the dance was over,
They went down stairs to sup,
And each had a taste of honey-cake,
With dew in a buttercup.

And all were dressed to go away
Before the set of sun;
And Lily said "Good-by!" and gave
A kiss to every one.

And before the moon or a single star
Was shining overhead,
Lily and all her little friends
Were fast asleep in bed.

THE PIRATE KIDD.

The tumult in New Amsterdam when, in August, 1664, English men-of-war appeared in the bay was excessive. An embassy was sent to the English commander, Nichols, at Gravesend Bay; it was composed of the Dutch clergyman and his brother, a physician. The English refused to hear of anything but submission, and brave Governor Stuyvesant yielded to the storm. No blood was shed, no gun fired; the town submitted peacefully to the invader, and its name was changed from New Amsterdam to New York.

But the Dutch longed for their natural government, and more than once it was reported that the great Admiral De Ruyter, at the head of the fleet with which he swept the European seas, was coming to Sandy Hook, and would retake the city. But he never came. A few years later, in the second Dutch war, 1673, a fleet of twenty-three ships from Holland sailed through the Narrows, reduced the fort on Staten Island, and recaptured New York. But in 1674 peace was made between Holland and England, and New York was restored to the English.

From that time for many years Sandy Hook witnessed no hostile armament, and only the white sails of the peaceful trader entered the deep channel that opens into the Lower Bay.

New York flourished in quiet ease; its Dutch burgomasters were changed to aldermen; its fair young maidens with their admirers made up boating parties from the Battery, or rode in gigs up to the famous Kissing Gate. But all the people of New York were not so respectable; it was, in fact, the haunt of disreputable persons and marauders from all parts of the world, and among them might be seen about this time the rough, bronzed face, the sturdy figure, of the cruel pirate Kidd. Possessed of a considerable fortune, which he had made in a sea-faring life, Kidd had retired from his occupation, whatever it had been, and settled peacefully with his wife and children in New York. He was probably looked upon as a substantial citizen. He was thought a skillful sailor. And when in 1695 the English government resolved to send a ship to the East Indies to put down the pirates who swarmed in the sea between Arabia and Bombay, the Governor of New York, Lord Bellamont, selected Kidd to command the expedition.

Kidd went over to London, was given a fine ship, the Adventure galley, and came back to New York to gather his crew. He was sure of finding here desperate men willing to aid him in any wicked enterprise. The ship was soon manned, and in February, 1697, sailed out from Sandy Hook on its dreadful voyage. Instead of putting down piracy, Kidd became the most cruel and terrible of pirates. He haunted the Eastern seas, plundered the rich vessels of Arabia, Armenia, or Portugal, and made such enormous profits that even his sailors grew wealthy. But his savage cruelty was terrible even to his own crew. He cut the throats of his prisoners, or plunged them into the sea. The pirate ship was a scene of demoniac wickedness. One of his crew, whom he had called a dog, cried out, in remorse, "Yes, I am a dog; but it is you that have made me so." Kidd, enraged, struck him dead at a blow.

Possessed of an immense fortune in gold, silver, jewels, the pirate came back to New York in 1699, hoping, perhaps, to purchase a pardon for all his crimes with the aid of his powerful friends. Once more the Adventure galley, or some other vessel of his fleet, sailed by the Hook, stained with blood and massacre, but laden with a cargo richer than any ship had ever brought to the quiet city before. Tradition relates that Kidd had his friends in the coves and bays of Long Island; that he deposited $200,000 in gold dust and coin on Gardiner's Island; that he buried his treasure on Martha's Vineyard, and lived in a cave still seen on its lonely shore. His ship he is supposed to have sunk near Verplanck's Point, on the Hudson, and here a party of persons may at times be seen diligently laboring to find the sunken vessel. To Mrs. Gardiner, of Gardiner's Island, Kidd gave a robe of cloth of gold that was long preserved in the family. He strove to hide from the agents of the government, who were in pursuit of him, but was decoyed to Boston, carried to England, tried for piracy, condemned, and executed. It is said that the first rope used to hang him broke, and he fell to the ground; a second was brought, and the horrible monster perished at last, March 23, 1701. From that time pirates were banished from the American ports, although they still swarmed in the West Indian seas and all the unfrequented parts of the ocean.

THE FIRST MOUSE.

[Begun in No. 58 of Harper's Young People, December 7.]

TOBY TYLER;

OR, TEN WEEKS WITH A CIRCUS.

BY JAMES OTIS.

Chapter IX.

THE DINNER PARTY.

At noon Toby was thoroughly tired out, for whenever any one spoke kindly to him, Mr. Lord seemed to take a malicious pleasure in giving him extra tasks to do, until Toby began to hope that no one else would pay any attention to him. On this day he was permitted to go to dinner first, and after he returned he was left in charge of the booth. Trade being dull, as it usually was during the dinner hour, he had very little work to do after he had cleaned the glasses and set things to rights generally.

Therefore when he saw the very thin form of the skeleton emerge from his tent and come toward him, he was particularly pleased, for he had begun to think very kindly of the thin man and his fleshy wife.

"Well, Toby," said the skeleton, as he came up to the booth, carefully dusted Mr. Lord's private chair, and sat down very cautiously in it, as if he had expected that it would break down under his weight, "I hear you've been making quite a hero of yourself by capturing the monkeys last night."

Toby's freckled face reddened with pleasure as he heard these words, and he stammered out, with considerable difficulty, "I didn't do anything; it was Mr. Stubbs that brought 'em back."

"Mr. Stubbs!" and here the skeleton laughed so heartily that Toby was afraid he would dislocate some of his thinly covered joints. "When you was tellin' about Mr. Stubbs yesterday, I thought you meant some one belonging to the company. You ought to have seen my wife Lilly shake with laughing when I told her who Mr. Stubbs was."

"Yes," said Toby, at a loss to know just what to say, "I should think she would shake when she laughs."

"She does," replied the skeleton. "If you should see her when something funny strikes her, you'd think she was one of those big plates of jelly that they have in the bake-shop windows;" and Mr. Treat looked proudly at the gaudy picture which represented his wife in all her monstrosity of flesh. "She's a great woman, Toby, an' she's got a great head."

Toby nodded his head in assent. He would have liked to have said something nice regarding Mrs. Treat, but he really did not know what to