"The inlet's pretty narrow for a long reach through the marsh," said Dabney, "and as crooked as a ram's-horn. I'll steer and you pull till we're out o' that, and then I'll take the oars."

"I might as well row out to the crab-grounds," said Ford, as he pitched his coat forward and took his seat at the oars. "All ready?"

"Ready," said Dab, and the "Jenny" glided gracefully away from the landing with the starting push he gave her.

Ford Foster had had oars in his hands before, but his experience must have been limited to a class of vessels different from the one he was in now.

He was short of something, at all events. It may have been skill, and it may have been legs, or discretion; but, whatever was lacking, at the third or fourth stroke the oar-blades went a little too deeply below the smooth surface of the water; there was a vain tug, a little out of "time," and then there was a boy on the bottom of the boat, and a pair of well-polished shoes lifted high in the air.

"You've got it!" shouted Dabney.

"Got what?" exclaimed an all but angry voice from between the seats.

"Caught the first 'crab,'" replied Dabney,—"that's what we call it. Can you steer? Guess I'd better row."

"No you wont," was the very resolute reply, as Ford regained his seat and his oars; "I sha'n't catch any more crabs of that sort. I'm a little out of practice, that's all."

"I should say you were, a little. Well, it wont hurt you. 'Tisn't much of a pull."

Ford would have pulled it, now, if he had blistered all the skin off his hands in doing so, and he did very creditable work, for some minutes, among the turns and windings of the narrow inlet.

"Here we are," shouted Dabney, at last. "We are in the inlet yet, but it widens out into the bay."

"That's the bay, out yonder?"

"Yes; and the island between that and the ocean's no better'n a mere bar of sand."

"How d'you get past it?"

"Right across there, almost in a straight line. We'll run it, next week, in Ham's yacht. Splendid weak-fishing, right in the mouth of that inlet, on the ocean side."

"Hurrah!" exclaimed Ford. "I'm in for that. Is the bay deep?"

"Not very," replied Dabney, "but it gets pretty rough sometimes."

Ford was getting red in the face, just then, with his unaccustomed exercise, and his friend added:

"You needn't pull so hard. We're almost there. Hullo! if there isn't Dick Lee in his dry-goods box! That boat'll drown him, some day, and his dad, too. But just see him pull in crabs!"

Ford came near "catching" one more as he tried to turn around for the look proposed, exclaiming:

"Dab, let's get to work as quick as we can. They might go away."

"Might fly?"

"No; but don't they go and come?"

"Well, you go and drop the grapnel over the bows, and we'll see 'em come in pretty quick."

The grapnel, or little anchor, was thrown over quickly enough, and the two boys were in such an eager haste that they had hardly a word to say to Dick, though he was now but a few rods away.

Now it happened that when Ford and Dab came down to the water that morning, each of them had brought a load. The former had only a neat little japanned tin box, about as big as his head, and the latter, besides his oars, carried a seemingly pretty heavy basket.

"Lots of lunch, I should say," had been Ford's mental comment; but he had not thought it wise to ask questions.

"Plenty of lunch, I reckon," thought Dab at the same time, but only as a matter of course.

And they were both wrong. Lunch was the one thing they had both forgotten.

But the box and the basket?

Ford Foster came out, of his own accord, with the secret of the box, for he now took a little key out of his pocket and unlocked it with an air of "Look at this, will you?"

Dab Kinzer looked, and was very sure he had never before seen quite such an assortment of brand-new fish-hooks, of many sorts and sizes, and of fish-lines which looked as if they had thus far spent their lives on dry land.

"Tip-top!" he remarked. "I see a lot of things we can use one of these days, but there isn't time to go over 'em now. Let's go for the crabs. What made you bring your box along?"

"Oh," replied Ford, "I left my rods at home, both of 'em. You don't s'pose I'd go for a crab with a rod, do you? But you can take your pick of hooks and lines."

"Crabs? Hooks and lines?"

"Why, yes. You don't mean to scoop 'em up in that landing-net, do you?"

Dab looked at his friend for a moment in blank amazement, and then the truth burst upon him for the first time.

"Oh, I see! You never caught any crabs. Well, just you lock up your jewelry-box, and I'll show you."

It was not easy for Dab to keep from laughing in Ford Foster's face; but his mother had not given him so many lessons in good breeding for nothing, and Ford was permitted to close his ambitious "casket" without any worse annoyance than his own wounded pride gave him.

But now came out the secret of the basket.

The cover was jerked off and nothing revealed except a varied assortment of clams, large and small, but mostly of good size; tough old customers that no amount of roasting or boiling would ever have prepared for human eating.

"What are they for,—bait?"

"Yes, bait, weight and all."

"How's that?"

Dabney's reply was to draw from his pocket a couple of long, strong cords, bits of old fishing-line. He cracked a couple of clams, one against the other; tied the fleshy part firmly to the ends of the cords; tied a bit of shell on, a foot or so from the end, for a sinker; handed one to Ford; took the other himself, and laid the long-handled scoop-net he had brought with him down between them, saying:

"Now we're ready. Drop your clam to the bottom and draw it up gently. You'll get the knack of it in five minutes. It's all knack. There isn't anything else so stupid as a crab."

Ford watched carefully, and obeyed in silence.

In a minute or so more the operation of the scoop-net was called for, and then the fun began.

"The young black rascal!" exclaimed Dabney. "If he hasn't gone and got a sheep's-head!"

"A sheep's-head?"

"Yes; that's why he beats us so badly. It's better than clams, only you can't always get one."

"But how he does pull 'em in!"

"We're doing well enough," began Dabney, when suddenly there came a shrill cry of pain from Dick Lee's punt.

"He's barefooted," shouted Dab, with, it must be confessed, something like a grin, "and one of the little fellows has pinned him with his nippers."

There need have been nothing very serious in that, but Dick Lee was more than ordinarily averse to anything like physical pain, and the crab which had seized him by the toe was a very muscular and vicious specimen of his quarrelsome race.

The first consequence was a momentary dance up and down in the punt, accompanied by vigorous howling from Dick, but not a word of any sort from the crab. The next consequence was that the crab let go, but so, at the same instant, did the rotten board in the boat-bottom upon which Dick Lee had so rashly danced.



It let go of the rest of the boat so suddenly that poor Dick had only time for one tremendous yell as it let him right down through to his armpits. The water was perfectly smooth, but the boat was full in an instant, and nearly a bushel of freshly caught and ill-tempered crabs were maneuvering in all directions around the woolly head which was all their late captor could now keep in sight.

"Up with the grapnel, Ford," shouted Dab. "Take an oar! We'll both row. He can swim like a duck, but he might split his throat."

"Or get scared to death."

"Or eaten up by the crabs."



CHAPTER VII.

At the very moment when the angry crab closed his nippers on the bare big toe of Dick Lee, and his shrill note of discomfort rang across the inlet, the shrill whistle of the engine announced the arrival of the morning train at the little station in the village.

A minute or so later, a very pretty young lady was standing beside a trunk on the platform, trying to get some information of the flag-man.

"Can you tell me where Mr. Foster lives?"

"That's the gimlet-eyed laryer from Yark?"

"Yes, he's from New York," said the young lady, smiling in his face. "Where does he live?"

"He's got the sapiest boy, thin. Is it him as took the Kinzer house?"

"I think likely it is. Can you tell me how to get there?"

"Thim Kinzers is foine people. The widdy married one of the gurrels to Misther Morris."

"But how can I get to the house?"

"Is it there ye're afther goin'? Hey, Michael, me boy, bring up yer owld rattlethrap an' take the leddy's thrunk. She'll be goin' to the Kinzer place. Sharp, now!"

"I should say it was!" muttered the young lady, as the remains of what had been a carry-all were pulled up beside the platform by the skinny skeleton of what might once have been a horse. "It's a rattletrap!"

There was no choice, however, for that was the only public conveyance at the station, and the young lady's trunk was already whisked in behind the dashboard, and the driver was waiting for her.



He could afford to wait, as it would be hours before another train would be in.

There was no door to open in that "carriage." It was all door except the top and bottom, and the pretty passenger was neither helped nor hindered in finding her place on the back seat.

If the flag-man was more disposed to ask questions than to answer them, "Michael" said few words of any kind except to his horse. To him, indeed, he kept up a constant stream of encouraging remarks, the greater part of which would have been hard for an ordinary hearer to understand.

Very likely the horse knew what they meant, for he came very near breaking from a limp into a trot several times, under the stimulus of all that clucking and "g'lang now."

The distance was by no means great, and Michael seemed to know the way perfectly. At least, he answered, "Yes'm, indade," to several inquiries from his passenger, and she was compelled to be satisfied with that.

"What a big house it is! And painters at work on it, too!" she exclaimed, just as Michael added a vigorous jerk of the reins to the "Whoa!" with which he stopped his nag in front of an open gate.

"Are you sure this is the place?"

"Yes'm, indade. Fifty cints, mum."

By the time the trunk was out and swung inside the gate, the young lady had followed; but for some reason Michael sprang back to his place and whipped up his limping steed. It may have been the fear of being asked to take that trunk into the house, for it was not a very small one. The young lady stood for a moment irresolute, and then left it where it was and walked straight up to the door.

No bell; no knocker. The workmen had not reached that part of their improvements yet. But the door was open, and a very neatly furnished parlor at the left of the hall seemed to say, "Come right in, please," and so in she went.

Such an arrival could not possibly have escaped the notice of the inmates of the house, and, as the young lady from the railway came in at the front, another and a very different looking lady marched through to the parlor from the rear.

Each one would have been a puzzle to the other, if the elder of the two had not been Mrs. Kinzer, and the widow had never been very much puzzled in all her life. At all events, she put out her hand with a cordial smile, saying:

"Miss Foster, is it not? I am Mrs. Kinzer. How could he have made such a mistake?"

"Yes, Miss Annie Foster. But do please explain. Where am I, and how do you know me?"

The widow laughed cheerily.

"How do I know you, my dear? Why, you resemble your mother almost as much as your brother Ford resembles his father. You are only one door from home here, and I'll have your trunk taken right over to the house. Please, sit down a moment. Ah! my daughter Samantha, Miss Foster. Excuse me a moment, while I call one of the men."

By the time their mother was fairly out of the room, however, Keziah and Pamela were also in it, and Annie thought she had rarely seen three girls whose appearance testified so strongly to the healthiness of the place they lived in.

The flag-man's questions and Annie's answers were related quickly enough, and the cause of Michael's blunder was plain at once.

The parlor rang again with peals of laughter, for Dab Kinzer's sisters were ready at any time to look at the funny side of things, and their accidental guest saw no reason for not joining them.

"Your brother Ford is out on the bay, crabbing, with our Dabney," remarked Samantha, as the widow returned. But Annie's eyes had been furtively watching her baggage, through the window, and saw it swinging up on a pair of broad, red-shirted shoulders just then, and, before she could bring her mind to the crab question, Keziah exclaimed: "If there isn't Mrs. Foster coming through the farm gate!"

"My mother?" And Annie was up and out of the parlor in a twinkling, followed by all the ladies of the Kinzer family. It was really quite a procession.

Now, if Mrs. Foster was in the least degree surprised by her daughter's sudden appearance, or by her getting to the Kinzer house first instead of to her own, it was a curious fact that she did not say so by a word or a look.

Not a breath of it. But, for all the thoroughbred self-control of the city lady, Mrs. Kinzer knew perfectly well there was something odd and unexpected about it all. If Samantha had noticed this fact, there might have been some questions asked; but one of the widow's most rigid rules in life was to "mind her own business."

The girls, indeed, were quite jubilant over an occurrence which made them at once so well acquainted with their very attractive new neighbor; and they might have followed her even beyond the gate in the north fence if it had not been for their mother. All they were allowed to do was to go back to their own parlor and hold a "council of war," in which Annie Foster was discussed from her bonnet to her shoes.

Mrs. Foster had been abundantly affectionate in greeting her daughter; but when once they were alone in the wee sitting-room of the old Kinzer homestead, she put her arms around her, saying:

"Now, my darling, tell me what it all means."

"Why, mother, it was partly my mistake and partly the flag-man's and the driver's, and I'm sure Mrs. Kinzer was kind. She knew me, before I said a word, by my resemblance to you."

"Oh, I don't mean that! How is it you are here so soon? I thought you meant to make a long visit at your Uncle Hart's."

"I would but for those boys."

"Your cousins, Annie!"

"Cousins, mother! You never saw such young bears in all your life. They tormented me from morning till night."

"But, Annie, I hope you have not offended—"

"Offended, mother! Aunt Maria thinks they're perfect, and so does Uncle Joe. They'd let them pull the house down over their heads, you'd think."

"But, Annie, what did they do and what did you say?"

"Do! I couldn't tell you in all day; but when they poured ink over my cuffs and collars, I said I would come home. I had just one pair left white to wear home, and I traveled all night."

Poor Mrs. Foster! A cold shudder went over her at the idea of that ink among the spotless contents of her own collar-box.

"What boys they must be! But, Annie, what did they say?"

"Uncle Joe laughed till he cried, and Aunt Maria said boys will be boys, and I half believe they were sorry; but that was only a sort of a winding-up. I wouldn't stay there another hour."

Annie had other things to tell, and, long before she had finished her story, there was no further fault to be found with her for losing her temper. Still, her mother said, mildly:

"I must write to Maria at once, for it wont do to let those boys make trouble between us."



CHAPTER VIII.

Dab Kinzer and his friend were prompt enough in coming to the rescue of their unfortunate fellow-crabber; but to get him out of the queer wreck he had made of that punt was a tough task.

"I isn't drownin'," exclaimed Dick, heroically, as the other boat came up beside him. "Jest you take yer scoop-net an' save dem crabs."

"They wont drown," said Ford.

"But they'll get away," said Dab, snatching the scoop. "Dick's head is level on that point."

The side boards of the old punt were under water half the time, but the crabs were pretty well penned in. Even a couple of them that had mistaken Dick's wool for another sheep's-head were secured without difficulty.

"What luck he'd been having!" said Ford. "He always does," said Dab. "I say, Dick, how'll I scoop you in?"

"Has you done got all de crabs?"

"Every pinner of 'em."

"Den jest you wait a minute."

They were quite likely to wait, for the shining black face had instantly disappeared.

"Sunk!" exclaimed Ford.

"There he comes," replied Dab. "He'd swim ashore from here, and not half try. Why, I could swim twice as far as that, myself."

"Could you? I couldn't."

That was the first time Dab had heard his new acquaintance make a confession of inability, and he could see a more than usually thoughtful expression on his face. The coolness and skill of Dick Lee had not been thrown away on him.

"If I had my clothes off," said Ford, "I'd try that on."

"Dab Kinzer, you's de best feller dar is. Wot'll we do wid de ole boat?" burst out Dick on coming to the surface.

"Let the tide carry her in while we're crabbing. She isn't worth mending, but we'll tow her home."

"All right," said Dick, as he grasped the gun-wale of Dab's boat and began to climb over.

"Hold on, Dick."

"I is a-holdin' on."

"I mean wait a bit. Aint you wet?"

"Ob course I's wet."

"Well, then, you stay in there till you get dry. It's well you didn't have your new clothes on."

"Aint I glad about dem!" emphatically exclaimed the young African. "Nebber mind dese clo'es. De water on 'em's all good, dry water, like de res' ob de bay."

And, so saying, Dick tumbled over in, with a spatter which made Ford Foster tread on two or three crabs in getting away from it. It was not the first time by many that Dick Lee had found himself bathing without time given him to undress.

And now it was discovered that the shipwrecked crabber had never for one instant loosened his hold of the line to the other end of which was fastened his precious sheep's-head.

It was a regular crabbing crew, two to pull up and one to scoop in, and never had the sprawling "game" been more plentiful on that crab pasture, or more apparently in a hurry to be captured.

"What on earth shall we do with them all?" asked Ford.

"Soon's we've got a mess for both our folks, we'll quit this and go for some fish," replied Dab. "The clams are good bait, and we can try some of your tackle."

Ford's face brightened a good deal at the suggestion, for he had more than once cast a crestfallen look at his pretentious box. But he replied:

"A mess! How many crabs can one man eat?"

"I don't know," said Dab. "It depends a good deal on who he is. Then, if he eats the shells, he can't take in so many."

"Eat de shells? Yah, yah, yah! Dat beats my mudder! She's allers a-sayin' wot a waste de shells make," laughed Dick. "I jest wish we might ketch some fish. I dasn't kerry home no crabs."

"It does look as if we'd got as many as we'd know what to do with," remarked Dab, as he looked down on the sprawling multitude in the bottom of the boat. "We'll turn the clams out of the basket and fill that; but we mustn't put any crabs in the fish-car. We'll stow 'em forward."

The basket held more than half a bushel, but there was a "heap" of what Ford Foster called "the crusties" to pen up in the bow of the boat.

That duty attended to, and Dick was set at the oars, while Dab selected from Ford's box just the very hooks and lines their owner had made least account of.

"What'll we catch, Dab?"

"Most anything. Nobody knows till he's done it. Perch, porgies, cunners, black-fish, weak-fish, may be a bass or a sheep's-head, but more cunners than anything else, except we strike some flounders at the turn of the tide."

"That's a big enough assortment to set up a fish-market on."

"If we catch 'em. We've got a good enough day, anyhow, and the tide'll be about right by the time we get to work."

"Why not try here?"

"'Cause there's no fish to speak of, and because the crabs'll clean your hook for you as fast as you can put the bait on. We must go out to deeper water and better bottom. Dick knows just where to go. You might hang your line out all day and not get a bite, if you didn't strike the right spot."

Ford made no answer, for it was beginning to dawn upon him that he could teach the "long-shore boys," black or white, very little about fishing. He even allowed Dab to pick out a line for him and put on the hook and sinker, and Dick Lee showed him how to fix his bait, "So de fust cunner dat rubs agin it wont knock it off. Dem's awful mean fish. Good for nuffin but steal bait."

A merry party they were, and the salt water was rapidly drying from the garments of the colored oarsman, as he pulled strongly and skillfully out into the bay and around toward a deep cove to the north of the inlet mouth.

Then, indeed, for the first time in his life, Ford Foster learned what it was to catch fish.

Not but what he had spent many an hour, and even day, in and about other waters: but he had never had two such born fishermen at his elbow to take him to the right place precisely, and then to show him what to do when he got there.

Fun enough, for the fish bit well, and some of them were of very encouraging size and weight.

Ford would have given half the hooks and lines in his box if he could have caught from Dick or Dab the curious "knack" they seemed to have of coaxing the biggest of the finny folks to their bait and then over into the boat.

"Never mind, Ford," said Dab; "Dick and I are better acquainted with 'em. They're always a little shy with strangers at first. They don't really mean to be impolite."

Still, it almost looked like some sort of favoritism, and there was no danger but that Dick would be able to appease the mind of his mother without making any mention of the crabs.

At last, almost suddenly, and as if by common consent, the fish stopped biting, and the two "'long-shore boys" began to put away their lines.

"Going to quit?" asked Ford.

"Time's up and tide's turned," responded Dab. "Not another bite, most likely, till late this evening. Might as well pull up and go home."

"Mus' look for wot's lef ob de ole scow on de way home," said Dick. "I'se boun' to ketch it for dat good-for-not'in' ole board."

"We'll find it and tow it in," said Dab, "and perhaps we can get it mended. Anyhow, you can go with us next week. We're going to make a cruise in Ham Morris's yacht. Will you go?"

"Will I go? Yoop!" almost yelled the excited boy. "Dat's jest de one t'ing I'd like to jine. Wont we hab fun! She's jest de bes' boat on dis hull bay. You aint foolin' me, is yer?"

He was strongly assured that his young white associates were in sober earnest about both their purpose and their promise, and, after that, he insisted on rowing all the distance home.

On the way, the old punt was taken in tow; but the tide had swept it so far inside the mouth of the inlet, that there was less trouble in pulling it the rest of the way. It was hardly worth the labor, but Dab knew what a tempest the loss of it might bring around the ears of poor Dick.

When they reached the landing and began to overhaul their very brilliant "catch," Dabney said:

"Now, Dick, take your string home, leave that basket of crabs at Mr. Foster's, then come back with the basket and carry the rest to our house. Ford and I'll see to the rest of the fish."

"I haven't caught half so many as you have, either of you," said Ford, as he saw with what even-handed justice the fish were divided, in three piles, as they were scooped out of the "fish-car."

"What of that?" replied Dabney. "We follow fisherman's rules down this way. Share and share alike, you know. All the luck is outside the boat, they say. Once the fish are landed, your luck's as good as mine."

"Do they always follow that rule?"

"The man that broke it wouldn't find company very easily, hereabouts, next time he wanted to go a-fishing. No, nor for anything else. Nobody'd boat with him."

"Well, if it's the regular thing," said Ford, hesitatingly. "But I'll tell who really caught 'em."

"Oh, some of yours are right good ones. Your string would look big enough, some days. Don't you imagine you can pull 'em in every time like we did this morning. Crabs nor fish, either."

"No, I s'pose not. Anyhow, I've learned some things."

"I guess likely. We'll go for some more next week. Now for a tug!"

The boat had already been made fast, and the two boys picked up their strings of fish, two for each, after Dick Lee had started for home, and heavy ones they were to carry under that hot sun.

"Come and show the whole lot to my mother," said Ford, "before you take yours into the house. I want her to see them all."

"All right," replied Dab. But he little dreamed of what was coming, for, when he and Ford marched proudly into the sitting-room with their finny prizes, Dabney found himself face to face with, not good, sweet-voiced Mrs. Foster, but, as he thought, the most beautiful young lady he had ever seen.

Ford Foster shouted: "Annie! you here? Well, I never!"

But Dab Kinzer wished all those fish safely back again, swimming in the bay.

(To be continued.)



THE STORY OF PERSEUS.

(Adapted from the German.)

BY MARY A. ROBINSON.

Many gods and goddesses were worshiped by the ancient Greeks and Romans, but, besides these, they also believed in demigods, so called because, according to tradition, their parentage was half divine and half human. These beings were generally distinguished for beauty, strength, valor or other noble qualities. The stories of their adventures told by ancient writers are as interesting as fairy-tales, and are so often represented in painting and sculpture, and mentioned in books, that it is well for every one to know something about them.

Perseus, one of these demigods, was the son of Jupiter, the highest of the gods, and of Danae, a mortal woman. It had been prophesied to Danae's father, Acrisius, king of Argos, that a grandson would take from him both his throne and life, and he therefore caused Danae and her child to be shut up in a wooden box and thrown into the sea. The box was caught in the net of a fisherman of the isle of Seriphos, by whom its inmates were put safely on shore. The king of the island, whose name was Polydectus, afterward took Danae under his special care, and brought up her son as if he had been his own.

When Perseus had grown to be a young man, the king urged him to go in search of adventures, and set him the task of bringing him the head of the terrible Gorgon named Medusa. Perseus asked the aid of the gods for this expedition, which he felt obliged to make, and in answer to his prayers, Mercury and Minerva, the patrons of adventurers, led him to the abode of the Graeae, the woman-monsters, so called because they had been born with gray hair. Perseus, compelled them to show him where lived the nymphs who had in charge the Helmet of Hades, which rendered its wearer invisible. They introduced Perseus to the nymphs, who at once furnished him with the helmet, and gave him, besides, the winged shoes and the pouch, which he also needed for his task. Then came Mercury, and gave him the Harpe, or curved knife, while Minerva bestowed upon him her polished shield, and showed him how to use it in approaching the Gorgons, that he should not be turned into stone at the sight of them.

Perseus donned his shoes and helmet, and flew until he reached the abode of the Gorgons. These were three hideous daughters of Phorcus, and sisters of the Graeae. One only of them, Medusa, was mortal. Perseus found the monsters asleep. They were covered with dragon scales, and had writhing serpents instead of hair, and, besides these charms, they had huge tusks like those of a boar, brazen hands and golden wings. Whoever looked on them was immediately turned to stone, but Perseus knew this and gazed only on their reflection in his shield. Having thus discovered Medusa, without harm to himself, he cut off her head with his curved knife. Perseus dropped the head of Medusa into the pouch slung over his shoulder, and went quickly on his way. When Medusa's sisters awoke, they tried to pursue the young demigod, but the helmet hid him from their sight and they sought him in vain.

At length he alighted in the realm of King Atlas, who was of enormous stature and owned a grove of trees that bore golden fruit, and were guarded by a terrible dragon. In vain did the slayer of Medusa ask the king for food and shelter. Fearful of losing his golden treasure, Atlas refused the wanderer entertainment in his palace. Upon this Perseus became enraged, and taking the head of Medusa from his pouch, held it toward the huge king, who was suddenly turned to stone. His hair and beard changed to forests, his shoulders, hands and bones became rocks, and his head grew up into a lofty mountain-peak. Mount Atlas, in Africa, was believed by the ancients to be the mountain into which the giant was transformed.

Perseus then rose into the air again, continued his journey, and came to Ethiopia, where he beheld a maiden chained to a rock that jutted out into the sea. He was so enchanted with her loveliness that he almost forgot to poise himself in the air with his wings. At last, taking off his helmet so that he and his politeness might be perceived, he said: "Pray tell me, beauteous maiden, what is thy country, what thy name, and why thou art here in bonds?"

The weeping maiden blushed at sight of the handsome stranger, and replied:

"I am Andromeda, daughter of Cepheus, king of this country. My mother boasted to the nymphs, daughters of Nereus, that she was far more beautiful than they. This roused their anger, and they persuaded Neptune, their friend, to make the sea overflow our shores and send a monster to destroy us. Then an oracle proclaimed that we never should be rid of these evils until the queen's daughter should be given for the monster's prey. The people forced my parents to make the sacrifice, and I was chained to this rock."

As she ceased speaking the waves surged and boiled, and a fearful monster rose to the surface. The maiden shrieked in terror, just as her parents came hastening to her in hopeless anguish, for they could do nothing but weep and moan.

Then Perseus told them who he was, and boldly proposed to rescue the maiden if they would promise to give her to him as his wife.

The king and queen, eager to save Andromeda, at once agreed to this, and said they would give him not only their daughter, but also their own kingdom as her dowry.

Meanwhile, the monster had come within a stone's throw of the shore, so Perseus flew up into the air, put on his helmet, pounced down upon the creature, and killed it, after a fierce struggle. He then sprang ashore and loosed the bonds of Andromeda, who greeted him with words of thanks and looks of love. He restored her to the arms of her delighted parents, and entered their palace a happy bridegroom.

Soon the wedding festivities began, and there was general rejoicing. The banquet was not yet over, however, when a sudden tumult arose in the court of the palace. It was caused by Phineus, brother of Cepheus, who had been betrothed to his niece Andromeda, but had failed her in her hour of need. He now made his appearance with a host of followers and clamored for his bride.

But Cepheus arose and cried:

"Brother, art thou mad? Thou didst lose thy bride when she was given up to death before thy face. Why didst thou not then win back the prize? Leave her now to him who fought for her and saved her."

Phineus held his peace, but cast furious looks both at his brother and at Perseus, as if hesitating which to strike first. Finally, with all his might, he threw a spear at Perseus, but missed the mark. This was the signal for a general combat between the guests and servants of Cepheus and Phineus and his followers. The latter were the more numerous, and at last Perseus was quite surrounded by enemies. He fought valiantly, however, striking down his opponents one after another, until he saw that he could not hold out to the end against such odds. Then he made up his mind to use his last, but surest, means of defense, and crying, "Let those who are my friends turn away their faces," he drew forth the head of Medusa and held it toward his nearest adversary.

"Seek thou others," cried the warrior, "whom thou mayst frighten with thy miracles!"

But in the very act of lifting his spear he grew stiff and motionless as a statue. The same fate came upon all who followed, till at last Phineus repented of his unjust conduct. All about him he saw nothing but stone images in every conceivable posture. He called despairingly upon his friends and laid hands on those near him; but all were silent, cold and stony. Then fear and sorrow seized him, and his threats changed to prayers.

"Spare me—spare my life!" he cried to Perseus, "and bride and kingdom shall be thine!"

But Perseus was not to be moved to mercy, for his friends had been killed before his very face. So Phineus shared the doom of his followers and was turned to stone.

After these events Perseus and Andromeda were married, and together they journeyed to Seriphos, where they heard that the king had been ill-treating Danae. When, therefore, the tyrant assembled his court to see how Perseus had done his task, the son avenged his mother's wrongs by petrifying the assemblage—king, courtiers and all! Then he gave back to the nymphs the helmet, shoes and pouch they had lent to him, returned the knife to Mercury, and presented Minerva with Medusa's head, which ever after she wore upon her shield.

With his mother and his wife Perseus then sought his timid grandfather Acrisius, and found him, not in his own realm of Argos, but at Larisa, the city of King Teutamias, looking on at some public games. Perseus must needs meddle in the exercises, and so managed to fulfill the old prophecy and accidentally slay his grandfather by an unlucky throw of the discus, a kind of flat quoit.

Perseus, who deeply mourned his grandfather's fate, soon exchanged the kingdom of Argos for Tiryns, and there founded the city of Mycenae. He lived very happily with his wife, and ruled his kingdom long and wisely.



THE STORY LITTLE NELL READ.

Nell's mother had gone away for a long visit, and had left her little girl with grandma, who loved her so much and was so kind to her that Nell was very happy and very good,—except sometimes. Her naughty times were lesson-times. Grandma, who lived in the country, far away from schools, taught Nell herself; and Nell didn't like it.

That was queer, too, for she dearly loved stories—when grandma read them—and could lie down on the soft rug before the fire, and play with the kitty, and just listen. But when she had to sit up in a chair by the table, and read for herself,—out loud, so that grandma could be sure she got all the long words right,—she would look so cross that it made grandma sad to see her, and long for a way to cure her little girl's naughty temper.

She did find a way. One day, she came home from the store with a beautiful new book, all red and gold outside, and full of pictures within. "There!" she said to Nell, "you'll surely like to read that!" But Nell didn't think so, and, when grandma opened the book and asked her to read the middle story, she looked crosser than ever.

"Why, it's the story of 'A Naughty Girl!'" she said. "I don't believe I'll like that, grandma." But grandma said nothing; only looked as if she were listening very hard, and Nell read on:

"Once up-on a time, there was a naught-y lit-tle girl. She had been naught-y so long that two lit-tle frowns had grown quite fast to her eyebrows, and the cor-ners of her mouth turn-ed down so tight that she on-ly had room for a lit-tle bit of a smile, which did not come ver-y oft-en, be-cause it felt so crowd-ed; and, when she was ver-y an-gry, it just slip-ped a-way al-to-geth-er—"

"Stop there!" said grandma, in such a funny tone that Nell looked up to see what she meant. Grandma stood beside her, holding a little mirror so that Nell could not help seeing her own face in it.

She looked and looked, and her face grew as red as the cover of her book, and she wanted to cry, but at last she thought better of it, and, looking up shyly, said:

"Grandma, I know! I'd do for a picture to put to this girl's story! My face is just like that! But see now!"—and she opened her eyes very wide, and raised up her eyebrows so far that the two little frowns in them got frightened and tumbled off, and the wee smile that came to her lips found so much room that it stretched itself into a real good laugh, and grandma laughed too, and they were very merry all that day.



Grandma's little mirror taught Nell a lesson, and now, when she feels the frowns coming back, she lifts her eyebrows almost up to her hair, and runs for her red book, and she and grandma both laugh to think how Nell was made into a picture to fit the naughty girl's story.



JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

Well, here's July come again, warm and bright and happy, and the children of the Red School-house are as busy as bees getting ready for the Fourth. I suppose you are, too, my dears. Have as good a time as you can, and help some other body to have a good time, too. But don't blow yourselves up, for that is not the proper way to rise in the world.

For my part, I don't quite see the use of burning so much gunpowder by way of celebrating the Fourth of July. From all I can make out, the mere making sure of that day burned up quite enough of it.

But then, I'm only a peaceable Jack-in-the-Pulpit, and, of course, I can't be expected to understand all these things.

Now, to work! But take it coolly and quietly, my dears. Don't treat business as though it were a lighted fire-cracker with a short fuse.

First comes a message from Deacon Green about

ARIOSTO'S FAIRY-STORY.

The Deacon says that, as preaching is warm work just now, he will do no more than give you a text, this time, and you can have a try at the sermon all by yourselves. Here is what he sends you as the text:

Ariosto, the Italian poet, tells a story of a fairy, whose fate obliged her to pass certain seasons in the form of a snake. If anybody injured her during those seasons, he never after shared in the rich blessings that were hers to give; but those who, in spite of her ugly looks, pitied and cared for her, were crowned for the rest of their lives with good fortune, had all their wishes granted, and became truly blessed.

"Such a spirit," adds the Deacon, "is Liberty. And neither we nor our country can be kept safe without her. Since, too, Liberty cannot be kept safe without sincerity and manhood—"

There, my dears, this gives you a good start. Now go on with the sermon.

A CONGRESS OF BIRDS.

Brooklyn, N.Y.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I have something to tell you about some of your friends the birds, and perhaps your chicks can help answer the questions the anecdote raises.

One summer evening of 1846, at Catskill Village, vast numbers of whip-poor-wills and swallows began to gather from all directions about an hour before sunset, and in a few minutes the sky was dark with their wings. They assembled above a high hill, and over the cemetery which was on this hill they circled and wheeled and mixed together, calling and twittering in a state of great excitement. They were so many that, standing anywhere in the cemetery, which covered about forty acres, one might have knocked them down by hundreds with an ordinary fishing-rod.

The birds, though of such opposite natures, mingled in a friendly way, and seemed to be trying to settle some question of importance to both parties. Soon, the sun sank behind the mountains, and, while his last rays were fading, the birds went off in squads, as they had come, and all quickly disappeared.

Whence they came, whither they went, and why they assembled, are yet mysteries to, your friend,

Z.R.B.

MIDSUMMER NOON.

Here are some lines I heard a summer or two ago. It seems to me that John Clare—-the man who wrote them, I believe—must have made them when he was near my pulpit, for they tell just how things are here these sultry noons.

"The busy noise of man and brute Is on a sudden hushed and mute; Even the brook that leaps along Seems weary of its merry song, And, so soft its waters sleep, Tired silence sinks in slumber deep.

"The taller grass upon the hill, And spider's threads, are standing still; The feathers, dropped from moor-hen's wing, Which to the waters surface cling, Are steadfast, and as heavy seem As stones beneath them in the stream."

PIGS WITH SOLID HOOFS, AND PIGS THAT ARE NOT PIGS.

In Texas there are pigs whose hoofs are not divided like those of ordinary pigs, but are each in one solid piece; at least, so I'm informed in a paragram fresh from England.

If this is true, it is a strange thing; but here's something that seems even stranger still:

The Guinea-pig is not a pig, and there are no Guinea-pigs in Guinea. However, there are plenty in Guiana, and, as the names of these places are very much alike, perhaps people got mixed in calling them. The places are far enough apart, though, I believe; but this you can see by your maps.

At any rate, the Guinea-pig is a sort of cousin of the squirrel and rabbit, and is fond of potato and apple peelings, carrot-tops, parsley, and cabbage; but he likes best the leaves from the tea-pot.

JACK.

Well, well! How much the dictionary men have to answer for! Now, who, without them, ever would have thought that the name "Jack"—my name—is sometimes used in an offensive sense?

For instance, as I'm told, these fellows make out that "Jack Frost" means a mischievous boy; "Jack Towel" is a servants' towel; and a "Jack" is a machine to do the work of a common work-man, to lift heavy weights. Then there's a "Boot Jack," taking the place of a servant; a "Smoke Jack," another servant, to turn a spit; a "Jack-a-Napes," or saucy fellow; "Jack Tar," a common sailor; and "Jacket," a little Jack or coat.

Now, I'm half inclined to take this ill of the dictionary men. But perhaps I'm misinformed about them.

"TAKE THAT!"

This is not slang, my dears; not a bit of it. It is but the translation of an inscription on an ancient Egyptian ball, a leaden one, used as a kind of bullet and thrown from a sling. Sometimes the name of the slinger was put on the ball,—so that the wounded could tell whom to thank, perhaps.

The phrase "Take that!" has not entirely gone out of fashion, I believe; and yet the world ought to be old enough to know better, by this time.

ANTS AGAIN.

Talking about ants last month put me in mind of a scrap, written long ago by the Little Schoolma'am, and which one of my chicks sent to me. Here it is, with the picture that belongs to it:



"Hurrah!" said an ant to her sister, "I've found a nice piece of bread; We may push and pull, to carry it home, Where the little ants wait to be fed."

So one pulled till she fell over backward, And the other pushed with her head, When down came a thief of a sparrow, And away went the piece of bread!

AIR THAT SINGS AND TALKS.

No doubt, my dears, you think that it is only men and phonographs and such things that talk and sing; so did I until lately. But I've just heard that there are some places in the world where the air itself sings and talks. This fact, I'm told, is as old as the hills and woods; and it is easy to prove, too. All you have to do is to go into the open air and blow a horn, or call aloud, or sing in a strong clear voice, among the hills, or by the edge of a wood, or even near a big empty barn.

Give this a good trial, my chicks, and let me know the result. Even if you don't succeed, there's no doubt the experiment will prove interesting, and you'll do no harm. Don't be afraid of disturbing the birds; they're friends of mine, as you know, and, if you tell them you are doing it for me, they will gladly put up with a little extra noise.

PLANTS WITH HAIR.

Some plants have hairs on their leaves, making them feel rough to the touch, as I've heard. This can be seen very plainly by looking at a common mallow-leaf through a microscope. And there is the mullein, too, with very stiff hairs.

Now, what are these hairs for? I have been wanting to know this for some time, and should be glad if some of you clever chicks would look into the matter, and tell me what you find out.

AN ODD HYMN.

Philadelphia, Pa.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Will you please ask the Little Schoolma'am, Deacon Green, and all your young folks, if they know and can tell me where to find the rest of the verses that go with this one?

"The Choctaw and the Cherokee, The Kickapoo and Kaw, Likewise the Pottawatamie,— O teach them all thy law!"

I think it is part of an old-fashioned missionary hymn. I once heard a boy repeat the whole of it, but this is the only verse I can remember.—Yours truly,

L.M.B.

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS, ONCE MORE.

F.'s question, in the May number, about when the Ancients left off and the Moderns began, has been answered by Charles J. Brandt, E.L.S., Stevie B. Franklin, H.J.W., "Amneris," S.B.A., Edward Liddon Patterson, A.R.C., C.C.F., and Bessie P.

They all say pretty much the same thing, which is, that Ancient history left off about the year A.D. 476, with the fall of the western Roman Empire; that then came the Middle or Dark Ages; and that the Moderns began about the year A.D. 1450, or a little while before the discovery of America. But, of course, if you don't feel quite sure that these chicks have given correct answers, you'd do well to look farther into the matter.

THE INCOMPLETE TEXT.

MY DEAR JACK: The letter E is the one to be added to that church-wall text which you gave to your chicks in May. If this vowel is set in at the right places, the text will read:

"Persevere, ye perfect men; Ever keep these precepts ten!"

This refers, of course, to the Ten Commandments that came through Moses. In a postscript you will find the names of the bright chicks who sent in the whole text in its complete form. Please give them my good wishes.—Yours sincerely,

SILAS GREEN.

P.S.—Fred S. Mead, Charles F. Fitts, Mary H. Bradley, Lou D. Denison, H.J.W., Arnold Guyot Cameron, "Nane," A.R.C., "Daisy," Nellie Emerson; Bessie and Charlie Wheeler; Marie Armstrong, Neils E. Hansen, Katie Burnett, Lucy V. McRill, O.K.H., Bessie Dorsey, S.C., Edward A. Page, Bessie P.; Gladys H. Wilkinson, of Manchester, England; and Lane MacGregor.



THE LETTER-BOX.

Boston, Mass., May 2, 1878.

DEAR SAINT NICHOLAS: Will you give me room to rectify a slip of the pen? My "Sing-away Bird," in your May number, is not a thrush, but a sparrow; and I ought to be ashamed of the mistake, for I knew he was a sparrow, and had already spoken of him, in a story in verse, published three or four years ago, as

"Only a sparrow with a snowy throat."

Not only that, I hear his music every year, when I go into the White Mountain region, and consider it one of the chief charms of the wild scenery there. He sang this particular song to me last autumn, on the banks of the Androscoggin at Berlin Falls.

I ask his pardon and yours for the blunder, and send the stanza as I have corrected it to make it tell the truth:

'Twas the white-throated sparrow, that sped a light arrow Of song from his musical quiver; And the lingering spell slid through every dell On the banks of the Runaway River. "O sing! sing-away! sing-away!" And the trill of the sweet singer had The sound of a soul that is glad.

I hope there are plenty of the ST. NICHOLAS children who know our wild birds well enough to see for themselves that I must have meant the one commonly known as the "Peabody-bird," so styled because his song seems always to be calling some human estray of that name, who never comes.

But, indeed, I am afraid that none of us know our musical little friends of the fields and woods as well as we should and might know them, if we studied into the matter,—Truly yours,

LUCY LARCOM.

* * * * *

The story of Perseus, in this number, has been set in a frame of stars by the old astronomers. In Professor Proctor's sky-map in ST. NICHOLAS for January, 1877, you will find the constellation.

* * * * *

New York.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I find in Swift's "Gulliver's Travels" that he speaks of a "voyage to the country of the Houyhnhnms." Here are six consonants all in a row, and I would like to know if such a word can be correctly pronounced.

If it is pronounced "hoy-nims," and I doubt the possibility of pronouncing it any other way, is there any need of so many consonants?—Yours truly,

CHARLES A. REED.

The word "Houyhnhnms" is the name given by Dean Swift to an imaginary race of horses endowed with reason. It is in two syllables, hou-yhnhnms, and may be pronounced "hoo-inmz," with the accent on either syllable, but the voice ought to be quavered in sounding the "n." It is likely that Swift spelled the word so as to get a set of sounds as nearly as possible like the gentle whinny of a horse when pleased.

* * * * *

Aintab, Northern Syria.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I saw a little piece in your magazine, in the department of "Jack-in-the-Pulpit," entitled "Persian Stoves," and I thought you would like to know that the native people in Turkey, right here, do just the same; and, to tell the truth, it is very comfortable sometimes. They call it tandoor. I have a brother in Constantinople studying, also a younger brother, and a dear little sister named Isabelle, here. We have taken your magazine ever since it started, and I think I at least shall never tire of it. Love to Jack and the Little Schoolma'am, Deacon Green, and all our old friends.—Your loving friend and reader,

ELIZABETH M. TROWBRIDGE.

* * * * *

Portsmouth, N.H.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am sure you will like to hear how a cat adopted a mouse, so here is the whole story for you.

A mother cat, named Tabby, had all her kittens taken away except one, and she loved and petted this one little kitten as much as one little kitten could be loved and petted. But she had a heart so full of love that she could not possibly use it all up on one kitten; so, one day, she brought home the cunningest little mouse I ever saw. That little mouse, when she found herself in the cat's mouth, must have thought there was not much more fun for her, but that Mrs. Cat was taking her home to make a luncheon upon her. But Tabby carried her very carefully, so as not to rumple her smooth coat of fur nor break any of her tiny bones. When Tabby reached home, she dropped the mouse into the warm nest where lay her kitten, and immediately began to wash off the dust of travel, just as she daily bathed Kitty. Mousey liked this so well that she remained very quiet and quickly dropped asleep.

Tabby's mistress soon became interested in the happy family, and supplied bits of cheese and other things that mice like to eat. Now and then she saw this mouse perched on the back of the sleepy little kitten, and nibbling a bit of cheese held between her two front paws. Old Tabby would raise her head from her nap, to see what the little one was doing, and the Mousey would hide her lunch in one cheek, and look so innocent that Tabby would go to sleep again. Then Mousey would out with her cheese and go on nibbling. Thus, cat, kitten and mouse lived happily together until, one unfortunate day, Tabby had company; and before she could introduce the company to her family, the company had introduced the pet mouse to itself, and had swallowed her at one mouthful. Tabby tried hard to act as if her company were welcome, but she wore a very sad look during the whole visit. This is a true story.—Yours sincerely,

A.J.B.

* * * * *

"THE ST. NICHOLAS CLUB, of Philadelphia," a company of young puzzlers, have sent us four clever metrical answers to Mr. Cranch's poetical charades published in the April number. We are sorry that we have not room to print all these answers, but here are two of them:

FIRST CHARADE.

When swiftly in the car you glide, With friend or lover by your side, All fear or danger you deride.

But should the car be overset, You surely will be in a pet, Although no ill betide.

When safely in your home you rest, With foot upon the carpet pressed, You heed no gloom outside.

THIRD CHARADE.

A man named Nicholas, with heavy pick. On bar of steel scarce made a dent or nick, "Pick, Nick!" a passing jester cried, in pleasant part. "I wish it were picnic," said he, "with all my heart."

* * * * *

All the illustrations to the article called "Easter in Germany," printed in the April number, were credited in the table of contents to Mr. J.F. Runge. But the pictures entitled "An Easter Fancy," "An Easter Carriage," and "An Easter Load," were drawn by Miss Fanny E. Corne, the author of the article, and should have been credited to her.

* * * * *

A correspondent, H.F.G., sends us the following novel and audacious comparisons of words:

COMPARISONS OF WORDS.

(P. stands for Positive; C., Comparative; S., Superlative.)

P. A part of the foot Sole C. Pertaining to the sun Solar S. Comforted Solaced

P. A river in Scotland Dee C. An animal Deer S. One who does not believe in inspiration Deist

P. A negative No C. A Bible worthy Noah S. Dost know Knowest

P. To divide Halve C. A port of France Havre S. The time of gathering grain and fruit Harvest

P. A grain Corn C. An angle Corner S. With an upper molding Cornised

P. A personal pronoun Ye C. A division of time Year S. Is used in making bread Yeast

P. A knot Bow C. A tedious person Bore S. To make great pretensions Boast

P. A personal pronoun You C. A pitcher Ewer S. Accustomed Used

P. A line of things Row C. A loud, deep voice or sound Roar S. To cook Roast

P. To move with a lever. Pry C. Previous Prior S. Appraised Priced

P. A secret agent Spy C. A steeple Spire S. Seasoned Spiced

P. A body of water Sea C. A prophet Seer S. At an end Ceased

P. A song Lay C. A stratum Layer S. Fastened with a cord Laced

P. A meadow Lea C. One of Shakspeare's royal characters Lear S. Rented Leased

P. An insect Flea C. To mock Fleer S. Sheared Fleeced

P. A path Way C. One who weighs Weigher S. Desolate Waste

P. A very common abbreviation Co C. The center Core S. Border of the sea Coast

P. A part of the body Neck C. A river of South-west Germany Neckar S. Nearest Next

P. A river in Italy Po C. To examine steadily and earnestly Pore S. A pillar Post

P. A vowel E C. A spike of corn Ear S. A point of compass East

P. A tool Hoe C. Whitish Hoar S. An army Host

P. A personal pronoun I C. Anger Ire S. Cooled with ice Iced

P. Compensation Fee C. Terror Fear S. An entertainment Feast

P. To clothe Indue C. To suffer Endure S. Persuaded Induced

* * * * *

Brattleborough, Vt.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been trying to start a fresh-water aquarium which shall be self-supporting. I have failed, so far, because I have been unable to procure the proper oxygen-producing plants.

The little brook-plants I have tried do not answer the purpose. Can you tell me where I can find the following plants, or their seeds: Vallisneria spiralis (or tape-grass), Callitriche verna (or water-starwort), and Anacharis alsinastrum (or water-thyme)?—Yours truly,

E.M.P.

In general terms, the first and third plants named by E.M.P. are to be sought for in very quiet streams, or in ponds; but, as they are quite submerged, they may escape attention. Callitriche is to be found floating on the surfaces of small ponds or pools. But perhaps E.M.P. is a little too far north for Vallisneria. Anacharis is in Canada, and should, by rights, be in Vermont.

However, E.M.P. need not be restricted to these. In quiet fresh-water streams, and especially in ponds, there are Myriophyllums (or water-milfoil), Ceratophyllums (or hornwort), the aquatic Ranunculuses, and the Utricularias (or bladderworts), all of which naturally grow submerged and are quite as good for producing oxygen as those named by E.M.P. Water-cresses will do to get along with until the other plants can be found.

* * * * *

DEAR ST. NICKOLAS: Daisie and me thought we would rite you a letter, and tell you that we did the ansers to some of your puzzles in the May number. We did them most all our own self. We are twin-sisters, and we are both just as old as each other. We go to skool every day. So good by.—From youre little frends,

DOTTIE AND DAISIE.

P.S.—We both send our love to your little girls and boys.

* * * * *

New York.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought you might like to know how to press flowers. The first thing to do, after you have gathered them, is to lay them smoothly between tissue-paper; then you must have felt drying-paper to put each side of the tissue-paper. The felt must be changed every day. The tissue-paper must not be changed at all, only the felt. Then you must have two pieces of smooth board, to put the papers between, and a box full of stones for a presser. We used a common soap-box, and put in stones to the weight of about thirty-five pounds. The handles were made of rope. I have found this a splendid way to press flowers, as it absorbs the moisture from the flower and does not leave it at all brittle.

Will you publish this, so that all the little girls who take ST. NICHOLAS may have the opportunity of pressing flowers?—and I hope they may enjoy it as much as I did.—Your little friend,

ROSIE S. PALMER.

* * * * *

We have received letters in answer to Frank R.M.'s question about an English painter, printed in the May "Letter-Box," from Carrie Johnson, M.S. Bagley, Alice Lanigan, Lillie M. Sutphen. Seth K. Humphrey, Hannah I. Powell, Frank R. Bowman, James Hardy Ropes, Grant Beebe, Isabelle Roorbach, and H.A.M.

Some say the name of the painter is Sir Joshua Reynolds; others say it is John Opie, who, also, was a great painter; and one or two think that while Frank R.M.'s anecdote about the reply "With brains, sir!" belongs to Opie, all the rest of the description concerns Reynolds only. And this last seems to be the fact.

John Opie was born at St. Agnes, near Truro, in the county of Cornwall, England, in the year 1761; and died in the city of London, April 9th, 1807.

* * * * *

Several of our young correspondents seem to have taken to writing poetry of late. The two following letters and poems—printed just as they came to us—will serve as samples of those received:

Winchester, Tenn.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS, Seeing so many writing to you of my age I thought I would send you a letter. I am ten years old, and am advanced for my age. I like to read you very much, &c.—Your constant reader

ALBERT MARKS.

P.S.—Please publish this poetry, which I wrote.

1. I looked o'er the Place where Xerxes Massed his millions Before the grecian army,

2. I looked where Xerxes Massed his hundred of ships Before the small grecian Navy. I looked o'er the place

3. Where Xerxes reared a mighty Throne. I looked where ambitious Caesar fell benea the assassin's dagger. I looked where brave Leonidas braved The millions of Xerxes.

4. I looked where Vesuvius laid Pompeii under ashes and Lava. I looked Where Marco Bozzaris bled for the liberty of Greece.

Brooklyn, N.Y.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken an idea lately, of writing poetry, and indeed, when I find myself at a loss to know what to do, I take out my little blank book and begin some little verses, some pretty good and others to my dissapointment, the opposite. I first write my poem on paper and if thought good, put it in my book. The following is a little piece on

SPRING.

Oh, look! The grass is getting green The buds begin to sprout The blossoms on the oak-tree Are beginning to come out

But hark! Who is that singing? It is the robin gay He has come back to greet us Upon this happy day

But when we see the streamlet Released from ice and snow And down its pebbly routine In music sweet and low,

And when at last the may flowers Their sunny faces bring It makes us feel so happy And reminds us it is spring

R.S.F.

* * * * *

BOOKS RECEIVED.

FROM THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY:

YUSUF IN EGYPT: AND HIS FRIENDS. By Sara Keables Hunt. Eight full-page illustrations. Yusuf is a boy donkey-driver of Cairo, in Egypt. In telling the story of this brave little fellow's ups and downs in the world, the author describes many interesting scenes and incidents of modern Egyptian life, and conveys in an attractive way much information about the country and its people, customs, ancient temples and history.

NAN'S THANKSGIVING. By Hope Ledyard. Large type; illustrated. A bright and sweet little story of a girl's unselfishness.

SATISFIED. By Catharine M. Trowbridge. Illustrated. AUNT LOU'S SCRAP-BOOK. By Harriet B. McKeever. Large type; illustrated. ANGEL'S CHRISTMAS. By Mrs. O.F. Walton. Illustrated.



THE RIDDLE-BOX.

DIAMOND REMAINDERS.

Behead and curtail, in the order given, words having the following significations: 1, Arid; 2, to run away; 3, cattle-drivers; 4, to consume; 5, to endeavor,—and leave a complete diamond reading horizontally as follows: 1, A consonant; 2, to cut off; 3, a wanderer; 4, an instrument for writing; 5, a consonant.

CYRIL DEANE.

A CONCEALED BILL-OF-FARE.

In each of the following sentences, fill the blank with a word to be found concealed in its sentence:

1. Let each guest have some ——-. 2. Eating some —— will be effectual in satisfying hunger. 3. Nothing but terrible starvation could make one eat such ——! 4. Ah! a morsel of —— will taste good. 5. Give me, I beg, good brown bread and a well-cooked ——. 6. Don't take cold ham; eat some of this freshly cooked, hot ——. 7. Stop! I entreat you! Don't give the child any more ——. 8. What if I should eat more ——? 9. He has had quite enough ——. 10. Let me whisper to you. There sits a lady who, it seems to me, is very fond of ——. 11. You will take, I hope, a spoonful of ——? 12. She has helped me twice to ——.

O'B.

SQUARE-WORD.

1. An article used every day as human food. 2. A current report, generally unauthorized. 3. A mineral much used in polishing metals. 4. Part of the most important organ of the human body. 5. A mythical being, supposed by the ancient Greeks to inhabit lonely woods.

B.

ANAGRAM DOUBLE-DIAMOND AND INCLOSED DOUBLE WORD-SQUARE.

From the sentence "Mad at pert hens," form a double-diamond of which the center shall be a double word-square.

The diamond must read, across: 1. In profitable. 2. A covering for the head. 3. Paired. 4. An implement used in writing. 5. In profitless.

The word-square must read, downward: 1. A casual event. 2. Partook of food. 3. A spelled number.

C.D.

EASY "ANNIVERSARY" PUZZLES.

(Three Anniversaries.)



These three pictures represent three annual anniversaries, the names of which are to be found. The character of each anniversary is appropriately symbolized in its picture.

CHARL.

GEOGRAPHICAL SINGLE ACROSTIC.

The initials will give one of England's principal sea-ports.

1. A river of Ireland. 2. A river in Farther India. 3. A river in France. 4. The largest river in Western Asia. 5. A river in France. 6. A river in Italy. 7. A river in Prussia. 8. A river in North America. 9. A river in Siberia.

S.

EASY HIDDEN LATIN PROVERB.

Find in the following sentence a Latin proverb in common use:

The sachem seized a garment on which was embroidered his totem, pushed the Italian, Orfugi, to the ground, and precipitately fled.

S.T.

DROP-LETTER PUZZLE.

M-K-H-Y-H-L-T-E-U-S-I-E-.

Every other letter is omitted; the answer is a well-known proverb.

J.M. and E.M.

EASY BEHEADINGS.

1. Behead an indication of sleepiness, and leave an artificial shade. 2. Behead another indication of sleepiness, and leave an animal. 3. Behead need, and leave an insect. 4. Behead an article used in packing crockery, and leave a reckoning. 5. Behead an awkward bow, and leave a kind of cloth. 6. Behead a locality, and leave network. 7. Behead to loiter, and leave a dolt. 8. Behead sudden blows, and leave parts of a horse. 9. Behead to turn, and leave a peg. 10. Behead a stain, and leave a piece of land. 11. Behead a bough, and leave a farm in California. 12. Behead loose, and leave want.

M.G.A.

SHAKSPEAREAN ENIGMA.

My first is in Proteus, also in Thurio; My second in Thurio, also in Proteus; My third's in Alonso, also in Sebastian; My fourth in Sebastian, also in Alonso; My fifth is in Oliver, also in Sylvius; My sixth in Sylvius, also in Oliver; My seventh is in Ferdinand, also in Dumain; My eighth in Dumain, also in Ferdinand; My whole is in Shakspeare's "As You Like It."

E.D.A.

PICTORIAL PUZZLE.



From the eight letters of the word which describes the central picture, spell words which name the sixteen objects shown in the border pictures.

R.

NUMERICAL PUZZLE.

After I had read 1 2 3 4 5 ' 6 7 8 9 10 12 11 13, I was convinced that she was thoroughly conversant with the 1 2 3 4 5 6-7 8 9 10 12 11 13, as she is fond of styling polite literature.

C.D.

CHARADE.

Beneath his lady's window, erst, In hopeless mood, A minstrel stood. As, passionate, he smote my first, From his sad lips my second passed, And from my first rang out my last.

A sudden joy possessed his soul. As down the night air sweetly stole A strain responsive from my whole.

L.W.H.

SYNCOPATIONS.

1. Syncopate a square column, and leave an adhesive salve; syncopate the salve, and leave a person found in a bindery; syncopate again, and leave a prayer. 2. A ladies' apartment in a seraglio, and leave injury; again, and leave a meat. 3. A rough fastening, and leave to strike together; again, and leave to cover the top.

L.E.

ACROSTIC.

The initials and finals name a fragrant flower. 1. A domestic animal. 2. A summer luxury. 3. A troublesome insect. 4. A kind of fruit. 5. A short poem.

ISOLA.

DOUBLE, REVERSED ACROSTIC.

A little verb used every day, Whose letters spell the same each way; My next, which means to lengthen out, Spells just the same if turned about; At close of day you'll find my third,— Reversed, you have the self-same word; My fourth, implying "held supreme," The same each way, though strange it seem. An act, these four initials name, Backward or forward spelled the same.

J.F.B.

ENIGMA.

This enigma is composed of twenty-one letters, and is the name of one who is dear to thousands of little folks.

1. The 4 6 2 9 10 12 is a mountain in California. 2. The 5 1 8 13 is part of your face. 3. The 7 17 3 19 are parts of harness. 4. The 18 20 16 is a color. 5. The 15 14 21 is a girl's nickname.

C.D.

EASY ENIGMA.

My 6 5 4 is wrong-doing. My 3 2 1 is an article of female dress sometimes worn over the hair. My whole is a lively ball-game, not now so popular as formerly.

H.H.D.

BIOGRAPHICAL DOUBLE ACROSTIC.

The initials and finals name a noted American. 1. A naval officer of high rank. 2. Brigands. 3. A singing-bird of America. 4. Part of a circle. 5. A brave man. 6. A blacksmith's implement. 7. A small wild animal somewhat like a weasel.

L.A.

HOUR-GLASS PUZZLE.

1. To perceive. 2. King of Persia. 3. A boy's nickname. 4. A consonant. 5. An enemy. 6. Aches. 7. Subjects to a feudal lord. Centrals, read downward, an Alpine animal.

A.C. Crett.

REVERSALS.

1. Reverse current, and give a wild animal. 2. Reverse part of a bridge, and give part of a city. 3. Reverse a swallow, and give a stopple. 4. Reverse to praise, and give consisting of two. 5. Reverse an oblique view, and give a lively dance.

ISOLA.



ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN JUNE NUMBER.

EASY BEHEADINGS.—Heart, tear, ear, a.

LABYRINTH.—The dotted line and arrows show the route to the center:



ACCIDENTAL HIDINGS.—Metrical Compositions: Pean (hope and); glee (eagle eye); ode (good enough). Portions of Time: Hour (thou rove); eon (June one); era (tower and).

ANAGRAMS.—1. Rhapsody. 2. Numerical. 3. Depredation. 4. Exonerates. 5. Deranging.

PICTORIAL PUZZLE.—An ox. Turn the picture so that the right-hand edge becomes the bottom.

MELANGE.—1. Clover, lover. 2. Clover, clove. 3. Clover, cover. 4. Clove, love. 5. Lover, lore. 6. Cover, over. 7. Cover, core. 8. Over, rove. 9. Rove, roe.

EASY CLASSICAL ACROSTIC.—Demosthenes.

ENIGMA.—"A stitch in time saves nine."

EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.—

A E L F A L T E R F E W R

CHARADE.—Catacomb; cat, a, comb.

NUMERICAL PUZZLE.—Levi Nathan; leviathan.

FOUR-LETTER SQUARE-WORD.—

K I N G I D O L N O T E G L E E

EASY CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.—Ohio.

METAGRAM.—1. Batter. 2. Fatter. 3. Latter. 4. Matter. 5. Patter. 6. Tatter. 7. Ratter.

EASY ACROSTIC.—Constantinople.

BLANK WORD SYNCOPATIONS.—1. Staging—tag, sing. 2. Sporting—port, sing. 3. Roulette—let, route.

CHARADE.—Woman; wo, man.

TRANSPOSITIONS OF PROPER NAMES—1. Pensacola, clean soap. 2. Taxes, Texas. 3. Carolina, an oil-car. 4. Colorado, cool road, 5. Washington; saw nothing, thin wagons, 6. Load fir, Florida. 7. New York, worn key. 8. Baltimore, broil meat. 9. Daniel; nailed, denial. 10. Catherine, in the acre.

SQUARE-WORD.—

L I M E S I D E A L M E R G E E A G L E S L E E P

ADDITIONS.—1. Imp, ale; impale. 2. Bulls, eye; bull's-eye. 3. Nan, keen; Nankin. 4. P, age; page. 5. Den, Mark; Denmark. 6. Asp, ire; aspire.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MAY NUMBER were received, before May 18, from "Pansy," Ben Merrill, Arnold Guyot Cameron; May and Charlie Pray; Bessie Hard, Harry H. Wolbert, "Bessie and her Cousin," Nessie E. Stevens, Allie Bertram, Nettie A. Ives, L.E.B., Alice Lanigan, M.E. Bagley, Katie Burnett, Bessie Dorsey, "Hard and Tough," E.L.S., Stella N. Stone, Clara S. Gardiner, "Winnie;" X.Y.Z., and Bob White; Arthur Stowe, R.T. French, Lizzie Folsom, Lizzie C. Lawrence, Bessie Taylor, Laura Randolph; John D. Cress, M.R. Cress, and W.S. Eichelberger; Carrie J. Willcox; Frank and Ralph Bowman; Nellie Emerson, "Black Prince," Neils E. Hansen; Bessie and Charlie Wheeler; "Daisy," S.V. Gilbert, Rufus B. Clark, W.H. McGee, Eva Doeblin, Edith Louise Jones, Harold S. MacKaye; Alice B. MacNary and Mary C. Taylor; Florence L. Turrill, "Dottie and Daisie," Nellie C. Graham, S. Norris Knapp, Carrie L. Bigelow, George C. Harris, Jr., Eddie F. Worcester, Charles H. Stout, Frank H. Nichols, Susie Hermance, "Birdie and Allie;" Allen Bigelow Hathaway and Harold Gray Hathaway; Anna E. Matthewson, H.B. Ayers, Austin D. Mabie, "Kaween," Lewis G. Davis, "Beech-Nut," E.M. Fergusson, Julie Baker, Mary H. Bradley, Alfred C. Beebe, Charles N. Cogswell; C.M. Hunter and Frances Hunter; "Prebo and Prebo's Uncle," "Cosy Club," Georgine C. Schnitzspahn; V. and G.S.; Floy and Lillie Brown; Austin M. Poote, Georgie B., Eddie Vultee, Bessie L. Barnes, Louisa K. Riedel; and Gladys H. Wilkinson, of Manchester, England.

THE END