Front Cover
 The Bronco's best race
 Nottingham fair
 Silently stealing away
 The little boy and the little...
 Oliver Wendell Holmes
 A land of make-believe
 An August woodroad
 The gipsies
 A boy of the first empire
 Bessie's escape
 My choice
 What Gustus Gerlach was afraid...
 Teddy and carrots: Two merchants...
 "Babieca," the war-horse of the...
 A prudent plan
 The old tar and the bicycle
 The merry mongoose
 Hero tales from American histo...
 The prong-horned antelope and the...
 Jack Ballister's fortunes
 When King Kijolly finds a...
 The voyage of a Chinese wildca...
 Rhymes of the states
 The ballad of tumbledown town
 Through the scissors
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00300
 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: VID00300
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 794
    The Bronco's best race
        Page 795
        Page 796
        Page 797
        Page 798
        Page 799
        Page 800
        Page 801
        Page 802
        Page 803
    Nottingham fair
        Page 804
        Page 805
        Page 806
    Silently stealing away
        Page 807
    The little boy and the little watch
        Page 807
    Oliver Wendell Holmes
        Page 808
        Page 809
        Page 810
        Page 811
    A land of make-believe
        Page 812
    An August woodroad
        Page 813
    The gipsies
        Page 814
    A boy of the first empire
        Page 815
        Page 816
        Page 817
        Page 818
        Page 819
        Page 820
        Page 821
        Page 822
        Page 823
    Bessie's escape
        Page 824
        Page 825
        Page 826
    My choice
        Page 827
    What Gustus Gerlach was afraid of
        Page 828
        Page 829
        Page 830
    Teddy and carrots: Two merchants of newspaper row
        Page 831
        Page 832
        Page 833
        Page 834
        Page 835
        Page 836
        Page 837
        Page 838
        Page 839
        Page 840
    "Babieca," the war-horse of the Cid
        Page 841
        Page 842
        Page 843
    A prudent plan
        Page 844
    The old tar and the bicycle
        Page 845
    The merry mongoose
        Page 846
    Hero tales from American history
        Page 847
        Page 848
        Page 849
    The prong-horned antelope and the caribou
        Page 850
        Page 851
        Page 852
        Page 853
        Page 854
        Page 855
        Page 856
    Jack Ballister's fortunes
        Page 857
        Page 858
        Page 859
        Page 860
        Page 861
        Page 862
        Page 863
        Page 864
    When King Kijolly finds a thief
        Page 865
    The voyage of a Chinese wildcat
        Page 866
        Page 867
        Page 868
        Page 869
    Rhymes of the states
        Page 870
            Page 870
        New Mexico
            Page 871
    The ballad of tumbledown town
        Page 872
        Page 873
    Through the scissors
        Page 874
        Page 875
    The letter-box
        Page 876
        Page 877
        Page 878
    The riddle-box
        Page 879
        Page 880
        Page 881
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

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AUGUST, 1895.



IN the wide door of the barn which was animal up, and whe
.almost in the center of what had been the great twice while he li
Ybarros ranch, the foreman of the Foster stock- directions.
farm stood talking to Harry Shallten, who had "W'en 'e gets the
.come down from San Francisco for a visit to his that autocrat, give
uncle, and a week's hunting in the Cahuenga an' one mile 'ard eno'
Mountains. And as the horse sa
"Ah tell 'e, Maaster 'Arry," said the man, him, and felt the rein
"as 'ow we 've 'orses 'ere as 'u'd make 'em off with the burst of
stare at 'ome." bred horse uses to
He crooked a big forefinger at a groom, and legs" after standing
pointed to a horse in a loose box at the farther a twelve-foot stall.
-end of the barn. A few minutes lat
Put 'is togs on 'Don Sancho'," he said; and down to a jumpy w
a minute later the man led out a big bay hand to take a letter
thoroughbred dancing and pawing and tugging to town for the mail
at the heavy hand that grasped the bit. with one hand and
"That there 's an 'orse," said the proud letter was from his
stable-manager, as there is n't nothing finer, other things, this pa
Sixteen 'ands an' a hinch 'e is a son of Im-
ported 'Australian.' We 're training' of 'im for noon on February 17. S
noon on February 17. S
the spring meeting I don't suppose, now, for record at once. Don
Maaster 'Arry, as 'ow you would n't 'ave no
objections to a-exercisin' of 'im yourself' this The words at onc
morning' ? The letter had bee
Harry had not the least objection. He ten o'clock on the n
sprang into the saddle as the groom led the As it was a long fif
Copyright, 1895, by THE CENTURY Co. Allrights reserved.

eled him around once or
stened to the foreman's

kinks out of 'is legs," said
'im five mile not very 'ard,
w to bring 'im in b'ilin' 'ot."
.w the straight road before
s slacken a little, he dashed
speed the young thorough-
"get the kinks out of his
for twenty-four hours in

er Harry pulled his horse
ralk, and reached out his
from a man who had been
. Opening the envelope
his teeth, he saw that the
father, and read, among
.e Heindel mortgage expires at
*ee that the sheriff's deed is filed
't let them get ahead of you.

e were doubly underscored.
n delayed, and it was then
morning of the seventeenth.
teen miles to Los Angeles,

No. o0.


Harry decided to start immediately, and to take
the old trail across the hills of the Ybarros
ranch, which was a little shorter than the main
He soon found his saddle too loose for hill
riding, and dismounted to tighten the girth,
only to learn that some careless groom had
changed surcingles, and that tle one he was
using was too long. He dared not try to re-
mount, for fear the saddle would turn with him.
He saw some buildings ahead, and walked
toward them, leading the horse. He came to
a rather tumble-down barn, of adobe, near
which stood a young man of sturdy figure, and
a girl somewhat younger.
"Good morning, sir," said young Shallten.
"Have you a harness-punch ? My girth 's loose,
and it 's buckled in the farthest hole now."
Maybe I can fix it with my knife," said the
young man, proceeding to do so.
Please hurry up," said Shallten. "I 've got
to get to the court-house by noon to record a
deed, and I don't want to crowd my horse too
"All right," said the other, pulling up the
girth and buckling it; "you '11 have to move
along pretty lively."
The impatient horse had touched his foamy
mouth against the young man's shoulder.
Harry drew from his pocket an old newspaper,
wiped off the bit of foam, threw down the
paper, and, with a hurried "Much obliged,"
mounted and rode down the hill.
After a time Heinrich Heindel picked up the
newspaper, and as he smoothed it out his eye
caught the word Heindel."
Why," he said, "here 's our name! "
He looked at the paper for a moment, and
then turned very pale.
"Our land 's sold," he said.
His whole body grew rigid, and when he tried
to speak he made only a clicking noise in his
throat. It was an unspeakable disappointment
to lose their farm just when, by the hardest of
work and the sternest self-denial, they had ob-
tained the money necessary to pay the mortgage.
His sister Manuela grasped the paper, and,
looking over her brother's shoulder, read the

formal notice of sale, under foreclosure, of that
part of the Ybarros ranch known as "the
Heindel place." After the description of the
land came the date of sale.
The 17th of August," she read; that's six
months ago-six months to-day! Heinrich!"
she said, and her voice rose almost to a scream.
"Don't you see? It 's six months from the
sale we had to redeem in; not six months
from the time you saw the lawyer. It 's our
land that young man is going after; he said
he 'd got to be there by noon. Get the saddle
on 'Two-eyes'!" And she ran to the house
for the hoarded money.
Heinrich's power of movement came back to
him, and with it more than his usual quickness
of thought. His brother Fl6ipe was forty
pounds lighter than he, and in a fifteen-mile
run forty pounds means everything, almost, to
the horse that carries it.
He put his fingers in his mouth, and whistled
shrilly. Felipe, working among the pea-vines
high upon the hill, looked down to see Manuela
running to the house, and Heinrich running out
to where the pinto* horse they called Two-eyes
was picketed. Then he caught the flash of a
knife as Heinrich cut the stake-rope, and has-
tened down to meet Manuela bringing back
the money-belt the family savings-bank-and
to see Heinrich throw the saddle upon Two-eyes.
Manuela buckled the old-fashioned money-
belt about Fl6ipe's waist, as Heinrich tied the
cinch and talked.
"We 've figured wrong, and our time 's up
at noon. A fellow with the deed to our land
is going to the court-house to record it. He 's
riding one of the Foster race-horses. Maybe
you can beat him. Keep cool--ride hard--
don't quit till you 're dead." And before Hein-
rich had ceased to speak, Fl6ipe had mounted,
and Two-eyes was galloping away.
Instead of keeping cool, Fl6ipe began the
long race by running his horse down a steep
hill. At the foot of it old "Apache Tomas"
stepped out from the tall weeds and brush by
the roadside, and Fl6ipe avoided running over
him only' by a jerk on the Spanish bit which
brought Two-eyes back upon his haunches.

SPinto, "painted," in Spanish, is applied to black or bay horses splotched with white; they are considered
more intelligent and.more enduring than other broncos.


1895.] THE BRONCO'
"How!" said Tomas. He reached out a
great bony hand, and grasped the bridle.
"El caballo grande-tengo que ganai lo!"
(The great horse I must catch him!) said
F6lipe, breathlessly.
"Ugh!" said Tomas; "caballo chiquito-sillo
grande-abaja se" (Little horse-great saddle
-get down).
As he spoke, the Indian put his hand under


tied another knot in the doubled reata, and
passed the free ends twice around the horse's
body, tying a solid knot at the withers, and
leaving the ends hanging.
The bewildered boy, suddenly lifted to the
horse's back, half instinctively, half in response
to the Indian's unspoken direction, thrust his
legs under the rope encircling the horse's body,
and gathered up the improvised reins.


the saddle-flap and untied the cinch-strap, and
F6lipe slid to the ground as the saddle came
Apache Tomas's usually wooden head had
come to life. His eyes glowed like coals which
the sea-breeze has waked to sudden brightness,
and his nostrils quivered like those of a mus-
tang which smells smoke when the valley grass
is dry. The Heindels were his good friends.
As the saddle fell to the ground, Tomas
snatched the 'eata coiled about the pommel,
pulled off the bridle, and put the middle of the
hair-rope into the horse's mouth, tying it under
his jaw. Four feet from the horse's nose he


To his surprise, the Indian wheeled the horse
back toward home, but, before F61ipe could
offer resistance or objection, turned sharply to
the left and began to climb the steep hill. He
followed the well-known trail to a point within
a few yards of the top, then abandoned it for
what seemed to Fl6ipe an unmarked route
through the thick mountain brush. There
were marks enough, however, for the Indian's
guidance, and fifteen minutes' traveling brought
them to the road on the opposite side of the
Apache Tomas was puffing and his face was
scratched, but he had saved his friend four long



miles around the projecting spur of the mount-
ain, and he seemed well satisfied.
He looked back, and saw the big bay horse
a quarter of a mile in the rear. He swung his
arm over his head.
Mucho caballo (Good horse!) he said.
"Hi-i-i! "
The last noise was such as only an Apache
makes or can make-a note high, quavering,
unmusical, and penetrating. As he uttered it
the Indian struck the horse with his open palm.
Does a horse remember?
There had been times when the doubled reata
around Two-eyes's body had been drawn tight
by the naked legs of the young savage who
bestrode him; when every warrior of an Apache
tribe had uttered that same penetrating cry,
and all the boys and the squaws, and the usu-
ally solemn papooses rolling neglected in the
dirt had shrieked and howled in half-delirious
excitement as the Indians raced their ponies.
Wild years had Two-eyes spent in the moun-
tains which border the Mojave desert, before
an enterprising prospector had caught the
whole band and brought a lot of broncos down
to the Los Angeles market; earlier than that
there had been yet wilder years in the camps
of the Arizona Apaches. The-horse-that-
looks-two-ways" had raced with everything in
the southern country, and had not been beaten.
A carelessly tied knot had slipped one day,
letting the horse go free. His Indian owners
chased him a day and a night, and stole fresh
horses more than once or twice during the pur-
suit. But they failed to catch him, and he
joined a band of free horses which afterward
crossed over into California and found good
pasture along the edges of the desert. There
he lived till the prospector had caught him and
sold him to the Heindel boys, who named him
Two-eyes, just as the Apaches had called him
by a name of similar import, because two spots
of color on his head gave him an absurd air
of looking upward with one eye and down-
ward with the other.
A-horse does remember. Hearing the cry
of Apache Tomas, Two-eyes sprang out from
under the Indian's descending hand. The old
light came back to his eyes, and the old fire to
his heart. The long neck was stretched out,

and the breath came hot through reddening
nostrils, as the horse squared himself for run-
ning, and settled into the swinging stride the
bronco horse yet holds as an inheritance from
ancient Arabian sires.
F6lipe's self-possession came back to him in
some degree, and he rode with care and such
skill as his little experience had given him.
After the first few rods of running, he found
that the rope gave him a more secure, though
less comfortable, seat than a saddle. While
wildly excited by the rapid motion, yet he re-
sisted the temptation to push the horse to his
utmost, and made some little choice of road.
The horse ran on past the mountain-spur
which juts out between the river and the sea;
and the sea-breeze fanned the horse and his
rider, bringing to both renewed strength and
greater courage.
F61ipe had ridden the farm horses since he
was a child; and had run races with other
boys, sometimes giving the horses more exercise
in an hour than they would or should get in
a week's plowing. But he had never ridden
at such a pace as this, and, notwithstanding the
strong excitement and the thought of how much
was at stake, he was a little frightened. He
half shut his eyes to the wind that seemed to
sting, crouched closer to his horse as he bent
his knees to hold himself more firmly, and
steadied himself and the bronco with a strong
pull on the rope bridle.
There was still wanting the one thing that stirs
a racer to his utmost endeavor. Fl6ipe had al-
most forgotten the horse behind him. Two-eyes
had not. He had been on the alertihorse-fashion,
with one ear now and again turned back, and in-
creased his speed as the thoroughbred drew near.
F6lipe turned his head with a sick feeling
that in a minute more he would not be obliged
to turn his head to see. One sidelong glance
showed him a bay horse with his head in the
air, his dainty ears upright, and his frothing
mouth wide open. The rider stood in his
stirrups, leaning over his horse's neck with the
reins wound around his hands. White foam
had gathered at the saddle-girth, and sweat
dropped from the horse's body as he ran.
F6lipe shut his teeth, and turned his face
toward Los Angeles. He did not need to look



long nor to know very much about horses to the stinging air, and with wide-open and un-
see that this one was a true racehorse, and the winking eyes steadily watched the road before
man a steady and a skilful rider, him.
And Two-eyes? Two-eyes heard the quick A misstep might mean death to the horse or
hoof-beats and the "huh-Au/, huh-huhi" of a his rider-it surely meant homelessness for the
horse at speed,
and felt hot breath
on his flanks as
the thoroughbred
drew alongside.
Not the unmus-
ical cry of Tomas,
not the fierce
shriek of the say-
age who in the
old days rode him,
-neither beating J
with knotted rope, .'
nor cruel stroke of s
sharpest spur,-
could have gained
from the bronco
horse the response
he gave to the
challenge of the
The big head
came down closer
to the ground, the
hairy pars were
laid back till the
mane concealed
them, and the
as, through blaz- t
ing nostrils, the
horse sucked in
the strong salt
The excitement
of the horse took -.
hold of his rider.
The boy settled
himself firmly in
his seat, and bent
hair-rope cut irito
his flesh. He wound the bridle-rein around little mother and the rest. As the thought
his hands, and lifted his horse's head with what came to him, F61ipe crouched a little lower
strength was in him. He forgot the pain of over the bronco's neck, and watched the road


, tj



0 "-SfSK
0 -^







--- 1~




a little more intently, urging his willing horse
with low but eager cries.
Two-eyes settled to his stride, and ran. over
the level road steadily, and at even a faster
pace than he had made under the first mad ex-
citement of emulation. He was wet, but not
foaming; his breath came fast, but strong and
regularly. He was not distressed nor tired; and
though the thoroughbred again drew up almost
alongside, the bronco horse still held his lead.
So far the race had been run over level
ground; but as the riders approached the city,
the country became hilly and the road rougher.
F6lipe glanced sidewise at the horse which
followed so closely. His shapely head was still
high in the air. He was dripping with sweat,
and the white foam had gathered wherever
strap or saddle touched him. He was running
so steadily and so easily, he looked so big and
so strong, that the boy's heart sank as he
thought how those long legs would carry the
lithe body over the hills and hollows of the
road ahead, leaving his poor bronco flounder-
ing in the rear.
This time, however, the boy's judgment was
at fault.
It was not for nothing that Two-eyes had
spent five wild years in the Sierra Madres,
where the gray wolf and the mountain lion are
always swift and always hungry; -nor was it
without advantage that F61ipe's tomboy sister,
Ignacia, had raced the pinto horse over this
road till it was as familiar to him as the stable-
yard at home. To the bronco horse, used to
the mountains from colthood, the hilly road ap-
peared to be rather a relief. He galloped
laboriously up the little hills and rushed down
the opposite sides with a speed that took away
his rider's breath; he jumped from hillock to
hollow, and across the little gulches; he dodged
the spots where reedlike grass showed that the
ground was wet and soft; and whether running
or trotting, or progressing by irregular jumps, he
went on his way with scarcely lessened speed.
The thoroughbred had never been allowed
to run exception a smooth and level track. He
refused to leap the first gully which crossed the
road, though it was scarcely a foot wide.
When Harry made him face it again, he jumped
ten feet farther than was necessary, and stopped
VOL. XXII.-loi.

stock-still upon the opposite side. Then he
bolted sidewise, and ran in the wrong direction;
and Harry felt as if his arms were being pulled
off as he forced his horse to return to the road.
Things were getting interesting to the young
man who rode the race-horse. He had not
really pressed his mount, partly because he did
not wish to incur any risk of injuring a val-
uable animal, but more for the reason that he
had felt entirely confident of his ability to pass
the pinto horse at any time he wished. And
here the bronco was actually increasing the dis-
tance between them! His horse, worried by
the rough and hilly road, and still more by
Harry's attempts to hold him down to steady
work, was rapidly becoming less manageable;
and the rider also was losing his temper.
Soon the hilly road gave place to the graded
streets on the outskirts of the city, and the end
of the next half-mile found the horses almost
abreast. Fl6ipe urged the bronco, and again
he drew to the front.
Harry was astonished, but he was a good
deal more angry. The horse he rode was val-
ued at the price of two or three good farms.
Don Sancho," he said to his horse, "if you
think you 're going to be beaten by a wretched
little cow-pony- one old enough to vote-and
without getting a thrashing-"
He sat up straight in his saddle, and, shifting
both reins to his left hand, twice slashed his
horse across the flank so that the whip left two
long welts to mark its landing-places.
Now the bay thoroughbred, Don Sancho,
was an aristocrat among horses. For a hun-
dred-possibly for a thousand-generations the
sires of his line had been chosen for their speed
and their endurance. Half-civilized Arabs who
knew nothing much but horse, civilized Eng-
lishmen who knew more horse than anything
else, and Yankees who claimed to know more
about everything than anybody else, and were
always fairly successful in attempts to make the
claim good, had successively .exhausted their
skill in the rearing of a horse able to run fast
and far. And Don Sancho, the bay thorough-
bred, was supposed to be among the best of
the results obtained. He had received some
training, and had even run his full mile by the
side of an old campaigner.


In all his life before he had never been struck;
and as the first stinging blow fell across his
flank, his start of surprise and indignation
nearly threw Harry over the horse's head into
the road. And then the splendid animal gath-
ered himself together to run as no quadruped
but a thoroughbred horse ever did run.
As for Two-eyes, he did what he could. He
was old, as horses' years are counted. He had
run many races for Apache masters who spared
neither whip nor spur, and who jerked his head
from side to side, and threw him out of his
stride, in their ignorant and ferocious efforts to
make him go faster. In all his life there had
been but one year in which his feed was regular
and good: of all the masters he had ever known
this was the only one who had called upon him
for speed, riding with steady hand and watch-
ful eye and inspiring voice, sparing him need-
less pain.
It is bronco nature to respond heartily to
these things, and Two-eyes tried desperately
to keep away from the clattering hoofs be-
hind him. His breath came in gasps; his
mouth was dry, and his sight was dim; his
trembling legs grew weak as side by side
the horses raced down the street leading to the
court-house, now hardly a mile away.
As in a nightmare, Fl6ipe saw the thorough-
bred forge ahead, the bony head outstretched
and down to the level of the withers, the dainty
ears laid flat, the crimson nostrils widely spread,
and the eyes glaring with fierce eagerness.
The bronco ran on, but unsteadily. Felipe
,drew his legs out from under the rope, and as
he did so the bronco's feet sank in the soft
earth where a little stream crossed the street.
The horse's courage was greater than his
:strength. He plunged forward half a dozen
-stumbling strides, and fell just at the edge of
the little stream.
F6lipe slid over his horse's head into a patch
of tules, and lay, half stunned but not hurt, while
the thoroughbred horse passed out of sight and
hearing, and the dust his flying feet had raised
settled down upon the quiet street.

A carpenter, at work shingling a cottage near
by, ceased his melodious whistling, and, climb-
ing rapidly down to the ground, ran out to

assist a young man who seemed to him to have
had a very bad fall.
F6lipe had risen to his feet when the man
reached him.
"You ain't hurt, be you?" asked the car-
penter, in a tone of sympathy. "When I see
you did n't git up, I thought you were dead."
F6lipe was dizzy with strong emotion, and a
little stupid from the effects of his fall. He
stood staring vacantly until the words I
thought you were dead" roused him like a dash
of cold water during sleep, for they brought
back the words his brother had used. It
flashed upon him that Heinrich had told -him
everything depended upon his getting to the
court-house by noon. The carpenters were still
at work, so it could not be noon yet.
Without even a word, he turned and ran.
The man looked in amazement for a moment,
and then burst into a laugh.
He does n't seem to need any o' my help,"
he said. "Looks 's if he 's goin' back t' the
'sylum to git a clean shirt."
F1lipe sped-off toward the court-house as fast
as he could run, thrilling with renewed hope,
and altogether forgetful that there were limits
to either the strength of his legs or the capacity
of his lungs. For two hundred yards he ran
like a sprinter- standing on his toes, his shoul-
ders back,,and his chin drawn in. He was an
active young fellow, and his muscles were hard.
ened by steady work. But he was not a trained
runner;- and another two hundred yards found
him running flat-footed, his chin pushed out,
and very much distressed for breath. But he had
only a few hundred yards more to go, and hope
grew stronger with each rod that was passed.
He ran on. The sweat trickled down his
forehead and into his eyes, half blinding him.
His arms swung by his sides, and his jaw
dropped down. He came near to the court-
house almost too exhausted to lift his head to
look at the tower clock. With knees trembling,
breathing in gasps, dizzy with exertion, he trot-
ted doggedly on to the door. He stumbled
over the low step and into the room, and, un-
buckling the money-belt, laid it on a desk at
which sat a deputyrsheriff. Beside him stood
the young man who had ridden the race-horse.
Had the lives of all the members of the



Heindel family depended upon a word, Fl6ipe
could not have spoken it. He pushed the money-
belt toward the deputy-sheriff; and as he did
so the clock in the tower above banged out
upon a jangling bell the first stroke of the hour
of twelve.
What with mud and dust and perspiration,-
F6lipe's face was most conspicuously dirty, and
the deputy-sheriff looked curiously at him. Per-
haps the paper in his, hand assisted him to
recognize the boy: it was a sheriff's deed of
certain land, known as "the Heindel place," to
one George Philip Shallten, and was to be
delivered that day at twelve o'clock noon.
"You 're Heindel, ain't you ?" he asked.
F6lipe nodded. With official deliberation the
man unfolded the deed, and llked at the con-
sideration therein expressed.
"Well," he said, "if you 've got ten hundred
and ninety-six dollars, and a short bit and a
nickel,"- F6lipe, still panting, nodded again,
you can take a couple of days to get your
breath, because you 're just as much in time

as if you 'd 'a' come last summer. But I tell
you, young man, next time you 'd better start
earlier, or borrow a horse, for you did n't have
one single little second to spare."

For a while after Fl6ipe had run off, Two-eyes
lay still. Then he struggled to his feet, and
stood trembling, his nose almost touching the
ground, his eyes dull, and his flanks palpitating
with each spasmodic breath. After a time he
walked to a pool formed by the little stream,
and drank exactly as much as he could hold.
If he had been a thoroughbred, it would have
killed him; not being a thoroughbred, he was
refreshed and encouraged; and evidently feeling
that his stable was the best place for a tired
bronco to rest, he slowly ambled off toward
home; and there Fl6ipe found him after a long
walk in which he was sustained by the glad
consciousness that the Heindel home was their
own-bought and paid for, and "free from
all liens and encumbrances of every kind and
nature whatsoever."


| ,-__Nottingham Fajirg

~JAL ~


OW listen, maids and gentles all,
While I a tale will tell.
One spring, at stately Nottingham,
A merry fair befell.

The booths upon the village green
Were wreathed and dressed with may,
And there the country folk were seen
All in their best array.

The Pig-faced Lady here set forth
Gave timid folk a scare.
Here stood the Giant of the North-
Now, little boys, beware!

Here tumblers tumbled on the green;
Here wizards wise you see,
With charms to sell-" Eternal Youth"-
For only one penny!

The wrestling-place was thronged about,-
The archers matched so well
That all declared no braver bout
Was shot by Adam Bell.

~ ~fU'


"ivi' ,/r') !

,I.IXr" :7

I .1 IF



Stout yeomen from the fair greenwood
Were there, and jolly boys;
While dames from peaceful Coventry
Stood shuddering at the noise.

A minstrel, on a hogshead perched,
Upon his gittern played
The song of brave King Rich- klV
ard-he .
Who Saladin dismayed. -, '

Foremost .among the wondering folk
A little maid there stood,
Whose kirtle, all of Lincoln green,
Sweet savored of the wood.

S, \ '. And in her hand, yea, verily,
.., V/1 ,,, She bore a good yew bow,
', With ten long arrows such as
; "fly
DAUNTLESSLYY THE FOREST-CHILD To pierce the panting doe.

Or, as the silver tinkling fell,
And smiled each kindly face,
Sang to his lute, "The Heir of Lynne,"
Or, maybe, Chevy Chase."

The sun swung high, the hour was noon,
On all sides smiles were seen;
The dancers to the gittern's tune
Went jigging down the green:


When in a wink there was a shout
Of fear that checked the laugh,
And in a trice the crowds about
Fled scattering like chaff.

Down the long green, with hideous roar,
Shambled a big brown bear
That, held but now by stake and, chain,
Had danced for all the fair!

But here, between his foaming jaws
His teeth gleamed sharp and white;
His little eyes showed sulky-red;
And not a man, from fright,

Would stay to face that ravening brute;
All shrieked and wept and fled-
The giant, and the pig-faced dame
(Who left behind her head !)

The minstrel flung his gittern down;
The drinkers left their kegs;
And e'en the wizard tried no charm,
But only tried his legs!

One little figure stood unmoved;
She strung her bow of yew,
Notched a long arrow to the string-
.The arrow twanged and flew

: Straight for the gray throat of the beast!
The yell Sir Bruin made
Split earth and heaven, and all around
Hid eyes and were afraid.

But dauntlessly the forest-child
Sent shaft on shaft ahead
Until, all spent and struggling sore,
The smitten bear lay dead.

Up came the frighted archers then,
Their hearts and bows unstrung!
Up came the wrestlers, ashen-faced;
Dames old and maidens young.

The players, tumblers, wizard, all
Came, looked, nor spoke for shame.
Then spake the portly sheriff: Maid,
Pray let us know thy name!

"Our lives were in thy hand to-day,
And thou art parlous young!"

" My father is that Robin Hood
Your ballads long have sung.

"You know him well: his master shaft
Full oft has won your prize.
It is to him: I owe that skill
Which makes you ope your eyes!"

Then cried the sheriff: None to-day,
Where'er the contest lie,
Has shown-and to my shame I say!-
Such skill in archery.

"This golden arrow, maid, is thine,
As it was his before;
To this I add my jeweled chain
As largess, furthermore.

"Take greeting to your father good;
For, sheriff though I am,
I send a buck, to heal our feud,
To Robin Hood of sweet Sherwood,
From men-of Nottingham!"


StrStealng In

t eeL: Areb stood
.i In tLe weighing rna&ckine

i'lq of the

'I Tlingering d&y
i._""en a counterfeit penny

T1m- khe dropped in, te slot
Z ...., .,,,., --. .1 ,41





THERE was a little boy, and he had a little
And he said, "Little watch, let me see
What it is that makes you go -I 've long
desired to know,
And the secret now shall be revealed to
me "

He took out the tiny screws, and the cunning
little wheels,
And the pretty little spring called the "main."
He laid them on a chair and examined them
with care,
But he found he could n't put them back again.

StrStealng In

t eeL: Areb stood
.i In tLe weighing rna&ckine

i'lq of the

'I Tlingering d&y
i._""en a counterfeit penny

T1m- khe dropped in, te slot
Z ...., .,,,., --. .1 ,41





THERE was a little boy, and he had a little
And he said, "Little watch, let me see
What it is that makes you go -I 've long
desired to know,
And the secret now shall be revealed to
me "

He took out the tiny screws, and the cunning
little wheels,
And the pretty little spring called the "main."
He laid them on a chair and examined them
with care,
But he found he could n't put them back again.



bridge, Massachusetts, on August 29, 1809.
During the revolution his grandfather had
served as a surgeon with the Continental troops;
and his father was the author of a history enti-
tled "Annals of America." He grew to boy-
hood in Cambridge, often playing under the
Washington elm. He was sent to Phillips Aca-
demy, Andover; and it was while he was a
schoolboy there that he translated the first
book of Virgil's JEneid" into heroic coup-
lets -the meter used by Pope in his version
of Homer's "Iliad."
Then he went to Harvard College, where
he was graduated in 1829, eight years after
Emerson and nine years before Lowell. He
wrote prose and verse while he was at Harvard,
contributing freely to the college paper; and
he delivered the poem at commencement. Set-
tling down in his native town he began to
study -law, but his heart was not in his task,
and he sought relief in writing verse, mostly
comic. That he could be serious upon occa-
sion was quickly shown the year after his gradu-
ation, when it was proposed to break up the
frigate Constitution,"-" Old Ironsides,"-the
victor in the splendid fight with the British
ship Guerriere" in the war of 1812. With the
hot indignation of youth against what seemed
to him an insult and an outrage upon a na-
tional glory, Holmes wrote the fiery lines be-
ginning :
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down,
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon's roar;
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more.

This lyric appeal to patriotic feeling was
first published in the Boston Advertiser, it was

copied all over the country; it was quoted in
speeches; it was printed on hand-bills; and- it
saved the ship for half a century. Old Iron-
sides was taken to the new Charleston navy-
yard, and a few years later she was thoroughly
repaired. Even when the day of wooden war-
ships was past forever, the. Constitution did not
go out of commission for the last time until a
little more than fifty years after Holmes had
penned his stirring lines.
Apparently the law did not tempt Holmes
to persevere in it; and before he had been two
years out of college he abandoned it finally,
to take up the study of medicine-his grand-
father's profession. Although he had already
written much, and was helping to edit a mis-
cellany, he seems never to have thought of
authorship as his calling; and indeed there was
here in America in 1833 but little chance that
an author might support himself comfortably by
literature alone. American literature was hardly
older than Holmes himself, if we trace it only to
the publication of Franklin's Autobiography,"
and of Irving's Knickerbocker's History of
New York," both of which first appeared about
the time of Holmes's birth.
Having made his choice of a profession
Holmes devoted himself to it--at first in Bos-
ton, and then in Europe; making the voyage
chiefly that he might study it in Paris, where
at that time the best instruction in medicine
was to be obtained. "I was in Europe," he
wrote half a century later, "about two years
and a half, from April, 1833, to October, 1835.
I sailed in the packet-ship Philadelphia' from
New York for Portsmouth, where we arrived
after a' passage of twenty-four days. I
then crossed the Channel to Havre, from which
I went to Paris. In the spring and summer
of 1834 1 made my principal visit to England
and Scotland. There were other excursions to
the Rhine and to Holland, to Switzerland and


to Italy. I returned in the packet-ship
' Utica' sailing from Havre, and reaching New
York after a passage of forty-two days."
He received the degree of Doctor of Medi-
cine in 1836, being then twenty-seven years
old; and in that year he also published his first


volume of poems. Nothing of Dr. Holmes's
has been more popular than The Last Leaf,"
contained in this early collection, and none has
more richly deserved to please by its rhythmic
beauty, and by its exquisite blending of humor
and pathos, so sympathetically intertwined that
we feel the lonely sadness of the old man even
VOL. XXII.-1o2.

while we are smiling at the quaintness so feel-
ingly portrayed. Dr. Holmes was like Bryant
(who composed "Thanatopsis and the "Lines
to a Waterfowl" long before he was twenty) in
that he early attained full development as a
poet. Although each of them wrote many
verses in later life,
nothing of theirs ex-
celled these poems
of their youth. In
their maturity they
: did not lose power,
but neither did they
A deepen or broaden;
and Thanatopsis"
..: on the one side, and
"The Last Leaf" on
the other, are as
S strong and charac-
teristic as anything
,.i- .. either poet was ever
to write throughout
a long life. What
!'.' Bryant was, what
Holmes was, in this,
'his first volume of
Spoems, each was to
the end of his career.
To neither of them
., was literature a live-
''l' lihood. Bryant was
S first a lawyer and
S"-"'"" then a journalist.
S. Holmes was first a
practising physician,
and then a teacher
of medicine. He
won three prizes for
dissertations upon
medical themes, and
these essays were
published together
in 1838. In 1839
he was appointed professor of anatomy and phy-
siology at Dartmouth; and the next year he
married Miss Amelia Lee Jackson. Shortly
afterward he resigned the position at Dartmouth,
and resumed practice in Boston. He worked
hard in his profession, and contributed freely to
its literature. And in 1847, he went back to Har-



vard, having been appointed professor of ana-
tomy and physiology-a position which he
was to hold with great distinction for thirty-
five years.
The most of the prose which Dr. Holmes
wrote at this period of his life was upon medi-
cal topics; and whenever he had anything to
say upon other than professional subjects he
generally said it in verse. Although he was
for a while a frequent lecturer in the lyceums
of New England, following in the footsteps of
Emerson, his literary reputation until he was
nearly fifty was due almost wholly to his poems.
This reputation was highest in Massachusetts,
and he was the bard of Boston especially,
being called upon whenever the three-hilled
city needed a copy of verses for an occasion
of public interest, a banquet, or a funeral,
or the visit of a distinguished foreigner. He
always acquitted himself acceptably and often
brilliantly; and he rarely refused to provide
the few lines of rhyme appropriate to the
event. As he himself humorously put it in
one of his later occasional poems:

I 'm a florist in verse, and what would people say
If I came to a banquet without my bouquet?

Then, when Holmes was forty-eight years
old, an age at which most men have stiffened
themselves into habits, he showed the freshness
of his talent by writing one of the wisest and
wittiest prose books in the English language.
The Atlantic Monthly was established in the
fall of 1857, and Lowell made it a- condition
of his acting as editor that Dr. Holmes should
be a contributor. Therefore it was that the
first number of the new magazine contained
the opening pages of the "Autocrat of the
Breakfast Table," which every reader followed
with delight month after month, until at last
the book was completed and published by it-
self in the fall of 1858. Since then it is rather
as a writer of prose than as a writer of verse
that Dr. Holmes has been most highly es-
The "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table is a
most original book; not that it is especially
original in form, for it is not entirely unlike
the Spectator of Addison and Steele, wherein
we have a group of characters described, and

wherein their sayings and doings are duly re-
corded. In the American book the group of
characters meets at the early morning meal,
and one of them-the Autocrat himself-does
most of the talking. The other figures are
lightly sketched-some of them are merely
suggested; and even at the very end there is
but the thinnest thread of a story. The real
originality of Dr. Holmes's work is in the frank
simplicity and sincerity of the Autocrat's talk.
He seemed rather to be chatting with himself
than conversing with others; and no such talk
had yet fallen from any American lips--none
so cheerful with humor, so laden with thought,
so mellow with knowledge, so ripe with ex-
perience. The reader is borne along by the
current of it, unresisting, smiling often, laugh-
ing sometimes, and absorbing always, even if
unconsciously, high and broad thoughts about
So ample a store of humor and of good
humor had Dr. Holmes, so well filled a reser-
voir of sense and of common-sense, that he had
an abundance of material for other volumes
like the "Autocrat." In 1860 he published the
"Professor at the Breakfast Table," and in 1872
the "Poet at the Breakfast Table." Though
these two volumes have not all the freshness
of the first one, they are inferior only to it;
they have the same wholesome spirit, the same
sunny sagacity. And these are the qualities
which characterize also his last volume of
prose, Over the Tea-Cups," issued in 1890,
when he was eighty-one years old. In all
these books there is the precious flavor of ac-
tual conversation, the table-talk of a broad,
liberal, thoughtful man, full of fancy and abound-
ing in humor.
Various essays and lighter prose pieces, con-
tributed from time to time to the magazines, he
gathered together in 1863 under the apt title of
Soundings from the Atlantic." In more than
one of these he discussed subjects of every-
day life from the point of view of a shrewd
and thoughtful physician. In 1883, when he
made a final revision of all his writings, the
best of the papers in this book, with others
written afterward, he brought out together as
"Pages from an Old Volume of Life." At
this time he selected and corrected also a vol-



ume of "Medical Essays." Clever as both
these books are, with a cleverness of their own
and of a kind no other author possessed, they
added but little to Dr. Holmes's reputation.
And perhaps it is not unfair to say that this
reputation, raised to its highest by the Break-
fast Table series, was but little bettered either
by the three novels or by the two biographies
he wrote after the success of the "Autocrat"
tempted him to other ventures in prose.
The three novels were Elsie Venner," which
was published in 1861; "The Guardian Angel,"


which followed in 1867; and "A Mortal An-
tipathy," which came last in i885. All three
of these attempts at story-telling are interesting
because they are the work of Dr. Holmes. No
one of them is a masterpiece of fiction. He
had not received the gift of story-telling in so
full a proportion as many novelists without a
tithe of his ability. The teller of the story is
more important than the story itself, and his
comments are more interesting than his char-
acters. The strange subjects he chose were
suggested to him by his study of his profession;
and the themes of both "Elsie Venner" and
"A Mortal Antipathy" are unusual. His sto-
ries have all the shrewdness and the insight
that he showed in his other books.
The earlier of the two biographies was the
memoir of Motley, published in 1878, within

two years after the historian's death. Dr.
Holmes was one of Motley's oldest comrades,
and he told the story of his friend's life and
labors with his accustomed skill. The second
biography, the memoir of Emerson, published
in 1884, is even more satisfactory than the
memoir of Motley. The book is delightful.
The sage of Concord is drawn with the sharp-
est clearness; he is made real to us by abun-
dant anecdote; his works are analyzed with the
utmost keenness; and his career and his char-
acter are summed up with perfect sympathy.
In nothing was Dr.
Holmes more skilled
than in his descrip-
tions of his contem-
poraries, as in these
memoirs and in occa-
sional poems.
Of Emerson he
asked -

Where in the realm of
thought, whose air is
Does he, the Buddha of
the West, belong?
He seems a winged Frank-
lin, sweetly wise,
SBorn to unlock the secrets
of the skies.

It was the men of
Massachusetts whom
Holmes celebrated in song most freely and
most frequently, and although he wrote stirring
stanzas of appeal to the whole United States,
west and east, when the life of the nation was
in danger, it was in the city of Boston that his
spirit dwelt at home. He it was who declared
hat "Boston State-House is the hub of the solar
system," and that you could n't pry that out
of a Boston man if you had the tire of all crea-
tion straightened out for a crowbar." He him-
self was a Bostonian of the strictest sect; he
might make fun of his chosen city, but he loved
it all the better for every joke he cracked upon it.
As we turn the pages of the three volumes
into which he finally collected all his verse, it is
impossible not to be struck by the very large
proportion which is local in its themes, even
if it is not local in its interest. He responded


loyally to every call Boston might make upon
him, and Boston repaid him with homage and
with high praise. It was in Boston that a
great public breakfast was given to him in
honor of his seventieth birthday.
That was in 1879, and three years later he
resigned his professorship. In 1886 he went
over to Europe for the second time, almost ex-
actly fifty years after his first visit. He spent
the summer in England and France; and he
seems to have had a very good time indeed, for
in age he kept the youthful faculty of enjoy-
ment. From the members of his own profession
in England, from the men of letters in London,
from the fashionable society of Great Britain,
Dr. Holmes received the heartiest welcome;
and he was the lion of the London season.
He took notes of his travels, recording his
observations both of men and of manners; and
on his return home these jottings were written
out, and published the next year as Our Hun-
dred Days in Europe."
After he had settled down again in Boston,
Dr. Holmes continued to write both in prose
and in verse. He kept his faculties fully un-
til he had long passed the age of four-score.
His final volume of poems, published in 1888,
was appropriately called Before the Curfew,"
just as Longfellow and Whittier (also looking

to the end) had named their last volumes "In
the Harbor," and "At Sundown." Yet after
the poems in this collection Holmes wrote
those scattered through the pages of Over
the Tea-cups" which was published in 1890.
Four years later he died, on October 7, 1894-
more than sixty years since he had first made
himself widely known to his countrymen by
the ringing appeal for Old Ironsides.
While Holmes has written poems of a wide
popularity,-" Dorothy Q." and Grandmother's
Story of Bunker Hill Battle," the "Wonderful
One-Hoss Shay," and the Broomstick Train,"
-probably his prose will endure longer than his
verse. He is seen at his best in the "Auto-
crat of the Breakfast Table," and that is why
the book is better in kind and in degree than
any of its fellows.
Among his varied gifts, Holmes had also a
very abundant humor, and this helped to
sweeten his life and to broaden his influence.
To the whole United States he set an exam-
ple of kindliness and of gentleness, associated
with sagacity and with strength. He was the
last to survive of the great New England group
of authors- Emerson, Longfellow, Hawthorne,
Whittier, Holmes, and Lowell, which followed,
and in some ways surpassed, the earlier New
York group, Irving, Cooper, and Bryant.



I KNOW of a dear, delightful land,
Which is not so far away,
That we may not sail to its sunlit strand
No matter how short the day:
Ah, there the skies are always blue,
And hearts forget to grieve,
For there's never a dream but must come true
In the Land of Make-Believe.

There every laddie becomes a knight,
And a fairy queen each lass;
And lips learn laughter, and eyes grow bright
As the dewdrops in the grass;

For there 's nothing beautiful, brave, and bold
That one may not achieve,
If he once sets foot on the sands of gold
Of the Land of Make-Believe!

So spread the sails, and away we go
Light-winged through the fairy straits;
For the west winds steadily, swiftly blow,
And the wonderful harbor waits.
On our prow the foam-flecks glance and gleam,
While we sail from morn till eve,
All bound for the shores of the children's dream
Of the Land of Make-Believe!




WHEN the partridge coveys fly
In the birch-tops cool and high;

When the dry cicadas twang
Where the purpling fir-cones hang;

When the bunch-berries emboss--
Scarlet beads-the roadside moss:

Brown with shadows, bright with sun,
All day long till day is done

Sleeps in murmuring solitude
The worn old road that threads the wood.

In its deep cup-grassy, cool-
Sleeps the little roadside pool;

Sleeps the butterfly on the weed,
Sleeps the drifted thistle-seed.

Like a great and blazing gem,
Basks the beetle on the stem.

Up and down the shining rays
Dancing midges weave their maze.

High among the moveless boughs,
Drunk with day, the night-hawks drowse.

Far up, unfathomably blue,
August's heaven vibrates through.

The old road leads to all things good;
The year 's at full, and time 's at flood.




WHERE poplars run up in the air,
Where autumn fields lie wide and bare,
Their tent the gipsies make;
And one white horse-'most lean as those
On which you dry the new-washed clothes-
Now browses by a stake.

We know they never stole from us;
But since the neighbors make a fuss,
We 're told to stay away;
And flocks of geese no more can roam
O'er the wide fields afar from home,
Where once we used to play.

But, standing by the mullen rocks,
Where little burs catch in our frocks,
A flag of truce we wave
To Elta Geeze, the gipsy boy,
Who comes to trade, with toy for toy,
And face so brown and grave.

He brings to trade the queerest toys
That ever were for girls or boys;
And when we laugh he smiles.

W\e ,ive Ihnim '':o,-kie;, (Jollc nil c:tkc :
He gi.e- u: thjm:n; strangee pople m e.
Brought to us nmi:ny miles.

And once he brought his violin,-
A queer green bag 't was carried in,-
Then, like a magic spell,
He played us such a merry jig!
The village fiddler's twice as big
But can't play half so well.

We see, from the last garden gate,
Their white-brown tent at twilight late,
Where the red wood-fire gleams;
And when the doors are closed all round,
We know the gipsy boy sleeps sound,
To dream his gipsy dreams.

Until, some morning-strange and bare
The fields look; for the gipsies fare
On roads far, far away.
So we play we are gipsies now,
Where the tall poplar tree-tops bow,
Near sumacs red and gay -
We play that we are gipsies, too,
In tents of quilts the light shines through,
Where leafy shadows sway.

_~1_ __~

t ,.

7^f 7'



[Begun in the November F



PHILIP struggled des-
perately in the hands
of his captors, but to
no avail. He was
speedily secured and
conducted to head-
quarters, only to find -
just see how curiously
things come around!-
that he had fallen into
the hands of the Cos-
sacks of Czernicheff's
command--that Rus-
sian about whom Philip
the page got into trouble
by calling the Czar's
envoy "Catch-a-Sneezy
the spy," the day when,
in the Hall of the Mar-
shals, he had angered
the Russian ambassa-


Philip felt a little un- -
easy when he discov- -
ered this. He recalled
the stories of Russian '
vengeance he had so
often heard, and ex-
there was no especial danger; Czernicheff did been nicknamed because of his con
not recognize in this bedraggled young courier "Forward to Paris! questioned
the spruce palace page of the days of magnifi- sharply as to the mission on whi
cence. He saw that it was a bearer of de- but Philip answered never a word
spatches his Cossacks had captured, and he "Thunder and lightning! has
hurried the prisoner on to Marshal Blicher's tongue? Search him!" Bliicher
headquarters for examination. And they did search him, more
Old "Marshal Forwards," as Bliicher had than gently. Philip was punched

tinual cry of
his prisoner
ch he rode;
the boy no
I and pum-




meled and pinched and fingered, and at last
stripped, in this eager search for the letter he
was supposed to be carrying to court. It was
finally ripped out from the secret pocket in the
boy's crimson vest, and, with a hurrah of dis-

I thought! he exclaimed. "The Corsican is
in sore straits, and what ?- means to march
to the east? Ha! he would strike at our rear,

would he? and draw us
We shall see. It is but a

-, -- "- -,* *

S -. ,,

...;. I

(SEE PAGE 819.)

cover, handed to the old Prussian leader, who,
meanwhile, had stood by watching the pro-
ceedings, pulling his long mustache and growl-
ing in choicest German at the boy's obstinacy.
Bliicher tore open the letter and read it
hastily. "So! for the Empress, is it? And
not in cipher!" he cried. "That is good!-As

back to the Rhine?
desperate man's last
device. Yes, this
proves it this last
line here; .what is
it ? 'This step saves
me or ruins me!'
So! Quick! copy
it--copy it, Ru-
dolph!" he cried,
throwing the letter
into the hands of
one of his staff
secretaries. "The
shall read it, and see
that my advice was
best. Now he shall
come to my way of
The commander-
in-chief of the allied
armies that same
Prince Schwarzen-
burg at whose fa-
mous and fatal ball
Philip had first met
dently did speedily
come to Bliicher's
way of thinking.
For, before two days
had passed, the allied
forces were racing
for Paris, each divi-
sion anxious to be
the first to attack
the imperiled, help-
less capital, while
Napoleon's shrewd,

desperate move to draw back the advancing
enemy was thwarted, because he had been in
too much of a hurry, and had not written in
cipher his letter to the Empress.
But, before this came about, Philip was re-
leased; and, escorted to the French outpost at
Meaux, was sent on to Paris as bearer of the


letter which the enemy had already read and
profited by.
He felt small enough as he rode dejectedly
from Meaux, through the forest and village of
Bondy, and along the canal of Ourcq. As he
entered the city by the temple-like gate at the
Villette barrier, he remembered how he had
been commanded by the Emperor to defend
his mission with his life; and here he was, a
cat's-paw for the enemy, bearing the letter, to
be sure, but only after it had been taken from
him and turned to such terrible account.
What would the Emperor say? What would
be the end of it all?
He gave a shrug of the shoulders his con-
venient French way of saying, "Well, it is as
the Emperor himself declares in such cases--
the fortune of war! I did my best." And then
Philip rode down the Street of the Suburb of
St. Martin and on to the Tuileries.
Philip sought the Empress and gave her the
letter, and the Empress looked troubled; after
all, she was but a girl.
"How careless! she exclaimed, Both you
and the Emperor! How could you be thus
caught, young Desnouettes? And why-oh,
why did the Emperor write thus, when h6 has
always sent his other letters in a cipher the
enemy cannot read ? How dreadful! Listen:
This step saves me or ruins me,' he says. I
see only ruin now. What shall I do? Whom
can I trust ? Who will advise ? "
"Madame, stay! cried Philip impulsively,
dropping upon his knee. "Stay, and save Paris.
The Home Guard swore to protect you and
the little King. Stay, and all Paris will die in
defending you."
Monsieur the lieutenant, for all your boast-
ing you are but a fool," returned the Empress
sharply, snatching away her robe from the
touch of the appealing boy. "Paris! You do
not know the town! It would not raise a fin-
ger to save the- daughter of Austria. Paris!
It is like the champagne it loves too well--
all fizz to-day, all dead to-morrow. It is full
of traitors and. turncoats -men who will cry
'Long live the Emperor!' in the morning, and
'Down with Bonaparte!' at night. And the
Emperor? He bids me go. He declares he
had rather see his son in the Seine than in the
VOL. XXII.- 103.

hands of the Allies. Did I come to Paris but
for this ? Am I to be like my grand-aunt, poor
Marie Antoinette, whom your dear Paris mur-
dered ? Boy, boy-you are no better than the
others! No one can advise me. Everything
is crumbling. We are lost!"
Was there no hope ? Philip, roused to frenzy
over the way things were going, hurried to the
Street of the Fight. It was as quiet there as
ever- Mademoiselle at her tasks, Citizen Dau-
nou deep in his dusty documents of bygone
days, nurse Marcel stupidly industrious.
They greeted Philip with joy. They ex-
claimed with surprise at his torn and discol-
ored uniform. "You look tired and worried,
my Philip. What have you been going
through?" Mademoiselle asked.
Philip told his story of the mission and the
capture. He begged them to do something.
"Paris is in danger--in danger!" he cried
to Citizen Daunou. Cannot you, my father,
do something ? Cannot even we rouse men to
its defense ? "
"And wherefore, my Philip? What may we
hope to do?" Citizen Daunou said. "We
are but drinking the cup that I promised you
months ago. You see now the Emperor's
greatest mistake. He has given grand fortifi-
cations, arsenals, troops, all necessary defenses
to his distant cities to Dantzic, to Hamburg,
to Flushing, even to Venice. But to Paris-
nothing! Paris could never be invaded! No
foeman's foot could ever press the sacred soil
of France!' Oh, no! But to-day that foot is
here-here at the very gates of Paris. And
what have we to protect us ? Nothing, Philip;
nothing--not even the Emperor! Here are
only a few muskets, a few cannon, no fortifica-
tions. And for deferiders-not thirty thousand
men to drive back half a million! And the
Emperor is not here!"
"But he will be here," cried Philip bravely.
He will be here, and then let the Cossacks
tremble. The Emperor alone is worth half a
million men."
If he were here, yes," replied Citizen Dau-
nou. "But he is not here; and through the
ranks of the enemy even he cannot break in
time to save us. He is not here, and at the
palace are only weaklings and traitors. They


will leave us; you will see. They will leave
us, and Paris will fall."
The old republican was right. Next day the
Empress and her council fled from Paris.
And, even as the court fled, the watchers
could see from the heights about the city and
from the towers of Notre Dame the head of
the Russian column winding out of the Bondy
woods, leading the advance of the army of in-
vasion that drew steadily toward the capital--
Paris, beautiful Paris, which for centuries had
not seen the smoke of hostile camp-fires or
the gleam of hostile steel.
However, the next morning, March 30,1814,
when, at daybreak, the booming of the Rus-
sian cannon told that the attack had begun,
there were those who rushed to the aid of the
men outside the barriers, already drawn up
in line of battle. Militiamen with the loaf of
bread that must be their dinner sticking on
their bayonet-points; workingmen carrying pis-
tols or the rusty pike; citizens carrying fowling-
pieces, as if they were bound on a bird-hunt,
ran through the streets, crying "To arms!" and
headed for the-barriers.
In line of battle, beyond the barriers, extend-
ing in a semicircle about the eastern side of the
city, from the Seine on the south to the gate
of Clichy on the north, were ranged the real de-
fenders-twelve thousand soldiers of the grand
army under the marshals Marmont and Mor-
tier, a few thousand Home Guards, a few
thousand raw recruits drawn from their bar-
racks, veterans from the Soldiers' Home, and
the schoolboys of the military and scientific
schools of Paris.
It was these last who bore the brunt of the
battle. Philip felt a thrill of pride as he saw,
among the defenders of the city he loved, the
boys of his old school at Alfort, and the Poly-
technic boys. He waved his hat excitedly
as he galloped past them, and cried again and
again, Stick to your guns, fellows. We boys
will do it yet! "
Philip knew that, rightly, he should have
broken through the lines and gone to report to
the Emperor. But how could he? There was
to be a battle. Could he leave when every
man was needed--while hostile cannon were
playing against the city, his friends, his school-



fellows?. He elected to stay, and, full of ar-
dor and determination, he reported to Marshal
Marmont as a special aide, and galloped from
point to point, from barrier to barrier, bearing
messages and striking a blow for Paris when-
ever he had the chance.
For fen hours the battle raged.- Here the
shattered ranks of the Sixth Corps heroes of
sixty-seven battles within the last ninety days
stood stoutly against the foemen whom, again
and again, they had seen break and run before
their charges;' there, the old soldiers, whose
fighting days were over, once more leveled
their muskets against the foes of France. The
conscripts, yet new to war, fought with the
dash of veterans; and, in the woods of Ro-
mainville, by the bridge of Charenton, on the
heights of Montmartre, and, at the Clichy gate,
the boys of the Paris schools served the guns
like trained artillerists, and fought from tree to
tree like seasoned frontiersmen in American
forests They were determined to do or die for
Even valor may be overborne by numbers.
Again and again were the Allies driven back,
but with ever increasing numbers did they re-
turn'to the assault. Men and boys were fall-
ing everywhere. The battle of Paris was one
of the most stubborn and one of the most
hopeless of all the conflicts of that hopeless
campaign of 1814. If Napoleon had but been
there, the last of the battles might have proved
a victory.
Philip had rallied with the boys of the Young
Guard as they drove the Prussians back to the
suburbs of Pantin and St. Gervais; he slashed
and shot in the woods of Romainville; and,
spurring in the advance, cheered on his school-
fellows of Alfort as the cavalry class charged
straight upon the Russian grenadiers at the
bridge of Charenton. When, flanked and out-
numbered, the boys crossed the Seine and
made a desperate stand- on the Beauregard
slope, Philip was with them to cheer and wave
his sword as their brave commander urged
them to stand firm, and shouted: "At them
again, boys! Behind you is Paris; before you
is the foe "
Galloping to the north with a message for
the dauntless Marshal Mortier, he joined in the


fight before .the Barrier of the Throne, where
were the three hundred Polytechnic boys.
Behind their battery, holding their crazy fort,
the Polytechnic boys stood like a wall. Philip
cheered his old schoolfellows until he was
hoarse, as, again and again, they drove back
the Prussian charges; and when they were out-
numbered, and their battery was taken,.he gal-
loped amid their mass, while with an irresistible
rush they swooped upon their assailants, recap-
tured, and dragged away their precious guns.
He waved his shako wildly as, dashing past
the hillock of Chaumont, he saw at the guns,
with a schoolboy on one side and a veteran on
the other, dear old one-legged Peyrolles, who,
begrimed with powder-smoke, stopped just an
instant, in the sighting of his unerring piece, to
wave his hand at Philip and shout, Eh, there,
my Philip! Long live the Emperor!"
And, as he reached the barriers at the Clichy
gate, where brave old Marshal Moncey made
the last desperate stand behind the hastily-
made barricades which soldiers, students, citi-
zens, women, and children had helped to build,
Philip, as he sprang from his reeking horse,
leaped almost into the arms of a fat man who,
black with powder, was reloading an old fowl-
ing-piece, now hot from rapid firing.
"What- Uncle Fauriel?" cried Philip. "You
here? "
"And why not?" Uncle Fauriel answered,
ramming home another charge. "Where is the
Corsican ? "
"Coming, coming, if we will but wait," Philip
answered, with a wail of anxious fear. "Don't
let us give in; I know he will come."
"Bah!" said Uncle Fauriel. "And why is
it he"s not here now, boy?-making peaceable
fellows like us good citizens look after his busi-
ness !" he grumbled.
"But why you ?" queried Philip.
"Why me, boy?" cried Uncle Fauriel, delib-
erately aiming his piece toward the Russian
ranks. Why not, then? If the Corsican is
beaten, the White Cockade comes in; and, as
between Bonaparte and the Bourbons, give me
the Corsican. I did hot build up the Repub-
lic, my Philip, to let the Empire, which is the
child of the Republic, give in to the aristocrats
we kicked out in '93. What is that you say

-the fight is over? the foreigners have whipped
us? Never! Down with the Allies! Down
with -the Royalists! "-here he fired again-
"Long live the Emperor! "
There came a flash of flame from the Rus-
sian guns, and Uncle Fauriel staggered, reeled,
and fell back- dead.
Even as he fell, the white flag fluttered out,
the guns of assailants and defenders were silent.
The battle was over; Paris had surrendered.
And Philip, gazing on the face of his old friend,
gave to it both a smile and a tear.
"Dear Uncle Fauriel!" he cried. "Victor
though vanquished! Dying for the man
whose empire he hated; fighting for the cause
he detested only less than the cause he fought
against; a loyal son of France his last words
a wish for the man he had all his life resisted;
his last thought a prayer for the Corsican!
Dear Uncle Fauriel!"

BESIEGERS and besieged fell back from their
positions. The wounded were borne off, the
dead were removed; and Philip, desperate over
the defeat, broken-hearted at the death of his
old friend, hurried to the Street of the Fight
to tell the sad story.
Mademoiselle mingled her tears with those
of her brother as he told of Uncle Fauriel's
death. But Citizen Daunou smiled sadly, and
said: "After all, my children, it was the taking-
off that best suited that stanch old man. One
half of his talk was bluster, but the other half
was real patriotism. As against Napoleon the
Corsican, Uncle Fauriel was ever hot and bit-
ter; but Bonaparte, the hope of the Directory,
as against the Bourbons whom that Directory
drove from France, was a cause which, when
the hour came, our dear old patriot was ready
to defend with his blood. He was right in his
fears; the Bourbons will come in -again. And
our France, though defeated now, will never
forget such valiant sons of France as Uncle
And to this day the striking and beautiful
monument which Paris has raised in memory
of all those brave citizen-soldiers who fell at



the Clichy gate attests the truth of Citizen
Daunou's prophecy.
But in life one must think of the living; and
Philip felt, now that his duty as defender was
done, that his place was at the side of the
At twvo o'clock on the morning of March 31,
the authorities in command at Paris signed the
capitulation, and the tricolored banner came
down from its staff at the Tuileries. Before
daybreak Philip was far from Paris, galloping
along the road by which, according to the
latest reports, the Emperor was hurrying to the
relief of the capital
As the dusk was just turning to dawn, Philip
rode into the little hamlet of Fromenteau, some
twelve miles from Paris; and, in the dim morn-
ing light, he saw before him a well-known figure
walking in the direction of the fallen city.
He understood at once. The Emperor had
received the news of the defeat and the sur-
render, and, fretting at every delay, without
waiting for horse or carriage; was starting to
walk toward Paris, a. dozen miles away. For
once, even his coolness had yielded to impa-
tience. Almost on his heels hurried certain of
iris officers, expostulating and explaining.
"Who goes there? Eh, it is you, young
Desnouettes ?" the Emperor cried, as the boy
sprang from the saddle. "Well, what news?
what news?"
Nothing but what you have already heard,
Sire," Philip replied sadly. "We fought like
tigers, but the Cossacks were too much for us.
Ah, had you but been there, Sire!"
"Yes, yes; I know- I know. But one can-
not be everywhere," Napoleon said, flicking the
ground with his riding-whip, as was his wont
when he was perplexed or excited. But now
it is no time for complaints; now it is time to
act. We must repair the evil. Run, my Philip;
runi to the post-house. Bid them hurry up my
carriage. Every one is an imbecile to-day;
why are they so slow? Come! my carriage!
my carriage! my carriage!"
"But it is too late, Sire," Philip explained.
"The enemy is already in Paris."
"What!-you, too?" the Emperor cried.
"You are all singing the same song. 'Suppose
he is I am going there, too. I will lead on

my army and drive the enemy from Paris -
my Paris! my Paris! he repeated. Forward,
gentlemen! let us clear out the barbarians! "
"Too late, Sire," said General Belliard, the
leader of the cavalry advance. Our troops
are marching away from the city. We cannot
go back. We have signed a capitulation."
A capitulation!" the Emperor blazed out.
" Who has been so cowardly ? "
"No cowards, Sire," Belliard replied. "Brave
men who could not do otherwise."
Still Napoleon walked on toward Paris. Still
he called again and again for his carriage.
Still his generals followed at his heels. Then
other soldiers advanced toward him. The
same questions were asked; the same replies
given. And the Emperor, realizing at last that
his plan was indeed hopeless, flung himself
upon the stone seat that flanked the fountains
at Juvisy and buried his face in his hands. All
were silent. No one broke in upon the crowd-
ing thoughts that marked the tearless anguish
of a conquered conqueror.
At last he rose. Calm succeeded to despair.
Dignity, composure, energy, came again to the
face.that so seldom betrayed emotion.
- Then reaction came. Napoleon had ridden
nearly two hundred miles without rest, and all
to no purpose. Going into the little posting-
house near the fountain, he dropped into a
chair and, for an instant, rested his head upon
the table. But, no! He must not sleep; he
must work. He called for lights. He spread
out the war-maps upon the table, and sticking
his pins here and there, as was his custom, at
once began to study the situation. Philip never
forgot that scene-the gray of the morning,
the group of silent soldiers, and, through the
open door of the cottage, in the circle of
flickering light, the tired and defeated leader
of men poring over his maps, planning a new
But that campaign never came. Fate was
too strong for him; and, yielding to the inevi-
table, Napoleon finally gave up his determina-
tion to make an instant march on Paris with the
troops who were following him from the east-
ern frontier, and rode wearily to his palace at
Fontainebleau, a few miles to the south.
Bad news travels quickly. And bad news



speedily found its way to Fontainebleau. The
Allies entered Paris. The city,-" faithful
Paris," as.the Emperor had called it,- instead
of rising against the invaders, welcomed them.
France was weary of war. The dignitaries of
the Empire, following the lead of Talleyrand,
"that arch-conspirator," one by one deserted
the Emperor who had made them rich and
loaded them with honors. They gave their
allegiance to the new government. The white
cockade and the white flag of the Bourbons ap-


peared in the streets. Long live the King! "
began to be heard where Long live the Em-
peror !" had so often been shouted. The ab-
dication of the Emperor was demanded, and
fickle Paris at last made ready to welcome back
the Bourbons whom, nearly a generation before,
it had driven away in the days of terror.
Treason hastened the work. Napoleon's
army, upon which he had depended for his re-
venge, dwindled away; and Marmont-brave
Marmont, who had so valiantly defended Paris
- went over with his entire corps, and for ever

after was esteemed a traitor by the France he
hoped to serve and save.
The marshals, whom the Emperor had raised
to rank and riches, joined in the cry for his
abdication. They conspired against their old
leader; it is claimed they even doomed him to
death if he refused to obey their will.
Then, deserted by his companions-in-arms,
worn out with a useless struggle,-loath, now, to
bring about civil war by appeals to the people
who were loyal and the old- soldiers who were
faithful to him,-Na-
poleon, with that se-
renity that marks a
great soul, yielded to
the inevitable, and,
k(J on April ii, 1814,
I' i'4. signed his abdication.
This is the act of
renunciation he signed
--this victor, subju-
gated by Fate, and
by his own ambition:
The Allied Powers hav-
ing proclaimed that the
Emperor is the sole ob-
stacle to the reestablish-
ment of peace in Europe,
the Emperor, faithful to
S his oath, declares that he
renounces, for himself
and for his family, the
thrones of France and
Italy, and that there is no
sacrifice, even to that of
his life, which he is not
ready to make for the in-
terests of France.

The tricolor had
indeed fallen. The man who, for so many years,
had given glory and greatness to France, who
had distracted England with war, startled the
whole Continent with his success, and filled the
world with his name, stepped down from his
throne, and Europe once more breathed freely.
Great in everything he did, Napoleon was as
great in his fall as in his glory. The Empire
was dead.
Through all these days of watching and
waiting, of planning and plotting, of hopes and
fears, Philip stood by the Emperor, serving him


as best he could, riding to Paris, bearing mes-
sages-now to the friends, and now to the foes,
of the man he clung to, alike. in victory and
in defeat.
He stood by the Emperor's bedside that sad
night on which, for the only time in his life,
Napoleon played the coward and tried to com-
mit suicide. He was near him that famous
morning when in the Court of the White Horse,
in the beautiful palace of Fontainebleau, Napo-
leon bade farewell to his Old Guard, and left for
the island principality that had been given him
as his home,-it was almost a prison,--the little
island of Elba, in the Mediterranean.
That was the moment when Philip's pent-up
feelings had overflowed, and the tears he would
not have checked if he could came tumbling
down his cheeks. Already the Emperor had
said farewell to this boy who had so faithfully
served him.
Standing in the splendid Gallery of Francis
I., which opens upon the famous Horseshoe
Staircase down which Napoleon walked to say
good-by to his Guard, the boy had begged and
implored the Emperor to let him be one of
the chosen four hundred soldiers who were to
accompany the dethroned monarch to his tiny
island realm.
But, No, my Philip," the Emperor said, "it
cannot be. Go home to your dear ones, the
sister you have found, the good Citizen Dau-
nou, who is like a father to you. There lies
your duty-to them and to France. Serve
France, my son, as loyally as you have served
me; and when she needs your strong young
arm, and that sometimes flighty but always
truth-telling tongue of yours, I know she will
not call in vain."
Then Napoleon passed on among his officers,
down the Horseshoe Staircase and into the
White Horse Court.
The drums beat a salute. Then they were
silent, and Napoleon, in a voice at first strong,
then broken and full of feeling, said farewell to
his stalwart soldiers of the Guard, his never-
failing reliance on every field of battle.
It was one of the most pathetic moments in
history. Every man was thrilled; and when,
breaking off his speech, Napoleon flung his
arms about the standard-bearer, grasped the

imperial standard, and touched his lips to the
eagle that crowned it, Emperor, generals, sol-
diers, all were in tears.
Philip clung to the step of the carriage.
Tears blinded the bright young eyes that
looked up to his master in the final farewell.
The Emperor placed a hand upon his head.
" Good-by, my boy. God bless you! he said.
Then the horses started; the carriage rolled out
of the courtyard, and to Philip it seemed as
if all the glory, all the promise, and all the
pride of living passed from his brave young
But boys rally quickly, even from deeper
sorrows. Philip returned to the Street of the
Fight, proud and happy over the Emperor's
words of praise, and delighted to find that the
pathetic Passing of Napoleon" had conquered
even the old republican, who had served his
Emperor faithfully even when he most ques-
tioned the imperial measures. For now the old
Keeper of the Archives looked upon the fallen
monarch almost as devotedly as did the hero-
worshiping boy and girl who brightened his
quiet home.
The tricolor had fallen. The white standard
waved above the Tuileries. The Bourbons re-
turned to power. Old Louis XVIII. was king
of France, and those who had served the bees
took service under the lilies.
But this Philip stoutly refused to do. Thus,
one day, Citizen Daunou said, "My son, you
can be a page of the palace still, if you wish.
The King recalls your father's services in the
days before the Republic. He knows how he
died, and he will gladly give the son of Des-
nouettes the emigre a place of honor in his
train." To this Philip replied, unhesitatingly:
"I cannot, I cannot, my father. The Einperor
found me poor and friendless. He stood me
on my feet; he tried to make a man of me.
While he lives, there is, for me, no other king.
I would not be page to the Bourbons for all
the gold in their palaces. If ever the foreigner
threatens France I will remember the Em-
peror's command, and serve France as well as I
may; but never the Bourbons! Let me, rather,
if I may, stay here with you and Mademoiselle,
my sister."
So -Philip took up the studies he had dropped


when the stress of France called him to ride
and to write for the Emperor. He perfected
himself in military science, and the drawing
and mathematics which delighted him. Citi-
zen Daunou praised him highly for this.
"Be faithful in your mathematical study,
Philip, my boy," he said. "I wish I had your
head for figures."
Whereat Philip laughed; for he thought Citi-
zen Daunou knew everything. He laughed,
also, it must be confessed, when he heard the
notes of discontent that were growing each day
louder over what folks called the mistakes of
the Bourbons," and he discussed many times
with Citizen Daunou, and sometimes with clever
young Mademoiselle, the embarrassments of
the new government, the disputes of royalists
and republicans, the discontent of the army,
and the attempts of the famous Congress of
Vienna to straighten out the mixed-up affairs
of Europe.
Even the good old Keeper of the Archives
was sometimes "out of sorts and disgusted at
the things that were going on. He said one day
to Philip: After all, Napoleon was but right
when he declared,' The Bourbons will reconcile
France with the rest of Europe, but set her at
war with herself.' You will see; you will see."
Philip especially enjoyed hunting up Cor-
poral Peyrolles and having a good talk with
him. The old veteran was a bitter partizan.
To him the marshals were renegades, the dig-
nitaries who accepted the Bourbons were trai-
tors, the Bourbons knaves and cowards.
Peyrolles by this time was an inmate of the
Soldiers' Home -that splendid building with
the magnificent dome, then called the Temple
of Mars, but famous now as the great Hotel
des Invalides. The old corporal had no ob-
jection to being cared for thus. "For," said
he, "the Emperor sent me there, and it is the
money of France and not of the Bourbons that
pays for my keeping."
Here Philip would often visit the veteran,
and here, one February day in the year 1815,
he and Mademoiselle had made their weekly
call upon the 'dld soldier.

With Mademoiselle, Philip had left the Sol-
diers' Home, and had taken a roundabout way
for their return, extending their walk into Philip's
old quarter, from which the Emperor had res-
cued him the fourth ward of Paris and the
Street of the Washerwomen.
At the identical, fountain, at the foot of that
narrow and dirty street where Philip and Pierre
had fought their famous fight,--it seemed to
Philip as if that had happened ages ago,-
Philip and Mademoiselle stopped for a mo-
ment to look at a detachment of troops march-
ing from the barriers to the military bureau
in the Place Vend6me. Philip winced as he
looked at them, as he always winced-for they
were no longer the soldiers of the Emperor;
they were the soldiers of the King. The white
flag instead of the tricolor was borne in their
ranks; the white cockade instead of the tri-
color decorated their shakos; the white of the
Kingdom rather than the blue of the Empire
predominated in their uniforms.
The people in the poorer quarters of Paris,
never enthusiastic for the King,- recalling the
days when they and their fathers had put down
this very race of Bourbons,-had no ringing
shout of" Long live the King! as in the days
that were gone they had shouted, Long live
the Emperor! "
So the throng about the fountain, watching
the passing regiment, was silent or sarcastic;
but it was an uneasy crowd. It jostled and
swayed and pushed, and Philip was forced to
grasp Mademoiselle closely for her security.
Gradually they were forced back against the
stone coping of the fountain, and, as Philip
struggled to maintain his own footing, and save
Mademoiselle from a crushing, he was startled
almost to stupidity to hear a low but distinct
whisper in his ear: "'Be watchful and wary!
Be swift and silent! The bees will soon be
What did it mean? Who had spoken such
a singular message? Philip turned slowly, not
wishing to attract attention; but to no purpose.
The only familiar face he saw was that of
Mademoiselle, his sister. What could it mean ?

(To be continued.)





UP in the mountains the blackberries do not
grow ripe till quite late in the summer, and
Bessie found it very tiresome waiting. Her
father was employed in the Carbonado mines,
and she had never known any other home than
the wild little settlement in the foot-hills of the
There were great, white mountain peaks shin-
ing all around, and the little village was sur-
rounded by dark forests that had been growing
there forever.
The little girl was very much afraid of those
dark still woods, for the people said there were
bears and cougars and mountain lions hiding
in them. She had never seen any of these
dreadful animals herself. Most of all she was
afraid of the cougars, for they had eyes that
shone in the dark, her mother told her, and
they did not roar like animals in picture-books,
but made a noise like a child crying.
But no one had seen a cougar at all since
the mines had been opened, and sometimes,
when Bessie would run into the house with a
white face and hide herself behind her mother's
chair, her father would laugh, so that she-
would n't be afraid any more, and say:
"Why, Bessie, child, it could n't have been a
cougar you heard. It must have been one of
the Johnston children crying."
It was generally something of this kind that
had frightened her; and when Bessie had grown
a big girl of seven years she began to think,
like the rest, that perhaps, after all, the cougars
had gone farther back into the wild places of
the mountains, and would never again be seen
about the settlement.
Still, she could n't help being afraid of the
woods, and always stopped at the edge, even
though a little further in she could see prettier
flowers than any that grew out in the sunshine.
The blackberries did not grow in the woods.
They were thickest along the banks of the little

river. This year they seemed to be thicker
than ever. Certainly there was never a happier
little girl than Bessie on the first sunny morn-
ing that she started out with her basket to pick
mountain blackberries.
She went with two other little girls. They
walked out beyond the school-house together,
and for a long time they could be seen among
the bushes, picking as fast as they could.
After they had been hard at work for half an
hour, it began to seem as if there were never
such very, very large baskets made in the world
before. It seemed as if they would never get
One of the little girls said:
"I am sure, Bessie, they are thicker a little
further down the river."
"Yes, I know they are," said the other little
girl; "for my brother was there, and he says
they are so thick that they only need to be
shaken into the basket."
Well, perhaps -perhaps, if they 're so thick
as that, we 'd better go there," Bessie answered
"We '11 never fill our baskets here," the first
little girl said.
And we can come afterward, and fill them
a second time," said Bessie, thoughtfully; "and
besides, I 'm dreadfully tired reaching up, and
my hands are all scratched with the prickles."
The second little girl added, "There are no
prickles at all on the bushes down there."
".Is it much further?" Bessie asked; for her
ankles began to ache.
Just beyond those trees."
"But my mama can't see me if I go beyond
those trees."
"Oh, we '11 only be there for such a little
while, and then we '11 come back."
When they reached the place, the bushes did
not have very many more berries than those
they had left.


"Why, they have prickles too!" Bessie called
out, as she gave her arm a sharp scratch.
One of the little girls slipped on her side of
the bushes, and tore her frock, and began to cry.
I 'm dreadful sorry for you, Nelly," Bessie
said, as she also began to cry. I guess you 'd
better go home now, and tell your mama."

A moment or so afterward the other little
girl tried to pull a bush to one side, and she
caught a devil's-club" in her hand by mistake.
These devil's-clubs are called so, just as devil's
darning-needles are, because children think
them so horrid. They are covered all over with
sharp needles which pierce the hand.


"I don't want to," Nelly sobbed -" not till
I fill my basket."
"I guess you'd better, Nelly; and-and I '11
give you all my berries."
Nelly held up her basket, and Bessie poured
all her berries into it.
Now it 's full! "
I 'I come back after a while."
"All right; we '11 be picking here."
VOL. XXII.-104-105.

The little girl cried with the pain, and Bessie
tried to comfort her.
"Would you mind, Bessie," she asked, "if I
went home ? It-it hurts me so I can't gather
berries any more; and I 'm so sorry that I can't
bring home plenty of the berries, for mama is
going to make jelly."
I won't mind," Bessie said; and you can
come again to-morrow -it will get well. I 'd




go with you, only I do so want to fill my basket
Bessie went on picking as fast as she could.
She was all alone now, and there was n't a
sound but the great fir-trees rustling in the air
and the running of the brook beside her.
She kept getting further and further away, for
the bushes were thicker as she went in that
direction. Her basket would soon be full, and
then she would run home just as fast as her
feet would carry her.
Every now and then, as she was picking, she
would raise her head and look all around. She
could not see any of the houses of the village
now, but she was not far away.
At one side there was a little flat place cov-
ered with tall grass, and at the further edge
there was a ledge of rock. Beyond this rose
the trees of the great woods, all dark and
strange within.
Bessie began to grow uneasy, she hardly
knew why. She had only a little bit more to
fill, though, and she kept picking faster and
faster, so that she could hurry back.
Suddenly she heard a little tiny noise, like
that made when a newspaper is rustled on the
floor. It must have been the wind, she thought.
But now, at last, the basket was full, and she
pushed the bushes aside, and turned to take
the path back.
As she stood at the edge of the thick grass,
she heard something snap like a twig, in the
trees a few feet away, and she looked up to
see what it could be.
She began to be a little bit frightened, and
shivered without knowing why.
The next instant a large head appeared
above the ledge of rock. It was shaggy, like
a large dog's; but the strange, big eyes looked
straight into hers, and she knew that a dog
hardly ever looked at a person that way. It
seemed to know more than a dog does.
Then it came softly to the edge of the rock,
and leaped down into the grass as gently as
a cat.
Bessie was too frightened to speak or to
move. There was something so dreadful about
that quiet beast. It did not make any noise;
it did not even show its teeth as if it were
going to eat her.

It just came across the grass toward her, as
a big dog might, and when it was quite near
Bessie sank down and hid her face in the grass,
and shut her eyes very tight.
She kept forgetting all about the great, still
animal that was standing over her, and found
herself thinking of her berry-basket, and won-
dering if she had spilled the berries.
At last something took her gently by the
dress, and dragged her softly over the grass to
the ledge of rock. This ledge was steep, and
perhaps the cougar-for that is what it was
-thought that he would hide the little girl until
it grew dark, and then come again and carry
her off into the forest some other way.
Anyway, while he was thinking what he had
better do, there was a loud report from beyond
the trees. This seemed to make him cautious.
It was only a blast in the mines, but he did not
know that.
So he pushed the tall grass together over
Bessie, where she lay, at the edge of the rock.
Then the cougar pulled up more grass with his
teeth, quite a pile of it, and covered her with it.
When he thought that she was so thoroughly
hidden that no one could ever find her in the
world, he jumped upon the rock and stole back
into the forest to wait.
By this time Bessie did not dare to move.
She hardly dared to breathe, even. So there
she lay, covered thickly with the grass, for a
long, long time.
Meanwhile her basket was standing on the
ground, in the afternoon sun, and not a single
berry spilled out of it. It was very lucky that it
had fallen so. Three or four little birds twit-
tered about it, and helped themselves, for there
was no one there to frighten them. Bessie
could hear the little birds, but she did not dare
Half an hour afterward, one of the lumber-
men caught sight of the cougar prowling in the
woods near the village. He had n't a gun, of
course, but he ran into the village, and gave the
alarm. In a moment the people were all in
great excitement.
Nelly began to cry at once, and told them
all that Bessie was somewhere down in the
bushes by the river.
"She can't be there, for I passed by that



way a moment ago, and did n't see any one,"
said one of the men.
In ten minutes twenty men, with as many
loaded rifles, came tramping down through the
rhododendron flowers to the edge of the river.
The first on the spot frightened away the lit-
tle birds, but he stopped suddenly.
Oh, look here," he said; the poor little
thing!-here is her basket of berries. Poor
little girl! "
Look at the grass there, all trampled down,"
said another.
Bessie's father was the next to speak.
Don't let 's waste time here," he shouted,
almost beside himself. The cougar has carried
her into the woods. Quick, boys! We must
search the woods."
"Oh, dear! oh, dear! Bessie cried, starting
up; I 'd much sooner you would n't -'cause
I 'm here."
But, my Bessie," her father asked, as he
raised her in his arms to kiss her, "how did
you get there ?"
"The cougar put me there."
Did you see the cougar ? "
"Yes; should think I did. He came up, just
as the wolf did in Little Red Riding Hood,
you know; and when he heard that blast he.
left me in the grass, but covered me up that
way, and I was afraid to move. Are my ber-
ries safe ?"
"Here they are, Bessie. Not one lost."
"Well, take me hotne to mama."
"I 'm going to wait here," said one of the men.
"Why, Bill ?- what for ?"

"For the cougar when he comes back for
Bessie. I want to have five minutes' conversa-
tion with him."
The rest turned back with the little girl, for
the mother was almost heartbroken.
"We '11 have the berries for tea, mama, with
cream," said Bessie joyfully, on reaching home.
Heir mother kissed her, with the tears in her
eyes that mothers always have when they have
almost lost their little ones.
"And I won't go there again without-"
"Without what, Bessie ? asked her father.
"Without a gun."
In the dusk of evening Bessie sat at the
window, and was very quiet. Outside it grew
darker and darker, and the stars came out
above the silver mountain-peaks, and the moon
shone softly down. But the forest was black
and lonely, and very, very still.
Suddenly, from the bushes by the river, Bes-
sie heard a rifle-shot. She tried at first to keep
back the sobs; at last she could n't any more,
and commenced to cry.
"Why, Bessie dear, what are you crying for?"
I can't-I c-can't help it, mama."
"Tell me what is the matter, my darling?"
"I 'm so s-sorry for that poor old cougar. I
just know that Bill has gone and shot him, and
he was so good-for a cougar-and k-kind to
me not to eat me up; and I know that he
was n't going to, at all, when he saw I was such
a little girl. He did n't even give me a tiny
little bite to see what I was like; and I think
it's hateful to kill him. It's not -I think it's
not hon'rable!"



IF Maude were a little lady,
Who did no work at all;
And if Kate were a little housemaid,
Who did the work for all;

And if my little lady
Were sad the livelong day;

And if the little housemaid
Were always glad and gay:

I 'd rather be the housemaid,
And do the work for all,
Than be the little lady,
And never work at all.


LITTLE Gustus Gerlach sat on the door-step
watching Dietbold Sponenburg, the tinker,
mend a kettle. Dietbold was an idle, thriftless
fellow, but the children loved him, for his head
was as full of stories as it could hold; and the
grown folks tolerated and excused him, for he
was handy to have about, and his disposition
was as pleasant as a summer day.
"What makes you do tinkering for a living,
Dietbold ?" asked Gustus.
Oh, there are reasons enough for it," re-
plied the tinker. There is no one else here-
about who can; then I was n't brought up to
do anything in particular, and tinkering came
natural. It takes me round from house to
house sociable-like, and it 's easy. There 's
reason enough for anything, Gusty, if you set
about finding it."
"What are you thinking about now ?" said
Gustus after a time. "The two wrinkles are
over your nose that you once told me were
'thinking wrinkles.' I hope you are thinking
about a story."

"I am," said Dietbold; "I am thinking about
a wonderful man whose name was Herr Von
Stopplebottle; but perhaps I 'd better not tell
the story about him-it may make you afraid."
"I 'm not afraid of anything," cried Gustus
impatiently. "I wish ydu 'd tell it at once."
'" Now, don't you be in a hurry," said Diet-
bold slowly. "Folks like you, Gusty, who
have no deliberation, and who are always in a
hurry, don't live out half their days. You '11
never catch me risking my life that way"; and
to show his own prudence he polished his
solder-iron several minutes before he resumed:
"The Herr Von Stopplebottle about whom
I was thinking lived a great many years ago,
when the world was worse than it is now.
When he was a little younker, like you, he went
out into the world to seek his fortune. He
had half a silver sixpence in his pocket, for
luck, and at his side hung the sword of his
great-great-grandfather, who had fought against
the Turks, and all his baggage was tied up in
a red silk handkerchief slung upon his back.




From land to land he went, killing lions
and tigers, and-and-"
Elephants ? suggested Gustus.
Yes, and elephants," said Dietbold; "but
when he was twenty years old he met with a
most extraordinary adventure.
"In the kingdom of the Three Blue Daffo-
dils a terrible serpent, called Theysay, lay coiled
about a castle where lived a lovely princess.
Herr Von Stopplebottle determined to slay the

ing exactly seven days he entered the dark
wood where, it was said, the serpent's tail, the
only part of its body that was vulnerable, lay
concealed. Scarcely had he gone three rods,
ere he beheld something that looked liked a
round gray log.
"Instinct whispered it was the serpent. In
his childhood he had been told that animals of
this description are often numbed into inactiv-
ity on hearing words in a foreign tongue; so, as


monster and deliver the young lady, who for
many years had been afraid to put her little
nose out of the window, lest it should be
snapped off by Theysay.
"He bought a bottle of commonsense, a
medicine quite unknown in the land of the
Three Blue Daffodils; and he sharpened his
sword till it had an edge as keen as a razor
before he started on his journey. After travel-

he raised his sword, he pronounced this charm
taught him by an Arabian sage:

"Onery, Twoery, Ziokory, Zan,
Hollowbone, Crack o' bone, Tabitha, San!

"As his sword fell the serpent dropped apart
like a rope of sand, but, instead of blood, what
do you think flowed out of the wound ?
Sawdust, nothing but sawdust, and it con-



tinued running till the serpent's skin was as flat
as a pan-cake.
"The friends of the lovely princess were at
first displeased with Herr Von Stopplebottle.
They fancied that in some way the serpent
was an honor to the family. But when they
saw that the princess was far more beautiful
at .liberty than she was while imprisoned, and
when Herr Von Stopplebottle had given them a
big tablespoonful of common-sense all around,
they felt better, and made a large party for him,
and presented him with a bag full of gold and
a diamond ring. And when he took his leave,
they all--even the lovely princess herself--
kissed him on both cheeks, and said:
-"' Good luck and long life!
Come this way if you want a wife,
Herr Von Stopplebottle.'
His next adventure was with a giant named
Sham, whose house was as big as a mountain,
whose horses were as big as elephants, and
whose favorite dish for dinner was stewed
gentlemen. Ah, but he was strong, though!
"When Herr Von Stopplebottle knocked at
the giant's front door, that gentleman looked
out of his upper window, and growled:
"' He 's too lean; but with plenty of sheep-
fat and red pepper, perhaps he '11 do!'
"Then he picked his teeth and smacked his
lips and skipped down-stairs to greet his visitor.
"'A fine morning to you, my little friend,'
said the giant, bowing gracefully. I hope
you are well ?'
"'Very well indeed, thank you,' said Herr
Von Stopplebottle.
"'I 'm very glad to hear it,' said the giant.
'You look well. Next to being well, I value
appearing well. Walk in and tell me the news.'
"Herr Von Stopplebottle took out of his
pocket a large letter addressed in red ink to
'The Most Honorable Lord High Mightiness,
the Giant Sham,' and bowing low presented it,
saying as he did so, 'Here, your Majesty, is
my news.'
Now the giant always smothered his visitors
as soon as they crossed his threshold; but the
letter made him forgetful. He turned the en-
velope over and over, while Herr Von Stopple-
bottle sat down in one of the big parlor-chairs
and made himself comfortable. But the letter

was soaked with truth, which affected the giant
as chloroform affects us; and before he had
read three words he fell fast asleep and was soon
snoring. Our hero drew a little phial from his
pocket and wet the letter several times with
fresh truth. Wonderful to tell!-in just five
minutes the giant fell in pieces. He was as hol-
low as a drum; and his own servants swept up
all there was left of him, which was only his out-
side, and threw the pieces into the kitchen fire.
"The giant Sham dead, his great house,
with all it contained, and his kingdom, which
was as large as Germany and Austria together,
became the property of Herr Von Stopplebottle.
Grown tired of adventure, he concluded to settle
down and lead a quiet life; so he asked the
lovely princess whom he had delivered from
the serpent to become his wife. She consented,
and came the very next week with all her fam-
ily, and a baggage-wagon full of bandboxes,
from the land of the Three Blue Daffodils. Then
there was a gorgeous wedding and a grand
feast, after which they dwelt in the great house.
Herr Von Stopplebottle reigned a thousand
years and one day; and then he died, to the
great sorrow of the lovely princess, who built for
his ashes an expensive mausoleum, which, Gusty,
my child, is the nicest kind of a monument.
But, alas! after the manner of the things
of this world, it has long since crumbled into
One of these days," cried Gustus confi-
dently, I will do just such deeds as that great
Herr did. I '11 have a sword, and go about
the world killing lions and serpents and giants.
You see if I don't! "
Come, Gustus," called his mother; "little
boys must to bed when the clock strikes nine.
Bid Dietbold good night, and run up-stairs."
"Won't you hold a candle for me?" said
Gustus, as he started to obey. "It 's fear-
ful dark up-stairs."
"But you are going to fight serpents and
giants when you are a man," said his mother.
"I 'm not in the least afraid of lions or
serpents or giants," said Gustus earnestly; "but
when I go up-stairs at night I 'm always afraid
that something will grab my feet; and-I
guess I 'm -a little afraid of the dark!"
So his mother held the candle for him.




[Begun in the May number. I

As a natter of course, business was not to
be thought of on this day, and for two very
good reasons.
First, there was every cause to believe Skip
Jellison and his followers would do all they
could to prevent the boy from Saranac from
engaging in any business; and secondly, be-
cause it seemed absolutely necessary Carrots
and hisfriends should discuss the situation.
The boys were forced to earn such food as
they might need, or go hungry, and yet Skip
Jellison would try to prevent their doing busi-
ness on the street.
Of course they could stand up and battle for
their rights, probably receiving assistance from
some of those boys whom Master Jellison had
disciplined by the same methods pursued with
Teddy; but such a struggle would hinder their
business affairs.
If it became necessary to fight every time
Teddy sold a paper, not only would the money-
making be sadly curtailed, but danger of arrest
would be very great.
I reckon I would n't get off as easy if I was
hauled up before that judge ag'in," Teddy said
to his companion when the two had taken
leave of Teenie Massey, and were walking in
the direction of the water-front. "But I don't
see how I 'm goin' to get along without fighting ,
'less I 'm willing' to lie right down an' let Skip
Jellison tread on me."
See here! Carrots said suddenly, as if be-
lieving he had a thoroughly good plan in mind.
"You 've-allers lived on a farm, have n't you?"
Well, now I have an idea it would be nice
to stay in the country. S'posin' you an' me go

right off an' get a job on some farm. That
would settle Skip in great shape, an' we 'd
have a mighty good time."
"It would settle Skip, there 's no question
'bout that," Teddy replied. "But when it
comes to havin' a good time, you 'd find you 'd
made a big mistake. I 've had all the farmin'
I want. A fellow never 'd get ahead in the
world if he worked round for nothing' but his
board an' clothes on a farm."
"You can't get even that much in the city,
'less you have money to start a regular stand."
"That 's jest it! That 's jest what a fellow
wants to do! He ought ter make up his mind
he 's goin' to have a place, an' buy it. After
that he can 'low to have a store, an' get one,
too. All he has to do is to work hard, an'
save his money for a while."
I don't know 'bout that," Carrots replied,
with a grave shake of his head. "I 've tried
as hard as any fellow to get 'long, but don't
own more 'n ninety cents in the world to-day."
Well, I 'm going to try it in the city till I
make up my mind it can't be done, an' perhaps
then I 'd be willing' to go out on a farm; but
it '11 be a good while before that time comes,
Carrots. Where are you goin' now ?"
Down on one of these piers, where we can
talk without Skip's crowd sneakin' up on us."
By this time they were near Fulton ferry, and
Carrots had but little difficulty, familiar as he
was with the locality, in finding what he sought.
SA pile of merchandise near the end of a pier
afforded many convenient openings in which
two boys could stow themselves snugly away
without fear of being seen; and, entering one,
Carrots proceeded to make himself comfortable
by crawling to the very farthest corer, and
there lighting a cigarette.
"Say, you 're an awful good fellow, Carrots,"
Teddy began, as if he had suddenly made a


very important discovery. "You 've taken
right hold to help me, jest the same 's if we 'd
allers knowed each other, an' done a good deal
more 'n any chum of mine I ever had. Now, I
don't see any way to pay you back yet a while."
"I don't want to be paid back," Carrots
replied decidedly. "I tried to help you through
this thing, 'cause it was a shame to let Skip Jel-
lison have his way, as he allers counts on; an'
what I 've done is n't much."

straight, I 've got a little settlement to make,"
and Carrots began a problem in arithmetic,
using a bit of smooth board as paper, and mak-
ing the figures thereon with a very short fragment
of a lead-pencil. "Now, I sold them papers
of yours, and here 's the money," he added.
"But some of 'em was so muddy you could
not have sold them," Teddy objected.
"Yes, I did; every one. You see, I wiped the
mud off, an' then folded 'em inside, so 's it


S"Indeed it is. I 'd been on my way to
jail now, if you had n't taken hold of this thing.
We 've got to straighten matters somehow. In
the first place, I want to give back the money
you handed me when I was 'rested."
"Better keep it. It may be two or three
days before we can do any work."
But I 'd rather start square," Teddy replied,
as he counted out the pennies whidh he had
kept carefully apart from his own hoard, and
literally forced them upon his companion.
"Well, if you 're goin' to square up so

would n't show. It don't pay to let papers
spoil jest 'cause there 's a little dirt on 'em."
But it is n't right I should take it," Teddy
replied gravely. "You stopped your work
yesterday and to-day jest to help me along,
an', of course, have n't earned a cent. Now,
the best way will be to give me what I paid
out for the papers, an' take the profit yourself,
'cause it really b'longs to you."
"I won't do anything of the kind," Carrots
replied, in a tone of determination. It ain't
certain as I should have worked yesterday."


Course you would. You 'd begun when I
first saw you, an' had earned some money."
"Well, then, that 's jest it! I got enough
yesterday to keep me, an' by night we '11 have
some plan to get the best of Skip Jellison."
Teddy insisted that his companion should
take the profits resulting from the sale of the
newspapers, and Carrots quite as strongly re-
fused to do anything of the kind; therefore
the matter necessarily remained unsettled, the
boy from Saranac holding the money in trust,
as it were.
"Have a cigarette?" Carrots asked, with
the air of a man of leisure, as he pulled sev-
eral from his pocket.
"I don't want any, Carrots. I never smoke."
"What ?"
"I don't smoke, and, what 's more, I ain't
goin' to. After all you 've done for me, it
seems kind er tough that I should turn 'round
an' talk to you 'bout spending' money; but
there 's one of the very reasons why you ain't
got a stand. Instead of hustlin' to make a
nickel, you spend one buyin' cigarettes, or else
waste a good deal of time standing' on the streets
smoking It would make a big difference if you
did n't like sich things; an', besides, it hurts a
boy to smoke 'em."
Carrots looked at Teddy in surprise.
He failed to understand why a fellow could
not amuse himself smoking cigarettes, and was
thoroughly bewildered to hear an argument
made as to the expense.
"Well, I '11 be jiggered! It looks to me
like as if you 'd come down here trying' to be
too awful good. I wish I had money enough
to buy a glass case to put you in. I reckon
I could sell the lot up to the museum."
"That's right; laugh jest as much as you've
a mind to, Carrots. You can't make me mad
after all you 've done; but what I said is true,
jest the same, an' don't you forget it."
"All right," Carrots replied placidly. "I
reckon it won't cost very much till these 're
gone; so, s'posin' we talk 'bout how we 're
goin' inter business ? Skip 's got it in for me
now, an' I '11 have to shin 'round as lively as
you do."
"There 's only one thing 'bout it. We must
'tend to work the same 's if he was n't livin'."

"But he '11 jump down on us, an' then we '11
get into another fight."
"I s'pose that's so. Ain't there some place
in the town jest as good for paper-sellin' as
'round the City Hall?"
"Well, I don't know. You'see, I 've allers
worked there, an' am 'quainted with the fellows,
so it seems to me it 's 'bout the only spot.
If you should. try down by South Ferry, or
'round here anywhere, everybody 'd do their
best to drive you out, same's Skip did. I b'long
up to City Hall, so they can't shove me away
from there; an' the bootblacks in any place else
would raise a row if I come takin' trade away."
"It don't seem as though they 'd dare to
do such things," said Teddy thoughtfully.
"You 've as much right on one street as an-
"That 's the way I s'pose it looks to a
stranger; but it ain't so, jest the same. Now
if a new fellow come where I was working' I 'd
turn in with the others to drive him off, of
"Then how does a new boy like me start ?"
"He has ter hustle, an' take it rough, same 's
you're doin'. When the others find out you 're
bound to stick, they '11 let you alone."
"Then, in that case, the sooner we 'tend to
business the better. If we 're goin' to have a
row, let 's get over with it as soon as we can."
"That 's what I was counting' on; but I '11
tell you we 'd better not work to-day. It 's no
use to rush, an' by to-morrow Skip '11 be over
his mad fit a little, most likely. He won't do
anything but hunt for us till night, an' in the
morning' he '11 need money so bad he 'll have to
go to work."
Teddy realized that Carrots's advice must be
good, since he was thoroughly acquainted with
the ways of the city; yet at the same time he
was impatient because of the enforced idleness
when it seemed necessary he should be at work.
Then Carrots proceeded to explain to his
newly made friend some of the peculiarities of
his associates, and gave him an insight into
their manner of living.
"Now I 'm counting' on your takin' half of
my house," Carrots said. "You see, you 've
got either to go to the Newsboys' Lodging
House, or else hire a room somewhere, if you



want ter swell, an' that 's dreadful expensive.
When the weather ain't too cold, boys can
sleep 'round 'most anywhere."
"How does it happen that you have a
house? Do you live with your folks? "
"I ain't got- any, an' never had; but the
place where I stop is mighty swell, I can tell
you, though we can't go home till after dark,
'cause I don't want the folks what hire the prop-
erty to think I came for the rent."
Teddy was mystified by this reply; but
thought it advisable not to ask for particulars.
"I suppose you get your grub anywhere ?"
he said interrogatively.
"Yes, when I 've got the money. When I
ain't, I go without. Seein' 's how neither of us
has had any breakfast, what do you say to huntin'
for a place where we can git five-cent soup ?"
This seemed to Teddy like a necessity, inas-
much as he had had neither supper nor breakfast,
and a few moments later the boys were busily
employed over two plates of soup.
When the meal was ended the two, whose
only business on this day was to keep beyond
the reach of Skip Jellison, walked up-town that
Teddy might see as much of the city as possi-
ble during his enforced idleness, and they did
not return until a late hour.
After a great many precautions, and an un-
usual amount of scurrying to and fro, Carrots
conducted his friend to the residence in the
tear of the shop, and was delighted by hear-
ing it praised in no stinted terms.
"It 's great!" Teddy said approvingly.
"A fellow that 's got a place like this do n't
need to hire any rooms. I 'd rather have it
than a regular house, any day."
So had I," the proud proprietor replied;
"but one thing is that you can't get here in
the daytime. I reckon if they knew a fellow was
livin' in these boxes, they'd fire him out."
Then Carrots brought forth such of the pro-
visions as had been left over from the previous
evening's feast; and before he had finished this
task a shrill whistle from the alleyway caused
him to leap to his feet quickly, as he exclaimed:
"Now, there 's Teenie Massey ag'in! I do
wish he 'd stay away once in a while. There
won't be any room for three of us to sleep here,
an' I 'm goin' to tell him so."

As he ceased speaking Carrots gave vent to
a prolonged whistle, and a few seconds later the
sound as of some one climbing over the fence
told that Master Massey was in what might be
called the vestibule of Carrots's residence.
It was evident that Teenie was not wholly
at ease when he made his appearance. Even
one who had never seen him before would
have understood there was something on his
mind, and he greeted his friends in such a pecu-
liar manner as to cause Carrots to ask:
"What 's the matter with you? Ain't any
of your folks dead, is there ?"
Oh, I 'm all right," Teenie replied. "What
made you think there was anything wrong ?"
Why, you look so -kind er queer."
Teenie was silent for a few moments, as if
revolving some weighty question in his mind,
and then, with the air of one who is deter-
mined to have the worst over, said:
"Look here, Carrots! I 've allers been a
friend of yours, ain't I, even if I have stood in
with Skip Jellison once in a while? "
Course you have, Teenie. What's troublin'
you ? "
"You might think I was n't actin' jest square,
so I wanted to have it straight."
"Have what straight ? Carrots asked im-
"'Bout how you an' I stand. Now, you see,
I met Skip this afternoon-"
"Did n't tell him where I lived, did you?"
Carrots asked sternly.
"Course not. What do you take me for?
But he had a good deal to say 'bout you."
If he don't ever hurt me any worse 'n he
can with his tongue, I reckon I '11 get along all
He says he's goin' to drive both of you fel-
lows out er the city, if he don't do anything else
the rest of the year."
"Then he '11 have a chance to get through
with a good bit of loafin', for we 're not goin' to
get up an' dust jest to please him."
"But he 's awful mad."
"That don't hurt me any. He can boil over
if he wants to, for all I care."
Well, now, Carrots, he wanted me to do
something an'. I could n't get out er promising. "
"What was it? the host asked impatiently.



"You won't get mad ?"
Course not, 'less you 're givin' something'
away ag'in' me."
He wanted me to bring a letter down here.
You see, he kind er thinks I know where you
live, an' so he told me I 'd got to take it. I
could n't help myself, Carrots, 'cause he hung
right on, an' jest as likely 's not he 'd have
given me a thumpin' if I had n't done it."
Oh, that 's all right. Fish up your letter."
Teenie drew from his pocket a piece of soiled
paper and gave it to Carrots, who, with the
candle in his hand, opened it carefully and with
an air of the utmost gravity.
Fortunately, so far as the better understand-
ing of this story is concerned, the important
document was preserved by Teddy; therefore
we are enabled, to give an exact copy of it:

IT was fully five minutes before Carrots suc-
ceeded in deciphering the letter brought by
Teenie, and then he pretended to treat the
matter as a huge joke.

" Why, Skip must have spent pretty nigh the
whole day getting' up that thing," he said, as he
handed the missive to Teddy. I wonder
what he made the moon there for?"
"Moon?" Teenie repeated. Why, he
told me it was a skull, with a dagger under-
neath it and with bones on the sides, same 's
pirates have on their flags'; an' the two coffins
was for you an' the other fellow."
"Who are the two duffers down there at the
bottom ? A couple of pirates ? "
"No; they 're the committee," Teenie ex-
plained. I s'pose one of 'em 's Skip, an' the
other's Sid."
"So Sid 's taken a hand in this; he 's gone
to driving' boys out er the town, has he ? Well,
Sid 's a nice plum to do anything of the kind!
'T is n't more 'n a month ago since he was
getting' right down on his knees, coaxin' Skip
to let him stay to black boots. It would be
a mighty long while before I 'd ask Skip Jelli-
son to 'low me to do anything!"
"Them two are awful thick now. Kind er
stand in pardners, I reckon. Sid says he 's
goin' to run Fulton Ferry on the Brooklyn side,
an' Skip 's to take care of this end, as soon as
they drive the fellow from Saranac away."
"Oh, they are, eh ? Well, perhaps it '11 be
a good while before they finish up the job
they 've got on hand, so I guess they won't
hurt theirselves working' this season. What do
you think about it, Teddy ?"
The young gentleman from Saranac made
no reply, but folded the paper carefully and
put it in his pocket, as if for future reference.
What 're you goin' to do 'bout it? Teenie
asked, so earnestly that Carrots looked at him
Do 'bout it ? the latter replied. "Why,
let him go ahead. What else can we do?
I 've seen a good many better-lookin' pictures
than he made there, an' if that 's all he does
he won't hurt anybody."
"But see here, Carrots: Skip says you '11
have to leave this town if you stand in with
Teddy, an' he 's goin' to make it awful hot."
"Well, I s'pose if he can do that he will;
so what 's the use talking' 'bout it? We can't
help anything, as I see."
Teenie understood that his friend was not



absolutely satisfied regarding his connection
with the matter, and therefore refused to make
any explanation as to what his future course
might be. This lack of confidence troubled the
messenger; for Carrots was a particular friend
of his, and he did not wish anything to impair
the kindly feeling existing between them.
So he was glad when Carrots said:
I ain't blamin' you, Teenie; but I can tell
you one thing sure: what ain't known can't be
told. If Skip Jellison should 'low he was jest
about goin' to thump the life out er you if
you did n't repeat everything I said, why, you
might have to give up. So I don't think it's
best for us to have any talk. Of course I 'm
sure you won't tell where I 'm livin'."
I would n't say a word 'bout that, Carrots,
an' you know it."
I believe you, Teenie, I believe you; but
you understand how things are working Teddy
an' me are in a pretty bad hole jest now, an'
we 've got to be careful. If you could kind er
tell us once in a while what Skip was thinking'
of doin', it might help along; but I won't ask
it in case you 're 'fraid, 'cause I don't want ter
get any other fellow in a scrape."
"I '11 do all I can, Carrots; an' now I
reckon I 'd better be goin'. Mother told me
I must come home to-night."
"All right, old man. Be sure, when you get
on the street, that Skip ain't watching' so 's to
find out where you 've been."
He can't be 'round here, 'cause I went up
to supper first, an' walked right down from the
house without seeing' him."
Then Teenie took his departure, and the
victims of Master Skip's wrath were left alone
to discuss the situation, which was certainly
beginning to look serious for them.
Now what do you think 'bout it? Carrots
asked, after seeing Teenie over the fence.
"Well, I don't see as it's any different from
what it was before. We knew he was bound
to drive me away, an' it was n't likely he 'd
stop after what little he 's done. Now, Carrots,
there 's jest this much about it: you would n't
be in any fuss with him if it was n't for me, an'
you can square things up this very minute by
sayin' you 've shook me. Why not do it? "
"'Cause I kind er like you, Teddy, an' then,

ag'in, I would n't give Skip the satisfaction of
known' he 'd made me do what he wanted."
Better that than have to go out of the busi-
"I sha'n't do anything of the kind. I reckon
you and I can fix things up somehow, an' I '11
tell you what I 'd like, Teddy. It seems as if
you knew how to manage better 'n I, an' why
would n't it be a good idea to go inter pard-
nership ? I can earn as much money in pleas-
ant weather blackin' boots as you will by selling'
papers, and I 'll 'gree not to spend a cent
more 'n you. You shall take care of the cash,
an' say what we '11 have for grub, an' all that
sort of thing."
"You want us to go inter business, eh ?"
"That 's jest it. 'Teddy an' Carrots.' My
name don't sound very well. Might call it
Joseph; but then nobody 'd know who you
It ought ter be Thurston an' Williams,' of
course. Pardners don't use their first names."
"Now you 've struck it!" Carrots cried in
delight. Is it a whack ?"
It is," Teddy replied gravely, and thus was
a very weighty matter settled: a business con-
nection formed which might possibly not re-
ceive any great amount of attention from the
newspaper reporters, but a solid one in the
opinion of the members composing the firm.
"Then here 's the money we 've got on
hand," and Carrots emptied his pockets imme-
diately. You keep the whole, an' we can tell
every night jest how we stand."
But you must n't put in all your money,
Carrots. You see, I have n't got as much, an'
that would n't be fair."
'Then Teddy counted his wealth, which con-
sisted, including the profits made on the news-
papers, of forty-three cents.
"That 's the size of it. You put in jest as
much, an' we '11 start fair," said Teddy.
Carrots insisted that it would be better for
him to contribute the entire amount of his
capital; but Teddy refused to listen to any-
thing of the kind, and, finally, the question was
settled by the cashier's putting into one par-
ticular pocket, which was to be reserved for
the use of the firm, the sum of eighty-six cents.
"Now, then, when are you goin' to work? "



Teddy asked, with a business-like air. "It
won't do for us to spend this money for grub,
'cause we shall want something' to eat to-mor-
row. What do you say to trying' it 'round
South Ferry?"
"If we do that, Skip will be sure he has
driven us out. I think we'd better go right

(SEE PAGE 839.)
up to City Hall, an' start in straight; but the
first thing is, where '11 we live ? "
"What 's the matter with this place ?"
"I ain't so certain but Teenie '11 give the
snap away. If Skip gets hold of him he can
make him tell 'most anything."
"No need of movin' till we find out that
Skip really knows where we are. I ain't so
sure but it would be a good idea to stay right
here, anyhow, an' let him do whatever he can."
But you see, he 'd tell the folks in the store,
an' they 'd drive us out."
"That might be," Teddy replied thought-

fully. "But we 've got plenty of time to think
it over. Now what we want is to earn a news-
stand the very first thing. Then we '11 have to
get a chair outside, an' you could tend shop
while I was selling papers anywhere trade hap-
pened to be the best."
"Won't that be fine!" Carrots cried in a
tone of enthusiasm.
"How the fellows' eyes
would stick out if we
was running' a regular
shop!" But then he
added reflectively, "I
R don't see how that 's
going' to be done. It's
been a pretty tight
squeeze for me to get
enough to buy grub
with, to say nothing' of
swelling ; an' if that
would n't be swelling ,
I don't know what to
cn all it!"
"'Tend right to your
work, Carrots, an' don't
spend money on cigar-
ettes, or such things as
that, an' it won't take
long to get what we
need. I don't reckon
one of them stands
costs any more 'n ten
"Ten dollars! Car-
rots exclaimed. Why
RIGHT P." don't you buy the City
Hall an' start in in
great shape? Ten dollars! Why, we could n't
earn that much in a month "
"Well, s'posin' we could n't? S'posin' it
took two months ? Would n't that be better 'n
the way you 're working' now ?"
"Yes, I reckon it would; but I don't believe
we 'd ever get that much together."
"You do as I want you to, an' we '11 see
what '11 happen. Now, look at it jest this way,
Carrots: If you made twenty-three cents for
me yesterday afternoon selling' papers, s'posin'
you put in the whole day at it could n't you
have made more 'n fifty cents? "



I could do better 'n that blackin' boots, even
when business was n't good."
"Well, there you are! If you earn fifty cents,
an' enough to buy grub, an' I do the same, it
would n't take us but ten days to have the
money we wanted."
Carrots, rubbed his nose reflectively, thereby
adding to the smudge of blacking whiqh now
extended nearly from ear to ear; and, noticing
it, Teddy asked earnestly:
Say, why don't you wash your face ?"
"What would be the good of that ? "
"You 'd look more decent, anyhow. I
believe folks 'd rather buy things of a fellow
who 's clean than of one looking' like an Injun."
But when a man has his boots shined he
does n't care whether my face is white or red,
so long 's he gets a polish."
"You ought ter care, Carrots. Is n't there
any water 'round here ?"
"Yes; there 's a hydrant in the other cor-
ner of the yard."
"Take this piece of soap an' my towel, an'
go over there. Try it once, an' see how much
better you '11 feel."
As he spoke, Teddy unrolled his newspaper
valise, took from it the articles mentioned, and
handed them to his friend, who looked at the
collection in a suspicious sort of manner, as if
questioning whether it would be exactly safe
for him to make the experiment suggested.
"I '11 do it! By jinks! I '11 do it jest once
for luck he said; and five minutes later the
operation had been completed.
Carrots, with every freckle showing on his
face, his skin glowing from the unwonted use
of soap and water, and a broad streak of dirt
left just in front of his ears and extending
under his chin, returned to the dwelling almost
"There! if you feel as much better as you
look, you must be jest humpin' yourself," Teddy
said admiringly. Only you did n't wash far
enough back."
"What 's the matter now ? Carrots asked
in surprise.
It seems to me as -if you 'd shoved the dirt
back instead of washin' it off."
"Well, see here, Teddy: I did this thing to
please you, did n't I ? "

"Well, I 've sworn off now. I don't believe
in putting' on frills anyhow, an' all this talk 'bout
water making' you feel good is all in your eye.
If we 've got to earn ten dollars in ten days, I
reckon it '11 take all my time shinin', 'stead of
trying' to look so mighty fine that a man 'd
think I would n't dare to pull the stopper
out er a blackin'-bottle for fear of smuttin' my
fingers. I s'pose if I lived on a farm, same 's
you did, I 'd wash when I saw the others, an'
then it would n't *come so unhandy. That 's
where I wish I was now -in the country," he
added, as he clasped his hands around one
knee and rocked himself to and fro on the
impromptu bed.
"You would n't wish that very long if you
had one taste of it."
I ain't so sure of that. I tell you, when a
fellow's got a bed to get inter, an' plenty of stuff
to eat, it 's a pretty soft snap. I 'd like to try
it 'bout a month.
"That would be long enough," Teddy said;
and then, by way of putting an end to the con-
versation, he nestled into the straw as if to go
to sleep.
Carrots moved about very gingerly, as if his
whole nature had been changed by the washing
of his face. At last he blew out the candle,
snuffed the glowing end with his thumb and
finger, and followed his friend's example.
Next morning Carrots was aroused by the
sun shining upon his face, and, after awakening
his friend, he explained why it was necessary
for them to leave the packing-case home at
such an early hour.
From the Company's funds was spent suffi-
cient to buy two bowls of soup; and then,
advised by Carrots, Teddy agreed to remain
in the vicinity of South Ferry, rather than to
make an attempt to do business around City
Hall Park, until Master Jellison's anger should
have had time to subside.
I '11 see you when you come up for the
afternoon papers," Carrots said as they parted.
But you can count on my hustling the best I
know how toward getting' to-day's share of the
ten dollars."
"Be sure you don't have any trouble with
Skip," Teddy cautioned his friend, and then


the two separated, each intent on swelling the
Company's funds to the greatest possible extent
before night.
When noon came, and it was necessary for
Teddy to replenish his stock, he failed to find
his partner around the newspaper-offices.
This absence of Carrots did not trouble him
particularly, since Teddy was quite confident
the boy was attending to his own business; and
he felt positive it would not be safe for him to
search very long after the missing partner, lest
he should encounter the enemy.
Therefore it was that he returned to his la-
bors without consultation with his business as-
sociate; and when it was so late that there could
be no danger the occupants of the store would
see him entering the dwelling in the corner of
the yard, he again clambered over the fence.
Master Carrots was at home, and, as could
be told from his face, laboring under the most
intense excitement.
"I 've done it!" he cried to Teddy before
the latter had time to speak. "I 've done it,
an' we '11 have to give up the partnership busi-
ness, 'cause this is the best chance I '11 get."
"Done what? Teddy asked in surprise.
Got a place to work on a farm."
"Are you goin' to leave the city ? Teddy
asked anxiously.
"I '11 have to, of course, if I do that. You
see, it happened this way: Every fellow I met
this morning' told me what Skip had threatened
to do, an' I reckon he means business. He
says we 've both got to leave this town before
he goes to work ag'in, an' what's more, he an'
Sid Barker would n't let me stay 'round Printin'
House Square at all. I had to take a sneak,
or else stand the chance of getting' 'rested for
fighting so I went down to Vesey Street Market.
Trade was n't so awful good there, an' I was
kind er loafin' 'round when a farmer come up
an' says, Hello, son. Don't know of any boy
'round here what wants to go out in the coun-
try, do you ?' Well, you know, that struck me
jest right. I said of course I knew a boy, an'
I showed him right up, 'cause it was me, an' I

had n't far to go to find myself. Well, the
farmer acted as if he was tickled 'most to
death, an' he said as how I was the very kind
of a fellow he was looking' for; that he 'd give
me a good home an' make it cheerful; besides,
I 'd have lots of fun running' in the fields."
How much is he goin' to pay you? Teddy
asked. ,
"Well, you see, we ain't settled on that yet.
He thought I 'd better come out and try it for a
while, so 's he could tell how much I was worth,
an' then we 'd talk 'bout wages afterward."
"An' are you willing' to go on them promises ?"
"Willin'? Why, it 's a regular snap! I 'd
like to stay here an' try to buy that stand with
you; but what 's the use if Skip's goin' to
raise sich a row? Besides, if we 've got to
sneak 'round all the poorest places to work, we
sha'n't make enough to pay for our grub, an'
out there I '11 have all I can eat."
"Well, Carrots, I 'm sorry to have you go
jest when we 've got acquainted, an' it seemed
as though we 'd get along well together; but
if you 're set on farmin', you '11 have to try it,
I reckon. I '1 stay here an' keep on working ,
so 's when you get ready to come back there '11
be something' to eat, 'less Skip Jellison succeeds
in doin' what he counts on."
I may drop 'round in a month or two, jest
to see how you 're getting' along," Carrots re-
plied, with an air of condescension; "but of
course I 'm bound to stay out there a year
anyhow, when I start in once."
"When are you goin' ?"
"To-morrow noon."
"Come down to South Ferry before you go,
an' when you get back, Carrots, I guess you '11
find me at the same place, 'cause trade was
pretty fair to-day."
Oh, you 'll be up 'round City Hall by that
"It '11 take me longer 'n a week to get things
straightened out, an' you won't stay there six
days, 'less you 're a different fellow from what I
think you are," Teddy replied, with an air of
conviction that surprised his friend.

(To be continued.)



--`-~--- -'

i 'If



IT was not in derision that his master called
him "Babieca," or "Booby," but by way of en-
dearment. When you named your own pony
"Rogue," you did not mean to imply that he
was a bad fellow, but rather the contrary.
Aifd I assure you that Babieca was anything
but a dunce, or foolish fellow, and everybody
knew it.
He might have been called the "White
Arabian"; for he was of pure Arab stock, and,
if I mistake not, had been bred and reared by
Arab masters in the great sandy desert. He
had been captured in fair fight with a Moorish
The capture had happened in this way. The
king of Seville, at the head of an.army of thirty
thousand Moors, had ridden him to Valencia,
intent upon retaking that city from the Cid,
Ruy Diaz, who had but lately won it from the
fierce Moorish conquerors. It was the young
monarch's first campaign, and his heart swelled
with pride as he rode between orchards of
olives and fields of ripening corn, and looked
back at the long line of Moorish chivalry
which followed him. He thought to drive Ruy
Diaz and his handful of knights out of Valencia
would be only the sport of a holiday, and hence
he had come clad rather in the regalia of a
king than'in the armor of a warrior. And the
great white horse had trappings of purple and
gold, with silver bells jingling from the reins,
and jewels sparkling from the bridle-bands.
When Ruy Diaz, the Cid, looking out from his
high tower, saw the state in which his enemy
approached, he laughed and said:
"The Moor seems to have come to a tourna-
ment instead of a battle; but we will run a tilt
with him that he will not soon forget. And
whosoever wins shall have Valencia and the
proud white horse that carries our enemy so
The next day the Cid went out at the head
VOL. XXII.-xo6. 8

of his people, and gave battle to the king of
Seville in the garden of Villa Nueva. And the
Moors were routed with great slaughter and
driven as far as to the river Xucar, where, the
jocular historian of the battle tells us, "they
drank plenty of water without liking it; for
fifteen thousand were drowned at the ford."
The king of Seville escaped "with three
blows," says the chronicler; but he left the
white Arabian behind.
Thus it was that Ruy Diaz, the Cid, .won
the steed that was afterward called Babieca,
or the Booby.
Not long after this, the Cid sent for his wife,
Dofia Ximena, and his two fair daughters, to
join him in Valencia. They came, with a
great company of maidens, and with palfreys
not a few, and a goodly number of sure-footed
mules. And attending them were sixty knights,
all fully armed and mounted upon mettlesome
horses with bells on their harness, and trappings of
rich sendal silk. The knights carried burnished
shields upon their arms, and lances with
streamers in-their hands. Looking out from
his high tower, Ruy Diaz saw the company
while yet they were a great way off, ard he
sent out two hundred knights to meet them.
Then he bethought him of the white Arabian
that he had taken from the King of Seville,
and which no man among all his followers had
yet had the hardihood to mount; and he
ordered his grooms to saddle him and, bring
him out. It was a good time, he thought, to
give the steed his first trial, and at the same
time show his own wonderful skill as a horse-
man. It. was much as the grooms could do to
put the bits in Babieca's mouth, throw the
saddle upon his back, and lead him to the
spot where the Cid was waiting.
"Have a care! cried the knights and cava-
liers, when they saw the great horse launching
out on every side with his iron hoofs, rearing


upon his hind feet and pawing the air, and
snapping right and left with his sharp ivory
teeth. But Ruy Diaz was not afraid of any
horse that lived. Clad in light armor, with a
long surcoat of blue thrown over it, he seized
the right moment and sprang astride of the res-
tive animal. Like an arrow shot from a bow,
Babieca sprang forward; and those who saw
him were astounded both at the fleetness of his
running and the skill with which the Cid re-
strained and directed him. It was a sight
which none could forget--the great steed
seeming to fly over the ground, the Cid's blue
cloak and his long beard streaming behind, and
then the tameness with which the horse stopped
at the end of the course, and allowed his rider
to dismount! For years afterward everybody
in Spain liked to talk about that wonderful ride.
When the Cid had greeted his wife and daugh-
ters, he remounted Babieca, who was now as
gentle as a lamb, and rode with them back to
the city. "Who can tell," says the old chroni-
cler, "the rejoicings that were made that day,
throwing at the board, and killing bulls! "
Every day Babieca became more and more
the favorite of his master; and next to his wife
and daughters there was no creature living
that Ruy Diaz loved so well. Many a fierce
battle with the Moors would have been lost had
it not been for Babieca; and the fame of the
white horse was second only to that of his mas-
ter. But Ruy Diaz was loyal to his liege lord
King Alfonso of Castile, and it seemed to him a
shame that he, a mere subject, should ride so
fine a steed while his sovereign had to content
himself with a common beast. And so, great as
the sacrifice was, he offered to give Babieca
to the king.
There is not .another charger in the world
so good as he," said he to Alfonso; "and who
shall have the best if not the king ? Ah, but
if you could only see him go when he smells
the battle and rushes upon the host of the
With that, he leaped upon Babieca and
touched him with his spurs. The horse darted
forward and sped across the plain, so swiftly,
so fiercely, that those who saw him held their
breath. Round and round he ran, now this
way, now that, guided only by a single finger.

Nobody had ever seen such horsemanship so
daring a rider, so wonderful a charger.

Thus to and fro a-rushing, the fierce and furious steed,
He snapt in twain his hither rein: -"God pity now
the Cid! "
"God pity Diaz! cried the lords,-but when they
looked again,
They saw Ruy Diaz ruling, him,-with the fragment
of his rein;
They saw him proudly ruling with gesture firm and
Like a true lord commanding-and obeyed as by a
And so he led him foaming and panting to the king.
But "No," said Don Alfonso, "it were a shameful
That peerless Babieca should ever be bestrid
By any man but Ruy Diaz.-Mount, mount again, my

To tell of all the exploits of Babieca would
fill a book. It will be enough if I relate the
story of the Cid's last ride upon his charger.
King Bucar, the Moor, had come into the port
of Valencia with so great an army, that there
was not a man in the world that could give the
number of his warriors. Having landed, they
pitched their tents, fully fifteen thousand, around
the city and began a siege. But at the same
time the Cid, Ruy Diaz, lay dead in his own
house, and his followers were in great straits
because they knew that they could not hold
the place against the vast force of the Moors.
But the Cid, before his death, had told his peo-
ple what to do, and they did as he had di-
rected. They made no outcry nor sign of
mourning for their dead leader, but defended
themselves as well as they could from the
Moorish archers, and, going upon the walls,
made great rejoicing with trumpets and tam-
bours, as if sure of victory. But, in the mean
time, the friends of the dead chieftain who
were dearest to him embalmed his body, and
dressed it as though in armor, and set his long
beard in order, so that no man seeing him
would have thought him dead. Then they set
him upon a saddle which had a frame fitted
into it in such a way as to support the shoul-
ders and the head and the arms in the same
position that was taken by the Cid whenever
he rode into battle. At midnight of the twelfth
day, they placed the saddle with its burden



upon the back of Babieca; and they put a sur-
coat of green sendal upon the body of the
chieftain, having his arms emblazoned thereon;
and on his head they set a helmet of parch-
ment, cunningly painted. Then they hung his
shield about his neck,.and placed in his hand
the sword which he had so often bared against
the Moors. When all was in readiness they
opened the gate of the city that was toward
Castile, and the people of the Cid marched out
-six hundred in front of their dead leader, and
six hundred in the rear. They went out so
silently, that the Moors in their tents heard no
But a small body of men, chosen to attract
the attention of the enemy to the other side of
the city, made an attack upon the camp of
King Bucar. As they set upon the archers
whose tents were nearest the walls, a great
panic fell upon the Moorish host. It seemed
to them that full seventy thousand Spanish
knights, all dressed in white, were rushing out
upon them, and they were led by a giant war-
rior on a white horse, who bore a white banner


in one hand and a fiery sword in the other.
So great was the Moors' fear that they rushed
into the sea in their great haste to reach their
ships; and the historian of that event says that
more than ten thousand were drowned.
In the meanwhile Babieca, bearing the body
of his master, and escorted by the twelve hun-
dred knights, journeyed on by easy stages into
Castile. And after they had passed beyond
the territories of the Moors, a great concourse
of people, and among them Don Alfonso the
king, came to see once more the great chieftain
Ruy Diaz, the Cid. But it was not until they
had come to the Monastery of San Pedro de
Cardefia, that the good horse was relieved of
his ghostly burden.
Babieca was already an old horse; but he
lived two years and a half after that strange,
sad journey. And they buried him in front of
the Monastery gate; and they planted two
elms upon his grave, one at his head and the
other at his feet; and these elms, for aught I
know, may still be seen, marking the last rest-
ing-place of Babieca, the Booby.

ml C -
,. 4'.



I .. .


THE sentiment of Fear," declared my Uncle Zebedee,
"Is beneath the recognition of a valiant man like me.
I loathe timidity; I scorn a coward; and, oh, dear!
I should so hate to feel the paltry sentiment of Fear!
And in order to prevent it, why, I take some pains at night
To have the house closed up and barred securely, snug, and tight.
I should really hate to have a burglar getting in; and hence
I have placed alarms at frequent intervals along the fence,
And on all the doors and windows, and the cat-hole in the shed,
And the scuttle in the attic roof. Before I go to bed
I lock and bar the doors, and fasten weighty iron chains
Across; I don't like burglars, and I therefore take the pains
To place, as an additional precaution, pots and pans
At all the doors and windows, and tin pails and empty cans;
So if a burglar should come in, I 'd wake in time to fling
My watch and money where he 'd see them on first entering,
And then just step into the wardrobe, which I have supplied
With a key with which it may be firmly locked from the inside.
Thus, by these simple plans, it is indisputably clear
I shall never feel the despicable sentiment of Fear,
So far beneath the calm, composed and noble dignity
Of a brave man such as I am," said my Uncle Zebedee.




' -'










The Merry iMongoose.


A MERRY Mongoose-was marching along
By the banks of the nice old Nile.
Where the stream was impassable
He met an irascible,
Coy old Crocodile.

But the giddy Mongoose was an innocent
So he paused for a friendly talk.
"I must cross the river,"
He said with a shiver;
"And, really, I don't dare walk.

"So won't you be kind, and tote me across ?-
I weigh but a tiny mite.
You scary old creature,

Do you think I would eat you,
That you cover your face with fright ?"

Then the Crocodile turned and he grinned a grin,
Diametrically speaking, a mile.

And he said, with a sneer or two
Lit with a leer or two,
"Carry you? I should smile!"

The Mongoose giggled a sickly gig.
Oh, thank you kindly, very!
But a grinning facility
Of such agility
Does n't make the safest ferry."






IN the War of 1812, the little American navy,
including only a dozen frigates and sloops-of-
war, won against the English, till then the un-
doubted masters of the sea, a series of victories
that attracted an attention altogether out of
proportion to the force of the combatants or
the actual damage done. For one hundred
and fifty years the English ships of war had
failed to find fit rivals in those of any other
European power, although they had been
matched against each in turn; and when the
unknown navy of the new nation, growing up
across the Atlantic, did what no European
navy had ever been able to do, not only the
English and Americans, but the people of
Continental Europe as well, regarded the feat
as important out of all proportion to the ma-
terial elements of the case. The Americans first
proved that the English could be beaten at
their own game on the sea. They did what
the hugp fleets of France, Spain, and Holland
had failed to do, and the great modern writers
on naval warfare in Continental Europe, men
like Julien de la Graviere, have paid the same
attention to these contests of frigates and sloops
that they give to fleet actions of other wars.
Among the famous ships of the Americans in
this war were two each named "Wasp." The
first was an eighteen-gun ship-sloop which, at
the very outset of the war, captured a British
brig-sloop of twenty guns after an engagement
in which the British fought with great gallantry,
but were knocked to pieces, while the Ameri-
cans escaped comparatively unscathed. Im-
mediately afterward a British seventy-four cap-
tured the victor." In memory of her the Ameri-
cans gave the same name to one of the new
sloops they were building. These sloops were
stoutly made, speedy vessels, which in strength
and swiftness compared favorably with any hips

of their class in any other navy of the day;
for the American shipwrights were already as
famous as the American gunners and seamen.
The new Wasp, like her sister sloops, carried
twenty-two guns and a crew of one hundred
and seventy men, and was ship-rigged. Twenty
of her guns were 32-pound carronades, while for
bow-chasers she had two "long Toms." It was
in the year 1814 that the Wasp sailed from the
United States to attack the navy and prey on
the commerce of Great Britain. Her commander
was a gallant South Carolinian, named Captain
Johnson Blakeley. Her crew were almost all
native Americans, and were an exceptionally
fine set of men. Instead of staying near the
American coasts or of sailing the high seas, the
Wasp headed boldlyfor the English Channel, to
carry the war to the very doors of the enemy.
At that time the English fleets had destroyed
the navies of every other power in Europe, and
had obtained such complete supremacy over
the French, that the French fleets were kept in
port. Off their ports lay the great squadrons
of the English ships-of-the-line, never, in gale
or in calm, relaxing their watch upon the rival
war-ships of the French emperor. So close
was the blockade of the French ports, and so
hopeless were the French of making headway
against their antagonists in battle, that not only
the great French three-deckers and two-deck-
ers, but their frigates and sloops as well, lay
harmless in their harbors, and the English ships
patroled the seas unchecked, in every direc-
tion. A few French privateers still slipped out
now and then. The far bolder and more for-
midable American privateersmen drove hither
and thither across the ocean in their swift
schooners and brigantines, and harried the
English commerce without mercy.
The Wasp proceeded at once to cruise in the
English Channel and off the coasts of England,
France, and Spain. Here the water was trav-


ersed continually by English fleets and squad-
rons and single ships of war, which were some-
times convoying detachments of troops for
Wellington's Peninsular army, sometimes guard-
ing fleets of merchant vessels bound homeward,
and sometimes merely cruising for foes. It
was this spot, right in the teeth of the Brit-
ish naval power, that.the Wasp chose for her
cruising ground. Hither and thither she sailed
through the narrow seas, capturing and destroy-
ing the merchantmen, and by the seamanship
of her crew, and the skill and vigilance of her
commander, escaping the pursuit of frigate and
ship-of-the-line. Before she had been long on
the ground, one June morning, while in chase
of a couple of merchant ships, she spied a
sloop-of-war, the British brig "Reindeer," of
eighteen guns and a hundred and twenty men.
The Reindeer was a weaker ship than the
Wasp, her guns were lighter and her men
fewer; but her commander, Captain Manners,
was one of the most gallant men in the British
navy, and he promptly took up the gage of
battle which the Wasp threw down.
The day was calm and nearly still; only a
light wind stirred across the sea. At one
o'clock the Wasp's drum beat to quarters, and
the sailors and marines gathered at their ap-
pointed posts. The drum of the Reindeer
responded to the challenge; and, with her
sails reduced to fighting trim, her guns run
out, and every man ready, she came down on
the Yankee ship. On her forecastle she had
rigged a light carronade, and, coming up from
behind, she five times discharged this point-
blank into the American sloop. Then, in the
light air, the latter luffed around, firing her
guns as they bore, and the two. ships engaged
yardarm to yardarm. The guns leaped and
thundered, as the grimy gunners hurled them
out to fire, working like demons. For a few
minutes the cannonade on both sides was
tremendous, and the men in the tops could
hardly see the decks for the wreck of flying
splinters. Then the vessels ground together,
and through the open ports the rival gunners
hewed, hacked, and thrust at one another,
while the black smoke curled up from between
the hulls. The English were suffering terribly;
Captain Manners himself was wounded; and,

realizing that he was doomed to defeat unless
by some desperate effort he could avert it, he
gave the signal to board. At the call, the
boarders gathered around, many of them naked
to the waist, and black with powder, holding
cutlas and pistol in their hands. But the
Americans were ready. Their marines were
drawn up on deck, the pikemen stood behind
the bulwarks, and the officers watched, cool
and alert, for every movement of their foe.
Then the British sea-dogs tumbled aboard,
only to perish by shot or steel. The combatants
slashed and stabbed with savage fury, and the
assailants were driven back. Manners sprang
to their head to lead them again himself, when
a ball fired by one of the sailors in the Ameri-
can tops crashed through his skull, and he fell,
sword in hand, with his face to the foe, dying
as honorable a death as ever a brave man
died in fighting against odds for the flag of his
country. As he fell the American officer passed
the word to board. With wild cheers the fight-
ing sailor-men sprang forward, sweeping the
wreck of the British force before them, and in
a minute the Reindeer was in their possession.
All of her officers and nearly two thirds of the
crew were killed or wounded. Twenty-six of
the Americans had been killed or wounded.
The Wasp set fire to her prize, and after re-
tiring to a French port to refit, came out again
to cruise. For some time she met no antag-
onist of her own size with which to wage war,
and she had to exercise the sharpest vigilance
to escape capture. Late one September after-
noon, when she could see ships-of-war all
around her, -she selected one which was iso-
lated from the others and decided to run along-
side her and try to sink her after nightfall. Ac-
cordingly she set her sails in pursuit and drew
steadily toward her antagonist, a big eighteen-
gun brig, the "Avon," a ship more powerful
than the Reindeer. The Avon kept signaling
to two other British war-vessels which were in
sight, one an eighteen-gun brig, and the other
a twenty-gun ship; they were so close that the
Wasp was afraid they would interfere before
the combat could be ended. Nevertheless,
Blakeley persevered, and made his attack with
equal skill and daring. It was after dark when
he ran alongside his opponent, and they began



forthwith to exchange furious broadsides. As
the ships plunged and wallowed in the seas, the
Americans could see the clusters of topmen in
the rigging of their opponent, but they knew
nothing of the vessel's name or of her force, save

only so far as they felt it. The firing was fast
and furious, but the British shot with a very
bad aim, while the skilled American gunners
hulled their opponent at almost every dis-
charge. In a very few minutes the Avon, be-
ing in a sinking condition, struck her flag and
VOL. XXII.-io7.

cried for quarter, having lost forty or fifty men,
while but three of the Americans had fallen.
Before the Wasp could take possession of
her opponent, however, the two war-vessels to
which the Avon had been signaling came up.
One of them fired at
the Wasp, and as the
latter could not fight
two new foes, she ran
off easily before the
wind. Neither of her
new antagonists fol-
lowed her, devoting
themselves to picking
up the crew of the
sinking Avon.
It would be hard
to find a more gallant
feat more skilfully per-
formed than this; for
Captain Blakeley,
with hostile foes all
around him, had
closed with and sunk
one antagonist not
greatly his inferior in
force, suffering hardly
any loss himself, while
two of her friends were
coming to her help.
Both before and
after this, the Wasp
cruised hither and
thither, making prizes.
Once she came across
a convoy of vessels
bearing arms and mu-
nitions to Wellington's
army, under the care
of a great two-decker.
Hovering about, the
swift sloop evaded the
two-decker's move-
AVAGE FURY." ments, and actually

cut out and captured one of the transports she
was guarding, making her escape unharmed.
Then she sailed for the high seas. She made
several other prizes, and on October 9 spoke a
Swedish brig.
This was the last that was ever heard of the



gallant Wasp. She never again appeared, and
no trace of any of those aboard her was ever
found. Whether she was wrecked on some
desert coast, whether she foundered in some
furious gale, or what befell her, none ever
knew. All that is certain is that she perished,
and that all. on board her met death, in some


one of the myriad forms in which it must
always be faced by those who go down to
the sea in ships; and when she sank there
sank one of the most gallant ships of the
American navy, and with her were lost as brave
a captain and crew as ever sailed from any
port of the New World.


(Sixteenik japer of tie series on No'k American Quadrupeds.)


THE great pasture region of the West is an
ocean of land. Here and there it lies motion-
less and unruffled, like a dead calm in the
tropics. Farther on it swells gently, then rolls
and heaves in great, smooth billows; and in the
bad lands you see the broken waves of a tem-
pest. Like the ocean voyager, who eagerly
scans the horizon for a sail, a wreck, a por-
poise, or anything to break the monotony, so
will your vision search and search for some-
thing alive and moving in that "gray and
melancholy waste."
And then how welcome is the sight of a band
(An-ti-lo-cafira A-mer-i-can'a.) ANTELOPE !
To see this pretty prairie-rover at his best,


you must call upon him during October or
November. Then his new horns are perfect,
his new coat of hair is at its brightest and best,
and after six months of good grazing he is both
fat and lively.
Late autumn is the best time of all the year
to hunt the Antelope. With no snow on the
ground they are easily seen, but they feel so
gay and festive that they are very keenly alert,
and their legs are set like hair-triggers--ready
to go off at the lightest touch of alarm.
On the prairie, successful antelope-hunting is
no child's play. The game nearly always sees
you first, and retires in good order, but on the
double-quick, to some high knoll a long mile
away, from which safe distance you are care-



fully surveyed by the keenest of eyes. As you
try to steal up within long rifle-range, the band
suddenly glides down the side. of the knoll,
seemingly without effort, scurries across the
next flat, and presently halts on another high
point at the end of another mile.
The time was when Antelope had so much
curiosity and so little sense they could be
brought up within gunshot by waving a rag or
ramrod, or wriggling a No. io foot in the air;
but that period has gone by, at least in Mon-
tana. We tried it repeatedly, but found the
Pronghorn was not half the fool he had been
represented. In the broken bad lands, where
coul6es are deep and sharp ridges-~numerohus,
it is an easy matter to stalk Antelope, and to
shoot them also -provided you are a good
shot, don't get the buck-ague, and can judge
distances reasonably well.
In early December, when winter sets in,
and the snow and the snowy owls have come
to stay, the bands of Antelope collect as if
for mutual support and protection, and form
immense herds. In former years, when the
species was abundant, it was not uncommon
to find 200 head together, and often as many
as 600 to 700 have been seen in one herd.
In the early winter, when the snows are light,
it is very difficult to see Antelope, and to
hunt them successfully. Their colors blend
so perfectly with the snow and sage-brush
that at rest a herd is often invisible before
your eyes, and in fleeing from you it sweeps
away like a dull gray cloud of mist.
Of all American quadrupeds, no other spe-
cies fares so poorly in winter as the Prong-
horn. Somehow nature seems to have omitted
something from its equipment, and as a result
the herds fare very badly in the snow. They
drift before blizzards as helplessly as cattle,
they sometimes freeze, and often starve, to death;
and those that survive the winter come out in
the spring thin, weak, and weather-beaten.
In several ways the personality of the Prong-
horn is really remarkable. As a species, he
is a native American, wholly our own, and
constitutes a Family all by himself. These are
his points of difference from other antelopes:
(i) He has horns with a prong on them; (2)
he actually sheds his horns annually, and re-

news them over a tall, bony core; (3) his horns
are placed directly over his eyes; (4) he has
no dew-claws "; (5) and he wears a coat of
tubular hair that is coarse, harsh, easily broken,
and more like fine straw than hair.
This creature is the smallest ruminant animal
inhabiting North America north of Mexico.
It is nearly as tall as the mountain sheep, but
it is not nearly so heavy, nor so strongly built.
Its colors are usually but two in number,
consisting of a cloak of light yellowish-brown
thrown over the back of an otherwise white
animal. On the throat the brown color is laid
in a curious collar-like pattern, and the old
males have also a wash of black on their
cheeks. Taken altogether, with its trim legs,
compact and shapely body, proud carriage of
the head, jaunty horns, pert ears, and big,
bright black eyes, the Prong-horned Antelope
is a decidedly pretty and "stylish creature.
It runs swiftly, but not very gracefully, for the
head is carried rather low, like that of a run-
ning sheep. Its flesh is delicious at all times
save in late winter.
Formerly the Antelope was abundant through-
out the whole of the great pasture region lying
between the Rocky Mountains and the tier of
States bordering the Mississippi River on the
west. It still lingers in the States and Ter-
ritories bordering the Rocky Mountains on the
east, and in the southwest. Wherever they are
but little hunted, they soon begin to increase
in number. But the final doom of this pretty
and interesting creature is fixed and certain,
and its total disappearance from our country
is a question of only a few more years.
We have in North America two kinds of
LAND. For a large game animal that annually
saves hundreds, if not thousands, of human
beings from starvation, the BARREN-GROUND
CARIBOU is far too
BARREN-GROUND CARIBOU. little known. It is
(Ran'gi-fer gren-landi-cus.) true this creature
is rather out of our personal range, but that is
hardly an excuse for the fact that only about
one person out of every thousand has more than
the faintest conception of its character, or even
knows it by name. Inasmuch as this animal
is to the Yellow-Knife and Dog-Rib Indians,



a large body of Eskimos, and thousands of
French-Canadian half-breeds, all that the buf-
falo once was to our own Indians, both in use-
fulness and in abundance, it is time for us to
inform ourselves concerning it. Outside of the

the buffalo had ever existed in greater numbers.
Think of it! Vast herds of big game animals,
fit for food, alive and unslaughtered in North
America to-day! Why this oversight on the
part of the game-butchers? Where are the


sportsmen's journals, and large works on natu-
ral history, we can almost count on the fingers
of one hand the descriptive papers that have
been published in our country about the Cari-
bou of the far North. And even yet I am
obliged to state that I have never known this
animal in its native desolation, and can only
offer information that has been furnished by
those who have seen it at home.
The Barren-Ground Caribou now inhabits the
Great Slave Lake country, and just eastward
thereof, not only in thousands, but tens of
thousands, and it is almost safe to say hundreds
of thousands! In 1891, when Mr. Warburton
Pike found himself in the very midst of the
vast throng of Caribou that were migrating
southward, he was moved to doubt whether

hide-hunters, the tongue-hunters, and the grand
army of greedy game-killers generally?
The reason for the unslaughtered condition
of the Caribou herds of the far North is that
Jack Frost owns the Barren Grounds, and by
game-butchers Jack is considered "bad medi-
cine." As usual, the inhabitants of Caribou-
land slaughter the herds with sickening waste-
fulness, whenever they get an opportunity;
but thus far the Caribou is holding its own
fairly well, save in Alaska.
As its name indicates, the Barren-Ground
Caribou inhabits that vast plain known as the
Barren Grounds of North America. It is truly
the land of silence, desolation, and cold. In
Canada this country is supposed to begin at
the' northern limit of trees and shrubs, but in



Alaska, where the warm equatorial currents of
the Pacific moderate the temperature, the tracts
of frozen morass encroach here and there upon
the timbered areas.
The center of greatest abundance of the
Barren-Ground Caribou is found at the eastern
extremity of Great Slave Lake. To-day that
country is to this creature what the Panhandle
of Texas was to the American bison in 1871.
The northern limit of trees may fairly be taken
as the boundary line between the summer
and winter ranges of this animal.
But the range of the Barren-Ground Cari-
bou is by no means confined to central
North America. Excepting a fifty-mile strip
along the coast of Bering Sea, and another
along the Yukon River, where the creature

of the great northern archipelago. More than
this, it is known to have lived along the west-
ern shore of Baffin's Bay and Smith's Sound,
as far north as Grinnell Land, where General
Greely and his men often found Caribou ant-
lers and bones. Along the Atlantic coast it
is found eastward of Hudson's Bay, in the
northern part of the great Labrador peninsula.
In several portions of its range, it encroaches
upon the home of the Woodland Caribou,
and under certain conditions the two animals
are often classed as one.
Respecting the Caribou of the Great Slave
Lake region, Mr. Warburton Pike says that in
summer they keep to the true Barren Grounds,
but in the autumn, when their feeding-grounds
are covered with snow, they seek the hanging


has been exterminated or driven away, it in-
habits practically the whole of the main-
land of Alaska, and is even quite abundant
within striking distance of Point Barrow.
Wherever the Eskimos permit, it undoubtedly
presses on to the icy shores of the Arctic
Ocean; and it is very probable that at one
time, even if not recently, it visited every island

moss in the woods. "From what I could
gather from the Yellow-Knife Indians, and from
my own personal experience, it is late in Octo-
ber that the great bands of Caribou, commonly
known as La Foide, mass upon the edge of the
woods, and start for the food and shelter af-
forded by the stronger growth of pine farther
southward." Of this great annual migration,



here is what plucky Mr. Pike actually saw on
Lake Camsell, about sixty miles north of the
eastern end of Great Slave Lake. It reads like
a fairy tale, but nevertheless the account is
undoubtedly true.
"Scattered bands of Caribou were almost
always in sight from the top of the ridge behind
the camp, and increased in numbers till the
morning of October 20 [1889], when little Bap-
tiste, who had gone for firewood, woke us up
before daylight with the cry, 'La foule Za
foule/' [The throng! The throng!] Even
in the lodge we could hear the curious clatter
made by a band of traveling Caribou. La
foule had really come,, and during its passage
of six days I was able to realize what an extra-
ordinary number of these animals still roam
the Barren Grounds."
He thus describes the migration:
From the ridge we had a splendid view of
the migration. All the south side of Mackay
Lake was alive with the moving beasts, while

i f


the ice seemed to be dotted all over with black
islands, and still away on the north shore, with
the aid of the glasses, we could see them com-
ing like regiments on the march. In every di-
rection we could hear the grunting noise that
the Caribou always make when traveling. The
snow was broken into broad roads, and I found
it useless to try to estimate the number that
passed within a few miles of our encampment.

We were just on the western edge of their
passage, and afterward we heard that a band
of Dog-Ribs, hunting some forty miles to the
west, were at this very time in the last straits
of starvation, only saving their lives by a hasty
retreat to the woods. This is a common
danger in the autumn, as the Caribou, com-
ing in from the Barren Ground, join together
in one vast herd, and do not scatter much
till they reach the thick timber. The Cari-
bou, as is usually the case when they are in large
numbers, were very tame, and on several oc-
casions I found myself right in the middle of
a band, with a splendid chance to pick out
any that seemed in good condition. Not-
withstanding all the tall stories that are told of
their numbers [the buffaloes'], I cannot believe
that the herds on the prairie ever surpassed in
size La Foule of the Caribou."
The Barren-Ground Caribou is quite similar
in form and general appearance to the reindeer
of Europe, and is a much smaller animal than
is generally supposed. It shows more antlers
for its size than any other animal now living,
and they sweep back so far and rise so high
that they have the effect of magnifying the
actual bulk of the wearer. And more than
that, this preponderance of antlers over body
has also led numerous authorities into the be-
lief that the antlers of this creature are much
larger than those of the Woodland Caribou-
which is not the case, unless you take West-
ern examples of the latter.
In weight the Barren-Ground Caribou is
about the same as our Virgina deer, but it is
of a different form. It is not so tall as the lat-
ter, but its legs are larger, and its feet are ex-
panded into great, flattened bell-shaped hoofs,
with huge "dew-claws," very sharp on the
outer edges, and especially designed by nature
to keep the owner from coming to grief on
snow and ice. Where the small, sharp hoofs
of a Virginia deer stab through the snow, and
leave him floundering helplessly, the broad
snow-shoes of the Caribou carry him over the
surface, and enable him to live and thrive,
snow or no snow. The weight of this Caribou
is stated to be one hundred and fifty pounds, or
about one half that of the woodland species;
but after a careful comparison of authorities I


believe this estimate is too low. Mr. Pike says toba sportsmen still find them occasionally
the woodland animal is one third larger than the around the northern end of Lake Winnipeg.
other, which would show a weight, for large speci- Skipping the treeless pasture region, we next
mens of the Barren-Ground species, of between find this creature in northern Idaho, north-
two hundred -and two hundred and
fifty pounds. Thus far, for very good
reasons, no hunter has carried steel-
yards into the haunts of this animal.
As its very apt name implies, the
WOODLAND CARIBOU prefers to live
in the woods,
WOODLAND CARIBOU. the thicker the
( an' gfr carl-bou.) better. In-
deed, the density and impenetrability
of the forests of northern Idaho in-
habited by this large antlered creature
are almost beyond belief. Just how
an old male gets through thick woods,
with antlers like an arm-chair on his
head, I cannot understand; but he
does it, somehow. The weight of
large specimens of this species is
usually from three hundred and fifty
to four hundred pounds, but some
times more.
Speaking very generally, it may be
said that the range of this animal
begins where that of his Barren-
Ground relative leaves off, and ex-
tends southward, wherever there is
a good growth of forest, to our most
northern States. Formerly this state-
ment was literally true; but the
species has been exterminated CARIU MIGRATING.
throughout so many settled areas
that at present it exists only in spots. In the western Montana, and the mountains of British
primeval interior forests of pine-clad Newfound- Columbia. Strange to say, it is also an inhabi-
land the Woodland Caribou still exists in great tant of Oregon, in the vicinity of Mount Hood.
numbers, and large herds are frequently reported. Just where, or'to what extent, it is found in
It is there, also, that it reaches its greatest size, Washington, I have as yet been unable to
and grows the largest antlers. ascertain; and I would be very thankful for
In portions of Labrador and New Bruns- precise information. The farthest north of this
wick it is still fairly abundant; but from Nova species is the head waters of the Yukon River,
Scotia and northern Maine and New Hamp- in southern Alaska.
shire it has almost disappeared before the still- Some authors consider this species identical
hunter's rifle., It is at home around the southern with that of the Barren Grounds, and others
end of Hudson's Bay, and James Bay, and is assert that the Barren-Ground Caribou and the
still found in the wilder portions of northern reindeer of Europe are also one and the same.
Quebec and Ontario. Minnesota possesses a But I protest against this highway robbery of
few around the Lake of the Woods, and Mani- our North American fauna, and will maintain


to the court of last resort my proprietary rights,
as an American citizen, in the Woodland Cari-
bou, at least. They may have their little old
Barren-Ground Caribou, and call it the Euro-
pean reindeer, if they like, for it is a great deal
smaller than our own species, and not nearly so
handsome; but they must keep their hands off

when the snow is hard and crusted; its wan-
dering habits; its boy-like love of ice-covered
ponds; and its fleetness of foot when thor-
oughly alarmed. The accompanying illustra-
tion tells its form, and the shape of its remark-
able antlers, so eccentric in form that no one
has ever seen two pairs exactly alike. The


Rangifer caribou, or there will be an "interna-
tional episode" at once. The very superior size
of the Woodland Caribou should of itself be
sufficient distinction between the two species.
Of the habits of this strange and interesting
creature there is no room to tell. A long and
interesting chapter might be written about how
it travels over deep snows on its natural snow-
shoes, leaving enormous tracks; how in winter
it paws down through loose snow, sometimes
three feet deep, to get at its beloved reindeer
moss; how it lives on tree moss and lichens

figures that would represent the number of
variations possible in the antlers of this crea-
ture would make a procession reaching half-
way across this column.
Strange to say, many females of this species
are provided with antlers. They are not great,
hulking, heavy ones, but modest, more becom-
ing antlers, and by reason of their sharpness
they- are decidedly good weapons. The female
Caribou retains her antlers long after the males
have grown tired of carrying theirs, and have
dropped them.



[Begun in te April number, 1894.]
IT was not until the Wednesday following
that Jack and Mr. Simms started down the
river to Jamestown. Jack's mind was full of
the thought of Nelly Parker. She had come
with her father, ut upon the steps of the house
to see him off.
As the boat sailed away in the strong, cold
wind, Jack wrapped himself up in his over-
coat and gave himself luxuriously up to day-
dreaming. He was seventeen years old now.
How strange it would be to go down to Bath
Town again, and to see the places he had lived
in there!
If we have time," said Mr. Simms, "we '11
stop at the Roost."
His words broke sharply upon Jack's thoughts,
seeming to shatter them to pieces. He sat si-
lent for a while. Do you think," said he sud-
denly, "that Mr. Parker 's there, now ?"
"Why, I don't know," said Mfr. Simms; "but,
I hope he is, for 't is he I wish to see:"
"I 'd like to go ashore there," said Jack,
"but I don't choose to meet him."
It was a little after noon when they reached
the Roost. After Mr. Simms had landed Jack
also got out of the boat. He climbed the
stairs to. the top of the bluff. As Mr. Simms
went up to the house he stood there looking
about him. How familiar and yet how strange
everything seemed to him! Suddenly, two or
three negroes came out from behind the end
of the house, and stood looking toward him.
Among them, was Little Coffee. He called
him: "Little Coffee! Hi! Little Coffee!" The
negroes still stood looking at him. He could
see that one of the black men spoke to Little
Coffee and gave him a push forward. "Little
VOL. XXII.-io8. 8

Coffee!" Jack called again, and this time the
negro boy came lingeringly down toward him.
"Who dat'?" said Little Coffee when he
had come pretty near. Dat you, boy ?"
Why, yes, 't is I," said Jack. "' Don't you
see 't is I ?"
"You be berry fine boy, nowaday," said Lit-
tle Coffee, standing at a distance and looking
at him.
Jack laughed. The black boy grinned.
"Tell me," said Jack, "is Mr. Parker at
"No," answered Little Coffee. "Mr. Parker
be gone away now two week."
"Why, then," said Jack," I 'd like to go up
and see the old place again. Where 's Dennis ?"
"He ober at de stable," said Little Coffee.
Jack walked up to the house.
Everything seemed to Jack to be exactly as
he had left it, excepting that the leaves were
all gone, from the trees, and that the long,
shaggy grass was now brown instead of green.
The huts and outbuildings and stables, the ne-
gro children playing about the open space of
ground, were all just exactly as he had seen
them last. The negroes stood staring at Jack
as he passed by in front of the huts. He spoke
to them, laughing and nodding his head. He
felt elated with gratification. He knew that he
showed ripe fortune, and, as Little Coffee had
said, he was very fine now.
Dennis was sitting in the shed by the sta-
bles, mending an old saddle. He looked up
when Jack came in, as though for a moment
puzzled. Then instantly his face cleared.
"Why, lad," said he, "is that you?" He
slipped the wax-end betwixt his lips and held
out his hand.
Yes," said Jack, "'t is I; and how are you,
"Why," said Dennis, "I 'm very well. I 've

been hearing about your doings, Master Jack."
He looked Jack over. "And how you have
climbed up in the world, to be sure! said he.
"They tell me you 're living up at Marlbor-
ough, now, in glory."
Jack laughed. "I am living at Marlbor-
ough," said he; "but I don't live in any
Well, lad," said Dennis, I do hear they've
killed your friend Blackbeard. To think of
your running away from us to turn pirate!
Well, you were lucky to get away." He had
begun sewing again upon his saddle.
Yes," said Jack, I was lucky to get away.
And how is Mrs. Pitcher, Dennis ? "
Oh, she 's very well," said Dennis. "She
was talking about you only this morning. I
tell you what 't is, lad, she and his Honor had
it like shovel and tongs after you ran away."
Well, Dennis," said Jack, presently, I think
- I '11 go over to the house to see her. I 've
only got a little while to stay. We .'re going
on to Jamestown. I 'm going on down to Bath
Town, on business for Colonel Parker."
Business for Colonel Parker, be you?"
said Dennis. "To be sure, you have risen
then in the world to be going around so on
Colonel Parker's business. Well, good-by, lad:
You '11 not mind my not getting up, will you ?
For I 've got this teasing saddle so far that I
can't leave it."
He took the hand that Jack gave him and
shook it warmly, and then Jack went away
over to the house, still accompanied by Little
Coffee. Wish I run away with you dat time,"
said Little Coffee.
Some one had told Peggy Pitcher that he
was about the place, and she was expecting
him. "Why, Jack," said she, as she looked him
all over, "what afine, grand gentleman you've
grown all of a sudden! Well, to be sure, to
think that I should have seen you that last
time sitting over yonder in the cell with irons
around your legs, and so- down in the spirits
that 't was enough to break a body's heart
to see you and now you to be grown so fine
a gentleman, to be sure "
I tell you what 't is, Mrs. Pitcher," said
Jack, "I '11 never forget what you 've done for
me as long as ever I live."


"Won't you, Master Jack?" said she, evi-
dently gratified. Why, now, that 's very kind
and noble-spoken of you."
"I don't see that 't is," said Jack. "Where
would I have been now, do you think, if it
had n't been for you?"
Peggy Pitcher burst out laughing. She sat
down on a chair just behind her. "Why, I
don't know," said she. "'T is like you 'd
been in a pretty bad way; to be sure, his
Honor was hot ag'in' you just then." She
became suddenly serious. "I tell you what
't is, Master Jack," said she, "things are
not going well with him just now. He 's a
good, kind man, too, when he chooses to
be so. They do tell me, Master Jack, that
Blackbeard was killed, and that a lot of his
men are prisoner down at Williamsburg."
Why, yes," said Jack; 't is the truth."
Just then Mr. Simms's voice sounded-from
the outside. "Master Jack! Master Jack!"
"There," said Jack, I must, go now. I '11
try to see you some time again, Mrs. Pitcher."
And he gave her his hand.
"Well," said Peggy Pitcher, as she rose and
took Jack's hand, "I did n't think I was help-
ing you into such good luck when I helped
you to get away that night."
Nor I did n't, neither," said Jack. Good-
by, Mrs. Pitcher," said he, and he pressed her

It was the afternoon of the next day when
the boat reached Jamestown. The men-of-war
were still lying in front of the town, but Lieu-
tenant Maynard was ashore. Jack and Mr.
Simms found him, after some little trouble, at
the house of Dr. Bullett. Jack waited outside
while Mr. Simms went to the door to inquire
for him; and presently the lieutenant came out,
with his hat on and his overcoat buttoned up
around his throat, to where Jack stood. He
carried his hand in a sling.
"Well," said he, giving his left hand to Jack,
"and how does my hero do now?" The
lieutenant always called Jack his hero.
Why, I 'm pretty well, I thank you," said
"And so, Jack," said the lieutenant, "your
old friend Blackbeard is no more. Well, he


gave me a reminder before he left me "; and the
lieutenant looked down at his hand. .
"How were you hurt? said Jack.
"Why, naught but a slash across the hand,"
said the lieutenant. "'T was as hot a fight,
though, for a while as ever I was in. They are
as desperate villains as ever I saw in all my life.
Methought the man would never be killed.
D' ye know, he was shot in the body six times
before he fell, and he had over a dozen other
wounds upon him. 'T was the most deter-
mined villain I ever saw."
"They say you brought up a lot of prisoners
with you," said Jack.
"Ay," said the lieutenant, "there were
seventeen surrendered, and one of 'em we
found up in Bath Town a lame fellow named
Hands. Hewas the sailing-master. He had
been shot in the leg, and was not well enough
to be with the others."
"Where are they now ? asked Jack.
"Why, they 're over at Williamsburg," said
Mr. Maynard. "Would you like to see them?"
"Why, yes, I would," said Jack.
"Then," said the lieutenant, "we 'll go over
there to-morrow, if you choose. What time do
you start for Bath Town ?" said he, turning to
Mr. Simms, who stood by while he talked.
"Why, sir," said Simms, "I 'd like right
well to go to-morrow morning; but I '11 stay
until the afternoon if your honor and Master
Jack want to go over to Williamsburg."
"That 's what I 'd like to do," said Jack.

The next morning Jack and Lieutenant May-
nard rode over to Williamsburg. They went
straight to the jail, and were admitted by the
turnkey. He took them at once to where the
prisoners were.
They were all crowded together in one room.
At first Jack could hardly bear the heavy,
musty smell of the place. The prisoners them-
selves were altogether unconscious of it. Many
of them were wounded. One man, with a cloth
tied around his head, looked very pale and ill.
Others also -showed marks of the battle-an
arm in a sling or a bandage here and there.
They looked unkempt and forlorn.
"Why, 't is Jack Ballister cried one of
them. "Why, to be sure, that is who 't is."

It was Ned Salter who spoke, the young man
who had been shot in the shoulder when the
pirates had taken the "Duchess Mary." Why,
Jack," said he, "what a fine, grand gentleman
you are, to be sure! "
Jack laughed. They had all crowded around
him -all except Hands and another man.
Hands sat on the floor in a corner, smoking his
pipe; the other man lay motionlessly, with his
face turned toward the wall. He had been
shot through the body. They were all of them
handcuffed and all wore leg-irons. They had
wrapped rags around the shackles to protect
their ankles and wrists from being rubbed by
the iron. Most of them had, besides the shackles,
two long links of iron fastened from the leg-
pieces to an iron ring around the waist. The
men were very glad to see Jack; they were
apparently glad of any change in the monotony
of their imprisonment.
"Well, Jack," said one of them, named
Dick Stiles, I tell 'e what 't is, 'e be lucky to
be here now, alive and well. 'T was a nigh
miss for 'e when 'e got int' t' inlet ahead of us.
If 'e 'd been a minute later 'e 'd never 'a' got
out t' be here now."
"So poor Chris Dred is dead, is he ?" said
"Ay," said Jack; "and you men killed him."
"Well, Jack, you fell into your fortune when
you got away. I suppose you '11 be marrying
her young ladyship next, won't you ? "
They all burst out laughing. Jack laughed
too, but he knew that he was blushing.
"Well, Jack, I tell you what't is," said one of
the men, you be such a grand, great gentleman
now, you ought to speak a good word for your
old friends. They say our trial is to come off
next week. Hands says he knows summat '11
save his own neck."
"Ay," said Hands, "they dare n't hang me.
I know what I know, and they won't harm me."
Mr. Maynard tells me 't was a hot fight,"
said Jack.
"Ay, 't were," said Ned Salter.
"'T would have been hotter for him yet,"
said another, "if we 'd had any kind of luck.
We grappled 'em tight enough, but the hooks
would n't hold. They gave way, and so our
sloop drifted off. There were only fourteen on



us could get aboard, and there the rest of us
was three or four fathoms away. -But they
fourteen fought away till only six were left
standing, and then jumped overboard and be-
gan to call, 'Quarter!'"
It seemed strange to Jack that they should
think so little of their approaching trial, and
the inevitable result of that trial. He knew
that there could be but one end to it, for the
governor was determined to make an example
to all other pirates. They seemed to think
more of the dullness of their imprisonment than
anything else. They evidently hailed his visit
as a break in the monotony of their captivity.

THE schooner was over five days in reaching
Bath Town. Then Jack went up on deck one
morning to find the vessel lying at anchor in
the creek. It was still in the gray dawn of the
early autumn morning. He looked across the
water to the dim shore; there was the pirate's
house just as he had seen it last.
Jack and Mr. Simms went ashore in the boat
as soon as they had eaten their breakfast,
taking with them several men. Mr. Simms
handed a mattock and three shovels down into
the boat.
As soon as they had landed Jack went on
ahead up to the house, leaving Mr. Simms
to follow at his leisure. Betty Teach had seen
them landing from the boat, and she stood at
the door. She did not know Jack at first;
then-" Why, Jack!" she cried, "and is that
you? Oh, Jack, Jack!" She suddenly burst
out crying.
"There, Mistress," said Jack, "don't cry.
There! there!"
Oh, Jack! Jack!" she wailed, "the cruel
villains have killed poor Ned. They came
down from Virginny, they did, and they took
all the men away. Hands was only just
out of bed, but they took him away. I 'm a
widdy myself now, Jack--oh, I 'm a widdy!
And poor Ned-they cut his head off, they
did, and took it up to Virginny. Bath Town
will soon be full of widdies now. Mr. Secretary
Knight was down here yesterday evening, and

he was saying as how Lieutenant Maynard
had n't any right to come down here, anyhow;
that it were n't Governor Spottiswood's busi-
ness to look after the laws of North Caroliny;
and that he best mind his own business at
home insteadd of sending expeditions into other
folks's territories. 'T is true as gospel, 't is."
Jack could not believe that the house, with
its mean interior and its squalor, was the same
he had known and lived in for two months.
He went all through the house, following up
his history point by point. Betty Teach ac-
companied him. He went up-stairs into the
room Eleanor Parker had occupied; it seemed
full of her presence, and it brought the thought
of her very vividly before him. His heart grew
very full. Betty still stood wiping the tears
from her eyes. "Did you know Dred was
dead ? said Jack.
"Ay," said Betty Teach; "they all seem to
die, it seems to me. What did you come down
to North Caroliny again for, Jack? she asked
"I '11 tell you," said Jack. "You must know
that the Captain has hid some money down
here that belonged to Colonel Parker up in
Virginia. Dred told me where.it is hid, and
I 've come down here with Colonel Parker's
agent to look for it."
"Money? said she. "And what right
have ye to come down here tampering with
money that belongs to Ned, I 'd like to know?
If Ned hid it away, it belongs to me now; for
ain't I his widdy, and don't what he left be-
long to me ?"
"But," said Jack, d' ye see, it belonged to
Colonel Parker in the first place. It was taken
away from-him, and so if he can find it again it
belongs to him. Don't you see it does ? "
No, I don't see," said Betty Teach. That
there money don't'belong to Colonel Parker
now; it belongs to me. 'T was my husband
hid it away, and it belongs to me. I don't see
what concern 't is of yours,, anyway. It don't
make it your business because Colonel Parker
chooses to dress you up like a poppet with lace
cravats, and make a pet of you."
"Why," said Jack, as for that, 't is nothing
of the sort. I know where the money 's hid,
and I just came down to show where 't is hid



-that 's all. If it rightly belongs to you, it
can't be taken away from you, and that 's all
there is of it. As for being Colonel Parker's
poppet, why, that I 'm not."
"Where 's it hid ? said Betty Teach.
"Up there in the swamp," said Jack; "I
can't tell you just where. But there 's Mr.
Simms calling me, and I 've got to go."
Betty Teach followed him to the door. Mr.
Simms was standing just outside. "And you
be the villain that's going to try to rob me, be
ye? she shrilled. "Very well; you durst to
try it, and see what you. get. Do you think
there be no laws in North Caroliny ? Oh, very
well then,-very well. I 'm going up to the
town to ask Mr. Knight. We 'll see what
he 's got to say to it. 'T was all ag'in' the
laws for that Lieutenant Maynard to come
here, and to break open the storehouses and
take all the rum and sugar and wine and cloth.
'T was n't his, and 't was n't Governor Spottis-
wood's, and he had no call to come to North
Caroliny and take it away with him to Virginny,
and no right to do so, neither. Very well, Jack
Ballister; you '11 see what you '11 get, too."
Who is that woman ? said Mr. Simms, as
he and Jack walked away, followed by the three
men with the shovels and mattock.
"That's Blackbeard's wife," said Jack.
"She seems mightily put out at our coming.
I never saw her so before. She called me Col-
onel Parker's poppet."
Mr. Simms laughed.
"There she goes now," said Jack. "She
looks as if she was going to Trivitt's to get
them to take her up to the town. She '11 be
bringing Secretary Knight and his men down
on us in a little while."

Jack had thought he could easily enough
find the cypress-tree at the'foot of which he
and Dred had found the young lady. He
seemed to have a distinct mental picture of it,
but when he came to look for it he was not at
all sure where it was. But at last he found a
tree that seemed to fit in with his recollection
of the scene.
"This is the tree, I think," said he, "from
which I was to start. Yes; I 'm nigh certain
't is. I remember that log lying in the bog

just below yonder. Dred said the tree where
't was buried was almost due west from here,
and he said there was a nail driven in the tree,
and that you could tell it by that."
"Well," said Mr. Simms, testily, I should
think you might be sure of what you 've seen.
Why, you've lost half an hour already finding
this tree. If you take so much longer to find
t' other, we '11 have Mr. Knight and all his
men down oh us to stop us in the search."
It was perhaps another half hour before they
found the tree. Mr. Simms's patience was thor-
oughly exhausted, and more than once Jack
began to doubt whether what Dred had told
him was really so, or, if it was really so, whether
the Captain had not pulled the nail out of the
tree. Then suddenly he found a tree with a
rusty nail driven into it.
Mr. Simms examined the tree very carefully.
"Yes," said he, "I do suppose this must be it.
'T is n't likely that there would be another tree
with a nail driven into it. Here--dig here first,
on the side where the nail is."
The men began digging. They dug quite a
time without finding anything. Suddenly Betty
Teach appeared upon the scene, with three
men. One of them was Mr. Knight,. the co-
lonial secretary.
Mr. Knight, limping with his cane, came
straight up to where Mr. Simms stood, as
though to overawe him with his coming.
"Who was it that gave you authority for this
search? said Mr. Knight. "This land be-
longs to the woman here. She has warned you
off, and you are common trespassers." As he
spoke he grew more and more angry.
"Why," said Mr. Simms, "there was no one
gave me a warrant to come here; and we only
do it in our own right to recover what is our
"Well, sir," said Mr. Knight, "then I, by
my authority as secretary of this province and
magistrate of this county, order you to go away,
or else I '11 arrest the whole party."
Mr. Simms laughed. "Why," said he, "how
are you to arrest the whole party ? We 're five
here to your three, and armed into the bargain";
and he opened the flap of his pocket and showed
the butt-end of a pistol within.
"Very well," said Mr. Knight; "if you try


force, I '11 see if I can't try force against you.
You run down to Dobbs's, Jameson. Here,
Trivitt; you run down to the boat and fetch
up the other men."
Oh, very well; if that is the sport we are to
play," said Mr. Simms, "we '11 have to take
our hand in it too. You run over to the boat,
Mr. Smith, and tell them to send up three or
four men," said Mr. Simms to Governor Spot-
tiswood's agent or clerk, who had come up
while the men had been digging. The clerk
hurried away to do his bidding. "If there 's
going to be a quarrel over this, I '11 try to bring
as many men to our help as you can bring to
yours," he added, turning to Mr. Knight.
Meantime the men had ceased digging.
"Hurry, men," said Mr. Simms, or else there
may be trouble here." Then they began dig-
ging again faster than ever. Almost immedi-
ately their spades struck upon a wooden chest.
They soon had it up out of the hole. It was
an oblong coffer-shaped chest with a rounded
lid bound with iron. It was about two feet
long, a foot high, and nine or ten inches wide
at the top. It was caked with dirt and mold.
It had a handle at each end, and seemed to be
very heavy. Jack watched the men as they
lifted it to the surface of the ground. "Now,
then, come along, men," said Mr. Simms.
Never mind the spades and mattock. Let's
get away as quick as we can. Here, I '11 carry
your coats."
Two men picked up the box, swaying out
their free arms as they did so and balancing
themselves as they carried it. They almost ran
along a little distance, then set it down, rest-
ing. Then they ran on again. As they came
up out of the swamp, Betty Teach caught sight
of them. They could see her as she'ran down
toward the shore, and could hear her dis-
tant voice calling, "Mr. Knight! Mr. Knight!
They're carrying it away!"
Mr. Knight came hurrying up, limping with
his cane, and with seven or eight men at his
heels. "Put that box down!" he roared,
panting. "You 've got no right to take it
away. It belongs to the jurisdiction of North
"It belongs to the jurisdiction of fiddlesticks,"
said Mr. Simms. He thrust his hand into his

coat pocket and brought out his pistol; "I'll1
shoot the first man," he said, "who dares to
stop us. Now then, Jake, carry along that
box briskly."
"Stop! Put it down! roared Mr. Knight,
and the men stood irresolute. "You can't
scare me with your pistol," said he; but at the
same time he kept a safe distance from Mr.
Simms. "Here, men," he called to his own
followers, "pick up that box and carry it up
to the house; it belongs to the jurisdiction of
North Carolina." The men advanced to do
his bidding.
"The first man who touches that box," said
Mr. Simms, "I-']l shoot him!" and he cocked
his pistol.
"There 's two muskets and three or four
pistols up at the house, Mr. Knight," cried
Betty Teach.
"Very well, you show me where they are,"
said Mr. Knight. "You stand here, men, and
keep them from carrying the chest away.
Come, Betty!" and the two hurried away.
Just then a reinforcement of four or five
came hurrying up to Mr. Simms's aid from the
boat at the landing. "Hurry! called Mr.
Simms, and then the men from the boat broke
into a run. Now, then," said Mr. Simms
to the others, get it away from here as quick
as you can."
Again the two men picked up the box, and
this time began running with it. Mr. Knight's
men were so clearly outnumbered that they did
not attempt to stop the others. Mr. Simms's
men from the boat surrounded their friends
who carried the chest. Mr. Knight's men ran
along beside them, waiting for an opportunity
to attack them. Once they stopped, and then
again; then, making a longer stretch, they
reached the boat and dropped the chest aboard
with -a grunt. "Push her off!" cried Mr.
Simms, and he jumped into the boat, with
Jack at his heels. The men pushed off from
the shore, running through the water. There
was a little pile of broken bricks and refuse
at a short distance. Mr. Knight's men ran
to it, and presently returned with hands full
of broken bricks. By this time the boat was
pulling away.
Mr. Knight's men ran into the water, and



threw bricks after the boat. One piece came
pretty near Mr. Simms's head. He ducked
down as it flew by, and it crashed against the
rail on the side. "Ye villains!" he roared,
"if ye throw another stone I '11 shoot you!"
and he flourished his pistol. "Pull away,
men!" he called, and the men bent to their
Take care! cried Jack, and another piece
of brick whizzed by. Then they were out of
distance. They had nearly reached the boat
when Mr. Knight-and Betty Teach came run-
ning down from the house to the shore, he
carrying the guns and she the pistols. Before
they reached the shore, however, Jack and
Mr. Simms and the chest were safe aboard the
schooner. Mr. Knight and his men consulted
together for a moment or two, and then he
stepped into his boat, and his men rowed him
slowly out toward the schooner.
Mr. Simms stood behind the cabin deck-
house, looking over the top of it. "If you
come any nearer I '11 fire on you!" he shouted.
Mr. Knight's men stopped rowing. I '11
have the law on you for this!" Mr. Knight
"You may do as you please about that,"
called Mr. Simms.
Again Mr. Knight and his men consulted to-
gether for a moment or two. Then they turned
the boat and .began pulling rapidly away toward
the town.
Mr. Simms went forward. Come, Brooks,"
said he to the sailing-master, "let us get away
as quick as we can, else we '11 have trouble
when he fetches down a lot more of his pirates
upon us."
The treasure-box, still caked with clay and
dirt, stood upon the deck of the vessel. Jack
kicked it with his toe; it felt very solid and
IT was the morning of a chill, raw day when
the schooner dropped anchor again in James-
town. Mr. Simms went ashore almost imme-
diately to report to the authorities the recovery
of the chest. He had been there maybe a half
hour when Lieutenant Maynard came off in a

boat from the Lyme," ship-of-war. He came
aboard wrapped in his cloak. Jack met him
on the deck. "Won't you come down into
the cabin?" said he. "'T is warmer there."
"Why, yes," said the lieutenant; "I will if
you have any heat there. This wind seems to
cut straight through me."
In the cabin the lieutenant threw aside his
cloak, rubbing his hands vigorously. "Well,
Jack," said he, "'t is you for fortune! I knew
you 'd find what you went for. Do you know
Colonel Parker 's over at Williamsburg? "
"Why, no," said Jack, "I did n't. How
does he come to be down at Williamsburg ?"
"I understand that he comes over to Wil-
liamsburg to see one of the prisoners in the
jail there. I heard there was one of them writ
him a letter asking for an interview. 'T was
the lame fellow- the man named Hands. He
hath proclaimed to every one that the governor
shall never hang him, and that he will not dare
to do so lest he should tell something that he
knows. Then he writ the letter to Colonel
Parker; and his Honor hath come down here
all the way from Marlborough, and hath been
over there ever since day before yesterday.
They say the villain knows some secret that
concerns Colonel Parker. Do you know any-
thing of it, Jack ?"
Jack thought for a minute. "Why, yes,"
he said; I do believe I know what 't is.. But
I don't believe I ought to tell you anything
about it," said he. "I don't believe Colonel
Parker would choose to have me say anything
about it to you."
"Why, nonsense!" said Lieutenant Maynard.
"Why should you not tell me, then? To be
sure, I '11 not speak about it to a living soul.
What hath Mr. Richard Parker been about?"
Why," said Jack, I will not tell you unless
you will solemnly promise not to say anything
about it to any one else."
"Why, in course I '11 not say anything about
it," said Lieutenant Maynard.
"Well, then," said Jack, "the truth is that
't was Mr. Richard Parker who put Captain
Blackbeard up to carrying off Miss Nelly
Parker. Blackbeard used to talk about it
freely enough down at his home in Bath
Town. When I was a servant with Mr.



Richard Parker at the Roost, Blackbeard came
there two or three times, and he and Mr.
Parker talked for a long time together. I be-
lieve they were planning it out then. Then,
afterward, there was a great deal of talk down
at Bath Town about Mr. Parker's being con-
cerned in having her carried away. Mr.
Knight, the secretary, was in the business too.
He wrote letters to Mr. Parker, telling him that
Miss Nelly was sick. Mr. Parker was expected
to answer them, and to arrange for Miss Nelly's
coming back; but, all of a sudden, he seemed to
take a notion that he would have nothing at all
todo with it. 'T was very strange that he should
have changed his mind so, and it could only be
that he had some other plan in his head; for
't is certain that at first he intended to have
her returned. She was .growing more and
more sickly down there all the time, and she 'd
'a' died if she 'd 'a' been left there long enough,
and Mr. Parker knew it. That was why Dred
and I helped her to get away. I dare say't was
about that Hands wrote to Colonel Parker."
"Why, what a thing do you tell me! cried
Lieutenant Maynard. Of course, if that vil-
lain Hands knew aught of this, 't was that
brought Colonel Parker down here. Why,
what a precious rascal-that Mr. Parker must
be! 'T is incredible that a gentleman could be
such a villain. I suppose he planned all this
that he might possess himself of his niece's
inheritance. I never did like the man; he al-
ways seemed as if he had no heart or soul like
other human beings."
That afternoon Colonel Parker came aboard
the schooner. He hardly noticed Jack, and
said almost nothing about the recovery of the
chest. After he and Jack had eaten their silent
supper together, Colonel Parker suddenly said
to him: "Do you know aught of how.Nelly
came to -be taken away from Marlborough?
Did the pirate do it of his own free will, or did
you hear of any one who put him up to do it?"
"Why," said Jack, hesitatingly, "I don't
think he would have done it himself. I did
hear there was. somelbody put him up to it."
"What did you hear ? said Colonel Parker.
"Come, speak out plain, and tell me just what
you know about this whole matter."

S"Why," said Jack, "'t was said down there
at Bath Town-that is, by those who lived
with the pirate in his house-'that-that Mr.
Richard Parker knew about Miss Nelly's hav-
ing been taken away. I don't know anything
about it myself, but that was what was said. I
know that Blackbeard"writ three or four letters
to Mr. Parker while the young lady was there,
telling him that she was sick, and that she must
be took away. He said that Mr. Parker de-
signed that she was to be took away."
Colonel Parker was leaning with his elbow
upon the table and his fingers against his fore-
head. He was looking very steadily and si-
lently at Jack. He did not speak for a long
time after Jack had ended. "Well," said he
at last, what then ? what else do you know ?
Tell me all."
I heard Blackbeard say over and over again
that Mr. Parker had planned it all, and that he
was to get you to pay for-for bringing Miss
Nelly back. So Mr. Knight writ three or four
letters and sent 'em to Mr. Parker, and he was
to show the letters to you. But no answer
could be got to any of 'em. Then, by and by,
they all began to think that maybe he intended
that she should n't come back again."
Again Colonel Parker sat in silence. Jack
had not appreciated before what a very serious
knowledge it was that he possessed. He wished,
with a sudden thrill of uneasiness, that he had
not said anything to Lieutenant Maynard about
it. He wondered with a certain apprehension
what Colonel Parker would say if he knew that
he had told Mr. Maynard. Suddenly Colonel
Parker spoke. "Well," said he to Jack, "you
can see for yourself, without my telling, that
naught must be said of all this; no, not to a
living soul, do you understand ?"
"Yes, sir," said Jack weakly.
"Very well," said Colonel Parker; only re-
member, my boy, that you have a very dread-
ful secret that involves the credit of the whole
of our family, and that you must not speak of
it to a living soul."

Hands was pardoned, and a little less than a
month later Mr. Richard Parker ran away from
Virginia-it was said from his debts-to Jamaica.

(To be concluded.)


B-, -RU',LPrH F. Bti.-.Er,.

W'HEN Kliji Kih.:,!iy !,e:j, :-i r!i'Ll

He, spnfi L t fr'lm bed in line s,.. briel'.
In tld tinklinte .F" Ian eve-
A-\ri. d:.' n rthe p.antry airs
He tears,
To catch the thief so sly.

But when the thief at last is caught,
Down on his knees he drops,
And tells a tale of woe and want:
How cold and hunger made him gaunt-
Food without money can't be bought--
-. ." Till King Kijolly
:" 1. stops
His tale of
._ .L woe,
---r a. And lets him

And he sends him home with a cart and
A cart with yellow wheels;
And gives him presents, too, of course,
And food for many meals;
Gifts for his wife and children two,
A pink umbrella lined with blue,
And whenever the horse his neck may swing,
A bright brass bell goes "Ting-a-ling-ling!"
In the morning light when the sun mounts high,
But-King Kijolly keeps the pie!

7 44'* r- J -

VOL. XXII.- 109.

1:1 IJ,.. d:. ', ;,,, ,

(A True Story.)


WE were ready to leave Hong-
Kong, and wished to go to Bang-
kok. We were sorry to find that
no steamers ran directly to the
I t' "Sacred City of the White
Elephant," and that our only
l course was to take a boat to
Swatow,- exactly in the op-
posite direction from that toward
Bangkok,-which, after stopping two days to
load, would proceed to our destination. More-
over, in the voyage to Swatow we should go
against the monsoon, and must have a rough
However, it was the best that we could do;
and on a charming morning we put off to the
" Rajanattianuhar," a small but comfortable
steamer, which balanced its shortness of beam
by the length of its name.
The captain was not going with us, and
courteously gave me his state-room, which re-
sembled a pretty house-bedroom more than a
ship's cabin. It was quite large, having a dou-
ble French bedstead, with bureaus and other
pieces of furniture, all in mahogany. There
were windows on two sides, over which small
brass rods, about two and a half inches apart,
formed a pretty grating, bright and polished, as
brasses always are on a well-kept ship.
This bedroom opened into the dining-saloon,
where were two large, comfortable rattan sofas.
The weather was very warm, and I left my door
open at night, only drawing the portiere; and

my husband, and the officer who was sailing
the ship, left their state-rooms, and slept on the
saloon sofas, where there was a good circulation
of air from open doors and windows.
We reached Swatow after a very "pitching"
twenty-four hours, and had scarcely anchored,
when the agent of the steamer came on board,
and invited us to his house.
There we lunched and dined, and played
games in the evening, quite falling in love with
our hostess and her children. She was a
charming young Irish lady, and seemed to re-
gard us as a link between herself and the dis-
tant home and friends that she passionately
On the third day, toward evening, we sailed
again; and as I turned from waving my hand-
kerchief to our new friends on the pier, I saw a
large, strange-looking cat in the saloon, and re-
membered that I had seen the same odd-looking
creature before reaching Swatow.
I now noticed that its face was triangular,
and its ears straight up in the air; in fact, it was
like the pictures that little children draw for
both cats and foxes. Its body was the longest
and leanest that I had ever seen, and it seemed
an unusually tall cat. Closer examination of its
face showed a strange and most unpleasant ex-
pression- one which grew momentarily more
unpleasant, and was at the same time curiously
fascinating in its ugliness, because of its air of
As I was thinking thus, a Chinese boy came


along the deck. He seemed startled at see
the cat, and drove it away hurriedly. I thou
him unnecessarily disturbed at .finding the
in what might be considered as. our priv
apartment, as we were the only first-cabin I
sengers; but as I could not talk with hin
gave no more thought to the cat, since it ,
not unusual to see one or more on stearr
the world over.
That night I awakened in a fright fron
sound sleep, and saw the cat sitting close bes
my low bed, with its face most uncomforta
near my own, spitting and growling, and with
paw raised, as if about to pounce on me.
the dim light of the room its eyes were like b
of fire, and its body seemed twice its usual si
for it was stretched by fierceness up to its ful
Much sooner than I can tell it, I shrieked
loudly that my husband and two or three sail
came running in to find out what
could have happened; and we were
still more alarmed when we saw the
terror of the sailors, and learned
that this was a wildcat, of which
they were mortally afraid. It ap-
peared on the steamer soon after
we left Hong-Kong, but not being
seen at Swatow, the sailors had
hoped that it had gone ashore in
some boat that brought out cargo
to the steamer.
I had never before known the
sensation of absolute fear, but now ,
I was terror-stricken, and could not
keep the rage and murderousness of
that cat's face out of my thought. '
Naturally, our first impulse was
to have the creature shot, or in some
way killed; but judge of our surprise
when the officer explained to us that
this was impossible, on account
of the superstitions of the sailors.
They believed that the cat was
dwelt in by some human soul, and did not d;
to touch it. Indeed, it had already leaped
one boy, who went too near it, and had bit
his hand. The officer said that should we t,
any action against the cat, and any misl
afterward befall the ship, the sailors would

lieve that the misfortunes resulted from the ill-
treatment of this strange beast, which they re-
garded as more than natural; and after such
an experience it would be impossible to find
sailors to go on the Rajanattianuhar at all.
As a matter of fact, it was somewhat start-
ling to see a wildcat appear on the deck of a
steamer out at sea, when no one could even
guess whence it came, or how it got there.
At all events, I could do nothing that night
but shut my door and compose myself as well
as I could, especially as every one who could
speak any sort of English assured me that the
gratings over the windows made me perfectly
safe from further intrusion. This seemed so
reasonable that I was able, after some time, to
sleep again.
The next day no one saw the cat, and all
went well on board until evening, when sud-
denly a man, who was doing some ordinary

.. -, :.

are work on the ship, which was not thought at
at all dangerous, fell overboard. It was seven
ten o'clock, and we were moving rapidly, so that
ike it was soon impossible to see the struggles of
lap the man, although his screams were distinctly
be- heard. A boat was lowered, and sent off in the



shortest possible time, and all on board were in
a state of great alarm and excitement until it
returned, bringing the man, who, being a good
swimmer, was not hurt in the least. It was
but twenty-five minutes after he fell when he
was again on board, and the incident would
have been as quickly forgotten, but for the fact
that both he and the other sailors thought that
the mysterious cat had something to do with
his fall, and, consequently, that poor fellow and
I were regarded with compassion, since the cat
seemed to have selected us as the butts for its
little jokes.
That night the sea was very rough and the
wind high, but I went to bed composedly
enough, as I first assured myself that the cat
was not in the room, and then closed the door.
I looked gratefully at the little brass rods
which made it possible. for me to .have the
windows open without fear of the wild crea-
ture, and thought no more about it.
I awoke in the middle of the night, and was
listening to the many sounds that one hears on
shipboard in rough weather, when I became
conscious of an unusual noise at one of the
windows. I raised myself up, and could just
discern the cat trying to come in. I was per-
fectly at my ease, since we had reasoned our-
selves into the belief that whatever might be
possible for its very thin body and legs, its
head could not by any chance pass between
the bars.
Imagine then my horror when suddenly the
beast dropped down on the floor! It was be-
tween me and the door, and I feared that my
voice could not be heard above the tumult of
noises that prevailed on board. But the cat
was coming toward me, and I shrieked or
yelled at the top of my voice, one cry follow-
ing another with startling rapidity.
Fortunately, my screams produced two re-
sults: the cat was apparently paralyzed, arid
remained fixed in the position it had taken
preparatory to springing at me; and my hus-
band was awakened, and rushed into the room.
When I saw him, I fell back, exhausted by my
terror, and he was inclined to think that I had
seen a dream-cat only.
But the officer who was on watch had also
heard my shrieks, and entered the saloon just

as my husband opened the door into my room;
and he saw the cat pass out and fly down the
deck, like the uncanny creature it was.
When this second experience of mine was
noised about the ship, I was regarded as a
very unlucky lady to be sailing with; and I
now recall how the sailors avoided looking at
me, as very droll. They seemed greatly to de-
sire to see what I was like, and yet they did
not think it wise to look at a person whom
they believed to be under some sort of fate,
which this diabolical cat was to execute. And
so they would look at me, yet not look, in a
very curious way.
That day my husband and the first officer
wove.a netting of fine rope over the rods on
the windows of my room; and I was so ner-
vous and frightened that I scarcely dared move,
feeling that wherever I turned that cat was
likely to attack me. But it was invisible that
day, nor did it appear to any one that night;
and as our voyage was nearly over, some of the
sailors imagined that it had vanished as mys-
teriously as it had come.
The next morning we were sailing up the
Menam River, and enjoying the picturesque
and novel scenery. All along the banks were
temples, dwelling-houses, and godowns, against
a background of tall flowering-trees and palms,
while shrubs in bloom and smaller flowers were
everywhere, and even the savage-looking cacti
were made lovely by a drapery of blossoming
As we approached Bangkok, the shipping
was very numerous, and hundreds of little
boats were darting here and there, laden with
fruits, vegetables, and all sorts of merchandise;
for this river is the principal street of the city,
and the tradespeople go about in frail-looking
boats, and transact their business on the Me-
nam, handling their skiffs with a skill, and
moving with a rapidity, which might well be
envied by the drivers in our city streets. The
charm of the scene made us forgetful of all
But the cat, as if realizing that its last
chance had come, now appeared upon the
scene, and was making its way toward me,
when several sailors gave chase to it; and in
the midst of great confusion and excitement



the creature took refuge, under a large bath-
tub, which was raised a few inches above the
The pilot who had come on board discharged
his pistol into the cavity, but we never knew
whether his shots had any effect; for the sailors
quickly brought boards and closed up the open-
ing, so that the cat was temporarily cribbed,

cabined, and confined" in this curious place.
Then we left the Rajanattianuhar, and went
to the Universal Hotel," where we regarded
the dozens of lively little lizards, who lived on
the beams over our heads, as very friendly crea-
tures, as we saw them running about and
eating, or sleeping as peacefully and harm-
lessly as so many house-flies might have done.


''i -, -'

_. _,-,,. T_.

S-. i-

Te:.' i the lb,- rg t State
In our united band.
From Louisiana reaching west.
Unto a river grand.

~Y~i~~-~-I-~_ ~ ~ -^4

ot/ -

Some day the story you will learn
Of fatal "Alamo ";
And how the Lone Star" State was won
In war with Mexico.

A harbor fine has Galveston,
At Trinity River's mouth;
And many rivers you can see,
All flowing east and south.

Fine growth of cotton, timber, grain,
This fertile State adorns;
Great herds of cattle throng her plains,
_With wide, extended horns.


''i -, -'

_. _,-,,. T_.

S-. i-

Te:.' i the lb,- rg t State
In our united band.
From Louisiana reaching west.
Unto a river grand.

~Y~i~~-~-I-~_ ~ ~ -^4

ot/ -

Some day the story you will learn
Of fatal "Alamo ";
And how the Lone Star" State was won
In war with Mexico.

A harbor fine has Galveston,
At Trinity River's mouth;
And many rivers you can see,
All flowing east and south.

Fine growth of cotton, timber, grain,
This fertile State adorns;
Great herds of cattle throng her plains,
_With wide, extended horns.


This territory forms a square,
With a little piece, below, to spare..
The waters of a river wide ..
From north to south the land divide.

The land is mountainous and high;
The air is healthful, pure, and dry.
To the Pacific, loaded trains
Go every day across her plains.

The plains are deserts, wild and free,
With little grass and scarce a tree. __
Few cities of our land to-day
Can boast the age of Santa F6. .



F 3 i, f-e bi aod of umkdownedoown -
ow itwa' b6ui- and tumb ed dow,
/AfP fr te 5sake of QQueen Lezoe,r
r. ue i-R tos efrAone is fe nuiseI y q o

7is is tftj affad ofPTurmbkdowni oun.

e- Qeee ar -te Atones we used fo rear,
'/w eret-and battfement-;wal and pier-
'5/w ,/9.^g', Y/7 /Cw/ -'
;TWOo by 0wo we pracedtfiem so,
/ Like solctier 5tents in a double rous.

It I~a

Vlern a 'floor onl+tese we fo d.,
Ando StraiLohtway anotfte story made'
Anndso on,up and wound about,
SIi3oning de~ffy in and ou-t,
ntif wi't lf i-e Very fagsteaod we crown
'Te fof tj tocwor- I
..: :-'/ .," : / 'b: -',

. _- :- ,-- 5- "1'

-*--- _I '' ; ('1 *






/ ,:/

Mhen. she smifed, did our Querz Leenore,
As. -she sat in state- on^ e nursery (foo -0-r

lut loyal'kshj Tauor is briel ,46- say S
As an. Apri? shower'- R~e smife jave oay
ao0 a brown oa own .
A/nzy 1 Zfi san, ao jy-t/
And 1tfere was a5n em d o 1Trmbledown o Towrn.
@ k*

1own it lefI at the Queerns command,
Down atfie wave ol her royalc hand -
ut Iony faugheod wcen sciaw i+ laf f,
Andc buift mre ano-their quite ast+aci.
o g 6uaidl .Tfro' outr first attempt be Uolin,
2^e must buifo again-and perhaps again;
I'FP those wRo in life uoaodd win venourn -
cunst laumpi- o'er maSn-. a cmbedy ow, owy w"/
A ^^ust- tpiumph odep manq a Tumbfedooun TOwmL"



~".t"-~-5~,~~-~ ~~1

M ---i---f ~--n -

- --- _Ii- .- ;g



-~ =-

I Th'z---

THE teacher told the children how a wise man once
said that we have only one mouth and two'ears, so that
we may listen and hear twice as much as we speak.
Afterward, to see how much of the instruction was re-
membered, she asked:
"Why is it that we have two ears and only one mouth,
Because we would not have room in our face for two
mouths, and we would look too crooked if we had only
one ear."
"No, that is not the reason. You know, do you,
Rosie? "
"Yes, ma'am. So that what we hear may go in at
one ear and out at the other."-Philadelfhia Times.

ToMMY KIRBY is a cat. His home is on Capitol
Hill. Among his many friends and admirers Tommy
Kirby numbers a large Newfoundland dog called Jack,"
who lives at the same house with Tommy Kirby. The
jyo are often seen in each other's company, and on hot
afternoonss take their siestas on the same back porch in
the most amiable, friendly fashion. They have a most
thorough understanding, and on meeting after a brief
separation will express their mutual satisfaction in short
cries and ejaculations in their own language, which they
seem to understand perfectly.
The other afternoon Newfoundland Jack lay wrapped
in slumber in the yard. Tommy Kirby came out, and,
after'looking up and down the causeway, concluded to go
over and visit a friend named Billy, who was himself a
cat of worth, and belonged to Tommy Kirby's set. He
was picking his way across the.street with that dignity
and composure that some cats assume, when he encoun-
tered a strange dog. The dog was disposed to make it
a case of assault and battery. Now, Tommy Kirby is a
cat of great valor, and the neighborhood has night after
night rung with his war whoops. Instead of flying from
his assailant, he came to a full stop, made green his eyes,
enlarged his tail until it looked as if it was meant to clean
lamp chimneys, and gave his back an arch that looked
very threatening. Then he spat with exceeding empha-
sis, and as one who announced himself ready for the

worst. When Tommy Kirby had thus fixed himself his
appearance very much daunted the strange dog.
Instead of rushing wildly in and rending Tommy Kirby
as he had at first proposed, he gave way to clamorous
barkings. This uproar aroused Newfoundland Jack, who
came tearing to the scene. Never having beheld his
friend Tommy Kirby in this heroic guise, Newfoundland
Jack utterly failed to recognize him. Being a dog of vig-
orous methods, he unhesitatingly assailed Tommy Kirby
out of hand. Such base behavior on'the part of his friend
and ally was too much for the composure of Tommy Kirby.
He straightened the arch out of his spinal column, low-
ered his tail, and fled with a screech of pained surprise.
Then it was that Newfoundland Jack recognized him.
He looked after Tommy Kirby, while grief and remorse
shone in his eyes. He was full of apology to the brim.
This lasted for a moment, and then the meditations of
Newfoundland Jack took a new turn. He abruptly fell
upon the strange dog, whose sudden uproar had brought
him into this mess, and gave him such a trouncing as few
dogs get; and this sent the strange dog howling from
the scene at a faster pace even than that of Tommy Kirby.
The next day Newfoundland Jack and Tommy Kirby
were seen sedately walking the yard together; so they
must havemademutual explanations.- Washinglon Star.

MRS. CHARLES PELLS. of Hastings, went rowing re-
cently on the Hudson with her two children, Willie, eight
years old, and Eva, five years old. After rowing about
for two hours she headed the skiff for the shore. When
about two hundred and fifty feet from the landing-place,
the little girl dropped overboard a toy shovel with which
she had been paddling in the water. In trying to regain
it she lost her balance, and fell over the gunwale.
Mrs. Pells promptly jumped overboard after the child.
Graspingher by the hair, she swam toward the skiff, which
had.floated a short distance down-stream. In getting in,
however, the boat was upset, and the boy Willie was
thrown into the water too.
The mother set Eva on top of the overturned boat, and
started to rescue the boy. When he came to the surface
the second time she grabbed him by the collar, then swam
for the skiff, and succeeded in supporting herself by hold-
ing on to the bow.
Several persons on shore heard her cries for help, and
put out in another skiff. She was nearly exhausted when
she was hauled out of the water, but soon recovered and
took her children home.-New York Sun.

THERE was matter that I forgot, and which I meant
to suggest to our War Department before I returned to
Georgia." The speaker was Evan Howell, of Atlanta,
publisher of" The Constitution." "The idea was sug-
gested to me," he said to a writer for "The Star," "by
the trick of a smart Yankee which I observed during


the war. Some of our men surprised a bunch of Yankee
raiders one day. The raiders saw us coming a half mile
away. They were in the front yard of a big plantation-
house at the time, and the moment theyn'oted us stream-
ing'round abendin the pike they leaped for their horses.
One of them, the tricky Yank I mentioned, stopped and
picked up a bee-hive, one of a dozen standing in the
yard, and swung it up to his shoulder. Then he climbed
into the saddle. Every jump of his horse jolted a hand-
ful of indignant bees out of the hive, and it looked as if
they never budged, but stood right still in the air won-
dering what had happened. And when we got up to
them the bees seemed to lay their troubles to us, and
pitched into us like rabid dogs. Not one of our cavalry
ever got further than the first bee. The whole outfit
came streaming back and lit into us and our horses, and
made it so hot we had to'turn. and fly. That's what they
did; just simply stung us plumb out of the country, and
the Yanks got away.
Now, I was n't thinking of suggesting bees to Lamont
as an adjunct to our military, but remembering my bee
experience that day in North Georgia, I was wondering
why we could n't avail ourselves of the aid of animals
more than we do in a battle. My idea was to organize
a dog regiment, say of a thousand dogs. I 'd get good
big staghounds with enough shepherd-dog blood to in-
crease their intelligence. I 'd take Iooo of these and put
1oo men with them, giving each man charge of ten dogs.
I 'd train them to know the enemy by dummies fixed up
in the hostile uniform. It could be done, this last part,
in a week. And I 'd take this dog regiment into battle
with me. They be easy to feed and easy to handle. I 'd
guarantee to whip anything but infantry with my dog
regiments. Cavalry wouldn't last a moment with them.
They 'd stampede the best cavalry brigade that ever heard
a bugle. Of course, these Ioo men would have to be
mounted. With the men in the saddle and their half
staghound, half shepherd-dog cohorts they 'd sweep a
battle-field and stir up an enemy's line like a nest of hor-
nets. As for artillery, these dogs would overrun a bat-
tery like a torrent."-Exchange.

SHE had a seat in a Michigan avenue car, with a baby
on her lap and all bundled up in an old shawl. A wo-
man next to her with two small children seemed to have
considerable curiosity about that baby, and after trying
several times to get a sight of its face she said:
Have n't you got your child bundled up a good deal
for this weather? "
"But I have to keep him warm, ma'am," was the
"For what reason?"
"The doctor told me to."
Then the poor little thing is ailing ?"
"Just a little ailing ma'am -just- a little. He 's got
measles with the mumps atop of it, but the doctor says
he 's growing-"
No one heard the rest of her words. There were four
or five mothers and six or seven children in the car'; and
there was a stampede which took them all out and every-
body else as well. When the car rolled on again the
woman with the baby looked at the conductor inquiringly
and asked:
Has anything broke down or blown up or run off the
track to scare 'em all out ? "- Detroit Free Press.

MRS. MUGGINS is a very good mouser, and, occasion-
ally she will catch a great big rat out in the barn. Of
this feat she is always very proud, and invariably brings
the rat after it is dead to the house, where every member
of the family must see it and praise and pet her for being
such a good, brave cat. The first time this occurred one
of the members of the family took the rat up on a shovel
and threw it over the back fence; but in a very few mo-
ments Mrs. Muggins had it back again; again and again
was it thrown away, but every time it was brought back.
At last the two compromised matters by allowing the
rat to remain just outside the back door by the side of
the step. There it stayed all day until evening, when it
was found out why Mrs. Muggins objected to having it
thrown away.
The father had been home only a few minutes when
Mrs. Muggins walked proudly into the sitting-room with
her head aloft and the big rat dangling from her mouth.
She went up to the man and laid the rat at his feet, looked
up in his face and waited to be caressed and praised.
After she received the desired attention she allowed the
rat to be carried away and cared nothing more about it.
Cincinnati Tribune.

IN beginning our journey, we will start from a city
Where the men are all wise, the women all witty;
They call it the Hub (t) -you every-one know it.
Thence to the City of Elms (2), which lies just below it.
Through the Land of Steady Habits (3) away to big
Gotham (4),
So great and so rich you can't reach to the bottom
Of its wealth and its power. Now, right on our way
Lies the City of Churches (5), where we make but
short stay;
For, after the Brotherly Love City (6), before the day
We must speed on our way to the City of Roses (7);
Take a look at the City of Distances Magnificent (8);
Where we count that our time mostworthily is spent.
Now, aboard of the train that we know never waits,
We all take our seats for the City of Straits (9).
We are blown from the blustering, great Windy City (Io)
To the Monumental City (ii), which to miss would
be pity.
The handsome Gate City (12) we take on our route,
Then circle the Crescent (13) as we turn right about
And by the City of Rocks (14) take our flight to th$
ocean .
To see the Golden Gate City (15), which is quite to
our notion.
By the City of Violated Treaty (16), far over the sea,
To the City of Palaces (17) our way must now be.
Through the City of Victory (18), by the City of Masts
To the City of the Violet Crown (20) we '11 speed while
day lasts,
Not forgetting Auld Reekie (21), nor the Bride of the
Sea (22),
Nor the City of Flowers (23), nor Sweet Little Paris (24).
Then back to Columbia (25), the land we love best,
The true home of freedom, of peace, and of rest.
-The Outlook.

*The answers to the Hidden Cities will be printed in the Letter-box next month.



CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that between the ist of June and the 15th of September manuscripts cannot conveniently be
examined at the office of ST. NICHOLAS. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions
will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: While reading in your June
number I came across an article about General George
Rogers Clark, and was very much interested, because
he is my great-great-great-uncle.
We have the sword which was presented to him by
the State of Virginia in 1779. The inscription on it
says: "A tribute to Courage and Patriotism.
"Presented by the State of Virginia to her beloved son
General George Rogers Clark, who by the conquest of
Illinois and St. Vincennes extended her empire and aided
in the defense of her liberties. Saturday, June 12, 1779."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I wish I could describe our
beautiful Mount Tacoma to your many readers who have
never seen it in its snowy grandeur. It lies about sixty
miles southeast of the city of Tacoma, but on a clear day
it seems that a few minutes' walk would take one to it.
The mountain is covered with snow the year round, and
sometimes when the sun shines on it in a certain way
the glaciers can be plainly seen. Often at sunset the
whole mountain is colored with rosy light, and then it is
beautiful beyond all description.
Although I have lived in sight of Mount Tacoma for
nearly six years, I have never seen it look twice the
The Indian name was Tahoma, but as the h "was
hard to sound, the American tongue changed it to Ta-
This is the Indian legend of the mountain:
Long, long ago there were twin mountains dwelling
side by side. But they quarreled and had a dreadful
battle, during which the sun hid his face and the earth
trembled. At the end of the conflict a mighty convul-
sion threw the warring brothers together, and formed
the beautiful and wonderful Mount Tacoma, which lies
.pe'a-':efulIl I .:.:,ki ri..l.. n upon our fair City of Destiny."
In sununet the mountain is often climbed by pleasur-
ing parties, but few go to the summit. The height of the
mountain is commonly called 14,444 feet, but a recent
explorer has found it to be over 15,000 feet.
There has been some excitement here lately, for the
report was spread that Mount Tacoma was smoking.
It did look like smoke, but was probably only a cloud.
The mountains an extinct volcano, and I should feel very
sorry to have its whiteness spoiled by fire and lava; so
I hope that the demon who sleeps deep under Tacoma's
peaceful breast will never awaken to violence.
Your loving reader, BESSIE S- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am living in Denver. The
wild flowers are beautiful. The sand-lilies and wild
primroses are in bloom. They are both pure white, and
the leaves like silk; the primroses after they are put in
water turn a beautiful pink. They both grow on the
prairie. I 'wish all the readers of ST. NICHOLAS could
see them.

We can see Pike's Peak from the side porch, and to
the west the far-off mountain peaks, and all are covered
with snow. Columbine is the State flower and grows on
the mountains in many varieties.
Your nine-year-old reader, HENRY S. N-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I saw in the May number
of your magazine an article entitled "Daniel Boone and
the Founding of Kentucky," which told about two girls
with Boone's own daughter being stolen by the Indians,
I thought I would write and say that one of those other
girls was my great-great-grandmother.
I know something about it they did n't tell, and that
was that they traced them by bits of their clothes the
girls had torn up and left behind them.
I wish I knew some more to tell about them, but as I
do not I will close. Your affectionate reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little English girl ten
years old. I like your paper so much, and always look
forward to the next month. Of all the tales, I like "A
Boy of the First Empire" best. I have. three birds.
One is a bullfinch, one a canary, and one a goldfinch;
they all hang up in a row. I sometimes take the canary
and goldfinch both out of the cage together, and one
holds on to the other's tail, and they pull each other
along. I think your magazine is the nicest I ever read.
Hoping to see this printed,
From your affectionate reader,

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a true American at
heart, but I live at present in Halifax. My mother is an
American, and my father is an Englishman; and, as his
business is in Halifax, we are of course under the Queen
in name, while our hearts are under the "Stars and
Halifax is an interesting but a very dirty place. My
mama says it needs a good house-cleaning every month
of the year. The soft coal which they burn makes every-
thing very black; even the clothes-lines need to be
washed once a week.
The thing that I like best here is the Garrison Church,
where one thousand soldiers attend. The band plays
outside and inside. The soldiers sing so heartily, and
the music is fine.
No one is ever in a hurry here; but I have never
heard that they live any longer than the busy Americans.
Your admiring and devoted reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Bakersfield is a town of five
thousand inhabitants, and is the main stopping-place
between San Francisco and Los Angeles. Bakersfield


has the bicycle fever, and there are over one hundred
bicycles in town. I have one, but it is so small for me
that I shall get a new one this summer.
We have a large mastiff, "Rover," who is about the
age of my little brother (nearly six), and is much more
of a baby. He lies on the sofa, and expects as much
notice as a baby.
Papa does not like him to get on the lounge, but he
gets on when papa is not looking, and sleeps there all
One day mama saw him there, and told him to get
down; so he pretended to be asleep. She called him
again, and he lazily opened one eye and closed it again.
She repeated it, and he cast her an imploring glance;
and upon her saying, Off, Rover! he slowly got off,
making his legs as stiff as possible to.show her how old
and tired he was. I remain your loving reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl nine years old
my last birthday. I have lived in the army all my life.
I was living at Fort Townsend, Washington, now aban-
doned; it was a very nice place. This place is nice, too.
It is on a high embankment, or hill, and we can see the
Ohio River plainly. I have a sister; she is thirteen years
old. I must now say good-by.
Your little reader, MARY W- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My brother in New York
sends me ST. NICHOLAS every month, and has done so
since I was about ten years of age, and now I am fifteen.
My eldest sister's husband is a minister in Minnesota.
He is a direct descendant of the Washington family.
My father has been showing me an old book printed in
1647 which must have belonged to the Washington
family, for there is an entry of the births of nine -from
Thomas Washington, born 1690, to George Washington,
August 1, 1704, and Mary Washington,'January 26,
1706, which is very quaintly written thus: "about AII of
clok at Midnight 1706." Also a very large old sheet
of paper he calls a rubbing from Washington's tomb, an
autograph signature of President Grant, and a few other
American curios.
I always read all the letters from the young people in
different parts of the world.
I remain your constant reader, ADELA G. S--

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the first time I have
written, but I thought you would like a letter from an
Australian girl. We live in a pretty little place called
Chatswood, about five miles from Sydney. I have a little
sister named Eily, and we go to a private school about
three quarters of a mile from our house.
We are very fond of you, and I have two bound volumes
of you. We subscribe to the School of Arts and we can
get any book we like. It is only lent to us, you know,
and don't we lecture, papa if he is a day late with his
ST. NICHOLAS! We can't rest till we get it. I am sending
some Australian stamps to my American cousins Eily
is sorting the stamps now. I think the Columbian stamps
are very pretty. I would like to get a full collection, but
I have not been able to. I will exchange stamps and
seeds and pressed flowers with my American cousins. I
would like any little boy or girl to write me; I would an-
swer their letters. I know an American gentleman; he
is at present in Sidney, and he is going to take my stamps

to the office of ST. NICHOLAS. The wild-flowers here are
very pretty and in abundance. The Christmas bush and
flannel-daisy and Christmas-bell are great favorites, and a
great many people come from Sidney for them. They take
away great bunches of them. Itis really a shame the way
they pick them; they pull them up root and all, and pick
off the flower, and throw away the root. I do love wattle,
and it all is out now; it looks really lovely, the masses of
yellow everywhere; in fact our ground is nearly all wat-
tle. I am very fond of flowers and I would like to have
nothing indoors to do but to keep flowers and fowls, and
I would look after them well and I would not need any
toys. I have mostly out-of-door work to do, so it is just
as I like it. My sister is six and I am eleven. I study
French, Latin, music, and drawing at school, and I took
two prizes when we broke up, one for French and another
for drawing. I can swim a little bit, and sometimes we
go down to the Lane Cove River and have a picnic; it is
only about half an hour's walk from our house. We have
a lot of fowls and ducks. I thank you for the pleasure
ST. NICHOLAS has given us, especially "The Brownies."
I am going to have a set of "The Brownies," in calico,
from America. Will you please ask some of my Ameri-
can cousins to tell me how they make paper dolls?
I must now say farewell, hoping ST. NICHOLAS will
always prosper. Your interested reader,
WE thank our young correspondent for her interesting
letter. We have received at the office of ST. NICHOLAS
the package of Australian stamps she mentions, and we
shall be glad to send them (while they last) to those of
our actual subscribers who will send us stamped and di-
rected envelopes for the purpose. We will give one or
two of the stamps to each applicant, but we cannot an-
swer any letters concerning them. Most of the stamps
are canceled specimens of the current issues, and have
therefore no premium value.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am now fourteen years old,
and we have taken your magazine for twenty-two years,
that is, ever since it first began. I cannot express how
much I like it. Especially as I know several persons
concerned with it, and also that my uncle is the editor of
THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. I like all your continued
stories very much.
We live in New York in the winter, and I go to the
Brearley School. My aunt whom I live with and myself S
are spending the summer with another aunt and uncle
here in Larchmont. It is on the water, so I look for-
ward to the bathing very much. I hope you will print
this letter, because I have never written to you before.
Good by, dear ST. NICHOLAS, with much love and
congratulations from your ever loving friend,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have read you almost two
years, and like you better than any magazine I ever saw.
I am eleven years old, and have been living in Ger-
many with mama the past year, to study German. I
always look forward to your coming with great impa-
tience, for you are like a little bit of home.
Eisenach is a lovely place on the northern edge of the
Thiiringian forest. On a high hill overlooking the town
stands the old, old Wartburg. It is a fine old castle, and
much visited by travelers. Over six hundred years ago
there lived there a beautiful young princess. She was very
good to the poor and sick people, and was much beloved.


There is a hospital here now that she founded in 1226.
After she died she was made a saint by the church, and
is known as Die heilige Elisabeth." I have learned a
very pretty poem about her. At the Wartburg, Dr.
Martin Luther began the translation of the Bible into
German. His bed, chair, table, footstool, stove, and
handwriting are shown.
I go to school, and like my teachers and schoolmates
very much. The German children are quieter than
American children. I suppose they think I am a wild
Indian because I like to jump and run about, and be-
cause I have told them that my home is in Indiana. They
sometimes ask very funny questions about America.
One little girl asked me what language we speak there.
I saw a peddler in Jena who thought Americans were
all copper-colored.
The Emperor of Germany comes every spring and
spends several days at the Wartburg and hunts in the
forest. He was here in April. I saw him twice as he
returned from the hunt. He wore an evergreen twig in
his hat as a sign that the hunt had been successful. He
is rather young and good-looking. He wore the beauti-
ful green suit of the foresters instead of the brilliantly
decorated uniform I had imagined he would wear. He
has six little boys and one little girl.
I have seen several of the countries of Europe, and
enjoyed traveling in them very much; but America is the
land for me. In a month papa will sail from New York,
to take us home; and how glad I shall be when he comes i
I have enjoyed reading the letters from children in
foreign lands very much.
Long live America and ST. NICHOLAS!
Your interested reader, HELEN W. U-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been taking you for
about a year and a half. I like "Decatur and Somers"
best, because I have a friend who has a cane made out of
one of the timbers of" Old Ironsides." I like "ABoy of
the First Empire" second best, because I have a relative
who believes he had Marshal Ney for his teacher in North
Carolina. -He and his friend think Marshal Ney was
never shot, but that he came to America and lived here
till after Bonaparte's death, under the name of P. S.
Ney. They have many things to tell about this man.
We have his signature and a few pages of his manu-
script. Across the street there lives a postal clerk who
says he knows Owney," the postal-car dog, and who
says Owney goes' through this town very often.
Good luck for St. Nicholas! I
" Your nine-year-old reader, EDMUND W- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We live on a hill in the eastern
part of the State, and every one who has ever been up
here says that it is one of the finest views imaginable.
To the south we can see as far as the Mexican boundary
line, to the west the great Pacific Ocean, and to the east
the great peaks of the Cuyamaca range stretch heaven-
ward, above the rolling mesas at their feet.
Our place includes an acre, and in that space we have
everything imaginable.
We have a large barn, and in the loft have built an op-
era house. The stage is raised about two feet above
the floor. It is fitted with painted side wings, rear scene
taken from the Cuyamaca mountains. Pasteboard boughs
of green are suspended overhead. The drop curtain also
has a scene, and measures nine feet by fourteen feet.

The stage itself slants slightly backward, to give an idea
of distance. Chairs and dressing-room, and an apparatus
to produce a thunder-storm, complete this theater. Only
one play has been given as yet, but that was a rousing-
success. Every seat, box, and bench was filled, and sev-
eral boys climbed up on a grain chute, which has been
termed the gallery by the theater-going public.
With best wishes for Chris," and his lamp, I will
close. MATTHEW S-- .
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My sisters and I are indebted
for many happy hours to your delightful magazine.
Having spent the summer of 1894 in Germany, Papa
engaged the return passage on the steamer Elbe," for the
trip which turned out so fatally for her passengers, when
suddenly Mamma was taken ill, and we were obliged to,
postpone our voyage for ten days. We never had more
to be grateful for than for that illness. We remain your
faithful readers, C. M. and M. M.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in Pernambuco, Brazil,
and have been here two winters, going home for the
summers. There is a beautiful palace here belonging to
the governor. There was an American circus here a
while ago, and I went to it twice. I have two little
dogs: one called Mimorse," which is Portuguese for
"my darling," and the other, "Jip." I remain your
constant reader and friend, ELIZABETH J. H- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl nine years
old. I have enjoyed the letters of the "Letter-box"
very much.
A few months ago we-had La Fiesta. I enjoyed it
very much. They had floats that told the history of
California, from Aztec Indians to the present time.
My little brother said he did not like the floats, but he
liked the bands; but I thought they were very nice.
Floral day was best of all five, I think. Papa thought
of putting a carriage in it, but we had rather watch it.
Your interested reader, ROWENA M. N- .

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: H. Van Wagenen,
Gladys T. Harvey, Helen A. Turner, Belle M. Wad-
dell, Alice I. N- Anna L. D., Elsie Draper, Lena
H., Virginia Watson, Mary W. Clark, Julia H. Crane,
Elizabeth C., V. G., Elise C., J. Malcolm B., Jennie C.
Thomas, Edward Moses, G. P. Sidford, Daisy Singleton,
Dorothea Alister M., Sarah O. -Ernst, Louise W. Kidder,
Julia McCallum, Katie Kane, Maud Brown, Rene T. C.,
Madge McRae, Lucas W. Moore, Henry P. Dart, Jr.,
Ruth Craigmile, William.K. D., Estelle Pierce, Bessie L.
Thornton, Ruth Margaret Mohler, Lillian R. S., H. E.
H., Gustave J. R., B. W. Brown, Tom Rochester W.,
Bonnie F., Albert W. Foss, Annie C., Mollie B. Hender-
son, Rachel E. Bond, Mary B. W. A., Marguerite North,
Leonora Gurley, Irene Bauer, Lois 0. P., Hazel I. Smith,
Margaret Crutcher, Orsan Sharonan, Jessie M. Colby,
Nan M. and Dorothy D., C. M. S., Anna and Frances,
Edith and Marian B., Anna Gould, Helen V. Duryea,
Sara A. B., Alba M. Heriot, Sallie and Nellie, Mary East-
land, Mary K. Frothingham, Mabel G. Lefeber, Amie
L. B., Grace P., Marjory Walker.

ACROSTIC. First row, Constitution; third row, Old. Ironsides. MISSING LETTERS. I.L E ment. 2. L E vate. 3. A V ary.
Cross-words: I. Croon. 2. Ogler. 3. Noddy. 4. Spike. 5. Tired. AP ary. 4. S 0 teric. 5. T rior. 6. MU late. 7. RT cle.
6. Idols. 7. Tense. 8. Unsew. 9. Trite. io. India. xx. Obese. I C cle. Q T cle. 8. X P ate. 0 P ate. DV ate. 9. MA nate
r2. Nasal. T0O D I fy. x. I 0 dine. 12. R T ry. 13. X Ecute. 14. AJ
DIAGONAL, SAINT NICHOLAS. Cross-words: I. South Carolina. cent. 5. SQ lent. 16. XLent. 17. MT ing. r8. S N tial.
2. Daniel Webster. 3. Knickerbocker. 4. New Netherland. 5 L E gant. 20. X P dite. 21. A E rate. 22. 0 C anic. 23. N
Bell Telephone. 6. Savannah River. 7. Atlantic Cable. 8. Ken- thing. 24. K T did. 25. G 0 metric. 26. I 0 dide. 27. R T
:nebec River. 9. The White House. 1o. Ship Mayflower. xr. ficial. 28. L 0 quent. 29. F M inate. 30. M I grant. 3. X M
Zachary Taylor. z1. Chesapeake Bay. 13. Massachusetts. plify. 32. X P nence.
NOVEL HOUR-GLASS. Molibre. Cross-words: i. Measure. 2. ORNAMENTAL SQUARE. From I to 2, nap; 2 to 3, parry; 3 to 4,
Order. 3. Lie. 4. L 5. Lee. 6. Other. 7. Mandate. yam; 4 to 5, million; 5 to 6, Nan; 6 to 7, Natal; 7 to 8, lee; 8 toq,
DIAMOND. B. 2. Nun. 3 Noted. 4. Buttery 5. Needy.eon; 9 to notch; o to hat; to 12, tangent; 12 to 13, tin;
DAM. B. Nun. 3 to 14, north; 14 to 15, hod; 15 to x6, due; 16 to 17, error; 17 to
6. Dry. 7. Y. 18, rib; 8 to xg, bullion; 19 to 20, nor; 20 to 21, rites; 21 to 22,
HIDDEN PRESIDENTS. a. John Adams. 2. William H. Harri- sap; 22 to 23, par; 23 to 24, rates; 24 to 25, sot; 25 to 26, torment;
son. 3. James A. Garfield. 4. George Washington. 5. Franklin 26 to 27, Tom; 27 to 28, marry; 28 to i, yon.
Pierce. 6. James K. Polk.
Pierce. 6. James K. Polk. MIXED SYLLABLES. I. Bulbul. 2. Parrot. 3. Carrot. 4. Par-
ILLUSTRATED PRIMAL ACROSTIC. Anthony Wayne. i. Anchor. son. 5. Carpet .Bullet .Bonnet 8. Cutlet 9. Damson.
Nut. 3. Turkey. Horse. Obelisk. 6. Nail. 7. Yacht. o. Outlet. i. Sonnet. 12. Puppet. 13. Bonbon.
Wagon. Anvil. o.Yak. a xNes. Ne. x. Elephant. WORD-BUILDING. O, on, tori, note, tones, sonnet, tension, ton-
WORD-SQUARE. i. Wrap. 2. Rope. 3. Apes. 4. Pest. tines, ointments.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the i5th of each month, and should
be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS "Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE MAY NUMBER were received, before May xsth, from M. McG."-G. B. Dyer-Arthur
Gride-" Jersey Quartette" -George Bancroft Fernald-- "Lord Clive"-Isabel H. and Donald L. Noble-Ella and Co.-W. L.-
Tod and Yam-Mary Lester and Harry-Blanche and Fred-Helen Rogers Marjorie Cole Josephine Sherwood Sigourney Fay
Niminger-" Merry and Co."- Jessie Chapman and John Fletcher- Paul Rowley- S. L. B.-"Two Little Brothers"- Jo and I.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MAY NUMBER were received, before May i5th, from Harry and Violet, 2--Susy Taber and Abbie
Chandler, 3 -Leila McGowin, I- M. J. McGinnis, 5--H. O. Koerker, 3- Little Tom-all-alone," 4--Emily B. Brune, i- C. V.
Briggs, 3 G. A. Hallock, 4 Marion A. Bell, x Annie Hays, i Anna A. Coleman, 3-" Brownie Bess," r Paul Reese, 9 P.
Uzzler," 2--Elsie M. Cassels, 4-Arthur P., Fritzie Comstock, i-"Kibim," 2- L. 0. E., i- Louise Towle, 4-Lottie S. Hop-
ner, Ethel R. S. and Eleanor G., 4-" Two Philosophers," 3-Carl Schneider, 5-Pop and I, i-"The Ladybugs," 2-Jack A.
Moore, '-"We, Us and Co.," 8- Frances and Elizabeth, 2-W. T. Morris, i- Ida G. and Graye A. Little, 3- Marion F. S., I-
Elizabeth White, 4-Grace Busenbark, 4-Hope I. Binney, i-Eugene Walter, 2-Mary F. Stone, 3-I. Honora Swartz, 5-N. R.
H., 3- Nettie Comstock, 2- Katharine D. Hull, 2 Albert Lester McMullen, I- Harriet, Edward and Mama, 8-Walter and Eleanor
Furman, Ix-Effie K. Talboys, 8-Annie T. Best, 2-Oskytel H. C., 3-F. H. C. Frankland, 3-0. S. W., 8-"Three H's.," 3-
Lisle and Lily, 7-Mabel E. Adams, --J. and E. Schmitt, 5- Alice M. Pate, --Adelaide M. Gaither, 3-" Goose-quill," 2 -Charles
Travis, 7 lice Butterfield, 3- S. S. and M. Lucas, 3-" Snowflake Winter," 6 Franklyn Farnsworth, 8- Kathanne T. White, 3-
Addison Neil Clark, zi-Azro and Charles Lewis, 3-Anne C. Stryke, 5-Karl G. Smith, 4-Marguerite Sturdy, 6-Sarah L. Tyler, 5
- Majory Gane, 4- "Four Weeks in Kane," I- Margaret Scribner, 2- Florence E. Davy, 3- No Name, Hackensack, o- Mama,
Ham and Fun, 4-M. and M., 4-" Highmount Girls," 9-Philip Eleni, 2- "The Butterflies," so-Daisy Davis, I-Kenneth Lewis,
- Laura and Virginia, 5 -Ruth M. Mason, 4-Albert Smith Faught, 6- E. and R. Prussing and C. Rosenthal, 3.


EXAMPLE: Syncopate a dairy product, and leave to
crowd. Answer, cr-e-am, cram.
I. Syncopate speed, and leave aversion.
2. Syncopate a loud call, and leave closed.
3. Syncopate a codl fabric, and leave a legal claim.
4. Syncopate pretty, and leave very thin.
5. Syncopate a revery, and leave a weight.
6. Syncopate an ecclesiastical head-dress, and leave
wet, spongy earth.
The six syncopated letters will spell a kind of poem
that has been called "the diamond of literature."
I. INCLINES. 2. To settle an income upon. 3. To
worship. 4. The language of ancient Scandinavia. 5.

ACROSS: I. With full force. 2. Zeal. 3. Rhythm.
4. A portable chair. 5. An admitted fact. 6. A funeral
DOWNWARD: I. In diamond. 2. A name for a pa-
rent. 3. To equip with weapons of defense. 4. Certain
divisions of the Roman year. 5. Celebrated. 6. A kind

of rampart. 7. To appraise. 8. A female recluse. 9.
A musical tone. io. In diamond. "SAMUEL SYDNEY."


MY primals name an empress, my finals a queen.
CROSS-WORDS (of equal length) : I. Pertaining to the
Jews. 2. A severe trial. 3. A specimen. 4. The
germ of a plant. A man's name. 6. An exodus.
7. An affront. 8. To reckon. 9. A damsel carried
off by Jupiter. JULIA B. C.


I AM composed of sixty-seven letters, and form a quo-
tation from the works of Douglas Jerrold.
My 42-24-16-58 is to seize with the teeth. My 8-3-
20-38-66 is on every tea-table. My 23-55-46-30 is to
confront. My 52-47-26-35-6-60 are small quantities of
silk or yarn. My 64-12-33-62-40-43-49 is bestowed.
My 53-63-28-10-57-7-19 is part of a gun. My 21-17-
54-14-39-48-34 is fine woolen yarn used in knitting and
embroidery. My I3-25-2-4-44-50-37-6I-31 are cover-
ings. My 22-41-59-67-65 is pertaining to ancient
Scandinavia. My 29-15-56-45-9-1 is pertaining to a
northern country of Europe. My 11-18-36-27-5-32-5I
is pertaining to another northern country of Europe.


I AM both useful and ornamental, and am found on the
table, under the table, and on your father's head. I am
one of twins noted in Grecian history. I am a plant
yielding an oil more wholesome than palatable.


WHEN the seven objects in the above illustration have
been rightly guessed, and the names (which are of equal
length) written one below the other, the final letters will
spell the name of a famous English poet who was born
in August, 1792.
FIFTY-ONE quadrupeds are concealed in the following
story; which are they?
Flemming Moran loved Alba Boone, but he had a
powerful rival in one Jack Allen, who, being very rich,
was able to make her many gifts, to attempt to gain her
affection. Mary Akers, Alba's cousin, loved Jack, while
Alba was very much attracted by a young minister, Rev.
Pope C. Cary, who, although deemed by all a man of a
rather slothful disposition, was glib -exceedingly glib -
of tongue.
Once, when Flemming went to call on Alba, he carried
her a small box of grapes, tied with a silk string, nuts in
a canvas sack, and a large red apple. "0, pardon me,"
he said as he entered, I came late, I am aware, but I
saw a pitiable sight on the way, which detained me. I
saw an old man tottering along, while a burly monk,
eying him savagely, followed close behind. The monk
was clad in a suit of buff, a low-crowned hat on his head,
with a long wire whip in one hand and a strange blue
cup in the other. Such awhip or cup I never saw before.
The old man had such a moist look about the eyes that

I knew he'had been weeping. As I approached, the
monk, who seemed as savage as a Tartar--mad, ill, or
both said to the old man, 'Sing, you villain, sing-
or I'11 actually trounce the life,out of you! Sing!' Oath
followed oath with horrifying rapidity, as with his whip
he raised great whelks on the old wretch's bare legs.
You know, Miss Alba, that I am not very well- I only
left my sick-room last week-but could I gaze, brave
though I do not claim to be-could I gaze but a mo-
ment at such a sight, and forbear, if in me a vestige
remained of humanity ? I determined to stop such cru-
elty. 'Hold!' I cried, catching up a handful of gravel
and advancing on the monk: 'you low, olfactory-offend-
ing scoundrel, although the monkish garb is on your
person, that does not give you the right to be.badgering
the life out of this poor old man.' 'Bah!' exclaimed
the monk, as he gave the old fellow another tap,' I refuse
to allow you to interfere. What is it to you ? Why
enable this old villain to escape just punishment? He
sha'n't elope from me, I promise you. He is just as
bad as bad can be. He worries me so that I can't eat.
Ere I come near him, he tries to grab, bite, and scratch
me, which are vile habits, you must admit'-and he
struck the old man again. "But let us talk of some-
thing more agreeable-how are you progressing with
your Latin?"
"Very nicely," she replied; "I have got as far as
amo-O see! she suddenly exclaimed, looking out of
the window; "there comes papa, Mr. Moran;-gout,
anger, and loss of money combined have so changed him
of late that he is actually dangerous. Poor papa-gout
is so trying, and-O, go, Mr. Moran;-please go im-
mediately And he went. KENNETH WHITE.


I WANDER o'er the land of dikes,
Of slow canals and cleanly streets,
And wonder, as each figure quaint
My unaccustomed vision meets,-
I speculate at what near time
The sea its barriers shall burst,
And overwhelm the fertile land
Which is, as you must know, my first.

If, in a generation past,
In old arithmetics you reckoned,
Among the "tables measures there,
You surely would have found my second.

Should not America be proud
That such a one she claims as son ?-
A statesman, poet, Christian man,
The gracious whole combined in one.
M. J. w.

UPPER SQUARE: I. The highest point. 2. An outer
garment. 3. Part of a ship. 4. A feminine name.
MIDDLE SQUARE: I. An ornamental button. 2. A
very narrow woven fabric. 3. On. 4. To contradict.
LOWER SQUARE: I. For one time. 2. A young
hawk. 3. A fresh-water fish. 4. To catch sight of.



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