## The Project Gutenberg eBook of Harper's Young People, June 14, 1881

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Title: Harper's Young People, June 14, 1881

Author: Various

Release date: December 20, 2014 [eBook #47709]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Annie R. McGuire

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, JUNE 14, 1881 ***

ON WHEELS.
CHATS ABOUT PHILATELY.
THE APPRENTICE'S LEAP.
THE CRUISE OF THE "GHOST."
HOW TOM RAN THE ENGINE WITHOUT WOOD OR WATER.
BEES IN THE MEADOW.
PUNCH AND JUDY IN A CONVENT.
THE DAISY COT.
BITS OF ADVICE.
OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.
THE NAUGHTY ISLANDS IN NEW YORK STATE.
THROWING A LIGHT.

[Pg 513]

Vol. II.—No. 85. | Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. | PRICE FOUR CENTS.
Tuesday, June 14, 1881. | Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers. | $1.50 per Year, in Advance.

ON WHEELS—INCIDENTS OF THE RECENT BICYCLE MEET IN BOSTON.

[Pg 514]

## ON WHEELS.

### BY THE CAPTAIN.

To Boston boys Decoration-day of this year was a day long to be remembered; for in addition to the usual military parade, with its wagon-loads of flowers and beautiful floral designs to be placed on soldiers' graves, they had another procession to review—one that was as novel as it was interesting. It was a procession, a mile and a half long, of bicyclers; or, as they are more generally called in this country, "wheelmen." They were the members of the League of American Wheelmen (L. A. W.), gathered, 800 strong, for their annual meeting; and as they rode through the beautiful streets of what is known in Boston as the "Back Bay District," in double file, with gay silken flags marking the positions of the various clubs, bugles sounding, burnished wheels flashing in the sunlight, and thousands of spectators cheering, many a Boston boy determined then and there to become a wheelman.

While most of the wheelmen in this gay procession were men, its rear was brought up by some fifteen or twenty boys, who, under charge of one of the most experienced and graceful riders of the country, made a most creditable show, and proved themselves to be good and careful riders. The picture on the preceding page shows the contrast between them on their 36 or 40 inch bicycles, and their tall Captain on his 56-inch machine.

In the evening the wheelmen had Boston Music Hall, with its great organ, all to themselves, and here the most expert among them gave exhibitions of fancy riding that were very wonderful, as you may imagine by looking at the picture, and seeing "the way some folks ride."

Now it does not seem to me at all surprising that, after seeing all this, the Boston boy should be filled with an intense desire to become a wheelman; nor should I be surprised if every boy who reads this article should also long to own and ride a bicycle.

Well, if you, or your parents for you, can afford it, and you are a strong, healthy boy, there is no reason why you should not become a wheelman, and join the great parade that will take place on the 30th of May next year.

Some boys are afraid that they will fall while learning to ride, and therefore don't dare try. Such boys will never learn, nor do we want any cowards among our wheelmen. Of course there must be some falls, and some little danger attends the sport; but no more boys are hurt in learning to ride or in riding a bicycle than by foot-ball, base-ball, cricket, lacrosse, horseback-riding, or a dozen other manly sports in which boys always have engaged and always will. A little experience will soon teach the rider how to exercise the care necessary to prevent falls. He will learn to lean well back in his saddle when descending a hill, when about to apply his brake, or upon striking a stone or other obstacle. He will learn to lean forward when ascending a hill, and to dismount rather than to try and force his machine through sand.

That bicycling is a healthy exercise is a fact beyond dispute, as any physician who has the slightest knowledge of the bicycle will assure you. Velocipedes, or "bone-shakers," were injurious; bicycles are not.

Good bicycles for boys of from ten to sixteen years of age can be bought for from twelve to twenty dollars, and the very best will not cost over fifty dollars.

A good, easy-running bicycle can be driven up any ordinary hill, provided the road be smooth and hard, and a party of wheelmen, travelling over the ordinary roads of the Eastern States, will cover greater distances each day than if their means of conveyance were horses and carriage.

A moderate amount of luggage, sufficient for a week's trip, may be carried on the bicycle without inconvenience, and the perfection that has been reached in hub and head lamps renders it almost as safe and easy to ride by night as by day.

The best and most sensible bicycling suit consists of the uniform adopted by the L. A. W., which is of light gray throughout—blouse, flannel shirt, breeches, stockings, and polo cap, or helmet. If too warm, the rider can take off his blouse, and carry it very comfortably, rolled tightly, and strapped to the handle-bar of his bicycle.

Before closing I want to say a word about drinking. When a rider becomes very warm, and perspires freely, the temptation to drink, and to drink a quantity of almost anything that offers, is very great. Refrain from drinking anything just as long as you can, except at meal-time, or after your day's ride is over. The more you drink, the greater will be the desire to do so. If, while riding, your thirst becomes unbearable, to rinse your mouth several times, and take but one swallow of cool water, will refresh you as much as, and do you more good than, copious draughts. In riding through the country, be very careful where and what you drink. Water from wells or springs in small quantities is generally good. Water from ponds or streams is apt to be bad. Milk and lemonade are both good. In England the wheelman's favorite drink is milk and soda; in this country it is a soda lemonade: both are good. Beer is bad, very bad—almost the worst thing you could drink. It does not quench thirst, but increases it. It causes you to perspire freely, it takes away your wind, and leaves you panting and exhausted at the top of easy hills.

If the boys who are interested in bicycling have any questions to ask that have not already been answered, let them address "The Captain," through Our Post-office Box, and he will try and furnish the desired information.

## CHATS ABOUT PHILATELY.

### BY J. J. CASEY.

### IV.

Already many of my young friends are making inquiries about counterfeit stamps. I am not at all astonished. Similar inquiries have been made almost since the time when stamp-collecting came into vogue. Collectors were swindled at the very beginning. Collectors are swindled every day. And the swindling trade will go on as long as there is a collector who can be swindled.

Whenever there is an opportunity to defraud, no matter how small the amount to be gained, there are always found persons ready to take advantage of the fraud. In the early days of collecting, scarcely a collector was free from the swindlers, either in the shape of forgeries of little-known stamps, or out-and-out humbugs in the shape of stamps that never existed. But with increased study came knowledge, and this knowledge was directed in great part to exposing the swindlers and their vile wares. But the trade was not put down. All the known stamps, both common and rare, were counterfeited in enormous quantities, and sent to agents, who by high-sounding advertisements, and under cover of a "Stamp Company" with a name as long as your arm, and with a prospectus more glowing than the prospectus of De Lesseps's Panama Canal Company, sold these counterfeits to the beginner as "great bargains." Master Jones envied his neighbor's collection because it contained some stamps which cost twenty-five or fifty cents each. But by chance Master Jones receives one of these glowing circulars from "The Great American Stamp Company" (with agencies in the principal cities), offering unheard-of bargains. A country has become bankrupt, or some enterprising member of the firm has persuaded a postal administration to sell to him for waste paper its stock of uncurrent stamps, and hence he is able to sell these great rarities for a mere trifle. Master Jones takes the bait, sends off his little earnings, and if he receives an answer at all—in nine cases out of ten he receives nothing—he is amazed to find a large assortment of rare stamps, some fresh and[Pg 515] clean, others nicely cancelled, but all tending to make Master Jones feel that he will soon humble the pride of his neighbor. Like older human nature, he keeps his purchases secret, as he wishes his victory to be a most glorious one for himself, the defeat a most humiliating one to his neighbor. But sooner or later Master Jones finds that he has been made a dupe. Not one of the stamps he has purchased is genuine. Those so nicely cancelled are as bad—in fact, worse than those which are clean. For the counterfeiter, with an ingenuity which might have found employment in better spheres, even counterfeited the government cancelling marks.

Now this is not an imaginary case. It is, rather, the experience of thousands and thousands of collectors, each one of whom has been swindled more or less by this vile trade in counterfeit stamps. It is impossible to estimate the injury resulting to Philately. If it were the dimes and quarters thrown away which alone were to be considered, the loss might be repaired. But it is the disgust, the doubt, following the disclosure, that cause thousands of young collectors, who were enthusiastic in their new hobby, to throw away their collections, and betake themselves to other pastimes.

But it is not always upon the beginner that the counterfeiter or the dealer in fraudulent stamps tries his hand. The trash that he sold to the beginner was in truth trash, and trash of the worst sort. When he could not succeed in getting copies of the wood-cuts that adorned the pages of many of the stamp journals, he had wood-cuts made, most miserable in execution, which could never have deceived the collector who at any time had caught sight of the genuine stamp. The counterfeiter often tried his hand at imitating the rare stamps, and in this, even among collectors who claimed to a certain knowledge of what is good and what is bad in stamps, he met with some success. In these cases, to give plausibility to his specimens, he charged a very high price for them. These counterfeits are of the finest execution.

In many countries, when the supply of low values runs out, the higher values are utilized by printing on the face of the stamps the expression of the value needed. And in other countries, notably many of the Portuguese colonies, the stamps of the home country are made to do service by having printed on them the name of the colony in which those stamps are to be used. The counterfeiter has stepped in here, obtained the genuine stamps before alteration, and then printed upon them a forged inscription either of place or value. They are very dangerous, of course, but not half so dangerous as a late trick which has been exposed. Many stamps are printed on water-marked paper. Water-marked paper has, so far, escaped the counterfeiter's arts. But it seems that some sheets of the water-marked paper on which were printed the stamps of Tuscany were obtained in some way or other from the post-office, and on these the counterfeiter printed forgeries of the rare Tuscan stamps. However suspicious the stamp itself seemed, it was printed on water-marked paper, and as this had not yet been proved to be counterfeited, the stamps would readily pass. Exposure came, but not until the forger had made many dupes, and had pocketed his ill-gotten gain.

Besides these counterfeits which are made exclusively for the collector, and which, therefore, are worth nothing, is another class of counterfeits which have been made exclusively to swindle governments. Because of this fact, and because many of them have actually franked letters through the post, these counterfeits are more valuable to the collector than the corresponding genuine specimens.

To give all the facts concerning counterfeit stamps, and the means of distinguishing them from the genuine, would take up every line of Young People for many mouths to come. This of course it is impossible to do. But a few words of caution will not be out of place. If you decide to purchase, deal only with dealers of established reputation, and require a written guarantee that the stamps sold are genuine. Have no transactions with "Stamp Companies," which so often have been proved to be cloaks for swindling concerns. Keep clear of great bargains. Remember that stamps have a market value, and that any great departure from this value is suspicious.

There are no counterfeits of United States stamps or stamped envelopes, except in two instances: 1. The 5-cent and 10-cent stamps of the 1845 or first government issues have been counterfeited by the Post-office Department, although the genuine dies and plates are still in existence. These the government sells at face value; but to the philatelist they are worthless. 2. Stamped envelopes of the 1860 issue—1-cent, 3-cent, 4-cent, 6-cent, and 10-cent. Genuine specimens of these envelopes are worth from twenty-five cents for the 1-cent envelope, to fifty or seventy-five dollars for the 10-cent envelope. But the counterfeits were sold for a few cents each.

In fine, if you have any doubt about your specimens, send them to some advanced collector for his opinion, taking care to inclose as much postage for the return of your stamps as you placed on your letter when you sent it. I shall be happy at all times to give any of my young friends all the advice which they may require about their specimens.

A CHILD OF SOUTHERN GERMANY.

## THE APPRENTICE'S LEAP.

### A STORY OF LONDON BRIDGE.

### BY DAVID KER.

Sunset over London, on a fine summer evening in the days of "good Queen Bess"; tall, quaint old houses, with peaked roofs and countless gables, standing up on every side, and the Thames lying in the midst like a broad sheet of gold, save where it was flecked by the dark shadow of London Bridge, then a regular street, with houses along each side of it.

Just above the middle arch rose a house larger than the rest—that of Sir William Hewet, cloth-worker, and Burgess of the city of London. The sunset made a glory upon the windows of the old mansion, and lighted up the balcony, on which Sir William's baby daughter was crowing and clapping her tiny hands with glee at the sight of it, and stole into the work-room, where the youngest apprentice, Edward Osborne, was beguiling his task by singing the ballad of "Brave Lord Willoughby," which was as popular in that age as "Glory Hallelujah" is in this.

"Ah, if I could but have the chance of doing such a deed as that!" murmured the boy as he ended.

"Well, well, my brave lad," answered the cheery voice of old Sir William, who had entered the room unperceived, "you're on the right road to it by being diligent at your work. Keep to that meanwhile, and never fear but the chance of doing great deeds will come all in good time."

Little did either speaker or hearer guess how soon and in what way those words were to come true. Scarcely had the old knight left the room when the boy was startled by a sudden shriek from the balcony overhead, and by something white flashing past the window into the depth below. Sir William Hewet's only child had leaped out of her nurse's arms, and fallen headlong into the river.

The faint splash was instantly answered by a much louder one, and the distracted household, as they rushed in a body to the fatal balcony, saw Edward Osborne's brown curly head far down the shining stream, shooting straight as an arrow toward the tiny white speck that floated a little way beyond him.

"He has her!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No, he's gone past. Stay! he's turning again."

[Pg 516]

"Hurrah! he's got her at last. Thank God!"

The anxious father's straining eyes were already too dim to see anything clearly; but the joyous shout of his keen-eyed serving-men told him that all was well, and in another moment he was hurrying toward the scene of action as fast as his feet could carry him.

But the peril was not over yet. Good swimmer as he was, the furious swirl of the current, together with the weight of his own wet clothes and those of the child, was fearful odds against the brave apprentice. Twice his head dipped below the surface, and all seemed over; but he still held the rescued infant above the water with one hand, while struggling for life with the other.

"Courage, my hearty!" said a hoarse voice beside him. "Hold up just another minute, and all's well."

At the same moment a boat pulled by two sturdy watermen, who had put off from the shore on the first alarm, came sweeping up to the sinking boy. A strong hand caught the child from his failing grasp, while in another instant he was seized and dragged into the boat after her, just as the last remnant of his overtasked strength gave way.

"Git her head round, Tom," said one of the boatmen to his comrade, "and pull with a will, for that's the youngster's father running this way, or I'm much mistaken."

Scarcely had the boat touched the wharf on her return, when old Hewet sprang into her like a madman, and finding his child unhurt, flung his arms round the neck of the half-drowned apprentice.

"God bless thee, my son!" cried he, fervently. "Let them never call thee a boy again, for few men would have dared as much."

"Let them call him a hero," said a voice from behind.

The boy looked up with a start. Beside him stood the handsomest man he had ever seen, in a rich court dress, looking down upon him with grave, kindly eyes. It was Sir Walter Raleigh, famous even then as one of the greatest men whom England had ever produced, but destined to become more famous still as the colonizer of Virginia.

Ten years from that day there was a great merry-making in the old house on London Bridge, and Sir William Hewet, still brisk and cheery as ever, though his hair was now white as snow, sat at the head of his own table, amid a circle of guests whose names are in every history of England. At his right hand was his daughter's newly made husband—a tall, fine-looking young man, whose clear bright eyes faced that brilliant assemblage as boldly as they had looked down into the foaming waters of the Thames years before.

"This is the man to whom I have given my girl, fair sirs," said the old knight. "Many a rich man and many a grandee have asked me for her; but I always said, 'Let the best man win.'"

"And so he has," cried Sir Walter Raleigh, grasping Osborne's hand; "and the fairest lass in London may be proud to bear his name, for I'll warrant it will be famous yet."

Raleigh spoke truly. A month later, the ex-apprentice was Sir Edward Osborne; yet a few years, and he had become Sheriff; and when the Spanish Armada came, foremost among the defenders of England was Osborne, Lord Mayor of London, from whom the English Dukes of Leeds are still proud to trace their descent.

#### LETTING THE OLD CAT DIE.—Drawn by Jessie McDermott.

[Pg 517]

#### [Begun in No. 80 of Harper's Young People, May 10.]

## THE CRUISE OF THE "GHOST."

### BY W. L. ALDEN,

Author of "The Moral Pirates," etc.

### Chapter VI.

When the boys awoke, soon after dawn, a thick fog hid everything except the oyster sloop from their view. The crew of the latter were already on deck, and as soon as the Captain saw that the boys were putting away their blankets, and getting out their breakfast dishes, he invited them to come to breakfast. There is nothing more cheerless than cooking your own breakfast in a cold wet fog, and the young yachtsmen, who were feeling rather tired in consequence of loss of sleep and the excitement of the previous night, were glad to accept the Captain's invitation. Harry, foreseeing that the oystermen's coffee would not be quite suited to his fastidious taste, and also desiring to make some return for the Captain's kindness, asked to be allowed to furnish the breakfast table with coffee made by himself. The oystermen were pleased with the proposal, and Harry, taking the Ghost's coffee-pot to the galley, made what the Captain declared was the "bulliest" coffee he had ever drank.

They sat down to breakfast in the cozy little cabin of the sloop, and the Captain told them all about the oyster fishery. He was on his way to Amityville, where he lived, with a cargo of clams; for during the summer months, when there was no demand for oysters, he loaded his vessel with clams and scallops, which are in season all the year round. He prophesied that the fog would last all day, but assured the boys that by steering due northeast by compass, they would reach the northern shore of the bay, and could then safely pursue their voyage by keeping close to the land, where the deepest water in the Great South Bay is usually found. During the night the tide had ebbed, leaving the sloop aground in the mud, and it would be several hours before she would be afloat again. The boys would have preferred to let the sloop lead the way, and to follow her through the fog, but they did not care to wait until she would be afloat. So bidding their new friends good-by, they hoisted their sails, and with a fair breeze, just strong enough to give their boat steerage-way, they started to cross the bay.

They neither saw nor heard any other boats during the hour that they sailed silently on the course given them by the Captain of the sloop. At first they felt a little nervous, and had a dread of being run down by some big schooner or other craft; but in a little while they began to enjoy the novelty of sailing in a dense fog, and were rather sorry when the Ghost unexpectedly ran her bow against the low shore of the mainland of Long Island.

What to do next was the question. Nobody wanted to spend the day moored to the shore, and waiting for the fog to lift; and as Charley, in consulting the chart, found that the shore-line was very irregular, indented with a succession of long narrow bays separated by low sandy capes, neither he nor his comrades liked the idea of keeping close to it, and thus wasting time in a very uninteresting way. While they were still studying the chart, they heard what was evidently a breakfast bell ringing a little to the west of them.

"That bell must be in Amityville," said Charley, "and we must be close by this little creek that is laid down on the chart. Now let's find that creek, and then we'll know exactly where we are, and can tell what course to steer without following the shore."

"I'll go ashore," said Harry, "and hunt up the creek, and get some eggs, and a loaf of bread. It will be twice as much fun to sail straight ahead through the fog as it would be to keep along shore, just as if the Ghost was a canal-boat."

"I'll go with you," said Joe. "I am getting the cramps sitting still in this boat so long."

The two explorers stepped ashore, and immediately vanished in the fog. Charley and Tom presently heard a dismal exclamation in Joe's unmistakable voice, and in a short time he returned, announcing that the creek was only three or four boat-lengths distant. He was dripping with water, having found the creek by unexpectedly walking into it from off a boat-landing.

"Wet again, boys," he remarked, sadly, as he proceeded to find a dry shirt and trousers. "The next time we go cruising, I'm going to wear a water-proof suit like Captain Boyton's. This is our fourth day out, and I've fallen overboard twice, been rained on once, and walked off a pier once. I wonder how it would do to rub myself all over with oil. Do you think I'd shed water then?"

"You couldn't rub yourself with oil, and then put your clothes on, without getting them all greasy," observed Tom.

"Then I won't try oil; but the least you fellows can do is to wring me out. I can never get myself dry by rubbing with a towel."

"We'll wring you as soon as we get time," said Charley, kindly. "We'll begin with your neck, if you say so. But here comes Harry with the provisions. Shove the boat off, Tom, and we'll steer for a big cape that is just this side of Islip. The end of the cape ought to bear just east-northeast from the mouth of the creek Joe discovered."

IN THE GREAT SOUTH BAY.

The Ghost was soon under sail again, and the shore was lost in the fog. The breeze freshened a little, but the fog remained as thick as ever. Occasionally a fog-horn could be faintly heard in the distance, but whether it was blown on board a vessel on the bay, or a vessel at sea a little distance beyond the beach, it was impossible to tell.

"We ought to have brought a horn along with us," remarked[Pg 518] Charley; "and it would be a good idea to stop somewhere and buy one. We ought to have green and red side-lights too. We haven't any right to sail at night without them."

"Why don't you insist on having a surgeon and a chaplain, and two or three life-boats, while you're about it?" said Joe. "You forget that the Ghost isn't a man-of-war going on a three years' cruise. We can get along without such luxuries as side-lights and surgeons. I'll tell you one thing we do want, though."

"What's that?" asked Charley.

"We want somebody on the look-out in a fog like this."

"That's so," exclaimed Charley. "I forgot all about it. Go to the bow, Joe, and keep the sharpest kind of a look-out. Boys, I'm not fit to be Captain, for I've neglected one of the first duties of an officer."

"We'll forgive you," said Harry. "Especially as I don't believe there's another boat on the bay to-day."

"Of course there isn't really much danger of running into anything, unless it may be a sloop lying at anchor. Still, we—"

"What's that?" exclaimed Tom.

"Sail on the port bow!" yelled Joe, at the top of his lungs.

While Joe was still speaking, the mainsail of a big cat-boat suddenly loomed up through the fog, and before the least thing could be done to avoid a collision, the strange boat struck the Ghost amidships, and a chorus of girls' voices cried out, "Oh, my!"

"No harm done," called out Charley. "Let go the jib-sheet, Joe. Now hold on to the side of that boat, boys, and don't let her get away till we see if she is damaged." So saying, he put the helm hard down, bringing the Ghost up into the wind. The other boat had already dropped her sail, and the two vessels were soon lying quietly side by side.

On board the cat-boat were four girls, three of them about fourteen years old, and the fourth about ten. There was also a boy, who did not seem to be as old as Joe, but who was apparently one of the "Bay boys," who spend most of their time during the summer in sailing boats of various kinds, and who at twelve years old are often thoroughly good sailors. The boy did not seem in the least alarmed, but the girls were terribly frightened.

"Do, please, help us," implored the tallest and prettiest of the four, addressing Charley almost as respectfully as if he were a man. "We are awfully afraid to be out here in this fog."

"May I ask how you came to be out here?" asked Charley.

"Why, we started to go on a fishing picnic, and there wasn't any fog when we started. Father and all the ladies and gentlemen are in the other boat, and we've got all the provisions. We were going to an island somewhere—I don't know where—to have dinner, and to go fishing; but the fog came up, and we got lost, and we're so frightened!"

"I ain't lost very much," said the Bay boy; "that is, I can find my way back to the shore by the wind; but I hain't got no compass, and I don't feel very sure about fetching the island."

"When did the fog come up?" asked Charley.

"About three hours ago. It come up from the south-west, and if you've come that way, you've had it longer than we have."

"I don't exactly see how we can help you," said Charley to the girl who had spoken to him; "but we'll all be delighted to do anything we can. If you like, we'll keep together, and try to find the island."

"Oh, I do wish you would!" exclaimed the girl. "It's so dreadful to be all alone in this awful fog."

"Do you know how the island bears from the place where you started from?" Charley asked the Bay boy.

"Put me back there, and give me a compass, and I could hit it to an inch. Just try me once."

"We've got a compass," said Charley. "Let's run over to the shore and get our bearings, and then we'll head for the island."

This proposal delighted the girls, and accordingly both boats set their sails again, and running side by side, soon reached the shore. The Bay boy declared that he now knew exactly where he was, and what course to steer for the island.

"We want to steer a little east of south, and we'll fetch it," he said. "You go ahead with your boat, and keep her south, half east, and I'll follow right after you."

"You won't run away from us, will you, sir?" asked the pretty girl: and Charley thought that he had never seen anything half so pretty before.

"If you don't mind," he said, "I'll come on board your boat, and then you'll feel sure that our boats will keep together. Only you mustn't call me 'sir.' You take the helm, Tom," he continued, "and keep her south, half east; and you'd better slack the peak a little, or else you'll out-sail us."

Without waiting to have his offer accepted, Charley sprang on board the cat-boat, and after trimming the sheet, sat down, half frightened at his rashness in thrusting himself among a boat-load of girls.

"Are you staying near here, sir?" asked the pretty girl.

"No. We're from New York, and bound on a cruise through the South Bay. That is, the other boys are from New York, but I am from Annapolis. I'm in the navy."

"In the navy!" exclaimed all the girls together. "Aren't we in luck, Nina," added one of them, addressing the girl who had won Charley's admiration, "to have a naval officer to take care of us? Now I don't mind the fog one bit."

"I'm not much of an officer yet," said Charley, laughing; "and you've got somebody here who can manage a sail-boat better than I can."

"Are you a lieutenant, sir, or a captain of the fore-top?" asked Nina.

"I'm only a cadet midshipman; but you really mustn't call me 'sir.' My name is Charley Smith, and I'd be awfully obliged if you'd call me Charley."

"And mine's Nina Stone; and as everybody calls me Nina, I suppose you ought to."

So in a few minutes Charley and Nina were talking like old friends, and the young Captain of the Ghost found the time pass so pleasantly that he was sorry when, after a long sail, the island was reached, and the missing boat found at anchor, with all her passengers engaged in fishing for weak-fish.

Mr. Stone, the father of the pretty Nina, was greatly relieved at the arrival of his daughter; and when she had told him how the Ghost and her Captain had gone out of their way to escort the cat-boat to the island, he shook Charley and his companions warmly by the hand, and insisted that they should stay and join the picnic party at dinner. The fog was already beginning to grow thinner, and there was every prospect that it would soon vanish, and that the sun would come out. The boys were getting hungry, and were not at all averse to spending the afternoon in fishing. So they accepted Mr. Stone's invitation, and the whole party went ashore, and had a delicious dinner of fresh weak-fish, broiled on the coals. After dinner they went on board the boats, pushed out in the channel, and anchoring, devoted the rest of the day to fishing. The sun was now shining brightly, the fish were abundant and ravenous, and the pretty Nina was fishing by the side of Charley, who baited her hook, and took off her fish as fast as she caught them. When the two cat-boats finally hauled up their anchors, and prepared to return home, the boys felt as if they were parting from old friends. Mr. Stone invited them all to come and see him in New York, and[Pg 519] Miss Nina told Charley that she should never forget his kindness to her. When her handkerchief could no longer be seen waving over the waters, Charley said that he was tired of fishing, and thought the cabin had better be rigged up, and that all hands had better turn in early.

It was a rather gloomy ending of a delightful day. The young Captain evidently felt very little inclined to talk.

"If we meet any more pretty girls," whispered Joe to Harry, as they were lashing down the sides of the cabin, "we'll have to get a new Captain. I can't see what some fellows see in girls. They can't play foot-ball, nor wrestle, nor do anything rational, and I'd like to know what use they are, anyway."

"Girls are all very well in their place," said Harry; "but I don't think they ought to go sailing. They can do sums, for instance, for my sister does mine for me sometimes. But I say, that was a pretty girl, though, wasn't she? and she seemed real nice and jolly."

"She's the best girl I ever met," exclaimed Tom.

"That's so," said Joe. "I was only pretending not to think so, because I didn't want to make Charley jealous. I tell you what, boys, we'll get her to go fishing again with us some day."

#### [to be continued.]

"IN THE BARN."—From a Painting by H. Allingham.

## HOW TOM RAN THE ENGINE WITHOUT WOOD OR WATER.

### BY CHARLES BARNARD.

Once upon a time a rich man built a school for boys, in which they might study surveying, engineering, mechanics, and the sciences one needs to know to be a railroad man. This man began life as a train-boy, and steadily pushed his way up to be fireman, engineer, master-mechanic, and finally President of a railroad. He often said his own chance in life would have been better if he could have gone to school when a boy, and learned from books about steam and engines, levels, inclines, and curves, before he undertook to fire a boiler or take a locomotive over the road. As it was, he got his education by hard knocks, heavy work on the engine's foot-plate, and weary toil in the machine-shop. So it happened he built the school close to the repair shops of the road of which he was President. He put good teachers and good books in the school, and then opened it, free, to the sons of the brakemen, conductors, engineers, and other men employed on the line. In the school the boys were to study the science of the railroad and locomotive, and then, if they afterward went to work on the road, they would not have such a hard time as the train-boy who became President.

Twice every year the President offered a Waltham watch as a prize to the boy in the school who should write the best composition on any subject connected with the things they had been studying, or anything in relation to engines or railroads. Tom Stayboltt, whose father was conductor on the night express, had been in the school three years, and had tried five times for the prize, and lost it every time. Tom was regarded by all the scholars as the brightest boy in the school. He stuttered in his speech, and his handwriting was as stiff as a switch-rod, yet he was always at the head of his class. You could never trip him on any knotty questions as to whether the cylinders were on top of the boilers or under the tender. He knew the name and use of every bit of metal in an engine, and it was believed by all the boys that he was a good engineer, and could take his father's train right through to the Junction, without running past a red light, or wasting steam on the down grades.

The semi-annual prize had been announced, and nearly every boy in the school was busy over his composition.

"I-i-it's no use, b-b-boys. I shall not try for the p-p-prize. I can't write, and I never can t-t-tell—tell what I know. If they would give a prize for doing something, I think I might g-g-get—get it."

Tom was a great favorite in the school, and not one of the boys laughed at this speech. They were taught manners, as well as mechanics, in that school, and the boys well knew that what Tom said was true. They might write compositions and get prizes, but when it came to doing the things, why, Tom Stayboltt would beat them all.

The day of the prize-giving drew near, and every boy save Tom was hard at work over his composition. He had tried five times, and each time the teachers had said his composition was very bad indeed, with the wrong words, awkward sentences, and punctuation that was truly awful. Now it happened that the day before the prize was to be given, a new locomotive arrived on the railroad, and stood, without wood or water, on the track of the repair-shop yard. It had been hauled up on the freight train, and had never been used on the road. After school a number of the boys went over to the yard to see the new engine, and among them was Tom Stayboltt.

It was a first-class passenger engine, built for high speed, and looking very handsome in its new paint and shining brass work. There were several men looking at the engine as the boys came up, and they gathered round to hear what might be said.

"An empty engine," remarked one of the men, "always seems to me a very helpless thing. It is so big and heavy, it is impossible to move it without steam-power, and yet it will not only move itself, but will drag many times its weight at forty miles an hour over the line."

"It is not the engine that moves," said another man. "It's the wood or coal and water—the fuel and steam. If it were not for the fire and water inside, it could never move at all."

"I can make her go without w-w-w-wood—wood or water."

This remark caused a laugh from the boys, and even the men smiled at the absurd statement. One man came over to where Tom stood, and said, "How would you do that, my boy?"

"I'd rather n-n-not—not tell."

"Why not?"

"Because I n-n-never t-t-tried—tried it."

"Oh, you mean you think you could, but you have never proved your theory by experiment."

"Y-y-yes—yes, sir."

The men and boys became wonderfully interested in this conversation, for it was clear that Tom Stayboltt knew what he was talking about.

"Do you belong to the Railroad School?"

"Y-y-yes—yes, sir."

"You mean to try for the prize, I suppose?"

"No, sir. My handwriting is as crooked as a r-r-ram's h-h-horn—ram's horn."

After that, nothing more of importance was said, and the boys, having looked over the engine to their hearts' content, went home.

The next day at ten o'clock the entire school was marched into the lecture-room of the school building to see the prize watch given by the President to the boy who had written the best composition. All the teachers were there, together with the fathers and mothers of the boys, visitors, and people connected with the railroad. This prize-giving was regarded as a great event along the line, and every man, from engine-wipers to directors, wanted to be on hand to see whose son carried off the prize. At 10.15, railroad time, the President and the Honorable Directors, with their wives and daughters, marched in and took seats on the platform, while all the boys stood up as a matter of respect to the founder of the school. It was altogether quite a grand and ceremonious affair, and was for the boys an impressive occasion. When the directors and the ladies were seated, the boys sat down. Then[Pg 520] there was a speech from the head master, followed by one from a director, and one from the President's wife. Then it came the President's turn to give out the prizes. All the compositions, neatly tied up in red tape, were laid on the desk, and when he stood up he brushed them all one side, as if he did not care much for compositions. His speech was short and very peculiar.

"Ladies and gentlemen, and boys of the school, I have carefully read all the compositions, and while I think they are all excellent, I have decided that this time the chance to win the prize shall be open to those who did not write a composition."

This was a great surprise, and the boys wondered how this was to be done. They knew the President was a just and honorable man, and would do nothing unfair; so they accepted what he said in silence, though those who had written the compositions were, of course, somewhat disappointed.

"Yesterday," continued the President, "I heard one of the boys say he could run a locomotive engine without[Pg 521] wood or water. If he can do it, he shall have the prize. Is the boy present?"

There was a solemn hush in the room. Every one looked about, and wondered if the audacious and foolish boy was there. Of course it could not be done, and the President had taken this means to punish him for his vain and idle boasting. As for Tom Stayboltt, he felt ready to sink through the floor. Something must be done about it, and in a moment he stood up, and said, in a clear, manly voice,

"I said so, sir; and if you will give me the engine, and Jerry Smith's Mogul, I'll do it."

The sudden appearance of little Tom Stayboltt, pale and yet calm, and the clear voice without a defect, caused a great sensation, and every one turned in wonder to look at him. Some of the ladies wanted to know what the boy meant by "Jerry Smith's Mogul," and the gentlemen with them explained that it was a heavy freight engine of the "Mogul" pattern run by Mr. J. Smith.

The President called Tom up to the platform, and for a moment or two there was a whispered conversation between Tom, the head-master of the school, and the President. Every one looked on with the greatest interest, and wondered what would happen next. Tom seemed to have convinced the two gentlemen that he knew exactly what he was talking about, for the President smiled and shook Tom by the hand, and then[Pg 522] stood up and said to all the people:

"When I heard Master Stayboltt say yesterday afternoon he could run the engine, I resolved to give him a chance. I therefore ordered a train to be got ready, and I now invite the school and all their friends to go to the station. We will take the engine out on the line, and Master Stayboltt shall try for the prize by running the engine a mile without wood or water. The engine has never been used, except on its trial trip, and there is not a quart of water in the boiler or tank, nor a pound of coal, or so much as a match, on the tender."

This proposal was received with the greatest enthusiasm, and the entire company, ladies and gentlemen, teachers, boys, and all, marched down to the station, and took a train of cars they found all ready for them. A heavy "Mogul" engine backed up and took the train over to the repair-shop yard, where the new engine stood. Several of the directors got out and examined the engine, and declared there was no fuel in the tender nor a drop of water in the boiler. The train was backed up to the front of the engine, and it was coupled on. Every one got on board, and the train hauled out of the yard, and took the main line, with the empty engine trailing behind. As for Master Stayboltt, they put him on the engine, and made him ride there all alone.

Tom didn't care; in fact, this was just what he wanted. The train ran at a good speed for about ten miles into the country. Then it stopped, and everybody hurried out to see the performance—or the failure. The road just here was perfectly level, and there was a switch and siding. The train was uncoupled from the engine, and run into the siding, out of the way, and flag-men were sent up and down the line to stop all trains that might interfere with the show. The people gathered round the cold and silent engine, standing in a crowd on the grass by the line. Tom still sat in the engine, and when everything was ready, the President said that Master Stayboltt might now try for the prize.

The idea of that boy making an engine go a mile! It was very silly in him, and no doubt he would now be properly punished for his vain boasting.

"Are you ready, sir?"

"Y-y-yes—yes, sir."

"Then go ahead."

The people stood looking on, and quite ready to laugh at the poor boy's failure. Ah! she moves. The big wheels turn slowly, and the cold and silent engine rolled slowly backward. For an instant there was a laugh. She was going the wrong way. She moved faster and faster, and the laugh died away. Ah! she's slowing up. She has stopped. It's a failure. No. Tom could be seen turning the reversing bar. The engine gave one loud whistle, and started ahead. Faster and faster! On it came, and rushed past all the people, at twenty miles an hour. How the people cheered and cheered! It was wonderful. Tom was looking straight ahead, like a good engineer. The ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and the boys shouted until they were hoarse. Tom Stayboltt had won the prize.

The engine ran on about half a mile, stopped, and then came slowly back, and stopped just before the President's pretty daughters. Tom came to the window, and took off his hat and bowed politely to the ladies.

"How much pressure have you, Master Engineer?" said the President.

"T-t-twenty—twenty pounds, sir."

Then the school gave three cheers for Tom, and three more for the President, for every one said it was far better to do something than to write the best composition ever seen. Of course every one wished to know just how it was done, and to make it all clear, the President mounted a pile of sleepers, and told them the whole story.

"You all know that in a steam-engine is a boiler and a furnace, or fire-box. Water is put in the boiler, and a fire is made in the furnace precisely as in a tea-kettle on a stove. The water boils in the tea-kettle, and we see the steam escape. In the engine the steam is locked in, and can not escape, and very soon it becomes crowded, and if still kept locked in, it will burst the boiler. Before this can happen, the engineer opens a valve, and permits the steam to enter two oblong iron boxes, called the cylinders. Here it meets a piece of metal, called the piston, that fits the inside of the cylinder pretty closely. It can not get past, and so it pushes the piston away to the other end of the cylinder. As soon as this happens, the valves close of their own accord, and the steam escapes into the open air with a loud puff. Then the steam enters the other end of the cylinder, and drives the piston back again. In this manner the steam pushes the piston to and fro as it tries to escape from the boiler.

"Now there is a rod fastened to the piston, and passing through the end of the cylinder. Each cylinder has one, and these are connected by means of other rods with the great wheels of the locomotive. You now see that the piston, driven forward and backward, moves the wheels, and thus it is the escaping steam moves the engine. These rods you can see outside the engine; the piston and valves are inside, out of sight.

"Now the air is elastic, like steam, and it may be used in any engine in place of steam. If air is pumped into a tight box like a boiler, it may be locked up, or compressed, and if we were to go on pumping, we might burst the boiler with compressed air. Master Stayboltt knew all this, and he also knew that when an empty engine is dragged along the rails by another engine, as happened on our ride out here, the wheels will turn round, and these move the rods and the pistons, and each cylinder works like a pump. Instead of letting steam out, it pushes air back into the boiler, and very soon the boiler is full of elastic compressed air struggling to get out. Master Stayboltt, as soon as the train stopped, opened the valves, and the air rushed out the way it went in, making the pistons move, and the wheels turn round. Of course the air soon ran out, and the engine stopped. This made no difference to us, for Master Stayboltt clearly showed that he had learned his lessons well, and knew how to apply them."

Then the President's youngest daughter climbed up into the engine, and gave Tom the prize watch. The[Pg 523] boys took him on their shoulders in triumph to the President's car, every one got on board, the flag-men were called in, and the entire party went gayly home with the empty engine trailing behind.

## BEES IN THE MEADOW.

### BY MRS. SANGSTER.

Bees in the meadow,
Birds on the bough,
Bloom on the hill-side—
Play-time is now.
Stones in the pasture,
Weeds in the bed;
Haying and harvest,
Hard work ahead.
Loud sings the robin,
"If you'd be gay,
Take to the work, lad,
The heart of the play."

PUNCH AND JUDY IN A CONVENT.

## PUNCH AND JUDY IN A CONVENT.

Although convents are religious houses occupied by nuns, who, under the names of Sisters of Charity, Mercy, etc., devote their lives to doing good by helping those who are sick or poor or in trouble, many of them are also schools. Young girls are received within their walls as scholars, and although they must all dress just alike, and submit to the strictest kind of discipline, they are trained in habits of simplicity, obedience, and industry that prove of great value to them in after-life.

These convent scholars are only allowed to see their friends from outside the convent walls on one day of the week, and even then in many convents they may only talk to them through iron gratings, as you may see several of the girls doing in the picture.

Although the amusements of the girls are very few, sometimes they are treated to a simple entertainment, such as a Punch-and-Judy show, which they enjoy much more heartily than children who are accustomed to seeing such things very often. In fact, you can see that one of the little girls in the picture is represented as laughing so loudly that the Sister who stands beside her touches her on the shoulder, and tells her that such loud and boisterous mirth is not lady-like nor becoming.

## THE DAISY COT.

### A STORY IN TWO PARTS.

### BY MISS LILLIAS C. DAVIDSON.

### PART I.

It was in a children's hospital. All down the long ward ran two rows of little iron bedsteads, each covered with its own red quilt with the white cross in the middle; but one cot was different from all the rest. It was all of shining brass, to begin with, and it had a little canopy, which none of the others had, and pretty soft curtains of pale blue, with a pattern of white daisies scattered all over them; even the bands that caught back the curtains were wreaths of daisies; and the dainty blue coverlet had the bright little flowers raised on it so naturally that you wanted to try and gather them.

Just opposite it, on the wall, hung a picture of little fleecy lambs, and the Good Shepherd carrying the smallest and weakest in His arms; and the frame of the picture was of daisies too. All down the walls of the ward there hung bright pictures, but none was so pretty as this, and it hung just where any one lying in the cot could see it best.

Everybody in the whole hospital knew the Daisy Cot and its story: and the nurses had to tell it half a dozen times a day, sometimes; for every fresh visitor who came into the girls' ward was sure to say: "What a pretty little bed! What makes it so different from the others?" And then the Sister (they called the nurses "Sisters" there) would tell how the cot and the picture had once belonged to a dear little girl named Daisy, and how, when the angels came and took her away from this world, her heart-broken mother could not bear to look at the empty bed, but sent it here, that some poor sick child might always use it, and stay in it until she was quite well again. More than once, before Sister Theresa's simple tale was done, a bright round drop fell quietly down among the daisies, for some of the visitors were mothers themselves, and couldn't help thinking of the precious babies at home.

One day there was a small excitement all down the ward. Heads popped up from one bed after another, and black eyes and blue exchanged signals, while half a dozen shrill voices at once called across to each other: "Oh, I say, just look here! There's a new Daisy in the cot."

So there was; and such a queer little flower this time! A tiny, tiny girl, with a white still face—as white as any of the daisies on the quilt—and such a wonderful head of tight red-gold curls as none of them had ever seen in all their lives.

"Daisies oughtn't ter have red hair," said one small damsel, with a great idea of the eternal fitness of things.

"Oughtn't they?" laughed the Doctor, who was busy tying a card to the brass rail at the foot of the cot, with the new Daisy's name, and her illness, and the food she was to have, written on it. "But I've seen daisies with red tips in Scotland, I can tell you. All the same, I like the big white ones better. There, nurse," he went on, as Sister Theresa's noiseless step drew near, "there's your new patient; Mercy Trafford is her name, and I shouldn't wonder if a story went with it. What did the people say who brought her in?"

"Yes, there is a story, and a sad one too," said the sweet-voiced Sister. "It seems her mother died last winter, and her father, a poor artist, was killed in a street accident a few weeks ago. Since that, the people in the house where she was have taken some sort of care of her, until last night, when the place caught on fire, and she was just saved from death, poor baby! But there must have been a fall, you know, to account for that broken leg, and the other injuries."

"Humph!" said the Doctor. It was rather a favorite exclamation of his, and had earned him, with some of his lady patients, the character of being a regular bear; but the bear had a warm and tender heart under his great rough coat, and the smallest baby in the hospital would look up in his face with a laugh, and try to snatch at his shaggy locks, as he bent over its crib.

Many, many long days went by before the new Daisy could do anything but lie with closed eyes and a drawn white face. Ah! those were weary, sorrowful days; and sometimes they began to fear the poor wee mite would never run about again, and that made them very sad, for her sweet, patient little ways had taught them all to love her. But at last there came a day when the Doctor looked less grave, and the Sisters nodded to each other over the cot, and said, "I really think she'll do now, do you know?" And then, at last, two big blue eyes opened wide, and a sweet high voice was heard to say, "Oh, please, I is so hungry!"

I don't know why they should all have accepted her from that very moment as the pet of the ward, but so they did; and never did Queen reign with more gracious dignity than did Miss Mercy.

Not that she went by that name, however; for the very first time any one ventured to call her by it, she answered, with stately emphasis, "I not Mercy now; I Daisy." So Daisy it became with everybody from that time forth—except the Doctor, that is.

[Pg 524]

"You a Daisy?" he said, standing before her, with both hands in his pockets. "Fiddlesticks! you're nothing but a white mouse. Mercy's a mistake—it's Mousie;" and Mousie he persisted in calling her.

THE NEW DAISY.

It was not long before she began to catch up the little story she heard so often about her own cot, and "My lady, my tind lady," became her great interest and topic of conversation. She tied up her handkerchief into something like a doll, and called it "my pitty lady," and she would lie and talk to it by the hour together in low cooing tones. Her picture, in its daisy frame, was a great delight too; she had a name for each of the fleecy lambs, and wished them all "dood-morning" as soon as she awoke, in that clear ringing voice of hers. So sweet a voice it was, and so like a bird's, that the Sisters used to declare it was like listening to an angel to hear her sing grace; and you would sometimes see a Sister in white cap and apron speeding down a passage with suspiciously wet eyes, murmuring "Bless her!" as the last "Amen" sounded through the wards.

Christmas-eve came, and with it a grand stir and bustle in the hospital: something was going to happen, though nobody quite knew what. Many and varied were the surmises. "I guess it's going to be real bears and lions from the show," said one girl, who was blessed with a rich imagination; but several nervous little patients shrieked so energetically at the idea that she hastily added, "But perhaps they'll be dead and stuffed." Curiosity had full swing, for each bed had been carefully shut in all day by its own folding-screen, and not a glimpse could be got, even through the cracks, of what was going on in the middle of the room.

DR. SANTA CLAUS.

But at last, when the gas was lit, the Doctor's voice was heard to give a word of command, and all the screens were folded up as if by magic, while a cry of wonder and delight burst from every mouth. The walls were all festooned with evergreens and paper roses, and in the midst there rose a Christmas tree, the most magnificent and imposing tree any of them had ever beheld, lit up with countless brilliant candles, hung with toys and beautiful glittering things, and presided over by— Could it be the Doctor? Oh no; it was a real Santa Claus, who had borrowed the Doctor's voice for that evening only. And with what delightful jokes and funny speeches did he unfasten the strange, beautiful fruit from its tree, and distribute it to the rows of eager, excited little people! There was a present for everybody—even the Sisters were not forgotten; and when all the laughing and rejoicing had begun to subside, and tea came in on the tiny wooden trays, there was not only the usual mug of milk and the well-known pile of bread and butter, but real poached eggs, and actual baked apples too!

As for the little Daisy, she had, besides the toys from the tree, a box of great golden oranges, and a perfectly lovely doll, with eyes that opened and shut, and a head that turned round; and box and dolly were labelled, "For the Daisy Cot, from E. M. B."; and as she had already begun to know from past experience of similar gifts, "E. M. B." was "my tind lady."

Long, long after tea was eaten and cleared away, and the ward tidied up and settled for the night, wee Mercy's blue eyes were still wide open, as she lay with the queer shining rings of red-gold hair pressed into her white pillow. The fact was that the busy brain wouldn't go to sleep; for Mercy was trying with all her baby might to think of something she could give the lady who had been so "tind" to her. But she had nothing of her own—not a single thing; and while impossible visions of dolls and candy and all the possessions which seemed to herself most desirable flitted through her mind, she grew wearier and still more weary, until at last they all ended in the land of dreams.

#### [to be continued.]

[Pg 525]

SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE.—Drawn by S. G. McCutcheon.

## BITS OF ADVICE.

### BY AUNT MARJORIE PRECEPT.

### ABOUT GETTING UP IN THE MORNING.

There are two things that all the boys and girls are fully agreed upon. One is, that bed-time always comes too soon, and the other, that Bridget rings the rising bell shamefully early. Getting up in the morning is a great trial to many of us. We feel so rested and comfortable, and yet so uncommonly sleepy. It seems as though our eyes would never come really wide open, and as for dressing, it is a labor that is appalling. Oh for a good fairy to touch us with her wand, and set us, bright and resolute, right out into the middle of the morning!

The way to get up in the morning is just to do it promptly. The moment you are called, decide at once to rise. Do not wait until mother's gentle voice is tired, and Sister Lucy has determined that she will not call you again, and father comes to the foot of the stair, and calls, very seriously, "William!" "Ebenezer!" "Rebecca!" and you feel that you must rise in a hurry. Do not put off getting up until you can hardly take time to match buttons and hooks, and you can not find which strings belong to each other, and suspenders snap, and buttons fly off boots, and things are generally crooked.

When first you rise, let your thoughts go to God in thankfulness that you are alive and well, and ready to begin another day. Then wash from head to foot, with a sponge and cold water, and dry yourself with a rough crash towel, or take a rub with a stiff flesh-brush. You will feel quite warm and glowing after this exercise, which is the better for being rapidly performed. Dress so neatly and entirely, to the last touch of shoe polish and the last flourish of the hair-brush, that you need think no more about your dress all day. Be sure to attend to your teeth. They are good servants, and have so much work to do that they deserve to be carefully looked after, not with irritating powders, but with a clean brush, pure water, and occasionally a dash of white Castile soap.

[Pg 526]

.

London, England.

> I am one of a large party, and we sailed in the Cunard steamer Atlas from Boston for Liverpool, April 23, at 4 p.m. Our friends stood on the wharf till we could see them no longer, and they had brought us flowers, grapes, eggs, and fresh butter, which we shared with our fellow-travellers.

> The next day was Sunday, and the ship's surgeon read the morning service in the saloon, the sailors dressed up clean and came in, and we sang "Greenland's icy mountains" and "Nearer my God to Thee."

> Not many passengers could come to dinner after the first day, for the sea grew rough, the ship rolled, the dish-racks (called the "fiddle") were put on, and the people were pale and seasick. In a few days they began to come out again; and having good weather, we saw the coast of Ireland May 3. When we stopped at Queenstown we sent up the Stars and Stripes, the English flag, and the flag of the Cunard Line on our mainmast.

> The next day we reached Liverpool. Our trunks were lifted out of the hold, and we landed at 8 o'clock a.m. by a tug, and in a rain. The custom-house officers examined the luggage, and we drove to a hotel. We were glad to get rid of ship clothes, have our baths, and go early into real beds.

> In Liverpool we saw St. George's Hall, and the statues of Queen Victoria and the Prince Consort Albert, and the lions on the gates. Hansoms were driving in the streets, and tulips were blooming.

> The next day, May 5, we started for London, and I will tell about it in my next letter.

Harry G.

Farmer City, Illinois.

> My school was out last week, and I with some other boys have been sprouting potatoes for my uncle Sam, to earn some spending money. I earned one dollar and twenty-five cents this week. We have been building a cave in our yard to keep milk, fruit, and vegetables in instead of a cellar. The country is so flat here that the cellars have to be drained, and that makes them so expensive that a good many people make caves. In making ours we dug down about three feet, then sided up the hollow with heavy timbers which projected two feet above the ground. Then we put a steep roof of boards over the top. At one end we made a door and steps to go down, and at the other end we put up a long square box for a ventilator. Then the roof was covered with dirt about a foot deep and sodded over. The cave looked like a little play house inside.

Harry B. L.

Danbury, Connecticut.

> I want to tell Young People about a funny little chicken. It was born with only one leg and part of another. Papa is going to make it a wooden leg.

> I am twelve years old, and I have had hip-disease all winter. I still wear a heavy weight, and have to stay in bed all the time. My brother brings me Young People every week, and I enjoy it so much!

Georgie E. C.

The Post-office Box has received a long letter from little Johnnie F., of Warrenton, Missouri. It is all about a bird's nest with some dear little eggs in it, which he has found in the orchard near his house, and which nobody is going to disturb until the birdies are hatched and flown away. We can not read one word of his little letter, but his papa assures us that it is the whole story of the finding of the birdies' home, and Master Johnnie himself has drawn a picture of the nest with its five little eggs.

Eden, Georgia.

> I wish some of the little girls who write to the Post-office Box would tell me some of their games. I am nine years old. I live in the country, and I have two little sisters and one brother. One of my sisters is a dear little baby, not much more than a year old. She can say a few words.

Fairley C.

New York City.

> I think what are called sea-beans are those large seeds known as ox-eyes. They are generally dark brown in color, but reddish and gray ones are also found. They do not grow in the sea, but in pods on large trees, which are found everywhere throughout the American tropics. They are very abundant, and the fact that they are often found strewn along sea-beaches, where they have drifted with the tide, may account for their name of sea-bean.

> As they are very hard, they are capable of taking a high polish, and are often made into ornaments of different kinds.

> In Cuba, where these beans are very abundant, they are the object of certain curious superstitions among the native Indian population. They are called ojos de buey (ox-eyes), or cayahabos, a word, the significance of which is evidently key-bean, the trees often growing on the keys and coral islands. The Indian women of Cuba boil these beans in a weak solution of ashes in water until they become soft enough to pierce with a stout wire, when they string them and make rosaries. They also string a bean to hang around the necks of their babies, believing that it will act as a charm against the evil-eye.

> These beans grow very large in Cuba—as large as a good-sized horse-chestnut—and are so very abundant that in many places they cover the forest floor.

R. R.

Letters about the sea-bean have also been received from Charles Uhler, E. Rowland, and others.

Pomona, California.

> Our cat has six cunning babies down in auntie's wood-house. One morning, when they were only a few days old, pussy came very early to get her milk, and she acted so queer that we all noticed her. She would not eat, but kept going to mamma, and mewing real loud. Then she would start down the path, and mew louder than ever, and then turn back when she saw no one was following her. Finally, mamma said pussy must have been frightened by some naughty dog, and was afraid to go back alone. Mamma started to go with her, and puss seemed so happy. She kept frisking about, and rubbing her glossy head on mamma's dress. Mamma was in a hurry to finish some work, so when she had gone half way she turned to come back, but puss lay down in the path, and began to meow so piteously that mamma started on again. When she reached the wood-house, and looked at the kittens, puss was not satisfied, but acted as if she wanted mamma to help her about something. Come to find out, one poor little kitty had fallen into a hole where puss could not reach it. Mamma reached down, and got the cold, half-dead little kit, and put it with the rest, and then pussie's joy knew no bounds, and she expressed her gratitude in every way she could. I wanted all the Young People children to know about this wise, old mother-cat.

Georgie B. C.

> I will give a genuine Indian bow and two arrows to any boy or girl who will send me the largest and most rare amount of stamps (no duplicates). Please send a postal stating how many, and what kind of stamps you will give, and I will accept the best offer.

Frank K. Thomas,
P. O. Box 16, Lansing, Allamakee Co., Iowa.

> My stock of coins and shells is exhausted, but I have some stamps and postmarks for exchange. I will give twelve foreign stamps, for any foreign coin except English; or eight postmarks, for one foreign stamp.

W. M. Waite,
36 Park Street, Lynn, Mass.

> I will exchange a fac-simile of George Washington's signature, for twenty-three common or three rare stamps. It is a genuine fac-simile, for it is not engraved, but traced from his signature in a book given to my great-great-grandfather by General George Washington himself.

George C. Baker, Comstocks, N. Y.

> My brother takes Young People, and we were very sorry when the story of "Toby Tyler" was ended.

> We have five canaries, two old ones and three young ones. My sister's bird is as dark as any wild bird except a blackbird. His name is Bobby. One day mamma was passing through the hall, and heard him making a strange noise. She went to the cage, and found a chicken-snake twined in and out of the wires. She knocked the cage down, and killed the snake, but it had already pulled some feathers out of Bob's tail and neck.

> I would like to exchange wild flowers, for sea-moss or shells—sea-moss preferred.

Jessie Sharp,
Madera, Fresno Co., Cal.

> My stock of lava and fossilized fern is exhausted, but I have some cones and sea-shells that came from Wales, that I would like to exchange for a specimen of amethyst, iron pyrites, or other minerals. I would like to have correspondents write before sending specimens.

Harry C.,
Bergen Point, Hudson Co., N. J.

> My supply of arrow-heads is exhausted, but I will send petrified wood, petrified moss, or postmarks to those correspondents I have not yet answered.

Herbert Hotaling,
P. O. Box 387, Mankato, Minn.

> I will exchange ore, minerals, curiosities from Missouri, stamps, postmarks, pressed holly leaves, petrified wood from Colorado, and curious-shaped rocks from Hot Springs, Arkansas, for good agates, good specimens of ore, or any kind of minerals, or any curiosities except stamps and postmarks. I am especially anxious to obtain sea-shells and ocean curiosities, a good specimen of copper, zinc, or gold, and something from Mexico, South America, or Australia. Specimens must not be less than two inches square. I have a choice collection, and wish to obtain good things for it, and I will send the same in return.

Cora Griffith,
Calumet, Pike Co., Mo.

> I withdraw my exchange which appeared in Young People No. 81, and I now offer twenty-five specimens of minerals, twenty-five specimens of woods, five pieces of Indian pottery, a tomahawk, a stamp album which cost one dollar and twenty-five cents, a pocket mariners' compass, and the numbers of Young People from 4 to 14, Vol. I., containing the stories of "Lady Primrose" and "Photogen and Nycteris," for a printing-press and type. Correspondents will please write describing press, and I will accept the best offer.

Madison Cooper, Jun.,
Evans Mills, Jefferson Co., N. Y.

Olive H. Causey, Putnam, Conn., withdraws her name from our exchange list, and requests parties who are owing her stamps to send them as soon as possible.

Lizzie Henston, Trempealeau, Wis., and Robert W. Sherdton, Toronto, Can., also withdraw their names.

We have received letters from S. Kelley, East Walnut Hills, near Cincinnati, Ohio; George E. Wells, New York city: Minnie Miller, Cincinnati, Ohio; E. P. Snively, Columbus, Ohio; Kenneth McKenzie, Cambridge, Mass.; Harriette B. Woodruff, Lake Mahopac, N. Y.; and Will and S. Hawkins, Steubenville, Ohio—all asking for addresses of careless correspondents, in order that they may make return for favors received. We have no room to specify all the different things which have been received by these correspondents unaccompanied by any address; but if any boys or girls are waiting impatiently to hear from any of them, they must not accuse them of dishonesty or neglect, but blame themselves for carelessness, by which they cause trouble, not only to the correspondent who receives the nameless package, but also to the Post-office Box.

The following exchanges are offered by correspondents:

> One of Scott's International Postage-stamp Albums of 1880, and a collection of six hundred stamps, many rare, for a good foot-ball.

Frank Alabaster, P. O. Box 1423,
Ann Arbor, Washtenaw Co., Mich.

> Stamps, minerals, and curiosities, including fossils, for postage stamps and coins; also, a few United States postal cards of the old issues, with printing on the back, but not otherwise used, for other postal cards or for rare stamps.

L. H. A., Jun.,
41 North Twelfth Street, Philadelphia, Penn.

> Fine flower seeds and pressed ferns and flowers, for minerals, shells, petrifactions, and other interesting curiosities. No stamps wanted.

Freddy Andriessen, Beaver, Beaver Co., Penn.

> Sand and stones from the Falls of St. Anthony, and specimens of wood, cut two and a half inches square, of bass-wood; red and white oak, red and white elm, black and white ash, cottonwood, iron-wood, cherry, red cedar, silver and bird's-eye maple, butternut, and white pine, for soil from the different States and countries, curiosities of any kind, or specimens of wood; same size as above. Foreign woods especially desired. Please state what is desired in exchange, and give name and locality in labelling specimens.

Howard S. Abbott,
1115 Fifth Street, E. D., Minneapolis, Minn.

> Stamps. No duplicates given or taken.

A. P. Bennett,
1301 Forrest Street, Jersey City Heights, N. J.

> Postmarks, for the same. Fifteen postmarks, for five foreign stamps (no duplicates). Also, postmarks and Kansas agates, for Indian relics or curiosities.

Mattie Beck,
Holton, Jackson Co., Kan.

> All kinds of ores, including iron ore from Egypt and Denmark, Irish heather, and foreign stamps, for old American coins.

A Reader of "Young People,"
P. O. Box 59, Cumberland, Md.

> Thirty foreign stamps, for a good Indian relic. Twenty, for Indian arrow-heads. Or stamps, for stamps.

Exchange,
108 West Fifty-seventh Street, New York City.

> Stamps from France, Italy, Germany, and England, for stamps from Egypt, Cape of Good Hope, and Argentine Republic.

John H. Fisher,
Mount Washington, Baltimore Co., Md.

> Rare stamps, minerals, coins, shells from China, insects, and curiosities, for stamps, coins, minerals, fossils, insects, Indian relics, or any good curiosities. Offers received for two Roman coins.

F. F. F., Lock Box 83, St. Johnsbury, Vt.

> A hand fret-saw, for a collection of minerals and Indian curiosities.

Arthur D. Prince,
Corner First and Simpson Streets, Lowell, Mass.

> Twenty foreign stamps (no duplicates) from Denmark, Sweden, and other countries, for an Indian arrow-head. A 90 or a 7 cent United States, for a Shanghai. A Western and a Southern Australian, for an Orange State. A Luxemburg, three Danish, two Swedish, two Norwegian, and three German, for[Pg 527] a French colonies. Shells, for shells. Soil and stone from New Jersey, for the same from any other State.

Edward T. Perine, Plainfield, N. J.

> Postmarks, for pressed wild flowers. Correspondents will please mark name of flowers, and state how many postmarks are required in return.

Ione Watts, care of O. Watts & Co.,
34½ Macdougal Street, New York City.

> A new Rogers scroll-saw (foot-power), for a good bow and arrows, or a stamp collection. Correspondents please write to arrange exchange.

Julius Wieman,
P. O. Box 3149, New York City.

> Foreign coins, for minerals and Indian relics.

Charles Welch,
176 High Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

> An Austrian, a German, a French, and a Bavarian stamp, for a stamp from Newfoundland with design of a fish, or for one from New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, British Columbia, Mexico, Granada, or South America.

G. B. Webster,
P. O. Box 188, Webster Grove, St. Louis Co., Mo.

> Two hundred postage stamps (no duplicates), and some very rare, including stamps from San Salvador, Hawaiian Islands, South and West Australia, Turkey, Egypt, and South Africa, together with a new standard-stamp catalogue, for a new model yacht, with bowsprit, mast, jib, and mainsail, not less than twenty inches long, in good sailing order.

Walter B. Wyman,
108 Sixth Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y.

> Twenty-five postmarks, for one Cape of Good Hope stamp.

Fred S. Allis,
Lock Box 18, Erie, Erie Co., Penn.

> Rare and old United States postage stamps, for any other curiosity. Or type for exchange with any amateur printer.

S. B. Ayres, Jun.,
Penn Yan, Yates Co., N. Y.

> Texas soil, cottonwood, dogwood, or mesquite bark and wood, for rare pressed leaves and flowers from any State except Texas.

M. Anderson and H. Phillips,
P. O. Box 41, Corsicano, Navarro Co., Texas.

> Fifty foreign stamps, for any department stamps, except Treasury and Interior, or for stamps from New Brunswick.

Paul E. Bonner,
463 Waverley Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y.

F. F. F.—There has never been a King or Pope of Rome called Francis.

H. F.—The signals given by steamboats are fully described in Chapter II. of "The Cruise of the 'Ghost,'" published in No. 81 of Harper's Young People.

W. H. K.—It is not true that horse-hairs thrown into a running stream become living snakes, although many people believe that they do. A little city boy of our acquaintance once, when in the country, collected a large quantity of horse-hairs in a barn, and was throwing them into a stream, when an old farmer came along, and asked him what he was doing. "Throwing in horse-hairs," answered the boy, "and to-morrow I'll find 'em all turned into snakes." "Ah, sonny," replied the farmer, "you may watch till you're gray, but you'll never make snakes out of those horse-hairs." The boy was sadly disappointed, but the old farmer was right.

H. H.—Many kinds of toys imported into the United States from Europe are colored by means of poisonous substances, which injure the health of children. The French government has decided to stop the manufacture and sale of such toys in France, and will not hereafter allow them to be imported into that country. They will be seized on the frontier, and confiscated. Children are very much in the habit of putting toys into their mouths, and the colors, if poisonous, are sure to make them ill.

Thomas L.—The city of Brooklyn, Long Island, was originally called Breuckelen, meaning "marshy ground," after a town of that name near Utrecht, in Holland, whence the first settlers came. Instead of buying land on the high and healthy ground along the East River, now known as "Brooklyn Heights," these settlers selected the low and level land about Gowanus Bay, perhaps because it resembled the country of their birth. The first purchase of land was made in 1636, by Willem Arianse Bennet and Jacques Bentyn, who secured from the Indians a tract of 630 acres. The growth of Brooklyn was very slow. Up to the year 1820 it was only a provincial village, and in 1850 it had only about 97,000 inhabitants. It is now the largest grain dépôt in the world, and has a population, according to the census of 1880, of 566,689 people.

G. T. J. H.—See answer to C. N. C. in the Post-office Box of No. 67.

"Subscriber," Kansas.—You can send soil by mail if done up securely in a paper box, or in a very stout piece of wrapping paper. An ounce is the quantity commonly offered by our exchangers.

Alice L. R.—The egg of the Baltimore oriole is light brown, spotted with dark brown. That of the common wren is very small, and reddish-white in color. The bobolink builds its nest on the ground concealed among grass or grain. It lays five or six purplish-white eggs, which are spotted with brown at one end, and blotched all over with dark purple. The meadow-lark also builds her nest on the ground, usually in meadows where the grass is rank and tall. It is a very pretty nest, made of different grassy plants skillfully woven together.

A. A. B.—Crows' eggs are green, spotted with greenish-brown. The eggs of the redwing-blackbird are bluish-white, irregularly mottled with dark purple blotches. Its nest is suspended upon a bush or reeds in wet marshy meadows, often on tufts of cat-tails which are surrounded by water.

C. G.—All letters posted in the United States must be prepaid with United States stamps. Postage on all letters to Java and all other countries included in the Universal Postal Union is five cents for each half-ounce. The postage on a half-ounce letter to Australia, except New South Wales, Victoria, and Queensland, if sent viá San Francisco, is five cents; to New South Wales, Victoria, and Queensland, viá San Francisco, it is twelve cents for each half ounce.

G. A. M.—Wiggles are explained in the Post-office Box of Young People No. 79.

## PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

### No. 1.

### ENIGMA—(To North Star).

In serpent, not in snake.
In river, not in lake.
In chisel, not in saw.
In rent, not in flaw.
In rule, not in reign.
In hair, not in mane.
In carriage, not in cart.
My whole a work of art.

Douglas.

### No. 2.

### DIAMOND.

A letter. A metal. A medicine. An acid. A river in Africa. A vehicle. A letter.

Princess.

### No. 3.

### DIAGONALS.

Across.—A river in Switzerland. A number. A river in France. Void. An American emblem.

Diagonals.—Two rivers in Europe.

Goody Two-Shoes.

### No. 4.

### TWO EASY SQUARES.

1.—1. An infant. 2. To affirm. 3. To pierce. 4. A pitcher.

Pickwick.

2.—1. A verb. 2. Also. 3. A pair of horses. 4. A girl's name.

Laura.

### No. 5.

### GEOGRAPHICAL DOUBLE ACROSTIC.

Cross Words.—A river in Spain. A lake in Minnesota. A river in Italy. An island in the Atlantic Ocean. A country in South America. A river in Spain. A mountain in South America. The capital of one of the United States.

Primals.—A lake in South America.

Finals.—An island in the Mediterranean Sea.

Lady Betty.

## ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 82.

### No. 1.

W | H | E | A | T |  |  | B | I | S | O | N
H | E | A | T |  |  |  | I | R | O | N
E | A | T |  |  |  |  | S | O | N
A | T |  |  |  |  |  | O | N
T |  |  |  |  |  |  | N

### No. 2.

N | E | G | R | O
C | A | I | R | O
T | I | B | E | R
F | A | R | O | E
D | R | A | V | E
| U | L | M
|  | T
| A | A | R
C | O | R | E | A

### No. 3.

Cricket.

### No. 4.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb driven cattle:
Be a hero in the strife.

### No. 5.

1. Harvard College. 2. Maple sugar.

Throwing Light, on page 480.—Penn, pen.

Charade, on page 480—Sinbad.

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from "Abel Faster," Ray B., E. A. Cartereau, A. E. Cressingham, Frank C. F., Marion F., E. M. G., Benjamin Gomprecht, W. B. Hadley, Higginsport, Ohio, F. L. Long, Thomas Lunham, W. A. Lewis, Edith Leonard, Oscar A. Mueller, Bessie H. Moore, "North Star," Harry F. Phillips, "Pepper," "Queen Bess," J. W. Slattery, "Tel E. Graph," Mattie R. Upton, G. Linn Ulmer, Edward Weeks, J. F. Wells, "Will A. Mette," "Will Yum."

## BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS.

In Mr. John Habberton's excellent and popular little book, Who was Paul Grayson?[1] young readers will find a story which is intensely interesting in itself, and at the same time full of instruction. No one can read it without feeling how much better it is to be kind and considerate toward others than to be teasing and thoughtless, especially toward the unfortunate and friendless. The volume is very prettily illustrated from original designs.

The boy readers of Young People, those who are just approaching the important point when a profession must be chosen, will find much to interest them in a small, neat volume entitled West Point and the Military Academy,[2] of which a new and revised edition has just been published. In this little book are full answers to every question which arises in the mind of a youth wishing to gain admittance to the Military Academy. The manner of appointment and the physical and mental requirements are very clearly told, and a model is given of a preliminary examination. There are also some good words of advice to new cadets, and very pleasant pictures of the duties and pleasures of the four years' course. Any young man desiring to obtain a military education at West Point would do well to procure this book and read it carefully before making his final decision, as it will show him in advance what will be expected of him, and what he must expect from others.

Mr. Knox has become well known to Young America as the author of two very popular books published by Harper & Brothers under the general titles of The Boy Travellers in the Far East; and we are confident that his new volume, The Young Nimrods in North America,[3] will find an equally warm reception. It is a story of hunting adventures on land and sea, and is designed to instruct the boys of America in the ways of the hunter's life. A large amount of natural history has been interwoven with the stories of hunting and fishing, the author having sought to instruct as well as to amuse his readers. The illustrations have been carefully chosen with a view to a correct representation of the objects described. The work is unexceptionable in its moral tendency, and it may be safely placed in the hands of boys and girls.

## HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

Single Copies, 4 cents; One Subscription, one year, $1.50; Five Subscriptions, one year, $7.00—payable in advance, postage free.

The Volumes of Harper's Young People commence with the first Number in November of each year.

Subscriptions may begin with any Number. When no time is specified, it will be understood that the subscriber desires to commence with the Number issued after the receipt of the order.

Remittances should be made by Post-Office Money-Order or Draft, to avoid risk of loss.

HARPER & BROTHERS,
Franklin Square, N. Y.

[Pg 528]

Kind-hearted Old Gentleman. "What are you crying for, Bub?"
Poor Boy. "Lost a dime."
K. H. O. G. "Did you drop it in the water?"
P. B. "No, sir. My little brother he dropped in with it."
K. H. O. G. "Gracious me! we must call for assistance."
P. B. "Yes, sir. I want them ten cents awful bad."

## THE NAUGHTY ISLANDS IN NEW YORK STATE.

### A LESSON IN GEOGRAPHY.

There was a lady named Mrs. —— (a city in New Brunswick), who had in her charge —— (three islands in New York State), whose mother was —— (a sea in Europe). The eldest was called —— (a city in Virginia), and-the two younger ones —— (two cities in West Virginia). Their father and uncle were —— (an island in Polynesia), and had, from time to time, sent them a great many presents. Among them was a beautiful —— (islands off the western coast of Africa), a hat made of —— (a city in Italy), and a —— (a river in California) from the —— (a city in France) of a —— (a lake in Canada), and a scarf-pin made of —— (a sea in Polynesia).

One (a lake in Minnesota) day Mrs. —— (a city in New Brunswick) went out to buy three yards of —— (a city in Hindostan), five pounds of —— (an island in Canada), and two pounds of —— (a river in Idaho). As soon as she had gone, these —— (three islands in New York State) thought there would be some —— (an island belonging to Denmark) making a —— (an island in New York State). They could not start it, so they poured on some —— (a country in Europe). Such a blaze! The younger ones were frightened, so —— (the city in Virginia) threw on some (a spring in Nevada) water, that quenched the ——(an island in New York State). (The city in Virginia) received a bad —— (a city in Switzerland). When the fright was over, they all declared they would —— (a cape in North Carolina), and never be found on such a —— (river in Germany) again.

## THROWING A LIGHT.

### BY E. M.

An object of fear and dislike, a boy's—nay, some men's—perfect delight, yet I am, in one sense, a slang word. Never abroad except at night, then I can no longer be used; yet instead of using me, people shun me, and I am of no use. Black and unsightly; yet, made of any wood, I can be as ornamented as my maker desires. I can't be made, for I am a living thing, and am now, as all my type have been before me. Though used in play, I can inflict a blow. I doubt if any one would ever venture to play with me; do not see how it could be done; and it is generally by a blow that I am killed. I can be broken, or lost, or burned, but not killed; but yet, having life, I die; am not lost nor broken. I live in dark places, and fly; do not walk. I can't move; am an instrument in the hands of others, but can make something else fly.

I am sensible to pain, and have always been an object of interest to naturalists. I am of wood—how can I feel?—and am used only in sport, though I can inflict pain. Thousands of me are made every year in this country, and I am the means by which people who become proficient in the use of me earn their living. I am of no use save to destroy insects, and it is somewhat doubtful whether I do that or no.

There are many varieties of me, and I am more often found in warm countries; the using of me is too heating to be much indulged in in the tropics, and hence it is only at the North and West that I am so popular.

A DANCE IN THE MEADOW.

### FOOTNOTES:

[1] Who was Paul Grayson? By John Habberton, author of Helen's Babies, etc. Illustrated. 16mo, pp. 169. New York: Harper & Brothers.

[2] West Point and the Military Academy. By Edward S. Farrow, U.S.A. Second Edition. Revised. 16mo, pp. 75. New York: John Wiley & Sons.

[3] The Young Nimrods in North America. A Book for Boys. By Thomas W. Knox, author of The Boy Travellers in the Far East: Japan and China; The Boy Travellers in the Far East: Siam and Java, etc. Copiously illustrated. 8vo, pp. 299. New York: Harper & Brothers.

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