LIKE SEEKS LIKE.
Howard Pemberton had thought often of his future, even in early school-boy
days, and many a time he and Martin had talked together about the great
battle of life, and how to fight it.
They both were indebted to dear old Doctor Brier for one thing; he had
always insisted that the basis of all achievement worth achieving was in
character, and that the basis of character must be a disciplined and
educated sense of honor; the utter despising from the heart of everything
mean.
Howard was certainly one of those of whom it might be predicted, that he
was sure to succeed. And he accepted the responsibilities of success, and
determined to make the best he could of his life. From his first start, he
had thrown his heart into his business, and common figures, and dull
routine, were to his mind invested with a power which could help him in
his pursuit,--not the mere pursuit of making money, but of being
something. Before a twelvemonth had passed, he had made himself master of
every detail in his business; at the end of his second year, he was so
invaluable that he was intrusted with duties which the firm had never
before placed in the hands of any clerk; and, at the end of his third
year, the period of which I now write, he had been told that on the
retirement of the senior partner he would be taken into the concern.
I must, for the purposes of my story, relate some of the principal
incidents, which in the three years that have elapsed, have helped to make
up the true life of Howard.
In the first place, his friend, Martin Venables, has been his constant
companion. Growing weary of school-life, and longing to plunge, as he had
said, into the great stream of life, he had happened to mention his wish,
on his visit to Mr. Morton, and that gentleman, having taken a great
interest in Martin, had been successful in procuring for him a good
government appointment, in an office where he found scope for honest
labor, with vistas of future promotion, dependent upon his own exertions,
and he was as happy as the day was long in his new sphere of work.
He took up his abode near to Howard, and scarcely an evening passed,
except when he was at the Mortons, which they did not spend together.
Madeleine was still at Ashley House "on a visit," but with a few
intervals, it had lasted for three years, and Martin was a frequent
visitor there, especially after Mr. Morton's return from Italy. A strong
friendship had sprung up between the two, and Mr. Morton certainly looked
forward as eagerly to the visits as did Martin.
And Howard, too, was a visitor at Ashley House.
At first, there was a great prejudice against Howard in the Morton family.
Ethel could not bear to hear his name, for it was painfully associated in
her mind with poor Digby's death.
But after a time, through the quiet influence of Madeleine's conversations
about Howard and Martin's evident affection for him, this prejudice died
away, and Martin was invited to bring his friend to Ashley House.
Acquaintance ripened into a true and earnest friendship, and, under the
influence of the young people, Mr. Morton found sources of happiness which
he never had dreamed life could yield to him; and even Mrs. Morton had so
far thrown off her listlessness, as to be able to take an interest in
their plans and purposes.
It was a lovely summer evening, toward the end of July, that the party of
friends were all together upon the lawn; they had drawn the garden chairs
up, and, after the game of croquet in which Madeleine and Howard had
succeeded in beating Ethel and Martin, were prepared to devote the
remainder of the evening to chat. Seeing this, Mr. Morton had put away his
book, and drawn up his chair beside them, while Mrs. Morton, regardless of
falling dews and rising damp, had followed the example of her husband.
"Now," said Mr. Morton, "short holidays, like this Saturday afternoon, are
good; but are not long holidays better? And now that everybody is thinking
of taking a trip somewhere or other, should not we 'do as Rome does,' and
think of the same thing?"
"I suppose, sir, we all have been thinking of it, more or less, for the
past year," said Martin; "and I for one must think of it seriously, for my
holidays are fixed by official rules, and begin very soon."
"And yours, Howard?" inquired Mr. Morton.
"I can take a holiday now, or later," he answered. "But I do not generally
get a month straight off, as these government officials do. However, I
shall try for a longer holiday this year than I had last."
"Well, now," said Mr. Morton, drawing up his chair more closely to the
group, "don't you think we might make up a party, and all go somewhere
together?"
A burst of assents went up like a flight of rockets. It was just the very
thing that all the young people wanted. And then began such a storm of
questions; such a variety of wild and improbable suggestions; such a
catalogue of countries as would take years to explore, and such merry
banter and repartee, that even Mrs. Morton caught the enthusiasm, and
threw herself into the proposal with a vigor that caused her husband to
open his eyes wide in a gratified astonishment.
After discussing places, from Siberia to the Sandwich Islands, the votes
were unanimous in favor of a tour to the North of Scotland, including Skye
and the Shetland Isles.
(_To be continued._)
[Illustration: SEEING HIMSELF AS OTHERS SEE HIM.]
THE THREE WISE WOMEN.
BY MRS. E. T. CORBETT.
[Illustration]
Three wise old women were they, were they,
Who went to walk on a winter day.
One carried a basket, to hold some berries;
One carried a ladder, to climb for cherries;
The third, and she was the wisest one,
Carried a fan to keep off the sun!
[Illustration]
"Dear, dear!" said one. "A bear I see!
I think we'd better all climb a tree!"
But there wasn't a tree for miles around.
They were too frightened to stay on the ground;
So they climbed their ladder up to the top,
And sat there screaming, "We'll drop! we'll drop!"
[Illustration]
But the wind was strong as wind could be,
And blew their ladder right out to sea!
Soon the three wise women were all afloat
In a leaky ladder, instead of a boat!
And every time the waves rolled in,
Of course the poor things were wet to the skin.
[Illustration]
Then they took their basket, the water to bail;
They put up their fan, to make a sail;
But what became of the wise women then,--
Whether they ever got home again,
Whether they saw any bears or no,--
_You_ must find out, for _I_ don't know.
ALWAYS BEHINDHAND.
BY M. D. K.
[Illustration]
Supper was ready and waiting. Our guest had not arrived, but there was
another train an hour later. Should the family wait for my friend, or
should I alone, who was the personage especially to be visited? My father
paced the floor nervously, as was his wont when he felt disturbed. He had
the evening papers to read, and he never opened them until after tea. This
was a habit of his. He was very fixed--or, as some express it, "set"--in
his little ways. It was Bridget's evening out, and she had begun to show a
darkened visage. Bridget was no friend to "company," and it was policy to
conciliate her. So the family seated themselves at the table, and I sat
near, waiting until brother John should be ready to accompany me a second
time to the station.
"What about this young lady friend of yours, Nelly?" asked my father. "Is
she one of the unreliable sort--a little addicted to tardiness, that is?"
"I am obliged to confess, papa, that at boarding-school, where I longest
knew Jeannette, she was inclined to be dilatory; but that was years ago.
It is to be hoped that she has changed since then."
"I should wish to have very little to do with a behindhand person," said
my father, shaking his head very gravely.
"Oh, papa!" I remonstrated, "you will not condemn a dear friend for one
single fault. Jeannette is beautiful and accomplished, sensible and
good-tempered. Everybody thinks she is splendid."
"She may have very pleasant qualities, but I tell you, girls," he added
with sudden emphasis, "that a want of punctuality vitiates the whole
character. No one is good for much who cannot be depended upon; and what
dependence is to be placed on a man who is not up to his engagements? In
business, such a man is nowhere; and in social life a dawdling, dilatory
man or woman is simply a pest. But mind, my child, I am not characterizing
your friend; we cannot tell about her till we see."
The later train brought my friend. She was profuse in her regrets; she had
been belated by a mistake in the time; her watch was slow. As she was
pouring forth a torrent of regrets and apologies, I observed my father
bestowing glances of evident admiration at the fair speaker, while the
rich color came and went in her cheeks and her eyes kindled with
animation. Truly, beauty covers a multitude of faults. Sister Bell, who
was as punctual as my father, was appeased, and promised to take care of
the tea-things and let Bridget go out. My father good-naturedly offered to
regulate the halting watch by the true time.
To her chamber we went together, to talk as girls do talk when they meet
in this way, after a long separation. Folding me in her arms, she told me
all about her recent engagement to George Allibone; showed me her
engagement ring, and her lover's photograph. It was a noble head finely
posed, and a most engaging face, and my ready and cordial admiration was a
new bond of sympathy. It took until nearly midnight to say all that we
girls, aged twenty, had to say to each other; and this, in addition to the
fatigues of travel, was accepted as an excuse for Jenny's tardiness at
breakfast. She really had meant to be early.
But this was only the beginning. Throughout the whole three weeks of her
visit, she was scarcely punctual in a single case where time was
definitely appointed. She was late in rising, late at meals, late at
church and for excursions, and, to our profound mortification, late for
dinner appointments, even when parties were made especially on her
account. She seemed sorry and mortified, but on each occasion she would do
the same thing over again.
"What _can_ she be doing?" my mother sometimes asked in perplexity, when
my sister and I were ready and waiting.
"Doing her hair, mother," we answered, "and she will do it over until it
suits her, be it early or late."
"Oh, these hair-works!" sighed my mother. "How much tardiness at church
and elsewhere is due to over-fastidious hair-dressing! What is that line
of good George Herbert's? 'Stay not for the other pin.' I think he must
have meant hair-pins."
My sister and I sometimes agreed between ourselves to compel her to
readiness by standing by, to help her in her preparations; but in vain.
She must write a letter or finish a story before making her toilet. Why
not accomplish the toilet first, to be sure of it--any time remaining, for
the other purposes? She didn't _like_ to do so. No philosopher could tell
why. It is an unaccountable, mysterious something, rooted deep in some
people's natures--this aversion to being beforehand. I have seen it in
other people since the time when it so puzzled and troubled me in Jenny.
It marred the pleasure of the visit most miserably. I was continually
fearing the displeasure of my father and the discomfort of my mother. The
whole household were disturbed by what seemed to them downright rudeness.
"Now, Jenny," I would plead, "do be early, dear, when papa comes with the
carriage. It annoys him dreadfully to wait."
She would promise to "try."
"But pray, Jenny, why need you have to try. It is easy enough. For my
part, I never will make any one wait for me. I go without being ready, if
need be, or I stay behind."
I had come to talk very plainly to her, out of love and good-will, as well
as, sometimes, from vexation of spirit. For the twentieth time she would
tell me how truly she had meant to be punctual in some given case, and
that she should have been so but that she was hindered when nearly ready
by some unforeseen occurrence.
"But, my dear, unforeseen hindrances will often occur, and you must lay
your account with them, and give yourself extra time. You will run the
risk of meeting some great calamity by trusting, as you do, to the last
minute."
And the calamity did befall her. Mr. Allibone spent a day with us. We were
anticipating with great pleasure a second visit, when a telegram arrived
requesting Jenny to meet him in Boston on the succeeding morning. A
business emergency had summoned him abroad very suddenly, and he was to
embark for Liverpool in the evening.
We all sympathized with Jenny in the startling effect of this sudden
announcement, and offered her every sort of help when the hour for her
departure was at hand. She had only to compose herself and prepare for the
journey. Sister Bell would arrange her hair and bring her dress, and she
would be spared all effort. She seemed grateful, but was sure she could be
ready without troubling any one. She dreamed not how much she was, even
then, troubling us, for we were beginning to tremble lest she should
somehow manage to be late for this, her only train.
She kissed us all twice over when the hackman arrived at the door; but,
suddenly glancing in the mirror and observing how ashen was her usually
brilliant complexion, she declared against wearing the gray cashmere in
which she was dressed, of a hue so like her face. George must not meet her
thus. She seized her black silk, with which, in spite of remonstrances,
she proceeded to array herself. There was time enough; the carriage must
surely be too early. Alas! for the ripping out of gathers, in the
violence of her haste, and for the loopings of her skirt, not to be
dispensed with! Horses could not be made to do the work of five minutes in
three.
She saw the cars move off without her!
No words were called for. My mother carried a glass of elderberry wine to
the poor girl, and left her alone to her tears. They would do her good.
We ourselves needed rest, after the troubled scene of hurry and
excitement, and we sat down, feeling as if a whirlwind had passed.
"It is beyond my comprehension," said my father, when he came home to
dinner. "I can understand tardiness," he continued, categorically, "as the
result of indolence. Lazy people dread effort and postpone it. There is a
man in my employ who continues to work sometimes after hours. The men tell
me that he is actually too lazy to leave off work and put away his tools.
But Miss Jeannette seems active and energetic."
"She miscalculates, papa," I said. "She always imagines there is plenty of
time until the last minute."
"But herein is the mystery," persisted my father. "Whence this
_uniformity_ of dereliction? Why not sometimes too early and sometimes
just in the right time, instead of always and everywhere late, and making
others late?"
"Poor girl!" said my mother, whose compassion was uppermost. "I pity her
with all my heart; yet it is not a case of life and death. This trial may
be attended with beneficial results. We will hope so."
I am sorry that this hope was apparently not to be realized. The lesson
failed to be read aright. Jeannette recovered her serenity, and resumed
her tardy ways. A yet severer lesson was needed, and it came.
The steamer in which, after an absence of ten or twelve weeks, George
Allibone was to embark for home, was lost, and not a passenger saved.
My father took me at once to my poor stricken friend, in her distant home.
Pale and dumb with grief, yet with tearless eyes, she let us take her
almost lifeless hand. From her bloodless lips came only the low, anguished
cry, "If only I had said farewell!"
What comfort in words? We offered none. My father's eyes brimmed over, and
my heart was breaking for my poor Jeannette.
But relief came speedily. The joyful news was received that George was
safe, having made a necessary change in his plans, and would arrive in a
fortnight. Jeannette came up from the depths. What should her
thank-offering be? She made the resolution to become at once faithful to
her appointments, prompt and reliable. It was not that she would
_try_--she would speak the commanding words "I will."
She has kept her resolution. Writing to me, after a lapse of years, she
said: "You will hardly know your dilatory friend. I remember and practice
your advice of former years, to be first ready for my appointments, and to
reserve other work for the interval of waiting after I am ready. It is
surprising how often I find not a moment left for waiting. Still, I feel
the old tendency to procrastinate, and I am obliged steadfastly to resist
it. 'Delays are dangerous,' as our old writing-copies used to run; the
sentiment is hackneyed, but oh, how true! George says he owes you ten
thousand thanks for your faithful counsel, and we shall speak them when
you make us the visit of which we feel so sure, because your promises, as
I well know, are faithfully kept."
THE THREE HORSE-SHOES; OR, MARSHAL DE SAXE AND THE DUTCH BLACKSMITH.
BY DAVID KER.
Maurice de Saxe was a son of the King of Saxony, and a fine lad he
was--tall and strong and handsome, and as brave as a lion. But the king,
like a certain old woman of whom you may have heard, had so many children
that he didn't know what to do; and so, as Maurice had such a lot of elder
brothers as to have not much chance of inheriting the crown, or anything
else that would keep him in bread and butter, his father sent him out to
seek his fortune, like many another prince in those days. So he went over
to France, and entered the army of King Louis XV.
Now, at that time there was always a war going on somewhere or other, and
the French armies were fighting in every part of Europe; and the king
cared very little who his officers were, or where they came from, if they
were only brave men and clever fighters, and ready to go wherever he liked
to send them. So, as you may think, it was not long before our friend
Maurice, who was quite as brave as any of them, and a good deal cleverer
than most, began to make his way. First, he got to be a lieutenant, then a
captain, then a major, then a colonel, and at last, while he was still
quite a young man, he came out as Count de Saxe, and Field-Marshal of the
Army of Flanders, with fifty thousand men under him! That was pretty good
promotion, wasn't it?
But, although he had got on so fast, no one could say that it was more
than he deserved; for he was by far the best general that France had had
for many a day. He beat the Germans, and he beat the Flemings, and he beat
the English, though they fought against him as stoutly as men could; and,
at last, his soldiers got to have such faith in him, that whenever he
appeared the battle seemed to turn at once, as if the very sight of him
brought good fortune along with it. And a gallant sight it was to see him
prancing along on his fine black horse in front of the line of battle,
with his plumed hat and laced coat glittering in the sunshine, and his
sword gleaming in his hand, and his dark handsome face and large black
eyes kindling like fire the moment the first gun was heard. Every
picture-shop in Paris had his likeness in the window; and King Louis
himself had the marshal's portrait hung up in his cabinet, and liked
nothing better than to invite him to dinner, and hear him tell of all the
battles that he had won. Indeed, such a favorite did he become at court,
that at last nothing would serve the king but he must go to the war too,
and see how his friend Monsieur de Saxe disposed of the enemy. Saxe gained
the victory, as usual; and after all was over, there was a great supper on
the battle-field, and the king himself hung the Cross of St. Louis around
the marshal's neck, and the marshal sat at his right hand in triumph, and
thought himself the finest fellow in the whole world.
But, curiously enough, the one thing that this great general specially
prided himself upon was neither his skill in warfare nor his favor at
court, but simply his strength. There was nothing he enjoyed so much as
showing off the power of his muscles, and astonishing the people about him
by bending an iron bar, or felling a horse with one blow of his fist; and
he was fond of saying that he would give his purse and all the money in it
to any man who was stronger than himself, if he could ever fall in with
him.
Now, it happened that, one day, while the French and German armies were
lying pretty close to each other, Marshal de Saxe sent a message to the
enemy's camp, asking some of the German officers to dine with him; and
after the meal he began to boast of his strength, as usual, till at last
an old German general, who sat at his left, said that he would like to see
a specimen of what his Excellency could do. Saxe made no answer, but took
up a large silver dish, which was standing before him, in his strong white
fingers (for, big and powerful as his hands were, they were white and
smooth as any lady's, and he was very proud of them), and, without more
ado, rolled it up like a sheet of paper!
"Can your Honor unroll that dish again?" asked he, handing it to the
German; and, although the general was a strong man, and tried his best, he
found the task too hard for him, and was forced to own himself beaten.
"Your Excellency's strength is very great," said he, "but, nevertheless, I
venture to think that there is one man in Flanders who can match it."
"And who may he be?" asked Saxe, frowning.
"A blacksmith in the village of Scheveningen, Dirk Hogan by name. All the
country around knows of his exploits; and when I met with him myself I saw
such things as I should have thought impossible, had my own eyes not
witnessed them."
When the marshal heard this, he looked blacker than ever; and the first
thing he did next morning was to send off messengers in every direction to
inquire for a village called Scheveningen, and a man named Dirk Hogan.
And, sure enough, some of them came back with news that there was such a
village, and that Dirk Hogan, the smith, had been living there till quite
lately; but that now he had sold his forge and gone away, and nobody knew
what had become of him.
This was a decided disappointment for our friend Saxe, but he had
something else to think of just then. The enemy's army had lately received
strong re-enforcements, and seemed inclined to attack him; and he was
riding out one morning to reconnoiter their position, when suddenly his
horse stumbled and cast a shoe.
"There's a village just ahead of us, your Excellency," said one of his
officers. "Shall I ride on and see if I can find a blacksmith?"
"Do so," answered Saxe; and the officer came back presently to say that he
had found what he wanted. So the horse was led up to the door of the
smithy, and the smith himself came out to have a look at it.
The moment he appeared, the marshal fastened his eyes upon him as if he
would look him right through. And well he might; for this smith was such a
man as one does not see every day--very nearly as tall as Saxe himself,
and even broader across the shoulders, while upon his bare arms the huge
muscles stood out under the tanned skin like coils of rope. The marshal
felt at once that he could never be comfortable till he had had a trial
of strength with this sturdy-looking fellow; so he bade him bring out one
of his best horse-shoes.
The smith did so; and Saxe, looking at it, said quietly: "This ware of
yours is but poor stuff, my friend; it will not stand work. Look here!"
He took it in his strong hands, and with one twist broke the iron like a
biscuit.
The smith looked at him for a moment, and then, without seeming at all
taken aback, brought out a second horse-shoe, and a third; but Saxe broke
them as easily as he had broken the first.
"Come," said he, "I see it's no use picking and choosing among such a
trashy lot; give me the first shoe that comes to hand, and we'll cry
quits."
The smith produced a fourth shoe, and fitted it on; and Saxe tossed him a
French crown--a coin about the size of a silver dollar. The Dutchman held
it up to the light, and shook his head.
"This coin of yours is but poor metal, mynheer," said he, saying the words
just as the marshal had spoken his. "It wont stand work. Look here!"
He took the coin between his finger and thumb, and with one pinch cracked
it in two like a wafer.[B]
It was now the marshal's turn to stare; and the officers exchanged winks
behind his back, as much as to say that their champion had met his match
at last. Saxe brought out another crown, and then a third; but the smith
served them in like manner.
"Come," said he, imitating the marshal's voice to perfection, "I see it's
no use picking and choosing among such a trashy lot. Give me the first
crown that comes to hand, and we'll cry quits."
The Frenchman looked at the Dutchman--the Dutchman looked at the
Frenchman--and then both burst into a roar of laughter, so loud and hearty
that the officers who stood by could not help joining in.
"Fairly caught!" cried the marshal, suddenly, and added, "What's your
name, my fine fellow?"
"Dirk Hogan, from Scheveningen."
"Dirk Hogan!" cried Saxe. "The very man I've been looking for! But I've
found him in a way I didn't expect!"
"So it seems," said the smith, grinning. "I needn't ask who _you_
are--you're the Count de Saxe, who was always wanting to meet with a
stronger man than himself. Does it seem to you as if you had met with him
now?"
"Well, I rather think it does," quoth Saxe, shrugging his shoulders; "and
as I promised to give him my purse whenever I _did_ meet with him, here it
is. And now, if you'll come along with me, and serve as farrier to my
head-quarters' staff, I promise you that you shall never have cause to
repent of having met with Maurice de Saxe."
And the marshal was as good as his word.
[B] ...[missing text]... Hercules" is said to have achieved a similar
feat more than once.
[Illustration]
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
It is beginning to feel something like spring. However, we mustn't be too
certain, for April is the month for little tricks of all kinds. Let us be
careful and not be caught by make-believe spring weather.
HAIR-BRAIDS IN THE OLDEN TIME.
I'm told that, eight centuries ago, girls and women wore their hair in
braids. Each woman had two braids, which she slipped separately into long,
narrow cases of silk, or some other material, and wound with ribbon. They
hung like base-ball bats. On the statue of a queen of those times, the
braids, cased in this style, reached lower than the knees.
Years ago, every British sailor dressed his hair in a pigtail at the back,
so that it hung
"Long and bushy and thick,
Like a pump-handle stuck on the end of a stick."
I heard of one sailor whose mates did his hair so tightly that he couldn't
shut his eyes, and he nearly got punished for staring at his commanding
officer,--a hair-breadth escape, as somebody called it.
KNOTS AND THE NORTH POLE.
My feathered friends tell me of a bird called the knot, something like a
snipe in shape, whose color is ashen gray in winter and bright Indian red
in summer. They say he is very particular about the weather, and likes
best fine bracing days with sunshine and a moderate breeze; so, in winter
he flies south, but in summer he goes farther north than man has yet been
able to go.
Now, I've been told that the farther north you go, the colder is the
climate; but this bird, who likes pleasant weather so much, goes beyond
the coldest places known! Perhaps he has found a cheerful and comfortable
summer home, bright and bracing, somewhere near the North Pole, on which
somebody will find him, may be, one of these days, quietly perched,
preening himself, and looking at a distance like a bit of red cloth on a
broomstick. If he _has_ found a cozy spot away up there, he's smarter than
any Arctic explorer I ever heard of.
THE TRAILING ARBUTUS.
Johnstown, Pa., March, 1878.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Some of your other chicks may like to hear
what my uncle has just told me about the mayflower, or trailing
arbutus, so as to know where to hunt for it as soon as spring
comes. It grows chiefly in New England, New York, and Pennsylvania,
and is always to be found among mountains, hills, and high lands.
Late in March or early in April, under the brown and withered
leaves of last year, you will find it--cool, shiny, fragrant, with
clusters of star-like blossoms, the color being of all shades of
pink from very deep to a pinkish white. Yet farther under the
leaves you will find the trailing stems. I hope many will join in
the search for this first sweet flower of spring.--Your true
friend, AMANDA S. K.
MIRA IN CYGNUS.
On clear nights, during the first half of this month, my dears, the star
called Mira, in the constellation Cygnus (or "The Swan"), can be seen in
full luster. This is what the owl tells me; and he adds that it is one of
those strange stars which vary in brightness. It shines for about a
fortnight very brightly indeed; then by degrees it fades away, until, at
the end of three months, it cannot be seen. After remaining five months
out of sight, it gradually brightens up again. May be you've heard all
about this before; but now is your time to see Mira twinkle her bright eye
at you. I'll take a peep at her from my pulpit, myself, if I can manage to
catch sight of her.
A RARE SPECIMEN.
Brookline, Mass.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Did you ever hear this story about
Agassiz? If not, please show it to the other boys and girls.--Yours
truly, NELLIE CHASE.
One day, a man put together parts of various insects and submitted
them to Agassiz as a rare specimen. He also pretended not to know
to what species it belonged, and asked the professor to tell him.
It was April Fools' Day. Agassiz gave a single glance at the object
and, looking up, said "Hum-bug."
A SARDONIC GRIN.
Here's a bit of advice which Deacon Green once gave to the boys of the red
school-house. It came back to me all at once the other day as I was
watching a plump little darkey eating a sour pickle, and making very wry
faces.
The Deacon said: "Whenever you come across a word that you don't
understand thoroughly, don't rest until you have found out all you can
about it."
Sometimes words grow out of queer things and in very odd ways. There's
"sardonic," for instance. As applied to a grin, it means one that a man
makes if he is forced to laugh when he doesn't want to, or tries to smile
when he really is ready to cry out with pain.
Now, the birds tell me that in the island called Sardinia there used to
grow a plant with a very disagreeable taste; and whenever a piece of it
was put into anybody's mouth, it made his face pucker up into a broad,
unwilling smile--made him "laugh the wrong side of his mouth," as I've
heard boys say. Well, in course of time, the name of the island was given
to the plant, and then, with a slight change, it was used to describe the
wry face the taster made.
So you see, my dears, some words are like puzzles. By the way, I'd like to
know what you yourselves can find out about this same word "sardonic," for
it may be that those chattering little friends of mine, the birds, have
been trying to make an April fool of your Jack,--perhaps, just to see if I
can smile a "sardonic" smile when I find out what they've done.
A POSER FROM THE LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM.
This letter, and the picture I give you with it, have just come to me. Now
let's see what your wits are worth, my dears.
The Red School-house.
MY DEAR JACK: I have a favor to ask of you. Will you please show to
your chicks a copy of the picture which I now send to you, and ask
them to give you the one word which will express the meaning of it.
You can tell them, as a clue, if you like, that by means of what
the picture means they can find out what it means.--Truly your
friend, THE LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM.
[Illustration]
GREENLAND.
Letters have come from Andrew A. Bateman, Frank Polley, M. E. Andrews,
Edward Liddon Patterson, Bessie B. Roelafson, and Horatio Warren, all
telling much the same story--that a man named Eric sailed from Iceland in
the year 983, and, reaching the west coast of Greenland, saw there large
herds of reindeer browsing on the meadows. This pleased him, and he called
the country "Greenland."
The Little Schoolma'am says that this is correct, and adds that in some
parts Greenland is much colder than it used to be. She wants to know if
you can give any reason why.
THE FEAST OF KITES.
In Japan, the 23d of April is a splendid day for boys, I should think. I'm
told that the Feast of Kites is held on that day, with kite-fights and
kite-dances, and all sorts of good fun. Who knows anything more about
this?
ANSWERS to the "Tobacco" and "Cares" riddles were sent by W. P., N. E., W.
L. and F. H. Amerman, Nellie J. Towle, A. B. Easton, "Ned," L. C. L., E.
E. B., Nessie E. Stevens, "Mione," Mary H. Barnett, "Bessie," "Lucy and
Annie," A. R. S., and Wm. V. F. Several sent amended versions of both
riddles, but no one has given a satisfactory answer to Archbishop
Whately's rhymed puzzle. "Lucy and Annie" send this verse as the solution:
"To him who cons the matter o'er,
A little thought reveals,--
He heard it first who went before
Two pair of _soles_ and _'eels_."
I'm afraid it is not the right answer, and I'm beginning to think that the
archbishop made the riddle on the First of April!
TABBY'S RIDE.
Tabby was a great traveler. She knew every spot about the house--from
attic to cellar--and just where everything that she liked was kept. There
was hardly a rat or a mouse on the place that could hide from her. She
crawled into every dark corner of the barn; could tell the number of eggs
in each hen's nest; and often she took long walks through the fields,
creeping through every hole in the fence that was as big as her body.
Besides all this, she rode about the farm-yard a great many times. She had
merry rides with little Harry in his baby-carriage, with Johnny and Fred
as horses; she had lain curled up on the great load of hay when Mr. Dorr
and the men drove in from the fields; and she had traveled ever so many
miles in the empty wagon, when the boys played it was a train of cars. She
liked this railroad journey best; but Fred always waked her up at every
station by his loud Too-oo-oo-t! At other times, she did not know that
they were moving, even when Fred said they were dashing along at a
terrible rate!
But such a ride as the one I shall tell about, she never had had before in
all her life! Indeed, she would never have taken it--but she could not
help it. Ponto made her go. You see, Ponto and Tabby were good friends.
They lived and ate together; they ran races and played all sorts of nice
games; and they liked each other very much. Sometimes they had little
quarrels; but they soon forgot their anger and were friends again.
Every evening, when Ponto came into the yard, the two friends would run
down one little hill from the house and up another little hill to the barn
where Mary was milking. Ponto would keep the pigs out of the yard, and
Tabby would watch every hole in the barn floor for a rat or a mouse. Then,
when Mary was done milking, she would pour some fresh milk into a pan for
Tabby to drink.
But, after a while, there came a long rain-storm. Ponto had to stay in the
yard for two or three days. Tabby did nothing but doze! It seemed as if it
never would stop raining! But it did at last; and when Ponto and Tabby ran
down the hill again, they saw at the bottom--a pond deep enough to drown
them both!
Tabby did not know what to do. In all her travels she had never crossed a
pond of water. She was frightened, and would have gone back to the house,
but she looked toward the barn, and saw Mary and the pan of milk waiting
for her beside the door.
Ponto did not care for the water, for he could swim. So when they came to
the edge of the pond, he plunged in and was soon across. Then he looked
back to see what had become of Tabby. He thought she would be at his
heels.
But no! There she was on the bank where he had left her. Her back was
curled up till it looked as if it were broken, and her tail was waving
over it! What in the world was the matter? She never looked so except when
she was angry.
[Illustration]
Now, Ponto thought Tabby was a wonderful cat. He had seen her catch rats,
and he knew that she could do some things that even he could not. "Surely
she can cross that pond," thought he. He did not know what to make of it.
He called to her, with a bark, to "Jump in and swim across." But she only
replied with a cross "Meouw," which he did not hear. Then he said again,
"It's easy to swim across--come on!"
"As easy as for you to climb a tree," said Tabby, in an angry way.
This was too much for Ponto! He could not climb a tree, and Tabby knew it.
When he was too rough in his play, she would run up into the apple-tree,
and there she was safe. So this reply made him angry. Tabby should not
have said it--but then, she wanted the milk!
"It is so easy that I can swim across and carry you, too," thought Ponto,
and then he plunged into the water again. When he reached the shore, he
seized Tabby by the back of the neck with his teeth, and rushed back into
the water. Poor Tabby! She thought she certainly would be drowned.
But Ponto knew better. He held his head so high that the water hardly
touched her pretty little paws. So she kept quiet and did not struggle. It
was not so bad after all! And besides, there was the milk!
When they landed, Tabby had a stiff neck for a while, and Ponto had to
shake his great shaggy sides until they were dry. Then they ran up the
hill as fast as they could go, and into the barn,--and almost into the
milk-pail before they could stop.
Tabby was very thankful to Ponto for this ride. She said to herself that
she would help him to climb a tree the next time that he tried. But as she
drank her milk, she was glad that they both could follow Mary home by the
long path through the orchard.
Tabby did not forget her strange ride. But she has never taught Ponto how
to climb a tree! She has not even helped him up to the lowest limb. Do you
think she ever will?
LULLABY.
Little boy John is sleepy,
Little boy John can rest,
Now that the sun all its labor has done,
And gone to its bed in the west.
Rattle goes into the closet,
Letter-blocks go there too;
Wait till the morn for the cow in the corn,
And the horn of the Little Boy Blue.
Into the crib with Johnny,
As soon as his prayers are said;
Tuck him all in from the toes to the chin,
Alone in his soft, downy bed.
Then in the morning early,
Soon as the sun shall rise,
Little boy John, with the coming of dawn,
Will open his pretty blue eyes.
Butterflies in the garden,
Roses, and lilies fair,
Birds in the trees, and the big bumble-bees,
Shall welcome our little one there.
Yet if the day be rainy,
Dreary and dark the sky,
Still there is fun for our own little one,
In the nursery cozy and dry.
Beat a big drum all morning,
Build a card-house till noon,
Play after that with the dog and the cat,
Will keep little Johnny in tune.
Little boy John is sleepy,
Winks with his two little eyes,
Nods with his head--so we put him to bed,
And under the cover he lies.
[Illustration]
THE LETTER-BOX.
The readers of ST. NICHOLAS are so familiar, by this time, with the new
cover of the magazine, that they can understand, better perhaps than at
first, how much this cover, which Mr. Walter Crane has so carefully and
thoughtfully drawn, is meant to express. The girl or boy who will take the
trouble to study the meaning of the many distinct parts of which the
design is composed, will see that pretty much every subject that ST.
NICHOLAS thinks it well to talk about, is, in some way, symbolized in the
smaller pictures.
The department "For Very Little Folks" is represented by a baby in a
cradle, with a youthful nurse reading to it. Below this scene,
"Jack-in-the-Pulpit" holding forth to his hearers; and, in the next
picture, the poetry of the magazine is personified by a boy mounted on
Pegasus, the fabled winged horse that poets ride. A young hunter, who
shakes hands with a friendly gorilla, indicates that stories of travel, in
strange and distant countries, are to be found within.
In the upper picture, on the other side, two youngsters with telescope and
globe show that scientific subjects may be treated of in such a way as to
interest boys and girls; and a young artist, hard at work, illustrates how
industriously and earnestly our artists work to make good pictures for the
magazine. Sports and games are represented by the little fellow playing
cricket, which, as well as base-ball, is an excellent game, and often
played in this country, though not to so great an extent as in England,
where Walter Crane lives. The young sailor in his canoe, starting out on
the wide ocean in search of adventure, gives a good idea of how the
readers of ST. NICHOLAS go all over the world and see strange sights, in
company with the writers of our stories of fun and adventure.
There are still other things to be noticed on this cover. At the very top,
you will see a figure of young Time, probably the son of old Tempus, who
holds out a tablet to let us know what month the number is for; and, at
the bottom, are two round faces, like young worlds, which show that
children, in both the eastern and western hemispheres, are always on the
lookout for the coming of ST. NICHOLAS.
At the top are the muses of Literature and Art, who see to it that we have
plenty of good articles and pictures; while at the bottom are the two
griffins, who keep out everything that is bad.
In the center is St. Nicholas himself, the good old patron of girls and
boys.
Down at the bottom of this central picture, in the left-hand corner, just
behind the girl's foot, there is a curious little design. That is the
artist's distinctive mark, which he often puts on his pictures. INV.
stands for invented, or designed, and under this are two V's. In
Old-English, V is the same letter as U, and these two V's stand for
double-u, or W--for Walter. Then there is a little picture of a crane. And
so we can easily see that the meaning of the sign is, "Designed by Walter
Crane."
Thus we have shown that this cover tells quite a story, and, if we study
it longer, we may see more in it than is mentioned here.
* * *
Roxbury, Mass.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have formed a club for playing battledoor and
shuttlecock. Our highest scores are 5084, 4556, 3545, and 3496. Will you
ask your subscribers, through the "Letter-Box," if they know of any higher
scores?--Yours truly,
THE BROTHERS OF THE BATTLEDOOR.
* * *
Cincinnati, Ohio.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am very busy now putting pictures on Easter eggs, the
insides of which have been blown out and replaced by very fine
caraway-seed candy, put in through a little hole at one end and then
covered by a picture. The money I get for these eggs is for my Easter
offering. Duck-eggs are the prettiest to use, because they are of such a
lovely greenish-blue tint. May be some of your other readers may like to
make some of these Easter eggs. Mamma says she could scarcely keep house
without the ST. NICHOLAS now, and I think so too.--Your friend,
GEORGE M. A.
* * *
Chicago, Ill.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you be so kind as to tell a little Scottish girl
where to find the date when England claimed Scotland, as Mrs. Weiss says,
in her story about the "Arms of Great Britain," in the January number of
your magazine? I cannot find any such date. King Edward I., I know,
claimed it, but Robert the Bruce disputed it so successfully that none
have ever claimed it since--Yours respectfully, AGGIE NICOL.
William the Conqueror, in A. D. 1072, subdued Malcolm III. of Scotland,
and received his homage. This was the first time England claimed, and
exercised, sovereignty over Scotland.
* * *
STELLA C.--Homer is the "Blind Man of Smyrna."
* * *
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you please print this poem? It was written for my
brother Bertie, by a well-known authoress, within five minutes, by my
father's watch, and with the alteration of but one word. I must tell you
we gave her the subject. Hoping you will print this poem, I remain yours
truly, CHARLES H. M.
BERT'S FUTURE WIFE.
Do you wish to see her--
Bertie's future wife,
The maid who'll share his fortune,
Brighten all his life?
This is how I see her,
In my fancy's eye:
Tall and fair and slender,
Cheerful, good and spry;
Eyes as deep as pansies,
Lips like cherries red,
And a wealth of sunshine
Growing on her head.
Kind her voice, and gentle,
Sweet her merry laugh,--
There, I've told you wonders,
Yet not told you half.
Nothing could be better
Than this lovely maid,
Now let's see him get her:--
Hard work, I'm afraid.
* * *
Monroeville, O.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have for some time been anxious to take the ST.
NICHOLAS, but did not have the money. I was told that if I would gather
hickory-nuts enough to amount to the sum, I might take it. I gathered
three bushels, sold them, sent for the magazine, and, last evening,
received two numbers, with which I was very much pleased.--Your faithful
reader, CLARA LINDSLEY.
* * *
Danbury, Ct.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: A party of us boys read about "Hare and Hounds" in the
October number, and we tried the game the Saturday after. We all spent the
day at my cousin's; he lives on a farm where there is plenty of room for
us to run. Our "hare" got a good start, and though we ran hard and
followed up the "scent" well, we did not catch him. We caught our next
"hare" though. We treat to apples instead of candy. We think the game is
great fun.
I have taken ST. NICHOLAS for two years and I think it is splendid. I
liked the "Bass Cove Sketches," and mamma laughed heartily when I read
them to her. I am ten years old, and I hope to take you till I am
twenty.--Your constant reader,
WILLIE H. ALLEN.
* * *
A CORRESPONDENT sends us the following account of some incidents of the
great flood in Virginia last November:
After several days of rain, the James and other rivers rose very suddenly,
and caused great destruction of life and property, carrying away houses,
bridges, crops, and cattle, and covering large sections of the country
with water.
There were no lives lost where the flood came during daylight, though many
families lost food, clothing, and their homes; but where the sudden rage
of the waters burst forth at night, many people were swept away and
drowned.
Some one saw among the poor animals struggling with the waters, a poor,
frightened little rabbit, on a plank, running from side to side, as it
tossed and pitched up and down on the waves.
A queer instance of characteristic nature in an animal is worth
recording, although the creature could scarcely be considered a sufferer
from the flood. One man, whose house was swept away and lodged on an
embankment lower down, had a pet hog, whose dwelling had been under the
house. Of course the man imagined him drowned, as no one had thought of
him in the haste of the flight. The day after, when the fury of the waters
was somewhat spent, the man and his son paddled out to the house to see if
anything had escaped. On going in through the upstairs window, they found
that the hog had coolly walked in and up the stairs, and, selecting a
feather-bed, was now reclining very comfortably in the very middle of it,
entirely unhurt!
But only this gentleman of ease and the wreckers profited by the great
flood. To others it came like a cruel and stealthy foe, sweeping all
before its merciless rush. One little girl, two years old, snatched from
her bed and barely saved, said the next day, with a little face still
sunshiny, as she pointed to their roof, just seen, with the upper windows
above the waters: "Dess see! The flood came, and it dess took
everysing--dollies and all!" M.
* * *
SEVERAL correspondents write kindly correcting an error in the February
"Letter-Box," page 301, in the item about "King Alfred and the Cakes." It
was "Prince William, son of Henry I.," not "of Henry II.," who was
drowned.
* * *
Athens, Ohio.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Reading what Jack said in February about the little
birds being killed by flying against the telegraph wires, I thought I
would write and say that we often pick them up. They look soft and pretty,
as if they were asleep, as they are not cut and their feathers are not
rumpled. I also want to tell you about my canary-birds. My little Toppie
hatched three little singers, which I named Tom, Dick, and Harry. I sold
Harry to pay for my ST. NICHOLAS. We sent Dick to a little girl who had
been praying for a bird. She was so glad to get it that she said she must
be a good little girl. We still have the other one, who is singing nearly
all the time. I was twelve on Washington's birthday. I have one sister and
three brothers, and we all love the ST. NICHOLAS.--Your affectionate
reader, HATTIE F. NOURSE.
* * *
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a dolly twenty-five years old. I am going to
take her to Saratoga this summer. I think it will do her good. I am seven
years old. I like ST. NICHOLAS ever so much. MATTIE WYCKOFF.
* * *
Providence, R. I.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In the December number of ST. NICHOLAS, in "A Chat
About Pottery," I find on page 105 the question, "Who ever saw a blue
dog?" and the answer, "In life, no one, my dear." During the past month I
have seen, several times, a dog as blue as the sky on a summer's day. He
is of the "Spitz" breed, and, as his master keeps a dye-house, we think he
is used as an advertisement.
He attracts a good deal of attention when on the street.--Yours truly,
EDWIN S. T.
* * *
Shawangunk, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My uncles have taken the ST. NICHOLAS for me for three
years, and I like it very much.
I see in your "Letter-Box" a letter from Alma Aylesworth asking how apples
were made to grow sweet on one side and sour on the other.
They take a sprout of the sweet and another of sour, just as near the same
size as possible, split each in two at the middle, press one-half of each
to a half of the other, put grafting-wax up the cracks, and set it in like
any other graft.
For a few years, this limb will bear apples sweet on one side and sour on
the other; but when the tree gets old, the apples will be of one flavor
throughout.--I remain your faithful reader, MAMIE C. COCKS.
* * *
Franklin, Pa.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to have you tell me what Cleopatra's
needle is. I read about its voyage in the papers.--Yours truly,
B. L. F.
The obelisk known as Cleopatra's needle, presented by the Khedive to
England, is a great stone that was cut out in one piece from the quarries
of Syene, Egypt, it is supposed in the time of Thothmes III. (about 1600
years B. C.), when, also, it was set up in the temple of Karnak, at
Thebes. It is a tall, rectangular pillar, tapering from the base to near
the top, where it is pointed like a flattened pyramid; its sides are
inscribed with hieroglyphics. The obelisk was taken to Alexandria by Queen
Cleopatra, and was named after her. Some think that Cleopatra's Needle
was another stone, quarried by order of Ramesis II., and set up in
Heliopolis, the City of the Sun; but several obelisks have borne the name,
and this may have caused uncertainty about them. The former account is
believed to be correct.
* * *
Ashland, Wis.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I saw, in your January number, two ways pictured for
carrying the mails. Here, where I live, on the shore of Lake Superior, we
see both ways at the present time. The mail from Bayfield comes on the
backs of packers, and on the railroad the mails come from Milwaukie and
other points south of us.
We have a jolly fire-place. It is large enough for Santa Claus to come
right down without any trouble; and he filled our stockings full last
year.--From your constant reader, ESTELLE WILMARTH.
* * *
We have received the following letters in answer to Alice Clinton's
question, in the February "Letter-Box," asking for a list of books
pleasant to read:
Ogdensburg, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you please tell Alice Clinton, if she wants some
interesting and instructive books, to read Dickens's "Child's History of
England" and Higginson's "History of the United States."--Truly yours,
LULIE JAMES.
Brooklyn.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you ever since you were born, and I like
you better all the while.
I think Alice Clinton would enjoy "About Old Story-tellers," by Ik Marvel;
"America Illustrated," edited by J. David Williams: and Parley's
"Universal History," as they are all very nice.--Your friend,
CORA EUGENIA ALWYN.
* * *
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Inclosed you will find a short story which my little
brother wrote, as he said he wanted to write something for good
ST. NICHOLAS.--Yours truly, J. S. H.
THE FISHER.
Once there was a boy who did not obey his mother and went fishing and fell
into the water how frighten was the mother when she found out that her boy
was drowned and the father and mother began to cry and one day a man came
to comfort them. But he could not and they never found that boy.
* * *
WE have received the following lines as an answer to the geographical
puzzle in the February number:
_Queen Charlotte_ the fair
To a ball did repair
In the city of _Aire_,
And met all the _Adams_ carousing there,
Sweet _Alexandria_, _Sydney_ the swell,
And noble young _Ellsworth_, who pleased her right well.
They praised her fine _Cashmere_, with _Brussels_ to trim it,
But found it _Toulon_(g) and _Toulouse_ the next minute.
Her shoulders were _Chili_, she thought she should freeze,
But a warm _Paisley_ shawl put her quite at her ease.
Her rich _Diamond_ jewelry sparkled and shone;
Her shoes were _Morocco_, of smallness unknown;
And her kerchief diffused a sweet smell of _Cologne_.
A _Superior_ dancer, she floated around,
With _Washington_ great or _Columbus_ was found.
With _Madison_ flirting or dancing a jig,
_Montgomery_, _Raleigh_, she cared not a fig
For them, or for _Jackson_, who stared in surprise
When she said she was _Hungary_, coolly did rise,
And was borne off by _Quincy_ from under his eyes.
At _Table_, _Elk_, _Sandwich_, and _Orange_ she ate,
Sat drinking _Moselle_ and _Madeira_ till late;
Then, after an evening quite _Pleasant_, she said
_Farewell_ to her hostess, and went home, they said,
With gallant _Prince Edward_, a gentleman bred.
LIZZIE E. T.
* * *
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I saw in the January number a recipe for "chocolate
creams." I have a very good recipe for chocolate caramels. It is: Half a
pint of rich milk, a square and a half (or an ounce and a half) of Baker's
unsweetened chocolate, softened on the fire. Let the milk boil; then stir
in the chocolate very hard; add half a pint of best white sugar, and three
table-spoonfuls of molasses. Boil until very thick, taking care not to
burn it. Pour on buttered tins, and, when nearly cold, cut in squares.
If you think this is a good recipe (which I am sure you will, as I have
tried it many times, and have never known it to fail), please put it in
the "Letter-Box," and oblige, your interested reader,
MARY WHARTON WADSWORTH.
* * *
Butte Creek, Cal.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am ten years old, and live in the Sierra Nevada
Mountains, and my papa belongs to a mining company--mining for gold. I
have a hydraulic mine of my own, but I don't get any gold out of it. I
have a dog whose name is Flora, and a wooden sword and dagger, and I play
soldier with her and get cleaned out sometimes.
We have no school here, but I study my lessons every day, and papa hears
me recite at night. I study arithmetic, geography, spelling, U. S.
history, and writing. I may write to you again some time.--Yours truly,
SCOTTIE HANKINS.
* * *
Philadelphia, Pa.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about a girl we had. She was a
German girl, and she asked my father, who is a druggist, for a label. She
wanted to send it to Germany, so her friends could direct the letters. On
the label was printed, "Dr. Siddall, Mantua Drug-store, Tinct. of Myrrh,
No. 3526 Haverford St., W. Phila." She sent this label, and when the
answer came, the direction read, "Care Dr. Siddall, Mantua Drug-store,
Tinct. of Myrrh, No. 3526 Haverford St., W. Phila."
We had a good laugh over it, to think that anybody would put "Tinct. of
Myrrh" on the direction of a letter.
I thought I would send you this to put in the ST. NICHOLAS, so that
everybody who reads this could have a laugh over it.--Very respectfully,
J. R. SIDDALL.
* * *
DORA'S HOUSEKEEPING, by the author of "Six Little Cooks," is a handy
little book that tells about the troubles and triumphs of a girl fifteen
years old, who is left unexpectedly to take charge of a house and provide
daily meals for its six inmates. The story itself is pleasant, and it
introduces useful hints about household duties--such as bed-making,
sweeping, care of lamps, etc. The book is adapted to beginners, for its
recipes contain fuller detailed directions than cook-books usually give.
Solids and sweets are treated of in common-sense proportion, and waste is
guarded against with tasty dishes prepared from remnants. The book is
illustrated, and is published by Messrs. Jansen, McClurg & Co., Chicago.
* * *
CHILD MARIAN ABROAD, by William M. F. Round, is a little book with eight
full-page pictures. It gives a lively and interesting account of a bright
little girl's adventures during a tour in Europe with her uncle and aunt.
She sees many great people and grand sights, plays with a princess, gets
into comical scrapes,--some with the help of a little American boy named
Harry,--and, altogether, has a delightful trip, very pleasant to read
about.
* * *
A CORRESPONDENT, having read in the November number the poem "My Girl," by
Mr. Adams, sends us this clever imitation:
MY BOY.
A little crib in "mother's room,"
A little face with baby bloom,
A little head with curly hair,
A little woolly dog, a chair.
A little while for bumps and cries,
A little while to make "mud pies,"
A little doubting wonder when
A little pair of hands is clean.
A little ball, a top to spin,
A little "Ulster" belted in,
A little pair of pants, some string,
A little bit of everything.
A little blustering, boisterous air,
A little spirit of "don't care,"
A little tramping off to school,
A little shrug at woman's rule.
A little odor of cigar,
A little twilight talk with Ma,
A little earnest study then--
A little council grave again.
A little talk about "my girl,"
A little soft mustache to twirl,
A little time of jealous fear,
A little hope the way to clear.
A little knowledge of the world,
A little self-conceit down hurled,
A little manly purpose new,
A little woman, waiting, true.
A little wedding gay at eve,
A little pang the home to leave,
A little mother lone at dawn,
A little sigh--my boy was gone! L. R. I.
* * *
E. I. S.--We believe that some consider it not quite certain whether
"thumbs up" or "thumbs down" was the sign of mercy. But Appleton's
"American Cyclopaedia" says that, when, in a Roman amphitheater, a
gladiator was overcome in fight, he was allowed to appeal to the
spectators; and, if they pointed downward with their thumbs, his life was
spared,--but if upward, his opponent dispatched him on the spot.
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
#NUMERICAL ENIGMA.#
I am composed of thirteen letters in two words that form the name of a
king lately dead.
My 6 5 8 7 is the capital of his realm.
My 4 11 6 2 10 is the city of his birth.
My 1 7 10 2 3 12 is a noted port in his kingdom.
My 8 2 13 9 10 is a cathedral city in his dominions.
L. H., V. H., +
#EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.#
1. A consonant. 2. A wager. 3. A city in Italy. 4. A part of the body.
5. A vowel. N. B. S.
#WORD SYNCOPATIONS.#
Remove one word from another, and leave a complete word.
1. Take a crime from a clergyman's house, and leave an attendant. 2. Take
a summer luxury from worthy of observation, and leave remarkable. 3. Take
savage from to puzzle, and leave a drink. 4. Take suffrage from a bigot,
and leave a river in Great Britain. 5. Take to lean from a glass vessel,
and leave an animal. CYRIL DEANE.
#ANAGRAMS.#
Each anagram is formed from a single word, and a clue to the meaning of
that word is given, between brackets, after its anagram.
1. Any one can (trouble). 2. I anoint combs (joinings). 3. Cover no sin
(change). 4. A rude song (perilous). 5. I'm no cereal (rite). 6. A mad
girl (song). 7. Real blue ant (fixed). 8. An egg dies (liberate). W.
#DROP-LETTER PUZZLE.#
Every other letter is omitted.
H- D-T- M-C- W-O -O-H -E-L -H-T -E -A-H -O -O. C. D.
#EASY RHOMBOID PUZZLE.#
. . . .
. . . .
. . . .
. . . .
ACROSS: 1. Oversight. 2. Clean. 3. To fall. 4. To jump. DOWN: 1. One
hundred. 2. An article. 3. A color. 4. A title. 5. A part of the body. 6.
A pet name for a parent. 7. A vegetable. H. H. D.
#PICTORIAL ANAGRAM PUZZLE.#
[Illustration: From the letters of the word which describes the central
picture, form words describing the remaining ten pictures. H. S. S.]
#SEXTUPLE WORD-CROSS.#
.
.
.
.
. . . O . . .
.
.
.
.
The central letter, O, is given in the diagram, and is used for both the
Full Perpendicular and the Full Horizontal; but the central letter forms
no part of the words that make the limbs and arms of the cross.
FULL PERPENDICULAR, eight letters: An American singing-bird.
FULL HORIZONTAL, seven letters: An instrument of war.
TOP LIMB, three letters: A short, jerking action.
BOTTOM LIMB, four letters: Part of a chain.
LEFT ARM, three letters: A small gulf.
RIGHT ARM, three letters: An instrument for catching fish. B.
#PRESIDENTIAL DISCOVERIES.#
In the full names of the nineteen presidents of the United States, find
the following hidden words, each of which is selected entire from the name
of some single president, although in one or two cases the spelling merely
gives the sound of the word that is to be found:
1. An insect. 2. A household task. 3. Two birds. 4. A faithful woman. 5. A
forest tree, familiar to school-boys. 6. Two Old Testament men. 7. Four
New Testament men. 8. A product of the mine. 9. Two products of the pig.
10. The thousandth part of a dollar. 11. A heavy weight. 12. An inhabitant
of the western part of Europe. 13. A famous spy, executed during the
Revolutionary war. 14. A line of soldiers. 15. One of the supports of a
bridge. 16. Dexterity. 17. A river crossing and river obstructions. 18.
Fish eggs. 19. Affirmative votes. 20. A noted Philadelphia philosopher and
statesman. 21. An old-time Grecian hero. 22. A useful timber. 23. An
English statesman whose head was cut off. 24. A title-deed to lands or
estates. 25. Three musical syllables. 26. A title of the Deity, mentioned
in the Bible. 27. A delicious sweetmeat. 28. A domestic fowl. 29. A girl's
name. 30. Something added. 31. One of the members of a family.
C. MARVIN.
#EASY DOUBLE ACROSTIC.#
1. Pleasing. 2. The ocean. 3. "A little house full of meat, with no door
to go in and eat." 4. A bar of wood. 5. A thought. 6. A tribe. 7. Pleased.
The initials and finals, read downward, spell the names of two powerful
countries. DEL.
#NUMERICAL PUZZLE.#
1 2
3 4 5
6 7
My 3 4 5 is to obstruct. My 1 4 7 is to bend under weight. My 2 4 6 is a
carriage.
Place the letters in the positions indicated by the figures of the
diagram, and read therefrom my whole, which is the name of a large island.
H. H. D.
#A PROVERB AMONG PROVERBS.#
ONE word taken from each sentence in succession will form the answer.
1. "Likeness begets love, yet proud men hate one another."
2. "They that hide can find."
3. "Trade knows neither friends nor kindred."
4. "It is better to be happy than wise."
5. "Gold may be bought too dear."
6. "If you would have a good servant, take neither a kinsman nor a
friend."
7. "A gift long waited for is sold, not given."
8. "It's time to sit when the oven comes to dough."
9. "Only that which is honestly got is gain."
10. "Prudent people always ask the price ere they purchase."
11. "Good advice is never out of place."
12. "Friendship is the perfection of love." CYRIL DEANE.
#A MEDLEY.#
A word that means to cleanse, behead,
And leave of cloth a kind;
Behead again, and leave a seed
Canaries love to find;
Behead again, and it will leave
An animal behind.
Transpose my first, and it becomes
A set of antics gay;
Then curtail twice, and leave what oft
Projects into a bay;
Curtail again, and leave what boys
Will put in mother's way.
Transpose again, and find a word
To horses may apply;
Curtail it twice, and leave a step
That one can measure by;
Behead it, and you have a card
That often counts for high.
Transpose again, and bring to light
A well-known proper name;
And in the very center find
A serpent known to fame,
That caused the death of one,--a queen,--
Who laid to beauty claim. H. H. D.
#HALF WORD-SQUARE.#
A member of a legislative body; a plant; new; periods of time; to allow,
reversed; a preposition; a consonant. A. C. CRETT.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN MARCH NUMBER.
A COMMON ADAGE.--"Well begun is half done."
LITERARY ENIGMA.--
"Sweet was the sound when oft at evening's close
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose."
_Goldsmith's "Deserted Village."_
1. Euripides. 2. Tasso. 3. Southey. 4. Hume. 5. Irving. 6. Carlyle. 7.
Wordsworth. 8. Hawthorne. 9. Lyell. 10. Davy. 11. Emerson. 12. Mann.
TRANSPOSITIONS.--1. I pass no, passion. 2. Glare, large. 3. Let this,
thistle. 4. United, untied. 5. One cadet, anecdote. 6. Towels, lowest. 7.
Not impart, important. 8. Lambs cringe, clamberings.
EASY REVERSALS.--1. Drab, bard. 2. Reed, deer. 3. Door, rood. 4. Yard,
dray. 5. Keel, leek. 6. Loop, pool. 7. Tram, mart. 8. Doom, mood. 9. Part,
trap. 10. Room, moor.
DOUBLE DIAMOND.--Perpendicular: Ponderous. Horizontal: Gathering.
P
P O D
V I N E S
G A R D E N S
G A T H E R I N G
C A R R I E D
S T O V E
S U E
S
CURTAILMENTS AND BEHEADINGS.--Poe, poet. Raven, rave. Bells, ells.
EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.--Robinson Crusoe. Robin, cross, ounce.
PICTORIAL ANAGRAM PROVERB-PUZZLE.--"A new broom sweeps clean."
EASY UNIONS.--1. Rest-o-ring, restoring. 2. Sweet-e-ned, sweetened. 3.
Inter-e-sting, interesting.
AN OLD MAXIM.--"Light cares speak; great ones are dumb."
RHOMBOID PUZZLE.--
E P O D E
O P E R A
E A R L Y
N O T E D
R O S E S
DOUBLE CROSS-WORD ACROSTIC.--Steam, Smoke. 1. ScissorS. 2. TeaM. 3. EchO.
4. ArK. 5. MandrakE.
EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.--1. T. 2. Era. 3. Trout. 4. Auk. 5. T.
MALTESE-CROSS PUZZLE.--
F R E S H
B A S A I
E I S A D
I N T E N S E
N N N H A
G A C T L
C L E A R
POETICAL REBUS.--"Oh, what a tangled web we weave
When first we practice to deceive."
_Scott's "Marmion."_
NUMBERICAL ENIGMA.--Nightingale. Nigh, tin, gale.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC.--Louisa M. Alcott, Ralph W. Emerson, 1. LumbeR. 2.
OpheliA. 3. UsuaL. 4. ImP. 5. SumacH. 6. AndreW. 7. MoosE. 8. AsyluM. 9.
LakE. 10. CondoR. 11. OlympuS. 12. TO. 13. TeN.
WORD SYNCOPATIONS.--1. La-wren-ce; wren, lace. 2. K-now-ing; now, king. 3.
De-fin-ed; fin, deed. 4. Re-fine-d; fine, reed. 5. W-ant-ed; ant, wed. 6.
F-urn-ish; urn, fish.
CHARADE--Wedgwood.
ABBREVIATIONS.--1. Beryl, bey. 2. Crown, cow. 3. Fairy, fir. 4. Grape,
gap. 5. Steam, sea. 6. White, wit. 7. Halts, hat. 8. Honey, hoe. 9. Bevel,
bee. 10. Pence, pen.
* * *
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES in the February number were received, before February
18, from Lucian J., G.L., N.E., G.A.R.C., Mattie E. Doyle, Josie Brown,
B.P. Emery, Rene L. Milhau, Willie C. Du Bois, "Dominie," M.H.F., "Ben
Zeen," M. Alice Chase, W.L. and F.H. Amerman, Louie C.O. Haughton, Frank
Haughton, Alice Stedman, Kittie Perry, Annie L. Zieber, Georgine C.
Schnitzspahn, Anna M. Richardson, H.A. Warren, Constance Grand-Pierre and
Sarah Duffield, W. Eichelberger, "Adelaide and Reggie," Mason Romeyn
Strong, Robert M. Webb, "L.," "Yankee Girl," Grace B. Latimer, Eugene L.
Lockwood, "Bob White," "Medea," Robert Howard, Nellie J. Towle, Eddie H.
Gay, Ray T. French, Gertrude C. Eager, Abbie G. Weed, Arthur C. Smith,
Addie Campbell, "Bessie and her Cousin," Lucy V. MacRill, M.W. Collet,
L.C.L., Hattie M. Heath, "Little Eagle," Edith Wilkinson, Grace Van
Wagenen, Nessie E. Stevens, A.H. Babcock, Anna E. Mathewson, Clara B.
Dunster, Ben Merrill, C.E. Sands, John Taylor, Jennie Taylor, Harry
Durand, Nellie A. Hudson, Leonice B. Barnes, "Winnie, Brookline," Bessie
L. Barnes, Louise G. Hinsdale, Lizzie B. Clark, Lizzie M. Dow, Mabel
Barrows, Miller Bowdoin & Co., R.T. McKeever, "Three Cousins," "St.
Nicholas Club," Lizzie E.T." Anna F. Robinson, Florence E. Turrill, Ida N.
Carson, Camille and Leonie Giraud, "New Friend," George J. Fiske, Florence
Wilcox, Fred M. Pease; No name, Cambridgeport; Eddie Vultee, Milly E.
Adams, Perry Adams, Maude Adams, and Anna R. Stratton.