from side to side with the motion of the ship, making the dizzy height all the more perilous, and the youngsters must reef top-sails, working with their hands, and acquiring the knack of "hanging on" without the help of those useful members.

Day and night the watch is set, to pass four hours on deck ready to answer every call, whether it be to man the "jib down-haul" or "spanker brails"; then four hours below, with nothing to do. The "dog watches " of two hours each (from 4 to 6 P. M. and from 6 to 8 P. M.) break the continuity, and enable the watches to alternate, and thus secure eight hours below every other night. Thus a year several months of it spent in seavoyaging-slips quickly by, and the young tar has advanced steadily in his calling. His fund of

general knowledge has been increased by visiting foreign countries. At no time has the training in the three departments of Seamanship, Gunnery, and Studies been lost sight of, although self-reliance has taken the place of that dependence upon others which is necessarily so common at first.

Upon attaining his majority, the apprentice is in every way fitted for general service as a man-ofwar's-man, and may serve according to his choice -in any squadron that stands in need of men. Whether he chooses the much-sought-for European squadron, or visits the celestials in China, or wanders in the Pacific or South Atlantic, let us hope that he will at all times prove himself worthy of his alma mater, and help to regenerate that fastdisappearing class the American seaman.

Ma says I may go to see you and stay all day with you next week if it be not rainy. She says I may ride my pony Hero if Uncle Ben will go with me and lead Hero. I have a little piece of poetry about the picture book you gave me, but I must n't tell you who wrote the poetry.

"G. W's. compliments to R. H. L. And likes his book full well, Henceforth will count him his friend, And hopes many happy days he may end.' "Your good friend,

In less than half a century after writing this childletter, this same George Washington stood before a vast assemblage of people, and, with his hand upon the Bible, took the oath as the first President

"Long live George Washington, President of the United States," shouted one who stood near, and the people caught up and repeated the shout. But the first person to clasp Washington's hand was his life-long friend, Richard Henry Lee.

After all, boys are boys. If these two great men were once boys like us, why may not we some day become great men like them? To be great, one need not be famous.

ITHA lived with her father in a small German village. He was a very learned man, but very poor, and so he walked into the town, two leagues distant, every morning to give lessons to the young people of rich families; and in the evening he walked back to the village and took little Itha on his knee, and made her tell him what she had done with herself all the long day. And when they had eaten their supper, he would sometimes say: "Now you shall hear a story about what happened when the world was young."

Many were the beautiful wonder-tales that he knew, but the one Itha liked best was the history of a fair and gentle lady who was borne away to the sunless kingdom of the dead; and so great was the grief of her husband that he went to seek her in that shadowy land, and by his sweet singing compelled her captors to yield her back to him. Itha was never tired of hearing this story.

At other times, the poor scholar would take down his favorite book and read aloud, in a rich, full voice, something that sounded like a great river rolling along. Itha would sit upon his knee all the while that he was reading, and one day she said to him:

"Let me read, too, in that book."

So he taught his little daughter how to read in the book, though it was written in Greek; for it was the book of a wonderful Greek poet who lived thousands of years ago, when the world was young. And it was the only book that Itha ever read, for her father had forgotten to teach her how to read German, which was her own language.

One December evening,—it was the eve of St. Nicholas's day,—as the poor scholar was trudging back from the town, he remembered that he had not been able to do anything with his little pupils all that day, because they were all whispering to each other guesses as to what St. Nicholas would put in their shoes next morning; for every German child, when he gets up from his bed on the sixth of December, expects to find a nice present in his shoes, and the nurse tells him St. Nicholas put it there. One of the scholar's pupils wished for a pair of skates; another hoped it would be a brand-new doll; a third wanted a box of sugar-plums, and the poor scholar thought:

"My little Itha will have no gift from St. Nicholas to-morrow morning."

And he sighed sadly. When he had gone a little farther, he met a peddler.

"Ah! surely," he cried, quite joyfully, "you must have something in your bag which will do to put in my little child's shoe."

"I have not such a thing with me," said the peddler; "I am sold out, excepting a few bonehandled knives and some tin-ware." He passed on, but in a minute he ran back and said: "I forgot a bit of a thing I picked up at a sale in an old country house a week ago -it might do for you, perhaps, but I can not tell."

He pulled out from the bottom of his sack- a little violin ! "What is your price?" cried the poor scholar, trembling with cagerness to secure the prize. "Three florins," said the peddler.

He had just that in his pocket, and he brought it out, not thinking for a moment of how he had intended to buy himself a new hat with the money, because his pupil, little Master von Rebel, had secretly sat upon his old one and crushed in the crown, "just for fun!"

As for the peddler, he went on his way rejoicing, for he had bought the violin for one florin, so he had made a clear gain of two. He was not accustomed to deal in such things, and he did not in the least suspect that the little violin was worth much more than even the sum he sold it for; still, this was really the fact. Inside of it, almost marked out by age and dust, stood the name of Joseph Guarnerius, of Cremona, a great and famous maker.

Joseph Guarnerius was a strange man, and perhaps he made this particular little violin by way of a joke, for it was very small, and what is called the tail-piece had a carved head on it, the likeness of a curious, good-natured-looking little monster, something like the gargoyle heads you see in old churches. Or it may be that it was intended as a keepsake for his jailer's daughter, who was very kind when he was once in prison, and brought him the needful materials so that he might not have to leave off making violins. When the dust was rubbed off the case, it showed a bright amber color, which pleased the poor scholar as he sat that night rubbing it up to make it look as nice as possible; but he did not know its value any more than the peddler, and therefore he was not aware that it was one of the great secrets of the old makers how to give the instruments this glowing, yellow tint. When he had done polishing it, as it was too big to go into the shoe, he put the

shoe on the head of the little carved monster, and placed it silently by Itha's bed.

As soon as Itha woke in the morning, she saw the little violin, and she was very, very happy; she kissed it and kissed it, and could not kiss it enough. She wondered how it ever came to be in her shoe, but her father said, with a smile, "St. Nicholas put it there!" When she touched the strings, and when they went "twing, twing," she jumped for joy, she was so glad. After that, she drew the bow across the strings, and it made a sweet, long sound, and she could have cried with pleasure. You see, little Itha was not in the habit of having many pretty things given her, and so she thought all the more of this one. She asked her father what it should be called, for she wished to give it a name, and he told her to call it Psyche.

After that St. Nicholas day, whenever her father was away in the town, little Itha played on her violin. At first she only made different kinds of sounds, but she soon found out how to play the little tunes with which her mother had been used to sing her to sleep; and then she would make up tunes of her own to play, and discover all sorts of new ways in which to play the old ones. She would say softly, as she nursed her little violin in her lap, "There are three in the house now: Father, Itha, and Psyche!" She used to take Psyche to bed with her when it was cold weather.

But when the new year was half gone by, a great misfortune happened - the poor scholar lost his eyesight. Now he could no longer go into the town to earn money by teaching rich children, and every day there was less bread in the house. Little Itha was very happy that she could read to her father out of his dearly loved book; she sat on his knee, as in old times, and he held the book in his hands whilst she read. Every day she made him tell her how Homer, the great poet who wrote the book, was also blind and poor when he grew old, for the story seemed to be a comfort to him.

One day there was no food, and no money to get it with. The poor scholar said to himself, "If it was only I, I could starve; but the child must eat." He went to the shelf where his dear book lay, and he took it down and dusted it with his sleeve, and for a few moments he held it in his hands. Then he felt his way to the door, and walked out, with his stick, to a neighbor's house. For a minute he stood still; a thought struck him "The violin would do as well - but no! It would break Itha's heart to part with it." called to the neighbor:

He

"Neighbor, your son Hans is going to the town; will you let him sell this book and buy bread?" In the afternoon, Hans came back with a loaf, and said "it was all right."

"He is sold to buy bread, my child," said the poor scholar.

Itha sat down on his knee, and all that evening they both cried. Next day two men came to the house, and the poor scholar gently bade Itha go out of the room while he spoke with them; but through the door she heard sounds of harsh voices and hard words, and when they had talked for some time, Itha's father came out to her and said:

"My child, you know we are very poor, and since my trouble I have not been able to pay my I owe these gentlemen forty florins, and they are going to put me in prison till I can pay it. Good-bye, my little Itha."

rent.

Meanwhile, the two men looked around the house.

"These things wont fetch twenty pence, all put together," said one.

"What's this? A fiddle, I declare! That may be sold for a trifle, perhaps," said the other, roughly handling Psyche.

"Well, we can see about that, when we come back presently," rejoined the first speaker. "Little girl," he continued, with just the air of one who thinks he is doing a great favor, we shall try and get you into the town orphan-house."

66

"I am not an orphan, and I will go with my father!" cried Itha, sobbing, and clinging to her father's neck.

"You 're little better off than an orphan," muttered one of the men, and they forthwith led the poor scholar away and slammed the door on his little daughter. Itha wept bitterly when they were gone; but of a sudden she got up and took hold of her little violin, and said:

"Psyche, you and I must save father;" and she ran off as fast as she could. She did not go toward the town, for she knew the cruel men lived there, but right the other way, across the fields of barley and rye. That night she slept under a hedge, but the next day she came to a village, and she played her violin all along the village street. The people were pleased to hear the music, and threw out pence, and one gave her a piece of bread with some sausage. A good man let her sleep in some straw under his shed, and when morning came, she made her way to another village. Thus she went on, and on, from day to day, and she kept all the money she earned tied up in her pockethandkerchief, till it got to be quite heavy with pence and small coins. Still, there were not nearly forty florins, and the life was a very hard one; but

Marzipan was uncovered; it was big and round, and there were splendid figures on it in colored sugar.

Just then the musician's ear caught a little sound coming up from the square, and when he went to the window he saw a poor little ragged child playing the violin; and all along where she had trodden, there were stains of blood on the snow; for her naked feet were cut and frost-bitten.

"Keep quiet for a minute, children," said the musician to the merry band at the dinner-table. He listened and listened till the music stopped; then his face lit up brightly, as though with deep

joy, and he exclaimed: "Here is one who will become a great artist!"

So Itha's pilgrimage ended. The musician took her into his house and gave her good food and warm clothing. They started off together to free the poor scholar; and what was more, the musician did not rest until he had found the old copy of Homer and bought it back for him. Then Itha and her father went to Nuremberg, and Itha studied for some years and grew perfect in her art, and in time her name came to be known over all the world for her beautiful playing on the violin.

TOMER

CHAPTER III.

A CHANGE OF BASE.

As Prince Braunfels had intimated, he had determined to go back to civilization,"— that is, to Germany. His own subjects had become Americanized, and no longer treated their Prince with the respect his rank demanded.

"Dey sits down in mine bresence, Madame," he complained to Mrs. Frierson, "unt mit dere hats on dere hets. Dey stops at mine gate unt shouts to me: I say, Brince, pring me ein tassen vasser!" Houf! I dell you I must leaf dis hor-rid countree!" In leaving, however, he needed to make satisfactory disposition of a valuable, full-blooded Merino ram that he had imported from Spain at a heavy expense, together with several Merino ewes. Prince was enthusiastic on the subject of sheepraising.

The

"But ach! Mein beoples!" he exclaimed; "dey are such foolish ones, dey would eat dese grand, dese noble sheep for mutton. Stupids!"

The Prince had formed a high opinion of the exVOL. XII.-44.

cellent sense of Ruthven; and the proposition which he made was that the Friersons should take his small but extremely valuable flock of Merinos in charge, paying him a fixed percentage upon the yearly returns and increase.

Ruthven and his mother hesitated at first. They had had some experience with the Mexican sheep of that region, but to undertake the care and raising of valuable, full-blooded stock was a very different matter.

"We have no inclosed pasturage large enough," objected Ruthven. "We are too near the public roads and the towns. Dogs will kill the sheep, or Mexicans will steal them. I know nothing about the diseases of sheep, nor about their housing and food. One week may sweep off every one of them; and these Merinos are delicate as well as valuable creatures."