Student and schoolmateNorman Allison Calkins 1 N · ਹੈ ਮਾਂ ਨੂੰ 6. THE STUDENTAND SCHOOLMATE NOLUSTRATEDYONTAL BOYS & GIRLS VOLS. XXI-XXII. 1 BOSTON: JOSEPH H. ALLEN, PUBLISHER, No. 203 Washington Street. 1868. THE BOYS & GÖRZS. STUDENTANDSCHODIMATE FOR LUSTRATED MON NTHLY ALLOUR VOLS. XXI-XXII. (126 vi BOSTON: JOSEPH H. ALLEN, PUBLISHER, No. 203 Washington Street. 1868. THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIETARY 4334591 ASTOR, LENOX AND IDEN FOUNDATIONS R 1947 L Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by JOSEPH H. ALLEN. In the Clerk's office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. Sale بن ) :-) Stereotyped by W. F. Brown & Co. 27 Cornhill, Boston. Press of John Wilson & Son, Cambridge 135 1934 . . . . . . . Honor thy Father and thy Mother. #7176/ Withdrawn CONTENTS. PAOR A True Man. 19 Amusing Anecdote. 30 After the Storm. Poetry. Eben. . III A Case in Court. Dialogue. Clara Augusta. 180 A Fire Story: · Mrs. Jane G Austin. 203 Agnes' Troubles. Mrs. R. A. Parker. 223 A Song of a Key. Poetry. George F. Thayer. 254 Anniversary of the Anti-Pork Society. Dialogue.. W. L. Williams. 278 A Water Story: Mrs. Jane G. Austin. 301 Among the Mountains of Western Massachusetts. R.C. A, . : 356, 407, 440, 490, 520 After. Poetry George Cooper. . 375 An Air Story . Mrs. Jane G. Austin. 390 A Flower for the Dead Child. Mrs. Caroline A. Soule. 495 An Infant's Appeal. Poetry. George F. Thayer. 509 An Earth Story. . Mrs. Jane G. Austin. 510 An Adroit Horseman. 535 Billy's Boots and Bobby's Shoes. Frank S. Finn. 130 Brother and Sister. May Leonard. . 555 E.C. 7... 14 M. B. Manwaring. 23, 79, 168, 255 Crocodiles. E. C. 7. 350 Christmas Boughs. Mary E. Nutting. 540 Count Eberhard's Crusade. S. 7. W. 413 Dick Brown's Declamation. . 7. N. Thomas. 135 Dreams. Poetry. :: George F. Thayer. 211 Defence of Virtue. Declamation. . Phillips.. 466 Each has a Use. Poetry. George F. Thayer. 399 Fame and Fortune. Horatio Alger, Jr. . 1, 49, 97, 145, 193, 237, 285, 333, 381, 429, 477, 525 E.C.7.. 217 Great Expectations. Dialogue. Clara Augusta. 467 How Pat Paid the Rent. Horatio Alger, fr.. 117 Dialogue. W. L. Williams. 138 How Fred's Wish Came True. May Leonard. 403 . . . . . Crickets. Chemistry . . . . . . . . . . Flowers. . . . . . I Can't . Anell. 32 iy Contents. . . John Maynard. Poetry. Johnny Eastburn's Travels. Johnny Parker's Christmas. Horatio Alger, Jr. Paul North. . Clara Augusta. . 20 62 546 . . Kindness Wins. 178 Leaves.. Lucerne. Lily Lane. Looking for a Situation. Dialogue. Lost among the Mountains. .E.C. 7. Anell Aurelia. E. Fronda. Clara Augusta. 157 162 213 230 248 . . . . . . Mrs. Harper's Recompense. My Adventure with Burglars. Minnie and Carrie. My Mother's Work-Basket. Mrs. Spinwig's Washing Day. Mental Activity, . Clara Augusta. 59 Cousin Harry. . 107 Paul North. . 166 Author of Aunt Zelpeth's Baby. 96 Frank S. Finn. 370 489 . • New Year's Greeting. Poetry Nettie's Fairy : : News from the Beach. Your Young Friend, 1868. . 31 Tracy Towne. 454, 503 . H. 458, 499 . . . . Otia Dant Vitia. Poetry. One Step in the Wrong Way. Old Raymond. On Baldwin's Rock. One Day Less. Poetry. William L. Williams. Jennie Calver. Clara Augusta. William L. Williams. 7. William Van Namee. 172 259 344 365 542 . . . Patrick's Good-bye. Declamation. Princess Long-ears. Playing Sick. Dialogue. Profit of Temperance. 0. Augusta Cheney. Clara Augusta Dr. Fewett. 137 173 323 343 . . . 85 . Roots. Reply to Walpole. Declamation. Ralph Wright. E. C. 7. Wm. Pitt. Annie Phillips. . . . 368 463 . . . . . Spartacus to the Gladiators. Declamation E. Kellogg. Stems. E C. 7. Success Alone Seen. L. E. L. Seeds. E. C. 7. Squeaking Boots. Declamation. H. W. Beecher. Something besides Money Wanted. Speech of Black Hawk. Declamation. Silent Progress. Declamation. · 33 113 186 266 277 412 421 519 . . 8 27 The Candy Scrape. William L. Williams. The Lupin's Way, Tracy Towne. The Vermont Marble Quarries. The Bears of Berne. C. The Green Stores. By Author of Adventures of a German Toy. 56 57 . . 74 Contents. 122 . 222 The City of London, 82 The Churl and the Bird. Mrs. Phelps. 83 The Junior Partner. Dialogue. William L. Williams. 90 The Cost of Weeds, 116 The Bird that Builds a Play House. The Last Cruise of the “ Betsey," May Leonard. 123 The Museum. . Mrs. M. E Berry. 164, 443 The Flowers. Poetry. Miss H. F. Gould.. The Reason Why? Declamation. 229 The Flower Fairy. . . Scarlet Verbena. 270 The Two Christmas Gifts. Annie Phillips. 274 The Destruction of the Churches. Poetry. George F. Thayer. 299 The Broken Window. William L. Williams. 311 The Prize Composition. Helen C. Pearson. 319 The Vengeance of Mudara. Declamation. . 322 To a June Bug. Paul North. 349 The Value of Newspapers. 355 The Lily of St. Croix. S. B.. 360 The Ambitious Boy. Dialogue. William L. Williams. The Enchanted Princess. 0. Augusta Cheney. 447, 502 The Schoolmate. Poetry. George F. Thayer. 455 The Love of Flowers. Henry Ward Beecher. The Mayflower and the Pilgrims. Declamation. Edward Everett. The Lawyer turned Shopkeeper. Dialogue.W. L. Williams. 560 Tangled Threads. 44, 94, 140, 189, 234, 282, 328, 376, 426, 474, 523, 566 . 422 . . . 498 . 559 Very Suspicious. Dialogue. Frank S. Finn. 520 . . . Writing a Composition. Dialogue. Washington. Declamation... Clara Augusta. . E. P. Whipple. 35 89 Young Men and the Temperance Cause. Declamation. Yellowleg and his Morals. 7. L. Cuyler. . 179 316 Thomas P. I. Magoun. . 472 Music. Bath Quickstep. May Blossoms Memory. New Year's Polka. 66 233 187 • 1 STUDENT AND SCHOOLMITE office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1868, by JOSEPH H. ALLEN, in the clerk's An Illustrated Monthly, FOR OUR BOYS AND GIRLS. VOL. XXI. JANUARY, 1868. No. I. 1 FAME AND FORTUNE, OR THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD HUNTER. CHAPTER 1. A BOARDING HOUSE IN BLEECKER STREET. u ELL, Fosdick, this is a little better than our old room in Mott Street," said Richard Hunter, looking complacently about him. “ You 're right, Dick," said his friend. “This carpet's rather nicer than the ragged one Mrs. Mooney supplied us with. The beds are neat and com- fortable, and I feel better satisfied, even if we do have to pay twice as much for it.” The room which yielded so much satisfaction to the two boys, was on the fourth floor of a boarding house in Bleecker Street. No doubt many of my young readers, who are accustomed to elegant homes, would think it very plain, but neither Richard nor his friend had been used to anything as good. They had been thrown upon their own exertions at an early age, and had a hard battle to fight with poverty and ignorance. Those of my readers who are familiar with Richard Hunter's experiences when he was “ Ragged Dick,” will easily understand what a great rise in the world it was for him to have a really respectable home. For 2 The Student and Schoolmate. years he had led a vagabond life about the streets, as a boot-black, sleeping in old wagons, or boxes, or wherever he could find a lodging gratis. It was only twelve months since a chance meeting with an in- telligent boy caused bim to form the resolution to grow up respectable. By diligent evening study with Henry Fosdick, whose advantages had been much greater than his own, assisted by a natural quickness and an unusual aptitude for learning, he had, in a year, learned to read and write well, and had, besides, made considerable progress in arithmetic. Still he would have found it difficult to obtain a situation if he had not been the means of saving from drowning the young child of Mr. James Rockwell, a wealthy merchant in business on Pearl Street, who at once out of gratitude for the service rendered, engaged our hero in his employ at the unusual compensation, for a beginner, of ten dollars a week. His friend, Henry Fosdick, was in a bat store on Broadway, but thus far only received six dollars a week. Feeling that it was time to change their quarters to a more respecta- ble portion of the city, they one morning rang the bell of Mrs. Brown- ing's boarding house, on Bleecker Street. They were shown into the parlor, and soon a tall lady with flaren ringlets, and a thin face, came in. Well, young gentlemen, what can I do for you ?” she said, regard- ing them attentively. “ My friend and I are looking for a boarding place," said Henry Fosdick. " Have you any rooms vacant ?” “ What sort of a room would you like ?” asked Mrs. Browning. “We cannot afford to pay a high price. We should be satisfied with a small room.” “ You will room together, I suppose ?” “ Yes ma'am.” “ I have a room vacant on the third floor, quite a good sized one, for which I should charge you seven dollars apiece. There is a room on the fourth ficor not so large, which yoù can have for five dollars each.” “I think we 'll look at that,” said Richard Hunter. “ Very well, then follow me.” Mrs. Browning preceded the boys to the fourth floor, where she opened the door of a neat room, provided with two single beds, a good sized mirror, a bureau, a warm woollen carpet, a washstand, and an empty book case for books. There was a closet, also, the door of which she opened, showing a row of pegs for clothing. “ How do you like it?” asked Fosdick, in a low voice, turning to his companion. Fame and Fortune. 3 66 “It's bully," said Dick, in admiring accents. I may as well say here, what the reader will find out as we proceed, that our hero, in spite of his advance in learning, had not got entirely rid of some street phrases, which he had caught from the companions with whom he had for years associated. " Five dollars is rather a steep price,” said Fosdick, in a low voice. “You know I don't get but six in all.” “I'll tell you what, Fosdick,” said Dick, “it'll be ten dollars for the two of us. I'll pay six, and you shall рау four. That 'll be fair, won't it?" “No, Dick, I ought to pay my half.” “ You can make it up by belpin' me when I run against a snag, in my studies.” “ You know as much as I do now, Dick.” “No, I don't. I have n't any more ideas of grammar than a broom- stick. You know I called 'cat' a conjunction the other day. Now you shall help me in grammar, for I'm blessed if I know whether I'm a noun or an adjective, and I'll pay a dollar towards your board.” “ But, Dick, I'm willing to help you for nothing. It is n't fair to charge you a dollar a week.” Why is n't it? Ain't I to get ten dollars a week, and shan't I have four dollars over, while you will only have two. I think I ought to give you one more, and then we'd be even.” “No, Dick, I would n't agree to that. If you insist upon it, we'll do as you propose, but if ever I am able, I will make it up to you." “Well, young gentlemen, what have you decided ?” asked Mrs. Browning “We'll take the room,” said Dick, promptly. “When do you wish to commence ?” " To-day. We'll come this evening." “Very well. I suppose you can furnish me with references. You 're in business, I suppose?” " I am in Henderson's Hat and Cap Store, No. · Broadway,” said Henry Fosdick. " And I am going into Rockwell & Cooper's, on Pearl Street, next Monday,” said Dick, with a sense of importance. He felt that this was very different from saying, " I black boots in Chatham Square." “ You look like good boys,” said Mrs. Browning, “and I've no doubt you’re honest, but I'm a widow, dependent on my boarders, and I have to be particular. Only last week a young man went off, owing me four weeks board, and I don't suppose he'll ever show his face again. 4 The Student and Schoolmate. He got a good salary, too, but he spent most of it on cigars and bil- liards. Now, how can I be sure you will pay me your board regu- lar?” “We'll pay it every week in advance,” said Dick, promptly. “ Them's our best references,” and he produced his bank-book, showing a deposit of over one hundred dollars to his credit in the Savings' Bank, motion- ing at the same time to Fosdick to show his. “ You don't mean to say you've saved all that from your earnings," said Mrs. Browning, surprised. “Yes,” said Dick," and I might have saved more if I'd begun sooner.” “ How long has it taken you to save it up! ?” “ About nine months. My friend has n't saved so much, because bis salary has been smaller.” “I won't require you to pay in advance,” said Mrs. Browning, gra- ciously, “ I am sure I can trust you. Boys who have formed so good a habit of saving can be depended upon. I will get the room ready for you, and you may bring your trunks when you please. My hours are, breakfast at seven, lunch at half past twelve, and dinner at six.” “ We shan't be able to come to lunch,” said Fosdick. “ Our stores are too far off." Then I will make half a dollar difference with each of you, making nine dollars a week instead of ten.” The boys went down stairs, well pleased with the arrangement they had made. Dick insisted upon paying five dollars and a half, of the joint weekly expense, leaving three and a half to Fosdick. This would leave the latter two dollars and a half out of his salary, while Dick would have left four and a half. With economy both thought they could con- tinue to lay up something. There was one little embarrassment which suggested itself to the boys. Neither of them had a trunk, having been able to stow away all their wardrobe without difficulty in the drawers of the bureau with which their room in Mott Street was provided. “ Why are you like an elephant, Fosdíck?" asked Dick, jocosely, as they emerged into the street. “I don't know, I'm sure.” “ Because you have n't got any trunk except what you carry round with you." “We'll have to get trunks, or perhaps carpet bags would do." “No," said Dick, decisively, “it ain't 'spectable to be without a trunk, and we're going to be 'spectable now." “Respectable, Dick.” Fame and Fortune. 5 “ All right, respectable, then. Let's go and buy each a trunk.” This advice seemed reasonable, and Fosdick made no objection. The boys succeeded in getting two decent trunks at three dollars apiece, and ordered them sent to their room in Mott Street. It must be remem- bered by my readers, who may regard the prices given here as too low, that the events here recorded, took place several years before the war, when one dollar was equal to two at the present day. At the close of the afternoon, Fosdick got away from the store an hour earlier, and the boys, preceded by an expressman bearing their trunks, went to their new home. They had just time to wash and comb their hair, when the bell rang for dinner, and they went down to the dining-room. Nearly all the boarders were assembled, and were sitting around a long table spread with a variety of dishes. Mrs. Browning was a good mana- ger, and was wise enough to set a table to which her boarders could not object. * This, way, if you please, young gentlemen,” she said, pointing to two adjoining seats on the opposite side of the table. Our hero, it must be confessed, felt a little awkward, not being used to the formality of a boarding house, and feeling that the eyes of twenty boarders were upon him. His confusion was increased, when, after tak- ing his seat, be saw sitting opposite him, a young man whose boots he remembered to have blacked only a week before. Observing Dick's look, Mrs. Browning proceeded to introduce him to the other. .'" Mr. Clifton," she said, “ let me introduce Mr. Hunter and his friend, Mr. Fosdick, two new members of our family.” Dick bowed rather awkwardly, and the young man said, “ Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hunter, Your face looks quite familiar. I think I must have seen you before.” “ I think I've seen you before,” said Dick. “ It 's strange I can't think where,” said the young man, who had not the least idea that the well-dressed boy before him was the boot-black who had brushed his boots near the Park railings the Monday previous. Dick did not think proper to enlighten him. He was not ashameil of his past occupation, but it was past, and he, wanted to be valued for what he might become, not for what he had been. " Are you in business, Mr. Hunter ?” inquired Mr. Clifton. It sounded strange to our hero to be called Mr. Hunter, but he rather liked it. He felt that it sounded respectable. " I am at Rockwell & Cooper's, on Pearl Street," said Dick “I know the place. It is a large firm.” 6 The Student and Schoolmate. Dick was glad to hear it, but did not say that he knew nothing about it. The dinner was a good one much better than the two boys were accustomed to get at the eating-houses which in times past they had frequented. Dick noticed carefully how the others did, and acquitted himself quite creditably, so that no one probably suspected that he had pot always been used to as good a table. When the boys rose from the table, Mrs. Browning said, “ Won't you walk into the parlor, young gentlemen? We generally have a little music after dinner. Some of the young ladies are musical. Do either of you play ?” Dick said he sometimes played marbles, at which a young lady laughed, and Dick, catching the infection, laughed too. “ Miss Peyton, Mr. Hunter, ” introduced Mrs. Browning. Miss Peyton made a sweeping courtesy, to which Dick responded by: a bow, turning red with embarrassinent. “ Don't you sing, Mr. Hunter ?” asked the young lady. “I ain't much on warblin',” said Dick, forgetting for the moment where he was. This droll answer which Miss Peyton supposed to be intentionally funny convulsed the young lady with merriment. “ Perhaps your friend sings?” she said. Thereupon Fosdick was also introduced. To Dick's astonishment he answered that he did a little. It was accordingly proposed that they should enter the next room where there was a piano. The young lady played some well-known melodies, and Fosdick accompanied her with his voice, which proved to be quite sweet and melodious. “ You are quite an acquisition to our circle,” said Miss Peyton, gra- ciously. " Have you boarded in this neighborhood before ?" “ No,” said Fosdick, “ at another part of the city,” He was afraid she would ask him in what street, but fortunately she forebore. In about half an hour the boys went up to their own room, where they lighted the gas, and opening their trunks placed the contents in the bureau drawers. “ Blessed if it don't seem strange,” said Dick, “ for a feller brought up as I have been to live in this style. I wonder what Miss Peyton would have said if she had known what I had been." “ You have n't any cause to be ashamed of it, Dick. It was n't a very desirable business, but it was honest. Now you can do something better. You aust adapt yourself to your new circumstauces.” Fame and Fortune. 7 “So I mean to,” said Dick. I'm goin' in for respectability. When I get to be sixty years old, I'm goin' to wear gold spectables and walk round this way, like the old gentlemen I see most every day on Wall Street." Dick threw his head back, and began to walk round the room with a pompous step and an air of great importance. “I hope we 'll both rise, Dick, we've got well started now, and there 've been other boys worse off than we are, who have worked hard, and risen to FAME AND FORTUNE.” “ We can try,” said Dick. “Now let us go out and have a walk.” " All right!” said Fosdick. They went down stairs, and out into the street. Accustomed to the lower part of the city, there was a novelty in the evening aspect of Broadway with its shops and theatres glittering with light. They saun- tered carelessly along, looking in at the shop windows, feeling more and more pleased with their change of location. All at once Dick's atten- tion was drawn to a gentleman accompanied by a boy of about his own size, who was walking a little in advance. "Stop a minute,” he said to Fosdick, and hurrying forward placed his hand on the boy's arm. “ How are you, Frank ?” he said. Frank Whitney, for it was he, turned in some surprise and looked at Dick, but did not at first recognize in the neat well dressed boy of fif- teen the ragged boot-bråck he had encountered a year before. " I don't think I remember you,” he said, surveying Dick with a puzzled expression. "Perhaps you'd remember me better if I had on my Washington soat and Napoleon pants,” said our hero with a smile. He felt rather pleased to find he was not recognized, since it was a compliment to his improved appearance. - What !” exclaimed Frank, his face lighting up with pleasure,"is it possible that you are “* Richard Hunter, at your service,” said our hero, “but when you knew me I was Ragged Dick.” Horatio Alger, fr. 8 The Student and Schoolmate. THE CANDY SCRAPE. ONE NE pleasant Wednesday afternoon, Nat Fenimore sat on the door- steps of his father's house, wondering what he should do to amuse himself. The sun was shining brightly, the air was cool, and everything invited a ramble through the woods or over the fields. But Nat knew the fields by heart, and the woods, too, for there was hardly a blade of grass that he had not trodden on, or a tree he had not passed under. It seemed as if he had used up every kind of amusement. Pretty soon he heard some one whistling, “ Rally Round the Flag, Boys." “ Good!” exclaimed he, " there comes Sam Saltby, he will know some kind of fun, he is always thinking of something new." In a moment Sam appeared, his ruddy cheeks distended, while he whistled away with all his might, and was just marching right past the Fenimore mansion, when Nat called out: “ Hold on, Sam, are n't you going to stop? I've been waiting for you." Now Sam had come up on purpose to see Nat, but he pretended that he was going by, so that Nat should call him back. “ Been waiting for me, have you ? Well, here I am, say what you want, for I am in a dreadful hurry,” said Sam. “What are you in a hurry for, Sam, anything going on ?” asked Nat, all alive with curiosity. “ Yes, something tip-top, I tell you,” was Sam's mysterious answer. “ Let's hear, Sam, don't keep a fellow waiting all night. What is it?” queried Nat, eagerly. “ A candy scrape,” said Sam, in a low tone. “ Candy scrape !” repeated Nat. “ Who is going to be in it ? ” “Only you and I,” answered Sam, with a merry twinkle in his eye. “ You and I? What made you go rushing by so, then? I thought that you were going up to Jim Hammersnap's." “Oh! that's a way I have, when I get a going I can't stop right off, always. I should probably have oscillated before your house like a pen- dulum, and finally have stopped just in front of the door,” replied Sam. “ Well, tell us about your candy scrape,” said Nat. “ You know that big rock up in Common Pasture ?” asked Sam. “ Yes, where the boys build fires and roast ears of corn. I guess I do know it some,” replied Nat. “ Well, Nat, I thought it would be a good idea for us to get some molasses and a kettle, and go up there and make some candy. I'll find The Candy Scrape. 9 can say the kettle if you 'll get the molasses, and some matches to light the fire with." “I'll go and ask my mother,” said Nat, “it will be first rate fun, won't it? “What do you want to ask your mother for?” said Sam, with a slight sneer in his tone. " Because I cannot get the molasses or matches without asking, and she won't know where I have gone, either,” said Nat. “ Well, all is, if you go to asking her, it will spoil all our fun,” said Sam. “I don't see why,” answered Nat, who was not yet versed in the art of disobedience and deception. Suppose she won't let you go ? Then there you are, it would n't do to go then ; but if you go without asking, and she finds it out, you that you did n't know she'd have any objections." “ But how shall I get the molasses ? ” inquired Nat, who began to feel the evil influence his comrade was exerting upon him. “ Hook it,” said Sam. “ I can't, it’s locked up in the store-room,” said Nat. “ Where's the key ?” “ Mother has it in her work basket tied on a string with lots of others.” “Is n't there any other way of getting into the store-room except by the door ?” asked Sam, who seemed determined to carry out his plans. “ There is a window, but I don't believe you can get it open, it has been shut a good many months, I guess," replied Nat. “ Let's look at it,” said Sam. Nat led the way round to a quiet part of the yard and pointed out a window, which he said was the one that lighted the pantry. “I guess we can manage that, Nat, let's see if it's fastened any- where," and Sam climbed upon the sill, and found that the only fasten- ing was a fork stuck over the sash. “ We can shake that out easy enough,” said Nat, and they shook the sash gently until the fork fell out. Alarmed lest the noise should at- tract the attention of some one in the house, the boys hid themselves behind a lilac bush for a few moments, until they felt sure that the coast was clear. “ Now I guess we can get in,” said Sam, and this time he succeeded in raising the window. “ You get up first, for you know where the molasses is ;” so Nat climbed into the pantry, and finding an empty bottle on one of the shelves, he filled it from the barrel, and handed it to Sam, who waited outside for it. IO The Student and Schoolmate. “ Now some matches,” said Sam. Nat found these in a tin box on the upper shelf, but while he was getting them, he thought he heard some one in the kitchen say that something would be found in the closet where he was. This alarmed Nat so much that he hurried out of the window as fast as he could, shut it down, closed the blinds, and ran away with Sam Saltby. “Now we 'll go up to our house, and I'll hook a kettle, or something, to make the candy in.” “ Does your mother know you are going ?” inquired Nat. “ No. She has gone to Rockville to buy a new carpet, and there 's nobody at home but grandma'am, and she don't care what I do,” replied Sam. The house was reached, and Sam readily procured a tin kettle and an iron spoon. Thus they were fairly equipped and on their way to the “ Big Rock ; there was a long lane to go through, and some stone walls to climb before they were really in Common Pasture; as they were climbing one wall they came suddenly upon a little girl named Flora Edgerly, she was picking penny-royal, and already had quite a large bunch in her hand. Sam and Nat knew her, and felt sorry she had seen them, for Flora had a way of “ tagging” round after boys that was not all agreeable to them. “ Hallo! Where you going?” she asked. “Oh! we're going?"" repeated Sam, in a tone which Flora readily understood to mean that she should not ask any more about it, but she was not to be put off so casily. “ Can't I go, too ?” she asked. “ No! we're going away over in the pasture; you go ahead picking penny-royal,” said Nat. “What you going to do with that kettle ? Oh, Nat Fenimore, I see a bottle sticking out of your pocket! I bet you're going to get drunk!” exclaimed the irrepressible little girl. Nat colored very red at such a charge, and was so impolite as to tell Flora to “hold her tongue and mind her business,” but she wonld not mind him, and kept on following and teasing them to let her go too. Finally she chanced to see an unusal quantity of penny-royal, which tempted her to tarry and gather it, and the boys took advantage of the pause to run off as fast as they could. Flora did not attempt to run after them, and they felt glad at having got rid of her so successfully. The “ Big Rock” came in sight, and Sam and Nat were soon under its shadow. It was quite a large rock, one side projecting in such a way as to make a very good fire-place, and its blackened sides showed The Candy Scrape. II i how well the boys of the village had used it for that purpose. Not far off was a grove of trees and plenty of underbrush, and from these the boys collected the fuel for their fire, one or two large stones made a rest- ing-place for the tin kettle, into which Nat poured all the molasses from the bottle. Pretty soon it began to boil, and one of the boys stirred it with the iron spoon, while the other hunted up fuel to keep the fire burning * It's grand fun making candy out here, is n't it?” said Nat, as he threw an armful of sticks on the fire. “* Tip-top!” replied Sam. “ But there's one thing we forgot to bring, Nat.” " What was it?" asked Nat. co “Some butter, to rub on our hands when we take it from the kettle to 'work' it, so that it shan't stick," replied Sam. “So we did, now that's a pity, what shall we do ?” asked Nat. I 2 The Student and Schoolmate. “ I don't know, it's most done; we'll take it off to cool in a minute. Hi! where'd that come from ? ” Sam's last remark was caused by a sudden avalanche of sticks and dirt into the kettle, and before he had recovered from his astonishment a large stone came down into the candy with a tremendous dash, scatter- ing the hot molasses all around, knocking the tin kettle into the fire, and making a great havoc. A hearty laugh caused the boys to look up, and there on the summit of the rock right over the fire, was Flora Edgerly, dancing and jumping about, and making all sorts of funny faces at them. When she saw that she was observed, she darted away across the pas- ture like a wild colt. Nat and Sain set out to catch her, but, after run- ning for half a mile, they found that Flora was the swiftest runner, and they gave it up . “ We must go back for the kettle and spoon, our candy is all spoilt, I suppose," remarked Nat. “ I'm not going back for them,” said Sam. “ Are you going to leave them there?” asked Nat, with surprise. “ Yes. I don't care what becomes of the old things, I've got enough of making candy out in the fields. If I could only catch that Edgerly girl, I'd daub her face all over with that candy, and stick her hair full of it,” said Sam. “She did that because we would n't let her go with us; I'd like to pay her off for it,” said Nat, shaking his head revengefully. While this was going on at “ Big Rock," the molasses was running slowly and surely from Mrs. Fenimore's barrel in the store-closet, for when Nat in his hurry jumped out of the window, he omitted to close the faucet. No one had occasion to visit the closet, so all the afternoon the molasses was running over the floor. This store-room was formerly a passage-way from the parlor to the kitchen, but Mrs. Fenimore had locked the door permanently, which opened into the parlor, using only the one leading to the kitchen. It so chanced that the floor of this closet inclined toward the parlor, so the molasses, after slowly dragging its way across the closet, crept softly under the parlor door, and began to spread itself over the carpet. Little by little it crept on, until half the parlor was covered with the sticky substance. At this time the door-bell rang, and two ladies and a little girl came to call upon Mrs. Fenimore; Joanna, the servant girl, opened the parlor, requested them to walk in, and closed the door again. The blinds being closed, the room was so darkened that the callers did not notice the con- dition of the carpet, until they felt their feet sticking to the floor in a most uncomfortable and unaccountable manner; the more they tried to The Candy Scrape. 13 get out, the more they got in, and the little girl lost her balance and fell flat on ber face in the lake of molasses. Her screams brought Mrs. Fenimore to the parlor, and she too found herself sticking to the carpet. She succeeded in throwing open the blinds, and such a scene as met her eyes! Her best parlor carpet flooded with molasses, two of her most fashionable callers, with whom she was only slightly acquainted, stood in the midst of it, while the little girl was in a truly sorry plight; her dress and ribbons, face and hands, shoes and stockings, were completely daubed ; in her struggles to get up she grasped hold of her mamma, and nearly ruined her elegant silk dress. Mrs. Fenimore did not know what to say; she was too thunder-struck to speak; her visitors did not look very sweet; on the contrary they looked rather sour. “ Dear me!” at last exclaimed Mrs. Fenimore, “it is my molasses barrel !” and off she started for the kitchen to enter the closet; sure enough, the molasses was still running, but very feebly, as if there was but a few drops left. The faucet was quickly turned, and Joanna se- verely scolded for leaving it open ; in vain she denied having been in the closet, her mistress did not believe her, and the poor girl felt very much distressed. The visitors of course had to return home at once. When Mrs. Feni- more opened the door to let them out, Flora Edgerly chanced to be passing by, and the ridiculous appearance of the ladies and the little girl, caused her to laugh loudly, and to sing out: * 1 guess Nat Fenimore's been having a candy scrape at home, as well as up in Common Pasture.” "What is that you said, Flora ?” asked Mrs. Fenimore. “Oh, nothing ! only I saw your Nat and Sam Saltby making candy up to the Big Rock, and a big rock fell into their kettle, and spoilt their candy," and Flora danced away down the street in high glee at having paid off the boys for being so “ ugly” as not to let her join them. Mrs. Fenimore had a clue to the whole matter now, and when Nat made his appearance an hour after he was taken to the parlor and shown the mischief he had done. “ How do you know that I did it ?” he began to ask. " Don't attempt to deny it,” said his mother, “I know all about it. Why did you not come to me and ask for the molasses ? I would have given it to you willingly. It would have been much better than to have stolen it like a mean thief.” Nat did feel mean enough to think of how much trouble he had given his mother, who was always kind to him, and never refused him any- thing. He felt provoked with Sam Saltby for having led him into such 14 The Student and Schoolmate. a piece of mischief, and with his mother's advice, he resolved to have no more to do with him. Nat’s father had to buy a new barrel of molasses, a new parlor car- pet, and pay for the clothes spoiled by the molasses, and Nat had to pay his portion of it by going without a new pair of skates and a new overcoat, which his father had promised him. On the whole it proved to be a very unsatisfactory and expensive “candy scrape.” William L. Williams. atau CRICKETS. AT T nightfall in the autumn, from the shubbery about the house comes the cry of the crickets, a sound which to some people is one of the pleasantest, and to others one of the most melancholy of the insect world. These little creatures have been celebrated in song, and story, and the rubbing of their wing covers together made music in the ears of Vincent Bourne, an English poet, who wrote some Latin verses in their praise, which were translated by the sad Cowper, He says: “ Thou surpassest, happier far, Happiest grasshoppers that are. Theirs is but a summer song, Thine endures the winter long, Unimpaired, and shrill and clear, Melody throughout the year. And wherever the English language is spoken, the beautiful story of Dickens “ The Cricket on the hearth,” in which he speaks of the cheer- ful song of the cricket, and the common superstition about its bringing good luck to a household, when it hides and sings under the hearth, has become almost as familiar as the song of the insect itself. The Spaniards delight in their music, and keep them in paper cages and feed them with sugar, and the German Scaliger had a box of them constant- ly on the table in his room, for the pleasure which he took in a sound so melancholy to many ears. But "there are no melancholy sounds in Nature.” It is the thought of man which makes them so. Heard under peculiar circumstances, in hours of despondency and gloom, the power of association connects so closely the emotion and the sounds heard in that state of mind, that it is hard to separate them, and the noise of the cricket heard more fre- quently when the summer has arrived at the fullness of its vigor and Crickets. 15 Had we beauty, and will soon melt into autumn and winter, suggests the time of the falling leaf, the death of the flowers, and the year. “ The melan- choly days, the saddest of the year,” as Bryant says, are not sad at all to Nature, but only to man, and have a cheerfulness and beauty unlike summer's, but peculiar to themselves. Even then the new life struggles with the old. The old leaves drop and die not because life ceases, but is springing up anew. It is the new leaf that pushes the old one off, and there they lie folded up on the bare branches, tenderly protected by their sheaths till the warm spring sun enwraps them. Besides, autumn and decay does not come to the whole world at once. It comes to every flower when it ceases to grow, and matures its seed so that the autumn of one flower is the spring of another, and the tulip is almost ready for winter when the gentian has just begun its summer. no winter the new leaf would follow the old so quickly that we should have perpetual verdure, and not think of the death of the old leaves at all. And in those dull, leaden days which seem so sullen and churlish, Nature rests or gathers up her forces without despondency or gloom (which belongs to man and not to her,) and by new combinations of old materials, makes a beautiful clear atmosphere out of storm and cloud, and a spring crowded with life, out of the seeming death of winter. Crickets belong to the same order, Orthoptera, or straight winged insects, as the grasshopper, locusts, and katy-did's. They are of differ- ent sizes and colors, but they all produce their chirping sound in the same manner, pot by their mouths, but by rubbing their wings together, and this noise, whatever pleasure or use it may be to the creatures them- selves, they make almost incessantly, so that through the long hot Au- gust day and night, there seems not to be even a moment when you can- not hear them if you listen. Some chirp from daybreak to sunset, others from sunset to sunrise. Some live on trees and bushes, and do not seek the ground, others live altogether on the ground, while others fre- quent houses. The tree cricket is a delicate, almost transparent creature, of yellow- ish hue with long feelers and legs, and a short body. They are shy, and biding under the leaves, are not so often seen and well known as the others. Field crickets, which every body knows and has seen, are brown or rusty black, and live in the meadows and fields where the grass is not very long and high, and where they can feel the rays of the son. Here they make holes or burrows in the ground into which it is said they always walk backwards, putting in their hind legs first. They often stand at their doorways singing, all ready to retreat in case of danger, and it is said fill up “ their pauses in their music by licking their 16 The Student and Schoolmate. as feet with their tongues." They are thirsty creatures, like the house- crickets, but are as careful as a cat about getting wet while procuring their drink. If in their journeys they come to water which they must cross, they will carry sticks and pebbles to it, and try to fill it up so that they pass over without getting wet. It is supposed that they take this pains to avoid Wetting their feelers, which would stick together and trouble them. When these crickets are young, before their wings are grown, they live peacefully enough together under stones. But when fully grown they are very irritable, become fierce fighters, and attack one another without mercy. The females are as quarrelsome as the males, and the former frequently bite off the legs of the latter. Two males meeting will butt one another like rams, or if they are back to back, kick like horses. These crickets are the playthings of the European children. Their mirth and their folly have passed into common sayings. From the pleasure which the English have in their cry, they say such a one is merry as a cricket,” as if the creature were the personification of mirth, while the French say, “as silly as a cricket,” because the field cricket will leave his hole where he is safe from his enemies at once, if any for- eign substance is introduced into it, often running into danger while try- ing to avoid it. The French children take advantage of his peculiarity and fish for them, (it fishing it can be called), with a horse-hair baited with an ant, the cricket follows the ant and is caught. The more mat- ter-of-fact German boy thrusts a long grass stem into their holes, and drives them out to put into his cages where he keeps them for their song and fighting propensities, taking the same pleasure in witnessing their combats that the Chinese do in the fierce quarrels of the Mantss Relig- iosa (or Praying Mantis) which they keep in bamboo boxes for the same purpose. The house cricket is smaller than his neighbor in the field, being only an inch long, and of a yellowish green color. He lives about the cracks of walls and houses, picking the mortar out of the bricks of hearths and ovens, to make himself a warm hiding place, where he sits and sings, thinking no doubt that he is paying for his house rent in his music. They resort particularly to bake houses and breweries, wliere they can find “meal, bread, and moistened grain.” They eat other insects. devour cockroaches, and do some good in that way, but they are lank creatures, as thirsty as the field crickets, and sometimes do much mischief in houses in their pursuit of drink, often gnawing damp clothing for the moisture. it affords. When they are so numerous as to be troublesome, they can Crickets. 17 be driven away by the introduction of a few field crickets, who being so much larger and more fierce will speedily drive them out. In America, we have no real house cricket, like the English, and those which find their way into houses, and disturb the inmates by their mo- notonous cry are either field or tree crickets. The common field crickets are not such playthings with us as with the European children, though we have three or four varieties of them. One is black with a brownish tinge on its short wings, another entirely black with wings three fifths of an inch long, and a third is entirely destitute of wings. The black winged one is nocturnal and solitary, though they are sometimes seen in gardens. The rusty black without wings is more social in its disposition and habits, and may be often seen in fields and meadows in the daytime. They do much harm to melons and vines by eating them, and the wind- fall apples under the trees often bear the marks of the crickets, show- ing that they find them as much to their taste as the boys and girls do. We have also three varieties of tree crickets in the United States, and one belongs to Massachusetts. This, like its European kinsfolk, makes its home in shrubs and vines, and is of a delicate color. The male is about half an inch long with black spots on his feelers. The female is longer and almost white with dusky stripes. The wings are light green, and longer than the wing covers. They are very noisy, and if one happen by accident to find its way into your chamber, it makes itself an intolerable companion by its unceasing monotonous song. From dusk to early dawn it makes a constant chirping, and effectually frightens away all sleep, only stopping when alarmed by some sudden noise. They are very shy and hard to find, and I remember hunting three days unsuc- cessfully for one, who had unfortunately found its way into my room, and considered myself happy when it was caught, and I was able to compose myself to sleep without its tedious music. Not only at night, but in the day time, as soon as the blinds were closed, and the room in an agreeable twilight for a summer day, it began to sing. These crickets live on leaves, seeds, and grass, and show something of the same perverse taste as man, by eating holes in the leaves of the to- bacco plant, and destroying them. They pierce the twigs of plants with their ovipositors for the purpose of laying their eggs, which though de- posited in the autumn, are not hatched till the following spring. The mole cricket is larger than any of the others, and his name is given him on account of his fore feet, which are shaped like those of his brother burrower, the mole. He is from an inch and a half to two inches long, with a gray body and brown feet. He has very short wings and hind legs, and burrows like the mole, doing much damage in 18 The Student and Schoolmate. gardens and meadows to the roots of grasses and plants, in his search for insects and worns. Large spots of grass in the meadow turning yellow without any apparent cause, plants drooping and dying when well cared for and tended, may be traced to the mole cricket, who has destroyed their roots by his underground work. They in their turn are devoured by moles, lizards, and snakes, and without these police to keep them in order, they would be infinitely more numerous and destructive. Six inches below the ground, in June and July, the female makes a cell something in the shape of a bottle, with a long bent neck. In this sub- terranean abode she deposits her eggs, varying in number, though some- times amounting to three or four hundred. The young remain together sometime after they are hatched, and are at first white, but afterwards become of the same color as their parents, excepting that they are small- er and have no wings. After their first moulting they grow darker, separate, and each takes care of itself, though it is three years before they arrive at perfection. These mole crickets are widely spread over the globe, and are very strong, so strong that they can move eighty times their own weight. Crickets, grasshoppers, and butterflies have always been chosen by poets and moralists as emblems of idle pleasure. I know not why, un- less the ceaseless song of the former, and the airy and apparently aim- less, graceful flight of the latter suggest thoughts of mirth and freedom from care. As if one who sang continually must needs be merry and idle, or one who changed its place perpetually always did it for pleasure. If butterflies and crickets could speak, they would doubtless protest against the injustice of reproaching them for living the lives for which their whole organization fits them, and could they express their idea of all man's contrivances, awkwardness, and blunders which he calls work, it would perhaps be as unfavorable to his industry as his is to theirs. Their lives are not idle, whatever he may think of them. While the butterfly is flitting about with such airy grace and freedom, she is seek- ing the little focd she needs, or finding suitable places in which to de- posit the eggs which will furnish the new generation of caterpillars, for which the birds will thank her if man does not, and without which the world would not be complete. She selects her situations with that un- erring instinct which is alike forethought, judgment, and memory, and leaves her eggs where the grubs will find food enough for their life and growth when she is dead, making as wise a provision for their future, as the hard working, care-taking millionaire supposes he is doing when he heaps up gold for his children to spend. Could the cricket speak, he would say that his life was not passed in Crickets. 19 singing, though that was not so easy a thing to do, as people who had never tried it imagined, but required a great deal of practice, and a careful study of the best masters, but he could show burrows under ground, cells constructed with infinite pains-taking, and streams filled up with sticks and stone works, as large in proportion to his size as men's bridges and tunnels are to his. Besides, the cricket is a warrior, and the fights which seem so amusing to men are deadly combats to him, in which he must put forth all his wit, strength, and dexterity to keep him- self from being slain and devoured by his vigilant and formidable ene- mies, and the mother mole cricket could tell of long, anxious watchings, and of terrible black beetles, upon which she had pounced, and which she had killed while watching over her eggs with that strange maternal instinct which broods over, and protects, all the millions of young and helpless creatures in Nature's great household. E. C. y. A TRUE MAN. FACTURERf New York, during thate war, maden tract with a merchant to supply him with a quantity of tin cans. Not long after this, the price of tin rose so much that the contractor must lose money by completing the work at the price agreed upon. How- ever, he said nothing, but went on delivering the cans. When the ftrst bill for pay of the cans was received, the employer called upon him, and said: "I understand you are losing money on this job." Yes, replied the contractor,"butstand it contract contract, you know." How much will you lose?" asked the gentleman. 0,matter, don't complain, and you ught not to. "I insist on knowing." * Well, since you desire it, I shall lose so much,” naming the amount. Well,r,” said the noble-hearted man, you must not lose this; it would not be right. I shall add the amount to your bill, and as the price of material may still rise, I will advance you the money for the whole contract, which, no doubt, you can now use to advantage.” The difference thus paid, to which the contractor had no claim, mounted hundred dolar. That was somethingmore than busi- Dess honesty ; it was Christian principle, carried out in business. The world needs just such examples, to convince it of the truth of religion. 66 20 The Student and Schoolmate. JOHN MAYNARD.. X Ballad of Lake Erie. 'T I WAS op Lake Erie's broad ex expanse One bright midsummer day, The gallant steamer Ocean Queen Swept proudly on her way. Bright faces clustered on the deck, Or, leaning o'er the side, Watched carelessly the feathery foam That flecked the rippling tide.. Ah, who beneath that cloudless sky That smiling bends serene The incident upon which this ballad is based occurred some years since, and has been used by Mr. Gough as a powerful and effective illustration in one of his lectures. A Ballad of Lake Erie. 21 Could dream that danger awful, vast, Impended o'er the scene, Could dream that ere an hour had sped That frame of sturdy oak Would sink beneath the lake's blue waves, Blackened with fire and smoke. A seaman sought the Captain's side, A moment whispered low; The Captain's swarthy face grew pale, He hurried down below. Alas, too late! Though quick and sharp, And clear his orders came, No human efforts could avail To quench th' insidious flame. The bad news quickly reached the deck, It sped from lip to lip, And ghastly faces everywhere Looked from the dooméd ship. " Is there no hope — no chance of life ? ” A hundred lips implore, But one,” the Captain made reply, " To run the ship on shore.” 1 A sailor whose heroic soul That hour should yet reveal, By name John Maynard, Eastern-born, Stood calmly at the wheel. "Head her south-east !” the Captain shouts, Above the smothered roar, “ He her south-east without delay! Make for the nearest shore !” No terror pales the helmsman's cheek, Or clouds his dauntless eye, As in a sailor's measured tone His voice responds, " Aye, aye !” Three hundred souls, the steamer's freight Crowd forward wild with fear, While at the stern the dreaded flames Above the deck appear. 22 The Student and Schoolmate. John Maynard watched the nearing flames, But still, with steady hand He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly He steered the ship to land. “ John Maynard, can you still hold out ?” He heard the Captain cry; A voice from out the stifling smoke Faintly responds, " Aye, aye!” But half a mile! A hundred hands Stretch eagerly to shore. But half a mile! That distance sped, Peril shall all be o'er. But balf a mile? Yet stay, the flames No longer slowly creep, But gather round that helmsman bold With fierce impetuous sweep. “ John Maynard !” with an anxious voice The Captain cries once more, “ Stand by the wheel five minutes yet And we shall reach the shore. Through flame and smoke that dauntless heart Responded firmly still, Unawed, though face to face with death, “ With God's good help I will !” The flames approach with giant strides, They scorch his hands and brow, One arm disabled seeks his side, Ah, he is conquered now! But no, his teeth are firmly set, He crushes down his pain, His knee upon the stanchion pressed He guides the ship again. One moment yet, one moment yet ! Brave heart, thy task is o'er, The pebbles grate beneath the keel, The steamer touches shore. Three hundred grateful voices rise In praise to God that He Chemistry. 23 Hath saved them from the fearful fire, And from the engulfing sea. But where is he, that helmsman bold? The Captain saw him reel, His perveless hands released their task, He sank beside the wheel. The wave received his lifeless corse Blackened with smoke and fire. God rest him! Never hero had A nobler funeral pyre ! Horatio Alger, Fri Obuonissa CHEMISTRY. III. W obar chemical substance you chose relation, but ne pertinente . chw.com E have learned what the touch-stone is that reveals the characters chemical substance ; not reason, but experiment. We can tell the difference between the effects of physical forces and the great chemical force. We have seen that there are certain conditions essen- tial for affinity to operate at all; and how variable circumstances in- fluence the results. It is hardly necessary therefore for us here to enter into the particulars of the powerful influences of other agents not yet noticed in bringing about chemical changes; we will learn about other causes of effects when considering the single elements. We next turn our attention to a beautiful theory, which though to some may seem uninteresting, yet the understanding of its main princi- ples is an essential to the successful study of our subject. The atomic theory grants that matter is not infinitely divisible that there is a point where matter cannot be again divided; these ultimate particles are called atoms. They are so small that our senses cannot perceive them, and the most powerful microscope lends no aid. The atoms of one element differ from those of another, in size, figure, weight, etc., but all the atoms of one element are alike in every respect, and re- tain their peculiarities through all their various combinations. Now as it is among the atoms that affinity operates, the proportions in which elements or compounds combine must be definite ; and so it is -existing as a beautiful law - establishing certainty of results - and giving us the power of exact calculations regarding chemical combina- tions. The proportions being definite between the atoms of two sub 24 The Student and Schoolmate. stances, they are expressed in figures, having been ascertained by care- ful experiment." Suppose for example, common water whether from rain clouds, dews, or snows, or produced artificially in the chemist's lab- oratory - if it be decomposed by chemical means, it is found that nine parts of it is composed of one part of Hydrogen and eight parts of Oxy- gen ; these numbers, one and eight, represent respectively the atomic or combining weights of Hydrogen and Oxygen, because one atom of each element is contained in the compound. By adding together the atomic weight of each element, we get the atomic weight of the compound. Our “rusty nail” is made up of a known quantity of Iron and Oxy- gen; so that if we collect a quantity of “rust, and wish to ascertain the quantity of metallic Iron and gaseous Oxygen, we first weigh the “rust," and hy knowing the atomic weight of each of the two elements, and how many atoms there are of each element combined, we can calcu- late the desired results. Instead of elements always combining, as water does, viz., one atom of each element, they often combine in different proportions, but always multiples or sub multiples of one or more of the elements. For ex- ample, there is another compound of Oxygen and Hydrogen which does not produce water, but, in chemical language, Peroxide of Hydrogen. This remarkable substance has two atoms of Oxygen to one of Hydrogen. We see by this example that the atoms remain unbroken, and the law of multiple proportions comes in play. Instead of one atom of Hydro- gen to one and two thirds of Oxygen, or one to one and three fourths, it is one to two; so that the atomic weight of a body represents strictly the smallest quantity by weight in wbich it will combine with one part by weight of Hydrogen, or eight parts by weights of Oxygen, or with the combining number of any of the other elements. The rust our “nail” is another example of this law of multiple proportions ; here we have two atoms of Iron to three atoms of Oxygen, forming what is called a sesqui-oxide of Iron. For convenience of study we will divide the elements into two great classes, viz., non-metallic and metallic. This division is arbitrary, for the two classes graduate into each other so that we cannot draw a broad line of distinction. But Sulphur may be regarded as a type of the non- metallic elements or metalloids, and Gold of the metals, as the distinc- tion in physical characters are marked sufficiently. In other cases it is difficult to tell in which class particular elements belong. There are thirteen non-metallic elements according to most writers on the subject before us. In the subjoined list of metalloids, Oxygen is placed first, following in order those most resembling it in properties 66 on Chemistry. 25 Oxygen, Chlorine, Bromine, Iodine, Fluorine, Sulphur, Selenium, Nitro- ger, Phosphorus, Carbon, Silicon, Boron, Hydrogen. OXYGEN. - It will be best to commence our study of the elements with the smaller division, viz., the metalloids, not discussing them in the order indicated by the table, but first considering the great coastit- uents of the ocean and atmosphere. This invisible, ever-present, substance Oxygen, - with its animating influence on every living being, — is one of the six permanent cases. i. e., never having been liquified either by great pressure or otherwise - more abundantly diffused throughout nature than any other of the sim- ple bodies. As we have observed, it forms eight-ninths of the weight of Water, also one-fifth the weight of the atmosphere, and probably half of the solid earth. It was discovered by Priestly in the year 1774, who named it dephlogisticated air ; its present name was given it by Lavoi- sier. There are no very good means known to separate Oxygen from Ni- trogen, with which it is mingled in the air, therefore we will select the same compound used by the discoverer of Oxygen, to show how it can be prepared. It is always obtained for experiment from one of its com- pounds which are very numerous. Red precipitate, or in chemical language, Oxide of Mercury, is a com- pound of one atom of Mercury with one of Oxygen. The attraction be- tween these two elements is so feeble, that — well! we will wait until we come to the process. Fig.1 w A little oxide of Mercury is placed in what is known as a “test tube of hard glass, then connections are made by means of two “clay pipes,” 26 The Student and Schoolmate. with strips of wet paper wound around the pipe-stems, folded so that the stoppers thus formed tapers toward the ends. A large bowl is nearly filled with water, and the apparatus placed in the position shown in the figure, with a bottle or two full of water in readiness. The next step is to induce decomposition in the test tube. What agency shall we employ? Under what circumstances will Oxygen sep- arate from the chemical substance in question? What has greater power than the affinity that holds together the Mercury and Oxygen of the red powder? Why, simple subjection to heat is sufficient for our pur- pose. By means of a little spirit lamp we gradually apply beat to the test tube, bubbles of air escape, and the contents of the test tube change to black, which shows that separation of the two elements, Mercury and Oxygen, is beginning to take place. Now the air of the apparatus has nearly all been dispelled, and pure Oxygen is escaping. A piece of glass or paper is placed over the mouth of the bottle of water, and the whole inverted in the bowl immediately over the pipe where gas is escap- ing. The bubbles now rise into the bottle displacing the water, and soon we have by continued heat a bottle of oxygen. By removing the bottle with a piece of glass as before, and placing it on a plate or saucer containing a little water, we can preserve the gas until we require its use, and fill another vessel in the same manner, continuing the opera- tion until the oxide of mercury is all decomposed, and gas ceases to come The test tube now contains an element instead of a red com- pound. Pure Mercury condensed in little globules in the upper part of the test tube. Now we have had a practical proof of the power of heat among the particles of matter, and if any of us should ever go into a manufactu- ring laboratory, we could not but notice that almost every chemical op- eration is in part conducted by this powerful but silent agent. Affinity is generally aided or strengthened by warmth ; sometimes directed to certain combinations by a higher degree, and a variety of new sub- stances formed as the temperature advances affinity ; is also overcome in part, and completely, by still greater heat; duration of heat has its marked effects; and so on in almost endless variety, does this subtle agent effect affinities' operations. God seems to have created nearly all his most powerful causes in an invisible form. Attention specially directed to His works alone reveals this. We e cannot see the current of electricity as it leaps from cloud to cloud, but its powerful effects are manifested in the resulting flash, caus- ing the very air to speak in thundering tones, uprooting trees as we would a mere weed at their base. We cannot see heat, but who has not over. The Lupin's Way. 27 felt its presence, and seen its effects all around us. We cannot see the gravitation that keeps every earthly object in its place, jealous even of an atom. We have all seen what Newton did, that introduced him to this force. We cannot see nor weigh magnetism, cohesion, or affinity, but none of us doubt their existence, — any more than we doubt the existence of our Maker because we cannot see him, for we can see their effects. By the study of nature's operations we know that every effect has a cause, and all force must have had a cause — a Creator. These imponderable agents are the same to lifeless matter, that our spirits are to our animal bodies. O Lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the carth is full of thy riches.” M. B. Manwaring. 66 w THE LUPIN'S WAY. WH “Such a happy time ! Where, when, and how ?" HERE? Why, out in the bright, sunny kitchen of Mrs. Lupin's house, to be sure. When? One pleasant afternoon in early December, when Mrs. Lupin had gone off on an errand of mercy, and left her dear six children to take care of themselves. Two “bonny brown sons," and four "sweet little daughters,” all under twelve. Was there ever such a funny little family? And before I go on to “how," do let me tell you the name of these six little Lupins. For they had very funny names, I think. See if you don't think so too. First, there was Love, the oldest ; then a bright active boy, named Peter: then Faith and Hope, twins: then another boy named Paul : and last of all, the dear little three year old Peace, the pet, and plaything of all. Though you might think they would all be pets, and playthings. But Mrs. Lupin was a widow, with barely enough to support her little family, and so it came to pass, that Love and Peter were very much like small grandparents to the rest of the flock. And — you will be tired before I get to “how," but just let me say, in concluding these preliminaries, that Mrs. Lupin was the dearest, cheeriest, and most thrifty of mamma's. There was not a happier, or cosier home, in all Boxham, than that of the Lupin's. Now for the how 28 The Student and Schoolmate. Perhaps those of my dear readers, who have been brought up in the “ lap of luxury,” won't think that it was a very pleasant time; but no matter! I'll tell you about it just as it was. First there was a blazing fire in the kitchen stove, and as it was a very cold day, that surely was pleasant. But on the stove stood a whole row of smart black irons, and in one corner, was a large square table, covered with a spotless ironing cloth, at which stood Miss Love ironing. Now what do you think of that? But, moreover and besides, there was another table close by, covered with another spotless cloth, and at that table stood — Peter, also ironing. And on either side of Peter's table sat Faith and Hope, and on either side of Love's table, sat Paul and Peace, elevated in bigh chairs. Now, by way of explanation, let me say, that Peter was not in the habit of ironing, though he was very useful in many other ways. But this particular afternoon, as I before remarked, Mrs. Lupin was off; and these loving children knew that she would have a long, tiresome walk, which might unfit her for ironing on the morrow: so Love, and Peter made up their minds that they would give her a pleasant surprise, in the way of a clothes-horse full of neatly ironed clothes. So Peter was going to do the best he could, and wherein he failed, Love, who was quite a deft little ironer, was going to add finishing touches, and so to- gether they expected to do great things. And “ the children," so Peter and Love called them, were posted in their respective positions, for the purpose of entertaining their brother and sister, in the way of telling stories. And Faith was telling one. Should you like to hear it? “Well," cried Faith,“ how should you feel, all of you, to be walking around this room, and see four heads sitting up on the mantle-piece ?” All eyes were immediately turned towards the mantle-piece.. « Could n't see 'em,” cried brilliant Peter. “I should be afraid of tumbling over the chairs, and things," said Paul timidly. “ I should feel like taking mine down, and putting them on my shoulders," cried Hope. “ There, there,” said gentle Love, “of course such a thing could n't happen; so you may as well tell your story, Faith, dear.” "Well, such a thing could happen,” cried Faith defiantly," or some- thing very much like it, for I saw it with my own eyes.” ·0, 0, 0!” cried the children in chorus. "Perhaps you know," continued Faith with much dignity," that Hope and I went out to stay at Farmer Barrow's a week, last summer. We 66 The Lupin's Way. 29 had a splendid time, did n't we, Hope ? — O excuse me! I mean we had a splendid time.” * Well, one beautiful morning, when my dear sister Hope was asleep in her little bed, I jumped up, and dressed me just as fast as I could, and ran down stairs. I went into the parlor, but no one was there ; I went into the kitchen, but no one was there: so I looked everywhere, and at last I found Mr. and Mrs. Barrows, out in the hen-coop, — I mean the hen- hen” "Hen-yard,” cried Hope, triumphantly. "I know what it is, Faith.” "Well, don't you tell, now, Hope," said Faith, beseechingly. So Hope promised; and Faith went on. “So there they were, out in the hen-yard ; and Mrs. Barrows was catching hens, and giving them to Mr. Barrows, and he took 'em, and chopped at 'em with an axe, and then he let them fly around the yard. 0, they flew just as fast; and they made an awful noise !” " I could n't think what he was doing, and at last I said, “ Mrs. Bar- rows, what is Mr. Barrows doing?” “Why, killing hens, to be sure,” said Mrs. Barrows, laughing. 'Killing them ?' cried I.” 6. Why, yes,' said she, laughing: Watch now, and you 'll see him chop that hen's head right off.” “ Was n't it awful ? I was ashamed of myself for looking, but I did; and he did chop that hen's head right off. And just as soon as the head Tas off, that hen went flying all around that yard !” " And all those hens that fied, no, flowed.” "Flew," suggested Love. "Yes, flew," said Faith. “ And all those hens that flew round that yard before, were dead! Their heads were right on that block.” " Well, where did they fly to ?” asked Paul. “Up to Heaven? Don't we have hens in Heaven ?” “ Heaven! I guess they did n't!” cried Faith, contemptuously. “I don't want to go to Heaven, myself, if we are going to have hens up there scratching up all the corn and tomatoes." "Well, where did they go ?” gasped Paul, meekly. Why, they fell down, after they got through flying," said Faith. " and Hope and I had 'em for dinner, did n't we, Hope ?” * That we did," cried Hope, “now let me tell you a story.” So Hope told a story; and then Paul, and last of all little Peace. This was what little Peace told 6 "Jat Horner Sat in torner 30 The Student and Schoolmate. Eatin' kismas pie all up, Put in 's ſum Pulled out pum O what gate boy I am !” Whereupon they all flew at her, and hugged, and kissed her. And so, all the afternoon, they ironed, and told stories, and sang, and - was n't they good children ? And just as the hands of the great clock in the corner pointed to five, the door opened, and in walked dear, little Mrs. Lupin. “Why children, children, children !” cried she. “ All my ironing done? Who did it?” “ Peter," cried little Peace. “O you funny Peter,” cried Mrs. Lupin, and she ran and kissed him, and then she must needs kiss them all round, and then she must open her basket, and give them all some great red apples, and while they are eating them, chatting and laughing, and being very happy altogether, we will leave them, won't we, dear reader? Only stopping to pin on the moral, which is this : 6 Go thou and do likewise.” Tracy Towne. AMUSING ANECDOTE. A SEA CAPTAIN was about to start on a long voyage, and entered into a contract with a builder to erect him a handsome and commodious house during his absence. Everything was to be done according to the contract, which the captain had had drawn up with great care. A large sum was to be forfeited by the builder if he should fail to observe any of the stipulations, or attempt to put in his notions where the contract made no provision for them. The captain sailed, and returned. His house stood in ampie and imposing proportions before his sight, and he confessed himself delighted with the exterior. But when he entered, and attempted to ascend to the second floor of the building, he found no stairs, and no means of ascent were to be had till ladders were sent for. The captain felt that he was trifled with, and a bit of a gale seemed brewing. But this was soon quieted by the opening of the written contract, and there was found not the least provision for stairs in any part of the house ! “ Give me your hand, sir !” said the noble captain, at once. “ All right! you've stuck to the contract, and I like it." New Year's Greeting. 31 NEW YEAR'S GREETING. HARK ARK! I hear the young Prince coming In the steps of Sixty-Seven, See! his star of empire's rising, In the boundless blue of heaven. Yes, he's coming, - gay and buoyant, O'er the snow-wreathed hills, and dells, Hear the tramping of his race-horse, And his merry pealing bells. With the halo of his new life, And the thrill of joy untold, And the crown that waits to glisten, O'er his waving locks of gold. “Yes my boys and girls, I'm coming, And my joyous greetings bring, For the future, can no shadows, O'er my bliss extatic, fling. Sixty-Seven, so friendless, weary, Follow'd on the by-gone years, His snowy locks, were thin and floating, And his visage, bathed in tears. With treasur'd hopes, all fled before him, He slowly totter'd down the vale. But my work is just beginning, All my realm of glory, hail Hail ! and seize the hours I give you, Golden moments, as they fly, Let's profit by Old Past Experience, With our stern resolving's high." YOUR YOUNG FRIEND, 1868. 32 The Student and Schoolmate. I CAN'T. N° O such words escaped the lips of Cæsar Ducornet, who was born in Lille, France, January 10, 1806. Born as he was, without arms, what was there for him to do, even in this busy world? Each foot had but four toes, but he early learned to use these to advantage. When very young, he could with ease throw a ball, cut with a knife, and draw lines on the floor with chalk, and could even cut figures on paper, with his mother's scissors. He early became a good penman. From this he passed to drawing and naturally enough to painting, the wide space between his great toe and the next, enabling him to grasp his brushes firmly. At the age of thirteen, his progress astonished Watteau, professor at the school of design, in Lille, who received him as a pupil. Only three years later, he took the first prize, for a drawing of the human figure, from nature. After this he pursued his studies is Paris. He was of lively temperament, and when in conversation he became animated, he was in the habit of gesticulating with his legs, as other per- sons do with their arms. Some one has described a visit to his painting room which is interesting : “ Across the whole extent of the canvas ran, with incredible agility like a fly upon the wall, the stunted trunk of a man, surmounted by a noble head, with expansive brow and eye of fire ; and whenever the apparition passed along the canvas, he left the traces of color behind him. On approaching a few paces nearer, we were aware of a lofty, but slender scaffolding in front of the canvas, up and down and across the steps and stages of which climbed, and couched, and twisted - it is im- possible to describe how — the shapeless being we had come to see. We saw then that he was deprived of arms; that he had no thighs ; that his short legs were closely united to his body; and that each of his feet wanted a toe. By one of his feet he held a palette – by the other a pencil ; in his mouth also he carried a large brush and a second pencil. And in all this harness he moved, and rolled, and writhed, and painted, in a manner more than marvellous ! a voice musical, grave and sonorous, saluting us by name, invited us to be seated. Then the apparation glided down the whole length of the scaffold to the ground, advanced, or rather rolled toward us, and with a bound established himself on the sofa at our side." After so signal an example of perseverance, under the most discourag- ing circumstances, where is the boy or girl that can honestly say, " I can't !” call to mind this armless boy, patronized by noblemen for por. traits and pictures, that were highly prized. Remember his thirty years Declamation, 33 of toil with pencil and brush, until his feet were struck with paralysis. Then on the 27th of April, 1856, his work being done, he died in the arms of his father, who had been his inseparable companion, frequently carrying him on his shoulders, that his feet might not be injured for painting Anell. DECLAMATION. [See Diagram in November No.] SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS. E call me 'CHIEF, and ye do well to call 'him chief, who, for “Y of Ibeast that the broad empire of "Rome could furnish, and yet 'never has lowered his arm. And if there be one among you who can say that, even, in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him step forth and say it. If there be 'three in all your throng dare face me on the bloody sand, let them come on! “Yet I was not always thus, a hired butcher, a savage 'chief of sav- age 'men. My father was a reverent man, who feared great Jupiter, and brought the rural #deities his offerings of fruits and flowers. He dwelt among the vine-clad 'rocks and olive 'groves at the foot of 14 Heli- con. My early life ran quiet as the @brook by which I sported. I was taught to prune the evine, to tend the flock ; and then, at noon, I gath- ered my sheep beneath the shade, and played upon the shepherd's flute. I had a 'friend, the son of our 'neighbor; we led our flocks to the same *pasture, and shared together our Srustic meal. "One levening, after the sheep were folded, and we were all seated beneath the myrtle that shaded our 'cottage, my grandsire, an old man, was telling of Marathon and Leuctra, and how, in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile of the 18mountains, withstood a "whole army. I did not then know what war meant ; but my cheeks burned, I knew not why; and I clasped the hand of that venerable 'man, till my mother, parting the hair from off my brow, kissed my throbbing temples, and bade me go to Brest, and think no more of those old tales and sav- age wars. “ That very night the Romans landed on our 'shore, and the clash of steel was heard within our quiet vale. I saw the breast that had nour- ished me trampled by the iron hoof of the 'war-horse; the bleeding 34 The Student and Schoolmate. body of my father flung amid the blazing rafters of our dwelling. To- day I killed a man in the arena, and when I broke his helmet 'clasps, behold! – - it was my friend! He knew me, He knew me, - smiled faintly, - gasped, — and 'died. The same sweet smile that I had marked upon his face, when in adventurous boyhood, we l4scaled some lofty cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph. I told the Prætar he was my friend, noble and brave, and I begged this body, that I might burn it upon the funeral pile, and mourn over him. Ay, upon my 'knees, amid the ®dust and blood of the arena, I begged that "boon, while all the Roman 'maids and 'matrons, and those holy virgins they call 'vestal, and the Irabble, shouted in mockery, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see "Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale, and tremble like a very child, before that piece of bleeding ®clay; but the Prætor drew 12back as if I were pollution, and sternly said, “ 8 Let the carrion rot! There are no noble men but Romans !' And he, deprived of funeral rites, must ?wander, a hapless "ghost, beside the waters of that sluggish ?river, and look and 'look and 'look in vain to the bright 14 Elysian fields where 14dwell his ancestors and noble kindred. And so must 'you, and so must 'I, die like &dogs ! “ Hark! Hear ye 'yon lion roaring in his den? "T is three days since he tasted 'meat; but to-morrow he shall break his fast upon your flesh; and ye shall be a dainty meal for him. “ If ye are brutes, then stand here like fat %oxen waiting for the butcher's 'knife; if ye are 'men, follow me! 'strike down yon "sentinel, , and gain the mountain "passes, and there do bloody work as did your 'sires at old Thermopyle! Is Sparta dead? Is the old 'Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that ye do crouch and cower like base-born slaves, beneath your master's lash ? O! 8comrades ! Swarriors ! Thracians ! if we 'must fight, let us fight for lourselves ; if we 'must slaughter, let us slaughter our 'oppressors ; if we must 'die, let us die under the open sky, by the bright awaters, in 'noble, 'honorable "battle. E. Kellogg Dialogue. 35 DIALOGUE. WRITING A COMPOSITION. CHARACTERS. -GRANDMA SMITH; UNCLE JOHN NILES; CHARLES AND PETER SMITH. SCENE. The sitting-room of the Smiths. Uncle John before the fire with his great coat on. Grandma Smith taking snuff. Charles and Peter at the table with their flates. Uncle John. For conscience's sake, boys ! what is the matter? You look both of you as if you had lost your best friend ! What's to pay? Peter. To pay indeed! I wish I was grown up, and done with school forever! A fellow never takes any comfort as long as he is going to school ! Charley. That's so. I'll subscribe to that. Uncle J. A dreadful tribulation, boys, I 'll admit. Dreadful. It's a wonder so many people manage to live through it, is n't it? Peter. Oh, well, you can laugh if you want to. I don't care. But if you was in our places, you might not feel quite so tickled as you do now, that's all. Uncle J. Well, what has happened ? Peter. Quite enough, I should think! I and Charley have got to write compositions for next Wednesday. The teacher said so. Chorley. Yes, and he might as well have told us we'd got to climb to the moon! Uncle J. Nonsense, boys! It is n't much to write a composition, when you once get at it. Why, when I went to school, I used to write one every week, and I still live. Grandma Smith. Dear marsy! what a sight of fussing there is now- a-days about gitting an edication. Children must go through with more performances than you can shake a stick at! Thank the Lord ! that was n't the way when I was young ! you did n't have to kerry nothing to school but a spelling book and a Psalter, and yer knitting work and a cold sassinger in a basket. Ah, me! times has changed. Peter. That's the truth, Granny. Grandma S. Don't call me “granny," Peter. It 's dreadful unre- spectful. Call me grandmarm, the same as Sammy Snooks does his grandmarm. Peter. Sam Spooks don't know beans. Grandma s. It's nothing but ixpense upon ixpense! Dear marsy! 36 The Student and Schoolmate. I don't see how son Jeremiah is a gwine to make both ends meet Folks had ort to think twice in these times before they git married and go to having children to eddicate! Nothing but pay out all the time. And nothing coming in! Time has changed dreadfully. Butter did n't use to be but ten cents, and now, it's fifty, and strong at that ! And then such a sight as it costs to git married ! Now, when I was young it was n't half such an undertaking as it is now! Did n't begin to be. Why, we did n't think nothing of setting up housekeeping with only two cups and saucers, and two plates, and two cheers. Peter. What did you sit on when you had company? Grandma S. Sit on ? why, on the floor, on the water pail turned upside down, or on a stick of wood, or the side of the bed. And if we got a feather bed we was rich as mud, and if anybody come to stay all night we jest parted the bed and slept on the husks! And a one roomed house with a stone chimney, was a palace, and a couple of sheep and a half dozen hens and a rooster, made us rich. Charley. Was that the way you and grandpa set up ? Grandma. S. I rather guess it was, only we did n't have no feather bed, not till we'd raised and killed chickens enuff to git the feathers to make one! Yer grandpa did n't spark me but about four weeks. I never had no faith in these long courtships. They hain't no good. For to me if a feller courts a gal more ’n a year 'twon't amount to nothing in the end. He 'll see somebody else or she'll see somebody else that they like better, and then the fat 'll all be in the fire. Besides, it 's a dreadful ixpense to be a courting. It wears out a powerful sight of shoe leather to visit a gal two nights in a week, to say nothing of the fire wood, and the taller dips burnt out a setting up? And, from a lit- tle gal, I'd allers stuck to it that when I had a beau be'd got to come to the pint to once. So when yer grandpa had been a coming over to our ’us about three weeks, I up and told him that if he wanted any- thing of me, he'd better be spry and speak about it, for if he did n't make ca]kilations onto anything seris, there was Sam Clark a waiting to step into his shoes. And yer grandpa he kinder scratched his head, and the bargain was settled right there. And in a fortnight we was married, and went to ļousekeeping in Father Smith’s hogs' house cham- ber. But now-days, if anybody is a going to marry, they must have a trossy, and they must go on to a bridis tower, and arter they git back they must have a preception, and everybody n' rst come and eat cake and drink wine and oh dear marsy! the ixpens e is awful! awful ! If I warn't merried, I'd never think of it! never ! Uncle J. Well, boys what are you going to do? Dialogue. 37 Peter. I shall write a poem, if I write anything. If I can't be as much as Jim Syles, I won't be nobody! and he's got a poem on Lib- erty, full four pages long! Uncle J. Poetry! Don't attempt to fly till you can walk. Peter. Well, if I ain't as bright as Jim Syles, then it's a pity! I can beat him all holler in arithmetic! and, as for geography, he don't know what hemisphere he lives on! Grandma S. No wonder ! how should he ? He's allas lived in New York all his days, and anybody that lives there gits so mixed up that it's a marsy if they can tell who they be, and where they come from! I declare! I was there three days once, with your Aunt Martha, and I got so muddled that I could n't tell tother from which, and did n't know whether I was Sally Smith or some other dizzy headed female woman! Uncle J. Well, Peter, what subject have you thought of? Peter. I thought I would write an ode to the Moon. Uncle J. Ha! ha! Moonstruck ? eh ? Peter (indignantly.) You need n't laugh. I guess I can write about the Moon as well as Jim Syles can about Liberty. Uncle J. Well, I wish you success. I must be off to Lynnfield with the team. Feed the brown cow with pumpkins about eleven, and don't forget to water Bill. And I shall expect to listen to something worthy of Shakespeare when I return. (Exit Uncle John, whistling.) Peter. I'm glad he's gone. Now, Charles, let's drive ahead. You've got your 'n all ready out of that old almanac, you know, and you are going to help me. I'll make the first line, and you shall rhyme something to it. I've written it down on the slate in big letters - AN ODE TO THE Moon. Now, how shall I begin? (Scratches his head.) Let's see how will this do? “Oh silver orb, that shines so very bright —" Charles. That's nice as far as it goes, but what will rhyme with bright? Oh, I know! Night will. Peter. And so will light. Here goes - ain't I a poet, though? “Oh silver orb, that shines so very bright, I sit me down in thy refulgent light- Charles. That 's splendid ! Full as good as the Burial of Sir John Moore. If you could only get something into it about “ the clash of steel," and " the roll of martial drums." That sort of thing always sounds nice, somehow. And it takes, too. 38 The Student and Schoolmate. Peter. What shall I say next? I've got set down in the moonlight. Now, what could any one be doing sitting down in the moonlight ? Charles. Digging worms ! that's all I ever do by moonlight. Peter. Oh dear! it's plaguey hard work to be a poet! I don't wonder they always look pale. I should rather try to get a living almost any other way. Charles. So should I. Fact of it is, some pesky fellow has been and said everything you can think of, before you. Peter. That's so. And to tell the truth, I don't believe I have got so spirited a Pegasus as Jim Syles, after all. Grandma S. Got the pigusses ! What on airth is that? · Jim Syles got it? Now, it'll be all over the school! and there 'll be more ixpense a paying the doctor's bill. I'll warrant it's wuss than the measles, or the rickets ! Dear marsy! what a sickly place this is ! Peter. What shall I say ? Charles. How will this do? “Oh silver orb, that shines so very bright- I sit me down in thy refulgent light, To search the earth and dig up worms for bait, Though marm she told me not to stay out late." Peter. That's good. Though it ain't much to do with the moon. Charles. No. But then, poets don't always confine themselves to their subject, any more than ministers do to their text. Now, there was Elder Symonds last Sunday, he took for a text, “ Thou shalt rot steal,” and he preached entirely about Congress, and the President ! But can't we get in something about the drums and fifes, Peter? Peter. You 're crazy about fifes and drums! it's a pity you could n't be a drum a spell, and see if you could n't be satisfied. I am writing an Ode to the Moon. Charles. And I'm a helping you. Peter. Well, then, tell me what to say next. Charles. I've got it fixed, only hear. “And at the fort I hear the fifes and drum — And all the crickets in the grass are just as dumb; And o'er the ramparts wave the stripes and stars All torn and tattered from the many wars !” Peter. Jupiter! Why, Charles, you are a poet. Now say some- thing about the moon, do ! Grandma S. Look into the allmynack, Peter. The moon has jest quartered, I believe. And it runs low, that's a sign of warm weather. Dialogue. 39 The moon is the greatest weather regelater there is! Why, when I was young, we allus looked to see where the moon quartered afore we went to mill, and we allus killed our hogs on the grow of the moon, because if we did n't, the pork was shure to shrink in the pot. Peter. Grandma has driven every idea out of my head. What shall I say about the moon, Charles ? Charles. Oh, I dunno. Say something yourself. Peter. I can't think of anything. I wish I had a hymn book, or something. I'd steal a line or two, by golly! Let me think- “Majestic orb that through the sky dost ride — " now, Charles, what will rhyme with that? Charles. “Majestic orb that through the sky dost ride - I mean the moon, and hang it ! let her slide ! ” Clara Augusta. for the Student and Schoolmate. DEDICATED To Miss Sannie MM. Allen. LTE YEAR'S 20 A. Composed for the Piano-Forte, BY THOS, P. I. MAGOUN. 5-4 Die 2: NEW YEAR'S POLKA. 41 9 2012 T 9:52 42 NEW YEAR'S POLKA. 9:2 be 9 9:27 25 -2 NEW YEAR'S POLKA. 43" due 9: 9:3 56 be TANCREDO THREADS hours ride from Boston. But in all cases of non-arrival of the SCHOOLMATE within a day or two of its usual receipt, we should be notified, that the error may be looked up, and corrected. What think you all of our new cover, which our gifted friend Mr. Charles W. Reed, has designed, and which Mr. John Andrew with his usual skill has en- O all our friends, a “happy graved. We confess to be much pleased new year.” To many we have with its appearance, and hope that it presented our congratulations will give equal pleasure to those for through a succession of years; whom it has been prepared. to many more this is our first opportun TRACY TOWNE, whose “Daffy and ity. To the former, we renew our desire Dix,” and other stories, are well remem- to cause the year to show improvement bered, sends us a sprightly sketeh, and in our pages ; to the latter, we extend a we gladly embrace the opportunity to most cordial greeting, and venture to add this name to our list of contributors, hope that our efforts will meet their published last month, all of whom, will expectations. contribute during the year. With the advance pay for the present The author of “Rosa Bonheur,” a year came many encouraging words, and sketch which was extensively copied, has we should like to give a specimen to our sent us a story, which will soon appear. readers, were it in good taste. But one, A talented writer, whose long resi- having a word of suggestion as well as dence in Europe has given him unusual encouragement, deserves notice. Wal- opportunities for observation, is prepar- ter S. says, “We are always in great ing a series of sketches both interesting commotion to get your magazine, and and instructive. the only fault we find, is, that. Ragged As a new feature, we are promised a Dick is too short in each number." series of problems prepared expressly What say you, Mr. Alger? for this magazine by an experienced Again, Master Goss complains, “ My teacher, one of which will appear each numbers come very irregularly, and 1 month, and a prize will be offered to our cannot do without them. Do send them regular subscribers for a correct answer. more punctually.” My dear fellow, the The first one appears in the present fault is not with us, but at your own number, and for the first correct answer Post-office. The numbers are sent reg- (due allowance being made for distance) ularly, and should reach you on the first we will give either a bound volume for of every month, you being but a few the years 1865, 6, or 7, or of these popu- Tangled Threads. 45 distant when the great majority of those whose circumstances will admit of it, will be supplied with the Cabinet Organ as well as with the piano-forte, so as to have the best means at command for performing every variety of composition suited to the requirements of refined taste in the house or social circle. Providence Journal. lar books, written by Mr. Horatio Alger, TT.—" Frank's Campaign,” “ Paul Pres- cott's Charge," or "Charlie Codman's Cruise." In the present number will be found a carefully prepared chart, containing new and additional gestures for use with our selections for declamation, which may be easily detached for use, if desired. It is with great satisfaction that we an- nounce this department as under the care of a person of large experience and excellent taste. In a word, the SCHOOLMATE enters on its twenty-first volume with a full consciousness of its responsibility to those in whose service it has so long labored. We can hardly restrain an outward expression of admiration as we pass the shop windows in which the wonderful productions of Messrs. L. Prang & Co., are so liberally displayed. “ Not an oil painting !” was the exclamation of one who was told that the beautiful view in the White Mountains, copied from Bricher, was a specimen of the art of Chromo-Lithography, which the inde- fatigable zeal of the Messrs. Prang & Co. has brought to such remarkable perfection. Now, the walls of almost the humblest, may bear specimens that shall awaken thrills of pleasure in pa- rent, child, and guest. So life-like, so true to nature, that one wonders how the press can so easily imitate the pencil the most gifted artists. But it is so, and the holiday season will doubtless be remembered in the transfer of many of these gems from friend to friend. THE RIGHT INSTRUMENT. — We are not surprised to find that the Cabinet Organs made by Mason & Hamlin are rapidly winning their way into the fami- lies as well as into the churches and musical societies of the land. They are meeting with a steadily increasing de- mand, and we think the time is not far Our Book Table. ALEXIS, THE RUNAWAY. By Rosa Abbott Parker. Lee & Shepherd. This, the second volume of the “Rosa Abbott Series,” is fully equal to its predecessor, noticed in our last. There are many Count Homburgs still in existence, and this highly interesting narrative may be of much use, as well as prove very entertaining to the young folks. Mrs. Parker's forthcoming vol. umes will be eagerly welcomed, for there is brilliancy as well as worth in her productions. CLIMBING THE ROPE. By May Man- nering. Lee & Shepard. The first volume of the “Helping Hand Series,” by a writer well known to our readers. An interesting story, well written, and giving promise of a successful series. JUDGE Nor, OR HESTER POWER'S GIRLHOOD. By Mrs. Edwin Shepard. Loring, Publisher. A touching story of a village beauty, who, having through her amiable quali- ties, attracted the affection of one blessed by fortune and a name, is the victim of a cruel wrong, under which she sinks into an early grave. A monument with the simple inscription, “Judge Not,” attests the atonement of her high born compan- ions for her hasty judgment. AMERICAN NOTES FOR GENERAL CIR. CULATION. By Charles Dickens. J. B. Peterson & Brothers. Philadel. 46 The Student and Schoolmate. go phia. Sold in Boston by Lee & Shep-2. Geographical Rebus. ard. Price 25 cts. This is a reprint of Mr. Dickens' criti- cisms on American Society, first pub- lished some twenty-five years ago, and this very cheap book will enable all to judge whether the indignation then ex- cited by its appearance, was well founded 3. Charade. or not. THE LADY's Almanac, published by My first, when kept in bounds by man, More slavish is than man can be, George Coolidge, Boston, is a very neat More willing to perſorm his plan, miniature volume, containing, in addi- His will obey, do his decree. tion to the usual astronomical tables, a But let me break my bond or chain, choice selection of literary matter, show- My master's hand cast off from me, ing the good taste of Mr. Coolidge, and worthy of universal adoption by those My course pursue, my road but gain, And then, my masters' ye shall see. for whom it has been so carefully pre- That though so mild I seemed to be, pared. No lady should be without it. How when set loose I spurn the rein Answers And scour with fury all the plain. To Tangled Threads in December My second, once in times of old, number. By gallant Grecians and their crew, 1. Customary. 'Gainst walls and castles, works of 2. It never rains but it pours. mould, 3. Excelsior. Large boulders of hard granite threw. 4. Chinese Empire. From what is said, and shall appear, 5. Dog. Ore. Gem. Judge thou my whole. ’T is coming 6. Ape. Pea. Ear. near, 7. R-apine. 8. S-alad. 9. B-alance. For hark ! whence comes that noise so 10. C-arat. II. C-abin 12. M-alady. loud, 13. B-asin. 14. D-amask. 15. L-as Those cries that turn night into day, tage. Ah, see how through the frightened 16. R-apier. J-apan. crowd 18. A. had io. B. had 5. An awful monster winds its way, 19. Sugar cost 12 cts. Butter 25 cts. Heedless of woman, man, or child, 'Mid smoke and spark, and scream, and 20. He-n. 21. Be-d 22. In-k. 23. Eve-n. yell, -24. Winter Garden. (Edwin Booth's It darts through streets and alleys wild, Theatre destroyed by fire in the summer Like to a monster sent from hell. S. of 1867.) 4. Puzzles. 1. Geographical Rebus. Complete, it is a house for cattle, be- head it, and it is a stand, behead again, and it is ability, transpose, a bundle, now, behead again, and it is a kind of liquor. ROB Roy, per. lb. C Anagrams. 5. Mc Har on gin. 6. Tom got fern. RICHDORE. Tangled Threads. 47 7. Enigma. Prize Problem. I am composed of thirty-four letters. THREE brothers of the family A ; four My 22, 30, 5, 20, 7, 22 is a place for a of the family B ; together with C. D. E. fire. F. and G. invest a certain sum of money My 15, 10, 20, 9, 2, 18 is a Turkish in merchandise. But the goods being head-dress. partly destroyed by fire and partly dam- My 1, 13, 28, 17 is a small insect. aged by water, they sold the part saved My 34, 26, 33 is a machine. for $73.71. They invested in a peculiar My 18, 19, 4 is at present. manner, and agreed to divide the gain, My 32, 1, 6, 13, 9, 10, 8 is a large car- or suffer loss in the same manner. The riage. three members of family A. are each to My 12, 10, 25, 16 is to put to rest. receive i of y'a of the amount, each My 29, 19, 32 is a game at cards. member of the family B. 10% of the My 31, 26, 14, 21, 16, 39 is diminutive. amount, each member of the family A. My 3, 23, 24 is a nickname. receives, io of C's. share is of the My 27, 10, 11, 32, 20 is one who in- amount each member of the family B. receives. D. receives twice as much as My whole is one of Edward Young's C. Iđo part of D's. share equals E's ; quotations. OUR JACK. F. receives 244 times I of D's share ; G. receives 7 times as much as D. How 8. Arithmorem. many dollars ought each member of the I. 50 and "tap" to interweave. family A. and each of the family B. to 2. 51 and - a walk. receive? How much C. D. E. F. and 3. 100 and « to revolve G. ? 4. 551 and "y' a pastoral poem. Who will send us the first solution of 5. 50 and“ base ”-a valuable animal. the above problem, and receive the prize The initials, read downward, form the as stated on first page of “Tangled name of an important city in the old Threads ?” world. ARTIE CRAYTON. structs. sea or Illustrated Rebus. ya Pithy and Pointed. purpose of leaving enough to give his .... When Sir Walter Scott was urged children a start in the world, as it is not to prop the failing credit of an ac called. Setting a young man afloat with quaintance, he replied : “The man was money left him by relatives, is like tying my friend when friends were few, and I bladders under the arms of one who will be his now that his enemies are cannot swim ; ten chances to one he many." will lose his bladders and go to the bot. .... Many an unwise parent labors hard tom. Teach him to swim and he will and lives sparingly all his life, for the never need the bladders. Give your 48 The Student and Schoolmate. “ Hould on, ye child a sound education, and you have , Curious and Amusing. done enough for him. See to it that his ....A man behind the time should be morals are pure, his mind cultivated, fed on ketch-up. and his whole nature made subservient “ Hould on!” said Patrick, as he to the laws which govern men, and you stood looking after the departed train, have given what will be of more value motioning it to stop. than the wealth of the Indies. murtherin stame ingin ; yes got a pas- To be thrown upon one's resources, is senger aboard that 's lift behind.” to be cast into the very lap of fortune, Young ladies are said to like cold for our faculties then undergo a devel- weather because it brings the chaps to opment, and display an energy, of which their lips. they were previously unsusceptible. ....“Miss Dusenberry, what is your Dr. Arnold. opinion of the weather? I think it in- . Never be afraid to do right because tends to clear ; do you agree with me?" somebody will laugh at you. Never do “I do, indeed ; and wish some folks wrong because somebody will applaud would follow the weather's example, and you. Never be ashamed of an old hat clear too.” if well brushed and the best you have. ... Why is a song badly sung, like a .... Value the friendship of him who man who requires a wig? Because he stands by you in the storm – swarms of is bawled. insects will surround you in the sunshine. .... Why is the flag of the United States .... It is one of the rich rewards of self. like the Northern Ocean? Because it mastery that the very occurences which waves from the Atlantic to the Pacific. fret the temper of an irritable person, "Did you see anything ridiculous in bring relief and satisfaction to him who this wig ?” said a brother judge, to Cur- rules his spirit. The following anecdote 'Nothing but the head,” he re- of Wilberforce is in point: A friend plied. told me that he found him once in the A wag in New York seeing a man greatest agitation looking for a despatch driving a tack into a card, through the which he had mislaid - one of the royal letter t of the word “Boston” printed family was waiting for it — he had delay on it, seized the latter, and exclaimed, ed the search till the last moment - he “Why, what are you about ? Don't you seemed at last quite vexed and furried. know that laying tax on tea in Boston At this unlucky instant, a disturbance in once raised a terrible muss there?" the nursery overhead occurred. My ....Cold feet are the avenues to death friend, who was with him, said to him of multitudes every year ; it is a sign of self, “Now, for once, Wilberforce's tem imperfect circulation, or want of vigor of per will give way.” He had hardly constitution. In the case of cold feet, thought thus, when Wilberforce turned the amount of blood wanting there col- to him and said, “What a blessing it is lects at some other parts of the body to have these dear children! Only which happens to be the weakest. think what a relief amidst other hurries, When the lungs are weakest, the extra , to hear their voices and know they are blood gathers there in the shape of a well !” common cold, or often spitting of blood. .... If the best man's faults were written Clergymen, other public soeakers, and on his forehead they would make him singers, by improper exposure, often pull his hat over his eyes. render the throat the weakest part ; to .... The American eagle must never be such, cold feet give hoarseness, or a raw divided. We can never think of putting burning feeling, most felt at the bottom up with a half eagle, says Prentice. of the neck. 66 ran. STUDENT AND SWEDEMA An Illustrated Monthly, FOR OUR BOYS AND GIRLS. Vol. XXI. FEBRUARY, 1868. No. II. FAME AND FORTUNE, OR THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD HUNTER. CHAPTER II. INTRODUCTION TO MERCANTILE LIFE. RANK WHITNEY was indeed surprised to find the ragged boot-black of a year before so wonder- fuily changed. He grasped Dick's hand, and shook it heartily. “ Uncle,” he said, “this is Dick. Is n't he changed?” " It is a change I am glad to see,” said Mr. Whitney, also extending his hand," for it appears to be a change for the better. And who is this other young man?” " This is my private tutor,” said Dick, presenting Fosdick, “ Pro- fessor Fosdick. He's been teachin' me every evenin' for most a year. His terms is very reasonable. If it had n't been for bim, I never should have reached my present high position in literature and sciencer' “ I am glad to make your acquaintance, Professor Fosdick," said Frank, laughing. “May I inquire whether my friend Dick owes his elegant system of pronunciation to your instructions ?” * Dick can speak more correctly when he pleases,” said Fosdick, " but sometimes he falls back into his old way. He understands the common English branches very well.” " Then he must have worked hard, for when I first met him a year ago, he was Esterel according to act of Congress, in the year 1868, by JOSEPH H. ALLEN, in the clerk's fix of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 50 The Student and Schoolmate. “ As ignorant as a horse,” interrupted Dick. “It was you that first made me ambitious, Frank. I wanted to be like you, and grow up 'spectable.” “ Respectable, Dick,” suggested Fosdick. “ Yes, that's what I mean. I did n't always want to be a boot-black, 80 I worked hard, and with the help of Professor Fosdick, I've got up a little way. But I'm goin' to climb higher.” “I am very glad to hear it, my young friend,” said Mr. Whitney. “ It is always pleasant to see a young man fighting his way upward. In this free country there is every inducement for effort, however unprom- ising may be the early circumstances in which one is placed. But, young gentlemen, as my nephew would be glad to speak further with you, I propose that we adjourn from the sidewalk to the St. Nicholas Hotel, where I am at present stopping." “ Yes, Dick," said Frank, “ you and Professor Fosdick must spend the evening with me. I was intending to visit some place of amuse- ment, but would much prefer a visit from you." Dick and Fosdick readily accepted this invitation, and turned in the direction of the St. Nicholas, which is situated on Broadway, below Bleecker Street. “ By the way, Dick, where are your Washington coat and Napoleon pants, now?" “ They were stolen from my room,” said Dick, “ by somebody that wanted to appear on Broadway dressed in tip-top style, and had n't got money enough to pay for a suit.” “ Perhaps it was, some agent of Barnum who desired to secure the valuable relics,” suggested Frank. “ By gracious !” exclaimed Dick, suddenly," there they are now. It's the first time I've seen 'em since they was stole.” He pointed to a boy of about his own size, who was coming up Broad- way. He was attired in the well remembered coat and pants, but alas! Time had not spared them. The solitary remaining coat-tail was torn in many places, of one sleeve but a fragment remained, grease and dirt nearly obliterated the original color, and it was a melancholy vestige of what it had been once. As for the pantaloons, they were a complete wreck. When Dick had possessed them they were well ventilated, but they were now ventilated so much more thoroughly that, as Dick said afterwards, a feller would be warmer without any." “ That's Micky Maguire,” said Dick, "a partic'lar friend of mine, that had such a great 'fection for me that he stole my clothes to remem- ber me by.” 66 Fame and Fortune. 51 "Perhaps,” said Fosdick, “ it was on account of his great respect for General Washington and the Emperor Napoleon." "What would the great Washington say if he could see his coat Dow?” said Frank. “When I wore it,” said Dick, “I was sorry he was so great, 'cause it prevented his clothes fitting me." It may be necessary to explain to those who are unacquainted with Dick's earlier adventures, that the clothes in which he was originally introduced, were jocosely referred to by him as gifts from the illustrious personages whose names have been mentioned. Micky Maguire did not at first recognize Dick. When he did so, he suddenly shambled down Prince Street, fearful perhaps that the stolen clothes would be reclaimed. They had now reached the St. Nicholas, and entered. Mr. Whitney led the way up to his apartment, and then having a business engage- ment with a gentleman below, he descended to the reading-room. leav- ing the boys alone. Left to themselves, they talked freely. Dick re- lated fully the different steps in his education, with which some of our readers are already familiar, and received hearty congratulations from Frank, and earnest encouragement to persevere. “ I wish you were going to be in the city, Frank,” said Dick. "So I shall be soon,” said Frank. Dick's face lighted up with pleasure. “ That's bully," said he, enthusiastically. « How soon are you comin'?” “I am hoping to enter Columbia College next commencement. I suppose my time will be a good deal taken up with study, but I shall always find time for you and Fosdick. I hope you both will call upon me." Both boys readily accepted the invitation in advance, and Dick prom- ised to write to Frank at his boarding-school in Connecticut. At about half past ten, the two boys left the St. Nicholas, and went back to their boarding house. After a comfortable night's sleep, they got up punctually to the seven o'clock breakfast. It consisted of beefsteak, hot biscuit, potatoes, and very good coffee. Dick and Fosdick did justice to the separate viands, and congratulated themselves upon the superiority of their present fare to that which they had been accustomed to obtain at the restaurants. Breakfast over, Fosdick set out for the hat and cap store in which he was employed, and Dick for Rockwell & Cooper's on Pearl Street. It must be confessed that he felt a little bashful as he stood in front o 52 The Student and Schoolmate. the large ware-house, and surveyed the sign. He began to feel some apprehensions that he would not be found competent for his post. It seemed such a rise from the streets to be employed in such an imposing building. But Dick did not long permit timidity to stand in his way. He entered the large apartment on the first floor, which he found chiefly used for storing large boxes and cases of goods. There was a counting- room and office, occupying one corner, partitioned off from the rest of the department. Dick could see a young man through the glass parti- tion sitting at a desk, and opening the door, he entered. He wished it had been Mr. Rockwell, for it would bave saved him from introducing himself, but of course it was too early for that gentleman to appear. “ What is your business ?” inquired the book-keeper, for it was he. “I've come to work,” said Dick, shortly, for somehow he did not take much of a fancy to the book-keeper, whose tone was rather super- cilious. “ O, you ’ve come to work, have you ?” “ Yes, I have,” said Dick, independently. “I don't think we shall need your valuable services," said the book- keeper, with something of a sneer. The truth was, that Mr. Rockwell had neglected to mention that he had engaged Dick. Now, Dick, though a little inclined to be bashful when he entered, had quite got over that feeling now. He did n't intend to be intimi- dated or driven away, by the man before him. There was only one doubt in his mind. This might be Mr. Cooper, the second member of the firm, although he did not think it at all probable. So he ventured this question, " Is Mr. Rockwell or Mr. Cooper in ?” “ They ’re never here at this hour.” “So I supposed,” said Dick, coolly. He sat down in an arm-chair, and took up the morning paper. The book-keeper was decidedly provoked by his coolness. He felt that he had not impressed Dick with his dignity or authority, and this made him angry. Bring that paper to me, young man,” he said, “I want to consult it” • Very good,” said Dick, "you can come and get it.” “I can't compliment you on your good manners,” said the other. “ Good manners don't seem to be fashionable here,” said Dick, com- posedly. Apparently the book-keeper did not want the paper very particularly, as he did not take the trouble to get up for it. Dick therefore resumed his reading, and the other dug his pen spitefully into the paper, wishing, 66 Fame and Fortune. 53 46 but not quite daring, to order Dick out of the counting-room, as it might be possible that he had come by appointment. “ Did you come to see Mr. Rockwell ?” he asked, at length, looking ap from his writing Yes,” said Dick. “ Did he tell you to come?” “ Yes." " What was that you said about coming to work ?” " I said I had come here to work.” * Who engaged you?” " Mr. Rockwell.” "O indeed! And how much are you to receive for your valuable services?" " You're very polite to call my services valuable,” said Dick. “ I hope they will he.” * You have n't answered my question.” " I have no objection, I'm sure. I’m to get ten dollars a week.” “Ten dollars a week !" echoed the book-keeper with a scornful laugh. " Do you expect you will earn that?” “No I don't," said Dick frankly. “ You don't !” returned the other doubtfully. “ Well, you ’re more modest than I thought for. Than why are you to get so much ?” *. Perhaps Mr. Rockwell will tell you,” said Dick, "if you tell him you're very partic'lar to know, and will lose a night's rest if you don't find out." “I would n't give you a dollar a week.” * Then I'm glad I aint goin' to work for you.” "I don't believe your story at all. I don't think Mr. Rockwell would be such a fool as to overpay you so much.” " Praps I sbould n't be the only one in the establishment that is overpaid," observed Dick. “Do you mean me, you young rascal ?” demanded the book-keeper, now very angry. “Don't call names. It is n't polite." "I demand an answer. Do you mean to say that I am overpaid ?” Well,” said Dick deliberately, “ if you ’re paid anything for bein' po- lite I should think you was overpaid considerable.” There is no knowing how long this skirmishing would have continued if Mr. Rockwell himself had not just then entered the counting-room. Dick rose respectfully at his entrance, and the merchant, recognizing him at once, advanced smiling and gave him a cordial welcome. 54 The Student and Schoolmate. “I am glad to see you, my boy,” he said. “ So you did n't forget the appointment. How long have you been here?” “ Half an hour, sir.” “ I am here unusually early this morning. I came purposely to see you and introduce you to those with whom you will labor. Mr. Gilbert, this is a young man who is going to enter our establisment. His name is Richard Hunter. Mr. Gilbert, Richard, is our book-keeper.” Mr. Gilbert nodded slightly, not a little surprised at his employer's cordiality to the new boy. “So the fellow was right after all," he thought." But it can't be possible he is to receive ten dollars a week.” “ Come out into the ware-room, and I will show you about,” contin- ued Mr. Rockwell. How do you think you shall like business, Richard ?" Dick was on the point of saying “ bully,” but checked himself just in time, and said instead," very much indeed, sir.” “ I hope you will. If you do well you may depend upon promotion. I shall not forget under what a heavy obligation I am to you, my brave boy." What would the book-keeper have said if he had heard this ? “ How is the little boy, sir ?” asked Dick. “ Very well, indeed. He does not appear even to have taken 'cold, as might have been expected from his exposure, and remaining in wet clothes for some time.” “I am glad to hear that he is well, sir.” " You must come up and see him for yourself, Richard,” said Mr. Rockwell, in a friendly manner. “ I have no doubt you will become good friends very soon. Besides, my wife is anxious to see and ihank the preserver of her boy." “ I shall be very glad indeed to come, sir.” “ I live at No Madison Avenue. Come to-morrow evening, if you have no engagement.” “ Thank you, sir.” Mr. Rockwell now introduced Dick to his head clerk with a few words, stating that he was a lad in whose welfare he took a deep inter- est, and he would be glad to have him induct him into his duties, and regard with indulgence any mistakes which he might at first make through ignorance. The head derk was a pleasant looking man of middle age, named Murdock - very different in his manners and bearing from Mr. Gilbert, the book-keeper. “ Yes sir," he said, “ I will take the young man under my charge, he Fame and Fortune. 55 looks bright and sharp enough, and I hope, we may make a business man of him in course of time.” That was what Dick liked. His heart always opened to kindness, but harshness always made him defiant. " I'll try to make you as little trouble as possible, sir,” he said. “I may make mistakes at first, but I'm willin' to work, and I want to work my way up." " That is right, my boy,” said Mr. Murdock. “Let that be your de- termination, and I am sure you will succeed." " Before Mr. Murdock begins to instruct you in your duties,” said Mr. Rockwell, “ you may go to the Post Office, and see if there are any letters for us. Our box is No. 5670.” " All right, sir,” said Dick, and he took his hat at once and started. He reached Chatham Square, turned into Printing House Square, and just at the corner of Spruce and Nassau Streets, close by the Trib- one Office he saw the familiar face and figure of Johnny Nolan, one of his old associates when he was a boot-black. " How are you, Jonnny ?” he said. “* Is that you, Dick ?” asked Johnny, turning round. 6 Where's your box and brush ?” * At home.” "You have n't give up business, have you ?” "* I've just gone into business, Johnny.” I mean, you aint give up blackin' boots, have you ?” “ All except my own, Johnny. Aint that a good shine ?” and Dick displayed his boot with something of his old professional pride. " What you up to now, Dick ? You ’re dressed like a swell.” “0,” said Dick, “ I've retired from shines on a fortin', and embarked my capital in mercantile pursuits. I'm in a store on Pearl Street.” " What store?” " Rockwell & Cooper's." “ How'd you get there ?" They wanted a partner with a large capital, and so they took me,” said Dick. “We're goin' to do a smashin' business. We mean to send off a ship to Europe every day, besides what we send to other places, and expect to make no end of stamps." What's the use of gassin'? Dick. Tell a feller now.” “ Honor bright, then, Johnny, I've got a place at ten dollars a week, and I'm goin' to be 'spectable. Why don't you turn over a new leaf, and try to get up in the world ? ” "I aint lucky, Dick. I don't half the time make enough to live on. 60 4 ** 56 The Student and Schoolmate. 66 If it was n't for the Newsboys' Lodgin' House, I don't know what I'd do. I need a new brush and box of blacking, but I aint got money enough to buy any." Then, Johnny, I'll help you this once. Here's fifty cents, I'll give it to you. Now if you 're smart you can make a dollar a day easy, and save up part of it. You ought to be more enterprisin', Johnny. There's a gentleman wants a shine now.” Johnny hitched up his trousers, put the fifty cents in his mouth, bav- ing no pocket unprovided with holes, and proffered his services to the gentleman indicated, with success. Dick left him at work, and kept on his way down Nassau Street. “ A year ago,” he thought, “ I was just like Johnny, dressed in rags, and livin' as I could. If it had n't been for my meetin' with Frank, I'd been just the same to day, most likely. Now I've got a good place, and some money in the Bank, besides ’ristocratic friends who invite me to come and see them. Blessed if I aint afraid I'm dreamin' it all, like the man that dreamed he was in a palace, and woke up to find himself in a pig-pen." Horatio Alger, Jr. Domofon THE VERMONT MARBLE QUARRIES. There are ten different quar- ries at West Rutland, Vt., now in successful operation, while south of these, on the western edge of the valley, there are three others in process of development. The whole thickness of the marble in these quarries is near fifty feet, and it is so stratified as to be easily worked in separate layers, ranging from two to six feet in thickness. In the deposit wherein these quarries are situated there is presented a great variety, both in color and quality of marble, from the purest white to the coarsest or colored rock, the best often lying in close proximity to the poorest. One layer of marble may rest between two of limestone, and all so strangely intermingled that from the poorest there may be some beautifully variegated marble produced. A statuary marble is produced in considerable quantities at these quarries, superior in fineness and texture to that of Carrara, and much preferred by American artists, on account of its life-like color and the absence of that dead white char- acteristic of the Italian — and also from its toughness and non-liability to fracture in cutting. The Bears of Berne. 57 THE BEARS OF BERNE. BERNE ERNE, the capital of Switzerland, is the most beautiful city in the country, and one of the finest in the Old World. It is built upon the slope of a high hill, and the crystal river Aar winds gracefully around all sides of it, but the west, where tasteful public walks occupy the place where fortifications frowned of old. The two picturesque bridges, spanning the river; the handsonte public edifices, the massive freestone dwelling-houses, built upon arcades, and numerous sparkling fountains, and silvery rills, constitute much of the charm of the place. Yet, its romantic site renders it, in a measure, independent of works or human art and labor. The Aar forms here a most magnificent cascade, and the city commands a noble prospect of the Swiss Alps, including Mont Blanc. And we know that “ Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains, They crowned him long ago, On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow." 58 The Student and Schoolmate. The city was founded about seven centuries ago, by a certain brave duke who had killed a bear upon the spot, and hence named it Berne, the old German word for bears being bären. Bears are the arms of the city, and the inhabitants have a perfect passion for these amiable animals. In the great cathedral, one sees, upon the sounding-board over the pulpit, pictures of two bears, and representations of them adorn the backs of numbers of the pews. Upon the main street is a fountain, decorated by a bear, armed cap-à-pie. On the same street stands a clock-tower, as old as the city itself, which has connected with its strik- ing, ingenious machinery, that brings out an amusing procession of little bears. At the museum, which is rich in curiosities, these favorite crea- tures are exhibited in every age, from that of a cub a week old, to bruin in extreme old age. But figures in marble and brass are not enough. The city devotes a special fund to the support of living bears in a capacious stone den. About seventy years since, the French cap- tured Berne, and carried off these bears to the Jardin des Plantes, a school of natural history 'in Paris. But the Bernese could not live in comfort without their pets, and procured fresh inmates for the commo- dious den. These fortunate bears are always visited by tourists in the city, who find them as hungry as it is proverbial for their race to be, but tame enough to beg food of strangers. A person who went to see them some time ago, carrying bread to feed them with, said that the biggest, “ when spoken to, would stand upon his hind legs, turn his head with a sentimental look, and pass his paw in the most affecting manner over his black snout, saying, as plainly as bear could say it, something." But even the petted live bears at Berne, have a rival in Barry, a life- less dog at the museum. Barry belonged to the Great Saint Bernard race, which has been taught to carry bottles of wine or brandy, food, and thick clothing, fastened to the neck or round the body, and, in vari- ous ways, has rescued numerous travellers, who were perishing in the -old and snow of the Alpine mountains. Barry saved the lives of forty persons! Once the benevolent dog found a little boy, whose mother had been killed by an avalanche, and, making the poor desolate little fellow mount upon his strong back, carried him safe to the hospice, where, in the highest house in Europe, live the good monks, who are fit men to be the masters of these noble dogs, since they devote them- selves to the humane, self-denying task of entertaining and befriending the travellers over the mountains. It is no wonder that, when Barry died, his skin was stuffed, and, in perfect form, and natural position, treasured among the most interesting sights of the city. 6 Give me Mrs. Harper's Recompense. 59 One other peculiarity about Berne, and a very pleasant one, we must mention, although it is neither connected with the bears nor with Barry. As a corporation, it owns so much money, that, after meeting all its ex- penses, it can provide every citizen with his fuel gratis, and still have surplus funds every year, to distribute among the inhabitants. In win- ter there is very cold weather at Berne, but no poor people there suffer for lack of a fire. C. سے Lauan MRS. HARPER'S RECOMPENSE. T was a cold, stormy morning in January, and Mrs. Harper's teeth I chilly bedroom, and hurried down stairs to see about getting the week's washing" under way.” It was Monday morning, and all good housewives, you know, like to have the washing done on Monday. The whole week's work goes on with more regularity. Mrs. Harper was a smart, active woman, and at her house everything was done in seasou. On her way to the kitchen she stepped into Biddy Fagan's room. Biddy was snoring lustily, with her red arms thrown over her head, and bounded up like an India rubber ball at the shrill call of her mis- tress. “* Biddy! Biddy! wake up! it's past four o'clock! The rooster crowed more than fifteen minutes ago !” “Ah! like enough! bad 'cess to the poor burd!” said Biddy. “The Virgin help him! but it must be mighty could waking up to crow SO airly!” " It's the early bird that catches the worm,” said Mrs. Harper. " But if the worrm stayed in his bed he would n't be caught at all, at all,” said Biddy, fumbling away at the hooks and eyes and the buttor which felt like little lumps of ice. " Hurry up!” said Mrs Harper, as she went out. “ It 's a big wash we've got to do to-day! Six bed blankets, and two extra table cloths !” Mrs. Harper stopped and put her head in at the door of the large room where slept her six little boys, and gave them orders to get up and dress as quickly as possible so as to be ready for breakfast. There were no sluggards in her house. Mrs. Harper soon had a brisk fire in the stove, and some fish-balls on frying for the morning meal. She was a calculating housekeeper, and 6) The Student and Schoolmate. always made it a point to have something all ready to “ warm up” for breakfast, so that no time need be lost. An hour in the morning was worth two in the afternoon, she was wont to say. While she was turning the fish balls she thought she heard a faint cry. “ Gracious me!” she exclaimed, “ now there's that cat shut up in the pantry again ; I never did see nothing like it! All them pans of milk are ruinated, I'll warrant !” and dropping her knife she flew to the pantry. Kitty! kitty! kitty ! if you don't come out this minnit, I'll break every bone in your body !” screamed Mrs. Harper, but kitty not being in could not very well come out. Every corner of the pantry was searched, and then the fish-balls gave notice by the smell that they needed attention, and while Mrs. Harper was turning them she noticed that the cat was asleep on the settle with her paw over her nose. And again very faintly, almost smothered by the wailing of the wind through the leafless trees came that low, thrilling cry. Kitty pricked her ears and started up, her big round eyes fixed on a crack in the wain- scot from whence more than once a plump mouse had come forth to meet his death, and evidently kitty expected to see another of the species.. Mrs. Harper listened intently. “ Seems to me it's at the front door,” she said, reflectively. “I s'pose this fish 'll all burn up, but I guess I'll see after that noise.” So she cautiously opened the front door, and there on the step, half covered in the drifting snow, was a basket. “ Gracious deliverance !” exclaimed she. “ A basket that 'll hold as much as three pecks! and we haint had a three peck basket about the house! Well, I never !” She lifted it into the entry, and removed the cover. A fold of yellow flannel met her eye, and underneath it there was something which wriggled and squirmed about in the most remarkable manner. Mrs. Harper took away the flannel very much as if she expected a small catamount to pounce upon her, when lo! there appeared the legs and arms of a baby, a little live baby with a face as purple as a cabbage, that is good for pickling. The cold had nearly finished the little thing, but babies will live through a great deal, especially when it does not seem worth their while to live. “ Gracious deliverance ! ” cried Mrs. Harper, starting back with amazement, and gazing on the wee specimen of humanity wbich was Mrs. Harper's Recompense. 61 66 digging its little fists into its eyes, and getting its rosy mouth into the proper pucker for a fit of screaming. Houly Peter !” cried Biddy, coming upon the scene. “ Where did the darlint come from?” “ Dear me ! ” ejaculated Mrs. Harper. “I found it in the basket bere on the door-step. The front door-step, too!” Mrs. Harper lifted the baby out of the woolens in which it was enveloped, and as she did so there was a rustling of paper. A letter was pinned to the coarse flannel slip, which by the aid of her spectacles Mrs. Harper made out to read. “MADAN: A wretched mother, destitute of means, and deserted by her husband, to save this child from slow death by starvation throws him upon your mercy, hoping you will deal justly by him as you hope God will deal with you. He is ten months old, and his name is Seth.” “ Well, I declare !” cried Mrs. Harper. “ If that haint cool ! Just as though six boys round a house was n't enough.. I'll send this Seth to the poor-house before the day is two hours older. Biddy, them fish- balls will stick fast to the spider ! run this instant, and see to 'em!” and under the cover of Biddy’s retreat Mrs. Harper put down her face to the cold soft cheek of the baby, and touched his pitiful lips with her OWD. Mrs. Harper was a rough, hard working woman, who scorned fine sensibility, but all women have a tenderness for babies, you know, and Mrs. Harper was by no means as heartless as she pretended to be. She wore blue yarn stockings which wrinkled fearfully; and confined her hair with a brass comb, and had a pinch-beck ring on her little finger as an amulet to ward off rheumatism ; and we fear that ears in any way sensitive to improper English would have been shocked by her broad idiom, but in the main she was just about as near perfection as the hu- man race will average, and as all know, that is a “ right smart distance," as they say down south. Mr. Harper came slowly down the stairs, tying his neckerchief as he came, and yawning, with the air of one who had not had his nap out. " Why, bless my soul !” exclaimed he. “Bless my soul, Betsey ! what have we here?” - My name is 'Lizabeth, if you please, John Harper," said she, tartly, "and this is, if I'm capable of judging, a baby !” But where did it come from?” "Out of that basket, and I found the basket on the door-step. And 62 The Student and Schoolmate. here's the letter that was pinned to the baby's frock !” And Mrs. Harper read it aloud. “ Humph!” grunted her husband. “A pretty piece of business ; six boys already, and here's the seventh one! A seventh son Bets-- I mean Elizabeth, seventh sons are doctors usually. “I'll harness up Bob the moment breakfast is over, and take the little wretch to the poor- house." “ You will ? will you ?” said Mrs. Harper. “No you won't, neither ! 'Spose ’n you 'd left one of your children on somebody's door-step in a three peck basket, done up in yaller flannel, and they had carried it to the poor house! would n't you have gone into a tantrum ?” “ But I did n't leave any," began Mr. Harper. “ But you might, you know, and I've took a fancy to this poor child, and I'm going to keep him, a spell anyhow." “ You've got six, and I positively forbid it !” said her husband. “ He 'll be nothing but an expense and a trouble, and we shall be eat out of house and home, with so many children!” " John Harper," said his wife, “ you know I haint no church-member, nor nothing, but I believe I've got some faith in the Lord. And I know he says somewhere in the Bible, something like this, I haint shure that I git it jest right, but this is the meaning of it. “Inasmuch as ye do it unto one of these little ones ye have done it unto me.” You go and fin- ish bringing the water to wash, John Harper. I shall keep the child !” In the Harper household, Mrs. Harper's word was law, and there was no appeal from her decision. Mr. Harper took the pail and started for the well, muttering as he went, and Biddy Fagan rested her arms on the brim of the wash tub, to watch Mrs. Harper fixing milk gruel for the baby “ You mind your washing, Biddy !” said her mistress. " It's late enough to scare anybody ; Jones' folks will have their chothes out now afore we do, if we hain't spry! and I would n't have 'em git the start of us for a dollar! Mrs. Jones would have enough to tell of for the rest of her life !" Well, not to make too long a story of it, Mrs. Harper kept little Seth, and after a few years every one bad almost ceased to remember that he was not her son. He was a handsome boy, and he grew and prospered finely. And as one after another of her six boys were gathered into the grave, until only two remained, Seth had drawn very near to the afflicted mother's heart, and with his pleasant childish ways, and his quaint say- ings, was a great comfort to her. Mrs. Harper's Recompense. 63 Mr. Harper had grown reconciled to Seth's adoption, but he never ceased to complain at times of the folly of taking other people's chil- dren to support. It was a powerful outgo and no income, he was ac- customed to say. Matters had gone hard with Mr. Harper. In spite of industry and economy, his affairs got every year' more and more behind hand. The sickness of his children had been a source of expense, and there had been floods which destroyed his crops, and his oxen had died of murrain, and lastly he fell from a load of hay and crippled himself, beyond the hope of recovery. He might live for years, the physicians said, but he never would be well again. Then began the struggle for a livelihood, which so many have to fight. Mrs. Harper's face grew thinner, and sharper, and her voice more quar- rellous. Her boys were too young to be of material assistance, and on the poor little over-worked woman fell all the burden. Money had to be borrowed, and when it fell due there was nothing coming to discharge the debt. So Flossy, the dun cow, must be sold. It was very hard to think of parting with Flossy, the cow that had been a calf when poor little Johnny died, Mrs. Harper said, the dear child's special favorite, and almost the last words her boy had ever spoken, were in the charge given to her just a little while before he died. “ Mamma, be good to dear little Flossy! and don't ever let anybody knock her down with an axe, and salt her in a barrel !” Flossy was an old cow now, but she gave milk that was like foamy nectar, and she was gentle, and ate apples and turnips from the child- ren's hands, and liked to have her neck patted, and her ears handled. But there was no help for it. Flossy was milked at the Harper place for the last time, and Ben, and Arthur, and Seth each kissed the white star in her forehead, and then hid in the barn, and had a quiet cry all by themselves. They were boys, they argued, and it would never do for boys to be seen crying. Crying would do well enough for girls, but boys! that was quite another affair. The money obtained from the sale of the cow kept the creditors at bas only a little while, and then the farm was mortgaged. Mr. Harper boped for better days, but they were long in coming. Soon the time arrived when the quarterly interest could not be paid, and Mr. Brown, the man who held the mortgage, threatened to foreclose. Mr. Harper could offer no objection, so the proper legal steps were taken, and the Harper farm was advertised for sale, the auction to take place on the twentieth of June. " It was very distressing to the family to think of leaving their pleas- 64 The Student and Schoolmate. ant home. Here the old people had come in the happy days of their young married life here their children were born on the little emi nence just below the orchard they were buried, and bye and bye, after a little more toil, they had hoped to rest quietly beside them. We all know how dearly we love whatever we have protected and cared for, and every shrub and tree on the farm held some pleasant memory, for John Harper. There were the long rows of trim apple trees, the rare pear trees just coming into bearing ; the currant bushes already reddening with their ripening fruit. All must go. The day before the twentieth, Mr. Harper, leaning feebly on his staff, went over the farm, taking a sad farewell. Only Seth accompan- ied him, holding his hand, and bravely choking down the great lump which would rise in his throat. “ It is very hard !” said Mr. Harper. * Very, very hard ! at my time of life, and after I have worked like a slave ! to be turned out homeless !” “ Father,” said Seth, “ I mean to pray for help!” Mr. Harper smiled a little bitterly. The poor man had never had any great stock of faith, and what he did possess was strongly shaken. Prayers are n't often answered, Seth.” “ But our Sabbath School teacher said if we wanted anything special, we must pray for it, and of course if we don't want anything, it is just the same, and I don't want the farm sold, and I mean to ask God not to let it be!” And directly Seth slipped away up into the wood shed chamber where he had a miniature carpenter's shop, in which were constructed wonderful water wheels, and sail boats, and steam engines with tin boil- ers and pewter driving wheels. Once there he shut the door carefully, and kneeling down among the shavings, offered his petition. It was not couched in the most elegant language, but who shall say it was not ac- ceptable on that account? “ Oh Lord,” said little Seth, “ don't let old Brown sell the farm ! ” And after repeating the request over and over again, Seth felt easy in his mind, and with a simple faith that all would be well, he ate his bread and butter, and went to bed. Mr. and Mrs. Harper could not sleep. They sat together in the old kitchen soon to pass into the occupancy of strangers sat together sad and desolate. Their last night at home! The south wind just stirred the woodbine over the window, and broke up its grotesque shadows where the moonlight fell through it upon the wbite floor. Mrs. Harper's Recompense. 65 There was a rap at the door, but neither Mr. Harper or his wife noticed it, and in a moment a tall woman stepped over the threshold. She put back her veil, and showed a face deeply lined with care, but now it was peaceful. She had suffered much, doubtlessly, but now she had respite. " You do not know me?” she said, extending a hand to each. “I am the woman who ten years ago left an infant on your door-step! I suppose you have judged me harshly, and it is unnatural for a mother to desert her child. But hear my little story, and then decide. My dame is Annie Courtland. I married against the wishes of my parents a man who made my life wretched. He was a gambler and a drunkard. We had three children, and day by day they suffered for bread. When little Seth came, I was hopeless. My husband was angry because of his birth, there was another mouth to feed, he said. Since in fits of drunken fury he threatened to kill my child, and at last when Seth was Dearly ten months old, his father deserted me. I, and my children were reduced to the verge of starvation. I could get no work with a babe in my arms. In order to feed my others, I must be rid of my youngest born. I heard of you, and formed the plan to leave my child here. Since then, I have never been in a situation to reclaim him, until now. A month since my father died, and repenting of his unkindness toward me, he left me half of his large fortune. And now I have come for my little Seth!” It would be useless to attempt to describe the meeting of the long separated mother and her child, but after the first transports were over, Mrs. Courtland began making inquiries as to the cause of the air of gloom which seemed to prevade everything at the farm. Mrs. Harper told her everything, and the lady listened with the most attentive sympathy. Early the next day, the house was filled with people, eager for a chance to bid on the farm, and perhaps make a bargain on some of the bousehold furniture. But all were disappointed, for Mrs. Courtland, at the onset bid a sum 50 large that no one dared to go beyond her, and the farm was hers. Mr. Brown's claim was settled, the necessary papers were made out, and then Mrs. Courtland re-conveyed the farm and all its belongings, to Mr. Harper and his wife. It was very little she could do, she said, toward showing her gratitude to them for the care of her child; and she begged leave to be allowed to present to each of them a token of her respect. And these tokens were checks of a thousand dollars each! 66 The Student and Schoolmate. Prosperity once more reigns at Harper farm. Mrs. Harper is plump and rosy. Mr. Harper has recovered from his lameness, and Ben and Arthur are merry, red cheeked boys, as you 'll see in a day's riding. Flossy, sleek and fat, ruminates in the ten acre lot, and every summer Mrs. Courtland and Seth spend June at the farm. “ Cast thy bread upon the waters, and after many days it shall return unto thee.” Clara Augusta. JOHNNY EASTBURN'S TRAVELS. * $tory for the Little Ones. JOHNNY the OHNNY EASTBURN never travelled much. Indeed, how could he, since he was only three years old, scarcely years enough to have made him much of a wanderer. yet quite enough to have made him a lit- tle, curly-headed, round-faced, bright-eyed, inquisitive fellow, who, as his mother said, “ was always in mischief.” Johnny Eastburn read the papers, or, to speak more correctly, had papers read to him, for his mother always read him the stories out of the children's magazines. It was pleasant indeed to see him sitting on his low seat at his mother's kree, with his happy face turned up to hers, and his sparkling eyes full of interest, and his little mouth eager with questioning. And then the pictures, — he devoured those. It did n't need his mother to explain those. He had an eye for art, I can assure you, if he did n't know a ship from a church steeple. He liked good black pic- tures, that had a great many horses and dogs in them. All the horses were named Dolly, because his father's horse had that title. All the dogs were named Buffer, because his father's dog was so called. And nothing gave him more delight than to show Buffer a pic- ture of his own dogship, and to explain, in his childish way, all the points of interest in the engraving. But of all the stories which his mother read to him, he liked the best those which told of travels and adventures, and although his little mind did not fully comprehend all he heard, he understood enough to get a dim idea that there were strange things to be seen in the world, if ever he could only get out of his father's door-yard to see them. As for the stories, in which squirrels and bees talked like grown-up men and women, and dogs and other animals related their own histories, why, he did n't believe a word of Johnny Eastburn's Travels. 67 them all. For, look, Buffer could not talk, neither could Dolly, and he was sure, that if the bees did chatter as intelligibly as the stories repre- sented, he should have heard them, for the bees and Johnny were great friends. And though they would chase poor Buffer whenever he came in the vicinity of their hives, and sturg him sadly, they never injured Johnny Eastburn, but rather seemed to love him, and they swarmed about him in apparent delight, whenever be pushed his rosy face in the midst of their hive. They did not even resent the injury he did them through the flowers he stole from the field and the meadow, but hummed just as placidly, and worked just as steadily, as if he were a friend and a brother-bee. Johnny Eastburn had a brother named Marshall, and he had two sisters, one, the elder, named Susie, and the other a little white-faced, meek- eyed fairy, whose name was Eva. Johnny said that James Clark was Susie's brother, but he did n't think he was any relative of his. Johnny little knew how soon Jim would become one of the family. Marshall Eastburn went to school, but now and then he had a holi- day, which he usually spent in visiting his cousins in the vicinity of the city. Now Johnny Eastburn got the idea into his little pate that holi- days were great occasions, though he did not know what they meant, except to go away from home, and he longed to be a large boy like Marshall, to go visiting and see the world. The stories Marshall told him almost set him wild with excitement, and he begged to have them repeated again and again, and seemed never to weary of listening. And be besought his mother, day after day, to let him have a holiday and travel, and see some of the pleasant sights that Marshall had seen. And bis mother put him off again and again, with that mother's word, so full of mingled hope and disappointment, “ sometime, Johnny, sometime.” But before she got ready to show Johnny the world, he took the matter into his own hands, and made an abrupt entrance into adventure. One afternoon when Mrs. Eastburn had gone away, and Marshall and Eva were at school, and Susie was busy at her work, the little fellow started. He could not find bis hat, so he took an old one of his father's that was almost crownless, and whose broad brim sheltered his face from the sun. First he unchained Buffer. That was to keep off the robbers. But be left the long chain hanging about his neck, and dragging in the dirt, and rattling, and tripping poor Buffer off his feet every time he at- tempted to run. He took his father's cane also. That was an addi- tional protection against robbers, and also served him as a horse. Thus accoutred, and with a brave little heart, he scampered down the hil! 68 The Student and Schoolmate. Once or twice Buffer tripped, and at last they both fell down and rolled over and over to the foot of the hill, but, undaunted, Buffer only barked the louder, and Johnny only ran the faster, holding tight to the cane with one hand, and brushing the dirt out of his eyes with the other. A pretty picture they made, Buffer barking and tossing his head in the air, and whisking about like a top, and Johuny, bright eyed, curly haired Johnny, almost hidden by the enormous hat that flapped its crown in the wind. He never once looked back, but hurried ahead as fast as he could. At the bridge that spanned the river, just in front of his father's house, he stopped to see the young ducks swim and dive for food, and it was as much as he could do to prevent Buffer from rushing into the water after them, chain and all. He waded into the water as far as he dared, to catch a bunch of foam that whirled by down the stream. He held up his dress as high as he could, but it would get wet in spite of all his efforts. He never once thought to take off his shoes and stockings, but waded straight into the mud, and after he found he could not catch the bubbles that fled past, he turned sorrowfully about and waded back to shore. Safely landed, he looked at his feet and clothes with à rueful face, cast a sidelong glance up to the house, to see if anybody was looking, aud, nothing daunted, pressed his hat to his head, grasped his cane, called Buffer, and started on bis travels again. Ah, Johnny, you did not know the laughable figure you cut, with the water dripping from your dress, your shoes black with river mud, your tangled hair streaming in the wind, and your eager eyes as large as marbles ! Buffer's wet and curly bide brushing against Johnny, did not add to his cleanliness or confort. Well, Johnny was now fairly launched into adventure. He only needed a travelling companion to make his happiness complete, and, as it happened, just as he got out of the lane, and on the main street, he saw Sissy Kelly, a little girl a year or so older than himself, and whom he knew. “Sissy Telly, Sissy Telly !” he cried, at the top of his voice, “Come with Buffer and me.” As soon as Sissy saw who it was calling her, she did not hesitate to run to him, and, throwing her arms around his neck, after a child's own fashion, kissed him and said, with a toss of her head : “ There! What did you come down here for ? Did your mother let you ?” Then eyeing him from head to foot, with another shake of her matronly little head, “W-h-y, Johnny Eastburn, where have you been ?" Johnny Eastburn's Travels. 69 “In the wiver,” promptly replied John ; "in the wiver with Buffer." “ W-h-y," with hands aloft, and surprised face, “what will your moth. er say?" “I dunno,” replied Johnny. “I'm going down to the village to see - to see — to see everything,” he added, with a sudden burst of en. thusiasm. “Me and Buffer are going ; you come too." The temptation was great, but Sissy hesitated, not so much because she thought she ought not to go, as because she thought her companion was scarcely in a fit condition to be in the street. But a bright idea seemed to strike her, and without a word the little thing seized Johnny, and dragged him along with quick step, till she got home. “ Stay there," she said, and ran up the yard into the house. Soon she re- turned, bringing with her a plaid shawl, green and red, which she pro- ceeded to put about Johnny's neck, skillfully arranging it so as to hide his wet frock, and allowing it to almost touch the ground, so as to par. tially cover his black stockings and shoes. She deftly pinned it about his neck, turning him round to view the effect, wbile Johnny bore it very quietly, and Buffer lay on the greensward, with his tongue out taking a rest. Being satisfied with her arrangement of Johnny, she dext proceeded to get herself ready for a start. The little coquette felt that it was important to look well, so she ran to the pump and wet her hair, and smoothed it down with her hand. She then tied on her hat 70 The Student and Schoolmate. and put over her shoulders a large, thick cape, which she found in the hal). Then she drew on a large pair of black gloves, that had been worn by her mother, and thus equipped they started. Before they got far, Sissy began to be very warm, and with a quick glance at the sun, she ran back and brought an old umbrella, faded and torn. This com- pleted their outfit. Buffer followed meekly. The bath in the river, and the heavy chain about his neck, had somewhat cooled his ardor, but his master and his master's companion were not in the least losing their enthusiasm. “ Ain't it nice ?” said Johuny, as they proceeded up the street. “ Real," answered Sissy, swinging her arm. “ Where shall we go?” asked Johnny. " Oh, I know a nice place, where the horses are shod, and the man pounds, and the sparks fly." Johnny never had seen a blacksmith ; but after this short and graphic description he was very eager to go. “ And is papa's horse, Dolly, there? Oh, let's go,” said he. When they got to the shop Buffer, like an impudent dog that he was, began to smell of everything he saw, but when his nose came in contact with a piece of hot iron, he yelped loudly, and betook himself to a distance, snuffing furiously, and rubbing his nose with bis paw. The two children stood in the doorway, where they were little no- ticed, and saw the blacksmith heat the iron and shape the shoe, and then nail it to the hoof of the horse. They were a little frightened at the clattering of the great hammer, and when the sparks flew in all di- rections, and one hit Buffer, whose curiosity had again overcome him, they followed the poor burned dog, and scampered away. Before they got far, they came to the town pump. “Now," said Sissy Kelly, we'll wash your stockings, Johnny East- burn, for as for seeing such a looking boy any longer, I won't ;” aping her mother's manner and words. Without objection Johnny pulled off his stockings, and wbile Sissy scrubbed away at them, and longed for washboard and soap, he busied himself by rinsing his shoes, and wiping them on the grass. After all this was done, and they had played in the trough. sailing their shoes and strips of board for boats, they started again, cane, umbrella, dog, chain and all. Johnny took the lead, and when they came to the store, he remem- bered going there with his father, and so he stepped boldly forward, holding Sissy's hand, and walked in. Marching up to the counter, while Sissy hung her head with bashfulness, he bravely cried : Johnny Eastburn's Travels. 71 "I want a stick of candy." " Where is your money ?” asked the clerk. “ I ain't got any ; papa pays for it.” “ Who are you?” “I'm Johnny Eastburn," promptly replied he. “ And who is this little girl ?”. Johnny pulled Sissy's gown, to make her answer, but as she was silent, he replied for her: " That's Sissy Telly, but she's 'fraid." After a few more questions, the kind-hearted store-keeper gave him a stick of candy, expecting him to divide it with Sissy. But Johnny commenced to eat it all alone, and started from the store. Betore he got to the entrance, he noticed that Sissy had no 'candy, and observed her wishful eyes and bashful face. Looking first at sy, then at the store-keeper, with his mouth full of candy, and his hand arrested just on the way to his lips, he hesitatingly said: " Sissy Telly wants some, too." The keeper laughed, but said nothing, only got another stick for Sissy, and saw them safe out of doors. In the meantime Buffer had met with an adventure out of doors, quite as exciting as any of his master's. He had tried to make friends with the store cat, but she seemed in a very unpleasant frame of mind, and cuffed his face with her extended paw. Not learning wisdom from ex- perience, he had persisted in bis intimacy, and had been ignominiously repulsed by the cat flying in his face, spitting at him, and scratching him nost unmercifully. Glad to escape the clutches of such a termagant, he had quietly stretched himself out under the bench, to rest. But a vil- lainous little terrier, with shaggy hide, cropped ears, and a short tail, came mincing along like a dandy, and snuffing the air, and barking at the heels of all the passers-by, flying in a passion at everything, and sometimes at nothing. Buffer maintained a dignified silence until the little cur whisked up to him, perked his nose in his face, and deliberately struck him with his paw. Buffer rose solemnly, and frowned heavily, if a dog can frown, but the other persisted in his impudence, and even began to play with Buffer, crouching and jumping at him. This was too much for Buffer, a high-bred, educated Newfoundland, to be thus put upon by an insignificant little pupry of a terrier. So he growled at the little fellow, and bade him keep off, and when the terrier would not, Buffer took him by the neck and shook him most soundly; whereat the vanquished cur became more polite, and consented to keep his place, and not get above his sphere again. Buffer hardly felt satisfied with his own 72 The Student and Schoolmate. a course of action, and on the whole I think he rather longed to have good romp with his little friend, but his defeat by a petty store cat had somewhat soured his usually pleasant disposition, and made him feel more than usually aristocratic. He gave the terrier one kind look, and as Johnny just then came out, followed his master into new adventures. It seemed a little singular that, up to this time, nobody bad seemed to realize that the two travellers were not in the street in a costume such as mothers usually dress their children in, and that nobody took the trouble to send the little runaways home. But they were left undis- turbed, and after leaving the store, they proceeded on their journey, across the stone bridge, where they stopped to throw stones into the water, and to see the sticks borne under the bridge and over the falls. Here Johnny lost one of his shoes, and had the satisfaction of seeing it float away down the river. I neglected to say that after washing them in the trough he had stuffed his stockings in his shoes, and tying together the strings, had slung them around his neck. As be stretched out his body over the railing, the string untied, and while he was fortunate enough to catch one, the other fell into the foaming torrent below. Not the least discouraged, they came at last to a photograph saloon - one of those perambulating houses so common in the country, which travel from towu to town, furnishing pictures at low rates, and which remain in one village till business becomes poor, then remove to the next village. Now Sissy Kelly had had her picture taken, and she recollected the operation with much pleasure, for photographic artists are peculiarly fascinating gentlemen, and this one had furnished Sissy infinite delight by showing her birds, and dogs, and other toys. Without a word, ex- cept - Get your picture,” she hustled Johnny up the steps. The op- erator was at leisure, and recognized little Sissy. “What is wanted, my little girl ? ” said he. “Me and Johnny want to see the dogs," answered Lizzy, with fingers in her mouth, “ Ah! then you came to have your pictures taken, did you ?” asked the artist. “ I did n't, Johnny did. “ What is this chain around the dog's neck for?” asked the artist, as he scanned the outfit of the three. “ That is to rattle and keep the robbers away,” boldly replied Johnny. “ And the cane ? ” “ That's to push the bers with." “ Does your mother know you 're out, my ?” little man Johnny Eastburn's Travels. 73 “ Mother's done away; I've dot a va-va-vacation,” stumbling over the big word. “ Have you got a vacation, too?” he asked of Sissy. Sissy bung her head and answered, “ Johnny wanted me to come.” The photographist, evidently enjoying their innocence, prepared a plate, and took a picture on tin of the three, Sissy, Buffer, and Johnny, and gave one to each of the two children. " Carry that home to your mothers,” he said. " Where are you going now?” he asked. Struck with a sudden idea, Johnny answered: ** We're doin' to school to see Marshall." The artist did not deter them, but saw them march off in grand state. They soon found the school house, and stepped straight into the hall, and after some fumbling, got the door open and walked directly in. On their appearance, the school was struck with surprise, and a shout of laughter burst upon the ears of the little wanderers. Taken a little aback at this reception, they hesitated, but at last Johnny perceived Marshall off in the corner, and ran to him leading Sissy. Buffer made the tour of the room, clanking his chain on the floor, and against the desks, and frightening many of the smaller children, and finally ens- conced himself in the corner, with his great red tongue out, and his tail wagging in friendship. After quieting the school, the teacher found little difficulty in getting Johnny to take off bis hat and shawl, and put his shoe and cane in the corner, and take a seat on the bench and amuse himself with a picture book Taking Sissy's cape, gloves, umbrella and hat, she placed her among a row of little girls and gave her a slate and pencil, and thus the two children busied themselves till school was done. Buffer was so quiet, and Johnny objected so seriously that she did not remove him, but let him lie in the corner and take his ease. At night, escorted by Marshall, and with their toilet a liitle more be- comingly arranged by their teacher, and with Buffer's chain taken off, they started home. Before they got far, they were met by Mr. East- burd, who was full of anxiety for the little runaway, but who laughed heartily at Marshall's account of his entrance into school, and was much amused at Johnny's own description of his travels. They left Sissy at her father's. Her mothes had not missed her. When Johnny arrived home, he was pretty well tired out. But he managed to keep his eyes open long enough to show his mother his picture, and tell her some of his adventures, but at last he fell asleep in her arms. 74 The Student and Schoolmate. It was some time before they learned the full story of his wander- ings, and when they did, they laughed heartily, as I presume you will, at Johnny Eastburn's Travels. Paul North. THE GREEN STORES. ELL you a story? You will turn into a story! If I tell you a story to-night it must be about Eliza and Molly's trying to walk to the Green Stores. Where are the Green Stores ? They are at the South End in Boston, and in old times when Boston was a town, and not a city, were thought a long walk from the centre of the town. Sixty-four years ago Eliza and Molly lived in Sea Street. Then they are old ladies ? Yes; old ladies with white hair, spectacles and cap; but sixty-four years ago they were as young as some of you; and I wish any of you were as pretty as Eliza ; and wbat was better than her lovely face she was not in the least vain : indeed, I think those who are truly handsome are seldom vain. You think Sea Street a dismal street to live in. So it is now, full of dust in dry weather, full of black mud when it is wet, but in old times it was a pleasant street, and rich men were content to live there. The house in which Eliza and Molly lived was large and comfortable. It had a paved yard, with ten or twelve stiff and melancholy looking Pop- lar trees growing on its edge. When the little girls looked out the front windows they saw a wharf, on which was piled a large quantity of wood, which was the only fuel of that day. Between two trees, near the water's edge, was placed a bench, so that any one passing by, who was tired, could rest and enjoy the sight of the open harbor. Near by was Wheeler's Point, where Eliza, with some of her schoolmates, rushed down the wooden stairs, to jump in the boat, fastened there, and from that boat they could look straight to South Boston bridge, only water between. Eliza's mother would have been scared to see her jump about in that boat, but I am glad to be able to say that Eliza never took little Molly into it. The children were more used to the sight of water and vessels than The Green Stores. 75 to streets and shops, so they were pleased to be sent errands up South and Summer Streets to Washington. Dr. Kirkland's old wooden meet- ing house stood then on Church Green, and there was no Trinity church in Summer Street, but there were many square houses, standing alone, with pleasant gardens in front. It was easy for children to walk in the streets then, for they were not crowded either on the sidewalks or in the middle. There were no omnibuses or horse cars running then, only a few hand carts, wagons, trucks, stage coaches, and one-horse chaises. But quiet as Washington Street was in those days, Eliza and Molly were always terribly frightened when they crossed it, for fear they Fould be run over, for there was no smart policeman in blue cap and brass buttons to help children and old ladies safely across in those days. You will think I have forgotten the Green Stores, but I mean to let my story ramble about, just as do the streets in Boston that were laid out by the cows. It seems funny cows could lay out streets with their hoofs, but tramping every day to the Common, from the gentlemen's houses, to munch grass all day, they wore paths on the ground, and the first streets in Boston were laid out on the cow paths. The cows did not know anything about straight lines, so Washington and some of the other streets, were rather crooked. I think the cows must have had a fine time travelling over the common and chewing all that sweet grass and clover, and the children of those days must have had much richer milk than any that can be bought now of a milkman. It did not disturb the cows that there was only a wooden fence around the common; all they cared for was that fine grass and having such a larger company of cows together. I do not know whether the cows wore bells, if they did they must have jingled well as they marched home. And now that we have done with the cows, I will tell you about Eliza's and Molly's going an errand to Miss Gregory's shop to buy a dozen pearl buttons and a piece of linen shoulder strap tape. I do not rightly know whether Miss Gregory was Mrs. or Miss. She was an English woman, and in England if a woman is not married by the time she is forty years old, she is called Mrs. in order to be civil to her, so perhaps Miss Gregory was called Mrs. before she came to this country. Women who do not marry are called single, and some- times singular, but " between you and me and the post,” some of the married people have as queer ways as the unmarried, certainly Miss Gregory had queer enough ways for two women, married or uninarried. She had an odd voice, which I do not know how to describe in any other way than to say it was a Gregory voice. But what was stranger than her voice, was her bonuet, or rather the fact that she was never seen 76 The Student and Schoolmate. without a bonnet. You would think it strange to see any one going about without a head, and so should I, but if you can believe it I should not have known what to make of it, if I had seen Miss Gregory without a bonnet. Miss Gregory's bonnet was a beauty. It was not merely a fore part, but had a nice sensible crown. Sometimes it was wbite satin, some- times it was black. It had the most wonderful quillings of ribbons in- side and out, and the strings were always tied high at one side. It was said that Miss Gregory bad had the honor of dancing with a Prince of Wales. It was said that her head grew up in a point. I knew one family who called their boiled Indian pudding “ Miss Gregory's head.” Some persons thought that the reason Miss Gregory wore a bonnet all the time was to hide her head ; now perhaps, her bead was as well shaped as yours, or mine, and she wore a bonnet because she thought it was becoming, or because she was used to it. What effect dancing with a Priuce had upon the head I cannot say, but I have not heard that the young ladies who danced with the present Prince of Wales, when he visited America, give the shape of their heads as an excuse for fastening their “waterfalls” on the crown of their heads. I think Miss Gregory had as good a right to wear a bonnet in a little warm shop, as we have to go out in the street in the biting cold with our heads almost uncovered; but if any one wears anything out of the common way they must be prepared for strange reasons being given for their doing so. Now, we will go back to Eliza and Molly. You think they have not pretty names ? Well, their real names were Elizabeth and Mary, but, in those old times, just as now, children had pet names, only instead of Lily, Lizzie, Bessie, and May, they were called Betsey, Betty, Eliza, Molly and Polly. Eliza and Molly's mother put two silver quarters into a steel purse, and the purse into a black bag. Eliza held this bag tightly in one hand, and gave her other to little Molly. Some of the grown people who passed them smiled, they looked so cunning and pretty in their crimson quilted bonnets and plaid coats, with capes, which coats nearly reached their stout shoes, for in those days children's garments were as long as those of their parents. It was a dull November afternoon, and these little, brightly clothed girls pleased the eye, just as does the golden oriole fitting among the green leaves of June. Eliza and Molly were too busy watching the white and grey pigeons picking up what they could find in the gutters, to look at the men and The Green Stores. 77 women in the street. The air was chilly, but they did not mind it, wrapped in their warm coats and mittens. Eliza looked at Mrs. Gregory's bonnet with a good deal of awe, but she mustered courage to say that she thought the tape handed to her was wider than her mother's paper pattern. “ It is the only width woven," said Mrs. Gregory, in her Gregory voice, which made little Molly jump. Miss Gregory thanked Eliza, as she handed her the change wrapped in a bit of paper. When they got into the street Eliza asked Molly if she would not like to go to the Green Stores ? “ Yes ;" said Molly, who was always ready to go anywhere. So away they trotted to the South End; Eliza talking very fast of what they sold in the Green Stores, “ What do you think they sell there?” she asked of Molly. "Perhaps, grass,” said Molly. “ No,” said Eliza, “ people don't sell grass in winter, nor dandelions, nor spinnage, and a store would look funny with only green shawls or green gowns. There is a Green Dragon tavern at the North End; next time we'll go there, Molly ; should n't you like to see a Green Dragon, all scales and emeralds ? “ No,” said Molly, “ I'd be scared at a dragon." The twilight fell suddenly, as it does in November, and by the time the children reached Mrs. Milner's bakery, lights were twinkling in many of the shops. Molly's little feet were tired, and as she was growing hungry she was attracted by the glossy President biscuits and brown spice cakes in Mrs. Milner's window.” " Do you want a cake ?” asked Eliza, who to tell the truth began to think the Green Stores a great way off. As she opened Mrs. Mil- ner's door, a bell that was fastened to the door, rang, and out came Mrs. Milner from the back room where the fire shone brightly and a white cat was warming herself. " Are the Green Stores far from here?” asked Eliza, as she paid for Molly's biscuits. “ The Green Stores! child, you don't mean to go there to-night ?” “We wanted to see them,” said Eliza, with a trembling voice, for as it grew darker in the street, she was growing frightened. “Come here, father,” said Mrs. Milner, to a stout man who was drink- ing his tea, “ here are some children who are lost.” “ No, no,” said Eliza, “ we're not lost. We are Eliza and Molly Car- lisle, and we live in Sea Street, and our mother is handsome, and cur father is a merchant on Long Whart.” " It'll be easy enough to tell a crier what to say,” said Mrs. Milner laughing. 78 The Student and Schoolmate. “ Don't have a crier,” said Eliza, “ for a crier would frighten my mother, and my father's away and she might have a fit, and she's been intending pickles all day." “Well, child, you ’ve got yourself into a pickle sure enough,” said Mr. Milner, lifting his great coat from a nail, “but as you will not have a crier, I must carry you home.” “I wish the Green Stores had been in the Red Sea," said Eliza, for she had so often heard grown people wish anything that gave them trouble in the Red Sea, that she supposed it was the worst place in the world. “ That's a bad wish for the Green Stores, child,” said Mr. Milner, as he caught up Molly in his arms from the hearth, where she had been stroking the cat. When they reached the children's home, they found Mrs. Carlisle very much frightened, writing an account of the children for a crier who stood with his great bell in the entry. Elizà who had a great horror of being cried through the streets as “ Lost child ; lost child,” go away, go away,” but the crier did not choose to go, till he had been paid for his trouble. Mr. Milner would not take anything more than a basket of pippins for bringing them home. When he had gone, Mrs. Carlisle kissed Molly, but she did not kiss Eliza, for she thought a girl of seven years was old enough to know right from wrong, and her mother's not kissing her made Eliza remem- ber better even than her fright over the darkness and the crier, always to go straight home after she had done an errand. And what do you suppose, children, Eliza and Molly would have seen if they had reached the Green Stores ? Why, nothing in the world but the outside of a block of brick stores, painted a pale green ; and stores, that were not in the least like the shops down in Washing- ton Street, as they contained, for the most part, only grain for cattle. And when any of you set your mind upon seeing something that you cannot easily get to see, do not forget Eliza and Molly trotting after that Jack-with-a-Lantern the Green Stores. By the author of “ The Adventures of a German Toy." said . 1 . Chemistry 79 CHEMISTRY. No. IV. AVING isolated some of this invisible oxygen gas, we will now experiment with it, and learn something of its properties. With a bent tube, we find by drawing some oxygen into the mouth that it is destitute of taste; we have already observed that it is invisible, therefore color- less; and by applying the nose, we find it to be in- odorous. Although our senses so far indicate that the vessels contain nothing, yet by resorting to other means, our senses will inform us to the contrary. Having on hand a bit of charcoal affixed to a wire, we will just heat a little point of it red hot, and by inverting one of our bottles of oxygen, and plunging the charcoal into the vessel, we are re- paid for all our trouble of preparation as we admire the beautiful scintillations, and great brilliancy of the burning charcoal. After the same manner many experiments with a variety of substances can be per- formed with pleasure and profit; as all bodies which burn in the air, burn with great splendor in oxygen. An iron wire Fig. 2. with a piece of lighted amadɔu attached to its extreinity, and introduced into the gas, is a beautiful experiment. A candle lighted and then blown out, and while red hot put into this gas, is instantly relighted. A match is also rekindled in the same manner. Sulphur burns with great brilliancy in oxygen ; and the intense light from burning phos- phorus in oxygen cannot be endured by the eye. Some care is necessary in these operations, excepting with the charcoal, taper, and match ; from these no trouble will be likely to arise. In operating with the iron, a little water bad better be left in the bottom of the vessel, but even then the melted globules are apt to crack the bottle. In burning sulphur or phosphorus, an iron spoon with an upright handle is to be used, and great care must be observed in handling the phosphorus, as the warmth of the hand is often sufficient to inflame it; always operate with it under water, and keep it there when not required for use. Now we will see what these experiments tell us. By these tests we indicate the certain presence of oxygen, and that it is a great supporter 11 80 The Student and Schoolmate. of combustion. The same ultimate effect is produced in ordinary air, but with less energy, on account of the enfeebling influence of nitrogen, which dilutes the oxygen of air. We learn then that oxygen is the sustaining principle of all the ordinary phenomena of combustion. What has become of the gas that once filled our vessel? Its absence is shown by introducing a burning match into the bottle after our ex- periment with charcoal ; it is not lost as matter is not annihilated there seems to be nothing produced, and both the gas and charcoal have disappeared. By appropriate tests we could show the presence of another invisible gas, which would exhibit totally different properties, therefore showing that we had induced chemical combination, and pro- duced a new substance, widely differing from either of its constituents, and exbibiting other characteristics of a chemical compound. Again, we have employed heat, but with what a different result. By the use of heat we overcame the affinity that held together the oxygen and mer- cury of the oxide of mercury; this time by the same agent we have strengthened affinity, and caused the oxygen to combine with carbon, and to produce another gas named carbonic acid, made up of one atom of carbon and two of oxygen. In all the experiments given, oxygen combines with the substance introduced. With iron, black oxide of iron results ; with the candle, which is composed of the elements carbon and hydrogen, carbonic acid and water are produced ; with sulphur, gaseous sulphurous acid ; with phosphorus, a solid white substance, called phosphoric acid. In our ex- periment with carbon, there is no loss of matter - a fact previously stated - the weight therefore of the carbonic acid produced, equals the weights added together of the carbon and oxyger combined. Oxygen is dissolved by water only in small proportion, otherwise we could not collect it over water when procuring it. Terrestrial waters hold it dissolved in much larger proportion than it exists in the atmos- phere. Thus nature supplies the animals that inhabit the deep with the element essential to all life, animate and inanimate. Bulk for bulk oxy- gen is a little heavier than atmospheric air. The compounds formed by the union of oxygen with other bodies, have the general name of oxides. Modifications of this term are used to express different degrees of oxi- dation when accurate terms are necessary. For example : there are several oxides of iron; each is an oxide, but if we wish to designate a particular oxide, we would say protoxide of iron for the simplest com- pound, viz. ; one atom of iron to one of oxygen; and sesquioxide of iron for the compound composed of two atoms of iron to three of oxygen. Although carbonic acid is an oxide of carbon, yet as it possesses acid Chemistry. 81 properties, we apply a name that at once indicates this distinctive char. acter. Oxygen is one of the elements that is capable of combining with nearly if not all the elements given in the table, therefore the list of oxides is a long one; being oftener called into action than any other element, its properties should be as thoroughly understood as possible. If our atmosphere had been made of oxygen alone, combination once started would have continued until everything combustible had been consumed. Also regarding animal life, oxygen unmixed with nitrogen, powerfully excites the nervous system, which can be proved very readily by confining a mouse in pure oxygen ; in a few hours it will die from excessive stimulant. As oxygen is the great supporter of combustion, it will be well to look a little farther into its general effects. The true meaning of com- bustion is, the result produced by intense chemical action between two or more bodies, during which sensible light and heat are evolved. All ordinary cases is where oxygen is concerned ; and the more rapidly oxi- dation takes place, and the greater the amount of oxygen consumed, the more intense is the light and heat. We see these principles illustrated every day in our common fires, and all know how much brighter and hotter the fire is when a good draught is established. The products of ordinary combustion in oxygen are mainly carbonic acid and water, therefore it is necessary that these should be removed, or they will arrest further action. It is very easily shown that the products from a burning candle, a gas jet, or a fire, are the same. We inhale air, and exhale these two products; and what we do all animals do. We have often observed the moisture condense from our breath while out in the cold air. If we shake up some common slacked lime with water, allow- ing it to settle, afterwards pouring off the clear solution, we will have a test for carbonic acid; by blowing through a pipe stem into the solution, the car- bonic acid is made manifest by the for- mation of white carbonate of lime, which, being less soluble than the lime, separates. In order that combustion should take place, it is not necessary that oxygen should be in a free or uncombined state. Compounds that contain oxygen when mixed with bodies that possess a great Fig. 3. attraction for oxygen, by the aid of heat, causes combustion that is often 82 The Student and Schoolmate. very intense. The success of our army in the use of fire-arms during the war, depended upon the oxygen of the nitre combining at a high temperature with the carbon and sulphur of the gunpowder, thereby producing gaseous substances suddenly, to send forth the messengers of death. The following diagram will explain the chemical changes of the firing of gunpowder. 3 atoms of Carbon, I Atom of Sulphur, Sulphide of Carbonic GUNPOWDER. I atom of Potassium, . | Potassium. Nitre. I atom of Nitrogen, . Free, Gaseous. Acid Gas. 6 atoms of Oxygen, . M. B. Manwaring. mm 1 THE CITY OF LONDON. In London the houses number more than 350,000, and the streets, if placed in line, would extend from Liverpool to New York, and are lighted at night by 660,000 gas lamps, consuming every twenty-four hours about 13,000,000 cubic feet of gas. Of the water supply 44,383, 328 gallons are used per day. The traveling public sustains 5000 cabs and 1500 omnibuses, besides all the other sorts of vehicles which human need can require or human wit invent. Its hungry population devour in the course of every year, 1,609,090 quarters of wheat, 249,000 bul- locks, 1,700,000 sheep, 28,000 calves, 35,000 pigs, 10,000,000 head of game, 3,000,000 salmon, and innumerable fish of other sorts, and con- sume 43,209,000 gallons of beer, 200,000 gallons of spirits, amd 65,900 pipes of wine. As a consequence, 2,400 doctors find employment. Lon- don, finally, supports 852 churches, which are presided over by 930 divines of greater or less note. It is also computed that the average extension of London is at the rate of two miles of finished buildings per day. The need of this rapid construction can be estimated, when it is known that the railroad improvements projected, and now being con- structed, will, during the present year, necessitate the removal of 20,000 dwelling houses. A majority of these are inhabited by the industrial classes. The Churl and the Bird. 83 THE CHURL AND THE BIRD, An Italian Fable. CHURL once came to be so very rich that he bought one of the finest manors in the world. It had a fine mansion, with a strong dungeon tower, built in the centre of wide grounds bordered by a river. An arm of the river wound around a most charming garden, where grew the rarest flowers and spices in profusion. The trees were not only beautiful in form and foliage, but bore the most delicious fruits on their loaded boughs. What added greatly to the charms of this almost incomparable place, was the presence of a marvellous bird. Twice a day, morning and eve- ning, it came to sing the softest, sweetest lays. Its voice was so en- chanting that it could bring back joy to the most despairing heart. On its existence and song depended the beauty and existence of the manor. With its disappearance, the trees, flowers, fountains, everything would disappear. But the churl cared nothing for the bird except to catch and im- prison it, in the hope that he could sell it for a large sum. He there- fore spread a net under a tree with so much adroitness that when the bird next came to renew its wonderful song, it was taken in it. What wrong have I done you ?” exclaimed the poor creature to its captor. Why would you kill me?” " You shall not die,” replied the churl," I want you to sing instead.” "Did I not always sing when I flew through your woods, and gar- dens?” " You shall benceforth have a beautiful cage, and plentiful food.” " I found in my liberty all the grains and fruits my appetite could desire." " You will not have the trouble of seeking your food any longer. You will be fed." “ Think you that it is with songs that one occupies himself in pri- son ? " " If you will not sing, there is a remedy. You will be fastened to a spit.” So small as I am, it would be utter cruelty to kill me as game." poor captive begged for mercy ; tried to soften the Churl ; and at last, promised him that if he would restore its liberty, it would, out 66 “ Look at me. The 84 The Student and Schoolmate. 66 “ You of gratitude, teach him three wonderful secrets, so wonderful that never man like him had known anything approaching to them. At these words, the churl opened his ears, and set free the bird, which few away to the top of a high tree, and began to smooth its ruffled feathers. He called upon it to preform its promise. Willingly,” was the answer. “ Listen to me attentively, and you shall hear the summary of human prudence. First: do not believe too easily what you are told.” “ Have you only that to teach me ?” returned the Churl. may keep that for yourself, since I know it already." “It is good to recall it : you had forgotten it; remember it well for the rest of your life. What? You make a grimace. I will now teach you the second thing. Prick up your big ears to hear it: Console yourself as you best may, for that which is lost.” The Churl perceived that he was mocked, grew angry, and reproached the bird with lack of good faith. “ You promised me three marvels,” he said to it, “and you give me silly things, that every child knows well. Is the third of the same kind ?” “ The third is a real treasure, and if a man will practice it, he is cer- tain never to become poor.” This word kindled the Churl. He thought that the bird had been only proving him, and would now assuredly reward him for setting it at liberty. But his mortification was extreme, when he heard : hold in your hand, to drop not to your feet.” “I will not forget it,” he replied, " and if I catch you "I shall not again permit you the trouble,” returned the bird. With these words it flew away, and at the same instant the fountains ceased to play, the trees withered and dropped their fruits, and all the beauty of the place disappeared forever. It was the penalty of the Churl's avarice. 66 What you Roots. 85 ROOTS. the old fairy stories, hidden under ground, the dwarfs and gnomes worked with tireless industry at their gloomy toil, forming the great veins metals, the gold, silver, and copper ores, shaping into sparkling crystals amethysts, diamonds, and rubies, whose resplendent beauty lighted up the dark caverns where they were created before they ever shone with a more dazzling brilliancy in the light of day. Gnomes and fairies still work for us under ground, though we have lost our faith in the tales of the ugly dwellers in the besom of the earth, and labor as beneficently as ever, creating out of the soil materials as valuable to man as metals or gems. Among these silent workers are the roots of plants, which, hidden under ground, change the mineral matters contained in the soil, and the gases in the water into sap, which is to nourish the stem and form leaf, flower, and seed. When a seed is placed in the soil under proper con- ditions of darkness, warmth and moisture (for like many other mysterious processes of Nature, she hides from curious eyes the beginnings of germi- nation.) from the embryo delicate fibres grow, some turning downwards to form the root, called the radicle, others springing upwards for the stem, called the plumule. These grow in opposite directions, one springing up towards the light, the other plunging deeper into the ground. The root fixes the plant firmly in the soil, and holds it upright in a proper position to receive the benefit of the rain and the sun. It has no breathing pores like the leaves, no pith like the stem, and the bark that covers it never grows green in the sun, but it has little branches or fibres which act like so many open mouths to take in the water which it needs, and the chemical substances which are suitable for the growth of the plant or tree. So well does the root perform its office that a plant which grows a long time on one place takes out of the ground all the substances which are its particular food, and will thrive no longer, and the farmer says the soil is exhausted, by which he means only that it no longer possesses those mineral matters which are necessary for the growth of that kind of vegetation, though any other variety requiring different nourishment would flourish well. When this is the case the cultivator must either change his crops, plant corn where his potatoes grew last year, or restore those chemical properties by adding new soil, or by ploughing deeper, bring new materials to the surface. The soft growing extremities of the roots can only absorb water, and so all chemical and earthy substances must be dissolved before they can 86 The Student and Schoolmate. become the food of the plant. But that they do constitute an important part of its growth and life, is proved by the mineral substances which are found in them. Silex or flint, which is one of the hardest of the earthy minerals, hard as quartz, and which it seems almost impossible to dissolve, is found in the stems of wheat and grasses in such quantities that their ashes is used to polish metal, and the cuticle of the common scouring rush that grows by many a brookside in New England is so full of it, that our grandmothers used it to scour the pewter platters which stood in burnished rows on the kitchen dressers, while the stem of the rattan possesses so much of it, that it will strike fire with steel. Copper and iron have also been found in small quantities in various plants. Iodine is found in sea-weeds, chlorine in marine plants, phosphorus in onions, sulphur in celery and ginger. These substances it is supposed are taken by the roots of the plants in a liquid state from the ground, and so pass into all the tissues of the stem and leaf where the water evaporates, leaving the solid parts to become a portion of the plant itself. Another curious office which some roots perform is that of returning to the earth such substances as would be injurious to the plant, or of which they have too great a quantity. The pea leaves a gummy sub- stance, the milky euphorbia some of its juice, and the poppy and the lettuce a little laudanum in the soil. If all the laws of the vegetable kingdom were understood, we should know what plants to place side by side, what would be glad to appropriate what its neighbor rejected, and what poison would be good food for another growth, and so practically reverse the old saying, making one plant's poison another plant's meat. Roots sometimes reach out long distances for food. When they have exhausted the pourishment around them, a portion of them hardens, and new fibres push out at the extremity, reaching farther forward and on- ward. The roots of a willow will push out a great distance in search of water, and those of most trees extend at the same rate as the branches, both for the perfect support of the tree, and to prevent the rain from being intercepted by the foliage. Some roots seek light as well as moisture. Walking in the woods we often stumble over the hard woody portions which have thrust themselves above the ground, as if to catch a glimpse of the sun and sky, and often in well rolled gravel paths like those on the common, the roots of the elm will push up above all the soil, as if asking why they were buried so deeply before they were dead. Some draw their nourishment from a great distance, evidently pre- ferring that which is far off and difficult to be obtained to that near at hand. Roots. 87 Roots vary like the plants they support, some being little threads, yet strong and large enough to keep and feed the airy stem that rises over , them, others are buge, knotty, and gnarled, fit to balance the hundred armed oak with its multitudinous leaves, and keep it firm while the blasts of centuries sweep through its crooked branches. If we look at the monstrous stumps which men with such pains draw out of the land which they are clearing for planting, we can better understand how the wide spreading elm, the leafy horse-chestnut, and the beautiful wal- nut stood, and never fell in summer gales or winter storms, and how they could bear such bounteous stores of leaves and fruit when they had such hundred handed giants pushing out farther and farther in search of food for them, working in such silence and darkness, that one hardly dreamed of their labors. Some tropical plants and trees increase their roots at the joints of their stenis, sending out small fibres which do not increase till they reach the ground, but hang like threads sometimes for eighty or a hundred feet. Every gardener knows that some northern plants will form roots on their stems, if they are bent down and covered with earth. In this way grape vines, carnations, and other plants are propagated, and after the stem is severed from the parent stock the new root, if well grown, will be capable of providing for itself. Beside the uses of root to the plant of which it is an essential part, man has appropriated many to his private ends, and the cultivation of roots for himself and his domesticated animals forms a large part of his husbandry. From wild, stringy, bitter roots, by careful cultivation thorugh many years, he has succeeded in producing much agreeable and nourish- ing food. From them we get parsnips, carrots, beets, radishes, turnips, ruta-baga, mangel-wurtzel, and we should say onions, and potatoes, did we not fancy hearing the botanist cry out, that an onion was nothing but a bulb or short stem, and the potato a tuber. How important these roots are to our daily life, we do not perceive till we think how many more animals man can keep when he has these roots for their food, and how many uses he can make of their labor while living and their bodies when dead. Without the turnip, England and America could not raise so many sheep, whose wool furnishes food to so many spindles, and bread to so many mouths. Without the mangel- wurtzel, (which means want-root, and which in times of dreadful scarcity men made into bread) the rutu-baga, and the carrot, we could not have 80 many cows and oxen, the one to plough the land, and the other to give us milk and butter. The beet will grow and thrive, and give man sugar, in climates where the lordly sugar-cane would perish. 88 The Student and Schoolmate. 1 Besides the roots which are cultivated for food for men and cattle, those of other wild plants are used for the same purpose. The arrow- root of commerce is the starch found in the root of a plant called maranta arundinacea, tapioca comes from the root of the mandioc, and sulep, which was once sold at the corners of the streets in England and considered so nutritious, was the ground root of the orchis, powdered and made into a beverage with sugar and milk, and drank hot. The cultivated roots have a beauty of their own differing from their wilder brethren. The beet has a crimson hue which vies with the dam- ask of our grandmothers in richness of color, the carrot shows the vary- ing shades of yellow, from the deep orange of its coat to the fainter tints of the centre, while the paler parsnip chooses a whitish straw color for her garment, and the turnip takes a pure white, varied by a purple or a green circle at the top and bottom. The beet, the carrot, and the par- snip plunge boldly into the ground, and tapering regularly from top to bottom, make a conical tap-root, the turnip expands at the top and dwindles to a point at the bottom, and the orchis makes itself into a bundle bound together at the top and divided below. But all work silently under ground while the plant needs the nourishment they furnish, till the leaves fall and no longer need the sap. Then the roots cease to grow, and wait for the penetrating voice of spring to rouse them, bid- ding them push ont their fibres again, and prepare to make the bare branches of hillside and forest wear the mantle of “glad light green” that Chaucer loved so well. E. C. 7 wave Declamation. 89 DECLAMATION. (See Diagram in January No.] W rare vir. WASHINGTON. ASHINGTON, at once the Sworld's admiration and enigma, we are taught by a fine instinct to Svenerate, and by a 'wrong opin- ion to Smisjudge. The might of his character has taken strong hold upon the feelings of øgreat $masses of men, but in translating this 'univer- sal sentiment into an intelligent form, the 13 intellectual element of his wonderful nature is as much 'depressed as the ?moral element is Sexalted, and consequently we are apt to misunderstand both. Mediocrity has a bad trick of idealizing itself in eulogizing him, and drags him down to its own low level while assuming to lift him to the l'skies. Liow many times have we been told that he was 'not a man of 'genius, but a person of " sexcellent common sense,” of “ admirable judgment,” of “ tues ;” and by a constant repetition of this odious 'cant we have nearly succeeded in divorcing comprehension from his 'sense, 'insight from his judgment, 'force from his 'virtues, and "life from the 'man. Accord- ingly, in the panegyric of cold spirits, Washington disappears in a cloud of 'commonplaces; in the rhodomontade of boiling 'patriots be expires in the agonies of rant. Now the sooner this bundle of mediocre talents and moral qualities, which its contrivers have the audacity to call GEORGE WASHINGTON, is hissed out of 'existence, the better it will be for the cause of 'talent and the cause of morals ; contempt of 'that is the beginning of wisdom. He had no ®genius, it seems. O no! genius, we must suppose, is the peculiar and shining attribute of some 16orator, whose tongue can spout Spatriotic 8speeches, or some Sversi fier, whose muse can “ Hail "COLUMBIA,” but not of the man who supported states on his harm, and carried America in his brain. The madcap Charles Townsend, the motion of whose pyrotechnic mind was like the whiz of a hundred rockets, is a man of 'genius ; but GEORGE WASHINGTON, raised up above the level of even eminent statesmen, and with a nature moving with the still and orderly celerity of a planet round its l4sun, — he dwindles, in comparison, into a kind of angelic dunce! What is genius? Is it worth 'anything. Is splendid Sfolly the measure of its inspiration? Is wisdom its base and summit, that which it recedes from, or tends towardsAnd by what definition do you award the Dame to the creator of an 'epic, and deny it to the creator of a 'country? On what principle is it to be lavished on him who sculptures in perish- 99, The Student and Schoolmate. ing marble the image of possible 'excellence, and withheld from him who built up in himself a transcendent 'character, indestructible as the obli- gations of Duty, and beautiful as her Srewards? Edwin P. Whipple. nodok come DIALOGUE. THE JUNIOR PARTNER. CHARACTERS. — Robert EMERSON ; JONATHAN O. K. BRAGG ; ARTHUR ; MR. WAXTER; BEGGAR; ERRAND Boy. SCENE. -A Counting-room. MR. BRAGG alone. Bragg. Well, here I am, a member of the firm of Emerson & Co. At last I have accomplished that for which I have been striving these three years. How completely I pulled the wool over old Emerson's eyes. I knew he could not get any one immediately to take my place, so I told him that I had had three big offers, and if he wished to retain me I must become a partner. So he did it. Now I am my own mas ter, and will manage things as I like. Ah! here is the advertisement in this paper ; how well it sounds ! “ Mr. Jonathan 0. K. Bragg is this day admitted a member of the firm of Emerson & Co.” Ahem! (Enter Arthur.) Arthur. Good morning, Jonathan; I congratulate you on your new relations with Mr. Emerson. You are luckier than we are. Bragg. Thank you, Arthur, it is the reward which strict integrity and real merit always reaps. Mr. Emerson regards me as his right hand man. By the way, Arthur, now that our relations as fellow clerks have ceased, it would be more decorous, I think, for you to address me as Mr. Bragg in future. Arthur. Certainly, sir, I will observe the title, and I presume you will do the same towards Mr. Emerson. Bragg. What do you ? Arthur. Why, you have been in the habit of calling him “ Bob,” " the old man,” “. the great Mogul,” and similar sobriquets; I suppose now you will adhere strictly to “ Mr.” Emerson. Bragg. You must be mistaken. I have no recollections of using such names ; however, we will not talk about it now. You may take my books out of the safe. (Arthur unlocks the safe, and is some time fumbling over the books.) mean Dialogue. 91 to Bragg. What is the matter, Arthur; anything wrong? Arthur. I was looking for your books, sir ; did you say you had some books in the safe ? Bragg. I meant the firm's books, of course; how obtuse you are this morning. (Enter Mr. Waxter.) Waxter. Good, morning, sir. I wish to see one of the firm; any of them in, sir? Bragg. Oh yes, sir. I am one of the firm. Mr. Emerson is my partner, sir, but I conduct all the business. The fact is, Mr. Emerson is not a business man, and so I have to attend to it all. Can I serve you in any way? Wexter. Perhaps so. I am buying goods, and called in to see if there had been any changes in prices since yesterday. Bragg. Exactly. I see you wish to keep posted. That is just like me. I always know the state of the market. I am sorry say that business is very dull, goods are below the cost of manufacturing, and I shall lose a great deal of money. My mills are all running at a loss, and I do not get my money back on anything I am making. Warter. Ah, indeed! Are you much interested in manufacturing, sir? Bragg. Oh immensely, sir; very largely. I am a great deal in the Slapdash Manufacturing Company. Arthur (aside.) Yes, very much. Mr. Emerson owns two hundred shares and Bragg owns one. Waxter. I have heard of that Company; it pays good dividends, I believe. Brogg. Yes sir, the best paying corporation in this country, perhaps I may say the world. I have worked hard to get it into its present condition, and I feel proud of my success. Wazter. I suppose you are one of the lucky ones who have large taxes to pay Bragg. Yes; and then my expenses are very large. I have to pay a large rent for this store, and my clerks are all paid well, and then I have to dispense a great deal to the poor. I really believe I gave away half my income last year. Waxter. I am glad to hear that you do not let wealth harden your heart as it does some men's. Bragg. Yes, that is what I tell my young men. I set them a be- nevolent example. (Enter a beggar woman.) What do you want, woman? Beggar. Please, sir, a penny to buy some bread. I can get no* 92 The Student and Schoolmate. work, my husband was killed in the war, and I've three small children to feed. Bragg. Mr. Emerson is not in now, ma'am. Come in. again when he is here. Beggar. Could you give me a trifle, please? Bragg. My cashier has not arrived yet, and the money is all locked up Arthur. I have got a duplicate key, sir. Bragg. Well, never mind, you know Mr. Emerson does not like to have but one person attend to the cash. I say, you can call again when Mr. Emerson is here. Good morning, ma'am. (Exit beggar.) That is the way I am tormented all the time, sir. · I should have given that woman three or four dollars, but I know she is an imposter. Here comes a boy with a letter for me, I suppose, from Robert C. Winthrop or Governor Banks. I am bothered half to death with letters from these people; they have no idea how busy I am. (Enter boy with bill.) Boy. Mr. Senna wants to know if you 'll be good enough to pay this little bill; it's only one dollar, and has been standing nigh on to two years. Bragg (taking the bill.) Tell Mr. Senna I will step in and see him about this on my way home. (Exit boy.) That stupid apothecary bas made a mistake; I paid this bill a year or more ago. That 's the way people try to impose upon me; I am too good-natured, Mr. Waxter, too good-natured altogether. Waxter. It won't do to be too amiable. Bragg. So I think, sir ; but as I said before, I am too good-natured, and I believe folks take advantage of me on that account. Now I don't want to say anything against Mr. Emerson, my partner, (Enter Mr. Emerson, unperceived,) but here I am doing all the business of this con- cern, while he takes all the money ; why Mr. Waxter, if it was n't for me the business would go all to smash in less than two weeks ; I am the only one who knows anything about it. Old Emerson would do well enough for president of some sleepy old bank or insurance company, but as for managing a concern like this, he could not do it without me. But everybody knows that I am the head and front of the establish- ment. Emerson (Stepping forward.) Oh, they do, do they? Is that the state of affairs ? I am very glad that I found it out. It is very singular that no one ever told me of it. I have had one or two ask me what I had such a fellow in my store for, but now I see it was envy that Dialogue. 93 1 prompted them to ask the question. I fear that I have not treated you as you deserve, Mr. Bragg, therefore for the future I shall Bragg. Make me an equal partner with yourself. Emerson. By no means. I shall conduct the business myself. Ar- thur, write a notice of a dissolution of this co-partnership, and have it in the Journal of Commerce and Tribune lo-morrow morning. Mr. Bragg, you are at liberty to accept that offer of twenty-five thousand dollars a year which you spoke of. Bragg. You see, Mr. Waxter, this is all the gratitude Mr. Emerson shows for the services I have rendered him, and the business credit I have gained him. Mr. Emerson, good day, I hope that the business under your management Emerson. Will go to smash in less than two weeks, hey ? Ha ! ha! ha! Bragg. You misunderstand me. I have no doubt that you will do well enough Emerson. As president of some sleepy old bank or insurance com- pang, bey? Ha! ha! ha! I guess I'm wide awake enough to see through you, Bragg. Arthur, tell Mr. Bragg's cashier and book-keeper to pay him off and let him go. Willlam L. Williams. 1 - PE • re at! that TANGLED wan THREADS clamations gives great satisfaction, as we anticipated it would, and we regret that the printer neglected to strike out the reference to November number in our last, as the references were to the new chart. However, mistakes will some- times happen, and of course our readers knew this must have been one. E have but little space the W present month, but yet en Bound Volumes. To ough to say that Mr. Alger We still continue to exchange the authorizes us to to give glad bound volume for 1867, on payment of tidings to Walter S— and scores of fifty cents, providing always that all the others who have enjoyed the career of numbers returned are clean and other- “Ragged Dick.” After the present month wise in good order, so that they also can we shall give two chapters of “ Fame and be put into binding. We have been ob- Fortune ” in each number till the end of liged to reject quite a number of copies the year. We shall also continue the because of the careless manner in which spirited sketches whic. Mr. Alger had they have been used. Subscribers will previously promised us. Next month bear in mind that after the first day of look for his story “How Pat paid the March we shall make no further ex- Rent,” which will be beautifully illus- change, as three months is certainly suffi- trated. cient time to be allowed for this purpose. “Richdore," who by the way has tak- Hence, after that date bound volumes en the prize for the first solution of the for 1867 will be sold for $2.00 per copy, problem, has recently visited us and pro- and we shall furnish covers for fifty cents poses to furnish us material for a new each in wbich the numbers can be bound. feature in our magazine. We shall there- fore commence with the “Game of Auc- Answers – tioneer,” which our readers will find for To Tangled Threads in January num. their ammusement. New contributors ber. seek a place in our Tangled Thread de 1. Quincy. Q in-C. partment, and old ones continue their in 2. Hingham. H-in-G-ham. terest. 3. Fire Engine. The valuable suggestion of a A New 4. Stable — table — able — bale-ale. YorkTeacher" will be realized in our 5. Marching on. April No., and thereafter at intervals of 6. Forget me not. three months. In Declamations as well as 7. Man wants but little, nor that little Dialogues, additions will soon be made, long. and we welcome any suggestions made 8. 1. Plat. 2. Aisle. 3. Roll. by practical teachers. Our chart of de 4. Idyl. 5. Sable PARIS. Tangled Threads. 95 ILLUSTRATED REBUS. A happy New Answered also before Jan'y roth, by Year to all our girls and boys. Aha-pen. Theo. Seligman, E. J. Hawthorne and ewe.Y-ear-toe-awl-hour-girls and boys. some sixty others. "Richdore” has chosen and received Almon F. Reynolds answers No's 1, a copy of “Frank’s Campaign ” as a prize for the first correct solution of the 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8. In 6 there was an error problem. of one letter, as will be noticed. 3 bro's, A receive each .21 total, $ .63 S. D. Cole and G. S. Sargent will ob. 4 bro's, B .80 3.20 C receives serve that a prize offered for “above 4.00 D 8.00 problem,” was not intended to apply to E .08 illustrated rebus following. Hence their F 1.80 request cannot be granted, though we G 56.00 wish them and all our young friends“ a $73.71 | Happy New Year.” 66 12. Nlustrated Rebus. GROCERIES. TUDOKSAT HOME EX 13. Cross Word Enigma. My first is in paper, but not in book ; My second in glen, but not in nook ; My third in ocean, but not in sea ; My fourth in drone, but not in bee ; My fifth in day, but not in night ; My sixth in battle, but not in fight; My seventh in wind, but not in rain : My eighth in fortune, but not in gain ; My ninth in race, but not in run ; My tenth in star, but not in sun ; My eleventh in trade, but not in sale ; My twelfth in hill, but not in dale ; My thirteenth in doll, but not in pet ; My fourteenth in rain, but not in wet ; My whole we all should strive to get. RUTHVEN. WILLY WISP. 14. Charade. My first to the wearied traveller at night, Be it ever so small is a place of delight. If my second part my first precedes, I’m a call that the waiting visitor heeds. My first and my second make up my whole, Which oftentimes does a man's actions control. When of moderate extent I never dis- please. When too great for one man, his pleas- H. S. ures cease. Geographical Questions. 15. A girl's name and an interjection make what territory? 96 The Student and Schoolmate. 16. A tin vessel and a girl's name, make | Anagrams.' what country? 25. G. C. K. did rage. 17. A young maiden, a pronoun and an 26. Dan eat me for fun. article make what state ? 27. Charade. 18. A human being, a covering for the My first is in courage, but not in dread; head and exposure to the sun, My second is in white, but not in red; make what island ? My third is in country, but not in town; 19. To join, a pronoun, and to sever My fourth is in apron, but not in gown; make what state ? Rob Roy. My fifth is in chum, but not in foe; 20. Enigma. My sixth is in high, but not in low ; It is composed of ten letters. My whole is where every one should go. LULIE B. The 5, 4, 1 is to undermine. The 9, 2, 6 is jovial. 28. Algebraic Prize Problem. No. 2. The 5, 10, 8, 1 is an article of food. Amos and Andrew each had a certain My 3, 8, 7 refers to you. number of dollars. Together they have The whole is an excellent motto. $16. If the cube of Amos's number ARTIE CRAYTON. diminished by the square of the sum of 21. Mathematical Problems. the separate numbers be added to the There is a certain number of two dig- cube of Andrew's number increased by its, the sum of which is equal to three the square of the sum of the separate times their difference, and their difference numbers the sum will be $2224. multiplied by one of them is equal to one How many dollars had Amos ? and third the required number. how many had Andrew ? This will admit two solutions; what onaraes are they? Ghe Evening Circle. 22. hree numbers amount to 27. The The Game of Auctioneer. third is equal to the first times the sec- Cut out twenty-five rectangular cards ond. The second equals the third minus called stock. On nineteen of them write the first minus half the third. the name of an article in common use, What are the numbers ? RICHDORE. under it a number designating its value. 23. Enigma. The values range from one to nineteen I am composed of 19 letters. inclusive. On the other six, called checks, My 16, 1, 12, 9, 19, 11 is a vehicle. write “ Pay the bearer five cash.” Also My 5, 8, 17, 7, 11 is a disturbance. cut out sixty circular cards, called specie My 16, -, 10 is a personal pronoun. or cash. My 3, 12, 14, 1 is an animal. Seven persons, or less, can play this My 19, 6, 18 is something we cannot do game, one of whom is chosen auctioneer. without. The stock is given to the auctioneer, My 2, 9, 8, 13, 15, 3 is to cringe. and the cash evenly divided among the My whole is an interesting story in the rest, the bidders. The auctioneer, hold- Student and Schoolmate. B. & R. ing the unwritten side of one of the cards 24. Enigma. towards the bidders, commences the I am composed of 9 letters. game in true auction style. My 6, 7, 2 is a number. If a check is purchased, the auctioneer My 9, I, 4, 5 is to wind. gives in exchange for it five cash cards; My 3, 8 is a representative sign. but said check cannot be sold again. My whole is an excellent motto. The hołder of the greatest value of stock ARTIE CRAYTON. wins the game. RICHDORE. STUDENT AND SCHOOLM,VTE An Illustrated Monthly, FOR OUR BOYS AND GIRLS. Vol. XXI. MARCH, 1868. No. III. FAME AND FORTUNE, OR THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD HUNTER. CHAPTER III. 2 AT THE POST OFFICE HE New York Post Office is built of brick, and was formerly a church. It is a shabby building, and quite unworthy of so large and important a city. Of course Dick was quite familiar with its general appearance, but as his correspondence had been very limited, he had never had occasion to ask for letters. There were several letters in Box 5670. Dick secured these, and turning round to go out, his attention was drawn to a young gen- tleman of about his own age, who, from his consequential air, appeared to feel his own importance in no slight degree. He recog- nized him at once as Roswell Crawford, a boy who had applied unsuc- cessfully for the place which Fosdick obtained in Henderson's Hat and Cap Store. Roswell recognized Dick at the same time, and, perceiving that our hero was well dressed, concluded to speak to him, though he regarded Dick as infinitely beneath himself in the social scale, on account of his former employment. He might not have been so condescending, but he was curious to learn what Dick was about. Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1868, by JOSEPH H. Allen, in the clerk's office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 98 The Student and Schoolmate. “ I have n't seen you for some time,” he said, in a patronizing tone. “ No,” said Dick, “and I have n't seen you for some time either, which is a very curious coincidence.” “How 's boot-blacking, now?” inquired Roswell, with something of a sneer. Tip-top,” said Dick, not at all disturbed by Roswell's manner. “I do it wholesale now, and have been obliged to hire a large building on Pearl Street to transact my business in. You see them letters ? They're all from wholesale customers." “I congratulate you on your success,” said Roswell, in the same disa- greeable manner. “Of course that's all humbug. I suppose you ’ve got a place.” · Yes," said Dick. “ Who are you with ?” “ Rockwell & Cooper, on Pearl Street." " How did you get it?” asked Roswell, appearing surprised. “Did they know you had been a boot-black?” “Of course they did.” “I should n't think they would have taken you." Why not?” “ There are not many firms that would hire a boot-black, when they could get plenty of boys from nice families.” “ Perhaps they might have secured your services if they had applied," said Dick, good-humoredly. “I've got a place,” said Roswell, in rather an important manner. “I'm very glad I did n't go into Henderson's Hat and Cap Store. I've got a better situation.” “ Have you?” said Dick. “ I'm glad to hear it. I'm always happy to hear that my friends are risin' in the world.” " You need n't class me among your friends,” said Roswell, supercil- iously. “No I won't,” said Dick. “ I'm goin' to be particular about my as- sociates, now that I'm gettin' up in the world.” “ Do you mean to insult me?” demanded Roswell, haughtily. No," said Dick. “I would n't on any account. I should be afraid you 'd want me to fight a duel, and that would n't be convenient, for I have n't made my will, and I'm afraid my heirs would quarrel over my extensive property.” “How much do you get a week ?” asked Roswell, thinking it best to change the subject. “ Ten dollars," said Dick. 66 Fame and Fortune. 99 « That “ Ten dollars !” ejaculated Roswell. “That's a pretty large story." “You need n't believe it if you don't want to,” said Dick. won't make any difference to me as long as they pay me regʻlar.” * Ten dollars! Why, I never heard of such a thing,” exclaimed Ros- well, who only received four dollars a week himself, and thought he was doing well. “ Do you think I'd give up a loocrative business for less ?” asked Dick. “ How much do you get?” “That's my business,” said Roswell, who, for reasons that may be guessed, did n't care to mention the price for which he was working. Judging Dick by himself, he thought it would give him a chance to exult over him.. " I suppose it is,” said Dick, “but as you was so partic'lar to find out how much I got, I thought I'd inquire.” " You're trying to deceive me, I don't believe you get more than three dollars a week.” " Don't you? Is that what you get?" " I get a great deal more.” " I'm happy to bear it." “ I can find out how much you get, if I want to.” " You've found out already." “I know what you say, but I've got a cousin in Rockwell & Cooper's." “ Have you?” asked Dick, a little surprised. " Who is it?” "It is the book-keeper." "Mr. Gilbert ?” “ Yes; he has been there five years. I'll ask him about it.” “ You 'd better, as you 're so anxious to find out. Mr. Gilbert is a friend of mine. He spoke only this morning of my valooable ser- vices." Roswell looked incredulous. In fact he did not understand Dick at all ; nor could be comprehend his imperturbable good humor. There were several things that he had said which would have offended most boys, but Dick met them with a careless good humor, and an evident indiffer- ence to Roswell's good opinion, which piqued and provoked that young man. It must not be supposed that while this conversation was going on, the boys were standing in the Post Office. Dick understood his duty to his employers too well to delay unnecessarily while on an errand, especially when he was sent to get letters, some of which, might be of an impor- tant nature. 43345 IOO The Student and Schoolmate. “ How are you, The two boys had been walking up Nassau Street together, and they had now reached Printing House Square. “ There are some of your old friends,” said Roswell, pointing to a group of ragged boot-blacks, who were on the alert for customers, cry- ing to each passer, “ Shine yer boots ?” “ Yes,” said Dick, “ I know them all.” “ No doubt,” sneered Roswell. They 're friends to be proud of." “I'm glad you think so,” said Dick.“ They ’re a rough set,” he con- tinued, more earnestly, “ but there's one of them, at least, that's ten times better than you or I.” “Speak for yourself, if you please,” said Roswell, haughtily. “ I’m speakin' for both of us,” said Dick. “There's one boy there only twelve years old, that's supported his sick mother and sister for more’n a year, and that's more good than either you or I did. Tom ?” he said, nodding to the boy of whom he had spoken. " Tip-top, Dick," said a bright looking boy, who kept as clean as his avocation would permit. “ Have you given up business ? ” • Yes, Tom. I'll tell you about it some other time. I must get back to Pearl Street with these letters. How 's your mother ? ” “ She aint much better, Dick.” “Buy her some oranges. They 'll do her good,” and Dick slipped half a dollar into Tom's hand. “ Thank you, Dick. She 'll like them, I know, but you ought n't to give so much.” " What's half a dollar to a man of my fortune ?” said Dick. " Take care of yourself, Tom. I must hurry back to the store.” Roswell was already gone. His pride would not permit him to stand by while Dick was conversing with a boot-black. He felt that his posi- tion would be compromised. As for Dick, he was so well dressed, that nobody would know that he had ever been in that business. The fact is, Roswell, like a great many other people, was troubled with a large share of price, though it might have puzzled himself to explain what he had to be proud of. Had Dick been at all like him, he would have shunned all his former acquaintances, and taken every precaution against having it discovered that he had ever occupied a similar position. But Dick was above such meanness. He could see that Tom, for instance, was far superior in all that constituted manliness to Roswell Crawford, and, boot-black though he was, he prepared to recognize him as a friend. When Dick reached the store, he did not immediately see Mr. Rock- well. Fame and Fortune. IOI 66 He accordingly entered the counting-room where Gilbert, the book- keeper, was seated at a desk. * Here are the letters, Mr. Gilbert,” said Dick. Lay them down,” said the book-keeper, sourly. “You've been gone long enough. How many did you drop on the way?" “ I did n't know I was expected to drop any,” said Dick. “ If I had been told to do so, I would have obeyed orders cheerfully." Mr. Gilbert was about to remark that Dick was an impudent young rascal, when the sudden entrance of Mr. Rockwell compelled him to suppress the observation, and he was obliged to be content with mutter- ing it to himself. * Back already, Richard ?” said his employer, pleasantly. “Where are the letters?" “Here, sir,” said Dick. “Very well, you may go to Mr. Murdock, and see what he can find for you to do.” Mr. Rockwell sat down to read his letters, and Dick went as directed to the head clerk. “ Mr. Rockwell sent me to you, Mr. Murdock,” he said. He says you will find something for me to do.” O yes, we'll keep you busy," said the head clerk, with a manner very different from that of the book-keeper. “ At present, however, your duties will be of rather a miscellaneous character. We shall want you partly for an entry clerk, and partly to run to the Post Office, Bank, and so forth.” “ All right, sir,” said Dick. ""I'm ready to do anything that is re- quired of me. I want to make myself useful.” “That's the right way to feel, my young friend. Some boys are so big-feeling and put on so many airs, that you 'd think they were part- ners in the business, instead of beginning at the lowest round of the ladder. A while ago Mr. Gilbert brought round a cousin of his, about your age, that he wanted to get in here, but the young gentleman was altogether too lofty to suit me, so we did n't take bim.” " Was the boy's name Roswell Crawford ?” do you know him?” “ Not much. He thinks I'm too far beneath him for him to associ- ate with, but he was kind enough to walk up Nassau Street with me this morning, just to encourage me a little.” " That was kind in him, certainly,” said the head clerk, smiling. “ Unless I am very much mistaken, you will be able to get along with- out his patronage." 66 Yes; 102 The Student and Schoolmate. “I hope so," said Dick. The rest of the day Dick was kept busy in various ways. He took hold with a will, and showed himself so efficient that he made a favora- ble impression upon every one in the establishment, except the book- keeper. For some reason or other Mr. Gilbert did not like Dick, and was determined to oust him from his situation if an opportunity should offer. / CHAPTER IV. LIFE AT THE BOARDING HOUSE. ICK found his new quarters in Bleecker Street very comfortable. This room was kept in create order, wenien Stanse moet handoutal be said of his former home in Mott Street. There once a fortnight was thought sufficient to change the sheets, while both boys were expected to use the same towel, and make that last a week. Indeed, Mrs. Mooney would have considered the boys " mighty particular” if they had ob- jected to such an arrangement. Mrs. Browning fortunately was very different, and Dick found nothing to complain of either in his chamber or in the board which was furnished. Dick had felt rather awkward on his first appearance at the table, but he was beginning to feel more at his ease. It was rather remarkable, considering his past life, how readily be adapted himself to an experience so different. He left the store at five o'clock, and got to his boarding- house in time to get ready for dinner. Dick had now got to be quite particular about his appearance. He washed his face and hands thor- oughly, and brushed his hair carefully, before appearing at the table. Miss Peyton, the lively young lady who has already been mentioned in the first chapter, sat near the boys, and evidently was quite prepos- sessed in their favor. Both had bright and attractive faces, though Dick would undoubtedly be considered the handsomest. He had a fresh colór vihich spoke of good health, and was well-formed and strong. Henry Fosdick was more delicate in appearance, his face was thinner, and rather pale. It was clear that he was not as well able to fight his way through life as Dick. But there was something pleasant and attractive in his quiet sedateness, as well as in the frank honesty and humor that couiù be read in the glance of our friend Dick. “ Won't you and your friend stop a little while and sing ? » asked Miss Peyton addressing Henry Fosdick on the evening of the second day of Dick's business career. Fosdick hesitated. Fame and Fortune. 103 66 “My friend has an engagement this evening.” he said. " I suppose I may not ask where," said Miss Peyton. “ I am invited to spend the evening with some friends on Madison Avenue,” said Dick. “ Indeed ?” said Miss Peyton surprised. “I was n't aware you had such fashionable friends, or I could n't have expected to retain you.” All my friends are not as fashionable,” said Dick, wondering what the young lady would say if she could see his late fellow lodgers at Mrs. Mooney's, on Mott Street. " If I can't hope to keep you this evening, you must promise to stay awhile to-morrow evening. I hope to have the pleasure of hearing you sing, Mr. Hunter.” " When I give a concert,” said Dick, “ I'll be sure to let you in gra- tooitous." " Thank you,” said Miss Peyton. “I shall remind you of it. I hope that time will come very soon.” * Just as soon as I can engage the Academy of Music on reasonable terms." " You'd better try first in the parlor here. We'll take up a contri- bution, to pay you for your exertions." " Thank you," said Dick. “You're very kind, as the man said to the judge when he asked him when it would be perfectly agreeable for him to be hung." Miss Peyton laughed at this remark, and Dick went up stairs to get ready for his visit to Madison Avenue. Our hero felt a little bashful about this visit. He was afraid that he would do or gay something that was improper, or that something would slip out which would betray his vagabond life of the streets. " I wish you was going with me, Fosdick,” he said. " You 'll get along well enough alone, Dick. Don't be afraid.” " You see I aint used to society, Fosdick.” "Nor I either." “But it seems to come natural to you. I'm always makin' some blunder.” “ You 'll get over that in time, Dick. It's because you have so much fun in you. I am more sober. Miss Peyton seems very much amused by your odd remarks.” “ I have to talk so ; I can't think of any thing else to say." “There 's one thing Dick, we must n't give up at any rate.” “ What's that?" " Studying. We don't either of us know as much as we ought to." 104 The Student and Schoolmate. “ That's so." “ You can see how much good studying has done for you so far. If it had n't been for that, you would n't have been able to go into Mr. Rockwell's employment.” “ That's true enough, Fosdick. I'm afraid I don't know enough now.” “ You know enough to get along very well for the present, but you want to rise.” “ You 're right. When I get to be old and infirm I don't want to be an errand boy." “ Nor I either. So, Dick, I think we had better make up our minds to study an hour or an hour and a half every evening. Of course, you can't begin this evening, but there are very few when you can't find the time." “I'll send a circ'lar to my numerous friends on Fifth Avenue and Madison, tellin' 'ein how much I'm obliged for their kind invitations, but the claims of literatoor and science can't be neglected.” “Do you know, Dick, I think it might be well for us to begin French ?” “I wonder what Johnny Nolan would say if I should inquire after his health in the polly-voo language.” " It would n't be the first time you have astonished him.” “ Well, Fosdick, I'm in for it if you think it's best. Now tell me what neck-tie I shall wear ?" Dick displayed two. One was bright red with large figures, which he had bought soon after he began to board in Mott Street. The other was a plain black. “You'd better wear the black one, Dick,” said Fosdick, whose taste was better than his friend's. “ It seems to me it don't look handsome enough,” said. Dick, whose taste had not yet been formed, and was influenced by the Bowery style of dress. “ It 's more modest, and that is all the better.” “ All right. I suppose you know best. Before I get ready I must give a new shine to my boots. I'm going to make them shine so you can see your face in them.” “ Better let me do that for you, Dick. I can do it while you 're dressing, and that will save time.” “No, Fosdick, I was longer in the business than you, and none of the boys could beat me on shines." “I don't know but you 're right, Dick, I freely yield the palm to you in that." Fame and Fortune. 105 6 66 Dick stripped off bis coat and vest and went to work with a will. He had never worked so hard for one of his old customers. "I'm goin' to give it a twenty-five cent shine," he said Just then a knock was heard at the chamber-door. “Come in !” said Dick, pausing a moment in his labors. Mr. Clifton, a fellow-boarder, entered with a cigar in his mouth. “ Holioa,” said he,“ what's up? Going to the theatre, Hunter?” “No,” said Dick. " I'm goin' out to spend the evening with some friends, up in Madison Avenue.” " So I heard you say at the table, but I thought you were joking." "No," said Dick; “ It's a fact.” Seems to me you handle the 'brush pretty skillfully,” remarked Mr. Clifton. “I should almost think you had served a regular apprentice ship at it.” “So I have," answered Dick. “ Did n't you ever see me when I blacked boots on Chatham Square ?” " Good joke !” said the young man, who was far from supposing that Dick was in earnest. O yes, of course I've seen you often. Did you make money at it?” " I retired on a fortune,” said Dick, “ and now I've invested my cap- tal in mercantile pursuits. There," and he took up one boot, and showed it to his visitor, " did you ever see a better shine than that ?” “ No, I did n't, that's a fact,” said Clifton, admiringly. “You beat the young rascal I employ all hollow. I say, Hunter, if you ever go into the "shine business again, I'll be a regular customer of yours.” " He little thinks I've blacked his boots before now,” thought Dick. * All right,” said he, aloud, “ when a commercial crisis comes and I fail in business, I 'll remember your encouragin' offer, and remind you of it." “ Have a cigar, either of you?” asked Clifton, drawing out a case. “ Excuse my not offering it before.” "No thank you,” said Fosdick. "Don't smoke, eh? Won't you have one, Hunter ?” “ No, thank you. Fosdick is my guardian, and he don't allow it." “So you 're a good boy. Well, I wish you a pleasant evening," and Clifton sauntered out to find some other companion. “ He would n't believe I'd been a bootblack,” said Dick, “ even after I told him. I knew he would n't, or I would n't have said so. hair parted straight?” “ Yes, it's all right." “How's my cravat?” Is my 106 The Student and Schoolmate. “ It'll do. You 're getting to be quite a dandy, Dick.” “I want to look respectable got it right that time. When I visit Turkey I want to look as the turkeys do. Won't you go with me, as far as the door, I mean?" “ Yes, if you 're going to walk.” “I'd rather. I feel kind of nervous, and perhaps I 'll walk it off.” The two boys got their caps, and walked up Broadway on the west side. The lights were already lit, and the shop windows made a bril- liant display. At intervals places of amusement opened wide their hos- pitable portals, and large placards presented tempting invitations to enter. They reached Union Square, and traversing it, again walked up Broadway to Madison Park. At the upper end of this Park commences the beautiful avenue which bears the same name. Only about half a dozen blocks now required to be passed, when the boys found themselves opposite a residence with a very imposing front. “ This is the place,” said Dick, " I wish you were going in with me.” " I hope you 'll have a pleasant time, Dick. Good-bye till I see you again.” Dick felt a little nervous, but he summoned up all his courage, and ascending the broad marble steps, rang the bell. Horatio Alger, Jr. My Adventure with Burglars. 107 MY ADVENTURE WITH BURGLARS. “HA ARRY, can't you amuse the children with a story this evening ? O yes — please do, Cousin Harry !” chimed in half a dozen 16 merry voices. 64 It was Thanksgiving evening in the quiet village of N—, not a hun. dred miles from Boston. Six frolicsome children, aged from three to thirteen years, might be seen clustering around a pleasant-looking young man whom we should imagine had seen about twenty-two summers. The evening was clear and frosty without, and the stars seemed to twin- kle with unwonted brilliancy - betokening a very cold night for the season — which made the brilliantly illumined and comfortably warmed parlor of Mrs. Carleton's very attractive. Mr. and Mrs. Carleton and three or four gentlemen and lady friends were pleasantly engaged in conversation at one side of the room and being somewhat disturbed by the continuous prattle of the happy child- ren - Mrs. Carleton made the above suggestion. Cousin Harry” was a general favorite with the children. His home being so far away that he could not make it convenient to leave the city for a long time (for he was a clerk in a large store in Boston), he could, whenever he had a short vacation like the present, manage to spend it at the pleasant home of his aunt where he was always warmly greeted – particularly by the young folks. " Pleathe tell uth a thstorý,” lisped little Elsie, a flaxen curled, bright eyed fairy, the youngest of the group. "Well, a story it is then, but what shall it be about ? ” " Don't tell us about Jack the Giant Killer, or Bluebeard, or any of those old stories, tell us something new, something that really happened,” said Willie, a bright-looking lad of eleven. “ Did I ever tell you of my adventure with burglarz ?” “ Your adventure with burglars! Why no, indeed, Cousin Harry, did you ever have an adventure with burglars ? ” " You shall hear, and then judge for yourselves if I did n't have a narrow escape, though." What are burglars ? ” said little Annie, trying to climb up on Harry's knee. “Barglars ? O they are wicked men who break into stores or houses in the night, or any other time, and steal money or anything else valua- ble, and sometimes they shoot people who oppose them, in fact they are robbers and thieves, sometimes murderers." 108 The Student and Schoolmate. “I hope they did n't try to kill you, Cousin Harry, would n't it have been dreadful !” “ Hattie, you and Willie can remember the village of Lebanon where my home is; you were there with your father and mother about three years ago, just before I went to the city to live.” “ Yes, indeed! Did n't we have gay times though, climbing up the mountains over beyond the village and wandering in the wood after wild flowers in summer, and searching after nuts among the brown leaves in the Autumn; only we were afraid to go far when papa or somebody else was not with us, as Frank Goodrich, the blacksmith's boy, told us one day that he once heard his papa say that there used to be bears in those woods." ** And what a delightful time we had that afternoon when you were with us, Cousin Harry, when we went, О ever so far through the woods and climbed up the steep mountain until at last we got up on top of a big rock where we could overlook the village, and see away off down the valley, and over the tops of two or three ranges of bills; we could see the blue mountains in the distance which you told us were the Catskills, and were more than twenty miles away, over beyond the Hudson River; was n't the view charming though ?” “ Yes, I remember all about that time and many others when I have enjoyed the sight from the same point, but I shall never get through my story, if you do not let me begin, and I imagine that some of these young ears are impatiently waiting to hear it." Probably you can remember the large brown store that was on the corner where the three roads met”- “ Where you stopped and bought the raisins and crackers the day we went up the mountain, do you mean?” “ Yes, and it was there, while serving my apprenticeship as a clerk, that the adventure occurred of which I am going to tell you." “ It was a pleasant evening the latter part of summer; the day had been very warm, but as the lengthening shadows indicated that the orb of day was nearing the western horizon, a delicious coolness seemed to mingle with the sultry air in just the right proportion to produce that pleasant, dreamy atmosphere bordering on Indian summer. I had been sitting for some time in a comfortable position on the stoop,' or portico in front of the store, in an arm-chair, with my feet on a dry-goods box, watching the farmer's teams which drove lazily past, or perhaps an oc- casional carriage containing some wealthy and gaily attired ladies and gentlemen would roll by on its way back to · The Springs,' whither the fashionable nabobs were returning after their afternoon ride. Or I My Adventure with Burglars. 109 would watch the insects flying through the air, distinctly visible in the sunset rays, or, the ever varying shapes assumed by the fleecy clouds in the western sky, for I had little else to do, as customers were few and far between, that evening. " When it grew dark I lighted the large kerosene lamps, and again sat down to wait. Finally Mr. G one of the gentlemen who owned the store, suggested that it be closed for the evening, at an earlier hour than usual as business was so very dull. "So I closed and barred the solid wooden blinds which secured the windows, and put up the heavy shutters that barricaded the door, and when the two or three stragglers had taken the hint and gone home, I locked myself in, as I had my hammock in the store, and usually slept there to guard it. " It was not long before I was sound asleep. How long I had slept I did not know, but I was awakened by a noise which sounded like a man boring with a large auger in the heavy shutters in front of the door. I listened — bore, bore, bore, with an occasional heavy thump was all I could hear, except the quickened throbbing of my heart as I thought of my perilous position. Making as little noise as possible, I hastily drew on a part of my clothing, and then sat down a moment for consideration. Bore – bore — thump — bore bore — thump still it kept going. It cannot take them long to bore out the lock, I thought, and then they will be upon me. The recollections of a robbery which had recently been committed in the neighborhood flashed vividly through my mind. An old miser - by the name of Adams, who lived with his wife in an old house in a lonely situation, had recently been attacked in the dead of night (just my situation, I thought) by robbers, who entered stealthily by the kitchen windows, and bursting suddenly into his bedroom, seized and bound him- self and his wife, before he could get hold of a loaded revolver which he kept under his pillow to defend himself. The house was then ran- sacked, and the robbers carried off about six hundred dollars in money, besides other valuables. Of course the remembrance of this did not serve at all to alleviate my own fears in my situation, but I knew it to be my duty to defend the store, and I resolved to do my best ; so, seiz- ing an old sabre, the only weapon that I could command, I marched boldly towards the door, and in a voice gruff and hoarse with excite- ment, I demanded, "Who's there?' It was silent for a moment, and then bore, bore, thump, bore, bore, went on again, louder than ever. I cautiously stepped to one side, lest an unwished for pistol ball might come through the door in uncomfortable proximity to me, and again I . IIO The Student and Schoolmate. demanded, still louder and hoarser, “Who's there, I say; speak, or I'll fire.' I had n't anything to fire but the old sabre — but the boring and thumping continued ; when, suddenly a ray of light flashed into my mind, and seizing the key, I quickly unlocked the door, and then hastily unbolting the ponderous shutters, I slammed them down upon the stoop’ with a crash that echoed far among the hills in the dead silence of the early morning, and in the slight dawn - for it was yet quite dark - I could distinguish the hastily retreating forms of three - cows! - who proved to have been my disturbers. Seizing a cudgel which hap- pened to lay close by, I immediately gave chase, resolving to repay the unconscious intruders for thus unceremoniously disturbing my repose, and causing me so much unnecessary fear.” “O, I'm so glad, Cousin Harry, that there was no robbers after all; but how could the cows bore into the shutters, or make the noise you described.” “I will tell you. Just outside of the door stood two or three old barrels which had contained salt mackerel, and in the bottom of them was a little salt, which the cows were trying to get, and the noise which they made by licking the rough insides of the barrels, sounded exactly like boring, and moving the barrels about and thumping them against the side of the store, caused the pounding roise, which I imagined the robbers were making ; so now children, you must profit by my experi- ence, and never be frightened unless you are sure that there is some cause of danger.” “ And now," said Harry, tossing up little Elsie, “is n't it about time that this little tired body was snugly tucked away in bed ?” “ Yes,” said Mrs. Carleton, “ and the rest of the children, too ; but really, Harry, you have interested us all very much with the account of your adventure, and the evening has slipped away very rapidly," for the conversation of the ladies and gentlemen had long since stopped, and they were listening attentively to Harry's story. So the children said their “ good-nights," and went pleasantly to bed, while the older people staid up a couple of hours longer to have a social chat, as the early train in the morning would take Harry back to the city, and the other visitors to their several homes. Cousin Harry. After the Storm. III Ii AFTER THE STORM. A FTER the storm to our ears were brought Lessons as varied as teacher e'er taught; Incidents strange, and accidents sad, Unusual encounters both sober and glad ; Suffering children with frost-bitten toes, And all the privations that poverty knows, Of hurger and sickness with nothing to warm, 'Tis these things we hear of after the storm. After the storm we hear from the shore, Lo! a ship is wrecked, it will never sail more ; Costly the lading, foreign and rare, That meets the eye, and strews the beach there, Despair marks the Captain whose all is thus lost, Wearied the crew, 'mid the breakers long tost; So near their homes, within sight of firesides warm, Five strong men perished, during the storm. When the morning broke o'er our village small, And we looked for our church-spire, graceful and tall, 11 2 The Student and Schoolmate. Ah! we looked in vain, on the ground it lies Whose summit last eve pointed up to the skies : On the brow of a hill, two miles from the church, Four horses affrighted, and left in the lurch A stage coach, with passengers distant from home, Left 'mid the snow-drifts, out in the storm. Out in the storm, from school going home, The little one's smother and plunge in alarm; All thanks to the neighbor with oxen and sled, Who picked them all up — by a good angel led. Many the mothers who blest him that night, Sweet was his sleep, as of all who do right. Thankful all ther, who, mid comfort and calm Surrounded by loved ones, during the storm. In the wilds of a swamp from depot afar, “ Mid darkness and cold, not even a star To lighten the night or encourage the mind Snowbound in the car, with home far behind, Those passengers strove with words of good cheer, To make the night short, and to banish all fear. But loud were the cheers, and praises were warm To those who brought help, in the midst of the storm. In a neat little cot by the edge of a wood, A pond in the rear, tall elms near it stood, One of earth's fair ones was passing away, For months they had watched her by night and by day, 'Mid the fall of the snow, the roar of the blast She was pearing the home that is ever to last, Day by day, week by week, until safe from harm Her soul found a shelter after the storm. Each life is a journey, with sunshine and storm, And with spots by the wayside to keep our hearts warm. By kind little acts, a smile, or a word, Or by silence, oft kinder than anything beard, With work for each moment, for each one some care, We can pass on our journey without any fear That the way will be tiresome, or we come to harm, Tho' a lifetime may bring to us many a storm.. Eben. Stems. 113 STEMS. The plumule springing up into the air, and following the laws of its kind produces stems which are the roads between the leaves and the roots. So strong is the tendency of the plumule to rise to the light and sun, that if a young plant just springing from the seed be turned over so that the plumule be at the bottom, and the radicle at the top, the stem will turn itself so as to be uppermost, and the root will de- scend. To prove whether it was the light and sun which attracted the plumule upward, Dutrochet planted some kidney beans in such a posi- tion that to grow the stem must thrust itself upward — but upward into the earth and not into the air. This they did, pushing their stems up- ward into the soil while their roots hung exposed to the air. In this unnatural position they soon perished, through their faithful following of the law which says that stems shall grow upward and not downward, of grow not at all. He then took some of the little plants and placed them so that their roots turned upwards into the soil, but that was a enndition in which they could help themselves, so they turned their points round and grew with stem and roots in their proper positions, and kept their own secret why stems grew up and roots grew down for bome wiser man than Dutrochet to discover. Up the stem the sap arises to the leaves, and having been purified by its contact with the air through the stomata, or breathing pores, and made thicker and richer by evaporation, it returns to the stem again to nourish that and increase its growth. All stems rise at the first period of their life, but some soon extend hori- zontally below the surface of the earth, and are frequently mistaken for roots. Many of these creeping along in the ground, such as belong to the couch or witch grass, (Triticum repeus,) Cyperus Hydra, and some mints grow so rapidly and so vigorously that they are the pests of all gardeners and farmers. Their strong subterranean stems and branches effectually destroy all other vegetation. But though so troublesome to cultivators they are very useful in certain situations for binding together and keeping the soil in place on beaches, or hillsides where it could be casily washed away. The ferns of northern climates have these under- ground stems, and the portions which we see above ground are the branches. Stems are of various kinds and qualities. Some, like the delicate dimbers which cannot hold themselves erect without clinging to some- thing, and others like the hard trunk of the lignum vitæ, whose wood 114 The Student and Schoolmate. seems almost like iron. Some die down every year, leaving a root un- der ground from which the new plant is to spring up the next season. Others perish entirely, leaving their future offspring shut up in the little cases called seed. These are the herbaceous plants. Those that last many years are called trees when they have tall trunks, and shrubs when they do not grow so high. A stem increases in two ways, first in length, second in breadth ; and it not only grows at the top, but all the way up as you find by measuring the distance between the branches and the root, as well as that between the root and the highest bough. Between the growth of stems in the tropics and those in the northern climates there is a great difference. One grows outwardly and is an Exogen, and to this class belong most of the northern growths. An Exogen grows by additions to the outside of the stem which consists of three portions. The outer surface, which is sometimes rough and sometimes smooth, is called the bark, this covers and protects the whole, the wood comes next, which makes up the principal part, and the pith which is the central por- tion. Tropic stems have a different structure and growth. They have no distinct bark, wood, and pith, but appear to be made up of bundles of fibres in a spongy substance. The hardening of these fibres makes the outward part of the stem, and protecting the interior answers the pur- pose of bark, while the new growth is at the centre. The lilies, grasses, and rushes of northern climates grow in this way, and are the same in their structure as the Endogens, or inward-growers of the tropics. The pith of an Exogen runs up through the stems and branches into the buds. In the new growth it is soft and juicy, in the older dry and very light, and its principal office seems to be to convey the nourishment more rapidly to the younger shoots of the plant. The wood is a tissue of cells which carry the sap to the bark, the inner portion of which is cellular tissue and fibre, and is called liber, and the outer portion which covers and protects the whole. Between the liber and the wood the tree grows by making a new layer every year, and its age may be told by counting the rings which may be plainly seen in a section of the trunk. The bark not only shelters and covers the softer parts of the stem, but it contains the vessels through which the sap descends after having been purified in the leaves, and is by them transmitted to the wood. And so important is this office that trees stripped of their bark will soon die. Forest trees are often girdled to destroy them, a ring being cut round the trunk, quite through the bark, and into the albur- num, or soft white wood, and the tree languishes and dies as if struck by some deadly disease. Stems. 115 j The bark of an Exogen can be easily separated from the wood, but in tropical trees this is impossible, and indeed, the outer covering of the palms and bamboos seems rather a rind than a bark. In certain peri- ods of their growth this rind seems capable of extension, but after a time it becomes so hard that the new growth has no power to press it outward, and the stem can only grow tall, and never any larger in cir- cumference. So the trees of tropical climates are very slender, and the trunks of the palms attain their greatest diameter very early. But in this respect they are well adapted to their surroundings, for the power- ful stems of the giant creepers of the tropic regions can twine round them without harming them at all. If they had grown outwardly, like the trees of the temperate regions, they would have been strangled in the coils of these vegetable serpents. A grape-vine running over an apple tree, and twining its tendrils around its branches is sometimes sufficient to prevent the ascent and descent of the sap, and to kill the tree, and how much sooner and more effectually would this be done if instead of the spiral coils of the grape, a great tropical creeper with stems as tough as a ship’s cable had wound around it. In the Exogens the oldest wood is found next the peta, the heart Food, as it is called. It has less sap, and is of course the best able to resist all changes of temperature, and is preferred for all those uses in which strength and solidity is required. In the Endogens, on the con- trary, all rules for the growth of northern stems seem reversed, and the oldest wood lies next the rind, because they grow by forming new bun- des of fibres in the middle, and pushing the old ones out. The trees of temperate climates often live many years, some of them centuries, and seem to die from old age and gradual decay, when they are not cut down by man ; but the life of the tropical trees seems to be limited by their structure. When their tissues become solid, and their trunks cannot in- crease, their growth and life must cease; but when the main stem dies Dew shoots often spring up from the root, and the old palm lives again in the new trees. To man, in his savage and civilized state, the stems of plants and shrubs, and trunks of trees, are of uncounted value. Before we drove the Indian from his hunting grounds, he shaped his light canoe and his basket from the bark of the light birch tree. The inner coat of the paper mulberry tree gives the South Sea Islander his simple garment, as that of the reed-papyrus gave the old Egyptians their paper. Mats and cordage are made from the bark of the bass wood, and the woody fibre of the hemp and flax give us ropes, clothing, and many a useful article. In the alburnum or sap wood, are those resinous, sweet or poisonous 116 The Student and Schoolmate. juices which enter so largely into our complicated industry and life. Here come maple sugar, turpentine, Canadian balsam, India rubber, gamboge, camphor, logwood, and Brazil wood dyes, and many volatile oils, and the bark of the oak and the hemlock furnishes the tannic acid with which leather is made from the skins of animals. From the solid wood, the beart-wood of great trees, we build our houses, our ships, bridges, vehicles, and make furniture, at first rude and simple, and after- ward of beautiful design and exquisite workmanship. And the great fossil stems which were once green, living trees in a world so unlike the earth, as we now see it, that it would be hard to believe it was the same planet making ready for man to be born into it, now warm and light our houses and with the help of water carry us swiftly over land and E. C. 7. sea. ร an THE COST OF WEEDS. The most expensive crop grown by the farmer is weeds. It is not easy to estimate their cost, but we know that it amounts to many mil- lions of dollars ani ally. If their value is anything, the farmer has seldom been able to appreciate it. The question of weeds becomes every year more serious, and their spread more appalling. Some of the best farms in the country have become so infested with weeds as to yield but poor returns. If our present system of culture is to continue, no one need expect to rapidly grasp a fortune at farming. The eradication of weeds, when they once get possession of the soil, is somewhat discouraging to the farmer, especially when neighboring farms are growing weed crops that furnish innumerable seeds, to be wafted by the wind and deposited upon the land. There is scarcely a farmer but fully understands that a large crop of useful plants cannot be expected from grounds overrun with weeds, and yet many pay but slight attention to subduing these pests. They increase from year to year, until the land becomes so foul that even this very condition of things is deemed a sort of excuse to let them take possession of the soil. They become formidable, and men dread to make the attack, krowing that no weak opponent is to be encountered. Country Gentleman. How Pat Paid the Rent. 117 HOW PAT PAID THE RENT A Story of Ineland. “ HOW OW will I pay the rint, now, I wonder ? It's a bad day for me entirely,” and Terence Malony looked down sorrowfully at the inanimate body before him. Now I hope my young readers will not laugh when I say that the in- animate body in question was that of a large høg, whose sudden and untimely death had caused not a little sorrow to Mr. Malony. I must explain, however, that Terence Malony lived about ten miles from Belfast, which is a flourishing city on the eastern coast of Ireland. The country thereabouts, as indeed is the case all over Ireland, is dotted with little cabins, in which live the poor tenantry of the large estates, which are mostly owned by proprietors who do not live in Ireland, but spend their time chiefly in England, or in travelling on the Continent. 118 The Student and Schoolmate. Attached to each cabiu is a small piece of land which the occupant tills, paying a yearly rent to the steward of the estate, who manages all the business, and remits the income to the absent owner. While the rent is not large, the tenant usually finds it all he can do to pay it besides supporting his family. A pig is universally kept, and is in many cases a privileged member of the family, often being kept in one corner of the cabin, having nothing to do except to eat and sleep, while the rest must rise early and work hard. But in return the pig pays the rent, that is, he is killed when fat enough, and the money that he brings is appro- priated to this purpose. So in Terence Malony's family, the pig had been depended upon for several years to pay the rent. This year the same was expected of him. It was decided that in a day or two he was to be killed, when all at once he took the matter into his own hands, and one morning was found dead. What was the nature of his disease could not be guessed. Cer- tainly he looked far from delicate. Indeed, to judge from his appear- ance he was in robust health. But whatever the cause might be, he was dead; how the rent was to be provided for, Terence did not know. In two days it came due, and the steward being a hard man with delin- quent debtors, there was every probability that the family would be turned out of doors. “Oh whirra, whirra!” moaned Mrs. Malony, swaying backwards and forwards. “ We're undone, and kilt entirely. What will we do?” This question was easier asked than answered. As to borrowing money, that was out of the question. All the Malony's friends were as poor as they were, and none had a shilling to spare. So the question remained unanswered till two days had passed, and the steward came round for the reut. “I'm sorry, sir," said Terence, “but the pig's dead, and I have n't a penny, barring a shillin' which I am ready to pay, if you will let us stay till something turns up." “ If I wait till then," said the steward disdainfully, “I'll have to wait forever.” Terence could not help acknowledging to himself that there was a good deal of truth in this. “ If you can't pay, you must turn out,” said the steward. “ We'll perish in the cowld, sir, then. Have pity, and give us time,” said Mrs. Malony. " I'll give you till to- morrow morning to find the money, and no longer," said the steward.” So you know what to expect,” and he turned on his heel and left the cabin. How Pat Paid the Rent. 119 among his They knew that he would be as good, or as bad, as his word, and sorrow settled down upon them all. But at last, as it was necessary to . do something, it was decided that Terence should go round neighbors, and see if he could n't borrow a shilling here and a shilling there, and so contrive to make up the required sum. Terence had five children. The oldest was Pat, a bright, active boy of thirteen, who was already able to assist his father considerably. It was proposed to despatch Pat to a cousin of Mrs. Malony, Luke Connor by name, who kept a small shop about six miles distant, and was known to have saved up a couple of hundred pounds, which made him esteemed a man of property in those parts. It was thought possible that he might be willing to loan the two pounds needed, or at least a part of it. Still they did not feel very sure of it, as Luke was rather close-fisted, and not over willing to lend his money, even to a relative, where there was likely to be any risk. Still it was not prudent to let slip even a slender chance, and accordingly Pat set out on his errand. A six mile walk across the country was something of an enterprise, as the roads were not the best. Still Pat had two good stout legs of his own, and did not mind it. In a couple of hours he arrived in front of his uncle's door. Luke Connor was sitting just within, smoking a clay pipe, which he removed on seeing Pat. • Well, Pat, and how's the mother and the childer ?” he said. Pat explained that they were well enough in health, but in difficul- ties, the nature of which he explained. Luke Connor listened without showing much sympathy, and when Pat closed by asking for a loan, flatly refused. " I've worked hard for my money,” he said, “ and I shan't throw it away on the Malonys. You've made your bed, and you must lie upon it." "We did n't kill the pig," said Pat, indignantly. “ Then you did n't take good care of it,” persisted his uncle. The end of it was that he refused to lend anything, and poor Pat, very much disheartened, set out on his return home. The road seemed longer than at first, for he was not sustained by hope, and knew that he had no good news to bring. He was about a mile from home, when walking with eyes downcast, he chanced to see at his feet a black pocket-book. Pat was not long in picking it up, and thinking that the owner's name might be inside, he opened it. Pat's eyes sparkled when in one of the compartments he discovered eight shining pieces of gold. Besides this, there were some papers which were really of far greater value, but this Pat did not understand. To him the gold seemed a for- 65 How Pat Paid the Rent. I 21 Can you pay thought help was coming from the stranger, and reported what had hap pened to his parents. Terence had met with no luck at all in his at- tempts to borrow. His neighbors would gladly have lent him, for the poor have a fellow-feeling for each other, but they had nothing for themselves. So the next morning found them not very cheerful, and none of them had much appetite for the scanty breakfast. Punctually at nine the steward came. " It's only one word,” he said, “ that I've got to say. the rent?” “ No sir,” said Terence, But “ None of your · buts,” said he roughly, “out you must go, as sure as my name is * Hold !” said a strange voice, and through the open door entered the stranger whose pocket-book little Pat had found. " What is the matter ?” "I don't know that it is any business of yours, sir,” said the steward superciliously. “ These people cannot pay their rent, and I am turning them out, that is all.” “ Can't you wait for them? They have been unfortunate, not dis- honest." “That I have nothing to do with.” “But you would not turn them out in this cold weather ? ” “Why not?” “ Have you no humanity? Have you not received positive orders from your employer to be as considerate as possible with those who from no fault of their own find themselves unable to pay their rent?” " What do you know of my employer's orders ?” demanded the stew- ard rudely. “I will thank you not to meddle in this matter.” “ But I intend to meddle,” said the stranger, firmly. "And by what right?” "By the best right. I am Lord Arundel, your employer.” The steward was overwhelmed with consternation, and tried to apol- ogize, but without much success. "I came here, partly because I had heard of your abuse of authority,” he said. “I mean to do what I can to improve the condition of my tenantry, and shall need the co-operation of another man. You may consider yourself discharged from my service.” The steward slunk away, and Lord Arundel, turning to the aston- ished family, told them that he would remit the rent already due, and in consideration of Pat's service, for the pocket-book contained very valuable papers, would allow them to occupy the cabin, rent free for 1 22 The Student and Schoolmate. three years. As for Pat, he agreed to defray the expenses of his educa- tion, and promised, when he was old enough, to take him into his em- ploy with a good salary. Pat is now at school, and learning rapidly. In place of the discarded steward is a humane man who is doing all he can to improve the condition of the tenantry on the estate. Pat is to become his assistant, in three years, and more prosperous times will then dawn upon the Malony's. Horatio Alger, Fr, Romana THE BIRD THAT BUILDS A PLAY-HOUSE. You all know what pretty houses birds build to lay their eggs and rear their young in, but did you ever know of a bird going to quite as much trouble just to make a play-house? The bower-bird of Australia is not contented with the magnificent forests and orange groves it has to sport in, but it must go to work and make a house more to its mind. It does not use it for a nest, nor has its nest ever yet been dis- covered. One would imagine, from its little ball-room, that the nest itself must be quite a fanciful affair. The first thing to be done in their little assembly-room is one of the last in ordinary houses. Mrs. Bower puts down her carpet. It re- sembles a tolerable mat, woven of twigs and coarse grasses. Then other twigs are collected, and arching sides are arranged, making a little alley, large enough to accommodate several friends at a time. Such romping and racing as goes on when Mrs. Bower makes a party. Up and down this curious hall they chase each other, uttering a loud, full cry, which no doubt is meant for laughter. It is no sort of protection from the weather, and as far as any one can see, it is good for nothing but to play in. But as it has nothing else in the world to do but to enjoy itself, it is very well to make that the business of life. It is very dif- ferent with boys and girls, who have precious souls that must live for- ever, and who have a work to do for God in this world. These little Bowers think quite as much of amusement as some silly people we have seen in our lives. They gather together just be- fore the front and back door of their homes a great collection of shining things, nice white pebbles, pretty sea-shells, gay feathers, bits of ribbons, when they can steal any ; even bright-colored rags, broken tobacco- pipes, and any shining scraps of metal that they may chance to espy in their travels. Gold and brass are all the same to them. If the gold was dull and the brass bright, they would much prefer the latter. The Last Cruise of the Betsy. 123 THE LAST CRUISE OF THE BETSY. “NEW NEW YORK Harbor, arr. 15th., Ship Victor.” So far the Speaker' (Papa Howard) was allowed to proceed, when the House' (the young Howards, you understand) broke into such an up- roar of loud and prolonged applause, that no other sound was audible. The Speaker,' gracefully yielding to the force of circumstances, laid aside the morning paper, and gazed benignly at the excited group before him. The eldest member from the nursery, taking advantage of a tem- porary 1ull, rose, holding aloft a gob - po truth compels me to say mug brimming with that generous fluid described at length in cookery books under the heading White Tea.' A few introductory words con- cerning this Hon. gentleman, may not be amiss. Nature bad endowed him with courage, restless activity, perseverance and executive ability, qualities which, in his own estimation, at least, clearly indicated that she had designed his for a leading character. Popular leaders are not faultless, and Benjy was no exception to the rule. Often bis zeal exceeded the bounds prescribed by reason, and his aspirations, which had early turned to political life, had later vascillated sadly between that first love and a new enamorata, the “life on the ocean wave.' This unsettled state of the affections was apparent in a manner of speech which Bob styled the · Benjamatic-politico-maratime dialect.' It was Benjy's inventive genius which had organized the breakfast party into a legislative body, dignified by the name of the House.' Papa by way of compliment being called the Speaker,' and Benjy himself known as “ the member always on his legs.' The juveniles of the family were . constituents,' or fellow-members, if occasion required, in which latter case their duties consisted chiefly in applauding when applause was ex- pected. Occasionally, indeed, they took matters into their own hands, and surprised their leader by dismal groans and hisses in place of the usual admiring demonstrations. Mamma's office might be best described as that of an extinguisher, rarely coming into public notice unless the fame of party spirit blazed too high, or frolic became tumult. Oratory was considered Benjy's especial forte, and on the occasion now alluded to, he harangued his enthusiastic audience, thus “Fellow citizens, Mr. Speaker, Officers and Messmates, I plainly perceive it to be my pleasing privilege to propose “ Mind your p's and q's, Benjy,” piped a shrill voice at his elbow. * Quite a p'sful beginning," added another. With sublime dignity the young orator continued: “A toast, to be - " I24 The Student and Schoolmate. her crew, followed by three cheers and a tiger. The Victor, the Queen of the Sea, the power behind the throne. Now, then, one - two three, Hip, Hip, Hur 1 A white hand was laid lightly over his open mouth, and the mother's finger raised in admonition.' “My dear, you 're not in the woods or on ship-board. Such noisy demonstrations must be postponed to some appropriate time and place. And see how you ’ve spilled the tea all over your new jacket, and baby, too. Oh, Benjy, Benjy, what a careless boy!” Somewhat crestfallen, the nursery party withdrew to the garden, where they might vent their delight unchecked. Three years before the time of which we are now speaking, with snowy sails and unsoiled cordage, gay with gilding and delicately tinted paints, the Victor sailed from New York Harbor, fair and fresh as a young belle armed for conquest. She had now returned, no longer fair and beautiful, with grimy ropes and blackened sheets, her bravery soiled and discolored, but a Victor more than ever. She had made excellent time and a profitable voyage, but it was not this which caused such re- joicing in the house of Howard. Bob Howard had shipped in her a slender stripling, and the day on which her arrival was announced at the breakfast table, saw him home once more, a young man, brown as a berry, merry as a lark, rolling about the premises on his sea-legs,' exploring every nook and corner of the dear old homestead. What wonder they rejoiced to see him back. Bob, who had made them kites and baby-bedsteads, bridges, swings, and wind-mills. Bob, whose good nature never failed, and whose resources of entertainment were inexhaustible! Bob came back his old self, genial as ever, and even rejoicing in a new accomplishment, that of spinning yarns' for the children's benefit. Wonderfully fertile was his fancy, exercised in this way, and when the relation of all his own exploits, escapes, and experiences, seemed stale, endless were the tales of Kelpy, mermaids, sea-serpents, and all the won- ders old Neptune reveals to his favorites, related as veritable facts, whose authenticity was vouched for by the most reliable authorities. His coming was refreshing as a sea turn in August, and gave zest to every pleasure. For a time the family seemed given up to pleasure, but then midsummer is every one's play-time, and Bob had been so long from home, it was fitting they should kill for him the fatted calf. In the nursery, political life became suddenly at a discount, while all connected with nautical affairs was surrounded by a halo of glory. That The Last Cruise of the Betsy. I 25 apartment served in turn as deck, cabin, steerage, and even masthead, oftener representing all at once, with long-suffering nurse Baxter and baby Fan for cargo, or whatever commodity occasion required. With a fair wind and calm sea, these two enjoyed the fun, but that pleasant state of affairs was exceptional. Besides an inevitable head- wind which used to spring up with alarming frequency, causing terrible bustle, there were two tragedies, shipwreck on hidden rocks and a fatal fire in the forecastle, which befell the unlucky voyages on alternate days, when the uproar reached a climax so appalling as to require Mamma's interposition. The Howard hive swarmed with B's; there were Bob, Bessie, Bell, Benjy, Bertie, Beauty, Beast, and finally Baby Fan. Of course such sensible persons as Mr. and Mrs. Howard never christened a baby either as Beauty or Beast. The little ones thus known were twins, whose baptismal names were Kate and Arthur, but that capricious lady known as Dame Fortune had robbed poor Arthur's persou of all grace and comeliness, apparently that she might bestow a double portion upon Miss Kate. Bessie Howard also had recently returned to the family roof. She had been with a most intimate and dear friend, her room-mate at a fashionable school, from which both had graduated the previous summer, when they had parted with the usual amount of tears, and vows of eter- nal constancy. After passing a gay winter in New York with this young lady, Bessie had spent the spring months journeying in the same delightful companionship. Miss Howard now grew weary of Bob's irrepressible hilarity. That one's brother should be somewhat of a tease, was very well, she thought, one should perhaps allow a sailor rather more latitude than a land's- man; but the terrible spirit of frolic which infected all the household was too much for gentility to endure. When the walls constantly rang with shouts of laughter, and Bob's stories utterly eclipsed Miss Bessie's rendering of • Casta Diva,' affairs were surely at a low ebb. When every evening found the drawing-room transformed into a nursery, the curtains odorous of transgressing cigars, the time had come for active measures. Bessie found it very trying, and assuming Madame Laveille's own air, was wont to harangue the culprits indiscriminately. Finding however, direct appeal ineffectual, she changed her course, trying the power of example, and insidiously instilled precept to raise the domestic standard of taste. When the family were convulsed with laughter over some of Bob's stories, Bessie would smile benignly, and then descant on the glories of Mrs. Jones' soirees, or recount some gleanings of wordly 126 The Student and Schoolmate. wisdom gathered from the lips of Mrs. Smith, who had just returned from a European trip, and whose taste founded on the true Parisian model, was of course unimpeachable. Such incidental revelations as to the customs of polite society, made it painfully evident that the ways into which the Howard family had of late fallen, when judged by any correct standard of taste, would be pro- nounced decidedly vulgar, if not uncivilized. Fancy scarcely dared picture the feelings of Gerald Fitzgerald in the event of his meeting the elegant Miss Howard strolling through the woods, escorted by this young salt, minus a coat, and plus a cigar. Bessie fairly shuddered at the thought of Mrs. Smith (even then visit- ing in their vicinity) surprising the family, lunching comfortably in the hay-field, aided only by Nature's knives and forks, and no servant near. What effect would such a disclosure have upon her own position in the estimation of that airsome lady? Bell and Beauty were very naturally impressed by an elder sister's grandiloquence, and for some moments after such a lecture, exhibited an amount of shame and remorse that was really quite promising. Alas for human frailty ; ten minutes later Beauty would be beguiled into a wheel-barrow ride or a romp in the hay-field, utterly oblivious of Bessie and propriety, until the tea-bell sent her in terror to her room to smooth out tangled curls, and penitently scrub her little brown hands. Bob of course laughed at Bessie's fine notions, and classed together as one romance, which he irreverently dubbed “The Cruise of the Betsy,' those tit-bits of high life with which she was wont to regale them. It was truly edifying to see these two young things, each so earnestly bent upon the other's reformation, for while Bessie was unremitting in her endeavors to refine Bob, he labored with no less zeal to rid her of what he termed all flummery.' The weapons with which he waged this warfare were cutting sarcasm, good-natured raillery, and incessant teasing, and as the House' unani- mously sided with him, his attacks sometimes ruffled the placid equanim- ity for which Bessie had ever been noted, yet such little surface-storms had no disturbing effect upon the deep current of love between them. Laboring upon the unpopular side of an unsuccessful cause is weary work, and Bessie's courage had begun to flag, when an invitation to a select dinner-party for herself and Bob, came like a reviving draught, and inspired her to lead on her forlorn hope with fresh energy. Bessie counted among other attractions, a commanding figure, regular features, and wonderfully beautiful eyes : these charms when heightened by the aid of tasteful and elegant dress gave her an appearance almost regal, The Last Cruise of the “Betsy.” 127 and if she stood erect, as if “ all the blood of all the Howard's ” coursed through her veins in the affluence of youthful beauty, that stately air was not wholly unbecoming. Bob was secretly dazzled by her appearance as she descended from ber room, dressed for the dinner party, and proud to act as escort, but merely observed that the arrangement of her hair transported him to Madagascar. Bessie too was obliged to confess that spite of her brother's want of familiarity with the new operas, prima-donnas, and light literary gossip of the day, there was a piquant grace, a native charm about him infinitely superior to Fitz Gerald's languid, stereotyped, frozen propriety. The young seamen, if he lacked polish, was a gentleman at heart, and Bessie sensibly resolved to be oblivious of any gan cheire of which he might be guilty, and if she saw mischief lurking in his eyes, stifled all apprehensions suggested thereby. Robert Howard's debut was an unquestionable success : that which Bessie was ready to task every power to win, came to him unsought. The young ladies were moved by his graces to such an ecstasy of admi- ration for him, and tenderness for his favored sister, as Bessie found quite tiresome. Emboldened by the course of events, Bessie summo moned, and presented her brother to the veritable-Mrs. Smith of New York memory. In no wise overawed, the young sailor greeted that embodiment of gentility with the delicate courtesy he accorded not to youth, beauty, rank, or riches, but her sex - to him she was a woman, nothing more. Later snatches of a conversation between his sister and this immaculate paragon of hers reached his ears. Bessie was evidently giving fancy free rein. He caught an allusion to their “ conservatory.' “ Whew," thought Bob, “I wonder where that apartment may be; ’t was only this morning Bess was lamenting Bell's untidiness in scattering her plants throughout the house.” Soon Bessie's New York sojourn was spoken of as a thing of unusual occurrence. She did not literally make the affirmation, but her words could not fail to convey the impression that the family habitually win- tered in the city. Then the names of persons known to Bessie only by report, but whose acquaintance she considered eminently desirable, were introduced with a familiarity only to be warranted by long intimacy. Then Bob's calling received an apology. “ Brother Robert was so weary of the stupid stereotyped methods of travelling, and thoroughly disgusted with profes- sional life. His sea-going was a frolic encouraged by the family in the 128 The Student and Schoolmate. hope that one voyage might cure him of his fancy. He had of course no duties except such as he chose to perform, &c., &c.” This, Bob thought, as it was a half-truth, the worst fib of all. Do not condemn Bessie at once as an abominable story-teller. She was little more than a child, and unduly anxious to stand well in the estimation of her superfine friend. It was no excuse for her conduct that her artifice was too shallow to be availing. The feeling from which it sprang was weak, worse, it was actually wicked, but, “ Amid the pitfalls in our way The best of us walk blindly.” Bob viewed her conduct with unmitigated contempt; he said to him- self that she was crowding on too much sail and needed a broadside which would compel her to strike colors, and surrender.” Sauntering into her vicinity, where he was speedily surrounded by an admiring throng, he entered into a general conversation, which without any ap- parent effort or egotism on his part, brought out scraps of his own ex- perience. Such terms as “ off the Malabar coast, lying at anchor in the Gulf of Lyons, leaving Ningpo with a cargo of teas, in Dublin Harbor, lading at Mozambique, in the Baltic, doubling Cape Good Hope, wait- ing for one cargo in the Gulf of California, cruising about the Mediter- ranean,” &c., &c., fell from his lips with startling profusion. Some one at length said, with an air of surprise, “ You have seen a great deal of the world for so young a man, Mr. Howard." “ Yes," answered he, complacently, “ I have been over the principal ponds." " In how many voyages, if I may ask ? ” said the Mrs. Smith, gravely - perhaps thinking Bob and Bessie possessed some traits in common. “ Only one,” replied Bob, promptly — “We were out three years, making excellent time, in my opinion.” “ And the ship's name?” queried another, suspiciously. “ The Elysian Dream,” was the unblushing response, “a Cayo yacht." Bessie looked alarmed; she had never heard that the · Victor had an alias, and the idea of that heavy merchantman being a yacht. Some one exclaimed, “What a sentimental name !” “Yes,” said Bob, with an imitation of his sister's tone cruelly perfect, “but she was a craft one might well grow sentimental over. Her deck was a tessellated mosaic brought from Florence, the main mast, very elegantly carved, was of Chinese workmanship, her sails were of Irish linen, and the ropes, the national colors, in silk and linen. Eolian harps were set in the rigging so that no dismal shrieks and groans through the cordage offended our ears.” The Last Cruise of the “Betsy." 129 « How was she manned ?” asked an amused listener. “ We had a double crew," replied he, carelessly. “ I, for instance shipped before the mast, but my duties consisted in lying upon a divan and directing my slave, each of us being provided with a Nubian double. " It was quite pretty," he continued,“ to see the process of piping all bands on deck. Our Captain lying in his berth had merely to touch a bell, and immediately an orchestra of wind instruments struck up some lively air, and the divans were at once raised by machinery from our re- spective state-room to the deck where our attendants brought each his meerschaum and cup of coffee.” " And the morning paper, I suppose," added a mocking voice. “ Yes," answered Bob, gravely, “we had a little sheet called • The Main Mast Chronicle,' edited by the boatswain, who ran up to mast head several times daily, by means of a fairy balloon, and took observations for our benefit." “What wonderful experiences you have had !” exclaimed another listener. “Oh not at all,” replied he with modest depreciation, “ We have en- tertained the Emperor of Japan, the King of Madagascar, the Sultan of Zanzibar, and sundry Pachas on board our little craft. We were well received too, by the Russian Court, and that of St. James. Eugenie took a fancy to our yacht and cruised about in her an entire day.” “ How about all these cargoes ?” asked a young man, who felt himself eclipsed, and burned for revenge. “Lace from Brussels, tea and opium from China, Smyrna figs, Madeira wine, African ivory, Turkish carpets, sables from Russia, spices, gums, shawls and embroidery from India, be- sides endless et ceteras from Dublin, Liverpool, and Marseilles, and Dearly every other sort under Heaven, all carried in a single trip by a yacht?” "Oh," said Bob, laughing with imperturbable good nature, "ours was but one of a fleet sent out by government. You surely must have heard of the expedition ; its purpose was partly pursuit of a privateer called · The Wild Goose,' and partly a political negotiation the particu- lars of which are not yet made public, between our government and all the principal powers of Christendom, besides accomplishing something, as you justly remark, in the mercantile line.” " You sailed, I suspect, under Captain Munchausen,” cried one. “ Was your first mate named Sinbad ? ” asked another. “ Did you touch at Brobdignag, or speak the · Flying Dutchman ? added a third. “ Perhaps, too, you brought home Robinson Crusoe.” “ Dear me, no," said the unabashed sailor, our voyage was very un- 130 The Student and Schoolmate. eventful and commonplace. I ought to beg pardon for boring you with 80 prosy an experience, though I think we did,” he added demurely, surpass the Betsy.' That craft, I trust, has at last gone to · Davy Jones' Locker.'” “ We really must say "Good evening,'” said Bessie, rising in sudden haste to conceal her emotion, but Bob was right, the • Betsy 'had struck her colors, and gone down forever. May Leonard. Dom poskana BILLY'S BOOTS AND BOBBY'S SHOES. * Gale, Gold by the Gongs, and Interpreted By Frank $. Hinn. VHEY say I sup pose the boys and girls have never heard a story by a pair of tongs, and as this narrative did n't happen to take place in school, (and as I was n't pledged to secrecy), it will not be telling a tale out of it. In the first place, you must kuow that the conversation I am about to relate, took place between a pair of boots, pretty well worn, and a pair of shoes that looked as though they were fresh from the store, al- though both boots and shoes were purchased at the same time, and had been on the feet of the wearers, the same period. “I do wish,” commenced Bobby's shoes, " that your master, Billy, would n't contaminate me with so close a proximity to you, such an old pair of boots — what with the collection of slush across the instep, the odious smell of grease on the leather, and the intimation of a hole near the heel, I do not consider you fit to associate with such a fine pair of shoes as I am." “Hullo, shoes,” creaked Billy's boots, "you 're putting op airs, you are, but no wonder you think yourself so 'spectable and look so shining, when you have nothing to do, but to stay at home all day, and toast yourself before the fire.” “ Why, what's the use of going out ? I only should get myself as muddy as you are, and have to get your master to polish me.” My master polish you, does he? then you owe your brightness to him. I should think as you belong to Bobby he could polish you, him- self." “ Bobby polish me! why he is n't strong enough, he'd faint away under the exercise." Billy's Boots and Bobby's Shoes. 131 66 16 “I'm sorry he's so delicate, poor boy, how he's lost his appetite, he only ate some chicken, four or five potatoes, half a dozen biscuits, and half a mince pie for supper. Suppose Bobby was to take me to walk, what is there to see?” • See! a great deal, much more than you think for, and there's work enough to do besides." " Work! I never could bear work; Bobby's mother is always scold- ing bim for not getting work, and saying that Billy ever finds enough to occupy him. I am sure Bobby tries hard enough.” "Pray tell me bow hard he tries ?” Oh, that would be too fatiguing." Well, give me his experience of one day's trial.” "In the first place, he got up this morning, resolving to get a situa- tion, after he had eaten bis breakfast, which despatched, he took up a paper, and after reading all the most important news, he turned to the advertisements; finding one that he thought would suit him, he said he would certainly call in the afternoon, as he had a book he was anxious to finish which took him until nearly dinner-time, and then he went to do his usual work.” Oh, he does work then sometimes." “ Indeed he does, and it consists of brushing his clothes, and arrang- ing his hair; this tired him so much that he was glad enough to eat his dinner, and take a slight rest upon the lounge after it, where he dozed until about four o'clock, at which time he got up and sauntered leis- urely down to the proprietor of the store, who had issued the advertise- ment, but found it had been taken. The advertiser instead of commis- erating with the poor boy for his disappointment, rudely remarked some- thing about an early bird that catches the worms” – worms ! the very name of them causes my leather to creep, for I trod upon one the day before yesterday, and its body yet rests heavily on my sole. Poor Bobby, discouraged at bis ill luck, returned home fairly worn out, spend- ing the remainder of the day and evening in moaning over his ill luck.” * You have told me how Bobby did not get a situation, I will tell you how Billy did obtain one ; early this morning, as soon as the clock struck five, up jumped Billy, and after making a hasty though a neat toilet, placed me on his feet; made a fire in the range, brought in a lot of water and put it into the boiler, he then set the breakfast table, and called bis mother to superintend the getting of it, when he took his bat and walked down town in search of the situation which Bobby was so anxious (?) to secure. It was only seven o'clock, the wind cold and bit- ter, the shutters of the store still up, and the proprietor nowhere in 132 The Student and Schoolmate. 66 sight. Billy after waiting about a quarter of an hour, gladly hailed the arrival of the storekeeper who confessed himself late that morning. “Well, young man, what can I do for you this morning ?” pleasantly asked the storekeeper. “I have come to answer the advertisement I saw in the Herald this morning,” replied Billy. ** Well, you've wasted no time about it, I perceive." “ I know sir, business men like to commence their work early, so I called ; another reason sir, was, because I wished to be the first appli- cant, but if I have intruded too early upon you, I will call again." “ By no means, I think that you must be the boy I want. You know the value of time, I perceive, and appreciate the worth of it; the last boy I had was one of those shiftless lads who like to be the last to come, and the first to leave. That don't pay, my boy.”. “ I should think not, sir.” “I am willing to take you on trial, and if you serve me faithfully, you will ever find me your friend. When I am in the wrong I am willing to acknowledge it. I do not find fault with a boy without a cause. When I like a lad I treat him well, and am not continually scolding him until the poor boy wonders if he is all faults, and no virtues.” I am obliged to you, sir, and your trust shall not be misplaced.” “ That's right, my lad, when can you come ?” “Now, if you would like, for there is nothing to hinder.” “So, you perceive, Billy got his situation by trying hard for it, and all this while Bobby was taking his ease' in bed.” “Well, he tried to get the place.” “ Yes, after fifty other unsuccessful applicants.” “I am getting sleepy.” “ You mean you are getting the worst of the argument.” “ If you have anything more to say I'll endeavor to keep awake.” “Only a little, and that little I trust you will profit by; you look shiney, and your master looks spruce, but neither of you amount to much." “ You are complimentary.” “No, I am sincere. I am well aware that Bobby is not as strong as Billy, but then he is as capable of doing some kind of work; for instance, he might ease his mother a great deal by doing many a little deed for her, such as bringing in a pail of water, or keeping the wood-box always full, in these trifles he would make her less.tired, and feel happier him- self.” " His mother never asks him to do those things, or if she does, he is always willing to do them.” 1 Billy's Boots and Bobby's Shoes. 133 “He should n't wait to be asked, he should anticipate her wants; be- sides, a person does not always like to be asking others to do a thing – it is often as easy to do it as to ask another to do it for you. Bobby's willingness stands thus : his mother will remind him that the fire is low, while he will reply that he will get some chips as soon as he finishes a certain chapter, but while he is reading it, the fire would go out unless his mother went herself for the chips. The fact is, Bobby is forever going to do a thing, but it is never done.” " It appears to me you're giving my master rather a bad character. Now there is one great virtue he is possessed of.” " And that is "He is the soul of generosity." “ If you are not too tired, perhaps you will be willing to give me an example of it." "With the greatest of pleasure. When he was out, to-day, he met a poor little bare-foot boy, who was crying with the cold, and Bobby, in the kindness of his great heart, intended to relieve him, and would have done so, only “Only what?” "Well, you see, his pocket-book was in the inside pocket of his coat, and as he was obliged to take off his glove and unbutton his coat, he felt that the air was too bitter for him to do so, so he told the boy he would remember him on the first warm day.” " If he felt the cold so keenly, what must the poor boy have suffered ? ' "Well, Bobby will keep his word of paying him the first warm day.” “If every one were to say the same thing, the poor lad would freeze before the warm day came round. Now, my brave Billy met this same lad, and took off the mittens of bis own to gave them to the boy, besides buying him some food, which he carried to the child's house. There he learned of the destitution of the family, spoke to his mother about it, and she went herself, carrying food and clothing to them.” “ What a vast amount Billy accomplishes." “ Bobby could do the same if he had a mind to; the ability is not lacking, it is the will that is wanting.” " Truly you've given me quite a sermon." Such was not my intention, I only wanted to show you that the dirt and slush on me, so disagreeable to you, were procured by work of which no person should be ashamed of.” “ Ah me! I feel a chill from that window, Bobby said he meant to put a piece of list on it before he went to bed, but I presume he felt too tired. There, the clock is striking twelve, the fire has gone out, the 134 The Student and Schoolmate. shovel and poker are fast asleep, the coal-scuttle is fairly snoring, and the tongs keeps winking his eye, showing us that it's time for us to get asleep. Yaw, good-night, Boots." “Good-night, Shoes." This conversation took place about a week ago ; very little difference has occurred since then. Billy is away at work all day, while Bobby sits continually before the fire, and his shoes have become so conceited, that shovel, poker, and I have resolved to cut their acquaintance; the coal- scuttle never was on good terms with them, while the poor fender is obliged to bear them still. If some fairy were to come down the chim- ney and change me into a mortal (which I trust will never happen) I had far rather walk in Billy's boots than sit in Bobby's shoes, and I know all my boy readers will coincide with my opinion, although I am only a pair of tongs. If ever you meet Billy's boots you will know them by the sign of work upon them. Should you ever encounter Bobby's shoes in the street — but I don't think you ever will, for they rarely move outside the house, so it is of no use to tell you what they look like. WWW Dick Brown's Declamation. 135 DICK BROWN'S DECLAMATION. ICK BROWN was the son of wealthy parents, but a very dull cholar? He was lange leo , and could be rote hielenim do d! en ty study. In consequence of his indolence and want of taste for books, he had almost reached the stature of man to find himself far outstripped in school attainments by many boys who learned their alphabets long after Dick did. One day he awoke to a realizing sense that he was a great dunce, and a feeling of shame began to creep over him ; but instead of striving to overtake his more advanced mates by renewed diligence, he blamed the country schools which he had always attended, and begged his parents that he might be allowed to enter the academy in a neighboring town. After a short deliberation, they consented. His father accordingly went to town, made arrangements for Dick's attendance at the academy, and pro- cured him a boarding-place at a first class house. In a few days our bero took up his quarters in town, and entered upon his studies at the " Washington Academy,” as we will call it. Dick soon gave out the impression that he was the scion of one of the first families in the county ; but, unfortunately for him, there were some ten or twelve gay young mechanics among the boarders, who were not long in taking the measure of Dick's mental capacities, and, notwith- standing his aristocratic assumptions, made him the butt of many a prac- tical joke. He was more successful, however, in winning the respect of his fellows. As he always had a liberal allowance of spending money, with which he was able to make frequent donations of fruits and nuts, his classmates, although they secretly declared him to be a " dull team," considered it policy to treat him as a “good fellow.” But Dick did make tolerable progress in his studies at the Academy. Surrounded by a new atmosphere, and armed with a determination to do something, his proficiency was marked. Towards the close of the term, he was invited by the teachers to take part in the approaching exhibi- tion. This invitation he at once accepted, and was accordingly directed to learn some declamatory piece for recitation on that occasion. As he was one of the larger scholars, his teachers, out of respect doubtless to his age as well as social position, did not subject him to a rehearsel as was the general custom, supposing that he would come to the platform rith an appropriate selection, properly prepared. In this, however, they were mistaken. The day of the exhibition came. A large number of the citizens had 136 The Student and Schoolmate. been invited, and every nook and corner was filled with visitors. Towards the middle of the exercises, the Principal, reading from the programme, announced : “ A DECLAMATION, BY RICHARD BROWN." Dick advanced to the platform with a proper air, for he was easy in his manners, and not in the least bashful ; but, alas, bis declamation proved to be only a piece of simple poetry, adapted to a child of ten or twelve years, which he commenced reciting in that peculiar sing-song tone so common with ill-trained readers. A half-suppressed titter ran from scholar to scholar, in which the teachers -- notwithstanding their dignity, - and the visitors - notwithstanding their politeness, could not help joining. The picture - a tall young man reciting a piece so child- ish in its character - was so ridiculous, that it was impossible for the listeners wholly to restrain their mirth. But Dick imagined that he had made a favorable sensation, a conceit that was taken out of him soon afterwards, however. With a very self-complacent air, our hero that evening approached the supper-table. The boarders were all seated ; and each greeted bim with a broad grin, as though some mischief was on foot; but Dick in- terpreted this movement as a manifestation of admiration over his suc- cess. By the time he had taken his seat, Joe Covell, a consummate wag, arose, and recited the following, mimicing Dick’s tone: “THE CHILD'S INQUIRY." “How big was Alexander, pa ?” The people call him great ; Was he like old Goliath tall, His spear an hundred weight ?' It was the initial stanza of our hero's declamation. Dick was indignant at first ; but he had the good sense finally to take the joke and profit by it. He pursued his studies with renewed vigor during the next term, and eventually became a good scholar. Though he has since recited numerous declamatory selections with commenda- ble success, he delights often to repeat the following to himself: “Honor and shame from no condition rise ; Act well your part — there all the honor lies.” 7. N. Thomas. 97 Declamation. 137 DECLAMATION. [See Diagram in January No.] PATRICK'S GOOD-BYE. SWA SWATE 'Ireland, me sjewel, how oft have I wandered To where thy swate self was the light of me eye: How oft on thy 'bogs and thy bulrushes 2 pondered ; O Ireland! swate IRELAND! DARE IRELAND! - good-bye. I drame of thy 'shamrocks so swately in blooming; Thy 'praties, thy 'turnips, and 'buttermilk too ; Thy beautiful 'cabins so bright in the 'gloaming, And 'Bridget, my darlint, so comely and true. I sigh when I think of the pig that was slaping Right up in the 'corner aside of the ?hearth ; And laid him so still when poor Bridget was swaping, So clane and so nate as no cratur on arth. The hin that was roosting high up on the 18dresser, The old speckled 'goose that was gobbling below, The pancakes that Bridget herself was a-mixing, And all the dare Schildren that slept in a 'row. My stomach — it pains me when I think of the Scabbage ; And the banes that were growing, aside of the door ; And the abafe and the ?mutton that hung in the alarder Where Bridget had trodden the clay to a floor. Nor do I forget the swate cur that was barkin’ At every intruder that passed by the 'way; Och! now in my heart I can't help remarkin' The dog that was christened one morning as « TRAY!” And niver again shall I forget the 'shillelah, That Patrick had stuck in the chimney to dry : The bark - it was paled off so nice and so square ; Swate cudgel — DARE CUDGEL SHILLELAH, 'good-bye. The fish that was cooking on Friday for dinner, The bottle of 'beer that was brewed in the fall ; The 'hin, and the 'dog, and the 'pig in the corner ; And 'BRIDGET, the dare, swatest cratur of all ! 138 The Student and Schoolmate. DIALOGUE. "HONOR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER.” CHARACTERS — FRANK AND HARRY. Frank. Well Harry Locke, where are you going in such a hurry? Harry. I have got an errand to do at the grain store. Frank. Who for? The Governor ? Harry. No sir. Did you think I was in Governor Bullock's em- ploy? Frank. What a fellow you are! I meant Jedediah. Harry. Jedediah who? Frank. Locke, of course, your old man : Did he send you ? Seems to me that you are obtuse this morning. Harry. And I hope I shall continue to be obtuse, Frank Jenkins, if it prevents my being disrespectful to my father. Frank. Pho! where's the harm? I always call my dad, “old man.” Harry. And your mother, “old woman.” Frank. Yes. Sometimes I call her Dorothy Jane. Harry. I'm sorry, Frank, that you have got into this habit, it's a very foolish, if not a very wicked one. Frank. How do you make that out ? Harry. Well, in the first place, what do your father and mother say when you speak of them so ? Frank. Oh! I don't call them so when they are around. Harry. Why not? Frank. Because it would make 'em mad. Harry. That shows that you think they would not approve of it, so you feel that it is wrong to speak so; am I not right, Frank? Frank. I don't see why they should care. Harry. How old is your father, Frank? Frank. Thirty-eight. Harry. And your mother about the same, I suppose. Then you see it is not true to call them “old man ” and “old woman,” but the chief objection is that it is disrespectful and unkind. Frank. You said that it was wicked. Harry. So I did, and I will tell you why. The Bible tells us to " Honor our father and mother ;” it is one of the Ten Commandments, and you know as well as I tha it not honoring them when we give them nicknames, or treat them as we do playmates of our own age. Dialogue. 139 It is a thoughtless habit, Frank, and half the boys that use it, do not stop to think how unkind it is to those who love them best; they learn it from rowdy and vulgar boys, as they learn other silly slang. Frank. I suppose you are right, Harry; the fact is, I never thought anything about it, but now you remind me that I did learn it first of Sam Maxwell, and he is n't much of a fellow. It is mean to speak dis- respectfully of a good father and mother and I am glad you said what you have, Harry; you're a sensible fellow, and I'll go along with you to the grain store. Harry. Thank you, Frank, I am very glad you think I'm right : some boys would have laughed at me and called me a parson something of that sort, but I am sure you will be glad that you left off the low habit. Exeunt. or PARCE TANGLED who THREADS suu до I Our Book Table. Presents a formidable appearance, the usual notices having been crowded out of the last issue. We commence with: CLAUDIA. By Amanda M. Douglass. Lee & Shepard, publishers, which to the adult reader proves an interesting tale, developing peculiar elements of strength ES, we reply to the many in- in the three principal characters. quiries, “ Ragged Dick” is to SEVEN YEARS OF A SAILOR'S LIFE be published in book form. By George Edward Clarke. Adams & The story has been carefully Co. , publishers. This finely illustrated re-written and enlarged by Mr. Alger, book will prove very interesting to those new and beautiful illustrations are in who would know something of a sea- preparation, and it is our expectation to man's experiences, especially of one who announce the publication of the volume had “early longings for the sea,” and in the April number of the SCHOOL- for seven years pursued the trackless MATE, when we shall be ready to answer path. orders. We are glad that Mr. Alger's GOLDEN Truths, which the compiler engagements permit him thus to gratify introduces in this language : “May these an increasing demand to possess this in- words fitly spoken strengthen the Inner teresting story, in a permanent and at. Life of the Soul,” interpreting thus the tractive form. Probably no magazine design of a finely printed volume pub- story has ever excited so much attention lished by Lee & Shepard. as this, not only among the juveniles, SEEK AND Find, or the Adventures but by its naturalness and vigor it has of a Smart Boy. By Oliver Optic, being equally interested their parents and adult friends. It cannot fail to place stories, which has provoked much criti- a republication of one of his magazine Mr. Alger at the head of successful wri. cism. ters for the young, and the book will un- Tommy HICKUP, or a pair of Black doubtedly have a large sale. It will be Eyes. The third volume of the “ Rosa sent postage pre-paid, on receipt of re- Abbott Stories," has all the author's pe- tail price, $1.25. culiar style, and will be welcomed by We present in this number a shorter those who have enjoyed the two volumes dialogue than we have usually done, and which preceded it. also a declamation in rhyme - both in Billy Grimes' FAVORITE, or Johnny accordance with suggestions made by Greenleaf's Talent. The second vol. valued subscribers. All suggestions we ume of the “ Helping Hand Series,” gladly receive, and adopt them if practi- would have pleased us better but for the cable. unjust words applied to church commit- Tangled Threads. 141 once. tees. The author should not have al- , tude of their business, of which we have lowed her personal disappointments to evidence in the receipt of — enter into a book designed for juvenile Governor Andrew's Funeral March. readers, and we hope that she will avoid Prayer from Der Freyschutz. this in ſuture, as she certainly has talent. Fairy Footsteps.. Waltz No. 1, of DOTTY DIMPLE AT HER GRAND- Crystal Gem Series. MOTHER'S. To say that this is from the Snow Flake Polka. Waltz No. 2, ot pen of Sophie May is sufficient praise. Crystal Gem Series. Do you know “ Little Prudy”? Then Romping Galop. No. 4; of Crystal by all means get “Dotty Dimple" at Gem Series, Lotta Polka, by Mrs. E. A. Parkhurst. These four volumes are from the ac- Damen Galop, by Albert Parklow. tive press of Lee & Shepard, and had The Robin's Song, by George B. Allen. Mr. Baker not forgotten us, we should Gather Flowers in the Summer Time. have had another juvenile, one on which Song. we centre great hopes, to notice. Still, Gentle Amy Lee. Song and chorus. Nellie and Grace. we will not forget that the same firm ng and chorus. send us very beautiful little books. When Toils have Ceased, for contralo or baratone. THE OLD MAN'S PRAYER. A Poem, Rest, Darling, Rest. Lullaby, E. by George M. Baker. Illustrated by Clarke Illsley. Hammett Billings, which has already She Woke that Morn in Heaven. done good service in the cause of tem- Pickwick Galop. perance by recitation before Lyceums, The Bird's Nest. Song. and is now, in obedience to "frequent When Leaves are Falling Round. requests,” presented to the public in Bow down Thine Ear, O Lord ! most attractive form, and should be cor THE CABINET ORGAN. - Mason & dially welcomed by all who hope well Hamlin's reputation, as the inventors for their sons. and builders of that universal instrument, FAIRY BELLS, and What they Tolled the Cabinet Organ, has extended to the Us, is a well printed and beautifully il- farthest bounds of civilization. We lustrated volume of translations from the know of no better illustration of what German. By S. W. Lander. Published genius and indefatigable energy can by H. B. Fuller. bring to pass than this same Cabinet HYMNS FOR YOUNG CHILDREN. Pub-Organ, which has become the formida- lished by Wm. V. Spencer, is a neat little ble rival of the piano-forte in the draw- volume, which every mother will gladly ing-room, and of the pipe organ in the place in the hands of her church and chapel. Being apparently wee ones." determined that not a family in the land Our High School readers will be glad shall have an excuse for being without to know that Eldridge & Brother, Phila an instrument so promotive of social en. delphia, have issued in a neat volume joyment and domestic harmony, Mason “The Æneid of Virgil,” with explana- & Hamlin have got up a new series, tory notes. By Thomas A. Chase, A.M. called the “ Portable Organ,” with the and designed for the use of students in same interior work, but with a smaller Latin. and plainer case, the first style of which No one can visit the musical establish- is afforded at the unprecedented low ment of Messrs. Oliver Ditson & Co., price of seventy-five dollars.- Newbury. without being impressed by the magni- port Herald. 142 The Student and Schoolmate. Bound Volumes. Or, by me borne As announced in our February No., no Spend for thy pleasure (urther exchange for numbers of the past Thy leisure hour. year will be made. Hereafter the book will be for sale at $2.00, and on receipt O, second, mine! of this amount the volume will be sent So perfect, yet has faults, Thou art the greatest to any address, postpaid. And yet thou 'rt small; Answers - A master over much, 12. Illustrated Rebus. We can't re A servant that is all. store past time, or bring back its lost op- portunities. W-e-can-tree-store-pass-T- My third when by time-orb-ring-back-I-tea-S-laws-top o'er My second's manned, Can brave the storm tune-eye-ties. And reach the land. 13. A Good Education. 14. In-come. My whole 's an art 15. Ida-ho. Much loved by youth, 16. Can-ada. When well 't is learned 17. Virgin-i-a. 'Tis fine in truth. H. S. 18. Man-hat-tan. 19. Connect-i-cut. 30. Geographical Rebus. 20. Pay as you go. 21. 24 and 48. 22. 3, 6, 18. 23. Echinus, or Sea Urchins. 24. Excelsior. 25. Ragged Dick. 26. Fame and Fortune. 31. Arithmorem. 27. Church. 100 and “be” a universal invalua. 28. Prize Problem-13, Amos. 3, An- ble instrument. drew. 506, two naughts and "e". - a city. 25 and 26 should have been credited 500 and “a show". darkness. to Uncle Ossian. 1001 and “te” – past, present and future. R. W. Cutter has received “Frank's 51 and 1 naught -a common and Campaign” for the first correct solution necessary article. of the Prize Problem. Several other 1050 and “Nora" answers were but little behind, and we pertaining to teachers. are glad to see this interest in the mat- ter. This prize is designed to stimulate finals spell two important cities in the Arranged in order, my initials and our young readers to make unaided ef- same State. UNCLE OSSIAN. fort to solve the several problems, and the decision is made with reference to Reversions. the claims of each and all. 32. Reverse a constellation and it be- comes small animals. 29. Charade. 33. Reverse a stair and it becomes Come mount my first favorites. And with arrow's speed, 34. Reverse a number and it becomes The vast plain scour ; an article used in fishing. ROB ROY. AND 97 Tangled Threads. 143 My 10, 35. Cross Word Enigma. My 27, 8, 18, 3, 13, 22 is a town in My first is in Wind, but not in Rain. Cumberland county, Maine. My second is in Portugal, but not in My 6, 22, 9, 19, 23 is a town in Somer. Spain. set county, Maine. My third is in Bud, but not in Flower. My whole is the name and residence My fourth is in Church, but not in of a contributor to this Magazine. Tower. RUTHVEN. My fifth is in Rain, but not in Snow. 43. Enigma. My sixth is in Gun, but not in Bow. It is composed of 17 letters. My whole is a town near Boston. My 7, 15, 9, 13 is an article of apparel. BULL TOAD. My I, II, 12, 3 is knowledge. Inverted Pyramids. 6, 2, 14 is to call. 36. Take the initial and final letters My 16, 6, 4, 5, is an incision. from expressions of mourning and leave My 17, 10, 8 is a pronoun. a botanical term; from this and leave My whole is very true. human beings; from this and leave a ARTIE CRAYTON vowel. 37. Take from an adverb and leave a 44. Enigma. preposition ; from this and leave an in- It is compose of 19 letters. terjection. My 1, 2, 5, 10, 9, 8, 7 is a flower. 38. Take from to adjudge and leave My 6, 16, 12, 14, 4 is vigor. an outbreak of hostility ; from this and My 17, 15, 13, 3 is a piece of poetry. leave an article. My 11, 19, 18 is fossil metal. 39. Take from a boy's name and leave My whole is the name of an American the past tense of to proceed quickly ; writer. ROB ROY. from this and leave a vowel. RICHDORE. 45. Enigma. 40. Charade. I am composed of 11 letters. My first belongs to Catholic worship. My 3, 4, 7 is a bad condition for the My second was once a fashion for feet. men. My 8, 6, 7 is a domestic animal. My third is in every house, on board My 3, 9, 10, 5 is not a tory. all vessels, and in books is seldom ab- My 2, 1 is an adverb. sent. My 3, 4 is a pronoun. My whole is a property of nouns. My 9, 11 is never applied to a female. 41. My first expresses care. My whole is a river in the United States. My second is never more. LILLIAN B. My whole is the reverse of my first. M. A. A. Prize Problem. No. 3. 42. Enigma. 46. A gentleman wishing to purchase a I am composed of 27 letters. piece of land in the form of a trapezium, My 1, 25, 2, 24, 11, 4, 13, 21, 22, 16 is in the centre of which is a lake in the á town in Franklin county, Maine. shape of an ellipse, agrees with the My 9, 15, 24, II, 17, 13, 21, 19, 7 is a owner to pay him 50 cents per square town in York county, Maine. foot for the land, and 20 cents per square My 14, 2, 25, 16, 5, 10, 15, 23 is a town foot for the lake. The measurements in Hancock county, Maine. were taken, and it was found that the My 26, 8, 25, 2, 20, 24, 19, 12, 21 is a distance from the S. E. to the N. W. town in Waldo county, Maine. corner across the surface of the lake was 144 The Student and Schoolmate. G. W. EVELETH. en. - 75 feet. A line stretched from the N. E. | SCHOOLMATES among the supporters of corner perpendicular to the above diago. the magazine ; and to them particularly nal measured 68 feet, and a line stretch- I direct my inquiry. I think an occasion. ed in the same manner to the diagonal al article, upon the use of words would from the S. W. corner, 69 feet. The come quite appropriately into THE greatest distance across the lake was SCHOOLMATE's table of contents. 42.5 feet, and the shortest 35 feet. The cost is required. To Correspondents. We see no objection to introducing Frankie S. Burt, you neglected to give the following questions to our readers : your Post Office address. Shall be hap- The Latin prefix In-versus the French py to comply with your request. What say the patrons of THE G. W. Eveleth, your reasoning is not SCHOOLMATE which do they think correct - the prizes are designed for "Good English ” requires to be used ; our young readers who send a solution for example, which words will they adopt the result of their own unaided efforts. from among the following: George W. Fisk — try again, these are Indorse - Endorse ; not quite up to the mark. Inclose - Enclose; Incorporate — Encorporate ; Incase - Encase ; Inclasp - Enclasp; Ghe Evening Circle. Imbitter - Embitter; Hunt the Thorn. Imbosom - Embosom ; The party seat themselves in a circle with others belonging to the same class ? around the one appointed hunter. He It will be nd, upon tracing the his hands one of them a small rod, which tory of the English language, that, al. for convenience we will call a thorn, and though a great number of words .were immediately blinds his eyes. The re- added from the French, the French im-ceiver of the thorn, while the hunter re. portation ceased after a time, and the mains blinded, gives it to one of his play, additions thenceforward were more from mates, and announces that it is hid. the Latin. Professor Hadley says : The hunter then unblinds his cyes, “ While the importation of French and asks one of them if he has the thorn. words ceased to be an active and prom- If he does not have it he is out, and the inent agency in the growth of the lan- hunter asks it from another, and so on guage, it has been otherwise with the till he comes to the right one, who takes tendency to borrow from the Latin. This his place. Should it happen, at any became even stronger with the increas- time, that four persons are declared out ing attention to classical studies.” The before the thorn is found, they demand fondness for Latin phraseology is noticed a forfeit of the hunter. with censure by Thomas Wilson and by The forfeit consists in the hunter's Sir Thomas Brown, among others. being crowned with a conical paper hat, Now, taking into account the fact which he shall wear until the right per: above stated, and remembering that the son is guessed. This should be taken practice of adding words from the Latin pleasantly, as all other jokes should be ; is still carried on with activity, should and in this game no ill-will between the or should not the preference be given to players should exist. There are teachers, as well as RICHDORE STUDENT AND SCUDOLMAYTE An Illustrated Monthly, FOR OUR BOYS AND GIRLS. Vol. XXI. APRIL, 1868. No. IV. FAME AND FORTUNE, OR THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD HUNTER. CHAPTER V. DICK RECEIVES TWO VALUABLE PRESENTS. T the end of the last chapter we left Dick standing on the steps of Mr. Rockwell's residence in Madison Avenue. He had rung the bell and was waiting to have his summons answered. To say that Dick ex- pected to enjoy his visit, would not be strictly true. He knew very well that his street education had not qualified him to appear to advantage in fashionable society, and he wished that Fosdick were with him to lend him countenance. While under the influence of these feelings the door was thrown open, and a servant looked at him inquiringly “Is Mr. Rockwell at home?” asked Dick. “Yes. Would you like to see him ? ”. “ He asked me to call this evening.” “What! Are you the boy that saved Master Johnny from drowning ?” asked the servant, her face brightening up, for Johnny was a great favorite in the house. "I jumped into the water after him," said Dick, modestly. Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1868, by JOSEPH H. ALLEN, in the clork's otice of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 146 The Student and Schoolmate. “I heard Mr. Rockwell say he was expecting you to-night. Come right in. Mistress is very anxious to see you. Placed a little at his ease by this cordial reception, Dick followed the servant up stairs to a pleasant sitting-room on the second floor. Mr. and Mrs. Rockwell were seated at a centre table reading the evening papers, while Johnny and his sister Grace were constructing a Tower of Babel with some blocks upon the carpet before the fire. Dick entered, and stood just within the door, with his cap in his hand, feeling a little embarrassed. "I am glad to see you, Richard," said Mr. Rockwell, rising from his seat, and advancing to our hero with a pleasant smile. “Mrs. Rockwell ' has been anxious to see you. My dear, this is the brave boy who saved our little Johnny." Mrs. Rockwell, a tall, graceful lady, with a smile that quite captivated Dick, offered her hand, and said earnestly, “ My brave boy, I have been wishing to see you. I shudder to think that but for your prompt cour- age I should now be mourning the loss of my dear little Johnny. AC- cept a mother's thanks for a favor so great that she can never hope to repay it.” Now this acknowledgment was very pleasant to Dick, but it was also very embarrassing. It is difficult to receive praise gracefully. So our hero, not knowing what else to say, stammered out that she was very welcome. “I understand that you have entered my husband's employment," said Mrs. Rockwell. “ Yes," said Dick. “He was kind enough to take me.” “ I hope to make a man of business of our young friend,” said Mr. Rockwell. “ He will soon feel at home in his new position, and I hope we may find the connection mutually satisfactory." "Have you a pleasant boarding-place ?” asked Mrs. Rockwell. Tip-top,” said Dick. “I mean pretty good,” he added, in a little confusion. “ Where is it?” “ In Bleecker Street,” said Dick, yery glad that he was not obliged to say Mott Street. " That is quite a good location,” said Mr. Rockwell. spend your evenings, Richard ? ” “ In studying with a friend of mine,” said Dick. “ I want to know something by the time I grow up.” · That is an excellent resolution,” said his employer, with warm ap- proval. “I wish more boys of your age were equally sensible. You 6 How do you Fame and Fortune. 147 He was may depend upon it, that a good education is the best preparation for an honorable and useful manhood. What is your friend's name?” “ Henry Fosdick. He rooms with me.” “ I am glad you have a friend who shares your tastes. But perhaps you would like to renew your acquaintance with the young gentleman to whom you have rendered so great a service. Johnny has been al- lowed to stay up beyond his usual bed-time, because you were coming Johnny, come here." Johnny rose from his blocks, and came to his mother's side. a pleasant looking little fellow, with a pair of bright eyes, and round plump cheeks. He looked shyly at Dick. “ Did you ever see this young man ?” asked his mother. “ Yes," said Johnny. “ When was it?” “ When I was in the river,” said Johnny. “ He pulled me out." " Are you glad to see him ?” “ Yes,” said Johnny. “ What is his name ? Dick,” said, our hero, who somehow could not help feeling, when called Richard, that some other boy was meant. " Won't you come and help me build a house ?” asked little Johnny. Dick accepted the invitation with pleasure, feeling more at home with children than with older persons. “ This is sister Grace,” said Johnny, with an off hand introduction. “I saw you on the boat,” said Dick. “Yes," said Grace, “I was there. O, how frightened I was when Johnny fell into the water. I don't see how you dared to jump in after him." "O, I've been in swimming many a time. I don't mind it,” said Dick. "I s'pose you 're used to it, like the fishes,” said Johnny. "I'm glad I'm not a fish. I should n't like to live in the water." "I don't think I should, either,” said Dick. “ What do you think the fisbes do when it rains ?” "I do not know.” “They go down to the bottom of the sea to get out of the wet.” " Is n't it wet down at the bottom of the sea ?” asked Johnny, in good faith. "Of course it is, you little goose,” said Grace, with an air of superior wisdom. Will you make me a house ? ” said Johnny. * What kind of a house do you want? said Dick, seating himself on the carpet, and taking up the blocks. 64 148 The Student and Schoolmate. “ Any kind,” said Johnny. Dick, beginning to feel quite at home with the children, erected an imposing looking house, leaving little spaces for the doors and windows. “ That's better than the house Grace made,” said Johnny, looking at it with complacency. “ But it won't last very long," said Dick. “You'd better sell it before it tumbles over.” “ Do you own any houses ?” asked Johnny. “ Not many,” said Dick, smiling. “ My father owns this house,” said Johnny, positively. “He paid fifty dollars for it.” “ I did n't think houses were so cheap,” said Dick. “I'd like to buy one at that price.” “ You ’re a little goose, Johnny,” said Grace. “ He gave as much as five hundred dollars." “ Grace does n't know much more about the price of real estate than Johnny," said Mr. Rockwell. “ Did n't the house cost as much as five hundred dollars ? ” asked Grace. “ As much as that certainly, my dear.” Just then, by an unguarded movement of Johnny's foot, the edifice of blocks reared by Dick became a confused ruin. “I've got tired of building houses,” he announced. 6 Won't you tell me a story, Dick ? ” “I don't think I know any,” said our hero. "Here is a book of pictures," said his mother, bringing one from the table. Perhaps your new friend will show them to you.” Dick took the book, and felt very glad that he had learned to read. Otherwise he might have been considerably embarrassed. The children asked a great many questions of Dick about the pic- tures, some of which he could not answer. Johnny, on being shown the picture of a Turkish mosque, asked if that was the place where the tur- key's went to church. “ If there was any place for a goose to go to church, you'd go there," said his sister. “I aint a goose any more than you are,” said Johnny, indignantly. “ Am I, Dick ? " “ Just then the servant came in to carry the children to bed, and con- siderably against their wishes they were obliged to withdraw. “Come again, Dick," said Johnny. “ Thank you," said Dick. “ Good-night." 66 Fame and Fortune. 149 “Good-night,” said the two children, and the door closed upon them. "I think I'll be going,” said Dick, who did not feel quite so much at ease, now that his young friends had left him. " Wait a few minutes," said Mrs. Rockwell. She rang the bell, and a servant brought up some cake and apples, of which Dick was invited to partake. I need not detail the conversation, but Mrs. Rockwell, with the tact of a genuine lady, managed to draw out Dick, and put him quite at his ease. “How old are you, Richard ? ” she asked. “Fifteen,” said Dick, “ goin' on sixteen.” “You are getting to be quite a young man, old enough to wear a watch. Have "No," said Dick, not suspecting the motive that led to her question. you one ?” "Will you allow me the pleasure of supplying the deficiency ?" said! Mrs. Rockwell. As she spoke, she drew from a box at her side a very neat gold watch and chain, and placed it in Dick's hands. Our hero was so astonished at first that he could scarcely believe that this valuable present was intended for him. "Is it for me?” he asked, hesitatingly. 150 The Student and Schoolmate. “ Yes,” said Mrs. Rockwell, smiling pleasantly. “I hope you will find it of service.” “ It is too much,” said Dick. “I do not deserve it." “ You must let me to be the judge of that,” said the lady, kindly. * Here is the key, I nearly forgot to give it to you. I suppose you know how to wind it up.” “Yes,” said Dick, “I understand that. I am very much obliged to you." “You are very welcome. Whenever you look at it, let it remind you that under all circumstances you can rely upon the friendship of Johnny's parents." Dick slipped the watch into a watch-pocket in his vest, for which he had never before had any use, and attached the chain to his button- hole. How beautiful it is !” he said, in tones of admiration. " It was bought at Ball & Black’s,” said Mrs. Rockwell. “If it should not keep good time, or anything should happen to it, I advise you to take it there, and they will repair it for you.” Dick perceived by his new watch that it was nearly ten o'clock, and rose to go. He was kindly invited to renew his visit, and promised to Just as he was leaving the room, Mr. Rockwell handed a sealed envelope to Dick, saying, “ Put this in your pocket, Richard. It will be time enough to open it when you get home.” Dick sped home much more quickly than he had come. He thought with delight of Fosdick's surprise when he should see the new watch and chain, and also with pardonable exultation of the sensation he would produce at the table when he carelessly drew out his watch to see what time it was. When he reached his boarding-house, and went up stairs, he found Fosdick sitting up for him. “Well, Dick, what sort of a time did you have ?” he asked. “ Tip-top,” said Dick. “ Who did you see e ?” “Mr. and Mrs. Rockwell, and two children, Johnny, the one I fished out of the water, and his sister Grace. Johnny 's a jolly little chap, and his sister is a nice girl.” “Halloa, what's that?" asked Fosdick, suddenly espying the watch- chain. “What do you think of my new watch ?” asked Dick, drawing it out. “ Do you mean to say it is yours?” Yes,” Mrs. Rockwell gave it to me.” do so. Fame and Fortune. 151 “ It 's a regular beauty. Mr. Henderson has got one that he paid a hundred dollars for, but it is n't as nice as yours.” " Seems to me I have no end of luck,” said Dick. “I'll be a young man of fortin' before I know it.” " People will think you are now, when they see you wear such a watch as that." Johnny Nolan 'd think I stole it, if he should see it,” said Dick. " Poor chap, I wish some luck would come to him. I saw him to-day lookin' just as I used to before I met Frank.” • There's some difference between then and now, Dick.” "Yes. I was a rough chap in them days." “In those days, Dick. " In those days, and I don't know but I am now, but I'm tryin' to improve. With you to help me, I think I 'll grow up respectable." I hope we both will, Dick, but what's that letter you 've just taken out of your pocket?” "0, I forgot. Mr. Rockwell handed it to me just before I came away, and told me not to open it till I got home. P'rhaps it says that he has n't no more occasion for my valuable services.” “ That is n't very likely, considering the present you have brought home. But open it, I am curious to see what there is in it.” The envelope was cut open, and a piece of paper dropped out. Fosdick picked it up, and to his inexpressible amazement ascertained that it was a cheque on the Park Bank for the sum of one thousand dol- lars, made payable to Richard Hunter, or order. “ A thousand dollars!” repeated Dick, overwhelmed with aston ish- ment, “ you're only foolin' me. P’rhaps its ten dollars.” “No, it's a thousand dollars. Read it yourself if you don't believe " I wish you'd pinch me, Fosdick,” said Dick seriously. " Certainly, if you wish it." “That's enough,” said Dick hastily. “I only wanted to make sure I was n't dreamin'! I can't believe I'm worth a thousand dollars." "You're a lucky fellow, Dick," said Fosdick, " and you deserve your luck. I'm heartily glad of it." “ About the best luck I ever had was in meeting you,” said Dick af fectionately. “I'm goin' to give you half the money." “ No, you 're not, Dick. Thank you all the same,” said Fosdick de- cidedly. “It was meant for you and you must keep it. I'll get along well enough. If I don't I know you 'll help me.” “ But I wish you 'd take balf the money." 152 The Student and Schoolmate. “ No, Dick, it would n't be right. But your new watch says it's getting late, and we had better go to bed.” It was some time before Dick fell asleep. His good luck had so ex- cited him that he found it difficult to calm down sufficiently to sink into a quiet slumber. CHAPTER V I. MR. GILBERT IS ASTONISHED. W! THEN Dick woke up in the morning the first thing he thought of was his watch, the next the cheque which he had received from Mr. Rockwell. “ I'll go to the Bank this morning, and get my money,” said he. “ How are you going to invest it, Dick ? ” asked Fosdick. “I don't know," said Dick. " I'll put it in the Savings Bank till I decide. That 'll make more 'n eleven hundred dollars. I did n't use to think I ever'd be worth that, when I slept in boxes and old wagons." “ Eleven hundred dollars at six per cent. interest will yield you sixty- six dollars a year.” “ So it will,” said Dick, “and all without working. I tell you what, Fosdick, at this rate I 'll soon be a man of fortune.” “Yes, if you can make a thousand dollars a day.” “I wonder what old Gilbert 'll say when he sees it,” said Dick. “ Who's he?” “ He's the book-keeper. He aint very fond of me.” “ What has he against you?” “ He thinks I don't treat him with proper respect,” said Dick. sides he tried to get his cousin Roswell Crawford in, but he could n't.” “ Then it seems both of us have interfered with Roswell.” “ He's got a place now. I guess he's the senior partner by the way he talks." The breakfast bell rang, and the boys went down to breakfast. Clif- ton was down already, and was standing in front of the stove. Being an observing young man he at once noticed Dick's watch-chain. “ Hallo, Hunter !” said he, “ I did n't know you had a watch." “I did n't know it myself till last night,” said Dick. Where did you get it ? ” “ It came from Ball & Blacks,” said our hero, willing to mystify him. “ That's a nice chain - solid gold, eh?” “ Do you think I'd wear anything else?” asked Dick, loftily. 6 Will you allow me to look at the watch ?”. 154 The Student and Schoolmate. “(, do let me look at it. I doat on watches,” said Miss Peyton. Certainly,” said Dick, and be detached the chain from his button- hole, and passed the watch across the table. " It's a perfect little love,” said Miss Peyton, enthusiastically Is n't it, Mrs. Browning?" “ It is very beautiful, certainly,” said the landlady. She could not help feeling surprised that Dick, who, it will be remembered had repre- sented himself at his first visit to be in limited circumstances, and now occupied one of her cheapest rooms, could afford to purchase an article which was evidently so costly. “ Where did you buy it, Mr. Hunter ?” asked another boarder. “I did not buy it at all,” said Dick, deciding to let it be known how it came into his possession. “ It was given to me." Perhaps you 'll mention my name to the person that gave it to you," said Mr. Clifton. “ If he's got any more to dispose of in that way, I should like to come in for one.” “ How do you know but it may have come from a lady friend, Mr. Clifton?” said Miss Peyton, slily. “ How is that, Hunter?” “I have n't had any presents from any of my lady friends yet," said Dick. “ Perhaps I may some time.” “ You don't mean any body in particular, of course, Mr. Hunter?” said Miss Peyton. “O no, of course not." This conversation may seem scarcely worth recording, but it will serve to illustrate the character of Dick's fellow boarders. Miss Pey- ton was rather silly and affected, but she was good natured, and Dick felt more at home with her than he would have done had she been a lady like Mrs. Rockwell, for instance. It got to be the custom with Dick and Fosdick to remain in the parlor a short time after supper, or rather dinner, for this was the third meal, and Fosdick joined the young lady in singing. Dick unfortunately had not been gifted by nature with a voice attuned to melody, and he participated only as a listener, in which capacity be enjoyed the entertainment. After breakfast Dick set out for the store as usual. He felt unusual. ly happy and independent as he walked along. The cheque in his pocket made him feel rich. He wondered how it would be best to invest his money, so as to yield him the largest return. He wisely decided to take Mr. Murdock, the head clerk, into his confidence, and ask his ad- vice upon this point. When Dick arrived at the store neither Mr. Gilbert nor Mr. Mur- Fame and Fortune. 155 dock had yet arrived. Half an hour later the latter came, and five minutes after him the book-keeper. The latter noticed that the morning paper appeared to have been dis- turbed, and glad of any opportunity to find fault with Dick, said angrily, “So you've been reading the paper instead of minding your work, have you? I'll report you to Mr. Rockwell.” “ Thank you,” said Dick, “ you ’re very kind. Are you sure I read the paper ? Is there any news missin' out of it?”. " You're an impudent boy,” said the book-keeper, provoked. He wanted to overawe Dick, but somehow Dick would n't be overawed. Evidently he did not entertain as much respect for the book-keeper, as that gentleman felt to be bis due. That a mere errand boy should bandy words with a gentleman in his position seemed to Mr. Gilbert highly reprehensible. “ You ’re an impudent boy !” repeated Gilbert sharply, finding Dick did not reply to his first charge. " I heard you make that remark before,” said Dick, quietly. Now there was nothing out of the way in Dick's tone, which was per- fectly respectful, and he only stated a fact, but the book-keeper became still more angry: " Who rumpled that paper ?” he asked. "Suppose you ask Mr. Murdock !” said Dick. “ Did he come in here?” asked Gilbert, cooling down, for it was against Dick that his charge was made, and not against the head clerk. As to the paper he really cared nothing. “ Yes,” said Dick. “ Then it's all right. I supposed you had been idleing your time over the paper. Go and ask Mr. Murdock what time it is. I left my watch at home." "It's half past eight,” said Dick, drawing out his watch. Up to this time the book-keeper had not noticed Dick's watch-chain. Now that his attention was drawn not only to that, but to the beautiful gold watch which Dick carried, he was not a little surprised. " Whose watch is that?” he asked abruptly. " Mine,” said Dick briefly, rather enjoying the book-keeper's surprise. " How did you come by it?” “ Honestly,” said Dick. “ Is it gold, or only plated ?" " It's gold.” “Humph! Did you buy it, or was it given you ? " "Well,” said Dick, “ I did n't buy it ? ” 156 The Student and Schoolmate. “ Did you say it was yours ?” Yes." Gilbert looked at Dick in surprise. Our hero was becoming more and more an enigma to him. That a boy in Dick’s position should have a gold watch given him, especially now that he had learned from his cousin Roswell the nature of Dick's former employment, seemed indeed wonderful. “ Let me look at your watch a minute,” he said. Dick handed it to him. “ It seems to be a very good one,” he said. “ Yes,” said Dick, “ I aint proud. It's as good as I want to wear." " It looks entirely out of place on such a boy as you,” said the book- keeper sharply. " Perhaps it would look better on you,” suggested our hero, innocently. “Yes, it would be more appropriate for me to wear than you. You're not old enough to be trusted with a watch ; least of all with such a good one as that." “ Perhaps you'd be kind enough to mention it to the one that gave it to me." “Whoever gave it to you did n't show much judgment,” said Gilbert, in the same pleasant way. " Who was it?" “ It was Mrs. Rockwell." “ If a bombshell had exploded in the office it could hardly have taken Gilbert more by surprise. " Who did you say?” he repeated, thinking his ears might have de- ceived him. “ Mrs. Rockwell,” said Dick once more. The book-keeper could hardly suppress a low whistle. 6 When did she give it to you?” “ Last evening." “Were you up there?” ti Yes.” “ Did Mr. Rockwell invite you?” “ Yes." Just then Dick was called away by Mr. Murdock who had some work for him to do. “There's something mighty queer in all this," thought the book- keeper. What Mr. Rockwell can see in that boy I don't understand. He's an impudent young rascal, and I 'll get him turned off if it's a pos- sible thing." Horatio Algur, fr. Leaves. 157 LEAVES. A TRUE leaf seems to belong more exclusively to flowering plants, which are of a higher organization than mosses, seaweeds and fungi, and they are with the exception of some parasites, all provided with them at some period in their existence, either before or after blossom time. A leaf is complex, and consists of several parts ; first the skeleton or frame-work, which is to the whole leaf what the bones are to the body, and upon which the other structures are built, the cellular tissue, which is the soft green part, or flesh, and the cuticle, which is the skin which covers the whole. The skeletons of the leaves which determine their form are of end- less variety and beauty, a beauty which often escapes us while looking at the color and polish of the glossy green. But of late years the pre- paring of groups of skeleton leaves, by a process which separates the cellular tissue and the cuticle from the frame-work, first revealed to many eyes who saw those bleached fibres, the ghosts of their former selves, the wonderful beauty of the veins of many common leaves, which they had looked at all their lives withont perceiving. Some of them are as delicate and brittle as spun glass, and can only be handled with the great- est care, while others are as coarse and strong as tough strings, as al- most every child knows that has played with old plaintain leaves, and amused himself by drawing out the veins without breaking them. Some branch off from a common centre like feathers, some lie in long lines like the grasses, others in lines approaching to a point at the end, like those in lance shaped leaves, some diverge from a central point and make a round or shield, like the nasturtion ; some are shaped like a heart, an arrow, or like a hand with the fingers spread, and others more curious curve into a pitcher shape, like tho side-saddle plant, and the strange Nepenthes of India. The cellular tissue which looks like green pulp, is composed of little oblong cells arranged after a certain order, being very compact on the upper side of the leaf, while on the under side they have spaces between. The thickness or thinness of a leaf depends upon the quantity of cellular tissue it contains. In some it is spread so sparingly over the frame-work, that the leaf seems as delicate as paper, while in others, it is so abun- dant, that they seem nothing but green pulp in which the veins are al- most entirely hidden. The cuticle, or skin, is a colorless membrane full of stomata, or breath- ing pores. By these the plant breathes, it inhales, and exhales, and as 158 The Student and Schoolmate. one great office of the vegetable world, besides furnishing food for men and animals is to render the air fit for them to breathe, we see what an important part these little stomata play in the great world. The cuti- cle also protects the cellular tissue as the human skin protects the mus- cles, veins, and nerves, and prevents the too rapid evaporation of the sap. Leaves that grow in damp, shady places where there is an abun- dance of moisture have a very thin cuticle, because a rapid evaporation would not injure them, as it would if they grew in dryer situations, but those that are exposed to great changes of temperature have a thick close covering. Water plants whose leaves float on the top of ponds like water-lillies have stomata on the upper side of the leaf which is ex- posed to the atmosphere and none on the under side where it is pro- tected by the water, while those that do not rise at all to the surface have no cuticle at all, as they have no need of any. But these must be constantly under the water to exist at all. Cacti that grow in countries where rain alternates with extreme dry- ness, absorb in their thick succulent leaves, great quantities of moisture which they exhale very slowly on account of the small number of breath- ing pores in their leaves, and so storing up the water like vegetable camels, can live and thrive where the soil and atmosphere are very dry for a great part of the year. The cuticle of some plants is very easily separated from the tissue of the leaves, as in the case of the Aaron's Rod, a succulent plant, once a favorite plaything of children, who made shepherd's purses of the leaves, but which is now rarely seen but in a few old-fashioned gardens. If you carefully pinched the surface of the leaf and did not break the skin, you could by blowing into it raise the whole cuticle from the pulp. Leaves are so placed upon the stem that one side turns towards the sky and the other to the ground. The upper side of many seems more highly finished than the lower, of finer texture and greater polish, but those that stand erect like the leaves of grasses and the iris, are alike on both. Leaves are the breathing and digesting organs of the plants. The nourishing fluid or the sap is taken in by the roots, who extract it in some wonderful way from the soil, and is by them conveyed to the tree stem, and thence to the leaves, where after certain changes it comes back to the bark, as our blood is sent from the heart to the lungs to be purified, and then brought back, to be distributed over the body, and changed into muscle and fat. When the sap is first taken up, it is prin- cipally Carbonic acid and water, but as it passes along it becomes sweet, bitter, gummy, or starchy, according to the particular plant which it Leaves. 159 passes through. This sap rises in great quantities in some trees and vines at certain seasons. If you cut a grape-vine in the spring when the leaves are not formed, or are not large enough to use the ascending sap it will stand in bead-like drops, on the end of the stems, and in maple trees it ascends in such profusion and sweetness that tons of sugar are annually made from the clear liquid which nature meant to change into bud, blossom, and leaf. When the leaves are fully grown, if you cut a grape vine or tap a maple tree, you will get no sap, because they can use it then, and con- vert it to the growth of the tree, make new branches, and bark, and luscious fruit. But if by accident or design the tree and vine should be stripped of their foliage, and tapped or cut again, the sap would flow as at first, though it is evident this process could not be many times re- peated without destroying them. The leaves concentrate the sap by ex- posing it in their tissues to the action of the light and beat. The water evaporates through the cuticle, and this evaporation goes on so rapidly in yourg and tender leaves sometimes, that they appear to be covered with a fine dew. The leaf not only elaborates and condenses the sap, but by its strange chemistry decomposes the carbonic acid, and gives the oxygen it con- tains back to the atmosphere, keeping the carbon as its own proper food. It not only does this, but it takes more carbonic acid which it needs to make its greenness, and wbich men and animals do not want from the air around it. Animals, on the contrary, by their breathing, take oxy- from the atmosphere, and return carbonic acid, and so each is bene- fitted in its turn, giving back to the atmosphere what it does not require itself, but what is essential to the other's existence. In the far distant ages the atmosphere was very different from what it is now, and the giant ferns and bamboos grew in air beavy with carbonic acid, which they gradually purified by absorbing the carbon and returning the oxy- gen, till they slowly made the air fit for map to breathe. Reptiles com- ing first with their slow circulation and respiration, then strange mon- strous animals as hideous as the dragons of the old legends, followed by man, and graceful airy birds. When the leaves cease to be necessary to the life of the plant, they follow the law of all created things and die. Then the woods in our northern climates glow with a brilliancy that pats to shame all summer's tints, and the golden, scarlet, and brown leaves, falling face foremost on still days to the ground, cover the earth with a garment of many hues. Bat even here each turns, changes, and drops, after the law of its kind, the fugacious like those of the prickly pear, drop soon after they ap- gen 160 The Student and Schoolmate. pear, the deciduous like the oak, elm, beeck, and chestnut, fall in the autumn, leaving the trees bare and naked with the exception of the white oak, whose sere leaves rustle in the winter winds, and the persis. tent, like the evergreens, retain their old leaves till the new are fully grown, and, like the pines, strew the ground underneath them with their brown needles, while the tree is green above, while the leaves of the tropical Endogens do not fall, but wither and decay on the stems. The falling of the leaves would be a melancholy sight did we not know that even while they are slowly dropping, there closely wrapped up beside them is the future leaf bud, from which is to grow the new leaves which are to gladden our eyes and bearts next spring. Very careful and choice is Nature of these buds, folding them up, protecting them by scales, enveloping them in wool or down like those of the horse-chestnut and willow, or varnishing them like the balm of Gilead and poplar, providing for any change of temperature that might destroy them. These little leaves are folded up in a variety of ways, but all the buds of a species are exactly alike. Sometimes the leaves lie folded face to face, sometimes half-folded in pairs, so that the outer lap over the inner, as in the lilac, whose buds are so quick to feel the breath of spring. Sometimes they are doubled lengthwise, showing the long points of the coming leaves like the sharp slender blades of the iris, sometimes turned out and in like the sage, sometimes folded in on them- selves like the rose, while others are plaited like the vine, or rolled spi- rally like the violet and the rosemary. When we look at the bare branches of the trees in the winter, we think little of the bidden life that is in them, but a few warm spring days open our eyes for us. Then the little leaf buds feel the wonderful life that is wrapped up in them, they swell and grow till the beech tree seems covered with slender brown points, the willow with silver gray balls, the lime branches look yellowish red in the sunlight, the oak bas an olive hue, the elm a reddish brown, and the ash is as black as ink. “ Black as the ash-buds in the month of March,” as Tennyson says, as if they were the perfection of blackness. Many leaf buds never come to maturity. Nature when she makes provision for the life of anything, prepares also for its death, and the leaf-buds are formed in such profusion that were they all to grow, the foliage won!d be too thick for the health of the tree, and so many drop off without ever unrolling, not to be wasted, but to be changed into some other form. Enough remain to make the earth beautiful with the varied tints of green, varying from the light gray green of the olive and the willow, to the sombre darkness of the fir and yew. Some strange tropi- Leaves. 161 wiá green cal plants have leaves of varied hues, crimson, claret, mixed and mingled and other colors. They are more curious than beautiful, and are always suggestive of the baleful poisonous flowers that grew in Dr. Rappacini's garden, and destroyed all healthy life with their subtle and bewildering odors. Beside being the breathing organs and preparers of food for the plants, and purifiers of the air for men and animals, leaves have many other uses. Dropping to the ground and decaying there, they restore to the earth some of the organic substances which they drew from it. The gardener will tell you that the old leaf mold is some of the best soil for the growth of new flowers, and great forests grow and thrive with no other change than this constant drawing up from the earth these mate- rials, and returning it, in dropping and decaying leaves. Men use leaves in various ways. In the tropical countries the leaves of the great palms seem to have as many uses as he has wants. The cochanut palm stem makes his house, the leaves the thatch, the great leaf ribs or veins his baskets, the leaves of the date palm give bim long, narrow ropes, panniers and mats, the pine-apple fibres a delicate cloth. He eats the centre of the crown of the tree cabbage palm, which is only the undeveloped leaves, and uses those of the bread fruit for towels and for packing. In more temperate regions he uses them for beds, medicines, dyes, food, and paper. He chews them for their narcotic qualities, burns away in smoke to console him in his real or fancied griefs, or en- hance his pleasure when he is happy, or drinks a decoction of them to refresh him when he is weary. Without leaves we should lose much of the beauty of the world. The bare-branched landscape of winter, lovely as it is with its back ground of snow and ice, would not repay us for the luxuriance of summer, when every road-side weed and climbing vine has a green garment on, when, in the thick branches the sunlight plays at hide and seek, and the long afternoon shadows fall softly on the emerald grass. Then the leaves of the tree are its voice. All day long, the green glossy leaves of the white-stemmed birch whisper to each other, the pine needles murmur with a sound as soft as the summer sea, as the wind stirs them, ard the oak rustles with a deeper tone. E. C. J. them X 162 The Student and Schoolmate. LUCERNE. THE HE canton of Lucerne has a prominent place in the many internal wars that have convulsed Switzerland To dwell on these would occupy too much space, and is not in accordance with our present pur- pose. The history of this interesting people will amply repay a diligent Lucerne. 163 reader. The canton of Lucerne itself covers an area of abont six hun- dred square miles. With a fertile soil, the inhabitants are enabled to raise more corn than is needed for their own subsistence, and conse- quently it is made a source of income. But they do not suffer this to interfere with their more important business of rearing cattle, which, with them, is the principal branch of industry. They also engage largely in raising fruit, and in the cultivation of the grape. The capital city of the canton is also called Lucerne, and is situated on the north-west extremity of the Lake of Lucerne, made famous by the patriotic deeds of William Tell in the familiar story of shooting the apple from the head of his son, and afterwards piercing the heart of the tyrant by whose inhuman orders the father's skill was tested. The scenery around the lake is said to be superb, and naturally attracts those who visit Europe for pleasure. From the city can be seen the Alps, whose snowy peaks glitter in the noon-day sun, while the river Reuss traverses the city itself, affording some of the most attractive curiosities in the bridges wbich span its surface. Among these are the Mill bridge, which is decorated with paintings of the “ Dance of Death,” but these are fast fading away. The Reussbrücke and the Kapellbrücke have their attractions, especially the latter, as, upon the timbers supporting its roof are hung some eighty pictures, illustrative of the patron saints of the town, and of Swiss his- tory. These latter must be of the most inspiring character, as the Swiss are a patriotic people. Another, and the largest bridge, was removed in 1852; this was called the Hof brūcke. Near the city stands the monument erected in honor of the brave Swiss Guards, who fell on the 10th of August 1792, at the Tuilleries, gallantly defending Louis XVI., King of France, when he was besieged by an enraged mob of Parisians, and passed with his family sixteen hours of terrible anxiety in a narrow closet, in momentary fear lest they might all fall victims to the wrath of their pursuers. The design of this monument is by Thorwaldsen, an eminent seulptor, representing a colos- sal lion, which is cut in the face of a sand-stone cliff. A broken spear protrudes from his death wound; but even in dying he strives to protect & shield bearing the fleur de lis of France. It is calculated to impress the beholder with something of sadness, being located in a secluded gar- den near a small pond bordered with wild flowers. Lucerne is a favor ite stopping place for travellers on their way to or from the Alps and Italy, and, although but a small town of about ten thousand inhabitants, it has hotel arrangements where excellent entertainment is furnished the guest with much ceremony and etiquette. The town is surrounded by 164 The Student and Schoolmate. a circle of ancient watch-towers, and on the land side is walled in. We give a view of one of its streets with the mountains in the distance, which may be recognized by some of the large number of Americans who have enjoyed a trip across the water during the last year or two, and which certainly looks very attractive. Anell. Roma THE MUSEUM. Do. I. IN N the city of Cambridge, three miles from Boston, is a Museum of Comparative Zoology. Here are collected curiosities from all parts of the earth. Rocks, Fossils, Corals, Shells, Skeletons, and various other samples of different ages and climes, are here brought together for the benefit of those who cannot travel the world over to see its wonders. Many boys and girls visit this place, yet thousands there are who cannot even see these, but who, sitting by their home fires, can read of what others have seen, and to them we send a description of the Megatherium Cuvieri. “ What a name !” some young reader exclaims. “Megatherium Cuv- ieri! How long and hard.” Well the name is not larger than the animal, for that, from the nose to the tip of the tail is eighteen feet. Just think! Take three tall men and place them with the feet of one against the head of another, and you have the length of this huge animal! It is higher than an ele- phant, and its legs are colossal. Each leg, when covered with flesh and skin must have been larger than the body of a man. Prof. Dana says, “ Its massy limbs are more like columns for support than organs of motion,” and as we stand looking at them, we realize the force of his remark, for such legs never move rapidly. A lumbering gait such an animal must have had, and well it was, for if he could have moved swiftly, all small animals must have been trodden under his immense feet. At first, we think he has four feet, but upon closer examination, the two front ones prove to be hands, resembling human hands. The fin- gers are six inches from joint to joint, and the nails, which resemble claws, are four or five inches in length, and from the wrist to the elbow is three feet! The hind feet have heels and toes like the human foot, and are nearly a yard in length. The tail is a curiosity. It consists of immense bones firmly locked together, and the column thus formed is triangular in form. Where it The Museum 165 joins the huge body, it is a foot in diameter, but tapers, and at the end is a small bone. This tail must have been as stout as the legs, and when the great, unwieldly megatherium wished to raise his head to grasp the limbs of trees which served as his food, he first lifted his head, then bis fore feet, or arms, seized the trees with his claws, and then tipping back his body which was larger than a hogshead, and twice as long, he rested his immense weight on his tail, which, with bis hind legs, formed a tripod on which the beavy body could be supported, while with his mouth, he stripped the trees above him of their foliage. His fore ribs are from three to four feet in length, and three inches in width. The Megatherium Cuvieri belongs to the Sloth tribe, and was found in South America. Twelve or fourteen species bave been found there ; — they are remains of the Post Tertiary period, which was the age just preceding the age of man. It was the last period of the Mammalian era, and the warm, moist climate of South America was well suited to its development. We can imagine this slow monster, raising his head eighteen feet, cropping the limbs of the trees, and then, kneeling on his fore-arms, drinking from some stream near by. His mouth is narrow and long. A species of the Megatherium has been found in Georgia, at Skidda- way Island, and another species in Virginia, Big Bone Lick and other places, wbich, in allusion to its large claws, Jefferson named, “ Megallo- nyx Jeffersonii.” The animals of the Post Tertiary period were much larger than those now found on the earth. In Great Britain and other parts of Europe gigantic Tigers and Hyenas roamed in freedom. Their remains are found in caves, or mired in ancient marshes, or buried in rivers and sea- shore deposits, or frozen and cased in Arctic ice. When man came upon the earth, animal life became less in size, more compact, and more perfect. The earth assumed a new appearance, and the giant quadrupeds which had traversed its surface, either decayed al- together, or were hurried beneath the soil to fossilize and await the ex- amination of the coming ages, when the new creation, man, should walk the earth. These fragments of the past our naturalists gather as silent witnesses of the history of the earth, and as testimonials of the progres- sion upon its surface. Wisely has the mind of the great, thinking, All-seeing Ruler and Master moulded the plastic forms. A. E. Berry. 166 The Student and Schoolmate. MINNIE AND CARRIE. A $tory fon the Little Ones. MINNIE (INNIE is our kitten. I mention her first because she is older, not because she is any bigger or of any more importance than our baby, Carrie. We call Minnie, kitten. Indeed her name is Minnie Kit- ten. She is old enough, and the mother of children enough, to be called cat; and when she chooses, she can command a very solemn counte- nance and appear very sedate. She has all the wisdom a cat of her years might be suspected of having, and when occasion demands, can ap- ply it. But she is as young in spirit as she ever was, and, while her vigor more mature and her judgment more reliable than it was in her youth, she has all the frolicsomeness and vivacity of her younger days. She knows her duties thoroughly -“ watching by nights and sleeping by day" and attends to them in a manner worthy of the highest praise. She is a fine mouser, and has a most matronly care of her family, keep- ing their fur clean, and bringing them up in the way child-kittens should go. But with all her wisdom and with all her sedateness in the perform- ance of her domestic duties, she is spryer, and friskier, and fuller of frolic than are her children, or even her grandchildren. Why — she is al. ways ready for a romp. She will jump over a stick held in the air, sit up on her hind legs for a piece of bread, roll over, and perform many wonderful tricks. She is as ready to chase a string or a ball as ever she was, and will whisk about in a circle after her tail with a rapidity worthy of a better She is a terror to all dogs, except our own dog, Charlie, who is not a bit afraid of her, and whom she dearly loves, I think. They are on the closest terms of friendship. They eat out of the same plate, and never quarrel over their food. Indeed, I think they have formed an alliance, offensive and defensive, to guard the premises from stray animals of all kinds. Minnie and Charlie will play together for an hour at a time, in summer, on the green-sward. It is amusing to see Kitten get behind a corner and pop out on a sudden, and spring upon Charlie, to frighten bim, and then run for the nearest fence or tree, where, seated at her ease and out of harm's way, she almost seems to laugh at Charlie's barking and frantic efforts to get at her. When he has calmed himself and stretched out on the grass for a nap, she will steal quietly down and lay herself beside him and go to sleep in the sun. I forgot to tell you that Minnie is a white and yellow kitten, and Charlie's cause. Minnie and Carrie. 167 color is black, and he has large, long ears, and is as full of frolic as you could well imagine any dog to be. The two are firm friends of Carrie, our baby. I don't think she's ex- actly a baby, but I don't know the exact age at which a child ceases to be a baby and begins to be a little girl. But bady or not, we call her 80, much for the same reason, perhaps, that we call Minnie, kitten. Carrie is a little round-faced, silken-haired thing, not much taller than the seat of a chair — with bright blue eyes and the cunningest dimples you ever saw. She is fat - her face is almost as broad as it is long - and she is a mischievous little body, and can talk as fast and sometimes as wisely as a grown person. She is only two years old, but knows more than many children at five. Take the three together, Carrie, Minnie, and Charlie, and they form a lively trio. I am sorry to say that Carrie does not always behave well at the ta- ble, for she frequently throws her food on the floor for Minnie and Charlie to eat, and one day she even went so far as to throw them down ber plate and spoon to eat with. One morning when Carrie's mother went into the kitchen to build a fire, what should she find in the oven but Minnie kitten, all curled up warm and comfortable. It would not have been very agreeable for Minnie if Carrie's mother had shut the oven door and built a fire in the stove and heated the oven. I'm afraid it would have been a bitter lesson to Minnie. Another morn- ing when Carrie, waking, insisted on going into the kitchen with her mother, they found Minnie curled up snug and warm on the top of the stove. It was such a cold night that Minnie took the warmest place she could find, I suppose. Well, during the day, which was a blustering, un- comfortable December one, Carrie complained of being cold and wished to get into the oven, and being refused this, desired to get on the stove. Being balked in this last wish, she engaged berself in the laudable en- deavor - imagining Minnie was cold too — of putting the kitten on the stove when it was almost at a red hot heat. I fear Minnie would have found her berth less comfortable than it had been in the night-time. Minnie has a hard trial of it, and I doubt if she fully realizes that Car- rie is her best friend, especially when the latter tries to hang her up on a nail by the blue ribbon around her neck, and only releases her on ber mewing promise to be a “dood kitten ” forever after. Minnie suf- fers many indignities at Carrie's hand, but I feel sure Carrie would not knowingly harm a hair of the dear kitten's head. At some future time, perhaps, I will tell you more about them both. Paul North 168 The Student and Schoolmate. CHEMISTRY, No. V. E will next turn our attention to the other element of water, and Where What kind of the substances Hydrogen is. Always "associated with oxygen in the form of water and aqueous vapor, it is universally diffused over our globe, forming one-ninth part by weight of this liquid. Hydrogen is such an important gas that its sister elements keep it al- ways combined, so that it is not found in nature in a free state. All flesh and woody substances contain it; combined with carbon a large number of gases, liquids and solids are formed, possessing the general name of hydrocarbons; and in union with carbon and oxygen, inflammable sub- stances, such as ether and alcohol, are constituted. The simplest method of procuring hydrogen is to deoxidize waters. Let us now isolate some, and see wherein it differs from oxygen. We will take one of our bottles used for collecting oxygen, and fit a cork in it as tight as possible, then by means of a heated wire, and a round file, we will make a hole through the cork just large enough to admit a pipe- stem; this done, we add a few pieces of zinc, and a little water, having our bottles ready to hold the hydrogen, we add a small quantity of sulphuric acid - commonly called oil of vitrol - replace the cork and tube immediately, and in about a minute hold over the tube a receiving vessel. In a short time the vessel will be filled, the hydrogen having dis- placed the air, if the action is rapid. Now the bottle of gas can be removed provided the vessel is kept in a vertical position, and the contents retained by set- Tig 4 ting it in a saucer of water ; in this manner several bottles can be filled, by renewing the action of our chemicals from time to time. Whenever we open the generator we should wait a moment after replacing the cork and tube, to allow all the atmospheric air to be expelled before collecting the gas. Now that we have our hydrogen made, we will see what chemical changes took place in freeing hydrogen, what became of the other ele- ment of water, and what the sulphuric acid was used for. When water is poured over zinc, a portion of the water is immediately decomposed, the oxygen combining with the zinc, hydrogen being liberated; but the mo- ment the almost insoluble oxide of zinc is formed, it so protects the met- Chemistry. 169 ! al that further action ceases. By additiou of an acid that possesses a strong affinity for the oxide formed, this delicate coating is dissolved off, forming a soluble compound called sulphate of zinc, thus constantly ex- posing fresh surfaces of zinc to be acted upon by the water. As there is no hydrogen in the zinc or acid, it must therefore come from the wa- ter. The change will be rendered clearer by reference to the following: Free. . Water { Wydrogen Sulphuric Acid Zinc Oxide of Zinc.} Oxide of Zinc - Now for a few experiments. Renewing the action in our hydrogen generator, we allow it to work away for a couple of min- ates, to be certain that all the air has been expelled; then by setting the apparatus into a jar, or by throwing a cloth over the bottle, the gas can with safety be lighted as it is- sues from the pipe stem - the reason for this precaution is, that an explosive mixture is formed by allowing air to remain in the generator if the gas lights and continues to burn, we are certain that unmixed gas is evolved, there- fore there is no further danger of an explosion. Now we have the “ Philosopher's Lamp." We notice that hydrogen burns with a pale yellowish flame. By holding a dry cold tumbler over the flame, it becomes moistened inside. The hydrogen at a high temperature combines with oxygen of the surrounding air, forming water, which by the cold surface of the tumbler is con- densed. By holding over the flame a long glass tube open at both Fig5 ends, we will have a “ chemical harmoni- con." By the ascending current of air, the flame is in part extinguished and rekindled, producing little explosions very rapidly and at regular intervals, thus giving a musical note the length and diameter of the tube regulating the pitch. Now we will try something that will please the little ones, at the same time Fig.6 showing how very light hydrogen is. By attaching a clay pipe to the stem where hy- drogen is escaping, by means of a little piece of rubber tubing which must 170 The Student and Schoolmate. fit over the stems very tight, we will have a soap-bubble blower. Dip- ping the bowl of the pipe into a saucer of soap suds — which all my young friends know how to make the bubbles formed, wben thrown off, will rise to the ceiling, and if a quiet day, they will go almost out of sight out doors. We have already observed what a lecturer once told his audience con- cerning hydrogen, “ you see you cannot see it,” therefore like oxygen it is a colorless gas. We all know how quickly flame is extinguished when put into water, now we will prove that it is as suddenly "put out' when surrounded by hydrogen. With our wire and lighted candle, we will hold one of the bottles of hydrogen mouth downward, and plunge the candle into the gas ; the hydrogen is instantly kindled at the mouth of the jar, and the candle ceases to burn, being relighted by the burning gas as it is with- drawn. This experiment may be repeated several times. By standing in a strong light, the hydrogen being colorless and the flame nearly so, considera- ble wonder arises among the uninitiated, as they Fig. 7 see the light extinguished and relighted without any apparent cause. We now know that hydrogen is inflammable, and is not a supporter of combustion — how different from oxygen! We will next make the Hydrogen gun.” Wrap tightly around the pipe stem from which the hydrogen is escaping, enough paper to occupy about two-thirds of the inner space of a small bottle ; invert the bottle over the generator and let it remain a full minute, wind the bottle with a towel, lift it off of the generator and apply a match when an explosion will occur. son of this is, that the moment the vial is lifted off of the generator, air rushes in to take the place of the space occupied by the paper, thus pro- ducing an explosive mixture. The oxygen of the air mixing with the hydrogen in proportions to form water, when heat is applied, combina- tion of the elements of water takes place; and because the whole of the hydrogen burns at once — - causing a sudden conversion of gases into a liquid by condensation a vacuum is produced, then the sudden rushing in of air causes the loud sound. Hydrogen is not dissolved by water, therefore it can be collected in our pneumatic trough as we did oxygen ; for our experiments we collected it by displacement, the hydrogen displac- ing the atmospheric air. For when a gas is much lighter or much heavier than air, it can often be thus obtained without much admixture of air. When hydrogen is pure it has no taste, or odor. hare prepared may have a slightly disagreeable odor from impurities of The rea- The gas we Chemistry. 171 the substances used in producing it. Hydrogen is the lightest body ever known. Advantage has been taken of the high degree of heat produced by burning hydrogen, in the construction of the “Oxyhydrogen blow- pipe." Oxygen and hydrogen are forced from separate gas-holders into a small chamber, in the proportions to form water, there mixing, they escape through a jet of platinum from which they are burnt. The heat is only second to that of the arc of flame in the voltaic circuit. The flame is solid throughout, which is not the case with ordinary flame; therefore the quantity of hydrogen consumed, and the quantity of oxy- gen combining with it in a given time, are greatly increased, consequent- ly - as previously stated - great intensity of heat results. Rock crys- tal alumina or clay, and even platinum the most difficult of the metals to fuse, can be melted by the heat of this blow-pipe. The flame, though scarcely visible alone, when directed on lime, gives a light almost un- bearable to the eyes, and which has been seen one hundred and twelve miles; this is called the “ Drummond light.” The light is owing to the lime becoming intensely heated, no other change taking place. Any body highly beated, produces light; lime is used in this case simply be- cause it is infusible at the temperature to which it is exposed. We will see if we can construct an apparatus which may be called the oxyhydro- gen blow-pipe, for it is well worth the trouble. The subjoined figure shows about the body simplest manner of obtaining the jet. Previous instruc- tions in regard to the preparation of oxygen and hydro- gen will answer, without a repeti- tion. There should be a rapid flow of hydrogen ; and to prevent water being carried over, a little cotton should be put in the bowl of the pipe through which the gas passes. The oxygen should be slowly evolved. Iron, copper, zine, &c., &c., can be melted and burned for experiment, by which we pro- duce beautiful scintillations and colored flames. A little piece of lime will answer to produce the Drummond light, which will cause the flames of our candles to become relatively dark objects, actually casting shadows. M. B. Manwaring. Fig. 8. 172 The Student and Schoolmate. OTIA DANT VITIA. SCE CHOOLMATES there is work before as, Rugged hills that we must climb, Onward then and overcome it While we've strength and while we've time. Now the road is smooth and easy, Bright the sun shines o'er our head Up then in your youthful vigor! Rouse ye! ere the time be sped. Cast away all slothful feelings, Let no idle words creep in, Honest be in all your dealings Truth and Right are sure to win. Thorns will spring about our pathway, Clouds will gather in our sky, Baleful cares and rankling sorrows All be with us ere we die. Let us then so pass our school-days, That when youth and boyhood past, Life's swift streams shall gently waft us To the heavenly shores at last. William L. Williams. Suchen Princess Long Ears. 173 PRINCESS LONG EARS. ONCE NCE on a time there lived a princess who would have been per- fectly beautiful but for one defect, and this, you will admit, was of very great magnitude; when I say that though her eyes were a beauti- ſul blue, her nose gracefully moulded, and her mouth charming, her ears were as large as saucers, and stuck far out on either side of her head. This great blemish resulted from the anger of a fairy, who thought the queen had slighted her, and took this method of revenging herself. Natu- rally the king and queen both were very much troubled by their daugh- ter's large ears, and the most skilful physicians were sent for, and con- sulted concerning her case, but none of them were able to suggest any relief. “Then," said the king, “it is possible that some one who is not a physician may be acquainted with a remedy. I will promise a reward of a hundred thousand dollars to any one who will cure Fatima of this cruel defect." The queen thought the suggestion a good one, and accordingly notices were posted in different parts of the kingdom concerning the great re- ward which the king was willing to pay to any one who could benefit his danghter. It was certainly high time that something was done, for the princess was now of marriageable age, and being the heiress of a great king, had been thought of in marriage by several princes, but on seeing her im- mense ears, no one had been willing to accept her hand, except one prince, who was himself a hunchback, with a most repulsive countenance. But the princess declared that she would sooner be an old maid than marry him, and I am inclined to think she was right. Attracted by the king's proclamation, many adventurers presented t emselves, and the poor princess was compelled every day to swallow some new-fangled pill, or anoint her ears with some new salve, in the hope of reducing their size. For a whole day she wore a mustard plas- ter on each ear, which made it feel far from comfortable, and when re- moved, caused the ears to look red and inflamed, and, if possible, larger than ever. The persecution became so great that the king was finally compelled to affix the condition to every applicant that if he failed in benefiting the princess, he must submit to have his own cars cut off. This deterred many, but some adventurous men were still found, who paid the penalty of their impudence, and were forced for the remainder of their lives to go about without ears. Now, about five miles from the city, there lived in the forest a poor 174 The Student and Schoolmate. woodcutter, who earned a scanty subsistence by his daily labor. He had a large family of children, as poor men are apt to have, for whom he found it difficult to provide. The eldest was a well-grown young man of twenty-one, and a great favorite with all who knew him. It was by his assistance that his father was able to provide for his family, other- wise I am afraid they would have fared badly. Now it happened that John, for this was the name of the oldest son, was cutting wood one day, when his axe flew out of his hand, and dropped into a pool near by. John was much vexed, and knowing that he could not afford to buy a new one, he determined to recover it if he could. Accordingly he plunged into the pool, and felt himself going down deeper and deeper, till his feet struck solid ground, when he found himself no longer surrounded by water, but walking along a pleasant highway, bordered by beautiful fruit trees. “Where am I?” he thought, bewildered. But just then his attention was attracted to a man about three feet high, with great flapping ears at least a foot long. “ Holloa !” said the little man. “ Halloa, yourself!” said John. “ Where did you come from ?” “ From the earth,” said John, “but I don't rightly know how I came here. I jumped into the water, and that 's all I know about it.” “ It is all you need know," said the other. “But being here, what do you say to working for me. You are twice as large as any man about here, and I suppose can do twice as much. If you will enter my ser- vice, I will give you double wages." Agreed,” said John. “What is your business ?” “I am a farmer," said the little man. “My farm is just over the hill there. You can go right home with me." “All right!” said John. “ You won't be offended,” said the little man, “ if I make a remark about your personal appearance.” “ Not at all, if you will allow me the same privilege." « Certainly," said the little man,“ only I can't for the life of me, imag- ine what you can see to call for remark in me.” “ Nor I in me." Why, the truth is - ha, ha! you 'll excuse my laughing, but your ears are so ridiculously small.” “And yours are so monstrously large,” said John, “ that you seem to be all ears." “ My ears are the fashion,” said the little man rather haughtily. - Princess Long Ears. , 175 Yes you " Everybody about here has the same, and our king has the largest of all. In truth that is the way he gained his kingdom.” " Indeed!” said John surprised. “ Moreover," continued the little man, “ if you stay here you must have your ears enlarged, or they will be cut off in accordance with the royal decree." “ That would be uncomfortable,” said John, rather alarmed. “Of course you are joking." “ Not at all. I am quite in earnest.” " But I can't help my small ears, I can't make them larger." can. “ How is that?” “The easiest thing in the world. I have a salve at home which will make them as large as mine." “ But I may want to go back sometime," faltered John, “and I don't think I should like to carry back such uncommonly large ears. People would laugh at me." " Don't trouble yourself about that. When you want to go back, I will apply another salve which will reduce their size." " That will do.very well,” said John. “And can I go back when I choose ? " * Work for me six months, and then you may go, if you like.” When John reached the little man's house, he had his ears anointed with salve, and straightway they grew with rapidity till they quite equalled in dimensions the ears of his employer. John looked in a mir- ror, and thought to himself that he looked hideous, but there is no ac- counting for tastes, and his employer congratulated him on the very great improvement in his appearance. " Do you think I look better?” asked John, looking ruefully at the great flapping appendages. “There is no doubt of it," said the other confidently. John went to work for his new employer and worked faithfully for six months. At the end of that time he began to think he should like to see his father and brothers and sisters. Accordingly he went to his employer, and signified his wishes. “Very well,” said the little man, “ your desire is natural. You can go to-morrow.” " And about my ears ? ” “ I will make them smaller, if you wish it, but large ears are much the bandsomest.” “ Perhaps so, only they are not the fashion where I live." 176 The Student and Schoolmate. 66 “Very well, since you desire it, I will deprive you of your greatest beauty." The little man brought another box of salve, and applying it to John's ears, they at once shrank to their former dimensions. Now,” said his employer, “I must pay you for your six months work.” If you will give me a box of each kind of salve I will consider my- self fully paid,” said John. “ Those you shall have,” said the other, “and I will give you besides, a suit of clothes which will never wear out, but change every day, and each day be handsomer than the last.” “ That will indeed be worth having,” said John. “But bow am I to get back to the earth again ? ” “ You have only to wash your eyes in a liquid which I will give yon," said the little man. “ This will put you to sleep immediately. When you waken you will find yourself where you wish to be.” The next day John received the two boxes of salve. He then put on the new suit which had been promised him. It was perfectly fitted to his form, so that not the best tailor on earth could have fitted him so well. He then bathed his eyes in the liquid supplied by his employer, and at once sank into a profound slumber. When he awoke he found himself in the forest near his father's house. He would have thought his adventures all a dream, but for the handsome clothes he had on, and the two boxes of salve which he could feel in his pocket. He rose and bent his steps towards his father's cottage. He found his family very poorly off, for his father, though he worked hard, could not provide sufficient for them. They were all delighted to have him back, and eagerly inquired his adventures. “ You must have done well,” said his father, “judging from you dress." " Indifferently," said John. "I have no money, but I have that, I think, which will gain me some. Call me early tomorrow morning, for I am going to the king." “To the king! What business can you have with the king ?” asked his father surprised. " That I will tell you when I return,” said John. With this answer, they were compelled to be satisfied. The next morning John set out for the king's palace. His dress bad changed during the night, and was so handsome that he readily gained admittance to the palace, being mistaken for an ambassador. “ What is your business ?” demanded the king. Princess Long Ears. 177 “ I come to cure the princess of her only blemish,” was the reply. “ You know the penalty if you do not succeed,” said the king. “I shall lose my own ears." “ And are you willing to run this risk ?” “ Perfectly,” said John. “I am so sure of success that it does not trouble me.” “ If you succeed,” said the king, “your reward shall be a fine castle and estate, and a good sum of money besides." “ I will do what I can. When can I see the princess ?” “ At once.” Introduced to the preserce of the unfortunate princess, John could not help admiring her beauty and her grace of manner. “Do you think you can help me?” she asked. “I know I can, princess.” “ I hope so, for your own sake, since my father will strictly exact the penalty if you fail.” John produced the box, and began to anoint the ears of the princess, but made an unlucky mistake, having at first got the wrong box. When the princess perceived that her ears were increasing in size, she screamed with terror, and the king, running in, was so incensed, that he was about to order John to be led to execution, but luckily our hero had his wits about him, and requested the king not to be alarmed, as all was going on well. He quickly produced the other box, ard, applying the con- tents, the ears of the princess immediately began to decrease, till they were as small as need be, and beautifully formed. The king was so much delighted, that he at once ratified his promise, and presented John with the estate and castle he had promised, and ten bags of gold besides. John lost no time in acquainting his father with his good fortune. Henceforth the poor woodcutter, for whom John built a fine house near his own, lived prosperous and happy, and his sons were . placed in excellent positions. As for John, the king was so pleased with him, that, after a while, he offered him the hand of the princess in mar- riage, and gave him the rank of prince. The wedding was celebrated with great pomp and splendor, and the bridegroom's dress was so mag nificent that it quite dazzled the eyes of all who beheld it. 0. Augusta Cheney. 178 The Student and Schoolmate. KINDNESS WINS, M, of (R. received into the prison a man of gigantic stature, whose crimes had for seventeen years made him the terror of the country. He told the criminal, when he came, he hoped he would not repeat the attempts to escape which he had made elsewhere. “It will be best,” said he, " that you and I should treat each other as well as we can. I will make you as comfortable as I possibly can, and I shall be anxious to be your friend; and I hope you will not get me into difficulty on your account. There is a cell intended for solitary confinement; but we have never ased it, and I should be sorry ever to have to turn the key upon any. body in it. You may range the place as freely as I do: if you trust me, I will trust you.” The man was sulky, and for weeks showed only gradual symptoms of softening under the operation of Mr. Pillsbury's cheerful confidence. At length information was brought of the man's intention to break the prison. The warden called him, and taxed him with it; the man preserved a gloomy silence. He was told it was now necessary for him to be locked in the solitary cell, and desired to follow the warden, who went first, carrying a lamp in one hand and a key in the other. In the narrowest part of the passage, Mr. Pillsbury, a small light man, turned round and looked in the face of the stout criminal. “ Now," said be, “ I ask whether you have treated me as I deserve ? I have done everything that I could to make you happy. I have trusted you, but you have never given me the least confidence in return, and have even planned to get me into difficulty. Is this kind ? And yet I cannot bear to lock you up. If I had the least sign that you cared for me The man burst into tears. “ Sir," said he, “I have been a very demon these seventeen years ; but you treat me like a man.”. Come, let us go back," said the warden. The convict had free range of the prison as before ; and from that hour he began to open his heart to the warden, and cheerfully fulfilled his whole term of imprisonment. Declamation. 179 DECLAMATION. (See Diagram in January No.] YOUNG MEN AND THE TEMPERANCE CAUSE. Shall we URING the next quarter of this century the moral destiny of the world depends upon the youth of this present age. The strong hands of the veterans are, one by one, @palsicd by the touch of age. The voices that have rung out for God and Truth are slowly 5passing into the harmonies of a better world. Upon your shoulders the Ark of Re- form is henceforth to rest. In your hands the torch of human progress is to be borne onward. The God of Love has stood by the temperance re- form from its cradle, and has guided it onward through its most critical periods. To the young men of our time it is now committed both as a trial and as a trust. What is it that God and Humanity demand of us? What is the great question for our practical solution ? Unless we greatly err, that question simply is — Shall we, by Jehovah's help, de- stroy the traffic in intoxicating poisons, or shall they destroy us? Shall We send alcohol to his grave, or permit him to send a myriad of our comrades to their own? Shall we consent to have the most brilliant intellects among us any longer extinguished ? Shall we permit the fair bride of to-day to become the desolate widow of to-morrow ? stand idly by and see the nobles of our brotherhood go 11 down to dark- ness and the worm? Shall we suffer this monster evil to cast its hide- ous shadow athwart the rays "that fall from Calvary itself, or shall we, hand in hand, join in the struggle against it? The destiny of millions bangs upon our answer. The determination of this question demands great plainness of speech, as well as earnestness in action. Let us learn to speak 1°right out. The press that is silent on this topic deserves a place in the 'cellars of Her- culaneum. The legislator who has not studied it is unworthy of the seat he incumbers. The orator is to point his shafts, the voter must aim his ballots, and the philanthropist direct his prayerful efforts straight toward this, as the grand moral question of the age. Comrades in this sublime warfare! we are compassed about with a 'great cloud of witnesses. Humanity beckons us onward. We tread apon the dust of heroes as we advance. White-robed 15 Love, floating in mid-air before us, leads us to the conflict. The 10shouts of the ran- somed are in our tents; and the voice of praise makes 18music amid our banners. 180 The Student and Schoolmate. Let us 'ºpress forward with our age. Let us wear a bright link in the history of our country. Let us lie down to our 'lrest, nearer the goal of human perfection. Let us find in our toils an ever-exciting stimulus - an ever-fresh 'delight. So shall our posterity be cheered by that sun which shall 6shine with a seven-fold luster, as "the light of seven days." Rev. 7. L. Cuyler. DIALOGUE. A CASE IN COURT, CHARACTERS.—Mrs. BARNEY ; Jo, SAM, AND ANNIE BARNEY ; SQUIRE TUR- NER; MR. ALDEN; LORENZO HARKER; JUDGE, CLERK, AND SPECTATORS. Scene I.-The sitting-room of Mrs. Betsey Barney. Mrs. Barney visi- bly excited. Annie Barney, her grand-daughter, sewing. Joe and Sam Barney-Annie's brothers-reading on the sofa. Mrs. B. I say it's a burning shame! so there! (in a loud lone) and I don't keer who knows it! Oh, you need n't go sh! Annie Barney! No, you need n't! I'll free my mind Annie (in a subdued voice.) But some one might be passing, and hear you Mrs. B. Let 'em pass ! and let 'em hear if they want to! I guess I can stand it! I say a man that 'll go round nights a stealing a inno- cent little pullet, like that, off from her innocent little roost, orter be stuck full of darning needles, and drawed through a knot hole! so there! He's too mean to live! And there's that pallet gone forever! The handsomest pullet, too, that ever anybody sot eyes on! and jest as clever and good natured as the cat there in the winder! And she was the greatest hand to lay that ever I seed ! you could n't find her ekals in this town, nor no other town! so there! Why, last summer I made two dollars and sixty-three cents out of her eggs ! I should have made more, but she took a notion to set, and stole her nest, and ruinated the eggs afore I found 'em. That is, she ruinated six of 'em — for I broke ’em to see, but tother five looked bright and nice, and I sold 'em. Guess they went well enough, or I should have hurn sunthin' of it afore now. Annie. Why, Grandmother! Was that exactly honest ? Mrs. B. Annie Barney, what do you know about honesty ? I should like to be enformed ? Anybody that crimps their hair onto hair pins, Dialogue. 181 and wears a waterfall made out of hoss hair, and makes people think it's all natral, can't know much about honesty! So there! Annie (meekly.) Beg your pardon, Grandmother. Joe. It strikes me, Grandmother, that false front of yours is full as much of a deception as Annie's waterfall! Quite as dishonest, any way. Mrs. B. Joe Barney, hold your tongue ! little boys should be seen and not heard. It's impudent to speak in that way to folks that 's more elderly than yourself. You ’re an imperdent onbehaved boy ! So there! Annie (looking from the window.) Here comes Squire Turner ! Sam. He's got his tall bat on! Only see him waddle ! Just like a goose! Mrs. B. Hold your tongue, Sam Barney! You may waddle your- self before you die! I've hurn tell of such things! The Squire is a nice respectable man, and has got one of the best farms in these regins ! Needs a wife dreadfully, though, poor man! They say everything is at loose ends over there! Wall, wall, we all have to see trouble in this world! Annie, you dust the rocking-cheer, and hand me that head- dress in the box there, and a piece of snake root. And put jest a pinch of your jocky club onto my handkercher! Not that I keer anything about such vanities myself, but the Squire has been used to 'em. His wife — poor soul, was a great hand to use scents, I've hurn sed. Sam. Why, Grandmother! is the Squire coming here? Mrs. B. Sh! he 'll hear you! Yes, he's a coming here. I sent for him. There, he's a knocking! You young people had better go out and pick some currants for dinner. (Exit Sam, Joe, and Annie.) Mrs. B. Dear me! I wonder if I look so very old ? I should n't if it warn't for these two wrinkles atween my eye-brows. I'll go to the door. (Ushers in Squire Turner.) Why, Squire, how do you do? What a stranger! I baint seen you for an age! How well you 're looking! Hope your health is good! Walk rite in! Set up to the stove ! Take the rocking-cheer, do! Haint your feet cold ? if they be, put 'em into the stove oven! It's kinder cool this morning for the time 'a year! Squire T. Hem! h’m! Ahem! Rather cold, Mrs Barney. Yes mum. Rather cool for the season. And I have taken cold, which makes the change in the weather more perceptible, you understand. I think I have a slight attack of the influenza. The influenza is going round, you understand ? Mrs. B. Yes, to be shure. Squire T. Lung complaints are very prevalent, Mrs. Barney. Yes mum. 182 The Student and Schoolmate. Mrs. B. You 're right, Squire. I never knowed so many folks a complaining as there is now. There's Sister Sally, she's had the plu- rality of the lungs, and Brother Eben's wife has been a complaining for quite a spell, and the doctor thinks she'll have the digestion on her lungs. And Mrs. Jenkins she's a complaining of her head, and Mr. Potter's eyes is dreadful bad, and only yesterday the Widder Jones was over bere a complaining about how the crows was a pulling up their corn. Yes, Squire, it 's a dreadful complaining world ! Squire T. Ahem ! hem! hem! So it is. (Blows his nose.) You sent for me, Mrs. Barney? Yes mum. Mrs. B. So I did, Squire. I thought it was best to get your advice. They say that you 're the smartest man in town so there! Squire T. Yes mum. Thank you mum. Mrs. B. Oh not at all. Honest praise haint flattery. Squire T. But you sent for me, mum? Mrs. B. Yes, Squire. I'm a lone woman with no men folks to see after me. Ah! Squire! It's dreadful sollomcolly to be left alone in this veil of tears. Don't you find it so, Squire ? Squire T. Wall, rather. Yes mum, rather. What can I have the pleasure of doing for you, mum ? Mrs. B. I'm a going to lay the whole case before you, judge. I've met with a grate loss! I s'pose you heard of it ? Squire T. Indeed not, mum! Was it a near relative ? Left much property ? Mrs. B. Bless your soul, Squire Turner! It was a pullet! One of the Coach in Chiny breed. A dreadful nice fowl. I bought the eggs myself; paid a dollar a dozen for 'em, awful price, warn't it, Squire ? Squire T. Yes, mum. So I should say. Mrs. B. I sot 'em under the old yellar hen. I can't think what the matter was unless she sot too stiddy, for there warn't only five of 'em hatched! And out of them five, the hawks ketched one afore he was old enuff to say a word to anybody. Another one had the gapes, and I took him into the house and tended and nussed him as keerful as you would a grown person, but it was n't no use. He went and died. Then, the old ben trod the inards out of one of 'em, and there was two left. And don't you think, Squire, that one day a weasle come along and eat up one of them two! So there! Squire T. Shocking mutality! Mrs. Barney! Yes mum! Mrs. B. But you haint hurn the wust of it. That last chicken was a pullet — I mean the one that was left me and no mortal critter ever cherished anything as I did her! I brought her up to be big enough to and let you - for the Student and Schoolmate. To Love A SONG By Thomas P. I. Magoun. Joice. Plano. II 9:2 1. Soft 2. As 3. Yet as rays of the sunbeams the sunlight 1 sun - light steal - ing from the heav - en in the morning On the dy - ing Hide at eve their Forth a gain shall day; light; break, Sweet As And as chimes of low bells peal - ing, When eve fades a - the bells, when fades the e - ven, Peal not the the bells give sweet-voic'd warn - ing To the world, to on way: night: wake; Sad As Soon as winds at night that the night winds cease to the wind shall fresh- ly moan, sigh, breathe Thro' When O'er the heath, o'er mountains lone, the rain falls from the sky, the mountain's pur - ple heath; Come Pass But the tho'ts of the tho'ts of the Past is 2 0 days now days gone lost in Death; He gone, On by From manhood's mem a ge's mem no mem 0 ry. ry. ry. hath o TANGLED Deu THREADS We are the only magazine that proposes an exchange, and for those of the present year we shall require that they be in good order and fit for binding. And as we furnish the work at a very low price, there is no reason why "neighbors or friends" should not invest the small sum of one dollar and fifty cents, and own a E are glad to find so much magazine which will be a source of con- interest manifested in our tinued enjoyment to their children and department of Tangled themselves, if we may judge from the Threads, and gladly wel. repeated testimony of parents to their come many, very many recent contribu- personal interest in the contents of our tions from new pens. We thank “ Liz-pages. As announced in our last, we zie” for a welcome letter, but suggest to do not propose to make any more ex- her the importance of writing upon but changes for 1867, but we have the vol- one side of the paper, as we cannot ume itself for sale at two dollars. We spare time to copy even the best of Enig- will also send covers to those who de- mas, which we must do or throw part sire, on receipt of fifty cents, in either away. "Richelieu" will take the same case pre-paying the postage. advice that we give “Lizzie.” We think Any orders for the new volume of “Nutmeg " could have taken an easier Ragged Dick, enclosing $1.25, will be position when sending us so graphic a answered by sending the book, postage, sketch of himself. He must be finely pre-paid, as early as the twentieth of the proportioned. “Our Jack” will find present month. We have already sev- his many favors seasonably appreciated. eral orders on hand, and hold ourselves Hope he received his bound volume in ready to receive others. It will be a good order. Have been sorry to delay handsome volume of three hundred these, but we have in all cases sent them pages, finely illustrated, and contains as soon as our binder could supply the five new chapters. Any present subscri- great demand. We must express our ber sending us three new names, and gratification at the very large sale of the four dollars and fifty cents, will receive last volume. In some cases we have a copy by mail, with postage pre-paid. been obliged to decline an exchange of The book will be sent on the receipt the bound volume for numbers, on ac- of the names and money, and will be a count of the careless manner in which valuable premium, and if desired, the they have been used. In a majority of name of the person sending the club, cases this has been explained by stating and date of mailing the book, will appear that it was occasioned by too freely loan in the next issue of the magazine after ing the numbers to neighbors and friends. receipt of the names. 190 The Student and Schoolmate. We call attention to rates for postage | versaries, missions &c., &c., are fully as printed on the second page of cover, considered in a practical form. A quar- complaint having reached us of extra- ter of a century's service as a Sunday ordinary charges being made in more School Teacher, a large part of the time than one instance. In all cases of non-re as a Superintendent, leads us to speak ceipt of the SCHOOLMATE ten days after thus at length of the value of the book it is due, our usual day for mailing being before us. two days before the first day of each WAVERLEY AND · IVANHOE. By Sir month, we wish to be informed of the Walter Scott. Little Dorritt and Old fact, as other publishers have suffered as Curiosity Shòp. By Charles Dickens. well as ourselves by mistakes some. These are in paper covers, published by where. T. B. Peterson & Brother, Philadelphia, Our May number will be brim full of and sold by Lee & Shepard, Boston. good things. “Fame and Fortune ” is in- The reading public can now enjoy the creasing in interest, and we have also a writings of these eminent authors at a fine story from the pen of Mrs. Jane G. small cost ; these, now before us, being Austin, author of Dora Darling, an- well printed and furnished at the low other from Mrs. Rosa Abbott Parker, price of twenty-five cents per copy. Will and following the Roots, Stems, Leaves Messrs. L. & S. remember to send us of E. C. J. will be valuable article on succeeding volumes as issued ? Flowers, with an excellent Dialogue, From Messrs. Oliver Ditson & Co., and Speech marked for declamation by we have the following Music - a teacher of many years experience. A Mossy Dell Waltz, by J. W. Turner. choice piece of original music by T. P. I. Avery Waltz, by Charles D. Blake. Magoun will also appear. I'll meet Thee in the Lane. No. 9, of Wayside Flowers, by Geo. A. Russell. Our Book Table. Beside the Grave of Jennie. Song, The Red Cross. By Oliver Optic. Duet and Chorus, by W. C. Baker. Lee & Shepard, Boston. The third vol. O God thou art my God. A Sacred ume of the “Young America Abroad” Quartette, by J. F. Petri. series, is not a whit behind its predeces- Christ the Lord is risen to-day: No. sors in interest, giving much geographi- 4, of the Melodia Sacra collection, by A. cal knowledge with an occasional ex- Andrews. citing scene on board the Josephine, Answers – March. commanded with distinguished ability 29. Horse-man-ship. by the youthful Capt. Kendall, who 30. And-over Andover. proves equal to every emergency. 31. LL. Be -- Bell DVI. oo. e- THE SABBATH SCHOOL INDEX. By Ovideo D a show — Shadow. MI., te R. G. Pardee, A. M. J. C. Garrigan & Time LI, 0 - Oil ML, Nora – Nor- Co., Philadelphia. Sold by N. P. Kemp, mal. Whole - Boston - Lowell. No. 40 Cornhill, Boston. Under thirty 32. Star-rats. 33. Step-pets. 34. Ten. three appropriate heads this volume im net. parts much valuable information on the 35. Woburn. important subject of Sabbath School in 36. Laments, aments, men, e. struction. All officers, from the Super 37. Afore for, o. intendent to the humblest teacher can 38. Award, war, a. turn its pages over with profit, while 39. Frank, ran, a the management of conventions, anni. 40. Mas-cu-line. Tangled Threads. 191 mate. 41. Heed-less. 41, 26 was a Major General in the Amer. 42. Frank Snelling Finn, Boston, Mass. ican army during the Revolution. 43. Lies have short legs. My 32, 37, 10, 31, 27, 17, 22, 20, 33, 4, 44. James Fennimore Cooper. 21, 23, 28, 16, 25 was a Governor of 45. Oswegatchie. Massachusetts. 46. Prize Problem. $2218.27. My 5, 39, 7, 24, 9, 27, 32, 15, 23, 23, 31, 6 is a river in Maine. F. J. Marsh, of Amherst, Mass., sent My 35, 12, 3, 29, 22, 30, 36 is a town his answer in advance of all others closely in Maine. followed by a very neat solution from My 1, 31, 8, 19 is a musical instru. F. E. Aldrich, Worcester, and several ment. others whose answers were not correct, My 17, 38, 24, 13, 14, 10 is a town in as they will observe. No other correct Maine. solution reaching us before the tenth of My whole can be found in the School. March, we send Marsh our Bound Vol- RUTHVEN. ume for 1867. Hereafter we propose to keep the list open till the 20th, and as 49. Cross Word Enigma. we go to press soon after the roth, two My first is in sack, but not in measure ; months will elapse between publication My second is in month, but never in of problem and announcement of suc- teisure ; cessful competitor. This we think due My third is in sable, but not in green; to those living at a great distance, and in My fourth is in window, but never in the distribution of prizes we desire that screen ; all shall have a fair chance. All an My fifth is in slew, but not in slay ; swers in future should give the method My sixth is in harvest, but never in by which the answer is reached, the date hay ; of the receipt of magazine, and the time My seventh is in star, but not in moon; occupied in solving the question. My eighth is in tea, but never in spoon ; 47. Cross Word Enigma. My ninth is in hilt, but not in sword ; My first is in chair, but not in seat ; My tenth is in letter, but never in My second in honey, but not in sweet; word ; My third in paper, but not in book ; My eleventh is in revery, and also in My fourth in gaze, but not in look ; reason ; My fifth in mirth, but not in fun; My whole is prevalent during the win. My sixth in five, but not in one ; Our JACK My seventh in one, but not in ten ; Changings. My eighth in man, but not in men; My ninth in lead, but not in zinc; 50. Take the initial letter from an aeri. form fluid and leave an adverb; prefix My tenth in thought, but not in think; a spirant consonant to this and form the My eleventh in water, but not in drink; third person of a verb ; take the final My twelfth in form, but not in fit; letter and leave an interjection; annex My thirteenth in jest, but not in wit ; a lingual and form an article of apparel. My fourteenth in red, but not in blue ; My whole a name well known to you. 51. Take the initial letter from a kind RUTHVEN. of genius and leave a pronoun; prefix a palatal to this and form a pet; take the 48. Enigma. final letter and leave a colloquial inter- I am composed of 42 letters. jection; annex a lingual and form an My 18, 9, 42, 2, 40, 31, 15, 23, 34, 11, 1 animal. RICHDORE. ter season. 192 The Student and Schoolmate. Sans M lieu. The Evening Circle.' 52. Take the middle letter from a tav- ern and leave a preposition. Hail, Royal Wight! 53. Take from the middle and leave a This amusing game requires eight vapor. 54. Take from rotten straw and leave cards of droll figures,t and any number RICHDORE. a great deal. of merry players. The latter seat them- selves in a row in front of one of their 55. Charade. number, the “ Royal Wight." What is the power that is so great, He then shows four of the cards to Its force can hold ten thousand the party, telling them that, whenever he weight? holds one of these up, they should in- And yet an infant with its thumb, stantly exclaim, “Hail, most noble Roy. This mighty power can overcome. al Wight!” If he holds up any other The rolling spheres it does coerce, card they should say, “The Royal Wight And regulate the universe ; wills, to work right royally.” When he But should its efforts cease one minute, holds up a card, at the same time, says, All would be hurled in space infinite. * Presto, change !" then all should keep H. S. silence. If any one speaks, he is out; 58. Charade. First, a verb in the past tense, as, also, the person is that makes the Second, used in crossing a river, wrong reply, or a tardy one, to any card. The Royal Wight, after he has shown Third, a sailor's welcome, a card, should give a funny explanation My whole a city. ot it. While the players are laughing at JAMES H. McNAMEE. this, he suddenly raises another card, 57. Enigma. when many of the unsuspecting find I am composed of 13 letters. themselves enjoying their “out.” My 3, 4, 7, is a color. After all the players are out, they are My 1, 6, 11, is often a pet. range themselves in a line at one side of My 9, 2, 13, is a mischievous animal. the room. The Royal Wight places a My 12, 8, 5, is not cold. chair on the opposite side, and, having My 10, is a pronoun. seated himself in it, gives the signal ; My whole is an excellent motto. whereupon all rush towards him. The RICHDORE. one he thinks touched him first, is the Royal Wight for the next game. Prize Problem. No. 4. A lady has three cups and only two † Comical sayings will do very nearly covers for them. The difference in as well as pictures, if there is no artist in weight of the first cup and the heavy the family. RICHDORE cover is equal to one third the weight of the third cup. The weight of the first cup plus that of the third is twice the weight of the second. One third of the NOTE.-In the future, we hope to re- sum of the weight of the first and third ceive the copy for this department as cup is four times the weight of the light early as the fifth of the month. Richdore, cover. The square of the weight of the who has our thanks for many favors will first cup plus 16 times its weight equals keep this in mind, as, in the present in- 612 ounces. The cups and covers to stance, his letter reached us just in sea- gether weigh 84 ounces. The weight of son to prevent a postponement to next each cup and cover is required. number. Sali SONY See the enfranchised bird, who wildly springs With a keen sparkle in his glowing eye, And a strong effort in his quivering wings, Uy to the blue vault of the happy sky, STUDENT AND Scout Mye An Illustrated Monthly, FOR OUR BOYS AND GIRLS. Vol. XXI. MAY, 1868. No. V. FAME AND FORTUNE, OR THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD HUNTER. CHAPTER VII. A FINANCIAL DISCUSSION. N the course of the morning, Dick called at the Park Bank, and presented the cheque which was made payable to himself. His employer had accompanied him to the Bank on a previous day, and introduced him to the cashier as one who was authorized to receive and pay over money for the firm. Dick therefore found no difficulty in obtaining his money, though the fact that the cheque was made payable to him created some surprise. " Your salary seems to be a large one,” said the teller, as he handed our hero ten bills of a hundred dollars each. "Yes,” said Dick, “ my services are very valooable.” On leaving the Bank, Dick went to the Savings Bank, and presented his book. “How much do you wish to deposit ? ” “ A thousand dollars,” said Dick, briefly. The bank officer looked at him in surprise. “ How much did you say ?” he repeated. “ A thousand dollars." “No nonsense, young man! My time is too valuable,” said the other, impatiently. Eutered according to act of Congress, in the year 1868, by JOSEPH H. ALLEN, in the clerk's ofice of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts 194 The Student and Schoolmate. He was justified in his incredulity, since Dick's deposits hitherto had been in sums of from one to five dollars. “ If you don't want to take the money, I can go somewhere else,” said our hero, who was now on his dignity. “I have a thousand dollars to deposit. Here it is.” The bank officer took the money, and counted it over in considerable surprise. “ Business is improving, is n't it?” he said. “ Yes,” said Dick. “I made all that money in one day.” “ If you should want a partner, call round and see me.” “ All right. I won't forget." Dick took the bank-book, and putting it in his inside coat pocket, buttoned up his coat, and hurried back to the store. His reflections were of a very agreeable nature, as he thought of his large deposit in the Savings Bank, and he could not help feeling that he had been born under a lucky star. Nothing of consequence transpired in the store that day. Dick was attentive to his duties. He was determined to learn the business as rap- idly as possible, not only because he felt grateful to Mr. Rockwell for his kindness, and also because he knew that this was the best thing for his future prospects. Mr. Murdock, who has already been mentioned, was of service to him in this respect. He was himself an excellent busi- ness man, and very conscientious in the discharge of his duties. He re- quired the same fidelity of others. He had observed Dick closely, and was attracted towards him by his evident desire to give satisfaction, as well as by his frank, open face. He resolved to help him along, more especially when he saw the manner in which he was treated by the book-keeper. To tell the truth, Mr. Gilbert was not a favorite with Mr. Murdock. He understood his business, to be sure, and so far as Mr. Murdock knew, kept the books correctly. But personally, he was not agreeable, and the head salesman doubted whether his integrity was what it should have been. So, altogether, he made up his mind to help Dick on as well as he could, and take pains to instruct him in the busi- ness. Dick, on his side, was pleased with Mr. Murdock, and determined to make him a confidant in the matter of his sudden accession of fortune. He took an opportunity, therefore, during the day, to say to him, “Mr. Murdock, I want to ask your advice about something." Well, my lad, what is it ? ” said his friend, kindly. “ If it's about choosing a wife, I don't know whether my advice will be good for much.” “ It is n't that,” said Dick. “Next year 'll be soon enough for that." 66 Fame and Fortune. 195 . you “So I should think. Well, if it's nothing of that sort, what is it?” • It's about investing some money. I thought you might be able to advise me.” “How much is it?” asked Mr. Murdock, supposing the sum could not be more than fifty or sixty dollars. “ Eleven hundred dollars,” said Dick. “ How much?” demanded the salesman, in surprise. “ Eleven hundred dollars !” " Is it your own ?” “ Yes." "Of course you could n't have earned so much. Was it left to you?” "I'll tell all about it,” said Dick. “I would n't tell Mr. Gilbert, and I don't mean he shall know it, but I'd just as lieves tell you. Do you know why Mr. Rockwell gave me this place ?” “ No, I've wondered a little, not at that, but at his giving you so much higher pay than boys usually receive.” “Then I'll tell you." Dick proceeded to give an account of the manner in which he had rescued little Johnny from drowning, as related in the adventures of "Ragged Dick." " It was a brave act,” said Mr. Murdock. "It was nothing at all,” said Dick, modestly. “I could swim like a duck, and I did n't mind the wetting.” "But you ran the risk of drowning.” I did n't think of that.” “ If you had been a coward or a selfish boy, it would have been the first thing you would have thought of. So Mr. Rockwell gave you this place in acknowledgment of your service. I am glad he did. You de- served it." “ He has done more," said Dick. Then he related the events of the evening previous, and told Mr. Murdock of the two gifts he had received. “So, with the money I had before, I have now eleven hundred dollars," Dick concluded. “ Shall I leave it in the Savings Bank, or can I do better with it?” “I'll tell you what I think will be a good investment,” said Mr. Mur- dock. “I know a party who owns four adjoining lots on Forty-Fifth Street. He is pressed for money, and wishes to dispose of them. Hé offered them to me at twenty-two hundred dollars, half cash. I offered him a thousand dollars cash for two of them, but he wishes to sell the whole together. I think it will be an excellent speculation, for the lay- ing out of Central Park is carrying up the price of lots in the neighbor 66 hood rapidly." 196 The Student and Schoolmate. once. Why did n't you buy them, then ?” “ Because I did n't want to buy anything that I could n't pay for at I've got a wife and three children to look out for, and so I can save money but slowly. If I only had myself to take care of, I would n't hesitate." “Can't we club together, and buy it ?” suggested Dick, eagerly. “ That is just what I was going to propose. I think the owner will take two thousand dollars down for the lots. That will be a thousand dollars apiece. I've got that money, and so have you. What do you think of it ? ” “ Tip-top," said Dick, enthusiastically. “It's just what I'd like to do." “Of course it would n't bring us in anything, but would, instead, be an expense for the present, as we should have to pay taxes on it. On the other hand, you could invest the money in bank-stock, so as to re- ceive seventy or eighty dollars annually as interest. You must decide which investment you prefer. The land we may have to keep on hand four or five years, paying taxes yearly." “ But the price 'll go up.” “ There is no doubt of that. The city is extending northwards rap- idly. I should n't be surprised if the lots would bring a thousand dollars apiece in less than five years. This would be equal to a very handsome interest." “I'm in for buying 'em,” said Dick. “So, if you 'll see the owner, I'll have the money all ready whenever you want it.” * Very well, but perhaps you would like to see them first. We'll manage to get off an hour earlier than usual this afternoon, and go up and take a look at them.” “ It seems to me Mr. Murdock and that boy are pretty thick to- gether," said the book-keeper, glancing through the glass partition. He could see that they were conversing earnestly, but of course could n't hear a word that was said. 66 What he or Mr. Rockwell can see in the young rascal, passes my comprehension.” He called sharply to Dick, and ordered him to go to the Post Office for letters. “ All right,” said Dick. " And mind you don't loiter by the way,” said the book-keeper, sharply. “You were gone long enough at the Bank this morning. Did you come right back ?” "No," said Dick. " Why did n't you ? ” Fame and Fortune. 197 > . “ There was somewhere else I wanted to go.” “On your own business, or Mr. Rockwell's ? “On my own business.” " So I thought. I shall report you to Mr. Rockwell,” said Gilbert, triumphantly. “ I would n't, if I were you,” said Dick, coolly. “ And why not, you young rascal ?” “ Because he knows it already." " Knows it already,” repeated the book-keeper, discomfited. " Well, I hope he gave you a good scolding." " I am sorry to disappoint you,” said Dick, “ but he knows it, because he gave me leave to go." “I don't believe it,” said Gilbert, mortified to find that Dick was in the right after all. " Then perhaps you 'd better ask Mr. Rockwell.” " I will,” said Gilbert, who really had no intention of doing so. “ You must have had some very urgent private business,” he added, with a sneer. "You're right, there,” said Dick. " Playing marbles with some of your ragamuffin friends, I suppose." “ Playin' marbles is a very refined and intellectual amusement,” said Dick, “ but I don't play marbles in business hours.” "Where did you go ?” said the book-keeper, impatiently. “I don't want any of your impertinence." " I went to the Savings Bank,” said Dick. “I suppose you have a very large account there,” sneered Gilbert. “Yes," said Dick, quietly. “ Pretty large." "It's to be hoped you won't withdraw your patronage, or the Bank might fail." " Then I won't,” said Dick. “Shall I go to the Post Office now ?” “Yes, and be quick about it.” The book-keeper had some curiosity as to the amount of Dick's ac- count at the Savings Bank, but there was no good chance for him to inquire, and he accordingly returned to his writing, more prejudiced against Dick than ever. On the whole, I have some doubts whether Dick's manner was quite as respectful as it ought to have been to one who was older and higher in office than himself. I should not recommend my young readers to imitate him in this respect. But it is my business to describe Dick just as he was, and I bave already said that he was not a model boy. Still in most respects, he tried to do what was right, and it must be admitted 198 The Student and Schoolmate. that the book-keeper's treatment of him was not likely to inspire much attachment or respect. Dick had no difficulty in perceiving the dislike entertained by Gilbert for him, and he was beginning to cherish a simi- lar feeling towards the book-keeper. He determined, however, to give him no cause of complaint, so far as he was entitled to command his services, but it must be confessed he found much more satisfaction in obeying Mr. Rockwell and Mr. Murdock. CHAPTER VIII. NEW PLANS, A T the close of the afternoon, as had been proposed, Mr. Murdock, accompanied by Dick, rode up as far as Forty-Fifth Street, to look at the lots which he had suggested buying. They were located in a very eligible situation, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. Some of my young readers may not be aware that the dimensions of a city lot are twenty-five feet front by one hundred feet in depth. The four lots to- gether made a plot of one hundred feet by one hundred, or a little less than quarter of an acre. In the country the whole would scarcely have been considered sufficient for a house with a good yard in front, but if people choose to live in the city they must make up their minds to be crowded. " It looks small, don't it ? ” said Dick. “I should n't think there was four lots there." “ Yes,” said Mr. Murdock, “ they are of the regular size. Some lots are only twenty feet wide. These are twenty-five. They don't look so large before they are built on.” “ Well,” said Dick, "I'm in for buying them." “I think it will be a good investment for both of us,” said Mr. Mur- dock. “ The money shall be ready whenever you want it,” said Dick. “ Very well. I will see the owner to-morrow, or rather this evening, as it is best to be prompt, lest we might lose so favorable a bargain. I will make the best terms I can with him, and let you know the result to-morrow.” “ All right!” said Dick. “Good-night, Mr. Murdock." “Good night. Bye the bye, why won't you come round and take supper with us. My wife and children will be glad to make your ac- quaintance." “ Thank you,” said Dick. “I will come some other evening with Fame and Fortune. 199 pleasure, but if I stay away without saying anything about it, Fosdick won't know what's become of me.” Dick got back to Bleecker street a little late for dinner. When he entered the dining-room, the remainder of the boarders were seated at the table. Come, Mr. Hunter, you must render an account of yourself,” said Miss Peyton, playfully. “Why are you late this evening ?” " Suppose I don't tell,” said Dick. “* Then you must pay a fine. Must n't he, Mrs. Browning ? ” * That depends upon who is to benefit by the fines,” said the land- lady. “If they are to be paid to me, I shall be decidedly in favor of it. That reminds me, that you were late to breakfast this morning, Miss Peyton." “O, ladies must n't be expected to pay fines,” said Miss Peyton, shaking her ringlets. “They never have any money you know.” * Then I think we must let Mr. Hunter off," said Mrs. Browning. " If he will tell us what has detained him. You must excuse my curi- osity, Mr. Hunter, but ladies, you know, are privileged to be curious." "I don't mind telling,” said Dick, helping himself to a piece of toast. " I'm talking of buying some lots up town, and went up with a friend to look at them.” Fosdick looked at Dick inquiringly, not knowing if he were in earn est or not “ Indeed !” said Mr. Clifton, “May I inquire where the lots are sit- uated ?” “I'll tell you if I buy them,” said Dick, “ but I don't want to run the risk of losing them.” You need n't be afraid of my cutting you out,” said Clifton. “I paid my washerwoman this morning, and hav'n't got but a dollar and a I suppose that won't buy the property.” "I wish it would,” said Dick. “ In that case I'd buy half a dozen lots.” “I suppose, from your investing in lots, Mr. Hunter, that you are thinking of getting married, and living in a house of your own,” said Miss Peyton, simpering. “No,” said Dick, “ I shan't get married for a year. Nobody ought to be married before they ’re seventeen." " That's just my age,” said Miss Peyton. Mr. Clifton afterwards informed Dick that Miss Peyton was twenty- five, but did not mention how he had ascertained. He likewise added that when he first came to the boarding-house, she had tried her fascina- tions upon him. 66 half over. 200 The Student and Schoolmate. But money - “ She'd have married me in a minute,” he said complacently, “but I'm too old a bird to be caught that way. When you see Mrs. Clifton, gentlemen, you'll see style, and beauty, and — money,” he added, after a moment's reflection. Mr. Clifton had a tolerably good opinion of himself, as may be in- ferred from this remark. In fact he valued himself rather more highly than the ladies appeared to do, but such cases are not remarkable. “ Mrs. Clifton will be a lucky woman,” said Dick, with a sober face. “ You 're very kind to say so," said Mr. Clifton, modestly. “I be- lieve I'm tolerably good looking, and nobody 'll deny that I've got style. - that 's my weak point. You could n't lend me five dol- lars, could you - till next week.” “ I'm afraid not,” said Dick. “My up town lots 'll cost so much, and then there'll be the taxes afterwards." “O, it's of no consequence. I thought a little of going to the opera to-night, and I need a new pair of gloves. It costs a sight to keep a fellow in gloves." “ So it does,” said Dick. “I bought a pair for fifty cents six months ago, and now I've got to buy another pair.” “Ha, ha, good joke! By the way, I wonder you fellows don't take a better room.” “ Why should we ? Is n't this good enough?” asked Fosdick. “O, its comfortable, and all that,” said Clifton, “ but you know what I mean. You would n't want any of your fashionable friends to call upon you here." “ That's a fact,” said Dick. Suppose,” he said, turning to Fosdick with a twinkle in his eye, “ Johnny Nolan should call upon us here. What would he think of our living in such a room ?” “ He would probably be surprised,” said Fosdick, entering into the joke. “ Is be one of your Madison Avenue friends ?” asked Clifton, a little mystified. “ I don't know where he lives,” said Dick, with truth, " but he's a friend of mine, in business down town." 66 Wholesale or retail ? " “ Retail I should say, should n't you Fosdick ?” “ Yes,” said Fosdick, amused at Clifton's evident mystification. “ Well, good evening, gents," said Clifton, sauntering out of the room. “ Call and see me when you hav'n't anything better to do." “ Thank you. Good night.” 66 Fame and Fortune. 201 66 “ Were you in earnest, Dick, about the uptown lots,” asked Fosdick, after Clifton had left the room. “ Yes," said Dick. “ It's an investment that Mr. Murdock ad- vised. I'll tell you about it, and then you can tell me what you think of it." Dick thereupon gave an account of the conversation that had taken place between him and the head-clerk, and what they proposed to do. What do you think of it ?” he concluded. I have no doubt it is an excellent plan,” said Fosdick, “but of course my opinion is n't worth much. I don't see but you stand a chance to be a rich man sometime, Dick.” " By the time I get to be a hundred,” said Dick. “ A good while before that, I presume. But there's something else we must not forget.” “ What is that?” “Money is a good thing to have, but a good education is better. I was thinking to-day that since we have come here, we hav’n't done any studying to amount to anything." “ That is true.” " And the sooner we begin the better.” “ All right. I agree to that.” “ But we shall need assistance. I've taught you about all I know myself, and now we want to go higher.” ** What shall we do ?” “I'll tell you, Dick. Have you noticed the young man that has a room just opposite ours ? ” " His name is Layton, is n't it?” “ Yes." “What about him?" “I heard yesterday that he was a teacher in a private school. We might engage him to teach us in the evening, or at any rate see if he is willing.” " All right. Is he in now, I wonder?” “Yes. I heard him go into his room a few minutes since.” Very well, suppose we go in and speak to him.” The boys at once acted upon this suggestion, and crossing the entry, knocked at the door. " Come in !” said a voice from within. The door being opened, they found themselves in the presence of a young man of pleasant appearance, apparently about twenty-five years 66 of age. 202 The Student and Schoolmate. " Good evening, gentlemen," he said. “I am glad to see you. Will you have seats ?” “ Thank you,” said Fosdick. “ We came in on a little business. I understand you are a teacher, Mr. Layton.” " Yes, I am engaged in a private school in the city.” • My friend and myself are engaged in business during the day, but we feel that our education is quite deficient, and we want to make ar- rangements to study evenings. We cannot do this to advantage without assistance. Are you occupied during the evenings ?” “ No, I am not." Perhaps you would not feel like teaching in the evening, after being engaged in the day-time.” “ On the contrary, I have been hoping to secure scholars, but I hardly knew how to set about it.” “ Are you acquainted with the French language, Mr. Layton ?” “ Yes, I am tolerably familiar with it. I studied it at college with a native teacher.” “ If you are a college graduate, then, you will be able to teach us whatever we desire to learn. But I am afraid we may not be able to make it worth your while. We have neither of us large salaries. But if four dollars a week - two dollars for each of us — would be satisfac- tory —” " I shall be satisfied with it,” said Mr. Layton. “ In fact!” he added frankly, “I shall consider it quite a welcome addition to my salary. My father died a year since, and my mother and sister are compelled to depend upon me in part for support. But I have not been able to do as much for them as I wished. This addition to my earnings will give me the means of increasing their comforts.” ** Then it will be a pleasant arrangement all round,” said Fosdick. “ What would you advise us to study ?” After a few inquiries as to their present attainments, Mr. Layton re- commended a course of mathematics, beginning with algebra, history, and the French Language. He gave the boys a list of the books they would be likely to need. The next evening the boys commenced studying, and determined to devote an hour and a half each evening to mental improvement. They found Mr. Layton an excellent teacher, and he on his side found them very apt pupils. Dick had an active, intelligent mind, and an excellent capacity, and Fosdick had always had a thirst for learning which he was now able gratify. As his salary would have been insufficient to pay his expenses A Fire Story. 203 and the teacher besides, he was obliged to have recourse to his little fund in the Savings Bank. Dick offered to assist him, but Fosdick would not consent. Just as his savings were about exhausted, his wages were raised two dollars a week, and this enabled him to continue the arrangement without assistance. In the course of a few weeks the boys commenced reading French, and found it quite interesting. Horatio Alger, Jr. A款​孕​早​、 A FIRE STORY. BY THE CHIMNEY ELF. RHODA HODA sat all alone upon her little bench in the chimney-corner. The hickory logs burned low upon the hearth, sending a ruddy glow into the room, and far up the great black flue. But although nothing could be more favorable than this occasion for roasting apples, chestnuts, or even eggs if she could have got them, Rhoda only sat star- ing at the coals and thinking how lonely she was, and how badly treated by her sister Sally who had gone to a quilting frolic with their brother Ben, and had refused to take her. " It's real mean,” said Rhoda at last, as she kicked back a little brand that rolled out of the fire toward her. "So it is n't,” said a funny little voice. Rhoda looked around, saw nobody, and concluded that she had dreamed it. So she said again : “ Real mean, and when I grow up a big girl like Sally I'll — ' “Do just as she does if you know enough,” interrupted the funny little voice. 1 This time Rhoda was sure she had not dreamed it, so looked all around her and underneath the little bench, and even into the fire. Finally she looked up the chimney and then she saw him, the drollest little figure of a man, sitting astride one of the legs of bacon hung up to smoke upon the great hooks in the side of the chimney. "Well I never!” said Rhoda, catching her breath. “Never what? Never saw me? There's where I have the advan- tage of you then, for I have seen you many times this ten years past. The first time, you were rolled in a blanket and laid in a basket very bench where you are sitting now. I believe they said you were two weeks old that day. Funny, is n't it?” 1 upon the 204 The Student and Schoolmate. “ Well, I don't know,” replied Rhoda, trying to remember how she felt when she was two weeks old. Where were you then ?” asked she, presently. “ Just about where I am now, only I remember I was standing on the root of a cow's tongue, that your mother was smoking then. Nice wo- man your mother was, Rhoda.” “O don't! She's dead, don't you know?” feeling as you would if some one should pull open a deep cut in your finger just as it was begin- ning to heal. “ Yes I know," replied the funny little man with great composure. “ But I never could make out why you human beings care so much for each other after you are separated by what men call death. Now it is different with us; I don't know whether I ever had a mother or a father either for that matter, and I'm sure I don't care.” “Don't care ? Oh!” said Rhoda staring up at the little man who nodded back at her, and stuck bis tongue into his cheek, and winked first one bright eye, and then the other. “When people's mothers die they go to Heaven and are very happy, though their children are very sorry and feel very bad because they can't go too, but then they are glad too, to think that their mothers are happy. So any way I don't see how they can help caring,” went on Rhoda, not minding the grimaces. Yes, that's the way I've heard them talk a good many times," re plied the little man coolly. “And I dare say it is all right for you, but what has a chimney-elf got to do with such things, I'd like to know ?” “ Are you a chimney elf? ” asked Rhoda, timidly. " Why, of course I am. Have you just found that out, you little goose !” exclaimed the funny old man, turuing a dozen somersaults in the twinkling of an eye, and ending by seating himself cross-legged on the end of the great crane not two feet from Rhoda's head. “ And don't chimney-elves go to Heaven when they die ? ” asked she, anxiously. “ Not a bit of it. They just dry up and turn into smoke. The smoke floats away into the air and that's the end of it.” “O dear I'm so sorry!” exclaimed Rhoda, pitifully. Sorry for what? I'm not sorry for anything, or glad either for that matter. Elves never are. But then, it is of no use whatever for me to try to understand you or you me, when we talk of such matters. Elves and human beings are quite different creatures, always have been, and always will be, I suppose. I have seen a good many of them in my day, and studied them carefully, but I never could make it out very well.” 66 A Fire Story. 205 “ How could you study them much if you were always in the chim- ney?" ventured Rhoda. “ Hi! I don't always stay in the chinney, though that is my home, but I go visiting sometimes, and I have company, and hear the news and — well, well no matter how, but I've found out plenty of interesting things in my day — plen — ty." “ I wish you would tell me some of them, if you ain't tired,” said Rhoda, with some hesitation, for she did not know how it would do to ask favors of a chimney-elf. He however seemed to take it very good- naturedly “ Ho! you want me to tell you a story, do you?” asked he, changing bis position on the end of the crane, and dangling one foot down. say Yes, if you please." * Well , as you did not go to the quilting, and felt so lonely about it, and as I have nothing else to do to-night, I don't mind if I do. Now what shall it be about? About the earth, ?” “No, please. The earth is all frozen up bard, and I don't like to think of it, it makes me so cold,” said Rhoda, considering. " About the air, then?” “No, not about the air. I don't like to feel it come whistling through the cracks and under the door as it does to-night, and it moans and cries Et A Fire Story. 207 and went on so that his poor mother cried, and Nan told him he was a wicked boy and she did n't love him, which made matters worse, for if there was anything in the world Jacob loved better than all else, it was poor, pale, pretty little Nan, his crippled sister. " It was the very next day after this scene that the end of the whole matter arrived in this way. Both boys staid at noon, and so in fact did almost the whole school except the teacher, more's the pity. Well, some dispute arose, and Eugene and Jacob took different sides as they almost always did, and at last forgot what they had begun to dispute about, and took to calling each other names, and saying all the provoking things that they could think of, until at last Jacob said Eugene was a stuck-up fool, and Eugene said Jacob was a sneak and a beggar. To this Jacob re- plied that the other lied, for he never had begged a cept's worth in his life, to which Eugene retorted that the very trowsers Jacob wore at that moment had been a pair of his old ones, and were patched from a pair of his father's. Unfortunately this was the precise truth, although it was very mean of Eugene to say it, especially before the other scholars who at once set up a shout, and made a great many witty remarks about patched-breeches, and beggars on horseback, and other delicate little allu- sions which I don't remember just now. “ The end of it was that Jacob rushed away from the school-house, feeling as if he would like to kill somebody or other, he was n't sure but it was himself, and as if he never could face one of those boys again as long as he lived. The more he thought of it the blacker and bitterer grew his mood, and the more eager his longing for revenge, just what revenge he did not know at first, but just as the sun went down, and gloomy black shadows came creeping through the wood where he lay, something seemed to whisper a suggestion in his ear which made him start and turn pale, and then sit up and look all around him to see if anybody was near enough to suspect the horrible thought already work- ing in his mind. No one was near, no one that he saw, although for that matter Rhoda, take the word of a chimney-elf for it, no one is ever alone. I can see things you can't, and I'm right, you may depend upon it. So although Jacob could see nobody and threw himself back upon the grass feeling quite sure that he was alone, the something which had whispered the borrible idea into his mind did not let it rest, but kept urging it, and making it easy, and telling him how badly he had been treated, and how sweet revenge would be, until in the end Jacob rose up and went skulk- ing along ont of the wood-lot and across the fields, looking just like a dog that means to steal a bone and knows he ought to be whipped for thinking of it. 208 1 The Student and Schoolmate. “ The wood-lot where he had spent the afternoon belonged to Squire Vale, and the fields he crossed after leaving it were Squire Vale's also, and beyond them lay the great farm-yard, and barns, and hay-stacks at the back of Squire Vale's big white house. It was already dusk when Jacob Billings left the wood where indeed he would have been afraid to stay any longer alone, and by the time he reached the buildings it was dark, so that he easily found a chance to creep into the great hay-barn and hide himself there. “ Meantime his poor mother at home was getting more and more anx- ious, especially as she had an errand at the squires, that could not be put off until morning, and there was no one with whom she could leave Nan until Jacob came home. At last, just before it got quite dark, she put Nan in her little basket-carriage, made up the bundle of work she had promised to send home before night, and set off for the great house. When she reached the door she took Nan out, put the bundle under her own arm, and so tried to carry both child and bundle up the steps, but half-way up she tripped and fell, bruising herself considerably and hurt- ing poor little Nan so badly that she fainted away, and Mrs. Vale who had been looking out of the window came running to the door, calling the servants to follow her, and taking up Nan in her own arms carried her in and laid her upon a bed. “ With care and patience they presently revived her, but she was so feverish and excited with the fright and the pain that Mrs. Vale would not hear of her being carried home that night, but kept both her and Mrs. Billings, and sent a boy down to the little cottage to wait until Jacob's return and tell him that his mother would not be home that night. The boy went, and as Jacob did not appear, and he was pretty tired, he lay down upon the seat in the little porch, and slept very com- fortably there until morning. “ Ten o'clock struck, and at the sound, out went the last light in Squire Vale's orderly house, and the Squire himself went last of all to bed. Ten minutes later, a great cloud of smoke, and then, flashing, flickering flame, and then a steady stream of fire, rose all at once from the great hay-barn, and then from the straw-shed, and finally from beneath the wooden steps at the front and back of the house, and from a pile of brushwood heaped against the end of the house. By the time the sleepy household were aroused to the full sense of the danger that was upon them, everything was in a blaze, and burning in the hot dry air of the summer night with frightful rapidity. Hardly anything was saved beyond the lives of the inmates and a few boxes of papers and valuables in the Squire's study, and after a A Fire Story. 209 little while they gave over the attempt to do anything, and stood out in the yard in front of the house looking on at the destruction, dismally enough, of course. But while they looked, a window in the upper part of the house was thrown open and a woman's white ghastly face looked out, while Mrs. Vale sbrieked : “Good Heavens! That woman and child! They have been forgot- ten, and now it is too late!' “Too late! Little Nan!' shouted, almost screamed Eugene, who stood close beside her, and without another word he darted in at the open door, and up the burning stairs, and disappeared in what seemed nothing less than a sea of roaring flame. One great cry went up from all wbo saw bim, but high above it was his poor mother's shriek as she fell fainting to the ground. “The next sound was the Squire's voice calling upon the men to aid him in saving not only his son's life, but that of the woman and child be bad wished himself to save, and offering great rewards to those who should succeed in rescuing them. Not that I believe the reward made any difference, for all were ready to do their best without it, and no one, whether man or chimney-elf, can do more. But before any one could find time or wit to do anything more than talk, a brave voice from the window called out: “* All right! Stand by to catch her, some of you !' " Then Eugene appeared at the window, conveying a great bundle bound around with strips of sheets and towels tied together until they made a rope nearly long enough to reach the ground. * "Quick now! Cut off the rope and let me have it for the woman. Mother, see to little Nan there in the bundle !' “So little Nan, safe and sound, was taken out of the comforter she had been packed in, and Mrs. Vale sat down on the grass and took her in her arms and cried over her as if she had been her own, all the time keeping her eyes fixed on the window where Eugene row stood with poor Mrs. Billings, who, white and trembling and scared, could bardly be persuaded to even let him tie the rope around her waist. At last, however, partly by coaxing and partly by main strength, he succeeded in getting her outside of the window, and then putting forth his whole strength, he lowered her gently and safely to the ground. ** She's safe, and the rope 's clear. Now fasten it and come down yourself !' shouted the Squire in a trembling voice, for the boy was the apple of his father's eye, and proud as he was of his courage, he could bardly wait to let him finish his work before he summoned him out of his danger 210 The Student and Schoolmate. " • All right, father. I've' - began the boy, and at that moment the floor gave way under his feet, and he disappeared from the window, where the flames came rushing out instead. “With an awful groan the father rushed forward, but was passed half- way by a light boyish figure, who flew rather than ran from behind a great tree where he had been hiding, plunged through the chasm left by the door now burned away, and disappeared in that roaring, frightful furnace where deadly jaws seemed gaping for more food, more lives. “But the next moment that light active figure appeared staggering out again, this time with the senseless form of Eugene Vale in its arms, his face and head wrapped in the coat his preserver had hastily stripped off his own back to put around him. “ Just outside the house rescuer and rescued came down in a heap to- gether, and when they were raised and cared for by the busy hands and kind hearts all about them, it was discovered that it was Jacob Billings who had saved Eugene Vale's life, and that both lads were seriously burned and injured, Jacob by far the most so, from having exposed his head and face to the flames while protecting Eugene with his own coat. “ A week later the Squire came to see Jacob, still in bed and mend- ing very slowly because of his low spirits and want of appetite. “ • Jacob,' began the old man, “If it had not been for you the other night, I should be without a son to-day. Now, I have two, for I shall always look upon you as if you were • Stop sir, please,' said Jacob, very white and trembling, but very much resolved to speak. “• Before you say any more, I want to tell you it was I who set your house and barn on fire, and it was only when I saw Eugene save my mother and sister that I knew how awfully wicked I had been. I wish I had died in the fire, sir, I do, really and truly.' “Of course the Squire was very much shocked at this, and insisted samewhat sternly upon hearing the whole story. Jacob told every word just as faithfully as he could, and then the Squire went away without a word. “ Three days later he came again and brought Eugene with him. When he had the boys alone, he said : “ You two have had a lesson which will, I think, last you your lives. It will make better men of you if there is any of the right stuff in you, and I think there is in both.' " Jacob, I forgive you the great injury you did me in your madness for the sake of the great benefit you did me when you recovered your More than that, since you are so eager for education, and as benges. Dreams. 211 your teacher says, so good a scholar, you shall go with Eugene to school at my expense, and if you still wish it when you are fitted, you shall go to college and study for a profession, Jacob; am I a wise man or a fool to trust you thus ?' "* A wise man I'll prove you, sir,” said Jacob, with sudden strength in his own powers, and the Squire, looking in his face, believed him. " But the best of the whole story is that Jacob kept his word and proved in the end that Squire Vale, instead of a fool, had been one of the wisest as well as kindest of men in repaying the injuries of his ene my by benefits. " But bless my heart, Rhoda, there are the sleigh-bells. Good-night, child. Some other time I'll tell you an earth and an air and a water story." With these words the chimney-elf skipped and bounded away up the chimney, and Rhoda went very thoughtfully to meet her sister. Mrs. Jane G. Austin. an DREAMS. I I untold In caskets of silver and ingots of gold; While gems of the rarest, abundant were shed And jewels unnumbered around me were spread. Of horses and coaches of finest array, And well-ordered servants I held the full sway; A fine furnished mansion well fitted to please, I dreamed that I lived in at happiest ease. My gardens were stocked with the choicest of flowers, And vines full of clusters encircled my bowers ; While beautiful birds their sweet music conveyed, To gladden my heart as I mused in the shade. I dreamed I was wealthy; and nought could compare With bounty that came in a bountiful share ; With vessels at sea and at many a coast, And all well-insured if mayhap they be lost. 212 The Student and Schoolmate. And lands that were teeming with finest of fruits, And grain to be gathered, and succulent roots ; And lawns of the freshest of verdure displayed, And groves that invited by sweetest of shade. No care of the future to darken my brow, I lived in the Present, all beautiful Now! Of friends there were plenty as any might wish Like Aies that will swarm o'er a savory dish. Where riches abound, there are friends beyond count, Their number we know not — how great the amount ; We hear their good wishes unceasingly poured As gaily they feast at the well-furnished board. I waked -'t was a dream! I awoke to full life To share in its cares and do battle with strife ; Partake of its ills, and - if aught there may be To feast on such joys that are offered to me. I thought, as I longed for some friend in my need To spring to my aid in the fullest of speed, How transient our pleasures ; - tho’ foolish it seems To ponder one moment on brightest of dreams. How foolish ? ah no! They in mercy are sent ! For soon breaks the bow that too long has been bent; But would you the ash to maturity bring Then treat it with kindness and loosen the string : A day full of toil and of care at the best Demands at our hands a short season of rest; And dreams that may hover around us in sleep Are revels and joys such as Lethe may keep. Then blessed be dreams, for though sometimes they wear A garment of gloom; yet they oftener bear Bright vestments of joy, that no spoiler may strive To dim of their lustre, or us to deprive. George F. Thayer. Brooklyn, N. Y. Lily Lane. 213 LILY LANE. Grue Incident. THODS IOUSANDS of miles away, off the eastern coast of China, lies the island of Formosa, or the Beautiful. Along its south-western shore a ship was slowly sailing at the close of a sultry day in September, 1864. Through all the long sunny hours she had rested passively upon the waves, but at evening a faint breeze touched lightly the surface of the sea and whispered hope to the weary voyagers; the sunset fires gleamed higher in the west, and peace seemed to reign in the golden light. There appeared to be no cause for the dark anxious look with which the Captain searched the horizon, but in the log-book open be- fore him were the significant words, “ Becalmed in the China Sea ;” twice before had he written them during twenty years of ocean life, and he closed the book with a mental prayer that their frequent and most terrible sequel might never be recorded upon that page. A merry face, strangely at variance with the despondent ones around, now appeared above the companion way, and graceful, golden-haired Lily Lane bounded to her father's side, checking her mirth with the quick sympathy of childhood, as she noticed his troubled expression. “ Come below, and I will tell you what day it is,” she entreated, and Fearily the Captain complied, while the musical voice repeated for the twentieth time at least ; “ This is my eighth birthday, and there are eight china dolls waiting for me in Hong Kong." It was a pleasant, home-like picture that greeted the sadly perplexed commander. Though waters gleamed on every side Instead of ripening grain, And loving hearts with all their thought Not one sweet flower could gain. Through the tasteful cabin, the latest smiles of departing day shed their pensive light, and gathered the brightest beams into a diadem, upon the head of the youthful wife and mother, who sat silently watch- ing with tearful eyes, the innocent babe at her feet. But all the sad- dening thoughts of the dear, New England home were banished at the approach of the loved ones; and in the happy family circle for a season there was rest. Captain Lane drew Lily to his side, as she repeated, with a gleeful laugh, her mother's hopeful words : “ We shall soon be safe on shore, and I can play with Lucy on the real, hard ground, where she cannot fall overboard.” 214 The Student and Schoolmate. Her father sighed. “ God grant that it may be so," he said, “ but a defenceless merchant- man has danger on every side, on a calm dark night in these waters.” Mrs. Lane clasped little Lucy with a shudder, and the last golden tassel of day sank below the horizon, drawing down upon all things the heavy curtain of tropical darkness. Softly through the water moved four long narrow canoes : very cau- tiously they neared the ship; but at last the helmsman's experienced ear detected the stroke of an oar. He uttered a wild cry, well knowing that it must be his death-warrant, and fell pierced by a dozen spears, nobly yielding his own life to save, if possible, those of his comrades. Instantly the deck was filled with strange, rude forms: but the crew had disappeared, with the exception of a few unfortunate men who were swept off like grass before the prairie fires. The Captain sprang up and grasped a cutlass, in the vain endeavor to defend his family; but ere he could gain the entrance, he was felled to the floor by an unseen hand, and in another moment the cabin was filled with wild, lawless Malays who rushed madly around searching for plunder. At last, hav. ing availed themselves of every movable article, they returned to their proas. Tearful and trembling, Lily emerged from the darkest corner of the state-room, into which she had retreated at the first alarm ; her mother was lying near, insensible but uninjured, and the little girl's calls at length aroused her ; but the strong, brave heart of their protector had put aside the cares of earth, never to know them more, and baby Lucy, in her beautiful innocence, had joined him in that land whence the dark- dess of night and sin are alike excluded. One by one, the men ventured from their hiding places after the de- parture of the savages; from the cross-trees, empty water-tanks and the vessel's hold they crept forth ; many had taken refuge under the supply of coal, and but one officer and three sailors had fallen upon the deck. Again the sunbeams danced upon the waves, as joyously as if there had swept no dread sirocco of death since last they lingered there, and with a favoring breeze the ship sped on her way, while the new com- mander strained every nerve to increase the distance between her and the scene of the night's disaster. There was a solemn hush over all, for in the dismantled cabin were six shrouded forms, ready for their ocean graves. Near one of them stood the orphan Lily, who, a few short hours before, had rejoiced in a fath- er's love. She was changed ; the glad, laughing light had died out of the blue eyes, her step was slow and uncertain, the slightest noise called Lily Lane. 215 earthly home passing away toward the shadowy confines of life. treasure. witnessed it all; and the sorrowing mother saw the last sunbeam of her a look of terror into the pale face, and she would seek her mother, weep- ing bitterly in her fright and loneliness. Strong, rough hands brushed away the tears that could not be re- strained, when the wanderers from an earthly shore were intrusted to the keeping of the murmuring waves ; and those hidden graves had many monuments in the awed, sympathizing hearts that bowed above them in speechless sorrow. Then Lily looked up, and the star of Faith kindled a golden gleam of trust in her soul. “God can see into the ocean, mamma,” she whispered, and the mother's lonely heart took fresh courage for the sake of its remaining Hong Kong was welcomed as a haven of rest by that harassed com- pany. Once more Lily was safe on shore, but the “real hard ground,” had lost all its attractions, for little Lucy slept beneath the very waves from which she had been shielded so carefully in her hours of childish glee, and it was weary work for the affectionate sister to play in her sad solitude. Anxiously Mrs. Lane noted her daughter's silent sorrow, and gladly she accepted the invitation of a friend to remove to his dwelling, where the music of childhood echoed as freely as it once had in her own ocean home. A new world opened for Lily among the flowers and fountains of a perfect Chinese parterre, and the society of her young companions lent an additional charm to every pleasure. They wandered for hours among the winding paths, laughing merrily when some impassable hedge sprang up before them, or a sparkling stream suddenly disappeared beneath the flowery turf, Elfida and Fannie were gentle and thoughtful, as child- ren residing in a foreign land are apt to be, when educated entirely at home, and denied all familiar intercourse with the world around. Kate was a bright little fairy, as careless and free as her pet bird that fluttered all day through its native bowers ; but baby Bella, with her pretty win- ning ways, was Lily's favorite and constant companion. So life was one continued sunny holiday, till one morning, the young stranger sat wearily down within a rustic arbor, where a silvery, subter- Tanean stream broke from a bank of mimosas, forming a miniature cas- cade , and from that day, she was seen no more in the grounds of the American merchant ; but the blinds of a large airy apartment upon the western veranda were carefully closed, and the inmates of the dwelling spot with noiseless feet and anxious faces. The ruin wrought by the savages had proved too much for the delicate child who passed that 216 The Student and Schoolmate. The ship, thoroughly refitted, sailed for New York under command of the second officer: but Mrs. Lane sat in the silent chamber, tearfully thinking of what might have been. One starry night an angel entered the villa, unseen by all save Lily, and to her he whispered beautiful things. “I have lived on earth and ocean, I have yet another home,” she said, and went fearlessly forth to the Golden Shore. In the sunset light, Ler fragile form was hidden beneath the flowers among which she had loved to linger, and soon after, the only survivor of that once happy circle re- turned to her childhood's home. Dear Lily Lane! her grave is far away in a foreign land, but as fresh and sweet as the blossoms, ever springing there, is her memory in many a heart. For the Lily's snowy petals, Just unfolding in earth's light, Caught the sweetness of the morning, But no stain to dim or blight ; And the angels looking earthward Left their smiles upon the flower, Till Love claimed it as a wanderer From their bright celestial bower. Aurelia. Flowers. 217 FLOWERS. , plants, come those which have true flowers and seeds. Flowers are scattered in bountiful profusion on hill-side and valley, by the dusty road-side, and in the deep shade of some wood, on the placid surface of some quiet pond, or float in more than royal splendor on the bosom of some tropic river, or hang in the air, seeming half-way between heaven and earth, like Mahomet's coffin. Some, and those too of rare magnifi- cence, last only a few hours, showing such lavish prodigality in Nature which creates such beauty for a few hours' life, while others, like zin- nias, amaranths, and everlastings, have a prolonged existence, which makes them seem like Methusalehs in the flower world. Man's imagi- nation could never have conceived of the beauty of form, fragrance, and color, displayed in them. Gorgeously brilliant, or delicately beautiful, they spring up everywhere, whether human eyes beheld them or not. 218 The Student and Schoolmate. In the flower world as in the animal world, all hours are hours of waking and sleeping. Some blossoms open wide their petals to the ris- ing sun, others to the midnight stars, and “watch while others sleep.” Linnaeus counted the rolling hours by the opening flowers. The open- ing of their petals varied so much that he made a flower clock, by which he told the hour by the closing of this flower, and the opening of that. The morning glory opens its delicate cup in the early morning, the spiderwort shuts its blue eyes at noon, the marvel of Peru spreads its yellow, red, or variegated flower at four o'clock, the primrose shows its pale yellow at eventide, and the night-blooming cereus reserves its won- derful beauty for midnight and watchful eyes. In the material world, after the beauty of use and fitness, there is often added the beauty of grace, form, and color, and at certain seasons in the lives of men, animals, and vegetables, this beauty is enhanced, as if Nature wished to adorn her children, and make them still more at- tractive in each other's eyes. Birds sing at pairing time, adding sweet voices to their other charms, and have a brighter plumage. In spring “the lapwing has a gayer crest,” as Tennyson says, and when fishes seek their mates their scales glow with more brilliant colors, the little stickleback seeming transformed into a swimming gem, when he endeav- ors to charm the female stickleback, and the insect comes out of the chrysalis with wings spotted and dyed of various colors, a far different creature from the caterpillar, adorned like a bridegroom, in his finest apparel, and the blossom time of the plant is its marriage time, for the wonderful flower is a beautiful apparatus for producing and maturing the seed, which is to grow and form other plants when these shall have passed away. A flower consists of several different parts, the calyx or outer cover- ing, which wraps up the corolla or little crown. This is generally of the same texture as the leaf of the plant, and usually, but not always, green. In the Fuschia it is richly colored, and more beautiful than the corolla, and consists of five oval pieces, like a bag. The separate pieces of the calyx are called the sepals, and in different plants are of different forms. They usually divide and fall back when the flower opens, and make the green cup which holds the blossoms. A plant may have a calyx and no corolla, but it cannot have a corolla without a calyx. Sometimes the calyx looks like only a few bristles or hairs, and is so insignificant that it is easily overlooked. While the calyx wraps up the corolla, that encloses the pistils and stamens, the most important, and therefore the most tenderly to-be-cared- for part of the flower. Unlike the calyx, this is rarely green, but of a Flowers. 219 more delicate texture, and of every color which may be imagined. The different parts of the corolla are called the petals, and their form varies the shape of the flower. Sometimes the petals are finished with edges like claws as in the pink, sometimes they are shaped like rays as in the coreopsis and dandelion, sometimes rounded like the rose, sometimes the upper petals clinging together make a kind of upper lip, while the lower look like an under one, a form with which the yellow butter and eggs (Antirhinum) in the fields, and the snap dragon in the garden make us · familiar. Sometimes they spread into the form of a butterfly as in the pea family, or into the fancied resemblance of a bird as in the canaryan- thus. Bells, trumpets, tubes, wheels, crosses, are all formed by the shape of the petals, by their clinging together, or opening and falling apart. The use of the corolla is supposed to be to convert the starch around the base of the flower into sugar, for the nourishment of the anthers, pistil, aud young seed, and the honey found in so many flowers is the superflu. ous portion, which many a bee and insect is all ready to appropriate. Standing next to the corolla, and protecting the pistil, come the sta- mens, which consists of a stalk and an anther or pollen bag. These vary in number and size, some flowers having only one, others as many as five hundred. Sometimes they are of equal length, sometimes un- equal. The form of the anther varies, and the manner in which it is joined to the stalk, being in some cases very firmıly fastened, and in others phardly balanced, touching the stem only by a single point, and trembling with every motion. But its office is always the same it holds the fine powdery dust, which, falling on the pistil ripens and ma- tures the seed. This pollen, which seems so like various colored dust under the microscope, appears to be a multitude of little grains, the shape of which is always alike in the same plant, but which varies widely in different families. So that if any one was as wise in pollen- dust as Professor Owen is in anatomy, who can tell from a single bone what the whole creature must have been, he could say from a grain of pollen dust to what family the plant belonged that furnished it. So in- variable are nature's laws. The anther keeps the pollen safely shut up till the proper time, and opens only in dry weather, so that none of its virtues may be lost by dampness and moisture. In the centre of the flower are the pistils, the seed bearers, the most precious part of the whole. The pistil is the slender column which runs into the ovary which contains the rudiment of the seed. The cup of the pistil is called the stigma. Some flowers have only one pistil like the pea and cherry, others many, like the ranunculus. Sometimes two or three grow together and make a compound pistil, as in the lily. 220 The Student and Schoolmate. The anther or pollen bags when they open, drop their powdery dust on the top of the pistil from which it finds its way to the ovary. If this process is never effected, the rudiments never become seeds, and the blossom is only a splendid failure. These imperfect seeds are often found in many fruits, where from some cause or other the pollen has failed to reach the ovary, and the rudiments have never grown and ripened. To produce and make perfect her seeds, to have the pollen fall at the right time upon the pistil, nature has taken many methods in differ- ent plants. In upright flowers the stamens are longer than the pistils, so that the opening anthers may drop their pollen gently on them, but this arrangement would not answer for a hanging blossom, so she varies her method here and makes the pistils the longest to catch the falling powder. In some plants, like the Indian corn and the cat-tail flag, one flower bears the pistils and another the stamens, and here she arranges the flowers so that those that bear stamens grow those that have pistils. But in the date palms, one tree bears the pistillate, and another the staminate flower. In a wild state the date palm produces its fruit, but when cultivated, men climb up to the top of the trees, bearing the stam- inate flowers, and collect the pollen dust, to scatter over the pistillate flowers on the other trees. If this is not done the crop often fails. A curious water plant, the vallisneria, not only has its different flowers on different individuals, but the flower which has the stamins blossoms at the bottom of the water while the one that produces the pistil comes from a spiral stalk, which, when the flower is ready to ex- pand, lifts it to the surface, farther than ever from its other half. But nature is inexhaustible. She seems only to make difficulties for the pleasure of overcoming them. When the pollen is ripe the flower with the stamens breaks off from its stalk and rises to the surface of the water. The anthers burst and scatter the pollen in such profusion upon the pistillate flowers, that the whole water is covered with it. When this is done, the spiral stem coils up again and draws the flower under the water where the seed ripens. The stamens of the barberry are very sensitive, and when touched by a sudden jerk, throw their pollen on to the stigma. Flowers sometimes, whose pistil is the longest, hang down at the ripening of the pollen, though they are erect at other seasons. So jealously does nature watch over this process, that while fertilization is going on, the flower is often closed, or the petals are drawn together for protection against the wind, rain, and cold. Those which do not close, are protected by their shape, or are often hung in such a manner that the wind turns them round, Flowers. 221 and they shelter themselves. Insects seeking for honey often contrib- ute to the fertilization of plants by carrying the pollen from one plant to another. The wild flowers are the natural flowers, but those of the garden are in many instarces as much the work of man as his house, or his tools. By cultivation, by mixing and crossing, he has made many new varie- ties to gratify his caprices and whims. He has made single blossoms double, changed their form and color, grafted one upon another and made a new floral world to suit himself. But nature has her revenges. His Hybrids and mongrels die out, or will not produce seeds, and there seems to be a tendency in all cultivated things to return to their original wildness at the first convenient opportunity. “ Drive nature out with a pitch-fork,” says the proverb, “and she will come running back," and sometimes she comes back before man is ready for her. Let him leave a place which he bas cultivated and adorned for only a lit:le time, and she sets herself industriously to work to bide every trace of him. If he makes a cut for a rail-road track, she instantly begins to sow golden- rod, butter and eggs, thistles and sorrel to hide the gravel, plants black- berry vines in the old cellar holes, makes grass spring up in his road, forest trees among his crumbling palaces, and covers the site of his ruined cities with sand. She turns bis domesticated animals wild again, makes savage beasts out of the descendants of his trained dogs, in Cuba and Australia, the Spanish courser goes back to the wild horse of South America, and she ever remedies the excess of civilization, by a retorn to barbarism. Man makes many uses of the petals of flowers. From them he gets beverages, dyes and medicines. The hop furnishes him with beer, the yellow crocus with saffron, which is at once a dye and a medicine, the balm with a cooling drink, and the poppy petals charm away his pain. From many of them he extracts beautiful perfumes to delight his senses when he can no longer possess the flower. The ottar of rose, in one drop of which hundreds of roses are contained, has been in use for cen- turies, and great rose gardens are cultivated for no other purpose, and in France, acres of sweet scented flowers, heliotropes, jasmines, violets and mignonette are planted, for the perfumers to seize their subtle and beautiful odors. The dried flower of one plant answers a purpose, for which man's ingenuity and mechanical contrivance has never been able to invent anything which will compete with it. After broadcloth is woven. a fine nap must be raised upon it to give it a finish and to hide the threads. This nap makes a great part of the beauty of the cloth, as we see the 222 The Student and Schoolmate. separate threads when it is worn off, and a garment looks shabby, and we call it thread-bare. To do this, the whole surface must be scratched over, and the thread raised but not broken. The base of the teasle flower is covered with long bracts which curve downward, and act like little hooks for pulling up the loose particles of the cloth. These teasles are attached to a cylinder, which revolves upon the cloth, and pulls up the particles, so that they can be sheared off, and leave the surface smooth. Various substitutes have been unsuccessfully tried for teasle heads. Fine wires have been inserted in leather bands, but when the wire catches in the thread, it tears the cloth, but the long bracts of the teasle break off, and do not injure it at all, and so immense quantities of teasles are yearly raised in France and other parts of Europe and ex- ported to England for no other purpose. E. C.F. v Bruan THE FLOWERS. W! vas from wave THEN God to man a being gave, 'Twas with a garden fair; His first-drawn breath Of odor-wafting air. When vision, at his spirit's birth, The tender eyelids burst, He saw, from out his kindred earth, The flowers had risen first! They shone, a glorious volume, spread For his all-peaceful hours :- The first sweet book man ever read Was of the leaves of flowers ! Pure thoughts of his Almighty Friend, With radiance from above, Were on its countless pages penned, Its Author's name was LOVE! Miss H. F. Goula. Agnes' Troubles. 223 AGNES' TROUBLES. A GNES was up in her mother's room, idly looking out of the window. All at once the baby, who lay asleep in the cradle, half roused up and began to cry, "Oh dear!” said she impatiently, “I don't have a minutes' peace, I declare." She went on tip-toe and rocked the cradle gently to and fro, with a very cross face. The baby went to sleep again and her mother came in. “ Agnes,” said she, "you can go and dust the parlor now, and after you have done that, you must practice your hour.” The little girl left the room, without saying anything, but she pouted all the way down the stairs. When she reached the parlor, she looked savagely at the tables and chairs and mantle-piece. “ I don't care !” she exclaimed, “ I think it's real mean! I'm al- ways having something to do! I hate to dust!” She went to work very ungraciously and when her task was done, opened the piano, with a bang. One, two, three, one, two, three,” she began, counting the time out loud, and then she made a mistake. “Bother!" she cried out, beginning again. “One, two, three, one two, three,” and this time she played it right, to the end. Raising her eyes from her notes, with a sigh of relief, she became aware of the presence of a stranger. She had been performing to an au- dience of one, it seemed, for a little girl, about her own size, stood at the open door, and as Agnes looked at her, she said, “ How nice it must be to make music like that. I should think you'd be very glad and happy." “I don't know about that," returned Agnes, wearily. “I know it makes my back ache to be stuck up on this high stool, and it's tiresome enough to pick out the notes and to count, one, two, three.” " I should n't think you'd ever get tired in such a beautiful room," said the stranger, gazing admiringly around the parlor. “What lots of pretty things." She took in at a glance the pictures, the knick-knacks, the vases, the statuettes on the mantle-piece, the handsomely bound books on the centre- table. "Perhaps if you had them all to dust every day,” said Agnes, "you'd wish them farther. I'm sure I do.” “Oh!” exclaimed the other, “you don't mean it. You don't know what it is to see only bare floors, and bare walls about you." 224 The Student and Schoolmate. " Why, do you?" asked Agnes, her curiosity aroused. She noticed that the girl was coarsely though neatly dressed, and that her face was pale and pinched, and that she had an old look about her eyes. “I should n't wonder,” she said in answer to Agnes' question, and she smiled bravcly, though her mouth twitched a little, too. “ But, who are you, anyway?” continued Agnes. • How came you here? I never saw you before.” “My mother does plain sewing. She has been doing some for your mother, and I came to bring it home, and hearing the music as I passed by, I could n't help stopping. But mercy me, the time I've wasted, I must try and make it up, by hurrying." She was gone like a flash. Agnes heard the hall-door open and shut hastily. She sat still a minute, thinking. "I wonder,” thought she, “if her house has got all bare floors and walls. I wonder if those were her best clothes. I wonder — " but here she was cut short. Her mother was calling, “Agnes, why are you not practising? I have n't heard the piano for the last ten minutes." “ There it is again,” said Agnes, in an aggrieved way. Oh yes! How very glad and happy it makes me, to be hammering, hammering, hammering, forever, on this old piano." Then she began her “one, two, three,” again. Agnes Spencer, who had everything to make her comfortable and happy, was one of the most discontented little girls in the world. It worried her mother exceedingly to have her so fretful and fault-finding. I could rot begin to tell you of all her trials and troubles. What you have read so far about are not a twentieth part of them. The next day, they had roast turkey for dinner. “ Give me the wish-bone, father,” said Agnes, but she objected greatly to having to pick it. “Why did you ask for it, then?” inquired her father. “Oh, I wanted it," replied Agnes, “but then I don't like to pick bones.” The next day she went to church. Her cloak was a very handsome cloth sack, which came nearly to the bottom of her dress. She had teased her mother to put buttons in front, down the entire length, but every time she put it on, she fussed because it took so long to fasten them. Her bonnet which was white silk with blue ruchings, and which she had picked out herşelf, she declared " she hated.” Agnes' Troubles. 225 “I wish it was trimmed with pink,” said she. “Go up to your room and put your cloak and hat away and change your dress, I am afraid you will spot it.” This was what her mother told her, when she came home from church. “ It 's more trouble to have nice clothes, than they 're worth,” grumbled Agnes. She went stamping angrily up the stairs. They were very broad and nicely carpeted. She made an ugly mouth at them, and switched her dress against the balusters. “Sixteen million steps, I should think,” she muttered, “and I have to go over every one of them, every time I go to my room. I wish there was n't any ap-stairs.” The next day, she bad a terrible fit of crying, because her mother would not ake her doll a new dress. “ I shall keep her in bed then," bawled she, for she looks as countri- fied as a milk maid, in that old blue thibet, you made her last week.” When she came home from school, she pulled the door-bell furiously in a great hurry to be let in. The maid was longer coming than usual. Agnes tried to look through the side lights, which were of ground glass. Not being able to do this, her temper was quite upset. “ How very provoking this kind of glass is,” cried she. “I'd a bun- dred times rather not have any." And so, not a day went by but she got in a pet, and scowled, and fretted and made herself very disagreeable. A week or two passed and she had quite forgotten the little pinched- faced stranger, who had broken in upon her practising hour and had so admired her music and the parlor. But one morning her mother gave her a large bundle, saying, “ Here is some work I want you to carry to Mrs. Burns.” “Who is Mrs. Burns?” asked Agnes. “She does plain sewing," was the answer. Then, indeed, Agnes remembered the sedate little tone that had said, "My mother does plain sewing." For once, she was ready with a pleasant face, to do her mother's bid- ding. In fact, she was quite curious to learn more about the funny little girl, who had stood in the parlor door-way and “talked so queer.” Agnes found the Burn's house without difficulty. It was in a little, stifled, housed up court, the last house, at the end of the row. It boasted neither door-bell, nor knocker, nor door. This last was standing in the entry inside, leaning up against the wall. The side- lights were broken. 226 The Student and Schoolmate. Agnes stepped into the entry cautiously. It smelt damp and musty. It was dark, too. But she heard voices, and the next minute she came to a partially opened door. She could see a little girl kneeling on the floor, beside a low cot-bed- stead. There was a little boy lying in the bed, who looked very pale and sickly. Over by the window sat a thin sharp-faced woman, stitching away, for dear life, on a piece of white cotton cloth. Agnes heard what the girl was saying. “ One, two, three, that 's how she counted, and her fingers were flying about like little white birds, and she made music that set you jiggering right up and down, and she looked so.” The girl drew her face into a comical snarl. A perfect picture of a very cross Cross-Patch. Agnes, who with her hand raised, was just on the point of rapping, started and stepped back. She recognized the face the girl had put on. She had seen herself in the glass, with just such a one, too often to be mistaken. The next instant the girl and boy both broke out laughing. “ They are making fun of me,” thought Agnes, feeling much morti- fied. " How funny!” said the boy; he had a high, shrill voice. That is Margy when you make believe. But if you meant it like her, would n't it be horrid ? " “ Yes,” answered Margy, “and such lots and lots of nice things all about her. Velvet-chairs and gold-framed looking-glasses, and on the floor such a carpet covered with pinks and roses, and on the walls, pic- tures by the dozens. “Why I should n't do anything but laugh all day, in such a place as that,” cried the boy. “ Seenis to me so too, but perhaps, if I did n't know what it was to work hard and be poor, I should make just such a fuss over nothing." Agnes listening to this, out in the dark entry, felt more and more ashamed. For the first time, she realized how many “ fusses over nothing," she daily made. “ Jamie, I'll carry you a bit,” and what was Agnes' surprise to see Margy lift the boy from the bed and walk up and down the room with him in her arms. be sure, Jamie was very slight, and his legs and feet seemed dwin- died away to nothing, but still he was a heavy burden for Margy. But Agnes' Troubles. 227 she smiled down into the poor little wan face on her shoulder and sung to him about "a frog, that would a wooing go.” Agnes ventured now to rap. “ Come in,” called Margy, and then when she saw who it was, she said, “Oh is it you!” and she laid Jamie down on the bed, all panting. “This is my brother," she went on. “I carry him sometimes, he gets so tired of lying in bed.” Agnes could see now how crippled and useless his feet were. " I have got some sewing,” said she, “ for your motber,” and she gave the bundle to Margy.. Margy took it and carried it to the woman, sitting at the window. This was Mrs. Burns. She gave Agnes just one swift glance, looking as if she ought not to spare time for even that, and said, “ Sit down a minute. I will have this piece of work done soon, and you can take it home.” Margy hunted round and brought Agnes a rickety chair that she hardly dared to sit down upon, for fear it would fall to pieces. “I hope you 'll make yourself as comfortable as you can,” remarked Margy, in an old fashioned way, “and excuse my splitting wood. Jamie will take cold if the fire gets down low.” She went to one corner of the room. There was an axe and a saw- horse here and several small logs of wood. She took the axe and be- gan splitting one of the logs. " This is n't playing on the piano,” said she, laughing, for Agnes watched her in wonder. “We have n't got any wood-shed nor any up-stairs here," spoke up Jamie. 66 " There,” said Mrs. Burns, standing up and shaking out her work, " this is done." She folded it up, wrapped a piece of paper around it, and brought it to Agnes. As Agnes got up to go, she saw Margy tieing on her hood. “Are you coming my way ?” asked she. “As far as the corner,” answered Margy. “I'm going to the baker's.” "My back hurts," whispered Jamie. want Victoria Cleopatra to play with ?” asked his sister. “Oh yes !” and the little fellow's face lighted up with pleasure. Margy ran to a chest of drawers and took from the top drawer some- thing wrapped up in pink tissue paper. Unfolding the paper, very carefully, she drew forth a large rag-doll. It had eyes and nose marked out with ink, a red streak for its mouth and a dab of pink for cheeks. It had no hair. A black cap was fitted close to the back of # Do you Declamation 229 room. Jamie said there was no 'up stairs.' I shall enjoy going up stairs after this." She reached home, and shuddered as she caught sight of the ground- glass side-lights. Had she not said, “she wished there were not any ?” And did she not know now, how dismal and wretched a doorway looked without them? She waited patiently enough to have the door opened. I think she would have waited patiently an hour, and not have rung the bell twice. She was so thankful to have a door. She was so thank- ful it was n't unhinged and leaning up against the wall. And when the door was opened a new Agnes Spencer - not the old one at all — stepped over the threshold. Even the maid noticed it at the very first look. You may be sure too that her father and mother rejoiced in it, and that the baby crowed over it. Thus Agnes learnt a lesson, and by taking it to heart, delighted every body, and not the least herself. Mrs. R. A. Parker. homines DECLAMATION, [See Diagram in January No.] THE REASON WHY! Dº O you wish to know the reason Why your Ineighbor often calls On the dashing widow Wilkins, And attends her to the 3balls ? Why his carriage is seen stopping At some noted clothing 'store, And the widow goes a shopping Where she never went before ? If you wish it, I will tell you — Let me whisper to you sly – If 'they esteem it proper, It is not your business why. Do you wish to know why Peter Has forsaken friends and "home, And left his native country, In a distant land to lroam ? Why ?Polly seems so lonely Since the day that Peter left, 230 The Student and Schoolmate. And of all friends, she the only Should appear to be bereft? If you wish it, I will tell you Let me whisper to you sly— If they've a reason for it It is not your business why. Would you like to know the secrets Of your neighbor's 'house and 'life? How he lives, or how he does n't, And how he treats his wife? How he spends his time of leisure, Whether sorrowful or gay, And where he goes for pleasure To the 'concert, or the 'play? If you wish it, I will tell you Let me whisper to you sly – If your neighbor is but civil, It is not your business why. In short, instead of prying Into other folks' affairs, If you do your lown but justice You will have no time for theirs. Be attentive to such matters As concern lyourself alone, And whatever fortune flatters Let your business be 'YOUR OWN. One word by way of finis - Let me wbisper to you sly – If you wish to be frespected, You must cease to be a 'PRY! DIALOGUE. LOOKING FOR A SITUATION. CHARACTERS. - MR. GREYSON, a merchant; FRED NULTY, and WILLIAM Ben. SON, schoolmates. William. Where are you going, Fred ? Dialogue. 231 I'll get Fred. Where do you think? I'm going to answer an advertisement for an office boy. No more school for me, Will. William. I should like to get a place, too. I've a great mind to ask mother to let me try. Fred. Come along with me. We 'll look in the paper again and we may find something for you. If I don't get this place you may try. William. Thank you, but I can't come now, for I shall go to school as soon as I have carried this bundle home. Fred. I don't believe in all that going to school. I guess along well enough without so much spellin', and writin', and arithmetic. I played hookey yesterday, and I had a grand good time at Tom Wil- son's. He played hookey, too. His mother had gone away. We were not going to be shut up in school such a nice day. William. I can't stop to talk. Tell me the number of your place, won't you? Fred. Where I'm going? 128 Washington Street, Mr. Greyson. I'll get it, though. William. If you don't, I'll try. There won't be any harm in that. (Mr. Greyson in his office. Enter Fred.) Mr. Greyson. Well, sir, what can I do for you? Fred. I saw your advertisement Mr. Greyson. Yes, all right. Can you write a good hand ? Fred. Yes. Mr. Greyson. Take this pen and write me an application. Sit down at that desk. (Fred sits down, sticks out his elbows, puts his head very much on one side, twists his face about, and puts his tongue into his cheek; finally, after a good deal of scratching and blotting, writes a note, which he hands to Mr. Greyson.) Mr. Greyson. Can you wait a few minutes while I look over this letter? Fred. Yes. (Mr. Greyson reads his letter. Fred tilts his chair back against the wall, puts his hands in his pockets and rattles some marbles, then whistles while he rocks to and fro. Mr. Greyson takes up the letter. Fred's chair comes down on the floor with a thump. Mr. Greyson reads Fred's note, laughs, and finally reads it aloud, spelling all the words that are wrong.) my deer sir, - Seing your advertisment in the herald i take the Lib- berty of ancering it. I am 14 yeres old and live with my parients and i am handey at most anything i have been to scool at number nine i can cifer thrugh fraxions i want a plaice verry bad. Frederick Nulty. 232 The Student and Schoolmate. once more. 1 Mr. Greyson. That will not do at all, my boy. Perhaps you are better at figures, though. If I pay seventy-five cents for a book, what must I pay for three books ? Fred. What did you pay for one ? Mr. Greyson. Are you hard of hearing ? Seventy-five cents. Fred. 75 — 125 — I know,- two dollars — no, one dollar and seventy-five cents. Mr. Greyson. No. What part of a dollar is seventy-five cents ? Fred. Half — no, three quarters of a dollar. Mr. Greyson. Well, if one book costs of a dollar, what will three eost? Fred. Three times as much. I know, is of a dollar. Mr. Greyson impatiently.) No, Indeed! No indeed! I'll try you Add up this column of figures. Fred (adds it.) Fifty-seven. Mr. Greyson. No. Add it again. 5 and 8 ? Fred (counts on his fingers.) 12, no, 13. Mr. Greyson. And 7? Fred. 20. Mr. Greyson. And 9? Fred. 27. Oh! I only made a mistake. Mr. Greyson. You will not do for me. (Fred goes out. Mr. Grey- son goes on with his letter. Enter William Benson.) Mr. Greyson. Another boy! Well, can you do anything? Have you ever been to school ? Can you write and cipher ? William. Yes, sir. The principal of the school I go to gave me this note for a reference. Mr. Greyson (reads it aloud.) William Benson has been in this school several years. He is a faithful, quiet boy, and a good scholar, especially in arithmetic. I can heartily recommend him to any one who wants an office boy. WILLIAM PETTIS, Principal of No. 9. Mr. Greyson. That's enough, my boy. I'll take you. Come to-mor- . row. William (bowing.) Thank you, sir. Good morning. Mr. Greyson. Good morning, William. (As William goes out he meets Fred.) Fred. Did you get it, Will ? William. Yes. Fred. That's just my luck to lose it. I spose Mr. Pettis would say that there is some use in going to school, after all. E. Fronda. for the Student and Schoolmate. Want Y BLOSSOMS. A LITTLE WALTZ FOR LITTLE FINGERS. THOS. P. I. MAGOUN. 99 9 全 ​全 ​9 9 牛 ​ TANGLED THREADS hee flowers or vegetables, than in the pur- chase of this really ornamental and use. ful book COMSTOCK'S ELOCUTION, enlarged. T. B. Peterson & Brother, Philadelphia. For sale by Lee & Shepard, Boston. Recognizing the importance of elocu- tionary practice, the SCHOOLMATE has contributed according to its ability in ONGRATULATING our readers carefully prepared' selections for use. on the return of spring, and having The volume before us is fitted to do deferred notices which have been more and better for one who would pre. crowded out of previous numbers, we pare himself for the possibilities before proceed at once, without further intro- him, for the necessities of our growing duction to the consideration of country claim in the public service rep- Our Book Table. resentatives from every rank in the so. RAGGED Dick, or Street Life in Newcial scale, and he that would be influen- York. By Horatio Alger, Jr., is now tial, needs to be a graceful speaker, as before us, brought out in beautiful style well as a deep and earnest thinker. by Loring, whose “Up Town Book THE CROOK STRAIGHTENED. By store” is so well known to Bostonians. Mrs. Martha E. Berry. Wm. V. Spen. The readers of the SCHOOLMATE looked cer, 203 Washington Street, Boston. with too much eagerness for the monthly We welcome this third volume of the chapters in our magazine, not to feel a Celesta Stories just from the press of desire to own a book of so much inter- our neighbor, and from the pen of one est, in which five entirely new chapters of our valued contributors. Mrs. Berry appear. We thank Mr. Alger for so writes a most interesting book, and, im- kindly and unexpectedly connecting our pressed with the responsibilities devolve name with this exceedingly interestinging on those who write for the young, work, and accept the position he assigns secures an honorable place in the Sun- us with due appreciation of its great day School Libraries, which, properly worth. selected, are capable of exerting a salu- WASHBURN & Co.'s AMATEUR Cul- tary influence upon the rising genera. TIVATOR'S GUIDE, advertised in our tion. Many will eagerly follow the for- April number, is a very neat volume, tunes of Jotham, as the crook is straight- giving evidence of the industry and en- ened in the pages before us. terprise manifested at their extensive Among other meritorious juveniles seed store in Horticultural · Building, on published by Mr. Spencer, we are re- Tremont Street, Boston. We hardly minded by a recent examination that know how fifty cents can be better in- our readers will thank us for again call- vested by a person interested in rearinging their attention to a neat little book Tangled Threads. 235 published by him, called Kitty BAR 49. Cold Weather. TON, which is just the thing for a little 50. Gas ; Has; Hat. girl. We presume that it may be found 51. Wit; Kit; Kid. at any established bookstore, or, at all 52. Inn; In, events, should be. 53. Midst; Mist. KITTY's Class Day. By Louisa M. 54 Mulch ; Much. Alcott, is published by Loring, Boston, 55. Attraction of gravitation. in paper covers at ten cents per copy. 56. Cambridgeport. Quite a sprightly little story, and with a 57. Dare to do right. good moral, which some young ladies Answer to Prize Problem next month. learn too late in life. 59. Double Acrostical Rebus. HARPER'S MONTHLY, always finely il- A valuable article of sociability, and lustrated and furnishing a great variety of what pertains to it. reading for the family circle, with an 1. A part of the Roman dress. “ Editor's Easy Chair” well filled, 2. Belonging to a troop. "Monthly record of Current Events,” 3. An Indian plant. and a sparkling “ Editor's Drawer,” is 4. A kind of shell-fish. well worth the price of subscription, and 5. To beautify., OUR JACK. our friends, A. Williams & Co., No. 100 60. Enigma. Washington St., will gladly receive sub I am composed of 23 letters. scriptions at $4.00 per annum. My 17, 4, 23, 5, 9, 12 is a clergyman. HOURS AT HOME, with its “Moral My 2, 6, 11, 15 is a fragrant flower. Uses of Dark Things," by Dr. Bushnell, My 20, 3, 14, 22, 7 is a number. and other valuable papers, deservedly My 8, 13, 10, 18 is an animal. My 21, 19, 16, 1 is an harbor. enjoys an increasing circulation. Pub- My whole, a saying. Rob Roy. lished by Charles Scribner & Co. 61. Charade. The following music comes to us from 0. Ditson & Co. When of my first part you've made sure, Love in Idleness Waltz, by J. C. Engelbrecht. You then my second may secure, Cornflower Waltz. No 24, of the col. And may my whole unto you prove, lection of Crystal Gems, by C. Kimkel. A treasure worthy of your love. Fire and Flame Galop, by C. Faust, 62. Enigma. arranged by J. S. Knight. I am composed of 16 letters. Fond Memories of the Past. Ballad, My 12, 15, 11, 13 is a color. by M. Keller. My 4, 6, 7, 9 is an animal. For my Soul thirsteth for God. Song, My 8, 11, 16 is a body of water. by F. Mendelssohn Partholdy. My 1, 11, 15, 16 is cautious. O, Sing unto the Lord. No. 6, of the My 2, 3, 4 is not agreeable. collection called Melodia Sacra, by A. My 10, 11, 5, 3 is useful to farmers. Andrews. My whole a well known musical com- Parting Thoughts. Ballad. Music ar- poser. ranged from the celebrated Scheiden 63. Enigma. Waltzes, by J. W. Turner. I am composed of 11 letters. Answers – April. My 3, 5, 2 is not true. 47. Horatio Alger, Jr. My I, 5, 4, 6 is a river in Egypt. 48. Fame and Fortune, or the Pro My 7, 8, 9, 11 is a useful plant. gress of Richard Hunter. My 7, 5, 1, 6 is a pit. NELLIE. 236 The Student and Schoolmate. 64. Double Acrostic. lamp and the sheet, makes the various 1. A Spirit. motions two or three times. The ser. 2. A mountain of Scotland. vants try to guess the trade, and, also 3. Pertaining to Rome. the person representing it, from the 4. An Ocean. shadow. Different trades shall be rep. 5. To cry out. resented by the aids till one of the ser- 6. Clothing vants guesses correctly. The one doing 7. Riches. so becomes an aid, while the former The initials form the first name, and Jack, having nominated an aid to be his the finals the last name of a great man. successor, surrenders to him his position. L. H. ELWELL. Every one tries to be Jack as many Mutations. times as possible. RICHDORE 65. Change a knot into the past tense PUNCTUATION Puzzle, which origi. of to chant. nålly appeared in the Portland Trans- 66. Change a prison into the end. cript, (an excellent paper that we al- 67. Change a mineral into a thin piece of wood. RICHDORE. ways open with delight,) and which we now republish as showing the importance Prize Problem. No. 5. of punctuation. It is capable of a two. From a log of wood three feet in di-fold solution, rendering the man it rep- ameter at one end, and one and one-half resents, either as a very good or a very feet at the other, a carpenter wishes to bad man, according to the way it is cut a beam having its ends square. The pointed. Let our young readers prac- log measures twenty-seven feet from the tice, and will some one give us the re- centre of the small end to that of the sult. greater. How many cubic feet of wood “He is an old experienced man in vice are left after the largest beam, twenty- and wickedness he is never found oppos- seven feet long, that can be cut, has ing the works of iniquity he takes de- been taken from the log ? light in the downfall of the neighborhood he never rejoices in the prosperity of any of his fellow creatures he is always he Evening Circle. ready to assist in destroying the peace of society he takes no pleasure in serv. Jack of all Trades ! ing the Lord he is uncommonly diligent A sheet should be fastened up at one in sowing discord among his friends and end of the room. This done, the players acquaintances he takes no pride in la. determine who shall be “ Jack,” by cast- boring to promote the cause of Christi- ing lots. Jack chooses three from the anity he has not been negligent in en- rest to be his aids. The remaining deavoring to stigmatize all public teach- players are his servants. ers he makes no exertion to subdue his A low lamp, the only light in the evil passions he strives hard to build up room, should be placed on the table op- Satan's kingdom he lends no aid to the posite the sheet. The servants seat support of the gospel among the heathen themselves on the floor at one side of he contributes largely to the evil adver. the sheet, facing it. sary he pays no attention to good advice Jack having chosen a trade, com- he gives great heed to the devil he will mands (in a hushed whisper, remember,) never go to Heaven he must go where one of his aids to represent it. This he will receive the just recompense of one, standing mid-way between the reward. STUDENT AND SCHOOLMAYTE An Illustrated Monthly, FOR OUR BOYS AND GIRLS. Vol. XXI. JUNE, 1868., No. VI. FAME AND FORTUNE, OR THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD HUNTER. CHAPTER IX. W ROSWELL CRAWFORD AT HOME. HILE Fosdick and Dick are devoting their evenings, to study, under the guidance of Mr. Layton, we will direct the reader's attention to a young gentleman who considered himself infinitely superior in the social scale to either. Roswell Crawford could nev- er forget that Dick had once been a boot-black, and looked upon it as an outrage that such a boy should be earning a salary of ten dollars a week, while he — a gentleman's son was only paid four, which he regarded as a beggarly pittance. Roswell's father had once kept a small dry goods store on Broadway, but failed after being in busi- ness a little less than a year. This constituted his claim to gentility. After his failure, Mr. Crawford tried several kinds of business, without succeeding in any. His habits were not strictly temperate, and he had died two years previous. His wife hired a house in Clinton Place and took boarders, barely succeeding in making both ends meet at the end of the year. The truth was that she was not a good manager, and pre- ferred to talk of her gentility and former wealth to looking after the affairs of the household. She was very much like her son in this re- spect. Among Mrs. Crawford's boarders was Mr. Gilbert, who is already Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1868, by JOSEPH H. ALLEN, in the clerk's office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 238 The Student and Schoolmate. known to the reader as the book-keeper of Rockwell & Cooper. It has been mentioned also that he was Roswell's cousin, being a son of Mrs. Crawford's only brother. He, too, was not unlike his aunt and cousin, and all three combined to hate and despise Dick, whom Mrs. Crawford saw fit to regard as her son's successful rival. “ How's the boot-black, cousin James?” asked Roswell, on the eve- ning succeeding that which Dick had passed at Mr. Rockwell's. “ Putting on airs worse than ever,” said Gilbert. “Mr. Rockwell has a singular taste, to say the least,” said Mrs. Craw- ford, " or he would n't hire a boy from the streets, and give him such extravagant wages. To pay such a vagabond ten dollars a week, when a boy of good family, like Roswell, can get but four, is perfectly ridicu- lous." “I don't believe he gets so much,” said Roswell. “ It's only one of his big stories.” “ You ’re mistaken there,” said Gilbert. “He does get exactly that.” “ Are you sure of it ? ” “I ought to be, since I received directions from Mr. Rockwell to-day to pay him that amount to-morrow night, that being the end of the week." “I never heard of such a thing !” ejaculated Mrs. Crawford. man must be a simpleton.” “ If he is, there's another besides him.” “ Who do you mean?” « Mrs. Rockwell." “ Has she made acquaintance with the boot-black, then?" asked Ros- well, with a sneer. “Yes, he passed last evening at their house." « Did he tell you so ?” 6 Yes." “I should think they 'd feel honored by such a visitor." “Probably they did, for Mrs. Rockwell made him a present of a gold watch." “ What!” exclaimed Roswell and his mother, in concert. “It's true. I sent him out to ask the time to-day, when he pulled out a new gold watch with an air of importance, and told me the time." “Was it a good watch ?” “A very handsome one. It must have cost with the chain, a hundred and twenty-five dollars.” “ The idea of a boot-black with a gold watch !” exclaimed Roswell, with a sneer. “ It's about as appropriate as a pig in a silk dress.” 6 The Fame and Fortune. 239 46 “I can't understand it at all,” said Mrs. Crawford. “It can't be that he's a poor relation, can it ?” “ I should say not. Mr. Rockwell would n't be likely to have a rela- tion reduced to blacking boots." ** Is the boy so attractive, then ? What does he look like?” He's as bold as brass, and has n't got any manners nor education,” said Roswell. Poor Dick! His ears ought to have tingled, considering the compli- mentary things that were said of him this evening. But luckily he knew nothing about it, and if he had, it is doubtful whether it would have troubled him much. He was independent in his ideas, and did n't trouble himself much about the opinion of others, as long as he felt that he was doing right as nearly as he knew how. " Do you think this strange fancy of Mr. Rockwell's is going to last ?” inquired Mrs. Crawford. “I wish Roswell could have got in there.” "So do I, but I could n't accomplish it.” If this boy should fall out of favor, there might be a chance for Ros- well yet ; don't you think so ?” asked Mrs. Crawford. “I wish there might,” said Roswell. “I'd like to see that beggar's pride humbled. Besides, four dollars a week is such a miserable salary.” "You thought yourself lucky when you got it." "So I did, but that was before I found out how much this boot-black pas getting.” "Well,” said Gilbert, “ be is n't a favorite of mine, as you know well enough. If there's anything I can do to oust him, I shall do it.” * Could n't you leave some money in his way? He might be tempted to steal it." " I don't know yet what course would be best. I'll try to get him into trouble of some kind. But I can tell better bye and bye what to do." Gilbert went up to his room, and Mrs. Crawford and Roswell were left alone. "I wish you were at Rockwell & Cooper's, Roswell,” said his mother. “So do I, mother, but it's no use wishing.” “I don't know about that. Your cousin ought to have some influence there." “ The boot-black 's in the way." " He may not be in the way always. Your cousin may detect him in something that will cause his discharge." " Even if he does, I've tried once to get in there, and did n't succeed. They did n't seem to take a fancy to me.” 240 The Student and Schoolmate. “ I should n't expect them to, if they take a fancy to a common street boy. But when they find him out, they may change their opinion of you." “I don't know how that will be, mother. At any rate, I think I ought to get more than four dollars a week where I am. Why, there's Talbot, only two years older than I, gets eight dollars, and I do more than he. To tell the truth, I don't like the place. I don't like to be seen carrying round bundles. It is n't fit work for a gentleman's son.” Roswell forgot that many of the most prosperous merchants in the city began in that way, only on less wages. One who wants to climb the ladder of success must, except in very rare cases, commence at the lowest round. This was what Roswell did not like. He wanted to begin half-way up, at the very least. It was a great hindrance to him that he regarded himself as a gentleman's son, and was puffed up with a corresponding sense of his own importance. The more Roswell thought of his ill-requited services, as he considered them, the more he felt aggrieved. It may be mentioned that he was employed in a dry goods store on Sixth Avenue, and was chiefly en- gaged in carrying out bundles for customers. A circumstance which occurred about this time deepened his disgust with the place. About the middle of the next week he was carrying a heavy bundle to a house on Madison Avenue. Now it happened that Mr. Rockwell, who, it will be remembered, lived on the same street, bad left home that morning, quite forgetting an important letter which he had received, and wbich required an early answer. He therefore summoned Dick, and said, “ Richard, do you remember the location of my house?” “Yes sir,” said Dick. “I find I have left an important letter at home. I have written a line to my wife, that she may know where to look for it. I want you to go up at once." “ Very well, sir.” Dick took the note, and walking to Broadway, jumped on board an omnibus, and in a few minutes found himself opposite the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Here he alighted, and crossing the Park, entered Madison Av. enue, then as now lined with fine houses. Walking briskly up the Avenue, he overtook a boy of about his own size with a large bundle under his arm. Glancing at him as he passed, he recognized Roswell Crawford. “ How are you, Crawford ?” said Dick, in an off-hand manner. Roswell looked at the speaker, whom he recognized. “ I'm well,” said he, in a stiff, ungracious manner. Fame and Fortune. 241 Ashamed of the large bundle he was carrying, he would rather have been seen by any boy than Dick under present circumstances. He did not fail to notice Dick’s neat dress, and the gold chain displayed on his vest. Indeed there was nothing in Dick's appearance which would have been inconsistent with the idea that he lived on the Avenue, and was, what Roswell claimed to be, a gentleman's son. It seemed to Ros- well that Dick was immensely presumptuous in swaggering up Madison Avenue in such a style, as he mentally called it, and he formed the be- nevolent design of " taking down his pride,” and making him feel un- comfortable, if possible. “ Have you lost your place ?” he inquired. No,” said Dick, “ not yet. It's very kind of you to inquire." * I suppose they pay you for walking the streets, then," he said, with a speer. “Yes,” said Dick, composedly, “ that 's one of the things they pay me for.” suppose you like it better than blacking boots,” said "Roswell, who, supposing that Dick was ashamed of his former occupation, felt a malicious pleasure in reminding him of it. · Yes,” said Dick, “ I like it better on the whole, but then there's some advantages about boot-blackin'." “ Indeed!” said Roswell, superciliously. “As I was never in the basiness, I can't of course decide.” " Then I was in business for myself, you see, and was my own master. Now I have to work for another man." " You don't seem to be working very hard now," said Roswell, envi- ously "Not very,” said Dick. “You must be tired carrying that heavy bundle. I'll carry it for you as far as I go.” Roswell, who was not above accepting a favor from a boy he did n't like, willingly transferred it to our hero. “ I carried it out just to oblige,” he said, as if he were not in the daily habit of carrying such packages. “ That 's very kind of you,” said Dick. Roswell did not know whether Dick spoke sarcastically or not, and therefore left the remark unnoticed. “ I don't think I shall stay where I am very long,” he said. “ Don't you like?” asked Dick. “ Not very well. I'm not obliged to work for a living,” added Ros- . well, loftily, but not altogether truly. “ I am,” said Dick. “I've bad to work for a living ever since I was six years old. I suppose you work because you like it.” 242 The Student and Schoolmate. “ I'm learning business. I'm going to be a merchant as my father was." “I'll have to give up the bundle now,” said Dick. “ This is as far as I am going." Roswell took back his bundle, and Dick went up the steps of Mr. Rockwell's residence and rang the door-bell. CHAPTER X. A STORE ON SIXTH AVENUE. ROSWE than ever. was very OSWELL kept on his way with his heavy bundle more discontented The bundle seemed heavier than ever. Dick had no such bundles to carry. He had an easier time, his business position was better, and his wages more than double. And all this in spite of the glaring fact that Roswell was a gentleman's son, and Dick was n't. Surely fortune unfair in the distribution of her favors. “I suppose he'll be crowing over me," thought Roswell, bitterly, judging from what would bave been his own feeling had the case been reversed. “I hope he 'll have to go back to boot-blacking some day. I wish mother 'd buy me a gold watch and chain. There 'd be some sense in my wearing it." Roswell evidently thought it very inappropriate that Dick should wear a bandsome gold watch, more especially, as he was quite sure beforehand that his mother would no: gratify his own desire to possess one. Still he resolved to ask. There was another thing he meant to ask. Feeling that his services were worth more than the wages he received, and convincing himself that his employers would be unwilling to lose him, be determined to ask an advance of two dollars a week, making six dollars in all. Not that he considered that even this would pay him, but as he could hardly hope that he would be appreciated according to his deserts, he limited his re- quest to that sum. He concluded to defer making his application until Saturday evening when we would receive his week's wages. He consulted his mother upon this subject, and she, having nearly as high an opinion of her promising son as he had himself, consented to the application. If his cousin, James Gilbert, had heard of his intention, he was enough of a business man to have dissuaded him from the attempt. Though he saw fit to espouse the cause of Roswell against Dick, it was more because he sliked the latter than because he was blind to the faults of the former. Indeed he had a very moderate opinion of his young cousin's capabilities. Fame and Fortune. 243 The days slipped by, and Saturday night came. It was nine o'clock before Roswell was released, the Saturday night trade being the best of the week. The other clerks had been paid, Roswell's turn coming last, because he was the youngest. The designation of the firm was Hall & TURNER. Mr. Hall, the senior partner, usually went home early in the evening, and Mr. Turner, the junior partner, a man of about thirty-five, attended to the evening business, and paid the weekly wages. “ Here, Crawford,” he said, counting out four one dollar bills, “ it's your turn now.” “ I want to speak to you for a moment, Mr. Turner,” said Roswell, beginning to feel a little nervous, for now that the time had come for making his request, he felt a little uncertain how it would be received. “ Very well,” said his employer, showing a little surprise, “ be quick about it, for I want to get through.” “I want to know if you will not be willing to raise my wages,” said Roswell, rather awkwardly. “On what ground do you ask for it ? ” said Mr. Turner, looking up. "I thought I might be worth more," said Roswell. " How long have you been in my employment, do you remember?” “ About four months,” said Roswell. “Do you think you have learned enough in that time to make you worth more ?" “ Yes sir,” said Roswell, with a little hesitation. How much more would satisfy you ?” “Two dollars more - for the present,” said Roswell, beginning to feel a little hopeful. “ That is, six dollars a week.” “ Yes sir.” “ And how soon would you expect another advance ?” asked Mr. Turner, quietly. * In about six months." " You are quite moderate in your demands, certainly.” There was something in Mr. Turner's tone which struck Roswell as unfavorable, and he hastily said in his own justification, * There's a friend of mine, no older than I am, who gets ten dollars a week.” Certainly Roswell must have spoken inadvertently, or he would hardly have referred to Dick as his friend, but his main idea at present was to produce an impression upon the mind of Mr. Turner. “ Is your friend in a dry goods store ?” asked Mr. Turner. 244 The Student and Schoolmate. “ No sir.” “ Then I don't see that his wages have any bearing upon your case. There may be some special circumstances that affect his compensation. How long has he been in the service of his present employer ? ” Only a week or two." “ Is this his first place? ” “ Yes sir.” “ It may be that he is a relative of his employer.” “That is n't very likely,” said Roswell, his lip curling. “He used to be a boot-black about the streets.” “ Indeed !” said Mr. Turner, keenly. “I think you said he was a friend of yours.” “No sir,” said Roswell, proudly, “ I have n't the honor.” “ You certainly said “there's a friend of mine, no older than I am, who gets ten dollars a week.” “I did n't mean to speak of him as my friend,” said Roswell, “I'm a gentleman's son." If y you are, his friendship might do you no harm. If he receives the wages you state, he must be a smart fellow. If he did n't earn as much, probably he would not receive it.” “I don't believe he 'll keep his place long," muttered Roswell, his wish being father to the thought. “ If he does n't, you may be able to succeed him," said Mr. Turner. “I shall be compelled to refuse your request. Indeed, so far from in- creasing your compensation, I have been considering during the last week whether it would not be for my interest to get another boy in your place.” “ Sir!” exclaimed Roswell, in dismay. “I will give you my reasons. You appear to think yourself of too great consequence to discharge properly the duties of your position." “ I don't understand you, sir,” stammered Roswell. “I believe you claim to be a gentleman's son.” “ Yes sir !” said Roswell. “My father used to keep a store on Broad- way.” “ And I am led to suppose you think it incompatible with your dig. nity to carry bundles to different parts of the city.” “I would rather stand behind the counter and sell goods,” said Ros- well. “Of course you will be a salesman in time if you stick to business faithfully. But it so happens that we did n't hire you as a salesman, but as a boy, whose chief business it should be to carry bundles. But 3 Fame and Fortune. 245 we don't want to impose a disagreeable duty upon you. Therefore if you think upon reflection that you would prefer not to continue in your situation, we will hire somebody else." " That won't be necessary, sir,” said Roswell, considerably crestfallen. “You are content, then, to remain.” “ Yes sir." “ And upon four dollars 'a week.” Yes sir. I suppose I may hope to have my wages increased some time." " When we find your services worth more, you shall receive more,” said Mr. Turner, “ That is fair, is n't it?” “ Yes sir.” " Then here is your money. I did n't mean to talk so long, but it's as well to come to an understanding.” Roswell left the store considerably crestfallen. He found that instead of regarding him worth an advance of wages, Mr. Turner had had it in his mind to discharge him, and that hurt his pride. It was certainly very singular that people should n't be more impressed with the fact that he was a gentleman's son. He could not have received less defer- ence if he had been an ex-boot-black, like Dick himself. He certainly was no more contented than before, nor was his self-appreciation mate- rially diminished. If the world did not recognize his claims, there was one comfort, his mother appreciated him, and he appreciated himself. As to his cousin, he did not feel quite so certain. " Why are you so late, Roswell ?” asked his mother, looking up from her work as he entered. “ It seems to me they kept you later than usual at the store, even for Saturday evening." " I'm sick of the store," said Roswell, impatiently. 6 What's the matter?” “ I asked old Turner to-night if he would n't raise my wages,” said Roswell. “Well, what did he say y?” “ He said he would n't do it?” “ Did he give any reason ?” " He said I did n't earn any more. He's a stingy old hunk, anyway, and I wish I was in another place.” “ So do I, but it is n't so easy to get a new position. You had better stay in this till another offers." “I hate carrying bundles through the streets. It is n’s fit work for a gentleman's son." " Ah, if your poor father had lived, things would have been very dif- 246 The Student and Schoolmate. ferent with us all !” said Mrs. Crawford, with a sigh. She chose to forget that previous to his death her late husband's habits had been such that he contributed very little to the comfort or support of the family. “ I would n't care if I were a salesman,” continued Roswell, “but I don't like being an errand boy. I'd just as lieves go to the Post Office for letters, or to the Bank with money, but as for carrying big bundles of calico under my arm, I don't like it. I was walking on Madison Avenue the other day with a ten pound bundle, when the boot-black came up, dressed handsomely, with a gold watch and chain, and exulted over me for carrying such a big bundle.” There was a little exaggeration about this, for Dick was very far from exulting over Roswell, otherwise he certainly would not have volun- teered to carry the bundle himself. But it often happens that older persons than Roswell are not above a little misrepresentation now and then. " He's an impudent fellow, then!” said Mrs. Crawford, indignantly. “ Then Mr. Hall won't raise your wages ?” “ It was n't Mr. Hall I asked. It was Mr. Turner,” said Roswell. “ Did n't he hold out any hopes of raising your wages hereafter ?” “ He said he would raise them when I deserved it. He don't amount to much. He's no gentleman,” said Roswell, scornfully. " Who's no gentleman ?" inquired James Gilbert, who chanced just then to enter the room. 6 Mr. Turner." 6 Who's Mr. Turner?” “My employer - Hall & Turner, you know.” “ What's amiss with him ? " “ I asked him to raise my wages to-night, and he would n't." “ Umph! How much did you ask for?” “ Two dollars more a week." “ You 're a fool!” “ What!” said Roswell, astonished. “ What!” exclaimed Mrs. Crawford, angrily. “I say the lad 's a fool to ask for so large an advance so soon. Of course his employers refused it. I would, in their place." “ You 're very hard upon the poor boy !” said Mrs. Crawford. “I thought you were his friend. “So I am, but he's acted foolishly for all that. He should have known better.” “I ought to be worth six dollars, if your boot-black is worth ten," responded Roswell. Fame and Fortune. 247 “He is n't worth ten." “Why do you pay him that, then?” “ It's Mr. Rockwell who pays him, not I. Why he does it, I can't say. It is n't because he earns it. No boy of his age, or yours either, can earn ten dollars a week.” " At any rate he get ten, and I get only four. I certainly earn more than that,” said Roswell. “I am not so sure about that,” said his cousin. “ But if it will afford you any comfort, I 'll venture to make the prediction that he won't re- main in Rockwell & Cooper's employment a week longer.” “ Has anything happened?” asked Roswell, eagerly. “ Not yet,” said James Gilbert, significantly. Then something is going to happen ? ” “ You need not trouble yourself to ask questions. · Wait patiently, and when anything happens, I'll let you know.” Here James Gilbert left the room, and went up to his own chamber. His words had excited hope in both Roswell and his mother. The former felt that it would be a satisfaction to him to learn that Dick had lost his situation, even if he failed to get it himself. Horatio Alger, fr. 248 The Student and Schoolmate. LOST AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. * Story for Little Girls. A WAY up among the hills of New Hampshire, a great many years ago, lived little Fannie Wells. Her father was a pioneer settler, who early in life had taken bis wife and gone into the forest to make a home. Perhaps none of my young readers have ever seen such a house as that Fannie lived in. There are a few such yet standing in the back- woods portions of New Hampshire, but they are fast being swept away by the march of civilization. It was built of logs, hewn flat on two sides, so that they would fit to- gether closely, and it was roofed with bark, and had little boles cut in the logs to admit the light. James Wells' house was situated on the south side of a great moun- tain, which sheltered it from the cold winter winds, and not very far from it ran a bright stream of water, which leaped down from the rocks, white as snow, and clear as crystal. Bye and bye, after Mr. Wells had saved a little money from the sale of the mink and muskrat skins he had been fortunate enough to secure, he bought some glass, and the log cabin had some real windows, which made it seem like a palace by comparison. They had been three years in this forest home - James and Mary Wells when Fannie was born. After that there was sunshine in the house all the time. No matter if the storms beat and the winds blew, this little blue-eyed girl was a perpetual source of happiness and delight- to her hard working parents. By the time Fannie was nine years old, her father had cleared a large piece of ground around the cabin, and he had planted fruit trees and grape vines, and Fannie had a little flower bed, and Mrs. Wells had a vegetable garden, where she grew wonderfully nice beets, and turnips, and radishes, and carrots. And a little further off from the cabin, were fields of corn and wheat; and still further away, a great field of summer rye, which the wind tossed into green billows, until it looked like the sea itself, and carried Mary Wells' thoughts back to the dear old home she had left on the shores of sea girt Hampton. They were all three very happy away up there among the mountains, and Fannie thought as much of her little flower bed any city girl does of her costly conservatory. Lost among the Mountains. 249 on the Perhaps you would like to know what kind of flowers Fannie had ? Nothing very rare or beautiful, but they were bright colored, cheerful little things, and they were so hardy that they did not get a fit of the sulks and hang down their heads when there was a drought, and so strong that the very fiercest storm did not beat off their petals. There were French marigolds, and red hollyhocks, and June pinks, and sweet Williams, and Princes' feather, and lots of other old fashioned . things which would well repay cultivation, even in these days of helio- tropes and japonicas. In Fannie's ninth summer, Mr. Wells began a clearing down in the valley on the other side of Rocky River, and every fair day found him pursuing his work early and late. The land was promising, and if he lived, he intended to plant his corn there another year. The days seemed very long at the cabin with Mr. Wells away, but they were pleasantly broken by the walk over to the clearing, which Mrs. Wells and Fannie took daily, to carry “father” his dinner. They had no clock, but there was a “twelve o'clock mark window sill in the kitchen, and when the sun fell on that mark, it was time to set out. It was a very pleasant way to the clearing; the path ran along by the shady bank of the river, and finally crossed the stream on a rotten log, which answered the purpose of a bridge, and then wound on for a quar- ter of a mile through tall pines and hemlocks, until it lost itself among the stumps and brush of the clearing. Fannie used to enjoy these walks intensely. It was such a cool quiet way in the summer, under the shade of the great mountain, and the trees were thick and green, and the glossy leaves of the dogwood fell over the rocks, and the green mosses fringed the little spring where they always stopped to drink out of the birchen bucket which floated there ; and then there were a great number of wild flowers all the way along; anemones, and blue bells, and wood violets, and now and then a golden dandelion, which is always a sign of civilization, you know. The old log across the river was very mossy, and the river ran so swiftly over the rocks below, that Fannie thought at first the foam was snow, and wondered why it did not melt in the hot sun. time she crossed the log, she longed to sit down and dip her little bare feet into the froth. She was sure it would be so nice after walking over the hot stones. But Mrs. Wells was almost always in a hurry and could not stop for anything of the kind, and Fannie was obliged to keep up with her. One day Fanny's mother was taken with the sick headache, and was And every 250 The Student and Schoolmate. obliged to lie down soon after her husband's departure, and when the sun got around to the noon mark, she was unable to lift her head from the pillow. “ Your poor father will have to go without his dinner to-day, Fannie,” said she. “I am not able to carry it to him.” “Let me go, mamma,” said Fannie, eagerly. “I know every step of the way just as well as can be, and I'won't be hardly a minute in going !” 66 “ But my dear child, I am afraid ! there are bears on the mountains, and the blueberries are not very thick this season, and they are hungry. And when they are hungry they are bold and savage, and come down into the valleys." Oh, I am sure they will not come down to-day, 'mamma. It's only in the night they venture far from their dens, I've heard papa say. Please let me go. Papa will be so tired and hungry going without his dinner.” So at last Mrs. Wells consented, and Fannie put the slices of bacon, and the corn bread, and the sweet cake, and the bottle of coffee, into the basket, kissed her mother, and rán off. She was a nimble little thing, and she was not long in reaching the clearing. Her father was surprised at seeing her alone, and as soon as she had explained matters to him, he kissed her ruddy cheek, took the basket from her hand, and bade her hasten home as quick as possible. And he made up his mind to tell his wife, as soon as he got home that night, never to allow Fannie to come alone again ; he had rather go without his dinner. Mind you take the right path, Fannie,” said he, “and don't stop to chase squirrels or hunt birds' nests. Your mamma will be sorely troubled about you if you are a moment longer than you ought to be." Fannie promised to run every step of the way, and left her father, full of the very best intentions to do as she had promised. She saw such a dear little gray squirrel in the path, and he looked at her so saucily with his round black eyes — like two big black beads that she was greatly tempted to stop and run after him, but the thought of her mother, sick and anxious at home, prevented her. Then a long-eared, brown rabbit peeped shyly at her from behind a clump of sassafras, but she did not stop to look at him, though she wanted to bad enough. At last she reached the river. There was a large rock very nearly in the middle of the stream, and on this rock the log rested, or rather the logs, for the ola og had been broken in the middle and the two ends rested on the rock. Lost among the Mountains. 251 Fannie crossed to this rock, and was just stepping her foot on the second log, when, above all the roar of the river, she heard a fierce growl, and looking up, she saw a great black creature, with a sharp nose and long bristling hair, standing on the other end of the log. Fannie knew that it was a bear, for once she had seen one which had been killed a little farther down the valley. She was terribly fright- ened, but she did not lose her wits as some little girls would have done. Quick as light it flashed into her mind that if she could push the end of the log from the rock into the river, the bear could not cross to eat her up. She did not know whether bears could swim or not, but she did not think it was quite likely that this one would try it in such swift water, so full of such sharp rocks. If he did, why then he would be pretty sure to get the worst of it. She took hold of the slippery log, and tugged at it with all her little strength. One great push did the business, and then the current helped Fannie. It seized on the log and bore it down the stream, bear and all, before the animal had half time enough to make up his mind what had happened, and what it was best for him to do. He floundered off at last into the water, and scrambled for the bank as quickly as possible, and shaking the wet from his shaggy coat, stood and looked across the river at Fannie, as much surprised as it is possi- ble for a bear to look. Then Fannie thought she would run right back to her father, and he would contrive some way to get her across the river. 252 The Student and Schoolmate. She ran on So she turned back, and took, as she thought, the right path, but she was so frightened and confused, that she made a mistake. and on as fast as her feet could carry her, but the farther she went the more unfamiliar seemed the surroundings. The river was left behind, and great mountains, which it seemed as if she had never seen before, shut her in on all sides. She could see po sunlight, feel no fresh air, and gradually the terrible conviction crept over her that she was lost ! Then she stopped, and screamed at the top of her voice, and the owls and cuckoos took up the desolate cry, and the mountaius echoed and re- echoed it until the whole primeval solitude seemed full of little lost chil- dren crying for papa! “Oh dear! dear! dear!” said Fannie, to herself. “What will become of me? The bears will eat me up for certain ! And what will poor mamma do without her little Fannie? I must try to find my way out." And so the poor child wandered and wandered until night came on thick and heavy as night falls nowhere else save in these mountain soli- tudes. Poor little Fannie crept under a thicket of blueberry bushes, and said the simple prayer she had said so many times at her mother's knee, and then she added a little petition of her own, suggested by the dismal cir- cumstances which were keeping her there alone, and in the dark and terror. “ Oh Lord, don't let the bears eat me, and don't let mamma's head ache any more, and, ob Lord, do send papa and Bruno right to this very huckleberry bush before morning!” Then she cried a long time, and wished she had taken Bruno, the house dog, for company, he would have kept her warm, she thought; and then she crept under the bushes a little further, shuddering to think how cold and desolate she was, and wondering in a vague sort of way if the little cabin would be very lonesome without her. Then she roused herself to say a second prayer, to the effect, that if she died there, she wanted the robins to cover her up with leaves, just as they did the Babes in the Wood, and directly afterward she went to sleep Something woke her very suddenly at last. She opened her eyes sleepily, and saw the stars twinkling brightly through the branches of the trees overhead. And close beside her a great black object was standing, and then she sprang up half wild with terror, for she was sure it was that dreadful bear! But no, it was no bear, it was only noble old Bruno, who testified to Lost among the Mountains. 253 his joy by a system of barking and howling which made the whole forest ring. And Fannie threw her arms around his neck and hugged him and kissed him, and assured him with tears running down her cheeks that he was “the dearest darlingest old dog in the world !” “Oh, Bruno,” said she, “take me out of this dreadful place, do !” And Bruno shook bis head knowingly, and kept on barking. In a moment the dry bush snapped beneath the tread of hurried feet, and the light of a pitch pine torch streamed over Fannie and the dog. The next instant James Wells held his little girl close to his heart. " My darling! My own precious darling!” cried be, and then the great strong man wet Fannie's little cold face with his tears of joy. Fannie told him all about it as he carried her along, and he told her how that after she had left him to go home, he had got anxious about her, and about her mother, too, and had quit his work and started off to go home full two hours before his usual time. He had met her mother at the river, half distracted by her child's pro- tracted absence, and they had both thought her drowned when they saw that part of the log was gone. But Bruno did not think so, and it was solely owing to Bruno, who insisted in his canine way that Fannie was not in the river, that she was found. “Oh, papa!” said Fannie, “I guess the Lord put that notion into Bruno's head, for I prayed the last thing before I went to sleep that He would send you and Bruno right to that very huckleberry bush before morning, and he did it! You see, papa, I went to sleep expecting He certainly would !” Simple, childish faith! I wish we all had more of it! I cannot convey to you any idea how glad Faunie's mother was to see her little girl — you can imagine how your mothers would feel under such circumstances; and, as for Fannie, she was so pleased to get home once more, that she laughed and cried all in the same breath. And you may be sure that Bruno came in for his share of the good time, and that he had a breakfast fit for the very king of all the dogs in the world. Clara Augusta. 1 254 The Student and Schoolmate. A SONG OF A KEY. I SANG of a door, but now of a key – Of brass, of gold, or whatever it be; A key of such wonderful make combined, That marks the work of a powerful mind. Not such is the key to a miser's chest, That guards his treasures forever unblest; Whose lock has ne'er turned in aid of the poor, But forced them unfed away from his door ! For him may no widow her prayers upraise, Nor whisper his name in her hymns of praise; No orphan shall spring to his arms in glee, Exultant and glad in his charity. His heart is enwrapped in a triple fold, No sound greets his ear like the clink of gold, His thoughts and his dreams are all centred there; His board to increase is his constant care. Not such is the key to a hermit’s cot, His friends forgotten and himself forgot - From the world he hides in his cabin rude, And yields himself up to his solitude. Few are the strangers who travel his path, Curt is the welcome he bids to his hearth; But alone he sits in a churlish mood, With none to divide or to share his food. I sing of a key to a life well spent, When returns the soul by its Maker lent; When sorrow and care relinquish their hold, The lamp goes out from the tenement cold. It opens the way to a future life ! When finished is labor, ended is strife; Where hope in that Life Eternal there be, FAITH IS THE DOOR, AND RELIGION THE KEY! George F. Thayer. Chemistry. 255 CHEMISTRY, No. VI. will be well before proceeding farther, to give an explanation of some of the terms constantly used by chemists; as we are suffi- ciently advanced to thoroughly understand their application. An acid is a compound generally possessing a sour taste, the juice of a lemon, or vinegar, are familiar examples ; an acid also turns test paper paper impregnated with a solution of litmus — from blue to red. An alkali is a compound which generally has an acrid taste, the lye used for making soap is an exaniple; an alkali also turns the test paper reddened by an acid to a blue. A neutral body is neither acid or alka- line; water will serve as an example. A base a compound that will unite with an acid, forming as salt. An analysis is the separation of a body into its components, which is called a qualitative analysis; when these parts are weighed the whole operation is called a quantitative an- alysis ; when three constituents are recombined, the results of our analy- sis are thus confirmed by synthesis. For example : when we prepared Hydrogen, the Oxide of Zinc formed a base, the sulphuric acid combin- ing with the base made a salt; when we prepared Oxygen, we performed a qualitative analysis, and when we burned Hydrogen from our Phil- osopher's Lamp," or our “ Oxyhydrogen Blow-pipe,” we produced water by synthesis. We naturally come next to consider the principle compound resulting from the combination of Oxygen and Hydrogen. Water is too well known to require a lengthened description of its physical properties. It is well known to exist in three states : as vapor or gas, as a liquid, and as a solid. Having already prepared water artificially in previous experiments, and as it is so abundant all around us, covering three-fourths of the earth's surface — about one hundred and forty-seven millions of square miles of water, to forty-nine and a half millions of square miles of land - there is no need of resorting to synthesis to obtain it pure, it being easily separated from foreign ingredients naturally associated with it, by condensing the vapor from a tea-kettle. When pure it is colorless, transparent, without taste, and odor. A long time ago water was re- garded as an element, and many thought it could be converted into earth, but we know, from our own experiments, to the contrary. Lavoisier in 1773 disproved these notions. The strict chemical name of water is Protoxide of Hydrogen. It is decomposed by many substances ; some like zinc, take the Oxygen and liberate the Hydrogen, as we have tried ; 256 The Student and Schoolmate. others, like the element Chlorine, take the Hydrogen, setting free Oxy- gen. To the chemist, water is indispensable as a solvent. When two or more salts are mixed by solution, we separate the soluble salt or salts, from the insoluble: we can thus separate sugar from marble dust. When the action of one solid on another is extremely feeble, or cannot be made to affect the other in the least, by solution of the bodies, the particles cease to form solids, and by then bringing the solutions together, the particles are brought into intimate admixture, or within the sphere of each other's attraction. This can be illustrated by mixing the two packages of a “ Seidlitz Powders,” when no action takes place; as soon however as water is added, a violent effevescence occurs. Although water is perfectly neutral, it often acts as an acid or a base, entering into a great variety of combinations. Water as ordinarily found is contaminated with various substances which constitute many varieties. Naturally distilled water, if caught as it descends, is about the purest we find in nature, yet rain water often contains minute quantities of various acids combined with bases. Lake water stands next in point of purity, when collected from deep lakes in slaty localities. River water varies in quality according to the nature of the soil, and other circumstances. Rair water flowing over the land takes up solu- ble impurities, and carries them along to the river, ultimately our town perhaps is supplied, in which, if the case, we are directly interested. If fit for domestic use it should be perfectly colorless, without taste or smell, and free from organic matter, which being putrefactive would be likely to produce serious diseases: water free from organic matter will not “spoil” by long standing. The amount of Carbonate of lime and com- mon salt generally held dissolved, is harmless ; it is this mineral matter principally that forms a crust on the sides of our kettles. The larger the quantity of these salts, the harder the water, while the more free it is from saline matter the softer it is. The reason we find it difficult to wash in hard water, is, that these mineral matters combine with the soap, not allowing it to dissolve the dirt we wish to remove. Spring water is usually very hard, and very variable in regard to quan- tity and quality of impurities. When the salts and gases in water are in such large proportion as to give it taste and smell, or medicinal prop- erties, it is called a Mineral water. Sea water is a strong mineral water; the sea accumulates all the surface-drainage of the earth. The principal saline body of sea-water is common salt, but many other salts are associated with the Chloride of Sodium in relatively small quanti- ties. The quantity of common salt in the various oceans has been calcu- Chemistry 257 lated to be about five times more than the mass of the mountains of the Alps. Mineral waters have been variously classified : we have the Carbonated, Saline, Sulphurious, and Chalybeate varieties, but we must forbear entering into a tiresome detail. We can hardly conceive of the vast importance of water which we so freely use. Suppose all the water actually existing in a man's body was weighed, it would amount to three-fourths of his weight. All animals and vegetables are thus largely constituted. We are indebted to water for the atmospheric changes of our climates. The earth grows parched and thirsty, in vain vegetable nature seeks moisture from its mother earth ; animals wander to and fro among the brooks and streamlets in search of the cooling drink; man too, looks longingly at the clear sky for some intimation of rain. Nature heeds; afar off is a little cloud, " the size of a man's hand,” growing larger, heavier, and blacker as it approaches. The mighty powers of the sun have filled the high arches of the atmosphere with invisibly distilled va- pors from the sea, which are now rapidly becoming visible. Animals and plants are instinctively lifting their drooping, languid heads, prepar- ing for the approaching shower as it heralds its approach with roaring thunders. The sun has hid himself behind the weighty mass, here and there lining with golden light some stray cloud. Down comes the re- freshing shower ; universal nature rejoices ; the wonderful work is done. Offensive and obnoxious gases are swept away, and the flowers diffuse their sweet odors around, as they seem to reflect the beautiful colors of the bow painted in the sky. Nitrogen. This gas is one of the very important constituents of or- ganic substances, as many of these, as well as animal compounds are found to contain it. Nitrogen is abundant in the mineral kingdom, for example, natural nitre — nitrate of Potash contains it; it forms nearly four-fifths by weight of the air we breathe, existing in a free or uncombined state ; therefore retaining all its natural properties unmodi- fied by combination with other elements. As previously stated, its pres- cence in the atmosphere weakens the great power of Oxygen, as we would weaken a solution of sugar and water by addition of more water. We saw how much more vivid our candle burned in pure Oxygen, than in air. Nitrogen was discovered by Dr. Rutherford in 1772, who proved it was an element instead of Carbonic acid gas, as was believed before his investigations. The easiest manner of preparing this gas for the purpose of experiment, is to burn Phosphorus in a confined portion of ordinary air. In a saucer of water we will float a little metallic cup containing a 258 1 The Student and Schoolmate. small piece of Phosphorus set on fire, inverting over it one of our wide mouth bottles. At first a few bubbles of air escape as it is expanded by the heat, then the water rises in the bottle owing to the removal of Oxygen, so we must supply its place with more water. When the Phosphorus ceases to burn by the exhaustion of Oxy- gen, and a little time has been allowed for the white compound of Phosphorus — Phosphoric acid — to settle, we have a bottle of Nitrogen gas ready for examination. Nitrogen has no taste, no color, and no odor ; although when pre- pared by the above method, it smells of the vapor of Phosphorus. By other more difficult methods we can obtain it perfectly pure, but what we have will answer our purposes. We must manipulate carefully with Phosphorus, as observed when experimenting with Oxygen. Nitrogen is insoluble in ordinary water, otherwise we could not have collected it in the manner we have, but when water is entirely deprived of air, it will take up very little of the gas. By plunging a lighted candle into our bottle of gas, it is immediately extinguished, therefore does not sup- port combustion, and we notice that it is entirely different from either of the gases with which we previously experimented, as with Oxygen rapid combustion took place with a lighted candle, with Hydrogen the light went out, but the Hydrogen itself took fire, while with Nitrogen it neither allows the candle to burn, nor will it burn itself. If we should confine a mouse in some Nitrogen it would soon die as it would in Oxy- gen, but from a totally different cause ; in the one case excessive stimu- lant, but with Nitrogen suffocation would cause death. It does not however exert any poisonous effect on the system, otherwise we could not breathe it in the large quantities we do, without feeling bad effects. The results of all experiment point to a remarkable indifference of Ni- trogen with regard to combination. In the nascent state when in the act of being evolved from another body – it will unite with Hydrogen and Oxygen. It forms compounds with the elements Chlorine, Carbon, and Iodine, but brought about with difficulty. When combined with other bodies it is very unstable, the slightest physical cause will lead to its sudden separation from some of its compounds, and an explosion is the result; many bodies owe their explosive properties to the sudden escape of this gas, such substances being called Fulminating compounds ; one of these called Iodine of Nitrogen, will explode by the slightest con- tact of a body, the touch of a feather or merely dropping the powder through the air, are sufficient to cause a sudden and violent explosion, with a flash of light. This, as well as most of the other explosive com- - One Step in the Wrong Way. 259 pounds are very dangerous, and we had better read about them than ex- periment with them. Nitrogen is one of those queer bodies that possess very little love for anything, mixing quite freely in the society of some of her sister elements but apparently with very little attraction for intimate companionship, be- ing sometimes violently aggravated by a very slight cause, which serves as an excuse for a quarrel and separation. With her instability of char- acter, little dependence can be placed upon her, but when let alone, she is comparatively harmless. M. B. Manwaring: ONE STEP IN THE WRONG WAY. WHAT THAT a beautiful June morning it was! The fragrant air was filled with the happy songs of birds and the hummings of busy insects. Across the warm blue sky, white fleecy clouds were lazily drifting, wherever the wayward winds carried them, and bright-winged butter- flies swung gently to and fro, on the airy height of the tall clover blos- soms. From the drooping branches of the old willow by the school-house, the merry little bobolink poured forth his strange sweet song, very much to the annoyance of several of the most restless scholars, who, as they listened, grew more and more impatient of their imprisonment within the walls of the school-rooms, while there was so much to be enjoyed out doors. How very provoking it was to be obliged to waste such splendid Weather poring over stupid books. At least so thought Charlie Cox, as he sat with his head resting on his hand, looking at his Arithmetic with such a studious air, that the teacher never dreamed of reproving him for idleness, though in reality his thoughts were far enough away from his studies. At length the bell was struck for recess, and the scholars eagerly rushed out into the play-ground ; but most of them finding the summer sun too warm for active sports, collected under the sheltering shade of the old willow tree. "Splendi ferous day, is n't it?” said Arthur Ferris, a tall youth of fif- teen, as he seated himself on the ground and fanned his heated face with his hat.“ Most too bad though, for a fellow to spend it puzzling his brains over that everlasting Cube Root of Pilynomials, when all the time he can't help thinking of nice ripe strawberries spoiling in the 260 The Student and Schoolmate. meadow for want of some one to pick them, or of the nice trout cooling themselves in Silver Lake, that would very likely be very happy to have some one be kind enough to help them to reach the shore for once in their lives.” “Yes," said Katie Lewis, laughing at this speech, " But the very sun that is spoiling your strawberries, would make you very uncomfort- able if you were down in the meadow picking them.” “ So you think a cool stew over Algebra in the shady school-room would be better for me, than a hot roast in the meadows ? ” said Arthur. “ Well, all 's well that ends well, at least so said Shakespeare or some- body else, and I shall agree with him when I've solved that mysterious cube root question.” I think it is just the season of the year to enjoy coming to school, for the walk is so pleasant, and — There goes your ball, Arthur," she exclaimed, as he accidentally tossed it over the fence behind him, in try- ing to throw it up and catch it again. Arthur sprang over the wall to recover bis ball, but Charlie Cox got it first and threw it into the street, whereupon both boys started in pur- suit, each trying to get it first; but it had rolled away into the grass, and while they were searching for it Charlie said: “I tell you what, Arthur, I'm not going back to school again this morning. It don't pay ; to pass all the morning over a stupid lesson and into the class to get a lecture as long as your arm, because you can't say every word of it. Come with me, won't you ? ' “ With you? Where?” said Arthur, Why I don't know, somewhere to have some fun. You were telling the girls of nice trout in Silver Lake just now. Suppose we go there, and run out and get some water lilies and some fish ?” “ Oh yes! But we can wait till after school. Then it will be cooler and besides' “ No, sir! I'm not going back to recite that lesson this morning, I know,” interrupted Charlie. “ You must come now or not at all." “ Not at all then, if you please," said Arthur decidedly. “Pshaw! You would have came, and been glad of the chance, if Kate Lewis and Fannie Bell and the rest of the girls had not shook their heads over your speech. Before I would be governed by girls!" And Charlie managed to smile scornfully, though he was really very much disappointed. Why not?” asked Arthur, cooly. “It is just as well to act on the good advice of several girls, as the bad advice of one boy, is n't?” “Glad you think so," said Charlie, too much exasperated to continue then go 66 One Step in the Wrong Way. 261 the conversation. “I'm going alone then, but you need n't go and tell, first thing. “ No— I need n't unless I'm asked,” replied Arthur. Good morn- ing," he added, running towards the school-house, as the bell rang just then. Left alone Charlie ran along the road a short distance, and then turned off into a little grove, to avoid being seen from the school-house. Here he sat down to rest in the shade of a large oak-tree, and tried to persuade himself that he was very happy and comfortable. But he was not quite satisfied, somehow. It was all Arthur's fault though he need n't have been so mean. Silver Lake was four miles away, and that was too long a walk to enjoy alone — and then what else to do he didn't know. He did not want to remain where he was, for he did not wish to be seen, he was almost sure to be, by people passing along the road, and he already was beginning to feel a little ashamed of " playing truant.” He could n't go home; for reason of his unusual appearance would be inquired into and he should be sent back to school in disgrace. Silver Lake was too far off, and the “next best thing," he thought, would be to take a stroll into the woods and get some wild flowers, and strawberries. " Distance lends, enchantment to the view," and the distant forest looked delightfully cool and enchanting to him as he pursued his weary way across three large meadows, under the full blaze of the summer sun, but at length the protecting shade was reached, and our little tru- ant proceeded to make himself comfortable, by bathing his heated face with cool water from the brook. While thus employed he was startled suddenly by a loud shout behind him, and turning round he saw two large boys who were strangers to him coming towards him. " How are you, boy? What you up to ?” Was the friendly salute of the taller of the two. "Why don't you answer a fellow, don't take me for a bear do you? Where are you bound ?” he continued, for Charlie was uncertain whether he should reply at first. But he concluded that any company would be preferable to solitude, so he said “Oh I'm just strolling around for the fun of it, in search of amuse- ment.” “Come with us then," said the tall boy, “we have been gunning a little, but can't find much to shoot here, so we're going farther into the woods to see what we can find.” 262 The Student and Schoolmate. Charlie hesitated again, for his mother had often forbidden him to go anywhere with boys who carried a gun, for she knew they are apt to be very careless. The boy noticed Charlie's distrustful glance at his gun, and said “ Oh don't be scared, come on, my gun won't hurt you." This was invitation enough, for few boys can bear to be called cow- ardly, and moreover he had long been wishing for some company. So he replied quickly “Oh, I like gunning myself. I'm not afraid, come on.” So they walked farther and farther into the woods, amusing them- selves by occasionally trying to shoot some sly squirrel or audacious par- tridge, but without much success. After a while they determined to rest, for they had now walked several miles, and they knew by the posi- tion of the sun that it was afternoon. Charlie meanwhile was not altogether pleased with his new compan- ions. He discovered that they were very profane in their language, and inclined to be very rude and quarrelsome towards each other. . They were both very kind to him however, and he would doubtless have en- joyed himself very well, if he could have helped feeling that he was not in good company. They had seated themselves upon a mossy bank, beneath a hemlock tree, and were searching among the grass and ferns for wintergreen berries. “ I tell you what it is, George,” said one of the strange boys to the other. “I'm awful hungry, we have n't shot anything this morning but a crow, and we can't eat him. So what's the bill of fare for dinner?” Why did n't you bring something from home ? ” inquired Charlie. “ Did n't you intend to stay in the woods all day ? ” “Why yes, of course we did,” replied the other boy whose name was Dick. “ But then you see, we ran away and therefore had n't time to think of such little matters. But no matter about that; I think we must be pretty near Deacon Derby's farm, he is a stingy old fellow to be sure, but he always has plenty of fruit and other nice things, so let us help ourselves. Come along, boys, I 'll lead the way!” So saying he started up and stood waiting for the other boys. No, thank you,” said Charlie, “ I don't steal.” “ Nonsense, you little simpleton, that is n't stealing. It is a case of necessity, you know. Won't you come ?” “ No,” said Charlie. “My mother “ Your mother! Ha, ha, ba. That is enough, George. I thought he was some little fellow, who ought to have been fastened to his mother's 66 One Step in the Wrong Way. 263 46 apron-string, when I saw him look so afraid of my gun. I guess that's what he is afraid of now. No matter, we will go without him.” Both boys laughed immoderately and started a few steps, and then just as Charlie turned to go home, feeling very much mortified and very angry, Dick turned around and said Come, don't go off angry. If you are not a coward, prove it by coming with us, and we'll not laugh at you again.” He should have learned sufficient wisdom from experience, not to have yielded to this request, for he knew all the time it was wrong for him to do so, but this idea of being called a coward and laughed at again prevented him from doing right. He did n't think that he would have shown more true courage, in turn- ing away from bad company, in spite of all their taunts. So, following Dick, who volunteered to lead them, they walked rapidly along the bor- ders of the stream, through a narrow ravine, from which they emerged into an open field. "See," exclaimed Dick, pointing towards a farm-house, just visible behind a large orchard. See, there is the large cherry-tree in the corner near the house. Those cherries are splendid, but the trouble is, how we are to get them without being seen.” “Let us creep along near the wall, and then one of us climb the tree and throw some down to the rest,” suggested George. This was decided to be a good plan, and when they reached the tree, Charlie was selected to climb up and pick the cherries, because he was the smallest, and because he dared not refuse, he consented to the plan. He was soon among the branches, throwing down the scarlet fruit to those on the ground, when suddenly they started and ran away into the orchard, out of sight behind the trees. He soon discovered the cause of their desertion to be the appearance of Deacon Derby himself walking rapidly towards them. Very much frightened, he hastily descended, not without being seen however by the farmer, who called loudly after him, as he fled in pur- suit of his companions. Unfortunate Charlie! He was just in time to see Dick jump over the stone wall, and following too quickly, jumped over also, but in doing so, accidentally knocked down the gun, which striking against a stone was discharged, wounding his foot very badly. It had been the intention of George and Dick, to remain in conceal- ment here, for they heated and tired with their race, but fearing that the report of the gun had betrayed them, they instantly started 264 The Student and Schoolmate. again ana soon vanished into the woods, leaving Charlie where he was, although they knew he was badly hurt, but they were too selfish to care for anything but their own safety. Very much frightened he waited in silence for some time, half wish- ing that Deacon Derby would find him, for be thought it would be im- possible for him to get home without assistance, but no one came, and the time seemed so long, for his foot pained him dreadfully, and the sun was shining too warmly to be comfortable for any length of time. Thoughts of the long night, and perhaps the next day to pass in that lonely place, and the anxiety his absence from home would cause, at length roused him to the determination to make an effort to walk. It was a slow and painful process, for he could progress but a few steps at a time, without pausing to rest, and to add to his discomfiture he could not remember the way they had came, and so was obliged to follow the course of the brook, whose windings led him even farther than was necessary, so that when the night came on he was still far from home. During this long interval he had ample time to reflect upon his conduct throughout the day. He saw with regret how much difficulty his first wrong act, bis running away from school in the morning — had got him into, and now when it was too late, repented of his weakness in allow- ing himself to be led into bad company. But his repentance did not put an end to his trials. Darker and darker grew the air around him, and the wind began to blow wildly among the trees. He was not afraid, of course not, there was nothing really to be afraid of, but somehow he could not help think- ing of the days when this same forest was inhabited by bears and wolves, such as he had heard his grandfather tell about, and often the uncertain twilight deceived him into the belief that he saw some large animal moving among the trees. Then he could not help wondering if the spirits of the departed and long forgotten indians, some of whose bodies were said to be buried in mounds in these woods, ever did come back to revisit their former habitations. To his great relief, he finally reached the road, and knew that he was not far from home, and was just wondering what sort of a reception he was likely to meet, when he heard the welcome sound of a carriage, be- hind him. It was so dark that he could not recognize the owner, but it went slower as it approached him and finally stopped and a cheerful voice ex- claimed “ That you, Charlie? What makes you walk so funny? jump in and One Step in the Wrong Way. 265 “ You see come along home with me, I was just going up to your house after you.” And Charlie was surprised to see Arthur Ferris before him. In a few words he explained why he could not go with him, as he was already so tired and lame, but nevertheless Arthur volunteered to carry him home, and helped him into the carriage. “Wby in the world did you run away from school this morning ?” inquired Arthur, as he drove on. “ You got into all sorts of trouble, besides you don't know what you missed. We've had a glorious time this afternoon." “Why, where have you been ?” asked Charlie, eagerly. "Over to Silver Lake on a pic-nic," replied Arthur. school was dismissed early this morning, and we were sent home with orders to prepare for a pic-nic, and assemble in the school-room at one o'clock. We were on hand of course ; at one o'clock the pic-nic Barge came for us and carried us over to the lake, and we have had such a jolly time! We fished, and rowed, and swung, and - who do suppose was there?” “ I'm sure I can't tell,” said Charlie. "Tom Allen and Harry Forbes came out from the city to spend the day with me. We always have lots of sport when they are around, and so to-night the boys and girls are all at my house, for a good time, and I thought I would come over and get you too, so you should not lose it all, and I am sorry you can't come.” “ So am I,” said Charlie, sorrowfully, “but here I am at home. Thank you Arthur,” he added, as Arthur assisted him into the house. "If I had been as good a boy as you are, I should deserve to be as happy." Arthur departed, and Charlie went into the house, where he was gladly received, for his absence had caused much anxiety. But his punishment was not yet ended, for he was obliged to remain in the house for many weeks, on account of his wounded foot, which never quite recovered from its injury, for even now he walks somewhat lame. One day, when asked by a stranger the cause of this misfortune, he replied: "One step in the wroug direction, made me a cripple for life.” Fennie Calver. ST 266 The Student and Schoolmate. SEEDS. TO "O be born, to grow, to reproduce others like themselves, to die and decay is the great law of the plant and animal world. In the animal world this is done by living offspring, and by eggs from which living creatures are afterwards produced, and in the vegetable kingdom by sub-division, spores and seeds. In the lower forms of vegetable life, simple sub-division serves the purpose of propagation, the plant contin- ually producing new plants of its own species by separation. The red snow (Protoccus nivalis) which reddens great tracts of snow in a few hours, and which was once the source of so much wonder and terror to the Arctic voyagers, is a simple one-celled plant which grows and spreads by this continual division of its cell. The green scum on the surface of still water which is really a plant of low organization, and the curious yeast plant grow in the same manner. From these plants we ascend a step to those that produce spores, such as fungi, sea-weed, lichens, mosses, ferns from which new plants grow. Spores are not so highly organized as seeds, “having no embryos or single growing points, but vegetating from any part of the surface." From plants that bear spores we come to those that bear seeds, which are the highest form of reproduction of which the vegetable world is capable, and were not seeds so very common, we should think them very wonderful, and it would seem like the tales of the old magicians if we were told of a man who had hundreds of rose trees shut up in little red Egyptian jars, who kept oak and walnut trees, date and cocoa- nut palms, tamarinds, orange groves, apple orchards, pomegranates, and figs in snugly packed cases in his room, only waiting for him to bid And yet these seeds contain the future tree folded up within them, as the egg of the ostrich and the robin contain the great swift bird of the desert and the red-breasted singer of northern nations within their smooth oval walls. In one respect, that of keeping the principle of life unchanged until the proper time of expansion and growth, the seed seems superior to the egg, and wonderful stories are told of the length of time in which this vital principle is kept. Different plants which have not been known in certain localities for years, often spring up where forests have been burned or felled. After the growth of oak, pine and other timber trees, cedars, blue-berries, huckle-berries, ferns, and a countless number of smaller plants appear, and when these are cut up or burnt off, and the land not ploughed, trees return again. them grow. Seeds. 267 In Sandwich a few years ago, a fire swept off acres of wood, the ground is now covered with blueberry bushes bearing great quantities of fruit, and on the prairie lands where once the eye could sweep over wide tracts and not meet a tree, forests are springing up. Some account for this, not by the indestructible nature of the seeds, which can lie so long in the ground, and yet keep their power of germination, but by saying that the birds drop the seeds and cause the plants to spring up in unexpected places. Doubtless they are the unconcious sowers of many of the smaller fruits and berries, of the wild cherries, plums, roses, black alders, and many weeds, but that seeds do have this wonderful living power has been proved in many ways. The wheat found in the mummy caves of Egypt has been sown, and grown after a thousand years of rest, and Prof. Lindsay raised three raspberry plants from seeds which were taken from the stom- ach of a skeleton which was found thirty feet below the surface of the ground in Dorchester, England. In the same trench with the body were found coins of the reign of the Roman Emperor Hadrian. It is supposed that hidden away, and kept from germination, these little raspberry seeds were sixteen or seventeen hundred years old, almost as old as the Christian religion, and yet when put into the ground the germ expanded and grew like any raspberry seed that was dropped last year by a hungry robin. A still more remarkable case happened in our own country, of seeds that, lain away unchanged for ages, nobody could tell with certainty how long, but which no man or bird had hidden away, growing, and producing the same fruit as their parent trees from which they had been separated so many centuries. Near the Penobscot River in Maine, at least forty miles from the sea- coast some men were digging a well. When they had dug about twenty feet they came to a layer of sand. This they threw into a heap by itself, not mixing it with any other earth. It was not removed but lay there a year or two when some little plants sprang up in it, which finally proved to be wild plums, such as live on sandy beaches like those at Plum Island, and are not found at any great distance from the sea-shore. These grew and bore fruit, notwithstanding they had been hidden away in darkness and silence through all the uncounted and uuknown years that the beautiful coast of Maine was forming, while the rivers were bringing down the soil which built the land forty miles farther out into How long that may have taken, only the wisest geologist ven- tures to guess. If this were not so, if there were not this wonderful provision made for the future generations of plants when those now on died and decayed, the whole world would soon become a desert, for the extinc- the sea. 268 The Student and Schoolmate. tion of animal life would soon follow the destruction of the vegetable kingdom. All the care which nature takes to produce and keep her seeds for the growth and ripening of which the root, stem, leaf and flower seems only a preparation, does not appear too much when we consider how much other life depends upon the preservation of these apparently insignificant things. A perfect seed consists of several parts. The external part, which botanists call a testa, wbich wraps up and preserves the seed, the kernel which consists of the embryo or growing point, and the albumen. If you cut a bean in halves you will see the little hinge-like point which united the two. This is the growing point, and if destroyed, the seed will never germinate. The white part enclosed in the skin is the albu- men or farinaceous substance which serves as food for the embryo, till it has grown sufficiently to gather up the materials for its future life from the earth and the air. The embryo uses up all the albumen as it grows, and leaves only the husks behind. So long as this vital point, and the albumen can be preserved, so long the seed will be perfect, and grow when placed under proper conditions. . This albumen varies in its nature in different plants. In wheat and the cereal grasses it is farinaceous or mealy, in the poppy tribe oily, and hard as bone, in seeds like coffee, but its office is always the same, to furnish food for the embryo which by some strange chemical process converts it first into a sweet sugary fluid and then absorbing it bursts the envelope, and sends down its tiny radicle or root to fix it firmly in the ground, and pushes its plumule upward into the air, to grow into a stem. In some seeds the proportion of albumen seems very small, but in others, like the cocoa-nut, it is the principal part. The outside covering of many seeds is remarkable for its beauty, and upon some of the smaller and more delicate, Nature has bestowed the same perfection of finish as she has on insects' eggs a beauty so min. ute as not to be seen without artificial aid. Sometimes the surface is smooth and even, sometimes rough, but they are often sculptured, em- bossed, marked with veins, and depressions. Under the microscope, the seeds of the pink are seen marked with fine dots and points, those of the Hypericum family with long bands, the prickly poppies are covered with a kind of network, and those of the portulacca which belongs to the purslain tribe, glitter with a burnished lustre like steel filings. Seeds are protected in various ways, some like the cotton seed are wrapped up in long wool, others in silk like the asclepias and willow- herb, and in vegetable down like the thistle. Nature not only takes care of her seeds, wrapping them up so securely as to keep them capable . Seeds. 269 of growing for so many years, but she also makes provision for sowing them in places far from their parent plants. Some she encloses in a capsule which bursts when the seeds are ripe and throws them to a dis- tance. In some West Indian and South American plants this capsule bursts with a loud noise and great force, scattering the seeds in the same manner as the balsam does in our gardens. To others she gives wings that the wind may gently bear them along and drop them in situations favorable to their growth. The light globe of the dandelion's winged seed is a familiar instance of this, for almost every child gathers it, and endeavors at one puff to send all the pretty airy things flying away. The willow and the poplar seeds have a little tuft of hairs which float them through the air in dry weather, but a shower quickly drives them to the ground. Elms and maples have an aloe, or membraneous wing to perform the same office for them - and the bignonia and catalpa seeds are also winged. Men have seed-time and harvest for their cultivated plants, but nature sows always and every day, and some of her spores and seeds so delicate as to be almost invisible, are floating always in the atmosphere. Nothing seems too great or too little for her to plant, from the great seed of the cocoanut palm with its rough fibrous husk, to the delicate orchis which is so fine that one seed by itself is invisible to the naked eye. Every plant produces a great many more seeds than ever grow and make other perfect plants. Nature is a bountiful provider, and while she Fastes nothing, but quietly turns it to some other use, she makes ample provision for the continuance of every species of plant and animal, as long as their existence is necessary for the benefit of the whole. Many of her seeds are devoured by animals and birds, many fall in situations in which they cannot possibly grow and thrive — but what of that! From one single thistle-seed she produces twenty-four thousand seeds the first year, and we should hardly feel thankful if all these lived and we had five hundred and seventy-six millions the second But she has other existences to provide for besides thistles when she ripens her seeds, and does not care whether man thinks they are too many or not. A single poppy has thirty thousand seeds, which if they were all suffered to grew for several years, would produce opium enough to wrap the whole world in a deeper slumber and for a longer time than that into which the sleeping beauty fell, in the fairy tale. The seeds of plants are not only the food of birds and animals, but they form a large part of man’s nourishment. The farinaceous or mealy seeds, wheat, barley, oats, rye, corn, give him excellent bread; the Asiatic lives upon rice, and fruits and nuts please his palate, while they and grew, season. 270 The Student and Schoolmate. provide for the growth of other plants similar to those from which they sprang. Peas and beans he also eats, both when they are ripening and when they are fully grown, and the seeds of the coffee and the theo- broma furnish him with pleasant beverages. But he uses seeds for other purposes than food. Some furnish valuable oils which he uses in manufactures and the mechanic arts. From the seeds of the colza, a species of cabbage, he presses a fine oil, which is used to burn in lamps, from rape and flax seed he gets linseed and rape oil, and from the coaco- nut and castor bean, oils of a different quality and use. The wool wrapped around the cotton seed furnishes him with many of his gar. ments, and from the milky juice in the seed vessel of the poppy, he gets opium, to charm away pain, or to intoxicate him more fatally than ar- dent spirits. Other seeds furnish powerful poison, hidden away in the stones of the peach, nectarine, cherry, plum, and almond, is the deadly prussic acid, which his art has enabled him to extract and condense, and which he has sometimes so wickedly used, that one is tempted to regret that his knowledge ever outstripped his goodness. E. C. que THE FLOWER FAIRY. THE THE flower fairies were all busy at their work in the sweet, calm moonlight. Some were sprinkling the crystal drops on the grass and flowers, which mortals call dew. Some were tending the little deli- cate shoots just peeping out of the ground; while others opened the buds with tender, careful fingers. But by far the largest number were busy laying the colors lightly on the soft, smooth petals of the flowers. The mother fairies fitted about, directing and examining the work ; praising some touch more than usually delicate; helping some willing but unskilful fingers ; blaming the idle and careless. Suddenly one of them paused near to a scarlet verbena, hearing the little fairy who colored the flower, murmuring at her task: “I wonder why I was condemned to this common-place bush of verbena,” she said. “ I know there are few whose fingers can excel mine, and yet I am chosen for this humble work. Look at Rosetta who is not one bit more skil- •ful than I am, coloring that exquisite damask rose; and her proud sis- ter Rosabelle has charge of that delicate pink one; and little Rosa about whom they all make such a fuss, singing over that pure Le Marc. There is her dear friend Violetta joining in the song. No wonder, I should sing too, if the white rose, or the lovely violet were my charge. The Flower Fairy. 271 How deliciously their fragrance floats out on the night air, like an accom- paniment to that sweet song. But poor me. This wretched verbena has scarcely any perfume. If I were only fair Blanchette waving up and down on that graceful lily cup, or Brilliante, painting that gorgeous tulip, or even meek little Bien-venue who has charge of your pretty snow drop, the first flower of Spring. But no! I am only Tiny paint- ing a wretched, scentless, common scarlet verbena ;” and the fairy sighed heavily. “ Poor child,” thought the kind mother fairy; “I have not the heart to scold her, she seems so unbappy; and yet I must banish this discon- tent. Ah! I have found a plan ;” and she drew near to poor Tiny saying kindly, “ I have heard your repining words, my child, and I would restore to you the sweet sunshine of contentment. I, myself will do your work to-night, and you are at liberty to roam from flower to flower, joining in the task of any fairy you wish. Then return bither, and tell me if you are still anxious to change places with any." With grateful thanks to the kind mother, Tiny flew off on her happy mission. For a few moments she watched the busy workers, and then joining Brilliante, the fairy of the tulip, she said — "What a delightful task yours must be, Brilliante, to arrange all those beautiful colors, and hear your work so much admired.” " Delightful indeed!” answered Brilliante, crossly. “It is anything but delightful, I can tell you. These bright colors are very difficult to arrange correctly, and they dazzle my eyes so, that I often think I shall go blind before long. Then there is not one breath of perfume to re fresh me at my work; and as for the admiration you talk of, it is noth- ing to that bestowed upon the lily or the rose. Truly, mine is the hardest task of all, by far.” “I would not change with poor Brilliante,” thought Tiny, as she sped away to the graceful cup of a snow-white lily ; “ But fair Blanchette surely must be happy.” For a few moments she watched the lily fairy at her work, and then asked timidly, “ Is not yours the happiest task in all the garden, Blanchette ? I should so love to be chosen to tend the lily-queen.” " I wish you were in my place, then,” returned Blanchette. know the lily has not been acknowledged Queen, that flaunting rose still claims the title. It was but a moment ago that proud Rosabelle said as she passed me, “ Are you preparing the lily to attend upon her Queen, the rose ? ?" Spiteful creature; how I hate her!” " How strange in Rosabelle; she never speaks so to us ;” said Tiny. " Did you say anything to her ?” « You 272 The Student and Schoolmate. “ Certainly I did,” replied Blanchette. “I never let an opportunity pass of saying something to lower her pride. I inquired, with how many thorns has the would-be queen wounded you to-night? I know it cut her deeply, she turned so pale." It was some time before Tiny continued, “ But how pleasant it must be, that gentle, swaying motion, Blanchette? “ Pleasant ! ah, I cannot tell you how sick of it I am. And then ! see, while I have been talking, a spot of yellow has dropped upon this tiresome flower, and spoiled my work. Do go and leave me to my mis- erable labor.” “ Poor Blanchette," murmured Tiny, “ I would not change with her. But I will ask Rosetta. She seems happy." In answer to Tiny's question, the fairy of the Damask rose replied, “ Happy, child! How can I be happy, while the pink rose is preferred to my brilliant Damask? It is a shame, for no impartial judge could hesitate to declare in favor of my flower. And yet it is condemned to give place to proud Rosabell's. No, I am anything but happy." - How strange," thought Tiny. They all look so proud and beauti- ful; and yet none are happy. I will ask fair little Bien-venue, at work on her delicate snow drop.” “No, I am not happy," sighed Bien-venue, plaintively. “It is dread- ful having to come forth so early. You cannot think how cold and lonely it is, and how I envy all the rest of you who can wait until the Spring is a little advanced. Mine is a hard dreary lot, Tiny, I wish I could be you working on your bright warm scarlet verbena, instead of toiling at this everlasting cold green and white,” and little Bien-venue heaved another self-pitying sigh. "Poor Bien-venue, how I pity you," said Tiny kindly; and she added to herself, “ I would rather have my bright verbena.” At length she grew bold enough to accost proud Rosabelle, at work in the heart of her beautiful pink rose, and to inquire if she, who had charge of the queen, was not perfectly happy. “ No, little Tiny," replied Rosabelle, sadly. “Happiness, never stays with those who occupy exalted stations. . You cannot think how the hard words, and bitter envy of my companions hurt me. I feel so much alone, for none love me, and what are admiration and power without love. They think I do not care, because I am too proud to let them see my pain ; but oh, the thorns sink deep into my heart. Then they provoke me to be scornful in return, and I say things which I long to recall, but my pride will not stoop to acknowledge ii. Oh, iu ! I am only powerful. Be thankful, little Tiny, that you can be happy." The Flower Fairy. 273 " But I love you now, dear Rosabelle," said Tiny, warmly. “You are never proud to the lowly.” Beautiful Rosabelle bent her proud head, and left a kiss on Tiny's brow, but she said no more. “ None are happy, not even our queen," thought Tiny ; but just then the low sweet song of Rosa and Violetta fell upon her ear, and she added, “Oh, I will ask them ; surely they must be happy." She approached and humbly asked permission to share their work. It was kindly granted, and she joined Rosa who bade her touch with lightest brush the heart of a pure Le Marc. She flew to do her bid- ding, but, alas ! a sharp thorn she had not perceived, darted its point into her finger. The cry of pain brought Rosa to her aid. “Do these cruel thorns often wound you so, Rosa ?” she asked tearfully. “ Yes," said Rosa, gently. 6. These thorns are the trials I have to bear. No lot is all brightness, Tiny; and we must strive to bear pa- tiently and uncomplainingly the evil which falls to our share, and to re- joice gratefully in the good. This will make us contented ; and only through contentment can we be happy.” " But Violetta, surely, she has no trials?” said Tiny, wistfully. “Yes, dear Tiny, she has many; but she has the sweet sunshine of contentment in her gentle heart. Do you think it is no trial to be almost alone, throughout the cold dark winter; and when the warm sunshine comes out, and her friends and companions are rejoicing to- gether in its gladness to stay but a little while among them, see she is called away, until dark winter comes again? Do you not think this is a trial, Tiny ? and yet in spite of it, she is ever the sweetest and best beloved of us all. Be content with your lot, dear Tiny; do your duty faithfully and cheerfully, and believe me, dear child, you will be happy." "I will! I will!” cried Tiny, earnestly. “Dear Rosa, I will try to be like you and Violetta.” Swiftly she sped back to her humble little flower and told her expe- rience and resolve fully to the kind mother fairy. The good mother was delighted with the success of her plan, and gave Tiny all the help in ber power. It was often a hard struggle, at first, but Tiny was in earnest, and would not give up. Rosa and Violetta helped her too. And often she might be heard singing with them, while they all worked busily. . Violetta taught her to sing her own sweet little song ; and when discontented thoughts came, Tiny would sing it until they all went away. The Two Christmas Gifts. 275 great many other boys, and as was natural, they began to talk about their Christmas presents. Gerald Ashton said, “ I've got a gold dollar, and I'm going to spend it all for candy." “Say, Horace Carlton, what did you have?” asked one of the little fellows. “I had a bright new cent, and I'm going to keep it ever so long," answered Horace. But Horace kept thinking what Gerald bad said, a whole dollar to spend for candy; but he made up his mind that a cent to keep, was bet- ter than a dollar to spend in that manner. So he wrapped his cent up very carefully in a piece of paper, and put it in his pocket. He used often to talk about his present, and tell how bright it kept. There was an old man who, at that time, kept a small fruit store on or near School Street, and he had taken a great fancy to Horace; proba- bly because Horace was a very kind and obliging little fellow. One day, when Horace was talking to the old man about his cent, he said, “Well Horace, you may keep your cent wrapped up in a piece of paper in your pocket as long as you like, but it will never grow there.” “ Grow!” said Horace, “ ha ! ha! who ever heard of a cent's growing.” “ Well, my little man, you listen, and I'll tell you what I mean. I. bug my nuts and fruit at wholesale, and of course I get a larger quantity than I could with the same money at retail ; then I retail them out, and that is the way I make my living. Now I will make you an offer ; if you would like to invest your money in trade, I will sell you a cent's worth of nuts at wholesale price, and you may have a little place behind my counter to stand and sell them, and if you are fortunate you can buy more and sell again, and thus your cent would grow." Horace meditated a long while ; at length he said, “ Well Mr. B I think I'll do that; yes, I will do it.” So Mr. B sold him the nuts ; it was not long before he had sold out and doubled his money ; then he made another investment with the same results. At first he had but a short time out of school hours for trading, but as his business increased he gave up the day school, devoting his evenings to study, more particularly to book-keeping, with the prin- ciple of which he became perfectly familiar. As he was a very industrious and persevering little fellow, after a while he had made enough to have a store of his own. small room, and as he thought he should rather deal in dry goods than fruits and groceries, he bought thread, pins, needles, tape, and so forth, and began business in good earnest. As you might suppose from what. I have told you, he continued to prosper. Soon after he was twenty-one, he was able to buy one half the stock of a dry goods merchant in W-, a friend of his buying the other He hired a very 276 The Student and Schoolmate. half, and they entered into business under the firm of Carlton & Miller. Still he prospered, and at length they engaged in the wholesale business in connection with their retail trade. One day, a fine looking lady entered his store; he was very much pleased with her appearance, and inquired her name. He found it to be a Miss S then visiting a family the city with whom he was ac- quainted, and made it in his way to call there, and was introduced to her. They were mutually pleased with each other, and the result was, in the course of a year or two, they were married. Finally the firm of Carlton & Miller removed to New York; where they became large importers, and admitted another partner, Mrs. Carl- Jon's brother, thus the firm became, Carlton, Miller & Co. They did an extensive business, and were soon talked of, as one of the richest firms in New York. Mr. Carlton now lived in an elegant mansion in Brooklyn, kept his carriage, and had everything in fine style, yet he attended as usual to his business. The old apple man saved the identical copper coin that Horace began business with, and when he was twenty-one, he made him a present of it. Horace called it “ his lucky penny," and fastened it upon his desk, in his counting-room. Thus he was constantly reminded from what small means he had risen, and although he bestowed much in charity in the true spirit of benevolence, he looked well to small things, never forgetting to reckon the copper coins, as well as the gold dollars. Thus were Mr. Carlton's affairs prospering, when one warm, sultry day in August, soon after he entered his office, a poor sickly looking man presented himself at his desk, and asked for employment. He was dressed in a threadbare suit of grey, with an old dilapidated hat, and shoes that looked as if they were ready to drop from his feet. “ In what capacity,” asked Mr. Carlton, “ do you wish for employ- ment?” “O! in any sir," replied the stranger, wiping a tear from his eye, with the back of his hand,“ but my father was once a merchant, and I used to be in his store. I should be very glad if you could give me em- ployment as a clerk." Mr. Carlton looked at the man closely; there was something in his features that looked strangely familiar. At length he asked, “ what is your name? The stranger hesitated a moment, rubbed his hands slowly one over the other, and replied in a low voice “ Gerald Ashton." “ Ah," said Mr. Carlton, recognizing him instantly,“ do you remember 99 > - Declamation. 277 the Christmas gifts, of the gold dollar, and the copper cent ? I fancy you did n't make much out of yours.” "No," replied Gerald with a sigh, " and I have not forgotten the hope- ful way in which you spoke of your cent. If I had done half as well with the thousands my father helped me to, as you did with your one bright cent, I should not be here to-day poor and friendless." * Say not friendless, Ashton, while I live, and you are inclined to do right;" he then grasped his visitor's hand, and added, “I will give you employment as long as you wish it, and are worthy of it." Mr. Ashton immediately entered Mr. Carlton's service, and became an active, prudent, and valuable man. Mr. Carlton still continues to transact business in New York, ranking as one of the merchant princes there, and is said to be worth his mil- lions. But he never for a moment forgets that his prosperity is owing to his perseverance, and the right investment of the one bright copper coin. Annie Phillips. Demik DECLAMATION. [See Diagram in January No.] SQUEAKING BOOTS. You have an 'age. Your teeth have been aching. You have Islept done for two 'nights. In desperation you send for a dentist to re- move an old offender. Your nerves are dancing. You dread the oper- ation. At the foot of the stairs you hear a remote squeak — along the hall, 'squeak, 'squeak ; in your room, where stands the dentist, smiling at 'one end and sqūeaking at the Pother. He opens his box, changes his place; and, as if all the outcries of all his former patients, shut up in his boots, were now uttering their warning to you not to let the dentist touch your teeth, you 10shudder, 12refuse to go on, tell bim you have changed your mind; your tooth no longer aches! Even worse is a nurse with squeaking shoes. It is enough to drive a sick man 'crazy. But what shall be said of a man who 1°travels with squeaking shoes ? You are to rise at 5 and take the train ; it is al- ready 12 o'clock. You have lost sleep for several nights. You are just sinking into the deliciousness of the first sleep, when the waiter shows some late passenger into the room Soverhead. Creak, — 'creak — 278 The Student and Schoolmate. up his coat, Icreak Icreak he goes across the room. You imagine him putting off bis things. There — 'creak — "creak — back to lock his door. *Creak, Icreak, back to the bureau. Your thoughts run thus: I wonder if he's looking at himself in the 'glass all this time ? — then he goes to hang I guess. I hope he will go to bed and be done with this noise. No — there he is walking across the 'room again. What under the SUN does he want now? Why don't he pull bis boots off? has he ro slippers and no 'conscience? Well, at last he is still. Shaw ! – there he goes off again ; now to the 'bureau - then to the 'closet - then to the ?mantel-piece — then to the bed. Will the fellow never get into it, and keep quiet? It must be nearly 1 o'clock! Only four hours left. Squeak — 'squeak; there is that intolerable nuisance again. I'll ring the bell for the waiter. 1 Waiter ! take these slippers and my card up to the gentleman bover- head and ask him politely if he will oblige me so much as to “ silence his boots and let me go to sleep!”. Well! - I turn over - am just dozing, when - two pair of boots come through the hall and enter the room next to mine, with a thin door between. They are Brival boots, evidently. One never squeaks but the other squeaks louder. They go on at an extraordinary rate — in pairs and singly — in succession and in 'unison — squeak up, and #squeak down ; now it is a solo recitative, than a duet, than a fugue ! I give it up! I am good-natured at last ! It is 2 o'clock and Boots RULE THE NIGHT! Henry Ward Beecher. DIALOGUE. ANNIVERSARY OF THE ANTI-PORK SOCIETY. CHARACTERS. — MR. Bacon, President. Mr. Shoat, Secretary. MR. SPARRIB; MR. HOGBITE; Rev. ENOCH CHINE; DR. HARSLETT ; BENAIAH GALE. Mr. Bacon (rapping on the table). The meeting will now come to order! Gentlemen, I am proud to say that this is the second anniver- sary of our beloved society, and it rejoices my heart to see so many here present. We are enlisted in a good cause, and the day is not far dis- tant when all the enlightened portion of oar country will be members of the Anti-Pork Society. Our honored Secretary, Mr. Shoat, will please read the annual report. Declamation. 279 - my most “aye.” Mr. Shoat. Ahem. It is with — ahem — great pleasure respected brethren, that you are able to hear my report, which I have prepared with great care. During the past year, one member has been added, two have deceased, and one was expelled for expressing too much sympathy for the sow-th. Several families who were in the habit of keeping pigs under their beds have been induced to relinquish the custom, and an old lady in Gruntville who kept a very fat pig has been prevailed upon to have it killed. Ten tracts have been distributed, and I regret to say that the Treasury is exhausted. Respectfully submitted, P. Shoat, Secretary and Treasurer. Mr. Sparrib. I move that report be accepted. Mr. Hogbite. Second the motion. Mr. Bacon. Gentlemen, it is moved and seconded that Mr. Shoat's report be accepted, those in favor will say All. AYE! Mr. Bacon. It is a vote. Mr. Chine. Mr. President, when I gaze arouna me my heart swells and feels as full as a sassidge, when I see so many faces absent that were with us at our last meeting, but the Society has every reason to be thankful that I have been spared to address you on this interesting oc- casion. The cause we are engaged in is a most important one. Every- body knows that hundreds of our young men are consigned early to ig- nominious graves by the direful influence of pork. Mr. Hogbite. You're right, brother Chine, you 're very right. . Mr. Chine. Yes, it is even so. And how is it done, do you ask ? By the subtle influence of pig's feet, giving them an unnatural thirst, which they will slake only at the gilded bar-room. For two years I have preached twice every Sunday against the use of pork, and now I am proud to say that there is not a pork eater in my parish. They bare all left. Mr. Sparrib. Left eating pork ? Mr. Chine. No sir, left my church. Do you think I would have any one in my society who did not think as I do? Not by any means ! I would make the place too hot for them, Mr. Sparrib, too hot for them! According to my belief, sir, there is no hope for a pork eater. I am exhausted. I must sit down. Dr. Harslet. Gentlemen : all that my illustrious predecessor has said, I most heartily endorse. I did not intend to take any part in the discussion here, as I am very diffident and wholly unused to public speaking, but there is one thing relating to this cause which has been wholly overlooked, tending more than anything else to the use and con- sumption of pork, but I hardly dare to continue. 280 The Student and Schoolmate. Mr. Hogbite. Oh go on, Dr. Harslet, do not hesitate to point out errors, go on. Dr. Harslet. Well, gentlemen, I allude to the use of I doubt not but that some of you will oppose me, and think I am too bold or rash. Mr. Bacon. Oh, by no means, Dr. Harslet, speak right out. Dr. Harslet. Very well, then, the truth must be told; we can never hope to succeed in our cause until we abolish utterly the use of BAKED BEANS. So long as this article of food loads our New England tables, just so long will the bone and sinew, the light and love of our homes, sink under the devastating reign of pork. (Grunts of dissatisfaction from the members.) I thought so! I thought that there would be self- ish people here that would disagree with me, but I am right, no man can be loyal to his country, no man can hope for health, happiness, and a clear conscience, who will in any way countenance the use of pork. And as for sausages, paugh! I consider them the connecting links be- tween man and the brute creation. Mr. Gale. Sir! I entirely disagree with the member who has just spoken! A blow has been aimed at Baked Beans, and happily I, a Beverly man, am here to defend them. I believe that Dr. Harslet is too radical, he cannot know beans or he would never have uttered such sentiments; the beans of Beverly have spread from pole to pole, and to live without them is as impossible as to live without the air we breathe. What are home, country, honor, glory, without Baked Beans ? Mr. Sparrib. Nothing, Mr. Gale, they would be utterly worthless, absolutely hollow mockeries. Mr. Gale. Exactly sir, exactly. How can any man dare to menace this peculiar institution of our forefathers ? Did they not come over in the “ Mayflower," and what other Mayflower could it have meant but the sweet and delicate blossom of the bean? Why, sir, it is worse than treason to talk of abolishing the Sunday dinner of New England. My friend Chine may talk against pork as much as he likes, and I am with him, but when Dr. Harslet attacks Baked Beans, then I am loud in their defence. Mr. Hogbite. Oh, let Baked Beans go to pot! I move the subject be laid on the table. Mr. Shoat. And plenty of salt and pepper with 'em. Mr. Sparrib. Gentlemen, it is evident that we are agreed upon the question of eating pork, and I would recommend passing a resolution that the members of this club will not uphold any man for the Presi- dency or for any public office, who is known to be a pork eater, and we will not patronize any one who does not think as we do on this subject. Dialogue. 281 of Dr. Harslet. That's right, Mr. Sparrib, we are right on this subject, and everybody else is wrong, unless they agree with us. Mr. Shoat. Any one who is so foolish as to disagree with us, must be pig-headed, that 's all I can say of him. Mr. Hogbite. There is one thing certain, gentlemen, we need funds to accomplish the good work on which we have commenced, and I, for one, will subscribe fifty cents, provided one thousand dollars can be raised elsewhere. Mr. Gale. And I will contribute eighty-seven and a half cents, al- though my family is a large one, and I have just been to the expense putting a two story L on my house. Mr. Chine. And I will promise to have a contribution taken up in my meeting-house the first Sabbath of next month. Mr. Sparrib. And, as I am a member of Brother Chine's society, I will put my contribution in the box when it is passed 'round. Mr. Shoat. As I do not ask for any compensation for my services as Secretary and Treasurer, I suppose I can be excused from putting my name to the paper. Mr. Bacon. You can put my name down for two dollars, gentlemen, and I appoint Messrs. Hogbite and Harslet a committee of two to collect subscriptions, so that we can be able to distribute more tracts and promote the good work. I cannot help feeling that this is one of the most, if not the most important anniversary meeting ever held, and I can see that the day is not far distant when the doctrines now put forth by us, will be the fundamental doctrines of our country. The proceedings of this meeting will doubtless be published in the Nero York Herald and Tribune, flashed across the broad Atlantic upon the Cable, be made an important paragraph in the great London Times; be translated into French, German, Spanish, and Russian ; and the result will be a complete revolution in the diet, politics, and government of man. (Applause.) Mr. Sparrib. It is getting late, and I've got a lot of kindling wood to split, I move we adjourn, sine qua non. Mr. Chine. Second the motion! Mr. Bacon. It is moved and seconded that we adjourn, sine die, I presume Mr. Sparrib meant to say. All in favor will say aye, aye. All. Aye! Aye! (Exceunt omnes.) William L. Williams. TANGLED WON THREADS declamation, “This is an original feature not to be found in any other magazine." Boys, here is sport indeed, look up your old volumes of the Schoolmate from the beginning, and mark the care with which this especial feature has always had thoughtful attention. Original indeed ! our youthful imitator may claim an ap. GAIN we reach the end of a volume, preciation of the value of these exercises and our next number will commence by thus adopting them from a magazine the Twenty - Second Volume of the in which they are to be found for a long Schoolmate. Several new features series of years. may be expected, as we design to have the R. C. Schermerhorn sends us a Prize magazine the best, as well as the cheap- Enigma, but as he fails to send us the est, and worthy the support of all our boys answer we cannot publish it. It came and girls. One of our fair correspon. to hand too late for notice in our May dents says, “ I think the Evening circle number. is a great addition to your paper. We “Cliffie,” should not only send the have played these games at many an work but his full name, if he would com- evening party. May any one beside pete for our prizes. “ Richdore” contribute for this depart We were disappointed in not receiving ment?” Certainly, Mary, we are look. “Ragged Dick” before May 5th, and on ing for variety, and Richdore will gladly that day we mailed every copy ordered share with any live boy or girl. or bestowed as a prize for new subscri. Another says, “the dialogue in the bers. Mr. Loring has got it up with ad- April number is capital — we had “a mirable taste and every body is delighted case in court,” even to the veritable old with it. We are prepared to answer all hen herself, a few nights ago, and it was orders for this and Mr. Alger's previous highly enjoyed.” Look forward to some volumes. sprightly dialogues in the next volume. Willie G. thinks the new chart is al. Our Book Table together a success — and well he may, Speaks still further of the enterprise for to take the first prize in a declamation of Loring, the up-town publisher. His exercise by following our instructions is “ Tales of the Day," are deservedly pop- no small thing with able competitors. ular. " Aunt Kipp, or Children and But we must confess to a hearty laugh Fools speak the Truth,” is an amusing the other day, when reading a neatly story, while “Psyche's Art, or Hand- printed as well as carefully prepared cir- some is, that Handsome does,” speaks cular, which in presenting the peculiar of one who desired to possess beauty. features of a magazine scarcely more Sheldon & Co have certainly kept the than a year old, claims for its exercise in promise they made when about to issue Tangled Threads. 283 tors. the May number of the “Galaxy," as fering editors than to recommend them. "the largest monthly magazine (with selves and correspondents to use the one exception), published in this coun- non-corrosive writing ink which Messrs. try.” The number before us is well Snow, Boyden & Knight, No. i Corn. printed, and has four full page illustra- hill, Boston, can furnish in any quan- tions, with a brilliant array of contribu- tity, from a neat ink-stand with pen- holder arrangement to a gallon jug. Ex- Tue SABBATH AT Home having ful- hausting the first we have invested in the Slied the prontise of its first volume, latter, and of what we know we speak, takes an honorable position as “an il- for we have fairly tested its merits. lustrated' religious magazine for the Answers. family," having among its contributors 59. 1. Tunic — 2. Agminal — 3. Bam. many able pens. Published by the boo American Tract Society, 28 Cornhill, ble-cloth. -4. Limpet — 5. Embellish = Ta. Boston. 60. Treason does never prosper. We have received from George Meade, 61. Housewife. Racine, Wis., a fine specimen of the 62. William B. Bradbury. "Craig Microscope,” with a selection of 63. Nellie Moses. mounted objects, making a valuable ad 64. Angel, Ken Lodi, Roman, Atlan. dition to the drawing-room table. It is tic, Hallo, Apparel, Mammon Abra- both instructive and amusing, and is ham Lincoln. furnished at so low a rate as to be with 65. Snag; Sang. in the reach of all. The “Novelty Mi 66. Gaol : Goal. croscope,” of which we also have a spec 67. Salt; Slat. imen from him, is designed for the exam H. E. Bigelow of Marlboro', having ination of living insects, flowers, leaves, solved prize problem No. 4, in five min- &c. utes after receiving the magazine, and THE MASON & HAMLIN CABINET sent us his work, is entitled to the prize, ORGAN. The Cabinet Organ bears the and he will inform us what book to send same relation to the melodeon, sera- him. phine and accordeon, as does the mod- Georgianna Sawyer, A. J. Gordon, ern grand piano-forte to the ancient spin- Ivanhoe, Frank McArther, Edward v. net and harpsichord : and the immense Lefavor, E. A Noyes, Hannah F. Steere, strides made by Mason & Hamlin in the with others, also send correct answers. invention of this instrument are within Several have sent us the picture of “a the knowledge and comparison of all of good man,” as represented in punctua- us. We may now emphatically add to tion puzzle in May number. who will the list of notions in the manufacture of send us “the bad man ?” which America has excelled the world, 69. Geographical Rebus. the best reed organs as the most emi- nent musicians have, with singular una- nimity, pronounced the Cabinet Organ superior to any other, whether of home or foreign make.—Chicago Tribune. Having frequently to examine manu- script whose paleness bothers our poor eyes, we can do no better service to suf- 284 The Student and Schoolmate. 70. Cross Word Enigma. 76. Change a building into waste ob- My first is in Coach, but not in Driver. tained from flour. My second is in Horse, but not in Rider: 77. Change stillness into a shell-fish My third is in North, but not in South. RICHDORE My fourth is in Soup, but not in Mouth. 78. Charade. My fifth is in Tongs, but not in Fire. When the wild wind blows, And trees are bent, My sixth is in Anthem, but not in Choir. And leaves are whirled, My seventh is in Man, and also in Money. And sails are rent ; My eighth is in Mountain, but not in Valley. When eagerly the mother calls, My ninth is in Twilight, but not in Day. Quite often then my first part falls. My tenth is in Robin, but not in Jay. Of Indians fierce, a warlike band, My eleventh is in Come, but not in Wish. Each holds my second in his hand. My twelfth is in Pond, but not in Fish. My whole when wind and tempest My thirteenth is in Love, but not in Ditty. passed, My fourteenth is in Something, but not In Eastern sky, yet overcast, in Kitty. Its brilliant hues in curve displayed, My whole is a very important City. Is by the dazzling sunlight made. LIZZIE H. S. Prize Problem. No. 6. 71. A Depedation. Take the final letter from a Spanish A person having a rectangular lot, sword, and leave drawn; from this, leave wishes to enclose a part of it in the to allure ; from this, leave a law term; width of the lot the base of a triangle form of a triangle. If he makes the from this, leave a preposition ; from this, RICHDORE. leave a consonant. having its vertex in the middle of the opposite side, he requires 247.326 feet 72. Charade. of fence. If he makes the length of My first is used by travellers to con- the lot the base of a triangle having its tain my whole. My second was a British vertex in the opposite side, he requires general in the American Revolution. 232.418 feet of fence. The lot is 46 feet THEODORE. wide; the length is required. 73. Enigma. I am composed of 14 letters. My 11, 3, 6, 2 lives in salt water. Ghe Evening Circle. My 5, 1, 7 is used for food. Buff Blind. My 13, 4, 7, 2 is an animal. The victim of lot, having his eyes My 11, 12, 3, 14 is a kind of grain. blindfolded, kneels down beside a chair, My 10, I, 9, 13 is used in building a and places his head upon it. He then house. designates one of the party to act as My whole is the name of a distin- regulator. The others, one at a time, guished man. G. W. B. strike him with their knotted handker 74. Enigma. chiefs, imitating, as they do so, the cry I am composed of 10 letters. of some animal. Buff tries to guess a My 9, 4, 1, 6, 7 is a game at cards. player by his feigned voice. When he My 3, 8, 2 is a weight. does, the one guessed takes his place, My 5, 10 is a pronoun. while he becomes regulator. The regu- My whole is in this town. OUR JACK. lator sees that two do not imitate the cry Mutations. of the same animal ; also, he changes 75. Change the dress of a person into that of the player which Buff incorrectly a verb to snatch. guessed. RICHDORE. STUDENT A Stalo MNIE An Illustrated Monthly, · FOR OUR BOYS AND GIRLS. VOL. XXII. JULY, 1868. No. I. FAME AND FORTUNE, OR THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD HUNTER. CHAPTER XI. A NEW ALLIANCE. HE name of Micky Maguire is already familiar to the readers of “ Ragged Dick.” He had acquired a prominent position among the down town boot-blacks by his strength, which he used oftentimes to impose upon boys weaker than himself. He was a young ruf- fian, indeed, with few redeeming qualities. When Dick was in the same business, he tried on two or three occasions to make him acknowledge his superi- ority, but it was not in Dick's nature to be subservient to any one whom he did not respect. Moreover Dick had two good stout arms of his own, and knew how to use them in self-defence. The consequence was that Micky Maguire signally failed in the attempts which he made on different occasions to humble our hero, and was obliged to slink off in discomfiture with his satellite, Limpy Jim. The last glimpse we had of Micky was in Dick's cast-off clothes, of which by some means, probably not honest, he had become possessed. He did not wear them long, however. The famous Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1868, by JOSEPH H. ALLEN, in the clerk's office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 286 The Student and Schoolmate. Washington coat and Napoleon pants were only mortal, and, being already of venerable antiquity, became at length too fragmentary even for Micky's not very fastidious taste. One morning, accordingly, having levied an unwilling contribution from a weaker but more industrious boot-black, Micky went to Baxter Street, and invested it in a blue coat with brass buttons, which by some strange chain of circumstances had found its way thither from some country town, where it may at one time have figured at trainings and on town-meeting days. A pair of overalls completed Micky's costume. He dispensed with a vest, his money not having been sufficient to buy that also. Certainly Micky presented a noticeable figure as he stood in the City Hall Park, clad in the above mentioned garments. He was rather proud of the brass buttons, and may even have fancied in his unculti- vated taste that his new costume became him. While he was swaggering about, he espied part of a cigar, which some one had thrown aside. Micky, who was fond of smoking, picked it up, and looked about him for a light, not being provided with a match. A young man was slowly crossing the Park with a cigar in his month. But he was evidently plunged in thought, and hardly conscious of the scene about him. Micky observed this, and a cunning scheme suggested itself. He walked up to the young man, and said, cavalierly, “ Give as a light, Mister, will yer?” The young man mechanically took the cigar from his mouth, and passed it to the questioner without observing who he was. Had be done so, it is doubtful whether the request would have been complied with. Rapidly calculating that he would not notice the substitution, Micky, after lighting the “stub,” handed it to the young man, retaining the good cigar himself, and placing it straightway in his mouth. This trick would probably have passed off undetected, if it had not been observed by some of Micky's fellow professionals. A jeering laugh from these called the young man's attention to the substitution, and with a look of indignation, he said, “ You said, “ You young rascal, you shall pay for this !” But Micky evaded his grasp, and scudded rapidly through the Park, pursued by the victim of misplaced confidence. “ Run, Micky, I'll bet on you!” cried Pat Nevins, encouragingly. “Go it, long legs !” said another, who backed the opposite party. “ Give him a good lickin' when you catch him.” “ Maybe you'd have to wait too long for that,” said Pat. “ Leave yer cigar wid us, Mister," said another. Fame and Fortune. 287 James Gilbert, for he was the young man in question, began to find that he was becoming rather ridiculous, and felt that he would rather let Micky go free than furnish a spectacle to the crowd of boot-blacks who were surveying the chase with eager interest. He accordingly stopped short, and throwing down the "stub," prepared to leave the Park. “ Don't give it up, Mister! You 'll catch him,” said his first backer. * Micky can't run far. Ragged Dick give him a stretcher once.” " Ragged Dick !” said Gilbert, turning abruptly at the sound of this name. 99 “Maybe you know him ? " “Does he black boots ?” “ He used to, but he don't now.” “What does he do ?” “O, he's a swell now, and wears good clothes." “ How is that?” “ He's in a store, and gets good pay.” “ What's the name of the boy that ran away with my cigar?" “ Micky Maguire." * Was he a friend of Ragged Dick, as you call him?” “ Not much. They had two or three fights.” “ Which beat?” “ Dick. He can fight bully.” Gilbert felt disappointed. He was in hopes our hero had met with a defeat. Somehow he seemed born for success. " Then I suppose Maguire bates him.” “I'll bet he does." Humph!” thought Gilbert, “ I may turn his enmity to some ac- count. Let me consider a little. At length a plan suggested itself, and his countenance cleared up, and assumed an expression of satisfaction. On reaching home he held the conversation with Roswell and his mother which has been recorded at the close of the last chapter. Meantime Micky went home to a miserable lodging on Worth Street, in the precincts of the Five Points, and very near where the Five Points House of Industry now stands. This admirable, institution has had a salutary infinence, and contributed greatly to the improvement of the neighborhood. Then, however, it was about as vile and filthy as could well be. Micky exulted not a little at the success of his cunning, and smoked the cigar — an expensive one, by the way, - - with not a little satisfac- 66 288 The Student and Schoolmate. tion. He recounted the story to a group of admiring friends who had not been fortunate enough to witness it. FTVE POINTS HOUSE OF INDUSTRY HOOSE A HO you CG “ It's that's got the cheek, Micky,” said Teddy Donovan. “ You did it neat,” said another. . Maybe I 'll try that same, some day.” “ You'd better not. The copp might get hold of you." “ Was it a good cigar, Micky?” " Was n't it, just! I wish I'd got another. Stand treat, Teddy.” “I would if I had the stamps. I’m savin' up my money to go to the Old Bowery to-night.” The boys were standing in a little group, and in the interest of their discussion did not observe the approach of James Gilbert, who was now visiting the Park with a special object in view. With an expression of satisfaction he recognized the boy who had served him a trick the day before. Indeed, it was not easy to mistake Micky. The blue coat with brass buttons, and the faded overalls would have betrayed him, even if his superior height had not distinguished him from his comrades. Had Micky been aware of Gilbert's approach, he would have thought it prudent to “ change his base,” but his back being turned, he was taken by surprise. His attention was drawn by a tap on the shoulder, and looking round he recognized his enemy, as he regarded him. He started to run, but was withheld by a strong grasp. Fame and Fortune. 289 “Let me alone, will yer?” he said, ducking his head as if he expected a blow. " I believe you are fond of smoking,” said Gilbert, continuing to hold him tight. Micky maintained silence. " And sometimes exchange a poor cigar for a good one ?” continued bis captor. 6 “ It was a mistake,” said Micky. * What did you run for, then ? ” "What you're going to do about it, Mister ?” asked one boy, curi- ously. So it was a mistake, was it?” said Gilbert. “ Yes sir,” said Micky, glibly. “ Take care you don't make the mistake again then. Now you may black my boots." Not only the boys who were standing by, but Micky himself, were considerably surprised at this unexpected turn. They confidently ex- pected that Micky would “get a lickin',” and instead of that he had found a customer. Their respect for Gilbert was considerably dimin- ished for failing to exact punishment, and their interest in the affair being over, they withdrew. Micky laid down his box, and commenced operations. “ How long have you been a boot-black?” asked Gilbert. “Five years — goin' on six,” said Micky. “ Can you earn much ?” “ No,” said Micky. “ Business aint very good now.” “ You manage to dress well,” said Gilbert, with an amused look at Micky's habiliments. · Yes," said Micky, with a glance at the brass buttons, “ but I had to borrer the money to buy my clo’es.” " There used to be a boy around here that was called Dick. Did you know him ?” " There be a good many Dicks. Which did you mean?” “ This boy was nearly your size. I believe they called him • Ragged Dick.'” "I now'd him," said Micky, shortly, with a scowl. “ Was he a friend of yours ?” “ No, he was n't. I give him a lickin' once.” The fact happened to be the other way, but Micky was not very scru- pulous as to the strict truth of his statements. “ You don't like him, then ? Where is he now ?” Fame and Fortune. 291 “Maybe they're from yours, Mr. Hunter,” said the girl, laughing. “ No,” said Dick, gravely, “I'm a disconsolate widower, which ac- counts for my low spirits most of the time, and my poor appetite. Where are the letters ?” “I left them on the bureau in your room,” said the servant. • They come this afternoon at three o'clock.” Both Fosdick and Dick felt not a little curious as to who could have written them letters, and hastened up stairs. Entering their chamber, they saw two very neat little notes, in perfumed French envelopes, and with the initial G in colors on the back. On opening them they read the following, in a neat feminine fine handwriting. As both were alike, it will be sufficient to give Dick's. “Miss Ida Greyson presents her compliments to Mr. Richard Hunter, and solicits the pleasure of his company on Thursday evening next, at a little birth-day party. No. - West Twenty-Fourth Street." "We're getting fashionable,” said Dick. “I did n't use to attend many parties when we lived in Mott Street and blacked boots for a livin'. I'm afraid I shan't know how to behave.” “ I shall feel a little bashful,” said Fosdick, “but I suppose we've got to begin some time.” “Of course,” said Dick. “ The important position we hold in society makes it necessary. How 'll I be able to hold levees when I'm Mayor if I don't go into society now ?” “ Very true,” said Fosdick ; " I don't expect to occupy any such posi- tion, but we ought to go in acknowledgment of Mr. Greyson's kind- ness. Mr. Greyson was the teacher of the Sunday School class of which both Dick and Fosdick were members. His recommendation had pro- cured Fosdick his present place, and he had manifested his kindness in various ways. Those who have read “ Ragged Dick” will remember that he had a very sprightly and engaging daughter of ten years of age, who seemed to have taken an especial fancy to Dick. Being wealthy, his kindness had been of great service to both boys, inspiring them with self-respect, and encouraging them to persevere in their efforts to raise themselves to a higher position. The dinner bell rang, just as the boys had finished their discussion, and they went down and took places at the table. Soon Miss Peyton came sailing in, shaking her ringlets coquettishly. She was proud of these ringlets, and was never tired of trying their 292 The Student and Schoolmate. 6 You fascinations upon gentlemen. But somehow they had not succeeded in winning a husband. “Good evening, Mr. Hunter,” she said. “You look as if you had had good news." “ Do I?” said Dick. Perhaps you can tell what it is.” “I know how it came,” said Miss Peyton, significantly. “Then I hope you won't keep me in suspense any longer than you can help.” “ Perhaps you'd rather I would n't mention before company." “Never mind,” said Dick. " Don't have any regard to my feelin's. They 're tough, and can stand a good deal." “ How do you like the letter G?” asked Miss Peyton, slily. Very much,” said Dick, “ as long as it behaves itself. What is your favorite letter?” “ Don't think I am going to tell you, Mr. Hunter. That was a pretty little note, and in a young lady's hand, too.” “ Yes,” said Dick. “Perhaps you 'd like to see it.” “ You would n't show it to me on any account, I know.” may see it if you like,” said Dick. May I, really? I should like to very much, but would the young lady like it?” “I don't think she'd mind. She's written one to my friend Fosdick just like it.” Dick passed the invitation across the table. “It's very pretty indeed,” said Miss Peyton. “And is Miss Ida Greyson very handsome ?" “I'm no judge of beauty,” said Dick. “ So she lives in West Twenty-Fourth Street. Is her father rich ?” “ I don't know how rich,” said Dick, “but my impression is, that his taxes last year were more than mine.” “ Į know now what your favorite letters are,” said Miss Peyton. “ They are I. G.” “ I. G. are very well as long as you don't put P. before them,” said Dick. “ Thank you for another cup of tea, Mrs. Browning.” “I should think you'd need some tea after such a brilliant effort, Hunter,” said Mr. Clifton from across the table. “ Yes,” said Dick. “I find my brain gets exhausted every now and then by my intellectual efforts. Aint you troubled that “ Can't say I am. Don't you want to go out and try a game of bil- liards this evening ?” “No, thank you. I've got to study." way?" Fame and Fortune. 293 66 i Won't “ I expect to see you a College Professor some of these days." "I have n't made up my mind yet,” said Dick. “I'm open to an offer, 'as the oyster remarked when he was placed on the table. If I can serve my fellow men best by bein' a college professor, and gettin' a big- salary, I'm willin to sacrifice my private feelin's for the public good.” Do you agree with your friend, Mr. Fosdick ?” said Miss Peyton. you favor us with your views ?” “ I have none worth mentioning,” said Fosdick. “ I leave my friend to do the talking, while I attend to the eating." “Mr. Hunter's remarks are very entertaining,” said Miss Peyton. “ Thank you,” said Dick, “but my friend prefers a different kind of entertainment." · The boys rose from the table, and went up to their room to look over the evening's lessons. They were quite pleased with their new teacher, whom they found not only competent for his task, but interested in promoting their progress. He was able to help them readily out of their difficulties, and encouraged them to persevere. So they came to look forward to their evenings' lessons not as tasks, but as pleasant ex- ercises. " It's strange,” said Dick, one evening after the teacher had left them, “I used to enjoy goin' to the Old Bowery so much. I went two or three times a week sometimes. Now I would a good deal rather stay at home and study.” “ Then you did n't have a home, and the lighted theatre must have been mach pleasanter than the cold and cheerless streets.” “Yes, that was it. I used to get so tired sometimes of having no home to go to, and nobody to speak to that I cared about.” “You'd hardly like to go back to the old life, Dick ?” “No, it would come pretty hard to me now. I did n't seem to mind it so much then." “ Because you had never known anything better." “ No. It was a lucky day when I met you, Fosdick. I'd never have had the patience to learn. Readin', or tryin' to read, always gave me the head-ache.” “ You always leave off the last letter in such words as 'reading,' Dick. You should be more careful, now that you associate with edu- cated persons." " I know it, Fosdick, but I'm so used to droppin'- I mean dropping the g - that it comes natural. I will try to remember it. But about this party, shall we have to get new clothes ?” “ No, we have each a nice suit, and we shan't be expected to dress in the height of the fashion.” 294 The Student and Schoolmate. “ I wish it was over. I dread it.” “ So do I a little, but I think we shall enjoy it. Ida is a nice girl.” “ That's so. 'If I had a sister I'd like her to be like Ida.” Perhaps she 'd like a brother like you. I notice she seems to fancy your company." " I hope you 're not jealous, Fosdick. You can be a brother to Miss Peyton, you know.” Fosdick laughed. “There's no chance for me there, either,” he said. * She evidently prefers you." “ I'll adopt her for my aunt if it 'll be gratifying to her feelings,” said Dick, “ but I aint partial to ringlets as a general thing." It was well perhaps that Miss Peyton did not hear these remarks, as she cherished the idea that both Fosdick and Dick were particularly pleased with her. A day or two afterwards Dick was walking leisurely through Chatham Street, about half past one o'clock. He was allowed an hour about noon to go out and get some lunch, and he was now on his way from the restaurant which he usually frequented. As it was yet early, he paused before a window to look at something which had attracted his attention. While standing here he became conscious of a commotion in his immediate neighborhood. Then he felt a hand thrust into the side pocket of his coat and instantly withdrawn. Looking up, he saw Micky Maguire dodging round the corner. He put his hand into his pocket mechanically, and drew out a pocket-book. Just then a stout red-faced man came up puffing, and evidently in no little excitement. “ Seize that boy!” he gasped, pointing to Dick. “ He's got my pocket-book.” Contrary to the usual rule in such cases, a policeman did happen to be about, and following directions, stepped up, and laid his hand on Dick's shoulder. “ You must go with me, my fine fellow,” he said. “ Hand over that pocket-book if you please." “ What's all this about ? ” said Dick. “ Here's the pocket-book, if it is yours. I'm sure I don't want it.” “ You’re a cool hand,” said the guardian of the public peace." If you don't want it, what made you steal it from this gentleman's pocket?” “I did n't take it,” said Dick, shortly. “Is this the boy that stole your pocket-book ?" demanded the police- man of the red-faced man who had now recovered his breath. “ It's the very young rascal. Does he deny it?" Fame and Fortune. 295 “Of course he does. They always do." “When it was found on him, too! I never knew such bare-faced impudence." "Stop a minute,” said Dick,“ while I explain. I was standing look- ing in at that window when I felt something thrust into my pocket. I took it out and found it to be that pocket-book. Just then that gentle- man came up, and charged me with the theft.” “ That's a likely story,” said the officer. “ If any one put the pocket- book into your pocket, it shows you were a confederate of his. You 'li have to come with me.” And poor Dick, for the first time in his life, was marched to the station house, followed by his accuser, and a gang of boys. Among these last, but at a respectful distance, was Micky Maguire. Horatio Alger, Jr. 296 The Student and Schoolmate. MY MOTHER'S WORK-BASKET. W HEN I was ten years old, I had a trick of throwing myself on the rug in front of my mother's fire, to read story books, till 1 could no longer see by the winter twilight or by the light of the fire. My mother and my aunts (when the latter happened to be at our house,) would poke me with their feet in passing, and say, “ Get up, get up; you 'll burn your brains out in front of that blazing fire." But my reply always was, “ Please don't,” as I read on. One afternoon, tired by lessons, and soothed by the sputter of a green back stick, I fell asleep. As I was not fond of sewing, it was strange that I dreamed about my mother's work-basket. I saw, for the first time, how big it was. Then I thought of the reason it was so large, that there were seven children in our house, and it held all the frocks and tires that needed mending, all the underclothing that required patching, and all the socks to be darned. Besides this clothing, the basket held rolls of cotton for patches, bed-tick to cover ironing holders, and strips of flannel for our sore throats ; also, peat calico bags full of spools of cotton, card winders of sewing silk, and balls of yarn ; (these balls were wads of paper with yarn wound over then.) But the glory of the basket was my mother's sampler. It was of yel- low brown canvas. It was hemmed with a stitch called fagoting ; next the hem came a graceful border of curious embroidery ; then rows of the letters of the alphabet, small, capital, and in German text; then figures ; and last, my mother's pretty name, in full, and the year when the sampler was finished. Now, I had worked one sampler and the half of another; but these were frights compared with my mother's; though my canvas was white and my sewing silk not faded. How often I had watched my mother unroll her sampler, when she marked our initials ; but I had not thought before how little she was when she marked the sampler, and what a pretty child she must have been, with her full blue eyes, and lovely little nose, and beautiful mouth ; and what a pity it was that I could not have seen her then, for she must have looked so funny, with gowns to her feet, and no pantalettes. Then I looked at the sampler again, at its graceful and difficult tent- stitch vine; and thought to myself that old-fashioned samplers were cer- tainly prettier than new. I opened the large needle-book, and gazed at the shining needles, placed like soldiers in careful rows; and then my eyes lighted on the “snarl.” How could my mother afford to bave a snarl ? how did she happen to have one; when she was so particular My Mother's Work-basket. 297 to roll neatly and pin securely her bundles of pieces? Did all mothers have snarls ? And what became of snarls ? The snarl consisted of every shade of sewing silk; white, grey, black, and scarlet worsted; darning cotton ; white thread; colored thread; ends of tape ; piping cord; taste ; shreds of cloth ; and, what a dear old friend used to call, frazzles. When you are old enough, children, you will find out that every one is slip-shod in some way; and my dear, neat, careful, orderly mother was slip-shod in not turning in the ends of her balls of thread, silk, and worsted But though the snarl was wasteful, it was very amusing. It pleased me to try to disentangle it. I used to think I was making a great saving when I drew out some of the longest threads. When a winder was empty, my mother would say, “ perhaps you can find a nee- dleful of that color in the snarl.” What makes the snarl ? ” asked I, in my “ I,” said a little voice, and, balancing himself on my mother's thimble, stood a funny little man, in Lincoln green. Who are you?” asked I. “ Master Harry, at your service. I am fond of your mother, for she is so kind as not to turn in the ends of thread, silk, stocking cotton, and worsted ; and I put my foot in, and snarl them into a soft little nest where I sleep, when I get tired of hurrying about.” ** Why have I never seen you before?” " Because I hide myself in a fern seed cloak !” And, with a whiff, 68 dream. 6. he was gone. 6 “What a funny dream,” said I, as I awoke, and rubbed my eyes. " It must have been funny,” said my mother, who was sewing in her little low rocking chair, “ for you laughed aloud once.” “ That was when I saw Master Hurry on the top of the thimble.” " Who is Master Hurry ?” Why, he says he is very fond of you, because you let him make a snarl in your work basket.” “Well, the next time Master Hurry talks to you in a dream, I'll thank him to talk about the snarl in your work-basket.” “I have n't any." • Every child has a work-basket. It is the work-basket of his mind. How big it is ! how much it can hold !” · Why, mother, that 's funnier than my dream, that my mind should be a work-basket; but little Ned over the way has n't a work-basket, or, at least, it is an empty basket.” " Not to be always empty, I hope. In another life the cover will be 66 298 The Student and Schoolmate. lifted of little Ned's basket, and it will be filled with pure white thoughts." “ But, mother, there are no pantalettes, or socks, or patches, in the basket of my mind.” “ No; but there are images of all these ; you know them apart, and see their different uses. Then think of the smooth roll of facts which you place there every day; facts from your lessons ; your story books ; from the street and the table.” “ And all, mother, that you and aunt see and tell. But, certainly, I have n't a sampler in my mind !” “ Well, I 'll leave you to find that out for yourself. I am sure you have bags full of threads of knowledge, some fine, some coarse ; and odd-shaped winders of various colored fancies, some bright, some faded, some fine, like bead silk, some coarse, like saddler's silk. Then you have thoughts about your schoolmates ; some white and soft, like this ball of white worsted; some black and harsh, like this ball of black worsted, which you may throw into the fire, for it has soiled my bag, and will make my white worsted unfit for use." “ But, mother, do please tell me what the sampler in my mind is like?” “ Well, it is any task, any lesson, any work you set yourself to finish, to which you give your heart, as well as your time, and make as per- fect as you possibly can ; or to which you give only half your attention, and leave hanging by the eyelids, like that second sampler of yours.” As I did not like to think of that second şampler, I said, hastily, "but, certainly, I have n't a snarl in my mind." have ; a great snarl of half learned lessons; confused views of what you see ; of the words you of what you would like to own; of what makes children happy ; of dislike for some who have never done you any harm; of an unwise liking for others; and shreds and tangles of false shame; and this snarl puzzles you, at times, as well as your teachers and me.” Then some one called my mother away indeed some one of us was calling“ mother, mother," from morning till night,) and I was left to think over the snarl in my mind. My mother has no snarl in her work-basket now-a-days, though she sews as much, and almost as well as ever. I wish I could say that my mind was also cleared up, that there was no snarl there ; but, dear chil- dren, if you live as long as I, you will learn, sadly, perhaps, but patiently I trust, that the mind's snarl cannot be disentangled on earth, but that we must wait, with little Ned, for the clearing up of Heaven. Author of Aunt Zelpeth's Baby. 66 Yes, you hear ; The Destruction of the Churches. 299 THE DESTRUCTION OF THE CHURCHES. Op die rose mapping was the retang hic pace ; LD Time moves on with no uncertain pace And finds some napping as he runs his race ; But waits for none, as fast he journeys by And bids us mark how quick the moments fly. And change on change proclaim his swift career, What once we loved, we see no longer here - The city's landmarks that our childhood knew Are ever changing passing out of view. We marvel not if traffic's onward way Despoils the relics of a former day, Tears down some fabric that our fathers' reared Some ancient pile that once our life-spring cheered. We see each year, some landmark rudely torn Forth from the site a hundred years had borne Some stately mansion once the city's pride, The patriot's beacon and the stranger's guide ; The city pump that many years had stood Our thirst to quench, with water cool and good, No more may serve the welcome draught to bear, And thus relieve a portion of our care: The widened street proclaims the city's growth And full absolves it from the charge of sloth ; The way of Commerce always in the van Gives certain proof of progress in the man : Thus far 't were well; we hail the steady stride Of honest business shown on every side ; Delighted mark the rapid march of trade And freely yield it all our mite of aid : But we protest, and plead with heartfelt zeal (Unless 't is needful for the public weal) 'Gainst the destruction of the sacred fane That long hath stood an honor to the plain. 300 The Student and Schoolmate. In early years our father's fervent trod The sacred aisles, to dedicate to God The house they built in reverence to His name, And taught their children to respect the same. And do their heirs in an irreverent hour Despise the teachings of the days of yore? Like those of old do they the temple prize To make it serve a place for merchandise ? Shades of the mighty, sage and silvered head 'Twould break the slumbers of the reverend dead ! Call back to earth in consternation dire The sterling patriot and the pilgrim sire ! “Destroy our shrine! There Channing nobly stood A firm disciple of the Great and Good, Proclaimed that Saviour who once came to save And urged the freedom of the shackled slave ! “ Destroy our fane! There mitred Cheverus poured Denunciations o'er his 'Celtic horde - Destroy our church! Therein with earnest tongue Was preached the word of God by sainted Young !" Spirits be still ! we would not do ye harm, Back to thy rest, assuage this dire alarm ! We place thy shrines, thy temples, and thy fanes Far from the reach of pelf and worldly gains ! In distant streets where traffic has not come, We built anew to God a cherished dome! In love re-dedicate the pile we rear, And worship Him with faith and truth sincere ! Geo. F. Thayer. che A Water Story. 301 A WATER STORY. THAT, crying again?" said the chimney-elf, "Well, what is the “ matter now ?” Rhody, who had been lying upon the hearth rug in her own chamber, with her wet face hidden upon her arms, while she sobbed all over her poor little body, sat up on hearing this question, pushed the danip curls off her forehead, and stared about her. But the little chamber with its clean painted floor, wooden chairs and narrow bedstead covered with the same white dimity as the window curtains, held no one but herself, and the windows and doors were close shut. So Rhody stared about her, more and more bewildered every moment, for she was sure she had not dreamed the words. “Look every where but in the right place, do!” said the harsh, wiry little voice again, “ Don't you remember last winter how I told you the * Fire Story,' when your sister had gone to the quilting frolic and left you at home?” 66 "O, the chimney-elf!” cried Rhody, and throwing herself on the rug again, she looked up into the chimney, and there saw her friend swing- ing in the loop of a stout spider-web, which he had converted into a rope ladder for his own convenience. The day being wet, he was dressed in a waterproof suit also woven of spider's silk, and had an empty cocoon upon his head by way of hat. In his mouth was a tiny pipe which he smoked with extreme relish, while the glow lighted up his merry face and twinkling eyes with great effect. Rhody wiped her eyes and laughed outright. The chimney-elf nodded pleasantly. * There! That is more like. Now tell me what was the matter? ” " Why,” said Rhody, puckering up her face a little, “ There is a pic- nic down in Warley's woods, and I was going, and now just see it rain! It's awful mean, I do say.” “Come now, child, that won't do," replied the chimney-elf, looking rather shocked. “I should n't wonder if that last sentence was wicked, at any rate it's very silly. Don't you know that this is the time when farmers are all begging and praying for rain to bring on their crops ? What do you suppose your father would say now; about this very rain ?” " He said he was glad, and it was worth a dozen pic-nics to get such a shower on the young corn,” said Rhody, with a renewed sense of in- jury. " He did! Well I thought likely enough,” replied the chimney-elf, provokingly, and then, after swinging and smoking a moment in silence, 302 The Student and Schoolmate. he continued: “I knew all about it this morning, Rhody. In fact I was listening in the kitchen chimney while you talked it over at breakfast time, and as you behaved pretty well about it, I thought I would come and cheer you up a bit. Now what do you say to one of my stories?" “O, I should like it ever so much! will you tell me one?” asked Rhoda, brightening up. “ Yes, I came on purpose, and as it is the rain that troubles you to- day, and as you have wet your face, and your curls, and your apron, with another sort of very foolish rain, I will tell you a Water Story. Do you like it?" “ Yes indeed. Go on, please. How nice of you to come to comfort me,” said Rhody, bending one arm and putting it under her head for a pillow, whiie all the pretty curls dropped over it to the floor, and her rosy smiling face was turned attentively toward the chimney-elf, who swinging himself to and fro in his spiderweb rope, and puffing away at his glowing pipe, began in this way: “She lived up in Vermont, or rather, between Vermont and New Hampshire in the Connecticut River, and her name was Roxana Howes. She was eleven years old”. “Why, that's just my age," cried Rhody. “ Have you got through ? Because if you have, I'll go on with my story," said the chimney-elf, severely, and Rhody, rather abashed, prom- ised not to interrupt again.' “ She was eleven years old,” continued the chimney-elf, “and as pretty as a picture. I hope you are not going to say that is just like you too.” "No sir," murmured Rhody. “ That's right, because I don't like vain people. I'm not vain my- self, and I don't encourage it, in any one. Well, Roxana Howes and her father and mother lived, as I said, in the Connecticut River.” « In the river ?” Yes, in the river, or, if you like it better, on an island in the river.. Mr. Howes had chosen that, instead of a farm on the main land, because at that tine the country was very unsettled, and besides bears, wolves, and panthers, there was a good many Indians around in the woods, who did not always behave themselves just as a quiet man likes to have his neighbors behave, and so Farmer Howes thought he would use the Con- necticut River as a natural moat around his castle." “ What is a moat?” interposed Rhody. “In old times, nobles and rich men lived in castles, and round about their castles they built high walls, and close outside the walls they dug A Water Story. 303 deep and wide ditches filled with water, and these ditches were called moats, and were crossed by drawbridges, which the people in the castle drew up after they had passed over, and nice clouds of mosquitos there must have been rising out of the moats in sultry summer evenings. Farmer Howes had the advantage of the old Castellans, in that the rush- ing waters of the Connecticut bred no mosquitos, and did breed plenty of fish of various sorts, so that the farmer liked to boast, his dinner was always swimming past the door, and all he had to do was to step out and bring it in. More than this again, as the farmer's wife was wont to add, was the certainty that her well would never run dry in the hottest weather, and that she was dependent on no “men-folks ” for the supplies of water on washing day, as all she had to do was to carry her clothes down to the river where her husband had built her a rude wash-house with a chimney, and a windlass and bucket to draw as much water from the river as she chose. So altogether we must confess that the Howes family was very well off and a contented people, especially in the matter of water which is the matter we have in hand. The most contented people however sometimes have a want, and one fine morning, late in March, Mrs. Howes remarked at the breakfast table : *• Now, Cephas, if I'm going to have that carpet, and the cotton and check for your shirts and frock, it's high time I was going after them. The minute the frost is out, there 'll be no getting a good word out of you till after harvest, and with the weather as soft as this, I should n't wonder if you got to ploughing by next week.' "Nor should n't I, wife,' replied the farmer cheerily, as he strolled to the window and took a long look up and down the river where great cakes of white ice were drifting and whirling down the swollen stream. "Well, why should n't we go below this week, then?' pursued Mrs. Howes, following him. *** I don't know why we should n’t, if you're really set upon laying out all that money. If I was you I'd put it in the Savings Bank instead," replied the farmer, reluctantly. “ . Bother the Savings Bank! Have n't you laid up, and laid up, till you’re most able to live on the interest of your money a’ready, and do you suppose I'm going to keep on raking and scraping' - " " There, there, woman !' broke in the farmer, · Don't set up your pipes to that tune, or you 'll drive me right out of the house, and won't get anything by it either. When d'y want to go below ?' “To-morrow is as good as any day, aint it?' “" I suppose so. Well, how will we fix it about leaving the house and all ?' 304 The Student and Schoolmate. “Why I suppose you can get Miss Wetherbee to come and stop long o' Roxy same as she's done before,' said Mrs. Howes, considering. But here Roxy herself put in a word, saying positively: “No, ma, I don't want Miss Wetherbee. She orders me round, and she pokes her long nose into all the boxes and drawers and cupboards, and she takes snuff when she's at table, and she talks till my ears ring like drums. I'd rather stay by myself ever so much. Why can't I stay by myself, ma, I ain't afraid.' “ * Land o' Goshen, child! you stay by yourself indeed! I'd like to see you,' exclaimed the mother, but Farmer Howes nodded approvingly to his daughter, and said: “ . That 's it, Roxy! you 've got the real grit, girl, for a backwoods- man's daughter, and by-and-by for a backwoodsman's wife. I'd full as lieve, let her stop here alone as to have Jemimy Wetherbee poking round, and asking more questions in a minute than ther's letters in the alphabet to answer her with. Let her stop alone if she's a mind to? “ “ It ll be over one night for certain, and may be two,' said Mother Howes doubtfully. “ . More likely two than one, with the roads breaking up the way they are,' said the father, but Roxy eagerly replied : "I don't care if it's three nights. I'd just like the fun of keeping house here all alone.' Well, to be sure, I don't know as ther's anything to hurt the child, father,' said Mother Howes at last, and so it was settled. “ The next morning by sunrise, Mr. Howes had ferried his wife, old Whitefoot and a bag of corn across the river, in the great flat-bottomed scow used for such purposes, leaving the light skiff tied to the end of the little wharf at the island. The plan was, for the farmer, his wife, and the sack of corn all to journey together upon Whitefoot's back to the house of the next neighbor, one Jonas Wetherbee, living ten miles be- low the Howes Island, and proprietor of a stout wagon which Mr. Howes proposed to borrow, and also of the grist-mill where the corn was to be ground, and of the lady before alluded to as · Miss 'Wether- bee, who was in fact the wife of the miller, and as it was said ready to put her finger into every grist that came to her husband's mill, a deli- cate way of intimating, I suppose, that the lady did not always confine her attention to her own business. Roxy watched the scow across the river, and then watched the process of disembarkation, until at last, father, mother, and the sack of corn being duly mounted, Whitefoot set off at a slow trot down the river-road, and was soon lost to view. Then, with a deep sigh, the lit- . A Water Story. 305 tle girl turned back into the house, and began to put together the dishes upon the desolate looking breakfast table. “ Pleased with the clatter, the canary bird in his cage at the south window struck up a merry strain, and Roxy joined in it with her clear, sweet voice, until the great kitchen rang again with blithe melody. ** We're not lonesome, Dick, are we?' asked Roxy at last, as she finished washing the dishes and set them up in the cupboard. Then she went to the door, opened it and called : “ • Kitty! Kitty ! Kitty ! " At the sound, a great yellow and black cat crept hastily out from under the shed, and ran toward the door, followed by a pretty tan and white spaniel, who came bounding up the path from the water's edge. " That's right, Pick! you're one of the family too, and I want you all together so as to talk about dinner,' said Roxy, and followed by Kitty and Pick, she went back into the kitchen and seated herself in her mother's rocking-chair with an air of quiet gravity. The dog and cat posted themselves one at either hand, watching her face attentively, while Dick, winding up his song with three shrill, high notes, bent down bis head and looked shrewdly out of one little black eye at the cat, who knew quite too much to look at him. “Now, my dears,' began Roxy, 'you know you and I are all the family for to-day and to-morrow, so I want that you should be very good, and do all you can to help me. Pick, don't you let me see you quarreling with Kitty, or chasing the chickens, or digging up the door- yard, and Kitty, don't you catch any of the pretty little wild birds, and 0, whatever you do, don't you try to get at Dick as you did one day, or I shall have to use the switch that mother cut for you that day. Do you remember, Kitty?' Kitty stretched herself before the fire, blinked lazily with her yel- low eyes, and tried to pretend that she did not understand this allusion, but Roxy felt perfectly sure that she did, and so went on : “ • Yes, you remember, Kitty, and we won't say any more about it now, and I am sure you will be a good pussy, and not need the switch. As for you, Dick, you are always a darling, and the comfort of your Roxy's life, are n't you, sweet?' “ Dick gave a chirp of acquiescence, and began to dress his feathers with much satisfaction. "And now, dears, I don't think we need do a great deal about din- ner. What do you say to some Indian hasty-pudding and milk? You ’d like it Pick, would n't you?' “Pick finding that something was expected of him, got up and wagged his tail, which we all know means in dog-language, 306 The Student and Schoolmate. 60 yes, I shall be delighted!' “Then Kitty was called upon for her opinion, and having her head gently scratched at the same time, loudly purred her assent. “ • As for you, Dick, you can't eat pudding and milk, but you will have a piece of apple and a sprout of turnip, won't you?' 66 And Dick trilled out, “Sweet ! Sweet! Sweet !' which of course referred to apples and turnip-tops. " " Then come along, Pick and Kitty, and help me get some kindlings for my fire. Don't you see it has gone out ?' “ So Roxy and Pick, whose real name was Pickerel, and Kitty, went out together, and before the chips were half picked up, got into a frolic, ending in a race between Roxy and Pick to the top of the hill behind the barn. “• Is n't it just a lovely day, Pick ? So warm and nice, just like sum- mer ?' asked Roxy, throwing herself down on the short brown grass to rest for a few minutes. “ From the hill-top the little girl could see a wide stretch of country, and she sat for some moments admiring the sweet spring beauty of the landscape. Suddenly her eyes became fixed upon the river, and she exclaimed: 4. Why, dear me, Pick, do see how high the river is ! It has risen ever so much since yesterday. I suppose it is the ice and snow melting up above. But only think, if there should come a freshet like that we had last spring, and father and mother not get home until the river. road is under water! Dear_me! And how it's all clouding up for rain. · Come along, Pick, or we shall get caught in a shower before the chips are picked up.' “ Pick who had been jumping about his little mistress, uttering quick, sbarp barks and cries as if he felt uneasy, was all ready to return to the house, and in a few moments the two were back in the wood-yard, where Kitty still crouched upon the warm chips, purring sleepily. The kindling was soon collected, but by the time Roxy and her companions were safely housed, the rain began, very gently at first, like the mildest of spring showers, but becoming more serious with every hour, until at night it was a steady down-pour. * • Bad for us, children, is n't it?' asked Roxy as she peered through the streaming windows, beyond which lay only darkness and a sweep- ing wind, and the sound of angry waters. “ But neither Dick, or Pick, or Kitty, was in spirits for a reply. In fact, Dick had made himself into a round yellow ball with a handle to it, looking not unlike the old-fashioned brass warming pan in the cor- A Water Story. 307 ner of the kitchen, and with no more of a head. Pick sat upon his haunches looking into the fire with a melancholy expression, and Kitty rolled up tight upon the hearth-rug, was either asleep, or thinking deeply. “So Roxy finding her question unanswered, said nothing more, but blowing out the candle and raking up the fire, went to bed, and as she was a good and healthy child, soon fell asleep. “ But in the morning, O dear! The rain had not ceased, nor did it seem likely to do so, and when Roxy, wrapping herself in a great shawl and hood, ran down toward the river, the river came half way to meet her, and rolled swift and dark across the bend in the path, where yesterday she had stood to see her father and mother embark on board the scow. Never since Roxy could remember, not even in the great freshet of the previous spring, had the river risen to anything like this extent, and the little girl had good reason to be alarmed. Standing there in the rain, with the rushing water at her feet, she presently noticed great beams and planks whirled along upon the tide, and then some pieces of what looked like machinery. In a moment, the truth flashed into Roxy's head, and she spoke it aloud : “« Wilson's mill-dam has given way, and the mill and all is torn down! 0 Pick, what is going to happen to us ?' " Pick replied by a melancholy howl, and Roxy could not restrain her tears, especially when she noticed that the water already encroached upon the broad stone whereon she was standing. Sadly and slowly she returned to the house accompanied by Pick, whose drooping head and tail eloquently spoke his opinion of the matter. "In spite of her alarm, Roxy went steadily to work to get some breakfast for herself and the other children’ as she called them, and to complete her usual household labors. Then she opened the door to again go down to the river, but again the river had come to meet her, and now whirled and seethed its black and foaming waters not ten steps from the clump of lilac bushes at the first turn of the path. Pale and frightened, Roxy stood for a few moments looking at the water, then turned and ran hastily into the house and closed the door, as if, poor child, that feeble barrier could keep out the cruel, hungry enemy, already within sight of the threshold. “ The day went slowly on, and when night fell, the creeping waters had slid beneath the doors of the house, had swept across the nicely scoured and sanded kitchen floor, had reached the hearth, and bad ex- tinguished amid smoke, and steam, and loud hissing outcries, the house- hold fire, that makes home of the lowliest room that feels its genial glow. A Water Story. 309 2 ing herself from side to side. Then she thought of lying in the bottom- of a boat moving rapidly through the water, and finally opening wide her eyes, she saw and remembered the inside of the corn-barn, but was more than ever puzzled by the rocking motion and rushing sound of flowing waters, that rather increased than diminished. Springing to her feet, Roxy climbed, not without difficulty, upon a scaffolding near the roof of the corn-barn, opened a scuttle-door in the roof, and looked out. As she did so, she could not restrain a cry of surprise and alarm. The freshet had floated the barn from its foundations so gently and so gradually that the movement had not disturbed the child's beavy slum- ROXY, DICK, PICK, KITTY, AND DOLLY, VIEWING THE SITUATION. ber, and bad carried it out into the stream, down whose current it now swam steadily, with hardly more motion or danger, than if it had been built purposely for river navigation. “So soon as Roxy was assured that she was in no immediate danger, her spirits rose, and she began rather to enjoy her impromptu voyage. 310 The Student and Schoolmate. Descending to the floor, she brought Kitty and Dick up to the open window, and then returned to help Pick mount the ladder, which he did very creditably. Then with the cat upon her shoulder, one hand balancing the cage upon the edge of the window, and the other arm around the neck of Pick, whose curly head appeared through the roof, close beside her own, Roxy devoted herself to watching for the first chance of rescue, determined not to pass it unobserved. “ It came, as things generally do, to people who are resolved upon having them, and about noon, Roxy screamed with delight at sight of a boat full of men putting off from shore to intercept the course of her curious craft. But serious as the occasion was, more than one of those brave men found himself obliged to smile a little at sight of the child, the dog, the cat, the bird, and the dolly, all anxiously stretching their necks through the hole in the roof of the corn-barn, to watch for their approach. “Of course it was an easy matter to make fast some stout ropes to the little building, and to tow it ashore. Once there, Roxy was at last released from her imprisonment and found that she had drifted down almost to the spot where her father and mother had been obliged to stop in their journey on account of the storm. Of their joy at recover- ing their child, whom the father was already on his road to seek, of her joy at being recovered, of Pick's, Dick's, and Kitty's satisfaction at the end of their voyage, much might be said, but nothing will be. Neither can we here describe the journey home, or the melancholy condition of the farm-house when the waters at last retired, or the notable cleansing and repairing which brought it into even better condition than that of old. Suffice it to say, that all ended well at last, and that Mr. and Mrs Howes, Roxy, Dick, Pick, Kitty, and the dolly, lived long and happily, and that, as Rhody is fast asleep, I shall now retire up the flue to my own rest.”. With which words, the chimney-elf skipped merrily out of sight, and was seen no more that night. Mrs. Jane G. Austin. 1 The Broken Window. 311 THE BROKEN WINDOW. “I thread iako se tiens, Johann Friels picked up a piece of brick amida ’LL break your neck, Tom Pigley!" and in order to carry this 6 old threw it with all his might at his retreating foe. Tom saw the brick coming, and adroitly dodged it, but the mischievous missile was deter- mined to do some damage, so it crashed through the parlor window of Mr. Albert Bugbee's house and “ landed” on the back of a tabby cat that was quietly dozing before the stove. “ There's a five dollar bill out of your pocket,” exultingly cried Pig- ley. John's heart sank within him when he saw the costly glass all shat- tered, and to add to his dismay the door opened and out came Bugbee” himself. Now John had a cowardly heart, and could not face Mr. Bugbee and acknowledge the deed, but he took to his heels and scampered down the street as fast as he could go. Mr. Bugbee could not run very fast, and John would probably have got away, had not a fat man turned the corner suddenly, so that Fussell ran bump into him, knocking the breath almost out of his body. "Stop him! Hold on to him!” shouted Mr. Bugbee, and John found himself tightly grasped by the fat man. “Let me go !” he cried. " Not yet, young man, there is some one that wants you, and have to stay with me till he gets here,” replied the fat man. It was impossible to get away, so John soon found himself in the hands of Mr. Bugbee. “What did you break my window for, you little rascal ?” asked the exasperated man taking hold of John by the jacket-collar and shaking him so that his teeth clashed together. · I did n't mean to I could n't help it,” whined the boy. “ Could n't help it! You could help throwing stones, could n't you? If you can't I'll have you put in a house built entirely of stones, and then I reckon you 'll stop it.” “ Tom Pigley called me names and I threw the rock at him. I did n't mean to hit your window,” said John. "Do you know what that will cost you ?" inquired Mr. Bugbee. “ No sir," said the boy. " Five dollars, and you must pay it,” said Mr. Bugbee. “I have not got five dollars, how can I pay it ?” said John. " What is your name?” asked Mr. Bugbee. you will 312 The Student and Schoolmate. “ John Fussell,” was the reply. “Fussell ? Is it your father that keeps the ! Bazaar' on Middle Street ?" “ Yes sir.” Well, you go and tell him that you have broken a window that will cost him five dollars, and then you bring the five dollars to me before six o'clock this evening, do you understand ? ” said Mr. Bugbee. “ Yes sir,” replied John, “I'll try to.” “ Now mind! If you don't pay me that money by six o'clock, I'll send a constable to your house, and you will spend the night in the Lock-up. Now you may go.” So saying, Mr. Bugbee released his hold of John's collar, and walked back to his house. John Fussell felt gloomy enough ; he did not dare to go and tell his father of his mishap, for he knew that he would be severely punished, and it seemed impossible to raise the large sum of five dollars without the aid of his father. “If I only had a watch,” said he, “ I could easily raise the money on it, but I have n't got one or anything else that is worth five dollars.”. John put his band into his pocket and drew forth an old jack-knife and a handful of other boyish treasures, the total value of which would not amount to ten cents. “ I know what I'll do," he exclaimed. “ I'll go and ask old Punkwood to lend it to me. I have done a good many errands for him, and tended the shop when his boy was sick, so he ought to help me out of this scrape.” Old Punkwood, as John called him, was the proprietor of a second- hand book-store on Congress Street, and John immediately proceeded hither. The book-seller was busy trying to sell to an old lady in green spectacles, and carrying a blue cotton umbrella, a copy of Bunyan's “Grace Abounding,” assuring her that it was the same thing as Baxter's “ Call to the Unconverted,” only better, but the old lady's mind was set upon the latter work, as she wished to present it to her son, who was about making a voyage to sea, but when Mr. Punkwood assured her that her son would never know the difference, she bought it. Having consummated this sale, the shopkeeper noticed John and bade him good morning. “ Good morning, sir,” replied John. “ Are there any errands that I can do for you to-day ?" “ Eh! Want to earn some money, do you ?” replied Mr. Punkwood, “ Yes sir! I want to earn five dollars," answered John. “ That's a large sum, you would have to work a good while for me, to earn that,” said Punkwood. " Then you must lend it to me, for I must have it to-day," answered John. The Broken Window. 313 “ When will you pay me?” asked the bookseller. “ I shall have to work it out by going errands for you, or some other way," said John. “That won't do. I must have security when I lend money,” said old Punkwood. " But I have n't anything to give you,” replied John. “ Have you got a watch ?” “No; I never had one,” said John. “ Have n't you got some books up to your house ?” asked Punkwood. “ Father has got a lot, but it would not do for me to touch them," was the answer. Now Mr. Punkwood was not an honest man ; he would cheat when- ever he got a chance, both in buying and selling his books, and it oc- curred to him that if he could induce John to sell him some of his father's books, he would make a good bargain. " What books has your father got ?” he asked. “Oh a good many! There are histories, poems, novels, and all kinds," said John. " Has he got a copy of Burns' Poems ?” “Yes, a splendid one, that Mr. Waters brought him from Edinburgh," replied John. · Bring me that, and you shall have the five dollars,” said Mr. Punk- wood. ** But I can't sell you my father's books, he would be very angry," said John. " I do not ask you to sell it to me; whenever you return the five dollars, then you shall have the book again,” said the wily bookseller. " I do not dare to do it,” said John. Very well !" answered Punkwood, " you may do as you have a mind to about it, I am not particular.” John Fussell was sorely tempted; it was a way, to be sure, of getting out of his present trouble, but it looked very much like jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire. He told the shopkeeper that he would think the matter over, and would be back shortly if he decided to bring the books. On his way home, John bad half a mind to go to his father and tell him the whole affair ; indeed, he actually turned down a street leading to the “ Bazaar,” but turned back again and decided that it would be no harm to lend his father's books for a few days. He would manage to redeem them before they were missed. John felt very unhappy after making this decision, but the fear of 10 314 The Student and Schoolmate. Mr. Bugbee forced him to it, and he went to his father's library, and took the book from its shelf, putting another in its place so that the va- cancy should not be noticed. Taking an old newspaper from the table, he tied the book up in it, and was about leaving the house when he met his mother in the entry. Here was a dilemma unlooked for, and John was obliged to add lying to his other sins; he answered his mother's inquiries by saying that he had his Robinson Crusoe which he was go- ing to lend to a boy named Valentine Lilly. Having reached the street, he hurried through lanes and alleys to avoid meeting any one he knew, for he felt like a thief running away with plunder, and expecting every moment to feel a policeman's hand on his shoulder. Mr. Punkwood received the book and paid John the money very readily, as well he might, for the security was worth three times the sum lent. John's next visit was to Mr. Bugbee's; he rang the bell, and a pleasant looking little girl came to the door. “Is Mr. Bugbee at home ?” asked John. No, he has gone out, but mother is at home,” replied the girl. “I should like to see her,” said John. “ Walk in and take a chair. I will call her.” So John walked into the parlor and sat down. In a few moments Mrs. Bugbee came in. “I am the boy that broke your window this morning; Mr. Bugbee said that I must pay him five dollars for it, here is the money," and John handed her the bill. Mrs. Bugbee promised that she would give the money to her hus- band, and John took his leave. While going down the front door steps, he met a glazier coming up with a box containing glass and putty. “ There is a square of glass to be set here, I believe," said the glazier, whose name was Payne. 66 Yes sir that is the one there - in the parlor window,” said John, pointing to the window he had broken ; " what will it cost to mend it, sir ? ” “ About two dollars and a half,” replied Mr. Payne. “ Two dollars and a half !” repeated John with surprise.“ Why, Mr. Bugbee made me pay five dollars for breaking it.” John saw that Mr. Bugbee had cheated him, but there was no redress, so he walked silently away. Three days passed away, and John had not been able to earn money enough to redeem his father's books. His mind had troubled him all that time; he felt that he had done his kind father a great wrong, but he had not the courage to confess his and so relieve his conscience. He was afraid every moment of being discovered. The Broken Window. 315 On the third evening, John was in the library with his father and mother ; they were all reading, when the door-bell rang, and the ser- vant announced Mr. Anderson, one of their neighbors. “ Tell him to walk right out here,” said Mr. Fussell. Mr. Anderson was very glad to see his friend in the library, for he was very fond of books, and had a large collection of them himself. * By the way, Fussell,” he exclaimed. “I got quite a bargain to-day at that old Punkwood's." "Did you? What was it?" inquired Mr. Fussell. “An elegant copy of Burns' Poems, it is just what I wanted, and the old fellow sold it to me for eight dollars,” said Mr. Anderson. “I have a very nice edition ; it is on that third shelf near the end,” said Mr. Fussell. His neighbor looked along the shelf, and remarked that he did not see it. " It must be there,” said John's father, and he rose from his chair to get it himself. “ How is this? Some one has been displacing my books. Was it you, John ?” he asked. “ No sir,” said the boy, in a very shaky voice. "Some one has taken it away, and here is your Robinson Crusoe in its place,” said his father. “ I thought you told me that you lent your Robinson Crusoe to Val- entine Lilly,” said Mrs. Fussell. John turned very red, and he trembled so that he could hardly answer, but he finally stammered out that he could not find Valentine, and so he brought the book back. Here Mr. Anderson proposed going to his house for his copy to show to Mr. Fussell, hoping that his would be found by the time he returned. John was horror-stricken at this proposal, for he knew that his crime would be immediately discovered. He sat in perfect agony of mind, unable to move or speak, seeing no possible way to escape. He felt that the best way was to make immediate confession to his father, but he could not screw his courage up to it, and while he was wavering, Mr. Anderson returned with the book. Mr. Fussell looked a little surprised when he first took the book, and his astonishment increased when on turning to the title-page, he saw his own name stamped there in a small circle. All Mr. Fussell's books were stamped in this manner. Why, Mr. Anderson, this is my book, see there," and he pointed to . “ How did Punkwood get it? John, can you throw any light upon it ?” "No sir -- yes sir - I don't know - I only lent the book, father," replied John, his face red with shame and guilt. the name. 316 The Student and Schoolmate. And so John was found out, as all boys and girls get found out who try to cheat and deceive their parents. Mr. Fussell was of course very much provoked and grieved at the conduct of his son, and John was severely punished. As for Punkwood, he sold books for a few weeks longer, when he was arrested for receiving stolen goods, and sent to the House of Correction for three years. William L. Williams. m4X4 YELLOWLEG AND HIS MORALS. HE very first step that Yellowleg took in life was a mis-step. He a was warm and comfortable, and which was the best place in the world for him, was altogether too small for a fellow of his powers. So he pecked and pecked, until he had made himself a window, and then the great world at which he could peep, looked so large and light, so breezy, strange and wonderful, that he was not content until he had stepped out of his old home forever. But the air of this great world struck chill to the tender skin, for his feathers were not yet grown, 80 as to protect him, and he could only nestle under his mother's wing, shivering and shaking, and trying vainly to keep warm. He caught a severe cold, and was weakly and ailing for some time, and so suffered for his rashness. The rest of the brood hearing the clatter which Yellowleg kept up, began to bestir themselves, and peck at their shells. And soon twelve bright eyes peeped from six little windows just as Yellowleg had done, and then the whole brood hopped out of their shells and hovered about their mother only half-clothed and very cold and miserable, showing the great power of an elder brother's bad example. Mrs. Greenneck, their mother, brooded and soothed them, and made them as comfortable as she was able, but their complaints soon attracted the children at the farm-house. Yellowleg especially, made so much of his illness in his eagerness to excite pity, that little Bob took him from his mother's care, and made him a soft nest in a tiny basket close by the kitchen fire. At first, Yellowleg kept to himself, afraid to stir or make a sound, but after some petting and fondling, he grew accustomed to his quarters and to feel quite at home. He was well fed, and grew plump and strong very fast. The children made a great pet of him, and thought Yellowleg, and his Morals. 317 it very funny to hear his little feet pat, pat, pat, over the kitchen floor, as he followed them about, begging for food or to be taken up and * cuddled ” in their bands. But their mother found him very troublesome; she said he was constantly under her feet. At last one day on going into her pantry, she found a large squash pie all riddled by his bill, and Yellowleg him- self contentedly swimming in a pan of milk! So he was sent back to Mrs. Greenneck in disgrace. His brothers and sisters who had not been living so luxuriously as Yellowleg, and had not of course, grown so fast, at first scarcely knew the handsome stranger. When, however, they saw that it was indeed their long lost brother,” they crowded about him, eager to hear his story, and give him hearty welcome. But Yellowleg felt himself much better than they, because of the company he had been keeping, so he drew himself up stiffly, and begged they would make less noise ; such eagerness was very vulgar. He told them that their voices were very harsh and unpleasant, not knowing that his own was equally so. He said too that they should not touch him, they were so soiled and muddy. Now this last accusation was en- tirely false, as Mrs. Greenpeck was very neat, and spent a great deal of . time in arrauging her toilette, and had taught her children to do the same. She was rewarded by being always pronounced the handsomest duck in the barn-yard, and her brood the finest. Little Mottle, her youngest daughter, it is true, gave her mother trouble by her uncon- .querable love of mud-puddles and careless habits, but the other five were always tidy and did their mother credit. Yellowleg despised their simple way of living, and their innocent frolics ; in short he made himself generally disagreeable by his foolish pride and affectation. His mother and sisters were very good-natured, and bore patiently with all his waywardness. One day, Yellowleg was looking at some beautiful purple fowers, and wondering how they would taste, (for I am sorry to say he thought more of eating than of almost anything else,) when little Mottle who was having a grand time in the mud, left her sport and came waddling as fast as her web feet and two tiny members that might some day be wings, would carry her, to where her genteel brother stood. "Oh Yellowleg," she cried in eager, loving haste, before she reached his side, “come away. Don't go near that dreadful tree! It has hor- rible hooks that will tear through your feathers and hurt you terribly. Mamma told us never to go near it. We're having grand fun, brother, 318 The Student and Schoolmate. please come and dabble with us in the mud. The beautiful, soft mud, Yellowleg, can hurt no one." Now of all his family, Yellowleg looked down with most disdain upon Mottle. First, she was smallest, youngest, and weakest, and Yel- low leg, who had entirely forgotten his own illness, liked only the strong and robust. Then she was so heedless, that her little body was always scarred and covered with ugly spots from which the feathers had been torn. This gave her a rough, ragged appearance which he thought “ vulgar." He hated too, untidiness, and as I told you, Mottle was often splashed with mud. But the great reason for which Yellowleg despised his sister, was, that whenever she found a nice worm, or other titbit, she at once called all her brothers and sisters, and in her eagerness to see that each got a bite and enjoyed it, was frequently herself unfed. This explained her puny appearance. The other five were not especially selfish, only when a nice morsel befell one, it was so natural to gobble it up and then think, “ How nice, I wish Mottle and Wingtip had had part !” Yellowleg thought Mottle's generosity very silly, and when she undertook to teach him prudence, he determined to prove that he was wisest. So he pecked at the handsome purple burs, till true enough, a hook caught him fast. This put him into a terrible rage, and he pecked, and struggled, and fought desperately, until he found himself torn and bleeding, and hemmed in on every side. Now the branch which he had attacked, had been bent and intertwined with others, but his violent struggles set it free, so that it suddenly sprang upright, bolding Yellow- leg high in air, a spectacle to the entire barn-yard. To add to his mor- tification, every duck, goose, hen, or chick upon the farm hurried to the spot ready with reproof, consolation, and advice. Little Mottle was most earnest in her efforts to relieve him; it really seemed as if the dear little creature would not have a single feather left, but all endeavors were in vain. At length, little Bob hearing the commotion, burried to the spot and rescued his pet from peril. So Yellowleg suffered for his conceit. One day, Yellowleg happened to glance into a pool so clear, that his own image was reflected back. His first thought was, " What a fine fat duckling !” and then, “ But how he stares ! How rude! How in- sulting! Why don't the fellow drop his head when he sees that I de- spise him? Why, the absurd wretch, a common barn-yard fowl actual- ly eyeing me with disdain! I'll teach him better manners," and in a great fury he dashed against the rocky bottom of the pool, bruising his head, and breaking the broad bill of which he had been so vain. But The Prize Composition. 319 this lesson did not teach him humility; he carried his broken bill as high as ever, showing the folly of vanity. He heard frightful stories of a fox that was reported to be prowling about, and of whom the whole barn-yard flock stood in terror. Mottle especially had fearful tales to tell of Reynard's cruelty and slyness. Yellowleg was very bold. " He was n't afraid ; he would n't be tied to his mother's side ; he really wished the old fellow would come.” But one day, a tortoise-shell cat ran across the yard, and the cry of “ Fox! Fox !” was raised. No one ran so fast then as Yellowleg ; he jumped into the old family nest, and pulled the straw about him so that no one else could share bis hiding-place. Some one came, and he lay trembling with terror. “Come out, Yellowleg." But Yellowleg only cried, “ Go, go, eat Goosie Lucy, she is fatter than I. Eat Mottle or Wingtip, but spare me, good fox.” His mother had to whip him smartly through the straw before she could bring him to reason ; yet he seemed to feel no shame at the mean, cowardly spirit he had displayed. Yellowleg's days were nearly over. One morning little Bob called the ducklings all about him for luncheon. He threw the food to all, but Yellowleg appeared to be everywhere at once. “ The best and the whole of it," was his choice. After Bob had given all that his dish con- tained, as the hungry group still clamored for more, he good naturedly brought them an extra supply. Yellowleg ate and ate ; the others were beginning to feel satisfied, but he continued eating, until suddenly with- out a groan, he rolled upon his plump side, shivered and died, a victim to greed and gluttony ! May Leonard. THE PRIZE COMPOSITION. THE Academy at Willowvale was in a state of excitement. The Tolled members of the school who isat intable momencierend a balcon seats,” were most under its influence, and even the smallest pupils di- rectly under the master's chin, entered into the spirit of the occasion. Harry Morton, one of the head boys, and Dick Crane, his confiden- tial friend and playmate, nodded and winked very significantly at each other across the room. An important announcement had been made to " the young gentlemen and young ladies,” an announcement which had stirred Willowvale Academy from “ centre to circumference,” — figura- tively speaking. This state of excitement could not long be kept under, and it burst out in full force when the school was dismissed. “ Hurrah!” cried Harry Morton, tossing his cap,“ aint it jolly, boys ?” 320 The Student and Schoolmate. / “Old Manson has done the fine thing this time! Wonder who 'll get the prize!” Harry Morton, of course,” shouted a chorus of voices. “ Yes, you 'll get it, old fellow," said Dick Crane, clapping him on the shoulder. “ Three cheers for Harry Morton ! ” cried one of the satellites in the rear, and ready to rush at conclusions, as school boys are apt to be, they crowded around Harry as if he had already received the beautiful prize that the Chairman had that day offered for the best composition. The master passed them just then, and the smile on his face showed that he had heard the conversation, and there was an awkward silence till he was out of hearing. · Party spirit” ran high in Willow vale Academy that year. The boys headed by Harry Morton, had set up a sort of Man's “ Right's So- ciety.” Kate Matthews, a black-eyed, dashing girl, was leader on the other side. “ What's the use,” Harry said to his audience of boys, for he was quite an orator in his way, “ of woman's trying to rule this nation” meaning the school. They ought n't to be allowed to study into the Classics as we boys. Educate them as they were in old times, I say. Let them learn more of housework, and less of Latin. The rising gen- eration must put a stop to this, or, or, we shall have woman, hoop skirts, trail, and all in Congress. Imagine a member of Congress with an immense waterfall, rising to speak!” Immense applause, of course! and the boys voted to sit up all night for a month, before one of the girls should get the prize. And having thus magnanimously decided to vanquish any one of the aforementioned competitors, they separated for their homes. Harry rushed into the house, and throwing his books and hat on the lounge, seated himself at the tea-table. His sister Fannie, who also attended the Academy, was already eating her supper. “Well, my son,” said his father, “it seems that Mr. Manson has of- fered a prize for the best composition to be read at the next examina- tion. Who stands the best chance of getting it?” "The boys think — that is — they say,” stammered Harry, growing red," that I'll have it.” “ If Kate Matthews don't,” interrupted Fannie. “ Pooh," exclaimed Harry. “She shan't, and she can't! What right, I'd like to know, have girls to school prizes any how? Better be darn- ing their brother's stockings than aiming at things above their capacity!" Mr. Morton's eyes had a mischievous twinkle as he heard this, but he buried himself in his evening paper, and made no remark, while The Prize Composition. 321 Harry expatiated to his mother and sister on his favorite topic to his heart's content. Fannie was a meek, quiet little girl, whose great ad- miration for her brother, struggled with her sense of justice. Supper ended, Harry went off to join the boys, and talk over the examination. “ Fannie,” said her father, throwing down his paper as her brother left, why don't you try for the prize ?” Me, father?” and the girl's blue eyes opened wide in astonishment. " Bring me your portfolio." Fannie brought it, and Mr. Morton read carefully a number of neatly folded sheets. “ Take that story," he said at length, “and enlarge it, and work it over, and I think you may succeed. I wish you could give those boast- ing boys a lesson. While they are bragging over their intended suc- cess, my little Fannie must be working.” The weeks flew rapidly by; too rapidly for our friend Harry and his chivalrous companions, who found themselves obliged to give up brag- ging, and go to work. Examination day came. With beating hearts the young aspirants saw the crowd of parents and friends come in. Both“ parties” were in a state of excitement. Kate Matthews tossed her pretty head defiantly at the leaders of the opposition, and the boys smiled patronizingly back. "They 'll laugh on the other side of the mouth," whispered Harry to his next neighbor. The interest grew as the afternoon advanced, and the time drew near for awarding the prize. There was a breathless silence, and all eyes were turned towards the Chairman of the Committee as he rose and said : “ My friends, four weeks ago, I offered a prize for the best composi- tion written by a member of this school. There have been a number of productions handed in, wbich have been carefully read. We have decid- ed on the one which I now will have the pleasure of reading to you.” It was a story, simply, touchingly told, and the tears stood in many eyes before it was finished. “ The boy or girl who wrote this sketch will come forward." There was a dead silence. Every scholar was looking into his neigh- bor's face, as if to ask, “ Are you the lucky writer ?” At length Fan- nie Morton came blushingly forward, and amid the plaudits of the spec- tators, took the handsome volume of poems which constituted the prize. As to the boys, they were thoroughly mortified. The idea of a little girl like Fannie Morton getting the prize from their champion, and he her condescending, older brother. Let not him that girdeth on his harness, boast himself, as he that putteth it off,” said Mr. Morton to his son. A proverb which Harry just then seemed to appreciate. Helen C. Pearson. 66 322 The Student and Schoolmate. DECLAMATION. (See Diagram in January No.] THE VENGEANCE OF MUDARA. 10 the 'chase goes Rodrigo, with 'hound and with 'hawk; Oh! in 10vain have I slaughtered the infants of Lara; “ There's an heir in his ball, - there's the 10bastard 1° Mudara, There's the son of the lºrenegade - spawn of 10 Mahoun; If I meet with 'Mudara, my spear brings him 'down.” While Rodrigo rides on in the heat of his wrath A stripling, armed 8cap-a-pie, crosses his path ; “ Good-morrow, young esquire,” “Good-morrow, old Knight,” “ Will you ride with our sparty, and share our delight?" Speak your name, courteous stranger," the stripling replied, • Speak your name and your lineage, ere with you I ride." 66 66 “ My name is 'Rodrigo,” thus answered the knight; “ Of the line of Old 'Lara, tho' barred from my right: For the kinsman of Salas proclaims for the heir Of our ancestor's castles and 'fores triez fair, A 10bastard, a renegade's offspring — 10 Mudara - Whom I'll send, if I can, to the infants of Lara.” “I behold thee, disgrace to thy lineage! — with joy I behold thee, thou 'murderer !” answered the boy: “ The bastard you curse, you behold him in me : But his brother's 'avenger that "bastard shall 'be. *Draw! for I am the renegade's offspring - Mudara, We shall see who inherits the life-'blood of 'Lara." “I am armed for the forest chase — not for the fight ; Let me go for my shield and my sword,” cries the Knight. “ Now the mercy you dealt to my brothers of old, Be the hope of that mercy the comfort you hold ; Die, foeman to Saucha — 'die, traitor to 'Lara ! ” As he spoke there was blood on the spear of Mudara. Dialogue. Y323 X Х DIALOGUE. PLAYING SICK. CHARACTERS. AGNES and JULIA BURNS; MINNIE LEAMAN ; ETTA and LUCY SMITH. SCENE. I. An ordinary Sitting-room. Agnes and Julia at home. Agnes crocheting ; Julia arranging the books on the table. Agnes. A long afternoon all to ourselves, Julia. Is n't it nice to be left, occasionally, to keep house? Julia. Yes. But I should n't like it all the time. I don't know what I should do without mamma to regulate things. I do hope papa will get through at the convention early — or that they will be home before night. I should be afraid to stay here alone a minute after dark ! Agnes. Alone! why, I'm here, Julia. Julia. Yes, but wbat would you do, I wonder ? Suppose a robber should come, or a ghost ? Agnes. Nonsense ! There are no ghosts! That is exploded long ago. And there never was one ; only ignorant people are afraid of ghosts ! Julia. Then I'm ignorant. For I confess to being afraid when I'm alone. I always feel as if there was something all round me, and I am afraid to put my hands out for fear I shall touch something cold! Why, that night you stayed over to Mr. Leaman's, I slept with my head cov- ered over in the sheet all night. I thought I should have suffocated ! Agnes. What a little goose! Don't tell any one of it. People would laugh at you. Hark! Is n't there somebody talking ? Julia (looking from the window.) Oh goody! goody! Here comes Minnie Leaman, and Etta and Lucy with her! Oh, won't we have a grand time? (runs to the door and admits the girls.) Oh, how glad I am to see you! Papa and mamma are gone, and we are so lonesome. (The girls all shake hands and kiss each other.) It is so nice, I declare ! how came you to think of it! Agnes. A most delightful surprise ! Julia. We could n't have asked for any thing more delightful! Take off your things this moment ! you're come to spend the afternoon, bave n't you? Minnie. Yes, we can stay till five o'clock. We saw your father and mother ride by, and thought you must be all alone. Have they gone to meeting? Julia. No, they have gone to Guilford to a Temperance Convention. Papa is a delegate, and mamma is going as far as Aunt Henrietta's with him. 324 The Student and Schoolmate. Etta. Such a nice day for them ! oh Agnes, how pretty your hair is done up! what is it braided over, rats or yarn ? Agnes. Black zephyr. I see you've got on your new dress, what a nice fit, and that color is so becoming to you. Lucy. Is this the Mutual Admiration Society? If so, let me add my mite. Julia, that white apron of yours is charming. Do you know I read a story once, somewhere, about a man who fell in love with a white apron? Etta. If I were only a man I'd fall in love with Julia’s. (kisses her.) Agnes. Now what is the programme? I mean what shall we do to entertain ourselves? Minnie. As if we were not entertained ! Etta. Let's play something. Julia Good, what shall we play? Etta. Let's play sick. One of us shall be the invalid, and lie on the sofa, and we will come and visit her, and we'll have the doctor too. And we'll talk and act just as folks around bere do in such cases. Agnes. Who 'll be the doctor ? Etta. I will, if I can only have something to wear. Julia. There is papa's tall hat in the entry, and his overcoat too. That will reach way down to the floor on you, and then you 'll want a caue and a trunk — all doctors have canes and trunks, you know. Minnie. Dr. Spofford does n't. Julia. Oh, he is n't a real doctor. He's only half fledged. Lucy. He's got a little moustache. Etta. Yes, a very little. Did ever you see it any of you without the aid of a magnifying glass ? It puts me in mind of the yellow down on the back of a caterpillar. Lucy. Oh Etta Smith! Etta. Well, now girls, I'll tell you just how we'll do, Agnes shall be sick she's the palest and mind, Agnes, you must be awful sick, or else there won't be any fun in it. And you must lie on the sofa, and smell as strong as possible of camphor. And let me see, Minnie shall be your nurse, and Lucy and Julia shall be sympathising old ladies who come to visit you, and who shall have been sick a good many times just exactly as you are. Agnes. What shall I be sick with ? Etta. Oh, almost anything with a long name. Girls help me think of a big hard word, do! Julia. There is Aurora Borealis. Minnie. That means Northern Lights. Sick with the Northern Lights ! oh goodness me! Dialogue. 325 Agnes. Well, select something for me, do! It don't matter much, I suppose, so it's a hard name. Lucy. Have some Latin thing. Agnes knows a little Latin. Agnes. Then I guess I'll have the sic transit gloria mundi ! how will that do? Etta. Nicely. Now girls, you get her fixed on the sofa, and I'll go and get Mr. Burns' hat and coat, and be ready to play doctor. SCENE II. Same room. Agnes lying on the sofa, with a white hondker- chief around her head. By her side a small stand covered with bottles. Minnie standing over her, waving a feather duster to keep off imagin- ary flies. Agnes (querrulously). Oh, dear! I do wish the wind would stop blow ing! It makes such a noise in the trees, and hurts my head so! Oh dear! I don't see what people are made with heads for! Minnie (soothingly). Oh, don't think about that, Agnes, dear. Does your head ache very bad ? Let me bathe it in cologne. Agnes. That cologne has got musk in it! And you know I detest musk! How can you work so on my feelings, when you know how weak my nerves are ! Vinnie. There there — don't toss about and get excited. I'll put the cologne out of the room. Hark! there's the door-bell. Some- body coming to see you, Aggy, dear. Agnes. I'll warrant it! I do wish they'd stay at home! It is strange they will come when they know it acts so on my nerves ! But there! they don't care how soon they kill me! the sooner I go, the sooner there 'll be a funeral for them to go to ! Minnie (opening the door a crack and listening). It is Julia Burns and Lucy Smith. I hear their voices. Shall I ask them to come in ? Agnes. I suppose so. If you don't, they 'll go away mad, and say dreadful things about me. (Minnie leaves the room, and returns directly with Julia and Lucy). Julia (approaching the sofa). Why, Miss Burns, I am very sorry to see you in such poor health! How do you find yourself? Agnes (faintly). Miserable! Miserable as I can be! Julia. Well, you look so ! don't she, Lucy? I never saw any one fallen away as she is ! Goodness! she's nothing but skin and bone ! Lucy. I never saw anything like it ! except when I had the fever three years ago! And they had to lift me on a sheet! dear me! how thin I was! The doctor said the light would shine through me! Julia. What does the doctor think is the matter with you ? Dialogue. 327 corns. Doctor. Ah! We must remove that! (opens his trunk). I have a very powerful antidote for the headache. Very. (Proceeds to do up powders). Give one of these about once in five hours. We shall have this pain under in a short time. Julia. Doctor, what is the matter with old Mrs. Jenkins ? Doctor (gravely.) Ah, well. The old lady is in a bad way. Very bad. But we hope to get her on her feet again before long. Where there is life, there is hope. Lucy. Doctor, I want to ask you about my foot. It is a great deal of trouble to me. I suffer awfully. Some nights I don't shut my eyes to sleep. Doctor. Ah ! indeed! Serious! Where does the difficulty appear to be ? Lucy. Mrs. Anson says it is a corn, but only vulgar people have So it can't possibly be a corn. Can it ? Doctor. Indeed not. Assuredly not. It must be an indurated com- ixity of the cuticle, and perhaps it extends to the cutis nerve. Lucy. Oh goodness! is it likely to be fatal ? Doctor. I think not. We shall remove the difficulty. I will give you a plaster for it. (Opens the trunk again, and takes out a roll of pa- per). There, mum, put a piece of that on the difficulty, and we shall have all things right in a short time. Julia (in an audible whisper). Doctor, what do you think is the mat- tor with Miss Burns ? Doctor. Well, various things. There is an inflammation of the peri- cardium, and some trouble about the epigastric regions, and the meta- tarsal muscles are in an excited condition, and the semilunar valves of the aorta are out of ordor. Julia. Oh gracious goodness me! What a dreadful array of com- plaints! Oh dear, doctor, what an awful thing it is to be sick! Minnie. Doctor, do you think old Mr. Jones will get over this attack of apoplexy ? Doctor. Well, really, it is difficult to tell. He is very dangerous, but we hope to bring him round. Minnie. And how is Henry Hampson ? Doctor (with a great deal of heat). He's as well as he ever will be ander the present course of treatment! They've had Dr. Spofford to him, and if people will employ quacks, they must expect to die! They deserve to die! We aint responsible! Well, Miss Agnes, we hope to find you better when we come again. Miss Minnie, if there is any change, do not lose a moment in sending for me! I wish you all good afternoon. (Curtain Falls.) Clara Augusta. Tangled Threads. 329 . DIKES AND DITCHES, is the fourth vol. I nominations of Christians. The name ume of Oliver Optic's “Young America of the author guarantees its purity of Abroad Series,” just published by Lee thought and clearness of expression. & Shepard, and has all the usual charac HOLIDAYS AT ROSELAND, by Martha teristics of this series, combining geo- Farquharson, published by M. W. Dodd, graphical information with exciting in- is a volume of some three hundred and cident. sixty pages, which came to our table The Brothers Foster, would more just before our going to press. We no- clearly indicate the character of a very ticed the eagerness with which it was interesting story, “The Foster Brothers, caught up by one of our juvenile critics, or Pleasing better than Teazing,” by the the earnestness with which she perused author of “ Jamie's Mittens, which Wil. it, and the evident effect it had upon her liam V. Spencer, who has done so much mind. It must be a good book, as towards producing good healthy books surely it proved itself an interesting one. for children, has recently published. It is for sale by Lothrop & kemp, Corn. The boyhood of Frank and Jamie Fos. hill. ter, just how they talked and acted, their We are assured by Mr. Loring that relations to other members of an inter- the first edition of “Ragged Dick" is esting family, not forgetting the kind well nigh exhausted, and the demand is aunt on whom through force of circum- increasing for this, and also for Mr. stances they were so dependent, will Alger's previous works. We had no place this volume where it merits to be, doubt that such would be the case, for in the Sunday School as well as the home these books need but be better known library, with those other volumes which to place Mr. Alger in advance of all Mr. Spencer is so ready to display to all other writers for the young. “Fame and who seek his rooms at 203 Washington Fortune," of which we are now publish- Street, where courteous treatment and ing two chapters per month, has awaken- low prices insure a second and subseed an intense enthusiasm to know more quent purchases. of the history of his hero, who is by no The Sunday School Society deserve means an imaginary personage, as the credit for presenting to the public the streets of New York will easily prove. volume which secured the first prize of Messrs. Oliver Ditson & Co., send us one hundred dollars, in their offer not the following music : long ago made, of three several prizes, Heather Bell Waltz, by John Baker. for books adapted to Unitarian Sunday Hilda Waltz, No. 12 of Crystal Gems, School libraries, and to children under by C. Kinkel. ten years of age. WATCHWORDS FOR Ricci Polka, by Lagrange W. Merrin. YOUNG SOLDIERS, the volume before Grant at the head of the Army, Song us, by Miss Sarah Haven Foster of and Chorus, by W. C. Fiske. Portsmouth, consists of twenty-two texts Why should we part ? by Mr. Keller. from the Scriptures, happily illustrated in word pictures, that cannot fail to leave Answers April. a lasting and quickening impression on 69. Walpole. the mind of the young reader. We hope 70. Constantinople. that no one will be disturbed by this 71. Toledo, Toled, Tole, Tol, To, T. term “ unitarian,” but giving the book 72. Bag-gage. a careful examination, will doubtless in- 73. Abraham Lincoln. sure it a cordial welcome among all de- 74. In this town. 330 The Student and Schoolmate. 75. Garb-grab. My 2, 3 is an article. 76. Barn-bran. My 14, 9, 12, 13 is a kind of fish. 77. Calm-clam My 8, 2, 4 is a game. 78. Rain-bow. My 5, 12, 7 is a boy. Answer to Prize Problem, No. 4, My whole is a part of the Schoolmate. omitted last month. Ist cup, 18 oz. 2d CHUB. cup, 24 OZ. 3d cup, 30 oz. Light cover Decapitations. 4 OZ. Heavy cover 8 oz. 91. Behead a stream, leaving a bird. 92. Behead a vessel, leaving a vessel. 80. Cross Word Enigma. 93. Behead an injuiry, leaving a limb. My first is in Dream, but not in Sleep. 94. Behead a burial place, leaving a My second in Wail, but not in weep. rage. My third in Tart, but not in Sour. 95. Behead contracted, leaving a wea. My fourth in Might, but not in Power. pon. My fifth in Want, but not in Need. 96. Behead a father, leaving anger. My sixth in Wheat, but not in Seed. 93. Behead the cheek, leaving a bird. My seventh in Eat, but not in Sup. 98. Behead a city, leaving quiet. My eighth in Mug, but not in Cup. 99. Behead a waiter, leaving a fish. My ninth in Brick, but not in Clay. 100. Behead a vision, leaving a quantity My tenth in Year, but not in Day. of paper. JOSIAH TRINKLE. My eleventh in Grain, but not in Weight. My twelfth in Anger, but not in Hate. Problem No. 7. My whole is a town in the “Pine Tree We give several exercises in this num- State." RUTHVEN. ber, in place of the usual prize problem. 81. Puzzle. Correct answers to all, being entitled to R. I. C. A. D. N. N. G. G. O. O. S. the usual prize. The above letters, rightly placed, will There are three numbers. The first make the name of a river in Maine. and second together equal 18; the first What is it? RUTHVEN. and third 22; Second and third 30; Decapitations. What are the numbers. 82. Behead a vessel, leave a vessel. What number is that which being di- 83. Behead to strike, leave a very minished by 30, the remainder equals $ small particle. of the number. 84. Behead a piece of furniture, and of a certain number, plus 6 equals leave the covering of the head. of the same number plus 12. What is 85. Behead sport, and leave a song. the number? Sans-pedes. À of the distance a fox ran before he 86. Take from a sense, and leave an was overtaken by a hound equals & of expression of grief. the distance he was before the hound 87. Take from a plaything, leave a when the chase began. The hound ran 88. Take from disgrace, leave a hum- 90 rods; how far were they apart at the bug. start, and how far did the fox run before 89. Take from a fortification, leave he was overtaken ? a preposition. RICHDORE. George is now 16 years old, and Henry 90. Enigma. 4. In how many years will George, who I am composed of 14 letters. is now four times as old as Henry, be My 1, 10, 6, 11 is a large shrub. only twice as old ? pet. Tangled Threads. 331 Minor Summen Sports. MARBLES, ETC. stone wins. The players should be very careful not to over-exert themselves. RICHDORE wins the game. The Triangle. The invention of the Game of Chess Form an equal lateral triangle, whose is said to have originated with a learned sides shall be six inches long. In the Brahmin, whose wisdom made him a de- center place a marble, also three others served favorite minister of an opulent a few inches from it, each in a line with eastern king. In connection therewith it and the angles. Draw the taw four is a story that may serve as a lesson to feet from the triangle, parallel with one some of our young readers ; teaching of its sides. From this all firing is done. them not to make promises without well. The players, two in number, strive to calculating their ability to fulfill them. knock a marble out of the triangle with. This king, so runs the story, when he understood all the beauty of the game out hitting any other. In case one should do so he fires again, if not the which he had lately learned, was so de- other player fires. The one knocking lighted that he told his minister to ask the greater number out of the triangle and it should be granted. The minister him for anything in his power to bestow not being avaricious and desiring more- Binged Triangle. over to show his soveriegn the danger of Form a triangle as above. Two in making rash promises, told him that if ches without each angle, in a line with it he would give him one grain of wheat and the center, draw three circles two in for the first square of the chess-board, ches in diameter. Place the marbles as and double the number for each other above, omitting the centre one. Draw square in succession, till all were counted the taw two yards from the triangle. there being sixty-four in all, it would con- The two players cast lots for the order tent him. The monarch expressed his of firing. They fire first from the taw, surprise at the apparent trifling nature afterwards from the place where their of the request, and told the Brahmin to marble stops, trying to knock the. mar- ask for something more valuable, and bles into their rings. The one success more worthy of so rich a prince to be- fully knocking two, wins the game. stow, and so wise a minister to receive. Every marble knocked out of the trian- But the minister replied that the king gle, but not into its ring, shall be re. should first well test the possibility of turned to its original place. The style granting the first request ere he ventured of firing the marble called “knuckling to promise a second. On this the king down,” should be used in these two gave orders to his store keeper to deliver games. the grain according to his promise. But Timeponoi, or Laborg for Honor. lo! they found it impossible to comply, for all the wheat in his kingdom, al- If three or four smart, active boys though the harvest had been bountiful, have nothing else to do they will find was not sufficient to complete the tale. this an excellent pastime. Let them join P. hands standing back to back. The place where they stand is the goal. Two feet in Pithy and Pointed. front of each should be placed a stone. ....A smooth sea never made a skille Each one tries to touch his stone, and in ful mariner. Neither do uninterrupted so doing he will have to draw the others prosperity and success qualify man for from theirs. The one first touching his usefulness or happiness. The storms of 332 The Student and Schoolmate. adversity, like the storms of the ocean, ... Be reserved, says William Penn, rouse the faculties, and excite the inven- but not sour; grave, but not formal ; tion, prudence, skill and fortitude of the bold, but not rash; humble, but not ser. voyager. vile ; patient, but not insensible ; con. When the Breton mariner puts to stant, but not obstinate ; cheerful, but sea, his prayer is, “ Keep me, my God! not light; rather be sweet tempered, my boat is so small, and Thy ocean so than fámiliar; familiar, rather than inti- wide !” Does not this beautiful prayer mate, and intimate with very few and truly express the condition of each of us ? upon good grounds. . The New York Newsboy's Home Curious and Amusing. within the last 15 years has provided for .... Some years ago, there was living 57.507 boys, and restored 4.000 to rela- in Salem, near the lower end of Essex tives and friends, at a cost of $65.000, of street, an old Scotch lady by the name which the boys paid $18,000. of Mrs. Titler. Now Mrs. T., being a ....Great minds are charitable to their new importation to this strange land, had bitterest enemies, and can sympathize never had her eye greeted by the sight with the feelings of their fellow-crea of a toad; but happening to be walking tures. It is only the narrow-minded in the garden of Mr. D., a prominent who make no allowance for the faults of citizen of Salem in those days, she was astounded by the sudden appearance of others. ....Nothing teaches patience like a one of that tribe, and its peculiar mode of locomotion. She ran back into the garden. You may go round and watch the opening bud from day to day; but it house exclaiming ; “Muster D.! Mus. takes its own time, and you cannot urge ter D.! coom wi' me, coom wi' me, and see this great soight i' the garden; the it on any faster than it will. All the best results of a garden, like those of life, creetur has twa frant legs, an twa hoind are slowly but regularly progressive. legs, an' he cooms at ye be jerks." ... Why is a lovely young lady like .. The school population of the Uni- ted States is 5,000,000. They require adore. a hinge? Because she is something to 20,000,000 books, at an expense of $18, “ BEANS ON THE SHTICK." — An 750,000. Irishman, a short time in this country, .... Sincerity is - speaking as was eating boiled green corn. After eat. think; believing as we pretend ; acting ing off all the corn, he passed the cob as we profess; performing as we prom- back to the lady who sat at the head of ise ; and really being as we pretend to the table saying – be. “Would you be so kind as to put ....To every man there are many some more beans on the shtick.” dark hours, when he feels inclined to .... What is the difference between abandon his best enterprise ; hours truth and eggs? “Truth crushed to when his heart's dearest hopes appear earth will rise again,” but eggs won't. delusive ; hours when he feels unequal ...." I repeat,” said a person of ques. to the burthen, when all his aspirations tionable veracity, “ that I am an honest seem worthless. Let no one think that man.” “Yes," was the reply,” and how he alone has dark hours. They are the often will you have to repeat it before common lot of humanity. you can believe it yourself?” .... Protect the poor, if you wish in .... The herb doctors think that to be dustry to flourish, for the poor are the healthy and vigorous, a man, like a tree, most important consumers. must take root. we STUDENT AND SCHOOL MATE An Illustrated Monthly, FOR OUR BOYS AND GIRLS. Vol. XXII. AUGUST, 1868. No. II. FAME AND FORTUNE, OR THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD HUNTER. CHAPTER XIII. DICK IN THE STATION HOUSE. OOR Dick! If Trinity Church spire had suddenly fallen to the ground it could scarcely have sur- prised and startled him more than his own arrest for theft. During the hard apprenticeship which he had served as a street boy, he had not been without his share of faults and errors, but he had never, even under the severest pressure, taken what did not belong to him. Of religious and moral in- struction, he had then received none, but something told him that it was mean to steal, and he was true to this instinctive feeling. Yet if he had been arrested a year before, it would have brought him less shame and humiliation than now. Now he was beginning to enjoy the feeling of respectability, which he had compassed by his own earnest efforts. He felt that he was regarded with favor by those whose good opinion was worth having. and his heart swelled within him as he thought that they might be led to believe him guilty. He had Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1868, by JOSEPH H. ALLEN, in the clerk's 'office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 334 The Student and Schoolmate. never felt so down-bearted as when he walked in company with the policeman to the station-house to be locked up for examination the next morning. “ You was n't sharp enough this time, young fellow," said the police- man. 66 “Do you think I stole the pocket-book ?” asked Dick, looking up in the officer's face. “O no, of course not. You would n't do anything of that kind,” said the policeman, ironically. “No, I would n't,” said Dick, emphatically. “I've been poor enough and hungry enough sometimes, but I never stole. It's mean." “ What is your name?” said the officer. “I think I have seen you before." “I used to black boots. Then my name was Ragged Dick. I know you. Your name is Jones.” Ragged Dick! Yes, yes, I remember. You used to be pretty well out at elbows, if I remember rightly.” My clothes used to be pretty well ventilated,” said Dick smiling faintly. “That was what made me so healthy, I expect. But did you ever know me to steal ? " “No," said the officer, “I can't say I have.” “I lived about the streets for more than eight years,” said Dick," and this is the first time I was ever arrested." What do you do now?" “I'm in a store on Pearl Street.” “ What wages do you get? “ Ten dollars a week.” “ Do you expect me to believe that story ?” “It's true.” “I don't believe there's a boy of your age in the city that gets such wages. You can't earn it." “I jumped into the water, and saved the life of Mr. Rockwell's little boy. That's why he pays me so much.” “ Where did you get that watch and chain ? are they gold ?” “ Yes, Mrs. Rockwell gave them to me.” “ It seenis to me you 're in luck.” “I was n't very lucky to fall in with you,” said Dick. see what a fool I should be to begin to pick pockets now when I am so well off.” * That's true.” said the officer, who began to be shaken in his previous conviction of Dick's guilt. » 6 Don't you Fame and Fortune. 335 At " If I'd been going into that business, I would have tried it when I was poor and ragged. I would n't have waited till now.” “ If you did n't take the pocket-book, then how came it in your pocket?" " I was looking in at a shop window, when I felt it thrust into my pocket. I suppose it was the thief who did it to get out of the scrape himself.” “ That might be. any rate I've known of such cases. If so, you are unlucky, and I am sorry for you. I can't let you go, because appear- ances are against you, but if there is anything I can do to help you I will." * Thank you, Mr. Jones,” said Dick, gratefully. “I did not want you to think me guilty. Where is the man that lost the pocket-book ?” “ Just behind us." “ I should like to speak to him a moment.” The red-faced man who was a little behind, came up, and Dick asked quietly: "What makes you think I took your pocket-book, sir.” ** Was n't it found in your pocket, you young rascal ?” said the other, irritably. Yes," said Dick. " And is n't that enough? ** Not if somebody else put it there,” said Dick. “ That's a likely story.” " It's a true story." “ Can you identify this as the boy who robbed you, and whom you saw running?” No," said the red-faced man, rather unwillingly. “My eyesight is not very good, but I've no doubt this is the young rascal.” " Well, that must be decided. You must appear to-morrow morning to prefer your complaint." you don't let the rascal escape,” said the other. “I shall carry him to the station-house, where he will be safe.” "That's right, I'll make an example of him. He won't pick my pocket again in a hurry." “I hope the Judge won't be so sure that I am guilty,” said Dick. “ If he is, it 'll go bard with me." "Why don't you call your employer to testify to your good character ?” “ That's a good idea. Can I write a note to him, and to another 66 66 Mind friend?” “ Yes, but perhaps the mail would n't carry them in time.' " I will send a messenger. Can I do so ?” 336 The Student and Schoolmate. “ When we get to the station-house I will see that you have a chance to send. Here we are." Escorted by the officer, and followed by his accuser, Dick entered. There was a railing at the upper end of the room, and behind it a desk at which sat a Captain of the squad. The officer made his report, which though fair and impartial, still was sufficient to cause our hero's commitment for trial. " What is your name?” questioned the Captain. Dick thought it best to be straightforward, and though he winced at the idea of his name appearing in the daily papers, answered in a manly tone: “ Richard Hunter.” “ Of what nation?” “ American." “ Where were you born ? " In this city." “ What is your age ?” “ Sixteen years." These answers were recorded, and as Dick expressed a desire to com- municate with his friends before trial, permission was given bim to write to them, and the trial was appointed for the next morning at the Tombs. The red-faced man certified that his wallet contained nine dollars and sixty-two cents, which was found to be correct. He agreed to be present the next morning to prefer his charge, and with such manifest pleasure that he was not retained, as is sometimes done, to insure his appearance. “ I will find a messenger to carry your notes,” said the friendly officer. “ Thank you,” said Dick. “I will take care that you are paid for your trouble.” “I require no pay except what I have to pay the messenger.” Dick was escorted to a cell for safe-keeping. He quickly dashed off a letter to Mr. Murdock, fearing that Mr. Rockwell might not be in the store. It was as follows: “ MR. MURDOCK : “ What will you think when I tell you that I have been unlucky enough to be arrested on suspicion of picking a man's pocket? The real thiet slipped the wallet into my pocket as I was looking into a shop window, and it was found on me. I could n't prove my innocence, so here I am at the station-house They will think strange at the store because I am absent. Will you tell Mr. Rockwell privately what has detained me, but don't tell Mr. Gilbert. He don't like me any too well, and would be- lieve me guilty at once, or pretend he did. I am sure you won't believe Fame and Fortune. 337 I would do such a thing, or Mr. Rockwell either. Will you come and see me to-nigbt? I am to be tried to-morrow morning. I aint very proud of the hotel where I am stopping, but they did n't give me much choice in the matter. RICHARD HUNTER. “Station-House, Franklin Street." The other letter was to Fosdick ; here it is. * DEAR FOSDICK: “ I did a't much think when I left you this morning that I should be writing to you from the station-house before night. I'll tell you how it happened. (Here follows a detailed account which is omitted, as the reader is already acquainted with all the circumstances.) Of course they will wonder at the boarding-house where I am. If Miss Peyton or Mr. Clifton inquires after me to-night, you can say that I am detained by business of importance. That's true enough. I wish it was n't. As soon as dinner is over, I wish you 'd come and see me. I don't know if you can, not being acquainted with the rules of this hotel. I sha'n't stop bere again very soon, if I can help it. There's a woman in the next cell who was arrested for fighting. She is swearing frightfully. It al- most makes me sick to be in such a place. It's pretty hard to have this happen to me just when I was getting along so well. But I hope it 'll all come out right. Your true friend, DICK. P. S. I've given my watch and chain to the officer to keep for me. Gold watches aint fashionable here, and I did n't want them to think I was putting on airs. "Station-House, Franklin Street." After Dick had written these letters he was left to himself. His re- flections, as may readily be supposed, were not the most pleasant. What would they think at the boarding-house if they should find what kind of business it was that had detained him! Even if he was acquitted, some might suppose that he was really guilty. But there was a worse con- tingency. He might be unable to prove his innocence, and might be found guilty. In that case he would be sent to the Island. Dick shud- dered at the thought. Just when he began to feel himself respectable, it was certainly hard to meet with such hard luck. What too would Mr. Greyson and Ida think ? He had been so constant at the Sunday School that his absence would be sure to be noticed, and he knew that his former mode of life would make his guilt more readily believed in the present instance. “If Ida should think me a pick-pocket!” thought poor Dick, and the thought made him miserable enough. The fact was, that Ida by her 338 The Student and Schoolmate. vivacity and lively manners, and her evident partiality for his society, had quite won upon Dick, who considered her by all odds the nicest girl he had ever seen. I don't mean to say that Dick was in love — at least not yet. Both he and Ida were too young for that, but he was cer- tainly quite an admirer of the young lady. Again, if he were convicted, he would have to give up the party to which he had been invited, and he could never hope to get another invitation. All these reflections helped to increase Dick's unhappiness. I doubt if he had ever felt so unhappy in all his life. But it never once occurred to him that his arrest was brought about by the machinations of his ene- mies. He had n't chanced to see Micky Maguire, and had no suspicion that it was he who dropped the wallet into his pocket. Still less did he suspect that Gilbert's hostility had led him so far as to conspire with such a boy as Micky against him. It was lucky that he did not know this, or be would have felt still more unhappy. But it is now time to turn to Micky Maguire and Mr. Gilbert, whose joint scheme bad met with so much success. CHAPTER XIV. MICKY MAGUIRE'S DISAPPOINTMENT. to M ICKY MAGUIRE waited until Dick was actually on the way the station-house, and then started for Pearl Street to acquaint Gilbert with the success of his machinations. His breast swelled with triumph at the advantage he had gained over his enemy. “ Maybe he 'll keep his cheerin' reflections' to himself another time,” thought Micky. “ He won't have much to say about my goin' to the Island when he's been there himself. They won't stand none of his airs there, I 'm thinkin'." There was another pleasant aspect to the affair. Micky had not only triumphed over his enemy, but he was going to be paid for it. This was the stipulation between Gilbert and himself. The book-keeper had not promised any definite sum, hut Micky, in speculating upon the proper compensation for his service, fixed upon five dollars as about what he ought to receive. Like many others who count their chickens before they are hatched, he had already begun to consider what he would buy with it when he bad got it. Now only the day previous Micky had noticed hanging in a window in Chatham Street a silver watch, and chain attached, which was labelled “GŁNUINE SILVER, ONLY FIVE DOLLARS.” Since Micky had been, Fame and Fortune. 339 66 the possessor of a blue coat with brass buttons, his thoughts had dwelt more than ever before on bis personal appearahce. and the watch had struck his fancy. He did not reflect much on the probable quality of a silver watch which could be sold for five dollars, and a chain thrown into the bargain. It was a watch at any rate, and would make a show. Be- sides, Dick wore a watch, and Micky felt that he did not wish to le out- done. As soon as he received his reward he meant to go and luy it. It was therefore in a very cheerful frame of mind that Micky walked up in front of Rockwell & Cooper's store, and took his stand, occasion- ally glancing at the window. Ten minutes passed away, and still be remained unnoticed. He grew impatient, and determined to enter, making his business an excuse. Entering, he saw through the open door of the office, the book-keeper, bending over the desk writing. “Shine yer boots ?” he asked. Gilbert was about to answer angrily in the negative, when looking up he recognized his young confederate. His manner changed, and he said, “ Yes, I believe I'll have a shine, but you must be quick about it.” Micky swung bis box from his shoulder, and sinking upon his knees, seized his brush, and went to work scientifically. * Any news?” asked Gilbert, in a low voice. “ Yes, mister, I've done it,” said Micky. " Have you managed to trap him?" “Yes, he's on his way to the station-house.” " How did you manage it?” " I grabbed an old fellow's wallet, and dropped it into Dick's pocket. He pulled it out, and while he was lookin' at it up came the .copp' and nabbed him." “ How about the man from whom the wallet was taken ? ” “ He came up puffin', and swore Dick was the chap that stole it. “So he was carried off to the station-house ? ” “ Yes, he's there safe enough.” “ Then we shall have to carry on business without him," said Gilbert, coolly. “ I hope he will enjoy himself at his now quarters." "Maybe they 'll send him to the Island,” said Micky, beginning upon the second boot. Very likely,” said Gilbert. “I suppose you've been there before this." “Wot if I have?” said Micky, in rather a surly tone, for he did not relish the allusion. "No offerce” said Gilbert. “I only meant that if you have ever been there, you can judge whether your friend Dick will enjoy it. 340 The Student and Schoolmate “ Not a great deal,” said Micky, “but you need n't call him my friend. I hate him." “ Your enemy then. But get through as soon as possible.” Micky struck his brush upon the floor to indicate that the job was finished, and rising, waited for his fee. Gilbert took from his pocket ten cents and banded him. “That 's for the shine,” he said, “and here's something for the other matter." So saying, he placed in the hand of the boot-black a bank-note. Micky glanced at it, and his countenance changed ominously, when he perceived the denomination. It was a one dollar bill ! ” “It's one dollar," he said. “Is n't that enough?” “No, it is n't,” he answered sullenly. “I might ’ave been nabbed myself. I can't afford to work on no such terms." Micky was right. It certainly was a very small sum to receive for taking such a risk, apart from all moral considerations, and his dissatis- faction can hardly be wondered at. But Gilbert was not of a generous nature. In fact he was disposed to be mean, and in the present instance he had even expected to get the credit of being generous. A dollar, he thought, must appear an immense sum to a ragged boot-black. But Micky thought differently, and Gilbert felt irritated at his ingratitude. " It's all you 'll get," said he, roughly. " Then you'd better get somebody else to do your dirty work next time, mister," said Micky, angrily. “ Clear out, you young blackguard ! " exclaimed Gilbert, his temper by this time fully roused. “ Clear out, if you don't want to be kicked out.” “Maybe you 'll wish you'd given me more," said Micky, sullenly picking up his box, and leaving the office. “ What 's the matter? ” asked Mr. Murdock, who happened to come up just as Micky went into the street, and heard the last words of the altercation. “0," said Gilbert, carelessly," he was n't satisfied with his pay. I gave him ten cents, but the young rascal wanted more." As he said this, he turned back to his desk. “ I wonder whether Gilbert's going anywhere,” thought the head clerk. “ I never knew him so extravagant before. He must be going out this evening." Just then it occurred to him that ick had been absent longer than usual, and as he needed his services, he asked, “ Has Richard returned, Mr. Gilbert ? ” Fame and Fortune. 341 “I have n't seen him." “ Did he go out at the usual time?” 6 Yes." “ What can have detained him ?” said Mr. Murdock, thoughtfully. " He's probably fallen in with some of his old friends, and forgotten all about his duties." “ That is not his way,” said Mr. Murdock, quietly, as he walked away. He nnderstood very well Mr. Gilbert's hostility to Dick, and that the latter was not likely to receive a very favorable judgment at his hands. Five minutes later a boy entered the store, and looking about him a moment in uncertainty, said, “I want to see Mr. Murdock." * I am Mr. Murdock,” he answered. “ Then tbis note is for you.” The clerk felt instinctively that the note was from Dick, and not Fishing Gilbert to hear the conversation, motioned the boy to follow him to the back part of the store. Then be opened and read the note quickly. “ Did Richard Hunter give this to you ?” he asked. “ No," said Tim Ryan, for that was his name. “ It was the copp' that arrested him." “I suppose a copp' is a policeman.” “Yes sir." “ Were you present when he was arrested ?” “ Yes sir.” "Do you know anything about it ? " “Yes, I seed it all.” “ You saw the wallet taken ? " “ Yes sir.” “Did Richard take it ? ” “ You mean Dick ?” said Tim, interrogatively, for Richard was to him a strange name. “No, he did n't, then. He would n't steal. I never know'd him to." " Then you know Dick ?” “Yes sir, I've knowed him ever since I was so high,” indicating a point about three feet above the floor. “Then who did take it, if not he?” "Micky Maguire." “Who is he?” “He blacks boots." “ Then how did it happen that he was not arrested ?" 342 The Student and Schoolmate. "Micky was smart enough to drop the wallet into Dick's pocket, as he was standin' before a shop winder. Then he got out of the way, and Dick was nabbed by the .copp.' “ Is this Micky of whom you speak a friend of yours ?” “ No, he likes to bully small boys.” “ Then why did n't you tell the officer he had arrested the wrong boy?” 66 66 " I wanted to," said Tim, “ for Dick 's always been kind to me, but I was afraid Micky would give me a beatin' when he got free. Then there was another reason." “What was that?" “It's mean to tell of a fellow." “ Is n't it meaner to let an innocent boy get punished, when you might save him by telling?” Maybe it is,” said Tim, perplexed. · My lad,” continued Mr. Murdock, “ you say Dick has been kind to you. You now have an opportunity to repay all he has ever done, by clearing him from this false charge, which you can easily do.” “I'll do it," said Tim, stoutly. “I don't care if Micky does lick me for it." * By the way,” said Mr. Murdock, with a sudden thought, "what is the appearance of this Micky Maguire ? " “ He's rather stout, and has freckles.” “ Does be wear a blue coat with brass buttons ?” “ Yes,” said Tim. in surprise. “ Do you know him ? ” “I have seen bim this morning,” said Mr. Murdock. “ Wait a min- ute, and I will give you a line to Dick, or rather it will not be neces- sary. If you can get a chance, let him know that I am going to call on him this afternoon. Will you be at the station-house or near it at six o'clock ?" “ Yes sir." “ Then we can arrange about your appearing as a witness at the trial. Here is half a dollar for your trouble in bringing the note.” “I don't want it, sir," said Tim. “I don't want to take anything for doing a good turn to Dick.” “ But you have been prevented from earning money. You had better take it." But Tim, who was a warm-hearted Irish boy, steadfastly refused, and left the store in quest of Henderson's Hat and Cap Store, having also a note to deliver to Fosdick. * So that was Micky Maguire who was here a little while since," said Profit of Temperance. 343 Mr. Murdock to himself. “ It seems singular that immediately after getting Richard into trouble be should have come here where he was employed. Can it be that Gilbert bad a previous acquaintance with him?” The more Mr. Murdock reflected, the more perplexed he became. It did cross bis mind that the two might be in league against Dick ; but then, on the other hand, they evidently parted on bad terms, and this seemed to make such a combination improbable. So he gave up puz- zling himself about it, reflecting that time would clear up what seemed mysterious about the affair. Gilbert, on his part, could not help wondering on what errand Tim Ryan came to Mr. Murdock. He suspected he might be a messenger from Dick, but thought it best not to inquire, and Mr. Murdock did not volunteer any information. When the store closed the head clerk bent his steps towards the station-house. Horatio Alger, Jr. PROFIT OF TEMPERANCE. An English nobleman asked the Hon. Abbott Lawrence, a millionaire of Massachusetts, and at that time our minister at the court of St. James, what had given to Massachusetts her astonishing measure of prosperity. His lordship had travelled extensively, he said, but had never passed through a country where the homes of its citizens, even the laboring classes, were surrounded with, and contained so many of the real com- forts of life as the homes of Massachusetts. Mr. Lawrence replied that, more than any thing else, it was the work of the temperance re- form; and added, that prior to the commencement of the reform in this country, in 1832, one-half of the farms in his native town (he was country bred) were under mortgage through the intemperance and con- sequent improvidence of their owners. “ All this is now changed,” said Mr. Lawrence. “ The farmers have ceased to drink, industry and thrift have taken the place of negligence and improvidence, the mortgages have been lifted, and the whole face of society is changed.” Now, whether the statement was authentic or not, (I read it some years since in an English paper, the facts are undoubtedly as reported. Dr. Jewett. 344 The Student and Schoolmate. 'OLD RAYMOND." gen- “Dº O come along, Fred Sterling," and let old Raymond alone! He 'li get across well enough, and we shall be late !” said Her- bert Lee, swinging his satchel of books impatiently. “ And Dr. Brady is 80 particular!” chimed in James Atwood. “Do not wait for me!” said Fred Sterling, a tall, manly fellow of thirteen, “ I will catch you before you reach the school house." “ Fred is wonderful conscientious !” said James, sarcastically. “I should be ashamed to be seen sho:ving a ragged old vagabond like that across the street, and so many people passing. I should be afraid some- body would think he was my father! And I should advise the old tleman to stay at home in such sligpery weather as this is !” “ He's very lame,” said Herbert Lee, glanciug back over his shoulder, and getting a view of Fred supporting the feeble steps of an old man over the ice-clad crossing at the corner of Fleury Street. "I suppose it's about the thing for somebody to help him. We shall all be old, you know." “ If we live long enough! But I hope I shan't look like old Ray. mond! His face is scarred and seamed like a prize fighter's. I wonder if the old fellow was n't a boxer in his day?” “I don't know. Likely enough. But here we are at the school house, and here comes Fred. Just look! don't he puff, though? Run for it. did n't ye, my lad ? ”. * Running is good for the lungs," said Fred cheerfully, wiping his bot forehead. “Just in season, boys, there goes the last bell !” and the two entered the school room together. That night the three boys were gathered in Mrs. Sterling's quiet sit- ting-room. There was to be an exhibition at their school, and they had met to talk it over. A dish of rosy apples warmed before the bright fire on the old- fashioned hearth, and Fred was cracking walnuts as fast as the other two boys could eat them. Mrs. Sterling, a fair-faced pretty woman of middle age, sat in one corner with her knitting; Hattie Sterling was curled up on the sofa with her doll, and Reno, the tortoise-shell cat was lying asleep on a cushioned stool by the fire. “I say, Fred," broke out Herbert Lee ; " what did old Raymond give you for your services this morning ?” “ His thanks," answered Fred. “ Old Raymond.” 345 and as “Thanks! oh fiddlesticks! thanks would starve a cat! would n't they, Reno ?” stroking the sleek glossy back of the family favorite. Reno stretched herself, and yawned sleepily. " What is it about Mr. Raymond ?” asked Mrs. Sterling, with interest. • Oh nothing much," said James Atwood, "only you see the streets were terrible slippery this morning there was so much ice we got to the Fleury crossing, old Raymond was trying to get over. And a most ridiculous figure he cut, balancing himself first on one foot, and then on the other, and putting out his cane as a feeler ! Did n't he, Herb?” " I should say that!” * Well, Fred helped him over as carefully as if he had been his grandfather." Right, my son!” said Mrs. Sterling, touching her lips to Fred's white forehead. “I am proud of my boy's independence. Mr. Ray- mond is a noble old man ; shorn of his strength though he is, decrepid, and almost helpless, he has a soul trae as the lustre of a diamond! His life has been a sad one none but a brave heart could have borne it patiently as he has ! ” " Is there a story?” asked Jarnes, eagerly. “ Yes, James, a sad enough story." “Oh, dear Mrs. Sterling, tell it to us, please do !” exclaimed Her- bert. Certainly I will do so if you desire to hear it. And it may be a valuable lesson to you all. It may teach you not always to trust too much to outward appearances. Charles Raymond was not always the desolate, homeless creature he is now. He was born of wealthy parents, and reared in a home of luxury. An unusually promising scholar, he was early prepared for college, and entered Yale at the age of eighteen. After be graduated, he studied for the bar, and in a few years he had no equal in his profession." . “ Well of all things !” exclaimed Herbert ; " who would have thought that old vagabond had ever been anybody?” “ As you see more of the world, Herbert, you will learn not to trust to looks. An old coat may cover a true heart, and it is no reason that a man is destitute of brains, because he wears a battered hat. Mr. Ray- mond was engaged to marry a very beautiful and accomplished young lady. Her name was Alice Morton. She had the bluest eyes, the brightest hair, and the sweetest smile I ever saw. And she was a great belle, and something of an heiress. A few weeks before the day set 346 The Student and Schoolmate. for their marriage, the Bushnell Bank failed. All Mr. Raymond's prop- erty was there, and when the bank suspended, he lost everything. He had not an hundred dollars in the world! But with his talents, he was not poor, because he would soon secure a competency from his profes- sion. But Alice Morton had no idea of marrying a poor man; so she sent him a very brief letter, saying that under the circumstances, she should beg leave to consider herself released. And Mr. Raymond sent back her letter with a few lines written at the bottom, telling her she was free!” “Well, she was a mean, heartless thing, any way!” said James. “I know what I'd have done !” said Herbert eagerly. “I'd have cowhided her - that is, you know boys, if she'd only been a man!” “ Mr. Raymond was very much grieved over it, but be did not despair. He worked diligently, and was making rapid progress in his profession. He was spoken of as a fast rising young man, and there was some talk of his being a candidate for State Senator. But his upward career was checked forever the night of the great fire of ’49. You have heard of it, boys, how whole blocks of beautiful buildings went down before the devouring flames, and hundreds of persons were made homeless ? Our city has never recovered from it, and it will be many years before Broad Street gets to wear the look of thrift and prosperity it wore previous to the great devastation which that winter night swept over it. “ It was a dark, stormy night in January, when the cry of fire aroused us from our beds. The whole gloomy sky was lit up by the lurid glow of the flaines, and the wind, which was blowing almost a gale, bore clouds of fiery sparks hither and thither. The bells rang, the flames roared, the streets were full of horrified people; everything was dire confusion. Among other dwellings, that of Alice Morton's father was sacrificed. It was a fine, costly house, and desperate attempts to save it were made, but in vain. Suddenly from the crowd, there arose a wild cry of horror. I shall never forget how that cry startled me. I was standing in the street with hundreds of others, watching the fearful, grand spectacle, and as I gazed, an upper window of the Morton mansion was thrown open, and Alice Morton stepped out on the balcony. She was white as a corpse ; her golden hair fell over her rose-colored wrapper in wild confusion, and her hands were outstretched in a mute appeal for help. By some fatal oversight, she had not been aroused from her sleep, and now her escape was cut off by a wall of fire; for the whole first floor of the house was in flames! Men looked at each other and shook their heads. 66 « Old Raymond.” 347 Twice one stalwart fireman rushed forward, and attempted to place a ladder against the wall beneath the window, but each time the intense heat forced him back. It was plain to us all, that the unfortunate girl must perish! 1 MOT Ten THE REBCUE. " But suddenly the crowd parted before the tramp of Charles Ray- mond, who rushed forward, and without a word, snatched the ladder from the hands of the fireman, and planted it against the wall. Through the smoke and flame he made his way to the topmost round of the ladder, and seizing the half-paralyzed girl in his arms, he began the descent. Half way down he felt the ladder trembling to destruction beneath his feet, and uttering a prayer to God to preserve him, he leaped downward. “ The crowd sprang forward, and lifted up the two motionless bodies. 343 The Student and Schoolmate. Alice was unhurt — she had only swooned - and revived soon after- ward. But Charles Raymond was taken up for dead. And perhaps it had been better for him if he had died. But God knows best. He was burned fearfully, and for many weeks be hovered beiween life and death. Finally he began to mend, but his intellect never fully came back to him. His powers of mind were lessened, and you know what a wreck he is physically. His good looks were lost forever, and he was hopelessly crippled. And, boys, when you see 'old Raymond' again, I want you to remember that his scars and his . deformities are the lau- rels which were given him for a heroic deed.” “But the lady? what of her ?” asked Herbert Lee. “ Miss Morton was grateful for her life, I suppose, but she made lit- tle display of it. Ten months later, she married a brainless dandy, who spent her property anå broke what beart she had, before the first year was out.” “Served her right !” exclained James indignantly; "now if I had been her, I should have married Raymond !” “What? old Raymond ? ” asked Fred, teasingly. Yes, old Raymond. And I ask his pardon for calling him so! Why he's a hero! As great a hero as as Andrew Jackson !” “ Do you think, Mrs. Sterling," said Herbert Lee, thoughtfully, " that Mr. Raymond would go out to service? I mean steady work ?” “I dare say, my dear. Why do you ask?” “ Because only yesterday, I heard father saying that he wanted a trusty man about his office to keep the books and papers in order, and attend to things generally. I think Mr. Raymond would be just the man." “ Without doubt, Herbert." “ And I will go home this moment, and speak to father about it," said the boy, seizing his cap; “ it's best to be in season. Good-night, Fred, good-night, James, good-night, Mrs. Sterling." Perhaps my dear young readers may be glad to know that Judge Lee was pleased with “old Raymond,” and gave him the situation in his office, where you can see bim every fine day, peaceful and content and respected by no one more thoroughly than by Master Herbert. Clara Augusta. - To a June Bug 349 TO A JUNE BUG. YOB OU have life, you shiny-coated, Bright, brown bug, on which you've doted, Quite as much as I on mine. You have bright eyes made to spy with, You have light wings made to fly with, And a glazed coat all ashine. Buzzing through my open window, Little recked you if you sinned, Wheezy, whirring, foolish scamp. Bugs will scorch their tender noses, If they look for bright June roses, Down the furnace-chimney of my lamp. Oh, but how you would have scolded If your gauzy wings, close folded Underneath their stout brown mail, Had been burned to palest ashes ! With what frantic, frantic dashes, Tried the fiery wall to scale ! But you pinched me, mad-cap fellow, With your sharp claws tinged with yellow, Pinched my friendly, saving palm. Out upon you, you ungrateful, Spite has filled your little pate full, I would never do you harm ! Yet it is but little wonder, You should make so rude a blunder, And give friends so close a bug. I know wiser heads and older, Some that reach above my shoulder, Much like you, my pretty bag. Some who pay our dear caresses And our life-long tendernesses, With ungrateful deeds of shame. 350 The Student and Schoolmate. But the sin is in the knowing, And according to such showing, You deserve but little blame. Here, you rogue, go seek the shadows Find the sweet and dewy meadows, Where the bright winged fire-flies play. But beware of lightly spurning Knowledge costly in the learning, Go and come not back this way. Paul North. sont CROCODILES, SOMI OMETIMES among men we see a countenance so ferocious or so cunning that we feel instinctively repelled by it, and heed the warn- ing which nature gives to avoid one who might prove a fierce or crafty enemy. So in the animal world there are forms from which we shrink, and which seem so bideous to us that we half doubt the assertion of the author of Genesis, that the Lord made them and thought them all good. This terror and shrinking, however, are the natural avoidance of some- thing which is able and ready to do us harm, and is necessary in man's unprotected state to make him shun creatures which would destroy and devour him. But when he has grown wiser, and has learned how to defend himself, and with weapons which his own ingenuity has con- trived has made himself stronger than they, when by his observation and knowledge he understands how admirably they are fitted for the life they have to lead, and how the craftiness, cruelty, and ferocity which are deemed so dreadful, are qualities which are needed in the great world of animated beings, he looks upon them with far different eyes. Among these forms hideous in itself, and from the stories of its cruelty and ferocity, is that ugly reptile the crocodile, with its coat of bony scales, sword and bullet proof, like the armor of the knights of old, its splay feet, with long hooked talons, its powerful tail, flattened on the sides, its green eyes with their fiery glare, and its wide gaping mouth softened and shadowed by no outside lips, and which shows its rows of terrible teeth even when the jaws are closed. A creature of which one almost believes the old superstition, that if a looking-glass were beld before one, and he should once see his own ugliness, he would die of fright. Crocodiles. 351 Europe and North America possess no living crocodile to haunt their rivers and devour men and women, but that they existed in these coun- tries in former epochs in great numbers and of monstrous size, is proved by their fossil remains, which are found in the green sandstone of New Jersey, in France, England, and the north of Asia. Indeed, so numer- ous were the creatures, that Prof. Owen says the mass of clay and sand that lie to the depth of a thousand feet in the basins of London and Hampshire, seem to be the graveyard of crocodiles and gavials, every variety of the order once flourishing in close proximity to each, in a territory which now forms a part of England. As the creatures can only live on marshes with lakes, estuaries, large rivers in tropical regions, such as the Niger and Gambia, or those which inundate the country through which they run, like the Nile, we see what an aston- ishing change must have taken place in the soil and atmosphere of Eng- land and New Jersey since the days when the crocodiles swam in their rivers, on whose banks grew the great forests of ferns and palms which are now burnt as coal. Of the living crocodiles, the West Indies have two varieties, Asia two, and Africa one, but the alligator of America and the gavial of Asia belong to the same family, and prove their rela- tionship by their ugliness and ferocity. The female crocodile lays from fifty to sixty eggs, which she buries in the sand, and leaves the sun to hatch for her. These eggs are larger than a goose's, and the shell is not so hard, but softer and more elastic, like those of other reptiles. She covers the nest with leaves to hide it from the prying ichneumon, who, with his sharp slender nose, tries to find and devour them, and from the other creatures who act the part of police, and keep the race of crocodiles within reasonable bounds. This nest is near the edge of the water, so that the young soon seek another and more congenial element, and if left undisturbed, is used for many years. The mother crocodile, though she does not brood her eggs, does not neglect her offspring, but takes care of them for several months. When the time of batching arrives, which is in three or six weeks, according to the season and latitude, when the young crocodiles are ready to take their first look at the sun, she visits her nest often, walks around it, or rather crawls about it, for her short legs barely raise her huge body from the ground, and when she finds a chipped shell, scratches at it, and with noise somewhat resembling the bark of a dog, encourages the little creature in its efforts to break its prison walls, and come out. She helps them out of the nest, and as soon as they can walk guides them to some shallow pool, taking care to keep them out of the father crocodile's way, who has no more scruples about making his crocodiles may 352 The Student and Schoolmate. breakfast on his own offspring than he has of eating any poor Egyptian boy whom he may find swimming in the Nile. On their way to the river they encounter another enemy in the shape of a tortoise, called Thirsé, who not only eats the eggs, but when they are hatched, springs upon the young crocodiles, and devours them also. The little creatures grow with astonishing rapidity. Sonnini, the French traveller, had seven young crocodiles brought to him, who were hatched only two days before, and they were then eleven inches long. A full grown one is seventy times as large as the egg, being from twenty to twenty-two feet long. In the pools they learn to fish for themselves, and when older take to the river, which they seldom leave for their prey, which they seek chiefly at night, and come on shore in the day- time to bask in the sun. Floating in the water with their heads just sticking out of it, they look like huge logs of wood carried lazily along by the current, but unfortunate is the wretch, who, swimming in the river, mistakes them for one. Awkward and clumsy as they appear on shore, they are alert enough in the water, and cleave the waves with a swiftness which it is almost hopeless to attempt to escape. They often kill and devour the women of Upper Egypt who come to the Nile for water, and the children who play on the shores. One was dissected in whose stomach were the arm and leg bones of a woman, with the rings which the unfortunate creature bad worn. The old phrase of 'croco- dile tears' applied to any hypocritical grief, arose from the old story of crocodiles crying like children on the banks of the Nile, till some com- passionate woman, too tender-hearted for her own safety, came to dis- cover the cause, and was devoured herself. Nature bas been kind to the crocodiles as well as to her handsomer children, and fitted them admirably for the element in which they live, and for procuring the food which is to nourish them. She has given them a skin so tough and well protected by scales that it is almost hope- less to try to make any impression on it. To enable them to remain under water a long time with impunity, she gives them three eyelids, one moving transversely, and very thin, to protect their green eyes from the waves, two folds of skin which like lids cover their ears, two valves which shut up their crescent-shaped nostrils, and a sort of cartilaginous disc which protects their windpipes, and helps them to breathe and swallow under water where they often seize their prey, so that when they sink they are as well sheltered as a man in a suit of diving armor. Under the jaws in the folds of the skin are glands which secrete a viscid mat- ter which has a strong musky smell. Their terrible jaws open very wide wider than the length of their heads, to enable them to seize great Crocodiles. 353 objects, and their fearful teeth, sharp, conical and of various sizes, fitted to hold and to tear-grow up from the sockets like rats, new teeth push- ing up into the hollow of the old, when they are worn away, so that the machine may be always ready to work without aid from the dentist. Their tongues are wide and thick, and fastened all around to the jaw bone, and seem more like a part of their mouths than a separate nem- ber, and cannot be used to seize or retain their prey, that being done by their teeth. It is said that so firmly is the tongue fastened to the mouth that the crocodile cannot use it to remove the food, the pieces of fish and other bodies which cling to the teeth, and that the office of tooth-brush is performed by a little gray bird of the plover species, with a sharp spine on his head, who boldly enters their mouths when they gape, to feed upon these particles, and the worms which he finds there. To reward him for his trouble, or to punish him for his boldness, when he has finished his repast the crocodile attempts to swallow him, but the sharp spine proves such a tough morsel that the reptile is forced to gape again and let the daring adventurer go free, though one would imagine a bird would be quite as easily gulped down as the stones and bits of wood that are often found in the creature's stomach, and which it is sup- posed he inadvertently swallowed some day when he opened his mouth too wide, not meaning to devour them as food. Their powerful tails flattened and expanded, and their webbed feet make them swift swimmers, though they move awkwardly on land. They grow to an immense size. Sonnini saw the skin of one in Egypt, that measured thirty feet in length, and was four feet broad, and he was assured that some had been found in the Nile fifty feet long. A creature so monstrous and formidable, must early have been an ob- ject of terror and wonder to men, and the old Egyptians worshipped the hideous reptile who made the Nile and its banks so dreadful by its pres- The common crocodile was a sacred animal, kept in a trough, adorned with gold and precious stones, having rings in his ears, the lids of which were pierced for the purpose, and bracelets on its fore feet. It was fed by priests, and wben dead, embalmed and buried with great ceremony in the old tombs where their mummies are still found, shew- ing of what ugly creatures men made gods, when they worshipped ter- ror and destruction, and not beneficence and order. Strabz saw one re- ceiving the offering of the priests. Sachos, for that was the crocodile's name, was stretched on the margin of a pond; well fed, and at his ease he was not dangerous to approach. The priests carried a small cake, some roast meat, and a cup of spiced wine. Some opened his lovely ence. 354 The Student and Schoolmate. mouth, which must have gaped like a pit of destruction ; one threw in the cake, another crammed in the meat, and the repast ended by pour- ing down the wine. The ceremony finished, the crocodile plunged into the pond, and swam to the other side. Not only were divine honors paid to the tame reptiles, but if a person was killed by a crocodile, his body was also embalmed and deposited in the sacred tombs, as if to die in this way was much to be preferred to any other manner. The old Romans who delighted to bring the strange beasts from their conquered kingdoms to make sport and a holiday” for the cruel peo- ple, did not overlook the crocodiles, and Augustus turned thirty-six at once into the amphitheatre, where the gladiators dispatched them all, which gladdened the hearts of the Roman crowd, for whom no show could be too blood-thirsty. Would the Hindoos say that this was only justice, that each of these thirty-six crocodiles had killed his man long ago, or is it still to be done, and the king of the crocodiles yet to have thirty-six Romans thrown into the Nile, to make a crocodile show aud holiday ? We are not told whether the Romans eat the crocodiles after they had killed them, though it is said the reptiles flesh tastes like lobster, but we have no doubt what they would do with the Romans. In earlier ages, when many of the remedies used for disease were disgusting, and seemed to have nothing to recommend them but their nauseousness, and the difficulty of procuring them, crocodiles contributed their share to the list. The blood was good for the eyes ; it cleared the vision and improved the sight. The fat was a “sovereign remedy" for the bite of a serpent, and boiled in vinegar cured the tooth-ache, and if a man were anointed with it he could dive in the Nile unharmed. Herodotus says that the crocodile was caught in ancient Egypt by baiting a book with pork, and allowing it to float in the middle of the stream, while a man on shore beat a living pig till his squeals caught the ear of the monster, floating about for his prey. He swims towards the place from whence the cries proceed, and meeting the pork on its way, swallows it either by accident or design. The men on shore haul him in, and immediately plaster his eyes with mud. This accomplished, they easily kill him, but he gives them great trouble if they attempt to dispatch him without blinding him. The more modern method, accord- ing to Rawlinson, is to tie a little puppy to a log of wood with a strong rope, which is protected for a short distance by a wire. This floats in the river, and when the crocodile swallows it, the rope is pulled, the log turns cross-wise in his throat, and he is dragged on shore, and killed by blows from poles and hatchets. Another and seemingly more dan- gerous method is for a man who covers his head with a gourd shell, 356 The Student and Schoolmate. AMONG WESTERN MASSACHUSETTS No. 1. THERE is a large building in State Street, which has been known. until recently, as the Merchants' Exchange. Here, during the past years of the city's commercial greatness, the “solid men ” of Boston were wont to congregate ; and all day long, the great central hall of this edifice was crowded with merchants, who, divided into groups, were discussing variations of the money market, or looking in the newspa- pers, that were sent here from all parts of the world. The scene is con- siderably changed now ; for the merchants have left it, and the Hall has been remodelled to accommodate the United States Treasury. It is in this Hall that our story opens. “I want, if you please, ten dollars in fifty cent pieces, five dollars in quarters, five in ten cent pieces, and three in five cent pieces," said Fe- lix, speaking very methodically, and handing out some bank bills to a kind looking old gentleman, who stood behind the counter. Felix and I were going on a pedestrian tour for a few weeks, and had come down to the Treasury, to change some bills into currency, on the day before our departure. “ You 'll have to take the five cent pieces in this shape," said the clerk ; “ I have n't any fives in currency; the government does n't issue any now.” And he brought forward some rolls of coins, done up in packages of a dollar each. They were heavy, and as Felix lifted them in his hand to ascertain their weight, he answered, “Well, I'll only take half that amount; I must have some.” The currency was in little separate parcels of halves, and quarters, and teus, and looked very new and pretty ; for they were fresh from the Treasury at Washington, and had never yet been used. But, although they were so handsome, it seemed to me a pity to exchange our bills, which could be so easily car- ried, for these thick packages ; and so I demurred, saying: “Why, you will not need all this small change, Felix !” “ Yes, we shall,” he answered. “ I sha'n't take so much,” said I. “ Well, you see if you don't need it; that's all. I sha'n't let you have any of mine. We shall often be wanting to buy a glass of milk, or something of that sort, along the road, and five and ten cent pieces come very handy for that. Folks in the country can't change your Travels among the Mountains. 357 bills," and Felix went on counting his currency, to see if it was all right. I had a great respect for my friend's superior knowledge in travelling, and so I at once took the same amount, exactly, as he did. We then started for home, purchasing on our way a few things we wished to carry in our knapsacks with us; and these we packed that evening, in high glee; for the stars were out bright in the sky, and we looked for- ward to a pleasant day for the morrow. But weather is deceptive, and when we awoke, the morning was cloudy, and a dull mist bung over the city. Of course, our spirits were very much depressed by this. and we ate our breakfast without speak- ing a word. Yet even though rain commenced to fall during our walk to the depot, we did not back out, but bought our tickets, and jumped into the cars. “ I don't believe it will rain long,” said Felix ; and began looking for mountains with much enthusiasm, before we were hardly away from the brick walls of the city. All niy young readers probably know that the Boston and Albany Railroad passes through Worcester and Springfield – two cities in the heart of Massachusetts — the latter beautifully situated on the eastern bank of the Connecticut River. West of the Connecticut, the land commences to rise, towards the Berkshire Mountains; and we had hardly passed Springfield, when we began to notice snow on the ground, although it was still raining. The air also grew colder, and we changed our places for seats nearer the stove, and ate some of the luncheon which we had brought with us. At last, at about two o'clock, we arrived at Becket, the first town in Berkshire County, where we had decided to leave the cars, and commence our walk. There was quite a crowd of idle boys on the platform, when we alighted, and we made such an odd appearance with our knapsacks, that they took considerable notice of us. As it was still raining very hard, I went into the depot, where I divested myself of my pack, and sat down by the stove. It was a close-smelling room, and not a very clean place. There were two “ blue coats ” Jolling upon the settees, and one of them was quite asleep, though he still held a pipe in his hand, which every minute threatened to fall from his half-unclasped fingers, and break upon the floor. On the other side of the stove, sat two or three men, discussing, among other topics, the regular Saturday duty of lighting a fire in the church, to warm it for the Sabbath. And truly, on a day like this, a fire was comfortable, anywhere. We had left Boston in May, and found December at Berkshire, apparently. Outside, a man was shoveling snow from the platform where Felix was still standing, look- 358 The Student and Schoolmate. ing with comic dismay, at the unpromising sky. He now turned to come into the depot, followed by that portion of the juvenile community who had not already followed me in. Those that could n't come in, looked in at the windows. “ Where is the school-house in this village ? ” he inquired of me, laughing, as he took a seat by the stove. “They seem to use the depot instead of a school-house, here," I answered ; “ does the sky look more promising, Felix ? " “ It promises rain, still.” Looking from the window, I watched for a while the rain-drops fall- ing upon the road; while, in the room, some frolicsome boys commenced the experiment of pulling the pipe out of the fingers of the man who was asleep, without awaking him. The attempt proving successful, they ventured to reverse the process, and put it back again, but with less good luck, for he awoke, and recognized the joke with half-opened eyes, and a sleepy smile. Meanwhile the drops fell less frequently, and at last stopped. At this good news, we strapped on our knapsacks, and left the depot. DEPARTURE FROM BECKET. Our road led directly up the side of a mountain, from which we had a birds'-eye view of Becket, down in the valley. From the chimneys of the two churches, smoke was now ascending, telling plainly that the townsmen had prepared for the Sabbath. We bid Becket good-bye, and proceeded along the muddy road; fortunately, Berkshire mud is of a harder texture than ours at home, and we did not sink in it, but appeared to walk on the surface. Snowbanks were quite a common sight, everywhere. We passed a man with a pipe in his mouth, lugging a plank from his house to the barn. “ How much more snow are we going to have, sir ? ” we inquired. Travels among the Mountains. 359 * By gosh! I don't know; we've had enough now, to last for two Fears !” he answered. " Which of these two roads do we take to go to Hinsdale ?” “Keep to the right, and then take the next left hand turning." “ Thank you." We took the road which he had pointed out, and getting a little higher, upon a table land, soon entered a cloud. It was now impossible to see, except immediately around us. The bare trees, looming high over our beads, told that we were in a woody region, and that was all we knew ; the prospect might be ever so grand from the bills, but we were nope the wiser. Yet to be walking in a cloud, seemed a new experience, and we enjoyed it immensely; and that the appearance of winter might be more perfect, we snowballed each other once, with great solemnity. The clouds continued to grow thicker as we advanced ; it being now after four o'clock, Felix thought it time to look out for supper, and a night's lodging, and proposed stopping and applying for shelter at the first house to which we came. A barn soon emerged from the mist, on the left, and then a house. " What do you think of this one ?” he inquired, as we approached. I answered that it suited me, and he commenced to prink up a little, previous to our imaginary introduction into the family. But getting nearer, we found its windows and doors boarded up, and that it was deserted! So we passed on. It was not long, however, before another house shot out from the mist again ; the manner in which houses emerge from a cloud, without warning of their approach, is peculiar. This one was also uninhabited; curiosity led us across a deep pool of water which stood before it, and into the open entrance. How melancholy seemed the cheerless fire-places and empty rooms. The cellar-door was off its hinges, and as we looked down stairs, we saw the cellar flooded with water. Up in the attic there was a rope-noose hanging from the cross-beam, and an old battered tin dipper on the floor. These things in a deserted house, seemed to imply that the last occupant, (in a fit of climatic despondency, perhaps,) had committed suicide. We hoped that such was not the case, but shuddering with mimic horror, we passed down and out into the open air. We had not gone far, before another house, still on the left, came in sight. “What a peculiar appearance the houses have, up in this part of the country,” said Felix ; "they all have a sort of sick-at-the-stomach look. I'll venture to say, this one is deserted too. It is!” These last words he uttered after a pause, during the which, we had approached nearer the shabby building. It was in the last stages 360 The Student and Schoolmate. of decay, presenting a far worse appearance than the first two houses. You could stand at almost any point and look in. Rain, snow, hail and wind bad almost done their worst, and the poor old tenement was quite a shapeless pile of brick and mortar, and rotten beams. The clouds were now rolling away, and opened a superb view over hillside and meadow. Almost despairing of finding a living family before night set in, we walked on; but soon came in sight of another house which looked more attractive, as smoke was curling from the chimney. It proved too small, however, on nearer inspection ; so small, indeed, that the whole family must have slept in the kitchen. “ Shall we ever have supper to-night?” we exclaimed. “ Here we are, supposed to be baving a joyous good time in the coun- try, and we find mankind and the elements against us." " I'll wager we shall have to sleep in some barn,” said Felix. R. C. A. [To be Continued.] THE LILY OF ST. CROIX, IN N the South of France, buried among the mountains of Auvergne, lay the little village of St. Croix. It was a beautiful spot, on the north bank of the fair Garonne, near to its fountain-bead; and the in- habitants were a gentle kindly people, uniting the careless, buoyant glee of the children of the South, with much of the fortitude and steadfast courage of the sons of the mountains. In this secluded hamlet dwelt a carpenter, called Gérard Aurillac. His wife had been long dead, and he lived with his only child, and her faithful nurse, in a little cottage on the outskirts of the village, nearest to the mountains. Many years before our story opens, a minister of the Huguenot faith had found refuge from persecution among the hospitable inhabitants of St. Croix. Faithfully and zealously he had preached the doctrines he held, and when he departed, more than one among those simple people had exchanged the errors of Rome for the faith of the suffering Hugue- nots. Foremost among these was Gérard Aurillac and his wife; and their little girl received the rite of baptism from the hands of the good min- ister. At the time of her mother's death, little Adele had just com- pleted her fourth year. An old woman, who had always lived in her mother's family, and who, during her illness, had taken charge of the The Lily of St. Croix. 361 arms. little household, remained with them, and gave, as far as she was able, a mother's care to the little girl. But it was her father who became her instructor, companion and nurse. She was always at his side in the work-shop; her meals were taken on his knee ; and she slept nestled in his bosom. During his walks she was seldom absent, clinging to his hand, and when weary seated on his shoulder or carried in his strong From his lips she learned the simple Huguenot hymns, with their wild sweet tunes, which she carolled forth in her fresh young voice of exquisite melody. Often her father would join his deep tones to her silvery notes, and the kindly villagers would say, as they paused to listen, “ It is Gérard Aurillac and his little blind girl singing praises to God." Yes, little Adéle was blind. Not once had she seen the blue sky and the bright stars above her head, or the green grass, sprinkled with many colored flowers, beneath her feet. Her beautiful blue eyes, with their long dark lashes, bad never seen her father's face, or the tender, wistful, loving smile it always wore for her. She was very fair, with soft brown curls and such a gentle smile, and pure white brow, that she was known throughout the hamlet by no other name than “ The Lily of St. Croix.” After her mother's death, Gérard had, with much trouble, procured a large and beautiful dog, which he trained to be his little daughter's con- stant companion and protector. She would hold fast to the chain at- tached to his neck and show him some article belonging to her father, when trusty Fidéle would instantly lead her slowly and gently to him. When Adéle was about eight years of age, the persecution against the Huguenots was carried on with redoubled violence. It soon became known that the hamlet of St. Croix was devoted to the reformed faith; and that the good curé having been himself a Huguenot in secret, was the reason of its unusual freedom from persecution. He was a good but weak old man, who dared not confess his opinions openly; and at his death, the people had continued to meet for worship, which was con- ducted by Gérard Aurillac. This was soon discovered, and news brought to Gérard that they were seeking his life. It was on a clear bright morning in June, that a man came up to the carpenter's little cottage, saying that a wealthy gentleman, who lived about five miles distant, had sent for him to execute a piece of work, which would not take him more than a few hours. The messenger was known to Gérard as a workman in the gentleman's employment, so he at once prepared to accompany him. Telling his little girl that he would be back before sunset, he bade her a fond good-bye, and swinging his tools on his shoulder, set forth at a rapid pace. 362 The Student and Schoolmate. Sunset came and passed, and still Gérard did not return. Little Adéle looked in vain for his coming, and strained her ear to catch bis well known footsteps ; she was obliged at length to eat her supper and go to bed without him. It was the first time he had ever been absent at night, and her little heart felt very desolate and lonely. She would not consent to share old Jacintha's couch, but crept to her accustomed place, saying, “ he will come before morning, I know he will come be- fore morning." It was long ere she slept, and when she awoke the sun was already up. She rose and called for Jacintha; but the old woman, thinking her sleep too sound to be speedily broken, had run over to a neighbor's, to inquire if anything had been heard of Gérard; for she knew be would not voluntarily have stayed for a night from his child. Finding herself alone, Adéle called her dog, and filled with anxiety for her father, showed Fidéle a coat belonging to him, bidding the sagacious animal to seek hiin. Instantly he set forth, and Adéle with him. The fresh, dewy morning, the cool flower-scented air and the songs of the birds, all combined to make the little girl feel relieved of half her fears; and she ran gaily on, talking to her dumb companion of her father's de- light when he should see them coming to meet him, and then burst forth into a song of joy, like a bird set free. ADELE'S HYMN. “In the Lord, I'll place my trust, Knowing that his power must, Win the victory. For His arm is strong to save, He hath triumphed o'er the grave, Death shall no more dominion have, Christ hath set us free. Free! Free! We are forever free! Welcome woes for Christ's dear name : Welcome suffering, welcome shame, If for Him they come. Welcome dungeons, dark and drear ! Death itself can bring no fear, If the risen Christ is near, And will take us home! Home! Home! Forevermore at home. For some time they proceeded along the high road; but at length the dog turned off into what Adéle could feel to be a woodland path. Along this they hurried for a considerable distance, when the path began to de- 364 The Student and Schoolmate. 4 Suddenly, with a quick motion which Gérard saw not, the priest, who had not yet spoken, gave the signal for which alone the soldiers waited ; and the ten carbines were fired simultaneously. With one last cry of “ Ob, God ! my child,” Gérard fell on his side, his little daughter stil. clinging to bim. The soldiers rushed forward, and found them both dead, pierced by the bullets, some of which had passed through both Owing to Adéle lying on his breast, the wounds in Gérard's body would not have been fatal, had not one of the soldiers, more merciful than his fellows, raised his weapon, and sent the unerring bullet through the poor man's temple, causing a death as instantaneous as had been that of his child. And there the villagers found them, even as they fell; the strong, brave man, and, on his breast, the gentle, helpless child, no longer blind. With care and skill, they carved the simple cross, which marks the spot. Above, a crown, with this inscription around it: “ Here lies Gérard Aurillac, the martyr; a faithful follower of Jesus Christ, and a member of the Huguenot church." Below, a broken lily, with the additional words : “And his blind daughter, who suffered with him, dying on his breast - Adele, the gentle Lily of St. Croix.” th On Baldwin's Rock. 365 ON BALD WIN'S ROCK. O the , NE that if he would take a rake and clear away all the dead leaves and bits of sticks in the garden, he would give him a quarter of a dollar. Now this was just the sum that John had been wishing for, as he had seen a fishing-line in a shop window marked only twenty-five cents," and he wanted to go to the river and fish for minnows. So John went to the wood-shed and took down the long-handled rake which had been lying across the beans all winter, and then getting a bushel-basket from the cellar, he went to work with a good will, and soon had made a great improvement in the appearance of the yard and garden. The rubbish he carried off to a dust-heap behind the barn, to be eventually carted off by a man who was hired annually for that pur- pose. The quarter of a dollar was promptly paid, and with a light heart John went whistling down the street toward Butterfield's Bazaar, where the long wished for fishing-line had been seen ; he had been a good boy, and that was why he felt so happy and merry. But boys are constantly sorely beset with temptations, and at the very moment when John was thinking how easy it was to be good and mind his parents, the tempter appeared to him in a most dangerous and insidious form. It was in the person of Frank Bushfield, a boy who was hired by General Manning to take care of his horses, and to do “ chores” around the house; he was about as old as John, but not the kind of a boy that Mr. Choate liked as a companion to his son, and therefore John was forbidden to associ- ate with him. Bush field had a way of making himself very agreeable, sometimes, and he was particularly so on this occasion, when he discov- ered that John was going to buy a fishing-line. “I'll tell you what we'll do, John,” said he, “ You get the line, and I'll get a boat, and we 'll go down to Baldwin’s rock; there 's any quan- tity of tom-cod and flounders down there.” “I don't believe my father will let me go,” said John. “He did n't say you should n't, did he?" asked Frank. "No, not exactly," replied John. “Well, then, come along, we'll have a grand time, and bring home fish enough to pay for the line ; it won't take us more than two hours, and your father 'll never know it,” said Frank. 366 The Student and Schoolmate. I guess John wanted to go very much; he stifled his conscience, and followed his companion to Mercantile wharf, where they found a green dory tied; Frank jumped into it and told John to follow. “ Whose boat is this?” asked John. “Oh, it belongs to a man I know. I got his hat for him once when it blew overboard, and he told me I could use bis boat any time I wanted it,” replied Frank. In a few minutes the two boys were on their way to Baldwin's Rock, a large rock which stood in the midst of the broadest part of the river, serving as a guide to the pilots in going in and out of the harbor. They had supplied themselves with bait, and found that the fish were plenty, and quite ready to bite. The only difficulty was that there was only one line; John monopolized this, and Frank could only look on impatiently. * Come, John," said he, after two tom-cods had been hooked, “NOW let me have a chance." “No, I've only just began,” said John. “ Well, I ought to bave the first chance, for I got the boat,” answered Frank. “Now, take care a minute, here comes a whopper of a fish. it 's a regular built codfish, or a haddock ; maybe it's a haddock !” said John, eagerly, and he directed the hook toward the new comer. “ He's after it ! see! Surely, I've got him," exclaimed John, and he began to baul up his line with the unfortunate fish at the end. It was quite a large fish, and John was greatly pleased at his capture, but Bushfield was a little envious of his comrade's success, and just as John lifted him out of the water, Frank maliciously jerked his arm in such a way as to free the fish, which fell back into the water with a splash, and darted out of sight forever. “What in thunder did you do that for, Frank Bushfield ? You're a mean fellow, and I've a good mind to chuck you overboard !” es- claimed John, highly exasperated. “No sarce !” said Frank, “it's my turn to fish, and if you don't let me have that line, I'll throw you overboard." “I won't do it, and I'd like to see you throw me over," answered John, defiantly. “ There goes your hat to begin with," said Frank, as he seized John's hat from his head and scaled it into the air. It skimmed gracefully across the water, and then taking an upward sweep, found a resting place on the summit of Baldwin's Rock. John was very angry; he flew at Bushfield, seized him by the collar, On Baldwin's Rock. 367 66 and in a moment they were both struggling violently until they went over into the water. Each was a godd swimmer, and when they found themselves overboard, they let go of each other, and scrambled for the boat. Bushfield succeeded in getting in first. when he seized an oar and rapped John's fingers, that were on the gunwale of the boat, so hard, that he was obliged to let go. You sha'n 't get in here, this is my boat !” exclaimed the bad boy. “ What shall I do?” gasped John, despairingly. “ Get up on that rock where your hat is, you can't get in this boat any how," and Frank commenced to scull the boat away. John swam to the big rock, and with some difficulty climbed upon it," and recovered his bat. He looked around him dismayed ; there he was, wet to the skin, perched upon the top of a barren rock, his treacherous and wicked companion carrying away the boat, and no other apparent means of escape left him. " Father was right after all,” he said to himself; "he told me that Frank Bushfield was not a proper playmate for me, and now I am pun- ished for disobeying him. I do wish that I had minded what he said." Two long, dreary hours John sat on Baldwin's Rock, watching and waiting for something to release him. It came at last. A plank floated slowly down the river, and struck the rock. In an instant John was astride of it, and after struggling hard with the current, he contrived to reach the shore, dripping, tired and forlorn, and as he was on the oppo- site shore from the town, he had to walk nearly three miles to a bridge where he could cross over. A sorry plight he was in when he reached home, but he told the whole story to his parents, told them how sorry he was, and of course they forgave him, even as their Father forgives them when they disobey Him, and repent. " Where do you suppose Frank Bushfield is ? ” asked Mr. Choate of his son. “I do not know, sir ; have you heard anything about him ?." " He is in jail, locked up there till to-morrow, when his trial will take place,” said the father. " In jail !” repeated John, much amazed. “ What is he to be tried for?" * For stealing the boat you went in; it belonged to a man that lives up in Cripplegate ; he was very angry to find it stolen, and when Bush- field came back, a constable was ready to arrest him.” John felt thankful that he was not in the boat with the thief, and in- 368 The Student and Schoolmate. deed the whole day's experience taught him a lesson that was never for- gotten, even when his hair was gray, and he was ready to take passage across a darker river with the grim ferryman. William L. Williams. DECLAMATION. (See Diagram in January No.) REPLY TO WALPOLE. stellen THE atrocious crime of being a young 'man, which the honorable gen- tleman has, with such spirit and decency, charged upon me, I shall neither attempt to Spalliate nor deny; but content myself with wishing that I may be one of those whose 'follies 'cease with their 'youth, and not of that number who are signorant in spite of experience. Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a 'reproach, I will not assume the province of determining; but surely age may become justly 'contemptible, if the opportunities which it brings have 'passed away without limprovement, and vice appears to &prevail when the passions have #subsided. The wretch who, after having seen the consequences of a thousand Berrors continues still to 'blunder, and whose age has only added 'obstinacy to 'stupidity, is surely the object of either abhorrence or 1°contempt, and deserves not that his gray head should secure him from linsult. Much more is he to be abhorred, who, as he has 'advanced in age has receded from virtue, and becomes more wicked with less temptation: who prostitutes himself for 'money which he cannot 'enjoy, and spends the remains of his life in the 'yuin of his country. But youth is not my only crime. I have been accused of acting & theatrical part. A theatrical part may either imply some peculiarities of 'gesture, or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, and an adoption of the opinions and language of 'another man. In the first sense, the charge is too trifling to be confuted, and de serves only to be mentioned to be despised. I am at liberty, like ererg other man, to use my own language; and though I may, perhaps, hare some ambition ; yet to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself un. 370 The Student and Schoolmate. DIALOGUE. MRS. SPINWIG’S WASHING DAY. An Qiginal Dialogue. CHARACTERS.— HEZEKIAH SPINWIG; MRS. SPINWIG; ALGERNON ROUNDABOUT ; MIRANDA SPINWIG. SCENE — A Kitchen. Mrs. Spinwig discovered at a wash-tub; Miranda reading a novel. Mrs. S. Wall! I dew go for tew hope that it'll be granted to me to have a good wash to-day ; it aint often I set my whole mind down tew havin' an out and out wash; but now that I've sent that spouse of mine, Hezekiah, up to the city, and Mirandy's got a book out of the Cal- culating Libery, it seems as how I could n't do better than to go in. (Washes and scrubs.) Miranda (reading.) “At that moment the door was seen to open by an unseen hand.” Mrs. 'S. Like 's not ’t was some strange cat. Miranda (continuing.) “And a soul-sickening groan was heard to proceed from the adjoining apartment." Mrs. S. Some Woman's Rights critter a snorin', more ’n likely. Miranda. “ It was the form of Alphonzo that darkened the thres- bold.” Mrs. S. I dew hope Hezekiah won't be tempted to touch any licker, for I heern tell of a fellow who drank so much that when he lit a match he set hisself on fire. Miranda." This perturbed spirit was searching in his bosom for an unknown dagger.” Mrs. S. And that fellow was burnt up to nothin'. Miranda. “At sight of this horrible apparation the lovely Glorianda was melted to tears." Mrs. S. A ginuwine case of spontanious combustion. Miranda. Now mother don't put me out. Mrs. S. Mirandy Pauliny Spin wig, I'm your nat'ral born mother, and it don't run in my family to put you out. Miranda. Why do you keep interruptin me for? Mrs. S. I'm dewin as Deacon Drawler does; you say the words and I make the cements. Miranda. Comments you mean, but Oh! mother, this is jest the Dialogue. 371 most delightfully awful story you ever beern tell off. There's a girl in love with a young fellow, and because she don't hear from him at the time she expected to, she threatens to commit suicide, and a bull lot of other things. Mrs. S. Well, go on with your readin' and don't bother me, for I've got the biggest wash to attend to in created natur — there's a nice pair of chickens to roast, in the pantry — and these ere soap suds are the finest I ever see, they fairly make my mouth water. Miranda, What! the soap suds, ma ? Mrs. S. No, the chickens, in course — it's something like to rub 'em in this water. Miranda. What! the chickens, ma ? Mrs. S. No, the soap suds, but you 're altogether too smart; go on with your readin'. Mirunda. I don't want to, ma, for I'll dream of ghosts and spirits, and every time I hear a door open or sbut, I shall think it to be a per- turbed spirit. Mrs. S. More 'n likely to be your dad coming home to annoy me while I'm washing somethin' ails him lately - he actually has worn two shirts the past month; he would n't do it if he knew how hard it was to wash, though I don't mind it when I can have the day to myself. Miranda I wonder if there is really any such things as spooks, Mag- gie Ray says, if you hold one eye-brow in your left hand and pull out a long hair from your head with your right, the ghost will manifest his presence. I've a good mind to try it. (Does as she has described.) Oh! I must say the lines. "Spook or spirit whichever you be, Here's the maid that 's calling on thee, My eye-brows in hand, I'm pulling my hair, Give three loud raps if it's you that's there." (Three loud raps are heard at door. Miranda screams, and runs to extreme end of stage and throws her apron over her head.) Mrs. S. Come in. Miranda. Oh! don't ma, it 's a spook as sure as you live. Mrs. S. Land of Liberia, what 's a spook ? Miranda. A g-b-o-st! Hrs. S. Pashaw! How you talk. But ghost or mortal, walk right in. (Enter Roundabout.) Round. Not a spook or a ghost, my good friends, but a dealer - Mrs. S. Land of Liberia! that 's another name for a peddler, and if 4 372 The Student and Schoolmate. so be as how you're one on them critters what's a defrauding honest women of their hard earned savings by imposin' off mutton taller for “ Raven's Wing Blacking,” I don't keer to have you round, and I said the next one that came along I'd scandalize by giving him a taste of my broom. Miranda. Yes, ma, he looks for all the world like the fellar that sold me a waterfall that I afterwards found was nothing but horse hair, and that, too, cut from our old Dobbin's romance. Mrs. S. Romance ! what's that? Miranda. Tale, ma. Mrs. S. Mirandy. get the broom. Round. Hold ! my good ladies. I'm a dealer in spirits. Mrs. S. What, a liquor trader? you can't get no trade here, we's temperance we is, and I don't take nothing but a sip of brandy when I bas the shakes. Miranda. You seem to have the shakes real often, ma. Mrs. S. Silence, Mirandy, or I 'll shake you. Round. The spirits I mean are of a higher sphere. I have a new theory that I wish to promulgate and satisfy your minds. Mrs S. Pommegranites ! them aint in season now. Round. I am an advance courier of a sect to be called the “ Search in the Dark ” society. Mrs. S. You'd better take a taller candle with you. Round. The combative forces of congealed matter approximate the wbeels of somnambulicity. Miranda. How lucid he talks. Mrs. S. Yes, he talks like Lucifer. Pray are you crazy, or mad? Round. Madam, I am a medium. Mrs. S. Wall, I kinder reckoned you were betwixt the two. Miranda. Oh! ma, I know what he is, he's a person that can talk with spirits. Round. The young lovely lady is right. I can call up spirits of the dead! Mrs. S. Oh! You ’re partial to dead-heads. Round. This town, small as it now appears, will one day become remarkable ; the fiery engine will soon rush through these grounds. Mrs. S. Fiery injins! the pesky red critters ! Round. Not Indians, my good madam, but engines. Mrs. S. I'm glad 't aint injuns, cause there's a pile o' money in that bureau drawyer. Round. (aside.) So, so! (Aloud.) But to my business. In the Dialogue. 373 first place I have called upon you to ask if you would not like to see the manner in which spirits manifest themselves. As for example, by word of my command I could immediately make that tub of clothes fly out of the window and never come back. Mrs. S. (clutching tight of wash tub.) Well, if that's what's spirits is a capable of dewin' I should think they must be pretty badly off for clothes, and I'd rather not see any manifesterations. Mir. Oh! ma, I know all about it. They move tables and rap on furniture, and Mrs. S. And what earthly good does that dew anybody ? Round. No earthly good, perhaps, but it's an unearthly language, you must bear in mind. Mrs. S. I should think it was. Mir. And they can untie ropes. Mrs. S. Show. Git out, how you talk. Round. They do, indeed, for I can shuw you. I can so tie you and the young lady who designates you as “ ma," so securely, that you can- not move, and then at a word you will be free as air. Mir. Come ma, let's try it. Mrs. S. How much is the tax, mister ? Round. On what, dogs ? Mrs. S. No, puppies. I mean for tyin'. Round. I'll tell you after you ’re tied. Mrs. S. Well, Mirandy, as we haint had no amusement this long time, I guess we 'll try it, but take these things and lay 'em out on the grass to dry. Mir. Yes, ma. (Miranda takes clothes from tub and exits.) Mrs. S. It seems kinder sorter queer you should have happened in bere, and I don't know what Hezekiah would say if he was tew hum, but he aint; no, I sent him off, but made him leave the tew hundred dollars he got out of the bank yesterday and put it in that top beaury drawer, coz, like as not he'd spend it all, and it was better to have it bere. Round. (aside.) Decidedly so for me. Mrs. S. Ah ! Sir, people may talk of woman's proper sphere and all that, but it's her sphere to manage her husband, for though Adam was born first, he could n't take care of himself, and so Eve had to be borned. Round. Madam, you are shrewd. Mrs. S. No sir, I'm not a shrew. Round. I mean that you are quick to perceive. 374 The Student and Schoolmate. 1 Mrs. S. Now don't stop fer to pay compliments, but proceed with the manifestations. (Miranda returns.) Round. (talks while tying the Spinwigs to chairs, with a rope which he takes from his pocket.) The art consists in having you so tightly bound as to be incapable of helping yourselves in the least, thus proving by all known and unknown laws the specific gravity of centrifugal velocity. (Having tied them.) The spirits now inform me that I am to go to that bureau drawer and extract the money therefrom, (does so.) and as I shall probably soon set out for a long journey, underclothes will be quite necessary, I will not trouble you to get them for me, but will help myself to what want from off tbe grass. Good day to you ladies, and I trust the spirits will see fit to set you free from your bondage. Good day to ye. (Exit.) Mrs. S. Mirandy! Miranda. Ma! Mrs. S. I'm firmly convinced that fellar 's a humbng. Miranda. And I'm firmly bound to believe you. Mrs. S. What on airth will your Pa say ? Miranda. Dunno ma, mebbe he 'll say Hez. (entering.) He.'ll say that you two are a couple of the most foolish critters he ever see. I've been outside of the door and over- heard all his soft sawder, and jest as be was making tracks with some of the clothes, I just grabbed him and took him in charge. Fortunite for me, there's been a policeman looking for him a considerable spell, and he happened right along in the nick of time. He's one of the greatest confidence men there is round. Mrs. S. Yes. I placed my confidence in him; but, Hezekiah, won't you ontie us ? Hez. I'm a good mind to leave it for the spirits to do. Mir. Please ontie us, Pa. Hez. It would be a good lesson for you to be kept tied all day, but I'll release you on conditions. Mix and Mrs. S. Name them? Hez. In the first place, Mirandy must give up all novel reading, and help her mother at her work, and if she must read, let her get some good book, and not give her mind to blood and thunder romances. Mir. I promise, pa. Hez. And you, wiſe, in future, must know that I am the head of the family, and washing's got to be done once a week. Mrs. S. I'll have a wash every hour in the day if you 'll only let mo go. TANCLED see THREADS mon struction. To parents it is equally val. uable, for, without co-operation at home the efforts of the teacher in the school- room must of necessity be corresponding- ly unsuccessful. In the management of a difficult case, we commend to especial notice a “boarding school experience." FROM THE OAK TO THE OLIVE, a E regret the delay which has attend plain record of a pleasant journey, by ed several orders for “Ragged Julia Ward Howe. Dick," and can assure those of our UPSIDE DOWN, OR WILL AND WORK, readers who have been impatiently wait. by Rosa Abbott. ing, that it has been owing to the fact that the first edition was exhausted, and KATE PUTNAM'S VOYAGE, by May Man- THE CRUISE OF THE DASHAWAY, OR consequently a second edition must be nering. issued at once. It is gratifying to perceive the great Dorty DIMPLE AT HOME, by Sophie demand for this excellent book, and we May. shall now be able, from the new issue, Farm Talk, illustrating various com- to answer orders more promptly. mon Farm Topics, by Geo. E. Brackett. A scorching day, and the necessity to (Paper covers.) remove our home and “set up” in a new ON NURSES AND NURSING, with spe. place, will prevent a longer introduction.cial reference to the management of sick Still, we will say that Mrs. Austin's third women, by H. R. Storer. (Paper covers.) story will appear in September number, These are all from those enterprising with an original illustration ; also two publishers, Messrs. Lee & Shepard, the pages of music, with other attractions. two latter being included in “ Tracts for the people," and if the entire series Our Book Table. are as well adapted to the people, the “To the teachers of the United States,” larger circulation they have, the better. is the appropriate dedication of a volume Dr. Storer speaks plainly and wisely on of 276 pages, entitled “IN THE SCHOOL- a subject to which he has devoted much ROOM,” by John S. Hart, L. L. D.; study and no little observation, and this Eldredge & Brother, Philadelphia, pub- little work should have a place in every lishers, and sold by Woodman & Ham- home, for as much depends on careful mett, Boston. nursing, as on medical advice. This book is what it claims to be — Every farmer, and all interested in “Chapters in the Philosophy of Educa- farming, should be familiar with the tion,” and no teacher can open its pages equally valuable book of Mr. Brackett, without deriving both pleasure and in who as evidently speaks of what he Tangled Threads. 377 . knows, and has an agreeable way of, to write about it.” Hence, she now gives communicating this knowledge to others. us such impressions and reflections as What to do, how, and when to do it, is flow from a familiarity with the subject essential to the tiller of the soil, and she proposes to illustrate. hence we recommend him to possess THE GUIDING STAR. What more himself of this little book at once. appropriate title could Mrs. Soule have It is refreshing to see another book chosen for a paper designed for the Sun- from the pen of Sophie May, whose Lit- day School children of America ? The tle Prudy has become a universal pet. first number gives evidence of her pecu- Sympathizing with her in her several liar fitness for the work, and we wish recent afflictions, we trust that the prep. her all manner of success. The more aration of these volumes are as much children's papers we have, the better for enjoyed by her as the gratification they our youth, it they be but healthy read- afford her numerous readers, who wel- ing The “Guiding Star" has a place come with a peculiar joy each new vol. to fill as “ a Sunday paper for boys and ume as it comes from the press. It girls,” and being published twice a would be but telling half the truth to say month for the low price of 75 cts., or in that every boy and girl joyously wel. clubs of ten or more at 50 cts. per copy, comes them, as sire and grandsire be- should have, at once, a large circula- come young again as these pages open tion. before them. “Dotty Dimple,” make NAHANT, AND WHAT IS TO BE SEEN yourself“ at home" with us all. THERE. Adams & Co., Publishers. May Mannering offers us a very read. This popular place of resort and resi. able book, giving us an idea of her life dence has wonderful natural attractions, on board the “ Dashaway,” detailing in which this little book is designed to another form the doings of the monkey, make familiar to the eye of the reader. as we suppose, whose exploits found | It has been prepared with care by a val- place in the SCHOOLMATE of last year, ued contributor to the SCHOOLMATE, as “Katie's Case." properly illustrated with maps and en. "Upside Down," is another of Mrs. gravings, and printed in beautiful style Abbott's sprightly stories which are cal- by W. F. Brown & Co., to whom we culated to keep one awake, and often have been so much indebted in the imprint a good lesson, as the present preparation of our magazine for a series volume is designed to do. of years. The native Bostonian will de- Mrs. Howe has afforded us much sire to possess it, as descriptive of a pleasure in her “ Records a Pleasant spot in which he cannot but feel a pride, Journey,” for, while she gives us certain while to the stranger it is invaluable as a details connected with her third visit to guide to the many and varied attractions Europe, it is the product of a three-fold of this lovely spot. experience, with many valuable reflec Thomas Hill's painting of the Yo tions. To those who have already taken Semite Valley has naturally awakened the journey, it will be a refreshing re- the most enthusiastic admiration of those minder, while to those who contemplate who have had an opportunity to view it. it, this book is full of suggestions equally It is glowingly descriptive of that mag- interesting and instructive. When read- nificent scenery which caused the late ing books of travel, based on a few Starr King to rejoicingly speed his way weeks' absence from home, we have to California, where, having drank in realized what she so well says: “ The the inspiration of its grandeur, he ex- less we know about a tising, the easier pended the richness of his brilliant intel. 378 The Student and Schoolmate. lect that so great beauty should be for- Sans-pedes. ever consecrated to the cause of free- 102. Curtail a chair, leaving a body dom. of water. T. C. Evans, No. 129 Washington 103. A shadow, leaving a fish. Street, Boston, is indefatigable in his 104. Scarce, leaving to examine. efforts to systematise the whole subject 105. An animal, leaving a serpent. of advertising, a matter of so much 106. A lawn, leaving joyful. importance to the entire business com- 107. To break, leaving a beverage. munity. He has just issued a second JOSIAH TRINKLE. edition of his “ Hand Book," which gives evidence of careful revision and 108. Double Acrostical Rebus. adaptation to the increasing wants of the community. We have had some deal 1. An organ attachment. ings with Mr. Evans, and can consist- 2. Is to communicate. ently recommend him as worthy of con- 3. A four-footed animal of Brazil. fidence, and therefore deserving the lib- 4. A word of refusal. eral patronage he is receiving. 5. A black bird. OUR JACK. Answers. Avec Pieds et Tetes. 80. Mattawamkeag. 109. Annex and prefix a letter to a 81. Androscoggin, number, and form a delicious substance. 82. B-ark ; 83. S-mite ; 84. C-hair. 110. To an adjective, form a somnifer. 85. P-lay; 86. Sigh-t; 87. Kit-e. ous gas. 88. Sham-e; 89, For-t., 1. To part of a circle, form a 90. Tangled threads. month. 91. B-rook; 92. C-raft; 93. H-arm. 112. To a drink, form to rob. 94. G-rave ; 95. N-arrow ; 96. S-ire. 113. To a bird, form an animal of 97. J-owl; 98; B-rest ; 99. T-ray ; | Madagascar. RICHDORE 100. D-ream. Problem No. 6 in June number has 114. Cross Word Enigma. been correctly answered by Almon F. My first is in Handsome, but not in Reynolds, (5 minutes,) Alfred B. Par- Plain. ker, (30 minutes,) Edward S. Leslie, My second in Harness, but not in Rein. Willie C. Clarke, E. W. Richmond, H. My third in Scholar, but not in Pupil. T. Taylor, these last giving no time. My fourth in Dollar, but not in Nickel. Hence Reynolds is entitled to the prize. My fifth in Little, but not in Small. The answer is 98 feet. My sixth in Rise, but not in Fall. No correct answer has been received My seventh in Month, but not in Day. to problem No. 5, May number, which My eighth in June, but not in May. is 80,955,221 cubic feet. My ninth in Weeks, but not in Year. H. T. Taylor correctly punctuates the My whole are two words we often puzzle as representing the bad man. hear. LIZZIE 101. Ilustrated Rebus. I HX WILLIE WISP. Tangled Threads. 379 ing it. Dooapitations. Che Evening circle. 115. Take from a fish, and it is healthy. 116. Take from a precious stone, and SPHINX, OR FUN FOR ALL. confer a title. This game we cannot explain better, 117. Take from sleep, and it is a use- perhaps, than by imagining a party play. ful article. 118. Take from a package, and pro- One of them inquires how many know duce a liquor. the game. Those that do, form one par- 119. Take from peril, and create pas- ty, and the remainder another. After sion. the first party have chosen two of their 120, Take from the morning, and pro- number - the one to be Wizard, the duce a shade. ROB ROY. other his servant - the game is com- 121. Enigma. menced by the servant's leading the I am composed of 29 letters. second party into the hall. Having gone to the farthest corner, he tells them to My 9, 3, 4, 10, 2, 7, 11, 6, 24 is the name of a town in Massachusetts. prepare several difficult conundrums, My 23, 21, 28, 22, 29 is what children because the Wizard will call for them, enjoy. in rotation, to test his skill in answering. Five minutes pass. The Wizard, My 12, 13, 22 is a nickname. My 1, 9, 7, 29 is what we all have been. opening the door into the hall, calls, “ Robert Dean." Rob soon appears, My 15, 5, 12, 6, 29 is a boy's name. My 6, 11, 20, 18, 19 is a bird. and is led to the opposite side of the My 14, 8, 17 is a number. room, in front of the party. The Wizard then tells him that, before he can fulfil My 8. 9, 3 is what all persons do. My 26, 21, 19 is a useful dish. the instructions given him by the ser. My 25, 27, 6, 29 is a girl's name. vant, he must pass through a little ore My whole is a very good proverb. deal, and, if he comes out all right, he may ask his conundrums. He must answer to everything said to him only 122. Puzzle. the word “Key." Complete, it is The party then make all manner of powerful. very Behead, it is what we all have seen. remarks, causing him to think they wish Curtail, it is what elderly ladies es- to puzzle him. He, therefore, very res. teem. olutely replies “Key" to every exclama- tion, so that, when the Wizard says, Transpose, it is what we all do. Behead again, it is a preposition. You are, are you not, a jolly, young Don?" he, not content with this repre- sentation of himself, quickly exclaims, Problem No. 8. Key." Two merchants sold each a piece of The peals of laughter that follow, stu. cloth. The first sold five yards more pefy the victim, and he will be sure to than the second, and they together re- answer anything but “Key” to each ceived $25.75. Said the first, Had I one's questions afterwards. sold my cloth at your price per yard I The servant quiets the apprehensions should have received $21. Replies the of his party on hearing the laughter, by second, Had I disposed of mine at your saying that Rob has done finely, and rate I should have received $7.87% wishing them all to do as well. How many yards did each sell ? The game is continued ; the Wizard CHARLEY S 6 L W. H. 380 The Student and Schoolmate. If you RICHDORE. RICHDORE. using in tne place of “ Don,” the words, ty, but see that you do not rob them of "Monk,” " “ Dark," &c. the rest derived from sleep, and which Some players may see the joke, and is so indispensable for healthy and long- refuse to reply. Should any one reply continued intellectual labor. “Key" to all the remarks both before neglect this warning, be sure the time and after the joke, that one, if he shall will come when you cannot sleep, and propose a conundrum which the Wizard then you will be in danger of losing cannot solve, becomes Wizard. The your reason. former one does penance by a forfeit, .... There is nothing that our young until the present Wizard shall gain that friends can cultivate with more profit unpleasant duty. than neatness. Strive to be neat and I joyfully welcome “ Mary,” or any orderly in all your habits, and after a other of your subscribers to the Evening while, neatness will itself becomes a Circle. habit. If you acquire habits of idleness Pithy and Pointed, when young, they will trouble you when .... We are sent to the ant to learn / old. industry ; to the dove to learn inno. ....None ever have been so good and cence ; to the serpent to learn wisdom ; so great, or have raised themselves so and why not to the robin redbreast, who high as to be above the reach of trou- chants as cheerfully in winter as in sum- bles. Our Lord was a man of sorrows. mer, to learn equanimity and patience. ....A man of business must put up .... In prosperity, prepare for a with many affronts, if he loves his own change. In adversity, hope for one. quiet. ....In doing what we ought, we de .... We cannot easily hate the man serve no praise, because it is our duty. for whom we pray. ....Shrink not from any work or duty Curious and Amusing. presented to you, but do best. .Teacher “ What part of speech The happiness of life, says Coler- is the word egg?" · Boy “Noun, sir." idge, is made up of minute fractions, the “ What is its gender ?” “Can't tell, sir." little, soon-forgotten charities of a kiss "Is it masculine, feminine, or neuter ? " or a smile, a kind look, a heartfelt com- “ Can't say, sir, till it's hatched." pliment, and the countless infinitessi. “Well, then, my lad, you can tell me mals of pleasurable thought and genial the case ?” “Oh, yes, the shell, sir.” feeling. .... A sharp old gentleman travelling .... Honesty is strong staff to lean out West, got a seat beside his wife in a upon. crowded car, by requesting the young No man is so learned, but he may | man who sat by her, to "please watch be taught ; neither is any one so illiterate that woman while he went into another but he may teach. car, as she had fits.” .... Benefit your friends that they .... When is a wall like a fish? When may love you still more dearly; benefit it is scaled. your enemies that they may become .... A poor fellow protested to his your friends. girl in the hay-field that his two eyes .... Birds are the poor man's music, had not met together all night for think- flowers the poor man's poetry ; and the ing about her. “Very likely they did rich man is no better off. not,” replied the sweet plague of his life, .... Study as much as you please, "for I see your nose is still between ork your brains to their utmost capaci- them.” your STUDENT AND SdxfolM2 An Illustrated Monthly, FOR OUR BOYS AND GIRLS. Vol. XXII. SEPTEMBER, 1868. No. III. FAME AND FORTUNE, OR THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD HUNTER. CHAPTER XV. THE FRANKLIN STREET STATION-HOUSE. HE station-house to which Dick had been conveyed, is situated in that part of Franklin Street which lies between Centre and Baxter Streets. The last is one of the most wretched streets in the city, lined with miser- able tenement houses, policy shops, and second-hand clothing stores. Whoever passes through it in the evening, will do well to look to the safety of his pocket-book and watch, if he is imprudent enough to carry either in a district where the Ten Commandments are unknown, or unregarded. The station-house is an exception to the prevailing squalidness, being kept with great neatness. Mr. Murdock ascended the steps, and found bimself in a large room, one side of which was fenced off by a railing. Behind this was a desk, at which sat the officer in charge. To him, Mr. Murdock directed himself. Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1868, by JOSEPH H. ALLEN, in the clerk's office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 382 The Student and Schoolmate. 6 If “ Have you a boy named Richard Hunter, in the house ? ” “ Yes,” said the sergeant, referring to his minutes. “ He was brought in this afternoon, charged with picking a gentleman's pocket." “ There is some mistake about this. He is as honest as I am." “ I have nothing to do with that. He will have a fair trial to-morrow morning. All I have to do, is to keep him in safe custody till then.” “ Of course, Where is he?” “ In a cell below.” 66 Can I see him ? " you wish.” The officer summoned an attendant, and briefly ordered him to con- duct Mr. Murdock to Dick's cell. “ This way, sir," said the attendant. Mr. Murdock followed him through a large rear room, which is in- tended for the accommodation of the officers. Then descending some steps into the court-yard, be descended thence into the apartments in the basement. Here are the cells for the temporary detention of offen- ders who are not at once sent to the Tombs for trial. The passages are white-washed, and the cells look very neat. They are on either side, with a grating, so that one passing along can look into them readily. They are probably about seven feet long, by four or five in width. A narrow raised bedstead, covered with a pallet, occupies one side, on which the prisoner can either lie or sit, as he pleases. “ How are you, boss?” asked a negro woman, who had been arrested for drunkenness, swaying forward, as Mr. Murdock passed, and nearly losing her balance as she did so. “ Can't you give me a few cents to buy some supper?” Turning from this revolting spectacle, Mr. Murdock followed his guide to the second cell beyond, where our hero was confined. “ Is it you, Mr. Murdock?” exclaimed our hero, joyfully jumping to his feet. “I am glad to see you." “And I am glad to see you, but I wish it were somewhere else,” said Mr. Murdock. “So do I,” said Dick. “I aint partial to this hotel, though the accom- modations is gratooitous, and the company is very select.” " I see you will have your joke, Dick, even in such a place." “ I don't feel so jolly as I might,” said Dick. “I never was in the station-house before, but I shall be lucky if I don't get sent to a worse place." “ Have you any idea who took the wallet which as found in your pocket ? ” Fame and Fortune. 383 66 “ No," said Dick. "Do you know a boy called Micky Maguire ?” proceeded Mr. Mur- dock. “ Yes,” said Dick, looking up in surprise.“ Micky used to be a great friend of mine. He'd be delighted if he only knew that I was enjoyin' the hospitality of the government." “ He does know it!” said Mr. Murdock, quietly. “ How do you know ?” asked Dick, quickly. “ Because it was he that stole the wallet, and put it in your pocket.” “How did you find out ? ” asked Dick, eagerly. “ Do you know a boy named Tim Ryan ?” “ Yes, he's a good boy." “It was he that brought me your note. He saw the whole proceed- ing.” Why did n't he tell, and stop my bein' arrested, then ? " “ I asked him that, but he said he was afraid Micky would beat him when he found out. But he is a friend of yours, and he stands ready to testify what he knows, at your trial, to-morrow morning.” " That 's lucky,” said Dick, breathing a sigh of relief. “So it was Micky that served me the trick. He always loved me like a brother, Micky did, but I did n't expect he'd steal for my benefit. I'm very much obliged to him, but I'd rather dispense with such little favors another time.” “ You will be surprised to learn that Micky came round to our store this afternoon.” " What for ? ” questioned Dick, in amazement. “I don't know whether he came by accident, or design, but Mr. Gil- bert employed him to black his boots.” “Mr. Gilbert !" “Yes. They seemed to be conversing earnestly, but I was too far off to hear what was said. Finally, Gilbert appeared to get angry, and drove the boy out.” “ That’s strange !” said Dick, thoughtfully. “Mr. Gilbert loves me about as much as Micky does." “Yes, there seems to be some mystery about it. We may find out some time what it is. But here is your friend Fosdick.” “ How are you, Fosdick ? ” hailed Dick from his cell. "I'm holdin' a little levee down here. Did you receive my card of invitation ?” “I've been uneasy all the afternoon, Dick,” said Fosdick. “ Ever since I heard that you were here, I 've been longing to come and see you." 384 The Student and Schoolmate. “ Then you aint ashamed of me, even if I am in the station-house ? " “Of course I know you don't deserve to be here. Tell me all about it. I only got a chance to speak a minute with Tim Ryan, for there were customers waiting.” "I'll tell you all I know myself,” said Dick. “I'm sorry to keep you standing, but the door is locked, and I've accidentally lost the key. So I can't invite you into my parlor, as the spider invited the fly." “ Don't stand on ceremony, Dick. I'd just as lieves stay outside." “So would I," said Dick, rather ruefully. The story was told over again, with such new light as Mr. Murdock had been able to throw upon it. “ It's just like Micky,” said Fosdick. “ He's a bad fellow." “ It was rather a mean trick,” said Dick, “ but he has n't had a very good bringin' up, or maybe he'd be a better boy." That he should have spoken thus, at the moment when he was suffer- ing from Micky's malice, showed a generosity of feeling which was characteristic of Dick. No one was more frank, open, or free from malice than he, though always ready to stand up for his rights when he considered them assailed. It is this quality in Dick, joined to his manly spirit, which makes him a favorite with me, as he is also with you, let me hope, young reader. “ It 'll come out right, Dick," said Fosdick, cheerfully. “ Tim Ryan's testimony will clear you. I feel a good deal better about it now than I did this afternoon, when I did n't know how things were likely to go with you.” “I hope so," said Dick. “ But I'm afraid you won't get any supper, if you stay any longer with me.” “ How about your supper, Dick?” asked Fosdick, with sudden thought. Do they give you any in this establishment ?” “ No," said Dick, “ this hotel 's on the European system, with im- provements. You get your lodgin' for nothing, and nothing to eat along with it. I don't like the system much. I don't think I could stand it more 'n a week without it's hurtin' my constitution.” “I'll go out and get you something, Dick," said Fosdick, " if they 11 allow it. Shall I ?” “Well,” said Dick, “I think I might eat a little, though the place is n't very stimulatin' to the appetite.” “ What sball I bring you?” “I aint particular,” said Dick. Just then the attendant came along, and Fosdick inquired if he would be allowed to bring his friend something to eat. Fame and Fortune. 385 “Certainly," was the reply. “We provide nothing ourselves, as the prisoners only stay with us a few hours." " I'll be right back," said Fosdick. Not far from the station-house, Fosdick found a baker's shop, where he bought some bread and cakes, with which he started to return. As he was nearing the station-house, be caught sight of Micky Maguire hovering about the door. Micky smiled significantly as he saw Fosdick and his burden. “Where are you carryin' that ?” he asked. Why do you ask?” said Fosdick, who could not feel very friendly to the author of Dick's misfortune. "Never mind why,” said Micky. “I know well enough. It's for your friend Dick. How does he like his new lodgins ? ” " How do you like them ? You ’ve been there often enough.” “ Don't be impudent, or I'll lam ye,” said Micky, scowling. As Fosdick was considerably smaller than himself, Micky might have ventured upon an assault, but deemed it imprudent in the immediate vicinity of the station-house. "Give my compliments to Dick,” he said. “I hope he 'll sleep well." To this Fosdick returned no answer, but entering the building, de- scended to Dick's temporary quarters. He passed the bread and cake through the grating, and Dick, cheered by the hope of an acquittal on the morrow, and a speedy recovery of his freedom, partook with a good appetite. “ Can't ye give me a mouthful, boss ?” muttered the negro woman before mentioned, as she caught sight of Fosdick's load. He passed a cake through the grating, which she seized eagerly, and devoured with appetite. "I think I must be going," said Mr. Murdock, consulting his watch, wife and children won't know what has become of me.” "Good-night, Mr. Murdock," said Dick.“ Thank you for your kind- ness." "Good-night, Richard. “ Keep up your courage.” " I'll try to." Fosdick stopped longer. At last he went away, and our hero, left to himself, lay down upon his pallet and tried to get to sleep. 6 or my 386 The Student and Schoolmate. CHAPTER XVI. ROSWELL CRAWFORD RETIRES FROM BUSINESS. “ Can you send this home for me?” asked a lady in Hall & Turner's store about three o'clock in the afternoon of the day on which Dick was arrested. “ Certainly, madam. Where shall it be sent ? ” asked the clerk. “ No. 47, West Fortieth Street,” was the reply. " Very well, it shall be sent up immediately. Here, Roswell.” Roswell Crawford came forward not very willingly. He had no great liking for the task which he saw would be required of him. Fortieth Street was at least a mile and a half distant, and he had already just returned from a walk in a different direction. Besides, the bundle was a large one, containing three dress patterns. He did not think it very suitable for a gentleman's son to be seen carrying such a large bundle through the streets. Why don't you send Edward ?” he said complainingly.He does n't do half as much as I.” “I shall send whom I please," said the clerk, sharply. “You would n't do anything if you could help it.” "I won't carry bundles much longer,” said Roswell. “ You put all the heaviest bundles off upon me.” Roswell's back being turned, he did not observe Mr. Turner, who had come up as he was speaking. “What are you complaining about ? ” asked that gentleman. Roswell turned, and colored a little when he saw his employer. “ What is the matter ? ” repeated Mr. Turner. “Mr. Evans always gives me the largest bundles to carry,” said Ros well. “He is always complaining of having to carry bundles," said the clerk. “He says it is n't suitable work for a gentleman's son.” “I have noticed it,” said Mr. Turner. “ On the whole, I think, Mr. Crawford,” he said with mock deference, “ I think you have mistaken your vocation in entering a dry-goods store. I advise you to seek some more gentlemanly employment. At the end of the week, you are at liberty to leave my employment for one better suited to you." "I'm ready to go now," said Roswell, sulkily. “ Very well; if you desire it, I will not insist upon your remaining. If you will come up to the desk, you shall receive what is due you." It was somewhat humiliating to Roswell to feel that his services were so readily dispensed with. Still he had never liked the place, and heart- Fame and Fortune. 387 66 ily disliked carrying bundles. By going at once, he would get rid of the large bundle to be carried to West Fortieth Street. Congratulating himself, therefore, on the whole, on escaping from what he regarded as a degrading servitude, he walked up to the desk in a dignified manner, and received the wages due him. “I hope you will find some more congenial employment,” said Mr. Turner, who paid him the amount of his wages. “I have no doubt I shall,” said Roswell, loftily. 6 My father was a gentleman, and our family has considerable influence.” “ Well, I wish you success. Good-bye.” Good-bye,” said Roswell, and walked out of the shop with head erect. He did not quite like going bome at once, as explanation would be rather awkward under the circumstances. He accordingly crossed over to Fifth Avenue, considering that the most suitable promenade for a gentleman's son. He could not help regarding with some envy the happy possessors of the elegant buildings which he passed. Why had partial Fate denied him that fortune which would have enabled him to live in this favored locality. "Plenty of snobs have got money," he thought. “How much better I could use it than they! I wish I were rich! You would n't catch me slaving my life out in a dry-goods store, or any other." This was undoubtedly true. Work of any kind had no charms for Roswell. To walk up the avenue swinging a dandy cane, dressed in the height of the fashion, or, what was better yet, sitting back luxuriously in an elegant carriage drawn by a dashing span ; such was what he re- garded himself most fit for. But, unfortunately, he was not very likely to realize his wishes. The desire to enjoy wealth does n't bring it, and the tastes of a gentleman are not a very good stock to begin life with. So Roswell sauntered along in rather a discontented frame of mind until he reached Madison Park, where he sat down on a bench, and listlessly watched some boys who were playing there. “ Hallo, Roswell,” said one of his acquaintances, coming up by chance, * How do you happen to be here ?” Why should n't I be here?” “ I thought you were in a store somewhere on Sixth Avenue.” “Well I was, but I have left it.” " When did you leave it?” “ To-day.” “ Got sacked, hey?” Sacked,” in the New York vernacular, means discharged from a 66 388 The Student and Schoolmate. place. The idea of having it supposed that he had been “sacked," was not pleasing to Roswell's pride. He accordingly answered: “I never was “sacked' in my life. Besides, it's a low word, and I never use it." “ Well, you know what I mean. Did they turn you off?” “No, they did n't. They would have been glad to have me stay." Why did n't you, then ?” “ I did n't like the business." Dry goods, was n't it?” “Yes, a retail dry-goods' store. If I ever go into that line again, it'll be in a wholesale store. There's a chance there for a man to rise.” “ You don't call yourself a man yet, do you ?” "I call myself a gentleman,” said Roswell, shortly. “ What are you going to do now ?” “I'm in no hurry about a new place. I shall look round a little." “Well, success to you. I must be getting back to the shop.” “ What are you doing?” “I'm learning a trade.” “O!” said Roswell, turning up his nose slightly, which was quite easy for him to do, as nature had given that organ an upward turn. He thought all trades low, and resolved hereafter to hold as little com- munication as possible with the boy who had so far demeaned himself as to be learning one. That was worse than being in a dry-goods store, and carrying around bundles. Toward six o'clock Roswell rose from his seat, and sauntered towards Clinton Place, which was nearly a mile distant. He entered the house a little before dinner. “ Are you not earlier than usual, Roswell ? ” asked his mother. “ I've left the store,” he said abruptly. “ Left the store! " echoed his mother, in some dismay. Why?” 6. Because they don't know how to treat me. It's no fit place for a gentleman's son.” “I am sorry, Roswell,” said Mrs. Crawford, who, like her son, was “poor and proud,” and found the four dollars he earned weekly of advan- tage. “I am afraid you have been foolish.” Listen, mother, and I'll tell you all about it,” he said. Roswell gave his explanation, which, it need hardly be said, was very favorable to himself, and Mrs. Crawford was finally brought to believe that Hall & Turner were low people, with whom it was not suitable for one of her son's gentlemanly tastes to be placed. His vindication 66 Fame and Fortune. 389 66 was scarcely over when the bell rang, and his cousin Gilbert was admitted. Mr. Gilbert entered briskly, and with a smiling face. He felt unusu- ally complacent, having succeeded in his designs against our hero. Well, James,” said Mrs. Crawford, “ you look in better spirits than I feel.” “ What's happened amiss ?” " Roswell has given up his place." “ Been discharged, you mean.” “No,” said Roswell, “ I left of my own accord.” “ What for?” “1 don't like the firm, nor the business. I wish I were in Mr. Rock- well's.” “Well,” said Gilbert, “ perhaps I can get you in there.” “ Has the boot-black left?” " He 's found another place,” said Gilbert, smiling at what he regarded as a good joke. " You don't mean to say he has left a place where he was earning ten dollars a week ?” said Mrs. Crawford, in surprise. Where is this new place that you speak of?” " In the station-house." “ Is he in the station-house?” asked Roswell, eagerly. “That is what I hear.” “ What is he been doing ?” “Charged with picking a pocket." “Well, I do hope Mr. Rockwell will now see his folly in engaging a boy from the streets,” said Mrs. Crawford, charitably concluding that there was no doubt of our hero's guilt. " What 'll be done with him, cousin James ? " asked Roswell. “ He 'll be sent to the Island, I suppose.” He may get clear.” “I think not. Circumstances are very much against him, I hear." " And will you try to get me in, cousin James ?” “I'll do what I can. Perhaps it may be well for you to drop in to- morrow about ten o'clock." “ All right, I 'll do it.” Both Mrs. Crawford's and Roswell's spirits revived wonderfully, and Mr. Gilbert, too, seemed unusually lively. And all because poor Dick had got into difficulties, and seemed in danger of losing both his place and his good name. " It's lucky I left Hall & Turner's just as I did !” thought Roswell, 390 The Student and Schoolmate. complacently. “May be they'd like to engage the boot-black when he gets out of prison. But I guess he 'll have to go back to blacking boots. That's what he's most fit for." Horatio Alger, Jr. Boran AN AIR STORY. an Castor YHIMNEY-ELF! Chimney-elf! Come down and tell me a story !” called Rhody, up the wide, black chimney. It was a bright, hot August afternoon. The farmer and his men were the reaping-field, whence their cheery voices, the bark of old Nero, and the creak of the wagon wheels as the load was slowly driven off the field, came pleasantly upon the lazy air. Susy, Rhody's elder sister, had gone to a neighbor's of an errand, and was not likely to return until it was time to get supper for her father and the men. So Rhody, the cat, and three big blue flies, bouncing and buzzing in the window- pane, had the house to themselves. Rhody had dressed the cat in a shawl and hood, bad caught the flies and let them go again, after admir- ing their diamond eyes and gauzy wings, had set her own chamber in nicest order, and taken a peep into the shut-up parlor, where everything looked so cold and stiff, that she closed the door in a great hurry, quite willing, for once, to obey Susy and keep away from it for the future. As for books, in the time and place where Rhody lived, people did not have books as we do, and the little girl did not possess a single volume of her own, except her little Bible, her school-books, and a volume of the The Pilgrim's Progress, which she had read so many times that she knew it by heart. So, all other resources failing, Rhody suddenly thought of the chimney-elf, and his marvellous stories, and after care- fully wiping her little bench that it might not soil her clean pink calico frock and white apron, she put it into the chimney-corner, seated her- self upon it, and looking up until she saw a clear blue patch of sky at top of the black tunnel, she softly called : “Chimney-elf! Chimney-elf! Come down and tell me a story !” “ A story, eh?” asked a queer little voice, and looking with all her eyes in its apparent direction, Rhody soon perceived her friend sitting in the mouth of what appeared to be a deep cavern in the solid brick- work of the chimney. He had on a light and airy suit of thistle-down, with a cap of plaited grass pushed back upon his head. Instead of a An Air Story. 391 pipe, he had a bit of straw in his mouth, at which he puffed vigorously in the pauses of his conversation. “You awoke me out of my afternoon nap," said he, rather discontent- edly. “I was lying in the very bottom of my cave, as cool and com- fortable as possible. The air out here is hot enough to - Phew!” And snatching off his grass hat, the elf began to fan himself furiously. “Why,” said Rhody, rather doubtfully, “ I thought you lived in the chimney because you liked to be hot, don't you ?” “ I like to be warm in winter and cool in summer, just like any body else," snapped the chimney-elf, who was evidently cross; but as Rhody looked a little frightened, and rather grieved, he laughed pleasantly, and said : “O well, never mind all that. So you want a story, do you? "Yes, if you please,” said Rhody, timidly. " A story. And what shall it be about? In cold weather, I told you a fire story, in the rainy spring, I told you a water story, and now in this frightful, stagnant heat of summer, I think it will refresh us both to talk about air. Shall I tell you an Air Story ?” "O) yes, an Air Story by all means, and some other day an Earth Story, because that will make all the four elements,” said Rbody. "Four fiddlesticks," replied the chimney-elf, contemptuously. “Don't go to being learned and using big words, or I will plunge to the bottom of my cave and you will never see me again.” "O please don't! I won't again,” pleaded Rhody, and with a queer twinkle in his little bright eyes, the Chimney-elf turned the straw in his mouth, and abruptly began his story. “ The Captain's balloon was finished ” “ Don't be angry, Chimney-elf, but if you could just tell me who the Captain was," suggested Rhody, in a frightened voice. The Chimney- elf cast a terrible look at her, hesitated a moment, and then mildly replied: “ I dare say you can't help it; but it is such bad manners to interrupt people! However the Captain was a man who having sailed the sea in ships for half his life, spent the other half in trying to sail the air in balloons a kind of voyaging neither so sensible or so profitable. But in spite of all advice, the Captain gave bimself over to the balloon fever, and finally had one made for himself op such a delightful new principle, which was to do what no balloon had ever done before, and make the fortune and reputation of its inventor all at one blow. This was what the balloon was expected to do, · what the balloon did do, we shall see. “ The balloon was finished, and the day had come when it was to 392 The Student and Schoolmate. - make its first ascent. It had been carried with the greatest tenderness, as if it were a young baby, or a sick woman, to a vacant lot near the Captain's pretty country-house, and after the basket-car had been se- curely tied down with ropes, the balloon part was inflated with gas, and from a very flibby and disorderly looking pile of cords and oiled silk, it rapidly assumed the look of a gigantic yellow soap-bubble, caught in a net such as girls wear on their heads, and lay tossing and rolling above the car, as if it felt in the greatest hurry to be off. 6. The Captain had invited two or three gentlemen, of his own bal- loony turn of mind, to go up with him, and they had consented, which is another proof of the good old saying that the fools are not all dead yet. Besides the gentleman, the Captain had invited two cats, a small dog, and three pigeons, in a cage, to be of the party, not to mention his son and only child, a young gentleman of ten years old, and of a very in- quiring turn of mind. His name was Nelson, - named after the great admiral, whom he did not as yet particularly resemble, except in being afraid of nothing. This young gentleman's mother had died while be was still an infant, which accounts for the want in his character of that obedience, and thoughtfulness, and docility which all boys with mothers are so sure to display. It accounts also for his being permitted to go up in the balloon, which, surely, no mother in her senses would have per- mitted on any account. But then, mothers are not apt to run balloon mad. Well, the balloon was ready ; the cats, the dog, the pigeons, and the provisions were all in ; the gentlemen stood waiting while the Captain ran back to the house for something forgotten, when Nelson, who had been in and out of the car a dozen times, clambered in again, and stood leaning out of one of the square windows, a little below the edge of the basket. ** Take care Master Nelson,' said one of the workmen, anxiously. You had better wait for your father, for all the ropes are cast off, but this one, and she may break away any minute, with this fresh breeze.' 6. All cut but that one ? Then, here goes to cut that, too, and have a jolly old sail by myself ?' “ And before any one really knew what the little wretch was about, he had leaned over and cut the last rope close up to the basket.' “At this moment, the Captain, panting and breathless, rushed upon the field, and seeing what his graceless" son was about, uttered a shout, and, with one great leap, attempted to throw bimself into the car. He failed in this, but caught at a rope dangling from it, just as the balloon, parting the last strand of the half-cut. tie, sprang up into the air with a 66 An Air Story. 393 bound like a rubber ball. The Captain clung fast, the spectators shouted with horror and fright, calling to him to drop before it was too late, and giving various other bits of advice with all the wisdom that people out of a scrape generally show toward those who are in it. But the Captain paid not the least attention to any of them. In fact, it took nearly all his attention, and quite all his strength, to retain his hold of the rope, to which he clung, which was but a bit half-inch, hardly stout enough to hang a man by. “Nelson, meantime, half frightened to death at his own audacity, and the other half delighted, kept running from one window of the car to another, looking down at the shouting crowd below, and noticing, with delight, how rapidly they grew from men to children, from children to babies, and finally blended in a writhing, parti-colored mass of humanity with no distinct form remaining. “ «My! Aint this jolly !' exclaimed Master Nelson, leaning so far out of the window as to very nearly lose his balance, in which case, he would have returned to earth head first, and even more swiftly than he had left it, which fact, though sad, would have been, as we must agree, no worse than he deserved. “ However, he did not lose his balance, but was just retiring to the interior of the car, after a prolonged view of the world below, when a panting voice called him by name. " " Nelson !' “ The namesake of the great admiral leaped from the bench to the centre of the car, and looked about him. Who could have called! It was not the dog, or the cat, or the pigeons, or the clouds, and except these the boy had supposed himself alone in mid-air. But while he stood staring, and a little frightened, if the truth must be told, the call was repeated. *• Nelson! Nelson, I say!' “ • Why that 's father's voice, any way !' exclaimed the lad, and still very much puzzled, he hallooed in reply: “6 Pa! Are you calling me?' * * Yes, you young rascal,' panted the Captain, who was getting tired, and would never have held on so long bad he not been brought up a sailor, and accustomed early to stand upon nothing and cling by his eyelids to its shadow. 66 • Why, where are you, pa ?' shouted Nelson, running to a window and craning out until it is the greatest possible wonder that he did not drop. But still he could not see the Captain, who was very nearly under his feet at the bottom of the basket. 394 The Student and Schoolmate. «« Where are you, pa ?' repeated Nelson, staring about him as if he expected to see his father come sailing through the air upon a pair of wings, like a huge bat. «* Where am I !' replied the Captain, angrily. “Why, dragging my arms out bolding on to a rope here at the bottom of the basket, and no thanks to you if I get out of the scrape with a whole bone in my body. You won't, I promise you, if I once get hold of you.' “ At this cheerful promise, Nelson began to look a little blank, but as, on the whole, he was a good boy, and very fond of his father, he made no reply to the threat, but asked instead : 66 6 What shall I do to help you, father?' " • Do what any fool does when a man's overboard - throw him & line,' growled the Captain, savagely. « Well, I will, if there is one. 0 yes, here is a whole coil! But how shall I get it to you, father?' « • Make one end fast inside the car, and see that you do make it fast. Then coil the other end, and make a cast under the car with it. But look alive, boy, for a man can get tired of this sort of fun.' « • Hold on tight, pa, and I'll be as quick as I can,' replied Nelson, already knotting the end of the line to one of the wooden stays wrought into the basket-work of the car, and here the boy showed a coolness and good sense which should, in some degree, make up for his many faults. For, instead of making fast his rope to the edge of the car, which would have been his easiest course, he selected a brace in the bottom of the basket, made fast his line and passed the other end out of one of the windows. “. But why was that any better ?' asked Rhody, in a puzzled tone. “ . Because, you simple child, if the rope had been tied to the edge of the basket, the Captain's weight attached to the other end of it would have at once upset basket, boy, live stock, and the whole concern, don't you see? Whereas, as Nelson arranged it, the principal pull came upon the centre of the car-floor, which was just as it should be. “Well, having prepared his coil, Nelson leaned out of the window, hallooed : 66 Look out now, pa! It's a coming !' and gave the coil as vigorous a throw beneath the car as he could manage. It missed aim, however, and he tried it again and again. He was coiling it up for the fourth toss, when the Captain spoke in a quick, gasping voice, quite unlike his own. * • Nelson, boy ! I can't stand it any longer. I've got to drop, unless - there's a trap in the bottom of the car see if you can get the bight of a rope round me through there. Quick now!' An Air Story. 395 “For the first time, the boy felt that his father was in deadly peril. Hitherto he had regarded the whole matter in the light of merely a dangerous frolic, and had been all his life so accustomed to see his father take all sorts of risks with a cool courage which always carried him through unharmed, that he was not easily to be surprised or frightened. Now, however, he felt that affairs were serious, and that his father's life, not to mention his own, of which indeed he did not think, depended upou the next few moments. “ He grew very pale, and drew his breath quickly, but as rapidly as possible he removed the heap of coats, baskets, instruments and various matters which had been thrown into the car at the last moment, found and opened the trap in the bottom, and leaned down to look through it. The Captain hung by his hands within a foot of the trap, and Nelson never forgot the look upon his father's face, when he first caught sight of it. Besides the terrible strain upon the muscles inevitable to his posi- tion, the Captain was already feeling the inconvenience of breathing the thin, light air of the region to which the balloon had ascended, and in which also his own body grew, to appearance, far heavier than it was upon the ground. For I suppose you know that the farther we ascend from the earth, whether in a balloon, or on a mountain, the less air we find to breathe, until at last we reach, about three miles from the earth, a point where there is no perceptible atmosphere, and where conse- quently, no breathing can be done. Another peculiarity of this thin, or as it is called, rarefied atmosphere, is, that everything appears to grow heavier than usual, and a handful of feathers thrown from a balloon into the air, or where the air ought to be, would drop like so many bullets. “ However, all this belongs to Natural Philosophy, which study, if you did but know it, my dear, is far more interesting than Fairy Tales, and we must get back to the Captain, who with purple face, starting eyes, clenched teeth, and great veins knotted upon his forehead, and his almost lifeless hands and arms, looked a frightful object to the son who stared helplessly at him for a moment through the trap in the bottom of the balloon. But the Captain's lips moved, his eyes turned upon the boy, and became more human, and out of his heaving and convulsed chest came the hoarse whisper : Quick, Nelson! Save me, boy!' “Yes, father,' replied the hoy, and baby though he was in years, no man could have gone more steadily, or more rationally to work, to obey that terribly pathetic command from almost dying lips. “Snatching at the rope he had already made fast inside the basket, Nelson doubled a portion of it near to the fastened end, and anchoring 396 The Student and Schoolmate. . himself inside the car by passing his foot behind one of the braces, be dropped the upper part of his body and his arms through the trap, hold- ing in one hand the loop of rope, and in the other the coil containing the other end. By leaning very far out, he found that he could reach around his father's body, and although his own head swam and throbbed as if it would burst, and he perfectly well knew that he was in a position of awful peril, the brave little fellow never faltered or hesitated, but holding on to life by that one foot caught behind the brace, he leaned still farther out, passed the doubled rope around his father's body just below the arms, passed the coil through the loop, drew it up firmly, and then with a last desperate effort, regained his own position inside the car, and fell upon the floor, blind, giddy, and breathless, but still cling- ing to the coil of rope. “ He had saved his father, however, for at the very moment that the slip-noose was made fast about him, the Captain lost the gleam of con- An Air Story 397 sciousness to which he had clung with such desperation, and now hung a lifeless weight at the bottom of the car. But Nelson's work was not as yet complete, and after drawing two or three heavy, sobbing breaths, he rose to his knees and proceeded to knot the end of the rope which he still held, to another stay, so that both portions should do their duty in supporting his father's body. “ This finished, the boy's next anxiety was how to preserve, not only his father's, but his own life from the new danger that surrounded them in the rarefied air, which was fast becoming unbreathable. Already, the blood oozed from the lad's ears and nose, while his eyes had a curious, swollen and strained feeling, as if they had suddenly become too large for their sockets, and were starting from his head. Besides these symp- toms, he felt a dull, heavy throbbing in his temples, a nausea at his stomach, and sharp pains through the lungs, and altogether, we must own, our poor Nelson was paying pretty dearly for his mischievous frokic of running away with his father's balloon. “ But he did not feel badly, alone. The dog and the cat had for some time appeared very uneasy, and at last poor puss, after running rapidly around the basket several times, went into a fit and rushed up the side and over the edge, before Nelson could have prevented her, if he had tried. The dog was less violent, and lay upon the bottom of the car, whining, and occasionally uttering a dismal howl. The doves also ap- peared very uneasy, and Nelson, whose own sufferings made him pitiful, resolved to release them. Holding his aching head with one hand, he opened the cage door with the other, and finding that the birds did not appear to notice it, he put in his band, seized one by the legs, and gave it a toss over the edge of the basket. But to his great surprise, the dove appeared afraid to trust himself to his own wings, and uttering a plaintive and feeble cry, fluttered back to perch upon the edge of the basket. Again and again, Nelson tossed it off, and again and again it fluttered back, until worn out with the struggle and with terror, it dropped lifeless into the bottom of the car. How strange! The poor little fellow knew that this is n't the right sort of air to fly in, any more than it is to breathe,' said Nelson, and then he stooped down to look at his father. Greatly to his delight, he found him slowly reviving, and he hastened to put a mug of water to his lips, and to sprinkle a little in his face. The result was favorable, for in a few moments, the Captain fixed his eyes intelligently upon his son's face, and whispered hoarsely : "Pull the valve-string!' ** What 's that ?' asked Nelson. 398 The Student and Schoolmate. # “A silk string belayed around a cleat on the edge of the basket, and leading up to the bag of the balloon,' whispered the Captain. “ Nelson withdrew to the interior of the car, and presently reappeared at the trap with a beaming, although bloody face. • I have found it,' said he, what shall I do?' “ • Pull it gently. It opens the valve, and lets the gas escape. Don't let out too much. About a minute will be enough, then let it shut.' Yes, father, I understand,' said Nelson, briefly, and proceeded to obey his directions. The effect of opening the valve was immediate. The gas rushed out of the opening with a loud, bissing noise, and the balloon began rapidly to descend. In about a minute, when Nelson allowed the valve to close, it had once more reached a habitable stratum of the atmosphere, and the boy felt the same relief to his lungs, that one experiences after a long dive, in again bringing the head to the sur- face, and drawing a full breath of upper air. «• There, father, will that do?' asked he, with his face at the trap. 66 « Yes, I feel better,' said the Captain, expanding his deep lungs with a groan of relief. “Now if you could get me aboard.' “I've thought of a way, father, only I felt too sick to do it. And perhaps now the pigeon won't come back.' “What pigeon ?' asked the Captain, but Nelson was already busy inside the car. Taking one of the pigeons from the cage, he tied one end of a small cord about three yards long, around its leg, and then reaching out, tied the other end to the cord by which his father was suspended. Then he dropped the pigeon through the trap, and waited anxiously to see what it would do, for the air being now dense enough to support its wings, it was reasonable to expect it to fly away. But just as the pretty creature balanced itself with a few quick strokes of its white pinions, its mate in the cage uttered a plaintive cry, and the dove, no longer thinking of flight, fluttered up and over the edge of the car to perch upon the cage and coo to its inmate. Full of delight, Nelson seized him, untied the cord from his leg, and set him at liberty, while he carefully tied the end of the cord to the rim of the basket. Then he went to the trap and told his father what he had done. “ • Smart boy!' said the Captain. Now all you have to do, is to make one end of your stoutest line fast round my waist, and by means of your cord, carry the other end over the edge of the basket, and belay it inside. Then cast off this other lashing, and let me go, without too much of a jerk. After that, I'll look out for myself.' Quickly and carefully, the boy, who had already formed the same plan, carried out these directions, and five minutes later, the Captain, Each has a Use. 399 climbing the rope hand over hand, tumbled into the car, and after a mo- ment to recover his breath, declared himself as good as new. He at once assumed control of the balloon, and the excursion, after all, turned out a very pleasant one. Just at sunset, the Captain made a fortunate descent in a town not twenty miles from home, where he and Nelson safely arrived in course of the next day, much to the relief of their anx- ious friends." Mrs. Jane G. Austin. EACH HAS A USE. EAC TACH has a use, throughout Creation's plan To aid, annoy, to serve or torment man; To aid and serve him in his daily life And act his pleasure in its mazy strife ; To gain his bread, contribute to his ease, His path to comfort, or his way to tease ; His step to cheer as on his course extends, A foe it may be, or the best of friends. . The faithful beast, that labors in the field And gives his service for the harvest-yield, Asks no requital save that gentle care That man should render in a liberal share. The beasts of burden have a just demand For kindly treatment from a generous band; No stinted dole, but such as Heaven bestows Alike on those who love him, and his foes ! One beast there lives, who is of some avail, Who four legs hath, two horns, sometimes a tail ! A graceful quadruped, in cities rare And oft unknown to many people there; For folks there are who think it shame to know That useful animal we call a cow! While some there are who'd say you surely dream If you should tell them you HAD TASTED CREAM ! 400 The Student and Schoolmate. For know they well the stuff the milkmen bring But little savors of the lacteal spring; Tho' what it be, scarce one can truly tell, E'en tho one waited by the wayside well. Of this enough ; not mine the task may be To tell the secret ; — that yourselves may see What vile admixtures gather in thy cup, Quaff of the draught, and drink the liquid up; No further seek - avert thy wistful eyes, The adage know, "'t is folly to be wise!” So pass we on. A different beast is that, A well known animal, the household cat, That purring thing, the treacherous, thieving elf, Who steals the sugar from the kitchen shelf, Whole pounds conveys to some strange hiding place With tea and butter that you ne'er can trace Breaks dishes, cups and saucers in a trice, But you forgive her she was hunting mice! In vain you search for fragments you can't find, Sometimes 't is best to follies to be blind; And so you pass these peccadilloes o'er, Sigh and replenish all thy household store ! Ah, luckless cat! some faults are not thine own, Enough thou hast, for which thou must atone ! Who woke the welkin, when on neighboring shed Thy hideous noise aroused me from my bed, And made sweet sleep a stranger to mine eyes Till I could see the glorious morning rise, And all but curse the upward, soaring sun For all the wrong that only thee had done? Again pass on. See bounding o'er the way That blest companion, 't is the faithful Tray! Friend of my youth, in many a wayward hour You robbed my tyrant gloom of half its power; While the long task I conned at noontide heat With thee outstretched in waiting at my feet, You taught a lesson I may ne'er forget Tho' time rolls on, may I remember yet 'T was TO BE PATIENT, underneath the ills 402 The Student and Schoolmate. Approach no nearer, if we prize our ease Towards skunks or chinches, or the hopping fleas. What niche these fill, what purpose in the scheme We may not know; they pass our wildest dream! Once more we turn, where REASON guides the way Beyond the instinct of the baser clay. See man erect, the image of his God Sustained and cherished by Omniscient pod ! Made for some use, some station born to fill But yet subjective to his Maker's will. Whate'er bis color, race, or nation's name, To heaven alike he holds a mortal's claim! We know not which shall best acceptance find For God no difference makes in human kind; Each has his use, and each a part to bear In the grand system of Immortal Care ! Geo. F. Thayer. How Fred's Wish came True. 403 HOW FRED'S WISH CAME TRUE. N the parlor hung a portrait of a sunny-faced boy, with merry eyes and lips, just breaking into smiles. One could hardly believe it meant to represent the little fellow standing beneath it, his brow all wrinkles, his lips pouted out in the sullenest way. Yet it was even he, and those who had seen him in a happy mood, only with dimples play- ing hide-and-go-seek in his rosy cheeks, called it a “speaking likeness." But now Fred was in disgrace. His uncle had sent a portly box full of toys, curiosities, and sweet-meats to Fred, who was his namesake, and the selfish boy had feasted on the one, and arranged the others in his cabinet, utterly regardlesss of the gray, brown, and black eyes that wist- fully followed his every movement. He sbouted out all sorts of direc- tions and exclamations with a mouth full of taffy, and amid the craunch- ing and crackling of rainbow-hued sweet-meats. He laughed that Uncle Fred should send a box of tiu soldiers to so big a boy as be, and wondered at an extra copy of " Robinson Crusoe.” He almost knocked little Ada over, as he ran to show his mother a tea- set, - a "regular girl's plaything," Fred declared. He never noticed the brown fingers that were thrust into four small mouths, and the bands that wiped away secret tears, as the hope that Fred would“ go shares,” died in four, fluttering, childish hearts. Bat mamma noticed it all, and she read the selfish boy a grave lecture on the hatefulness and wickedness of greed. And Fred did not take her reproof kindly, but sulked and muttered that “ he wished there were no young ones in the world. He wished - yes, truly and solemnly, he did wish that he might have every thing himself, and never with any one. Fred went to rest in no enviable mood, and was presently awakened by a little, bent, old man dressed in small clothes. A long, silvery beard fell over his breast, and he leaned upon a crutch, and his face bore a strange resemblance to that of Fred's generous uncle. He eyed Fred severely. “ Your wish is fulfilled,” he said ; " you shall have all you want, and never go shares’ again.” Frightened, and delighted, too, Fred wished that he might be dressed like a prince, have a nice horse, and go off to seek his fortune. Suddenly, he found himself covered by a splendid suit of armor, a helmet, while a long floating plume was upon his head, a sword clanked at his side, and his breast sparkled with the rich insignia of office and honors. go shares” 404 The Student and Schoolmate. At the gate stood a handsome steed pawing the ground impatiently. Fred sprang upon his back, and rode off, fleet as the wind, without one backward glance at the homestead he was leaving, perhaps forever. On, and on, he rode in the higbest spirits for an hour or more, and then he entered a beautiful wood, with birds on nearly every tree. “Oh! for a gun,” said Fred; and re, right his side, was a nice little rifle. He fired again, and again, selected the plumpest that fell, tied them to his saddle, and rode on, leaving many for the next comer to pick up. “I would like to rest,” he said, and there stood a little cottage right before him. He dismounted, and knocked at the door ; but no one an- swered his summons, so in he went. He threw his game upon the kitchen table, and searched for the occupants of the cottage. It was nicely furnished, and evidently inhabited, but no one was visible. “I would like to get my birds cooked, and have my horse attended to, while I rest," said Fred. A pleasant odor drew him to the dining-room ; there were his birds steaming upon the table, nicely boiled, broiled, roasted, and stewed, and every sort of delicacy served with them; yet, no human being appeared. Fred feasted alone, and then fell asleep upon a soft lounge. When he woke, the table was cleared, yet, still, he was alone. “ I wonder how Blackamoor bas fared ?” he said. “I wish he was watered, fed, and groomed, and at the door.” No sooner said than done, and mounting again, Fred galloped off. Now, over hard sea-sands, now, by a rippling river, over hill-tops, and through valleys, he rode, but everywhere through the most enchant- ingly picturesque scenery. At nightfall, he reached a city, large and handsome, but utterly deso- late of inhabitants. Every store was open and unguarded. Fred might load himself with jewelry, fill his pockets from a hundred deserted money 7-drawers, feast at the confectioners and restaurants, or carry off a load of rich velvets, silks, and laces. But what was the use of such en- cumbrances, when he could have anything by merely wishing for it? A stately hotel attracted him, empty, like the whole city, of occu- pants. He wandered through the beautiful rooms, ate, drank, and slept ; but he felt oppressed by a terrible sense of loneliness. He played a solitary game of croquet ; he sang, accompanying himself on the grand piano ; he tried a flute and violin, but the sounds seemed only to make silence audible, and he mounted his horse again, and rode on to drive away thought. At first, the novelty of his life, and a boy's love of adventure, made How Fred's Wish came True. 405 his solitary state tolerable. He had but to wish, and he was in any corner of the globe. He wandered over Europe, he explored every part of the Holy Land, he searched the wilds of Africa. All the treas- ures of the East were open to him. Sometimes be dressed himself in the splendid attire of a Turkish Pacha, sometimes in the finery of a Chinese Mandarin. He had every luxury at his command, but no companion. This was the little cloud - this sense of loneliness that was to overcast his whole sky. He gathered much useful information concerning the life and man- ners of all nations ; he discovered many rare and curious things, but this could not satisfy his heart. What was the good of the biggest piece, if there were no one to take the smaller ? What pleasure could one find in gay clothing, with no one to admire, or to whom he might say: : “I am finer than you ? ” Half the pleasure of his discoveries and his adventures was gone, with no one to hear the story of them. At first, he longed for humble admirers and obsequious slaves, but, at length, be would have been glad of a Mordecai, even, to refuse him homage. As the sea opened, that the children of Israel might pass through dry- shod, so that great stream, called life, opened before, and closed after Fred. As he drew near a' city he would hear the plash of oars, the rumble of wheels, street cries, and all the whir and hum of business. At his entrance the factory wheels would be scarcely stilled, fires burned in the furnaces, and sometimes he saw a cloud of dust following some retreat- ing carriage. But a human hand never grasped his, a fellow creature never hade him welcome. The very animals avoided him; no dog would feed from his hand; kittens forgot their play, and ran affrighted at his approach. Some- times, from over exertion, or imprudence, he felt ill, and then it was not the nursing of a devoted mother, the care of friends, or advice of a kind physician, that restored him. It was his own selfish wish only, and the a black art at best. Sometimes, he wished for music, and a grand, invisible orchestra played martial strains, pathetic airs, and merry dancing measures that made him saddest of all. His terrible sense of solitude grew, and grew, until it came to be a haunting burden, from which he tried to escape. He felt like Cain an outcast and wanderer. aid of magic 406 The Student and Schoolmate. He dared not pray; a world of enchantment was pot God's world, and his daily bread, dainty as it was, did not seem the gift of Heaven. If it was not his Heavenly Father who watched over him, what was the power that kept him ? Was it wholly evil? He had heard of those who had their goods in this world; he had many things for which men fight and strive as “good.” Would the power that kept him now desert him at last ? Could any enchantment keep off death, and what could it do hereafter ? These were some of the thoughts that filled his mind, and made him wretched. To drive them away, he fished, hunted, rode, ate, slept, and wandered on, and on, in his splendid exile, miserable. At last he devoted himself wholly to searching for a comrade. In the hope of surprising some toiling convict or lonely wayfarer, he descended mines, sailed over seas, braved arctic snows, and torrid suns, and desert sands, but all in vain. His thoughtless, selfish wish was horribly fulfilled. He wished never to “go shares” again, and now he sought, with a consuming eagerness, some one — no matter how ignorant, poor, and wretched — to share bis all for time, hopes, fears, joys, and sorrows. At last he threw himself upon the green turf, weary and discouraged. He thought of home, of the brothers and sisters who would have every- thing now - all his hoarded treasures without sharing with him; he thought how they would miss him, pray for, and love him, though he had been such a selfish brother. He thought of his mother, of her gentle face saddened by his behav- ior, and her words of tender rebuke, and then he wept aloud, and wrung bis hands in an agony of remorse. “ Mother,” he sobbed. A gentle hand touched his, and her familiar voice, in accents of alarm, asked : “ What is it Fred? Are you sick ?” “Oh! mother, forgive me,” cried the big boy, thoroughly subdued. “I've been a bad, brutal brother, and a selfish son. All you said was true, and more than true. The children shall have all that Uncle Fred sent. Ada shall have the tea-set, and I'll give Will my cabinet. I will, mother. I won't keep a single thing myself, until I can learn not to make an idol of knick-knacks. I think the good-will of a - bear is worth all the treasures in the world. I'll try to be a better boy. Kiss me; good night, mother. Won't the young ones be pleased! I wish it were morning now. Good night, mother." May Leonard. - 408 The Student and Schoolmate. « Well, ye 66 for the night? Don't say no,” he added in bis pleasantest tone of voice, “ because we are very tired.” The man hesitated. “ Ye aint peddlers, be ye ?” he inquired. “ Penniless ? oh no! we will pay you whatsoever you ask,” said Fe- lix, who had misunderstood the word. But I, seeing that the man had glanced at our knapsacks, explained that we were walking the country for pleasure. look like smart sort of chaps. I'll see what the women have to say about it.” He turned to consult two very sober-looking matrons, who had stood the while gazing at us over his shoulder; and during the colloquy, we remained in some anxiety, fearing that our destiny hung upon a very slender thread indeed. But much to our joy, they were finally made willing to take us into their home, and it was not long before we were seated in comfort by the kitchen fire, talking with the old man, while supper was being prepared. According to his statement, it seems that snow had fallen here in the forenoon though it was now quite melted away. Grazing is our salvation,” said he, “and that will be all the better for so much snow.” The Hoosac Tunnel was brought up as a subject for discourse, and he talked much against the enterprise. “Peo- ple say that the reason I am down on it, is because I own stock in the railroad here; but 't is n't so. The time is coming when they won't be able to get a man to work for them, so many feet down in the earth. They pay them once a month,” continued he, “ so as to be sure of one month's work at least; and I had a workman come and work on my farm, after he had worked for them a month, and nothing would hire him to go back again." As we were going to the Tunnel, I felt an interest in all he said about it, but to Felix, who, by this time, was nearly asleep over the stove, the topic proved uninteresting, so I changed the subject, and in- quired about the deserted houses. “ They were left empty," he said, " by families emigrating West. All the real New England people are going away, and foreigners come to take their place. An Irishman can live, you know, if he only gets a piece of land to raise potatoes on. The Germans, however, go West; they buy land cheap of the government, settle, and grow up with the country.” “ Is this your granddaughter, sir ? ” I asked, taking on my knee a lit- tle round-faced girl of four years, whose large, bright eyes had been for some time looking up into my face. “ What is your name, child ?” “Nellie Bannister,” she answered, and then added in the same breath, 410 The Student and Schoolmate. soon asleep. Knowing well my friend's proclivity to sleep on any occa- sion, I had come prepared for this, and taking out my paper and writing materials, commenced a letter for home. And thus employed, for a little while we presented an unusual sight, perhaps, to the country folks rid- ing past us, on their way to church. It was in this part of the country we passed a very singular kind of fence by the road-side, made by connecting the trunks of willow trees together with slats of wood, around which the trunks had swelled, and were again sprouting upwards. The day was sunshiny and cloudy, by turns. There were two roads to the next town, of Windsor, and we chose the older road, as being the more attractive. From this road we took a drawing of Greylock, in the distance before us, and then stopped GREYLOCK FROM THE OLD ROAD TO WINDSOR to have a lunch of bread and milk, at a little house by the way-side. It was here, I recollect, a grown-up girl sat looking at us continually, with open mouth and staring eyes. She seemed to us to be a very remarka- ble specimen of back-country, and doubtless we seemed to her to be city specimens quite as interesting. It was evident, at any rate, that she had never been on Broadway, or Washington Street. Mount Pleasant, situated between Hinsdale and Windsor, was now Travels among the Mountains. 411 before us, our road leading directly over the summit. The woman where we had taken lunch, said she did n't know “ what they called it Mount Pleasant for; it was unpleasant enough to climb,” she was sure. By walking slowly, however, we found the ascent easy, and there was a view from the top, which well repaid us. The whole Berkshire range of hills could be seen around, extending north and south ; and the peaks of the Catskill arose in the west, behind the mists and fogs of the Hudson River. We sat here to look at the scenery, and to rest, the greater part of the afternoon, until, becoming conscious of the late hour and empty stomach, we descended towards Windsor, and stopped for the night at a nice farm-house, the first one to which we came. Several anecdotes were here told to us about this ancient town, and in particular, was mentioned the story about an old man, who had pro- phesied fifty years ago, on bis death-bed, that Windsor would become a " howling wilderness, inhabited only by bears." Since which time, the decadence of the place had been gradual, but sure, seeming to show that the prophecy may be literally coming to pass. There is a district school in Windsor, which, for the last four years, has had only one scholar, aud during that time the teacher has been paid the usual salary of coun- try teachers, which is twenty-six dollars a month. There is a railway in contemplation, I believe, the route of which has already been surveyed through the town ; and the inhabitants look forward to this as the only hope in the future, for building up the place. Having had our imagination excited by such tales as these, we started again on our way, the next morning, with curiosity all aroused, to see the town. It was in truth, an ancient settlement, and to one who enters there for the first time, it presents the appearance of a deserted village. There is no life whatever, unless we except a few timid hens, which, as we approached, and while we were yet quite a distance from them, ex- hibited more than usual anxiety to get on the other side of the fence. The roads all seem too wide, and when devoid of mud, are mostly grass- grown, like the fields. In the centre of the village, however, where the dilapidated and ghostly houses are a little more numerous than on the outskirts, we found the cross-roads so muddy, that we were fain to cling to the sides of the stone-wall, as we picked our way along. We left some letters here, at a corner store, which answered for a post-office, and where were sold a few of the necessities of life, such as groceries, dry goods, and books. They there told us that the mail-coach passed every day, but it spite of this, I never expected to hear of the arrival of our letters home. 412 The Student and Schoolmate. Before descending the valley, we took a last drawing of Greylock, being as near that mountain as we probably should be. For our course was now away from it, and led eastward, towards Savoy. R. A. C. T VIEW PROM WINDSOR HILL. Homepa SOMETHING BESIDES MONEY WANTED. A FRENCHMAN of immense wealth, fitted up a most gorgeous palace in Paris. A gentleman who obtained leave to visit it, relates that upon entering the dining-room, he found a table magnificently laid out. “ Your master,” he observed to the maitre d'hotel, makes wonderfully good cheer.” “ Alas, sir, my master never sits down to a regular dinner; a single plate of vegetables is prepared for him.” “Here at least is food for the eye,” said the visitor, pointing to the pictures. “ Alas, sir, my master is nearly blind.” “ Well,” resumed the visitor, on entering another room,“ he compen- sates himself by listening to good music." “ Alas, sir, my master has never heard the music which is played here; he goes to bed early, in the hope of snatching a few minutes' sleep." “ But at all events, he enjoys the pleasure of walking in that magni- ficent garden." “ Alas, sir, he cannot walk.” In a word, for all purposes of enjoyment, the millionaire was the poorest of the poor. Count Eberhard's Crusade. . 413 COUNT EBERHARD'S CRUSADE. Oathe ove borunte Eberhard's sires. N the steep side of a German mountain stood Waldburg, the Above were craggy peaks and precipices covered with forests and crowned with glistening snow- wreaths ; while, by the edge of a mountain torrent that leaped in foam and sparkle from rock to rock, the steep pathway led down into the quiet valley. There the peasant's cottages nestled peacefully on the border of the brook, which now wound its way with placid, cheery sing- ing amidst the forget-me-nots and adges on its borders, mirroring the blue sky and the floating clouds in the crystal surface, and stealing gently to the embrace of the great river that should bear it on to mingle its little rill of fresh, happy, mountain life with the great ocean. For many years, Count Eberhard's family had held this tower and the lands about it, waging fierce warfare with the beasts of the forest and the neighboring barons, setting forth at their Emperor's bidding to contend with their country's foes, or leading their long train of serfs and retainers to the toilsome marches and hard-fought battles of the Crusades. And now in the castle, dwelt an old knight with his aged dame and the little Eberhard, their dead daughter's only child. Eberhard's father, a scion of the same house, had fallen in battle, when his son was still an infant, and bis mother, the Countess Hilde- garde, had died a few years before, worn out by long watching. The young Count loved to wander in the dark, old forest, where the sunlight fell scantily through the tall trees, and listen to the birds’ singing, or watch the timid wild animals that learned not to flee from his approach ; to sit at the foot of the water-fall, and look up at the rush- ing, dancing waters, as they dashed from rock to rock, crowning them- selves with coronals of foam, and shouting aloud with their gay, glad voices; anon he fancied that the water-fairies, of whom his nurse told him so many pleasant things, laughed out at him amid the falling drops, and sprinkled them in his face in their merry play. For the child peo- pled all the world about him with fairy forms; elves lurked in cups of flowers, or danced upon the greensward in the summer moonlight; in every brook and lake dwelt the Neckan, who, in the evening twilight, sat upon the shore, playing on his golden harp, and singing such sweet, sad songs, that his hearers could not choose but weep. Poor Neckan, sighing through the long, weary years for help to gain a soul. The rich bues of the sunset sky were banners Aoating from the battlements 414 The Student and Schoolmate. of elfin castles, and in the forest depths the were-wolf's howl and the fierce baying and trampling of the spectral hunt, rang fearfully through the deep silence of the wintry midnight. But as he grew older, he loved better to hear stories that his grand- sire told him of the brave deeds of his knightly ancestors, and the fairy tales found a less attentive auditor, as he listened eagerly to the legends of distant warfare and strange adventure. How in long by-gone days there was a mighty dragon in the land, that devoured the people, overthrew cities, and destroyed the vineyards, and laid waste the harvests. Many brave knights went out against him, but their lances bounded harmless from his scaly sides, their swords were broken, and they perished miserably, withered in his fiery breath. " Then,” said Emerich of Waldburg, "I will go forth against this beast, and be St. George, slayer of dragons, my strength and my sup- port.” Then he donned his armor, and bore his shield upon his arm, and about his neck he hung an image of St. George, and rode forth to meet his foe. The sun was just tinging the gray East with rosy light, the dew-drops glittered upon the grass, and the birds were singing their happy matin-songs. All seemed happy and peaceful; but, ere long, he passed a field of trampled grain, a ruined vineyard, a heap of smoulder- ing ruins, where once a peasant's hut had stood, and, finally, gleaming in the sunlight, he beheld the mailed coils of the fearful dragon. All through the long, long day the fight endured. The good knight's steed lay dead upon the plain, his lance was shivered into fragments, his sword broken at the hilt; but, as his last weapon failed him, he uttered a prayer to God and to St. George, and, rushing upon the foe, rent his huge jaws asunder with his naked hands, for the grasp of the true knight burst asunder the spells that magic art had woven, and the victory was won. Weary, faint, and bathed in blood, Emerich dragged his exhausted limbs over the homeward way, and, as the sun was sinking behind the western hills, joyful voices greeted his return, and hailed him victor and preserver. But the slain dragon had avenged his own death, and, upon the very threshold of his castle, amid the shouts and plaudits of the people he had saved, died Emerick of Waldburg. How in those old days, too, there was a powerful giant and enchanter who built himself a castle, by the wayside, and compelled tribute from all the passers by. The merchant was robbed of his goods, the churchman of well-filled purse, or golden crucifix, and the rich lady of her jewels ; but armed Count Eberhard's Crusade. 415 knights he forced to strive with him in single combat until one should fall, and on the castle wall hung the battered shields of the slain. " Then,” said Ulrich of Waldburg, “ bring mine armor of proof, and do thou, Gunbilda, buckle on my sword, and place thy favor on my helm, and I will defy this sorcerer to deadly combat; then shall it be seen, if, as in the day when Emerich slew the Linden-worm, the strong right arm of a true knight who levels his lance in behalf of the op- pressed, shall not bring to naught the spells of the magician !" Then his wife fastened his cross-hilted sword to his belt, and twisted a blue ribbon about his crest, and kissed him, and bade him God speed. He, too, sallied forth, on a pleasant, peaceful morning, by the same way over which Emerich had gone before, and he, too, fought a long, weary day's fight, praying to God and the saints, grasping firmly his cross-hilted sword, thinking of his dear wife at home in the lonely castle, and the little boy who shonld climb his knee beside the evening fire, of the widows and orphans and ruined men, and the spirits of fallen heroes who should hail him as defender and avenger. So he endured and strove, and was victor at last; but as he approached his home, and wife and child and vassals met him with tears of joy, — he saw upon the doorstep Count Emerich, glorified and bright with heavenly beauty, who said : “ Not for our race, Ulrich, is the reward of earthly triumphs; to fight, to conquer and to fall, that is the lot decreed ;” then, bending down, he kissed him, and vanished from his sight, and ere another sun arose above the rosy mountain-tops, the spirit of Ulrich bad fled from earth, to join the blessed company of heroes and martyrs. How, in later days, Count Rudolph had heard the fiery call that rang through all the length and breadth of Christendom, summoning the brave and true to march to the defence of their brothers in Palestine, and rend the Holy City and the sepulcbre of Christ from the grasp of the Infidel. Count Rudolph obeyed the bidding, set his house in order, and led his little band of armed retainers, with the red cross glowing upon their breasts. What sufferings he endured, what perils he escaped, what difficulties he surmounted, “'t were long to tell.” Marching over desert plains, fighting with fierce wild beasts, wandering up and down in mountainous defiles, faint with hunger, and well nigh mad with thirst, contending hand to hand with savage foes, seeing his friends fall by the way, longing for home and the dear faces of wife and children, living, but because he could not leave his work undone ; so Rudolph beheld, at last, the Holy City; so he hoped and toiled for weary weeks and months of seige; so he triumphed when the Crescent fell, and the cross glittered over Jerusalem. Count Rudolph's heart beat high, and 416 The Student and Schoolmate. his cheek glowed as the long train of mailed Crusaders poured through the shattered gates, and along the narrow ways, piled with dead and dying, and tears of pious joy and devout emotion flowed down his sun- burnt face. But the fate of his house was upon him, and the hardy war- rior, who had braved the dangers of the wilderness, and bid defiance to the scimetar of the Saracen, was smitten with swift disease in the very moment of victory. Amid the chants of priests, the blare of trumpets, the neighing of steeds, the fierce cries of the soldiery, and, alas, that it was so, the shrieks of the murdered Moslem, that rang for many a day through the streets and churches of Jerusalem, died Rudolph, the Crusader. To these stories, Eberhard listened with unwearied delight. Such, said bis grandfather, had ever been the fate of his house. Those who were permitted, or bad chosen to remain quietly at home, spending their time in the sports of the forest, or whiling away the bours with tales of chivalry, had lived out the measure of their days; he himself, a cripple from his youth, had been compelled to lead a life of insignificance and ease, and his locks were frosted by the fingers of time ; but they who had gone forth to toil and struggle had perished in the moment of suc- cess, just as victory laid her crown upon their brows. So had fallen Eberhard's father, at the close of the battle, as the day was won ; 80 his mother had faded away from earth, when Death had fled before the power of maternal love. And as he beard, Eberhard sorrowed that there were no more giants and dragons to fall beneath his arm, no more marches over flood and field to free the Holy City from the grasp of the Mussulman, that peace reigned in all the land, and he might not mount his steed for battle. He grew moody and sad as the months and years dragged by, brooding in solitary places over dreams of the impossible. His grandparents slept in the ancestral vault, and he dwelt alone, leading an aimless life in the old castle. His fancy was ever picturing what might have been his fate had his lot been cast in other days, and in imagination he saw himself achieving mighty deeds, and hailed as deliverer and benefactor by admir- ing crowds. And all the while, in the little hamlet in the valley below, the peasant, toiling on unceasingly from dawn to dark to earn a scanty living, envied sometimes the tall nobleman who had nothing to do but to stroll beneath the forest-shadows, or rest by the blazing hearth, while the twilight flickered and danced upon the well-spread board, and lent a rosier glow to the ruby wine. But to do Count Eberhard justice, this desire of his was not all sel- fishness, or the promptings of a vain ambition. At the bottom of it 418 The Student and Schoolmate. world is full of them, and thou seest them not; thou wouldst drive the Saracen from the tomb of Christ, yet when Christ himself is calling, thou hearest him not.” And Eberhard looked, and lo, giants and drag. ons slaying the feeble, destroying harvests, laying waste the land ; Christ himself, scourged, despised, driven forth to perish. 6 Where is that land,” he cried, " where such deeds of evil are done? Is Christ come again on earth, and do they drive him from their doors ? ” “ Even so," said a voice, “ even so, if what he said be true, ' As ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have done it unto me.' I, who believed not in his teachings, to whom he was but a cheat and an impos- tor, I drove him on when he would fain bave rested at my threshold as he passed, bearing his cross, and for that, I wander on and ever on, be- neath the burning sun of the tropics, and amid the eternal ice and snow of the polar wastes ; in the noonday glare and the hush of midnight, through the drear solitudes of the desert, and amid the busy streets of the crowded city, never resting, wandering on forever. I sinned against humanity, and by a fearful doom I expiate the sin. But what punish- ment is their due, who professing to be his disciples, drive him, in the persons of those whom they call • His Poor,' out into cold, and want, and misery?” And the Wandering Jew passed by, over the mountain ridges, on his eternal march. And Eberhard looked again, and he saw slaves cowering beneath the lash, little children starving in the streets, drunkards reeling from the tavern - doors, everywhere want, and wretchedness and wo, and the great dragons ruling over all. And he said, “ Tell me, I pray you, where these dragons dwell, that I may slay them.” Then answered Rudolph, the Crusader, “ They dwell the wide world over, Eberhard ; in thy little village, in the secret recesses of thine own heart; and their names are Slavery, Tyranny, Avarice, Idleness, Selfishness, Drunken- ness, Ignorance. Wilt fight these dragons, my son, and drive them forth? Wilt proffer the resting-place to the weary Christ, the cup of cold water to his thirsty lips ? Believe me, there is no Crusade so holy as that against the powers of Ignorance and Sin. Fling thy idle fancies to the four winds of heaven; every age has its own work to do, its own holy wars to wage, its own duties which it summons its heroes to per- form. But remember, Eberhard, the doom of our race; not enjoyment of success, only the winning of it, is granted to us; we struggle, we toil, we gain the mountain's brow, and have a glimpse of the fair land that we have won, and then Death calls us to new labors and new victories in the world to come.” The forms of the heroes faded slowly from his sight, and Eberhard 1 Count Eberhard's Crusade. 419 beheld his father bending over him, and his father's lips smiling encour- agement and cheer. When the Count awoke, his forehead was wet with the dews of evening, and the full moon was flooding everything around with her silvery light. From that hour he was a changed man. No more an idle dreamer, mourning for a vanished past, or longing for an impossible future, be summoned all his memories of the departed, all his fancies of a pure ideal to strengthen his soul for work in the present, sure thereby of achieving a noble future. Sad, indeed, to his newly- opened eyes were the sights he saw when he went down into the valley, and visited the peasants' huts and fields. Much misery and wretched- ness, much ignorance and crime, much, also, of honest, sturdy industry, patient love, longing for a better, purer life. Then Eberhard studied that he might teach, calling in the aid of others wbo were wiser than himself, and established a church and a school, and taught them to build better houses, and to till their lands so that the crops should be more abundant. He cared for the poor and sick, and so toiled on amidst them, cheering, guiding, comforting; draw- ing close the bonds of love, and stripping off the fetters of ignorance and sin. All loved and honored him; the strong men who came to him for sympathy and direction, the sick, who watched for his coming with eager eyes, and the little children, who ran to welcome him with merry shouts and happy faces. Mind, heart and hands were all employed in the good work that grew and prospered beneath bis eye. Not that it came all at once, not that everything was always well. Many plans failed, wholly, or in part, many were idle and careless, refusing to work, or to be taught; many sinned. But discouragement never entered into the soul of Eberhard. If one plan proved useless, another was tried ; he did not expect perfection all at once, and he knew that he must look for failures and mistakes. He worked patiently, unceasingly, never de- spairing of any, and he had his reward. But sickness fell at last upon the Count of Waldburg, and although his life was spared, he might never again behold the blessed daylight, or the dear faces of his friends ; never rise again from his bed to wander in the pleasant green-wood paths, to visit the villagers in their happy homes, to superintend and perfect the works his busy brain had planned. It was over now, his happy, active life ; his work half-done, success yet anattained; he was to linger on a useless, idle existence, undeserving, as he felt, the name of life. Who can wonder that he rebelled against the stern decree, that his whole soul rose up in agony, and be cried aloud in his fierce despair? It was in vain that they talked to him of comfort and consolation. The old dream haunted him again ; the drag- 420 The Student and Schoolmate. ons mocked at him who had fallen in the very heat of the day, ere he had overthrown their power; and mingled with them were the forms of starving children, of ignorant, ill-used women, and idle, drunken men, crying out with reproaches against him, that he left his work unfinished. Horrible, indeed, were the forms that hovered about his sick bed, and robbed even sleep of its healing. What was left for him but despair, after all his toil ? Cheated of his reward at last ! But in the solemn hush of the midnight hour, Count Eberhard's eyes, blind to the things of earth, were opened to spiritual vision, and he saw, bending over him, a face beaming with divine tenderness and compas- sion, and heard his mother's voice saying to him, “ Dear son, thou wert prompt to obey the call, and take up the work that it was thine to do, when thou didst see the way. Nobly hast thou served. Now thou art called to a task yet harder, for an ardent soul like thine. Thou art bidden to trust the future in God's hands, sure that no word or work of thine is lost, that the influence of thy example, the effect of thy exer- tions will never perish, but grow larger and fuller as time wears away. Dear Eberhard, the severest, the final struggle is yet to be made. Thou hast to learn the hardest of all lessons, to submit, and to submit cheer- fully, and without repining. Then shall thy trial be at an end, thy Cru- sade finished here below, and thou shalt rise to higher service in the world to come.” She stooped and kissed him, and as the dear face melted from his gaze, and darkness settled again upon his weary eye- lids, he heard no longer the mocking laugh of dragons, or the reproaches of the poor, but the blessings of those whom his love and care had blessed, and the welcoming of angels. Sweet peace rested upon the de- spairing soul, and with a full heart he could say, “ Not as I will, Father, but as thou wilt." The rays of the morning sun streamed through the narrow casement, and fell upon the Count's peaceful, happy face. He seemed to sleep, but the poor eyes that had been darkened to the light and beauty of this pleasant world, were opened now in the radiant brightness of heaven. Count Eberhard's Crusade was ended, and he had won the fight. ILUMINUTEN Declamalion. 421 DECLAMATION. (See Diagram in January No.] SPEECH OF BLACK HAWK, AFTER BEING MADE PRISONER. YO It began OU have taken me prisoner, with all my warriors. I am much grieved, for I expected, if I did not defeat you, to hold out much longer, and give you more trouble before I surrendered. I tried hard to bring you into ambush, but your last general understands Indian fight- ing. The first one was not so wise. When I saw that I could not beat you by Indian fighting, I determined to 10rush upon you, and fight you face to face. I fought hard; but your guns were well aimed. The bullets flew like "birds in the air, and whizzed by our ears like the wind through the trees in winter. My warriors fell around me. to look dismal. I saw my evil day at hand. The sun rose 'dim on us in the morning, and at night it 'sank in a dark cloud, and looked like a ball of fire. That was the last sun that shone on Black Hawk. You know the cause of our making war. It is known to 'all white men. They ought to be ashamed of it. The white men despise the Indians, and 10 drive them from their homes. But the Indians are not deceitful. The white men speak bad of the Indian, and look at him spitefully. But the Indian does not lie : Indians do not steal. An Indian who is as bad as the white men could not live in our nation; he would be put to death, and eaten by the wolves. The white men are bad school-masters : they carry false looks, and deal in false actions; they 'smile in the face of the poor Indian to cheat him ; they shake them by the hand to gain their confidence, make them drunk to deceive them. We were not safe. We lived in danger. We were becoming like them, hypocrites and liars, lazy drones, all talkers, and no workers. We looked lóup to the Great Spirit. We went to our great father. We were encouraged. His great council gave us fair words and big promises ; but we got no sat- isfaction. Things were growing worse. There were no deer in the forest. The opossum and beaver were ?fled. The springs were drying up, and our squaws and papooses without victuals to keep them from starving. We called a great council, and built a large fire. The spirit of our fathers rose and spoke to us, to avenge our wrongs or die. We all spoke before the council fire. It was warm and pleasant. We set up the war-whoop, and dug up the tomabawk. Our knives were ready, and the heart of Black Hawk swelled 13high in his bosom when he led 422 The Student and Schoolmate. his warriors to battle. He is satisfied. He will go to the world of spirits contented. He has done his DUTY. His father will meet him there and commend him. "Farewell my nation! Black Hawk tried to save you, and avenge your wrongs. He drank the blood of some of the whites. He has been taken prisoner, and his plans are stopped. He can do no more. He is near his Ⓡend. His sun is setting, and he will rise no more. Farewell to Black Hawk. ***Stuan DIALOGUE. THE AMBITIOUS BOY. SCENE. — A Counting-Room. MR. DANFORTH, with gold spectacles on, reading a newspaper. Mr. Danforth. Well, boy, was you waiting to see me? Hanks. My name sir, is Arthur Snookins Padelford Hanks. I am sixteen years old, and should prefer not to be called " boy.' I have out- grown that, sir. Mr. D. Indeed! I thought you was a boy. When I was sixteen years old, I was a boy. Well, Mr. Arthur Padkins Snoodleford Hanks, what are your wishes ? Hanks. I came to apply for a situation in your counting-room, sir. I am desirous of becoming a merchant, a rich one too. Mr. D. You are an ambitious boy young gentleman, I should say, have you ever been employed before ? Hanks. Yes sir. I have worked for Mr. Dana Shepard, of Rock Rapids. Mr. D. What was his business? Hanks. He kept a bowling alley, and I set up the pins. Mr. D. Ah! I think you would have done better have remained there. Why did you leave? Hanks. Because a champion player came along one day, and made a twelve strike. Mr. D. A twelve strike ? In my youthful days I have played at ten- pins, but I do not see how any one could make a twelve strike. Hanks. Why, he knocked down the ten pins and my two with them, which made twelve ; it was most a week before I was on my pins again. Mr. D. And so you think you are qualified to enter my counting-room? Hanks. Certainly, sir. I can make change, and do up bundles as well as anybody. Can do easy ciphering, too. Dialogue. 423 Mr. D. Tell me, then, how much seven and a half times seven and a half is. Hanks (scratching his head for a long time.) Can't do such a hard sum as that. Give me something with a ten in it. Mr. D. What wages did you expect to earn ? Hanks. Well, to tell the truth, I am an ambitious young man, and want to get ahead pretty fast. For the first year I shall expect one hundred and twenty-five dollars a month ; by that time I shall be so well acquainted with the business that you cannot get along without me, 80 I shall require you to make me a partner in the concern with an equal share of the profits. Mr. D. Will that be all ? Hanks. No. I shall want to gain a respectable position in society, and as I understand you have a daughter who will inherit your property, I shall want permission to address her with a view to matri- mony. Mr. D. Indeed! I must say you are a very modest young man. I presume at some future time you intend to retire from the counting- room? Hanks. Yes ; that is certainly a part of my plans. I am glad you so readily understand me. Mr. D. Exactly! Well, the time for such retirement will be in just five minutes by my watch. If at the expiration of that time, you should still remain here, the consequences to you will be sudden and very painful. Hanks. Is this the way you treat gentlemen ? Mr. D. No sir ; we never treat gentlemen so. One minute has elapsed. Hanks. I am disgusted with such treatment. I see that you do not appreciate my talents, or ambition to get ahead. Mr. D. You will have to get considerable more of a head than you have got now before any one will take you into their counting-room. Your proper sphere is a ten-pin ball, stick to that, and you will have as much pin-money as you like. There is just one minute left for you to reach the street. Hanks. I scorn your threats, but I just remember an engagement I made at the Splitinhalf National Bank, which I must fulfil. Good day, sir. Mr. D. Good day, Mr. Arthur Paddlekins Snoodford Hanks. William L. Williams. . TANGLED VON FHREADS um In our August number we enclosed bills where the subscription was over- due — though in each case but a small sum, and therefore more easily paid; we can assure those who still owe, that an immediate payment in every case would very largely aid us in the payment of our own bills, for the publication of a maga- UR readers will be glad to know zine involves heavy expenses. Many that Mr. Alger, who is passing the have promptly responded, and their good summer at Long Branch, N. J., has example is to be commended. just made a visit to New England, and Our thanks are due for the names of consequently our “ arm chair” has been many new subscribers recently sent us, occupied by him, as we arranged for and we are glad to perceive that our the coming year of the “Schoolmate.” friends realize that cash premiums are “Fame and Fortune ” will be brought much to be preferred to the articles us- to a close in the December number, and ually offered as prizes, and which the a new story, based on certain facts which cash will buy. We have no objection have come to Mr. Alger's notice quite when a specified article is desired, to send recently, will commence with the Janu- it at the lowest price it can be bought, ary number for 1869, the title of which instead of the cash, as our facilities for will be duly announced. The cordial purchasing enable us to enjoy the lowest welcome given to “Ragged Dick," and rates. We are also prepared to make the deep interest manifested in “Fame purchases of any articles, which our and Fortune,” induces Mr. Alger to as- subscribers at a distance may wish, as sure us that the new story shall be writ- our city affords facilities to secure the ten with as much care, and will prove as best articles, and often at very low prices. interesting as these two, now so popular. Such an agency we have long contem- Mr. Alger will write for no other juve plated, and are now willing to engage in nile magazine, as has been the case these it, believing it will prove a public benefit. last two years, and we shall hope to have Richdore has our thanks for several the earnest co-operation of our readers excellent rebusses, which will be placed to increase our list of subscribers, and in the hands of our engraver without de- thus extend the influence of a story, lay. His many favors are duly appre- which, though exceedingly interesting, ciated, and in the matter referred to in a will also be of permanent value to young recent letter, we attributed no blame to and old. Arrangements are in progress him, it being evident who was at fault. with other writers, and in due time what Still it is well to guard against any such we propose to do further will be an accidents. nounced. We are under obligations to others in 428 The Student and Schoolmate. The Catcher then collects the rest of, indirect advantage by a specious word, those having incurred forfeits. These, nor take an evil path to secure a real after having donned their conical, brown good purpose. paper “crowns," kneel around the statue. ....No trait of character is more val. One of the other players now walks uable than the possession of a good tem. up, and requests Love to fetch some per. Home can never be made happy young lady, whose name he whispers in without it. It is like flowers that spring his ear. The statue, still holding the up in our pathway, reviving and cheering candle (his badge of honor), in his hand, us. Kind words and looks are the out- proceeds to execute his commission, and ward demonstrations; patience and for- brings the lady back with him. She in bearance are the sentinels within. turn desires him to fetch some gentle- ....Do not be troubled because you man, and so it continues until all have have no great virtues. God made a mil- been summoned. lion spears of grass where he made one The players brought up by Love stand tree. The earth is fringed and carpeted, in a group near his standing-place, until not with forests but with grasses. Only he has brought up the last person in the have enough of little virtues and com- party, when they kiss him most vigor- mon fidelities, and you need not mourn ously, and the forfeit terminates. because you are neither a hero nor a king. RICHDORE. Pithy and Pointed. Curious and Amusing. ....He who studies books gets the Why is a joiner less handsome frame of knowledge, but he who studies than his wife ? Because he is a deal. men gets the soul. planer. ... What is more beautiful and poetic What is the worst seat a man can than a child's idea of ice? “Water gone sit on ? Self-conceit. to sleep.” ... Why does a dog gnaw a bone ? Time is gold; throw not a mo- Because he can't swallow it whole. ment away, but place each one to ac- “Do you ever have any 'hops' count. in Maine ?” asked a Newport belle, who .... Those who have resources within was dressing for a ball ? “Oh yes, lots ; themselves, and can dare to live alone, want friends the least ; but know how pa has forty acres of them in one field.” ....A gardener having been requested to prize them the most. to set his master's watch by his sun-dial, .... Boiled vinegar taken internally is he forthwith “planted” it in the ground said to be a cure for hydrophobia. close to his dial. ..The greatest and most amiable ....A smart student was called up by privilege which the rich enjoy over the the worthy professor of a celebrated col- poor is that which they exercise the lege, and asked the question : least — the privilege of making others “Can a man see without eyes ? ” happy. “Yes, sir," was the prompt reply .... The man deserving the name, is “How, sir,” cried the amazed profes. one whose thoughts and exertions are sor, can a man see without eyes ? Pray for others, rather than for himself; whose sir, how do you make that out?” high purpose is adapted on just princi "He can see with one, sir," replied ples, and never abandoned while heaven the ready-witted youth, and the whole or earth afford means of accomplishing class shouted with delight at the triumph it. He is one who will neither seek an over metaphysics. Srtz)TADO SOUDOMATE An Illustrated Monthly, FOR OUR BOYS AND GIRLS. VOL. XXII. OCTOBER, 1868. No. IV. FAME AND FORTUNE, OR THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD HUNTER. CHAPTER XVII. DICK'S ACQUITTAL. FTER his interview with Mr. Murdock and Henry Fosdick, Dick felt considerably re- lieved. He not only saw that his friends were convinced of his innocence, but through Tim Ryan's testimony he saw that there was a reasonable chance of getting clear. He had began to set a high value on re- spectability, and he felt that he had now a character to sustain. The night wore away at last. The pallet on which he lay was rather hard, but Dick had so often slept in places less comfort- able, that he cared little for that. When he woke up, he did not at first remember where he was, but he very soon recalled the circumstances, and that his trial was close at hand. "I hope Mr. Murdock won't oversleep himself,” thought our hero. “ If he does, it 'll be a gone case with me.” At an early hour, the attendant of the police station went the rounds, and Dick was informed that he was wanted. Brief space was given for Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1868, by JOSEPH H. ALLEN, in the clerk'ı otice of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 430 The Student and Schoolmate. the arrangement of the toilet. In fact, those who avail themselves of the free lodgings provided at the station-house, rarely pay very great attention to their dress or personal appearance. Dick, however, had a comb in his pocket, and carefully combed his hair. He also brushed off his coat as well as he could ; he also critically inspected his shoes, not forgetting his old professional habits. “ I wish I had a brush and some blackin',” he said to himself. “Dy shoes would look all the better for'a good shine.” But time was up, and under the escort of a policeman, Dick was con- veyed to the Tombs. Probably all my readers have heard of this build- ing. It is a large stone building with massive columns, broad on the ground, but low. It is not only used for a prison, but there are two rooms on the first floor used for the holding of courts. Into the larger one of these, Dick was carried. He looked around him anxiously, and to his great joy perceived that not only Mr. Murdock was on hand, but honest Tim Ryan, whose testimony was so important to his defence. Dick was taken forward to the place provided for those awaiting trial, and was obliged to await his turn. One or two cases about which there was no doubt, including the colored woman arrested for drunkenness, were summarily disposed of, and the next case was called. The police- man who had arrested Dick presented himself with our hero. Dick was so neatly dressed, and looked so modest and self-possessed that the judge surveyed him with some surprise. “What is this lad charged with ?” he demanded. “ With taking a wallet from a gentleman's pocket," said the police- man. “ Did you arrest him ? ” “ I did.” “ Did you take bim in the act ?" “No, I did not see him take it." “What have you to say, prisoner ? Are you guilty or not guilty ?" said the judge, turning to Dick. “Not guilty," said Dick, quietly. “ State why you made the arrest,” said the judge. “I saw him with the wallet in his hand.” “ Is the gentleman who had his pocket picked, present ?" “ He is.” “ Summon him.” The red-faced man came forward, and gave his testimony. He stated that he was standing on the sidewalk, when he felt a hand thrust into his pocket, and forcibly withdrawn. He immediately felt for his wallet, Fame and Fortune. 431 and found it gone. Turning, he saw a boy running, and immediately. gave chase. “Was the boy you saw running the prisoner?” “I suppose it was." " You suppose ? Don't you know ?” "Of course it was, or he would not have been found with the wallet in his hand.” “ But you cannot identify him from personal observation ? ” The red-faced man admitted with some reluctance that his eyesight far was very poor, and he did not catch sight of the boy till he was tog off to be identified. “ This is not so clear as it might be,” said the judge. Still, appear- ances are against the prisoner, and as the wallet was found in his pos- session, he must be found guilty unless that fact can be satisfactorily ex- plained." I have a witness who can explain it,” said Dick. " Where is he?” Tim Ryan, who understood that he was now wanted, came forward. After being sworn, the judge asked: "What is your name ? " “Tim Ryan, sir." "Where do you live ?” “In Mulberry Street.” “Tell what you know of this case.” "I was standing in Chatham Street, when I saw the ould gintleman with the red face (here the prosecutor scowled at Tim, not relishing the description which was given of him) standing at the corner of Pearl Street. A boy came up, and put his hand into his pocket, and then run away as fast as his legs could carry him wid the wallet in his hand.” “ Who was this boy? Do you know him ?” “ Yes sir.” “ Tell his name.” " It was Micky Maguire,” said Tim, reluctantly. " And who is Micky Maguire ?” “ He blacks boots." " Then if this Micky Maguire took the wallet, how happened it that it was found in this boy's possession ?” “I can tell that," said Tim. “I ran after Micky to see if he'd get off wid the wallet. He had p't gone but a little way when I saw him slip it into Dick's pocket.” “I suppose you mean by Dick, the prisoner at the bar ?" « Yes sir.” 432 The Student and Schoolmate. “ And what became of this Micky?”. He stopped runnin' after he'd got rid of the pocket-book, and a min- ute after, up came the copp, and took Dick." Why did n't you come forward, and explain the mistake.” “ I was afraid Micky 'd beat me.” " Do you know this Micky Maguire ?” said the judge, turning to the officer. “I do." “What is his reputation ?” “ Bad. He's been at the Island three or four times, already." “ Did you see him anywhere about when you made the arrest ?” “I did.” “ Do you know this boy who has just testified ?” “ Yes. He is a good boy.” “ The case seems a clear one. The prisoner is discharged from cus- tody. Arrest Micky Maguire on the same charge as early as possible.” The next case was called, and Dick was free. Mr. Murdock came forward, and took him by the hand, which he shook heartily. “ I congratulate you on your acquittal,” he said. “ I feel a little better than I did,” said Dick. Tim, you ’re a good fellow," he said, clasping Tim's hand. “ I would n't have got off, if it had n't been for you." “I ought to do that much for you, Dick, when you 've been so kind to me." “ How are you getting along now, Tim ? ” “ Pretty well. Mother's got so she can work, and we're doin' well. When she was sick, it was pretty hard.” “ Here's something to help you along,” said Dick, and he drew a bill from bis pocket. “ Five dollars !” said Tim, in surprise. “ You can buy some new clothes, Tim.” “I ought not to take so much as that, Dick." " It's all right, Tim. There's some more where that comes from." They were in Centre Street by this time. Fosdick came up hurriedly. “Have you got off, Dick ?” he asked eagerly. “ Yes, Fosdick. There's no chance of my being entertained at the expense of the city." “I did n't expect the trial was coming off so early. Tell me all about it." “What did they say at the house at my being away?” asked Dick. 434 The Student and Schoolmate. “ I thought Miss Peyton had a better appetite than usual,” said Fos- dick. “ That is too bad of you, Mr. Fosdick," said Miss Peyton. “I'm sure I did n't eat more than my canary bird.” “ Just the way it affected me,” said Dick. “It always improves my appetite to see you eat, Miss Peyton." Miss Peyton looked as if she hardly knew whether to understand this remark as complimentary, or otherwise. That evening, at the dinner-table, Clifton drew a copy of the “Ex- press” from his pocket, and said, " By Jove, Hunter, here's a capital joke on you. I'll read it. A boy, named Richard Hunter, was charged with picking a pocket on Chatham Street, but it appearing that the theft was committed by another party, he was released from custody.'” Dick's heart beat a little quicker while this was being read, but he maintained his self-possession. “Of course,” said he, “ that was the important business that detained But I hope you won't mention it, for the sake of my family.” “I'd make the young rascal change his name, if I were you,” said Clifton, " if he's going to get into the Police record.” “ I think I shall,” said Dick,“ or maybe I'll change my own. You could n't mention a highly respectable name that I could take, could me. you ?” “ Clifton is the most respectable name I know of,” said the young gentleman owning that name. “ If you 'll make me your heir, perhaps I 'll adopt it." “I'll divide my debts with you, and give you the biggest half,” said Clifton. It is unnecessary to pursue the conversation. Dick found to his satis- faction that no one at the table suspected that he was the Richard Hunter referred to in the “ Express.” CHAPTER XVIII. THE CUP AND THE LIP. W HILE Dick's night preceding the trial was an anxious one, Gil- bert and Roswell Crawford passed a pleasant evening, and slept soundly. “Do you think Mr. Rockwell will be willing to give me the same wages he has paid to the boot-black ?” he inquired with interest. 436 The Student and Schoolmate. down with conscious superiority upon Edward McLean, with his six dollars a week.”, He went over to his neighbor's, and found Edward just starting for Wall Street. “How are you, Roswell ?” said Edward. Pretty well. Are you going down to the office ?” “ Yes.” “ You've got a pretty good place, have n't you?” “Yes, I like it." “ How much do you get ?” “ Six dollars a week.” “ That's very fair," said Roswell, patronizingly. “ How do you like your place ?” asked Edward. “I believe you're in a dry goods store on Sixth Avenue.” “O no,” said Roswell. “ You were ?” “ Yes, I went in temporarily to oblige them,” said Roswell, loftily, * but, of course, I would n't engage to remain any length of time in such a place, however large the inducements they might offer." Considering Roswell's tone, it would hardly have been supposed that the large inducements were four dollars a week, and that, even at that compensation, his services were not desired. " Then it was n't a good place ? ” said Edward. “Well enough for such as liked it,” said Roswell. “I have no com- plaint of Hall & Turner. I told them that it was not dissatisfaction with them that led me to leave the place, but I preferred a different kind of business." “ Have you got another place ? " “I have an offer under consideration,” said Roswell, consequentially; one of the most solid firms in the city. They offer me ten dollars a week.” << Ten dollars a week!” repeated Edward, somewhat staggered by the statement. “ That's big pay." “ Yes,” said Roswell, “ but I think I ought to get as much as that." “Why, I thought myself lucky to get six dollars," said Edward. “ Yee; that's very fair,” said Roswell, condescendingly. I've worked at that figure myself; but, of course, one expects more as he grows older." “ I suppose you 'll accept your offer," said Edward. “I have n't quite made up my mind,” said Roswell, carelessly. “I think I shall.” “ In fact, Fame and Fortune. 437 “ You'd better. Such places don't grow on every bush.” Though Edward did not more than half believe Roswell's statement, he kept his disbelief to himself, feeling that it was a matter of indiffer- ence to him whether Roswell received a large or small salary. " I must be going down to the office,” he said. “Good morning." “Good morning," said Roswell, and he re-entered the house, feeling that he had impressed Edward with a conviction of his superiority, and the value set upon his services by the business men of New York. He went up stairs, and picked out a flashy necktie from his drawer, tied it carefully before the glass, and about nine set out for Rockwell & Cooper's warehouse. It is necessary for us to precede him. “ Gilbert reached the counting-room at the usual time. His thoughts on the way thither were pleasant. “ I sha'n't be subjected to that young rascal's impertinence,” he con- sidered. “ That 's one satisfaction.” His astonishment, nay dismay, may be imagined, therefore, when on entering the counting-room, the first object his eyes rested on was the figure of Dick. "Good morning, Mr. Gilbert,” said our hero, pleasantly. “ How came you here?” he demanded. “I walked,” said Dick. “I don't often ride. I think walkin 's good for the constitution.” “You know what I mean, well enough. How did you get out of prison ?” “I have n't been there." “You were arrested for picking a man's pocket yesterday afternoon,” said Gilbert. “ Excuse me, Mr. Gilbert, you 're slightly mistaken there. I was arrested on suspicion of picking a man's pocket." “ The same thing." “ Not quite, as it has been proved that I was innocent, and the wallet was taken by another boy.” “ Have you been tried ?” "Yes, and acquitted." Gilbert looked and felt disappointed. He could not conceive how Dick could have escaped when the plot to entrap him had been so art- fully contrived. "Well, young man," he said, " I 'll give you a piece of advice, and if you're wise you 'll follow it.” “That's kind in you,” said Dick. “I pass over your impertinence this time, and will advise you as a friend to resign your situation before Mr. Rockwell comes." 438 The Student and Schoolmate. “Why should I?" “ It 'll save your being discharged.” “Do you think he 'll discharge me ?” “I know he will. He won't have any one in his employ who has been arrested for picking pockets.” “ Not even if he did n't do it?” “ Not even if he was lucky enough to get off," said Gilbert. “ You think I'd better give up my place ?” “ That 'll be the best course for you to pursue.” “ But how 'll I get another place ? ” “I'll do what I can to help you to another place, if you leave at once.” “I think I 'll wait, and see Mr. Rockwell first.” “I'll make all the necessary explanations to Mr. Rockwell,” said the book-keeper “I think I'd rather see him myself, if it does n't make any difference to you." “ You 're acting like a fool. You 'll only be kicked out of the office. If you don't follow my advice, I sha'n't interest myself in getting you another place." “Do you think I took the wallet, Mr. Gilbert ? ” asked Dick. “ Of course I do." “ Then, how could you recommend me to another place ? ” “ Because I think this may prove a lesson to you. You've been lucky enough to escape this time, but you can't expect it always." “ I'm much obliged to you for your favorable opinion, but I don't think I shall resign at once.” At this moment Mr. Rockwell entered the warehouse. He had been informed of Dick's misfortune by Mr. Murdoch, who had had occasion to call at his house on his way from the trial. “ How's this, Richard ?” he said, advancing, with a frank smile. “I hear you got into strange quarters last night." “ Yes,” said Dick, “but I did n't like it well enough to stay long." " Why did n't you send for me?” “ Thank you sir, I did n't like to trouble you. Mr. Murdock was very kind.” “ Have they got the real thief?” “ I don't know, sir.” “ Well, all 's well that ends well! You can afford to laugh at it now.” Mr. Gilbert listened to this colloquy with very little satisfaction. Fame and Fortune. 439 It seemed to show such a good understanding between Dick and his employer that he perceived that it would be a very difficult thing to supersede him. “ Mr. Rockwell seems to be infatuated with that boy,” he muttered to himself. " I think I won't resign just yet,” said Dick, in a low voice, to the book-keeper. “ You 'll be found out some day,” said Gilbert, snappishly. 6 Go to the Post Office, and mind you don't stop to play on the way.” Dick started on his errand, and, in passing out into the street, en- countered Roswell Crawford, who, attired with extra care, had just come down the street from Broadway. On seeing Dick, he started as if he had seen a ghost. “Good morning, Roswell,” said Dick, pleasantly. “Good morning,” said Roswell, stiffy. “ Your cousin is in the counting-room. I am in a hurry, and must leave you." “I thought he was on his way to the Island by this time,” thought Roswell, perplexed. What can it mean?” It occurred to him all at once that Dick might just have been dis- charged, and this thought cheered him up considerably. He entered the counting-room with a jaunty step. “Good morning, cousin James,” he said. Gilbert turned round, and said in a surly tone : You take yourself off. There's no chance for you here." " Has n't the boot-black been discharged ?” "No, and is n't going to be ?” " How is that?” asked Roswell, looking very much disappointed. “ I can't stop to tell you now. You'd better go now, and I'll tell you this evening.” "Just my luck!” said Roswell to himself, considerably crest-fallen. " I wish I had n't said a word to Edward McLean about the place.” Horatio Alger, fr. may as well 440 The Student and Schoolmate. WESTERN MASSACHUSETTS no. 3. Savoy. To O those of my young readers who think that, at some future time, they may go tramping about the country as we did, it will perhaps be interesting to learn what articles we took with us. We left home, intending to be gone a month, and put in our knapsacks another set of flannels besides those we wore; several pairs of stockings, several hand- kerchiefs and collars. Some sketching and writing materials filled up the crevices of the pack. This, when put over the shoulders, was carried with ease, and seemed, after the first day of travel, to be an inseparable part of the person. It is the best method of carrying things, for it leaves the hands and arms free. We also wore clothing which was past injury, and could not suffer from rain or use. Felix had a slouched hat, a great favorite of his, which he had worn to the mountains many times before ; there was only wanting a wide belt with pistols and dirks, to give bim quite a ruffianly appearance. After the first few days in the open air, we were so tauned and weather-beaten, our most intimate friends would hardly have known us. From Windsor, the road descended to a tract of country almost unin- habited ; and for many hours our walk was perhaps as devoid of interest as any during the journey. No extensive views were before us, bat a simple stretch of undulating pasture, intermixed with woodland, which had mostly been destroyed by fire. On each side, as we passed, was many a charred trunk of what was once some immense tree, and many a balf-burned fence still standing, though in a shackly and uncertain state, the boundary of the fields and road. Before the forest which once stood here had been burned, a walk in this region must have been very attractive ; and it is to be regretted that the road should be now deprived' of the only beauty it once possessed. At about the middle of the afternoon, we emerged from this wilder- ness, and came upon more cheerful prospects. A rivulet by the road- side here joined us company, gradually swelling to a broad and rapid stream, till at a turn in the road, it passed under a bridge, and spread wide over the adjoining meadows. Here, quite unprepared for what was before us, we came suddenly in full view of the pretty settlement of Sa- voy Hollow. It seemed a veritable city, after our sojourn in the desert Travels among the Mountains. 441 behind us, — but city it was not; only a quiet little village of a score of houses, nestled among the hills and upon the bank of the river we had just followed. A spire and a bridge were the most conspicuous objects from a distance, and we sketched the view before entering the town. pour SAVOY HOLLOW. Savoy Hollow is in the southern part of the township of Savoy. It is a resort in the winter for sleigh-ride parties from North Adams, and in the summer is a quiet place of rest for city folks from a distance. Here is a hotel, well known to frequenters of the place as a temperance establishment, where not a drop of intoxicating drink was ever sold throughout its time-honored existence; and it dates back to the com- mencement of the present century. It is a curious and interesting old building, supported by a long row of pillars in front; and on the wonted sign which hangs before the door, is the inscription, “ GREEN MOUNTAIN House, kept by. C. BOWKER.” We approached the house, undecided whether to stay here for the night, or to walk on. Certain it was that we were tired, and that the place seemed very attractive. While Felix took off his knapsack, and stretched himself at full length upon the settee of the piazza, I went in doors, and turning into the first room, found myself in a post-office. Two men were seated at a stove, talking in a drowsy and monotonous undertone. I asked one of them, - a kindly-looking old gentleman in 1 442 The Student and Schoolmate. we could a broad-brimmed straw hat and old-fashioned spectacles, how far was the next town. He answered that, and other questions of mine, in very few words, seeming never to volunteer any information that was not solicited. I afterwards found that this was Mr. Calvin Bowker, the postmaster, and the landlord of the hotel. I rejoined Felix on the piazza, and having consulted together, we concluded to stop here, and start fresh in the morning for the Hoosac Tunnel. So we went in and asked if be accommodated. Mr. Bowker ushered us into the parlor, on the other side of the entry, opened the blinds, and then went to prepare us a room. While waiting here, we employed the interval of time, in tracing out our course upon a map of Berkshire which bung upon the wall, and in trying an aged cabinet-organ, which stood in the corner of the room. The organ proving wheezy, and our voices hoarse, we straggled to the lounge, where we still sat, saying nothing, but thinking how tired we were, when two men in sporting dress came in from the road ; one of them having a gun. “ This is better than sitting at our old back window in Fulton Street," said the one with the gun to his friend, as they entered the room. “I could n't live the year round,” said the other, taking off his hat, and wiping his brow with his handkerchief, — " if I did n't get up here once a year.” They stared at us, and then continued talking. “ That fellow you were mentioning - what is his name? I have such a memory for names, I think I shall sometime forget my own," and as he spoke, he put his gun in a corner, and they both sat down. "Jenkins?” suggested the other. “ Yes, Jenkins — extravagant dog, he spends as he goes such a position is liable to be knocked off his pins any time, and then where is he? he becomes an object of charity ; and he's rather high- strung, you know.” Felix here arose, and, as I thought, from a feeling of delicacy, went out of the room ; not wishing to intrude on the conversation of these men, I followed, and when in the entry, I said with a laugh, “ Felix Jenkins, does that man mean you ?” “ Don't you know who that is ?” he exclaimed in a subdued voice, and with some asperity. “ Why no; how should I ?” « That's Jervis of Medford; our classmate years ago." “ And who was the other one? why did n't you speak to them?" I received no answer to my questions, for the landlord approached a man in 1 1 Travels among the Mountains. . 443 4 just then, with the information that our room was ready. Felix con- cluded to go up and take a nap on his bed, first asking Mr. Bowker if those gentlemen in the parlor were boarders here. He was answered they were “ transient” on their way to the Hoosac Valley, and would probably remain here through the day, only. " I shall make myself known to them at the supper-table,” said Felix to me, and then went to his room. I took my sketch-book, and saun- tered down the road. The village consisted of one street, running parallel with the river, The sun was just setting behind the church-spire, and cast strong lights and shadows across the landscape, making so attractive a picture that I sat down to draw it, hoping I did not alarm the neighbors by so unusual a proceeding. I did not have time to finish my drawing, however, for the supper-bell soon rang, and I went back to the hotel. We found our travelling friends had gone, as they were not at the table. The land- lady made herself very agreeable, both by waiting upon us with much attention, and by telling us anecdotes after supper, of her past experi- ence in hotel life, as we sat with her at the kitchen stove. When we went up to bed that evening, we regretted we were not to stay here longer ; hoping that if there was to be rain during our tour, it would rain on the morrow, and detain us with this genial family. We were disappointed, however, for the next morning was fair ; so we bid good- bye to Savoy Hollow, and with our pockets full of apples, were soon on the road to Florida, the next town, north. Grave doubts arose in our mirds, as we loitered on, as to where our friends of the day before, had gone. We had come into the wilderness to meet solitude, not acquaintances, and we hoped that their course was in a different direction from the one we had now taken. After leaving the village, we rested by the roadside for a while, to make square our accounts. This was a serious undertaking, but none the less a duty; for to facilitate the process of paying our bills, Felix had settled for both of us ; and that we might keep the financial burden equally divided, we occasionally had a settling day between ourselves. The locality in which we were now walking, became at every step more rugged and mountainous. There were woody dells along the road, in whose depths the splashing of rapid waters could be heard, - but · hardly seen. And we were often tempted by some moss-grown log, to sit down and satiate ourselves with the inexhaustible beauty and solitude of this wild country. Late in the afternoon, we came to a saw-mill, and some dwellings. Felix, who was now wanting some milk, stopped at one of the houses 444 The Student and Schoolmate. and knocked at the door, with the end of his walking stick. At the summons, a woman appeared, hideous with protruding teeth and long finger-nails. She was evidently idiotic, and without waiting for Felix to make his request, at once informed him that John was “ in the valley !” “ Well; can you let me bave some milk, my good woman ?” asked he. She looked at him with a puzzled and helpless expression of face, and seeming to find relief in nothing but ber first assertion, relapsed into that, and again told Felix that John was “ in the valley.” “And can't you sell me a quart of milk ? ” “ John is in the valley,” reiterated she. “ Yes; well, perhaps I shall find him," with which he turned away, convinced that no milk could be had in that quarter. While we walked up the road, she stood looking in an opposite direction around the cor- ner of the house, as if she thought it now high time for John to re- turn from that valley where he had been gone so long ; little realizing that she, poor soul, was in a valley of helplessness, from which probably, only death would release her. We again asked, with as little success, at another house. “A quart of milk ! shure it's that same we would like to be buying of you !” ex- claimed the Irish woman. As Felix had assured me that milk was plentiful and cheap in Berkshire, I could not refrain from laughing at these rebuffs. There was one more house ahead, before coming to the woods, and when we reached it, the man residing there was just sitting down to dinner; so we asked permission to join him. He had lately come here from the valley of the Mohawk, he said, and soon launching into politics, made dolorous the noontide meal with sarcasms on Lincoln,- and eulogies of Johnson. This, together with his exorbitant price for our dinner, (charging about four times as much as others had,) quite disgusted us with him; and we left the house choking with rage. “I suppose this man had not yet learned the Berkshire scale of prices, Felix." “Always avoid the Mohawk Valley,” he answered; "that's the moral I draw from our experience with him. Never let me hear that valley mentioned again. If there's one man whom I worship, it is Lin- coln; he's the only political character I know or care anything about, - and I will not hear him abused.” The road bad degenerated into a cow-path, on entering the woods, and we were now descending an abrupt and craggy slope, when — at the bottom of the glen, to a broad stream, the Cold River, separating Savoy from Florida. The foot-bridge we here expected to we cam 446 The Student and Schoolmate. The scientific name of the Irish Elk is Negaceros Hibernicus, and the first thing that attracts the eye, is its immense horns. The bones of the head somewhat resemble those of a deer, or perhaps, slightly, a cow, and the horns start out round, and about the size of a cow's horns at the base, but after a few inches, they are no longer round. They become flat, and spread in a graceful curve till they are over a foot in width ; they continue this width till they are a yard long, and then taper grace- fully to a point, throwing back towards the body in a broad sweep that gives the animal a majestic appearance. The Elk, from the nose to the hips is about three yards in length, its height is nearly six feet, and over its body these two horns spread, each way, extending from side to side, and measuring from the tip of one to the tip of the other, fully three feet. But the beauty of these horns is in the branches. Out from the upper side of each, in regular and graceful form, spring seven branches, the longest twelve or fifteen inches, and on the lower side there is one branch. These branches terminate in points that throw backward, and it seems that the Irish Elk must have used great care in the manage ment of his head, as great as a fashionable lady of the olden time when the hair was mounted on immense rolls and supported by combs of enormous size. Indeed, the Elk could not wander in a forest without getting constantly entangled in the limbs and branches. His broad head- dress must sweep an open plain, or meadow, or crown a barren hill, therefore Ireland was a very suitable place for him. His legs are long, slender, and delicate, and his hoofs are parted. Even above the hoof there is a division, and the leg seems to stand or small branches of horn. From the foot to the knee is about eighteen inches, and from the knee to the hip, the same. The neck is three feet, and there are fifteen ribs on each side. From this description, can the reader form an idea of the animal ? Imagine four long, slender legs, a slender body whose back bone would be even with a man's head, a head raised considerably above, nose stick- ing out horizontally, and great horns with branches throwing back each way, covering an area nine or ten feet in length, and seeming like trees overshadowing one's presence. Very beautiful it is to look at, carrying the thoughts back to the time when the body, covered with flesh, was supported as animals are now nourished. There are the round holes where the eyes were placed, staring empty now, but one cannot help thinking of the time when there were black irises there, looking out, and rolling from side to side, when the jaws could move, and the rows of teeth could grind the food. One The Enchanted Princess. 447 cannot help thinking what a power there is in spirit, as life. Without it, these bones are motionless, and must ever so remain, and one cannot help wondering how there would be in that small space of brain, that narrow neck and the organs which were in the body, sufficient power 80 compel those limbs to move, and to bend them according to will. But so it is with all life. When the spirit goes out, the body is nothing but a mass of earth. It may turn to stone, or it may dissolve and go back to its elements. Be careful then, of the life within. Guard it as a treasure, and let it be pure as the Lord made it. M. E. Berry. Emanman THE ENCHANTED PRINCESS. ONCE cess one. NCE on a time, a great many hundred years ago, there lived a prin- who was famous all the world over for her great beauty. I should like to describe to you how wonderfully beautiful she was, but as I am sure I could not succeed, I will not attempt it. She had so many suit- ors that there was scarcely a day passed that she was not obliged to refuse Her disposition being as good as her beauty was surprising, this gave her great sorrow, for she knew that she was giving pain to many. But one day there came a prince who was so brave and handsome and intelligent, that Magnifica, for this was her name, fell in love with him at once, and when he knelt before her, and besought her to grant his suit, she cast her eyes down timidly, and held out her hand for him to kiss. This, of course, he understood to be a sign that he was accepted, and he rose joyfully from his knees, and thanked the princess fervently for her acceptance. As the prince Candidus was the son of a powerful and enlightened monarch, whose kingdom adjoined his own, the king gladly gave his consent to her marriage. It was arranged that the marriage should take place in a month, and for three days it was kept secret. The public announcement was to be made at a grand dinner party which the king was to give to all the ambassadors at court, a week later. Meanwhile, ignorant that the princess had already pledged her hand, two days later a young man who announced bimself as a prince, arrived at court, and presenting hiniself to the king, demanded his daughter's hand in marriage. The king was embarrassed, knowing that. Magnifica could not grant 448 The Student and Schoolmate. 6 and she may his suit, yet, as the affair was still kept secret, unable to assign the reason why. My daughter has rejected so many suitors,” he said, “ that I think you had better not try your fortune with her.” “She must marry some one,” said the young man, favor me.” “ You can ask her if you like,” said the king, “ but I cannot give you any encouragement." The young man, however, who was very vain, evidently thought quite otherwise, though he had little reason to do so. He was very dark com- plexioned, with a low brow, very thick eyebrows, and a broad nose, while his figure was very awkward. He was ushered into the presence of Magnifica, and was dazzled by the sight of her beauty, which was greater than he had imagined. Not being troubled with bashfulness, he soon made known his errand. “ I am deeply indebted to you, prince, for your preference,” said Magnifica, “but I regret that it is out of my power to grant your suit." Why is it out of your power ?” he asked, somewhat rudely. “ Are you married already ?” The princess answered in the negative. “ You will marry at some time, will you not?” “ Í suppose so," said Magnifica, timidly. “ Then why not marry me? You will hardly have a more desirable offer.” “ I wonder if he refers to his looks,” thought Magnifica. “He certain- ly can't think himself handsome.” “ I cannot tell as to that,” she said, with dignity, “but I must repeat my inability to marry you." “ You will repent it," said the young man, angrily. "I will thank you to leave the apartment," said the princess, coldly. “ Not until I have had my revenge,” he exclaimed, scowling fiercely. “ If you won't marry me, I am determined that you shall marry no one else.” So saying, he drew a vial from his pocket, and breaking it, suddenly dashed a portion of the contents in the face of the princess, exclaiming, “ I command you to assume the form of a cat." Hardly conscious of what he said, the princess suddenly found her arms shortening, and becoming covered with fur, and her size diminish- ing until, chancing to look in a mirror opposite, she was overwhelmed with consternation on finding reflected the form of a cat, which she saw at once must be her own. The Enchanted Princess. 449 Not content with this sad transformation, the prince, who was really a powerful magician, and no prince at all, began to chase the poor cat about the room. She was terrified almost out of her senses, and narrow- ly escaped being kicked by her brutal pursuer. At last, driven by fear, she leaped to the sill of an open window, and without stopping to con- sider the height, jumped hastily out. The distance was considerable, bat cats always alight on their feet, and so did the princess. She was jarred a little, but not seriously hurt. She had scarcely alighted when she was again menaced with danger. The gardener, knowing that the king did not like cats, and that none were allowed in the palace, gave chase, and it was only by great effort that the princess was able to escape from the garden. It was certainly very sad to think that she should be driven thus out of her own father's house, and the princess felt like shedding tears, but as this never happens to cats, she was obliged to content herself with moaning. She walked sadly along the road for two hours, at the end of which time she felt both tired and hungry. “ If I only had a saucer of milk,” she thought, “how good it would taste." Just then a little girl, about eight years old passed by, and her atten- tion was drawn to the cat. " What a pretty cat,” she said aloud, “I wish it were mine." The cat no sooner heard this then she went up to the little girl, and looking up in her face mewed, trying to signify, as well as she could, that she was willing to give herself up to her. She thought in this way she might get a good home, and something to eat. Who do you belong to pussy?” asked the little girl. Of course the cat could not answer this question. “I think it must be a stray cat,” said the little girl, “I believe I will take her home, and then if I find an owner, I can give her up. If not, I can keep her.” She accordingly said, “Follow me, pussy." and the cat who under- stood perfectly what she said, though she could not speak, followed her. Now Violet, for this was her name, lived in a pleasant house, and had two or three older brothers and sisters. Her father was a merchart, and absent at his counting-house during the greater part of the day. She carried the cat in to her mother at once, and begged permission to keep it. As her mother had promised her a cat some time since, she consented readily. “ You had better go out and get her some milk,” said her mother, “ She looks hungry.” 450 The Student and Schoolmate. “ Follow me, Pussy," said Violet. The cat at once followed her to the kitchen, where a large saucer was filled with milk, much to the joy of the cat, who did full justice to it. Then feeling drowsy, she lay down on a sofa and went to sleep. Several weeks passed, during which the cat fared very well. She had, indeed, all that a cat's heart could desire, and if she had never been anything else but a cat, she would have been quite happy. But she could not help thinking almost constantly of her father, and how sad he must feel about her loss. Thoughts of the young prince to whom she was betrothed also filled her with sadness. She heard her own disap- pearance discussed by the merchant's family, and conjectures as to what had become of her. She learned that a reward of a hundred thousand dollars had been offered by the king for any information that would lead to her recovery, and longed to tell him who she was. But of course all this was impossible. She could only mew very expressively, but that was a language which none of the family understood. Violet, as is frequently the case with young girls now-a-days, was learning to play on the piano. She sometimes found it a little irksome, being obliged to practise, when she would rather have been out of doors. Now the princess Magnifica had been a splendid performer, and when she was changed into a cat, one of the greatest deprivations she experi- enced was that this was no longer possible for her. She thought some- times, when she saw Violet at the piano, how gladly she would have taken her place. One day it chanced that being left alone in the drawing-room, she noticed on the piano a song which had been a great favorite with her. She was seized with such a desire to play it, that she jumped on the stool, and although her paws were not of course, wide enough to span an octave, she managed to play through one part with perfect success. Now Violet and her mother were in the adjoining room, and listened with surprise, supposing themselves alone in the house. “Who is that playing on the piano, Violet ?” asked ner mother “ I don't know, I am sure,” was the reply. “You may go and see.” Violet entered the room, and was overwhelmed with astonishment when she perceived that it was the cat who was producing the sounds to which she had been listening. Why mother, it ’s Puss," she exclaimed. “ Nonsense!” said her mother. 6 Come and see, then.” The mother rose from her sewing, and following Violet, was equally eurprised to perceive that it was indeed the cat. 454 The Student and Schoolmate. I'd have the heart boil over With lively stirring mirth, Nor let the youth be sober A clod of homely earth ; But let him run with gladness Along the pleasant way, And leave all care and sadness, For life's more distant day! Geo. F. Thayer. NETTIE'S FAIRY, PART I. “THE carriage is at the door, mamma.” \HE There might have been forty carriages at the door, judging from the noise made by Miss Nettie, as she threw open the front door, dashed through the hall, pounded with her energetic little feet half way up the stairs, and then screamed in a loud excited tone, the above remark. But it was a great day for Nettie. The air, as it came in through the open door, was such an air! One had forgotten through the long win- ter, and tardy spring, that Old Boreas ever did stay at home, and send out his subordinate breezes, and zephyrs, in his stead. But it was cer- tainly an established fact this day. Just a mild May zephyr was fanning the delighted earth, breathing on the budding trees, kissing the pretty crocuses, and sending a waft of genuine spring to every heart. So the baby could go out for the first time since autumn; and Nettie was wild with delight; for Maggy, the baby's nurse, was busy – it be- ing Monday morning — and after much earnest pleading, mamma had consented to entrust the baby to Nettie's sole charge. But if the abstract truth was told, Mrs. Tyler's heart was in no such jubilant state, as she brought the bright-eyed, laughing baby down stairs, arrayed in the pinkest of cloaks, and whitest of hoods, and proceeded to stow her snugly away in the carriage. For Miss Nettie was not formed at all after the clock-work pattern; but was such a careless little fly-away, always meeting with childish adventures, and hair-breadth escapes, that Mrs. Tyler had great misgiv- ings, and many fears. Nevertheless she had promised, and must perform. Nettie's Fairy. 455 - : “Now, Nettie," said her mother when the baby was tucked in, and strapped in, and kissed in — " look right at me, for I have a word or two to say to you.” So Nettie — who was enacting a series of pirouettes, by balancing herself on the heel of her boot - turned solemnly around, and stood with her hands behind her, waiting for her mother's observatious. - In the first place, Nettie, don't let the handle of the carriage down suddenly, for you might jerk the baby out; in the second place, don't go along at your usual heedless pace, but walk slowly, and keep looking at the baby, to see that everything is right: and in the third place, be very, very careful in every way. Now what have I said?” "Don't drop the handle, keep looking at the baby, and be very, very careful,” said Nettie, concisely. . "That will do," said Mrs. Tyler, smiling. “ Now one more iss, and away she shall go," — this to the baby. So off Nettie started, very carefully, at first, and very proudly; for this really was the prettiest baby in town, you know, and the sweetest baby that ever lived ; at any rate Nettie thought so, and of course she knew. Then too, the carriage was such a nice one, and the baby's cloak so pretty, and her hood so becoming, that Nettie was doubly proud. Several people looked their admiration, and one or two of Nettie's particular friends stopped to say, " What a darling baby," and give her a kiss, By-and-by, an old lady came along, and stopping short before the carriage, exclaimed, " Ah, what a lovely babe! Your little brother, dear?” “ Brother ! ” cried Nettie, indignantly ; "he's a girl, ma'am.” “O, a girl, is it?” said the old lady. “ Well, I will say, that she's most as pretty as my daughter Belinda's babe; her eyes, though, are rather staring." And the old lady walked on. " Most as pretty as her daughter's babe," ejaculated Nettie, with her Dose turned up an inch. “ I guess so! Why can't she say baby, I should like to know! Staring eyes ! Let her find a handsomer pair in town if she can! But then, she's a poor, silly old woman; does n't know much, any way, and Nettie's nose fell half an inch in pity. To think that she should call this sweet little rosy-posy honey, a boy! Just as if -" “Take care, take care !” said a gentle little voice, just at this moment right over Nettie's head. Nettie stood stock still, and stared up into a tree, which towered Nettie's Fairy. 457 called to me? I just heard it say behind,' and I looked, and there was the horse. Do you see any one up in that tree. O, would you please look ?" The gentleman smiled amusedly, but examined the tree carefully, nevertheless. Nettie, meanwhile, relating every particular, in regard to the stupid old lady, her (Nettie's) anger, how her wrath making her forget trees, and everything else, she dashed on, and would have gone with the baby's carriage plump against the tree, if it had n't been for the voice. Did the gentleman think it could have been a fairy ? and Nettie lowered her voice solemnly — “could it have been possible that God had spoken to her, as He did to little Samuel ?” Nettie thought it might be that He would speak, to save the baby. But the gentleman could discover nothing. He acknowledged, with as sober a face as he could assume, that it was very mysterious about the voice. but could give no satisfactory opinion on the subject. He of- fered however to walk along with Nettie, if she felt at all frightened, as his business called him in that direction. Chatting gaily with the gentleman, Nettio soon forgot the tree, the voice, the horse, and the baby too, when suddenly, as Nettie drew near her home, that same voice from another tree, piped out, “ The baby, the baby!" " It is a fairy !” cried Nettie. “Perhaps it's a talking bird, that flies from tree to tree. Did n't you hear the voice that time, sir ?” And she turned to look at the baby. “I heard a bird singing," said the gentleman gravely; thinking, per- haps, that his little friend was somewhat dazed. The strap to the baby's carriage was loose, and as Nettie turned to look at her, she found the baby on the point of tumbling forward. " There !” cried Nettie, triumphantly. “You see the baby would have tumbled out, if I had n't heard the voice again. I do believe it's & fairy." But the gentleman's business called him down a cross street, just then - perhaps he had heard enough about the fairy — and a few steps more brought Nettie, and the baby, safely to the front door, where Mrs. Tyler stood — much relieved in mind - to welcome them. Tracy Towne. mond 458 The Student and Schoolmate. TO NEWS FROM THE BEACH. Letter no. 1, FROM ANNIE LEE, AT COHASSET, TO HER PARTICULAR FRIEND, LILA HARRISON, AT CONWAY, N. H. COHASSET, July 19th. DEAR LILA - It seems an age since we parted, and to think that so many miles now separate us ! — you, away up among the mountains, and I, down here by the sea. We had a delightful sail down the Bay, and at Hingham took the stage for a five mile ride, then all packed into two large carriages, which took us along a pleasant winding road, with here and there glimpses of the water. Before long we began to smell the salt water air; then came salt marsh, and sand; then a few fishermen's houses dropped close to the shore ; then further on, a little old house tucked up under the wooded hill, with a tall half dead poplar tree standing sentinel over it, which proved to be the place of our destination. I don't think we shall be troubled with callers here, and shall be privileged to live as we like, and do as we like, without fear of Mrs. Grundy. The first thing we did was to eat some lunch, for we were all hungry as Cannibals, and then we examined our domicile and tried to give it a more home-like air. News from the Beach. 459 It was Jamie and I selected a good croquet ground, and set up the wickets, while the rest arranged the balls and furniture ; and by that time the sun was low, so we put on our shore dresses, and went down to the beach exploring. The tide was very low, and the shore so gradual in its descent, that we could walk out a long way to the rocks, from which we had such a fine view; rocky promontories on right and left, and, in front, ledges of rock everywhere peeped out of the low water; while away in the dim distance was Minot's Ledge Light-house, and the broad ocean. near sunset, and the sky and water were so beautifully colored, with sails here and there, some pink and some in shadow. The scene was perfectly lovely, and if I had only bad you by my side, I should have been completely satisfied. Such rocks I never saw before, with here and there great chasms where the tide beats up, lodging sea-weed and drift-wood. It is the rock-bound coast we sing about, and a wreck lying on the shore testi- fies of its danger. We sat on the rocks till the twilight fell, and then as the light from Minot's Ledge shone out so safely, away to the north there was a faint glimmer like its echo; now there, now gone. That was the revolving light in Boston Harbor. Last night we all slept soundly in our new lodgings in spite of hard beds, and this morning have taken our first taste of salt water. We are going now toʻride, and I must post this on the way. Do write soon, for I can hardly wait to hear from you. If you were only here! Your affectionate friend, ANNIE. Letter Mo. 2. FROM JAMIE (AGED TEN YEARS,) TO COUSIN HENRY. July 21st. DEAR HAL-I should n't write to you now, if I had n't promised to, for there are so many things to be done. We go in swimming, and go out on the rocks fishing; and this morn- ing Will and I went out with Mr. Price, to haul in his lobster pots. These are a kind of wicker cage, and when the lobster gets in, he don't find it so easy getting out. There is a piece of wood fastened to one end of the rope by which they haul them in, and this floats like a buoy, so they can tell where the pot is sunk. One lobster he caught this morning was the biggest one of the season. Oh! 't was a whopper, though! and weighed eighteen pounds. I tell you, they had to take it out carefully, just by one place on the back, News from the Beach. 461 Letter no. 4. July 24th. DEAR LILA — I was so delighted to hear from you, and to learn that you were having such a nice time. Conway must be charming, and what a dear pony yours must be. Now I must tell you about the visit we made to-day to Government Island. You know this island was bought by government to construct the light-house upon, and from thence it was taken over to the ledge, piece by piece. The island is about a mile and a half away, and the road to it leads through Cohasset Harbor ; not a very pleasant part of the town, for it is largely made up of rough houses, where they pack the fish which is brought in here in fishing smacks. The island is cut off from the main land simply by the Scituate river, which here comes tumbling into the cove. We crossed on the bridge, and then directly from the water's edge rises a high bluff of rock, on the top of which is the observatory and the frame work used in hoisting the signals by which they communicate with the light-house. This ledge is climbed by means of steps cut in the solid rock, and when sve reached the top the combination of land and water scenery was magnificent, and richly repaid one for the ascent. To the east was the ocean, and the light-house nearly five miles away; then the Glades and Whitehead, and numerous other ledges and promontories breaking the monotony of the water. At our feet was the Harbor, with its fish- ing vessels lying at anchor, their masts and rigging perfectly reflected in the low tide ; while landward, as far as the eye could reach, were hills and valleys dotted with villages, and the river winding its way among them. After feasting our eyes for some tiine, we descended the rocks, looking at the signals which hang in the observatory, as we passed. These signals look somewhat like big black balloons. Several pretty little cottages are built on the island and occupied by the keep- ers of the light. On the piazza of Captain Tower's house, which is largest, is a fine spy-glass, through which we looked. It brought the light-house very near, and while I was looking through it, I saw some one swinging down by a rope from the lantern to the door. I was so frightened I screamed right out, and when I told what I saw, the lady said she presumed it was her son ; he was always doing such things. Just below the Captain's house, was a level plot of ground, on which were two circles in granite blocks set into the ground; the foundation on which the light-house was built. This island is a depot for all the government buoys belonging to 462 The Student and Schoolmate. Boston Harbor. These are of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Some looked like huge wooden casks, pointed at both ends, and are very large. One perhaps fifteen feet long, had a bell suspended at the top which the motion of the waves would ring, warning of danger in a fog. Another bell-buoy was called the Iron-clad, and was built somewhat in the form of a boat; while a frame-work of iron supported the bell over the words, “ Harding's Ledge." But most of the buoys were simply long piles, one end of which was painted, and intended to float, while the other is anchored at the bottom. While we were wandering round, we met an old man, who proved to be one of the keepers of the light, off duty, and he showed us all there was to be seen. He was a pleasant old gentleman, with such a good, kind face. At last we noticed that the sky looked rather threatening, so we bade adieu to Government Island, and turned homeward. The rain held off until to-night; while Jamie and I were down to Mr. Price's shanty, after some fresh lobster for tea, it came down in tor- rents, and we could not get home. So Mr. Price set us two clean stools by the little window, where we could see the waves beat up upon the rocks. The wind had been east two days, and the waves came in splendidly. To entertain us, Mr. Price told stories of storm and wreck how he had frequently known the tide to come clear up to the house we were in, and dash in at the windows. How he was on the shore when the last light-house went down, and how the fog-bell rang, until, when they heard it no longer, they knew that all was over, and nothing could save men in it. It was an awful coast, he said, in a storm, and many was the vessel he had seen wrecked, and no life-boat could get to it. “ What about the wreck that lies here now,” I asked. lives lost ?" “ No,” he said, “ but they were almost starved and frozen. the dead of winter, and they had drifted from somewhere off the Cape. Then a heavy north-easter set in, and drove her upon the rocks ; but fortunately, she passed all the smaller ledges, and brought up on the rocks, where we sat to watch the sunset, which were large enough to shelter the men until low tide, when they managed to get ashore, and were kindly cared for by the neighbors. “ A piece of her anchor chain lies near these rocks now, and is so im- bedded in the sand, that ten horses hitched to it failed to draw it out. The next hard storm drove the wreck in high and dry, and there it lies bleaching, and the children make a play house of it.” the poor “ Were any It was Ralph Wright. 463 Before Mr. Price had finished his yarns, the storm held up a little, and we scud home. All this evening I have spent in writing this very long letter to you; but now my candle, in its potatoe candle-stick, sputters low, and I must say good night. In my next, I will tell you of an excursion to the light-house, which we shall make the first fair day. And now adieu. From your loving friend, ANNIE LEE. (To be continued.) an RALPH WRIGHT; OR Honesty the Best Policy. They MR R. and Mrs. Wright, with their son Ralph, lived in the city. were in comfortable circumstances, when Mr. Wright was taken sick with rheumatic fever; then, when the proceeds of his labor ceased, and the expenses of sickness were to be met, they found that their means were indeed limited. Ralph was fourteen years old, and age. When he saw how troubled his parents were about money matters, he asked permission to leave school and enter a store. At first they opposed his wishes, but when they saw how very anxious he was, they gave a reluctant consent. Through the influence of a friend, he soon procured a situation in the retail store of Messrs. Jones large of his & Co. He had been in his place about two months, when, one day, a lady entered and inquired for French calico. Ralph took down piece after piece, and displayed a great variety. At last, his customer seemed to fancy one particular piece very much ; after inquiring the price, she asked: “ Can you warrant these colors to be fast ? ” “ I am sorry to say I'm afraid not,” answered Ralph ; "a lady was in here yesterday and complained that it faded.” "Well, I thank you for telling me," said the lady, for I dislike a calico that fädes, and as this is the only piece I fancy, I shall be obliged to look elsewhere." Mr. Jones had stood near enough to hear the above conversation, and 1 464 The Student and Schoolmate. 99 as soon as the lady had gone, he spoke very harshly to Ralph, saying, “Why did you tell that lady that the calico would not wash?" “ Because she asked me" answered Ralph, looking up surprised. Why did n't you tell her, you did n't know ? that it was warranted fast colors, and you supposed, of course, it would wash.” “ Because, I did know, sir ; a lady told me yesterday it would fade." Well, if your conscience is as squeamish as that,” sneered his em- ployer, “it won't do for me to have you bere, my customers would all be gone soon. You may leave my en ploy Saturday night.” Ralph's heart was heavy enough. The loss of his situation was a very serious matter to him. Yet he felt that he had done right, and he would not act differently if the opportunity should occur again. He felt very sad when he went home at night, and informed bis parents that he had lost his place. “What have you done, Ralph ?” asked his mother, very anxiously; o nothing, I hope, to deserve a dismissal.” “I will tell you all about it,” answered Ralph, " and then you shall judge.” He then related his story. “ I am thankful you were truthful,” said his mother. “ You did right, perfectly right, my son," said his father. “ No situ- ation, is worth retaining at the sacrifice of truth. Remember in what- ever situation you may be placed, that 'honesty is the best policy.' I feel happier under the circumstances to have you lose your place, than I should have felt, to have had you brought me ten thousand dollars, gained at the sacrifice of your integrity.” “I am glad you both approve of what I have done,” said Ralph,“ but I feel very sorry to have lost my situation.” “ Don't feel down-hearted,” said his mother ; “ have patience and do the best you can ; I feel as if everything would turn out well.” The remainder of the week passed wearily. Saturday night, Ralph received his wages and his dismissal. Early the next week, he began to seek for a situation. He scanned the advertisements in the daily papers; and if he saw one that he thought he could fill, he made application, but some one had always got the start of him. Everywhere he was unsuccessful. For more than a week he was doomed to disappointment, when, hear- ing that Mr. B-, a friend of his father's, was in want of a boy, he applied. When he had made known his wishes, Mr. B- told him he was very sorry, but he had engaged a boy not more than an hour before; however, he believed Messrs. Farwell & Co. wanted a boy; he had better apply there. Declamation. 467 DIALOGUE. GREAT EXPECTATIONS. X Dialogue for the Boys. CHARACTERS. — JAMES SHERMAN and ARTHUR BANKS. SCENE I. — (James seated in his room, reading. Enter Arthur Banks with an air of great importance. James. Ah, Arthur! Glad to see you! How do you do! Arthur. First-rate! how are you? James. Lively. But you look as if something wonderful had hap- pened! What is it? Arthur. Oh, nothing special has happened, but that is no reason why something may not happen — is it? James. I should think not, Come, out with it! you know you came in on purpose to tell me! Arthur. Did I! Well, then I 'll answer you by asking a question. Have you seen the last Gazette ? James. Yes, why? Arthur. Did you see that advertisment of Jenkins & Co.'s Grand Gift Distribution ? James. Yes, I believe I saw it, but I did not read it. Arthur. Did not read it! Why Jim Sherman! you don't know what you may have lost by not reading it! (Pulls a paper from his pocket and reads,)“ Grand Gift Distribution to take place at New York City on the 27th of Junę! Five hundred thousand dollars worth of presents to be distributed among the share-holders! Fifty thousand presents valued at from one dollar to twenty thousand dollars to be given away!! Thirty thousand tickets already disposed of! One splendid farm in On- tario county — valued at fifteen thousand dollars ! One brown-stone front house on Fourth Avenue in this city — valued at twenty thousand dollars ! Three house-lots in Brooklyn worth ten thousand each ! One pair of beautiful carriage horses valued at seven thousand !- diamond, opal, amethyst, and garnet jewelry worth all the way from fifty dollars to ten thousand! All to be given away to the ticket-holders ! Mag- nificent chance to make your fortune, and at the same time do a chari- table deed! The proceeds of the sale are to be devoted to the estab- lishment of a Home for the Widows of Soldiers and Sailors. Tickets 468 The Student and Schoolmate. one dollar each sent by return mail! Possession of property given immediately after the distribution takes place! Enclose one dollar and a red stamp to Jenkins & Co., No. — Broadway, New York, and re- ceive your ticket by the next mail! Be careful and write your Post- office, County, and State, distinctly, that there may be no mistake! N. B. No Blanks! N. B. This is no ordinary lottery swindle. P. S. Everything conducted to the satisfaction of all concerned." There, James, (triumphantly) what do you think of that ? James. I think it is the biggest piece of swindling I've heard of lately. Arthur. No indeed! It can't be! You must be mistaken! Why, it is just as fair and open as day! They offer inducements enough, I should think, to convince anybody that they mean to do the honest thing. Why, they say especially that it is no lottery swindle ! James. I don't wonder that they do. And they must be very indo- cent-minded people indeed if they think anybody is going to believe them. Arthur. Only think of it! A farm worth fifteen thousand dollars! Why, Captain Smith's wonderful farm is n't worth half of that! And then those house-lots, and the brown-stone front in New York, and the carriage horses! I should rather draw the horses than any of the other presents ! James. I would n't give a red cent for any ticket they have issued ! Arthur. Now, Jim Sherman! that's going it a little too strong! And it's for a charitable object, too. For the benefit of the widows of the soldiers and sailors. I thonght you were very patriotic, James. James. I profess to be. But I see no reason why I should throw away a dollar to help on a confounded humbug, because I am patriotic. Arthur. Why, a dollar may do some good. Every little helps, you know. James. I reckon Jenkins & Co. think so. But look here, Arthur, what a decidedly profitable operation it must be for them to take my dollar and give me a fifteen thousand dollar farm, or a five thousand dollar set of jewelry, for it! What a dreadful disinterested set of men they must be! I think I'd give a dollar toward setting up a monument to their memory if I should happen to outlive them! Their virtues and graces must be beyond compare ! Arthur. Oh, you need n't laugh, James. You 'll laugh out of the other side when you see me riding round with my seven thousand dol- lar carriage horses ! Dialogue. 469 James. I should n't wonder if I did! Arthur. It seems beat into me that I shall draw the horses ! James. I reckon you 'll draw them, before they 'll draw you. Arthur. I shall be sure and draw something, any way. Did n't you observe that the advertisement says - - “ No Blanks ?" And I think I shall draw the horses, for I dreamed of horses all last night. James Arthur Banks, if you ’ve got a dollar, my advice is to you, hold on to it, and don't go to fooling it away on these rascally scamps that make their living by fleecing honest people. Arthur. It's too late now. I've already sent my dollar. I sent it last night, and by day after to-morrow I shall look for my ticket. And I should n't wonder if you lived to see the day when you 'll be sorry that you had n't invested a dollar too. James. I don't think I shall live to be old enough for that. Arthur. Oh well, laugh if you want to, I won't be bard on you, though, I 'll give you a ride with my horses when I get them. James. Thank you. You 're very kind. Only if I were you, Arthur, I would n't count my chickens before they were hatched. Eggs will addle, sometimes you know. Arthur. There is no chance for addling in this case. But I must be going, Mother will be wondering where I am. She sent me over to the store for a pound of tea. Good morning. (Goes out.) James. Poor Arthur! This credulity is refreshing! Another in- stance of the truth of the old adage — " A fool and his money are soon parted." SCENE II. — (James and Arthur meet at the Post Office.) James. Ab, Arthur, is that you ? I've been wanting to see you this some time. Arthur. Have you? James. Yes. It's the middle of July, now, and I suppose that won- derful Gift Distribution has come off by this time! I thought I should like to take a look at your horses ! Arthur. Oh ? James. Yes. Has n't it taken place ? Arthnr. Well, yes, I believe so. James. You believe so? why, don't you know ? Arthur. Well, yes -I- that is, I believe it has. James. Have your horses come ? Arthur (hesitatingly.) Well -you see, I did n't draw the horses. James. You did n't? who did, then ? no 470 The Student and Schoolmate. Arthur. I'm sure I do not know. James. You don't ? well that's singular, seeing as you were so sure of them. Arthur. Oh well, there's many a slip 'tween the cup and the lip. James. Yes — that is true. But have n't you got a list of the draw- ing? Arthur. Yes, but there is nothing said in regard to the horses. James. Perhaps they shuffled off the mortal coil before the drawing took place. I should n't wonder at all. But don't be so close-mouthed, my lad. Let 's hear the whole story, what did you draw ? Arthur. The fact of it is, Jim, if I tell you, you 'll laugh at me. James. I shall laugh, any way. Though if you or any one else has drawn anything I shall be surprised. Tell us all about it — That 's a good fellow. Arthur. Well, you see, I got the list of the drawing week before last, and saw that my number had drawn a prize. Naturally enough, you know, I expected it was the horses. So I wrote to Jenkins & Co. and asked them about it. They wrote back that they were very sorry I had not drawn the horses; but they congratulated me on having drawn a very handsome female article of jewelry - no bang it all, I mean a handsome article of female jewelry. And they furthermore informed me that if I would send four red stamps to pay the postage they would forward the article by mail. James. How very obliging in them! Arthur. I was disappointed, for I fully expected to get the horses, but I thought the handsome article of jewelry was worth sending for. I expected that it was a gold watch, or chain, or diamond breast pin, or something of that sort, and I made up my mind that if it was, I'd give it to Helen Briggs. Helen is a very fine girl, I think. James. I quite agree with you. Arthur. Well, I sent them the stamps, and told them to be sure and pack the article carefully- James. The female article ? Arthur. Don't poke fun at a fellow ! I guess if you had lost a seven thousand dollar pair of horses all at once, you might make a mistake as bad as that. James. Doubtless I should. I beg pardon for interrupting. Pray go on. Arthur. I told them to be sure and pack the article carefully, so that no one need mistrust its value - for you know those Post-office clerks are rascally fellows — some of them. - 1 Dialogue. 471 I ran James. Yes, to be sure, and if they had known it had been a female article of jewelry – Arthur. Do keep still. After I sent the stamps, I watched the Post- office pretty narrowly, and in a week the package came for me. home with it, and opened it up in my chamber with the door locked ! James. Well, what was it ? Arthur. You'd never guess ! James. I'm sure I could not. A bosom pin, perhaps ? Arthur. No. A brass thimble ! See! here it is! cost about two cents, I should judge! (Holds up a thimble.) James. Ha! ha! so that is an article of female jewelry, is it? Are you going to present it to Helen Briggs? Arthur. Don't, Jim! Remember I put you on your honor not to tell of this. If the other fellows should get hold of it I should never hear the last of it. And we are all liable to get taken in, you know? James. Especially when we buy tickets in a Grand Gift Distribution which promises to give us a seven thousand dollar span of horses for one dollar! Clara Augusta. for the Student and Schoolmate. BATH QUICKSTOP, Composed for the Piano-forte, by THOS. P. I. MAGOUN. LEGGIERO, f mf 2:6 Di TANGLED THREADS We have especially favorable facilities for supplying books and stationary of all kinds, engravings, agricultural imple- ments and seeds, music and musical in- struments, and all articles for family or personal use — in fact everything of value UR proposal to establish a purchase printing, in every variety. or use, not excepting the care of jobs in ing agency has already met with a A. E. C. writes encouragingly : “ Your response, and we thank our valued correspondent for his suggestions. He agent called last year and we subscribed. writes thus —“I observe that It has been all and a great deal more you hint at an agency for the obtaining articles than he promised. I enclose $1.50 for for those at a distance. I think it a the coming year, for which please send good idea. If you would specify articles me a receipt.” such as you are willing to procure, in- E. C. also remits $1.50 for a new sub- cluding even articles as important as pi- scriber with these words : “My family anos, affording them at less than at mar- are so well pleased with the Schoolmate, ket rates, I think you would find it to that you can consider me a life subscriber advantage. You might also suggest to and we will soon form a club." We en- the boys and girls that you would supply joy this sort of club, and offer liberal en- them with any book in the market at couragement to such. advertiser's price. I think, particularly Richdore may be assured that we will about Christmas time, you would get a seek the information he desires and give good many orders of that sort.” it at the earliest moment. We hope to This is precisely what we propose to do so in our November number, as there do, and having, to a limited extent, an- is no question that it will prove interest- swered such orders for several years past, ing to all our readers, as well as valuable we are convinced that our friend is cor to ourselves. rect. Rob Roy. To what do you refer – It is our intention to answer all orders please enlighten us. and also all reasonable inquiries (when ten cents are inclosed to cover postage Ella B. Your suggestion is a good and expense, if simply an inquiry,) that one, but cannot be introduced until we may be made of us. An instance in point commence our new volume, when it will - an inquiry as to the reputation of a be our pleasure to adopt it, with other Sewing Machine Company offering unu- important changes. sual inducement to agents — result of our Thank you, Theodore, our eyes are investigation and answer “A bogus decidedly better, though not sufficiently concern, unworthy of confidence.” strong for evening work. Hence, al- Tangled Threads. 475 Six { I though we can see a perceptible lower 139. Take from a lawn , and confer ing of the pile of manuscripts and ex. pleasure. changes that have accumulated during 140. Take from a dead body and it is our affliction, much remains to be done. a troop of soldiers. As we have no assistant editor, we hope 141. Take from a feather and produce to regain fuli use of our eyes before the a fruit. long evenings come on, when much ed. 142. Take from a fruit and it is a itorial labor can be done. vegetable. 143. Take from a piece of poetry and name a poet. Answers. 144. Take from a dance and remem- IX XL ber a president. 123. IX X L 145. Take from a well-bred woman S X and it is a boy. Answered by QUILL 146. Take from a seaman and you have a soldier. 124. Ludicrous. — Arm. — Rhea. 147. Take from a swamp and give a Gaul. — Enrol. – Large. - Small. heathen god. 125. Iceland. 148. Take from a surgical instrument 126. Sicily. and produce a spear. 127. Madeira. 149. Take from a headland and it is 128. Jilolo. a covering for the head. 129. Caledonia. ROB ROY. 130. John Greenleaf Whittier. 131. A. 3.00. B. 9.00. 150. My first is possession. My second is seen in every house. 132. Boston. My whole is a contributor to Tangled 133. Bui castles in the air. Threads. T. S. W. 134. Garabaldi, Romulus, Alexander, Napoleon, Tell. Geographical Questions. 135. Paris. 151. A pronoun, a dish, another pro- 136. Geographical Rebus. noun, an interjection, and a musical note make what island ? 152. A young animal, and an article make what island ? 153. To froth at the mouth, an arti- cle, an invisible fluid, and a vehicle make what island ? 137. Enigma. I am composed of 12 letters Problem No. 10. My 1; 11, 7, 3, 10, is to stop. A summer house in a public park has My 8, 2, 4, 9, is a visor. an eight-sided roof measuring 72 feet My 12, 5, 6, is to ramble about. around. From the middle of one side My whole is a river in Maine. to that of the opposite side is 24 feet. RUTHVEN. The centre pole measures 9 feet from the ceiling of the house to the vertices of the 138. Sans-pieds. sides. How many shingles each cover- 138. Take from an amphibious animal ing 6 sq. inches will be required to cover and it is a body of water. the roof? OLIN. 476 The Student and Schoolmate The Evening Circle. Before I commence let me say, this owl ['To- whit, &c.' and a play of hands) is a sharp one as you may have noticed. On a hot, sultry day hav- ing scoured the wood with ill success in quest of OUR YOUNG FOLK'S MENAGERIE. deer, (if anyone represents this animal he should bleat) suddenly I came into an open plot, and The players draw cuts for their posi- found myself fronting a large dark cavern, — me- tions in the game. The four having the thought it was the den (a general cry, &c.) of shortest cuts will represent animals; the some wild beast, perhaps a bear. (Whoever plays one drawing the longest becomes their the bear should make a growling sound.) I cried Showman ; while the rest are specta- the hollow depths startled the inmates, and forth aloud from terror. The noise resounding through tors. came a flock (a general cry, &c.) of owls, ('Tü- We cannot allow our spectators to re- whit, &c.,' and the play of hands) this one among main idle, as they do at most menage the rest. "Owls,' [" Tu-whit, &c.,' the hands ries; they must take some part in the again appear] said I, 'can there be nothing but' -a shrill cry pierced my ear, ere I had finished game, as well as have an interest in it. my soliloquy. Upward I looked, and saw a herd Therefore, they seat themselves in the [a general cry, &c.] of fat kine (the representative form of a half-circle, facing the centre of of this class of animals lows, ‘Moo!') grazing on it. the cliffs above. I also saw the whole flock (a The Showman places the four animals general cry, &c.) of owls [' Tu-whit, &c.,' and the hands disappear) collected in one mass, ready in the different corners of the room, after to repel the disturber of their peace. One owl designating to each the animal he or she [' Tu-whit, &c.,' and a play of hands] more bold shall represent. When they are ready, than the rest, darted full in my face, - I caught he calls one of them to him, and seats him, and here you see him prisoner.” him in the centre of the half-circle. Before the narrative has reached this He now gives a description of the animal seated before him, who, during have touched (caught) the hand of some great length, the owl, if he is smart, will the narration, repeats his peculiar cry spectator ; whereupon they two change every time his name is mentioned. places. The Showman tells the unlucky The spectators at the commencement spectator what animal he shall represent, of the game place their hands crossed upon their knees, that is, the left hand and, having sent him to the empty cor- on the right knee, and the other hand ner, calls the next animal on the right. When the words den, lair, and the col. on the left knee. But, whenever the an- lective nouns tribe, herd, pack, drove, imal being exhibited utters his cry, they &c., occur in the description, the four change the position of their hands, clasp- animals must utter their respective cries, ing them behind if then they were in and the spectators make both movements front, or bringing them forward if before of the hand ; for example, if the hands they chanced to be behind them. rested on the knees they clasp them be. The Showman begins somewhat after hind, and at the same time bring them this manner ; in front again, thus having them in the “ Ladies and Gentlemen, this animal of the same position they were before the cry. feathered tribe (a general cry, and a double play of the hands] is rather a familiar one to us all, yet In the general cry, if any animal-for- I doubt whether you have ever seen it. Although gets to repeat his cry, he shall pay a for- an owl, [here our animal cries, 'Tu-whit, Tu- feit ; but if the one at the circle forgets whoo! Whoo, Whoo!' and, as the hands dis- his, he must go back to his corner, and appear, he attempts to catch one) it has had the next animal be called. some curious adventures. I captured it myself, and, so, you please, I will relate the incident. RICHDORE STUDENTAND SCHOOLMATE An Illustrated Monthly, FOR OUR BOYS AND GIRLS. VOL. XXII. NOVEMBER, 1868. No. V. FAME AND FORTUNE, OR THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD HUNTER. CHAPTER XIX. ANOTHER ARREST. ICKY MAGUIRE, as the reader will re- member, was by no means satisfied with the compensation be received from Gilbert for his share in the plot which came so near proving disastrous to our friend Dick. He felt that the book-keeper had acted meanly to him, and he meant to have his revenge if a good opportunity should ever offer. He was very much disappointed to think he must do without the watch which he had set his heart upon. He would have felt no particular scruples against stealing it, but that would be rather dangerous. He began to wish he had kept the pocket-book. Very probably it contained more than enough to buy the watch. But in spite of his disappointment he had one satisfaction. He had avenged himself upon Dick, whom he had long disliked. He knew nothing of Tim Ryan's testimony, and supposed there was no doubt of Dick’s conviction. He would like very well to have been present at the trial, but he had unpleasant associations connected with the court-room at the Tombs, having figured there on several occasions in an important but not very enviable capacity. Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1868, by JOSEPH H. ALLEN, in the clerk's ofice of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 478 The Student and Schoolmate. 66 As he was standing by the Park railings, his particular friend and admirer, Limpy Jim, came up. Mornin', Jim,” said Micky. “What luck ?” “ Nonę at all,” said Jim. “I have n't had a shine yet, and I 'm pre- cious hungry.” • Come and take breakfast with me,” said Micky, in an unusual fit of generosity; for he was generally more willing to be treated, than to treat. “ Have you got stamps enough ?” “ Look at this,” and Micky displayed the bill which he had received froin Gilbert. “ You ’re in luck, Micky. Did you make all that by shines ?” “ Never mind how I made it. I guess it's good. Come along if you ’re hungry.” Limpy Jim followed Micky across Printing-House Square to a cheap restaurant on Nassau Street, between' Ann and Beekman Streets, and they were soon partaking with relish of a breakfast which, as they were not very fastidious, proved abundantly satisfactory. " I've got some news,” said Micky, after he had drained his cup of coffee. You have n't forgot Ragged Dick, have ye?" “ He's set up for a gentleman. I saw him a week ago strutting round as if he lived on Fifth Avenue.” “ Well, he's set up for something else now.” “ What's that ? “A pickpocket." “ What?” asked Jim, amazed. “ He stole an old chap's pocket-book yesterday afternoon, and I seed a policeman haulin' him off to the p'lice station.” “ That's where he gets his good clo’es from ?.” suggested Jim. “ Most likely. I expect be's on bis way to the Island by this time.” “ Serve him right for puttin' on airs. He won't pretend to be so much better than the rest of us now." “ Wonder what Tom Wilkins 'll say? He's a great friend of Dick's.” “ He's a sneak," said Micky. 6 That's so. I wanted to borrer a shillin' of him last week, and he would n't lend it to me." This Tom Wilkins was a boot-black like the two who were express- ing so unfavorable an opinion of his character. He had a mother and two sisters partially dependent upon him for support, and faithfully car- ried home all his earnings. This accounts for bis being unwilling to lend Limpy Jim, who had no one to look ut for but himself, and never con- sidered it necessary to repay borrowed money. Tom had reason to feel Fame and Fortune. 479 friendly to Dick, for on several occasions, one of which is mentioned in the first volume of this series, Dick had given him help in time of need. He was always ready to defend Dick, when reviled by Micky and his followers, and had once or twice been attacked in consequence. Limpy Jim was right in supposing that nothing would disturb Tom more than to hear that his friend had got into trouble. Micky, who was in a generous mood, bought a couple of cheap cigars, of which he presented one to his satellite. These were lighted, and both boys, feeling more comfortable for the hearty meal of which they had partaken, swaggered out into the street. They re-entered the Park, and began to look out for patrons. “There's Tom Wilkins now," said Limpy Jim. Tom was busily engaged in imparting a scientific sbine to the boots of an old gentleman who was sitting on one of the wooden seats to be found in the neighborhood of the City Hall. When he had completed his task, and risen from his knees, Limpy Jim advanced towards him, and said with a sneer, “ I've heard fine news about your friend Dick.” “ What's that?" asked Tom. “ He's got nabbed by a copp." " I don't believe it," said Tom, incredulously. “ Is n't it so, Micky ?” said Jim, appealing to his friend. “ Yes, it's true. I seed him hauled off for pickin' an old fellow's pocket in Chatham Street." " I don't believe it,” repeated Tom, but he began to feel a little .un- easy. " I saw him and spuke to him yesterday mornin'." “ What if you did ? It did n't happen till afternoon.” * Dick would n't steal," said Tom, stoutly. “ He'll find it mighty hard work provin' that he did n’t,” said Micky. “ You won't see him for the next three months.” • Why won't I ?” “Because he 'll be at the Island. Maybe you 'll go there yourself.” “If I do, it 'll be for the first time,” retorted Tom," and that's more than either of you can say.” As this happened to be true, it was of course regarded as offensive. "Shut up, Tom Wilkins,” said Micky,“ if you don't want a lickin'.” “None of yer impudence !” said Limpy Jim, emboldened by the presence and support of Micky, who was taller and stronger than Tom. “I've only told the truth,” said Tom, “ and you can't deny it.” "Take that for your impudence !” said Micky, drawing off and hitting Tom a staggering blow on the side of the head. 6 Fame and Fortune. 481 66 “ Mr. Gilbert ! ” called Micky. Gilbert, who had not till now noticed his confederate, looked up, and rapidly understanding what had happened, determined upon his course. Who speaks to me?” he said, quietly. “ You ’ve got me into trouble, Mr. Gilbert,” said Micky, “and I want you to get me out of it." " What does he mean?” asked Gilbert, coolly, addressing the police- man. “ You hired me to steal a man's pocket-book, and I'm took up for it," said Micky. “I want you to help me, or I'll be sent to the Island.” “ The boy must be crazy,” said Gilbert, shrugging his shoulders. “You give me a dollar to do it,” said Micky, very much incensed at the desertion of his confederate. “ Do you know the boy ?” asked the policeman respectfully, for he put no faith in Micky's statement. “ He blacked my boots once,” said Gilbert. “ That's all I krow about him. What is he arrested for?” * For picking pockets. There was another boy arrested on suspicion, but it appeared on trial that he was innocent, and that this boy really took the wallet." “ He looks like a young scamp," said Gilbert, coolly. “I'm much obliged to him for introducing my name into the matter. I hope he 'll get his deserts.” This was too much for Micky's patience. He assailed Gilbert with such a shower of oaths, that the policeman tightened his grip, and shook him vigorously. Gilbert shrugged his shoulders, and walked off with apparent unconcern. " Wait till I get free," said Micky, furiously. "I'll fix him.” In regard to Micky, I have only to say further at this time, that he was at once conveyed to the Tombs, summarily tried and convicted, and spent the same night on Blackwell's Island, where we leave him for three months. CHAPTER XX. BEFORE THE PARTY. YOU? FOU'LL be able to attend Ida Greyson's party after all, Dick," said Fosdick, on Tuesday evening. “ Yes,” said Dick, “I was afraid that I should be wanted to grace the 482 The Student and Schoolmate. fashionable circles at Blackwell's Island, but as my particular friend Micky Maguire has kindly offered to go in my place, I shall be able to keep the other engagement." Micky 's a bad fellow.” “ I am afraid he is,” said Dick, “but he's never had a fair chance. His father was a drunkard, and used to beat him and his mother, till Micky ran away from home, and set up for himself. He's never had any good example set him." “You speak kindly of Micky, considering he has always been your enemy." " I have n't any ill will against Micky,” said Dick, generously. “If I ever can do him a good turn I will. I've been luckier than he, and most of my old companions. I'm going to do all I can to help them along. “ There's good in them if you can only bring it out." Dick spoke earnestly, in a very different tone from his usual one. He had a certain philosophy of his own, and had always taken the world easily however, it treated him, but he had a warm and sympathiz- ing heart for the sufferings of others, and he felt that he was in a posi- tion to befriend his old associates, and encourage them to higher aims and a better mode of life. " You're a good fellow, Dick," said Fosdick. “It is n't everybody that is so charitable to the faults of others.” “ I know one,” said Dick, smiling. “ You mean me, but I'm afraid you are mistaken. I can't say I feel very well disposed towards Micky Maguire.” “ Maybe Micky'll reform and turn out well after all.” “ It would be a wonderful change.” " Have both of us changed wonderfully in the last eighteen months?" “ You were always a good fellow, even when you were Ragged Dick.” “ You say that because you are my friend, Fosdick.” “I say it because it's true, Dick. You were always ready to take the side of the weak against the strong, and share your money with those who were out of luck. I had a hard time till I fell in with you." “Thank you,” said Dick, “ If I ever want a first-rate recommenda- tion I'll come to you. What a lot of friends I've got. Mr. Gilbert offered to get me another place if I'd only resign my situation at Rock- well & Cooper's." " He's a very disinterested friend,” said Fosdick, laughing. "Do you think of accepting his offer?” " I'm afraid I might not be suited with the place he'd get me,” said Fame and Fortune. 483 Dick. “ He thinks I'm best fitted to adorn the office of a boot-black. Maybe he'd appoint me his private boot-black, but I'm afraid I should n't be able to retire on a fortune till I was two or three hundred, if I accepted the situation." " What shall we wear to the party, Dick ? ” “We've got good suits of clothes. We can carry them to a tailor's and have them pressed, and they will look well enough. I saw a splen- did neck-tie to-day at a store on Broadway. I'm going to buy it." * You have a weakness for neck-ties, Dick.” “You see, Fosdick, if you have a striking neck-tie, people will look at that, and they won't criticize your face." “ There may be something in that, Dick. I feel a little nervous though. It is the first fashionable party I ever attended.” “Well,” said Dick, “ I have n't attended many. When I was a bo black I found it interfered with my business, and so I always declined all the fashionable invitations I got.” “You'd have made a sensation,” said Fosdick, “ if you had appeared in the costume you then wore." “ That's what I was afraid of. I don't want to make a sensation. I'm too modest." In fact both the boys, though they were flattered by Ida's invitation, looked forward rather nervously to the evening of the party. For the first time they were to meet and mingle on terms of equality with a large number of young people who had been brought up very differ- ently from themselves. Dick could not help remembering how short a time had elapsed since with his little wooden box strapped to his back, he used to call out “ Black y’er boots ? ” in the City Park. Perhaps some of his old customers might be present. Still he knew that he had improved greatly, and that his appearance had changed for the better. It was hardly likely that any one seeing him in Mr. Greyson's drawing- room would identify him as the Ragged Dick of other days. Then there was another ground for confidence. Ida liked him, and he had a sincere liking for the little girl for whom he had a feeling such as a brother has for a cherished younger sister. So Dick dressed himself for the party, feeling that he should “get through it somehow." I need not say of course that his boots shone with a lustre not to be surpassed even by the professional expert of the Fifth Avenue Hotel. It was being evident that Dick had not forgotten the business by which he once gained his livelihood. When Dick had arranged his neck-tie to suit him, which I am bound to confess took at least quarter of an hour, had carefully brushed his 484 The Student and Schoolmate. hair, and dusted his clothes, he certainly looked remarkably well. Dick was not vain, but he was anxious to appear to advantage on his first appearance in society. It need not be added that Fosdick also was neatly dressed, but he was smaller and more delicate looking than Dick, and not likely to attract so much attention. As the boys were descending the stairs they met Miss Peyton. "Really, Mr. Hunter,” said that young lady, " you look quite daz- zling this evening. How many hearts do you expect to break this eve- ning ?" 92 “I'm not in that line of business," said Dick. “I leave all that to you.” “ You're too bad, really, Mr. Hunter,” said Miss Peyton, highly pleased, nevertheless. “I never think of such a thing." “I suppose I must believe you,” said Dick," but why is it that Mr. Clifton bas looked so sad lately?” “ Mr. Clifton would not think of poor me," said Miss Peyton. “ If you only knew what he said about you the other day." “ Do tell me.” “ I could n't.” “ If you will, I'll give you “Thank you," interrupted Dick, gravely," but I never accept kisses from young ladies over six years old.” “ How can you say so, Mr. Hunter ? ” “I'm sorry to disappoint you, Miss Peyton, but I really could n't." “As if I ever thought of such a thing !” said Miss Peyton, in affected horror. “I appeal to my friend Fosdick.” “ Did I say so, Mr. Fosdick ? ” Fosdick smiled. “ You must n't appeal to me, Miss Peyton. You and Mr. Hunter are so brilliant that I don't pretend to understand you.” “ Then you won't tell me what Mr. Clifton said. It is too bad. I sha'n't sleep to-night for thinking of it.” “ Suppose you ask Mr. Clifton.” « I don't know but I will.” Miss Peyton went into the parlor, her heart fluttering with the thought that she had made a conquest of the gentleman referred to As Mr. Clifton was a clerk on a small salary, continually in debt, and with no expectations, he could not be considered a very brilliant match, but Miss Peyton was not very particular, and she would have readily changed her name to Clifton if the chance should present itself. As 1 486 The Student and Schoolmate. “ I'm sorry for that. She promised to dance with me the first Lancers." “ Would n't I do as well ?” asked Dick. “I don't think you would,” said the other, laughing. “ But I'll tell you what, you shall dance with my sister.” “I will with pleasure,” said Dick, "if you 'll introduce me.” “Why, I thought you knew her,” said the other in surprise. “ Perhaps I did,” said Dick, “ but I exchanged myself off for another boy just before I came, and that makes a difference, you know. I should n't have known you if you had p't spoken to me.” Do you know me now?" asked the other boy, beginning to under- stand that he had made a mistake. “ You live on Twenty-First Street, don't you ? " “ Yes,” was the unexpected reply, for Dick had by a curious chance guessed right. “You're Henry Cameron, after all.” “ No,” said Dick, “ my name is Richard Hunter.” “ And mine is Theodore Selden, but I suppose you knew that, as you knew where I live. If you 're ready, we 'll go down stairs.” “ Come, Fosdick,” said Dick. “ We're going to have the Lancers first,” said Theodore. • Ida told my sister so. Have you a partner engaged?” “ No.” “ Then I'll introduce you to my sister. Come along." I may explain here that Dick and Fosdick also, had several times danced the Lancers in the parlor at the boarding-house in the evening, so that they felt reasonably confident of getting through respectably. Still his new friend's proposal made Dick feel a little nervous. not bashful with boys, but he had very little acquaintance with girls or young ladies, and expected to feel ill at ease with them. Still he could not think of a good reason for excusing himself from the promised introduction, and after going up to Ida in company with his new friend, and congratulating her on her birth-day, (he would not have known how to act if Theodore had not set him an example,) he walked across the room to where one of the young ladies who had entered with him was seated. “ Alice,” said Theodore, “ this is my friend Mr. Hunter, who would like to dance with you in the first Lancers.” Dick bowed, and Alice, producing å card, said, “I shall be most happy. Will Mr. Hunter write his name on my card ? ” Dick did so, and was thankful that he could now write a handsome hand. He was Mental Activity. 489 evening, and I with them. I little dreamed of meeting you here. I must say, Dick, you seem quite at home.” “ Mr. Greyson has been a kind friend of mine,” said Dick,“ and I've met Ida quite often. But I felt a little nervous about coming to this party. I was afraid I'd be like a cat in a strange garret.” “ You ’re a wonderful boy, Dick. You look as if you had been used to such scenes all your life. I can hardly believe you ’re the same boy I met in front of the Astor House a little more than a year ago.” “If I'm changed, it's because of what you said to me then, you and your father. But for those words I might still have been Ragged Dick.” “ I'm glad to hear you say that, Dick, but for all that, a great deal of credit is due to yourself." “ I've worked hard,” said Dick,“ because I felt that I had something to work for. When are you going to enter college ?” “I expect to apply for admission in two months.” “ At Columbia College ?” “ Yes." “ I am glad of that. I shall hope to see you sometimes.” “ You will see me often, Dick.” Here the music struck up, and the boys parted. It is unnecessary to speak farther of the events of the evening. Dick made several other acquaintances, and felt much more at ease than he had anticipated. He returned home, feeling that his first party had been a very agreeable one, and that he had on the whole appeared to advantage. Horatio Alger, fr. MENTAL ACTIVITY. F the water runneth, it holdeth clear, sweet, and fresh ; but stagna- I lidhet baitu bisoneel padale . We have a feel fahne along the winds, it is pure and wholesome; but from being shut up, it groweth thick and putrid. If metals be employed, they abide smooth and splen-' did ; but lay them up, and they soon contract rust. If the earth is labored with culture, it yieldeth corn ; but lying neglected, it will be overgrown with bushes and thistles, and the better the soil is, the ranker weeds it will produce. All nature is upheld in its being, order and shape by constant agitation ; every creature is incessantly employed in action conformable to its designed use. In like manner, the preservation and improvement of the faculties depend on their constant exercise ; to it God has annexed the best and most desirable reward success to our undertakings, wealth, honor, wisdom, virtue, salvation. — Barrow. 490 The Student and Schoolmate. HOSTERA MASSACHUSETTS Chapter 4. -THE Hoosac TUNNEL. OUR UR clothes were wet, after fording the Cold River, for the wild current in the middle of the stream had dashed around us higher than we could roll up our pantaloons. So, on getting to shore, we ex- changed our damp underclothes for dry ones, which was a comfortable resort, and quite convinced us of the invaluable qualities of a knapsack. We found that the slope on this side the stream was still more pre- cipitous, but less covered with trees; and while creeping up the acclivity by a very various and uncertain foot-track, we had an unbroken view of the country behind us. At the top of the cliff, weary and out of breath, we sat down to take a last look at the distant hills we had crossed, and the ravine at our feet. It was a woody region, throughout, and under the dark clouds which now threatened rain, seemed so uninviting, that we were relieved to think we were not at present going to revisit that locality. Nor is it remarkable that, after mutual congratulations for so much accomplished, we should exhibit a contrast of feelings natural to travellers, by turning with fresh zest to the unknown walk before us. It was a long and level table-land. The footpath gradually became a road again, with here and there a cottage. We stopped at one for bread and milk, and the young girl who came to the door, having gone to make known our request, returned with the information that we could have some, “ if we had anything to pay for it.” Accordingly, having been ushered into the presence of her mother, that excellent lady received us with mingled laughter and apologies — surprised probably to find that we were not the vagrants she took us for. " My little girl knows just enough to say what she is told,” said she, and immediately relapsed into hysterics again, which lasted all the while she was preparing our luncheon. By way of divertisement from this undue hilarity, we asked her the near- est route to the Tunnel ; and her directions - which we followed, after leaving were: turn at the right, by the red-house, and then at the left, by the barn. In course of time these beacons appeared, each in its turn, and we had entered a grove of maples beyond them ; when soon emerging from the woods, we came to the northern edge of the table-land, in full view of the Hoosac Mountain, and the valley of the Deerfield. This, probably 492 The Student and Schoolmate. Stared upon, and staring at, we walked on, amidst this great show of hovels and progeny, till we came to an immense bluff, by the river, made of the small pieces of stone which had been cut from the mountain. The top of this artificial bank was quite level, and traversed by many little rails, on which small cars, filled with the same kind of stone, were drawn by mules to the river's edge, where they were emptied of their contents. Following the rails, we threaded our way to the Tunnel, – so often styled the “Great Bore,” by those who have an eye to the financial interests of the State. And first we came to a blacksmith-shop, built expressly for the Tunnel enterprise, where were men busy at the forge mending things, and fashioning the peculiarly shaped instruments, used for cutting into the mountain. A few steps further, led us to the excavation. It was a great, black, ugly hole; jagged, — dripping with water, and leading straight into the depths of the earth. There were many lights at the inner end; some were burning steadily, some flicker- ing and flitting about, in a weird, fantastic manner; while a noise of distant hammering came from the opening. It was like looking into Tartarus, or some such infernal locality of heathen times. I entered, while my friend, having no desire to follow, sat down out- side to await my return. The water dripping from the rock above, made the place so wet, that I walked perforce on the iron rails ; and in eight or ten minutes reached the end of the Cavern, where in subterranean gloom, strongly suggesting the Cyclops of Vulcan, were the men, at work on an immense staging. They were in rows, one above the other, and some, on the rocky floor below them, were piling stone into cars. With the flaring torches, the incessant hammering, and the dripping of water, it was not a very attractive spot, and, my curiosity satisfied, I again turned towards the distant speck of daylight at the entrance, being about to congratulate myself on soon emerging from this place in which I had begun to get rather damp, when I discovered it was raining also, outside. Felix had taken refuge in the blacksmith-shop, where I found him not in the pleasantest humor, at prospect of bad weather. We were here awaiting the first lull in the shower, to run for a hotel which we had noticed on our way through the village ; and sat in the door-way, watching the clouds of mist that came rolling down the sides of the mountain ; when several carriages with visitors to the Tunnel, drove up. They were all men, and each seemed provided with an um- brella, except two, who at once attracted our attention, as being the two we had seen at the hotel in Savoy. It was not long before they saw us, and came forward; we arose to meet them. “ Jenkins and Spillbinks, I believe,” said Jervis, holding us each out Travels among the Mountains. 493 a hand, “why, you look as sober as a couple of moss-covered tomb- stones.” “ Well, yes — the rain is depressing. But that joke you played us at Savoy, who would n't be gloomy after that ?” They laughed. “You took it soberly there, too; why did n't you join in the farce?” In the first place we were not sure it was you in that brigand costume, and so we resorted to a stratagem to draw you out.” “ We looked for you at supper,” said Felix,“ but you were gone." “ We left there at four, by way of Hawley." “ Who are all those men you came up with ? ” I asked. “ The Representatives ; — just arrived from Boston to see the Tun- nel. We joined them at the Hotel, where they think of staying over night.” In that case there would be very little room for us ; and as the rain had now ceased, we soon parted with our friends, to push on, and reach if we could, another inn, of which they had told us, four miles down the river. Our course, one of the most delightful we had walked, was bounded on the right by high hills and woods, and on the left by the stream, on the opposite bank of which, was the Troy and Greerifield railroad, already approaching completion. We had walked about two miles, when the road turned to cross the river, by a bridge, the like of which I had never seen, for dilapidation. It was built a covered bridge, but could hardly be called so now; and though intended for vehicles, was in a too ruinous condition to support much longer its own weight. To make the passage across the more effective, Felix walked on tip-toe, with arms outstretched, in mock fear and trembling. There was a cascade over some rocks in the middle of the river, which, when viewed from above, through the many holes in the floor, added to the apparent danger. Arrived on the opposite side, we followed the railroad track, and soon came to Zoar, a little village on the river's bank, where was the inn we sought. A Flower for the Dead Child. 495 our heads out of the window, — but could see nothing except the black- ness of night. “Well, I'm not going to be murdered first; so I claim the farther side of the bed,” said he. To this I told him he was welcome. For fresh air as all I wanted in so small a room, while I did live. We then transferred our money from our pockets to a safe place beneath the pillows; and while Felix was reading in his little Bible, and saying prayers for both of us, I fell asleep. noboxffan A FLOWER FOR THE DEAD CHILD. O at NE bright afternoon in May, we were leaning against the iron fence 66 beautiful pansies which bordered the whole length of the flower-bed, when suddenly we felt our dress pulled three or four times in quick succession. We turned and saw a little creature, five or six years old, bare-footed and bare-headed, with garments which, though clean, were patched in a dozen places. Tears were dripping down her cheeks very fast, and her lips were quivering with trouble. As she caught our eye, she said eagerly, between her sobs, “ Get it for me ; do, lady; get it, please ; I wants it so much, I does.” What is it, dear? What do you want me to get for you ?” “ Come and see ;” and she led me a few steps and then pointed to a dandelion which was nestling lazily in the green turf, looking like one of those golden stars which the poet tells us “in earth’s firmament do shine." * I can't reach it I ain't long enough to get it but you is,” and she took my hand and slipped it between the railings. “ But what do you want of it, little one? “I wants it for baby, 'cause,” a big sob choked her for awhile, “ 'cause he's dead, and my mother says he ought to have a nice flower in his little hands. Do please get it for me.” The emphasis in the last sentence moved me as few orators could. “ Don't believe her, Madam,” said a voice at my side, a clear, ringing voice. “She 'll pick your pocket while you are reaching for it.” Looking around, we saw a handsome boy about twelve years old, A Flower for the Dead Child. 497 66 mother sat beside it. Worn out with long watching, she had fallen asleep in her chair, but her foot was on the rocker, and it was a touching sight to see that, by the force of habit, she kept the cradle moving reg- ularly to and fro. " Wake up — wake up and see the lady,” said the little girl, before we could prevent her. The woman started wildly, then recovering herself, spoke kindly to us. We told her how and why we came there, and asked her to accept the flowers, and put them in the baby's hand. She did so, but many a tear dropped on them before they were fastened in those littlo cold white fingers. Then she turned to us and said in a voice that fruitlessly strove to be calm, “ I thank you very much, I used to live in the country and have plenty of them, and I have always kept plants here; but last winter was so cold they all froze up. I thank you very, very much. Some one will put flowers in your hands when you are dead, to pay for this, though may the Lord spare you long." As we wiped away our tears, for we could feel for her as only those mothers can, who have buried an idolized child, the boy whispered to us, Would you be afraid to stay here half an hour, or so ? ” Afraid in a room hallowed by the mystery of death ! “ No," we said, "why do you ask?” “ Because I want to go and get something. I'll come back as soon safe home.” We sat down and listened to the mother's story, holding the while the little girl upon our lap. Presently, two men came in; one, the father; the other, the under- taker with the coffin. We put down the living child, and lifted the dead one, handling it as tenderly as if it had belonged to our dearest friend. We held its cold face to its little sister, its father and mother, and when they had kissed it so many, many times, we put it reverently into the coffin ; reverently, for though only an empty casket now, it had once held a gem more precious than pearl or diamond. The boy came back within the time he had named, a paper box in his hand, which he quietly gave to us. On opening it, we found a beau- tiful wreath, one woven expressly for the dead ; white flowers and green leaves only. “ Ought you to have done this ? ” said we, for a glance told us it was very costly. “Yes, O yes. Do give it to them. I bought it with my weeks' spend- as I can, and see you 498 The Student and Schoolmate. ing money. It was so wicked in me to call that poor little thing a story, teller." We placed it on the coffin-lid, and then motioned the giver to come and look upon the fair baby face. And then we said good-bye to all. The little girl came all the way down stairs with us, and as we bent to kiss her, put her arms impulsively around our neck and said earnestly, " I'll be sure now to say God bless you, lady, and never, never make your baby die." And then loosening her clasp on us, she turned to the boy, and taking both his hands in hers, said with a touching emphasis, " Don't you believe me now did n't I tell the truth?” · Yes, yes,” tears starting to his eyes. “Yes, you did speak the truth, but there's so many bad children about, one don't know who is good any more.” “ Well," and she drew herself up much as a little fairy might, when trying to be dignified, and assert a right: “ I don't belong to the bad ones — I tries to be good. But you did n't know me first, so I won't remember what you said, and 'cause you bought that pretty round thing for the baby, I'll say, God bless you too." Caroline A. Soule. 66 geهم THE LOVE OF FLOWERS, “W go E shall not soon forget the simple enthusiasm a kind of dry ecstacy — with which the late Professor Hitchcock, of Amherst, returned home one day with a new species of flower which he had dis- covered. Another collector, keen and searching, had been over the same ground, but missed it ! 'I was about to go up the bank, when I saw the flower across a patch of water and brush. I could not wait to round. I ran across and waded, sure from the first sight that it was new, and the nearer I came the faster I walked, for fear something should get them before I did.' His zeal for flowers, without special beauty and of no practical use, made a profound impression upon our mind, and opened up a new idea of the worth of a flower, which is not quite expended yet. His eyes sparkled as he told the simple story, and his white face glowed with charming pleasure.” Henry Ward Beecher. News from the Beach. 499 NEWS FROM THE BEACH. Letter no. 6. COHASSET, July 30th. DEAR HAL: You're a first rate fellow to write such a good long letter, but you might have known better than to stump me! I bet I will write a longer letter than you did. I have n't got any such scrapes to tell about as you had on the mountain, but I don't believe you had any bet- ter fun, than we did yesterday. Hired Ben Simmonds and his boat to take us out fishing: just we men folks. The girls wanted to go, but we would n't let them ; they'd only be in the way. Si and I dug bait, while Uncle Henry cut fishing- poles for him and father. Si has got a pole like mine. We did n't catch much of anything for a good while, but by-and-by it breezed up, and we sailed up to Minister's Ledge, four miles up the bay. All the ledges round here are named after somebody or something, and this one was called so, because a party that had a minister with them, took a tremendous lot of fish there once. None of us were ministers, but we hoped to get as big a haul of fish as though we had been. Before we 500 The Student and Schoolmate. got there, I had a big bite, and hauled in a splendid blue fish. I guess he weighed five or six or seven pounds. I tell you I felt crank, for none of the rest had caught anything but perch. You can't catch blue fish, unless it is some windy, and you can sail fast, and tow your line. They won't touch a still bait. We fished all the forenoon, aud caught rock cod mostly. Not a single mackerel. The blue fish have driven them all away. Simmonds says he has seen a blue fish chase a mackerel clear out of the water; they are so greedy. I don't want any better fun than to pull in the fish when they bite fast, but I guess Uncle Henry did n't enjoy it much. He sat in one end of the boat looking as blue as an indigo bag. There was just swell enough to rock the boat splendidly, and it made him jolly sick. Catch me being sick ! Simmonds let me help manage the boat, and he said I'd make a tip-top sailor, I took hold so handy. I mean to go to sea some- time, after I have been to school a little while longer. We fished all the forenoon, and I would like to have staid all the afternoon, but we had to go back and take the folks over to the light- house. All went except Uncle Henry, he had gone to sea all he wanted to. It is a smart half hour's sail when the wind is right; and we went straight out without tacking a bit. The tower rises right out of the water, and goes up in the air over an hundred feet, Simmonds said. When we got close under it and looked up, you don't know how small we seemed. Our boat went up on the side where the big ships go. On the other side the rocks come so near the top of the water, that a row boat could n't float there at low tide. Way up fifty or sixty feet, was the door wbere two men stood ready to draw folks up in a chair, which is lowered and raised by a tackle block. There is a ladder too, fastened into the wall, and that was the way I wanted to go up; but mother would n't let me; women are always so afraid. I was so provoked, I had a good mind not to go up at all, to be hauled up like a girl ! I tell you, Hal, I wish I was the man that planned that light-house. You know the first one was set up on iron stilts like, and when it was swept away, these were broken off like so many pipe-stems a little way above the rock. But I guess old ocean will bave a poser when it washes this one away. It is made of solid granite blocks up to the door, and there the walls are about five feet through. 'T ain't quite solid, though; there is a hole through the middle for a well, and they fill it once a year with water. It can't be very fresh, can it, by the time the year comes round? There are three keepers, besides Capt. Tower, and every month, each man spends a week on shore. In summer they have a good many visitors, but in winter it must be awful lonesome, except in a storm. 502 The Student and Schoolmate. then go up, my cousin. He came down on purpose to go to the light-house with us, and to-day we have been there. A sail of three and a half miles brought us to the tower which rises right out of the water ; pot a bit of the ledge on which it is built can be seen. Mr. Simmonds told us, when they began to build, they could work but an hour at a time, for the tide only left the highest points of the ledge exposed for a few moments, and it was two years before the rock was levelled and in readiness for the first stone, and they had worked every moment they could, at that. Is n't it wonderful what men can do in spite of difficulties? But how do you think we got up into this tower? Had to be drawn up in a chair ever so many feet; it seemed to me about five hundred. It was a little awful to swing out over the water, and and up, and up; I was n't exactly afraid, for that would be foolish, as hundreds go up so every year, but I confess it was not a very pleasant sensation which I experienced during the moment while I hung outside of the doorway, before being taken in and untied from the chair Captain Tower showed us around, and very kind he was to explain everything, and answered all our questions. The walls are so thick that it makes quite a little entry-way before you reach the inside of the tower. The first room contains the pump, and is hung around with ropes and tackling. The next floor is their kitchen ; a pleasant homelike room, fitted up with all the necessary cupboards and drawers, all in pol. ished chestnut. The stove looked as bright, and the floor as clean, as though a woman did the housework. Up another flight of stairs, and there was the office, with a large book on the desk, where all visitors registered their names. A fine clock and some nautical instrument hung against the walls; also some specimens of wood-cutting in which the keepers occupy some of their leisure hours. Above these are the bedrooms, each with its little low bed, maile up neatly with a white counterpane. Then above these, a smaller room with a balcony running around it. This room contains all things needed in the lantern, and from it the stairs lead up into the lantern. Three of us beside the Captain stood together outside the reflector, which is of plated glass, beautifully bright and clear, with lenses so arranged above and below as to focus the light at the centre. I can't give you any idea of it, but it was wonderful to see. When the lamp is lighted the heat inside here must be terrible. Cap- tain Tower said the light was so powerful that at first they always wore green spectacles in tending the light, but that they had got used to it now, and so dispensed with the spectacles. It needs almost constant watching when lighted, for unless the oil feeds just so evenly, there is The Enchanted Princess. 505 “ There!” cried Nettie, bursting into the parlor where all the family were assembled, just before tea: “ I guess you will believe me now. It was a voice ; it was Professor Morrill himself. He told me all about it, and he spoke to lots of the girls, and — " " Hey day!” said her father, catching her up, and kissing her blazing cheeks ; “stop, and take breath a minute, dearie, and then we'll hear all about it, and see what it all means." Well,” cried Dick, when the matter was fairly understood, “ If it was n't a squirrel, it was n't a fairy, either, so I'm resigned." " Nor a woodpecker tapping the hollow becch-tree,” laughed Bob. But the mother said gently: " Let us rather ask, as Nettie did, if it was not God who sent the voice. For surely it must have been He, who put it into the heart of an utter stranger, to watch so carefully over the safety of our baby. Tracy Towne. Xurama THE ENCHANTED PRINCESS. Concluded. W HEN the story of the cat and her wonderful musical abilities was communicated to the king, his heart was filled with hope that the princess, whose death he had feared, might still be living under the form of a cat. By his command the cat was brought before him. Arrived in the royal presence, Magnifica testified extreme joy, and at once jumped into the king's lap. "If you are my daughter," said the king, stroking her fondly,“ kiss me." The cat put her face to the king's cheek, and kissed him as well as a cat could. “This must be my daughter," said the king, with emotion. 6 What cruel chance can have so transformed her?” “ Perhaps if we had a box of letters, she could tell us,” suggested the merchant. A box of letters, such as are now used by children, was at once pro- cured, and they were placed on the floor. The cat, at once, with her paw, began to select and arrange them, until at last she had formed the following sentence. “ Prince Niger changed me to a cat because I would not marry him." The Enchanted Princess. 507 when you will be transported, in the twinkling of an eye, wherever you desire to be." The prince took the gift thankfully. Thereupon another magician said, “ And I, Prince, will give you what may possibly be of service to you. Here is a box of snuff which has the effect of sending immediately to sleep any one who tries it.” “ Thank you,” said the prince ; "your gift is a very valuable one, and I think it will be of use to me." The next morning Prince Candidus decided to start on his enterprise. About eight o'clock, having partaken of a hearty reakfast, he put on his gloves, and wished himself in front of Gorgona's palace. He instantly felt himself carried up into the air, and speeding through space with incredible swiftness. After proceeding thus for an hour, he was let down beside a great stone house, flanked by two turrets, in front of which an immense woman was standing, whom he recognized as Gor- gona herself. She looked so large and fierce that he felt it might be dangerous to approach her; still he was brave, and he knew it must be done. He accordingly advanced quietly, and coughing slightly, took off his hat in token of respect. “Who are you?” inquired Gorgona, knitting her brows. “How dare you, a mortal, approach so near my palace ?” “I have heard so much of your garden,” said the prince, “that I wished to see it.” " Then you may post back again,” said the giantess," as wise as you No one is ever admitted into my garden.” I must bow to your decision,” said the prince,“ however, I hope you will not refuse to accept a small present which I have brought you." “What is that ? ” asked the giantess, pricking up her ears. " It is a box of snuff, the best in the world,” said the prince," which you will find of delightful fragrance. Will you deign to accept it?” So saying, he dropped on one knee, and extended the box to the giantess. Humph!” said she with satisfaction," my snuff is nearly out, and I will accept your gift. But I shan't let you into my garden for all that.” “I won't press my request, since it is distasteful to you," said the prince. “Only favor me by accepting the snuff-box.” Gorgona, quite graciously for her, extended her huge fingers and took the box. Desirous of ascertainiug its quality at once, she opened it, and inserted her thumb and forefinger. She took a pinch, but no sooner had the subtle powder entered her nose, than she fell backward came. 66 fast asleep. 508 The Student and Schoolmate. The prince sprang forward and seized the box which was in danger of being upset, and from the girdle of Gorgona he took a bunch of keys which he had already espied. These keys varied in length from two to three feet. Candidus went to the door of the palace and succeeded in opening it. He made his way through a large ball paved with marble to the back of the house, and applying another key, opened the door which led into the garden. He found a large inclosure filled with rare and beautiful plants, but of all these he cared for but one — that of which he was in search. This he at last found, and not knowing how long the sleep of the giantess would last, made his way out as soon as possible. He carefully fastened the doors, and restored the keys to Gorgona’s girdle. Then putting on his gloves, he wished himself once more at the palace of the king. So expeditious had he been, that it was not yet noon when he returned. Eager to test the efficacy of the herb which he had plucked, he at once sought an audience with the king, who ordered his daughter to be summoned. Taking the cat into his lap, the king offered her the catnip. Now it is well known that there is no herb of which cats are so fond as this, and Magnifica, having all the tastes of a cat, began to eat with avidity. But wonderful to relate, she immediately began to change figure, until, in less than ten minutes she had resumed her former appearance. She then threw herself into her father's arms, and wept for joy to think that once again she could resume her rightful position. · My child,” said the king, “turn and behold your brave deliverer, who has incurred great hazard in order to free you from your cruel en- chantment. The princess turned, and, blushing, gave her hand to the prince who covered it with kisses. “ And now, prince,” said the king, "you have done me an inestimable service. Choose your reward, and though it be half my kingdom, it shall be yours." - I desire nothing." said the prince, “except that your charming daughter name an early day for our nuptials.” “ That shall be as my father desires,” said the princess, casting down her eyes. The king decided that the wedding should take place in a month. During this time the princess had twelve dressmakers busily at work making her bridal outfit, which was magnificent in the extreme. It was generally acknowledged that no handsomer bridal pair had ever been seen than Prince Candidus and the Princess Magnifica. They lived long and happily together, and the princess often used to tell her grand- An Infant's Appeal. 509 children of the wonderful events of her youth. But it always made them laugh when she commenced a story with these words: 66 When I was a Cat.” 0. Augusta Cheney. AN INFANT'S APPEAL. I COME at your bidding, dear mother, I come, And hope for a welcome at once to your home; And in your fond bosom in contidence rest My head gently pillowed against your dear breast. I know that intemperance stalks through the land And that trouble and sorrow go hand in hand; I pray then, dear mother, the bottle you spare And bring me up tenderly, nursed with great care. May I draw from the fount that HEAVEN provides That best of all fluids - and nothing besides - And keep other mixtures away from my sight That always detract from a baby's delight. And mother, I want, (if you think me not bold If you think that I am, I hope you won't scold) The goodies and sweetmeats that little ones love, No matter how bad for my health they may prove. A rattle, I must have, for who will deny The claim as a baby, I urge with a cry? A ring made of rubber must follow in train When coming incisors shall worry my brain. And mother, I want, when my vanity grows And you lavishly pay your funds for my clothes, Some “catch-ups," – for that is the name I am told, Of certain adornments for sleeves made of gold. The first pair you get, might of coral suffice And seem just as comely to uninformed eyes ; But I must look well, at whatever the cost, And cannot believe that the price will be lost. An Earth Story. 511 66 66 and looked at the biscuit keeping warm in the tin baker before the fire, moved the tea-pot a little further back, tucked the towel closer around the mince pie, and then with a little sigh, seated herself again in the chimney-corner, and took up her stocking. Heigho!” said somebody, “what a pity we never can be satisfied, is n't it?” “Oh, what's that ? Dear me, is it you, Mr. Chimney-elf? How you did scare me, and what a while since you came to see me!” exclaimed Rhody, giving a little jump, and then looking up the chimney for her friend. “ Well stupid ! Don't you see me?” exclaimed the irritable little voice again, and Rhody looking very sharply, made out a queer little object hanging from the edge of a projecting brick, head downward, and star- ing at her with bright beady little eyes. It was the chimney-elf, who had taken for his winter-coat the skin of a bat, and adopted with it, the habits of the late owner, even to prefering his present posture to the more popular one, of heads up and feet down. So Rhody cried, “O) yes, I see you now, but what a funny thing you have got on. What is it?” My winter furs, of course. I heard Susy talking very grand about her furs to-day, and found she had been robbing the musk-rats to make herself a muff and tippet. I only robbed one little bat, and I have a whole suit, cloak, hood, and tail-piece to hang myself up by. know how soft bat's fur is ?" No, I never touched one. What do you do with the wings ?” asked Rhody, laugbing. “Fan myself to sleep. I don't rest so well as I used to. Have bad dreams,” said the chimney-elf, pathetically. “ Dear me? What's the matter ? ” inquired Rhody, with much sym- pathy. Why, I've been trying to reform the world, been looking into its abuses, and unhappiness, and thinking a good deal, which never did agree with me. Then we had a Congress of chimney-elves, on the top of Bunker Hill Monument a while ago, and I heard such stories, dear, dear, such stories, of the way you men are going on! They were enough to make even a chimney-elf blush, and then I came and found you fret- ting as usual, and that made me feel worse than ever. I was coming to see you one day in the autumn, but really my dear, you were so cross, I was afraid you would upset my temper, if I spoke to you, and I am very particular about getting my temper upset, so I did n't come. I had a story to tell you that day, too. Do you 66 512 The Student and Schoolmate. “ If “I'm very sorry,” faltered Rhody, “ Please, would you be so kind as to tell me the story now ? ” “Dear me, child, I've forgotten it ages ago, only that it was something about the earth, very pretty indeed it was, I remember, but as for that, it was like — Phew! I never remember anything.” And spreading his great bat-wings, the chimney-elf swooped down beside the fire, and out into the kitchen, where he fitted round in the dusky corners, and close to the brown ceiling, in the rapid and noiseless manner peculiar to the creature he chose just now to resemble. Rhody looked on rather anxiously, and drew a full breath only when her eccentric friend had returned to his first position, and tranquilly hooked himself up to the projecting brick once more. Then she said ; you can't remember that story, perhaps you will tell me another one, Mr. Chimney-elf. I should be very glad to hear one." “ About the earth,?” “ Yes, if you please.” “ Inside, or out?” "1- I don't know just what you mean,” faltered Rhody. “Stupid ! Don't you know the inside of a thing from the out? Take an orange." “O yes, I know the inside from the out, of an orange.” "Well, the earth is only a big orange, with a knitting-needle stuck through it for an axis, and swinging round the sun in a circle. So do you want to hear about the inside, or the out, I say?”. “ Well the inside, I believe." “ That's right, for I want to tell about the inside, and it would n't have made much difference what you said. Those Cornish chimney-elves told such stories ! Not so bad though, as the Scotch, and North of England Dear, dear, you men!” “ What is the matter, and what did the elves say that was so bad ?” asked Rhody, a little impatiently. “ Why child, they told about the inside of the earth, the mines in fact. Great districts in England, Scotland, and Ireland, and full of coal, iron- stone, lead, copper, and tin, and these are only to be got at, by mining. You never saw a mine, did you i?” “Why of course not, chimney-elf," laughed Rhody. “ Well, I will tell you what it is like. In the first place, there is a round shaft sunk in the earth, for all the world like your father's well behind the house, only larger, and a great deal deeper. This is sunk until it comes to the coal-bed, or the veins of lead, copper, or tin, which are to be worked.” one. An Earth Story. 513 “ But if it is as deep as a well there would be water in it,” interposed Rhody. “ So there would, if they did not pump it out, but they do, my dear,” replied the chimney-elf, dryly, “ And when the shaft is deep enough, and all the water pumped out, they begin digging passages at right angles with the shaft, wherever the vein of ore, or the seam of coal looks thick- est, and most promising. As these passages progress, other passages or side-workings are tunnelled out at either side, and after those, side gal- leries run from one of the principal passages to another. Often too, they end abruptly in fathomless pits filled with water, or on the edge of subterranean precipices, or in a region filled with poisonous gases, and what is called fire-damp, in which the uncovered flame of a lamp cause an instant and fatal explosion. Of course these mines are entirely dark, darker than the blackest night you ever imagined, and wet with the per- petual ooze of underground springs, and the moisture of the surface fil- tering down. Often these passages, some large enough to allow of a horse and cart passing through them, others only eighteen inches in height, extend several miles from the main entrance, and are so intricate and numerous, that the greatest skill and knowledge are necessary to prevent getting lost and starving to death, before one could find the way out. When it is found, it is like being at the bottom of a series of wells, for two, three, or sometimes four shafts are sunk, one below the other, with landings and entrances to the galleries, at the foot of each. Up these shafts the visitor is dragged in a sort of tub or bucket, like water out of a well, or in some mines, he has the choice of groping his way up a wet and slippery ladder, with here and there a few rounds broken out. What do you think of life in a mine, Rhody ? ” " It must be perfectly dreadful. What makes anybody go there?” asked Rhody, with great eyes of wonder fixed upon the elf. “ Just the same reason that makes your father work on his farm in the heat, and the cold, the frost, and the dog-days, — to earn a living. In those English coal mines, so my friends, the elves, tell me, whole families, of men, women, and children, spend their lives, toiling day after day” "O not children, chimney-elf, surely not children !” cried Rhody, in a voice so full of dismay, that the elf forbore scolding her for the inter- ruption. Yes, my dear,” said he kindly,“ Children from four years old and upward, are carried down into these dismal holes day after day, before light in the morning, and kept at their work until after dark at night, Bo that many of them never see the light of day for weeks together 66 An Earth Story. 515 only as high as the seam of coal is thick. The workmen do not mine out the solid rock above and below the coal-bed; they only take out the coal, and when the seam becomes too thin, it has to be abandoned. ** Janet Moffatt, twelve years old, also of Mid-Lothian, tells all about it. She says : "I draw the carts through the narrow seams. The roads are twenty- four to thirty inches high. I creep upon all fours, and draw the cart by a harness which passes over my shoulders and back. The cart is fastened to it by a chain. The place I work in, is very wet, the water coming above my ancles. I pull wagons of four to five hundred weight, from the men's rooms to the horse-road. We are worse off than the horses, for they have iron rails to draw upon, and we only the bare floor.' “To this add what Archibald Muckle, twelve years old, a coal-hewer, has to say : “I go down at four in the morning, and do not come up until six or seven in the evening. It is very sair work, and I am obliged to lie on my side, or stoop very much, while I hew off the coal, as the seam is only twenty-four to twenty-six inches high. There is much bad air be- low, and when it rises in our room, we shift and gang to some other part, and leave when the pit is full, for it stops our breath. Never go to night school, I am so sair fatigued.' " John King, coal-hewer, twelve years of age, says: " . The work takes away all desire for food, it is so over-sair.' • Isabella Reid says she carries about one hundred weight and a quarter upon her back from the bottom of the pit to the shaft, and makes about thirty such journeys in the day. Has to stoop much, and wade through water up to the calves of her legs. Frequently falls asleep while waiting for her load, from heat and fatigue.' “ Then comes Elias Jones, aged fourteen, a Welsh lad, who says: « • The work is too hard for such lads as we, for we have to work like little horsesi' “ And Agnes Kerr, another Scotch lassie, fifteen years old, who pa- thetically says: " It is sair crushing work, and many of the lassies cry as they bring up their burthens. I canna say that I like the work, but I am obliged to do it: it is horse-work.' “ This girl was a coal-bearer, and carried baskets of coal upon her back “O chimney-elf, don't tell me any more of these dreadful stories. They make me feel so sorry, and I can't do anything about it, you up steep ladders. 516 The Student and Schoolmate. know," cried Rhody, her face streaming with tears. But the chimney- elf doggedly replied : “ Yes, I shall tell you a little more, because I don't think you are grateful enough for all the comforts and blessings you enjoy, and you ought to be made to know how much better you are off than several thousand other girls and boys wbo very likely don't grumble balf so much. Now here is John Harvey, of Gloucestershire, England, thirteen years of age, and carter in one of the mines, who says : “ • Do not go to Sunday School, because I have no clothes besides those I work in; cannot read; never had a pair of shoes and stock- ings in my life; get potatoes and butter, or potatoes fried with bacon, when I go home at night. Have whatever I can catch, am always very hungry, and never get as much as I should like to eat. Have sometimes been two or three days without anything at all to eat at home, or in the mine.' “ Two or three days without anything to eat !” exclaimed Rhody. “Yes, and this statement was vouched for by the lad's employer, who had the grace to seem ashamed of himself,” said the chimney-elf, severely. “ But when we talk of ignorance,” continued he, " we must not for- get the frightful ignorance of the mining children of Yorkshire, Eng- land. When Queen Victoria's Commissioners examined some of these, upon religious subjects, they answered in this manner : “• I never learned nought. I never heard of God or Christ. I never learned to pray, and know no prayer. I have been taught nothing about such things.' “ Another said : “« Yes, I know who Jesus Christ was. He was born in heaven, and came upon earth to commit sin, yes, that is what I mean to say, to com- mit sin. I never heard of Scotland or France, or America. I don't know what the Queen is, or whether it is right or wrong to tell a lie, or what will become of me when I die!' “ Now then, Rhody, just think of thousands of children growing up like that. Half-starved, over-worked, ignorant as the brutes, and abused as they too often are by the grown-up men with whom they work. Well, it is enough to make even a chimney-elf feel sick and sorrowful. And these are some of the secrets of the inside of the earth. But there, child, don't cry any more. You and I can't help it all, and perhaps those who can, will find out how to do it before all the children are killed off. There was one story told me by an English chimney-elf, not quite so gloomy as the rest of his talk, so I will wind up by giving it. “ He lived in the chimney of an engine-house, and the engine was An Earth Story. 517 “ So used among other purposes for drawing up the buckets of coal from a very deep and extensive mine owned by a nobleman called Lord Fuello Blackley. A funny name, is n't it? * Well, one day as the engine was tugging away, and my friend, the chimney-elf was wondering how he should manage to pass the forenoon, there was a little commotion outside the engine-house, and a gentleman entered, followed by a boy about ten years of age. It was my Lord Fuello Blackley, and his son and heir, Sydney Blackley, a bright, good- natured lad, in spite of his father's income of ninety thousand pounds, (how many dollars is that, Rhody ?) and the fuss and flattery that had surrounded him ever since he was born. my Lord Fuello explained to the agent who came forward to meet him, that his son Sydney was very anxious to see the inside of a coal-mine, and that he, Lord Fuello, thought it might be a good idea to give the young gentleman some idea of the source from which a large portion of his father's income was supplied. * * An excellent idea, my lord, a noble idea,' replied the agent, rub- bing his hands and bowing to the ground. But I am afraid, my lord, you and the young gentleman will find the mine extremely wet, dirty, and uncomfortable.' “ . If it is comfortable enough for all these people to spend the larger portion of their lives in, we can endure it for a couple of hours, I fancy.” said my lord, who was not so bad a fellow after all, although a trifle pompous.' “ So be, and Master Sydney took off their fine clothes, and put on the fannel drawers and shirts such as the miners wear, brought to them with many apologies by the agent, put hard wash-bowl shaped hats upon their heads with a bit of candle stuck upon the rim by a lump of clay, took their places with the agent in one of the empty coal-tubs, and were lowered away with no more ceremony than as if they had been so many workmen, for my Lord Fuello very decidedly and severely forbid the agent who wished to make no end of a fuss, from doing anything of the sort. “• We wish to see the mine and the miners just as they are when no- body is here, so please do not mention our names or titles to anybody, said my Lord Fuello, and the agent could only obey. " At the bottom of the first shaft the tub rested upon the platform, and the agent skipping out, offered his hand first to my lord, and then to the son and heir with all respect, in spite of my lord's frown at thos attention. * • Lead on, if you please,' said he sharply, and the agent led the way 518 The Student and Schoolmate. down a black, low-arched passage, with a coal-roof, coal-sides, and coal- floor. This was the main working of this level of the mine, and off from it at either hand led various side-galleries, some narrow, and some wider, some high enough for a man to stand upright in, and some so low that the poor children who dragged the coals out through them, were obliged to crawl upon all fours. At this sight, the young Sydney stopped short, staring in amazement at a black and bent little figure who came creeping out in this manner just under his feet, as it were. “" Why, father, it is a girl !' exclaimed he, and my Lord Fuello, look- ing down at the pitable object before him, said: 6. No, but really is it, Mr. Middleman ?' " . Certainly, my — that is, yes sir, it is,' replied the agent, wondering what was the matter. 6 • And girls work like this, for us, father ?' pursued the young gen- tleman indignantly. But my Lord Fuello was already moving on. To tell the truth, he did not know what to say, and so said nothing. Syd- ney followed as silently. A few rods farther on, my lord and the agent turned into a side-gallery to look at a curious strata of quartz among the coal, and Sydney strayed thoughtfully on in advance. Suddenly the rumbling sound of an approaching cart aroused his attention, and he perceived the light of an approaching candle. Just before reaching him, the horse stopped short. * * Get along, you beast !' roughly shouted the carter, striking the animal heavily, while Sydney stepped into a little niche in the coal wall to leave room for the cart to pass. But still the horse would not move, although the carter spared neither blows or curses to force him onward. Suddenly Sydney darted forward. “ • Hold on there! Stop whipping that horse! Don't you see there is something in the way ? Good gracious, it is a child, a poor little child fast asleep here. Look, father! A little child working for us in this horrible pit, and just on the point of being run over, if the horse had not known more than his driver. O father, that little girl, harnessed in a cart, and this baby! Can't you do something about it?' They are sisters, and their mother was killed here last week; she fell out of the tub down the shaft. She had over-worked, and was dizzy, they said,' smoothly explained Mr. Middleman, and Sydney exclaimed again : *O father, a woman too! What can we do about it? won't you do something?' “Yes. You shall have these two little orphans to do with as you choose, Sydney,' said my Lord Fuello, clearing his throat. Clothe them, 666 520 The Student and Schoolmate. X DIALOGUE. VERY SUSPICIOUS! CHARACTERS. — MRS. WAGGLES ; MRS. CLANGDON ; JOE TURNIPS. . SCENE.- A plain Apartment. Enter Mrs. Waggles. Mrs. W. 'Tis very suspicious — 't is mystaferous — here I've taken in summer boarders for many a year, but the most singular one is this Mrs. Clangdon ; the first day she came, I asked her, would she like to read Mr. Droneaway's last sermon called “Seven thousand Reasons why the Sun rises in the West,” but she up and said, “ Tell it not in Gath.” Like's not she meant Bath, and I hope nobody would suspicion as how I'd go there just to tell 'em that. It 's werry strange she don't never read no books. I really wonder Joe (entering.) And so do I wonder, Mrs. Waggles ; not that I'm at all pugpacious. Mrs. W. Curious, you mean, Joe Curious. Joe. No, I don't, mem : if I'd meant curious, I should n't have said pugnacious, and so I said pugnacious. Of course I don't mean curious. Mrs. W. She came here the other day, and said somebody wanted her life, but she said she'd die afore she gave it. Joe. Oh, missus, she's bewitched. It was me tried to kill her, and she runned all around the yard, and me a follerin' of her. Mrs. W. Mercy preserve me, Joe. You would n't do such a thing, as to kill a woman, and have your picter imprinted into all the illustri- ous papers. How could you be so sanguinary? Why did you wish her death? Joe. To boil ber with greens. Mrs. W. What a cannibal you must be to serve a woman in that style. Joe. Who's a talkin' about a woman ? I was a thinkin' of the old sow in the sty. Mrs. W. And I was talkin' of my summer boarder. Joe. She has n't eat nuffin all day. Mrs. W. Not a book will she look into. Joe. She even turned up her nose at cabbages. Mrs. W. I don't believe she knows how to read. Joe. Whoever heard of a pig as could, except the learned one at the Fair? Mrs. W. Pig! I meant my summer boarder. Dialogue. 521 Joe. Well, wby could n't you say so ?-- but it's werry suspicious when you get up of a morning, and not have her touch a thing, when it's all so hot. Mrs. W. Who, my summer boarder ? Joe. No, the pig — and she looks so nice with her loose gown all snowy white, and says, “ Good morning, Mr. Joe.” Mrs. W. What, the pig ? Joe. No; your summer boarder but when she do act so contrary like, I feels like boxing of her ears. Mrs. W. Whose ! my summer boarder's ? Joe. No, the pig. Mrs. W. And all last Sunday I tried to urge her to go to church, for it's only seven miles there, and seven back, and the theremometer was only at 90°, but she said she could not bear the fatigue, and unless she rode, she could n't go. Joe. Well, and why did n't you go yourself? Mrs. W. I could n't - that 's why. But to think of her settin' up until after eleven o'clock, nightly — don't it make your hair fairly stand on end ? Joe (feeling his head.) Not as I knows on, mem, but then I had my hair cut so close yesterday, it ain't likely it could. Mrs. W. And that's not all, Joe Turnips. There was a man here tother day, and she never so much as told me who he was, where he came from, wbat he wanted, or where he went to. Joe. And you a lady, mem, as has no inquisitive failings — perhaps she's a member of a secret society, or has come here a husband hunting. Mrs. W. Well, she won't never find no man round here, worth the having Joe. Oh, Mrs. Waggles, how can you say such a thing ? how can you look in these ere expressive eyes, and say that she wou't never find no man round here, worth having ? Mrs. W. Don't act like a simpleton, Joe. Joe.' I'll try not to, mem; but being in your company so much, it will be a hard thing to do. Mrs. W. Well, we are straying away from our subject. I don't like the idea of letting my rooms to nobody knows who. Joe. Why don't you ask her who she is ? Mrs. W. A good idea, Joe. I wonder that it never struck me be- fore. I'll go to her room this very afternoon, and do so. Mrs. C. (entering.) She will save you that trouble, Mrs. Waggles, and answer any questions you may deem proper to make. 1 THREADS TANGLED Mrs. Caroline A. Soule will furnish a story called SAM LEUTE, or the Chore Boy of Oak Orchard. In addition to the exercises in Decla- mation, to which the pages of the School- mate have been devoted for these many years, and which are now under the care UR arrangements for the coming year of an excellent elocutionist, we are prom- are now nearly completed. The ised a series of sprightly articles from leading story for 1869, consisting of the pen of a liberally educated and ac- twenty-four chapters, of which two chap- complished teacher on “How to Speak ters will be given in each number of the Well, and How to Succeed in Composi. magazine, is founded on an intimate and tion,” being helps for live boys and girls careful study of the character and habits in declamation and composition, by one of the News Boys of New York, and will who knows them and their wants. be a fitting successor to the two admira “An old contributor " has promised ble stories from the same pen which have us some “Sketches of Eminent Ameri. been so eagerly welcomed by the readers cans,” to commence with that of the of the Schoolmate for 1867 and 8, both noble patriot young and old. PAUL REVERE, A finely engraved likeness of whom will appear with his autograph, giving each ; of our subscribers a beautiful memento of one of the most active spirits in the Life Among the New York News Boys. Revolution, which achieved our inde- BY HORATIO ALGER, JR., pendence. Author of " Ragged Dick,” “Fame and For Our present excellent corps of writers tune," etc. will continue to give us their best work in will commence in the January number, story, essay, dialogue, &c., &c., &c., while and the two opening chapters cannot but others of equal ability will be announced awaken an interest to know the whole as we can make room for the numerous that Mr. Alger is so carefully preparing articles now on file for insertion in our for the instruction and amusement of his pages. large circle of readers. Several contemplated changes in the Mrs. Jane G. Austin whose Fire, Wa- plan of the magazine will be manifest in ter, Air, and Earth stories in our own the January number, and we think it safe pages, and interesting articles in the At. to let the Schoolmate speak for itself, as lantic Monthly and other publications the kind letters we so frequently receive have been highly appreciated, will con. from those familiar with its pages, give tribute a series of stories for 1869, the us reason to believe that it has, thus far, first to appear early in the year. fulfilled promise and expectations. But OR 526 The Student and Schoolmate. Meanwhile things went on pretty much as usual at the establishment in Pearl Street. Gilbert liked Dick no better than he had done. In fact he disliked him worse, but seeing the friendly relations between Dick and his employer, found it prudent to treat him well whenever Mr. Rockwell was by. At other times he indulged in sneers and fault- finding, which Dick turned off good humored, or returned some droll answer which blunted the edge of the sarcasm, and made the book-keeper chafe with the feeling that he was no match for the boy be bated, in verbal sparring. Dick, by faithful attention to his duties, and a ready comprehension of what was required of him, steadily advanced in the good opinion of every one except Gilbert. Keep on as you have begun, Richard,” said Mr. Murdock to him * and you 'll be a member of the firm sometime.” “Do you really think so, Mr. Murdock ?” asked Dick, with a flush of gratification. “I really do. You have excellent abilities, Mr. Rockwell likes you, and you have only to continue steady and faithful, and you 'll rise.” “ You know what I was, Mr. Murdock." “ You are none the worse for that, Richard. It is a great credit to a boy to earn his own living when circumstances force it upon him. Never mind how he earns it, if his employment is an honest one, it is an hon- orable one.” By such remarks as these Dick was encouraged, and he felt that Mr. Murdock was a true friend to him. Meanwhile a way was opening for his advancement. One day Micky Maguire re-appeared in his old haunts. The same day he met Gilbert in the street, but the book-keeper took not the slightest notice of him. That touched Micky's pride, and confirmed him in his resolution. He decided to make known to Mr. Rockwell Gilbert's complicity in the little plot, thinking that this would probably be the best method of injuring him. He ascertained by means of a Directory, with some difficulty, for Micky's education was rather slight, the residence of Mr. Rockwell, and about eight o'clock in the evening ascended the steps, and rang the bell. He might have gone to his place of business, but Gilbert would be there, and he preferred to see Mr. Rockwell at home. The servant stared at the odd and not particularly prepossessing figure before her. “ Is Mr. Rockwell at home ? ” asked Micky. 6 Yes." “I want to see him." 528 The Student and Schoolmate. Do you Micky confirmed his previous statement by an oath. “I don't want you to swear. I shall not believe you the sooner for that. Can you explain why Mr. Gilbert should engage in such a base conspiracy?" “ He told me he hated Dick," said Micky. like Dick, as you call him ?” “ No, I don't,” said Micky, honestly, “ but I hate Mr. Gilbert worse.” “Why do you hate Dick ?” “ Because he puts on airs.” “I suppose,” said Mr. Rockwell, smiling, “ that means that he wears a good suit of clothes, and keeps his face and hands clean." “He was n't nothin' but a boot-black," said Micky, in an injured tone. “ What are you?” “I'm a boot-black, too, but I don't put on airs.” “ Do you mean to be a boot-black all your life ? " asked Mr. Rock- well. 66 I dunno," said Micky. “ There ain't anything else to do." “ Tell me frankly, would n't you rather wear good clothes than poor ones, and keep your face and hands clean." “ Yes, I should.” “ Then why do you blame Dick for preferring to do the same ?” “ He licked me once," said Micky, rather reluctantly, shifting his ground. 66 What for?” “ I fired a stone at him." “ You can't blame him much for that, can you ?” “No," said Micky, slowly, " I don't know as I can." “For my own part, I have a very good opinion of Richard," said Mr. Rockwell. “ He wants to raise himself in the world, and I am glad to help him. If that is putting on airs, I should be glad to see you putting on airs also.” “ There ain't no chance for me to rise,” said Micky. “Why not?” “I ain't lucky as Dick is.” “ Dick may have been lucky,” said Mr. Rockwell, “ but I generally find that luck comes oftenest to those who deserve it. If you will try to raise yourself, I will help you." “ Will you ?” asked Micky, hardly crediting what he heard. The fact was, he had been au Ishmaelite from his earliest years, and while he had been surrounded by fellows like Limpy Jim, who were ready to encourage and abet him in schemes of mischief, he had never 530 The Student and Schoolmate. Micky walked up to the main entrance, and entered with an assured air. Gilbert hurried out to meet him, and prevent his entrance. “ Clear out of here, you young rascal !” he said in a tone of author- ity. “ You 're not wanted here.” “I've come on business,” said Micky, with a scowl of dislike, show- ing no intention of retreating. “I have no business with you,” said Gilbert. “ Perhaps you have n't," said Micky, “but Mr. Rockwell has." “Mr. Rockwell will have nothing to say to a vagabond like you." “ He told me to come,” said Micky, resolutely, “ and I shan't go till I've seen him." Gilbert did not believe this, but suspected that Micky intended to betray him, and to this, of course, he objected decidedly. “Go out,” he said quickly," or I'll make you." “I won't then,” said Micky, defiantly. Mr. Gilbert seized him by the shoulders, but Micky was accustomed to fighting, and made a vigorous resistance. In the midst of the fracas Mr. Rockwell came up. “ What does this mean?” he demanded, in a quiet but authoritative tone. “ This young rascal has attempted to force his way in," said the book- keeper, desisting, and with a flushed face. “ I asked to see you," said Micky, “and he said I should n't.” “ I told him to come," said Mr. Rockwell, “ You may come into the counting-room, Michael. Mr. Gilbert, I should like your presence also." In surprise, not unmingled with foreboding, Mr. Gilbert followed bis employer, and Micky Maguire, into the counting-room. “Mr. Gilbert,” said Mr. Rockwell, “are you acquainted with this boy?” “ He blacked my boots on one occasion," said the book-keeper. “I know no more of him except that he is a young vagabond and a thief." “ Who hired me to steal ? ” retorted Micky. “I don't think you would need any hiring,” said Gilbert, with a sneer. Micky was about to retort in no choice terms, but Mr. Rockwell signed to him to be silent. “ This boy has made a charge against you, Mr. Gilbert," he said, “which you ought to be made aware of.” “He's capable of any falsehood," said Gilbert, but he began to be nervous. 532 The Student and Schoolmate. “Yes,” said Micky, “I don't like it.” “I can give you a situation as errand boy in my own employ,” said Mr. Rockwell. “My clerk will explain your duties.”. “ What wages will I get ?” asked Micky. “ For the present you shall have a dollar a day, or six dollars a week. I will besides give you a new suit of clothes. Will that satisfy you ?” “ Yes,” said Micky, feeling as if he had unexpectedly become heir to a fortune. “ When will I begin ?” “ To-morrow if you like. Come here this afternoon at three, and I will send Richard with you to a clothing-house." Just then Dick, who had been to the Post-Office, entered, and Mr. Rockwell, in a few words, informed him of the changes that had taken place. “I believe you and Michael have not been very good friends,” he added, “but I trust to your good feelings to get over that.” Dick promptly offered his hand to his old enemy. “I am glad you are coming, Micky,” he said, “I'll do all I can to belp you on, and if we are not good friends it won't be my fault.” “Do you mean that, Dick?” said Micky, almost incredulous. “ Yes, I do." “I've acted mean by you more 'n once." “If you have, it's all over now,” said Dick. « There's no use in remembering it." “ You’re a good fellow, Dick," said Micky, “an' I ought to have known it before." Dick was gratified by this testimony from one who for years had been his active opponent, and be determined to help Micky to turn over the new leaf which was to bear a very different record from the old one. When Micky had gone out, Mr. Rockwell said, “ Well, Richard, I have lost my bookkeeper." “ Yes sir,” said Dick. “And I can't say I am sorry for it. I will do Mr. Gilbert the jus- tice to say that he understood his business, but he was personally disa- greeable and I never liked him. Now I suppose I must look out for a successor.” “ Yes sir, I suppose so." “I know a very competent bookkeeper, who is intending to business for himself at the expiration of six months. Until that time I can obtain bis services. Now I have a plan in view which I think go into 534 The Student and Schoolmate. friend than Micky Maguire, who, I am glad to say, though occasionally wayward, improved vastly, and became a useful employee of the estab- lishment which he had entered. His abilities and education (though he improved the latter,) were quite inferior to Dick's, and he will probably never reach more than a respectable position and salary, but he has been redeemed from a life of depravity, and converted from a vagabond into a useful member of the community. And now, almost with regret, I find myself closing up the record of Dick's chequered career. The•Past with its trials is over; the Future expands before him, a bright vista of merited success. But it remains for me to justify the title of my story, to show how Dick acquired “ Fame and Fortune.” I can only hint briefly at the steps that led to them. In six months, at the age of seventeen, Dick succeeded to Mr. Gilbert's place, with a salary of a thousand dollars. To this an annual increase was made, making his income at twenty-one, fourteen hundred dollars. Just about that time he had an opportunity to sell his up-town lots to a gentleman who had taken a great fancy to them, for five times the amount he paid, or five thousand dollars. His savings amounted to nearly three thousand dollars besides. Meanwhile Mr. Rockwell's part- ner, Mr. Cooper, from ill health, felt obliged to withdraw from business, and Richard, to his unbounded astonishment and delight, was admitted to the post of junior partner, embarking the capital he had already ac- cumulated, and receiving a corresponding share of the profits. These were so large, that three years later, Richard felt justified in offering his hand to Ida Greyson, now a charming young lady, whose partiality to Dick had never wavered. His suit was favorably received, and last week I noticed his marriage in the columns of the daily papers. So Dick bas achieved “ FAME AND Fortune," — the fame of an honorable and enterprising man of business, and a fortune which promises in time to be princely. But he never forgets his humble beginnings, and tries to show his sense of God's goodness to him, by extending a helping hand to the poor and needy boys whose trials and privations he under- stands only too well from his own experience of them. Horatio Alger, fr. NOTE BY THE AUTHOR. — The hearty interest and sympathy which the record of Richard Hunter's experiences has excited in so many thousand homes, induces the author to state that his next story will illustrate another phase of city life, under the title of Rough AND READY, OR LIFE AMONG THE NEW YORK News- BOYS. Richard Hunter in his new character of book-keeper in Mr. Rockwell's An Adroit Horseman. 535 establishment, and others already familiar to the reader, will be introduced, and those who have become interested in them, and are desirous to learn how Henry Fosdick prospered, and what befell Roswell Crawford, are referred to the January number of THE SCHOOLMATE, in which the new story will be commenced. AN ADROIT HORSEMAN. the sun. PULASKI, as it is well known, was as adroit a swordsman as he was perfect in horsemanship, and he ever rode a powerful and fleet charger. During the retreat of the American army through New Jersey, in the darkest hour of our national adversity, Pulaski was, with a small party of horsemen, pursued by a large body of British cavalry, the leader of which was a good horseman, and mounted nearly as well as Pulaski. Pulaski rode in the rear of his detachment, and the British captain in front of those he commanded. The morning sun was shining brightly, casting oblique shadows, and as the pursued party entered a long narrow lane, Pulaski, having satis- fied bimself of the superior speed and command of his pursuer, slack- ened his pace, and kept his horse to the side of the lane furthest from The pursuing officer came up in hot haste, his sword elevated 80 as to make the decisive cut upon Pulaski, as soon as he could reach him. Pulaski rode as though he heard not the advance upon him yet he kept his eyes fixed warily upon the ground on the side of his horse towards the sun on the right. As soon as he saw the shadow of his pursuer's horse gain upon him, and that horse's head, by his shadow, had gained about half the length of his own horse's body, he gave the sudden sword-cut of St. George with his powerful arm, and saw the decapitated head of the English officer follow the stroke. His mathematical eye had measured the distance by the position of the shadow so accurately, and his position giving a long back reach to his right arm, while the cross stroke of his pursuer must have been made at a much shorter distance to have taken effect ing officer lost his head before he suspected that his proximity was known, or that a blow was meditated. Selected. that the pursu- 536 The Student and Schoolmate. WESTERN MASSACHUSETTS No. ¥. CHARLEMONT TO PLAINFIELD. The HE fatigue consequent to the longest walk of any day since leaving home, had put us in so sound a sleep, that we were unconscious until morning; and when the sun again rose, and shone into our room with cheerful brilliancy, all the terrors of the night before, were for- gotten. The long row of. bottles upon the table, no longer looked mys- terious, and outside the window, the noise of the river dashing over the stones, was scarcely noticeable ; for the daylight is not so keen a con- veyor of sound as is the still night air. •“ Were you conscious of anything unusual, in the night ?” asked Felix, while strapping up his knapsack. “Of nothing but the slats in the bed ; and I did n't feel those long- for I slept very soundly." • Well, as you say, the slats in that bed were remarkable; I could feel every one of them, and was half inclined to lie on the floor.” "I wonder where we shall sleep to-night,” said I, putting my last article a tooth-brush - in with my other things. "On a haystack, perhaps; anything is preferable to a bed like this." He opened the door as he spoke, and we went out. “ Haystacks in the Spring time? where will you find one?” It happened that the woman who, the night before, had shown us our room, was at this moment coming down the entry. Perhaps she did not hear what Felix had said, although she asked us in passing, if we had not enjoyed a good night's, rest, and we cheerfully replied that we had never in our lives slept more soundly. Having reached the end of the entry, we turned several corners, went in and out of several apartments, — and lost our way at last, as I knew we should. We might have spent a great part of the morning in discovering new entries and chambers, if the woman had not fortunately returned; she rescued us from our distressing situation, just as we were in the most hopeless part of the house ; she led the way down stairs to the breakfast table ; she helped us to meat and hot rolls, and in fact was as good a Samari- tan, as two hungry boys could have wished her to be. And after break- fast, we started on our walk; that we might not waste the freshest part of the day in fruitless delay. Travels among the Mountains. 537 This little Village of Zoar, where we had spent the night, and which we were now leaving behind us, is a part of the Township of Charle- mont. It is the first settlement we had entered in Franklin County, having left Berkshire when we crossed the dilapidated bridge, up the river. We were told that the bridge was owned by Florida, Rowe and Charlemont, and the three towns could not yet come to an understand- ing about the repairs which it so much needed. The road to the centre of Charlemont, still followed the banks of Deerfield River, and led through a grove, where we found an abundance of checkerberries, and also some sweet smelling wild flower - the arbutus. Issuing from the grove, we came in view of the “ Peak,” a resort well known in Charle- mont, for picnic parties, and here is an engraving of it. While we THE PEAK AND CAARLEMONT. were seated drawing, an old man came down the road from the distant town ahead, — supporting himself as he walked, on two canes. He stopped to see what we were doing, and commenced to be very social with us. “There is n't a finer place for raising, in all Charelmont, than this. You see that patch of ground on the right," said he, lifting one of his canes, and pointing with it to the opposite side of the road. “ Well, a Deerfield man ploughed it, and he'll find that he ploughed too deep, he's brought up the yellow soil ; - 't won't do to plough so deep as that here. Do you know the name of that mountain ?” he asked, pointing across the river. “ The Peak," I answered. “ Yes, that's it,” he replied, with gratification like that of a school- master who had just received a correct reply to a hard question in geog- raphy. “ There are three lakes of living water on the top of it. You 'll have something to show of what you have seen, to your mates, when you go home,” he added, bending low to look over our shoulders again at the drawings. “There is n't a person in Claremont, but will buy your book when it is published.” 540 The Student and Schoolmate. two lonely looking houses, some distance apart from each other; they were the first we had passed for hours. Their blinds were closed, and no living thing visible. Afterwards, houses were more frequent, and at three o'clock in the afternoon, we entered East Hawley. We saw nobody here, however. There was a croquet lawn in the center of the village, opposite the meeting-house, and further on we passed a Ceme- tery — but not a soul did we meet. It once more began to sprinkle, and we knocked at the door of an old house for shelter. Nobody com- ing to the front door, we went round to the back, and knocked again, and nobody coming to the back door, we made bold to look in at the windows. We could see a bed, and a table, and a cleanly swept floor, but no person. What had become of the good folk of East Hawley we could not conceive, and we turned away from the old house, to keep on through the rain. I unstrapped my shawl, and, put it over my shoulders, while Felix stopped to take out of his knapsack a cardigan jacket, which he put on, saying: “ We shall look back to this day more than to any other. We shall think if we could only be up in that drizzle in East Hawley, we should be happy ;- and here we are in it. It quite raises my spirits to think of it. I shall be maudlin with joy, if it drizzles much longer !” It did drizzle longer however; not only that, - it rained very hard, and Felix's attempt to keep up his spirits proved unavailing. We com- menced to run, and no house being near, we should have been wet through, if our shawls had not been thick. As we came in sight of Plainfield the western sky cleared and gave a glimpse of the sun, al- though it was still raining hard, when we entered the door of the village . Hotel Sun's RAYS TOROUGH CLOUDS OVER PLAINPIELD. A young girl, who opened the front door, led us to an office in the rear of the house, where she left us, and went “to call Pa.” There was no fire here, and our feet were wet, and clothes damp, but as we expected the immediate arrival of “Pa,” we were patient for a while. Travels among the Mountains. 541 That person not coming, however, at the expiration of fifteen minutes, Felix went out in search of him. He passed through the hall, and knocked at one of the doors, where receiving an invitation to “come in," he opened the door. “ Have you found your father?” he asked of the girl, who sat by the fireside, sewing. “No, sir : I don't know where he is. I guess he's out by the barn." “ Could you have a fire made for us in a chamber? We are very wet, and would like to change our clothes.” “We have n't any stoves up in the chambers, but I'll get the fire made in the office," said she, rising. Felix came back, soon followed by a boy with shavings and wood. It was not long before there was a warm fire burning in the stove, around. which we placed our stockings, coats, shawls, and hats, hung on all the chairs we could find in the room. As we could not very well take off our pants, we were forced to stand near the fire, and in that position, dry them as we could. We stood here upwards of half an hour, facing a bare wall, at which Felix made a great many wry faces, expressive of his discontent and dejection. “I'm utterly and entirely miserable and wretched," said he," and feel as if our pedestrian trip were a failure.” “And I am so hungry,” I chimed in, laughing at his two adverbs and two adjectives, “that I shall disgrace myself at the supper-table. For- tunate for us, that we brought so many woolen stockings, is n't it?” “ Don't speak to me about your woolen stockings. I wish I was in Boston.” “With such a sunset as this, I have n't thought of Boston Look at it!” said I, pointing at the window. But Felix, out of spite, looked the other way. At this moment the tea-bell rang. 542 The Student and Schoolmate. ONE DAY LESS. IGHT spreads her dusky curtains o'er , And darkness settles softly down Where gentle footsteps late have strayed. * The stars come out in heaven above And brightly shine with eyes that bless, And zephyrs whisper, floating by, On earth below there's one day less. And so the days drop slowly out The circlet of allotted time, And as the daylight follows night, Brings us but nearer that blest clime Where one day less, or one day more, Are reckoned nought by Him above : He holds the years within his hands, And rules his creatures all, by love. One day the less to make amends For past misdoings in our life, And fit our souls to know those joys, Unmingled with dark care and strife. Oh, let us heed the flying hours That go to fill the passing days, And learn to live the life that leads Its followers into pleasant ways. That when the days of life are gone, We need not pray for one day more, To fit our souls to cross the stream That flows between us and the shore, Where all must stand before the bar, And give account for days and years, For deeds, and thoughts, and words, and looks, While in this shadowy vale of tears. 7. William Van Namee, 544 The Student and Schoolmate. tricks, and Etta had a piebald pony and a little sleigh, and the pony was 80 kind and so accommodating generally, that the children could drive him anywhere. And then there were the calves, and the sheep, and the brown steers, and a whole litter of gray and white kittens ; three of them, “real beauties," Charley said, when he was over to Johnny's house a month before, and he had promised to save one of them especially for Johnny. So you see that there was every prospect of a delightful time. As I said before, Johnny had been promised this treat for a long time, and whenever it was expressly necessary that he should be good, his mother always said, by way of argument, " Because you know, Johnny, if you are a good boy, you are to spend Christmas at your Uncle Henry's.” And then Johnny's face would grow grave at once, and he would be as good a boy as ever you saw. It was about fifteen miles to Rutland, and the stage left the Great Western depot at just half-past five. At that time the express train from the east arrived at Hartwell, and the stage waited for the mail, and then set off without any delay. It was full a half hour's walk from Johnny's home to the depot, and his mother was so particular in brushing his hair and tying the ribbon around his neck that it was almost five o'clock before he was ready to go. “Don't liuger a moment, Johnny,” said his mother, tying his comforter and kissing his glowing cheek, “and don't forget to give my love to Uncle Henry and Aunt Margie, and mind and not lose your porte- monie and Johnny, do be careful when you cross the railroad track, for sometimes the cars come a little before half past five, you know.” “ Yes, mother, I'll remember it all, and I'll be careful,” said Johnny, and hurried off. Hartwell was a thinly settled district, and there was only one house between Johnny's home and the depot. My hero was sorely afraid he should get belated, so he concluded to take a short cut across the fields, over Cherwood Heath, cross the river on the railroad bridge, and thus save full a half mile of the distance. So he leaped over the fence, and went over the hard frozen snow whist- ling, as merry as a cricket. Presently he reached the railroad, crossed the bridge, which was a very high, frightful looking bridge, a great many feet above the water. It made Johnny's head a little dizzy when he first stepped on the narrow plank which lay across the sleepers, but he was so full of his anticipated visit that he could not stop to think how 546 The Student and Schoolmate. they wanted to signal a train, and he guessed the lookout would pay some attention to a big fire on the track. Any how, he made up his mind to try it. There was any quantity of dry pine brush close at hand, and Johnny piled armful after armful of it on the track, and then searched in his pocket for matches. He could find only three, and as he looked at them in the gathering gloom of the twilight, he thought he had never in all his life, seen three such unpromising looking matches. What if they should fail ? He scratched one, and as he did so he heard again, nearer than before, the whistle of the advancing train. There was not a moment to lose. The match flickered, burnt blue, and went out in a puff of pale smoke. BH MUI A.CUYP KUSSELLSC JOANNY BTOPPING THE TRAIN, With a trembling hand Johnny tried the second one, which followed the example of the first. “Oh Lord,” said Johnny, earnestly, “ don't let this last one fizzle out, for if it does —” he did not finish the sentence, for this match blazed up clearly and steadily, and he applied it to the brush with a hopeful heart. Johnny Parker's Christmas. 547 The flame caught the dry twigs, and the withered pine tassels, and fastening on the gummy branches, leaped up high into the air, and made the snow all around as red as blood in the bright light. Johnny was so glad, that he could not help dancing round it, and he threw off his cap and shouted, and was as happy as a great general, after he has won an important battle. Such a grand, wide awake fire as that was, you never saw, and Johnny heaped on more brush, and if it had not been for the sad thoughts of that Christmas pudding, which he was not to help eat, he would have been perfectly satisfied. The train was coming fast now; he could hear the grind of the wheels on the iron, and in a moment the sharp whistle to “down brakes," broke on the stillness. Then Johnny began to shout again, as if he thought his small noise could be heard above all the rumble and clatter of the heavy train. A few yards from the fire, the locomotive was brought to a stand-still, and scores of people came pouring out of the cars, to ascertain the cause of this unwonted delay: Johnny stood there in the red light, with bright eyes, and a glowing face. “ What does this mean?” asked the Conductor, gruffly, seizing Johnny by the shoulder, and turning him around with no very gentle hand, for doubtless he was thinking of his Christmas plum pudding, and was afraid he might not get home in season to eat a slice. “ The switch was wrong,” said Johnny. You see Tom's child was sick with the measles, and Tom forgot « That I did !” said Tom himself, appearing upon the scene just at that moment, wiping the perspiration from his face," my child is dead, sir, and you may discharge me this moment, and I've not a word to say! But I clean forgot the switch, sir! And indeed, if I had remem- bered it, how could I have left my little Mary, and she dying and cling- ing to my neck, and begging of me not to leave her ? ” And poor Tom's rough face was wet with tears. “ You should attend to duty, first,” said the Conductor, who I guess did not have any children of his own. “ Indeed sir, I had entirely forgotten that there had been a wood train up this afternoon, and that the switch had been changed, and “Well, well,” said the Conductor, “ it's all right now, and you can keep your place, Tom, but be more careful in future. It would have been all wrong fast enough, if it had not been for this boy. How hap- pened you to be here at just the right time, my lad ? ” 548 The Student and Schoolmate. “Well, you see, sir,” said Johnny,“ I was going over to Rutland to spend Christmas at Uncle Henry's, and I took this way to the depot to make it shorter, but I guess I shan't get to Rutland after all! And it's a little hard, sir, seeing as I had been thinking about the visit so long, and Aunt Maggie is such a nice hand at a plum pudding ! But I don't care, since I've saved the train.” “ You were going down to Rutland with Dirch, were you, my lad?” “ Yes, sir, and he's gone long ago,” said Johnny, a little ruefully. “Oh yes, he's gone,” said the Conductor, cheerfully, “but Mr. Bick- ford is going down to-night with the luggage in about an hour. There's so many people going home to Christmas, that the stage could n't take their luggage. You can run «right along, and Bickford will take you. So you 'll get a taste of that pudding after all.” Johnny was glad enough to kiss everybody, and perhaps he would have gone right about it, if he had not been afraid of being too late for Mr. Bickford. So he buttoned up his coat, and was about to start for the depot, when an old gentleman - one of the passengers - stopped him. “ Here, my son,” said the old gentleman,“ here is a five dollar gold piece for you to spend in Christmas things, and I hope you will always remember that it is better to do right, even if you have to sacrifice your own pleasure. You have saved a great many lives, doubtless, and I trust you will get live to see a great many Christmas days, and eat a great many Christmas puddings." The old gentleman got on board the train, which began moving off, and Johnny ran every step of the way to the depot. And Bickford took him down to Rutland on the cart, and his Uncle Henry's folks were delighted to see him. Of course they all spent a very merry Christmas, and the plum pudding was the best in the world, and the ride after the pie-bald pony was delightful, and the gray kittens could not be beat the world over! Clara Augusta. 1 Christmas Boughs. 549 CHRISTMAS BOUGHS. T was Christmas time. The churches bad been decked with the I remeh Cheti e Forestiynaturels echan e hedhead. bene ancake was there ful with evergreens, and brilliant with bright berries, which surrounded, too, the “ Gloria in Ecelcis” over the pulpit, reminding us whose memory it was, that should ever endure among men. At home, the crosses and wreaths had been placed in the windows. Many a graceful fir, too, had yielded up its life in its native woods, to bring light and happiness among the children of men. How beautiful they were, those Christmas trees! From the tiny one just large enough for the light- stand in the corner, filled with presents and the tiniest of tiny candles for the pet of the household ; to the large one in the mission chapel, covered with simple presents for the children of the poor. “ Did you ever see a Christmas tree, Aunt Chloe ?” It was Sophy Angell who spoke, a graceful, delicate girl, who had seen, perhaps, some fourteen merry Christmas days. “ Laws, honey, I’se seen the church down in old Virginny, all kiv- ered with evergreens and holly' berries. People used to make great 'count o' Chrismus, where I was raised.” « O, but you never saw a Christmas tree like ours," said Master Frank, “'t will be covered all over with presents, and sugar dogs and lambs, and lighted everywhere with wax candles, little candles, no bigger than my finger, and there'll be something for everybody," he added significantly “ And I shall have a doll,” chimed in the musical voice of Lilly, the pet of the family. Those dolls! No wonder Lillian's five years old heart yearned for one of them. The children had been out that afternoon, Lilly under Sophy's protection, for the streets were damp, and the snow slippery, (Frank being ten years old, was enough of a man to take care of him- self, his mother said,) to see the display in the shops. Lilly's mind was so full of the big, big doll, that it could hold nothing else. And truly there were dolls in every variety of color and costume. Dolls in walk- ing dresses with looped-up overskirts, house-wifely looking dolls with white, ruffled aprons, party-going dolls, in gored skirts and most ap- proved trains, and bride dolls in white satin. Dolls modestly reclining with folded hands, on which rested a paper purporting that they came from the Paris exposition, and would be sold for the modest price of thirty dollars. Master Frank ventured to criticize some of these dolls, 552 The Student and Schoolmate. a number of papa's bright five-cent pieces had found their way into the same receptacle. That very day, Aunt Chloe, with mamma's consent, had broken open the bank, (it must be confessed with a little twinge to Lilly, notwith- standing her pleasure, for she thought it was ruined,) but then it was nicely sealed together and ready for another start. Lily had counted her gains, and mamma had recounted them for the better satisfaction of the family, for Lily had a droll way of counting one, two, four, seven, and then mounting all at once to twenty at a single leap. Lily had a dollar and a half in pennies and two-cent bits, beside nine bright five- cent pieces. She had been quite overpowered by the prospect of so great riches, but had bought nothing as yet, except a little woolly sheep for papa, , and a cat that would mew for mamma, and something Sophy could not find out what, for Aunt Chloe, intending to ornament the Christmas tree with a goodly show of candies on the following Christmas eve. Lilly looked at her treasures. She thought of her beloved Annt Chloe, and the little black children. “I'll give you "I'll give you all my five-cent pieces," she said, and she pashed them toward Miss Merwyn. Now these five-cent pieces, being bright and shining, were the particular delight of Lilly's heart, and she had a vague idea that they would do the black children more good, than so many pennies would have done. Still as she pushed them away from her, one was so very bright, that she almost had her little fingers on it to take it back. Miss Merwyn saw the movement. She did not wish the little girl to lose any of the pleasure she knew the remembrance of her generous deed would give her. So she gathered up the pieces, thanking the little girl with a bright smile. “ Your treasure will make six little black children very happy,” she said. Lily's face brightened. “Yes," she said. “I saw lots of pretty things at Salom's to-day for six cents a piece.” “ My sister was once a governess at a South," said Miss Merwyn, and she told me how the little black waiting-maids would gather up every scrap of velvet, or ribbon, or lace, she threw away, to trim their poor, shapeless rag dolls with. Lily's face was brighter still.“ Perhaps Aunt Chloe's little boy will get some of the presents,” she said. “ Who?” said her mother. “ Aunt Chloe's little boy she told us about, who was sold away from her," said the child. 1 554 The Student and Schoolmate. with delight. One little fellow, on the reception of a horn of plenty, rolled over and over a half dozen times. Then the pretty mittens and hoods were just the things for the older ones. Tell Lilly if she knew how pleased they were with the smallest thing, she would not regret, if she ever has, her five-cent peices. Even Joe, our mulatto boy, sixteen years of age, has been pleased ever since at seeing the gaily-painted little fish, he received for his present, follow the magnet attached to it. I believe I have not told you about Joe. He has been with us now some months, and is very bright and useful. He was sold from his mother in King George County, Virginia, when but six years old, and has not a relative that he knows of in the world. He says his master's name was Mathews, and his mother was called Chloe.” Thus far Sophy had been reading aloud to her mother, but now she rushed down stairs, the sheet in her hand to the kitchen, to Aunt Chloe, followed by all the children, and, more slowly, by her mother. “ He did get a present, Aunt Chloe,” said Lilly, the words tumbling over one another, “ Joe did.” Auntie Chloe turned round from the oven in amazement, and mamma, who had arrived on the spot, broke the news to her as gently as she could, that her only remaining son was alive and happy. All the tropi- cal ardor of Aunt Chloe's nature appeared in the joy she showed, and when her mistress told her that her son should come North, her grati- tude was overpowering. Papa was duly informed of the good news at dinner. He did get a present, Joe did,” repeated Lilly, “and can't you, when he comes North, take him to work at your store; I saw a black man washing the win- dows of a store on Washington Street the other day when I was looking at dolls.” Papa laughed, and promised that he would. In about a fortnight Joe arrived, - a bright, healthy, mulatto boy of sixteen years. His mother's joy at meeting him, only exceeded the children’s, so much had they learned to love Aunt Chloe, and Joe soon became as warmly devoted to them as bis mother could be. Every evening he spent with his mother, frequently listening at the parlor door with breathless delight to hear Sophy play and sing, or patiently endeavoring to comprehend while Frank initiates him into the mysteries of dominoes and backgammon ; or improvising games with Lillian, whom he devoutly believes to be indeed an angel, and who, I am sure, has never, for a single moment, regretted the loss of her five-cent peices. Mary E. Nutting. Brother and sister. 555 BROTHER AND SISTER. HAD AD you asked the little girls attending Miss Wellwood's school, who of their number was most to be envied, they would have an- swered at once, and together, “ Oh Sallie Dustin, to be sure.” For Sallie lived in the largest house, and wore the nicest clothes. She had the most playthings and spending money, and was besides, the prettiest girl and best scholar of them all. But such a decision-would have made Sallie open her blue eyes wide with wonder. She was so used to all of these nice things, that she thought but little about them. It was a matter of course that she should run to school, wearing the nicest hat and sacque, carrying the handsomest runners and skates, or hoop and ball, with the daintiest luncheon hid in the dearest of baskets. Sallie never guessed how great a value was set upon these pretty things by the girls who had to do without them. They said she had “no pride,” and they looked upon her blessings with wistful eyes, yet without grudging. But Sallie had her trial, though the school-girls never guessed it. How they would have laughed had it been told them, and still more, had it been whispered what her trial was. Sallie's trial was tall, and stout, and sun-burnt; he had black eyes, brimfull of fun, was ten years of age, and answered to the name of George. One of that sort of boys at whose approach, careful friends hide every- thing frail or rare ; at thought of whose vacation the most perfect of mothers cannot repress a sigh. Mischief and happiness had one mean- ing only for George, and Paradise he would have spelled “r-a-c-k-e-t.” George had a great liking for practical jokes, of which Sallie was almost always the victim. This led him to do many things which would have been terribly naughty had he stopped one moment to think, but that was the very thing he seemed never to do. He was so utterly heed- less, and seldom out of mischief, except when asleep, or while being punished. Never having been a boy myself, I cannot judge of a boy's tempta- tions. I suppose there must be “ fun "in deluding twenty times a day, a little credulous sister, ready to believe all that is told her, and do without question whatever she is bid. What the fun is, I cannot see, but so many big brothers find it, that I cannot deny its existence. Such ways seem to me ungenerous and dishonorable, rather than “funny," 556 The Student and Schoolmate. mean, rather than “smart," but that is only a feminine view of the case. George had always ruled Sallie with a rod of iron; it needed but a small amount of coaxing to make her join in any of his plans, and a still smaller amount of threats made her as submissive as a slave. He was very far, you see, from being a model boy, and it is so natural for the strong to rule the weak. Of late, however, Sallie bad begun to assert her rights. She seemed disposed, when George teased and vexed her, to pay him back in bis own coin. For example; When she found her pet kitten imprisoned in a box, rudely resembling a pulpit, firmly tied by the hind legs, and looking dis- tractedly through a huge pair of paper spectacles, George thought she took it very quietly. He understood why she did so, when on going to his bed, he found it full of kernels of corn and hard crumbs. The next day Sallie alarmed the family at dinner by a loud scream; there were several polywogs and a tiny frog in her tumbler ! A few days later, as George was starting off for school in great haste, and pulling on his overcoat in his usual reckless fashion, he found his arms enclosed in two bags, the lower ends of his coat-sleeves being firmly stitched together. Now it was very foolish for Sallie to do such things ; first because it is wrong to return evil for evil; and secondly, because George being older and more unscrupulous, she would be sure to suffer most in such a warfare, and then tricks like these, though begun in sport, so often end in anger. Now let me tell you about George's last great effort to subdue his sister. One of the chief terrors he had been used to hold over her head, was a certain mysterious individual known to the children as the man in the chimney." There was in Sallie's room an unused fireplace, shut out by a board in which was an open funnel-hole. From her earliest remembrance, she had heard from her brother of the “ man in the chimney,” who some dark night might stretch out his arm and catch her as she passed the fatal spot. This visionary hobgoblin seemed to be on the very best of terms with George, and only angry with Sallie when she had displeased her brother. Of late, Sallie had grown quite skeptical as to the reality of a foe, content to lie so long in ambush, 80 George fixed upon this as the best of all his many ways of working upon her fears. He resolved 560 The Student and Schoolmate. 1 left, beyond the sea°? was it some, or allof these united, that hurried this forsaken company to their melancholy fate'? And is it possible that neither of these causes, that not all? combined," were able to blasta this bud of hope?? Is it possible, that from a beginning so feeble, so frail, so worthy,' not so much of admirations as of pity, there has gone forth a progress so steady,' a growth so wonderful, a reality so impor- tant,' a promise yet to be fulfilled so glorious? ? E. Everett. DIALOGUE. THE LAWYER TURNED SHOP-KEEPER. CHARACTERS. — Paul DAN FORTH; JOHN QUIMBY ; Mrs. DILL; Bor; Mr. FLASHER ; Tom DODGEHAM. Paul Danforth. How do you do, Mr. Quinby? how comfortable you always look, too. Well, I should think you would, keeping store is nice fun; all you have to do is to sit still and take in the money, and go home at night feeling so much richer than you was in the morning. There is a variety about it too; now here am I penned up in a lawyer's office all day, studying law, a tiresome, monotonous piece of work. Bless me, I wish I was a shopkeeper. Quimby. Ah, my young friend, what you have just said, admits of a great deal of argument, and if I had time, I would try and show you where you were mistaken, but I have an important errand to do in North Webster Street, and have been waiting for my boy to return, but as you have come in, I will ask you to keep shop for me a few minutes; he will soon be here. If any one should call for anything, you will find the prices all marked on the goods. Paul. I shall be very happy to remain here, for I have nothing else to do. Do not hurry, but take your own time. (Exit Quimby.) Poul (rubbing his hands.) Good! Now I shall have an opportunity to try my hand at shopkeeping. Oh, it is so much better than law. What a splendid variety old Quimby has got, "a little of everything," as the waiter said when he brought a man a plate of hash. Ah! here comes a good-looking woman. I must appear smart, and not let her know I am a novice in the mercantile line. 1 Dialogue. 563 Tom. Well, then, put me up a pound of toe-nails. (Exc# Tom, gig- ling, followed by a crook-neck squash, thrown by Paul.) Paul. Drat that boy! I'll complain to his father of him. That 's an old joke, too, and I ought to have known better than to get caught with it. Oh! how glad I am to see Mr. Quimby returning, for to tell the truth, I am tired of shop-keeping. (Enter Quimby.) How do you do, sir? I really must say I am not sorry to see you again. Quimby. And how do you like shop-keeping ? Paul. I am free to confess that it has its thorny side as well as most other good things. I got along admirably though, except giving an old lady Shaker apple-sauce instead of cambric, and one impudent boy told me to put up a pound of toe-nails, but there is one thing that was pro- fitable ; a very genteel customer paid me half a dollar for changing a bill; he was from New York, and shows how liberal they are outside of these country towns. Quimby. How large a bill was it ? Paul. Ten dollars. Quimby. Ten dollars! Let me look at it. (Paul shows it to him.) Yes, it is the same bank! Sir, that bill is worthless, and your polite customer from New York, was a swindler and thief! I am ten dollars out by your shop-keeping. Paul. I regret it very much, Mr. Quimby. I see that instead of selling, I was sold myself. Hereafter I will confine myself to the study and practice of law, and if ever I become Judge, I will send that rascal of a counterfeiter to state prison for life. Good day, sir. (Excit.) Quimby. Good day! What a mockery! It's a bad day to me. Well, lawyers always are expensive, and after this, I 'll keep clear of them. William L. Williams. 566 The Student and Schoolmate. + room. 155. Par.is. To say that George Coolidge gets up | tail again, a pronoun in the accusative, just the thing in his Lady's ALMANAC, once more, and it is a pronoun in nomi. for 1869, which is the sixteenth year of native. Rob Roy. its publication, would be but telling the truth, and it requires the investment of but fifty cents to possess this pocket companion. Ghe Evening fircle. Music from 0. Ditson & Co. William Tell. No. 15, of the collec- tion called Beauties of the Opera, by La Chasse. Adolph Baumbach. The following game is quite interest- Reception March, by A. E. Warren. ing, and one in which the boys. can all Adéle Waltz, by J. S. Knight. engage with a hearty relish. When U. S. Grant is the Man, by J. C. J. entered upon with enthusiasm it will O'er Thee Alone. Song, by W. T. be found very effectual in “ driving dull Wrighton. care away." The Woodland Stream. Song, by W. In the first place, let all the chairs and T. Wrighton. other like obstacles be removed from the Our company, which should not Answers. number less than seven, then separate into two parties, having before chosen 156. Crow-bar. an “Umpire.” One party form the 157. Henry Ward Beecher. “Hunters" and the other the “Hares." 159. Geographical Rebus. Each person of the two parties blinds his eyes, after which the Umpire takes his position at one side of the room, and the game commences. The Hares try to reach the Umpire's seat without being caught; whenever RICHDORE. any one of them does this he is out. The Hunters in the mean time are 160. Geographical Rebus. striving to 'capture their opponents. 50 Should it happea that one is successful, Don U.NCLE OSSIAN. he leads his prisoner to the Umpire ; and, if he tell correctly at the first trial 161. Rebus. who it is he has caught, he is out, but if 1. The title of a Poem. he fail to do so, both he and his prisoner (One word in each quotation.) return to seek a better fortune. “How silly are the things that live Every time a player comes to the Um. In thickets, and eat berries !” pire and receives his decision, the latter “ Through the streets, deserted and should change his position to another silent,” side of the room. When one half of the “Death in pity brought his aid, players are out, they form a new body As the village bell struck four.” of Hunters, while the remainder become RICHDORE. Hares, and the play is continued. A 162. Charade. new Umpire may be chosen if it is Complete it is a bird that feeds upon thought best, and the former one must fish, curtail and it is a brave man, cur-join one of the parties. URED