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DBD. LOTHROP EO
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‘COPYRIGHT, 1895, THE GAST LITH. COLAC Y.
%)
QB
2
A CHARGE THROUGH ST. STEPHEN’S GATE.
FAMOUS STORIES
AND POEMS
y : : f BY
MARY E. WILKINS, SARAH PRATT McLEAN GREEN, MARY FELICIA BUTTS,
“EMMA SHERWOOD CHESTER, MRS. BURTON HARRISON, SUSAN
COOLIDGE, anp FRANCES A. HUMPHREY
FULLY ILLUSTRATED
BOSTON
7). LOTHROP COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1893,
BY: :
D. LotHRop ComPANy.
All rights reserved,
Norbyood press :
Berwick & Smith, Boston, U.S.A.
OLD SANDY’S LAUNCH.
(A Prince Edward's Island Ship-yard Sketch.)
JUNE day with the sky so blue and fair above and the earth
so fresh and green below that you might think the world
was altogether new; not until you saw the people, the
familiar-faced people, come forth and move about, were
-you sure it was the same old world just rolled into a
new day. :
With the high noon tide of that bright new day there
was to be a launch in the little village of L A launch
was nothing new in a ship-building village where half a
dozen ship-yards flourished on the banks of the deep river
which brought to it its life and work.
It was not altogether that the ship to be launched was
a well-built and handsome one, or that she was full-rigged
and had more flags than was usual, that every one seemed
interested. I think it was more because she was white.
That innate love’of purity, the gift of every human breast,
reveals itself in the wondrous charm there is for us in
something new and white.
Amphitrite was her name, and she was fair to look upon, with her bright
flags scarcely lifted by the soft wind. No one passed that way but cast a glance
of admiration at the white ship. You had a fancy that the workmen looked
upon her as some beautiful object altogether new —a fairy ship which the mists
of the night had left behind, and not one which they themselves had slowly
builded, day by day.
It was often the case that the village school, a half-mile away, was “let
out,†as the boys said, on launching days. When it was not most of them got
permission to be absent; the unfortunate exceptions who were driven to the
OLD SANDY’S LAUNCH.
seat of learning by their unrelenting home governments, were apt to be taken
with violent pains as launching time approached. At such times those ailments
were not too closely inquired into bya pitiful master who had: himself once been
a boy, and they were allowed to go home. Soon after he would dismiss the one
remaining conscientious boy who had no pain, together with the six large girls
who did not “care a pin†to see a launch, but who, nevertheless, as soon as they
were well out of the door, would run the whole way to the village, and secure -
‘prominent positions for themselves on piles of timber —not disdaining to climb
to the top of an old shed, and often pushing very small boys out of their way.
This day the master himself could be seen a full hour before high water
walking about among the logs and chips, apparently doing sums in his head.
He kept well away from the boys, however; perhaps he thought the shadow of
to-morrow’s lessons might fall upon them were he to venture nearer.
Old Sandy could not see the launch. The boys had talked about that among
themselves, and were very sorry. Poor old Sandy was sick —sicker than any’
one supposed. Many a year had he gone back and forth among logs and chips,
a little old man with a round sunny face, kind of speech and deft of hand. He
was beloved of all the children, and held in high esteem of their parents.
- Many a stray baby had he restored to anxious seekers from some hiding-place
behind a log or shed. He was even intrusted with messages between sweet-
hearts, to which he was always faithful. With the boys, of whom there was a
plentiful crop in this village, he was most popular of all.
Their fears, their joys and sorrows were all known to him. Sandy could tell
by the expression of a boy where the maternal slaps fell thickest, and always
had a word of comfort and of counsel. Scores of miniature ships had he helped
to build, and many a fierce mutiny had he quelled with his gentle voice and
kindly ways.
He lay sick in one of the little ship-yard houses upon the bank of the river
not far from the launching place; but the only window in his room did not look
that way, but rather out on the river. The head of the bed was toward the
river too, just pushed aside from the window, and he used to watch the sunlight
climb the opposite wall at his feet in the evenings, and fade, and fade, until it
was all away. One time he said, “ Yes, yes,†to himself, as if one had said,
“ That’s the way you will go sometime, Sandy.†:
Now the morning sunlight came in through the open door across the floor of
the outer room, making a shining pathway to his bedside. Along this sunlight
way came youthful feet, stepping gently, and the old man smiled upon his
friends who held the morning light in their faces. His heart and his house had
always been free to the children, and when Mrs. Chippins who had charge of
him during his sickness protested against “such a raft of boys tramping in and
out over the floor,†he looked so grieved that she made no more remonstrance.
Fred and Jim, two young friends of Sandy’s, “rigged a plan,†as they
OLD SANDY’S LAUNCH.
_expressed it, by which he was to see the launch, or at least the ship after she
was in the water. Jim’s mother, a little woman who was thought none too wise
by some, was quite interested in the boys’ plan, and had given them a large look-
ing-glass, some extra cord and a little advice, also a gift of jelly for Mrs. Chip-
pins. She remarked pleasantly that Sandy would be quite a “lady of Shalott.â€
“ Poor fellows, it’s too much bother you are taking with me,†said the old
man, when they had explained to him what they were going to do. “ Poor
fellows,†he would repeat, with a strange pathos, every now and then as they
went on with their arrangements.
At last they succeeded in hanging the glass on the wall at the foot of Sandy’s
bed in a very scientific manner. The window sash was thought to be an obsta-
cle. ‘Take it out altogether, boys,†he said; “the summer wind is warm and
sweet.â€
playing in the fields, with the summer wind in his yellow hair.
“ Now it’s all rigged,†said Jim. “If she was only on the other side of the
river we could fix it so you could see her when she starts; but as it is you can
‘have a fair sight of her without moving your head off the pillow. When you
hear the cheering just keep your eye on the glass, and when she swings round
you will see her slide into that glass like a picture! Perhaps Fred and me’ll be
on board and you'll see us too!â€
“You'd better be away, boys,†said Sandy, as Uney lingered after everything
was arranged. “She might get the start on you.’
After the boys were gone Mrs. Chippins came in and was told by the sick
man that he felt very well, and would not want anything for a long time,
and she had better go out with the rest, which she did, closing the door .
behind her.
After a while a little mite of a girl, with a very Aanbs but much-loved doll
in her hand, came to the outer door, reached up on her bare toes and opened it.
Coming in, she closed it again after her, thinking it quite a clever operation.
She played about the rooms in and out from one to the other for a time, and
then climbed into, bed, settling herself snugly where she could see her own
reflection, and the doll’s, in the glass.
“ Mustn’t make no noise,†she remarked to the battered object of her affec-
tion, “’cause San’y’s sick.†i
A white butterfly came in and fluttered about the sick man’s head, and away
out again in the bright day towards the sky. The little one saw it and laid her
_ doll aside to watch its movements. When it was gone she said, “I specs him
lives way up in ’at ’ovley ky when him’s to his own home.â€
Various were the groups scattered about here and there to see the launch,
each choosing a place of observation agreeable to itself. The village doctor,
with a few friends, formed one of these. This was supposed to be a somewhat
OLD SANDY'S LAUNCH.
- esthetic group, and chose a rather. distant view from the bridge which spanned
the river, and where the harmony of the whole movement might be observed.
There was Mrs. D in another place with her two dae tere and a very
clean-looking young clergyman. They formed a rather solemn group by them-
‘selves. Mrs. C——, whose grand-aunt lived away somewhere in England and
had “Lions on her‘old stone gates,†just like Lady Clara Vere de Vere’s, sat
high and apart on a private log, and her maid sat on another farther down.
Mrs. T—— who did bead-work, and constructed surprising antimacassars every.
few days, entertained a company of friends on a pile of boards. Mrs. Chopper,
who lived in a little house in one of the yards, informed her daughter Kitty, a
maiden of thirteen springs, that she had to go across the bridge to “see a woman
about some yarn,†and expected her dutiful daughter to “git father’s dinner and
mind the child.â€
“T knows where yez is going to,†said Kitty, after her mother Had left, the
house, and she herself had climbed into the loft and pulled the pillow out of
the broken end window to get correct observations; “’tis very well I knows.â€
Kitty. attended that launch. The maternal parent discovered her at a very
advanced stage of the proceedings with several bareheaded young ladies of her
set, occupying reserved seats on a pile of slabs. They were uniting their efforts
to get the fat baby to look at the ship, pyle he, with his earnest blue eyes,
looked from one to the other of them.
Several dinners were spoiled that day 4 in the neighborhood of the launch.
One woman put some slices of salt pork in a pan on the stove to fry, and then
ran out for a moment to see if “she was off yet;†outside she met a friend.
and they both became deeply interested. When at length memory smote her
she fled. back to her deserted hearthstone to find clouds di murky smoke, and aâ€
few black scraps careering in a sea of angry grease.
Another woman went out to look and stood at the corner of the house with
a fork and spoon in her hand. Having the fork and spoon. gave her confidence,
and the inward feeling that she was not neglecting her duty. When she went
into her house the water had boiled off the potatoes and the pot was cracked.
A young dressmaker who was working for Mrs. H by the day ventured
to the end of the garden fence with a long basting thread in her hand, which
she kept running through her fingers and knotting and knotting at the end, evi-
dently entertaining the delusion that she was quite busy. A stranger riding
through the village stopped his horse on the bridge and took a leisurely view.
A tall Indian with a bundle of baskets on his back paused and turned his sleepy
face to the white ship.
“ Amphitrite, eh?†said a young farmer who was not entirely inden to
the running brooks for. his reading; “that is something like. She is a pretty
craft, too,†he continued, addressing himself to the post-office clerk. .“ The last
one I saw consigned to the ‘bridegroom old and gray,’ was called the John
“OLD SANDY’S LAUNCH.
Higgins, painted black with a red streak, and the figure-head something very
imposing, I can tell youl; so well-dressed and respectable-looking, with the ship
fastened to his back, that I was quite interested in thinking of his making polite
bows to the mermaidens in a rough sea and without as much as blinking his
very black eyelashes; and I quite laughed to myself when I thought how dis-
gusted they would be when they found he was not a real flesh and blood man
fresh from the hands of the tailor, and liable to be led into danger and perhaps
eaten. I felt quite merry thinking of their discomfiture, and of the safe arrival
TEE ERP HY of
THE MIRRORED PICTURE OF THE LAUNCH,
of the John Higgins in port with his starched collar and bosom stiff as on his
launching day, and his necktie and side-whiskers quite undisturbed. Now that
young woman,†he continued, as he moved so as to get a better view of the
classic figurehead, “is something like. I am not so sure but when she gets
away out among those sea nymphs but you might see her some moonlight night
slip down from her place and join some graceful dance upon the wave-caps,
or plunge down to visit some enchanted palace of the sea.â€
“Yes, I dare say,†said the young man addressed in an absent way, as he
twisted his neck to look at the pretty dressmaker with the basting thread.
OLD SANDY’S LAUNCH.
But none so happy in all the place as the boys. They swarmed over
everything ; balanced themselves on the edges of things, and clung to the slip-
pery logs moved by the rising tide, and stuck themselves in the bows of the
little boats tied to the river bank; some one of the men would say, “ Get off’n
there, boys,†or “Come down out that now, you fellows, an’ git away from here
with you.†Sometimes they did as they were told for a few moments at a time.
They were very full of criticisms and remarks. Her shear was too little or too
much, she was too broad in the beam or too narrow. They had views about the
masts and rigging, the length of the chain cable and the size of the anchor.
One bet she would be a “bully sailor,†another bet anything you like she would
not go quarter as fast as the schooner his father had launched two weeks before.
A little fellow in a faded Glengarry and holes in both his trouser legs bet a
“thousand million dollars she would go full split across the river and smash the
wharf on the other side into splinters.â€
“Yes,†said old Mrs. Tobins, who stood by with her sleeves rolled above her
elbows; “it’s the mischief to stop them onst they gits under way.â€
One small exception to the happy boys was little Danny Chips, who had been
sent by his father to one of the ship-yard houses for that worthy man’s pipe.
The poor fellow looked back four times in the course of a few yards for fear
““she’d go off unknownst.†When he had by the aid of a chair reached the
parental coat pocket and secured the pipe down he fell, and he went creeping
back to his father with the broken pieces in his hand, to receive a slap and a
cent, and be told to run away across the bridge to the shop for a new one;
Danny’s misery was great, as he was sure she would go off soon as he was out
of sight of her. “Come along of me, Lit,†said he to a little girl of his own
age with a ragged dress and bare head and feet, to whom he had told his sorrow.
“Yes, Pl go along of you, poor Danny,†said Lit, with compassion ; and she
took hold of his hand and they fairly flew across the bridge, casting furtive
glances backward until out of sight of the ship. The storekeeper was in a lofty
mood that day and could not condescend to wait upon the children for some
time —it seemed weeks to them. When at last on their homeward flight with
the new pipe they came in sight of the white ship she was down in the water.
She had cheated them, and they sat. down and wept together.
Danny and Lit were not the only disappointed.ones. At least a dozen peo-
ple who had neglected their work the greater part of the forenoon had but just
turned their backs to attend to some duty, when away she went; and although
some of them saw her before she was fairly in the water, it was as nothing to
them when they had not seen the whole movement.
It was quite tantalizing the way the Amphitrite acted. She hesitated on the
ways after the last shore was knocked away. Fluttering a flag a little she would
seem to say, “Now I am away; look at me!†another flutter: “ No, I won't go
at all; please to wait for the midnight tide.†Then, “ Perhaps I'll go presently.â€
OLD SANDY’S LAUNCH.
But just as the general attention was turned to some movement among the men
intended to “give her a start,†off she went, as if by some caprice of her own
will, and slid into the water like a graceful white bird. Away across the river
she started as if to reach the far horizon; but a chain rattled; down plunged an
anchor, and the white ship swung about and faced the delighted party on the
bridge, one of whose number was just then reciting:
‘¢ She starts —she moves —she seems to feel
The thrill of life along her keel.â€
For some reason no one had been allowed on board during the launch but
those required; Jim and Fred had however plead so hard that an exception was
made in their favor, with stern orders to keep out of the way of things.
When the Amphitrite had run the length of her chain and rested quietly,
she was just opposite Sandy’s window. The boys had almost forgotten him
_ during the excitement of the launch, but were now quite eager again.
“He can see her now,†said Fred. “Yes,†said Jim with a calculating look
in his bright gray eyes, “she’s just slid into the glass like a picture; he can see
us too looking over the side.†“Let's wave our hats to him,†said Fred. They
both waved their hats and shouted, “ Hulloo, Sandy! hurrah, Sandy! three cheers,
Sandy!†and some little barelegged children on the shofe, without knowing why,
echoed “ Hulloo, Sandy! hurrah, Sandy! three cheers, Sandy!â€
“Put us ashore,†called Jim to a man who was rowing about to secure the
drifting timber.
“QO just stop where you are, my hearties. Nothing would do ye but ye must
git there;†and away he went after another log. Before long, however, they
prevailed upon another man to land them. They were now quite anxious to see
the result of their experiment, and hurried up the bank. Not waiting to go
round the house to the door, they went in at the window.
There she was— the beautiful white ship — just as they had expected to see
her; but there was no word from Sandy.
« Sanny’s s’eepin’ now, mustn’t make noise,†said the child, who had herself
been asleep, but had waked again.
Yes, Sandy was asleep, but his was the long sleep. He was launched away
upon a silent tide; but he had seen the aianis ship just as it glided into the
mirror and he left a smile behind him for the boys.
J. S. Brennan.
TIPPETOE.
ee lived in the funniest little house you ever saw, perched away up
on four stilts like some kind of a shingled bird’s nest. Everything was
funny about Tippetoe, the house, the town, and Tippetoe herself.
The town was like another kind of bird’s nest sunk between two mighty
rivers so that when the waters couldn’t get into it for the high banks around it, .
they crept under it and up through its low places, till with its lakes and ponds
it made a better town for ducks than people. ee
Tippetoe was a good deal like a duck herself, and whenever the rivers were
high-and the water came creeping up around the stilts, you might have seen
her paddling about in a leaky old flat-boat, her sunbonnet swinging in the
breeze, and her kinky hair kinking all the tighter in the moist warm air. |
“T’s.a lonesome little nigger,†Tippetoe’ used to say sometimes with her big
eyes, looking solemn; but people who saw her splashing in the water, or fishing
for lucky-bugs off the high sidewalk, didn’t believe it very much,
« Lucky-bugs is mighty nice —frisky too,†her white teeth shining, “but
dey ain’t s’ciety fer me.â€. ee ;
. Mammy couldn’t help matters a bit either, for Mammy was off all day wash-
ing or house-cleaning, so that Tippetoe had to be left alone
Farther along the high walk that led past, Tippetoe’s home was a beautiful
house with a broad green lawn where J udge Safford lived. . But lovelier than
all the, Judge’s lovely things, his lawn, or his flowers or his fountain, was a cer-
tain little picture that used to frame itself sometimes in. his big windows —a
picture with eyes like stars and cheeks like the pinks in his garden. Tippetoe
used ,to steal up where she could poke her shiny face between the bars of the
iron fence and stare at it. Baby May stared back with interest.
“Little blackie,†she said; «“ Little angel!†said Tippetoe, and even at. this
long distance they grew to be friends. .
One day when the sun was bright, and the smell of the pinks was like spice
in the garden, Mrs. Judge beckoned to Tippetoe, and let her in through the
garden-gate. Baby May had been lonesome too, but now she laughed till her
yellow locks danced and till Mamma J udge laughed too, for Tippetoe told such
stories as never were heard before. She told all about the water-babies that
pelted her face when she splashed her long stick at them, about the mussels and
lucky-bugs and long green water-weeds, till Baby May begged to see the funny
things and sent Tippetoe racing home for her bug-bottles. a
“La, Mammy,†Tippetoe said that night while she and Mammy ate their
corn-bread, “she am like de Lawd’s angels, an’ I’d jes’ grubble in de dust wid
my Sunday clo’s fer her, I would!â€
TIPPETOE.
“Dey ain’t no dust roun’ heah to grubble in,†Mammy said with a laugh,
and Tippetoe laughed too.
All the next Ey the little piace girl went singing about the cabin; thinking
happily, “She’s sciety ef I don’t see her —jes’ to. know she’s dar!â€
- It was in the late afternoon when the water was all red and gold from the
sunset, and the first stars were coming out, that Tippetoe, leaning out over the
water to watch for Mammy’s coming, suddenly heard a splash and gurgle that
TIPPETOE SAVES A LIFE.
made her turn quickly to look toward the end of the swaying walk.
of something white she saw, and then a flash of sunny hair.
The black skin grew ashy. “Lawd, dat chile’s been tryin’ to fish too!
She’s tumbled in! She has, she has! Gord! Ef I jes’ could swim!â€
Wildly she sprang through the low door and down to the edge of the walk,
remembering all in a minute that she had left the old flat-boat around at the
back of the house and that before she could get it Baby May would drown.
Then, with her frightened eyes glaring white, she jumped into the still water
and struck out somehow for little May.
Under the rickety walk she caught her, and held her with one straining
hand while with the other she clung to the jagged edge of boards.
“Hole on, honey! Don’t be skeered!†she said, and then she screamed.
SIR GRIMBALD’S RANSOM.
People came running in twos and threes, and rowing across the water in
their odd-looking boats. Just when Tippetoe felt that her aching arms could
hold out no longer, strong hands reached down and drew out the two little oy
ping figures covered with the drifting scum and twigs.
“My ahms is got de misery like toof-ache,†Tippetoe sighed, her moun face
drawn with pain, “but I got dat chile, swim or no swim!â€
While the big Judge cleared his dignified throat, and his pr etty wife hugged
the white and the black baby alternately, Tippetoe was saying with a shaky
little laugh: “She war de scummiest little angel I eber saw.’
“You're an angel, you brave, loving little soul,†said Mrs. Wcee, through
her shining tears, “but, thank the good Father, you're only little earth angels,
both of you!â€
: Maud Rittenhouse.
A VALENTINE.
a an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth
In the old-time Scripture day ;
But I tell my love that a heart for a heart
Is vy far the better way.
William Zachary Gladwin.
SIR GRIMBALD’S RANSOM.
IKE the sands of the sea, like the stars of the sky,
- Was the Saracen host as their hoofs thundered by:
‘The Knights of the Cross like a field of ripe grain
Were mown down before them in windrows of slain. |
_ Sir Grimbald — none braver, none truer than he
Had England discovered ’twixt moorland and sea —
Sir Grimbald stood up in the ranks of the dead,
And scorned to take flight though his comrades had fled.
TEN TO ONE WERE UPON HIM, LIKE HOUNDS ON A DEER.
SIR GRIMBALD’S RANSOM.
“ Now God and St. George give me grace,†prayed the knight,
“To slay me these infidel dogs in fair fight !.
My Constance — Christ keep her! — shall not blush for shame, ,
Though she die of her grief, when she next hears my name.â€
Ten to one were upon him, like hounds on a deer,
But three bit the dust at the point of his spear,
And two tumbled headlong, unhorsed by the shock
Of an onslaught that left him as firm as a rock.
Could Constance have seen him at last overthrown,
No shame for her lord the sweet lady had known;
_ Nay, even his foes in the desperate strife
Were fain, for such valor, to spare him his life.
In Saracen stronghold they held him instead
Till the Saracen chief set a price on his head:
And the ransom, ah me! that he chose to demand
Was not silver or gold — but a little white hand!
“ A little white hand from a woman’s small wrist,â€
Quoth he, “is a trifle will hardly be missed —
A trifle that spouse to a husband so bold
Will count it a shame to herself to withhold.â€
Ah, woe for Sir Grimbald! In anguish he cried,
“ Would God thou hadst slain me! Would God I had died!â€
But messengers marched over land, over sea,
To bear Lady Constance the cruel decree.
In her bower they found her, a sweet English rose,
Grown pale with the dread of unspeakable woes ;
For she wept through the day, and she waked in the night,
And dreams of her lord filled her soul with affright.
_ Oh, wan were her cheeks, and her eyes wild with fear,
When the bugle-call rang, and the envoy drew near ;
But the rose bloomed again when the errand was said,
And she knew that her hand was the price for his head
SIR GRIMBALD’S RANSOM.
“ Only that? Nothing more?†Like the sunbeam that lies
On a snowbank, the light that flashed out from her eyes;
Like the. laugh of a child, like the song of a bird, .
In its eager consent, rang her answering word.
“Draw your sword —here’s a hand will not wince at the stroke ;
‘Tis a leaf from a rose, ‘tis a twig from an oak !
Take the ransom so small such a captive to free,
And bring him back quickly —my dear lord !—to me.â€
“DRAW YOUR SWORD — HERE’S A HAND WILL NOT WINCE AT THE STROKE.â€â€™
e
The red lips that smiled and made never a moan
As broadsword cut sharply through sinew and bone,
The bright eyes that sparkled through womanly tears,
Are dust of the ages these hundreds of years.
But after two centuries’ roses had bloomed,
They opened the crypt where brave Constance was tombed ;
And some that had flouted the story of old
Were fain to confess it was truth that was told.
AUNT DOLLY’S TWO ROBBERS,
For the skeleton frame that lay mouldering there,
Half-hid in a tangle of faded gold hair, —
Lacked just for completeness the little right hand
That brought her lord home from the Saracen’s land!
Mary Bradley.
Nore. — The story of The Couped Hand (as it was originally called) is a tradition in the family of Sir
Julian Pauncefote, the present British Minister to the United States, in whose possession are various docu-
ments attesting its truth. It dates back to about the middle of the thirteenth century, when Grimbaldus de
Pauncefort, one of the bravest of the brave knights of King Edward 1, married Constantia de Lingaine, a
noble lady whose beauty and high-hearted courage made her a fitting mate for the valiant soldier. He sailed
with Prince Edward to Tunis in the last crusade, and was there taken prisoner by the Saracens, who brutally
refused all ransom save the lady’s right hand. There are ancient MSS. in the Lambeth Library describing
the lordly titles and privileges of many generations of Paunceforts; but the cherished legend of the family
is that of the true-hearted Constance. From these MSS. we extract a mention of her effigy in the church of
Cowarne Magna, Worcestershire.
“In the vestry is an antient Monument of a woman cut in Alabaster without her right hand. This the
Inhabitants say was one of the Paunceforts whose husband being taken. prisoner by the Infidels, and she
being an earnest suitor for his release it would not be granted but by sending her right hand, which she with
a Masculine courage caused to be cut off and sent accordingly, & therefore was thus portraced.â€
This monument was in existence as late as the last century, but unfortunately is no longer to be seen.
The effigy of Sir Grimbald, however, is still to be found in the old church of Much Cowarne, as it is now
called; and hard by are the ruins of Pauncefort Court, where for many years after the loss of her right
hand Lady Constance dispensed her gracious hospitalities with the left.
AUNT DOLLY’S TWO. ROBBERS.
(A True Story.)
IE girls laid down their books as I came in, followed by Tom and Dick. 1
had promised them a story that day instead of a reading.
“ Do let it be a true story, Aunt Dolly, please,†said my serious Agnes.
Agnes is eight years old.
“And about girls, Aunt Dorothy, all about girls! Don’t have a single horrid,
distracting boy in it,†said pretty Ethel.
Kthel is ten.
“Girls? fudge! Tell us a rattling good story about a band of robbers armed
to the teeth, and a brave fellow that defies them, and defeats them, too, all with
his naked hands.â€
And “Tousley Tom,†as the girls called him, paused for breath, with his feet
braced, his fists doubled, and his rough dark hair on end.
Tom is fourteen.
AUNT DOLLY'S TWO ROBBERS.
“ Anyway, Aunt Dolly, make it come out right. J wish there would never
be another story in the world that didn’t come out right,†said Dick.
Dick with his peachy cheeks and corn-silk curls is half-past six.
“TJ wouldn’t be so chicken-hearted, Dick,†said Tom. “A story can’t ‘come
out right, as you say, for everybody. Now, robbers —they must be punished
— they oughter be!â€
“Oh! but they needn’t be punished so severely,†pleaded Dick. “We might
always play they didn’t know any better.â€
“But how can I please you all when you make so many conflicting de-
mands?†I asked of the small vampires.
“Oh! you can, you know you can,†said pretty Ethel; “you can do any-
thing. We call you the ‘ Witch Auntie,’ when we’re by ourselves.â€
“There was that Jack in your last story. He was a jolly good fellow; spin
‘us another yarn about him.†Tom aspires to nautical slang:
“But, children, I cannot think —wait a minute, though, I believe I can think
of a story that will meet the most of your requirements. But I have never told
it, and J am not at all sure that I want to tell it.â€
“Ts it true?â€
“Yes, Agnes, it is absolutely true.â€
“ And all about girls ?â€
“ Chiefly about a girl about three years older than you, Ethel.â€
_ “Then it just simply can’t be interesting,†growled Tom. “No adventures,
no robbers—â€
“Tt is an adventure, with two real live robbers.â€
“ And does it come out right?†was Dick’s eager demand.
“Yes, Dicky. The principal robber was punished, but I think not too
severely.â€
The children, naturally, simple-hearted sycophants, were fluttering about me
in the late hours of a gray February afternoon. They drew my chair into the
cosiest corner by the glowing fire, crowded an extra cushion behind my back,
shoved another under my feet, patted my hand and my hair, begging in every
inarticulate way for the story. I feel a sweet, flattered sense of kinship, with
them thus about me, that warms my heart: for ties of blood I have none.
“This story is not for babes,†I said hesitatingly. _
“ Dick doesn’t count,†said Tom. “He'll drop off in two minutes.â€
They were sensible, non-excitable children, and did not know the meaning of
fear ; so I yielded.
And I began:
“You know, or perhaps you do not know, that, when I was about eleven
years old, I came to this country from London, with my dear father and mother ;
and that they both died in less than two years, leaving me alone.
“ Our relatives in England consisted of a single family of far-away cousins,
AUNT DOLLY’S TWO ROBBERS.
who spent a great portion of their time in foreign lands. They were far grander
people than we were, and we scarcely knew them; so, naturally enough, I and
my little property were left, not in their care, but in charge of a dear friend of
my father, who had come from England with us, and had, since that time, been
a member of our family. Are you going to sleep, Dicky?â€
“No, ma'am,†said Dick brightly, “you just said you ’membered our family.â€
AGNES AND ETHEL.
\
“ And this guardian of yours was our papa, I know so much,†said Agnes,
“and the story is going to be about yourself. O, good!†- .
Tom looked rather dubious, but respectfully held his tongue.
“Your papa and mamma were married soon after my father died, and then
they kindly took me, forlorn little orphan that I was, into their own cheery
home. I had lived with them but a few months when my cousin, with his wife
and two sons, were lost in a storm at sea, and my twice great-aunt, who was the
only remaining relative, and who had been for years an invalid, sank, and in a
few days died from the shock of this sad news. Then followed the announce-
AUNT DOLLY’S TWO ROBBERS.
ment that I was the sole heir to my cousin’s large estates in the north of
England.
“ Papers of identification and I know not what were soon speeding back and
forth across the ocean, and finally your papa came in one day with a thick pack-
age tied with red tape, which he waved triumphantly aloft, exclaiming that it
was worth a pretty penny to me. The proofs were all collected and the for-
malities all complied with, at last, and with the presentation of those papers I
was to come into possession of my property.â€
“‘ How perfectly lovely,†exclaimed Kthel; “and you were only a little older
than I am now?â€
“ Only fourteen, Ethel ; and it would, tndeed, have been perfectly lovely, as
you say, if my dear tee and mother had been with me, and if I could have
forgotten my poor cousins, who, it seemed to me, ought still to have been enjoy-
_ing the property themselves. However, there was the fortune, and we planned
to go and look after it, your papa, your mamma and I, as soon as your mamma,
who was not strong, should be able to bear the voyage.
“T must tell you a few more particulars or you will not understand my rob-
ber story. Your mother had at that time a most capable housekeeper, a stately
and severe English matron who had evidently seen better days. Mrs. Middleton
did not communicate to us any facts of her earlier history; but we saw she
was a woman of some education and refinement, as well as of strong good sense,
and we treated her with great respect. We made her, in fact, quite one of the
family, but she was so eee so taciturn even, that we never felt familiar
with her.
“She was distantly polite to the other members of the family, Bae towards
me she seemed to feel a rooted aversion; and the reason, so far as I knew of
any reason, was this: there was a young man, Carter Skales, who occasionally
visited at our house — a rising young lawyer who had read law in your papa’s
office. He was considered both handsome and agreeable, and he always treated
me kindly and politely, little girl though I was. But to me there was always a
suggestion of something sinister and cruel about the man; I detested and
avoided him.
“ Oddly enough, as it seemed to me, Mrs. Middleton appeared personally to
resent my dislike of Carter Skales who was a favorite with her. I had even
seen them talking confidentially together in the hall more than once; and with
the egotism of my fourteen years— of my selfish nature, I should say —I felt
sure they were talking about me.
“Now, after all this prelude, I am coming to my story. Dicky, are you
asleep ?â€
“No, ma’am; I,haven’t thought of such a thing.â€
“He is a neine with both eyes as fast as he can wink,†said Tom, stooping,
with a hand on either knee, to the keener scrutiny of his little brother’s face.
AUNT DOLLY’S TWO ROBBERS.
“ Well, when your papa displayed the papers that assured me of my fortune,
he held in his left hand another package which he told your mamma must be de-
posited in the bank at once.
“JY remember she laughingly asked him if he would not wait until after
luncheon; and before the meal was finished, as it chanced, a message was
brought a which called him to another town in great haste, and upon business
which would detain him at least over one night. A carriage was called to drive
him to the station, he gave a few hurried directions, and was gone in five
minutes.
“There were left in the house only your mamma and I, the housekeeper and
two maids. The coachman slept over’the stables.
“Jt was a cold, dark day in early winter, and the cold dark night shut down
upon us early; I remember I sat with your mamma in her room until nearly mid-
night, and that even after I had retired to my own room I did not feel in the least
sleepy. Lying back in my easy chair before the grate, I lost myself in dreams
of the one oe I would do with my money. I would found a hospital,
and —
“ And all at once you heard —â€
“That's right, Tom. All at once I did hear — or see—I don’t know which
—a gentle turning of the handle of my door.â€
“Was it locked ?†:
“Tt was locked, with the key on the inside; and it was also bolted with one
of those safety bolts that are set, not on the door but in the casing, a little
thumb-piece upon the door alone being seen.â€
“What fun!†said Agnes, “to sit ee ‘as snug as a bug in a rug,’ and
watch a burglar at work upon a bolt like that.’
“T sat perfectly still, with my eyes, of course, riveted to the door-knob.
Then I both saw and heard the key turn around in the lock, as if of its own
accord.â€
“ Aha! nippers,†cried Tom.
“Then the handle was cautiously turned again.â€
“Tt was that housekeeper, I suppose,†Ethel said calmly.
“Nothing of the sort,†cried Tom hotly. “Didn’t she say there was a robber
in it— two of’em?†.
“There was perfect quiet for a few ane I resumed, “ Hen the key was
pushed out of the lock and fell to the floor; and then I saw something that
thoroughly aroused, if it did not frighten me.â€
“A man’s face, looking through the transom ?â€
“No, Tom; there was no transom. What I saw was a long loop of fine steel
wire come creeping through the keyhole, feeling its way right and left, above
and below, for the little thumb-piece or handle of the bolt, one turn of which
would unlock my door.â€
AUNT DOLLY’S TWO ROBBERS.
“ A ‘finder’! Tve seen ’em,†said Tom.
“Oh! Aunt Dolly, what did you do?â€
“Don’t be afraid, sister,†said Dick to Agnes, who was never in her life
afraid of anything, “ Aunt Dolly promised to make it come out right.â€
“T will tell you-what I did. I was not at all afraid. I softly slipped off my
shoe and hung it on the door-knob, over the keyhole, and under the handle of
the bolt, which was two or three inches above the knob ; and there I held it as
quietly and firmly as possible.â€
“Well, you are a trump, Aunt Dolly! I always said so.†And Tom run his
hands through his shaggy hair and strode up and down the room.
“T could feel that awful little wire loop rummaging inside my shoe, trying
to discover what the obstruction might be, trying to push it aside. Then the
‘finder,’ probably concluding that it could not-in this way find the bolt, with-
drew, and in its place came a very long sharp tool, something like a shoe-maker’s
awl, which began slowly but persistently to work its way through the sole of my
shoe. Of course I could only hold on, and that I did with both hands, making
the sole as firm as possible. I was not frightened, but simply amused. Fancy a
professional burglar, with his kit of tools, ‘both strange and awfu’, which but to
mention were unlawfu’†being outwitted by a little girl’s house-shoe.
“The awl, however, did its work; and, before I knew it, it had been with-
drawn, and a long slender flexible wire was pushed deftly through the little hole
which it had made and was waving aimlessly about, in search of —it knew not
what. The temptation was strong to seize this wire, to wrench it away, or wind
it about the door-knob, or heat it red-hot in the lamp. While I was cogitating
upon my next move, I heard a truly awful sound.â€
“T thought he’d try the ‘jimmy’ next,†said Tom.
“The sound that I heard was a low muttered exclamation, as of disgust or
anger. It came, not from the hall outside my door, but from directly behind me
— in my own room — among the curtains of my bed.â€
“There! there! Didn’t she say there were two?†howled Tom, in a frenzy
of delight. .
“ How perfectly awful!†exclaimed Ethel, with a shudder.
“Tt’s coming out right,†Dick murmured drowsily to my shoulder, and in
another minute was fast asleep.
“T turned my head a little,†I went on, “ and saw the dark outline of a man’s
form, standing at the foot of my bed. There was a sudden rush forward, and
some heavy black stuff was bound tightly over my mouth. The man wore a
mask which left only his eyes uncovered ; he pointed his pistol at my head and
whispered — though not so fiercely as a burglar ought —‘ Make a move and Pll
shoot!’ Then he backed to the door and said something in an angry, Bplutiering
whisper to his bewildered confederate, who seemed then to go away.’
‘ oe a mercy, Aunt Dolly, it didn’t turn your hair white,†said Ethel.
AUNT DOLLY’S TWO ROBBERS.
“Children, when that dreadful mask came back and glared into my face, I
fell into a chair, sick and faint with terror. But when the man spoke to me in
an undisguised voice, and, quickly removing his mask, showed me a face that I
knew well, my fears suddenly vanished and blank amazement took their place.
“Tt was Carter Skales.â€
“T knew that grim old housekeeper had something to do with it,†said Ethel.
“ As I looked into my burglar’s face, with, I am sure, no expression in my |
own but utter bewilderment, he turned away and seemed for a moment to be
occupied with the fastenings of his mask. In that moment I regained the use of
my faculties; in fact I now felt perfectly cool and self-possessed.â€
'“ You were in a beastly hole, all the same, * said Tom. Tom aspires even to
English slang.
“ Of course I cannot now recall all that the man said, but he tried first of all
to reassure me. He apologized for his sudden and savage appearance, and de-
clared that he intended not the least harm to me, but only good, as I should
presently see. His disguise was only to serve in case of interruption. The
stupid man outside my door had gone; he had been told to guard it, only, and to
wait; on no account to touch the lock except upon a signal. Many things
Carter Skales would explain to me at another time. Now he only asked that I
would be perfectly quiet for a few minutes and listen to him. The bandage was
simply to prevent my uproar before he could speak to me.
“ As I was effectually gagged and all but smothered, it seemed natural to
suppose that I would at least comply with this request.
« After telling me how much he had admired my nerve, and had stood a
while to see what I would do, he went on to say that he would far rather have
talked with me by daylight, in the parlor; but that he knew I would not listen
to him unless I was forced to do so, and would not remain to hear him out.. I
nodded my muffled head in vigorous assent to this. ;
“<«JT am very fond of you, Dolly,’ he said in a fatherly tone, ‘I always have
been. And when I see you in danger of being cheated and ill-used, I must and
will protect you, even against your own wishes, knowing you will thank me
when you are older.
“
must know all. The man you have trusted as your guardian intends to rob you
of your property. I have the proofs to show you; but he has the money and
the papers, and the only way to get them is for you to take possession of them,
now, to-night, while you have the chance. And Ihave come here to help you
do it — to see that you do do it,’ he added.â€
“Oh! the wretch! my papa dishonest!†exclaimed Ethel.
“‘T wish T'd been there!†shouted Tom, waving his arms, and upsetting the
hassock and a chair or two as he pranced around. His hair stood up perfectly
straight, and his black eyes blazed.
AUNT DOLLY’S TWO ROBBERS.
“ Of course I could not do or even say anything, and he went on to unfold his
plan. ‘This false guardian of yours has just finished proving up your estate,’
he said, ‘and to-day, as you know, he brought the last papers home with him,
and also a package of money —several thousand dollars— which is yours, though
he probably did not tell you so. We will take these to-night, and be off to Eng-
land directly. What do you say?’
“T shook my head as hard as I could.
“<¢See here!’ he said, ‘ read that.’
“ And he held up before my face a paper which, even to my childish eyes,
was a palpable forgery —a letter written ostensibly by your papa to some friend,
telling him that he had succeeded to a large property in the north of England,
and that he was going abroad presently to take possession.
“Seeing that [remained unconvinced he proceeded to explain the legal right
of a person to take his own property under any circumstances, and wherever it
might be found.
“* You can explain in a letter to your would-be-guardian,’ he said, ‘that act-
ing under the advice of a good friend and a competent lawyer, you have simply
taken your own, and gone home. You need not fear he will follow you —I will
attend to that.’
“ But still I shook my head.
“¢ You won’t do it?’ said Carter Skales. ‘ Well, then, I tell you that you
will. Children cannot be expected to know what is for their best good. I fore-
saw this, in fact. Whatever I may seem to do to-night, you will be thankful, in
after years, that you had so kind and wise a friend.
“
to the library and secure the papers and money. I can locate them pretty
nearly, but I presume you know exactly where they are. You will go ahead
and I will follow —with perfect quiet— though of course my watcher is at
hand.’
“There was not a sign of mercy about the man, and I was quite as de-
termined.
“The hall clock struck one.
“ould it be but one o’clock? It seemed ages since I had carelessly said
good-night and sauntered up to my room.
“¢When the clock strikes the quarter-hour we must be outside the house,’
he said, and seated himself at my writing-desk.
‘“ As he wrote a sudden thought came to me.
“ Upon a small table beyond the fire-place stood a little tray and upon it two
wine glasses and a hottle of old port, just as your mamma had left them there
that day. Above the table, a little to the right of it, hung a bell-cord, the bell
communicating with the housekeeper’s room, and, as by good fortune, a small
fancy bag was hanging over the cord, quite concealing it. It I could contrive
a
AUNT DOLLY’S TWO ROBBERS.
to ring this bell, and so arouse Mrs. Middleton at exactly the right moment, she
might meet us in the hall, and — my plan went no farther. I could only trust.
to her coolness and good sense for the rest.
“ T was well aware that the undertaking was full of peril. Even if I could
succeed in pulling the bell-cord unobserved, there was the danger of arousing
Mrs. Middleton too soon, and if a disturbance should be heard in the house be-
fore my door was unlocked I might be killed outright, or dragged away through
a window —and there upon my table, in my own handwriting, would remain
that lie.
« Of course I know now that the danger was wildly exaggerated by my ex-
cited fancy, that at the slightest hint of outside interference my kidnaper would
doubtless have dropped from a window and taken to his heels in very lively
fashion. But the risks were very real to me, though I was ready to face them.â€
“] don’t know about the danger not being real— you never can bet on a
burglar,†said Tom.
“The letter was finished in a minute, and perforce I copied it. Then, by
gesture, [ asked my captor to tell me the time —it was ten minutes past one.
I turned toward the door, and Carter Skales followed with his pistol pointed,
though as I saw rather shakily, at my head.
“¢T am so glad, Miss Dolly,’ he was saying in a wheedling tone. ‘I am so
glad that you understand me, and that you have the good sense and the nerve
to accept my plan.’ :
“JT turned and looked him squarely in the eye with contempt and scorn. It
was a rash —a foolish thing to do —boys and girls of fourteen are rash and
foolish sometimes ; but what I saw convinced me that the man was at least as
much frightened as I was at what he was doing. His gaze as well as his hand
was unsteady, and his face was ashy pale.
“ As if moved by a sudden impulse I went to the little table, filled a glass
with wine, and motioned tc him to remove the bandage from my mouth that I
might drink. He seized the glass, as I had hoped he would, and, as he drank, I
dropped my hand behind me and gave the bell-cord a frantic pull.
“The hall clock struck the quarter, and the glass fell from his hand and. was
broken. I filled the other and by motions repeated my request. He seized this,
also, as eagerly as at first, and again I pulled the cord desperately. Then, show-
ing him that the bottle was empty, I signified that I was ready to start. .
“ While he was fumbling at the bolt I fancied I heard the opening of a dis-
tant door. Then my own door swung noiselessly open, and I moved swittly
down the hall.
“¢Stop!’ he whispered, and marched me back into the room. He closed the
door and stood with his back against it while he readjusted his mask, and I
waited, feeling that a second’s delay might be death to me. ;
“He next produced a box of matches and a small dark lantern ; then he
AUNT DOLLY’S TWO ROBBERS.
again opened the door and peered up and down the long hall, then motioned me
to proceed.
“¢Stop!’ he whispered again, ‘ not so fast.’
“ We glided down the stairs and through the lower hall without a sign or a
sound; but as we passed the door of the dining-room I noticed that it stood ajar.
A few steps more and I heard a rush, a smothered ery, and a staggering fall.
My robber lay on his face upon the floor, and Mrs. Middleton stood over him
with —â€
“ A long, glittering knife!†said Tom.
“Pshaw ! Tom; with a rolling-pin.
“The next thing I knew, I was lying upon my bed, and narrow bars of light
were slanting in through the closed shutters. Mrs. Middleton sat beside me,
put so haggard that I scarcely knew her.
« As I opened my eyes, she rose abruptly and walked to the window, but not
before I had seen two great tears roll down her cheeks. . :
“
“ ¢ He is not at all seriously hurt,’ she said.
“ ¢ Where is he? please, please tell me all about it.’
“He isin my room. Dolly, it is but just dawn, and not a soul but our-
selves knows what has happened. Will you’ —she hesitated, and a dark painful
red surged over her changed face ; then: she said, ‘Child! I have not been very
good to you. But will you keep this thing a secret? You have not been really
harmed. For— he is my son.â€
The fire had burned low and I picked up the poker.
“Q yes, Agnes dear. His mother got him off to Australia, and herself
soon followed.†:
“Q-yes, Mistress Dolly! and it was your money that took them there,â€
said a deep voice from out the twilight somewhere above my head as I leaned
forward to mend the fire.
_ “O yes, and you have always thought we knew nothing about it,†said
another voice, a merry, sweet voice at my elbow. “ And we shouldn’t have
known, but before she went away Mrs. Middleton came to me in a broken-
hearted way, and told the whole story.â€
And the children’s papa and mamma came forward into the firelight. Then
the flood of repressed exclamations broke forth, and everybody was talking at
once. ri ;
And then as the ‘dinner-bell rang, we went merrily out to the dining-room,
past the very scene of my little tragedy, and not a soul thought of it, at least
the children had hardly realized that it had taken place in that very house!
Sydney Quarles.
THE DOLL-LADY.
STUERER
NCE there was a sweet doll-lady, .
Came from Paris o’er the sea,
Wore a cloak of finest satin,
Ostrich plumes her velvet hat in,
And a gown all ’broidery.
Ah, her manners were so charming!
She could sing, and curt’sy low,
Walk and dance a minuet —
Sweetest doll you ever met,
You'd have surely said, I know.
But alas, this sweet doll-lady
Came to visit small Miss Rose!
First she lost her golden tresses,
Then she lost her lovely dresses,
Then she lost her eyes and nose.
She was soon a helpless cripple ;
She was never put to bed,
Could not sing she was so jaded —
All her waxen roses faded,
And at last she lost her head.
What this pretty sweet doll-lady
Must have thought, is plain to me,
Just before her execution —
That a new French Revolution
Had arisen this side the sea:
Mary E. Wilkins.
mn
i
| | HAAN
ii
WS
PINS
Se)
SSeS
NES,
Swe
INTERIOR OF. A GREEK PALACE.
A WINTER MORNING IN A CITY PARK,
KEVIN THE FISHER.
eee. Kevin the Fisher of Polscath ee
: And a goodly youth was he;
‘(None like him could wrestle or ne
Strong and brave as a sea-god’s son,
_And lithe as a willow-tree.
Far out at sea in the twilight gloom,
One e’en when the sun was down,
He drew his nets through the salt sea-spray,
And snared in the glistening mesh there lay
A sea-beast. sleek and brown.
KEVIN THE FISHER.
It looked in his face, the sleek brown seal,
With such mournful eyes and mild,
That his heart was wrung for the creature’s pain,
And he gave it back to the waves again,
To its home in the waters wild.
And lo! there rose through the darkening foam
A lady marble-pale —
He scarce might know did he dream or wake
(So fair she was), till her sweet lips spake
Neath the folds of her gleaming veil.
“And O,†she said, “I have sought thee long,
Now will we never part,
Dear to me, dear, for thy comely face,
Dear to me, dear, for thy blithesome grace,
But most for thy gentle heart.â€
ee
KEVIN THE FISHER.
Swift she stepped in the
rocking boat
By the light of the fore
red moon ;
She set the prow to the
fading west :
“Row, -belovéd, and row
thy best,
That we reach my palace
soon!â€
And aye she sang as they floated on,
And over the blue sea-rim ;
She sang of a palace beyond the
deep,
Where the great winged winds lie fast asleep,
_ And the golden lights burn dim.
They floated over the far sea-rim
To a place nor shore nor sea,
That was all a clamor of viewless things,
A whirling, murmuring mist of wings —
The waste where the drowned. folk be
And on, and on, through a mist-world wide,
' Where the wan lights flashed and fled —
She screened her eyes with her milk-white hand: ‘
“T see the sheen of the silver strand.
And my father’s bless she said.
There were emerald leaves on every tree
That grew along that shore,
And berries of ruby, fair to see: :
“ Here,†she said, “shalt thou dwell with me
For ever and evermore.â€
Now seven long years were come and gone
In the shadowy halls and fair
Of the Sea-king’s palace beyond the foam,
When his heart waxed sore for the sight of home
And the folk abiding there.
Oe
BRU:
aay
“yET TAKE THIS CASKET CARVEN FAIR,
AND SEE THOU GUARD IT WELL.â€
KEVIN. THE FISHER.
“O fair and glad is our wedded life,
Yet fain, fain would I see
My father’s cottage in Polscath Town,
Yon windy uplands bare and brown,
My kin and mine own countrie.â€
The ok tear stood in aa een,
And heavy of heart was she: :
“ Dear-my-love, thou must have thy will,
But a voice in mine ear it bodeth chill
‘Thow lt never win back to me.
“ Yet take this casket carven fair,
And see thou guard it well ;
Deep and deep is it graven o’er
With many a word of the hidden lore,
And many a secret spell.
“But lift ye never the carven lid,
And look ye ne’er within ;
Lift it not, for our leal love’s sake
Grant me this —for my heart a break
If back ye should never win.’
O many a day was come and gone
Or ever he won to see —
The pale sands glimmering far away —
The fishing-village in Polscath Bay,
‘The shores of his own countrie.
And to and fro, as the sun went down,
He strayed with faltering feet,
For all seemed fraught with a dreary change ;_
The dwellings all were new and strange, —
_ And the faces in the street.
“ Now what hath chanced to my native town
Since seven short years have sped ?
Stranger, of courtesy tell to me
Where Kevin the Fisherman’s house may be,
And whither his folk are fled?â€
KEVIN THE FISHER.
““O, kevin the Fisher is dead long syne,
And crumpled his cold hearth-stone ;
And living kindred none there be
Of that brave lad who was lost at sea,
Four hundred years agone.â€
FAST IT FLED 0’ER THE PURPLE FOAM,
AND OVER THE FAR SEA-RIM.
He set his foot on the yellow sand,
And looked across the bay:
: «“ And it’s O, for the shores of my outland home?
The Sea-king’s palace beyond the foam —
But how shall I find the way?â€
He drew the casket from out his breast
And set it upon his knee;
Vain as the word of the idle wind,
Clean forgotten and out of mind
Was the word of his fair ladye.
KEVIN THE FISHER.
The hinges moved with a long, low moan,
_ As the casket opened wide ;
‘There was naught to see, as he gazed within. -
But a small cloud rising, white and thin,
That sped to the water-side. :
Fast it fled o’er the purple foam,
And over the far sea-rim ;
He wrung his hands, and he cried aloud,
But it vanished away, the thin white cloud-~.
And his heart died down in him.
For palsied and faint grew voice and limb
Till he might nor speak nor stand ;
He stretched his arms to the fading West,
But his head fell forward upon his breast
As he sank on the wet sea-sand.
eee Farewell, sweet wife, in the outland home
‘T never again shall see!
His floating hair waved hoar and gray,
Old, and withered, and dead he lay
On the shores of his own countrie.
Graham R. Tomson.
2
STORNELLI.
(For a Tuscan Baby's Bedtime.)
\LOWER of the plum!
Now, Baby, let me take your flower-soft hand,
To reckon with a kiss one little thumb.
Flower of the strawberry ! ;
Two kisses on the tiny forefinger,
And for the middle finger shall be three.
« CHOLLEMYISSES JOHNSING’S†AFFLICTED HOLIDAY.
Flower of the peach!
‘our kisses on the finger tnat comes next
And five to count the last: One more for each!
Flower of the rose !
Five fingers of the little rose-white hand,
The foot has five pink rosebuds for its toes.
Flowers pink and white !
Fall from the tree of dreams on hands and feet —
So many kisses, baby, and good-night!
E, Cavazza.
“CHOLLEMYISSES JOHNSING’S†AFFLICTED
HOLIDAY.
|e scand’lous,†beamed good Father Johnson indulgently, “ but dey’ll outer-
grow it; and de yittle ones conjubilates mo’ out o’ der ol’ Mammy and
Pappy on ‘ Ap'il Fool’ day dan dey does out er all de res’ de hol’days conjuncti-
fied. Then,†he added not without grave satisfaction, “ Chollemyisses * got de -
toofache dis Ap’il Fi’st, and I reckon dat’ll put de squelcha’ onto some o’ dese
yer scand’lous high com’tabobbums.†. ; ;
Chollemyisses, with his forlorn cheeks tied up in an allaying poultice, re-
garded his father with eyes preternaturally grave and bright. All within the
cabin and without was alive with little Johnsons, each with grave face and eyes
luminous.
“Mammy! mammy!†cried a weird little figure, dancing on the doorstep. -
“ Come see dis yer flock 0’ wil’ gooses flyin’ over ! quick! mammy. Come!â€
Mammy turned her innocent comely black face from the dishpan, wrung her |
hands, and waddled quickly to the door. There she stood and lifted those large
confiding eyes to the heavens. ce
The April sky was of fleckless blue, untouched by wing of bird, and a sudden
thought came to mammy. “ You black T’addeus!†she exclaimed wrathfully,
but brought her damp hand down on the air.
“ Apil Fool! mammy,†squealed Thaddeus, now visible only as a pair of
shining black orbs around the corner of the house. S
Father Johnson, considerably older than the comely mammy, shook. his
* Ptolemy Ulysses.
“CHOLLEMYISSES JOHNSING’S†AFFLICTED HOLIDAY.
patriarchal gray head with laughter. It was a laugh of delicious appreciation,
and yet imbued with that tone of tender indulgence which he always showed
towards the younger and inferior intellect of his wife.
“How many mo’ Ap’il Fool days you gwine to trot to dat do’ to see flock o’
wil’ gooses fly over, Minnie?†seid he. “TLas’ ye’r Ap’il Fool von trot 4s dat do’
jes de same. Yean belo’ das. How long yeu Vink befo’ you Varn dis yer Ap’il
Fool ’bout de flock o’ wil’ gooses flyin’ over, Minnie ?â€
With the smile still on his features, he lifted his hand for his pipe on the
shelf over the stove. Deliciously he drew a match and lit it—but at the first
puff. sprang to his feet with an exclamation of horrified disgust and dismay.
The clay pipe lay on the floor shattered amidst the unsavory foreign contents
there revealed.
_ “How many mo’ Ap’il Fools,†said Minnie, standing, shaking, with her hands
on her sides, while tears of laughter rolled down her cheeks, “how many mo’
_ Ap’il Fool days you gwine to smoke ol’ rags an’ angle-wo’ms? Las’ yeah you
smoke o]’ rags an’ angle-dog wo’ms. Yeah befo’ dat. How long you tink befo’
you Tarn dis yer Ap’il Fool bout ol’ rags an’ angle-dog wo’ms ?â€
Father Johnson said nothing. He looked about deliberately for some one of
his children.
The house and premises aa become suddenly totally void and silent. Father
Johnson put on his hat and started out towards the little dim wreck of a barn
over the brook. But that also looked so mnpromisne and silent that he turned
abruptly and retraced his steps.
“T always ‘lows de chillun to cut up dese yer shines on Ap’il Fool day,
Minnie,†said he. “ Odda days I Tarns ’em de duty of truf and respectability to
parents. Dey ain’t doin’ nuffin mo’ no’ what I lows.â€
- He seated himself with dignity before a large mechanical organ and fervently
seized the crank.
“What chune do you p’efer dat I plays to you, Minnie?†said he, pausing,
with the punctilious politeness of an Italian tenor.
“‘Oh, wal’ den,†said Minnie, tossing her head rather indifferently, “I spec’s
Td rada’ heah ‘ De Moockin’ Bi’d,’ ef I heahs any.â€
“J don’ like your preferation to dese yere lively an’ jig-hoppin’ chunes,
Minnie,†replied Father Johnson, and proceeded forthwith to turn out a strain
of an entirely different measure.
Minnie listened without any affectation of pleasure, but thoughtfully and
without-resentment, until her eye fell upon a neat and portly package that had —
suddenly appeared upon the doorstep.
“ Look-a-da’, pappy!†she cried, joyfully interrupting him, without other
warning ; “reckon Miss Lucy up to de big house done sont us down fat goose!
Done tol’ me she was gwine ter sont us down fat goose one o’ dese yere days.â€
“You seem runnin’ to gooses to-day, Minnie,†said the patriarch, visibly
“CHOLLEMYISSES JOHNSING’S†AFFLICTED HOLIDAY.
trembling with elation himself, though still firmly continuing his lugubrious
duty at the crank. | ‘
Minnie carried the package to the table and unwound it, her face wreathed
with anticipatory smiles.
“Tis fat goose, I know by de hef’,†said she, tenderly lifting it, and as she
did so the last wrapping fell off, and there fell to the floor an artfully contrived
symbol indeed of that fowl upon which she doted; the skin whereof was com-
posed of generous quarterings from one of her own work aprons, and whose
luscious parts were but weeds and mire, of the earth earthly, with joints deftly
articulated and defined by means of choice extracts from her own chip heap.
Father Johnson’s face at first expressed only a reflection of the wrath and
dismay on Minnie’s own. But on second thought he turned himself discreetly
to the organ, and by the time mammy could look to him for sympathy and sup-
port in her indignation, his countenance was fairly beaming with a superior and
humorous smile.
“Pears like you fo’git what kin’ of a day dis day conjubilates, Minnie,†said
he. “’Pears like yo’ mem’ry so sho’t you fo’git but what dis day might be
Gawge Washin’ton’s birfday, or Fas’ day, or some such conjubilation.â€
“Tt’s gwine to be a Fas’ day to one set of niggas I knows of,†cried Minnie ;
“and Chollemyisses Johnsing ’s one o’ dem niggas wa’t I knows of, w’at it’s
gwine to be a Fas’ day to!†- *
She picked up the similitude of a goose, and walked indignantly with it to
the brook. As she threw it in, she fancied she heard a ripple of human mirth
mingled with the plash of the waters. She peered severely into the bushes on
the other side of the stream but discovered nothing, and again all was still.
Her thoughts, however, usually so placid, seemed to have become diverted
into an entirely different though no less distressful channel as she returned to
the doorstep and sat down. She fanned herself with her apron as she again in-
nocently intruded on Father Johnson’s sedate grinding at the organ..
“Miss Lucy up to de big house, she mighty trouble’ in her min’, ain’ she?â€
said she ; “’bout dese yer men w’at’s trompin’ over de kentry wid dey photo-
graph machines an’ chains an’ sich, wat I heern tell dat if dey don’ run’em
some oda’ way, dey gwine ter run de keers right plum t’ro Miss Lucy’s lawn!â€
Mammy paused, exhausted, while Father Johnson’s deliberations at the organ
became a wail. Ki :
“De debble—de debble ‘Il cotch em sho’, Minnie, ’fo’ ever dey *complishes
it! It’s been my pra’, Minnie— Minnie, it’s been my pra’,†said Father Johnson,
choking, while the organ wailed, “dat de Lawd ’ll sheer ’em off. Sheer ’em
off, oh, Lawd,†he pathetically vociferated, to the accompaniment of the organ,
“fom ow po’ o’phan Miss Lucy’s prummises; sheer ’em off down onto Judge
Shipman’s,ol’ rock pastur ! which it’s harder bed and betta fo’ de keers to run
on! sheer ’em off, oh, Lawd!†|
“CHOLLEMYISSES JOHNSING’S†AFFLICTED HOLIDAY.
The music had now reached a liveliness and vigor with which Minnie fully
sympathized. “Sheer ’em off, oh, Lawd!†she joined in fervently.
“ An’ comfo’t ow’ Miss Lucy’s h’a’t,†concluded Father Johnson, turning and
wiping the perspiration from his brow.
“Can’t dey nuffin’ be done, I wonda,†sighed Minnie, “’bout dese yer
discom — â€
She paused, helpless and embarrassed, before the superior education of her
husband.
Father Johnson, who had learned by experience the futility of instructing
Minnie in words of length and importance, simply continued his rhapsody at the
organ.
But her perplexity was turned by the eae of her eldest. -born, Chol-
lemyisses, running violently towards the house, his hand on his bandaged cheeks
and his face otherwise distorted by excitement.
“Pappy! pappy! Ol Unc’ John got de conniptions dreadful, an’ dey done
sont me tell you come right over!†Father Johnson, without one glimmering
of unworthy suspicion, rose and prepared himself for departure.
“You see wat you been doin’ dis day, Chollemyisses,â€â€™ said Minnie reproach-
fully, “an’ ol’ Unc’ John lyin’ in de conniptions!â€
“ An’ mammy!†cried Chollemyisses, almost in the same breath, “dey’s a
. letter to de pos’-offis’ fo’ you, wat dey’s somefin’ in dat letter so impollatant,â€
for Chollemyisses was already a hopeful pupil of his father’s facility in lore —
“so impollatant, dat dey won’t gib dat letter to nobody but you, mammy, an’
dey done sent me tell you come right over!â€â€™
“ De Laws Sakes!†exclaimed Minnie, rising, and arraying herself in shawl
and turban.
“‘ Chollemyisses!†she called back, “ sou hab to cotch de chicken w’at yo’
pappy gwine to hab fo’ ow’ pURRS an’ sot em roas’in’.â€
“Yes, yes, I cotch ’im,†obediently replied Chollemyisses.
“ An’ sot’em roasin’!â€
“Yes, yes, mammy, I sot ’em roas’in’.â€
As Father Johnson’s form disappeared in one direction, and mammy’s in the
other, Chollemyisses seated himself at the organ, while a six-in-hand of little
Johnsons drew the baby round and round the house in a raisin box on impromptu
‘wheels, at a rate which would have made an on-looker’s teeth chatter, but which
was, metaphorically, but as “nuts†to the ‘soul of that infant Johnson.
As Chollemyisses sat gorging his delighted ear with strains both quick and
sad, he’ remembered what he had heard mammy and pappy say, while he had
been hidden in the lott, about dear Miss Lucy up at the big house and those sad
“ discombobbalations.â€
‘So having fished out the shattered form of the humanly constructed goose
from the brook, and set it roasting, to the simple wonder and edification of the
“CHOLLEMYISSES . JOHNSING’S†AFFLICTED HOLIDAY.
six-in-hand and the baby, he suddenly disappeared, followed by the whole de-
voted group, from the scenes which their forms had so recently enlivened.
Miss Lucy up at the big house doted on her occasional visits from Chol-
lemyisses, the six-in-hand, and the baby, and always gave tangible proof of her
appreciation i tue way oO: large slices ci bread covered with molasses.
She took the comical baby up in her arms, who however ignored ner atten-
tions, being solemnly absorbed in the bread and molasses.
Hach little culprit Johnson was wedded to a huge slice of this confection,
when Chollemyisses detected in the distance the approach of those very sur-
veyors who, report said, might cast the ploughshare of smoke and traffic through
Miss Lucy’s beautiful still lawn.
Chollemyisses, looking up, thought he saw her sweet face pale and her lips
quiver, though she was apparently absorbed in the six-in-hand and the baby. A
gleam of despair and resolve and fun widened his own wild dark eyes, his band-
aged cheeks compressed themselves after a convulsive sort of sob and laughter
mingled, and unobserved he sped swiftly and noiselessly away.
Before the invaders could well plant their feet on Miss Lucy’s ‘premises, an
apparition presented itself to them — Chollemyisses, bandaged, breathless, wild.
with excitement; his dark trembling finger pointed them toward the trunk of
one of the great elm-trees on the lawn; the tip of a shady-looking beaver hat
glanced out ominously from behind that tree trunk, under it floated in the
fearsome contrast of lunacy a stream of long light hair, borne now this way,
now that, by the breeze, while a little farther beneath appeared the long muzzle
of a gun, aimed steadily.
“It’s de crazy man!†gasped Chollemyisses; “w’at he hides hisse’f in a cave ©
whar’ dey carnt nobody fin’ him, an’ he stamp his foot ’n shake his head —like |
dis! — an’ say he ain’ gwine let no keers run tro’ Miss Lucy’s prummises, an’ he
shoot de fus’ man put he foot fo’most. Fo’ de ma’cy sake, gemmen, sheer off!
Sheer off 0’ dese yer prummises! â€
Chollemyisses wrung his hands, the insane beaver nodded, the wild hair
floated, the gun muzzle was firm. The head surveyor did not advance a step
from: his position.
“Did he shoot you?†he aaa of Chollemyisses, regarding his pees
“‘No, sah!†said Chollemyisses thoughtfully ; “dis yer — dis yer’s on’y jes a
yittle toofache.â€
“ Well, the world’s wide enough for our road without stirring up lunatic
asylums. Let that sort rest,’ said the head surveyor; “I only came up here
any way as a little matter of speculation.†And he withdrew with his forces.
Miss Lucy from the window watched this mysterious retreat, accompanied by
Chollemyisses’ wildly gesticulating figure. She followed the direction of his
hand and saw, away down her lawn, a tall hat nailed to one of the elm-trees, a
wig of flaxen hair, mysteriously like her Aunt Minerva’s (who had gone out that
“CHOLLEMYISSES JOHNSING’S†AFFLICTED HOLIDAY.
afternoon in her second-best wig), and officially borrowed in fact from Chloe,
Aunt Minerva’s maid, and a gun reposing along two crotched sticks. ;
Not a doubtful spectacle from this side, but Miss Lucy put two and two to-
gether. She saw her small, hitherto undubbed knight endeavoring to remove
these articles and annroach the house surreptitiously, and she turned and dis-
creetly veiled her eyes.
Sometime afterward, the knight approached her with an air of reckless inno-
cence that went to her heart.
“ Miss Lucy,†said he, “I done been runnin’ 80, *musin’ myse’f, hea’ and da, I
done los’ all de ‘lasses off my bread.â€
Miss Lucy gave him a strange look. “Tell Dinah,†said she — “no, wait,
Ptolemy Ulyssesâ€â€™ (Miss Lucy’s own father had named Ptolemy Ulysses, and so
she spoke the words very tenderly), “wait, Ptolemy Ulysses, Pll go with you
myself.â€
“Ptolemy Ulysses,†said Miss Lucy, literally soaking and enveloping and
swimming his bread in molasses — she cut another slice, which she immersed in
like manner — “ would you like to drive to town with me in my phaeton to-
morrow, and get a new suit of clothes, and a blue cap, and a pair of tall
boots?â€
“Yas’m, Miss Lucy,†said Chollemyisses, shining, gasping, wouicnEe
“ And a cart for your goat? and —†Miss Lucy suddenly remembered some
of Chollemyisses’ tenderest ambitions — “some cologne and peanut sticks?â€
“My Gawrd! yas’m, Miss Lucy.â€
“Ptolemy Ulysses,†said Miss Lucy, blushes chasing one another over her
fair cheeks, “it isn’t—isn’t right—to play tricks, you know —not even on
the first of April, Ptolemy Ulysses.â€
“Yas’m, Miss Lucy,†said Chollemyisses, gravely regarding from his own
bandaged face, Miss Lucy’s hot cheeks, rippling mouth and lovely downcast
eyes; and accepting with this vague reproof both hands full of undeniable
sweetness, he turned and fled, with the delicate consideration of a Chesterfield.
Chollemyisses still hovered rather doubtfully about the premises, however.
He doubted if the prodigy he had left roasting in the oven at home would prove
satisfactory to Mammy and Pappy Johnson on their return thither.
Sometime later Miss Lucy found him still wandering disconsolately. “Is
there anything you want, Ptolemy Ulysses?†said she sweetly, bending toward
4im her beautiful face
“Miss Lucy,†said he, lifting an ingenuous countenance, “TI done lef’ a—a
Ap’il Fool goose ter roas’ in de oven, I did —an’ I done wish I c’d have r’al, fat
goose ter take # mammy and pappy.†Miss Lucy comprehended with lively
sympathy.
Ten minutes later the six-in-hand, handled by Chollemyisses, plunged friskily
down the hill toward the Johnson cabin, and by the baby’s side in the raisin box
“CHOLLEMYISSES JOHNSING’S†AFFLICTED HOLIDAY.
reposed the limp form of the biggest and fattest goose on Miss Lucy’s premises.
Chollemyisses left the baby in the box and appeared with a somewhat curious
and pale smile at the cabin, holding forward the goose.
The all-forgetful and illuminating sunrise on the features of Pappy and
Mammy Johnson informed him that he had nothing to fear. He returned for
the baby, at which signal the six-in-hand all unhesitatingly entered, with some
sweet sense of being thus metaphorically embraced and forgiven.
Considerably later as they sat at the supper table, where the roasted goose
formed the steaming center-piece and joy, “ Chollemyisses,†said Father John-
son, in a musical and liquid voice, “ dey’s one question w’at I wan’s to ask you,
in view 0’ some o’ de ’speriences w’at I’se ’sperienced dis day —is you r’al’y had
de toofache to-day, Chollemyisses? Speak de truf, my son; you fada’ loves
you.â€
“Yes, pappy,†said Chollemyisses, regretfully, “I is—a yittle. An’ I spec’s
ef I hadn’ had dis yer harntin’ mis’ry in my toof, pappy, some folks ’ud got
mighty well fool’ roun’ dese yer prummises to-day.â€
Father Johnson with his usual courtesy served first his wife, then by order
of age the small female Johnsons, and then again addressed himself in the same
mellifluous tone to his eldest son.
“ Chollemyisses, is you any happiah —any happiah an’ bettah at de close ob
dis evenin’ how’, my son, fo’ dese yer fool-conjurin’s an’ high com’ tabobbums w’at
you'se been up to to-day? Do you ’fink it could be said 0’ you to-day, my son,
dat you has been wo’kin’ among de reapahs ?
*Oh wha’ am de reapahs dat gadda’s in
De heaps um piles f’um de fiel’s 0’ sin.’ -
Has you been among dem reapahs to-day, Chollemyisses ?†ee
“No, pappy,†said Chollemyisses sadly, and wistfully eying the goose.
“But de keers has done sheered clar off away f’om Miss Lucy’s prummises — an’
Miss Lucy gwine ter take me ? town to-morrow fo’ to git clone an’ peanut
sticks, an’_all sich like as dat!†ie
Father Johnson’s spoon plunged into the goose-stuffing as if an electric bolt
had been applied at the elbow.
“‘Chollemyisses,†said he brightly, “I believe you am, like you fada’, pa’ticu-
lumly fond 0’ de sage an’ ingyin complements to de fowl?â€
“T ‘lows dey’s de bes’ pa’t ob de goose, pappy,†responded Chollemyisses.
The amount of this refection which was now passed steaming down the line,
on Chollemyisses’ plate, beside a favorite selection of the wishbone, caused his
eyes to gleam and banished from his ‘consenting memory every recollection of
the toothache. ;
Sarah Pratt McLean Greene.
A MAY DAY FROLIC
EGG=ROLLING AT THE WHITE HOUSE.
(A bit of Washington Folk-Lore.)
iE you should happen to be in Washington on any
Easter Monday, you might witness a children’s
sport that does not exist in any other part of
At the Easter season the Washington parks
> begin to look attractive. Hyacinths, crocuses,
tulips, cydonias and many native plants are in full
bloom. The grass is emerald, the air balmy.
Early on Monday morning you would see thousands of children, boys and
girls, of all grades and shades, marching in the direction of the White House,
little baskets on their arms. All strangers who have never heard of this annual
procession wonder why so many children are up and dressed, spick and span, so
early, and why one and all they are marching toward the southeast gate of the
Executive gardens. —
I am now to tell you.
For more than a week all the boys and girls of Washington, from six to six-
teen years of age, have been worrying
about their Easter eggs. Fathers and
mothers, older sisters, friends and rela-
tives have been helping them to get up
the prettiest eggs in town, decorating
them “in every fashion fancy can con-
ceive and colored calico and “pasâ€
dyes canexecute. No doubt you color
eggs also; but yours do not have to
be examined, scrutinized, compared by
many envious eyes, as do ours.
‘Washington breakfasts are over
early on the morning of Haster Mon-
day; then all these artists in eggs are
off for the White House, dressed in i
pinafores and gay colors; not in their
Sunday clothes. Rich children go with AT THE GATE.
their white-capped nurses; poor chil-
dren with one another; but each and all carry the pretty hasket or satchel ae
hard-boiled eggs.
Without any previous announcement, or saying “By your leave, sir,†they
ae
EGG-ROLLING AT THE WHITE HOUSE.
march into the President's grounds, south cf tie Mansion, and take possession.
General Grant ioved to go out and sit on the benches and watch the gay com-
pany, smoking his Havana the while. Nellie Arthur used to take part in the
egg-rolling. Mrs. Cleveland found infinite delight in the fun. One Easter Mon-
day during Mr. Cleveland’s term the tots arrived too early and found the gate
EASTER MONDAY IN THE WHITE HOUSE GROUNDS.
locked. The watchman was not on hand, so they banged and rattled until the
President came down and let them in himself.
Master Ben McKee, Miss Mary Dodge McKee and Miss Marthena Harrison
have, since their residence in the White House, kept up the interest of their
predecessors, and Grandfather Harrison, not to be outdone, orders out the
Marine Band.
The children used to divide their affections between the Capitol grounds and
the President’s grounds. But one season, after a long rain, they injured the
sodding, and Congress drove the fairies away. I cannot tell you whether that
-had anything to do with elections; but I know that many who voted for the
eruel measure have since had their career cut off suddenly ! :
The first thing on the programme is to get acquainted, to march around by
twos and by threes, and to admire one another’s pretty eggs, commenting as
little girls, especially, know how to do.
EGG-ROLLING AT THE WHITE HOUSE.
The next fun starts itself. Some little girl goes to the top of a pretty knoll
and drops an egg. No one tells her to do it. You know how that is. She just
does the thing, and that is all. She runs screaming after the egg for fear it will
Ne
“BaBY’? MCKEE AND BENJAMIN HARRISON MCKEE, WITH THEIR NURSE— READY TO JOIN IN THE EGG-ROLLING.
be broken. The little companions join the chase. As if by magic, hundreds,
may, thousands of eggs are rolling down hill, and Jack and Jill go tumbling after. —
Act third is egg-racing. Two or more eggs are started down the knoll to- |
gether. Perhaps fifty boys and girls will be interested. They laugh, scream,
‘coax, scold, talk to the rival racers and even sprinkle salt. on them to encourage
EGG-ROLLING AT THE WHITE HOUSE.
them in their downward course. Youngsters bet on the race, chiefly eggs, and
are as much interested as the old turfmen at Brighton.
There is not a particle of use in your saying, “I should not see any fun in
that!†you might just as well tell the kitten that she is hopeles ly silly to get
so much fun out of a ball of yarn.
Perhaps you would enjoy act fourth better. Well, follow me to a quiet little
hummock over there. A pretty, priggish boy of eleven or twelve and a lovely
girl of ten or eleven, not appreciating the general racket, are indulging in a
peculiar sport.
One of them goes to the top of a knoll and starts an egg down the lope
The other at the bottom holds an egg to receive the one descending. The egg
that is broken is eaten between the young pair with much fun and banter. It
takes some science to receive the broadside of the rolling egg with the point of
the one held in the hand.
All this fun is kept up pretty ake during anite hours, from nine A. M. until
four Pp. M., when many hundreds of grown children come to join in ine sport,
and to: fain it into an out-of-
door dress parade.
Act five is usually re-
served until these old folks
arrive. The principal char-
acter in this act is the pro-
fessional “ego-eater.’ He
may be a big man, but is
generally a dirty little urchin
from the street, and, more
times than not, his face is
black, his hair is crisp, while
his eyes and teeth rival in white-
ness the glair of the eggs he is
about to devour. His own resources
did not allow him to lay up a store
of eggs. But he is full of courage.
He approaches a large group of boys and
girls and grown folks, grins, bows, wriggles,
wipes his mouth ard says pleasantly :
“T kin eat all you'll gimme.†C
This is a signal for side-splitting mirth. They ‘i
take him at his word. They form a ring about
him and pass in the shelled eggs as he calls for them. The show gets funnier
with the disappearance of each egg; the assembled crowd cheer the hero on,
and quite frequently the eggs give out before his indomitable appetite. Hvery-
J
“WANT TO PICK ?�
EGG-ROLLING AT THE WHITE HOUSE.
body is convulsed with laughter and prophesies all sorts of dire disaster on the
grinning martyr. One little negro, last Easter, actually devoured in a few
minutes twenty-six hard-boiled eggs and walked off with a wistful, hungry look
upon his sable countenance.
A novel feature or two have been added to the egg-rolling custom in the last
year or two. The red balloon man has found his way into the garden and now
CHASING EGGS DOWN THE SLOPE (from an instantaneous photograph).
some well-to-do gentleman buys him out, and sets them adrift one at a time, to
the immense pleasure of hundreds.
In this singular Kaster sport mon can see how folk-customs have been amended,
or how they grow.
When this writer was aboy, the custom of egg-rolling was. common as far as-
Baltimore, and was practiced in the adjacent counties of Virginia. There are
hundreds‘of gray-haired men and women in‘the vicinity of the Capitol who used
to greet the return of spring, not after the manner of the Japanese by worship-
ing the cherry blossom, but by going out in little squads to roll eggs. The
colored people said: “ Lit was de bes’ way to bring on lub.â€
With deep regret some of us have seen this local folk-sport driven from post:
to pillar until the President of the United States is its patron saint. And now,
last year, the rough play of a rough class got the upper hand.and threatened to
drive nice children from the park. I think it would be a very great pity to.
frighten away from the National Capital a pretty local. custom which could never
be restored. I have been tempted to write to Mrs. Harrison and ask her to in-
struct the watchmen to put rude and disturbing children out of the park on that.
EGG-ROLLING AT THE WHITE HOUSE.
day. Men are spending lots of money to preserve antiquities; why not give
a little attention to the conservation of antique folk-customs ?
Do you ask now how did such a queer custom arise near Washington ?
I am not now inquiring about ege myths, mundane eggs, ovolas in Greek
architecture, cosmic eggs, solar eggs, and such matters. These questions would
take us many miles from Washington and many centuries back from this blessed
Easter day, 1891. o
But here is a funny custom, confined within very narrow limits, and practiced
so far as we know in no other part of America. Perhaps my young readers will
indulge me in a bit of antiquarian research.
The vicinity of Washington was settled by North Hngland and. Scotch people.
One of them, named Popes! owned the very hill on which the Capitol stands and
where I have gone egg-rolling many a time. He called his hill Rome, and the
‘little stream that issued therefrom Tiber, although it would not fill a two-inch
pipe. Himself he called the Pope of Rome. At the other end of the town lived
ii se SG
Re nee eee
A QUIET ‘‘ROLL’’ ALL BY THEMSELVES.
Davy Burns, who owned the land on which stands the White House, the patent
office and the post-office. Just south of the President’s grounds is yet standing
the Burns cottage, a mute witness of Haster happiness for more than a hundred
years.
I think I may safely say that the egg-rolling, now confined to the Presi-
dent’s grounds, was formerly practiced on Easter Monday everywhere in the
EGG-ROLLING AT THE WHITE HOUSE.
vicinity of Washington, since this district was settled by Scotch and North England
people. In Bohn’s antiquarian library, printed in 1883, you will find Brand’s
Popular Antiquities of Great Britain. Tn this work it is stated that in the north
of England, in Cumberland and Westmoreland, the
boys were accustomed to beg on Easter Eve for eggs,.
which they called Paste eggs. Of course Paste is |
a corruption of Pasque or Pascua, referring to the
Paschal lamb or Easter Festival. These eggs were
boiled hard and dyed with various colors, and the
boys played with them in the fields, rolling them like
bowls and tossing them like balls. Mr. Gordon-
Cumming told us long ago in Seribner’s of a place
called Bannock Brae, at Grantown, in Scotland,
where from time immemorial the young folks of
Strathspey have assembled on May mornings to roll
their bannocks or barley cakes as solid as hard-tack
and their hard-boiled eggs.
And, if you wish to carry the matter back still
further, all over Druidical Europe the favorite mode of divination was by roll-
ing som? object down a hill-side, gener a circle or a wheel of Durning
wood.
It would be easy to pursue this subject further, inquiring into the origin ©
of the Easter egg, the story of rabbits laying eggs, of the goddess Oastera after —
whom the day is named, of dyeing eggs to represent the beauties of spring
when the great sun-egg comes rolling down the sky from the far off south land,
but the matter would fill a book.
T am only showing you how the Washington children came by the pretty -
Easter custom which is ES their own.
AN EGG-EATER.
Otis T. ‘Mason.
Ht .
none wil BER Elat up i
ya AMALIE aa x
Le : Vee BOYER SAE Ss POE Oe
- THE DAVY BURNS COTTAGE.
-
ramen
“oaleR,
fl
AN EVENING ENTERTAINMENT.
ARITHMETIC AMONG THE GREEKS.
ND what do these figures mean? Why, you must
know that this is the way in which Greek boys and
girls do examples in long division...
“What a queer way!†you say; “just look! they put
the divisor at the right hand, and they put the quotient
underneath the divisor.†And some of you are wondering
why you see no sign of any ‘multiplication, and you are ask-
ing: “Have the scholars done this all out on their slates and merely put these
figures on the blackboard, or are they so wonderfully smart that they multiply
and carry and subtract in their heads. and write merely the remainder on the
board?â€
We have all wondered in the same way in visiting Greek schools, have pitied
the pupils for this seemingly cumbrous method and at the same time admired
their ability, as we supposed, to do so much in their heads and have so little
appear on the board. But the other day we had it all explained to us by a
Greek master who claims that he approves this method, and considers it
simpler than any other.
And this is his explanation : “452952 is to be divided by 648. It looks as if
it would go 7 times, so J say in my mind 7 times 6 are 42; 42 from 45 gives me
3, I bring down the 2 making 32; 7 times 4 are 28; 28 from 32 leaves 4, but 7
times 8 are more than 49, so I must try another figure. I will try 6; 6 times 6
are 86; 36 from 45 leaves 9 — oh!. that is a large enough remainder I needn’t
go any further.
“Then there is another way we e have,†the master went. on to say, “to try if
our quotient is correct: instead of multiplying 648 by 7 we divide 4529 by 7
and find that the result is less than 648 ; we try 6 and find that the result is a
sum larger than 648, so we conclude 6 is the first figure
of our desired quotient.†ae
All this is preliminary, and of course to those who are 452952 (648
accustomed to the methods does not take so long as it has 6415 699
taken here to read it. Now we come to the real division 5832
and we will let the master continue his explanation: ;
“Having found the first figure of the quotient to be 6,
I work the example in this way: 6 times 8 are 48; it takes
1 to make 49 (for the 9 above I must consider as a 49), so I write down the 1;
6 times 4 are 24 and 4 (for I made the 9 a 49) make 28. It takes 4 more to
make the next higher figure containing a 2, viz.: 32; so I write down the 4
and carry 3 in my multiplication of the next Fone 6, getting thereby 39. It
452952 (648 _
6415 699 ,
5832
OOo. .
OOO
BITTER-SWEET.—HOW THE NEWS CAME.
takes 6 more to make 45; I write down 6; so I have 641 to’ which I bring
down the next figure 5, giving me 6415.
“T proceed with the second and third figures in the quotient in the same way,
and in this example I find that it is necessary to add nothing to my last multiph-
cation to make the product equal to the figures above. This proves that there
is no remainder and that 648 is contained in 452952 exactly 699 times.â€
American School, Broussa, Turkey in Asta. DES: Crawfe ord.
mm Al
oN ned
A\\\ Hie
1 : Ye, Ah
h A OS Y ie eo
Se GY
BITTER-SWEET,
HOW THE NEWS CAME,
a ‘a hawk first caught the glimmer from the top of Bradford’s Hill;
Swift he flew to tell the mastiff who keeps guard at Saunder’s mill ;
Loud the mastiff barked, “He’s coming! Sun is coming! Coming soon!â€
And a little squirrel heard it far away at Hazeldoon ;
Like a flash the squirrel bounded up the hill and down the glen,
And he told the joyful message to a sleepy little wren ;
Up she started, chirping loudly, “Sun is coming! Almost here!â€
And her eager little chirping woke our brave old chanticleer ;
Boldly he sang out the tidings, loud and clear as call could be —
And the rooster by his crowing told the gladsome news to me. :
Amos R. Wells.
THE SQUEAKING FERN.
Lt and I went off to the jungle. Harry is eight, and I am past nine,
and the “jungle†is at the end of our garden. Our garden is very big ;
first there is a long stretch of lawn with a few flower beds; on the right is a
slender wire fence and some very tall forest trees, and on the left, beyond the
conservatory, there are thick shrubberies of rhododendrons.
After the lawn comes the Lake, with swans and all sorts of ducks, and after
_ the Lake, down ever so many mossy stone steps, comes our dear “jungle.†err
Harry and I like it better than all the rest of the garden. There are wild
flowers there, and no end of scrambling places among the trees and bushes. A
dear little brook runs through it with a tiny bridge over it; you can hardly see
the water for the ferns and rushes and sweet flags that grow on each side of the
little stream. Behind it is.a sort of hanging wood, and at the end of this the
water comes tumbling down into our brook over ledges of stone, as if it was glad
to run away frorn the lake where everything is kept tidy, and:to come plunging
down to play with Harry and me in the “jungle.†We call this waterfall the
“rapids†; what fun we have had there, sending paper boats and branches down
those “rapids.†Sometimes they reach the bottom safely, but they often come
ashore, and lose themselves among the ferns that grow between the wood and
the waterfall. ;
Mother is very fond of a fern that smells like a lemon, a pretty pale green
fern, and it grows close to the “ rapids.†Poor dear mother was ill again, so
Harry and I got a whole holiday, and went off to the “jungle.â€
“ Harry,†I said, “let us do something for mother; she loves ferns quite as
much as you love Bob.†Bob is Harry’s pony. He cannot bear to miss his ride; _
that is why he is not as fond of Sunday asIam. “Harry, don’t you think it—
would be nice to dig up one of those lemon ferns, and plant it in a pot? I
should think we could carry it in-doors.â€
Harry looked what I call superior. It is a curious look, and it suits his fair
square freckled face. It is not a rude or scornful look, only it makes me know
that I have said something foolish.
_ “The difficult thing is the digging,†he said slowly. Harry almost always
speaks slowly ; boys do not jabber as girls do. “The carrying is nothing at all.â€
“But, Harry, I know where mother’s fern-spud is, and the ground up there is
loose, just like a hedge-bank, don’t you see?â€
“Tl see when you bring the fern-spud, though it is awkward to dig on a slant,â€
Harry said. is
The fern-spud was kept in the boat-house, and I fetched a trowel too, so that
Imight help Harry.
THE SQUEAKING FERN.
‘We set to work near the top of the “rapidsâ€; Harry’s face soon grew so red
with digging that I began to laugh.
“ Just like a girl,†Harry said. “Tf you had really to dig, you wouldn’t laugh
I know, Nellie.â€
“Let me help, won’t you?â€
Harry did not answer. He stood up and wiped his face with his handkerchief ;
the gardener sometimes does it, and I expect Harry thought it was a part of dig-
ging. The trowel I had brought was a good big one, and Harry had so loosened
the earth that I could dig down quite easily. -1 pulled up the trowel, and put
both hands into the hole; I have seen mother do this and lift out a fern quite
easily, but this one stuck fast.
“T say, Harry, it has the funniest root you ever saw; it feels like a big round
ball. You are so strong, I believe you can pull it up without any more digging.
Why, Harry, it’s enormous! I could hardly hold it if it were out of the ground.
I'm sure it won’t go into the flower-pot you brought for it.â€
“ Out of the way there.â€
When Harry speaks like that, one always has to do what he says directly, so I
jumped up and made room for him. He crouched down and put his arm round
the mass of earth, and pulled at it with all his strength.
He looked up at me with a frightened face. “What are you doing, Nellie?
Why do you make that squeaking?â€
“TJ didn’t squeak.â€
But Harry was lying down flat on his face with his ear close to the hole.
“Come here, Nellie, listen,†he said in a frightened voice.
It was awful! As I stooped to listen, something alive was squeaking as if it
was dreadfully hurt right down at the bottom of the hole.
I was very fond of reading any books I could find, and I knew all about the
“Mandrake.
«Come away, Harry,†I whispered, “it’s the shrieking Mandrake, it must be.
Oh! come away, do, or something dreadful will happen to both of us.†|
“Bother your Mandrakes.†arry’s face was redder than ever ; he dragged
the fern out of the hole, and flung it with its big ball of earth to the ground.
There it lay squeaking louder than ever; I looked at Harry and I could see that
he was as frightened as I was.
“Can't we put it back again?†I whispered, “perhaps some of it is left be-
hind.†I peeped cautiously into the hole. .
Harry pushed me away, but I had seen that the hole looked smooth and
round. Harry knelt down and put his handin. I thought this was very brave
of Harry, because there might really have been something alive in the hole.
I was so surprised to hear him burst out laughing; he held out his hand full
of nuts, but as I took one, I saw it was only an empty shell, with a round hole
in it. .
A BOY’S IDEAL.
All this while the fern was squeaking so pitifully that I could scarcely take
my eyes from it.
“Why do you laugh?†I asked; it seemed to me Harry was cruel to laugh.
“Yow ll see presently,†he said, “come along, Nellie.†He lifted up the big
squeaking ball and set off toward the house. ei
We had been told to keep quiet, so Harry took the path behind the con-
servatory that leads to the housekeeper’s room. ;
Mrs. Davis was busy at her table when we came in with our squeaking ball ;_
it squeaked worse than ever, and Mrs. Davis looked terribly frightened.
“Mercy me! Master Harry, what have you been doing? What have you
got there, sir?â€
“We've got a find, Mrs. Davis; I want a sieve or a wire cover, if you please,
and then you shall see our treasure.†Harry is always polite to Mrs. Davis.
I felt desperately excited till she came back with a wire cover, and then the
most wonderful thing happened. Harry wrenched the poor fern in two, and
there tumbled out on the table the prettiest, fattest, brown Dormouse you ever
saw, with big, shining black eyes, and such long whiskers. It stood an instant
looking scared, and Harry popped the cover down before it recovered from its
fright. It is my Dormouse now, for Harry has given it to me, and mother has
bought me a cage for it, and I have had it more than a year. It is quite tame;
it comes out on to the table and eats out of my hand. In the winter we gave it
a little nest, and it soon crept into it and slept sound for several weeks.
P. 8. I forgot to say that Harry and I went back to the “rapids,†and we
dug up another fern and put it in a pot for mother.
Katharine S. MacQuoid.
A E3oys jdeal.
*\ Vefhat sort of coat is that you wear.
O Tom, the tailor’s son? ™
“My father let me have my way,
_ From my design ‘twas done.
Ive pockets for knives and tops and balls,
And some for candy too;
Now dont you think this sort of coat
Z'\s just the thing For you ? â€
‘ —prdsman
WINTER SPORT.
BAKED BOOKS.
N Eastern Turkey, lying between the Euphrates and Tigris rivers, is a strip of
- country small in size —only one half the area of Pennsylvania — but vast in
historic interest.
Chaldzea is now a trackless region, covered with the sand of the desert, and
inhabited by Arabs living in mud huts and reed villages along the river banks,
or by tribes of Bedouins moving from place to place with their flocks of sheep, herds
of camels and goat’s-hair tents.
It seems all but incredible that this featureless, forsaken land could once have
been a paradise of beauty, the home of an industrious and great people.
Yet near the junction of the two rivers, Sir Henry Rawlinson believed, lay
the Garden of Eden; and we know that four thousand years ago Chaldea was
the home of the intelligent and prosperous Accadians who dwelt in cities, well-
built with sun-dried or kiln-baked bricks, full of palaces, temples and luxuries.
The appearance of the country was then very different. Lovely flowers and
beautiful palm and orange-trees lined the borders of the Euphrates and the
canals, which carried fresh waters in every direction to keep the land fertile,
while gardens and orchards and parks enriched the homes of the people.
Wise men watched the heavens at night from the tops of high observatories,
naming the stars and marking their courses. Generals marshaled their armies.
Slaves and prisoners were building temples and palaces. Artists, poets, judges,
priests and sculptors thronged the cities, while flocks and shepherds’ tents covered
the plains.
But now were you in that country you would see only an arid desert, with
here and there large mounds, looking like great sand hills, dotting the plain, ris-
ing sometimes to the height of one hundred feet.
Archzologists had long believed these mounds to be the graves of ancient
Assyrian and Chaldean cities, but it was not until 1842 that any real effort was
made to discover what the mounds did contain. In that year M. Botta, the
French consul at Mosul, made excavations in one of them, and was rewarded by
bringing to light an Assyrian palace. .
Since many mounds have been opened and wonderful treasures discovered.
Cities with their temples.and palaces have been uncovered, and thousands of
works of art, household utensils, war implements, jewelry, etc., have been taken
out and sent to the museums of the world.
One of the buried cities opened is Ur, the city in which Abraham lived dur-
ing his early life. It is believed that most of the discoveries carry us back to
his time, four thousand years ago; he may have looked daily upon some of these
buildings when he lived in “ Ur of the Chaldees.â€
BAKED BOOKS.
The most interesting of the relics are the brick tablets, which were the books
of the Accadians, and upon which are written songs, hymns, deeds, bills-of-sale,
stories, proverbs, prayers — indeed the Accadian literature.
The writing on these tablets is peculiar, being wedge-shaped ; at first no one
was able to read it. At length it was found that some of the tablets contained
writing in the old Assyrian script (the key to which Sir Henry Rawlinson had
discovered) side by side with the wedge-shaped or cuneiform writing. It seemed
probable, which was true, that the meaning was the same in each, one being a
copy of the other. By careful comparison an alphabet of the Accadian was
made, and thus these queer little clay .
books became readable.
Since this discovery, scholars have
been studying them, and we know
ii Me
I,
i
ce
now a great deal about ‘the people who © fi Say
wrote them. lip 7
When an Accadian was going to write /
to a friend, he would take a little clay,
soften it with water, and then mould it
into a block, two or three inches long and about the same width, smoothing the
surfaces off neatly. He would then take the cylinder signet, which he wore
around his wrist, and roll it over the tablet, stamping its impression upon the
soft clay. This was the writer's signature. Then with a sharp-pointed reed
or stylus, some six inches long, he would write above and below the signet
impression, filling the tablet on both sides with the small wedge-form characters.
The letter was then put into the oven and baked until the clay became hard.
The next thing was to make an envelope. More clay was worked into a thin
sheet and folded over the tablet, covering it entirely ; and — what is strangest
of all, an exact copy of the contents of the letter was written on the outside of
the envelope! Again it was put into the oven and baked once more.
A great number of tablets have been found; many of them are deeds or
business contracts preserved among the records of families.
If an artist wished to draw a hunting scene, a portrait, or any picture, he
BAKED BOOKS.
made a tablet in the same way, only larger, sometimes a foot square, traced the
design on the soft clay and then baked it. ;
Some tablets contain histories of heroes or stories of the gods; when these
were long, a large number of tablets, in some cases over one hundred, were neces-
sary. ‘They were used like the pages of a book, and the writing was continued
on one after another until the story was complete. To indicate the various tab-
lets belonging to a series, a title was given consisting of the first words written
upon the first tablet. Thus in one document that has been found, covering over
seventy tablets, the first words are, “When the gods Ann (and) Bel;†this be-
came the title of the story, and at the end of the first tablet in te series is
written, “The first tablet of When the gods Ann, Bel;†at the end of the
second tablet, “the second tablet of When the gods Ann, Bel —†so through the
seventy. ach tablet also begins with the last line of the tablet preceding.
In the royal cities were great libraries where these writings were preserved
under the charge of librarians. The books were catalogued, also upon clay tab-
lets ; and for still further convenience small oval tablets recorded the titles of
the various series of works. |
It is thought that rooms on the upper floors of palaces were set apart for
the libraries. There with elaborate system the tablets were arranged according
to their subjects. Abraham may have visited, on many an occasion, the library
in the palace of Ur, and read the very tablets which after all these centuries
have been recovered, and are being studied by the learned of our day.
When the mounds were opened these baked books were found, in many cases,
broken and widely scattered, fragments of the same tablet being picked up in -
places far apart, but patient search, skill and scholarship have recovered and
republished them.
5 Rev. J. M. Rion:
f.
BOSTON’S GIRL-SCULPTOR.
(Theo Alice Ruggles.)
is was a beautiful morning in the summer of 1887, but quite too early for any
stir among upper-tendom, when two forlorn travelers, still dazed by a rough
‘night on the Portland steamer, found themselves alighting from a suburban train
at the charming village of Brookline, just four miles out from Boston.
With the ease of long acquaintance one led the way, soon turning into a
_ rocky, sloping alley, topped by a sign-board, before which her companion paused
irresolutely. .
“Oh! never mind that,†laughed the leader, “come right along! ‘ Prwate
‘way, dangerous passing’ in Brookline means only that the corporation refuses to
be responsible for accidents that may happen in streets opened by private
enterprise.†ete
Reassured, the procession of two advanced, skirting a high wall which shut
off all view to the right until the leader suddenly plunged into its seemingly
solid surface, the other bewilderedly following and finding an opening in which
some stone steps led upwards to a little gate.
Passing through, there was a delighted exclamation, “ Oh, charming!†for
something like a park lay about them, deliciously cool and green, in which were
set down, after a neighborly, cheek-by-jowl fashion, several houses of varying
architecture, each a distinct home, yet all sharing, in common, the well-kept
grounds, so shadowy and sunny in the early morning.
A circling drive, followed by the two, led to a house which was brown and
cosey, and a ring at the bell brought a surprised domestic to the door. Upon
entering, and at the sounds of our voices, one or two sleepy-looking heads ap-
peared above the upper balustrade, and some one exclaimed, “ Why, girls, is it
you? Come right up!†. >
This charming place, really facing an aristocratic avenue, but approached
more expeditiously and romantically by the back way, is the home of Boston’s
girl-sculptor, Theo Alice-Ruggles.
At breakfast we met her—a graceful girl of sixteen, with a Venus de Milo
form; dark, carelessly-curled hair tied into a bunch behind and tossed over one
shoulder; bright, inquiring eyes, and an air as easy and unconventional as a
child’s. Indeed, she seemed nothing but a child when, breakfast over, she called
her two dogs, Glaucus and Jack, for a romp. ;
Glaucus was a tall, beautiful greyhound; Jack, a terrier, with eyes of wicked
_ sharpness, and a nose poking into everybody’s business — and pockets. Up and
down on the green she raced, laughing, every movement free, for, without any
especial knowledge of Mrs. Jenness Miller, Theo’s mother had adopted many of
BOSTON’S GIRL-SCULPTOR.
her ideas in her own and children’s dress, every garment being sufficiently loose
for gymnastic exercises, and of the simplest cut and finish; both her daughters
are well-developed girls, agile and supple as young Indians.
When an hour later Theo started with her master for the Boston ato: I
noticed her dressing; she was in a full-skirted, plain-waisted erey flannel, fniched
with an easy, rolling collar; a jersey
street jacket, and a man’s gray felt
hat with wide brim — not a piece of
jewelry in sight, and only the one .
useful ribbon which held her hair in
place. Thus in the studio she is ready
for any work, with-never a thought of
clothes to hamper her.
In the parlor, on an improvised
pedestal covered with black cloth,
stood her first study from life: the head
and bust of a little Italian girl, the
delicate, hunger-pinched features tell-
ing a pathetic story.
“She was such a starved little
mite,†explained the young sculptor,
referring to the model who was picked
up in the North End slums of Boston,
“and so dirty! I had to wash off a
little, but I didn’t. dare to touch. her
hair— see how matteditis. I thought
we'd never fill her up, so as to get
that wild hungry look out of her eyes,
though we ransacked all the studios
on our floor for provisions — in fact,
it’s there yet, isn’t it?†looking reflec-
tively at the pure white bust, in which BADER TSTaCr eae
the little one’s soilure was quite refined (Brom ure pholagranh)
away, if not her want.
This bust took the bronze medal in the Department of Fine Arts at the Me-
chanics Fair that autumn —an honor for a first head from life. Subsequently
the same bust was given a place j in the Salon in Paris, and ee much notice
from press and public.
But if you think that being ablea to model in clay or plaster, showing a knowl-
edge of anatomy which astonishes the doctors, makes’ the young sculptor any-
thing but a girl at heart, you would change your mind upon seeing her.
I remember that one day the guests and herself (with the two inevitable
“BOSTON’S GIRL-SCULPTOR†IN HER STUDIO.
BOSTON’S GIRL-SCULPTOR.
dogs) went for a walk along one of those delightful English-like roads for which
Brookline is famous. The dogs-were chained together, much to their discomfort,
and Theo’s amusement, for if Jack saw something like a rabbit at his right,
Glaucus was sure to espy a possible squirrel at his left, when there was a pulling
in opposite directions worse than that of two political parties! Glaucus, being
the stronger, generally
towed poor, howling Jack
along, though sometimes
the latter’s quickness made
him get the better of his
more aristocratic compan-
ion. And over their antics
Theo laughed till she had
to sit down on a stone wall
and wipe the tears from
her eyes. At length the
handsome fellows, being
actuated for. once by the
same impulse, rushed
madly forward, and one of
the guests, who was inno-
cently searching for flow-
ers, found herself flat on
the ground, wrapped about
by dogs and chain in a
tangle which threatened
her total extinction, at
ee which situation the wicked
— little sculptress nearly tum-
. bled over backwards in her
child-like mirth.
There could searcely be
a more idyllic life than
- hers hasalwaysbeen. The
E large rooms up in the
eee, ee Ca French roof. show plainly
(Bust by Theo Alice Ruggles; shown in the Salon of 88.) what fun she and her elder
sister and brother have had
together. Here are Horace’ tools and timber, Nan’s old dolls and worn-out
music, Theo’s bits of clay modeling and first childish drawings, with the usual
litter a books and toys—each young mind evidently allowed full scope for the
development of its natural bent.
BOSTON’S GIRL-SCULPTOR.
They have een fortunate in an indulgent father and a mother whose every
heart-beat has been for their ae ee too, in a life free from all
unhealthful excitements, with no craving for grown-up gaieties. Dress has been
the matter of least concern, and “ ecietyy quite ignored; thus the modest
means of the parents have gone to meet the requirements of an unusually liberal
education.
From what ancestor Theo received her strong bent for sculpture is an un-
_ answered question. Neither parents, nor grandparents, showed any leaning that
way, nor did they suspect the tendency in this child until she had entered her
“teens.†-
Before this time Mr. Ruggles had bought a pleasant furnished cottage by the
sea, to which the family migrated every summer. Not far away was a clay-bank,
‘in which Theo soon found a most delightful play-spot. She found it fun to
- mould the soft sticky stuff and make the other children stare over the pretty
images she fashioned and then baked in the sun! They, meanwhile, with good-
natured alacrity, helped her all they could in the first stages of modeling, leaving
to her the finer work, at which many strangers strolling by stopped to gaze with
real surprise and admiration.
The winter she was fourteen was a snowy one; and one day as her mother
returned from a shopping excursion into Boston, she saw several people standing
about, intently observing something in the yard, and exclaiming with pleasure.
One gentleman, who is quite an art connoisseur, pointed to this object. He said:
“T tell you, Mrs. Ruggles, you should cultivate the talent in your daughter —
that is an unusually fine piece of modeling!†Looking, Mrs. Ruggles saw the .
snowy representation of a horse lying upon its side with its legs outstretched, as
if about to rise.
The muscles and veins were surprisingly visible and perfect; and until the
snow melted, the horse was visited by many people, who seemed unanimous in
declaring the girl had a great future before her. .
Mrs. Ruggles, meanwhile, said little, but like another mother of long ago,
“pondered all these things in her heart.†Was her child really different from
others about her? Was her life to be unlike the ordinary “lot that maidens
choose?†;
She began making imquiries In-a new direction. How did people become
sculptors? Who had thus won distinction in the past? Where could she find
suitable masters for her daughter ?
Her first inquiries were disheartening.
The girl was refused admittance into the classes at the Boston Museum of
Fine Arts, and also into several art schools, because she was too young. But
there is always a door if we grope long enough, and one was finally found by the
~ anxious mother, leading into. the private studio of Mr. H. H. Kitson, well and
favorably known by his bronze called “The Music of the Sea,†in the Boston
~BOSTON’S GIRL-SCULPTOR.
Museum, his bust of the Queen of Roumania, and who is now doing the important
Farragut statue for the city of Boston.
Here, Theo began work in earnest, modeling from the antique, and studying
anatomy with a faithfulness that has given her a knowledge of the “human form
divine†really wonderful in one so young.
She was still a child, when, one day some kindly-intentioned friend sent ina
large book of anatomical plates, thinking to assist the girl, but lo! the student
developed at once into a critic. Taking the huge volume on her lap (you
couldn’t do it, girls, with your tight sleeves and corsages!) she innocently began :
ON THE BANKS OF THE OISE.
(Modeled by Theo Alice Ruggles when eighteen ; received ‘* Honorable Mention†in the Salon of °89.)
“That's bad—very bad! See, that is supposed to be a man’s neck; yet the
muscles are weak and womanish; besides, that depression isn’t right at all—
wait! I'll show you!†Oraning her pretty neck in exact imitation, she did show
them to their entire satisfaction. .
So it was with every plate—she seemed to know exactly what appearance
of arms, neck, or body should follow every movement, and: when tested, not
once was a criticism at fault.
The next fall, ’87, it was thought well to take the young worker abroad, and
her mother accompanied her, setting up a modest ménage in Paris, where they
would be handy to L’Ecole des Beaux Arts, and where she could still have the,
free, simple home life. Mr. Kitson, who was also abroad on a commission for
BOSTON’S GIRL-SCULPTOR.
Providence, R. I., soon joined the household, directing her studies as before.
In May of ’88.she daringly sent two works to the Paris Salon—I say “dar-
ingly,†for no artist, however old or famous, may send more than two at a time ;
and both were accepted and well-placed; they were favorably noticed. .
Her mother wrote home, in amusement:. “The work was mentioned as of
much merit by Mr. Theo Ruggles, afterwards corrected, with the addition that the
critic had unknowingly paid a high compliment to a young lady of seventeen.â€
A “high compliment,†really, because the work showed that force and
freedom usually ascribed to a man. . ;
The subject thus referred to was a bust called “ The Shepherd Lad.â€
Meanwhile, Mr. Kitson was called to reside in the household of the King of
Roumania, in order to model the bust of the Queen, and, often having occasion
to mention his promising little pupil, Her Majesty was graciously pleased to send
the girl a complete Roumanian costume. se .
In the fall the family moved to the Parisian suburb called Auvers sur Oise
(or Auvers on the river Oise) where the sculptors found snug quarters in the
old studio of the artist Daubigny, full with interest to the student of art.
Here the delighted girl could renew her old, joyous, out-door life, and when
not at work was generally romping by the river with three pet greyhounds.
But amid her frolics an idea was working which found shape at length in an
exquisite work of art, called “On the Banks of the Oise.†;
It represents a nude boy thrown easily upon one thigh, and gazing into the
imaginary stream, as if resting after his plunge. ee:
This work found ready acceptance in the Salon of 89, and connoisseurs say
it is a figure worthy of the Greeks, while unbounded astonishment is expressed
that such a sculpture has been produced by one so young.
She received “Honorable Mention ;†this means more than is apparent, per-
haps, to the American eye or ear, for it is the only instance at the Salon where
the honor has been conferred upon a woman for sculpture. It is said that as she
received her award, exclamations from all sides of “st jeune! si jeune ! †greeted
her and lasted until she took her seat.
At this same time she sent a bust of a child to the American Department of
Fine Arts in the International Exhibition, and this head was selected by the United
“States Commissioner as a standard of the works of art to be exhibited —a de-
~ cision which caused much dissatisfaction among American sculptors, who declared
the standard too high.
This work by a girl of eighteen! Her success and the public notice does
not turn her head. As a painter in Daubigny’s studio says of her:
_ “She is just the same; a woman at work, a child at play — accepting her
successes as carelessly as a baby grasps after the moon— apparently quite
unspoilable!â€
Fannie E. Newberry.
ACER IMIEINE ORM OF VISE:
TJ ‘HERE is nothing in this world so interesting as the inventive genius of man;
and yet we erect statues to almost everybody else rather than to inventors. -
A gentleman told me that the fellow-citizens of Rumsey, the reputed originator —
of the steamboat, had done him the honor to set up his figure in a room by the
side of a case filled with
strings of buttons collected
by some little girls ten years
ago, when that was the craze.
But you will not see many of .
these great benefactors of
mankind memorialized even
so well as that.
' They are making a great effort now to preserve the
old things used by the first settlers of America and set
them up in Chicago in 1893. But once in a while I get behind Columbus
even, and I have a good example of Esquimau ingenuity to show you now.
The interesting device here figured is not patented; and yet it is very .
effective.
When the Esquimau wished to make a dipper to bail his canoe, or for a drink-
ing vessel, he used to whittle and grind a strip of spruce wood to the desired
thickness and shape. By dint of soaking in hot water he slowly
bent the strip into the form shown in Fig. A. His vise for holding
the work in place consisted of two short sticks, which are the jaws
of his vise, and two strips of soaked spruce root split, which may be
called the screw. When these strips dried they shrank a great deal,
and having been wrapped around the ends of the clamping sticks
(Fig. B.) they drew in drying like the cooling tire on a wheel. While the vise
was doing its work the Esquimau cooper or tinker, as you please, drilled little
holes through the overlapping portions (Fig. C.) and sewed the parts together
with splints of spruce root or of whalebone. The bottom
was then deftly fitted in and secured in place by neat bits
of wood like shoe pegs. _
The advent of the tinner, working in the salmon can-
neries, has furnished this dainty workman with a cheaper
dipper, and you are not likely to see further examples of this curious invention,
one specimen of which is in the National Museum at Washington.
Fig. A.
\
ao
\
\
oa
eee
Fig C.-
Otis T. Mason.
DOWN IN THE MEADOW WITH GRANDPA.
THE MYSTERIOUS “CHOIR BOY.
I WAS sitting in the church one night just after a rehearsal, awaiting I knew
not what, running my fingers over the organ keys in search of some restful
chord or strain, which should in some measure recompense the nervous exhaus-
tion consequent upon a rehearsal of a choir of twenty-five boys.
I had tempted almost every form of composition. Luther's grand hymn,
‘“¢ My God, what do I see and hear,
The end of things created,â€
touched no answering chord. I was not in a mood to grapple with such serious
questions. Processionals and retrocessionals, of which a score had chased
through my mind and found expression through my fingers in every combination
of stops of which the organ was capable, would not satisfy the demands of my
mood. Not until I began “ Lead, kindly Light, lead Thou me on,†did I find a
sentiment which could in any way meet my needs.
How long I was playing, and how many hymns of the plaintive order I gave
myself up to, would be difficult to say. The sun had given place to a darkness
which could be felt, and but for a thorough knowledge of the particular organ
which it had been my privilege to have charge of for so many years, I should
have made sad work of my combinations. The organ was blown by a water-
“motor, so I had no conscience about keeping a blow-boy beyond his time, or
over-taxing his muscular abilities.
THE MYSTERIOUS CHOIR BOY.
An indistinct rap at the inner choir-room door recalled me to a consciousness of
the departed light, and my returning sense suggested that perhaps I could see
better in the surrounding darkness than if I should light the gas suddenly.
“« Come in,†I said, ‘if you can find your way in the dark. I have neglected
to light the gas because my match-safe is empty, and because I preferred the
faliehed in which to extemporize,†I added in explanation, and then awaited the
naming of my visitor’s errand.
“T like the darkness,†said a light, but sweetly sympathetic young voice. “I
am used to it, and then I can think better.â€
“Well, my little man, or woman, whichever you may be, what, pray, do you
have to think about at your age? Fun and frolic ought to be your business, the
whole world your playground, and the present your opportunity,†said I.
“T am a boy only, now, but if time would hurry I might then be a man, and
that would be a very different thing,†said the pathetic little voice. “I am in
the way now — boys always are, you know.â€
“Wait a minute,my man. Do you suppose boys try very hard to please,
especially when a game of marbles is in progress on the other side of the fence,
or a hockey-game is in full swing, or a small boy is waiting for you to go skating,
and is making day hideous with those throat-scraping, gurgling yells in which the
average boy delights ? ie .
The young voice answered readily : “] have no marbles or tops. I can’t
play hockey, nor skate. My sport is sifting ashes, cutting wood and bringing
coal; my work is picking horse-hair, and it makes my throat sore with coughing,
there | is so much dust in it.â€
The pathos of the little fellow’s words, taken with the accompanying sigh, was
indescribable.
“ All that must be changed,†said I. “ Sunshine abounds here, and there are
birds and flowers and trees and brooks and rivers for all; you and I will take a
holiday soon. Nature holds loads and loads of beauty, and she gives freely to
everybody.â€
“‘ Perhaps,†said the unseen little cynic, after a pause.
“Well, and now to what may I attribute the honor of this call?†said I.
“T heard you wanted some boys for your choir, and if you could let me join
I think I should be happy. I love to sing, or rather I love music, and I think I
should love singing if I was allowed to try; it is the only pleasure I have. As
it takes me a long time to carry home my sack of hair to the factory, I enjoy
singing as I. sit down to rest. Please don’t say no, it has taken me so long to
get courage to come to you,†and the voice trembled away into silence.
“My dear little man, I will not say ‘no, †I answered; “on the contrary I
will say ‘yes’ without further ceremony. I must, however, lay down one of the
rules of our choir, one which must be obeyed by any who join. There are two
rehearsals a week, and every member of the choir must be present; and there
THE MYSTERIOUS CHOIR BOY.
are certain other rules which must be observed, but those I will say nothing of
until your acquaintance with us shall be longer. .One must always be tidy in
appearance, for one thing. The rehearsals are Tuesday and Eniday evenings, and —
the boys are expected to be here promptly at seven o’clock.â€
I waited a moment for some response, but none coming I resumed:
“There may be some extra rehearsals appointed, as we are approaching a
church festival, but there will always be sufficient notice given.â€
Still no response. I was conscious.of some little doubt in the boy’s mind,
which I reasoned was due to timidity, but feeling sure I could find some place in
my large choir for such a forlorn little soul, I went on:
“Tt is my custom to try voices before giving any encouragement, bat I find
in yours, as you speak, so much-sympathy, and you express such a fondness for
music, that I will simply trust you to do your best when you join us.â€
The little fellow came towards me —I was still sitting on the organ-seat —
and reached out apparently after my hand which I extended; he shook it mol,
touched his lips to it, and with a hasty, nervously whispered é Thank you,’ passed
into the choir-room, and thence out into the night.
“ What a peculiar atmosphere this little penernality has eet with him,â€
thought I. “Outraged innocence, oppression, wrong!†My mood of pensive
depression had changed to a ECCIDE of aggressive aaa in the service of a
little bound soul.
‘In making a transcript of the day’s doings I was first apprised of my neglect
to take my visitor’s name and address, but I ‘said to aiyeell, “ He'll be here
to-morrow night and then I can ask.â€
Rehearsal night came, and with it a score of noisy boys and almost as many
noisy young men. It was really difficult to draw the age-line between them.
_ All sorts of good-natured nonsense were entered into with as much zest by the:
twenty-year-old boy as the ten-year-old. Both were genial, free, hearty, happy,
honest and kindly. Good material for me to find an evening’s enjoyment with.
I must say I spent much time that night looking towards the door, expecting
my little friend of the dark interview, an many times during the evening it
seemed as though he were in the room, so strongly was I impressed by his fae
ence. Iwas feeling much disappointed at his failure to be present, when, upon
turning out the last gas jet, and taking my key in hand to lock the door, there
was a little rustle, and my hand was grasped, and I knew my new boy was there.
“ Excuse me, please,†said he, “for not seeming to keep my word to you, but
I was here all the time and heard nearly the whole rehearsal. As I was a little
late I did not come in; I don’t know any of the boys, and besides†—a pause ;
and for some reason unknown to me I respected his silence..
_ “Well, my little man,†I said, “you must summon your courage, and you
must get in to rehearsal at the usual time — that is one of my strong points of:
discipline, and of course I can make no exception in your case.â€
THE MYSTERIOUS CHOIR BOY.
“Yes, sir, I will try to be on hand at the next rehearsal,†he said. “TI know all
the music for Sunday ; there was nothing new that you rehearsed. Through the
window I have heard every rehearsal you have held for six months, missing only
two ne If you will come up into my music room I will sing it all to
you.†;
He started away and I. followed.
Out into the night, up the hill, through woods, into a clump of soft
pines my little magnet led me, although I moved with much difficulty, it was so
painfully dark. He guided me to a rock; I seated myself upon a shelving sec-
tion, and awaited the “ rehearsal.†ae
“Your first hymn was ‘Pleasant are Thy courts above,’†said he, “and I
know every word.â€
Without further parley, a voice which fairly thrilled me, began to sing; the
volume was amazing, the sweetness indefinable.
Without a comment, he went tapidly from one hymn to another, and then
said, “ I know the offertory anthem, too.â€
My throat was too full, my feeling too strong, to bid him sing it, nor would I
have broken, if I could, the spell cast upon me by the powerful, intense, rich
young voice.
Not waiting my assent, he began the exquisite song from Naaman:
“< T dreamt I was in heaven.â€
Had the Shunamite’s child been telling his own story, he could not have lent
such angelic charm to it as did this strange child.
Finishing the song, by the aid of a gleam. of light through the pines I saw
the little wraith arising from his knees, and I was sure > that in his singing he had
invoked other aid than his own.
My mind, presently returning to its natural functions, was busy mac reflections.
“ Surely,†said I, “I cannot broach common subjects just. now ; such as to ask of
his name, his home, his former life.â€â€™
“ Didn’t you like my voice ? you don’t speak,†said the boy suddenly.
““ My boy,†said I, “who are you?â€
“¢ Only a waif,’ says my aunt, ‘ whom she has to take care of.’ â€
~“ How blind! What is your name?â€
“ Wallace; but don’t ask any more, please. You do not need to know where
I live. I will be near ne emiene you want me in the evening; I will not fail
you when you need me.†The pathos of his tone demanded a respectful reti-
cence as to further questionings.
“ When you wish to go,†he continued, “I will lead you down the hill and
hold the branches back for you to pass. I go down this way,†and the voice
turned from me. ss
Completely mystified, my euneey was as completely aroused. My knowl-
THE MYSTERIOUS CHOIR BOY.
edge of the geography of the locality suggested that if he went‘in the direction
of his voice, he must travel through a low, marshy country road for more than
three miles before he came to a ne nteiion
““T shall hope to see you at the next rehearsal,†said I, with as much deference
as though addressing some one of rank, and to whom I was under heavy obliga-
tion. “You need not wait for me to go down, though, as I like the solitude of
' this place, and would stay a while longer?
The boy thrust his little hand into mine. “Iam glad you like my sanctuary,â€
he said. “Tasked the mill superintendent what to name a place which I con-
sidered sacred, and he told me I could call it ‘my sanctuary.’ You are the only
one who has ever been here with me. I say my prayers here, sing my hymns
and listen, and sometimes out of the stillness of the night come sweet sounds,
which I cannot. understand, but which rest me, make me contented, and turn my
pain and unhappiness into peace and good-will towards ever ‘ybody. Do you
mind if I say.this to you? I have nobody to talk to; my mother and: ‘father are
both dead, and my aunt says Tam an idle dreamer, but my stops here are the
only rest I have. I-must. be up at work at five o’clock, and work until six at
night, then.carry. ny pack to’ the sacha ; it is on my way back that I rest
here:â€
[had concluded to respect the little fellow’s desire that I would not ask into his -
life. Ihoped he would disclose to me more of his.own accord; moreover, I had re-
solved to visit the mill and trust to my own eyes and what I iene learn from others
in regard to this strange little personality. Yet a great dread of knowing too much
of i had seized me, and I was completely held Dye an ee pity and
sympathy.
“J must be-on my way now, said the little fellow, “orT shall Jone a ee
Good-night,â€â€™ and he was gone.
Being withdrawn from my immediate presence, as influence lisa its souitrol-
ling power; that, and the chill in the air, moved me to retrace my steps. My
mind, however, dwelt upon the child; in fact, I don’t know that he left my
thoughts through the night; he was foreniont in my mind upon awaking, and as
you will see was with me most of the day.
After breakfast I went directly to the factory. The superintendent being out
of his office, I was allowed to go into the various departments. I saw only those
men and women one always sees in factories; nowhere a glimpse of my boy.
When the superintemdent came I made my errand appear to be only that of
a visitor who had come out of curiosity to know what was going on in his native —
town. In answer to my question whether he employed other hands not in the
factory, he said he allowed some people to carry out the hair-braids to pick and
bring back in sacks; upon being more particularly questioned, he could not
entity any little. bow who had apparently seen better days.
“ But,†said he suddenly, “there is one boy with a very sweet voice, who —
THE MYSTERIOUS CHOIR BOY.
comes here every night to bring back his work; he’s an odd stick —asks the
strangest questions! he is a poor, little, unfortunate’? —
But I had listened too long. I could not bear, after all, to know. “ What is
that coming towards us?†I interrupted.
“ Oh! that is the machine which twists the hair and makes it into ropes, such
as you saw in the store-room as you entered.†;
The superintendent may have noticed that my interest in the work came to
rather an abrupt end, and I soon left the factory, and wandered aimlessly up into
the village. : é .
My pity for Wallace was to my mind explained, and my sympathy went out
to him from every fiber of my body, and my plans for his relief and comfort
THE ‘‘ REHEARSAL’? AMONG THE PINES.
would have taxed a far heavier pocket-book than my own. Relief he must have
if he were in the hands of harsh people who were probably grinding him to the
dust to get the income of his work. When I should see the boy again I had
concluded just what to do.
When rehearsal night again came my mind was strangely absent from my
work, for Wallace was not present, despite his promises.
My work ended at last and I hurried to close up. I felt that my mysterious
boy might be but a short distance away, perhaps at “the sanctuary.†As I
stepped over the threshold, the little fellow sprang out from behind the horse-
sheds to welcome me.
THE MYSTERIOUS CHOIR BOY,
“You must come directly into the church,†I said; “I must have a talk with
you. You have missed your second rehearsal. Easter is approaching, and I
must know what you intend to ore upon, so that I may get some other boy to
do your solos if we cannot agree.†I spoke in a rather arbitrary tone, as if to
bring him to a sense of duty ; but it cut me to the quick even while I spoke.
“T could not come in; I came, but stood outside. You don’t know what you -
ask,†cried the boy. “ Oh, how I had hoped you would love me for what I
would like to be, rather than what I am.†The poor child’s sobs were most
pathetic, but he did not know my sympathy for him.
“Let us have a clear understanding ; then you will feel better,†said I.
Back into the choir-room we went, I directly to the match-safe, where I
scratched a match which missed.
“Oh, please don’t!†said the little fellow in a tone which would have melted a
stone; but following my desire to know the worst, I tried again, and was successful.
As soon as I could see, coming in from the dark, I looked towards the little
figure half-way back across the room, its face covered with its jacket sleeve; a as if
to shut out the light.
I held out my arms to him and was standing before him when he Teed his
head. Iam sure my arms did not relax, nor the expression of my countenance’
change as I beheld a being most untrue to nature; hump-backed, with one leg
shorter than the other, and a face which the traces of a fell disease had rendered
almost repulsive. He was ragged and untidy in almost every sense.
I was ready to repent of my action, when he jumped into my extended arms.
“ If you had spurned me I should have died,†he said, and he wept piteously. When
I could find words, in the most mechanical manner possible I took out some music
and asked him to catch the melody as I played it to him. He was quick, eager,
and I found no trouble in teaching him whatever I liked.
“JT will meet you to-morrow night at the sanctuary, my little fellow, and we 7m
lay some definite plans for the future,†said 1; “not to-night.â€
The next day was a busy one. Kind Ponds placed me in funds, and I was to
provide for him in every respect.
When I met him at the sanctuary, his place in the church was first to be
settled, as that was his particular business with me. He could not go into the
church with the choral procession, since he was lame; so I said, “ Did you ever
blow an organ ? oy
“No, sir; do they have to blow them?â€
“Oh, yes ; in some churches they hire boys to blow them whenever they are
played upon; but ours is somewhat different. You might take a chair behind ;
the organ, and sit where you can reach the handle, which plays up and down.
Then if it should stop while I am playing, or a little ivory piece which we call a
‘tell-tale’ should come below a black rane you could take the handle and blow.
For this service the church would pay you fifty cents a Sunday.â€
THE MYSTERIOUS CHOIR BOY.
“ And can’t I sing, toot ? Iwill sing and blow at the same time. I am pretty |
strong sometimes.â€
“ Yes; you may sing as much as you like ; and sometimes I mail put a cassock,
and ainolne on you, and you may sing a song.â€
With his tears and lips both on my hand, one could ee tell which was
the hotter. :
“ Now you must take me to your aunt,†I continued. “I have some business.
with her.â€
Without any hesitancy the little Hellew started towards the woods; on, on
through pasture, meadow and forest, over walls, brooks and fences, I followed.
his painful, lame step, until we came upon the open country, which must have ~
been fully three miles from the church. At last we came toa small house
before which the boy asked me to stop, until he might enter and prepare the way,.
probably, although he said he would like to open the front door for me.
I was met by a woman of middle age, whose manner was that of one driven
to bay: gray eyes, sharp nose, heavy pointed chin ; her attitude as I seated my-
self was that of one preparing for a fight. With nee arms akimbo, cine a voice of
brass, as harsh as a cymbal, she accosted me:
“Well, what has he done now? nothing much, T'll vow —his principal
trouble is not doing! He isa good candidate for the work-house, he is —all idle
dreamers should be made to work, and if I had nothing else to do he should be
made to work his stent every day.â€
“When he gets a little older Wallace will see the importance of being
methodical and industrious, and will know that such things mould a manly char-
acter, as you and I know. But the object of my visit is to see if you will allow
me to take him for a few months and cultivate his musical inclinations.. He has.
- a fine voice, ue a great love for music, and with some training he may prove a.
credit to you.â€
“JT have no money to spend on him,†she replied; “it is only through my
everlasting looking out for him that I can make him earn his salt. He isn’t.
mine and I have no interest in him except to have him look respectable. He is.
‘my sister’s child — and no special credit to her.â€
I glanced about, but the child had withdrawn. J recalled the rags and
unkempt hair and wondered where the respectability came in.
Upon questioning.the woman I found the boy had never attended school and
could not write his name, so far as she knew. [I lost no time in learning that he
_ had never been given to his aunt, that she had never adopted him; my course
was clear.
I finally became legally possessed of the boy, and Boum a course of common-
school education in the church rooms. He made most remarkable progress; his
love for study was so great that I called in friends to witness his Clemionsaubiods
when some new principle was unfolded to him.
FLUFFY’S EASTER JOKE.
So much encouragement came with this little fellow’s progress that I added
others to his class and soon I had a full-fledged school which proved of great ben- -
efit to choir and church.
We had daily service as one of the results of this movement, and although at
the first there was much skepticism expressed by the most interested churchmen,
yet finally and to-day the custom has made that church the most popular in the
surrounding country..
Wallace prospered in whatever he undertook.
At Easter, behind the lattice work which inclosed ‘the organ, he sang, “I
know that my Redeemer liveth.†The effect was that of some great benediction
bestowed. Many i in the congregation said they were conscious of some sacred
intervention in their behalf. I for one marveled at the soulful. interpretation of
the words, and for once I excused the inadequate setting which Handel has given
them.
I had made my meena: with him at hours when the choir-boys were not at
-hand; and not until he had sung several solos so feelingly as to impress, yes, to
awe some of the least reverent, did I let them know of his deformity.
After he had thus won their admiration, their tributes to his wonderful talent
were touching, and in ‘many instances were illustrations of those traits of charac-
ter, manly, loyal, fine, which are rarely attributed to boys. There were no —
coarse jestings at his expense, and I do not recall one instance of allusion to his
painful deformity, except with respectful consideration, lest he should hear.
He was the center of attraction whenever he was in the choir-room, and the
boys abandoned all games and boisterous play to congregate about him.
From being a missionary in such a small way,he became a power to lead.
Now he holds the position of instructor in the school, beloved by us all.
Henry Kirke White, Jr.
PLUBEY S EASTER JOKE.
ae the best joke on Polly!
I think it just jolly—
For, let me tell you, my dear, -
She’ll hunt for er Easter Eggs here,
But she'll never get me —
Now, mark.you, you'll see
How she opens her eyes — Miss Polly McMicken —
When, metead oF an Ege, she a me — a Chicken.
Valentine March.
Sy
at
SSS.
Vy
OUT OF REACH.
=a)
: ih i
BABY LOGIC.
HE was ironing her dolly’s new gown,
) Maid Marian four years old,
With her brows puckered down
In a painstaking frown
Under her tresses of gold.
’Twas Sunday, and Nurse coming in
- Exclaimed in a tone of surprise :
“Don’t you know it’s a sin
“Any work to begin
On the day that the Lord sanctifies ?â€
a Then, lifting her face like a rose,
Thus answered this wise little tot:
“Now don’t you suppose
The good Lord He knows
This little iron ain’t hot?â€
Elizabeth W. Bellamy.
A-1LOST STORY.
HEN I was a little girl, I used to spend my summers at my grandfather’s
in the country. It was a delightful old place with a hall through the
house, where the sun shone in at the wide doors, open at each end, and made a
bright patch on the clean yellow floor.
Around the wall hung some badly painted portraits, and some very fine sad-
dles, with here and there a silver spur, or a gay Mexican grass bridle.
At the landing stood the tall old clock, husky in its voice now, and above
that the library was ranged all around the upper hall.
Here and there among the sober old books, was a book of stories, left by
. aunts and uncles long gone.
I used in the long afternoons to take a book from these, and go across the
méadow to the old mill that ceased its grinding when the war came and took
away the darkies who ground and the darkies who ate the meal. It was a
sleepy old place; the meadow on one side all alive with bees; gentle golden
Italians, and sober brown bees,all swinging and darting, making a curious mov-
ing network of shadow over the meadow.
On the other side the water tinkled over the broken dam that was still high
enough to keep a dark pool behind it. This pool was very picturesque, shadered
with pale green willows and bordered. with reeds.
One hot afternoon in late summer I went softly upstairs, not to disturb
grandfather's nap, and hunted out my favorite Hans Andersen that I had not
seen since the year peronc and putting on my sun-bonnet sallied across the
meadow to the mill.
It was before the day of tramps, and I was not afraid to find my way up-
stairs in the resounding old building. I threw open the big window doors letting
the sounds from creek and meadow meet, and the sun stream across the floor,
and I arranged nye in a couch of old sacks for a long afternoon with Hans
Andersen.
First I read “ The Story from the Sand Denes? and then my favorite “Ugly
Duckling.†That story was ever new to me, and at every reading I thrilled at
the wonderful transformation. .
Now after I had finished it, and was lying Dee upon my sacks, idly fingering
the leaves of the book, I found something pinned among them. It was cine ai
. printed matter, and as I took it out, I saw that it was “The Gray Goose’s
Story,†and as nearly as I remember it I will tell it to you.
“ Here I float, around and around, always solitary.
“A long, long time ago, when I was young, and had just had the cruel wound
A LOST STORY.
that made me drop with a broken wing into this little lake, 1 thought that I
should fly again some day, or that some of my kind would come to keep me com-
pany. They did for a year or two, when the flocks flying over my head heard —
my eager ‘honk ;’ they settled down, covering my little lake, and I was almost
happy. But I asked so many questions, and every year there were more young
ones that thought me tiresome, and after a while they flew high when they flew
by, and then I ceased to cry to them.
“ Ah, it was bitter to see them flying toward the great beautiful North, and to
know that I should have to swim around and around my little lake, and at last
die all alone among the reeds.
“ But one morning when I took my head from beneath my wing, I found that
the night had brought a sharer of my solitude. A queer, ungainly brownish bird
was sitting among the reeds with its head beneath its wing. I swam up close to
its side, ready to welcome it joyfully, but it never stirred. Two days and
nights it sat there motionless, until I began to fear that it was dead; then it.
‘lifted its head and looked around with so sad a gaze that I forgot its ugliness in
pity. Imoved away.
“Late that afternoon I swam along by its side, and that night we slept by
each other, and the next day the stranger told me her story.
“She (her name was Cygnet) had Been coming North with her mother and a
great flock of relatives, when she became too weak to fiy farther, and dropped
unnoticed from among them. A week later, when she could fly, she had joined ~
a flock of geese, but they had tortured her first by jeers, and then, angry that
so ugly a bird was among them, pecked at her, and wounded her, until she had
fallen exhausted into my lone little lake.
“Tt was no longer lonely. Two of us swam around, and slept in the reeds.
Here in this quiet lake we could spend our days. I could never fly, and Cygnet
would not seek again a world that had treated her so harshly. She was a sweet
creature, whose only sore point was her looks. She would not even look at her
reflection in the water. She remembered only too well her hideousness.
“Two years! two long happy years we lived in the little lake together.
And then, a little fear began to grow in my heart. Was Cygnet changing, or
was it only my love for her that made her seem .so graceful and lovely? And .
then she lost her brownish feathers. Was she getting white ?
“ After days of struggle, I could no longer deceive myself. I had here,
secluded because she believed she was too hideous to venture into the world,
the beautiful Whistling Swan !
“Nobody can ever know what I suffered. I knew that Cygnet was not
likely to find out what she was, at least while I lived, or that Nature had not
formed her to be grateful for this quiet nook, and for the society of a broken-
winged gray goose.
a AVLOST WS TORY:
THE DAY OF DEPARTURE.
“For a whole year I brooded over my trouble. I knew that I had no right
to keep her. ,
“She was in all of her beauty now. And one day as we floated along to-
gether—I like a gray spot by the side of the flashing silvery creature —I
begged her to turn her head and look at her own reflection.
““¢ Would you scorn me?’ she cried reproachfully ; and then I told her.
“She would not believe me at first; then coyly she turned her head and
A LOST STORY.
looked at herself, so poorly mirrored in the water. And then as she realized
herself, her neck arched as it never had before, and she floated with twice the
stateliness.
“T could say nothing then of her leaving me, but I knew she must go.
What was this life to the: happiness she would enjoy among her own kind in the
great beautiful free North!
“ Next day a flight of swans shadowed us for an instant, and then I knew
that I must speak.
“She listened calmly at first, but when I told her that aie must signal the
next flight, she would scarcely listen. Never, never would she leave me, she
said. | i ee
“And then I had to entreat her to go. I told her of all the delights in store
for her—the freedom, the bracing air, the great lakes, and best of all, the
friends! And then I told her that I should be happier thinking of her enjoying
her young life. She listened impatiently, then,I could see, longirgly.
“Very soon another flight of swans Gremeneyed ‘Now!’ I cried; and
almost involuntarily she gave the peculiar whistle that she did not need to learn,
and for the first time rose from the lake. Once she wavered, and seemed about
to return, but the swans came to meet her, and she flew away with them, and I
_ never saw her again.
“T float around the little lake, I am very lonely, but I am not unhappy. I
remember my beautiful swan, and I know that somewhere she is happy. I shall
swim around and around, and some day, I shall swim into the reeds, put my head
under my wing, and ; never lift it again.â€
After I finished the Gray Goose’s story, I lay back again among the sacks
and went to sleep. Hours after when I awoke I looked for it, and it was gone.
The Hans Andersen book lay there open, but the slips were never found. Did
it blow away? or did I sleep after the “Ugly Duckling†and dream it all ?
If any of you have read it anywhere will you please tell me where?
I may have left out a great deal, I know that I have told it very poorly, and
I may not have caught the best of it. I only write this in ee hope that some ,
one will tell me where to find my lost story again.
Anna Leach.
IN THE SHADE OF THE APPLE TREE.
THe Won es OF ST. GERVAS.
ee never seemed a place more in need of something to make it merry
than was the little Swiss hamlet of St. Gervas toward the end of March
some years since.
The winter had been the hardest ever known in the Bernese Oberland. Ever
since November the snow had fallen steadily with few intermissions, and the
fierce winds from the Breithorn and St. Theodule had blown day and night, and
the drifts deepened in the valleys and the icicles on the eaves of the chaléts
- grown thicker and longer. The old wives had quoted comforting saws about a
“white Michaelmas making a brown Easter,†but Easter was at hand now and
there were no signs of relenting yet. _
Week after week the strong men had sallied forth with shovels and pickaxes
to dig out the half-buried dwellings, and to open the paths between them, which
had grown so deep that they seemed more like trenches than footways.
Month after month the intercourse between neighbors had become more diffi-
cult and meetings less frequent. People looked over the white wastes at each
other; the children ran to the doors and shouted messages across the snow, but
no one was brave enough to face the cold and the drifts. ue
Even the village inn was deserted. Occasionally some hardy wayfarer came
by and stopped for a mug of beer and to tell Dame Ursel, the landlady, how
deep the snows were, how black clouds lay to the north, betokening another fall,
and that the shoulders and flanks of the Matterhorn were whiter than man had
ever seen them before. Then he would struggle on his way, and perhaps two
or three days would pass before another guest crossed the threshold.
THE WOLVES OF ST. GERVAS.
It was a sad change for the “ Kréne,†whose big sanded kitchen was usually
crowded with jolly peasants, and full of laughter and jest, the clinking of glasses
and the smoke from long pipes. Dame Ursel felt it keenly.
But such jolly meetings were clearly impossible now. The weather was too.
hard. Women could not easily make their way through the snow, and they
dared not let the children play even close to the doors, for, as the wind blew
strongly down from the sheltering forest on the hill above, which was the pro-
tection of St. Gervas from landslides and avalanches, shrill yelping cries would
ever and anon be heard, which sounded very near. The mothers listened with
a shudder, for it was known that the wolves, driven by hunger, had ventured
nearer to the hamlet than they had ever before done, and were then just above
on the hillside, waiting to make a prey of anything not strong enough to protect
itself against them.
“Three pigs have they carried off since Christmas,†said Meére Kronk, “ and
one of those the pig of a widow! ‘Two sheep and a calf have they also taken, _
and only night before last they all but got at the Alleene’s cow. Matters have
come to a pass indeed in St. Gervas, if cows are to be devoured in our very
midst! -Toinette and Pertal, come in at once! Thou must not venture even so
far as the doorstep unless thy father be along, and he with his rifle over his
shoulder, if he wants me to sleep of nights.â€
“©, dear!†sighed little Toinette for the hundredth time. “How I wish the
dear summer would come! Then the wolves would go away and we could run
about as we used, and Gretchen Slaut and I go to the Alp for berries. It seems
as if it had been winter forever and ever. I haven’t seen Gretchen or little
Marie for two whole weeks. Their mother, too, is fearful of the wolves.â€
All the mothers in St. Gervas were fearful of the wolves.
The little hamlet was, as it were, in a state of siege. Winter, the fierce foe,
was the besieger. Month by month he had drawn his lines nearer and made
them stronger; the only hope was in the rescue which spring might bring.
Like a beleaguered garrison, whose hopes and provisions are running low, the
villagers looked out with eager eyes for the signs of coming help, and still the
snows fell and the help did not come.
How fared it meanwhile in the forest slopes above ?
It is not asin for a wolf to be hungry any more than it is for a man; and
the wolves of St. Gervas were ravenous indeed. All their customary supplies
were cut off. The leverets and marmots and other small animals on which they
were accustomed to prey, had been driven by the cold into the recesses of their
hidden holes, from which they did not venture out. There was.no herbage to
tempt the rabbits forth, no tender birch growths for the strong gray hares.
No doubt the wolves talked the situation over in their wolfish language,
realized that it was a desperate one, and planned the daring forays which re-
sulted in the disappearance of the pigs and sheep and the attack on the Alleene’s
THE WOLVES OF ST. GERVAS.
cow. ‘The animals killed all belonged to outlying houses a little further from
the village than the rest, but the wolves had grown bold with impunity, and as
Mere Kronk said, there was no knowing at what moment they might make a
dash at the center of the hamlet.
Ifear they would have enjoyed a fat little boy or girl if they could have
come across one astray on the hillside, near their haunts. But no such luck
befell them. The mothers of St. Gervas were too wary for that, and no child
went out after dark, or ventured more than a few yards from the open house ~
door even at high noon.
“Something must be done,†declared Johann Vecht, the bailiff. “We are
growing sickly and timorous. My wife hasn’t siniled fora month. She talks of
nothing but snow and wolves, and it is making the children fearful. My Annerle
cried out in her sleep last night that she was being devoured, and little Kasper
woke up and cried too. Something must be done.â€
“Something must indeed be done,†repeated Solomon, the forester. “We
are letting the winter get the better of us, and losing heart and courage. We
must make an effort to get together in the old neighborly way; that’s what we
want.†:
This conversation took place at the “Krone,†and here the landlady, who
was tired of empty kitchen and scant custom, put in her word:
“You are right, neighbors. What we need is to get together, and feast and
make merry, forgetting the hard times. Make your plans and trust me to carry
them out to the letter. Is it a feast that you decide upon? I will cook it. -Is
it a musiker fest? My Carl there can play the zither with any other, no matter
whom it be, and can sing. Himmel! how he can sing! Command me! I will
work my fingers to the bone rather than you shall not be satisfied.†.
“Aha! the sun,†cried Solomon; for as the landlady spoke, a pale yellow
ray shot through the pane and streamed over the floor. “That is a good omen.
Dame Ursel, thou art right. A jolly merrymaking is what we all want. We
will have one, and thou shalt cook the supper according to thy promise.â€
- Several neighbors had entered the inn kitchen since the talk began, so that
quite a company had collected; more than had got together since the mass on
Christmas Day. All were feeling cheered by the sight of the sunshine; it
seemed a happy moment to propose the merrymaking.
So it was decided then and there that a supper should be held that day week
at the “ Krone,†men and women both to be invited, all, in fact, who could pay
and wished to come. It seemed likely that most of the inhabitants of St. Gervas
would be present, such enthusiasm did the plan awake in young and old.. The
week’s delay would allow time to send to the villagers lower down in the valley
for a reinforcement of tobacco, for the supply of that essential article was run-
ning low, and what was a feast without tobacco ?
“We shall have a quarter of mutton,†declared the landlady. Neils Auster-
THE WOLVES OF ST. GERVAS.
man is to kill next Monday, and I will send at once to bespeak the hind-quarter.
That will ensure a magnificent roast. Three fat geese have I also, fit for the
spit, and four hens. Oh! I assure you, my masters, that there shall be no lack
-onmy part. My Fritz shall get a large mess of eels from the Lake. He fishes
through the ice, as thou knowest, and is lucky; the creatures always take his
hook. Fried eels are excellent eating! You will want a plenty of them.
Three months maigre is good preparation for a feast. Wine and beer we have
in plenty in the cellar, and the cheese I shall cut is as a cartwheel for bigness.
Bring you the appetites, my masters, and I will engage that the supply is
sufficient.†.
The landlady rubbed her hands as she spoke, with an air of joyful anticipa-
clOMee .
“My mouth waters already with thy list,†declared Kronk. “I must hasten
home and tell my dame of the plan. It will raise her spirits, poor soul, and she
is sadly in need of cheering.â€
The next week seemed shorter than any week had seemed since Michaelmas.
True the weather was no better. The brief sunshine had been followed by a
wild snowstorm, and the wind was still blowing furiously.
But now there was something to talk and think about beside weather. Every-
body was full of the forthcoming feast. Morning after morning Fritz of the
“Kydne†could be seen sitting beside his fishing holes on the frozen lake patiently
letting down his lines, and later, climbing the hill, his basket laden with brown
and wriggling eels. Everybody crowded to the windows to watch him — the
catch was a matter of public interest.
Three hardy men on snowshoes with guns over their shoulders had ventured
down to St. Nicklaus and returned, bringing the wished-for tobacco and word
that the lower valleys were no better off than the upper, that everything was
puried in snow, and no one had got in from the Rhone valley for three weeks or
more.
Anxiously was the weather watched as the day of the feast drew near, and
when the morning dawned, every one gave a sigh of relief that it did not snow.
It was gray and threatening, but the wind had veered and blew from the south-
west. It was not nearly so cold, and a change seemed at hand.
~The wolves of St. Gervas were quite as well aware as the inhabitants that
something unusual was going forward.
From ¢heir covert in the sheltering wood they watched the stir and’ excite-
ment, the running to and fro, the columns of smoke which streamed upward
from the chimneys of the inn. As the afternoon drew on strange savory smells
were wafted upward by the strong-blowing wind, smells of frying and roasting
and hissing fat.
“Oh, how it smells —how good it does smell!†said one wolf. He snuffed
the wind greedily, then threw back his head and gave vent to a long “O-w!â€
THE WOLVES OF ST. GERVAS.
The other wolves joined in the howl.
“What can it be? Oh, how hungry it makes me!†cried one of the younger
ones. “ O-w-w-w!â€
“What a dreadful noise those creatures are making up there,†remarked Frau
KXronk as, under the protection of her stalwart husband, she hurried her children
along the snow path toward the “Krone.†“They sound so hungry. I shall
not feel really safe till we are all at home again with the door fast barred.â€
But she forgot her fears when the door of the inn was thrown hospitably
open as they drew near, and the merry scene inside revealed itself.
The big sanded kitchen had been dressed with fir boughs, and was brightly
lighted with many candles. At the great table in the midst sat rows of men and
women clad in their Sunday best. The men were smoking long pipes, tall mugs
of beer stood before everybody, and a buzz of talk and laughter filled the place.
Beyond in the wide chimney blazed a glorious fire, and about and over it the
supper could be seen cooking. The quarter of mutton, done to a turn, hung on
its spit, and on either side of it sputtered the geese and the fat hens, brown and
savory and smelling delicious. Over the fire on iron hooks hung a great kettle
of potatoes and another of cabbage.
On one side of the hearth knelt Gretel, the landlord’s daughter, grinding
coffee, while on the other her brother Fritz brandished an immense frying-pan
heaped with sizzling eels which sent out the loudest smells of all.
The air of the room-was thick with the steam of the fry mingled with the
smoke of the pipes. A fastidious person might have objected to it as hard to
breathe, but the natives of St. Gervas were not fastidious, and found no fault
whatever with the smells and the smoke which to them represented conviviality
and good cheer. Even the dogs under the table were rejoicing in it, and sending .
looks of expectation toward the fireplace.
“Welcome, welcome!†cried the jolly company as the Kronks appeared,
“Last to come is as well off as first if a seat remains, and the supper is still
uneaten. Sit thee down, Dame, while the young ones join the other children in
the little kitchen. Supper i is all but ready, and a good one too, as all noses tes-
tity. Those eels smell rarely. It is but to fetch the wine now and then fall to,
eh, Landlady?â€
“Nor shall the wine be hs lacking,†cried Dame Ursel, snatching up a big
brown pitcher. “Sit thee down, Frau Kronk. That place beside thy gossip
Barbe was saved for thee. "Tis but to go to the cellar and return, and all will
be ready. Stir the eels once more, Fritz, and thou, Gretchen, set the coffee-pot
on the coals. I shall be back in the twinkling of an eye.â€
There was a little hungry pause. From the smaller kitchen moltaa the
children’s laughter could be heard.
“Tt is good to be in company again,†said Frau Kronk, sinking into her seat
vel a sigh of Beastie) : .
FHE. WAOLVES OF Siz “GERVAS:
“Yes, so we thought, we who got up the feast,†responded Solomon the for-
ester. “‘ Neighbors,’ says I, ‘we are all getting out of spirits with so much cold
and snow, and we must rouse ourselves and do something.’ ‘Yes, says they,
‘but what?’ ‘Nothing can be plainer,’ says I, ‘we must’— Himmel! what is
that?â€
What was it indeed ?
For even as Solomon spoke, the heavy door of the kitchen burst open, letting
in a whirl of cold wind and sleet, and letting in something else as well.
THE UNBIDDEN GUESTS.
For out of the darkness, as if blown by the wind, a troop of dark swift shapes
darted in.
They were the wolves of St. Gervas; who, made bold by hunger and attracted
and led on by the strong fragrance of the feast, had forgotten their usual cow-
ardice, and stealing from the mountain-side and through the deserted streets of
the hamlet, had made a dash at the inn.
There were not less than twenty of them; there seemed to be a hundred.
As if acting by a preconcerted plan they made a rush at the fireplace. The
guests sat petrified round the table with their dogs cowering at their feet, and
no one stirred or moved, while the biggest wolf, who seemed the leader of the
band, tore the mutton from the spit, while the next in size made a grab at
THE WOLVES OF ST. GERVAS.
the fat geese and the fowls, and the rest seized upon the eels, hissing hot as
they were in the pan. Gretchen and Fritz sat on their respective corners of the
hearth, paralyzed with fright at the near, snapping jaws and the fierce red eyes
which glared at them.
Then, overturning the ene as they went, the whole pack whirled and
sped out again into ne night, which seemed to swallow them up all in a moment.
And still the guests sat as if turned to stone, their eyes fixed upon the door,
through which the flakes of the snow-squall were rapidly drifting, and no one
had recovered voice to utter a word, when Dame Ursel, rosy and oe came
up from the cellar with her brimming pitcher.
“Why is the door open?†she demanded. _ Then her eyes went over to the
fireplace where but a moment before the supper had been. Had been; for not
an eatable article remained except the potatoes and the cabbages and cabbage
water on the hearth. From far without zane back a long howl which had in it
a note of triumph.
This was the end of the merrymaking. “The guests were too startled and
terrified to remain for another supper, even had there been time to cook one.
Potatoes, black bread and beer remained, and with these the braver of the guests
consoled themselves, while the more timorous hurried home well protected with
guns, to barricade their doors, and rejoice that it was their intended feast and
not themselves which was being discussed at that moment py the hungry
denizens of the forest above.
There was a great furbishing up of bolts:and locks next day, and a fitting of
stout bars to doors which had hitherto done very well without such safeguards ;
but it was a long time before any inhabitant of St. Gervas felt it safe to go from
home alone, or without a rifle over his shoulder.
So the wolves had the best of the merrymaking, and the ‘allazers decidedly .
the worst. Still the wolves were not altogether to be congratulated, for stung
by their disappointment and by the unmerciful laughter and ridicule of the other
villages, the men of St. Gervas organized a great wolf hunt later in the spring,
and killed such a number that to hear a wolf howl has become a rare thing in
that part of the Oberland.
“Ha! ha! my fine fellow, you are the one that made off with our mutton
so fast,†said the stout forester, as he stripped the skin from the largest of the
slam. “Your days for mutton are over, my friend. It will be one while before
you uae your thievish pack come down again to interrupt Christian folk at their
supper.â€
But in spite of Solomon’s boast, the tale of the frustrated feast has passed
into a proverb, and to-day in the neighboring chaléts and hamlets you may hear.
people say: “Don’t count on your mutton till it’s in your mouth, or it may fare
with you as with the merrymakers at St. Gervas.â€
Susan Coolidge.
AN ARABIAN ROSE—GARDEN.
A BLACK PRINCE.
ae other day a black boy from Angola came
to visit me in my “curiosity shop†at the
Museum. He could not speak English, but his
protector, Mr. Chatelain, acted as interpreter of
his language —the soft M’bamba tongue.
' Jerry’s mother is a princess and his father a
shoemaker ; it is not inconsistent with royalty in
Africa to make shoes, so Jerry may also be called
a son of Crispin.
I The foot wear that Jerry makes, I can
‘ tell you, is not much improvement upon
~i \ ah the ancient sandals. He. prepares the
NO _ leather himself and sews an ample com-
’ fortable shoe resembling a moccasin.
Before knowing Jerry long one finds
that he has sharp eyes and that they have taken
in many things since he was a boy. There
seems to be no kind of wood, skin, fur, grass
or other materials used in making the curiosities
brought from Angola by Mr. Chatelain, that
Jerry does not know.
Perhaps the life of savage cnatien makes
them observant; they learn the secrets of the
woods and streams, they become intimate with insects and animals. I have
noticed this among colored children in Washington; they know more of trees
and animals than white children. —
While the young Angola prince was here, he made some African handiwork
for the Museum. When asked if children in Angola played with doll-babies, he
laughed an affirmative. When Mr. Chatelain asked him to make an Angola doll-
baby he grew grave and explained that it would be beneath his dignity. “That
is children’s work, and J am grown,†said he. However, we prevailed on him,
and he took up with shamed face the red, white and ns cotton stuff that
makes up the odd doll ii the picture.
There were many seams and pieces to be joined; in fact, it took Jerry the
better part of three hot August days to finish the doll to its tufted turban. It—
‘was amusing to see him represent the thick African lips by sewing in an oval
piece of yellow cloth where the mouth ought to be. A string of bright-colored
beads was fastened around the doll’s neck. All its clothes are sewed on; per-.
DOLL MADE BY JERRY AT NATIONAL MUSEUM.
A BLACK PRINCE.
haps M’bamba children do not care for me dressing and “ fixing†that our little
girls so much enjoy.
Our African prince can carve, shape, fit and put together most of the tools,
weapons, clothing and ornaments used by his people. He can play all the strange
African musical instruments as well as shoot a bow, throw a club with accurate
aim, or hurl a spear. He really has trained, sensitive, deft, sure fingers.
He decorated a carved club with beadwork, made a bead basket and neck-
lace; in this work he used the greatest deliberation and patience, as though
a were no object, threading the beads and measuring now and then
to get the rows of different colors even.
Amid the sights in Washington, Jerry did not have an opportunity f
to grow homesick except sometimes at night; it is said he was often y
homesick at night. I should like to know :
what particular impressions of America he will
carry back to Angola in that woolly pate of
his. The elevator surprised him, the huge un-
_ gainly street-sweeping machines filled him with
terror. JI imagine he will astonish the natives
when he relates the things he has seen.
The scientific people at the Museum wished.
to photograph him in native costume. He
mildly suggested that since he was in America
he must dress like Americans, but finally en-
tered into the spirit of the thing and person-
ated the shoemaker, carrier and musician before |
Mr. Smillee’s camera.
He considered Americans unduly inquisi-
tive when they measured his head, height and
length of limbs at the Army Medical Museum,
and no doubt he inquired of himself what an.
American visitor to Angola would think if the
natives persisted in measuring him. Nor did
he understand why he should be shown a
number of colors when he could easily see
that blue was green.
But the summit of Jerry’ S disgust WAS JERRY, IN ANGOLA MUSICIAN’S, DRESS, PLAYING
reached when a cast of his head was being BESS ee ss
taken. To have cold plaster spread over one’s face, to sit and wait a long time,
meanwhile breathing through two small quills until the plaster hardened, and
then when the mask came away to have it bring out by the roots many small
hairs of a hoped-for beard, was enough to inspire any one with aversion toward
asculptor. Jerry told Mr. Chenin that the next time a cast of his head was
A BLACK PRINCE.
wanted he would not submit to it. This is unusual insubordination from J erry;
he is polite and easily entreated. :
The colored men at the Museum took a deep interest in Jerry. They hung
upon every word he uttered when he was conversing with Mr. Chatelain; not
understanding his language, they would move nearer and put up ‘their hands
with the familiar attitude of conveying more sound to the ear. One man
thought that by speaking very loud and very plain he could make Jerry compre-
hend; but he was compelled to be satisfied with Jerry’s entire available stock-
in-trade, “I do not know English.†.
A curious custom of the M’bambas is that of placing groups of terra-cotta
images at the cross roads in honor of great travelers. When a box of these
Ring ENSIGN
Soa
pleaâ€
ype j
YWH-CHANDLEE .90-
BEADED BASKET AND CLUB MADE BY JERRY.
grotesque figures was being unpacked, Jerry rather boastfully said that on his
return home he expected to be thus honored for his great trip across the ocean
to America. There terra-cotta men and women are supposed to represent —
though with African ideas of dress, etc. — the different races of people the trav-
ler sees.on his journeys into strange lands.
There is in the Museum a very peculiar musical instrument called “ hunga,â€:
and Jerry mended it and played upon it. It consists of a bow with a string to
which is attached a fez-shaped gourd with its lower end cut off. The string is
‘held between the finger and thumb and beaten with a thin piece of grass stalk
while the gourd is placed over the stomach ; the gourd being moved about gives
different tones to the string. Jerry’s tune was very much like the banjo music
one hears on a Southern plantation ; it is made up of two long followed by two
short beats, a short pause and one short beat, repeated in rapid succession thus:
——-- - —-—-- — The whole rehearsal was interesting, and was photo-
graphed — probably it was the first time a photograph of a real African playing
the “hunga†was ever taken. eg
i LOVE SONG.
Should any of the readers of this volume visit the Museum they can see
the life-size model-figure of Jerry in his native costume standing in the West
Hall among Indian, Chinese, Polynesian, Papuan, Malay, African and other
statues representing the races of men. He looks so natural that he seems about
to speak to the girls and boys that often throng about the pedestal upon which
he stands.
Walter Hough.
A LOVE SONG.
lp doth walk in many a land,
Under many roofs doth dwell,
Taketh beggars by the hand,
And the crownéd king as well,
Whispers soft to young and old,
Now doth stoop, and now aspire,
Laughs at poverty and gold,
Plays alike with frost and fire ;
Since the happy world began,
Love hath been ’twixt maid and man,
Sometimes flouting, sometimes pouting, as it goes and comes again,
Now a plague and now a bliss,
Now with frown and now with kiss —
But the sweetest of all lovers is a little lad of ten!
Love hath many snares to set —
Who shall know his changeful wiles ?
Some to joy and some to fret,
oo This with tears, and that with smiles ;
Love sets many a one to dance
When his happy pipes do play,
And the skies of old romance
Arch the somber world to-day ;
Till the days of time shall end
Love will be ’twixt friend and friend,
Now deceiving, now believing, as it goes and comes peas
Full of shade and full of sun,
As the changing days do run —
But the fondest of all lovers is a little lad of ten!
EASTER DAY BEYOND THE SEA.
For within his sunny eyes ~
Nor deceit nor coldness dwell ;
Never shadow of disguise
Hides the love he feels so well ;
In his ardent close embrace,
Lives a pulse of joy divine
- And the radiance of his face.
Makes the darkest day to shine :
Let love come or soon or late,
Come as crown or come as fate,
Come for once and come for all, never more to pass again —
Still its fairest charm and best
In the mother’s heart doth rest,
And the dearest, truest lover is a little lad of ten.
M. EL B.
EASTER DAY BEYOND THE ey
(eens is the oldest iestival observed by the Christian world; older than
Christmas. When on Easter Sunday we adorn our churches with flowers,
and sing glad anthems and are jubilant over the day and its triumphal services,
we have the pleasure of knowing that almost since the time of the Apostles it
has been the day of gladness, Dominica gaudii, or Sunday of joy.
It was the day on which prisoners were set free, and the poor were iene
fed, and cared for and made happy. The early annals of England show that
princely gifts were made and kindnesses done on Raster Day.
It was an ancient custom in England to put on one’s best clothes to indicate
gladness. Such usages are slow to die out in that country, and it is said by Miss
Strickland that to this day in some sections the common class “scrupulously wear |
their best,†and “if possible new apparel.†What a wonderful perpetuation of
a foundation truth! So the “coming out†in new attire at Easter, in “spring
fashions,†has really something back of it; a root down deep below vanity and
display, though the wearers may be in ignorance of the fact.
And now, about the English children of olden times. In some of the remoter
shires they were brought up to believe that the sun danced at his rising on
Easter morning. Imagine those boys and girls, like their kind the world over,
going early to bed the night before so that they might be early up, up with the
lark that “sings at. Heaven’s gate.†There never was a time in all the round
{ Shaster.
ies 9
il
x
EASTER DAY BEYOND Han SEA.
year arlien the little Pes the Gileses and Aubreys, pon more aptly have
used ee s lines —if they had been written then:
s©You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;
To-morrow’ll be of all the year the maddest, merriest day.â€
What madder and merrier thing could happen than to see the staid old sun
darting about like a will-o’-the-wisp? What really did happen, what the children
saw, tradition telleth not. i
-But the belief was beautiful. So is that of the children in the Engadine. -
There, among the mountains, “at Easter all the echoes resound with gay peals
of bells.†And “it is the children who ring; they ring all day long, hanging
on to the ropes of the church bells.†They ring for the resurrection, for the
awakening from the sleep of winter, for the upspringing of ‘the grass, for the
blossoming of the flowers. They ring and they ring.
How much of the blind, unreasoning faith of childhood goes into the act who
can tell? Do they believe that the crocuses and anemones will appear, the blue
saffron, the primrose, the star-flower and gentianella? Wonderful flowers have
the high Alpine regions— pansies and violets, mats of them, on the very edge
of snow banks, right by the side of fields of ice, and what Miss Havergal calls
“a.perfect eye-delight of blue . . . the Alpine forget-me-not,†which she
saw growing as profusely as buttercups do in England, “by millions, like tur-
quoises, only alive and positively smiling.’ Do the children believe that the
great spring miracle will happen on that day? Who knows?
After this, what a strange custom seems the one which a traveler in Greece
witnessed the observance of a year or two ago. He visited a school for boys on
an island in the Sea of Marmora about ten miles from Constantinople. He says
they have a ceremony on Easter which they claim has been kept up since the
days of the Apostles. They read a certain passage in the Gospel of Ji ao in “as
many as twenty-seven different tongues.â€
First they read a paraphrase in iambic and hexameter meters in ancient and
modern Greek; then one student after another gets up and reads the version in -
Latin, in irencty in Italian, in the Balkan languages, in English, in German, etc. ;
and to hear this polyglot performance, visitors from all the country round. flock
to the church.
The verses are John xx., Hor the nineteenth to the twenty-fourth.
Amanda B. Harris.
DUDLEY MAKES A REVELATION.
DUDLEY.
IRGINIA sat on the giraffe, in the carousel, and went round and round.
She was a slim little girl, and the giraffe, having a long neck, and a slant-
ing back, was not the easiest animal to ride.
“Dear me!†sighed Virginia, “if that straight little boy on the elephant
would only change places with me! He looks as if he could stick fast to any-
thing ;†and again she made an ineffectual attempt to find a good clasping place
on the giraffe’s neck.
Round and round went Virginia, and round and round went the straight little
boy, as taut and firm as if he had grown there. Virginia quite envied him his
easy appearance; but he cast such an absent-minded look at her whenever he
chanced to glance round that it was very plain he had no thought of pitying
her.
“T’ve got five cents more,†she reflected, “and before we go round again I
think I shall get off, and try the polar bear; he looks so soft and nice to sit on.â€
So, when the flying circle of animals and children stopped, and the man in
charge said, “Time's up!†Virginia slipped hastily from the giraffe’s back.
“Tf you please,†she said to the man, “I should like to try the polar bear
this time ;†and, as she took her seat, she observed that the straight little boy
remained on the elephant, which was now directly in front of her.
3
DUDLEY.
“He’s a rather good-looking little boy,†she thought, “but he seems ill; he’s
so dreadfully pale. His father must have taught him how to ride a horse, or he
could never sit on the elephant so well. What funny buttons he has on his coat.
I should say they were gold. I don’t think — O, dear! Something’s the matter
with the polar bear!†ee oe
And, sure enough, something indeed was the matter with him; for slowly,
and then at last very suddenly, one of his legs bent, and doubled under, and
Virginia was thrown violently out of the carousel.
Quick as a flash the straight little boy sprang from the elephant, and, as he
bent to inquire if she were hurt, Virginia noticed that his face was whiter than
ever, and drawn in lines, as if with a spasm of pain. ~ an
“I don’t think ’'m very much hurt,†she told him, “only he’s torn my sash,
and broken the dear little sandal-wood fan mamma gave me only yesterday. I
think carousels are hateful! First it was the giraffe, and I kept slipping down,
and now it’s that horrid bear’s leg’s come off.â€
“Should you like to try the elephant?†asked the straight little boy, whose
name was Dudley, and whose father was an English officer, stationed in India.
“Hlephants are very clever, you know. I don’t believe even a wooden one
would hurt you.â€
He had taken out an odd little purse which Virginia observed to contain
many small silver pieces, besides a dollar or two. “I shouldn’t mind paying
your fare,†he added, “if you'd like to try the elephant.â€
So Virginia, assisted by Dudley, mounted the lofty animal with some trepida-
tion, and again the carousel started. |
Dudley stood on the sand this time and watched her. She had on a white
flannel dress, and her long bright hair blew backward in a yellow stream.
“J think she would remind my father of Elinor,’ Dudley was reflecting,
struck himself with the resemblance to his little sister, who had died in India,
“and on that account he wouldn’t mind my making the acquaintance of a
stranger.†a,
At the same time Virginia was wondering what her mother would say to her
accepting such valuable services from a perfectly strange little boy.
“You can’t always tell what is going to happen to you when you come out
of your hotel in the morning,†she considered, “and your mother can’t always
remember to tell you what you mustn’t do. I’m very sure he isa respectable
boy, and I don’t truly believe mamma would mind my letting him pay for the
elephant. I don’t wonder he recommended it, for it’s the best of all.†.
“Tm very much obliged to you,†she said, when he had helped her to get
down, “and I should like to know what your name is,†for she was thinking that
it would be necessary to tell her mother that.
“My name is Dudley Furniss,†said the straight little boy, “and my father
is Captain Furniss, of the Eleventh.â€
DUDLEY.
“The eleventh what?†asked Virginia.
“Regiment. My father is a soldier,†said Dudley proudly, “as I shall be,
too, when I’m grown. We’re stationed in India, and my sister Elinor died there.
You look like her, and that is what made me ask you to ride on the elephant.
The Captain got leave, for his health, and that is why we're here.â€
With this Dudley felt that he had accounted for himself sufficiently, and,
touching his cap in military fashion, walked away.
They saw each other very frequently after that, for the Captain and.
Virginia’s mother soon made acquaintance with mutual respect, and one day
Dudley told Virginia something quite extraordinary. They had been walking
on the beach for an hour or more, in the heavy sand, when Virginia presently
observed that she, and not Dudley, was leading the way; that his face was pale,
and that there were dark rings under his eyes. ;
“Tm afraid I hadn’t better go any further,†Virginia remarked, too polite to
intimate that boys should not give out before girls, but really solicitous about
Dudley’s evident fatigue. “Suppose we sit down here and rest.â€
The boy’s face flushed, but he spoke up boldly: “ The fact is, Virginia, this
isn’t a real leg; it?s only cork.†With which he thrust out his neat stocking
and buttoned shoe, which Virginia had certainly taken to be filled with flesh and
blood. “It was an accident; but if I’m going to be in the army, you know, I
mustn’t make a fuss about it.â€
Virginia, all of whose knowledge of army life had come through Dudley
himself, thought of the long marches, and whole days and nights in the saddle,
which a soldier was liable to meet.
“Dear me!†she said gently, “I should never have mistrusted it in the
world, Dudley. It must be an uncommonly good piece of cork!â€
“Tl do,†said Dudley sadly.
“ But how shall you manage? Won’t it bother you some when youre fight-
ing? Supposing you should have to run away?â€
“Run away?†roared Dudley. “Good gracious, Virginia! Soldiers don’t
run away!†He forgot his misfortune in his scorn. “A cork leg is enough for.
a man to stand by his colors with, and that’s what I mean to do.â€
Virginia had seen him cut a very gallant little figure on horseback, and so
she hastened to atone for her blunder. .
“I suppose you'll get into the cavalry and it won’t matter so much then.
You can just sit still, and give your orders.â€
“That depends,†said Dudley, with a wise little smile. “I shall be uncom-
monly lucky if I can just ‘sit still and give orders.’ Supposing I’m only a pri-
vate, and have to obey somebody else’s orders? But, all the same, don’t you
know it’s a good thing for a soldier to have a drawback of this sort?â€
He touched his hand to his left leg, which Virginia now noticed for the first.
time lay very still beside him. “It makes him braver.â€
DUDLEY.
A strange, bright light came into Dudley’s eyes as he said this, and continued,
«“
had one this afternoon with you. You can’t think how I’m going to get into
the army, disabled this way; but I’m to have a commission. I earned it myself
in the field. ’T'was in India, when my father came galloping into camp one day,
like mad, and caught me up out of a hammock where IJ-was reading a book, and
says he, ‘Dudley! into the field! With me!’—but never mind†—for Virginia
reminded him that she was a timid girl by her sudden pallor — “my father had
something for me to do for the old general — maybe it was for England—and I ~
lost my leg by it, and the general promised me a commission, then and there.â€
“Dear me!†cried Virginia, upon whom it seemed suddenly to dawn that this
was a very unusual little boy, “I shouldn’t think, after that, you would care to
ride on a make-believe elephant in a carousel.â€
“Q, for that matter, a fellow has got to have amusement,†sae Dudley, “ es-
pecially when he’s half-mad with pain.’
“T’m afraid you suffer dreadfully,†she said, looking into his eyes with tearful
sympathy.
“'That’s the only thing I like about it,†said the boy. “A cork leg’s a poor,
cheap-as-dirt sort of affair if that’s all there is of it; but when it makes a fellow
suffer like — like� — Dudley was tempted to use a ond which he had heard the
officers employ in garrison, but remembered himself in time —“like forty, why,
then it meant to something. It makes a fellow with a cork leg feel dignified
for once.’
“ Dudley †— Virginia’s eyes expressed both wonder and eae do you
remember the day I fell off the polar bear?â€
“ As if I didn’t!†exclaimed Dudley.
“But how did you ever get off of the elephant so quick?â€
“QO, as for that†— he began.
“T distinctly remember,†interrupted Virginia, “that you came down on that
foot,†pointing to his left, “and you never winked; and you turned as white as
{ 2?
my dress—O, Dudley!
Many along year after this day on the beach, far from all thought of Vir-
ginia and the carousel, pressing forward in the front of the English army in the
Soudan, Dudley found out how good a thing it had been to learn, while yet a
little boy, to be master of his own pain.
It was very hot and blinding and hazardous where he stood on his one good
leg, with the colors of. his country in his hand (for he had not yet obtained his
commission ). The savage people pressing round him knew and cared very little
about those colors, nor that he tried so hard to hold them well aloft before the
English eyes. But Dudley knew, and all the English soldiers knew, that it was
to rally the English hearts to do their duty.
SOME SWEDISH. LEGENDS.
His face was blanched with the misery of standing so long on his disabled
limb; buthe gave no heed to the misery, and only thought of keeping the men
together where they could fight the savages to the best advantage,
When it was all over, and his general had sent the proud word back to Eng-
land that victory was hers, Dudley, alone in his tent, got out his little traveling
case and prepared to shave. .
As he swung the mirror over the top of a bayonet, and caught sight of his
own face for the first time, it seemed to him that a little girl’s voice exclaimed in .
his ear, “But, Dudley, how shall you manage when you're fighting? Won't it
bother you sometimes? Supposing you should have to run away?â€
And Dudley laughed aloud as he remembered his own reply:
“Good gracious, Virginia! Soldiers don’t run away!â€
Emma Sherwood Chester.
SOME SWEDISH LEGENDS.
HAVE a dear friend who is a Swedish lady. I will not give you her last
name, but her first name is Sigrid. It is pronounced Seegrid, and if you
speak it, you will see what a sweet, musical name it is. She has told me many
Swedish stories and legends. I will write down the three which seem to me
most. beautiful, both in themselves and in their noble lessons.
> ‘To explain the first one, let me say that the broad white band of stars which
we call the Milky Way is called in Sweden the Winter Street.
I will give the legends as nearly as I can in my friend's own words, for her
quaint English added to the charm. I wish you could see, as I did, her speaking
face, all lighted with love for her far-off Northern home, and the expressive
shrug of the shoulders when she was at a loss for a word.
I. —THE WINTER STREET.
The evening is quiet; the air is filled with melancholy, mysterious legends ;
the bright stars are looking down so merciful, smiling as if there were not any sin
and death on earth. Do you understand their quiet tales? They have told me one.
He lived on a star in the far Hast. She lived on a planet. far away from
him. Salami was her name, and Zulamith was his; both loved their God, and
loved each other dearly. Once they had lived on earth, and had loved each
other already there, but they were separated by sorrow, sin, suffering and death.
SOME SWEDISH LEGENDS. ~
They did not cease from thinking of each other in their new homes. Between
them was extended the unmeasurable Universe with its countless stars, wonder-
ful creations of the wise Creator.
Day by day Zulamith’s longing grew stronger, and then he commenced to
build a bridge of light from star to star. Salami, too, from the verge of her
planet, commenced to build a bridge to reach from pole to pole of the celestial
sphere. For a thousand years they were engaged in their work with unwearied
energy, and then was finished the Winter Street, a radiant bridge of stars that
embraces the highest arches of Heaven, and binds together shore to shore of
the ocean of Infinity. In horror the Cherubs exclaimed, “0, Lord! What
have Zulamith and Salami done ?â€
God Almighty smiled, and round about was seen a bright glory :
“What love has built up in my world, I will not destroy.â€
All those in this gloomy world who have loved tenderly and cheerfully, have
the only power to build a bridge from world to world. Be sure their happiness
shall be complete; they shall have everlasting peace. .
II. — MIRANDA.
Tt was Miranda, beautiful, proud and young: “The man I am going to marry
must be more than a king, and he must have a kingdom greater than any one
ever has heard about.†:
In the splendor of pearls, she drove in a carriage of gold.
“Now I will make a wreath of myrtle; I will throw it out into the wide
world, and see who will find it at last.†.
Then came the Emperor of the East, found the wreath, brought it to the
_ Princess and said: © .
“I offer you my empire. Unmeasurable it is; innumerable my people as
the sand in the ocean, and my golden castles are filled from floor to ceiling with
gold and precious stones.†;
Miranda said: “Too small is your empire, a greater I desire. Too limited is
your power, and too poor is the splendor of your treasures.â€
Astonished and in anger he went away — the high Prince.
Miranda smiled, and threw out a wreath of roses: “I wonder who will find it.â€
Then came with heayy steps the King of the High Mountains in all his
majesty, found the wreath, brought it to the Princess, knelt down and said: _
“T offer you my kingdom. A kingdom like mine has never been seen from
the sunrise to the sunset. I am the master over forests, mountains and valleys,
and over the treasures of the Dwarfs in the Hall of Diamonds.â€
Miranda said: “Too small is your kingdom, sir; I want something more
than diamonds, and some thousand miles of mountains and valleys.â€
SOME SWEDISH LEGENDS.
Wrathfully the high King went away. Miranda laughed, and threw out a
wreath of water-lilies: “Who will find it?â€
Then, roused from the bottomless Ocean came its giant King in a shell of
pearls, found the wreath and said :
“ Beautiful Princess, take my proud kingdom. So far as the sun can shine
and the wind can blow, you see the waves of the blue Ocean. Come, be its
Queen; take all its richnesses, in the luster of pearls, on a throne of cora ai
Miranda said: “I am not accustomed to a great wash-bowl like your Ocean.
‘Far more than a robe of pearls must he have to give who wants me for his
bride.â€
Furious the King returned to his kingdom. Miranda still smiled proud as
before, and tied a wreath of heath to the richest and greatest man in the world.
Then came a youth, poor, no gold, no splendor, but with a bosom full of
vigor and love; found the wreath, bowed to the Princess, and said :
“My heart is yours, I give you love for love.†|
Miranda said, “The splendor of the East, the treasures of the Mountains,
the power of the Ocean, crowns and everything have I proudly refused, and
you— you only give me your love.â€
Then said the Youth as proud as she: “I too have a kingdom with a golden
throne. That is the kingdom of Hope; it has a throne reaching into Heaven;
everything that is beautiful on Earth, high in Heaven, and wonderful in the
Ocean, and more than the splendor of crowns and diamonds, has he who has
the kingdom of Hope.â€
Timid, Miranda bowed her head conquered, no more the haughty beauty ;
and she who had proudly refused all the earthly splendor—she was satisfied
only with the love of a Youth.
Ill. —THE ANGEL AND THE CLOUD.
The sun sank at the horizon. The white clouds moved slowly behind the
mountains. Among the clouds was seen an Angel playing with the evening
roses. Fair and beautiful was the elf-like figure; blue skies smiled in his eyes,
rays flashed like locks round his brow, and in the locks glittered stars like dew-
drops fallen on dark-green leaves in the summer evening. Everywhere the
beautiful Angel moved was seen a broad stream of light, and round about the
clouds blushed from love.
At a far distance hovered a lonely Cloud. It was not noticed by anybody,
no one knew of its love. The Cloud felt itself so lonesome; melancholy waved
in its pale mists, and it melted into tears. These tears fell down, and it was
Spring on earth. For every tear grew up plant by plant, flower by flower;
roses, violets, lilies, forget-me-nots.
“THE BREAKING WAVES DASHED. HIGH.â€
The fair Angel came down and walked in the valley, happy and thankful,
inhaling the fragrance of the lilies, but the violets were placed at his bosom,
where they never shall wither.
The Angel said to the lilies: “Whence your delightful fragrance? What
blessed fountain gave you life and charm?â€
The lilies whispered: “Our mother was a tear shed by a lonely Cloud.â€
The Angel kissed all these flower-tears, looked at the sky, but no trace was
left of the Cloud.
And the Angel wept over all forgotten love, whose lonely tears, unnoticed,
are shed for the joy of the beloved.
HA. H.
“THE BREAKING WAVES DASHED HIGH.â€
HE school-children of the last
generation found in their school-
‘readers Mrs. Felicia Hemans’s poem,
“The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers
in New England.†It was a favorite
selection for declamation day; it is
not unsafe to suppose that half the
men and women now fifty years old
know the poem “by heart’; it ought
to be known “by heart†by every
American ; it ought to be the school-
room heritage of every child.
Mr. James T. Fields, the famous
Boston publisher, was always fond of
this poem; and one time when he
was abroad he was so fortunate as to
secure Mrs. Hemans’s original manu-
script from which the verses were
= mace. printed. He brought it home to
Boe Note! _ America and held it as a treasure;
(From the ORO Srontispiece to her works published by Wm. but after a while he felt that it
ESE ELAS AER ought to belong to the American
people, and be placed where: Americans could see it for all time to come, and he
finally decided to give it to Pilgrim Hall, at Plymouth, Massachusetts, where
“THE BREAKING Ves DASHED HIGH.â€
a. e
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4
“THE BREAKING WAVES DASHED HIGH.â€
Vice Ge Ce Bev lee jo FE we Poe ee
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fee Ge lowe gg Be Ate oe |
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: Se aed ee -
FAC-SIMILE OF THE ORIGINAL MS, NOW IN PILGRIM HALL, PLYMOUTH.
the most important relics of the Pilgrims have been collected, a place that all
Americans hope to visit once in their lives.
Mr. Thomas Bradford Drew, the Librarian of Pilgrim Hall, has permitted Mrs.
Hemans’s manuscript to be photographed for the readers of Wipz Awaxz, that
thus they might have a fac-
simile of the poem to keep. ©
In company with the
manuscript in Pilgrim Hall,
_ THE ORIGINAL MS. WAS NOT ENVELOPED, BUT FOLDED AND SEALED, AFTER
THE FASHION OF THE DAY, WITH THE ABOVE ADDRESS ON THE REVERSE.
is the account of the cir-
cumstance that led Mrs.
Hemans to write it:
‘Rev. Charles Brooks, formerly of Hingham, Mass., visited Mrs. Hemans in 1834 at her home in Dub-
lin. He told her that as a New Englander he wished to thank her for the poem.
“«« Well,’ said she, ‘should you like to know how I came to write it? I purchased two volumes at the
_bookstore and brought them home and as I laid them on my table my eye was attracted by their envelope
Lut¢- (fe Hom ame 6 Peek Crogicirten
eo eae Ja ae A which proved to be eight pages from an address
delivered at Plymouth on some anniversary.
‘ ; There was no title-page and no date. The ex-
cellence of the paper and the beauty of the
type first arrested my attention, but how the
stray fragment got to Ireland I could never
: ; eee 4 LE. aor ascertain. I began to read, and found it con-
f : : tained an entire description of the fact.of the
} KE, Landing, and so beautiful was the painting and
Aa 0% so thrilling the fact that I could not rest till
I had thrown them off into verse. I took off
/: S. LS my bonnet, seized my pen and having read and
— : re-read the story I caught the fire from the
THE NOTE TO THE EDITOR OF THE NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE transatlantic touch and began to write, and
WHICH ACCOMPANIED THE MS. before I was aware I had finished my poem.’ â€
WHERE DOES SANTA CLAUS LIVE?
Mr. Drew says in a note to Wie Awake that it is presumed that the
inspiring passages which Mrs. Hemans found in the American newspaper were
from the eloquent oration that Edward Everett had delivered the year previous,
1824, at Plymouth. He adds:
‘“‘Of course there is nothing absolutely certain about it as Webster delivered his oration here five years
before the poem was written. Butas people have looked at the manuscript and read Mrs. Hemans’s own
account accompanying it, I have heard several at different times remark, ‘Oh! I guess she was reading
Everett's oration which was given only the year before.’ †:
Mrs. Fields in a note to the editors speaks of Mr. Fields’s fondness for the
poem; she says:
“‘ Mr. Fields always had a warm appreciation of Mrs. Hemans’s talent — her genius, we should say; and
at a time when the world was disposed to speak of her among the writers of weak rhymes and literary. senti-
mentality he would recall the noble poetic eloquence of her poem to the Pilgrims, and bring his hearers back
to some sense of the reverence due to one who was inspired to write a poem handed down to.us already’ from
decade to decade, and never more capable than to-day of keeping reverence alive in the hearts of men for
these brave and holy adventurers — our forefathers.â€
WHERE DOES SANTA CLAUS LIVE?
| FINK Santa Claus lives way up in the moon,â€
(That was Anna’s opinion—aged four)
“So far, I’m af’aid he can’t come pretty soon —
Don’t you wis’ he was staying next door?â€
“Pshaw! He lives just back of the toy-shop in town,â€
(So said Willie, and he had turned nine)
“T see him most every time I go down —
How the things in his windows do shine!â€
But Ethel, tall Ethel, had grown over-wise;
(“Fourteen years†has no need of a nurse)
She said, with a twinkle of fun in her eyes,
' “Santa lives in our dear papa’s purse!â€
H. A. HH.
DOWN THE RAPIDS.
HAVE a tale to tell
Of something that befell
The little Clarsie Clover and her cat;
A busy child was she,
And a lazy fellow he,
Yet she loved him very dearly for all that.
Now when she saw him go
Barefooted in the snow,
Tiptoe, because a dainty streak he had
And didn’t like to get
His furry fingers wet,
The little Clarsie thought it very sad.
_ And so she made a plan
For stockings, and began
To knit two pairs for him, with this thought sweet :
“Now Pussy needn't go
Barefooted in the snow;
_ These will be, oh! so warm for his dear feet.â€
~ At length the task was done,
Puss called, and one by one
The hose put on him. Do you think he purred ?
Or said, “Thanks, Clarsie C.,
For all you’ve done for me?†_
Neither. He marched away without a word.
TE GIES:
Marched with a fine disdain,
_ Again, and yet again
Lifting a foot with indolent, scornful shake ;
Asked at the door, “ Me-ew,â€
To be at once let through,
And left a row of stockings in his wake.
Tears were in Clarsie’s eyes ;
A choking sob would rise — :
She had not dreamed that Puss could act like that.
A sob ?— ah, yes, a wail!
; But this must end my tale
Of little Clarsie Clover and her cat.
Clara Doty Bates.
[ the grass lay little Elsie on a fairy holiday,
And she gota fairy blessing from whatever came that way:
For a spider brought her patience, and the house-dog brought her love,
And the wise birds brought her music from the heavens up above,
And a brown bee gave her sweetness, and the elm-tree gave her grace,
And a butterfly brought beauty to her dainty baby face,
And the sunshine gave her gladness, and the blue sky gave her peace, —
And the oak-tree up above her gave her health and strength’s increase ;
So we lifted little Elsie from her hiding in the grass,
And the blessed years soon told us what the fays had brought to pass.
Amos R. Wells.
UNDERGROUND.
(A True California Adventure.)
HERE were four of us: Sam Nelson, my long-legged, raw-boned, red-headed,
good-natured chum, his sister Dora tall and ladylike, my sister Annie
short, plump, venturesome as a madcap gypsy, and myself. .
The trout season was open, and we arranged a trip which included fishing in
the forenoon, lunch at mid-day, a ride through the mountains to Uncle Joe’s
ranch, all night there, and home again whenever so inclined. We live near the
foot-hills, and it is only a ten-mile drive or so up into the Coast Range. Bright
and early we started, with Sam’s big buckskin horse hitched to our double-seated
wagon. Mother had filled the lunch-basket as only she knew how to fill it, the
sun was just rising in a cloudless sky, the air was crystal-clear, and we as gay
as the larks on the fences.
Old Buck soon carried us past the hay-fields, vineyards and orchards of the
valley up to the narrow mountain road. Here our way twisted and turned
through the hills, diving into wild gulches, crossing shallow creeks hugging
smooth cliffs high above gloomy cafions, running softly over little grass-green
valleys, and seeming to lead everywhere in general and nowhere in particular.
Occasionally we heard the warning tinkle of a mule-team ahead of us, and then
we had to turn out on a siding and wait, like an express train getting out of the
way of a long, lumbering line of freight. But without any serious delays, still
hilarious in anticipations of the day’s fun before us, we reached our first stopping- —
place — a big oak at the head of a tiny meadow hidden from the road and nest-
ling at the base of a rugged mountain. . -
“ Meantime, what are we girls going to do with ourselves?†inquired Annie,
looking about the sunny nook. :
“Do?†said I, busy getting out the fishing tackle, “nothing at all, or what
you like. Here is the spot for either; make yourself at home while Sam and
I fish up the creek. It’s too rough for you to go with us.â€
_ “Thank you, we don’t want to go with you. Let them have their wriggling
fish,†said Dora. e ac
“Well, beware the bear!†I laughed, but as I saw a nervous look go over |
Dora’s face, I added hastily, “That's joking of course. Uucle Joe shot the last
of the grizzlies five years ago.â€
“Well,†said Dora, reassured, “we have the lunch and the horse, and if you
don’t come back by noon-time you won’t find it, him nor us.†re
“<¢Tt’ is what will fetch me back in time,†laughed Sam; “ ‘him’ nor ‘us’ -
wouldn’t matter so much, but ‘it’ settles it.â€
I took from under the wagon-seat the fry-pan and a bundle of pitch knots,
UNDERGROUND.
showed. Rene where to kindle a fire ready for cooking the fish when we re-
turned, and then Sam and I were off up the creek.
We enjoyed the sport keenly at first, but three hours of crawling through
bushes, climbing and slipping over boulders and scrambling up steep banks in-
numerable, “took off the edge,†as Sam expressed it. About noon, resting on a
cool flat rock by the creek, we counted up the catch — eighty-six trout.
“Knough for one day,†said Sam decidedly. “It’s a good two miles back
to camp and I’m hungry as a wolf now.â€
It was after one o'clock, by my Waterbury, when hot, hungry and tired, we
sighted the little meadow and the wagon beneath the oak.
“ Halloo?†cried Sam, as we came out into the clearing; “they've got the
fire ready for the fish.â€
There was a little fire down beside the creek, but the girls were nowhere to
be seen. We threw off our loads and sat down in the shade of the oak.
We lay listlessly waiting for some time, but the girls failed to appear. The
fire showed that they had not been gone long — still where were they ?
“Call to ’em, Walt,†suggested Sam, and I did so, again and again, and the
silence following my yells made us more uneasy. Feeling like investigating we
walked down to the fire by the creek. ‘There were good stepping-stones across
and on the other side I noticed the bushes were bent and broken.
“They’ve climbed the mountain!†I exclaimed disgustedly. “Shall we go
up?â€
“Oh! I suppose we've got to,†groaned Sam.
Grumbling and laughing, we crossed the creek. Five minutes of easy climb- ~
ing, and then we came to an abrupt halt before a large hole in the side of the
mountain. Bushes and vines screening it in front showed plainly where feet of
some sort had recently trampled. And there the trail ended.
T turned in amazement to Sam. “ What on earth!â€
“Tn earth, you mean,†he said slowly, sharing my astonishment; “they must
be in there, but how did Dora ever get up spunk enough to go into such a den?â€
“Tt’s Annie,†I returned glumly. “ You never saw such a girl. She would
make nothing of crawling into a volcano.â€
Sam, who had been studying geology, examined the rocky entrance. “ Lime-
stone,†he observed, with a wise nod. “Just the formation for caverns. May
be it’s a discovery, Walt, a cave like the one your Uncle Joe told us about going
into up in El Dorado County. Big thing! Halloo! Youin there! Will you
‘let any one in without a ticket?â€
I thought I beard a faint, whirring reply from within, sounding like, “ Who,
who, ar-r-re you?â€
It had a queer sort of ghostly echo to it, notwithstanding the bright daylight.
Sam turned his flushed freckled face to me, and grinned at my awe-stricken look.
“Let's go in, any way!’ he said, and plunged into the dusky opening. I
UNDERGROUND.
followed him, and saw him disappear around a sharp turn in the tunnel as
quickly as if a door had closed behind him.
“ Halloo, Walt!†I heard him cry, and then, as I too rounded the turn, I
echoed his shout. For the low, narrow passage had ata step expanded into a
wide and lofty cavern, chilly and gloomy. As we stood staring, we could see
here and there in the rocky walls black holes like the galleries in a mine, seem-
ing to lead away into the heart of the mountain. I half-expected to see some
sort of a hobgoblin spring out from one of the dark mouths.
“Say, Sam,†I whispered, “ we are on the wrong track, sure. The girls can’t
possibly be in here.†i
Hardly had I spoken when we were startled by a peal of. silvery laughter,
seeming to come from the rocky ceiling overhead. It echoed and re-echoed and
died away in a faint, quavering moan that was blood-curdling. Of course neither
Sam nor I was scared, but as the impish laughter was almost instantly followed
by a mocking little shriek that was positively fiendish I am afraid we came very
near turning on our tracks. However, Sam had good lungs of his own, and he
managed to bellow:
“What's the matter with you in there?â€
It was something like shouting into an empty hogshead, and made our ears
ring. Buta voice replied, and in muepite of the echoes I recognized it as that of _
Annie :
“ Come on in and see.â€
“JT know!†cried Sam, springing forward; “there’s another room like this in
beyond one of those tunnels. They’re in there.â€
He darted boldly into one of the passages, and keeping his red head in sight
T ran-after him. For a few rods it was dusky, then black as night, and then we
groped our way around another sharp corner, and stopped, powdered: blinded
by dazzling splendor.
Imagine a great chamber, nearly square in shape, say forty feet each way,
and varying from ten to twenty feet in height; the ceiling one large sheet of
mother-of-pearl, like the inside of a huge sea-shell; hanging from the gleaming,
rainbow-tinted ceiling, dozens of sparkling crystal trees and shrubs encrusted
with diamonds; the walls a soft, lustrous blue, like a new-laid robin’s egg, veined
with oe ee lines of silver and gold; the floor like spotless milk-white glass,
and, in the center, a sort of throne about half as mee as an ordinary. table, and
exactly resembling polished white marble.
As near as I can describe it that was what we saw, and perhaps our eyes,
more especially mine, did not bulge, but perhaps, too, they did!
_ Upon the throne, like a pair of princesses, between them a handful of blazing
pitch knots, stood Annie and Dora, laughing at us. We could hear the ghostly
echoes of their merriment resounding in the outer passages.
Sam was the first to recover his wits. I could hardly help thinking that the
UNDERGROUND.
gorgeous room was a veritable treasure-house, the silver and gold and jewels all
real. But Sam dispelled the ulusion by tossing his hat to the luminous ceiling
with a wild shout.
- “Hurrah! Isn’t this a beauty? And to aoe it’s all nothing ont iracsane
drippings, stalactites, stalagmites, beautiful humbugs. But, Dora Nelson, how
did you ever get in here ?â€
“Walked,†responded Dora, with laconic dignity.
“ Yes,†explained my venturesome little sister, “we found the cave early
this morning, and after we made the fire for you we took some of the pitch
knots and came up here again to explore. Isn’t it lovely?â€
“O, yes!†I admitted, somewhat disappointed to know that it was only lime-
stone drippings; “but Sam and I prefer roast trout, don’t we, Sam?â€
“We do that,†cried Sam, smacking his lips. “This is handsome, but it’s
wet and cold, not to be compared to crisp roast trout, ham sandwiches, cheese,
cake, pie— oh! lead me to them ere I perish.â€
_ “Pshaw!†exclaimed Annie, in rapturous scorn. “Compare a lunch basket
to this!â€
“ But it really is damp,†said Dora, with a shiver.
“Say good-by to it till after dinner, any way,†urged Sam, with a hollow
groan, and as the fire died down, the cavern lost its brilliancy, and Annie con-
sented to leave the enchanting place.
We passed out, Sam leading and I bringing up the rear. It was black as
charcoal in the tunnel-like passage, but Sam kept lighting matches and we all
knew it was but a few steps to the outside. But Sam’s supply of matches gave
out and, though we walked quickly, the outer cave failed to appear.
“Say, isn’t it about time we got out of this NO Sens said Bann, at length,
stopping and bringing us all to a halt.
“ What if we didn’t go the right way !†exclaimed Dora faintly.
“Was there any way but the right way ?’� demanded Sam anxiously.
“There were four tunnels, for I counted them, but I thought you knew the
right one or, rather, I didn’t think at all,†said Annie, with a nervous little laugh,
intended to be fearless.
“Let's go back,†I said decidedly, “and try it over again.â€
“ All right, turn about,†said Sam. “ We will bring a light next time. Such
darkness I never got into—I can see better with my eyes shut than I can with
them open.â€
So we turned around and went back, I leading. Soon we reached the fairy
chamber, but its splendor was dimmed and the fire but a handful of dull coals.
There was something there worth looking at, however. It was a long, huge-
limbed shape, near the throne, and when I saw it looming through the dusk I
instantly stopped the procession behind me.
“ What is it, Walt?†whispered Annie, clutching my arm.
29
UNDERGROUND.
I was too paralyzed to reply, but I knew what it was well enough. There
was no mistaking the hulking figure, the long, peaked face, and the keen little
eyes which seemed to survey us curiously as if trying to make out what manner
of underground ae we might be.
“A grizzly!†gasped Sam, as if his heart were in his throat, which naolhenliy
was the case. I know I was so horribly scared that I could not breathe, much
less speak. If either of the girls had been of the fainting sort.and gone down,
Tam not at all sure that we should not have all fallen together, a terrified heap.
But all we did was to huddle in a bunch till there came a deep, Tumbling growl
that made my hair rise.
Instantly, like a flock of frightened sheep, weliecell we went back into the tun-
nel. I crowded the others onward, keenly alive to the fact that if the peaked-
face monster pursued us I should be his first victim. The sides of the tunnel
were rough, often jutting rock against which we dashed as if blindfolded. ‘The
roof also was irregular and admirably adapted to cracking our skulls, while the
floor was frequently covered by pools of water into which we blindly splashed.
Wet, bruised and breathless, at last we stopped and listened for sounds of pur-
suit. But all we heard was our own excited breathing and the drip of water
from the walls.
“QO, yes! there’s lots of fun exploring caves!†murmured Sam.
A muffled sob from Dora was his only answer. The horrible inky darkness
unnerved us all. It is one thing to be brave in the daylight. It is an altogether
different and greater test of one’s grit to coolly face danger in the dark.
“Keep on!†urged Sam hoarsely. “We can’t go back nor stay here.†And
on we went. |
The tunnel soon seemed to be rapidly enlarging. We could no longer touch
both sides of it. Evidently it was expanding into another cavern. In vain I
strained my eyes to catch a gleam of light ahead showing an outlet. I could not
even see the new dangers close at hand. Like stony stumps, stalagmites rose
up before us, while stalactites made our already aching heads sorer by many a
eruel bump. It was painfully exasperating, and further progress meant almost
unbearable torture.. Moreover, the thick black air seemed to be BiOwine
warmer. A stifling stench met us.
“Something Bane ahead here,†Sam called out huskily ; a smells like a soap
factory!â€
Hardly had he spoken when I heard a heavy splash, a smothered yell, and
then a long, shuddering moan.
“Sam!†T shouted in dismay, springing toward the sound: and anang my
forehead, with crushing force, full against a big stalactite. Showers of sparks,
and I fell back completely stunned.
How long I lay there I don’t know, but I finally heard some one near me
sobbing, and a weak voice saying :
NEAR THE THRONE.
HUGE-LIMBED SHAPE,
ONG,
IT WAS A L
UNDERGROUND.
“Don’t cry so, Annie; I’m all right now.â€
“Whats the matter ?†I wildly inquired.
“ Halloo!†Sam’s voice replied. “ Where’ve you been lately? Dora has
smashed her skull, and I tumbled into a hot sewer. Oh! I just love to explore
caves!†f
Annie laughed woefully, and notwithstanding the lump as big as a hen’s egg |
rising on my forehead, I could not help laughing, too. But it was short-lived
mirth. The air was hot and sickening. I began to feel drowsy. If we fell into
a stupor I was sure none of us would ever wake.
“We shall die if we stay here; let’s go back,†I cried, staggering to my feet.
“ Which way is back?†said Sam, in a tone of bitter disgust.
“We shall never get out! Never, never!†gasped Dora, while Annie
began laughing and crying as if crazed.
“Shut up!†I said, as roughly as I could. “We shall get out. You're not
dying. It’s this foul air. Follow me!â€
They meekly obeyed, and very shortly the cool atmosphere of the tunnel
met and revived us greatly.
Dora, however, was really fast becoming helpless. I tried to encourage her
by saying we could go back to the big. cave again all right now.
“ But the bear!†she replied hopelessly.
“Js gone,’ mumbled Sam. “He isn’t fool enough to stay in this dirty trap
when he knows how to get out.†.
“ Father will find us, any way,†I declared confidently.
“When?†groaned Annie. “He will think us safe at Uncle Joe’s for three
or four days, and by the end of that time I’m sure I for one shall be dead!â€
In gloomy silence we plodded on, after this, for it seemed miles, until I
became dully aware that the walls were again widening and the old sickening
vapor enveloping us. The miserable truth flashed over me. We had come
back to the same deathly hole that we left hours ago! The mountain was
honeycombed, and we lost in a black labyrinth miles underground.
Turning about I feebly explained that we had again gone wrong. The girls
exclaimed in dismay that we might as well give up here as anywhere. They
sank down, and Sam and I were obliged to literally drag them out of the poison-
ous den. ;
We coaxed and begged them to make at least one more determined effort
to escape. Poor Sam even tried to make them laugh by declaring that no self-
respecting grizzly would touch such a walking glue-pot as he was. But he had
scarcely begun to laugh at his own misery when we came abruptly into another
cavern, and also it seemed into a very demon’s den.
“ Whr-rr-eet-rr! Cac-rr-cac-cac-r-r! W-hr-oo-t-Hoo!â€
A bedlam of harsh sounds, flapping of wings, dashing of invisible soft forms
' in our faces, claws and beaks scratching and pulling about our bared heads,
UNDERGROUND.
nothing to be seen but scores of round, glaring eyes! Even the girls had life
enough left to scream in terror. But Sam and I quickly divined the nature of
the new tormentors.
“Bats and owls! Next!†shouted Sam. “If an owl strikes me he will
stick. I’m a tar-barrel from Tar City.â€
“Follow them, Sam,†I shouted. “They know how to get out. Watch
which way they'go.â€
As we tried to run after them they seemed to vanish magically, through the
solid rock, and leave us chasing only darkness in the endless galleries.
As we splashed and stumbled along, bedraggled, giddy and exhausted, I don’t
think any of us cared what might happen next. We were all light-headed, due
probably to the noxious gases. I imagined. that the murky air was full of grin-
ning bats, and owls with goggle eyes as big as milk-pans. Sam muttered and
laughed about snakes and lizards, while the girls kept up a ceaseless moaning.
What with the excitement, bruises, weariness and hunger, we could hardly drag
one foot before the other as we came out into another cavern.
“‘Here’s a good place to rest in,†said Sam; “here’s a stalagmite as big as a
barrel, sit down here.â€
He threw himself on the rocky floor, and we were only too glad to do like-
wise. Rest was the only thing thought oF and -with our backs ee the big
- stalagmite we all, worn out and stupefied, fell fast asleep.
It may have been hours, or only a few minutes afterwards, that I became
dully conscious of something hot and wet moving over my outstretched hand.
The sensation was not at all. unpleasant. I sleepily wondered what dog it was
lapping me, and forced open my eyes. I could see nothing but a pair of small,
flaming points close to me in the darkness, but, instinctively, I knew they were
the eyes of the grizzly standing over me, his warm breath in my face. I knew,
also, that his great jaws could crush my head as a boy might eat a plum, that one
stroke of his huge paw would kill me as quickly as if I were but an insect. Yet,
somehow, I was not exceedingly frightened; not nearly so scared as when I saw
the huge beast by the throne. Since then I have read that in such perilous
moments, when one’s next breath may be his last one, the sensation of fear is
almost entirely extinguished. Not only is that true, but frequently an absurd
feeling of curiosity takes the place of fright. I know that, in my case, I was
mildly concerned only as to what the bear would do next.
What he did was to sniff around us, and, apparently satisfied with his inspec-
tion, he turned and shambled off. I could hear his enormous toe-nails rattle as
he walked across the rocky floor. Suddenly an electric thrill ran over me, as I
thought of following him. Instantly I was wide awake. Unwittingly we had
wandered back into the gorgeous chamber again, and gone to sleep by the side
_ of the marble throne. To make sure of it I got up and groped over the top of
the stalagmite. My hands encountered a little soft heap—ashes from the fire.
| UNDERGROUND.
The grizzly knew the way out; he was going; I would follow him. JI darted in
the direction he had taken, ad though I came bump up against the wall, it was
by the mouth of a passage-way in which I could still hear Bruin’s retreating
footfalls.
What should Ido? Go on and perhaps get lost all alone unable to find my
way back? Then something seemed to tell me just what to do.
In my jacket pocket were a half-dozen fish-lines. Tying ohe end of a line
securely around a projecting rock, I went into the tunnel. If it was the right
way I should soon be out of the trap. If it was the wrong one the line would
guide me safely back again to my sleeping companions. As fast as I could
stagger along, I paid out the line behind me. One went; then another —
three! four! five! and still no outlet! Tying on the on line, I plunged
desperately ahead, so desperately that my toe hit a rock and, my tired legs
giving way, down I tumbled and rolling over, flat on my back, I eee
do you suppose ?
Why, merely the blessed bright stars shining overhead! ~
It was a dark, moonless night, and, in my blind eagerness, I had actually
pitched headlong out from the mouth of the cave!
Perhaps I did not feel happy and thankful, as I lay there laughing and cry-
ing like a baby, with the fish-line still gripped tightly in one fist! It was quick
work getting the others out of the horrible hole. Tying the line to a bush and
taking it for a guide, to go in and out of the cave was child’s play.
It was nearly morning, and with the first rays of light we hurried down the
mountain, crossed the creek, found old Buck standing patiently under the oak, .
the lunch all right, and the trout just where we had left them. Like hungry
wolves we fell upon the sandwiches, cake, pie, etc., each laughing at the other’s
extraordinary appearance. The girls were ce of their yesterday's gay
selves, and defy description. I was a scarecrow, bare-headed, dirty and forlorn,
with a big purple lump adorning my forehead. But Sam was the monumental
ruin of us all! He, too, had lost his hat, his red hair was plastered with the
tarry mud-bath, his freckled face splattered with it, and his clothes sticky with it.
It is needless to say the trip to Uncle Joe’s was abandoned. We could get
home none too soon.
Since then the grizzly (which was s probably like ourselves, merely on an ex-
ploring tour) has been driven farther up the range by hunters, and perhaps
slain, as he has not been heard of for a long time. I trust, however, he is still:
alive, for I remember him only as a kindly old deliverer from a dungeon.
As for the cave, it has become locally famous, and is often visited by picnic
parties, As its discoverers, we take a certain pride in it, but somehow never
care to see it again. For you may be sure that we four, Dora, Annie, Sam and
I, have not yet forgotten our wretched adventures in the darkness, underground.
Charles Robert Harker.
“DIAMONDS AND ORD Sv,
(A Fairy Tale.) |
NE fine day in spring, a rattling old fiacre, driven by a red-nosed, red-waist-
coated and quarrelsome old coachman, pulled up with a jerk before the
door of the “ Ladies of the Sacred Heart,†in a quiet boulevard of Paris.
Out of this equipage, stopping on the sidewalk to pick the straws from her
respectable black worsted ankles, got a stout woman with beetling brows that
met over a hooked nose. =
She wore a black stuff frock and a red striped jacket and a clean frilled cap,
a costume that indicates her class. She was, in fact, the bonne, or maid-of-all-
work, sent by Mrs. Platt to accompany that lady’s two young daughters back
from their convent boarding-school to the fifth-floor apartment in the Rue Ver-
net, that.served them as a home.
Annette, at ordinary times so fierce and red and bustling, had like all French-
women made ready for her outing by putting ona sort of holiday face. She
even exchanged grim jokes with the cocher as that functionary, whipping from.
underneath an oil-skin petticoat around his box a black bottle and a piece of
cheese wrapped in a copy of Le Petit Journal, and a yard or so of bread, settled
himself for a comfortable lunch.
Upon this spectacle the eyes of the two girls rested, when after a while they
came out of the convent, the great doors of the best home they had ever known
clanging behind them sharply. .
“So this is your fairy chariot, Jenny, you little goose?†Estelle said:
scornfully. —
Jenny could not answer. As they turned the corner of the street she leaned
out to look her last at the familiar walls of the beloved Sacred Heart. For the
remainder of the drive her little cotton pocket-handkerchief was saturated with
_ very honest tears. ae
“Do stop crying, Jenny,†said her sister. “For my part, bad as it is, I am
thankful for a change from that poky place. It was perfectly ridiculous of
mamma to keep us there so long.â€
“DIAMONDS AND TOADS.â€
At Rue Vernet, leaving Annette and the driver to indulge in the usual inevi-
table wrangle over the fare and drink-money, the girls ran with light footsteps
up four long flights of stairs. The door was opened for them by their mother,
dressed in a tumbled tea-gown of blue china-silk trimmed with an abundance of
not over-clean lace. Mrs. Platt’s face looked pinched and tired, under the forest
of blonde curls she wore when not adorned with crimping pins.
“My dear,†said this lady, kissing Estelle on either cheek, then holding her
off for a survey, “you really surpass my hopes. One can never tell how a com-
plexion will clear up. Yes, you may go directly into the salon, my child. A
friend of mine, Monsieur de Patras, has come to breakfast.â€
“Mamma!†said an appealing voice.
“O, Jenny! is that you, child? And that’s the cashmere? How badly it
has worn! Tl declare you're browner than before! The very image of your
father’s people! Go into my bedroom — or no, you'd better help Annette. Do
- keep her in a good humor and coax her to make a omelette with jam. I'm
sure that woman’s temper will bring me to my grave.â€
Jenny dressed the salad, arranged a few grapes and pears, tidied the scantily
served table, and at last to soothe the now raging Annette, undertook to make
the coffee, and to watch the omelette. She heard Estelle singing at the little
cracked piano, a song from the “ Noces de Jeannette,†they had both coon at
the convent.
“ Cours, mon aiguille, dans la laine.â€
And afterwards the approving voice of Monsieur de Patras, crying “Brava, .
brava!†She caught a glimpse of that gentleman sitting on a little sofa nursing
his hat and stick, and his moustachios amused her mightily.
By the time Jenny found an opportunity to eat her own scrappy midday
meal Hstelle and her mamma had gone off to drive in the Bois de Boulogne, in
Monsieur de Patras’s carriage.
“ And you will dine afterwards with me at the restaurateurs, chére Madame ee
the Baron had said in setting out. “ Perhaps it will amuse Mademoiselle to visit
_the spectacle at the Chatelet, this evening.â€
“You are too good, Monsieur, to my little convent-bred. girl,†Madame had
answered, fluttering with satisfaction. “Think what it has been to me to be
separated from this dear angel ;†at which moment Annette, putting her blunt
head in at the door, summoned her mistress to know what she expected to have —
for dinner, now that the chops had been sacrificed to the “ second déjetiner.â€
“How dare you interrupt me?†said the lady in a sharp whisper. “Idiot!
cook syle you have. Mademoiselle and ‘I do not return till after the
spectacle.†oN
Poor little Jenny, who would have given her eyes to see that brilliant sight,
the old story of Cinderella acted with a hundred tricks of phage-crait about
“DIAMONDS AND TOADS.â€
which ‘all Paris had been talking latterly, was forgotten. Luckily, the girls in
the convent school, except those who when at home for the holidays were taken
by their mammas to see an occasional fairy piece, knew very little about such
things. Jenny, too, was accustomed to give up to Estelle, and in unpacking
their boxes and practicing a while on the piano the afternoon was passed not
unpleasantly. Old Annette, mollified by the young girl’s helpfulness, managed
to prepare for her tea a delicious dish of toasted rusk with apples spiced and
roasted and a tiny pot of cream.
“For with that chareutierâ€â€™ (butcher) “at the corner, insisting as he does, on
being paid, ma foi,†the woman said, “ another scrap of meat this day is not a
thing to think of.â€
The first day of Jenny’s life at home was a sample of those that followed.
She used often to think longingly of the merry companionship of the girls at
tne Sacré Ceewr. She missed more than she could say the gentle sympathy of
Sister Geneviéve, the nun who had been “father and mither an’ a’,†to the two
young Americans growing up in her charge.
For, Mrs. Platt, who had been a widow ever since Jenny’s babyhood, had
long ago fallen in with the vagrant, hand-to-mouth style of living pursued by a
certain number of her country people in Europe. It had been to her a great
convenience to tuck away Estelle and Jenny in the safe precincts of the convent
school while she traveled about in the wake of a floating colony of idle people,
who are seen at Paris, Hombourg, Rome, Nice, etc., in turn.
_ But Estelle and Jenny, heretofore spoken of as “my darling little girls,†had
persevered in a habit healthy girls have—of growing and budding and putting
out all manner of fresh charms and graces, until Sister Genevidve had felt
obliged to inform their mother it was time to take them home “for good.â€
Poor Mrs. Platt was really overwhelmed at first. How could her scant sup-
ply of ready money be made to cover the expenses of three who must share
and share alike? stelle, with her beautiful coloring and stylish figure, might
indeed help to reflect’ credit on the widow ; but Jenny — Jenny, little, brown,
bright-eyed, like a robin on a twig — who could do anything with Jenny ?
As the Maydays passed away, and all of Paris— beautiful, bewildering, blos-
soming, laughing Paris— poured out upon the streets and parks and drives and
boulevards, Mrs. Platt and Estelle were continually abroad. To provide both of
them with the wonderful toilets in which they appeared in public, the little day-
dressmaker could never have sewed fast enough, unless J enny’s fingers had been
there to help. Jenny sewed long seams, hemmed rufiles, tied bows, and then,
when Estelle was attired, stood back, to admire the lovely vision she had helped
to create. For Estelle, aided by her mother’s taste in dress, was beautiful, un-
doubtedly. Many people of Mrs. Platt’s acquaintance, who for some time past
had taken little notice of the widow, had left cards, and renewed their invita-
tions, in consideration of the new attraction the Rue Vernet could offer.
«DIAMONDS AND TOADS.â€
There was, however, one person who had never been brought to recognize
the claims of Mrs. Platt, and that was her countrywoman, Mrs. Noble of New
York, who with her young family occupied the best apartment of the house in
the Rue Vernet. It was too exasperating, the widow thought, to have every-
body taking for granted that she knew He “charming compatriot, this distin-
guished Madame Noble.â€
In spite of many opportunities of which she might well have taken advan-
tage, Mrs. Noble had remained blind and deaf to the existence of Mrs. Platt.
Every day, coming and going, it was the widow's lot to see the Nobles’ carriage,
drawn by those beautiful American horses, standing in the courtyard; to see
Mrs. Noble with her son or daughter get into it and drive away, without a
glance in her direction. The wealth, the ease, the assured position of the
Nobles, were what the foolish woman envied; not the good breeding, the
family mon the simplicity of dress and manner that marked her neighbors
“au premier.†;
Little Jenny, tripping up and down the stairs, unnoticed, to help Annette’s -
old bones with household errands, found herself, too, one day, looking after the
Nobles’ carriage as it drove away from the courtyard, with a sort of yearning in
her heart. She had heard an interchange of loving banter between the mother
and her children, and the contrast between that and her own domestic atmos-
phere went through her with a pang.
Early in June came invitations, for which Mrs. Platt had plotted and planned
with persistence worthy of a better cause, to a féte at the hdtel of one of the
ministers of Government; a ball, with dancing in a tent pitched in the middle
of an illuminated garden. Monsieur de Patras had brought the two rose-colored
tickets that were to admit Estelle and her mamma into this dazzling scene.
New dresses, fresh in every particular, with the exception, perhaps, of the
underskirt for which Madame’s old pink silk might be made to serve under a
new pink gauze for Mademoiselle, were absolutely necessary. The little day-.
dressmaker, Jenny, Madame and Estelle (who directed but did not sew) met
together daily in important conclave. The sitting-room fairly overflowed with
flounces and furbelows and snippings of tulle and silk and ribbon. Jenny, as
much excited as if she herself were to be the happy wearer of the robe now
nearly finished, had sewed until she began to feel something very like a chronic
headache.
“There is one thing I forgot to tell you, Estelle,†said their mamma on the
morning of the féte, “I am told that the Nobles will certainly be there, and a
friend has promised to introduce us without fail. Really, my dear, you are look-
ing pale to-day. Come out with me for a walk, and if I can possibly afford it I
will bargain with the florist to let you have a bouquet for to-night that will be
worth the carrying.â€
t
“DIAMONDS AND TOADS.â€
_ “May I go for a walk in the Park Morceaux, mamma?†asked Jenny.
“Marie and I can’t both sew at once on your skirt, and I have been feeling
rather dizzy.†x. |
“Yes, go,†answered the mother shortly. “The Park Morceaux is so given
up to nursery maids and children you can walk there alone. Besides, nobody
would be likely to notice you, I think!â€
Jenny had often before found her solitary way to the pretty little park in
the heart of the great bustling city near their home. In her plain frock, with
her threadbare gloves, the girl could glide about unobserved, like the modest
little working woman that she was.
Sometimes a child at play would stop to talk to her, and dogs scampering
away from their owners would frisk and lick her hand when she accosted them.
The birds knew her and her pocket full of crumbs; but with these exceptions
Jenny had for the most part only the companionship of her cheerful thoughts.
For I defy any one who has youth and strength and the future stretching far
ahead to be doleful in such an atmosphere as that of an early summer’s day in
Paris. The sparkle of sunshine, the green of grass and trees, the play of foun-
tains and the brilliant show of flowers, and over all such a stir and murmuring of
re-awakened nature, enjoyed by a city full of pleasant-spoken people, are quite
irresistible.
Jenny made no attempt to resist it. She walked more rapidly, she hummed,
she skipped. Turning into a shady avenue of horse-chestnuts, she found herself
alone. A little Scotch terrier gamboling without his leash ran with her. When
tired of racing him she stopped by a fountain, and from the leaves of a broken
bough of horse-chestnut, made for herself a cup, and stooped to drink.
“Here, Rags! here, Rags!†said a pleasant voice, calling the little terrier.
Jenny looked up, and saw on a bench near by their neighbor, Mrs. Noble.
~ “Oh! Rags is such a darling little fellow,†she exclaimed; “I hope you do
not mind my racing him.â€
“Rags is a wise little fellow,†said his mistress, smiling. “He knows how to
choose his comrades for a game. Of course he gets tired sometimes of following
my sober steps, and my own poor girl isn’t strong enough to run with him. See
“here, my child, I have a fancy to taste water from a leaf-cup like the one you
threw away; won’t you make another one for me?â€
Jenny made the cup, and after drinking, Mrs. Noble sighed. “It was on my
father’s farm in Massachusetts—I don’t like to think how many years ago —
that I quaffed my last draught from such a sylvan goblet. It was for old associa-
tions’ sake I asked you.â€
“Then you could tell me about America,†cried J enny, kindling. “My
father, too, lived in Massachusetts as a boy, I think. I don’t know anything
about my own country except what the geographies tell us—and at the convent
that’s not much.â€
WHAT DREAMY- EYES SAW IN THE FIRE.
Unconsciously she had seated herself at the other end of Mrs. Noble’s bench.
She took her hat off, and the heat making her hair curl into pretty rings of
golden brown around her temples, deepened the color in her cheeks. Jenny
looked — yes, it is actually true—so pretty, that the lady of the fountain smiled
-admiringly. Mrs. Noble, interested in the subject as in her listener, talked long
and pleasantly.
When, in the course of. their conversation, she found out that Jenny was the
child of the Mrs. Platt who lived aw cingqwiéme in the. Rue Vernet, an expression -
Jenny could hardly understand came into her mild eyes.
“T do not know your mother,†she said, after a moment’s pause. “But, my
dear, if you think she will not mind, it would give me the greatest pleasure to
take you with us this evening to “hear Madame Galli-Marie as the pare of
‘Mignon’ at the Opéra-Comique.â€
“[—oh!†Jenny drewa long breath af pleasure. “I ie never heard an
opera. The Sisters took us to a mass at St. Hustache one day; we heard the
Stabat Mater. Oh! how thrilling it all was. There was a man’s voice—he
came from the Pope’s choir, they said; it was like an angel’s trumpet! Oh! do
you believe mamma will let me?†che concluded, in a burst of joyful inco-
herence.
“J believe she will,†said Mrs. Noble, sin
(TO BE CONCLUDED.) :
‘Mrs. Burton Harrison.
oa
Lone
WHAT DREAMY-EYES SAW IN THE FIRE,
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““DIAMONDS AND TOADS. ice ele
(A Fairy Fale.)
T was all fairy-work, Jenny Foe There were mamma and Estelle lying
on their beds, trying to get a little sleep, they said, before dressing for the ©
ball. (Mamma was in a queer kind of humor, half pleased, half snappish!)
There was little Marie, the sewing-girl, lingering beyond her time to fasten
Jenny’s one white frock, the muslin Sister Genevieve had ordered for their
school exhibition the year before. Marie’s deft fingers tied her white silk sash
in a truly Parisian bow behind the slender waist, and when all was finished
stood back to inform Jenny that she was vraiment trés bien ; not beautiful like
Mademoiselle Estelle, but comme-i-faut! There was Annette in a red camisole
and spotless cap, waiting to escort her down the stairs and deliver her up in
state to Mrs. Nobles’ keeping! Surely, it could not be true. Surely, little
Jenny must awake and find it but a dream.
Jenny had never seen anything like the. elegance and comfort of her new
friend’s quarters. When the doors opened, and she was ushered into the large
drawing-room filled with luxurious furniture and hangings, with blooming plants
everywhere, and softly-shaded lamps, with abundant books and work-tables, and
an open grand piano, behind which sat a young girl playing one of Chopin’s
waltzes, she felt absolutely overcome with fear.
But there, in a deep arm-chair, holding out her hand and gently greeting her
little visitor, was the fairy of the spring. Behind Mrs. Noble stood her tall son,
George, and Helen came forward from the piano. Among them, the young peo-
ple got on capitally.
“See, children,†said Mrs. Noble, when they rose to go in to dinner presently,
“did I not tell youtruly? Jenny has just the turn of the head, the trick of look-
ing up when spoken to. I am speaking of my married daughter in New York,
my dear; you reminded me of Gracé the moment I laid eyes on you.â€
“And you must expect to be spoiled outrageously in consequence,†said
Helen. “Mamma can never forgive my brother-in-law for carrying off her
eldest.†;
The dinner was merry, and unconstrained beyond anything in Jenny’s prior
knowledge. When the carriage was announced to take the ladies to the opera,
Mrs. Noble gave to éach of the girls a bunch of deep-red roses, and drawing
Jenny aside to her own room, she put. something in her hand. |
“There, my dear, is a little trinket to wear on that velvet at your throat —
a mere trifle of a thing, but I found it in a jewel-box, and it will remind you.
of our meeting at the fountain.â€
Eagerly Jenny opened the little velvet box to find a pendant resembling a
“DIAMONDS AND TOADS.â€
leaf, made of green enamel, on which lay a pearl and two tiny diamonds. Need-
less to tell of her rapture when Helen slipped the pretty ornament — her very;
very first !— upon the velvet round her neck.
Jenny went to bed that night as happy as a queen. She was up next morn-
ing, and about her work, long before it was time to carry mamma’s and Estelle’s
chocolate into their bedrooms. From her sister she received no greeting, but
Mrs. Platt plied her with a hundred questions.
“Humph!†said that lady, when she had heard a full account of Jenny’s
evening of pure bliss. “A dinner—the opera—roses— pearls and diamonds!
Upon my word, Miss, you are prettily set up. I must say it was a thousand
pities you got that slice of luck, instead of poor Estelle. Was there ever any-
thing so provoking as my missing Mrs. Noble’s call, when she came yesterday
to leave the note asking if you might go with her? However, Estelle and I will
make it a point to return the visit this very afternoon. Mrs. Noble ought to see
Estelle.â€
“TI hope your ball was lovely,†ventured Jenny in return.
“Well, the crowd was awful. I lost my fan, and Estelle’s gown was nearly
torn in two. There was not much chance for dancing, and we walked around
with that stupid old Patras until our feet ached. I think it very strange, Jenny,
that the Nobles were not there. I thought they would be sure to look in after
they left you at home.â€
“J heard Mrs. Noble say that she did not approve of eee a girl so young
as Helen to those semi-public balls, and that she herself never went into a
crush,†said Jenny; a remark that had the immediate effect of making her
mother scold her for impertinence until the poor girl burst into bitter tears, and
hurried from the room.
Spite of its auspicious beginning, the acquaintance between the families of
Platt and Noble did not appear to flourish. Mrs. Noble was from home when
Mrs. Platt called on the afternoon following the ball. Maneuver as she
might, Mrs. Platt could find no way of introducing her darling Estelle to such
important notice.
“T have it,†said Mrs. Platt, coming in to her eldest daughter's room one
morning. “Mrs. Noble has asked Jenny to meet her in the Park for a walk
this morning. It is easy enough for me to keep that tiresome little Jenny in.
There is always work enough for her to do at home. Do you dress yourself,
Hstelle, in that ecru pongee with the embroidered parasol to match, and the
knots of poppy-colored ribbon. You are sweet in that. Annette shall walk
with you, and you can introduce yourself to Mrs. Noble by saying you came to
bring Jenny’s apologies. Come, don’t sulk, my darling; you know Mrs. Noble
can do just everything for you if she only takes a fancy.â€
It was with no very good grace, however, that Estelle Foitored these direc-
“DIAMONDS AND TOADS.â€
tions. When she reached the Pane she meee rvetee to sit down upon a
bench, which the overworked old woman was glad enough to do.
Strolling up and down the avenue leading to the fountain, Estelle’s heart was
filled with weariness and unsatisfied longing. She resented her mother for the
schemes of which she was beginning to heartily tire ; she resented Jenny’s gleam
of good fortune. Everything seemed jaundiced in her sight.
No sign yet of Jenny’s good Fairy of the Fountain. In her place, an elderly
English maid was crocheting on a bench, a small dog was careering wildly around
the gravel-walk. A light puff of wind blew Estelle’s parasol from her hand.
The fall detached a bow of poppy-colored ribbon which blew over upon the
grass. In a moment the little dog was after it. stelle called to him angrily,
but the mischievous little fellow ran the faster with his prize. By the time she.
came up with him, he had chewed the ribbon into a shapeless mass.
The angry blood rushed into Estelle’s face. With the stick of her parasol
she beat the dog so fiercely that he screamed with pain. She did not see or care
who looked at her. A moment later, a young lady, whom she did not recognize —
as Helen Noble, had picked up the terrier and clasped it to her breast.
“You are a wicked, cruel person!†cried Helen, confronting Estelle with
@ degree of energy born of her righteous indignation. “I know you, and L-
would not speak to you if it were not for my poor Rags. I believe you
have half killed him.†—
_“T wish I had killed him,†returned Estelle angrily.
“Come, Miss Noble, this is no place for you,†said the prim maid-servant,
who had been crocheting on the bench. “I wonder what Mrs. Noble will say
when she hears the way her pet has been a-treated? One thing’s certain — she'll
find out fine feathers don’t make fine birds, I’ m thinking,†and she darted a re-
sentful glance at Estelle’s finery.
Hstelle’s cowardly heart began to beat with quite a new peneationy Hort
came it that she had not recognized Miss Noble?, This was the end, then, of all
the wiles and schemes. While trying to think how she could smooth the matter
over she found herself alone. The occasional outeries of poor little wounded
Rags, as he was borne away, on the gravel at her feet a crushed and soiled knot.
of ribbon on which a toad was sitting, were all that ee to tell the tale of
her defeat! !
By midsummer Paris was deserted by the fashionable world, and Mrs. Platt,
_ following the example of her richer friends, betook herself, her oldest daughter,
and several trunks full of made-over furbelows, to various places of resort.
Jenny tried bravely to bear up against the solitude of the long hot days, but’
the strain was terrible. Many a time did her thoughts turn to the alleys of the
convent-garden, and to Sister Geneviéve; but half Paris lay between them and
she had no money to pay cab-fare, and cared not go on foot. Of the Nobles, she
“DIAMONDS AND TOADS.â€
knew only that they had set out on a long journey; to Norway, she had heard.
Since the encounter with Estelle at the fountain, Mrs. Platt, in a fury at the
‘insult, as she chose to call it, directed to her child, had refused to let Jenny
accept any farther notice from the family. Jenny never received the kind note
written by Mrs. Noble on leaving Paris, bidding the girl keep a brave heart and
_ not forget her friends who vould one day find her out again. “Such impu-
dence!†Mrs. Platt had remarked, waylaying the billet, and taking care that it
did not reach the little girl who was at that moment crying her eyes out on her
cot because she believed that her friends had gone away offended beyond recall.
And so, one morning, Annette going into Jenny’s bedroom, found her com-
plaining of a bad sore throat, with pains unlike any she had known before laying
hold of all her limbs. Annette had not money wherewith to pay a doctor, and
the concierge, summoned into council, procured a physician from an infirmary,
who straightway pronounced the disease to be diphtheria.
It is an old saying that Paris is a capital place to laugh and be merry in, but
a poor one in which to sorrow, to suffer, or to die. The concierge, hearing the
doctor’s decree, consulted MW. le proprietaire, who with scant preparation (having,
indeed, but little regard for a family of tenants whose rent was already overdue)
bundled Miss Jenny and her belongings off to a hospital. -
“Send for Sister Geneviéve. Oh! let me have Sister Geneviéve!†repeated
the on incessantly, as delirium set in.
J enny always said she went to sleep in the ward of a common hospital, and
woke up in fairyland. What her eyes really opened upon, when fever left them,
was a little chamber with walls tinted a cool green, a wide window draped with
dimity, through which she could see a mass of waving tree-tops under a summer
sky. Street sounds, mellowed by distance, came to her not unpleasantly. The
few articles of furniture in the room were exquisitely clean and neat. She saw
a vase of honeysuckle on the dressing-stand, and smelt its delicious odor. Then
she closed her eyes again and on next awakening, refreshed, and anxious to ask
questions, there, at fe elbow, ele a cup of iced bouillon, was dear Sister
Genevieve.
Before Jenny had a chance to express her einen tionn at the sight the door
opened to adinit a lady in wrap and bonnet; no less a person than Mrs. Noble,
who, journeying back to Paris with her son in answer to a call on business from
her penises, had reached the Rue Vernet just in time to hear from the concier Be
of Jenny’s removal to the hospital.
A very ill person does not trouble to know where comforts come from.
Jenny did not hear, until nearly well again, how Mrs. Noble had removed her
instantly to a private room of an English hospital of which she happened to be
lady-patroness ; how Sister Geneviéve, summoned to take the invalid in charge,
had nursed her tenderly through a perilous attack; how Mrs. Noble, refusing to
DODO’S RECOGNITION.
leave Paris again until Jenny’s convalescence was established, came every day
for news of her.
Letters written to inform Mrs. Platt of these events miscarried, and no
answer to them coming, Mrs. Noble took the affair in her own hands. The
latter part of a summer opening so dismally for Jenny was spent with her dear-
est friend in one of the loveliest spots of the High Pyrenées.
When Mrs. Platt did hear of these occurrences, she was divided. between re-
lief and anger. But her marriage with M. de Patras occurring just then, she
was inclined to be forgiving. This marriage secured a home for Estelle and
herself, but about Jenny there was the usual difficulty. The Baron, who had no~
great fortune, did not welcome so large a family. To Mrs. Noble, the discovery
of this fact gave an opportunity she most desired. An offer to take Jenny
entirely into her own keeping was made, and, in the end, accepted. The Nobles
returning almost immediately to America to live, Jenny’s life blossomed out
into happiness such as she had never dreamed could fall to her modest lot. .
“Every thing has a moral, if you can only find it,†says the sprightly
Duchess in ‘Alice’ s Wonderland.’ I wonder if it would help my young read-
ers to find out the moral of this stor y, if I quote from the old fairy book we all
remember: |
“ Kind words are as precious as pearls and damonds; and as sweet aS roses.
Cross, unkind words are as bad as toads and vipers.†Seta
Mrs. Burton Haeneon:
DODO’ S ee ao
ODO’S dolls and toys can feel,
Her favorite pictures all are real —
One pictured kitty in a muff
Has held her admiration long,
And though I weave the tale in song
A dozen times, ’tis not enough. |
/
Dodo walked where wild: birds sing,
Saw but one familiar thing :
A real live sheep — a rounded fluft
With eyes half-buried out of sight ;
Cried Dodo, dancing with delight,
“O see the kitty ina muff!â€
S. Isadore Miner.
AN ARABIAN NIGHT.
UA GOOD, BAD HORSE:
R. WILLIAMS’ house, as everybody in eSudiryport tone: is at the far end
of the village street, just where it widens into open country. It stands in
a big. flowery yard, with orchards‘and fields behind it, and two fine elms on
either side meet. over its roof and frame it in.
It is a little out of the way for a doctor’s house, but Dr. Williams’ practice is -
quite as much among the outlying farms as in the town, and people value him
so much that they will take cheno any trouble to secure his services in prefer-
ence to other physicians.
One morning in early November quite a group of peonie were assembled in
front of this picisantloolang house. Somebody was evidently starting on a
_ journey, for a-hack and baggage wagon stood ready, and the men who be-
longed to them were carrying out trunks. Mrs. Williams was on the steps with
her baby in her arms, and her little girls dancing about her. Two maids were
making themselves useful and busy; there was the doctor, at home in the middle
of the day for a wonder, there was a yellow terrier in a state of wild excitement,
jumping on everybody and barking outrageously, there was a black boy with an
odd furtive face holding the bridle of a beautiful skittish-looking chestnut mare,
and standing by the mare and patting her, was the person for niece benefit all.
this group had. collected.
This was Beatrice Williams, the doctor’s young sister, a pretty alli ‘girl of
nineteen, in a natty blue traveling dress. She was starting for a three months’
visit in New York and Washington, and was occupied in giving her last
directions. These principally concerned her pets; for the mare, the yellow
terrier, and in a sense the colored boy, were the property of Beatrice.
“Now, Jim†(this to the colored boy), “be sure to exercise Trix regularly.
Give her a good long gare in the sands every day, and remember to bring her
in cool.â€
“Yes, missus,’ with a gleam of white teeth. Some private thought in Jim’s
mind seemed to give him pleasure. ;
“Sue dear â€â€™ (this was to Mrs. Williams), “ you will see that Tolstoi has a sugar
wafer now and then, won’t you? He’s so fond of them, poor little fellow! and |
he will miss me so much.â€
“Yes,†replied her sister-in-law, with a little laugh, “I'll sugar-wafer Tolstoi
with pleasure, Bee, but I do wish you would let Trix be turned out to pasture.
I never have an easy moment about her when you are away — she is such a bad
horse.†.
“Sue!†indignantly; “what do you mean? A bad horse indeed! ‘My Trix?
She’s perfectly good with me.â€
A GOOD BAD HORSE.
“Yes, with you, but not with anybody else. Think how she kicks at John
if he goes near her stall, and tries to bite him; and how she broke Thomas’s leg
only last year, and frightened old Hezekiah into fits by rearing up at him. I
call her a very dangerous animal, and I never have an easy moment when you
are away for fear the children will go near her.†. 2
“Why, Susan Williams! I am ashamed of you. Trix loves the Enilavene
Just look here†— and _ suiting the action to the word, Beatrice caught up one
of the little girls and set her astride on the mare’s bare back. Trix started and
swerved, but a word and pat from her mistress quieted her, and she stood
patiently, while the little rider, laughing with pleasure, kicked her sides with
' both small feet and cried, “ Get up!â€
“ Do you call that a bad horse ?†demanded Beatrice triumphantly. Then,
seeing that Mrs. Williams had grown very pale, she lifted the child down to the ~
piazza, and went on: “She’s always like that with me—really and truly she is
the best horse in the world. Now, Susan darling, listen. I can’t have Trix
turned out, but you shall not have one bit of bother about her. Jim is to have
all the charge. He will take her out for exercise and feed her and look after
her, and you need never know that she is about the premises at all, unless†—
here the voice grew very arch and coaxing — “ unless your naturally kind heart
should lead you to go out now and then and give her a lump of sugar.â€
Mrs. Williams shook her head, but it was impossible not to smile, and Bee
drove off to the station with a pleased sense of having carried her point.
Perhaps she might have felt less pleased could she have seen the occupation
to which one hour after her departure, Jim had betaken himself — namely, the
polishing of an old pair of spurs with plate powder “borrowed†from the pantry.
Jim possessed an inherited taste for horse flesh, and had always been of the
opinion that “dat mare’d go pretty consid’able faster than folks ’d think, if
some one beside young Miss could git a chance on her.’ The opportunity for
_ trying this experiment had now arrived!
_ Given a hot-tempered, high-spirited mare, a pair of spurs and a venturesome
colored boy, and the result can be easily guessed. Within a fortnight of Bee’s
departure, Trix was found whinnying at the stable door with an empty saddle on
her back, and farther search revealed Jim lying by the roadside a mile away
with his left leg broken in two places.
“J shall have that beast turned out at once,†Dr. Williams tne but
somehow he didn’t.
They were all a little afraid of Beatrice as well as very fond of her, and they
disliked to cross her wishes. A boy was found to come by the day and care for
Trix, who was eraciousl y pleased to tolerate his services. And -Jim’s mother, a
fat and elderly “mauma†of the true Southern type, with a gaily turbaned head
and a rich unctious tone of voice, arrived to take care of him. It cannot be said
that her arrival did much to lighten the family cares. 5
“A GOOD BAD HORSE.
“De por chile ought to hev wot he arsks for, for sho,†was the cardinal
theory of her nursing. In accordance with this theory, “de por chile†was
fed secretly with all manner of indigestible dainties. Pound cakes and pies, nuts,
pickles, cider, anything and everything that Jim’s invalid fancies suggested,
were smuggled into his room by his attached parent and administered to him in
defiance of the doctor's orders. Mrs. Williams had to be on the watch continually
to detect and counteract these indulgences, until, as she told her husband, she fairly
longed for a stick and to have the good old days of slavery temporarily restored.
To add to the complication, one of Dr. Williams’ most intimate friends was
desperately ill at the time, and required incessant attention, so that poor Mrs.
Williams had to take the brunt of the home troubles on her own shoulders.
This brings us to the night of which I set out to tell you, when Trix the
troublesome, Trix the naughty, became forever more Trix the good in the opin-
ion of the Williams family.
Jim had been laid up for a fortnight. December had begun ; the weather
was cold and bleak with a threatening of snow. Mrs. Williams had fed her tired
doctor and made him many cups of strong tea, for a consultation was to be held
at midnight over Judge Maynard, whose fever had reached its crisis. She left
him for a moment to take a look at Jim, and came back in a fury.
“Look there!†she exclaimed, exhibiting the pocket of her sewing apron full
of recently-fried solid-looking doughnuts, “at what I have just found in Jim’s
room! That old thing has been feeding him with these! There they were on
the table. A great plate full, and she fast asleep in her chair, and Jim with a
half-eaten one in his hand fast asleep too, and the window shut tight and the
stove red-hot! I was so angry, for I told her this very day that you said Jim’s
leg was not doing so well as it ought, and that it was all her fault.â€
“It takes an old ‘cullered pusson’ to do that sort of thing thoroughly,†said
Dr. Williams. “T shall clear her out to-morrow and get a regular nurse. Don’t
look so troubled, Sue. What did you do?†a
-“T just swept the doughnuts into my pocket, shut the damper and opened
the window at top and bottom. JI hope she’ll get thoroughly chilled’ — vindic-
tively — “ before I go back again. Now, John, must you be off quite yet?†for
Dr. Williams was pulling on his top coat. “You must? Well, I’ll come out
and hold your lantern.†x
It was but a short way to the barn where the horse and gig stood harnessed
and ready. a ; .
“Sue, you'll take your death of cold. What sort of a shawl is that to come
out in? Will you never learn prudence, my child? Run in now, and [ll fasten
the door.â€
“Oh, ’mwarm enough. Don’t mind me, John. There’s that wretched little
Tolstoi scratching after rats or something, and I shall have to catch him and
keep him from running after you. I didn’t know he had followed us out.â€
A GOOD BAD HORSE.
~“T don’t like to leave you here alone,†said the doctor, as he got into the
gig. “Never mind the dog. Lock him in, and I’ll drive you up to the house.â€
“ Oh, you can’t lock hittin in. There are half a dozen places where he can
get out. No, John —just go— you are late as itis. I'll capture Tolstoi, hang
the lantern on its nail and shut up the doors. There’s no cause to worry. What
could happen to me so near the house ?â€â€™
“Well, good-by, dear,†he said, only half-satisfied ; “I sha’n’t be back till
three in the morning. Don’t lie awake.â€
His departing wheels crunched on the gravel of the drive. Mrs. Williams
held up her lantern to light him round the turn, then she went to look for the
dog, who was leaping at a pile ‘of hay in the far corner, and barking violently.
“Tolstoi, you bad dog, come here,†she cried, advancing lantern in hand.
Suddenly she stopped, and the smile froze on her lips. A paralysis of terror
took possession of her. The hay moved, fell, and out of it a hideous face be-
came visible, with tough matted hair and evil eyes. A thick voice muttered a
curse on the dog, and in another moment the burly figure of a tramp shook
itself free from the hay, and Tolstoi received a kick which sent him howling
against the wall.
Mrs. Williams fought against the sensation of sick horror.
“What do you want?†she demanded, astonished at the steadiness of her
own voice.
The tramp made a step forward.
“Stand still!†she said, and the man halted. “What are you here for?
Food? You can have it in the morning, but not now. It is too late. Money?
I have none.†She spoke bravely, but the recollection of the open house door,
the undefended children, the maids sleeping heavily upstairs and her husband
driving farther away every moment, suddenly ye over her, and with the last
_ word her voice faltered and died.
The humor of the situation seemed to tickle the tramp. He grinned.
“Tt’s a case of ‘ John bring the gun,’ I guess,†he said. “And there ain’t no
gun. I didn’t mean to show just yet, but since that blamed dog has smelt me out,
I dessay it’s jest as well. Now, marm, it ain’t no use saying ‘no’ to me. The
doctor won’t be back till three, I heard him say, and there ain’t no other man
about. I guess ’'m pretty much the boss of this affair, and so you'll jest take
that lantern and show me the way to: the house, and where the silver is and the
vittles and keep a civil tongue in your head, or else’ *—he concluded with a
menacing gesture, and took a step forward.
With a shriek Mrs. Williams dashed the lantern on the floor. The light
. went out, extinguished by the fall.
Then scarcely knowing what she did she darted into Trix’s stall, and with
one rapid movement climbed into her manger. It was done with the swiftness
of mortal fear. She felt the swerve and shudder of the startled mare, as, crouch-
A GOOD BAD HORSE.
ing close to her head, the snorting breath full in her face, she saw against the
side window opposite the figure of the tramp creeping nearer.
‘Her white shawl caught his eye.
“ Treed,†she heard the fellow mutter, as he strode quickly toward the stall.
But he had not reckoned upon Trix, who at the best of times resented in-
trusion on her premises. She was on her mettle now. Her heels flew out as the
man got within reach, and he fell to the floor, swearing.
Now was brave little Tolstoi’s opportunity. In one moment he had sprung
full at the face of the foe. ' ;
“Call your dog off, or I'll shoot him,†shouted the tramp. A second later
came the sound of a pistol shot; then a long howl, and then silence.
“What will Bee say?†was the thought which flashed through Mrs. Williams,
mind even in that moment of extremity. “Oh, Bee, Bee, I could not help it.
I could not help it!†ae
In raising himself to fire the man had rolled nearer the stall. The sound of
the shot roused the mare to a fury of excitement. With a scream of terror she
tugged wildly at her halter, plunged violently, and again and again those terrible
heels flew out at the staggering form behind her, which could be dimly seen half-
rising at times, then felled again. Thud, thud, thud! groans, imprecations, then
a shower of kicks, another struggle to rise, renewed kicks! Finally there fell .
an awful silence. It was so still, that Mrs. Williams, lying across the manger
could hear the munching of the “second horse†at the other end of the barn,
and the distant breathing of the cow in the adjoining shed; the silence seemed
to her almost more dreadful than the sound.
Numb with cold and stiff with horror she ne She would not haves dared to
move had it been possible. She felt the mare’s hot breath as she snuffed about
in the manger. She remembered that when angry Trix.was apt to bite, but
even the dread of those long sharp teeth did not rouse in her strength or courage
to stir; and she only shuddered vaguely when, at intervals, seized with a fresh ©
paroxysm of excitement, Trix lashed out her heels again with terrific thuds;
against what? Something that did not move! :
_ Mrs. Williams must have fainted during one of these ebullitions. As her
senses slowly struggled back, she became conscious that the mare was tearing at
some part of her dress with a crunching sound. Another moment and she might
feel those teeth in her flesh, but even so, she could not move. The darkness
was complete. How long had she lain there ?
It seemed many hours, but she could not tell. Then the blood seemed to
stir in her benumbed veins with a sudden sense of hope, for there was a sound
on the road, the distant beat of hoofs, the roll of wheels.
Doctor Williams jumped rapidly from his gig surprised at the darkness and
the open barn door. As he did so his horse shied violently. It was only at
the body of a little dog, who had given his life in defense of his mistress. _
HORSE CHESTNUTS.
-With growing apprehension he unhooked one of the carriage lamps and
hastened in. There, on the blood-stained floor, lay the unconscious and wounded
- tramp. Beyond, in the deep shadow of the manger, lay his wife, and close to
her, quivering still and flecked with foam, stood his sister’s beautiful mare, so
busily engaged that she scarcely noticed his entrance as she deliberately nosed
out and devoured Jim’s doughnuts from the wide pocket of Mrs. Williams’ sew-
ing apron.
Her excitement was quite over now. She moved aside peaceably as Dr.
Williams, with a loud cry, sprang into the stall and lifted his wife down in his
arms, and turned her head with a low whinny to watch them go. Mrs. Williams
was only half sensible, but as the cold air blew on her face she revived, and
found strength to whisper —“ Trix saved me! We’ll never call her bad again,
will we, John?â€
And they never did! From that day to this, Trix has been the darling of
the Williams family in general. Her failings are winked at and called “ pecu-
liarities,†not faults. Sugar and cake and fresh grass and the daintiest nibbles
of clover are purveyed for her eating. She is petted and patted and called by
the sweetest names, and these are not as unsuitable as they might seem; for
Trix’s temper seems modified by the ee of popularity, and she does not
often indulge in her old tantrums.
liven Beatrice is satisfied at last with regard to her favorite, though she still
insists that it is gross injustice to say that she was ever less than perfection at
any time of her life, and with all her gratitude to Trix Mrs. Williams cannot’
quite be made to admit, that.
I think, however, all of you will agree with her, that if ever Trix was a bad
horse, she was the best bad horse that ever lived.
Susan Coolidge.
ate ail 5 ae Seaham fires; ye
i x
rf! eo
USS
HORSE CHESTNUTS.
MAY DAY.
NOW behold gay green and gold
Across the meadows lying,
And maids in ragged petticoats
For cowslip blossoms spying :
Up hill, down dale,
Lads and lasses straying —
Tra la la, tra la la,
Let us go a-Maying !
Now babies in pink pinafores
Blue violets are gleaning ;
Where dandelions dot the ground
Old women go a-greening :
Up hill, down dale,
Lads and lasses straying —
Tra ta la, tra la la,
Let us go a-Maying! |
Now lilacs break out into buds;
Now spicy winds are blowing ;
_ And tis heigho! the daffodils
Down in the garden growing!
Up hill, down dale,
Lads and lasses straying —
Tra la la, tra la la, ;
Let us go a-Maying!
Mary Felicia Butts,
MAYING.
A
Te = BAS K DOG.
ff ARY, my heroine, had awaked in a very bad humor on the morning of her
thirteenth birthday. Without doubt there was a cause for this, but she
herself could not account for it. To be sure every thing was at sixes and sevens
in the family, but no more so on that than on any other morning.
The Cadwalladers lived on a small farm in Silverstream Village. The father
was a sea-captain and generally away from home. The mother was in very deli-
cate nealth. It was for this sad reason that the task of bringing up her younger
brothers and sisters fell upon Mary, who, I am bound to say, faithfully performed
it to the very best of her poor ability.
Mrs. Cadwallader’s nerves were in such a state of excitability that the crying
of children caused her acute pain. You can imagine how the young Cadwalla-
ders took. advantage of this, and how the fear of an explosion interfered with
Mary’s discipline. The truth is, they were daily becoming more unmanageable,
and snapped their naughty fingers in defiance at Mary’s rule, which considering
her age is not after all very men to be wondered at.
The little eldest daughter tried to be gentle and patient with her charges,
knowing this was her poor mother’s wish, but she sometimes longed to shake
them.
Such being her life and without prospect of its improvement, it was really no
wonder that Mary was out of sorts. It was the morning of her thirteenth birth-
day, as I have said, and she had arisen with unaccountable pains in her limbs and
a strangely disagreeable feeling in her head.
The children were not yet up, and Mary was waiting until the naan) task
of dressing them could be performed.
As she. worked by the window darning John Jackson’s seek, she watched
Black Cupid in the yard below, and found horscl wishing that she were as care-
less and happy as he.
Black Cupid was in truth a very bad little dog. Not such a /itle dog, either,
for having nothing on earth to do but to grow he had already arrived at his full
stature ; but I am afraid I must let the first adjective stand as it is written. In
his oe, puppyhood he had been presented to the children with the suggestion
to keep him on a meal and milk diet, with never a morsel of meat. This rule
Jerry the farm man had tried to enforce; but Black Cupid did not live near a
a hennery for nothing, and the twenty-eighth chicken had that morning dis-.
appeared from it, and cenued as a second course to the regulation dish of meal
and milk. |
Poor little pup! Well, he didn’t mind the ihe very much, but being
tied to the carriage-house door was quite another affair. Dismally he whined to
THE BLACK DOG.
Jerry to release him, but in a hopeless sort of way, too, as if he knew of what
stern stuff Jerry's heart was made. Finally he lay down with a flop and a sigh,
and then, after a few moments’ earnest reflection, began to gnaw the rope
attached to his collar. ;
Mary was too much in sympathy with his desire to get free to give warning
to Jerry, and presently Black Cupid was capering down the lane. Mary was just
about to withdraw her head from the window when he suddenly paused, and after
“HOW HAPPY I AM! HOW HAPPY I AM!â€
amoment’s apparent deliberation, ran back to the door and again gnawed the
rope, this time quite up by the door handle so that it could no longer be used as
an instrument of punishment.
“Tf that wasn’t cute!†said Mary.
Black Cupid turned his wicked brown eyes up to the window in a manner that
seemed to say, “ Gnaw off your rope, Mary, my dear, and see for once how jolly
it is to be free.†| .
But now Mary leaned her dizzy head upon the window frame and became
quite oblivious to all things but the images of her own confused mind; and
THEME HAG (DOG:
although I know that every thing had happened thus far as I have stated, I am
not certain that Mary’s fancy is not responsible for what is to follow.
The voices of the children seemed to fill the house, and the whole troop |
flocked in to be dressed. There were John Jackson, and Bertie and Helen and
little Fred — four mischievous elves and each one must be chased from room to
room before she could catch and dress it.
When at last they were captured and stood jumping up and down saucily
jeering at her, a sudden wicked impulse leaped into her heart, and then and there
she gave each child a sound slap.
The children were so stunned by this unusual proceeding as to make no effort
to escape, but their cries pierced the roof. Added to these wasa wail of “Mary!
Mary! Mary!†from the invalid’s chamber ; but it did not stay Mary’s hand.
The deed being done, she turned upon the howling group with the unfeeling
words: “Now you may go to Hackney Barney for all I care,†and fled from the
house.
In the orchard she whistled for Black Cupid who came at once in answer to
her call, and leapt about her and licked her hands in his joy at companionship.
“He has altogether forgotten his misdeeds and is as gay as a lark. It’s a
great thing to be a dog,†she thought. “For this day I mean to enjoy myself,
and have no more conscience than he has.â€
The girl and the dog bounded down the hill together, Mary with her arms
thrown out and crying, “ How happy Iam! How happy I am!â€
At the foot of the hill was the river which coiled around the fertile farms of
Silverstream Village. The changing seasons gave its banks a varied beauty, but
Mary thought them loveliest just now, when they wore the tender tints of spring,
and the apple orchards along its course were in blossom. There was a boat
moored under a maple-tree, in which the Cadwallader children sometimes went
out for a row, but never without the company of Jerry; this being their father’s
order.
But now Mary untied it, nodded to Blac Cupid, and the two jumped in.
The little girl took the oars, and the dog sat in the bow of the boat.
The voice of Hannah, housekeeper and maid-of-all-work in this singular
household, was wafted to them from the top of the hill.
‘“¢ Miss Mary, Miss Mary, you know you are Boe allowed to go out by yourself
in the boat. Come back and see to the children.’
“T haven't a care in the world,’ murmured Mary in eeply, as, helped by a
strong current, the boat shot gaily down the stream; “ and no conscience,
either.†eee
As they proceeded, the river seemed to grow more and more beautiful.
Sometimes it was broad and full and flowing, and sometimes narrow and sedgy
where the oars caught in a tangle of grasses. They shot through the arch of
the pretty stone bridge as skillfully as if Jerry himself had handled the oars, and
THE BLACK DOG.
with a push or two against the spiles of the railroad trestle, that danger also was
passed. . '
Beyond the trestle was the great pine grove that Mary loved. There was .a
natural landing right by a giant pine with a board nailed to it on which was -
printed “No Trespassing.†Here the girl without a conscience disembarked.
Unfortunately, she had forgotten to take a rope and there was no way of fasten-
ing the boat.
Mary looked at Black Cupid and now, there being perfect sympathy between
them, she understood what he meant by turning his head indifferently aside and
slowly shutting his eyes. So they left the boat just as it was, and looking back
from the top of the bank and seeing that the current of the river was fast work-
ing it away from the land, Mary merely said:
“Poof! Let it go. Iam tired of rowing.â€
The grove seemed like Arcadia that lovely spring morning. The wind was
laden with the balm of the spicy pines, and the sunshine danced on the river
where its gleam could be caught between the leafage. It played at hide and seek
around the dark trunks of the trees as merrily as Mary and Black Cupid them-
selves. Such a romp as they had, Mary Cadwallader never had had before in
all her troublous life.
When worn out at last Black Cupid flung himself down on the pine needles,
Mary founda warm sunny spot for herself where she could see the soft blue sky
through the dusky branches of the pines that were swinging so lazily in the wind ;
and there she fell asleep.
But although the pines sang unceasingly their soft lullaby, in a few moments
the little girl awoke. For a moment she wondered how she came to be lying
there so far from home, but suddenly the events of the day flashed into her
mind.
«“ Why, what a wicked girl I’ve been!†she said aloud, and she noticed that
- her voice was so hoarse that the words were hardly intelligible. Mary wondered
if she had caught cold in coming off without her hat, and spying her handker-
chief on the ground not far off thought she would use it asa head-covering. On
reaching forward to pick it up what was her astonishment to find she could not
perform this simple act.
A glance at her hand told her why: the fingers and thumb had all grown to-
gether in her sleep, and as she sat-spell-bound staring at the strange sight, she
found it was fast being covered by long black hairs until it completely resembled
a dog’s paw. In trying to call Black Cupid she discovered her voice was now
nothing but a bark.
Instantly she realized the fact that she was being transformed into a dog.
She had wickedly tried to shake off the responsibilities of a human being and to
enjoy the careless life of a puppy ; and this was the punishment.
The only attribute of Mary Cadwallader that she was allowed to retain was
THE BLACK DOG.
her conscience, which having been entirely discarded during the last hours of her
human life, now that she had assumed a dog’s shape, strangely enough awoke
and pierced her with its cruel stings. For each offense of which she had been
guilty that day, it caused her such throes that she was obliged to give vent to
her feelings in a series of distressed yaps. The sound awoke Black Cupid who
ran up with great interest to learn the trouble.
But when Mary, by means of a new and surprising power, had informed him
of her misfortune, he remarked as follows :
“That's a good deal to Bal oa even for a dog. J never heard of a girl
being changed into a puppy.’
“T don’t suppose there was ever a girl before who wished to part with her
conscience,†said Mary meekly.
“Tf such a change really has taken place, your condition is greatly improved.
I propose that we start for home, and once there, I promise you a bit of spring
chicken for your ee And this was all the consolation Black Cupid could
offer. ;
As they trotted off toward the Cadwallader homestead, Mary’s heart was filled
with a thousand fears. Suppose anything had happened to those dear children
while she had been off duty! And her mother —had she been thrown into one
of her fainting fits by the cries of the little ones, and was she still suffering ?
Mary felt sure of one thing — that they would all forgive her when they saw
how terrible was her punishment. In truth, she was prepared for anything
except what was about to happen.
When the two dogs reached home they went enmeditely to the kitchen. _
Here they found the children safe and sound hanging about Aunt: Dillie who was
stirring up gingerbread for tea.
The sight of Aunt Dillie was a great surprise to Mary who supposed her to be
at her own home at Pilchertown ; but the good aunt was a favorite with the Cadwal-
laders, and Mary, forgetting about her misfortune, ran up to her crying:
“ You dear good Auntie! I’m so glad you have come to make us a visit.â€
“Goodness me!†said Aunt Dillie with hardly a glance at poor Mary. “So
you've set up a dog, have you, children? What's its name?â€
“Tt’s Black Cupid,’ answered John Jackson.
_.“No; there is Black Cupid at the door,†cried Bertie.
« aie they are both Black Cupid!†shouted Helen.
“One of ’em is a strange dog, and I shall drive it off, but I’ll be blessed if I
can tell which is the strange dog and which is ours;†and Jerry who had come
in with the milking pail, set it down on the kitchen floor and regarded both ani-
mals critically.
Poor Mary! to be driven from her home as a strange dog.
“Oh, listen to me!†she cried.. “Iam Mary, your own Mary. Forgive me
for the wicked things I’ve done, and don’t drive me away.â€
THE BLACK DOG.
“The cretur has got an awful feelin’ voice and sech mournful eyes,’ said
Hannah. “TI ’low that this one is the strange dog, Jerry.â€
“No, it isn’t; this is Black Cupid, I know it is,†John Jackson insisted.
Mary turned away from them. Couldn’t they see who she was? She went
up to Freddy — her baby boy whom she had loved so. She rested her chin on
his little fat knee and looked with eae: eyes into his face until the little boy
patted her head, lisping:
“T fink dis yittle dog is like my Mawy. Don’t dwive it away.â€
“Mercy on us, what queer fancies children do have !†eried Aunt Dillie.
Then she and the little ones went off
; upstairs and the two dogs were left to
Jerry, who after scratching his head
in great perplexity finally declared that
as he couldn’t tell one from the other
he should lock them both up in the
barn for the night.
Notwithstanding all this discourage-
- ment, Mary did not give up the hope of
making herself known. She would go,
as dogs will, from one to another in
the family circle, and with eager eyes
and little whining cries try to tell what
was in her mind. The thought that
could she once get up stairs to her
mother’s room she at least would know
her child saved her from despair.
All the next day and the following
one, she haunted the house in the hope
that Hannah, in some unguarded mo-
‘J FINK DIS YITTLE DOG IS LIKE MY MAWY.†ment, would leave the door to the
dining-room open; but it was not till
the third day that such an event occurred, and Mary with palpitating heart
bounded up the stairs and into the well-known chamber. There lay the dear
form of her mother on the lounge —as she had so often seen it— her little white
hands crossed over her waist, and her long lashes brushing her cheek. She was
asleep.. Mary moved nearer and nearer and her mouth being just on a level
with the sweet face, she lapped it gently for a caress.
The screams of .Mrs. Cadwallader brought all the members of the household
to her room. “An awful creature is in here, and has been trying to bite me,â€
she cried hysterically. “It’s under the table now.â€
“Oh, mother, mother, mother!†ine black dog tried to say. “Have you,
too, forgotten Mary ?â€
THE BLACK DOG.
But Mrs. Cadwallader’s screams broke out afresh at the sound of her voice,
and Mary was captured and carried to the barn. —
“Now what am I to do with you, you varmint!†was Jerry’s reception.
“Wall, Captain Cadwallader will soon be here and he can do what he pleases with
you.â€
So her father was coming —her father whose pet she was, and whom she
loved better than any one else in the wide world. He would know her. Her
father was coming and all would be right.
From this time she kept unremitting watch upon the gate. But only the
baker or the tin-peddler was to be seen, or perhaps a tramp with a shambling step
and a cloudy brow. Her father walked with a step that was firm and free, and
his eyes were as clear as the summer sky.
At last her watch was at an end, for one day the Captain came.
“ Down, sir, down!†he cried to the strange dog that met him at the foot of
the lane and leaped about him in such a frantic fashion. “ Down, sir, down!â€
he cried in his cheery voice, for he had caught a glimpse of his children spilling
out of the house-door, and tumbling over each other in their efforts to be the first
to greet him. :
“Oh, will he never tire of the prattle of John Jackson and Bertie and Helen
and little Fred? Has he not a word for his eldest born?†In vain she told him
the sad story of her misfortune and begged for his love and pity. In vain she
implored him to remember his lost Mary. No, he would not understand, and the
strange dog slunk away.
Then followed days of misery. Sometimes of an evening as they sat together
on the porch when the children were being put to bed and only the voices of
the bull-frogs in the river broke the stillness, it seemed to Mary that her father
understood her ; and as she nestled close to his side on the bench he would put
his arm around en in the old familiar way.
But when, a little later, Aunt Dillie would come out for a moment on the
porch, he would say :
“ Dillie, this dog of the children’s does seem half-human,†then she would go.
off sadly to the barn to whine and cry till morning. It was this habit that.
brought about the final catastrophe. For the strange nee was to be sent away.
“Nights enough we have been kept awake by your barking,†cried Jerry ex-
ultantly. “ Your time is short.†— :
And sure enough, one day a boy came for her. With his own hand her
father tied a rope around her neck, giving the other end to the boy k her brothers.
and sisters looking smilingly on.
“Oh, listen to me,†cried the poor black dog. “You are giving away your:
own child. I am Mary ; ; Tam Mary!†but still prod understood.
“She knows she is going away and she is Ore remarked little Freddy
pensively.
THE BLACK DOG.
“Tam Mary; Iam Mary!†protested the black dog.
“ You had better take her off now,†her father said to the boy; “this bark-
ing disturbs Mrs. Cadwallader.†.
The boy jerked the rope and whistled; but the black dog, planting her four
feet firmly on the ground, refused to move. She was whining piteously and
trembling all over.
“Come, doggie, good little doggie! Come, doggie
while Captain Cadwallader picked up a stone. -
Mary followed the movement with her sad dog eyes. Would he fling it at
her — at his own first-born? Whiz! it came through the air for answer; but Mary
did not stir. Another stone followed and another. John Jackson, Bertie, Helen
and even little Freddy were each hurling them at her with all the strength of
their little arms. Alas! before the last one reached her the black dog was dead.
tee?
so the boy pleaded,
And is this really the end of the poor black dog, you ask? It is; but the end
of the story is not quite yet.
One morning in June there was joy among the Cadwalladers, for Mary had
returned. For dreadful days and nights she had been moaning in awild delirium
imagining what horrors none could guess. No soothing words would convince
her that they did not mean to drive her away, and nothing disturbed her so much
as the barking of Black Cupid. They had found her on the morning of her |
thirteenth birthday with the socks of John Jackson clasped in her feverish little
hand, and her head resting on the window seat. From that time to this she had
known nothing of what took place around her, but on this morning when joy
shone in radiance upon the Cadwallader family, she had opened her eyes with
the light of consciousness shining in them, and with a smile had fallen into a natu-
ral sleep. :
Capable Aunt Dillie had come to Silverstream Village the moment, she had
heard of the trouble and sickness there; and now it was decided that she should
remain permanently and take up the duties that had proved too heavy for poor
little Mary. She was at home in a sick room; but when Captain Cadwallader
arrived he was constituted chief nurse, for it was found that nothing quieted
Mary so much as to have his arm around her. |
After the fever left her, Mary did not at once recover. She was very weak
and sat up only a short time each day; but she liked to have the children about
her, and she often called little Freddy and asked him if he could tell who she was.
When he answered, as he invariably did,
«Ess; you are my Mawy,†she always seemed quite satisfied and generally
fell calmly asleep. al
Sometimes she asked for Black Cupid; but his frantic attempts to express
his delight at seeing her made her cry, and the doctor discountenanced. his
visits. ’
/
«SEVEN MEN TO MAKE A PIN.â€~
It was August before she was downstairs again, a pale shadow of herself, and
so full of nervous fancies that her father, who believed there was no tonic to be
compared with a sea voyage, declared that when his ship should again set sail,
Mary must be his passenger. This plan received the cordial support of the
doctor.
So it happened that one day in September, The Dancing Polly set sail in a
fresh breeze with flying colors, and the Captain’s pretty daughter on board.
The good salt breeze soon blew the cobwebs from Mary’s brain, and the roses
to her cheeks. Her only duty was to swing in her hammock on deck, and enjoy
life on the beautiful sea; a pleasure that was hers by right of past duties faith-
fully ee
A. CG. Enon.
“SEVEN MEN TO MAKE A PIN.â€
QJOMHBODY en
“They say it takes seven men to make a pin,
Seven men to a pin, and not a man too much.â€
But instead of seven it used to take fourteen to finish it and stick it in the
paper ; and not a very good pin at that.
What did people do, the women and children, before the invention of pins?
Well, the world went on well enough without them. What do they do in
Japan to-day? Rev. Wiliam Elhot Griffis, in his interesting book, Honda the
_ Samurai, says “there are no pins in Japan. No Japanese baby ever cried be-
cause a pin was sticking into its flesh;†and of the clothes of children, “they
had neither button, Inkl, strap, nor pin; yet they were as pretty and cunning
as you can imagine.†And they stay on.
_ Artisans knew how to make elegant clasps before they dreamed of doing such
a thing as inventing a common pin. To be sure there were among the early
Britons and Saxons beautiful hair-pins or bodkins, of gold, silver, or steel, some-
thing like our bonnet and pens and the poor used thorns and wooden
skewers.
The first person to introduce pins into England is said to have been the un-
fortunate and. unworthy fifth wife of the eighth Henry, Katherine Howard.
And what a wonder they must have been!
_ Before a hundred years had gone by, a man set up a manufactory for them;
he made them of twisted wire, then another piece was rolled into a head and
&
Gini
A CHRISTMAS MORNING IN
LONDON, IN THE OLDEN TIME,
NAP-TIME.
slipped on. It may as well be added that there are many people who will re-
member when the heads were made separate, and how they were apt to come
off. f i
That was a great day in England when somehode invented what was prob-
ably called “The New Pin with an immovable Solid Head.†In writing about
that wonderful pin, capital letters were none too good.
“The Patent Solid-headed Pin-works†were in Birmingham, England; and
there was almost as much sensation (to compare small things with great) as there
would probably be now if a man were to invent some automatic arrangement by
which one could be dressed by machinery — without pins, buttons, clasps or
‘buckles at all.
It was astonishing what a complete, perfect pin could be made! The an-
nouncement ee to the wonders that machinery could do “in this age of
civilization !’
In this country the Doases was started just after the close of the War of
1812; because imported pins were so dear, one dollar a paper — poor pins too ;
we can now get better ones for three cents.
A Pai fact is that it was in a state’s prison (in New York) those first
pin-works were started ; and the next were tried in an almshouse. A good deal
of hand work had to be done before a pin was ready for market.
Now, the wire is drawn by one machine, cut by another, pointed by another ;
and so on; filed by one process, finished by a finer file; partly headed by one
machine, head finished by another; dropped, whitened, and finally put into
papers, coming out rows of well-made, faultless. pins.
In the early days of manufacture in this country, the pins were sent out to
families, and stuck in the papers by women and children. Now, the paper and
the pins é are fed into machines, where the paper is creased, the holes made and
the pins put in. Two little girls can tend one of these machines, and turn out
many thousands a day.
Margaret Lake.
NAP-TIME,
THE COCK OF SEBASTOPOL.
(A True Story.)
NE evening we were sitting round the fire with the children, telling stories
about pet animals, when a Russian friend, who was with us at the time,
said musingly :
“T too, once had a pet of my own.â€
“Was.it a dog?†said one of us.
“No; not a dog.â€
“ Was it a horse ?â€â€™
“No; not a horse either. You'll never guess, so I had better tell you. It
was a cock.â€
“A cock! Can one really make friends with a cock?†said another.
“Tt is not a common case certainly,†said our friend; “but you see, with
animals, as sometimes with men, much depends on the way you first make their
acquaintance, on the circumstances of the first meeting, so to speak —and I first
met poor Pétia under peculiar circumstances. It was some twenty-five years
ago. Iwas one of the younger colonels of the garrison of Sebastopol, and it was
at the end of that siege of eleven months. In fact my story begins on the day
of our retreat.
“J dare say you have heard that the Russian garrison did not surrender
exactly as the French did at Metz in 1870. The council of war had decided the
army must be saved from capitulation at all hazards, and they had intrusted to -
our best engineers the task of throwing a bridge over the Bay of Sebastopol.*
“This bridge was completed in a few days; a bridge such as you certainly
have never seen—a mile and. a half long, and supported on floating casks
and barrels!
“ The construction of the bridge, as well as the retreat, had to be carried out
with the greatest secrecy, so as not to arouse the suspicions of the enemy, who
might have stopped us. The final assault was daily expected, and in fact, the
Allied Armies might have entered any day that last week; our strongest fort,
the Malakhoff, had been taken, the other forts were more on half destroyed by
_ the incessant bombardment, and Sebastopol was little more than a vast mass of
smouldering ruins.
“On August 26, orders to retreat were given. I belonged to the Tobolsk
regiment, the last one on the list, and, as I sent my men on before me, I was one
of the last persons to leave the place.
-“T cannot attempt a description of the last hour of Sebastopol. Picture
* The chief constructor was General Buchmayer, not Tottleben, as is usually believed—the latter haying built the defenses
of Sebastopol. :
:
THE pees OF SEBASTOPOL.
flames rising on all sides; in the squares and streets crowds of wagons, cannons, ©
horses, hundreds of the wounded borne through the streets; weeping women
and children (families of our sailors), columns of troops marching over the
bridge ; innumerable boats and barges on both sides, laden with men and goods
to be carried to the other side of the bay. The Suse took between four and
five hours.
“ As I said, I was one of the last to leave; this gave me the satisfaction of
seeing our sixty thousand men, the artillery and the remainder of the population,
all safely over, although several times the bridge appeared to be sinking under
the weight, and the water came up sometimes above the soldiers’ knees. On
leaving my quarters I had turned round to take a last look at the deserted house
which for so many months I had made my home, when I heard a faint piteous
chirping, like that of small birds when in distress. JI was wondering what it
could be, as I knew the bombardment had long since driven all nee from the
town, when at a little distance I caught sight of two small chickens, not much
bigger than sparrows, rushing disconsolately to and fro in search of their mother
- who was nowhere to be seen, having been, perhaps, served up for the Commander-
in-chief’s last supper in the besieged town.
“The chickens seemed to be so thoroughly deserted, and looked so forlorn
that — well! I don’t know exactly what my feeling was at the time, but I picked
them up, stuck one in my coat-pocket, the other in my bosom, and marched off.
~“T need not tell you that I very soon forgot all about the chickens. The
next thirty hours were full of work and anxiety, we had neither food nor rest
till the retreat had been fully accomplished, and the men encamped on the
Severnaya (North Side).
“When at last I was able, in my turn, to take possession of ANG apartment
provided for me—not a very fine one, as you may imagine —I was glad enough
for an opportunity to change my clothing and drink some hot tea; the weather
had been wretched, wind and rain all day long, and I was soaked to the skin. I
took off my overcoat and threw it down upon a bench. But— what was that?
“T again heard that feeble chirping, only weaker than before, and for the
first time remembered the poor little things which had been imprisoned for
thirty hours.. The one in my pocket was dead, the other appeared nearly so;
their confinement had been too long. I contrived to warm the one that was
still alive and fed him with some crumbs, then made him a little nest in a corner
of the hut where some straw chanced to be lying, and left him there amet: till.
next morning.
“On waking, after a long, heavy sleep, the first thing I saw was the one on.
most friendly terms with my orderly who, seated on the doorstep, was feeding
him and playing with him. I had of course told him the evening before how I
happened to adopt the orphan.
“ Weeks and months passed. Before the preliminaries of peace were signed
THE COCK OF SEBASTOPOL.
my chick had had time to grow into a big cock. A beautiful cock he became
too, with bright, glossy feathers of various shades of red, yellow and black ; and
during these seven months of hard and monotonous camp-life- he became a
companion to all of us.
“Tt was his custom to go about the camp early every morning, as if inspecting
the grooming of the horses. After that, if not near me, he was always at my
door, and the soldiers called him ‘the Colonel’s sentry.’
“ They all became fond of Pétia, as they named him, from the Russian or old
Sclavonian word pétel, meaning cock. Pétia is also the diminutive of Peter.
‘As for myself, I grew fond of him too, and really missed him if I had to be
absent for a whole day and could not take him with me. The primitive mode of
life we led created an intimacy which under other circumstances could not have
arisen. We slept in the same room, dined at the same table, ate, to some extent,
of the same food, and took our walks together — or I ought rather to say he walked
after me wherever I went. — .
“T remember one day when I was starting on horseback to review my regiment
and he was preparing to follow me, I said to the orderly : ‘Lock Peter up; I do
not want him with me now.’ He would allow the man or me to lift him up and
carry him in our arms as if he were a kitten. So I saw the man walk off with
_ him and shut the door on him.
“The space where the troops drilled was at some distance from my quarters.
I went at a slow pace, absorbed in thought, and half an hour might have passed
before I reached the review ground where, after a little talk with the officers, I
turned to the men and, passing along the line, began my inspection. As I moved
on from one to another it struck me that every one of them had a similar expres-
sion on his face; it was not a grin, but a sort of repressed smile which appeared
occasionally to get the better of them. ,
“T turned to the officer close by and asked, ‘What is the matter with the
men? Doesn’t it seem as if they all had an irrepressible desire to laugh?’
“Whilst speaking I had, to my surprise, discovered that the officer himself
had caught the infection. He said: ‘You are, perhaps, not aware, Colonel, that
your cock also is reviewing the troops.’
“YT turned round, and before I even caught sight of the bird I saw, alas! a
shadow on the ground—a most ridiculous shadow of myself, my horse, and the
cock pompously perched on the horse’s back.
“No wonder such a group as that caused merriment among the soldiers! I
had to make the best of it and join in the general laugh.
“After this Pétia would often contrive to fly on to the cantle of my saddle
just as I was starting for a ride, and we took many trips together.
“When at last I was recalled to St. Petersburg, having received my general’s
appointment from the Government, the bird traveled with me and often caused
a good deal of surprise and merriment by crowing at the most unexpected and
NEWNESS.
inopportune moments; sometimes in the middle of the night under’the seat of
the railway carriage, and when no one was aware of his presence.
“At home he was always treated as a pet, and had the full freedom of the
whole house, never making any trouble whatever. He would fly up to my
writing-table, and walk about over my papers without disarranging them or
upsetting the inkstand. He had the freedom of the court-yard when he wanted
exercise in the open air, but he made long visits to my study, which he always
preferred and where he always felt Deee ly at home.
“The poor fellow met with a tragic end. I had a fine dog,.a retriever. A
young servant lad I kept at the time had taught Peter to ride on the dog’s back,
circus fashion.. One day when they were performing this feat Peter in clinging ©
to his place must have clawed the dog’s back rather more sharply than was
agreeable to the dog, who turned round and snapped at him. The cock fell
dead at his feet —the arteries of his neck were bitten through!â€
Tlong remembered my Russian friend’s grief at the lors of his Bek A few
weeks after the story-telling evening I saw in a shop a little bright bronze
ornamental ash-cup, paper weight, or something of the sort. The design was a
beautiful cock, just preparing to crow, perched upon a wicker basket all in bronze.
I thought of my friend and bought the ornament, and sent it to him at once.
An hour later I received the following note:
“‘ You have sent me, indeed, a beautiful memorial of my poor cock, my dear old Peter. It stands on my
writing table, where it will always remain, reminding me of our anxious watch during the terrible hours of
our solemn retreat—a retreat which was almost equal to a victory over both man and the elements; of that:
wonderful bridge, unique of its kind, which lived but a few hours to save an army from surrender and dis-
honor, then to disappear forever, as did the thousands of victims whose lives were sacrificed in the place; of
the last and humblest survivor of Sebastopol, who escaped in my breast, and who cheered and comforted me
for many years after; and finally, of the dear friend whose kindly sympathy brought this incident to light
again.
M. M. Steele.
NEWNESS.
H*s not everything been said?
Has not everything been sung?
_Why, then, do we listen still
To the changes that are rung?
O, because what has been said
_ May be said a better way ;
O, because what has been sung
May be sweeter sung to-day.
M. J. H.
—
A VISIT TO GRANDPAPA’S FARM.
THE STORY OF MY BANK BOOK.
HEN I was twelve years old I went to Merton, a small town near Boston,
to visit my cousin, Edith Bennett, who was just my age. My own home
was in a little mountain village called Cherryfield. Edith had three brothers;
Frank was fourteen, Joe eleven and Ned nine. I considered them all much
more interesting than the boys and girls at home, and though they were inclined
to make fun of my countrified ways we soon became the best of friends.
One rainy day we had retired to the large nursery at the top of the house
and having played blind-man’s-buff, battledore and shuttlecock and all the other
games we could think of, sat down to rest.
“ What is in that little box with the brass corners?†I asked.
. “That's our safe,†replied Joe. “Haven't you ever seen it?†and he took it
down from the top shelf of an old bookcase which stood in a corner laden with -
all sorts of knick-knacks. “Give us the key, Frank.â€
Frank prodused his keys, which he was fond of jingling; he Wonstod that he
carried a larger bunch than his father. “Kennel,†he said, counting them over,
“bureau, tool-chest, cabinet, writing-desk, trunk, skate-wrench and safe. You see,
Lizzie,†he added, fitting the last key in the lock, “ the things in here are valuable,
and if they were not locked up, the children might get them out to play with,
- and lose them.â€
At this the “children†set up an inane protest, which I iecrmapied by
opening the box. In the tray were two Continental dollars, some Confederate
money, a tiny gold quarter wrapped in tissue paper, and a few foreign coins. .
Below the tray were four small books with blue covers. Opening one I mae
“The Merton Five Cent Savings Bank in account with Francis Bennett, Jr.,â€
while underneath the sum of forty-seven dollars and ninety cents was credited
_to him.
“O, Frank!†I exclaimed, “isn’t that eplendidy ? How in the world che you
get so much money?â€
“Well, you see papa deposited five dollars for each of us to start with, and
‘we save all we can out of our allowance, and what we get in other ways. Then
every three months we empty our banks and take what we’ve saved to the real
bank. It’s jolly good-fun. JI mean to buy a pony when I get enough.â€
“Papa had a safe made on purpose for us,†said Ned. “See the other books.
Edith A. Bennett, Joseph Bennett, Edward R. Bennett—that’s mine. Don’t
those names look stunning? I like to write my name Edward R. Bennett. My
bank is most full; I guess I shall have to empty it before the right time comes.
Feel how heavy it is,†and he brought it to me from the book-case, where it
_ stood with three others; it was a model of Independence Hall in Philadelphia.
of.
THE STORY OF MY BANK BOOK.
“ Ned is the best saver of .all,†said Joe. “He has three dollars more than
_ Lhave, though he is two years younger. Somehow I never can keep money. I
lay up my pennies till I have twenty-five, and then I want something that costs
just a quarter, and so they go. You can’t save much out of fifty cents a month.â€
“How I wish I had a bank account,†I sighed.
“Why don’t you?†said Edith.
“T haven't any allowance at all, you know, not even fifty cents a month.
- Mother gave me a dollar to spend in Boston. I might begin with that.â€
“They don’t pay interest on less than three dollars,’ said Edith. “ What
a pity!â€
“The longer you leave your money in, the bigger it grows,†said Ned.
“Why, I’ve read stories, haven’t you, Joe? about people who kept their money
in the bank for years and years, till it got to be thousands and millions of
_ dollars. DT'm never going to touch mine at least not till ’m twenty.â€
“©, good! the sun’s coming out,†cried Joe from the window. “Lock up
the safe, Frank, and come out and play ball.â€
My twelfth birthday came a few days after this conversation, and I guessed
that Edith had whispered a friendly hint in her father’s ear when, on opening an
envelope which lay on my plate at breakfast and on which was written “For
Lizzie, to spend as she pleases,†I found a crisp two-dollar bill. That very day I
_ deposited my three dollars, and received my little blue book with great satisfac-
tion, which lasted even through our next trip to Boston, and caused me to pass
contentedly by the tempting show-windows, thinking of the fine things I could
buy when my little fortune had become large.
The first thing I did after my return to Cherryfield was to get an old cigar-
box, fasten down the cover, and cut a slit init. This, though not so elegant as
Ned’s edifice, answered the purpose very well. Into this box I dropped every
cent I could get. Mother gave ten cents apiece for hemming six sheets, and
father paid me half a dollar for knitting him a pair of wristers. In one way and
another I had collected over two dollars to deposit when I next went to Merton.
After this my zeal flagged somewhat, for although I had now rather more
pocket-money at my disposal, I had reached the age when ruchings and rib-
bons, gloves and hats are matters of great importance. I confess that I robbed
my savings-box several times in order to get some little thing that all the
other girls had, and that of course I must have too. So after the first year my
account grew slowly..
Time went on. . I was sixteen and again with the Bennetts on my annual
visit. Edith had grown to be a tall, pretty girl, and had acquired a fashionable
air that quite dazzled me. She was very particular about her gloves and boots,
and the draping of her dresses. At first she was rather inclined to patronize me,
but that soon wore off, and we were as good friends as ever.
Frank was soon to enter college and Aunt Ruth was very busy preparing his
THE STORY OF MY BANK BOOK.
outfit. One day, since Edith and I were now thought old enough to go to Boston
by ourselves, we were intrusted with some errands and given many and careful
instructions as to samples, price, quality, etc., not forgetting our own deportment.
Hdith, studying the shopping-list during our short journey in the cars, broke out
in disgust, “How stupid! Cotton cloth, collars, writing paper and envelopes, _
clothes-brush and so forth; nothing interesting on the list. Ido hate shopping
for useful things. I wish mamma had left the neckties for us, instead of buying
them herself the other day. I am sure I could have found prettier ones.â€
. In a large dry-goods store we met Sadie Vinton, Edith’s intimate friend, whom
I knew very slightly, though I was invited to her birthday party the next week.
She rushed toward us, exclaiming, “ O, Edith! I have been dying to see you. I
have the funniest thing to tell you,†and drawing her aside, began to talk in an
undertone with suppressed giggles. Meanwhile I amused myself by gazing at
the silk stockings in a show-case near me; the clerk’s voice startled me as he
said, “Something in silk hose you would like to see, Miss?†-
IT glanced at Edith and Sadie — the story was not yet finished. I said hesitat-
ingly that I was not thinking of buying, but would like to look at them, if he
had no objection. a he
“Certainly ; happy to show them to you,†and the dainty things were taken
out, each pair in its own box. How beautiful they were! Pale pinks, blues and
yellows, odd fanciful shades of the latest fashion.
“O, girls! did you ever see anything half so lovely in all your life?†said
Edith, looking over my shoulder. I never had, but did not: say so, being some-
what in awe of Miss Vinton and still more of the suave clerk, so overpowering
in his attentions. on
“Are you going to get apair?†asked Sadie, looking over the other shoulder.
Of course I had not once thought of buying, but nevertheless I asked the -
price. i
“Two, two-fifty, three dollars, three and a half,†said the clerk glibly. “The
evening shades are all the way from five dollars up to twelve. That pair you
have in your hand, Miss, is ten dollars.â€
This was one of the prettiest; a delicate salmon pink with an elaborate open-
work pattern on the instep. Partly from embarrassment, partly in order to
impress Miss Vinton with the idea of my ability to buy out the entire stock if I
chose, I continued to examine the stockings, and gradually a wild longing to own
them took possession of me. It would be like a girl in a book; my favorite
heroines always wore silk stockings. :
“T should decide on those, if I were you,†said Sadie. « They would look
lovely with a pink satin dress, and that color is so becoming to you. I would
rather have fewer things, and have them elegant.†.
_“Wouldn’t the Cherryfield girls open their eyes?†said Edith. “Do you
really mean to buy a pair? I supposed at first you were only in fun.â€
Weel «
‘
fos
s
£
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Vv
S DREAM.
2
A LITTLE BOY
THE STORY OF MY BANK BOOK.
_ “I wish I could,†I replied, laying them down and returning to the cheaper
ones, which looked common after the ten-dollar beauties. At this moment a
lady came to the counter, and picked up the objects of my desire. “How much
are they?†she asked, and then as I turned quickly added, “Excuse me, were
you looking at them?†. .
“Ten dollars; only pair left in that style,†remarked the clerk. « They've
been in great demand. See how firm they are; they will last a lifetime.. Did
you decide on them, Miss?†2
I grew red under the gaze of four pairs of eyes, and wished myself in Cherry:
field. Suddenly I remembered my bank account. It was my own money, earned |
in part by my own hands.. I should never want anything more than these
exquisite things. It wasn’t as if they would wear out immediately ; had not the
clerk said they would last a lifetime ? as
The lady said, “I am in a hurry, but will come in again,†and went away.
The clerk drummed impatiently on the counter. At last I said desperately, “TI
will take them. Edith, can you lend me the money until to-morrow? I am
going to draw mine out of the bank.â€
“Here is a ten-dollar bill of mamma’s,†answered Edith. “I am afraid I
won't have enough left to get all the things for Frank. Never mind, we can
come in again to-morrow; that will do just as well.â€
“T can’t wait, you see,†I went on, “for that lady will come back for them.â€
The clerk took the bill with a disagreeable smile, as if he quite understood
the state of the case. ae
“Tl spend this,†said Edith, counting her change, “as far as it goes, and then
we'll have a good time the rest of the day.†Accordingly she did a few more
errands, while I being by this time in a reckless frame of mind spent nearly all
the money in my own. purse for a pink sash-ribbon. We then had some ice-
cream, and bought a pound of candied fruit with our combined resources. On
coming out of the candy-shop, I missed my precious parcel; we hurried back to
all the stores we had entered, inquiring anxiously for it, but could hear of it
nowhere. I was ready to cry with vexation when Edith discovered she had put it
accidently into her bag. Wehad spent over an hour in the search, and it was now
high time to go home. In tne ears Edith and Sadie sat together with the candy
box between them, leaving me to my own reflections, which naturally turned
upon my newly acquired finery. How I should enjoy wearing it to Sadie’s party,
and showing it to the girls at home! The little package in my lap represented
my savings for four years; for this I had sewed, knitted, run errands and denied
myself. Was it worth the cost? I began to have a few misgivings, but stifled
them, for after all had I not a right to be foolish with my own money ?.
The voice of the brakeman shouting “Merton, Merton,†interrupted my
reverie, and we hastily gathered up our bundles, and left the train. We walked
home slowly, dreading the encounter with Aunt Ruth, and on reaching the house,
THE STORY OF MY BANK BOOK.
ran up to our room, locked the door and held consultation as to the best way of
breaking the news. Ned presently shouted through the keyhole that “Mamma
and papa had gone out to tea, and he wished we would hurry and come down, —
for he was as hungry as forty-nine bears.†Thus to our great relief, the evil
hour was put off, and we took pains to be in bed before the elders returned.
The next morning after breakfast we slipped out of the house by the back
door and hastened to the bank. I handed my book to the “ paying teller,†asking
timidly how much money was on my account. He reckoned the interest and
replied, “Nine dollars and eighty-four cents. Did you wish to deposit? Other
side, please.â€
“OQ, no!†said I. “T wish to take out my money —the whole of it.â€
“Excuse me; you cannot withdraw any deposits till you are of age — twenty-
one, you know,’ he answered, giving me the book with a smile at the blank look
which came over my face. .
My head whirled. I could not speak and hardly knew how I reached the
door. Once in the street, I gasped, “Twenty-one, and Iam only sixteen. Five
years to wait, and mother cannot afford to give me ten dollars. What shall
Ido?†and the tears began to roll down my cheeks, while I fumbled in my
pocket. :
“Here, take my handkerchief,†said Edith. “Do stop crying; every one
will see you. It’s real mean of them to have such a rule, but papa is one of the
directors, and perhaps he can make them give you the money.â€
Mr. Bennett had just seated himself at his desk when we entered the office.
He glanced at my tear-stained face, and taking my hand, said kindly, “In
trouble, Lizzie? Can I help you?â€
I told my story in a voice broken by sobs. Uncle listened in silence, and his
face grew grave. Before saying anything to me he turned to Edith: “What
right had you to lend money that was not your own?â€
Edith blushed. “Lizzie supposed she could return it to-day, and I knew
mamma would let her have it.â€
“No, Edith; your mother would not have encouraged Lizzie to make such
an unwise purchase. Don’t you think yourself that it was unwise, Lizzie?â€
IT nodded assent. © mi
. “I hope,†resumed Uncle, “that it will be a lesson to you both. Give me
the bank book and I will see about the money. Now you would better go home
and tell your aunt.â€
Aunt Ruth heard our confession kindly, but when we proposed going in town
to get the articles neglected the day before, she replied that we were to do no
more errands until we had shown ourselves more trustworthy, and this remark
was in itself a severe punishment.
That night Uncle brought me the money, which I gave to Aunt Ruth. They
both promised to say nothing about the matter, but of course the boys found it
_ FOR COURAGE.
out, and I never heard the last of it. Ned used to ask regularly when I was
going to buy that salmon pink satin, and if I expressed a desire for anything
from a ribbon to a grand piano, Joe would say, “Draw on your bank account,
Lizzie,†and soon I hated the sight of my fine stockings.
I wore them to Sadie’s party, but they quite’ spoiled my ‘enjoyment; they
-made my simple muslin look old and shabby, and I heard some girls tittering
over the contrast. When I went back to Cherryfield I did not dare to show
them to my mother, but hid them in the deepest corner of my trunk. There
was not so much pleasure as I had anticipated in displaying them to the Cherry-
field girls, who admired them indeed, but seemed less struck with the magnificence
of the purchase than with its folly.
I have never worn them since, and that is ihe end of the silk stockings, but
not quite the end of the story.
On my twenty-first birthday I received a thick letter from Merton which
contained —my bank book! Yes, the self-same old blue-covered book which I
had never expected to see again. With it came a note from Uncle Bennett,
explaining that he had not taken my money from the bank on that unlucky day
five years before, but had given me the nine dollars and eighty-four cents out of
his own pocket, and had kept the book for me till I should be of age, and, he’
_ added, “cured of my fondness for useless magnificence.â€
lam!
Louisa Trumbull Cogswell.
FOR COURAGE.
HAT’S this
From the dull dark sky an hour ago ?
The perfect snow!
What’s this -
From the dull dark stem and bud that grows ?
The sweet red rose!
What's this
From a dull dark pain that comes to bless ?
A pleasure? Yes!:
M. f. Ht.
AUSTRALIAN TREE-CLIMBING.
ECESSITY is the mother of inven-
tion, and the Australian savages
have devised some effective methods of
tree-climbing which illustrate the old
adage.
Not only have many Australian trees
a large girth, but they are very tall—
in fact, in Australia occur the tallest
trees in the world.
According to Von Mueller, the bota-
nist, a species of Eucalyptus attains a
greater height in Australia than does the
giant Sequoia in California. It is said
that Eucalyptus trees have been meas- |
ured which are more than four hundred
and fifty feet high. Between them and
the Sequoia, however, there is no com-
parison as to beauty; for the Euca-
ae |. lyptus is only a naked stem surmounted
me aaa tes 2 Sa eee by a few straggling branches, while
_ the abundant and graceful foliage of
the giant Red-wood is perhaps its oes charm.
How to climb such trees was the problem the Australian chose to solve. As
the trunks are often too large around for him to clasp and “shin up†boy-fashion,
he had to invent new devices. According to an eye-witness, Carl Ee the
following is the method adopted in Queensland. :
When a tree is to be climbed, the native goes to the scrub and finds a suita-
ble piece of Calamus, a tough climbing plant. As he carries no knife, he uses
his teeth to cut the tough wood, and by alternately biting and breaking he
finally secures his climbing-withe, which may be eighteen feet long. It is called
kamin. Having knotted one end of this, and. Rees wiped all perspiration from
his hands that they may not slip, he seizes the knot with the left hand, throws
the other end round the trunk, and after a few efforts catches it with his right.
Giving the kamin a couple of twists about the right arm, he plants the right foot
against the tree, extending the arms directly in front and keeping his body as
far from the trunk as possible. He then proceeds to walk up the tree, moving
-the kamin a little higher at each step. As he ascends, the unknotted end per-
mits the implement to be adjusted to the ever-decreasing size of the tree.
AUSTRALIAN TREE-CLIMBING.
The process is much easier to describe than it is to perform. It is, in fact,
so laborious that the climber must stop after a few steps to recover breath. In
coming down, the process is reversed. It is much easier.
In the case of a very large and smooth tree the climber sometimes chops
niches in it for his big toe. He takes his tomahawk in his mouth, and in order
to use it, removes the kamin from his right arm and winds it round his right
thigh, thus freeing his working arm to cut a niche or two. This he repeats until
he reaches the limbs.
Elsewhere in Australia a short rope, made of vegetable fiber and supplied
with wooden handles, takes the place of the withe just described; in this case
the tree-trunk is embraced between the legs, and the process is more like
“shinning.†°
Or again, the rope is passed round the tree and then adjusted around the
small of the climber’s back. The rope is grasped in the hands and is carried
upwards by repeated hitches, the feet and body being adjusted very much as
in the first process.
It the tree to be ascended is a small one, the Australian adopts a simpler
method — simply embraces it with his left arm and mounts by means of notches
which he cuts with a tomahawk in the right hand; into these notches he inserts
the big toe.
In their use of the toes, the Australians are, so to speak, very handy; in
many other ways they supplement the hands. In crawling upon an enemy, for
instance, through the grass, a native will grasp aS many as six spears in the toes
and drag them behind him. The women are said to employ the great-toe of the
right foot when they are twining rushes into basketry. If theft be apprehended
from a native it is not enough that you watch his hands; you must also watch
his toes. The following is narrated as a test of their clever use of the toes oa
sixpence being placed upon the ground, a native picked up the coin with the big
and first toe, bent his leg up behind him and carried the coin to his hand without
bending the body in the slightest. wee :
It may be asked what special need the Australian savage has to climb trees.
The answer is that, in addition to the necessity of procuring bark for his
canoes and huts, nothing less important than his dinner depends upon his ability
to climb. A large number of the smaller animals of Australia used as food are
tree-livers, as also some large snakes which the Australian is. especially fond of,
to say nothing of honey-bees for whose stored sweetness he is as eager as Bruin
himself. So it is that he has developed marvelous skill and fearlessness in
ascending the tallest trees. Even the women climb, but they are not so skillful
as the men.
H. W. Henshaw.
ESS
PE TTIZ i
aa fobs
LAPS
om
PELCORAE
THE NAETI
S
A RECEPTION TO LAFAYETTE.
HOW MY LITTLE GRANDPA FOUND HIS
3 GRANDMAMMA. |
1 was when he was ten years old and a cabin boy on the privateer Yankee.
And it may seem queer that a boy should go to sea to find his grand-
mother, but so he did. e
He was young to go to sea, but his Uncle John was the captain, and Teddy
—tor that was his name—had begged hard to be allowed to go with him.
Unele John was only an old boy himself —just twenty years old. But in our
War of 1812 these big boys of nineteen and twenty commanded many of our
privateers. Perhaps I ought not to call him a cabin boy, for he did pretty much
as he wanted to, worked or played as he pleased, but that was what Uncle John
called him, and that was what he said he was himself.
The Yankee was a small vessel of fifty tons, small but spunky, and Uncle
John took her straight down into the neighborhood of N ewfoundland, where he
cruised day and night on the lookout for an English merchantman. At last one
day about noon, he saw afar off on the horizon a fleet of white sails.
“Teddy,†he said, “run down into the cabin and get my glass,’ and then
with Teddy at his elbow —for he stuck to Uncle John like a burr on a Scotch
terrier — he looked at them long and carefully.
“Is it a Britisher?†asked Teddy at last.
“A Britisher!†said Uncle John, whose eyes were sparkling and whose
mouth was smiling, “I should think so. There’s a dozen of ’em. Good fat
prizes, every one, and three men-o’-war as convoy. But the Y% ankee’s good for
one,†and Uncle John gave a little skip, for as I have said, he was only a big boy
himself. And then, remembering that that was not exactly the way a com-
mander of a privateer should behave, he put.on a sober face, and called his offi-
cers together, and told them his plan for the taking of one of the merchantmen,
to which Teddy listened with wide-open ears, like any other “little pitcher.â€
_ “As soon as night comes,†said Uncle John, “the men-o’-war will shorten
sail so that the slower merchantmen shall not be left behind in the dark. But
we must crowd on sail, and single out one and run her down and board her with-
out firing a shot. Remember, without a shot,†said Commander John emphati-
cally, “ or we shall have the war ships upon us like a nest of hornets, and smart
as the Yankee is, she can’t take care of three British men-o’-war at once. You,â€
he said to one officer, “ must see that the signal-book is promptly secured. And
you,†to another, “that the light on the captured vessel is put out and a similar
light run up on the Yankee to keep the number good.â€
(Is it not droll that a man-of-war should be spoken of as “she†or “her†?)
HOW MY LITTLE GRANDPA FOUND HIS GRANDMAMMA.
The men-of-war carried two lights and the merchantmen one each. The
signal-book, it seems, was kept, in time of war, in a leaden case ready to be
thrown overboard when the vessel was in danger of falling into the hands of the
enemy. :
So, then, everybody was on the qui vive, and there was a furbishing up of
the guns, which were in just as good order as they could be before, and a great
bustle and stir, and Teddy was in the thick of it; and two hours after sundown,
the night having come on beautifully dark, the Yankee crowded on sail and
pounced as a hawk does upon a chicken, upon a big merchantman that was
straggling along far behind the others. Uncle John had ordered Teddy down
into the cabin, so as to have him out of the way of the guns if it came to the
worst. But Teddy could not resist the temptation to peep, and so saw it all—
saw the crew of the Yankee throw their. grappling irons and seize the helpless
vessel; saw them swarm up her sides and upon her deck; saw the crew of the
merchantman put in irons and brought on board the Yankee, and the light of
the captured vessel extinguished. It was all over in almost as brief a time
as it takes to tell it, for the very heart and soul of privateering, that which
makes its success, is prompt action.
_ A prize master and crew were put on board the captured vessel at once, and
ordered to take her to New London, Ct. And then it was that Teddy asked to
be sent home, for New London was his home. For, to tell the truth, though he
had had a capital time with Uncle John, he had been homesick at times, espe-
cially at night, after he was snugly tucked into his bunk — Uncle John used to
tuck him up, or rather in. It was then that he would think of his mother, and
he could not help a big tear or two wetting the pillow, though he had bravely
kept it all to himself. But now he said, looking wistfully at the vessel that lay
alongside, “I should like to go home in her, Uncle John.â€
“Would you, my boy?†said Uncle John. “Well, you shall. For I
shouldn’t wonder if we had some rough fighting yet, and I’ve been sorry ever
since we sailed that I took you.†And he patted Teddy’s head and kissed him,
and said, with a little. choke in his voice, for he was only a boy himself, you
know, and knew what it was to be homesick, “give my love to Sallie†—
Teddy’s mother and Uncle John’s sister —“ and tell her you've been a first-rate
boy.†And then the captured vessel with Teddy on board, sailed off in a south-
westerly direction, and the Yankee staid by the English fleet, so that when the
war ships counted the lights, as they did at intervals, none should be missing.
_ The prize master’s name was Smith, and he, too, was a native of New London,
_Ct., and a near neighbor of Teddy’s mother. The first thing Captain Smith did
after he got well under way, was to examine the papers of the captured vessel.
He learned that her name was Juno. The names of her crew were in the books,
too, and each one of the prize crew was ordered to answer to the name of some
one of the Juno’s crew, if she should be overhauled by an English cruiser, which
HOW MY LITTLE GRANDPA FOUND HIS GRANDMAMMA,
was likely to happen. But Teddy was ordered to keep out of the way if that
happened.
“J can turn my men into Britishers easy enough,†said Captain Smith,
“but I can’t turn a live Yankee boy into an English one; they'd be sure to find
you out.â€
The Juno sailed for three days, however, without meeting or even seeing an
English cruiser, though they met the Fame, another New England privateer
from Salem, whose men cheered them lustily as she passed.
The morning of the fourth day was fogey, so fogey that they took in sail
and moved cautiously, lest they should run into a rock or upon a shoal. Teddy
THE NIGHT CAPTURE OF THE JUNO.
_ was on the quarter-deck, talking to the helmsman, and peering ahead through
the thick fog, when it lifted suddenly, as fog will, and there, not a cable’s length
away, lay an English eighteen-gun brig!
Teddy was so taken by surprise that at first he could only stare. Then, re-
membering Captain Smith’s orders, he plunged down the gangway, and hid in
his bunk which opened out of the éabin. And, as he lay there, listening to what .
was going on, he heartily wished himself back in the Yankee with Uncle John
and under the protection of his three guns.
For the brig at once fired a gun, the signal for the Juno to lay to. She did
so, and at the same time ran up the British ensign to her spanker peak. An
officer came on board from the brig, whom Captain Smith received with courtesy,
HOW MY. LITTLE GRANDPA ‘FOUND HIS GRANDMAMMA.
inviting him into the cabin and placing before him such delicacies in the way of
food as the cargo afforded. After eating, the officer called for the ship’s papers.
He examined them and pronounced them all right. He was affable.and inclined.
to talk.
“Jt is along time since we heard from home,†he said, meaning England,
and Captain Smith hastened to present him with late English newspapers found
on the Juno. And when the officer farther said that owing to their long absence
from. England, they were short of officers’ stores, Captain Smith replied most
graciously : “I shall be only too happy to supply the wants of His Majesty’s
officers.†And forthwith ordered hams, whisky, ale, sugar, etc., to be placed in
the brig’s boat. In short, there was nothing that he was not ready to do to
' propitiate and get rid of this most unwelcome visitor.
“A pleasant voyage to the Juno,†said the officer as he prepared to leave,
tossing off his final glass of whisky.
“Success to His Majesty’s brig Cygnet,’ responded Captain Smith, tossing
off his glass. And then he reminded the officer that he had not entered his visit
on the log-book. So the following entry was made:
“Oct. 16th — Lat. 46.25; Long. 42, W. Boarded British Ship Juno and
on examination found ship’s papers correct. James A. Dillon 2d Lieutenant.
H. B. M. Brig Cygnet.â€
Then he departed with his newspapers and after the Juno was well under
way Teddy came out from his bunk. He looked pale from the fright and ex-
citement, and Captain Smith chaffed him a little, and pretended to examine him
to see if his hair had turned white.
“YT guess you wouldn’t like it yourself, Captain Smith, to be took by the
. British,†said Teddy. .
“That I shouldn’t,†coed the captain heartily. “For if they do catch us
they'll aoe us me one 0’ oe infernal prisons, an’ keep us there till they get
licked, I s’pose.â€
During the five days that followed, the wind was light and the progress of the
Juno was slow. Each day the captain anxiously scanned the fervor fearing to
eatch sight of another British cruiser. For, although, after his experience with
Lieutenant Dillon, he felt pretty sure he should get off well, if he did meet with
another, yet he could not help feeling a bit “narvous†about it, as he himself
said.
On the morning of the sixth day, at dawn, the lookout espied, about two
miles away, an English forty-gun ship. At the same instant the forty-gun ship
espied the Juno, and immediately hoisted her ensign. The Juno hoisted hers.
“What name and where from?†signaled the war ship.
“ Juno from Belfast, Ireland, for Demarara,†replied the Juno.
She was then proceeding on her way, when the light breeze died away, her
sails flapped idly and she lay motionless in a dead: calm. Two boats were seen
HOW MY LITTLE GRANDPA FOUND HIS GRANDMAMMA.
to put off from the frigate. They pulled alongside the Juno and a British officer _
again stepped upon her deck. He was received with the same courtesies that
had been shown to Lieutenant Dillon, and after he had eaten and drank he, too,
examined the ship’s papers.
“They seem to be correct,†he remarked as he finished the ooo
“with the exception of the custom house clearance. That is ISEINS
_ A search was made for the missing paper, but in vain.
“Tt’s very strange,†said Captain Smith. “It was certainly here when Lieu-
tenant Dillon made his examination. He must have accidentally mixed it up
with the. newspapers I gave him.†net
é Very. probable,’ was the officer's realy. “ But I am obliged to report any
deficiency to my superior, ’ and he returned to the frigate, leaving Captain Smith
in great perplexity in regard to the missing clearance, and indulging in well-
grounded fears as to the result. In a short time the order came for him to re-
pair to the frigate. with his papers. There they were re-examined, but no custom
house clearance was found. The majority of the officers were in favor of allow-
ing the Juno to go on her way, and the Commander “ regretted†the necessity
for detaining her; “yet,†he said, “my orders are imperative. If the slightest
irregularity is found in a ship’s papers, I am to take possession of her.’ He did
so. A crew was transferred from the frigate to the Juno, an English officer put
in command of her, and her destination changed from New London, Ct., to
Portsmouth, England.
Who shall paint Teddy’s dismay when this information was enced to him
by Captain Smith? Teddy had fled to the hold on the approach of the frigate’s
boats, and there Captain Smith found him as soon as he got-a chance to go and
look for him.
“ Are they gone?†ee Teddy.
“The frigate’s gone,’ said Captain Smith, and then he told him.
“But cheer up, my lad,†he continued. “ Perhaps we shall find a way yet
to get Be out of the British lion’s grip. The Yankee herself may happen along,
p raps.â€
But the Yankee did not happen along , neither did the Fame, nor the America,
nor the Avenger, nor the John Toa nor any other of the couple of hundred
American privateers that were afloat in Atlantic waters. And the Juno sailed
on with favorable breezes, carrying Teddy straight to England.
He staid in the hold as the safest place, and out of sight of the English crew.
Rats as big as cats kept him company, together with innumerable cockroaches
that swarmed day and night. There was little difference between day and night
in that dark place. Captain Smith contrived to see him every day and supplied
him with ship’s bread and sugar, which provisions Teddy eked out with raw ham,
plenty of which was in the hold. And often he thought of what was going to be
come of him when he should reach the shores of England. .
THE END OF A LONG DAY.
HOW MY LITTLE GRANDPA FOUND HIS GRANDMAMMA.
And Captain Smith was still more troubled. He knew, although he did not
tell Teddy, that himself and all his crew would probably be put in prison. And
then how would Teddy fare? He would most likely be put on board some vessel
before the mast, and hard as it is to go before the mast now, it was a hundred-
fold harder then. And to think of ten-year-old Teddy going before the mast !
Captain Smith felt that it were better for him to die. i ane
But one day Teddy remembered something. It came like a flash of bright
sunny daylight into that dark place. Something so delightful that he came very
near shouting “Hurrah!†just as he did when at home in New London, Ct.
But he stopped himself in time. |
“What a fool I am,†he reflected. “The Britishers would have heard me,
and then the fat would have all been in the fire,†remembering that that was
what his mother used to say. Teddy thought much and often about. his mother
while living in the dark hold of the Juno. ‘
He felt he could hardly wait to see Captain Smith and tell him. But he had
to. Teddy was naturally a very impatient boy; but there’s nothing like being
shut up in a ship’s hold for a couple of weeks or so, for teaching such a boy self-
restraint. ,
“O, Captain Smith, Captain Smith!†he exclaimed when that personage did
appear, and under his breath of course, “O, Captain Smith, ’ve got a grand-
mother in Portsmouth, England.
_ “A grandmother! a grandmother!†ejaculated the good captain. “Is the
boy gone clean daft?†for his first thought’ was that the confinement, and
the anxiety and the want of proper food, had taken away Teddy’s wits. But
Teddy quickly reassured him. :
“ Yes, I have, Captain Smith, a real grandmother — father’s mother, Grandma
Wyllys. She lives in Portsmouth. _ It’s funny I didn’t think of it before.â€
_ “Sho! now—so she does,†rejoined the captain. “Come t’ think on’t I’ve
heard th’ Squire†— Teddy’s father —« speak on’t myself. Well, well, now!
you're all right. A grandmother at Portsmouth! wish I had one there myself,â€
and the good captain heaved a sigh.
“I s’pose you know what street she lives on?†he added.
“No, I don’t,†said Teddy cheerfully. “ But I can find her, you bet.†,
“That's so,†rejoined the Captain. “I'd trust a boy fr finding his grand-
mother any day; an’ you've got an English tongue in your head if you are a
Yankee.†on
And the Juno sailed on with favorable winds, each day drawing nearer her
destined port, and the officer in charge never dreamed for a moment that he was
on an English vessel recaptured from the Yankees. He and Captain Smith grew
to be the best of friends. He continually complained to the captain of his hard
luck in being sent back to England before the forty-gun frigate had taken any
prizes, or he had had a chance to secure prize money.
HOW MY LITTLE GRANDPA FOUND HIS GRANDMAMMA.
As to Captain Smith, he had determined not to speak so long as it was pos-
sible to keep back the truth. Like Mr. Micawber, he waited for something “ to
turn up;†something that even at the last moment might rescue the Juno and
save him from an English prison. But nothing turned up. They reached the
port of Portsmouth. And as the Juno sailed past the fort that guarded its entrance
he felt the time had come. He went up to the English officer who was standing
on the quarter-deck.
“Lieutenant,†he said, lifting his cap, “this ship was a prize to the privateer
Yankee taken off Newfoundland two weeks before we met with you. Iam the
prize master and here is my warrant.â€
The Lieutenant was so overcome at this announcement, that he turned first
pale, then red, then pale again. He stared helplessly at Captain Smith. But
as the fact dawned upon him that, if this was so, half the value of the Juno and
her cargo would be his as prize money, he turned ‘a final red and shook hands
heartily with Captain Smith. He could not apparently have been more grateful
if the captain had voluntarily surrendered the Juno, instead of doing so because
he could not help himself. He called him “my good fellow.†He declared he
would stand by him; that he would do everything in his power to keep him out
of prison. He did so. He paroled him and entertained him for six weeks. But
at the end of that time he was ordered off to another ship and Captain Smith
was thrown into Dartmoor Prison.
And did Teddy. find his grandmother? Certainly. Does not the title of this
story say so? With Captain Smith’s help he got safely off from the Juno. In
fact, Captain Smith hinted to his friend, the Lieutenant, that there was a small
boy on board who wanted to find his grandmother. And the Lieutenant, who
_ had a grandmother himself, put Teddy on shore in a ship’s boat.
If you could have peeped into a house in Portsmouth town, one evening
about that time, this is what you would have seen: you would have seen a cosey
parlor warmed by a fire of blazing cannel-coal before which a dear old lady sat
knitting. A King Charles spaniel lay in one corner of the hearth and a tortoise-
shell cat in the other, both fast asleep. On the walls hung many portraits and
among them one over the mantel-piece of a boy who looked uncommonly like
our Teddy. The brass candlesticks shone in the firelight and the candles were
plenty. A teakettle sung cheerily upon the hob. Upon a small round table at
the little old lady’s elbow were a cup and saucer, and a plate of thin bread and
butter. The door opened and a servant. entered, a stout little old body, almost
as broad as she Ws long.
“Please, mem,†she said, “’ere bea boy as says ’ee be your eran’ son,†and
Teddy emerged from behind her.
The little old lady dropped her knitting and raised her hands in astonishment.
She looked as much surprised as Aunt Betsy Trotwood did when David Copper-
field claimed her for an aunt.
REBELLION.—EMANCIPATION.
“My pendcoa!†she exclaimed.
“Yes; my name is Teddy,†he spoke up, “an I’ve been carried off - the
British, an’ they brought me here, an’ I thought you'd be glad to see me an’â€
but farther speech was smothered in a grandmotherly hug comforting beyond
expression.
“ You're the very pictur’ “of your father at your age,†said grandma, holding
him off at arm’s length and looking alternately at him and the portrait over the
mantel-piece.
“That ’ee be,†said the old servant, who was as old as grandma and so knew
all about Teddy’s father.
Then grandma gave him another hug and sat him down in a chair between
the King Charles spaniel and the tortoise-shell cat, both of whom had waked up.
“ Now tell me all about it,’ she said. And then Teddy told her what I have told
you. But when he got as far as the thin slices of raw ham, grandma turned to
the old servant who had been listening with a corner of her apron in her eye.
“Betty,†she said, “bring in a round of beef, a mince pie, and some preserved
apricots,†and then they sat down to a tea that was half a dinner and such a
dinner as only an English grandmother could give a fellow in those days, though
now, it is said, the quality of our beef quite equals that of our British cousins.
And Teddy staid on till the war ended and— but that is another story, and I
only promised to tell you “ how my little veel found his grandmamma.â€
Frances A. Humphrey.
REBELLION. EMANCIPATION.
GATS AND BAREEY, ©.
E eqaetitinen laugh at the looks and ways
Of the folk who lived in our grandfathers’ days—
The pompous wigs which the old men wore,
And the shirts that were ruffled down before,
The breeches that were too short by half,
And the long-tailed coats that touched the calf;
But did ever you hear or see or know
That they ate crushed oats and barley, O?
We have all been told at our mother’s knee
Of the great brick ovens that used to be,
Of the brown bread baked in generous loaves,
And better done than in modern stoves,
Of the Indian puddings and pumpkin pies, -
And the cake that had yeast to make it rise ;
But did ever you hear or see or know
That they ate crushed oats and barley, O?
There is always something new and queer
In scanning a long =tor gotten year,
But the old brick oven’s generous fare
Need not be laughed at anywhere.
The children raised on such wholesome store
Reached the eighties, and some of them more:
Did you ever hear or see or know
That they ate crushed oats and barley, O ?
It is ent years since some one said
That the Yankee diet of meat and bread,
With roots from the garden now and then,
Couldn’t be trusted to raise strong men ;
The grandfathers got along, perhaps,
But they were a robust set of chaps —
_ They were near the heart of the wild new land,
And gathered her bounding life first hand.
We were a set of pampered kings,
With our hot-house homes, and our foreign things,
| OATS AND BARLEY, O.
And something new must be eaten, quick,
To keep the old folk from getting sick, |
And the younger ones and the children save
‘From that terrible thing, an early grave ;
And then we began to hear and know
Of crushed oat pudding and barley, O.
It was like a new fashion just come over;
The people tried it, as bees try clover ;
They sipped and tasted and called it “ sweet,â€
And were glad they had something new to eat,
And soon the Yankee from Hast to West
Was eating oats with a pony’s zest,
And it was the fashion with high and low ~
‘To eat crushed oats and barley, O.
A new industry the oat-mills made,
And the oat-meal steamer another trade ;
With the happy miller the minister vied
In keeping the fashion at flood of tide —
He told how Daniel, the captive, fared,
When meat of the king he might have shared,
And the pulse which made him so ruddy grow
Was our own crushed oats and barley, O.
The people listened and rushed ahead,
Where the oat-meal craze and the parson led;
And oft as they stood by the looking-glass,
They wondered when it would come to pass
' That they should the beauty and color don
Of the captive Jew in Babylon,
Who nothing ate, as you surely know,
But our own crushed oats and barley, O.
Twenty years have come and gone,
And the crushing-mills keep grinding on ;
And all the cereals that grow
Under the heavy mill-stones go.
But whether the race is gaining fast
In the charms of a beauty that will last —
Do you ever hear or see or know
Who eat crushed oats and barley, O? Jane L. Patterson,
ERESTING STORY.
AN INT.
DADDLES: HIS PRANKS,
66 HO was Daddles ?â€â€™ hia
Well, I wish you could have seen Daddles with his feet and legs so
tiny, brown coat and sparkling eyes.
He was a monkey ; the very tiniest monkey any one ever saw. How he got
his name I do not know, unless he reminded people of a daddy-long-legs. His
tail was twice as long as himself and he
used to wind it round the most unheard-
of objects. — ;
One evening we had some friends
to tea. The bell rang and we all started
for the dining-room. I was ahead and
opened the door. There was Daddles,
calmly seated by the silver pitcher of
Jersey cream with his tail doing duty
as a spoon! Fortunately. our friends .
had stopped to look at some rare plant
in the hall so I had time to whisk
monkey and pitcher out of. sight.
One morning we sat down to break-
fast; the napkins were there, but not
one of our napkin rings was to be seen.
A faint jingle came from the veranda;
the French window was open. Looking
out we saw Daddles. with all the rings
strung on his tail, which was curved
up over. his back, marching about, DADDLES DECORATES.
evidently proud-of his silver bangles.
When we met in the evenings to sing, Daddles had to be supplied witha tiny.
book ; he would keep time perfectly, sitting in his high chair beside the piano. -
One Sunday he followed the family to church ; hearing a chattering during
the anthem my uncle looked up and there was Daddles hanging by his tail from
the gasalier directly over his head! He ordered him down, and Master Daddles
came, and curling himself up in my uncle’s hat, went sound asleep. My uncle
forgot about him until, as he was handing the collection-plate, something
whisked up from the pew and landed in the middle of the plate, scattering silver
and coppers in all directions! It was a really dreadful time, for though it had
been done quickly, people saw and laughed; it was a shamefaced monkey who
went round the old-fashioned pew picking up the silver and notes and laying
DADDLES: HIS PRANKS.
them in little piles on the pew cushion, for my uncle to get as he came round
again; the cents Daddles would not touch; evidently he thought anything so
common as cents had no business to be among the Lord’s money.
A seat at the table was kept for him when we were alone, and he was a pat-
tern to the children. It was amusing to watch the grave politeness of the tiny
creature, who could do everything but talk, as he handled the little tea service
which was kept for his use. Nothing could induce him to touch fish with a
knife, and he never took a drink out of his tumbler without first looking round.
upon us all with a low bow.
When strangers were at the fous he had his meals alone, as they might not
fancy such Darwinian proceedings, and very strongly did Daddles resent the
banishment. I remember one evening especially ; a gentleman was present who
detested animals and was a stickler for table etiquette. Seated, we found the
table butterless. Coolers and butter plates were in their places, but not butter.
A slight “chic†caused me to lift my eyes to the top of the antique clock.
There, half-hidden among its carven pillars, sat Daddles, grinning mischievously
~ and hugging the golden prints to his wicked breast!
_ This was but one of dozens of similar acts of roguery. Daddles delighted
with almost a boy’s delight i in practical jokes — his fe at their success was
full of a naughty boy’s joy.
At last there came a day oe gloom to the House of Dawson, for Daddles was
sick. What ailed him no one knew; we sent for the veterinary surgeon, a faith-
ful attendant on all four-legged creatures in delicate health, but poor Daddles’
case baffled him. ‘The little creature grew worse daily, though Daisy took him
out on a pillow to get the air, and Baby Nell threw herself on the ground beside
him and refused to be comforted. Carpenter Tom had made him a beautiful
little bedstead of satin-wood with facings of polished oak, and all had assisted in
fitting it up until it was the admiration of the neighborhood, with its dainty blue-
edged blankets, snowy sheets, blue satin quilt edged with lace, and frilled and
embroidered pillow shams; but this luxury could not comfort our pet. He
grew thin and weak. He pould not eat, though the tiny table at his side was
kept laden with dainties. At last one evening, as we sat watching him, he
opened his languid eyes, once so full of fun, gave a queer little gasp, and fell
back in Nell’s faithful arms — dead.
Very sad was the procession which assembled for the funeral. The tiny wal-
nut coffin had been made by Tom, and we had helped him line it with soft cash-
mere in creamy folds. Dick’s dog carriage, covered with black, did duty as a
hearse, and the huge Newfoundland drew it with a gravity which showed he
appreciated the solemnity of the occasion. Baby Nell with streaming eyes was
chief mourner; Tom, Ernest, Charlie and Dick acted as pall bearers, while the
ered dinner bell, in cook’s hand, tolled his requiem.
_ Tenderly we laid him under the shadow of a large pine-tree, and every eye
DADDLES: HIS PRANKS.
grew moist as we looked at the little grave, so pitifully tiny, with its white pine
headstone, bearing an epitaph, loving though rhymeless, written by Ernest :
‘“In memory of Daddles Dawson,
Who was so very sweet;
He died because he couldn’t live,
And left us plunged in grief.â€
Edith S. Black.
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THE TIME O GET READY,
OCKRY, little horse-jockey, riding to the race,
Jaunty is your bearing, confident your face,
Beautiful your goodly steed so powerful and fleet —
But what, my little jockey, is the matter with his feet?â€
“ The shoes are loose, kind stranger. Their click it is you a
But I myself will fasten them securely, never fear,
Since I have brought my tools along, to tighten every shoe ;
{??
For while the horse is racing Ill have Eons else to do!
“ Jaunty little horse-jockey, with your silly plan,
You are not more foolish than many a foolish man —
Up into the saddle, off for the race of life,
Expecting to get ready i in the middle of the strife.â€
Amos R. Wells.
THE COMING OF THE NIGHTINGALE.
VERY one who has read John Burroughs’ “Search for the Nightingale,â€
remembers how he wandered through the south of England, asking of
almost every man and woman, boy and girl whom he met, if they could tell
him where he could find one. And he says if all these people could have com-
pared notes they must have come to the conclusion that a crazy American was
abroad.
My experience differed from his in the fact that he was late in his inquiries,
‘while I was early, ee in March to ask when the nightingale might be
looked for.
The good people, in their desire to gratify me, I think, must have drawn
somewhat upon their imagination in promising him to me early in April.
Though no doubt he does reach Warwickshire as omy, when the season is
propitious and the “ sweet south†blows.
He never gets much farther north, however, in England than the Midlands.
Scotland does not know him, neither does Ireland.
He even —the exclusive little Quaker! Quaker as to his aioe if not as to
THE COMING OF THE NIGHTINGALE,
his song — limits himself to certain countries in the south of England. He is
rarely seen in Devonshire or Somersetshire. .
The daughter of Charles Kingsley told me that when her father was rector
at Clovelly (Devonshire) a man came from Biddeford one day to ask him to go
over and tell them what new and strange bird it was they heard every night
singing so beautifully within their borders. He did so and found it was not
one, but a pair of birds, and the pair were nightingales. And every evening so
long as they stayed, the people of Biddeford turned out en masse to listen to
the song. ee
How many times I had asked for the nightingale during the months of
March and April it is now impossible to say; but doubtless as often as every
other day, which, summed up, would be about thirty times. For I waxed very
impatient at last for his coming. There was already a full chorus of birds, —
thrushes, robins, blackbirds, wrens, larks, but where was the nightingale ?
On the last day of the lastnamed month, the thirtieth of April, he arrived.
And his coming was announced to me by the following note:
April 80.
‘He has come! :
“Concert in the lilac bushes between the lawn and the stables from 9.30 to 10.80 a. mM. and from 8 to
5 Pp. M., a8 well as at other unspecified hours. Admittance free. :
‘“‘ A quarter of an hour after you went yesterday I was startled by the nightingale beginning to shout
close beside me like any little Methodist. He is a little hoarse from his journey, but is practicing hard.
; : R. G. K.â€
I found this note lying upon my table on my return from a delightful but
fatiguing jaunt in the Forest of Arden, and, weary as I was, I walked over the
fields in the twilight to hear him. Sat
To my ear, wondrous rich as his song is, it does not rival that of the skylark.
Though, I suppose, I heard twenty skylarks to one nightingale. For the latter
does not visit the little village of Whitnash. With all its charm that village
lacks the one thing the nightingale loves—a shrubby copse beside running
water. ee
When in full song, as is well known, the nightingale sings all night. A
pointsman on the railway, whose box is in a solitary spot, told me how he heard
them at one o’clock, just as the dawn-was breaking in the east.
And Miss Rose Kingsley, whose name is so pleasantly familiar to:the readers
of Wrpz Awake, told*me how she used to throw her slippers at the nightingales
who would persist in ‘singing the night through in the trees near her bedroom
window at Eversley, spoiling her sleep. as
But no such delightful experience was mine. The nightingale would not
come to me and I was obliged to seek for him. :
One place where I went to listen to him was at Bridge End, a bit of Warwick
town, the most modern house in which, I should think, must be three hundred
THE COMING -OF THE NIGHTINGALE.
years old. We passed through a trim little garden into a wilding orchard where
the grass is suffered to grow riotously, mingled with half-wild shrubs and plants.
The apple-trees were in bloom, and beneath them we sat us down to listen
to the nightingales. Only a few feet away flowed the Avon — Shakespeare’s
Avon—the same that winds beside his burial place at Stratford. Just on the
other side rose the walls and towers of Warwick Castle. We could see the
broken arches of the old bridge, still partially spanning the streams. Shrubs
grow luxuriantly on these broken arches, while the ivy twines in a tangle about
both shrubs and bridge. ;
The nightingale has one curious little note, peculiar to himself, by which if
you are in doubt as to his identity, you may recognize him: “ Jug-zjug-jug !â€
Coleridge calls it the “swift jug, jug.â€
_ Charles Kingsley in his exquisite Idyl, “A Charm of Birds,†declares that
the nightingale’s song is not melancholy, as so many of the poets have said.
“Most musical, most melancholy,â€
wrote John Milton of him.
To him (Mr. Kingsley) his song expresses the “fullness of joy and love.â€
And so thought Wordsworth if we are to take his poem upon the nightingale as
an expression of his opinion.
‘*O Nightingale! thou surely art
A creature of a ‘ fiery heart’: —
These notes of thine —they pierce and pierce;
Tumultuous harmony and fierce!
Thou sing’st as if the God of Wine
Had helped thee to a valentine;
A song in mockery and despite
Of shades, and dews, and silent nights;
And steady bliss, and all the loves
Now sleeping in these peaceful groves.â€
To my ear, listening to his melodious song, in the serene twilight, and amid
the bloom and perfume of apple-blossoms, there seemed no note of melancholy
in it. :
The English nightingale winters in Algiers and Morocco and makes his way
north up the coast of Portugal and over the sunny plains of France, flying, as
migrating birds do, by night, and resting and feeding by day. He finds the
passage of the English Channel as uncomfortable and‘boisterous as do we of
_the human race who make it in steamers, and he arrives, often, much tumbled
as to his plumage. — a
The nightingale has inspired many poets, and among the more recent is
Matthew Arnold, who opens his song upon “Philomela†with a burst of music
that might have been borrowed from the “ tawny-throated†himself.
THE MILL- POND IN WINTER.
oe Hark! ah, the nightingale!
The tawny-throated!
Hark! from the moonlight cedar what a burst! bu
He calls him a “ Wanderer from a Grecian shore,†and sings melodiously of the
+ “Fragrant lawn
With its cool ‘trees, and night, «
And the sweet, tranquil ‘Thames,
_ And moonshine, and the dew,†-
which snall ease the wanderer’s pain.
But Kingsley says the Grecian Ajahiapale (Lusciola Philomela) is quite
another bird from the English nightingale (Lusciola Luscinia). The former is
the bulbul of Oriental song and story.
~The nightingale is a long brown bird who builds his somewhat sGeleady
fashioned nest of dry grasses on or very near the ground, taking care that. it
shall be well- hidden among leafy twigs. :
: Frances A. Humpbrey.
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