peared in their places-no stem was ever left bare. As the children sprang over the mead, the flowers only bowed their heads, and rose up brighter and fresher, and sent out a more exquisite perfume at their infant touches. And now the angel-girl, with a gliding step, drew near the bower and seated herself on the mossy throne. She lifted her beautiful arm and took from the branch of a tree a harp, cut out of a single pearl, with strings of silver and gold. The light touch of her fingers drew forth such an ecstatic sound that it thrilled through the band of sporting children; with one accord they turned their faces towards her, flew to the bower, and gathered themselves closely about her knees. The white lamb followed them and laid down softly at the angel-girl's feet. As her fingers ran through the silvery strings, she sang the hymn of the angels, when the Saviour was born-when the star shone in the East, and the shepherds watched | their flocks by night-"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards men!" Her voice was so softly, liquidly melodious that it seemed but the speaking tone of the golden and silver strings. As she sang, birds, with gorgeous plumage, lit upon the trees that formed her bower-and when she paused, they warbled a chorus. When she resumed her hymn of praise, they joyfully fluttered their brilliant wings, and it seemed as though a sparkling shower of gems were rained into the balmy air. Then the angel laid down her harp and the children caressed her, and resumed their sports with greater gladness than ever. She sat still in her bower, but watched them with loving eyes. Very soon they returned to her, as though they were weary of feeling her so distant from them. Then she spoke to them tenderly-but it was in angelic language, which has a softer, more flowing sound than any human tongue. She told them of the Saviour upon earth—the earth from which they came and that he was once a little child on that earth himself—and that he had taken little children in his arms and blessed them, and said to his disciples, "Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the king-| dom of heaven." As she spoke, the children looked up and saw a rainbow arching itself over the garden, and their hearts were filled with delight-they appeared to understand something as they gazed on that heavenly bow, that I cannot explain. Suddenly the angel paused and said "Hark!" then turned her face towards one side of the garden, where I beheld a golden gate. Beside the gate stood an angel of wondrous loveliness-she seemed to be watching. And now she opened the gate, and, as it flew back, it gave forth a sound of joy and triumph. Beyond the gate there was a light mist, and in the distance, through the dark way, appeared a third angel, leading a child-a timid, half-bewildered little girl. As they passed the gate, the flowers all flashed with new brightness and breathed out a sweeter fragrance-the garden was flooded with a more golden light-the trees seemed to bend their boughs, hung with jewel-like fruit, as though they invited the new guest to pluck them-the bright-plumaged birds sent forth one long note of glad greeting, and the face of the angel-girl in the bower shone like the morning star. The angel that led the little child was very beautiful; but in her countenance there was a serious sweetness, as though she had gazed on the sorrow of others until it had cast a shadow on her angelic beatitude. "Her dress seemed wove of lily leaves, "Let us crown her with flowers!" said one. "Let her play with our white lamb!" said another. "Let us take her to sail in the lilyboats!" cried another. "Let us ask our dear guardian to sing to her!" Little Anna was tenderly laid on the lap of the guardian-angel, and the hearts of the three sisters overflowed with perfect joy. That angel was once on this earth, a heavenly Content, Our love was well divided; Its sweetness following where they went, Its anguish stayed where I did. "Well done of God to halve the lot, And give them all the sweetness; To us the empty rooms and cot To them the Heaven's completeness; "To us these graves-to them the rows The mystic palm trees spring in; To us the silence in the house, and all about her there was a strange whiteness. She was the Angel of Death. As she drew near, I recognized the little girl-it was Clara! My little friend Clara, whom I had seen lying on her couch, so wan and ill, that Christmas morning! Clara, as she entered the garden, looked around joyfully, and her step grew quicker and lighter. The Angel of Death led her to the sister angel, sitting in the bower. She folded her arms around Clara and pressed her to her bosom with a loving wel-minded girl. She had loved young children very come, and Clara felt as though she knew her, and dearly, and, when she died, her occupation in her kiss seemed just like the fond kiss of her own heaven was to instruct and watch over the chilmother. Then Clara turned to the group of happy dren and infants who came from the earth to that children, who received her as a companion. They paradisiacal garden. If the mother, who mourned embraced her in turn, and it seemed to her as so deeply over her three lost treasures, could but though she had long known and loved them all. have seen them there, would she not have Then the little lamb leaped up against her, and she exclaimedcaressed it and stroked its snowy wool. Soon the children led her away to show her their garden. I could not hear what they said, but the sound of their joyous laughter came to me, and I knew Clara's voice above the others—she never laughed so happily upon the earth. I saw her new companions take her to a lovely lake. Upon its crystal waters grew lilies even larger than the Victoria Regia, of which you have heard that upon its leaf a child can stand securely. As the children came to the edge of the lake, the lilies floated towards them and touched the shore. Then some of the little ones put out their tiny, white feet into the lily-cups, all among the quivering yellow stamens, and sat down in the snowy bowls, and the inner leaves seemed to fold around them to hold them safely, and the outer leaves spread themselves like sails; and so they floated about the lake, clapping their hands with gleeful shouts. I cannot tell how long a time passed, for in that world there is no time that is counted as with us-but it seemed only a short period, when the angel-girl gathered the children around her again and said—“ Hark! another young child is coming from the earth!" And the angel at the gate threw open the golden portals, and again they gave forth the melodious sound-and in the distance was seen the Angel of Death, leading a little girl through the dark way, and, as they entered the gate, again the flowers flashed with new brightness and sent forth their sweetest odors, and the light grew more golden, and the rainbowhued birds flew about with songs of joy, and the trees bent their boughs, laden with luscious fruit. The gate closed and I could see that the little girl bore something in her hand-it was a lily-branch. As she drew near the bower, little Clara suddenly bounded forward and caught her in her arms, crying out, "It is Lily! my little sister Lily!" Lily clasped her arms tightly about Clara, and no longer looked frightened—and Clara took her to the angel and to her own young companions, and they all welcomed her with delight. The time was very short when there came again the musical sound of the opening of the golden gate; the flowers, the birds, the air, the trees, all gave their greeting. The Angel of Death passed through the dark valley into the heavenly garden, carrying an infant very carefully and tenderly on her bosom. She drew near Clara and laid the infant in her arms. The baby opened her eyes as though from a sweet sleep, and knew Clara and laughed out right merrily—and she saw Lily and stretched out her little arms to twine them round her neck, and Clara and Lily rejoiced over the coming of baby Anna. Indeed there was more joy amongst all the children at her arrival than they had felt before, for she had passed through that golden gate so young she had fewer earthly stains about her. To them the choral singing!" "And now, does Jenny like the story?" I asked. Jenny looked up with thoughtful eyes. "But do you believe that little Clara and Lily and Anna went to a garden like that, when they died, and were taught by an angel, and were so very happy?" "I do believe so!" WRITTEN FOR THE LITTLE PILGRIM. THE WOODS-FADED. BY COLETTE. The brightest time has gone at last, The woods whence the green locks fell away, But the rustle has gone, and the leaves are astray It is lonelier now on the curving height, Where the shadows check the noonday light, But the sky is bright, even brighter now It smiles in a fairy hue. It was sad to see them fade away, But while we sigh for things gone by, We see not the light in the vale, Nor an elfin crew, and sails of blue, Gleam out o'er the waters pale. They have launched their bark, where the pebbles The elfin train are at work again, And oft in a stilly day, We can hear them laugh, while the small buds quaff DEAR CHILDREN-I sat down a few moments ago to write some verses for the Little Pilgrim; but something occurred to make me change my subject, and I'll just request my muse to posttell you what it was. pone her visit till and Tody springing after it suddenly, lit right One thing I forgot to mention about Peter; it And now I must close. Poor Tody is looking 15 sacred fire was kept continually burning, her Among our numerous pets we have one, the gentlest, tamest, and smartest of all; it is a little banty hen-Tody we call her, on account of her size-she never stays out of doors more than ten minutes at a time, and just as I got all ready to write, there came a very slight tap at the door; I knew who it was and could not refuse, though my movements seemed rather slow for her ladyship, for she hallooed several times before I let her in. She has a peculiar way of speaking, to which she resorts when she wishes to demand prompt attention; it is a prolonged scream, between a crow and a cackle, and I always feel obliged when I hear it, to do whatever she requires. On opening the door for her, she walked in, accompanied by her two chickens. Now, had she only been satisfied to remain on the floor beside me, all would HISTORY OF ANCIENT ROME. Roman soldiers, who had been ordered by the have been well enough; but, being a bird of an aspiring nature, she immediately flow upon my table and began coaxing me in her chattering, noisy way, to lift her chickens up too. I pretended not to notice her at first, but she came and sat right down on my paper, seemingly determined that I should do nothing till her wishes were gratified. Well, I lifted the tiny chicks up, and now, while they are gathered under her wing, a wee head peeping out occasionally from her snowy feathers, I will give you a brief sketch of her life. She can boast of being brought up in a large city, for my brother purchased herself and her mate Peter, of a gentleman who moved from Cincinnati; she had two chickens then, quite large ones, of which she seemed very proud, and Peter was devoted in his attentions to his wife and little ones. One day, soon after they came into our possession, I saw Peter walk into the pantry, and not long after, I heard him crow loudly; slipping in after him, I soon learned the cause of his joy; Tody had laid an egg. They both seemed to consider this a wonderful exploit, for they looked at it a long time, talking to each other all the while; finally they covered it up, and then Peter crowed again, after which they both walked out. After laying six eggs, Tody went to setting; Peter often stood by her for hours together, sometimes putting his mouth close to her ear, whispering, I suspect, about their own private affairs, perhaps picking out names for their unhatched brood. Tody brought out six little chicks, and from the time they made their appearance, she and Peter, by mutual consent, dissolved partnership; she taking special care of the little chickens, and he devoting his time to the older ones; they have followed him ever since; he takes care of them night and day and gets along nicely. But poor Tody has had a world of trouble; she has lost four of her children, and, I am sorry to say, her afflictions have made her somewhat irritable. This morning, one of the chickens that Pussy adopted, reared, and educated, flew into my lap and nestled down; in an instant Tody flew at it, pushed it on the floor, and monopolized the seat herself; but this was not all, the chicken, fearing another attack, flew upon the back of a chair, FOR THE LITTLE PILGRIM. BY JAMES W. WALL. CHAPTER VI. There was no event of importance that happened For any trifling offence they were It was but a year after taking her vows, that, while she watched the altar, upon which the chief priest to arrest them. The brave Roman A few mornings after, a procession was seen We have no account of any wars or tumults, favorite of all, and he had arrived at a ripe old during Numa's reign. His virtues made him the age, when he died. The neighboring nations vied with the Romans who should show him most honors at his funeral. The senators The Romans crowded round his bier, as if they had lost one of their own relations, filling the air with weeping and lamentation. he had cherished walked in the procession. carried his bier, and the priests of the religion [To be continued. Thus was the good king Numa honored as well in his death as in his life-Rome never had again so good a ruler 1 "When I was young?-Ah, woful when !" "HAPPY DAYS '—our artist says:-happy days indeed! With what a merry shout we used to bound over the threshold of the old school, glad as uncaged birds and wild as antelopes! With what proud delight would we watch our long-tailed kites mount the air-our very hearts, so light they were, seeming to soar with them! With what anxious eyes did we follow our tiny sail-boats across the duck-pond;—had they been | Indian argosies, with priceless freight of gems and gold and silks, we could hardly have been more solicitous. Upon the bosom of my memory, by a chain of its own golden hopes, I wear my "childhood"tenderly, reverently as ever orphaned daughter wore that sacred amulet, "my mother's hair." But I want to tell you a story. THE TALE OF OUR KITE. One bright October afternoon, when I was about twelve years old, for some reason, there was no school; so half a dozen of us went out into a great field that adjoined our play-ground, to try a new kite which we had hired one of the big boys, who was a great hand at such things, to make for us. It was a handsome round-headed kite, with a broad, jolly face very cleverly painted on it. Because of this face, we gave it the name of "Diddle Diddle Dumpling," in honor of that old rhyme, in which a youth named "John" is said to have gone to bed with "one stocking off and one stocking on." so many directions, and in such queer, drunken ways, that if we had not known Diddle to be a most proper individual, we should have supposed he had been taking something to drink, and it had gone to his head." But, as I said above, the trouble was not with his head; and besides, although it is the nature of kites, usually, to "get high" whenever they have a chance, we knew that Diddle had never got so. After we had added another bob or two, and pinned (I was half afraid the pin would make him dart about more than ever) a tuft of slashed paper to his tail, we tried him once more. blithe gossip to his dusky-winged mate: they were folded at his sides, and would be still forever. We did not say much to each other, and what we did say, was in a lower and softer tone than usual; for the piteous history of the little bird had touched our hearts. At first we decided to make a little coffin and bury him. But, suddenly, I remembered that the village doctor sometimes stuffed birds and animals; so I proposed that we should go to him, tell the story, and ask him to stuff our blackbird. The doctor was a kind-hearted man, and fond of children; so after listening to the story, which he said was a very singular one, he promised to stuff the bird. In about ten days he gave it back to us, look One boy climbed up on the fence, and held Diddle up as high as he could-another held his tail, which was already squirming about, but I think it was the wind, and not the pin, that made itwhile I held the string and was to do the running.ing almost alive. We took it, fixed its little feet When they cried "ready!" I started, at the top of my speed, across the field towards the woods, which were about a quarter of a mile off. on the kite, just as they had been, and persuaded our teacher to put it up on the top of his mineral cabinet; and there it stood all the rest of the time I went to that school. May be it stands there yet. A PUZZLE. A correspondent says: At the first bound I made, up shot Diddle like a rocket, with his long, graceful tail streaming behind him;-up, and up, and up, till the distance seemed to rub his jolly face out. First the laughing wrinkles disappeared; then his eyes; then his fat rosy cheeks melted away; "Sometime ago we found the following riddle: and, last of all, his fiery nose (which, spiteful 'A tinker and his wife, and a piper and his thing that it was, did all it could to slander mother had three silver dollars, three half dolhis temperance) went out; and there was no-lars, and three quarters of a dollar, to divide thing to be seen of our kite but a little speck, equally without breaking any of the pieces. floating like a bird away up in the blue heaven. How were they to do it?' By this time we had almost reached the woods, and had climed up on a fence to rest, and watch Diddle. We had not sat there long, before bang! went a gun just behind us. We had been so still, and the report was so sudden and so near, that we were nigh tumbling off the fence from the shock. We turned around just in time to see a flock of blackbirds rise out of the woods like a drift of black leaves carried up by a swoop of wind. At first they rose almost straight up into the air, then swept away over the school-house, directly toward our kite, which they soon hid from our sight entirely. Some minutes passed before we got sight of poor Diddle again, and, almost as soon as we did, we decided that it was time to get him down and go home. So I began to pull in the string, while the other boys took turns in winding it up. Nearer and nearer he came; but just as his flaming nose began to show itself clearly, we noticed a black spot which seemed to be almost directly over it. We all wondered what this could be, for we knew it was not there when Diddle went up. Faster and faster I pulled in the string, and nearer and nearer came the kite, when what should the spot be but a dear little blackbird, perched quietly on the upper rim of it! But what made him sit there? we wondered. Why didn't he fly away and join his companions, that were now just vanishing into the far distance? Nearer and nearer it came, to our very feet. He was dead! One little crimson drop that had rolled down his glossy breast, and fallen upon Diddle's cheek, like a tear of blood, told the story. He had been shot. Poor little bird! He had flown up with the others, and had tried to follow them; but, faint with pain and bleeding, he could not keep up, and so, as the flock was passing our kite, he had The first time we tried to raise it, like the settled down upon that, hoping, may be, that the negro minstrel's chicken, its "tail" was "too pain in his little breast would get better soon. short to fly high," and it went darting and But, alas! his gold and crimson wings were pitching and bobbing its jolly head about in 'never again to beat the sunny air as he piped his "After puzzling over it a long time, we have concluded that the tinker's wife was the piper's mother, and the division is very easily made." S. C. H. Do you remember that "Plantation" of ours, in which we used to grow such funny things last year? Plant the second numeral, and what will come up? A fig or two (a figure 2.) A COLUMN FOR THE LITTLE ONES. 66 FOR THE LITTLE PILGRIM. HYMN FOR A CHILD. BY A. S. 'Oh, Saviour, hear a little child, Who knows not how to pray; The children gathered to Thy breast, I ask Thee for a heart, to try To please Thee day by day, The sins that wound Thee sore, THE LITTLE PILGRIM," A MONTHLY JOURNAL FOR GIRLS AND BOYS. EDITED BY GRACE GREENWOOD & LEANDER K. LIPPINCOTT. South Third Street, Philadelphia. Each number "THE LITTLE PILGRIM" is published at No. 66 will contain one or more elegant illustrations by eminent artists. TERMS-Fifty Cents a year for a single copy, or ten copies for Four Dollars-payable in advance. City subscriptions can be left at the office of the dropped in the Post Office. In either case to be enSaturday Evening Post, 66 South Third Street, or closed and addressed as above. Edited by Trace Treenwood VOL. II.] THE BY LOUISE E. VICKROY. It was near to his home by the limitless deep, While the moon through the clouds, like a great gold Went a-sailing, and sailing away. PHILADELPHIA, MARCH, 1855. The cool dews fell, and the £re-flies came And his heart was burdened with longings wild In some cavern deep, or some fairy isle, He was wearied to death with his daily toil- That his food was so coarse and his clothes were so poor, Then his heart stood still with a strange delight, Her azure garments and snow-white feet [No. 3. And she called him by name, and she bade him come To her beautiful home away. "You will come," she said, and the moonlight fell, And he fearlessly looked in her love-lighted eyes, There were vaulted arches, and winding nisles, And spongy conches were there. And music too in most ravishing strains, Wildly and thrillingly sweet, While the beautiful maids of the sea to its tones Kept time with their twinkling feet. They gave him to eat of the daintiest fare, They clothed him in raiment fine, And his cheeks for awhile had a rosier glow, But he wearied at last, of the endless round Through the dell where the violets grew, So with downcast eyes, 'midst the maids he stood, His life was passing, in mournful dreams From a realm like this, to the world above, On his shuddering spirit fell, When they told him that year upon year had gone by, That if now perchance to his childhood's home He might search and search, on the sounding shore But he wept while he prayed they would take him hence, For with them all his pleasure was o'er, If 'twere but to rest in a mortal's grave, He would go to the green earth once more. Then she who in kindness had guided him there, The fairest and loveliest one, COUNTRIES I HAVE SEEN. Travels, Descriptions, Tales and Historical Sketches. BY GRACE GREENWOOD. THE JOURNEY FROM ENGLAND TO IRELAND. On a bright morning, early in August, I left London, with my dear friends, Mr. and Mrs. B., for a visit to Ireland-by the way of Wales, and Holyhead. The first remarkable place we came Clasped his hand in her own, while she begged him to, was the town of Chester, which stands just to stay With earnest and tenderest tone For I went last night to your home," she said, "And its loneliness made me grieve, For the baby has grown to a maiden fair- "And your father too, he has passed away, "And my mother?"—"Is old and feeble now, Full often she weeps for her dear lost boy, With the open and sunny brow, And thinks had he grown to a strong, brave man, For the mother who watched o'er his infancy, outside the Principality of Wales, and is so very ancient, that antiquarians, who are often rather quarrelsome old gentlemen, have had many a hot dispute about its founder. Some say it was Leon Gaur, "a mighty strong giant," who first built caves and dungeons here, in which he confined all the poor stragglers he could catch, and fatted them for his table. Others affirm that it was old King Lear, whom you will sometime read about in Shakspeare, as being afflicted with a very testy temper and two wicked daughters, who were quite too sharp for him. When the Romans had possession of Great Britain, they made Chester an important military station, under the name of Dova. There are many Roman remains shown here to this day. Afterwards some of the Saxon kings held their court here. It is related that the proud Edgar once took a grand pleasure trip on the Dee, when his boat was rowed by eight tributary kings. Under the Normans, the town grew fast in strength and importance, and, at last, took the And the flowers will bloom on her grass-grown grave, name of Chester. Lupus, the first Earl of Chester, And the glimmering sunbeams play. So, I pray you stay where no death can come, For the upper world-for our doors will be closed, If you pass from our midst up the winding stairs, In whose bosom they deem you are resting well But he bade farewell to the mermaids fair, And again he lay on the self-same spot, On the surf-beaten pebbly shore, built a castle, rebuilt the walls, and made it the head-quarters of an army, maintained on the frontiers, to keep down the Welsh. That brave, half savage people kept attacking the town and setting fire to the suburbs; but were always beaten back with great slaughter, and left so many of their dead behind them, that the coldblooded English actually made a wall of Welshmen's skulls! So, in years after, when the young Welsh soldiers undertook to take the town, they were obliged, it may be said, to climb up over their fathers' and grandfathers' heads. Chester is now a very interesting place, full of quaint, old-fashioned houses, with high pointed roofs and carved gables turned toward the streets, which are wide and straight. The walls remain And the moon through the clouds went a-sailing on, nearly perfect-not preserved for defence, but as As she did in the days of yore. The winds and the waves sang the same old song There seemed no change in the sea or sky, Then stealing up with a noiseless tread, It was only a dream! ah, how happy he was, And now for his future, in fervent prayer, relics of the old fighting times. The Dee is a strange-looking river when the tide is low, for the sands stretch far out on each side. Mr. Kingsley, an English author, in a beautiful song, tells a sad story of a poor girl, who was sent one evening to call the cattle home across these wide sands. A blinding mist came up and the tide came in, but Mary never came home-only as she floated ashore the next morning, drowned. A little way off the railway track, lies Maes Garmon, the scene of a great victory gained by the Britons over the Scots and Picts, in 429. It was in the season of Lent;-the Britons had assembled in great numbers in a valley amid the mountains, to listen to the preaching of St. Germanus and Bishop Lupus. These holy men preached with such extraordinary power, that thousands of rude warriors came forward, vociferously professing religion, and eager to be baptized. The enemy, hearing of this by their scouts, thought that here would be a fine opportunity to take them by surprise, and hastened to the spot to make the attack. But St. Germanus Somehow got wind of their coming, and, taking the pick of the warriors, conducted them to a pass through which the heathen army must enter the valley. As soon as the enemy appeared, the Saint, lifting the rood in his hands, shouted three times at the top of his voice, "Hallelujah!" All his warriors repeated the cry, and the mountains echoed and reëchoed it, till their caves and forests seemed to be alive with lurking Britons. The bloody-minded heathens were so astonished and frightened by this strange Christian uproar, that they flung down their arms and ran for their lives! The Britons, instead of going on with their Hallelujahs, as I think they should have done, took after them with great fury-slew thousands and drove thousands into the river, where they were drowned. It was a queer way to win a battle that scaring the enemy out of their wits by shouting holy words at them. I doubt whether the plan would succeed as well in our enlightened Christian times. The next object of interest is Flint Castle, to which King Richard the Second was carried as a prisoner, and where he met the banished Bolingbroke, who was soon to step into his royal shoes and dub himself King Henry the Fourth. Next was the town of Holywell-so called for the famous, and, it is said, miraculous well of St. Winifred, which it contains. If you inquire for this, you are conducted to a beautiful Gothic building, erected by the good Margaret, Countess of Richmond. Within this edifice is a large bath; and in and out of this, the maimed, palsied, and rheumatic, are constantly hobbling, crawling, or being carried. Over head, fixed in the roof, are hosts of old canes and crutches, placed there by cripples who say they have been cured by the waters. Doubtless this spring has medicinal properties, like many in our own country, and very likely many a poor creature is cured by simply bathing repeatedly in pure cold water-a treatment tried here for the first time in all their lives. But who was St. Winifred? All I know of her I get from a Roman Catholic legend, which I, being a Protestant, and because it seems to me absurd, cannot credit; but which many good, simple-hearted people find no difficulty in believing-especially such as have had a lame leg cured by the well, and have hung up a crutch in the shrine. There was once (says the legend) a great Lord, whose name was Thewith, and a noble lady, whose name was Wenlo, and they had one Now only daughter, whose name was Winifred. Winifred grew up to be a marvelously beautiful maiden, and her hand was sought in marriage by lords and princes far and near. But, strangely enough, she would have nothing to say to any of them, and seemed to care nothing for the pomps and pleasures of the world. She was pious and charitable, and loved better to nurse and pray with the sick than to wear fine dresses, or dance with handsome young gentlemen. Perhaps she had visions, in which she saw and heard all the palsied old men and women, and all the miserable cripples that were, or ever would be in the world, shaking their heads and thumping with their crutches at her. At any rate, she resolved to live a single, devout and charitable life, and for that purpose, placed herself under the care and instruction of her uncle, Breno, a very holy priest. But it happened that Prince Caradoc, the son of King Alen-who he was I don't know—saw her and instantly fell desperately in love with her, and in the authoritative way which princes have, asked her to be his wife. Winifred said "no" very decidedly, and then he undertook to carry |