the Hawaiian monarchs as they might be today to the hearts of patriotic Princeton students, and were sought for far and near throughout the islands. The populace paid poll-taxes in golden feathers instead of golden dollars, and as each bird furnished but a few feathers, the taxes may be considered as having been high. Some estimate of the value of the feathers may be formed from the prices paid in later times, when a piece of nankeen cloth valued at a dollar and a half was the equivalent of five feathers; but, after all, the great element in the cost of these cloaks was time and labor, since the making of a single cloak required from fifty to a hundred years.

As the feathers obtained for taxes were very far from supplying the demand, the chiefs were accustomed to employ a regular staff of birdcatchers, much as a medieval baron had his staff of falconers. These skilled foresters prepared a sort of bird-lime from the gum of the fragrant "olapa," mixed with the juice of the breadfruit-tree, and with it smeared the branches of the flowering trees frequented by the honey-suckers.

One species of bird, adorned with two tufts of yellow feathers only, could be released after these had been plucked; but the coveted feathers of the mamo grew upon the body, and to obtain them the life of the bird was sacrificed. And just as year by year the fur-seal legions have been thinned, so year by year the mamo disappeared before the dusky goddess of fashion until the last one was trapped, and the bird

lived only in the name mamo, which had been applied to the robes made from its feathers.

Truly regal they were in appearance, the finest gleaming in the sunlight like mantles of gold, while those made of red and yellow feathers had a barbaric splendor of their own. The groundwork of these cloaks is a rather coarse network into which the feathers are woven with a skill that, like the bird, has passed away and is a lost art.

The great war-cloak of Kamehameha I. was the work of years; during the reigns of eight preceding monarchs it grew beneath the hands of cunning craftsmen, until in all its fair proportions it became the property of Kamehameha the Powerful, the outward badge of the sovereignty which claimed sway over all the surrounding islands.

This cloak, made entirely of yellow feathers, is four feet in length, and nearly twelve around the bottom - about the same size as the one in the National Museum, although this last is a trifle more than half composed of red feathers from a more plebeian bird which science has aptly named Vestiaria coccinea, or "clothed in scarlet." The cloak was once the property of the powerful chief Kekuaskalami, who forfeited it, together with his life, in a rebellion having for its purpose the restoration of the ancient religion of Hawaii. It next came into the hands of Kamehameha III., by whom it was presented to Commodore J. H. Aulick, and finally it was deposited in the National Museum by the Commodore's grandson, Mr. R. O. Aulick.

ONE day wee Willie and his dog
Sprawled on the nursery floor.
He had a florist's catalogue,
And turned the pages o'er,

Till all at once he gave a spring. "Hurrah!" he cried with joy; "Mama, here's just the very thing. To give your little boy!

"For when we fellows go to school, We lose our things, you know; And in that little vestibule

They do get mixed up so.

"And as you often say you can't
Take care of 'em for me,
Why don't you buy a rubber plant
And an umbrella tree?"

THE poet's daughter sat on a toadstool at sunset by the great sea, and ate her bowl of porridge. And while she was dazzling her eyes watching the setting sun, a flying-dragon came crawling up over the rocks. He fanned the little girl with his wing, and when she thanked him politely he begged her not to mention it. So she finished eating her porridge very comfortably, and when he saw that it was gone he cleared his throat and said timidly: "Do you ever play Twenty Questions?" "Yes, indeed," said the poet's daughter. "Do you want to play now?"

"I should like it very much."

Then the dragon was full of joy, for he was fond of the game, and had not played for two hundred years.

"You think of something," said he eagerly, "and I'll ask the questions. Are you ready? Yes? Animal, mineral, or vegetable?" "Neither," said the poet's daughter. "Is it something you can see?" "Hear?" "Yes."

"Yes."

"Living?" "No."

"Is it something men make ?" "Is it useful?" "Ye-e-s." "Ornamental ? 66 "Yes." "Has it any color?" "No."

"Yes."

"Something you can see and hear, that men make, is useful and ornamental, and has no color," said the dragon, thoughtfully. "Hum! Let me think." He put his head under his wing and thought for three minutes. "Can you play it?"

"No," said the poet's daughter, shaking her head and laughing.

"Then," said the dragon, "not a game or music? Hum! Is it used for saying things?" "Yes." "Made by men dragon, puzzled. "Yes."

"Have I?"

that makes ten," said the "Did you ever make one?"

"Yes!" she said laughing, "just now!" "It must be something one can say," the dragon said, after thinking a minute. "Is it something I made by speaking?"

[This story was begun in the November number.]

CHAPTER XX.

DISCOVERIES.

It was not until late in the afternoon of the day on which they had altered the map that the three soldiers returned to the examination of the scrap of paper which they had agreed from the first could have reached the mountain-top only by falling from the balloon the year before.

"How is this?" cried Coleman, pointing excitedly to the dates of the foreign telegrams. "This piece of newspaper could not have come by the balloon. The balloon passed over the mountain on September 5, having left the city of Charleston, as declared by the tall aëronaut, at 3:30 o'clock of the afternoon before, which was the 4th of September. Look at the dates for yourself," he continued, handing the paper to Bromley. "Was n't the Honorable M. P. drowned on the morning of September 4? Can't you read there that the earthquake in Spain was on the 4th ?"

mistake in the date! No, sir! There is no mistake. Whatever happens, I will stand on the rec-"

"You are right, old man," cried Bromley, interrupting him; "and the paper proves it. Don't you see the point? They have got the Atlantic cable down at last, and working to a charm. The paper was published on the 4th of September. It was an afternoon paper, and this piece fell from the balloon on the 5th of September."

They agreed that this was wonderful as explaining without doubt what at first seemed impossible, and at the same time verifying the accuracy of the dates in the diary which Lieutenant Coleman had conducted for more than six years at the time the balloon passed. Coleman and Bromley remembered distinctly the unsuccessful attempts at laying the Atlantic cable in the summer of 1858, and the fame of Cyrus Field as its projector; and now by the discovery of this scrap of yellow and tattered paper they were made aware that the great project had been continued to a successful

"I don't care what the date of publication was," replied Coleman. "If it came by the balloon it was published before September 5. Now please tell me how it could bring European news of the 4th ?"

"Hum!" said Bromley, somewhat puzzled. "If it had been published on the 3d, it could not bring news of the 4th - that 's certain."

"I have it," cried Philip; "Fred has got the dates of the diary more than a week out of the way. We thought the balloon passed on September 5. It was nearer the 15th."

"No," exclaimed Coleman, glaring at Philip; "there is no mistake in the record; not a date is omitted. In leap-year a day was added to February when it came around. I make a

terested by this evidence of progress in the world below from having been themselves connected with telegraphing in a modest way. At all events, they regarded the yellow messenger as one of their most significant possessions, and skewered it against the chimney through the very hole made by the dry twig which had held it so long for their inspection under the cover of the rock.

It was near the end of July now, and the spears of corn which had thrust their tiny darkgreen lances out of the mellow earth had first turned yellow, and then withered and died. A few plants here and there had escaped the ravages of the grubs, but the yield would be insignificant, and they were good enough farmers by this time to know that to plant more would