rolls over on his side. It is as important for steadying him as one of his legs. I said that he walks, and runs, and hops, only on two feet; and one of his scientific names, Dipus, meaning two-footed, was probably given him because of that fact. The hind feet are curious, having only three toes, and being covered even on the soles with stiff hairs, so that we may say that he is really protected from the heat by He can dig out his burrow whenever he likes, and he is obliged to keep his digging tools in good order, for his food consists mostly of roots. But with all this hard work to do, his life is not entirely confined to digging. He is a jolly little fellow, and when the desert is silent and no caravan or wandering Arab is in sight, he comes out of his house, basks in the hot sunshine, of which he is fond, and plays and sports with his friends. VAN RENSSELAER OF RENSSE- A. D. 1777. [Afterward Major-General, and Lieutenant-Governor of the State of New York.] I QUESTION whether any of my young readers, however well up in history they may be, can place the great River of Prince Maurice (De Riviere Van den Voorst Mauritius), which, two hundred years ago, flowed through the broad domain of the lord patroons of Rensselaerswyck. And yet, it is the same wide river upon the crowded shore of which now stands the great city of New York; the same fair river above the banks of which now towers the noble front of the massive State Capitol at Albany. And that lofty edifice stands not far from the very spot where, beneath the pyramidal belfry of the old Dutch church, the boy patroon sat nodding through Dominie Westerlo's sermon, one drowsy July Sunday in the summer of 1777. The good dominie's "seventhly" came to a sudden stop as the tinkle of the deacon's collection-bell fell upon the ears of the slumbering congregation. In the big Van Rensselaer pew it roused Stephanus, the boy patroon, from a delightful dream of a ten-pound twaalf, or striped bass, which he thought he had just hooked at the mouth of Bloemert's Kill; and rather guiltily, one who has been "caught napping," he dropped his two "half-joes" into the deacon's as "fish-net" for so the boys ir- "From General Schuyler, sir," he said, as he reined up before General Ten Broek and handed him an order to muster the militia at once and repair to the camp at Fort Edward. St. Clair, so said the dispatch, had been defeated; Ticonderoga was captured, Burgoyne was marching to the Hudson, the Indians were on the war-path, and help was needed at once if they would check Burgoyne and save Albany from pillage. The news fell with a sudden shock upon the little city of the Dutchmen. Ticonderoga fallen, and the Indians on the war-path! Even the most stolid of the Albany burghers felt his heart beating faster, while many a mother looked anxiously *Copyright, 1883, by E. S. Brooks. All rights reserved. at her little ones and called to mind the terrible tales of Indian cruelty and pillage. But the young Van Rensselaer, pressing close to the side of fair Mistress Margarita Schuyler, said soberly: "These be sad tidings, Margery; would it not be wiser for you all to come up to the manor-house for safety?" "For safety?" echoed high-spirited Mistress Margery. "Why, what need, Stephanus? Is not my father in command at Fort Edward? and not for Burgoyne and all his Indians need we fear while he is there! So, many thanks, my lord patroon," she continued, with a mock courtesy; “but I'm just as safe under the Schuyler gables as I could be in the Van Rensselaer manor-house, even with the brave young patroon himself as my defender." The lad looked a little crest-fallen; for he regarded himself as the natural protector of this brave little lady, whose father was facing the British invaders on the shores of the Northern lakes. Had it not been one of the unwritten laws of the colonie, since the day of the first patroon, that a Van Rensselaer should wed a Schuyler? Who, then, should care for a daughter of the house of Schuyler in times of trouble but a son of the house of Rensselaer ? “Well, at any rate, I shall look out for you if danger does come," he said, as he turned toward the manor-house. 'You'll surely not object to that, will you, Margery?' "I cer Why, how can I?” laughed the girl. tainly may not prevent a gallant youth from keeping his eyes in my direction. So, thanks for your promise, my lord patroon, and when you see the flash of the tomahawk, summon your vassals like a noble knight and charge to the rescue of the beleaguered maiden of the Fuyck."* And, with a stately good-bye to the little lord of seven hundred thousand acres, the girl hastened homeward to the Schuyler mansion, while the boy rode in the opposite direction to the great brick manor-house by the creek. Twenty-four miles east and west, by forty-eight miles north and south, covering forest and river, valley and hill, stretched the broad colonie of the patroons of Rensselaerswyck, embracing the present counties of Albany, Rensselaer, and Columbia, in the State of New York; and over all this domain, since the days of the Heer Killian Van Rensselaer, first of the lord patroons, father and son, in direct descent, had held sway after the manner of the old feudal barons of Europe. They alone owned the land, and their hundreds of tenants held their farms on rentals or leases, subject to the will of the "patroons," as they were called,—a Dutch adaptation of the old Roman patronus, meaning patrician or patron. Only the town-lands of Beverwyck, or Albany, a territory stretching thirteen miles north-west, by one mile wide along the river front, forced from an earlier boy patroon by the doughty Peter Stuyvesant, and secured by later English governors, were free from this feudal right; and at the time of our story, though the old feudal laws were no longer in force and the rentals were less exacting than in the earlier days, the tenantry of Rensselaerswyck respected the authority and manorial rights of Stephen Van Rensselaer, their boy patroon, who, with his widowed mother and his brothers and sisters, lived in the big brick manor-house near the swift mill creek and the tumbling falls in the green vale of Tivoli, a mile north of the city gate. a And now had come the Revolution. Thanks to the teaching of his tender mother, of his gallant guardian, and of the good Dominie Westerlo, young Stephen knew what the great struggle meantprotest against tyranny, a blow for human rights, a defense of the grand doctrine of the immortal Declaration that "All men are created free and equal." And he had been told, too, that the success of the Republic would be the death-blow to all the feudal rights to which he, the last of the patroons, had succeeded. "Uncle," he said to his guardian, that stern patriot and whig, General Abram Ten Broek, 'you are my representative and must act for me till I grow to be a man. Do what is best, sir, and don't let the Britishers beat!" "But, remember, lad," said his uncle, "the Revolution, if it succeeds, must strip you of all the powers and rights that have come to you as patroon. You will be an owner of acres, nothing more; no longer baron, patroon, nor lord of the manor; of no higher dignity and condition than little Jan Van Woort, the cow-boy of old Luykas Oothout on your cattle farm in the Helderbergs." "But I'll be a citizen of a free republic, wont I, Uncle?" said the boy; as free of the king and his court across the sea as Jan Van Woort will be of me and the court-leet of Rensselaerswyck. So we'll all start fair and even. I'm not old enough to fight and talk yet, Uncle; but do you fight and talk for me, and I know it will come out all right." 66 And so, through the battle-summer of 1777, the work went on. Men and supplies were hurried northward to help the patriot army, and soon General Ten Broek's three thousand militia-men were ready and anxious for action. The air was full of stirring news. Brandt and his Indians, Sir John Johnson and his green-coated Tories, swarmed into the Mohawk Valley; poor Jane McCrea fell a victim to Indian treachery, and the whole northern country shuddered at the rumor that twenty dollars had been offered for every rebel scalp. And fast upon these came still other tidings. The * The Fuyck, or fishnet, an old Dutch name for Albany. noble General Schuyler, fair Mistress Margery's father, had, through the management of his enemies in the Congress and the camp, been superseded by General Gates; but, like a true patriot, he worked just as hard for victory nevertheless. Herkimer had fallen in the savage and uncertain fight at Oriskany; in Bennington, stout old Stark had dealt the British a rousing blow, and Burgoyne's boast that with ten thousand men he could "promenade through America" ended dismally enough for him in the smoke of Bemis Heights and the surrender at Saratoga. But, before that glorious ending, many were the dark and doubtful days that came to Albany and to Rensselaerswyck. Rumors of defeat and disaster, of plot and pillage, filled the little city. Spies and Tories sought to work it harm. The flash of the tomahawk, at which Mistress Margery had so lightly jested, was really seen in the Schuyler mansion.* Good Dominie Westerlo kept open church and constant prayer for the success of the patriot arms through one whole anxious week, and on a bright September afternoon, General Ten Broek, with a slender escort, came dashing up to the " stoop" of the Van Rensselaer manor-house. "What now, Uncle?" asked young Stephen, as he met the general in the broad hall. "More supplies - we must have more supplies, lad," replied his uncle. "Our troops need provisions, and I am here to forage among both friends and foes." "Beginning with us, I suppose," said the young patroon. “O, Uncle, can not I, too, do something to show my love for the cause?" "Something, Stephen? You can do much," his uncle replied. "Time was, lad, when your ancestors, the lord patroons of Rensselaerswyck, were makers and masters of the law in this their colonie. From their own forts floated their own flag and frowned their own cannon. Their word was law, and their orders were obeyed without question. Forts and flags and cannon are no longer yours, Stephen, and we would not have it otherwise; but your word still holds as good with your tenantry as did that of the first patroon. Try it, lad. Let me, in the name of the young patroon, demand from your tenantry of Rensselaerswyck provisions and forage for our gallant troops." “O, try it, Uncle, try it — do," young Stephen cried, full of interest; "but will they give so much heed, think you, to my word?" "Ay, trust them for that," replied the general. "So strong is their attachment to their young patroon that they will, I know, do more on your simple word than on all the orders and levies of the Continental Congress." valley and climbed the green slopes of the Helderbergs, went the orders of the boy patroon, summoning all "our loyal and loving tenantry" to take of their stock and provender all that they could spare, save the slight amount needed for actual home use, and to deliver the same to the commissaries of the army of the Congress at Saratoga. And the "loyal and loving tenantry" gave good heed to their patroon's orders. Granaries and cellars, stables and pig-sties, pork-barrels and poultry-sheds, were emptied of their contents. The army of the Congress was amply provisioned, and thus, indeed, did the boy patroon contribute his share toward the great victory at Saratoga — a victory of which one historian remarks that "no martial event, from the battle of Marathon to that of Waterloo - two thousand years exerted a greater influence upon human affairs." The field of Saratoga is won. Six thousand British troops have laid down their arms, and the fears of northern invasion are ended. In the Schuyler mansion at Albany, fair Mistress Margery is helping her mother fitly entertain General Burgoyne and the paroled British officers, thus returning good for evil to the man who, but a few weeks before, had burned to the ground her father's beautiful country house at Saratoga. Along the fair river, from the colonie to the peaks of the Katzbergs, the early autumn frosts are painting the forest leaves with gorgeous tints, and to-day, the first of November, 1777, the children are joyously celebrating the thirteenth birthday of the boy patroon in the big manor-house by the creek. For, in Albany, a hundred years ago, a children's birthday party really meant a children's party. The "grown-folk" left home on that day, and the children had free range of the house for their plays and rejoicing. So, through the ample rooms and the broad halls of the Van Rensselaer mansion the children's voices ring merrily, until, tired of romp and frolic, the little folks gather on the great staircase for rest and gossip. And here the fresh-faced little host, in a sky-blue silk coat lined with yellow, a white satin vest broidered with gold lace, white silk knee-breeches and stockings tied with pink ribbons, pumps, ruffles, and frills, is listening intently while Mistress Margery, radiant in her tight-sleeved satin dress, peakedtoed and bespangled shoes, and wonderfully arranged hair, is telling the group of girls and boys all about General Burgoyne and the British officers, and how much they liked the real Dutch supper her mother gave them one day — "suppawn and malck and rullichies, ‡ with chocolate and soft waffles, you know"- and how General the Baron So, out into the farm-lands that checkered the Riedesel had said that if they staid till Christ * See the "Story of a Brave Girl," in ST. NICHOLAS for July, 1883 (p. 665-6). Mush and milk. A kind of chopped meat. mas he would play at St. Claes (Santa Claus) for at the manly-looking little lad, resplendent in blue them. "O, Margery!" exclaimed Stephen, "you would n't have a Hessian for good old St. Nick, would you?" "Why not?" said Mistress Margery, with a toss of her pretty head. "Do you think you are the only patroon, my lord Stephen?" For Santa Claus was known among the boys and girls of those old Dutch days as "the children's patroon" (De Patroon Van Kindervrengd). and yellow, and gold lace, and greeted him with a rousing birthday cheer- a loyal welcome to their boy patroon, their young opper-hoofdt, or chief. "My friends," the lad said, acknowledging their greeting with a courtly bow, "I have asked you to come to the manor-house on this, my birthday, so that I might thank you for what you did for me before the Saratoga fight, when you sent so much of your stock and produce to the army simply on my order. But I wish also to give you something THE CHILDREN'S PARTY.-MARGERY TELLS WHAT HER MOTHER GAVE GENERAL BURGOYNE FOR SUPPER. But, in the midst of the laughter, a quick step sounded in the hall, and General Ten Broek came to the children-crowded staircase. "The Helderberg farmers are here, lad," he said to his nephew; and the young patroon, bidding his guests keep up the fun while he left them awhile, followed his uncle through the door-way and across the broad court-yard to where, just south of the manorhouse, stood the rent-office. As the boy emerged from the mansion, the throng of tenants who had gathered there at his invitation gazed admiringly Gen besides thanks. And so, that you may know how |