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served how varied and picturesque the dress of the men was. The jacket was generally of white flannel cut square at the neck, trimmed with black velvet, with a row of embroidery thereon, and strings of metal buttons. The outside pockets of these jackets were cut into seven or eight vandykes bound with black velvet, each of the points being fastened by a brass or silver button. The beaver or felt hats were enormous, very lowcrowned, and trimmed with a band of broad, black velvet fastened by a silver buckle, with two ends hanging behind. The trousers were chiefly blue or white, although some were of black or brown velveteen, often loose, but without the bagginess so common in Lower Brittany.

The older men wore black gaiters reaching to the knees, fastened by a close row of tiny buttons. Round the waist many of them wore a broad, thick, buff-leather belt, with quaint metal clasps. This hung so low and loosely that it seemed worn only for ornament. We asked a tall Breton farmer, with bare feet thrust into his sabots, what was the use of this belt.

"It has no use," he said, complacently; "I wear it for fashion's sake."

The waistcoat was also white flannel trimmed with so many rows of embroidered velvet that it had the effect of several waistcoats worn one above another; four or five dozen silver buttons were set in two rows down each side of the outer waistcoat so closely that the edges overlapped. This costume was perhaps the most uncommon we Saw. The elder men wore their hair very long, sometimes hanging over their shoulders almost to their waists; their dark, gleaming eyes and thick, straight eyebrows gave them a fierce appearance.

Some of the men were very tall, and they stalked about among the women as if they were beings of a different order. They seemed rarely to speak to them; each sex mostly herded in groups apart, except that the men took the centre of the fair as their right, and paced up and down like princes. There seemed to be no curious strangers present except ourselves (and yet they took little notice of us). Even when we got farther up the glen, and more into the crowd, we saw no mixture of townsfolk-it was a festival of peasants.

We were specially attracted by the face of a fine old man with flowing white hair, but most malevolent black eyes, who stood fanning, with his broad-leaved beaver hat, a gridironful of silvery sardines, frizzling and crackling over a pan of charcoal on the grass.

When they were cooked, he speedily found customers for them.

Close by was a stand covered with huge loaves of buckwheat-bread, which were finding ready sale; and, as we moved on, we saw impromptu fireplaces in all directions. On one side a huge, steaming pipkin hung from a tripod of sticks. From this a coarse ragoût of meat and potatoes sent out a not too savory smell. Farther on a large pot of coffee stood on a glowing lump of charcoal. And now we came upon booths with cold edibles displayed on the stalls-sausages of all kinds, and a sort of cold meat-pudding in great re

quest, but by no means of seducing appear

ance.

Farther back from the main avenue, under the trees, were carts full of immense ciderbarrels, covered with fresh brakes. A woman, wearing the costume we had seen the day before at St.-Nicolas, stood at a table in front of one of these carts drawing cider as fast as she could into jugs, glasses, etc., and all around her were groups of men talking together, and getting less silent and morose as they drank glass after glass and toasted one another.

A low stone-wall, overgrown with grass, divided this wooded glen on the left from the country high-road. On a bit of the wall a pleasant-looking country-woman, in a wellstarched, spotless-white muslin coif the two broad lappets pinned together behind her head-had spread out her wares on a gay-colored handkerchief: caps, collars, and chemisettes, were displayed to the best advantage in this elevated position. She sat on the wall beside her goods, and she seemed to be driving a good trade, though it was puzzling to know how her customers would dispose of such easily-crumpled articles in the midst of the ever-moving crowd.

So far we had been struck by the quiet and decorum of the scene. It was really too quiet. There was none of the repartee and merry laughter we had so often heard in a Norman market. Men and women alike looked serious and self-contained. The happiest faces were those of the dear little children, toddling and tumbling about in all directions. Some of these in their close-fitting skull-caps, thick woollen skirts, and large white collars, were perfect little Velasquez figures. Others wore round hats set on the back of their heads. Almost all had clear complexions, and handsome, large, round, dark eyes.

Still farther on we heard a rather monotonous beat of drum. There was a performance going on here, but it seemed only to consist in the explanation of various pictures exhibited by the show-woman in a drawling recitative. Behind this we found ourselves in the cattle-market- a part of the glen where the grass was less worn away, and where the trees were more thickly planted. Men stood about here plaiting and unplaiting the long tails of their horses. Women dragged their pretty little black-and-white cows about, sometimes by a rope fastened to their horns, but quite as often they hurried on, regardless of everybody, with their cow's head griped under one arm. Pigs were also being hauled about, filling the air with their noise. One woman had got her pig by the tail, and dragged it, squealing, through the very thickest of the crowd; another had a rope fastened to her pig's leg. In this quarter it was difficult to move through the confused mass of people and animals. No one seemed to care or to look where he or she went. It was apparently assumed that every one would take care of himself or herself; lacking this, there was every chance of being knocked down and trampled under foot by the crowd or the cattle.

Wherever space could be found among the trees were long booths, some of them garlanded with green boughs. Looking

through the low, arched openings, we saw there were tables, running from one end to the other, covered with bottles and glasses -men and women sitting alternately on each side. The men, having probably concluded their bargains, were drinking their beloved cider; but at present, at any rate, the women had empty glasses before them, and were istening to the conversation of their lords held with each other across the table.

There had been an auction of beasts going on under the trees. Groups of wild-looking men, with long hair streaming over their dark, embroidered jackets, their hats larger and with broader velvet on them than any we had seen, were talking fiercely about the cattle, with flashing eyes and much gesticulation. These were Finistère men from Scaër and Baunalec. We were told that the design embroidered in the centre of their jackets behind signifies the Blessed Sacrament. They looked far more savage and determined than the white-coated men of Morbihan, but they were less sullen and reserved. There was abundant variety, too, in the costumes of the women. We saw some gorgeous green gowns trimmed with broad black velvet both on the skirt and on the sort of double body, which seems to answer to the coat and waistcoat of the men. The black velvet was covered with gold-and-scarlet embroidery.

The head-gear of St.-Nicolas, with the brilliant green, scarlet, or yellow linings, was most abundant, but there was besides a large proportion of white coifs and caps and | quaintly-shaped collars. Most of the women wore gold or gilt hearts and crosses depending from a velvet ribbon round the throat. Few of them showed any hair on their foreheads, and it is, perhaps, the absence of this, added to the large, melancholy eyes, which gives so sad and solemn an expression to the face of the Bretonne peasant. They tell you that they have their hair cut off because there is no room for it under the coif-in reality, they sell it to the traveling barber who will give the best price for it.

Formerly, all the cattle of the neighborhood, decorated with ribbons, were led in procession to the church to be blessed— drums beating and banners flying-but this custom seems to have been given up, though some animals are still offered to St.-Nicodème, and these are sold afterward at higher prices than the rest, as the presence of one of them in a stable is supposed to bring luck. Time was going fast, and we began to be curious as to the hour of the descent of the angel.

We were told that it would come down after vespers, and we made our way through the crowd to the rising ground on the left of the church. Already the cider was beginning to take effect. There was much more noise and chatter. The men stood about in groups in eager discussion, using rapid and vehement gesticulation.

The heat had become overpowering, the sun seemed to scorch us as we walked, but the chestnut-trees on this hill-side were even larger than those below, and, so long as we could remain under them, there was dense and most refreshing shade. We found the interest was now concentrated on a large open space aroud the tall calvary which

stood on the rising ground; close beside it was a lofty pole, with a large heap of dried furze and brushwood piled high around its base.

A man was going up a ladder placed against this pole, fixing on it at intervals hoops covered with red and blue paper; finally he fastened a painted flag on the top of it.

Presently we saw that a cord was being lowered from the top of the lofty churchtower. Several eager watchers among the chestnut-trees below secured the end of this cord when it reached the ground and brought it in triumph to a post at the foot of the pole, about one hundred yards from the church. The cord was fastened securely below a square box on the top of the post, and from this time a breathless suspense hung over the swaying, rugged-looking crowdthat is, I say, among the elders and the children the younger men and women seemed to choose this time for walking up and down, in and out, through the groups of gazerssome sending saucy, others sheepish glances at one another without an exchange of words. We were specially amused in watching three young, pretty, and very gayly-dressed girls, who walked up and down, looking neither to right nor left, but evidently considering themselves the belles of the fête. A little man with twisted legs, with a joke for every one, seemed in universal favor; he was, no doubt, the bazralan, the tailor, and match-maker of the neighborhood. We saw his cunning, dark face, and keen, black, restless eyes in all parts of the throng, and, to judge by his long colloquies with some of the older matrons, he was doing a profitable business; he was almost the only man who seemed to talk much to the women.

All at once the bell rang out for vespers; the bazralan and most of the women and children flocked into church, followed by a few of the men.

Meanwhile, the throng of men about us increased; those who had been drinking in the booths came across to the calvary, and we had full opportunity of studying their dark, remarkable faces. There is no need for the Breton to disclaim, as he does, any kindred with the French-these peasants, especially the men of Morbihan and Finistère, are a race apart; with their long, dark, deep-set eyes gleaming from under thick, dark eyebrows, their tangled hair spreading over the shoulders, and often reaching almost to the waist, and their dark skins and long, straight noses, and their quaint costume, they are wholly un-French; they are taller, too, and larger-framed than the generality of Frenchmen, and there is a seriousness amounting to dignity which is wholly distinctive. Even when he is drunk, and this is a too frequent occurrence, the Breton strives to be self-controlled and quiet; and when he is sober there is a touch of the North American Indian in his stolid indifference, and also in the contempt with which he regards his spouse for the Breton peasant-woman, spite of her rich costume on Sundays and galadays, is a mere hewer of wood and drawer of water, the slave of her drunken, unfeeling husband.

It is possibly this slavery which takes away self-respect, and gives to the Bretonne the clumsiness and half-savage habits which must strike every stranger as much as her want of gayety and light-heartedness. There are, of course, abundant exceptions, but a woman cannot travel in Brittany without becoming, to some extent, aware of the slight esteem in which her sex is held. One never sees in Brittany a young man and woman strolling together in the evening. One little day of courtship just before marriage is generally all that falls to the lot of the Bretonne peasant; after marriage, her slavery begins.

All at once there was a stir among the crowd. It had been impossible to stand near the pole exposed to the full blaze of the sun, so we had taken shelter under the huge chestnut leaves, but we ventured into the sunshine now, for the excitement was contagious. Almost before we reached the pole, we saw coming down the cord a pretty little angel about three feet high, with bright, golden wings. It stood an instant beside the post to which the rope was attached, and then went up again, and remained stationary outside the tower, the only sound heard in the breathless silence of the crowd being the clickclick of the wheels on which the little creature moved. This, we learned, was a trialdescent, it being necessary to make sure that the machinery worked properly before the real descent took place. This was to happen as soon as vespers was said.

We stood our ground bravely for another quarter of an hour in the burning sunshine. The heat was so intense that the sticks and furze-bushes piled up round the pole in readiness for the bonfire felt as if they came out of an oven.

Suddenly the bells peal out loudly, and a glittering procession comes singing out of the church, with lighted candles, crosses, and crimson-and-gold banners. First come the choristers, then the priests, and then a long train of men and women.

As soon as the procession has circled the hill it halts. Bang! bang! bang! go the guns from the church-tower, and down comes the pretty little angel, this time very rapidly, its bright wings flashing in the sunshine. It holds a match in one outstretched hand, and touches first the box on the post and then the bonfire. A peasant, with many-colored ribbons in his hat, helps the angel's work. There is a loud, deafening explosion, then a discharge of squibs and crackers from the box, and then the furze and fagots of the bonfire ignite and blaze fiercely.

Long tongues of red flame leap up till they reach the first of the hoops on the pole. Bang! bang! and off go the fireworks of which they are composed; the noise is tremendous and ear-splitting, and the flames go leaping higher and higher, till all the suspended fireworks, including the flag at top, have exploded, blazing and hanging and dispersing themselves in shreds of flying fire above the heads of the excited crowd.

It was somewhat alarming to see the towering body of fierce red flame, brilliant even in the powerful sunshine-one moment carried up as if to reach the sky, and the next

bending, swooping sideways m pursuit of the flying shreds of burning paper filling the air; and in the midst of the stifling heat, and smoke, and din-for the crowd had found a universal voice at last-the little goldenwinged angel mounted quickly to the steeple again, followed by strange, uncouth howls of delight, which seemed to be the approved method of expressing satisfaction.

It was a good moment to study the faces of these stolid, self-contained Bretons, moved out of their calm reserve, which to most of them seems second nature. The faces were wonderfully wild and expressive; the long, fierce black eyes gleamed with delight, and, no doubt, in some with religious fervor, as the bonfire blazed higher and higher, casting a lurid glare on all around-most unreal and theatrical in effect.

The whole scene seemed made for a painter-these tall, black-browed men, with their powerful savage faces and long streaming hair, their white-flannel coats and huge black hats, all faces upturned to the red, overmounting flame. Every now and then some

man

it

or boy dashed frantically almost into the swaying fire, to snatch at one of the flying shreds of burning paper to preserve as a relic. At a little distance behind the men, keeping apart, were groups of women in their quaint costumes, some wearing snowy caps, others the sombre coiffes of St.-Nicolas with their bright linings. Hard by stood the tall calvary, its stone steps thronged with little awe-struck children; ranged along the crest of the hill was the procession of priests and choristers with banners and crosses, and in the midst of all the blazing bonâre, while the chestnut-trees crowned the green hill and circled round its base; and in the distance, seen through the spreading boughs, appeared the old gray church tower and spire, and the booths grouped around.

The heat of the sun was still so intense, though evening was coming on, that the met could scarcely bear to keep their hats raised above their heads as the procession wound once more slowly round the calvary and returned to the church.

Perhaps the most striking effect of the whole scene was the contrast between the strong, wild excitement, betrayed more in look and gesture than by any prolonged out cry, and the trumpery cause that aroused it. It was difficult to believe that these excited creatures, plunging madly to secure charred fragments of red paper, and yelling at the explosion of a few fireworks, could be the grand, dignified-looking men we had been watching all the morning. Possibly the mixt ure of cider and religious enthusiasm helped somewhat to this result.

We heard that the fête would last two days, but, as there was no preparation made for either dancing or wrestling, we preferred to leave St.-Nicodème before dusk, for more drinking was plainly to wind up the proceed. ings of the day. It was evident that the greater number of the crowd would spend the night on the ground, either in the carts which showed everywhere among the treetrunks, in the booths, or on the grass under the chestnut-boughs.

KATHARINE S. MACQUOID,

No!

KING CHRISTMAS.

eleven-the hall bedroom before mentioned
-which no boarder would oocupy. Young,
single men fought shy of it. The only one
who ever occupied it was young Pilkington,
salesman for Quidd & Buckle, hosiers, and
he vacated it at the end of a week, declaring
it was too small to swing a cat by the tail in.
As Amelia had no cat, and was much too
kind-hearted to swing it by its tail if she had
had one, and as Mrs. Pensover offered it for
a dollar and a half per week, the room was
speedily taken. And there the widow just
managed to maintain herself on the average
Biddy, in

O! It was not a tenement-house. De-
cidedly not. A tenement-house is one
wherein reside three or more families, each
doing its own cooking. There were several
families in the house, but, with one exception,
they boarded and lodged with Mrs. Pensover.
The exception was a small family, consisting
of a mother, who was a very small woman,
and two small children-a boy and a girl.
They lived in the hall bedroom front, on the
fourth floor. They cooked their own meals-earnings of four dollars per week.
a kettle and a frying-pan comprising their
kitchen utensils at a little stove which
warmed the room tolerably well in winter,
and heated it uncomfortably hot in summer.
They were rarely, if ever, seen by the well-
to-do boarders, who lived in rooms farther
down the chimneys. And Mrs. Pensover's
boarders were all well-to-do. Mrs. Pensover
kept a fashionable boarding-house, a sort of
private hotel, in that four-story and basement
brown-stone-front house, situated in one of
the most fashionable cross-streets of New
York, within a stone's-throw of Fifth Ave-

nue.

Nor was Mrs. Gaston considered poor by any means. No one who dressed in such good taste, and whose dresses were of such costly material, would be thought poor. She was merely in rather reduced circumstances. Just before John Gaston's death she had replenished her stock of every thing, and when the estate paid less than nothing on the dollar, the widow had enough on hand to last, by turning and altering, for a long time, and enough gloves, shoes, and underwear, to stock a small shop. The last of these fine dresses, altered for the second time, she wore now when she went out-of-doors. The rest had been turned and returned, altered and changed until past further change, and were now in use in a new shape by the little girl. The widow was about at the last of every thing.

Yes! She was a widow. John Gaston had been a wheelwright, very successful in his business. He had acquired wealth, acquired a jolly set of friends, and acquired a taste for whiskey. He lost his wealth first, and his friends afterward, but he did not lose his taste for whiskey. That clung to him, and it finished him. His widow, having nothing but her wardrobe, began to look around for some mode of making a living. She would have preferred to teach music, that being a favorite plan of lone females who have to die of hunger, but she knew nothing of music whatever. She could not bore editors with dreary manuscripts, for she wrote badly and spelled worse, and she had neither invention of her own nor the tact to steal the ideas of others. She preferred to die by the needle, that famous instrument of torture which has inflicted so many wounds on human happiness.

She obtained occasional employment on embroidery, and the making of fine garments, at a "Ladies' Depository," where genteel poverty is sheltered from the gaze of the inquisitive.

Amelia Gaston knew Mrs. Pensover slightly, and asked her advice. Now, the boardinghouse keeper had a spare room, seven feet by

the kitchen, got five; Norah, the chamber-
maid, the same; and Mary Ann Rosina, the
cook, eight-besides their board and lodg
ing; but neither of these persons was genteel.
They run the establishment, plundered and
ruled their employer, went to church regular-
ly on Sunday mornings, and left gentility to
the boarders and Mrs. Gaston.

.

Now, it was the night before Christmas, and the boarders, safely housed from the storm without, were enjoying themselves. Little John Gaston, aged ten, and his sister Mely, aged eight, were not enjoying themselves so much. In spite of their isolation they had heard of Christmas-gifts and Christmas dinners, and Christmas merry-making, and had some doubts whether the beneficent genius who gladdened the hearts of other boys and girls would condescend to visit them. They talked together, and put questions to their mother, who, knowing that the poor ten cents' worth of candy stowed away in her work-box was the only gift to be found next morning in their stockings, invented and told them a fairy-story to amuse them. While she was talking she heard the door-bell ring, so vigorously did the visitor pull it, but it did not, apparently, concern her.

Much was she surprised then when, after opening the door to a knock, she saw standing there a middle-aged man, very sunburned, apparently, for his dark complexion was out of character with his great fiery beard and auburn hair.

"Mrs. Gaston, this gentleman wishes to see you," said the hall-girl, who had shown him up. And then she went about her busi

ness.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," said the man, speaking huskily from the depths of a great fur-collar, "but I suppose I have come at a queer time-yet-well, you see, I was informed that I could get you to make me some shirts-they told me so at the depository."

"I make them sometimes," said Amelia. "Will you walk in and sit down?-John, give the gentleman that chair."

"These are your children?" he said, interrogatively.

Amelia nodded. She thought, now he had got through his errand, he might go—but she did not say so.

"What is the name of the little girl?" he asked.

"Amelia."

"Come here, my dear," said the stranger.

Little Mely looked doubtfully at the heavy beard; but there was a pleasant twinkle in the blue eyes before her, and she soon found herself on the stranger's knee.

"Are you King Christmas?" she asked. "That is my name just now," he replied; "it was Kris-mas once."

"And you won't let the goblin Care drive you away?"

"By no manner of means. I should like to catch him at it, that's all," said the stranger, as he unbuttoned his overcoat, and, throwing it back, displayed a handsome suit of black and a shirt-bosom on which glittered a diamond large enough to have been worn by a successful city politician.

Mrs. Gaston explained to him that little Mely's questions referred to a fairy-story she had just been telling.

"So they like fairy-stories, do they, these little people?" said the stranger. "If you'll allow me, I'll tell them a story, not exactly of fairies, but of a boy's adventures. It is not out of a book, and it is all true."

Then, without waiting for permission, he began:

man.

"Once upon a time there was a boy of twenty, who his father, a hard-working mechanic, thought would make a good doctor. So he and the mother pinched themselves a good deal to give him a medical education. They arranged with their family physician to give him instruction, and sent him to a medical school. The boy attended one course of lectures, and then got into a gambling scrape, and lost all the money he had, and more than he had, for he was in debt. He ran away to sea, and shipped on a vessel bound on a three years' cruise-a man-of-war-as a landsHe had always a fondness for the sea, and expected to have a nice time. He soon learned that a sailor's life is a hard one at best, but under a severe captain worse than that of a dog. However, he worked away obediently enough, and, as it was found out that he had studied medicine for a while, and was rather well-mannered, the surgeon of the ship had him detailed to act as apothecary, so that his position was rather more pleasant than that of his messmates. He became, in spite of this, a tolerably good seaman, and served his time out, a favorite with the officers and crew. When he came home he was off, and had quite a sum of money." "And did he get to be a captain?" inquired little John, when the narrator paused. "No, my boy; they don't make post-capin that way. When he was paid off, he

The man walked in, bearing an apparent-paid
ly heavy basket, which he deposited on the
floor.

"The fact is," said he, "that I want
some shirts made up in a hurry, and, though|tains
I do not expect you to work on Christmas, I intended to go home and make his peace with
would like you to begin the day after."

He then described the way he wanted the garments to be made, agreed without demur to the price asked, promised to send the material early the next morning, but still sat there.

his parents; but he first went out with some messmates on a frolic, the whole party got drunk, and when he woke up the next day he found himself in the station-house, with his money all gone. His fine was kindly paid by the keeper of a sailors' boarding-house, who,

by way of reimbursing himself, shipped the young man off in a merchantman bound to China. On their voyage there they had to stop at a port in the Malay Archipelago, and passed by a large island called Borneo. They got becalmed off the coast. The morning after this calm, which still continued, they were attacked by a party of natives sailing in long boats called praus. They fought bravely enough, but were all killed except one, who managed to hide away just before the pirates boarded the ship. He could not see what they were doing, but he could hear tolerably well. The natives went to work to strip the vessel, taking out every thing portable that they fancied, and even letting down and carrying off the sails. This occupied them until nearly night, when they went off, first kindling a fire on the deck."

"And did she burn up?" inquired John. "No. As soon as he smelt the smoke, he knew they were gone, and came out from his hiding-place. He managed to extinguish the fire, which hadn't made much headway, and, a gale of wind coming up just then, the praus did not wait to return, but put to shore. The gale sank to a gentle breeze, but it lasted long enough to drive the vessel, which answered her helm very well, a good many miles away. The vessel drifted when the wind fell, and John went down and turned in.

"It was daylight when he awoke next morning. He found the ship close to a sandy beach, and tried to turn her head out, but failed. She struck in a little creek of the shore, close to a large rock, and there she was, fast enough. He had to make the best of it. There was no probability she would get off, for it was dead high tide at the time, so he began to search the vessel for something to eat. He found some biscuits in a locker, and made his breakfast off those. Then he went through the vessel to see what was left.

"The Dyaks had carried off all the arms and ammunition that had been in use, and the heads of the captain and of the crew; but there was a secret closet in the cabin of which they knew nothing, and in this was a rifle and a pair of revolvers, with plenty of powder and ball. There was a couple of shotguns also, with every thing appertaining, and the ship's chronometer. The provision-room had been plundered, and the men's chests broken open and emptied; but there were barrels of biscuit and pork in the hold, with other provisions; and John had no fear of starving. He saw no signs of inhabitants on the shore, and he determined to explore the country. So he let down the jolly-boat, which hung at the davits, armed himself, and rowed to shore. He found himself at the edge of a thick forest. He went into it for some distance, and saw no signs of people. He was glad of that, I can tell you, for the people likely to be found would have been Dyaks, and they have a way of killing or making slaves of strangers. John didn't want to be killed, and did not like to be a slave. So he came back to the boat and rowed to the ship. As he was in a strange place, he determined to make himself as comfortable as possible unil some vessel might pass and take him off."

"Yes?" exclaimed little John. He was getting interested.

"The first thing he did was to sew up the dead bodies in sacks, with bits of iron at their feet, and throw them overboard. Then he went to work, like Robinson Crusoe, to get all the useful things on shore possible. He got off the hatches, and rigged a tackle, and thus swung up the barrels of provisions and some bales of muslin, meant for John Chinaman, that he thought would be useful to him. So he worked away day by day, getting every thing he could on shore, among the rest the ship's medicine-chest, and some surgical instruments, which had been overlooked by the Dyaks. He also built him a hut in the woods, among some dense underbrush. It was low, and thatched with leaves, but it answered his ends. And, climb. ing a tall tree near the shore, he stripped off the upper branches, and hoisted on the top the ship's ensign, with the union down, so that any vessel passing along would know a white man and an American was there in trouble.

"At last a storm came, and broke the ship up, and drove her fragments, some high on the shore, and some out to sea, and buried her keel in the sand. He got some more of her cargo even then, some bales of muslin and other goods, and stowed them in a dry place in the woods, covering them with great leaves, that shed the rain. And he waited and waited for a long time for some ship to come and carry him away. But none came. He had plenty to eat; he had stored away enough of the ship's provisions to feed a number of people for a year; there were wildfowl for the shooting, fish for the catching, and wild fruit for the gathering; he had plenty of coarse muslin to make himself clothes suitable for the climate; but he was very lonely. So one day he took his rifle and revolvers, with a pocket compass, and made his way inland, loaded with a package of provisions, that he knew would get lighter in his journey. He came, in a few hours, to a stream that he knew must empty into the sea somewhere south of where he had landed, and he went up its banks toward its source. He traveled along till nightfall, keeping the water in view, meeting no animal except here and there some gay-plumaged birds, and some very large butterflies. At night he climbed a tree, and found a place in the forked branches where he could sleep. And he had a bedfellow, too, that tried to steal his cap."

"I thought you said he met with no animal," interposed Mrs. Gaston, who had followed the narrative with as much interest as had the children.

"True, he had met none during the day; but the monkeys began to appear toward night, and he had no lack of their company afterward. They were only mischievous. Now and then an orang-outang, as the Malays call it, but the Dyaks always say mias, made his appearance, but he was more alarmed at John than John was at him, and made off as quickly as possible. Well, next day, John went farther on, and up a branch of the stream away into the high hills, where he began to see some signs of human beings, for he came upon a deserted hut. Then he moved

pretty cautiously, and at length saw a Dyak village. There was but one house in it, but that was a monster. He knew these were savages entirely, for the Dyaks, when they are converted to Mohammedanism, always live in separate dwellings. Still, they were evi dently not of the piratical tribes on the coast, and he felt tolerably safe. While he was looking and considering, he heard a noise, and, turning around, saw a dozen or more of half-naked Dyaks, armed with lances, re garding him with some curiosity. He gave himself up for lost; but, cocking his rifle, determined to defend himself."

The stranger paused to take breath, and the family waited anxiously for the rest of the story.

"One of them, who had a little more clothing than the others, dropped the point of his lance, and the rest did the same. Then the leader stalked on, motioning John to fol low. There was no help for it, the action seemed to be friendly, and John followed the leader, the rest grouping around and chatting together in a low tone. The chief, for such he was, led the way to the large house, and into an apartment, where John found i young girl lying upon a couch. The leader touched her arm, and looked inquiringly a John. The thing was a puzzle, but be eamined the arm, and, finding it out of place, with the head of the bone in the armpit, the whole thing flashed on him. They had heard of some white surgeon at Sarawak possibly and supposed either that this must be the man, or that all white men had a knowledge of surgery. John reduced the dislocation. and applied cold water, the only lotion hand. The chief, whose daughter it was, peared to be delighted, and the by-standers expressed their approval apparently, thoug their language was unintelligible.

"John determined to make his hore there. These were savages, but they we human. So he staid, nursed the young g and became quite a popular person. He took a party with him after a few days, broug in the medicine-chest, tools, and goods, in the hut near the shore, distributed the m lins pretty freely among the tribe, and tal possession of a house which he made the build for him apart from the common qu ters. He remained there two years, mar the chief's daughter, and was recognizel court-physician, with a prospect of becomi chief of the tribe in time.

"Fate decided otherwise. His reputat as a skillful curer of diseases spread fars wide, until it reached a large community o Dyaks living near the coast, and reigne over by a rajah. The latter potentate set an embassy to invite John to become a res dent of his court. John's own tribe wo not hear of it, and John didn't want to le the peaceable hill-people for the pirate cut-throats on the shore. The Orắng bân as they were called, would not take no answer. About two weeks after the refus a war-party came down one night, sacked the village, killed the chief, and a number others, John's wife among the rest, and car ried off John as their prisoner. John ha killed several of the invaders during the fig and he expected to lose his life for it; but t

appears that the rajah wanted a physician more than vengeance. John was forced to stay there and practise his profession. His wonderful chest was brought with him, and his arms and personal property were returned to him. He made the best of it, set to work to learn the language-these Dyaks speaking the Malay, and being nominally Mohammedans-and became as popular with the new set of barbarians as he had been with the old.

"Here he lived for many years and prospered. He distinguished himself in some of their petty wars, and rose gradually in rank, wealth, and power, until he was styled 'Bâgânda John-bâgânda,' meaning prince. He had influence at last to induce them to change some of their customs, head-hunting, for instance; but piracy he could not change. It would have been dangerous to try it. He married the rajah's daughter, and, on the death of the reigning prince, pushed aside the nephew, and, without opposition, became rajah himself.

"The sea-robbers over whom he reigned had acquired a deal of plunder, and of this the former rajah bad taken the lion's shareall the diamonds and precious stones being his perquisite. When John succeeded to the throne, he inherited the fortune of his fatherin-law. It was the accumulation of several generations of avaricious monarchs, and was enormous. Among other things kept by his predecessor, though ignorant of its value, was a package of Bank - of- England notes, amounting to twenty thousand pounds sterling. As John looked over this wealth, of no use to him there, he often thought how comfortable it would make him if he only had it in a civilized land. But how to get it away, and himself with it, was the puzzle.

"At last the hour of deliverance came. One day, a runner came to tell the rajah that a large war-ship was off the coast, and he went down to take a look at her. How his heart jumped when he saw the flag, and recognized the stranger for an American! He at once told his vizier that he would be able to secure a supply of powder, of which they were in need, if they could communicate with that ship. He ordered his state prau to be made ready, and told them to hoist a flag to attract attention. The flag was the one belonging to his old ship, which he had brought along from the hill-country more as a token of home than from any hope it would ever be of use to him. It served him well now, for it attracted the attention of the ship, which sent a boat's crew, under a midshipman, to ascertain the meaning. On approaching the shore, John hailed them in English, bade the Dyaks stand back, and went alone to have a conversation with the new-comers. plained to the midshipman that he desired to escape, but had no wish to go empty-handed, and the two concerted a plan by which he would be enabled to get away with his property.

He ex

"The rajah, returning, told his vizier that they could get the powder, but must pay for it. All that night he sat up and packed his precious stones, pearls, and such like, and had a large quantity of gold put up in kegs. The next morning these were taken

to the shore, where a large boat came earrying powder-kegs filled with rubbish. In exchange, the gold and jewels were placed on the boat. The rajah then had his prau manned to pay a state visit to the ship, but, once safe on board, the prau was sent back, the ship got under way, and John never saw his dominions again."

"And did he get to America?" asked the boy.

"Yes. The sloop-of-war landed him and bis effects at Singapore, whence he got passage to England, where he exchanged his Bankof England notes and his gold for drafts on the United States, first disposing of the greater part of his gems for the same securities, the whole amounting to nearly half a million dollars. He came here, but found his parents had been long dead. His only sister, a girl of ten when he left, had been married and was a widow. He had trouble to find her out-advertised in vain in the papers-and at length discovered where she He learned she was very poor. It was Christmas-eve when he discovered all this. So he went to a store and bought a basket, which he filled with all kinds of nice things for her and the children, went to where she lived, amused her and the children with the story of his adventures, and then opened the basket"-and he lifted the lid as he said this-" and told them to help themselves, for their Uncle Joseph-not John, by any means, who had been the Rajah Kris-mas, or, in English, 'Knife of Gold,' had turned himself into King Christmas for their especial pleasure."

was.

The children fairly screamed with delight at sight of the good things; but Mrs. Gaston was bewildered and somewhat incredulous.

"You are not at all like what my brother Joseph used to be," she said.

"I should think not," replied the brother. "I have changed a deal in so many years. But here," he continued, baring his right wrist"here is the scar where I cut myself when a boy-that has not changed. Here is the same coarse, red hair, which father said looked like carrots cut into strings. And, if that is not enough, don't you remember this?" He put his fur cap on his head, and, by a voluntary motion of the muscles of the scalp, threw the head-covering on the floor-a trick which Amelia well remembered, and which she had never before seen done by any one else. His identity was evident, and the next day when he called with his beard reduced to whiskers and mustaches, the resemblance of features to those of his father was unmistakable.

Mrs. Pensover lost the tenant of her hall bedroom in a short while, for Joseph Prince bought a handsome house up-town, furnished it luxuriously, and took his sister to keep house for him. He settled a competence on the children, and, for all I know, is unmarried yet, unless his former wife, the Pârimasuri Nila Kândi, be alive. But whether or not, the future of the young Gastons is assured, and they live in clover, being great favorites of their uncle, though they irreverently nickname him King Christmas.

THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH.

THE FRATERNITY OF MEDICINE-MEN.

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the traveler detained long at an Indian trading-post, the monotony of the existence becomes irksome in the extreme. The scenery about the stockade is generally limited to a boundless view of the level prairie on three sides, and a meagre one of the river on whose banks it stands. The daily routine of life within the walls, which contributes to distract the attention of the post officials, comes to have an appalling sameness to the mere looker-ou. It is then that the consumption of tobacco becomes something alarming, and that the mind grasps at the most trivial incident as a means of appeasing its weariness. The fit of one's moccasins is a matter to be thought seriously about, and the composition of one's dinner is a subject of deep contemplation.

This hibernal torpor, as it may be called, generally sets in more acutely in the autumnal months, when the increasing cold half locks the rivers in ice, forbidding the use of canoe or boat, and drives the sportsman from the plains with its frigid breath. It continues with but little cessation until midwinter, when the trappers and Indians arrive with the first of the winter's catch of furs. True, there are occasional times of bustle, created by the arrivals and departures which constantly take place in a country where locomotion may be said to be the normal condition of the people. But this temporary excitement only serves to plunge one into corresponding depths of depression when it is over, and the sameness of the life afterward becomes absolutely funereal. Every thing readable in the scanty library is read so often that it seems to one as if he could close his eyes and repeat the whole collection verbatim; the acquaintance of all the live-stock is cultivated until one may be said to possess the intimacy of every dog and cat in the post, and the autobiographies of all the officers and servants are heard so repeatedly that one feels competent to reproduce them in manuscript in the event of their decease.

Fortunately, during this season of inactivity, occurs the annual celebration of a festival peculiar to a mystic brotherhood permeating the nomadic peoples round about. Each autumn the fraternity of medicine-men celebrate the dog-feast in the vicinity of the principal trading-stations.

An inclosure about forty feet long by twenty-five broad, fenced in with branches of trees, is laid off on the prairie. It is situated due east and west, and has an opening in either end for purposes of entrance and exit. The ceremony occupies two or three days, during which the ground in the interior of the inclosure is covered with savages, who sit alongside each other, drawn up close inside the fence. In a line running lengthways through the centre are erected perpendicular poles, with large stones at their bases, both stones and poles colored red over different portions of their surfaces by the blood of the dog-sacrifice. The animals are selected and killed, and, after lying exposed on the stones beside the poles during the per

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