. St. Nicholas [serial] . eir caps. It begins to be a little monotonous, said , at last. I am afraid we have missed all the trains, saidElizabeth Eliza, gloomily. But Mr. Peterkins faithheld to the last, and was rewarded. The carriagereached the square in which stood the railroadstation. Mr. Peterkin again seized the lapels ofthe coachmans coat and pointed to the station,and he was able to turn his horses in that they left the crowd, they received a partingcheer. It was with difficulty that Agamemnon andSolomon John broke from the ranks. That was a magnificent receptio
. St. Nicholas [serial] . eir caps. It begins to be a little monotonous, said , at last. I am afraid we have missed all the trains, saidElizabeth Eliza, gloomily. But Mr. Peterkins faithheld to the last, and was rewarded. The carriagereached the square in which stood the railroadstation. Mr. Peterkin again seized the lapels ofthe coachmans coat and pointed to the station,and he was able to turn his horses in that they left the crowd, they received a partingcheer. It was with difficulty that Agamemnon andSolomon John broke from the ranks. That was a magnificent reception ! exclaimedMr. Peterkin, wiping his brow, after paying thecoachman twice his fee. But Elizabeth Eliza said: But we have lost all the trains, I am sure. They had lost all but one. It was the last. And we have lost the cats! the little boyssuddenly exclaimed. But Mrs. Peterkin would notallow them to turn back in search of them. 3°4 THE ST. NICHOLAS TRE AS U RE - BOX. [February, THE ST. NICHOLAS TREASURE-BOX OF LITERATURE. In the December number of this magazine, good read-ers, The St. Nicholas Treasure-Box was opened, andthere you found a story by Nathaniel Hawthorne, anda poem by William Makepeace Thackeray. The firstenabled you to hear the airy footsteps of strange thingsthat almost happened,—and the second told you of a king who made a great discovery—for a king—andhelped you to hate more than ever the vice of flattery. This time, what do we find ? A ballad, famous for thepast forty years, yet as fresh to-day as is the heart of theworld-renowned American poet who wrote it. Theportrait of Mr. Longfellow on this page was made morethan a quarter of a century ago, but only yesterday hecopied with his own hand, for the Treasure-Box, thefew lines from the poem which our artist has poets preface to this ballad stated that it first cameinto his mind while he was riding on the sea-shore atNewport, Rhode Island. A year or two before, itgoes on to say, a skeleton
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