Front Cover
 Front Matter
 The picture
 Christmas in Bethlehem
 Snow-bound Christmas
 Master skylark
 A new Mother Goose jingle
 The last three soldiers
 A letter from Dr. Holmes
 A pumpkin dwarf
 Santa Claus's pony
 The nineteenth century childre...
 The true story of Marco Polo
 June's garden
 The voyage of the "Northern...
 A boy I knew
 The ballad of the parson's...
 The elf and the cricket
 The best tree
 The little bear's story
 A book-lover
 If you're good
 A Christmas goblin
 The letter box
 The riddle-box
 Back Matter
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00319
 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: VID00319
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 Matter
        Front Matter
        Page 90
    The picture
        Page 91
    Christmas in Bethlehem
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
    Snow-bound Christmas
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
    Master skylark
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
    A new Mother Goose jingle
        Page 115
    The last three soldiers
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
    A letter from Dr. Holmes
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
    A pumpkin dwarf
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
    Santa Claus's pony
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
    The nineteenth century children
        Page 136
    The true story of Marco Polo
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
    June's garden
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
    The voyage of the "Northern Light"
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
    A boy I knew
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
    The ballad of the parson's daughter
        Page 161
        Page 162
    The elf and the cricket
        Page 163
    The best tree
        Page 164
        Page 165
    The little bear's story
        Page 166
        Page 167
    A book-lover
        Page 168
    If you're good
        Page 169
    A Christmas goblin
        Page 170
        Page 171
    The letter box
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
    The riddle-box
        Page 175
        Page 176
    Back Matter
        Page 178
    Back Cover
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
Full Text

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Copyright, 1896, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.

No. 2.


A LITTLE lady, a very young knight,-
Just a girl and a boy in each other's sight,-
Oh, their smiling faces were clear and bright,
Their velvets and satins with gems bedight!
Gold and laces and pearls had she,
And he was superb as a lad could be.
Their cheeks were rosy, their hearts were light,
As they danced them a measure on Christmas night.

'T was: "Ah, my lady!" and "Yea, my lord!"
And he touched as lightly his jeweled sword
As if 't were a flower; yet he knew with pride
The trick of the weapon that decked his side.
And she,- why, the very sweep of her gown
Told how, in valor and grand renown
From sire to son, through court and crown,
The name she bore had been handed down!

And what was her name? And who was the boy? -
The two who danced in their stately joy.
I do not know, and I hardly care -
Their story is neither here nor there.
For girls and boys, young, merry, and fair,
Gladden our firesides everywhere.
They thrive and flourish to-day, as then -
The little ladies, the little men!
And, grand or humble, their hearts are light
When they tread them a measure on Christmas night.
Mary Mapes Dodge.



DURING the Christmas season, when the
thoughts of the civilized world turn to Beth-
lehem, many will wonder how the people there
keep this greatest religious holiday. Very few
American children can ever visit the little city
among the Judean hills. Yet a number of
travelers from America and Europe come to
the Holy Land every year, and possibly some
ST. NICHOLAS readers may be among those
who on this Christmas day will crowd the streets

place of Jesus, it is the birthplace of Israel's
great warrior-king, David.
Bethlehem to-day has barely eight thousand
inhabitants, and in appearance is not attractive.
The streets are too narrow for vehicles; in fact,
there is but one street in the town wide enough
for carriages, and it is so very narrow that they
cannot pass each other in it. The streets were
made for foot travelers, donkeys, and camels.
Bethlehem is about five miles south of Jeru-



of the little city nestled among its fig-trees and salem. Leaving the larger city by the Jaffa gate,
olive-orchards. we take a carriage and ride rapidly over the
It is a little city, and it does not take many fine road built but a few years ago. The car-
people to crowd it; but, besides being the birth- riage we are in and those we meet are wretched

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affairs. The horses are to be pitied, first, be-
cause they are not well cared for, and second,
because their drivers are regular Jehus who drive
them "furiously" up hill and down. In less
than an hour we are in the marketplace of Beth-
lehem, in front of the Church of the Nativity.
Let us suppose we have arrived on Christmas
eve, in time to wander about and to become
acquainted with the little city.
Of course it has changed in appearance since
the time of the birth of Christ. It is larger,
and better built. Now, as then, the houses are
of stone, and, as cities and customs change but
little in the East, we may safely infer that modern
Bethlehem houses are much like those of nine -
teen hundred years ago. Perhaps some of the
old buildings that were in existence so long ago
may still be standing. Of course the great
Church of the Nativity was not then erected,
nor were any of the large religious buildings we

see. These are the memorials of a later date,
built in honor of Him whose earthly life began
here. One would have to be unmindful of his
surroundings and very unimaginative not to
wonder what the place was like on that night
the anniversary of which we are celebrating.
We know that then, as on this December 24,
it was filled with people. But those people had
come for a different purpose. Augustus Caesar,
the master of the then known world, had issued
an imperial decree ordering a general registration
of all his-subjects. This was for the purpose of
revising or completing the tax-lists. Accord-
ing to Roman law, people were to register in
their own cities-that is, the city in which they
lived, or to which their village or town was at-
tached. According to Jewish methods they
would register by tribes, families, and the
houses of their fathers. Joseph and Mary were
Jews, and conformed to the Jewish custom. It

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was well known that he and Mary were of the
tribe of Judah and family of David, and that
Bethlehem was their ancestral home. Accord-
ingly, they left the Nazareth home, in the ter-
ritory of Zebulun, and came to David's "own
city," in the territory of Judah.
They came down the east bank of the Jordan,
crossed the river at Jericho, and came up among
the Judean hills and valleys till they reached
Bethlehem. It was a long journey, and a
wearisome one; and, on arriving, a place of rest
was the first thing sought. Evidently they had
no friends living in the place; or, if they had,
their houses were already filled. It was neces-
sary that shelter be had, and immediately. In
the khan, or inn, there was no room; so there
was nothing to do but occupy a part of the
space provided for cattle. It was not an un-
usual thing to do, and is often done to-day in
these Eastern villages. In fact, they were about
as comfortable there as in any khan. At a khan
one may procure a cup of coffee and a place to

lie down on the floor; but each guest provides
his own bed and covering. This was all Joseph
and Mary could have obtained in the inn, had
there been room for them. And here in Beth-
lehem, in a stable, or a cave used for stabling
animals, Jesus was born, and Mary wrapped
him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a
There is one short walk we should take be-
fore entering the Church of the Nativity and
the cave beneath it. This is to the Field of
the Shepherds," about a mile east of the church,
and the traditional place where the shepherds
were watching their flocks on that momentous
night. This may not be the exact place where
the angels appeared, but there is no reason why
we may not accept the tradition which has
placed the event here. It has often been woni-
dered why the shepherds had their flocks out
all night in the winter time; and the wonder is
easily satisfied when we know that these were
not ordinary flocks of sheep nor ordinary shep-



herds. These flocks were those specially se-
lected for sacrifice in the Temple at Jerusa-
lem, at the great Passover season, and were
kept in the fields all the year. The shep-
herds were specially appointed.
Some time during that winter night the shep-
herds were dazzled by a light more brilliant
than the stars, and roused by voices not of
earth. The Christ, whose future sacrifice their
flocks were to symbolize, was born; and the
angels were singing the good tidings. These
shepherds were the first to hear and to spread
the marvelous news.
Because of the event the angels were herald-
ing, men have built the great Church of the Na-
tivity in Bethlehem, and, indeed, all the great
Christian churches and cathedrals of the world.
It is because of this that people from every
country in Europe and America will join the
throng of native Christians in the City of the
Nativity," and rejoice in memory of the angels'

song. It is because of this that there is to-day
so much of "peace on earth" and good-will
toward men."
And now we return in time to see the pro-
cession of bishops, priests, and people that is
forming in the square in front of the church.
Each is dressed in his most gorgeous robes.
Turkish soldiers line both sides of the street
to keep the way open for the procession to
pass. The Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem has
just arrived. The procession of priests, carry-
ing banners and immense candles, meets him,
then turns, and all go into the Latin chapel
through the main entrance. Following, we are
surprised to find the main entrance so small. It
can admit but one at a time, and that one must
stoop to enter. From the masonry it can be
seen that the entrance was once much larger.
The reason for the change was that the Mo-
hammedans at one time did all in their power
to injure and annoy the Christians, and even

a -*"





used to ride on horseback into the very church.
The door therefore was made small to protect
the church from this sacrilege.
Once inside, we see we are in a very ancient
structure. Part of the masonry dates from the
time of Constantine, who built a magnificent
basilica on this site, about the year 330 of our
era. All we can see of the oldest work, however,
probably dates from not later than Justinian's
time, about 550 A.D. In any case, the church is
a venerable building, and it has witnessed some
stirring scenes. In it Baldwin the Crusader was
crowned king of Jerusalem. It has been re-
paired a number of times; and once, when it
needed a new roof, King Edward IV. of Eng-
land gave the lead to make one. This was
about the year 1482. The lead roof did good
service for about two hundred years, and might
have lasted much longer had not the Moham-

medans melted it up to make bullets. How-
ever, another roof was soon provided.
' Inside, the building consists of a nave and
double aisles. The aisles are separated by two
rows of columns made of red limestone. These
columns have plain bases, and are surmounted
by Corinthian capitals. They are nineteen feet
high, and at the top of each a cross is engraved.
The church is now owned by the Latin, Greek,
and Armenian Christians.
Religious services will be held all night in
the Latin chapel of St. Catherine. At midnight
a solemn mass will be said by the Patriarch of
Jerusalem. The chapel is full of people, many
of whom are sitting on the floor.
- Before the procession descends into the
Grotto of the Nativity we make our way
there, so as to have a better view.
Originally it was simply a natural cave in


the limestone rock. Now little of the native
rock is seen. Marble slabs cover the floor
and line the walls. The ceiling, which is about
ten feet high, is resplendent with thirty-two brass
lamps. Their light enables us to examine the
many pictures, portraying scenes in the life of
Jesus, which the devotion of Christians has
hung about the walls; but these pictures are
generally very poor as specimens of art. At
the east end of the cave there is a small recess
in the rock before which hang fifteen lamps.
In the floor of this recess a bright silver star is
inlaid; it is nearly all worn away by the con-
stant kissing it receives. Around the star is an
inscription in Latin, which tells us that Here,
of the Virgin Mary, Jesus Christ was born."
Turning just a little to the right from this Place
of the Star, and descending a few steps, we are
in a small chamber called the Grotto of the
Manger. The original manger is, of course,
not here; it probably never was preserved, and

many stories about it are inventions of a much
later date. Here, also, is a little altar on the
place where the Wise Men from the East pros-
trated themselves before the infant Jesus. These
three-- the places of the birth, the manger, and
the adoration--are all in what is called the
Chapel of the Nativity.
Passing out of this Chapel by the steps lead-
ing into the Greek Church of St. Mary, we are
again in the streets of Bethlehem.
It is a relief to get away from the glare of
lamps, the smoke of. candles, and the heavy
odors of burning incense, and to breathe again
the fresh air blowing over the Judean hills. The
streets are very quiet, for all not in the church
have retired to their homes. Occasionally peo-
ple leave the church, and are driven away in
their carriages to Jerusalem, though most will
remain all night. We can wander through the
streets and over the neighboring hills, for the
clear moon makes it almost as bright as day.

r' 4'~i



How peaceful it all is! Indeed, it seems a
most suitable place for the coming to the
world of "the Prince of Peace."

Faint streaks of the dawn are beginning to
:show in the sky above the hills of Moab.
Rapidly they grow longer and brighter, and

soon it is daybreak and we know that it is
Christmas in Bethlehem.
But we miss much of the accustomed joy of
the day. At home there
would be good cheer, the
companionship of loved ones,
and the giving and receiv-
ing of gifts. Here there is
little of this, the home life
4 of the people is so different
from ours. Christmas day in
Bethlehem is not the Christ-
mas day we know; it is full
of religious ceremonies, and
when these are over young
and old go back to their ac-
customed life. The faces of
S the boys and girls I saw
S in Bethlehem last Christmas
were not such faces as I
should have seen in any city
or village in America. And
I knew the reason. It was
S because Christmas to them
was much the same as any
S other day of the year. And
so it requires more than Beth-
lehem to, make. Christmas
S what we like to have it., It
requires loving home life and
the presence of the spirit of
the Christ Child in the heart.
And yet, who would not be glad to spend one
Christmas eve and day where He who made
the glad day possible was born?

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MOST of the occupants of the small room sat
gazing out of the windows into the snow-filled
air. There were windows enough to go around,
though the room was long and narrow, and
contained six or eight persons. All day they
had spent together in this one room, each sitting
quietly in his place. There had been but little
conversation. The tall dark man with the
white mustache and tired face had slept much,
with his head resting on his folded overcoat. A
boy opposite, who showed sullen anger and de-
fiance in every line of his young face, had
watched him, and wondered how a man could
sleep in the daytime. The boy did not know
that those long, nervous white hands, wielding a
surgeon's knife, had saved a life the day before,
and the tired eyes had watched for many hours
following. An earnest, bright-faced young girl
near by had observed him, too, while he slept,
as she eyed all her neighbors, with keen interest.
There was the old lady in the corner, a man
with sample-cases piled at his side, the shabby
little woman holding a big baby, and a middle-
aged man with stolid, joyless countenance,
who had read three newspapers through from
beginning to end without a change of expres-
sion, and since then had sat staring straight be-
fore him. The girl in her active mind had
tried to combine these various personages into
a story, but she gave it up with a little sigh
for their commonplaceness.
An ill-assorted company it was. Surely they

would have dchasn to sqpadl the day before
Christmas i. --i -.:-ir ..-' other reason than, as
it happened, -h.-, al -- .i-*..-i-..L to travel over this
branch road, Li...i ranm between the northern
line from Little Fars and the Grand Central.
The day was early over, and the journey
should have but the snow, which had been
FT.-;,.- :TL. .li.- -',..- morning, .rc:: heavier, the
speed of the train perceptibly decreased, and
the enC Li- -. r-._-.T and lb.- 'L .-rei. The engineer
watched :pi':p.-l.-i;:-.t -l as they drew near a
certain cut, narrow and deep, TIh.: uh11 the hills.
It was drifted high; and Ij'.-tinL that soft, still,
resistless opposition, the great engine slowed
and st.:.yl.eE.
r hie drifting snow hid the familiar landmarks,
and so it happened that, just as the passengers
were r. cm'ouI 'v questioning one another as to the
cause of the stop in that lonely place, Jim Case,
the fieiiii.m, swinging himself off the engine,
slipped over a culvert, and in the fall of only a
few feet broke his arm with startling ease and
completeness. He was lifted back, white and
fainting; and, when the brisk conductor hurried
into the passenger-coach, he responded to the
anxious queries with a brief" Snowed up," and
then, addressing the dark man, he said:
"I don't suppose you're a doctor, are you ?"
"Yes," said the man, with an inquiring glance;
"does some one need me ? "
The conductor looked relieved.
Now, ain't that luck said he. "Surgeon,



I ..


too, I guess ? The doctor nodded assent.
a few words the conductor told of the accid
amid exclamations of mingled sympathy a
dismay from the listeners. And as the doc
picked up his small black bag and followed 1
into the forward car, the conductor continue(
Not many of you travel on this road, 1
I thought that was your trade when I
took your ticl;-t. i i.- :i ji:.l r,.
a surgeon or..-e w i i i ..T
hurt in a wreck. i I.:,
was a good whl-,
ago, but I
have never
forgot the
look or the
feel of his
hand so
steady and
strong and
white," he
added with
an apologe-
tic smile.
"Here we
are, Jim!"
he called
out cheer-
ily ; "here is
the doctor and
the head nurse.
You just break
your bones and
we will do th. 'i
rest, you known "
The fireman Li a
stretched upon ith. floor, lii
head resting languidly on a pile of waste,
and a pretty five-year-old boy sobbing with
fright was kneeling close beside him.
Who is this little fellow ? asked Dr. Cai
ton, after the examination was over, and he v
skilfully bandaging the injured arm.
He's mine, poor little chap said the fi
man, with a tender glance, though his lips wi
white with pain. The boy, who was a stur
little fellow just out of dresses, stopped
sobs as he heard his father's voice, and looki
up at the doctor asked: Now will we go
grandma's, and have a Christmas ? "


The man winced again, and closed his eyes;
and the conductor explained in a kindly aside:
Little chap's mother is dead; just buried
her a week ago. She had him filled up chock-
full of Christmas, and seems as if he could n't
give it up. They are going on to Jim's mother's.
She 's going to take care of Jamie;
and I guess the old lady had
i.n..mi :: to have a tree."
Jl. niiw was listening
engrly, and broke
ih, forgetting his
"Yes; a Christ-
mnas tree and can-
lies. For grandma
S,, ,;,i so."
'Seems as if
i th:t is all he thinks
i,." said the fire-
n-..n; "his poor
mother she -"
Land he stopped,
iand closed his
-y 'es again.
"Shall we go
now ? insisted
Jamie. You
said that we'd
get there the
night be-
\ fore Christ-
,i i Now,
S young fel-
low," broke
in the con-
ducto r,

(SEE PAGE 102.)

this is road

luck. You are a railroad man, and must learn
to keep a stiff upper lip when things go wrong;
brace up, and let that tree wait a day or so."
But Jamie's sobs broke out afresh. Fireman
Jim's head turned languidly away.
I should think some of those women might
know what to do for the boy," said the conduc-
tor. The doctor nodded.
Take him away, and have him amused if you
can," said he. He troubles his father. He

ought to have something to eat,"- the doctor thought, when I was bakin' 'em, that they
hesitated, and then added,-" though I suppose would save our lives."
it does no good to say so. Have you anything We 'll hope they need not do quite so much
- any way of making a cup of tea, or any beef for us," laughed the pretty girl, whose name on
extract? Do you go prepared for these emer- the one modest trunk in the rear car was D.
agencies AM. Marsz; "but we will not touch the chil-
The conductor shook his head. dren's cookies unless we are starved into such
I 'm afraid not," he said, unless some of robbery. How glad I am Aunt Mary made
the passengers might have something left from me take this great box of luncheon! I hardly
lunch. We were due at 5:30, you know, and made an impression on it this noon." And
we get our supper in town." she brought out an unopened jar of pressed
Well, you might inquire," said the doctor; chicken. This will be our Christmas turkey !"
"he would feel better after having a bit of she announced.
something." Is n't there some way of melting that down
So the conductor, carrying the crying Ja- into soup ? asked the conductor, who came in
mie, went back to the passenger-car. He found just at this point.
the young girl the center of what seemed al- "How is the injured man? inquired the
most a social circle.
The good- nature
baby, who had been
drowsily nodding, was
sound asleep in one
of the farthest seats,
as content as a veteran
traveler in a Pullman
state-room, while his ..
mother sat shyly on
the outskirts of the
little company. The
traveling man's sam-
ple-cases, covered with
a napkin, formed an
improvised table; and
upon this the stock
of eatables was being
Well, anyhow, we ,,
sha'n't be starved," the
old lady said; "that
there basket "- point-
ing to a huge covered
wicker "is full of
fixin's I was taking to
John's folks. I expect
it won't seem so like
Christmas to the chil-
them leaf-cookies and
the gingerbread animals; and they are good if commercial traveler, while the old lady held
I do say it that ought n't; but I 'm sure I never out her motherly arms for Jamie, as she said:





"You poor lamb! Is it his pa that 's killed ?"
"He 's all right," said Conductor Brooks;
" only his arm is broken, and he is knocked
out and faint. The doctor was asking for some
soup, or something to brace him a little. If
that was chicken broth, now, it would just fit."
Why, we can make broth in just a few min-
utes," said Miss Marsh; and in a moment she had
brought from her trunk a pretty chafing-dish,
and lighted it, the old lady nodding approval.
"Alcohol, too," the girl said, laughing; left
over from the last oyster-spread at college."
The lamp was quickly adjusted, and into the
bright pan went part of the jellied chicken.
"It 's a privilege, nowadays, to see a young
girl know something' about cooking! said the
old lady, while the stolid-faced man silently
proffered a match; and Jamie stopped crying
to taste the broth, when an appetizing odor
began to diffuse through the car. ,
During all that had passed the boy had
hardly left his dark corner. He did not wish
to talk. It was nobody's business where he
was going, and some one would be sure to ask.
But he looked on, and thought how bright and
quick and pleasant the girl was. When the
broth was sent to Jim, and the doctor returned,
the remainder of Aunt Mary's bread and butter
and pickles was spread, with various additions
from the others' lunch-baskets. Part was re-
served for breakfast, and the little group whose
common misfortune had thawed all reserve
supped together merrily if not bountifully. The
boy declined all but a single sandwich. He
was hungry, but the angry, defiant pride which
had hardened his face all day melted somewhat,
and he felt less like eating.
And to-morrow is Christmas!" said the trav-
eling man, whose name was Osgood. "I 've
worked like two men to get through and have
the day at home with the wife and babies, and
it is hard to be stalled up so near."
"And there 's my son John and Milly and
the children. I have n't missed a Christmas
with them since John was married. They -all
come to me Thanksgivin'," said the old lady;
"but we 're all alive, and that 's a great mercy."
Never mind," said Miss Marsh; we '11 have
the evening at home. But I wish I had n't
stayed with Aunt Mary until the last moment."

"I want a Christmas!" sobbed Jamie, his
ready tears bursting forth again. Mama said
I should have a Christmas; an' gramma's got
.a tree, an' I-want-a- Christmas!"
Again the big conductor told the short sad lit-
tle story of the dead mother who had promised
a happy day to the boy; and Miss Marsh looked
steadily out of the car window a half-minute,
while her eye brightened and a resolve formed.
"Jamie boy," said Miss Marsh, "you shall
have your Christmas. It 's Christmas here
just the same as all over the world; and you
shall have a real one."
He looked up in joyful trust. An' a tree ?"
"Yes, dear; a real tree," said the girl. The
others listened in astonishment. The old lady
opened her lips to remonstrate, but shut them
again. The traveling man whistled softly and
skeptically, and the doctor looked on amused.
Only Jamie and the boy gazed at-her with im-
plicit confidence.
"When shall I have it ? asked Jamie.
To-morrow--Christmas morning," said the
girl, brightly. Now go to papa and go right
to sleep, and in the morning-you 'll see! "
With tears undried, but with a face beaming
with happiness, Jamie let himself be carried
away to his makeshift bed by his father's side.
"An' a tree," he said, as the sleepy eyes
closed; "an' candles, an'-"

"Well ?" said Mr. Osgood, with a quizzical
smile of doubt. But before Miss Marsh could
reply the boy said briefly:
I '11 get it. I saw 'em before it got dark."
He had already buttoned his coat, and seiz-
ing the red-handled ax that hung near the
stove, he bravely leaped out into the drifts.
"Those little evergreens, you know," said
Miss Marsh; "they are just a few feet away -
he can see them by the light from the windows,
I think; and we can make it pretty, somehow,"
she continued eagerly; "'Jamie's such a little
lad, and Christmas means so much to him."
Mr. Osgood nodded.
But what 's goin' to be on the tree ? asked
the practical old lady. It 's all foolishness
goin' to so much trouble for that one child, and
we a-tremblin', you may say, between life and
death! But I declare for 't, I hate to have the

U 102


day go by and do nothing ; and even if we 're
rescued to-morrow, as that conductor says he
thinks probable,- which I don't more 'n .half
believe-what with getting' home, and explaining'
when you do get there,- which please mercy we
may!- why, the day 's as good as gone. An',
anyhow, I 've got a pair of red knit mittens for
John's Alexander, and I 'm'going to give 'em
to that poor motherless lamb, an' you can hang
'em on the tree for one thing, Miss Marsh."
Splendid! said Miss Marsh. "And I have
a red skating-cap in my satchel--I believe it
will just fit him.".
Is he too small for a knife ? asked Mr.
Osgood. "Let 's see about five, is n't he ?
My wife makes six the knife-line; I guess I 'd
better not," and he returned it to his pocket.
Hold on!" said he, with sudden inspiration.
"I 've some illustrated catalogues here that
could pass for picture-books yes, and cards
too--our new ones"; and, diving into his cases,
he brought out a pile of brilliant pictures.
"Will Miss Santa Claus accept this ?" asked
Dr. Carleton, offering a pocket microscope.
Just then the door opened, and the boy came
in, dragging triumphantly a small evergreen.
Every one laughed excitedly, and it did be-
gin to seem something' like," as the old lady
said. Then how they worked! The tree was
braced firmly at the end of the aisle, the lumps
of ice and snow shaken off, and a more durable
quality of soft cotton flakes from Dr. Carleton's
surgical stores added. Leaf-cookies and aston-
ishing gingerbread animals dangled from the
branches, and Alexander's red mittens waved
in welcome. Even the man of the immovable
visage helped, with something like a softening
of his hard features; and when he fastened to
a branch a red blank-book and pocket pencil,
there was an outburst of laughing applause.
Meanwhile Dr. Carleton talked quietly with
the shabby little woman; he had asked about the
baby's teething, and she unconsciously gave
him much of her simple story. Her husband
had lost his place in the little town where they
had lived. He had found work in the city,
and she was going to meet him. They had no
" folks.". She worked in, a factory before she was
married. No; the baby had n't cut any teeth
yet. She hoped she would n't fuss or be sick

about it. She did n't know much about babies.
The doctor listened with sympathy, and, a little
later, wrapping a bright goldpiece in a bit of
paper, he marked it, For Baby Burs to cut
her teeth on," and it was added to the tree.
The boy looked on with a dull ache in his
throat. He hoped it was not going to be sore.
How sick he had been with those bad throats,
and how good mother always was! Mother
was filling the children's stockings at home
now. She always managed to have something
for them, somehow. Poor mother! She would
have it all to bear alone now. How could he
leave her ? Why did n't he think of her part ?
"But I won't go back," he said to himself.
"I can't go back now. I '11 come home rich
some day, and give mother everything she
wants; but I won't sneak back now." Then
he did n't care to think more.
"I can make a top," he whispered to Miss
Marsh, "if I have a piece of wood. Shall I ? "
He would like it best of all, I know," said
Miss Marsh heartily; and then she added aloud,
" Now we must have a star for the top. What
can we do about it,? "
"Well, I guess it's good enough," said the
old lady. I guess he won't miss the star."
But the girl looked from one to another in
perplexed appeal.
Why must there be a star ? asked the boy
Miss Marsh hesitated a moment. She did
not know much about boys, this brotherless
college girl; but she said, almost as shyly as he:
Don't you think the Christmas star is the
most beautiful thing in the world ? You know
the Christ Child was born beneath a star; and
I think it meant, for one thing, that for every
new life there is a star set in heaven that will
light the life all the way, if once we catch a
glimpse of it; and know it is there for us."
The boy listened breathless. He could not
have told just what the girl's words meant; but
the moral.courage that all day had been strug-
gling to live took new strength, and slowly be-
gan to shape itself into a resolution. They
stood looking at each other, when the traveling
man, who was down again in his cases, emerged
in triumph, waving some tinfoil.
Cut out the star from that pasteboard box,"




he cried; "and here 's the glory for it. We
can't stop short of perfection in this tree."
Well, I 'm blessed!" said Conductor Brooks,

staring at the sight, when he came in a little
later. "Where do you folks think you are ?
At a Sunday-school festival ?"

i896.] A SNOW-BOUN

"Never you mind where we be!" said the
old lady. Her bonnet was awry, and her
spectacles on her forehead. "You just help
h'ist up that star, and then we 're all done."

Christmas morning, Jamie woke round-eyed
and expectant.
I want my tree," he said; and I want my
breakfast.". And asthe waiting holiday-makers
were impatient as he, the breakfast was hurried
through, and then they all filed in, Jamie in
Conductor Brooks's arms, his father, who was
doing bravely, coming behind, followed by the
engineer. Jamie gazed at the tree as if dazed
by his surprise; but after the first moment, a
smile of radiant, ecstatic joy spread over the
round, baby face. Not a word or sound -
only that beaming, blissful smile. It was irre-
sistible; and with shouts of laughter the tree
was despoiled of its offerings, and Jamie's cup
of happiness was full. In the midst of the mer-
riment Miss Marsh glanced at the boy. He
was gazing at the star with a curious expression,
and she thought of their words the night before.
In her bodice was thrust a pin whose head was
a tiny golden star -the badge of her class so-
ciety. She drew it out, and pressing it into
one of the leaf-cookies which were being passed
about, she handed it to him with a whispered
Merry Christmas!" "He saw it, and there
was a quick rush of color to his face, and
tears to his eyes-and that little star weighed
down the balance of decision on the right side,
and made a man of him. But the girl never
When the laughing talk had quieted a little,
Jamie turned confidently to Miss Marsh.
Now the story," he said.
"What story, laddie ? she asked.
"The Christmas story. Mama said there is
a Christmas .story, and she saved it up for
Christmas day. It is the nicest story I ever
heard, mama said."
Every one was still for a moment. Poor Jim
turned away. "She would have made a good
man of him," was the thought in his heart.
The girl felt her own heart beat quickly. Could
she ? Before all these strange people ? What

would they think! No, she could n't; she
would have a chance to talk to Jamie alone be-
fore the day was over. That would be much
better. But the childish eyes gazed expectantly
into hers, and with a swift thought of the dead
mother she lifted the little boy gently to her
knee, and with softly flushing cheeks, and voice
that trembled a little, she began:
"Long ago, in a beautiful country over the
sea, there were shepherds in the fields keeping
watch over their flocks by night."
The sweet voice grew stronger as the simple
words of the wonderful story held the listeners
in solemn silence. The little woman's tears
dropped on her baby's head as she heard of the
mother for whom there was no room in the inn,
and a vague, trembling prayer went up from her
burdened heart to the Christ who was a child.
The boy's eyes shone with new light as he
thought of the star set.in heaven for the Christ
who was a 'boy, and with a thrill of newly
awakened love and appreciation he placed his
own weary, hard-worked mother on her throne
in her boy's heart.
There were eloquent sermons preached in
the churches that Christmas day, and wonder-
ful music was sung; but, as truly as in his visi-
ble temples, Christ was preached and worshiped
about that little tree, whose balsam breath
went up as frankincense and myrrh.

A little later in the day, after the relief
had come and the train pulled into the city
station, the Christmas party stopped a moment
for the last handshakings and farewells. Twen-
ty-four hours before they would have parted
with scarcely a glance at one another. Now
they seemed old friends. The busy doctor
hurried away first, followed by a long, grateful
look from the baby's mother.
I '11 never forget it of him," she thought.
The boy took a step toward Miss Marsh.
One of her hands was tight in Jamie's chubby
clasp, the other was held in the old lady's.
He looked a moment, then turned with a re-
solute face, and walked to the ticket-office.
"Give me a ticket on the first train that
goes back to Little Falls," he said.

VOL. XXIV.-14.



[Begu n n ike November number. ]



AT the Bridge street crossing Nick paused
Around the public pump a chattering throng
of housewives were washing out their towels,
and hanging them upon the market-cross to
dry. Along the stalls in Middle Row the
grumbling shopmen were casting up their sales
from tallies chalked upon their window-ledges,
or cuffing their tardy apprentices with no light
John Gibson's cart was hauling gravel from
the pits in Henley street to mend the causeway
at the bridge, which had been badly washed
by the late spring floods, and the fine sand
dribbled from the cart-tail like the sand in an
Here and there loutish farm hands waited for
work; and at the corner two or three stout
cudgel-men leaned upon their long staves, al-
though the market was two days closed, and
there was not a Coventry merchant in sight to
be driven away from Stratford trade.
Goody Baker with her shovel and broom
of twigs was sweeping up the market litter in
the square. Nick wondered if his own mother's
back would be so bent when she grew old.
Whur be-est going, Nick ? "
Roger Dawson sat astride a stick of timber
in front of Master Geoffrey Thompson's new
house, watching Tom Carpenter, the carver,
cut fleurs-de-lis and curling traceries upon the
front wall beams. He was a tenant-farmer's
son, this Roger, and a likely good-for-naught.
"To Coventry," said Nick, curtly.
"Wilt take a fellow wi' thee ? "

Poor company might be better than none.
"Come on."
Roger lumbered to his feet and trotted after.
"No school to-day ?" he asked.
"Not for me," answered Nick, shortly, for
he did not care to talk about it.
Faither wull na have I go to school, since
us ha' comed to town, an' plough-land sold for
grazings," drawled Roger; Muster Pine o'
Welford saith that I ha' learned as much as
father ever knowed, an' 't is enow for I. Fai-
ther saith, it maketh saucy rogues o' sons to
know more than they's own dads."
Nick wondered if it did. His own father
could neither read nor write, while he could do
both, and had some Latin, too. At the thought
of the Latin he made a wry face.
"Joe Carter be-eth in the stocks," said
Roger, peering through the jeering crowd about
the pillory and post; a broke Tom Samson's
pate wi' 's ale-can yestreen."
But Nick pushed on. A few ruddy-faced
farmers and drovers from the Red Horse Vale
still lingered at the Boar Inn door and by the
tap-room of the Crown; and in the middle of
the street a crowd of salters, butchers, and deal-
ers in hides, with tallow-smeared doublets and
doubtful hose, were squabbling loudly about
the prices set upon their wares. In the midst
of them Nick saw his father, and scurried away
into Back Bridge street as fast as he could, feel-
ing very near a sneak, but far from altering his
"Job Hortop," said Simon Attwood to his
apprentice at his side, looking out suddenly
over the crowd, "was that my Nick yonder? "
Nay, master, could na been," said Job, stol-
idly; Nick be-eth in school by now -the
clock ha' struck. 'T was Dawson's Hodge and
some like ne'er-do-well."


THE land was full of morning sounds
lads trudged along the Warwick road tog
An ax rang somewhere deep in the woi
of Arden; cart-wheels ruttled on the stc
road; a blackbird whistled shrilly in
hedge, and they heard the deep-tongi
belling of hounds far off in Fulbroke pa
Now and then a heron, rising from
river, trailed its long legs across the sky,
a kingfisher sparkled in his own spla
Once a lonely fisherman down by the
Avon started a wild duck from the
sedge, and away it went pattering up-
stream with frightened wings and red
feet running along the water. And
then a river-rat plumped into the stream
beneath the willows, and left a long
string of bubbles behind him.
Nick's ill-humor soon wore off
as he breathed the fresh air, moist "
from lush meadows, and sweet
from hedges pink and white with
hawthorn bloom. The thought
of being pent up on such a day
grew more and more unbearable,
and a blithe sense of freedom
from all restraint blunted the prick
of conscience.
"Why art going to Coventry,
Nick? inquired Roger
suddenly, startled by a
thought coming into his
wits like a child by a bat -11
in the room. -
"To see the stage-play that
the burgesses would na allow in Strat-
"Wull I see, too ?"
"If thou hast eyes the mayor's
show is free."
Oh, feckins, wun't it be fine?"
gaped Hodge. Be it a tailors' show,
Nick, wi' Herod the king, and a rope
for to hang Judas ? An' wull they set
world afire wi' a torch, an' make the
quake fearful wi' a barrel full o' stones?
wull it be Sin in a motley gown a-thum

the Black Man. over the pate wi' a bladder
full o' peasen- an' angels wi' silver wingses,
an' saints wi' golden hair? Or wull it be
a giant nine yards high, clad in the beards


the o' murdered kings, like granny saith she used
earth to see?"
Or "Pshaw! no," said Nick; "none of those
Wiping old-fashioned things. These be players from


London town, and I hope they '11 play a right
good English history-play, like 'The Famous
Victories of Henry Fift,' to turn a fellow's legs
all goose-flesh!"
Hodge stopped short in the road. La!"
said he, I '11 go no furder if they turn me to
a goose. I wunnot be turned goose, Nick Att-
wood an' a plague on all witches, says I!"
Oh, pshaw! laughed Nick; "come on.
No witch in the world could turn thee bigger
goose than thou art now. Come along wi'
thee; there be no witches there at all."
Art sure thou 'rt not bedaffing me ? hesi-
tated Hodge. Good, then; I be na feared.
Art sure there be no witches ? "
"Why," said Nick, "would Master Burgess
John Shakspere leave his son Will to do with
witches ? "
I dunno," faltered Hodge; a told Muster
Robin Bowles it was na right to drownd 'em in
the river."
Nick hesitated. "Maybe it kills the fish,"
said he; "and Master Will Shakspere always
liked to fish. But they burn witches in Lon-
don, Hodge, and he has na put a stop to it -
and he 's a great man in London town."
Hodge came on a little way, shaking his
head like an old sheep in a corner. Wully
Shaxper a great man?" said he. "Why, a's
name be cut on the old beech-tree up Snitter-
field lane, where 's uncle Henry Shaxper lives,
an' 't is but poorly done. I could do better wi'
my own whittle."
"Ay, Hodge," cried Nick; "and that 's
about all thou canst do. Dost think that a
man's greatness hangs on so little a thing as his
sleight-of-hand at cutting his name on a tree? "
"Wull, maybe; maybe not; but if a be a
great man, Nick Attwood, a might do a little
thing passing well so there now! "
Nick pondered for a moment. I do na
know," said he, slowly; "heaps of men can do
the little things, but parlous few the big. So
some one must be bigging it, or folks would all
sing very small. And he doeth the big most
beautiful, they say. They call him the Swan
of Avon."
"Avon swans be mostly geese," said Hodge,
Now, look 'e here, Hodge Dawson, don't

thou be calling Master Will Shakspere goose.
He married my own mother's cousin, and I
will na have it."
La, now," drawled Hodge, staring, "'t is
nowt to me. Thy Muster Wully Shaxper may
be all the long-necked fowls in Warrickshire
for all I care. And, anyway, I 'd like to know,
Nick Attwood, since when hath a been Muster
Shaxper'- that ne'er-do-well, play-actoring fel-
low ?"
Ne'er-do-well? It is ia so. When he was
here last summer he was bravely dressed, and
had a heap of good gold nobles in his purse.
And he gave Rick Hawkins, that's blind of an
eye, a shilling for only holding his horse."
Oh, ay," drawled, Hodge; "a fool and a's
money be soon parted."
Will Shakspere is no fool," declared Nick
hotly. He 's made a peck o' money there in
London town, and 's going to buy the Great
House in Chapel lane, and come back here to
"Then a's a witless azzy!" blurted Hodge.
"If a 's so great a man amongst the lords and
earlses, a 'd na come back to Stratford. An' I
say a 's a witless loon so there "
Nick whirled around in the road. "And I
say, Hodge Dawson," he exclaimed, with flash-
ing eyes, that 't is a shame for a lout like thee
to so miscall thy thousand-time betters. And
what 's more, thou shalt unsay that, or I will
make thee swallow thy words right here and
now! "
I 'd like to see thee try," Hodge began;
but the words were scarcely out of his mouth
when he found himself stretched on the grass,
Nick Attwood bending over him.
There! thou hast seen it tried. Now come,
take that back, or I will surely box thine ears
for thee."
Hodge blinked and gaped, collecting his wits,
which had scattered to the four winds. "Whoy,"
said he, vaguely, "if 't is all o' that to thee, I
Stake it back."
Nick rose, and Hodge scrambled clumsily to
his feet. I '11 na go wi' thee," said he, sulkily;
"I will na go whur I be whupped."
Nick turned on his heel without a word, and
started on.
"An' what 's more," bawled Hodge after



him, thy Muster Wully Shaxper be-eth an old
gray goose, an' boo to he, says I!"
As he spoke, he turned, dived through the
thin hedge, and galloped across the field as if
an army were at his heels.
Nick started back, but quickly paused.
"Thou needst na run," he called; "I 've not
the time to catch thee now. But mind ye this,
Hodge Dawson, when I do come back, I '11
teach thee who thy betters be -Will Shakspere
first of all! "
"Well crowed, well crowed, my jolly cock-
erel!" on'a sudden called a keen, high voice
beyond the hedge behind him.
Nick, startled, whirled about just in time
to see a stranger leap the hedge, and come
striding up the road.



HE had trim, straight
legs, this stranger, and
a slender, lithe body
in a tawny silken jerkin.
Square shouldered, too,
was he, and over one
shoulder hung a plum-
colored cloak bordered
with gold braid. His long
hose were the color of .:' ij '
his cloak, and his shoes
were russet leather, with
rosettes of plum, and such //
high heels as Nick had
never seen before. His bonnet Z
was of tawny velvet, with a
chain twisted round it, fastened
by a jeweled brooch through jf
which was thrust a curly cock-
feather. A fine white Hol-
land-linen shirt peeped through
his jerkin at the throat, with a "HODGE FOUND
broad lace collar; and his
short hair curled crisply all over his head. He
had a little pointed beard, and the ends of his
mustache were twisted so that they stood up
fiercely on either side of his sharp nose. At his
side was a long Italian poniard, in a sheath of

russet leather and silver filigree, and he had a
reckless, high and mighty fling about his stride
that strangely took the eye.
Nick stood, all taken by surprise, and stared.
The stranger seemed to like it, but scowled
nevertheless. "What! How now?" he cried,
sharply. "Dost like or like me not ?"
"Why, sir," stammered Nick, utterly lost for



anything to say why, sir,-" and knowing
nothing else .to do, he took off his capand
"Come, come," snapped the stranger, stamp-
ing his foot, "I am a swashing, ruffling, des-


operate Dick, and not to be made a common jest
for Stratford dolts to giggle at. What! These
legs, that have put on the very gentleman in
proud Verona's streets, laid in Stratford's com-
mon stocks, like a silly apprentice's slouching
heels ? Nay, nay; some one should taste old
Bless-his-heart here first! and with that he
clapped, his hand upon the hilt of his poniard,
with a wonderful swaggering tilt of his shoulders.
"Dost take me, boy ?"
"Why, sir," hesitated Nick, no little awed
by the stranger's wild words and imperious way,
"ye surely are the master-player."
"There! cried the stranger, whirling about,
as if defying some one in the hedge. "Who
said I could not act? Why, see, he took me
at a touch! Say, boy," he laughed, and turned
to Nick, "thou art no fool. Why, boy, I say I
love thee now for this, since what hath passed
in Stratford. A murrain on the town! Dost
hear me, boy ?-a black murrain on the town!"
And all at once he made such a fierce stride
toward Nick, gritting his white teeth, and clap-
ping his hand upon his poniard, that Nick drew
back afraid of him.
But nay," hissed the stranger, and spat with
scorn; a town like that is its own murrain -
let it sicken on itself! "
He struck an attitude, and waved his hand
as if he were talking quite as much to the trees
and sky as he was to Nick Attwood, and looked
about him as if waiting for applause. Then all
at once he laughed--a rollicking, merry laugh,
and threw off his furious manner, as one does
an old coat. "Well, boy," said he, with a
quiet smile, looking kindly at Nick, "thou art
a right stanch little friend to all of us stage-
players. And I thank thee for it in Will Shak-
spere's name; for he is the sweetest fellow of
us all."
His voice was simple, frank, and free; so dif-'
ferent from the mad tone in which he had just
been ranting, that Nick caught his breath with
Nay, lad, look not so dashed," said the
master-player, merrily; that was only old Jem
Burbage's mighty tragic style; and I- I am
only Gaston Carew, hail fellow well met with
all true hearts. Be known to me, lad; what is
thy name ? I like thy open, pretty face."

Nick flushed. Nicholas Attwood is my
name, sir."
"Nicholas Attwood? Why, it is a good
name. Nick Attwood,-young Nick,- I hope
Old Nick will never catch thee-upon my
word I do, and on the remnant of mine honour!
Thou hast taken a player's part like a man;
and thou art a good fellow, Nicholas Attwood,
and I love thee. So thou art going to Coven-
try to see the players act ? Surely thine is a
nimble wit' to follow fancy nineteen miles.
Come. I am going to Coventry to join my
fellows; wilt thou go with me, Nick, and dine
with us this night at the best inn in all Coven-
try-the Blue Boar? Thou hast quite plucked
up my downcast heart for me, lad, indeed thou
hast; for I was sore of Stratford town- and I
shall not soon forget thy plucky fending for our
own sweet Will. Come, say thou wilt go with
Indeed, sir," said Nick, bowing again, his
head all in a whirl of excitement at this won-
derful adventure-"indeed I will, and that right
gladly, sir." And with heart beating like a
trip-hammer, he walked along, cap in hand, not
knowing that his head was bare.
The master-player laughed a simple, hearty
laugh. Why, Nick," said he, laying his hand
caressingly upon the boy's shoulder, I am no
such great to-do as all that. Upon my word,
I 'm not! A man of some few parts, perhaps,
not common in the world; but quite a plain
fellow, after all. Come, put off this high humil-
ity, and be just friendly withal. Put on thy
cap; we are but two good faring-fellows here."
So Nick put on his cap, and they went on
together, Nick in the seventh heaven of delight.
About a mile beyond Stratford, Welcombe
wood creeps down along the left. Just beyond,
the Dingles wind irregularly up from the foot-
path below to the crest of Welcombe hill,
through straggling clumps and briery hollows,
sweet with nodding bluebells, ash, and haw-
Nick' and the master-player paused a mo-
ment at the top to catch their breath and to
look back.
Stratford and the valley of the Avon lay
spread before them like a picture of peace,
studded with blossoming orchards and girdled




with spring. Northward the forest of Arden
.clad the rolling hills. Southward the fields of
Feldon stretched away to the blue knolls be-
yond which lay Oxford and Northamptonshire.
'The ragged stretches of Snitterfield downs scram-
bled away to the left; and on the right, beyond
Bearley, were the wooded uplands where Guy
of Warwick and Heraud of Arden slew the
wild ox and the boar. And down through the
midst ran the Avon southward, like a silver
ribbon slipped through Kendal green, to where
the Stour comes down, past Luddington, to
Bidford, and away to the misty hills.
Why," exclaimed the master-player-" why,
.upon my word, it is a fair town -as fair a
town as the heart of man could wish. Wish?
I wish 't were sunken in the sea, with all its
pack of fools! Why," said he, turning wrath-
fully upon Nick, that old Sir Thingumbob of
thine, down there, called me a caterpillar on
the kingdom of England, a vagabond, and a
common player of interludes! Called me vag-
abond! Me! Why, I have more good li-
censes than he has wits. And as to Master
Bailiff, Stubbes, I have permits to play from
more justices of the peace than he can shake a
stick at in a month of Sundays!" He shook
his fist wrathfully at the distant town, and
gnawed his mustache until one side pointed
up and the other down. "But, hark 'e, boy,
I '11 have my vengeance on them all ay, that
will I, upon my word, and on the remnant
of mine honour-or else my name 's not
Gaston Carew "
"Is it true, sir," asked Nick hesitatingly,
"that they despitefully handled you ? "
With their tongues, ay," said Carew bit-
terly; "but not otherwise." He clapped his
hand upon his poniard, and threw back his
head defiantly. "They dared not come to
blows-- they knew my kind! Yet John Shak-
spere is no bad sort he knoweth what is
what. But Master Bailiff Stubbes, I ween, is a
long-eared thing that brays for thistles. I '11
thistle him! He called Will Shakspere rogue
-hast ever looked through a red glass? "
"Nay," said Nick.
"Well, it turns the whole world red. And
so it is with Master Stubbes. He looks through
a pair of rogue's eyes and sees the whole world

rogue. Why, boy," cried the master-player
vehemently, "he thought to buy my tongue!
Marry, if tongues were troubles he has bought
himself a peck! What! Buy my silence?
Nay, he '11 see a deadly flash of silence when I
come to my Lord the Admiral again!"



IT was past high noon, and they had long
since left Warwick castle far behind. Nicho-
las," said the master-player in the middle of a
stream of amazing stories of life in London
town, "there is Blacklow knoll." He pointed
to a little hill off to the left.
Nick stared; he knew the tale: how grim
old Guy de Beauchamp had Piers Gaveston's
head upon that hill for calling him the Black
Hound of Arden.
"Ah! said Carew, "times have changed
since then, boy, when thou couldst have a
man's head off for calling thee a name or I
would have yon'Master Bailiff Stubbes's head
off short behind the ears--and Sir Thomas
Lucy's too!" he added, with a sudden flash of
anger, gritting his teeth and clenching his hand
to his poniard. "But, Nicholas, hast thou
anything to eat?"
"Nothing at all, sir."
Master Carew pulled from his pouch some
barley cakes and half a small Banbury cheese,
yellow as gold, and with a keen, sharp savour.
"'T is enough for both of us," said he, as they
came to a shady little wood with a clear, mossy-
bottomed spring running down into a green
meadow with a mild noise, murmuring among
the stones. "Come along, Nicholas; we '11 eat
it under the trees."
He had a small flask of wine, but Nick drank
no wine, and went down to the spring instead.
There was a wild bird singing in a bush there,
and as he trotted down the slope it hushed
its wandering tune. Nick took the sound up
softly, and stood by the wet stones a little
while, imitating the bird's trilling note, and
laughing to hear it answer timidly, as if it took
him for some great new bird without wings.
Cocking its shy head, and watching him


shrewdly with its beady eye, it sat almost per-
suaded that it was only size which nade them
different, until Nick clapped his cap upon his
head and strolled back, singing as he went.
It was only the thread of an old-fashioned
madrigal which he had often heard his mother
sing, with quaint words long since gone out
of style and hardly to be understood, and be-
tween the staves a warbling, wordless refrain
which he had learned out on the hills and in
the fields, picked up from a bird's glad-throated
He had always sung the plain-tunes in church
without taking any particular thought about
it; and he sang easily, with a clear, young
voice which had a full, flute-likeanote in it like
the high, sweet song of a thrush singing in
deep woods.
Gaston Carew, the master-player, was sitting
with his back against an oak, placidly munch-
ing the last of the cheese, when Nick began to
sing. He started, straightening up as if some
one had called him suddenly out of a sound
sleep, and turning his head, listened eagerly.
Nick mocked the wild bird, called again
with a mellow, warbling trill, and then struck
up the quaint old madrigal with the bird's song
running through it. Carew leaped to his feet,
with a flash in his dark eyes. My soul! My
soul!" he exclaimed in an excited undertone.
"It is not nay, it cannot be why, 't is it
is the boy! Upon my heart, he hath a skylark
prisoned in his throat! Well sung, well sung,
Master Skylark! he cried, clapping his hands
in real delight, as Nick came singing up the
bank. "Why, lad, I vow I thought thou wert
up in the sky somewhere, with wings to thy
back! Where didst thou learn that wonder-
Nick colored up, quite taken aback. "I do
na know, sir," said he; "mother learned me
part, and the rest just came, I think, sir."
The master-player, his whole face alive and
eager, now stared at Nicholas Attwood as
fixedly as Nick had stared at him.
It was a hearty little English lad he saw,
about eleven years of age, tall, slender, trimly
built, and fair. A gray cloth cap clung to the
side of his curly yellow head, and he wore a
sleeveless jerkin of dark-blue serge, gray home-

spun hose, and heelless shoes of russet leather.
The white sleeves of -his linen shirt were open
to the elbow, and his arms were lithe and
brown. His eyes were frankly clear and blue,
and his red mouth had a trick of smiling that
went straight to a body's heart.
Why, lad, lad," cried Carew, breathlessly,
" thou hast a very fortune in thy throat! "
Nick looked up in great surprise; and at that
the master-player broke off suddenly, and said
no more, though such a strange light came
creeping into his eyes that Nick, after meeting
his fixed stare for a moment, asked uneasily if
they would not better be going on.
Without a word the master-player started.
Something had come into his head which
seemed to more than fill his mind; for as he
strode along he whistled under his breath, and
laughed softly to himself. Then again he
snapped his fingers, and took a dancing step or
two across the road, and at last fell to talking
aloud to himself, though Nick could not make
out a single word he said, for it was in some
foreign language.
Nicholas," he said suddenly, as they passed
the winding lane that leads away to Kenil-
worth-" Nicholas, dost know any other songs
like that? "
"Not just like that, sir," answered Nick, not
knowing what to make of his companion's
strange new mood; but I know Master Will
Shakspere's Then nightly sings the staring owl,
to-who, to-whit, to-who!' and The ousel-cock
so black of hue, with orange-tawny bill,' and
then, too, I know the throstle's song that goes
with it."
"Why, to be sure-to be sure thou knowest
old Nick Bottom's song, for is n't thy name
Nick ? Well met, both song and singer well
met, I say! Nay," he said hastily, seeing Nick
about to speak; "I do not care to hear thee
talk. Sing me all thy songs. I am hungry as
a wolf for songs. Why, Nicholas, I must have
songs! Come, lift up that honeyed throat of
thine, and sing another song. Be not so back-
ward; surely I love thee, Nick, and thou wilt
sing all of thy songs for me."
He laid his hand on Nick's shoulder in his
kindly way, and kept step with him like a bosom
friend, so that Nick's heart beat high with pride,

VOL XXIV.- 15. 3
:--_- ~- _-

and he sang all the
walked along.
Carew listened inter
a fierce eagerness tha
boy; and sometimes h
his breath, Tut, tut,
oftener he laughed w
his head in
time t the
lilting tune. ;
and ."seeml 9. "sj -4



songs he knew as they Did ye speak to me, sir? asked Nick,
ntly, and sometimes with Nay, Nicholas; I was talking to the moon."
it almost frightened the "Why, sir, the moon has not come yet," said
e frowned, and said under Nick, staring into the western sky.
that will not do !"-but "To be sure," replied Master Carew, with
without a sound, nodding a queer laugh. "Well, the silvery jade has
missed the first act."
-- "Oh," cried Nick, reminded of the pur-
*_, '. pose of his long walk; "what will ye play
f for the mayor's play, sir ?"
---./ i'' --I don't know," replied Carew, carelessly; "it
." will all be done before I come. They will have
S had the free play this afternoon, so as to catch the
pence of all the May-day crowd to-morrow."
Nick stopped in the road, and his eyes filled
/ up with tears, so quick and bitter was the
S. disappointment. "Why," he cried,
S ',' with a tremble in his
tired voice, "I thought
; the free play would be
i on the morrow and
I/ now I have not a far-
S.. thing to go in!"

'\ C 1~

~i All~"k, 4

pleased with Nick, the singing, and last, but
not least, with himself.
And when Nick had ended, the master-player
had not a word to say, but for half a mile
gnawed his mustache in nervous silence, and
looked Nick all over with a long and earnest
Then suddenly he slapped his thigh, and
tossed his head back boldly. "I '11 do it," he
said; "I 'll do it if I dance on air for it! I '11
have it out of Master Stubbes and canting
Stratford town, or may I never thrive! My
soul! it is the very thing. His eyes are like
twin holidays, and he breathes the breath of
spring. Nicholas, Nicholas Skylark,- Master
Skylark,- why, it is a good name, in sooth,
a very good name! I '11 do it -I will, upon
my word, and on the remnant of mine honour "

S. ,. A Tut, tut, thou silly
lad!" laughed Carew,
-- frankly; "am I thy
friend for naught?
iv', What! let thee walk
all the way to Coven-
IN HIS THROAT!' try, and never see the
play? Nay, on my
soul! Why, Nick, I love thee, lad; and I '11
do for thee in the twinkling of an eye. Canst
thou speak lines by heart? Well, then, say
these few after me, and bear them in thy mind."
And thereupon he hastily repeated some half
a dozen disconnected lines, in a high, reciting
"Why, sir," cried Nick, bewildered, "it is a
part! "
"To be sure," said Carew, laughing, "it is a
part and a part of a very good whole, too -
a comedy by young Tom Heywood, that would
make a graven image split its sides with laugh-
ing; and do thou just learn that part, good
Master Skylark, and thou shalt say it in to-
morrow's play."
"What, Master Carew!" gasped Nick. "I-
truly? With the Lord Admiral's players? "


"Why, to be sure! cried the master-player
in great glee, clapping him upon the back.
" Didst think I meant a parcel of dirty tinkers?
Nay, lad; thou art just the very fellow for the
part-my lady's page should be a pretty lad,
and, soul o' me, thou art that same! And,
Nick, thou shalt sing Tom Heywood's newest
song it is a pretty song; it is a lark-song like
thine own."
Nick could hardly believe his ears. To act
with the Lord Admiral's company! To sing
with them before all Coventry It passed the
wildest dream that he had ever dreamed. What
would the boys in Stratford say? Aha! they

would laugh on the other side of their mouths
But will they have me, sir? he asked
"Have thee? said Master Carew, haught-
ily. "If I say go, thou shalt go. I am mas-
ter here. And I tell thee, Nick, that thou shalt
see the play, and be the play, in part, and -
well, we shall see what we shall see."
With that he fell to humming and chuckling
to himself, as if he had swallowed a water-mill,
while Nick turned ecstatic cart-wheels along the
grass beside the road, until presently Coventry
came in sight.

(To be continued.)

71 NEw


J- iINGlsE.

\o <. sono of CLhrstmrns- ime,

V Iey shouted in tLer glee,

Wouldn't vyou nave slouled too

IO 'ave so fine tree?


"' .-_ .i

iD.4y (. Ki,-.



[Begun in the November number.]



WHILE Andy, with the help of the detail, was
cutting and notching the timber for ladders,
the Captain and the three young soldiers of the
station made a breakfast, standing, from their
haversacks and canteens, and looked about
them over the wild country at their feet, and
off at the blue peaks which rose above and
around the valley of Cashiers, and then at the
ridges in the opposite direction, drawn like
huge furrows across the western horizon, show-
ing fainter and fainter in color until the blue
of the land was lost in the blue of the sky.
The men worked with a will, so that by ten
o'clock the main ladder, which was just a chest-
nut stick deeply notched on the outer side, was
firmly set in the ground against the face of the
cliff. The landing-shelf was found to extend
into a natural crevice so that the short upper
ladder was set to face the bridge, and so as to
be entirely concealed from the view of any one
approaching from below.
When everything was in readiness, Lieuten-
ant Coleman was the first to ascend, with the
powerful telescope of the station strapped on
his shoulders; and the others quickly followed,
except the three troopers who remained behind
to unpack the mules and bring up the rations
and outfit for the camp.
At the point where they landed there was
little to be seen of the top of the mountain be-
yond a few stunted chestnuts which clung to
the rocks and were dwarfed and twisted by the
wind; and nearly as many dead blue limbs lay
about in the thin grass as there were live green
ones forked against the sky. There was the
suggestion of a path bearing away to the left,
and following this they came to a series of steps

in the rocks, partly natural and partly artificial,
which brought them on to a higher level where
an extended plateau was spread out before
them. On the western border they saw the
line of trees overhanging the Cove side-the
same that had looked like berry-bushes the
night before from the cabin where they had
halted for the moon to go down. From this
point the crest of the Upper Bald was in plain
view across the Cove, but anxious as they were
to open communication with the other moun-
tain, the flags had not yet come up, and there
was nothing left for them to do but continue
their exploration. It was observed, however,
that the trees overhanging the Cove would con-
ceal the flagging operations from any one who
might live on the slopes of the mountains in
that direction, and, moreover, that by going a
short distance along the ridge to the right a
fine backing of dark trees would be behind the
signal-men. Philip would have scampered off
to explore and discover things for himself, but
the Captain restrained him and directed that
the party should keep together. Andy car-
ried his long rifle, and Philip and Bromley had
brought up their carbines, so that they were
prepared for any game they might meet, even
though it were to dispute progress with a bear
or panther. Since they had come up the lad-
ders the region was all quite new to Andy, and
he no longer pretended to guide them.
Back from the last ridge the ground sloped
to a lower level, much of which was bare of
trees and so protected from the wind that a
rich soil had been made by the accumulation
and decay of the leaves. At other points there
were waving grass and clumps of trees, which
latter shut off the view as they advanced, and
opened up new vistas as they passed beyond
them. It could be seen in the distance, how-
ever, that the southern end of the plateau was
closed in by a ledge parallel to and not unlike


~1J9C.Ih! 44



-* i


~r~ i\


that which they had already scaled, except that
it was much more formidable in height.
There was a stream of clear, cold water
that was found to come from a great bub-
bling spring. It broke out of the base of this
southern ledge, and, after flowing for some dis-
tance diagonally across the plateau, tumbled
over the rocks on the Cashiers valley side and
disappeared among the trees.
After inspecting this new ledge, which was
clearly an impassable barrier in that direction,
and as effectually guarded the plateau on that
side as the precipices which formed its other
boundaries, the Captain and his party turned
back along the stream of water, for a plenti-
ful supply of water was more to be prized
than anything they could possibly discover on
the mountain.
"There is one thing," said Andy, as they
walked along the left bank of the stream, "that
you-all can depend on. Risin' in the spring
as hit does, that branch will flow on just the
same, summer or winter."
Probably," said Lieutenant Coleman; but
then, you know, we are not concerned about
next winter."
A little further on a rose-bush overhung the
bank, and at the next turn they found a grape-
vine trailing its green fruit across a rude trellis
which was clearly artificial. A few steps more
and they came to a foot-log flattened on the
top; and, although it tottered under them, they
crossed to the other side, and, coming around
a clump of chincapin-bushes, they found them-
selves at the door of a poor hut of logs, whose
broken roof was open to the rain and sun. The
neglected fireplace was choked with leaves, and
weeds and bushes grew out of the cracks in the
rotting floor; and, surely enough, in one dry cor-
ner stood the very brown keg that Josiah Wood-
ring had brought up the mountain. In the
midst of the dilapidation and the rotting wood
about it, it was rather surprising that the cask
should be as sound as if it were new, and the
conclusion was that it had been preserved by
what it originally contained.
Just then there was a cry from Philip, who
had gone to the rear of the hovel; and he
was found by the others leaning over the grave
of the old man of the mountain, and staring at

the thick oak headboard which bore on the
side next the cabin these words:

The letters were incised deep in the hard wood,
and seemed to have been cut with a pocket-
knife. It was evident from the amount of pa-
tient labor expended on the letters that the
work had been done by the unhappy old man
himself, perhaps years before he .died. Of
course, it had been set up by Josiah, who must
have laid him in his last resting-place.
"That looks like Jo-siah was no liar, any
more than he was a murderer and robber,"
said Andy; and if the little man could live
up here twenty-five years, I reckon you young
fellers can get along two months."
A spot for camp was selected a few rods up
the stream from the poor old cabin and grave.
This was at a considerable distance from the
ridge where the station was to be, but it had
two advantages to balance that one inconveni-
ence. In the first place, it was near the water,
and then no smoke from the cook-fire would
ever be seen in the valley below. Accordingly,
the stores were ordered to be brought to this
point, and Corporal Bromley hurried- away to
the head of the ladders to detain such articles
as would be needed at the station on the ridge.
Below the ledge the mules could be seen
quietly browsing the grass, and, to the annoy-
ance of Lieutenant Coleman, a blue haze was
softly enveloping the distant mountains, as in a
day in Indian summer, so that it was no longer
possible to think of communicating with the
next station, which was ten miles away.
That being the case, the afternoon was spent
in pitching the tents and making the general
arrangements of the camp. Owing to the
difficulty of transportation, but the barest ne-
cessaries of camp-life were provided by the gov-
ernment; and, notwithstanding his rank, Lieu-
tenant Coleman had only an "A" tent, and
Bromley and Philip two pieces of shelter-tent
and two rubber ponchos. It was quickly de-
cided by the two soldiers to use their pieces of
tent to mend the roof of the hut of the old
man of the mountain, and to store the rations
as well as to make their own quarters therein.
From the Commissary Department their sup-



plies for sixty days consisted, precisely, of four
50-pound boxes of hard bread, 67 pounds 8
ounces bacon, 1o3 pounds salt-beef, 27 pounds
white beans, 27 pounds dry peas, 18 pounds
rice, 12 pounds roasted and ground coffee, 8
ounces tea, 27 pounds light-brown sugar, 7
quarts vinegar, 21 pounds 4 ounces adamantine
candles, 7 pounds 4 ounces bar soap, 6 pounds
12 ounces table-salt, and 8 ounces pepper.
The medical chest consisted of I quart of com-
missary whisky and 4 ounces of quinine. Be-
sides the flags and telescope for use on the
station, their only tools were an ax and a
hatchet. On ordinary stations it was the rule
to furnish lumber for building platforms or
towers, but here they were provided with only
a coil of wire and ten pounds of nails, and if
platforms were necessary to get above the sur-
rounding trees they must rely upon such timber
as they could get, and upon the ax to cut away
obstructions. Fortunately for this particular
station they could occupy a commanding ridge,
and send their messages from the ground.
Philip had by some means secured a garrison
flag, which was no part of the regular equip-
ment; and through Andy they had come into
possession of a dozen live chickens and a bag
of corn to feed them. On the afternoon before
the departure of the troopers, the Captain, who
had now established the.last of the line of sta-
tions, confided to Lieutenant Coleman his final
directions and cautions. He asked Andy to
point out Chestnut Knob, which was the moun-
tain of the blue pin, and whose bald top was in
full view to the right of Rock Mountain, and
not more than eight miles away in a southeast-
erly direction, and, as Andy said, just on the
border of the low country in South Carolina.
This was the mountain, the Captain informed
Lieutenant Coleman, from which in due time,
if everything went well in regard to a certain
military movement, he would receive important
messages to flag back along the line.
What this movement was to be was still an
official secret at headquarters, and Lieutenant
Coleman would be informed by flag of the time
when he would be required to be on the look-
out for a communication from the mountain of
the blue pin. At the close of his directions,
the Captain, standing very stiff on his heels and

holding his cap in his hand, made a little speech
to Lieutenant Coleman in which he compli-
mented him for his loyalty and patriotic de-
votion to the flag, and reminded him that in
assigning him to the last station the command-
ing general had thereby shown that he reposed
especial confidence in the courage, honor and
integrity of Lieutenant Frederick Henry Cole-
man of the 12th Cavalry, and in the intelli-
gence and obedience of the young men who
were associated with him. This speech, deliv-
ered just as the shadows were deepening on the
lonely mountain top, touched the hearts of the
three boys who were so soon to be left alone,
and was not a whit the less impressive because
Andy plucked off his coonskin cap and cried,
in his homely enthusiasm, that them was his
sentiments to the letter! "
It was understood that there should be no
signaling by night, and no lights had been
provided for that purpose; so that, there being
nothing to detain them on the plateau, they
decided to accompany the Captain and Andy
back to the bridge, and see the last of the es-
cort, as it went down the mountain.
Two of the troopers, contrary to orders, had
during the day been as far as the deserted cabin
of Josiah Woodring, and one of these beck-
oned Philip aside and told him where he would
find a sack of potatoes some one had hidden
away on the other side of the gorge, which,
with much. disgust, he described as the only
booty they had found worth bringing away.
So great is the love of adventure among the
young that there was not one of the troopers
but envied his three comrades who were to be
left behind on the mountain; but it was a
friendly rivalry, and, in view of the possibilities
of wild game, they insisted upon leaving the
half of their cartridges, which were gladly ac-
cepted by Philip and Bromley.
The moon was obscured by thick clouds,
and an hour before midnight the horses were
saddled, and with some serious, but more jocu-
lar, words of parting, the troopers started on
the march down the mountain, most of them
hampered by an additional animal to lead.
The Captain remained to press the hand of
each of the three young soldiers, and when at
last he rode away and they turned to cross the


frail old bridge, whose unprotected sides could
scarcely be distinguished in the darkness, they
began to realize that they were indeed left to
their own resources, and to feel a trifle lonely,
as you may imagine.
Before leaving that side of the gorge, how-
ever, Corporal Bromley had shouldered their
precious cartridges, which had been collected

yards behind, Philip.was stumbling along with
the sack of potatoes on his shoulder. They
had advanced in this order until the head of
the straggling column was scarcely more than a
stone's throw from the cliff, when a small brown
object, moving in the leaves about the foot of
the ladder, uttered a low growl and then dis-
appeared into the deeper shadow of the rock.


in a bag, and on the other side Philip secured
the sack of potatoes; and thus laden they
trudged away across the open field and among
the rocks and bushes, guided by the occasional
glimpses they had of the cliff fringed with trees
against the leaden sky. It was of the first
importance that the cartridges should be kept
dry, and to that end they hurried along at a
pace which scattered them among the rocks
and left but little opportunity for conversation.
Lieutenant Coleman was in advance, with Phil-
ip's carbine on his arm; next came Corporal
Bromley, with the cartridges; and, a hundred

At the same moment the rain began to fall, and
Corporal Bromley stepped one side to throw
his bag of cartridges into the open trunk of a
hollow chestnut. While he was thus engaged,
with the double purpose of freeing his hands and
securing the cartridges from the possibility of
getting wet, his carbine lying on the ground
where he had hastily thrown it, Lieutenant
Coleman fired at random at the point where he
had indistinctly seen the moving object. The
darkness had increased with the rain, and, as
the report of the carbine broke the quiet of the
mountain, a shadowy ball of fur scampered by


him, scattering the leaves and gravel in its
flight. The mysterious object passed close to
Bromley as he was groping about for his
weapon, and the next moment there was a
cry from Philip, who had been thrown to the
ground, and his potatoes scattered over the
"Whatever it was," said Philip, when he
presently came up laughing at his mishap, I
don't believe it eats potatoes, and I will gather.
them up in the morning."
As it was too dark for hunting, and the car-
tridges were in a safe place, Lieutenant Cole-
man and Corporal Bromley slung their carbines
and followed Philip, who was the first to find
the foot of the ladder.
It was not so dark but that they made their
way safely to the camp, and, weary with the
labors of the day, they were soon fast asleep
in their blankets, unmindful of the rain which
beat on the A" tent and on the patched roof
of the cabin of the old man of the mountain.



ON the morning of July 4th the sun rose in
a cloudless sky above the mountains, and the
atmosphere was so clear that the most remote
objects were unusually distinct. The condi-
tions were so favorable for signaling that, after
a hurried breakfast, the three soldiers hastened
to the point on the ridge which they had
selected for a station. Corporal Bromley
took position with a red flag having a large
white square in the center, and this he waved
slowly from right to left, while Lieutenant Cole-
man adjusted his spy-glass, resting it upon a
crotched limb which he had driven into the
ground; and at his left Philip sat with a note-
book and pencil in hand, ready to take down
the letters as Lieutenant Coleman called them
off. There are but three motions used in sig-
naling. When the flag from an upright posi-
tion is dipped to the right, it signifies I; to the
]ift, 2; and forward, 3. The last motion is used
only to indicate that the end of the word is
reached. Twenty-six combinations of the fig-
ures I and 2 stand for the letters of the alphabet.
VOL. XXIV.--6.

It is not an easy task to learn to send mes-
sages by these combinations of the figures i
and 2, and it is harder still to read the flags
miles away through the telescope. The three
soldiers had had much practice, however, and
could read the funny wigwag motions like
print. If any two boys care to learn the code,
they can telegraph to each other from hill
to hill, or from farm to farm, as well as George
and Philip. You will see that the vowels and
the letters most used are made with the few-
est motions-as, one dip of the flag to the left
(2) for I, and one to the right (i) for T. Z is
four motions to the right (i ii); and here is
the alphabet as used in the Signal Service:



tion, 2221.

When the flag stops at an upright position, it
means the end of a letter -as, twice to the
right and stop (ii), means A; one dip forward
(3) indicates the end of a word; 33, the end
of a sentence; 333, the end of a message. Thus
II-II-II-3 means "All right; we understand
over here; go ahead "; and I I- I-i -333 means
"Stop signaling." Then 212-212-212-3 means
"Repeat; we don't understand what you are
signaling"; while 12-12-12-3 means "We have
made an error, and if you will watch we will
give the message to you correctly."
Now, if Lieutenant Coleman wanted to say
to another signal-officer Send one man," the
sentence would read, in figures, 121, 21, 22,
III, 3, 12, 22, 21, 3, 2112, II, 22, 33." But
in time of war the signalmen of the enemy
could read such messages, and so each party
makes a cipher code of its own, more or less
difficult; and the code is often changed. So
if Lieutenant Coleman's cipher code was simply



to use for each letter sent the fourth letter later
in the alphabet, his figures would have been
quite different, and the letters they stood for
would have read:
W-i-r-h s-r-i q-e-r.
S-e-n-d o-n-e m-a-n.
So, after fifteen minutes of waiting, during
which time the flag in Corporal Bromley's hand
made a great rustling and flapping in the wind,
moving from side to side, Lieutenant Coleman
got his glass on the other flag, ten miles away,
and found it was waving I1-1I-II-3-"All
right." Corporal Bromley then sent back the
same signal, and sat down on the bank to rest.
What Lieutenant Coleman saw at that distance
was a little patch of red dancing about on the
object-glass of his telescope; he could not see
even the man who waved it, or the trees be-
hind him. Promptly at Bromley's signal All
right," the little object came to a rest; and
when it presently began again, Lieutenant Cole-
man called off the letters, which Philip repeated
as he entered them in the book. For an hour
and a half the messages continued repeating
all the mass of figures which had come over
the line during the last three days.
When the Mountain of the Nineteenth Red
Pin had said its say as any parrot might have
done, for it was absolutely ignorant of the
meaning of the figures it received and passed
on (for the reason that it had no officer with

the cipher), Lieutenant Coleman took from his
pocket a slip of paper on which he had al-
ready arranged his return message to Chatta-
nooga., When this had been despatched, the
lieutenant took the note-book from Philip, and
went away to his tent to cipher out the mean-
ing of the still meaningless letters.
They were sufficiently eager to get the latest
news, for they knew that the army they had
just left had been advancing its works and
fighting daily since the 22d day of June for
the possession of Kenesaw Mountain. The de-
spatches were translated in the order in which
they came, so that it was a good half-hour be-
fore Lieutenant Coleman appeared with a radi-
ant face to say that General Sherman had
taken possession of Kenesaw Mountain on the
day before. "And that is not all," he cried,
holding up his hand to restrain any premature
outburst of enthusiasm. Listen to this! 'The
"Alabama" was sunk by the United States
steamer Kearsarge on the i9th day of June,
three miles outside the harbor of Cherbourg, on
the coast of France.' "
Corporal Bromley was not a demonstrative
man, yet the blood rushed to his face, and
there was a glittering light in his eyes which
told how deeply the news touched him; but
Philip, on the contrary, was wild with delight,
and danced and cheered and turned somer-
saults on the grass.

(To be continued.)



A CLASS of young girls sat one afternoon
in a class-room of Elmira College, talking over
the subject for their next composition. As the
hour for their literature lesson drew near, one
of them said that she wished there was some-
thing new to write about."
The teacher smiled as she came in, for she
had heard these last words, and she had a plan

that promised something new. Before dismiss-
ing the literature class the teacher said:
Girls, instead of a composition next week,
we will begin to have 'Afternoons with the
Poets,' taking first those who are alive, and then
going back to those who came earlier. The
girls may choose, in turn, some poet to write
about, and bring in an essay about him. The


best essay will be read in class by the writer,
and if the plan works well we shall all learn a
great deal from it."
The girls were enthusiastic over the new idea,
and each had a poet to suggest; but, to begin
with, the name of Oliver Wendell Holmes met
with general favor.
That afternoon the girl who had first proposed
the name of Dr. Holmes went home determined
to present the merits of her favorite writer and
poet to the very best advantage in her essay.
She did little but read his writings for the next
few days, and then her thoughts traveled back-
ward, and she pictured again, in memory, her
first glimpse at the life and letters of the dear
It was when she was a little girl and had
gone with an older sister into the country for
the summer. There was a professor from Yale
College, with his family, boarding at the same
house, and he always read aloud after breakfast
to those of the party who cared to hear. This
little girl was always one of his audience, and
generally crawled under the piano, where she
could listen, or could doze during the difficult
parts of the wise professor's reading. But when
he brought out first The Poet at the Break-
fast-Table," and then "The Autocrat at the
Breakfast-Table," her attention never failed, and
hers was always the'voice that said, "Please
go on," when the professor paused in reading
from those famous books.
All this came back to her mind that night,
as she sat reading and writing by turns; and
then a bright idea came to her- she would
write to Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, and would
ask him for an incident in his early life for
her essay!
How pleased the girls would be! She never
doubted the great man would answer her letter;
and he did. Here is his letter, and you will
find a facsimile of it on the following pages:

BOSTON, March 15th, i88o.
Here is one little incident of my life which I have
never told in print.

little boy, and came pretty near doing it; for, while I
was stooping over the edge of the raft, I slipped and
went souse into the water.
I remember a great sound in my ears--"guggle,
guggle," I said it was, when they asked me about it -
and a desperate struggle and a feeling that I was go-
ing to be drowned, just as little Sam Childs had been;
and then all at once my whole past life seemed to flash
before me as a train of cars going a thousand miles an
hour, if such a speed were possible, would pass in one
long crowded streak before the eyes of a person stand-
ing by the railroad.
I had never heard that this was a common experience
with persons who are near drowning, but I have since
heard of many cases where the same flash of their past
lives has come before drowning people who have been
rescued and have told about it.
You may put this story in your essay, if you like.
I get a great many letters from young persons, and it
takes a great deal of my time to answer them-so I
think I am quite good-natured this evening to tell you
all this don't you think so, dear Miss Isabella ?
Very truly yours,

Then came the pleasure of showing the letter
to her teacher and best friends, and later of
surprising the assembled class with her essay.
The girls at first refused to believe the story
as told, but the teacher promptly assured them
that Dr. Holmes's letter was genuine.
Some of his own words that were also quoted
in the essay I think fitting to append here, for
young folk would do well to bear them in
mind. The bit is taken from his "Autocrat at
the Breakfast-Table."
"When we are yet small children there
comes up to us a youthful angel, holding in his
right hand cubes like dice, and in his left hand
spheres like marbles. The cubes are of stain-
less ivory, and on each is written in letters of
gold-' Truth.' The spheres are veined and
streal&d and spotted beneath, with a dark
crimson flush above, where the light falls on
them, and in a certain aspect you can make
out upon every one of them the three letters
L, I, E. The child to whom they are offered
very probably clutches at both. The spheres
are the most convenient things in the world;
they roll with the least possible impulse just
where the child would have them. The cubes

When I was a little boy I got upon a raft one day,-a g talent for
few boards laid together,- which floated about in a pond
-a very small pond, but rather bigger round than a standing still, and always keep right side up.
dinner-table. It was big enough, anyhow, to drown a But very soon the young philosopher finds that



things which roll so easily are very apt to roll where they are left. Thus he learns --thus we
into the wrong comer, and to go out of the learn to drop the streaked and speckled
way when he most wants them, while he always globes of falsehood, and to hold fast the white
knows where to find the others, which stay angular blocks of truth."


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HE end
\ "; of the
I story
& King's
Castle in
1'' No Man's
I Land brought
the Princess and the Third Son to the entrance
of another street, which bore the curious title
of The Pumpkin Dwarf Street."
So they walked on at a moderate pace that
they might read the story of

THERE was once a poor laborer who'lived
in a wretched hut, standing in the midst of a
barren field, where nothing green would grow.
For feeding his family he depended solely on
such paltry earnings as he could pick up by
hiring himself out to some of the neighbor-
ing farmer folk; and when times were hard
even this resource frequently failed him. One
winter, when there was a great famine in the
country, the poor man was driven to his wit's
end to scrape together enough to keep his
little ones from starving.
Now it chanced that his wife had a cousin,
living in a village some miles distant, who was
a rich man and could easily have helped them
had he been so disposed. But, unhappily, he
was as stingy as he was rich, and, moreover, he
had taken offense at his kinswoman for having

story of the series entitled "The City of Stories." Begun in
the September number.)


bestowed her hand on a poor laborer. How-
ever, when worse came to worst the man was
forced to seek the miserly cousin and beg his
aid to keep his beloved children from dying of
The rich cousin received him in a surly
fashion, and heard his pitiful tale with unsym-
pathetic ears.
Well," said he coldly, when the laborer
had ended his story, "did I not foretell these
miseries? What else could my cousin look for
after having cast her lot with such as you--a
luckless wight, with whom nothing ever can
prosper? Ye may blame yourselves. Get you
hence, and trouble me no more! It is late,
and high time that all people were at home
and asleep!"
These were harsh words, but the poor man
was in desperate straits, so he stood his ground
yet a little longer, begging and pleading so
earnestly that a stone might almost have been
melted to pity. -And, finally, to get rid of him,
the rich cousin went to his cupboard, and tak-
ing down a moldy loaf, threw it upon the
table with a scowl, saying:
"Take this; and, since you are so helpless,
come here on Monday week, and I will try
and find work for you." Yet while he was
making this offer he thought, within his heart,
In a week hence they all will be dead of
hunger, and thus I shall be well rid of them."
But the poor laborer, returning more thanks
for the wretched crust and for the grudging

promise than they deserved, took his leave Presently, whv
with a somewhat lightened heart, summit, he hear
His homeward way was / doleful a
long, the road rough, and \, "Oh!
the hour late. Mid- if I oul
night struck as he passed through the uriot
village -wherein the 'came, he
wealthy cousin dwelt when he
Though footsore and than a r
weary,, he re- strength
membered the Y hill a gre
hungry mouths -
at home, and
pushed bravely .'-
on until,by and
by, he came to [
the last hill that
lay between
him and his
poor hut. The ,I
steep and rug-
ged road that .
he had now to ,"
traverse ran on
through a thick
wood for al- -.
most its entire '
length. As he I ''
toiled on to-"'. "
ward the top
of the hill, the
moon, risen ',
some hours be- i, ht
fore, began to
shine down on
his path; and
as its cheerful -
rays chased
of the forest a -. --' -
weight sudden-
ly seemed to be
lifted from his
breast, and he .-
was filled with
hope, as if a -
piece of good .
luck were about

en he had nearly reached the
d a small voice crying out in
if I could but get it up I Oh!
d but get it over the top of
Then it would go of itself."
is to know whence this voice
stepped forward a few paces,
described a dwarf, not taller
nan's knee, trying with all his
to push over the crest of the
at yellow pumpkin. The vege-
table was so
.. much larger
than he was
-r 1 that every
i I I ,ij, cimehemov-
Fa ,ed it for-
i,.i' ,', ward an inch
---- it was all he
could do to
.. keep it from



rolling back two inches. Again and again he
had failed, and now was well-nigh exhausted.
Seeing his plight, the laborer took pity on
him, and, springing forward in the nick of
time, by a vigorous push he sent it over the
crest. Without a word of thanks, without even
a look at his benefactor, the dwarf gathered
his long beard under his arm, and, hopping
nimbly on top of the moving pumpkin, he be-
gan to bowl merrily down the mountain-side,
and soon was lost to view.
"So! so !" exclaimed the laborer; "there is
one who believes that a good action is its own
reward. At least he might have left a thank
you behind him; that would cost nothing."
But he did the dwarf injustice, for when he
reached the foot of the hill the little man was
awaiting him, perched upon his pumpkin, and
smiling benevolently in the moonlight.
Laborer," said he, thou hast a kind heart,
and the service thou hast done me deserves
some return. Ask whatsoever thou wilt, and
thy wish shall be granted."
Now the poor laborer was not versed in the
ways of the world, else he might have asked of
the generous dwarf almost anything rather than
what, in his simple-mindedness, he did ask for.
"Sir," said he, next week I ,am promised
work; give me but enough to keep me and
mine from starving till the end of this week,
and I shall be content."
"Go home," answered the dwarf, "draw a
bucket of water from the well, and there shalt
thou find all and more than thou desirest."
Having said these words, he struck his foot
smartly upon the ground, and the pumpkin
suddenly rolled away among the bushes, and,
with its rider, disappeared from sight.
Then the laborer made haste home, and, go-
ing straight to the well, he let the bucket down
into the water. Upon trying to draw it up
again, he found it much heavier than it had
ever been before; and when at last he succeeded
in getting it to the top, what was his amazement
to see that it was filled to the brim with shining
gold pieces He was not long in making known
to his wife and children the wonderful news, and
they all joined him in thanking Heaven for the
help that had come to them in their sore need.
It was then too late to go to town to buy

food, but luckily there was no need of doing
so. When the poor man took the moldy loaf
from his pocket, behold! it had become as
white, sweet, and fresh as on the day it was
baked. Moreover, although not a large loaf to
look at, it really was quite inexhaustible to cut
from, and yielded a hearty supper for the whole
family, without diminishing in the least.
From that night forth all went well with the
laborer a laborer no longer, for he was as
rich now as formerly he had been poor. Not
only was he able to live in comfort himself, but
he also did much good among his poverty-
stricken neighbors, and relieved a great deal of
suffering by his many gifts of food and fuel.
Meanwhile, how fared it with the miserly
cousin ? Let us see. On the Saturday follow-
ing the first visit of the poor man he received a
second one from him.
Here, cousin," said the former laborer, lay-
ing a gold piece on the table, "this is to pay
for your bread, and many thanks to you."
The rich man was too much amazed even to
pick up the coin. That a poor wretch who had
come to him not seven days before in a starv-
ing condition should now be able to repay him
for a worthless crust in this princely fashion was
quite incomprehensible. He could only stare
stupidly until, the other making a move to go,
he managed to stammer:
Hold, cousin! Not so fast. How came you
by this money-you who only last week had
such ado to keep soul and body together?"
As there seemed to be no good reason for
concealment, the man related how he had
helped a dwarf roll a pumpkin over the top of.
a hill, and had received a quantity of gold as
a reward for the service.
After his kinsman had gone, the rich man
could get no peace for thinking of what he had
heard. Though already he had wealth enough
and to spare, still his miserly soul was not con-
tent. All his greed and covetousness had-been
aroused, and would not let him rest until he
had promised himself to set out upon the same
road over which the poor man had traveled, in
the hope that he, too, might have the luck to
meet the pumpkin dwarf.
Accordingly, at sundown he saddled his horse
and rode forth. It had become quite dark

when he began to ascend the mountain, and ing the summit of the mountain, to behold the
as he neared the top, where he expected to see quaint little man who was struggling with the
the dwarf, his heart be- pumpkin, just as his
gan to beat violently. cousin had described
" Sui-p,=,e he should him. Whether this
not i:e tlh re!" ,a. the same
thiou JhI.i di- pumpkin the
vidLd Le- lal-orer had
tw.. Ien hc-
+I.L, fea r d m .= "

seen nobody
knmws but
certain it
inas the very
same dwarf.
Oh, if I
wouldd but get

\vas com:,plain-
ing. Oh, if
S""'I could but
,get it over
S4ithe crest of
in. the hill! Then

lit %ocul ic go
a As lie heard
these, words
at rest, and grt ws hs sI the ncllh man
VOL. XXIiu dis-
'm,:,litd from
l.s ee,[d and
.. gave the Ipump-
A.,in a rude shove
.iTh 1-1h1 foot.
SThlerCeuLpo1 It went
i ;.'i nt i, .-i-, r th, crest
and do%.',n ;he other
.-s ".;i -Si : :\.-o 'd that
X; -14'... .tie d,[ e : r ,j not
timn, to lump on, but
.ias forced tu Iun be-
hind his queer vehicle

But in a few minutes all his doubts were set would carry him. Getting upon his horse again,
at rest, and great was his satisfaction, on reach- the rich man rode after at full speed. When he
VoL. XXIV.- I7.



came to the foot of the hill the dwarf had just words, for of a truth the adventure had not
overtaken his pumpkin, and was sitting upon it, turned out as he had expected. He had
panting and breathless after his chase. counted upon being allowed to demand what-
ever he liked, and he had promised himself
-- he would not be such a simpleton
---as the poor laborer had been.
But he had no choice; the
dwarf had rolled himself
out of sight the mo-
ment he had ceased
speaking; and there
----- was nothing for him
S _-- to do but to make
the best of his
-way back home,
consoling him-
self as well as
he could with
the thought
that a bucket-
ful of gold,
1- and more, was
not by any
means to
be despised.
S101 And, too, he
thought of a
S4 plan present-
ly whereby
he might get
a great deal
_.... more out of
'Y the dwarf
than his stu-
-7--'- pid kinsman

had done. He
proposed to
,7 take the largest
S cask he could find
and hang it from the
Thou art little used to aiding chain in lieu of the bucket,
others and strangely unskilled thus securing a greater quan-
from want of practice," said the "THE RICH MAN WAS QUITE AFRAID OF ftity of gold.
manikin crossly. However, Now, how did this fine
none but fools look for down on the back scheme succeed? Well, having with much
of a hedgehog. Thou shalt have thy just trouble attached the cask and dropped it into
reward. Get thee home, draw from the well a the well, the rich man set to work to draw it up
bucket of water, and that for which thy cousin again. This was a hard task, and his back and
asked, and more, shall be thine." arms ached well ere it was accomplished. But
The rich man was rather abashed by these he toiled on, encouraged by the thought of the





great treasure he was about to possess. At
last all of the chain was wound over the wind-
lass and the cask-bucket was within his grasp.
Trembling with eagerness he bent to seize it,
when, to his bitter disappointment, he beheld
simply a cask full of water -nothing more,
nothing less.
The unhappy miser turned pale at this dis-
covery. At first he was quite overwhelmed at
the unexpected turn of affairs, but soon he
brightened up a bit, for it occurred to him that
he might yet succeed if he were to replace the
original bucket. But it was quite the same as
before. No matter how many times he lowered
it, the bucket always came up holding water.
At last, he flew into a rage at the dwarf, whom
he called by all manner of abusive names.
In the midst of his tirade the little man sud-
denly appeared, seated on his pumpkin and
rolling along at a furious rate. When he had
arrived within a few paces of the spot where
the rich man stood, he leaped lightly to the
ground. It seemed as if he must have heard
what had just been said about him, for his ears
were red as if they were tingling smartly and
his eyes flashed so fiercely that the miser was
quite afraid of him, knee-high though he was.
Miserable worm! he cried in a voice shak-
ing with passion, "what cause hast thou for
complaint? If thou hadst not already enough
and more, have I deceived thee ?
Have I made thee any promise
that has not been fulfilled to
the very letter? Thy cousin
begged for enough to keep ,
him and his from '
starving until ,


/ 40

the week's end; hast thou not there that for
which he asked, and even more ? "
The dwarf pointed toward the caskful of
water as he spoke, and the miser started as he
realized the significance of his words. He
could not but admit that he had got exactly
what his cousin had asked for. The only differ-
ence in the two cases was that the poor man
had met the dwarf early on Sunday morning,
whereas he had met him late on Saturday even-
ing; and, as he had taken supper before starting
out, a glass of water certainly was enough for
the brief remainder of the week, scarcely a
quarter of an hour of which was yet to pass.
"Thy cousin served me from goodness of
heart," continued the dwarf, "but thou hast
done so from a base desire to increase thine
own gains. For thy many iniquities I bestow
on thee, from this day forth, the ill-luck that
formerly attended thy cousin, while for him
shall be the prosperity all and more than that
which hitherto has waited undeserved on thee."
Having pronounced these fateful words the
dwarfvatilted into his seat on the pumpkin and
disappeared like a flash, leaving the avaricious
cousin in no very pleasant state of mind.
Both the curse and the blessing of the little
man were carried out to the letter, and thence-
forth the once wealthy cousin grew poorer and
poorer, so that except for the kindness of his
cousin, he would have been
A obliged to beg his bread from
S door to door. But the other
lived a long and happy life,
and was always most for-
tunate in all that
She undertook.


I >

V, '

.- -- .- ---- -


1 Al


IT was a little town in Belgium. There were
the storks' nests on the high red roofs to which
the children pointed, as they pattered by in
their little wooden shoes, or sabots; and there
were small carts drawn by the strong draught-
dogs of Flemish breed, looking at their owners
with patient, faithful eyes. There were old
churches and houses, telling a story in wood or
stone to every passer-by.
In one of these old houses, built with queer
gables and little balconies and with a date and
the name of the builder carved over the door,
once lived two boys--Jan and Peter Stein.
They were sons of a thrifty, honest Flemish
burgher, who gave with an open hand to
"God's poor," of whom there were very many
after the sad wars of those days. There were
so many, indeed, that the good burgher's own
household lived very plainly, except at the
joyous Christmas-time, when all Christians keep
The children in Belgium have a charming

Christmas legend about Santa Claus's Pony.
They always place their wooden sabots on the
window-ledge, stuffed full of oats, hay, and fod-
der for the dear Christmas pony." In the
early morning they run on tiptoe to look; and
behold! the hay is all gone, and the shoes are
brimming over with toys and sweetmeats! Then
the children clap their hands with glee, "and
wish they could only have waked in time to
see the pony munching his oats. That would
have been such fun !
Christmas week in Burgher Stein's household
was one of great plenty; and not only every
friend but every beggar that knocked at the
side door had a share. There were black pud-
dings and liver puddings, geese stuffed with
chestnuts, and more than one noble turkey with
truffles; and for at least a week beforehand was
the little mother busy in the kitchen, mixing
the rich Walloon wafers, that made little Peter's
mouth water even when he happened to be
thinking of them on a midsummer day.


Jan was four years and a half older than
Peter, and he did not care so much either about
the plain living all the year or the stuffed geese
and wafers at Christmas; he wanted to go to
school at the Griffin House," as he called the
old stone building carved with griffins and
dragons for water-spouts and gargoyles and ga-
ble-ends, where they taught drawing and carv-
ing and architecture, as
well as other things less
delightful. Now, he
and Peter went to
school to Captain Ja- ,
cobi, who asked very
little money, but also
taught very little learn-
ing. How could he,
when he had been
fighting all the time
until he lost his leg?
If Jan had wanted,
indeed, to hear about
battles and sieges-
but Jan's heart was set
upon building up in
stone and marble some
of the fairy dreams
he* had in his brain.
He loved even the
queer old stone griffins
on the school-house
with the quirks in
their impossible tails.
But the tender-hearted
burgher could never keep money enough in his
purse to send Jan there-certainly not to send
both of his boys-and he and Peterkin had
never been separated in all of Peter's short life.
No; Jan's heart sank; it was altogether im-
"Go, boys," called their mother from the
spicy, steaming kitchen, go quickly and bring
home the red cow. She has strayed away to
the marsh; but be careful, boys, don't stay out
after sunset. It is Christmas eve, remember."
As if they had forgotten it for one moment
during the day! As if their Sunday sabots were
not already arranged on the tall window-ledge,
and filled with oats and hay and grass for the
Christmas pony! To Peterkin's affectionate

heart the Christmas pony was a wonderful and
glorified creature. On summer holidays when
Santa Claus was busy in his workshop, fashion-
ing toys for winter delights, he imagined the
white pony with its fiery, shining eyes and long
waving mane and tail, as free, like himself, and
enjoying many an untrammeled run and caper
in a Paradise-pasture. Having once seen a pict-
ure of the Greek Pegasus, he confessed to
his brother that he never thereafter
thou-cht of the Christmas
A:i' .. iri :.ut v. irigs,
'." ||h,,.|Ig I hi.dlen,
. d,:,I i -L lll'i:, to
r i:hrdInIary
li,, by





his long, silvery mane. He believed firmly that
one night he had actually heard him neigh
softly, and paw at the wooden ledge.
Both the boys were restless -" Christmas
was in their bones "- and so they ran with


delight along the frozen path to the marshes
to find "Kneidel," the strayed red cow.
The ground was so level that they could see
all around them for a great distance; and there,
sure enough, was Kneidel, looking disappoint-
edly at the withered grasses on the farther edge
of the marsh. She seemed redder than ever in
the glow of the sky, which was a deep red
with a few dark clouds above like smoke.
"It looks like a goblin smithy," said Jan.
"Where they shoe with silver the Christmas
pony," added Peter, laughing.
He put his hands on each side of his mouth
to call Kneidel home, when a sudden sharp,
ringing sound, as of hoofs striking on the frozen
ground, made him pause, and around a small
body of woods on one side of them came a
little girl of thirteen or fourteen years riding a
white pony, at the sight of which little Peter's
breath came quick, and his cheeks flushed; for
had it not bright eyes, and long silky mane and
tail, and was not the bridle shining with rich
Its rider, the young girl, drew rein, and
checked her pony's speed as soon as she saw the
boys. Her eyes were black and lustrous, and
her hair dark. She did not look like the girls of
Flanders, nor was her dress like theirs; and when
she spoke it was with a decidedly foreign accent.
"You are Flemish boys I see," she said, ad-
dressing Jan, and her voice was very sweet.
" Can you tell me in what direction the castle
lies ? I thought it could be seen anywhere in
this flat country."
It is the old windmill that cuts off the view
here," answered Jan, "but after you cross the
marsh yonder it is visible again. It is not far
"Then I will wait for the others," said the
little lady, for so she seemed to be from her man-
ner and look. I was going to spend Christmas
Eve with my godmother at the castle and
my father did not return. So, as I wished very
much to go, the steward and the governess pre-
pared to go with me, and they were so slow--
oh, so slow! that my pony ran away, and I
find myself lost." But there was a ring of mis-
chievous laughter in the last sentence, and Jan
suspected the pony was not altogether to blame.
"Is this the Christmas pony ? suddenly

asked Peterkin, after an absorbed contempla-
tion of the pretty white creature.
Is it ? oh, yes, it is Santa Claus's pony! "
she answered with a merry glance at Jan; and
eyes, lips, and dimples overbrimming with, silent
laughter. She evidently remembered the Flem-
ish legend.
Come," she said suddenly to Jan, with child-
like impulse, "since I have to wait, tell me about
yourselves; tell me what you would rather have
- oh, of all things in the whole wide world I -
for your Christmas gift! "
Children's hearts fly quickly open, and Jan
was soon telling her, while she listened with
wide, eager eyes, of his dream of going to the
" Griffin House and learning to build churches
and palaces; and how he could not do it, be-
cause he could never have the heart to rob
" God's poor" of his father's aid in charity.
Nor would he go without little Peter.
They were talking so eagerly that another
rider was with them before they noticed his
approach: a tall, dignified, dark-looking gentle-
man, wrapped in a long Spanish cloak and
wearing a plumed hat. At the sight of him,
and the sound of the young girl's rapturous cry,
" Father "Jan's lips closed, and a sullen and
lowering look came over his frank face. He
replied but curtly to their thanks, and turned to
his brother. "Call Kneidel, Peter, and let us
go home."
Kneidel has gone, brother"; and so she
had, like a sensible cow, mindful of supper and
shelter; and the sunset fires of the winter sky
were burned almost to embers.
They had separated, the young rider with a
hurt, amazed look on her face, when Jan turned
back and said to the gentleman, Do not cross
the marsh there. The holes are black and
deep, and dangerous for horses. Take the
longer road around. You will be at your goal
the sooner and the safer."
You do not like to warn us," said the Span-
iard, looking curiously at his half-averted, reluc-
tant face. "Why ? "
"Because you are Spanish," answered the
lad, his honest gray eyes suddenly aflame.
"Who is your father?" questioned the
Jan's heart filled with dismayed apprehen-

z896.] SANTA CLAUS'S PONY. 135

sion. He remembered that he had told the Jan Stein's desire was fulfilled. He and Peter
daughter, already, however, went to the Griffin School and learned all about
"There is no need to tell," he answered stur- carving and building in wood and stone. They
dily. I have not been treacherous to you, at used to plan together what they would build
least"; and his eyes sought the girl's eyes in as soon as they were grown; big churches,
warning, perhaps, and stately houses, but
She spoke quickly in spite of a certainly a town-hall for their
frown on her father's brow: "No; own dear town, for the old one
you have been g.eru F:.. e r -- had been quite ruined by
you have beeInr 'would have iadr
owe you only tri- -k." Spanish shells. Jan
There was 1 _.:n te.r- .. would have it adorn-
about her long !ie ed with pictures from
and Jan found it r.:i l r its own history, and
to listen to little 1- P 'et with carvings of fa-
as they has-
as they has- miliar leaves and blos-
tened home- soms, and of com-
ward. im J, mon animals with
"It is their homely, every-
strange she day ways.
s The storks on
L- -their rough nests, and
ti- big dogs harnessed to
re :.r these would I have,"

I Ar.i the Christmas pony!"
I .:!.lirn d Peter, his eyes kindling
li! rli- old enthusiasm. On the
S ntr- il .blet would I carve him,
'a an I ,- i lould have wings, to show
S' o common stock, but of
i lir.i.:n ly breed and nurture, and
lIttle i-. .in -:.r i. back out of which crowd
"-- 1 k ,ii -1:i- t:,, o :. jan: in front a child's sabots
SI ,t gr. :I.d Lrley. That should be my
SC- part, :i'r.ol ind:cr it '.'o:uld be only Peterkin, for

f ...r Why ? aiked Jan, wonderingly, for this
was only his home-name.
Because I shall be always 'little Peter'
i.. beside you, brother!"
Peter took the greatest delight in thinking
the Christmas pony," how great and famous Jan would be some day;
he was saying in a perplexed tone. and then, he thought, Jan would meet the little
Strange things always happen at Christ- Spanish lady, and they would be true friends.
mas," his brother answered dreamily. Peter did not live to see Jan's success, for he
Next morning a silken purse of gold pieces died while they were students. But I think Jan
hung outside the window with a scroll attached: did no work without writing under his own
"For Jan and Peter Stein, that they may go name that of Peter Stein, since surely it was
to the School of the Griffns. his brother's thought as well as his, though only
From Santa Claus's Pony." Jan's hand carved it in stone!

(As sung by Santa Claus.)


Reporter's Note No. I.

I CAN'T tell where I heard it;
But yet I can't be wrong.
I must have heard old Santa Claus
Sing something like this song,
Or how could I have told you,
Or ever have found out
That Santa Claus could sing at all,
Or what he sang about?


The children of the present
Are wondrous wise, 't is said;
No superstitious thoughts are found
In any little head.

("But bless their hearts!" laughed Santa,
Right merrily laughed he.
"They cannot bear to give me up;
They still believe in me-
Oh, yes!
Some still believe in me.")

They don't believe in fairies-
They don't believe in gnomes.
Enchanted castles they "pooh-pooh!"
And likewise haunted homes.
They don't believe in mermaids
With flowing sea-green locks;
And brownies they disdain except
Those made by Palmer Cox.

("But bless their hearts!" laughed Santa,
Right merrily laughed he.
"They cannot bear to give me up;
They still believe in me-
Oh, yes!
Some still believe in me.")

They don't believe in witches,
They don't believe in ghosts;
They don't believe in woodland nymphs,
Nor in the goblin hosts.

They don't believe in giants,
In magic cloak or hat;
They only smile at "bogie men"
(I 'm very glad of that).

(And then again laughed Santa,
Right merrily laughed he.
"They cannot bear to give me up;
They still believe in me-
Oh, yes!
Some still believe in me!")

They don't believe in Crusoe!
Nor yet in William Tell!
And some have even thrown aside
The cherry-tree as well!
But every year at Christmas
Their faith in me revives.
"Oh, good old Santa Claus," they say,
"We 've loved you all our lives!"

("Yes, bless their hearts!" laughed Santa,
Right merrily laughed he.
"They cannot bear to give me up;
They still believe in me-
Oh, yes!
Some still believe in me.")

Reporter's Note No. 2.
This song shows how he values
You faithful little folks,
Who still believe in Santa Claus
In spite of many jokes.
So hang your stockings, youngsters,
And write notes trustful-ly;
And don't you pain the dear old chap
By in-cre-du-li-ty.

("For bless their hearts!" sings Santa,
Right merrily sings he.
"They cannot bear to give me up;
They still believe in me-
Oh, yes!
Some still believe in me.")



(Begun in tM June numb er.]



THE personal appearance of the Great Khan,
as described by Marco, was as follows: He
is of good stature, neither tall nor short, but of
middle height. He has a becoming amount of
flesh, and is very shapely in all his limbs. His
complexion is white and red, the eyes black


and fine, the nose well
formed and well set
on." But the portrait THE PALACE
of Kublai Khan, drawn
by a Chinese artist, does not exactly correspond
with the pen portrait given here by Marco. We
know also, from Marco's own narrative, that
the Emperor was subject to gout in his later
life, and we are led to infer that he was rather
corpulent, as he is represented in the drawing
given by the Chinese artist. After explaining
that the family of the Great Khan are variously
named and provided for, Marco goes on to tell
VOL. XXIV.--18,

of the glories of the imperial palace at Camba-
luc, otherwise known as Peking:

You must know that for three months of the year, to
wit, December, January, and February, the Great Kaan
resides in the capital city of Cathay, which is called CAM-
BALUc, and which is at the northeastern extremity of the
country. In that city stands his great Palace, and now
I will tell you what it is like.
It is enclosed all round by a great wall forming a
square, each side of which is a mile in length; that is to
say, the whole compass thereof is four miles. It is also
very thick and a good ten paces in height, whitewashed


and loop-holed all
round. At each
angle of the wall
there is a very fine

and rich palace in which the war-harness of the Em-
peror is kept, such as bows and quivers, saddles and
bridles, and bowstrings, and everything needful for an
army. Also midway between every two of these Cor-
ner Palaces there is another of the like, so that taking
the whole compass of the enclosure you find eight vast
Palaces stored with the Great King's harness of war.
And you must understand that each Palace is assigned
to only one kind of article; thus, one is stored with
bows, a second with saddles, a third with bridles, and
so on in succession right round.


The great wall has five gates on its southern face, the
middle one being the great gate which is never opened
on any occasion except when the Great Kaan himself
goes forth or enters. Close on either side of this great
gate is a smaller one by which all other people pass;
and then towards each angle is another great gate, also
open to people in general; so that on that side there are
five gates in all.
Inside of this wall there is a second, enclosing a space
that is somewhat greaterin length than in breadth. This
enclosure also has eight palaces corresponding to those
of the outer wall, and stored like them with the King's
harness of war. This wall also hath five gates on the
southern face, corresponding to those in the outer wall,
and hath one gate on each of the other faces as the outer
wallhath also. In the middle of the second enclosure is
the King's Great Palace, and I will tell you what it is like.
You must know that it is the greatest Palace that ever
was. Toward the north it is in contact with the outer
wall, whilst toward the south there is a vacant space
which the Barons and the soldiers are constantly tra-
versing. The Palace itself hath no upper story, but
is all on the ground floor, only the basement is raised
some ten palms above the surrounding soil, and this
elevation is retained by a wall of marble raised to the
level of the pavement, two paces in width, and project-
ing beyond the base of the Palace so as to form a kind
of terrace-walk, by which people can pass round the
building, and which is exposed to view, whilst on the
outer edge of the wall there is a very fine pillared balus-
trade; and up to'this the people are allowed to come. The
roof is very lofty, and the walls of the Palace are all cov-
ered with gold and silver. They are also adorned with
representations of dragons, sculptured and gilt, beasts
and birds, knights and idols, and sundry other subjects.
And on the ceiling, too, you see nothing but gold and
silver alid painting. On each of the four sides there is
a great marble staircase leading to the top of the marble
wall, and forming the approach to the Palace.
The Hall of the Palace is so large that it could easily
dine 6,00o people; and it is quite a marvel to see how
many rooms there are besides. The building is alto-
gether so vast, so rich, and so beautiful, that no man on
earth could design anything superior to it. The out-
side of the roof also is all colored with vermilion and
yellow and green and blue and other hues, which are
fixed with a varnish so fine and exquisite that they shine
like crystal, and lend a resplendent lustre to the Palace
as seen for a great way round. This roof is made, too,
with such strength and solidity that it is fit to last for-
On the interior side of the Palace are large buildings
with halls and chambers, where the Emperor's private
property is placed, such as his treasures of gold, silver,
gems, pearls, and gold plate, and in which reside the
ladies of the court.
Between the two walls of the enclosure which I have
described, there are fine parks and beautiful trees bear-
ing a variety of fruits. There are beasts also of sundry
kinds, such as white stags and fallow deer, gazelles and

roebucks, and fine squirrels of various sorts, with nunm-
bers also of the animal that gives the musk, and all man-
ner of other beautiful creatures, insomuch that the whole
place is full of them, and no spot remains void except
where there is traffic of people going and coming. The
parks are covered with abundant grass; and the roads
through them being all paved and raised two cubits
above the surface, they never become muddy, nor does
the rain lodge on them, but flows off into the meadows,
quickening the soil and producing that abundance of
From that corner of the enclosure which is towards
the northwest there extends a fine lake, containing fish
of different kinds, which the Emperor hath caused to be
put in there, so that whenever he desires any he can
have them at his pleasure. A river enters this lake and
issues from it, but there is a grating of iron or brass put
up so that the fish cannot escape in that way.
Moreover, on the north side of the palace, about a
bowshot off, there is a hill which has been made by art
from the earth dug out of the lake; it is a good hundred
paces in height and a mile in compass. This hill is en-
tirely covered with trees that never lose their leaves,
but remain ever green. And I assure you that wherever
beautiful tree may exist, and the Emperor gets news of it,
he sends for it and has it transported bodily with all its
roots and the earth attached to them, and planted on that
hill of his. No matter how big the tree may be, he gets
it carried by his elephants; and in this way he has got
together the most beautiful collection of trees in all the
world. And he has also caused the whole hill to be cov-
ered with the ore of azure, which is very green. And thus
not only are the trees all green, but the hill itself is all
green likewise; and there is nothing to be seen on it
that is not green; and hence it is called the GREEN
MOUNT ;and in good sooth 't is named well.
On the top of the hill again there is a fine big palace
which is all green inside and out; and thus the hill, and
the trees, and the palace form together a charming spec-
tacle; and it is marvelous to see their uniformity of
color! Everybody who sees them is delighted. And
the Great Kaan has caused this beautiful prospect to be
formed for the comfort and solace and delectation of his
You must know that beside the Palace that we have
been describing, i. e., the Great Palace, the Emperor
has caused another to be built just like his own in every
respect, and this he hath done for his son when he shall
reign and be Emperor after him. Hence it is made just
in the same fashion and of the same size, so that every-
thing can be carried on in the same manner after his
own death. It stands on the other side of the lake from
the Great Kaan's Palace, and there is a bridge crossing
the water from one to the other. The Prince in ques-
tion holds now a Seal of Empire, but not with such
complete authority as the Great Kaan, who remains su-
preme as long as he lives.
Now I am going to tell you of the Chief City of Ca-
thay, in which these Palaces stand; and why it was built,
and how.


Before we take up Marco's description of
the capital city of Cathay, or China, let us
look at Peking, to call by its modern name
Kublai Khan's city. We shall better under-
stand Marco's page if we know something of
the capital as it exists to-day; and it is worthy
of remark that the accuracy of the young Ve-
netian's account is well established by compar-
ing it with what we know of modern Peking.
The city is one of the oldest in the world;
but it was not made a capital until Kublai
Khan, somewhere about 1282, fixed his court
there. Under the Mongols the name of Peking
was Khan-palik, or City of the Khan; and this
title was easily converted into Cambaluc, by
which name it is known in the accounts of
those times. Peking is now divided into two
parts; the northern portion is the Tartar city,
and contains about twelve square miles; in

.n mi br- T su

millions appears to be a fair estimate..
Sf f -


this are the palaces, government buildings,
troops, and military barracks. The southern
part is the Chinese city, and is more populous
than the Tartar, less of its space being taken
up by gardens and public buildings. The pop-
ulation is estimated at different figures; but two
millions appears to be a fair estimate.
A wall separates the Tartar from the Chinese
.ity, and a wall of varying height surrounds
he whole, that of the Tartar section being
bout fifty feet high, and that around the Chi-
ese section some thirty feet high. These walls
re of brick and stone filled in with earth and

paved on the top with slabs of stone, affording
a promenade twelve feet wide. There are six-
teen gates in all, and each gateway is fortified
with towers of stone; and other towers are
fixed ac intervals of about sixty yards all around
the walls. These towers project fifty feet from
the outer side of the walls, and those at the
gateways have in front of them a fortification
of a semicircular shape, so that the gate must
be entered from the side and not from the front.


The Tartar city is divided into three inclo-
sures, each being surrounded with its own wall,
and each inside of another. The innermost of
these is the Prohibited City, and contains the
imperial palaces and offices. Its circumference
is nearly two miles; the wall is covered with
imperial-yellow tiles which look brilliant when
seen from a distance. The inclosure next out-
side of this is occupied by the government of-
fices, and by the army appointed to keep guard
over the emperor and his family. The next
outside of this is the outermost of all, and con-
sists of dwelling-houses and shops.

(To be continued.)

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[Begun in. the November number. ]



ANOTHER lovely morning, with dew on every
blade of grass, with birds chirping on every
spray, and with Misfit frisking about in antici-
pative mischief.
"In the vineyard of my Father
There is work enough to do.
Scattered gleanings we may gather,
Though we are but young and few! "
warbled June, who sang much as she did any-
thing else with a hearty will, and strictly up
to time. Do you know, Misfit," she said,
lifting the kitten up to her face to chain its
wandering attention, I like to sing hymns
that go directly to the point without any beat-
ing about the bush ? The simpler the tune, the
more chance one has to think about the words.
Little clusters, little clusters,
Help to fill the garners, too "
she concluded; and her vocalizing embarrassed
the kitten frantically.
"Have you fed the doves ? asked Leila,
appearing at the doorway.
"Long ago."
"And Misfit ?"
"Look at the bulginess of her."
"And the canary ? "
"And the canary; also myself. Never feel
uneasy about the animals, sister mine; for I
cannot swallow a mouthful if I think they are
Oh, June, are n't your hyacinths lovely this
morning? "
"Yes; I am sure I can sell those; they are
so delicately strong, and are so fragrant How
can you stay indoors on such a lovely day ? "
My book is so interesting," pleaded Leila,
guiltily holding the volume behind her.

"Well, I am going to find my reading after
this in the story of the growing plants, and to
look for my poetry in the changing sky. Go
in, and poke over your print, beloved; and hurt
your eyes, and dim your brain. Ta-ta!"
Leila smiled seraphically, and went. So
June put in another morning of hard work
alone, and the garden grew orderly under her
deft fingers. When the sun gathered strength
and made its wooing unpleasantly hot, June
wandered to a shady spot near the fence, and
busied herself watching the affairs in a nest of
crowded young sparrows in a tree near by.
They quarreled outrageously, and tried to
squeeze each other out of the nest, and snatched
greedily at the worms brought by their suffering
parents--snatched out of their turn, too, and
made vain attempts to pick out each other's
eyes, and altogether comported themselves vil-
lainously. Misfit sat below them in the grass,
and, gazing longingly upward, chattered her
teeth together in a futile pretense of eating them.
'Birds in their little nests agree'- what a -
what a whopper! If I could n't agree with Leila
better than that, I should feel disappointed with
myself," mused June, but not aloud; and in the
silence she heard a soft voice half whispering:
"What lovely, lovely hyacinths 1"
Jumping up and turning round, she found
herself face to face with "Mrs. Antarctic," a
queenly-looking, white-haired old lady, who
stood in her own garden of lovely flowers, and
looked yearningly over at June's few blossoms.
"Why, yours are ever so much prettier! "
cried June, in her friendly, direct way.
"I did not know any one was there," mur-
mured the old lady, moving away.
"Ever so much prettier," repeated June,
gazing good-humoredly at the gorgeous blooms.
"Fifty times prettier."
"But they are not mine," sighed the old
lady. They belong to my son and daughter."


"That's the same as yours, is n't it ? asked
June, puzzled.
"No, indeed; my children do not like me
to pick them, because they go to great expense
to have a gardener look after them, and they
give a good many entertainments and dinners,
and they need the flowers for decorations. But
I do love flowers so, and sometimes I am so
hungry for one to lay my face against, to
feel the touch of it! "
As she finished speaking, she bent down with
difficulty and brushed her sweet old face
against the vivid whiteness of a waxen hyacinth.
Her eyes glistened with tears.
Do you mean to say," cried June, feeling
the flying blood turn cold in her veins, so great
was her indignation--" do you mean to say
that your son and daughter do not allow you
to pick their flowers ? "
The old lady flushed and trembled; then she
replied: "You are right, my dear; they do not
allow me to touch them."
"Oh, just wait! Just wait a moment! "cried
June, dancing around in a frenzied activity.
Jerking her small gardening implements out of
their long box, she half filled the box with earth,
and then dug up her cherished row of hya-
cinths and transferred them to the new quarters.
"Here," she gasped, staggering radiantly
down to the fence with the heavy load -"here
are some all for yourself to take up in your
room, and pick when you want to."
Oh, my dear!" was all the old lady said;
but as she grasped the lovely armful her eyes
overflowed again with tears.
Can you carry it up to your room, do you
think ? "
Oh, yes; and if I cannot, thete are servants
enough to do it for me. I cannot thank you
enough, June. You see I know your name. I
hear it so often. When I sit out here to get
the sun, I hear them always calling for June to
get this and that, or for June to feed the birds,
or for June to sew a seam, or to remember a
piece of poetry, or to get the dinner, or to run
to thestore. It seems as if they could not get
on without you."
I declare, I feel angelic," replied June,
mightily pleased. "I suppose it is wrong to
like praise, but I just love it. Nothing pains

me more than to fear that I am being good -
for nothing/ "
I think I would like you to come to my
room and talk to me," said the old lady, smiling
wistfully,- some day."
I know I would like it," assented June, cor-
dially. "And I would be very much obliged
if you would tell me your name."
My name is Mrs. Rouncewell; but I had a
little grandson once, who called me Grandma
Bell. He died. There is no one to call me
that now, unless perhaps you will."
Of course I will! And to herself June was
murmuring, If you keep on much longer talk-
ing to me in that pathetic voice of yours I shall
sit down on the grass and howl. I know I
shall! "
"And I have trunks full of lovely things.
Maybe you would like to look at them. Old
dresses of velvets and satins, laces and fans
and trinkets, all having their story of a time
that is past and dead, all laid away in lav-
ender. Will you come? "
Indeed, yes. There is no more delightful
amusement than poking among the nice things
that are somebody else's. That is, if you will
let me poke, upon my promise of poking very
mildly and respectfully," June said.
You may poke to your heart's content,"
promised the old lady, smiling in her faint, sad
manner. Come now."
"Beautiful idea!" assented June, quite ex-
cited; and looking about her to decide on the
nearest gate to use to get into the enchanted
garden. But the Fates interposed.
Mother," said a cold, cold voice, "you
have been in the air long enough. You don't
want to be ill again. Please come in now."
Mrs. Rouncewell the younger was speaking
from her veranda, and was speaking in firmly
polite tones that were chilling to the heart.
The younger Mrs. Rouncewell was so ele-
gantly dressed that she seemed to have ho hu-
man element left about her.
I have asked my little friend to come in
with me," ventured Grandma Bell.
"Oh, indeed! "-very superciliously. "Some
other time. You have talked so much that you
will be completely tired out. Come along."
Grandma Bell made one more attempt to




get June recognized by the fashion-plate. She
said: "Our little neighbor has been kind enough
to give me these lovely flowers."
The younger Mrs. Rouncewell looked point-
edly at her own magnificent array of hyacinths,
and then said with an uplifting of one eyebrow:
Charmed, I 'm sure."
June's serene temper flew to the winds, and
so she lifted her eyebrow too, and saying loft-
ily, "Don't mention it!" she stalked away.
Misfit, getting slumberous, lagged lazily after
her. The young girl was wildly championing
the lonely old lady. She flung herself into a
chair *on the stoop, and thought matters out.
Do you know what I've got to do ? ques-
tioned June of her four-footed companion.
That companion blinked its eyes.
Do you know ? "
Misfit deliberately turned her back.
Do you know ? demanded June, fiercely.
At the brutal attack the kitten slanted one
ear as a signal of pained distress.
"Well, if you don't know, I '11 tell you,"
said June, mollified. "I '11 have to think of
a plan to get into that house to cheer that
old lady up."

"SPADING ? That 's no work for a girl."
"Come over and do it yourself, then," said
June, promptly and amiably.
Without waiting for further urging, Roy Alli-
son vaulted clear over.
You are nothing if not athletic, are you ?"
"What a niggling little lump you dig up at
a time! Watch me," said Roy, setting to work
with a vim that effected wonders. June was a
trifle ill at ease; for, seen at close quarters, Roy
Allison seemed quite a young man; and of
young men June had a horror, though she
idolized boys.
How old are you ? she asked uneasily.
"Old enough to know better; but still not
as old as I look," he replied.
"But you are a fine worker," said. June, ac-
cepting the rebuke with meekness.
He dug vigorously while she replanted, and
together they improved a vast deal of ground.

"What are you so attentive to your garden
for, all of a sudden ? asked Roy.
"I am going to raise flowers to sell."
"That's funny."
Not at all funny, if you were as hard up for
money as we are."
"I am sure I beg your pardon."
"Not at all. We have been poor for a very
long time; and I, for one, am not going to try
to disguise the fact any more."
You had a number of fine hyacinths a short
while ago, and now they are gone. Did you
get anything for them? "
"I did. I got the sweetest smile on earth."
"You gave them away ? "
The mention of the hyacinths had recalled
Grandma Bell to June's mind; so she resolved
to appeal to masculine wisdom for advice.
"If you wanted to see a person, and could
not get into the house, what would you do ? "
"Stay out," replied Roy, philosophically.
Not receiving the instant help she had ex-
pected, June changed the subject.
I have n't seen Sarah for quite a while.
What is the matter with her? "
She is ill in bed, and there is a little peace
in the house," said Roy, spading with unne-
cessary vigor.
June put her hand on the shovel, and com-
pelled his attention.
"I can't stop your speaking like that, I sup-
pose; but I can forbid you while you are in my
garden. Unless you are going to be nice, you
can go back home."
"You don't know Sarah," said Roy moodily.
"I know that she suffers, and I know that
you are the last person in the world to be im-
patient with her."
Oh, she has told you the story, has she? "
No; but she has promised to."
I '11 tell you myself. It is n't much to tell;
it was all over in one short and terrible min-
ute. We were very little children at the time.
We were playing train with the nursery chairs.
Sarah was a passenger, and I was the conduc-
tor, and when I made believe to stop the train
at the place where she was to get out, she re-


fused, to move. Then we squabbled about it,
and both lost our tempers. To get the better
of her, I pretended .to wreck the train, and I
threw the chairs over, not even stopping at the
one upon which she sat. She fell on her back,
somehow and and you know the rest."
Roy turned his face away. It had grown
white during the telling, and his mouth twitched
strangely. June exclaimed:
"Oh, Roy, I am so sorry for you!"
"For me?" asked Roy, drawing his other
hand across his eyes.
"And for Sarah, of course; but, so sorry for
you! It must be hard for you to forget."
Hard ? It is impossible! "
"Then you care very much ?"
"Care! Don't you think a fellow would
care when he knows that he has crippled his
sister for life ?" gasped Roy, with a sob.'
"Oh, Roy, I don't think Sarah knows."
"Knows what ?"
How you feel about it. I fancy she thinks
you do not care."
I cannot tell her."
But you could show her," June insisted.
"She won't let me show her. She seems not
to like me near her."
"You evidently need help," said June, una-
bashed. Don't stand there looking as if you
were being drawn and quartered, Roy Allison!
Just promise me that you will do as I ask."
Well, make your mind easy; I will."
Good boy!"
Thank you. But things are worse between
Sarah and me than you think," Roy resumed.
Oh, you can't expect everything to come
straight as if by magic. You will have to do
things yourself."
What sort of things? asked Roy, uncom-
Let me see," mused June, wrinkling up her
forehead. Now, Sarah likes flowers, but any-
body can go pick them out of the garden, or
buy them down-town,- no trouble at all,- so
I advise you to go on a tramp among the hills,
and bring home some of those gorgeous yellow
wild poppies. She 'll know that they were n't
easy to get, and it will please her wonderfully to
think that you cared enough for her to spend a
few hours to procure her some pleasure."

"It will," agreed,Roy, moodily digging up
earth with the toe of his boot. But suppose
she throws them out of the window ? "
"That would be-bad," confessed June,
smiling. "But you need not think of it until
it happens. Then there are other things. You
often say to yourself, Poor Sarah! perhaps ?"
Indeed, yes !" Roy assented warmly.
"Next time say it out loud, and see what
happens. But whatever you do, don't say it
just as an experiment. Wait until it really fills
your heart, and then out with it quick, before
you have a chance to think."
"You are really an encouraging young per-
son," said Roy, cheering up. "I have never
said a word about my quarrel with Sarah to a
single soul, and yet here you stand talking
about it as if it were entirely your business."
"Do you mean that as a snub ? asked June,
turning scarlet.
Oh, no, no! You seem to have lifted a
load off my mind, and have given me some-
thing practical to do."
"Because, really, smoothing out troubles is
everybody's business," said Miss Miller, smiling.
I think I would like you to be my sister. I
am going to be a brother to you," announced
the boy, holding out his hand.
June whipped both of hers behind her, but
her kindly smile robbed the act of its affront.
"No, you are not," she said decidedly.
Not until you know how to treat your- own
better. I think very little of brothers who
know how to be nice to every girl on earth
except their own sisters."'
That's mean," complained Roy.
"Very mean; of course you are referring to
the actions of brothers. Wait till you 've made
up with Sarah."
"All right," said Roy, amiably. Here goes
for the poppies! and he strode away.
"Oh, Roy!" called June; and Roy, with
one leg over the fence turned to look at her.
I 've thought of an awfully nice plan for
Sarah, on my own account.:'
"What is it? asked Roy.
"I can't tell you. It's a secret."
"Just like a girl! Call me back to tell me
something you can't tell," grumbled Roy, mak-
ing off in haste.

(To be continued.)






I HAD just completed my sophomore term
[said the Harvard man], when I narrowly es-
caped having my college course cut short in
the middle by the strange thing that happened
to me that summer.
I passed my vacation chiefly on Cape Breton
and Prince Edward Island; and in the month-
of August found myself at Charlottetown,
undecided as to the route by which I should
return to the United States. There, one after-
noon, as I was sauntering about the harbor, I
fell in with the captain of a coasting schooner,
the "Northern Light," who was getting his craft
ready for sea.
He was bluff and blunt, but good-natured,
and easily drawn into conversation. He told
me he was bound for Boston; and when I
remarked that he could n't have much freight
aboard, the schooner's sides rising high out
of the water, he answered, with a significant
quirk of the mouth which provoked my curi-
osity: "She '11 wet 'em 'fore ever she gets out
of the Strait, if freight is all that 's wanted."
VOL. XXIV.- 19- 20.

He went on to say that he was waiting for
a wind to run over to a small port on the south
shore, where he was to take in building-stone
from the Nova Scotia quarries.
He showed me his cabin, which, for the
cabin of a coaster, was neat and comfortable;
and interested me so much in the life he led,
and in his own simple, genial character, that I
said impulsively:
If it was by daylight, and you would take
a passenger, I might be tempted to try a voy-
age with you, as far as the south shore."
"I can give you a bunk, and we 've got a
decent sort of a cook," he replied. "You '11
be welcome, if you won't mind roughing it."
I said it would be just what I should like.
"Then you 'd better come aboard this even-
ing," he went on. "We can't beat out into
the Strait with this light southerly breeze; but
if I know the signs, it will shift about and freshen
'fore morning, and the sunrise will see our
sheets taut and sails bellying."
There was a touch of poetry in the man's


nature, in piquant contrast with his weather-
roughened visage and chubby form.
In the evening I went on board with my
valise-a little to his surprise, I thought, for
he had evidently expected my heart would fail
me at the last moment; and after watching the
moonlight on the water, for a while, took pos-
session of the berth allotted me in the small
cabin. I slept soundly, and did not waken
until noises on deck and the harsh creak-creak

ballasted hull yielded and careened, and we
were off, with the dim shores flitting away from
us, and the waves gurgling under our wales.
The east brightened behind over the hills, and
we had hardly passed the point and entered
the open Strait when the clouds on the horizon
broke into fiery flakes, and the first beams of
the sunrise gilded our spars.
I had a keen appetite for the cook's good
breakfast of fried bacon and potatoes, and en-

\' '- .. """" "" :'' "..
D P i .. .. .. .. .. ... .. ;...-..-:. *4

- t!: .---

t .


.'i i _


of the hoisting-tackle warned me that we were
getting under sail.
I hurried on my clothing, and putting my
head out over the gangway saw that the
schooner was spreading her white wings, like
some huge croaking crane preparing to take
flight. We had already swung off into the
stream, heading down the harbor; the wind
had freshened, and got into the northwest;
the canvas filled, the masts swayed, the lightly-

joyed the passage with as fine a zest as I had
felt for anything so far in my vacation. It took
us about five hours to run over to the landing
on the north coast of Nova Scotia, where our
cargo, from a neighboring sandstone quarry, was
to be taken aboard. We drifted into a little
cove, and the mate stood ready to fling a line to
the pier, when my attention was called to a boy
who came forward to catch it.
He had a singularly solemn countenance for



a boy of his age (he could hardly have been
more than seventeen), bare feet and legs, and a
brown neck, exposed by his coarse woolen shirt
wide open at the throat. He had on an old
straw hat with a ripped crown, showing the
top of his uncombed head through the gap.
"Wide awake, Jake! called out the captain.
"Jake 's wide awake," the boy answered back,
extending his open hands to catch the line.
"Good for you, Jake! cried the captain,
as the hawser was hauled in from the schooner.
I know what 's good," said Jake, simply.
"You know better than some folks that think
they know a great deal more. Here--ketch
that!" cried the captain. Then, as the boy
stooped to pick up a Canadian copper flung to
him on the wharf, he added:
"Jake never '11 dam the St. Lawrence, but
he 's good as gold all through."
My voyage over had been so delightful that
I was much inclined to accept an invitation
from the captain to take the trip to Boston with
him; although he warned me that the Northern
Light would n't sail so dashingly with heavy
freight as she did with light ballast. Anyhow,
I would spend the time on shore, while the
schooner was lading, visit the quarries, and ex-
plore the country a little. There were a few
houses in sight, grouped about the cove.
As I stepped to the wharf with my valise, I
asked Jake to show me a good boarding-place.
Want a place to stop ?" he said in his sol-
emn, earnest way. Ma '11 let you in. I '11
tell her. Come on"; and he took my valise.
He went on before. I followed amid piles
of quarry-stone, and along a path that led over
a high bank to a dingy little house on the ter-
race of the hills. It commanded a fine view of
the coast and the sea, but nothing else could be
said in its favor. I shrank back, feeling that I
had made an awkward mistake in accepting
Jake's guidance; but he threw the door open,
calling out: Ma, here 's a man come to stop
with us I said you 'd let him in."
The surprised face of a stooping little gray-
haired woman peered out.
"Why, Jakey," she said, "how could you!"
She gave me a kindly but distressed smile. "I 'd
like to be hospitable, but I hain't a speck of
room, nor a spare bed."

He can sleep with me," said Jake, gener-
ously; "or I '11 sleep on the floor."
I relieved her embarrassment by saying,.
"Jake is altogether too kind. If he will show
the way to some house you can recommend, I
shall be as much obliged to him as if I turned
him out of his bed."
"Oh, yes," she exclaimed quickly; "Mr.
Kendall's. Jakey will go with you." Her voice
softened as she added, with a tearful sort of
smile, Jakey is good-hearted as you ever see,
but he don't always use good judgment. Go
along with the gentleman, Jakey dear."
Jake appeared disappointed that they were
not to have me as a guest; he backed up the
offer of his bed with a proposal to ketch a
lunker" for my dinner, by which a big fish was
meant; then, as even that failed to tempt me,
he faced about abruptly, and, with a curt Come
on! he set off to guide me to the nearest
I saw a good deal of him while I stayed in
the neighborhood. I took him with me in my
excursions, and enjoyed his quaint and often
shrewd sayings, and his simple kind-heartedness.
The Kendalls, with whom I lodged, gave him
credit for the gift of second-sight, inherited from
his Scotch ancestry; and told a curious story of
his having seen a certain coaster go down in
the Strait three days before it actually did go
down, and in the way he described. I con-
cluded, however, that he made more misses
than hits in his predictions, as forecasters of the
future commonly do; and that the gift had
been attributed to him on account of an abrupt
and sententious way of saying things.
Having decided to make the voyage to Bos-
ton with Captain Cameron, I wrote to assure
my friends at home that they would have no
cause for anxiety if they missed my letters for
a few days, or failed to see me as soon as they
expected. Then one afternoon I sat on the
wharf, watching the last of the building-blocks
as they were lowered by the derrick through
the schooner's main hatch into the hold.
We '11 be off by sundown, if the wind stays
to the west'ard," said the captain; "just a jolly
breeze for running out of the Strait! "
That was joyful news to me, but not so to
Jake, who came and sat by my side.


I shall hate to have you go," he exclaimed
earnestly. And when I asked him why:
"'Cause you've been good to me. Some folks
poke fun at me; but you never do that. I
don't like to have fun poked at me, more 'n
anybody does, though I know I ain't bright,"
he said, with a pathos that was touching, it was
so simple and unconscious.
I was trying to frame some comforting reply
to this affecting speech, when he said, "I 'm
going to make you a present," and handed
out to me an old pocket-knife with a much-
worn blade and a cracked horn handle.
I could n't help smiling as I asked how he
could think of parting with such a treasure.
You 've made me presents," he replied;
"you give me this hat, and the shoes I 've got
on; and you lost your knife when we was out
in the boat fishing."
This was true; and he had heard me lament
that I could n't buy another good knife at the
country store where I had purchased his hat
and shoes.
"But, you dear fellow," I exclaimed, I can't
take your knife! "
He was evidently hurt, seeming to think I
had slighted his humble offering. After a mo-
ment's silence he said, still holding the knife in
his open palm -and I remember just how it
looked, with one end of the whitish horn handle
broken away at a rivet, showing the polished
iron rim, and h.jo\ I had to wink the glimmer-
ing moisture from my eyes in order to see it
at all:
"Time '11 come, and 't won't be long first,"
-he spoke slowly and earnestly,-" when you '11
be glad to give a thousand dollars for a jack-
knife no better 'n that. Then you '11 think of
what I tell ye."
"I have n't got a thousand dollars in the
world," I said, laughing; "so give it to me."
And I took it to please him.
But I knew how much he prized the poor
old battered thing, and felt guilty of a heartless
robbery when I thought of carrying it off in my
pocket. So, as he was accompanying me to
the schooner an hour later, I left him to walk
on with my valise, while I stopped at his mo-
ther's door to bid her good-by.
"And here is the knife which your son gave

me," I said. "It was very, very kind in him;
but of course I can't keep it."
She said she was "afraid Jakey would feel
awful bad" if I did n't, and she took it with
"Hide it away from him awhile," I said;
"then some day put it where he will find it,
and perhaps he will have forgotten all about
giving it away."
I '11 do just as you wish," she replied, tears
rising in her eyes as I shook her hand with
sincere cordiality. "I know 't wa'n't no sort
of a present for him to make to a person like
you; but, as I said to you once before, and as
you 've had a chance to find out for yourself,
my poor boy don't always use good judgment."
I tried to say something reassuring, but fal-
tered, and she went on: "You 've been dread-
ful good to him, and I know how he '11 miss
I hurried away, and bade Jake good-by on
board the schooner.
"Wish I was going with you," he said.
"I would in a minute, if 't wa'n't for ma."
"She needs you," I answered. "You 're a
great comfort to her, Jake; and I hope you
never will leave her. Now go ashore, my good
Jake, and good-by! "
Without a word he walked to the wharf and
dropped down on a block of stone, where he
remained seated, sadly watching us as we made
sail and got under way as pathetic a picture
of Patience on a monument as you can well
imagine. His disconsolate, motionless figure
grew indistinct across the tossing waves, until a
jutting headland hid him from view.
We went out with a good breeze, but the
schooner was laden and her progress was pro-
saic enough compared with the fine dash she
had made in coming over from the island.
But I was altogether at my ease on board.
The captain was good company; I had in my
valise two or three interesting books which, so
far on my trip, I had not taken time to read;
and I did not easily tire of watching the waves,
the gulls, the clouds, and the shores, which
were sometimes quite near.
We passed through the Gulf of Canso partly
by daylight, and were becalmed in Chedabucto
Bay until a strong east wind sprang up, against



which we had a rather dull time beating out
into the Atlantic. The captain took good for-
tune and bad with equal cheerfulness, and
when I expressed a wish that the wind would
change back again to the westward, he said:
"Be patient, young man! We can't have
everything our own way. Let the wind hold,
and after we pass Cape Canso it will give us a
straight run to Massachusetts Bay."

Night came on,- our second night,- and
we were still knocking about inside the cape.
The schooner heaved on the long swells that
came rolling in from the Atlantic; but the
evening, though cool, was fine; and I was glad
to keep the deck with the captain.
He told tales of his seafaring life, one of
which I had good reason to remember, from
the bearing it had upon my own subsequent


strange adventure. It was of a brother of his,
who sailed with him as his mate a few years
before, and was lost overboard and drowned
under his very eyes, when he might have been
saved if there had been any convenient object
at hand to fling after him so as to keep him
afloat till a boat could be lowered.
"Since then," he said, "I have always kept
a life-buoy ready for
the man at the wheel
to cast overboard, int
case of such an acci.
dent. We have never
had to use it yet, ani
I hope we never shall .
but there it is, and
there it will alway\-
be found as long a-
I walk the
deck." -
I had ---
noticed it, ---- -
a circular
life-pre- -B


/ /


server, with a sort of line attached, such as one
often sees on passenger steamers, but rarely on
board of a common sailing-vessel. Buoy and
line were held together by a smaller cord
which a quick pull at a bow-knot would untie,
and the whole was hung securely on a cleat
under the stern-rail.
I was sitting on the box over the steering-
gear, and the captain was himself at the wheel;
our own green and red lights were in the rigging,
when we noticed, off our port bow, the lights of
a steamer coming in sight around the cape. She
was evidently entering the bay, and as we were

directly in her path I expressed some anxiety
as to her course.
"We have the right of way," said the cap-
tain; she sees our lights, and she '11 pass astern
of us. That 's what she 's doing," he added,
after a minute's careful observation.
He called the mate to the wheel, while he
himself stood watching the stranger. There

--~F _-

S. was some-
thing mysterious
and awe-inspiring in
the gradual approach of
her lights, like two great eyes,
E 152.) one green and one red, in the im-
mense darkness; and in the slow, far-
off, monotonous clank of her machinery, grow-
ing upon the silence of the night and of the
The ship's bell rang, and a steam-signal re-
sponded, booming across the water. Soon I
could make out a dim object looming on the
horizon; at the same time there was a gradual
veering of the steamer's lights.
She 's changing her course! cried the cap-
tain. "What does that mean?" It was the
first time I had heard him speak in a tone indi-
cating any excitement.
She means to cross our bows," said the mate.


She can't do that! the captain exclaimed.
"She '11 be aboard of us, sure as fate "
Moments of terrible uncertainty ensued. The
ship's bell clanged. The sailors in the fore-
castle came tumbling up on deck. We were all
on our feet, every man getting ready to obey
whatever orders were called out to him in the
emergency: a never-to-be-forgotten scene of
hurry and apprehension, lighted by the lanterns
in the shrouds over our heads.
On came the great black hull, towering above
us,-for we were comparatively low in the wa-
ter,-and rushing down upon our port bow.
Our captain roared out at her, and there was
all at once a wild movement of human figures
visible along her rail. She veered again, and
the schooner at the same time fell off from
her course, both vessels endeavoring to bear
away from each other; but it was too late.
There was a tremendous crash, and I thought
for a moment the steamer was actually walk-
ing over us. I could see her prow rise out
of the water, as if she had struck a ledge. She
recoiled, settled back, and immediately drifted
away from us, disappearing in the darkness.
The schooner made a horrible lurch under
the shock, then rolled back in the other direc-
tion, lifting barrels of water on her bow, and
spilling it across the deck. I hurried forward
with the captain to see what damage had been
done. The steamer had cut us down to the
top layer of blocks of stone that composed our
freight, and the sea was spouting in through
the gap.
There was but one chance of saving her -
to check the incoming torrent by means of ob-
jects thrust down over the crushed side, while
she was headed for the shore, in the hope of
running her aground before she sank. Planks,
hatch-covers, potato-bags, the cabin door
wrenched off in mad haste,- hammer and
spikes, a rope to support a sailor, up to his
waist in the water, over her side,- every avail-
able object was used, and every effort made,
but all to no purpose; the flood rushed in be-
neath and around and through the obstruc-
tions; then a great wave swept by, undoing all
that had been done. Meanwhile the schooner
was steadily settling in that direction, and the
farther she went over the faster the sea poured in.

"No use! "cried the captain. "We must try
to launch the boat."
There was but one, and it had not been
hanging from the stern davits at any time dur-
ing the voyage; it had been carried lying
bottom up on deck, against the bulwarks that
were cut down by the collision. The steamer's
stem had struck it and shoved it from its posi-
tion, giving it a bad wrench, but without crush-
ing it; and there was hope that it would still
prove seaworthy. But no sooner was it lowered
by ropes over the side than it began to fill with
A sort of panic followed, but the captain did
not once lose his head.
"Don't pile into her!" he shouted to the
sailors scrambling overboard. Keep her afloat!
Hold on to her rail till she 's bailed out and
the leak stanched! Get her off, so she won't
be sucked down!"
I knew what that meant. Until then I had
hardly realized that the danger was so immi-
nent. I had such confidence in the captain
that I stood eagerly watching him, and waiting
to obey his orders or follow his example.
He and I were alone on the deck by this
time. We looked down upon a tumultuous
scene, half in shadow and half lighted by the
ship's lanterns, one man in the boat with a
bucket bailing with all his might; another try-
ing to stuff burlaps into the opened seams; two
or three up to their shoulders in the water,
clinging to the gunwales, and endeavoring, by
swimming and by pushing with an oar, to get
her away from the schooner. But few words
were uttered, and those in quick, half-stifled
tones, like the voices of men in a death-struggle.
"You are doing well, boys!" the captain
called out cheerily. "And you! "-he caught
me roughly by the arm, and turned my face
toward the stern "the life-buoy for you!
And be quick "
I had thought of that, but still had hopes
that the boat would be emptied and saved and
brought back alongside before the schooner
went down.
And you, captain ? I said; "take the
life-buoy yourself! "
"Start!" he exclaimed. "Don't you see
we are sinking ? "


I lost no more precious moments, but ran for
the life-buoy, released it from its fastenings, put
my feet through it, and slipped it up under my
arms. I gave one glance at the captain as his
stumpy form disappeared over the schooner's
side, then threw the loosened coils of the buoy-
line overboard, and jumped after it.
In my excitement I did n't much mind the
shock of the immersion, although the water
was very cold and I was unaccustomed to sea-
bathing. I could swim a little, but I knew
well that without some support I could n't have
kept my head above the waves many minutes.
What did I think about? I can hardly tell.
In that frightful crisis I suppose my past life
should have flashed before my mind, and I
ought to have thought of my friends at home;
for I was well aware that, even with my life-
preserver on, I might perish before I could be
But, incredible as it may seem, some of my
thoughts were facetious, and it is chiefly those
that I remember. Whether I could read the
name on the stern or not (it seems to me now
that I could), I looked up to where it was, and
said to myself, "The' Northern Light' will soon
be quenched!" Then, "Where was Moses
when the light went out?" It was the jocu-
larity of terrible excitement, something like
Hamlet's after the interview with his father's
It could hardly have lasted half a minute.
Things were rushing to a climax faster than I
can tell them. I had drifted a few yards away
from the stem, and was paddling to increase
the distance, when I discovered that the line
attached to the life-buoy did not come free
when I pulled at it. On the contrary, I was
pulling myself back to the schooner. In short,
the line had caught on something when I flung
it over; it was spliced to the buoy, and I was
in the buoy. As I continued pulling in one direc-
tion, the schooner began pulling in the other--
she was making her final, wallowing, gurgling
plunge to the bottom drawing me down with her!

It was impossible to untie or break the line,
though I might have cut it, even while I felt
myself hauled rapidly after the wreck.. I
struggled frantically, and I believe I shrieked
out, just as my head was going under:
How far down I was drawn I have n't the
slightest notion. It seemed to me a long way;
and what was probably but a few seconds of
agony appeared many minutes. I remember a
ringing in my head, and vivid flashes of light;
then all at once there was nothing for me to
struggle against, and I rose rapidly to the sur-
face. I had succeeded in freeing myself from
the buoy.
Something was floating near. I grasped it.
It was a ship's fender. Then a boat bore down
upon me, pulled by plashing oars; if I had n't
shrieked out, it might have passed over me. It
was a boat from the steamer that had run us
down. I was quickly pulled in over the gun-
wale; and afterward the captain and all our
crew were picked up from the foundering boat
and other floating objects.
The steamer was also injured by the collision,
but not disabled; and we received the kindest
treatment on board. The captain had strangely
mistaken our distance when he attempted to
cross our bows; we were much nearer than he
supposed. She was a tramp steamer, but her
owners were responsible; and as we were not in
any way at fault, they had heavy damages to
pay. I was told that if I put in a personal
claim, it would be settled; but I never did.
And as for Jake's prediction, which was so
singularly fulfilled ? I have related the circum-
stances as I remember them, and am willing to
leave the question of prophecy or coincidence
to anybody's unbiased judgment. Some very
strange things happen in this world of ours-
things it is useless to argue much about; and
this I regard as one of them.
Oh! -well, yes; I reached home in time to
get ready for the fall term, and completed my
college course.



HE was not a very good boy, or a very bad
boy, or a very bright boy, or an unusual boy
in any way. He was just a boy; and very
often he forgets that he is not a boy now.
Whatever there may be about The Boy that is


commendable he owes to his father and to his
mother;. and he feels that he should not be
held responsible for it.
His mother was the most generous and the
most unselfish of human beings. She was al-
ways thinking of somebody else; always doing

for others. To her it was blessed to give, and
it was not very pleasant to receive. When she
bought anything The Boy's stereotyped query
was, "Who is to have it ?" When anything was
bought for her, her own invariable remark was-
"What on earth shall I do with
it? When The Boy came to her,
one summer morning, she looked
upon him as a gift from Heaven;
and when she was told that it was
a boy, and not a bad-looking or a
bad-conditioned boy, her first words
were -" What on earth shall I do
with it ? "
She found plenty "to do with
it" before she got through with it,
more than forty years afterwards;
and The Boy has every reason to
believe that she never regretted the
gift. Indeed, she once told him,
late in her life, that he had never
made her cry! What better bene-
diction can a boy have than that?
The Boy was red-headed and
I' long-nosed even from the begin-
ning; a shy, dreaming, self-con-
scious little boy, made peculiarly
familiar with his personal defects
by the constant remarks to the
effect that his hair was red, and
that his nose was long. At school,
for years he was known familiarly
as "Rufus," "Red-Head," "Car-
rot-Top," or Nosey."
His mother, married at nine
teen, was the eldest of a family of
nine children; and many of The Boy's aunts
and uncles were but a few years his senior
and were his daily and familiar companions.
He was the only member of his own genera-
tion for a long time, and there was a con-
stant fear upon the part of the elders that he


was likely to be spoiled; and consequently he
was never praised, nor petted, nor coddled.



He was always falling down, or dropping
things, he was always getting into the way;
and he could not learn to spell correctly nor
to cipher at all. He was never in his mother's
way, however, and he was never made to feel
so. But nobody except The Boy knows of the
agony which the rest of the family, uncon-
sciously and with no thought of hurting his feel-
ings, caused him, by the fun they poked at his
nose, at his fiery locks, and at his unhandiness.
He fancied that passers-by pitied him as he
walked or played in the streets; and he sincerely
pitied himself as a youth destined to grow up
into an awkward, tactless, stupid man at whom
the world would laugh so long as his life lasted.
The Boy's father was a scholar, and a ripe
and good one. Self-made and self-taught, he
began the serious struggle of life when he was
merely a boy himself; and reading, and writ-
ing, and spelling, and languages, and mathe-
matics came to him by nature. He acquired
by slow degrees a fine library, and out of it a
vast amount of information. He never bought
a book that he did not read, and he never

read a book unless he considered it worth buy-
ing and worth keeping. Languages and ma-
thematics were his particular delight. When
he was tired he rested himself by the solving
of a geometrical problem. He studied his
Bible in Latin, in Greek, in Hebrew; and he
had no small smattering of Sanskrit. His
chief recreation, on Sunday afternoon or on a
long summer evening, was a walk with The
Boy among the Hudson River docks, when
the business of the day or the week was over
and the ship was left in charge of some old
quartermaster or third mate. To these sailors
the father would talk in each sailor's own tongue,
whether it were Dutch or Danish, Spanish or
Swedish, Russian or Prussian, always to the
great wonderment of The Boy, who to this day,
after many years of foreign travel, knows little
more of French than Combien ? and little
more of Italian than Troppo caro." Why
none of these qualities of mind came to The
Boy by direct descent he does not know. He
only knows that he did inherit from his parent,
in an intellectual way, a sense of humor, a
love for books as books, and a certain respect
for the men by whom books are written.

It seemed to The Boy that his father knew
everything. Any question upon any subject was



sure to bring a prompt, intelligent, and intel-
ligible answer; and, usually, an answer fol-
lowed by a question, on the father's part, which
made The Boy think the matter out for himself.
The Boy was always a little bit afraid of his
father, while he loved and respected him.
When his father said, "Do this," it was done.
When his father told him
to go or to come, he went
or he came. And yet he
never felt the weight of
his father's hand, except
in the way of kindness;
and, as he looks back
upon his boyhood and his
manhood, he cannot recall
an angry or a hasty word
or a rebuke that was not
merited and kindly be-
stowed. His father, like
the true Scotchman that
he was, never praised him;
but he never blamed him
except for cause.
The Boyhas no recollec- ;
tion of his first tooth, but he
remembers his first tooth-
ache as distinctly as he
remembers his latest; and
he could not quite under-
stand then why, when The
Boy cried over that raging f
molar, the father walked
the floor, and seemed to -'
suffer from it even more i
than did The Boy; or
why, when The Boy had
a sore throat, the father
always had symptoms of
bronchitis or quinsy.
The father did not live long enough to
find out whether The Boy was to amount to
much or not; and while The Boy is proud of
the fact that he is his father's son, he would
be prouder still if he could think that he
had done something to make his father proud
of him.
The Boy was taught, from the earliest
awakening of his reasoning powers, that
truth was to be told and to be respected,

and that nothing was more wicked or more
ungentlemanly than a broken promise. He
learned very early to do as he was told, and
not to do, under any consideration, what he
had said he would not do. Upon this last
point he was strictly conscientious, although
once, literally, he "beat about the bush." His

Aunt Margaret, always devoted to plants and to
flowers, had, on the back stoop of his grand-
father's house, a little grove of orange and
lemon trees in pots. Some one of these was
usually in fruit or in flower, and the fruit to The
Boy was a great temptation. He was very fond
of oranges, and it seemed to him that a "home-
made" orange, which he had never tasted, must
be much better than a grocer's orange; as
home-made cake was certainly preferable, even


to the wonderful cakes made by the professional
Mrs. Milderberger. He watched those little
green oranges from day to day, as they grad-
ually grew big and yellow in the sun. He
promised faithfully that le would not pick any,
but he had a notion that some of them might
drop off. He never shook the trees, because he
said he would not. But he shook the stoop !
And he hung about the bush, which he was too
honest to beat. One unusually tempting orange,
which he had known from its bud-hood, finally
overcame him. He did not pick it off, he did
not shake it off; he compromised with his con-
science by lying flat on his back and biting off

a piece of it. It was not a very good action,
nor was it a good orange, and for. that reason,
perhaps, he went home immediately and told
on himself. He told his mother. He did not
tell his Aunt Margaret. His mother did not
seem to be as much shocked at his conduct as
he was. But, in her own quaint way, she gave
him to understand that promises were not made
to be cracked any more than they, were made to
be broken-that he had been false to himself in
heart, if not in deed, and that he must go back
and make it "all right" with his Aunt Margaret.
She did not seem to be very much shocked,
either; he could not tell why. But they punished

The Boy. They made him eat the rest of the
He lost all subsequent interest in that tropi-
cal glade, and he has never cared much for do-
mestic oranges since.
The Boy's first act of self-reliance and of con-
scious self-dependence was a very happy mo-
ment in his young life; and it consisted in his
being able to step over the nursery fender all
alone, and to toast his own shins thereby, with-
out falling into the fire. His first realization of
" getting big" came to him about the same
time, and with a mingled shock of pain and
pleasure, when he discovered that he could
not walk under the high kitchen table without
bumping his head. He tried it very often
before he learned to go around that article
of furniture, on his way from the clothes-rack,
which was his tent when he camped out on
rainy days, to the sink, which was his oasis in
the desert of the basement floor. This kitchen
was a favorite playground of The Boy, and
about that kitchen-table center many of the
happiest of his early reminiscences.- Ann
Hughes, the cook, was very good to The Boy.
She told him stories, and taught him riddles, all
about a certain "Miss Netticoat," who wore a
white petticoat, and who had a red nose, and
about whom there still lingers a queer, contra-
dictory legend to the effect that the longer she
stands the shorter she grows." The Boy always
felt that, on account of her nose, there was a
peculiar bond of sympathy between little Miss
Netticoat and himself.
As he was all boy in his games, he would
never cherish anything but a boy-doll, generally
a Highlander, in kilts and with a glengarry that
came off.
Although he became foreman of a juvenile
hook-and-ladder company before he was five,
and would not play with girls at all, he had one
peculiar feminine weakness. His grand pas-
sion was washing and ironing. And Ann
Hughes used to let him do all the laundry-
work connected with the wash-rags and his
own pocket-handkerchiefs, into which, regularly
every Wednesday, he burned little brown holes
with the toy flat-iron, which would get too hot.
But Johnny Robertson and Joe Stuart and the
other boys, and even the uncles and the aunts,



- .

never knew anything about this-unle

Hughes gave it away!
The Boy seems to have developed, very
early in life, a fondness for new clothes--a
fondness which his wife sometimes thinks he has
quite outgrown. It is recorded that almost
his first plainly spoken words were Coat and
hat," uttered upon his promotion into a more
boyish apparel than the caps and frocks of his
infancy. And he remembers very distinctly
his first pair of long trousers, and the impres-
sion they made upon him, in more ways than
one. They were a black-and-white check, and
to them was attached that especially manly
article, the suspender. They were originally
worn in celebration of the birth of the New
Year, in 1848 or 1849, and The Boy went to his
father's store in Hudson Street, New York, to
exhibit them on the next business-day there-
after. Naturally they excited much comment,
and were the subject of sincere congratulation.
And two young clerks of his father, The Boy's
uncles, amused themselves, and The Boy, by

playing with him a then popular game called
"Squails." They put The Boy, seated, on a
long counter, and they slid him, backward
and forward between them, with great skill
and with no little force. But, before the cham-
pionship was decided, The Boy's mother broke
up the game, boxed the ears of the players,
and carried the human disk home in disgrace.
He remembers nothing more about the trou-
sers, except the fact that for a time he was
allowed to appear in them only on Sundays and
holidays, and that he was deeply chagrined at
having to go back to knickerbockers at school
and at play.
The Boy's first boots were of about this same
era. They were what were then known as
"Wellingtons," and they had legs. The legs
had red leather tops, as was the fashion in those
days, and the boots were pulled on with straps.
/ They were always taken off with the aid of the
boot-jack of The Boy's father, although they
could have been removed much more easily
without the use of that instrument. Great was
the day when The,Boy first wore his first boots
to school; and great his delight at the sensa-
tion he thought they created when they were
shown in the primary department.
ss Ann The Boy's first school was a dame's school,



kept by a Miss or Mrs. Harrison, in Harrison
Street, near the Hudson Street house in which
he was born. He was the smallest child in the

establishment, and probably a pet of the larger
girls, for he remembers going home to his mo-
ther in tears once, because one of them had
kissed him behind the class-room door.
At that school he met his first love, one
Phoebe Hawkins, a very pretty, sweet girl, as he
recalls her, and, of course, considerably his
senior. How far he had advanced in the spell-
ing of proper names at that period is shown by
the well-authenticated fact that he put him-
self on record once as loving his love with an
F, because she was Feeby! "
Poor Phoebe Hawkins died before she was
out of her teens. The family moved to Pough-
keepsie when The Boy was ten or twelve, and
his mother and he went there one day from Red
Hook, which was their own summer home, to
call upon his love. When they asked at the
railway-station where the Hawkinses lived and
how they could find the house, they were told
that the carriages for the funeral would meet
the next train. And, utterly unprepared for
such' a greeting, for at latest accounts she had

been in perfect health, they stood, with her
friends, by the side of Phoebe's open grave.
In his mind's eye The Boy, at the end of forty
years, can see it all, and his childish grief is
still fresh in his memory.
In 1850 or 1852 The Boy went to another
dame's school. It was kept by Miss Kilpat-
rick, on Franklin or North Moore Street. From
this, as he grew in years, he was sent to the
Primary Department of the North Moore Street
Public School, at the corner of West Broad-
way, where he remained three weeks, and where
he contracted a whooping-cough which lasted
him three months. The other boys used to
throw his hat upon an awning in the neighbor-
hood, and then throw their own hats up under
the awning in order to bounce The Boy's hat
off-an amusement for which he never much
cared. They were not very nice boys anyway,
especially when they made fun of his maternal
grandfather, who was a trustee of the school and-
who sometimes noticed The Boy after the morn-
ing prayers were said. The grandfather was
very popular in the school. He came in every,
day, stepped up on the raised platform at the
Principal's desk, and said in his broad Scotch,
Good morning, boys! to which the entire
body of pupils, at the top of their lungs, and
with one voice, replied, G-a-o-d morning, Mr.
Scott! This was considered a great feature in
the school, and strangers used to come from
all over the city to witness it. Somehow it
made The Boy a little bit ashamed, he does not
know why. He would
have liked itwell enough,
and been touched by
it, too, if it had been
some other boy's grand-
father. The Boy's father
was present once -The
Boy's first day; but
when he discovered
that the President of
the Board of Trustees
JOHNNY ROBERTSON. was going to call on
him for a speech he ran away; and The Boy
would have given all his little possessions to
have run after him. The Boy knew then as
well as he knows now how his father felt, and
he thinks of that occasion every time he runs



4- -

~ A


away from some speech he, himself, is called
upon to make.
After his North Moore Street experience The
Boy was sent to study under men teachers in
boys' schools; and he considered then that he
was grown up.
The Boy, as has been said, was born with-
out the sense of spell. The Rule of Three, it
puzzled him, and fractions were as bad; and
the proper placing of e and i, or i and e,
the doubling of letters in-the middle of words,
and how to treat the addition of a suffix
in y or tion "always drove him mad,"
from his childhood up. He hated to go to
school, but he loved to play school; and
when Johnny Robertson and he were not con-
ducting a pompous, public funeral-a certain
oblong hat-brush, with a rosewood back, stud-
ded with brass tacks, serving as a coffin, in

which lay the body of Henry Clay, Daniel
Webster, or the Duke of Wellington, all of
whom died when Johnny and The Boy were
about eight years old--they were teaching
each other the three immortal and exceedingly
trying "R's"--reading, writing and 'rithme-
tic in a play-school. Their favorite spell-
ing-book was a certain old cook-book, dis-
carded by the head of the kitchen, and con-
sidered all that was necessary for their educa-
tional purpose. From this, one afternoon,
Johnnie gave out "doughnut," with the follow-
ing surprising result. Conscious of the puz-
zling presence of certain silent consonants and
vowels, The Boy thus set it down: D-O-
dough, N-O-U-G-H-T, nut-doughnut!" and
he went up head in a class of one, neither
teacher nor pupil perceiving the funny blunder
The Boy had made.

(To be continued.)



Sr ; '


Ike- '

(A tale of 1693.)


HEY had taken away old
Goodwife Crook,
Though she did
Shine and cower;
They said she had
writ in the Black
Man's Book,
And she wielded a
wicked power.

They said she had ridden her broom of
In the moonlight cold and pale,
Right over the steeple that crowned the
So the old wife lay in jail.

'T was the Parson's daughter, whose name
was Grace,
With a maiden that was her friend,
Walked forth one day to the lonely place
By the wood at the township's end.

And they talked in whispers of this and'
Which of late was come to pass;
And there fell a chill, as the shadows flat
Crept longer across the grass.

And now they were nigh to the straw-
thatched hut
Where the witch had lived alone,
And above and below the door was shut;
But they heard a grievous moan!

A long, low moan, and a wailing cry;
And they paused in the path, aghast--
And they looked around with the white of
the eye,
And they held each other fast.
VOL. XXIV.-21.

Said the Deacon's Prue, with a waxen face,
"Come hence, for I die with fear! "
But "Alas and alack!" said the Parson's
"'T was a pitiful sound to hear!"

(Her ways were not as the Parson's ways,
And the ways of the Parson's flock;
She was fair as a single flower that sways
From the cleft of the grim gray rock.)

"And, indeed," said she, whatsoever it be,
Though an evil thing in pain,
I feel in my heart it is laid on me
That it shall' not cry in vain!"

Said the Deacon's Prudence, Oh, touch
not pitch,
Lest you should be defiled!
What should you do in the house of the
That are your father's child? "

Then the Parson's Grace said no word
But she went up somewhat slow,
And she pulled at the string of the witch-
wife's door,
And she drew back the bolt below.

She heard no longer the doleful cries
As she stood in the twilight room;
But she was aware of two fiery eyes,
Green-glaring through the gloom.

" Heaven help me now at my need said she,
And her heart went pit-a-pat;
But the strange thing came and rubbed at
her knee,
And it was but the old wife's cat.


He was scared and starved, he was lean and
His coat was a brindled gray;
He was lame from a stone that a lad had
When they hustled the witch away.

At the feet of the maiden he fawned and
And he mewed, and he pulled her gown;
And she lapped him about in her apron's
And she carried him back to town.

'T is a fiend," cried Prue, with her wax-
white face,
"That you hold so fast in arm!"
"'T is a creature of God," said the parson's
"And it shall not come to harm!"

When the people's folly began to fail,
And the trials at last were done,
Old Goodwife Crook came out of the jail,
And blinked in the broad, bright sun.

With her stick she hobbled along the street,
And again by her hearth she sat;
" But where," she cried, "is my deary sweet-
Oh, where is my brindled cat?

"My good gray Dickon, that loved me so,
Mine only friend ?" she said.
She rocked to and fro, and she whimpered
And she waggled her old gray head.

Then the Parson's Grace, with her sun-
bright face,
Came in at the old wife's door;
And lo, and behold! in her apron's fold
The brindled cat she bore!

(Her ways were not as the Parson's ways,
And the ways of the parson's flock;
She was fair as a single flower that sways
From the cleft of the grim gray rock:

As the harebell blue, that takes its hue
From the heart of the heaven above;
Her eyes were full of the light of her soul,
And her soul was full of love!)

The Elfn Interviewer.
HOPE you 're well, dear Mr. Cricket.
Let me say why I have come?
I 'm the special correspondent
Of the Pixie's Morning Drum.
Sir, your singing makes you famous--
As a vocalist you rank.
Let 's begin at the beginning.
Were you born upon this bank?

The Field Cricket.
On that point my recollection
Is a melancholy blank.

The Elfin Interviewer.
'T is a pity But have patience -
Please don't stir from where you sit.
We '11 discuss your voice-production
For the reader's benefit.
Piercing notes you 're heard to utter;
It 's the popular surmise
That your lungs must be of leather,
And of quite abnormal size.

The Field Cricket.
A mistake. I do my chirping
With my active little thighs.

The Elfn Interviewer.
Thanks; I 've taken down your answer,
Which surprises me, I own,
Though the Drum is used to marvels.
Tell me, do you live alone ?
Or is there a Mrs. Cricket?
Are there baby crickets, too ?

If so, kindly state how many,
And I '11 feel obliged to you.

The Field Cricket.
I 've a wife and seven children;
And we bring them up on dew.

The Elfin Interviewer.
Upon dew.-There, that is written.
Now it 's .time for you to speak
Of your private tastes and hobbies.
Do you football once a week?
Rumor says that you 're athletic.
Place reserve upon the shelf,
And I '11 faithfully report you,
On the honor of an elf.

The Field Cricket.
Well, I certainly love jumping,-
As you '11 notice for yourself!
[He escapes further questions by a series- of
tremendous leaps.

... .I n- .
-n -. :-4

hi :I. ;I-

RL t dor by the,
S-JThinkig aut the trs.

I love them all," he said to him
As he named them over with ease;
S" The chestnut, ash, and oak so high,
.,** y ;:i '.,"'- '- -** _'. .

IThe pine with its needle leaves,
i "-'" -^-
''' Xi "1:' i AR i-l !;i. ,-,n tl-,, l,:, or by the ^ '"
,,, f,.' .irelight bnghft .... i

SThe spruce,inking about the trees. 'k green,
liJ -s- As he named them over with ease;
;,' I "The chestnut, ash, and oak so high,
| The pine with its needle leaves,
/ SThe spruce, and cedar, and hemlock green,
And the maple with its keys.

'j "The dainty willow with puisies gray.
The Lir,:h n.iti bL rk -.,: ; ile.
The apple-tree with its L0i,, s:nm: i-.t, ,-t.
And the fruit so red arnd Liraihlt.
But the one I love th .:/ ,i all
Blooms and bears i ruit l
It is sure to be filled at
this time of thle
Whatever may be '
the weather.

" Its blossoms are blue
and yellow and red.
All shining with silver Iue. -. .
There are stems of goldcl.i nd sil-
ver thread,
And candles that gli:ren lik: de,. ,
With such wonderful fruit iit-r., '1 n:one ,:ir C,-,ml ar:
From lowest to topn-,..-i t..:,l.I
Every sort of a toy is cN ',nbing in air -
Jumping frogs, and cats that 'me-ow.'


~~. rrl

- .w. 1"7;'

"There are trumpets, and balls, and dolls
that talk,
And drums, and whistles that blow,
And guns, and whips, and horses that walk,
And books; and wagons that go.
There are musical tops, and boats that sail,
And puzzles, and knives, and games;
There are Noah's arks, and also a whale,
And boxes, and ribbons, and reins.

"There 's candy and oranges, skates and sleds,
And mugs for good little girls,
And cradles, and clothes for dollies' beds,
And dolls with hair in curls.

There are fans for girls and tools for
And handkerchiefs, rattles, and ties,
And horns, and bells, and such-like toys,
And tea-sets and candy pies.

" Oh! what a sight is this wonderful tree,
With its gifts that sparkle and hide !
Other trees may be good, but there's none
for me
Like the beautiful merry Christmas tree
With its branches spreading wide,-
The merry, beautiful, sparkling tree
That blossoms at Christmas-tide."



YES," the little bear cub would say, "that
is my picture. I am a native of the State of
California. I don't remember distinctly where
I was born, but it was up in the Sierras, where
the snow lies in great banks, and the giant
trees stand like sentinels, and where you might
travel for days and weeks and meet no one
but bears.
"The first thing I recollect was finding my-
self in a big burrow covered with snow; then
my mother broke the way out and led us (I
had a brother) down the mountain. We soon
left the snow; and I remember one day, at sun-
set, we stood on an overhanging rock, and my
mother showed us the green valleys and nice
dark forests where we could hide, and far off
was the gleaming sea. Mother did not care
very much for the water, I think.
"My mother was hungry, after the long
winter fast, and every day took us lower and
lower, until one night she led us into a sheep
ranch. Then our troubles began, for she left
us to catch a lamb, and never came back. We
heard all about it afterward. Some ranchers
had seen her, and rode out on horseback to
enjoy the cruel sport of "roping a bear." As
they rode around her, one threw his lariat
about her neck; another caught her forefoot as
she stood up, another her hind leg; and then
they dragged her away to the ranch-house-
and so we became orphans.
It was not long before the dogs found us,
and a man carried me home in a basket to
his wife, who treated me very kindly. I did
not like it, but pretended I did, and ate all I
could, always watching and hoping for a chance
to run away to my mountain home. My mis-
tress, however, soon thought I was too know-
ing, and put a chain about my neck. Finally,
when I was about four months old, they sent
me to a friend in San Francisco. I shall never
forget how people looked at me and laughed

when I stood on my hind legs, as if there was
anything laughable in that But they gave
me sugar and. other good things, and I fared
"My new master was a butcher, and most of
the time I stayed in his shop. But some days,
when I was very homesick, and longed for my
mother, and the little cub who had been carried
off I did not know where, the butcher's wife
would take me into her room back of the shop,
and then I would go to sleep, cuddled up close
upon a rug, with my paws on her hand, and
dream that I was back in my mountain home.
One day I heard my master say I was to be
pho-to-graphed, and I thought my time had
come. You see, I had never heard the word
before. There was no escape, as I was kept
tied; and the next morning my master took me
under his big coat in the cable-cars. I could
just peep through one of the button-holes, and
all at once I uttered aloud whine. You should
have seen how the passengers stared at my
master, who I knew looked embarrassed, as he
gave me a tremendous squeeze. We soon got
out, and I was carried up a flight of stairs, and
placed on a table in a room, the walls of which
were covered with pictures of people's faces, all
of which seemed to keep their eyes fixed on me.
My master petted me and gave me some
sugar, and I began to think that being pho-
tographed was possibly not so bad, after all.
Presently a man came in. He looked very
much astonished, and said, 'Why, I thought
you engaged a sitting for "a descendant of.
one of the early settlers" ?'
"' So I did,' replied my master; 'there it is';
pointing to where I stood up, blinking with all
my might.
"'Why, it's a cub bear!' exclaimed the man.
"'Well, it is a relative of some early settlers,
all the. same,',my master answered.
"At this the man smiled good-humoredly,


then he went into another room, while my mas-
ter petted me and gave me so much sugar that
I had the toothache from it. After a while the
man came back and said he was ready, and I
was taken into a room where there was a big
thing like a gun on three legs, with a cloth over
it. My master sat down in a chair and held
me in his lap while the man pointed the gun
at us.
"I thought I was to be shot, and tried to get
away, and this made the man so cross that he
came out from under the cloth and said he
could n't do it. Then my master put me up
in a child's chair and propped something tight
against my head, at which they both laughed so
loud you could have heard them in the street,
and I jumped down.
Finally, the man tapped his forehead and
said 'I have it.' He put a screen before the

gun and my master set me on top of it, holding
my chain while the man crept under the cloth. I
did not dare move, as I was astride of the screen,
my hind feet hanging in the air. I prepared
for the worst. Then the man came out again,
looked at me sharply, and turned my head a
little, telling me to smile; at which my master
laughed.' The man next shook a tambourine
at me, and as I turned to see what the noise
meant, I heard a click! and just then my master
took me down and carried me home, much to
my relief.
"I wondered what it was all about until one
day my master took me on his knee, and, hold-
ing up a card, said, 'Well, here you are!' -
and what do you suppose it was? Nothing
more or less than my picture; just as I was
perched astride the screen the day when I
thought I was going to be killed. Here it is:"

.. SlY..


II .]-.,


- rI^^^^^


"I DO love books!" said Marjorie,
One morning as she played.
And so she did, as you can see-
This literary maid!
The dictionary was her chair;
The atlas big, her table;
The dolls sat up on other books
As straight as they were able.
And then they all partook of tea,
And did as they were bid.
"I do love books!" said Marjorie.
Now, don't you think she did?
Annie Willis McCullough.




SANTA CLAUS '11 come to-night,
If you 're good,
And do what you know is right,
As you should;
Down the chimney he will creep,
Bringing you a woolly sheep,
And a doll that goes to sleep;-
If you 're good.

Santa Claus will drive his sleigh
Thro' the wood,
But he '11 come around this way
If you 're good,
With a wind-up bird that sings,
And a puzzle made of rings -
Jumping-jacks and funny things-
If you 're good.



He will bring you cars that "go,"
If you 're good,
And a rocking-horsey oh!
If he would!
And a dolly, if you please,
That says "Mama! when you squeeze
It-he '11 bring you one of these,
If you 're good.

Santa grieves when you are bad,
As he should;
But it makes him very glad
When you 're good.
He is wise, and he 's a dear;
Just do right and never fear;
He '11 remember you each year,
If you 're good.

VOL. XXIV.-22. 169


The calm moon smiled-he looked
so weird;
The old pine wagged its frosty beard.

THERE was a funny goblin
Who lived in the wood lane.
He goggles wore, and, though three-score,
Quite bald and sadly plain,
And not as nimble in his mind
As many a goblin one might find.
Much pleased with his own person
And his own wit was he;
And. so he said, with lofty head:
It would not Christmas be
Without me in the town to-night
To make the merry hours more bright!
'And though at home they '11 miss me,
Unto the Squire's I '11 speed,
To fill folk's dreams with magic gleams,
And in the dance to lead.
My presence always lends a grace
To holidays, in any place."
He rode a lop-eared rabbit;
He wore a coat of red;
His peaked hat this way and that
Bobbed when he moved his head.

He reached the Squire's at midnight,
And gaily entered in.
Before the fire a cricket choir
Sang to the violin;
But when they saw the goblin, they
All dropped their bows and swooned
Jack Frost, who stood there sketching
Upon the window-pane
Some pictures white for day's delight,
Became as limp as rain;
And all his drawings looked like O's,
Or like the goblin's funny nose!
While Santa Claus, who entered
Just then the chimney way,
Spilled half his pack, and cried, "Alack!"
And three small mice in gray,
Who danced a measure on the floor,
Fled, squeaking, by a private door!

The maid woke screaming from her sleep-
Such frightful dreams had she;
The watch-dogs howled, the poodle growled,
The parrot croaked "Dear me!"



The elves all up the chimney fled;
A spider, spinning, dropped her thread!

The noise awoke Grimalkin,
So wise and fierce and black,
Who, with a cry both loud and high,
Sprang at the goblin's back!
Home for his life the goblin flew;
Puss following the watch-dog, too.

"I did my duty nobly,"
Next morn the goblin said.
"I made a great sensation,
And every rival fled!
You should have heard the wild applause!
Why, no one thought of Santa Claus!"

Then an old crow, who calmly
Was practising a caw
To aid the Christmas music,
Blinked twice, and said, "Haw-haw!

~- ~ --~-'


The more conceited people grow,
The less they please-the less they know!"


X l "A

~ N


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought that the readers of
your magazine would be interested in hearing that we
have had a visit from the wonderful dog "Owney,"
whom you have told about several times. Our mail-
clerk, Mr. Channell, went down to Newport; and when
he was ready to come back he found Owney in his mail-
car, intending to come up to Stanstead; so Mr. Chan-
nell took charge of him. One evening papa had him
brought over to our house. Owney is a very intelligent-
looking dog, though not a handsome one. Mr. Channell
is having a tag made for him to show that he has been
here. He had several inscriptions on his collar, one
being, "There is only one Bar Harbor. J. G. Blaine."
This visitor created quite a stir in the village, and we
were all so glad of an opportunity to see the dog we had
read so much about.
I remain your constant reader, RUTH STEVENS.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You have been coming to me
since I was six years old. And now that I am old
enough to write some, I want to thank you for lots of
pleasant hours you have brought. Father and all of us
are much interested in the story of the travels of" Owney,"
the dog of the mail-bags; and father says your readers
might be pleased with a short sketch of a famous town
dog" we met last winter.
We spent the season in San Diego, Cal., that town
where the flowers and the sunshine and the sparkling
sea run a race for brightness. And there soon we met
the "town dog," the pet of all San Diego and of many
tourists from the East. He is a large St. Bernard with a
fine head, and his voice is splendid. During his early
years he traveled some with the train men, till he lost a
leg under the wheels and had to "lay off," as they say.
He has never been known to miss a fire; and, with the
first stroke of the alarm bells, his bark rings out clear
and deep. He has had many narrow escapes from death,
and in some one of these accidents he lost an eye.
He is now very old and fat, but even so, with only three
good legs and one good.eye, he still loves excitement of
any kind; and the people still love him. Father saw a
large crowd of men almost crazy with anger because they
could not kill an ugly bulldog that had their "town dog"
by the throat. They say that in his young days he could
hold his own in any fight; but those days are over, and
now, as one sees him hobbling along, far in the rear of
the fire-engine or the band, lifting his mournful voice,
one feels very sorry for him, and wants to help him
along. Lovingly yours, CARL JUDD.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I suppose the little American
children will think it very funny when I tell you that
we never have snow here at Christmas time. There are
a great many Maoris about Wellington, especially dur-
ing the time that our parliament is sitting; and it is
great fun on the arrival of a steamer to see the Maoris
meeting their friends. As soon as ever one Maori meets
another, instead of shaking hands, as we do, the Maoris
rub their two noses together, which corresponds to our

kissing. A few moments afterward you will see the same
Maori passenger squat-that is, sit-down, and out
comes the pipe. The Maoris are very fond of bright'
colors, and wear the brightest colored shawls they can
get; and you can imagine a "belle" coming down the
street with a beautiful bright shawl of all the "colors of
the rainbow." The Maoris call their babies "piccanin-
nies," and carry them about in their shawls.
With best wishes, from your interested reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a new play-house.
It is built in the apple-orchard back of the house.
It has three rooms: one is the parlor, the other the
dining-room, and the other the kitchen. The parlor is
12 x II, the dining-room 7 x 8, the kitchen 6 x 7.
It has three porches, one in front, the other in back, and
the other on the left side. The one on the side is a lat-
tice which opens out from the kitchen.
The parlor wall is pink. It is very rosy pink, and it
looks very sweet. The carpet has a green ground with
pink roses in it; it matches the wall nicely.
There is a mantel in the parlor, and a grate, which is
finished with cream-colored tiling.
It has little curtains up at the windows. First there
are little green shades, and then the lace curtains.
I have a little lounge and a bookcase and a table and
chairs in the parlor.
In the dining-room is a mantel, and a grate which is fin-
ished with the same cream-colored tiling. Everything
in the dining-room is blue; it has ablue rug on thefloor,
a sideboard and four chairs, and that is all there is in the
The kitchen has a stove and a cupboard, and a little
cupboard to put my cooking utensils in. On the side
porch is my little ice-chest, and a bench to set my water-
bucket on.
I am a little girl eight years old, and I have written this
all by myself. Your little reader, LULAH BELDEN.

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little Australian girl,
and like reading ST. NICHOLAS very much. I am living
in Armidale, up in the north of New South Wales. About
sixteen miles away from here there is a gold-mining
town called Hillgrove. It is one of the most important
mining places in New South Wales. I spent my Christ-
mas holidays in Sydney, and enjoyed them very much.
I learned to swim while I was there, and am very fond
of bathing. I have read "Teddy and Carrots: Two
Merchants of Newspaper Row," and Sindbad, Smith
and Co." I was very interested in both of them. I am
very fond of reading, and have read a good many books.
Last year we went for a picnic to the Dangor Falls.
They are so beautiful, and there was a great deal of
water there when we went. My sister, my brother, and
I went right down to the bottom of the falls. It is Iooo
feet down, and very steep; but there is a rough kind of
path cut in the rock. Armidale is a very cold place, be-
ing more than 3500 feet above the level of the sea. I
never saw snow until I came up here, as it does not


snow in most parts of New South Wales. I think it is
very pretty, and we have great fun playing in it.
With much love, I remain your interested reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am only ten years old. My
mother has a school, and I am in the highest class.
I am very fond of you, and I enjoyed the Lost Prin-
cess very much.
Sometimes in the summer I go to a farm called "Bush
Farm." I have very much fun; they have an old bull,
who is very fierce, and a number of cats. I have hardly
any one to play with, for most of my friends have gone
away, and my sister, who is fifteen, goes with other girls.
I have a brother, but he is a big man.
In 1774 a battle between the Indians and the settlers
was fought in Wyoming. The Indians won, and nearly
all the settlers were killed. A high monument is erected
in memory of those who were killed.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Hatley is a very pretty place
in summer. All through the village the streets are bor-
dered with maple-trees; and in front of the church and
school-house is a large playground having one row of
maples on two sides, and on the side next the street three
rows. They were planted there by the soldiers in 1837-
38. A great deal of maple sugar is made by the farmers,
for which they get a very good price.
We have a senior and a junior football club here. This
summer the junior club played two matches, and won
both times 10 to 5. BASIL STEVENS.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am almost fourteen years old,
and I have taken you for about two years. I enjoy
you very much. I can see the Mississippi River very
plainly from where I live, as we live on one of the high
hills over the city. I wonder how many of the boys and
girls who read the Letter-box" have seen the river.
I have a dog named "Skip," and a black pony named
"Daisy that I drive over the country. I also have a
bicycle and a gun. I have seen the torpedo-boat Erics-
son," and hav6 been through it. It was a dingy red
color then. I have just received the last number of ST.
NICHOLAS, and enjoyed it very much.
I remain, yours truly, HARVEY F. ROBISON.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Our plantation is five miles from
Milville, which is a very little town in northern Georgia,
so tiny that it could not be found on any except a very
large map. I have two cats, whom I love dearly, a dog,
and my pony Boris," who, I think, is my favorite -
if I have one. He is black, with a white star in his
forehead. I ride him every day, unless it is stormy.
I have two brothers, but no sisters. My youngest
brother is at a Military Academy, and when he comes
home for vacation we have great fun; especially if he
brings some of the cadets with him, as he often does.
I read all your magazine with great pleasure, but es-
pecially those stories or articles which have something
to do with the Civil War, in which I am greatly interested.
I expect to go to a boarding-school in Kentucky next
winter, where my mother graduated. I don't know
whether I shall like it or not; I hope so.
I have traveled quite a little bit, and spent last sum-
mer in Europe. I am a great reader, and shall remain
Your devoted admirer, ELINOR L- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In the January, 1894, number
of your splendid magazine, I read an interesting article
on stamp-collecting, by Crawford Capen.
I am a collector, but have not been one for very long,
and have only about one thousand stamps in my collec-
It may interest many collectors to know that there will
very soon be a completely new set of New Zealand stamps
in use. They are being prepared now. The designs of
these stamps, I believe, will be very pretty, as well as in-
The five-cent stamp is to have a representation of the
"Rotomahana Terraces" destroyed by the Tarawera
eruption; another stamp will have a view of the Sound
on it. Milford Sound and Mount Earnshaw are to be
given on the two-and-one-half and three-cent stamps;
and others will have views of gold mines, falls, or
mountains. Your constant reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am in Corfu now and like it
very much. You can see Turkey from here, and if you
go up a mountain when it is a very bright day you can
see Italy.
There was a procession to-day, because it was St. Spi-
ridion's day. Ever so many peasants came to see it, and
some were dressed in ribbons, and in silk skirts and vel-
Svet waists, and wore long ear-rings. I went out walk-
ing and saw flowers on the ground that the procession
had walked over. They carried the body of St. Spiri-
dion through the street; and priests followed dressed in
red, blue, yellow, and other colors.
When the mothers have any sick children they put
their clothing in the road for the procession to pass over,
and they think the children will get well then.
I am nine years old, and it is three years since I was
in America. I want to go back very much, and I often
ask mama how soon we shall go.
* My brother Gardner takes you, and we both like you
very much indeed. Your loving friend,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I wonder if any of your read-
ers have been to China. It is an interesting country, but
There is one road in the foreign settlement that is
nothing but Chinese shops. You can purchase almost
anything, from pigs already cooked to a foreign clock.
The Chinese are advanced on the clock question. I once
saw one in the temple of a shrine.
Funerals are very odd things here. If the person who
has died is wealthy, his funeral is sure to be very mag-
nificent. The coffin is piled high with various colored
papers and is carried by men. Then there will be perhaps
two dozen men each carrying a signboard on which is a
character, or two, stating his different titles. Then fol-
low sedan-chairs, and people inside are wailing so that
it really seems as though they must be putting it all on
for show. White is the mourning color, and when a per-
son has died his relatives braid white threads of silk into
their queues. Then they wear blue after about a month,
and then go back to the usual color-black. At funerals
they have paper clothes, and a paper trunk made, and
then when they get to the grave these are burned, so
his spirit will have plenty of clothing in the other world.
Really, if a man was as stupid as the Chinese think
the spirits are he would be good for nothing. Little



children wear bands across their foreheads, oftentimes,
with pieces of mirrors glued on, for it is thought the
spirits are afraid of nothing so much as their likeness in
a-mirror, and so will not trouble these children.
Foreigners who come to China for business purposes
do not learn Chinese, but what is called pidgin English.
Here is an instance: A Chinaman once said to his mas-
ter, A piecee man down-side b'long missus," meaning
a lady was down-stairs. They don't honor ladies much,
do they ?
Now I will close. Your friend and reader,.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl thirteen years
old. My father is George W. Cable. He wrote a story
about New Orleans for ST. NICHOLAS once. It was
two or three years ago, though. I was born in New
Orleans; but we came North when I was only a year
old, so I don't remember much about it. We live now in
Northampton. We live right on the edge of the woods.
I was very much interested in "The Prize Cup."
I have five sisters and one brother. One of mysisters
is married; and I have a little nephew; he is four months
old. Your interested reader, ISABEL CABLE.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have lived all my life here
in San Sebastian, except two years that I spent in Amer-
ica._ You have been coming to our home here in Spain
for a long time; but I have never read any of your beautiful
stories until I went to America three or four years ago,
and learned to read English. I was introduced to you
in grandmama's home. Though I was born in Spain I
love America very much. I was born in Guipfizcua,
San Sebastian.
The stories about pets have especially interested me,
as I am very fond of animals; and one of my favorites is
the cat. I have a beautiful Angora cat. He measures
from the tip end of his nose to the tip end of his taiT
thirty-five inches; and when he stands on the floor he is
ten inches tall. His hair is very long, and he has beau-
tiful large green eyes. They look just like moonstones, be-
cause they have lights and shades like those handsome
stones. I must comb him every day, because, if not, as
his hair is so long it gets in a tangle. He is a very dig-
nified cat, and his name is Duque de Madrid."
My room is full of cats -photographs, calendars, pic-.
tures, little cat figures, and all sorts of things in the shape
of cats. The ink with which I am writing this letter
comes out of a cat ink-stand. The wall of my room is a
real cat picture-gallery.
Hoping you will live a thousand years (as the Spani-
ards say), I am your interested reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We live on a ranch thirty miles
south of San Francisco. Our ranch is in the counties of
Santa Clara and San Mateo. A creek separates the two
counties. Our house is situated on the side of a hill al-
most at the bottom. At the back of the house there is
an orchard; and almost every morning before we go to
school we go and eat a few plums and peaches.

We are taught at home, and our school-house is about
a hundred yards from the house. .We have three ponies,
a riding-horse, and two bicycles. Our two.driving po-
nies are red, and they look exactly like little horses; but
the other pony is a Shetland; and as she has been foun-
dered we can use her only for riding, for all our carts are
too heavy for her. "Nancy Lee," the riding-horse, is
chestnut, with a white nose; her hind feet also are white.
We have two dogs -one is white and the other is black.
The black one's name is "Towzer," and the white one's
name is "Cap." There are about fifteen cats at the
barn; and my aunt has a big black and white cat that
lives in the house. His name is "Pinky," and he is
very fussy. When he is fed on raw meat, he will not eat
it as any other cat does, but will take it in his claws,
and feeds himself that. way. He is very timid, and when
he is let out of doors he has to be watched, for fear he
will run away and get lost. He does not like men or
boys; and I think papa is the only man he will not run
away from.
Good-by, from your faithful reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am a little girl, nearly eleven
years old. We stayed last summer at Lake Mohonk,
which is a very beautiful place. Once we climbed up to
Sky Top to see the view.
The lake from there looks like a fairy picture. At the
top is a crevice in the rock where people can climb up.
It is about one hundred feet deep. The rocks look as
if they were going to fall on you. At one end of the
lake is an echo; it is really wonderful because it is so
plain. .The lake is about 150 feet deep. Papa said if
you once fell in you would never get out again.
There is a labyrinth that winds between stones or
rocks and comes out by the crevice, I think.
I am your loving reader, KATHARINE H-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : You come to the Hawkeye"
office every month, and as I am the only little girl that
belongs there papa brings you up to me. 1 have a
canary bird, nine dolls and eleven paper dolls, and per-
haps I am going to get a kitty. I have n't any brothers
or sisters, but there are a great many children on our
street to play with.
One summer I went up to St. Paul on the steamer
St. Paul," and I also went to Washington, Iowa, to
visit my aunt.
Very sincerely yours, GLENN SOUTHWELL.

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: Charles Scott Ris-
tine, J. A. St.G. R., Marion Burdett, Estill Stephens,
T. Arthur Davis, Effie I. H., William K. Dart, Eleanor
F. Tracy, Frances T. H., Lily D., Daisy H. Groesbeck,
Sterling Morton, Blanche G. Allen, Beatrice Morgan,
Coe Thompson, Frida Sember, Taylor Jones, Elsie S.,
Frankie Clark, Louise Housman, Mollie Baldwin, Ed-
ward S. and Margery E., Wm. J. M., Maude E. Wal-
lace, Marjorie G. J., Erlene R. Baker, Anna L. Dan-
forth, Warren S. Carter, "Emerald," Leila E., Doro-
thy S., Madge S., Richard B. Duane, Mary G. and Eliz-
abeth S.


CHARADE. Tactics.
WORD-SQUARE. r. Brow. 2. Rome. 3. 'Odes. 4. West.
Oriel. 4. Trifles. 5. Bella. 6. Lea. 7. S. II. I. S. 2. Let.
3. Levee. 4. Several. 5. Teret. 6. Eat. 7. L. III. i. S. 2.
Apt. 3. Abare. 4. Spaniel. 5. Trial. 6. Eel. 7. L. IV. I. S.
2 Ai. 3. Addie. 4. Sideral. 5. Tired. 6. (L)ead. 7. L. V.
. L. 2. Lid. 3. Logan. 4. Lighter. 5. Dated. 6. Ned. 7. R.
RHYMED WORD-SQUARE: I. Tramp. 2. Rogue. 3. Agate. 4.
Muter. 5. Peers.
NOVEL ACROSTIC., Primals, bards. Cross-words: i. Bats. 2.
Ants. 3. Root. '4. Deny. 5. Scot. Transposed, Scott, Byron,
Dante, Tasso.
ZIGZAG. Lafayette. Cross-words : I. Ladle. 2. Daisy. 3.
Offer. 4. Bread. 5. Pansy. 6. Camel. 7. Otter. 8. Atlas. 9.

DIAMOND. I. M. 2. Net.' 3.Melon. 4. Ton. 5. N.
CROSS, WITH SQUARED ENDS. I. I. Sain. 2. Acre. 3. Iris.
4. Nest. II. i. Kids. 2. Idea. '. Demi. 4. Sain. III. i. Olas.
2. Love. 3. Avow. 4. Sewn. IV. i. Solo. 2. Oral. 3. Lava.
4. Olas. V. i. T. 2. Una. 3. Tnich. 4. Act. 5. H. From
I to 2, and from 3 to 4, Saint Nicholas.
DISSECTED OBJECT-SPELLING. I. Quilt. 2. Coil. 3. Bull; 4.
Pilot. 5. Duty. 6. Guilt.
ILLUSTRATED DIAGONAL. Cook. i. Crab. 2. Boat. 3. Shoe.
4. Duck.
SUBTRACTIONS. I. V-indicate. 2. L-eve-l. 3. M-arch. 4.
C-hair D-rill. 6. F-l-ag. 7. C-harm. 8. Pi-l-es. 9. V-ale.
to. F-l-ame. xi. F-l-at. 12. F-l-eet.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Robert Burns, Tam O'Shanter. Cross-
words: i. Roost. 2. Omega. 3. Bream. 4. Erato. 5. Rates.
6. Trash. 7. Broma. 8. Union. 9. Remit. io. Niece. ix. Solar.

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 SEPTEMBER NUMBER were received, before September o5th, from Paul Reese Charlotte E.
Coit- "Dondy Small "-" Jersey Quartette" M. McG.- Helen C. McCleary- L. O. E.--"Buffalo (fuartette "- Josephine
Sherwood Woodside Folks '- Grace Edith Thallon Morton Atwater- Truda G. Vroom-E. and A Two Little Brothers"
Hubert L. Bungay.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE SEPTEMBER NUMBER were received, before September x5th, from Katharine Minor, i-" Bryohild," -
Jack Cady, 4- Mary E. Conant, Angela Herrera, 5 "Puzzled Puzzler," 4- G. B. Dyer. 6- Mollie Baldwin, i- Florence and
Edna, 3- Effie K. Talboys, 4- Leonard Hodgson, i "The Butterflies," 3- Marguerite Sturdy, 3 Katharine S. Doty, 6-
"Chiddingstone," 6- Gobolinks," 5- Sigourney Fay Nininger, 6 -Frederica Yeager, 2-" Camp Lake," 6 N. T., 5 -Bealjah and
Flip, i Embla," 6 S. D. T., 4 G. Isabell Ashwell, 4 Paul Rowley, 6 Franklyn Farnsworth, 6- Mabel M. Carey, 6 Claud-
ice Piper, 2-" Merry and Co.," 6.


1. CUSTODY. 2. The agave. 3. A flower. 4. A wild
animal. M. L. R.

ALL the words pictured contain the same number of
letters. When rightly guessed and placed one below the
other, in the order numbered, the zigzag (beginning at
the upper left-hand letter) will spell a name famous in
political and dramatic circles.


MY first and second both mean the same
Yet my whole a curious bird will name.

ALL of the words described contain the same number
of letters. When rightly guessed, and placed one below

another, in the order here given, the first row of letters
will spell the name of one of the United States.
CROSS-WORDS: I. A valuable wood. 2. A mineral
which is not affected by fire. 3. A system of faith and
worship. 4. In the form of the letter y. 5. Diction.
6. A Greek hero. 7. The subject of a beautiful poem
by Oliver Wendell Holmes. 8. A false belief.


I. UPPER LEFT-HAND SQUARE: I. A thin piece of
anything. 2. A narrow street. 3. A feminine name.
4. An animal.
At the top. 3. Interlaced. 4. Made haste.
III. CENTRAL SQUARE: Small animals. 2. In
addition. 3. A European ruler. 4. Painful.
A plant. 3. A flower. 4. Observes.
2. A musical term. 3. Gait. 4. Summits.


I 'M only a fish, to be taken and eaten;
Or else I 'm a rod with which none have been beaten;
I 'm often a rest; so have weary ones found,
Who, when I 'm at hand, will not sleep on the ground.
E. R. B.
WHEN the words have been rightly guessed, and writ-
ten one below the other, the diagonal (beginning at the
upper left-hand letter and ending with the lower right-
hand letter) will spell the name of a country of especial
interest of late.
CROSS-WORDS: I. The capital of a Southern State. 2.
A river of South America. 3. One of the islands of the
Malay Archipelago. 4. A river in western New York.
5. A city of Arizona. 6. An African republic. 7. An
island belonging to China. G. B. FERNALD.


WHEN the six objects in the above illustration have
been rightly guessed, and the names (which are of un-
equal length) written one below the other, the final let-
ters will spell the name of a famous American painter.

ALL of the words described contain the same number
of letters. When rightly guessed and placed one below
another, the initials will name a fruit; when transposed
they will name another fruit. The finals will spell a
word meaning runs with a long stride; when transposed
they will spell an incline, and a second transposition will
make long, slender sticks.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Defensive covering. 2. A rever-
beration. 3. Something we make light of. 4. A musical
instrument. 5. Snares. "PUZZLED PUZZLER."

READING AtROSS: I. A point of the compass. 2.
Rustic. 3. Purport. 4. Flexible wood worked into
the top of hedge stakes to bind them together. 5. A
kind of chair.
DOWNWARD: I. A letter from England. 2. A con-
junction. 3. A groove. 4. A woody plant. 5. Parts
of the body. 6. A metallic vein. 7. A color. 8. A
prefix. 9. A letter from England. J. H. C., JR.

EXAMPLE: Take fifty from a girdle, and leave a wa-
ger. Answer, be-l-t, bet. The subtracted letter is not
always in the middle of a word.
I. Subtract five hundred from to pull, and leave un-

2. Subtract fifty from a product of barley, and leave a
3. Subtract one thousand from something always
served at dinner, and leave to corrode.
4. Subtract fifty from a handle, and leave to strike.
5. Subtract five from to exist, and leave a false state-
6. Subtract fifty from a peculiarity of speech, and leave
to drag.
7. Subtract one hundred from a vehicle, and leave dex-


TRANSPOSE the words printed in italics, and their ini-
tials will then. spell a famous event in history.

Years ago in a land where confusion was rife,
And calamity dire threatened every man's life,
Vile demagogues ruled, and they tore off the crown
From the brow of their king, and his rights would
not own;
Sought his race to destroy, and blot out for all time,
And the earth stood aghast at the horrible crime.
Though they called themselves "brethren;" no life
they held dear.
But the end of this wild reign of terror drew near.
The nations arose, this fair country to save,
And the monsters are now where no laws they can
Then the law could in quiet deal justice again,
And none, for redress, need to sue now in vain,
The great wounded state rises as from the dead,
No longer lies bleeding, she lifts her fair head.
And from her low station to empire doth rise,
To hold her own place neathh her bright, sunny skies.
F. A.

I. 1. IN stead. 2. Rested. 3. Narratives. 4. A
Chinese shrub. 5. In stead.
II. I. In stead. 2. An assent. 3. Moderately warm.
4. Help. 5. In stead. HELEN MURPHY.

I. IN lasso. 2. Fortune. 3. A famous flower. 4.
A royal family. 5. Planted. 6. A substance which ex-
udes from certain trees. 7. A feminine name. 8. Bare.
9. A wading bird. Io. A certain number. Ir. A bev-
erage. 12. A country of Africa. 13. Because. 14.
Bitter. 15. A diseased condition of grain. 16. A pu-
gilist. 17. One of the United States. 18. A quadru-
ped. 19. In lasso. G. B. DYER.


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