own happy eyes. It dies out of eyes that are older.
THE MINSTREL'S CAROL.
A CHRISTMAS COLLOQUY.
MR. and MRS. BURTON.
TOMMY, _aged seven._
MAY, _aged five._
LUCY, _aged eighteen._
MR. and MRS. REMSEN.
HARRY, } _Twins, aged_
SADIE, } _six._
PATRICK, _a hired man_.
_Scene: The Burtons' parlor on Christmas Eve_.
_Mr. B_. Tommy! stop making such a noise.
_Tommy._ Oh, I can't have any fun at all!
_Mr. B_. Why, yes you can. Look at all your toys scattered about. Play
something quietly.
_Tommy_. Nobody to play with.
_Mr. B_. Play with your little sister.
_Tommy_. She's sitting in mamma's lap; besides, she's a girl. Oh, papa
_[running to his father_] I wish the Remsens would come! I want to play
with Harry.
_Mr. B._ [_hastily_]. Never mind, never mind! The Remsens will not
come.
_May_. Why wont the Remsens come?
_Tommy_. Oh, dear me, there isn't anything nice to do!
_Mr. B_. Tommy, stop your whining. Don't say another word. May, don't
speak of the Remsens again. They are not coming, and that's an end of
it.
[_Enter_ LUCY.]
_Lucy_. What! tears on Christmas Eve, little May! And Tommy pouting!
Oh, that'll never do! Come, cheer up! You'll have plenty of fun soon
with Harry and Sadie.--It must be nearly time to send for the Remsens,
father.
_Mr. B._ [_vexed_]. Don't speak of them again. They're not coming, and
I don't want them. Why _will_ every one keep talking about them?
[_Enter_ PATRICK.]
_Mrs. B._ [_aside to Lucy_]. Mr. Remsen and your father have quarreled
about a piece of land; so the Remsens are not to come this year.
_Mr. B_. Well, Patrick, what is it?
_Patrick_. Shure, the horse is ready, sir.
_Mr. B_. Horse ready? What for?
_Patrick_. To be goin' for the Rimsins, shure!
_Mr. B._ [_angrily_]. We are not going for the Remsens! What do you
mean by acting without orders? Take the horse out at once!
_Patrick_. Widout orthers, is it? An' it's mesilf, thin, that hitched
up the crather every Christmas Ave I've lived wid yous for to go for
them same.
_Mr. B_. Don't answer, sir; do as I bid you.
_Patrick_ [_aside_]. It's plain the masther's rin his nose forninst
something harrud. [_Exit._]
_Mrs. B._ [_going to Mr. B. and putting her arm about him, he
sitting_]. Dear John, send for the Remsens, please. See how everything
conspires to ask it of you, from the prattle of the children to old
Patrick himself. It is Christmas Eve, dear! How can we teach the dear
chicks to be kind to each other unless we set the example? Send for our
old friends, John. They've been with us every Christmas Eve these many
years. You'll settle your affair with Mr. Remsen all the better,
afterward.
_Mr. B_. Why, Mary, would you have me crawl at the feet of a man who
tries to overreach me?
_Mrs. B_. No, John! But stand on your own feet, and say: "Come,
neighbor, let us do something better and wiser than hate each other."
_Mr. B_. I'll not do it. He has--
_Lucy_. Hark! What's that?
[_Music outside--the sound of a harp, or of a concealed piano played
very softly. Then, to its accompaniment, is sung the following carol:_]
"Be merry all, be merry all!
With holly dress the festive hall,
Prepare the song, the feast, the ball,
To welcome Merry Christmas.
"And, oh! remember, gentles gay,
To you who bask in fortune's ray
The year is all a holiday:--
The poor have only Christmas.
"When you the costly banquet deal
To guests who never famine feel,
Oh spare one morsel from your meal
To cheer the poor at Christmas.
"So shall each note of mirth appear
More sweet to heaven than praise or prayer,
And angels, in their carols there,
Shall bless the poor at Christmas."
_Lucy_. Oh, what a beautiful carol! I'll call in the minstrel.
_Mrs. B_. Yes, run Lucy! [_Exit_ LUCY.]
_Mr. B_. Set a chair by the fire, Tommy.
[_Enter_ LUCY, _with old minstrel carrying harp_.]
_Minstrel_. Good even, gentle folks, and a merry Christmas to you all!
_Mrs. B_. Come sit by the fire. Tommy placed the chair for you. It is
cold outside.
_Minstrel_. Thank you kindly, ma'am. So Tommy set the chair for the old
man? Where is Master Tommy? Ah, there's my little man! Come here,
Tommy. That's right. So, up, on my knee. Why, that's a bright face now!
And it ought to be bright, too; for this is Christmas Eve, merry
Christmas Eve, the children's happy time. Tommy, I remember when I was
as young as you are. I had a little sister.
_Tommy_. I have a little sister, too.
_Minstrel_. Oh, you have a little sister, eh! Where is she, then?
_Tommy [pointing]._ Over there, in the corner.
_Minstrel_. Bless my old eyes, so she is! Run and bring her, Tommy.
[TOMMY _runs, and returns leading and coaxing_ MAY.]
_Minstrel_ [_setting one on each knee_]. Now, good folks, if you'll let
me, I'll tell these little people a story of Jesus when he was a little
boy. It is called "The Holy Well."
[_They group themselves about the minstrel_.]
Early one bright May morning, Jesus, then a little boy of ten or twelve
years, awoke, and at once remembered that it was a holiday. His eyes,
bright with the morning light, sparkled yet more brightly at the
thought. There would be no school, no work. All the people would keep
the feast. He knew, too, that on that day, the boys of his age would
assemble betimes to play together at The Holy Well. So, brimful of
joyful expectation, he ran to ask his mother's leave to go and join in
the merry games. Soon he was on his way, and he quickened his steps
when he came in sight of the troops of happy children running hither
and thither in their sports. Drawing nearer, he stood still a little
while, watching the games with pleased and eager eyes. Then he called
out: "Little children, shall I play with you, and will you play with
me?" Now, these boys and girls were the children of rich parents, and
lived in much finer houses than the one Jesus had for a home. They had
handsome clothes, too, and everything of the best. So they looked on
the plainly dressed stranger, the son of a poor carpenter, and bade him
begone, saying: "We will not play with you, or with any such as you!"
What a rebuff was that! The poor, sensitive little lad had not expected
it, and his tender feelings were hurt. His eyes filled with tears; and
running home as fast as he could, he laid his head in his mother's lap,
and sobbed out to her the whole story. Then Mary was angry with the
ill-natured children, and told her son to go back and destroy them all
by his word; for she believed that her beautiful boy could do such
things. But, surely, if he could have harbored that thought, he would
not have been beautiful; and so, when his mother spoke, her words drew
away his thoughts from himself to the children who had grieved him. He
knew that they had never really known him, and so could not have
understood what they were doing. Therefore he said to his mother that
he must be helpful and gentle to people, and not destroy them. And that
was the way with him to the very end. For when, years after, the people
(perhaps among them some of those same children grown-up) were putting
him to death on a cross, he bethought him again that they did not
really know him, and prayed: "Father, forgive them; they know not what
they do." And, even before then, he had told all people to love their
enemies, and forgive and be good to one another. If he had not done all
that, Christmas would not be so happy a time for us.
_Mrs. B._ [_approaching her husband and laying her hand on his
shoulder_]. John, is not he right?
_Mr. B._ [_who has been lost in thought, starting and abruptly walking
aside_]. He is right! So are they all. [_Turning about_.] Dear wife,
Lucy, Tommy, May, you shall be happy! We'll have the Remsens! I say,
we'll have our dear old friends. Patrick shall harness the horse at
once, and--[_The Minstrel suddenly strips off his disguise and reveals
himself as_ MR. REMSEN.] What! Remsen! Is that you?
_Mr. R_. No need to harness up, old friend. Here I am! Ah! I knew how
it would be.
_Tommy_ [_capering about_]. Hi! Hi! Ho! Isn't it great, May? I shall
have Harry to play with.
_May_ [_clapping_]. And I shall have Sadie.
_Lucy_. Oh, what a delightful surprise! Oh, Mr. Remsen, I am glad, so
very glad, that you have come. We will send for the others at once.
_Mr. R_. Why, they're all here, too. You may be sure we all came
together. [_Opening the door._] Come! come in! It's all right, as we
knew it would be.
[_Enter_ MRS. REMSEN _and her children_, HARRY _and_ SADIE, _who
immediately run to_ TOMMY _and_ MAY.]
_Mrs. B. [to Mrs. R_.] Welcome, welcome, dear friend! This _is_ kind.
_Lucy_. Now Christmas Eve is what it ought to be.
_Mrs. R_. Oh, Mrs. Burton, I am happy again now. I was afraid that
Christmas would not bring love and joy for us this year. We could not
help coming. Old memories were too strong for us.
_Mr. R. to Mr. B_. Ah! neighbor, it's a sad thing to interrupt that
"peace on earth" of which the angels sung. There's my hand; take it
kindly.
_Mr. B_. And there's mine, with all my heart. We'll not let a bit of
land divide old friends.
_Mr. R_. Aye, aye! We'd better divide the land.
_Mr. B_. It seems easy to settle now. But no more of that to-night.
Come, let us sing our Christmas carol. It will be sweeter than ever.
Take your harp, friend, and turn minstrel again for the occasion.
[Illustration]
With wond'ring awe,
Tho wise men saw
The star in Heaven springing,
And with delight
In peaceful night,
They heard the angels singing,
Hosanna, Hosanna
Hosanna to His name!
By light of star,
They traveled far
To seek the lowly manger;
A humble bed
Wherein was laid
The wondrous little stranger.
Hosanna, hosanna,
Hosanna to His name!
And still is found,
The world around,
The old and hallowed story;
And still is sung
In every tongue
The angels' song of glory:
Hosanna, hosanna,
Hosanna to His name!
The heavenly star
Its ray afar
On every land is throwing
And shall not cease
Till holy peace,
In all the earth is glowing.
Hosanna, hosanna,
Hosanna to His name!
[Illustration]
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
A MERRY CHRISTMAS to you, my darlings! It's cold weather--too cold for
any but a Scribner Jack-in-the-Pulpit to be out-of-doors--but our
hearts are green, and there's a fine bracing air.
Christmas will not be here when you first get the December magazine, I
know, but ST. NICHOLAS likes to get a good start. He has Dutch blood in
his veins, and he knows well that in Holland St. Nicholas' Day comes on
the 6th of December.
So, just think of the dear Dutch youngsters, and what a happy holiday
they keep on the 6th,--for that is their season of gift-giving,--and
when the 25th comes to you, with its holy, beautiful light, and its
home joys, you'll be all the more ready to give it welcome.
Now for
A WINDFALL.
Here is a copy of a printed scrap thrown to me by a high wind the other
day. It isn't of very much use to a Jack-in-the-Pulpit; so I hand it
over to you, my chicks. It strikes me that it has the gist of some of
Deacon Green's remarks, and that somehow it doesn't come under the head
of what is called "pernicious reading":
"GOOD ADVICE FOR THE YOUNG.--Avoid all boastings and exaggerations,
backbiting, abuse, and evil speaking; slang phrases and oaths in
conversation; depreciate no man's qualities, and accept
hospitalities of the humblest kind in a hearty and appreciative
manner; avoid giving offense, and if you do offend, have the
manliness to apologize; infuse as much elegance as possible into
your thoughts as well as your actions; and, as you avoid
vulgarities, you will increase the enjoyment of life, and grow in
the respect of others."
KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES.
Here is a story which I heard a girl tell her little sister the other
day, but I don't believe the girl told it altogether right. Can any of
my youngsters straighten it out? This is the story:
King Alfred, after his fatal defeat at Marston Moor, having taken
refuge in an oak-tree, was so absorbed in watching a spider which had
tried to weave its web eleven times and succeeded on the twelfth, that
he allowed the cakes to burn; whereupon, the herdsman's wife, rushing
in, exclaimed:
"Oh, Diamond! Diamond! what mischief hast thou done?"
To which he meekly replied: "I cannot tell a lie; I did it with my
little hatchet."
"Take away," cried she, "that bauble!"
"I have done my duty, thank heaven!" said he, but he never smiled
again.
A LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I should like to tell the Little
Schoolma'am about _our_ little schoolma'am.
She is a young lady of about twenty-one years, and looks too
delicate to govern such a school. But she does it; and though as
fond of fun as any of us at the right time, yet in school she
insists on attention to business, and will not tolerate idleness or
disobedience. She is very kind and gentle, but firm and decided,
and we all know that she means what she says, and must be obeyed
implicitly. She says she wants us to love and trust her as a
friend, and we do. Out of school she seems as young as we do, for
she is full of fun and likes us to have a good time. She tries to
make school pleasant to us, and a while ago she put a box on her
desk, and said, when we had any questions to ask, or complaints to
make, we might write them on a slip of paper and put it in that
box, which was locked and had a hole in the top. Sometimes she
answers the questions publicly, and sometimes she writes them and
puts them in the "letter-box." The scholar who has the best record
for a month keeps the key the next month, and once a week opens the
box and distributes the contents. It is quite an honor to be
"postmistress," but no one can have it two months at a time. She
lets us make suggestions if we think of any improvements in the
school, and sometimes adopts them. Another of her plans is to allow
five minutes at the end of each hour when we may whisper, but not
talk out loud. If we wish to speak to any one we can leave our seat
and walk to them, if they are not near to us. But any one who
whispers, or communicates in any way at any other time, forfeits
this chance. I forgot to say that we put notes to each other in the
letter-box. We do like our little schoolma'am so much!--Yours
truly,
ALLIE BERTRAM.
AS IDLE AS A BIRD.
It is not so very long since I heard a little girl say that she "wished
she could only be as idle as a bird."
Now, this was not a very lazy sort of wish, if she had but known it.
There are very few little girls, or boys,--or grown-ups either, for the
matter of that,--who are as industrious as the birds. How many people
would be willing to begin their daily labors as early as the birds
begin theirs--at half-past three o'clock in the morning--and keep on
toiling away until after eight in the evening?
Think of it, my youngsters,--almost eighteen hours of constant work!
And the birds do it willingly, too; for it is a labor of love to bring
dainty bits to their hungry little ones and keep the home-nest snug and
warm.
One pair of birds that had been patiently watched from the first to the
last of their long, long day, made no less than four hundred and
seventy-five trips, of about one hundred and fifty yards each, in
search of food for their darling chicks!
As idle as a bird, indeed!--with all that hunting, and fetching, and
carrying, and feeding to do!
"OWN FIRST COUSINS."
Talking of birds, would you ever have thought it? The lovely and
brilliant Bird of Paradise, I'm told, is "own first cousin" to
the--Crows. And the Crows are not one bit ashamed to own the
relationship! Very condescending of them, isn't it?
ORANGE GROVES ON ST. JOHN'S RIVER.
Ocala, Marion County, Fla., 1877.
DEAR JACK: I was on the St. John's River at work with my father
about three years ago. There were real wild-orange groves there,
and the trees bore sour and bitter-sweet fruit. I will now tell you
what I was doing on that river. I was pressing out the juice of the
sour oranges and boiling it, for making citric acid. We used a
cider press for pressing out the juice, and a copper cauldron for
boiling it. We shipped the acid to Philadelphia, and I do not know
what was done with it next.
These groves were inhabited by wild beasts, such as opossums, wild
cats, raccoons, deer, and, occasionally, bears and panthers.
The groves were situated on high mounds, made ages and ages ago, by
people of an ancient race known as "mound-builders." There were
always shells on the mounds, which in some instances appeared to be
made entirely of shells. Some mounds were fifty feet, or more,
above the surrounding country, and from two hundred to four hundred
yards in length.
Now, I dare say, you would like me to say of what kind these shells
were; but, as I never could find out for myself, I cannot tell you
what kind they were. They are unlike any that I have seen
elsewhere, and I think they do not belong to any living species of
to-day. Farewell, dear Jack!--Yours truly,
TROPIC.
THE BLIND CLERK.
DEAR JACK: Ever so many millions of letters are dropped into the
London Post-Office every year, but some are so badly addressed that
they never get out again. When a direction is so ill-written that
the sorters can't make it out, the letter is taken to a man they
call the "Blind Clerk," and he generally deciphers it. Why they
call him "blind" I don't know, for few addresses are beyond the
power of his sharp eyes to make out. Here is one that did not give
him much trouble; but can any of your young folks tell what it
means?
Sarvingle
Num for te Quins prade
Lunon.
I'll send you the "blind" man's solution next month. Meantime, here
is a puzzle for your merry crowd. You shall have an answer in that
same postscript; but I should like to have the Little Schoolma'am
and the rest work it out for themselves:
"I am constrained to plant a grove
To satisfy the girl I love;
And in this grove I must compose
Just nineteen trees in nine straight rows,
And in each row five trees must place,
Or never more behold her face.
Ye sons of art, lend me your aid
To please this most exacting maid."
This puzzle is so old that it probably will be new to thousands of
your young folks.--Yours truly,
M. B. T.
BIRDS CAUGHT BY SALT.
Yes. It's so; though I must say I felt inclined to laugh the first time
I heard one boy tell another to put salt on a bird's tail by way of
catching it. Now, however, word comes, all the way from California,
that there is a lake there, called "Deep Spring Lake," whose waters are
very salt; and that during certain conditions of the weather the
water-fowl of the lake become so encrusted with salt that they cannot
fly, and the Indians wade into the water and simply catch the birds
with their hands. The coating taken from one duck weighed six
pounds,--enough to have drowned it, even if its eyes and bill had not
been so covered as to blind and choke it. When the weather is favorable
for the formation of this crust upon the birds, the Indians do their
best with fires and noise to keep them away from the few fresh-water
streams where the poor things would be safe from the salt. Besides
this, the savages imitate the cries and calls of the birds, so as to
entice them to the dangerous part of the lake.
It seems to me that men must be very mean as well as very hungry to
take advantage of the birds in that way. However, "circumstances alter
cases," as the school-boy said when he had been "punished for his good"
by mistake.
A SPELL UPON KEROSENE.
Bridgeport, Conn.
Dear Little Schoolma'am: One would think that the word "kerosene"
could not be a very difficult one for the average inhabitant to
write correctly; but it is. From the New York _Independent_ I learn
that the following versions of the word have actually been received
by the Portland Kerosene Oil Company in its correspondence:
Caracine, carecane, caroziene, carocine, cursene, carozyne,
coriseen, carosyne, caricien, carsine, caresene, carozine,
carocene, carosean, carycene, caresien, caraseen, caroscene,
crosen, carecene, carizoein, keriscene, karosin, kerocine,
keressean, keriseene, kerasene, kerosen, kereseen, kerison,
kerriseen, kerricene, keroseen, kerosine, karosina, keresene,
kerrsein, keroscene, kerose, kerasseen, kereson kerocene, kerozene,
kerrisene, kerryseen, kerissien, kersien, kerossein, keriscene.
Now isn't that astonishing?--Yours sincerely,
MARY N.G.
THE EYEBROW WORD.
What do you think this is? It is neither more nor less than the word
"supercilious," which is derived from _supercilium_, the Latin for
"eyebrow," as I heard the Little Schoolma'am tell the children not long
ago.
When she had said this, one of the little girls, in a rather scornful,
superior way, said, "I don't see any sense in that." Whereat the Little
Schoolma'am and two or three of the bigger girls laughed, for the
little girl had raised her eyebrow in a most "supercilious" expression,
giving the best possible proof of the appropriateness of the word. For,
certainly, it is hard for one's face to express a supercilious feeling
without raising the eyebrow, or at least changing that part of the
countenance which is over the eyelid.
SINCERE.
Here's one more derivation, while we are about it. I heard the other
day that the bees, with the aid of Latin, have given us a beautiful
word: "Sincere"--which is made of the words _sine-cera_, meaning "honey
without wax."
Remember this, my chicks, and let your kind words and good actions be
truly sincere,--pure honey, _sine cera_.
THE AUTHOR OF "HOME, SWEET HOME."
Dear Jack: My grandfather knew a gentleman who was a very intimate
friend of the author of "Home, Sweet Home"--John Howard Payne. Mr.
Payne told this gentleman, Mr. C., how he came to write the song.
He said that a play or operetta called "The Maid of Milan," that he
had adapted from the French, was about to be played in London. In
this play was a very pretty scene for which he had an air in his
mind. He had to conjure up some words to suit the tune, and so he
wrote the verses of "Home, Sweet Home." He also said that the very
next day after the song had been brought out at the theater it was
all over London. Everybody was singing it. Grandfather says that
Mr. Payne got really very tired of hearing about this song, and at
length said he supposed he would hereafter be known only as the
author of "Home, Sweet Home." Mr. Robert S. Chilton wrote this
beautiful verse about Mr. Payne's death:
Sure, when thy gentle spirit fled
To realms beyond the azure dome,
With arms outstretched God's angels said:
"Welcome to heaven's 'Home, Sweet Home!'"
I believe this verse was inscribed on Mr. Payne's tomb-stone in
Tunis, Africa; but I am not sure. Can any one tell me?--Yours
truly,
KATIE T.M.
BABY-BO.
[Illustration]
How many toes has the tootsy foot?
One, two, three, four, five!
Shut them all up in the little red sock,
Snugger than bees in a hive.
How many fingers has little wee hand?
Four, and a little wee thumb!
Shut them up under the bed-clothes tight,
For fear Jack Frost should come.
How many eyes has the Baby Bo?
Two, so shining and bright!
Shut them up under the little white lids,
And kiss them a loving good-night.
ARTHUR AND HIS PONY.
About the middle of the summer, little Arthur, who lived in the
country, went to see his grandmother, whose house was three or four
miles away from Arthur's home. He staid there a week, and when he came
home and had been welcomed by all the family, his father took him out
on the front piazza and said to him:
"Now, Arthur, if you are not tired, how would you like to take a ride?"
"Oh! I'm not tired," said Arthur. "I'd like a ride ever so much. Will
you take me?"
"No," said his father. "I meant for you to take a ride by yourself."
"But I can't drive," said little Arthur.
"I know that," his father said, with a smile, "but I think we can
manage it. Here, Joseph!" he called out to the hired man, "hurry and
bring Arthur's horse."
"Oh, papa!" cried Arthur, "I don't want my horse. I can't take a real
ride on him. He's wooden, and I was tired of him long ago. I thought
you meant for me to take a real ride," and the little fellow's eyes
filled with tears.
"So I do, my son," said his father, "and here comes the horse on which
you are to take it. Is that animal real enough for you, sir?"
Around the corner came Joseph, leading a plump little black pony, with
a long tail and mane, and a saddle, and bridle, and stirrups.
Arthur was so astonished and delighted that at first he could not
speak.
"Well, what do you think of him?" said his father.
"Is that my horse?" said Arthur.
"Yes, all your own."
Arthur did not go to look at his pony. He turned and ran into the
house, screaming at the top of his voice:
"Mother! mother! I've got a pony! Come quick! I've got a pony--a real
pony! Aunt Rachel! I've got a pony, Laura! Laura! come, I've got a
pony!"
When he came out again, his father said: "Come now, get on and try your
new horse. He has been waiting here long enough."
But Arthur was so excited and delighted, and wanted so much to run
around his pony and look at him on all sides, and kept on telling his
father how glad he was to get it, and how ever so much obliged he was
to him for it, and what a good man he was, and what a lovely pony the
pony was, that his father could hardly get him still enough to sit in
the saddle.
However, he quieted down after a while, and his father put him on the
pony's back, and shortened the stirrups so that they should be the
right length for him, and put the reins in his hands. Now he was all
ready for a ride, and Arthur wanted to gallop away.
"No, no!" said his father, "you cannot do that. You do not know how to
ride yet. At first your pony must walk."
So Arthur's father took hold of the pony's bridle and led him along the
carriage-way in front of the house, and as the little boy rode off,
sitting up straight in the saddle, and holding proudly to the reins,
his mother and his aunt and his sister Laura clapped their hands, and
cheered him; and this made Arthur feel prouder than ever.
He had a good long ride, up and down, and up and down, and the next day
his father took him out again, and taught him how to sit and how to
guide his pony.
In a week or two Arthur could ride by himself, even when the pony was
trotting gently; and before long he rode all over the grounds, trotting
or cantering or walking, just as he pleased.
The pony was a very gentle, quiet creature, and Arthur's father felt
quite willing to trust his little boy to ride about on him, provided he
did not go far from home.
Only once was there any trouble on the pony's account. As Arthur was
riding in a field, one afternoon, there came along a party of
gentlemen, who were hunting a fox. When they galloped away, over the
smooth grass, Arthur whipped up his pony, and went after them as fast
as he could go.
He went on and on, trying to keep up with the hunters, but he was soon
left behind, for his pony could not gallop half as fast as the large,
strong horses of the hunters.
Then he turned to come back, but he got into the wrong field, and soon
found that he did not know the way home.
Arthur began to be very much frightened, for the sun was setting, and
he could see no one of whom he could ask his way home. He first turned
his pony this way and then that way, but the little horse was now
hungry and tired, and he would not turn as Arthur wanted him to.
Then the pony resolutely started off and trotted along, paying no
attention to Arthur's pulls and tugs, and did not stop until he had
trotted right up to the door of Arthur's home.
You see, he knew the way well enough. Horses and dogs seldom lose
their way, unless they are very far from home.
Arthur's parents were frightened at their little boy's long absence,
and he was not allowed to ride again for three days, for he had been
told not to go out of the field in which he was when he saw the
hunters.
[Illustration: ARTHUR ON HIS PONY.]
Arthur rode that pony until he became quite a big boy, and his feet
nearly touched the ground as he sat in the saddle. Then he gave the
good little animal to a young cousin.
But he never liked any horse so much as this pony, which was his own,
real horse, when he was such a little boy.
YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS' DEPARTMENT.
[Illustration: TWO YOUNG MARTYRS.
(Drawn by a Young-Contributor.)]
"TOO-LOO!"
The Blue Jay courted the Yellow Cuckoo;
'Neath its nest he would stay all day long,
Smoothing his feathers of silver and blue,
Telling his love in a song:
"Too-loo! too-loo!
Oh, fly with me,
My sweet Cuckoo,
Across the sea!"
The Cuckoo came gayly forth from her nest;
But just then an arrow flew by,
Piercing the bird's soft yellow breast,
Who died with a single sigh.
"Too-loo! too-loo!"
The Blue Jay said;
"What shall I do?
My love is dead!"
The Cuckoo lay cold and still on the ground--
Dead, past all help to save;
And by a Bird-defender was found,
Who dug her a little grave.
"Too-loo! too-loo!"
Was the sorrowful lay,
For the gentle Cuckoo
Sung by the Jay.
AMY R.
"MARY AND HER LAMB."
(_A Critique._)
"Mary had a little lamb."
In this poem each stanza, we may say each line, is unalloyed gold. Let
us examine the first line.
"Mary." The name strikes us at once as belonging to one pure as the
inside of an apple-bloom; and the rest of the poem assures us, that by
making Mary's name an index to Mary's character, we have not been
misled. A master's hand is visible from the first word.
"A little lamb." The poet does not take for granted, as one of less
genius would, that because a lamb is mentioned the reader necessarily
sees in his mind's eye one of the frolicsome, gentle, confiding
creatures commonly accepted as an emblem of meekness. Not at all. The
lamb is not only a lamb--it is a _little_ lamb. Thus never in the whole
course of the poem can we by any oversight look upon Mary's treasure as
a sheep; it retains its infantile sweetness and grace through the
entire narration. The poet thus draws our attention to the youth of the
animal, in order to palliate the little creature's after-guilt. This is
done with such grace and delicacy, that it is scarcely perceptible.
The line, as a whole, shows a touch of high art seldom seen in so short
a poem. The writer knows human nature--that, we see at a glance. Else,
would he not have entered into a detailed account of Mary's parentage,
her appearance, place of residence, or, at least, the manner in which
she became possessed of the lamb. But no; all is left to the
imagination. Mary may be as blonde as the "Fair one with golden locks,"
as dark as "Black Agnes." Each reader has a heroine after his own
heart, and each is satisfied.
"Its fleece was white as snow."
No black sheep (or lamb) could we in any way imagine as a companion of
Mary--gentle, affectionate, pure little Mary. All her associates must
be pure as herself.
"And everywhere that Mary went
The lamb was sure to go."
Does not this suit the character given to Mary by her name? We can
image to ourselves the lost lamb, the mournful bleating for its mother,
its hunger and cold. In the depth of its misery we see Mary's sweet
face bending pityingly over it; she raises it, takes it home, it
revives, and loves her; she loves it in return. Can we wonder that it
follows in her footsteps wherever she goes? Those two lines tell more
than many a volume; but they must be read feelingly, or all is lost.
Now follows a tale of wrong-doing and of subsequent punishment. This
is, indeed, a master-stroke; for this climax we were not prepared.
"It followed her to school one day,
Which was against the rule."
Although the lamb follows its mistress everywhere, school is a tabooed
place. Yet the little creature cannot live without Mary, who has
departed fair and fresh as Overbury's "Happy Milkmaid." Long are the
hours that must elapse ere Mary's return, and the lamb tires of the
waiting. "It followed her to school one day." How innocent an act that
seems!--how natural! Then we read the next line,--"Which was against
the rule," and the lamb's action is turned from innocence to guilt.
Mary's favorite, that we have seen heretofore in only a good light,
violates deliberately a rule of the school which Mary attends. The
short sight of the animal's spiritual eyes prevents it from knowing the
extent of the disgrace to which it is to be subjected. At present the
end justifies the means in its little heart, and it leaves its pleasant
home to wander schoolward, and we are left to imagine its thoughts on
the way.
A scene in the school-house bursts upon us, and
"It makes the children laugh and play
To see a lamb at school."
This is another instance in which we are shown the poet's knowledge of
human nature. At anything less than the sight of a lamb the little
scholars are too well trained to laugh. This has no precedent. They
have been told how to behave should a dog enter the room, or should a
ludicrous error in lessons occur; but when a lamb trots soberly
in,--not gamboling now; conscience already whispers; remorse eats at
the little creature's peace of mind,--it is not to be expected that
order can be longer maintained, and the school, with the exception of
Mary, runs riot. Mary is perhaps, meanwhile, reproaching her pet with a
look "more in sorrow than in anger;" she is too gentle to scold, but
that glance completely fills the lamb's cup of sorrow; it is yet to
overrun, and the drop is soon poured in--the deep beneath "the lowest
deep" is soon reached.
"For this the teacher turned him out."
It was his duty, reader; judge him not harshly.
"But still he lingered near."
This, at least, was not forbidden,--to wait for his little mistress.
"And waited patiently about
Till Mary did appear."
How fraught with significance is that one word, "patiently!" All too
eager before, that was the lamb's fault, "and grievously hath [he]
answered it." He has turned over a new leaf, and wandering aimlessly
about, now nibbling a cowslip, now rolling in the young grass to still
the remorse gnawing at his heart, we can imagine him resolving to be a
better lamb in the future,--to grow more worthy Mary's love.
"'What makes the lamb love Mary so?'
The eager children cry."
All have noticed this devotion--all wonder at it. The teacher answers
in words that prove how well we read Mary's affectionate nature:
"'Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know,'
The teacher did reply."
What could be a more worthy ending to so fine a poem than that the
loves of the two, human and brute, should be recognized by all Mary's
little world, her school-mates and her teacher. More poems like this,
sentiments so pure clad in plain Saxon words, would make our
world--wonderful and beautiful, as it now is--a fitter place of
dwelling for "men and the children of men." We regret but one point
about this gem,--that its author is "A Great Unknown."
C. McK.
THE DEATH OF PRINCE WILLIAM.
There was a prince named William,
And he had a sister, too;
He was sailing o'er the English Channel,
Over the Channel so blue.
His father had gone ahead;
And he made the boat go fast,
But soon it struck upon a rock;
There was a shock to the very mast!
And everybody did wail,
And everybody did cry,
Because everybody thought
That everybody must die!
Prince William rushed into a boat,--
Several lords and he,--
And he was steering for the land,
Across the dark blue sea.
In the midst of the general weeping,
He heard his sister's cry,
And he made the boat go back,
For he would not let her die!
When he got near the ship,
When he was touching her side,
Down the side of the big ship
Everybody did glide.
Down went the little boat,
Too frail for such a load;
Down went the people in it,
And the people that rowed.
Down went the big ship,
Her topmast in the air,
And, if a person were near enough,
He might see a man clinging there.
The name of this man was Berold,
And he was a butcher by trade,
And by the help of a buff garment
On the top of the water he stayed.
In the morning some fishermen came
And delivered him from the mast;
And after he was recovered,
His tale he told at last.
When the king heard of the death of his children,
He fainted away for a while,
And from that day he was never,
Never was seen to smile!
H.W.
ALLIE'S SUNSHINE.
"A snowy, windy day. Oh, how dismal!" sighed Allie. "I wish it would
clear off, so that I could go out-doors and play."
With this, Allie, who had been standing by the window gazing out at the
gray sky, sat down and commenced to read that beautiful book, "May
Stanhope." After reading quietly for more than an hour, she laid down
the book, exclaiming: "I _can_ and will try to be of some use in the
world. I do nothing but mope when it rains, or when anything goes
wrong. I will try to help others who need my help. I will ask mamma if
I can carry something to Miss Davies. I am sure she needs some help."
"Oh, the sun is shining!" Allie jumped up, and ran out of the room to
ask her mother if she would let her go to Miss Davies's. While she is
gone I will tell you briefly who she is. Her name is Allie Harris, and
she is a bright little girl, only apt to be dull on dark days.
Her mother gave the desired permission, and after wrapping herself up
warmly, she took the well-filled basket that her mother had prepared,
and set out on her errand of mercy. She soon reached Miss Davies's tiny
cottage. She knocked, and a cheery voice bade her enter. She walked
into a neat room, barely but cleanly furnished. At one end of it,
beside a window, around which an ivy was growing, sat a bright-faced
little woman sewing. She looked up and greeted Allie pleasantly. Allie
shyly made known her errand, and stayed with Miss Davies all the
afternoon, singing and reading aloud while Miss Davies sewed.
When it began to grow dark she bade Miss Davies a cheerful good-by, and
went merrily home. She said to her mother, "I have learned the _true_
secret of happiness at last." By doing _good_ to others you will forget
your _own_ unhappiness, and be made happy in return; while, if you
_mope_ and try to be disagreeable, you will be miserable.
F.H.
[Illustration: "H'M! DOES YOUR MOTHER KNOW YOU'RE OUT?"
(Drawn by a Young Contributor.)]
THE LETTER BOX
Our beautiful new cover was designed and drawn by Walter Crane, of
London, who made all those lovely pictures in "The Baby's Opera." Our
readers will remember what we said of him last month, and that, though
a great artist in other ways also, he has done his best and most famous
work in drawing for the little folks. It would have been impossible,
therefore, to find a hand more skillful in the kind of art desired, or
better fitted to put upon the cover of ST. NICHOLAS just the things to
suit the best tastes and fancies; and of Mr. Crane's success we think
that no one who really studies the new cover can have a doubt. It seems
to us fully worthy both of the artist and the magazine; and, believing
that our young readers will all agree with us, we leave them the
delight of discovering and enjoying for themselves its special
beauties.
* * * * *
There is a beautiful custom in England--which is to be hoped will yet
become general in America--of sending around Christmas cards, dainty
things with lovely pictures and hearty verses upon them. Friends and
lovers send them to one another, children send them to their parents,
parents to their children, and the postman, as he flies from house to
house, fairly glows with loving messages.
And now ST. NICHOLAS presents to one and all the sweet little card on
page 91, which was drawn by Miss L. Greenaway, a London artist, who has
drawn many beautiful pictures of child-life. A companion card will be
given next month.
* * * * *
We are sure all our readers will appreciate the very comical pictures
on pages 144 and 145, which illustrate the funny story of "The Magician
and His Bee." But some of our older boys and girls may be able to put
them to another use,--which, also, would cause much fun and
merriment,--for these pictures would form an admirable series of
magic-lantern slides. And all that is needed to make them is a little
skill with the brush and--patience.
Take an _outline_ tracing of each figure; arrange all the tracings for
each slide on the glass strip, according to their positions in the
picture; then, by a slight touch of mucilage, or by holding each one
with the forefinger, secure them in their places until the outlines can
be traced on the glass. Fill up all the space outside the tracings with
black paint, and, this done, put in the shadings of the figures (lines
of features, costumes, etc.) with touches of the brush, according to
the lines in the printed pictures, until the reproductions upon the
slide are true and complete.
Once done, the pictures, enlarged and thrown upon a screen, would be
very funny indeed; and if, when they are exhibited, some one will read
the story aloud, so as to describe the slides as they succeed each
other, you may count upon having a jolly time.
* * * * *
Kiukiang, China, August 18, 1877.
Dear St. Nicholas: I am not so far out of the world but that I can
receive and read your excellent magazine. I look forward to mail
day with much pleasure, especially the mail which brings the ST.
NICHOLAS. I read every number through. I enjoy reading the letters
from the little boys and girls, I suppose, because I am a little
boy myself. There are no American boys here except my three little
brothers. We would like to have a play with some of the boys who
write for your magazine. The little boys of China have no such
magazine as yours. I wish they had; it would make better boys of
them. The children of the better class of Chinese go to school.
There they learn to commit to memory the Chinese characters. In
repeating the characters, they sway back and forth; it's real
comical to see them. They repeat in a sing-song tone. They go to
school at six in the morning. They have a rest at noon, after which
they remain in the evening until eight o'clock. They have no idea
of what we have in America; they are even stupid enough to ask if
we have a sun and moon, and all such questions. My home is on the
banks of the great river Yang-tse; nine miles back from the river
are the Lu-Say Mountains, five thousand feet high. The foreign
people find it very cool up in the mountains. There are several
large pools of water where they bathe. I have written more than I
expected to.
--Good-by, dear ST. NICHOLAS, from your reader,
EVANSTON HART.
* * * * *
Readers who were interested in Professor Proctor's letter about the
Sea-Serpent in ST. NICHOLAS for August last, may like to read also
these little extracts on the same subject:
_From the New York "Independent."_
A sea-monster was seen by the officers of H.M.S. "Osborne," on June 2,
off the coast of Sicily, which is sketched by Lieut. Haynes and figured
in the London _Graphic_. The first sketch is merely of a long row of
fins just appearing above the water, of irregular height, and
extending, says Lieutenant Osborne, from thirty to forty feet in
length. The other sketch is of the creature as seen "end on," and shows
only the head, which was "bullet-shaped and quite six feet thick," and
a couple of flappers, one on each side. The creature was, says
Lieutenant Osborne, at least fifteen or twenty feet wide across the
back, and "from the top of the head to the part of the back where it
became immersed I should consider about fifty feet, and that seemed
about a third of its whole length." Thus it is certainly much longer
than any fish hitherto known to the zoölogists, and is, at least, as
remarkable a creature as most of the old wonder-makers ever alleged.
_From the "National Teachers' Monthly," September_.
Mr. John Kieller Webster says he has seen the sea-serpent in the
Straits of Malacca. Its body was fifty feet in length, the head twelve
feet, and the tail one hundred and fifty. It seemed to be a huge
salamander. The Chinese on board the ship were so frightened, they set
up a howl,--a circumstance very remarkable.
* * * * *
THE GAME OF FAGOT-GATHERING.
There is a jolly in-door game, for the winter, called
"Fagot-Gathering," which has been described in print before, but it
makes so much fun that many who have never heard of it will be glad if
we tell about it here.
First you take some slips of paper,--as many as there are players,--and
on one of them you write "Fagot-Gatherer;" on each of the rest you
write either "good wood" or "snapper," making three times as many "good
woods" as "snappers." Of course, anybody who knows about wood-fires
will see that this is because some sticks will burn quietly and
brightly while others will crack and snap and fly without the least
warning. You put the papers into a hat, and each player takes one,
telling nobody what is written on it. Every one then sits as near to
the wall as possible, leaving a clear space in the middle of the room,
and the player who has chosen the "Fagot-Gatherer" slip proceeds in a
serious, business-like way to bundle the fagots. He, or she, chooses
four or five girls and boys, standing them together to represent a
fagot, and then makes similar groups of the rest in other parts of the
room. This done, he begins to "bind the fagots" by walking slowly
around each group, making with his arms such motions as a real
fagot-binder would make. The "sticks" are quiet until the binder lets
his arms fall, but then comes a sudden change; the "good woods" run to
their seats, but the "snappers" chase the "binder" and try to touch him
before he can begin to bind another "fagot;" failing in this, they have
to go and mourn among the "good woods." Then the binding of the second
"fagot" goes on, like that of the first. But when a "fagot-gatherer" is
touched, the "snapper" takes the place of the "gatherer," who goes and
rests himself. The game ends when all the "fagots" have been used up in
this way, and is then begun again by another selection of papers from
the hat. The fun is in the frights and surprises of the
"fagot-gatherer," who, of course, does not know who is a "good wood"
and who a "snapper;" and all do their best to avoid betraying
themselves. If you have a good big room and lots of players you will
find this game as full of fun as you can wish.
* * * * *
Philadelphia, September 16, 1877.
Dear ST. NICHOLAS: I was looking over your September number, and
happened to read a letter addressed to the "Little Schoolma'am,"
and signed "Father of two school-girls;" it was about school
lunches, and told of a visit to the new Normal school of
Philadelphia; he said that in the lunch hall there is a long table
on which there was nothing but cakes of all sorts. Now, being a
member of the school, I was a little hurt at the injustice done to
our school. I know there is something else but cake,--fruit, milk,
soup, sandwiches, etc., being among the other things that are
spread on the lunch-table, provided by the janitor, and sold to the
girls at very low rates. So you see I had reason to be a little
indignant at the discredit done to our school, and set about
repairing it as far as possible; and you, too, can help repair the
harm done to this fine public school by kindly printing this note.
But I must close, for my letter is getting too long.
--Your true friend,
A MEMBER OF THE MODEL CLASSES PRIMARY DEPARTMENT. (Aged eleven
years.)
* * * * *
SCIENCE AT HOME.
Brooklyn.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am an old boy, but not too old to be one of
your most delighted readers; and I am glad of the present chance to
send you my good wishes, and say my say. Here it is:
Be sure and tell your youngsters to bear in mind that opportunities
for home study on their own accounts are multiplying around them
day by day, and that in taking advantage of them they will not only
find great enjoyment and add to their stock of knowledge, but also
will come upon hundreds of ways in which to amuse their friends,
both old and young.
Here, for instance, come Professor Mayer, and your frequent
contributor, Mr. Charles Barnard, with a little book about "Light."
They are not content with merely telling the dry facts about their
subject, but, with pictures and plain speech, they explain how
almost any boy or girl may, at small cost, make his or her own
apparatus, and with it verify by actual trial what the book says.
Some of the experiments are positively beautiful, and the hardest
is not _very_ difficult.
Then, too, Professor Tyndall has written out his lectures to young
people, given before the Royal Institution at London during
1875-76, in a little work called "Lessons in Electricity,"--most
interesting and beautiful of scientific studies,--in which he tells
how to make the instruments and conduct the experiments yourself.
And, as if that were not enough, Mr. Curt W. Meyer, of the Bible
House, New York, has arranged to supply a complete set of
instruments, to suit this book of Professor Tyndall's, at a total
cost of $55, packing-case and all; the various articles being
obtainable separately at proportionate prices.
I only wish we had had such chances fifty years ago; for, if our
older friends had not made presents of such things to us,--as no
doubt many oldsters will to your young folks this coming
Christmas,--we'd have saved up our pocket money and gone ahead
alone. I know that I made all my own electrical apparatus; but
there was good fun in doing it, and it worked well, and made
splendid times for our circle of young folks on cozy winter
evenings.
I hope you will read this letter through, although it is as long as
most old men's memories.--Yours still affectionately,
GRAN'THER HORTON.
* * * * *
Jamaica, L.I.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I read Jack-in-the-Pulpit's inquiry in the
August number about the "Fiery Tears of St. Lawrence." Yesterday I
was reading a book, and in it there was an article headed "Showers
of Stars." I read it, and at the end of it was a piece which seemed
to be an answer to Jack's question. I copied word for word from the
book. Here it is:
"Another writer suggests the theory that a stream or group of
innumerable bodies, comparatively small, but of various dimensions,
is sweeping around the solar focus in an orbit, which periodically
cuts the orbit of the earth, thus explaining the actual cause of
shooting stars, aerolites, and meteoric showers."
This is all I have been able to find out, and I hope it is
correct.--Believe me to be yours very truly,
C.A.R.
C.A.R., and others who wish to know more of this subject, will find all
the latest information in "Appleton's Cyclopaedia," under the items
"Aerolite" and "Meteor," where admirably clear and condensed accounts
are given of all that is known about these bodies. C.A.R.'s extract
states the theory most generally held.
* * * * *
TABLEAUX FROM ST. NICHOLAS PICTURES.
Brooklyn, November, 1877.
DEAR OLD ST. NICHOLAS: My little sisters and my brother love you,
and so do I, for your monthly visits make our house brighter and
pleasanter to us all. I am fifteen, not yet too old to be one of
your children, you see.
What I want to tell you is how easily some of your pictures can be
turned into _tableaux-vivants,_ or even acted. There was
"Pattikin's House;" I am sure we had the greatest fun with those
pictures, we being so many girls: and "The man all tattered and
torn that married the maiden all forlorn;" that was on p. 652 of
the volume for 1876: "The Minuet," in January, 1877: "Hagar in the
Desert," in June, 1877; my aunty did that, and it was lovely: the
little girl in "The Owl That Stared," in November, 1876; and
"Leap-Year," in the same number. All these we had at our own home,
but there are lots of others that might suit some folks better than
they would suit us.
This winter some of your pictures will be used in a series of grand
tableaux for our Sunday-school entertainments. A number of people
belonging to the school can paint scenes, get up costumes, and all
that. It is going to be splendid.
I thought that your other children, you dear old ST. NICHOLAS,
would surely like to know about this, and I hope I have not made my
letter too long. From yours lovingly,
MINA B.H.
* * * * *
MARY C. WARREN answered correctly all the puzzles in the October
"Riddle-Box," but her answers came too late for acknowledgment in the
November number.
* * * * *
Black Oak Ridge, Passaic County, N.J.
MRS. EDITOR: Excuse me writing to you, but I want to ask you if you
think it is right to be killing cats all the time, for my brother
Eddie has killed fifteen this year, and whenever I scold him about
it, he begins to sing pilly willy winkum bang dow diddle ee ing
ding poo poo fordy, pilly willy winkum bang. There, there he stands
now behind the barn with his hands full of lumps of coal watching
for one that killed his chicken a month ago. O dear, if he would
only stop killing cats what a good boy he would be! He always gives
me half of his candy, and he raises such nice melons in his garden.
O, O, as true as I live there he goes now after the poor cat. Good,
good, good--neither piece of coal hit her. What can I do to stop
his bad habit. I think it is too bad even if they do kill his
chicks once in a while. I have only got two cats left, Dick and
Mizy, and he watches them awful close.--Your friend,
KATIE BAKER.
* * * * *
New York.
DEAR ST NICHOLAS: I want to send this story to The letter box that
I wrote when I was 6 years old this is it
LITTLE MAY
Once upon a time there lived a little girl whose father and mother
were very rich, so the little girl had lovely dresses, but she had
a very bad temper and was very proud so nobody loved her. One day
this little girl I might as well tell you her name it was May was
sitting in her mothers lap Mama said she what makes everybody act
so to me? Dear said her mother it is because you are so proud and
get angry so easily then said May if I should try to be good would
they like me Yes said her mother so after that May was a better
child and every body liked her even her mother loved her better
than before and so did her father and after that the little girl
was no more saying Oh dear nobody loves me but lived happy and
contented.
ELISE L. LATHROP.
* * * * *
Geneva, N.Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I notice in a chapter of "His Own Master" for
September a mistake which I can correct. In describing the
Cincinnati suspension bridge, it says that trains go across on it.
This is a mistake, as that bridge is only used for carriages,
horse-cars and pedestrians, the steam-cars going across on another
bridge above. There is now building a new railroad bridge below for
the new Southern Railroad.--Yours respectfully,
W.S.N.
* * * * *
San Leandro, Cal., Sept. 3, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I tried the Little Schoolma'am's way of pressing
flowers, and I think it is ever so nice. I pressed a wall-flower;
it retained all its brightness and looked just like a fresh flower.
Last spring we discovered a humming-bird's nest in one of the trees
in our orchard. It was very pretty, being no larger than half of a
hen's egg. The first time I saw it the little mother was on it; she
sat as still as a stone, and looked as if she would not budge an
inch for me or anybody else. I am always very glad when the ST.
NICHOLAS comes.--Your affectionate little reader,
SUSIE R. IRWIN.
* * * * *
Princeton, N.J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to tell you of the interesting
expedition I made last August to the college observatory here for
the purpose of seeing the three planets, Jupiter, Mars and Saturn.
Through the telescope we were shown Mars burning with a ruddy glow,
and having on the rim of one side a bright white spot, which the
professor told us was the ice piled up around the north pole;
Saturn with its rings, seen with wonderful clearness, and shining
pale and far off in comparison with Mars; Jupiter with its two dark
bands around the center, and three of its satellites plainly
visible; and, last, the moon with its curiously indented surface
and ragged edge. The telescope was small, so we could not, of
course, see the newly discovered satellites of Mars, the professor
saying that there were only two instruments in this country that
would show them. Hoping that you may have as good an opportunity to
see these splendid heavenly bodies as I have had, I remain, your
friend,
B.H.S.
NOTICES OF NEW BOOKS.
BABY DAYS, a selection of Songs, Stories and Pictures for Very Little
Folks, with an introduction by the Editor of ST. NICHOLAS, and 300
illustrations. Scribner & Co.--This large and very handsome book has
been made up from ST. NICHOLAS, and nearly all from the pages devoted
to the "Very Little Folks," and although the readers of this magazine
know that there have been many good things in that department, they can
have no idea, until they see it gathered together in this book, what a
wealth of pictures, stories, funny little poems and jingles have been
offered the little ones in ST. NICHOLAS. To children who have never
read ST. NICHOLAS, this book, with its three hundred pictures,--to say
nothing of its other contents,--will be a revelation; to children who
take the magazine, it will bring up many pleasant recollections of good
things they have enjoyed.
ABOUT OLD STORY-TELLERS--of How and When they Lived, and what Stories
they Told. By Donald G. Mitchell. Published by Scribner, Armstrong &
Co.--When any one comes late to dinner nothing can be kinder than to
bring back for him some of the good things which may have been removed
before his arrival,--and something very like this has here been done by
Mr. Mitchell for the boys and girls who came into this world too late
to hear in their original freshness all the good stories that were the
delight of their fathers and mothers when they were children. And these
fine old stories are all so nicely warmed up (if we may so express it)
by the author of the book, and so daintily and attractively presented
to our boys and girls, that some older folks may be in doubt whether or
not they would have lost anything in this respect if they, too, had
happened to come a little late to the feast furnished by Defoe, Dean
Swift, Miss Edgeworth, Oliver Goldsmith, the man who wrote the "Arabian
Nights," and other good old story-tellers.
Our little housekeepers, especially those who have put into practice
Marion Harland's admirable recipes which we gave in our third and
fourth volumes, will be delighted with a little book published by
Jansen, McClurg & Co., of Chicago. It is called SIX LITTLE COOKS; or,
Aunt Jane's Cooking-Class,--and, while it is really an interesting
narrative in itself, it delightfully teaches girls just how to follow
practically its many recipes. The only fault we have to find with it is
the great preponderance of cakes and pastry and sweets over healthful
dishes and the more solid kinds of cookery.
A very pleasant little book is THE WINGS OF COURAGE, adapted from the
French for American boys and girls by Marie E. Field, and published by
the Putnams. The three stories which make up the book will delight
fairy-loving boys and girls. They are illustrated by Mrs. Lucy G.
Morse, the author of "The Ash-Girl," well known to ST. NICHOLAS
readers. The pictures all are pretty, but to our mind the best of all
is "Margot and Neva," illustrating "Queen Coax."
BETTY AND HER COUSIN HARRY. By Miss Sarah E. Chester. American Tract
Society, N.Y. Price, $1; postage, 7 cents.--This book tells in a
bright and lively way about the pranks of a merry little girl and her
boy-cousin. There is plenty of good fun and goodwill throughout,
especially in the parts that tell of the doings of the two young
madcaps on April Fools' Day and the Fourth of July, and of the queer
way in which Toby, the pet crow, becomes peace-maker between them.
THE BODLEYS TELLING STORIES. Hurd & Houghton.--None of our young
friends who have read "The Doings of the Bodley Family" will need to be
told that this new volume is filled with stories bright, interesting,
and helpful; and the Bodley folks have already gained so many friends
and admirers that the book will be sure to make its way. We said of the
former volume that it was charming, but the new one is even more
exquisitely printed, and has a cover even more quaint and beautiful. So
we cordially commend it to our young friends as a book which will both
satisfy their interest and benefit their tastes.
THE CHRISTMAS STORY-TELLER, published by Scribner, Welford & Armstrong,
is a well-illustrated collection of excellent Christmas stories by
English writers. It is meant for papas and mammas rather than little
folks, but some of our older boys and girls may enjoy the Christmas
tales by such authors as Mark Lemon, Edmund Yates, Tom Hood, Shirley
Brooks, and that very funny man, F.C. Burnand.
THE RIDDLE-BOX
A CHESS PUZZLE.
Our readers will here find a "knight's move" problem, similar to the
one published in the "Riddle-Box" of ST. NICHOLAS for February, 1874.
By beginning at the right word and going from square to square as a
knight moves, you will find an eight-line quotation from an old poet.
The verse is quoted in one of "Elia's Essays." M.
+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+
| | | | | | | | |
| And | you, | ding | close | your | bond- | me | cir- |
| | | | | | | | |
+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+
| | | | | | | | |
| gad- | me | oh | age | chain | your | I | en |
| | | | | | | | |
+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+
| | | | | | | | |
| O | vines; | Do |through | so | silk- | cles | too, |
| | | | | | | | |
+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+
| | | | | | | | |
| nail | ye | lest | bles, | break, | Ere | me | That |
| | | | | | | | |
+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+
| | | | | | | | |
| your | bram- | ars, | in | Bind | knee, | And, | weak, |
| | | | | | | | |
+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+
| | | | | | | | |
| bout, | But, | me | ver | prove | bines, | I | ye |
| | | | | | | | |
+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+
| | | | | | | | |
| Curl | fet- | this | bri- | your | ne- | too | cour- |
| | | | | | | | |
+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+
| | | | | | | | |
| place; | a- |twines; | ters | leave | teous | wood- | may |
| | | | | | | | |
+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+
EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
The whole, composed of six letters, is a New England city. The 1 is a
numeral. The 1 2 is a word signifying "Behold!" The 1 2 3 is cheap. The
2 3 4 is to be indebted. The 3 4 is a pronoun. The 3 4 5 6 is a
cistern. The 4 5 6 is a measure.
C.D.
A PLEA FOR SANTA CLAUS.
By taking one letter from each line of this verse, you will find an
acrostic which spells a holiday greeting. The letters, too, are in a
straight line with one another--but what letters shall be taken?
Coming with merry feet to young and old,
Where snow and ice would block his onward way;
Strive they in vain his eager step to stay,
For Santa Claus is curious as bold.
Why should he _not_ know what the ovens hold?
Such odors tempt him, and he must obey!
School-boys and matrons, grandsires, maidens gay,
Forgive him if he warm his fingers cold
While waiting: Arrows from his mystic pack--
Wise fellow! see him choose! "_These_ (from _my_ bows),
With shaft of silver, tipped with jewel rare,
Aimed with the skill which Love can well impart,
Shall strike the center of the coyest heart!
Lest Santa Claus be slighted, then, beware!"
B.
BROKEN WORDS.
In each sentence, fill the first two blanks with two words which,
joined together, will form a word to fill the remaining blank.
1. "Do you buy paper ---- ---- or reams?" ---- one school-girl of
another.
2. ---- ---- Puritans do not regard it as you free ---- men might.
3. He built ---- ---- when in ----, and lived like the natives
themselves.
B.
PICTORIAL QUADRUPLE-ACROSTIC.
The initials and finals of the words represented by the small pictures
name two objects to be seen in the central picture. Two other words
relating to the central picture may also be found in succession, by
taking one letter from each of the words represented by the small
pictures.
L.J.
[Illustration]
CHRISTMAS ENIGMA.
The answer is a proverb relating to Christmas. Forty-four letters.
My 2 30 9 8 24 38 15 22 32 27, and also 25 20 11 38 31 25, and
6 13 17 35 25 9 18 29 2 are used in Christmas decorations.
36 1 26 42 9 16 are rung, 44 41 7 38 39 31 16 are told, 24 4 6 2 12
are played, 10 11 33 26 21 2 5 12 is laid aside, 19 9 43 38 35 37 16
are brightened by yule logs, 34 23 14 11 20 25 salutations are
exchanged, 28 22 4 8 35 44 gladdened, and 3 7 11 38 27 winged, all
at the good old Christmas-time.
B.
AUTHORS' NAMES.
The answers will give respectively the names of sixteen authors.
1. A cat's cry and a Scotch lake. 2. The value of the rim 3. A rough or
clumsy cut between a sunbeam and the old ladies' beverage. 4. A man's
name and an island. 5. A teacher commanding one of his male scholars to
perform his task. 6. A bun and a hotel. 7. A light, and a "k," and a
measure of length. 8. Strong and well.
9. Two-thirds of an eye; a Scotch title prefixed;
With a shoe-maker's tool nicely put in betwixt:
If you look at it closely, I think you will find
An essayist, poet, historian, combined.
10. Conqueror, embrace O. 11. Indispensable to printers, and a little
bed. 12. A bit, and a horse's cry. 13. A small nail and a Spanish
title. 14. A boy's nickname and an humble dwelling. 15. The patriarch
Jacob between "D" and myself.
16. If two pretty girl-names together you tie
(Some E's you must lose, for "I can't tell a lie"),
The name of two poets at once you'll descry.
M.M.
A RIMLESS WHEEL.
The wheel is made of four words of seven letters each, with a common
central letter. The first word is written vertically, the second
horizontally, the third diagonally from left to right, and the fourth
diagonally from right to left. The half of each word, from the outside
to the central letter (but not including that letter), forms a smaller
word. The whole line of dots from 1_a_ to 1_b_ including the central
letter, indicates the first of the four principal words, while 1_a_
indicates the first of the small words belonging to it, and 1_b_
indicates its second small word. This numbering and lettering applies
also to the other words. The central letter is given, and all the words
are defined below.
1a
3a. . .4a
. . .
. . .
2a . . . A . . . 2b
. . .
. . .
4b. . .3b
1b
1. A wall of defense. 2. A brilliant bird of South America. 3. An
enthusiast. 4. The noise of a drum.
1_a_. Equal value. 1_b_. A fondling. 2_a_. The human race. 2_b_. A
relative. 3_a_. An article of summer use. 3_b_. Involuntary muscular
motion. 4_a_. To chafe. 4_b_. To entitle.
B.
MAGIC DOMINO-SQUARE.
Eight dominoes placed together form a square composed of sixteen
half-dominoes, as shown in the diagram below. But, in the diagram, each
row of four half-dominoes contains a different number of spots from any
of the other rows. Thus the topmost row, counting horizontally,
contains eighteen spots; the one below it only four; the first row to
the left, counting vertically, ten; the diagonal row, downward from
left to right, eight, etc. It is required to make a square of eight
dominoes of the same set, in which each vertical, horizontal, and
diagonal row of half dominoes shall contain exactly sixteen spots. Who
can do it?
M.D.
+-------+-------+-------+-------+
| * | * * * | * | * * |
| * | | * | * * |
| * | * * * | * | * * |
+-------+-------+-------+-------+
| | | * | |
| * | | | * |
| | | * | |
+-------+-------+-------+-------+
| * | * | * * | * |
| | | | * |
| * | * | * * | * |
+-------+-------+-------+-------+
| * * | * * | * | |
| | * | | * |
| * * | * * | * | |
+-------+-------+-------+-------+
DIAGONAL PUZZLE.
The puzzle contains ten words of ten letters each. Fill the blanks with
words suited to the sense, and arrange these one above another in the
order in which they occur in the sentences. They will then form a
square, and the diagonal letters, read downward from left to right,
will name a friend we all like.
---- (the same person as the diagonal, with another name) boys, and the
children may well put ---- in a friend who can ---- so much to their
happiness. No ordinary person is ---- to him; and the legend ---- us to
the belief that he is well-nigh ---- that tells of the ---- exercise of
his power in a ---- ---- manner, and on account of which he deserves to
be called the "----" patron.
B.
PROVERB PUZZLE.
Supply the blanks with words to complete the sense, and transpose them
into an appropriate proverb, with no letter repeated.
When Santa Claus, laughing at Christmas cold,
Leaps gayly out from his ---- of gold,
No clattering ---- disturb the house,
But down the ---- as still as a ----
He glides to lighten his burdened back,
By tossing treasures from out his pack;
Then up and off, with no ---- behind
But the "Merry Christmas" you all shall find.
SEXTUPLE ACROSTIC.
Initials, read downward, a man; read upward, a biblical locality.
Centrals, read downward, a portion; read upward, a snare. Finals, read
downward, something seen at night; read upward, small animals.
1. Stupid persons. 2. Toward the stern of a ship. 3. An insect in a
caterpillar state. 4. To come in.
N.T.M.
EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.
In work, but not in play; a domestic animal; a singing bird; a light
carriage; in night, but not in day.
ISOLA.
NUMERICAL ENIGMAS.
1. She is such a sweet, 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 child, I feel sure that I can
soon 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 of her love.
2. "Will you 1 2 3 4 5 6 row?" said the 1 2 3 4 5 6.
3. If you do 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 about the stem of, the vase,
choose the delicate 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11.
4. Shall you 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 for robbing the poor little
12 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12's nest?
5. My 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 a house to the 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 of ten children.
6. Shall it be a sail, 1 2 3, 4 5 6 7 8,--1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8?
Whichever it is to be, we must prepare for it to-day, Tom.
7. 1 2 3 4! 5 6 7 8 1 2 3 4, I shall always be interested in your
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8.
O.B.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN NOVEMBER NUMBER.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC.--Franklin, Herschel.
F ---rit---- H
R ----os---- E
A ---lde---- R
N --autilu-- S
K --ennebe-- C
L ---arc---- H
I ----sl---- E
N ---icke--- L
BROKEN WORDS.--1. Forgotten--forgot ten. 2. Offences--of fences.
3. Significant--sign if I can't. 4. Firmament--firm ament.
PICTORIAL NUMERICAL REBUS.--
4,002,063
83,080,010
76,094
89,000,000,011
--------------
89,087,158,178
HOUR-GLASS PUZZLE.--
P E R P E T U A L
T R I V I A L
A B O D E
O L D
U
A T E
T H I N K
A R M O R E R
F L O U N D E R S
NUMERICAL ENIGMA--Cleopatra--ale, top, car.
BEHEADINGS AND CURTAILINGS.--1. Shame, Sham, Ham, Ha, A. 2. White,
Whit, Hit, It, I. 3. Coral, Cora, Ora, Or, R. 4. Spine, Pine, Pin, In, I.
5. Honey, Hone, One, On, O.
EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.--D, Cid, Clara, Diamond, Droit, Ant, D.
CHARADE.--Stratagem.
PUZZLE BOUQUET.--1. Foxglove. 2. Hawkweed. 3. Tuberose. 4. Candytuft.
5. Snapdragon. 6. Wall-flower. 7. Sweet-pea. 8. Balsam (Ball Sam).
9. Snowdrop. 10. Marigold (Marry Gold).
TRANSPOSITIONS.--1. Earth, heart. 2. Oder, rode. 3. Wells, swell.
4. Evil, Levi. 5. Edges, sedge.
LETTER ANAGRAMS.--1. L over P--Plover. 2. R after S--Rafters.
3. S and T--Stand. 4. P under L--Plunder. 5. Et upon Ic--Unpoetic.
HIDDEN DRESS GOODS.--1. Calico. 2. Gingham. 3. Cotton. 4. Linen.
5. Serge. 6. Merino. 7. Silk. 8. Satin. 9. Muslin.
PICTORIAL PROVERB-ACROSTIC.--"The longest day must have an end."
1. T ----e Deu---- M
2. H ---yosciam--- U
3. E -----ye------ S
4. L -----as------ T
5. O ------------- H
6. N --ux Vomic--- A
7. G --love(--e--) V
8. E -----y------- E
9. S -----e------- A
10. T ----uree----- N
11. D ----rup------ E
12. A ---ndiro----- N
13. Y -----ar------ D
THE ANSWERS TO THE PICTORIAL PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER "RIDDLE-BOX" were
accidentally omitted from the November number, and are given here.
REBUS: "Liars are not to be believed or respected." PICTORIAL
PROVERB-ANAGRAM: "Listeners never hear any good of themselves."
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER have been received
from Harry H Neill, George J. Fiske, Eddie Vultee, John W. Riddle,
Marion Abbott, Harriet M. Hall, Grant Squires, George Herbert White,
William Kiersted, Maxwell W. Turner, Emma Elliott, H.V. Wurdemann,
Alice B. Moore, "Clarinet," Sophie Owen Smith, Julia Abbott, Alice M.
King, Mary W. Ovington, "Maudie," Edith Merriam, Eddie H. Eckel,
"Bessie and her Cousin," Alice Bertram, M.W. Collet, and "A.B.C."
ANSWERS TO SPECIAL PUZZLES were also received, previous to October
18th, from Georgietta N. Congdon, Bessie Dorsey, Fred M. Pease, T.M.
Ware, A.G. Cameron, "May," Rosie S. Palmer, Julia Lathers, Florence
Wilcox, Edwin R. Garsia, Lizzie M. Knapp, Alice B. McNary, May
Danforth, Katie Earl, W. Creighton Spencer, W. Irving Spencer, Carrie
M. Hart, Edna A. Hart, Olive E. Hart, B.P. Emery, Gertrude Eager, and
Alice T. Booth.