Chapter XIV: The Continental Congress (1)

Near the end of August, 1774, Patrick Henry and Edmund Pendleton, two of the delegates from Virginia to the first Continental Congress, rode from their homes to Mount Vernon and made a short visit. Then, on the last day of the month, Washington mounted his horse also, and the three friends started for Philadelphia to attend the congress, which was called to meet on the 5th of September. Pendleton was a dozen years older than Washington, and Henry was the youngest of the party. He was the most fiery in speech, and more than once, in recent conventions, had carried his hearers away by his bold words. He was the most eloquent man in the colonies,--of rude appearance, but when once wrought up by excitement, able to pour out a torrent of words.

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For my part, I would rather have heard the speech which Washington made at the convention in Williamsburg in the August before, when he rose up to read the resolution which he and his neighbors had passed at their meeting in Fairfax County. The eloquence of a man who is a famous orator is not quite so convincing as that of a man of action, who rarely speaks, but who is finally stirred by a great occasion. People were used to hearing Washington say a few words in a slow, hesitating, deliberate way; and they knew that he had carefully considered beforehand what words he should use. But this time he was terribly in earnest, and when he had read the resolution, he spoke as no one had heard him before. He was a passionate man who had his anger under control; but when it occasionally burst out, it was as if a dam to a stream had given way. And now he was consumed with indignation at the manner in which Great Britain was treating the colonies. He was ready, he said, to raise a regiment of a thousand men, pay all their expenses, and lead them to Boston to drive out the King's soldiers.

The three men, therefore, must have talked long and earnestly as they rode to Philadelphia; for the Congress which they were to attend was the first one to which all the colonies were invited to send delegates. It was to consider the cause of the whole people, and Virginia was to see in Massachusetts not a rival colony, but one with which she had common cause. The last time Washington had gone over the road he had been on an errand to the King's chief representative in America, the Commander-in-Chief, Governor Shirley, and one matter which he had held very much at heart had been his own commission as an officer in His Majesty's army. He was on a different errand now. Still, like the men who were most in earnest at that time, he was thinking how the colonies could secure their rights as colonies, not how they might break away from England and set up for themselves.

[Footnote D: The above illustration is reproduced from Irving's "Life of Washington," by kind permission of Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons.]

They were five days on the road, and on September the 4th, they breakfasted near Newcastle, in Delaware, dined at Chester, in Pennsylvania, and in the evening were in Philadelphia, at the City Tavern, which stood on Second street, above Walnut street, and was the meeting-place of most of the delegates. Washington, however, though he was often at the City Tavern, had his lodging at Dr. Shippen's. The Congress met the next day at Carpenters' Hall, and was in session for seven weeks. The first two or three days were especially exciting to the members. There they were, fifty-one men, from all the colonies save Georgia, met to consult together--Englishmen who sang "God save the King," but asked also what right the King had to act as he had done toward Boston. They did not know one another well at the beginning. There was no man among them who could be called famous beyond his own colony, unless it was George Washington. Up to this time the different colonies had lived so apart from one another, each concerned about its own affairs, that there had been little opportunity for a man to be widely known.

So, as they looked at one another at the City Tavern, or at the Carpenters' Hall when they met, each man was wondering who would take the lead. Virginia was the largest and most important colony. Massachusetts had a right to speak, because she had called the convention, and because it was in Boston that the people were suffering most from the action of the British Parliament. Perhaps the two most conspicuous members at first were Patrick Henry, of Virginia, and Samuel Adams, of Massachusetts; but in the seven weeks of the session, others showed their good judgment and patriotism. Patrick Henry was asked after he returned to Virginia whom he considered the greatest man in the Congress, and he replied: "If you speak of eloquence, Mr. Rutledge, of South Carolina, is by far the greatest orator; but if you speak of solid information and sound judgment, Colonel Washington is unquestionably the greatest man on the floor."

Washington carried on the methods which he had always practiced. He attended the sessions punctually and regularly; he listened to what others had to say, and gave his own opinion only after he had carefully formed it. It is an example of the thoroughness with which he made himself master of every subject, that he used to copy in his own hand the important papers which were laid before Congress, such as the petition to the King which was agreed upon. This he would do deliberately and exactly,--it was like committing the paper to memory. Besides this, he made abstracts of other papers, stating the substance of them in a few clear words.

The greater part of each day was occupied in the Congress, but besides the regular business, there was a great deal of informal talk among the members. They were full of the subject, and used to meet to discuss affairs at dinner, or in knots about the fire at the City Tavern. Philadelphia was then the most important city in the country, and there were many men of wide experience living in it. Washington went everywhere by invitation. He dined with the Chief Justice, with the Mayor, and with all the notable people.

In this way he was able to become better acquainted both with the state of affairs in other colonies and with the way the most intelligent people were thinking about the difficulties of the time. The first Continental Congress gave expression to the deliberate judgment of the colonies upon the acts of Great Britain. It protested against the manner in which Parliament was treating the colonies. It declared firmly and solemnly that as British subjects the people of the colonies owed no allegiance to Parliament, in which they had no representatives; that their own legislatures alone had the right to lay taxes. But after all, the great advantage of this first Congress was in the opportunity which it gave for representatives from the different colonies to become acquainted with one another, and thus to make all parts of the country more ready to act together.

It was only now and then that any one suggested the independence of the colonies. Washington, like a few others, thought it possible the colonies might have to arm and resist the unlawful attempt to force unconstitutional laws upon them; but he did not, at this time, go so far as to propose a separation from England. He had a friend among the British officers in Boston, one of his old comrades in the war against France, a Captain Mackenzie, who wrote to him, complaining of the way the Boston people were behaving. Captain Mackenzie, very naturally, as an officer, saw only a troublesome, rebellious lot of people whom it was the business of the army to put down. Washington wrote earnestly to him, trying to show him the reason why the people felt as they did, and the wrong way of looking at the subject which Captain Mackenzie and other officers had. He expressed his sorrow that fortune should have placed his friend in a service that was sure to bring down vengeance upon those engaged in it. He went on:

"I do not mean by this to insinuate that an officer is not
to discharge his duty, even when chance, not choice, has
placed him in a disagreeable situation; but I conceive, when
you condemn the conduct of the Massachusetts people, you
reason from effects, not causes; otherwise you would not
wonder at a people, who are every day receiving fresh proofs
of a systematic assertion of an arbitrary power, deeply
planned to overturn the laws and constitution of their
country, and to violate the most essential and valuable
rights of mankind, being irritated, and with difficulty
restrained from acts of the greatest violence and
intemperance. For my own part, I confess to you candidly,
that I view things in a very different point of light from
the one in which you seem to consider them; and though you
are taught by venal men ... to believe that the people of
Massachusetts are rebellious, setting up for independency,
and what not, give me leave, my good friend, to tell you,
that you are abused, grossly abused.... Give me leave to
add, and I think I can announce it as a fact, that it is not
the wish or interest of that government, or any other upon
this continent, separately or collectively, to set up for
independence; but this you may at the same time rely on,
that none of them will ever submit to the loss of those
valuable rights and privileges which are essential to the
happiness of every free State, and without which, life,
liberty, and property are rendered totally insecure."

It was with such a belief as this that Washington went back to Mount Vernon, and while he was occupied with his engrossing private affairs, busied himself also with organizing and drilling soldiers. Independent companies were formed all over Virginia, and one after another placed themselves under his command. Although, by the custom of those companies, each was independent of the others, yet by choosing the same commander they virtually made Washington Commander-in-Chief of the Virginia volunteers. He was the first military man in the colony, and every one turned to him for advice and instruction. So through the winter and spring, he was constantly on the move, going to one place after another to review the companies which had been formed.

I think that winter and spring of 1775 must have been a somewhat sorrowful one to George Washington, and that he must have felt as if a great change were coming in his life. His wife's daughter had died, and he missed her sadly. Young John Custis had married and gone away to live. The sound of war was heard on all sides, and among the visitors to Mount Vernon were some who afterward were to be generals in the American army. He still rode occasionally after the hounds, but the old days of fun were gone. George William Fairfax had gone back to England, and the jolly company at Belvoir was scattered. The house itself there had caught fire, and burned to the ground.

But the time for action was at hand. Washington turned from his home and his fox-hunting to go to Richmond as a delegate to a second Virginia convention. It was called to hear the reports of the delegates to Philadelphia and to see what further was to be done. It was clear to some, and to Washington among them, that the people must be ready for the worst. They had shown themselves in earnest by all the drill and training they had been going through as independent companies. Now let those companies be formed into a real army. It was idle to send any more petitions to the King.

"We must fight!" exclaimed Patrick Henry; "I repeat it, sir; we must fight! An appeal to arms and the God of Hosts is all that is left us!"

A committee, of which Washington was one, was appointed to report a plan for an army of Virginia.

But when people make up their minds to fight, they know very well, if they are sensible, that more than half the task before them is to find means for feeding and clothing not only the troops but the people who are dependent on the troops. Therefore the convention appointed another committee, of which Washington also was a member, to devise a plan for encouraging manufactures, so that the people could do without England. Heretofore, the Virginians had done scarcely any manufacturing; nearly everything they needed they had bought from England with tobacco. But if they were to be at war with England, they must be making ready to provide for themselves. It was late in the day to do anything; slavery, though they did not then see it clearly, had made a variety of industries impossible. However, the people were advised to form associations to promote the raising of wool, cotton, flax, and hemp, and to encourage the use of home manufactures.

Washington was again chosen one of the delegates to the Continental Congress, for the second Congress had been called to meet at Philadelphia. He was even readier to go than before. On the day when he was chosen, he wrote to his brother John Augustine Washington: "It is my full intention to devote my life and fortune to the cause we are engaged in, if needful."

That was at the end of March. The second Continental Congress was to meet on May 10; and just before Washington left Mount Vernon came the news of Lexington and Concord. Curiously enough, the Governor of Virginia had done just what Governor Gage had attempted to do; he had seized some powder which was stored at Fredericksburg, and placed it for safety on board a vessel of the British navy. The independent companies at once met and called upon Washington to take command of them, that they might compel the Governor to restore the powder. Washington kept cool. The Governor promised to restore the powder, and Washington advised the people to wait to see what Congress would do.

When Congress met, the men who came together were no longer strangers to one another. They had parted warm friends the previous fall; they had gone to their several homes and now had come back more determined than ever, and more united. Every one spoke of Lexington and Concord; and the Massachusetts men told how large an army had already gathered around Boston. But it was an army made up not only of Massachusetts men, but of men from Connecticut, Rhode Island and New Hampshire. It was plain that there must be some authority over such an army, and the Provincial Congress of Massachusetts wrote to the Continental Congress at Philadelphia, advising that body to assume control of all the forces, to raise a continental army, appoint a commander, and do whatever else was necessary to prepare for war. There had already been fighting; there was an army; and it was no longer a war between Massachusetts and Great Britain.

I do not know what other delegates to the Congress at Philadelphia came as soldiers, but there was one tall Virginian present who wore his military coat; and when the talk fell upon appointing a commander, all eyes were turned toward him. Every one, however, felt the gravity and delicacy of the situation. Here was an army adopted by Congress; but it was a New England army, and if the struggle were to come at Boston, it was natural that the troops should mainly come from that neighborhood. The colonies were widely separated; they had not acted much together. Would it not be better, would it not save ill-feeling, if a New England man were to command this New England army?

There were some who thought thus; and besides, there was still a good deal of difference of opinion as to the course to be pursued. Some were all ready for independence; others, and perhaps the most, hoped to bring the British to terms. Parties were rising in Congress; petty jealousies were showing themselves, when suddenly John Adams, of Massachusetts, seeing into what perplexities they were drifting, came forward with a distinct proposition that Congress should adopt the army before Boston and appoint a commander. He did not name Washington, but described him as a certain gentleman from Virginia "who could unite the cordial exertions of all the colonies better than any other person." No one doubted who was meant, and Washington, confused and agitated, left the room at once.

Nothing else was now talked of. The delegates discussed the matter in groups and small circles, and a few days afterward a Maryland delegate formally nominated George Washington to be Commander-in-Chief of the American Army. He was unanimously elected, but the honor of bringing him distinctly before the Congress belongs to John Adams. It seems now a very natural thing to do, but really it was something which required wisdom and courage. When one sums up all Washington's military experience at this time, it was not great, or such as to point him out as unmistakably the leader of the American army. There was a general then in command at Cambridge, who had seen more of war than Washington had. But Washington was the leading military man in Virginia, and it was for this reason that John Adams, as a New England man, urged his election. The Congress had done something to bring the colonies together; the war was to do more, but probably no single act really had a more far-reaching significance in making the Union, than the act of nominating the Virginian Washington by the New England Adams.

(_To be continued._)

Spring Beauties.

BY HELEN GRAY CONE.

The Puritan Spring Beauties stood freshly clad for church;
A Thrush, white-breasted, o'er them sat singing on his perch.
"Happy be! for fair are ye!" the gentle singer told them.
But presently a buff-coat Bee came booming up to scold them.
"Vanity, oh, vanity!
Young maids, beware of vanity!"
Grumbled out the buff-coat Bee,
Half parson-like, half soldierly.

The sweet-faced maidens trembled, with pretty, pinky blushes,
Convinced that it was wicked to listen to the Thrushes;
And when, that shady afternoon, I chanced that way to pass,
They hung their little bonnets down and looked into the grass.
All because the buff-coat Bee
Lectured them so solemnly:--
"Vanity, oh, vanity!
Young maids, beware of vanity!"

HOW CONRAD LOST HIS SCHOOL-BOOKS.

BY WALTER BOBBETT.

Conrad was not a prince, not even a lord; he was only an ordinary boy. He should have been on his way to school; but, having a talent for doing nothing, he was wandering about the fields and little strips of woodland, amusing himself by watching the birds skim through the air. He had lately been reading a volume of fairy-tales, and as he walked along he began to wonder whether there really was a bit of truth in any of them.

He kept on thinking so intently about it, that he did not notice how near he was to a little brook, until he found himself almost on the point of tumbling into the water. This put a stop to his wondering, for the next moment he stood staring in astonishment, not at the water, but at a little old man who was sitting on the roots of a large tree that grew on the opposite bank of the stream. He was dressed in a very curious fashion. On his head he had a tall steeple-crowned hat, in which were placed two long peacock's feathers.

The little old man sat looking very attentively at Conrad, and seemed to derive a great deal of comfort from a long pipe, which he was enjoying so energetically that all around him the air was filled with smoke. At last he beckoned to Conrad, who crossed the stream on a slight plank bridge, and advanced toward him.

By that time, Conrad had leaped to the conclusion, in his own mind, that the very queer-looking old gentleman was an enchanter, and so he had resolved to be very respectful, to do just as he was bidden, and to wait very patiently for the little old man to speak first.

Presently the little old man shifted the pipe for a moment, and asked:

"What are those books that you are carrying?"

"They are my school-books," said Conrad; "but I am tired of going to school, and I wish to go with the fairies!"

The little old man smiled a benevolent smile, and exclaimed: "Oh!" Then he shifted his pipe again, and said quickly:

"Give me the school-books."

Conrad did so, at once.

The little old man then opened a spelling-book, and turned to the fly-leaf.

"Conrad," said he.

Conrad started, for he wondered how the little man had learned his name. He himself had not once mentioned it. He was sure now that the queer little person was an enchanter.

"So, Conrad," said the little old man again, "you wish to go to the fairies, do you? Well, you may go; but you must leave your books with me until you come back."

Conrad's attention was now attracted by a raven, which he saw standing beside the enchanter, and which he had not noticed before.

Turning to the bird, the enchanter said: "Give me my key."

The raven hopped from a large key upon which it had been standing, and taking it in its beak, presented it to its master.

Conrad wished to ask if the raven would bite, and whether it could do any better trick than carrying a key; but he thought this might be considered an impertinent question, so he said nothing.

"Take this key," said the little old man, "and be careful not to lose it. Walk on until you come to the edge of yonder forest; pass straight through the wood, and when you arrive at the other side, you will behold a castle not far distant. You may find it difficult to gain admission; but you must persevere. As to what will happen afterward, I may not tell you now. One word more, and then begone; should you ever need my assistance, blow down the key."

Conrad was so astonished at all he had seen and heard, that he hardly knew what to do; but as the little old man pointed in the direction of the forest, Conrad bade him good-day, and walked away to follow the orders he had received.

He kept on until he came to the forest, which he entered. It seemed so quiet and dark, that he would have been frightened, had he not remembered that, in case of danger, he could depend on assistance from the enchanter.

At last he reached the end of the wood, and about a mile beyond, he saw the castle with its gilded dome and all its windows shining in the sunlight. This sight cheered him, and he walked on till he came to the gateway. He found the great gates wide open; and no one prevented his entering, as it happened to be a day on which the King received petitions from those of his subjects who wished to present any.

He passed on through the large court-yard, key in hand, and instead of going in at the entrance to the court, he entered a little side door and ascended a winding stairway. Up he went, higher and higher, till it seemed as if the stairway would never end, when suddenly he came face to face with an official who was descending.

"What business have you here?" asked the officer.

Conrad could not answer; so the man gently took hold of his ear and led him down the stairs again, varying the monotony of the long descent by giving the ear a severe pinch at every seventh step. Out through the court-yard they passed, the bystanders all cheering and laughing; out of the gate again; and with one final pinch, the boy was left sobbing on the roadway.

Poor Conrad had, indeed, found it difficult to gain admission to the castle. Drying his tears, however, he began to walk around the outside of the building, until at last he came to a ladder that was leaning against a window.

"The very thing!" said he; "it must have been left here on purpose for me."

Up he climbed, slipped in at the window, and dropped quietly to the floor.

He found himself in a large hall, through which he walked until he came to an archway at the farther end. Before the archway hung an embroidered curtain. Conrad pushed it aside, and entered a richly decorated room, at the end of which stood a throne. Around it were assembled many nobles, pages, and guards, who were awaiting the return of the King from hunting.

Few of them looked at Conrad. Some seemed to cast a scornful side-glance at him, and one even told him to go back by the way he had come. Conrad was not a whit daunted, however, and boldly holding up his key, so that every one could see it, he walked up to a portly-looking gentleman, who was dressed in black velvet and who wore a golden chain around his neck. Conrad asked him what he was to do. The portly gentleman stared at him. Conrad asked if any of the company were enchanted; "because," said he, "if they are, I'll disenchant them with my key."

"Enchanted?" said the gentleman in black. "What do you mean? Why do you bother me about enchantment?"

Conrad began to feel a little nervous, and to think that they did not seem at all like enchanted folk; at least, they did not act like any he had read about in his books.

The enchanter had told him that he would meet with difficulties, but, despite his confidence, he could not help getting very red in the face. And by this time, all the gentlemen, except the one dressed in black, were smiling.

Suddenly, Conrad remembered what the little old man had said about whistling down the key. Happy thought! He at once rushed up in front of the portly gentleman with the black velvet suit and the golden chain, and began to whistle in the key as hard as he could.

But, at this performance, the nobles all stopped smiling and looked first at one another, and then at Conrad, with very grave faces; one even put his hand upon his sword.

Now, it happened that the gentleman in black velvet was a Grand Duke and the Prime Minister of the kingdom. At that moment he was thinking over some important question of state, and the sight of Conrad whistling and capering in front of him, just as he was settling everything to his own satisfaction, made him so angry, that he stopped and stared at Conrad, as if he could have stepped upon him. Conrad kept on whistling, but the little enchanter did not come. "He must either be ill or very deaf," thought Conrad, and he was just making up his mind that something was wrong, when all doubts on the subject were removed by the Grand Duke, who advanced toward him, picked him up by the collar of his jacket, and, carrying him to a window, quietly dropped him out.

Poor Conrad was very much shaken by his fall, and for a time was so dazed that he could hardly realize what had happened. In a little while, he began to collect his thoughts; but as he picked himself up, he concluded, notwithstanding the difficulties he had encountered, that he would try once more to gain admission to the castle. So he arose and walked toward a door which he saw a few paces distant.

His key fitted the lock perfectly. He pushed aside a sliding door, walked in, and passed down a stairway, when he found himself in a dark cellar. The floor was strewn with boxes and small barrels, over which he stumbled, breaking some bottles that stood in his way. He began to feel frightened, so he climbed to the top of a barrel, in order to get a glimpse of his position and see if he could find his way out to daylight. Suddenly the barrel-head gave way, and before he had time to jump off, Conrad fell, up to his knees, in some soft powder. He struggled to free himself, but only upset the barrel and covered himself from head to foot with flour or fine meal. At last he called for assistance; and a door, that he had not noticed until then, opened, and a girl of about his own age came into the cellar, and asked what was the matter.

"I've tumbled into something; please come and help me out," cried Conrad.

She hurried to him, and with her aid he at last succeeded in freeing himself.

After brushing the dust from his hair and his clothes, he followed where his new friend led the way, and entered a kitchen, thinking that without doubt he was now in the presence of an enchanted princess, who must have been waiting many years for some one to disenchant her. "To be sure," thought he, "I am not a prince; but then that does not so much matter; there is no telling but I may be one, some day;" so he decided to ask the maiden how she had become enchanted.

"Beautiful Princess," exclaimed he,----and he was just attempting a very fine speech in the best fairy-story manner, when the young girl laughed, and told him to be seated, and asked him if he would like to have a pie. Conrad was astonished by this question from an enchanted princess; but, without waiting for his reply, the girl walked toward a table on which stood a number of mince-pies, and, taking up one of them, she placed it before Conrad.

That was not the way in which an enchanted princess was supposed to act; but as Conrad was very hungry, he did not express his surprise, but turned his attention to the pie. While he was eating, the princess busied herself with beating some eggs in a large bowl, and before he knew it, Conrad found that he had eaten all the pie.

Then they talked about the weather and whatever else they happened to think of; and at last, Conrad asked her how long she had been enchanted.

"What!" exclaimed the princess.

He repeated his question.

"Why, what do you mean?" said she.

He was just about explaining, when "tramp, tramp, tramp!"--the noise of feet was heard coming down the stairs. The princess jumped up, and cried:

"Oh, run! Run quickly! I shall be punished if they find that I have given you a pie!"

"Oh, no," said Conrad; "do not be frightened! I will protect you from them. I came to this castle on purpose to rescue you."

"But I do not want to be rescued!" said she. "Do go, at once!"

Tramp, tramp! Nearer and nearer came the sound,--almost to the bottom of the stairs. Conrad felt for his key.

"Oh, dear!" he exclaimed, "I must have lost my key when I fell into the barrel! I never noticed that I was without it till now. All is lost! Adieu, good Princess!"

"Good-bye," said she; "only go!"

He jumped upon a table, and climbed out of the window. It was all that was left for him to do. After he was outside of the building, he turned, and waving his hand to the princess, begged her to remember him.

"I will come back to you, if I ever get my key again," he said; "and then I'll disenchant you."

At that moment the kitchen door opened, and Conrad saw a great light. It might have been a bull's-eye lantern, but Conrad was sure that it was a dragon that was pointing its fiery eye at him.

"Oh, the poor princess!" said he. "If only I had my key!"

Then, as the light flashed full at him, he became so frightened that he turned and ran for the gate as hard as he could. He made his way across the court-yard much faster than when he had come in, and soon he had left the castle far behind. The houses began to be farther apart and to have a more rustic appearance. He heard a cart coming along the road.

"Please give me a ride!" he cried to the driver.

"Yes, I will," said the man; "jump in." And Conrad clambered into the cart.

"You look tired," said the driver. "Lie down on that blanket and rest yourself."

Conrad gladly did as he was told and, feeling much fatigued after his adventures, he was soon fast asleep.

He did not awake until he felt himself carried out of the cart, and was just enough awake to know that all the inmates of his father's house, together with a few of the neighbors, were crowding about and asking him where he had been. And that was all he noticed, for the next moment he was off to sleep again, and was carried upstairs and put to bed.

He did not feel very well the next morning, so the doctor was called in, who advised that he should remain in the house for a few days, as he had a slight fever.

While at home, he told his aunt what had happened to him; but she only patted his head, and told him that he must have been dreaming. But this Conrad refused to believe.

When he recovered, however, he became a much better boy, more quiet and attentive to his studies; and it may be mentioned that, whenever any one told a fairy-tale, he wore a very solemn face, took a back seat, and said nothing.

It is not known whether he still believes in fairies; but one thing is certain--he never saw the little old enchanter again, nor the school-books that he had left with him.

BLOSSOM-TIME.

BY L. E. R.

Snow, snow, down from the apple-trees,
Pink and white drifting of petals sweet!
Kiss her and crown her our Lady of Blossoming,
There as she sits on the apple-tree sweet!

Has she not gathered the summer about her?
See how it laughs from her lips and her eyes!
Think you the sun there would shine on without her?
Nay! 'Tis her smile keeps the gray from the skies!

Fire of the rose, and snow of the jessamine,
Gold of the lily-dust hid in her hair;
Day holds his breath and Night comes up to look at her,
Leaving their strife for a vision so rare.

Snow, snow, down from the apple-trees,
Pink and white drifting of petals sweet!
Kiss her, and crown her, and flutter adown her,
And carpet the ground for her dear little feet!

A SEARCH FOR THE LACE-LEAF.

BY ALICE MAY.

Early one morning, a palanquin carried by native bearers, and containing as passengers Mr. Steedman, an English missionary, and his little son Harry, was proceeding up the one street of Biforána, a queer little bamboo village on the island of Madagascar, situated about midway between Antananarivo, the capital, and the eastern coast.

Comparatively little is known of Madagascar, although the unsuccessful attempt of France to obtain possession of it drew interest and attention to it not many months ago. There are but two larger islands in the world. As many of you know, it lies some two hundred and fifty miles to the east of the African coast, is nine hundred and eighty miles long and two hundred and fifty wide, and is therefore nearly four times as large as England and Wales combined.

The Queen of this island kingdom is a young woman with the curious name of Rasendranovo Ranavalo III. She succeeded to the throne in 1883. She is a Christian, as is also a large part of the population of her realm; and there are numerous missionary stations throughout the island.

Harry Steedman's father was one of these missionaries, and Harry himself was accustomed to traveling by palanquin, since there are no roads nor carriages to be found in Madagascar.

The palanquin was an oblong basket of bamboo, lined with plaited sheepskin. The ends of the long poles or handles rested upon the shoulders of four Madagascan bearers, while four others accompanied these as a relay. Under the palanquin hood of woven palm-cloth, Mr. Steedman reclined comfortably, while Harry nestled cozily at his feet; and so, out of the village, and through the swamp of Biforána, the procession moved until the mire became so thick that the palanquin could not be carried with ease. As the next best mode of conveyance, the two passengers were then transferred to the shoulders of two stout natives.

Mr. Steedman had started upon an expedition in search of the beautiful lace-leaf plant, or water-yam, of Madagascar, which he was told grew in the forests beyond Biforána, and which he was very desirous of finding in its native state. Harry, after urgent solicitation, had been allowed to accompany his father; but, as he clung to the neck of his swarthy bearer, the little fellow found that there was not, after all, so much fun in the trip as he had expected. And later on, when the palanquin, in which they were soon seated again, was tossed and bumped by the slipping and stumbling of the bearers as they climbed a very steep hill-side, he began almost to wish himself at home.

After passing a grove of the stately palms known as the "traveler's tree," they found themselves on a path that led to the bank of a river. They endeavored to ford it, but speedily found that the danger from deep holes and ugly-looking crocodiles was too great for them to proceed. So Raheh, the chief bearer, uttered a curious cry, or signal, which soon brought into view a _làkana_, or canoe, rudely fashioned from a hollow tree-trunk; and in it a native was paddling rapidly toward them.

Harry and his father stepped into the rather shaky-looking craft not without misgivings, but they were soon safely landed on the other shore. When all had been thus ferried across and the native boatman had been paid, the party entered the great forest of Alamazaotra, which covers more than forty miles of wild and mountainous country.

Their path at once led them through a gorge so narrow that the sides of the palanquin grazed the rocky walls, and the masses of tangled foliage, meeting far above their heads, almost entirely obscured the light. The bearers paused for breath after climbing the steep ascent that led from this gloomy pass, and Harry and his father exclaimed in wonder at the strange beauty of the wild tropical forest.

Gigantic palms upheld around their stately heads a leafy dome closely interlaced by clinging vines. Long garlands of moss and climbing plants crossed and recrossed this lofty roof, and from its shadowy arches great masses of gray moss hung suspended. Here and there among the cool green and gray tints of leaves and moss some tropical flowers and fruits gleamed forth in bright flashes of scarlet and gold.

Myriads of frail wood-blossoms hid their pale heads under the feathery ferns that clustered about the roots of the trees, and the dead palms were tenderly shrouded in waxy-leaved climbing vines, their graceful fallen crowns replaced by masses of green ferns, intermingled with the faint pink and blue tints of some rare orchid. On every side were little groves of bamboo,--their light-green fringes contrasting with the darker fronds of the stately tree-fern.

Absolute silence reigned throughout this solitude, and Harry began to be so oppressed by the stillness as to grow fearful of danger. But his father explained that during the wet season, in which they were traveling, insect life in these tropical forests is asleep, and Harry himself knew that there were but few wild animals in Madagascar. Indeed, with the exception of that curious animal, part fox, part squirrel, and part monkey, that is peculiar to Madagascar and is called, from its prowling habits and ghostly appearance, the lemur, or "ghostly visitor," the great island possesses no large native quadrupeds. The hump-backed African cattle and the singular fat-tailed sheep, now common throughout the island, were not originally found in Madagascar, but were taken over from Africa.

The bearers of the palanquin clambered on, now over steep and moss-covered rocks, now crossing sluggish streams on slippery stepping-stones, or sliding down precipices, until poor Harry was so rattled and shaken and tossed and tumbled that he declared he didn't know his head from his heels.

But, at last, a break occurred in the long stretch of rock and forest, and as the bearers paused upon a piece of level ground, for a moment's rest, Raheh suddenly uttered the joyful cry of "_rano!_" (water) and all, on listening, distinguished the sound of a rushing stream.

Urged on by Raheh, the bearers pushed ahead, and soon stood upon the banks of a beautiful river, dashing merrily along over rocks and fallen trees, until with a leap it disappeared in the shadows of the vast forest. Upon the farther side was grouped a little village of the clay huts belonging to the friendly Hovas, and beyond the village stretched green fields of waving rice. The "Hovas" are the governing race in the island, and are the most civilized. Their capital city of Antananarivo, in the center of the island, is a well-built city of over 100,000 inhabitants.

A tree had fallen across the stream, with its head resting upon the opposite bank, and this natural bridge was entirely covered with pink, blue, and white flowers of the waxy orchid. This beautiful sight, however, was unnoticed by Harry and his father, for in the water at their feet was the object of their search, the Lattice or Lace leaf.

The lace-leaf plant, or fresh-water yam as it is sometimes called because of its potato-shaped or yam-like root, is found in many of the rivers of Madagascar. The difficulty of obtaining it, however, makes it a rare plant to Europeans; and when, a few days before, Mr. Steedman had recognized in some "roasted potatoes," as Harry called the pleasant-tasting vegetable that one of his boyish Madagascan friends had given him to eat, the edible root of the lace-leaf plant, the missionary had determined to make a careful search for the plant so prized by naturalists. And now at last he had found it, bobbing backward and forward in a fantastic dance just above the eddying waters of the beautiful forest river. As soon as they recognized it, both Mr. Steedman and his son were on the ground in an instant, and bending eagerly above the clear stream. The water was so pure and limpid that every pebble could be counted, and in the cool, bright current they saw, to their delight, a perfect labyrinth of lace-work. Dozens of lace-leaves, green, gold, olive, and brown, were floating just beneath the surface of the water.

"Oh, Papa! did you ever see anything so lovely?" said Harry, excitedly.

Mr. Steedman could take but a one-sided view of those wonderful leaves, as one glass from his spectacles had been lost during their rough journey; but the remaining glass fairly sparkled with satisfaction.

"Ah, my son, this plant is both lovely and rare. See, the young leaves are light green and yellow; the older leaves are darker,--shades of green and olive. A few are even black, and all growing from the same root. How perfect is every leaf, in spite of its delicate texture! Some of those larger leaves must be ten or twelve inches long. The strong midrib in each serves as a support for the fragile threads forming the meshes on each side."

Harry now plunged his hand into the lace-like web, half expecting it to dissolve in his grasp. But no! The wiry little yellow leaf which he raised from the water, was perfect in form, and a gleam of sunlight, falling upon the shining meshes, transformed them into threads of glistening gold.

He now discovered, as he examined them carefully, that the under surfaces of the leaves, were glistening with little pearly bubbles of air.

"Oh, Papa," he cried, joyously holding the glistening meshes aloft, "the lace-leaves are jeweled!"

"Yes, Harry," said his father, "those diamond drops are made by the breathing of the plant."

Mr. Steedman attempted to detach a root of one of the plants from its bed of mud, but the little tendrils branching from it on every side held the root firmly in its place. At last he succeeded in extricating the little white threads, one by one, and removed the entire plant to the bank. Its root, which is eaten in Madagascar, was very like the ginger root, and had a tough, light-brown skin.

Harry carefully placed the leaves of the plant in his herbarium, while his father packed the root, with its native soil, in a tin case, preparatory to sending it to the Botanical Society in London.

"Harry," he said, as they finished their work, "this plant could be easily reared in our green-houses--heat and moisture being all that is required. But nature seems to have jealously surrounded these beautiful leaves with almost impassable barriers, and the lace-plant is comparatively unknown.

"But come, my boy Raheh says '_maly-massandro_' (the sun is dead), and it will be as long as 'two cookings of rice' (two half hours) before we can be ferried across to yonder village and secure a place to pass the night."

And so, after Raheh had given Harry one last drink from the clear, cool river, in the odd-looking leaf-cup he carried for the purpose, the tired but successful lace-leaf hunters crossed over to the Hova village and were soon fast asleep.

THE CARICATURE PLANT.

BY M. A.

One of the most remarkable plants in the whole vegetable kingdom is that known to botanists as the _Justicia Picta_, which has also been well named "The Caricature Plant."

At first sight, it appears to be a heavy, large-leafed plant, with purple blossoms, chiefly remarkable for the light-yellow centers of its dark-green leaves, which cause them to look as if some acid had been spilled upon them and taken the color out wherever it had touched.

As I stood looking at this odd plant and thinking what a sickly, blighted appearance the queer, yellow stains gave it, I was suddenly impressed with the fact that the plant was "making faces" at me. Still, unaccustomed as I was to seeing plants indulge in this strictly human amusement, I was slow to believe it, and stooped to read the somewhat illegible inscription on the card below the plant--"_Justicia Picta_, or 'Caricature Plant.'" My first impression was correct then. This curious shrub had indeed occupied itself in growing up in ridiculous caricatures of the "human face divine," until it now stood, covered from the topmost leaf down, with the queerest faces imaginable. Nature had taken to caricaturing. The flesh-colored profiles stood out in strong relief against the dark-green of the leaves.

A discovery of one of these vegetable marks leads to an examination of a second and a third leaf, until all are scanned as closely and curiously as the leaves of the comic papers that form the caricature plants of the literary kingdom.

What a valuable plant this would be for one of our professional caricaturists to have growing in his conservatory! When an order was sent to him for a "speaking likeness" of some unhappy politician, he could simply visit his _Justicia Picta_ with pencil and paper in hand, and look over the leaves for a suitable squint, grin, or distorted nose to sketch from. He could, moreover, affirm with truth that the portrait was "taken from nature." Cuthbert Collingwood, the celebrated naturalist, says of the _Justicia Picta_: "One of these plants in the garden of Gustave Doré would be worth a fortune to him, supplying him with a never-failing fund of grotesque physiognomies, from which he might illustrate every serio-comic romance ever written." I have never heard of the cultivation of the Caricature Plant in this country; but botanists tell us that it is a hardy shrub. I think we should be glad to see the funny faces on its leaves. After all the lovely flowers we are called upon to admire, I am sure that a plant evidently intended to make us laugh would receive a warm welcome from our young people.

The Chinese appreciate the Caricature Plant, and in some parts of China it is quite extensively cultivated. Perhaps some of the funny, grinning faces on Chinese toys and ornaments are reproductions of the grotesque features on the leaves of the plant.

Finally, I must assure any unbelieving readers of ST. NICHOLAS that neither in this account of a very remarkable plant, nor in the accompanying illustration, has the writer drawn upon imagination.

The _Justicia Picta_ really exists. It is a native of the East Indies, and is a source of much amusement and curiosity to both botanists and travelers.

VEGETABLE CLOTHING.

BY C. J. RUSSELL.

About two hundred years ago the governor of the island of Jamaica, Sir Thomas Lynch, sent to King Charles II. of England a vegetable necktie, and a very good necktie it was, although it had grown on a tree and had not been altered since it was taken from the tree. It was as soft and white and delicate as lace, and it is not surprising that the King should have expressed his doubts when he was told that the beautiful fabric had grown on a tree in almost the exact condition in which he saw it. It had been stretched a little, and that was all.

But if King Charles was astonished to learn that neckties grew on trees in Jamaica, what must have been the feelings of a stranger traveling in Central America, on being told that mosquito-nets grew on trees in that country? He had complained to his host that the mosquitoes had nearly eaten him up the night before, and had been told in response that he should have a new netting put over his bed.

Satisfied with this statement, the traveler was turning away, but his attention was arrested by his host's calmly continuing, "in fact, we are going to strip a tree anyhow, because there is to be a wedding on the estate, and we wish to have a dress ready for the bride."

"You don't mean," said the traveler incredulously, "that mosquito-netting and bridal dresses grow on trees, do you?"

"That is just what I mean," replied his host.

"All right," said the stranger, who fancied a joke was being attempted at his expense, "let me see you gather the fruit and I will believe you."

"Certainly," was the answer; "follow the men, and you will see that I speak the exact truth."

Still looking for some jest, the stranger followed the two men who were to pluck the singular fruit, and stood by when they stopped at a rather small tree, bearing thick, glossy-green leaves, but nothing else which the utmost effort of the imagination could convert into the netting or the wedding garments. The tree was about twenty feet high and six inches in diameter, and its bark looked much like that of a birch-tree.

"Is this the tree?" asked the stranger.

"Yes, señor," answered one of the men, with a smile.

"I don't see the mosquito-netting nor the wedding-dress," said the stranger, "and I can't see any joke either."

"If the señor will wait a few minutes he will see all that was promised, and more too," was the reply. "He will see that this tree can bear not only mosquito-netting and wedding-dresses, but fish-nets and neck-scarfs, mourning crape or bridal veils."

The tree was without more ado cut down. Three strips of bark, each about six inches wide and eight feet long, were taken from the trunk and thrown into a stream of water. Then each man took a strip while it was still in the water, and with the point of his knife separated a thin layer of the inner bark from one end of the strip. This layer was then taken in the fingers and gently pulled, whereupon it came away in an even sheet of the entire width and length of the strip of bark. Twelve sheets were thus taken from each strip of bark, and thrown into the water.

A light broke in upon the stranger's mind. Without a doubt these strips were to be sewn together into one sheet. The plan seemed a good one and the fabric thus formed might do, he thought, if no better cloth could be had.

The men were not through yet, however, for when each strip of bark had yielded its twelve sheets, each sheet was taken from the water and gradually stretched sidewise. The spectator could hardly believe his eyes. The sheet broadened and broadened until from a close piece of material six inches wide, it became a filmy cloud of delicate lace, over three feet in width. The astonished gentleman was forced to confess that no human-made loom ever turned out lace which could surpass in snowy whiteness and gossamer-like delicacy that product of nature.