 13. Cuttle. 14. Carp. 15. Clam. 16. Scal-
lop. 17. Sword. 18. Bass. i9. Sturgeon. 2o. Herring. 21. Sar-
dine. 22. Dolphin. 23. Haddock. 24. Grayling. 25. Sprat. 26. Trout.
27. Pike. 28. Shark. 29. Winklet.
4. Pet. 5. L. II. i. L. 2. Sea. 3- Ledge. 4. Ago. 5. E. III. I. L.
2. Tea. 3. Lease. 4. Asp. 5. E. IV. L. 2. Via. 3. Lithe. 4. Aha.
5. E. V. I. E. 2. Pay. 3. Eaves. 4. Yew. 5. S.

To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the zsth of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS "Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE FEBRUARY NUMBER were received, before February i5th, from Helen C. McCleary-G. B.
Dyer-- Alice Mildred Blanke and Co.- Henry S. Reynolds Helen Rogers- L. O. E.- A. M. J.-Josephine Sherwood- Mama
Sand Jamie Paul Reese- Helen C. Bennett-Charlotte C. Moses- Kathryn Lyon -"Jersey Quartette "-" The Butterflies "-" Tod and
Yam"-J. T. S. and W. L. S.- Marjory Gane- W. L.- Pearl F. Stevens Ella and Co.-Jo and I MIum et Tuum G. B. D.
and M.- Mary Lester and Harry-A. N. I. and R. S. B.-" Highmount Girls"-Clara A. Anthony-Ida C. Thallon-"Philemon and
Baucis"-Jessie Chapman and John Fletcher-G. C. Cunningham-Harold and Percy-" Hilltop Farm"-Blanche and Fred-
"Embla "--Cora Ellen Smith and H. Katharine Brainerd- Beth Riedell-"Four Weeks"- Isabel H. Noble--Sigourney Fay Nin-
inger- Georgia Bugbee Clara and Papa -" Tip-cat."
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE FEBRUARY NUMBER were received, before February i5th, from "Two Philosophers," 3-M.
McG., 14-Edith H. Whitehead, i-Alex. H., z-F. Schmitt, zo-" Ronaele and Yram," 6-Lillie Lee, 2-Anne M. Chapin, i-Audrey
Holmes, 2 Marjorie Gwinn, -- Donald Morrow, I Claire S. Hall, i Roland D. Bettman, 3- Belle W. Brown, 13- C. De F.
P., I C. V. Briggs, 2 Louise Chase, I -"Yankees," 5 Natalie Dole, I -J. C. M., 6- Jack Tucker, I--Harry and Violet, 5 -
Clarence F. Derr, I Henry Manney, Jr., i Bessie and Bernice Bell, I Davila S. Du Brul, 2 -" Knott Innit," 3 Alice and Willie
Shedds, 2 Berta J. Nabersberg, 2-" Mary Gold," I C. L. B., Jr., 9 -Tommy, Ben, and Jim, I Fred K. Haskell, 4 -" Lady
Edith," 3- Anna and Jean Eienhower, 14-" Solomon," 4 -" Contrary Mary," 6- Bessie Dockstader, 6- Beatrice Helen Staats, 8-
Adelaide M. Gaither. 3-E. D. Thurstonand M. S. Macy, 2- H. G. Mather, i-F. E. E., 6-Jack Miller, i- M. S. Williams, 2-
Eugene Walter, 5-V. B. and A. H. Jacobs, 12-Kenneth Lewis, i -"Blossom," 5 Marian A. Townsend, 3-I. G. L. and G. A.
L., 3- Madeleine Chace, 4 Eleanor Dey Young, 14- No Name, Park Place, B., 2 Wilfred and Harold, 8- Albert Smith
Faught, o Lawrence Gilboy, I -Amy and H. G.Elliott, 12 Mama and Sadie, 13 Paul C. Chamberlain, I Gussie and John, 7-
"Three Pussy Willows," 14- Katharine T. White, Franklyn Farnsworth, 12- Samuel J. Castner, 4 -"Very Smart Girl," 12 Hu-
bert L. Bingay, n Philip Haney Wentworth, F. O. R., 13 -Hazel Ela, 7-Helen K. Wright, i-B. Ash, 2-Rena Woodward
and Carleton Wilson, I David S. Pratt, o S. L. B., 8 Ethel and Edna, 3 Virginia D. Schaefer, I -Thomas Winthrop Streeter, 4 -
C. Raymond and C. Augusta Schlechter, 2 Victor J. West, 2 George, Minnie, and Dadley, 12 Mervyn and Williams Palmer, 4 -
Hortense E. Wilson, 4 Greta Simpson, nI -Paul Rowley, 14 F. E. D., 3 Sadie W. Hubbard, 8-" Two Little Brothers," 14-- Mor-
gan Buffington, I C. F. Barrows, 3 -John N. Shreve, 3- Cora Keplinger, 7-" Three Brownies," n -" More than one head," 13-
Marguerite Sturdy, 13-" Seat-Mates," 4-Charles Travis, ao-" Will O. Tree," 9 -Edward Wilson Wallace, 2-Phillp Ehni, 2-
Edith J. Haas, 2-Anna C. Stryke, 2 Karl G. Smith, 2-J. Nelson Carter, 9 Otto Wolkwitz, i Bob Bright, In -Jos. G. Dunn, 12
Edward Tatnall, J. W. G. F., 12- Harry and Helene, 14- Robert Hardesty, 14 -" Arbtus," 13 Mary F. Hamilton, 7-No
Name, Bristol, R. I., 13 -E. de L. Q., 4 -" Merry and Co.," 5 -" Two Solomons," 9 -Jean D. Egleston, 5 Norman and Mama, 8-
"U. N. Luckie," 12 Ruth M. Mason, 5 Saidie T. Hayward, 5 Margaret Bright, i M. G. Ford, x.



,* I ^ ... I : I

WHEN the five objects in the above illustration have
been rightly guessed, and the names written one below
the other, the initial letters will spell the name of the
author of a famous book.


"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 upper left-hand letter, will spell the
name and title of a famous patriot.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Compact. 2. A letter of the Greek
alphabet. 3. A kind of flower-de-luce. 4. To move
slowly. 5. A country of South America. 6. An apologue.
7.: A Spartan serf. 8. An instant. 9. Over. o1. To
urge. II. The mountain daisy. 12. A strip of wood or
iron fastened to something in order to give strength

or prevent warping. 13. To dilate. 14. To inhabit.
15. The fall-fish. 16. A kind of clay containing iron.
17. One of the Muses. SIGOURNEY FAY N.

DRIBS ear nisoy,-bese rea ghimnum,
Lal cuesabe het yam si gomcin;
Lal eht utesong fo tarune sulho,
Tou rofin wont, rfom sitcie tou!
Tou form revey suby treset!
Tou form yerev derkaden tocur!
Hugroth bet filed-spath tel rouy teef
Girlginen og ni leanspat hutgoth.

EXAMPLE: False hair plus a girl's name. Answer,
wigan. A large plant plus a company. Answer, tricot.
I. Arrived plus building material.
2. A noise made by a cat plus a vegetable.
3. Seated plus a tavern.
4. A dude plus an animal.
5. Money plus a lake.
6. A boy's name plus a girl's name.
7. Disorder plus a city in Massachusetts.
8. A musical instrument plus a river.
9. Knocked into pieces plus help.
I. VESTIGE. 2. A kind of fortification. 3. To deco-
rate. 4. A term used in fencing. 5. An old word
meaning "to make new." B. L. E. S.


EXAMPLE: A massed gate. Answer, aggregate.
I. A moist gate. 2. An abolished gate. 3. The gate
of conventions. 4. The gate of conquerors. 5. The
gate of the legatee. 6. A disinfected gate. 7. A many-
colored gate. 8. A gate of relief. 9. A biblical gate.
Io. A quartz gate. II. A gate used by the haughty.
12. A disparaging gate. PLEASANT E. TODD.


I 'M vegetable, mineral, alkaline, and a
I 'm found on frowning seaside cliffs-i
'so placid;
I can cause a burn or cure one;
I eat and I am eaten.
I make a pleasant drink for you
If you water well, and sweeten.
I help to build your houses; I help to ra
I come in blocks and bottle, in powder, b

MY primals and finals each name a rep
CROS-WORDS : I. Having the form of
Indian prince or king. 3. A letter of th
bet. 4. An incantation. 5. A weight o
6. A large African baboon. 7. To sup
or mental qualities. 8. A place of restrain
nine name.


IN all but the first and last words, the
one word forms the first syllable of the wi
I. A domestic animal. 2. A table-sauc
ing meal. 4. To allow. 5. A covering
6. A sinew. 7. To give. 8. Masticated
THE diagonal, from the upper left-han
lower right-hand letter, spells the name of
ical poet; from the upper right-hand lett
left-hand letter, a Roman comic poet.
CROSS-WORDS: I. A thin cotton fabri

in sunny groves

ise your crops;
sags, and drops.



bling or containing gold. 3. Deep musing. 4. An
allowance for traveling expenses at a certain rate per
mile. 5. The temporary possession of what belongs to
another. 6. Slander. 7. To form like pearls.

I. UPPER SQUARE: I. To pitch tents. 2. A plant
which grows in warm countries. 3. An extensive waste.
4. Saucy.
II. LOWER SQUARE: I. To find fault. 2. Surface.
3. Genuine. 4. A tropical tree. H. H. S.


a cube. 2. An THE twenty-seven missing words all.rhyme with the
e Greek alpha- first missing word.
f twelve grains. "Would you like to go to the county ?" asked
ply with moral my cousin one day. I was glad of the chance, and
int. 9. A femi- replied, "I don't if I do." When I went up to my
M. D. G. room to dress, I stumbled over the top If I were
man I might on such an occasion, but I can the
i. pain of a bumped head without bad language. There
were other delays in store. I had the misfortune to -
the dress I was going to and though I could hardly
time to mend it, I did n't to go with a
ragged dress; so I repaired it as well as I could in five
minutes. Then I curled my and touched the hot
iron to my hand so that I burned it. At length I
finished my toilet, but could not find the -of gloves
that I wanted. At this last misfortune my temper began
to up, and I searched the room with a savage -
on my face. Finally I found them, to my surprise, just
-- they belonged. Then I grew more amiable, and
last syllable of was ready to start. Our old gray took us along at
ord following, a moderate trot, and I had good long breaths of fresh
e. 3. An even- country ," said my cousin as we reached
for the hand. the toll-bridge, "I have forgotten my purse and can't
pay our across." Fortunately I had money with
NT E. TODD. me, and so we were allowed to proceed. Soon we entered
the grounds. There we saw all sorts of people, and how
they did at the articles exhibited! There was fruit
of all kinds, from a to a watermelon, and fancy work
Id letter to the from lace to patchwork quilts. Soon we heard the -
a Roman satir- of a trumpet, and, looking up, saw a man approaching -1
:er to the lower with a trained-- and a trained--. After looking at
everything and eating candy and peanuts, we went home,
c. 2. Resem- where we ate a meal. ALICE I. H.



University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs