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St. Nicholas, Vol. 5, No. 2, December, 1877 by Various

V >> Various >> St. Nicholas, Vol. 5, No. 2, December, 1877




Miss Alcott's father was the son of a farmer in Connecticut, and her
mother was the daughter of a merchant in Boston. After growing up in a
pretty, rural town, among hardy people who worked all day in the fields
or the woods, and were not very rich, Mr. Alcott went down into
Virginia and wandered about among the rich planters and the poor slaves
who then lived there; selling the gentlemen and ladies such fine things
as they would buy from his boxes,--for he was a traveling merchant, or
peddler,--staying in their mansions sometimes, and sometimes in the
cabins of the poor; reading all the books he could find in the great
houses, and learning all that he could in other ways. Then, he went
back to Connecticut and became a school-master. So fond was he of
children, and so well did he understand them, that his school soon
became large and famous, and he was sent for to go and teach poor
children in Boston. Miss May, the mother of Miss Alcott, was then a
young lady in that city. She, too, was full of kind thoughts for
children, the poor and the rich, and when she saw how well the young
school-master understood his work, how much good he was seeking to do,
and how well he loved her, why, Miss May consented to marry Mr. Alcott,
and then they went away to Philadelphia together, where Mr. Alcott
taught another school.

Close by Philadelphia, and now a part of that great city, is
Germantown, a quiet and lovely village then, which had been settled
many years before by Germans, for whom it was named, and by Quakers,
such as came to Philadelphia with William Penn. Here Louisa May Alcott
was born, and she spent the first two years of her life in Germantown
and Philadelphia. Then, her father and mother went back to Boston,
where Mr. Alcott taught a celebrated school in a fine large building
called the Temple, close by Boston Common, and about this school an
interesting book has been written, which, perhaps, you will some day
read. The little Louisa did not go to it at first, because she was not
old enough, but her father and mother taught her at home the same
beautiful things which the older children learned in the Temple school.
By and by people began to complain that Mr. Alcott was too gentle with
his scholars, that he read to them from the New Testament too much, and
talked with them about Jesus, when he should have been making them say
their multiplication-table. So his school became unpopular, and all the
more so because he would not refuse to teach a poor colored boy who
wanted to be his pupil. The fathers and mothers of the white children
were not willing to have a colored child in the same school with their
darlings. So they took away their children, one after another, until,
when Louisa Alcott was between six and seven years old, her father was
left with only five pupils, Louisa and her two sisters ("Jo," "Beth"
and "Meg"), one white boy, and the colored boy whom he would not send
away. Mr. Alcott had depended for his support on the money which his
pupils paid him, and now he became poor, and gave up his school.

There was a friend of Mr. Alcott's then living in Concord, not far from
Boston,--a man of great wisdom and goodness, who had been very sad to
see the noble Connecticut school-master so shabbily treated in
Boston,--and he invited his friend to come and live in Concord. So
Louisa went to that old country town with her father and mother when
she was eight years old, and lived with them in a little cottage, where
her father worked in the garden, or cut wood in the forest, while her
mother kept the house and did the work of the cottage, aided by her
three little girls. They were very poor, and worked hard; but they
never forgot those who needed their help, and if a poor traveler came
to the cottage door hungry, they gave him what they had, and cheered
him on his journey. By and by, when Louisa was ten years old, they went
to another country town not far off, named Harvard, where some friends
of Mr. Alcott had bought a farm, on which they were all to live
together, in a religious community, working with their hands, and not
eating the flesh of slaughtered animals, but living on vegetable food,
for this practice, they thought, made people more virtuous. Miss Alcott
has written an amusing story about this, which she calls
"Transcendental Wild Oats." When Louisa was twelve years old, and had a
third sister ("Amy"), the family returned to Concord, and for three
years occupied the house in which Mr. Hawthorne, who wrote the fine
romances, afterward lived. There Mr. Alcott planted a fair garden, and
built a summer-house near a brook for his children, where they spent
many happy hours, and where, as I have heard, Miss Alcott first began
to compose stories to amuse her sisters and other children of the
neighborhood.

When she was almost sixteen, the family returned to Boston, and there
Miss Alcott began to teach boys and girls their lessons. She had not
been at school much herself, but she had been instructed by her father
and mother. She had seen so much that was generous and good done by
them that she had learned it is far better to have a kind heart and to
do unselfish acts than to have riches or learning or fine clothes. So,
mothers were glad to send her their children to be taught, and she
earned money in this way for her own support.

But she did not like to teach so well as her father did, and thought
that perhaps she could write stories and be paid for them, and earn
more money in that way. So she began to write stories. At first nobody
would pay her any money for them, but she kept patiently at work,
making better and better what she wrote, until in a few years she could
earn a good sum by her pen. Then the great civil war came on, and Miss
Alcott, like the rest of the people, wished to do something for her
country. So she went to Washington as a nurse, and for some time she
took care of the poor soldiers who came into the hospital wounded or
sick, and she has written a little book about these soldiers which you
may have read. But soon she grew ill herself from the labor and anxiety
she had in the hospital, and almost died of typhoid fever; since when
she has never been the robust, healthy young lady she was before, but
was more or less an invalid while writing all those cheerful and
entertaining books. And yet to that illness all her success as an
author might perhaps be traced. Her "Hospital Sketches," first
published in a Boston newspaper, became very popular, and made her name
known all over the North. Then she wrote other books, encouraged by the
reception given to this, and finally, in 1868, five years after she
left the hospital in Washington, she published the first volume of
"Little Women." From that day to this she has been constantly gaining
in the public esteem, and now perhaps no lady in all the land stands
higher. Several hundred thousand volumes of her books have been sold in
this country, and probably as many more in England and other European
countries.

Twenty years ago, Miss Alcott returned to Concord with her family, who
have ever since resided there. It was there that most of her books were
written, and many of her stories take that town for their
starting-point. It was in Concord that "Beth" died, and there the
"Little Men" now live. Miss Alcott herself has been two or three years
in Europe since 1865, and has spent several winters in Boston or New
York, but her summers are usually passed in Concord, where she lives
with her father and mother in a picturesque old house, under a warm
hill-side, with an orchard around it and a pine-wood on the hill-top
behind. Two aged trees stand in front of the house, and in the rear is
the studio of Miss May Alcott ("Amy"), who has become an artist of
renown, and had a painting exhibited last spring in the great
exhibition of pictures at Paris. Close by is another house, under the
same hill-side, where Mr. Hawthorne lived and wrote several of his
famous books, and it was along the old Lexington road in front of
these ancient houses that the British Grenadiers marched and retreated
on the day of the battle of Concord in April, 1775. Instead of soldiers
marching with their plumed hats, you might have seen there last summer
great plumes of asparagus waving in the field; instead of bayonets, the
poles of grape-vines in ranks upon the hill; while loads of hay, of
strawberries, pears and apples went jolting along the highway between
hill and meadow.

The engraving shows you how Miss Alcott looks,--only you must recollect
that it does not flatter her; and if you should see her, you would like
her face much better than the picture of it. She has large, dark-blue
eyes, brown clustering hair, a firm but smiling mouth, a noble head,
and a tall and stately presence, as becomes one who is descended from
the Mays, Quincys and Sewalls, of Massachusetts, and the Alcotts and
Bronsons of Connecticut. From them she has inherited the best New
England traits,--courage and independence without pride, a just and
compassionate spirit, strongly domestic habits, good sense, and a warm
heart. In her books you perceive these qualities, do you not? and
notice, too, the vigor of her fancy, the flowing humor that makes her
stories now droll and now pathetic, a keen eye for character, and the
most cheerful tone of mind. From the hard experiences of life she has
drawn lessons of patience and love, and now with her, as the apostle
says, "abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of
these is charity." There have been men, and some women too, who could
practice well the heavenly virtue of charity toward the world at large,
and with a general atmospheric effect, but could not always bring it
down to earth, and train it in the homely, crooked paths of household
care. But those who have seen Miss Alcott at home know that such is not
her practice. In the last summer, as for years before, the citizen or
the visitor who walked the Concord streets might have seen this admired
woman doing errands for her father, mother, sister, or nephews, and as
attentive to the comfort of her family as if she were only their
housekeeper. In the sick-room she has been their nurse, in the
excursion their guide, in the evening amusements their companion and
entertainer. Her good fortune has been theirs, and she has denied
herself other pleasures for the satisfaction of giving comfort and
pleasure to them.

"So did she travel on life's common way
In cheerful godliness; and yet her heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay."




THE BOY WHO JUMPED ON TRAINS.

BY MARY HARTWELL.


There was a boy whose name was Dunn,
And he was one
As full of fun
As any boy could walk or run!

His cheeks were plump, his eyes were bright,
He stepped as light
As a camel might,
And bounced and played from morn till night.

And whether he was here or there,
His parents' care--
Unseen like air--
Followed and held him everywhere.

[Illustration: "HE WOULD JUMP ON THE CARS TO RIDE."]

He really was their joy and pride--
Was good beside;
But woe betide--
He _would_ jump on the cars to ride!

There, hanging to a brake or step,
Tight hold he kept,
And onward swept,
Yelling with all his might, "Git-tep!"

Dunn's father learned that he did so,
And told him to
Decline to go
Where trains were running to and fro.

As for his mother, she turned white,
And gasped with fright
To think Dunn might
Come home a pancake some fine night!

[Illustration: "HIS FATHER'S STERN COMMAND."]

But his relations often said,
With shaking head,
That boy was led
To have his way if it killed him dead!

[Illustration: "THE FREIGHT-CARS DECKED WITH BOYS DID SLIDE."]

And sure enough when school was out,
And boys about
The trains flocked out,
Dunn followed too, with plunge and shout.

He did not mean to grab a ride,
But by his side,
With tempting glide,
The freight-cars decked with boys did slide!

Where was his father's stern command?
Out went his hand;
He gained a stand--
At least he _planned_ to gain a stand!

What is it? Crash! His head is blind!
That wheel behind--
He hears it grind!
And he is paralyzed in mind!

On cork and crutches now goes Dunn!
_Whole_ boys may run--
Grab rides for fun--
But, as I said, _this_ boy is _Dunn_!




THE TOWER-MOUNTAIN

BY GUSTAVUS FRANKENSTEIN.


I.

Many years ago, I was roving in a land strange and wonderful to me. It
was a tropical country, and I was wandering alone among the grand
scenery of the mountains, and the luxuriant vegetation of the
hill-sides and valleys.

I had with me but few implements, and these, such as were light and
easy to carry. A hunting-knife, a small hatchet, a canteen and a few
marching necessaries made up my kit.

One day while rambling about, living on the bountiful supplies of fruit
nature provides in that charming region, I came to a deep lake
surrounded by steep hills. On the opposite side of this lake I could
see a narrow gap or cleft, which seemed to lead to the higher ground. I
therefore made a raft,--not without considerable trouble,--and paddled
it across the lake. I found the gap quite narrow at its entrance, but
it soon became wider, while far forward, at the end of the chasm, there
appeared to be a series of rude steps.

I fastened the raft to the rock, in doing which I had the ill luck to
drop my hatchet into the deep water, and, notwithstanding the evil
omen, made my way into the crevice. I passed over the rough bottom of
the chasm until I came to the steps; these I ascended. At a height of
about a hundred feet I came to a wall of rock, the top of which I could
just reach with the ends of my fingers. By a great effort, I got a good
hold of the edge of the rock, and drew myself up.

When I stood at last upon the upper ground, I saw before me the most
beautiful trees and flowers I had yet met with. On either side the
rocks retreated and rose steeply to the summits I had partially seen
from the lake below. As I passed on and surveyed the plateau, I found
it to be a valley about a mile in diameter, encompassed by precipices
more or less abrupt. With but little trouble I found a place of easy
ascent, and soon climbed to the top of the rocky wall.

The delight I now experienced surpassed everything I had ever known.
Spread out before me, as I stood upon an eminence somewhat above the
general level, was a vast expanse overflowing with vegetation and
extending for miles in every direction, whilst all round about rose the
mighty domes and pinnacles of snow-clad mountains. I stood in the midst
of the sublimest mountain scenery in the world. I could look down upon
the beautiful lake, and up at the giant peaks, and all about me upon
the fruitful verdure, whilst the atmosphere was charged with
delightful odors, and a pleasant breeze tempered the sweet warm air.

As here was a delightful climate, fruit in abundance, and scenery
soul-exalting, of whose glory one could never grow tired, I felt rather
pleased with the thought "Why not stay here? Why not remain in this
beautiful place as long as circumstances will permit?"

All nature seemed here so lovely that I resolved to wander no further.

While gazing around at all this grandeur and beauty, my attention was
particularly drawn to a group of lofty peaks which rose in the midst of
this smiling garden. The sides of the towering eminences seemed almost
perpendicular, and they were about three or four thousand feet high.

I soon gave up all hope of ever reaching the top, but in examining the
rock I found at its base a great cavern, so high and wide that a very
large building might have stood in it, with plenty of room to spare.
The sides and roof sparkled with crystals of all hues, and were
singularly and picturesquely variegated with differently colored veins
running through them; and, as the cave opened toward the east, with a
large clear space in front of it, nothing could have been more splendid
than when the morning sun shone full into the vast chamber and lighted
it up with dazzling brilliancy.

In that chamber I made my humble home.

Near one of the streams that flowed over the precipice into the lake,
grew several species of very tall grasses, with great bushy heads of
long silky fibers that adorned and protected their flowers and fruit.
Of these fine strong threads I made a hammock, which I suspended from a
strong frame bound together with these tough fibers, placing it a few
feet back from the mouth of the cavern. Thus, I had an excellent bed,
and if I should need covering there were plenty of palm-leaves at hand
for the purpose. But in that torrid climate there was little need of
extra protection; the air of the cavern was of just that delightful
coolness which refreshes but does not chill.

Now, imagine me waking in the morning just as the dawn tinted the rosy
east, refreshed with sweet slumbers and rejoicing to behold the light,
rocking myself gently in my pretty hammock, and hailing the uprising
sun with a merry song,--and would you not suppose there was one happy
man in this great world?

While the day was yet young I would take a bath in the clear, soft
water of a little stream near by. Then, when all was sparkling and
bright in my humble house, I would partake with keen appetite of the
precious fruits of my unlimited and self-producing garden.

In the neighboring streams were many kinds of fishes, some of which I
knew to be very good eating, and I could have caught and eaten as many
birds as I wished; but the fruits and nuts were so plentiful, and of so
many different sorts, that I cared for, and, indeed, needed, no other
kind of food.

Thus, several months passed away, and I was not weary of this paradise.
There was enough to occupy my mind in the examination of the structure
and mode of growth of a vast number of species of plants. Their
flowering, their fruitage, and their decay offered a boundless field
for thought, and kept up a never-flagging interest.

For the first four months the sun traced his course through the heavens
to the north of me; I knew, therefore, that I was almost immediately
under the equator. For several days at the end of the four months, the
sun rose directly in the east, passing through the sky in a line
dividing it almost exactly into halves north and south. After that, for
six months, I had the great luminary to the south of me.

In all this time there was but little change in the weather. A short
period without rain was the exception. Otherwise, the mornings and
evenings were invariably clear, with a refreshing rain of about two
hours' duration in the middle of the day. In the afternoon the sun was,
of course, away from my cavern, shining upon the opposite side of the
mountain of solid rock, which rendered my abode delightfully cool in
the greatest heat of the day. Toward the end of the short dry period,
magnificent thunder-showers passed over my domain. Nothing could be
more glorious than these electrical displays of an equatorial sky, as I
sat snug and safe within the rocky shelter. The heaviest shower could
not wet me, the water without ran with a swift descent, from the cave,
and over the precipice into the lake below. It was not likely that the
lightning would take the trouble to creep in under the rock and there
find me out. And as for the thunder, I was not in the least afraid of
it, but gloried in its loud peals and distant reverberations among the
encompassing mountains.

It was during the violence of one of these tempests that a parrot flew
into my comfortable quarters.

"Hallo! my fine fellow!" said I. "Where do you come from, and what do
you want here?"

It flew about the room looking for a place to perch, trying to find a
footing against the wall, slipping down, and flying up again.

I left it free to find its own roosting-place, or fly out of the
cavern, as it liked. I had seen a few parrots of the same kind, outside
in my garden, had heard them chattering and shrieking amidst the
foliage, and had always been very much amused with their odd ways, and
pleased with the brilliance and the glitter of their splendid plumage.
But I never tried or cared to capture the gorgeous, noisy birds, or any
other of the creatures that were always to be seen around me. Indeed,
from the very first, the living things in this lovely valley appeared
to be uncommonly tame; and in time no bird or other animal showed the
least fear on my approach, regarding me no more than any other creature
that never did them harm. Of course, this came of my never molesting
them. But I never thought of getting on familiar terms with any of
them, although scarcely a day passed that some of these animals did not
come and eat of the fruit by the side of that which I was plucking. I
never laid hands on them, but always let them go about their own
business. They soon became accustomed to my umbrella even, for I early
made one of these necessities of a torrid climate; and although at
first when I had occasion to walk in the sun my appearance shaded by
the portable roof caused unusual chattering and commotion, I speedily
took on a familiar look to them. In the same way I became an object of
curiosity when I plucked a leaf and made of it a cup to drink from. But
at length all signs of strangeness vanished, and there even came to be
a kind of friendship between us.

[Illustration: THE VIEW FROM THE LEDGE.]

I therefore concerned myself no more about the parrot, thinking that,
of course, as soon as the rain should stop, the bird would fly away.

I had made a small table of three slabs of rock, where I frequently
placed fruits, nuts, roots and the like, that I might have in case I
should feel hungry when in my house, and yet not care to eat the fruit
directly from the plant, which I most generally preferred. Of course,
too, it was always desirable to have provisions on hand when it rained.

The next morning, when I awoke, the rain was still descending, for it
was just at this time that it rained for three or four days together.

I always had a healthy relish for the good things of this world, and,
as there was no rosy dawn to look at, my eyes immediately went in
search of the breakfast-table.

"What!" I exclaimed; and I sat upright in my hammock.

There was the parrot on the table.

I eyed him for some time, and then I cried out:

"You little thief! Stealing my food, are you?"

The parrot sat there, but said never a word. He merely raised one of
his claws and sleeked up the feathers on the back of his neck, in the
way his family know so well. Then, raising the feathers of his crest,
he gave utterance to a very faint shriek.

"Get out of this, you rascal!" I cried and immediately got up and went
toward him with the purpose of putting him out.

I approached the table very rapidly, expecting that the bird would fly
away. But he remained motionless. I was about to lay rude hands on him,
but I desisted.

"Why do violence to the creature? Why mar the serenity of this peaceful
vale?" I said to myself. "And why make such ado about a little fruit
when there is abundance on every hand?"

Happening just then to glance at the fruit, it seemed to me that it had
not been disturbed.

I examined it more closely, and began to feel I had done the parrot
great injustice. There it lay, just as I had left it the night before;
there was no evidence whatever of its having been picked at, and I came
to the comforting conclusion that the handsome bird had broken no moral
law.

The parrot rose greatly in my esteem at this happy discovery.

"Friend Parrot," said I, "I beg pardon for having so rashly jumped to
the conclusion that you had been guilty of theft. I believe that you
have touched nothing of the things which belong to me. Indeed, I am
sure that you have not. That you have so scrupulously regarded the
rights of property is to me the source of infinite gratification, and
fills me with the highest admiration of your character. To show you
that I am disinclined to let virtue go unrewarded, I accord you my
permission to stay here while I am eating my breakfast, and when I have
finished, you too may eat some, if you like."

Then, having arranged my toilet, I began to partake of the good things
that lay on the table, the parrot all the while looking at me with
lively interest. I could not help being amused at his significant
performances. He turned his knowing head one way, and then another, now
sidewise toward the fruits, and then obliquely up at me, as I sat
enjoying the repast, enlivening his gestures with gentle prattle, and
yet never making a single demonstration in the direction of my food. He
put me in such good humor that I was impelled to say to him:

"Friend Parrot, I don't mind being sociable; and if you are inclined to
do me the favor of honoring me with your company, I most respectfully
invite you to partake of this humble collation." And, taking up one of
the choicest nuts in the collection, I handed it to him forthwith.

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