Read Ebook: St. Nicholas Vol. XIII September 1886 No. 11 An Illustrated Magazine for Young Folks by Various Dodge Mary Mapes Editor

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The difficulty of having changes made in existing alphabets is very great, yet this is not necessarily a disadvantage. Much insight into the origin and gradual improvements of sets of letters has been gained by studying the order in which the several letters stand. The order varies greatly in different nations, and varies slightly at different epochs in the same nation. In taking the Phnician letters, the Greeks dropped some, used others for slightly different sounds, and added a few to express sounds that were important to them or that did not exist in the Phnician. But this was done very gradually. It never has been easy to induce people to change and improve their alphabets.

But there is another reason why men have refused to change the order of letters by inserting a new and useful letter in the place where it naturally belonged. The Greeks and many other peoples used the letters of the alphabet for numerals. We use our own numbers without stopping to think whence they came. The cumbersome system used by the Romans, and called after them, consisted of strokes to indicate the four fingers, and two strokes joined to represent the hand, or five fingers. Ten was a picture of two hands, or two V's . Among the Etruscans the half of one, or, as we put it, 1/2 was >, which we think stood for a forefinger crooked in order to denote the half of one finger. But when the Etruscans and Greeks worked at the higher mathematics or attempted hard sums in arithmetic, they are much more likely to have used letters, in order to avoid the clumsiness of these numerals; in other words, they used what looked like a kind of algebra. We know that they tried to simplify the Roman numerals at Rome by making four and nine with three strokes instead of four, by placing an I before the V and an I before the X .

Our own numerals are extremely convenient for ordinary arithmetic. Algebra, in which letters stand for numbers, is useful for abstract reasoning in mathematics; it treats of the properties of numbers in general. Whether the Indian numerals were originally part of some ancient alphabet, or a series of shortened signs originally somewhat like the Roman numerals that we still use, is not really decided.

But to return to the numbers that we call Arabic and the Arabs call Indian. The numbers used by the peoples of India who wrote in Sanskrit were very like the figures 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 0, that we use to-day. Even closer resemblances will be found if one goes back to the earliest forms of our numerals; for, during the last thousand years, our numbers have undergone some slight changes. We took them, as you have heard, from the Arabs, who did not employ them much before 800 A. D.; and the use of them did not penetrate into Europe by way of Italy and Spain until four centuries later. Together with these numerals, the Arabs learned from India how to do sums by algebra. For algebra, though an Arabic word, is a science of which the Arabs were ignorant before they reached India. How long the Indians of Hindostan had used this system of notation along with their alphabet, we can not yet determine; but it is quite possible that the old grammarians who improved the Sanskrit were enabled to fashion its alphabet into so scientific an order of groups because this separate system of numerals existed at even a more remote period, and had been found handier than the signs of the alphabet. Not using their letters as numerals, they could marshal them on the best system they were able to devise, as we, too, have been able to do with our alphabet ever since we got the Indian numerals from the Arabs.

It may be said that the invention of these numerals and of algebra for the higher mathematics stamps the old Hindoos as one of the most wonderful races of the world.

THE BROWNIES AT LAWN-TENNIS.

One evening as the woods grew dark, The Brownies wandered through a park, And soon a building, quaint and small, Appeared to draw the gaze of all. Said one: "This place contains, no doubt, The tools of workmen hereabout, Who trim the vine, and shape the tree, Or smooth the walks, as chance may be." Another said: "You're quite astray, The workmen's tools are miles away; Within this building may be found The fixtures for the tennis ground. A meadow near, both long and wide, For half the year is set aside, And marked with many a square and court, For those who love the royal sport. On afternoons assembled there, The active men and maidens fair Keep up the game until the day Has faded into evening gray. And then the racket, net, and ball Are stowed away for future call."

"In other lands than those we tread, I played the game," another said, "And proved my skill and muscle stout, As 'server' and as 'striker-out.' And all the rules can quote as well As those who print them out to sell; The lock that hangs before us there Bears witness to the keeper's care, And tramps or burglars might go by, If such a sign should meet the eye. But we, who laugh at locks or law Designed to keep mankind in awe, May praise the keeper's cautious mind, But all the same an entrance find, And for the present evening claim Whate'er is needed for the game."

Ere long, the path that lay between The building and the meadow green, Was crowded with the bustling throng, All bearing implements along; Some lugging stakes or racket sets, And others buried up in nets Until their feet alone they showed Beneath their loose and trailing load. To set the posts and mark the ground The proper size and shape around, With service-line and line of base, And courts, both left and right, in place, Was work that caused but slight delay; And soon the sport was under way. And then a strange and stirring scene Was pictured out upon the green.

Some watched the game and noted well Where this or that one would excel. And shouts and calls that filled the air Proved even-handed playing there. With anxious looks some kept the score, And shouted "'vantage!" "game all!" or To some "love, forty!" "deuce!" to more; But when "deuce set!" the scorer cried, Applause would ring on every side.

At times so hot the contest grew, Established laws aside they threw, And in the game where four should stand, At least a dozen took a hand. Some tangled in the netting lay And some from base-lines strayed away. Some hit the ball when out of place Or scrambled through unlawful space. But still no game was forced to halt Because of this or greater fault. And there they sported on the lawn Until the ruddy streaks of dawn Gave warning that the day was near, And Brownies all must disappear.

A MATTER-OF-FACT CINDERELLA.

BY MRS. ANNIE A. PRESTON.

"Oh! what a fine carriage, and what handsome horses! They are as gay as the coach and horses of Cinderella!" and the bright-faced little girl, with a glory of spring sunshine illuminating her glossy hair, clasped her bare brown hands in delight.

"It dashed by so quickly, I had not time to notice it," replied Grandma Eaton, looking over her glasses down the turf-striped country road after the rapidly departing carriage. "I wonder whose it can be? There! it has stopped. What is that for, Ella, child?"

"I don't know, Grandma, dear; but I think something about the harness has given way. See! the horses are dancing and prancing. The gentleman has jumped from the carriage. He has taken something from his pocket. It looks like a knife. Oh, yes!"

"I had good eyes once, but they have served their day," sighed Grandma Eaton.

"The horses are quiet, now," went on Ella, who had not once taken her observant eyes from a spectacle so unusual for that quiet neighborhood. "Now the strap is mended, I think, and everything is all right," added the child with a little sigh of regret; and as the gentleman drove swiftly on, she left the window and skipped out to the edge of the road, to see the fine horses prance away.

"I guessed rightly, Grandma, dear!" cried Ella as she came running back from the scene of the accident. "It was a broken strap, for here is a piece, almost torn in two, that was cut off. And here is a penny I found right under it; a bright, new penny--as yellow as gold!"

"This is no penny," said the woman, taking the shining coin in her own hand and looking at it closely; "it is an eagle. I know an eagle when I see one, although I have not had one of my own for many a day."

"Ten mills make one cent, ten cents make one dime, ten dimes make one dollar, ten dollars make one eagle! A golden eagle! Oh, how much good it will do us!" exclaimed the little girl as she glanced at her grandmother's thin shawl and at the scant belongings of their humble home.

"We are not to think of that," said Grandma Eaton, speaking so decidedly that a flush overspread her thin, worn face. "The coin belongs to the gentleman who just dropped it; and I do not doubt that a way will be opened for it to be returned to its owner. Those who seek to do right seldom lack opportunity. Cinderella's horses and carriage pass this way too seldom to escape notice, and probably some of our neighbors will be able to tell us to whom they belong."

But all the men in the quiet, out-of-the-way neighborhood had been at town-meeting that afternoon, and none of the women folk, excepting Grandma Eaton and little Ella, had seen the fine sight. They would have remembered it almost as the figment of a dream, had it not been for the bright ten-dollar gold piece laid away in cotton in Grandma Eaton's best china tea-pot, on the top shelf of the parlor cupboard.

On the very next Monday morning after this episode, that same glossy-haired, blue-eyed Ella, with grandma's thin shawl pinned about her shoulders, made one of a bevy of girls who, with arms full of books, slates, and lunch-baskets, were drawing near a plain little brown school-house, standing in the shade of a tall, plumy pine-tree on a sandy hillside that was supposed to be exactly in the center of the Pine Meadow school-district.

"Oh, there's a fire in the school-house!" cried Lizzie Barber; "and I'm glad, for my fingers are cold. I was in such a hurry I forgot my mittens."

"We don't often find a fire made on the first day of school," said Abby Wood, "because the committee-man has to go for the teacher."

"He must have kindled it before he started away," said Ella, "because it has been burning some time. I can tell by the thinness of the smoke."

"That is just like you, Ella Eaton," put in Angelina Brown. "You're always pretending to know things by what you see that no one else would ever think about. Can't you be obliging enough to look through the walls and tell us who is there? Perhaps school has begun."

"I have no way of telling that," laughed Ella, good-naturedly; "but, no doubt some of the boys are there to make first choice of the seats."

"The boys must have climbed in at one of the windows," whispered Ella. "Let us serenade them to let them know we are here."

And she began one of their familiar school songs in a clear, ringing voice, her companions at once joining in with the melody.

Immediately heavy footsteps were heard hurriedly crossing the school-room, one of the small windows was thrown up with a bang, and a stout, rough-looking, tangled-haired, shabby fellow scrambled out in great haste. He cast his eyes sharply about, made a rush at the group of affrighted little girls huddled together upon the broad door-stone, grabbed Ella's lunch-basket with one hand, and Angelina's dinner-pail with the other, cleared the low rail fence near by at a running jump, and was lost to sight in the woodland at the end of the field.

As the ruffianly tramp ran in one direction, the little girls, dropping all their wraps and traps, and seizing hold of hands, ran almost as fast in the other.

How far they might have gone, had they not been turned about by meeting the committee-man and the pretty young lady teacher, it would be hard to say.

The girls were sure a grim, weather-beaten tramp would be found under every desk, and two or three in the wood closet, and they could not be persuaded to enter the school until a thorough search had been made.

It was not so bad as that; but what they did find was a broken window, a fragment of bread, the teacher's chair split into kindlings and nearly burned, and a large bundle of expensive silks and laces.

The intruder had apparently either fallen asleep by the fire and overslept himself, or, not supposing that school was to begin so early in the season, had intended to make the secluded building his hiding-place for the day.

"There was a burglary committed at Willinotic night before last," said Mr. Stiles, the committee-man, "and I fancy these are a part of the spoils. A large reward is offered for the detection and identification of the robbers; so, girls, it will be to your advantage to remember how that fellow looked."

"I shall never forget him," said Lizzie; "he was the tallest man I ever saw."

Abby was sure he was short. Angelina fancied he was lame; and Ella remembered he had a bent nose. They all agreed that he was fierce and horrid, and were equally sure they should know him if they should ever see him again.

The affair made a great local excitement; and when the goods were identified as belonging to the great Willinotic dry goods firm of Clark & Rogers, the girls who had enjoyed such an experience with a real burglar were the envy of all the boys in the community.

But time sped on, the nine-days' excitement had become but a memory in the dull routine of school duties, and June had arrived with its roses, when one day word came from Clark & Rogers, asking Mr. Stiles, the committee-man, to bring the little girls who had encountered the burglar, to Willinotic, to see if they could pick him out of a number of men who had been arrested while undermining a railway culvert some days before: "There is a tall one, and a short one, a lame one, and one with a bent nose," the letter said; "so it seems that there is a great deal of material upon which the little women may exercise their memories."

"I am so glad my mother sent to New York for my gypsy hat," said Angelina. "My mother finished my blue dress last night," said Lizzie; and while Abby was telling what she expected to wear, Ella ran on ahead, fearing that she might be questioned upon the same subject, for she knew very well that nothing new, pretty, or fresh would fall to her lot. A thought of the gold eagle did cross her mind; but she bravely put it away from her.

And neither could the dear old grandmother help thinking of the gold piece when she heard that Ella had been summoned to Willinotic; but she, too, resolutely conquered the temptation, saying to herself:

"My grandchild shows her good breeding in her gentle manners and speech, and they are better than fine clothes."

The day at Willinotic was a unique experience for the bevy of little country girls. They enjoyed the hour's ride on the railway and the fine sights in the handsome streets of the large town; but the grand, white-marble court-house, where they were taken, filled most of them with a vague alarm. The sultry summer air drew cool and fresh through the long corridors, and they almost shivered as they were given seats in a lofty room, from which the glaring sun was studiously excluded. Through the half-open doorway they caught glimpses of the grave, gold-spectacled judge at his high desk; the black-coated lawyers seated at their long table in front; the witness-stand with its railing; and a pale-faced prisoner sitting beside an officer.

"There is going to be a thunder-shower," said Angelina, "and I know I shall be frightened to death."

"Let's all take hold of hands," said Abby Wood. "I never felt so lonesome in all my life. I'm going back to the depot for fear we shall be left."

"I'll go with you," said Lizzie. "I don't remember anything about the old tramp, only that he was short--and I wish I hadn't come."

"Why, Lizzie Barber," cried Angelina, "you have always said he was the tallest man you ever saw! How Mr. Stiles will laugh!"

"Well, I shan't stay to be laughed at!" half sobbed Lizzie. "Come, Ella."

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