lane, gral & Moor :
U
Miss MARY’S VALENTINE
AND OTHER STORIES
BOSTON
Dz WOLFE, FISKE & COMPANY.
PuBLISHERS
CopyRIGHT, 1895
BY
ALPHA PUBLISHING COMPANY.
All rights reserved.
Gls Se ACR eS: ANI No TENSE e
66 F I had a nickel, I'd buy you a valentine, Miss Mary,†said little
Sam.
‘‘T suppose a valentine is always a gift, isn’t it?†said Miss Mary.
“Well, I don’t know why it needs to be just a sheet of paper with
poetry on it! I’ve heard of valentines, in the old days, of gloves, and
money, and jewels. Why not a present of anything one likes? I like
to have you a good boy — you can give me a valentine of being a
good boy all day! You like to look into my bureau-drawer —J will
give you a valentine of letting you do that!â€
- For when Sam had been very good he was sometimes allowed an
interview with the pretty things in Miss Mary’s second-bureau-drawer.
And if he been very good indeed, she let him take them out and hold
them one by one. And if Tom and Tessy were there to see them, too,
then little Sam was in a state of bliss.
There was the ivory Chinese puzzle, where one ball was carved in-
side another ball, and another ball inside of that, and they never came
apart for they had never been joined together except by nature when
they grew in the tusk of the elephant, and the puzzle was how the
carver ever did it!
And there was the lovely mother-of-pearl fan; and the sweet-
smelling sandal-wood fan; and the ivory fan on whose sticks little
mandarins bowed to queer little ladies.
And there was a nest of boxes, one box holding another as he un-
screwed their covers, till it seemed as if he never would reach the last.
“ All these things came from China,†said Miss Mary.
MISS MARY’S VALENTINE
“China? where’s that?†asked little Sam.
“Oh! over on the other side of the world.â€
“ Down underneath us ?â€â€™ asked Tessy.
“Well, yes, you might say it was underneath us in the daytime,â€
said Miss Mary. “Your uncle brought them to me from China.
And the last time he came he brought me this ring,†and she showed
them a slender hoop cut from a piece of pale-green jade.
“Tt’s just the color of moonlight,†she said. “ And it had a little
jade heart swinging from it by a gold wire. And I can’t think where
I lost it! Im ashamed to have your uncle come home from sea
and find I’ve lost that little heart.â€
“Where did you lose it, Miss Mary? I will find it for you!â€
cried Tessy.
“ What a fine valentine that would be if you could! But, O dear,
no! Tlost it a year ago.â€
Presently they had their things on and were off to the garden — for
they lived in that part of Virginia where in February there is not
much frost in the ground, and they were each making ready their
own little flower beds.
“What you doing, Sam?†exclaimed Will, when he noticed Sam
throwing out the dirt from quite a hole that he was digging. “TI
should think you were going to plant a whole watermelon !â€
‘She said China was just under us in the day time,†said little Sam.
“And Pm going to dig down and see. Perhaps Pl get a whole lot of
the puzzle-balls,†still throwing out his little shovelfuls of earth.
“Well, that’s bright!†said Will. “It’s —it’s eight thousand miles
through! Think you'll get there by dark?†But Sammy kept on
digging.
“And you'd have to go through fire, too,†said Tom. “T heard
teacher say there was fire way down under us.â€
“Oh! what’s that?†cried little Jane, as something bright fell out
of Sam’s shovel, and rolled back into the hole.
“Oh! it’s a spark of the fire,†cried Tessy, starting to run away.
Then they all laughed; and suddenly Sammy flung himself face
down over his hole, and grabbed a double handful of earth, and
TINE.
JaN
A VAL
A LITTLE GIRL IN RED.
throught it up, sifting it through his fingers, and there was a little
bright thing left in his hand, a bit of pale green stone with a gold wire
in it. And little Sammy rubbed off the clinging earth with a great
shout; for it was Miss Mary’s little jade heart!
“OQ, Miss Mary! My Miss Mary!†little Sammy cried, running
breathlessly to find her. “I ’most went to China, and here’s your
heart, and I got it for you, and it’s your valentine!â€
“You dear child!†said Miss Mary. “It’s the best valentine in all
the world! And you went almost to China to find it? Dear me, how
tired you must be — you must come in and have a turnover!â€
Harriet Prescott Spofford..
Ay ee EES GR. UNG SRE De.
HEN in red Anita goes,
Her winsome face all ruddy shows,
And the grown-up folk oft smile and say,
“ How is our little red rose to-day ?â€
She has a red mouth and round red cheeks,
Like the red holly-berry the red breast seeks ;
‘She has from the cold a little red chin,
With a dimple to tuck the rosebud in.
When in red Anita glows,
Her little heart with joy o’erflows,
And the children all, they shout and say,
“Oh! little Red Riding Hood, please come
play !â€
She has a red muff and a long red coat,
A big red hat which ties at the throat ;
All dressed in red from her head to her feet,
Was ever a lassie so dainty and sweet ?
Mary A. Winston.
A BOY’S CAPTURE OF A PUMA.
(Great Cats I Have Met.)
My first interview with a
wild member of the large and
dangerous family of the felide
was in 1833. I was only nine
years old then, and it was quite
an adventure for a little boy.
My home was in the back-
woods of upper Canada, now
Ontario, where bears, wolves and
deer were plentiful; but for
years no one had seen a speci-
men of the more savage creature
I was to meet.
Farmers’ clearings were 1’
very extensive in those parts
at this early period, and our
cattle were allowed to roam in
the great woods.
One afternoon, I was sent
W, THOMPSON. out to look up our cows. As
usual, my dog, a powerful deer-
hound called Carlo, went with me. This dog was absolutely fearless.
He would attack anything in the shape of a wild beast. He bore on
his body many honorable scars, as mementoes of his rash fights with
wolves and bears.
Well, we two, careless and happy, went gaily along the forest path,
and at last heard the distant tinkle of the cow-bell. At the same mo-
ment we heard a strange, piteous cry. It seemed to me the voice of
a woman or child in dreadful distress. But Carlo was of a different
opinion. Instead of showing sympathy, he set up his bristles, his tail
stiffened, his eyes gleamed, and he kept close by my side.
AY BOYS GAPTURE :OF 7A PAMA:
The wailing cry came again and again. It appeared to come from
a grove of oaks about a hundred yards from the path. I felt sure that
some little girl, out picking berries, perhaps, had got
lost and was sobbing and moaning from fright. So
I shouted as loud as I could to encourage her, and
made for the grove, in spite of Carlo’s protests.
No intelligible voice answered my halloo. Then
I felt sure the lost child must be badly hurt, that
she could not come to meet us.
On the edge of the grove stood a very large oak with wide-spread-
ing branches, the lowest not more than twenty feet from the ground ;
and, very strang ;
ly, the half-sob-
bing, half-whining
cry seemed, as we
came near, to
come from these
low limbs.
My hound, al-
ways gentle with
children, seemed
to change his na-
ture. He was
frantic with rage,
and when we got
almost under the
PUMA’S EYE.
YÂ¥A,
tree he sat back er Gf ecwearaen
on his haunches cot [LEZE A W
and looked up to-
ward its top, howl-
ing fiercely.
Following his
gaze, I saw crouched on a big limb, a full-grown puma, a beast I had
heard some of our neighbors call a “painter,†others a catamount,
others a panther — though there is no true panther in America.
A PUMA AND HER CUBS,
A eBOVeS CAP) UREN OF vA Te MEAT
I knew the creature at a glance, for I had seen a specimen of his
kind in a traveling menagerie; and my little knees shook under me.
All at once, I remembered hearing hunters say the “ painter i
sometimes cries like a person in pain on purpose to attract human prey
within his reach —a fable, as these creat-
know.
SKULL, HEAD, CLAW, PAW.
ures, like their relatives, the domestic
cats, moan and screech at times for
reasons best known to themselves.
This puma ceased his cries so soon as
he saw us, and began to claw the bark,
switch his tail and arch his back for a
spring — whether at me or Carlo I don't
TI was almost numb with terror,
but as the great tawny-grey body shot
downwards, I and the dog instinctively sprang to one side, and he
‘missed both of us!
After the nature of cats, when foiled in a first spring, he tried to
sneak away; but with a roar
Carlo dashed at him and fas-
tened his teeth in his throat.
The gallant heund was no
match for such a foe: and
though I saw the blood follow
his grip, he was shaken off, and
the puma in a moment had
scurried up another tree.
At this sight my courage
returned. I knew exactly what
to do. Like most country boys
of those days, I had flint, steel
and punk in my pocket, and in
Th
Ohi i CEneees
J
NOT VERY HAPPY.
fifteen minutes I had four good fires blazing around. Then, bidding
Carlo keep watch, I ran home as fast as my little legs would carry me
and told my father about the rare game I had “ put npc!
Though he doubted that I had seen a real “ painter,†my father
AS BONS (CAP PORE OF
took down his flintlock rifle, seized his powder-horn and bullet pouch,
and hurried with me to the oak grove.
The puma had gone high up into a lofty fork, and when we got
sight of him was looking down at the dog, spitting and snarling, ex-
actly as a house cat does when threatened by Towser.
My father waited until he got a fair view of his head, then he took
aim, and at the crack of his rifle the savage cat came toppling down.
He proved to be a very large male. My father measured him, and
although sixty-one years have since passed away, I remember the
measurements still. The length, from the point of the nose to the root
of the tail was four feet three .
inches; the tail itself, black-
tipped, but not tufted, was two
feet, five inches; so the creature
was six feet, eight inches long.
The largest of the claws
were one and a third inches
long, and their points were as
sharp as needles; the animal
keeps them withdrawn into a
sort of sheath, which prevents
them from blunting.
The upper part of the pelt
was dull gray tinged with red-
dish brown, but my father said that when cold weather came the whole
back always turned a soft uniform gray, while the throat and belly
remained a dull white — about the color of unbleached factory cotton.
My father, besides having the fine pelt, got twenty dollars Pro-
vincial bounty, out of which he gave me the largest sum I had ever
possessed in my life.
The puma is a terribly fierce animal, but I do not believe that as
related by some writer, “a single one has been known to kill fifty
sheep in one night!†So shy a creature as the puma is would not
stay round the haunts of civilization so long. These great cats do
not, like dogs, kill sheep for the fun of it!
: ii ih
SLEEPING PUMAS.
ATBROY SS CAPTURE (OF oA PUMA,
My father told me that the puma does not have a regular lair or
home, as do most other wild cats, but roams from place to place. This
may be so, but I have known exceptions. Many years later, in the
Rocky Mountains, I killed a female puma which was domiciled with her
WITH A ROAR CARLO DASHED AT HIM.
three cubs in a close den among the rocks, one evidently occupied a
long time, as the floor was littered by cleanly-picked bones.
The little puma kittens are extremely pretty creatures, marked by
distinct dark lines and spots. W. Thomson.
CARVING THE NEW-YEAR CHARMS,
THEM EAST “OF THEVGCHRISTMAS=T REE:
HEN American children have a Christmas-tree, they get the
presents off at once, and then nobody cares what becomes of
the tree.
Not so with German children. Their holiday-time lasts from
Christmas to Twelfth Night. And they have some pretty notions
about good spirits and fairies who are abroad through all those days.
Hans and little Luise had come over with their father and mother
and dear grandfather Max to live in America.
They had their Christmas-tree, of course. For a whole week it was
their pride, though every day saw less and less fruit onit. But at last
it was quite bare.
Then Grandfather Max said, “ To-morrow will be the New Year.
THE LAST OF THE CHRISTMAS-TREE.
Let us begin it well. From the wood of your dear Christ-tree I will
carve some toys for you. They may hold the Christ-Child in your
minds until this New Year is old. Perhaps the All-Father will bless
these charms to keep you from evil and harm.â€
«“ What charm you making now, grandfather?†asked Hans.
Hans was two years taller than the little Luise.
“Jt is an anchor, Hans. When we came over the stormy sea how
glad was I when they cast anchor in the harbor! It stands for Hope.
Never lose hope, Hans. See, now I make a heart for Luise; that
stands for Love. No little maid can become a sweet woman without
love in her heart.†Quaint Luise looked like a little woman now, her
hair in a knot at the back of her head.
“TJ shall make a star for each of you, because you must both have
Faith. Faith, Hope, Love, the blessed Trinity,†said the devout old
German, and the children dimly understood.
Happy New Year! A new jacket for Hans, a new dress for Luise.
The dress had a pocket. Little Luise went to everyone in the
house, and to all the German neighbors, holding her pocket ope’
Each person dropped in it a small gift of money, maybe five cenu.,
maybe ten. That is the way the little girls of Germany do when they
have new gowns.
After awhile Hans and Luise went out to walk. “You not go off
this street,†said the mother. “You get lost.†But ina great, strange
city a little boy and girl can get lost on their own street.
Luise began to cry.
“‘Don’t, little sister,†said Hans. “See, ve got my Hope anchor.â€
“And I’ve got my Faith.’ Luise laughed while she cried, and
pointed to her star. Old Max had drilled holes, so the children could
hang the charms on their breasts.
A big policeman saw them. His heart warmed to the lost babies,
because they had the look of Fatherland. | He spoke to them in Ger-
man, and took them home, before the mother had time to be uneasy.
“’Twas the Faith star and the Hope anchor did it, grandfather,â€
whispered glad little Luise, kissing the little wooden star.
Helen A. Hawley.
TSS MOST SBE AUT EU STORY:
A Christmas Question.
66 HAT is the most beautiful story in all the world?â€
T asked the question of a German author at the great Fair
in Antwerp last summer.
He looked at me thoughtfully. “Joseph,†he said— “is it the
story of Joseph ?â€
“IT do not mean Bible stories,†said I. “If so, I should say that
the ‘ Parable of the Prodigal Son’ is the most beautiful story.â€
He was silent.
“What is the most beautiful story in your own country ?â€
asked he.
I, too, was silent.
And what is it, my Christmas reader? Is it Longfellow’s “ Evan-
geline†or “ Lowell’s “ Legend of Sir Launfal?†or is there one yet
more beautiful ?
“The stories of King Arthur are the most beautiful of all in
England,†said my German friend —“and the < Rheingold’ in
Germany.â€
“But Germany is the true story land,†said I. “ What story, of
those you heard in your own home, impressed you most?â€
“Tcan easily answer that,’ he replied. “It was a story which is
an outgrowth of a tale told by Baron Fouque, the wonderful author of
‘Undine.’ It is called ‘Red Mantle’ My mother used to tell me the
story on Christmas Eve.â€
Here is the story as my German friend told it.
There was a German merchant in the days of old, who used to travel with costly jewels
from city to city. His name was Berthold. He was an earnest, warm-hearted man, but he had
a flery temper and a sharp tongue.
One day, towards night, he was journeying through a black forest. Tbe winds were sigh-
ing in the pines; there were scudding clouds; a great shade came down on the forest, and rain
seemed about to fall. Berthold saw that he could not reach the city that evening. He was
a‘one in the wild forest with his portmanteau of jewels. What was he to do ?
Night came on. The moon rose, and was darkened. The forest roared with the wind.
Around him were beasts of prey. What could he do ?
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL STORY.
He stumbled on. At last he saw a gleam of light. It came from a window in the forest.
He hastened towards it, and rapped on zhe door.
The door slowly opened. A grey-haired old woman with a beautiful face stood
before him.
«* Who lives here ?†asked Berthold.
«¢ A poor collier and his family. Why do you come?â€
“Tam a traveler, belated and lost. Will you give me food and lodging for the night?â€
“T will give you food, but I cannot give you lodging, though loath I would be to refuse a
stranger a roof on such a night as this.â€
Her husband now appeared, holding a light over her shoulder.
“Tt hurts my heart to refuse a stranger,†said he, ‘‘ but you would be better off in the
woods than here. How the wind roars! There, the light has blown out! Come in!â€
The merchant entered. The great log room had an open fire, and around it sat the most
beautiful children he had ever seen. The woman spread the table. As he finished the meal he
said, ‘‘ You surely would not send me out into the forest on such a night as this ?â€
“ Stranger,†said the collier, ‘‘ you may stay, at your peril—though if you will obey what
I tell you, no harm will come.â€
The table was cleared, and the good woman brought out the musical glasses. She tuned
them, and when the children touched them the most beautiful music arose, and the father and
mother clasped their hands, and the family sang, ‘‘ Now the woods are all reposing,†but still the
wind was wild.
“Now,†said the father, ‘‘ we must pray.†They all knelt down, the merchant with them.
As the collier was praying, the door slowly opened, and the fresh air fanned the fire.
The merchant looked up — what was at the door? What indeed!
A little dwarf stood there, in a red mantle. Ile seemed withered and pinched up, and
his eyes were like coals of fire. He cast an evil look at the merchant, and slowly closed the
door. The merchant wondered.
“ Now,†said the collier, rising, ‘¢ I will show you to your chamber. But listen! If any-
thing enters your room in the night, think holy thoughts, and no harm will come. Do not be
angry; do not utter any evil words. If you do not obey me, you will bring trouble upon me—â€
“And we would have to live all those years over again,†said the woman with a look of dis-
tress. ‘*Think holy thoughts, whatever may happen!â€
The merchant went up to his chamber, and, placing his portmanteau on his bed, laid
himself down to rest. He was nigh asleep, when the door of his chamber flew open, and the
little dwarf with the red mantle and fiery eyes entered. The merchant started. The dwarf
approached the bed, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. He stood for a time looking at the
merchant. Then laid his hands on the portmanteau. The merchant’s anger kindled, and he
uttered a fearful oath.
The dwarf began to grow!
The merchant bade him go, with more profane words.
The dwarf grew at every evil word, taller and taller, more dreadful in form and feature.
“ Help!†shrieked the merchant. His voice awoke the house.
The dwarf, now a giant, rushed down the stairs.
The collier and his wife appeared.
‘What have you done to our house-spirit ?†cried the collier. ‘* You have not been think-
ing holy thoughts. You have made him grow to the demon he was of old! We have lived him
down by righteous lives, and he had become smaller and smaller, and we hoped to see him
disappear.†‘%
‘“*And now,†cried the collier’s wife, bursting into tears, ‘‘ we will have to live all those
years over again! â€
A-MAP OER†SANTA GLAGS “LAND:
The moon was now shining in a still sky, and the merchant took his portmanteau and
hurried away.
Ten years passed, when night overtook the merchant Berthold, in the same forest again.
It was a pleasant night, and the merchant bethought himself of the collier. He saw a light in
the same house, and went to the door and knocked.
“Come, in God’s name, and welcome,†said a voice.
He entered. The family had tuned the musical glasses, and were kneeling down to pray.
The merchant knelt with them. Then he listened for the door to open. But the room
was still. And, instead of the dwarf, there came as it were a beautiful light into the room.
The merchant looked up. There was a glorious face forming in the shadows, and as the collier
prayed on, it grew more and more distinct, and came and hovered over them, with a golden
circle above the head and with glistening wings. It was the face of an angel!
The merchant told the family who he was.
‘‘ Stay with us, we pray you,†said the collier’s wife. ‘There is nothing to fear; we have
lived him down, and now, praised be the Lord, there is an angel in the house. Did you know
— one may live so as to change an evil into an angel?â€
“My friend,†said the German author, ‘after a pause, “no story
has helped my own life more than this, And now what is the most
beautiful tale in the world?â€
I still was not sure. So I ask the question again, of you my
Christmas readers. And I ask you to tell by your Christmas fires the
story that has helped you most — that to you is the most beautiful
story in all the world. Hezekiah Butterworth.
ASO WAP SOF SANTA CLA Se IeAN Dy
RUE had a map of North America. It was a dissected map ; that
is, it was cut up into many parts, so that children might enjoy
putting them together, into a whcle map.
After Prue had learned to put the parts together she said, “I’m
tired of North America! I’m going to make a new country.â€
“How nice,†cried Johnny. “ What will you call it?â€
“ Santa Claus Land,†answered Prue.
Prue put the map together in a funny way.
“T shall put Florida up where the little Esquimaux can get some
of its nice oranges,†she said. “I know Santa wouldn’t keep Florida
down South all the time, if he had his say.â€
AEMAP OF SANTA (GLAU Sa AND:
“And why don’t you let Labrador into the United States,†said
Johnny. “It’s so hot here in summer. Just put Labrador on the
east side of the United States. There might have been a peninsula
there as well as not. Then it wouldn’t take so long to go to Europe.â€
“J will,†cried Prue, placing Labrador on the Atlantic Coast.
Now I shall put Lower California where Alaska has been, so the little
Indians up there
can have some of
the nice grapes.â€
“ And let’s put ,
Alaska onto the ortho 5s
western side of 4
Mexico,†proposed
Johnny. “ Here it
is; how queer it
looks!â€
“That penin-
sulaup north looks
o@o
EP MAP WS
shop, LEMONADE S ANTA Ci LAGS LAND
ANCIENTLY KNOWN AS
NORTH AMERICA
like a stocking,â€
next said Prue. “I
shall name it ‘ The
†LABRADOR
SKATE AND SLED
JACKKNIFE PENINSULA
ae ee
PICTURE BOOK
Stocking. rhe PLATEAU
“Q, whattfun!†ERS Ginrcnuani
said Johnny. “ Let’s , cate
f Pont
mark out a map of
Santa Claus Land
and name the places
after the nice things
Santa brings.â€
Those who would like a map of Santa Claus Land, to decorate their
room for Christmas, can place a piece of white tissue paper over Prue’s
map, trace the outline, then hold the tissue paper against the window-
pane with a sheet of white paper over it, and draw the map on the
sheet. Go over the pencil lines with red ink.
PRUE’S NEW MAP.
Alice May Dougias,
bl,
ts yy S it the laugh of a baby brook
, Or the droning “bum-m†of a bee,
Or the spirit song of a soaring lark
That comes from above to me?
Ts it the dance of the snowflake white,
Or the song that the frost-sprites sing?
Is it voice or body, a fact or dream —
This beautiful, haunting thing?
Now it is soft as a zephyr’s sigh,
Then loud as the ocean’s roar ;
At first ike a kiss or a soft caress,
Then billows and waves on the
shore.
List! do I hear it in mother’s voice ?
Ah! now ’tis an organ-tone ;
Sometimes ’tis a laugh and then there
comes,
The pine-trees’ distant moan.
Whatever it is, my waiting ear
Of its wonder never tires ;
I stand and listen to catch your word,
OQ! beautiful, singing wires.
Kate L. Brown.
THE BOBCATS AND THE PIGEON-PIE.
(Great Cats I Have Met.)
HE Canada lynx is known among
the Canadians as the “ bobcat,â€
and is the only cat I ever saw without
a tail—to be exact, it does possess a
bit of one, about an inch long. (Of
course the lynx is not a very “ great
cat,†yet it is big enough to be a dan-
gerous enemy when so disposed.)
Settled along the Credit River, a
few miles from our farm, were consid-
erable numbers of half-civilized Indians,
and these people had a legend: as to
how the lynx happens to be so nearly tailless.
The Great Spirit, so the story runs, came down to earth on moonlit
nights to watch over the slumbers of the first-born son of a favorite
warrior.
A troop of lynxes, roaming through the adjacent tree-tops, set up a
series of horrible mocking cries and woke the babe. This made the
Great Spirit wrathy, and he pronounced instant death upon all cats of
that variety ; but, on the warrior’s plea that his people would thereby
be deprived of much valuable fur, he changed the sentence to ampu-
tation of the greater part of the animal’s tail—and ever since, all
lynxes have been born with that mark of disgrace.
The lynxes are true tree-cats, fond of a bird-and-egg diet, but the
first [ ever saw, I saw on the ground. When I was about ten anda
half years old, 1 became the proud possessor of a light, flintlock, single-
barreled gun, paid for by my own earnings in the way of mink, musk-
rat and racoon skins; and for so young a boy, I was beginning to
shoot pretty well. :
That year we were visited during wheat harvest by prodigious
flocks of wild pigeons, and one Saturday afternoon my father gave me
HEAD OF LYNX.
THE BOBCATS AND THE PIGEON-PIE.
leave to go out with my gun and try to get enough for a great Sunday
pot-pie; counting indoor servants and all, our household numbered
eighteen persons.
Away I went in great glee to the big beech woods. I had with me
four ounces of powder and a pound of number six shot. This would
make about sixteen charges, and should bring me twenty-four pigeons,
for it would be hard luck indeed if I couldn’t now and then bring
down several at a shot. Shooting, boy fashion, only at such birds as
were perching on tree-limbs or hopping along the ground, I soon had
fourteen nice fat ones. These I strung by their beaks on a piece of
twine and hung the bunch on a sapling, while I went on to hunt for
more.
Following along an old cattle path, I got twenty-one pigeons in
nine shots. Then I found my ammunition was gone. I had forgotten
my father’s orders: “Never, while hunting, leave yourself without
one charge for your
gun.â€
So far as the pot-
pie was concerned, I
already had pigeons
enough to make one
that might feed half
a hundred men; but
what if in the fast-
approaching dusk I
should run on some
big game —a wolf, for
instance ! Such a crea-
ture might possibly
relish a fat little boy!
But no wolf appeared, nor did I even hear one howl as I hurried
along the darkening trail.
Coming to the sapling, where I had left my first string of pigeons,
I found the birds gone. Next moment I saw they were being de-
voured by two animals lying on the ground a few yards away, and
THE CANADIAN BOBCAT,
THE BOBCATS AND THE PIGEON-PIE.
which, in the gray shades of evening, I could not have seen at all but
for their glaring eyes. The creatures didn’t look very savage or
very large, as they lay there amicably sharing my birds.
I WAS KNOCKED FLAT ON MY BACK.
“The thieving racoons!†I muttered, at the same time clubbing
my gun and stepping up, thinking to scare them away and recover
some of my pigeons.
THE BOBCATS AND THE PIGEON-PIE,
But when I got within three feet, I myself was the scared one’
Instead of harmless ‘coons, the beasts were full-grown lynxes! I knew
them by their short, powerful legs, big feet, the pencils of hair on the
tips of their ears, and the absence of tails. Then didn’t I regret my
neglect of a hunter’s first duty — to keep his gun loaded!
But though knowing a “ bobcat†to be more than a match for the
best dog, I had never heard of even a child being attacked by one, and
I had no notion of letting this pair rob me of my pot-pie.
Yelling as loud as I could, I struck with all my might at the cat
nearest. My gun came down on its back, and, to my great surprise,
disabled it. Had I known the back was this creature’s most vulnerable
part, I could not have made a more judicious blow.
I got no chance to-make a second, however; for the moment the
moan of its mate rang out, the other lynx uttered a shrill snarl, and
dashed at my breast. Though a strong, heavy boy for my age I was
knocked flat on my back, and the maddened cat came down on top of
me. He was a big fellow, and must have weighed fifty pounds.
Strange to say, all my fright disappeared then. A curious, reckless
-ind of numbness came over me. I actually did not feel a particle of
pain as the beast sank its long teeth into my arm which I had instinct-
ively raised to shield my face —teeth three times as long as those of
the domestic cat. I did not know until afterwards that the curved
claws of its front feet had torn through my coat collar, waistcoat and
shirt and mangled both my shoulders.
How long the furious creature had been tearing at me I do not
know — it might have been thirty seconds or five minutes, when sud-
denly I saw a stream of fire and heard the report of agun. Then I
knew nothing more until I found myself on a sofa at home, and saw
on the floor before me a great heap of pigeons and the gray, black-
flecked pelts of both lynxes!
My father, who had strolled out with his rifle to meet me, had come
upon the scene in the nick of time, and after hurriedly skinning the
bobcats had carried me and my trophies home.
I was not seriously hurt. The very next day I helped demolisk:
the biggest pigeon pot-pie I ever saw. ‘W. Thomson.
VALENTINE EROEIGS:
ERHAPS Washington is peculiarly a children’s town, for I know
no other place with so many big frolic-days for the little people.
Following fast on the New Year’s fun comes Valentine Day, and close
after that the Easter egg-rolling on the White House grounds.
For days before the “ Fourteenth,†mysterious trips are made to
the stores. Troops of very litle men and women flock into the dining
room after dinner with lovely paper, ribbons, cards, cupids, heads, and
mucilage. The “ darlingest girls,†the “sweetest cupids and doves,â€
for five vents! “ Reg-u-lar beauties†for seven! And fora cent dear
little ones can be bought for Baby Jack, or Emily, or Frank.
Pasting, cutting, planning, and chatting !
Such marvels of envelopes, big and little, cut out of white paper!
Fringed ribbons, sachet powder, and bunches of violets, made into
precious gifts.
From early morning until late bed-time this fun goes on. Grand-
father senators and society mamas, devoted aunties, and proud uncles
find time to direct “in an unknown hand†the funny, loving messages.
And then, when the day fairly sets in! Long before breakfast the
door-bell begins to ring. Then a loud rap on the kitchen door! Then
at the side-door, and at all the porches! What a rushing, scampering
and. running! Valentines are dropped mysteriously, and one catches a
glimpse of blue caps, short jackets, and very tricky boy faces.
Little Tom fairly rolled out of his white bed at six o’clock in the
morning once, when a messenger gave him a big envelope, within was
this verse written underneath a cupid:
TO TOM— FROM JENNIE.
“I send a song of love,
Sweet in every line.
Four-and-twenty kisses
In this valentine.
“OQ, mama!†shouted Tom, ‘Jennie has choosed me with most a
hundred kisses.â€
“
VALENTINE FROLICS. ;
In some neighborhoods a post-office box, marked “ Valentines†in
big red or white letters, is often nailed to a tree, or fastened to the
porch or gate, or put up somewhere in the court or area. It’s always
easy to find!
At noontime and after school, “two by two,’ or in rows, and
tribes, children slip up
and slyly drop valentines
into the box. They peep
and scream and run out
from behind lamp-posts,
tree-boxes, shrubs and
porches. Curls bob up
‘and down. Caps of
scarlet, brown and blue
pop out from a corner.
Long braids of hair, like
funny tails, fly past the
box. There are merry
shrieks of discovery:
“Run, run! I see you,
Tom! I know that was
Harold!â€
After dark the door
bell rings every minute.
The children conclude to
sit on the sofa in the
hall, so to“ jump quick†: ee eee
the next time. THE VALENTINE BOX.
With rosy cheeks,
and very shining eyes, the blessed babies tumble off to bed at last, hug-
ging their boxes full of valentines, sometimes twenty or thirty; and
after they are asleep, the bigger men and women look the missives
over with great fun and glee.
Margaret Spencer Delano.
DISC OVEREDSIN AMA LELDOSCORE:
VERY boy finds fun in his toys. Most boys find nothing more.
The boy I am to tell of, however, found much more than fun —
he found a fortune!
The way of it was this.
Wilberforce —I call him Wilberforce here, because that was not
his name. The fact is, I am telling this story without his permission,
so it would not do to call him by his real name.
Most boys spend their pennies for peanuts, or peppermints — Wil-
berforce spent his for pencils — lead pencils.
A lead pencil would last Will about a day. He usually a to
get another the next.
One night his mother turned his pockets inside out (mothers some-
times do that), and she found seven pencil stubs in his trousers pockets
and eleven in his jacket pockets.
Now this was not because Will was so wasteful, but because he was
so industrious. Will was a great worker. He worked just as he
played — like a little steam engine.
Will was always drawing something with these pencils — squares,
diamonds, circles, scrolls— then combinations of these forms into de-
signs, like those in the carpets and wall papers.
One day — I think it was St. Valentine’s Day — though how Santa
happened to be six weeks late I can’t now say —he had a present
of a kaleidoscope.
I wish you could have seen the smile that spread over his face
when he held the cylinder to his eye and turned it slowly. Idid. I
shall never forget it. Will will never forget it either!
All that day he found fun in the toy. The second day he began
also to find the fortune.
As he slowly revolved ‘the cylinder, and the gorgeous bits of rainbow
glass in the end shifted about with a clink-chink-dink, he would
every now and then cry out, “O,â€â€™ or “O-o!†and sometimes
“ Q-o0-0!â€â€ That meant he saw a very curious or beautiful arrange-
Hh) ! it
|
Ui
|
|
Hi
f
1 Hl HH
NH
i nt
DISCOVERED IN A KALEIDOSCOPE.
ment in form or color. After every “O-oo-0!†he would drop the
kaleidoscope, out with his pencil, and make a drawing of the picture
he had just seen.
The third day, after every pencil sketch, he exclaimed, “O, if I
only had some water-colors.â€
Well, one morning, a few weeks after, he put his right foot into
its stocking with a vigorous shove. It came out as quickly. ‘Then his
little brown hand dove down into the stocking — down the long leg,
into the foot.
When the hand came out, it brought with it a box of water-colors
— another belated Christmas present !
That day Will not only made pencil outlines of the pictures he
saw in the kaleidoscope, but also colored them.
As the days and weeks went by, Will not only copied and colored
the kaleidoscope designs, but began also to make other designs, “out
of his head.†Sometimes these were parts of the kaleidoscope pictures
arranged in different ways, sometimes they were wholly new.
This went on all that winter, on Saturdays, and holidays, and in
the iong evenings — and all the next summer.
ne day in the fall, a gentleman called to see Will’s father on busi-
ness. This gentleman was a manufacturer of wall papers. He hap-
pened to see some of Will’s colored “ patterns,†as Will called them.
They interested him. THe took several away to his mills.
This visit was forgotten, till one day in the winter. It was a great
day for Will —and strange to say it was St. Valentine’s Day, just a year
from the day the kaleidoscope came.
That day a letter came to Will’s father from the manufacturer of
wall papers. In it the gentleman offered to give Will an art educa-
tion. The offer was gladly. accepted. And to-day Wilberforce is a
famous designer of wall papers, and carpets, and all sorts of beautiful
fabrics. j
I will not say how many hundreds of dollars his pencil and brush
bring him a year now. I will say that the number is large enough to
make true what I have said, at the start of this story, abcut the fortune
yne boy found in a kaleidoscope. CASEP:
[2r:
as
—
{ A ; ; e Se Me od Optdiataa ,
THE CHILDREN’S RECEPTION.
a —-
3
A PRETEY NEW=VEAR SS CUSTOM:
HRISTMAS everywhere is the children’s great holiday, but New-
Year’s in one city at least, Washington, is a very big frolic for
the little people.
While their mamas, dressed prettily, are receiving New-Year’s
calls in the drawing-room, and their papas are driving over the wide
avenues and handsome streets of the National Capital to pay at “high
noon†their respects to the President and his Cabinet, the little Wash-
ington Dorothys and Janesand Bessys and Rachels and Francescas
and Isabels are busily dressing up in their mama’s or big sister’s gowns.
The flying curls of gold or brown are pinned high up on the cun-
ning heads; and with “such splendid trains†and “such lovely lace,â€
in mama’s long gloves, and decked with mama’s “ pins,†they make
ready to “receive†their friends, Jack and Tom, Harry and Aleck.
These wee dames generally “receive†in groups. Mysteriously, all
over the city, about twelve or one o'clock, little sunny-faced girls are
A PRETTY NEW-YEAR’S CUSTOM.
bobbing m and out street-cars; or if papa can spare the coachman a
few minutes, before he himself starts out to make calls, the carriage
door flies open at some little girl’s house, and out hops Dorothy,
Rachel and Rose, perhaps with powder on their yellow hair, and tiny
black “patches†on their velvet cheeks and chins, just like great-
grandmother’s portrait! And exactly what is in that bag they carry,
nobody knows! :
A half-hour later, with much giggling, winking, blinking, curtsey-
ing and bowing, the “ receiving
ladies†hasten, pell-mell, into the
cosey library, or sitting-room,
given especially to them by mama
for their New-Year’s callers.
Just as mysteriously, the little
men of the city, the country, the
village, from the Riggs Hotel, the
Shoreham, or Willard’s, step into
the cable cars, or mama’s carriage,
or walk, dressed in their “ Sunday-
est†clothes, with canes and silk
hats, kid gloves, and a “ beauty
flower†which their mamas have
pinned in their button-holes, and
all with engraved or written cards eet ene ‘
LET’S SEE HOW YOU LOOK WITH YOUR
tucked away in their little side * mar on 1â€
pockets or card cases.
It is quite the fashion for the dozen or more little girls who “ re-
ceive†together, to bring their best dollies in their best clothes to sit
on the sofas and divans. The dolls are introduced, and luncheon is
served to them.
Often the “receiving parties†are to be seen chasing one another
out on the lawns, like butterflies in the sun, with shouts, gay laughter,
a wondrous holding up of trains and a very distracting dropping of
hairpins. For, after all, the pretty custom is only a frolic! and the.
wonderful “ladies and gentleman of fashion†are but happy, merry
LITTLE MANUEL AND THE JAGUAR.
children, and their wise mothers are very careful that the calls and
receptions shall be looked upon only as merry childhood’s fun. .
The little Washington people are very fond of calling on their eld-
ers, too, to wish them the “ compliments of the season.†A little blue-
eyed man of four called on all his mama’s best friends last year, and on
his dainty card was engraved: A Happy New-Year! From Fred L.
Sturtevant.
On many a- Washington New-Year’s has the warm sunshine been
‘made golden by the little héads of the children who, like flocks of gay-
plumaged birds, have flown in and out of my own home, with funny
gowns and hats, very spry little legs, and very merry voices and danc-
ing eyes, to wish us a Happy New-Year. “I do wis’ ’oo a Happy
New-Year!†said our small neighbor last year, little Blessing De Witt,
aged two, running across the way and joyously presenting us his card.
; Margaret Spencer.
LITTLE MANUEL AND THE JAGUAR.
(Great Cats I Have Met.)
WAS a young man when I met and slew my first
jaguar.
During my lifetime I have killed, or helped kill,
nine of these terrible creatures. Only one of them in
our country, in Texas; Texas is as far north as this
cat ever comes.
The jaguars are midway in size between the tiger
and leopard, two of the worst cats, but
they are much handsomer and quite as
dangerous. é
I was visiting on the coffee plantation of a Portuguese gentleman
in Brazil, about a hundred miles north of Rio Janerio. Senhor Rinaldo
was a great sportsman, and his little son Manuel, about twelve years
LITTLE MANUEL AND THE JAGUAR.
old, wasa real little expert with fishing-rod and fowling-piece. It was
needful there thit even a little boy should know how to use a gun,
for on every hance were dense vine-clad forests full of dangerous game.
THE JAGUAR’S PAW
IN REPOSE.
thick forest.
One hot forenoon, after an expedition on the
river for fish and wild fowl, Senhor Rinaldo de-
cided to row up stream still further, to lunch
on a piece of open ground kept clear of under-
brush and trees, a pleasant spot, round as a
fairy’s ring, covered with tropical flowers, and
-closely surrounded, even at the river-front, by
After the meal was over, Senhor Rinaldo and 1 dreamily smoked
and rested in the shade. But Manuel was on the wing. Gun in hand,
he flitted about among the dazzling flowers, picking such as he thought
might be new to his beautiful young mother whom, in a curiously
chivalrous way, he was wont to pet as if she had been a little sister.
By and by the youngster had wandered quite across the glade.
There he sat down to sort his flowers, in the edge of the forest. He
was directly opposite us. Not for a moment, here
so near us, did either of us imagine that any harm
could befall the boy. But suddenly we saw the
little fellow spring to his feet, drop his half-arranged
bouquet, throw up his gun, and fire at some object
by us unseen.
The shot was instantly followed by a snarling
scream. Through the powder smoke we saw a
prilliant streak of color dart in a curve from the
dark trees and descend upon the boy. As he went
down, he shouted: “O, papa! papa! the tiger! the
tiger!â€
Racing for life, we dashed across to the rescue.
I, being theyounger and more fleet of foot, got first
to the scene, dreading to find it one of horror. What
ACTION OF JAGUAR’S CLAW;
a, OPEN FOR A1TACK; 3B,
SHEATHED, THE MUS+
CLES CONTRACTED, THE
WEIGHT BORNE ON THE
TOES.
IT did see was this: Manuel stretched out alongside a decaying log,
and over the log with its jaws fastened upon the gun, which the young
LITTLE MANUEL AND THE JAGUAR.
hunter instinctively held before his face, sprawled the form of an
enormous jaguar.
The furious beast was bleeding from a wound in the back of its
“IT LET GO OF THE GUN AND SPRANG SAVAGELY AT MR.’?
neck where the charge of bird-shot, fired at close range, had cut a fur-
row. ‘This red torrent streaming down over the boy’s breast gave him
all the appearance of being mortally wounded. To pass over the one
LITTLE? MANUEL AND. HE†JAGUAR.
hundred yards of space had probably occupied me twelve seconds
and I knew the cat had had time to dispatch the boy. I supposed
my brave little friend was dead.
When I was about ten feet off, the jaguar let go of the gun and
sprang at me, his retracted lips show-
ing a full set of fangs, and his yellow-
green eyes glowing like live coals.
This was a foolish move, for a heavy
bullet from my gun entered the open
mouth and passed through his head. He
sank down at my feet, dead.
By this time, Senhor Rinaldo had come
up, and in a moment he had his boy in his
arms. Then, to our amazement, we found he had not had
even a scratch, thanks to the protecting log and to the gun-barrel
which the beast’s teeth had deeply indented. “Why, papa,†said he,
“Tm not a bit hurt, and mama’s flowers are all safe!â€
A monster he was in size — nearly ten feet long, counting in his short
tail — but he was also one of the most beautifully-furred creatures I
ever saw. The thick, lustrous fur was a rich fawn color, profusely dot-
ted by dark, glossy rosettes, and in the center of each of these spots
which ran along his sides was a smaller spot of light yellow. Across
his breast and along his spine were several unbroken black streaks.
There was great rejoicing on
the plantation, especially by Man-
uel’s mother. Though the jaguar
will not openly attack a man face
to face, he will skulk for miles on
the track of a person and at the
first good chance make a spring,
and he will attack and kill children in bright sunlight.
Senhor Rinaldo’s Indians told me that the forests were
so thick and dark the beasts wandered at all hours for prey. Monkeys
were their favorite food, but they visited the plantations and destroyed
colts, calves and even full-grown horses. W. Thomson.
DOLLY'S
PLAIN NIGHTGOWN,
where the parts are to join. Also mark
all the “notches†and “ crosses; †unless
you do this you cannot follow the direc-
tions for making.
“DI EAMING (DIRESSES:?
2
PLAIN Mother Hubbard is the easiest
nightgown to make, and partly-worn
cambric is the best cloth, for it is easy to sew.
If new, wash and iron it, as this keeps the
gown from shrinking, and makes the sewing
less hard.
The best way, as dolls differ in size and
shape, is to draw patterns by looking at the
diagrams, as nearly as the size of your doll
as you can, and then try them against her,
before cutting the cloth. If you measure her
height, and the length of her arm before you
begin, you will soon be able to get some good
patterns by looking at the shape of the 7ia-.
grams. After you get a good pattern, mark
it with all the letters on the diagram, as
they show just
For the plain gown, cut out the two
yoke-fronts first. Baste hems at dotted
lines. Cut the yoke-back, laying the
edge marked “back fold†on a fold of SLEEVE
the goods. Baste shoulder seams a, b.
Baste under-arm seams c, d. Now try
the yoke on dolly.
When just right,
front hems and all, sew the seams by DIAGRAM FOR PLAIN NIGHTGOWN.
fine running, then overcast them. Always overcast seams. Next do
the front hems.
Now measure a straight piece of the goods from bottom of yoke to
DOLEVES SED REANMING DRESSES
dolly’s feet, and allow for a good hem, and the seam at yoke. Tear
off a piece this depth and twice as wide as the depth after bottom hem
is turned. This makes the skirt. Hem it. Gather the top, half on
one thread, half on another. Put the center exactly on center of
yoke-back. Then baste yoke and skirt together, and sew a firm
backstitch seam,
leaving a half inch RAMS Sex
diac eh Raney
Nicntcow,
of left side of skirt
to turn over in a
hem. Hem the
other side onto it
along the row of
stitches to close the
skirt up nearly as
far as the waist-line.
Hem the right-hand
side of the opening
ee
Pons...
YOKE
(HaLF FRONT)
ARMHOLE
(Have Back)
as narrow as you 3
9
can. 2
Face the neck - g
ith : Oy By COLLAR z
with a very narrow zi (eave)
bias piece, and trim
it with a frill of lace
overhanded on.
Put two or three tiniest buttons and button-holes on fronts of yoke.
The sleeves are plain puffed ones. Seam them up, gather at wrist
so they will slip easily over dolly’s hand, and overhand narrow lace on
ina frill. Gather sleeve-tops between the notches and baste in so the
seam comes ate. The gathers go from there over the shoulder to a
little back of the shoulder seam. If right, when tried on, seam with
backstitching.
The fancy nightgown has a yoke rounded in the back and slightly
pointed in front. The skirt piece is shaped like the diagram, then
gathered on both fronts tom and seamed to sloping edges of yoke.
The back has the stylish watteau pleat, made by laying two folds either
DOLEYES, “DREAMING DRESS ES.4
side the center of back. The skirt points, m and n, are fastened to
the yoke “ notches†front and back of shoulder seam ; this completes
the armhole. The sleeves are very full, and come only to the elbow,
where they are finished with wide lace frills.
The collar, shaped like dia-
gram, is cut whole, the “center
back †to come exactly at center of
yoke-back. It must be cut twice
the length around neck, and when
hemmed and edged with lace it
must be just the depth of back
of yoke. It is turned in at upper
edge and gathered, leaving a nar-
row frill close about Dolly’s throat.
Face the neck of yoke, then fasten
the collar to it.
Pink or blue ribbons tie this
dainty “dreaming dress†at the
throat, a button or two fastens
the yoke, and similar ribbons
caught under the watteau pleat, come gracefully around under the
arms and tie loosely in front. Annie Isabel Willis.
FANCY NIGHTGOWN, FRONT AND BACK.
el Omen AT:
and 9 had a falling-out.
I can’t say what it was all about.
One grew angry and said, “ Oh, fie,
You know you are worth three less than I!â€
The other cried, with a pout and frown,
“You're nothing but six turned upside down!â€
HI, L. Hudson.
JAPANESE. BLR TEA DAYS.
WAS born in Japan on the third of March, 1888, and, strange to
say, on the day celebrated by all the girls in Japan as their
birthday — they “ celebrate†by playing with dolls.
Japanese girls are so many years old on the third of March, even
if they were born in June or December or any other month.
On that day all the shops have dolls, and girls’ toys, and you can
buy toys then that you never see in
the Japanese shops any other time in
the year.
Some Japanese girls.possess dollies
that their great-grandmothers played
with.
They are allowed to play with the
dolls only three days; then the dolls
are laid by until another year, so of
course they last a long time.
Nearly all Japanese children love
best to play out-of-doors with real
things.
Japanese boys have their birthdays
on the second of May.
On that day all the shops have soldiers and swords, and all the toys
boys like; and at each house where there is a boy a large bamboo
pole is raised like a flag-staff, and if there is one boy in that house one
fish is floated in the air ; if two, two fish. Some poles have six or seven
“BESSIE IN JAPAN.
THE THIRD OF MARCH IN JAPAN.
PHE BLOSSOM. OF THES POOR.
fish of different sizes floating from the staff. On May second every
year all the towns and villages in Japan look like fish ponds upside
down. Bessie Drummon.
Pie SeOSSOM. OF THE BOOK:
ITH weary toil and pressing want
My childhood’s days were sad ;
One little red geranium
Made half the joy I had.
Perched on our narrow window-ledge,
Its green leaves never knew
The glad whirl of the summer wind,
The soft kiss of the dew.
But tenderly I placed it where
The light shone through the pane,
And held it in my little hands,
Far out, to catch the rain.
And when around the creaking house
Loud beat the wintry storm,
I wrapt it in my only shawl,
And kept it safe and warm.
And fair and strong it grew; it seemed
To my admiring eyes
To be less flower than messenger —
A guest from Paradise.
And when, at last, its scarlet flower
Lit up our dreary room,
My heart was full of joy ; I shared
The brightness of its bloom ;
And I forgot that we were poor,
Forgot cur lives were rough ;
PEELE MB EOS SOMEOLE VERE POOR:
To own my red geranium
Seemed happiness enough !
O, blossom of the lowly home !
O, treasure of the poor!
What tender memories in my heart
Have made its place secure!
y
=_
=
aA
=|"
———=
>>
=
TO CATCH THE RAIN.
Thrice dear because it came to me
When all my life was drear,
And preached upon my window-sill
The gospel of Good-Cheer!
Marian Douglas.
FEO Wie VS AV De VONs oD @saS:,
The Story of a Midnight Fire.
NV I was eight years old I spent a summer, as I often did,
with my three aunts and my uncle Amos at the old family
homestead.
At this time I was very fond of paper dolls, and had ninety of them.
They were kept in a large pasteboard box, and went with me every-
where. On rainy days [ used to sit in an attic room over the kitchen
and play with them and paint dresses for them from morning to night.
Sometimes they were all pupils, and I “kept school†with them.
Again, they were grouped into families, with the most extensive rela-
tionships. They all lad middle names and certain ages, which staid
the same always. This never struck me as being queer, though I
knew that I grew older from year to year. Cousins, uncles and aunts
were very plenty among them, and I knew just which were which.
Most of the dolls were home-made, though some were what we called
“boughten.†(I do not like that word now.) All of them had elabo-
rate wardrobes, which were kept in large envelopes. It required
all the powers I could muster to keep my doll-family in order, but
I enjoyed the hard work, for I loved my dolls as I did my best
friends.
One day in early September it was very cold and rainy, and we
had a fire in the dining-room for the first time that season. The fire
did not burn well at all. The chimney seemed to be stopped up, for
smoke would curl from every crack in the stove whenever a fresh
stick of wood was put in. All day it smoked more or less, and the
fire was allowed to go out before six o’clock.
I went to bed at eight, and the family retired at their usual time;
but I was waked up in the middle of the night by my Aunt Tessie,
who was shaking me and saying, “Get up! Get up! The house is
on fire!â€
I shall never forget how wild and white her face looked. The air
was blue with smoke. I jumped up as quickly as I could, and hurried
HOV. I"SAVED MY DOLLS.
on my clothes, getting everything on wrong-side out and back-side
before. Aunt Tessie tried to help me, but we were both shaking so
that we did not get on very well.
In three minutes we were down in the dining-room. In all the
confusion, one thought was uppermost in my mind—my dolls! I ran
to the cupboard where I kept them, and when I once had my large
doll-box in my arms I felt calmer.
While I was saving my precious dolls, Uncle Amos came rushing
in with an axe. There was a loud roaring noise in the chimney.
Aunt Caroline stood with her arms clutched together. She shook like
a willow in the wind.
“ W-what a-are y-you g-going to d-do, Amos?†she asked, with her
teeth chattering.
“JT am going to chop open the wall,†cried Uncle Amos excitedly.
“The fire’s in there! It’s probably been smouldering there all day.
We must get at it, or we can’t put it out.â€
He lifted the axe, and pretty soon he had a large piece of the
wainscoting out. Then what do you think happened? We did not
see leaping tongues of flame, as we had expected. Nothing of the
kind—only a vast flock of chimney swallows, which flew out and
circled around the room, in the greatest confusion, quite as scared as
we were.
It was they who had stopped up the great chimney and whose
excited swarming there had made the roaring noise. They did not
like to have the fire built, though they made no noise during the
day.
While the rest were driving out the swallows, I dropped into a
chair with my precious box. There I fell asleep. My Aunt Sylvia
woke me. My heart stood still as ] heard her say, “ Wake up, Katie!
We're all going to bed again. Bless me, what has the child got! She
is hugging the box of macaroni! She must have thought it was her
box of dolls!â€
I shuddered for weeks to think what if there had been a fire, and J
had saved only the box of macaroni!
Kate Upson Clark.
AS Jb BAC AON
(Great Cats | Have Met.)
ie
Anc-oce
Ny, J ,
HEAD, FRONT VIEW.
1843 I made a two hundred and fifty mile
muleback journey from the province of the
Rio de Janeiro to the Carandahy River, and
it occupied me, my two half-breed Indians
and my pack-mules, nearly three weeks.
There was not a foot of railway in Brazil
at that time.
a forest path.
Our road was little more than
It was on this trip I met a very rare cat,
such a cat as I had never before seen, and have never since — a cat,
indeed, whose existence is a subject of doubt. to many naturalists.
One day we came to a
small, sluggish river, only
about forty feet wide, but
too deep for wading. We
would have to swim
across. But as there were
a number of big alliga-
tors lazily floating about
within sight it seemed to
me rather a risky pro-
ceeding.
I concluded to take
time for a cold lunch and
to consider the chances.
While we were sitting
in the shade, about thirty
yards away from the
a
Up
ig
Aagyg
HUNTING,
water’s edge, silently eating, there suddenly waddled into view from
the undergrowth on the opposite side of the stream a big capybara,
a water-hog.
Just as it was sliding down its well-worn runway into
*A JET-BLACK LION.â€
“BOUNDED HIGH IN THE AIR.â€â€™
the water, there descended upon it, like a thunderbolt, from an over:
arching mimosa-tree, a jet-black beast killing it in a second.
With a gurgling scream of triumph, which somehow seemed
familiar to me, the black creature stretched himself beside the capy-
bara, to lap the hot blood from its torn throat. What could this new
animal be ?
“A JET-BLACK LION.â€
My Indians would have fired at once, but anxious to make sure of
the strange game, I motioned them to drop their clumsy flintlocks, and
took very careful aim with my rifle. The capybara’s body shielded
“ UTTERED AN APPALLING
HUMAN-LIKE SHRIEK.â€
the black head, and I had to fire at the heart,
though I knew that even with that organ pierced
through and through the beast might struggle
far enough away to effectually conceal himself
in the dense bushes.
My bullet struck just back of the shoulder.
The astonished creature uttered an appalling
human-like shriek, bounded high in the air, rolled
over once, and then disappeared into the scrub.
I ordered an instant crossing. We mounted and
took the water abreast, each of us leading a pack-
mule. With our six animals we made so big an
array, and splashed so vigorously that the alliga-
tors thought it best not to attack us.
We scrambled out to dry land, and my Indians dismounted and
crawled off into the thicket. Presently I heard a chorus of exultant
cries, and in a few minutes they
emerged, dragging what they
declared to be a “ black lion,â€
though they both confessed they
had never before heard of, nor
seen, such a thing! Still, it
was a “black lion,†they said.
For awhile I was sorely puz-
zled what to make of my prize.
A cat it unmistakably was —
but of what species ?
The whole head, back and
sides, and even the tail, were
AT BAY.
glossy black, while the throat, belly, and inner surfaces of the legs
were shaded off to a stone-gray.
I measured it carefully. The meas-
ures very closely corresponded with the well-remembered measurements
PACTS MRES OLE.
of a North American “ panther †to which I narrowly escaped falling
a victim when I was a nine-year-old boy, and which was the only wild
puma I had ever seen up to this time.
The teeth, the claws, the shape of its
head, the “set†of its ears, were like
those of the Canadian cat.
My Indians were right! All native
Brazilians call the tawny-gray puma a
“lion,†and the feline I had just slain
was undoubtedly a black puma. Of this
my own examination convinced me,
and afterwards an aged Indian hunter
told me that he had himself once shot
“a black lion.â€
HEAD, FRONT VIEW.
Whether this rare cat is a permanent variety of its species, or
merely an occasional freak of nature, I have never been able to learn.
W. Thompson.
JNCKES RESOLVE:
‘¢ +-¥ I were the king of a country as wide
As the sky on a bright summer day,â€
Said Jack, with a nod, as he hunted about
In a wearied-to-death sort of way,
“And my wealth and my power were limitless quite,
To do just the thing I might choose,
Do you know what I’d get with the gold that I had ? —
How that wonderful power I’d use ?
I would give the last cent that I had in the world,
And I'd add my crown to the cost,
For a pencil,†said he — then he paused, with a smile —
“For a pencil that couldn’t get lost !â€
Everard Jack Appleton,
WNT Re OMY Teka S:
HE world was once believed to be a great ash tree: Beneath one
of its roots lay a whole country peopled by giants, even the
aimils being of such gigantic size that a mosquito would be larger
than one of our ostriches and a squirrel would be about the size of a
very large elephant. Of course the tree had to be large and strong
enough to hold such birds and squirrels, and the children were never
little, even when babies. Such was the belief of Norsemen. In this
country of the giants lived the Father of Winter. His breath was so
icy that everything froze before him as he walked; he wore a great
cloak made of eagle’s feathers, and if he but moved an arm cold winds
rushed out and shook the great ash-tree in every limb. As the cold
increased in the winter of the north country, the people told each
other wilder and wilder stories, and one long, dark night some merry
boy or girl made up a story of a wolf in the giants’ country that was
so large he had swallowed the sun! Another said somebody would
surely catch the wolf and take the sun away from him.
“Who could run fast enough to catch that wolf ?â€
“T,†said Vidas, “I have magic boots.â€
“Where did you get magic boots ?â€
“ They were made of all the bits of leather pared and cut from the
heels and toes of all the shoes ever made,†answered Vidas, and away
he strode after the giant Fenris wolf. And he caught him, too, and
made him open his mouth and give up the sun, and all the children
shouted for joy when they saw Vidas hang the sun up in the sky again.
Other children told stories about the snow, saying a most beautiful
woman with eyes like sapphires and footsteps soft and silent came in
the night and wrapped the earth in a white mantle as a mother wraps
her baby in its blanket of wool. There are children to-day who shout
joyfully, “Frau Hulda has been here!†when they look out in the
morning and find the earth covered with snow since they went up to
bed. Last winter a little boy called to me in tones of delight: “See!
A QUEER CREATURE.
see! the twinkle stars are falling!†He had caught some star-shaped
snow crystals on his mitten.
The story of the Wolf and the Sun is one of the oldest stories
known and is a hundred times prettier than a hundred others that
have grown out of it. In telling you these many old, old stories of
sun, moon and stars, I have taken the greatest care to give you the best
ever told; and as you read and re-read them you will see that whether
they grew up among Greeks or Hindus, Norse or Arabs, every one
was stamped with a most beautiful, heaven-made feeling which finds
an answering thought in the heart of every child. They are part
of the world’s old story, out of which all good stories grow, the story
of love which makes gods and giants, fairies and children, men and
women forget themselves in doing for others.
Sara E, Wiltse
A OUERER- CREATURE:
F ever there was a queer creature the crabis one. It always moves
sideways. Its two little hind legs are flat and broad like paddles,
and are called “swimmers.†The crab has eight other legs. The two
front legs have each a pair of nippers, with which it catches its food.
Crabs are caught with long-handled nets. In “casting†froma
boat, a piece of meat is tied toa string; ard with a sinker attached
the bait goes to the bottom.
When the string pulls hard the fisherman pulls it up with the crab
hanging to the bait, until near the surface of the water, then gently
pushes the net under the crab and lands it in the boat.
The baby crabs are very small and very queer looking with their
long horns.
When a crab has grown all it can in its shell, it crawls away into
some retired place away from its enemies. A new shell grows, and
the upper shell loosens so that gradually the crab draws itself out of
the old shell. The new shell soon gets hard enough to be a strong
house for it once more. Soft crabs are a dainty food.
THE WINDOW.
HEN you first wake in the morning, after kissing papa and
mama which way do you look? Nearly always toward the
window, I am sure. Sometimes in winter the window shows you many
beautiful pictures on it, as if it could not wait for you to come and
look through it to see what is outside.
The frost makes many a fine drawing of mountains and castles,
trees, flowers and ferns upon the glass.
In the illustration you see how you can make windows with your
hands, and you will have great pleasure in peeping through the sash
and telling stories of what you see. Sometimes our eyes are called
the windows of our souls, and I am sure when you look in mama’s eyes
you will see a light more beautiful than that of the sun from the win-
dow of your room. And now I am going to tell you something very
wonderful about: what may be seen in these eye-windows.
If a little boy with frowning brow and unhappy mouth looks deep
into mama’s loving eyes, what do you think he will see? Just a
frowning, unhappy little boy, no matter how much mama may wish
him to see a happy one, It can be no other way.
Smile and look into the eye-window and you see a smiling face.
Tt is very much that way with every kind of window. The sun
may shine into the clearest window that ever lighted a pretty room,
but if you look through that window with your feelings all clouded
and cross you cannot see the sunlight as the beautiful thing it is to
the child who is in a pleasant temper.
So we really make our windows what we will. We may have them
daintily traced with fairy-like pictures of beautiful scenery, like our
house windows in a frosty winter morning, or we may see in them the
glowing colors of the most lovely church window, or they may be so
clear and unspotted that there seems nothing between our souls and
the ever-near Soul of all Love. If you keep your soul like that, you
- will know the meaning of the windows and all you see through them,
from stars in the sky to snowflakes on the sill, S, E. Wiltse.
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WINDOWS.
HIS is the way the orange grows,
The orange grows,
Out in the sun by the wall:
First there’s a dear little, white little bud,
(O, why is the tree so tall? )
First there’s a dear little, white little bud,
Then there’s a dear little flower
That smells and smells, as it swells and swells,
Growing bigger every hour ;
Then bye and bye — Yes, bye and bye —
There’s a funny hard green ball,
Too small to eat, too young to be sweet,
That hangs on the tree by the wall.
This is the way that the funny ball,
The funny ball,
Grows to be large and round:
Tt hangs a-swing by a soft stem-string,
(We wish it would drop to the ground ! )
Tt hangs a-swing by a soft stem-string,
On the tree with thick leaves bright,
While it swells and swells, as it smells and smells
As if surely fit to bite.
Then hye and bye — Yes, bye and bye —
We hear a dropping sound !
And there it lies, before our eyes,
Yellow, and big, and round.
Estelle Thomson.
a
* ap ee
ee At FROCK & BATHEDORE.
JAPANESE GIRLS PLAYING BATTLEDOR: AND SHUTTLECOCK,
A RED APPLE:
T was a beautiful apple. It looked as if it had been dipped in the
sunrise. And a tree full of red apples — what 2 sight! So Amy
Davis thought when she went to visit her grandparents. Alas, the
the tree was not in their garden, but stood plump and ruddy on Squire
Drake’s grounds.
How, then, did Amy get the apple? Listen:
“There, Amy,†said her grandmother the forenoon of the day she
came, “is a nice great red apple. Our neighbor, old Squire Drake,
brought it in this morning, to show what kind of fruit the tree was
growing. He was here before you came. T saved it for you.â€
“ You are ever so kind, but grandma, hadn’t you better keep it,
please ?â€â€™
“No, L saved it for you, dear. Youwill not get another. I would
like to see Squire Drake give a basket of apples right out for once, but
he does not throw his apples round.â€
Squire Drake throw his apples round! The idea! He did not do
any. throwing, especially into a neighbor’s lap, but laid every apple
carefully away in a big barrel. Then he filled another barrel, all for
himself.
‘Amy went out into the garden, holding very carefully in her hand
this fine lump of red sunshine.
- There were two or three apple-trees in her grandmother’s garden.
Amy filled her apron with Rhode Island Greenings. But they were
hard winter apples. There was not one eatable apple among them.
- And Squire Drake’s red apple looked too pretty to eat! She stood
A RED APPLE.
and gazed over the fence at the bright tree, bearing a hundred of just
such red apples. .
Then she walked along, and was about to put her teeth into the
red apple — when what was it she saw ?
Somebody asleep as he leaned against the roadside fence under the
oak tree at the corner. How tired he looked, his head bowed, but
eee having such a restful nap,
the tired traveller !
‘He has no home, he
has been walking a long
way, he is hungry,â€
thought Amy. “Had I
not better give him my
apple?â€
But she wanted it so
much for Amy Drvis!
Finally, she thought she
would not be like Syuire
Drake, but would give
her treasure.
She went back to the
house, found a piece of
white paper and a lead
pencil, wrote on the
paper, “ For a Poor Oid
Mon,†and carefully
wrapping the red apple
in the white paper, tim-
idly, gently, laid her gift
in the old man’s lap. Then she softly tripped away.
About an hour later, after a pleasant walk, she was going into the
house, when she heard a strange voice in the kitchen, and stopped.
Somebody was speaking to Grandmother Davis. “You see, Mrs.
Davis, I was asleep — having dropped down here by the fence to en-
joy the fall sunshine. I found this apple and piece of paper, when I
SYA
ee
AMY GAZED AT 1HE BRIGHT TREE.
A RED. APPLE.
awoke, in my lap. It amused me very much. It touched me, too.
You say it is your little granddaughter’s handwriting. Are you sure
that it is, and that it is the apple I brought in here this morning?â€
“Yes,†said Mrs. Davis, “it is Amy’s writing, and the apple that I
gave her. I tell the apple by a whitish circle round the stem.â€
That night, at the tea-table, by little Amy’s plate stood a basket of
red apples.
A slip of paper lay on top.
On the slip was written, “ From a Poor Old Man,†and below this,
“ Neighbor Drake.â€
Edward A. Rand.
1. ‘‘Ler’s HAVE SOME FUN!†8. ‘HOW DO YOU LIKE IT?â€
2. A JOKE ON THE DOG 4. THE JOKE ON THE BOYS,
A DAY IN A TREE.
(Great Cats I Have Met.)
HILE in Brazil, I had one day a very in-
teresting adventure, which I shared with
two cats.
Thad left my Indians in camp, and was stroll-
ing alone through a partly-cleared portion of the
forest. Coming into an open glade, I saw a little
ahead a herd of white-lipped peccaries rooting
among the logs in search of lizards, small snakes,
beetles and other creeping things on which these curious hog-like
creatures feed.
Although I had not been long in the country, I had learned that
unless a safe place of refuge be at hand it is dangerous for any living
thing to meddle with these savage little beasts. But as they were the
first peccaries I had ever seen, I determined to stay and study them.
So I slung my rifle and softly climbed up into the notch of a low-spread-
ing tree where I could watch the comical tailless animals at my ease.
By and by, one of the herd — there were about a hundred — wand-
ered away from
therestandcame Jf
almost directly i
under my perch, ih
and began to root
up the ground
precisely like a domestic pig. While looking down on it, I saw two
slowly advancing lines of wave-like motion in the high grass be-
tween it and the forest's edge. I could not see what caused the
motions. Little by little the unseen objects drew nearer, and I almost
held my breath waiting to see what I should see. The lines of motion
were not long enough, nor wavy enough, to be made by snakes ; besides
I knew that the boa-constrictor, the only serpent likely to attack such
game, did not steal upon its prey in that manner.
HEAD OF PECCARY.
“pwoO SLOWLY ADVANCING LINES OF WAVE-LIKE MOTION.â€
MED AMIN, ALAnREE:
All at once, at last, two spotted forms bounded high above the
grass and descended on the peccary. With fierce cat-like growls they
tried to fix their teeth and claws in its bristly bark. But the peccary,
dropping on the ground, rolled over and over, squealing, and instantly
the whole herd came rushing up, and in one minute would have made
mince-meat of the rash cats if they had not scurried up a tree. This
tree stood about thirty feet from mine.
While the beasts were climbing the trunk, and even after they had
settled themselves among the branches,
IT could see them perfectly well, but I
could not guess what they were. I only
knew they were some kind of cat. At first
glance I had thought of ocelots, but they
were too small, not so beautiful, and not
spotted in the same way.
But my study was cut short. The herd
of peccaries had discovered my presence.
Perhaps connecting me with their four-
footed enemies, they surrounded both trees
and began to gnaw the trunks furiously, as
if bent on cutting them through. My curiosity had got me in a
pretty fix! I had not enough ammunition to shoot a quarter of the
herd. Iand their other treed game were close prisoners. We might
have to stay in our trees until we perished from thirst, or dropped
down among the beasts. To descend alive among the peccaries would
be certain death. Iwas not more thana mile from camp, and possibly
might have called my Indians by firing a rapid succession of shots, but
all the gold of Brazil would not tempt an Indian to attack a drove of
white-lipped peccaries. I had one hope: it was early morning and the
day was all before me. Perhaps the vicious little beasts might get
intolerably thirsty themselves after awhile and make off.
But until they did leave, I must sit in my tree and wait. And I
did wait, hours and hours; waited until the noonday sun blazed down
through my leafy screen; waited until I would have given all I had
for a pint of water — and still the savage peccaries kept up the siege. .
WHITE-LIPPED PECCARY.
A DAY IN A TREE.
‘rrmED!??
By the middle of the afternoon my thirst became intolerable. I
was inafrenzy. It seemed the only thing to do, to slaughter as many
of the besiegers as my ammunition would permit. Bringing my rifle
round I pointed it downward to fire. At that moment one old grizzled
peccary, evidently the leader, suddenly came out from the crowd and
A DAY IN A TREE.
moved off, uttering a series of squeaking grunts. He was instantly
followed by the whole herd. These signals were probably a call to
some woodland watering place, as they did not go in the direction of
the river.
The moment they were out of sight, thirsty as I was, I. turned my
attention to the two cats, now stretched lazily out on a limb and not
bothering themselves at all over
the turmoil they had raised. In a a
flash I had made sure of the larger one, &
but at the crack of my rifle its mate
leaped boldly out into space and, coming
down right side up, bounded away. -
I slid down from my roost and strip-
ped off the pelt of the slain cat in great
haste, fearing the peccaries might return
after drinking. The fur was pale yellow
above, marked by longitudinal lines of
dark patches. The lower parts were white,
also marked by rows of dark spots. But
in all other respects — shape of head, form
of body, teeth and claws, it was strikingly
like an ocelot.
I got safely back to camp with the
pelt, but the Indians could not name the
animal, and I felt I had found a creature
about as rare as any “jet-black lion.â€
Many years afterwards, in the city
of Calcutta, I happened to pick up an
illustrated English edition of a work on
natural history by a Spanish naturalist, Don Felix de Azora, who
had during his lifetime resided in Brazil. From this book I learned
that the cat which had so puzzled me, and the natives as well, was the
mitis, or chati.
“ITS MATE LEAPED.’?
W. Thompson.
A COUNTRY VACATION.
Â¥
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4
;
:
ie
&
iDAS LEWIS AN-De HER: “LIGHT.â€
A Visit with a famous Life-Saver.
T Newport, R. L., one September
day I stood on a little pier
calling across the water a very famous
name: “Ida Lewis! Ida Lewis!â€
In a few moments a woman came
out of the house on the rocks, and
down a ladder, got into a boat, and
soon was shaking hands with me. I
stepped into the boat and soon was
climbing up the same steps she had
come down. Before we went into
the house I admired her flower-gar-
den, the earth for which had come in
boats from the mainland; in her girl-
hood there had been but bare rocks.
Her father was keeper of Lime-
rock Lighthouse, and the girl had to learn to row and sail a boat like
a sailor, because when she went to school or was sent on errands, she
must go over the few hundred feet of water that lay between her rock,
in the harbor, and the mainland.
Since her father’s and mother’s death she lives here alone, except
for her pilot brother who comes home nights when he can ; when he
cannot, some friend comes to stay with her. When her brother is
home Sundays, she rows to the mainland and attends church.
Copyright, 1895, by Alpha Publishing Company. All rights reserved.
Frank H. Child, Newport, R. I. Photographer.
IDA LEWIS.
IDATLEW IS AND (HER LIGHT .7?
Ida had saved many lives before she was made Light-keeper; and
when fifteen years ago her paralyzed father could no longer tend the
“Light,†the place and salary was given to her with words of praise
for her courageous acts.
Her house on the rocks has six pretty furnished rooms. Her bed-
room is right opposite the “ Light,†so she can watch it all night Of
course she sleeps, but she must waken, and see that all is right, sev-
eral times.
She must light the “Light†at sunset, and change it for a freshly-
filled lamp at midnight, and put it out exactly at sunrise; and she
must write in a book each time, just the very second that she did this.
Also she must make a record how much wick and oil was burned!
The Light stands in a small cupboard looking out over the water.
It is only two or three steps above the hall-floor. Daytimes the lamp
wears a white linen cap, to keep off dust.
This famous Light is an ordinary kerosene lamp with a red glass
chimney, to make it cast a red light out tarcugh the windows of the
cone-shaped cupboard. There are looking-glass reflectors, just like
those seen behind lamps in village stores; and these and the window
panes through which the light is seen by the sailors, must be polished
daily with chamois skin, till not a speck of dimness can be found.
Shelves close by hold her lamp-scissors, her knife, kerosene can, and
lamp-cloths, and the ever-clean chamois. Her first duty is to clean
the lamp and polish her glasses in the morning, lest they should not
be ready at sunset, if she should be ill.
Ida was sixteen years old when she heard the first outcry of danger,
and saw four young men struggling in the water near by; jumping into
her boat, in a few moments she had “saved†the four drowning men.
This was in 1858; a few years later it was the turn of a Fort
Adains soldier to be saved; the newspapers noticed it, it was read, and
forgotten.
That winter she went out to pick up two struggling men and got
them into her boat with difficulty — then went back and looked for a
sheep they had lost overboard and rescued it as gladly as if it had
been human.
IDA LEWIS AND HER <“‘LIGHT.â€
The newspapers told this last story, and those who read, remem-
bered that it was the same Light-keeper’s daughter they had read
about before, and they began to call her “ the brave Ida Lewis,†“ the
Grace Darling of America.†Ida herself was thinking very little
about it, but was helping her father and mother daily like other good
girls the world never hears of.
But it seemed now as if “things kept happening,†In a few days
she once more, about daylight, heard cries; this time it was a man
whose boat had been wrecked in the night. Ida saved him just as he
was getting so weak he was ready to slip off the rock he had clung to
until he was almost frozen.
Jn 1869, her mother saw two soldiers clinging to a boat that was
upside down. Again Ida went to the rescue. This time it was a hard
battle both for her life and theirs; it was a fearful hour of fighting
waves and wind. But with the help of a very young brother she had
taken with her, she drew both men into her boat. In all, she has
saved, I think she told me, thirteen lives.
Once, she told me, she was feeling ill and getting ready for bed and
had her shoes off when the outcry came, but she did not stop for
shoes; she went as she was, and saved those in danger.
To-day, if the call came, Ida’s boat would go to the rescue as
promptly as when she made her first life-saving trip thirty-six years
ago! Keziah Shelton.
LIME ROCK LIGHTHOUSE, HOME OF IDA LEWIS,
“THEY PLUNGED DOWN THE LONG HILLS.â€
HOW DICK DROVE Pith, MAM-CO4CH:
Ei was very black, shining black: and he was very, very small,
for his ten years. Just who he was he used to tell the guests
at the big summer resort where he lived.
ss Ves: Little Dick Martin,’ he would say. My daddy’s Big ee
Martin, an’ he drives de mail-coach w’at you white fokes comes over
in f’'um de station. An’ I’s¢ his hossller.’ Then he would smile and
show the even rows of glistening white teeth that seemed to go back
to his ears, and bow his curly head and doff his big straw oa
HOW DICK DROVE THE MAIL-COACH.
With the mail-bags inside the great lumbering coach and the four
spirited horses dashing along in front, Big and Little Dick Martin
every day bowled along the long, hot road to the station, to and fro.
As Big Dick cracked the whip over the horses’ backs and whistled to
‘them, Little Dick watched how his father guided the team, and
thought of the time when he too should drive four horses, and stored
away every small trick and knack of the art in his round curly head.
And one hot, hot day, the chance came for Little Dick to use all
he had learned. They were spinning along over a smooth stretch,
talking together, when suddenly Big Dick began to rock to and fro in
his seat as if deathly sick. A moment later, even before Little Dick
could ask what was the matter, the lines fell on the horses’ backs, and
the big driver tumbled headlong into the road. There he lay in the
hot sun, motionless.
Little Dick dropped from the seat— his feet did not touch the
“boot†by many inches—and caught up the lines in both his strong
little hands and pulled the horses to a stop. After wrapping the lines
about the big brake as Big Dick always did when he left the team for
a moment, he climbed down and ran back to his father.
For a minute or more the poor little “hossller†knew not what to
do; then he stooped and put his own small arms and hands under the
big man’s arms, and he put all his strength into lifting him.
“Tse got t git him home,†he said to himself. Then, half lifting,
half dragging Big Dick along the road, he got him, somehow, to the
coach and inside. Ile made him as comfortable as he could with the
cushions. Closing the door he climbed back up to the driver’s seat. His
heart beat hard as he unwound the reins from the brake and sorted
them out between his fingers as he had -seen others do. Then, stand-
ing up with his little back braced against the seat, his feet well spread
~~ out on the bottom of the “boot,†Little Dick clucked to the horses,
and then they were off.
Of the drive over the hot, dusty road, Little Dick has not much
recollection. The whole affair seems like a dream to him now. Once
or twice he knows the big horses nearly forced him from his place as
they plunged down or tore up the long hills. More than once the
HOW DICK DROVE THE MAIL-COACH.
little darkey had to shut his eyes and bite his lip to keep up courage
and not let go. But Dickie Martin’s courage was bigger than his
body, and did not give way. Shoving hard at the brake to slow up
the coach every time it went down hill, guiding with his little hands
and arms the snorting, racing horses, he stuck to his post. On the
the coach plunged and dashed until the last bend in the road was
whirled around, and the springs came in view.
Bracing himself now for the final effort, Little Dick wrapped the
lines about his numb hands afresh. and took a firmer stand on the
“boot.†With all his might, he leaned back and pulled--and pulled
—and pulled!
The bridge over the big stream which flowed through the lawn
was only a few feet away, a bridge unsafe to gallop over. A moment,
and the leaders would be upon it. Would they feel and heed their
driver’s slowing signal? would they? Again the tug at the reins,
and they checked; the wheel horses checked; and asecond later the
coach rolled slowly over and up before the hotel office, where a crowd
was watching the little darkey in his desperate effort. A hundred
hands were ready to take him down, but Little Dick did not see them.
Unwrapping the reins from his fingers, he dropped the lines and
scrambled stiffly down.
“ Daddy’s sick inside!†he said as things began to grow black
about him. “Take him out, please, suh — he’s got one of dem spells.â€
Then he turned and leaned against one of the big wheels, faint,
but knowing he had done all he could.
Half an hour later the doctor came where he sat. ‘ Dicky,†said
he, “ your father is well enough to go over to your house now, but if
you had got him here ten minutes later he never would have gone.
You are a brave little chap.â€
From that day to this little Dick’s right to drive the coach has
never been questioned. Big Dick tells his passengers the story, and
ends with this assurance :
“You needn’t be ’fraid to ride in dis coach whilst dat boy is up hyere
wif me, gen’lemen, cause if J don’t take you fru all right he'll do it.â€
Lverard Jack Appleton.
MVe SERS EOIN: SELUINars
(Great Cats I Have Met.)
NCE upon a time, a thirst for adventure
led me to South Africa. After much
wandering I camped down in Matabele Land.
I had a transvaal wagon drawn by six oxen,
and six Matabele natives.
Tn those days lions were numerous in that
part of Africa, and my ambition was to shoot
one. So far, I had never got a fair sight of
a lion though we could hear them roaring
around us every night, and had to keep up
fires to prevent our men and cattle being
HEAD OF MALE LION, surprised by the prowlers; for the lion is
the most cunning, treacherous and sneaking
of the cat family. Sometimes he is bold, at other times cowardly.
It all depends upon the state of his stomach. After a heavy meal he
appears indifferent, if not actually magnanimous; but woe betide the
man or beast upon which he comes hungry! I have known a full
grown lion to run from a child in the dusk of evening, and the same
animal to charge next day upon a dozen well-armed men and carry off
one in broad daylight !
Two of my men, whom I called Tom and Joe, spoke a little En-
glish, and these two usually went with me when out on foot. One
day we three were hunting in the Molopo foothills, when Tom, who
had been scouting in advance, came softly back and whispered:
“Master, me see big tao (lion) go into hole in rocks.â€
After going a hundred yards or so through scattering trees and
bushes, we came to a great pile of rocks. On one side yawned a dark
opening about five feet high and four wide. That we had indeed
found a lion’s den, the rank feline odor proceeding from the hole, as
well as numerous bones lying around, furnished proof.
“Yes, Tom, there’salion in there. But how are we to get him?â€
MY FIRST LION HUNT.
‘We LOOKED A DEMON OF DESTRUCTIVE POWER.â€
« Wait till sun most down; then tao hungry, and come out.â€
This really seemed our only chance of getting a shot at the beast.
But our patience was tested scarcely twenty minutes.
I had sat down at one side of the opening. The two blacks were
MY FIRST LION HUNT.
carelessly standing a little in front. Suddenly, without having made
a sound, an enormous red-maned lion darted from the cave’s mouth,
reached the men in two bounds and bore both to the ground. Either
through fright, or from being stunned, neither of the fellows uttered a
ery. They lay asif dead. The lion, lashing his long tufted tail and
growling, stood over them, as though undecided which to finish first.
~He was not more than fifteen yards from me and I had all the
guns, but this was the first lion I had ever encountered, and I was ner-
vous. The bullet I fired at the back of the huge uplifted head struck
too low. Roaring, he turned from the prostrate blacks and came at
me; not leaping as before, but in a sort of crouching run.
It was an appalling sight. With ears laid back, bristling hair,
flaming eyes and exposed fangs, he looked with his sweeping mane a
demon of destructive power, and I had short time to reflect that if my
next shot did not kill him I should be torn to pieces, when he suddenly
stopped within ten feet of me and crouched lower still, and I had my
chance. Quick as lightning, I aimed between the cruel eyes and
touched the trigger. A thunderbolt could not have caused a more in-
stantaneous death. When
shot squarely through the
brain, the largest lon or
tiger is as easily killed as
a rabbit.
With a shout I looked
across to where Tom and
Joe had lain. Being but
slightly bruised, on seeing
Piety ean my peril, both had taken
to the nearest trees. Now
seeing the dread “ tao†dead, came down again.
But our dangerous sport was only beginning; I had just reloaded,
when in the distance we heard that’ peculiar sighing moan which pre-
cedes a lion’s roar, and then the hoarse, rumbling roar itself.
“ She-tao come!†exclaimed Joe, his swarthy face almost pale.
“Stand by me, you cowards,’ I commanded, putting a rifle in the
MY FIRST LION HUNT.
hands of each. “Fire together when I give the word! If you run
Pll shoot you both!â€
When not frightened they were good shots, and believing my
threats they braced up. I had hardly finished speaking when a large
lioness, clearing
the high bushes,
came bounding to-
ward us. “Now,
Fire!†I shouted Sy
as she alighted EE:
within twelve
feet of us and
crouched for the final spring. The three guns
cracked together and every bullet told. Tom and
Joe went half-crazy, and I was not much Jess
jubilant over this good termination of my first
lion hunt. - V
But was it terminated? Evidently my men
thought not. While I was reloading, they crawled
into the den with a supply of matches. Presently, mingled with their
exultant cries, I heard a sound of whining and meowings.. In a min-
ute or two the grinning blacks came out, bringing a pair of beautiful
cubs, not higher, but much heavier and longer than large house cats.
The pretty little creatures, too, spit and snarled, scratched, bit and
meowed exactly as does an enraged tabby, though more vigorously.
We were obliged to tie their feet together and muffle their heads in
order to carry them away.
I had never before seen lion-cubs and was surprised to find their
soft fawn-tinted coats marked by dark stripes like those of an adult
tiger. These lines, my Matabeles said, always disappeared when the
youngsters reached the age of six months.
We tried hard to Teen the valuable kittens alive, but unable to get:
milk, we did not succeed. The interesting little creatures would not
eat any kind of flesh, nor even lap the warm blood of freshly-killed
game, and both died before the end of the week. = W. Thomson.
STEALING ON ITS PREY.
Nie MYRTLE read to the children this afternoon an Account
sent by her married cousin, Mrs. Pingry. Mrs. Pingry wrote:
“T spell it with a big A, just for fun, because it is of so small a matter,
but it was a sunshiny matter for it caused some smiling, and it brought
out real kindness from several persons.
“Mr. Pingry goes in on the 8.17 train and attends to his furnace
the last thing, allowing twelve minutes to reach the station. When
about half-way there, yesterday, it occurred to him that he forgot to
shut the drafts. Just then he met Jerry Snow, the man at the Binney
place, and asked him to please call round our way, and ask for Mrs.
Pingry, and say Mr. Pingry had left the drafts open. Jerry said he
would after going to the post-office, but Mr. Pingry, fearing Jerry
might forget, called hastily at the door of Madam Morey, an elderly
woman who does plain sewing, and said he forgot to shut the furnace
drafts; if she should see a boy passing would she ask him to call at _
our door, and ask for Mrs. Pingry, and tell her? Madam said she
would be on the lookout for a boy, while doing her baking.
“Now as Mr. Pingry was hurrying on, it came to him that he had
not yet made a sure thing of it, and at that moment he saw the woman
who does chore-work at the Binney’s, coming by a path across the
field. He met her at the fence, and asked if she would go around by
our house and say to Mrs. Pingry that Mr. Pingry had left the drafts
all open. She agreed, and Mr. Pingry ran to his train, a happy man.
“Now Madam Morey felt anxious about the furnace, and stepped
often to the window, and at last spied a small boy with a sled, and
finding he knew where we live, told him Mr. Pingry went away and
forgot to shut the furnace Sea and wished to send back word;
THE SUNSHINE CORNER.
and would the boy coast down that way and tell Mrs. Pingry? The
boy promised, and coasted down the hill.
“Madam Morey still felt uneasy about the furnace, and not being
sure the boy would do the errand kept on the watch for another; and
when the banana-man stopped and made signs at her window ‘ would
she buy?’ she wrote a few words on a bit of brown paper and went
with him far enough to point out the house and made signs, ‘would he
leave the paper there?’ He made signs ‘ yes?’ and passed on.
“ Now at about half-past eight, our front doorbell rang and I heard
acall forme. I hurried down, and received the chore-woman’s mes-
sage and acted upon it at once.
“ Sometime afterwards, as I was in the back-chamber, I heard voices
outside and saw six or eight small boys trying to pull their sleds over
a fence, and wondered how they happened to be coasting in such a
place. Presently I heard a commotion on the other side and went to
the front windows. All the sleds were drawn up near the steps, and
the small boys were stamping around like an army come to take the
house. Seeing me they all shouted something at me. They seemed
so terribly in earnest, and came in such a strange way, that I flew
down, sure something dreadful had happened — perhaps Willy was
drowned! and I began to tremble. At sight of me at the door they
all shouted again, but I did not understand. I caught hold of the big.
gest boy and pulled him inside, and said to him, in a low, tremulous
voice, ‘Tell me! Whatisit?’ He answered, in a bashful way, ‘ Mr,
Pingry said he left the drafts open. ‘Thank youall!’ I said.
“Next, the banana-man, bobbing his head, and making signs,
though I shook my head ¢ no.’ Finally up came Bridget with a slip of
brown paper having written on it, but no name signed: ‘ Your fur-
nace drafts are open.’ Such a shout as went up from us!
“Grand company coming, I guess! exclaimed my sister, a short
time afterwards. Sure enough there stood a carriage and span. Jerry
Snow, it seems, forgot our furnace until he went to look at his own.
He was then just about to take Mrs. Binney out for an airing. He
mentioned it to her and she had him drive round with the message.
“ By this time we were ready to go off, explode, shout, giggle, at
Ad SEUMBER SONG.
the approach o. any one; and when Madam Morey stepped up on our
piazza we bent ourselves double with laughter, and my sister went
down upon the floor all in a heap, saying, ‘Do — you — suppose —
she — comes — for that ?’
“Even so. She had worried, thinking the hot pipes might heat
the woodwork, and half-expected to hear the cry of ‘fire!’ and bells
ringing, and could not sit still in her chair, and in the goodness of her
heart she left her work and came all the way over!
“Oh! we had fun with Mr. Pingry that evening. But now, my
dear Miss Myrtle, the funniest part of all was that Mr. Pingry did not
forget to shut the drafts!†Miss Fillissy-Follissy.
A SLUMBER SONG.
Words by M. H. Music by F. E..8.
Softly throughout, but well accented.
1. Sleep, ohsleep, my lambs a-wea - ry! Shin-ingsun-beamsall are o'er;
2. Glid - ing, glid - ing to the mu - sic Of a ten - der, tender lulla-by
8. Soft - ly to the swaying grass-es Fall the gra-cious drops of dew;
ee a ees OPK ————
| : { | | en |
eS a ity iaariey! at leaarat 7 a i— aah
56-1 ee = see eto 3s 2
—ire . qo =| : wae
: — |
U ’
"Tis the time whenlit - tle children Sail a- way to slum-ber shore.
Gent - ly drift the lads and lasses When the stars come out on high.
Yet more soft -ly at the gloaming Close aa: eyes of blue.
al
— * Een ae |= el
es a are i= Se a4 = ei
: =
-
= SS
oe Te
ee ae ees
e
ee
WRAPS AND: “CAPS: FOR DOLLY.
F there is one thing more than another
that a doll needs it is wraps which she
can wear any time inthe year. Every doll
should possess a short sacque with a jaunty
cap to match, for warm winter days, cold
spring and fall days, and cool summer days.
They are not hard to make.
The sacque can be dark-colored flannel
or cloth, of pieces left from a big sister’s
gown, perhaps. It is not lined, but the
seams are neatly pressed open and cut in
little notches so they will not ravel.
After cutting patterns shaped like the
pieces of the sacque diagram and about the
size of the doll, cut two backs and two
DOLLY’s sHorT sacque axp car. {ronts of the cloth, and baste back, shoulder
and under-arm seams, and try the garment
on dolly. After fitting it to her, sew the seams, and hem the fronts
and bottom with small light “catch†stitches. Then do the “ pressing.â€
Next cut the capes. Cut “true,†with sharp scissors, so the edges
will not look frayed or ragged. The capes are not to be hemmed.
Cut the second cape exactly like the first, only a half-inch shorter.
Baste them together at the neck.
Then cut the collar and sew it to the sacque, the center, marked
“fold,†coming exactly at the center back-seam. Now fasten the
capes under the collar exactly as they are to go. Then sew them
down flat, just over the collar seam.
Next seam and hem the sleeves. Then gather the large rounding
top between the notches. Place seam at notch in sacque-front, and
sew in. .
Now try sacque on dolly again and pin the front hems so that they
lap enough to be “double-breasted.†Put on one set of dark pearl
WRAPS AND CAPS FOR DOLLY.
buttons and make button-holes to match. Then sew the second set
of buttons back of button-holes. Two buttons can also be put on at
waist line in center of back, and two on each sleeve.
Tam-o’-shanter Cap. Cut out of soft silk, cloth or velvet, a bias
strip two inches wide, and long enough to fit around the doll’s head
after it is twisted in a roll. To get the right measure, pass the roll
around just back of the bang down to the center of the back of the
head, as that is where the cap will rest when worn.
Now cut out a circular piece which will measure across its cen-
ter from one to two
inches less than the
length of twisted
piece.
Sew ends of
twisted piece to-
gether. Gather cir-
cular piece until its
edge will fit the
twisted piece. Then
sew it on, catching
the stitches through
the twisted folds so
they will not show.
A quill may be fast-
ened at one side, or
one or two soft
chicken feathers.
A Long Mother Hubbard Cloak may be made by following the
pattern of the plain nightgown in the February article, only leaving the
fronts open, each side being hemmed. It is pretty.made of white flan-
nel. Put a wide band, like a cuff, on the sleeves.
Finish the neck with a collar like that on the short sacque, and
fasten on two or three capes like the sacque capes. Let the longest
cape quite cover the yoke. Fasten them on a little bit back from
either side of the front opening so they will flare jauntily off toward
Siseve A Svwrk
Sacque 7
Py
emdaseg ie aryyog Ye WH
(Apo gto one)
Short Sacque
(rait aA (ront )
Diagrams Yor
Port Dacque
alse tor yart ot
Yong Choa
Cape A Snort Sucque
(ax & Long Cloak)
VARA SS ANID GAPS SI ROR “Dp OE Ya
the shoulders. The “stylishness†of the cloak depends on the flare
of the little capes. Fasten yoke with buttons.
A Snuy Little Tight Cap, with broad strings, goes with the Mother
MOTHER HUBBARD CLOAK AND
TIGHT-FITTING CAP.
Fasten the gathers to exactly fit the crown-
piece, then sew the strip and crown-piece to-
gether. A lining of the stuff should be put in.
Hubbard cloak. Measure over top of dolly’s
head, from just below the ears. Cut a pat-
tern that length, in the shape of diagram,
making the width across narrow part such
that the length will be three and a half
times that. The distance between a b and
ed must be about a third the width across
narrow part.
Seamab and cd together. Gather along
the curve between b and ec. Try on, and
draw the gathers in until the cap fits dolly’s
head snugly.
Then cut a cir-
cular crown piece
large enough to fill
in the open circle
left at back of head,
allowing for seams.
BACK OF CAP AND CAPES,
The edge of the cap can be left plain or a
ruche of lace inserted. Tie the broad strings of ribbon in a jaunty
bow when worn. The cap can be made of silk, velvet or cloth.
Annie Isabel Willis.
Close: fitting Cap
(front)
2
Yj fais
if NCE
PRI
AUGH
n. |
ae
GoodkKk
nome @
ing or
HERE is a King in Nonsense Land
Whose castle, neither tall nor grand,
Is gaily perched upon a hill
Behind the town of Jolliville.
A spangled jester lets you in—
THE JESTER. Whoever calls on good King Grin.
His height in feet is only four ;
Around his waist is one foot more ;
His mouth is wide; his eyes are twinkles
Half hidden in a net of wrinkles ;
His beard is red; his hair is thin —
In fact, quite bald is good King Grin. “ QuITE BALD.â€
His family — beneath the sur
You never saw a happier one:
The good Queen Smile, so fair to see;
Prince Laugh, the heir-apparent he ;
And Princess Giggle’s baby din —
prinonss ciccix. Is life and joy to good King Grin.
GOOD KING GRIN.
Three ministers of state has he:
Prime Minister is Pleasantry ;
In Foreign Matters, great and small,
Good-Nature ministers to all;
And Cheerfulness, when bills come in,
Is Treasurer to good King Grin.
His courser is a palfry stout,
And when the good king rides about,
The very babies crow for joy:
From peasant-man and peasant-boy,
From landed knight and all his kin,
cr ll
ANY
HOW UMBEN G Oc CR ARNE DS “HES: SON TEE;
(Great Cats I Have Met.)
S the elephant is not exactly a cat, I need not
tell here how, while in camp on the Lempopo
River I killed an enormous one over ten feet high,
his pair of tusks weighing a good deal over a hundred
pounds; nor how the mountain of flesh was con-
sumed by aswarm of wild Matabeles, who flocked in
to the feast from forest depths which I had supposed
to be entirely unpeopled. My only reason for re-
ferring to it is, that because of this “kill†as Rudyard
Kipling’s jungle people would say, I determined to
possess a leopard skin; a magnificent one worn as a
o
HARSHLY scruamine, Sign of his rank by the “ Headman†of the Matabeles
at the elephant feast having excited my admiration.
Next. morning with my two natives, ‘om and Joe, I started out
after my leopard skin. We went prepared to lie in wait all day. We
knew this distant part of the forest abounded in monkeys aad iguanas
(big lizards), on which the leopard is fond of lunching.
In the forest depths we sat down, each with his back against a
tree. There we remained absolutely motionless, but keenly on the
watch. As long as we did not stir we knew our presence would not
be discovered by any beast which in those darkling woods might be
seeking its prey during daylight hours.
But we were very soon found out by a visitor. Since taking our
places, quarter of an hour before, none of us had heard more than the
usual forest sounds, made by monkeys, parrots and other dwellers in
the tree-tops. Yet there suddenly appeared from behind Tom’s tree a
native boy, whose only clothing was a feather girdle and_a few daubs
of red paint, and his only weapon a bow sre arrows! ‘The shiny
black youngster seemed hardly twelve years old. He had seen us
entering the forest, and had given us a lesson in noiseless wooderaft.
He knelt by Tom’s side and whispered. Tom rose and came softly
HOW MBENGO EARNED HIS KNIFE.
over to me. In whispers he said that in a grove of thorny scrub quites
near, a big “ tiger†was lying upon the ground devouring an iguana.
“‘Mbengo says,†continued Tom, “you give him knife he show you
tiger.†Africans call leopards “ tiger.â€
I jumped at the offer. Taking off my belt, to which hung an
excellent hunting-knife, I drew it up a few holes and buckled it
around the urchin’s chunky waist. The black imp could not refrain
from cutting up some delighted capers, but almost immediately got
down on all-fours and motioned us to do the same.
I whispered my men to stay where they were. Then I crept on
after the little fellow as well as I could. The soft, moist ground was
free of leaves and sticks, so our advance was noiseless. After going
about one hundred and fifty yards, Mbengo stopped at the edge of a
dense thicket and signed to me to draw up beside him. Then, very
dimly through the thick
scrub, I saw a splendid"
leopard stretched out at
full length and com-
placently growling as he
tore the prey held be-
tween his paws.
I brought my gun round into position and set both locks without
making a sound, but then found that from where I knelt it was impos-
sible to make a sure shot at the low-lying beast. My sharp-witted
guide saw it too. Before I could prevent, to my horror he disappeared
in the thicket. Ten seconds afterwards I saw the upper part of his
body as he stood upright not twelve feet behind the busy leopard!
Next, I heard the twang of his bow and the whiz of a tiny arrow.
The barbed point lodged in the back of the astonished beast. Harshly
screaming, the leopard sprang up and around and made a tremendous
leap at its puny assailant. But quick as the motion was, the boy’s
was quicker; while the enraged creature, untouched by my hastily-
fired shot, was yet in mid-air, Mbengo dropped behind a matted thorn
bush — and as the leopard passed over him, actually had the audacity
to slash at it with his new knife !
HOW MBENGO EARNED HIS KNIFE.
It is the nature of the cat kind to retreat when foiled in a first
attack. My leopard, instead of turning upon the boy, sprang up the
nearest tree. As he rose fairly into
view, my second bullet brought him
down, and when I reached the dead
body, my little darky was frantically
dancing and yelling over it.
Tom and Joe now came running up
and, hearing the story, gave a great
proof of their admiration of their young
countryman’s prowess by each bestow-
ing upon him some of their tobacco! I
afterwards found that this enterprising
youngster was a sqn of the “ Headmanâ€â€™
I had noticed at the elephant feast;
and no doubt on returning to his people with his store of tobacco
and his knife, even his father’s greatness was for a time eclipsed by
his own.
It was a singular piece of good fortune to have killed, in less than
four hours after leaving camp, so fine a leopard. The big reddish-buff
creature was truly a “ great cat,†over six feet long. His canines or
tusks were an inch and a half long; his claws— five on the fore feet
and four on the hind feet — were deeply curved, sharp as needles, and
strong, fully accounting for a leopard’s wonderful climbing powers.
The African leopard varies
very much in ground-color in
different localities and at
different ages and seasons.
I have seen leopards that were
almost red, and others that
were a dull grey, but the
“markings ’— the broken circles and spots— were always present.
Both in Asia and Africa I have observed tne common leopard mov-
ing about in the tree-tops, and unless I had seen it, I would not believe
that any creature so large could be so agile. Sometimes its motions
ASTONISHED.
SPRINGING,
HOW MBENGO EARNED HIS KNIFE.
MBENGO SLASHED AT HIM.
are so quick that one’s eye can scarce follow them, among the branches,
or distinguish the animal's lithe, graceful form from that of a swiftly
darting python
W. Thomson.
ICE SB AB ice STLEE Sis
HOUSANDS of childzen
nowadays have a regular
weekly allowance of spending-
money; sometimes it is but
five cents, and sometimes it is
fifty cents, and there are chil-
dren that get as much as a dol-
lar, or even more.
Mothers say that a “ weekly
allowance†is a good thing,
for the way it Is spent shows
what a child is, and what faults
need correcting. Butallagree
that no matter how extrava-
gant, or selfish, or foolish, chil-
dren are with their pocket-
money, they all seem to really enjoy giving a bit: for charity. The
“Fruit and Flower Mission,†and the “ Children’s Country Week,â€
can bear witness to that. And last summer a great many children
sent little sums of their own money to the “baby†ghips, or “ Floating
Hospitals ;� some who had no pocket-money held fancy fairs and got
up. little entertainments to raise funds.
In hot weather these blessed “ baby†ships— one is owned by St.
John’s Guild in New York City, and the one in Boston is hired by the
take sick babies and their mothers out on the salt water and
GUT FOR ALL DAY.
day
(After photograph, copyright 1894, by R. B. Tobey.)
THE VIOLINIST OF THE FLOATING HOSPITAL
THE “«‘BABY’’ SHIPS.
keep them out all day long breathing the life-giving sea-breeze. The
salt air seems to do for the poor little things what “ doctor’s medicineâ€
often fails to do without it.
In the hot weather last summer there were as many as twenty
thousand sick babies in New York City. In Boston, too, there were a
great many. The “sick babies†I speak of were “tenement-house â€
babies, and too sick, or too young, to be sent off on “ Country Weekâ€
holidays.
The air gets very loathsome and sickening in the homes of these
helpless little creatures. Often a whole family has to cook, eat, work
and sleep in just one room. In New York City, last summer, on one
very hot day every ten minutes some sick, tired-out baby died.
There is always this wretched state of things. It is hot every
summer, and there is no way for such families to leave their dreadful
homes and go in-
to the wide, cool
green country to
stop through the
time of the terri-
ble heat. Kind
people have long
worried over it,
and at last the
Floating Hospital,
TH FLOATING HOSPITAL. the first “baby â€
ship was planned.
Money was given in New York, and a ship was fitted up with cots,
hammocks and salt-water baths, and good milk and good food, and
good doctors and good nurses; and then through the worst of the heat
the sick little tots and their mothers were taken to stay out all day on
the salt water. It was good to see the poor wilted babies revive and
freshen up! Last summer the ship went out daily all the hot weather.
Each trip a thousand mothers and babies were carried.
Last summer the salt-water ship-ride was started in Boston. Only
a few trips could be made, as the Floating Hospital people had no ship
ISLES SORA B VOr STP iS.
of their own. Everybody hopes money will be given so that the trip
can be made every day this summer. Last winter the Boston young
people gave an amusing Cinderella fairy play to get funds for this
purpose, and it brought in a good sum of money for the babies.
WHERE THE HAMMOCKS SWING,
Some of the visitors, who went on the Boston sails, seemed sur-
prised to see so many interesting pretty little creatures among the
children. After they were bathed, fed and rested, and the whole com-
pany thronged on deck, it was a pretty sight; a “ Floating Baby
Show,†some one called it.
One, a tiny three-year-old black boy, became a general favorite.
Poor little Arthur Simpson! the doctors are having a struggle to keep
him from dying with his cough. Te is the solemn-eyed baby in the
picture, sitting on the deck-floor, drinking in the music of the little
Italian fiddler. Grey Burleson.
ell sie ae Zaks IMA eB OND:
le the kitchen of a tenement house in a
rural part of the city of Woburn, Mass.,
on a hot July afternoon four years ago,
the little girl whose picture you see
here was washing dishes.
She was eleven years old. Her name
vie VY was Lizzie Bond; “Lizzie May,†she
=A ll was called. Her father and mother were
=|. =n .
I" Miva, in the hay-field not far from the house,
ly J Uf, and she had been left in charge of the
| LWW four younger children playing outside.
ty Y,
// /
s FTO .
oN
Janie and Herbert, the older ones,
were whistling with grass. Martha
and Cynthia, the three-year-old baby,
Bei Se were trying to whistle, too. There was
an old well in the yard. Round the boards that covered it, the grass
grew high, and it was there the children were pulling the blades.
They were making such a noise the little girl did not notice when
the shouts and whistles changed to screams; but all at once came
hurrying feet and Martha’s voice crying as she ran: “ Oh, Lizzie
May! come quick! Cynthia! quick!â€
Before the words were out, Lizzie May had rushed out of the house
and past her. She saw the boards pushed away from the well-open-
ing. In an instant she was kneeling on the edge, calling, “ Cynthia!â€
There was no answer. “She is dead!†sobbed Martha. “She fell
over backwards and I tried to catch her dress and couldn't.â€
“ Get father and mother, quick!†Lizzie May said.
They were already coming running across the fields, Janie and
Herbert on before. Mr. Bond rushed to the nearest house for help.
- The others, hurrying, had hardly reached the gate when Herbert who
~ was ahead raised a cry of alarm: “ Lizzie May’s going down the well!â€
Lizzie May had just swung herself over the edge She could climb
LITTLE LIZZIE MAY “BON D*
up or down as well as any boy, and by the time the frightened faces
appeared above the opening she was far down. There was a tumult
of crying among the children: “She'll be drowned!†“She'll fall to
the bottom and be killed!†“Oh, mother, don’t let her go!†Mrs.
Bond, too, was calling down the well: “Are you crazy, Lizzie May!â€
“Tm all right,†was the answer. “I’m going to get Cynthia out.â€
That was all Lizzie May thought of. She clambered on down as
fast as she could, clinging to the little projections of the rough wall,
and bruising her bare feet trying to find bits of ledge for support.
Luckily the well had been long unused and the stones were dry, but
once a loose one gave way and came near carrying her with it.
It seemed as if she would never reach little Cynthia. When at
last her feet touched the water, she let herself cautiously down into
it. It really was below her waist; but it almost covered a little
motionless figure that lay limp in her arms when she lifted it.
For a moment Lizzie May was sure her little sister was dead; then
a moan and the closing of the arms about her neck gave her courage.
Lizzie May, with Cynthia on her breast, set her face toward the little
round of light far above, and then pulled herself up out of the water.
How she ever climbed up with the weight of the child partly . .
hanging on her neck and partly held by her left arm, she does not
know. She recalls the struggle upward, the fear of falling which grew
as she climbed higher, but after that nothing till she was aroused by
the sound of Cynthia’s crying and found herself out on the grass..
“The little one is all right,†someone was saying; “but if it had
not been for this brave child, we’d have a different story to tell.â€
All gathered around Lizzie May, sitting white and wide-eyed on the
grass, and everybody seemed to talk together, wondering at her cour-
age, pitying her bruised hands and feet, and asking her questions.
And Lizzie May, more frightened by this notice than she had been by |
her danger, blushed, hung her head, could not say a word. ‘i
And when the writer of this story a short time ago questioned the
heroine of it, she could say very little more than she did then.
“T don’t know how I did it,†she answered shyly. “TI suppose it
was because I knew it had to be done.†H. R. Hudson.
FLOWER TALK.
E give you names, sweet posies,
That in the gardens grow ;
But what you call each other
Td dearly like to know.
You must be little “folks,†P’m sure,
You look about so wise,
Half friendly, and half timid,
And half — just in surprise.
Surprised and glad to find the world
So lovely, I suppose !
Say do you talk? I wonder
If anybody knows!
If anybody does, I s’pose
It must be some of these —
Your little winged visitors,
The butterflies and bees.
But I don’t know a word they say;
They only buzz and buzz!
To have such voices, I don’t see
What kind of good it does!
Say, do you understand them,
My little posies sweet ?
When up they come a-sailing;
I wonder if you greet
FLOWER TALK.
Each other with “ Good morning!â€
Or some such pleasant way ;
How glad Id be if I could hear
The very words you say !
“Dpon’T YOU TALK ???
But, oh, ’'m such a different kind
Of little girl from you! —
Tll leave you with the butterflies,
And go and play with Prue.
M. D. Tolman,
AS AMUN 10:2 DEIGERS:
(Great Cats I Have Met.)
WENT to Eastern India, partly to indulge in tiger-shooting and
ie partly to see a very dear cousin and schoolmate, one Fred Stuart,
who was a lieutenant in the British army and at that time stationed
with his regiment in Calcutta.
Shortly after my arrival, Fred and five of his brother officers ob-
tained a month’s leave of absence. With a good retinue of servants
and horses, we set off for the Province of Nagpoor, about two hundred
miles northwest: of Calcutta.
Here we had great hunting; but a week had passed and we had
not yet seen the first hair of a tiger. In that part of India the tiger
was then hunted cn foot, trained clephants not being obtainable.
Tiger hunting on foot is fearfully dangerous sport, but all the more
attractive to a crowd like ours on that account.
One morning a native came into camp and told usa pair of old
- tigers and three well-grown cubs had nearly ruined the people of his
village, only two miles away. They had killed their cattle and goats.
The night before, a woman had been carried off while going to the
‘tank for water, only a few rods from her own door.
A family of tigers is always more destructive than a dozen singly-
roaming beasts. The parent pair kill ten times more prey than
the whole family can consume, on purpose to show their young ones
how to-kill! I myself, posted on a platform in a tree-top, once saw a
large tigress watching two cubs in their attempt to pull down a half-
grown buffalo. When the buffalo beat them off, the old tigress
bounded out of cover, broke the buffalo’s neck in an instant and then,
- proudly standing over the body, recalled the retreating cubs by a
peculiar purr, and actually cuffed them for their cowardice!
The native said the tigers had been “marked down†in a patch of
jungle near his village: “ Would the sahibs come out and kill them?â€
We would try. We loaded our big road-wagon up with fireworks,
hand grenades, ground-rockets, fiery serpents and giant crackers, and
A FAMILY OF TIGERS.
started. We soon reached the village, a collection of mud-dashed
bamboo huts. There were perhaps three hundred inhabitants.
Made brave by our presence, all the men, nearly a hundred, vol-
unteered to drive the tigers out of cover. They had provided them-
selves with tin pans, horns and wooden drums. We distributed the
fireworks, and then went on foot to a piece of bush jungle fifteen or
twenty acres in extent. The “beaters†went around to the far side,
while we took up our positions in front. Fred Stuart and I kept
THE TIGRESS.
together, but the other five men extended their line so as to cover a
length of a hundred yards or more on our right.
Then there began such a din, such screeching, yelling, tin-panning,
horn-blowing, and drum-beating, such a screaming of rockets, darting
of fiery serpents and explosion of grenades and crackers, that even a
Fourth-of-July boy couldn’t have stood the racket, much less could
a respectable family of tigers.
The tigress and cubs were first to take alarm, the beaters being
A FAMILY OF TIGERS.
yet some distance away when the whole four sneaked out in a bunch,
opposite the middle of the line held by our five comrades. All firing
suRPRISED!
together, they were
lucky enough to kill the
old “she†and one cub;
the others got away un-
til next day.
“But where is the
old tiger?†I asked.
“Tm afraid he’s
given us the slip,†said
Fred.
Our companions
were standing around
their prizes. We were
about to joi them,
when suddenly, directly
in our front, not fifty
feet away, the long-
bearded father-tiger
thrust his wicked head
out of the jungle, caught
sight of us, and drew
quickly back. But he
~ could not retreat; clos-
ing in behind him, was
the line of beaters and
a rain of flashing fire!
My old chum had
never before seen an
enraged and really dan-
gerous wild beast. I
had served a hunter’s
apprenticeship among the great cats of Brazil and Africa. So, pre-
suming on my experience, I said:
TLE MORES IRE, «
“ Now, old fellow, keep cool and shoot straight. The old man-
eater may charge us.’
Fred smiled, but I could see he was excited. We were both Amned
with double-barreled rifles, but Fred’s was loaded with round balls,
while mine, made expressly for big game, carried in front of. extra
heavy charges of powder, long steel-pointed bolt-like bullets.
The beaters were now near at hand, and the tiger, maddened by
the storm of fire, broke cover for good and bounded toward us. He
did not roar as he came on —indeed, I have never heard a tiger emit
aroar. He uttered a hoarse, horrible grunting screech.
As the magnificent beast touched the ground after his first spring,
Fred and I shot together. We found the terrible cat quite dead, but
the mark of only one bullet to be seen. This was in the center of the
creature’s breast. “There!†cried Fred, “I aimed right at that
spot.â€
“And so did 1, because uis head was held in such a way that I
could not make sure of piercing his brain,’ I rejoined. “ But we'll
see directly who made the lucky shot.†And so we did. When half
a dozen of the delighted natives had removed the skin, we found that
my steel-pointed slug, after passing through nearly the whole length
of the old man-eater’s body, had lodged in the backbone, not six
inches from the root of the tail. My chum yielded; but next day,
after I had outrageously missed, he killed one of the young tigers
while it was in full flight.
Almost everyone has seen the tiger in menageries; but: the cap-
tive beast is a poor representative of the free-roaming “ terror of the
jungle.†It is generally of inferior size, and more or less flabby in
flesh, and its markings much dulled.
THE WRESTLERS.
OWS HOMEWARD FLY-
E SWALL
WHEN TH
THE TALE OF A TART.
Music by Marcia TYNDALE.
Spirited.
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U
Miss MARY’S VALENTINE
AND OTHER STORIES
BOSTON
Dz WOLFE, FISKE & COMPANY.
PuBLISHERS
CopyRIGHT, 1895
BY
ALPHA PUBLISHING COMPANY.
All rights reserved.
Gls Se ACR eS: ANI No TENSE e
66 F I had a nickel, I'd buy you a valentine, Miss Mary,†said little
Sam.
‘‘T suppose a valentine is always a gift, isn’t it?†said Miss Mary.
“Well, I don’t know why it needs to be just a sheet of paper with
poetry on it! I’ve heard of valentines, in the old days, of gloves, and
money, and jewels. Why not a present of anything one likes? I like
to have you a good boy — you can give me a valentine of being a
good boy all day! You like to look into my bureau-drawer —J will
give you a valentine of letting you do that!â€
- For when Sam had been very good he was sometimes allowed an
interview with the pretty things in Miss Mary’s second-bureau-drawer.
And if he been very good indeed, she let him take them out and hold
them one by one. And if Tom and Tessy were there to see them, too,
then little Sam was in a state of bliss.
There was the ivory Chinese puzzle, where one ball was carved in-
side another ball, and another ball inside of that, and they never came
apart for they had never been joined together except by nature when
they grew in the tusk of the elephant, and the puzzle was how the
carver ever did it!
And there was the lovely mother-of-pearl fan; and the sweet-
smelling sandal-wood fan; and the ivory fan on whose sticks little
mandarins bowed to queer little ladies.
And there was a nest of boxes, one box holding another as he un-
screwed their covers, till it seemed as if he never would reach the last.
“ All these things came from China,†said Miss Mary.
MISS MARY’S VALENTINE
“China? where’s that?†asked little Sam.
“Oh! over on the other side of the world.â€
“ Down underneath us ?â€â€™ asked Tessy.
“Well, yes, you might say it was underneath us in the daytime,â€
said Miss Mary. “Your uncle brought them to me from China.
And the last time he came he brought me this ring,†and she showed
them a slender hoop cut from a piece of pale-green jade.
“Tt’s just the color of moonlight,†she said. “ And it had a little
jade heart swinging from it by a gold wire. And I can’t think where
I lost it! Im ashamed to have your uncle come home from sea
and find I’ve lost that little heart.â€
“Where did you lose it, Miss Mary? I will find it for you!â€
cried Tessy.
“ What a fine valentine that would be if you could! But, O dear,
no! Tlost it a year ago.â€
Presently they had their things on and were off to the garden — for
they lived in that part of Virginia where in February there is not
much frost in the ground, and they were each making ready their
own little flower beds.
“What you doing, Sam?†exclaimed Will, when he noticed Sam
throwing out the dirt from quite a hole that he was digging. “TI
should think you were going to plant a whole watermelon !â€
‘She said China was just under us in the day time,†said little Sam.
“And Pm going to dig down and see. Perhaps Pl get a whole lot of
the puzzle-balls,†still throwing out his little shovelfuls of earth.
“Well, that’s bright!†said Will. “It’s —it’s eight thousand miles
through! Think you'll get there by dark?†But Sammy kept on
digging.
“And you'd have to go through fire, too,†said Tom. “T heard
teacher say there was fire way down under us.â€
“Oh! what’s that?†cried little Jane, as something bright fell out
of Sam’s shovel, and rolled back into the hole.
“Oh! it’s a spark of the fire,†cried Tessy, starting to run away.
Then they all laughed; and suddenly Sammy flung himself face
down over his hole, and grabbed a double handful of earth, and
TINE.
JaN
A VAL
A LITTLE GIRL IN RED.
throught it up, sifting it through his fingers, and there was a little
bright thing left in his hand, a bit of pale green stone with a gold wire
in it. And little Sammy rubbed off the clinging earth with a great
shout; for it was Miss Mary’s little jade heart!
“OQ, Miss Mary! My Miss Mary!†little Sammy cried, running
breathlessly to find her. “I ’most went to China, and here’s your
heart, and I got it for you, and it’s your valentine!â€
“You dear child!†said Miss Mary. “It’s the best valentine in all
the world! And you went almost to China to find it? Dear me, how
tired you must be — you must come in and have a turnover!â€
Harriet Prescott Spofford..
Ay ee EES GR. UNG SRE De.
HEN in red Anita goes,
Her winsome face all ruddy shows,
And the grown-up folk oft smile and say,
“ How is our little red rose to-day ?â€
She has a red mouth and round red cheeks,
Like the red holly-berry the red breast seeks ;
‘She has from the cold a little red chin,
With a dimple to tuck the rosebud in.
When in red Anita glows,
Her little heart with joy o’erflows,
And the children all, they shout and say,
“Oh! little Red Riding Hood, please come
play !â€
She has a red muff and a long red coat,
A big red hat which ties at the throat ;
All dressed in red from her head to her feet,
Was ever a lassie so dainty and sweet ?
Mary A. Winston.
A BOY’S CAPTURE OF A PUMA.
(Great Cats I Have Met.)
My first interview with a
wild member of the large and
dangerous family of the felide
was in 1833. I was only nine
years old then, and it was quite
an adventure for a little boy.
My home was in the back-
woods of upper Canada, now
Ontario, where bears, wolves and
deer were plentiful; but for
years no one had seen a speci-
men of the more savage creature
I was to meet.
Farmers’ clearings were 1’
very extensive in those parts
at this early period, and our
cattle were allowed to roam in
the great woods.
One afternoon, I was sent
W, THOMPSON. out to look up our cows. As
usual, my dog, a powerful deer-
hound called Carlo, went with me. This dog was absolutely fearless.
He would attack anything in the shape of a wild beast. He bore on
his body many honorable scars, as mementoes of his rash fights with
wolves and bears.
Well, we two, careless and happy, went gaily along the forest path,
and at last heard the distant tinkle of the cow-bell. At the same mo-
ment we heard a strange, piteous cry. It seemed to me the voice of
a woman or child in dreadful distress. But Carlo was of a different
opinion. Instead of showing sympathy, he set up his bristles, his tail
stiffened, his eyes gleamed, and he kept close by my side.
AY BOYS GAPTURE :OF 7A PAMA:
The wailing cry came again and again. It appeared to come from
a grove of oaks about a hundred yards from the path. I felt sure that
some little girl, out picking berries, perhaps, had got
lost and was sobbing and moaning from fright. So
I shouted as loud as I could to encourage her, and
made for the grove, in spite of Carlo’s protests.
No intelligible voice answered my halloo. Then
I felt sure the lost child must be badly hurt, that
she could not come to meet us.
On the edge of the grove stood a very large oak with wide-spread-
ing branches, the lowest not more than twenty feet from the ground ;
and, very strang ;
ly, the half-sob-
bing, half-whining
cry seemed, as we
came near, to
come from these
low limbs.
My hound, al-
ways gentle with
children, seemed
to change his na-
ture. He was
frantic with rage,
and when we got
almost under the
PUMA’S EYE.
YÂ¥A,
tree he sat back er Gf ecwearaen
on his haunches cot [LEZE A W
and looked up to-
ward its top, howl-
ing fiercely.
Following his
gaze, I saw crouched on a big limb, a full-grown puma, a beast I had
heard some of our neighbors call a “painter,†others a catamount,
others a panther — though there is no true panther in America.
A PUMA AND HER CUBS,
A eBOVeS CAP) UREN OF vA Te MEAT
I knew the creature at a glance, for I had seen a specimen of his
kind in a traveling menagerie; and my little knees shook under me.
All at once, I remembered hearing hunters say the “ painter i
sometimes cries like a person in pain on purpose to attract human prey
within his reach —a fable, as these creat-
know.
SKULL, HEAD, CLAW, PAW.
ures, like their relatives, the domestic
cats, moan and screech at times for
reasons best known to themselves.
This puma ceased his cries so soon as
he saw us, and began to claw the bark,
switch his tail and arch his back for a
spring — whether at me or Carlo I don't
TI was almost numb with terror,
but as the great tawny-grey body shot
downwards, I and the dog instinctively sprang to one side, and he
‘missed both of us!
After the nature of cats, when foiled in a first spring, he tried to
sneak away; but with a roar
Carlo dashed at him and fas-
tened his teeth in his throat.
The gallant heund was no
match for such a foe: and
though I saw the blood follow
his grip, he was shaken off, and
the puma in a moment had
scurried up another tree.
At this sight my courage
returned. I knew exactly what
to do. Like most country boys
of those days, I had flint, steel
and punk in my pocket, and in
Th
Ohi i CEneees
J
NOT VERY HAPPY.
fifteen minutes I had four good fires blazing around. Then, bidding
Carlo keep watch, I ran home as fast as my little legs would carry me
and told my father about the rare game I had “ put npc!
Though he doubted that I had seen a real “ painter,†my father
AS BONS (CAP PORE OF
took down his flintlock rifle, seized his powder-horn and bullet pouch,
and hurried with me to the oak grove.
The puma had gone high up into a lofty fork, and when we got
sight of him was looking down at the dog, spitting and snarling, ex-
actly as a house cat does when threatened by Towser.
My father waited until he got a fair view of his head, then he took
aim, and at the crack of his rifle the savage cat came toppling down.
He proved to be a very large male. My father measured him, and
although sixty-one years have since passed away, I remember the
measurements still. The length, from the point of the nose to the root
of the tail was four feet three .
inches; the tail itself, black-
tipped, but not tufted, was two
feet, five inches; so the creature
was six feet, eight inches long.
The largest of the claws
were one and a third inches
long, and their points were as
sharp as needles; the animal
keeps them withdrawn into a
sort of sheath, which prevents
them from blunting.
The upper part of the pelt
was dull gray tinged with red-
dish brown, but my father said that when cold weather came the whole
back always turned a soft uniform gray, while the throat and belly
remained a dull white — about the color of unbleached factory cotton.
My father, besides having the fine pelt, got twenty dollars Pro-
vincial bounty, out of which he gave me the largest sum I had ever
possessed in my life.
The puma is a terribly fierce animal, but I do not believe that as
related by some writer, “a single one has been known to kill fifty
sheep in one night!†So shy a creature as the puma is would not
stay round the haunts of civilization so long. These great cats do
not, like dogs, kill sheep for the fun of it!
: ii ih
SLEEPING PUMAS.
ATBROY SS CAPTURE (OF oA PUMA,
My father told me that the puma does not have a regular lair or
home, as do most other wild cats, but roams from place to place. This
may be so, but I have known exceptions. Many years later, in the
Rocky Mountains, I killed a female puma which was domiciled with her
WITH A ROAR CARLO DASHED AT HIM.
three cubs in a close den among the rocks, one evidently occupied a
long time, as the floor was littered by cleanly-picked bones.
The little puma kittens are extremely pretty creatures, marked by
distinct dark lines and spots. W. Thomson.
CARVING THE NEW-YEAR CHARMS,
THEM EAST “OF THEVGCHRISTMAS=T REE:
HEN American children have a Christmas-tree, they get the
presents off at once, and then nobody cares what becomes of
the tree.
Not so with German children. Their holiday-time lasts from
Christmas to Twelfth Night. And they have some pretty notions
about good spirits and fairies who are abroad through all those days.
Hans and little Luise had come over with their father and mother
and dear grandfather Max to live in America.
They had their Christmas-tree, of course. For a whole week it was
their pride, though every day saw less and less fruit onit. But at last
it was quite bare.
Then Grandfather Max said, “ To-morrow will be the New Year.
THE LAST OF THE CHRISTMAS-TREE.
Let us begin it well. From the wood of your dear Christ-tree I will
carve some toys for you. They may hold the Christ-Child in your
minds until this New Year is old. Perhaps the All-Father will bless
these charms to keep you from evil and harm.â€
«“ What charm you making now, grandfather?†asked Hans.
Hans was two years taller than the little Luise.
“Jt is an anchor, Hans. When we came over the stormy sea how
glad was I when they cast anchor in the harbor! It stands for Hope.
Never lose hope, Hans. See, now I make a heart for Luise; that
stands for Love. No little maid can become a sweet woman without
love in her heart.†Quaint Luise looked like a little woman now, her
hair in a knot at the back of her head.
“TJ shall make a star for each of you, because you must both have
Faith. Faith, Hope, Love, the blessed Trinity,†said the devout old
German, and the children dimly understood.
Happy New Year! A new jacket for Hans, a new dress for Luise.
The dress had a pocket. Little Luise went to everyone in the
house, and to all the German neighbors, holding her pocket ope’
Each person dropped in it a small gift of money, maybe five cenu.,
maybe ten. That is the way the little girls of Germany do when they
have new gowns.
After awhile Hans and Luise went out to walk. “You not go off
this street,†said the mother. “You get lost.†But ina great, strange
city a little boy and girl can get lost on their own street.
Luise began to cry.
“‘Don’t, little sister,†said Hans. “See, ve got my Hope anchor.â€
“And I’ve got my Faith.’ Luise laughed while she cried, and
pointed to her star. Old Max had drilled holes, so the children could
hang the charms on their breasts.
A big policeman saw them. His heart warmed to the lost babies,
because they had the look of Fatherland. | He spoke to them in Ger-
man, and took them home, before the mother had time to be uneasy.
“’Twas the Faith star and the Hope anchor did it, grandfather,â€
whispered glad little Luise, kissing the little wooden star.
Helen A. Hawley.
TSS MOST SBE AUT EU STORY:
A Christmas Question.
66 HAT is the most beautiful story in all the world?â€
T asked the question of a German author at the great Fair
in Antwerp last summer.
He looked at me thoughtfully. “Joseph,†he said— “is it the
story of Joseph ?â€
“IT do not mean Bible stories,†said I. “If so, I should say that
the ‘ Parable of the Prodigal Son’ is the most beautiful story.â€
He was silent.
“What is the most beautiful story in your own country ?â€
asked he.
I, too, was silent.
And what is it, my Christmas reader? Is it Longfellow’s “ Evan-
geline†or “ Lowell’s “ Legend of Sir Launfal?†or is there one yet
more beautiful ?
“The stories of King Arthur are the most beautiful of all in
England,†said my German friend —“and the < Rheingold’ in
Germany.â€
“But Germany is the true story land,†said I. “ What story, of
those you heard in your own home, impressed you most?â€
“Tcan easily answer that,’ he replied. “It was a story which is
an outgrowth of a tale told by Baron Fouque, the wonderful author of
‘Undine.’ It is called ‘Red Mantle’ My mother used to tell me the
story on Christmas Eve.â€
Here is the story as my German friend told it.
There was a German merchant in the days of old, who used to travel with costly jewels
from city to city. His name was Berthold. He was an earnest, warm-hearted man, but he had
a flery temper and a sharp tongue.
One day, towards night, he was journeying through a black forest. Tbe winds were sigh-
ing in the pines; there were scudding clouds; a great shade came down on the forest, and rain
seemed about to fall. Berthold saw that he could not reach the city that evening. He was
a‘one in the wild forest with his portmanteau of jewels. What was he to do ?
Night came on. The moon rose, and was darkened. The forest roared with the wind.
Around him were beasts of prey. What could he do ?
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL STORY.
He stumbled on. At last he saw a gleam of light. It came from a window in the forest.
He hastened towards it, and rapped on zhe door.
The door slowly opened. A grey-haired old woman with a beautiful face stood
before him.
«* Who lives here ?†asked Berthold.
«¢ A poor collier and his family. Why do you come?â€
“Tam a traveler, belated and lost. Will you give me food and lodging for the night?â€
“T will give you food, but I cannot give you lodging, though loath I would be to refuse a
stranger a roof on such a night as this.â€
Her husband now appeared, holding a light over her shoulder.
“Tt hurts my heart to refuse a stranger,†said he, ‘‘ but you would be better off in the
woods than here. How the wind roars! There, the light has blown out! Come in!â€
The merchant entered. The great log room had an open fire, and around it sat the most
beautiful children he had ever seen. The woman spread the table. As he finished the meal he
said, ‘‘ You surely would not send me out into the forest on such a night as this ?â€
“ Stranger,†said the collier, ‘‘ you may stay, at your peril—though if you will obey what
I tell you, no harm will come.â€
The table was cleared, and the good woman brought out the musical glasses. She tuned
them, and when the children touched them the most beautiful music arose, and the father and
mother clasped their hands, and the family sang, ‘‘ Now the woods are all reposing,†but still the
wind was wild.
“Now,†said the father, ‘‘ we must pray.†They all knelt down, the merchant with them.
As the collier was praying, the door slowly opened, and the fresh air fanned the fire.
The merchant looked up — what was at the door? What indeed!
A little dwarf stood there, in a red mantle. Ile seemed withered and pinched up, and
his eyes were like coals of fire. He cast an evil look at the merchant, and slowly closed the
door. The merchant wondered.
“ Now,†said the collier, rising, ‘¢ I will show you to your chamber. But listen! If any-
thing enters your room in the night, think holy thoughts, and no harm will come. Do not be
angry; do not utter any evil words. If you do not obey me, you will bring trouble upon me—â€
“And we would have to live all those years over again,†said the woman with a look of dis-
tress. ‘*Think holy thoughts, whatever may happen!â€
The merchant went up to his chamber, and, placing his portmanteau on his bed, laid
himself down to rest. He was nigh asleep, when the door of his chamber flew open, and the
little dwarf with the red mantle and fiery eyes entered. The merchant started. The dwarf
approached the bed, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. He stood for a time looking at the
merchant. Then laid his hands on the portmanteau. The merchant’s anger kindled, and he
uttered a fearful oath.
The dwarf began to grow!
The merchant bade him go, with more profane words.
The dwarf grew at every evil word, taller and taller, more dreadful in form and feature.
“ Help!†shrieked the merchant. His voice awoke the house.
The dwarf, now a giant, rushed down the stairs.
The collier and his wife appeared.
‘What have you done to our house-spirit ?†cried the collier. ‘* You have not been think-
ing holy thoughts. You have made him grow to the demon he was of old! We have lived him
down by righteous lives, and he had become smaller and smaller, and we hoped to see him
disappear.†‘%
‘“*And now,†cried the collier’s wife, bursting into tears, ‘‘ we will have to live all those
years over again! â€
A-MAP OER†SANTA GLAGS “LAND:
The moon was now shining in a still sky, and the merchant took his portmanteau and
hurried away.
Ten years passed, when night overtook the merchant Berthold, in the same forest again.
It was a pleasant night, and the merchant bethought himself of the collier. He saw a light in
the same house, and went to the door and knocked.
“Come, in God’s name, and welcome,†said a voice.
He entered. The family had tuned the musical glasses, and were kneeling down to pray.
The merchant knelt with them. Then he listened for the door to open. But the room
was still. And, instead of the dwarf, there came as it were a beautiful light into the room.
The merchant looked up. There was a glorious face forming in the shadows, and as the collier
prayed on, it grew more and more distinct, and came and hovered over them, with a golden
circle above the head and with glistening wings. It was the face of an angel!
The merchant told the family who he was.
‘‘ Stay with us, we pray you,†said the collier’s wife. ‘There is nothing to fear; we have
lived him down, and now, praised be the Lord, there is an angel in the house. Did you know
— one may live so as to change an evil into an angel?â€
“My friend,†said the German author, ‘after a pause, “no story
has helped my own life more than this, And now what is the most
beautiful tale in the world?â€
I still was not sure. So I ask the question again, of you my
Christmas readers. And I ask you to tell by your Christmas fires the
story that has helped you most — that to you is the most beautiful
story in all the world. Hezekiah Butterworth.
ASO WAP SOF SANTA CLA Se IeAN Dy
RUE had a map of North America. It was a dissected map ; that
is, it was cut up into many parts, so that children might enjoy
putting them together, into a whcle map.
After Prue had learned to put the parts together she said, “I’m
tired of North America! I’m going to make a new country.â€
“How nice,†cried Johnny. “ What will you call it?â€
“ Santa Claus Land,†answered Prue.
Prue put the map together in a funny way.
“T shall put Florida up where the little Esquimaux can get some
of its nice oranges,†she said. “I know Santa wouldn’t keep Florida
down South all the time, if he had his say.â€
AEMAP OF SANTA (GLAU Sa AND:
“And why don’t you let Labrador into the United States,†said
Johnny. “It’s so hot here in summer. Just put Labrador on the
east side of the United States. There might have been a peninsula
there as well as not. Then it wouldn’t take so long to go to Europe.â€
“J will,†cried Prue, placing Labrador on the Atlantic Coast.
Now I shall put Lower California where Alaska has been, so the little
Indians up there
can have some of
the nice grapes.â€
“ And let’s put ,
Alaska onto the ortho 5s
western side of 4
Mexico,†proposed
Johnny. “ Here it
is; how queer it
looks!â€
“That penin-
sulaup north looks
o@o
EP MAP WS
shop, LEMONADE S ANTA Ci LAGS LAND
ANCIENTLY KNOWN AS
NORTH AMERICA
like a stocking,â€
next said Prue. “I
shall name it ‘ The
†LABRADOR
SKATE AND SLED
JACKKNIFE PENINSULA
ae ee
PICTURE BOOK
Stocking. rhe PLATEAU
“Q, whattfun!†ERS Ginrcnuani
said Johnny. “ Let’s , cate
f Pont
mark out a map of
Santa Claus Land
and name the places
after the nice things
Santa brings.â€
Those who would like a map of Santa Claus Land, to decorate their
room for Christmas, can place a piece of white tissue paper over Prue’s
map, trace the outline, then hold the tissue paper against the window-
pane with a sheet of white paper over it, and draw the map on the
sheet. Go over the pencil lines with red ink.
PRUE’S NEW MAP.
Alice May Dougias,
bl,
ts yy S it the laugh of a baby brook
, Or the droning “bum-m†of a bee,
Or the spirit song of a soaring lark
That comes from above to me?
Ts it the dance of the snowflake white,
Or the song that the frost-sprites sing?
Is it voice or body, a fact or dream —
This beautiful, haunting thing?
Now it is soft as a zephyr’s sigh,
Then loud as the ocean’s roar ;
At first ike a kiss or a soft caress,
Then billows and waves on the
shore.
List! do I hear it in mother’s voice ?
Ah! now ’tis an organ-tone ;
Sometimes ’tis a laugh and then there
comes,
The pine-trees’ distant moan.
Whatever it is, my waiting ear
Of its wonder never tires ;
I stand and listen to catch your word,
OQ! beautiful, singing wires.
Kate L. Brown.
THE BOBCATS AND THE PIGEON-PIE.
(Great Cats I Have Met.)
HE Canada lynx is known among
the Canadians as the “ bobcat,â€
and is the only cat I ever saw without
a tail—to be exact, it does possess a
bit of one, about an inch long. (Of
course the lynx is not a very “ great
cat,†yet it is big enough to be a dan-
gerous enemy when so disposed.)
Settled along the Credit River, a
few miles from our farm, were consid-
erable numbers of half-civilized Indians,
and these people had a legend: as to
how the lynx happens to be so nearly tailless.
The Great Spirit, so the story runs, came down to earth on moonlit
nights to watch over the slumbers of the first-born son of a favorite
warrior.
A troop of lynxes, roaming through the adjacent tree-tops, set up a
series of horrible mocking cries and woke the babe. This made the
Great Spirit wrathy, and he pronounced instant death upon all cats of
that variety ; but, on the warrior’s plea that his people would thereby
be deprived of much valuable fur, he changed the sentence to ampu-
tation of the greater part of the animal’s tail—and ever since, all
lynxes have been born with that mark of disgrace.
The lynxes are true tree-cats, fond of a bird-and-egg diet, but the
first [ ever saw, I saw on the ground. When I was about ten anda
half years old, 1 became the proud possessor of a light, flintlock, single-
barreled gun, paid for by my own earnings in the way of mink, musk-
rat and racoon skins; and for so young a boy, I was beginning to
shoot pretty well. :
That year we were visited during wheat harvest by prodigious
flocks of wild pigeons, and one Saturday afternoon my father gave me
HEAD OF LYNX.
THE BOBCATS AND THE PIGEON-PIE.
leave to go out with my gun and try to get enough for a great Sunday
pot-pie; counting indoor servants and all, our household numbered
eighteen persons.
Away I went in great glee to the big beech woods. I had with me
four ounces of powder and a pound of number six shot. This would
make about sixteen charges, and should bring me twenty-four pigeons,
for it would be hard luck indeed if I couldn’t now and then bring
down several at a shot. Shooting, boy fashion, only at such birds as
were perching on tree-limbs or hopping along the ground, I soon had
fourteen nice fat ones. These I strung by their beaks on a piece of
twine and hung the bunch on a sapling, while I went on to hunt for
more.
Following along an old cattle path, I got twenty-one pigeons in
nine shots. Then I found my ammunition was gone. I had forgotten
my father’s orders: “Never, while hunting, leave yourself without
one charge for your
gun.â€
So far as the pot-
pie was concerned, I
already had pigeons
enough to make one
that might feed half
a hundred men; but
what if in the fast-
approaching dusk I
should run on some
big game —a wolf, for
instance ! Such a crea-
ture might possibly
relish a fat little boy!
But no wolf appeared, nor did I even hear one howl as I hurried
along the darkening trail.
Coming to the sapling, where I had left my first string of pigeons,
I found the birds gone. Next moment I saw they were being de-
voured by two animals lying on the ground a few yards away, and
THE CANADIAN BOBCAT,
THE BOBCATS AND THE PIGEON-PIE.
which, in the gray shades of evening, I could not have seen at all but
for their glaring eyes. The creatures didn’t look very savage or
very large, as they lay there amicably sharing my birds.
I WAS KNOCKED FLAT ON MY BACK.
“The thieving racoons!†I muttered, at the same time clubbing
my gun and stepping up, thinking to scare them away and recover
some of my pigeons.
THE BOBCATS AND THE PIGEON-PIE,
But when I got within three feet, I myself was the scared one’
Instead of harmless ‘coons, the beasts were full-grown lynxes! I knew
them by their short, powerful legs, big feet, the pencils of hair on the
tips of their ears, and the absence of tails. Then didn’t I regret my
neglect of a hunter’s first duty — to keep his gun loaded!
But though knowing a “ bobcat†to be more than a match for the
best dog, I had never heard of even a child being attacked by one, and
I had no notion of letting this pair rob me of my pot-pie.
Yelling as loud as I could, I struck with all my might at the cat
nearest. My gun came down on its back, and, to my great surprise,
disabled it. Had I known the back was this creature’s most vulnerable
part, I could not have made a more judicious blow.
I got no chance to-make a second, however; for the moment the
moan of its mate rang out, the other lynx uttered a shrill snarl, and
dashed at my breast. Though a strong, heavy boy for my age I was
knocked flat on my back, and the maddened cat came down on top of
me. He was a big fellow, and must have weighed fifty pounds.
Strange to say, all my fright disappeared then. A curious, reckless
-ind of numbness came over me. I actually did not feel a particle of
pain as the beast sank its long teeth into my arm which I had instinct-
ively raised to shield my face —teeth three times as long as those of
the domestic cat. I did not know until afterwards that the curved
claws of its front feet had torn through my coat collar, waistcoat and
shirt and mangled both my shoulders.
How long the furious creature had been tearing at me I do not
know — it might have been thirty seconds or five minutes, when sud-
denly I saw a stream of fire and heard the report of agun. Then I
knew nothing more until I found myself on a sofa at home, and saw
on the floor before me a great heap of pigeons and the gray, black-
flecked pelts of both lynxes!
My father, who had strolled out with his rifle to meet me, had come
upon the scene in the nick of time, and after hurriedly skinning the
bobcats had carried me and my trophies home.
I was not seriously hurt. The very next day I helped demolisk:
the biggest pigeon pot-pie I ever saw. ‘W. Thomson.
VALENTINE EROEIGS:
ERHAPS Washington is peculiarly a children’s town, for I know
no other place with so many big frolic-days for the little people.
Following fast on the New Year’s fun comes Valentine Day, and close
after that the Easter egg-rolling on the White House grounds.
For days before the “ Fourteenth,†mysterious trips are made to
the stores. Troops of very litle men and women flock into the dining
room after dinner with lovely paper, ribbons, cards, cupids, heads, and
mucilage. The “ darlingest girls,†the “sweetest cupids and doves,â€
for five vents! “ Reg-u-lar beauties†for seven! And fora cent dear
little ones can be bought for Baby Jack, or Emily, or Frank.
Pasting, cutting, planning, and chatting !
Such marvels of envelopes, big and little, cut out of white paper!
Fringed ribbons, sachet powder, and bunches of violets, made into
precious gifts.
From early morning until late bed-time this fun goes on. Grand-
father senators and society mamas, devoted aunties, and proud uncles
find time to direct “in an unknown hand†the funny, loving messages.
And then, when the day fairly sets in! Long before breakfast the
door-bell begins to ring. Then a loud rap on the kitchen door! Then
at the side-door, and at all the porches! What a rushing, scampering
and. running! Valentines are dropped mysteriously, and one catches a
glimpse of blue caps, short jackets, and very tricky boy faces.
Little Tom fairly rolled out of his white bed at six o’clock in the
morning once, when a messenger gave him a big envelope, within was
this verse written underneath a cupid:
TO TOM— FROM JENNIE.
“I send a song of love,
Sweet in every line.
Four-and-twenty kisses
In this valentine.
“OQ, mama!†shouted Tom, ‘Jennie has choosed me with most a
hundred kisses.â€
“
VALENTINE FROLICS. ;
In some neighborhoods a post-office box, marked “ Valentines†in
big red or white letters, is often nailed to a tree, or fastened to the
porch or gate, or put up somewhere in the court or area. It’s always
easy to find!
At noontime and after school, “two by two,’ or in rows, and
tribes, children slip up
and slyly drop valentines
into the box. They peep
and scream and run out
from behind lamp-posts,
tree-boxes, shrubs and
porches. Curls bob up
‘and down. Caps of
scarlet, brown and blue
pop out from a corner.
Long braids of hair, like
funny tails, fly past the
box. There are merry
shrieks of discovery:
“Run, run! I see you,
Tom! I know that was
Harold!â€
After dark the door
bell rings every minute.
The children conclude to
sit on the sofa in the
hall, so to“ jump quick†: ee eee
the next time. THE VALENTINE BOX.
With rosy cheeks,
and very shining eyes, the blessed babies tumble off to bed at last, hug-
ging their boxes full of valentines, sometimes twenty or thirty; and
after they are asleep, the bigger men and women look the missives
over with great fun and glee.
Margaret Spencer Delano.
DISC OVEREDSIN AMA LELDOSCORE:
VERY boy finds fun in his toys. Most boys find nothing more.
The boy I am to tell of, however, found much more than fun —
he found a fortune!
The way of it was this.
Wilberforce —I call him Wilberforce here, because that was not
his name. The fact is, I am telling this story without his permission,
so it would not do to call him by his real name.
Most boys spend their pennies for peanuts, or peppermints — Wil-
berforce spent his for pencils — lead pencils.
A lead pencil would last Will about a day. He usually a to
get another the next.
One night his mother turned his pockets inside out (mothers some-
times do that), and she found seven pencil stubs in his trousers pockets
and eleven in his jacket pockets.
Now this was not because Will was so wasteful, but because he was
so industrious. Will was a great worker. He worked just as he
played — like a little steam engine.
Will was always drawing something with these pencils — squares,
diamonds, circles, scrolls— then combinations of these forms into de-
signs, like those in the carpets and wall papers.
One day — I think it was St. Valentine’s Day — though how Santa
happened to be six weeks late I can’t now say —he had a present
of a kaleidoscope.
I wish you could have seen the smile that spread over his face
when he held the cylinder to his eye and turned it slowly. Idid. I
shall never forget it. Will will never forget it either!
All that day he found fun in the toy. The second day he began
also to find the fortune.
As he slowly revolved ‘the cylinder, and the gorgeous bits of rainbow
glass in the end shifted about with a clink-chink-dink, he would
every now and then cry out, “O,â€â€™ or “O-o!†and sometimes
“ Q-o0-0!â€â€ That meant he saw a very curious or beautiful arrange-
Hh) ! it
|
Ui
|
|
Hi
f
1 Hl HH
NH
i nt
DISCOVERED IN A KALEIDOSCOPE.
ment in form or color. After every “O-oo-0!†he would drop the
kaleidoscope, out with his pencil, and make a drawing of the picture
he had just seen.
The third day, after every pencil sketch, he exclaimed, “O, if I
only had some water-colors.â€
Well, one morning, a few weeks after, he put his right foot into
its stocking with a vigorous shove. It came out as quickly. ‘Then his
little brown hand dove down into the stocking — down the long leg,
into the foot.
When the hand came out, it brought with it a box of water-colors
— another belated Christmas present !
That day Will not only made pencil outlines of the pictures he
saw in the kaleidoscope, but also colored them.
As the days and weeks went by, Will not only copied and colored
the kaleidoscope designs, but began also to make other designs, “out
of his head.†Sometimes these were parts of the kaleidoscope pictures
arranged in different ways, sometimes they were wholly new.
This went on all that winter, on Saturdays, and holidays, and in
the iong evenings — and all the next summer.
ne day in the fall, a gentleman called to see Will’s father on busi-
ness. This gentleman was a manufacturer of wall papers. He hap-
pened to see some of Will’s colored “ patterns,†as Will called them.
They interested him. THe took several away to his mills.
This visit was forgotten, till one day in the winter. It was a great
day for Will —and strange to say it was St. Valentine’s Day, just a year
from the day the kaleidoscope came.
That day a letter came to Will’s father from the manufacturer of
wall papers. In it the gentleman offered to give Will an art educa-
tion. The offer was gladly. accepted. And to-day Wilberforce is a
famous designer of wall papers, and carpets, and all sorts of beautiful
fabrics. j
I will not say how many hundreds of dollars his pencil and brush
bring him a year now. I will say that the number is large enough to
make true what I have said, at the start of this story, abcut the fortune
yne boy found in a kaleidoscope. CASEP:
[2r:
as
—
{ A ; ; e Se Me od Optdiataa ,
THE CHILDREN’S RECEPTION.
a —-
3
A PRETEY NEW=VEAR SS CUSTOM:
HRISTMAS everywhere is the children’s great holiday, but New-
Year’s in one city at least, Washington, is a very big frolic for
the little people.
While their mamas, dressed prettily, are receiving New-Year’s
calls in the drawing-room, and their papas are driving over the wide
avenues and handsome streets of the National Capital to pay at “high
noon†their respects to the President and his Cabinet, the little Wash-
ington Dorothys and Janesand Bessys and Rachels and Francescas
and Isabels are busily dressing up in their mama’s or big sister’s gowns.
The flying curls of gold or brown are pinned high up on the cun-
ning heads; and with “such splendid trains†and “such lovely lace,â€
in mama’s long gloves, and decked with mama’s “ pins,†they make
ready to “receive†their friends, Jack and Tom, Harry and Aleck.
These wee dames generally “receive†in groups. Mysteriously, all
over the city, about twelve or one o'clock, little sunny-faced girls are
A PRETTY NEW-YEAR’S CUSTOM.
bobbing m and out street-cars; or if papa can spare the coachman a
few minutes, before he himself starts out to make calls, the carriage
door flies open at some little girl’s house, and out hops Dorothy,
Rachel and Rose, perhaps with powder on their yellow hair, and tiny
black “patches†on their velvet cheeks and chins, just like great-
grandmother’s portrait! And exactly what is in that bag they carry,
nobody knows! :
A half-hour later, with much giggling, winking, blinking, curtsey-
ing and bowing, the “ receiving
ladies†hasten, pell-mell, into the
cosey library, or sitting-room,
given especially to them by mama
for their New-Year’s callers.
Just as mysteriously, the little
men of the city, the country, the
village, from the Riggs Hotel, the
Shoreham, or Willard’s, step into
the cable cars, or mama’s carriage,
or walk, dressed in their “ Sunday-
est†clothes, with canes and silk
hats, kid gloves, and a “ beauty
flower†which their mamas have
pinned in their button-holes, and
all with engraved or written cards eet ene ‘
LET’S SEE HOW YOU LOOK WITH YOUR
tucked away in their little side * mar on 1â€
pockets or card cases.
It is quite the fashion for the dozen or more little girls who “ re-
ceive†together, to bring their best dollies in their best clothes to sit
on the sofas and divans. The dolls are introduced, and luncheon is
served to them.
Often the “receiving parties†are to be seen chasing one another
out on the lawns, like butterflies in the sun, with shouts, gay laughter,
a wondrous holding up of trains and a very distracting dropping of
hairpins. For, after all, the pretty custom is only a frolic! and the.
wonderful “ladies and gentleman of fashion†are but happy, merry
LITTLE MANUEL AND THE JAGUAR.
children, and their wise mothers are very careful that the calls and
receptions shall be looked upon only as merry childhood’s fun. .
The little Washington people are very fond of calling on their eld-
ers, too, to wish them the “ compliments of the season.†A little blue-
eyed man of four called on all his mama’s best friends last year, and on
his dainty card was engraved: A Happy New-Year! From Fred L.
Sturtevant.
On many a- Washington New-Year’s has the warm sunshine been
‘made golden by the little héads of the children who, like flocks of gay-
plumaged birds, have flown in and out of my own home, with funny
gowns and hats, very spry little legs, and very merry voices and danc-
ing eyes, to wish us a Happy New-Year. “I do wis’ ’oo a Happy
New-Year!†said our small neighbor last year, little Blessing De Witt,
aged two, running across the way and joyously presenting us his card.
; Margaret Spencer.
LITTLE MANUEL AND THE JAGUAR.
(Great Cats I Have Met.)
WAS a young man when I met and slew my first
jaguar.
During my lifetime I have killed, or helped kill,
nine of these terrible creatures. Only one of them in
our country, in Texas; Texas is as far north as this
cat ever comes.
The jaguars are midway in size between the tiger
and leopard, two of the worst cats, but
they are much handsomer and quite as
dangerous. é
I was visiting on the coffee plantation of a Portuguese gentleman
in Brazil, about a hundred miles north of Rio Janerio. Senhor Rinaldo
was a great sportsman, and his little son Manuel, about twelve years
LITTLE MANUEL AND THE JAGUAR.
old, wasa real little expert with fishing-rod and fowling-piece. It was
needful there thit even a little boy should know how to use a gun,
for on every hance were dense vine-clad forests full of dangerous game.
THE JAGUAR’S PAW
IN REPOSE.
thick forest.
One hot forenoon, after an expedition on the
river for fish and wild fowl, Senhor Rinaldo de-
cided to row up stream still further, to lunch
on a piece of open ground kept clear of under-
brush and trees, a pleasant spot, round as a
fairy’s ring, covered with tropical flowers, and
-closely surrounded, even at the river-front, by
After the meal was over, Senhor Rinaldo and 1 dreamily smoked
and rested in the shade. But Manuel was on the wing. Gun in hand,
he flitted about among the dazzling flowers, picking such as he thought
might be new to his beautiful young mother whom, in a curiously
chivalrous way, he was wont to pet as if she had been a little sister.
By and by the youngster had wandered quite across the glade.
There he sat down to sort his flowers, in the edge of the forest. He
was directly opposite us. Not for a moment, here
so near us, did either of us imagine that any harm
could befall the boy. But suddenly we saw the
little fellow spring to his feet, drop his half-arranged
bouquet, throw up his gun, and fire at some object
by us unseen.
The shot was instantly followed by a snarling
scream. Through the powder smoke we saw a
prilliant streak of color dart in a curve from the
dark trees and descend upon the boy. As he went
down, he shouted: “O, papa! papa! the tiger! the
tiger!â€
Racing for life, we dashed across to the rescue.
I, being theyounger and more fleet of foot, got first
to the scene, dreading to find it one of horror. What
ACTION OF JAGUAR’S CLAW;
a, OPEN FOR A1TACK; 3B,
SHEATHED, THE MUS+
CLES CONTRACTED, THE
WEIGHT BORNE ON THE
TOES.
IT did see was this: Manuel stretched out alongside a decaying log,
and over the log with its jaws fastened upon the gun, which the young
LITTLE MANUEL AND THE JAGUAR.
hunter instinctively held before his face, sprawled the form of an
enormous jaguar.
The furious beast was bleeding from a wound in the back of its
“IT LET GO OF THE GUN AND SPRANG SAVAGELY AT MR.’?
neck where the charge of bird-shot, fired at close range, had cut a fur-
row. ‘This red torrent streaming down over the boy’s breast gave him
all the appearance of being mortally wounded. To pass over the one
LITTLE? MANUEL AND. HE†JAGUAR.
hundred yards of space had probably occupied me twelve seconds
and I knew the cat had had time to dispatch the boy. I supposed
my brave little friend was dead.
When I was about ten feet off, the jaguar let go of the gun and
sprang at me, his retracted lips show-
ing a full set of fangs, and his yellow-
green eyes glowing like live coals.
This was a foolish move, for a heavy
bullet from my gun entered the open
mouth and passed through his head. He
sank down at my feet, dead.
By this time, Senhor Rinaldo had come
up, and in a moment he had his boy in his
arms. Then, to our amazement, we found he had not had
even a scratch, thanks to the protecting log and to the gun-barrel
which the beast’s teeth had deeply indented. “Why, papa,†said he,
“Tm not a bit hurt, and mama’s flowers are all safe!â€
A monster he was in size — nearly ten feet long, counting in his short
tail — but he was also one of the most beautifully-furred creatures I
ever saw. The thick, lustrous fur was a rich fawn color, profusely dot-
ted by dark, glossy rosettes, and in the center of each of these spots
which ran along his sides was a smaller spot of light yellow. Across
his breast and along his spine were several unbroken black streaks.
There was great rejoicing on
the plantation, especially by Man-
uel’s mother. Though the jaguar
will not openly attack a man face
to face, he will skulk for miles on
the track of a person and at the
first good chance make a spring,
and he will attack and kill children in bright sunlight.
Senhor Rinaldo’s Indians told me that the forests were
so thick and dark the beasts wandered at all hours for prey. Monkeys
were their favorite food, but they visited the plantations and destroyed
colts, calves and even full-grown horses. W. Thomson.
DOLLY'S
PLAIN NIGHTGOWN,
where the parts are to join. Also mark
all the “notches†and “ crosses; †unless
you do this you cannot follow the direc-
tions for making.
“DI EAMING (DIRESSES:?
2
PLAIN Mother Hubbard is the easiest
nightgown to make, and partly-worn
cambric is the best cloth, for it is easy to sew.
If new, wash and iron it, as this keeps the
gown from shrinking, and makes the sewing
less hard.
The best way, as dolls differ in size and
shape, is to draw patterns by looking at the
diagrams, as nearly as the size of your doll
as you can, and then try them against her,
before cutting the cloth. If you measure her
height, and the length of her arm before you
begin, you will soon be able to get some good
patterns by looking at the shape of the 7ia-.
grams. After you get a good pattern, mark
it with all the letters on the diagram, as
they show just
For the plain gown, cut out the two
yoke-fronts first. Baste hems at dotted
lines. Cut the yoke-back, laying the
edge marked “back fold†on a fold of SLEEVE
the goods. Baste shoulder seams a, b.
Baste under-arm seams c, d. Now try
the yoke on dolly.
When just right,
front hems and all, sew the seams by DIAGRAM FOR PLAIN NIGHTGOWN.
fine running, then overcast them. Always overcast seams. Next do
the front hems.
Now measure a straight piece of the goods from bottom of yoke to
DOLEVES SED REANMING DRESSES
dolly’s feet, and allow for a good hem, and the seam at yoke. Tear
off a piece this depth and twice as wide as the depth after bottom hem
is turned. This makes the skirt. Hem it. Gather the top, half on
one thread, half on another. Put the center exactly on center of
yoke-back. Then baste yoke and skirt together, and sew a firm
backstitch seam,
leaving a half inch RAMS Sex
diac eh Raney
Nicntcow,
of left side of skirt
to turn over in a
hem. Hem the
other side onto it
along the row of
stitches to close the
skirt up nearly as
far as the waist-line.
Hem the right-hand
side of the opening
ee
Pons...
YOKE
(HaLF FRONT)
ARMHOLE
(Have Back)
as narrow as you 3
9
can. 2
Face the neck - g
ith : Oy By COLLAR z
with a very narrow zi (eave)
bias piece, and trim
it with a frill of lace
overhanded on.
Put two or three tiniest buttons and button-holes on fronts of yoke.
The sleeves are plain puffed ones. Seam them up, gather at wrist
so they will slip easily over dolly’s hand, and overhand narrow lace on
ina frill. Gather sleeve-tops between the notches and baste in so the
seam comes ate. The gathers go from there over the shoulder to a
little back of the shoulder seam. If right, when tried on, seam with
backstitching.
The fancy nightgown has a yoke rounded in the back and slightly
pointed in front. The skirt piece is shaped like the diagram, then
gathered on both fronts tom and seamed to sloping edges of yoke.
The back has the stylish watteau pleat, made by laying two folds either
DOLEYES, “DREAMING DRESS ES.4
side the center of back. The skirt points, m and n, are fastened to
the yoke “ notches†front and back of shoulder seam ; this completes
the armhole. The sleeves are very full, and come only to the elbow,
where they are finished with wide lace frills.
The collar, shaped like dia-
gram, is cut whole, the “center
back †to come exactly at center of
yoke-back. It must be cut twice
the length around neck, and when
hemmed and edged with lace it
must be just the depth of back
of yoke. It is turned in at upper
edge and gathered, leaving a nar-
row frill close about Dolly’s throat.
Face the neck of yoke, then fasten
the collar to it.
Pink or blue ribbons tie this
dainty “dreaming dress†at the
throat, a button or two fastens
the yoke, and similar ribbons
caught under the watteau pleat, come gracefully around under the
arms and tie loosely in front. Annie Isabel Willis.
FANCY NIGHTGOWN, FRONT AND BACK.
el Omen AT:
and 9 had a falling-out.
I can’t say what it was all about.
One grew angry and said, “ Oh, fie,
You know you are worth three less than I!â€
The other cried, with a pout and frown,
“You're nothing but six turned upside down!â€
HI, L. Hudson.
JAPANESE. BLR TEA DAYS.
WAS born in Japan on the third of March, 1888, and, strange to
say, on the day celebrated by all the girls in Japan as their
birthday — they “ celebrate†by playing with dolls.
Japanese girls are so many years old on the third of March, even
if they were born in June or December or any other month.
On that day all the shops have dolls, and girls’ toys, and you can
buy toys then that you never see in
the Japanese shops any other time in
the year.
Some Japanese girls.possess dollies
that their great-grandmothers played
with.
They are allowed to play with the
dolls only three days; then the dolls
are laid by until another year, so of
course they last a long time.
Nearly all Japanese children love
best to play out-of-doors with real
things.
Japanese boys have their birthdays
on the second of May.
On that day all the shops have soldiers and swords, and all the toys
boys like; and at each house where there is a boy a large bamboo
pole is raised like a flag-staff, and if there is one boy in that house one
fish is floated in the air ; if two, two fish. Some poles have six or seven
“BESSIE IN JAPAN.
THE THIRD OF MARCH IN JAPAN.
PHE BLOSSOM. OF THES POOR.
fish of different sizes floating from the staff. On May second every
year all the towns and villages in Japan look like fish ponds upside
down. Bessie Drummon.
Pie SeOSSOM. OF THE BOOK:
ITH weary toil and pressing want
My childhood’s days were sad ;
One little red geranium
Made half the joy I had.
Perched on our narrow window-ledge,
Its green leaves never knew
The glad whirl of the summer wind,
The soft kiss of the dew.
But tenderly I placed it where
The light shone through the pane,
And held it in my little hands,
Far out, to catch the rain.
And when around the creaking house
Loud beat the wintry storm,
I wrapt it in my only shawl,
And kept it safe and warm.
And fair and strong it grew; it seemed
To my admiring eyes
To be less flower than messenger —
A guest from Paradise.
And when, at last, its scarlet flower
Lit up our dreary room,
My heart was full of joy ; I shared
The brightness of its bloom ;
And I forgot that we were poor,
Forgot cur lives were rough ;
PEELE MB EOS SOMEOLE VERE POOR:
To own my red geranium
Seemed happiness enough !
O, blossom of the lowly home !
O, treasure of the poor!
What tender memories in my heart
Have made its place secure!
y
=_
=
aA
=|"
———=
>>
=
TO CATCH THE RAIN.
Thrice dear because it came to me
When all my life was drear,
And preached upon my window-sill
The gospel of Good-Cheer!
Marian Douglas.
FEO Wie VS AV De VONs oD @saS:,
The Story of a Midnight Fire.
NV I was eight years old I spent a summer, as I often did,
with my three aunts and my uncle Amos at the old family
homestead.
At this time I was very fond of paper dolls, and had ninety of them.
They were kept in a large pasteboard box, and went with me every-
where. On rainy days [ used to sit in an attic room over the kitchen
and play with them and paint dresses for them from morning to night.
Sometimes they were all pupils, and I “kept school†with them.
Again, they were grouped into families, with the most extensive rela-
tionships. They all lad middle names and certain ages, which staid
the same always. This never struck me as being queer, though I
knew that I grew older from year to year. Cousins, uncles and aunts
were very plenty among them, and I knew just which were which.
Most of the dolls were home-made, though some were what we called
“boughten.†(I do not like that word now.) All of them had elabo-
rate wardrobes, which were kept in large envelopes. It required
all the powers I could muster to keep my doll-family in order, but
I enjoyed the hard work, for I loved my dolls as I did my best
friends.
One day in early September it was very cold and rainy, and we
had a fire in the dining-room for the first time that season. The fire
did not burn well at all. The chimney seemed to be stopped up, for
smoke would curl from every crack in the stove whenever a fresh
stick of wood was put in. All day it smoked more or less, and the
fire was allowed to go out before six o’clock.
I went to bed at eight, and the family retired at their usual time;
but I was waked up in the middle of the night by my Aunt Tessie,
who was shaking me and saying, “Get up! Get up! The house is
on fire!â€
I shall never forget how wild and white her face looked. The air
was blue with smoke. I jumped up as quickly as I could, and hurried
HOV. I"SAVED MY DOLLS.
on my clothes, getting everything on wrong-side out and back-side
before. Aunt Tessie tried to help me, but we were both shaking so
that we did not get on very well.
In three minutes we were down in the dining-room. In all the
confusion, one thought was uppermost in my mind—my dolls! I ran
to the cupboard where I kept them, and when I once had my large
doll-box in my arms I felt calmer.
While I was saving my precious dolls, Uncle Amos came rushing
in with an axe. There was a loud roaring noise in the chimney.
Aunt Caroline stood with her arms clutched together. She shook like
a willow in the wind.
“ W-what a-are y-you g-going to d-do, Amos?†she asked, with her
teeth chattering.
“JT am going to chop open the wall,†cried Uncle Amos excitedly.
“The fire’s in there! It’s probably been smouldering there all day.
We must get at it, or we can’t put it out.â€
He lifted the axe, and pretty soon he had a large piece of the
wainscoting out. Then what do you think happened? We did not
see leaping tongues of flame, as we had expected. Nothing of the
kind—only a vast flock of chimney swallows, which flew out and
circled around the room, in the greatest confusion, quite as scared as
we were.
It was they who had stopped up the great chimney and whose
excited swarming there had made the roaring noise. They did not
like to have the fire built, though they made no noise during the
day.
While the rest were driving out the swallows, I dropped into a
chair with my precious box. There I fell asleep. My Aunt Sylvia
woke me. My heart stood still as ] heard her say, “ Wake up, Katie!
We're all going to bed again. Bless me, what has the child got! She
is hugging the box of macaroni! She must have thought it was her
box of dolls!â€
I shuddered for weeks to think what if there had been a fire, and J
had saved only the box of macaroni!
Kate Upson Clark.
AS Jb BAC AON
(Great Cats | Have Met.)
ie
Anc-oce
Ny, J ,
HEAD, FRONT VIEW.
1843 I made a two hundred and fifty mile
muleback journey from the province of the
Rio de Janeiro to the Carandahy River, and
it occupied me, my two half-breed Indians
and my pack-mules, nearly three weeks.
There was not a foot of railway in Brazil
at that time.
a forest path.
Our road was little more than
It was on this trip I met a very rare cat,
such a cat as I had never before seen, and have never since — a cat,
indeed, whose existence is a subject of doubt. to many naturalists.
One day we came to a
small, sluggish river, only
about forty feet wide, but
too deep for wading. We
would have to swim
across. But as there were
a number of big alliga-
tors lazily floating about
within sight it seemed to
me rather a risky pro-
ceeding.
I concluded to take
time for a cold lunch and
to consider the chances.
While we were sitting
in the shade, about thirty
yards away from the
a
Up
ig
Aagyg
HUNTING,
water’s edge, silently eating, there suddenly waddled into view from
the undergrowth on the opposite side of the stream a big capybara,
a water-hog.
Just as it was sliding down its well-worn runway into
*A JET-BLACK LION.â€
“BOUNDED HIGH IN THE AIR.â€â€™
the water, there descended upon it, like a thunderbolt, from an over:
arching mimosa-tree, a jet-black beast killing it in a second.
With a gurgling scream of triumph, which somehow seemed
familiar to me, the black creature stretched himself beside the capy-
bara, to lap the hot blood from its torn throat. What could this new
animal be ?
“A JET-BLACK LION.â€
My Indians would have fired at once, but anxious to make sure of
the strange game, I motioned them to drop their clumsy flintlocks, and
took very careful aim with my rifle. The capybara’s body shielded
“ UTTERED AN APPALLING
HUMAN-LIKE SHRIEK.â€
the black head, and I had to fire at the heart,
though I knew that even with that organ pierced
through and through the beast might struggle
far enough away to effectually conceal himself
in the dense bushes.
My bullet struck just back of the shoulder.
The astonished creature uttered an appalling
human-like shriek, bounded high in the air, rolled
over once, and then disappeared into the scrub.
I ordered an instant crossing. We mounted and
took the water abreast, each of us leading a pack-
mule. With our six animals we made so big an
array, and splashed so vigorously that the alliga-
tors thought it best not to attack us.
We scrambled out to dry land, and my Indians dismounted and
crawled off into the thicket. Presently I heard a chorus of exultant
cries, and in a few minutes they
emerged, dragging what they
declared to be a “ black lion,â€
though they both confessed they
had never before heard of, nor
seen, such a thing! Still, it
was a “black lion,†they said.
For awhile I was sorely puz-
zled what to make of my prize.
A cat it unmistakably was —
but of what species ?
The whole head, back and
sides, and even the tail, were
AT BAY.
glossy black, while the throat, belly, and inner surfaces of the legs
were shaded off to a stone-gray.
I measured it carefully. The meas-
ures very closely corresponded with the well-remembered measurements
PACTS MRES OLE.
of a North American “ panther †to which I narrowly escaped falling
a victim when I was a nine-year-old boy, and which was the only wild
puma I had ever seen up to this time.
The teeth, the claws, the shape of its
head, the “set†of its ears, were like
those of the Canadian cat.
My Indians were right! All native
Brazilians call the tawny-gray puma a
“lion,†and the feline I had just slain
was undoubtedly a black puma. Of this
my own examination convinced me,
and afterwards an aged Indian hunter
told me that he had himself once shot
“a black lion.â€
HEAD, FRONT VIEW.
Whether this rare cat is a permanent variety of its species, or
merely an occasional freak of nature, I have never been able to learn.
W. Thompson.
JNCKES RESOLVE:
‘¢ +-¥ I were the king of a country as wide
As the sky on a bright summer day,â€
Said Jack, with a nod, as he hunted about
In a wearied-to-death sort of way,
“And my wealth and my power were limitless quite,
To do just the thing I might choose,
Do you know what I’d get with the gold that I had ? —
How that wonderful power I’d use ?
I would give the last cent that I had in the world,
And I'd add my crown to the cost,
For a pencil,†said he — then he paused, with a smile —
“For a pencil that couldn’t get lost !â€
Everard Jack Appleton,
WNT Re OMY Teka S:
HE world was once believed to be a great ash tree: Beneath one
of its roots lay a whole country peopled by giants, even the
aimils being of such gigantic size that a mosquito would be larger
than one of our ostriches and a squirrel would be about the size of a
very large elephant. Of course the tree had to be large and strong
enough to hold such birds and squirrels, and the children were never
little, even when babies. Such was the belief of Norsemen. In this
country of the giants lived the Father of Winter. His breath was so
icy that everything froze before him as he walked; he wore a great
cloak made of eagle’s feathers, and if he but moved an arm cold winds
rushed out and shook the great ash-tree in every limb. As the cold
increased in the winter of the north country, the people told each
other wilder and wilder stories, and one long, dark night some merry
boy or girl made up a story of a wolf in the giants’ country that was
so large he had swallowed the sun! Another said somebody would
surely catch the wolf and take the sun away from him.
“Who could run fast enough to catch that wolf ?â€
“T,†said Vidas, “I have magic boots.â€
“Where did you get magic boots ?â€
“ They were made of all the bits of leather pared and cut from the
heels and toes of all the shoes ever made,†answered Vidas, and away
he strode after the giant Fenris wolf. And he caught him, too, and
made him open his mouth and give up the sun, and all the children
shouted for joy when they saw Vidas hang the sun up in the sky again.
Other children told stories about the snow, saying a most beautiful
woman with eyes like sapphires and footsteps soft and silent came in
the night and wrapped the earth in a white mantle as a mother wraps
her baby in its blanket of wool. There are children to-day who shout
joyfully, “Frau Hulda has been here!†when they look out in the
morning and find the earth covered with snow since they went up to
bed. Last winter a little boy called to me in tones of delight: “See!
A QUEER CREATURE.
see! the twinkle stars are falling!†He had caught some star-shaped
snow crystals on his mitten.
The story of the Wolf and the Sun is one of the oldest stories
known and is a hundred times prettier than a hundred others that
have grown out of it. In telling you these many old, old stories of
sun, moon and stars, I have taken the greatest care to give you the best
ever told; and as you read and re-read them you will see that whether
they grew up among Greeks or Hindus, Norse or Arabs, every one
was stamped with a most beautiful, heaven-made feeling which finds
an answering thought in the heart of every child. They are part
of the world’s old story, out of which all good stories grow, the story
of love which makes gods and giants, fairies and children, men and
women forget themselves in doing for others.
Sara E, Wiltse
A OUERER- CREATURE:
F ever there was a queer creature the crabis one. It always moves
sideways. Its two little hind legs are flat and broad like paddles,
and are called “swimmers.†The crab has eight other legs. The two
front legs have each a pair of nippers, with which it catches its food.
Crabs are caught with long-handled nets. In “casting†froma
boat, a piece of meat is tied toa string; ard with a sinker attached
the bait goes to the bottom.
When the string pulls hard the fisherman pulls it up with the crab
hanging to the bait, until near the surface of the water, then gently
pushes the net under the crab and lands it in the boat.
The baby crabs are very small and very queer looking with their
long horns.
When a crab has grown all it can in its shell, it crawls away into
some retired place away from its enemies. A new shell grows, and
the upper shell loosens so that gradually the crab draws itself out of
the old shell. The new shell soon gets hard enough to be a strong
house for it once more. Soft crabs are a dainty food.
THE WINDOW.
HEN you first wake in the morning, after kissing papa and
mama which way do you look? Nearly always toward the
window, I am sure. Sometimes in winter the window shows you many
beautiful pictures on it, as if it could not wait for you to come and
look through it to see what is outside.
The frost makes many a fine drawing of mountains and castles,
trees, flowers and ferns upon the glass.
In the illustration you see how you can make windows with your
hands, and you will have great pleasure in peeping through the sash
and telling stories of what you see. Sometimes our eyes are called
the windows of our souls, and I am sure when you look in mama’s eyes
you will see a light more beautiful than that of the sun from the win-
dow of your room. And now I am going to tell you something very
wonderful about: what may be seen in these eye-windows.
If a little boy with frowning brow and unhappy mouth looks deep
into mama’s loving eyes, what do you think he will see? Just a
frowning, unhappy little boy, no matter how much mama may wish
him to see a happy one, It can be no other way.
Smile and look into the eye-window and you see a smiling face.
Tt is very much that way with every kind of window. The sun
may shine into the clearest window that ever lighted a pretty room,
but if you look through that window with your feelings all clouded
and cross you cannot see the sunlight as the beautiful thing it is to
the child who is in a pleasant temper.
So we really make our windows what we will. We may have them
daintily traced with fairy-like pictures of beautiful scenery, like our
house windows in a frosty winter morning, or we may see in them the
glowing colors of the most lovely church window, or they may be so
clear and unspotted that there seems nothing between our souls and
the ever-near Soul of all Love. If you keep your soul like that, you
- will know the meaning of the windows and all you see through them,
from stars in the sky to snowflakes on the sill, S, E. Wiltse.
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WINDOWS.
HIS is the way the orange grows,
The orange grows,
Out in the sun by the wall:
First there’s a dear little, white little bud,
(O, why is the tree so tall? )
First there’s a dear little, white little bud,
Then there’s a dear little flower
That smells and smells, as it swells and swells,
Growing bigger every hour ;
Then bye and bye — Yes, bye and bye —
There’s a funny hard green ball,
Too small to eat, too young to be sweet,
That hangs on the tree by the wall.
This is the way that the funny ball,
The funny ball,
Grows to be large and round:
Tt hangs a-swing by a soft stem-string,
(We wish it would drop to the ground ! )
Tt hangs a-swing by a soft stem-string,
On the tree with thick leaves bright,
While it swells and swells, as it smells and smells
As if surely fit to bite.
Then hye and bye — Yes, bye and bye —
We hear a dropping sound !
And there it lies, before our eyes,
Yellow, and big, and round.
Estelle Thomson.
a
* ap ee
ee At FROCK & BATHEDORE.
JAPANESE GIRLS PLAYING BATTLEDOR: AND SHUTTLECOCK,
A RED APPLE:
T was a beautiful apple. It looked as if it had been dipped in the
sunrise. And a tree full of red apples — what 2 sight! So Amy
Davis thought when she went to visit her grandparents. Alas, the
the tree was not in their garden, but stood plump and ruddy on Squire
Drake’s grounds.
How, then, did Amy get the apple? Listen:
“There, Amy,†said her grandmother the forenoon of the day she
came, “is a nice great red apple. Our neighbor, old Squire Drake,
brought it in this morning, to show what kind of fruit the tree was
growing. He was here before you came. T saved it for you.â€
“ You are ever so kind, but grandma, hadn’t you better keep it,
please ?â€â€™
“No, L saved it for you, dear. Youwill not get another. I would
like to see Squire Drake give a basket of apples right out for once, but
he does not throw his apples round.â€
Squire Drake throw his apples round! The idea! He did not do
any. throwing, especially into a neighbor’s lap, but laid every apple
carefully away in a big barrel. Then he filled another barrel, all for
himself.
‘Amy went out into the garden, holding very carefully in her hand
this fine lump of red sunshine.
- There were two or three apple-trees in her grandmother’s garden.
Amy filled her apron with Rhode Island Greenings. But they were
hard winter apples. There was not one eatable apple among them.
- And Squire Drake’s red apple looked too pretty to eat! She stood
A RED APPLE.
and gazed over the fence at the bright tree, bearing a hundred of just
such red apples. .
Then she walked along, and was about to put her teeth into the
red apple — when what was it she saw ?
Somebody asleep as he leaned against the roadside fence under the
oak tree at the corner. How tired he looked, his head bowed, but
eee having such a restful nap,
the tired traveller !
‘He has no home, he
has been walking a long
way, he is hungry,â€
thought Amy. “Had I
not better give him my
apple?â€
But she wanted it so
much for Amy Drvis!
Finally, she thought she
would not be like Syuire
Drake, but would give
her treasure.
She went back to the
house, found a piece of
white paper and a lead
pencil, wrote on the
paper, “ For a Poor Oid
Mon,†and carefully
wrapping the red apple
in the white paper, tim-
idly, gently, laid her gift
in the old man’s lap. Then she softly tripped away.
About an hour later, after a pleasant walk, she was going into the
house, when she heard a strange voice in the kitchen, and stopped.
Somebody was speaking to Grandmother Davis. “You see, Mrs.
Davis, I was asleep — having dropped down here by the fence to en-
joy the fall sunshine. I found this apple and piece of paper, when I
SYA
ee
AMY GAZED AT 1HE BRIGHT TREE.
A RED. APPLE.
awoke, in my lap. It amused me very much. It touched me, too.
You say it is your little granddaughter’s handwriting. Are you sure
that it is, and that it is the apple I brought in here this morning?â€
“Yes,†said Mrs. Davis, “it is Amy’s writing, and the apple that I
gave her. I tell the apple by a whitish circle round the stem.â€
That night, at the tea-table, by little Amy’s plate stood a basket of
red apples.
A slip of paper lay on top.
On the slip was written, “ From a Poor Old Man,†and below this,
“ Neighbor Drake.â€
Edward A. Rand.
1. ‘‘Ler’s HAVE SOME FUN!†8. ‘HOW DO YOU LIKE IT?â€
2. A JOKE ON THE DOG 4. THE JOKE ON THE BOYS,
A DAY IN A TREE.
(Great Cats I Have Met.)
HILE in Brazil, I had one day a very in-
teresting adventure, which I shared with
two cats.
Thad left my Indians in camp, and was stroll-
ing alone through a partly-cleared portion of the
forest. Coming into an open glade, I saw a little
ahead a herd of white-lipped peccaries rooting
among the logs in search of lizards, small snakes,
beetles and other creeping things on which these curious hog-like
creatures feed.
Although I had not been long in the country, I had learned that
unless a safe place of refuge be at hand it is dangerous for any living
thing to meddle with these savage little beasts. But as they were the
first peccaries I had ever seen, I determined to stay and study them.
So I slung my rifle and softly climbed up into the notch of a low-spread-
ing tree where I could watch the comical tailless animals at my ease.
By and by, one of the herd — there were about a hundred — wand-
ered away from
therestandcame Jf
almost directly i
under my perch, ih
and began to root
up the ground
precisely like a domestic pig. While looking down on it, I saw two
slowly advancing lines of wave-like motion in the high grass be-
tween it and the forest's edge. I could not see what caused the
motions. Little by little the unseen objects drew nearer, and I almost
held my breath waiting to see what I should see. The lines of motion
were not long enough, nor wavy enough, to be made by snakes ; besides
I knew that the boa-constrictor, the only serpent likely to attack such
game, did not steal upon its prey in that manner.
HEAD OF PECCARY.
“pwoO SLOWLY ADVANCING LINES OF WAVE-LIKE MOTION.â€
MED AMIN, ALAnREE:
All at once, at last, two spotted forms bounded high above the
grass and descended on the peccary. With fierce cat-like growls they
tried to fix their teeth and claws in its bristly bark. But the peccary,
dropping on the ground, rolled over and over, squealing, and instantly
the whole herd came rushing up, and in one minute would have made
mince-meat of the rash cats if they had not scurried up a tree. This
tree stood about thirty feet from mine.
While the beasts were climbing the trunk, and even after they had
settled themselves among the branches,
IT could see them perfectly well, but I
could not guess what they were. I only
knew they were some kind of cat. At first
glance I had thought of ocelots, but they
were too small, not so beautiful, and not
spotted in the same way.
But my study was cut short. The herd
of peccaries had discovered my presence.
Perhaps connecting me with their four-
footed enemies, they surrounded both trees
and began to gnaw the trunks furiously, as
if bent on cutting them through. My curiosity had got me in a
pretty fix! I had not enough ammunition to shoot a quarter of the
herd. Iand their other treed game were close prisoners. We might
have to stay in our trees until we perished from thirst, or dropped
down among the beasts. To descend alive among the peccaries would
be certain death. Iwas not more thana mile from camp, and possibly
might have called my Indians by firing a rapid succession of shots, but
all the gold of Brazil would not tempt an Indian to attack a drove of
white-lipped peccaries. I had one hope: it was early morning and the
day was all before me. Perhaps the vicious little beasts might get
intolerably thirsty themselves after awhile and make off.
But until they did leave, I must sit in my tree and wait. And I
did wait, hours and hours; waited until the noonday sun blazed down
through my leafy screen; waited until I would have given all I had
for a pint of water — and still the savage peccaries kept up the siege. .
WHITE-LIPPED PECCARY.
A DAY IN A TREE.
‘rrmED!??
By the middle of the afternoon my thirst became intolerable. I
was inafrenzy. It seemed the only thing to do, to slaughter as many
of the besiegers as my ammunition would permit. Bringing my rifle
round I pointed it downward to fire. At that moment one old grizzled
peccary, evidently the leader, suddenly came out from the crowd and
A DAY IN A TREE.
moved off, uttering a series of squeaking grunts. He was instantly
followed by the whole herd. These signals were probably a call to
some woodland watering place, as they did not go in the direction of
the river.
The moment they were out of sight, thirsty as I was, I. turned my
attention to the two cats, now stretched lazily out on a limb and not
bothering themselves at all over
the turmoil they had raised. In a a
flash I had made sure of the larger one, &
but at the crack of my rifle its mate
leaped boldly out into space and, coming
down right side up, bounded away. -
I slid down from my roost and strip-
ped off the pelt of the slain cat in great
haste, fearing the peccaries might return
after drinking. The fur was pale yellow
above, marked by longitudinal lines of
dark patches. The lower parts were white,
also marked by rows of dark spots. But
in all other respects — shape of head, form
of body, teeth and claws, it was strikingly
like an ocelot.
I got safely back to camp with the
pelt, but the Indians could not name the
animal, and I felt I had found a creature
about as rare as any “jet-black lion.â€
Many years afterwards, in the city
of Calcutta, I happened to pick up an
illustrated English edition of a work on
natural history by a Spanish naturalist, Don Felix de Azora, who
had during his lifetime resided in Brazil. From this book I learned
that the cat which had so puzzled me, and the natives as well, was the
mitis, or chati.
“ITS MATE LEAPED.’?
W. Thompson.
A COUNTRY VACATION.
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iDAS LEWIS AN-De HER: “LIGHT.â€
A Visit with a famous Life-Saver.
T Newport, R. L., one September
day I stood on a little pier
calling across the water a very famous
name: “Ida Lewis! Ida Lewis!â€
In a few moments a woman came
out of the house on the rocks, and
down a ladder, got into a boat, and
soon was shaking hands with me. I
stepped into the boat and soon was
climbing up the same steps she had
come down. Before we went into
the house I admired her flower-gar-
den, the earth for which had come in
boats from the mainland; in her girl-
hood there had been but bare rocks.
Her father was keeper of Lime-
rock Lighthouse, and the girl had to learn to row and sail a boat like
a sailor, because when she went to school or was sent on errands, she
must go over the few hundred feet of water that lay between her rock,
in the harbor, and the mainland.
Since her father’s and mother’s death she lives here alone, except
for her pilot brother who comes home nights when he can ; when he
cannot, some friend comes to stay with her. When her brother is
home Sundays, she rows to the mainland and attends church.
Copyright, 1895, by Alpha Publishing Company. All rights reserved.
Frank H. Child, Newport, R. I. Photographer.
IDA LEWIS.
IDATLEW IS AND (HER LIGHT .7?
Ida had saved many lives before she was made Light-keeper; and
when fifteen years ago her paralyzed father could no longer tend the
“Light,†the place and salary was given to her with words of praise
for her courageous acts.
Her house on the rocks has six pretty furnished rooms. Her bed-
room is right opposite the “ Light,†so she can watch it all night Of
course she sleeps, but she must waken, and see that all is right, sev-
eral times.
She must light the “Light†at sunset, and change it for a freshly-
filled lamp at midnight, and put it out exactly at sunrise; and she
must write in a book each time, just the very second that she did this.
Also she must make a record how much wick and oil was burned!
The Light stands in a small cupboard looking out over the water.
It is only two or three steps above the hall-floor. Daytimes the lamp
wears a white linen cap, to keep off dust.
This famous Light is an ordinary kerosene lamp with a red glass
chimney, to make it cast a red light out tarcugh the windows of the
cone-shaped cupboard. There are looking-glass reflectors, just like
those seen behind lamps in village stores; and these and the window
panes through which the light is seen by the sailors, must be polished
daily with chamois skin, till not a speck of dimness can be found.
Shelves close by hold her lamp-scissors, her knife, kerosene can, and
lamp-cloths, and the ever-clean chamois. Her first duty is to clean
the lamp and polish her glasses in the morning, lest they should not
be ready at sunset, if she should be ill.
Ida was sixteen years old when she heard the first outcry of danger,
and saw four young men struggling in the water near by; jumping into
her boat, in a few moments she had “saved†the four drowning men.
This was in 1858; a few years later it was the turn of a Fort
Adains soldier to be saved; the newspapers noticed it, it was read, and
forgotten.
That winter she went out to pick up two struggling men and got
them into her boat with difficulty — then went back and looked for a
sheep they had lost overboard and rescued it as gladly as if it had
been human.
IDA LEWIS AND HER <“‘LIGHT.â€
The newspapers told this last story, and those who read, remem-
bered that it was the same Light-keeper’s daughter they had read
about before, and they began to call her “ the brave Ida Lewis,†“ the
Grace Darling of America.†Ida herself was thinking very little
about it, but was helping her father and mother daily like other good
girls the world never hears of.
But it seemed now as if “things kept happening,†In a few days
she once more, about daylight, heard cries; this time it was a man
whose boat had been wrecked in the night. Ida saved him just as he
was getting so weak he was ready to slip off the rock he had clung to
until he was almost frozen.
Jn 1869, her mother saw two soldiers clinging to a boat that was
upside down. Again Ida went to the rescue. This time it was a hard
battle both for her life and theirs; it was a fearful hour of fighting
waves and wind. But with the help of a very young brother she had
taken with her, she drew both men into her boat. In all, she has
saved, I think she told me, thirteen lives.
Once, she told me, she was feeling ill and getting ready for bed and
had her shoes off when the outcry came, but she did not stop for
shoes; she went as she was, and saved those in danger.
To-day, if the call came, Ida’s boat would go to the rescue as
promptly as when she made her first life-saving trip thirty-six years
ago! Keziah Shelton.
LIME ROCK LIGHTHOUSE, HOME OF IDA LEWIS,
“THEY PLUNGED DOWN THE LONG HILLS.â€
HOW DICK DROVE Pith, MAM-CO4CH:
Ei was very black, shining black: and he was very, very small,
for his ten years. Just who he was he used to tell the guests
at the big summer resort where he lived.
ss Ves: Little Dick Martin,’ he would say. My daddy’s Big ee
Martin, an’ he drives de mail-coach w’at you white fokes comes over
in f’'um de station. An’ I’s¢ his hossller.’ Then he would smile and
show the even rows of glistening white teeth that seemed to go back
to his ears, and bow his curly head and doff his big straw oa
HOW DICK DROVE THE MAIL-COACH.
With the mail-bags inside the great lumbering coach and the four
spirited horses dashing along in front, Big and Little Dick Martin
every day bowled along the long, hot road to the station, to and fro.
As Big Dick cracked the whip over the horses’ backs and whistled to
‘them, Little Dick watched how his father guided the team, and
thought of the time when he too should drive four horses, and stored
away every small trick and knack of the art in his round curly head.
And one hot, hot day, the chance came for Little Dick to use all
he had learned. They were spinning along over a smooth stretch,
talking together, when suddenly Big Dick began to rock to and fro in
his seat as if deathly sick. A moment later, even before Little Dick
could ask what was the matter, the lines fell on the horses’ backs, and
the big driver tumbled headlong into the road. There he lay in the
hot sun, motionless.
Little Dick dropped from the seat— his feet did not touch the
“boot†by many inches—and caught up the lines in both his strong
little hands and pulled the horses to a stop. After wrapping the lines
about the big brake as Big Dick always did when he left the team for
a moment, he climbed down and ran back to his father.
For a minute or more the poor little “hossller†knew not what to
do; then he stooped and put his own small arms and hands under the
big man’s arms, and he put all his strength into lifting him.
“Tse got t git him home,†he said to himself. Then, half lifting,
half dragging Big Dick along the road, he got him, somehow, to the
coach and inside. Ile made him as comfortable as he could with the
cushions. Closing the door he climbed back up to the driver’s seat. His
heart beat hard as he unwound the reins from the brake and sorted
them out between his fingers as he had -seen others do. Then, stand-
ing up with his little back braced against the seat, his feet well spread
~~ out on the bottom of the “boot,†Little Dick clucked to the horses,
and then they were off.
Of the drive over the hot, dusty road, Little Dick has not much
recollection. The whole affair seems like a dream to him now. Once
or twice he knows the big horses nearly forced him from his place as
they plunged down or tore up the long hills. More than once the
HOW DICK DROVE THE MAIL-COACH.
little darkey had to shut his eyes and bite his lip to keep up courage
and not let go. But Dickie Martin’s courage was bigger than his
body, and did not give way. Shoving hard at the brake to slow up
the coach every time it went down hill, guiding with his little hands
and arms the snorting, racing horses, he stuck to his post. On the
the coach plunged and dashed until the last bend in the road was
whirled around, and the springs came in view.
Bracing himself now for the final effort, Little Dick wrapped the
lines about his numb hands afresh. and took a firmer stand on the
“boot.†With all his might, he leaned back and pulled--and pulled
—and pulled!
The bridge over the big stream which flowed through the lawn
was only a few feet away, a bridge unsafe to gallop over. A moment,
and the leaders would be upon it. Would they feel and heed their
driver’s slowing signal? would they? Again the tug at the reins,
and they checked; the wheel horses checked; and asecond later the
coach rolled slowly over and up before the hotel office, where a crowd
was watching the little darkey in his desperate effort. A hundred
hands were ready to take him down, but Little Dick did not see them.
Unwrapping the reins from his fingers, he dropped the lines and
scrambled stiffly down.
“ Daddy’s sick inside!†he said as things began to grow black
about him. “Take him out, please, suh — he’s got one of dem spells.â€
Then he turned and leaned against one of the big wheels, faint,
but knowing he had done all he could.
Half an hour later the doctor came where he sat. ‘ Dicky,†said
he, “ your father is well enough to go over to your house now, but if
you had got him here ten minutes later he never would have gone.
You are a brave little chap.â€
From that day to this little Dick’s right to drive the coach has
never been questioned. Big Dick tells his passengers the story, and
ends with this assurance :
“You needn’t be ’fraid to ride in dis coach whilst dat boy is up hyere
wif me, gen’lemen, cause if J don’t take you fru all right he'll do it.â€
Lverard Jack Appleton.
MVe SERS EOIN: SELUINars
(Great Cats I Have Met.)
NCE upon a time, a thirst for adventure
led me to South Africa. After much
wandering I camped down in Matabele Land.
I had a transvaal wagon drawn by six oxen,
and six Matabele natives.
Tn those days lions were numerous in that
part of Africa, and my ambition was to shoot
one. So far, I had never got a fair sight of
a lion though we could hear them roaring
around us every night, and had to keep up
fires to prevent our men and cattle being
HEAD OF MALE LION, surprised by the prowlers; for the lion is
the most cunning, treacherous and sneaking
of the cat family. Sometimes he is bold, at other times cowardly.
It all depends upon the state of his stomach. After a heavy meal he
appears indifferent, if not actually magnanimous; but woe betide the
man or beast upon which he comes hungry! I have known a full
grown lion to run from a child in the dusk of evening, and the same
animal to charge next day upon a dozen well-armed men and carry off
one in broad daylight !
Two of my men, whom I called Tom and Joe, spoke a little En-
glish, and these two usually went with me when out on foot. One
day we three were hunting in the Molopo foothills, when Tom, who
had been scouting in advance, came softly back and whispered:
“Master, me see big tao (lion) go into hole in rocks.â€
After going a hundred yards or so through scattering trees and
bushes, we came to a great pile of rocks. On one side yawned a dark
opening about five feet high and four wide. That we had indeed
found a lion’s den, the rank feline odor proceeding from the hole, as
well as numerous bones lying around, furnished proof.
“Yes, Tom, there’salion in there. But how are we to get him?â€
MY FIRST LION HUNT.
‘We LOOKED A DEMON OF DESTRUCTIVE POWER.â€
« Wait till sun most down; then tao hungry, and come out.â€
This really seemed our only chance of getting a shot at the beast.
But our patience was tested scarcely twenty minutes.
I had sat down at one side of the opening. The two blacks were
MY FIRST LION HUNT.
carelessly standing a little in front. Suddenly, without having made
a sound, an enormous red-maned lion darted from the cave’s mouth,
reached the men in two bounds and bore both to the ground. Either
through fright, or from being stunned, neither of the fellows uttered a
ery. They lay asif dead. The lion, lashing his long tufted tail and
growling, stood over them, as though undecided which to finish first.
~He was not more than fifteen yards from me and I had all the
guns, but this was the first lion I had ever encountered, and I was ner-
vous. The bullet I fired at the back of the huge uplifted head struck
too low. Roaring, he turned from the prostrate blacks and came at
me; not leaping as before, but in a sort of crouching run.
It was an appalling sight. With ears laid back, bristling hair,
flaming eyes and exposed fangs, he looked with his sweeping mane a
demon of destructive power, and I had short time to reflect that if my
next shot did not kill him I should be torn to pieces, when he suddenly
stopped within ten feet of me and crouched lower still, and I had my
chance. Quick as lightning, I aimed between the cruel eyes and
touched the trigger. A thunderbolt could not have caused a more in-
stantaneous death. When
shot squarely through the
brain, the largest lon or
tiger is as easily killed as
a rabbit.
With a shout I looked
across to where Tom and
Joe had lain. Being but
slightly bruised, on seeing
Piety ean my peril, both had taken
to the nearest trees. Now
seeing the dread “ tao†dead, came down again.
But our dangerous sport was only beginning; I had just reloaded,
when in the distance we heard that’ peculiar sighing moan which pre-
cedes a lion’s roar, and then the hoarse, rumbling roar itself.
“ She-tao come!†exclaimed Joe, his swarthy face almost pale.
“Stand by me, you cowards,’ I commanded, putting a rifle in the
MY FIRST LION HUNT.
hands of each. “Fire together when I give the word! If you run
Pll shoot you both!â€
When not frightened they were good shots, and believing my
threats they braced up. I had hardly finished speaking when a large
lioness, clearing
the high bushes,
came bounding to-
ward us. “Now,
Fire!†I shouted Sy
as she alighted EE:
within twelve
feet of us and
crouched for the final spring. The three guns
cracked together and every bullet told. Tom and
Joe went half-crazy, and I was not much Jess
jubilant over this good termination of my first
lion hunt. - V
But was it terminated? Evidently my men
thought not. While I was reloading, they crawled
into the den with a supply of matches. Presently, mingled with their
exultant cries, I heard a sound of whining and meowings.. In a min-
ute or two the grinning blacks came out, bringing a pair of beautiful
cubs, not higher, but much heavier and longer than large house cats.
The pretty little creatures, too, spit and snarled, scratched, bit and
meowed exactly as does an enraged tabby, though more vigorously.
We were obliged to tie their feet together and muffle their heads in
order to carry them away.
I had never before seen lion-cubs and was surprised to find their
soft fawn-tinted coats marked by dark stripes like those of an adult
tiger. These lines, my Matabeles said, always disappeared when the
youngsters reached the age of six months.
We tried hard to Teen the valuable kittens alive, but unable to get:
milk, we did not succeed. The interesting little creatures would not
eat any kind of flesh, nor even lap the warm blood of freshly-killed
game, and both died before the end of the week. = W. Thomson.
STEALING ON ITS PREY.
Nie MYRTLE read to the children this afternoon an Account
sent by her married cousin, Mrs. Pingry. Mrs. Pingry wrote:
“T spell it with a big A, just for fun, because it is of so small a matter,
but it was a sunshiny matter for it caused some smiling, and it brought
out real kindness from several persons.
“Mr. Pingry goes in on the 8.17 train and attends to his furnace
the last thing, allowing twelve minutes to reach the station. When
about half-way there, yesterday, it occurred to him that he forgot to
shut the drafts. Just then he met Jerry Snow, the man at the Binney
place, and asked him to please call round our way, and ask for Mrs.
Pingry, and say Mr. Pingry had left the drafts open. Jerry said he
would after going to the post-office, but Mr. Pingry, fearing Jerry
might forget, called hastily at the door of Madam Morey, an elderly
woman who does plain sewing, and said he forgot to shut the furnace
drafts; if she should see a boy passing would she ask him to call at _
our door, and ask for Mrs. Pingry, and tell her? Madam said she
would be on the lookout for a boy, while doing her baking.
“Now as Mr. Pingry was hurrying on, it came to him that he had
not yet made a sure thing of it, and at that moment he saw the woman
who does chore-work at the Binney’s, coming by a path across the
field. He met her at the fence, and asked if she would go around by
our house and say to Mrs. Pingry that Mr. Pingry had left the drafts
all open. She agreed, and Mr. Pingry ran to his train, a happy man.
“Now Madam Morey felt anxious about the furnace, and stepped
often to the window, and at last spied a small boy with a sled, and
finding he knew where we live, told him Mr. Pingry went away and
forgot to shut the furnace Sea and wished to send back word;
THE SUNSHINE CORNER.
and would the boy coast down that way and tell Mrs. Pingry? The
boy promised, and coasted down the hill.
“Madam Morey still felt uneasy about the furnace, and not being
sure the boy would do the errand kept on the watch for another; and
when the banana-man stopped and made signs at her window ‘ would
she buy?’ she wrote a few words on a bit of brown paper and went
with him far enough to point out the house and made signs, ‘would he
leave the paper there?’ He made signs ‘ yes?’ and passed on.
“ Now at about half-past eight, our front doorbell rang and I heard
acall forme. I hurried down, and received the chore-woman’s mes-
sage and acted upon it at once.
“ Sometime afterwards, as I was in the back-chamber, I heard voices
outside and saw six or eight small boys trying to pull their sleds over
a fence, and wondered how they happened to be coasting in such a
place. Presently I heard a commotion on the other side and went to
the front windows. All the sleds were drawn up near the steps, and
the small boys were stamping around like an army come to take the
house. Seeing me they all shouted something at me. They seemed
so terribly in earnest, and came in such a strange way, that I flew
down, sure something dreadful had happened — perhaps Willy was
drowned! and I began to tremble. At sight of me at the door they
all shouted again, but I did not understand. I caught hold of the big.
gest boy and pulled him inside, and said to him, in a low, tremulous
voice, ‘Tell me! Whatisit?’ He answered, in a bashful way, ‘ Mr,
Pingry said he left the drafts open. ‘Thank youall!’ I said.
“Next, the banana-man, bobbing his head, and making signs,
though I shook my head ¢ no.’ Finally up came Bridget with a slip of
brown paper having written on it, but no name signed: ‘ Your fur-
nace drafts are open.’ Such a shout as went up from us!
“Grand company coming, I guess! exclaimed my sister, a short
time afterwards. Sure enough there stood a carriage and span. Jerry
Snow, it seems, forgot our furnace until he went to look at his own.
He was then just about to take Mrs. Binney out for an airing. He
mentioned it to her and she had him drive round with the message.
“ By this time we were ready to go off, explode, shout, giggle, at
Ad SEUMBER SONG.
the approach o. any one; and when Madam Morey stepped up on our
piazza we bent ourselves double with laughter, and my sister went
down upon the floor all in a heap, saying, ‘Do — you — suppose —
she — comes — for that ?’
“Even so. She had worried, thinking the hot pipes might heat
the woodwork, and half-expected to hear the cry of ‘fire!’ and bells
ringing, and could not sit still in her chair, and in the goodness of her
heart she left her work and came all the way over!
“Oh! we had fun with Mr. Pingry that evening. But now, my
dear Miss Myrtle, the funniest part of all was that Mr. Pingry did not
forget to shut the drafts!†Miss Fillissy-Follissy.
A SLUMBER SONG.
Words by M. H. Music by F. E..8.
Softly throughout, but well accented.
1. Sleep, ohsleep, my lambs a-wea - ry! Shin-ingsun-beamsall are o'er;
2. Glid - ing, glid - ing to the mu - sic Of a ten - der, tender lulla-by
8. Soft - ly to the swaying grass-es Fall the gra-cious drops of dew;
ee a ees OPK ————
| : { | | en |
eS a ity iaariey! at leaarat 7 a i— aah
56-1 ee = see eto 3s 2
—ire . qo =| : wae
: — |
U ’
"Tis the time whenlit - tle children Sail a- way to slum-ber shore.
Gent - ly drift the lads and lasses When the stars come out on high.
Yet more soft -ly at the gloaming Close aa: eyes of blue.
al
— * Een ae |= el
es a are i= Se a4 = ei
: =
-
= SS
oe Te
ee ae ees
e
ee
WRAPS AND: “CAPS: FOR DOLLY.
F there is one thing more than another
that a doll needs it is wraps which she
can wear any time inthe year. Every doll
should possess a short sacque with a jaunty
cap to match, for warm winter days, cold
spring and fall days, and cool summer days.
They are not hard to make.
The sacque can be dark-colored flannel
or cloth, of pieces left from a big sister’s
gown, perhaps. It is not lined, but the
seams are neatly pressed open and cut in
little notches so they will not ravel.
After cutting patterns shaped like the
pieces of the sacque diagram and about the
size of the doll, cut two backs and two
DOLLY’s sHorT sacque axp car. {ronts of the cloth, and baste back, shoulder
and under-arm seams, and try the garment
on dolly. After fitting it to her, sew the seams, and hem the fronts
and bottom with small light “catch†stitches. Then do the “ pressing.â€
Next cut the capes. Cut “true,†with sharp scissors, so the edges
will not look frayed or ragged. The capes are not to be hemmed.
Cut the second cape exactly like the first, only a half-inch shorter.
Baste them together at the neck.
Then cut the collar and sew it to the sacque, the center, marked
“fold,†coming exactly at the center back-seam. Now fasten the
capes under the collar exactly as they are to go. Then sew them
down flat, just over the collar seam.
Next seam and hem the sleeves. Then gather the large rounding
top between the notches. Place seam at notch in sacque-front, and
sew in. .
Now try sacque on dolly again and pin the front hems so that they
lap enough to be “double-breasted.†Put on one set of dark pearl
WRAPS AND CAPS FOR DOLLY.
buttons and make button-holes to match. Then sew the second set
of buttons back of button-holes. Two buttons can also be put on at
waist line in center of back, and two on each sleeve.
Tam-o’-shanter Cap. Cut out of soft silk, cloth or velvet, a bias
strip two inches wide, and long enough to fit around the doll’s head
after it is twisted in a roll. To get the right measure, pass the roll
around just back of the bang down to the center of the back of the
head, as that is where the cap will rest when worn.
Now cut out a circular piece which will measure across its cen-
ter from one to two
inches less than the
length of twisted
piece.
Sew ends of
twisted piece to-
gether. Gather cir-
cular piece until its
edge will fit the
twisted piece. Then
sew it on, catching
the stitches through
the twisted folds so
they will not show.
A quill may be fast-
ened at one side, or
one or two soft
chicken feathers.
A Long Mother Hubbard Cloak may be made by following the
pattern of the plain nightgown in the February article, only leaving the
fronts open, each side being hemmed. It is pretty.made of white flan-
nel. Put a wide band, like a cuff, on the sleeves.
Finish the neck with a collar like that on the short sacque, and
fasten on two or three capes like the sacque capes. Let the longest
cape quite cover the yoke. Fasten them on a little bit back from
either side of the front opening so they will flare jauntily off toward
Siseve A Svwrk
Sacque 7
Py
emdaseg ie aryyog Ye WH
(Apo gto one)
Short Sacque
(rait aA (ront )
Diagrams Yor
Port Dacque
alse tor yart ot
Yong Choa
Cape A Snort Sucque
(ax & Long Cloak)
VARA SS ANID GAPS SI ROR “Dp OE Ya
the shoulders. The “stylishness†of the cloak depends on the flare
of the little capes. Fasten yoke with buttons.
A Snuy Little Tight Cap, with broad strings, goes with the Mother
MOTHER HUBBARD CLOAK AND
TIGHT-FITTING CAP.
Fasten the gathers to exactly fit the crown-
piece, then sew the strip and crown-piece to-
gether. A lining of the stuff should be put in.
Hubbard cloak. Measure over top of dolly’s
head, from just below the ears. Cut a pat-
tern that length, in the shape of diagram,
making the width across narrow part such
that the length will be three and a half
times that. The distance between a b and
ed must be about a third the width across
narrow part.
Seamab and cd together. Gather along
the curve between b and ec. Try on, and
draw the gathers in until the cap fits dolly’s
head snugly.
Then cut a cir-
cular crown piece
large enough to fill
in the open circle
left at back of head,
allowing for seams.
BACK OF CAP AND CAPES,
The edge of the cap can be left plain or a
ruche of lace inserted. Tie the broad strings of ribbon in a jaunty
bow when worn. The cap can be made of silk, velvet or cloth.
Annie Isabel Willis.
Close: fitting Cap
(front)
2
Yj fais
if NCE
PRI
AUGH
n. |
ae
GoodkKk
nome @
ing or
HERE is a King in Nonsense Land
Whose castle, neither tall nor grand,
Is gaily perched upon a hill
Behind the town of Jolliville.
A spangled jester lets you in—
THE JESTER. Whoever calls on good King Grin.
His height in feet is only four ;
Around his waist is one foot more ;
His mouth is wide; his eyes are twinkles
Half hidden in a net of wrinkles ;
His beard is red; his hair is thin —
In fact, quite bald is good King Grin. “ QuITE BALD.â€
His family — beneath the sur
You never saw a happier one:
The good Queen Smile, so fair to see;
Prince Laugh, the heir-apparent he ;
And Princess Giggle’s baby din —
prinonss ciccix. Is life and joy to good King Grin.
GOOD KING GRIN.
Three ministers of state has he:
Prime Minister is Pleasantry ;
In Foreign Matters, great and small,
Good-Nature ministers to all;
And Cheerfulness, when bills come in,
Is Treasurer to good King Grin.
His courser is a palfry stout,
And when the good king rides about,
The very babies crow for joy:
From peasant-man and peasant-boy,
From landed knight and all his kin,
cr ll
ANY
HOW UMBEN G Oc CR ARNE DS “HES: SON TEE;
(Great Cats I Have Met.)
S the elephant is not exactly a cat, I need not
tell here how, while in camp on the Lempopo
River I killed an enormous one over ten feet high,
his pair of tusks weighing a good deal over a hundred
pounds; nor how the mountain of flesh was con-
sumed by aswarm of wild Matabeles, who flocked in
to the feast from forest depths which I had supposed
to be entirely unpeopled. My only reason for re-
ferring to it is, that because of this “kill†as Rudyard
Kipling’s jungle people would say, I determined to
possess a leopard skin; a magnificent one worn as a
o
HARSHLY scruamine, Sign of his rank by the “ Headman†of the Matabeles
at the elephant feast having excited my admiration.
Next. morning with my two natives, ‘om and Joe, I started out
after my leopard skin. We went prepared to lie in wait all day. We
knew this distant part of the forest abounded in monkeys aad iguanas
(big lizards), on which the leopard is fond of lunching.
In the forest depths we sat down, each with his back against a
tree. There we remained absolutely motionless, but keenly on the
watch. As long as we did not stir we knew our presence would not
be discovered by any beast which in those darkling woods might be
seeking its prey during daylight hours.
But we were very soon found out by a visitor. Since taking our
places, quarter of an hour before, none of us had heard more than the
usual forest sounds, made by monkeys, parrots and other dwellers in
the tree-tops. Yet there suddenly appeared from behind Tom’s tree a
native boy, whose only clothing was a feather girdle and_a few daubs
of red paint, and his only weapon a bow sre arrows! ‘The shiny
black youngster seemed hardly twelve years old. He had seen us
entering the forest, and had given us a lesson in noiseless wooderaft.
He knelt by Tom’s side and whispered. Tom rose and came softly
HOW MBENGO EARNED HIS KNIFE.
over to me. In whispers he said that in a grove of thorny scrub quites
near, a big “ tiger†was lying upon the ground devouring an iguana.
“‘Mbengo says,†continued Tom, “you give him knife he show you
tiger.†Africans call leopards “ tiger.â€
I jumped at the offer. Taking off my belt, to which hung an
excellent hunting-knife, I drew it up a few holes and buckled it
around the urchin’s chunky waist. The black imp could not refrain
from cutting up some delighted capers, but almost immediately got
down on all-fours and motioned us to do the same.
I whispered my men to stay where they were. Then I crept on
after the little fellow as well as I could. The soft, moist ground was
free of leaves and sticks, so our advance was noiseless. After going
about one hundred and fifty yards, Mbengo stopped at the edge of a
dense thicket and signed to me to draw up beside him. Then, very
dimly through the thick
scrub, I saw a splendid"
leopard stretched out at
full length and com-
placently growling as he
tore the prey held be-
tween his paws.
I brought my gun round into position and set both locks without
making a sound, but then found that from where I knelt it was impos-
sible to make a sure shot at the low-lying beast. My sharp-witted
guide saw it too. Before I could prevent, to my horror he disappeared
in the thicket. Ten seconds afterwards I saw the upper part of his
body as he stood upright not twelve feet behind the busy leopard!
Next, I heard the twang of his bow and the whiz of a tiny arrow.
The barbed point lodged in the back of the astonished beast. Harshly
screaming, the leopard sprang up and around and made a tremendous
leap at its puny assailant. But quick as the motion was, the boy’s
was quicker; while the enraged creature, untouched by my hastily-
fired shot, was yet in mid-air, Mbengo dropped behind a matted thorn
bush — and as the leopard passed over him, actually had the audacity
to slash at it with his new knife !
HOW MBENGO EARNED HIS KNIFE.
It is the nature of the cat kind to retreat when foiled in a first
attack. My leopard, instead of turning upon the boy, sprang up the
nearest tree. As he rose fairly into
view, my second bullet brought him
down, and when I reached the dead
body, my little darky was frantically
dancing and yelling over it.
Tom and Joe now came running up
and, hearing the story, gave a great
proof of their admiration of their young
countryman’s prowess by each bestow-
ing upon him some of their tobacco! I
afterwards found that this enterprising
youngster was a sqn of the “ Headmanâ€â€™
I had noticed at the elephant feast;
and no doubt on returning to his people with his store of tobacco
and his knife, even his father’s greatness was for a time eclipsed by
his own.
It was a singular piece of good fortune to have killed, in less than
four hours after leaving camp, so fine a leopard. The big reddish-buff
creature was truly a “ great cat,†over six feet long. His canines or
tusks were an inch and a half long; his claws— five on the fore feet
and four on the hind feet — were deeply curved, sharp as needles, and
strong, fully accounting for a leopard’s wonderful climbing powers.
The African leopard varies
very much in ground-color in
different localities and at
different ages and seasons.
I have seen leopards that were
almost red, and others that
were a dull grey, but the
“markings ’— the broken circles and spots— were always present.
Both in Asia and Africa I have observed tne common leopard mov-
ing about in the tree-tops, and unless I had seen it, I would not believe
that any creature so large could be so agile. Sometimes its motions
ASTONISHED.
SPRINGING,
HOW MBENGO EARNED HIS KNIFE.
MBENGO SLASHED AT HIM.
are so quick that one’s eye can scarce follow them, among the branches,
or distinguish the animal's lithe, graceful form from that of a swiftly
darting python
W. Thomson.
ICE SB AB ice STLEE Sis
HOUSANDS of childzen
nowadays have a regular
weekly allowance of spending-
money; sometimes it is but
five cents, and sometimes it is
fifty cents, and there are chil-
dren that get as much as a dol-
lar, or even more.
Mothers say that a “ weekly
allowance†is a good thing,
for the way it Is spent shows
what a child is, and what faults
need correcting. Butallagree
that no matter how extrava-
gant, or selfish, or foolish, chil-
dren are with their pocket-
money, they all seem to really enjoy giving a bit: for charity. The
“Fruit and Flower Mission,†and the “ Children’s Country Week,â€
can bear witness to that. And last summer a great many children
sent little sums of their own money to the “baby†ghips, or “ Floating
Hospitals ;� some who had no pocket-money held fancy fairs and got
up. little entertainments to raise funds.
In hot weather these blessed “ baby†ships— one is owned by St.
John’s Guild in New York City, and the one in Boston is hired by the
take sick babies and their mothers out on the salt water and
GUT FOR ALL DAY.
day
(After photograph, copyright 1894, by R. B. Tobey.)
THE VIOLINIST OF THE FLOATING HOSPITAL
THE “«‘BABY’’ SHIPS.
keep them out all day long breathing the life-giving sea-breeze. The
salt air seems to do for the poor little things what “ doctor’s medicineâ€
often fails to do without it.
In the hot weather last summer there were as many as twenty
thousand sick babies in New York City. In Boston, too, there were a
great many. The “sick babies†I speak of were “tenement-house â€
babies, and too sick, or too young, to be sent off on “ Country Weekâ€
holidays.
The air gets very loathsome and sickening in the homes of these
helpless little creatures. Often a whole family has to cook, eat, work
and sleep in just one room. In New York City, last summer, on one
very hot day every ten minutes some sick, tired-out baby died.
There is always this wretched state of things. It is hot every
summer, and there is no way for such families to leave their dreadful
homes and go in-
to the wide, cool
green country to
stop through the
time of the terri-
ble heat. Kind
people have long
worried over it,
and at last the
Floating Hospital,
TH FLOATING HOSPITAL. the first “baby â€
ship was planned.
Money was given in New York, and a ship was fitted up with cots,
hammocks and salt-water baths, and good milk and good food, and
good doctors and good nurses; and then through the worst of the heat
the sick little tots and their mothers were taken to stay out all day on
the salt water. It was good to see the poor wilted babies revive and
freshen up! Last summer the ship went out daily all the hot weather.
Each trip a thousand mothers and babies were carried.
Last summer the salt-water ship-ride was started in Boston. Only
a few trips could be made, as the Floating Hospital people had no ship
ISLES SORA B VOr STP iS.
of their own. Everybody hopes money will be given so that the trip
can be made every day this summer. Last winter the Boston young
people gave an amusing Cinderella fairy play to get funds for this
purpose, and it brought in a good sum of money for the babies.
WHERE THE HAMMOCKS SWING,
Some of the visitors, who went on the Boston sails, seemed sur-
prised to see so many interesting pretty little creatures among the
children. After they were bathed, fed and rested, and the whole com-
pany thronged on deck, it was a pretty sight; a “ Floating Baby
Show,†some one called it.
One, a tiny three-year-old black boy, became a general favorite.
Poor little Arthur Simpson! the doctors are having a struggle to keep
him from dying with his cough. Te is the solemn-eyed baby in the
picture, sitting on the deck-floor, drinking in the music of the little
Italian fiddler. Grey Burleson.
ell sie ae Zaks IMA eB OND:
le the kitchen of a tenement house in a
rural part of the city of Woburn, Mass.,
on a hot July afternoon four years ago,
the little girl whose picture you see
here was washing dishes.
She was eleven years old. Her name
vie VY was Lizzie Bond; “Lizzie May,†she
=A ll was called. Her father and mother were
=|. =n .
I" Miva, in the hay-field not far from the house,
ly J Uf, and she had been left in charge of the
| LWW four younger children playing outside.
ty Y,
// /
s FTO .
oN
Janie and Herbert, the older ones,
were whistling with grass. Martha
and Cynthia, the three-year-old baby,
Bei Se were trying to whistle, too. There was
an old well in the yard. Round the boards that covered it, the grass
grew high, and it was there the children were pulling the blades.
They were making such a noise the little girl did not notice when
the shouts and whistles changed to screams; but all at once came
hurrying feet and Martha’s voice crying as she ran: “ Oh, Lizzie
May! come quick! Cynthia! quick!â€
Before the words were out, Lizzie May had rushed out of the house
and past her. She saw the boards pushed away from the well-open-
ing. In an instant she was kneeling on the edge, calling, “ Cynthia!â€
There was no answer. “She is dead!†sobbed Martha. “She fell
over backwards and I tried to catch her dress and couldn't.â€
“ Get father and mother, quick!†Lizzie May said.
They were already coming running across the fields, Janie and
Herbert on before. Mr. Bond rushed to the nearest house for help.
- The others, hurrying, had hardly reached the gate when Herbert who
~ was ahead raised a cry of alarm: “ Lizzie May’s going down the well!â€
Lizzie May had just swung herself over the edge She could climb
LITTLE LIZZIE MAY “BON D*
up or down as well as any boy, and by the time the frightened faces
appeared above the opening she was far down. There was a tumult
of crying among the children: “She'll be drowned!†“She'll fall to
the bottom and be killed!†“Oh, mother, don’t let her go!†Mrs.
Bond, too, was calling down the well: “Are you crazy, Lizzie May!â€
“Tm all right,†was the answer. “I’m going to get Cynthia out.â€
That was all Lizzie May thought of. She clambered on down as
fast as she could, clinging to the little projections of the rough wall,
and bruising her bare feet trying to find bits of ledge for support.
Luckily the well had been long unused and the stones were dry, but
once a loose one gave way and came near carrying her with it.
It seemed as if she would never reach little Cynthia. When at
last her feet touched the water, she let herself cautiously down into
it. It really was below her waist; but it almost covered a little
motionless figure that lay limp in her arms when she lifted it.
For a moment Lizzie May was sure her little sister was dead; then
a moan and the closing of the arms about her neck gave her courage.
Lizzie May, with Cynthia on her breast, set her face toward the little
round of light far above, and then pulled herself up out of the water.
How she ever climbed up with the weight of the child partly . .
hanging on her neck and partly held by her left arm, she does not
know. She recalls the struggle upward, the fear of falling which grew
as she climbed higher, but after that nothing till she was aroused by
the sound of Cynthia’s crying and found herself out on the grass..
“The little one is all right,†someone was saying; “but if it had
not been for this brave child, we’d have a different story to tell.â€
All gathered around Lizzie May, sitting white and wide-eyed on the
grass, and everybody seemed to talk together, wondering at her cour-
age, pitying her bruised hands and feet, and asking her questions.
And Lizzie May, more frightened by this notice than she had been by |
her danger, blushed, hung her head, could not say a word. ‘i
And when the writer of this story a short time ago questioned the
heroine of it, she could say very little more than she did then.
“T don’t know how I did it,†she answered shyly. “TI suppose it
was because I knew it had to be done.†H. R. Hudson.
FLOWER TALK.
E give you names, sweet posies,
That in the gardens grow ;
But what you call each other
Td dearly like to know.
You must be little “folks,†P’m sure,
You look about so wise,
Half friendly, and half timid,
And half — just in surprise.
Surprised and glad to find the world
So lovely, I suppose !
Say do you talk? I wonder
If anybody knows!
If anybody does, I s’pose
It must be some of these —
Your little winged visitors,
The butterflies and bees.
But I don’t know a word they say;
They only buzz and buzz!
To have such voices, I don’t see
What kind of good it does!
Say, do you understand them,
My little posies sweet ?
When up they come a-sailing;
I wonder if you greet
FLOWER TALK.
Each other with “ Good morning!â€
Or some such pleasant way ;
How glad Id be if I could hear
The very words you say !
“Dpon’T YOU TALK ???
But, oh, ’'m such a different kind
Of little girl from you! —
Tll leave you with the butterflies,
And go and play with Prue.
M. D. Tolman,
AS AMUN 10:2 DEIGERS:
(Great Cats I Have Met.)
WENT to Eastern India, partly to indulge in tiger-shooting and
ie partly to see a very dear cousin and schoolmate, one Fred Stuart,
who was a lieutenant in the British army and at that time stationed
with his regiment in Calcutta.
Shortly after my arrival, Fred and five of his brother officers ob-
tained a month’s leave of absence. With a good retinue of servants
and horses, we set off for the Province of Nagpoor, about two hundred
miles northwest: of Calcutta.
Here we had great hunting; but a week had passed and we had
not yet seen the first hair of a tiger. In that part of India the tiger
was then hunted cn foot, trained clephants not being obtainable.
Tiger hunting on foot is fearfully dangerous sport, but all the more
attractive to a crowd like ours on that account.
One morning a native came into camp and told usa pair of old
- tigers and three well-grown cubs had nearly ruined the people of his
village, only two miles away. They had killed their cattle and goats.
The night before, a woman had been carried off while going to the
‘tank for water, only a few rods from her own door.
A family of tigers is always more destructive than a dozen singly-
roaming beasts. The parent pair kill ten times more prey than
the whole family can consume, on purpose to show their young ones
how to-kill! I myself, posted on a platform in a tree-top, once saw a
large tigress watching two cubs in their attempt to pull down a half-
grown buffalo. When the buffalo beat them off, the old tigress
bounded out of cover, broke the buffalo’s neck in an instant and then,
- proudly standing over the body, recalled the retreating cubs by a
peculiar purr, and actually cuffed them for their cowardice!
The native said the tigers had been “marked down†in a patch of
jungle near his village: “ Would the sahibs come out and kill them?â€
We would try. We loaded our big road-wagon up with fireworks,
hand grenades, ground-rockets, fiery serpents and giant crackers, and
A FAMILY OF TIGERS.
started. We soon reached the village, a collection of mud-dashed
bamboo huts. There were perhaps three hundred inhabitants.
Made brave by our presence, all the men, nearly a hundred, vol-
unteered to drive the tigers out of cover. They had provided them-
selves with tin pans, horns and wooden drums. We distributed the
fireworks, and then went on foot to a piece of bush jungle fifteen or
twenty acres in extent. The “beaters†went around to the far side,
while we took up our positions in front. Fred Stuart and I kept
THE TIGRESS.
together, but the other five men extended their line so as to cover a
length of a hundred yards or more on our right.
Then there began such a din, such screeching, yelling, tin-panning,
horn-blowing, and drum-beating, such a screaming of rockets, darting
of fiery serpents and explosion of grenades and crackers, that even a
Fourth-of-July boy couldn’t have stood the racket, much less could
a respectable family of tigers.
The tigress and cubs were first to take alarm, the beaters being
A FAMILY OF TIGERS.
yet some distance away when the whole four sneaked out in a bunch,
opposite the middle of the line held by our five comrades. All firing
suRPRISED!
together, they were
lucky enough to kill the
old “she†and one cub;
the others got away un-
til next day.
“But where is the
old tiger?†I asked.
“Tm afraid he’s
given us the slip,†said
Fred.
Our companions
were standing around
their prizes. We were
about to joi them,
when suddenly, directly
in our front, not fifty
feet away, the long-
bearded father-tiger
thrust his wicked head
out of the jungle, caught
sight of us, and drew
quickly back. But he
~ could not retreat; clos-
ing in behind him, was
the line of beaters and
a rain of flashing fire!
My old chum had
never before seen an
enraged and really dan-
gerous wild beast. I
had served a hunter’s
apprenticeship among the great cats of Brazil and Africa. So, pre-
suming on my experience, I said:
TLE MORES IRE, «
“ Now, old fellow, keep cool and shoot straight. The old man-
eater may charge us.’
Fred smiled, but I could see he was excited. We were both Amned
with double-barreled rifles, but Fred’s was loaded with round balls,
while mine, made expressly for big game, carried in front of. extra
heavy charges of powder, long steel-pointed bolt-like bullets.
The beaters were now near at hand, and the tiger, maddened by
the storm of fire, broke cover for good and bounded toward us. He
did not roar as he came on —indeed, I have never heard a tiger emit
aroar. He uttered a hoarse, horrible grunting screech.
As the magnificent beast touched the ground after his first spring,
Fred and I shot together. We found the terrible cat quite dead, but
the mark of only one bullet to be seen. This was in the center of the
creature’s breast. “There!†cried Fred, “I aimed right at that
spot.â€
“And so did 1, because uis head was held in such a way that I
could not make sure of piercing his brain,’ I rejoined. “ But we'll
see directly who made the lucky shot.†And so we did. When half
a dozen of the delighted natives had removed the skin, we found that
my steel-pointed slug, after passing through nearly the whole length
of the old man-eater’s body, had lodged in the backbone, not six
inches from the root of the tail. My chum yielded; but next day,
after I had outrageously missed, he killed one of the young tigers
while it was in full flight.
Almost everyone has seen the tiger in menageries; but: the cap-
tive beast is a poor representative of the free-roaming “ terror of the
jungle.†It is generally of inferior size, and more or less flabby in
flesh, and its markings much dulled.
THE WRESTLERS.
OWS HOMEWARD FLY-
E SWALL
WHEN TH
THE TALE OF A TART.
Music by Marcia TYNDALE.
Spirited.
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