Chapter VI (1)

The work done inside the King's palace was not seen by the multitude, but they saw large pipes laid in the ditches, the ditches themselves filled up, and a long row of tubes rising ten or twelve feet in the air, whose uses they could not divine. But in spite of the diverse rumors still circulated by the Snarlitz faction, the people cheered themselves with the reassuring words of the Princess Amber, and patiently awaited results. This was strengthened by the reports of the workmen who were employed in the palace, and who averred--though they were bound to secrecy--that what was to be done would be a great public benefit. Much speculation was indulged in as to what the secret doings were, but after a time this faded out; the people minded their own affairs, and only talked about the matter occasionally when they passed the tall tubes in the roadway. A guard was placed on the great tank on the hill, and the public at large were forbidden to visit the spot.

And so time passed on until the six-months day had ended, the sun had sunk out of sight, and the twilight had deepened into gloom. Then suddenly bright lights were seen in all the windows of the King's palace, and there issued forth a number of men bearing lighted torches, which they applied hurriedly to the tops of the tubes that lined the roadway down into and along the principal streets of the town.

A steady light was given out by each of these gigantic candles, making the roadway and street light and cheery, while crowds of people came from all quarters to enjoy the novel spectacle.

Count Gofaster was the hero of the hour. Even the adherents of Snarlitz were silenced and forced to admit that the giant had conferred the third great benefit on the state. The King, in his own brilliantly lighted hall of audience, thanked him before the assembled nobles of the Court for the great service he had rendered.

"In due time," said the King, "every street in the town shall be lighted through this means, and if the six months of night be not bright as day, they will at least be rendered enjoyable."

It was now the opportunity of Gofaster to demand the fulfilment of the King's pledge in regard to the man who should confer three benefits on the state and obtain the favor of the Princess.

But Gofaster dared not speak. To his surprise and sorrow, he found that the manner of the Princess was not only less cordial, but shy and reserved, and that she seemed to avoid him. The young giant was not versed in the ways of womankind, and found discouragement in what should have given him hope. He had not studied the proverb, "Faint heart never won fair lady," and reflected much upon his former comparatively low condition, from which he had only been removed by the favor of the sovereign, and which did not seem to warrant a close alliance with the royal family. He became moody, and sank into a kind of hopeless gloom, under which his health suffered. His friend the Prime-minister saw this, but did not conjecture the cause; neither, apparently, did the King nor Princess.

Gofaster withdrew himself as much as possible from the royal presence, and seemed to have no friend to whom he was willing to confide his trouble. He even forgot the Phooka, but the latter did not forget him.

As Gofaster was seated in his apartments, ruminating upon his sad fate, he heard a hollow laugh near him, which he recognized as that of his invisible guardian.

"Clearly," said the goblin, "all human beings are fools, and Count Gofaster seems to be about the biggest fool of all."

The giant did not resent the reproach, for the gratitude toward his benefactor blunted the point of it, if it did not relieve the sting.

"Possibly," he said, in reply. "But why now more than usual?"

"Clearly," answered the other, "because you are breaking your heart about the love of a young woman who is breaking hers because you do not make the proper advances. Do you expect a maiden, setting aside her high rank, to be won without wooing?"

"But I dare not," said Gofaster, despairingly.

"He who dares not is lost," said the Phooka. "I know everything that goes on through the palace, because I pass everywhere without observation. The Princess believes you indifferent to her charms, and is mortified that she has given her heart to one who treats her with neglect. The whole town is talking of it, and wondering why you do not embrace the good-fortune in store for you."

A new light broke in upon the giant's mind. "I shall try," he said.

"Try is the best dog in the pack," said the goblin.

Gofaster now plucked up courage and appeared at the audience--which was given every twenty-four hours--bravely arrayed, and with a cheerful face. He joined in conversation with the friends whom he had made among the nobles, and even ventured to address some observations to the Princess and the ladies of honor around her, the latter of whom received him with marked pleasure. Bit by bit the conversation in this group became general, and finally the Princess herself joined in it, throwing off her reserve. As the two spoke together more freely, the ladies of honor drew back, as if by tacit agreement, and the Princess and Gofaster were left together.

"I have not sufficiently congratulated you, Count," said the Princess, "on your last great achievement."

"Nor have I, your Royal Highness," answered he, "thanked you for the kindly and effective words you spoke in behalf of my project when its success seemed doubtful."

"But _I_ never doubted it or you," said the Princess.

"Princess Amber," said the giant. But here he stopped.

"Well, Count?" said the Princess.

"I have been fortunate enough," said he, "to render three times some service to the state, and might claim some reward for it; but there is only one reward that I desire, and that depends upon your Royal Highness."

"Name it," said the Princess. "Speak freely."

"I would be bold enough to ask your father for your hand were I sure it would meet with approval from you, but I have not had the presumption to hope."

"He who deserves," said the Princess, blushing, "does not presume," and she turned away.

Thus encouraged, Gofaster boldly preferred a request to the King that the royal pledge should be fulfilled. The King smiled good-naturedly, and saying "A King should never break his word," led him to the Princess and joined their hands. Then turning to the Court, he said: "We give our daughter a fitting mate and the kingdom an heir-presumptive on whose courage and capacity it can rely."

The lords and ladies of the Court congratulated the betrothed couple, who were shortly after wedded in great state, to the satisfaction of all.

Some weeks after the marriage, as Prince Gofaster--for he had been raised to that rank--was passing into his cabinet, he heard the hollow laugh which betokened the presence of Shon the Phooka. Turning to face the sound, he saw before him a laughing boy a little over four feet in height, who wore what seemed to be the jerkin of strength and the shoes of endurance, shrunk to his own size.

"I have resumed my property," said Shon, "because you have no further use for them, with the exception of the cap of intellect, which I leave behind for your use. So long as you have that it will give you what additional strength and endurance you require. I now leave you. My term of banishment will end in a week. If my monarch knew what service I had rendered you I should be banished again; but, fortunately, there is no stray Phooka here to tattle, and I shall keep my own counsel. Rely upon the cap of intellect, and your future, though it may be checkered by losses and crosses, will be a glorious one."

"In what way can I show my gratitude to you?" said Gofaster. "How can I let you know what I feel?"

"Best," replied the goblin, "by forgetting me in course of time. As days and years go by all sense of obligation in human creatures grows less, and I doubt if you will be the sole exception to the rule." Then, with a hollow laugh, he disappeared.

The Princess Amber succeeded to the throne. How long and how wisely they ruled the kingdom, and how, when the King died, he was succeeded by his oldest son--this is all written in the chronicles of Huperborea. I should be glad to tell all about it, but I have not been able to obtain a copy of those chronicles. The Phooka has never shown himself to me, and I have not been able to get him to convey me midway beyond the barrier of ice and snow which separates Huperborea and its surrounding kingdoms from the rest of the world; and the reader must be content with what I have given him and ask for no more.

AN EXTRAVAGANT COSTUME.

There have been dandies and dudes in all ages. A hundred years ago these were known humorously as "Macaronis," and their dress was wonderful. A journal published at that time says:

"A few days ago a Macaroni made his appearance in the Assembly Rooms at Whitehaven in the following dress: A mixed silk coat, pink sattin waistcoat and breeches, covered with an elegant silver nett; white silk stockings, with pink clocks; pink sattin shoes and large pearl buckles; a mushroom-coloured stock, covered with a fine point-lace; his hair dressed remarkably high, and stuck full of pearl pins."

THE CHRISTMAS PIE.

BY MRS. DAVID MACLURE.

It was a merry Christmas Day
Not many years gone by;
A day of gifts and songs, my dear--
Description they defy;
But some especial features were
Roast turkey, nuts, and pie--
Particularly Pie!

On that bright day, not long ago,
A little friend of mine
Had had a merry time, my dear
(His age, I think, was nine);
He had a merry time, I say,
With all that cash could buy--
Especially with Pie!

He went to bed that Christmas night,
And closed his weary eye;
And what occurred thereafter, dear,
Was traceable to pie,
Though turkey had a share indeed,
Which no one can deny--
But not compared with Pie!

At midnight's still uncanny hour,
Lo! perched on each bedpost,
Appeared a long-necked turkey hen--
A pale, plucked, pimply ghost--
And sat and ogled him the while,
With wicked, leering eye,
Ejaculating "Pie!"

And there they sat through all the night,
Except that once each chime
They played at leap-frog on the bed,
And chanted all the time
A very melancholy song,
In tones pitched harsh and high:
"O give, O give me Pie!"

At early dawn my youthful friend
Sprang from his bed in flight,
To find the phantoms of his dreams
Had vanished with the night.
Said he: "Good Christmas cheer is fine,
But Wisdom's voice doth cry:
Pray draw the line at Pie!"

So, dear young friends, a word to you
Right at this Christmas Eve:
Use caution with your appetite,
Or cause may come to grieve.
Remember, _Indigestion_, dear,
Few stomachs can defy,
And draw the line at Pie.

THE MAGIC STOCKING.

A BIT OF CHRISTMAS MERRIMENT IN ONE ACT.

_CHARACTERS_:

SANTA CLAUS, _a jolly old elf_.
MARY, _mother's little woman, aged thirteen_.
NAN, _a stout champion of_ Santa Claus, _aged eight_.
LUCY, _a wee darling of three years_.
TOMMY, _a scoffer at_ Santa Claus, _aged eleven_.

TIME.--_The night before Christmas._

Scene.--_A cosy nursery with low-turned lights and bright fire. The
curtain rises, showing the children grouped around the fire,
little_ Lucy _in night-gown and tiny night-cap, cuddled with_ Mary
_in the big arm-chair_. Nan _is seated on a low stool_, Tommy _is
stretched at full length on the rug. They are making preparations
to hang up their stockings_.

_Nan_. Now let's begin at the beginning and sing it all over again.

_Mary_ (_caressingly_). But Lucy is so sleepy.

_Lucy_ (_drowsily_). Lucy isn't sleepy. Lucy wants to wait for Santa Claus.

_Tommy_ (_contemptuously_). Santa Claus!

_Mary_ (_reproachfully_). Oh, Tommy!

_Nan_ (_tying on her night-cap_). You start it, Mary.

[They all sing.]

"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that old Santa Claus soon would be there.
The children were nestled all--"

_Tommy_. Oh, but you know there isn't any such person as Santa Claus.

_Mary_ (_very reproachfully_). Oh, Tommy!

_Nan_. Now, Tommy, you just stop.

_Tommy_. But there isn't, and you know it. It's just our fath--

_Nan_. Of course there's a Santa Claus.

_Lucy_ (_sleepily_). Dear old Santa Claus! He'll come down the chimney pretty soon, won't he, Mary?

_Mary_. Yes, darling. You'll hear the tinkle of his jolly little sleigh-bells, and then up he'll fly with his eight tiny reindeer.

[Sings.]

"To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall,
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all.
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around
Down the chimney old Santa Claus came with a bound!"

_Nan_ (_triumphantly_). There, Mr. Tommy, do you hear what it says?

_Tommy_. I don't care what it says. That's just a baby story. Santa Claus! Shoot Santa Claus!

_Nan_. You'll catch it when he does come!

_Lucy_ (_confidently_). He's coming pretty soon, I guess.

_Tommy_. I ain't afraid of any Santa Claus. No reindeer could go flying over house-tops. Now, I leave it to you, could they? Deers and cows and horses and that kind of animals ain't made to fly. 'Tain't reasonable. Santa Claus! I tell you there ain't any. There never was and never will be. He's just a big, old--

_Nan_. Delicious, delightful--

_Tommy_. Deceitful, de-mol-al-iz-ing Fraud!

_Lucy_ (_sleepily_). Dear old Santa Claus! When he comes I'll just give him a great big hug (_nodding_). I love good old Santa Claus. We love him (_dreamily_), don't we, Nannie? but Tommy says--Tommy he says--

_Mary_ (_soothingly_). Never mind what Tommy says, darling.

[Sings softly.]

"He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings--"

_Tommy_. That's a likely story!

_Nan_. He won't put much in your stocking, Tommy Franklin.

_Mary_ (_softly_). 'Sh! Lucy's sound asleep, little sweetheart.

_Nan_. You've hung up the biggest stocking of any of us. What did you hang up your stocking for if there isn't any Santa Claus?

_Tommy_ (_with pretended indifference_). Oh, just out of habit, I s'pose. Just 'cause I always have. And I know well enough who'll fill it. It isn't any old humbug of a Santa Claus.

[_While they have been talking and singing the children have hung
their stockings in a row on the mantel._ Tommy's _being a
conspicuously large and long one. A faint tinkle of sleigh-bells is
now heard. It comes nearer and nearer, and finally stops. The
children listen intently_.]

_Nan_ (_in an excited whisper_). I believe he's come!

_Mary_. Oh, hark!

_Tommy_. I tell you, Santa Claus is a great big humbug.

[_A loud jingling of bells is heard, and a great stamping of feet
at the door._ Lucy _wakes and rubs her eyes_. Tommy _tries to look
unconcerned_. Nan, _half frightened, draws closer to_ Mary, _and,
as the last word drops from_ Tommy's _lips_, Santa Claus _enters
with a bound. The children make inarticulate exclamations of
rapture and delight, and watch the movements of_ Santa Claus _with
wide-open eyes_. Santa Claus, _after depositing his pack on the
floor, proceeds to the business of filling the stockings_.]

_Santa Claus_ (_chuckling to himself_). Well, well, well! Here's a nice row of stockings--a nice row of dear children's stockings! And here are the blessed children themselves waiting patiently till I don't know what o'clock at night, just to catch a glimpse of old Santa. That's the way with the darlings. They know who loves them. They know--oh yes, yes!--they know old Santa.

_Lucy_ (_slipping from_ Mary's _lap and timidly approaching_ Santa Claus). I love you more than a bushel, dear Santa Claus.

_Santa Claus_ (_taking her upon his knee_). Bless her heart, of course she does. And she may sit on old Santa's knee and watch him while he fills her own cunning stocking. Here it is, the little one at the end of the row. Now let me see (_scratches his head reflectively_)--let me see. Ah, yes! here's a tiny gold ring, that shall go into the toe. And here's a little pink tea-set and a lovely, lovely dolly, and a carriage for her to ride in. That must go outside, it is such a wee stocking. I declare, here's another dolly--a jolly sailor-boy, and a dainty box of sweets--all for the sweet baby that loves Santa Claus.

_Nan_ (_in an undertone_). Now, what do you think, Mr. Tommy?

_Tommy_ (_in a loud whisper_). Humbug!

_Girls_. For shame!

_Santa Claus_ (_putting_ Lucy _gently back into_ Mary's _arms_). Now for the next one! Ah, yes! Here's another little ring, with a blue set, for a girl with blue eyes--

_Nan_ (_rapturously_). That's me.

_Santa Claus_. And here goes a silver bracelet and a jolly bottle of mignonette and (_searching his pack_)--and--let me see--a copy of _Old-fashioned Girl_--

_Nan_. Just what I was wishing for!

_Santa Claus_. And a box of sweets--it won't do to forget that--and a funny puzzle for a clever little head to solve, and a mysterious package--she'll find what's in it in the morning. (_Chuckles to himself_)

_Nan_. Now it's yours, Mary dear.

_Santa Claus_ (_taking_ Mary's _stocking_). Now for the next one. No time to lose. This is a busy night for St. Nick. 'Way down in the very tip-toe shall go this bright little watch, to tick away the happy minutes of the New Year for mother's own little woman.

_Nan_. You hear that, Tommy.

_Tommy_. Don't you believe it.

_Santa Claus_. This work-basket must go outside with the books. And now for the next. Well, this is a big one.

_Tommy_ (_in an undertone_). I borrowed it of cook--the longest and biggest she had.

_Santa Claus_ (_deliberately regarding_ Tommy's _stocking_). Is it possible there is a greedy child here?

_Nan_. Now, Tommy, aren't you ashamed of yourself.

_Santa Claus_ (_reflectively_). A greedy child. I hope not, I hope not. Well, we'll see. We'll soon see (_searching his pack_). Here is a splendid pair of skates for a good boy--

_Tommy_ (_gleefully_). That's me.

_Santa Claus_. And here's a box of chess-men, and a-- Why, upon my word! upon my word! when has this happened before? (Santa Claus _pauses in his work, showing every evidence of great astonishment, for as he undertakes to put the gifts into_ Tommy's _stocking, they behave in a most contrary and unaccountable way. They drop to the floor, and the stocking seems to refuse to take them_. Santa Claus _makes several efforts to insert the gifts in the stocking, but without success_.) Well, well, I haven't had an experience like this for many a long year. What will Mrs. Santa Claus say, when I go back to the North Pole and tell her I found a contrary stocking. A contrary stocking, which means but one thing--that the child who hung it does not believe in Santa Claus. (_Sadly._) Oh dear, what a pity! what a pity! Well, if I must, I must. (_Searches his pack._) It is many a year since I have had any use for these things. I did hope I should never have to take them out again. (_Draws from the depth of his pack a broad leather strap, a large slipper, and other articles mentioned later. He meets with no difficulty as he drops them one by one into_ Tommy's _big stocking_.) There! (_Thrusting in the strap._) If he don't know the use of that, I suppose his father will have to teach him, and this (_holding up the slipper before putting it into the stocking_), no doubt his mother will know what it is for. Oh dear! oh dear! (_Shaking his head sorrowfully._) This is too bad! too bad! It will spoil my Christmas completely. No box of goodies for this stocking-- It wouldn't do--no, it wouldn't do at all. I'll have to put in this package of smarty pepper candy, to make the boy's tongue tingle that says Santa Claus is a Humbug.

_Nan_. What did I tell you?

_Lucy_. Poor Tommy.

_Santa Claus_. And here is a tin horn (_tries it_) without any blow in it. My good horns are for good boys to toot in my honor on Christmas day. Now a book--here is one--a nice Spelling Book, full of all the hard words that were ever invented, and not a picture in it. And here is another--a book on Good Manners--it is for the boy to study who says that Santa Claus is a Fraud.

_Tommy_. Boo-hoo! boo-hoo! boo-hoo! boo-hoo! I didn't mean it! Oh, I didn't mean it at all! I was just a-fooling. Boo-hoo! Oh, dear! Boo-hoo-o-o-o!

_Lucy_ (_putting her arms around his neck_). Oh, poor, poor Tommy! I'll give you my nice candy. Don't cry, Tommy.

_Tommy_. Boo-hoo! I didn't mean it. I won't do so again. I'll stand by you forever. Indeed I will, Mr. Santa Claus, if you'll only forgive my badness. (Tommy _kneels and clasps the knees of_ Santa Claus _imploringly_.) Oh, please forgive me, and I'll never, never doubt you again, dear, good Santa Claus!

_Mary_ (_entreatingly_). Dear Santa Claus, please forgive him.

_Nan_. He don't deserve it, but please try him.

_Lucy_. Santa Claus, please love Tommy again.

_Santa Claus_ (_heartily_). Well, well, well! I want to forgive him badly enough, and for your sakes I will. But, mind you this, Tommy, my lad, I must have your true allegiance from this time forth.

_Tommy_. Oh, good Santa Claus, I promise it truly, truly! Honor bright! Hope to die!

_Santa Claus_. I believe you, my lad. There, there. Give me your hand. I want to be good friends with every child in the whole happy world on the glad Christmas day. Now, we'll try again. (_He draws out the strap, etc., from_ Tommy's _stocking, and deftly inserts in their places skates, books, etc._) Ah, the magic stocking opens to receive gifts for a loyal child. Here go the skates, and the boys' own _Swiss Family Robinson_. (_Searches his pack._) Aha, this tool-chest evidently belongs here, and this big horn, with a jolly toot in it (_tries it_), and, ah, yes, a whole menagerie of candy pigs and elephants and monkeys, and not a pepper drop in the lot. (Tommy _looks on in delight, and the children hug each other gleefully_.) Now, bless your sweet hearts, I must be going. Here I am, delaying as if there were not hundreds of stockings to be filled before daylight. (_Kisses little_ Lucy.) Good-night, my precious one. Good-night, my darlings, and a merry, merry Christmas to you all!

[Santa Claus _gathers up his pack, straps it upon his shoulders,
and departs_.]

[Song, with soft accompaniment of sleigh-bells.]

Hurrah for the merry Christmas-time,
And the jolly Christmas cheer,
And the reindeer sleigh when it comes this way,
And brings old Santa Claus dear.
Hurrah and hurrah!
For the merry Christmas-time, and the happy Christmas cheer!

Hurrah and hurrah!
For our Santa Claus so dear!

[Softly.]

Hurrah and hurrah!
For the merry Christmas-time, and the happy Christmas cheer!

Hurrah and hurrah!
For our Santa Claus so dear!

CURTAIN.

THE IMP OF THE TELEPHONE.

BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS.

VII.--THE POETRY BOOK, AND THE END.

The Imp then arranged the wires so that the Poetry Book could recite itself to Jimmieboy, after which he went back to his office to see who it was that had been ringing the bell.

"My first poem," said a soft silvery voice from the top shelf, towards which Jimmieboy immediately directed his attention--"my first poem is a perfect gem. I have never seen anything anywhere that could by any possibility be finer than it is, unless it be in my new book, which contains millions of better ones. It is called, 'To a Street Lamp,' and goes this way:

"You seem quite plain, old Lamp, to men,
Yet 'twould be hard to say
What we should do without you when
Night follows on the day;

"And while your lumination seems
Much less than that of sun,
I truly think but for your beams
We would be much undone.

"And who knows, Lamp, but to some wight,
Too small for me to see,
You are just such a wondrous sight
As old Sol is to me!"

"Isn't that simply lovely?" said the soft silvery voice when the poem was completed.

"Yes; but I don't think it's very funny," said Jimmieboy. "I like to laugh, you know, and I couldn't laugh at that."

"Oh!" said the silvery voice, with a slight tinge of disappointment in it. "You want fun, do you? Well, how do you like this? I think it is the funniest thing ever written, except others by the same author:

"There was an old man in New York
Who thought he'd been changed to a stork;
He stood on one limb
'Til his eyesight grew dim,
And used his left foot for a fork."

"That's the kind," said Jimmieboy, enthusiastically. "I could listen to a million of that sort of poems."

"I'd be very glad to tell you a million of them," returned the voice, "but I don't believe there's electricity enough for me to do it under twenty-five minutes, and as we only have five left, I'm going to recite my lines on 'A Sulphur Match.'

"The flame you make, O Sulphur Match!
When your big head I chance to scratch,

"Appears so small most people deem
You lilliputian, as you seem.

"And yet the force that in you lies
Can fight with brilliance all the skies.

"There's strength enough in you to send
Great cities burning to their end;

"So that we have a hint in you
Of what the smallest thing can do."

"Don't you like that?" queried the voice, anxiously. "I do hope you do, because I am especially proud of that. The word lilliputian is a tremendous word for a poet of my size, and to think that I was able, alone and unassisted, to lift it bodily out of the vocabulary into the poem makes me feel very, very proud of myself, and agree with my mother that I am the greatest poet that ever lived."

"Well, if you want me to, I'll like it," said Jimmieboy, who was in an accommodating mood. "I'll take your word for it that it is a tremendous poem, but if you think of repeating it over again to me, don't do it. Let me have another comic poem."

"All right," said Pixyweevil--for it was he that spoke through the book. "You are very kind to like my poem just to please me. Tell me anything in the world you want a poem about, and I'll let you have the poem."

"Really?" cried Jimmieboy, delighted to meet with so talented a person as Pixyweevil. "Well--let me see--I'd like a poem about my garden rake."

"Certainly. Here it is:

"I had a little garden rake
With seven handsome teeth,
It followed me o'er fern and brake,
O'er meadow-land and heath.

"And though at it I'd often scowl,
And treat it far from right,
My garden rake would never growl,
Nor use its teeth to bite."

"Elegant!" ejaculated Jimmieboy. "Say it again."

"Oh no! we haven't time for that. Besides, I've forgotten it. What else shall I recite about?" queried Pixyweevil.

"I don't know; I can't make up my mind," said Jimmieboy.

"Oh dear me! that's awful easy," returned Pixyweevil. "I can do that with my eyes shut. Here she goes:

"Shall I become a lawyer great,
A captain of a yacht,
A man who deals in real estate,
A doctor, or a what?
Ah me! Oh ho!
_I_ do not know.
I can't make up my mind.

"I have a penny. Shall I buy
An apple or a tart?
A bit of toffee or a pie,
A cat-boat or a cart?
Ah me! Oh ho!
I do not know.
I can't make up my mind."

"Splendid!" cried Jimmieboy.

"That's harder--much harder," said Pixyweevil, "but I'll try. How is this:

"I bought one day, in Winnipeg,
A truly wondrous heavy egg;
And when my homeward course was run
I showed it to my little son.
'Dear me!' said he,
When he did see,
'I think that hen did
Splen-did-ly!'

"I saw a bird--'twas reddish-brown--
One day while in a country town,
Which sang, 'Oh, Johnny, Get Your Gun';
And when I told my little son,
In tones of glee
Said he, 'Dear me!
I think that wren did
Splen-did-ly!"

"That's the best I can do with splendid," said Pixyweevil.

"Well, it's all you can do now, anyhow," came a voice from the doorway, which Jimmieboy immediately recognized as the Imp's; "for Jimmieboy's mamma has just telephoned that she wants him to come home right away."

"It was very nice, Mr. Pixyweevil," said Jimmieboy, as he rose to depart. "And I am very much obliged."

"Thank you," returned Pixyweevil. "You are very polite, and exceedingly truthful. I believe myself that, as that 'Splendid' poem might say, if it had time,

"I've truly ended
Splen-did-ly."

And then Jimmieboy and the Imp passed out of the library back through the music and cookery room. The Imp unlocked the door, and, fixing the wires, sent Jimmieboy sliding down to the back hall, whence he had originally entered the little telephone closet.

"Hullo!" said his papa. "Where have you been?"

"Having a good time," said Jimmieboy.

"And what have you done with the key of my cigar-box?"

"Oh, I forgot," said Jimmieboy. "I left it in the telephone door."

"What a queer place to leave it," said his papa. "Let me have it, please, for I want to smoke."

And Jimmieboy went to get it, and, sure enough, there it was in the little box, and it unlocked it, too; but when his father came to open the door and look inside, the Imp had disappeared.

THE END.

The final game of the Long Island League was played on Thanksgiving day at Eastern Park, between Poly Prep, and the Brooklyn High-School. Although Pratt Institute had won the League championship, and both the contesting elevens had been defeated by St. Paul's, the interest taken by Brooklyn football enthusiasts in the rivalry of these two teams was sufficient to draw a larger crowd to Eastern Park than has been seen there at a football game since Yale played Princeton in 1890. Over 7000 people paid admission to witness this interscholastic contest. The game resulted in a victory for the High-School--16-12. The defensive work of both teams was weak, and when once one of the elevens secured the ball, they were pretty sure of carrying it down the field for a touch-down, unless they lost it on a fumble. The cause for this weakness in defensive play is no doubt due to the fact that it is the hardest kind of work to get a scrub team for the first eleven of either school to practise against. St. Paul's is about the only school in the Long Island League that can boast of a regularly organized second eleven. At the other schools no one seems to care about going on the field unless he is reasonably sure of securing a position on the first team.

In the first half, High-School scored ten points and Poly Prep. six. The work of both teams in this half was of about an even order; neither kicked, apparently feeling that the only hope for success was to cling to the possession of the ball. This was a mistake on Poly Prep.'s part, for in Mason, their full-back, they have a punter whose superior is not to be found on any school team of the Long Island League. In the second half, Poly Prep. took a brace, and although High-School scored again, they never gave up hope of success. The Prep. team scored chiefly because of the plunges through the line of Mason and Bresze, who carried the ball for repeated gains through tackle and guard, while Richards went around the end a number of times. These men did the best offensive work of the day for their side. Robeson at quarter did well, and seemed to have gotten rid of that nervousness which characterized his play earlier in the season. His passing was clean and accurate, and he used good generalship in giving signals. Bresze's tackling was low and hard, and at breaking up interference he proved himself most valuable. The best defence was put up by Boorum at centre, and by Norton and Hoover, his guards. Only one gain was made through them.

Full-back "bucking" the line.]

For the High-School, Laner, the Captain, and Lambert did the best work. The latter's offence was strong, and his good runs around the ends were in a large measure responsible for High-School's victory. This team was strong at the ends and back of the line, in this having some advantage over their opponents. In no game that I have seen this season has there been so little kicking; High-School did not kick at all, and Poly Prep. only once. This was when Mason punted for a 35-yard gain into High-School territory, Laner missing the catch, and letting the ball go to Poly Prep. on the 30-yard line. This should have encouraged the Poly Prep. Captain to play more of a kicking game, but he was apparently blind to his advantage. Both elevens were weak at tackle, and most of the plays were shoved through here on both sides.

Holding in the rush-line.]

The Long Island football season has not been so successful this year as might have been desired. It made a bad start and ended up weakly. Bryant and Stratton's decided at the beginning of the season not to put a team in the field. Adelphi, after being defeated 66-0 by Pratt Institute, disbanded her eleven, and forfeited the remaining games scheduled. A little later the Latin School followed suit. The latter had played but one game with High-School, in which they did good work, although the score was 18-0 against them. This wholesale resignation left only four teams in the League: St. Paul's, Pratt Institute, Poly Prep., and High-School. The reason given by Bryant and Stratton's for withdrawing from the League was that so little interest was taken in football that it was impossible to organize an eleven. I think the additional reason of bad management on the part of the Athletic Committee might well be added to this. At Adelphi one player was hurt early in the season, whereupon the parents of five of the best players in school took it upon themselves to prohibit their sons from taking any further part in the game. Another reason given by the Adelphians is that their men were so light that it was useless to attempt to pit them against the heavier teams of the League.

The Latin School eleven was unfortunate in having some of its best players laid up at the start. This seemed to discourage the men, and some of them announced openly that they intended to play Poly Prep., but would forfeit to St. Paul's and Pratt Institute, because they were not heavy enough to play against such teams. Later in the season they did, in fact, play Poly Prep., and were defeated 20-10. This business of forfeiting games for one reason or another is a very bad thing. The League ought to have some rule to penalize such conduct, or every season will see the same kind of fizzle that this year has exhibited. Any team that feels it cannot win in Brooklyn decides apparently that the noblest course of action is to forfeit at once. This is not sportsmanlike, and very little thought on the part of athletic leaders across the river ought to show them what a serious mistake they make by encouraging or allowing any such conduct on the part of the Captains or Managers of football teams.

Formation for tandem play.]

When the season opened, St. Paul's School was looked upon as a probable winner of the championship, but after the eleven had played several games it became apparent that the men lost heart in an uphill contest. In the game against Berkeley, however, they belied this reputation by playing a beautiful uphill game. High-School and Poly Prep. are now tied for third place, in spite of the fact that the former was victorious in the Thanksgiving-day game. The League will undoubtedly give to the Latin School the game that her eleven played against the High-School, which the latter won 18-0, and in which there was that peculiar agreement between the Captains to which I referred some weeks ago.

The results of the games played in the Long Island Interscholastic Football League this fall, are as follows:

Pratt Institute, 18--High-School, 0.
Pratt Institute, 66--Adelphi, 0.
Pratt Institute, 26--St. Paul's, 0.
Pratt Institute, 24--Poly Prep., 4.
St. Paul's, 36--Poly Prep., 0.
St. Paul's, 18--High-School, 0.
High-School, 18--Latin School, 0.
High-School, 16--Poly Prep., 12.
Poly Prep., 20--Latin School, 10.

Adelphi forfeited to all except Pratt Institute; and Bryant and Stratton's forfeited to everybody. The Latin School forfeited to Pratt Institute and to St. Paul's. Poly Prep. was the only team to score against Pratt Institute.

Matters of importance have been occupying the New York Inter-scholastic Athletic Association's attention for the past two weeks. These matters are of importance not only to students of the New York schools immediately interested in the questions in dispute, but also to all readers of this Department who favor cleanliness and honesty in school sport. Space will not allow me to go very fully into the questions that came up for decision at the two meetings of the N.Y.I.S.A.A., recently held here and fully discussed in the daily papers; but I shall try to touch broadly enough upon the principles involved to make the resulting lesson of service even to those who may not be familiar with the details of the two cases. The N.Y.I.S.A.A. this fall found that it had two difficult matters to settle. One of them was a charge brought by the rector of Trinity School against the head-master of Barnard School, accusing him of calling upon and personally asking a member of Trinity School to leave that institution and to accept a free scholarship at Barnard. The purpose of this inducement was said to be that Barnard wished thus to add to the strength of her football team. At the meeting of the committee intrusted with the task of deciding whether or no these charges were justified, Barnard School was represented by a lawyer, two teachers, and a stenographer, and doubtless with a very strong defense, because the committee after a protracted session decided to dismiss the complaint. The second question that the Arbitration Committee had to pass upon was the protest against Ehrich, of Harvard School, filed last spring by De La Salle.

The Ehrich matter is already familiar to readers of this Department, for I touched upon it at the time the protest was made in June. It will be remembered that in the game for the championship of the New York League in baseball, Ehrich caught for Harvard in spite of the fact that De La Salle claimed he had no right to play, having been a student at the College of the City of New York. Harvard School won that game, and as a result the pennant was subsequently awarded to them. At the recent meeting of the Arbitration Committee to decide the question of fraud on the part of Harvard, this school claimed that the association had already legally awarded the championship, and that therefore no further action could be taken. De La Salle, on the other hand, contended that they had protested Ehrich before the final game of last year, and showed that he was ineligible to the Harvard team because of having been enrolled the previous autumn in the Freshman class of a college.

According to the constitution of the N.Y.I.S.A.A. any violation of the rules is fraud. There is a rule which says that no one having attended a college may thereafter play upon a school team. De La Salle therefore charged Harvard School with being guilty of fraud, and tried to have the question settled last spring. Three attempts were made to have the protest decided. The first time there was no quorum present; at the second meeting the Condon delegates left the room, refusing to pass on any question of fraud; at the third meeting, on June 19th, the championship was awarded to the Harvard School; but from all I hear, the voting was carried on in a most questionable and peculiar manner. I hope there is no truth in the report that clerks from the drug-store located in the building were brought in as delegates, to make a quorum, and voted as such.

When the question came up before the Arbitration Committee last week, De La Salle claimed that, according to the constitution, charges of fraud must be referred not to the Executive Committee of the I.S.A.A., but to an Arbitration Committee, which is an entirely different body. De La Salle also asserted that their delegates had never been notified of the meeting at which the championship was awarded, and that even had they been notified they could not have been present because their school closed a week before. After a long debate Harvard School was found guilty by the Arbitration Committee of violating the constitution and, consequently, guilty of fraud.

The penalty for fraud is expulsion from the Association. Harvard now cries that it has been unfairly treated, and the principal of the school has stated in the newspapers that he will withdraw his school from the Association. This, of course, he cannot do, because Harvard has charges pending against her, and under these conditions resignation is out of the question. The action of the Arbitration Committee in thus stamping out the least semblance of professionalism in the Association cannot be too highly commended. Last year the N.Y.I.S.A.A. was run almost entirely by a few schools, and there was a great howl against "ring politics" from certain quarters. The outsiders formed themselves into a "reform party," and early this fall selected the men they chose to have represent them in the Executive Committee of the Association, nominated these men, and elected the entire ticket. It is to be hoped that this "reform party" will stick to its determination to keep scholastic athletics in New York clean and honest, and absolutely free from even the slightest rumor or suspicion of professional tendencies.

If the managers of New York school athletics cannot do this, if they cannot keep the professional spirit out of sport, they had better disband their elevens and their nines, rather than make sport a farce and a masquerade for dishonesty. A commendable step in the "house-cleaning" now going forward is the revision of the constitution.

The most interesting, most scientific, and most important game of the Boston season was that played Thanksgiving morning between Boston Latin and English High Schools, before three thousand spectators. English High pulled out the game, and thus won the championship with a clean score of victories. The Latin School played desperately, realizing that to win the game meant to tie English High for the championship.

After an exchange of kicks at the start, English High took the ball at the centre of the field, and worked it over the line for the only score of the game, without losing it. It was brilliant, hard, irresistible playing that did it, and it won the game. It was the best football that has been seen in the League this season. The only thing to be compared to it is the game that Boston Latin played from that moment until time was called. Latin forced the playing, after that fatal touch-down, until the end. English High was on the defence throughout. But that defence was so good that Latin, with an attack far better than it has ever shown before, was unable to score. Three or four times Latin carried the ball to the five-yard line of their opponents, only to be held for downs, and see the ball kicked safely down the field. The play on both sides was of the surest and most satisfactory order. There were no flukes to regret, no incompetent officials to turn the result of the game.

There was almost no fumbling or poor tackling. Every five yards that was gained was earned by straight, hard-played football. Every time four downs were called it was because of superior defence. The football that was played in this game would be a credit to any college team, and many a 'varsity player could learn a lesson of sand from these boys.

Whittemore of the English High-School, and Maguire of the Latin, were stars even in this group. Each one played football every minute of the game. In offence or defence, not an error was made by either. Not far behind them comes Callahan, English High's centre. In spite of two recently sprained ankles, he played a most aggressive game, repeatedly getting out and stopping end and tackle plays. It was his hole-making, too, in this game, as heretofore, that made Ellsworth such a brilliant line-bucker. Besides Callahan and Whittemore, Ashley and Eaton were most valuable to English High. Ashley got around the end in a way that must have surprised him. As a ground-gainer, Eaton, the guard, was not as successful as usual, but he did an immense amount of work on defence. Purtell, his side partner, played a steady, sure game.

For the Latin school, Maguire's work was far ahead of any one's else. He was their surest ground-gainer and their surest tackler. McLachlan, who is the tallest man in the League, played the best end in the game. He is a hard man to put out, and is a great interferer. Daly, at quarter, had a brainy day, and ran the team faultlessly. Nagle, at guard, quit even with Eaton, and time and again helped Teevens, the full-back, through the line.

Man for man, the teams were evenly matched. In the matter of sand neither side can claim any superiority. English High can rest assured that the championship was never more gloriously won. Boston Latin need feel no chagrin because their opponents played a game just one whit better than their own.

Two other great games were played Thanksgiving morning, one between Cambridge Manual and Cambridge High and Latin, the other between Boston English High and Boston Latin. The first-named game was played on a soggy, slippery field, which did not allow of much good football. It was intensely interesting and exciting, however, and resulted in a tie. In the first half it looked like High-School's game; but in the second Manual had everything her own way. It would be unfair to say that it was a poor exhibition in so far as playing football was concerned, for the miserable field was responsible for that. The backs never got started well, and the punters could not stand firmly enough to do good kicking, and anything but the most elementary plays was impossible.

High and Latin had a much better defence than Manual; there was but one weak spot in the line, but that--left tackle--was worked repeatedly for big gains. Cambridge played a new man at left end, Warnock, and he gives promise of doing great work next year. Warren, at guard, and Saul, at quarter, played their usual reliable defence, and Beardsell, at end, played a most brilliant game. He followed the ball wonderfully. Nine times out of ten, when the ball was fumbled, it was Beardsell who fell on it. For Manual, Moore, at centre, played the most aggressive game. White excelled among the backs, keeping his feet remarkably well in the mud.

This game was to decide which team would finish last in the race; but it failed to do so, as each of these schools now has four defeats and one tie on its record. The question of last place must be decided, however, in order to give Somerville High, who won the junior championship, a chance to enter the senior league next year.

THE GRADUATE.

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The Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject.
Our maps and tours contain much valuable data kindly supplied from
the official maps and road-books of the League of American
Wheelmen. Recognizing the value of the work being done by the
L. A. W. the Editor will be pleased to furnish subscribers with
membership blanks and information so far as possible.

The excellent roads and pleasant mingling of inland and coast scenery make the cycling trip to Nantasket and the shore one of the most enjoyable in the vicinity of Boston. The rendezvous is at Copley Square in front of the new Public Library. Start northward through Dartmouth Street, turn to the left onto Commonwealth Avenue, a finely macadamized street, and follow the same until you reach Charlesgate Street, West; here bear to the left, and cross the bridge over the Boston and Albany tracks; this will bring the rider into the Fenway Parks, a part of the great Metropolitan Park System. After leaving the bridge at the first fork of the roads keep to the right, and shortly afterward to the right again, thus following the main Boulevard to Brookline Avenue. There turn to the left, and in a few rods to the right again. For some distance after passing this point there are a few easy hills and moderate coasts, the road winding in and out between picturesque hills and through beautiful woodlands.

On coming in sight of Jamaica Pond turn to the left, and take the next road to the right, passing the pond on the right hand, and taking the main driveway in Jamaica Park. At this last turn, the rider passes on the right a building so peculiar as to attract more than usual attention; it is the Holland House, which was bought after the close of the exposition in Chicago, and transported to its present site. After passing the small pond on the left of Pond Street turn to the left, and at the first fork of the roads keep to the left, and take the next road to the right, which runs along the northern boundary of the Arnold Arboretum (place of trees) with the Adams Nervine Asylum and Agricultural College on the right. Keep now to the direct road, which winds a little, crosses the tracks of the New York and New Haven Railroad, and skirts Franklin Park on the south, bearing here the name of Morton Street.

From the beginning of our ride up to the end of Franklin Park all the roadway is of the best macadamized construction with smooth and perfectly preserved surface. The rider gets a comprehensive view of the Fenway Parks, Jamaica Park, and a glimpse of the Arnold Arboretum, and Franklin Park, immediately to the south of which is Forest Hills Cemetery, with the Blue Hills of Milton in the distance.

On leaving Franklin Park keep the direct road on Morton Street to Milton Lower Mills. On reaching Sanford Street turn to the left, and at the next corner to the right, past the Library Building; then bear to the left on to Dorchester Avenue and across the bridge over Neponset River, by the Milton Station on Adams Street, which we follow directly to East Milton Station.