Chapter 4

OLD JACK SEES A REMEMBERED FACE.

One evening, when Ralph went into the forecastle, he found Jack alone there. The old sailor had just been overhauling his sea-chest, and had in his hand the baby's shoe which he had so long carried for good luck.

"I was just looking at it," he said, "because to-day I came across the father of that identical baby. I hadn't seen him for about sixteen years, but I knew him in a minute. He was puffing his cigar, just as he used to do about the decks of the Moro Castle."

"What!" exclaimed Ralph, "the very man? Oh, how I wish I had been with you! Who is he, and where does he live?"

"That I don't know," replied Jack. "Of course, he didn't know me, and I hadn't a very good chance to introduce myself. He was jabbering with a lot of other Spaniards on a corner, with his _caramba_ and his _como esta usted_, so that I didn't feel like going up to him with a yarn about a baby's shoe. Which way he went I don't know, for I had to get back to the ship."

"When was it?" asked Ralph, with great earnestness.

"It was while I was ashore this noon."

"Why didn't you tell me?" said the boy. "I would have gone right ashore. But, no--I couldn't have found him without you. Dear me! I wish I could have been with you."

"Why, my lad, it's of no consequence," said Jack. "You seem to think more of it than I do."

"But I want to see him," replied Ralph. "I wonder if he is about here every day?"

"Likely enough," said Jack. "But I didn't think you cared anything about the matter."

"Well, I'm thinking of that baby's shoe," answered Ralph. "It seems so queer--the way you got it, and the way you have kept it."

"I know that's odd," said Jack. "I suppose my keeping it is all nonsense."

"No, it isn't," said Ralph. "I don't think it is, I'm sure."

"You believe a little in old shoes, then?"

"I believe in _that_ shoe, Jack. I mean to go ashore with you, and have a good look for that man."

"But we shouldn't stand much chance of finding him," replied Jack. "I've been here in Santiago a number of times, but this is the first time I have run across him here."

Ralph looked anxious and excited; but he saw that Jack felt somewhat surprised at the interest he took in the matter, and so restrained himself.

"After all," he thought, "it may have nothing to do with _me_. Just a baby on its passage to the United States. But, then, it was going to Philadelphia, and it was a boy baby; and I must have been a baby at the same time. I wonder what Jack would say if he knew what I am thinking of?"

It would be strange, he thought, if he were really to get track of himself in such a way--the first of the tracks being made by that tiny shoe in Jack's chest. And then he reflected how improbable it seemed, when there were so many babies in the world, that he should have been _that_ baby.

"I almost hope the thing will never come to light," he said to himself. "Perhaps it is better not to know."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

IN A MENAGERIE.

There is a distinct individuality among tigers, as among ourselves, some being gentle and tolerably tractable, while others are fierce, morose, and not to be trusted.

In Mr. G. Sanger's menagerie, at Margate, England, there are two tigresses which are of exactly opposite characters. Both go by the name of "Bessy," there being an extraordinary lack of originality in the nomenclature of animals.

The difference may be partly owing to the accident of birth, one having been captured while young, and the other born in a menagerie.

One might naturally imagine that the latter would be the better tempered of the two, she never having known the freedom of savage life. But, in accordance with the invariable rule, the "forest-bred" animal is the tamer, those which have been born in captivity being always uncertain in their ways, and not to be trusted.

Now, "Bessy the First" is forest bred. The head keeper, Walter Stratford, has the most perfect confidence in her, and can take any liberties with her.

After I had paid several visits to the menagerie, I thought that she began to recognize me, and therefore cultivated her acquaintance. Now, as soon as I enter the house, Bessy tries to attract my attention, expects to be patted and stroked, her ears to be pulled, and her nose rubbed, just as a pet cat would do.

One day I had an unexpected experience with her. Nearly the whole of the end of the room is occupied by a huge cage, in which Stratford delights in putting all sorts of incongruous animals.

There are several varieties of monkeys, a porcupine, a goat, some rabbits and guinea-pigs, a few geese and ducks, four cats, a coati-mondi, two raccoons, a jackal, a little white Pomeranian dog named Rose, two pigs, and other animals.

Thinking that the goat would like some fresh grass, I went to the lawn, gathered a large handful, and brought it to the goat.

Not a blade of that grass did she get. I had hardly held the grass to the bars when Rose flew at it, drove the goat away, and literally tore the grass out of my hands. Three times did I fetch grass before the goat was allowed to eat a blade of it. Ever since that time I have always furnished myself with a good supply of grass before visiting these animals.

On one occasion I stopped as usual at Bessie's cage, and noticed that she stared fixedly at the grass. So I said, jokingly:

"Why, Bessy, you cannot want grass. However, here it is if you want it."

So I put my hand into the cage, and was much surprised by seeing her gently scrape the grass out of my hand with her huge paw. Then she lay down, gathered the grass between her paws, and licked up every particle of it.

When she had finished it, she looked appealingly in my face as if asking for another supply; so I brought a fresh handful, the whole of which she took in the same dainty way.

Meanwhile Rose was performing the most extraordinary antics at the end of the room. She had seen me bring in the grass, and naturally imagined that it was intended for her. What with disappointment, and what with jealousy, she was simply frantic, barking, yelping, jumping up and down, scratching at the bars of the cage, and expressing her outraged feelings in the most ludicrous fashion. Now I always give Bessy her allowance of grass first, and then take another portion to Rose and the goat.

It is a rather remarkable fact that the carnivora are much more eager for the grass than are the deer, camels, antelopes and other vegetable feeders.

As to "Bessy the First," she is so fond of Stratford, and places such reliance on him, that when she has cubs she will allow him to enter the cage, take away the cubs and hand them about among the visitors. In fact, she is quite pleased to see that her offspring attract so much attention.

Very different is "Bessy the second." She never had a very good temper, but was not considered to be a very dangerous animal, until an event occurred which completely altered, or, at all events, had an evil influence upon her character.

Nearly two years ago, three young lion cubs were in the next cage to hers. One day she seemed to be seized with a sudden frenzy, smashed the partition between the cages, flew at the cubs, and killed two of them in a moment.

The whole attack was so quick and unexpected that Stratford had only just time to save the life of the third cub. Since that time she has been carefully watched, for when once a lion or a tiger has broken through a cage it is apt to repeat the operation.

"Bessy the Second" is restless, morose and suspicious, and if any of the animals make a sudden movement, she starts up, stares at them through the bars, and often sets up a series of roars, which have the effect of causing every lion and tiger in the place to roar for sympathy, so that the noise is deafening.

STORIES OF DUMB CREATURES.

--Says a naturalist: "We came to a large piece of timber, and while passing through it, I had my first experience with the honey-bird of South Africa. This curious little bird is, in size and plumage, about like an English sparrow, and gets his name from the fact that the little fellow, who is very fond of honey, being unable to obtain it for himself, will lead men to the places where the wild bees have hidden their stores of rich, wild honey. Whenever this bird sees a man, he will fly close to him, hovering around, uttering a twittering sound; then he will go off in the direction of the place (generally a tree) where the honey is, flying backward and forward in a zigzag fashion. Then back he will come, twittering in the same manner, as if to say, 'Come along: I'll show you where it is.' These actions are repeated until the tree is reached, when the bird will indicate it very plainly by flying to it and hovering around it. If the distance is great (and sometimes the honey-bird will lead a person who is willing to follow a distance of ten miles); he will wait on a tree until the follower comes up, and will then continue his business of piloting. He is very persistent, and will do his best to draw any one on; but if the party is not posted about honey-birds, and refuses to follow, or goes in the wrong direction, the bird will leave, probably in search of some person who will appreciate his efforts to provide him with sweetmeats. While the bees are being smoked out, and the honey taken up, the bird will hover in the vicinity until the job is done, when of course his reward comes in the shape of a feast on the fragments that are left. If he knows of other hives, just as soon as one is disposed of he will lead the way to another, and I have, since this time, known as many as four trees taken up by a party in one day. When the honey-bird has shown one tree, if the hunters are satisfied with that, and refuse to follow him further, he leaves them; but I have never heard of an instance in which the bird misled any one in regard to finding honey. It frequently happens, however, that a honey-bird will lead a person into very dangerous places, and unless the hunter keeps his eyes about him when following this bird, he may run right into a lion, a venomous snake, or some other equally undesirable acquaintance."

--A correspondent of a New Orleans paper writes: "Dick was only a big toad. The boys found him beside the road one day last summer when the June roses were in bloom, and triumphantly deposited him in one of the flower-beds, 'to eat the bugs and things off'n the pinks and pansies and rosemary; and, besides, you know, mamma, the other boys will throw stones at him.' That settled it, and Dick (as they gravely informed me they had named him) was left to enjoy his flowery home. Occasionally, when cutting flowers, I noticed the exceeding tameness of the little creature, and was often assured by the boys, 'Our Dick is the very best toad in town.' However, I noticed nothing uncommon until two or three weeks after they had brought him home, when I was attracted by their peals of laughter, and presently heard them calling, 'Dick, Dick! come, Dick!' I slipped out and peeped around the corner of the house, and beheld a most comical sight--one of the boys down on his knees, holding out his hands and calling to the toad, which was gravely hopping toward him, making a peculiar little noise, until he reached the outstretched hand, into which he hopped and sat contentedly blinking his bright, bulging eyes. After this I noticed the strange pet more closely, and found he would always come promptly when his name was called, and seemed very grateful when presented with a worm or bug. He would come at any kindly call, but showed greatest preference for eight-year-old, mischievous Teddy, into whose hand he would always hop, and whom he would hop around after as long as he would walk around the flower-bed where Dick made his home, but never beyond its limits. And such pansies, pinks and other sweet posies I had there!--no cut stem or bitten leaves. Dick ate all the floral enemies up that ventured there. When the cold days of autumn came upon us, he left us, and we have seen him no more. What is the moral of this? Nothing--only that kindness and mercy shown to even so humble a creature as a toad will bring pleasures and a sure recompense."

--Writing from Tecumseh, Mich., a correspondent sends this: "A few years ago our house was infested with a large number of rats, which had taken up their abode in a recess of the cellar that had formerly been used as a landing-place for a dumb-waiter, but was now filled with odds and ends of every description. We had endeavored to rid ourselves of these pests, but all our attempts were in vain, and they held their daily matinees as usual. On hearing more of a commotion than common, one afternoon, I softly opened the cellar door, and, to my amazement, saw nine rats, one of which had mounted a box containing potatoes, while the others were stretched out in a line leading to their den--the recess before mentioned. Now comes the most curious part of my story: The rat that stood on the box of potatoes would push a potato over the edge, then the rat in line nearest the box would roll the potato to his neighbor, and so on with each one till the potato was safely stowed away. I watched them for some time, and, seeing the potatoes disappearing rather rapidly, I dispersed the earnest workers by a stamp of my foot."

PUZZLEDOM.

NO. CCCLXXVII.

Original contributions solicited from _all_. Puzzles containing obsolete words will be received. Write contributions on one side of the paper, and apart from all communications. Address "Puzzle Editor," GOLDEN DAYS, Philadelphia, Pa.

ANSWERS TO LAST WEEK'S PUZZLES.

No. 1. Calendar.

No. 2. B E S T O W E P A U L E S A C R E D T U R B I D O L E I N E W E D D E D

No. 3. Wise-acre.

No. 4. C A L A B O O S E A N I M A B L E L I M E R O D A M E N D E B A R D S O B O E O L D S E E

No. 5. Mark Tapley.

No. 6. M O C H E S O T I O S E C I C U T A H O U D A H E S T A T E S E A H E N

No. 7. Good-humored.

No. 8. F A I R S A B N E T S I N T A I L S R E A L L I E D S T I L E T T O S S L I T H E R S E T E E D O R S

No. 9. Byrnehc, Pygmalion, Traddles.

No. 10. G R A T I S R E V E S T A V E N E R T E N U R E I S E R I N S T R E N E

No. 11. Cover-shame.

No. 12.

H U M E C T A T I O N P O L I A N I T E B A T T E N S S E T A E D O R O

NEW PUZZLES.

NO. 1. NUMERICAL.

When trees and fields _complete_ Their garbs of green; When birds and flowers sweet Again are seen, And airy zephyrs murmur by, My 5, 4, 3 and 6 soars high.

Oh! how I'm in a state Of agitation, 6, 1 and 2 I get An inspiration. 'Twill be in vain--in vain my lay, For spring will then have flown away.

_Villanova, Pa._ VILLANOVA.

NO. 2. SQUARE.

1. The young of the great black-backed gull. 2. To come. 3. Carves. 4. Granters. 5. To entirely destroy (_Obs._) 6. To grow smaller.

_Rochester, N.Y._ EGERTON.

NO. 3. CHARADE.

_Prime_ not, ye fair ladies, or gentlemen wise. To disbelieve what for your fortune will prove; _Next total_, not gold, should select as a prize, _Three_, friends, to the right, and marry for love.

_Danville, Va._ ALEDA.

NO. 4. PENTAGON.

1. A letter. 2. The pulp of fruit. 3. A shrub of the genus _Corylus_. 4. The Brazil nut. 5. Deep blue colors. 6. Contrite. 7. A detached bastion (_Fort._) 8. To admit extension. 9. Rigid.

_Haverhill, Mass._ PYGMY.

NO. 5. MUTATION.

Like a hawk that pounces on its prey, Swift as lightning on a summer day, Through the stillness of the air you came, Without life, and more--without a name. Man has called you _whole_--perhaps you are Dross ejected from some brilliant star! But methinks the spheres their place will yield ERE TO TIME your mystery is revealed.

_Newark, N.J._ DEMOSTHENES.

NO. 6. SQUARE.

1. Gaps. 2. By reason of this. 3. A fleet of vessels. 4. A sort of flying fish. 5. A title addressed to a lady. 6. The principal gold coin of ancient Greece.

_East Brady, Pa._ ST. ELMO.

NO. 7. CHARADE.

Come here, my _second_--lose no time; _First_ lively, don't procrastinate; Although, my _all_, I'll spare no pains To render you less obdurate.

My _all_! Yet truly as a _last_ I've learned to look upon my boy: Most true it is, 'tis but a _one_ From sad distrust to life of joy!

_First_ dame, indeed, I would not be Held in my _second's_ inmost thought; Transmuted by love's magic power, My _all_ my _last_ is, without doubt.

_Woburn, Mass._ GLEN COTTAGE.

NO. 8. HALF SQUARE.

1. Concise. 2. Birds resembling thrushes. 3. A poisonous substance composed of minute fungi. 4. Forms. 5. Kinds of liquor. 6. An iron chain (_Obs._) 7. Exists. 8. A letter.

_Boston, Mass._ PI ETA.

NO. 9. NUMERICAL.

The _whole_ is a thing that drives away harm, Defined by dear Webster as "a charm;" My 5, 6, 2, 3, 3 is by the same called "not much;" My 6, 7, 8, a "vassal," "subject," "person," or such: My 5, 2, 3, 1 is "taste," "savor," or "a sailor;" My 1, 2, 4, 3 of a coat is oft shortened by a tailor.

Now I think you have all you require to solve this numerical; If not, I will tell you the _whole_ relates to nothing clerical.

_N.Y. city._ ATELLO.

NO. 10. SQUARE.

1. Barley-water. 2. A small particle. 3. A fine white powder or earth, without taste or smell. 4. A paved way. 5. To convey or transfer. 6. Tidier.

_Chicago, Ill._ U. REKA.

NO. 11. ANAGRAM.

TOM, THESE MEN CRITICISE COMMON RATES.

The law's strong arm and stern decree Are turned against monopoly; Justice and equal rights for all Be ours though the heavens fall!

_Hazleton, Pa._ P. O. STAGE.

NO. 12. INVERTED PYRAMID.

_Across_: 1. The process of analysis by means of standard solutions (_Analyt. Chem._) 2. Little tufts. 3. Species of walls made of stiff clay. 4. To steal (_Obs._) 5. A letter.

_Down_: 1. A letter. 2. A pronoun. 3. To surpass. 4. To impair seriously. 5. A case in which the relics of saints were kept. 6. To produce. 7. A pronoun. 8. A bone. 9. A letter.

_Hoboken, N.J._ JUNIUS.

Answers will appear in our next issue; solvers in six weeks.

SPECIAL.--GOLDEN DAYS Puzzlers' Directory for each of the first correct solutions to Nos. 1, 3, 5, 7, 9 and 11.

SOLVERS.

Puzzles in "PUZZLEDOM" No. CCCLXXI were correctly solved by E. C. Lectic, Maud Lynn, Demosthenes, Barnyard, Skye Buckeye, Gemini, Egerton, H. S. Nut, Jr., Will O' the Wisp, F. Aitchell, Col. O' Rado, Dorothy Doolittle, Grepwic, Cricket, P. O. Stage, Sub Rosa, Fairplay, Alcyo, Tunie H. S., R. M'Bride, Jo Jo, Khimo, Lorrac, Billy Bluebottle, May Le Hosmer, O. Pal, Vladimir, F. Arce, Nue Norton, J. H. Mowbray, U. Reka, Sim Sly, Clarence W. Chapin, Reklaw, Io, Tom B. Stone, Toodlewinks, Jo Ram, Craftsman, Fly, Alpheus, Chinook, Puzz L., Teddy, Wm. H. Deucker, Annie Gramme, W. T. Anderson, C. R. Irving, Jr., Bennie Knowels, Monte Christo, V. G. Ohnja, H. U. T., Alphonzo, B. L. Under, Bryx, J. I. C., Harry S., Jno. Bopp, Cale and Harry Allen, J. Evans, Alpha Sigma, Liberty, Brooklyn Boy, Jno. Beck, Howard H. Geiger, Earnest Fleet, Washingtonian, Annie A. Powell, Dick Ens, C. H. Sweetzer, Panama Derby, Orpheus, Jno. Fitzgerald, Henn, Reidsville, Mahdea, A. B. Y. Nomis, H. C. Williams, Mas Ten, Panama Hat, Tidal Wave, Primrose, Geo. W. Phinney, J. F. Ireland, Laf A. Yette, Freddie Geib, R. O. Chester, A. B. Williams, Lucrezius Borgers, Lackawanna, Laeno, Whisk, Effie W.McConkey, C. B. A., Puer and Swamp Angel.

COMPLETE LIST.--E. C. Lectic.

The specials were awarded as follows:

No. 1. Cricket, La Porte, Ind. No. 3. Clarence W. Chapin, Akron. Ohio. No. 5. E. C. Lectic. Chicago, Ill. No. 7. Alcyo, New York city. No. 9. Jo Ram, New York city. No. 11. E. C. Lectic, Chicago, Ill.

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[->] _A new Serial Story, entitled_

Three Young Silver Kings!

BY OLIVER OPTIC,

Will Begin Next Week.

* * * * *

NATURE'S SCULPTURE.

BY GEORGE WALDO BROWNE.

Perhaps the strangest public work ever suggested by man was that of Dinocrates, whose scheme was to cut and carve Mount Athos into the form of a gigantic man, holding in one hand a town, in the other a cup to receive the drainage of the mountain before it reached the sea.

His king, Alexander the Great, declined to accept his plan; though, amused at his extravagant notion, he gave him a permanent place in his attendance.

A small village in Northern Italy to a wonderful extent fulfills the wild dream of the Macedonian architect, the houses being grouped in such a manner upon a broken eminence of land that from a certain point a striking resemblance to an upturned human face is outlined. In addition to a chin, nose and brow, a white chimney lends an eye to the profile, while a line of bushes at the crown has the appearance of shaggy locks.

Allowing that a vivid imagination has much to do toward perfecting these faces of nature's sculpture, and that a range of hills or coast line will lend itself to almost any fancy we choose, there are in different localities stones and cliffs bearing a remarkable resemblance to the human countenance, individual peculiarity sometimes being easily traced in these grave omens.

As the voyager approaches Rio Janeiro, he sees in the distance, apparently rising from the sea, lonely and majestic, a massive stone head, with the profile of the Iron Duke of England, the brow, the nose, the chin, each feature perfect in its outline.

St. Vincent, of the Cape Verde group, has a huge volcanic rock which requires no grievous strain of the imagination to transform into the figure of George Washington in a recumbent position, the profile, the hair and even the collar frill being reproduced with remarkable clearness.

Rising grimly from the whirlpool of waters beating fiercely the rugged western extremity of Santa Catalina Island, in the West Indies, is an isolated block of basaltic rock, many feet in height, bearing a marked likeness of a human face. It is known as "Morgan's Head," from a fancied resemblance to that noted free-booter.

Among the countless rocks fringing the coast of Norway is one forming a striking picture of a horse and rider about to plunge into the surf, fifteen hundred feet below. This gigantic illusion, to the fanciful minds of the old bards presented the image of Odin as he disappeared before the advance of Christianity.

In Iceland, overlooking one of its picturesque valleys, is a bluff surmounted by a colossal head, covered by a stunted growth looking not unlike a cap with frills. Before this august image the worshipers of Odin were wont to bow in serious reverence.

The rugged coast of England has several of these faces of nature. Off the Cornish point are seen the Great Lions, and lower down the shore the Armed Knight. There is also the Old Man, the Old Dame, Duke's Nose and Witch's Head.

Not the least remarkable of these freaks is the Old Man of the Mountain, who uprears his gigantic form amid a sea of cliffs and rugged heights, in the heart of that region known as the "Switzerland of America"--New Hampshire.

"What doth thy anxious gaze espy? An abrupt crag hung from the mountain's brow! Look closer; scan that bare, sharp cliff on high; Aha! the wondrous shape bursts on thee now-- _A perfect human face_--neck, chin, mouth, nose and brow!"

A face of granite that alone kept watch and ward over the country long ere the foot of man pressed its soil. In the grave, philosophical outlines is traced a resemblance to Franklin's countenance. At the base of this singular mountain lies a sparkling sheet of water, called the "Old Man's Mirror."

More beautiful and wonderful than any of these grave images is the Maid of the Kaaterskill Falls, in the Catskill Mountains. With the mellow light of sunset falling obliquely upon the thin layer of water flowing over a sharp ledge worn and fretted by the continual wear of the current for ages, rock and spray together making up the illusion, is to be seen the fairy-like form of an Indian maid, with flowing hair and robes. So clearly does she appear that the beholder has at first the startling conception of gazing upon a living being, suspended in the waters.

Indian tradition says that this maid of the mist was once the beloved of the Great Spirit; but herself falling in love with a Mohawk brave, she perished here, fleeing from her angry master.

MONUMENT PARK.

The formations from which this takes its name are among the greatest curiosities to be seen in Colorado. Pen cannot well describe them. They consist of a series of curiously shaped natural monuments, which have been formed from sandstone rock solely by the action of the weather, a thin strata of iron on the top having protected these particular pieces and preserved them.

No accurate estimate can be made of the thousands of years this work of the elements has been in progress. There are perhaps a hundred of the peculiar formations of different sizes and shapes, some of which are really fantastic.

The Garden of the Gods is also a remarkable freak of Nature, partaking somewhat more of the grand and imposing.

It is a secluded spot, hemmed in by great rocks stood up on edge and on end. They are some of the more marked of the numerous evidences on every hand here of a grand upheaval some time in the past.

Imagine tremendous flat rocks, large enough to cover a quarter of an acre of ground, standing up on edge, 330 feet high, and you will have some idea of what forms the chief wonder of this garden.

G. B. G.

BACKLOGS MADE OF STONE.

It will surprise many persons of the present day to be told that the "backlog" of which we read so much in old-time stories was a large stone, a porous stone being preferred if possible. This stone was buried in the ashes, and on top was placed the "back stick." The back stone in those primitive times played a very important part in the economy of early housekeeping. Matches were not then invented. Flint, steel and tow were the only means of lighting a fire or a lamp. Imagine for a moment the Bridget of to-day thus engaged, with the thermometer ten degrees below zero in the kitchen. The stone, together with the ashes with which it was covered, served to retain fire and heat through the night, and all that was necessary in the morning was a little kindling and gentle use of the indispensable bellows, and a fire was as readily made as at the present day.

MAMIE'S LETTER TO HEAVEN.

BY J. W. WATSON, AUTHOR OF "BEAUTIFUL SNOW."

An humble room in a tenement house, Four stories above the street, Where a scanty fire, a scanty light, And a scanty larder meet; A woman sits at her daily toil, Plying the needle and thread; Her face is pallid with want and care, And her hand as heavy as lead.

There she sits with her weary thought, While the tears drop full and fast; There she sits and stitches away, With her memory in the past; Beside her, perched on her little stool, Sits Mamie, a six-year-old, Who says she is never hungry at all, And never admits she is cold.

There she sits and chatters away, Not seeing her mother's tears; "Mamma, 'tis a month since winter came, And I think to me it appears That the Lord will never find us out, If He's anything to give, Unless we can, some way, let Him know The street and the number we live.

"You see, mamma, last winter He passed, While papa was sick in bed; He doesn't know we are here, mamma, And He doesn't know papa is dead; And so it happened all winter long We didn't have anything nice, And so I think it would only be fair If He came this winter twice.

"Do you 'member, mamma, that little, old man Who gave me the bright, new cent? Well, it wouldn't buy much to eat, mamma, And it would not pay for the rent; So I bought a sheet of paper, mamma, And I've written a letter in print-- It's written to heaven direct, mamma, And I've given Him just a hint.

"Shall I read it aloud to you, mamma? Yes! Well, this is what I have said: 'Dear Lord, my name is Mamie St. Clair, And dear, darling papa is dead; I live forty-four in the street they call Fourth, And the cold of the winter is here; My mamma is poor, and I go to school, And I hope you will send this year.

"'I hope you will send mamma a new dress Of something that's warm and nice, A paper of flour, some loaves of bread, And a couple of pounds of rice; And dear, loving Lord, do, if you feel rich, You could send her some shoes to wear, And two or three pounds of beef for soup, Or anything else you can spare.

"'I've heard my dear mamma say many a time That a chicken would do her much good, And so, dear Lord, if chickens is cheap, A chicken also, if you could; With three pails of coal, if it isn't too much, And some stuff for mamma's lame knee, And oh, my dear Lord, pray don't think me mean, But a dear little dolly for me.'

"That's all, my dear mamma, and now let me run And send it to heaven at once, For if He don't get it by Christmas time, He surely will think me a dunce." The letter was posted, the letter was scanned, With numberless grins by the men Whose duty it was to assort all the waifs That came from the wonderful pen.

"Now where's the dear Lord?" said one of these men; "That's me," said another, quite grave. "Here's a letter, then!"--tossing the missive to him, "And a twopenny stamp you will save." The letter was opened, the letter was read, There were very few tearless eyes; The reader looked round on the silent group, And then, with a nod, he cries:

"Now, boys, there is something in this that I like-- It's nature right straight up to win, And we've all of us got to be lords right here-- So here is my dot to begin." The dollars flew down on the table like snow, They came from the crowd's great heart, A letter was written by proxy and signed, The proposer to play the part.

And so it came off upon one winter night That there happened this strange affair; A tapping came soft at Mamie's door, And a very old man stood there; He was clad from his head to his feet so warm, And his beard it was long and white. "Good-even!" he said, as he pushed in a box Then vanished quite out of their sight.

They were speechless, and only could stare at the box Directed to Mamie St. Clair, From "The Lord in Heaven." What did it all mean? And a letter beside was there-- A letter from heaven read: "Be a good girl, And never do anything ill; Love mamma as well as you do to-day." And a fifty-dollar bill.

If I wrote from now till the crack of doom, I could tell no more than this. It was all packed down in that wonderful box, And the dolly--oh, gracious! what bliss! And in time that letter to heaven direct Sent many and many a friend, And perhaps a new papa--who knows?--may be sent By heaven itself, in the end.

Striking out for Themselves.

BY F. H. SWEET.

"Reckon we'll get 'em burned out by Tuesday week, Tom, and be ready for Pylant's oranges. Suppose the old fellow will want us to take pay in town lots, though."

"He'll get left if he does;" and the lad by the fire removed the skillet of fried bacon from the coals and put the coffee-pot in its place. "I'm willing to work out a five-acre lot, but don't want any towns. Say, Dave, what do you think of the party going to Punta Rassa?" he added, as he thrust a stick into the bean-pot to see what prospect there was for an early supper.

"Well, from what I hear, I fancy there is plenty of good land to be homesteaded in that section, and if we didn't have a good job here, I'd be for joining them. I begin to feel a little anxious to have some land where we can be starting trees of our own."

"Same here; but the land will come in good time, and while we've got a week's rations of bacon and hominy ahead, I shan't kick against luck. But grub's ready."

Both lads fell to with a relish. Beans seemed to be the central dish at almost every meal, and yet they somehow never seemed to tire of them.

They had encountered a good many hard knocks since leaving their Western home, but were evidently none the worse for them.

Dave Freeman, the son of a hard-working Kansas farmer, had come South to better his prospects, and with a deep but unexpressed longing to help the home folks.

At Flomaton, or Pensacola Junction, as it is now called, he had fallen in with Tom Byrne, an Indiana boy, and the two had soon become fast friends.

By getting occasional jobs along the way, and not infrequently "tramping it," they had reached their present quarters, near Panasofkee, in Sumter County.

Here they had taken a contract from a "papertown" proprietor to clear five acres of land for seventy-five dollars.

This was a low figure, as the ground was full of palmetto roots, and not only were the trees to be cleared from the land, but all stumps to be burned out.

The boys already had been at work over two months, and hoped that another week would complete the job. On the first, their employer was to commence gathering his oranges, and they expected several weeks' employment with him.

Although the work of clearing was very hard, the boys were rugged and hearty, and thoroughly enjoyed their novel surroundings.

After finishing their beans, they put away the few dishes, and began the round of their stumps. Here and there one was dying out, and new fuel had to be piled around it. As one stump burned out, it was dragged from its hole and placed against the roots of another.

And so, from one stump to another, adding fuel to this or dragging that away, their faces covered with soot, and looking more like negroes than white folks, the boys darted around, shouting gleefully to each other whenever one of the tall pines burned through and came crashing to the ground.

A little to one side, and out of reach of the fires, the boys had built a little six-by-ten shanty, where they kept their belongings and occasionally slept. More frequently, however, they slung their hammock between two pines, near the camp-fire.

At first, the peculiar roar of the alligators from the swamp near by had disturbed their rest, but they very soon got accustomed to it, and also to the startling challenge of a large bat, which is apt to frighten strangers by its sudden appearance and shrill cry.

A few days before the boys finished their contract, a party of surveyors stopped at their shanty to get a drink of water, and to see if they could get them for a couple of days.

As the pay offered was good, the boys were glad to accept it, and five minutes were sufficient to put their few belongings into the shanty and to nail up the door.

It took the party some hours to reach their destination, and as soon as they had partaken of a lunch, they began to survey a site for a new town.

The boys had seen a great many "paper towns" since they came to Florida, but as a rule had taken little interest in them. They were usually ventures of men who did not have money enough to make their speculations a success.

Tom and Dave were put to work carrying chain, and very soon became interested in the talk of their companions.

The spot chosen was a very beautiful one--a sloping hillside gradually narrowing into a strip six or seven hundred yards wide and running between two of the most picturesque lakes the boys had ever seen.

From the talk of the surveyors they learned that a number of them were railroad men, and that they were endeavoring to buy at nominal figures all the choice lands along the line of the new road before the settlers became aware of its value.

They discussed their plans before the boys without reserve, and it soon became evident to the latter that the future of this hillside could bear no comparison with the other paper towns they had seen. A number of very wealthy men were interested in it, and they proposed to make it the winter home of themselves and friends.

"You see, gentlemen," said one of the men to his companions, as he pointed across the strip of land to the slope on the other side, "the road will wind around the lake, across the neck of land, and along the western side of the lake to the right, and then in almost a bee-line toward Palatka. Ten years from now, and this hillside for forty miles will be a succession of orange groves. Near the depot we shall have a limited number of business lots, while the balance of the land will be surveyed into large orange grove and villa tracts. It will be specified in each deed that no cheap buildings shall be erected. It is not a mere speculation, as there are already a dozen or more men who will begin elegant residences as soon as the land is surveyed."

"Do you know, professor, who owns that point jutting into the lake? It is a fine building site."

The speaker was a tall, sharp-featured man of middle age, whom his friends addressed as doctor.

"No," answered the professor, "but I think a man named Pylant is the owner, and that the twenty acres beyond belong to a Dutchman in Eustis. However, we do not wish to make inquiries at present. They saw us when we came out, and should we go back now and value their land, they will put on four prices. Our policy is to go back as though we were disappointed in the land, and by the time we return next week they will offer it at our own figures. We can probably get it for two to four dollars an acre. It is thirty miles from any town, and as Pylant got it from the government, four dollars will be a big price to him."

"And in twelve months it will be worth as many hundred," said the doctor.

Tom and Dave looked at each other curiously, and wondered how they would feel if they owned a few acres on this hillside.

At the end of the week--for the two days' work had lengthened into five--the boys were paid fifteen dollars, and told they would be soon wanted for several months, should they care to return.

Everything was found safe at the shanty, and the boys went to work at the stumps with a will. At the end of the third day, the last root was reduced to ashes, and then Dave set to work to prepare a supper suitable for such an occasion. Fried quail (which they had snared), orange slump, pineapple shortcake, baked beans and a pot of steaming coffee graced the table (or rather box), while by way of dessert a pillow-case full of oranges, picked up in a neighboring grove, stood by the side of the banqueting board.

Next morning the boys went to see Mr. Pylant.

"So you've cleaned it up, have you?" he exclaimed, as the boys told him their errand. "I saw last week it was most done. Reckon you'll want a little money and the rest in land. Sharp boys! know land is best--goin' up, goin' up all the time."

"But if you please, Mr. Pylant, we'd rather have the money," said Dave, quietly.

"Money!" exclaimed the "cracker," in astonishment. "Why, boys, in one year there'll be a city on that land, and you'll be rich. The lots I let you have for thirty dollars'll be worth a fortune."

"We don't want any lots," replied Dave, decidedly. "We intend to get some land when we can, but we must have it large enough to put out a good grove on."

"Well, I'll sell you a five-acre lot near the village for two hundred dollars, and you can work it out."

"Too much," answered Dave. "We want cheaper land, and are willing to go a longer distance from town."

"But that's cheap," expostulated Pylant, who began to fear he would have to pay out money. "How far would you be willin' to go for land?" he added, as another idea seemed to strike him.

"Not particular, if the land is good and price low."

"Then I've got the identical place for you," cried Pylant, his face brightening; "splendid land, and on a beautiful lake."

"How far?"

Pylant hesitated.

"Mebbe it's twenty miles or so," he at length said, slowly; "but it's good, and I'll let you have it low."

"Twenty miles is a long distance from town," said Dave, dubiously; "but what'll you take?"

Fearing he would lose the sale, Pylant lowered the figures he had mentally fixed upon, and said, quickly:

"If you take the twenty acres, you can have it for three dollars and a half an acre. I reckoned on sellin' to the party here last week, and I 'lowed to myself I'd ask five dollars. But, somehow, they didn't seem to take to it."

"Well," said Dave, slowly, as though hesitating, "I reckon we'll take it. Can you fix up the deed now?"

"Right off!" answered Pylant, quickly, fearing the boys might change their mind. "Here are the other five dollars I owe you."

Ten minutes later, Dave and Tom were the owners of the coveted twenty acres.

For the next two weeks the boys worked in the orange grove and added another thirty-five dollars to their fund.

Their living cost very little, and they now had nearly fifty dollars between them.

Feeling comparatively wealthy, and with the prospect of, perhaps, weeks of idleness before them, if they remained where they were, the boys concluded to remove to their new possession.

Provisions enough to last two months were purchased, and with these, and with a miscellaneous collection of kettles, axes, and other tools, the boys set out.

Although the load was packed and strapped to their backs in the most convenient manner, it took two days to complete their journey.

The third was spent in making a camp and looking up the stubs which marked the boundaries of their twenty acres.

Like most of the high pine land in Florida, their tract was free from palmetto, and consequently much easier to clear than the low pine they had previously been at work upon.

Four weeks passed, and they had heard nothing from the surveying party.

Nearly three acres were cleared, and the boys were already calculating how many orange and lemon trees they would put out.

One morning, as Tom was digging a hole under the roots of a lofty pine, preparatory to setting it on fire, he was greeted with a surprised:

"Why, boys! What are you doing here?"

And he looked up to meet the keen eyes of the doctor.

"Clearing up our new purchase," answered Tom, quietly.

The doctor's shrewd face broadened into a smile.

"I see," he said, pleasantly. "But how much are we to pay you boys for outwitting us? I saw Pylant yesterday, and was told that you had the land. The old man was nearly crazy, when one of us said we would be willing to go as high as twenty dollars an acre."

"I reckon we don't care to sell at present," said Dave. "Our twenty acres wouldn't make much difference to you, who own as many thousand around the lakes."

The doctor and his friends laughed good-humoredly.

"That's right, boys," said the one called professor; "hold the land for an advance. It will come sooner than you expect, perhaps. But we shall want your services for the next three months, to help our surveyors; so be at our camp in the morning."

After this the boys could not complain of loneliness. A few weeks of surveying outlined the streets and blocks of the new town; a sawmill was quickly under way; buildings went up rapidly, and here and there were displayed the new goods of enterprising young merchants.

The fame of the new town spread through the surrounding country, and every day brought new arrivals, seeking work; and soon hundreds of axes could be heard on the hillside, clearing the land and making ready for the numerous young groves to be put out in the spring.

Dave and Tom had all the work they could do, and utilized the evenings and odd moments in burning the trees and stumps on their land. By the first of February they had five acres cleared and fenced, and ready for trees.

Believing the best to be the cheapest, they sent to one of the nurseries for three hundred and fifty budded trees. They took especial pains in setting them out, and in due time had as thrifty a young grove as one could wish to see.

The trees cost them all the money they had earned and most of what they had laid aside; but when they looked at their beautiful young grove, they were more than satisfied.

Before the end of the year the proposed railroad was built, and its advent made a tremendous rise in the value of land.

The boys had had many excellent offers for their land before, but invariably declined to consider them. As the depot had been built very near them, they knew their place must advance rapidly.

However, shortly after the erection of the depot, they received an offer of seven thousand dollars for the unimproved ten acres, and after a short consultation, decided to accept it. Dave had not seen his people for nearly two years, and was anxious to visit them. Tom, who was alone in the world, was to remain and look after their grove.

So a few weeks later saw Dave walking up the lane to the old homestead. Knowing how particular his father was, he was greatly surprised at the thriftless look of everything. A man was hobbling across the yard as he approached, and Dave saw with dismay that the haggard face belonged to his father.

Their meeting may be imagined, and Dave soon knew of the broken leg and the long, hard winter following it, with no one to look after things and unpaid bills accumulating rapidly.

"A sorry home-coming, my boy," said his father, with a wan smile.

But Dave's story quickly changed the aspect of things. The bills were paid; pinching want was a thing of the past.

And then Dave talked and argued until his parents agreed to return with him and spend the winter in Florida, and give that genial climate a chance to make his father well and strong again.

[_This Story began in No. 21._]

JACK STANWOOD;

or,

FROM OCEAN TO OCEAN.

BY JAMES H. SMITH.