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<te:GOLDEN DAYS:0o==
November 18, 1882.
fectly wild with anticipation. For the
well-thumbed copy of “Ivanhoe” that
had formed our basis for the royal tour-
nament described for you in the story of
“ Portugee,”’ furnished also the plan for
this proposed “ banquet,” and no sturdy
Saxon of Cedrie’s train, no knightly
Norman of Prince John’s despotic court
ever hoped more anxiously for a sum-
mons to the lordly banquet in the old
baronial hall, than did we boys an
girls of that New England town hope
for an invitation to the Ivanhoe banquet
in Bart’s father’s barn.
At last the plan was made known to
us. A select dozen were to constitute
the banqueters, as even sixty cents had
a limit, and the rest of us were to stand
outside as yassals and retainers,
Bart was to be Ivanhoe; Ves, Brian de
Bois Guilbert; Ella, Rebecca, and the
dloctor’s daughter, the Saxon, Rowena;
Harry should be Prince John, and so on
through the twelve guests.
Joy beamed’on the faces of the favored
ones, and the cutting and the pasting,
the sewing and the trimming, that filled
our next week, seemed but a repetition
of the preparations for that famous tour-
nament that caine to so tragic an end.
But, alas! this particular Ivanhoe ban-
uet was never to come off. Three days
before the time appointed, there came
dark and dreadful news, as Ifarry burst
nto the room where I sat, with tongue
awry, and_ scissors awkwardly handled,
trving to do justice to the golden helmet
of the knight of the blood-red plume,
“Oh, say!” he panted out, ‘*come,
quick! Bart and Ves are fighting !’”
“What?” [ fairly shrieked, in horror.
The golden helmet flew one way, the
scissors another, and fast on Harry’s
heels [ followed, across the road and
‘“‘cat-a-corners” through the field, to
where, from Bart’s father’s barn, came
the sounds of conflict.
ike two tumbling eatamounts, fierce
and furious, the angry boys—now Bart,
now Ves uppermost—rolled over and
over on that broad barn floor.
LT have olten thought of it since, when,
in our own land or across the sea, great
nations have clawed and pulled an
pounded each other inthe mad tug of
war, not awhit more justified in their
fray than were these two stout little fel-
lows who now, all friendly feelings con-
sumed in the fierce flame of passion,
clenched in a disgraceful rough-and-
tumble fight. -
Ah, boys, boys! Why is it that you,
too, must inake feud and fury out of
some boyish disagreement, instead of at-
tempting the nobler manliness of mutaal
concession? Surely turmoil and trouble
come quickly enough to vs all without
laying the foundations of a selfish resist-
ance when we should be generous and
manly, boys.
Ve two younger ones stood awed into
silence at the dreadful conflict between
our leaders. But our silence changed to
a noisy joy as a new character appeare:
on the scene in the person of Jim, Bart's
father’s * hired man.’’
Coming into the barn with a basket of
potatoes, he stopped amazed, and then,
taking in the situation at a glance, he
dropped his basket, sprang into the thick
of the fight, and grasping each coinbat-
ant with a strong and steady hand, he
hauled them apart, and stood them on
their feet, despite the vise-like clutch in
which they held each other,
“Well, this is a purty piece of work,
ain’t it now?” he said. “What on airth
bo you two boys a-tuss’ling for?”
“Let me go! Let me go, Jim, I tell
you!” demanded Bart, angrily.
“Take your hand off o’ me, Jim Per-
kins!” Ves shouted, as angrily, wiping
the blood of the conflict from his rup-
tured “T’ll teach that mean,
sneaking—”
“ Me mean? me sneaking?” broke out
Bart, too furious to be grammatical.
“You're the sneak. yourself! Let me
get at him, Jim.”
And then both boys tugged and pull-
ed to get at one another again, but Jim’s
firm grip held them fast.
Without another word, he marched
them across to the horse-trough. Once,
twico, he ducked the flushed faces of the
two belligerents into the cold water of
the trough, then backed them up against
the wail, a hand on the wrist of each.
“That's the way we sarve fightin’-
cocks,” he said. ‘Now cool off, boys,
and let's hear what's the fuss.”
But not aword of explanation came
from either combatant.
‘Ves wrenched hiinself free from Jim’s
loosening grip, and turned a clouded
face upon his old-time friend.
a
|, “You'll be sorry for this, Bart, as long
as you live. I'll never speak to you
again,”’ and with these words he hurried
from the barn. °
“Wm! who cares? I can stand it if
you can,” Bart said, sullenly.
And not a word would he say in reply
to Jim’s inquiries and my earnest en-
treaties.
“ll bet he did something mean to
Ves,” said Harry, hotly, as Bart washed
the battle-stains from his face.
But I was loyal to Bart.
“He'd never do anything mean,” I re-
plied, as hotly.
“W’m! you'll stick up for him, of
course,” Harry said.“ Why isn’t Ves as
much in the right as he is?”
ive itup. If you think he is, why
don’t you go oft and see about it?” I re-
joined, spitefully.
“* Well, so I will,’ Harry blurted out.
“Ves is as good as Bart any day; yes,
smarty, and better, too.”
And dodging Bart’s wrathtul “Clear
out, you little cub!” and my wildly-
aim potato, he fled up the road after
the retreating Ves.
And so the feud spread. One after an-
other, as the report of the quarrel flew
round the village, boys and girls took
sides—some for Ves, some for Bart—
none knowing the cause of the trouble,
but all having outspoken opinions as to
Bart or Ves being the injured party.
Just the way, boys and girls, that na-
tions and people take sides, froin passion
or policy ora lame idea of justice, hid-
ing under so-called reasons of state their
ersonal prejudices and jealousies,
“Menare but children of a larger
growth,” said an 0! poet, and every
day's experience proves the soundness
of his assertion.
So the feud grew. The “1 won’tspeak
to you!” and “I’m mad at you!” of the
girl adherents kept tally with the hard
words and harder fisticuffs of the bo.
partisans, and all that winter the dispute
raged hot and strong.
I wonder ifa certain prosperous West-
ern merchant remembers how he and I,
in the far-off days of that bitter strife,
dug a deep hole in a six-foot snow-bank,
and (because we had both been reading
Gordon Cuming’s Adventures in South
Africa,” and how he stalked the lions on
their way to water), how we, too, stalked
our enemies of the other side as they
passed through our street on their way
to school, and, safe in our rifle-pit, pep-
red them soundly with hard and be-
wildering snow-balls,
The winter grew to spring, the spring
to suinier, and then Mr. Paul Pulcifer
came to our Village.
Mr. Paul Pulcifer was my cousin, an
energetic fellow of fourteen, the son of a
leading Philadelphia clergyman, and,
because a Philadelphian, looked up to
with all due respect by the boys of our
quiet New England village, where he al-
ways spent a part of his summer yaca-
ion.
Mr. Paul Pulcifer was a restless agita-
tor. He always had sotne change to sug-
gest, or some peculiarly attractive scheme
to propose, whenever he came among us,
and on this summer of which I write he
was not a bit behindhand. Scarcely was
he off the cars, scarcely were his greet-
ings over, when, linking his arm in
imine, he exclaimed, enthusiastically :
“Oh, say! I’ve such a jolly idea!
Such a gay old plan! Thought it all out
coming down from Boston!”
«What is it?” I asked, quickly.
“Guess! But you can't. Ashow! a
realshow! And we'll getit up. What
do you say to that?”
And then we both stopped short, and
looked at each other, overcoine with ex-
citement.
Mr. Paul Pulcifer was one of my
jdeals. 1 followed him implicitly.
Whatever his plans, he always found in
me an enthusiastic supporter, from hunt-
ing for Captain Kidd’s buried treasure
in the northeast corner of our asparagus-
bed, to furnishing continued stories for
his semi-oceasional paper, “ The Paul
arrot.””
Isvery year he brought direct from the
city a new negro-minstrel song, a new
break-down or a_ new sleight-of-hand
trick, and I have distinct recollections of
anew way to whistle, learned from him
and never yet forgotten, which, though
it required the constant carryin: a
pebbie in my mouth, until it almost
wore in two the cord of my lower lip,
left me, when acquired, sore-mouthed,
but serenely triumphant.
So, as Mr. Paul Pulcifer gradually un-
folded his plans for his proposed great
show, I entered into them with uncon-
os
trollable energy, and the preliminaries
were soon arranged.
“And Til tell you,” he said, as he
mapped out his programme, * we'll con-
clude the whole thing with ‘Vilikins and
his Dinah.’ Bart and Ves will do splon-
didly for that.”
“Oh, Paul!” I exclaimed, greatly dis-
“They'll never do it.”
“Never! Why not?” he asked.
“Why, Bart danced Jim Crow beau-
tifully last year, and ‘don’t you remem-
ber how splendidly Ves sang that—”’
“Oh, but that’s not the trouble!’ I
interrupted. ‘“They’re mad at each
”
“What?” he exclaimed, in an agony
of managerial perplexity. ‘Bart and
Ves mad? Why, they’re as thick as two
eas 1”
“They were,” 1 answered, sadly;
**but now they haven't spoken together
for months.” .
And then I told the whole sorrowful
story.
Mr. Paul Pulcifer Jistened to the tale
attentively, and then inquired :
“And you don’t know what started the
row???
“No, Paul, I don’t,” I replied. ‘*No-
body does. They’ll neither of them give
a word of explanation.”
“Well, I know,” he broke out, spring-
ing to his feet and shying his hat at my
white rabbit, Pinky, who sat near us,
twitching his nose sympathetically. “It’s
that Ella girl. How stupid you all are!
Leave it to me, and if I don’t make ’em
all glad again, I’m a Dutchman.”
That was enough for me; for when Mr.
Paul Pulcifer said thatit he didn’t do
such and such a thing he was a Dutch-
man, I felt that the thing was as good as
ne.
So nothing more was said about the
reconciliation, but we went on with our
preparations.
Through the good offices of the Phila-
delphia peaceinaker enough of the feudal
enemies were converted into friends
again to make up the list of performers,
and Harry and I—repentant comrades
once more—went around with secret
“instructions as to the rehearsals and the.
costumes. :
The rehearsal passed off smoothly, ex-
cept that the closing piece was omitted.
Neither Bart nor Ves put in an appear-
ance, wrathfully repelling Harry’s earn-
est Teas for a compromise,
** You'll have to give that up, Paul,” I
said, ruefully.
“Give up ‘ Vilikins and his Dinah?”
he exclaimed. “Never, I tell you!” he
added, energetically. “If I don’t close
that show with ‘ Vilikins and his Dinah,’
I’m a Dutchman!”
Settled again, and I rested my hopes
on his positive assertion.
But that very afternoon Mr. Paul Pul-
cifer disappeared, and it was not until
after teathat I met him stepping airily
homeward.
“Why, Paul, where have you been?”
Tinquired. ‘We waited supper for you
ever so long.”
“Did you? That’s too bad,” he said;
“but I'll make it all right with auntie,
old fellow. I’ve been out to tea.” ,
“Out to teal’? I repeated. “My!
Whereabouts, Paul?”
“Oh, down at Ella’s,” he answered
carelessly enough, but something in his
manner warned me not to be too curi-
Wednesday came. The sun beat re-
lentlessly down upon the big cotton um-
brellathat shielded me as I sat at our
front gate, a very important personage,
selling, from the top of an upturned bare
rel, tickets to the Great Show at ten
S$ or one cent each—m -
ferred. oney’ Pre
On the gate-post opposite me appea:
the flaring poster, dene in red ane ble
ink, in Mr. Paul Pulcifer’s best and
most assorted styles of lettering. And
thus it ran: ‘
THIS DAY AT THREE O'CLOCK,
Mr. Paul Pulcifer’s
GREAT SUBTERRANEAN snow,
Mirth! Music!! Mystery!1!
The Celebrated Kamtschatkan Dwarf,
UMPLESTILTSEIN ; ,
Ri
The Original and Only Austr;
phant alian Ele-
BLUNDERBORE;
The Monstrous and Sky-seraping
GIANT FROM THE MOUNTAINS oF THE Moon,
Will all positively appear, ,
Singing and Dancing by the Unrivaled
MascuLinE MINSTRELS,
Wonderful Magical Performance by the
Back Wizarp ov Puitapetrata,
or
The whole to conclude with the Side-split-
ting and Remorseful Tragedy of
“VILIKINS AND HIS DiNau,”
By two Well-known Performers.
Musie by Lamphier’s Band. .
Admission, - - | Ten Pins or One Cent
Money preterred).
Come one Come all!
Inside the yard, under another um-
brella, sat Harry selling lemonade,
home-made molasses candy and sweet-
ened rose-water, and building up a colos-
sal fortune in pins of all shapes and sizes,
while, on the stone steps of our cellar,
little Billy stood taking tickets and
ushering the audience to desirable seats,
The dim recesses of our cool and white-
washed cellar were all ablaze with the
soft light of fifteen tallow candles.
Planks resting on supporting chairs fur-
nished ample seating accommodations,
and a broad stage, three feet high, mys-
teriously and artistically draped with
sheets and blankets and colored shawls,
worked to the-highest pitch of antici-
pation the forty eager young visitors to
the Great Subterranean Show.
The “Ella girl”? had a private box to
the right of the stage, made of a kitchen
chair, conspicnously elevated and gor-
geously decorated with our Rising Sun
bed-quilt, while, to the left, my strenu-
ous exertions had made for the doctor’s
daughter an equally conspicuous seat of
honor, by a combination of our empty
ice-box and a scarlet table-cloth, .
Just before the show commenced, Bart
and Ves, each with a body guard of three
faithful retainers, came from different
directions and passed to seats specially
reserved for them and discreetly apart
from one another. To each of the mor-
tal enemies as they passed me I whis-
pered Mr, Paul Pulcifer’s message, ac-
cording to direction.
“Oh, say,” I spoke, ina careless and
matter-of-course way, ‘¢Paul says it’s
allright. He won’t bother you. Vili-
”
_Kins and Dinah are fixed.
Each boy, as he heard this announce-
ment, started as if in surprise, and then
asked, incredutously :
“Why, who'll do it?”
“Oh, Paul and Ella, IT guess,” I re-
plied, as unconcerned|ly as possible.
«Paul and Ella?” said Bart.
“Ella play Dinah ?”? queried Ves.
“Of course,” I replied. ‘What’s the
matter with that ?” 7
But in each case I saw that the shaft
went home, and their sullen jealousy of
one another turned upon a new object.
The unsteady notes of Johnny Lam-
phier’s toy hand-organ, itself’ oné of the
seven wonders of our village, played the
familiar “du-dah, du-dah-day,” and
when the orchestra had concluded this
overture, the manager’s bell sounded,
“tinkle-tinkle,” up went the curtain,
anc
Wizard of Philadelphia, stepped up to
his black-shrouded thagieal-table. P
Ido not propose to give the details of
the performance. It was a wonderful
treat to us all, and our forty open-mouth-
ed spectators sat spell-bound.
But the boys and girls of to-day have
so much in the way of entertainment
prepared for them, and not home-made,
either, that they would tind the descrip-
tion of our amateur show dull reading.
I wonder, however, if a certain staid
and overworked editor of a highly re-
Spectable Boston daily ever lets his
thoughts travel back twenty-five years.
to that memorable day of the Great Sub-
terranean Show in that cool and cur-’
tained cellar, when he appeared before a
wondering audience, in long, black robe
conical cap, as the B i
Philadel phia? B ° Black Wizard of
_So the orchestra ‘played and the magi-
cian mystified. The Masculine Minstrels
sang and danced till the perspiration
gullied their black-corked faces with
many a rivulet; Rumplestiltskin, the
Kaintschatkan dwarf, all head and legs,
danced and gesticulated and made a fun-
ny speech; the Australian elephant
stumped through the auditorium, and
carried the smaller children on its back .
until it split in two from sheer over-
work; and the Giant from the Moun-
tains of the Moon paraded around, for a
Sight and a show, until the upper half of
lim kicked the lower half in the nose in
an excess of zeal, and so collapsed the
whole anatomy; and then after nearl
our at these diversions, the bell
tinkled. the curtain down for an inter-
‘ion, preparatory i i
of “Vilikins and his Dinah” tosing piece
@ wooden stairs that led from the
cellar up into the kitchen had been
screened from view by sundry blankets,
in order that the performers could pass
Ny
4
Mr. Paul Puleifer, as the Black ~