For the present, however, let us consider the planet Mars, leaving slow Saturn to wait for us another month.

It has always seemed to me one of the most useful lessons in astronomy to follow the line by which, long ago, great discoveries were made. Thus, if the young reader went out on every fine night and noted the changing position of Mars, he traced out the track shown in Fig. 1. He noted, also, that the planet, which shone at its brightest about September 5, gradually grew less and less bright as it traveled off, after rounding the station near October 5 (really on Oct. 7), toward the east. He observed, then, that the seeming loop followed by the planet was a real looped track (so far, at least, as our observer on the earth was concerned). Fig. 2 shows the apparent shape of Mars's loop, the dates corresponding to those shown in Fig. 1. Only it does not lie flat, as shown on the paper, but must be supposed to lie somewhat under the surface of the paper, as shown by the little upright _a, b,_ which, indeed, gives the distance under the paper at which the part of the loop is supposed to lie where lowest at _m_. The other similar uprights at M_1, M_2, and M_3 show the depression at these places. You perceive that the part M_1, M_2, lies higher than the part M_2, M_3. If the loop were flat, and, like E, the earth, were in the level of the paper, it would be seen edgewise, and the advancing, receding, and advancing parts of the planet's course would all lie on the same line upon the sky. But being thus out of the level, we see through the loop, so to speak, and it has the seeming shape shown in Fig. 1.[3]

[Footnote 3: I must re-mention that though this explanation is made as simple as I possibly can make it, so far as words are concerned, the figures present the result of an exact geometrical investigation. Every dot, for instance, in Fig. 2, has had its place separately determined by me.]



This is one loop, you will understand, out of an immense number which Mars makes in journeying round the earth, regarded as fixed. He retreats to a great distance, swoops inward again toward the earth, making a loop as in Fig. 2, and retreating again. Then he comes again, makes another swoop, and a loop on another side, and so on. He behaves, in fact, like that "little quiver fellow," a right martialist, no doubt, who, as Justice Shallow tells us, "would about and about, and come you in, and come you in,—and away again would a go, and again would a come." The loops are not all of the same size. The one shown in Fig. 2 is one of the smallest. I have before me a picture which I have made of all this planet's loops from 1875 to 1892, and it forms the most curiously intertwined set of curves you can imagine,—rather pretty, though not regular, the loops on one side being much larger than those on the other. I would show the picture here, but it is too large. One of these days, it will be given in a book I am going to write about Mars, who is quite important enough to have a book all to himself. I want you, now, to understand me that Mars really does travel in a most complicated path, when you consider the earth as at rest. If a perfect picture of all his loopings and twistings since astronomy began could be drawn,—even on a sheet of paper as large as the floor of a room,—the curves would so interlace that you would not be able to track them out, but be always leaving the true track and getting upon one crossing it slightly aslant,—just like the lines by which trains are made to run easily off one track on to another.

The unfortunate astronomers of old times, who had to explain, if they could, this complicated behavior of Mars (and of other planets, too), were quite beaten. The more carefully they made their observations, the more peculiar the motions seemed. One astronomer gave up the work in despair, just like that unfortunate Greek philosopher who, because he could not understand the tides of the Euboean Sea, drowned himself in it. So this astronomer, who was a king,—Alphonsus of Portugal,—unable to unravel the loops of the planets, said, in his wrath, that if he had been called on by the Creator to assign the planets their paths, he would have managed the matter a great deal better. The plates of the old astronomical books became more and more confusing, and cost more and more labor, as astronomers continued to

... "Build, unbuild, contrive To save appearances, to gird the sphere With centric and eccentric scribbled o'er, Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb."

It was to the study of Mars, the wildest wanderer of all, that we owe the removal of all these perplexities. The idea had occurred to the great astronomer, Copernicus, that the complexities of the planets' paths are not real, but are caused by the constant moving about of the place from whence we watch the planets. If a fly at rest at the middle of a clock face watched the ends of the two hands, they would seem to go round him in circles; but if, instead, he was on the end of one of the hands (and was not knocked off as the other passed), the end of this other hand would not move round the fly in the same simple way. When the two hands were together it would be near, when they were opposite it would be far away, and, without entering into any particular description of the way in which it would seem to move, you can easily see that the motion would seem much more complicated than if the fly watched it from the middle of the clock face. Now, Copernicus did enter into particulars, and showed by mathematical reasoning that nearly all the peculiarities of the planets' motions could be explained by supposing that the sun, not the earth, was the body round which the planets move, and that they go round him nearly in circles.



But Copernicus could not explain all the motions. And Tycho Brahe, another great astronomer, who did not believe at all in the new ideas of Copernicus, made a number of observations on our near neighbor Mars, to show that Copernicus was wrong. He gave these to Kepler, another great astronomer, enjoining him to explain them in such a way as to overthrow the Copernican ideas. But Kepler behaved like Balaam the son of Beor; for, called on to curse (or at least to denounce) the views of Copernicus, he altogether blessed them three times. First, he found from the motions of Mars that the planets do not travel in circles, but in ovals, very nearly circular in shape, but not having the sun exactly at the center. Secondly, he discovered the law according to which they move, now faster now slower, in their oval paths; and thirdly, he found a law according to which the nearer planets travel more quickly and the farther planets more slowly, every distance having its own proper rate. These three laws of Kepler constitute the Magna Charta of the solar system.

Afterward, Newton showed how it happens that the planets obey these laws, but as his part of the work had no particular reference to Mars, I say no more about it in this place.

Here, in Fig. 3, are the real paths of Mars and the Earth, and also of Venus and Mercury. No loops, you see, in any of them, simply because we have set the sun in the middle. Set the earth in the middle, and each planet would have its own set of loops, each set enormously complicated, and all three sets mixed together in the most confusing way. It is well to remember this when you see, as in many books of astronomy, the old theory illustrated with a set of circles looking almost as neat and compact as the set truly representing the modern theory. For the idea is suggested by this simple picture of the old theory that the theory itself was simple, whereas it had become so confusing that not merely young learners, but the most profound mathematicians, were baffled when they tried to unravel the motions of the planets.

I think the figure pretty well explains itself. All I need mention is, that while the shape and position of each path is correctly shown, the size of the sun at center is immensely exaggerated. A mere pin point, but shining with star-like splendor, would properly represent him. As for the figures of the earth and Mars, they are still more tremendously out of proportion. The cross-breadth of the lines representing these planets' tracks is many times greater than the breadth of either planet on the scale of the chart.

On September 5 the earth and Mars came to the position shown at E and M. You observe that they could not be much nearer. It is indeed very seldom that Mars is so well placed for observation. His illuminated face was turned toward the dark or night half of the earth, so that he shone brightly in the sky at midnight, and can be well studied with the telescope.

When Galileo turned toward Mars the telescope with which he had discovered the moons of Jupiter, the crescent form of Venus, and many other wonders in the heavens, he was altogether disappointed. His telescope was indeed too small to show any features of interest in Mars, though the planet of war is much nearer to us than Jupiter. Mars is but a small world. The diameter of the planet is about 4,400 miles, that of our earth being nearly 8,000. Jupiter, though much farther away, has an immense diameter of more than 80,000 miles to make up, and much more than make up, for the effect of distance. With his noble system of moons he appears a remarkable object even with a small telescope, while Mars shows no feature of interest even with telescopes of considerable size.

It was not, then, till very powerful telescopes had been constructed that astronomers learned what we now know about Mars.[4]

[Footnote 4: See the "Moons of Mars" in "Letter Box" Department]

It is found that his surface is divided into land and water, like the surface of our own earth. But his seas and oceans are not nearly so large compared with his continents and lands. You know that on our own earth the water covers so much larger a surface than the land that the great continents are in reality islands. Europe, Asia and Africa together form one great island; North and South America another, not quite so large; then come Australia, Greenland, Madagascar, and so forth; all the lands being islands, larger or smaller. On the other hand, except the Caspian Sea and the Sea of Aral, there are no large seas entirely land-bound. In the case of Mars a very different state of things prevails, as you will see from the three accompanying pictures (hitherto unpublished), drawn by the famous English observer, Dawes (called the Eagle-eyed). The third and best was drawn with a telescope constructed by your famous optician, Alvan Clark, of Cambridge, Massachusetts. The dark parts are the seas, the light parts being land, or in some cases cloud or snow. But in these pictures most of the lighter portions represent land; for they have been seen often so shaped, whereas clouds, of course, would change in shape.

The planet Mars, like our earth, turns on its axis, so that it has day and night as we have. The length of its day is not very different from that of our own day. Our earth turns once on its axis in —— but before reading on, try to complete this sentence for yourself. Every one knows that the earth's turning on its axis produces day and night, and nine persons out of ten, if asked how long the earth takes in turning round her axis, will answer, 24 hours; and if asked how many times she turns on her axis in a year, will say 365 times, or if disposed to be very exact, "about 365-1/4 times." But neither answer is correct. The earth turns on her axis about 366-1/4 times in each year, and each turning occupies 23 hours 56 minutes and 4 seconds and 1 tenth of a second. We, taking the ordinary day as the time of a turning or rotation, lose count of one rotation each year. It is necessary to mention this, in order that when I tell you how long the day of Mars is, you may be able correctly to compare it with our own day. Mars, then, turns on his axis in 24 hours 37 minutes 22 seconds and 7 tenth-parts of a second. So that Mars requires 41 minutes 18 seconds and 6-tenths of a second longer to turn his small body once round than our earth requires to turn round her much larger body. The common day of Mars is, however, only about 39 minutes longer than our common day.

Mars has a long year, taking no less than 687 of our days to complete his circuit round the sun, so that his year lasts only about one month and a half less than two of ours.



Like the earth, Mars has seasons, for his polar axis, like that of the earth, is aslant, and at one part of his year brings his northern regions more fully into sunlight, at which time summer prevails there and winter in his southern regions; while at the opposite part of his year his southern regions are turned more fully sunward and have their summer, while winter prevails over his northern regions.

Around his poles, as around the earth's, there are great masses of ice, insomuch that it is very doubtful whether any inhabitants of Mars have been able to penetrate to his poles, any more than Kane or Hayes or Nares or Parry, despite their courage and endurance, have been able to reach our northern pole, or Cook or Wilkes or James Ross our antarctic pole.

In the summer of either hemisphere of Mars, the north polar snows become greatly reduced in extent, as is natural, while in winter they reach to low latitudes, showing that in parts of the planet corresponding to the United States, or mid-Europe, as to latitude, bitter cold must prevail for several weeks in succession.

The land regions of Mars can be distinguished from the seas by their ruddy color, the seas being greenish. But here, perhaps, you will be disposed to ask how astronomers can be sure that the greenish regions are seas, the ruddy regions land, the white spots either snow or cloud. Might not materials altogether unlike any we are acquainted with exist upon that remote planet?

The spectroscope answers this question in the clearest way. You may remember what I told you in October, 1876, about Venus, how astronomers have learned that the vapor of water exists in her atmosphere. The same method has been applied, even more satisfactorily, to the planet of war, and it has been found that he also has his atmosphere at times laden with moisture. This being so, it is clear we have not to do with a planet made of materials utterly unlike those forming our earth. To suppose so, when we find that the air of Mars, formed like our own (for if it contained other gases the spectroscope would tell us), contains often large quantities of the vapor of water, would be as absurd as to believe in the green cheese theory of the moon, or in another equally preposterous, advanced lately by an English artist—Mr. J.T. Brett—to the effect that the atmosphere of Venus is formed of glass.

There is another theory about Mars, certainly not so absurd as either of those just named, but scarcely supported by evidence at present—the idea, namely, advanced by a French astronomer, that the ruddy color of the lands and seas of Mars is due to red trees and a generally scarlet vegetation. Your poet Holmes refers to this in those lines of his, "Star-clouds and Wind-clouds" (to my mind among the most charming of his many charming poems):

"The snows that glittered on the disc of Mars Have melted, and the planet's fiery orb Rolls in the crimson summer of its year."

It is quite possible, of course, that such colors as are often seen in American woods in the autumn-time may prevail in the forests and vegetation of Mars during the fullness of the Martian summer. The fact that during this season the planet looks ruddier than usual, in some degree corresponds with this theory. But it is much better explained, to my mind, by the greater clearness of the Martian air in the summer-time. That would enable us to see the color of the soil better. If our earth were looked at from Venus during the winter-time, the snows covering large parts of her surface, and the clouds and mists common in the winter months, would hide the tints of the surface, whereas these would be very distinct in clear summer weather.

I fear my own conclusion about Mars is that his present condition is very desolate. I look on the ruddiness of tint to which I have referred as one of the signs that the planet of war has long since passed its prime. There are lands and seas in Mars, the vapor of water is present in his air, clouds form, rains and snows fall upon his surface, and doubtless brooks and rivers irrigate his soil, and carry down the moisture collected on his wide continents to the seas whence the clouds had originally been formed. But I do not think there is much vegetation on Mars, or that many living creatures of the higher types of Martian life as it once existed still remain. All that is known about the planet tends to show that the time when it attained that stage of planetary existence through which our earth is now passing must be set millions of years, perhaps hundreds of millions of years, ago. He has not yet, indeed, reached that airless and waterless condition, that extremity of internal cold, or in fact that utter unfitness to support any kind of life, which would seem to prevail in the moon. The planet of war in some respects resembles a desolate battle-field, and I fancy that there is not a single region of the earth now inhabited by man which is not infinitely more comfortable as an abode of life than the most favored regions of Mars at the present time would be for creatures like ourselves.

But there are other subjects besides astronomy that the readers of the ST. NICHOLAS want to learn about. I do not wish you to have to say to me what a little daughter of mine said the other day. She had asked me several questions about the sun, and after I had answered them I went on to tell her several things which she had not asked. She listened patiently for quite a long time,—fully five minutes, I really believe,—and then she said: "Don't you think, papa, that that's enough about the sun? Come and play with us on the lawn." So, as it was holiday time, we went and played in the sun, instead of talking about him.

* * * * *



A DOMESTIC TRAGEDY—IN TWO PARTS.



"MOTHER! from this moment, behold me, my own master! Yes, madam, I am old enough. I mean just what I say."



AND, but for a sudden and unforeseen disaster, The puppy might have kept his resolution to this day.

* * * * *



THE STICKLEBACK BELL-RINGERS

BY C. F. HOLDER.

A certain pond in the country was once peopled with a number of turtles, frogs, and fishes which I came to consider my pets, and which at last grew so tame that I fed them from my hands. Among them, however, were four or five little sticklebacks that lived under the shade of a big willow, and these were so quarrelsome that I generally fed them apart from the rest. But sometimes all met, and then the feast usually was ended by the death of a minnow. For, shocking to say, whenever there was a dispute for the food, some one of the little fishes was almost sure to be devoured by the hungry sticklebacks.

These stickleback-and-minnow combats, after a while, came to be of daily occurrence, and the reason for this was a singular one, which I must explain.

Under the willow shade, and from one of the branches, I had hung a miniature "belfry," containing a tiny brass bell, and had led the string into the water, letting it go down to a considerable depth. At first, I tied bait at intervals upon the line, and the sticklebacks, of course, seized upon it, and thus rang the bell. Generally the ringing was done in a very grave and proper way, although sometimes, when the bait was too tightly tied, the quick peals sounded like a call to a fire.



I kept up this system of baiting the string for about a week, until I thought they understood it, and then replaced the worms by bits of stone. As I expected, the next morning, as I looked through the grass and down into the water, tinkle! tinkle! rang the bell, and I knew my little friends were saying, "Good-morning!" and expected a breakfast. You may be sure they got it. I put my hand down, and up they came, and got one worm apiece; and as I raised my hand, down they rushed, and away went the bell, in an uproarious peal, that must have startled the whole neighborhood. I was quick to respond, and they soon learned to ring the bell before coming to the surface; in fact, if they saw me pass, I always heard their welcome greeting. But to return to the minnows.

I generally fed them first, about twenty feet up the bank; but one morning I found one or two had followed me down to the residence of the stickleback family. They met with a rude reception, however, and, to avoid making trouble, the next day I went to the willow first. But no sooner had the bell begun to ring, than I saw a lot of ripples coming down, and in a second the two factions were in mortal combat. The sticklebacks were fighting not only for breakfast, but for their nests, which were near by; and they made sad work of the poor minnows, who, though smart in some things, did not know when they were whipped, and so kept up the fight, though losing one of their number nearly every morning. The bell now and then rang violently, but I fear it was only sounding an appeal from a voracious stickleback whose appetite had got the better of his rage.

So it went on every morning. The minnows had learned what the bell meant, and though usually defeated in the fight, they in reality had their betters as servants to ring the bell and call them to meals. Finally, they succeeded, by force of great numbers, in driving away their pugnacious little rivals, and the bell hung silent; for, strange to say, they knew what the sound meant, but I could never teach them to ring it, when they could rise and steal the worm from my hand without. But I am inclined to think it was more laziness than inability to learn, as they afterward picked up readily some much more difficult tricks. I taught them to leap from the water into my hand, and lie as if dead; and having arranged a slide of polished wood upon the bank, by placing worms upon it I soon had them leaping out and sliding down like so many boys coasting in the winter. That they afterward did it for amusement I know, as I often watched them unobserved when there was nothing to attract but the fun of sliding. This kind of amusement is not uncommon with many other animals, particularly seals, which delight in making "slides" on the icy shores.



[ILLUSTATION]

THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH

BY MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES.

Old Granny Cricket's rocking-chair, Creakety-creak, creakety-creak!— Back and forth, and here and there, Squeakety-squeak, squeakety-squeak!— On the hearth-stone, every night, Rocks and rocks in the cheery light. Little old woman, dressed in black, With spindling arms and a crooked back, She sits with a cap on her wise old head, And her eyes are fixed on the embers red; She does not sing, she does not speak, But the rocking-chair goes creakety-creak!

Cheerily sounds the rocking-chair, Creakety-creak, creakety-creak!— While it swings in the firelight there, Squeakety-squeak, squeakety-squeak! Old Granny Cricket, rocking, rocking, Knits and knits on a long black stocking. No matter how swiftly her fingers fly, She never can keep her family, With their legs so long from foot to knee, Stockinged as well as they ought to be; That's why, at night, week after week, Her rocking-chair goes squeakety-squeak!

* * * * *



HOW I WEIGHED THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY.

BY G. M. SHAW.

"Here, sir! Please take this bird around to Albro's, and see how much it weighs."

The idea! What would the folks over the way say, to see the "professor" walking out with a big turkey under his arm? That was the way the thing presented itself to the good-natured college-student acting as private tutor in the family. But Mrs. Simpson, the portly and practical housewife, had no such idea of the fitness of things.

It was the day before Thanksgiving, and the farmer who had agreed to supply her with a turkey had brought it, but had not weighed it, and, of course, they could not agree on its weight, all of which ended in the startling proposition with which we began.

"Well, if you aint the laziest man—! Just as though it was going to hurt you any to take this bird to the corner and back!" she went on, as she saw me looking, apparently, for a hole to crawl into, but, in reality, for the broom, which, when I found, I made use of in putting into execution a plan I had formed for weighing the turkey at home.

I hung the broom-handle to the gas-jet by a wire loop, and slid it along in the loop until it balanced. By this time all were curious to see what I was about.

I then fixed a wire to the turkey's feet and hooked it so that it would slide on the broom-handle. Next I got a flat-iron and fixed it in the same way. When the broom was nicely balanced, I hung the turkey on the broom end of the stick, two inches from the balancing loop. Then I hung the flat-iron on the other side, and shoved it along until it balanced the turkey. Next I measured the distances of the turkey and flat-iron from the balancing loop, and found that the turkey hung two inches and the flat-iron eight inches from the balancing loop. That was all. I had found the weight of the turkey, and told them: Twenty-four pounds.

"Do you s'pose I'm going to believe all that tomfoolery? It doesn't weigh more'n twenty, I know. Here, Maggie! Take this out and ask Albro to weigh it for you."

"I'm blamed if he hasn't hit it about right," said the farmer who had brought the turkey. "How did you find out?"

"Well, you see," said I, "the flat-iron has a figure 6 on it; that shows that it weighs six pounds. Now, if the turkey had not weighed more than the flat-iron they would have balanced each other at the same distance from the balancing loop; but the turkey was the heavier, so I had to move the flat-iron out further. At the same distance from the loop as the turkey (two inches), the flat-iron pulled six pounds' weight, and at every addition of that distance it would pull six pounds more. Thus: at four inches it pulled twelve pounds; at six inches, eighteen pounds; and at eight inches, twenty-four pounds. At that distance it just balanced the turkey, thus proving that it weighed——"

"Well, Maggie, what does Albro say?"

"Twenty-four poun', mum," replied Maggie, coming in.

"Well, I give up," said Mrs. Simpson; and she did, and so do I—till next time.



NIMBLE JIM AND THE MAGIC MELON

BY J. A. JUDSON.

Once upon a time, in a snug little cottage by a brook under a hill, lived an old widow and her only child. She was a tidy, pleasant-faced dame, was "Old Mother Growser;" and as to her boy, there wasn't a brighter lad of his age in all the village. His real name was James, but he had always been so spry and handy that when he was a little bit of a chap the neighbors called him "Nimble Jim." At work in the cottage garden, or at play on the village green, even at his books and slate, he was ever the same industrious, active "Nimble Jim," and always a comfort to his mother.

His father had been the village cobbler, and when he died the folks said: "Who'll mend our shoes now, and auld Jamie gone?"

Then up sprang the boy, saying: "I'll mend them, now father's dead."

The simple folks laughed at him. "Hoot! toot! lad," said they; "ye canna mend shoes!"

But he answered bravely: "Am I not fifteen years old, and e'en a'most a mon? Haven't I all father's tools? Haven't I seen him do it day after day ever since I was a wee boy? It's time I was doing something besides jobbin' and runnin' and pretendin' to work! I may take to th' auld bench, and e'en get my father's place among ye in time, so I be good enough. Mother canna allus be a-spinnin', spinnin', spinnin'. The poor old eyes are growing dim a'ready,"—and Jim gently stroked her thin gray hair.

"Ye're a brave darlin', and my own handy Nimble Jim," said the fond mother, smilingly.

"Ah, well, boy," the neighbors said, "be about it if ye will, for there's no cobbler hereabout now, and the shoes must be mended. But ye'll do the work fairly, mind, or we'll no' pay ye a penny!"

"I'll try my best, and bide your good favor, neighbors," was Jim's cheery answer.

And so he succeeded to his father's old bench by the window, the lap-stone and hammer and awl; and as he waxed his thread and stitched away, singing the old songs, the country folks passing by would listen, look at each other, smile and nod approvingly, or say:

"Hark to that, friend! One might think auld Jamie back again, with the whack o' the hammer and the blithe song, though the voice ben't so crackit like as th' auld one."

"Aye, it's a bit clearer, but no happier. Auld cobbler Jamie was a merry soul," says one.

"And the lad'll prove worthy his father, I warrant. Listen to the turn of that song, now; I've heard Jamie singin' it many a day," says another.

"Whack! whack! thump-pet-ty crack! In go the shoe-nails with many a smack. Zu! zu! pull the thread through; Soon will the shoe be, done, master, for you!

"Nay! nay! there's nothin' to pay, If it is not mended as good as I say. I do my work honestly—that is the thing; Then Jamie the cobbler's as good as the king!"

And the folks passed on, or stopped to leave shoes to mend.

Jim prospered in the old stall, and they called him "Nimble Jim, the Cobbler," for soon he was fairly installed as cobbler to the whole country-side. He was happy, and his old mother was happy, and proud, too, of the success of her boy, who was the light of her home and the joy of her heart.

All day Jim worked away at his bench. Winter evenings he read his few books by the firelight; in the cool of the summer days, or in the early mornings, he busied himself in the little garden. His vegetables were his pride, and for miles around no one had so trim a garden-patch, or so many good things in it, as Nimble Jim.

Only one kind of all his plants failed to come to anything,—his melon-vines,—and these always failed. This began to grieve him sorely, for he was fond of melons; and, besides, he thought if he could only raise fine ones, he might sell them for a deal of money, like gruff, rich old Farmer Hummidge.

"Oh dear! my melons don't grow like other folkses. They don't come up at all, or if they do they wither or spindle away," he said, losing his temper, and tearing up some of the vines by the roots. Then he went into the cottage, angrily, and began to pound away, driving in big hob-nails. With the twilight, his mother called him to the simple meal, but he was sullen and silent.

"What be the matter with ye, my Nimble Jim?" asked the good dame, cheerily.

"Matter enough, mother! My melons wont grow; there's somethin' the matter with them. Faith, I believe some imp has cast a spell over 'em. I do, mother," quoth he, thumping the table with his fist until the dishes rattled.

"Softly, softly, boy! Where's thy good nature gone?" said Mother Growser, staring at him in wonder.

"It be well enough to say 'Softly, softly,'" said he, "and I don't want to grieve ye, mother; but it's naught with me but hammer, stitch, dig,—hammer, stitch, dig,—the day in, the day out, when I might be raisin' fine melons and sellin' 'em for mints of gold in the great city. Yea, mother, sellin' 'em e'en to the king and queen and all the grand lords and ladies at the court, like old Farmer Hummidge."

For almost the first time in his life Jim was unhappy.

"I would you had your wish, Nimble Jim; but then we've a neat bit garden besides the melons; and the home is snug, and you're a good boy and the best o' cobblers. Can't you be happy with that, my lad?"

But Nimble Jim shook his head, for the spirit of discontent had taken possession of him.

Now, for many days, Nimble Jim neglected his cobbling and let the weeds grow in his garden, while he moodily watched his melons as they withered away. Soon he came to idle about them in the evening, too, until, one bright moonlight night, as he was grieving over the wretched, scraggy vines, he heard a tiny, silvery voice quite near him cry, tauntingly:

"Hello, Nimble Jim! How are your melons?"

Jim would have been very angry at such a question could he have seen anybody to be angry with; but, though he looked and looked with all his eyes, not a soul could he see.

"Hello, Nimble Jim! How are your melons? Ha, ha, ha! Melons! melons! Ha, ha, ha!" And the sweet little voice sang, in a merry, mocking strain:

"Nice sweet melons! Round ripe melons! Nimble Jim likes them, I know. Mean sour melons, Crooked green melons, Nimble Jim only can grow!

Ha, ha, ha! How are your melons, Nimble Jim?"



"Who are you? What are you? Where are you?" cried Jim, hardly knowing whether to be angry, amused, or frightened.

"You ask a good many questions at once, don't you?" said the silvery voice. "Who am I? What am I? Where am I? Eh! I'm the Queen of the Elfs," said her tiny majesty, "and if you look sharply you'll see where I am."

Just then a moonbeam streaming through the trees overhead fell across his path, and, dancing up and down on it, he saw the tiny elfin queen,—a lovely little creature with long, bright, wavy hair, and glittering garments fluttering in the breeze, wings like a butterfly, a mischievous smile on her face, and in her hand a wee wand tipped with a star. But the brightest thing about her was the twinkle that played hide-and-seek in her eye.

Nimble Jim took off his hat and made a low bow.

"Now, what is all this about?—and why are you neglecting your work, sir?" demanded she, sternly.

Jim trembled beneath her royal gaze, little as she was, and replied humbly:

"May it please your majesty, I wish I'd some melon-seeds that'd grow like magic. I am dead tired of being nothin' but a cobbler. I want to be a melon-merchant, and raise the finest, largest melons ever seen,—supply the whole kingdom with them, and grow to be as rich as the king himself."

"Oh, you do, do you?" she answered, laughing her merry little laugh, and capering up and down the moonbeam. "Oh! quite a modest youth! Well, I'll make a bargain with you; and if you will do something for me, you shall have your wish," said the queen.

Nimble Jim was about to pour out his gratitude, when she interrupted him, saying: "Now, Nimble Jim, listen to me. Your wish is a foolish one, and I warn you that if you gain it you will be sorry. Why will you not be content as you are?"

"Your majesty," replied the obstinate youth. "I cannot be content as I am."

"Well, since you insist on having your own way, we'll make our bargain. Here,"—and, sitting down on the moonbeam, she pulled off a shoe,—"here, sir, I want you to mend my shoe. I tripped just now on a rough place in this moonbeam. Mend the rip; show me you are a good cobbler, and I promise that you shall have your wish."

"But, your majesty," began Nimble Jim, taking the shoe, which was no bigger than a bean, "I can't sew such a little shoe; my fingers are ——"

"There, there! Stop! I'm a queen, and people don't say 'can't' or 'wont' to me, sir," interrupted her majesty, with much dignity. "Take the shoe, and find a way to mend it. I will come for it to-morrow night at this same place and hour," and off she went up the moonbeam, half skipping, half flying, while Jim stood stupidly staring until she had entirely disappeared. Then he began, slowly: "Well,—I—never —in—all—my—life—saw—such—a——"

He said no more, but went in, and sat up all night, thinking how and where he could find needle and thread fine enough to do such a piece of cobbling as this. About dawn a thought struck him. His mother thought he had gone crazy when she saw him chasing bees and pulling down spider-webs. Hours and hours he worked, and though his fingers were big, they were nimble, like his name; so, by and by, with a needle made of a bee's sting and thread drawn from a spider-web, he sewed up the rip in her fairy majesty's dainty shoe.

He hardly could wait for the hour of meeting, but went into the garden, with the shoe in his hand, long before the time. At length, the queen came sliding down the moonbeam, laughing and singing:

"Hello, Nimble Jim! How are your melons?"

But he was not angry now; he only laughed respectfully, made a profound bow, and said:

"May it please your majesty, I have mended your majesty's shoe."

The merry little queen took it from him, looked at it closely, saying to herself: "Humph! I didn't think he could, but he did,"—and, turning to Jim, said, much more graciously than before: "I suppose you think yourself quite a cobbler; and so you are—for a mortal. Since you have done your work so well, I will do as I said. Now," she continued, handing him a little package about as big as a baby's thumb, "plant these melon-seeds, and——"

"Are these little things melon seeds? They look too small," interrupted Jim,—for he had made no ceremony, even in the queen's presence, about peeping into the package,—and it must be confessed that they were very small indeed.

"Certainly they are, or I would not tell you so. They are the magic melons of fairy-land. As I was about to say when you rudely interrupted, plant——"

"I beg your pardon, your majes——"



"Will you keep still? Was there ever such a chatterbox!" said she. "I say, plant these melon-seeds to-morrow at sunrise, and you will have your wish, foolish boy." And, while Jim was thinking of melons and wealth, she skipped away up the moonbeam, singing:

"Nimble Jim is quite demented,— Wants to be a melon-king! Silly mortal! not contented With the riches home-joys bring! Oh! ho! Oh! ho! He will be sorry to-morrow; To-morrow will bring only sorrow."

But Nimble Jim heeded her not. This night also he could not close his eyes, and in the early morning he hastened to tell his mother their good fortune. She looked grave, and said:

"Ah, my lad! I'd rather you minded the cobbler's bench, nor trafficked with fairies. I fear me they're uncanny folks to deal with."

"Never fear, mother; we'll be rich yet, and I'll make you a queen yourself, and then you need spin no more," said Jim, wild with hope and excitement.

"I don't mind the spinnin', my boy. I'd rather be——".

Jim heard no more, for he dashed off at once to the garden to plant his precious seeds just at sunrise. With furious energy, he tore up all his old vines, flung them over the fence, and, after that, spaded up the melon-bed with the greatest care. Then he opened the paper and poured the magical seeds into his hand.

There were only four—four wee seeds, each no bigger than a pin's head! His first impulse was to fling them away in wrath, for he thought such little things couldn't possibly make as big a fortune as he wanted. But then he reflected, "Fairies are little, so I suppose their seeds are little, too. I'll try them, anyhow." And with that he put them in the ground and carefully covered them.

In an instant, the ground burst open in four places, and up shot four sturdy melon-vines, that grew east, west, north, south!

Grew? No! they raced, they tore, they dashed through the country far and wide! In no time, before Nimble Jim could get back to the house door, the whole yard was full of melon-vine, and one great big melon, bigger than the cottage itself, blocked the door-way.



"Oh! oh! oh!" roared Jim. "What have I done? What shall I do?" And with his spade he cut a hole through the melon. It took him a whole hour, and when he got into the house he found that his poor mother had fainted from fright.

And all the time the vine and melons kept growing—east, west, north, south.

Nimble Jim was frantic!

But the vines didn't mind Jim. On they went, growing like mad, a mile a minute, faster than any railroad train. The big arms filled up the main roads; the smaller ones crammed themselves into the lanes and by-paths, while the tendrils embraced the tall trees, the houses, and the church steeples, and snarled up everything. The leaves grew so large, thick and green that they covered the whole face of the country, shutting out the sun from the fields so the crops couldn't grow; and the whole kingdom became so dark from the awful shade of Nimble Jim's magic melon-vine, that the people had to burn candles day and night.

It grew like mad. On! on! Stem, branch, leaf, tendril, fruit—on, on it went! The melons grew—great, round, smooth, rich, ripe, juicy melons, as big as houses—at the cross-roads, on the roads, in the fields, filling barn-yards and door-yards so people and cattle couldn't pass, or go in or out, till they had eaten their way through the melons, or got ladders and climbed over, or dug trenches and crawled under! On, on it went, surrounding the king's palaces and choking up his forts! Down, down it grew into the brooks and rivers, and out into the king's harbors, where the tendrils seized and wound about his ships of war riding at anchor, and climbed up the masts, while melons grew on the decks till the vessels sank to the bottom! It choked up and drank up all the rivers and lakes in the kingdom, or dammed them up so the waters overflowed the land, drowning people and cattle, and sweeping away houses and barns!

On, on it grew—melons, melons everywhere! Ruin and starvation stared the nation in the face; while poor, poor Nimble Jim, hid within the rind of the melon he had dug out, shivered, cried and bewailed his folly.

"I'll be killed! I'll be killed! The people will murder me!" he shrieked. But no one of them all save his mother knew he had had anything to do with bringing on the dire calamity that had befallen the kingdom.

Then some of the people proposed: "Let us go immediately to our king, and ask him to make a law that the vine shall stop growing ere it ruin us forever."

But when they had eaten and hewed their way to the palace, they found the king had gone to count his soldiers; and while he was gone the vine came galloping along, and an enormous melon grew and blocked up the palace gate. So they had to help the king and his guards force their way through to the hall of audience.

When they all were in, and the king had wiped the melon-juice off his robes and crown, and was fairly seated on his throne, surrounded by his guards and courtiers, the trumpets sounded, drums beat, banners waved, and the people fell on their knees and said:

"O mighty king! We, thy liege subjects, have come to tell thee of the ruin and desolation this fearful vine maketh in all thy great kingdom, and to entreat thy majesty to enact a law forbidding it to grow any more, and commanding it to wither away."

"Alas!" answered the troubled king, "what can I do? No law of mine can stop this awful thing. It is an enchanted vine sent to torment us. Hear me, my people! Proclaim it, ye my heralds! I pledge my kingly word to give up my crown and kingdom, and change places with any one of my subjects who will wither and instantly sweep away this direful vine. I, your king, am as helpless as a child to stop it."

And the king, who was a good old man, shed tears for the misery of his people, and commanded the queen and all the court to dress themselves in mourning and fast night and day.

The people got home as best they could, and each fell to thinking how he could stop the vine and so be king. Even Nimble Jim heard of this. So, every night, he watched, hoping to see the elfin queen. At last she came, as before, on her moonbeam footpath, saying: "Hello, Nimble Jim! How are your melons by this time?"

But he was in no mood to be facetious now. He only said, humbly:

"May it please your majesty, what can I do to stop the growth of this horrible vine, and instantly sweep it from the face of the earth? Help me, I beg your gracious majesty!"—and Jim knelt before her.

"Ha, ha! Nimble Jim don't seem to like melons! I told you you'd be sorry," laughed the little elfin queen. "I suppose you still want to be as rich as the king? Or perhaps you would like to be the king himself?" said she, tauntingly.

"Of course I would, your majesty," said Jim, "if the vine can only be stopped."

"You are a very good cobbler, Nimble Jim," she answered, "and since you mended my shoe so nicely, and as the king has promised to exchange with any one who will wither and destroy the vine, and as you might as well be king as another (and as you need a good lesson," said she to herself), "I give you the means to do it all!"

And the tiny queen pulled off the mended shoe, and cried: "Here, you silly boy! Take this and run to the palace. Once there, you need touch but a tendril with this magic shoe, and the vine will wither and disappear, and the crown and kingdom will be yours. I wish you joy of both. Good-bye! You will learn contentment yet, poor Jim, I hope," she added, as he ran out of hearing, with the precious little shoe in his hand.

Leaving his poor mother behind, for he had forgotten all about her during these days, Jim set off for the palace. It was a long, hard journey, on account of the melon-vines, that not only blocked the road, but even chased him. Many a narrow escape had he from being crushed to death in the embrace of some young tendril that would shoot out, wriggling and writhing toward him like a great green serpent.

At length, he arrived at the palace gate, which in old times was marble, but now was only a hole that had been cut through a melon.

"Halt! Who goes there!" shouted a sentinel, thrusting his spear in front of Jim's panting breast.

"It's only Nimble Jim, the Cobbler. I want to see the king," said the boy.

"Be off, you fellow!" shouted the sentry. "Our noble king don't hob-nob with cobblers! Be off, I say, or——" And he shook his spear at our hero ominously.

"Hold, there!" shouted the king himself, straining out of a window to look between the melon-leaves. "Hold, I say! What do you want, young cobbler?"

"I want your crown and kingdom, sire," boldly answered Jim. "I've heard of the new law, and I'll stop the melon-vine."

"Let him pass, guards," shouted the king; "and send him hither."

A little page dressed in black led Jim to the throne-room. The king and his court no longer blazed in gold and jewels. Black covered everybody and everything, even the golden throne itself, and grief and dismay were on all faces.

Then said the king, in a hollow tone: "What know you of this vine? Speak!"

And Jim, tremblingly, told the whole story.

"Wicked boy!" groaned the king. "You well deserve punishment for the ruin you have brought on the land. But I have passed my royal word, and you shall try to destroy the vine. If you succeed, bad as you are, you then will be the king and I the cobbler. But if you fail, you shall be put where you shall have nothing but melons to eat for the rest of your days. Guards, take him away!"

That night, before the king and queen and all the assembled court, when the moon was fairly risen, Nimble Jim touched with the toe of the magic shoe the end of a tendril that was running rapidly up a tower.

In an instant, every vestige of the vine vanished throughout all the palace grounds; and in the morning the people all over the country shouted for joy and cried with one voice: "Let us all go up to the coronation, for to-day we have a new king who has delivered us from the horrible vine."

And on they came, in hordes, till the capital was full and the country about the palace was one vast camp, while throughout the kingdom not a trace of the vine was to be seen.

Then the nobles and prelates prepared for the coronation. It was magnificent. They girt Jim with the sword of state, clothed him in the imperial robes, placed the scepter in his hand, and, as the golden crown descended upon his head, all the people shouted:

"Hail, King Nimblejimble, our deliverer! Long live the king!"



And the silly boy was happy.

Meanwhile, the poor, faithful old king, who cheerfully had given up all for his people, was hammering and stitching and digging away on Jim's cobbler-bench off in the village; and Jim's mother, whom the naughty boy, in his strange elevation, had forgotten all about, tenderly cared for the humbled old monarch.

Before long, the elfin queen saw how patient the old king and Jim's mother were, and how badly Nimble Jim was behaving now he was king, for he was given up to all sorts of wickedness and tyranny, was fast becoming hated by every one, and himself was beginning to see that he was not nearly so happy as he had been while he was a cobbler.

Jim was really good at heart, only his unreasonable discontent with his lot had got him into all this misery. At last, he began to repent, and, one moonlight night when he was walking alone on the palace terrace, he said:

"I wish I could see that little elfin queen, and I would ask her to let me go back home again."

"Well, here I am!" said the silvery voice; and, sitting on a moonbeam beside him, there she was. "Tired of being king, Jim?" she asked.

"Yes, your majesty, indeed I am," he replied.

"Want any more melons, Jim?" said she, laughing.

"No, no, no!" groaned Jim. "No more!"

"How is your mother, Jim?" asked her majesty.

"Alas! I don't know,"—and he hung his head in shame.

"Are you ready to go and see her, Jim?" she asked, gently. "And will you be contented now?"

"Yes, yes!" was his eager reply.

Now, the old king had been mending shoes all day, and was at this moment resting in the cottage porch, when, suddenly, he was whisked away on a cloud and landed in his palace again. His crown was popped on his head, and the scepter thrust in his hand, while his old chamberlain tenderly tucked him up in bed.

At the same instant, another cloud brought back Nimble Jim to his bench and his faithful mother, who at once made him some oat-meal porridge without a murmur or word of reproach.

"There!" said the elfin queen to herself. "That boy is cured of his silly notions."

"Mother, I think I don't care much for melons. I wont plant any more," said Jim next morning.

"I don't like 'em myself, lad," said the mother. "I'd a deal rather you'd stick to the bench, like your auld father."

"I will, mother dear," answered Nimble Jim. And he is mending shoes there to this day, as happy as happy can be.

* * * * *



"Oh! I'm my mamma's lady-girl And I must sit quite still; It would not do to jump and whirl, And get my hair all out of curl, And rumple up my frill. No, I'm my mamma's lady-girl, So I must sit quite still."

* * * * *



A BUDGET OF HOME-MADE CHRISTMAS GIFTS.



HINTS FOR GIRLS AND BOYS, LITTLE AND BIG.[1]

[Footnote 1: The present paper will enable our young friends to make over seventy different articles for Christmas gifts. While a few familiar things may be found among them, a great majority of the objects are entirely novel, and are here described for the first time. All who may wish for still further hints in regard to home-made Christmas presents will find very many useful suggestions in the paper "One Hundred Christmas Presents, and How to Make Them," published in ST. NICHOLAS for December, 1875—Vol. III.]



Who is it that every year invents the thousand-and-one new and pretty things which hang on Christmas-trees, and stuff the toes of Christmas stockings? Who is it that has so wise and watchful an eye for the capacities of little people, and the tastes of bigger ones, providing for each, planning for tiny purses with almost nothing in them, as well as for fat wallets stuffed with bank-bills, and suggesting something which can be made, accepted and enjoyed by everybody, large and small, all the wide world over? Who can it be that possesses this inexhaustible fertility of invention and kindness of heart? No ordinary human being, you may be sure. Not Father Santa Claus! He has enough to do with distributing the presents after they are made; besides, fancy-work is not in a man's line,—not even a saint's! But what so likely as that he should have a mate, and that it is to her we are indebted for all this? What an immense work-basket Mother Santa Claus's must be! What a glancing thimble and swift needle and thread! Can't you imagine her throwing aside her scissors and spool-bag to help the dear saint "tackle up" and load the sledge? And who knows but she sits behind as he drives over the roofs of the universe on the blessed eve, and holds the reins while Santa Claus dispenses to favored chimneys the innumerable pretty things which he and she have chuckled over together months and months before the rest of us knew anything about them?

This is not a fact. It can't be proved in any way, for none of us knows anything about the Santa Clauses or their abode. There is no telegraphing, or writing to the selectmen of their town to inquire about them; they haven't even a post-office address. But admitting it to be a fiction, it is surely a pleasant one; so, as the children say, "Let's play that it is true," and proceed to see what Mother Santa Claus has in her basket for us this year. We will first pull out some easy things for the benefit of little beginners who are not yet up to all the tricks of the needle; then some a little harder for the more advanced class; and, at bottom of all, big girls not afraid to dive will find plenty of elaborate designs suited to their taste and powers.

Here, to begin with, is something nice for papa's pocket:

A POSTAGE-STAMP HOLDER.

Cut two pieces of perforated board, or of stiff morocco, two inches long by one and a half wide, and stitch them together, leaving one end open. If you choose the board, a little border in cat-stitch or feather-stitch should be worked before putting the pieces together, and, if you like, an initial in the middle of one side. If the morocco is chosen, an initial in colored silk will be pretty, and the edges should be bound with narrow ribbon, and over-handed together.

Cut two other pieces of the material a quarter of an inch smaller than the first. Bind the morocco with ribbon. Make a fastening at one end with a ribbon loop; place the stamps between the two, and slip the little envelope thus filled into the outer case, the open end down. It fits so snugly that it will not fall out in the pocket, and is easily drawn forth by means of the loop when papa wants to get at his stamps.



A letter-case for papa's other pocket: This can be made either of morocco, oiled silk, or rubber cloth. Cut an envelope-shaped piece, about an inch larger all round than an ordinary letter envelope. Bind the edges, work an initial on one side, and for a fastening use a loop of elastic braid.

SAND-BAGS FOR WINDOWS.

These are capital presents for grandmammas whose windows rattle in winter weather and let cold air in between the sashes. You must measure the window, and cut in stout cotton cloth a bag just as long as the sash is wide, and about four inches across. Stitch this all round, leaving one end open, and stuff it firmly with fine, dry sand. Sew up the open end, and slip the bag into an outer case of bright scarlet flannel, made just a trifle larger than the inner one, so that it may go in easily. Lay the sand-bag over the crack between the two sashes, and on cold nights, when you are asleep, grandmamma will rejoice in the little giver of such a comfortable bulwark against the wind.

RACK FOR TOOTH-BRUSHES, IN RUSTIC-WORK.

This is very simple, but it is pretty as well. Cut two straight spruce twigs, each having two or three little branches projecting upward at an angle of forty-five degrees. These twigs must be as much alike in shape as possible. Place them six inches apart; lay two cross-twigs across, as you see them in the picture, and tie the corners with fine wire, or fasten them with tiny pins. Two diagonal braces will add to the strength of the rack. Hang it to the wall above the wash-stand by a wire or ribbon. The tooth-brushes rest on the parallel branches.



For further particulars concerning spruce-wood work, see ST. NICHOLAS, Vol. III., pp. 114 and 115.

MINIATURE HANGING-SHELVES.



Boys who have learned to use their pocket-knives skillfully may make a very pretty set of hanging-shelves by taking three bits of thin wood (the sides of a cigar-box, for instance), well smoothed and oiled, boring a hole in each corner, and suspending them with cords, run in, and knotted underneath each shelf as in the picture. The wood should be about eight inches long by three wide, and the shelves, small as they are, will be found convenient for holding many little articles.

PAPER-CUTTERS.

Another idea for these graduates of the knife is this falchion-shaped paper-cutter. It can be made of any sort of hard-wood, neatly cut out, rubbed smooth with sand-paper, and oiled or varnished. It has the advantage that the materials cost almost nothing. Suggestions for more elaborate articles in wood will be given further on.



A WALL LETTER-HOLDER.

This is something which quite a little boy could make. Cut out three pieces of thin wood, a foot long by six inches wide; smooth and sand-paper two of them, bore a hole in each corner and in the middle of one side, and fasten them together with fine wire, cord, ribbon, or the small brass pins which are used for holding manuscripts. The pieces should be held a little apart. Cut one end of the third piece into some ornamental shape, glue it firmly to the back of one of the others, and suspend it from the wall by a hole bored in the top. It will be found a useful thing to hold letters or pamphlets. A clever boy could make this much handsomer by cutting a pattern over the front, or an initial, or monogram, or name in the middle. The wood should be oiled or shellacked.



SHOE-CASES.

These cases are meant to take the place of paper when shoes are to be wrapped up to go in a trunk. They are made of brown crash, bound with red worsted braid. One end is pointed so as to turn over and button down, or the top has strings over the braid to tie the mouth up. There should be three or four made at a time, as each holds but one pair of shoes; and you will find that mamma or your unmarried aunts will like them very much.



SKATE-BAGS.

A nice present for a skating boy—and what boy does not skate?—is a bag made much after the pattern of the shoe-case just described, only larger and wider, and of stouter material. Water-proof cloth or cassimere is best. Sew it very strongly, and attach a string of wide braid, or a strong elastic strap, that the bag may be swung over the shoulders. A big initial letter cut out in red flannel and button-holed on will make a pretty effect.

A SCALLOP-SHELL ALBUM.

Young folks who are fortunate enough to have a pair of good-sized scallop-shells (picked up, perhaps, at the sea-side during the last summer vacation), can make a very pretty little autograph album in this way:



Take a pair of well-mated scallop-shells. Clean them with brush and soap. When dry, paint them with the white of egg to bring out the colors, and let them dry again. Now insert between the shells a dozen or more pages of writing-paper, cut of the same shape and size as the shells, and very neatly scalloped around the edges. Then secure the whole loosely, as shown in the picture, by means of a narrow ribbon passed through two holes previously bored in the shells. Of course, holes also must be pierced in the sheets of paper to correspond with those in the shells.

A LITTLE NUN.

This droll figure is cut out in black and white paper. Fastened at the end of a wide ribbon, it would make an odd and pretty book-mark. The black paper should be dull black, though the glossy will answer if no other can be procured. Fig. 1 of the diagrams is cut in white, a rosary and cross being put in with pen and ink, and is folded in the middle by the dotted lines, the head and arms being afterward folded over, as indicated. Figs. 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 are cut in black and pasted into place, leaving a narrow white border to the bonnet, a mite of white band at the end of the sleeve, and a suggestion of snowy stocking above the shoe. Fig. 6, cut double, forms a book, which can be pasted to look as if held in the hand.



BEAN-BAG CASES.

Are there any of you who do not know the game of bean-bags? It is capital exercise for rainy days, besides being very good fun, and we would advise all of you who are not familiar with it to make a set at once. Usually, there are four bags to a set, but any number of persons from two to eight can play at bean-bags. Each player holds two, flinging to his opponent the one in his right hand, and rapidly shifting the one in his left to the right, so as to leave the left hand free to catch the bag which is thrown at him. A set of these bags would be a nice present for some of you little girls to make for your small brothers; and there are various ways of ornamenting the bags gayly and prettily. The real bags must first be made of stout ticking, over-handed strongly all round, and filled (not too full) with white baking-beans. Over these are drawn covers of flannel, blue or scarlet, and you can work an initial in white letters or braid on each, or make each of the four bags of a different color—yellow, blue, red, green; anything but black, which is hard to follow with the eye, or white, which soils too soon to be desirable.



BABY'S SHOES IN CASHMERE.

Babies who can't walk are particularly hard on their shoes! We once heard of one who "wore out" nine pairs in two months! In these circumstances, it seems very desirable to have a home shoe-maker, and not have to frequent the shops too often; so we will tell you of an easy kind, which almost any little sister can make. You must take an old morocco shoe which fits, and cut out the shape in paper, first the sole, and then the upper. Then cut the same shape in merino or cashmere, line the little sole with Canton flannel or silk, and bind it with very narrow ribbon. Line and bind the upper in the same way, and feather-stitch round the top and down both sides of the opening in front; sew on two ends of ribbon to tie round the ankle, and the shoe is done. It will look very pretty on baby's pink foot, and he will thank you for your gift in his own way, by kicking his toes joyfully, and getting the shoes into his mouth as soon as possible.

A HEMLOCK PILLOW.

It is rather late in the year to make these pillows, but you can try them for next Christmas. They must be prepared for beforehand by gathering and drying a quantity of the needles of the hemlock, the fine ones from the ends of the young shrubs being the best. Make a large square bag of cotton, stuff it full of the needles, and inclose it in an outer case of soft thick silk or woolen stuff. The one from which we take our description had "Reve du foret" embroidered on it in dull yellow floss, and we don't believe any one could help dreaming of the forest who laid a cheek on the pillow and smelled the mingled spice and sweetness of its aromatic contents.

SACHETS FOR LINEN-CLOSETS.

If you have any old-fashioned lavender growing in your garden, you can easily make a delightful sachet for mamma to lay among her sheets and pillow-cases in the linen-closet, by cutting a square bag of tarletane or Swiss muslin, made as tastefully as you please, and stuffing it full of the flowers. Another delightful scent is the mellilotte, or sweet clover, which grows wild in many parts of the country, and has, when dried, a fragrance like that of the tonquin-bean, only more delicate.

TISSUE-PAPER MATS.



We like to be able to tell you about these mats, for they cost almost nothing at all, and are so simple that any little boy or girl can make them. All the material needed for them is three sheets of tissue-paper,—a light shade, a medium shade, and a dark shade, or, if you like, they can also be made of one solid color, but are not quite so pretty then. Cut a piece of each color nine inches square, fold it across, and then across again, so as to form a small square, and then fold from point to point. Lay on it a pattern, like the first diagram on next page, and cut the tissue paper according to the lines of the pattern. Opening the paper, you will find it a circle, with the edge pointed in scallops. Now take a common hair-pin, bend its points over that they may not tear the paper, slip it in turn over each point, as shown in the diagram, and draw it down, crinkling the paper into a sort of double scallop. (The second diagram on next page will explain this process.) Treat your three rounds in this way, lay them over each other like a pile of plates, stick a small pin in the middle to hold them, set a goblet upon them, and gently arrange the crinkled edges about its base, so as to give a full ruffled effect, like the petals of a dahlia, although less stiff and regular. These mats are exceedingly pretty.



A WORK BASKET IN VANILLA GRASS.

If any of you live where the sweet-scented vanilla grass grows plentifully, you can make a delicious little basket by drying the long wiry blades, braiding them in strands of three, tying the ends firmly together to make a long braid, and coiling and sewing as in straw plaiting. Two circles the size of a dessert plate should be prepared, one for the bottom of the basket, and the other for the top of the lid (the latter a trifle the larger). Then draw the braid tighter, and form a rim to each about two inches deep. The lid, which is separate, fits over the bottom, and the scent of the grass will impart itself to everything kept in the basket.

So much for the dear little people. Our next dip into Mother Santa Claus's basket brings out a big handful for girls (and boys) who are a trifle older,—say from twelve to fifteen.

HAIR-PIN HOLDERS.

On the next page is a picture of the hair-pin holder when finished; and above it you will find a diagram of it when cut out and not yet put in shape. It is cut, as you will observe, in one piece. The material is perforated card-board, either white or "silver." The dotted lines show where to fold it.

A, A and B, B are lapped outside the end pieces, D, D, and held in place by stitches of worsted, long below and very short above, where the sides join. A little border is worked in worsted at top and bottom before the sides are joined. The inside is stuffed with curled hair, and topped with a little cover crocheted or knit in worsted—plain ribbing or the tufted crochet, just as you prefer. A cord and a small worsted tassel at either end complete it, and it is a convenient little thing to hang or stand on mamma's or sister's toilet-table. It will be an easy matter to enlarge the pattern, if this hair-pin holder would be too small.



A CRIB-BLANKET FOR BABY.

The prettiest and simplest crib-blanket which we have seen of late, was made of thick white flannel, a yard wide, and a yard and a quarter long. Across each end were basted two rows of scarlet worsted braid, four inches apart, and between the two a row of bright yellow braid. These were cat-stitched down on both edges with black worsted, and between them were rows of feather-stitching in blue. Above, in each corner, was a small wheel made of rows of feather-stitch—black, red, yellow and blue. Nothing could be easier to make, but the effect was extremely gay and bright, and we advise some of you who are lucky enough to "belong to a baby" to try it.

ANOTHER BABY'S BLANKET.

For this you must buy a real blanket—one of the small ones which come for use in a baby's crib. Those with blue stripes and a narrow binding of blue silk are prettiest for the purpose. Baste a narrow strip of canvas between the stripes and the binding, and with blue saddler's silk doubled, work in cross-stitch a motto, so arranged that it can be read when the top of the blanket is folded back. If the stripe is red instead of blue, the motto must be in red silk, and it should, of course, have reference to the baby. Here are some pretty ones in various languages: "Nun guten ruh, die augen zu" (Now go to sleep, and shut your eyes). "Cap-a-pie" (From head to foot). "Ad ogni ucello, suo nido e bello" (To every bird its own nest is beautiful). And here is one in English:

"Shut little eyes, and shut in the blue; Sleep, little baby, God loves you."

The same idea can be beautifully applied to a pair of large blankets, but this is rather a considerable gift for young people to undertake.

SUMMER BLANKETS.

A pair of thin summer blankets, of the kind which are scarcely heavier than flannel, can be made very pretty by button-holing them all round loosely with double zephyr wool in large scallops, and working three large initials in the middle of the top end.

A WORK-BASKET FOR "SISTER."

For this, you must buy a straw basket, flat in shape, and without a handle. It can be round, square, oval, or eight-sided, just as you prefer. You must also buy a yard of silk or cashmere in some pretty color. Line the whole basket, first of all cutting the shape of the bottom exactly, and fastening the lining down with deft stitches, which shall show neither inside nor out. Make four little pockets of the stuff (six if the basket is large), draw their tops up with elastic cord, and fasten them round the sides at equal distances. These are to hold spools of silk, tapes, hooks-and-eyes, and such small wares, which are always getting into disorder in a pocketless basket. Between two of the pockets on one side, suspend a small square pincushion, and on the other a flat needle-book hung by a loop of ribbon. At the opposite ends, between the pockets, fasten an emery bag and a sheath of morocco bound with ribbon to hold a pair of scissors. Finish the top last of all with a quilling of ribbon, and you have as dainty and complete a gift as any younger sister can wish to make, or any older one receive. It will cost time and pains, but is pretty and useful enough to repay both.

A FANCY WHEELBARROW.

This cannot be made easily by any boy or girl who is not already acquainted with fancy wood-sawing, and to such the illustration gives all the hint that will be needed. We would simply suggest that the body of this barrow is about six inches long, that it is lined with crimson silk, and that standing upon a dressing-bureau, writing-table, or mantel-shelf, it makes a very pretty receiver of cards or knick-knacks. Many beautiful Christmas gifts can be made by boys or girls owning one of the little bracket-saws, which, with books of directions, can now be bought in almost any hardware shop.



For further particulars on wood-carving, see illustrated articles in ST. NICHOLAS, Vol. I., pp. 84, 215, 346, 592.

A SET OF TEA-NAPKINS.

There hardly could be a nicer gift for a girl to make for her mother or married sister than a set of tea-napkins, with a large initial letter in white, or white and red, embroidered on each. The doily should be folded in four, and the letter out-lined in lead pencil in the corner of one of the quarters. If inked very black on paper, and held dry to the window behind the linen, the initial is easily traced. The pattern is then run and "stuffed" with heavy working-cotton, and the letter embroidered in finer cotton. Another nice gift is a long fringed towel, with three very large letters in white, or blue, or crimson, worked half-way between the middle and the side edge. Folded over lengthwise, it is a convenient thing to lay on a bureau-top or the front of a sideboard, and the large colored letters make it ornamental as well. Patterns of initials can be bought in any fancy shop. If desired, they can be bought already worked, requiring only to be transferred to the napkin.

NAPKIN-BANDS.

Any of you who have mastered cross-stitch, and learned to follow a pattern, will find these bands easy enough to make. Their use is to fasten a napkin round a child's neck at dinner, and take the place of that disobliging "pin," which is never at hand when wanted. You must cut a strip of Java canvas, two inches wide by a foot long; overcast the edges, and work on it some easy little vine in worsted, or a Grecian pattern, or, if you like, a short motto, such as "More haste, worse speed." Line the strip with silk, turn in the edges, overhand them, and finish the ends with two of those gilt clasps which are used to loop up ladies' dresses.

A RUSTIC VASE.



It is very easy to get the material out of which this vase is made. You need only go to your wood-pile, or, if you have none, to the wood-pile of a neighbor. Choose a round stick four inches in diameter and eight or ten inches long, with a smooth bark. If you find the stick, and it is too long, you can easily saw off an end. Now comes the difficult part of the work: The inside of the stick must be scooped out to within four inches of the bottom. The easiest way of accomplishing this will be to send it to a turning-mill if there is one at hand; if not, patience and a jack-knife will in the end prevail. Next, with a little oil-color, paint a pretty design on the bark, if you can,—trailing-arbutus, partridge berry, sprays of linnea,—any wood thing which can be supposed to cluster naturally round a stump. Set the stump in a flower-pot saucer, filled with earth, and planted with mosses and tiny ferns; fit a footless wine or champagne glass, or a plain cup, into the hollow end, and, with a bunch of grasses and wild flowers, or autumn leaves, you have a really exquisite vase, prettier than any formal article bought in a shop, and costing little more than time and patience, with a touch of that rare thing—taste! which, after all, is not so very rare as some people imagine. Any friend will prize such a vase of your own making.

A TABLE-COVER.

A really charming cover for a small table can be made in this way: Cut a square—or oblong, as the case may be—of that loosely woven linen which is used for glass-towels, making it about four inches larger all round than the table it is meant to fit. Pale yellow or brown is the best color to select. Ravel the edges into a fringe two inches deep; then, beginning two inches within the edge, draw the linen threads all round in a band an inch and three-quarters wide. Lace the plain space thus left with dark-red ribbon of the same width, woven in and out in regular spaces, and at each corner tie the ribbon in a graceful knot with drooping ends.

ANOTHER TABLE-COVER.

This cover is made of pale-brown Turkish toweling. Cut a piece of the size to suit your table, and baste all round it, first a row of scarlet worsted braid, then of olive, then of yellow, leaving spaces each an inch and a half wide between the rows. Cat-stitch the braids down on both edges with saddlers' silk, and feather-stitch between them in silks, choosing colors which harmonize, and turning the whole into a wide stripe brilliant and soft at the same time. The choice and placing of the colors will be excellent practice for your eye, and after a little while you will be able to tell, as soon as a couple of inches are done, if you are putting the right tint into the right place. It is infinitely more interesting to feel your way thus through a piece of work than to follow any set pattern, however pretty, and it is far more cultivating to the taste.

A PAPER TRANSPARENCY.

Take a piece of white, or tinted, or silver paper, exactly ten and a half inches square. Fold it double diagonally. Fold it double again. Fold it double once more.

You will now have a triangular-shaped form of eight thicknesses. Now lay this folded piece on a pine table, or on a smooth piece of pine board. Next, lay evenly over it, so that it will fit exactly, the "pattern of transparency," or an exact tracing from it. When so placed, secure them firmly to the board by pins driven in at each corner. Now, with a very sharp pen-knife follow and cut through to the board the lines of the pattern, so as to cut out all the portions that show black in the design. When this is all done, pull out the pins, open your folded paper, and you will have a square form beautifully figured in open-work. It should be laid between two sheets of white paper and carefully pressed with a hot iron, and then it can be lined with black or fancy tissue paper, and hung against a pane in the window as a "transparency;" or you may use it as a picture-frame, inserting an engraving or photograph in the center.

The original, from which our pattern is taken, was cut during the late war by a young Union soldier while in Libby prison.



SHAWL-BAGS.

These bags are capital things to save a shawl from the dust of a journey, and, if of good size, can be made to serve a useful purpose by packing into them dressing materials, etc., for which there is not room in your hand-bag. The best material for them is stout brown Holland. Cut two round end-pieces eight inches in diameter and a piece half a yard wide by twenty-four inches long. Stitch these together, leaving the straight seam open nearly all the way across, and bind its edges and the edges of the end-pieces with worsted braid (maroon or dark brown), put on with a machine. Close the opening with five buttons and button-holes. Bind with braid a band of the Holland two inches wide, and fasten it over the button-holed side, leaving a large loop in the middle to carry the bag by.

By way of ornament you may embroider three large letters in single-stitch on the side, using worsted of the color of the braid, or may put a pattern down either side of the opening and round the ends in braiding, or a braided medallion with initials in the center.

A JAPANESE BASKET FOR GRANDMOTHER.

You will never guess what the top of this droll little basket is made of, unless we tell you. It is one of those Japanese cuffs of brown straw which can be bought nowadays for a small price at any of the Japanese shops. You may embroider a little pattern over it—diagonally, if you wish to make it look very Japanese-y; line it with silk or satin, and fasten a small bag of the same material to the bottom, drawn up with a ribbon bow or a tassel. A band of wide ribbon is sewed to the top. Grandmamma will find this just the thing to hang on her arm for holding her knitting-ball, or the knitting itself if she wishes to lay it aside. This sort of basket also is useful as a "catch-all" when hung at the side of a dressing-bureau.



A CATCH-ALL, MADE FROM A SINGLE SQUARE.

This is very pretty, and very easily made. Take a piece of silver (or gold) perforated paper, eight inches square, and ornament it with worsted or silk, as in the diagram, all in one direction. To make the cornucopia, it is only necessary to join any two edges (as A and B) by first binding each with ribbon and then sewing them together. Line with silk, and put box-plaiting at the top. A worsted tassel might be put at the top (in front) as well as at the bottom, and a loop at C.



If silver paper is used, the trimmings would better be all red. All blue would look well with gold paper. But the colors may be varied according to taste. If your friend is a brunette, you will find that he or she will be most pleased with the red, while a blonde will prefer blue.



A WALL-POCKET OF SPLITS.

Splits, or cigar-lighters as they are sometimes called, are to be had at any of the fancy shops. They are an inch wide and about seven inches long, and come in various shades of brown and straw color, and their flexibility makes it easy to weave them in and out like basket-work. For the wall-pocket you must weave two squares, each containing six splits each way, but one made larger than the other, as seen in the picture. A few stitches in cotton of the same color will hold the strips in place. Line the smaller of the squares with silk, and lay it across the face of the other in such a way that the four points shall make a diamond, touching the middle of each side of the square. Fasten it to the wall by two of the splits crossed and united by a bow of ribbons, and fill the pocket with dried autumn leaves and ferns gracefully arranged.



SILHOUETTE LIKENESSES.

This is rather a Christmas game than a present, but will answer well for either; and young folks can get much fun out of an evening spent in "taking" each other. Each in turn must stand so as to cast a sharp profile shadow on the wall, to which is previously pinned, white side out, a large sheet of paper, known as silhouette paper, black on one side and white on the other. Somebody draws the outline of this shadow exactly with a pencil; it is then cut out and pasted neatly, black side up, on a sheet of white paper. Good and expressive likenesses are often secured, and droll ones very often. Try it, some of you, in the long evenings which are coming.



A LEAF PEN-WIPER.

Your pattern for this must be a beech-leaf again,—a long one this time,—or you may trace the shape from the illustration. Outline the shape as before, and from the model thus secured cut six leaves in flannel—two green, two brown, and two red, or red, white and blue, or any combination you like. Snip the edge of each leaf into very tiny points, and chain-stitch veins upon it with gold-colored floss. Attach these leaves together by the upper ends, arranging under them three triply pointed leaves of black broadcloth or silk to receive the ink, and finish the top with a small bow of ribbon.



A BIRDS'-NEST PEN-WIPER.

Girls are always trying to find something which they can make to delight their papas, and a gay little pen-wiper with fresh uninked leaves rarely comes amiss to a man who likes an orderly writing-table. Here is a pretty one which is easily made. For the pattern you may borrow a moderately large beech-leaf from the nearest tree (or botanical work); lay it down on paper, pencil the outline and cut it out neatly. Repeat this six or eight times in black cloth or velvet, and sew the leaves round a small oval or circle of black cloth. Knit and ravel out a quantity of yellow worsted or floss silk, and with it construct a nest in the center of the oval, putting a hen into the nest. This hen may be made of canton flannel, stuffed with cotton-wool and painted in water color, with a comb of red flannel, two black beads for eyes, and a tuft of feathers by way of tail. But better still and much easier, buy one of the droll little Japanese chicks which can be had at the shops now for twenty or twenty-five cents, and fasten it in the middle of the nest. Three plain circles of cloth are fastened underneath for wiping the pens.

JAPANESE PEN-WIPER.



A nice little pen-wiper can be made by cutting three circles of black cloth, snipping the edges or button-holing them with colored silk, and standing in the middle one of the droll little Japanese birds just mentioned. Of course it should be secured firmly at the feet. There are long-legged birds and short-legged ones. A tiny stork is very pretty.

BLEACHED GRASSES.

Some of you who have been pressing autumn leaves for winter use may like to hear of a new way of bleaching grasses to mix with them. The process is exceedingly simple. Take a few of the grasses in your hand at a time, dip them into a pan of water, shake gently, dip into a pan of sifted flour, and again shake gently. All the superfluous flour will fall off, but enough will remain to make the grasses snowy-white. When dry it is perfectly firm, and you would never guess what process produced the effect. A bunch of these white grasses in a coral-red basket is a vivid object.

Colored grasses, to our thinking, are not half so pretty as the same grasses when left in their own soft natural browns and yellows. Still, as some people like them, we will just mention that the same process can be used for them as for the white grass, by mixing with small portions of flour, a little dry paint powder, vermilion, green, etc. A bunch of the deep red mixed with the bleached grass has a gay and uncommon effect.

A NUBE IN TWO COLORS.

A novelty in knitting is a nube in Shetland wool of two colors—pink or crimson or blue with white. The skeins are opened, and the two strands, laid side by side, are wound double in a large ball. The nube is then knit in the usual way with large needles and common garter-stitch, and is very fine.

LAMP SHADES.

Plain white porcelain lamp-shades, such as are used on the German student-lamps, look well when decorated with wreaths of autumn leaves put on with mucilage. We read lately in the Tribune that leaves treated with extract of chlorophyl became transparent. This would be a fine experiment for some of you to try, and a garland of the transparent leaves would be much more beautiful around a shade than the ordinary dried ones.