of hickory trees that
had been bent by a prodigious effort and tied together by their tops. The
lashing was cut by a rifle-ball, the trees regained their straight
position with a snap like whips, and that was the way Gilbert Gates came
to his end.

THE ENVY OF MANITOU

Behind the mountains that gloom about the romantic village of Mauch
Chunk, Pennsylvania, was once a lake of clear, bright water, its winding
loops and bays extending back for several miles. On one of its prettiest
bits of shore stood a village of the Leni Lenape, and largest of its
wigwams, most richly pictured without, most luxurious in its couching of
furs within, was that of the young chief, Onoko. This Indian was a man of
great size, strength, and daring. Single-handed he had slain the bear on
Mauch Chunk [Bear Mountain], and it was no wonder that Wenonah, the
fairest of her tribe, was flattered when he sued for her hand, and
promptly consented to be his wife. It was Onoko's fortune in war, the
chase, and love that roused the envy of Mitche Manitou.

One day, as the couple were floating in their shallop of bark on the calm
lake, idly enjoying the sunshine and saying pretty things to each other,
the Manitou arose among the mountains. Terrible was his aspect, for the
scowl of hatred was on his face, thunder crashed about his head, and fire
snapped from his eyes. Covering his right hand with his invincible magic
mitten, he dealt a blow on the hills that made the earth shake, and rived
them to a depth of a thousand feet. Through the chasm thus created the
lake poured a foaming deluge, and borne with it was the canoe of Onoko
and Wenonah. One glance at the wrathful face in the clouds above them and
they knew that escape was hopeless, so, clasping each other in a close
embrace, they were whirled away to death. Manitou strode away moodily
among the hills, and ever since that time the Lehigh has rolled through
the chasm that he made. The memory of Onoko is preserved in the name of a
glen and cascade a short distance above Mauch Chunk.

It is not well to be too happy in this world. It rouses the envy of the
gods.

THE LAST REVEL IN PRINTZ HALL

"Young man, I'll give thee five dollars a week to be care-taker in Printz
Hall," said Quaker Quidd to fiddler Matthews, on an autumn evening.

Young Matthews had just been taunting the old gentleman with being afraid
to sleep on his own domain, and as the eyes of all the tavern loungers
were on him