Part 1

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VOL. III.--NO. 110. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR CENTS.

Tuesday, December 6, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per Year, in Advance.

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MAX RANDER'S ADVENTURE IN BERLIN.

BY MATTHEW WHITE, JUN.

A few days after my war experience, we moved to Berlin, where Thad and I managed to have a more cheerful time of it, as father allowed us to walk by ourselves as far as we pleased in either direction on "Under Ten Lindens," which was the way my brother pronounced the name of the main avenue.

We used to wander up and down this street for hours, watching for Emperor William, although as soon as his carriage came in sight, I always hurried Thad around the nearest corner for fear he might be in the way of somebody who wanted to shoot the Kaiser. So we never saw anything more than the horses' heads, and the sun shining on the helmets of the officers.

I had now become very suspicious of these Germans and their queer customs, so when mother heard from some friends in another town that one of the young fellows in the party had been compelled to join the fire-company because he was over a certain age, and had lived there six months, I determined to keep my eyes open wider than ever.

Yet after all I got mixed up in a dreadful way before I had been in the city a week, and this is how it happened:

One morning Thad and I had walked a little further than usual, when we suddenly came upon a lot of people crowding about the entrance to a large building in a way that was so enticingly suggestive of a circus that we could not resist the temptation to join them.

As the Germans haven't yet invented any outlandish fashion of making figures, it did not take me long to find out the low price of admission from the sign before the door, and telling Thad to keep fast hold of my jacket, I began working my way inside.

I soon found that the crowd was not as dense as it had seemed, and in less than two minutes I had bought my two tickets, and was waiting my turn to pass through the narrow space where a man was taking them up. I gave one to Thad, and as I went in ahead of him, handed my own to the door-keeper, who looked at it and at me, then suddenly seizing me by the shoulders, turned me completely around, at the same time shouting out something that made everybody rush up and stare at me as if they had never seen a boy before.

This lasted for about five minutes, during which time I kept crying out in the most broken sort of English I could talk:

"Let me go. I'm an American, and haven't even seen your Emperor. Besides, I never shot anything out of a pistol but peas in my life. Oh, don't somebody understand?"

But nobody offered to help me, and as two fat men with red faces came up and prepared to march me off between them, I could only resign myself to my fate, first begging Thad, however, to run back to the hotel as fast as he could, and tell father that I had been arrested.

All this while the crowd had been very merry at my expense, and when the two fat men began to walk off with me, loud laughs and cheers were heard on every side. In this humiliating manner, then I was taken from one end of the building to the other, but to this day I can't remember what was in it, although I am sure there were neither horses nor clowns.

I had felt somewhat easier in my mind since sending after father, and was now expecting to see him rush in, "haggard with anxiety," at any minute, when I was suddenly walked out through a side door, and marched off in a direction directly away from our hotel.

"Hold on there! Where are you taking me?" I cried, struggling to free myself, with the sole result of making my captors grip tighter and laugh louder.

The next instant they turned into a photographer's, and signed to me that I was to have my picture taken.

"Well, it's all over with me now," was my despairing thought, as there came to my mind faint recollections of having somewhere heard that a certain class of prisoners were always photographed before being sent to jail.

While the artist was getting things ready, I had a desperate idea of refusing to sit still, but, as I sadly reflected further that by so doing I would only add to the malice of my enemies, I determined to remain passive, and let them do with me as they would.

But wasn't I just boiling over with wrath inwardly! To think that a free-born American should be seized in this shameful manner, and treated like any common criminal, was outrageous, and in spite of the terror I was in I felt like shaking my fist at the whole party, and letting them know that New York had a Seventh Regiment that could whip their entire army--at least I should think it could from the way I've heard Cousin Walter talk, who's a member of it.

As it was, I could do nothing but sit there like a statue, with my head pinched by the iron frame behind me, and the artist in front of me fussing around his cannon-like arrangement, which, had it gone off and killed me on the spot, I thought would be in no way surprising in this land of surprises.

In five minutes the picture was taken, and then as the two red-faced men came forward, I resolved to make one last, bold dash for liberty.

Giving a sudden spring, I bounded from the chair, rushed for the door, and--plumped straight into my father's arms.

"Well, Max," he began in the calmest tones imaginable, "I see they haven't quite taken all the life out of you yet," and then he went on talking in German with the fat men, who soon grew redder in the face than ever as they shook all over in fits of laughter.

And what do you suppose all the fuss had been about? Just this: I had happened to be the millionth visitor that had entered the building, and that person, whoever it might be, the managers had decided should be treated with great honor, conducted in state through the exhibition, and finally have his photograph taken as a souvenir.

I brought one of the pictures back to America with me, and the boys at school all think it's a big thing; but then I've never told them as many of the particulars as I have just confided to YOUNG PEOPLE.

BITS OF ADVICE.

BY AUNT MARJORIE PRECEPT.

ABOUT CHRISTMAS GIFTS.

It is not the amount a gift costs in money which makes it beautiful and valuable. It is the loving thought of which it speaks which constitutes its claim to our regard. A person with a pocketful of money might rush into a store, buy half its contents, and scatter them right and left among his friends, without giving them much pleasure.

If you really wish to show your family and acquaintances that you love and would like to please them, you will suit your gifts thoughtfully to each of them, studying their necessities and tastes. You will not give grandma a gay neck ribbon, and Angie a pair of spectacles, nor present the cook with a volume of Tennyson, and brother Theodore with a pair of slippers when he already has three pair not worn out.

Gifts which little fingers themselves make are always especially prized by mammas and aunties. There is a great deal of fun and pleasure in preparing for Christmas, and half of it comes from the difficulty of making peoples' presents, when the people are always popping in at the wrong moment. Let me suggest two or three pretty things which the girls may make without much trouble, and with very little expense.

A chintz bag to contain the weekly stockings until they are mended is a gift to be prized by a busy mother. Let it be of any size you please, and gather it on either side to a square of pasteboard, the corners rounded a little at the lower edge. These squares must be covered, and on one of them may be gathered a little outside bag to hold darning cottons and thimbles, while the other must have some bits of gay flannel attached for a needle-book.

A set of table napkins may be worked with a tiny design in each corner. Beautiful hair-receivers are made of tiny Japanese parasols, opened half way, and looped up with ribbon. A baby's rattle may be easily made. Set up twenty-four stitches with scarlet single zephyr, knit across plain twenty-two times, bind off, and leave an end long enough to sew up the sides. Run strong thread through every stitch on one end, draw up tightly, and fasten; then stuff it with cotton, and when nearly full put in a twisted cord. Then make two more pieces of other colors, stuff in the same way, and fasten little bells to each, attaching all three to a rubber ring.

The little fan-shaped shells which are gathered on the beach in summer make lovely emery needle-cushions. Stuff the cushion with emery sand, and glue it fast to the shells, the large rounding ends apart. Tie with a loop of narrow satin ribbon.

A very beautiful afghan for grandpa can be made without much labor, if the whole family will join in knitting it. Take German town wool; you will need six hanks of black, three of white, three of pink, three of blue, and three of yellow. Set up fifty stitches for each strip, and make the strips each a yard and a half long. Crochet together with black, and finish with a deep fringe.

A small photograph on an easel, a growing plant, an album filled with stamps, a handkerchief case made of crocheted worsted over silesia or muslin, a scrap-book filled with selections--any little thing, in fact, which says, "I love you," is a fit and graceful Christmas gift.

A WAR FOR AN ARCHBISHOP.

THE CURIOUS STORY OF VLADIMIR THE GREAT.

BY GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON.

In the latter part of the tenth century Sviatozlaf was Grand Prince of Russia. He was a powerful prince, but a turbulent one, and he behaved so ill toward his neighbors that, when an opportunity offered, one of them converted his skull into a gold-mounted drinking cup, with an inscription upon it, and his dominions were parcelled out between his three sons, Yaropolk, Oleg, and Vladimir.

Yaropolk, finding his possessions too small for his ambition, made war on Oleg, and conquered his territory; but his brother Oleg having been killed in the war, the tender-hearted Yaropolk wept bitterly over his corpse.

The other brother, Vladimir, was so grieved at the death of Oleg that he abandoned his capital, Novgorod, and remained for a time in seclusion. Yaropolk seized the opportunity thus offered, and made himself master of Vladimir's dominions. Not long afterward Vladimir appeared at the head of an army, and Yaropolk ran away to his own capital, Kiev. Vladimir at once resumed the throne, and sent word to Yaropolk that he would in due time return the hostile visit.

About this time Yaropolk and Vladimir both asked for the hand of the Princess Rogneda, of Polotzk, in marriage, and the father of the princess, fearing to offend either of the royal barbarians, left the choice to Rogneda herself. She chose Yaropolk, sending a very insulting message to Vladimir, whereupon that prince marched against Polotzk, conquered the province, and with his own hand slew the father and brothers of the princess. Then, with their blood still unwashed from his hands, he forced Rogneda to marry him.

Having attended to this matter, Vladimir undertook to return his brother's hostile visit, as he had promised to do. Yaropolk's capital, Kiev, was a strongly fortified place, and capable of a stout resistance; but Vladimir corrupted Blude, one of Yaropolk's ministers, paying him to betray his master, and promising, in the event of success, to heap honors on his head. Blude worked upon Yaropolk's fears, and persuaded him to abandon the capital without a struggle, and Vladimir took possession of the throne and the country. Even in his exile, however, Yaropolk had no peace. Blude frightened him with false stories, and persuaded him to remove from place to place, until his mind and body were worn out, when, at Blude's suggestion, he determined to surrender himself, and trust to the mercy of Vladimir. That good-natured brother ordered the betrayed and distressed prince to be put to death.

Then Vladimir rewarded Blude. He entertained him in princely fashion, declaring to his followers that he was deeply indebted to this man for his faithful services, and heaping all manner of honors upon him. But at the end of three days he said to Blude: "I have kept my promise strictly. I have received you with welcome, and heaped unwonted honors upon your head. This I have done as your friend. To-day, as judge, I condemn the traitor and the murderer of his prince." He ordered that Blude should suffer instant death, and the sentence was executed.

Now that both Oleg and Yaropolk were dead, Vladimir was Grand Prince of all the Russias, as his father before him had been. He invaded Poland, and made war upon various others of his neighbors, greatly enlarging his dominions and strengthening his rule.

But Vladimir was a very pious prince in his heathen way, and feeling that the gods had greatly favored him, he made rich feasts of thanksgiving in their honor. He ordered splendid memorials to various deities to be erected throughout the country, and he specially honored Perune, the father of the gods, for whom he provided a new pair of golden whiskers--golden whiskers being the special glory of Perune.

Not content with this, Vladimir ordered a human sacrifice to be made, and selected for the victim a Christian youth of the capital. The father of the boy resisted, and both were slain, locked in each other's arms.

Vladimir gave vast sums of money to the religious establishments, and behaved generally like a very devout pagan. His piety and generosity made him so desirable a patron that efforts were made by the priests of other religions to convert him. Jews, Mohammedans, Catholics, and Greeks all sought to win him, and Vladimir began seriously to consider the question of changing his religion. He appointed a commission, consisting of ten Boyards, and ordered them to examine into the respective merits of the different religions, and to report to him. When their report was made, Vladimir weighed the matter carefully.

He began by rejecting Mohammedanism, because it forbids the use of wine, and Vladimir was not at all disposed to become a water-drinker. Judaism, he said, was a homeless religion, its followers being wanderers on the face of the earth, under a curse. The Catholic religion would not do at all, because it recognized in the Pope a superior to himself, and Vladimir had no mind to acknowledge a superior. The Greek religion was free from these objections, and, moreover, by adopting it he would bring himself into friendship with the great Greek or Byzantine Empire, whose capital was at Constantinople, and that was something which he greatly desired to accomplish.

Accordingly he determined to become a Christian and a member of the Greek Church; but how? There were serious difficulties in the way. To become a Christian he must be baptized, and he was puzzled about how to accomplish that. There were many Greek priests in his capital, any one of whom would have been glad to baptize the heathen monarch, but Vladimir would not let a mere priest convert him into a Christian. Nobody less than an archbishop would do for that, and there was no archbishop in Russia.

It is true that there were plenty of archbishops in the dominions of his Byzantine neighbors, and that the Greek Emperors, Basil and Constantine, would have been glad to send him a dozen of them if he had expressed a wish to that effect; but Vladimir was proud, and would not think of asking a favor of anybody, least of all of the Greek Emperors. No, he would die a heathen rather than ask for an archbishop to baptize him.

Nevertheless, Vladimir had fully made up his mind to have himself baptized by an archbishop. It was his life-long habit, when he wanted anything, to take it by force. He had taken two-thirds of his dominions in that way, and, as we have seen, it was in that way that he got his wife Rogneda. So now that he wanted an archbishop, he determined to take one. Calling his army together, he declared war on the Greek Emperors, and promising his soldiers all the pillage they wanted, he marched away toward Constantinople.

The first serious obstacle he met with was the fortified city of Kherson, situated near the spot where Sevastopol stands in our day. Here the resistance was so obstinate that month after month was consumed in siege operations. At the end of six months Vladimir became seriously alarmed lest the garrison should be succored from without, in which case his hope of baptism must be abandoned altogether.

While he was troubled on this score, however, one of his soldiers picked up an arrow that had been shot from the city, and found a letter attached to it. This letter informed the Grand Prince that the water-pipes of the city received their supplies at a point immediately in his rear, and with this news Vladimir's hope of becoming a Christian revived. He found the water-pipes and stopped them up, and the city surrendered.

There were plenty of bishops and archbishops there, of course, and they were perfectly willing--as they had been from the first, for that matter--to baptize the unruly royal convert, but Vladimir was not content now with this. He sent a messenger to Constantinople to tell the Emperors there that he wanted their sister, the Princess Anne, for a wife; and that if they refused, he would march against Constantinople itself. The Emperors Basil and Constantine consented, and although Vladimir had five wives already, he married Anne, and was baptized on the same day.

Having now become a Christian, the Grand Prince determined that his Russians should do the same. He publicly stripped the god Perune of his gorgeous golden whiskers, and of his rich vestments, showing the people that Perune was only a log of wood. Then he had the deposed god whipped in public, and thrown into the river with all the other gods.

He next ordered all the people of his capital city to assemble on the banks of the Dnieper River, and, at a signal, made them all rush into the water at once, while a priest pronounced the baptismal service.

That is the way in which Russia was changed from a pagan to a Christian empire. The story reads like a romance, but it is plain, well-authenticated history. For his military exploits the Russian historians call this prince Vladimir the Great. The people call him St. Vladimir, the Greek Church having enrolled his name among the saints soon after his death. He was undoubtedly a man of rare military skill, and unusual ability in the government of men. Bad as his acts were, he seems to have had a conscience, and to have done his duty so far as he was capable of understanding it.

THE TALKING LEAVES.[1]

An Indian Story.

BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.

CHAPTER X.

[1] Begun in No. 101, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

Captain Skinner and his miners were quickly at the head of the ravine again, but the gold ledge stopped them all as if it had been a high fence.

"Cap," said the man called Bill, "of course them two fellers lit onto this mine. They couldn't ha' helped it. But they haven't done a stroke of work on it. Reckon we kin set up marks of our own."

"Twon't pay."

"We can't leave a claim like this."

Every man of the party was of the same opinion, and Captain Skinner said: "Go ahead, boys. Only I can tell you one thing--we're going to move out of this, through that western gap, before daylight to-morrow morning. We're too near those red-skins down there to suit me. There's no telling how many there may be of them."

The men sprang to their work with a will. The first thing they did was to set up a "discovery monument" right in the middle of the ledge, at the head of the chasm.

Large flat stones were laid down, others carefully set upon them, and so up and up, until a pretty well shaped four-sided pyramid had been made, six feet square and as many high.

Then two more, nearly as large, were set up at the ends of the ledge, where the gold vein disappeared in the high cliffs. Seven strong men can do a great deal in a short time when they are in a hurry and all understand exactly what to do.

"Now we'll go for supper, and send out the rest."

"Must have a shaft begun and a blast fired."

The miners have a law of their own among themselves that a man who finds a mine must do some work on it and set up "marks," or else his claim to it is of no value.

These miners only paid no attention to another "law," that a man like Steve Harrison, for instance, is entitled to all the time required to do his work and set up his monuments. One part of the law is just as good as another.

The return to camp was quickly made, and there was news to tell all around, for the hunters not only brought in game, but also the information that they "reckoned an army train could be hauled down that gap to the westward. It's almost as good as a road."

"We'll try it to-morrow," said the Captain.

He went out with all the men he could spare from camp as soon as supper was eaten, and they carried with them pickaxes, crowbars, mining drills, and shovels. All the tools were pretty well worn, but they would answer for the work in hand.

It was getting dark when they reached the ledge; but that was of less consequence after two huge bonfires had been built near the central monument, and heaped with fragments of fallen pine-trees.

Then the work began.

"Gangs of three," said Captain Skinner--"one on each side. We'll have two shafts started. Bill, drill your blast right there."

The shafts would not have been needed for a long time in actually working out ore from a ledge like that, but two such holes would make a very deep mark, that could not be wiped out, and the blast would make another.

It was hard work, but as fast as the men who were prying and picking loosened a piece of quartz, it was lifted away by their comrades, and it was a wonder how those two shafts did go down.

All the while Bill was tapping away with his hammer and drill on the spot pointed out to him, and was making a hole in the rock about the size of a gun-barrel.

"Two feet, Cap," he shouted at last. "That's as far as I can go with this drill, and it's the longest there is in camp."

"That'll do. Charge it. Our job's 'most done."

The night was cool, but the miners had kept themselves warm enough. They were not sorry when their hard-faced little Captain ordered them out of the two holes; but it was odd to see such great, brawny fellows obeying a man who looked almost like a dwarf beside them.

"Got her charged, Bill?"

"All right, Cap."

"Stand back, boys. Touch yer fuse, Bill."

That was a slow-match that stuck out of the hole he had drilled in the rock, and it led down to the charge of powder he had skillfully rammed in at the bottom.

"We can hardly afford to waste so much powder," the Captain had muttered, "but it won't do for me to cross 'em too much on such a thing."

Back they went for a hundred yards, while the fuse burned its slow, sputtering way down through the "tamping" Bill had rammed around it.

They had not long to wait. The blazing fires lit up the whole ledge and the bordering cliffs, and the miners could see distinctly everything that happened on it. Suddenly there came a puff of smoke from the drill hole. Then the rock outside of it, toward the chasm, rose a little, and a great fragment of it tumbled over down the ledge, while a dull, thunderous burst of sound startled the silence of the night, and awaked all the echoes of the cliffs and the cañon. No such sound had ever before been heard there, by night or by day, since the world was made; but Captain Skinner and his miners were not thinking of things like that.