Book: St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, Nov 1877 Nov 1878

V >> Various >> St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, Nov 1877 Nov 1878




[Illustration: The Horse.]

"Who are you, and where did you all come from?" asked delighted Davie.

"Why," said the pony, "we belong to the court of Her Majesty the Queen
of the Fairies. But, of course, when the song in which any of the
court voices are wanted, is sung, they all have to go."

"I'm sure I'm very sorry," said Davie. "But why haven't I ever seen
you all before?"

"Because," said the pony, "you have never sung the song down here
before." And then he added: "Don't you think, now that we are all
here, you'd better sing the song right end first, and be done with
it?"

"Oh, certainly!" cried Davie, "certainly!" beginning to sing.

If you could but have heard that song! As Davie sang, each fowl or
animal took up its part, and sang it, with its own peculiar tone and
manner, until they all joined in.

"I had a horse, and my horse pleased me;
I tied my horse behind a tree.
Horse said, 'Neigh! neigh!'
Dog said, 'Bow-wow!'
Duck said, 'Quack! quack!'
Guinea said, 'Pot-rack! pot-rack!'
Hen said, 'Shinny-shack! shinny-shack!'
Bird said, 'Fiddle-diddle-dee!'"

Davie was overjoyed. He thought he would sing it all over again. But
just then he was sure that his mother called him.

[Illustration: All in Procession.]

"Wait a minute!" he said to his companions. "Wait a minute! I'm coming
back! Oh, it's just like a fairy-tale!" he cried to himself, as he
bounded up the garden-walk. "I wonder what mother'll think?"

But his mother said she had not called him, and so he ran back as fast
as his legs would carry him.

But they were all gone. His speller lay on the ground, open at the
page of his lesson; a crumb or two of bread was scattered about; but
not a sign of the white pony and the rest of the singers.

"Well," said Davie, as he picked up his book, "I guess I wont sing it
again, for I bothered them so. But I wish they had stayed a little
longer."






THE LETTER-BOX.

A BRAVE GIRL.


One summer day, in Union square, New York City, a beautiful deed was
done, which our frontispiece tells so well as almost to leave no need
of words. A poor blind man started to cross the street just as a car
was rapidly approaching. He heard it coming, and, growing confused,
stood still--his poor, blind face turned helplessly, pathetically
up, as if imploring aid. Men looked on heedlessly, regardless of his
danger, or the voiceless appeal in his sightless eyes.

Suddenly, from among the passers-by, a young girl sprang to his side,
between him and the great horses which were so near they almost
touched her, laid her dainty hand on his, and led him safely over the
street, and with gentle words that brought a smile to his withered old
face, set him safely on his way.

It was a brave, kindly act, and one may be sure it was neither the
first nor the last, of the brave girl who did it.

* * * * *

If Charles Dudley Warner had never been a boy, it would have been
impossible for him to write the very interesting little volume he
calls "Being a Boy," for it is evident that he knows well, from
experience, all that he writes about. It may be that many of our
young readers have seen this book, for it has already reached several
editions; but if there are any of them who have not read it, and who
take an interest in the life of boys who are born, and brought up, and
have fun, and drive oxen, and go fishing, and turn grindstones, and
eat pumpkin-pie, and catch wood-chucks, all on a New England farm,
they would do well to get the book and read it.

If any of those who read it are boys on a farm in New England, they
will see themselves, as if they looked in a mirror; and if any of them
are city boys or girls, or live in the South or West, or anywhere in
the world but in New England, they will see what sort of times some of
the smartest and brightest men in our country had, before they grew up
to be governors, book-writers, and other folks of importance.

There is a particular reason why readers of ST. NICHOLAS should see
this book, for in it they will meet with some old friends.

* * * * *

Williamsburgh, L.I.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I read in the May "Letter-Box" your answer to
Stella G. about long and short words. It reminded me of what I read
once about Count Von Moltke, the great German general. The writer
described him as "the wonderful silent man who knows how to hold his
tongue in eight different languages."--Yours truly,

Willie, M.D.

* * * * *

Santa Fe, N.M.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The donkeys here are called "burros." They are very
tame, and do not get frightened at anything. A few days ago, the boys
in our school tied a bunch of fire crackers to the tail of one, and
fired them off. We all thought he would be very frightened at the
noise, but he just walked off and began eating grass. My brother Barry
had one of these little burros, when we were in Texas, and every
evening he would go to a lady's house for something to eat, although
he had more than he could eat at home; and if she did not come to the
window soon, he would bray as loudly as he could, and she would have
to come out and give him something, even if it was only a lump of
sugur. Good-bye,--From, your affectionate friend,

Bessie Hatch.

* * * * *

Coldwater, N.Y.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Having read in the March number an account of the
"Great Eastern," I thought perhaps your readers would like to hear
something of the history of her captain, which I read a short time
ago.

When he was a little boy, he went to sea. As he left home, his mother
said: "Wherever you are, Jamie, whether on sea or land, remember
to acknowledge your God. Promise me that you will kneel down every
morning and night and say your prayers, no matter whether the sailors
laugh at you or not."

Jamie gave his promise, and soon he was on shipboard, bound for India.
They had a good captain; and, as several of the sailors were religious
men, no one laughed at the boy when he knelt down to pray.

On the return voyage, however, some of the former sailors having run
away, their places were filled by others, and one of these proved to
be a very bad fellow. When he saw little Jamie kneeling down, this
wicked sailor went up to him, and, giving him a sound box on the ear,
said, "None of that here, sir!"

Another seaman, who saw this, although he himself swore sometimes, was
indignant that the child should be so cruelly treated. He told the man
to come up on deck and he would give him a thrashing. The challenge
was accepted, and the well-deserved beating was duly bestowed. Both
then returned to the cabin, and the swearing man said, "Now, Jamie,
say your prayers, and if he dares to touch you, I will give him
another dressing."

The next night, Jamie was tempted to say his prayers in his hammock.
The moment that the friendly sailor saw Jamie get into his hammock
without first saying his prayers, he hurried to the spot and, dragging
him out, said, "Kneel down at once, sir! Do you think I am going to
fight for you, and you not say your prayers, you young rascal?" During
the whole voyage back to London this same sailor watched over the
boy as if he were his father, and every night saw that he said his
prayers.

Jamie soon began to be industrious, and during his spare hours studied
his books; he learned all about ropes and rigging, and became familiar
with latitude and longitude. Some years after, he became captain
of the "Great Eastern." On returning to England after a successful
voyage, Queen Victoria bestowed upon him the honor of knighthood, and
the world now knows him as Sir James Anderson.

MABEL R.

* * * * *

B.P.R.--Perhaps the little book called "Album Leaves," by Mr. George
Houghton, published by Estes & Lauriat, will help you to some verses
suitable to be writen (sic) in autograph albums.

* * * * *

Mobile, Ala.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The "that" question in your recent numbers brings
to mind some "thats" I had when I went to school long years ago, and
which some of your young grammarians may never have seen. I would like
to have them, especially C.P.S., of Chicago, parse them.

E.S.F.

Now that is a word which may often be joined,
For that that may be doubled is clear to the mind,
And that that that is right, is as plain to the view
As that that that that we use is rightly used too;
And that that that that that line has in it, is right,
And accords with good grammar, is plain in our sight.

* * * * *

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about my aunt Hattie. She is
only nine years older than I am, being twenty-one, and seems more like
a sister than an aunt. When she was about fifteen she was thrown from
her pony and hurt her spine, so that she hasn't taken a step since.

But in spite of her great suffering she is the brightest, happiest
one in the house, brimful and running over with fun and spirits.
Papa calls her our sunbeam, and no one can grumble when they see how
patiently and cheerfully she bears her pain. Her bright face and merry
laugh will cure the worst case of "blues." She wants me to tell you
how much she enjoys ST. NICHOLAS. It is a great comfort to her, and
helps to pass away many an hour of pain and loneliness when I am at
school and mamma is busy. She says she doesn't know what she could do
without it.

Auntie says you must make allowance for what I say of her as I am a
partial judge; but she _is_ the dearest, best auntie in the world, and
I'm not the only one who thinks so. Everybody loves her, and I shall
be satisfied if I ever learn to be half as good and patient and
unselfish as she is. I don't see how she can be so good and patient
and happy when she has to lie still year after year and suffer so
much, I should get cross and fret about it, for I can't bear to be
sick a day. But she never thinks of her own troubles, but is so afraid
she will make us care or trouble. When the pain is very bad she likes
to hear music or poetry. It soothes her better than anything else.
Whittier's poem on "Patience," is a favorite with her, and so is Mrs.
Browning's "Sleep."--Ever your true friend,

ALLIE BERTRAM.

* * * * *

Salem, Mass.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about my little turtle. I got
him up in the country last summer, and have had him about six months.
I keep him in a bowl of water, with a shell in it. In summer I feed
him with flies, and in winter I give him pieces of cooked meat about
the size of a fly. My turtle's shell is nearly round, and he is small
enough to be put in a tumbler, and then he can turn round as he likes.
I named him "Two-forty" (a funny name), because, when you put him
down, he stands still, looks around a minute, and then starts off on a
run,--Your friend and reader,

JOHNNY P. WILLIS.

* * * * *

Camp Grant, Arizona.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Your coming every month fills us with delight. We
cannot wait to read you separately, so mamma reads you aloud after the
lamps are lighted, the first evening you are here. Papa lays aside his
pen to listen, just like any boy, and so we all enjoy your pages at
once. I have one little sister, but no brother. We live in camp, in
far-away Arizona; and, although the "buck-board" brings the mail in
every other day, it takes a long while for a letter to come from the
East.

There is a pet deer here. He comes out to "guard mounting" on the
parade-ground, and trots after the band when the guard passes in
review. Every one is kind to him; even the dogs know they must not
chase him.--Your true friend,

MOLLIE GORDON.

* * * * *

New Brunswick, N.J.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to tell you of the nice times that the
country children have, although they have no parks. In summer they can
go on picnics, and they have a nice garden to play in. And most of the
children have little gardens of their own to plant things in,--one for
flowers and the other for vegetables. Then, in the winter-time, they
can go coasting, sliding and skating; then, last but not least,
sleigh-riding on the lovely, pure white snow.

I, for one, would not be a city child. If I lived in the city, I
could not have my old pet hen. Good-by, dear ST. NICHOLAS.--From your
friend--

MATHILDE WEYER.

P.S.--I have a cat by the name of Pussy Hiawatha.

* * * * *

Covington, Ohio.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Would you like to know how I came to get you? I
worked for you. My brother made a bank for me out of a cigar-box, and
said if I put ten cents into it every week, I could begin taking you
in November. That was in March. Sometimes, I could not get the ten
cents, but I made it up the next week, and more, too, if I could; and
before July, I had more than enough to pay for you. After that, I
saved nearly enough to buy me a suit of clothes. I am working for you
for another year. My age is twelve.--From your constant reader,

W.H. PERRY.

* * * * *

The following is sent to us from Josie C.H., aged eleven years, as her
own composition:

SOME THINGS WHICH WE EXPECT IN YEARS TO COME.

Some boys, when they go to school, expect to learn. When they are a
little older, they expect to go to college; and then, to learn trades
and professions, and to become men. The farmer, when he plants his
seed in the spring, expects a harvest. The merchant, when he buys his
goods, expects to sell them at a profit. The student expects to become
a lawyer, minister, etc. All boys expect to become men. We often
expect things that never happen, but what we expect we cannot always
get; yet we can try for them, which is a good rule to go by.

* * * * *

THE TRUE STORY OF "MARY'S LITTLE LAMB."

Saratoga Springs, N.Y.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you what I read lately in a
newspaper about Mary and her lamb. Mary herself is now a delightful
old lady of threescore and ten, and this is her story:

"I was nine years old, and we lived on a farm. I used to go out to the
barn every morning with father, to see the cows and sheep. One cold
day, we found that during the night twin lambs had been born. You know
that sheep will often disown one of twins, and this morning one poor
little lamb was pushed out of the pen into the yard. It was almost
starved, and almost frozen, and father told me I might have it if I
could keep it alive. So I took it into the house, wrapped it in a
blanket, and fed it on peppermint and milk all day. When night came, I
could not bear to leave it, for fear it would die. So mother made me
up a little bed on the settle, and I nursed the poor little thing all
night, feeding it with a spoon, and by morning it could stand. After
this, we brought it up by hand, until it learned to love me very much,
and would stay with me wherever I went, unless it was tied. I used,
before going to school in the morning, to see that the lamb was all
right, and securely fastened for the day.

"Well, one morning, when my brother Nat and I were all ready, the lamb
could not be found, and, supposing that it had gone out to pasture
with the cows, we started on. I used to be very fond of singing, and
the lamb would follow the sound of my voice. This morning, after we
had gone some distance, I began to sing, and the lamb hearing me,
followed, and overtook us before we got to school. As it happened, we
were early; so I went in very quietly, and took the lamb into my seat,
where it went to sleep, and I covered it up with my shawl. When
the teacher and the rest of the scholars came, they did not notice
anything amiss, and all was quiet until my spelling-class was called.
Hardly had I taken my place when the patter of little hoofs was heard
coming down the aisle, and the lamb stood beside me ready for its
word. Of course, the children all laughed, and the teacher laughed
too, and the poor creature had to be turned out-of-doors. But it kept
coming back, and at last had to be tied in the wood-shed until school
was out. Now, that day, there was a young man in the school, John
Roulston by name, who had come as a spectator. He was a Boston boy and
son of a riding-school master, and was fitting for Harvard College. He
was very much pleased over what he saw in our school, and a few days
after gave us the first three verses of the song. How or when it got
into print, I don't know.

"I took great care of my pet, and would curl its long wool over a
stick, Finally, it was killed by an angry cow. I have a pair of little
stockings, knitted of yarn spun from the lamb's wool, the heels
of which have been raveled out and given away piecemeal as
mementoes."--Yours truly,

J.M.D.

* * * * *

Bolinas, Cal.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Were the "Arabian Nights" written by an Englishman
or translated from the Arabic? In either case can you tell us the name
of the author?--Yours sincerely,

ESTHER R. DE PERSE AND JIMMIE MOORE.


The "Arabian Nights" were collected and translated into English by
Edward William Lane, an Englishman; but no one ever has found out
where or by whom the tales were first told. On page 42 of ST. NICHOLAS
for November, 1874 (the first number), is an article on the subject by
Mr. Donald G. Mitchell, which you would do well to read.

* * * * *

Geneva, Switzerland.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Perhaps some of your American readers have visited
this far-away city, and even attended school here. Pupils come here
for schooling from all parts of the world,--from America, Cuba,
England, Germany, Russia, Greece, and even from Egypt. But many of the
ST. NICHOLAS children never have been here; so I will tell them about
the country and the people.

In the first place, Switzerland is a republic, with president and
vice-president, as in the United States, but chosen every year.
Switzerland is made up of twenty-two cantons, or states, each of which
has two representatives; and, besides these, there are 128 members of
the National Assembly, and seven members of the Federal Council, each
of which last is chosen once in three years. The country is only
one-third as large as the State of New York, being 200 miles long and
156 broad; and two-thirds of it is composed of lofty mountains or deep
ravines. The people are apparently such lovers of law and order as to
need no rulers at all. I think there must be propriety in the air they
breathe. They have honest faces, and honesty beams out of their clear
blue eyes. The school-boy even, instead of stopping to throw stones or
climb fences or wrestle with another boy, walks along to school, at
eight o'clock in the morning, with his square hair-covered satchel on
his back, as orderly as if he were the teacher setting an example to
his pupils. The laborers, in blouse-frocks of blue or gray homespun,
make no noise, no confusion. All is done quietly, orderly and
correctly; each one knows his duty and does it.

Although Berne is the capital, Geneva is the largest city; and I think
if you could see it as it is, with grand snow-capped mountains at both
sides, the clear blue lake,--not always blue, for sometimes it is
green, and then the blue Rhone can be distinctly seen flowing through
it,--the pretty green parks and gardens, clean streets, and oddly
dressed people, you would think, as I do, that it is a very nice place
to be in.

There are several little steamers which ply on the lake, and
numberless little sail and row boats, and beautiful white swans, with
tiny olive-colored cygnets, swimming and diving for food. On the
banks of the rapid river, which leaves the lake at the city, are the
wash-houses--a great curiosity. But my letter is getting too long, so
I must stop.--Yours truly,

S.H. REDFIELD.

* * * * *

Easton, Pa.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I send you an acrostic which I have made, and I
hope you will print it.--Yours truly,

B.

ACROSTIC.

My first has a heart that has ne'er throbbed with pity;
My next has strong arms, but ne'er strikes for the right;
My third has a head, but is not wise or witty;
My fourth, a neat foot, but in country or city
Is never seen walking, by day or by night;
My fifth, with a mouth that is surely capacious
Enough for a lion, is never voracious.
Guess from these five initials my whole, if you can;
'Tis a path ever used, yet untrodden by man.

_Ans._ Orbit. Oak, Reel, Barrel, Iambic, Tunnel.

* * * * *

CITY CHILDREN'S COUNTRY REST.

Brooklyn, E.D.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Here is news to do your heart good. Last summer, a
Brooklyn lady, who herself has been bed-ridden and in pain for many
years, felt very sorry for the children of the tenement houses, who
are unable to get relief or a chance to enjoy the fresh air and bright
sunlight of the country. She longed to help them, and said so to
Mr. P., a clergyman in northern Pennsylvania. He spoke of it to his
congregation, and asked them if they would invite some of the poor
city children to visit their farm-houses and cottages for a week or
so; and they gladly said they would, and told him he might bring along
as many as he could get to come. This generous reply he told to the
lady, and she let others know, and the result was that, although late
in the season, more than sixty children from the poorest neighborhoods
of Brooklyn--pale, deformed, city-worn, and ill-fed--spent a happy
fortnight in the country.

The children were ferreted out, and their parents persuaded. They were
then taken to the railroad depot, and there given in charge of Mr. P.,
who went with them, and sorted them among his people; and, when the
time was up, brought them back, and turned them over to us at the
depot. Then we took them to their homes. The total expense of carrying
all the children there and back in three lots was about $180, and more
money could have been had if it had been wanted. In fact, the minute
the subject was broached every hearer wanted to help. The railroad
company charged only half fares, and the employes got to know Mr. P.
and his batches of children, and did all they could to make things
easy and cheerful for them.

I can fancy how glad you would have been, dear old ST. NICHOLAS, to
see the happy, hearty, bright-eyed boys and girls that came home in
place of the pale-faced, dead-and-alive children that left two weeks
before! They talked of nothing but the good times they had had. One
little fellow, thinking to surprise us, said, "I seen a cow!" All of
them fared well, and particularly enjoyed the "good country milk."
When they came back, many wore better clothes than they had gone
in, and all were laden with good things for the home folks. One boy
carried under each arm a "live" chicken,--special gifts for his
mother!

Now, if some of your readers in the country follow the example of
these Pennsylvania people, they will know what it is to be downright
happy; for every person who has had anything to do with this
enterprise feels happy about it, and longs to do it again, and more
besides.--Yours truly,

C.B.

* * * * *

ANSWERS TO MR. CRANCH'S POETICAL CHARADES, published on page 406
of the April number, were received, before April 18, from Neils E.
Hansen, C.W.W., Arnold Guyot Cameron, Helen and Frank Diller, "Sadie,"
"Marshall," Emma Lathers, Arthur W. James, Louise G. Hinsdale, Ada C.
Okell, E.K.S. and M.G.V., "Sunnyside Seminary," "Persephone," M.W.C.,
Genevieve Allis and Kittie Brewster, Florence Stryker, "Cosey Club,"
Mary and Willie Johnson, and Jeanie A. Christie.

ERRATUM.--The answer to No. 23 in "Presidential Discoveries" is "More"
(Sir Thomas), not "William Henry," as given in the May number.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES in the April number were received, before April
18, from R.H. Marr, Grace Sumner, "Prebo," Marion Abbot, Maxwell W.
Turner, Willie W. Cooper, "Cosey Club," Samuel J. Holmes, "Three
Sisters," Charles G. Todd, W.M., M.E. Adams, Mamie G.A., W. Thomas,
Jeanie A. Christie, T. Bowdoin, Robert M. Webb, Allie Bertram, Willie
Wilkins, Maggie Simon, Kitty P. Norton, M.W. Collet, Jay Benton,
"Kaween," Morris M. Turk, Leonie Giraud, Catherine Cook, Willie B.
Dess, Willie Cline, Frances M. Griffitts, Nellie J. Towle, "Isola,"
Mary C. Warren, Florence I. Turrill, Charles Fritts, "Angeline," Sam
Cruse, John V.L. Pierson, "Ollie;" Tillie Powles and May Roys; Tyler
Redfield, Grace A. Jarvis, Bennie Swift; Sarah Duffield and "No Name"
and Constance F. Grand-Pierre; "Romeo and Juliet," "Jupiter," O.C.
Turner, Jessie D. Worstell, Melly Woodward, R. Townsend McKeever,
Eleanor N. Hughes, Ben Merrill; Annie and Lucy Wollaston; William
Eichelberger and John Cress; "Clover-leaf and Pussy-willow," Alice
Getty, Herbert D. Utley; Bertha and Carl Heferstein and Estella
Lohmeyer; C. Speiden and M.F. Speiden; Angeline O., May Filton,
"Winnie," Maggie J. Gemmill, Jennie McClure, "X.Y.Z.," Neils E.
Hansen, Clara B. Dunster, Bessie L. Barnes, Willie B. McLean, Bessie
T., Lauretta V. Whyte, Hattie M. Heath; Charles W. Hutchins and Abbie
F. Hutchins; Belle Murray, Harry A. Garfield; Helen and Frank Diller;
Gertrude A. Pocock, Helena W. Chamberlain, "Al Kihall," Wm. F. Tort,
"Lizzie and Anna," Kittie Tuers, Taylor Goshorn, Emma Lathers,
"Marshall," Arthur W. James, Otto A. Dreier, "O.K.," Ada B. Raymond,
"Seymour-Ct.," "Three Cousins," "Hallie," Alice Lanigan, Alfred
Whitman, "Golden Eagle;" E.K.S. and M.G.V.; H.B. Ayers, Fred
Chittenden; William McKinley Cobb and Howell Cobb, Jr.; Katie Hackett
and Helen Titus; "35 E. 38th St.," W.D. Utley, Mary Lewis Darlington,
Louisa L. Richards, James Barton Longacre, Nellie Emerson, Chas.
B. Ebert, Jennie A. Carr, W.H. Wetmore, Mattie Olmsted; Arthur W.
Hodgman, E.H. Hoeber, A.H. Peirce; Kittie Brewster and Genevieve
Allis; Fannie B. Bates, Louise Egleston, Florence Stryker, Hattie
H. Doyle, Mattie Doyle, Mabel Chester, Alice N. Dunn. A.R., Mary F.
Johnson, M. Alice Chase, Alice Anderson, Bessie T. Hosmer, "Heath Hill
Club," Anna E, Mathewson, I. Sturges, Addie B. Tiemann, Harriet A.
Clark, Clarence H. Young, B.P. Emery, Victor C. Sanborn, "Persephone,"
Eddie Vultee; "M.," Staten Island; Fred M. Pease, Cyrus C. Clarke,
Geo. J. Fiske; and George H. Nisbett, of London, England.

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