Debby sprang up and straightened herself with a long sigh. "I'm sure
your father ought to give you something for keeping out of your bed so
late, when he is sleeping as innocent as the baby this minute, I'll
warrant."
As Debby had a way of only thinking her replies, her answer was to wash
her hands at the sink and run upstairs with joyful feet, thinking, "How
_splendid_ it will be if he gives me some money; then I can spend it at
the Fair to-morrow night."
But even rose-colored visions could not keep the weary child awake; she
was not conscious of touching the pillow, and thought of nothing until
the clock striking six awoke her to remember, with a thrill, that it
was Christmas-day,--the day of the Fair.
But there would be no presents or merry greetings in her home, for she
could not remember ever hearing either father or mother wish any of the
family "Merry Christmas!" and a little candy on that day was among the
dimmest pictures of her childhood.
"I'll make the fire, so that mother can sleep a little longer," she
decided, lighting her candle, and beginning to dress with shivering
alacrity. "And I'll be as helpful as I can all day, and perhaps father
_will_ give me some of the turkey money."
With shaking fingers she kindled the wood fire, and had the kettle
boiling and the griddle heated for the cakes, when her mother came out
of the bedroom, asking her what had wakened her so early, and telling
her to dress the baby while she finished getting the breakfast ready.
Debby willingly brought the screaming baby out to the fire, where she
washed and dressed him, soothing him with many motherly little airs. Sam
and Jim ran down-stairs to hover over the red-hot stove; the father came
in, bringing the pail of milk, stamping his feet, his beard white with
his frozen breath; then they all sat down to breakfast by candle-light,
and no one would have supposed, from their conversation, that they had
ever heard of Christmas-day.
Immediately after breakfast Mr. Blanchard hurried away to dispose of his
turkeys, taking the boys with him; Mrs. Blanchard heated the brick oven
preparatory to a morning's baking, and Debby flew about as busily as the
bee she represented, washing dishes, making beds, peeling vegetables,
and tending the baby, lightening her labor with the thought of the money
her father might possibly give her.
When it was time for him to return, she determined to keep in sight, as
a kind of hint that some of the money should be given to her; not that
she would ask him for it,--her askings were only for favors to the boys,
made in much fear and inward shrinking; but she would just wait around
and remind him by her presence that she had helped pick the turkeys.
But, with no understanding of the feverish anxiety that filled the heart
of the little maiden who was moving briskly about the pleasant kitchen
dishing up the dinner, Mr. Blanchard threw open the door with a chuckle.
"Took every one of them and paid the money down," he announced, coming
to the fire. "Got more than I expected, too, for his scales made them
weigh more than ours, so I gained just thirty cents."
Debby thought that her heart stopped beating while she stood bewildered
in the middle of the floor with a dish of potatoes in her hand, waiting
to hear her father say that the extra money should be hers; but he
merely asked if dinner were ready, and why she moved so slowly; guessed
that sitting up so late made her lazy.
All her castles built of ice-cream, candy, pin-cushions, and fancy
needle-books, fell to the ground with a crash as she set the dish on the
table, leaving her with no appetite for dinner, not even for the first
pumpkin-pie of the season.
She sat at the table absently tasting the savory pork stew, believing
that no one else was ever as miserable as she, and that she should never
feel like laughing again, when suddenly she remembered that she had
twenty-four cents change left from the dollar that her father gave her
to buy school-books, and she would--yes--she would give it to him as she
was starting for the Fair, and perhaps he would say that she might keep
it.
So she was all ready to laugh when Jim asked if the little boys in the
big cities wore muzzles like the dog he had seen in town this morning,
and when her mother asked if she would take pie, her "yes" was emphatic;
for a world of trouble had rolled off her heart, and she was her hopeful
self again.
After the dinner-dishes were washed, and the baby trotted away to
dream-land, Debby stole up to her room to look over the dress she was to
wear in the evening; as the ruffles in neck and wrists were fresh, she
found there was nothing for her to do but brush it and lay it out on the
bed. Still she lingered with an undefined feeling that it was
Christmas-day everywhere else, and if she could only----
All the week, while seeing and hearing about the presents the
school-girls were making, she had been full of vague longings to do
something for some one; but she had neither money nor material, and was
not at all sure how a present from her would be received by her father
and mother. "Perhaps I might make a pin-ball," she thought, beginning to
search through the old chest of drawers that stood at the foot of her
bed.
In the lowest drawer were odds and ends that she had been collecting for
years, and from one corner, carefully wrapped up, she drew a square of
black cloth in which was worked in wool a bunch of rose-buds, pink,
white and yellow, surrounded by their green leaves. A lady who had
boarded with them the last summer had begun it for a pair of slippers,
but after making two or three mistakes on it, had given it to Debby.
"I wonder if I could make it into a cushion for mother?" soliloquized
Debby, turning it around in her red fingers. "Mrs. Williams said old
flannel was good to stuff them with, and I can bind it with----" she
leaned forward and picked among her bunch of faded ribbons. "There is
nothing nice enough," she sighed; "but this green will _have_ to do."
[Illustration: DEBBY AND THE ICE-CREAM [SEE PAGE 227.]]
Wrapping herself in a quilt she sat down on the rounded top of a
hair-covered trunk, close to the frosty window, and cutting the cloth in
the shape of a diamond, she sewed it together like a bag, filled it with
flannel, and hurriedly stitched on the faded green ribbon as a binding.
These rosebuds were a wonderful work of art to Debby, and one of her
great treasures; it would have been a "perfectly lovely cushion," she
thought, if the binding had only been new and the silk with which she
stitched it green instead of blue; and it was _so_ delightful to make
presents. Next year she would have a present for every one in the house;
she wondered why she had never thought of it before.
"And He feeleth for our sadness,
And He shareth in our gladness,"
sprang from her heart to her lips, and she hummed it over and over all
the three-quarters of an hour that she was at work. When the cushion was
finished, she held it out in different positions, trying to decide in
which it would look best when she should present it; and then she ran
down-stairs, possessed with such a variety of feelings that she could
scarcely speak when she opened the kitchen door.
Her mother was ironing, with her back toward her. Debby was glad that no
one else was there.
"I've made you a Christmas present, mother," she said, timidly, laying
it on the ironing-board.
"So _that's_ what you have been doing in the cold so long," her mother
answered, without pausing in her work. "Miss Holmes was a beautiful hand
with her needle, and how she did fuss over that! But you might just as
well have made it some other day; I was in no hurry for it. Put it in my
bureau-drawer, and come and mend these blankets your father has just
brought in. He thinks that we have so little to do that we can sew for
the horses right in the midst of everything."
So Debby laid the cushion away, glad that it had met with no worse
reception, and sat down in a corner near the stove to mend the coarse,
dirty horse-blankets. She usually disliked it exceedingly; but her
little attempt at making Christmas presents had so warmed her heart, and
her head was so full of the Fair, that it did not now seem so
uncongenial, and she was really surprised when the last stitch was
taken.
"You are almost as handy with your needle as your mother," her father
said, throwing the blankets over his shoulder to carry them to the barn.
"Now spring to, child, and set the table," her mother added, "and I'll
rest a few minutes, for I feel as if every bone in my body was broken."
While Debby sewed, the bright sunlight on the green field of wheat and
the brown, ridged field of corn-stubble visible through the one large
window, had faded quickly away; and as she paused a moment to pick some
shreds off her dress and glance out at the weather, all she could see
was the dim outline of the woods, the dark forms of the hills rising
behind them, and the cold, black wind-clouds piled high above them all.
Tea was ready and over at last, and then Mrs. Blanchard said, while she
tried to quiet the screaming baby:
"Go and get ready for the Fair, child, and I will wash the dishes. I
have a dreadful sideache, and I expect this young one will cry for an
hour or two. But 'every dog must have his day,' and yours will be short
enough."
With the cloud on her heart that always followed her mother's gloomy
sayings, Debby went slowly up to her room to array herself in her last
year's blue merino. But it was a pleasant figure to look upon that she
tiptoed up to the glass to survey, and a round rosy face, with a little
frown over the right eyebrow, that looked out at her with wistful eyes.
Drawing on hood and shawl, she went down-stairs and stood before her
father with the money in her hand. He was seated at the table, bending
over a large account-book, with Debby's frown deepened at the corner of
his bushy eyebrow, and his fingers in his ears to shut out the baby's
cries that reached him from the bedroom. As soon as she caught sight of
what he was doing, Debby's hopes fell, for reckoning up the yearly
expenses always made him cross for a week.
"Where are you off to now?" he asked, glancing up at her.
"To the Fair. The boys are there to come home with me. And here," her
voice faltering, "is the change from the school-books."
"Don't stay late," he replied, turning away and dropping the precious
money into his vest-pocket.
With a bursting heart, Debby stumbled out into the windy starlight and
walked rapidly along the rough road, with her mittened fingers in her
mouth to prevent her crying aloud.
How bitterly she wished she had never heard of the Fair! She was ashamed
to go back into the house with no reason for returning, yet the thought
of attending the Fair with no money to spend was torturing to her.
"There's Debby! Merry Christmas! Ride with us! Jump in, Debby!" called
several voices, as a wagon full of boys and girls stopped beside her.
"I don't want to; I'd rather walk," answered Debby, swallowing her sobs.
"_Walk_, then!" replied Harry Williams, snapping his whip. "I guess you
got a switch in your stocking this morning!"
Laughing thoughtlessly, the party rattled past her, leaving her crying
harder than before. But a walk full of dread comes to an end some time,
and Debby soon found herself at the entrance to the Fair.
Slipping in behind a group of men, she stood confused by the light and
noise.
It was a grand and exciting scene to the little country maiden, this
long, low room, trimmed with evergreens and flags, and illuminated by
all the lamps in the neighborhood.
A table extended across each of three sides of the room. One, used for a
supper-table, was filled with people eating and drinking noisily; on
another was displayed the handiwork of the sewing society for the past
year; and the third, which appeared the most attractive, was laden with
cake, confectionery, and ice-cream.
Debby rubbed her swollen eyes, and was gazing about her in admiring
astonishment, when her neighbor, Annie Williams, shouted "Merry
Christmas" in her ear.
"Oh! Thank you," replied the startled Debby.
"Come and take off your things," suggested Annie. "You may put them with
mine behind the apron and necktie end of the table. Mother tends that,
you know."
Annie tucked the wraps carefully away, and then drew Debby through the
crowd over to the stove, screened off in the corner behind the
supper-table, where the good aunties of the village were heating their
faces and spotting their Sunday dresses while cooking oysters and making
coffee for the benefit of the church. But these ladies looked so annoyed
by seeing the girls stand around the stove that Debby hurried away.
Possibly they thought that the church would not be benefited by Debby's
warming her fingers and toes.
Elbowing their way back, with arms clasped around each other's waist,
they encountered and stepped on the toes of a big German boy, who
convulsed them by pointing down at them with both forefingers,
exclaiming: "See the two craz-z-z-y! See the two craz-z-z-y!" And
Debby's laugh was as light-hearted as if she could buy everything in the
room, and her mother had nineteen silk dresses.
"Now come and get some ice-cream," urged Annie, as they were pushed
toward it. "I have had three saucers, and think it is lovely. I ought to
be a judge, don't you think so?"
"Not now," said Debby, hastily. "I want to look at the needle-books your
mother made."
"It's pokey over there! But I'll humor you, because it is Christmas,"
laughed Annie.
So they dodged under elbows, and slipped between young men and their
sweethearts, until they reached the other end of the room, where Debby
admired pen-holders with spiders and mice on them, cushions representing
the old lady who lived in a shoe, and needle-books made like
wheelbarrows, wondering if there had been anything at the Centennial
more beautiful than these. But when a group of girls claimed Annie's
attention, she eagerly seized the opportunity to slip away and sit on
the bench behind Mrs. Williams's table.
"Tired so soon?" inquired Mrs. Williams, kindly. "But why didn't your
mother come?"
"She didn't have--I don't mean--I mean she didn't speak of coming,"
stammered Debby, with burning cheeks.
"Never mind," replied Mrs. Williams, "you will have a good time, I know;
and you must be sure to ride home with us."
Soothed by her sympathetic words, Debby almost forgot her troubles, and
sat watching the moving picture with great amusement, until she espied
her brothers helping Mr. Williams pass the saucers of cream.
"Oh, I hope they wont be tempted to _take_ any," she thought, her heart
full of a wordless prayer for them. But her anxiety was soon relieved by
seeing Sam forcing his way toward her with a plate of cream.
"He gave it to me for helping," he whispered; "but you take it. Jim ate
his right up."
"Eat it yourself, Sammy," she said, drawing back the hand she had
stretched out for it. "I don't care so _very_ much about it, because I
am older, you know."
"Don't you, now, 'truly, truly, black and bluely, lay me down and cut me
in twoly?'" he asked, with the air of a magistrate about to "swear" a
witness.
"I would very much rather you should eat it," evaded Debby.
"Then I will," he answered, brightly, "for I _do_ want it awfully."
"Eat it, then; but don't be tempted to take any," she cautioned.
"Catch me taking--I'm not a thief!" and he hastened away.
Debby was thirteen years old, but she could have cried for that
ice-cream.
"Oh, _here_ you are at last!" cried Annie, running up to her a few
minutes afterward. "I couldn't imagine where you had got to. Now, just
read my letter," placing a tiny sheet of pink paper in her hand. "That
box all trimmed up at the end of the candy-table is the post-office,"
she explained, "and we give them five cents and ask for a letter. Just
read mine."
Debby read, written in a large, clear hand:
"And shouldst thou ask my judgment of that which hath most profit
in the world, For answer take thou this: The prudent penning of a
letter."
"It's lovely!" was Debby's comment. "If I should have one, I wonder what
it would be!"
"I'll run and get you one," volunteered Annie.
"No, no!" cried Debby, in terror. "I have no money to pay for it."
"Have you spent it all so soon?" asked Annie, curiously. "But we must
go now and get our ice-cream; for, do you know, Mr. James has promised
to treat all our class. So come along, for the more we eat the richer
the church will grow."
"No," refused Debby, shaking off Annie's hand, "I wont do any such
thing," and she shrank back into her corner.
"How queerly you act! You wont do anything I ask you," pouted Annie,
turning away.
"I couldn't take it," Debby excused to herself. "I want it so much that
I'd feel like a beggar in taking it from him. Annie can't understand,
because she has bought it for herself, and will only eat it now for fun.
I wish there was something for me to do."
Her thought was scarcely finished before it was answered by Mrs. White,
in the handsome alpaca Debby's mother so admired.
"What am I to do with this child?" she asked, stopping before Mrs.
Williams with a sleeping baby in her arms. "Phil wants me to go to
supper with him, but what can I do?"
"I'll hold her," said Debby, eagerly. "I have a nice quiet place here."
"Much obliged, I'm sure," answered Mrs. White, placing the baby
carefully in her arms.
With something to take care of, Debby grew so comfortable that when Mrs.
White returned from supper she begged to keep the baby longer.
"Every one is so busy here that I'd like to have something to do, too,"
she said, arranging a paper so as to shade the baby's eyes from the
light, remembering with a throb of gratitude the oranges Mrs. White sent
her when she was sick last fall.
"If you don't really care to run about, it would be a great favor to
me," returned Mrs. White, "for there are so many people here that I
shall not see again for a year, and I want to speak to them all. But a
baby is not the most convenient article to carry in a crowd."
The handsome alpaca disappeared, and Debby kept her guard for an hour,
watching the young people who visited the post-office or joked over the
neckties and aprons.
"Here's an industrious young lady who has had no supper," declared a
bald-headed old gentleman, stopping before her with a large bell in his
hand.
"I've had my supper," quickly answered Debby.
"I don't remember counting you at the table," he replied, wiping the
perspiration from his forehead as he passed on, loudly ringing the bell.
"I didn't tell a story," sighed Debby, "for I've had my supper; but I'd
like people to think I'd had it here. It looks so nice to sit at the
table," she added, catching a glimpse of Annie's blue ribbons as she sat
at the table next her brother.
"How thoughtless I _have_ been!" cried Mrs. White, returning in a
fluster. "I forgot all about you; you must be tired to death."
"Only a little tired," said Debby, "and I am so glad to do anything for
you."
"Well, you must come and see me," invited Mrs. White, with her mouth
full of pins, as she rolled the baby into a large shawl, "and perhaps I
can find something for you to read."
But when Debby stood up she felt more stiff and tired than she had
acknowledged, and, fearing that she had stayed too late, she hurried on
her wraps, and with much persuasion induced her brothers to go home with
her.
"It wouldn't do us any good to stay and see the auction," she reasoned,
closing the door upon the noisy scene with a heart lighter than when she
had entered it. "Now let us see how fast we can trot home in the
moonlight."
Giving a hand to each of the boys, they walked swiftly toward the little
red farm-house, where, although their parents had retired, a lamp and a
bright fire awaited them.
The kitchen seemed very quiet after the hubbub they had left, with the
clock on the stroke of nine and the cat asleep in the wood-box.
There were three pieces of pumpkin-pie on the table, left as a lunch for
them, and these they ate, talking in whispers; and then Debby unfastened
the boys' neckties, and followed them upstairs, too tired and sleepy to
be very glad or very sorry about anything.
But as she snuggled down under the blankets, with the "merry din" still
ringing in her ears, she thought:
"I have not made much Christmas for any one to-day, but, when I'm
grown-up, _wont_ I make Merry Christmas for little girls!"
[Illustration: Chapter end decoration.]
THE COOLEST MAN IN RUSSIA.
(_An Old Soldier's Reminiscence._)
BY DAVID KER.
[Illustration]
"I've seen many a brave man in my time, sure enough," said old Ivan
Starikoff, removing his short pipe to puff out a volume of smoke from
beneath his long white moustache. "Many and many a one have I seen; for,
thank Heaven, the children of holy Russia are never wanting in _that_
way; but all of them put together wouldn't make one such man as our old
colonel, Count Pavel Petrovitch[1] Severin. It wasn't only that he faced
danger like a man,--all the others did that,--but he never seemed to
know that there _was_ any danger at all. It was as good as a
re-enforcement of ten battalions to have him among us in the thick of a
fight, and to see his grand, tall figure drawn up to its full height,
and his firm face and keen gray eye turned straight upon the smoke of
the enemy's line, as if defying them to hurt him. And when the very
earth was shaking with the cannonade, and balls were flying thick as
hail, and the hot, stifling smoke closed us in like the shadow of death,
with a flash and a roar breaking through it every now and then, and the
whole air filled with the rush of the shot, like the wind sweeping
through a forest in autumn,--then Petrovitch would light a cigarette and
hum a snatch of a song, as coolly as if he were at a dinner-party in the
English Club at Moscow. And it really seemed as if the bullets ran away
from _him_, instead of his running from them; for he never got hit. But
if he saw any of us beginning to waver, he would call out cheerily:
'Never fear, lads--remember what the song says!' For in those days we
had an old camp-song that we were fond of singing, and the chorus of it
was this:
"'Then fear not swords that brightly shine,
Nor towers that grimly frown;
For God shall march before our line,
And tread our foemen down.'
"He said this so often, that at last he got the nickname among us of
'Ne-Boisya' (Don't fear), and he deserved it, if ever man did yet. Why,
Father Nikolai Pavlovitch himself (the Emperor Nicholas) gave him the
Cross of St. George[2] with his own hand (the St. George from the
emperor's own hand--think of that!) at the siege of Varna, in the year
'28. You see, our battery had been terribly cut up by the Turkish fire,
so at last there were only about half a dozen of us left on our feet. It
was as hot work as I ever was in,--shot pelting, earth-works crumbling,
gabions crashing, guns and gun-carriages tumbling over together, men
falling on every side like leaves, till, all at once, a shot went slap
through our flag-staff, and down came the colors!
"Quick as lightning, Pavel Petrovitch was up on the parapet, caught the
flag as it fell, and _held_ it, right in the face of all the Turkish
guns, while I and another man spliced the pole with our belts. You may
think how the unbelievers let fly at him when they saw him standing
there on the top of the breastwork, just as if he'd been set up for a
mark; and all at once I saw one fellow (an Albanian by his dress, and
you know what deadly shots _they_ are) creep along to the very angle of
the wall, and take steady aim at him!
"I made a spring to drag the colonel down (I was his servant, you know,
and whoever hurt him hurt _me_); but before I could reach him I saw the
flash of the Albanian's piece, and Pavel Petrovitch's cap went spinning
into the air, with a hole right through it just above the forehead. And
what do you think the colonel did? Why, he just snapped his fingers at
the fellow, and called out to him, in some jibber-jabber tongue only fit
to talk to a Turk in:
"'Can't you aim better than that, you fool? If _I_ were your officer,
I'd give you thirty lashes for wasting the government ammunition!'
"Well, as I said, he got the St. George, and of course everbody
congratulated him, and there was a great shaking of hands, and giving of
good wishes, and drinking his health in _mavro tchai_,--that's a horrid
mess of eggs, and scraped cheese, and sour milk, and Moldavian wine,
which these Danube fellows have the impudence to call 'black tea,' as if
it was anything like the good old tea that we Russians drink at home!
(I've always thought, for my part, that tea ought to grow in Russia; for
it's a shame that those Chinese idolaters should have such grand stuff
all to themselves.)
"Well, just in the height of the talk, Pavel Petrovitch takes the cross
off his neck, and holds it out in his hand--just so--and says:
"'Well, gentlemen, you say I'm the coolest man in the regiment, but
perhaps everybody wouldn't agree with you. Now, just to show that I want
nothing but fair play, if I ever meet my match in that way, I'll give
him this cross of mine!'
"Now, among the officers who stood around him was a young fellow who had
lately joined--a quiet, modest lad, quite a boy to look at, with light
curly hair, and a face as smooth as any lady's. But when he heard what
the colonel said, he looked up suddenly, and there came a flash from his
clear blue eyes like the sun striking a bayonet. And then I thought to
myself:
"'It wont be an easy thing to match Pavel Petrovitch; but if it _can_ be
done, here's the man to do it!'
"I think that campaign was the hardest I ever served. Before I was
enlisted, I had often heard it said that the Turks had no winter; but I
had always thought that this was only a 'yarn,' though, indeed, it would
be only a just judgment upon the unbelievers to lose the finest part of
the whole year. But when I went down there I found it true, sure enough.
Instead of a good, honest, cracking frost to freshen everything up, as
our proverb says,
"'Na zimni kholod
Vsiaki molod'--
(in winter's cold every one is young), it was all chill, sneaking rain,
wetting us through and through, and making the hill-sides so slippery
that we could hardly climb them, and turning all the low grounds into a
regular lake of mud, through which it was a terrible job to drag our
cannon. Many a time in after days, when I've heard spruce young cadets
at home, who had never smelt powder in their lives, talking big about
'glorious war' and all that, I've said to myself, 'Aha, my fine fellows!
if you had been where _I_ have, marching for days and days over ankles
in mud, with nothing to eat but stale black bread, so hard that you had
to soak it before you could get it down; and if you'd had to drink water
through which hundreds of horses had just been trampling; and to
scramble up and down steep hills under a roasting sun, with your feet so
swollen and sore that every step was like a knife going into you; and to
lie all night in the rain, longing for the sun to rise that you might
dry yourself a bit,--perhaps _then_ you wouldn't talk quite so loud
about "glorious war!"
"However, we drove the Turks across the Balkans at last, and got down to
Yamboli, a little town at the foot of the mountains, which commands the
high-road to Adrianople. And there the unbelievers made a stand, and
fought right well. I _will_ say that for 'em; for they knew that if
Adrianople were lost, all was over. But God fought for us, and we beat
them; though, indeed, with half our men sick, and our clothes all in
rags, and our arms rusted, and our powder mixed with sand by those
rogues of army-contractors, it was a wonder that we could fight at all.
"Toward afternoon, just as the enemy were beginning to give way, I saw
Pavel Petrovitch (who was a general by this time) looking very hard at a
mortar-battery about a hundred yards to our right; and all at once he
struck his knee fiercely with his hand, and shouted:
"'What do the fellows mean by firing like that? They might as well pelt
the Turks with potatoes! _I_'ll soon settle them! Here, Vanya (Ivan)!'
"Away he went, I after him; and he burst into the battery like a storm,
and roared out:
"'Where's the blockhead who commands this battery?'
"A young officer stepped forward and saluted; and who should this be but
the light-haired lad with the blue eyes, whom I had noticed that night
at Varna.
"'Well, you wont command it to-morrow, my fine fellow, for I'll have you
turned out this very day. Do you know that not a single shell that
you've thrown since I've been watching you has exploded at all?'
"'With your excellency's leave,' said the young fellow, respectfully,
but pretty firmly too, 'the fault is none of mine. These fuses are
ill-made, and will not burn down to the powder.'
"'Fuses!' roared the general. 'Don't talk to _me_ of fuses; I'm too old
for that rubbish! Isn't it enough for you to bungle your work, but you
must tell me a lie into the bargain?'
"At the word 'lie,' the young officer's face seemed to turn red-hot all
in a moment, and I saw his hand clench as if he would drive his fingers
through the flesh. He made one stride to the heap of bomb-shells, and,
taking one up in his arms, struck a match on it.
"'Now,' said he, quietly, 'your excellency can judge for yourself. I'm
going to light this fuse; if your excellency will please to stand by and
watch it burn, you will see whether I have "lied" or not.'
"The general started, as well he might. Not that he was afraid--you may
be pretty sure of _that_; but to hear this quiet, bashful lad, who
looked as if he had nothing in him, coolly propose to hold a lighted
shell in his arms to see if it would go off, and ask _him_ to stand by
and watch it, was enough to startle anybody. However, he wasn't one to
think twice about accepting a challenge; so he folded his arms and stood
there like a statue. The young officer lighted the fuse, and it began to
burn.
"As for me and the other men, you may fancy what _we_ felt like. Of
course, we couldn't run while our officers were standing their ground;
but we knew that if the shell _did_ go off, it would blow every man of
us to bits, and it wasn't pleasant to have to stand still and wait for
it. I saw the men set their teeth hard as the flame caught the fuse; and
as for me, I wished with all my heart and soul that if there _were_ any
good fuses in the heap, this might turn out to be one of the bad ones!
"But no--it burned away merrily enough, and came down, and down, and
down, nearer and nearer to the powder! The young officer never moved a
muscle, but stood looking steadily at the general, and the general at
him. At last, the red spark got close to the metal of the shell; and
then I shut my eyes, and prayed God to receive my soul.
"Just at that moment, I heard the man next me give a quick gasp, as if
he had just come up from a plunge under water; and I opened my eyes
again just in time to see the fuse _out_, and the young officer letting
drop the shell at the general's feet, without a word.
"For a moment, the general stood stock still, looking as if he didn't
quite know whether to knock the young fellow down, or to hug him in his
arms like a son; but, at last, he held out his hand to him, saying:
"'Well, it's a true proverb, that every one meets his match some day;
and I've met mine to-day, there's no denying it. There's the St. George
for you, my boy, and right well you deserve it; for if I'm "the coolest
man in the regiment," you're the coolest in all Russia!'
"And so said all the rest, when the story got abroad; and the
commander-in-chief himself, the great Count Diebitsch, sent for the lad,
and said a few kind words to him that made his face flush up like a
young girl's. But in after days he became one of the best officers we
ever had; and I've seen him, with my own eyes, complimented by the
emperor himself, in presence of the whole army. And from that day forth,
the whole lot of us, officers and men alike, never spoke of him by any
other name but _Khladnokrovni_ ('the cool-blooded one')."
NOTE.--Two other versions of this story, differing somewhat in detail,
are current in the Russian army; but the one in the text is the more
probable, as well as the more generally received.
[Footnote 1: Indecipherable in original text.]
[Footnote 2: The highest Russian decoration.]
SKATING
BY THEODORE WINTHROP.
[Never before printed.]
A BOUNDING gallop is good
Over wide plains;
A wild free sail is good
'Mid gales and rains;
A dashing dance is good
Broad halls along,
Clasping and whirling on
Through the gay throng.
But better than these,
When the great lakes freeze,
By the clear sharp light
Of a starry night,
O'er the ice spinning
With a long free sweep,
Cutting and ringing
Forward we keep!
On 'round and around,
With a sharp clear sound,
To fly like a fish in the sea!--
Ah, this is the sport for me!
THREE SMART LITTLE FOXES.
There were once three little foxes who lived in a hole in a bank. It was
a large, comfortable hole, and these three little foxes (two of them
were brothers and one was a sister) could lie down and put their heads
out of the hole, and see what was going on in the neighborhood.
One afternoon one of the brother foxes slipped out by himself for a
little walk, and when he came back he called the other two, and said:
"Oh, come here! I will show you something, and tell you all about it."
So they all lay down close together, and looked out of the hole.
"Now then," said the brother fox who had been out, "you see that fence
down there?"
"Oh yes," said his brother and sister.
"Well, on the other side of that fence is a splendid chicken-yard. I
went down there and saw it myself. I peeped through the fence. And in
that yard there is a row of chicken-coops, all with chickens in."
"Oh!" said the others. They began to feel hungry already.
"Yes, all with chickens in, and I heard a little girl say that the row
of coops was called Pullet Row, Chicken Avenue, and that all the houses
were taken. The first coop had an old hen and eleven little puffy
chickens in it, and the second one held a whole lot of small chickens
who were big enough to take care of themselves; and the next coop had in
it an old rooster who had hurt his foot, and who had to be shut up. I
think it's funny that neither mother nor father ever found out this
splendid chicken-yard, so near us too! As soon as it gets to be a little
dark we must go down there and get some of those chickens."
"All right," said the sister fox; "we'll go, and I'll take the first
coop with the little chickens."
"And I'll take the coop with the young chickens who are big enough to
take-care of themselves," said one of the brother foxes.
"I'll take the big old rooster," said the other brother fox. "I like
lots of chickens when I eat any."
At the back of the hole the old Mother Fox was lying down. Her children
thought she was asleep, but she was not, and she heard all that they had
been talking about.
She now came forward and said: "That is certainly a very nice place that
you see down there, and you, my son, were very smart, no doubt, to
discover it. But when you go down there, this evening, take a look at a
small house near the chicken-yard. A dog lives there--a big black and
white fellow--named Bruce. He is let into the chicken-yard every night
at dark. If you think that he wont see you, when you go inside, or that
he can't run fast enough to catch you, it might be a very good idea for
you to go down there this evening and get some chickens."
[Illustration: THE THREE SMART LITTLE FOXES.]
The three little foxes looked at each other, and concluded that they
would not go. It was a long time after that before they were heard to
boast of being smarter than their father and mother.
[Illustration: Jack in the pulpit.]
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
Happy 1878! Happy New Year to all Jack's little friends! And now let us
begin our year's talk with something about
A GARDEN IN WINTER.
Deacon Green took a ride early last month, my dears, and he tells me of
a wonderful garden which he saw from a window as he went whirling by on
a railroad.
Can you guess what was growing in a garden in December?
No, it was not in a Southern State; so your guess of oranges isn't
right--though they tell me that oranges do grow in winter-time in
Florida.
It was a garden of Christmas-trees, set out in even rows, and looking as
spruce and gay and happy as if they knew that they were almost old
enough to hold a candle in each of their thousand hands, and a bright
gift or token of good-will on each of their thousand arms. I fancy that
the gardener who has his mind filled with the care of a garden of
Christmas-trees must be a very cheery, kind-hearted fellow indeed. Don't
you?
OVENS IN THE FIELDS.
In Mecklenburg, Northern Germany, as I'm told, fuel is scarce and dear:
and, as the peasants are very poor, they take an odd way to save wood.
It is this:
Each village has one or two large ovens in which the baking for a number
of people can be done at one time. These ovens look from a little
distance as if they were small hillocks, and they are built in the open
fields. Why they are placed away from the village I was not told; but I
would like to know. They have very much the look of underground
dairy-cellars, and are built of great stones covered with turf. One or
two men can go into an oven quite comfortably.
In each oven a great fire is made, to heat the stones, and when these
are hot enough the fire and ashes are swept out, and the bread is put in
to bake. Then a stone door is put over the mouth until it is time to
take out the loaves. There is no chimney or opening, and the heat stays
in well--even for some time after the bread has been taken out; so that
it is no strange thing for a belated traveler to use the shelter or
warmth of one of these empty ovens on some cold and stormy night when
far from his home.
So much for fire-places out-of-doors. Now for a word about
PERSIAN STOVES.
I've just heard of the queer way the Persians have of keeping themselves
warm in their houses during cold weather. They place in the middle of
the room a pan of burning charcoal under a sort of table or frame which
holds up a large wadded quilt that reaches the floor on all sides, like
a tent. This must look almost like keeping the fire warm. Then the
family sit around the droll stove, with their legs and arms under the
quilt; and when they wish to go to sleep, they put themselves half under
the quilt, and so keep nice and warm until the morning. That's easy
enough for Persians to do, because, as I'm told, they never undress at
night, but just roll themselves in coverings and lie down anywhere.
Perhaps you would not find such arrangements in your homes quite as
comfortable as soft beds and cozy blankets in well-warmed rooms.
However, the Persian winter is not as cold as ours, I suppose.
LIGHT THROUGH METAL.
Here's an odd thing! My wise old wide-awake friend the owl tells me that
a Yale College professor has found out a way to make a layer of metal so
thin that it will readily show the color of a light-beam sent through
it. That professor will be showing us how to see through a mill-stone
next, may be.
GOOD AS AN EXPERIMENT.
Dear Jack: I have a little friend, called Jack, too, who is
generally the most sweet-tempered boy I know. But one day he came
to play in my rooms, as usual, for I always keep his toys there, in
repair and order. He soon grew tired of them, and came to me for a
story. I was busy with reading, and refused, telling him to wait
until I had leisure. Then he grew impatient, and put my book down
with a coaxing "_Please_, Fred." I could not humor him then, and
gently told him to stop. Then--I am sorry to say it--he became very
angry, and gave me a blow in my face. Now, Jack, don't pass your
sentence yet--remember, it was the first and _only_ act of that
kind. But guess what I did.
I stooped over him and kissed him, saying: "Is this my little boy?"
He looked at me and went into a corner--ashamed and weeping. Was
not that a sweet victory? I wish some little sisters or brothers
would try it. You may believe me this is truth. Some future day I
will tell you how I made him some toys.--Yours,
FRED.
EDIBLE NESTS.
Did you ever hear of such an article of food as bird's-nest soup? Well,
this soup does not take its name from its looks, as bird's-nest pudding
gets its title, but it is actually made from real birds'-nests.
In the island of Java, I'm told, there is a species of sea-swallow
which makes a nest much like that of our chimney-swallow, and fastens it
to the rocky walls of caves. These nests are made almost entirely of a
glue-like substance, mixed with a little grass or hair and a few sticks,
and they are carefully gathered and sent to China, where they are sold
as food.
The nests are soaked in water until the glue becomes soft, when the
sticks and straws are picked out and thrown away. The jelly which
remains is then dried and preserved, to be used in making the
bird's-nest soup. This is considered a great delicacy, and the nests are
sold in the Chinese markets for twenty-five dollars a pound. Of course,
at this price, none but rich folks can indulge in them, and they are
therefore a very fashionable dish. Although they are usually made into
soup, they are sometimes cooked in other ways.
[Illustration: JAVA SEA-SWALLOWS AND NESTS.]
It's my opinion that the nest of the chimney-swallow might be used as
food in the same way; for although it has more sticks and hay in it than
the edible nest, there is a good deal of glue, too, and each nest might
yield quite a large pot of soup. If the time shall ever come when our
own country will have as many people in it as there are in China at the
present time, many things little thought of now will be turned to use as
articles of food. But at present there is no need of robbing the birds;
so let them keep cheerful while they may, poor dears!
BIRD RAILROAD-TRAVELERS.
Now that we're talking about birds'-nests, I may as well tell you some
news that has come to me all the way from East Cosham, in Hampshire,
England.
On a small piece of frame-work under a third-class "smoking" carriage on
the London and South-Western Railway, a water-wagtail built her nest and
reared a young and thriving family of four. The train traveled regularly
about forty miles a day, and the station-master at East Cosham says
that, during every absence of it, the male bird kept close to the spot,
awaiting with great anxiety the return of his wayfaring family.
Now, in my opinion, that water-wagtail mother made a queer choice for
her home-place. But if the little ones get no other advantage from it,
they are sure to be well trained. What do you think about it, my
chicks?
THE LETTER-BOX.
The following is Dr. J. G. Holland's answer to his "Double Riddle,"
published in our last number:
La, man! I see your little game:
'Tis "la" itself in song or aria
That piercing dear Maria's name
Transforms it to _Malaria_.
And "la" itself, as all men know,
Raises the _sol_ to _si_ and _do_.
* * * * *
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have made up a nice little story, and I want you to
know it. It is called "Laziness."
Once upon a time there was a little boy and his name was James. He was
very lazy. One day he was going out to play when his mother called him
back. "James," said she, "I went up to your room to make your bed, for
the maid was too busy, and your room is very disorderly. Unless you
promise to keep it in order, and have it in order by next week, I will
send you from home. I am very sorry to say this; but it must be said.
Now you may go; that is all I wanted you for." Next week came very soon,
and the room was still in disorder. The mother went up and looked in;
she threw herself on her knees, and prayed that Heaven would not let her
send her boy away. James went away, and his mother never saw him again.
Now, children, learn a lesson from this, and don't be driven from home
by laziness.
I am eleven years old, and I want you to give my love to
Jack-in-the-Pulpit and the School-mistress.
JENNIE MOORE.
* * * * *
THE BLIND-CLERK'S PUZZLE.
This is what the "Blind-clerk" made of the puzzling address that M. B.
T. gave in a letter to Jack-in-the-Pulpit, published last month:
"Servant Girl, No. 40 Queen's parade, London."
And that turned out to be the right address, too. Another friend says
that this same blind-clerk once had referred to him a letter addressed
like this:
"To my uncle tom, london."
That was too much. The letter never reached "my uncle tom."
* * * * *
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken ST. NICHOLAS for several years, and like
it better every year. I often read over the old numbers, and find many
things that seem almost new to me. One of these was "John Spooner's
Human Menagerie," in the number for April, 1875, and I have been trying
to get up a "menagerie" like John's. I can make most of the wonderful
living curiosities, but I do not know how to make a curtain that will
"go up with a flourish." I have made one to draw sideways, but I want
one to go up. Please inform me how to construct it.--Yours truly,
FRED R. MARTIN.
Here is a tolerably easy way to make a stage-curtain that will "go up
with a flourish," and come down either quickly or slowly, as may be
wished. It is easily kept in order, and readily repaired when damaged.
Above the stage, at the front, set up a stout cross-beam. Let the
curtain be of some opaque stuff that will fold well. Fasten its upper
edge firmly to the front of the cross-beam. Weight the lower edge of the
curtain with a long roller some inches wider than the curtain. Sew to
the curtain, on its wrong side, perpendicular rows of rings set at
suitable distances apart, and in level lines across. The more rows, the
more evenly will the curtain fold. Tie a strong thin cord about the
roller in a line with each perpendicular row of rings, and pass each
cord through its proper rings. On the bottom of the cross-beam above the
several rows of rings, fasten large smooth rings to be used instead of
pullies. Pass the cords up through the large rings, and gather them at
one end of the beam. Then fasten the ends of the cords to a rope, taking
care while doing this that the curtain is down, and hanging properly,
and that all the cords are drawn equally tense. There should be a stout
pin or hook at the side of the curtain, to which the rope is to be
fastened when the curtain is drawn up. Take notice that the cords are of
different lengths and must be free from knots. The curtain should not
touch the stage, and may be kept in place by fixing the ends of the
roller in iron rings or between pegs.
* * * * *
TWO WAYS OF CARRYING THE MAIL.
The frontispiece to this number of ST. NICHOLAS shows how the mails were
carried in winter over the Rocky Mountains and the Sierra Nevada before
the Union Pacific Railroad was finished (1869), and how they are carried
now. In 1867, to the perils of the snow and wind and of mountain travel,
were added dangers from desperadoes, white as well as red, so that mail
deliveries were few and far between, and very irregular, while too often
both the carriers and their packs were lost. Slow as the old way was,
however, the snow sometimes makes the new way even slower. In spite of
miles and miles of snow-sheds and snow-fences, and ever so many steam
snow-plows, the railroad is blocked now and then until a way can be dug
through huge heaps of drift. Thus, sometimes, whole days are lost on the
steam road, when a man might be speeding and coasting on his queer
foot-gear, over the snow-crust like the wind, to reach the destination
perhaps a week ahead of the snorting snowed-up monster. However, year by
year, as sheds and fences and other preventions are multiplied, railroad
delays caused by snow become fewer and fewer.
* * * * *
Georgetown, D. C.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I was so much pleased with the little figure of a nun
in the November number, that I made eight like it. I have been taking
the ST. NICHOLAS ever since it came out, and think it gets nicer every
time it is published. I am not quite seven years old, but I composed all
of this letter.
JOHN WM. MITCHELL.
* * * * *
MY VERY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We really don't know what we should do
without you. We took the "Young Folks" for a great many years, and have
taken you ever since you were first established.
We went, a short time ago, to see a man who swallowed swords for a
profession. Now, can any of our ST. NICHOLAS friends tell us whether he
really swallowed them or not, and explain how it is done?--Your loving
friends and devoted readers,
FANNIE CHANDLER,
MARY WHITE.
* * * * *
Painesville, Ohio.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My children learn the names of English kings and
queens, the books of the Old Testament in their order, and other matters
of importance to remember, through having found and committed to memory
certain rhymes containing them. I have seen several embodying the books
of the New Testament, but they all have been too difficult or long for
children to learn. I inclose an easy one, written for my own children
which may prove useful to your large family of young folks.
W.
BOOKS OF THE NEW TESTAMENT.
In the New Testament we find
Matthew and Mark leading,
With St. Luke and St. John
The books next succeeding.
Acts and Romans have place
Before Corinthians and Galatians;
In them we can trace
Good news for all nations.
Ephesians and Philippians
In order are next;
Colossians, Thessalonians,
With hard names and good text.
Timothy, Titus, and Philemon
Fill up some pages,
And with Hebrews continue
The lessons of ages.
James, Peter, and John
Finish then the good story
With Jude, and Revelations
To add to its glory.
* * * * *
Mount Desert.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have seen a good many receipts for candy in the
"Letter-Box," but not one for chocolate creams. Here is one I have tried
a great many times, and it has always been successful:
Two cups of sugar to half a cup of boiling water. Put on the stove, and
let it boil ten minutes. Grate a quarter of a square of Baker's
chocolate. Place this on the top of a steaming-kettle; leave it there
until soft. Meanwhile, take off the cream and beat it until perfectly
white. Roll into little round balls, and dip them in the chocolate. Put
the balls into a dish, and set them away to cool.
Hoping you will print this receipt, I remain your devoted admirer,
CAROLINE G. BLODGET.
P. S.--The sugar must be powdered.
* * * * *
MOLLIE.--We do not know. One always has to make sure, too, that no speck
of envy lurks in the wish to have justice done.
* * * * *
A friend sends us the following Kindergarten song:
THE TIME-TABLE.
[Illustration: 4 lines of music.]
One, two, three!
Now please listen to me:
A minute is sixty seconds long;
Sixty minutes to an hour belong.
One, two, three!
Learning is easy, you see.
Four, five, six!
'Tis easy as picking up sticks.
Twenty-four hours make one long day;
Seven days in a week we say.
One, two, three!
Learning is easy, you see.
Seven, eight, nine!
Never cry or whine.
The years are only twelve months long;
There is no time for doing wrong.
One, two, three!
Learning is easy, you see.
Tick, tack, tock!
Only look at the clock.
He works away the whole day long,
And every hour he sings a song.
Ding, dong, ding!
So we'll work and sing.
A. E. L.
* * * * *
Elizabeth, N. J.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Would you please tell me something about the
Drawing Classes of the School of Design at the Cooper Institute; and
what forms have to be gone through before a pupil can enter; and how old
a pupil has to be? Good-by, dear ST. NICHOLAS.--Your faithful reader,
SARAH D. O.
The "Woman's Art School" of the Cooper Union, about which Sarah D. O.
makes inquiry, is for pupils between the ages of sixteen and
thirty-five.
Applications for admission should be made, personally or in writing, to
the Principal, Mrs. Sarah N. Carter, giving a responsible written
reference as to character, fitness, etc.
The free school holds session from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. There is a "paying"
class that meets three times a week in the afternoon, under the charge
of the first assistant in drawing of the "Woman's Art School" and of the
clerk of the school, and the general superintendence of the principal.
But the "paying" class is only for those who wish to study art merely as
an accomplishment.
* * * * *
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought you would like to hear about a little girl
who is very fond of you. She always took ST. NICHOLAS until last autumn,
then the times were so hard we were unable to get it for her; so she has
read and re-read the old ones. Mamma has been sick a great deal for two
years, and Agnes, who is ten years old and the oldest of the family,
has learned to do a great many things. She can make bread, biscuit, pies
and cake,--but her chief accomplishment is toast-making. Last fall, when
berries were ripe, she picked and dried some currants, raspberries and
blackberries, and put them carefully away. Ever since, when any one is
sick, she puts some of her berries in a cup and cooks them nicely; then
she makes such a nice piece of toast, so delicate, never scorched or
raw. She has no fruit-closet of delicacies to go to, but the common
things she has are so nicely prepared that they become luxurious, and
often make mamma think of Bayard Taylor's little rhymes about mush and
milk, a couplet of which reads:
"And common things that seem most nigh,
Both purse and heart may satisfy."
Her little brother, eighteen months old, claims much of her care, and in
return loves her as much as he does mamma. He calls her Tee, and misses
her sadly if she is out of sight an hour.
When Agnes was three years old, she said one day:
"Papa, how I love you!"
"What makes you love him? See how homely he is," teasingly answered
mamma.
The little one took a good look at papa, and throwing her arms around
his neck again, she said:
"Well, he's pretty in his heart."
Mamma thinks the little girl who can be so thoughtful for ever-tired
mamma, so kind to the sick, and so tender of little baby brother, must
be pretty in her heart.
AGNES'S MOTHER.
* * * * *
Here is an enigma made by a little girl eight years of age:
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.
My first is in spin, but not in weave;
My second in part, but not in leave;
My third is in rain, but not in storm;
My fourth in chilly, but not in warm;
My fifth in hen, but not in coop;
My whole is a country of Europe.
Answer: Spain.
* * * * *
Easton, Md.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you please tell me from which of Shakspeare's
plays the following quotation is taken?
"Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head."
--Yours truly,
MARY H. WILSON.
The quotation is from "As You Like It," Act II., Scene 1.; and the whole
passage reads:
"Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything."
The beauty is marred, and the aptness of the illustration is lost sight
of, by omitting the second half of this admirable sentence; therefore we
quote it entire.
* * * * *
"Fairfax," San Rafael, Cal.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have seen letters from San Francisco, Oakland, and
other places in California, but I do not think any one has written to
you from San Rafael, a beautiful little town near San Francisco.
"Fairfax" is about three miles from the town. The ride here is very
pleasant, especially in winter and spring time, when the hills are green
and the wild flowers are in bloom.
The house resembles the old Fairfax house in Virginia, called Greenway
Court, except that this is perhaps more rambling and the other lacks our
wide-spreading bay-trees. It faces the garden and orchard, and beyond
these is the hill, a mine of wonder and beauty.
We all enjoy climbing that hill and looking for ferns. In some parts we
hardly dare step, for fear of crushing something beautiful. We look down
upon a bank of green moss, and find snowy, shell-like fungi, so delicate
that we hold our breath lest they should float away. Farther on are
orange-colored ones, and some shaped like callas, translucent, and in
color a pale pink carnelian. Wandering on, we enter a grove of
pine-trees, in the midst of which a spring is bubbling up, and the
ground is covered with a carpet of ferns, mosses, and wild flowers. By
the time we are ready to go home, our baskets are well filled; and then,
after we get home, we have the delight of arranging the flowers and
ferns, examining the fungi with the microscope, and preparing imposing
baskets of specimens to send to two delightful members of the Academy of
Science in San Francisco, who are making fungi a specialty in their
researches.
One day last summer my brother came running into the house, saying, in
a very loud whisper, "There's a deer in the creek! There's a deer in the
creek!" We all rushed out in time to see Uncle George, up to his waist
in water, struggling with an immense buck. The dogs were there, too,
barking as loudly as they could. It was very exciting. My sympathies
were entirely with the deer, who made a noble fight before he was
conquered. Deer are plentiful around here. Often we are awakened by the
baying of the deer-hounds, and we can see the hunting parties on their
horses galloping over the hill, and the dogs running to and fro.
The boys catch a good many large fish in our creek, and my uncle once
caught a ten-pound salmon-trout that was very pretty; it had two
delicate pink bands running along its sides.
The hills are crimson, a little before Christmas, with a holly peculiar
to California; and we have many merry excursions in a wagon that we
children call our "chariot," in which we go to gather holly for our
Christmas festivities.
I have written too much, and yet I would like to tell more, our days are
so full of pleasant change.--Your affectionate reader,
MAY D. BIGELOW (fifteen years old).
* * * * *
Answers to Puzzles in the November Number were received, previous to
November 18, from Annie Longfellow, "Bess," "Isola," "Bessie and her
Cousin," "Helen of Troy," W. M. B., Nessie E. Stevens, "Winnie,"
Florence L. Turrill, James J. Ormsbee, Annie Forbush and Emma Elliott,
Grace G. Chandler, Carrie Speiden and Mary F. Speiden, F. A. G. Cameron,
Fred M. Pease, Geo. J. Fiske, Geo. Herbert White, "Sidonie," Louise
Gilman, Clelia Duel Mosher, Mamie L. Holbrook, Ellie Hewitt, Fannie W.,
"Croghan, Jr.," Anna E. Mathewson, Eddie Bryan, and Allie Bertram.
* * * * *
BOOKS RECEIVED.
Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag, Vol. IV. (My Girls, etc.), published by Messrs.
Roberts Brothers, Boston, is the fourth book in this deservedly popular
series of short stories by Miss Louisa M. Alcott. The tales are full of
freshness, humor, and wholesome thought, with inimitable touches of
playful fancy and tenderness such as have established Miss Alcott's
loving rule over the hearts of her readers. Boys as well as girls will
find plenty to enjoy in these twelve delightful scraps from Aunt Jo's
bag, and,--but readers of ST. NICHOLAS need no recommendation to them
of anything that Miss Alcott has written. There are some pretty
illustrations to the book, and the price is one dollar.
From the same publishers we have received also: TOM, A HOME-STORY, by
George L. Chaney, illustrated, $1.25; A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND OTHER
TALES, by Juliana Horatia Ewing, illustrated, $1.25; JOLLY GOOD TIMES AT
SCHOOL--ALSO SOME TIMES NOT QUITE SO JOLLY, by P. Thorne, illustrated,
$1.25.
A new book by the author of "Helen's Babies" is now to be obtained. It
is called BUDGE AND TODDIE, THEIR HAPS AND MISHAPS, and is an
illustrated edition of "Other People's Children." The designs are by
Lucy G. Morse.
Boys will be glad to hear of a good book, EVERY-DAY EXPERIENCES AT ETON,
by a present Eton boy, published by George R. Lockwood, of New York. It
is a hearty and amusing story, giving, with very slight exaggeration, a
faithful account of life in the English public-school at Eton.
SPENSER FOR CHILDREN, published by Chatto & Windus, of London; Scribner,
Armstrong & Co., New York. A beautiful book, illustrated with several
fine colored plates, and relating in simple prose the chief incidents of
Spenser's great poem.
From Messrs. Baker, Pratt & Co., New York, we have LILLIPUT LAND; OR,
THE CHILDREN'S PEEP-SHOW. This is a collection of serials, short
stories, poems, music, and pictures, adapted to interest and instruct
young folks. It is edited by the author of "Lilliput Levee." Price,
$1.25.
Messrs. Porter & Coates, Philadelphia, send us HAPPY DAYS, a very
pleasant book, full of pictures, tales and verses, for boys and girls.
Several of the articles are by well-known writers, and the contents, as
a whole, are bright, wholesome, and entertaining.
From the American Tract Society, New York, we have received DOLLY'S NEW
SHOES, AND SOME OF THE PLACES THEY WENT TO, price 30 cents, postage 2
cents; DAUGHTERS OF ARMENIA, by Mrs. S. A. Wheeler, Missionary in
Turkey, price 90 cents, postage 6 cents; ALMOST A MAN, by S. Annie
Frost, with illustrations by Arthur Burdett Frost, price $1, postage 8
cents; GRACE ASHLEIGH'S LIFE-WORK, illustrated, price $1, postage 8
cents; and DEAR OLD STORIES TOLD ONCE MORE, forty Bible stories, in
large type, and with illustrations by "Faith Latimer."
BOOKMARK
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
=DOUBLE ACROSTIC.=
The initials read downward and the finals upward will give the names of
two countries in Europe.
1. A beam of light. 2. To join. 3. To pillage. 4. An article of food. 5.
What merchants write. 6. An insect.
A. R.
=HOUR-GLASS PUZZLE.=
ACROSS: 1. Calls. 2. A number. 3. A consonant. 4. A river. 5. Wounds.
DIAGONALS: Sharpens and transmits. CENTRAL: Interior.
CYRIL DEANE.
=DECAPITATIONS.=
1. Behead a kind of nut, and leave a kind of grain. 2. Behead a small
stream, and leave a bird. 3. Behead another bird, and leave a gardener's
implement. 4. Behead a musical instrument, and leave another musical
instrument. 5. Behead a carpenter's tool, and leave a narrow passage. 6.
Behead part of a wagon, and leave a part of the body. 7. Behead another
part of the body, and leave a tree. 8. Behead an edible fish, and leave
the defeat of an army. 9. Behead a dried fruit, and leave an ancient
alphabetic letter.
ISOLA.
=DIAGONAL PUZZLE.=
Diagonals, from left to right, a part of the year. Seven words. Fill the
blanks in the sentence with appropriate words; and written under each
other in the order given, they will give the diagonal.
As ---- is more abundant than ---- in this season when Love ---- her altar
fires anew, may this joy go through the ---- year, bearing you
constant ----; so that, looking back at its close, you can say: "1878 ----
to have been one prolonged ----."
J. P.
=DOUBLE-PUZZLE.=
CENTRAL SYNCOPATIONS.
1. Syncopate mad, and leave what soldiers often make. 2. Syncopate part
of a house, and leave to move. 3. Syncopate speed, and leave anger. 4.
Syncopate to soak, and leave a gait. 5. Syncopate a river, and leave a
rank. 6. Syncopate a particle, and leave a laugh. 7. Syncopate openings,
and leave farming implements. 8. Syncopate baked clay, and leave
fastenings.
The letters that have been syncopated, read downward, will make two
words which you must find in the following
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.
1. In brook, but not in sea;
2. In slave, but not in free;
3. In lose, but not in find;
4. In heed, but not in mind;
5. In barn, but not in shed;
6. In black, but not in red;
7. In hill, but not in mound;
8. In held, but not in bound.
What's the answer?--can you say?
'Tis something boys much like to play.
CYRIL DEANE.
=GEOGRAPHICAL TRANSPOSITIONS.=
1. ---- ---- a good post at ----. 2. Did you notice the carved ---- in that
old cathedral door in ---- ? 3. ---- ---- with pleasure from Geneva,
for ----. 4. I took great ---- to witness these national games, when
in ----. 5. I found ---- gold in a mine in ----. 6. I could stand ---- in
the entrance to the cave in ----. 7. I have ---- interest in ---- than in
any other foreign city.
B.
=OMNIBUS WORD.=
In a word of five letters find: 1st. An hour-glass puzzle, the central
letters of which, read downward, signify to perform again; horizontally,
a symbol often used in writing, a beverage, a vowel, a performance, to
provide. 2d. A word-square containing a unit, a vehicle, an epoch. 3d.
Words to each of which one letter may be prefixed so as to form another
word: a preposition, an animal; a verb, a weed; a study, a vehicle; a
part of the body, a sign of sorrow. 4th. Words to fill appropriately the
blanks in each stanza below, by prefixing a letter to the first word,
when found to form the second, and by prefixing a letter to the second
to form the third:
I would not heed so small an ----,
When dealing with one of his ----,
Or of my temper leave a ----.
We asked him in; he sat and ----
Of the ripe fruit at such a ----,
He lowered well the heaped up ----.
H. H. D.
=ACCIDENTAL HIDINGS.=
In these quotations find five girls' names, without transposing any
letters.
"Of such as wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign."--_Gray._
"Where olive-leaves were twinkling in every wind that blew,
There sat beneath the pleasant shade a damsel of Peru."_Bryant._
"Slowly she raised her form of grace;
Her eyes no ray conceptive flung."--_Hogg._
"Stainless worth,
Such as the sternest age of virtue saw."--_Bryant._
=PERSPECTIVE-CROSS PUZZLE.=
____1____
| |\
| | 19
| | \
10 11 |
| | 12
| | |
_____2_____| |__|__3_____
| |\
| | 20
13 14 \
| | |
|_____4_____ _____5_____| |
\ | |\ \ 15
25 | | 22 21 |
\____6____| | \_____7_____\|
| | |
| | |
| | |
| | |
16 17 |
| | 18
| | |
| | |
| | |
| | |
|____8____| |
\ \ |
24 23 |
\____9____\|
Each of the horizontal words is formed of five letters, excepting No. 6,
which has but three. Of the perpendiculars, Nos. 16, 17 and 18 have ten
letters each; No. 12 has three letters; and each of the other
perpendiculars has five letters. The slanting words have each three
letters. Each corner letter serves for every word that radiates from or
to its corner.
MEANINGS OF THE DIFFERENT WORDS.--_Horizontals_: 1, Sublime; 2, an
engraving; 3, to trench; 4, occurrence; 5, a certain form of glass; 6, a
kind of fish; 7, large; 8, a yard; 9, concise. _Perpendiculars_: 10, An
article of dress; 11, solemn; 12, hitherto; 13, to make sure; 14, a
Turkish institution; 15, to establish; 16, magical; 17, advancement; 18,
tractable. _Diagonals_: 19, Sarcastic; 20, to jump; 21, did meet; 22, a
wooden fastening; 23, a part of the body; 24, a hammock; 25, a girl's
name.
H. H. D.
=EASY SQUARE WORD.=
1. An instrument for measuring time. 2. A title among the ancient
Peruvians. 3. Sour. 4. To load.
PLUTO.
=NUMERICAL ENIGMA.=
When we went to the 123456 789, the others had contrived to 123456789 us
in picking nuts.
CYRIL DEANE.
=FRAME PUZZLE.=
- -
- -
- - o - - - o - -
- -
- -
- -
- - o - - - o - -
- -
- -
Make the frame of four words of nine letters each, so that there shall
be the same letter of the alphabet at each of the four corners where the
words intersect. That letter being indicated (o, in this puzzle), gives
the clue.
Upper horizontal line, a pigeon; lower horizontal line, a kind of grain.
Left perpendicular line, without a name; right perpendicular line,
without fragrance.
B.
=CHARADE.=
My first of Roman origin you see,
Whose purport illustrates the century;
Means light for blind men; restless as a sprite;
The sailor's trust; the prelate's dear delight.
My second heads a small but mighty band,
Whose power pervades and elevates the land:
Indefinite enough, yet, once defined,
It is a thing no language leaves behind.
My third consoles, and cheers in anguish deep,
And oft, like great Macbeth, hath "murdered sleep."
Dear to the maiden's heart when dry and dead,
Its beauty and its bloom forever fled.
Yet even then what lips its charm rehearse!
What poets chant it in their genial verse!
My whole how soft, how silent and how fleet!
Female, yet masculine, its aspect sweet.
Tinted as fair as clouds that deck the sky,
Or stainless as the snows that round us lie;
Bright as the saffron tints of dawning light,
Or darker than the stormy depths of night.
A prince's bride; the treasure of a lad;
And yet biographer it never had.
For he who writes its life must ever use
Volumes to celebrate each separate muse.
Fierce, fond, and treacherous, full of songs and wails,
The hero of a thousand fights and tales;
The love of ladies and the scorn of men;
The shame of England's arms. Oh guess me then!
ROSE TERRY COOKE.
=WORDS ENIGMATICALLY EXPRESSED.=
These are a source of great amusement, whether written or acted. To
illustrate the latter, you will, for instance, throw your muff under the
table, and ask, "What word does that represent?" Perhaps some one will
suggest "Muffin." "No--'fur-below.'" Tie your handkerchief tightly
around the neck of some statuette--"Artichoke"--etc. In writing or
speaking a sentence to illustrate a word, the most ridiculous will
sometimes provoke the most mirth. We will give an illustration of one
pretty far-fetched, but allowable: "Mister, please come here and make
this shell stand up on edge"--"Circumstantial (Sir-come-stan'-shell)."
"I encountered the doctor to-day"--("Metaphysician"). With this
introduction, I propose a few words for your consideration.
1. Put an extremity into a jar. 2. Young ladies from Missouri. 3. A
cow's tail in fly-time. 4. That young sow cost twenty-one shillings
sterling. 5. A sham head-dress. 6. Victims to corns. 7. Oxidized iron on
a weapon. 8. "Where's the prisoner, Pat?" "Sure, your honor, he's taking
his breakfast." 9. "Come and cut our hair." 10. Deviate, fish. 11. A
goat. 12. Four.
AUNT SUE.
=PICTORIAL CHRISTMAS PUZZLE.=
[Illustration: Pictorial Puzzle.]
The puzzle is an Anagram Enigma, rather difficult, and meant for
experienced puzzle-workers. The answer is the first line of a well-known
couplet relating to Christmas.
Each of the numerals underneath the pictures represents a letter
belonging to that word of the answer indicated by the numeral,--(thus, 3
indicates a letter of the third word; 7, a letter of the seventh word,
etc.),--and each collection of numerals represents a word which will
describe the picture above it.
To solve the puzzle, find a word to describe each picture containing as
many letters as there are numerals beneath the picture. After all the
seven words have been thus found, select from them and group together
all the letters that in the numbering beneath the pictures are
designated by the same numeral (for, as already stated, all the letters
bearing the same numeral belong to that word of the answer which is
indicated by the numeral), and each group of these letters must be
transposed to form the word of the answer which corresponds with the
numeral of the group.
Thus, the word "hay" has three letters and will describe the first
picture. After words have been found to describe the other pictures, the
selection must begin, and "h," the first letter of "hay," should be
placed in a group with all the other letters bearing the numeral 7 in
the numbering beneath the pictures; "a" should be grouped with all the
other letters designated by 2, and "y" with all those designated by 3;
and so on.
When all the letters have been properly separated and grouped, transpose
all those letters belonging to group No. 1 into a word to form the first
word of the answer; those belonging to group No. 2 into the second word
of the answer, etc.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN DECEMBER NUMBER.
CHESS PUZZLE.--Begin at the word "Bind." The stanza reads:
"Bind me, ye woodbines, in your twines;
Curl me about, ye gadding vines;
And oh, so close your circles lace,
That I may never leave this place;
But lest your fetters prove too weak,
Ere I your silken bondage break,
Do you, O brambles, chain me too,
And, courteous briars, nail me through."--MARVELL.
(Quoted by Elia in essay entitled "Blakesmoor in H---- shire.")
EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.--Lowell. L, lo, low, owe, we, well, ell.
A PLEA FOR SANTA CLAUS.--Merry Christmas. Take the third letter from the
beginning of each line, and read downward.
MAGIC DOMINO SQUARE.--The diagram shows one method of arranging the
dominoes. But the puzzle can be solved by two or three other
arrangements.
+-------+-------+-------+-------+
| O O | O O | O O | O |
| O | O | | |
| O O | O O | O O | O |
+-------+-------+-------+-------+
| O | O | O O | O O |
| O | O | | O O |
| O | O | O O | O O |
+-------+-------+-------+-------+
| O O | O O O | O | O |
| | | O | O |
| O O | O O O | O | O |
+-------+-------+-------+-------+
| O O | O | O O | O O |
| | | O | O |
| O O | O | O O | O O |
+-------+-------+-------+-------+
BROKEN WORDS.--1. Inquires--in quires. 2. Western--we stern. 3.
Ashantee--a shanty.
PICTORIAL QUADRUPLE ACROSTIC.--Stalagmites, Stalactites, Natural Cave,
Underground, 1. SNUfferS. 2. TANgenT. 3. ATDA. 3. LaUrEL. 4. AuRoRA. 5.
GGAC. 6. MeaL RaT. 7. IOdide CuprI. 8. TrUAnT. 9 ENVelopE. 10. SpaDES.
CHRISTMAS ENIGMA.--"He has more business than an English oven at
Christmas."
AUTHORS' NAMES.--1. Mulock (mew, loch). 2. Edgeworth (edge worth). 3.
Thackeray (T hack ray). 4. Carlyle (Carl isle). 5. Charles Reade
(Charles read). 6. Ruskin (rusk inn). 7. Gaskell (gas K ell). 8. Hale.
9. Macaulay (Mac awl ay). 10. Victor Hugo (victor hug O). 11. Prescott
(press cot). 12. Whitney (whit neigh). 13. Braddon (brad don). 14.
Alcott (Al cot). 15. Disraeli (D Israel I). 16. Rossetti (Rose Ettie).
A RIMLESS WHEEL..-1. Parapet. 2. Manakin. 3. Fanatic. 4. Rubadub. 1_a_,
par; 1_b_, pet; 2_a_, man; 2_b_, kin; 3_a_, fan; 3_b_, tic; 4_a_, rub;
4_b_, dub.
DIAGONAL PUZZLE.--Santa Claus. St. Nicholas, pAtronizes, coNfidence,
conTribute, compArable, reconCiles, immacuLate, legitimAte, miraculoUs,
schoolboyS.
PROVERB PUZZLE.--"Christmas comes but once a year." Car, sabots,
chimney, mouse, trace.
SEXTUPLE ACROSTIC.--Mopes, Abaft, Larva, Enter.
EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.--R, Dog, Robin, Gig, N.
NUMERICAL ENIGMAS.--1. Winsome--win some. 2. Sailor--sail or. 3.
Wind-flowers--wind flowers. 4. Whip-poor-will--whip poor Will. 5.
Parents--Pa rents. 6. To-morrow--Tom or row. 7. Wellfare--Well!
farewell.
/|\
/ | \
/ | \
/ | \
/ | \
/ | \
/ | \
/ | \
________________/________|________\________________
\'-. / | \ .-'/
\ '-. / | \ .-' /
\ '-. / | \ .-' /
\ '-/ | .-' /
\ / '-. | .-' \ /
\ / '-. | .-' \ /
\ / '-. | .-' \ /
\/ '-.|.-' \/
/\ .-'|'-. /\
/ \ .-' | '-. / \
/ \ .-' | '-. / \
/ \ .-' | '-. / \
/ .-\ | /-. \
/ .-' \ | / '-. \
/ .-' \ | / '-. \
/.-'___________\_________|_________/___________'-.\
\ | /
\ | /
\ | /
\ | /
\ | /
\ | /
\ | /
\ | /
\|/
ANSWER TO TREE PUZZLE IN JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.--The above diagram shows
one way of arranging nineteen trees in nine straight rows and yet have
five trees in each row. The lines show the rows.
For names of solvers of November puzzles, see "Letter-Box," page 236.