Ethel M. Dell - "The Odds"

Various - "Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 429"

Various - "Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 158, April 21, 1920"

Baha'u'llah - "The Proclamation of Baha'u'llah"

Various - St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, Nov 1877 Nov 1878

V >> Various >> St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, Nov 1877 Nov 1878



ST. NICHOLAS:

SCRIBNER'S ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE

FOR GIRLS AND BOYS,

CONDUCTED BY

MARY MAPES DODGE.

VOLUME V.

NOVEMBER, 1877, TO NOVEMBER, 1878.

SCRIBNER & CO., NEW YORK.




Copyright by SCRIBNER & CO., 1878.

PRESS OF FRANCIS HART & CO.

NEW YORK





CONTENTS.


Child-Queen, A. (Illustrated by Alfred Fredericks) Cecilia Cleveland 1

Chased by Wolves. (Illustrated) George Dudley Lawson 3

Jingle: There was an Old Person of Crewd. (Illustrated by K. W. P.) 6

Mollie's Boyhood. (Illustrated by George White) Sarah E. Chester 7

*The Largest Volcano in the World. (Illustrated) Sarah Coan 13

Making it Skip. Verse. (Illustrated by Thomas Moran) M. M. D. 15

*Willow Wand, The. Poem. (Illustrated) A. E. W. 16

*Story that Wouldn't be Told, The. (Illustrated) Louise Stockton 18

Polly: A Before-Christmas Story. (Illustrated) Hope Ledyard 19

Boggs's Photograph. Picture. 21

Lord Mayor of London's Show, The. (Illustrated) Jennie A. Owen 22

My Girl. Poem. John S. Adams 25

Mars, the Planet of War. (Illustrated by the Author)
Richard A. Proctor 26

*Domestic Tragedy, A. In Two Parts (Illustration) 31

Bell-Ringers, The Stickleback. (Illustrated by James C. Beard)
C. F. Holder 31

Cricket on the Hearth, The. Poem. (Illustrated )Clara Doty Bates 33

How I Weighed the Thanksgiving Turkey. G. M. Shaw 34

Nimble Jim and the Magic Melon. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell)
J. A. Judson 34

"Oh, I'm My Mamma's Lady-Girl." Verse. (Illustrated by
Addie Ledyard) M. M. D. 41

Christmas-Gifts, A Budget of Home-Made. (Illustrated) 42

*Little Tweet. (Illustrated) 64

*Jack-in-the-Pulpit. (Illustrated) 66

Can a Little Child Like Me? (Thanksgiving Hymn) Mary Mapes Dodge 68

"Baby's Opera" and Walter Crane, The. 69

*The Letter Box. 69

*The Moons of Mars. 69

*The Riddle Box. (Illustrated) 71



[Transcriber's Notes:
For ease of navigation, this Table of Contents has been taken from the
full contents listing for the volume.
Some entries were missing from the index. For completeness they have
been added and marked with an asterisk.

The full list of contents for Volume V is to be found at the end of this
text.

p. 27: changed 'rains' to 'trains':
...--; just like the
lines by which trains are made to run easily off one
track on to another.

p. 30: Missing opening quote replaced:
"The snows that glittered on the disc of Mars..."

p. 31:' replaced with ":
"Don't you think, papa, that that's enough about
the sun? Come and play with us on the lawn."

p. 59: Missing ) replaced,
...(widening the strip,
however, in proportion as the fabric is thinner).

Music Notation (Our Music Page) has been added.]

* * * * *



[Illustration: KING RICHARD II. AND HIS CHILD-QUEEN.]

* * * * *


ST. NICHOLAS.


VOL. V. NOVEMBER, 1877. No. 1.

[Copyright, 1877, by Scribner & Co.]

* * * * *



A CHILD QUEEN.

BY CECILIA CLEVELAND.


I wonder how many of the little girl readers of ST. NICHOLAS are fond
of history? If they answer candidly, I do not doubt that a very large
proportion will declare that they prefer the charming stories they
find in ST. NICHOLAS to the dull pages of history, with its countless
battles and murdered sovereigns. But history is not every bit dull,
by any means, as you will find if your elder sisters and friends will
select portions for you to read that are suitable to your age and
interests. Perhaps you are very imaginative, and prefer fairy tales to
all others. I am sure, then, that you will like the story I am about
to tell you, of a little French princess, who was married and crowned
Queen of England when only eight years old, and who became a widow at
twelve.

This child-sovereign was born many hundred years ago--in 1387--at the
palace of the Louvre in Paris, of whose noble picture-gallery I am
sure you all have heard,--if, indeed, many of you have not seen it
yourselves. She was the daughter of the poor King Charles VI., whose
misfortunes made him insane, and for whose amusement playing-cards
were invented, and of his queen, Isabeau of Bavaria, a beautiful but
very wicked woman. Little Princess Isabella was the eldest of twelve
children. She inherited her mother's beauty, and was petted by her
parents and the entire court of France.

King Richard II. of England, who was a widower about thirty years old,
was urged to marry again; and, instead of selecting a wife near his
own age, his choice fell upon little Princess Isabella.

"She is much too young," he was told. "Even in five or six years she
will not be old enough to be married." The king, however, thought
this objection too trifling to stand in the way of his marriage, and
saying, "The lady's age is a fault that every day will remedy," he
sent a magnificent embassy to the court of France, headed by the
Archbishop of Dublin, and consisting of earls, marshals, knights, and
squires of honor uncounted, with attendants to the number of five
hundred.

When the embassy reached Paris, and the offer of marriage had been
formally accepted, the archbishop and the earls asked to see the
little princess who was soon to become their queen. At first the
French Council refused, saying so young a child was not prepared to
appear on public occasions, and they could not tell how she might
behave. The English noblemen were so solicitous, however, that at last
she was brought before them. The earl marshal immediately knelt before
her, and said, in the old-fashioned language of the time: "Madam, if
it please God, you shall be our lady and queen."

Queen Isabeau stood at a little distance, curious and anxious, no
doubt, to know how her little daughter would answer this formal
address. To her great pleasure, and the great surprise of all present,
Princess Isabella replied:

"Sir, if it please God and my father that I be Queen of England, I
shall be well pleased, for I am told I shall then be a great lady."

Then, giving the marshal her tiny hand to kiss, she bade him rise from
his knees, and leading him to her mother, she presented him to her
with the grace and ease of a mature woman.

According to the fashion of the time, Princess Isabella was
immediately married by proxy, and received the title of Queen of
England. Froissart, a celebrated historian living at that epoch, says:
"It was very pretty to see her, young as she was, practicing how to
act the queen."

In a few days, King Richard arrived from England with a gay and
numerous retinue of titled ladies to attend his little bride. After
many grand festivities they were married and were taken in state to
England, where the Baby Queen was crowned in the famous Westminster
Abbey.

I must not forget to describe the magnificent _trousseau_ that the
King of France gave his little daughter. Her dowry was 800,000 francs
($160,000); her coronets, rings, necklaces, and jewelry of all
sorts, were worth 500,000 crowns; and her dresses were of surpassing
splendor. One was a robe and mantle of crimson velvet, trimmed with
gold birds perched on branches of pearls and emeralds, and another was
trimmed with pearl roses. Do you think any fairy princess could have
had a finer bridal outfit?

When the ceremonies of the coronation were over, little Isabella's
life became a quiet routine of study; for, although a reigning
sovereign, she was in the position of that young Duchess of Burgundy
of later years, who at the time of her marriage could neither read nor
write. This duchess, who married a grandson of Louis XIV. of France,
was older than Queen Isabella--thirteen years old; and as soon as the
wedding festivities were over, she was sent to school in a convent,
to learn at least to read, as she knew absolutely nothing save how to
dance. Queen Isabella, however, was not sent away to school, but was
placed under the care of a very accomplished lady, a cousin of the
king, who acted as her governess. In her leisure hours, the king, who
was a fine musician, would play and sing for her, and, history gravely
informs us, he would even play dolls with her by the hour!

But King Richard's days of quiet pleasure with his child-wife were at
last disturbed, and he was obliged to leave her and go to the war in
Ireland. The parting was very sad and affecting, and they never met
again.

While King Richard was in Ireland, his cousin, Henry of Lancaster,
afterward Henry IV., took possession of the royal treasury, and upon
the return of Richard from his unfortunate campaign, marched at the
head of an army and made a prisoner of him, lodging him in that grim
Tower of London from which so few prisoners ever issued alive.

Meantime, the poor little queen was hurried from one town to another,
her French attendants were taken from her, and the members of her new
household were forbidden ever to speak to her of the husband she
loved so dearly. Finally, it was rumored that Richard had escaped.
Instantly, this extraordinary little girl of eleven issued a
proclamation saying that she did not recognize Henry IV. (for he was
now crowned King of England) as sovereign; and she set out with an
army to meet her husband. The poor child was bitterly disappointed
upon learning that the rumor was false, and her husband was still a
prisoner, and before long she also was again a prisoner of Henry IV.,
this time closely guarded.

In a few months Richard was murdered in prison by order of King Henry,
and his queen's childish figure was shrouded in the heavy crape of her
widow's dress. Her superb jewelry was taken from her and divided
among the children of Henry IV., and she was placed in still closer
captivity. Her father, the King of France, sent to demand that she
should return to him, but for a long time King Henry refused
his consent. Meantime, she received a second offer of marriage
from--strange to say--the son of the man who had killed her husband
and made her a prisoner, but a handsome, dashing young prince, Harry
of Monmouth, often called "Madcap Hal." Perhaps you have read, or your
parents have read to you, extracts from Shakspeare's "Henry IV.," so
that you know of the wild exploits of the Prince of Wales with his
friends, in turning highwayman and stealing purses from travelers,
often saying,

"Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack?"

and finding himself in prison sometimes as a result of such
amusements? Isabella was a child of decided character, and truly
devoted to the memory of her husband, and much as she had enjoyed
her rank she refused to continue it by marrying handsome Madcap Hal,
although he offered himself to her several times, and even as she was
embarking for France.

Poor little Isabella, who had left France so brilliantly, returned a
sad child-widow, and all that remained to her of her former splendor
was a silver drink-cup and a few saucers. As Shakspeare says:

"My queen to France, from whence set forth in pomp,
She came adorned hither like sweet May,
Sent back like Hallowmas or shortest day."

She was received throughout France with joy, and tears of sympathy.

When Isabella was eighteen. Madcap Hal again offered his hand to her,
supposing she had forgotten her former prejudice, but although she
married again she was so far faithful to the memory of her English
husband that she would not accept the son of his murderer. Some years
later, when Prince Hal was king, he married her beautiful sister
Katherine.

Isabella's second husband was her cousin, the Duke of Orleans, whose
beautiful poems are considered classic in France. Again she was the
joy of her family and the pride of France, but all her happiness was
destined to be fleeting, for she survived her marriage only one year.
Her husband, who loved her fondly, wrote after her death:

"Alas!
Death, who made thee so bold,
To take from me my lovely princess,
Who was my comfort, my life,
My good, my pleasure, my riches?
Alas! I am lonely, bereft of my mate--
Adieu! my lady, my lily!
Our loves are forever severed."

And in another poem, full of expressions that show how very devoted
was his affection for her, he says:

"Above her lieth spread a tomb
Of gold and sapphires blue,
The gold doth show her blessedness,
The sapphires mark her true.

"And round about, in quaintest guise,
Was carved--'Within this tomb there lies
The fairest thing to mortal eyes.'"

Farewell, sweet Isabella!--a wife at eight, a widow at twelve, and
dead at twenty-two,--your life was indeed short, and, though not
without happy days, sorrow blended largely with its joy!




CHASED BY WOLVES

BY GEORGE DUDLEY LAWSON.


Some forty years ago the northern part of the State of New York was
very sparsely settled. In one of the remote counties, which for a
name's sake we will call Macy County, a stout-hearted settler, named
Devins, posted himself beyond the borders of civilization, and hewed
for his little family a home in the heart of a forest that extended
all the way from Lake Champlain to Lake Ontario. His nearest neighbor
was six miles away, and the nearest town nearly twenty; but the
Devinses were so happy and contented that the absence of company gave
them no concern.

It was a splendid place to live in. In summer the eye ranged from the
slope where the sturdy pioneer had built his house over miles and
miles of waving beech and maple woods, away to the dark line of pines
on the high ground that formed the horizon. In the valley below,
Otter Creek, a tributary of the St. Lawrence, wound its sparkling way
northward. When Autumn painted the scene in brilliant hues, and it
lay glowing under the crimson light of October sunsets, the dullest
observer could not restrain bursts of admiration.

Mr. Devins's first attack on the stubborn forest had been over the
brow of the hill, some four miles nearer Owenton, but his house was
burned down before he had taken his family there from Albany. He had
regretted that he had not "pitched his tent" on the slope of Otter
Creek; so now he began with renewed energy his second home, in which
the closing in of the winter of 1839 found him. He had sixty acres of
rich soil under cultivation at the time of which we are to speak, his
right-hand man being his son Allan,--a rugged, handsome, intelligent
boy of sixteen.

The winter of '39 was a terrible one; snow set in before the end of
November, and, even in the open country, lay upon the ground until the
beginning of April, while in the recesses of the forest it was found
as late as the middle of June. There was great distress among the
settlers outside of the bounds of civilization, to whom the deep snow
was an impassable barrier. The Devinses neither saw nor heard from
their nearest neighbors from the first of December till near the
beginning of February, when a crust was formed upon the snow
sufficiently firm to bear the weight of a man, and a friendly Cayuga
Indian brought them news of how badly their neighbors fared.

Mr. Devins was especially touched by the bad case of his friend Will
Inman, who lived on the nearest farm. The poor man lay ill of a fever;
Mrs. Inman was dead and temporarily buried, until her body could be
removed to the cemetery in Owenton, and all the care of the family
devolved upon Esther, his daughter, fourteen years old. After a short
consultation, the next morning breaking bright and clear though very
cold, it was determined to allow Allan to go over the hill to Inman's,
bearing medicine, tea, and other little necessaries for the family. He
was impressively warned to begin his return at so early an hour that
he might reach home before the short day's end, especially because of
the danger from wild animals. The severity of the winter had made the
wolves more venturesome and dangerous than they had been for many
years. Mr. Devins had lost several sheep and hogs, and deemed it
unsafe for any of his family to be caught far from the house at night.

Allan armed himself with his light rifle, put some biscuits and cold
meat in a pouch strapped to his waist, mounted one of the strong
farm-horses, and set out on his journey. The road through the forest
was better than he expected to find it, as the snow had been drifted
off, but at the turns, and in the thickest part of the wood, his horse
floundered through drifts more than breast high; and more than once
Allan had to dismount and beat a path ahead. Therefore, he did not
reach Inman's till two o'clock, and, by the time he had helped Esther
about her work, assisted her young brother to get in a good supply of
wood, and made things more comfortable for the invalid, it was almost
sundown. He stoutly refused to wait for supper, declaring that the
luncheon still in his pouch would serve, and started just as the short
twilight came on. He was a brave lad, and, with no thought of peril,
went off, kissing his hand gayly to Esther.

It took him an hour to traverse the first three miles, and then he
came to a stretch of comparatively bare ground leading through his
father's old clearing, and almost to the top of the hill back of Mr.
Devins's house. He was just urging old Bob into a trot, when a long,
clear howl broke upon his ear; then another and another answered
from east and south. He knew what that meant. It was the cry of the
advance-guard of a pack of wolves.

The howling sounded near, and came swiftly nearer, as though the
wolves had found his tracks and scented their prey. Old Bob trembled
in every limb, and seemed powerless to move. Allan realized that he
could not, before dark, reach home through the drifts ahead, and the
increasing cold of the advancing night would render a refuge in a
tree-top probably as deadly as an encounter with the pack.

Presently there came a cry, shriller and sharper than before, and
Allan, looking back, saw a great, lean, hungry gray wolf burst from
the underbrush into the road, followed by dozens more; and in a moment
the road behind him was full of wolves, open-mouthed and in keen
chase. Their yells now seemed notes of exultation, for the leader
of the pack--the strongest, fleetest, hungriest one among them--was
within a dozen yards of Allan, who was now riding faster than ever old
Bob had gone before or ever would go again. Excitement made the lad's
blood boil in his veins, and he determined to show fight. The moon had
risen, and the scene was almost as light as day. Now he could count
the crowding host of his enemies, and just as he broke from the forest
road into the old clearing, he turned in his saddle and fired. The
foremost of the pack rolled over and over; the rest gathered around
and tore their leader in pieces.

By the time they resumed the chase, Allan was a hundred yards ahead
with his rifle loaded. He determined to make a running fight of it to
the hill, where he was sure of meeting his father, or could take to a
tree and shoot until help came. This had hardly flashed through his
brain when, right ahead of him, a detachment of the pack sprang into
the road and answered with double yells the cries of the rest coming
up behind. The horse wheeled suddenly, almost unseating Allan, and
dashed across the clearing toward the wood; but he had not taken a
dozen bounds when a wolf sprang upon him. Old Bob reared and fell,
pitching Allan nearly twenty feet ahead, and was covered with wolves
before he could regain his footing. That was the last of poor old Bob.

[Illustration: "OLD BOB FELL, PITCHING ALLAN AHEAD."]

But Allan! What of him? When he recovered from the effects of the
shock, he found himself over head and ears in snow. He had no idea
where he was, but struggled and plunged in vain endeavors to extricate
himself, until at last he broke into a space that was clear of snow,
but dark as Erebus, damp and close. Feeling about him he discovered
over his head logs resting slantingly against the upper edge of a pit,
and then he knew that he was in the cellar of the old house his father
had built, and which had been burned down nine years before! The
cellar was full of snow, except at the corner roofed over by the
fallen logs, and Allan, bursting through the snow into the empty
corner, was as secure from the wolves as though seated by his father's
fireside. It was not nearly as cold in there as outside, and he found
a dry spot upon which he lay down to think.

He was in no danger of freezing to death, his food would keep him from
starvation a week at least, and Allan concluded that, with the first
glimpse of dawn, his father would be in search of him, and, following
the tracks, find old Bob's bones, and quickly rescue him from his
predicament. He reasoned wisely enough, but the elements were against
him. Before sunrise a furious storm of wind and snow had completely
obliterated every trace of horse, rider and wolves.

At home, as the night wore on, the anxiety of the family had
increased. While they were watching the gathering storm, they heard
the long, dismal howl of the wolves coming over the hill. The chill of
fear that they should never see the boy again settled down upon all
their hearts, until the house was as dreary within as the winter waste
and gloomy forest were without.

Meanwhile the brave youth was sound asleep, dreaming as peacefully as
though snugly resting with his brother in his warm bed at home. He
slumbered on unconscious of the raging storm without, and did not
awake until late the next forenoon. It took him several seconds
to realize where he was and how he came there, but gradually he
remembered his ride for life, the falling of his horse, his struggle
in the snow, and his breaking into the protected space where he lay.

The storm lasted all day and far into the succeeding night. Allan ate
slightly, quenched his thirst with a few drops of water obtained by
melting snow in the palm of his hand, and began casting about for
means to get out. He soon found that to dig his way up through the
mass of snow that filled the cellar was beyond his powers. If he could
have made a succession of footholds, the task would have been easy;
but all his efforts only tended to fill his retreat, without bringing
him nearer the air. As soon as he saw this, he gave himself up to
calmly waiting for help from without.

The second morning of his imprisonment broke clear and cheerful, and
Mr. Devins set out to search for traces of his boy. He visited the
Inmans' and learned the particulars of Allan's stay and departure,
then mournfully turned his face homeward, his heart filled with
despair. When he emerged from the forest into the clearing, he met the
Indian who had visited him a few days before, and he told the red man
of Allan's loss. The Indian stood a moment in deep thought, and then
asked:

"No horse, no boy back there?" pointing to the road just traversed by
Mr. Devins.

"No. I have looked carefully, and if there had been a trace left by
the recent storm I should have detected it."

"Ugh! well, me come over the hill; nothing that way either; then they
here."

"Why do you think so?"

"Ah! me know wolves. When Allan come to this place they ahead;
horse turn; wolves caught 'em this side woods; we look there," and
Tayenathonto pointed to the very course taken by the horse and rider.

It so happened when Allan was thrown from the horse's back that his
rifle flew from his hand and struck, muzzle down, in a hollow stump,
where, imbedded in the snow, it stood like a sign to mark the scene
of the last struggle of the lost boy. The snow had whitened all its
hither side. When the Indian came abreast of it, he cried:

"Told you so! See! Allan's gun! And here rest of 'em," pointing to the
little heap over the ruins of the old cabin.

Kicking the snow hastily aside, the Indian examined the ground
carefully a moment and then said: "No, only horse; Allan further on."

The Indian, with head bent down, walked quickly forward, threw up
his arms, and disappeared. He had stepped over the clean edge of the
cellar and sunk exactly as Allan had. A few desperate plunges sufficed
to take the strong Indian through the intervening snow and into the
protected corner where Allan, just rousing from his second sleep, sat
bolt upright. The Indian's coming disturbed the snow so that a glimmer
of light penetrated into the dark space. Allan supposed a wolf had
found its way down there, and hastily drew his large knife, bracing
himself for an encounter.

The Indian sputtered, thrashed about to clear himself from the snow,
and in so doing rapped his head smartly against the low ceiling of
logs.

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