A STRANGE STORY.
The wind is hushed now. The sea beats no longer with rude shocks
against the echoing cliffs. The sea-birds have gone to their nests, and
the moon, bright and beautiful, is flooding ocean and land with its
calm, clear light.
Howard and Martin walk together along the grassy way between their
cottage and the sea.
They look anxiously, from time to time, along the road, for they are
expecting the arrival of the doctor, and they make a start together as
they see a form in the distance. But it is not the doctor; it is Eric.
"Well, Eric, what news? How are your patients to-night?"
"Going on well, thank God!" he answered. "Gideon is sitting up in bed,
and has been talking a bit, but not much, for the doctor says it would
be the worst thing he could do. And Robbie is picking up strength, but
it's slowly--slowly, poor Robbie!"
"We must hope and pray, and use the best means we can. God helps those
who help themselves," said Howard.
"But He helps those most who cannot help themselves, it seems to me,"
said Martin, "when I think of all that has happened during the past few
days."
"It really does seems so, sir," said Eric; "and to think that Mr.
Digby, that you all thought was dead and gone years ago, should have
sailed in that same ship along with my two brothers whom we had given
up as lost, and that all should come back again together, and their
ship drift into the very port they started from! I feel as if I
couldn't believe it; I'm sure I shouldn't if I read it in a book."
"It is strange, very strange; yet there are stranger things happening
around us every day, Eric, than any man could invent. But, tell me, has
Gideon yet spoken of Mr. Digby in his talk?"
"Bless you, sir, he's talked of nothing else! From what I can make out,
Mr. Digby has been the life and soul of the party, and that everybody
loved him you may guess from the fact that almost the first question of
every one that has come to, has been about him. But I beg pardon for
not asking before, sir; how is Mr. Digby, to-night?"
"Better, we hope. Certainly better than he was yesterday. He has not as
yet shown any gleam of consciousness, but he has been able to take
plenty of nourishment, and it is upon this that we ground a good hope.
But see, yonder comes the doctor, and I hope he will report favorably
of all." Never could a medical man have shown a greater interest in a
patient than Dr. Henderson did in Digby. He had heard portions of his
strange story from others of his patients who had been saved from the
ill-fated ship, and the loving solicitude of all had drawn from him an
answering tenderness.
"I shall stay with him to-night," said he, "if you will allow me, for I
anticipate a change in him soon, and I am extremely anxious that at
first he should receive enough information to satisfy him, and at the
same time that he should have no clue as to where he is or by whom he
is surrounded. After his intense excitement and the almost superhuman
fatigue he has undergone,--for it was he who was the last to give up,
and then not until the Hughsons were safe aboard the ship,--the least
shock might prove fatal. So, you go away and leave me with him. But
stay," added the doctor to Mr. Morton, who had now joined them; "just
now one of the men gave me this book--a Bible--which he found on the
ship; and as it bears the name of Howard Pemberton in the fly-leaf, I
brought it with me, and with especial interest, for, inclosed in the
cover, is a packet addressed to you, Mr. Morton."
Mr. Morton took the book with trembling hands, and when he had reached
his own room he sat alone and read with deep emotion the strange story
of his son's life. It ran as follows:
Baffin's Bay.
I know not into whose hands this paper will fall, but it is my
earnest, perhaps dying entreaty that it may be placed in the hands
of my parents, my sister, Dr. Brier, or Howard Pemberton, all of
whose addresses will be found elsewhere.
I write this letter to the man whose name I bear and whom I have
most deeply wronged.
Much sorrow, and anxiety, my dear father, must have resulted from
my cruel conduct, and I would confess, without a wish to conceal
one single fact, the sins which wrought such mischief and have
brought such strange punishments. I can only do so by telling the
story of how one sin led to another, until all culminated in that
fearful fraud, the pretense of death.
For the first year that I was at Blackrock school I strove with all
my strength to do and be what Dr. Brier and his kind, good wife
would wish. Their influence over me was kind and gentle and good. I
can never repay the debt of gratitude I owe them. But by degrees I
grew to hate the restraints of school, and I was drifting,
drifting, I knew not whither.
My best friends at school were Howard Pemberton and Martin
Venables. I loved them at the first with all the enthusiasm a boy
feels when he thinks he has found his ideal friends. They supplied
to me the lack of brothers; they were true, manly, high-minded
friends. But as soon as I began to drift away from the good I had
ceased to strive after, I loosened my hold on them.
It was about a year before I left Blackrock school when my aversion
to study and to all restraint became almost uncontrollable. During
my holidays I once fell in with a young man, James Williams, who
led a wild, reckless life. He had run away from home, had crossed
the seas, and had raised money in various ways, which enabled him
to indulge freely his wild fancies. His yarns about the sea, and
the adventures he had met and dangers encountered, fired me with a
mania to follow a similar career. The constant reading by stealth
of pernicious books, of which smugglers and pirates were the
heroes, stimulated the desire, and undermined the principle in
which I had been educated; until, at length, when you informed me
that I was to study under Mr. Vickers for the law, I determined to
run away from school and seek my living by adventure. James
Williams fostered the resolve, and often urged me to it; but my
great difficulty was how to obtain money. By an accidental
circumstance, Howard Pemberton became aware of my passion for the
sea, and he upbraided me about it, kindly and honestly, but I could
not brook it; my old friendship with him ceased, and I grew to hate
him.
About this time, the reception was given at Dr. Brier's of which
you have heard. But you have not heard, and never can know, what
that evening was to me. Satan seemed to have entered into me as he
did into Judas.
I took the miniature and snuff-box from the cabinet in which they
were placed by Mrs. Brier, and resolved to cast the suspicion of
the theft upon Howard.
That night I placed the miniature in the hands of Williams, who
gave me twenty pounds for it, and the snuff-box I placed in the
ticking of Howard's bed.
Need I tell you all the catalogue of wrong? You can almost guess
the rest. Williams procured for me a suit of clothes which would
disguise me, and these were placed ready for me by arrangement with
him. The early morning was very cold, and as I intended to travel
far I thought I would take my great coat. In the hurry and
excitement of the moment, I mistook Howard's for mine.
I left my clothes upon the river bank, and that afternoon I set
sail for America.
In America I spent a few months, the remembrance of which I would
gladly blot from my memory. Money came to me fast from gambling,
and as quickly went. All the time I was restless, fearful, ill at
ease and sick at heart. I had never heard one single word of how my
disappearance might have afflicted those I left behind. I knew not
whether you really thought me dead, or whether my secret had oozed
out. At length I determined, with tears of penitence, to return, to
confess all, to purchase back the miniature from Williams with
money I had won. And, with this resolve, I started back to England.
On arriving, I took up a newspaper, and you may judge the terror I
felt as I read the account of Williams's awful death with the
miniature upon him. It staggered me, but it did not melt my heart.
I interpreted it that my plans were frustrated, as I found that Dr.
Brier had obtained possession of the miniature. I dared not remain
in the country, for fear of discovery and of identification with
the crime of Williams; but I could not tear myself away until I had
once more visited the neighborhood of the dear old school-house.
I cannot think without emotion of that moonlight night when I lay
down beside the marble pillar which tender hearts had caused to be
placed there, "In loving memory of D.M." Oh, my father, how true it
is that "the way of transgressors is hard!" I thought my heart
would break as I lay there on the cold earth and wept the bitterest
tears I ever shed.
If I could but have caught sight of Dr. Brier, or felt the
motherly touch of Mrs. Brier's hand upon my shoulder,--if I could
but have heard the ring of Howard's or Martin's voice in the
play-ground, I felt as if the evil within me would have taken
flight and I should have risen up a regenerated man.
But I was alone. Dead! dead! And I went away with my heart cold and
sad, and my future all dark and purposeless.
A twelvemonth ago I fell in with some Shetlanders who were about to
start on a whaling cruise, and, as the expedition promised plenty
of adventure and excitement, I joined them.
Three months after we left Shetland, we were fast in the ice. For
nine months and more we have been almost starving, and have had to
endure bodily suffering in other respects of a most severe kind.
I have written the foregoing part of my story at intervals, and I
would now bring it to a conclusion, for the ice is breaking up, and
we have before us our last chance.
Literature has been very scarce on board, and I had only brought
one book with me. It was Howard Pemberton's Bible. I found it in
the coat I had taken accidentally on the morning I left Blackrock
school, and I never parted with it, hoping I might be able to
restore it some day, for I found it was a sacred relic given to him
by his father, and bearing in its cover his portrait and a copy of
the dying words he spoke to Howard.
That book became my friend, and it led me to recognize a friend in
its Divine author. I had striven in vain to save myself from
myself. This book pointed me the way. I should never have read it,
however if it had not been for the kind sympathy of our captain. A
nobler man, or a truer Christian, I never met.
But our captain died, and my strength gradually failed from
privation. I cannot tell you here all that happened, but I must
refer you to a diary which I have daily kept posted, and that will
explain more fully what I am unable to write now.
We are free from the ice at last, and are drifting we know not
whither! My strength is well-nigh gone. Not a man on board can move
a hand to touch a sail. Perhaps these will be the last words I
shall ever write.
I crave from you, my dear father, and from all whom I have wronged,
forgiveness for the sorrow, distress, and injury I have wrought.
Return the Bible, please, if it ever comes into your possession, to
Howard, and tell him how I thank God for its blessed teachings.
Land is in sight; we fancy it must be the Orkneys. A storm is
gathering. Nine men lie dead upon the deck. There appears to be
certain death for us all.
As Mr. Morton finished reading the letter, he paced the room to and
fro, while the hot tears fell freely down his face; and his heart was
full of thanksgiving and praise as he cried, "This, my son, was dead
and is alive again; he was lost and is found."
CHAPTER XII.
A FAREWELL.
It was a fortnight before Digby was well enough to leave his room, and
then he had to be carried in the strong arms of Howard and Martin. So
weak--so utterly weak was he--that the strong man had become as a
little babe, and Dr. Henderson sometimes feared that he would never
know health again.
But he was bright and cheerful and happy. The joy he experienced in
finding so many dear ones around him, the relief in having unburdened
his mind, and being assured of a full and complete forgiveness; the
feeling of gratitude for the glad changes which had come to his father
and mother, and for his own happy deliverance from death, made him
think and talk so cheerily, that Ethel's heart rejoiced as she found in
the long-lost one more than her old ideal Digby.
Howard and Martin had exceeded the time of their leave from business
duties, but, in the circumstances of the case, they had been allowed
longer furlough, and were now waiting for the time when Digby would be
well enough to travel, so that they might superintend his journey home.
And the last day of the Shetland visit came. It was with a feeling of
sadness that our friends went round on the afternoon of that day to
call upon the cottagers and leave their little presents and say
farewell.
Not the least memorable event of the visit, was the gathering of the
villagers in the large room of the cottage, where our friends had taken
up their abode. It was the last night in Shetland, and it had been
Digby's earnest wish that, if he could bear it, the Hughsons and their
friends, and as many as were saved from the death-stricken ship, should
meet together to say farewell. Early in the evening, the villagers, in
their best Sunday clothes, began to assemble, and, before very long,
the room and the passage-way and the stair-way were crowded.
Dr. Henderson was there, too, and he reminded the folks present that
time was flying, and that the strength of his patients must not be
taxed too far. Then Mr. Morton rose. His face was very pale, and at
first his voice was tremulous.
"Good people all," he said, "a kind Providence brought me and mine to
this friendly island, and here we have seen and heard strange and happy
things. Curious circumstances have brought us all together; and, in
greater or less degree, we have been dependent upon one another; we
have shared suspense, joy and anxiety together; and we have received
mercies from the Great Father of us all more than we can trust our lips
to tell. You, my good sir," pointing to old Mr. Hughson, "have received
from the jaws of death two of your sons. Heaven bless them! You,"
pointing to a woman, "once more rest in the love of a husband; you, my
little ones, are rejoicing in a father's return; and I--I have received
safe and sound, my only son, whom I had long mourned as dead. Let us
thank God, all of us."
A fervent amen was uttered as if by one voice.
After this, with chat and with song, time stole away, and the happy
meeting would have been continued for an indefinite time, if Dr.
Henderson had not announced it as his opinion that it would be neither
wise nor kind to prolong it. And so with benedictions upon one another
the company separated, and the next morning our friends left the
island.
And now my story is done. I need only tell you that, after a long
time, Digby regained his strength; that he never studied law with Mr.
Vickers; but, having been started in business by his father, became a
successful merchant, with ships of his own, on which several of the
Hughson brothers found happy and profitable positions. Howard and
Martin grew to be prosperous men, and Madeleine and Ethel not only
rejoiced, but shared in their prosperity; for, of course, these two
young men could find no better wives than these two young women. But I
could not even begin to tell you of the happiness and thankfulness that
filled the heart of every person in this story, when thought arose of
that vessel which was so mercifully drifted into port.
THE END.
[Illustration]
JOHNNY'S LOST BALL.
BY LLOYD WYMAN.
Johnny had a silver dollar.
Johnny also had a good friend in the schoolmaster who, in various ways,
had so interested the boy in natural philosophy that he desired of all
things to possess a book on the subject, that he might study for
himself.
Therefore, on the very first spare afternoon Johnny had, he rolled up
his silver dollar in many folds of paper, tucked it snugly away in a
lonesome corner of an old castaway pocket-book, and started for the
village book-store; but, when he found the many nicely bound volumes
too dear for his pocket, he choked, and nearly cried for
disappointment.
"Hold on!" said the book-seller, as he slipped his lead-pencil behind
his ear, and stepped briskly to a little shelf of rusty-looking books.
"Here are some second-hand copies of Comstock, Parker and Steele, any
of which you can have for seventy-five cents,--have your pick for six
shillings. Comstock and Parker are in the best repair, and are finer
print; but for _me_, give me Steele! In buying second-hand books,
always choose the banged-up fellows. Comstock and Parker tell
everything that everybody knows or guesses. Steele biles his'n down.
But do just as you've a mind to: it wont make a bit o' difference to me
one way or the other."
Johnny took Steele, handed over his dollar, and received twenty-five
cents in change.
Before the money was fairly stowed away in his wallet his eye fell upon
a beautiful rubber ball, painted in various brilliant colors, which lay
in the show case. The book-seller tossed it upon the clean-swept floor,
and up it bounded to the ceiling.
"The last of the lot," said he; "filled with air; that's why it bounces
so; been selling at thirty cents; will close this out at twenty-five;
every boy ought to have one; children cry for 'em; just the thing for
'hand-ball,'--what d' y' say?"
"I'll take it," said Johnny; and he took his book and ball and hurried
home, "dead broke" financially, but happy, nevertheless.
Being open-hearted, he told his folks about his purchase, and they were
inclined to find fault with him, though I do not know why. He seemed
never to tire of his book and ball, but would change from one to the
other, and for some days was as happy as a king is supposed to be.
Then came his bad luck.
He was tossing his ball upon the roof of the house, and catching it as
it came down; but by and by it did not come down--it bounded into the
tin eave-trough and rolled slowly along till it came to the big pipe
that led to the cistern, and into this it dropped, and went whirring
down, and stopped somewhere with a faint plash.
For once in his life, Johnny felt as if the world had slipped from
under him.
For a few minutes he was bewildered; then came the joyful assurance
that his Steele would help him out of his trouble, and if Steele
couldn't, there was the schoolmaster.
The first thing he did was to lift the cover off the cistern, though
he knew well enough the ball was in the pipe, as he well remembered
that it ran nearly to the bottom of the cistern and then made a sharp
bend upward, "so that the water mightn't wear the cement," the mason
told him.
He found the water quite low, but not low enough to show the mouth of
the pipe. Of course, there was no ball in sight. He closed the cistern
with a groan, and got out his new book on natural philosophy. First he
glanced at optics; but that did not help him to see his way; then at
hydrostatics and hydraulics.
It was of no use; nothing seemed to hit the case. Then he gave it up,
put his book away, and went to consult the school-master. Johnny found
him among his books, and told him all about it.
"Have you tried to fish it out with a hook and line?"
Johnny's face brightened. "No, sir, I never thought of that."
"All right; you couldn't do it. Besides, if you could, it wouldn't be
scientific," said the school-master. "Now, go home, take a ten-foot
pole, and measure the distance from the eaves to the water in the
cistern, then find the diameter of the pipe, and on my way to school
to-morrow morning I will tell you the three things necessary for
recovering your ball."
Johnny fairly flew home, got a pole, measured the distance from eaves
to water and found it to be twelve feet; measured the pipe and found it
to be two inches and one-half. Then he put away the pole, did his
chores, ate a hearty supper, and went to bed.
He was up bright and early next morning, and got quickly through his
chores, so that when the school-master stopped, on his way to school,
he was ready to see about the ball.
"Good morning, Johnny! Glad to see you on hand. How long's the pipe?"
"Twelve feet, sir."
"Diameter?"
"Two inches and a half, sir."
"Ah! 2-1/2 square multiplied by .0034, and that product by twelve feet,
which is--"
"144 inches," Johnny quickly suggested.
"Will give the contents of the pipe in gallons," added the
schoolmaster. "You're quick at figures, tell me the answer."
Johnny groped among the odds and ends of his jacket pocket for a
minute, and then fished out a stubby lead-pencil, much chewed at one
end, and picking up a piece of smooth board, ciphered away swiftly and
carefully a few moments.
"3.06 is what I make it, sir."
"Very well; we'll call that right; that would be a little over a
pailful--say a pailful and a half. Now get a ladder to go up to the
roof with."
Johnny brought one in a jiffy.
"All right. Now, the three things necessary to get back your ball are,
a pailful and a half of water, a plug, and pluck."
Johnny looked as if he didn't quite understand.
"What sort of a plug, sir?" he asked.
"Oh, this will do," answered the school-master, picking up a pine stick
and beginning to whittle away vigorously. The plug was soon made. The
school-master lifted the plank cover from the cistern put the ladder
down, and said to Johnny: "Have you any pluck?"
"Lots of it," Johnny told him.
"Well, then, take this plug and stick it into the mouth of the pipe,
_snug_."
Johnny took the plug, went down the ladder into the cistern till he
reached the water, and then began feeling around for the pipe. By and
by he found it, and, inserting the plug in the opening, pushed it down
and screwed it firmly in place.
"All right!" he called out, and presently he came up the ladder.
"Now let's have the water--in two pails," the schoolmaster said, and he
saw by Johnny's face that he at last understood how the ball was to be
got out. Johnny ran to the barn, and soon came back with two pails of
water and a funnel.
"But what's the funnel for?" asked the schoolmaster as he drew the
ladder from the cistern and leaned it against the eaves.
"To pour the water into the pipe," answered Johnny, in a tone that
showed that he thought he had, for once, caught the school-master
napping.
"Ah, indeed! so you always put the funnel in when it rains?"
Johnny blushed, and did not attempt any answer.
"Now mount the ladder, and I'll hand you the water," said the
school-master.
Johnny ran up the ladder, and, when the school-master handed him the
pails, he said nothing about the funnel, but boldly dashed the water
upon the roof. When the flood began pouring into the cave-trough and
gurgling down the pipe, Johnny fixed his eyes upon the hole through
which his ball had taken its unlucky leap, and stared with anxious
expectation. The gurgle in the pipe crept steadily upward, the tone all
the while growing higher and clearer, till whish! came a dash of water
over the trough, nearly drenching the schoolmaster while the ball
bounded airily upon the eaves for an instant, before Johnny caught it
and cried out:
"Here she is!"
"Put things in shape, Johnny; I must hurry to the school-house," said
the school-master, going.
[Illustration: THE KING AND THE HARD BREAD.]
THE KING AND THE HARD BREAD.
BY J.L.
"When you want a thing done well, do it yourself," is an old saying,
and a very good one; but it is not always possible or desirable to
carry out this advice. Therefore it is sometimes better to adopt an
amendment to this proverb, and make it read thus: "When you want a
thing done well, do it yourself, or see it done."
So thought Louis IX. of France, sometimes called St. Louis, because he
was considered to be rather better than most people.
Among his good qualities was kindness to the poor. He would go about,
very plainly dressed, and attended by two or three courtiers, and visit
poor people in their houses. He took an interest in their personal
affairs, and when they were very needy, he would order bread and other
food to be supplied to them. Of course, this made him a great favorite
with the poorer classes of his subjects, and they were glad not only to
receive his bounty, but also to talk with him and tell him about their
many troubles.
One day, when he was making one of his customary rounds, an old woman,
leaning on a cane, and holding a loaf of bread in her hand, came out of
a door in a wall which led into a collection of wretched dwellings.
As this old woman stood awaiting his approach, the king could not help
feeling a little surprised. He did not often feel surprised at anything
he saw among these poor people. He had just been talking to a group of
strong, hearty fellows, who preferred sitting lazily about wherever
they could find a shelter from the rain and sun, and trusting in chance
charity for food and lodging, to working for an honest living; but he
was not surprised at them. Such men have always existed, and probably
always will exist.
He had seen all sorts of strange things among his poor people. He had
seen some who seemed to prefer to be poor; he had seen others who had
been rich, but who appeared to be happier now than when they had plenty
of money,--and perhaps plenty of anxiety with it; he had seen others
who were poor and did not know it; but this was the first time that he
had ever seen any one of them offer him bread or anything else to eat.
No wonder he was surprised when this old woman held out to him the loaf
of bread!
She did not wait for him to ask her what she meant, but immediately
commenced to explain. She told him that she and her sick old husband
were among those to whom he had ordered food to be furnished, but that
for some time all that his agents had given them was bread such as the
loaf in her hand; bread so hard that it was almost impossible for old
people to eat it, and yet they must eat it or starve.
The king listened with attention to her story, and then he took the
loaf in his hands, and broke off a small piece of it.
"It is rather hard bread," he said, thoughtfully, while his attendants
bent over to look at it, as if it were a matter of the greatest
interest to them, although it is probable that they did not care a snap
of their fingers whether or not the old woman ever had any bread.
"Yes," said the king, "it _is_ hard bread." And then he stood thinking
about it. The old woman thought he was thinking of the trouble she and
her husband had in eating it, but she was very much mistaken.
He was thinking that he had ordered that these people be well fed; that
he had supplied the money to buy them good and nourishing food. Now, if
his poor pensioners received nothing but dry bread, and very stale,
hard bread at that, while he paid for good food for them, somebody must
be making money out of him, to whom he had no idea of being charitable
in this way.
Therefore he thought that if he wanted a thing well done, he must do it
himself, or see it done. In this case he determined to see it done.
He went into the old woman's house, and he talked to her sick husband
and herself, and examined into their condition. The old people thought
he was very good to say so much about their hard fare, and so he was;
but if they could have heard what he said afterward to his dishonest
agents, when he went home to his palace, they might have been surprised
to know what an important thing a piece of hard bread may sometimes
become.
And they might have thought, too, that it was a good thing for them, as
well as for other poor people, that their bread had been so _very_ hard
that they were forced to complain of it to the king.
DISCONTENTED POLLY.
Polly ought to have been a very happy little girl, but she was not,
because she hadn't a doll. She had everything else: a beautiful
kitchen, a stove with everything to use on it, some pretty china
dishes, a table to put them on, and a neat little wicker chair to match
the table.
Only a little while ago she had three lovely dolls; but there was
another D to Polly's name--Destructive Polly; and now there was not a
bit of a dolly left, and mamma had determined to let her wait till she
wanted one so very much that when it did come she would be sure to take
care of it. But Aunt Alice said, one day, "That child shall have a doll
to-morrow." And sure enough! the next morning, in the little wicker
chair, Polly found the most beautiful doll she had ever seen.
It had fluffy, golden hair, and bright blue eyes, and a dress just like
Polly's best one with puffed sleeves. It could say "papa" and "mamma"
quite plainly, and could move its eyes.
Of course, the first thing to be done was to find a name for the new
treasure, and that made Polly discontented again. She wanted to call it
after herself, but she said, "Polly is such an every-day name, it would
never do; my doll must have a 'company' name." So she called her doll
"Rosalinda."
The next day, mamma said there might be a party in honor of the new
doll; so Polly carried Rosalinda into the play-room, put her in the
little chair, and began to get ready for the party. Rosalinda looked as
though she would like to help; so Polly filled one of her prettiest
cups with milk, and put it in the dolly's lap, while she went out for
three lumps of sugar.
Just then a dreadful thing happened. Puss, who had been hidden under a
chair, came out, jumped to Rosalinda's lap, and began to drink the milk
as fast as he could. Before it was half gone he heard Polly coming, so
he jumped down again in a hurry, and out of the window. But one hind
paw caught the cup by the handle, spilled the milk on dolly's dress,
dashed the cup to the floor, and broke it all to bits!
When Polly came in and saw this, what do you think she did? She just
looked at Rosalinda a moment, then she took her out of the chair and
shook her--shook her so hard, and sat her down again with such a bounce
that the pretty blue eyes shut up tight, and wouldn't come open.
Polly didn't mind that at first. She said, "Yes! you'd better shut
your eyes, you naughty thing! Don't tell me it was 'a accidence.' You
did it yourself, I know, and I don't love you one bit. You don't look
fit to be seen, and the party will be here before I'm ready. Oh, dear!
just open your eyes, and see what you've done."
But poor Rosalinda's eyes wouldn't open, and the more Polly shook her,
the tighter shut they stayed, till she ran, crying, to mamma, to ask
for help. Mamma had seen it all; so now she took Polly and Rosalinda
both on her lap, and gave what Polly called "a little preach."
[Illustration: "JUST OPEN YOUR EYES, AND SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE."]
It did her good, real good, and at last she said: "Dear mamma, if
Rosalinda will only open her eyes once more and look at me, I believe I
will never be so naughty again."
So mamma found a way to open the pretty blue eyes, and Polly kissed
them both, and then kissed mamma for helping her.
By the time the party came, everything was ready. Polly was very good,
and let the girls play with her beautiful Rosalinda the whole time. I
do not know how long the good will last. I hope till every one forgets
to call her Discontented Polly, and learns to call her Darling Polly
instead.
[Illustration]
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
Well, my dears, spring is here at last, and it is very pleasant to see
the buds and flowers again. I begin to hear the voices of the children
more often, too; and now and then I catch a glimpse of bright faces and
new dresses.
By the way, talking of dresses puts me in mind of a paragram that came
the other day, about
TRIMMINGS FOR COWS.
Something quite new to you, I dare say, for which of you ever heard of
trimming cows with their own horns and ears? How should you like to see
a cow with her ears--poor thing!--cut to the shape of a leaf with
notched edges, and horns trained in some queer shape, twisted into
curls, or divided into four, with two meeting overhead, and two turned
down toward the ground? It would be a dreadful sight to me, I am sure;
but the Africans admire such things. They consider this trimming of
cows a sort of fine art. You don't see how they manage the horns? Well,
they begin when the horns are young; divide each into two, or more, and
gradually train them, while growing, in any way they choose. Of course
it must hurt the poor cows, and take a great deal of time; but the
people who train cows' horns have not very tender feelings, and they
are richer in spare time than in anything else. Besides, they do not
have to trim their own clothes much--they're savages.
FEET AND WINGS.
I have been told that flies have suckers on their feet, and climb up
window-panes by using them, much as boys lift smooth stones with a
piece of soaked leather and a string. Is this so, little folks?
By the way, while you are thinking of flies, I once heard some
schoolma'ams (I'm sure our _little_ one was not among them) disputing
about the number of wings that a house-fly ought to have. And they
said, though it's hard to believe, that over the door of the Masonic
Temple at Boston there are bees, cut in the stone, each with only wings
enough for a fly!
Perhaps the sculptor had been reading Virgil before carving those bees,
for, as I've heard, that ancient poet in one of his writings made a
mistake as to the number of a bee's wings.
CETUS, NOT CYGNUS.
One of my sharp eyed chicks, S.E.S., of Canandaigua, sends word that
the star Mira, of which I told you last month, is in the star-group
Cetus (the Whale), not in Cygnus (the Swan). S.E.S. is right, I find,
and I'm much obliged to her.
PRSVRYPRFCTMN
VRKPTHSPRCPTSTN.
Deacon Green says that these letters were found on a wall in a church
in Wales, painted, like a text, above an inscription of the ten
commandments.
Some of you may have seen it before, he thinks; but, if not, it will be
good fun for you to find out what it means. He adds that there is but
one letter of the alphabet wanting, to make sense; this is used over
and over, and, if you put it into the right places, the text will turn
into a rhymed couplet.
A REMEDY FOR HARD TIMES.
I have a message from a bird on the Sea Islands off the coast of South
Carolina.
"Here," says my friend, "I lately found a remedy for hard times.
Looking for food one day, I came close to the home of a silk-spider who
was about to make a new web. Now, what do you think I saw him doing?
Why, he was eating up the old web, so as to turn it into thread again,
and use it a second time! Another curious thing that I found out about
this economical old fellow is that, although he has a great many eyes,
he can see only just well enough to tell light from darkness."
Now, what in the world can be the use of that spider's eyes, I'd like
to know, if he can't see the things around him?
A QUEER CHURN.
New Haven, Conn.
Dear Jack: Last year in April you gave us a picture of a very small
doll-churn that a little girl had made, and I thought it was very
'cute. But I read the other day of another churn quite as odd. It
is simply the skin of a goat, hung by a rope from the roof. It is
used in Persia, and, when they want to churn, they fill the
goat-skin with milk, and swing it forward and backward until the
butter comes. The children do the swinging, and I think it must be
better fun than turning a crank or working a plunger.--Yours
affectionately, O.T.
CATS IN SPAIN.
Cats have a nice time in Spain, I hear. No dismal moonlight prowlings
over fences and back sheds for them! They have the roofs of the whole
country for their walks, and need never touch the ground unless they
choose. I'll tell you why. Grain is stored in the attics of Spain,
because they are too hot for anything else. But rats and mice delight
in attics, as well as in grain. So each owner cuts a small door from
the roof, big enough for puss, and any homeless cat is welcome to her
warm home, in return for which she keeps away rats. In a sudden rain
it must be funny to see dozens of cats scampering over the roofs to
their homes among the grain-bags.
"SINCERE" STATUES.
Cambridge, Mass.
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM: In ST. NICHOLAS for December, 1877,
Jack-in-the-Pulpit says that "sincere" is made of the words
_sine-cera_, meaning "honey without wax." I have been told that it
refers also to the Greeks, who, when they found a crack in a
statue, would sometimes fill the flaw with wax; and that hence a
"sincere" statue, one "without wax," would have no flaw, but be a
true and honest statue.
I have not been able to find any authority for this, otherwise I
should have written sooner.--Yours sincerely, F.B.J.
[Illustration: FOOLS'-CAPS FOR CROWS.]
FOOLS'-CAPS FOR CROWS.
My acquaintances the crows are very fond of corn, and have a way of
picking it out of the ground with their bills just after it has been
planted. So the farmers try all sorts of plans to keep them away. One
of these plans is shown in the picture.
Paper cones are set point downward in the ground, and baited with a few
corn kernels; then some bird-lime is smeared around the insides. When a
crow reaches down for the corn, the paper cone sticks to him, looking
rather like a fool's-cap, and he does not get rid of it in a hurry. I'm
told that it takes only a few of these cones to keep off a whole flock
of crows. They are afraid of making themselves ridiculous, I suppose.
ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
Now then, my dears, here's a capital chance to show your knowledge of
history. Who can answer this question?
Boston, Mass.
DEAR JACK: Will you please ask some of your chicks to tell me when
the ancients left off, and the moderns began?--and you will greatly
oblige. F.
LUMBER AND TIMBER, AGAIN.
The Little Schoolma'am says that "timber" generally means "felled
trees," but is used sometimes to describe trees that are yet standing
and growing; "lumber" means timber that has been made ready for use, by
sawing, splitting, and so forth.
E.M. Ferguson, J. Harry Townsend, Lillie Stone, J. Dutton Steele, Jr.,
and N.Y.Z. all sent correct answers; but Virginia Waldo, G.V.D.F., and
"Max" were only almost right in their replies.
THE LETTER-BOX.
The answers to Mr. Cranch's poetical charades, published on page 406 of
the April number, are as follows: I., Carpet, car-pet. II., Bargain,
bar-gain. III., Pic-nic, pick-Nick. IV., Nightmare, night-mare.
* * * * *
A large number of correspondents kindly point out that the poem
entitled "The Nightingale's Mistake," printed in the March
"Letter-Box," is also called "The Singing-Lesson," and was written by
Jean Ingelow.
* * * * *
Clayton, Iowa.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would write to you to tell you about
our little town of Clayton. It is a beautiful little place, of
about three hundred and eighty inhabitants, situated on the
Mississippi River. There are two large flouring-mills, two
saw-mills, and a large hoop factory here, where all kinds of straps
and hoops are manufactured by machinery. First, the poles are sawed
into certain lengths; then they are taken to the splitters, to be
split. They are then taken to the planers. After going through this
process, they are bunched into bunches of fifty each. Then they are
ready for shipment. They are made of hickory, white oak, and birch.
It is very pleasant to take a boat-ride on a summer eve, with the
banks on either side of you covered with long green grass, and
flowers of nearly all descriptions bending down into the water,
while in the woods all kinds of birds are cluttering and
chattering, and the ducks are quacking around you, all of which
makes it very pleasant.--Your constant reader,
H.R.
* * * * *
Baltimore, Md.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to know why it is that the wife of
General George Washington is called Lady Washington? I do not think
that we have ever had any lords or ladies in our country; so if you
know the reason why, I would like to know.
E.M.
Can any of our boys and girls answer this question?
* * * * *
Somerville, N.J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I wish to contribute a little to the
"Letter-Box," I will send you a little poem written by my sister
Allie when she was nine years old.
OUR BABY.
Little Bertha is my sister,
And she is two years old,--
A cunning little darling,
Whom I love to hold.
You ask her whom she loves best,
And she'll say "Papa Lou."
You ask her whom she loves next,
And p'r'aps she will say "You."
You ask her what her name is,
And she'll say "Bertie Lou."
But then, she's sometimes naughty,
And sometimes so are you.
Little Bertha is my sister,
And she's as cunning as she can be;
With a dimple in each cheek,
And a dimple in each knee.
And I guess most people love her,
For she's as cunning as she can be;
But then, sometimes she is naughty,
And that's the way with you and me.
My darling little sister
Always sleeps at night with me;
And, as I said before,
She's as cunning as she can be.
A.C.H.
* * * * *
Roseville, N.J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We thought perhaps you would like to hear about
our pet sparrow "Bob." We have had him since last July, and he is
just as cunning as he can be. He was so young at first, he could
not fly, and slept in a little box, with a piece of flannel over
him; but now he roosts on a nail in the sitting-room bay-window. We
do not keep him in a cage, but he goes all over the house, and does
just as he pleases. He has had plenty of chances to fly out, but
seems to be happy and contented, and makes himself perfectly at
home. When we are eating, he helps himself to anything he wants,
and is not a bit bashful. He loves honey, and will eat all he
wants, and then wipe his bill on any one's dress or on the
table-cloth. He will jump on papa's whiskers, and pull mamma's
hair-pins out of her hair, steal her needle, and do many other
mischievous things. He has chosen one of the gas-globes for a
nesting-place, and carries bits of cloth, strings, or any such
thing that he can find, and puts them there. He tries to sing, and
has learned several of the canary's notes. We catch him sometimes,
and put him under a hat, to tease him. He then gets angry, pecks
the hat, and scolds at the top of his voice. We have a rabbit and a
guinea-pig, too; but if they come into the room where Bob is, he
will fly at them and peck them till they run out. Every one who
sees him thinks he is a wonderful bird, and we should feel very
sorry if anything should happen to him.--Yours truly,
ELLA AND EDWIN H.
* * * * *
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a little sister named Pet, because we
love her so. A few days ago our papa had a narrow escape from being
burned, and Pet asked me if I thanked God for taking care of him. I
said, "Yes." "And did God say, 'You're welcome'?" asked Pet.
Now, don't you think that was a funny idea?--Your affectionate
reader,
R.L.P.
* * * * *
GULLIVER'S TRAVELS AND THE MOONS OF MARS.--A correspondent writes that
in Gulliver's "Voyage to Laputa," an imaginary flying island, Dean
Swift, the author, describes some over-wise philosophers, and, among
other things, says:
"They have likewise discovered two lesser stars, or satellites,
which revolve about Mars; whereof the innermost is distant from the
center of the primary planet exactly three of his diameters, and
the outer-most, five; the former revolves in the space of ten
hours, and the latter in twenty-one and a half; so that the squares
of their periodical times are very nearly in proportion with the
cubes of their distance from the center of Mars."
Now, these two satellites were not discovered really until August 16th,
1877, but Dean Swift's book appeared it 1726, more than one hundred and
fifty years before! But, although the Dean's guesswork is not exactly
correct, he comes very near the truth when he states the time taken by
each moon in going around the primary. This you will see by comparing
his words with the following letter, which we have received from
Professor Asaph Hall, the actual discoverer of the moons:
Naval Observatory, Washington, D.C.,
March 4th, 1878.
EDITOR ST. NICHOLAS: The periods (of revolution) of the satellites
of Mars are as follows,--Deimus being the outer satellite, and
Phobus the inner one:
Period of Deimus, 30 hours, 18 minutes, 0 seconds.
" " Phobus, 7 " 39 " 16 "
These values are very nearly correct, and will be changed in the
final calculation only a few seconds, if at all.--Yours truly,
A. HALL.
* * * * *
The following are extracts from the letters of a young girl now
traveling in Europe:
Berlin, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We were in the Auer Cathedral, Munich, looking
down the long nave, when troops of little children, boys and girls,
each with a little knapsack strapped between the shoulders, leaving
the hands and arms free for play, came hastening in by twos and
threes, till the whole church seemed full. They all knelt down,
whispered a few words of prayer, and remained for a brief space,
silent and motionless, bowed down in devotion; then they quietly
arose and went out. I shall not soon forget Auer Cathedral with its
little worshipers.
We have been settled at Berlin for a month. Being the residence of
the Emperor and Court, it is very gay with balls, theaters, etc.,
and the streets are bright and lively with fine uniforms, prancing
horses, and carriages full of richly dressed ladies, their escorts
riding on horseback at the side. It presents a lively contrast with
Munich in these respects, but, as to sunlight, it is a gloomy
place. Thus far we have had only four pleasant days, and on those
the sun set between three and four in the afternoon. Some days we
thought it did not rise at all! We realize now, for the first time,
how far north Germany is.
We improved one of our pleasant days by a trip to Potsdam, where is
the summer palace of the kings of Prussia. Here are the rooms of
Frederick the Great, just as he arranged them. His library is
chiefly of French books, and fills the shelves, which are
everywhere, from floor to ceiling--upon the doors, even, so that,
when they are shut, one feels imprisoned in books!
At the opposite end of the palace are the rooms once occupied by
Voltaire. The walls are covered with painted wood carvings of cats,
dogs, parrots, and peacocks, which Frederick caused to be placed
there after his quarrel with Voltaire, to express his opinion of
the Frenchman's traits of character.
Directly under the walls of the palace stands an idle windmill, now
owned by the Emperor. The noise of this windmill used to annoy the
queen, so Frederick sent for the miller and said to him:
"We two cannot live so near each other. One of us must buy the
property of the other. Now, will you buy my palace?"
"But my leige, I have not the money," replied the miller.
"Then I must buy your mill," said the king.
"You also have not money enough; I will not sell," was the miller's
reply.
When the king hinted his power to take possession by force, the
sturdy miller said he could and would sue the king.
"Well," said the monarch, "since you have so high an opinion of the
justice to be found in my courts of law, I will not molest you."
So the windmill continued to creak and whirr in the ears of the
royal family for a long time.
ADA.
* * * * *
HERBERT J.--In answer to your request, we give a copy of the poem
entitled "The Little Boy who Went Out to Swim," published first in ST.
NICHOLAS for September, 1874. Several of our readers have asked to see
the poem printed, without its pictures, in the "Letter-Box," as the
interweaving of the illustrations with the text, as they first
appeared, hindered the meaning and beauty of the verses from being
fully understood.
THE LITTLE BOY WHO WENT OUT TO SWIM.
BY HENRY HOWLAND.
A little boy went out to swim,
One pleasant day in June,
And the fish all came to talk to him,
That summer afternoon.
"Come down, dear little boy," they said,
"And let us show to you
The homes of fish, merman and maid.
Under the waters blue.
"We'll show you where the naiads sleep,
And where the tritons dwell;
The treasures of the unknown deep,
The coral and the shell.
"The siren's song shall charm your ears,
And lull you into rest;
No monster shall arouse your fears,
Or agitate your breast."
The little boy was glad to go;
And all the company
Of fish escorted him below,--
A pageant brave to see!
The pilot-fish swam on ahead,
The shark was at his heels;
The dolphin a procession led
Of porpoise, whale, and eels.
The trout, all brave in red and gold,
Many a caper cut;
And after them came crowds untold
Of cod and halibut.
The blue-fish with the black-fish swam;
Who knows the joy each felt?
The perch was escort to the clam,
The oyster to the smelt.
The muscalonge, from northern lake,
That leaps the harbor bar,
Swam closely in the sturgeon's wake,
Famous for caviar!
The haddock floated side by side
With carp from foreign shore,
And with them, through the seething tide,
Went scollops by the score.
The sword-fish, like a soldier brave,
His saber flashing bare,
Went o'er the swelling ocean wave,
With bold and martial air.
The jelly-fish went trembling down;
The star-fish mildly beamed;
And through the waves, like diamonds thrown,
The sun-fish glanced and gleamed.
The sea-bass, black-bass, pike and dace
Went dashing on like mad;
The sheep's-head, with his lamb-like face,
Swam by the graceful shad.
The pickerel leaped and danced along;
The frog-fish puffed and blew;
The herring in a countless throng
Swam by, a merry crew.
The turtles sailed a Dutch-built fleet,
On port and starboard tack,
While through their ranks, with caution meet,
Darted the stickleback.
The shrimp and lobster clawed along
With others of their kin,
And in their company a throng
Of lively terrapin.
The bull-pouts, dressed in black and drab,
With horns and visage grim,
Preceded the meandering crab;
The mackerel followed him.
Sea-spiders, in their coats of mail;
Shiners, with silver vest;
White-fish and weak-fish at their tail,
Swam on with all the rest.
The royal turbot, true and tried,
Subject of England's queen,
Sailed on in regal pump and pride,
With whitebait and sardine.
The knightly salmon, king of fish,
Without reproach or fear,
The noblest fish a man could wish,
Came bringing up the rear.
And thus they reached the mermaid's cave.
Who, with a heart-felt joy,
To her bright home beneath the wave,
Welcomed the little boy!
* * * * *
Here is a letter which we print just as it was written by the little
one who sent it to us:
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS I send you a little story to put in the letter
Box.
Once there was a little Boy His Name was Harry He lived with His
Mother in a humble little Cottage) His Mothers Name was Mrs Jones
she was a Widow) she and Harry lived all alone) one day Harry came
Home from school and faced the Doctor at the Door young man said
the Dr to the Boy your Mother is very sick) she was doing what you
ought to of done for her) what is that sir said Harry choping Wood
Bringing in Coal and all such work as that) she straned her self
and is very ill) poor Harry hung down His head for His Mother had
asked Him to chop the wood this Morning when He was mending his
Ball) He said I will be there in a moment Mother) and like all Boy
He forgot) oh how poor Harry felt When He thought of this) but
Harry took good care of His Mother ever after) a Friend of Harries
got Him a good Situation and Made a man of Him and He allways did
what His Mother asked Him) ever after Harry said to the Dr one day)
Dr I can take care of Mother now and I allways will
So we hope Harry will take care of His Widow Mother, all the) rest
of His days)
M.J.W.
* * * * *
Here is a nice letter that a little girl wrote to her mother nearly
thirty-three years ago. The little girl was away from her town home on
a visit to the country for the sake of her health; and all that she
wrote in the letter was true.
Mr. McDonald's, October 1st, 1845.
MY DEAR MOTHER: I wish my arms were long enough to reach two miles,
I want to give you a good hug, I am so glad you let me come out
here. I was a little bit afraid last night, the horse was so high,
and it was so dark. I never rode on a horse in the dark before, you
know. It was so dark in the woods I could not see anything, but my
eyes would stay so wide open they hurt me. I held as tight to Mr.
George as I could; I felt as though some big thing was just going
to snatch me off the horse, all the time; my fingers felt like they
were full of pins when I let go. Everything does taste so good out
here, and the air is so clean. I stretched out my arms to it this
morning, it felt so good. We have a play-house on the rocks; it has
two fire-places. They are made out of flat stones, and inside of
the big stones we set up two smaller stones, and lay a flat one
across, and there we do our cooking. We are going to have a party
to-night, and have been busy all day getting ready. All the good
things are cooked, waiting till night, when Mac will be home. We
have three splendid baked apples, and three eggs roasted in the
ashes, but we have only two pies. We could only find two
blacking-box lids, and as these are our pie-pans, we have only two
pies. We washed and scoured the black all off, and they looked as
nice as Sophia's tins, which she will never let us touch at home.
Our biscuits are not as nice quite as hers, it was so hard to make
them round, and our range don't bake on both sides, so we had to
turn them over to get both sides cooked. Our things all look very
good, and I am real hungry for them, but you know it would not do
to eat the party before Mac comes. We have made wreaths of
maple-leaves, to wear on our heads to-night, one for Mac, too. We
thought it would do for a boy to wear a wreath as long as there are
so few of us, and the leaves are so pretty; and as it is my
birthday, I have some leaves basted all around my blue dress, and
it looks lovely.
I must stop now. Give my love to all. Take good care of Fideli, and
kiss all around for your loving daughter,
JULIA.
* * * * *
Clifton, Iroquois County, Ill.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We want to tell the little boys and girls that
read ST. NICHOLAS, how a greedy rooster got caught in a trap. We
set the trap to catch rabbits, but didn't get any; so the corn was
left, and the chickens were all walking around, and saw it, and
tried to get in to eat it; but the selfish old rooster drove them
all away, and crowded in himself, and began to eat the corn, when
down came the trap, and he was fast, but all the others were
free.--Yours truly,
ARTHUR AND BROWNIE S.
* * * * *
South Boston, Mass.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I read the "Letter-Box" every month with much
interest, and have often seen puzzles and "such things" in it, so I
send you one, and hope that somebody will find it out:
There was somebody born in England, on the 16th of July, 1723. He
was the son of a clergyman, and his father was rather strict with
him. He made a drawing of his father's school with so much accuracy
of outline, and in such correct perspective, that the grave
clergyman could no longer maintain his severity. He saw that his
son would be a painter, and resolved to aid him. An anecdote
related of the artist runs thus: One day, a man called to see some
of his pictures, and asked him what he mixed his colors with. The
painter answered, "With brains, sir--with brains!"--Yours,
FRANK R.M.
* * * * *
Columbia, S.C.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Our schoolma'am told us the other day that it is
generally best to use short words instead of long words in writing
or speaking, and she gave us a verse to copy as a specimen. She
said that it was written by a man who was perfect master of seven
languages, knew six others very well, was at home with another
eight, and read with a lexicon four more,--in all twenty-five
different languages; and although he could use tremendously long
words when he chose, yet he made a point of using short ones, even
though they were old and odd and not in common use. I send you a
copy of the verse, and I think he might have done much better if he
had used longer and more forcible words.--Yours truly,
STELLA G.
"Think not that strength lies in the big round word,
Or that the brief and plain must needs be weak.
To whom can this be true that once has heard
The cry for help, the tongue that all men speak
When want or woe or fear is in the throat,
So that each word gasped forth is like a shriek
Pressed from the sore heart, or a strange wild note
Sung by some foe or fiend. There is a strength
Which dies if stretched too far or spun too fine,
Which has more height than depth, more breadth than length.
Let but this force of thought and speech be mine,
And he that will may take the sleek fat phrase,
Which glows and burns not, though it gleam and shine--
Light but not heat--a flash, but not a blaze!"
Long words are not always the most "forcible," Stella,--nor, on the
other hand, are they always to be avoided. Sometimes the best word for
expressing our meaning may be long to spell, but easy to understand;
and, again, a word may be short and yet fail to tell exactly what we
wish to say. The verse you copy is not a convincing example of the
power of short words, although it shows that much may be done with
them. Frequently a word is chosen for its rhythmic quality--the
pleasantness and ease with which its sound fits in with the
context--rather than because it is long or short. Mr. Longfellow's
poem, "The Three Kings" published in the last Christmas number of ST.
NICHOLAS, is an example of a fine poem in simple and rhythmical
language, the study of which will improve your style of writing more
than any number of rules that we might give you.
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
HOUR-GLASS PUZZLE.
The central letters, read downward, name a fashionable and beautiful
pet.
1. A large reptile. 2. Idolizing. 3. A foe. 4. To stain. 5. A consonant.
6. A dandy. 7. To baffle. 8. Good news. 9. Capable of being made better.
G.H.W.
BLANK APOCOPES.
In each of the following sentences, the second blank is to be filled
with the first syllable of the word used in the first blank.
1. From some ---- we made a portion of our ----. 2. The ---- was
extinguished when we made a ---- for the door. 3. On the second shelf
of the ---- you will find some ----. 4. It was of a bright ---- color,
the ---- that he had.
C.D.
EASY BEHEADINGS.
1. Behead to strike, and leave what all must do. 2. Behead what
children like, and leave a man's nickname. 3. Behead two pronouns, and
leave two other pronouns. 4. Behead an article of furniture, and leave
capable. 5. Behead a color, and leave a writing material. 6. Behead
something belonging to flowers, and leave a coin. 7. Behead a part of
the head, and leave what comes from the clouds. 8. Behead another
color, and leave a kind of stove. 9. Behead a sport, and leave a girl's
name. 10. Behead a part of a ship, and leave a tree. 11. Behead a kind
of bird, and leave disturbance. 12. Behead an article of food, and
leave a kind of tree. 13. Behead a table utensil, and leave a bird. 14.
Behead to frighten, and leave anxiety. 15. Behead a toilet article, and
leave to crowd.
A.D.L. AND S.W.
EASY TRIPLE ACROSTIC.
The primals, read downward, name a bird; the centrals, an animal;
the finals, an insect.
1. Disentangling. 2. Echo. 3. A city in a Western State. 4. Can't
be worse.
ESOR.
FRAME PUZZLE.
* *
* *
* * * * * * * *
* *
* *
* * * * * * * *
* *
* *
Make the frame of four words of eight letters each, so that the letter
A shall come at each of the four corners where the words intersect. The
words mean: Sweet-smelling, to make a scale, a fillet, an ecclesiastic.
BESSIE AND HER COUSIN.
HIDDEN FRENCH SENTENCE.
Find in the following sentence the French words with which the Emperor
Alexander of Russia once described St. Petersburg:
Give him a good anvil, let him deal sound blows on the irons for the
pier, repeated and strong, and the work will last.
B.
PICTORIAL ANAGRAM PROVERB PUZZLE.
[Illustration]
The answer is a proverb of eight words. Each numeral beneath the
pictures represents a letter in that word of the proverb which is
indicated by that numeral--5 showing that the letter it designates
belongs to the fifth word of the proverb, 3 to the third word, and so
on.
Find a word that describes each picture and contains as many letters as
there are numerals beneath the picture itself. This is the first
process. Then put down, some distance apart, the figures 1, 2, 3, 4, 5,
6, 7, 8, to correspond with the words of the proverb. Group beneath
figure 6 all the letters designated by the numeral 6 in the numbering
beneath the pictures. You will thus have in a group all the letters
contained by the sixth word of the proverb, and you will then have only
to transpose those letters in order to form the word itself. Follow the
same process of grouping and transposition in forming each of the
remaining words of the proverb. Of course, the transposition need not
be begun until all the letters have been set apart in their proper
groups.
S.R.
THREE EASY SQUARE-WORDS.
I.--1. A bard of fame.
2. From mines I came.
3. A fish's name.
II.--1. The mountain's fringe.
2. I make slaves cringe.
3. A ruddy tinge.
III.--1. What bad men hate.
2. I blanch the pate.
3. To join or mate.
N. AND VIOLET.
EASY ENIGMA.
My first is in dark, but not in light;
My second in girl, but not in boy;
My third is in peace, but not in fight;
My fourth in mourning, not in joy;
My fifth is in flowers, but not in weeds;
My sixth in kind, but not in cruel;
My seventh is in drives, and also in leads;
And my whole is a beautiful jewel.
N.K.K.
REVERSIBLE DOUBLE DIAMOND AND CONCEALED WORD-SQUARE.
-
- E -
- E - E -
- E -
-
Fill the vacant places with letters to form a reversible double diamond
which shall inclose a reversible word-square.--Centrals: Perpendicular,
to make merry; horizontal, a mechanical power. Word-square: 1, a
number; 2, part of the day; 3, to knit.
H.H.D.
EASY SYNCOPATIONS.
1. Syncopate a composite metal, and leave a fish. 2. Syncopate an
article of food, and leave an ornament. 3. Syncopate a map, and
leave a vehicle. 4. Syncopate a pungent spice, and leave a small bay.
5. Syncopate a wading bird, and leave a reed. 6. Syncopate a short,
ludicrous play, and leave a part of the body. 7. Syncopate another part
of the body, and leave a wild animal. 8. Syncopate a domestic animal,
and leave articles of clothing. 9. Syncopate a small animal, and leave
to ponder. 10. Syncopate a flower, and leave a domestic animal.
ISOLA.
PICTORIAL TRANSPOSITION PUZZLES.
To solve these five puzzles: Find for each picture a word, or words,
that will correctly describe it, and then transpose the letters of the
descriptive word or words so as to form another word, which will answer
to the definition given below the picture.
B.
[Illustration: 1. Gives right 10.]
[Illustration: 2. A prince of Hindustan.]
[Illustration: 3. A token of victory.]
[Illustration: 4. A sylvan deity.]
[Illustration: 5. A creator.]
EASY SQUARE-WORD.
1. Soothing ointment. 2. A bitter-tasting plant. 3. Knowledge gained
from reading or study. 4. Mild of temper.
K.
EASY DIAMOND.
1. A consonant. 2. A lively animal. 3. To moisten or irrigate.
4. A jewel. 5. A consonant.
ISOLA.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN APRIL NUMBER.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA.--Victor Emanuel. 1. Rome; 2. Turin; 3. Venice;
4. Milan.
EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.--G, bEt, GeNoa, tOe, A.
WORD SYNCOPATIONS.--1. Parsonage--arson, page. 2. Noticeable--ice,
notable. 3. Bewilder--wild, beer. 4. Devotee--vote, Dee.
5. Decanter--cant, deer.
ANAGRAMS.--1. Annoyance. 2. Combinations. 3. Conversion. 4. Dangerous.
5. Ceremonial. 6. Madrigal. 7. Unalterable. 8. Disengage.
DROP-LETTER PUZZLE.--"He doth much who doth well what he hath to do."
EASY RHOMBOID PUZZLE.--C A R E
N E A T
D R O P
L E A P
PICTORIAL ANAGRAM PUZZLE.--Frigates. Feast, stag, gate, seat, rats,
air, fist, tars, safe, stage.
SEXTUPLE WORD-CROSS.--Full perpendicular: Bobolink. Full horizontal:
Bayonet. Top limb: Bob. Bottom limb: Link. Left arm: Bay. Right arm:
Net.
PRESIDENTIAL DISCOVERIES.--1. Ant. 2. Washing. 3. Martin, tailor
(Taylor). 4. Ruth. 5. Birch (_Barch_ard). 6. Abraham, Zachary.
7. John, James, Andrew, Thomas. 8. Tin. 9. Lard, ham. 10. Mil. 11. Ton.
12. Frank. 13. Andre. 14. Rank. 15. Pier. 16. Aft. 17. Ford, dams.
18. Roe. 19. Ayes. 20. Franklin. 21. Ulysses. 22. Ash. 23. William Henry.
24. Grant. 25. Mi, la, re. 26. I Am. 27. Jam. 28. Hen. 29. Ada. 30. More.
31. Son.
EASY DOUBLE ACROSTIC.--America, England. 1. AgreeablE. 2. Main. 3. EgG.
4. RaiL. 5. IdeA. 6, ClaN. 7. AmuseD.
NUMERICAL PUZZLE--Madagascar. Dam, sag, car.
S C
D A M
R G
A PROVERB AMONG PROVERBS.--"Love can neither be bought nor sold; its
only price is love."
A MEDLEY.---Scrape, crape, rape, ape. Capers, cape, cap. Pacers, pace,
ace. Casper, asp.
HALF WORD-SQUARE.--S E N A T O R
E X O G E N
N O V E L
A G E S
T E L
O R
R
Answers to puzzles in the March number were received, before March 18,
from R.T. McKeever, Eddie Vultee, Charles M. Jones, George J. Fiske,
Esther L. Fiske, "Guesser," Milly and Maude Adams, Jay B. Benton, Chas.
G. Todd, M.A. Newlands, "Mione and White Fawn," Leonie Giraud;
Unsigned, Philadelphia; Fred M. Pease, Katie Burnett, Mary C. Warren,
Jennie Dillingham and Frances V. Lord, M.W. Collet, Catherine Cowl,
Allie Bertram, Julia F. Allen, T.J. De la Hunt, G.L., Carrie Speiden
and Mary F. Speiden, "Bessie and her Cousin," Nettie I.G., Xerxes J.
Booren, "Nettie 722," "Queen Bess," E.C. Moss, Nellie Baker, A.L.S. and
L.R.P., Otto Dreier, "Prebo," "Prebo's Ma," Mary Belle Giddings, Nellie
Kellogg, Lillie Stone, Grace C. Raymond, J. Harty Townsend, C. Lothrop,
Robin Nelson, Ben Merrill, Bessie Cary, Edith Claypole Ewing, Nellie
Wooster, Rufus Clark, Nellie C. Graham, Harriet H. Doyle, Bertie E.
Bailey, May Odell, "Thorndale," Louie G. Hinsdale and Arnold Guyot
Cameron, Robert P. Christian, Belle W. Brown, Dellie Wilmarth, Emily
Morison, Frank Bowman, Fred Worthington, Walter Stockdale, Carroll B.
Carr, Eddie F. Worcester, Charley W. Sprague, Nellie Emerson; "Winnie,"
Brookline; Josie Morris Brown, Mary W. Ovington, Allie Armstrong,
Sidney S. Conger, Nellie J. Hutchings, S.N. Knapp, F. Armington, Austin
D. Mabie, Carrie and Sharlie King, Willie B. Deas, Bessie B. Whiting,
Nettie A. Ives, Richard Emmins, A. Gunther, H.B. Ayers, Frances Hunter,
Alice B. Moore, Percy Crenshaw, "Robin Redbreast," John V.L. Pierson,
Mattie S.J. Swallow, Gertrude V. Sharp, Harriet Etting, Mary H.
Stickney, Maggie J. Gemmill, Georgie B., B. McVay Allison, Jennie
Beach; Nellie T. Dozier and Julia T. Gardiner; Everett B. Clark, R.H.
Marr, Jr., Jennie O. Smith, Lillie Singich, Georgine C. Schnitzspahn,
F.D., Anna E. Mathewson, Edward C. Niles, R.W. Abert, Mollie W. Morris,
Sam V. Gilbert, Mary H. Bradley, William H. Atkinson, Alice N. Dunn,
Philip Cary, Fred Whittlesey, Bessie L. Barnes, "Nightingale," Grant
Squires, E.C., L.C.L.; Unsigned, Seymour, Conn.; Lafla Whitaker, Edna
C. Lewis, Jennie R. McClure, "Eagle;" Sadie Duffield and Constance
Grand-Pierre; Barton Longacre, Eva Doeblin, Belle M. Grier,
"Minnehaha," Emmie O. Johnson, "Sister Lizzie," Harry Haskell, Addison
F. Hunis; Kittie Hamilton Chapman and Carrie R. Heller; and Elmer
Dwiggins. Gladys H. Wilkinson and John P. Brewin, both of England, also
sent answers.
Correct answers to all puzzles were received From "King Wompster."