Chapter 1

Produced by Annie McGuire

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VOL. I.--NO. 1. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR CENTS.

Tuesday, November 4, 1879. Copyright, 1879, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per Year, in Advance.

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THE BRAVE SWISS BOY.

_I.--THE SWISS PEASANT AND HIS SON._

The first beams of the morning sun were tipping with fire the jagged and icy peaks of the Wellhorn and Matterhorn, those gigantic monarchs of the Bernese Oberland, when a slender youth came out to the door of a small herdsman's cottage near Meyringen, and looked up at the sky to note the weather.

"We shall have a splendid day, father," said he, after glancing all around for a few minutes. "There isn't a cloud to be seen, and the fir-trees sparkle like silver in the morning air."

"I am glad to hear it, Walter," replied a powerful voice from inside the cottage, "for I must cross the hill to Grindelwald to-day to see my cousin. It is a long journey, and much pleasanter in fine weather than in rain and fog. You can let out the goats, and look after the cow, for we must milk them before I go."

"Oh, Liesli is not far off," was the rejoinder; "I see her coming along; she is passing Frieshardt's house now. She is a good cow, and always knows when it's milking-time. But what is that?" he exclaimed, after a short pause. "Frieshardt is driving her into his yard!--Hi, neighbor! what are you doing? Don't you know whom that cow belongs to?"

"Yes, of course I do," replied the farmer, roughly. "But I've taken a fancy to the cow, and mean to keep her. You can tell your father that, if you like, and say that if he wants her he can come and fetch her."

"Father! father!" cried the boy, turning round, "Neighbor Frieshardt has taken our cow away. Come and get her back."

Obeying his son's call, Toni Hirzel hastened out of the cottage just in time to see his neighbor locking the byre upon Liesli, the only cow he possessed. "Oho, my friend," he exclaimed, "what is the meaning of this?"

"Don't you understand, Hirzel?" replied his neighbor, in a mocking and sarcastic tone. "Recollect what you promised me the other day. You have been owing me forty francs since last winter, and said you would pay me yesterday. But as you have forgotten it, I have taken your cow, and mean to keep her till I get the money back."

Toni Hirzel frowned and bit his lips. "You know very well," said he, "that I have not been able to pay my small debt. My poor wife's illness and funeral cost me a great deal of money; but you know quite well that I am an honest man, and that there is no need for you to behave in such an unkind and unfriendly way toward me. It is not neighborly, Frieshardt."

"Neighborly nonsense!" replied the farmer. "The cow belongs to me until you pay the money."

With these words he turned on his heel and went into his house, the size and general appearance of which bespoke the comfort, if not the luxury, of its owner. With a sad and anxious expression Toni Hirzel followed him with his eye.

"But, father," said the youth, in surprise and anger, "do you mean quietly to put up with that? I wouldn't suffer it, if I were you."

"Hush, hush, my boy!" replied his father quietly. "It is certainly not very kind of Frieshardt to treat a poor neighbor in such a harsh way; but he has the law on his side, for I can't deny that I owe him the money. I should have paid him long ago if it had been possible, but your poor mother's illness and death prevented me. We must have patience. I dare say my cousin will lend me the forty francs if I ask him, and then we shall get our cow back again. Don't be afraid, Watty. You shall see Liesli feeding in the meadow again to-morrow."

"Yes, that she shall, father," said the boy, in a decided tone. "She shall be brought back whether you get the money or not. Frieshardt shall give her up to-day, and be thoroughly ashamed into the bargain for his hard-heartedness. He has got forty cows on the hills, and yet robs a poor neighbor of the only one he has got. What harm have we done him, that he should treat us in such a way?"

"I will tell you, Watty, for you are now growing tall and sensible, so that one can talk to you," replied his father. "He has envied me the possession of Liesli for a long time, for she is the best cow in the whole neighborhood; and he offered me two hundred francs for her last autumn. As I wouldn't sell her, he has seized her now, thinking that I can't pay him the money he has lent me. If I were to go to law with him, the cow would be valued, and he would only pay me what she is worth over and above the debt. That is his calculation. But I hope he will soon find that he has made a great mistake."

"Yes, I hope he will, father," said the boy. "Go over to Grindelwald quietly, but don't be annoyed if you can't borrow the money. I tell you that I will get the cow back this very day; and you know, father, that when I say so I mean it."

"I hope you haven't got any foolish plans in your head, Watty," said his father. "It is of no use trying force against our neighbor, for he is to a certain extent in the right."

"I am not thinking of using force," said the boy. "Leave the matter to me, and go quietly on your journey. I know perfectly well what I am going to do, and you may be certain that it is nothing wrong."

The tall and ruddy youth looked at his father with such a steady and open expression that all his fears were silenced. "Well, you are no longer a child, Walter," said he. "You were sixteen last May, and ought to have come to years of discretion. But I should very much like to know what plan you have got in your head. Won't you tell me, boy?"

"You shall hear to-night, after you come back, father," replied Walter, smiling. "But I assure you again that there is nothing wrong or wicked in it, and give you my hand upon it."

"Well, then, do whatever you have a mind to," said his father. "I must not lose any more time, or it will be too late before I get back. Farewell, my boy, and see that you don't play any roguish tricks."

With these words the peasant took his alpenstock, as the long iron-pointed stick is named which is used for crossing the ice-fields, and set forth.

"Good-by, my dear father," said the boy, gazing after him until a turn in the road hid him from view. "It is better that you should go away quietly and without anxiety. If I had told you what I am going to do, you would have been vexed and nervous, and have tried to turn me from it. But now I shall have nothing to hinder me, and I can set to work in earnest. I will milk the goats first, though, that the poor animals may not suffer till I get back."

Obedient to his loud call, the goats came frisking along; and after having relieved them of their milk, Walter drank some, ate a little black bread to it, and then put the rest of the milk in a flat pan, which he set carefully in the cool cellar. When the goats had returned to the hills, and were clambering from crag to crag in search of grass and herbage, Walter slung a light hunting bag across his shoulder, stuck a small axe with a short handle into his belt, and a knife into his pocket, filled a bottle with goat's milk, and then cut off a large hunch of bread and placed it with the bottle in his bag. He then selected a stout alpenstock and tried it carefully, to see if the iron point was sharp and strong. When these preparations were made, he looked for a piece of thin strong cord, such as the chamois-hunters take with them on their dangerous Alpine journeys, put it into his bag beside the bread and milk, and quitted the cottage, the door of which he bolted on the outside.

The cottage was about half an hour's walk from the inn on the road from Meyringen to Grindelwald, and thither the stout-hearted youth turned his steps. The sun was still low in the east when he arrived, for it was early in the morning; but a number of horses and mules stood at the door of the inn waiting for their riders. Several guides were loitering about, ready to conduct travellers either to the steep heights lying above the village, down to the beautiful water-falls of the Reichenbach, or to the village of Meyringen.

"Well, Watty Hirzel," said one of the guides in answer to the boy's salute, "I suppose you want to earn a couple of francs to-day, as you have come armed with alpenstock and game bag? You couldn't have chosen a better day. Every room in the inn is full, and you will easily get somebody to take to the glaciers or anywhere else."

"No, no, Mohrle," replied the boy; "I haven't come to take your trade away from you; I only want to speak to Mr. Seymour, the gentleman from Scotland who has been staying here for about a month. He hasn't left yet, I hope?"

"No; there he is at the window," said the guide. "But you won't be able to earn anything from him, for he knows all the roads of the Oberland as well as any of us. What do you want to speak to him about?"

"You will find that out in the evening, perhaps, when you come back," replied Walter. "It is a secret at present."

"Aha! I understand. You have discovered the track of a chamois, and are going to take the gentleman to see if he can get a shot at it. He seems quite mad upon hunting, and I dare say you will get a five-franc piece if you help him."

"Very likely, Mohrle," replied the youth, with a laugh; and then bowed to the gentleman, who stood at a window of the inn surveying the lively scene below. Opening the window, he beckoned to the boy, who bowed again, and went into the house.

"He is a sharp boy," said the guide to one of his companions. "There are not many lads in the Oberland who are as bold and active in climbing as he is. And no one can beat him for deer-stalking. But it's no wonder, for Toni Hirzel, his father, is the best chamois-hunter in this part of the country."

"Yes, he is a brave fellow," was the reply. "I know his father well. There isn't a cleverer sportsman in the mountains; but it's a dangerous life, and I shouldn't like to change places with him. It is much more comfortable to show strangers the sights; there is less peril and a great deal more profit in it."

"And yet I would wager anything that Toni wouldn't change places with us," replied the first speaker. "He told me only a week ago that it was impossible to give up the hunting life. 'My father and grandfather both lost their lives by it,' said he, 'and I know I sha'n't fare any better; but whenever I see the track of a chamois, I must be off after it.' That is the way with all your chamois-hunters."

"Well, may God long preserve him from such an awful death!" said the other. "But there comes our party. Look after your horse, Mohrle."

The conversation was thus abruptly cut short. The ladies and gentlemen mounted the animals that were waiting for them, and in a few minutes the space in front of the inn was cleared of the busy throng.

"Now, then," said the young Scotchman, whose attention had been occupied with the company which had just left, and who now turned to Walter. "Has your father discovered some new tracks, and sent you to tell me?"

"No, Sir. I have come to ask you if you were in earnest the other day, and if you really wish to have a vulture's brood."

"A vulture's brood, boy?" inquired the Scotchman, with eager and sparkling eyes. "Have you discovered one?"

"Yes, Sir," replied the youth. "I have clambered up among the wild ravines of the Engelhorn for several days, and yesterday I descried a spot where I am pretty certain there is an eyrie. If so, the young birds must be well fledged already; so it won't do to lose much time in getting them."

"Well, go and fetch them, then," exclaimed the gentleman, hastily. "I have set my mind upon having a couple of young vultures."

"And you shall have them, if Heaven preserves my feet from slipping and my hand from trembling," said the boy. "But I must first know what you are willing to give me for the birds."

"I have already told you that you shall have thirty francs if you bring them here alive."

Walter shook his head. "That is not enough, Sir," he replied. "I can't do it for that. I must have forty francs."

A smile almost of contempt passed over the lips of Mr. Seymour. "So young, and already so greedy!" said he. "Begone! I hate avarice, and will rather lose the birds than be cheated in such a way."

Walter blushed deeply. His feelings were so wounded by these words that his heart swelled as if it would burst, and his eyes filled with tears. But with a vigorous effort he controlled himself, and gave a quiet answer. "It is not greed or avarice that makes me ask for more money. You condemn me unjustly, Sir."

"What else, then, can it be?" inquired Mr. Seymour, angrily.

In a few simple words Walter described the harsh conduct of the neighbor who had taken away his father's cow for a debt of forty francs, and said that he had hoped the stranger would readily give the trifling sum of ten francs more if he only knew how dangerous it was to attempt the vulture's eyrie. While he spoke, the angry look gradually disappeared from the traveller's face, and he smiled with friendliness and goodwill upon the boy.

"And you will expose yourself to this danger to serve your father?" he inquired.

"Yes, Sir; I have made up my mind to do so."

"But is it so very dangerous to get at the nest?"

"So dangerous that I couldn't make up my mind to it yesterday," replied Walter. "It is built on one of the steepest crags of the Engelhorn, and can only be reached by a very narrow ridge of rock with dreadful precipices on both sides."

"And you are going to risk your life to help your father to pay the money he owes?"

"Yes; and I am not afraid, if I can only be sure of the reward."

"Well, then, that alters my opinion. Bring me the young vultures, and the forty francs are yours."

Walter warmly thanked the liberal stranger for his generosity, and was about to leave the room; but, surprised at the boy's courage, and perhaps alarmed at the idea of exposing him to such frightful peril, Mr. Seymour called him back.

"I have changed my mind," said he: "I really have no use for the birds, at least not at present, and I dare say you will be able to discover another nest that can be got at without so much danger; and to tell you the truth, I don't care about having such young ones. Go quietly home, my boy. But why do you look so sorrowful and alarmed? Oh, I see: you are afraid of losing the money. No, no; I didn't mean that. Take these two gold coins--they are a present from me--that will just make up the sum that your father wants."

Walter stood as if thunder-struck, unable to understand such generosity, and thought the stranger was joking with him in giving such a large sum for nothing.

"Take it, my boy--take it," said Mr. Seymour, smiling. "Your father must and shall be assisted in his difficulty, for he must be a good man to have such a brave and affectionate son. But the life of a human being can't be risked for the sake of a couple of stupid birds."

In surprise and confusion Walter took the money, expressed his thankfulness in a few mumbled words, and shuffled out of the room. When he reached the open air, he recovered his self-possession to some extent, and holding the gold coins fast in one hand, threw his cap up in the air with the other, uttered a loud shout of joy, and bounded homeward again at the top of his speed. Having reached the cottage, he put the money in a corner of the cupboard in which his father kept his small stock of cash, locked the door, and put the key in a place of safety, and then left the cottage again.

"Now everything is in first-rate order," said he to himself. "Father will be sure to find the money when he comes back, and I shall have plenty of time to see how the vulture's nest is to be got at. Mr. Seymour shall have the birds, no matter what trouble and danger it may cost me. He shall soon see that I am neither selfish nor unthankful to him for his generosity."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

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="I can Swim, Sir."=--During a terrible naval battle between the English and the Dutch, the English flag-ship, commanded by Admiral Narborough, was drawn into the thickest of the fight. Two masts were soon shot away, and the mainmast fell with a fearful crash upon the deck. Admiral Narborough saw that all was lost unless he could bring up his ships from the right. Hastily scrawling an order, he called for volunteers to swim across the boiling water, under the hail of shot and shell. A dozen sailors at once offered their services, and among them a cabin-boy. "Why," said the admiral, "what can you do, my fearless lad?" "I can swim, Sir," the boy replied; "if I be shot, I can be easier spared than any one else." Narborough hesitated; his men were few, and his position desperate. The boy plunged into the sea, amid the cheers of the sailors, and was soon lost to sight. The battle raged fiercer, and, as the time went on, defeat seemed inevitable. But, just as hope was fading, a thundering cannonade was heard from the right, and the reserves were seen bearing down upon the enemy. By sunset the Dutch fleet was scattered far and wide, and the cabin-boy, the hero of the hour, was called in to receive the honor due to him. His bearing so won the heart of the old admiral that he exclaimed, "I shall live to see you have a flag-ship of your own." The prediction was fulfilled when the cabin-boy, having become Admiral Cloudesley Shovel, was knighted by the king.

THE GOLDEN GLOVE.

There was a young, rich, and beautiful lady who was about to be married to a lord. A day or two before the wedding the lord brought his friend, a gallant and handsome young farmer, to see the lady of his choice. The lady fell in love at first sight with the farmer, and ere they parted, the farmer was as deep in love with her.

When the morning of the wedding had come, the lady, love-sick for the young farmer, instead of betaking herself to the kirk to be married, took to her bed, and the wedding was put off. Nevertheless, in the afternoon, she disguised her face, and dressing herself in manly apparel, went with cross-bow on her shoulder, and with her dogs at her heels, to hunt on the grounds of the young farmer, which were part of her own estate.

She crossed and recrossed the fields, whistled and hallooed to her dogs, without meeting the farmer. As she was beginning to fear that he was absent, and was about to withdraw, she met him coming up the road.

She professed to be surprised to see him, as she understood he was to be at the wedding to give away the bride to the lord.

"Ah!" said the young farmer, with a sigh, "I would she were as poor as myself, that I might ask her to give herself to me."

"Are you, then, in love with the promised bride of the young lord your friend? How would you answer to him, should the lady favor your hopes?" said she.

"With sword and axe I would give him a meeting, and let the best man win."

At parting, the lady drew from her pocket a glove embroidered with gold, and said to the farmer, "Here is a glove I picked up on the way thither; as I am a stranger here, I will leave it with you in order that you may find the owner."

Next day she sent out the crier to say that she had lost a glove embroidered with gold, and that she would take the man who found it for her husband, if the man were willing.

The young farmer heard the proclamation, and, half wild with joy, and half doubting his good fortune, took his way to the house of the lady. He presented the glove, and modestly reminded her of the reward promised to the finder, and although that reward was far above his hopes, it was what his heart most ardently desired.

Before he left her, she confirmed the promise of the crier, and agreed to take him for her husband. The report was soon spread abroad, and coming to the young lord's ears, he demanded that the farmer should resign his claim to the lady, or else meet him in single combat.

The farmer answered that he would never resign the lady while there was breath in his body, but that he would meet the young lord when and where he pleased, and with whatever weapons he liked to choose.

Swords and bucklers being chosen, on the day appointed for the fight the lord and the farmer, accompanied by their seconds, or shield-bearers, and their friends, met to settle their difference. With the assistance of their shields the combatants warded off each other's blows for some time, but at last the farmer clove his adversary's shield in twain, and following up his advantage, brought the young lord to his knees by a blow on his helmet.

Then putting his sword to his throat, he made the young lord resign all claim to the lady, and beg his own life.

Soon the handsome young farmer and the rich and beautiful lady were married, and after a time she told him of her device of the glove, and how the game that she hunted that day with her dogs and her cross-bow was the young farmer himself. Both agreed that for the hunter and the hunted that hunting was the happiest that had ever been undertaken in Thule.

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=Nature's Barometers.=--Certain movements on the part of the animal creation before a change of weather appear to indicate a reasoning faculty. Such seems to be the case with the common garden spider, which, on the approach of rainy or windy weather, will be found to shorten and strengthen the guys of his web, lengthening the same when the storm is over. There is a popular superstition that it is unlucky for an angler to meet a single magpie, but two of the birds together are a good omen. The reason is that the birds foretell the coming of cold or stormy weather, and at such times, instead of searching for food for their young in pairs, one will always remain on the nest. Sea-gulls predict storms by assembling on the land, as they know that the rain will bring earth-worms and larvae to the surface. This, however, is merely a search for food, and is due to the same instinct which teaches the swallow to fly high in fine weather, and skim along the ground when foul is coming. They simply follow the flies and gnats, which remain in the warm strata of the air. The different tribes of wading birds always migrate before rain, likewise to hunt for food. Many birds foretell rain by warning cries and uneasy actions, and swine will carry hay and straw to hiding-places, oxen will lick themselves the wrong way of the hair, sheep will bleat and skip about, hogs turned out in the woods will come grunting and squealing, colts will rub their backs against the ground, crows will gather in crowds, crickets will sing more loudly, flies come into the house, frogs croak and change color to a dingier hue, dogs eat grass, and rooks soar like hawks. It is probable that many of these actions are due to actual uneasiness, similar to that which all who are troubled with corns or rheumatism experience before a storm, and are caused both by the variation in barometric pressure and the changes in the electrical condition of the atmosphere.

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