Discouraged and forlorn, the little woman turned away. She walked until

she was quite out of sight of the store, and then paused to meditate.

What should she do? It seemed dreadfully hard to give up her plan now

when she had thought it all nicely settled. There were plenty of stores

in Bentley; some of them might sell handkerchiefs for eleven cents. She

glanced dubiously along the road leading to the town, and noticed that

the sun was nearly out of sight behind the hills.

"But it stays light ever and ever so long after the sun sets," she

murmured, "and it didn't seem a bit far when I rode to town with Aunt

S'mantha. I guess this store is most part way. Anyhow, I just must have

a bandana!" she added, as she once more caught sight of her soiled

apron and muddy shoes.

She straightened her sun-bonnet, and started resolutely forward again.

She had grown to feel that the proposed purchase was in some way a

reparation due to Aunt Samantha, and she could not give it up. On and

on trudged the tired little feet, aching wearily at last, but never

hesitating nor turning back. It seemed a long way, though.

"Wonder if I wont ever and ever come to where the houses get thicker,"

she murmured. "When I keep a store I'll build it on the edge somewhere,

so folks wont have to walk so far to get to it."

After a time, the buildings did nestle more closely together, and,

somewhat comforted, she stopped a moment to rest. But she started

suddenly to her feet as a light flashed upon her from an opposite

window. People were really beginning to light their lamps, and the

daylight was almost gone.

Weariness was forgotten in the thought that night might fall before she

could return, and she ran as fast as her light feet would carry her--so

swiftly and so far that she had nearly passed a small store without

seeing it.

She checked her steps at this discovery, and entering, asked,

breathlessly:

"Oh,--please,--have you any ban-banners?"

"What? any what?" demanded a severe-looking lady, coming forward and

eying Nan suspiciously through her spectacles.

"Bandaners,--handkerchiefs," explained Nannie, less confidently.

"Bandanas? No; I don't keep them," responded the lady, very stiffly.

"Should think she might have been more p'lite, if I didn't call it

right," commented the young traveler as she hurried along the street

once more. "Here's another." This time there was only a boy in

attendance. He was head of the establishment when the proprietor went

to supper, and he enjoyed his important position.

"Do you keep ban-ban-banners?" asked Nannie, growing confused again.

"Which? I hope you don't mean any disrespect to the flag of your

country, ma'am?"

"No sir; I mean handkerchiefs," said Nannie, innocently.

"Ah! yes, I understand. I think we have the article in question."

A number of the red and yellow silks were produced, and while the brown

eyes scanned them in some perplexity, the mischievous young clerk

surveyed the comical little figure before him, and gravely asked:

"Is that quantity sufficient for the exercise of your predilections? or

would you like an additional supply?"

"I would like 'leven cents worth," stammered Nannie.

"Eleven cents worth of silk handkerchiefs? That's a novelty now!"

laughed the boy. "Why, you see that wouldn't be a seventh part of one

of these bits of magnificence,--not a scrap large enough for a

respectable doll. We really couldn't do it, ma'am. The owner of this

establishment has a nonsensical way of always selling his handkerchiefs

whole."

[Illustration: "'SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS APIECE,' SAID THE OLD GENTLEMAN."]

Then, at sight of the disappointed little face, his fun yielded to an

impulse of kindness, and from a far-away corner he produced an old box

with the dust of disuse lying thickly upon it. It contained some small

cotton handkerchiefs, gayly printed, with border, pictures and verses,

in bright colors. Nannie's eyes brightened. They were much prettier

than the others, she thought, and they were only ten cents! She wavered

uncertainly between a pink and a blue one, and finally appealed to the

clerk for advice.

"Which is the nicest? Couldn't really say, ma'am. If you want it for

winter use, the blue would probably match best with your nose; but if

you keep it specially for fits of weeping, the red might be nearest the

proper tint."

Nannie looked at him solemnly, but not understanding him in the least:

she decided upon the blue one, and turned away with the precious

package in her hand. It was certainly growing late. The rosy glow had

all vanished from the west, and one star was peeping out dimly.

"A good deal after supper-time," murmured Nannie, anxiously. Then,

glancing down a side street, she caught sight of a baker's sign. It was

but a few steps, and she was very hungry, so she determined to invest

her remaining cent in a piece of gingerbread. Eager to be on her

homeward way she walked rapidly, and this did not suit the fancy of a

large dog in a neighboring yard. He bounded toward the fence, barking

furiously, and in a moment Nannie discovered that he had pushed open

the gate and was upon the street. She fled at full speed away beyond

the shop and down another street. At last a corner hid him from view,

and he did not follow her. She dared not retrace her steps for fear of

meeting him, and she abandoned all hope of a visit to the bakery. There

must be other ways back to the road, though, she thought, and she

wandered up one street and down another without coming to any building

that looked familiar. She had lost her way entirely, and grew more and

more bewildered as she wandered. The stars came out thickly in the sky,

and it seemed to her that she had been traveling for hours. Finally she

found herself in a quiet, unfrequented part of the town, and then the

brave little heart failed utterly, and frightened, homesick, and

terribly weary, she sank down by the road-side, sobbing bitterly. She

did not hear the sound of wheels, nor notice the horses drawn up beside

her, until some one called:

"Hello, little one! what's the matter?"

She had heard that neighborly voice too often not to recognize it now,

and she sprang up in wild delight. "Oh, Captain Hoyt! Take me home! Oh,

please sir, wont you take me home?"

"Home, chick-a-biddy? Why, who--little Nan Verling, I declare! Well,

if it isn't lucky that I didn't sell my apples till late to-day, and am

just going out! How in the world did you get there?"

"I lost my way," faltered Nannie, trying hard to conquer her tears when

she was safely in the wagon. "I came to buy a bandana handkerchief for

Aunt S'mantha."

"Bandana? Well, she'll need it, and a few cambric ones thrown in, if

she don't know where you are at this time of night," declared the

captain, whipping up his horses.

He was quite right; Miss Samantha was nearly frantic. She had sent to

every house in the village, and had learned from Tommy how her love of

neatness and carelessly expressed desire for bananas had together

worked mischief. But as a visit to the store revealed the fact that

Nannie had been there and had gone, Miss Samantha could think of

nothing but that most improbable resort,--the pond; and she had

gathered a party with ropes and lanterns, when Captain Hoyt drove up

and deposited the small maiden in their midst.

"I've got the handkerchief, Aunt S'mantha! and I'm so glad; but my

clothes are all spoiled, and I'm so sorry," began Nannie.

"Clothes, child! Do you think I care so much more for your clothes than

for you that I want to hear about them first?" exclaimed Miss Samantha,

with an embrace so long and close that Nannie was quite astonished.

"I didn't know," she answered.

And Miss Samantha said not a word, for she thought if the child really

did not know, there must have been something wrong somewhere. She

smiled a little grimly when she saw the wonderful handkerchief, but she

laid it away as if it were a treasure. Nannie had a nice supper and a

good night's sleep, and felt quite bright when Tommy looked in upon her

the next morning.

"I had an awful time; but your way is a real good one, Tommy, 'cause

she didn't scold a bit," she informed him, confidentially.

"But I guess,--I s'pose,--anyhow, mother says that the best way to

please folks is to do as they want you to, instead of buying 'em

things," said Tommy, feeling that, as he had led her into trouble, he

was in honor bound to give her the benefit of the moral that had been

impressed upon him.

"Y-e-s," answered Nannie, rather vaguely.

But, as the weeks went on, and Aunt Samantha grew so much more gentle

that she couldn't help being more careful not to trouble her, she

thought that handkerchief must be a very precious article.

THE TOWER-MOUNTAIN.

BY GUSTAVUS FRANKENSTEIN.

III.

I wandered about for what seemed to me days and days, but always

cautiously, and never without some hope of escape. At length, becoming

weak, I suppose, I missed my footing from a ledge of rock and fell to a

great distance. I was stunned and bruised, but soon recovered; and

considering the course I must have come, and this last terrible

descent, I felt almost sure that I was far below the surface of the

earth, and that I must try to go up, and must search and search until I

should find some way of ascending. I accordingly moved on, with greater

care than ever, and soon found that I was in a sort of rocky passage

which rose at a slight inclination. I need not say how this discovery

revived my spirits, nor how I was cheered yet more when, after a time,

I came to a level surface again, and discovered that beyond it the

passage continued as before, but much widened.

Keeping close to the wall of rock on my right, I slowly ascended in

what seemed to me a spiral curve. Sometimes I would take a step to the

left, to ascertain if I still had a barrier on that side; by which I

found that there were many openings in the wall on that side, probably

similar to the one through which I had reached this apparently

continuous passage.

Up, up I went, gaining courage though feeling weaker and weaker. Having

the wall on my right for so long a time, and seeming to be always

ascending, I began to think that I was in a sort of circular

honey-combed cavern.

It must be borne in mind that my progress was exceedingly slow,

consequent upon the necessity of feeling my way, step by step,

apprehensive of going over the brink of a precipice in some moment of

undue confidence. How many times I lay down to sleep, how many times I

rose to continue the task, I cannot tell; but, having been immured so

long, without food and without light, I began to feel stealing over me

a weariness of exhaustion which required the utmost power of the will

to battle.

All this time I kept ascending. Suddenly the passage seemed to open

wide, and, all at once, a bright light shot into the cavern. For the

moment I was blinded; a painful sensation struck me across the brows;

but I determined to behold the light at whatever cost. I opened my

eyes; and now, the shock of the dazzling brightness having passed away,

I saw the most beautiful effect I had ever beheld in my whole life.

A ray of sunlight fell in a round spot, bright and warm, on the wall at

the left. It entered by a small aperture higher up--in the wall at the

right. For a moment I looked around. I stood in a vast, rock-bound

chamber--an immense hall--faintly illuminated by reflection from the

direct sun-ray which fell upon a vein of quartz, and sparkled, lively

with flitting rainbow-colors. I could see the openings in the inner

wall, many of them a hundred feet high, nearly all very narrow, and for

the most part vertical. On the right, the wall was unbroken, with the

exception of the little hole, through which the blessed sunlight

streamed, in the pit of a broad, deep, conical sort of depression. Far

behind me, I could just make out the mouth of the passage from which I

had emerged into this spacious chamber, and before me the opening into

another also adjacent to the wall on my right.

I felt now more assured than ever, for I was certainly above-ground.

For a moment, I forgot my forlorn condition, and paused to admire the

splendor of the scene. A few minutes only, and it was gone. I lingered.

Should I wait to see this lovely sight renewed? Twenty-four hours must

elapse before the sun's return to the same position. But _would_ it

come to the same point again on the morrow? I knew it could not, and

that the least deflection from its course that day would allow no ray

to fall into the darkness of that mysterious dungeon. I knew, further,

that it was either morning or evening, about nine or three o'clock, by

the direction of the beam of light. This fact was immensely

encouraging; my heart throbbed rapidly; the blood came tingling to the

finger-ends; I felt a warmth, an energy, a hope, an animation of

spirits I had not known for a long time. It had all along been but one

unending night, when often I would wonder whether, outside, under the

broad blue sky, it was then night or day; but now I knew that it was

day.

I soon reached the passage which I had seen ahead of me, and found it

in some places not more than two or three feet wide. The ascent became

steeper, though not at all difficult, except at one place, where for

about ten yards I was obliged to use both hands and feet to make sure

of not slipping back.

About two hours after passing this point the air seemed to change;

there was a warmth and fragrance to it which was very grateful; I

fancied also that I could see somewhat indistinctly.

"Surely," I thought, "this seems like coming to daylight."

Warmer and sweeter grew the air; I could see the wall of rock on my

right; and then I suddenly encountered a volume of air blown toward me,

as if the sweetest perfumes of the earth were mingled in that breath of

air. I knew I was coming to the light! Another turn, and there before

me were the grand snow-capped mountains suffused with the last rosy

flush of the setting sun!

[Illustration: "WE SAW HIM CLIMBING THROUGH A SQUARE OPENING OF LIGHT."

[SEE PAGE 292.]]

Oh, indescribable glory!

For a moment, my eyes swept over the horizon,--I was far above the

earth,--then back to the beauteous snow in its sunset splendor. The

rosy tinges lifted and vanished, and a cool twilight glow rested on the

mountain summits. I looked upon the plain below. Far beneath, it lay in

the evening shadow with its thousand fading tints of tropic foliage,

with one spot of blue, almost immediately below, in all that mass of

verdure--the lake. I knew then that I was almost exactly above the cave

I had so long inhabited. And Pippity--Grilly--were they there now?

I was about to call with all my might; but what ear could hear at that

great distance?

Three thousand feet at least of space separated my friends from me. How

could I get down that almost perpendicular rock, and how could they get

up to me? How could they know that I was there?

And now the specter of starvation rose up before me in strongest force.

Should I try to find my way back again?--once more attempt the

darkness? No! no! Too precious was the daylight. It would not do. And

what could be gained? I could not possibly live to reach the bottom!

The twilight rested serenely on the encircling range of mountain snow,

then faded sweetly from the darkening sky.

The stars are beacons of hope and faith. Under them I lay down and

slept.

It was a refreshing slumber that I had beneath an unclouded sky, and

when I awoke it was early dawn. The cool air was grateful; and so

charming seemed all nature that I forgot my hunger and the isolation of

my position. I began, too, to examine the situation. I had emerged from

the cavern into open day by reason of the sudden termination of the

wall which I had had so long on my right. There was left the inner wall

as before, now exposed and forming the exterior of the mountain. I

stood on a platform of rock about four feet square. Beyond was an angle

in the wall, and just then a step to a higher grade of flat rock also.

Then a considerable steepness of the narrow floor, and a bending to the

left, when it was lost to view behind the mass of perpendicular rock.

As the sun rose, I looked down toward the lake, which seemed to lie

almost directly beneath, so nearly perpendicular was the mountain on

that side. About six or seven hundred feet below me, I observed a bird

flying from point to point up the mountain. Soon it disappeared from

view. It had flown to the other side. Presently it re-appeared, still

circling and rising, now perching at one point, and now at another

higher up, then passing out of view again. At length it seemed to come

more directly upward; it rose more rapidly, and was continually in

sight.

It was a parrot. I heard its cry. I could see it distinctly.

"Pippity, Pippity!" I cried, "is that you?"

He gave one joyful scream, alighted on my shoulder, and then on my

hand, talking as fast as his tongue could run: "How d' ye do? How d' ye

do? Frank, Frank!"

"Food, food, Pippity!" I begged; and before I had finished the words he

flew down the abyss, screaming as he went. I followed him with my eyes

until the precipice below prevented my seeing him any longer.

It seemed to me a full hour before he re-appeared, and as he came

nearer I saw something in his beak. It was a bunch of grapes. He flew

toward me. I held out my hand to receive him, and with a heart full of

thankfulness I took the precious fruit from his beak.

"Thank you, thank you, Pippity!" I said. But Pippity didn't wait for

such little expressions of civility. Immediately, he flew away again,

and soon returned with other fruits, and nuts of various kinds; and, as

he could bring but little at a time, of course I could eat but little

at a time, which was a happy circumstance, for that is just the way a

starving man should eat.

In about four or five hours I told Pippity I had had enough.

"And now, Pippity," said I, "tell me,--how long have I been away?"

He promptly answered, "Three days!"

"Are you sure?"

"Three days--one, two, three."

I was almost sure he was right. But how the bird had found me I could

not make out. I questioned him in many ways, but could get no

satisfactory answer. By my not returning the day I went down into the

hole, and not the next, no doubt my friends began to be alarmed for my

safety, and set to work to find me, if possible. What Grilly did in the

matter I could not conjecture; but Pippity, being able to fly, probably

made excursions round the mountain, thinking that I might possibly come

out at some place, and hoping thus to be able to find me and come to my

relief.

During the afternoon, Pippity made a number of trips down into the

fertile plain, every time bringing back something good to eat, whilst I

rested quietly, amusing myself with looking at the pleasant scenery

that everywhere surrounded me, talking with Pippity whenever he was

present, and sometimes sleeping pleasantly.

A short time before sunset, Pippity took his last flight down, and, not

long after the sun had disappeared, I saw him returning in the

beautiful twilight. Again he brought me fruit.

"Go down to Grilly now," I said; "I will stay up here until morning,

and then you come to me again."

But Pippity didn't want to leave; and I told him that as he was so

desirous of keeping me company, he might remain with me through the

night.

The next morning, at the first glimmering of dawn, I awoke, feeling

well, hearty and cheerful. Pippity was off immediately to bring me

breakfast, and about ten o'clock we set out in high spirits to make

further ascent of this singular peak. All went well for about an hour,

when, Pippity being absent after food, I came to a place in the rock

where the walk suddenly ended. A little further on and higher up it

was as good as any part I had yet gone over; but the intervening space

of scarcely more than a dozen feet was very steep, and, what was

remarkable, loose stones lay upon its surface as though they had slid

down from above. This slide seemed to have been occasioned by a

softness of the rock in that part, causing it to scale off in thin

pieces, which the slightest disturbance would send rattling down the

mountain. Just beyond these loose stones was a smooth surface of very

steep rock, over which it would be necessary to pass in order to reach

the path beyond.

I paused here; and after Pippity had brought the fruit and I had

finished my dinner, I began seriously to discuss the question whether

or not I ought to attempt the passage of this dangerous interval.

Pippity seemed to understand my intentions quite well, for he grew very

uneasy, and in his queer ways, with snatches of singularly applicable

speech, he remonstrated most strenuously. But we now were not very far

from the top, and so fascinating seemed the prospect of reaching the

very pinnacle, that I could not withstand the impulse of making the

effort to get there. Over the loose stones I scrambled, clinging with

hands and feet as best I could, whilst an avalanche of rocky fragments

slid, tumbled, and rattled ominously down the declivity.

I got my hands upon the smooth rock, but at my feet the loose stones

were slipping rapidly away; this, in a moment more, would leave me

without support and mercilessly let me follow them. But Pippity, who

had been flying around me in the greatest excitement, got just above

me, and planting his toes firmly against the rock, seized me by the

shoulder. Then, holding on with a most determined grip of his bill, he

pulled like a Trojan; and I do verily believe the bird saved my life.

By dint of his pulling and backing upward, seconded by my own frantic

efforts to shuffle up the rock, I succeeded in gaining the foothold

beyond. At least he inspired me with fresh resolution and confidence in

helping myself.

After a little rest, we went on, winding around a succession of short

spirals, and at last reached the highest point of this magnificent

mountain!

* * * * *

What a sensation!

Perched here on the extreme point of a pinnacle more than four thousand

feet above the vast plain of rich fertility embosomed among the

snow-clad mountains. The lake was a spot of beautiful blue, a gem in

the center of this lovely picture.

Suddenly, we heard a rattling of stones beneath, then a shriek.

"Stars! What's that?--GRILLY!"

And up he came bounding, as lively as a cricket. He danced around us

in the greatest delight, threw his arms around me, ran wildly here and

there, and danced and danced again.

"Grilly, Grilly!" shrieked the parrot, "how in the world did you get up

here?"--and his staid demeanor contrasted strangely with the monkey's

antics.

But Grilly danced and danced. The fact was that, even if he could have

spoken, he was too much excited to make reply. Grilly was great in

action; in words deficient.

The afternoon was now far advanced; and Grilly at last becoming

tranquil, and in keeping with the peaceful scene around us, I said to

him:

"How you came up here I do not know; but of this I am certain, that you

were not as long getting up as I was, for you arrived fresh and active,

whilst I was almost dead. Now, that makes me think that although I

cannot find the way back, you may. Therefore, you shall be guide. But

it is too late to start to-day. Besides, I wish to behold another

sunset from this glorious height."

The night was very pleasant; and as I lay upon a flat rock, looking out

upon the stars from my high and silent perch, the round earth looming

like a shadow far below me, I thought it would be delightful to make a

long stay on this interesting pinnacle, especially at this time, as the

weather was very fine; but the getting of food presented itself as an

obstacle. As Grilly was now with us, it would be too great a tax on

Pippity to supply us both. Besides, we could not do without water. I

resolved, therefore, to set out early in the morning, and that I would

re-enter that dungeon, as there was clearly no other way of getting

down.

Before the sun was up, we already were descending; and when we arrived

at the dangerous slide, where the day before I had nearly slipped off

the mountain, we halted. Pippity was dispatched for food, whilst Grilly

and I sat down and contemplated the sunrise splendor. Four times

Pippity descended to the plain, and brought thence something to eat.

Noon was fast approaching, and it behooved us, if we would accomplish

anything that day, to press forward without delay. As before, Pippity

showed considerable anxiety, calmly remarking, however, as I translated

his jargon, that he would, as on the previous day, hold fast to my

shoulder with his bill. He made Grilly get down below at the same time

and hold on to my feet; and when I began to crawl and wriggle along the

best way I could, I was assisted very materially by the parrot above

and the monkey below.

Notwithstanding the perilous situation, I could not but be amused at

the ludicrous singularity of the performance.

Above stood the sure-footed bird, all gravity, pulling away at my

shoulder; below was the monkey, holding me fast by the heels, jumping

and capering as the treacherous stones rolled from under him. Of

course, in less than a minute the whole thing was over, and I was

safely landed on a good broad walk.

We arrived at the opening of the dungeon. Descend into it? Again be

lost--perhaps perish? I hesitated. I shrank from entering; and yet,

down into it I must go!

"Pippity," said I, to my trusty parrot, "we will linger here another

day. You must bring us all the food you can between this and night; and

to-morrow morning, with the first peep of dawn, be ready to go down

again, and make as many trips before noon as you can, so that we shall

be able to undertake that dark and uncertain journey with at least a

small quantity of provisions."

Grilly ran in and out of the dark passage quite frequently, both that

evening and the next morning, evidently evincing a desire that the

descent should be made without delay, which convinced me that he had

come through all the darkness which yet lay between us and deliverance.

The sun had reached the zenith when I at last bade farewell to the

light and resolutely determined to proceed.

"Good-bye, Pippity! We shall meet you below. Fly down, get everything

ready for our reception, and have the table well supplied with the

choicest fruits that you can find."

But Pippity clung to me, and would not leave. "I will go with you! I

want to go!" implored the bird.

No expostulation could deter him from accompanying us.

Grilly led the way; and when we lost the light, he squealed and

chattered, and frequently ran back to make sure that Pippity and I were

following him. I kept close to the wall on my left. We passed over the

steep place. Still I kept close to the wall. The wall was on my

left--still on my left. We were going at a pretty pace, as the monkey

was continually urging us forward. We could not go fast enough for him.

All at once he squealed significantly. He ran back to me. He took hold

of my hand, and leading me slowly forward a few paces, I found there

were three diverging passages. He drew me into the middle one. Then we

resumed our quick gait, and, for some little time, all appeared to be

plain sailing again.

It may be asked, why did I allow myself to be guided by a thoughtless

monkey? But here, in this darkness, was not reason entirely at sea?

Might not instinct be superior to reason and avail something? I

abandoned myself entirely to its mysterious power. I had faith in it.

Grilly proceeded with such confidence that I could not but trust him.

We had been plodding our way through the darkness for about four hours,

I thought, when Grilly gave a loud shriek, and, running back to us, led

us hurriedly forward; light became faintly visible; we ascended a few

steps through a very narrow passage; we came abruptly to a stop; the

monkey grasped something that hung down from above, and sprang upward

with the agility of his nature. We saw him high above our heads

climbing through a square opening of light. Immediately, he was

descending again.

"Why, Pippity," I cried, "we are at the bottom! Up there is our

palace!"

"Of course it is!" shrieked the parrot, in a tone which sounded more

like a shout of joy than the voice of a bird; and, clinging to one of a

number of long grass stems that could now be distinctly seen hanging

from the top, he climbed up with bill and claws as handsomely as any

parrot ever did the like, crying as he went:

"Come along, Frank! We're all right!" Grilly was now down, too; and,

reaching me his hand, he would fain have tried to pull me to the top.

But I gave him to understand that I could very well take care of

myself, and up I went by means of hands and feet--the monkey all

capers, the parrot all talk, the man thankful--and when we stood in our

grand old palace once more, three more thoroughly delighted creatures

never were seen.

"Now, Pippity and Grilly," said I, "bring something to eat. Search our

broad garden for the best. Let us eat and be merry. While the light yet

glows, let us enjoy ourselves."

Away went the faithful animals. When they were gone, I walked forth and

stood under the beautiful trees, surrounded by all the adorning

verdure. How glad was I to be once more on the ground, once more in the

world!

Presently, I saw Pippity and Grilly returning. The latter had an

immense load of luscious fruit strung over his back, besides what he

dragged after him in a large basket. It may well be imagined that we

had a most delightful meal.

After this, I made frequent visits to the top of the pinnacle, always

taking Grilly with me, Pippity, as a general thing, being content to

take the short cut and meet us at the aperture above.

But before taking these trips, I made Grilly stretch a line of the long

silken cords (which we found in abundance) from one end of the dark

passage to the other, so that I could find my way back, if the monkey

should fail me. I also used strong ropes, made of these strands, to get

over the dangerous slide.

These trips afforded us an agreeable diversion. We had now, it might

be said, entire command of our mountain palace--our magnificent hall

below and our splendid look-out above. Months passed away in this happy

abode. Sometimes we visited the distant mountains, ever exploring, ever

learning, ever rejoicing; but always returning to our happy home with a

renewed relish of its rare comforts and matchless advantages.

During one of the excursions to the neighboring mountains,--Pippity

alone accompanying me, Grilly having gone to assemble his tribe for a

fresh supply of cocoa-nuts,--we were leisurely contemplating the great

expanse of loveliness that lay before us, in the center of which our

noble dwelling loomed up superbly.

"What a splendid domain is ours!" I said to Pippity. "We have

everything that man need wish,--and, for that matter, parrot or monkey

either. How bountiful, here, is nature, and withal so beautiful! And

our palace! Was ever anything in the world like it?"

As the parrot made no answer, I looked toward him, for I was certain

that he would join in praise of all our precious blessings.

There was a troubled look about him. His wings moved convulsively. The

feathers stood ruffling from his body. He was in a state of the

greatest agitation.

I was alarmed. "What's the matter, Pippity?" I cried. But Pippity

replied only with a succession of loud shrieks growing ever louder and

louder.

The air had become as still as death.

My body appeared to move from side to side. No, no! The ground was

rising, falling! It seemed no longer solid. Like a wave it rose and

fell. The foot-hills below us separated, reft into awful chasms. I

looked toward our home. Just then cried Pippity:

"Oh, our palace! Our palace!"

"Ah, ah! It falls! It falls! See, see, how the huge rocks rive and

crumble!"

What a fall was there! A crash that echoed terribly in that circle of

mountain wildness!

A cloud of dust rolled in fearful mockery where one moment before had

stood the proud pinnacle. An enormous mass of rocks fell into the lake

below, and the vapors rose in a rival cloud. High in the firmament they

curled and twisted, their wreathing forms together telling a woful tale

of destruction.

We forgot our own danger in watching all our grandeur dashed to

nothingness.

Destruction as it was, it was grand!

But Grilly! Where was he? "Ah, Grilly, Grilly!" cried I, "I fear he is

lost!"

"Come, come!" said Pippity. "Where's Grilly? Find Grilly! Quick,

quick!"

But there was some rough country to get over. Gaps, masses of uprooted

trees, rocks, earth and vegetation mingled in confusion.

At last we arrived at home--no, not home! Nothing but a heap of ruins!

And where was Grilly? We searched, but found him not. We called, and

called again; but answer there came none.

Pippity, with a shrill and deafening cry uttered ceaselessly: "Grilly!

Grilly! Grilly! Grilly!"

But answer there came none.

And all the next day we sought, and still poor Pippity cried, "Grilly!

Grilly!"

But the dead, the lost, answer not.

* * * * *

A home we had no longer. Where once stood magnificence, ruin now stared

us in the face.

"Pippity!" I said to poor Polly, "we will leave this once glorious

spot. Our home is desolate. It is home no longer. Let us seek new

scenes in other lands."

"Where shall we go?" asked Pippity--and if a parrot could shed tears he

would have shed them.

"We will go to the abodes of men. We will go among civilized people."

"I, too, Frank. I, too! Call Gr----!"

"Say no more, Pippity! Strive to forget."

For seventeen days we traversed the mountains, picking up a scanty

subsistence by the way. Pippity was considerably frightened by the

condors that really seemed to threaten us when we reached great

elevations; and I was astonished at the remains of the once stupendous

works of the ancient dwellers in this land. Bridges stretching from

mountain to mountain, over immense, deep valleys, attested the

knowledge and power of that singular race.

Later, we began to meet people; a hut here and another there, with

miles between. Pippity was quite at a loss to know what to make of such

persons as we met. When two or more happened to be conversing together,

it was utterly incomprehensible to him how they could understand one

another.

"What jargon is this?" he evidently tried to say, "that these people

are all the time jabbering? It is nothing but an unmeaning chattering

of monkeys. Can it be possible that they know what they are babbling?

And you understand that gibberish, too?"

I had taught Pippity no language but my own, and it was no wonder that

he was surprised when he heard people so like me talking quite

differently.

We soon reached the sea-coast; and if Pippity was surprised at what he

saw in the towns and cities, the citizens, many of whom were familiar

with the English tongue, were still more surprised at his wonderful

gift of language.

My own appearance until I bought myself some decent clothes, created

quite a sensation among the people I met. During my long stay in my

mountain home, I had been obliged to mend and darn my garments with the

fibers of plants until there was scarcely a vestige of the original

fabric remaining; and I looked like a veritable scarecrow.

But I was not poor. In a little, home-made wallet, I carried a small

handful of diamonds, which I had, from time to time, found in my

wanderings about the Tower-Mountain. These now did me good service. I

easily converted them into money, which gave me the means of living and

traveling as I pleased.

We took ship, Pippity and I, and sailed away to my old home in the

north. On the voyage, the gifted bird was the hero of the vessel.

Ladies, gentlemen, children, and even the officers and crew of the

ship, were glad to gather around him and talk to him. No such parrot

had any of them seen before. I had magnificent offers made to me, if I

would consent to sell him, but I refused them all, and, after awhile,

Pippity himself relieved me of the duty of declining to sell him. When

an offer of purchase was made, he would say, "I can't be bought!"--or,

if the proposal came from a lady, "Madam, your offer is most

respectfully declined!"

At last we reached my native city, and here a great misfortune happened

to me.

In walking about the streets with my parrot, Pippity was constantly

obliged to inhale the fumes of tobacco. He could not endure it, and

frequently asked me in his own fashion why people persisted in puffing

such sickening smoke from their mouths. I explained the matter to him,

but he never could see any sense in it. It was known on board the ship

that Pippity disliked the fumes of tobacco, and he was such a general

favorite that no one smoked in his presence.

But in the city streets he met with no such consideration. He was

incessantly compelled to breathe tobacco smoke, and it made him ill. In

a very few days he was seized with a painful choking sensation, caused

by the irritation of the smoke, and in a short time he died. His last

words were:

"That detestable tobacco!"

And so I lost this good friend. I had his skin stuffed, and presented

it to our society of natural history.

There were people to whom I told this story of my adventures who did

not believe me, but I was always sure they would have credited my word

if only I had had my monkey and my parrot with me to corroborate the

truth of my strange history.

THE END.

GIFTS FOR ST. NICHOLAS [A]

BY EMMA E. BREWSTER.

Grieve not, O Santa Claus, who fills

Each stocking, box and tree;

Nor think, most desolate of saints,

None bring good gifts to thee.

We place no candles in thy crypt,

No gold upon thy shrine,--

Thou bringest us the frankincense,

The tapers and the wine.

But rarer gifts, good Nicholas,

Than these, thy children bring,

When up and down an echoing world

The Christmas bells all ring.

We bring our brightest, truest love

To crown thy happy brows;

No monarch wears a coronet

So light as holly-boughs.

We bring our gayest, fairest hopes,

With smiling memories spun;

So rich a robe has never shone

Earth's proudest king upon.

We bring our trust, our childhood faith,

And place it in thy hand;

No jeweled scepter has such power

To rule on sea or land.

Then stay, O dear St. Nicholas!

Look on thy heaped-up shrine;

Our hearts, our hopes, our memories,

Our trusts, our faith are thine!

There's not in all the calendar

One saint whose altars shine

With such gay throngs of worshipers,

Such precious gifts, as thine!

[Footnote A: An answer to "Left Out," published in the December number.]

SOME IN-DOOR GAMES AT MARBLES.

BY L.D. SNOOK.

One or two of the following games of marbles may be known to the

readers of ST. NICHOLAS, but we think they all will be new to a great

many boys.

THE ARCHED-BOARD COUNT-GAME.

[Illustration]

A strip of board, half an inch thick, five inches wide, and twenty-two

inches long, has notches cut in one side, two inches wide at the

bottom, and tapering as shown. Short bits of board nailed upon each end

keep the strip upright. Then it is placed upon the floor within two

feet of the wall. Each player is provided with the same number of

marbles (from three to five, or as many as the players wish), and from

the opposite side of the room he rolls at the board, the object being

to roll through the arches, which have numbers immediately above them

in the manner shown. The one making the most counts after rolling all

the marbles is entitled to one game. Or, if you have but five or six

marbles, each party rolls the whole number by himself, and should there

be a tie between those who make the highest aggregate number, they must

roll again, the one then having the highest tally winning the game.

THREE-ARCH DISCOUNT-GAME.

[Illustration]

This board is as wide and thick as the other, but is only eighteen

inches in length. The center arch is four inches wide, the two small

ones three inches each. In playing, each boy rolls from four to ten

marbles each, every marble that passes under the center arch counting

forty; if the marble goes through either small arch, twenty is deducted

from the count, or, as the boys say, is "counted off" each time. So, if

you are not a good shot, it is likely you will lose more than you will

gain. In this, or the previous game, if you fail to pop your marble

through any arch, it is lost.

THE TEN-BLOCK COUNT-GAME.

[Illustration]

You are to make ten blocks of wood, each about one inch square; upon

one side of each you mark the figure 0; on the other sides the numbers

10, 20, 30, 40, and 50, the 50 being upon the side opposite the 0. The

blocks are placed upon the floor or carpet in the form of a half

diamond, as shown. The in each case being placed upward, each player

rolls four marbles singly at the blocks, the object being to hit as

many of them as possible. When done, count the numbers on the upper

sides of all the blocks, and replace them for the next player. It is a

lively game.

SWINGING-BLOCK COUNT-GAME.

[Illustration]

This is but a modification of the block-game just described. A common

pin or tack is driven partly into one side of a block, which is

connected by a string with a little strip of wood above. Instead of

making side-pieces for supports, two chairs can be used, letting the

strip rest upon the seat or lower rounds. Each block has the same

number upon every side, and is hung so that the bottom is about

one-quarter of an inch from the floor. When a marble strikes a block it

swings a little and soon is quiet. This saves considerable work in

replacing overturned blocks. For each block hit, tally the number upon

it.

CIRCLE-GAME.

[Illustration]

Mark upon a piece of paper three rings, the largest from eight to

fifteen inches in diameter, the other two considerably smaller. Within

the rings mark the numbers 10, 20, and 50, as shown. Lay this paper

upon the carpet or floor, and roll your marbles, the object; being to

have them stop upon the paper and as near the center as possible, each

person to let his remain where they stop until all of his be rolled.

Should a marble rest on a line, tally for it the number in the largest

circle adjoining.

TOMMY'S THREE HORSES.

[Illustration]

The first is a pony without any head;

'Tis a wonder, indeed, how the creature is fed.

[Illustration]

The second, you see, is a steady old chair;

Very gentle is he, and he needs little care.

[Illustration]

And here is another--the third one, of course;

But the driver's Tom's brother, and Tom's his own horse.

THE CHICKENS THAT WOULD NOT BE TAME.

In a small village there lived an old woman who kept poultry. One day

this old woman went to see a little girl, who had some chickens which

were so tame that they would eat corn and crumbs out of her hand.

"That's nice," said the old woman; "I shall teach my chickens to do

that."

So she went home, and got some corn and some crumbs, and went out into

the yard and called the chickens; but they would not come to her. They

were afraid of her, because she used to shout at them, and throw sticks

at them, every time they came into the garden, or near the house.

[Illustration]

When she saw that her chickens would not eat out of her hand, this old

woman was very angry, indeed.

"You bad chickens!" she said, "I'll catch you and make you eat out of

my hand." So she ran after them and tried to catch them, but some ran

one way and some another, and she could not lay hold of any of them.

The next day she went again to the house where the tame chickens were,

and this time she saw the little girl's mother, and told her about the

trouble she had, and how her chickens would not let her come near them.

"I don't see why they are not nice, gentle chickens like those your

little girl has," said the old woman.

"Well," said the little girl's mother, "perhaps they would be tame if

you had always treated them as well as my little girl treats her

chickens. She has been kind and gentle with them ever since they came

out of their shells, and they have learned not to be at all afraid of

her. But I think I have seen you throwing sticks at your chickens and

chasing them about the yard. If you do that, they cannot help being

afraid of you, and they will never come to you and eat out of your

hand."

What the little girl's mother said was very true, and if any of you

have birds or animals which you wish to tame, you must always treat

them so kindly that they will never have any reason to be afraid to

come to you.

[Illustration]

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

"Thirty days has September, April, June and November; all the rest have

forty-three, except February, which is leap-year every four months." I

may not repeat this correctly, but I heard a little boy saying

something of the kind. Perhaps you all know the jingle better than I

do, so I'll say no more about it.

NATURE'S PADDLE-BOATS.

A little bird has told me such a strange thing! It's about a kind of

jelly-fish which he called a "Globe-Beroe," I think; but you can find

out for yourselves, if I caught the name aright or not.

This jelly-fish looks like a tiny ball of the clearest ice. All around

it, much after the fashion of the lines of longitude on a geographical

globe, are eight bands a little less transparent than the rest of the

body. On each of these are thirty or forty small paddles, in shape like

the floats upon the paddle-wheels of a steamboat; and it is by means of

these that the little creature pushes itself along in the water. The

paddles are alive, and move either swiftly or slowly, one at a time or

all together.

Not only can this natural paddle-boat send itself along, but it can

also cast anchor. It puts forth very fine threads, which gradually

lengthen, unfolding from their sides transparent tendrils like those of

a vine. These catch hold of and twine around some fixed thing, and moor

the craft; and when the Beroe is about to be roving again, they unwind

themselves, and all slip quietly back into the little ice-ball out of

sight.

There are countless millions of Beroes in the Arctic regions, where the

sea is in some parts colored by them for miles and miles. If there were

not such immense fleets of these tiny paddle-boats there would be

little chance for us to wonder at them, because they choose for their

moorings just the places where whales love best to feed and play their

rough games, and where, too, their own presence in the sea makes it

into a kind of soup of which whales are very fond.

TINY TREES.

Only think of trees, full-grown trees, so small that several of

them,--roots, stems, branches and all,--piled one above another, would

not be as tall as I am!

What kind of birds would stoop to roost in such little, little trees,

I'd like to know?

They tell me that such tree-lings do really grow, away up, on high

mountains, near where the snow stays all the year through, and also in

very cold countries near the polar circles.

I do hope the words "polar circles" will bring clear ideas to you, my

dears. They've quite tangled up my notions. Wont some of you explain

the things to me?

BIRDS AND TELEGRAPH-WIRES.

The Little Schoolma'am has been talking about snow-birds, and she says

there was a poem about them in ST. NICHOLAS for April, 1875, and also a

picture of the dear little fellows comfortably perched on a

telegraph-wire, out in Colorado, somewhere. I dare say you'll remember

them, my chicks.

Well, she went on to say that telegraph-wires are not always such good

friends to birds, for she had heard that, along the great railroads in

the West, large numbers of prairie-chickens are killed at certain

seasons of the year by flying against the wires. Sometimes this may

happen in the dark, but more often in the day-time when the wind is

very strong.

Of course, this can't very well be helped; but it does seem dreadful,

doesn't it, my dears? However, the section-men, who have charge of the

railroad tracks, get some good from it, for they make a regular

business of gathering the fallen birds, which are then cooked and

eaten.

WALTON'S KITTY AGAIN.

Dear Jack: A while ago I told in ST. NICHOLAS something about

"Walton's Kitty," that loves music and climbs upon any one who

sings to her, putting her head as close as can be to the lips of

the singer. Now, here is another true story about this same cat:

In the summer, Walton's aunt used to set the milk in a cool closet,

in a pitcher with a long, narrow neck, but day after day, when

teatime came, every drop of that milk was gone. Nobody drank it,

nobody used it, nobody spilled it. "Walton's Kitty" and all her

descendants were clear of suspicion, because of the long, narrow

neck of that pitcher. So everybody watched and waited to find out

how the milk went.

And this is what they saw: There sat "Walton's Kitty," dipping her

paw deep down into the pitcher, taking it out, and then lapping the

milk from it! If she dropped the smallest drop, she stopped and

cleaned that up, and then went on. As the milk dwindled to the

bottom of the pitcher she shook her paw around; and she never left

off until every drop of milk was gone!

Since then, the milk for tea stands in a covered pitcher, but

"Walton's Kitty" has hers in a tall, narrow goblet. It is a very

affecting sight, and people laugh till they cry as they watch

her.--Yours truly,

M.B.C.S.

FLINT ONCE WAS SPONGE.

You never would think it, would you, my dears? But the Little

Schoolma'am says that it was; and she always is right.

She says that flint really is nothing more nor less than sponge turned

to stone. Once the sponge grew at the bottom of the sea, as other

sponges grow now; but that was ages and ages ago, and since then the

sponge, turned to flint, has lain covered by rocks and earth of many

kinds piled thick above it. Seen with a microscope, flint shows the

make of sponge in its fibers; and sometimes you can see, bedded in it,

the shells of the tiny creatures on which the sponge had fed. Now and

then, inside a flint, will be found bits of the sponge not yet changed.

That last proof settles it; but I must say it's hard to believe;--hard

as the flint, almost.

SOME OLD PUZZLES.

Here are two letters, with old puzzles in them, that may amuse you for

a while on one of these shivery evenings, my chicks. I'll tell you the

answers next month.

Michigan.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: The other night one of my brothers said he

did not believe we could pronounce a certain word after he should

have spelled it. I will tell you what it is, though you may have

heard about it already:

A cross, a circle complete,

An upright where two semi-circles do meet,

A triangle standing upon two feet,

Two semi-circles, a circle complete.

Yours truly, CORA.

Oswego, N.Y.

DEAR JACK: I send you a riddle which I found. I take ST. NICHOLAS

and like it very much. I have all of the volumes from 1874.

I am a word of plural number,

A foe to peace and human slumber,

Yet, do but add the letter S,--

Lo! what a metamorphosis!

What plural was, is plural now no more,

And sweet's what bitter was before.

Yours truly, KITTIE.

Talking about riddles, reminds me of one that was made by Richard

Whately, an archbishop of Dublin, as I've heard. This is it:

"When from the Ark's capacious round

The beasts came forth in pairs,

Who was the first to hear the sound

Of boots upon the stairs?"

I'm told that it never has been guessed right by anybody; yet the

archbishop said there was an answer, although he did not say what it

was. May be you can solve the riddle, my dears, if you brush up your

wits a bit? Let me know as soon as you think you have the right answer.

THE NEWEST FASHION.

The girls of the Red School-house often talk about new fashions,

especially when the Little Schoolma'am is about, for she is pretty sure

to drop some useful hints. Well, one day she told them, among other

things, about the "latest novelty" in ladies' ball-dresses at

Upernavik, in Greenland.

As nearly as I can remember, she said that the costume consists of a

little jacket, made of bright-colored calico or flannel; long

pantaloons of sealskin, trimmed like the jacket and sitting close to

the figure; and white, red or blue boots: the whole set off by gay

ribbons and all the beads the wearer can get.

A jaunty suit enough, no doubt; but, if she wore only that, the wearer

must have been obliged to dance, merely to keep herself warm.

By the way, I wonder what ever possessed them to call that frozen

country Green-land?

TO SURPRISE A DOG.

This is the way a man among the Himalaya Mountains once astonished a

stranger dog. He put on a pair of huge goggles and walked steadily and

quietly toward the dog, without speaking a word. The dog bristled up

and stared hard for a moment, and then, all at once, he seemed to wilt,

and away he slunk as if ashamed of himself.

I heard about this only the other day, my dears, and I tell it to you

merely to warn you not to try the little trick, unless you are sure

your dog will not get angry and jump for you.

It would not look well for you to slink off as if you were ashamed of

yourself.

THE KINDERGARTEN AT HOME.

DEAR JACK: Will you please tell your older boys and girls that in

good systems of Kindergarten teaching they will find a great many

means of amusing invalid brothers or sisters without wearying them,

and many games and much fun for the younger ones, who will learn at

the same time things that they ought to know. To carry out these

methods one wants sticks, blocks, slates, slats, colored balls, and

other things easy to make and cheap to buy, the use of which is

pleasant to teach as well as to learn and practice.

I bought lately a full set of Kindergarten apparatus such as I have

named, and sent it to a little niece of mine in California, and the

dear little one writes to me that she has had much happiness and

enjoyment out of it. I hope some of your young friends will try the

experiment and let me know what success they have.--I am, dear

Jack, yours affectionately, A LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM.

KAFFIR IRONING.

You all know how ironing is done here--with flat-irons, I think

somebody said. Well, the birds tell me that the Kaffirs of South Africa

don't use flat-irons, but have quite another way. They make the clothes

into a neat flat package, which they lay on a big stone. Then they just

dance on the package until they think the clothes are smooth enough! It

must be good fun to them! Luckily, Kaffirs don't wear cuffs and frills.

SLIPPERS FOR HORSES.

Where do horses wear slippers?

Now, my chicks, this is not a conundrum. So you need not be chirping

out, "On their feet, of course;" or some foolish answer of that kind.

The real answer is, "Japan,"--at least, so I'm told, and there are such

numbers of other queer things there, that I don't wonder it is so.

Well, Japanese horses wear straw slippers,--clumsy-looking things, I

should say. But, besides that, they stand in their stables with their

heads where American horses' tails would be! Perhaps Japanese horses

like to see for themselves what is going on?

"Where is the food put?"

Why, in a bucket hung from the roof, of course. Where else, would you

suppose?

[Illustration: ON THE ICE.]

THE LETTER-BOX.

Fair Haven, Vt. 1877.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Two of my sisters and myself have taken your

magazine ever since it was published, and like it very much. I am

glad Miss Louisa M. Alcott is writing a story for your magazine, as

I am very fond of her stories.

I have read, "Eight Cousins," "Rose in Bloom," "Little Men,"

"Hospital Sketches," "Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag," and "Little Women,"

myself, have been called "Meg, Amy, Beth and Jo." My oldest sister

Ada, who is sixteen years old, is the "Amy" of our family; My

little sister Stella, who is eleven years old, is well skilled in

music, and we think she is very much like "Beth"; and I am

thirteen, and have been called "Jo."

So, you see, I was greatly interested in "Little Women," as I could

appreciate it so well; and it seemed to me as if Miss Alcott must

have seen us four girls before she wrote the story.

I have four first cousins, and they are all boys, and with my

sisters and me we are "eight cousins." One of my cousins is a

little baby, a little over five weeks old. He makes the eighth

cousin.

I liked the piece about Miss Alcott in the December number very

much. We expect to take your magazine until we are young women. I

think it the best published for young people.--Your friend,

ANNIE ADAMS.

* * * * *

By letters just received from England, we learn that the pretty

Christmas and New-Year cards in our December and January issues were

_not_ drawn by Miss Greenaway, though a friend had mistakenly sent them

to us last summer as specimens of that lady's work, cut from a

scrapbook. We, therefore, hasten to correct the error, wishing at the

same time, that we knew to whose hand to credit the drawings. To our

still greater regret, we now learn that Marcus Ward & Co., of London,

having published these as Christmas cards, and counted upon having a

large sale for them in America. Had we known this in time, we certainly

should not have copied the pictures without previously referring to the

publishers. The best reparation we can make at the present date is this

acknowledgement and a bit of honest advice to our readers: Hunt the

shops for the beautifully colored cards from which these pictures were

copied, and buy them for next Christmas. They are far better than our

printed ones.

* * * * *

Brooklyn, N.Y.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am twelve years old and very fond of reading,

and as I never can find an interesting book of history, I read

stories. But mamma and other people tell me I ought to read

something instructive, but as I never can find anything I like, I

would be much obliged if you would help me a little by giving me a

list of pleasant books. I have taken you for three years and enjoy

you very much indeed.--Your very affectionate reader,

ALICE CLINTON.

"Greene's Shorter History of the English People," a new work, is very

interesting. H.M.D. in the "Letter-Box," October, 1876, says that "The

Life and Times of Sir Philip Sidney" is such a pleasant book that you

cannot help having a good time when you are reading it, and will not

think it is history unless you know beforehand. "Seven Historic Ages,"

by Arthur Gilman, is another attractive book, and if you are like most

smart girls of your age, you will find Prescott's "Ferdinand and

Isabella" as interesting as many story books. It is a history of Spain

in its most prosperous times. It is long, but, once begun, few find it

hard to finish.

* * * * *

Geneva, N.Y.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Please tell "Jack" that apples that are part

sour and part sweet grow in the beautiful State of New York. I have

tasted of such fruit and am sure it is so. Who can tell me more

about this wonderful fruit? And how many have ever eaten such

apples?

Can any one tell me what causes them to grow one side sweet, and

the other sour? Hoping to hear more on this subject, I remain,

yours truly,

ALMA AYLESWORTH.

* * * * *

Mobile, Ala.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I wish to tell you of Fanny, our little mule,

who cannot be forced to work on Sunday. She is gentle, obedient and

faithful on week days, but on Sunday Fanny will not be made to

move.

Don't think us heathen, dear ST. NICHOLAS, for the boys just tried

to make her carry a load of hay as a test, and to tease her, also;

but when papa saw what they were up to, he put a stop to it, and

now Fanny enjoys her Sundays in peace. My little sister says, "she

is a religious mule." Do you think that the mule really knows when

Sunday has come?--Your well-wisher,

ERNESTINE HAMMOND.

* * * * *

KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES.

(_Jack-in-the-Pulpit's Story in the December Number, Straightened

Out_.)

King Alfred the Great, having been driven by the Danes to seek safety

in flight, disguised himself as a peasant, and took refuge in the hut

of a cow-herd, where he was told to watch the baking of some cakes. But

he forgot the cakes and let them burn; and when the herdsman's wife

came in, she gave him a sound scolding for his carelessness.

Charles I. of England was defeated at Marston Moor; and his son,

Charles II., after losing the battle of Worcester, barely escaped

capture, by hiding in the leafy branches of an oak-tree.

Robert Bruce lost many battles, fighting for the Scottish throne. At

length, he lay down disheartened on a heap of straw in an old hut.

While he was thinking over his troubles, he saw a spider trying to get

from one rafter to another. It failed many times, but at last

succeeded, and Bruce, taking courage at the insect's example, went on

fighting until he had secured his kingdom.

Sir Isaac Newton had on his table a pile of papers upon which were

written calculations that had taken him twenty years to make. One

evening, he left the room for a few minutes, and when he came back he

found that his little dog "Diamond" had overturned a candle and set

fire to the precious papers, of which nothing was left but a heap of

ashes. It was then that he cried, "Oh, Diamond! Diamond! thou little

knowest what mischief thou hast done!"

It is said that George Washington, when a boy, destroyed his father's

favorite cherry-tree, and, being asked about it, replied: "I cannot

tell a lie; I did it with my little hatchet."

Oliver Cromwell, when dispersing Parliament, saw the Speaker's mace

upon the table, and, pointing to it, said, "Take away that bauble!"

Just after Lord Nelson's great naval victory off Cape Trafalgar, as he

was dying from a wound received in the battle, he kept repeating the

words, "Thank Heaven, I have done my duty!"

Prince William, son of Henry II. of England, was drowned on his way

home from France. The king was so affected by his loss that "he never

smiled again."

[Fannie P. sends a complete and correct version. Willie H. Paul and

Bertha Paul straightened out all of the story except the part about

Lord Nelson. The versions sent by E.J. Smith, Charlie W. Jerome, Lulu

Way, and John N.L. Pierson, were correct, as far as they went, but they

explained only the parts that referred to King Alfred himself.]

* * * * *

Here is a little story sent to ST. NICHOLAS as a companion to "The

Story that Wouldn't be Told," in the November number:

THE STORY NOBODY KNEW.

Once there was a little story that nobody knew, and nobody could tell

it, because nobody knew it, and yet this little story wanted dearly to

be told. It used to wait about where people were telling stories, and

when a story was ended and the merry laugh went round, it would say to

itself, "Now they will certainly tell me," but they never did. So at

last this little story got quite low-spirited and wandered off by

itself out of the house, and through the garden into the orchard, and

there in the orchard, under an apple-tree, there was a little girl

lying fast asleep among the buttercups and daisies. The little story

looked all around to see that no one else was there, and then it

cuddled down beside the sleeping child and whispered itself into her

ear. It was so exciting, so charming, that the little girl awoke, and

thought she had dreamed it all, and ran to tell her mother the

beautiful dream. When she saw her mother, she cried out, "Mother!

mother!" and was just about to tell the little story, when suddenly she

forgot it all, and now the little story can never be told, but it still

comes to good children in their dreams.

* * * * *

A little girl, eleven years old, sends these verses of her own

composition to the "Letter-Box":

VALENTINE.

I am a little Cupid,

And I come to visit thee,

To tell you that I love you,

And to know if you love me.

And if you'll be my little wife,

And come along with me,

I'll take you to a lovely place,

And pretty flowers you'll see.

And when you have been there a day,

You'll be a little Cupid,

With no hard lesson-books to learn,

That are so dull and stupid.

But, if you will not come and be

My pretty little wife,

You'll go straight back to school again,

With lessons all your life.

K. UNIACKE.

* * * * *

Two Rivers, Wis.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am not quite ten years old, but I am one of

your oldest subscribers. We have every number from the very first.

I have a brother Fred, two years older than I. We have always lived

on the shores of Lake Michigan.

During the summer months, the steamer comes in from Chicago every

morning. Fred and I like to get up early in the morning, and go

down to the beach, before breakfast, to see the steamer go out;

and, afterward, the morning train, for the station is near the

beach. It is lovely down there early in the morning; we dig wells,

sail boats, and wade out after the waves that chase us back again.

We love the lake, and spend many happy hours down there. But

sometimes it's a very wicked lake. Three weeks ago it blew very

hard all night, and in the morning the waves were rolling up like

mountains, and near the harbor pier there lay a wreck. Although

they were so close to the town, and several other vessels were

lying at anchor near, no one had heard, or seen, or knew anything

about how it happened. It proved to be the "Magellan," of St.

Catherine's, Ont. Since then nine bodies have washed ashore, among

them the captain and his brother, the mate, both of them

fine-looking young men, and not like ordinary rough sailors. The

captain was a Knight Templar, and the Masons took charge of the

body and sent it home, and some ladies made a beautiful cross of

natural flowers, which they laid on his breast. But I will leave

this sad subject, and tell you how we appreciate ST. NICHOLAS.

Last week we had a concert. There were several recitations from ST.

NICHOLAS, besides the "Mother Goose Operetta" in the January number

(1877). It was very pretty. There were fifteen children, all in

handsome peasant costumes. I was Marie.

Last summer, when we came from the Centennial, in our Pullman car

were two boys just Fred's age; one was from San Francisco and one

from Chicago. Of course, the three were soon well acquainted, and

had lots of fun together. And what do you think? They soon found

out that each was a subscriber to ST. NICHOLAS! And how they

enjoyed talking over the stories together! "Fast Friends" seemed to

be the favorite; but I like "Eight Cousins" better.--Respectfully

yours,

NETTIE CONINE.

* * * * *

Paulsboro, N.J., 1877.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I had pigeons at the Woodbury Fair both this

year and last, and took the first premiums for best display:

another little fellow, about my age, had four when I had six, and

had eight when I had nine; how many had I better take next year?

You are interested in this question, for the two dollars premium

helps pay for my ST. NICHOLAS, and I don't want to be without

_that_. I take the "Scattered Seeds," but like ST. NICHOLAS better.

Please stop sending my magazine to Wm. E. _Grant_. I am no relation

to General Grant, but am a Democrat, and for General McClellan. I

am nine years of age.--Your constant reader,

WILLIE E. GAUNT.

You have done so well already, Willie, that we think you can best

answer your own question; but we should take _all_ of our _best_

pigeons.

* * * * *

New York.

Will ST. NICHOLAS please tell "Sidonie" if the "trade dollar" is

made entirely of silver?

It is not. There are 900 parts of pure silver and 100 parts of copper

in the "trade dollar." The copper alloy is added to make the coin hard,

so that it will wear well, as silver by itself would be too soft.

* * * * *

Chicago, Ill.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I, for one, think it is all nonsense about those

"that" sentences. Anybody can put more than eight "thats" in a

sentence; but if he, she, or it, can parse them, I would like to

have them do it. I don't believe it can be done. Let them parse the

sentence in the August number, for instance; and, if they can put

in twelve "thats" and then parse them, why, then, and not till

then, will I believe it. Please put this in the Letter-Box, and

oblige.

C.P.S.

* * * * *

Louisville, Ky.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thank you very much for the many beautiful

designs which you have given for Christmas presents, and for the

pictures and silhouettes which you have published, from which we

have copied in _tableaux vivants_ and shadow pantomimes. We had

"The Modern and Mediæval Ballad of Mary Jane" (published in

January, 1877) in our church entertainment, and it "took"

immensely. "The Stalwart Benjamin" and "Lord Mortimer" were cut

from pasteboard, and fastened up by wires, and, of course, no one

knew that they were not people. The "Ballad" was read behind the

scenes.--Truly yours,

KITTY B. WHIPPLE.

* * * * *

Boston.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Papa has bought me every number of the ST.

NICHOLAS you have ever published, and as I have seen several

letters asking you about different things, I thought I would ask

you about something I do not understand. If it is not really known

who wrote the plays "Titus Andronicus" and "Pericles, Prince of

Tyre," what circumstances lead people to think Shakspeare wrote

them?

I have enjoyed you extremely, and as the Little Schoolma'am seems

always to answer such questions, I write to you hoping you will ask

her.--I am your fond admirer,

ETHEL DAVIS.

The Little Schoolma'am says it is not absolutely certain who wrote the

plays you name, but this is about the way the matter stands:

The play "Titus Andronicus" is not now believed to have been originally

written by Shakspeare. It is considered too horrible and repulsive to

be his work. However, it may have been brought to him to be retouched

and made ready for the stage. Hence is it, perhaps, that some passages

of his are found in it.

"Pericles," as well as "Timon of Athens," is believed to have been the

work of some other writer, afterward completed and partially altered by

Shakspeare. It is thought that most of the last three acts of

"Pericles" are Shakspeare's, though some of their prose scenes and all

the choruses are by another hand.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

ALL AROUND A PALETTE is a delightful book for boys and girls,

especially for those who love good pictures and odd and sprightly

stories with something in them besides the fun and sparkle. Mr. J.

Wells Champney has put a picture or a sketch wherever there was a

chance, and Mrs. Lizzie W. Champney has made the stories very bright,

sweet and interesting. The book is published by Messrs. Lockwood,

Brooks & Co., Boston, and is one of the "Children's Art Series."

Messrs. Porter & Coates, of Philadelphia, send us THE BOY TRADERS, by

Harry Castlemon, a brisk story of adventure on the sea, in the Sandwich

Islands and among the Boers. There are several striking pictures.

A YORK AND A LANCASTER ROSE, by Anne Kearney, author of "Castle Daly,"

"Oldbury," etc.; published by Macmillan & Co., New York. This book is

by an English author, and is a charming picture of family life, which

will interest girls of thirteen and fifteen years of age. The story is

of two girls, each named Rose, the one rich and the other poor; and

tells how they were brought together, and the influence they exercised

upon each other, and relates, in a very pleasant way, the various

adventures, sayings, and doings of their brothers and sisters.

THE CUCKOO CLOCK, by Ennis Graham, author of "Carrots" and "Tell me a

Story"; published by Macmillan & Co. This volume is well illustrated by

Walter Crane. The cuckoo in an old clock makes friends with a lonely

little girl, and causes her to have a good time, and to see many

wonderful things. One of the prettiest parts of the story is the

account of the making of the clock in the German home of the little

girl's grandmother.

SLICES OF MOTHER GOOSE, SERVED WITH SAUCE BY "CHAMP," is the title of a

set of large cards, admirably printed in black and red, and giving new

funny versions of Mother Goose rhymes, by Alice Parkman, illustrated

with capital pictures and silhouettes by Mr. Champney. Messrs.

Lockwood, Brooks & Co., of Boston, are the publishers.

SIX SINNERS, by Campbell Wheaton, has to do chiefly with one of the six

dear little "sinners," Dora Maynard, whom girl readers will love right

off. It tells all about her school-days, her pranks and fun, her

troubles and how they were overcome, and tells it in a way so lively

and absorbing that you will want to read all of it at one sitting. The

book is clearly printed in large type, and is published by Messrs.

Putnam, New York.

THE RIDDLE-BOX

EASY DOUBLE CROSS-WORD ACROSTIC.

The initials and finals, read downward, form the names of two kinds of

trees.

1. The width of a vessel. 2. A mountain of Crete. 3. A Tom-boy. 4. An

inclosure. 5. To harbor.

WILLIE PETTINOS.

SQUARE-WORD.

1. A governor. 2. To join. 3. Flexible. 4. A girl's name. 5. Quick

dances.

L.

NUMERICAL PUZZLE.

I am a word of five letters, the sum of which is 512.

My 1 × my 3 = 1/20 of my 5;

My 2 × my 4 = 1/5 of my 3;

My 5 ÷ my 1 = my 3 × 20.

SEDGWICK.

HIDDEN ACROSTIC.

At the top of a mountain,

Within a clear light;

In the midst of a fountain,

At edge of the night;

In field and in meadow,

In sunshine and shadow,

On land and on sea,

At the end of the earth,

Or in air, we may be.

Now put us together,

And, if you guess right,

You'll discover a water-fall

Sparkling and bright.

W.P.D.

EASY DECAPITATIONS.

1. Behead a kind of sword, and leave a fluid for burning. 2. Behead a

sharp-pointed weapon, and leave a fruit. 3. Behead to touch, and leave

a kind of fish. 4. Behead a vehicle used in winter, and leave a shelf

5. Behead a kind of deer, and leave a game that boys play. 6. Behead an

ancient war implement, and leave a unit. 7. Behead animals of a common

kind, and leave a sort of grain. 8. Behead to pull, and leave sore. 9.

Behead the name of a vessel, and leave a narrow passage.

WALTER A.

TRANSPOSITIONS.

1. Change artful into a confusion. 2. Change a Persian king into a

mixture. 3. Change a cutter into listeners. 4. Change a cheat into

musicians. 5. Change repaired into healed. 6. Change a drink into a

class embracing many species.

CYRIL DEANE.

CHARADE.

In war, and in council, my first oft appears.

My second is that which my first often wears.

Very strong is my last; 'tis a bark, not a bite;

That from which it is taken is solid, not light.

Three joined in one, if my whole you should find,

An island well known it would bring to your mind.

M.D.

GEOGRAPHICAL PUZZLE.

(Composed by Mary V. and Willie K., each aged thirteen.)

An island west of British Columbia (1) went to the lightest city (2) in

the world to attend a ball. She there met a peak in Oregon (3) named as

follows: A city in Egypt (4), a city in Maine (5), and a city in

Australia (6), in whom she was much interested.

Her dress was a valley among the Himalaya Mountains (7), and though

elegantly trimmed with a city in Belgium (8), it was, unfortunately,

two cities in France (9). As she felt a country in South America (10),

she wore around her shoulders a city in Scotland (11) shawl. Her

jewelry was exclusively a peak in Oregon (12). Her shoes were of a

country in Africa (13), and her handkerchief was perfumed with a city

in Prussia (14).

Being a lake north of the United States (15) dancer, she had

distinguished partners, whose names were the capital of the United

States (16), the capital of Ohio (17), the capital of Wisconsin (18),

the capital of Alabama (19), the capital of Mississippi (20), and the

capital of North Carolina (21).

Having boldly said that she was a country in Europe (22), she was

escorted by a city in Indiana (23) to a bay in South-west Africa (24),

where she freely partook of a river in Oregon (25), some islands in

the Pacific Ocean (26), a river in South Africa (27), a district in

France (28), and some islands in the Atlantic (29). After passing a

river of Maine evening (30), she bade a cape in Iceland (31) to her

hostess, and was escorted home by an island in Nova Scotia (32).

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.

My 1 2 3 4 is undoubtedly possessed by every one of the whole race

of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 (my whole), while my 5 6 7 8 ends a prayer.

C.D.

ILLUSTRATED PUZZLE.

[Illustration]

Twelve things may be found in the picture above,

Not clearly perceived by the eye,

But with keen observation and witty conceit,

You will find them, I know, if you try.

First point out (1) an animal (other than bear),

(2) A spectator, (3) a portion of corn,

(4) One part of a sentence, and (5) parts of a bird,

And (6) what may your fair head adorn.

Now (7) part of a river, and (8) parts of a book,

And now, if you please, take the trouble

To pick out (9, 10) two letters, which, rightly combined,

In classical language mean "double."

The remaining two things in the picture above,

To which I would call your attention,

Are (11) part of a carriage or part of a boy,

And (12) a sort of a stop or suspension.

AUNT SUE.

CURTAILMENTS.

1. Curtail a bur, and leave to plague; curtail again, and leave plants.

2. Curtail a celestial body, and leave to make smooth; again, and leave

a model. 3. Curtail a low, wet ground, and leave a planet; again, and

leave to injure; again, and leave a parent. 4. Curtail a jury-roll, and

leave a glass; again, and leave part of a gun-lock; again, and leave a

parent.

CYRIL DEANE.

COMPLETE DIAGONAL.

Diagonals from left to right, downward: 1. Fifty. 2. A boy's nickname.

3. A title of respect. 4. To affirm. 5. Ardent. 6. A vale. 7. A rule of

action. 8. A river in Italy. 9. Phonetically, a measure.

Horizontally: 1. Used by painters. 2. An Israelitish king. 3. A name

for beer. 4. More dim. 5. To reduce.

N.T.M.

EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.

I am composed of twelve letters. My 2 11 3 is a fish. My 1 4 3 2 5 is a

girl's name. My 7 3 8 10 5 is an American politician. My 12 8 6 1 is

pretty for a child's wear. My 9 8 12 10 5 is a necessary domestic

utensil. My 4 8 6 2 is very pleasant. My whole is the title of a

popular book.

D.C.R.

SQUARE-WORD.

1. An emperor's title. 2. Nothing. 3. Weapons. 4. A flower.

B.

ANAGRAM DOUBLE DIAMOND AND CONCEALED DOUBLE SQUARE.

From the sentence "Seer eats a pear" form a double diamond, the center

of which will be a double word-square.

CYRIL DEANE.

PICTORIAL PROVERB PUZZLE.

The answer is a well-known couplet.

[Illustration]

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN JANUARY NUMBER.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.--Initials, Russia; finals, Turkey; across,

R--a----Y

U--nit--E

S--ac---K

S--uga--R

I--O----U

A--n----T

HOUR-GLASS PUZZLE.--Diagonals, hones, sends; central, inner; horizontals,

H A I L S

O N E

N

D E E

S O R E S

DECAPITATIONS.--Acorn, corn; brook, rook; drake, rake; flute, lute;

pearl, earl; plane, lane; wheel, heel; spine, pine; trout, rout; prune,

rune.

DIAGONAL PUZZLE.--Diagonal, January; horizontals, Jollity, sAdness,

kiNdles, ensUing, compAny, appeaRs, holidaY.

DOUBLE PUZZLE.--Central Syncopations: Rabid, raid; stair, stir; haste,

hate; steep, step; Tiber, tier; grain, grin; holes, hoes; tiles, ties.

The syncopated letters, B, A, S, E, B, A, L, L, form the answer to the

Cross-word Enigma.

GEOGRAPHICAL TRANSPOSITIONS.--I held, Delhi; panels, Naples; I turn,

Turin; pains, Spain; pure, Peru; erect, Crete; more, Rome.

OMNIBUS WORD.--Crate:

I. Hour-Glass Puzzle.--Central, re-act: horizontals, caret, tea, a,

act, cater.

II. Square-Word.--Ace, car, era.

III. Prefix Puzzle.--At, cat; are, tare; art, cart; ear, tear.

IV. Another Prefix Puzzle.--Ace, race, trace; ate, rate, crate.

ACCIDENTAL HIDINGS.--Esther, molEST HER; Theresa, THERE SAt;

Ada, A DAmsel; Nora, NO RAy; Ernesta, stERNEST Age.

PERSPECTIVE CROSS PUZZLE.--_Horizontals:_ 1, Grand; 2, plate; 3, ditch;

4, event; 5, prism; 6, eel; 7, great; 8, court; 9, terse.

_Perpendiculars:_ 10, Glove; 11, dread; 12, yet; 13, prove; 14, harem;

15, plant; 16, telegmatic; 17, preferment; 18, governable. _Diagonals:_

19, dry; 20, hop; 21, met; 22, peg; 23, toe; 24, cot; 25, Eve.

EASY SQUARE-WORD.--Dial, inca, acid, lade.

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.--Forest all, forestall.

FRAME PUZZLE.--Stock-dove, broom-corn, anonymous, inodorous.

CHARADE.--Cat.

WORDS ENIGMATICALLY EXPRESSED.--Pot-a-toe, potato; Mo-lasses, molasses;

whisky; guinea-pig; false-hood, falsehood; toe-martyrs, tomatoes;

pike-rust, pie crust; captive-atin', captivating; barber-us, barbarous;

turn-pike; butter; IV, ivy.

PICTORIAL CHRISTMAS PUZZLE.--At Christmas play and make good cheer.

ANSWERS TO THE CHESS PUZZLE in the December number were received,

before December 18, from "Frederica," P. Hill, J.E.N. James T. White,

Laura Randolph, S.J.B., "Bessie and her Cousin," Alice Mason, and M.W.

Collet.

ANSWERS TO THE MAGIC DOMINO-SQUARE PUZZLE in the December number were

received, before December 18, from Alice Louise, William Lewis

Lockwood, James Buckelew, Howard G. Myers, Jas. Forsyth, E.C. Rowse,

Bertie Pierson, Walter Sanger, Kenneth Hartley, Hattie Coons, Margaret

B. Dodge, Alice Downing, Anna A. Hays, Emma A. Gill, "Georgie," D.C.

Robertson, Willie T. Sheffield, Samuel Herbert Fisher, George D.

Mitchell, Carrie Welles, G.L., Emma Elliott, K.C.R., A.H., John

Hancock, Jr., Harry Hartshorn, Carrie Doane, Carrie Heller, Eddie F.

Worcester, H.S., Fred B. Appleget, "Three of Them" (?), C. Kittinger,

"Bessie and her Cousin," and P. Hill, whose criticism we find just.

Helen L. Gilbert sends the solution of a puzzle in which 18 (not 16) is

the sum of the dots in each row of half-dominoes.

ANSWERS TO OTHER PUZZLES in the December number were received, before

December 18, from Charles Lothrop, R.T. McKeever, Arthur C. Smith, Lulu

Way, James J. Ormsbee, Fannie Runnels, G.L., "Jennie," Bancel La Farge,

Nellie Kellogg, Allie Bertram, L. Giraud, Alice N. Bailey, Josephine

Seibert, "Frederica," P. Hill, B.P. Emery, "Bessie and her Cousin,"

A.G. Cameron, "Lizzie and Anna," Fred S. Pickett, Gracie S. Cook,

Leonice Barnes, John Edward Hill, Carrie Heller, Bessie L. Barnes,

Helen E. Risteen, "Blotterer and Blunderer," T.W. Siddall, Alice Mason,

Fred M. Pease, Nessie E. Stevens, P. Hill, Katie E. Earl, M.W. Collet,

and A.H. White.

ANSWERS TO THE "BLIND-CLERK'S PUZZLE," in Jack-in-the-Pulpit for

December, were received, before December 18, from K.C.R., H.B.

Hastings, and "Nat"; and answers to the TREE PUZZLE from Mary V.

Ridgway, "M.," Linda L. Bergen, H. Walton, H.B. Hastings, J.C. Hoadley,

Lewis K. Stubbs.

Caroline I. Lockwood, of Tunbridge Wells, England, sends an answer to a

puzzle in a former number.