St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, January 1878, No. 3

In Short

This issue of St. Nicholas Magazine is a curated miscellany designed to instruct and entertain young readers of 1878. It features serialized fiction, poetry, practical advice on etiquette, and complex word puzzles. By blending heavy moral lessons—such as the piety of a young stone-carver’s family—with lighthearted accounts of pet monkeys and bird-nesting, the magazine reflects the era's focus on character building. It remains significant as a historical artifact, preserving the specific literary aesthetic, pedagogical tone, and social expectations that defined American childhood over a century ago.

The Story

The magazine unfolds as a series of distinct narrative threads. The lead story, "The Ravens and the Angels," follows Magdalis and her children, Gottlieb and Lenichen, who live in poverty beside a grand cathedral. Young Gottlieb, a gifted singer with a voice like an angel, is pressed into service for a visiting Archduke. Despite his hunger and the demands of his masters, his primary concern remains his family. He finds a moment of grace when his kindness—manifested in his refusal to eat a feast without sharing it with his mother—wins the favor of a sympathetic housekeeper, ensuring his family receives the sustenance they need.

Contrasting this somber tale is the adventurous story of Ben, a runaway boy who has escaped the abuse of a traveling museum and circus. Accompanied by his loyal trick dog, Sancho, Ben finds refuge with a sympathetic family. His journey is one of quiet resilience; he learns to earn his keep by tending to horses and cows, demonstrating a rugged independence and a natural affinity for animals. His story captures the spirit of self-reliance, as he navigates a world that is sometimes indifferent but occasionally kind to those who prove their worth through hard work and honesty.

Interspersed throughout are vignettes of domestic life, such as a young girl’s afternoon visit with friends, where the arrival of a wealthy guest causes a social stir that highlights the era's class-conscious anxieties. We also find whimsical fables, like the tale of the "Crooked-Nosed Philosopher," which ends abruptly when the protagonist insults a King, and a lighthearted account of a traveler’s bond with a monkey. The magazine rounds out its narrative offerings with technical instructions—such as how to build an ice-boat—and poetic imagery describing "winter fire-flies" in the hearth, bridging the gap between the practical skills required of a boy and the romantic sensibilities expected of a girl.

The final pages transition from narrative into the realm of the reader's own participation. Through a "Letter-Box" section and complex, multi-layered enigmas and acrostics, the magazine transforms from a passive reading experience into an interactive game. The issue concludes not with a final resolution of its plots, but with the collective voices of its young readers, who write in with solutions to previous puzzles and news of their own small lives—from fishing for salmon-trout in California to observing the migrations of birds.

How It Unfolds

The plight of the destitute The issue opens in the shadow of a medieval cathedral, where the moral divide between grand, performative worship and the silent suffering of the poor is starkly drawn. The narrative centers on a young boy’s struggle to maintain his dignity while providing for his mother and sister.

The runaway’s journey The perspective shifts to the American countryside, where a displaced boy seeks work and safety. His connection to his dog, Sancho, serves as the emotional anchor of his narrative, highlighting the loyalty found in the margins of society.

Social expectations and etiquette Midway through the magazine, the focus narrows to the nuances of visiting and manners. Detailed instructions guide the reader on how to behave at a table and how to avoid the "ill-breeding" of eating with a knife, reflecting the period's obsession with social presentation.

The intersection of nature and play The magazine turns toward the imaginative, including a dream-like story about fairies who embody color theory. This transition emphasizes the period’s belief in teaching scientific concepts through mythological or allegorical frameworks.

The reader’s engagement The final section shifts entirely to the audience, featuring a "Letter-Box" and an extensive series of word games. The readers themselves become the final authors of the volume, proving their engagement through the intellectual labor of solving riddles.

The People

Gottlieb is the resilient young protagonist of the opening tale; he possesses a rare musical talent and a protective love for his family that overrides his own physical exhaustion. His foil is the housekeeper Ursula, who begins as a stern, pragmatic figure but is softened by Gottlieb's genuine filial piety.

Ben, the runaway, is defined by his independence and his bond with his dog, Sancho. He is a survivor who values his liberty above comfort, and his character arc is defined by his transition from a victim of circus abuse to a trusted hand on a farm. The Squire, who observes Ben’s competence from afar, represents the gatekeeper of social order who grants Ben a chance based on his demonstrable work ethic.

Annie, a young girl, serves as the conduit for the magazine’s more fanciful lessons. Through her dream of color-mixing fairies, she acts as a bridge between the reader and the educational material. Finally, the "Crooked-Nosed Philosopher" represents the disruptive, skeptical spirit that occasionally breaks through the magazine’s otherwise earnest and instructional tone, challenging the authority of the fictional King Jollimon.

In Its Own Voice

"The cathedral was the Father's house, and, therefore, close to its gates might nestle the poor dwellings of the poor,--too poor to find a shelter anywhere besides."

The narrator sets the scene for a story about the intersection of institutional religion and the reality of poverty in a medieval city.

"He felt it too babyish to be altogether honorable to the protector of Lenichen and incipient bread-winner of the family."

This line captures Gottlieb’s internal conflict as he struggles to reconcile his status as a child with the heavy adult responsibilities he carries.

"Try, without being too familiar, to make yourself so much like one of the family that no one shall feel you to be in the way."

This advice is given to young readers as part of a guide on how to conduct oneself while visiting friends or relatives.

What It's Really About

At its core, this magazine is about the construction of the "ideal" child. It argues that character is formed through the tension between personal ambition and selfless duty. Whether the subject is a boy singing for a duke or a girl learning the rules of a dinner party, the underlying question is always the same: how does one balance individual worth with the obligations of one's social and moral station? It treats the world as a place that requires constant, vigilant improvement—of one’s manners, of one’s mind through puzzles, and of one’s spirit through acts of kindness.

Why Read It Today

Readers today will find this magazine a fascinating, if sometimes rigid, time capsule. You will love it if you are drawn to the aesthetic of the late 19th century—the ornate, didactic prose, the woodcut-style illustrations, and the unapologetic moralizing. It feels like stepping into a Victorian parlor where the hearth is always burning and the rules of conduct are strict but kindly meant.

However, you must be prepared for the period’s specific attitudes. There is a clear, unexamined class consciousness, and the prose can feel relentlessly educational. The dialect used in some stories, particularly those featuring laborers or runaways, can be clunky and reflective of the prejudices of the era. Yet, the magazine’s earnestness is undeniably charming. The puzzles remain genuinely challenging, and the descriptions of the natural world—the "winter fire-flies" and the birds traveling on train carriages—possess a whimsical beauty that transcends time. Reading it is less about discovering a great literary masterpiece and more about witnessing how a generation of children was taught to see, act, and think. It is a warm, orderly, and deeply deliberate glimpse into a vanished pedagogical ideal that still manages to touch the imagination.