[1] During the Revolution there were gangs of ruffians, little less than bandits, who spread terror through the region adjacent the field occupied by the armies. Within a radius of twenty miles from New York, then in possession of the British, these bands were dubbed Cowboys and Skinners, the first nominally Tories, the others Patriots, both outcasts, whose only thought was plunder. QUILL-PEN, ESQUIRE, ARTIST. BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS. Jimmieboy had been looking at the picture-books in his papa's library nearly all the afternoon, and as night came on he fell to wondering why he couldn't draw pictures himself. It certainly seemed easy enough, to look at the pictures. Most of them were made with the fewest possible lines, and every line was as simple as could be; the only thing seemed to be to put them down, and in the right place. "Why don't you try?" said somebody. "Eh?" asked Jimmieboy, with a sudden start, for he had supposed he was alone. "I say why don't you try?" replied the strange somebody. "Try what?" queried Jimmieboy, who, not having spoken a word on the subject of drawing pictures, was quite sure that the question did not apply to that matter--in which certainly he was very much mistaken, as the strange somebody's next remark plainly showed. "Try drawing pictures yourself?" said the voice. "I can't draw," said Jimmieboy, peering over into the corner whence the voice came, to see who it was that had spoken. "You can't tell unless you try," said the voice. "A man might do a million things If he would be less shy, That all his life he never does, Because he will not try. "Why don't you try?" "Who are you, anyhow?" asked Jimmieboy. "Tell me that, and maybe I will try." "Why, you know me," said the voice. "I am the Quill-pen over here on your mamma's table. Don't you remember how you nearly drowned me in the ink yesterday?" "I didn't want to drown you," said Jimmieboy, apologetically. "I wanted you to write a letter for me to my Uncle Periwinkle, asking him to send me everything he thought I'd like as soon as he could." The Pen laughed. "I'll do it some time--along about Christmas, perhaps," he said. "But about this picture business. I think you could make pictures." "Can you make 'em?" queried Jimmieboy. "I never tried, so I don't know," answered the Pen. "Then you try, and let's see how trying works," suggested Jimmieboy. "I'll get a piece of paper for you." "I'm afraid we can't," said the Pen. "I'm very dry, and don't think I could make a mark, unless you get me a glass of ink. "For just as skates are not much use Without a skating rink, So pens--of steel or quills of goose-- Are worthless without ink." "Oh, I'll get plenty of ink," returned Jimmieboy, "though I think water would be saferer. Water would look pleasanter on the carpet if we upset it." "I can't make a mark with water," laughed the Pen. "How do you know?" asked Jimmieboy. "Did you ever try?"