Chapter VII: A Woodland Menagerie

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

Brought up in the forests of northern Maine, and seeing few persons excepting her uncle and Angelique, the Indian housekeeper, Margot Romeyn knows little of life beyond the deep hemlocks. Naturally observant, she is encouraged in her out-of-door studies by her uncle, at one time a college professor. Through her woodland instincts, she and her uncle are enabled to save the life of Adrian Wadislaw, a youth who, lost and almost overcome with hunger, has been wandering in the neighboring forest. To Margot the new friend is a welcome addition to her small circle of acquaintances, and after his rapid recovery she takes great delight in showing him the many wonders of the forest about her home.

* * * * *

“Hoo-ah! Yo-ho! H-e-r-e! This way!”

Adrian followed the voice. It led him aside into the woods on the eastern slope, and it was accompanied by an indescribable babel of noises. Running water, screaming of wild fowl, cooing of pigeons, barking of dogs or some other beasts, cackling, chattering, laughter.

All the sounds of wild life ceased suddenly in the tree-tops as Adrian approached, recognizing and fearing his alien presence. But they were reassured by Margot’s familiar summons, and soon the menagerie he had suspected was gathered about her.

“Whew! it just rains squirrels--and chipmunks--and birds! Hello! that’s a fawn; that’s a fox! as sure as I’m alive, a magnificent red fox! Why isn’t he eating the whole outfit? And--hurrah!”

To the amazement of the watcher, there came from the depths of the woods a sound that always thrills the pulses of any hunter--the cry of a moose-calf, accompanied by a soft crashing of branches, growing gradually louder.

“So they tame even the moose--these wonderful people! What next!” and as Adrian leaned forward the better to watch the advance of this uncommon pet, the next concerning which he had speculated also approached. Slowly up the river bank stalked a pair of blue herons, and for them Margot had her warmest welcome.

“Heigho, Xanthippé, Socrates! What laggards! But here’s your breakfast, or one of them. I suppose you’ve eaten the other long ago. Indeed, you’re always eating, gourmands!”

The red fox eyed the new-comers with a longing eye and crept cautiously to his mistress’ side as she coaxed the herons nearer. But she was always prepared for any outbreak of nature among her forest friends, and drew him also close to her with the caressing touch she might have bestowed upon a beloved house-dog.

“Reynard, you beauty! your head in my lap, sir;” and dropping to a sitting posture, she forced him to obey her. There he lay, winking but alert, which she scattered her store of good things right and left. There were nuts for the squirrels and ’munks, grains and seeds for the winged creatures, and for the herons, as well as Reynard, a few bits of dried meat. But for Browser, the moose-calf, she pulled the tender twigs and foliage with a lavish hand. When she had given some dainty to each of her oddly-assorted pets, she sprang up, closed the box, and waved her arms in dismissal. The more timid of the creatures obeyed her, but some held their ground persistently, hoping for greater favors. To these she paid no further attention, and still keeping hold of Reynard’s neck, started back to her human guest.

The fox, however, declined to accompany her. He distrusted strangers, and, it may be, had designs of his own upon some other forest wilding.

“That’s the worst of it. We tame them and they love us. But they are only conquered, not changed. Isn’t Reynard beautiful? Doesn’t he look noble? as noble as a St. Bernard dog? If you’ll believe me, that fellow is thoroughly acquainted with every one of Angelique’s fowls, and knows he must never, never touch them. Yet he’d eat one, quick as a flash, if he got a chance. He’s a coward, though; and by his cowardice we manage him. Sometimes,” sighed Margot, who had led the way into a little path toward the lake.

“How odd! You seem actually grieved at this state of things.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I love him, and I have a notion that love will do anything with anybody or anything. I do believe it will, but that I haven’t found just the right way of showing it. Uncle laughs at me, a little, but helps me all he can. Indeed, it is he who has tamed most of our pets. He says it is the very best way to study natural history.”

“H-m-m! He intends your education shall be complete!”

“Of course. But one thing troubles him. He cannot teach me music. And you seem surprised. Aren’t girls, where you come from, educated? Doesn’t everybody prize knowledge?”

“That depends. Our girls are educated, of course. They go to college and all that, but I think you’d down any of them in exams. For my own part, I ran away just because I did not want this famous ‘education’ you value. That is, I didn’t of a certain sort. I wasn’t fair with you awhile ago, you said. I’d like to tell you my story now.”

“I’d like to hear it, of course. But, look yonder! Did you ever see anything like that?”

Margot was proud of the surprises she was able to offer this stranger in her woods, and pointed outward over the lake. They had just come to an open place on the shore and the water spread before them, sparkling in the sunlight. Something was crossing the smooth surface, heading straight for their island, and of a nature to make Adrian cry out:

“Oh! for a gun!”

VIII

KING MADOC

“If you had one you should not use it! Are you a dreadful hunter?”

Margot had turned upon her guest with a defiant fear. As near as she had ever come to hating anything she hated the men, of whom she had heard, who used this wonderful northland as a murder ground. That was what she named it in her uncompromising judgment of those who killed for the sake of killing, for the lust of blood that was in them.

“Yes; I reckon I am a ‘dreadful’ hunter, for I am a mighty poor shot. But I’d like a try at that fellow. What horns! what a head! and how can that fellow in the canoe keep so close to him, yet not finish him?”

Adrian was so excited he could not stand still. His eyes gleamed, his hands clenched, and his whole appearance was changed; greatly for the worse, the girl thought, regarding him with disgust.

“Finish him? That’s King Madoc, Pierre’s trained moose. You’d be finished yourself, I fear, if you harmed that splendid creature. Pierre’s a lazy fellow, mostly, but he spent a long time teaching Madoc; and with his temper--I’m thankful you lost your gun.”

“Do you never shoot things up here? I saw you giving the fox and herons what looked like meat. You had a stew for supper, and fish for breakfast. I don’t mean to be impertinent, but the sight of that big game--whew!”

“Yes; we do kill things, or have them killed, when it is necessary for food. Never in sport. Man is almost the only animal who does that. It’s all terrible, seems to me. Everything preys upon something else, weaker than itself. Sometimes when I think of it, my dinner chokes me. It’s so easy to take life, and only God can create it. But uncle says it is also God’s law to take what is provided, and that there is no mistake, even if it seems such to me.”

But there Margot perceived that Adrian was not listening. Instead, he was watching, with the intensest interest, the closer approach of the canoe, in which sat idle Pierre, holding the reins of a harness attached to his aquatic steed. The moose swam easily, with powerful strokes, and Pierre was singing a gay melody, richer in his unique possession than any king.

“Indeed, it’s not one other has a king for a bow man,” he often asserted.

When he touched the shore and the great animal stood shaking his wet hide, Adrian’s astonishment found vent in a whirlwind of questions that Pierre answered at his leisure and after his kind. But he walked first toward Margot and offered her a great bunch of trailing arbutus flowers, saying:

“I saw these just as I pushed off and went back after them. What’s the matter here, that the flag is up? It was the biggest storm I ever saw. Yes; a deal of beasties are killed back on the mainland. Any dead over here?”

“No, I’m glad to say, none that we know of. But Snowfoot’s shed is down and uncle is going to build a new one. I hope you’ve come to work.”

Pierre laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh! yes.”

But his interest in work was far less than in the stranger whom he now answered, and whose presence on Peace Island was a mystery to him. Heretofore, the only visitors there had been laborers or traders, but this young fellow, so near his own age, and despite his worn clothing, was of another sort. He recognized this, at once, as Margot had done, and his curiosity made him ask:

“Where’d you come from? Hurricane blow you out the sky?”

“About the same. I was lost in the woods and Margot found me and saved my life. What’ll you take for that moose?”

“There isn’t money enough in the State of Maine to buy him!”

“Nonsense! Well, if there was I haven’t it. But you could get a good price for it anywhere.”

Pierre looked Adrian over. From his appearance the lad was not likely to be possessed of much cash, but the moose-trainer was eager for capital, and never missed an opportunity of seeking it.

“I want to go into the show business. What do you say? would you furnish the tents and fixings, and share the profits? I’m no scholar, but maybe you’d know enough to get out the hand bills and so on. What do you say?”

“I--say--What you mean, Pierre Ricord, keepin’ the master waitin’ your foolishness and him half sick? What kept you twice as long as you ought? Hurry up, now, and put that moose in the cow yard and get to work.”

The interruption was caused by Angelique, and it was curious to see the fear with which she inspired the great fellow, her son. He forgot the stranger, the show business, and all his own immediate interests, and with the docility of a little child obeyed. Unhitching his odd steed, he turned the canoe bottom upwards on the beach and hastily led the animal toward that part of the island clearing where Snowfoot stood in a little fenced-in lot behind her ruined shed.

Adrian went with him, and asked:

“Won’t those two animals fight?”

“Won’t get a chance. When one goes in the other goes out. Here, bossy, you can take the range of the island. Get out!”

She was more willing to go than Madoc to enter the cramped place, but the transfer was made, and Adrian lingered by the osier paling, to observe at close range this subjugated monarch of the forest.

“Oh! for a palette and brush!” he exclaimed, while Pierre walked away.

“What would you do with them?”

Margot had followed the lads and was beside Adrian, though he had not heard her footsteps. Now he wheeled about, eager, enthusiastic.

“Paint--as I have never painted before!”

“Oh!--are you an--artist?”

“I want to be one. That’s why I’m here.”

“What! What do you mean?”

“I told you I was a runaway. I didn’t say why, before. It’s truth. My people, my--father--forced me to college. I hated it. He was forcing me to business. I liked art. All my friends were artists. When I should have been at the books I was in their studios. They were a gay crowd, spent money like water when they had it; merrily starved and pinched when they hadn’t. A few were worse than spendthrifts, and with my usual want of sense I made that particular set my intimates. I never had any money, though, after it was suspected what my tastes were, except a little that my mother gave.”

Margot was listening breathlessly and watching intently. At the mention of his mother a shadow crossed Adrian’s face, softening and bettering it, and as they rose to go home she saw that his whole mood had changed.

IX.

AN UNANSWERABLE QUESTION

It was weeks afterward when they were again surrounded by the many wonderful inhabitants of the forest that Adrian mentioned his own parents. Their talk drifted from vexing subjects to merry anecdotes of his childhood, in the home where he had been the petted, only brother of a half-dozen elder sisters. But while they laughed and Margot listened, her fingers were busy weaving a great garland of wild laurel, and when it was finished she rose and said:

“It’s getting late. There’ll be just time to take this to the grave. Will you go with me?”

“Yes.”

But this was another of the puzzling things he found at Peace Island. In its very loveliest nook was the last resting-place of Cecily Romeyn, and the sacred spot was always beautiful with flowers, or, in the winter, with brilliant berries. Both the master and the girl spoke of their dead as if she were still present with them; or, at least, lived as if she were only removed from sight but not from their lives.

When Margot had laid the fresh wreath upon the mound, she carefully removed the faded flowers of the day before, and a thought of his own mother stirred Adrian’s heart.

“I wish I could send a bunch of such blossoms to the mater!”

“How can you live without her, since she is still alive?”

His face hardened again.

“You forget. I told you that she, too, turned against me at the last. It was a case of husband or son, and she made her choice.”

“Oh! no. She was unhappy. One may do strange things then, I suppose. But I tell you one thing: if I had either father or mother, anywhere in this world; no matter if either was bad--had done everything that is sinful!--nothing should ever, ever make me leave them. Nothing. I would bear anything, do anything, suffer anything--but I would be true to them. I could not forget that I was their child, and if I had done wrong to them my whole life would be too short to make atonement.”

She spoke strongly, as she felt. So early orphaned, she had come to think of her parents as the most wonderful blessing in the power of God to leave one. She loved her Uncle Hugh like a second father, but her tenderest dreams were over the pictured faces of her dead.

“Where is your father buried?”

It was the simplest, most natural question.

“I--don’t--know.”

They stared at one another. It was proof of her childlike acceptance of her life that she had never asked--had never thought to do so, even. She had been told that he had passed out of sight before they came to Peace Island and the forest, and had asked no further concerning him. Of his character and habits she had heard much. Her uncle was never weary in extolling his virtues; but of his death he had said only what has been written.

“But--I must know right away!”

In her eagerness she ran, and Adrian followed as swiftly. He was sorry for his thoughtless inquiry, but regret came too late. He tried to call Margot back, but she would not wait.

“I must know--I must know right away. Why have I never thought before?”

Hugh Dutton was resting after a day of study and mental labor, and his head leaned easily upon his cushioned chair. Yet as his dear child entered his room he held out his arms to draw her to his knee.

“In a minute, uncle. But Adrian has asked me something and it is the strangest thing that I cannot answer him. Where is my father buried?”

If she had dealt him a mortal blow he could not have turned more white. With a groan that pierced her very heart, he stared at Margot with wide, unseeing eyes; then sprang to his feet and fixed upon poor Adrian a look that scorched.

“You! you!” he gasped, and, sinking back, covered his face with his hands.

X

PERPLEXITIES

What had he done?

Ignorant why his simple question should have such strange results, that piercing look made Adrian feel the veriest culprit, and he hastened to leave the room and the cabin. Hurrying to the beach, he appropriated Margot’s little canvas canoe and pushed out upon the lake. From her and Pierre he had learned to handle the light craft with considerable skill, and he now worked off his excitement by swift paddling, so that there was soon a wide distance between him and the island.

Then he paused and looked around him, upon as fair a scene as could be found in any land. Unbroken forests bounded this hidden Lake Profundus, out of whose placid waters rose that mountain-crowned, verdure-clad Island of Peace, with its picturesque home and its cultured owner, who had brought into this best of the wilderness the best of civilization.

“What is this mystery? How am I concerned in it? For I am, and mystery there is. It is like that mist over the island, which I can see and feel but cannot touch. Pshaw! I’m getting sentimental, when I ought to be turning detective. Yet I couldn’t do that--pry into the private affairs of a man who’s treated me so generously. What shall I do? How can I go back there? But where else can I go?”

At the thought that he might never return to the roof he had quitted, a curious homesickness seized him.

“Who’ll hunt what game they need? Who’ll catch their fish? Who’ll keep the garden growing? Where can I study the forest and its furry people, at first hand, as in the Hollow? And I was doing well--not as I hope to do, but getting on. Margot was a merciless critic, but even she admitted that my last picture had the look, the spirit of the woods. That’s what I want to do, what Mr. Dutton, also, approved: to bring glimpses of these solitudes back to the cities and the thousands who can never see them in any other way. Well--let it go. I can’t stay and be a torment to anybody, and sometime in some other place, maybe--Ah!”

What he had mistaken for the laughter of a loon was Pierre’s halloo. He was coming back, then, from the mainland where he had been absent these past days. Adrian was thankful. There was nothing mysterious or perplexing about Pierre, whose rule of life was extremely simple:

“Pierre, first, second, and forever. After Pierre, if there was anything left, then--anybody, the nearest at hand,” would have expressed the situation; but his honest, unblushing selfishness was sometimes a relief.

“One always knows just where to find Pierre,” Margot had said.

So Adrian’s answering halloo was prompt, and, turning about, he watched the birch leaving the shadow of the forest and heading for himself. It was soon alongside and Ricord’s excited voice was shouting his good news:

“Run him up to seven hundred and fifty!”

“But I thought there wasn’t money enough anywhere to buy him?”

Pierre cocked his dark head on one side and winked.

“Madoc sick and Madoc well are different.”

“Oh, you wretch! Would you sell a sick moose and cheat the buyer?”

“Would I lose such a pile of money for foolishness? I guess not.”

“But suppose, after you parted with him, he got well?”

Again the woodlander grinned and winked.

“Could you drive the King?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s all right. I buy him back, what you call trade. One do that many times, good enough. If--”

Pierre was silent for some moments, during which Adrian had steadily paddled backward to the island, keeping time with the other boat, and without thinking what he was doing. But when he did remember, he turned to Pierre and asked:

“Will you take me across the lake again?”

“What for?”

“No matter. I’ll just leave Margot’s canoe and you do it. There’s time enough.”

“What’ll you give me?”

“Pshaw! What can I give you? Nothing.”

“That’s all right. My mother, she wants the salt,” and he kicked the sack of that valuable article lying at his feet. “There, she’s on the bank now, and it’s not she will let me out of her sight again, this long time.”

“You’d go fast enough for money.”

“Maybe not. When one has Angelique Ricord for mére--U-m-m!”

But it was less for Pierre than for Adrian that Angelique was waiting, and her expression was kinder than common.

“Carry that salt to my kitchen cupboard, son, and get to bed. No; you’ve no call to tarry. What the master’s word is for his guest is nothin’ to you.”

Pierre’s curiosity was roused. Why had Adrian wanted to leave the island at nightfall, since there was neither hunting nor fishing to be done? Sport for sport’s sake--that was forbidden. And what could be the message he was not to hear? He meant to learn, and lingered, busying himself uselessly in beaching the canoes afresh, after he had once carefully turned them bottom side upwards: in brushing out imaginary dirt, readjusting his own clothing--a task he did not often bother with--and in general making himself a nuisance to his impatient parent.

But, so long as he remained, she kept silence, till, unable to hold back her rising anger, she stole up behind him, unperceived, and administered a sounding box upon his sizable ears.

“Would you? To the cupboard, miserable!” and Adrian could not repress a smile at the meekness with which the great woodlander submitted to the little woman’s authority.

“Xanthippé and Socrates!” he murmured, and Pierre heard him. So, grimacing at him from under the heavy sack, he called back “Fifty dollar. Tell her fifty--dollar.”

“What did he mean by fifty dollar?” demanded Angelique.

“I suppose something about that show business of his. It is his ambition, you know, and I must admit I believe he’d be a success at it.”

“Pouf! There is more better business than the showin’ one, of takin’ God’s beasties in the towns and lettin’ the fool people stare. The money comes that way is not good money.”

“Oh, yes. It’s all right, fair Angelique. But what is the word for me?”

“It is: that you come with me, at once, to the master. He will speak with you before he sleeps. Yes. And, Adrian, lad!”

“Well, Angelique?”

“This is the truth. Remember--when the heart is sore tried the tongue is often sharp. There is death--that is a sorrow--God sends it. There are sorrows God does not send, but the evil one. Death is but joy to them. What the master says, answer; and luck light upon your lips.”

The lad had never seen the old housekeeper so impressive nor so gentle. At the moment it seemed as if she almost liked him, though, despite the faithfulness with which she had obeyed her master’s wishes and served him, he had never before suspected it.

“Thank you, Angelique. I am troubled, too, and I will take care that I neither say nor resent anything harsh. More than that, I will go away. I have stayed too long already, though I had hoped I was making myself useful. Is he in his own study?”

“Yes, and the little maid is with him. No--there she comes, but she is not laughin’, no. Oh! the broken glass. Scat! Meroude. Why leap upon one to scare the breath out, that way? Pst! ’Tis here that tame creatures grow wild and wild ones tame. Scat! I say.”

Margot was coming through the rooms, holding Reynard by the collar she made him wear whenever he was in the neighborhood of the hen-house, and Tom limped listlessly along upon her other side. There was trouble and perplexity in the girl’s face, and Angelique made a great pretense of being angry with the cat, to hide that in her own.

But Margot noticed neither her nor Adrian, and sitting down upon the threshold dropped her chin in her hands and fixed her eyes upon the darkening lake.

“Why, mistress! The beast here at the cabin, and it nightfall! My poor fowls!”

“He’s leashed, you see, Angelique. And I’ll lock the poultry up, if you like,” observed Adrian. Anything to delay a little an interview from which he shrank with something very like that cowardice of which the girl had once accused him.

The housekeeper’s ready temper flamed, and she laid an ungentle touch upon the stranger’s shoulder.

“Go, boy. When Master Hugh commands, ’tis not for such as we to disobey.”

“All right. I’m going; and I’ll remember.”

At the inner doorway he turned and looked back. Margot was still sitting, thoughtful and motionless, the firelight from the great hearth making a Rembrandt-like silhouette of her slight figure against the outer darkness and touching her wonderful hair with a flood of silver. Reynard and the eagle, the wild foresters her love had tamed, stood guard on either side. It was a picture that appealed to Adrian’s artistic sense and he lingered a little, regarding its effects, even considering what pigments would best convey them.

“Adrian!”

“Yes, Angelique--yes.”

When the door shut behind him, Angelique touched her darling’s shining head, and the toil-stiffened fingers had for it almost a mother’s tenderness.

“Sweetheart, the bed-time.”

“I know--I’m going, Angelique; my uncle sent me from him to-night. It was the first time in all my life that I remember.”

“Maybe, little stupid, because you’ve never waited for that, before, but were quick enough to see whenever you were not wanted.”

“He--there’s something wrong, and Adrian is the cause of it. I--Angelique, you tell me--uncle did not hear, or reply, any way--where is my father buried?”

Angelique was prepared and had her answer ready.

“’Tis not for the servant to reveal what her master hides. No--all will come to you in good time. Tarry the master’s will. But, that silly Pierre! What think you? Is it fifty dollar would be the price of they tame blue herons? Hey?”

“No; nor fifty times fifty. Pierre knows that. Love is more than money.”

“Sometimes, to some folks. Well, what would you? That son will be havin’ even me, his old mother, in his show--why not? As a cur’osity--the only livin’ human bein’ can make that ingrate mind. Yes--to bed, ma p’tite.”

Margot rose and housed her pets. This threat of Pierre’s, that he would eventually carry off the foresters and exhibit their helplessness to staring crowds, always roused her fiercest indignation; and this result was just what Angelique wanted, at present, and she murmured her satisfaction.

“Good! That bee will buzz in her ear till she sleeps, and so sound she’ll hear no dip of the paddle, by and by. Here, Pierre, my son, you’re wanted.”

“What for, now? Do leave me be. I’m going to bed. I’m just wore out, trot-trottin’ from Pontius to Pilate, luggin’ salt, and--” he finished by yawning most prodigiously.

“Firs’-rate sign, that gapin’. Yes--sign you’re healthy and able to do all’s needed. There’s no rest for you this night. Come--here--take this basket to the beach. If your canoe needs pitchin’, pitch it. There’s the lantern. If one goes into the show business he learns right now to work and travel o’ nights. Yes--start--I’ll follow and explain.”

[TO BE CONTINUED]

* * * * *

“Believe not each accusing tongue,
As most weak people do;
But still believe that story wrong
Which ought not to be true.”

--_R. B. Sheridan._

THE MONTH OF FLOWER

By Julia McNair Wright

Neither age, learning, nor fortune are needed to enable one to love and admire these gracious children of beauty--the flowers.

When the chill winds of autumn sound a knell for their departure, we have a sense of loneliness and loss. As the winter passes we long for the days when the blossoms shall come again.

The first tiny blossom of the star-flower; the first little tasseled bloom on the birch; the first adder’s tongue, or violet, or broad, white salver of the mandrake flower; the snowy banners of the dogwood; the gray-white of the brave little plantain-leaved everlasting, fill all hearts with delight.

The life object of the flower is the production of seed. All the parts of the flower are in some way fitted to further that end. What is the story of the flower?

The stem and branches having developed a certain amount of leafage, may at length put forth blossoms. These spring, as leaves do, from the tips or axils of the branches. In truth, a flower is a modified branch, and all its parts are modified leaves. We will pass over this distinction of science, and will consider the flower as we popularly think and speak of it, the beautiful producer of seeds.

What is called a perfect flower we will examine in the common buttercup of the fields. At the top of the stem we find a cup or calyx of five narrow, separate green leaves, called sepals; these form the outer wrapping of the bud, and maintain and protect the more delicate inner parts of a flower. Within the calyx is the corolla--five glossy, yellow, roundish petals, set in a circle; within this we have another ring of downy, bright-yellow stamens, and still within these, protected by all the others, certain yellow pistils, fewer and firmer in texture than the stamens.

All of these four rings of parts are placed upon the fleshy, enlarged top of the stem, which is called the receptacle. The yellow of this flower is very yellow, and the stem and leaves are very green. The stem and leaves of our buttercups are hairy; the whole plant is provided with a sharp, stinging juice.

The buttercup, as we have seen, is made up of four circles, each composed of several distinct parts.

A flower with several petals is called polypetalous.

Other flowers have but one petal; they are styled monopetalous. In fact, in such one-petaled flowers a number of petals have simply grown together. Let us take the morning-glory as an example. Pull off the calyx; it comes off as a whole, but is cleft half way down into five lobes, showing that it is truly composed of five united petals. Now pull the corolla from another calyx cup; it comes as a whole, and is not cleft as the calyx is, but it has five stripes, and at each stripe the margin has a little point, and we can make out very plainly that here are five prettily-pointed petals united into one, with a long tube made of the claws, and a beautiful wide margin made of the banners. Four-o’clocks, stramonium, Canterbury bells, phlox, and many other flowers have these one-petaled corollas. Such corollas differ greatly in shape, owing to the length and diameter of the tube and margin.

In the polypetalous corollas we have the rich splendors of roses, from single to the fullest double, where cultivation has changed all stamens and pistils into petals. The polypetalous tribe give us also the lovely, perfume-filled chalices of the lilies; the peas, with their many-colored banners; the charming violets, with their spurred petals; the columbine, with its horns of plenty.

Color of some kind is one of the distinguishing features of blossoms.

Fragrance is another marked characteristic of plants, and is chiefly in the flower.

There are plenty of scentless plants, yet the majority are full of perfume. Some few have a very disagreeable smell. Fragrance in plants comes from certain oils or resin laid up in different parts of the plant, whether in the leaves, bark, wood, fruit, seeds, or blossoms.

In the month of May flowers crowd upon us in numbers so great that we are at a loss for a time to study them. Even if April has been cold, the matchless arbutus has found time to bloom above last year’s protecting leaves and has passed away, leaving only a memory of its fragrance and rosy beauty. The dandelions--jolly, popular, child-beloved gold of the spring--have bloomed, and in May the grass is covered with their delicate clocks; we still, in early May, find the oxalis almost making a carpet for the pasture lands or sunny hillsides. When the oxalis grows in damp shade its flowers and leaves are larger and of a deeper color, but the blossoms are fewer. The leaf of the oxalis is three-divided, like the coarser leaf of the clover.

Some hold that it was the oxalis and not the shamrock leaf which good St. Patrick took to prove the possibility of Trinity--one in three. Some think that really the oxalis and not the clover was the shamrock of the ancient Irish.

May brings us an abundance of wild violets; the blue violets and the beautiful tri-colored pansies come in April, but the blue violets linger, growing larger and richer, while their cousins, the dainty white and the branching yellow violets, appear in the cool, damp woods. The wild violets are scentless, except for the spicy “woods odor” that seems to hang about all wild flowers.

A much humbler flower than the violets greets us on the roadsides--the bright yellow cinquefoil, its vine leaves, and blossom bearing resemblance to the strawberry, so that the county people call them “yellow-flowered strawberries.” Common as the cinquefoil is, it belongs to a noble, even royal, family among flowers--the rose. It is a poor cousin of the garden’s queen.

WITH THE EDITOR

For our name we have chosen YOUTH. This word is the fullest expression of our ambition. It stands for that period of human life toward which the very young folk look forward with pleasant anticipations, and the old look back with something like regret. It contains the suggestion of hope, vigor, and buoyancy--the ideal requisites of America’s young folks. Surely we might have looked far for a more fitting title.

Although a new name to many, and therefore lacking in that esteem which only long acquaintance can give, we have every reason to expect the same generous greeting which we have heretofore received.

Indeed, beginning with this issue, we shall have with us many who have known YOUTH in its earlier home. We offer them a hearty welcome and promise to do our utmost to deserve a continuation of their stanch support.

* * * * *

A great many well-meaning people seem to regard childhood and youth in the light of an ailment. This is painfully apparent in their views of juvenile literature. As they might forbid a particular diet to all invalids, so, just as rigidly, they prohibit the reading of this or that form of literature by those afflicted with youthfulness.

Like the doctors who deal with our physical bodies, these very earnest people seldom agree among themselves as to the proper remedies and measures of prevention.

What, most unfortunately, they do agree in, is that the best attention must be given to the supposed ailment instead of to the individual boy or girl. No young person should be allowed to read fairy stories, says one. Nor stories without an immediate moral purpose, declares another. Nor stories of adventure, insists a third.

Now, upon behalf of the young people themselves, we wish to enter our most solemn objection to this kind of reasoning.

There are books, of course, which should not be read by young people, but as a rule these same books should not be read by grown people, either. They are essentially bad, and no one will defend them.

We admit, moreover, that no highly improbable fiction is healthy as a regular diet. But we do assert that for a child of undeveloped imagination--one who is inclined to take the world too literally--there is, perhaps, nothing better than a well-written fairy-story. It tends to awaken that faculty of the brain which gives life half its pleasure. What, again, can better counteract the thoughtless cruelty of childhood than such a story as Black Beauty? And yet, in the great essential of possibility, Black Beauty is a fairy tale.

Finally, to one whose mind is over-perplexed by studies or who is inclined to brood over the common occurrences of daily life, what can bring happier relief than some stirring narrative of adventure? Such a story at such a time, even if it has no moral aim, is not without its moral result.

In short, each of these forms of fiction has its own special and valuable function, and those who would make the best use of juvenile literature must recognize the fact and avail themselves of the principle.

EVENT AND COMMENT

Telephoning Without Wire

According to late newspaper accounts, one of the most striking efforts in the direction of wireless communication is that of Mr. Nathan Stubblefield, residing near Murray, in the State of Kentucky.

Mr. Stubblefield holds the theory that sound waves, as well as vibrations of ether, can be conveyed from one point to the other without the use of wires. To prove this, he has invented an apparatus of apparently simple construction, consisting of a transmitter and receiver. Its only metallic contact with any solid object is by means of a wire rod, which is sunk into the ground at the desired point. Through this the waves of sound are conveyed from the transmitter to the ground, and from the ground to the receiver of the other station.

To show that water as well as land will conduct these vibrations, Mr. Stubblefield established communication between a boat some distance from the shore and a station on the land. From the boat, the strains of a musical instrument playing on the shore could be distinctly heard and recognized.

Mr. Stubblefield believes that it is only upon the question of obtaining a high voltage that the unlimited application of his system depends.

The many persons who have viewed his experiments are fully convinced that Mr. Stubblefield will do much toward furthering the possibilities of wireless communication.

The Oxford Scholarships

In the will of the late Cecil Rhodes, provisions were made, setting aside $10,000,000 for the founding of free scholarships for the benefit of students from the British colonies, Germany, and the United States. Of these, the United States is to have two for each State and Territory. The conditions of these scholarships are that the candidates must possess the necessary educational qualifications, manly qualities, a fondness for out-of-door sports, and an “exhibition during their school days of moral force of character and instincts to lead and take interest in their schoolmates.”

Mr. Rhodes’ purpose is to concentrate the scattered forces of the Anglo-Saxon race, which, he believes, contributes the greatest influence for good upon humanity.

Terms of Peace in South Africa

The Edinburgh _Evening News_ of April 12 has stated that Mr. Kruger, in behalf of the Boers, desires peace on the following conditions:

Absolute independence will not be made an issue if otherwise a satisfactory form of government can be reached.

The proclamation of banishment must be canceled, the confiscated property restored to its owners, and all other property destroyed by the British soldiers must be paid for by their government.

The recognition of both languages in the schools and courts.

The pardon of rebels and the release of political prisoners.

All prisoners of war are to be returned to South Africa on a fixed date.

The foregoing terms and conditions are to be carried out under the supervision of one or more of the powers friendly to the Boer cause.

Negotiations have now reached such a point as to promise a speedy termination of the war in South Africa.

General Miles’ Plan for the Philippines

In the recent correspondence between Lieutenant-General Miles and the Secretary of War, the former asked for authority to take with him to the Philippines ten Cubans and Porto Ricans, for the purpose of illustrating to the inhabitants of those islands the beneficial influence of the United States.

A representative group of Filipinos would then, on the return journey, be brought to this country, to familiarize them with our civilization. In this way it was hoped to establish a more amicable understanding between the two peoples.

After a careful consideration of General Miles’ plan, the Secretary of War stated his disapproval of it on the ground that it would be impracticable.

The Decline of Great Salt Lake

The Great Salt Lake, which for a number of years past has been gradually diminishing in size, is now causing some little apprehension to the people of Utah. Although not well understood, it is thought that the diversion of the streams which formerly fed this interesting body of water, for the purpose of agriculture, is partly responsible for its decrease. The cutting away of forests also is supposed to have had its effect in diminishing the water supply of the region.

The Great Power House

The largest power house in the world is that recently erected in New York City by the Manhattan Elevated Railroad. The total energy of its entire system of engines is 1,000,000 horse-power. This is capable of being converted into a force of 600,000 electrical horse-power, in which form it will be used for propelling the trains of the elevated railroad.

IN-DOORS

PARLOR MAGIC

By Ellis Stanyon

The first of this series of papers on Magic, commencing with the March number, included directions to the beginner for Palming and the Pass.

PROGRAMME AND COIN.--The effect of this experiment is as follows: The performer borrows a marked half-dollar from a stranger in the audience, immediately handing it to a gentleman to examine the mark, date, and other items. While this is being done, the performer obtains the loan of a programme, which he tears in half, laying one half on his table. The gentleman is now requested to place the coin in the half of the programme held by the performer, who wraps it up and gives it to him to hold. He now goes to his table for a piece of sealing-wax, which he passes several times over the packet held by the gentleman, when immediately it is transformed into a packet of three envelopes, made from the programme, all gummed and sealed, one inside the other, with the marked half-dollar in the smallest one. As the gentleman cannot see how it is done, the performer repeats the trick for his benefit with the other half of the programme, but the result is the same. This time, however, the gentleman is requested to take the last envelope to the owner of the money, that he may open it and satisfy himself that it actually contains his own coin.

The six envelopes are now rolled up and given to the gentleman to hand to the lady, to keep as a souvenir of the entertainment, but before he has proceeded far the performer tells him he has dropped one of them (he has not really done so), and, failing to find it, he very naturally begins to count those in his hand, when he discovers to his astonishment that he holds the programme restored.

* * * * *

_Explanation._--After the performer has borrowed the half-dollar, in the act of handing it to the gentleman for examination he adroitly changes it for one of his own, bearing the mark of a cross, which mark, is, of course, taken for that of the owner of the coin. The performer now asks for a programme, and while it is being procured he drops the actual borrowed coin into the smallest of the three envelopes, which are placed one inside the other and concealed by a book or some other object on the table. To facilitate the introduction of the coin, a tin tube, with a rather wide mouth, just large enough for the coin to pass through, is placed in the smallest envelope. After this coin has been introduced this tube is withdrawn, left in its concealed position, and the envelopes closed.

The flaps of the envelopes are sealed with wax beforehand and prepared with the best gum arabic, which is allowed to dry. They are moistened with the tongue just before the performance of the trick, and, if cut as in Fig. 7, can all be closed at once while lying on the table. This packet is laid on the table under cover of the half of a programme used in the second stage of the trick.

To begin, the performer palms a similar packet of envelopes containing another half-dollar marked in exactly the same way as the one he handed to the gentleman, and it is hardly necessary to say, having the same appearance and bearing the same date. When rolling up the programme the performer retains it and hands the gentleman the packet of envelopes; and when going to his table for the wax leaves half of the programme and the half-dollar thereon. By the time the first coin is taken from the envelopes the packet containing the actual borrowed coin will be dry and ready for use.

The remaining portion of the trick will now be understood. When the performer goes for the other half of the programme he takes the packet of envelopes with it and substitutes it as before, and the trick proceeds as described. When collecting the six envelopes for the final effect, the performer palms a duplicate programme which has been lying on his table behind some object, and substitutes this as before when giving the gentleman the envelopes to hand to the lady.

* * * * *

FILTRATED COIN.--Borrow a half-dollar from one of the company, wrap it up in a handkerchief, and request some one to hold it over a glass of water.

Presto! The coin is dropped into the glass and heard to jingle. When the handkerchief is removed the half-dollar has disappeared, apparently dissolved in the water. This very effective trick is accomplished by means of a glass disc of the same diameter as a half-dollar. The modus operandi is as follows: Borrow a half-dollar and while holding it in your hand throw a handkerchief over it. Under cover of the handkerchief exchange the coin for the glass disc which you have concealed in your palm. Now get some one to hold the disc by its edges through the handkerchief, directly over the glass of water. He naturally supposes that he is holding the coin.

Pronounce your magical phrase, and command your volunteer assistant to drop the half-dollar into the glass. It will fall with a jingle similar to that of a coin, and will lie invisible at the bottom of the glass. You may even pour off the water, but the disc, thanks to the power of suction, will remain in the same position, firmly attached to the drinking-glass. To complete the effect the genuine half-dollar should then be produced from under the table or from the pocket of the volunteer assistant.

THE OLD TRUNK

For the month of May we will award a year’s subscription to YOUTH for each of the best three original puzzles submitted to us before June 1st. The names of the successful competitors, together with the prize-winning puzzles, will be published in an early number of the magazine. Of the remaining puzzles, all of those which show merit will also appear in the succeeding issues. This offer is open to every one.

The correct answers for the April puzzles are given below:

1. Herring, ray, carp.
Shark, perch, shad.
Sole, bass, eel.
2. Ericsson.
3. Monongahela.
Yukon.
Amazon.
Rhine.
Colorado.
4. James Russell Lowell.
5. Thou-sand.
6. Pear-bear.

(1) Deprive farewell of head and tail and leave expire; (2) the usual covering of the head, and leave atmosphere; (3) on fire, and leave whim; (4) distant, and leave a note in the musical scale; (5) collections of regulations, and leave song; (6) an image of false worship, and leave a verb of action; (7) employed for money, and leave anger; (8) free from obscurity, and leave meadow.

When the above words have been correctly guessed and then beheaded and abridged, their initials, when placed one above each other in the order given, will spell the name of a well-known garden flower.

--O. T. M.

DIAMOND

1. a letter; 2. a bank; 3. women; 4. specimens; 5. a quarrel; 6. to discern; 7. a letter.

--_Ruth._

SUBSTITUTION

Supply the objects described in the parentheses and read by sound:

If a great storm were (a body of water north-west of North America) down on the British Isles, do you suppose you could ring a (city in Ireland) and make the (body of water west of England) the (a watch manufacturing town of the United States) the city of (the bark of a kind of oak)?

--_Sidney M._

CHARADE

The first use sparingly.
The second treat kindly.
The third hold as a sacred trust.
The whole is a shy bird.

--_E. L. Barnes._

THE BOUQUET

In the following sentences there are eight flowers. Can you identify them?

Alyar rowed his best, but Fox, a listless oarsman on most occasions, won the race.

Can Nature be excelled on Easter day?

For the table of the Pope, onyx is brought from afar, but usually unpolished.

“Hannibal,” Samuel remarked, looking up from his book of prose, “was the world’s greatest general.”

ENIGMA

I am composed of twenty-one letters.
My 3-6-21-19-14-8-1 is sincere.
My 12-17-7-18-20-5 is a mineral.
My 9-2-3-10-4-17-11-1 is a bird.
My 16-13-20-19-15 is to mingle.
My whole is the name of a well-known song.

--_William Harris._

I am the first, and one of seven,
I live betwixt the seas and heaven:
Look not below, for I am not there,
My home is in the ancient air.
Come to my second, behold how fair
I am, how bright and debonair:
A pleasant vision and a beauty,
A thing of life and joy and duty;
My youth is changed. I live alone,
My views are crossed--my hopes are gone,
My whole is sorrow, grief, and woe,
My singing now is all heigh-ho.

--_Selected._

WITH THE PUBLISHER

YOUTH
An Illustrated Monthly Journal for Boys and Girls
=Edited by HERBERT LEONARD COGGINS=

=Single Copies 10 Cents= =Annual Subscription $1.00=

Sent postpaid to any address. Subscriptions can begin at any time and must be paid in advance.

The publishers should be promptly informed of any change of address.

Remittances may be made in the way most convenient to the sender, and should be addressed to

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
923 Arch Street, Philadelphia, Pa.

_CHANGE OF NAME_

As most of our readers are aware, the name originally used for this magazine was only temporary, to be continued until a better one might be found. Many other names have been suggested, but none of them seemed to be just what was wanted. A name that has been in our minds from the beginning was YOUTH, but, for the reason that it had already been used with another publication, we could not adopt it. We have now purchased the right to use this name, and shall continue it henceforth. It has the advantage of being a title of but one word, a short one at that, and one that is catchy, suggestive, and easily remembered. We hope that it will meet with cordial favor at the hands of all our subscribers.

_WELCOME TO OUR NEW FRIENDS_

We have not only purchased the right to use the name of YOUTH, but we have also arranged to fill out with this journal the unexpired subscriptions to the magazine formerly published at Buffalo, N. Y. We hope that our new friends will not only be satisfied with this arrangement, but that they will be so well pleased as to permanently remain with us.

_MANUSCRIPTS_

The publishers of YOUTH will be glad to examine manuscripts submitted for publication. They should, if possible, be type-written, with the name and address of the writer appearing on the first page. Stamps should be enclosed for their return if unavailable. Prompt attention will be given to all manuscripts, and such as are found available will be paid for upon acceptance, not upon publication. While all manuscripts will be examined impartially, we shall, of course, be disposed to consider with greater favor those submitted by our subscribers, as we wish to encourage them as much as possible to contribute to our columns.

_DATE OF PUBLICATION_

It will be noticed that, this month, the magazine reaches our subscribers much earlier than any former issue. We now have everything in such working order that we shall be able to do even better with succeeding numbers. It is our intention to eventually have the magazine in the hands of our subscribers by the first of the month.

_$100 PRIZE STORY_

In order to encourage our readers to literary effort, we have decided to offer a cash prize of $100 for the best short story for young people, from one to five thousand words in length, suitable for publication in this magazine. Full particulars in regard to this offer will be found in the advertising pages of this issue. The offer is confined exclusively to subscribers of Youth, and we hope to see a large number of stories entered from them for competition.

_TELL YOUR FRIENDS_

If you are pleased with YOUTH, we hope you will tell your friends about it, and thus aid very substantially in increasing our circle of acquaintances. In case you have any criticisms or suggestions, we shall be very glad to receive them. YOUTH is published in the interest of its subscribers, and while we have many ideas which we will carry out in the immediate future, we would be glad, nevertheless, to receive the criticism and advice of our subscribers. It is our purpose, as far as possible, to meet their views.

_50c. FOR TWENTY-FIVE NAMES_

Anyone who will send us the names and addresses of twenty-five of his friends, boys or girls, and fifty cents additional, will receive a year’s subscription to YOUTH. The magazine will be sent to any desired address. This is a very easy way for any person, young or old, to obtain a year’s subscription. We wish the twenty-five names for the sole purpose of distributing sample copies of YOUTH. They will be put to no other use, so that no one need have any hesitation in sending the list.

_AN EASY WAY TO EARN MONEY_

In order to increase the circulation of YOUTH as rapidly as possible, we have decided to make some exceptional inducements to boys and girls to obtain subscriptions. The work can be done after school hours, and on Saturdays and holidays. The arrangement we make for doing the canvassing renders the work very agreeable, and the commission offered is so large that it cannot fail to be an inducement.

To such of our readers as would like to earn a considerable sum of money with little effort, we suggest that they send us their names and addresses, and we will at once forward full particulars.

Transcriber’s Notes:

A number of typographical errors have been corrected silently.

Irregular closing quotes were not modernized.

Archaic spellings have been retained.

Correct MacNair to McNair in Table of Contents. Famous person and consistent through seven issue project.

Cover image is in the public domain.