Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Hetty's red gown
 From Cordova to Cathay: the bridge...
 The rivals
 The tansy cake
 An old colonial capital
 There is always room
 To April
 Willie and the Treedeedle
 The little old man
 A mistake
 From Cordova to Cathay: at the...
 A race
 The April child
 Ebno'l Amed
 How we played Robinson Crusoe
 The "firsts"
 How Patsey found his fortune
 Sam's definition
 A song of fair weather
 The prince's dilemma
 Miss Butterfly
 The bluecoat school
 A child's Christmas in France
 Little brother
 The elf's Christmas
 Winter ranch life
 The rollicking Mastodon
 From Cordova to Cathay: on the...
 A business boy
 A heathen missionary
 A morning call
 Mamsey's giglio spoon
 Christmas tide!
 The passing of the sheep
 The pilot of the Nantucket...
 A Christmas carol
 About conch-pearls
 In the "'pratus-box"
 The elf's tennis match
 From Cordova to Cathay: the first...
 A little boy's love
 The happy little home
 Alexander the Little's foreign...
 The tax-gatherer
 The rag market at Bruges
 A German lesson
 Back Cover

Group Title: For afternoon readers : gems of literature and art
Title: For afternoon readers
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00085532/00001
 Material Information
Title: For afternoon readers gems of literature and art
Alternate Title: Pansy's Sunday book
Physical Description: 1 v. (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 25 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Pansy, 1841-1930
Ober, Frederick A ( Frederick Albion ), 1849-1913 ( Author )
Kirk, Maria Louise, b. 1860 ( Illustrator )
Hassam, Childe, 1859-1935 ( Illustrator )
Kemble, E. W ( Edward Windsor ), 1861-1933 ( Illustrator )
Ottendorff, E. Pollak ( Emil Pollak ) ( Illustrator )
Lathbury, Mary A ( Mary Artemisia ), 1841-1913 ( Author )
Guiney, Louise Imogen, 1861-1920 ( Author )
Bridgman, L. J ( Lewis Jesse ), 1857-1931 ( Illustrator , Author )
Start, Edwin A ( Author )
Ritchie, Alexander ( Author )
Kingsley, Rose G ( Author )
Lothrop Publishing Company ( Publisher )
S.J. Parkhill & Co ( Printer )
Publisher: Lothrop Publishing Company
Place of Publication: Boston
Manufacturer: S. J. Parkhill & Co.
Publication Date: c1896
Subject: Midshipmen -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Heroes -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Markets -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Seafaring life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Sea stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Juvenile literature -- Williamsburg (Va.)   ( lcsh )
Juvenile literature -- Bruges (Belgium)   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1896   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1896   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1896
Genre: Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
Statement of Responsibility: with numerous illustrations.
General Note: Cover title: Pansy's Sunday Book.
General Note: Frontispiece printed in colors.
General Note: A juvenile miscellany of poems, stories, anecdotes and illustrations.
General Note: Poems by Mary A. Lathbury, L. J. Bridgman, and others.
General Note: Illustrations signed by M.L. Kirk, Childe Hassam, L. J. Bridgman, Kemble, E. Pollak and others.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00085532
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002224424
notis - ALG4688
oclc - 234236939

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Front Matter
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Title Page
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Hetty's red gown
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
    From Cordova to Cathay: the bridge that spanned the world
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
    The rivals
        Page 24
        Page 25
    The tansy cake
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
    An old colonial capital
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
    There is always room
        Page 39
        Page 40
    To April
        Page 41
    Willie and the Treedeedle
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
    The little old man
        Page 50
    A mistake
        Page 51
    From Cordova to Cathay: at the new world's portal
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
    A race
        Page 64
        Page 65
    The April child
        Page 66
    Ebno'l Amed
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
    How we played Robinson Crusoe
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
    The "firsts"
        Page 82
        Page 83
    How Patsey found his fortune
        Page 84
        Page 85
    Sam's definition
        Page 86
        Page 87
    A song of fair weather
        Page 88
    The prince's dilemma
        Page 89
        Page 90
    Miss Butterfly
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
    The bluecoat school
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
    A child's Christmas in France
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
    Little brother
        Page 109
    The elf's Christmas
        Page 110
        Page 111
    Winter ranch life
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
    The rollicking Mastodon
        Page 118
        Page 119
    From Cordova to Cathay: on the shores of Cathay
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
    A business boy
        Page 129
    A heathen missionary
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
    A morning call
        Page 134
    Mamsey's giglio spoon
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
    Christmas tide!
        Page 139
    The passing of the sheep
        Page 140
        Page 141
    The pilot of the Nantucket shoals
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
    A Christmas carol
        Page 156
        Page 157
    About conch-pearls
        Page 158
        Page 159
    In the "'pratus-box"
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
    The elf's tennis match
        Page 164
        Page 165
    From Cordova to Cathay: the first city in the New World
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
    A little boy's love
        Page 174
        Page 175
    The happy little home
        Page 176
        Page 177
    Alexander the Little's foreign mission
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
    The tax-gatherer
        Page 184
        Page 185
    The rag market at Bruges
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
    A German lesson
        Page 195
        Page 196
    Back Cover
        Page 197
        Page 198
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LEASE, sir, can I take out Sanford and Merton ? "
Mr. Peters, the librarian of the new Belfield library,
looked over the top of his spectacles in his absent-
minded way.
The fact was, the volumes were not yet ready for
Circulation, it being necessary to hire some one to cover
them. The girl who had spoken seemed about thirteen
years old, and she blushed with timidity as she made her request. He noticed
her more attentively.
She wore a calico gown, faded, but carefully starched and ironed, long
pantalets, and a green gingham sunbonnet -which she had taken off and was
swinging nervously by the string. Her glossy black hair was combed straight
back from her forehead, and cut squarely off at the nape of her neck. It was
plain that she was not one of the village girls, with whom clipped or shingled "
hair, and longer gowns without pantalets, had been for some time in vogue;
she evidently belonged to one of the outlying districts," where change seldom
came and the same mode of dress prevailed indefinitely.
"Whose girl are you ?" Mr. Peters asked, with interest.
"Mr. Prior's. I am Hetty Prior, sir."
"I thought likely. Well, now, I don't like to refuse you the book, you've
come so far. Over two miles, isn't it? Here. But promise you'll cover it;
they're all to be covered before going out."
"Thank you, sir." Hetty's dark eyes expressed more than her timid words.
She clasped the story-book close, and started away.
She had not been gone ten minutes when Mr. Peters exclaimed:
"Why didn't I hire that girl to cover the books? She looked just like the
one to be glad of the work. But I'm always behind time, like the man who
remembered he'd got to go to mill when he'd let the horse out to pasture."
At the old-fashioned farmhouse to which she came, Hetty had scarcely time
to speak of the librarian's kindness, when her mother called to her:



"Come right here, Hetty! There's something nice to tell you if 'twarn't
for the lack of a gown. You've be'n ast to Susan Lowe's party for a week
from to-day."
Susan Lowe's party! repeated Hetty in wonder.
"I s'pose it's come about through the new minister's boardin' with the
Lowes. He's a lib'ral-minded man; I heard him at the Sunday-school Conven-
tion. They say he's a master hand for bringing' folks together."
"If I only could go !" said Hetty, with a longing desire to attend, for once,
a village girl's party.
"I could make you a white apurn," said Mrs. Prior. Your father's got a



fine shirt that's givin' out, and you could have it 's well's not. But what to do
for a gown ?"
Hetty put her book on the table. Its fascination had departed.
"If your Aunt Abigail Sage had only sent some things this year," went on
Mrs. Prior. But she's like the laylock bush by the gate, for giving. One
year it will be all a-clusterin' over with flowers, an' the next not a bunch on it."
dear !" sighed Hetty.
"You might try pickin' blackberries," said her mother; "though father


says the village folks swarm the pastur' like crows. Come in kerridges,
Hetty cast one look at her book, and then went for her tin pail and little
dipper. She found the rocky pasture had been well gleaned, as her mother had
said. Yet she staid, gathering what few berries she could.
One of the pickers drew near her. Hetty knew the girl very well. It was
Ann Pellet, and Hetty always tried to avoid her. Her family was not looked upon
as very respectable. She was dressed in the style of the village girls, although
in a shabby and tawdry way. Hetty particularly noticed a string of green glass
beads she wore on her neck which looked as if it had been seldom washed.
She was dark, like Hetty, but she had a secretive expression, very different from
Hetty's frank innocent one. Hetty had never forgotten the time she left her
pail filled with blackberries beside the stone wall, and came back to find it
empty, and Ann hurrying home.
"Halloo!" called Ann. "Berries are skurce, ain't they? Mother 'greed
to let me have all the money I could earn pickin' 'em ; but I guess she's safe
sayin' it."
Hetty's only reply was to look up a moment. She resumed her search for
"You needn't feel so big," Ann snapped out. "With your long pantalets
and short hair, you're a perfect gawk. The girls all say so."
With this speech she darted away.
Hetty remained in the pasture till after sundown, busy with other than
cheerful thoughts.
"I can't pick enough," she said dejectedly to her mother, as she showed the
meager quart of berries she had gathered.
"It's no matter, for you've got a chance you'd never dream of. Jes' after
you'd gone, Mr. Peters come down- there's the marks of his kerridge wheels
'fore the door- an' he ast if you could be spared couple o' days to cover them
lib'ry books. Said you looked keerful an' tidy."
O, mother! if I could buy a pretty red gown could have it long, without
pantalets--I should be so happy. And my hair shin ;led."
Heavens an' earth !" cried Mrs. Prior; "as if your father'd hear to sech a
thing. 'Bout your hair, I mean. He sets a store on't. He's said time 'n' ag'in
them shingled heads looked wuss 'n' plucked geese. He mentioned the other
day 'twas 'bout time your hair was let to grow long."
"Mother," exclaimed Hetty excitedly, "I couldn't have it grow long. I
do so want it shingled like the village girls."
"'Bout the gown an' pantalets," Mrs. Prior said reflectively, "mebbe 't'd
be a good plan, now you're beginning' to grow up."
Taking a little comfort in this partial concession, Hetty busied herself cover-
ing the library book. She took great care in view of her new duties.


"That's done nice," her mother commended.
If I could just have my hair shingled," sighed poor Hetty.
"What's that 'bout shinglin' hair?" said Mr. Prior, coming in; "'fore I
see one o' my gals sheared that way I'll put her in a 'sylum."
The way he shut the door showed Hetty it would be well not to approach
the subject again. She turned to her book for consolation.
At the close of her work in the library, Hetty brought home a two-dollar
bill. It seemed a large sum in the farmer's family, where little ready money
The next morning Hetty went to pick blackberries with her friend, Angie
Holmes. As they rested on a big rock, Hetty told how she had earned the
money for a new red gown, and the good time she expected to have at Susan
Lowe's party. Neither of the girls had noticed that Ann Pellet had slyly drawn
near, until she called out:
You'll make a nice show with that head o' hair! Susan Lowe'll be awful
proud on you 'n' your red gown."
The two girls jumped up and ran away. The disagreeable Ann laughed
maliciously. She knew her words would rankle in Hetty's heart.
In the afternoon Mr. Prior harnessed for a trip to the village. He would
exchange some produce, and Hetty could make the purchase of her new gown.
Mrs. Prior was anxious to accompany her daughter, but her best gown had ceased
to be presentable in the village.
You must be sure and get a good quality of stuff," she urged Hetty, "and
Mr. Lowe must warrant it not to fade. Pick an' choose with care."
Your mother must have a new gown soon. It must come by hook or by
crook," Mr. Prior said, after they drove away.
He was a man of few words. This was, in fact, the only remark he made on
the drive.
It helped to make more distinct a thought that had visited Hetty more than
once. Why should she have a new gown when her mother needed one even
more ? Ought she to buy it? Could she be happy with it, even at Susan
Lowe's party ?
She shut her eyes tight, a way she had when any inward struggle was going
on. That her mother had promised to make it as she wished did not seem to
weigh in the balance in her own favor. She had already had a bright thought
of putting her hair into curl papers the night before the party, so that neither
Ann Pellet nor any other girl could laugh at her. Still, this happy settling of
her difficulties could not blind her to her mother's need--her mother who
never seemed to think of herself in her care for others.
They reached the store, and Hetty was yet undecided.
Show my gal some stuff for a gown," said Mr. Prior to the storekeeper;
and then left to attend to his own business.


Red all-wool delaine," said Hetty, in a low voice.
"Here's a very nice piece you can have for forty cents a yard. I have been
selling it for fifty," said the storekeeper.
It was a beautiful shade, and Hetty's eyes grew bright in admiration. As
she tested its fineness and softness she knew she needed not to repeat her
mother's precautions. She had not supposed her two dollars could buy anything
so lovely. She was about to say, Cut me off five yards of it," when her eyes
fell on a piece of dark-gray cloth close beside her.
What a suitable gown for her mother that would make How well it would
look on her, and how grateful she would be to Hetty! She stammered:
"How much-what does that cost a yard ?"
That gray ? It's a remnant seven and a half yards. I'll sell it for two
dollars. It's a great bargain."
Hetty pushed the red cloth aside; she said, choking back her feelings :
"I'll take the gray."
"Not the red? That'll make the prettiest gown for you. It's an extra
nice piece."
No, no."
Mr. Lowe, who saw plainly that she wanted the red, was drawing it toward
her, but she turned away from it. So he folded the gray cloth and wrapped it
up, and Hetty waited at the store door, hardly knowing whether to be glad or
sorry for what she had done. Once, thinking of the beauty of the red cloth,
she was almost ready to go in and ask for an exchange ; but love for her mother
triumphed, and she began to find more comfort in the thought of the pleasure
in store for her.
"I've got to go 'round to Pellet's and collect last month's milk bill," said
Mr. Prior, as Hetty placed her bundle on the top of his numerous packages in
the back of the wagon.
They had difficulty in rousing any one in the house, and Mr. Prior was
,obliged to get out and go to the barn to learn if any of the men folks were
Ann now appeared, and stood laughing at Hetty from the doorstep.
Hetty was determined not to speak to her, and kept her gaze bent steadily
before her. She expected to hear Ann's cutting gibes, but for once she was
saved them. Ann went around behind the wagon, and Hetty heard her go into
a little shed and shut the door.
Mr. Prior came back to say that no one seemed to be on the place.
"Ann's just gone into the shed," said Hetty.
"What'd she know 'bout the money?" said Mr. Prior crossly; and they
drove away.
When Hetty reached home, and her father brought the purchases into the
house, what was the consternation of both to find the new gown missing.


How could it 'a' rolled off them bags 'n' things? said Mr. Prior. "I see
you put it on 'em safe."
Hetty thought of Ann, but it was impossible to believe she would commit so
bold a theft. She could not bring herself to suggest it to her parents.
They inspected the packages again, and Mr. Prior went back over the road
for some distance to look for the lost article.
Hetty had no heart to tell her mother of the different purchase she had
made. Mrs. Prior had seemed on the point of speaking of some agreeable
matter, but withheld it to condole with Hetty.
Wal, I do declare 1 exclaimed Mr. Prior, at sight of the tears on Hetty's
cheeks an unusual thing, for she had much self-control "if the child ain't
a-takin' on bad. S'pose I don't realize how much her mind was sot on that
"Come, git into the wagon," he added, "an' I'll drive ye back to town 'n'
git your hair shingled. It's the next best thing, I s'pose."
"Yes, she shall, mother," he said, with a laugh
at the woman's exclamation of "I never !" "If it
takes my last cent, she shall, an' if she comes out with
her head looking' like the field after I've fired it over
in the spring."
Hetty needed no second bidding, but came out
drying her tears and smiling.
We'll keep an eye for the bundle," said her
father; but Hetty felt certain that it would not be
"She don't look so bad now, does she, mother ? observed
Mr. Prior when they had returned, and Hetty took off her
"She looks reel pretty," replied her mother, in
When Hetty saw herself in the glass she was almost con-
soled for the loss of her gown. No one could think her old-
fashioned and singular now; she looked quite as well as the
village girls.
"LAND GOSHEN, HETTY!" Two or three times Hetty set out to tell her mother
about the gray gown she had purchased instead of the red
one, but she had an ashamed feeling that her mother would think her tears
were partly on account of the sacrifice. She noticed Mrs. Prior hastily putting
away a box that looked suspiciously like one of Aunt Abigail Sage's gifts.
When Hetty came down the next morning her mother said:
I sot up late last night cutting you out a white apurn, an' there's a blue
ribbon to tie it with behind. I can make a fair-lookin' gown for you out o/-the


back breadths o' my summer gingham, if you think you'll be willing' to wear it.
to the party, Hetty ?"
But the girl's lips quivered.
Just then Mr. Prior opened the door.
"Land o' Goshen, Hetty! ef I hain't found your store bundle right on the
front step this morning Must 'a' ben setting' there all night from the dew on it.
Who in the 'varsal world fetched it back, I wonder ?"
Mrs. Prior hastened to open it. Why whatever's this ? "
"I thought you needed it most, mother."
Hetty abruptly left the room.
"If that ain't jes' like the child! Good as gold, she is. Now, father, you
harness up quick's a flash, an' take it back an' tell Mr. Lowe to exchange it for
the pruttiest red one in the store."
Here Hetty, having overheard, called in muffled tones:
"Please, mother! don't, father I ain't crying -for the red one."
"You be still, Hetty. You go right along, father. Hain't your Aunt.
Abigail Sage sent me an almost bran'-new black gown, which I couldn't a-bear
to speak on't to you, thinking' your red one lost ? Hurry up, father "
Hetty came from her hiding-place, smiling through her tears.
"I'll jes' make that gown up less 'n no time," said Mrs. Prior, as she hustled
about to procure her patterns.
But who do you s'pose fetched it back ?"
That question was never answered; and it always remained a surmise that.
Ann Pellet took it for Hetty's red gown, and returned it when she found it only
a plain gray one for the mother.
Wal, if she did take it, your thoughtfulness for me saved you your gown,
Hetty," said Mrs. Prior, when at last her daughter confided the secret to her;.
" but I guess I wouldn't think on her that way 'thout more proof."
Mrs. Prior was as good as her word in making the gown. It received its
last stitch in ample time for the party. It was tried on and pronounced "jes' as
nice a fit as a dressmaker's."
Them styles are improving after all," observed Mrs. Prior, as Hetty, all
smiling and happy, was about to start for Susan Lowe's. An' who ever would
believe she'd look so well in shingled hair an' without pantalets ? Now you.
be careful, child, an' spread your handkerchief in your lap when they pass
round the cake. Mis' Lowe's cake is awful rich, an' you might spot your new
gown. I know, 'cause I tasted some at the Sunday-school Convention."
Abby M. Gannett.

(First Paper.)


tNE day, in years long gone by, an anxious-faced
0-.- stranger walked the streets of Cordova. The
old Moorish capital was now a Spanish city. The king
\-- and queen of Spain held there both court and camp;
l. upon the palace of the caliphs floated the flag of Spain;
above the buttressed tower of the mosque of a thou-
A eMULETEE. sand columns, which the pious Caliph Abderrahman
long before had built, gleamed now the golden cross.
From palace to cathedral, from camp to court, the anxious-faced stranger
wandered, and men said he was a foolish Genoese sailor with some absurd idea
about finding Cathay, the land of gold and spices.
But one day, suddenly, the camp and court of King Ferdinand and Queen
Isabella broke away from Cordova and set themselves before the walls of
'Granada, the last unconquered city of the Moors.
Thither the stranger followed it; there again did he renew his solicitations
.and his pleas. And how at last he succeeded we all know. For that anxious-
faced waiter upon royalty at the Spanish court and camp was Christopher
Columbus, the Genoese.
Three years ago, as Commissioner for the Columbian Exhibition, I went to
Spain to study the beginnings of American history. The central figure of that
history is Christopher Columbus. I shall ask you to now revisit with me all the
most important places identified with the great Genoese after he became in-
teresting as the man with a purpose. From Cordova to Cathay, we shall follow
him. We shall take him at the outset of his career of discovery and follow him
to the end. I am, you will see, assuming that Columbus is the hero of America's
initial appearance upon the stage of history. In doing this I do not deny the
great Norsemen anything; I only assert that the Italian made his discovery
known, while the first visitors did not; and through Columbus the way was
,opened whereby America was peopled with those who brought with them the
blessings of civilization.
In the last decade of the fifteenth century Spain's star was in the ascendant.
Following the successive invasions of the Phoenicians, the Carthaginians, the Van-
-dals and the Goths, came the Moors, at the opening of the eighth century.
Gothic power terminated with the fall of Roderick, the last Gothic king, who
was overwhelmed beneath the Moorish flood that poured across from Africa.


For nearly seven hundred years the Moors possessed the better part of Spain;
they built mosques and palaces; they intended that their descendants should
possess this fair land forever. They gave to Spain a distinctive people and
oriental forms of speech and of architecture. The Moorish invasion had been
almost miraculous in its wide-spread conquests; but finally came the time when
they, too, must succumb, and to the prowess of Northern arms. Down from the
mountains of the north, from the Asturias and Pyrenees, swept the Castilian
armies, wave after wave, until the soil and cities the Africans had won with so
much bloodshed were wrested from them, and the conflict of centuries culmi-
nated, in 1492, in the fall of Granada and the expulsion of the Moors from Spain.
Toward the close of the fifteenth century, the only strongholds remaining to the
Moors lay in Andalusia, the southernmost section of Spain. This section is called
by the Spaniards, because of
its delightful climate, its fruit-
ful fields and its natural ad-
vantages as a dwelling-place
for man, La Tierra de Maria
Santissima -" land of the
most Sacred Virgin."
When at last the union of
Isabella and Ferdinand joined
the forces of Aragon and
Castile, then appeared pos-
sible the long-deferred, long
hoped-for scheme of univer-
sal conquest and the ultimate
expulsion of the Moors from
Spanish territory. The most
"THE MOSQUE OF A THOUSAND COLUMNS," CORDOVA. fascinating episodes of that
final period of warfare oc-
curred in the beautiful Vega, or great plain of Granada, and among the hills
surrounding it.
Standing conspicuously upon every hill-crest overlooking the Vega, are the
remains of Moorish watch-towers. These they called their atalayas, and from
them the watchful sentinels flashed blazing signal-fires at the appearance of
the enemy.
Even to-day these towers may be seen in various places, lone and solitary
landmarks, useless now around the fruitful valleys they were built to guard.
Centuries have slipped by since the danger signals flamed from their summit-
platforms, and they are now fast going to ruin and decay. One such atalaya
rose above the Hill of Elvira, always visible from the Alhambra at sunset, a black
sentinel against the brilliant sky. This tower I took as the objective point of


my first foray. One May morning, attended by the gardener Jos4, whom I had
engaged as my guide, I left the quaint cottage in old Granada, where I had
taken lodging, crossed the beautiful grove of elms to the Alhambra, and thence
down the Darro, through the half-sleeping city of Granada, seeking the distant.
hills. Had I but the time and space I
should like to tell of the beauties of the
palace we left behind, and the elm grove
in which I have heard the nightingales ---- .
singing at midnight, as well as the golden-
sanded Darro, down the right bank of
which we strolled until it took its last on
plunge beneath the arches that span it -
and finally hide it from view beneath the
vivarambla- the favorite rambling-place (Overlooking Granada.)
of the Moors. It was delightfully cool in
the grove, where the birds were twittering preparatory to their matin music,
and until we were well out upon the plain beyond Granada we did not feel the
heat of the sun.
Three hours later we were reclining at the foot of the tower, which is locally
known as the Atalaya of Arbolote, and from which we had a view outspread that
rewarded us for our long and somewhat dusty walk. Nearly all the Vega lay un-
rolled before us. At our feet lay the remains of the old Roman Illora, dating from
a period near the birth of Christ; beyond, Granada, dark in the valley, with the
Hill of the Sun, crowned by the Al-
hambra, above it; and still beyond,
the shining crests of the Sierra Ne-

A DISTANT VIEW OF SANTA FE. coursing emerald meadows, frowning
battlements capping the Alhambra.
hill, and glistening snow-peaks lying against the sky. Columbus saw all this,
and though he has left no description of the scene, its beauty did impress him,.
for in his voyagings through the island-dotted seas, over which we shall follow
him, he constantly recurs to the charms of Andalusia.
But Granada and the Alhambra we have left behind; before us, seen in the
distance far across the beautiful Vega, lies a city seldom visited by strangers,
a city sleeping in the memories of the past, and with no tie connecting it with
the present. It is Santa F4, the City of the Holy Faith.


Four centuries ago and two years more, the armies of Isabella and Ferdi-
nand had advanced their line of conquest to the mountain-wall around the Vega.
One after another, the Moorish towns and cities had fallen before the implacable
IFerdinand: Zahara, Antequera, Alhama, Loxa, Illora, Moclin; until, in 1490,
Granada stood alone, isolate, crippled, yet
proudly defiant.
In April, 1491, the Spanish army,
horse and foot, fifty thousand strong,
poured over the hills and into the Vega,
intrenching themselves upon the site of
Santa F6. It was a situation strategically
important, in the center of the plain.
(s seen o roof ofranada.) Granada lay full in sight before them.
Where to-day rise the towers of its great
cathedral, the minaret of a Moslem mosque towered skyward, and from its
summit the Muezzin called the faithful to prayers: Allah il Allah! Great
God! Great God! There is none but the one God! Come to prayer! Come
to prayer It is better to pray than to sleep !"
So near were the soldiers of Ferdinand to the object of their desires that
they could almost hear the summoning cry of the Muezzin. Upon the site of
the fortified camp, which was first of tents, then huts of wood and stone, was
founded in the year 1492 the royal war-town of Santa Fe. It may be seen, as I
saw it that hot day in May, 1888, scarcely
lifting itself above and beyond broad fields
of barley, wheat and alfalfa.
A semi-somnolent city is Santa Fe, com-
pletely walled about, with most picturesque ;g -
gates facing the cardinal points. If the
term dead-and-alive may be applied to "'
any place, it certainly may be to this.
Yet its history is interesting, and no ..: -- -
student of the conquest of Granada can :_.-:- -"*-'.
afford to pass it by without at least a THE CITY GATE OF SANTA FE.
peep into its past. Although we are deal-
ing with Columbus, yet we may not neglect the historical accessories that
make his story worth the telling. A hundred books, at least, in this Columbian
year, will tell the tale of his life and adventures, but will only repeat what is
already familiar to all, until the reader and the listener will weary of Columbus.
Hence it is to avoid the cyclopedic and biographic I shall aim, and shall present
the unfamiliar scenes of his adventures as viewed by myself. Since a multitude
of writers are already on the search, hunting the victim from the cradle to the
grave, we will not join in, but will lie quietly in ambush; perchance we may


gain glimpses of the great man unawares. So I will claim the privilege of
digressing a bit, merely to relate one of those exciting encounters that took
place while the army was encamped at Santa Fe, and which, while it enlivened
the monotony of camp life, kept up the spirits of the men.
Among the fiercest of the caballeros in command under the Spanish king, as
the army lay before Granada, was, the historians tell us, Hernando del Pulgar.
Casting about one day for an opportunity to distinguish himself, he espied the
city gate of Granada but negligently guarded. Galloping through it, he some-
how evaded the Moorish sentinels and penetrated even to the great mosque
in the center of the city. Losing not a moment, he dashed up to the door
and with his poniard there affixed a bit of wood with the Ave Maria printed on
it. Then he wheeled about and darted through the gateway with great clat-
ter of hoof and clank of
weapon, and, hurling cries
of defiance at the astonished
Moors, escaped with a whole
skin to the camp.
The Moors at first were
puzzled to account for this
foray; but when they finally
found the Ave Maria pinned
against the great door of the
mosque, they were beside
themselves with rage. And
the next day an immense
Moor, Yarfe, one of the
most powerful and renowned
of the Moslem warriors, in-
solently paraded before the THE HEAD OF THE MOOR, AT SANTA FE.
Christian host with the sa-
cred emblem attached to the tail of his horse and dragging in the dust. At the
same time he defied all the cavaliers, or any one of them, to meet him in single
combat before the assembled armies.
Now, Ferdinand had forbidden any of his nobles to engage in this manner
with the Moors, because their cavaliers were better horsemen, more skilled in
the feats of the tourney. They generally came off victorious from such en-
counters, thus greatly weakening the esprit de corps of the Spanish host.
But this insult to the Christian religion could not be borne, and the cavaliers.
all burned to avenge it. A fiery young Castilian, Garcilasso de la Vega, rushed
before Isabella and importuned her to allow him to defend the holy faith against.
this pagan Moor and rescue the Ave Maria from further defilement.
Her permission reluctantly granted, he armed himself completely and went.


forth to meet the Moslem. Yarfe was almost twice his size, and was mounted in
a superior manner. And yet, notwithstanding the apparent odds against him,
young Garcilasso killed the boastful Moor, rescued the sacred emblem, and laid
the head of his adversary at the feet of Isabella.
The site of this memorable encounter and the spot where Isabella sat to
witness it, are marked by a great stone cross protected by an artistic canopy.
Subsequently a church was erected in Santa Fe, in which to-day the sacristan
can show you a silver lamp presented by Isabella; but the strangest thing about
this church stands between its two great towers. At a distance it resembles a
large kite, but nearer view discloses it as a memento of that stirring episode of
the siege of Granada. The marble head of the vanquished Moor, of heroic size,
lies placidly between the towers, and above him rises the lance, or an effigy of
it, used to slay him, flanked with palm leaves and across them the precious
placard of the Ave Maria.
Thus, everywhere in Spain, are we reminded of the days of chivalry and
romance, and the scenes of the distant past are brought vividly before us.

But at the door of Isabella's silken tent another hero stands awaiting royal
favor. He asks no boon of her; he does but seek her aid to carry out his
schemes of conquest; he craves permission, like Garcilasso, to enter the lists
against the infidel.
The Moors are conquered, but mayhap there are other pagans, in the world
unknown beyond the sea. He, Columbus, with the aid of his sovereigns and
by the grace of God, would go forth single-handed to battle for the faith.
It is the month of January, 1492. Briefly the story of Granada's downfall
may be told. That month Granada capitulated, and the last stronghold of Islam
in Europe passed from the Moors forever. The year that saw the star of Spain
in the ascendant was the birth-year, also, of the history of civilization in America.
The two great events are coeval; for as the Star of the Orient sank toward
Africa, the Star of the Occident rose upon the horizon. The same year that
witnessed the greatest victory of the Spaniards, by which their nation was
advanced at the time to the foremost place on earth, likewise beheld the open-
ing of a career of conquest in unknown regions, the magnitude of which the
imagination fails to grasp. And it was to come about through the genius of an
obscure, almost unknown, individual, humbly waiting his sovereigns' pleasure at
Santa F6. Here in this city of the camp, American history had its beginnings;
here the crucial test was applied that decided for all time the fate of millions of
human beings across the ocean, and changed the character of Spain and her peo-
ple. Her victories hitherto had been on land; for centuries she had been en-
gaged in wresting from the infidel her own lost territory; foot by foot, year by
year, until at last the great work was accomplished. Now, before their wearied sol-
diers had recovered breath, while their arms were yet tired with wielding the


sword, while the blood of their slain was still fresh upon their weapons, the
Spanish sovereigns were again importuned by this Genoese adventurer.
Little wonder that Ferdinand grew impatient and Isabella wearied of his
plea. In the light of their own unsurpassed achievement, when even the
Pope hastened to congratulate them upon their unqualified success in ridding
Europe of the hated Moslems, the schemes of this Unknown must have appeared
ridiculous. The wonder is that they should have maintained him, idle, persis-

(Here the royal courier overtook Columbus and turned him back to the discovery of America.)

tent, an attendant upon their camps for years, from Cordova to Granada. At
last, he had gone away disheartened, but he had returned again at the solicitations
of Juan Perez, the queen's old confessor, and at the instance of Isabella herself.
He had returned as persistent, as calmly confident of ultimate success from some
*quarter, as before. He abated no jot or particle of his ridiculous demands; he
"wanted ships and caravels, sailors, provisions, munitions, articles for barter; he
*demanded that he be made Admiral of the Ocean Sea and Viceroy over the re-
gions discovered; that he be granted the privileges of the aristocracy, and one
tenth of the revenue of the yet undiscovered country; in truth there seemed no


limit to his demands. And this from an unknown man whose only claims were
to possessions yet to be possessed -nothing more nor less than veritable
' Castles in Spain!"
Perhaps, if the serious queen ever did take a humorous view of a situation,
she may have seen the funny side of this magniloquent proposition and have
yielded at last out of sheer weariness.
At first, however, notwithstanding the
urgent solicitations of her respected con-
fessor, Isabella could not bring herself to
accept the terms of Columbus, and he de-
--,, parted again, this time fully resolved to
abandon Spain entirely. But he was not
Sto do so, for he had not accomplished
more than two leagues of his journey back
.- ,:-. to the Convent of La Rabida before he
>- was overtaken by a messenger from Isa-
GATEWAY AND TURRET AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE bella, promising acquiescence to his de-
mands. Whether or not the queen did
this of her own volition, or whether her treasurer, Santangel, offered to find
the requisite money for the outlay, or whether she proffered the pledge of her
jewels, are matters for the historians to settle.
Thus far the historians seem to be all at sea," and makes this or that state-
ment based more upon his prejudices than on any actual knowledge he possesses
of historical facts. The chances are that,
since they were probably already pledged,
Isabella did not offer to pledge her jewels
to aid in furnishing the sinews of war for
the siege of Granada.
But let it suffice that she promised
assistance, and, once embarked in the en-
terprise, gave the future admiral both
pecuniary and moral support. All the more
-creditable is this to Isabella, since it was
done at a time when the royal treasury
had been completely exhausted by the (Where Isabella escaped fom the Moor.
drafts upon it for the Moorish wars, and
when she might have been supposed to be already sated with the glory of
conquest and not anxious for further adventures.
The place at which the royal courier overtook Columbus has been preserved
in tradition ever since; it is pointed out to-day with unerring finger. He had
reached a river flowing through the Vega, spanned then as now by a bridge,
known as the "Bridge of Pines." It is locally known as Pinos puente, and


was the object of another little journey by Jos6 and myself, after we had visited
and I had photographed Santa Fe. We had noted it from our eyrie at the
atalaya tower, and one day, through seas of scarlet and crimson poppies, we had
descended to the valley of the bridge. The Bridge of Pines is picturesque
as well as historic; it is a creditable monument to the artisans who erected it,
and to the great event that here took place. Even though the discussions took
place at Santa F6, still this spot may be looked upon as the one at which the

(From a carving on the choir-stall of Toledo Cathedral.)

Columbian career was opened as the turning of the tide in his fortunes as
well as the turning-point in his journey. For this reason, and in view of the
far-reaching consequences of this departure, I have chosen to call this Pinos
puente, the "Bridge that Spanned the World." It is a structure of stone and
masonry, with a gateway and a turret, spanning the stream over two high
arches, and is nearly always a scene of busy life.
Jose and I rambled along the banks and climbed the hill above, where are
the remains of an ancient Moorish fort, finally resting at a meson where the
simple folk served us quite cheerfully with coarsest fare the best they had.


Another trip on another day was to Moclin, on the outer verge of the V ega,
where the Moorish fortifications are exactly as left after being battered by the
cannon of King Ferdinand in the year previous to the fall of Granada. Among
the wood carvings around the silleria, or choir-stalls, of Toledo cathedral, is
one depicting the taking of Moclin; the whole siege of Granada, in fact, is there
At other times we visited successively Loxa, Illora and Zubia, at which last
place Isabella suffered a narrow escape from the Moors, and where a group of
great granite crosses marks a religious station or shrine. Granada and its en-
virons present a field for exploration to the enthusiastic student of history,
whether he be interested in the closing
scenes of Moorish domination, the life of
Ferdinand and Isabella, or the dawning
of American history. Around Columbus,
however, cluster the associations of Santa
F6 and of the Bridge of Pines, at the
opening of this drama of the siege of Gra-
nada; thence he followed the court as
it advanced to take possession of the
city. Tradition relates, with an air of
MY GARDEN IN GRANADA. authenticity, that in the Alhambra itself
Columbus was a visitor a while, and that
he walked gloomily its marble corridors while the issue of his voyage was
pending. According to the painstaking historian, a memorable interview be-
tween him and his royal master and mistress took place in the Hall of Justice,
the Sala de la Justicia, or Sala del Tribunal. It bounds one side of the famous
"Court of the Lions," is seventy-five feet long, and is most profusely, yet
delicately ornamented, while the vista down its mosaic pavement is entrancing
in its beauty. Tiles and inscriptions are on every side, and a lovely latticed
window conveys just a hint of a perfumed garden beyond. Here, did the
swart Moors recline and dream away the noontide hours ; here the stern caliphs
sat, and here, so it is said, Isabella received Columbus.
During a month of delightful days, I dwelt within the garden walls of an
Eden-like retreat in Granada, sallying out upon excursions as narrated; wan-
dering through the Alhambra by moonlight and by daylight, and weaving about
the departed Moors, the Christian conquerors and Columbus himself, the tissue
of a fabric I have herein attempted to unfold for my readers' entertainment.
Frederick A. Ober.


STWAS Mary Melinda Baker's doll,
-L With head of shining hair,
A waxen nose and ten pink toes,
A fan, and a real high-chair.

Mary Melinda Baker's doll
Was an airy sort of thing;
Though I never heard her speak a word,
And I know she could not sing.

Now Peter Frisby Hamilton Jones
Was a perfectly lovely dear.
He was a cat, as black as my hat,
No tail, and a slit in one ear.

Mary Melinda never will know
How her doll stirred up that cat;
But she was the one 't the fuss begun,
We fellows are sure of that.

How do girls know what dolls may do,
When they are away at school?
A girl in their place would make up a face,
Which aggravates boys, as a rule.

So we think that doll with her waxen nose,
Just turned it up at Pete -
At nine she was there, in her real high-chair;
At night we found one of her feet.
Cora Stuart Wheeler.

(" She turned her head in its prim little cap.")

I- ,, ~C-
t~ ~E~C-L~__h n- X.'
; ''1' s~
c.r *

~j?- ~P

(An Easter-tide sketch of life in Old England.)

IT was Easter Monday in quaint old Chester, three hundred years and more
ago. The morning sunshine lay warm and cosy among the small spring
foliage that tried to shade the garden bench on which Phoebe sat swinging her
toes, beneath her long, quaint gown, for want of something better to do.
A Phoebe-bird seemed calling, "Phoebe! Phoebe!" from the branches
above, and she turned her head, in its prim little cap, to see where the small
songster had hidden himself.
There was a merry laugh, and a dapper boy emerged from a stiff-cropped
Phoebe pouted. So the Phoebe-bird be only you," she said.
It be only I," he replied, with a mockingly deferential bow; "was not the
imitation a right good one ? Mother has sent me to say you shall come and help
her with the tansy cake; her fingers are so colored with the egg-dye that she
will give you all the mixing to do."
O, goody! said Phoebe; I shall like that. You are a good boy, Robin,
and shall have a big slice."
I want it all," he said.
No, indeed, Sir Stingy; and she courtesied with mock ceremony to him.
Then listen to my song," and he parodied, slightly, a rhyme of the day:

At stool-ball, Phebe, let us play,
For sugar, cakes and wine.
Or for a tansy let us play,
The loss be thine or mine.


If thou, my dear, a winner be,
At trundling of the ball,
The wager thou shalt have, and me,
And my misfortunes all."

"All right," she laughed; I will worst you at the game as soon as ever the
cake be fried; and she ran toward the kitchen, almost stumbling over her long
frock, in her haste.
One side of the kitchen was in a blaze, with the broad chimney fire. Phoebe's
aunt stood at a table, rubbing with lard the bright red and yellow colored eggs
she had just dipped from the dye-pot. There were dozens of them; and she
piled them deftly, alternating the colors, till they formed a pyramid.
"Whee !" cried Phoebe, who had never seen so many before, "but they are
as many and gay as the buttercups and portulacas in mother's posy bed. How
can we eat so many ?"
Wait and see," said her aunt, with a knowing smile. Roll up your sleeve,
and let me see if your arm looks strong enough for stirring the big tansy cake."
Phoebe pushed up her sleeve, and displayed a white, plump little arm,
finished off with a firm little hand, that would make a fine cake-spad."
That be very fair," said her aunt; "now tie on this pinafore, sit you down
here, and take this bowl firm into your lap."
Phoebe did so, with a bustle of importance.
Next is the creaming of the butter and sugar. Stir well, and all one way."
Phoebe did so, setting her small teeth upon her under lip till it was crimson
dented, and her arm ached.
Now, we have the eggs beat to a yellow froth, the cream and spinach
leaves, with this allowance of flour." And the aunt put them in one by one as
she spoke, while Phoebe's plump arm and hand went round faster and faster in
the mixture, as her cheeks grew pinker, and her breath came in short puffs.
Not so bad at the stirring, be she, mother, for a wisp of a girl ? said Robin,
who had stolen into the kitchen so quietly that Phoebe had not noticed him.
Here she exclaimed, raising her hand, covered with dough, I see no
great difference twixtt a wisp of a girl and a wisp of a boy."
Hush! children, you must not quarrel at Easter-tide; all is peace and good-
will, like at Christmas;" and Phoebe's aunt lifted the bowl to the table.
"Does it be fried next, Aunt Nancy ? asked Phoebe, with much interest;
"' at home the serving-people be so plenty, and older sisters so about, that I can
never get to see how a thing be done. I hope father will not fetch me from
this Easter visit too soon."
"No; we will not let him ;" and the aunt set the butter to melting and put
the cake to fry, while Phoebe pattered back and forth after her, over the big
kitchen's stone floor, her little chin in the air and her neck stretched, to lose no
point in this frying process.


"I will go set the stools for our game," said Robin, growing tired of the
smoke and heat. Soon he returned.
Are you never coming, Phoebe ? he cried; father is come in with the
bishop, and a big, bearded man, who, he whispered to me, be the dean or
governor of the church. They say they will watch our tansy-cake contest and
see that it be fair."
Phoebe's head dropped like a blue-bell's.
"It be hard to be stared at by strangers; one feels so -so shy and like
hiding in a corner, and to speak only "no, sir,' and 'yes, ma'am,' in a low
Robin laughed.
Girls should be boys, then they would not feel that way," he said.
"Run on, Phoebe," said her aunt. The good bishop will want to play
hand-ball with you; he doth so like it."
Phoebe laid the pinafore one side, pushed back the curly locks that would
creep forward from her cap, and taking Robin's hand, entered the broad hall in
which was to be the stool-ball contest. Her uncle and his guests were there.
"This is my cousin Phoebe," said Robin gallantly -Phoebe dropped a
courtesy "when she be not afeard of strangers, she be a right nice cousin to
have. Now she hath the shyness fallen upon her."
Phoebe pinched Robin's fingers, and looked down at her toes.
"So, ho !" said the jolly bishop; "Phoebe's mother and I were great friends.
She would not shy away from me like this;" and he drew Phoebe to him.
"Now play your bout for the tansy, then we will all to hand-ball. I shall never
be too big nor old for hand-ball. So; to stool-ball!"
Robin made the opening play. Phoebe, reassured, took her turn, and soon
the ball was hard at work, dodging in and out under the stools.
The bishop watched and applauded. "There, you have it, Mistress Phoebe;
no, Robin be ahead; trundle it a wee bit more to the right; now, Robin, be
your chance to crow; no, you missed it; now, you're lost. Well done for
Phoebe; she hath won the tansy cake, fair and square "
"I don't care," said Robin; I worked hard."
So you did," said the church governor; and you have a good arm for it."
"The lad never missed it before," said Robin's father; "but ladies before
gentlemen; eh, Phoebe ?" and he patted her cheek.
"Now, let us to hand-ball," cried the bishop; and soon his mia est pila,"
"I have it," above the noise of romp and tumble, told he had beaten.
Though the Paschal-taper was a large affair, weighing a hundred pounds, and
though it burned and spluttered like a jolly flambeau, Phoebe and Robin were
glad when the Easter Day service was over, and they could hurry home to the
cutting of the tansy cake. But here was delay again. It could not be touched
till after the bishop and the dean and all the guests who had come to dine had

"IF -! "

diminished the pyramid of colored eggs, eaten of stewed carp, roast fowls, a jowl
of salmon and some neat's tongues.
"Well, Mistress Phoebe, do I hear you sighing to cut the tansy?" said the
bishop, at last, "or was it Robin ?"
"It was not I," answered Robin. Though I'd be glad to see it cut."
There was laughter at Robin's frankness.
Then, Apple-Blossom, it was you; come here to my side, and plunge this
deep into the cake." And the bishop held a sharp knife toward Phoebe.
Shall I, Uncle ?" she asked timidly. He nodded. So Phoebe cut the cake,
and in a few moments there was such a nibbling of tansy cake as lasted for the
whole year. And not a crumb left over.
"This be a happy Easter," whispered Phoebe to Robin.
"It be," said Robin to Phoebe, his mouth full of cake.
M. Carrie Hyde.

: ... ,


.I _. "'.'; ,.

,- ** .. .,i -.'__.-

"' i ',;" -: .,.
... r k

''IF '"


"HE traveler in the South who leaves Richmond on
the Chesapeake and Ohio railway, going east-
ward, passes over the most sacred soil of the Old
Dominion, where English civilization was first
planted and took root in America, almost three
centuries ago. If he alights at ancient Williams-
burg, he is on ground every foot of which is con-
secrated by memories of the brave days of old.
As the railway train passes out of sight, he slips
THE CHURCH GATE, WILLIAMSBURG. away from the bustle and forward-looking irrever-
ence of the nineteenth century; slips away like
some old phantom from the glare of electric lights and the ring of the telephone,
behind the misty veil that shrouds the past, into the nation-building days of the
eighteenth century, when Williamsburg was the notable political school of
the world. For this old town is unique in all the land in its serene antiquity.
The echoes of the busy world come to it faint and far away. It lives in its past.
Its record is written in the hearts of the descendants of its proud old families;
is inscribed in their genealogies; is pictured in the family portraits on their
walls. Ghosts of the past walk in the halls they once inhabited in the flesh.
Why should they not? Time has only touched the ancient borough with the
pathos of decay and the tragedy of war. The time will come when a new
generation will think less of the past. Williamsburg will fade gradually away,
or modern innovations will rob it of its old-time charm, but at present it
stands without a peer among America's historic towns.
Of a truth, everything is quaint and venerable and touched with history or
tradition. The streets are mostly grass-grown, and in their names is the very
flavor of colonialism Scotland, Ireland, England, Nassau, King, Queen, Prince
George, Francis Nicholson, and Duke of Gloucester being among them. Wide
level greens form a setting for the old colonial houses, and horses and cattle
roam and graze at will on green and highway.
Williamsburg is the shire town of James City County, and in Virginia the
county is the political unit instead of the town, so that the municipal life centers
at the court house, which is notable as being one of the architectural produc-
tions of Sir Christopher Wren. The projecting hood of the porch, unsupported
by pillars, is a puzzle to visitors. It seems probable that for some reason the
building was never finished. Apart from this it is a model of its kind. In its
two centuries of life, some of Virginia's most distinguished lawyers have prac-


ticed at the bar of its little court room. Near by is the Palace Green, at the
northern end of which is the site of the palace of the royal governors, of which
enough is known to make it safe to say that it was one of the most magnificent
houses of the colonial period, probably excelling the manor house of the Patroon
Van Rensselaer at Albany. Brilliant pictures come down to us of fetes in the
palace in the days before the Revolution, and at no time did the governors
maintain grander state than when the weapons were being forged to strike down
the royal power in America.
Society was indeed brilliant in Williamsburg in the days of its glory. Besides
the fetes at the palace, there were grand assemblies in the Apollo Room of the
Raleigh Tavern, now, alas! only a memory; a theater, at which Shakspere's
plays were first produced in America, ministered to the pleasure of a pleasure-
loving people, while there was a round of gayeties at all the great houses of the
gentry. Many of the planters of the country had winter residences in the bril-
liant little city.
Recalling all these memories, it requires little effort of the imagination, as
one stands in the streets of Williamsburg to-day, to people them with the bril-
liant life of old, the stately ladies, the glittering cavaliers, the galloping steeds,
the ponderous coaches, the silks and laces and velvets; all the gayety and light-
ness of a life that yet had a very serious undercurrent, as coming events were
to show. We can see Lord
Botetourt, courtly and ele-
gant, who temporarily "gave
offense" to these gay but
democratic Virginians by
the gaudy parade and pomp-
ous pageant exhibited," for
he went to open the assembly ..
"drawn by eight milk-white
horses, in a state coach pre-
sented him for that purpose
by the kin, and the sme THE COURT HOUSE, WILLIAMSBURG.
y the king, and the same (Designed by Sir Chriktopher Wren.)
formalities were observed as
when the British sovereign goes in state to open Parliament." Williamsburg
was indeed a vice-regal capital."
But the old capital has stronger claims upon interest than its picturesque
association with the social froth of the colonial court. "Bacon the rebel," first
of American revolutionists, had made Middle Plantation his headquarters; and
partly because the obstinate rebel had left little of Jamestown, partly because
the site of the latter place was exceedingly unhealthy, but most because Middle
Plantation had been made the seat of William and Mary College in 1694, it
became the capital, under Governor Francis Nicholson, in 1705, and was then


named Williamsburg. The founders of the city placed a high value upon the
association of the higher education and the government; a fact of which they
gave a sign by the location of the Capitol and the college, facing each other and
three quarters of a mile apart, at the eastern and western ends of the broad
Duke of Gloucester Street, the "Pennsylvania Avenue of Williamsburg," as one
writer has named it. The same idea was more practically shown in the fact that
William and Mary was the first college in America in which history and politi-
cal science were systematically taught. As an institution it aimed to train men
for public life, as well as for being clergymen and teachers. How well it suc-
ceeded is shown by the strong, well-balanced statesmen whom it graduated. It
was William and Mary that gave Washington his commission as surveyor, an
equivalent at that time of the present degree of civil engineer; and Washing-
ton's last public office was the chancellorship of the college. It was from the
association at Williamsburg of the colonial government and the college, that
Washington gathered the idea of a national university at the nation's capital, an
idea which he fruitlessly urged on the highest and most patriotic grounds, in
behalf of which he vainly made a large bequest, and which has been revived
recently by a distinguished Northern statesman.
In William and Mary studied Thomas Jefferson and James Monroe, Presi-
dents of the United States; Benjamin Harrison, the ancestor of two pres-
idents and one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence; Carter
Braxton, Thomas Nelson and George Wythe, also signers of the Declaration;
Peyton and Edmund Randolph; John Tyler, first Governor of the Common-
wealth of Virginia; Beverley Randolph, Governor of Virginia; John Blair, and
the great chief justice, John Marshall. The list of distinguished names might
be indefinitely extended, but those just given will show what quality of men
the old college gave to the country. When at the close of the Revolution the
capital was removed to Richmond, the greatness of the little city and of its
college departed; but, until ruined by reckless soldiery in 1862, the college
continued to be an educational power, presided over by men of dignity and
learning, and giving well-trained scholars to the State.
The old Capitol, the heart of the rebellion," at the eastern end of the
street, was a fine building of the period, in each wing of which was a good
staircase; one leading to the Council Chamber where the Governor and Council
sit in very great state, in imitation of the King and Council, or the Lord Chan-
cellor and House of Lords. Over the portico is a large room where conferences
are held and prayers are read by the chaplain of the General Assembly; which
office I have had the honor for some years to perform." So wrote, in 1724, the
Rev. Hugh Jones, a learned and much traveled professor in William and Mary
He was acquainted with the courts of Europe, and knew whereof he spoke,
so that from his account a just idea can be gathered of the real brilliancy


of social Williamsburg in its palmy days. He tells of "the Play House and
Bowling Green," and says of the governor's house that it was "finished and
beautified with gates, fine gardens, offices, walks, a fine canal, orchards, etc."
It had a cupola or Lanthorn," which was illuminated on festival nights, as was
most of the town. "These buildings," remarks the Rev. Hugh Jones, "are
justly reputed the best in all
the English America, and are -
exceeded by few of their kind

In the old Capitol met
those patriotic Burgesses who
sent their ringing answer to
Adams and Otis and the rest
in Massachusetts,

SWhen, echoing back her Henry's cry,
came pulsing on each breath -
Of northern winds the thrilling sound,
of 'Liberty or Death.' "

Only an excavation and a
few bricks now remain where IN OLD WILLIAMSBURG.
once the historic building
stood in which Patrick Henry thundered that warning to England's king, that
is so familiar to every school boy; but if we close our eyes on this consecrated
ground we can hardly fail to hear echoes of days that are dead come ringing
down to us through the generations. Here, and in the old State House in
Boston, was the birth of American independence; the dawn of a new day for
the nations, the genesis of a higher ideal of government.
For three quarters of a century Williamsburg was the most important polit-
ical and social center in the colonies south of Boston. It saw during that period
a long succession of royal governors, good, bad and indifferent. There was the
coarse and. domineering Nicholson; Sir Alexander Spotswood, who, for planting
the first iron furnaces in the South, is known as the Tubal Cain of Virginia; "
Hugh Drysdale, Robert Carter and William Gooch, whose administrations had
little to make them memorable except the foundation of Richmond, in 1733, by
Colonel William Byrd of Westover, and the appearance in Williamsburg, in 1736,
of Virginia's first newspaper, The Virginia Gazette. After Gooch came Din-
widdie, in whose time France and England came to blows in the Great Woods,"
and the young surveyor, George Washington, won his spurs as a soldier. Now
the struggle for independence was dimly foreshadowed, and the peaceful, stately
life of the old city was stirred by unwonted currents. In 1763, Henry, the
great orator of his day, asserted, in his fiery way in the old Capitol, the right of


Virginians alone to make laws for Virginia; the blunder of the Stamp Act by
the home government followed, and Virginia and Massachusetts clasped hands
in the struggle for freedom. Few yet saw it as a struggle for independence,
and the royal governors still came to Williamsburg and maintained their little
courts. The social round went on above the slumbering volcano of the Anglo-
Saxon passion for liberty and justice.
Never did Williamsburg see a more brilliant period. The festivities at tho
Palace and at the Raleigh Tavern were rivaled in interest by the flashes of
intellect at the Capitol, and in the college certain high-minded youths were
being prepared to serve their country in the trying years so close at hand.
Jefferson writes of dances in the Apollo Room at the Raleigh, and of his

] .

*i.''"'^""^ ^ ^-------.-... ^r.

(At the time of the surrender of Yorktown.)
"Belinda," who was one of the famous Virginia Burwells showing that great
minds found time and thought for the diversions of the passing hour, and that
woman's smiles could charm even the embryo statesmen who gathered inspira-
tion from Wythe and men like him. Dinwiddie was succeeded by Governor
Fauquier, a polished freethinker, who found it necessary to dissolve the
Assembly on account of the famous resolutions, in advocating which Henry
declared that Caesar had his Brutus, Charles I. his Cromwell, and George III. -
may profit by their example." Jefferson pronounced this debate most bloody,"
but he was young then, and perhaps a little careless in his choice of words.
Fauuir, plisedfrethnkr, hofoud t ecesay t dssoveth
Asseblyon acout ofthefamos rsoluion, inadvcatig wich enr
declredtha "Cmar ad is Butu, Carls I.hisCrowell an GergeiII.-
may roft byther exmpl." efesonpronuncd tis dbat "mot bood,"


Henry is described as being at this time twenty-nine years of age, tall and
grim, with small, sparkling blue eyes. He wore a brown wig, unpowdered, a
peach-blossom coat, leather breeches and yarn stockings. He was an impassioned,
magnetic speaker, who seldom failed in any cause he advocated.
The Burgesses, after their dissolution, met at the Raleigh Tavern, and there
concerted many measures for the action of the colonies. Fauquier died in 1768,
and was succeeded by Norborne
Berkeley, Lord Botetourt. Al-
though so unfortunate as to make
a bad impression on his arrival,
he became in his brief administra-n
tion perhaps the best beloved of
all the royal governors. He was
a true friend of Virginia; and his
graces of manner were so marked
that long afterward the young men OLD DEBTORS' PRISON AND POST-OFFICE, WILLIAMSBURG.
of his time were spoken of as edu-
cated in the school of Fauquier and Botetourt, in the manners and graces of
gentlemen. Unfortunately for the king whom he served, this finished gentle-
man and large-hearted man died in 1770, after having declared, "I will be
content to be declared infamous, if I do not, to the last hour of my life, at all
times and in all places and upon all occasions, exert every power with which I
am, or ever shall be, legally invested, in order to obtain and maintain for the
continent of America that satisfaction which I have been authorized to promise."
Lord Botetourt's body was interred beneath the chapel of the college of
William and Mary, and a marble statue of him stands in the college yard,
erected in 1773, by authority of the Burgesses of Virginia, as the grateful testi-
mony of the colony to his virtues, a fact which is made known to us in the
stately phrase of the inscription.
Lord Dunmore followed Lord Botetourt, and under his uncompromising rule
the irritation rapidly increased. He was continually embroiled with the Bur-
gesses; he quartered in the Palace marines from the ships of war lying off
Yorktown; he finally carried off in the night from the octagonal powder house,
built by Governor Spotswood in 1714 and still standing, all the ammunition
stored therein. This was on the eve of the outbreak, and soon the governor
and his family were forced themselves to take refuge on the vessels, and ulti-
mately to leave the colony. But not until the city of Norfolk had been burned.
The Revolution had begun. Washington was in Massachusetts, at the head of
the northern army; but it was not until near the close of the war that Williams-
burg was to experience much of its excitement. Then Cornwallis, coming up
from the Carolinas, drew into the peninsula, and was caught in the trap at York-
town, but twelve miles from Williamsburg. Lafayette came down with his little


.army, and awaited in Williamsburg the arrival of Washington and Rochambeau.
They came at last the great commander-in-chief, strong, cool and confident,
great Virginia's greatest son. With him came his ragged veteran continentals,
and his courtly ally, Rochambeau, with his brilliant French regiments in their
-white uniforms, gay trappings and waving plumes. They, too, sat down in
Williamsburg, and the sessions of the college were for a time interrupted, that
the French allies might be quartered in its halls. It was during this occupation
that William and Mary suffered from its second fire, the president's house being
burned; but Louis XVI. of France made full reparation for the loss due to his
soldiers, though they were serving America's cause and the disaster was acciden-
tal. The college has been less fortunate in dealing with our own Government.
The house in which Washington had his headquarters is one of the historic
houses of Williamsburg, and still-stands unchanged, save by the wear of time -
a large, square brick mansion, once the home of Chancellor Wythe, and now
said to possess the ghost of that great jurist. Wythe died in Richmond by
poison administered by a nephew, who expected to inherit his fortune; but the
chancellor had time to change his will, and the murderer was disappointed. It
appears that the unquiet ghost of the chancellor felt most at home in- the old
house at Williamsburg, and has preferred that to Richmond. Another room in
the same house boasts the
SE phantom of a Miss Byrd of
Westover, who married and
came there to reside, and to
die. Just over the garden
wall, in Bruton churchyard,
Sis the grave of a more recent
resident of the Wythe house:
the eminent scientist, Dr.
John Millington, who was
born in London in 1779, and
died in Richmond in 1868.
He at one time resided in
this house, being then pro-
:,'RI-:. fessor of natural science at
William and Mary. When
THE COLLEGE OF WILLIAM AND MARY, WILLIAMSBURG. dying he expressed a desire to
(Of which Washington was Chancellor.) be buried in Bruton church-
be buried in Bruton church-
yard, as near as possible to his old Williamsburg home, to which he was most
attached, of all the places in which he had been during a life of travel.
Williamsburg has always developed a peculiarly strong attachment in those
who have come upon its charmed ground. In 1862 it was occupied by both
armies, devastated by war, and its people were obliged to desert their homes. 4


When the war was over they were impoverished; their college had been burned,
and their city's prosperity was forever checked; but they returned to the old
homes, desolate though they were, and there they live quietly, proud of their
history, in an atmosphere somber with the shadows of unforgotten tragedy,
uncomplaining, maintaining as best
they may the honored names of
that prouder past.
In old Bruton, or Christ Church.
are many memorials of the longi J -
ago, quaint and curious often, but j
coming home to us with the sub- .:
lime sympathy of the universal i, i' '
sorrow, whether in the stilted .
eulogiums of dead notables
of two hundred years ago, --.
or the unmarked stone cov- .. -
the beautiful Lady Christine
Stewart, daughter of a Scotch earl and lineal descendant of Mary, Queen of
Scots. This noblewoman of Scotland married for love alone a young student
from Williamsburg in Edinburgh University, came with him to his American
home, and left descendants, in all of whom is noticeable that personal beauty
which was for so many generations the fatal gift of her race. Among the
ancient memorial tablets in the church is one more recent, in memory of the
Confederate soldiers who fell at the Battle of Williamsburg, closing with this
tribute of simple loyalty: "They died for us." The church interior itself has
been so much remodeled since the edifice was erected, in 1715, that it has lost
much of its charm; but Bruton parish is one of the oldest Episcopal parishes in
America, having been organized in 1632. It possesses the font at which Poca-
hontas is supposed to have been baptized in the old church at Jamestown, the
old Jamestown communion service, and two other ancient services of silver and
gold. Outside in the churchyard violets bloom, children frolic among the an-
cient stones, and cattle browse on its grass. History is buried there, and has
become a part of the soil. The sun shines over all as it did generations ago
and has through all the years, and above the graves there broods the restful-
ness of Nature's gracious calm.
Thus, in this quaint old rural city, a descendant of Puritans and Aboli-
tionists from New England, finding hospitable welcome, recognized with new
force the wide-reaching kinship of English blood; he recalled the days of
that great historic movement in which Williamsburg played so important a
part, and saw more clearly the close relationship of the people of Massa-
chusetts and those of Virginia. They came from the same good stock, they


thought along the same great lines, although political differences sometimes
separated them in the old country as well as in the new.

"Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain;
They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again."

Our country has few localities of which this may be as truly said as of Wil-
liamsburg, where nothing reminds of the present, and everything recalls the past.
In this quaint rural city the typical life of old Virginia flourished. Here the
country squires, who loved the soil with all the strength of their English blood,
gathered in the winter for the round of social amusements that they loved
almost equally well. Here great men were trained to play great parts in state
and nation. Here democracy and aristocracy flour-
ished side by side, the one growing out of the Anglo-
Saxon love of freedom and fair play, the other
lineally descended from the proud
old Cavalier spirit, that through .
many years of strife shouted and
fought -

" For God, for the cause, for the church and "'
the laws;
For Charles, King of England, and Rupert of
the Rhine."

For they were loyal
king's men and church-
men, these old Virginians,
and as proud of their race
as any Spanish hidalgo;
but above all they were
Anglo-Saxon freemen, '"k/
whose liberty was their t
dearest heritage. Like
New England, whose pride
was fully equal to their own, they proposed to have liberty to do as they
pleased, in spite of king or church, and to hold the power to make others do as
they would have them. Our liberty-loving English ancestors were not a tolerant
people, whether they settled in the North or South; but, North or South, in
spite of their bigotry, they were the finest race the world has seen, and they
held the destiny of nations in their hands, whether the hands were those of fox-
hunting Virginia squires or severe Massachusetts Puritans.
We give our allegiance to them both, holding both in the honor they deserve


from the nation they were so largely instrumental in founding. Could pictur-
esque, lovable old Williamsburg be preserved, restored by reverential hands to
something of its old-time grandeur, it would be a most valuable reminder of the
past; but it would lack much if it lost the suggestions of the old regime, pre-
served in its people who still bear stamp of the proud old race.
Edwin A. Start.


A GRANDMOTHER came to a little house,
And she was poor and old;
And already the little house was full
As ever it could hold.

With father and mother and children nine,
In spite of toil and care
There was sometimes lack in the little house,
And always scanty fare.

"And how can you keep a grandmother ?
I should think she would crowd
you so."
" no cried sturdy Will, with
a smile ;
"My grandma crowd ? O, no! "

"I should think she would," per-
sisted Dick;
"For your house was full before.
When anything is full, you know,
How can you put in more ?"

Dicky was young and questionful,
But Will was patient and kind;
" The room in our hearts helped us," he said,
Room in the house to find."

Ah poor little house, dear little old house,
Where the happy faces swarm !
And Will was right. There is always room
Where the heart beats true and warm.


And one might have no room to spare,
Though one had boundless space.
'Tis a crowded heart, a selfish heart,
That makes a crowded place.
William Zachaiy Gladwin.

4lB~i *:j-b -


(From a painting by Conrad Riesel.)

(A Bondel of Salutation.)

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0 NE day Willie was walking through the woods when
S he came to a great hollow tree. He peeped
through the hole, and thought he would crawl in and
see what a hollow tree was like.
Inside he found a ladder, very narrow and very steep,
but up and up he climbed till he came to a little window.
Through the glass he saw a funny little man, with three
eyes, sitting at a round table eating his lunch. There
S was a great brown pie before him, and Willie was very
fond of pie.
SThen he noticed a little door at the top of the ladder,
so he knocked very gently: rap-tap-tap-tap !
"Come in! called the funny little man, and Willie
"THROUGH THE GLASS HE SAW opened the door and stepped into a little room.
A FUNNY LITTLE MAN." Who are you ? said the little man.
"I'm Willie, and I came up the ladder. Do you live here ?"
Yes; I am a Treedeedle, and this tree is my house. Won't you have some
lunch ? "
0, yes said Willie, looking at the big brown pie and a cake, full of little
black things, and a big glass pitcher of lemonade.
"I always have an extra place for a visitor," said the Treedeedle. "Sit
down," and he motioned toward the vacant chair. Will you have some pie ?"
Yes, please," said Willie, taking the empty chair.
So the Treedeedle cut a huge piece of
pie and handed it to Willie. Willie took F rrrrr
up his fork and cut into his pie, and found
it was full of empty spools.
"Oh! my mamma doesn't make pie
out of spools. I don't like spool pie; I'm
afraid I can't eat it," said Willie.
"Not eat spool pie! said the Treedee- ,
dle, who was just finishing his third slice.
"Why, it is delicious. But perhaps you'd
like some cake ?"
0, yes; very much," said Willie, his "WON'T YOU HAVE SOME LUNCH ?
eyes growing bright with pleasure.
So the Treedeedle passed him a large slice of cake, and Willie broke off a
piece and was just going to eat it, when he saw the little black things were not
raisins but tacks, carpet tacks.


Oh he said, "my mamma doesn't put tacks into her cake; no; I can't
eat tacks."
"Not eat tacks!" cried the Treedeedle, munching his cake with delight.
"Why, they are so spicy, and sharp, and good; and these are particularly large
ones. Perhaps you'd like some lemonade ?"
"Yes," said Willie; "I think I should."
So the Treedeedle poured out a glass of lemonade, and handed it to Willie
with such a polite little bow that Willie thought he must be polite, too, and not
find so much fault with the Treedeedle's lunch.
But as he lifted the glass to his lips, he smelled kerosene, and set the glass
down very quickly.
Oh! my mamma doesn't make lemonade out of kerosene," said he. "I
can't drink it."
Not make lemonade out of kerosene cried the Treedeedle. Why, yes;
one lemon peel to one quart of kerosene is my recipe. I assure you it is very
nice. But perhaps you would like an egg; I'll ring for one."
The Treedeedle picked up a little silver bell and rang: ding-a-ling, a-ling-
a-ling. In came a little man servant in a green jacket.
"Hard or soft ? said the Treedeedle, looking at Willie.
"Hard," said Willie.
Number-thirty-four, bring us some hard eggs," said the Treedeedle.
The man servant in the green jacket went out.
"Why do you call him Number-thirty-four ?' asked Willie.
Because that is his name," said the Treedeedle.
Pretty soon, Number-thirty-four came back with a dish of eggs, and Willie
took one. The shell seemed to have been taken off, so he
bit right into it, and found that it was lard, a ball of lard.
"Oh! my mamma doesn't have eggs made of lard.
SI Your cooking isn't like my mamma's. I don't think I'm
very hungry, and I think I will go home now; but if you
will come to breakfast with me sometime, I will show you
what kind of things my mamma cooks. Bread and milk,
-.- and strawberries, and buttered toast, and chicken, and
"NUMBER-THITRTY-FOUR. things like that, you know."
O, yes! I know," said the Treedeedle. "I often have
them, too; and door-knob stew, and pincushion pudding, and needle tarts, and
ice-cream made out of broken glass and lemons. I should like to take breakfast
with you, though. Perhaps I will go to-morrow; and the next time you come to
see me, I will take you to call on my friend the Owl, who lives in the next
tree. Come soon."
"I should like to go to see the Owl," said Willie, climbing down the ladder.
"Then let's go and call on him now," said the Treedeedle.


All right. I've got on my clean dress, so I can go," said Willie.
When they reached the tree where the Owl lived, the Treedeedle gave a
shrill whistle, and down from the tree came a basket on a rope.
Willie and the Treedeedle got into the basket, and were drawn up to a great
limb. There they saw a little door standing open. Inside, they found the Owl
sitting at a little desk writing a letter. "What are you writ-
ing?" asked the Treedeedle looking over the owl's shoulder.
"I'm writing a letter to the Man in the 0
Moon; he sent me an invitation to dinner. Is
this your friend Willie ?"
"Yes; let me introduce you to the Owl,
The Owl shook Willie's hand with one of his
claws, and said, Perhaps you and the Tree-
deedle would like to go with me to the Man in
the Moon's to dinner. I'll send the letter after I get there."
"Of course we'll go," cried the Treedeedle. "Willie is "THEY ISAW THE OL
all dressed, and I can dress in a jiffy, if you will lend me a
wash-basin. I forgot to put my wash-basin in my pocket when I came away."
"All right," said the Owl; "you can go behind that screen, and I will go
behind this screen, and we will dress."
So Willie sat down on a little stool and waited while the Treedeedle and the
Owl splashed and scrubbed behind their screens.
They washed so violently that they dashed the water over the screens and
sprinkled the whole room. Then the Owl curled all his feathers with a curling-
iron in the latest style.
Now for the paper collars cried the Owl. We can't be dressed with-
out paper collars. I'll lend you and Willie each one."
Willie didn't think he needed a paper collar, but he did not want to hurt the
Owl's feelings, so he let the Treedeedle and the Owl put on his collar for him,
and it came way up around his ears.
How are we going to get to the moon? asked Willie.
Oh I have a comet tied to my back fence," said the Owl, and he will
take us there."
Willie had never seen a comet; so he followed the Owl and the Treedeedle
out into the Owl's back yard with a good deal of curiosity.
The comet looked like a big star switching a long fiery tail. They all got
on the comet's back; first the Owl, then the Treedeedle and then Willie.
Now hold on tight," said the Owl, untying the comet from the fence; and
away they went like the wind, straight for the moon. Willie held on to the
Treedeedle's coat-tails, and they went so fast it almost took his breath away.
When they reached the moon, the comet stopped, and they got off his back


and walked up a little yellow path to a yellow house, and knocked on the little
yellow door: rap-tap-tap-tap !
A little yellow man, with a great many brass buttons on his clothes, opened
the door and asked them to walk upstairs.
The Man in the Moon was waiting for them on the roof of the house, which
was flat like a veranda. He was a very round
/* little man, with a round, shining face like a full
Soon. The dinner-table was all ready, set with
SS gold plates, and gold spoons, and gold cups,
and gold knives and forks.
"I'm delighted to see you;.
-_ ------delighted Sit down and have
some oysters," cried the Man
LE THE WD." Willie looked at his plate,.
but did not see any oysters; nothing but some little pieces of green cheese.
After they had eaten their cheese, the Man in the Moon called to the little
man in buttons to bring the soup. So the plates were all changed, and in came
the soup.
Willie looked into his plate, but all he saw was a little green cheese in the
bottom of the soup plate.
Well, that's funny," thought Willie; but he saw the Treedeedle and the
Owl were eating their cheese, so he ate his.
"Now we'll have some chicken," said the Man in the Moon.
"That is nice; I like chicken," said the Owl. But when the plates were
brought in, Willie saw that each one had a square piece of green cheese and
nothing else.
"'Any way, this is better than the Treedeedle's lunch," said Willie to him-
self ; but I wish they would have something different."
But though the Man in the Moon spoke of the salads, and strawberries and
cream, and ice-cream, and plum cake, and candy, and nuts, and raisins, and all
kinds of good things, Willie saw that they were only pieces of green cheese of
different sizes.
Let's go fishing," said the Man in the Moon, after dinner was over.
"How jolly said the Owl. Where shall we go? "
"To the Milky Way," cried the Man in the Moon.
So off they started, with long fishing-rods over their shoulders till they came-
to the Milky Way; it was tumbling along like a river of milk.
The Man in the Moon had a little raft, and he rowed them all out into the-
middle of the stream to fish.
They caught all kinds of strange things. First, the Owl caught a pair of
rubber boots, then the Treedeedle caught a pair of boxing-gloves, then the Man


in the Moon caught an umbrella, and then Willie caught a diamond crown, which
sparkled and glittered like a row of stars.
Oh how beautiful," cried the Treedeedle; "you must be a king. Let's
all put on the things we have caught."
So the Treedeedle put on his boxing-gloves, and the Owl put on his
rubber boots, and the Man in the Moon put up his umbrella, and Willie put the
diamond crown on his curls, and they started for the house of the Man in
the Moon.
"I must go home quickly, for I am going to a ball at the Mud Turtle's
to-night," said the Owl.
They looked all about for the comet to take them home, but as the Owl had
forgotten to fasten it to the Man in the Moon's hitching-post, it had gone off.
"How shall we get home?" cried the Treedeedle.
"Let's fly; said the Owl, and he flapped his wings and flew off toward home.
"Oh! I can't fly," cried Willie.
"You will have to jump," said the Man in the Moon.
"All right; good-by Come, Willie, take my hand," said the Treedeedle.


So Willie took the Treedeedle's hand, and together they jumped.
Willie looked down and saw something sailing below them, and when they
got nearer they saw that it was a balloon, and as it was directly beneath them
they tumbled into it.
The balloon was manned by a big black pussy cat with green eyes.


What do you mean by jumping into my balloon?" asked the Black
Pussy Cat, as Willie and the Treedeedle came tumbling into the basket.
We did not mean to," said the Treedeedle; but you were in our way, so
we had to fall in. Won't
you take us home in your
balloon? "
"I haven't time," said
the Black Pussy Cat. "I'm
on my way to the Mud
Turtle's ball; you can go
with me if you like, and I
will take you home after
the ball is over."
Treedeedle to Willie.
All right," said Willie; and away they sailed with the Black Pussy Cat.
The Mud Turtle lived by a pond, under a willow-tree, and as it was getting
rather dark, the bushes, and grass, and trees were all lighted up with fireflies,
that snapped and sparkled like electric lights, and made the place as bright as day.
The guests were sitting about on stones. There was the Owl in his rubber
boots, and he winked one big eye at
Willie when he saw him come in
with the Black Pussy Cat and the
Then there was a big grasshopper,
and a robin, and a field-mouse, and a
bull-frog, and a blue butterfly, and
Sever so many others.
The Mud Turtle was in the cen-
Ster, shaking hands and talking with
Then the music struck up.
Choose your partners for a
hopity-kick waltz! shouted the Mud
SWillie looked up to see where the
-=-- musicians were, and saw them sitting
-- -- on the branches; two thousand mos-
S- quitoes, humming and buzzing a waltz
UNBUTTONED HIS COAT." as loud as they could sing.
Then the Bull-frog came and
asked Willie to dance. Willie saw the Black Pussy Cat dancing with the Mud


Turtle, and the Grasshopper waltzing with the Field-mouse, and they seemed to
be having such a gay time that he thought he would dance, too.
The Bull-frog hopped and leaped about so fast that Willie had hard work to
keep up with him.
The one who dances the longest wins the prize," shouted the Mud Turtle.
First the Mud Turtle got tired out and stopped, then the Field-mouse and
the Rabbit, then the Robin and then the Blue Butterfly, and all the others, one
by one, till only the Grasshopper and the Treedeedle were left.
They danced and danced, and hopped and twirled, till the room fairly seemed
to Willie to whirl, too.
Then the Treedeedle threw off his boxing-gloves, and unbuttoned his coat,
and danced faster all the time, till at last the Grasshopper fell down in a faint,
and they had to bring him
to by rubbing him down with
a clothes-brush.
By that time everybody
was shouting: Hurrah for
the Treedeedle "Three W
cheers for the Treedeedle !"
"The Treedeedle has won
the prize "
The Owl and the Black
Pussy Cat hoisted him on to
a board, and carried him
round the room.
brought in the prize, which
was a hand-organ, and then they all cheered again, and the Treedeedle played
them a tune on his organ.
Now for the refreshments," cried the Mud Turtle; and they brought in a
great wash-boiler full of molasses candy, and each one took a big spoon and
dipped it into the boiler and began to eat.
Presently Willie noticed the Blue Butterfly sitting on the fence, eating his
lunch all by himself out of a little tin dinner-pail.
"Why don't you come and eat with us?" asked Willie.
"I don't like molasses candy, so I always bring my own lunch," said the
Blue Butterfly.
Willie looked to see what the Butterfly had for lunch, and saw that he had
brought five sausages all on a string.
After they had finished the molasses candy, and scraped the boiler nice and
clean, the Treedeedle said it was time to go home; so they all shook hands with
the Mud Turtle and told him what a good time they had had.


I'm coming to see you, Willie," said the Mud Turtle.
That will be nice," said Willie. I will show you my playhouse."
"Oh! I'll come, too," said the Owl.
"And I," said the Black Pussy Cat.
Can't I come, too ?" cried the Blue Butterfly.
"And I ?" asked the Grasshopper.
"I am coming," said the Robin.
"I'm coming, too," croaked the Bull-frog.
"All right," said Willie; perhaps my mamma will let me have a birthday
party and invite you all."
"Hurrah! hurrah! We are all going to Willie's birthday party !" cried
Then the Black Pussy Cat and the Treedeedle climbed into the balloon and
pulled Willie in after them, and very soon they stopped at Willie's front gate
and let him out.
"Good-by I've had a beautiful time," said Willie, "and now I am going
in to tell my mamma all about it."
Agnes Blackwell.



^ ii~~

?. ;.
Pf ~

)i .u, *0, N a

I MET him one day on a long railroad track,
With a staff in his hand and a pack on his back,
And I said to him merrily, Whither away ? "
And, What part of the world have you come from to-day,
In such mizzly, drizzly weather ?"

The old man turned round with a laugh in his eye,
And said to me quickly, From nowhere come I;
But I'm walking as fast as I possibly can
To the place (he was smiling, this little old man)
"To the place where the tracks come together.


" But don't you, my dear sir, get tired, at all ? "
" O, no! I keep walking from spring until fall,
And during the winter, through ice and through snow,
The more happy am I, the farther I go
Toward the place where the tracks come together.

"Some days it is weary and dreary to walk,
With no one to listen, nor even to talk;
But when nobody's talking I walk at my best,
And although I'm not tired, I'll have a good rest
In the place where the tracks come together.

"Now I must hurry, or I'll never get there;
My time is so short that I don't even dare
To stop for a moment. Good-by, sir," said he;
And so he trudged onward, as blithe as a bee,
Toward the place where the tracks come together.

I wonder if e'er. I shall meet him again -
This little old man with his little cracked brain ?
I have ne'er seen him since, but (I can't tell you why)
I know I shall meet him some day in the sky,
In the place where all tracks come together.
James Walter Smith.


SAID the needle, I've swallowed a thread,"
And forthwith he set up a cry;
But the pin on the cushion, she laughingly said,
"Now surely, that's all in your eye."
Mrs. ]. T. Greenleaf.

(Second Paper.)


S- A we have seen, Columbus, crowned with success,
Departed for Palos, invested with all the rights
1. and privileges he had been for years so anxious to
R/ obtain.
But two months after the surrender of Boabdil to
:1 "" -Ferdinand and Isabella, the same hands that had received
Sthe emblems of their triumph over the Moors, affixed the
royal sign-manual to a paper confirming Columbus in his
title to a yet undiscovered country beyond the unknown sea. A commemorative
.chapel on the bank of the Xenil marks the spot made famous by the surrender
of the Moor; in the royal chapel attached to the cathedral of Granada the
alabaster tombs of the king and queen are sacred shrines, to which pilgrims by
thousands annually wend their way; but no monument rises above the spot
where the great navigator engaged to barter a world for prospective emolument
and titular honors.
We know with what tenacity he clung to the scheme he had formulated for
the enrichment and ennobling of himself and his family, preferring to abandon
the country rather than to
abate one iota of his project.
And it was with doubtful
pace that he followed the
messenger from Isabella, who
had overtaken him at the
Bridge of Pines, with the
promise of her consent.
But at last he was on his '
way back to Palos, trium-
phant at every point. And, I'
while he is pursuing his
way toward the coast, let us .-'-
briefly review his history
briefly review his history THE CHURCH OF ST. GEORGE, PALOS.
He was born in Genoa, the historians tell us, in the year 1446. This may
not be the exact date, and respecting his youth and early manhood there is the


same obscurity; but about the year 1470, we find him residing in Portugal, the
birthplace of his wife, and somewhat later engaged in correspondence with
Toscanelli. According to his son's statement, in 1477 he navigated one hun-
dred leagues beyond Thule;" but in 1482 he is in the south of Spain, having
vainly endeavored to enlist the king of Portugal in his plans, and is sent to Isa-

(Looking out upon the stream down which Columbus sailed from Palos to the sea.)

bella by the Duke of Medina Celi, at the court in Cordova. He follows the
court to Salamanca in 1486, and there has audience with the queen. In 1487
he is before the Council in the Dominican Convent, returns to Cordova the same
year in the train of Isabella, whence he is summoned to the military camp at
Malaga. The year 1489 finds him before the walls of Baza, where he witnessed
the surrender of the Moors under Boabdil the Elder, and doubtless conversed
with the two monks who came there to the queen from Jerusalem. 1490 sees
him in Seville and Cordova, whence he finally departs in disgust for the port
.of Huelva, stopping on his way at the Convent of La Rabida, where he attracts
the attention of the prior, and subsequently has the famous conference with the
friar, the village doctor of Palos, and Martin Alonso Pinzon of Moguer. This


conference in the convent took place in the latter part of the year 1491; as the
result a messenger was dispatched to Isabella, then in camp at Santa F4, who
returned after fourteen days with royal orders for the prior to come to Granada;
he departs in haste, and eventually returns with the queen's command for
Columbus to appear before the court, and with the necessary money for the
trip. Columbus arrives at Santa F4 the first week in January, 1492, in good
time (as we have seen) to witness the surrender of Granada; he has audience
with his sovereigns, cannot agree upon terms, prepares to depart from Spain, is
overtaken by the queen's courier at Puente de Pinos, returns, and is finally
made happy with the royal consent.
The capitulation for conquest and exploration is signed April 17, 1492,
and May 12 he sets out for Palos. Ten days later, the twenty-third, the royal
command for the people of Palos to furnish men for the voyage is read in the
church of St. George, and the Pinzon family come to his assistance. Prepara-
tions are hurried forward, and by the first of August the vessels drop down the
Rio Tinto to the Domingo Rubio, where the final departure is taken at the Con-
vent of La Rabida. This much for a chronological statement of events.
We will now retrace our steps and visit in person the scenes of the great
discoverer's weary wanderings and his final gladsome trip through Andalusia.
Memorials of Columbus are scattered throughout Spain to-day: in Madrid the
royal armory contains his armor, the naval museum one of his charts; at Valla-
dolid, in 1506, he died, and the house is still pointed out in which he drew
his last breath; the convent, also, in which his remains were first interred.
But, though we may trace the wanderings of our hero over a great portion
of Spain, it is in the South that the most interesting event occurred. Vastly
rich is Seville, the queen city of the Guadalquivir, in Columbian memories; for
here we find that valuable library, the Colombina, bequeathed the city by his
son, Fernando, containing twenty thousand volumes, among them some that
once-pertained to the great man himself; one with marginal notes by his own
hand, and one of his charts. Those very islands of the Bahamas, which I myself
have seen, dim and shadowy, and shining in the sun, are here outlined by the
great discoverer himself, upon paper discolored and stained by sea-salt, as.
though it had accompanied him on all his voyages.
That, however, which oftenest drew me and longest held me was the marble
slab in the pavement of the great cathedral, that formerly covered the remains
of Columbus, and now marks the resting-place of his son Fernando, with its
world-famous inscription: A Castilla y a Leon JMundo Nuevo dio Colon; To
Castile and to Leon a New World gave Columbus." Thus, although the
remains of Columbus himself are now in the New World, many glorious memo-
rials of him are to be seen in Spain, and mainly in Seville.
At Seville, I dwelt in the house of a cleric, and my friend gave me a letter
of introduction to the Cura of Moguer, the town nearest to Palos. It was on


a bright morning in April that I left the city for a trip to Palos, and the valley
of the Guadalquivir was bright in greenest fields of grain and of olive orchards.
Seville is in truth of queenly aspect, sitting in the midst of the fertile plain, her
towering Giralda rising far above the outline of distant hills. For two thirds
the distance the railroad runs through a fertile and highly-cultivated plain, but
the rest was mainly barren, though covered with sheets and beds of purple
flowers in beautiful bloom.
We passed the ruins of a Roman fortification of times most ancient, and
then crossed a river flowing over iron-colored rocks, curiously worn. The
character of the soil was shown in its color, which was yellow and deep red;
and when I
noted this I
inferred, and
rightly, that we
had seen at last
the historic
S-' Rio Tinto, that
-1 -River, from
-Z o --which Colum-
Sbus sailed four
o -- --- c__-_._ --%-=. ,_---U--- ..
-=--- -------..- hundred years
Just sixty
(The Giralda, or tower of gold," in the foreground.) m e, in the
me, in the
spring of 1828, a man more famous than I traversed this same route, and with
the same intent -gentle and genial Washington Irving. But there was no
railroad in those days, and he was obliged to make the journey on horseback,
taking as many days, perhaps, as I did hours, but enjoying it, every mile.
Leaving the railway at the station of San Juan del Puerto, I took the diligen-
cia, an old carriage, for the town of Moguer, a league distant on a hill, where I
found, contrary to my expectations, good accommodations: afonda, or house of
entertainment, with clean beds and an excellent table. I was soon served with
a good breakfast, and "mine host" took quite a fancy to me, insisting on
taking me to the places of interest, and telling me all the local news.
But he was lamentably ignorant respecting things Columbian, though intel-
ligent and inquisitive. When I inquired about the scenes of interest to one
studying Columbus, he excused himself, saying he was from another province,
and not posted regarding the affairs of Palos. But this man Columbus, when did
he sail, Senor ? And are you sure he sailed from Palos ? No ship of any size has
left there this many a year; the village, even, is half a mile from the river.


Come now, abandon this search for a dead man's relics and go with me out
to my vineyard, the like of which is not elsewhere in Spain."
I thanked my friend, but assured him that Columbus had the prior claim, and
that I must go on to Palos.
"Very well, amigo, but you may regret it; Colon must be a dry subject.
My wife will find you a boy as guide; I've no patience with you."
The boy she secured must have been the surliest specimen in Spain; but the
poor little fellow had lost an arm, early in life, and I suppose that must have
soured him; at any rate, he probably had a hard time of it in his struggle for
He led up a donkey, hooked my valise on his arm-stump, seized the rope
attached to the donkey's nose, and then strode ahead, without a glance at me.
Don Pedro sent an emphatic Spanish word flying after him that halted him
instanter, at least long enough to allow me to scramble upon the burro's back,
then he marched on again, pursued by the maledictions of my friend.
What a beast of a boy, to be sure; and to think that I, Pedro Val Verde,
a respected householder of Moguer, should have been the means of putting a
distinguished American traveler in his charge one who has come all the way
from America,
7 too, just to see
Sour little port
o of Palos. Bien,
Vaya con Dios,
Senior (God
be with thee).
-':"-" You have a
Stick, let the
burro feel the
S force of your
and' amble*X g e nlPalos and
SMoguer are at
least three
(Where Columbus and his son asked for supper.) miles apart ;
the road be-
tween them is broad and smooth, but traversed by carts only in the vintage
season, when the wines are carried to the port of Palos. There was no saddle
on the beast I rode, and I sat astride an enormous pack of old bags, using my
cudgel as a balancing-pole, but frequently obliged to bring it down upon the
donkey's resounding sides, at which, much pleased apparently, he would wag his
ears and amble gently onward.
The boy was abstracted, and the donkey absorbed in meditation, so I gained


little from their companionship; but after an hour I sighted the hamlet. Palos,
the ancient port whence Columbus sailed on his first voyage to America, to-day
consists of a few mean houses scattered along a hillside, and one long straggling
street. It is nearly half a mile from the river now, but it was a port in the time

(" Figs and oranges had possessed themselves of space for luxuriant growth.")

of Columbus, and is called so now. There may be some eight hundred inhab-
itants, all told, and not one of them, that I could find, was aware that the ham-
let had a history known to the world beyond its limits. Some of them had
heard of Columbus, some remembered that it was said he had sailed hence, once
upon a time, to a country called America; but no one could tell me anything,
and I must see the cura the parish priest to know more.
After an hour of waiting I found that he knew no more than the others, but
the sacristan of the church, fortunately, was also the schoolmaster, and took an
interest in my mission. He took me to the church of St. George, the veritable
one in which Columbus read the royal commands to the terrified sailors of
Palos, and I found it as it doubtless stood then: a simple church of stone,
guarding the entrance of the town. I photographed its eastern front and also
its rear, where there is a Moorish doorway draped in vines.


The interior of the church is very plain, the chief ornament being an enor-
mous wooden image of St. George, the patron saint of the church, slaying a
terrible dragon. As St. George stood in a corner so dark that I could not
obtain a photograph of his cheerful countenance, the sacristan and his boy
obligingly trundled him out into the sunlight where he was visible.
It was with great reluctance that I left the church and turned my face again
toward Moguer; but the day was nearly ended, there was no accommodation of
any sort for a traveler at Palos, and the boy and the burro were anxious to be
away. Don Pedro of the inn received me cordially, spreading a table with fruit
of his garden and wine of his vineyard, and afterward invited me to come forth
and view the town. He first conducted me to the church, and then to the
house of the Pinzon family, still in possession of a descendant of the great Pin-
zon who sailed with Columbus. Over the doorway is their coat-of-arms. I was
delighted to learn that the present representative of the family is prosperous,
and holds the position of admiral in the Spanish navy.
It was not my good fortune to be entertained, as Irving was, by a descend-
ant of the great Pinzon, though I should have valued that attention more highly
than any other in Spain; for it was to the two brothers Pinzon that Columbus
was indebted for success. When he came here, penniless and without authority,
they were prosperous citizens, men of influence over their neighbors, and we all
know the part they took in that first voyage, furnishing money, men and ves-
sels. Even the royal proclamation read in the church of St. George, was of no
less avail than their brave example. Badly treated as they were by Columbus
and by Ferdinand, yet posterity will not refuse them their meed of honor. In
truth, the deeds of the Genoese pale somewhat before their steady glow of sturdy
independence. The needy adventurer whom they befriended, and who treated
them so basely, has left no direct descendants, but the sturdy Pinzon stock still
flourishes in the birthplace of its progenitors.
Our next visit was to the convent-church of Santa-Clara, where Columbus
and his sailors fulfilled their vows after their return from the first voyage. You
will recall, perhaps, that they promised that, if they were saved from a dreadful
storm that threatened to destroy them, they would spend their first night ashore
in prayer. And it was in this very church that they performed their vows,
Columbus kneeling here all night on its cold marbles, and before the altar.
The day following, returning to Palos, a sturdy donkey boy attended me -
and we made the distance merrily, halting at the town only for a lunch. As the
place came into view, I drew up my donkey on the brow of the hill and looked
long at the white-walled Palos, so silent before me, so lifeless, so sad. I need
not tell the thoughts that possessed me, nor the pictures that rose before my
mental vision, for I am an American, and have a share in that common heritage
left us by Columbus.
Four hundred years only have passed since the great Genoese came, to


this very port of Palos, and sailed away with its sailor-citizens to the discovery
of a continent; and though since then the cynosure of all eyes, little Palos has
slumbered on unmindful of its fame. One by one its prosperous men were gath-
ered out of sight; one by one its houses sank to ruins; one by one its fleets were
depleted of its vessels, until naught remains save the memory of its greatness.
About three miles beyond Palos, passing through scenery unattractive and
sad, you sight some clumps of trees. Then a hill rises against the sky.
Slowly climbing, you bring the roofs and cupolas of a lone white building into
view; they are found to pertain to a convent structure of the olden style. It is
a rambling building but compactly inclosed within a high wall, and is extremely
picturesque. I was very fortunate, later on, in securing a fine photograph of it,
as clouds lay massed beyond and a flock of sheep slowly grazed before it.
And it was thus I found it, this Convent of La Rabida, at the gate of which
Columbus halted to request refreshment for his son. How he came to such a
secluded place as La Rabida, no one has explained; but he probably made for
the coast of Spain, thinking perhaps to obtain a vessel at Huelva, then, as now,
a shipping port to foreign parts. Indeed, this very spot is the Tarshish of the
Bible, and the Phoenicians came here more than two thousand years ago; those
men of Tyre, who discovered a passage between the Pillars of Hercules.
But Columbus came here, halted at the gate (the arched entrance at the
right), and the prior of the convent chanced to see him and to enter into con-
versation with him. Struck by his dignified appearance, and also by his evident
learning, the prior invited him to tarry a while, and soon he had his visitor's
story: it was a tale of long-deferred plans, of wearisome waiting and of crushing
defeat. That very night the prior caused his mule to be saddled and started for
Granada, pursuing the same weary road through Palos and Moguer that I have
traversed (only he was not favored by steam or stage) to the camp, perhaps two
hundred miles away.
The convent to-day is in excellent preservation, having been carefully re-
stored and placed in the care of a faithful old soldier. I found the family in
possession so simple and so kindly disposed, that I craved permission to pass the
day and night there, which they readily granted. So, paying my donkey boy
double wages, and sending him back to Mogeur with a kind message for the
friendly landlord, I was soon placed in control of the convent, isolate from all
the world. Not Fray Perez could have possessed it more completely. I wan-
dered at will through its corridors, its cloisters and vacant refectory; I rambled
over the hills back and beyond the convent hills covered with artemisia and
stunted pines and indulged in solitary reverie to my heart's content.
Climbing the winding stairway to the mirador, I had before me through the
arched openings, broad vistas of the river and the sea. Directly beneath, the
hill sloped rapidly to the half-submerged lands of the river and sound. Half-
way down its slope was a date-palm, said to have been there in the time of Colum-


bus; perhaps equally old are a gnarled and twisted fig-tree and two gray-green
olives that keep it company. Extending southward, even to the mouth of the
Guadalquivir, are the Arenas Gordas, or the great sands that make this coast a
solitary waste. Truly, it is a lonesome spot, this upon which the building is
perched, and the soul of Columbus must have been aweary as he drew near the
convent portal. The Domingo Rubio, a sluggish stream tributary to the Tinto,
separates from Rabida a sandy island, where there is an ancient watch-tower
and a camp of carbineers on the watch for contrabandistas. A little to the west
the Domingo Rubio meets with, and is lost in, the Rio Tinto, and the two join
with the Odiel and flow tranquilly on to the ocean, where the foaming breakers

(Here the Admiral, the Prior and the Doctor held the conversation that led to the monk's intercession with Isabella.)

roar with a sound that reaches even to La Rabida. Beyond their united waters
again is another sandy island and another distant watch-tower, till the low coast
fades away in the distance. Down this channel sailed, or floated, Columbus,
bringing his boats from Palos, on his way to the sea.
The landscape is flat, with distant woods, and, farther off, a hint of purple
hills. Opposite, across the bay, lies Huelva, like a snowdrift white upon a
tongue of land between copper-colored hills and the sea. A dreary landscape,
yet a bright sun in its setting might make it transiently glorious.


The old soldier in charge of the convent, Don Cristobal Garcia, the concerge,
was evidently straitened in circumstances, yet he was cheerful, and his hospi-
tality shone forth resplendently. He laughingly informed me that he rejoiced
in the same name as Columbus, Cristobal; but, he added, he had never done
anything to make it illustrious. He and his family lived in a primitive and even
pitiful state at meal times gathering around a common platter; but my own
meals they served me on snowy linen at a table apart. There were six of them:
the old man, his wife, a little girl named Isabel, some twelve years old, and
three boys. Isabel, poor child, pattered about the stone pavement with bare feet;
but they were pretty feet, and her little
brown ankles were neatly turned. There TI"' -- "it f .
was another member of the family, evi- "
dently an intruder, a little chap clad solely 'v
in a short shirt, who had squint eyes and
a great shock of bristly black hair. Don
Cristobal told me that he was a descendant
of one of the Indians brought to Spain
from America on the first voyage; and as
the child's face was certainly that of an
Indian, I was more than half inclined to f -'
believe the story. The little people were THE COURTYARD OF LA RABIDA.
delighted with the peeps I gave them
through my camera, and capered about with delight at the sight of the court.
and its flowers spread out before them in miniature, and nearly jumped out of
their jackets at the image of the grave old concerge standing on his head.
"Mira Mira!" they exclaimed, and gazed at me with awe and wonder.
Don Cristobal gave me a bed in one of the cloister-cells the very one, he-
assured me, that Columbus occupied. I slept well through the night. It.
was a disappointment to me that I did not dream and receive a visitation from
some steel-clad hidalgo, or from a girdled monk or two. At six in the morning
I was awakened by the good concerge, who inquired if Don Federico would not.
like a little refreshment. Don Federico would; and well he did, for it was three
or four hours before he received a hint of breakfast. The eldest boy had gone-
to Palos for twenty cents' worth of meat and two eggs, making apparent the-
poverty of my host. He did not return until ten, and then we had breakfast;
and there were the two eggs, which the mistress could not have regarded more
proudly had they been golden, for they were very scarce at that time in Palos,.
and it was waiting on a hen's pleasure that caused the boy's delay. He had been
told to bring back two eggs, and if two hens had not happened along quite
opportunely, I might have been waiting that boy's return to this day.
The rain had fallen all the forenoon and had made the convent cold and
cheerless, so a fire was built in the fireplace of the ancient monks, and as it


crackled and leaped in the huge chimney throat, we were warmed to our very
hearts. After the rain had ceased, and while the sun was struggling fiercely
with the clouds, we ate our dinner in the corridor, which ran around a court or
patio open to the sky. This court was filled with flowers; vines crept up the
pillars; figs and oranges had possessed themselves of space enough for luxuriant
growth. From it many cloisters opened out, but there was one, still farther in,
where the chamber-cells of the monks were very numerous. Off at one side is
the chapel where it is said Columbus knelt in prayer, and on the opposite side
a passage leads to the refectory, where the stone benches on which the good
monks sat are empty and chill.
Climbing a narrow stairway, you come to a corner room overlooking the
Rio Tinto a large square room, with floor of earthen tiles and ceiling of cedar,
with dark beams overhead. This is the Columbus Room," where the great
Admiral, the Prior and the learned Doctor held the famous consultation which
resulted in the monk's intercession with Isabella. Many a painting has repre-
sented this historic scene, perhaps none more faithfully than the one hung in
the room itself. An immense table old, but sturdy still, and around which the
great men are said to have gathered occupies the center of the room, and on it
is the tintero, or inkstand, said to have been used by them. Around the wall
are hung several excellent pictures: one representing the discovery of land, one
showing Columbus at the convent gate, another the consultation, the embark-
ation at Palos, the publication of the king's commands, and the final departure.
I wonder if the old monks of the days gone by enjoyed, as I did, the seclusion
of the place and the sunset view from the mirador ? In pleasant weather, when
the hot sun shines, it must be supremely attractive to one sitting in the shade
and looking forth upon the sea. Drowsy insects hum outside, the half-sup-
pressed noises of maritime life float in on the breeze, and lively swallows fly in
and out, twittering to one another as they seek their nests. Ah! pleasant
mirador, overlooking the historic Rio Tinto and the sea. The view afforded
here comprises the scenes attendant upon the momentous departure. Right
before us, on the Domingo Rubio, it was, that Columbus careened his vessels
and took aboard his stores, just before setting sail; somewhere near the mole
he took his final farewell of the good prior, the last, best friend he had in
Spain; and beyond the sand-spits glimmer the breakers on the Bar of Saltes.
Down the stream, beyond the Tinto, glide lateen-sails toward the bar the
sailors crossed in 1492. Don Cristobal went down to engage passage for me in
a mystick, or little sloop, that was lading with ballast at the river bank, and
;soon I followed him to the mole, where a carabinero rowed me across the inlet.
It was on, or near, this very spot that Columbus cleared for his voyage; and
what thoughts filled my mind as I tarried here! But not a thought had the
men for aught save their sand, which they would take to Huelva and sell for
ballast. If I would wait I was welcome to a passage; but they thought that by


crossing the sands I could hail a fisherman in the main channel as he came in
from the sea. The carabinero took me to an ancient tower where his com-
panions were, two of whom rowed me in a boat to mid-channel, and I hnd the
*good luck to catch a fisherman bound for Huelva. We sailed away with a spank-
ing breeze, arriving there in half an hour. Two men and a boy comprised the

4. --- ------ -___--


crew, and an immense fish the catch. As we drew near the quay a boy drove
a mule-cart into the water, backed it up to the boat, and loaded us all into it,
cargo and crew. Once on shore, a little urchin led the way to the railway station,
where I spent the time in gazing wistfully at Palos and La Rabida.
The convent lay shining against a bank of clouds; Palos, also, and Moguer
gleaming white against the hills. Two leagues away lay the sea; and I had
just ploughed the channel crossed by the world-seeking caravels four hundred
years ago. And so I left this historic triad of towns which had evoked for me
so many memories of the great century that joined the Old World with the New,
shining against the barren hills, as they have shone in memory ever since.
Frederick A. Ober.


H URRAH! hurrah! A race a race!
Over the frozen stream,
Swift of foot and eager of face.
Where the snow and hoar-frost gleam,
Laughter, and shouts, and warning cries,
Echo the woodland through,
As bounding, scrambling, scurrying flies
The jostling merry rabbit crew,
Driven by elves as wild as they,
Gliding after with reins held fast.
See! one mad Bunny has broken away,
Fearful his team should be in at the last,
And out from the thicket in dazed surprise
His staid old parents are peeping,
Wond'ring, perhaps, a-rubbing their eyes,
If they're really waking or sleeping.
Ida Warner Van der Voort.


I Id-
\' /'. i',. .

_:. '.. ,

............ ,;
AT,, F:UL L "OTLE ..

L.. :.. ;....-.- 1:.-

_. .r ,.. .. :--: ..-



THRO' growing lilies tall as wheat,
Thro' Easter lilies white as
There looks a face demurely sweet,
There walks a child with tender feet, -.1
New-wakened from her cradle-dream.

Was ever head so golden-curled ?
Were ever cheeks so winsome red ?
" I saw her first," the robin said;
The Infant Year has left her bed
And smiles good-morrow" round
the world.

0, joy for waiting eyes to see!
You bring us from your couch of
The vernal song, the morning glow,
And all the hopes of moons ago
And sunbeams of the weeks to be.

Your sign, dear Spirit of the spring,
For every year- in heaven is set;
Your annual spell shall ever yet
Make Time delay and Age forget,
Till youth is lord of everything.
Theron Brown.

A S a quaint and carven casket may some precious treasure hold,
So this proverb from the Orient doth a gracious truth enfold:
"We should spread our garments widely when the heavens are raining gold."
Ruth Hall.


H -OLD me fast, mamma, when we enter the Khan. I
H *am afraid."
"Afraid of what, Ebno'l Amed?" Umdhabai exclaimed,
turning sharply upon her son.
The little fellow was only ten years old, but he did not
look like one who would be much afraid of anything, as he stood, barefooted
on the sand, facing his mother. Those were his words, however, and he was
her only child her fatherless boy, in a land where men and boys were valued
simply according to their courage.
"Allah forbid it!" Umdhabai added angrily. "Ebno'l Amed is not a.
Slowly and thoughtfully the boy asked:
"Is he always a coward who is afraid ?"
Umdhabai nodded her head, and he added, "Then, mamma, I must be a.
coward, for I am afraid."
Umdhabai almost dropped the basket of fruit she was carrying, and, dumb
with anger and mortification, stood looking down upon the little figure.
Behind them was the little village where they lived upon the edge of the
great desert. They were on their way to a large Khan with a well where cara-
vans encamped for a day when coming or going over that trackless sea.
At daybreak that morning, they had seen the long black line, twisting and
writhing as it crept like a serpent over the glistening sand, indicating that a.
trailing train of camels, with drooping heads and lagging feet, came out of the
desert, and all the villagers gathered baskets of fruit and hurried toward the
Khan, sure of a good market day.
Umdhabai forgot her errand, however, as she stood in silence, looking scorn-
fully down, while Ebno'l Amed asked, Will papa ever come back to us ?"
"Never!" she replied solemnly. "He has taken the long journey. But
he was a brave man. He has gone where the Prophet promised to the brave
eternal happiness. No coward will ever follow him."
Not heeding the taunt, Ebno'l Amed asked:
If the famine comes again, mamma, what can you do without papa ?"
"I must sell my jewels," she replied, glancing at the necklace which she
wore, in the common custom of her people who carry all of their wealth about.
them, as ornaments, for want of some safer place to put it. Umdhabai was still
very angry, however, and added: "They came from a brave man. Shall they
go to keep a coward from starving ?"
Ebno'l Amed's lip quivered, and his eyes were bright with tears; but he went


,on with his thought: If the famine lasted longer than th" jewels, mamma,
-couldn't I help some ?"
"A coward is like the south wind; bringing sand instead of rain," said
Umdhabai fiercely.
If I am near you I can help you," Ebno'l Amed insisted, Only for that
I wouldn't be afraid to go to the Khan alone, to sell the fruit; but I heard men
say that the caravan this morning was led by the terrible Abu'l Hasham."
"Abu'l Hasham!" Umdhabai exclaimed, with a startled shudder. Come,
let us go back."
No, no, mamma," the boy pleaded. Only keep your hand on me. Then
he cannot steal me, and I shall not be afraid. I am too small to fight him, and
if he carried me far away and sold me for a slave, I could not help you, mamma.
Come and he tugged upon her sarai.
After what she had been saying about bravery, Umdhabai did not dare to let
Ebno'l Amed see how thoroughly she herself was frightened by that name of
Abu'l Hasham- the terror of every tribe and village of North Africa; so lay-
ing a trembling hand upon his shoulder, she reluctantly started toward the Khan
to sell her fruit in the caravan of the brigand slave-collector.
It was a miserable desert town they entered; but it boasted a mud wall,
-with two gates, bearing their names in great letters on the arch: Gate of
the Desert and Gate of the Sea."
Ebno'l Amed was chatting fearlessly enough, now, but his mother's face
.grew very anxious as the bedlam of voices greeted them from the Khan, where
men, women and children, in the inevitable fashion of an Oriental caravan, were
:shouting and wrangling in different languages, and camels and dromedaries were
grunting and groaning as they went through the laborious task of lying down.
It was not the confusion which disturbed Umdhabai, however, for ordinarily
:she would have hurried to the noisiest quarter, sure that there the people would
be the most wide awake, and in a moment she would have been shouting and
wrangling with the rest, selling her fruit faster than any of her neighbors.
'To-day she would have given it all away rather than go near the place.
Upon the very outskirts of the Khan she sat down, with the basket in front
of her, and one arm about her boy.
"Why don't you shout, mamma ?" he asked; but receiving no reply he, too,
lapsed into silence, and sat watching the camels and playing with the silver
bands upon his mother's ankle.
There had only been a few customers when Ebno'l Amed felt the arm
tighten about him and tremble, and, looking up, he saw a tall Moor, with a white
beard and a scar on one side of his face. The man paused, and asked the price
,of all the fruit left in the basket.
Take it without money. It has no price," Umdhabai replied, pushing the
*basket toward him with her foot. It was the same form which the Prophet


Isaiah used, and which one hears every day in the East, where there are venders
of anything. The usual meaning is that the purchaser is expected to be par-
ticularly liberal; but for once in her life Umdhabai would have been glad to be
taken at her word.
The Moor placed the basket on his shoulder, simply asking, Where shall
I send the money ?"
"To the house nearest to the Gate of the Desert," Umdhabai replied in a
faint voice as she rose to her feet, and taking Ebno'l Amed by the hand whis-
pered, Come, we must hurry."
Faster and faster she walked, till the boy was obliged to run. They passed
the house by the gate, then the gate,
.and still hurried on over the sand toward a '".
the village. .. i t
At first Ebno'l Amed wondered why
his mother had sacrificed the price of
her fruit rather than tell the Moor truly
where she lived, but as they hurried on
he looked up and asked:
"Mamma, was that Abu'l Hasham ?"
Umdhabai did not answer, for, in
truth, no one had told her that it was
he; but Ebno'l Amned knew well enough
that he was right, and shuddered as he
thought that he had looked, for a mo-
ment, into the face of Abu'l Hasham,
the slave-dealer.

All day long the mother's eyes were
kept upon her boy. Ebno'l Amed real-
:ized it, and was glad of it; for he had
heard many a story of the mysterious
ways by which Abu'l Hasham stole whom he would, carried them off, and sold
them as slaves.
He tried to make himself think that he was not a coward, and was not afraid,
but he knew very well that he was afraid.
Ebno'l Amed slept upon a mat, close to his mother, upon the earth floor of
the one little room in their hut; but above that room, and close under the roof,
his father had constructed a low, dark loft, where they often stored their fruit
when it was ripening too fast, and, though it was not a comfortable place to
sleep, Ebno'l Amed obeyed without a word, when his mother directed him to take
1his mat up there for the night.
It seemed as though he could never go to sleep. The moment he shut his


eyes, he found himself looking straight into Abu'l Hasham's face again. When
he did sleep, however, he slept very soundly, and it was so dark in the loft that
he slept very late.
Through a crack in the palm-leaf roof he could see that it was broad day-
light when he opened his eyes, and, wondering that his mother had not called
him to say his prayers at sunrise, he crept to the opening into the room below.
Looking down, he started back in terror, and his heart stood still. All was
confusion there. The mat upon which his mother slept was torn, and Umdhabai
was nowhere to be seen.
Gathering courage, at last, he dropped to the floor, and hurried to the open
door. No. She was not anywhere. Looking toward the nearest huts, he saw at
once that something very serious had happened.
A few old men and women were sitting on the ground, before the doors,
wailing and moaning as they did at funerals. It could not be that his mother was
dead, or they would be at his door, instead. Yet she could not be alive, or she
would surely be there, wailing and moaning with the rest.
While he stood, wondering, in the door, he caught one name which the
mourners pronounced louder and more frequently than all the rest. It was
"Abu'l Hasham."
Then he knew it all; and dropping upon the ground, with his back against
the mud wall, all alone Ebno'l Amed began to wail and moan like the rest.
In a sort of spontaneous poetry, to which the Arabic is particularly adapted,
he put his thoughts into words and sang them, in a low, sad chant.
"Abu'l Hasham, the terrible, came to my home, last night," he moaned.
"My mother feared his coming, and she thought only of me. She hid me away
from him. But he came. Oh he came. While I slept in safety, he came in the
night. Yes, he came and he took my mother the light of my eyes the
breath of my body the blood of my heart. He has carried her away He will
sell her for a slave, far, far away from her, people. 0, Umdhabai, Mamma
Umdhabai! why did I sleep? Why did I" -
He suddenly stopped the chant, and sat looking at his little hands, as he
slowly clasped and unclasped them.
Is Ebno'l Amed a coward? he asked himself. "Is he like the south
wind, which brings the sand and no rain ? If I can help my mother, it will be
by being where she is."
He sprang to his feet, and entered the hut. A moment later he came out,
wrapped up in a long white sarai, a badge of mourning, and leaving the village
walked directly toward the town.
Another caravan was in the Khan. Abu'l Hasham, with his captives, had left
during the night, by the Gate of the Sea. As the sun was setting, the second
caravan roused itself and started in the same direction. Among the motley col-
lection of followers who often form a large, unmounted company behind a great

B O L ED A A TR -A _E '.


" The manfilled his cup and Ebno'l Amed looked up
to find himself face to face with Abu'l Iashaam."

~*i~r -


S I :s





caravan, they noticed a little atom of humanity so completely covered with a
mourning sarai, that it was hard to say if it were a boy or girl. It was no one'si
concern where it came from or whither it went. The grand Mussulman law of
hospitality provided the little stranger with food and shelter, but beyond that
the national lack of curiosity allowed him to follow his own course, unmolested.
As the caravan entered the gate of the great city on the sea, there was
excitement and consternation everywhere. Some British soldiers were posting
a notice upon the arch, stating that the English government had discovered a
plot to injure her subjects between the desert and the sea, and to rise in insur-
rection. The man who was at the head of it was known to be in that region,
and a large reward was offered for him, dead or alive. He was Abu'l Hasham.

Ebno'l Amed left the caravan, and turned into the first narrow alley which
they passed. He, alone, knew that Abu'l Hasham must have entered that same
gate, only a few hours before; but he had no one to whom he could go for
advice. Instinct told him that as soon as Abu'l Hasham saw those notices he
would make his escape, and that if he was to do anything to rescue his mother
he must do it quickly.
He wanted to be alone, to see if he could not think out what should be done.
He turned into one narrow alley after another, pulling the soiled sarai closer
about him, and slowly walking along the damp and slimy pavement so differ-
ent from his own desert sand without so much as noticing it, though it was
the first time in his life that he had ever been in a city.
While he was wandering on, a water-carrier passed him. He noticed the
skin water-bag, and, being very thirsty, he turned round and called to the man,
asking him for a drink. He called twice, but the man seemed little inclined to
heed him; but, turning, Ebno'l Amed ran after him, caught him by the arm,
and shouted: Water In Allah's name, give me water! "
Then the man paused and filled his cup, and Ebno'l Amed, while he waited,
looked up at him, to find himself face to face again with Abu'l Hasham.
He was too thoroughly frightened to utter a sound. He even took the water
and drank it, without knowing what he did; but the whole situation was unfold-
ing itself in the boy's mind. He realized that, disguised as a water-carrier, Abu'l
Hasham was stealing down those deserted alleys intent upon escaping from the
city. He knew that if he let him go he would escape, and all hope of saving
his mother would be lost. As the water-carrier hurried on, Ebno'l Amed tried
to throw off the fright, and as it was all he could do, he fixed two bright,
black eyes upon the retreating figure, determined not to lose sight of him.
On and on they went, twisting about in the narrow lanes, till the water-carrier
suddenly turned to the right. While Ebno'l Amed was wondering why, and hur-
rying to catch up with him again, he almost ran into the very officers whom he
saw at the gate, putting up the notice.


Even in the excitement of the moment he wondered why he had not thought
of them before, and, though he could not speak a word except Arabic, he caught
the nearest one by the coat, and pointing down the alley, eagerly repeated that
one name, "Abu'l Hasham "
Fortunately, that was all that was wanted, and Ebno'l Amed ran after them
as they chased the water-carrier and took him prisoner.
There was great excitement at the British headquarters when it was known
that the Government had secured its prize in less than an hour after publishing
its offer. Ebno'l Amed was a very small boy to possess so much money, but the
reward was fairly won, and they prepared to fulfill the promise.
When they told him of the wealth that would be his, however, he simply
shook his head, and replied:
"I don't want it. What could I do with it? I want my mamma. Abu'l
Hasham stole her away from me, and brought her to sell her as a slave, and I
followed him to get her back. I want my mamma."
This was still greater news to the officers who were working hard to sup-
press slave-stealing. The captives were found, and were all set free, while the
servants of Abu'l Hasham were arrested.
That was a grand day for Ebno'l Amed. Umdhabai clasped him in.her arms
-the proudest mother of the bravest boy among all the Arabs; and when the
rest of the captives saw who had set them free, they made a royal palanquin out
of their arms and shoulders, and in a grand, triumphal procession they bore
him, day after day, all the way from the sea to his desert home.
Abd el Ardavan.



TWO hours steam south from Singapore out into the famous Straits of Ma-
lacca, or one day's steam north from the equator, stands Raffles's Light-
house. Sir Stamford Raffles, the man from whom it took its name, rests in
Westminster Abbey, and a heroic-sized bronze statue of him graces the center
of the beautiful ocean esplanade of Singapore, the city he founded.
It was on the rocky island on which stands this light, that we the mistress
and I -played Robinson Crusoe or, to be nearer the truth, Swiss Family
It was hard to imagine, I confess, that the beautiful steam launch that
brought us was a wreck; that our half-dozen Chinese servants were members of
the family; that the ton of impedimenta was the flotsam of the sea; that the
Eurasian keeper and his attendants were cannibals; but we closed our eyes to
all disturbing elements, and only remembered that we were alone on a sun-lit
rock in the midst of a sun-lit sea, and that the dreams of our childhood were, to
some extent, realized.
What live American boy has not had the desire, possibly but half-admitted,
to some day be like his hero, dear old Crusoe, on a tropical island, monarch of
all, hampered by no dictates of society or fashion ? I admit my desire, and,
further, that it did not leave me as I grew older.
We had just time to inspect our little island home before the sun went
down, far out in the Indian Ocean.


Originally the island had been but a barren, uneven rock, the resting-place
for gulls; but now its summit has been made flat by a coating of concrete.
There is just enough earth between the concrete and the rocky edges of the
island to support a circle of cocoanut-trees, a great almond-tree, and a queer-
looking banyan-tree, whose wide-spreading arms extend over nearly half the
little plaza. Below the light-house, and set back like caves into the side of the
island, are the kitchen and the servants' quarters, a covered passageway con-

... *
JA "I--


necting them with the rotunda of the tower, in which we have set our dining-
Ah Ming, our China boy," seems to be inveterate in his determination to
spoil our Swiss Family Robinson illusion. We are hardly settled before he
comes to us.
SMem (mistress), "no have got ice-e-blox. Ice-e all glow away."
"Very well, Ming. Dig a hole in the ground, and put the ice in it."
How can dig ? Glound all same, hard like ice-e."
"Well, let the ice melt," I reply. Robinson Crusoe had no ice."
In a half-hour Jim, the cook, comes up to speak to the Mem." He lowers
his cue, brushes the creases out of his spotless shirt, draws his face down, and


Mem, no have got chocolate, how can make puddlin' ? "
I laugh outright. Jim looks hurt.
"Jim, did you ever hear of one Crusoe ?"
"No, Tuan (Lord.)
"Well, he was a Tuan who lived for thirty years without once eating
chocolate 'puddlin'.' We'll not eat any for ten days. Sabe ?"
Jim retires, mortified and astonished.
Inside of another half-hour, the. Tukang Ayer or water carrier arrives on the
scene. He is simply dressed in a pair of knee-breeches. He complains of a
lack of silver polish, and is told to pound up a stone for the knives, and let the
silver alone.
We are really in the heart of a small archipelago. All about us are verdure-
covered islands. They are now the homes of native fishermen, but a century
ago they were hiding-places for the fierce Malayan pirates whose sanguinary
deeds made the peninsula a byword in the mouths of Europeans.
A rocky beach extends about the island proper, contracting and expanding
as the tide rises and falls. On this beach a hundred and one varieties of shells
glisten in the salt water, exposing their delicate shades of coloring to the rays
of the sun. Coral formations of endless design and shape come to view through
the limpid spectrum, forming a perfect submarine garden of wondrous beauty.
Through the shrubs, branches, ferns and sponges of coral, the brilliantly col-
ored fish of the Southern seas sport like gold-fish in some immense aquarium.
We draw out our chairs within the protection of the almond-tree, and watch
the sun sink slowly to a level with the masts of a bark that is bound for Java
and the Borneoan coasts. The black, dead lava of our island becomes molten
for the time, and the flakes of salt left on the coral reef by the out-going tide
are filled with suggestions of the gold of my Idahoan home. A faint breeze
rustles among the long, fan-like leaves of the palm, and brings out the rich
yellow tints with their background of green. A clear, sweet aroma comes from
out the almond-tree. The red sun and the white sheets of the bark sail away
together for the Spice Islands of the South Pacific.
We sleep in a room in the heart of the light-house. The stairway leading
to it is so steep that we find it necessary to hold on to a knotted rope as we
ascend. Hundreds of little birds, no larger than sparrows, dash by the windows,
flying into the face of the gale that rages during the night, keeping up all the
time a sharp, high note that sounds like wind blowing on telegraph wires.
Every morning, at six o'clock, Ah Ming clambers up the perpendicular stair-
way, with tea and toast. We swallow it hurriedly, wrap a sarong about us, and
take a dip in the sea, the while keeping our eyes open for sharks. Often, after a
bath, while stretched out in a long chair, we see the black fins of a man-eater
cruising just outside the reef. I do not know that I ever hit one, but I used a
good deal of lead firing at them.


One morning we started on an exploring expedition, in the keeper's jolly-
boat. It was only a short distance to the first island, a small rocky one, with a
bit of sandy beach, along which were scattered the charred embers of past fires.
From under our feet darted the grotesque little robber crabs, with their stolen
shell houses on their backs. A great white jelly-fish, looking like a big tapioca.
pudding, had been washed up with the tide out of the reach of the sea, and a
small colony of ants was feasting on it. We did not try to explore the interior
of the islet. We named it
Fir Island from its crown of
fir-like casuarina-trees,
which sent out on every
breeze a balsamic odor that.
was charged with far-away
New England recollections.
The next island was a.
S large one. The keeper said
it was called Pulo Seneng,.
or Island of Leisure, and
held a little campong, or
village of Malays, w inder an
old Penghulo, or chief,
named Wahpering. We
HPER' BUNGALOW. found, on nearing the verd-
ure-covered island, that *it
looked much larger than it really was. The woods grew out into the sea for
a quarter of a mile. We entered the wood by a narrow walled inlet, and
found ourselves for the first time in a mangrove swamp. The trees all seemed
to be growing on stilts. A perfect labyrinth of roots stood up out of the water,
like a rough scaffold, on which rested the tree trunks, high and dry above the
flood. From the limbs of the trees hung the seed pods, two feet in length,
sharp-pointed at the lower end, while on the upper end, next to the tree, was.
a russet pear-shaped growth. They are so nicely balanced that when in their
maturity they drop from the branches, they fall upright in the mud, literally
planting themselves.
The Penghulo's house, or bungalow, stood at the head of the inlet. The old
man -he must have been sixty- donned his best clothes, relieved his mouth
of a great red quid of betel, and came out to welcome us. He gracefully touched-
his forehead with the back of his open palm, and mumbled the Malay greeting :
Tabek, Tuan ? (How are you, my lord ?)
When the keeper gave him our cards, and announced us in florid language,
the genial old fellow touched his forehead again, and in his best Bugis Malay
begged the great Rajah and Ranee to enter his humble home.


The only way of entering a Malay home is by a rickety ladder six feet high,
and through a four-foot opening. I am afraid that the great "Rajah and Ranee"
lost some of their lately acquired dignity in accepting the invitation.
Wahpering's bungalow, other than being larger and roomier than the ordi-
nary bungalow, was exactly like all others in style and architecture.
It was built close to the water's edge, on palm posts six feet above the ground.
This was for protection from the tiger, from thieves, from the water, and for
sanitary reasons. Within the house we could just stand upright. The floor
was of split bamboo, and was elastic to the foot, causing a sensation which at
first made us step carefully. The open places left by the crossing of the bam-
boo slats were a great convenience to the Penghulo's wives, as they could sweep
all the refuse of the house through them; they might also be a great accommo-
dation to the Penghulo's enemies, if he
had any, for they could easily ascertain
the exact mat on which he slept, and stab
him with their keen krises from beneath.
In one corner of the room was the
hand loom on which the Penghulo's old
wife was weaving the universal article of
dress, the sarong.
The weaving of a sarong represents
the labor of twenty days, and when we
gave the dried-up old worker two dollars
and a half for one, her syrah-stained
gums broke forth from between her
bright-red lips in a ghastly grin of
There must have been the represen-
tatives of at least four generations under
the Penghulo's hospitable roof. Men and
women, alike, were dressed in the skirt- THE CHIEF'S "IEST WIFE."
like sarong which fell from the waist
down; above that some of the older women wore another garment called a Ka-
baya. The married women were easily distinguishable by their swollen gums
and filed teeth.
The roof and sides of the house were of attap. This is made from the
long, arrow-like leaves of the nipah palm. Unlike its brother palms the cocoa,
the sago, the gamooty and the areca the nipah is short, and more like a giant
cactus in growth. Its leaves are stripped off by the natives, then bent over a
bamboo rod and sewed together with fibers of the same palm. When dry they
become glazed and waterproof.
The tall, slender areca palm, which stands about every campong, supplies


the natives with their great luxury an acorn, known as the betel-nut, which
when crushed and mixed with lime leaves, takes the place of our chewing tobacco.
In fact, the bright-red juice seen oozing from the corners of a Malay's mouth is
as much a part of himself as is his sarong or kris. Betel-nut chewing holds
its own against the opium of the Chinese and the tobacco of the European.
As soon as we shook hands ceremoniously with the Penghulo's oldest wife,
and tabeked to the rest of his big family, the old man scrambled down the ladder,
and sent a boy up a cocoanut-tree for some fresh nuts. In a moment half a
dozen of the great oval green nuts came
pounding down into the sand. Another
little fellow snatched them up, and with
a sharp parang, or hatchet-like knife,
cut away the soft shuck until the cocoa-
nut took the form of a pyramid, at the
apex of which he bored a hole and a
stream of delicious cool milk gurgled out.
We needed no second invitation to apply
our lips to the hole. The meat inside
was so soft that we could eat it with a
spoon. The cocoanut of commerce con-
tains hardly a suggestion of the tender
fleshy pulp of a freshly-picked nut.
We left the Penghulo's house with the
old chief in the bow of our boat he in-
sisted upon seeing that we were properly
announced to his subjects -and pro-
SL needed along the coast for half a mile, and
then up a swampy lagoon to its head.
The tall tops of the palms wrapped everything in a cool green twilight.
The waters of the lagoon were filled with little bronze forms, swimming and
sporting about in its tepid depths regardless of the cruel eyes that gleamed at
them from great log-like forms among the mangrove roots.
Dozens of naked children fled up the rickety ladders of their homes as we
approached. Ring-doves flew through the trees, and tame monkeys chattered
at us from every corner. The men came out to meet us, and did the hospitali-
ties of their village; and when we left our boat was loaded down with presents
of fish and fruit.
Almost every day after that did. we visit the campong, and were always wel-
comed in the same cordial manner.
Wahpering was tireless in his attentions. He kept his Sampan Besar, or big
boat, with its crew at our disposal day after day.
One day I showed him the American flag. He gazed at it thoughtfully and


said, Baik! (Good.) "How big your country ?" I tried to explain. He
listened for a moment. "Big as Negri Blanda ?" (Holland.) I laughed. A
thousand times larger!" The old fellow shook his head sadly, and looked at
me reproachfully.
Tidak! Tidak!"(No, no.) "Rajah. Orang Blanda (Dutchman) show me
chart of the world. Holland all red. Take almost all the world. Rest of coun-
tries small, small. All in one little corner. How can Rajah say his country
big ?"
There was no denying the old man's knowledge; I, too, had seen one of
these Dutch maps of the world, which are circulated in Java to make the natives
think that Holland is the greatest nation on earth.
One day glided into another with surprising rapidity. We could swim, ex-
plore, or lie out in our long chairs, and read and listlessly dream. All about our
little island the silver sheen of the sea was checkered with sails. These strange
native craft held for me a lasting fascination. I gazed out at them as they glided
by, and saw in them some of the rose-colored visions of my youth. Piracy,
Indian Rajahs and spice islands seemed to live in their queer red sails and palm-
matting roofs. At night a soft warm
breeze blew from off shore and lulled us
to sleep ere we were aware.
One morning the old chief made us a
visit before we were up. He announced
his approach by a salute from a muzzle-
loading musket. I returned it by a dis-
charge from my revolver. He had come
over with the morning tide to ask us
to spend the day, as his guests, wild-pig
hunting. Of course we accepted with
alacrity. I am not going to tell you how
we found all the able-bodied men and
dogs on the island awaiting us, how they
beat the jungle with frantic yells and
shouts while we waited on the opposite
side, or even how many pigs we shot.
It would all take too long. A MALAY BOY.
We went fishing every day. The many-
colored and many-shaped fish we caught were a constant wonderment to us.
One was bottle-green, with sky-blue fins and tail, and striped with lines of gold.
Its skin was stiff and firm as patent leather. Another was pale-blue, with a
bright-red proboscis two inches long. We caught cuttle-fish with great lustrous
eyes, long jelly feelers and a plentiful supply of black fluid; squibs, prawns,
mullets, crabs and devil-fish. These last are considered great delicacies by


the natives. We had one fried. Its meat was perfectly white, and tasted like
a tallow candle.
The day on which we were to leave, Wahpering brought us some fruit and
fish and a pair of ring-doves. Motioning me to one side he whispered, the
while looking shyly at the mistress, Ranee very beautiful! How much you
pay?" I was staggered for the moment, and made him repeat his question.
'This time I could not mistake him. How much you pay for wife ?" He gave
his thumb a jerk in the direction of the mistress. I saw that he was really
serious, so I collected my senses, and, with a practical, business-like air, answered,
"' Two hundred dollars." The old fellow sighed.
"The great Rajah very rich I pay fifty for best wife."
I have not tried to tell you all we did on our tropical island playing Robinson
Crusoe. I have only tried to convey some little impression of a happy ten days
that will ever be remembered as one more of those glorious, oriental chapters
in our lives which are filled with the gorgeous colors of crimson and gold, the
delicate perfumes of spice-laden breezes and with imperishable visions of a
strange, old-world life.
They are chapters that we can read over and over again with an ever-increas-
ing interest as the years roll by.
Rounsevelle Wildman.

-P .



__ o-


WHEN the sleepy world in his bed of clouds
Turns over toward the dawning,
There are too many girls, and too many boys
Who sleep through the long, bright morning.
Then the sun peeps in through a chink to say
(But never a word do they hear -not they),
"The world is awake; the bird's in the blue;
He'll catch the worm; not you, not you."

But here are the girls, and here are the boys
Who woke with the birds' first singing;
They cry to the sun, You're a little late,
For the morning news we're bringing."
They top the hill, and they take the world,
These clear-eyed "Firsts,'" with their flag unfurled.
And the sun, with his kindly and wise old face,
Remarks to the earth, They're the heirs of the race."
Mary A. Lathbury.


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Ir .. ~I
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q '~n;lp~~='~:~~
I'?h 5

<-- *
LI.I. 'i'",, '*



HERE was a great commotion in the Killikelly cabin that
morning. There always was, for that matter, for they made
Sup the jolliest crowd of Irish children you ever saw, and the
little cabin at Fernsea was much too small to hold either the
crowd or the noise. But the laughing and shouting were so much
louder than usual, that if you had been there you would surely
have asked what it was all about.
No one need to stay in doubt long upon any matter in Fern-
sea, for news traveled quickly in the little village. It was simply
This: the Killikellys were going to America.
Poor little Patsey was happier than all the rest put together,
and when you say that you say a good deal, for hardly anybody
,except the babies slept a wink that night for joy. But Patsey had reason to be
glad, for as he was a cripple who had never been able to go far from home, even
in a jaunting car, the prospect of being carried more than two thousand miles
in a big steamer was more than delightful.
Patsey had read more than the rest about that wonderful land, and all that
he had heard and studied about it only whetted his curiosity and increased his
joy. Why," Meriky was where they had Indians, and gave away land to poor
people, and had paper for money. (They have only silver, gold and copper
money there, in Ireland, you know.) He knew about this because Jimmie.
Mack's sister, who was out at service in America, wrote long letters to Jimmie,
and told him all about these jolly things.
They were to sail in about a week, and the little Killikellys were busy
enough. They bade all their schoolmates good-by; helped to carry the lighter
articles of furniture to the neighbors who had bought them; gave away their
toys (they were not so much to look at, but they were very dear to them), so
that their playmates would have something to remember them by. So they
started over the field to the railway station one bright morning, a lark high up
in the sky singing them a cheery farewell song as they tramped away together.
Patsey carried in one hand a little leather satchel which knocked against his
crutch as he hobbled along. Little Mike offered to carry it for him, asking, with
wonder in his big blue eyes:
Phwat's in it, any way ?"
Oh! something' foine yez'll be sure to lose it, Mickey, if I lets yez carry it.
Oi can take it all rightt"
All their kindly entreaties were in vain. Patsey would neither tell them
what it held, nor allow it out of his sight one instant. Even when the pangs of


sea-sickness overtook him, on the third day out from Liverpool, the satchel lay
beneath his pillow.
All the Killikelleys declared they had never seen Patsey so happy. He hob-
bled around the deck, and talked with the sailors, who all had a cheery word for
the little lad. He amused the children, and had a kindly word for all he met.
It was because of his very kindness and good nature that his misfortune over-
took him. His mother was ill nearly all the time, and so Patsey undertook the
care of the baby, a blue-eyed midget of a boy about two years old. He was sit-
ting with the baby on his lap, and as the child threatened to cry, had given
him the precious satchel to play with. As he turned to answer a question of
.one of the younger children, Baby took the opportunity to throw the little black
bag over the rail; and Patsey's frightened eyes just caught a glimpse of it before


it disappeared. He made no outcry at first. He was too stunned and miserable.
But when he did commence to weep, he cried as if his heart would break.
Then he had to tell them all about it: how he had planned that they should
;all be rich in America; how he had cut up all his precious books and picture
,cards, and packed them in that bag, so that they should have plenty of paper
money in the strange land they were going to. They consoled him, sailors and
all, as best they might, and then left him, for he refused to be comforted.
Meanwhile Baby toddled about, and laughed at the crying boy.
By and by the story got all round the ship; and while some smiled a little at
-first, that a child should be so "simple," when they knew that it was little
-crippled Patsey who was so disconsolate, their pity took a very helpful form.
They told the cabin passengers about it, too, and everybody tried to give
something. There were crisp paper five-dollar and ten-dollar bills, and even the
silver and coppers given by the steerage passengers were changed into bills, so
that Patsey should still have paper money. It was all packed in another little
black satchel that one of the ladies gave, and then they all followed the captain
-when he went to find the poor boy.


He was sitting upon a coil of ropes, looking steadily over the water when
they approached. His cheeks were wet with recent tears. The captain didn't
make a speech or anything of that sort. He only told Patsey how sorry they
were for him; how careless babies were, because they didn't know any better,
and that perhaps it didn't matter, after all, about the
Satchel falling overboard, because the paper had to be
stamped in a certain way, as postage stamps were in
Ireland, before it could make anybody rich. He said
that they had found some of that right kind of stamped
money among the passengers of the ship, and had
packed it in a satchel like his, which they wanted him
.n to keep with their best wishes.
"HE HA GIVEN THE BABY THE When he opened the bag with trembling fingers,
and saw all the curious green and brown money, he
couldn't say one word; but although they told him not to mind about thanks,
his eyes said Thank you," much plainer than words could ever have done.
So he was rich, after all, and when they got to New York there was enough
money to set Patsey up in business; and now, over a little store, in a big
thoroughfare, you may read the sign of Patrick Killikelly, Newspapers and
Edith Perry Estes.


TOW, scholars," said the teacher new,
S" Since you can write and spell,
I'm sure in definition too
I'll find that you excel."

Each smiling scholar, open eyed,
The challenge seemed to wait.
Well, here's a word," the teacher cried-
Define to hibernate.' "

Up went a score of little hands.
Well, you may give it, Sam -
Stand up The blushing Webster stands:
"To dwell in Ireland, ma'm! "
James Buckham.

r i)





SOME springtime
In a nest will lie
an egg,
Blue as the stockings
On a peacock's leg;
Some sunny day
It will be a pulpy
With two frowzy
To break its fall.

Some April time,
When the rain has
passed away,
I shall find a Crow's-foot
Nodding blossoms gay.
Dandelion and fern
Will jump up at my feet,
As I begin to wonder
What can be so sweet.

An undiscovered country
In a little woodland plot;
Something's always new there,
Something's just forgot.

Mocking-bird and red-wing,
The kildee and jay,
All build their roof-trees
Where I see them ev'ry day.

Liverwort and lady's smock,
Wild clematis vine,
Cluster in a woodland -
God's, and thine, and mine.
Sallie Margaret O'Malley.

(A True Story.)

H E was a prince of some scholarly distinction, and was on a visit to Queen
Victoria at Windsor Castle. He went to the British Museum to see a
unique coin.
"Yes," said the keeper, taking the prince into a private room where the
treasure was locked up in a special cabinet; this is the only known example
of this particular coin; it is priceless as an imperial relic."
The prince examined it with suppressed excitement, looked at it through a
magnifying glass, and smiled with delight. The keeper was a shrewd man. He
saw that the prince had the true feeling of the connoisseur and collector, and he
was wary; for the passion of the enthusiastic antiquarian has been known to
lead the most honest men out of the paths of virtue. The keeper turned aside
for a moment, however, and during that moment the coin dropped upon the
floor. He heard it distinctly, and saw the prince stoop as if to pick it up.
"I have dropped it," said His Highness.
The keeper joined him in looking for it; but the treasure had disappeared.
It was nowhere to be seen. They both searched for it diligently. Ten, twenty,
thirty minutes passed away. The prince looked at his watch. "I am very
sorry, but I must go now," he said ; "I have a most important appointment."
The keeper rose from his stooping posture, went to the door, locked it, put
the key into his pocket, and then, looking his visitor straight in the eye, said:
" You cannot keep your appointment, sir, until you have restored to me the
coin I last saw in your hand."
But," said the prince, you will find it presently, and my engagement is at
I am very sorry; but you cannot leave this room until you have given me
back that coin."
Why, great heavens !" exclaimed the prince, one would think by your
manner that" -
Not at all," said the keeper, interrupting him; come, let us find it."
The prince bit his lip, turned pale, and they resumed the search. At the end
of an hour the prince insisted upon leaving the keeper to find it. His anxiety
to get away confirmed the British Museum official in his suspicion that the
prince had yielded to the collector's fever for possession. Time went on; the
prince now emphatically declared his intention to leave the place.
"If you insist," said the keeper, it will be my painful duty to call in a
detective officer, and have you searched."
Do you mean that? "


"I do, most assuredly," said the keeper.
"Then we must continue our search," observed the prince.
They did continue their search. Every nook and cranny were re-examined.
It was a polished oak floor. There was no furniture in the room beyond one
or two cabinets and a single chair. It seemed impossible to the keeper that
his coin could not be found, if it had really fallen from the prince's hand.
After a while the prince sat down, looking the picture of despair, when sud-
denly the keeper uttered a joyous exclamation. By the powers, it is here 1"
It had packed itself away against the skirting of the room as if glued there,
and being somewhat of the color of the yellowish oak it was impossible to see it,
even now, without going close to it.
"Thank God!" exclaimed the prince, with far more fervency than the
occasion seemed to demand.
My dear sir," said the keeper, "I am deeply grieved that I should have
seemed to doubt you; can you forgive me ?"
Yes; indeed I can," the prince replied; "I was never more scared, never
realized until now how circumstantial evidence could hang a man for a crime
of which he might be perfectly innocent. Stand a little away from me, please,
and I will show you why I was so anxious to be gone, apart from the importance
of my appointment at Windsor. You say that coin which you hold in your
hand is the only one in existence ? "
Assuredly "
The prince drew from his pocket its very fellow, the counterpart of the
Museum's unique gem. I came into possession of it," he said, "a year ago;
ever since I have had a burning desire to see the British Museum's coin; only
last week could I leave my country; and what would the Greatest Lady have
thought, if your coin had been lost, of the explanation that the coin your police
had found in my possession was a duplicate I had come here to compare with
yours? Would you have believed me ?"
"I am bound to say I should not," replied the keeper promptly.
What should you have done ?" asked the prince.
"I should have been guided by the police."
"Of course you would," said the prince; good-day! I have missed my
engagement; but I can once more look you in the face; and, you may depend
upon it, I will never again have a secret about numismatic treasures.
The prince's explanation at Windsor you may be sure was readily accepted,
if only for its curious and romantic details.
Joseph Hatton.

ER real name was Betty Fry.
Jack Tyler, then but four years old, fast-
ened the nickname upon her. Her mother took her abroad the year after she left
school she would not have been graduated had she staid there sixteen, instead
of four years and Mrs. Tyler, the Frys' next-door neighbor, gave a lawn party
the week succeeding the return of her traveled friends. Miss Betty, at nine-
teen, was blue-eyed and plump, with peach-blow cheeks, in which dimples came
and went whenever she opened her rosy lips, and a profusion of auburn hair
that made an aureole about a tossing little head. Her Parisian costume was as
gay as good taste would permit, and Jack fairly blinked when she fluttered
down upon him in passing, darted half a dozen swift kisses upon his face and
curls, and called him the darlingest darling her eyes had ever lighted upon."
This is Miss Betty Fry, my son," explained his stately mother. Speak
to her, as a gentleman should."
Jack arched a chubby hand over his eyes, more in dazzlement than bashful-
*ness, and piped up dutifully:
How do you do, Miss Butterfly ?"
The name took, inevitably, and stuck fast to her as long as she lived.
At school she had skimmed text-books as her tiny feet skimmed the ground,
complaining, merrily, that all she was taught went in at one ear and straight
out at the other. In music, languages and drawing, her acquirements were of
the same sketchy order, with no staying power." She had but one talent -
that of being happy through and through, always and everywhere. She soaked


herself in sunbeams until she radiated them at the pores. Everybody agreed
that there was nothing in her," yet everybody was fond of and petted her.
People liked to have her around as they liked to cultivate flowers and buy bric-
a-brac, and set harmonious bits of color in shadowy corners. She was the only
daughter of the richest widow in her native town, and her three brothers were
married men before she was emancipated from the fashionable seminary where
she had learned so little.
Years went on multiplying years, and although she made no account of them,
they kept tally upon the peach-blow and creamy skin, and stole, a pound at a
time, of the flesh that at nineteen had looked so pure and sweet. Her eyes had
faded to baby blue," and had paler rims about the irises; her hair was bleached
to the color of Milwaukee brick-dust, and the rings and waves that once made a
glory above her face were dry, stiffened wisps. The dimples were shallow
ravines, instead of mirthful pools, and Time had dug out the temples, and scraped
at the outer corners of her eyes. Jack Tyler was a mustachioed business-man,
with a four-year-old namesake of his very own, and Miss Butterfly was still
better known by the sobriquet he had bestowed upon her than as Miss Elizabeth
Fry, the owner and sole resident barring her servants of the fine old home-
stead upon the hill.
It was queer, said the gossips, that with all that money, and her pretty face
and coaxing ways, she had never married; yet she did not look like a woman
with a history. She chatted a great deal, and laughed a great deal more than she
talked. A local poet had once written some verses comparing her laugh to water
running down hill over a pebbly bed. The bed of the stream might be getting
dry now, but the brook what there was of it continued to go through the
motions. She had lost none of her little fluttering mannerisms. In anybody
else they would have been called flighty at her age; affectations she should have
outgrown a score of years ago. At her mother's death, which did not take place
until the daughter was forty, the new mistress had retained the full staff of
servants, and the gossips had their whisper about that, too:
If ever there was a woman who had it easy but there, now Who could
have the heart to begrudge that good-hearted little thing, who had never done a
hand's turn for herself, the wealth she seemed to enjoy so heartily ?"
I was an intolerant chit of fifteen, who had lived in Book-land and Dream-
world until I was clothed in self-conceit as with a garment, when, on one raw
December afternoon, I rang Miss Fry's door-bell. While waiting to be admitted,
I surveyed the winter-bitten grounds encompassing the great house, and shivered
under my furs at their bleak aspect. Shrubbery was done up in straw tents;
fountains were robed in sackcloth, and the top-dressing of manure spread over
the turf looked, with the hoar-frost upon it, like ashes. The gray stone front
of the dwelling had been enlivened by window-gardens in the summer, and
their absence gave it a jail-like look.


"And the woman who lives here has no aim and no outlook in life," mused-
I priggishly. "She is a unit with never a cipher at her back to give her value.
Were she to die to-morrow the world would be none the poorer. It is the old
fable of the butterfly who sat in the rose's heart all summer and starved in the-
"Is Miss Fry at home?" I inquired of the maid who interrupted my
"Yes, ma'am. Walk in, please."
"But she has company," as the tinkle of a guitar and a babble of singing-
proceeded from the library.
O, no, ma'am; no more than common. There's no invited party."
We reached the inner door just as the music ceased, and a wilder clamor of
small voices arose. Please, Miss Butterfly, now sing Said I, said I.' "
The hostess did not observe me, and I drew back into the comparative
obscurity of the hall to watch the animated interior. Miss Fry, in a sheeny
satin the color of a robin's egg, with costly laces drooping over her chest and
wrists, sat upon a low ottoman, guitar in hand, the center of a troop of children.
A smart twang of the strings silenced the hubbub, and the song began in a voice
that reminded one of a thin trickle of syrup, "just on the turn toward sharp-
ness. The children shrilled out the chorus after each line, every mouth
stretched to its utmost. Miss Betty told me afterward that she had heard
the ditty ever since she was a child, or had picked it up somewhere -just so.
She never knew how she learned anything."

A little old man came riding by, An acorn fell as from the sky;
(Said I, said I,) (Said I, said I,)
My dear old man, your horse will die,' 'Ah! why did you not stay on high?'
(Said I, said I.) (Said I, said I.)
'And if he dies I'll tan his skin,' Why, if I had, you surely see,'
(Said he, said he,) (Said he, said he,)
And if he lives I'll ride him again,' 'That I could never be a tree,'
(Said he, said he.) (Said he, said he.)
A little bird came hop! hop! hop! "An ugly worm crept on the ground;
(Said I, said I,) (Said I, said I,)
'My pretty bird, your feathers drop,' 'Poor thing! to death you're surely bound,'
(Said I, said I.) (Said I, said I.)
'Oh! I shall only keep the best,' 'But I was only born to die,'
(Said he, said he,) (Said he, said he,)
And with the rest I'll line my nest.' Or I'd not be a butterfly,'
(Said he, said he.) (Said he, said he.) "

A fire of logs blazed high in the chimney, flickering whenever the shrill'
chorus burst forth. The children, of whom there must have been twenty, sat
and lay upon an immense tiger-skin spread in the full glow of the flames. Four-
or five had crept as close to the hostess as they could get, crushing the satin
folds with infantine heedlessness.


Trying to arise as she espied me, she found herself thus anchored fast, and
sank back with the gurgle that used to be fascinating and was now only funny.
"I am a prisoner, you see. Come in, my dear child, and help yourself to a
seat. I'm ever and ever so glad to see you."
"I am afraid that I am an intruder," said I, in obeying the request.
SNot a bit; not a bit of it, I assure you. These precious pets have a way
of running in to enliven my
solitude when it is not fit
weather for them outside.
It is always bright and warm
'.. here, and they know it-
S--- bless their hearts! I'm never
-. so happy as when the house
S- a / Ij- is brimful of them. They
know that, too, the cun-
S- ning little things! and their
S"- mothers are good enough
.., -, to indulge me. You won't
S._l' '. ',- mind if our concert goes on
-, for a few minutes longer,
-- --- will you, dearest girl ?"
Everything she sang had
"HOW DO YOU DO, MISS BUTTERFLY ? a chorus, and all the children
joined in with more zeal
than discretion, and more spirit than tune. By and by the guitar was laid
aside; the folding-doors between library and drawing-room were thrown open,
and there was an uproarious game of hide-and-seek over the rich carpets -
" almost as good," averred one youngster, "as playing upon the grass." The
least of the party the oldest of which could not have been eight years old -
kept nearest to Miss Betty all the while, and were coached by her in the
mysteries of the romp. Biscuits and milk -the latter in dainty little mugs -
were dispensed at four o'clock, soon after which, nurses, older sisters, a brother
,or two, and a couple of mothers, arrived to escort the guests to their homes.
At the outcry of protest that ensued, Miss Betty made herself heard.
If you'll promise to go home quietly, like dear, good lambies, you shall see
my butterfly take his supper."
They trooped at her heels to a large Wardian case set in a bay window. It
was full of ferns and flowering plants, and as she raised the peaked lid, we saw
upon the pink waxen blossom of a beautiful begonia a large brown-and-blue
butterfly, asleep or torpid.
"He's taking his afternoon nap," gurgled Miss Betty. "Wake up, my
beauty, and have your tea."


She slid him dexterously from the pink petals into a palm that was now,
alas! neither pink nor plump, and carried him back to the fire. Sinking down
upon her ottoman, as the insect poised upon her uplifted hand she held to him
a drop of honey upon the tip of a pearl paper-knife.
Hush hush she breathed to the impatient spectators. "He must get
warm before he gets hungry. That's the way with all teeny-weeny things, you
As the warmth of the withered palm passed into the downy body, the odd
pet raised his wings and waved them gently in the firelight; successive thrills
shook his frame; the antennas vibrated, and we could see the proboscis undo
itself, coil after coil, and dip into the honey drop.


"That is the most comical exhibition I ever saw," ejaculated one of the
-mothers. "How did you tame it, Betty?"
"It did itself; checking the gurgle lest it should jar her proteg4. I found
him outside, hanging to the window-sill for dear life, on Thanksgiving Day.
He had come to look for the jardinidre that stood there all summer, I suppose.
So I took him in, and warmed him, and fed him, and have kept him in the fernery
ever since. You wouldn't believe how much company he is for me. On sunny
Tha is he mot coicalexhibtionI eve saw" ejcultd n o

moters "Hw dd yu tme t, etty ?


days I give him a promenade on the south window over there, or let him fly
about in the conservatory, and he gets quite gay. Usually, he sleeps most of
the time, however."
"But," struck in the other matron -by the way, she was Jack Tyler's wife
-" naturalists tell us that the butterfly is an ephemeron."
"I beg your pardon ? said Miss Betty inquiringly.
I mean repressing a smile that he lives only one day after leaving
the chrysalis."
They must be mistaken," Miss Betty opined, amiably complacent. "This
one has been with me three weeks yesterday. I expect to keep him until
spring. All that a butterfly wants is sunshine and honey. When he gets both
he can't help being contented. And this one has such a lovely disposition."
She put him back tenderly upon the begonia, when he ceased to sip and
curled up the hair-like tube through which he had drawn his food. Then she
helped get the children into cloaks and caps, kissed each pair of lips, and thanked
their guardians for "lending" them to her.
"Now, sit down, honey," she bustled back into the library to say to me.
"This chair, please," pushing a low and luxurious one toward me, then pulling
up another for herself.
S"It seems almost sinful for me to be so comfortable," I said, from the depths
of my satin nest.
Her little laugh trilled out, and I thought of the cricket on the hearth.
"Now, my idea is that it is really wrong not to be comfortable and happy.
When nobody else is the worse for it, of course. I just love to see people hav-
ing the loveliest sort of times; gay as larks, happy as kings, pretty as butterflies,
and all that, don't you know?"
This introduced my errand. My mother hoped Miss Betty would be inter-
ested in the case of a poor family in the lower part of the town, and had charged
me with the sad story. My unspoken contempt for my auditor's intellectual
status was increased by the interjections with which she hearkened to me.
"Dreadful!" Impossible !" Heart-rending "Poor woman !" Oh !
the poor dear little darlings," were, to my notion, puffs of the idlest breath
ever exhaled. When at length she raised herself from the yielding cushions
far enough to touch a silver bell upon the table nearest her, I supposed that the
subject was dismissed.
Tea, Mary, please," to the maid who appeared on the instant. How well
this luxurious sluggard was served when hundreds had neither fire nor home
upon this bitter afternoon. And tell Annie to send up some of her nice tea-
cakes with it, Mary, please. I am sure Miss Dowling will enjoy them. There's.
nothing that warms the bottom of one's heart like a cup of hot tea. How good.
your mother is to the poor and the afflicted Quite like a ministering angel, I
do always maintain."


I despised her utterly as she chirped on. She was trite, vapid, and, I was
sure, heartless; a weak, silly, aimless sentimentalist. When the tea and cakes
came I could not enjoy them, delicious as they both were. The china was
exquisite; the gold spoons tinkled against it with a bell-like chime; into the
summer air of the room stole the odors of the adjoining conservatory; there
were rare pictures, statuary and tapestries. The whole world was padded, and
warmed, and scented for this useless little insect. What mattered it that winter,
and poverty, and illness, and sorrow were in other homes, so long as she still sat
in the rose's heart ?
My casket, please, Mary," twittered the thin voice, after the tea-service
was removed. "And turn the gas up, just a little."
The casket an East Indian toy, all ivory, gold and ebony was unlocked,
and the smell of sandal-wood gushed forth. Miss Betty giggled in adjusting
her eyeglasses.
"My eyes are weak by artificial light. They ought not to be, but I have
done so much fancy-work. I so often hear of interesting cases after dark, that
I keep checks ready made out. It saves eyesight, and time, and trouble, don't
you know? Ah "
She had fumbled among the papers in the casket until she found what she
sought, and passed it over to me as she might a postage stamp.
"Tell your mother how awfully obliged I am to her, and beg her to let me
know if I can do anything else for those poor dear prot4g6s of hers."
I lost breath and wits upon seeing that the check was for one hundred
O, Miss Butterfly! Oh! -I beg your pardon." I stopped there, red as
fire and longing to sink clean out of sight.
She laughed in short, spasmodic jerks, as if something attached to her vocal
apparatus were going to pieces.
No offense, I do assure you, my blessed child. All my children call me
that, and I don't object. God made butterflies, I suppose, and they couldn't be
ants if they wanted to. I admire energy, and thrift, and all that, immensely,
but, as my slangy nephews say, I wasn't built that way. I don't murmur.
The Bible says there are diversities of gifts. All that a butterfly wants is sun-
shine and honey."
I repeated the phrase often and again that winter. I cannot say that I
found entertainment in the society of one whom, from that afternoon, I learned
to love, but there was gratification in the sight of the simple kindly creature
living out her life with the zest of a child. I went to her almost daily, and
always found her the same; never ruffled in spirit, never unkind in speech,
always carefully and richly dressed, and ever eager to share her sunshine and
honey with all about her. The fancy crossed my mind, sometimes, that she
was growing thin, and, occasionally, in the forenoon, there was a strange gray-


ness in her complexion; but there was no abatement in her gayety. The chil-
dren swarmed about and over her, as lawlessly as ever; her girl-nieces and
college-nephews gave parties in her big rooms, and granted her request to be
allowed to order and pay for the luncheons, dinners and suppers served by her
servants. She still twanged the guitar and chirped quaint ditties to her
"babies," and played waltzes with stiff and willing fingers by the hour for older
merrymakers. The casket of filled-out checks still flew open before a tale of
woe could be finished in her hearing. With it all went the light, sometimes
flippant, prattle of commonplace nothings, and the weak giggle that was no
longer fascinating. I caught myself wondering, as I saw her feed and talk to
her butterfly, if both were not alike inconsequent, and as well content to take
in all of present delight without premonition of to-morrow's frost or cloud.
One windy day in March, the old Fry house was burned to the ground with
stables, graperies and conservatories. My mother and I, hastening to the scene
at rumor of the disaster, found Miss Betty in a remote corner of the shrubberies
sitting upon an iron chair in the shelter of a clump of evergreens. Nobody was
near her, and she had a dazed, white look, not in the least her own. The
servants were all busy trying to save something from the flames, which still
roared horribly a little way off. Somebody, probably her maid, had wrapped
our little friend up in an ermine opera-cloak with a white silk hood trimmed
with fur. I could but liken her, in imagination, to a frozen miller moth, as she
sat huddled together, crushed into the fir-branches.
We took her home and put her to bed.
"Thank you, sweet child God bless you! she whispered, when I stooped
to kiss the face so pitifully and strangely shrunken and pallid.
"You will soon be all right now, dear Miss Betty."
"0, yes!" opening her eyes to smile. "Very, very soon. It would be
sinful not to be thankful and happy. Everybody is always so good to me.
Surely goodness and mercy have fol"-
She never spoke or moved again.
When we saw that stupor, not sleep, had stolen over her, we sent for her
family physician. Beside her death-bed we learned that she had battled bravely
for two years with an insidious, and what she knew to be a mortal disease.
She would not let me tell the truth even to her brothers," said her only
confidant. It was not worth while to disturb them before it was absolutely
necessary,' she said. How she kept up her usual mode of life, and her spirits, I
cannot comprehend. She was either the pluckiest or the least sensitive being
I ever knew. I cannot decide if she were more of a benefactress or of a
"I can," sobbed my mother.
So could I.
Marion Harland.

.1''" .

I.. I -



* K

~1... --- .


" i l !l'l l .




A LL day long, in the heart of London, visitors may see people
A on the sidewalk pressing up against a tall iron fence, and
S looking through another fence beyond that, to one of the great
/, clean-paven yards of the famous school called Christ Hospital,
where many red-cheeked bareheaded boys are shouting
ro Reo5g0 and running. They are plunging about, evidently quite
happy, and not encumbered at all, apparently, with their pecu-
liar dress. This dress has never been changed, in color or in
any important detail, since Tudor times; and it is sure to take
the amused attention of an American the moment he passes
through Newgate Street. Let us examine it respectfully.
There is a contagion, to begin with, of bright yellow stock-
ings, and that alone provides the funniest spectacle !-these flying odds and

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