CHAPTER IX.

AN IMPASSABLE BARRIER.

In a few moments the boat's bow was brought within half a cable's length

of the boughs of the submerged trees. Her crew could see that to proceed

farther, on a direct course, was simply impossible. With equal reason

might they have attempted to hoist her into the air, and leap over the

obstruction that had presented itself before them.

Not only were the branches of the adjoining trees interlocked, but from

one to the other straggled a luxurious growth of creepers, forming a

network so strong and compact that a steamer of a hundred horse-power

would have been safely brought to a stand among its meshes. Of course no

attempt was made to penetrate this impenetrable _chevaux de frise_; and

after a while had been spent in reconnoitring it, Trevannion, guided by

the counsel of the Mundurucu, ordered the galatea to go about, and

proceed along the selvage of the submerged forest. An hour was spent in

paddling. No opening. Another hour similarly employed, and with similar

results!

The river might be in the direction pointed out by the Indian. No doubt

it was; but how were they to reach it? Not a break appeared in all that

long traverse wide enough to admit the passage of a canoe. Even an arrow

could scarce have penetrated among the trees, that extended their

parasite-laden branches beyond the border of the forest! By tacit

consent of the patron, the paddlers rested upon their oars; then plied

them once more; and once more came to a pause.

No opening among the tree-tops; no chance to reach the channel of the

Solimoes. The gloomy day became gloomier, for night was descending over

the Gapo. The crew of the galatea, wearied with many hours of exertion,

ceased paddling. The patron did not oppose them; for his spirit, as well

as theirs, had become subdued by hope long deferred. As upon the

previous night, the craft was moored among the tree-tops, where her

rigging, caught among the creepers, seemed enough to keep her from

drifting away. But very different from that of the preceding night was

the slumber enjoyed by her crew. Amidst the boughs of the _sapucaya_,

there had been nothing to disturb their tranquillity, save the

occasional shower of nuts, caused by the cracking of the dry shells, and

the monkey-pots discharging their contents. Then was the galatea

"grounded" upon a solitary tree, which carried only its own fruit.

To-night she was moored in the middle of a forest,--at all events upon

its edge,--a forest, not of the earth, nor the air, nor the water, but

of all three,--a forest whose inhabitants might be expected to partake

of a character altogether strange and abnormal. And of such character

were they; for scarce had the galatea become settled among the

tree-tops, when the ears of her crew were assailed by a chorus of

sounds, that with safety might have challenged the choir of Pandemonium.

Two alone remained undismayed,--Richard Trevannion and the Mundurucu.

"Bah!" exclaimed the Paraense, "what are you all frightened at? Don't

you know what it is, uncle?"

"I know what it resembles, boy,--the Devil and his legions let loose

from below. What is it, Dick?"

"Only the howlers. Don't be alarmed, little Rosita!"

The little Peruvian, gaining courage from his words, looked admiringly

on the youth who had called her "little Rosita." Any one could have told

that, from that time forward, Richard Trevannion might have the power to

control the destinies of his cousin.

"The howlers! What are they?" inquired the old miner.

"Monkeys, uncle; nothing more. From the noise they make, one might

suppose they were as big as buffaloes. Nothing of the kind. The largest

I ever saw was hardly as stout as a deerhound, though he could make as

much noise as a whole kennel. They have a sort of a drum in the throat,

that acts as a sound-board. That's what enables them to get up such a

row. I've often heard their concert more than two miles across country,

especially in prospect of an approaching storm. I don't know if they

follow this fashion in the Gapo; but if they do, from the way they're

going it now, we may look out for a trifling tornado."

Notwithstanding the apparent unconcern with which young Trevannion

declared himself, there was something in his manner that arrested the

attention of his uncle. While pronouncing his hypothetical forecast of a

storm, he had turned his glance towards the sky, and kept it fixed

there, as if making something more than a transient observation. The fog

had evaporated, and the moon was now coursing across the heavens, not

against a field of cloudy blue, but in the midst of black, cumulous

clouds, that every now and then shrouded her effulgence. A dweller in

the tropics of the Western hemisphere would have pronounced this sign

the certain forerunner of a storm; and so predicted the young Paraense.

"We'll have the sky upon us within an hour," said he, addressing himself

more especially to his uncle. "We'd better tie the galatea to the trees.

If this be a _hurricane_, and she goes adrift, there's no knowing where

we may bring up. The likeliest place will be in the bottom of the Gapo."

"The young patron speaks truth," interposed Munday, his eyes all the

while reading the signs of the heavens. "The Mundurucu knows by yonder

yellow sky."

As he spoke, the Indian pointed to a patch of brimstone-colored clouds,

conspicuous over the tops of the trees. There was no reason why Ralph

Trevannion should not give credit to the two weather-prophets, who could

have no personal motive in thus warning him. He yielded, therefore, to

their solicitation; and in ten minutes more the galatea was secured

among the tree-tops, as fast as cords could make her.

_Mayne Reid._

[Illustration]

CHRISTMAS BELLS.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day

Their old, familiar carols play,

And wild and sweet

The words repeat

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along

The unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way,

The world revolved from night to day

A voice, a chime,

A chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth,

The cannon thundered in the South,

And with the sound

The carols drowned

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent

The hearth-stones of a continent,

And made forlorn

The households born

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;

"There is no peace on earth," I said;

"For hate is strong

And mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

"God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!

The Wrong shall fail,

The Right prevail,

With peace on earth, good-will to men!"

_Henry W. Longfellow._

ANDY'S ADVENTURES;

OR, THE WORLD BEWITCHED.

In an instant Andy stopped turning, and saw sitting on the grass right

before him the most beautiful white rabbit, with the softest fur and the

longest ears that ever were.

"O Bunny!" cried Andy, delighted; and he stepped forward to smooth the

lovely creature with his hand.

He had scarcely touched it, when it gave a little hop, and sat down

again, just out of his reach.

"Bunny, Bunny! poor Bun!" cried Andy, coaxingly, creeping after it, as

eager to catch it as ever a cat was to put her paw on a mouse. "I won't

hurt you! Poor, poor Bunny!"

But the rabbit watched him with its mild, timid eyes, and gave two

leaps, as light as a feather, and as noiseless, and sat down again by

the garden fence. Andy crept up, still coaxing, and promising not to

hurt it; and when he had got quite near, he spread out both hands, gave

a spring like a cat, and caught a whole handful of grass right where the

pretty creature had sat that very instant; but it was gone, and, looking

over the fence, he saw it hopping away across the garden, from cabbage

to cabbage, from hill to hill of the potatoes, in the airiest and most

graceful manner, but not half as fast as a boy could run. So Andy

resolved to chase it; and getting over the fence, he hurried across the

garden, and came up to it just as it was perched for a moment like a

bird on the top of a slender weed, which did not bend in the least

beneath its weight. Andy grasped eagerly with both hands, and caught the

weed between them; but away went the rabbit over the next fence, and

across a large sunny pasture, making wonderful leaps, so long and light

and high that sometimes it seemed to sail in the air on wings.

Andy ran after it, wild with excitement. Now it slipped through his

fingers just as he pounced upon it, and tumbled headlong into a bunch of

thistles. Now it floated in the air quite above his head, while he

reached up and jumped, and ran on tiptoe after it, until he hit his foot

against a stone, which he was looking too high to see, and nearly broke

his shin in falling. Then it skipped along close upon the ground,

stopping when he stopped, and seeming to invite him to come and catch

it, but darting away again the moment he thought he had it fairly in his

hands.

At last it squatted down against a stump, in a large, hilly field full

of stumps and stones and ploughed ground, where Andy had never been

before.

Almost crying, he was so vexed and tired and far from home, he came up

to the stump. Bunny did not stir, but only winked a little, and pricked

up its pretty ears.

"Now I'll have you!" And Andy sprang upon it, catching it with both

hands. "I've got you! I've got you! I've got you!" he cried, in high

glee. "Now, my pretty, naughty--ho!" said Andy, with the greatest

amazement.

For lo! on opening his hands, he found that the thing he had given such

a chase, and caught at last, was nothing but a little ball of

thistle-down, which had been blown before him by the wind!

There he held it, and rubbed his eyes as he looked at it, and wondered;

then he began to remember what Mother Quirk had said to him; and he

would have given a good deal just then to have been back again at the

well, as he was before the angry old woman boxed his ear. He was afraid

she had bewitched him.

He looked at the thistle-down again and again, and turned it over, and

picked it to pieces a little, then brushed it off from his hand, when, O

wonderful! it immediately changed to a dove, and flew into the sky! But

he found that he had pulled out some of its feathers, and still held one

beautiful long white quill in his fingers.

Now he was sorry he had not kept it. And he would have got up and run

after it again; but just then, happening to look where he had thrown the

feathers down by the stump, he saw one of the strangest sights in the

world.

A little bit of a fellow, not so large as the end of his thumb, opened a

little bit of a door in the side of the stump, walked out, and looked

around as if he had heard a noise about his house, and wished to see

what had happened.

"Tom Thumb!" exclaimed Andy, in the greatest surprise and delight.

He had lately read the history of that famous little dwarf; and he had

often thought he would give all his playthings just to make his

acquaintance.

"Tom Thumb! Tom Thumb! how do you do?" he said.

But as Tom walked about, and paid no attention to him, he thought

perhaps he had not addressed him respectfully enough. So he said,--"I

beg your pardon, Mr. Thumb! I hope you are pretty well, Mr. Thumb."

At that the little gentleman took off his hat, and made the politest

little bow imaginable.

"My name is Andy. I have read about you. Come, let's be friends."

Mr. Thumb made some reply, but in such a very small voice that Andy

could not understand a word.

"Speak again, Mr. Thumb, if you please."

And Andy put his head down to hear. But Tom appeared to be afraid; and,

opening the little door again, he stepped back into the stump.

"Hello! come out again!" cried Andy. "Won't you? Then I'll find you!"

And with the dove's quill he forced the door of Tom Thumb's house, and

penetrated the entry. At that he heard a confused murmuring and

muttering and shouting; and, pulling away the feather, he saw rush out

after it a dozen little fellows, all as angry as they could be.

"Excuse me, gentlemen!" said Andy, as soon as he had recovered from his

astonishment. "I didn't mean any harm. Did I hurt anybody?"

They did not answer, but kept running to and fro, and talking among

themselves, and darting in and out of the door, as if to see what damage

had been done.

Andy watched them with the greatest interest. They were all dressed in

the gayest style, and very much alike. They had on black velvet caps,

striped with gold, and with long plumes that waved over their heads.

They wore the handsomest little tunics, of stuff as much finer than silk

as silk is finer than the bark of a tree. They had on beautiful bright

yellow scarfs, and their tunics were bordered with fringes of the

richest orange-color, and their trousers were all of dark velvet and

cloth of gold. They dangled the neatest little swords at their sides, in

golden scabbards; and three or four of them clapped their hands

furiously on the hilts; and one, seeing the feather which Andy pushed at

them, drew out the finest little black steel blade, not near so large as

a needle, threw himself into a noble fencing attitude, and made an

impetuous lunge, thrusting and brandishing his weapon in the bravest

manner.

Andy laughed gleefully, but stopped laughing, to wonder, when he saw

another of the little warriors shake out the folds of a marvellous

little cloak that covered his back, and, spreading it on the air, sail

aloft with all his flashing colors, sword and plumes. He came straight

to Andy's ear, and said something in a voice of thunder, and even made a

cut or two at the boy's hair; then darted away out of sight.

By this time the little doorway in the stump was crowded with these

strange little people. Some hurried to and fro, muttering and shaking

their cloaks, some sailed aloft, and others passed in and out of the

door,--all very much excited. Andy also noted several new-comers, who

seemed quite surprised, on arriving, to find the little community in

such confusion. The most of them brought some kind of plunder,--tiny

bags of gold, armfuls of a minute kind of yellow-ripe grain, silks and

satins of the fine quality mentioned,--which they hastened to hide away

in their dwelling.

But what astonished Andy most of anything was the appearance of a

wonderful little lady, who walked out among the warriors like a queen.

She was extremely small-waisted, although otherwise very portly. She

wore hoops of the most extraordinary extension, which made her appear

three or four times as large as the largest of her subjects. She walked

with a haughty air, fanning herself with a little gossamer fan, while

her servants went backwards before her, spreading down the cunningest

little carpets for her to tread upon. She was magnificently attired; her

dress, of the costliest materials, the most gorgeous pattern, and the

widest dimensions, was covered all over with the most splendid little

fringes and flounces which it is possible to conceive. Her countenance,

although very beautiful, was angry, and full of scorn, and she appeared

scolding violently, as she strode to and fro on the royal carpets.

Andy was almost beside himself with delight and amazement, as he watched

these proceedings. At length he said,--"These are not Tom Thumb's

people, but a nation of fairies! O what a lucky boy I am!"

For it is not every boy, you know, that has the good fortune to discover

these rare little people. They are in fact so seldom seen, that it is

now generally believed that no such beings exist except in story-books.

Andy had read about them with a great deal of interest; and although he

had never been quite convinced that what was said of them was really

true, he could now no longer have a doubt on the subject. He had not

only discovered the home of the fairies, but he had seen the fairy

queen.

And as Andy was a selfish boy, who wished to possess every strange or

pretty thing he saw, he felt an ardent desire to seize and carry away

the beautiful and scornful little being, who walked up and down on the

carpets, scolding, and fanning herself with the gossamer fan.

"I will put her under a tumbler," he said, "and keep her there until I

can have a glass cage made for her. And I will make all the little fairy

people come and be my servants, as they will have to if I carry off

their queen. And I will show her to everybody who comes. And everybody

will wonder so! O what a lucky boy I am!"

So saying, he formed his plan for capturing Her Majesty. Being anxious

to take her alive, and carry her off without doing her any personal

harm, he resolved to put her into his hat and tie his handkerchief over

it. Having got everything in readiness, he stooped down very carefully,

and extended his hand. Nobody seemed to be frightened; and the next

moment the fairy queen was fast between his thumb and finger.

"Ha, ha!" cried Andy; "the first time trying! Hurrah!" And he lifted her

up to put her into his hat.

But instantly the tiny creature began to struggle with all her might,

and rustle her silks, and--queen as she was--scratch and bite in the

sharpest manner. And at the same time the bravest little warriors flew

to the rescue; shrewdly darting at Andy's face, as if they knew where to

strike; and suddenly, while he was laughing at their rage, he got a

thrust in his forehead, and another in his neck, and a third under his

sleeve, where a courageous little soldier had rushed in and resolutely

driven in his rapier up to the hilt! Andy, who had no idea such little

weapons could hurt so, was terrified, and began to scream with pain. And

now, strange to see! the fairies were no longer fairies, but a nest of

bumblebees; it was the queen-bee he held in his fingers; and two of them

had left their stings sticking in his wounds!

Andy dropped the queen-bee, left his hat and handkerchief by the stump,

and began to run, screaming and brushing away the bees, that still

followed him, buzzing in his hair, and stinging him where they could. He

did not stop until he had run half across the fallow, and the last of

the angry swarm that pursued him had ceased buzzing about his ears.

"Oh! oh! oh!" he sobbed, with grief, and disappointment, and the pain of

the stings. "I didn't know they were bumblebees! And I've lost my hat!

And I don't know where I am! Oh! oh! oh!" And he sat down on a stone and

cried.

"Whoa! hush, haw!" said a loud voice.

And looking up through his tears, he saw an old farmer coming, with a

long whip in his hand, driving a yoke of oxen. Andy stopped weeping to

ask where he was, and the way home.

"About a peck and a half a day," replied the farmer.

Andy did not know what to make of this answer. So he said again,--"Can

you tell me where my father and mother live?"

"One in one stall, and the other in the other. Hush, haw!" cried the

farmer.

"I've got lost, and I wish you'd help me," said Andy.

"Star and Stripe," replied the farmer.

"How far is it to my father's?" the poor boy then asked.

"Well, about ninety dollars, with the yoke," said the farmer. "Whoa,

back!"

At this Andy felt so vexed, and weary, and bewildered, that he could not

help sobbing aloud.

"What!" said the farmer, angrily; "making fun of me?" And he drew up his

whip to strike.

"O, I wasn't making fun!" said Andy, frightened.

"You stopped me, and asked how much corn I feed my oxen; and I told you.

Then where I feed them; and I told you that. Then their names; and I

said, Star and Stripe. Then what I would sell them for; and I gave a

civil answer. And now you're laughing at me!" said the farmer, raising

his whip again.

Then Andy perceived that, whenever he said anything, he seemed to say

something else, and that his weeping appeared to be laughter, and that,

if he stayed there a moment longer, he would surely get a whipping. So

he started to run, with the owner of the oxen shouting at his heels.

"There! take that for being saucy to an old man!" cried the farmer,

fetching him a couple of sharp cuts across the back. Then he returned to

his oxen, and drove them away; while Andy got off from the fallow as

soon as he could, weeping as if his heart would break.

Seeing not far off a beautiful field of clover, the boy thought he would

go and lie down in it, and rest.

He had never seen such clover in his life. It was all in bloom with blue

and red and white flowers, which seemed to glow and sparkle like stars

among the green leaves. How it waved and rippled and flashed in the

sunshine, when the wind blew! Andy almost forgot his grief; and surely

he had quite forgotten that nothing was now any longer what it appeared,

when he waded knee-deep through the delicious clover, and laid himself

down in it. No sooner had he done so than he saw that what he had

mistaken for a field was a large pond, and he had plunged into it all

over like a duck.

Strangling and gasping for breath, and drenched from head to foot, Andy

scrambled out of the water as fast as he could. His hair was wet; and

little streams ran into his eyes and down his cheeks. His ears rang with

the water that had got into them. He was so frightened that he hardly

knew what had happened. And in this condition he sat down on the shore

to let his clothes drip, and to empty the water out of his shoes.

_J. T. Trowbridge._

(_To be continued._)

OUR COUNTRY NEIGHBORS.

We have just built our house in rather an out-of-the-way place,--on the

bank of a river, and under the shade of a little patch of woods which is

a veritable remain of quite an ancient forest. The checkerberry and

partridge-plum, with their glossy green leaves and scarlet berries,

still carpet the ground under its deep shadows; and prince's-pine and

other kindred evergreens declare its native wildness,--for these are

children of the wild woods, that never come after plough and harrow has

once broken a soil.

When we tried to look out the spot for our house, we had to get a

surveyor to go before us and cut a path through the dense underbrush

that was laced together in a general network of boughs and leaves, and

grew so high as to overtop our heads. Where the house stands, four or

five great old oaks and chestnuts had to be cut away to let it in; and

now it stands on the bank of the river, the edges of which are still

overhung with old forest-trees, chestnuts and oaks, which look at

themselves in the glassy stream.

A little knoll near the house was chosen for a garden-spot; a dense,

dark mass of trees above, of bushes in mid-air, and of all sorts of

ferns and wild-flowers and creeping vines on the ground. All these had

to be cleared out, and a dozen great trees cut down and dragged off to a

neighboring saw-mill, there to be transformed into boards to finish off

our house. Then, fetching a great machine, such as might be used to pull

a giant's teeth, with ropes, pulleys, oxen and men, and might and main,

we pulled out the stumps, with their great prongs and their network of

roots and fibres; and then, alas! we had to begin with all the pretty

wild, lovely bushes, and the checkerberries and ferns and wild

blackberries and huckleberry-bushes, and dig them up remorselessly, that

we might plant our corn and squashes. And so we got a house and a garden

right out of the heart of our piece of wild wood, about a mile from the

city of H----.

Well, then, people said it was a lonely place, and far from

neighbors,--by which they meant that it was a good way for them to come

to see us. But we soon found that whoever goes into the woods to live

finds neighbors of a new kind, and some to whom it is rather hard to

become accustomed.

For instance, on a fine day early in April, as we were crossing over to

superintend the building of our house, we were startled by a striped

snake, with his little bright eyes, raising himself to look at us, and

putting out his red, forked tongue. Now there is no more harm in these

little garden-snakes than there is in a robin or a squirrel; they are

poor little, peaceable, timid creatures, which could not do any harm if

they would; but the prejudices of society are so strong against them,

that one does not like to cultivate too much intimacy with them. So we

tried to turn out of our path into a tangle of bushes; and there,

instead of one, we found four snakes. We turned on the other side, and

there were two more. In short, everywhere we looked, the dry leaves were

rustling and coiling with them; and we were in despair. In vain we said

that they were harmless as kittens, and tried to persuade ourselves that

their little bright eyes were pretty, and that their serpentine

movements were in the exact line of beauty; for the life of us, we could

not help remembering their family name and connections; we thought of

those disagreeable gentlemen, the anacondas, the rattlesnakes, and the

copperheads, and all of that bad line, immediate family friends of the

old serpent to whom we are indebted for all the mischief that is done in

this world. So we were quite apprehensive when we saw how our new

neighborhood was infested by them, until a neighbor calmed our fears by

telling us that snakes always crawled out of their holes to sun

themselves in the spring, and that in a day or two they would all be

gone.

So it proved. It was evident they were all out merely to do their spring

shopping, or something that serves with them the same purpose that

spring shopping does with us; and where they went afterwards we do not

know. People speak of snakes' holes, and we have seen them disappearing

into such subterranean chambers; but we never opened one to see what

sort of underground housekeeping went on there. After the first few days

of spring, a snake was a rare visitor, though now and then one appeared.

One was discovered taking his noontide repast one day in a manner which

excited much prejudice. He was, in fact, regaling himself by sucking

down into his maw a small frog, which he had begun to swallow at the

toes, and had drawn about half down. The frog, it must be confessed,

seemed to view this arrangement with great indifference, making no

struggle, and sitting solemnly, with his great, unwinking eyes, to be

sucked in at the leisure of his captor. There was immense sympathy,

however, excited for him in the family circle; and it was voted that a

snake which indulged in such very disagreeable modes of eating his

dinner was not to be tolerated in our vicinity. So I have reason to

believe that that was his last meal.

Another of our wild woodland neighbors made us some trouble. It was no

other than a veritable woodchuck, whose hole we had often wondered at

when we were scrambling through the underbrush after spring flowers. The

hole was about the size of a peck-measure, and had two openings about

six feet apart. The occupant was a gentleman we never had had the

pleasure of seeing; but we soon learned his existence from his ravages

in our garden. He had a taste, it appears, for the very kind of things

we wanted to eat ourselves, and helped himself without asking. We had a

row of fine, crisp heads of lettuce, which were the pride of our

gardening, and out of which he would from day to day select for his

table just the plants we had marked for ours. He also nibbled our young

beans; and so at last we were reluctantly obliged to let John Gardiner

set a trap for him. Poor old simple-minded hermit, he was too artless

for this world! He was caught at the very first snap, and found dead in

the trap,--the agitation and distress having broken his poor woodland

heart, and killed him. We were grieved to the very soul when the poor

fat old fellow was dragged out, with his useless paws standing up stiff

and imploring. He was industrious in his way, and would have made a

capital soldier under McClellan. A regiment like him would have made

nothing of trench-digging, could they have been properly drilled. As it

was, he was given to Denis, our pig, which, without a single scruple of

delicacy, ate him up as thoroughly as he ate up the lettuce.

This business of eating, it appears, must go on all through creation. We

eat ducks, turkeys, and chickens, though we don't swallow them whole,

feathers and all. Our four-footed friends, less civilized, take things

with more directness and simplicity, and chew each other up without

ceremony, or swallow each other alive. Of these unceremonious habits we

had other instances.

[Illustration]

Our house had a central court on the southern side, into which looked

the library, dining-room, and front hall, as well as several of the

upper chambers. It was designed to be closed in with glass, to serve as

a conservatory in winter; and meanwhile we had filled it with splendid

plumy ferns, taken up out of the neighboring wood. In the centre was a

fountain surrounded by stones, shells, mosses, and various water-plants.

We had bought three little goldfish to swim in our basin; and the spray

of it, as it rose in the air and rippled back into the water, was the

pleasantest possible sound of a hot day. We used to lie on the sofa in

the hall, and look into the court, and fancy we saw some scene of

fairy-land, and water-sprites coming up from the fountain. Suddenly a

new-comer presented himself,--no other than an immense bullfrog, that

had hopped up from the neighboring river, apparently with a view to

making a permanent settlement in and about our fountain. He was to be

seen, often for hours, sitting reflectively on the edge of it, beneath

the broad shadow of the calla-leaves. When sometimes missed thence, he

would be found under the ample shield of a great bignonia, whose striped

leaves grew hard by.

The family were prejudiced against him. What did he want there? It was

surely some sinister motive impelled him. He was probably watching for

an opportunity to gobble up the goldfish. We took his part, however, and

strenuously defended his moral character, and patronized him in all

ways. We gave him the name of Unke, and maintained that he was a

well-conducted, philosophical old water-sprite, who showed his good

taste in wanting to take up his abode in our conservatory. We even

defended his personal appearance, praised the invisible green coat which

he wore on his back, and his gray vest, and solemn gold spectacles; and

though he always felt remarkably slimy when we touched him, yet, as he

would sit still, and allow us to stroke his head and pat his back, we

concluded his social feelings might be warm, notwithstanding a cold

exterior. Who knew, after all, but he might be a beautiful young prince,

enchanted there till the princess should come to drop the golden ball

into the fountain, and so give him a chance to marry her, and turn into

a man again? Such things, we are credibly informed, are matters of

frequent occurrence in Germany. Why not here?

By and by there came to our fountain another visitor,--a frisky, green

young frog of the identical kind spoken of by the poet:

"There was a frog lived in a well,

Rig dum pully metakimo."

This thoughtless, dapper individual, with his bright green coat, his

faultless white vest, and sea-green tights, became rather the popular

favorite. He seemed just rakish and gallant enough to fulfil the

conditions of the song:

"The frog he would a courting ride,

With sword and pistol by his side."

This lively young fellow, whom we shall call Cri-Cri, like other frisky

and gay young people, carried the day quite over the head of the solemn

old philosopher under the calla-leaves. At night, when all was still, he

would trill a joyous little note in his throat, while old Unke would

answer only with a cracked guttural more singular than agreeable; and to

all outward appearance the two were as good friends as their different

natures would allow.

One day, however, the conservatory became a scene of a tragedy of the

deepest dye. We were summoned below by shrieks and howls of horror. "Do

pray come down and see what this vile, nasty, horrid old frog has been

doing!" Down we came; and there sat our virtuous old philosopher, with

his poor little brother's hind legs still sticking out of the corner of

his mouth, as if he were smoking them for a cigar, all helplessly

palpitating as they were. In fact, our solemn old friend had done what

many a solemn hypocrite before has done,--swallowed his poor brother,

neck and crop,--and sat there with the most brazen indifference, looking

as if he had done the most proper and virtuous thing in the world.

Immediately he was marched out of the conservatory at the point of the

walking-stick, and made to hop down into the river, into whose waters he

splashed; and we saw him no more. We regret to say that the popular

indignation was so precipitate in its results; otherwise the special

artist who sketched Hum, the son of Buz, intended to have made a sketch

of the old villain, as he sat with his luckless victim's hind legs

projecting from his solemn mouth. With all his moral faults, he was a

good sitter, and would probably have sat immovable any length of time

that could be desired.

Of other woodland neighbors there were some which we saw occasionally.

The shores of the river were lined here and there with the holes of the

muskrats; and, in rowing by their settlements, we were sometimes

strongly reminded of them by the overpowering odor of the perfume from

which they get their name. There were also owls, whose nests were high

up in some of the old chestnut-trees. Often in the lonely hours of the

night we could hear them gibbering with a sort of wild, hollow laugh

among the distant trees. But one tenant of the woods made us some

trouble in the autumn. It was a little flying-squirrel, who took to

making excursions into our house in the night season, coming down

chimney into the chambers, rustling about among the clothes, cracking

nuts or nibbling at any morsels of anything that suited his fancy. For a

long time the inmates of the rooms were wakened in the night by

mysterious noises, thumps, and rappings, and so lighted candles, and

searched in vain to find whence they came; for the moment any movement

was made, the rogue whipped up chimney, and left us a prey to the most

mysterious alarms. What could it be?

But one night our fine gentleman bounced in at the window of another

room, which had no fireplace; and the fair occupant, rising in the

night, shut the window, without suspecting that she had cut off the

retreat of any of her woodland neighbors. The next morning she was

startled by what she thought a gray rat running past her bed. She rose

to pursue him, when he ran up the wall, and clung against the

plastering, showing himself very plainly a gray flying-squirrel, with

large, soft eyes, and wings which consisted of a membrane uniting the

fore paws to the hind ones, like those of a bat. He was chased into the

conservatory, and, a window being opened, out he flew upon the ground,

and made away for his native woods, and thus put an end to many fears as

to the nature of our nocturnal rappings.

So you see how many neighbors we found by living in the woods, and,

after all, no worse ones than are found in the great world.

_Harriet Beecher Stowe._

[Illustration]

WINNING HIS WAY.

CHAPTER II. [TN: Continued from Vol. I]

HARD TIMES.

How lonesome the days when dear friends leave us to return no more, whom

we never shall see again on earth, who will send us no message or letter

of love from the far distant land whither they have gone! It tries our

hearts and brings tears to our eyes to lay them in the ground. But shall

we never, never see them again? Yes, when we have taken the same

journey, when we have closed our eyes on earth and opened them in

heaven.

It was a sad day to Paul when he followed the body of his dear old

grandfather to the grave; but when he stood by his coffin, and looked

for the last time upon his grandfather's face, and saw how peaceful it

was and how pleasant the smile which rested upon it, as if he was

beholding beautiful scenes,--when Paul remembered how good he was, he

could not feel it in his soul to say, "Come back, Grandpa"; he would be

content as it was. But the days were long and dreary, and so were the

nights. Many were the hours which Paul passed lying awake in his bed,

looking through the crevices of the poor old house, and watching the

stars and the clouds as they went sailing by. So he was sailing on, and

the question would come up, Whither? He listened to the water falling

over the dam by the mill, and to the chirping of the crickets, and the

sighing of the wind, and the church-bell tolling the hours; they were

sweet, yet mournful and solemn sounds. Tears stood in his eyes and

rolled down his cheeks, as he thought that he and his mother were on

earth, and his father and grandfather were praising God in the heavenly

choirs. But he resolved to be good, to take care of his mother, and be

her comfort and joy.

Hard times came on. How to live was the great question; for now that his

grandfather was gone, they could have the pension no longer. The

neighbors were very kind. Sometimes Mr. Middlekauf, Hans's father, who

had a great farm, left a bag of meal for them when he came into the

village. There was little work for Paul to do in the village; but he

kept their own garden in good trim--the onion-bed clear of weeds, and

the potatoes well hilled. Very pleasant it was to work there, where the

honey-bees hummed over the beds of sage, and among his mother's flowers,

and where bumblebees dusted their yellow jackets in the hollyhocks.

Swallows also built their nests under the eaves of the house, and made

the days pleasant with their merry twittering.

The old pensioner had been a land surveyor. The compass which he used

was a poor thing; but he had run many lines with it through the grand

old forest. One day, as Paul was weeding the onions, it occurred to him

that he might become a surveyor; so he went into the house, took the

compass from its case, and sat down to study it. He found his

grandfather's surveying-book, and began to study that. Some parts were

hard and dry; but having resolved to master it, he was not the boy to

give up a good resolution. It was not long before he found out how to

run a line, how to set off angles, and how to ascertain the distance

across a river or pond without measuring it. He went into the woods, and

stripped great rolls of birch bark from the trees, carried them home,

spread them out on the table, and plotted his lines with his dividers

and ruler. He could not afford paper. He took great pleasure in making a

sketch of the ground around the house, the garden, the orchard, the

field, the road, and the river.

The people of New Hope had long been discussing the project of building

a new road to Fair View, which would cross the pond above the mill. But

there was no surveyor in the region to tell them how long the bridge

must be which they would have to build.

"We will send up a kite, and thus get a string across the pond," said

one of the citizens.

"I can ascertain the distance easier than that," said Paul.

Mr. Pimpleberry, the carpenter, who was to build the bridge, laughed,

and looked with contempt upon him, Paul thought, because he was barefoot

and had a patch on each knee.

"Have you ever measured it, Paul?" Judge Adams asked.

"No, sir; but I will do so just to let Mr. Pimpleberry see that I can do

it."

He ran into the house, brought out the compass, went down to the edge of

the pond, drove a small stake in the ground, set his compass over it,

and sighted a small oak-tree upon the other side of the pond. It

happened that the tree was exactly south from the stake; then he turned

the sights of his compass so that they pointed exactly east and west.

Then he took Mr. Pimpleberry's ten-foot pole, and measured out fifty

feet toward the west, and drove another stake. Then he set his compass

there, and took another sight at the small oak-tree across the pond. It

was not south now, but several degrees east of south. Then he turned his

compass so that the sights would point just the same number of degrees

to the east of north.

"Now, Mr. Pimpleberry," said Paul, "I want you to stand out there, and

hold your ten-foot pole just where I tell you, putting yourself in range

with the stake I drove first and the tree across the pond."

Mr. Pimpleberry did as he was desired.

"Drive a stake where your pole stands," said Paul.

Mr. Pimpleberry thrust a splinter into the ground.

"Now measure the distance from the splinter to my first stake, and that

will be the distance across the pond," said Paul.

"I don't believe it," said Mr. Pimpleberry.

"Paul is right," said Judge Adams. "I understand the principle. He has

done it correctly."

The Judge was proud of him. Mr. Pimpleberry and Mr. Funk, and several

other citizens, were astonished; for they had no idea that Paul could

do anything of the kind. Notwithstanding Paul had given the true

distance, he received no thanks from any one; yet he didn't care for

that; for he had shown Mr. Pimpleberry that he could do it, and that was

glory enough.

Paul loved fun as well as ever. Rare times he had at school. One windy

day, a little boy, when he entered the school-room, left the door open.

"Go back and shut the door," shouted Mr. Cipher, who was very irritable

that morning. Another boy entered, and left it open. Mr. Cipher was

angry, and spoke to the whole school: "Any one who comes in to-day and

does not shut the door, will get a flogging. Now remember!" Being very

awkward in his manners, inefficient in government, and shallow-brained

and vain, he commanded very little respect from the scholars.

"Boys, there is a chance for us to have a jolly time with Cipher," said

Paul at recess.

"What is it?" Hans Middlekauf asked, ready for fun of any sort. The boys

gathered round, for they knew that Paul was a capital hand in inventing

games.

"You remember what Cipher said about leaving the door open."

"Well, what of it?" Hans Middlekauf asked.

"Let every one of us show him that we can obey him. When he raps for us

to go in, I want you all to form in line. I'll lead off, go in and shut

the door; you follow next, Hans, and be sure and shut the door; you come

next, Philip; then Michael, and so on,--every one shutting the door. If

you don't, remember that Cipher has promised to flog you."

The boys saw through the joke, and laughed heartily. "Jingo, that is a

good one, Paul. Cipher will be as mad as a March hare. I'll make the old

door rattle," said Hans.

Rap--rap--rap--rap! went the master's ruler upon the window.

"Fall into line, boys," said Paul. They obeyed orders as if he were a

general. "Now remember, every one of you, to shut the door just as soon

as you are in. Do it quick, and take your seats. Don't laugh, but be as

sober as deacons." There was giggling in the ranks. "Silence!" said

Paul. The boys smoothed their faces. Paul opened the door, stepped in,

and shut it in an instant,--slam! Hans opened it,--slam! it went, with a

jar which made the windows rattle. Philip followed,--slam! Michael

next,--bang! it went, jarring the house.

"Let the door be open," said Cipher; but Michael was in his seat;

and--bang! again,--slam!--bang!--slam!--bang! it went.

"Let it be open, I say!" he roared, but the boys outside did not hear

him, and it kept going,--slam!--slam!--slam!--bang!--bang!--bang!--till

the fiftieth boy was in.

"You started that, sir," Cipher said, addressing Paul, for he had

discovered that Paul Parker loved fun, and was a leading spirit among

the boys.

"I obeyed your orders, sir," Paul replied, ready to burst into a roar at

the success of his experiment.

"Did you not tell the boys to slam the door as hard as they could?"

"No, sir. I told them to remember what you had said, and that, if they

didn't shut the door, they would get a flogging."

"That is just what he said, Master," said Hans Middlekauf, brimming over

with fun. Cipher could not dispute it. He saw that they had literally

obeyed his orders, and that he had been outwitted. He did not know what

to do; and, being weak and inefficient, did nothing.

Paul loved hunting and fishing; on Saturday afternoons he made the woods

ring with the crack of his grandfather's gun, bringing squirrels from

the tallest trees, and taking quails upon the wing. He was quick to see,

and swift to take aim. He was cool of nerve, and so steady of aim that

he rarely missed. It was summer, and he wore no shoes. He walked so

lightly that he scarcely rustled a leaf. The partridges did not see him

till he was close upon them, and then, before they could rise from their

cover, flash!--bang!--and they went into his bag.

One day as he was on his return from the woods, with the gun upon his

shoulder, and the powder-horn at his side, he saw a gathering of people

in the street. Men, women, and children were out,--the women without

bonnets. He wondered what was going on. Some women were wringing their

hands; and all were greatly excited.

"O dear, isn't it dreadful!" "What will become of us?" "The Lord have

mercy upon us!"--were the expressions which he heard. Then they wrung

their hands again, and moaned.

"What is up?" he asked of Hans Middlekauf.

"Haven't you heard?"

"No, what is it?"

"Why, there is a big black bull-dog, the biggest that ever was, that has

run mad. He has bitten ever so many other dogs, and horses, sheep, and

cattle. He is as big as a bear and froths at the mouth. He is the

savagest critter that ever was," said Hans in a breath.

"Why don't somebody kill him?"

"They are afeared of him," said Hans.

"I should think they might kill him," Paul replied.

"I reckon you would run as fast as anybody else, if he should show

himself round here," said Hans.

"There he is! Run! run! run for your lives!" was the sudden cry.

Paul looked up the street, and saw a very large bull-dog coming upon the

trot. Never was there such a scampering. People ran into the nearest

houses, pell-mell. One man jumped into his wagon, lashed his horse into

a run, and went down the street, losing his hat in his flight, while

Hans Middlekauf went up a tree.

"Run, Paul! Run! he'll bite you," cried Mr. Leatherby from the window of

his shoe shop. People looked out from the windows and repeated the cry,

a half-dozen at once; but Paul took no notice of them. Those who were

nearest him heard the click of his gun-lock. The dog came nearer,

growling, and snarling, his mouth wide open, showing his teeth, his eyes

glaring, and white froth dripping from his lips. Paul stood alone in

the street. There was a sudden silence. It was a scene for a

painter,--a barefoot boy in patched clothes, with an old hat on his

head, standing calmly before the brute whose bite was death in its most

terrible form. One thought had taken possession of Paul's mind, that he

ought to kill the dog.

[Illustration]

Nearer, nearer, came the dog; he was not a rod off. Paul had read that

no animal can withstand the steady gaze of the human eye. He looked the

dog steadily in the face. He held his breath. Not a nerve trembled. The

dog stopped, looked at Paul a moment, broke into a louder growl, opened

his jaws wider, his eyes glaring more wildly, and stepped slowly

forward. Now or never, Paul thought, was his time. The breech of the gun

touched his shoulder; his eye ran along the barrel,--bang! the dog

rolled over with a yelp and a howl, but was up again, growling and

trying to get at Paul, who in an instant seized his gun by the barrel,

and brought the breech down upon the dog's skull, giving him blow after

blow.

"Kill him! kill him!" shouted the people from the windows.

"Give it to him! Mash his head!" cried Hans from the tree.

The dog soon became a mangled and bloody mass of flesh and bones. The

people came out from their houses.

"That was well done for a boy," said Mr. Funk.

"Or for a man either," said Mr. Chrome, who came up and patted Paul on

his back.

"I should have thrown my lapstone at him, if I could have got my window

open," said Mr. Leatherby. Mr. Noggin, the cooper, who had taken refuge

in Leatherby's shop, afterwards said that Leatherby was frightened half

to death, and kept saying, "Just as like as not he will make a spring

and dart right through the window."

"Nobly, bravely done, Paul," said Judge Adams. "Let me shake hands with

you, my boy." He and Mrs. Adams and Azalia had seen it all from their

parlor window.

"O Paul, I was afraid he would bite and kill you, or that your gun would

miss fire. I trembled all over just like a leaf," said Azalia, still

pale and trembling. "O, I am so glad you have killed him!" She looked up

into his face earnestly, and there was such a light in her eyes, that

Paul was glad he had killed the dog, for her sake.

"Weren't you afraid, Paul?" she asked.

"No. If I had been afraid, I should have missed him, perhaps; I made up

my mind to kill him, and what was the use of being afraid."

Many were the praises bestowed upon Paul. "How noble! how heroic!" the

people said. Hans told the story to all the boys in the village. "Paul

was just as cool as--cool as--a cucumber," he said, that being the best

comparison he could think of. The people came and looked at the dog, to

see how large he was, and how savage, and went away saying, "I am glad

he is dead, but I don't see how Paul had the courage to face him."

Paul went home and told his mother what had happened. She turned pale

while listening to the story, and held her breath, and clasped her

hands; but when he had finished, and when she thought that, if Paul had

not killed the dog, many might have been bitten, she was glad, and said,

"You did right, my son. It is our duty to face danger if we can do

good." A tear glistened in her eye as she kissed him. "God bless you,

Paul," she said, and smiled through her tears. He remembered it for many

a day.

All the dogs which had been bitten were killed to prevent them from

running mad. A hard time of it the dogs of New Hope had, for some which

had not been bitten did not escape the dog-killers, who went through the

town knocking them over with clubs.

Although Paul was so cool and courageous in the moment of danger, he

trembled and felt weak afterwards when he thought of the risk he had

run. That night when he said his evening prayer, he thanked God for

having protected him. He dreamed it all over again in the night. He saw

the dog coming at him with his mouth wide open, the froth dropping from

his lips, and his eyes glaring heavily. He heard his growl,--only it was

not a growl, but a branch of the old maple which rubbed against the

house when the wind blew. That was what set him a dreaming. In his dream

he had no gun, so he picked up the first thing he could lay his hands

on, and let drive at the dog. Smash! there was a great racket, and a

jingling of glass. Paul was awake in an instant, and found that he had

jumped out of bed, and was standing in the middle of the floor, and that

he had knocked over the spinning-wheel, and a lot of old trumpery, and

had thrown one of his grandfather's old boots through the window.

"What in the world are you up to, Paul?" his mother asked, calling from

the room below, in alarm.

"Killing the dog a second time, mother," Paul replied, laughing and

jumping into bed again.

_Carleton._

[Illustration]

TRAPPED IN A TREE.

A BACKWOODS ADVENTURE.

Among the many queer characters I have encountered, in the shadow of the

forest or the sunshine of the prairie, I can remember none queerer than

Zebulon Stump, or old Zeb, as he was familiarly known. "Kaintuck by

birth and raisin'," as he described himself, he was a hunter of the

Daniel Boone sort. The chase was his sole calling; and he would have

indignantly scouted the suggestion that he ever followed it for mere

amusement. Though not of ungenial disposition, he held all amateur

hunters in lordly contempt; and his conversation with such was always of

a condescending character, although he was not, after all, averse to

their company. Being myself privileged with his acquaintance, many of my

hunting excursions were made in company with Old Zeb. He was in truth my

guide and instructor, as well as companion, and initiated me into many

mysteries of American woodcraft.

One of the most inexplicable of these mysteries was Old Zeb's own

existence; and I had known him for a considerable time before I could

unravel it. He stood six feet high in his boots of alligator-skin, into

the ample tops of which were crowded the legs of his coarse "copperas"

trousers; while his other garments were a deer-skin shirt, and a blanket

coat that had once been green, but, like the leaves of the autumnal

forest, had become sere and yellow. A slouched felt hat shaded his

cheeks from the sun upon the rare occasions when Old Zeb strayed beyond

the shadow of the "timber." Where and how he lived were the two points

that most required explanation. In the tract of virgin forest where I

usually met him, there was neither house nor hut. So said the people of

Grand Gulf, the small town upon the Mississippi where I was staying. Yet

Old Zeb had told me that in this forest was his "hum." It was only after

our acquaintance had ripened into strong fellowship, that I had the

pleasure of spending an hour under his humble roof. It consisted of the

hollow trunk of a gigantic sycamore-tree, still standing and growing!

Here Old Zeb found shelter for himself, his squaw,--as he termed Mrs.

Stump,--his household goods, and the tough old nag that carried him in

his wanderings. His establishment was no longer a puzzle,--though there

was still the mystery of how he maintained it. A skilled hunter might

easily procure food for himself and family; but even the hunter disdains

a diet exclusively game. There were the coffee, the "pone" of

corn-bread, the corn itself necessary for the "critter," the gown that

wrapped the somewhat angular outlines of Mrs. Stump, and many other

things that could not be procured by a rifle. Even the rifle itself

required food not to be found in the forest.

Presuming on our intimacy, I asked, "How do you manage to live? You

don't appear to make anything, nor do I see any signs of cultivation.

How then do you support yourselves?"

"Them duds thar," answered my host, pointing to a corner of his

tree-cabin. I looked and saw the skins of several animals,--among which

I recognized those of the "painter," "possum," and "'coon," along with a

haunch or two of recently killed venison. "I sell 'em, boy; the skins to

the storekeepers, and the deer-meat to anybody as 'll buy it."

Old Zeb's shooting appeared marvellous to me. He could "bark" a squirrel

in the top of the tallest tree, or kill it by a bullet through its eye.

He used to boast, in a quiet way, that he never spoilt a skin, though it

was only that of a "contemptible squir'l."

What most interested me was his tales of adventure, of which he was

often the hero; one possessed especial interest, partly from its own

essential oddness, and partly from its hinging on a phenomenon which I

had more than once witnessed. I allude to the "caving in," or breaking

down, of the banks of the Mississippi River, caused by the undermining

of the current, when large strips of land, often whole acres, thickly

studded with gigantic trees, slip into the water, to be "swished" away

with a violence eclipsing the fury of fabled Charybdis. It was at the

time of these land-slides that old Zeb had met with this adventure,

which, by the way, came very near killing him.

I shall try to set it forth in his own piquant _patois_, as nearly as I

can transcribe it from the tablets of my memory. I was indebted for the

tale to a chance circumstance, for old Zeb seldom volunteered a story,

unless something suggested it. We had killed a fine buck, that had run

several hundred times his length with the bullet in his body, and fallen

within a few feet of the bank of the great river. While stopping to

dress him, old Zeb looked around keenly, exclaiming, "If this ain't the

place whar I war _trapped in a tree_! Thar's the very saplin' itself!"

I looked at the "saplin'." It was a swamp cypress of some thirty feet in

girth, by at least a hundred and fifty in height.

"Trapped in a tree!" I echoed with emphatic interest, perceiving that he

was upon the edge of some odd adventure; and, desirous of tempting him

to the relation, I continued: "Trapped in a tree! How could that be with

an old forester like you?"

"It dud be, howsomedever," was the quaint reply of my companion; "an'

not so very long agone, neyther. Ef ye'll sit down a bit, I'll tell ye

all, as I _kin_ tell it; for I hain't forgotten neery sarcumstance; an'

I'll lay odds, young feller, thet ef ever you be as badly skeeart,

you'll carry the recollection o' that skeer ter yer coffin.

"Ye see, kumrade, I war out arter deer jest as we are the day; only it

had got to be nigh sundown, i'deed, an' I hedn't emptied my rifle the

hul day. Fact is, I hedn't sot eye on a thing wuth a charge o' powder

an' lead. I war afut; an' it are a good six mile from this to my shanty.

I didn't like goin' home empty-handed, specially as I knowed we war

empty-housed; an' the ole 'ooman wanted somethin' to git us a pound or

two o' coffee an' sugar with. So I thort I shed stay all night i' the

wuds, trustin' to gettin' a shot at a stray buck or a turkey in the

early mornin'. I war jest in this spot; but it looked quite different

then. The hul place about hyar war kivered wi' the tallest o' cane, an'

so thick, a coon ked sca'ce worm his way through it; but sence then the

under-scrub's all been burnt out. So I tuk up my quarters for the night

under that 'ere big cyprus. The ground war dampish; for thar hed been a

spell o' rain. So I tuk out my bowie, an' cut me enough o' the green

cane to make a sort o' a shake-down. It war comf'table enough; an' in

the twinklin' o' a buck's tail, I war soun' asleep. I slep' like a

possum, till daybreak, an' then I war awoke by the worst noises as ever

rousted a feller out o' his slumber. I heerd a skreekin' an' screamin'

an' screevin', as ef all the saws in Massissippi wor bein' sharped

'ithin twenty yards o' my ear. It all kim from overhead,--from out the

top o' the cyprus; an' it war the callin' o' the baldy eagles; it wa'n't

the fust time I had listened to them hyar. 'That's a neest,' sez I to

myself; 'an' young 'uns, too. That's why the birds is makin' sech a

rumpis.' Not that I cared much about a eagle's nest, nor the birds

neyther. But jest then I remembered my ole 'ooman had told me that there

war a rich Englishman at the tavern in Grand Gulf who offered no eend o'

money for a brace o' young baldy eagles.

"So in coorse I clomb the tree. 'T warn't so easy as you may s'pose.

Thar war forty feet o' the stem 'ithout a branch, an' so smooth thet a

catamount kedn't 'a' scaled it. I thort at fust that the cyprus wa'n't

climable no how; but jest then I seed a big fox grape-vine, that, arter

sprawlin' up another tree clost by, left it an' sloped off to the one

whar the baldies had thar nest. This war the very thing I wanted,--a

sort o' Jaykup's ladder; an', 'ithout wastin' a minit, I shinned up the

grape-vine. The shaky thing wobbled about, till I war well-nigh pitched

back to the groun'; an' thar war a time when I thort seriously o'

slippin' down agin.

"But then kim the thort o' the ole 'ooman, an' the empty larder, along

wi' the Englishman an' his full purse; an' bein' freshly narved by these

recollections, I swarmed up the vine like a squir'l. Once upon the

cyprus, thar warn't no differculty in reachin' the neest. Thar war

plenty o' footing among the top branches whar the birds had made thar

eyeray. But it warn't so easy to get into the neest. Thar kedn't 'a'

been less than a wagon-load o' sticks in it, to say nothin' o' Spanish

moss, an' all sorts o' bones o' fish and four-footed animals. It tuk me

nigh a hour to make a hole, so that I ked git my head above the edge,

an' see what the neest contained. As I expected, thur war young 'uns in

it,--two o' them about half feathered.

"All this time the old birds were abroad lookin' up a breakfast, I

suppose, for thar chicks. 'How disappointed they'll be!' sez I to

myself, 'when they come back an' find that the young 'uns have fled the

neest, without feathers!'

"I war too sure o' my game, an' too curious about the young baldies,

watching them, as they cowered clos't thegither, hissin' an' threatenin'

me, to take notice o' anythin' besides. But I war roused by feelin' the

hat suddintly snatched from my head, an' at the same time gettin' a

scratch acrost the cheek, that sent the blood spurtin' out all over my

face. It was from the talon o' the she-eagle, while the ole cock war

makin' a confusion o' noises as if he hed jest come all a-strut from the

towers o' Babylon. I had grupped one o' the young baldies, but I war

only too glad to lot it go an' duck my head under the nest, till the

critters were tired threatenin' me, an' guv up the attack. By this time

I guv up all thought o' takin' the young eagles. Arter my scratch, I war

contented to leave 'em alone, an' no Englishman's gold ked hev bought

that brace o' birds. I only waited a bit to rekiver myself, an' then I

commenced makin' back-tracks down the tree.

"I hed got 'bout half-way to the place whar the fox-grapes tuck holt o'

the cyprus, when I was stopped by a sound far more terrefic than the

screech o' the eagles. It was the creakin' an' crashin' o' timber along

wi' that unairthly rumblin' ye may hear when the banks o' the

Massissippi be a cavin' in, as they war then. I ked see the trees that

stood atween me an' the river trimblin' and tossin' about, an' then

goin' with a loud swish, an' a plunge, into the fast flowin' current o'

the stream. The cyprus itself shook, as if the wind war busy among its

branches. I felt a suddint jerk upon it, an' then it righted agin', an'

stood steady as a rock. The eagles above screamed wuss than iver, while

Zeb Stump below war tremblin' like an aspick.

"I know'd well enough what it all meant, but knowin' didn't give me any

great satesfaction, since I believed that in another minit the cyprus

mout cave in too! I didn't stay the ten thousanth fraction o' a minit. I

hurried to get back to the groun'; an' soon reached the place whar the

grape-vine joined on to the cyprus. Thur warn't no grape-vine to be

seen. It war clear gone! The tother tree to which its roots had been

clingin' had gone into the river, takin' the fox-grape along wi' it. It

war that gev the pluck I felt when descendin' fro' the neest. I looked

below. The river had changed its channel. Instead o' runnin' twenty

yards from the spot, it war surgin' along clost to the cyprus, which in

another minit mout topple over, whirl along, and be swallowed in the

frothin' water.

"I ked do nuthin' but stay whar I war,--nothin' but wait an'

watch,--listenin' to the screamin' o' the eagles,--skeeart like

myself,--the hoarse roarin' o' the angry water, an' the crashin' o' the

trees, as one arter another fell victims to the flood."

I was fascinated by this narration. Old Zeb's thoughts, notwithstanding

the _patois_ in which they were expressed, had risen to the sublime; and

although he paused for some minutes, I made no attempt to interrupt his

reflections, but in silence awaited the continuance of his tale.

"Wal, what do ye suppose I did nixt?" asked Zeb.

"Really, I cannot imagine," I replied, considerably astonished by Old

Zeb's abrupt and unexpected question.

"Wal, ye don't suppose I kim down from the tree?"

"I don't see how you could."

"Neyther did I, for I kedn't. I mout as well 'a' tried to git down the

purpendiklar face o' the Chickasaw bluffs, or the wall o' Jackson

Court-House. So I guv it up, an' stayed whar I war, cross-legs on a

branch o' the tree. It warn't the most comf'table kind o' seat; but I

hed somethin' else than cushions to think of. I didn't know the minit I

mout be shot out into the Massissippi; an' as I niver war much o' a

swimmer,--to say nothin' o' bein' smashed by the branches in fallin',--I

warn't over satesfied wi' my sitiwation.

"So I passed the hull o' that day; tho' thar warn't an easy bone in my

body, I hed got to be a bit easier in my mind; for on lookin' down at

the river, it seemed that the cave-in hed come to a eend. But my comfort

didn't last long. It war follered by the reflection that, whether the

tree war to stand or fall, I war equally a lost man. I knew that I war

beyont the reach o' human help. Nothin' but chance ked fetch a livin'

critter within reach o' my voice. I seed the river plain enough, an'

boats passin' up an' down; but I know'd they war 'custom'd to steer

along the opposite shore, to 'void the dangerous eddy as sets torst this

side. The river's more 'n a mile wide here, and the people on a passin'

boat wudn't hear me; an' ef they did, they'd take it for some one a

mockin' 'em. A man hailin' a boat from the top o' a cyprus-tree! It 'ud

be of no use. For all that I tried it. Steamers, keels, and flats,--I

hailed them all till I war hoarse; some o' 'em heard me, for I war

answered by shouts o' scornful laughter. My own shouts o' despair mout

a' been mistuk for the cries o' a fool or a madman.

"Wul, I kim to the conclusion that I war _trapped in that tree_, an' no

mistake. I seed no more chance o' gittin' clur than wud a bar wi' a

two-ton log across the small o' his back.

"It war jest arter I hed gin up all hope o' bein' suckered by anybody

else, thet I 'gan to think o' doin' suthin' for myself. I needed to do

suthin'. Full thirty hours hed passed since I'd eyther ate or drank; for

I'd been huntin' all the day afore 'ithout doin' eyther. I ked 'a'

swallered the muddiest water as ever war found in a puddle, an' neyther

frogs nor tadpoles would 'a' deterred me. As to eatin', when I thort o'

that, I kedn't help turnin' my eyes up'ard; an', spite o' the spurt I'd

hed wi' thar parents, I ked 'a' tolt them young baldies that thar lives

war in danger.

"Possible, I mout 'a' feeled hungrier an' thurstier then I did, if it

hadn't been for the fear I war in 'bout the cyprus topplin' over into

the river. Thet hed kep' me in sich a state o' skear, as to hinder me

from thinking of most anythin' else.

"As the time passed, hows'ever, an' the tree still kep' its

purpendic'lar, I begun to b'lieve that the bank warn't agoin' to move

any more. I ked see the water down below through the branches o' the

cyprus, an' tho' it war clost by, thar 'peared to be a clamjamfery o'

big roots stickin' out from the bank, as war like to keep the dirt firm

agin the underminin' o' the current,--leastwise for a good while.

"Soon as I bekum satersfied o' the firmness o' the cyprus, I tuk to

thinkin' again how I war to git down. Thinkin' warn't o' no use. Thar

war no way but to jump it; an' I mout as well ha' thort o' jumpin' from

the top o' a 'Piscopy church steeple 'ithout breakin' my ole

thigh-bones, tough as they be.

"By this time it hed got to be night; an' as thar wa'n't no use o' me

makin' things wuss then they war, I groped about the cyprus to see ef

thar war ary limb softer than the others, whar I ked lay myself for a

snooze. I foun' a place in one o' the forks, large enough to 'a' lodged

a bar; an' thar I squatted. I slep' putty well, considerin'; but the

scratch the eagle hed gin me hed got to be sorish, an' war wuss torst

the mornin'. At peep o' day I war wide awake, an' feelin' hungry enuf to

eat anything.

"While I war thinkin' o' climbin' up to the neest an' wringin' one o'

the eagles' necks, I chanced to look out over the river. All at oncet I

see one o' them big water-hawks--osprey, they call 'em--plunge down, an'

rise up agin wi' a catfish in his claws. He hadn't got twenty feet above

the surface when one o' the old baldies went shootin' torst him like a

streak o' lightnin'. Afore ye kud 'a' counted six, I seed the she-baldy

comin' for the tree wi' the catfish in _her_ claws.

"'Good,' sez I to myself; 'ef I must make my breakfast on raw stuff, I'd

rayther it shed be fish than squab eagle.'

"I started for the neest. This time I tuk the purcaution to unsheathe my

bowie an' carry it in my hand ready for a fight; an' it warn't no idle

purcaution, as it proved; for sca'ce hed I got my head above the edge o'

the neest when both the old birds attackted me jest as afore. The fight

war now more even atween us, an' the cunnin' critters appeared to know

it; for they kep' well out o' reach o' the bowie, though floppin' an'

clawin' at me whenever they seed a chance. I guv the ole hen a prod that

cooled her courage consid'able; an' as for the cock, he warn't a

sarcumstance to her; for, as yer know, the pluckiest o' eagles is allers

the hen bird.

"The fish war lyin' in the bottom o' the neest, whar they had dropped

it. It hedn't been touched, 'ceptin' by the claws thet hed carried it,

an' the young 'uns war too much skeart durin' the skurmidge to think o'

beginnin' breakfast. I spiked it on the blade o' my bowie, an', drawin'

it torst me, I slid back down the tree to the fork whar I hed passed the

night. Thar I ate it."

"You don't mean to say you ate it raw?"

"Jest as it come from the river! I mout 'a' gin it a sort o' a cookin',

ef I'd liked; for I hed my punk pouch on me, an' I ked 'a' got firin'

from the dead bark o' the cyprus. But I war too hungry to wait, an' I

ate it raw. The fish war a couple o' pound weight; an' I left nothin' o'

it but the bones, fins, an' tail.

"As ye may guess, I wa'n't hungry any longer; but jest then come upon me

a spell o' the driest thirst I ever 'sperienced in all my life. The fish

meat made it wuss; for, arter I hed swallered it, I feeled as ef I war

afire. The sun war shinin' full upon the river, an' the glitterin' water

made things wuss; for it made me hanker arter it all the more. Oncet or

twice I got out o' the fork, thinkin' I ked creep along a limb an' drop

into the river. I shed 'a' done so, hed it been near enough, tho' I

knowed I ked niver 'a' swum ashore. But the water war too fur off.

"'T war no use chawin' the leaves o' the cyprus. They war full o' rosin,

an' 'ud only make the chokin' wuss. Thar war some green leaves on the

fox-grape-vine, an' I chawed all o' them that I ked git my paws on. Thet

dud some good; but my suffering war still unbarable.

"How war I to git at the water o' that river, that flowed so tauntin'ly

jest out o' reach? I 'most jumped off o' the tree when at last I bethort

me o' a way to manage it.

"I had a piece o' cord I allers carries about me. 'T war long enough to

reach the river bank an' let down into the water. I ked empty my

powder-horn an' let it down. It would fill, an' I ked then draw it up

agin. Hooray!

"I cried that hooray only oncet. On lookin' for the horn, I diskivered

that I hed left it whar I hed tuk it off afore goin' to sleep, under the

cyprus.

"I warn't agoin' to be beat in that way. Ef I hed no vessel thet wud

draw water, I hed my ole doe-skin shirt. I ked let that down, soak it,

an' pull it up agin. No sooner said than done. The shirt war peeled off,

gathered up into a clew, tied to the eend o' the string, an' chucked

out'ard. It struck a branch o' the cyprus an' fell short. I tried over

an' over agin. It still fell short several feet from the bank o' the

river. Yet the cord war long enough. It war the thick branches o' the

cyprus that gin me no chance to make a clur cast, and havin' tried till

I war tired, I gev that up too.

"I shed 'a' felt dreadful at failin' arter bein' so sure o' success; but

jest then I bethunk me o' another plan for reachin' that preecious

flooid.

"I've tolt ye 'bout my cuttin' a lot o' cane to make me a shake-down for

sleepin' on. Thur it still war right under me,--armfuls o' it. The sight

o' its long tubes suggested a new idee, which I warn't long in puttin'

to practice. Takin' the shirt out o' its loop, I made the cord fast to

the heft o' my bowie. I then shot the knife down among the cane, sendin'

it wi' all my might, an' takin' care to keep the p'int o' the blade

down'ards. It warn't long till I had spiked up as much o' thet 'ere cane

as wud 'a' streetched twenty yards into the river.

"Thar war no eend o' whittlin' an' punchin' out the p'ints, an' then

splicin' the tubes one to the other. But I knowed it war a case o' life

or death, an' knowin' that, I worked on steady as an ole gin-hoss.

"I war rewarded for my patience. I got my blow-gun completed, an'

shovin' it carefully out, takin' the purcaution to give it a double rest

upon the branches, I hed the satersfaction ter see its p'int dippin'

down into the river. I tell ye, thar warn't no mint-juleps ever sucked

through a straw as tasted like the flooid that cum gurdlin' up through

that cane. I thort I ked niver take the thing from my lips; an' I feel

putty sartin that while I war drinkin', the Massissippi must 'a' fell

clur a couple o' feet. Ye may larf at the idee, young feller, an' I'm

gled to see ye in setch good sperits; but ye aren't so elevated as I war

when I tuk my mouth from the cane. I feeled all over a new man,--jest as

ef I hed been raised from the dead, or dragged out o' a consoomin' fire.

"I lived in the fork o' that ere cyprus for six long days,--occasionally

payin' a visit to the eagles' neest, an' robbin' the young baldies o'

the food thar parents hed pervided for 'em. Thar diet war various, an'

on a konsequence so war mine. I hed vittles consistin' o' fish, flesh,

an' fowl,--sometimes a rabbit, sometimes a squir'l, with feathered game

to foller, sech as partridge, teals, an' widgeons. I didn't cook 'em,

for I war afraid o' settin' fire to the withered leaves o' the tree an'

burnin' up the neest, which wud 'a' been like killin' the goose as laid

the eggs o' gold.

"I mout a managed that sort o' existence for a longer spell, tho' I

acknowledge it war tiresome enuf. But it warn't that as made me anxious

to see it up, but suthin' very different. I seed that the young baldies

war every day gettin' bigger. Thar feathers war comin' out all over, an'

I ked tell that it wudn't be long till they wud take wing.

"When that time kum, about whar shed I be? still in the tree or worse;

but whar was my purvision to kum from? who wud supply me wi' fish, an'

flesh, an' fowl, as the eagles hed done? Clurly neery one. It war this

thort as made me uneasy.

"I must do suthin' to git down out o' that tree, or die among its

branches, an' I spent all my spare time in thinkin' what mout be did. I

used to read in Webster's Spellin' Book that needsessity are the mother

o' invention. I reckon Ole Web warn't far astray when he prented them

ere words. Anyways it proved true in the case o' Zeb Stump, when he war

trapped in that cyprus.

"I hed noticed that the two ole eagles becum tamer, as they got used to

me. They seed that I did no harm to their chicks, 'ceptin' so far as to

abstrack from 'em a portion o' thar daily allowance. But I allers tuk

care to leave them sufficient for themselves; an' as thar parents

appeared to hev no difficulty in purvidin' them wi' plenty,--unlike many

parents in yur country, friend, as I've heerd,--my pilferin' didn't seem

much to distress 'em. They grew at last so that they'd sit on the one

side o' the neest, while I war peepin' over the other! I seed that I ked

easily snare them; an' I made up my mind to do this very thing; for a

partickler purpuss which promised to extercate me out o' the ugly scrape

I hed so foolishly got into.

"I hed noticed that the eagles war both big birds, an' strong i' the

wing. Everybody ort to know thet much. It therefore occurred to me that

I mout make them wings do me a sarvice,--otherways that they shed carry

me out o' the tree. In coorse I didn't intend they shed take me up i'

the air. There warn't much danger o' that. I only thort they mout sarve

to break my fall, like one o' them flyin' things,--paryshoots I believe

they calls 'em. Arter I'd got my plan tol'ably well traced out, I sot

about trappin' the ole eagles. In less 'n an hour's time I hed both on

'em in my keepin' wi' thar beaks spliced to keep 'em from bitin' me, an'

thar claws cut clur off wi' my bowie. I then strengthened my cord by

doublin' it half a dozen times, until it war stout enough to carry my

weight. One eend o' it I looped around the legs o' the eagles, gatherin'

all four into a bunch, while the other eend I made fast around myself

just under the arm-pits. I hed done all this upon the lowest limb o' the

cyprus, whar I hed fetched down the eagles. When all war ready, I drew

my bowie from its sheath, an' with its sharp point pricked both the

baldies at the same time, so as to set 'em a floppin'. As soon as I seed

thar four wings in full play, I slid off the branch, directin' myself

torst the groun' underneath. I ain't very clur as to what followed; I

only recollex bein' dragged through the branches o' the cyprus, an' the

minit arter plumpin' _cochuck_ into the waters o' the Massissippi.

[Illustration]

"I shed most sartinly a been drownded ef that ere cord had broken, or

the eagles had got loose. As it war, the birds kep' beatin' the water

wi' thar big wings; an' in that way hindered me from goin' under. I've

heerd o' a woman, they called Veenis, bein' drawed through the sea by a

couple o' swans; but I don't b'lieve they ked a drawed her at 'a'

quicker pace than I war carried over the Massissippi. In less 'n five

minits from the time I had dropped out o' the tree, I war in the middle

o' the river, an' still scufflin' on. The baldies were boun' for the

Arkansaw shore, an' knowin' that my life depended on thar reachin' it, I

offered no opposition to thar efforts, but lay still and let 'em go it.

"As good luck wud hev it, they hed strength enough left to complete the

crossin'; an' thar war another bit o' good luck in the Arkansaw bank

bein' on a level wi' the surface o' the water; so that in five minits

more I found myself among the bushes, the baldies still flutterin' about

me, as if determined to carry me on over the great peraries. I feeled

that it war time to stop the steam; so, clutchin' holt o' a branch, I

brought up to an anchor. I tuk good care not to let the birds go,--tho'

sartin I owed them that much for the sarvice they hed done me. But jest

then I bethunk me o' the Englishman at Grand Gulf,--ah! it war you, ye

say?"

"Certainly! And those are the eagles I purchased from Mrs. Stump?"

"Them same birds! Yer shed 'a' hed the young 'uns, but thar warn't no

chance ever agin to climb that cyprus, an' what bekim o' the poor

critters arterward I haint the most distant idee. I reckon they eended

thar days in the neest, which ye can still see up thar, an' ef they dud,

I reckon the buzzarts wudn't be long afore makin' a meal o' 'em."

With my eyes directed to the top of that tall cypress-tree, and fixed

upon a dark mass of dead sticks resembling a stack of faggots, I

listened to the concluding words of this queer chapter of backwoods

adventure.

_Mayne Reid._

[Illustration]

[Illustration: Round the Evening Lamp

A Treasury

of

Charades, Puzzles, Problems and Funny Things.]

CHARADES.

NO. 2.

My _first_ is, in sound, the odd creature that goes

Into Hottentots' traps when he follows his nose:

But in sense 't is an adjective, short, spick and span,

Well hated by Hunkers and kept under ban.

My _second_ it qualifies, also my _third_,

Though a _high fen_ between can't be crossed nor be stirred.

Now my _next_, like a swindler when cleaned out of tin,

Has always its tick, and takes most people in.

Amphibious its habit, as frequently found

Beneath the blue sea as on top of the ground:

Yet, oddest caprice out of destiny's cup,

Just when in full feather 't is always "sewed up."

What is forced and affected most all people spurn,

Yet they like this because 't is a made-up concern.

Best friend when our sunshine to gloom is converted,

Yet the moment we rise in the world we desert it.

Best friend, yet precisely its stead you can find,

To which, strange to say, you are never inclined.

And the warmer you get when a lieing you take it,

The more you wink at it, the less you forsake it.

Wet blankets you throw over swells, but not so

O'er my _second_, however puffed up it may grow.

My _third_ is so shallow you'll guess it before

I've told you how many smart folks pass it o'er;

Even Caesar went o'er it and by it and through it,

And lived long enough, the baldpate, to rue it.

Tho' shallow it is, yet the bravest and best

By keeping it give of their wisdom a test.

And the hotter it gets in dispute, yet the most

Courageous is he who wont let it be crossed.

On the whole, though 't is often a subject of strife,

More people it joins than it parts in this life.

My _whole_ is a place I forbear now to flatter;

It thrives upon those whose dearest and best

Severely it tries, yet makes light of the matter,

And thinks the more wicked their end, the more blest.

J. W.

ILLUSTRATED REBUS.--No. 2.

[Illustrations]

CONUNDRUMS.

1. Why should soldiers never meddle with nut-crackers?

2. What is that which no man wants, but which, if a man has

it, he would most unwillingly part with?

3. Why are flatterers sometimes mistaken for truth-tellers?

4. Why does a scolding woman keep people at a distance?

5. Why is an easy office like a good dinner eaten by an

invalid?

ENIGMA.

NO. 2.

I am composed of 17 letters.

My 17, 12, 8, 3, is a philosopher.

My 2, 15, 7, 13, 16, 4, is what boys are when school is done.

My 1, 2, 14, 12, 1, 16, 3, is a place of amusement.

My 11, 12, 8, 3, 16, is a German huntsman.

My 7, 3, 13, 16, 10, 14, 17, are a persecuted race.

My 13, 12, 8, is a mouthful.

My 11, 10, 15, 16, 17, belongs to you.

My 13, 14, 7, 6, 17, is a family.

My 2, 3, 12, 9, 4, is not light.

My 17, 15, 13, 12, 16, is sweet.

My 13, 16, 12, 9, 3, is solemn.

My 9, 12, 8, 15, 14, is quite uncertain.

My whole is a very interesting book by one of the writers for

"Our Young Folks."

TRANSPOSITION. No. 1.

I thought I should like to _ivred_; so I went to the _abelts_

to _sahenrs_ my _oehsr_, but I found the _ubcelk_ of the

_hebeirgnc_ was broken; to make the best of it, I put an old

_piesk_ in place of the _eontug_, brought out the old

_acsihe_, and off I went. Now tell me how I got on.

PUZZLES.

NO. 1.

My first is in Urn but not in Vase,

My second is in Cabinet but not in Case,

My third is in "Goose" but not in Fool,

My fourth is in Chair but not in Stool,

My fifth is in Vanity but not in Conceit,

My sixth is in Parsnip but not in Beet.

My whole is the name of a boys' book.

Carl.

NO. 2.

Behead an animal, and leave a gift.

C. M. E.

ARITHMETICAL PUZZLES.

NO. 3.

So arrange the nine digits, using each but once, that their sum shall be

exactly one hundred.

NO. 4.

100055,--a long-tailed animal.

C. M. E.

NO. 5.

One hundred and one by fifty divide;

And then, if a cipher be rightly applied,

And your computation agreeth with mine,

The answer will be one taken from nine.

[Illustration: ILLUSTRATED REBUS.--No. 3.]

ANSWERS.

Charades.

1. Pilgrimage.

2. Illumination.

Arithmetical Puzzles.

1. Height of staff, 75 feet; payments, $11.50, $23, $34.50,

and $57.50, respectively.

2. CIVIL.

Enigma.

1. Our Young Folks.

Illustrated Rebus.

1. Beware of the intoxicating bowl, for it brings penury and ruin.

[(Bee) (ware) of (the-in-t) (ox) (eye) (cat-in-g) (bowl) four (eye)t

b(rings) (pen) (ewe) (rye) and-rew (inn).]

OUR HORSEMAN.

There was a young cavalry "feller"

Who "foraged" a secesh umbrella.

When he got it he said,

"I will now 'make a spread,'"--

This confiscating cavalry "feller."

[Illustration]

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Hyphenated words have been standardized. Inconsistencies in spellings

have been left as in the original except those listed below.

Page 111, Minal changed to Mihal.

Page 115 and 116, Manday changed to Munday.

Page 137, Middlehauf changed to Middlekauf.

Page 140, gods changed to goods, as in "his household goods".