## The Project Gutenberg eBook of Harper's Young People, June 20, 1882

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Harper's Young People, June 20, 1882

Author: Various

Release date: November 3, 2018 [eBook #58223]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Annie R. McGuire

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, JUNE 20, 1882 ***

MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER.
THE THIRSTY FLOWERS.
THESE MY LITTLE ONES.
WHAT TELEGRAPH POLES ARE MEANT FOR.
LITTLE NYÂGÂNDI.
THE BRAVEST FEAT OF ALL.
A TROPICAL HURRICANE.
ADVICE TO BOYS.
PADDY RYAN'S BIG FISH.
OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.

[Pg 529]

vol. iii.—no. 138. | Published By HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. | price four cents.
Tuesday, June 20, 1882. | Copyright, 1882, by Harper & Brothers. | $1.50 per Year, in Advance.

TOBY AND ABNER ATTENDING THE REHEARSAL.

## MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER[1]

### BY. JAMES OTIS,

Author of "Toby Tyler," "Tim and Tip," etc.

### Chapter XII.

### A REHEARSAL.

When Toby told Uncle Daniel that night of their intention to go on with the work of the long-delayed circus, and that Abner was to ride up to the pasture, where[Pg 530] he could see everything that was going on, the old gentleman shook his head doubtingly; as if he feared the consequence to the invalid, who appeared very much exhausted even by the short ride he had taken.

Abner, interpreting Uncle Daniel's shake of the head the same way Toby did, pleaded hard to be allowed to go, insisting that he would be no more tired sitting in the little carriage than he would in a chair at home; and Aunt Olive joined in the boys' entreaty, promising to arrange the pillows in such a manner that Abner could lie down or sit up as best suited him.

"We'll see what the doctor has to say about it," replied Uncle Daniel, and with much anxiety the boys awaited the physician's coming.

"Go? Why, of course he can go, and it will do him good to be out-of-doors," said the medical gentleman when he made his regular afternoon visit, and Uncle Daniel laid the case before him.

Toby insisted on bringing Mr. Stubbs's brother into the invalid's room as a signal mark of rejoicing at the victory the doctor had won for them, and Abner was so delighted with the funny pranks the monkey played that it would have been difficult to tell by his face that the morning ride had tired him.

Mr. Stubbs's brother was quite as mischievous as a monkey could be; he capered around the room, picking at this thing and looking into that, until Aunt Olive laughed herself tired, and Uncle Daniel declared that if the other monkey was anything like this one, Toby was right when he named him Steve Stubbs, so much did he resemble that gentleman in inquisitiveness.

The day had been so exciting to the boy who had been confined to one room for several weeks that he was quite ready to go to bed when Aunt Olive suggested it; and Toby went about his evening's work with a lighter heart than he had had since the night he found his crippled friend lying so still and death-like in the circus wagon.

The next morning Toby was up some time before the sun peeped in through the crevices of Uncle Daniel's barn to awaken the cows, and he groomed the tiny ponies until their coats shone like satin. The carriage was washed until every portion of it reflected one's face like a mirror, and the harness, with its silver mountings, was free from the slightest suspicion of dirt.

Then, after the cows had been driven to the pasture, Mr. Stubbs's brother was treated to a bath, and was brushed and combed until, losing all patience at such foolishness, he escaped from his too cleanly disposed master, taking refuge on the top of the shed, where he chattered and scolded at a furious rate as he tried to explain that he had no idea of coming down until the curry-comb and brush had been put away.

But when the pony-team was driven up to the door, and Toby decorated the bridles of the little horses with some of Aunt Olive's roses, Mr. Stubbs's brother came down from his high perch, and picked some of the flowers for himself, putting them over his ears to imitate the ponies; then he gravely seated himself in the carriage, and Toby had no difficulty in fastening the cord to his collar again.

Aunt Olive nearly filled the little carriage with pillows so soft that a very small boy would almost have sunk out of sight in them; and in the midst of these Abner was carefully placed, looking for all the world, as Toby said, like a chicken in a nest.

Mr. Stubbs's brother was fastened in the front in such a way that his head came just above the dash-board, over which he looked in the most comical manner possible.

Then Toby squeezed in on one side, declaring he had plenty of room, although there was not more than three square inches of space left on the seat, and even a portion of that was occupied by a fan and some other things Aunt Olive had put in for Abner's use.

Both the boys were in the highest possible state of happiness, and Abner was tucked in until he could hardly have been shaken had he been in a cart instead of a carriage with springs.

"Be sure to keep Abner in the shade, and come home just as soon as he begins to grow tired," cried Aunt Olive, as Toby spoke to the ponies, and they dashed off like a couple of well-trained Newfoundland dogs.

"I'll take care of him like he was wax," cried Toby as they drove out through the gateway, and Mr. Stubbs's brother screamed and chattered with delight, while Abner lay back restful and happy.

It was just the kind of a morning for a ride, and Abner appeared to enjoy it so much that Toby turned the little steeds in the direction of the village, driving fully a mile before going to the pasture.

When they did arrive at the place where the first rehearsal was to be held, they found the partners gathered in full force; and although it was not even then nine o'clock, they had evidently been there some time.

Joe Robinson ran to let the bars down, while the ponies pranced into the field as if they knew they were the objects of admiration from all that party, and they shook their tiny heads until the petals fell from the roses in a shower upon the grass.

Mr. Stubbs's brother stood as erect as possible, and was so excited by the cheers of the boys that he seized the flowers he had tucked over his ears, and flung them at the party in great glee.

The carriage was driven into the shade cast by the alders; the ponies were unharnessed, and fastened where they could have a feast of grass; and Toby was ready for business, or thought he was. But just as he was about to consult with his partners, a scream from both Abner and the monkey caused him to quickly turn toward the carriage.

From the moment they had entered the pasture, Mr. Stubbs's brother had shown the greatest desire to be free; and when he saw his master walking away, while he was still a prisoner, he made such efforts to release himself that he got his body over the dash-board of the carriage, and when Toby looked he was hanging there by the neck as if he had just committed suicide.

Toby ran quickly to the relief of his pet; and when he had released him from his uncomfortable position, the other boys pleaded so hard that Toby gave him his freedom, which he celebrated by scampering across the pasture on all four paws, with his tail curled up over his back like a big letter O.

It seemed very much as if Mr. Stubbs's brother would break up the rehearsal, for he did look so comical as he scampered around that all the partners neglected their business to watch and laugh at him, until Toby reminded them that he could not stay there very long because of Abner's weakness.

Then Bob and Reddy straightened themselves up in a manner befitting circus proprietors, and began their work.

"Leander is goin' to commence the show by playin' 'Yankee Doodle,'" said Bob, as he consulted a few badly written words he had traced on the back of one of his father's business cards, "an' while he's doin' it Joe'll put in an' howl all he knows how, for that's the way the hyenas did at the last circus."

The entire programme was evidently to be carried out that morning, for, as Bob spoke, Leander marched with his accordion and a great deal of dignity to a rock near where a line representing the ring had been cut in the turf.

"Now you'll see how good he can do it," said Bob, with no small amount of pride; and Leander, with his head held so high that it was almost impossible to see his instrument, struck one or two notes as a prelude, while Joe took his station at a point about as far distant from the ring as the door of the tent would probably be.

[Pg 531]

Leander started with the first five or six notes all right, and Joe began some of the most wonderful howling ever heard, which appeared to disconcert the band, for he got entirely off the track of his original tune, and mixed "Yankee Doodle" with "Old Dog Tray" in the most reckless manner, Joe howling the louder at every false note.

Almost every one in that pasture, save possibly the performers themselves, was astonished at the din made by these two small boys; and Mr. Stubbs's brother, who had hung himself up on a tree by his tail, dropped to his feet in the greatest alarm, adding his chatter of fear to the general confusion.

Familiar as he was with circus life, nothing in the experience of Mr. Stubbs's brother had prepared him for a rehearsal such as he now had the honor to attend. There was an amount of noise and a peculiarity about the acrobatic feats that completely upset his nerves.

But the two performers were not to be daunted by anything that could occur; in fact, Joe felt rather proud that his howling was so savage as to frighten the monkey, and he increased his efforts until his face was as red as a nicely boiled beet.

For fully five minutes the overture was continued; then the band stopped and looked around with an air of triumph, while Joe uttered two or three more howls by way of effect, and to show that he could have kept it up longer had it been necessary.

"There! what do you think of that?" asked Reddy, in delight. "You couldn't get much more noise if you had a whole band, could you?"

"It's a good deal of noise," said Toby, not feeling quite at liberty to express exactly his views regarding the music. "But what was it Leander was playin'?"

"I played two tunes," replied Leander, proudly. "I can play 'Yankee Doodle' with the whole of one hand; but I think it sounds better to play that with my thumb an' two fingers, an' 'Old Dog Tray' with the other two fingers. You see, I can give 'em both tunes at once that way."

The monkey went back to the tree as soon as the noise had subsided; but from the way he looked over his shoulder now and then, one could fancy he was getting ready to run at the first sign that it was to commence again.

"Didn't that sound like a whole cageful of hyenas?" asked Joe, as he wiped the perspiration from his face, and came toward his partners. "I can keep that up about as long as Leander can play, only it's awful hard work."

Toby had no doubt as to the truth of that statement; but before he could make any reply, Bob said:

"Now this is where Ben comes in. He starts the show, an' he ends it, an' I sing right after he gets through turnin' hand-springs this first time. Now, Leander, you start the music jest as soon as Ben comes, an' keep it up till he gets through."

Ben was prepared for his portion of the work. His trousers were belted tightly around his waist by a very narrow leather belt, with an enormously large buckle, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up as high as he could get them, in order to give full play to his arms.

"He's been rubbin' goose-grease all over him for as much as two weeks, an' he can bend almost any way," whispered Reddy to Toby, as Ben stood swinging his arms at the entrance to the ring, as if limbering himself for the work to be done.

Leander started "Yankee Doodle" in slow and solemn strains; Ben gathered himself for a mighty effort, and began to go around the ring in a series of hand-springs in true acrobatic style.

#### [to be continued.]

## THE THIRSTY FLOWERS.

### BY MRS. SOPHIE B. HERRICK.

Fill a glass with water, and let a piece of common tape or a strip of muslin hang so that its lower end shall dip into the water, and then notice it: the liquid creeps slowly but surely up the strip. If the end which you have in your hand is dropped on the table beside the glass, the goblet may be entirely emptied, the water running up over the edge of the glass before it runs down again. This behavior of water would seem very queer if we had not noticed something of the kind all our lives. It is caused by what is called capillary attraction. Whenever one part of a material full of fine openings which lead through it is dipped into a liquid, the fluid runs through the whole stuff, even if it has to run upward. Try a lump of sugar: put one corner into your cup of tea or hot milk, and watch it soak the lump through. The burning of a lamp is upon the same principle. The wick serves to carry the oil from the globe of the lamp to feed the flame. As soon as the oil gives out, the light fades and dies away.

Fig. 1.—Cells. A, Leaf of Geranium Flower; B, Leaf of Sorrel.

Every part of a plant needs water: it must be close around every little cell. These cells are the tiny queer-shaped bags full of liquid that are packed close together, and make up the leaves, stems, and flowers of plants. In Fig. 1 you see the cells of a leaf of geranium flower, and one of sorrel or sour grass, which, if you are like the children I know, you have many a time eaten to get the pleasant sour taste. Well, every one of these tiny cells must be kept wet all the time, or the plant will die. The only way we can think of that water could get up into the leaves and flowers from the earth is by capillary attraction, as it runs up the slip of muslin. And if it were not for this singular behavior of water, the only plants in the world would be those that grow in the seas and rivers and lakes. The land would be as barren as the desert of Sahara.

Now try to think of some plant with all the earth away—a tree, for instance—and you will see that it is a sort of double growth; that there is an upside-down tree in the ground, with its trunk and branches and twigs, as well as one above the ground. The under-ground twigs do not bear leaves, but each one of them wears on its head a little cap or helmet to protect the tender growing part from being injured as it pushes its way through the hard earth. The most important parts of a tree are those that seem of least consequence, the rootlets and the leaves. These are to the tree what our mouths and stomachs and our lungs are to us: the roots are the feeders and the leaves the breathing apparatus of plants.

Fig. 2.—Corn Stalk cut across.

As the under-ground tree grows, the tender little roots push their way down into the darkness and cold of the deep soil; they find their way around stones and through great clods of earth, anywhere and everywhere, until they get their little noses into water or damp earth, and then they begin to suck. Sometimes it is only pure water that they take up from the earth, but generally it is a sort of broth—water with plant food dissolved in it.

The roots and stems and leaves are all full of little passageways running upward and branching and dividing until they reach the leaves. Fig. 2 shows a corn stalk cut across. You see some roundish holes, marked a; these are the ends of tubes that run through the stalk. When the corn begins to grow, take a stalk about two feet high, and cut it across; you will see little white spots all over the cut place. This figure is one of those white dots magnified.

Fig. 3.—Plant Mouths.
A, Corn Leaf: B, Bean Leaf, with Mouth: C, Mouth seen Sidewise.

When these tubes come into the leaves, they open into little spaces just under the outside skin of the leaf. These spaces are like the hollow of a mouth, and each one has generally two lips, that are sometimes open and sometimes shut. Through these tiny mouths (Fig. 3) the plant breathes. It draws in air, and it sends out, as you do, a mixture of air and water. If you want to know how[Pg 532] much water there is in your own breath, try holding a piece of cold glass before your mouth.

Plants are not wasteful of the water so necessary to their lives. What they do not use they give back to the air from which it was received, as we make our thank-offerings to God of what He has given us. The roots suck up the water, and each little cell takes a drink as the water passes it, and hands on the rest to the cell just above it. And so the water takes its course, supplying each thirsty cell with drink as it passes, spreading through every part of the plant until it reaches the little mouths. And there all that is left is breathed out in a fine steam which you can not see until it touches some cold substances, and is turned into water again.

Some one who wanted to know exactly how much water was given back to the air by growing plants carefully examined a number of them, and found that a single sunflower gave off in twelve hours a pound and a quarter—enough to fill nearly to the brim three common table goblets. Another plant, the wild cornel, was found to breathe but more than twice its own weight of water in a day and a night.

Fig. 4.—Water-carrying Plants.

In order to find out what parts of the flowers were the principal water-carriers, a deutzia, one of our most delicate and beautiful spring flowers, which you probably know by sight if not by name, was put into some very blue water, colored with a mixture of what is called aniline, and in a little while every vein of the flower was a beautiful dark blue. The poor little blossom was, however, poisoned with its dose, and wilted away in a few minutes (Fig. 4).

The quantity of water that plants breathe off is so great that it makes an entire change in the climate when forests are cut down. Plants, like grasses and small weeds that grow on the surface, of course do not make the same difference, for their roots only go down a little way. But trees are very important: unless the air is kept damp by the sea or some large body of water, it depends very much upon trees for its moisture. Where there are no trees, the rain that does fall sinks into the earth, and runs away in little under-ground currents, and is lost. There are no deep roots to stop this waste, to suck up the water, and restore a large part of it to the air.

Fig. 5.—Cactus.

In places where the rain-fall is frequent, and the air is always kept soft, plants may be as lavish of their water as we are in the great cities where the supply never fails. Plants growing in such places very often keep their mouths open all the time. If this were the habit of those which grow in very dry places, they would soon perish of thirst. On the high Western plains beyond the Mississippi only a few things are able to live. Among these are some kinds of cactus plants, which you have probably seen in greenhouses or as window plants (Fig. 5). The reason why they manage to grow such bulgy leaves and fat stems where there is so little moisture, is because this plant is so very stingy of its water. It hoards it up as the travellers over the great African deserts do, knowing how hard it will be to get more. The roots of the cactus suck up every drop of water they can find, and the leaves keep their millions of little mouths tight shut so as to hold it all. Only such plants can grow on these plains as are able to do with very little water, or else are wise enough to hoard up all they can get. This water we have been talking about is not sap—that is the blood of the plant—but it is like the water we drink, and which not only helps to make the blood, but keeps all of the parts soft and moist so that it may live. The largest part of every living thing is water. It is not without good reason that the Bible so often speaks of the Water of Life, for without water no life could exist for a single hour.

[Pg 533]

## THESE MY LITTLE ONES.

### BY MONA NOEL PATON.

### I.

One very, very wet evening a forlorn little pigeon, with rumpled feathers and weary wings, came knocking at the door of a nursery in which were two children.

They heard the knock, and going to the window, saw to their astonishment, the poor unhappy bird. It was not long before the sash was thrown up, and the rain-soaked wanderer brought in, and fed and petted to its heart's content.

"I wonder what brought the darling here?" said Donald, the elder of the two children.

"It just were a darlin'; 'at's why it camed," remarked Miss Baby.

"But I am sure it must have had some reason for coming. Baby," Donald insisted. "It came for something."

"For its tea," suggested Baby, doubtfully.

"Oh, Baby, Baby, you're always thinking about your tea," said Donald, with contempt.

"No, Donnie, me isn't. But you said it had camed for somesin."

"I meant, to tell us something."

"Do pigeons talk, Donnie?" Baby's eyes opened very wide.

"Yes, but we can't understand them. I feel that this pigeon wants to speak to us. I wonder where it came from? I wonder whether mother will let us keep it? Come down to the drawing-room, and we'll ask her."

Hand in hand the two proceeded to the drawing-room, Baby a little anxious lest their elder brother should wish to "'sect" the treasure. But Donald told her that only dead birds were dissected, not living ones. The grown-up members of the family were as much surprised at and pleased with the little stranger as the children had been. For the next week it was warmly loved and tenderly taken care of, and at the end of that time they found out all about it.

On Sunday, Auntie, who had been lunching with her nieces and nephews, said: "Children, I am not going to church this afternoon. I shall stay here and tell you a story I heard while visiting among my poor people yesterday. Shall you like that?"

"Oh yes!" cried the children, rapturously.

"Will it be big?" inquired Baby.

"Yes; but you may go to sleep if you get tired."

"All right," said Baby, and Auntie began:

> In one of the dreariest parts of our old town there lived, not long ago, a widow with three little children, two girls and a boy. She had to work very hard to keep them in food and clothing. Every morning before it was light she had to go away to her work. She would creep softly out of bed, dress very quietly, tidy up the room, build the fire, and set out the children's breakfast, and then, with a kiss on each sleeping face, she would go away out into the cold.

> By-and-by the sun would find its way into the room, and the oldest girl would open her eyes, jump briskly up like a brave little woman, light the fire, and set on the kettle. Though only nine years old, she knew how to work, and believed, as very few seem to do, that whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well.

> When breakfast was almost ready, Nellie would call her brother, and then, stooping over the little sister, would kiss her pretty parted lips. Presently the dark lashes would rise, and a pair of deep gray eyes, very solemn for a moment, would stare into the loving face. And then the dimples would come, the dark eyes would twinkle, and the baby would be wide awake.

> The great trial of the day came after breakfast, for Nellie and Bill must go to school, and for three or four hours poor Bab, barely three years old, must stay all alone. Her mother and sister were very sorry to leave her by herself, but it could not be helped. The sweet child was so good about it that it comforted them.

> "What do you do when we are away?" said her mother one day.

> "Me fink you is comin' back," she answered, smiling, as usual.

> Before going to school Nellie always took the coals off the fire, and put them on the side to cool, set a tin cup of water and a little bit of bread on a chair for Bab, and with a final hug hurried off with her brother to the school at the bottom of the court.

> BAB AT THE WINDOW.

> As the door closed, Bab always gave a very little sigh, and set to work to find some amusement. Sometimes she played for a long time with a wooden footstool which she called her boy; and sometimes, if she felt cold, she crept into bed and fell asleep. But she loved best to stand by the window. The top of her head just came to the lowest pane, and she could not see into the street, but only up into the sky and gaze at the clouds. How Bab loved those clouds! especially the great shining ones that lay still, like huge mountains far away on the horizon. She was a little afraid of the black clouds, but she would[Pg 534] stretch out her arms to the bright ones and whisper, "Oh, you booful country! Bab would like to be in you, for always and always!"

> Sometimes she had not even the clouds to keep her company, for the whole sky would be one gray mass, and then Bab had hard work to keep from crying, and she wished and wished that her brother and sister would come home. The moment she heard them on the stairs she forgot her troubles, and when Nell looked in at the door she found a laughing face, and the jolly voice soon rang out louder than ever. The happy afternoon quite made up for the long weary morning.

> As soon as Nellie had cleared away their dinners she wrapped Bab up in a warm shawl, and the three took a walk to the big street which ran near by. At the corner of this street was a candy shop, which the children thought splendid. Sometimes they would spend nearly an hour peering in at the window, and telling each other what they would buy "when they were rich."

> Something else besides candy drew them to this corner. A nurse and two children, a boy and a girl, often passed up and down the street. The little boy wore a sailor suit, with bright buttons, and the little girl, just the age of Bab, had a lovely dress, trimmed with lace, and a Leghorn hat. Such a hat! Nellie used to think that if she could once see Bab dressed like that she would be perfectly happy.

> The poor children liked looking at the pretty clothes of their more fortunate brother and sister, but still more did they enjoy looking at their faces. They were so kind and bright, and often they smiled cheerily at their little admirers. Little did they know what a ray of sunshine these smiles shed into the lives of these little ones. A day seemed quite empty to Nellie and her charges when they did not catch a glimpse of their "little gentry."

> Sometimes Bill, Nellie, and Bab ventured farther than the candy shop. They liked to look at the grand windows, especially those of one wonderful toy shop. Nellie and Bab never complained because they could not possess the treasures displayed. It did not occur to them to desire them. They were perfectly contented just to look at them. But Bill's face was sometimes dark, and once he said to Nellie, with a frown:

> "Doesn't it seem hard that we get nothing, that even dear Bab can not have anything? I should like to give her something to play with when we are away."

> The grief that Bab had nothing to play with was an old one. Nellie and Bill had often tried to contrive some way of getting a plaything for Bab, and once they had enticed a stray dog into their room, but it soon escaped, and Bab was lonelier than ever. A cat, too, had been tried, but one fine night took her departure to the roof, never to return.

> "Never mind, Billy," answered Nellie, "we can look at the lovely things, and that is nearly as good as having them."

> Bill did not reply. His face was long. His eyes looked as if tears were not far off.

> "Nell," he said, "I don't see why it is that we can never have any of the beautiful things that other children have. I am sure we try to be good."

> "Oh, hush, Bill! here are the little gentry," whispered Nellie.

> "The little gentry" were standing gazing in at the window too, or at least the baby was. The boy was looking at Bill with a questioning expression.

> "Well," asked Nurse, "have you made up your minds what you are going to spend your money upon?"

> "Es," answered the baby.

> The little boy stood still, turning his shilling over and over in his hand.

> "Come along, Master Dreamer," cried Nurse, as she entered the shop. "Have you not made up your mind what to spend your shilling upon?"

> "Yes," answered the little fellow, with a sort of sigh.

> Nurse had disappeared. Blushing furiously, the boy pressed his bright shilling into Bill's rough little hand.

> "No, no," said Bill.

> "I would rather," stammered the little gentleman, not waiting for thanks. He ran into the store, and stood quietly by while the baby spent her shilling, and when Nurse asked why he did not spend his, he climbed on a chair and whispered something in her ear.

#### [to be continued.]

## WHAT TELEGRAPH POLES ARE MEANT FOR.

### BY ELLA RODMAN CHURCH.

In the island of Sumatra, at the bottom of the map,
Where Asia holds such giant lands in her capacious lap,
The Elephants rise fiercely, in the maddest kind of mob,
When the telegraph employés have finished up a job,
And joined by wires electric places very far away,
For the purpose of conversing—if they've anything to say;
These animals uproarious will throw upon the ground
The telegraphic poles and wires wherever they are found,
While wires and insulators are carried off to hide
In the deep gloomy jungles where the angry beasts abide.
All the labor goes for nothing when the poles are set again,
For the Elephants are watching these persevering men,
Who stick poles where they don't want them, across their "right of way,"
And they tear down in the night-time what the men have done by day.
With the Monkeys and Baboons it is quite another thing,
For the telegraphic wires make the nicest kind of swing;
And just the firmest tight-rope for any sort of antic.
While rambling on "from pole to pole" sounds really quite romantic.
It's a very cute arrangement, far better than the trees,
Which do for common purposes, but not for such as these.
"And those lovely colored glasses!" says delighted Mrs. Ape,
"This really looks like living in some decent sort of shape;
The cocoa-nut shells hold water, which is all that one can say,
But these glasses for the future shall cover my buffet."
So the monkeys haste to gather all the prizes they can reach,
And twist off every insulator with a triumphant screech,
While they chatter and they gibber, and they dance and they play
On the telegraphic wires all the night and all the day.
We read in "Mother Goose" of quiet little Miss Muffet,
Who was eating curds and whey, and sitting on a tuffet,
When, in the midst of happiness, there came along a Spider,
And, without waiting to be asked, sat down just beside her.
Now the Spiders in Japan treat the telegraphic wires
(Not daunted in the least by their being such high-flyers)
As this Spider did Miss Muffet, and coolly took a seat
On the pole, perhaps, beside the wires so high above the street;
For they bring their spinning with them, so dainty and so fine,
And they drop, to begin with, an experimental line.
With such a handy frame-work as these telegraphic wires
Mrs. Spider soon can weave a web that meets all her desires,
With draperies for the parlor that's to catch the silly fly,
And it is the prettiest parlor that ever you did spy.
On the bare Western plains there's a dreadful lack of trees,
And nothing for the Buffaloes to scratch themselves at ease;
So a telegraphic pole proves a blessing in disguise,
That brings the tears of gratitude to many hair-roofed eyes.
Though first with some suspicion, "What ever is this thing?"
Exclaims, in great perplexity, the dauntless prairie King;
Then makes a sudden onslaught, as is his mighty way,
To find a pole for scratching, and not a foe at bay.
"How jolly!" says King Buffalo—"how very kind of man
To get up this convenience on such an easy plan!
One grand good scratch, and then I'm off"—but so the pole is too,
Off from its equilibrium—a sorry sight to view.
That sudden rush of matter lays it flat upon the plain,
Until the telegraphic men have set it up again;
And when they seek with roughest nails to bristle it all o'er,
The Buffalo pronounces them even kinder than before;
For what are nails for but to scratch? and as scratching is his plan,
He feels under obligations to the thoughtfulness of man.
So he scratches all the poles down, rejoicing on his way,
While the men who set them up again have something else to say;
That something is not flattering to friend Buffalo at all,
But he is off beyond the sound of voice or musket-ball.

[Pg 535]

## LITTLE NYÂGÂNDI.

Nyâgândi is a little girl whose home is a mere hut on the shores of the Ogawe River, in West Africa. A lady who has gone as a missionary to her people has told a very pretty story about her, which we are sure our girls will like to read.

Nyâgândi has never worn any clothing in her life, except a cloth tied around her waist. It has been only lately that she has thought of wearing anything else.

Since she has been attending school in the mission-house, and learning to read, she is anxious to wear a dress like her kind friends, and so with slow but patient fingers she is learning to make one out of some bright calico.

She owns a canoe, in which she darts here and there over the creeks and rivers like a graceful dusky bird.

One Saturday she paddled to the mission-house, and sold some bunches of plantains to the ladies.

"Now, Nyâ," said one of them, "to-morrow will be Sunday, and you must come to service."

"I surely will," she answered, "if I am alive."

Saturday night somebody stole Nyâ's canoe, and on Sunday nobody would lend her another, yet she was in her place in church, and in time. Her home was on the opposite shore of the river, at that place a third of a mile wide, with a current flowing deep and strong. How had she crossed?

In the simplest way in the world—by swimming. Some of the boys had seen the dark head bobbing up and down in the waves, or it is doubtful whether she would have said a word about her performance.

But, little women, who sometimes pout at wearing an old bonnet or dress to church, please think of the African girl, so anxious to keep her promise that she swam the Ogawe on Sunday morning rather than be absent when the good missionaries expected to see her at the Christian worship.

## THE BRAVEST FEAT OF ALL.

### BY DAVID KER.

"Warm work, eh, Pierre," said one French grenadier to another, as his cap was knocked off by a bullet, while a second tore a strip of skin from his shoulder.

"True enough, comrade," answered the other, wiping the blood from a wound in his cheek; "but the Little Corporal will get us through it all right."

The Little Corporal (otherwise called the Emperor Napoleon) was indeed doing his best to get them through it; but honest Jacques might well say that it was warm work. The great fight which was to be known in history as the battle of Jena was at its hottest, and no one—among the common soldiers at least—could yet say which side was likely to get the best of it. True, the French were ninety thousand strong against forty thousand Prussians, and had taken their enemies completely by surprise; but, on the other hand, the Prussians were up on a high hill, where it was not easy to get at them, and the centre of their line was covered by a village, which they had fortified and filled with cannon, making it altogether "a hard nut to crack."

Fighting their way through a terrible cannonade, the French had reached the village, and burst into it; but they found all the streets barricaded, and the houses crammed with musketeers, who kept up a terrible fire upon them. Could they have brought their whole force to bear at once, the affair would soon have been over; but by some mischance the supports had been delayed, and all that the van-guard could do was to intrench themselves in the houses which they had taken, and wait for the main body to come up.

Foremost in the fight was a dashing captain of light-infantry—tall, strong, black-browed, and terrible as any chief in Homer. He had the name of being the strongest man and best swordsman in the whole regiment, and liked nothing better than a chance of showing his strength in a hand-to-hand fight. So when he found himself driven to stand behind the corner of a wall, with nothing to do but watch the enemy's bullets smashing the window-frames, or going "plug" into the timbers of the house front, it was no wonder if "Captain Dreadnaught" (as his men had justly nicknamed him) began to feel rather sulky.

"Pretty work for a soldier," growled he, under his huge black mustache; "to be knocked on the head like a caged rat by a pack of rogues whom one can't even see! Ah, if the rascals would only come out into the open, and let us have a fair chance at them!"

But better luck was at hand. All at once a tremendous shout rose high above all the din of the firing, and forward came the French supports at a run, right up the slope of the hill, and into the village. The moment the blue frocks were seen advancing, Captain Dreadnaught, too eager even to wait until he could get down to the door, leaped right out of the window into the street, waving his sword and shouting like a madman. His men followed him, and the nearest houses were cleared with a rush, and every man in them killed or made prisoner.

Just then was heard a sudden crackling and hissing, while a fierce red glare shot up over the roofs of the surrounding cottages. The shells had set the village on fire, and what with sparks and hot ashes raining down upon them, clouds of stifling smoke rolling around them on every side, and blazing timbers crashing down close to their heads, the French soldiers had anything but a comfortable time of it. However, they still held their ground unflinchingly, although their smarting eyes could hardly see to take aim, and every breath that they drew seemed to come from the mouth of a furnace.

On a sudden a strange sound began to be heard in the distance, like rain pattering on fallen leaves. Louder and nearer it came, until it swelled into a deep hollow roll that seemed to shake the very earth; and out from the smoke in front broke a mass of fierce men's faces, and horses' heads, and gleaming sabres, and gay uniforms. The Prussian cavalry were charging them. One hasty crackle of musketry, one clash and whirl of sabres, and then the wave was upon them, and passed over them; and nothing was left in its track but the dying and the dead.

Captain Dreadnaught, who had been flung aside into a doorway by the shock of the charge, was just scrambling to his feet again when he saw his color-sergeant fall under the sabre of a powerful trooper, who seized the regimental colors. With one spring the Captain was out in the middle of the street, and in another moment the Prussian went down in his turn under a blow that might have cleft a rock, while Captain Dreadnaught clutched the rescued standard, just as five of the enemy fell upon him at once.

A sudden bound foiled the charge of the foremost two, while another good sabre-cut rid him of the third. Firing his one remaining pistol through the head of one assailant, he dealt the other a blow in the face with the broken staff, which knocked out half his teeth. But in the mean time the first two had reined up and faced about, and now they both made at him at once.

Another moment and all would have been over with the daring Captain. But just at that instant a fresh shout was heard behind, and one of the Prussian troopers, struck by a bullet, fell heavily to the ground. The other turned his horse and rode off, while the second line of French infantry, against which the Prussian charge had broken itself, came on in its turn, just as the Captain, still clasping the flag, sank exhausted on the ground.

[Pg 536]

Three hours later all was over. The great battle had been fought and lost; the splendid Prussian army had melted into a rabble of fugitives. Napoleon, surrounded by his generals, was standing in triumph amid the ruins of the village which had been the centre of the enemy's position.

"Sire," said a big, hard-faced man in the gorgeous uniform of a Marshal of France, leading forward our friend the Captain, who, although very pale, and with a blood-stained bandage around his forehead, looked as fearless and resolute as ever, "this is the brave officer whom I saw defending his regimental colors on foot against five mounted Prussians."

"Captain Dreadnaught, is it not?" said the Emperor, who seemed to know by sight not merely every officer but even every private in his whole army. "It is the best of all names for a French soldier, and no reward is too great for the man who fears nothing. Wear this, Colonel" (and he took from his breast the cross of the Legion of Honor, which he had lately instituted), "as my gift to the bravest man in the regiment; and let it remind you that you have a commander who never lets any gallant deed go unrewarded."

Every one expected to see the new-made Colonel look overwhelmed with joy; but except for the faint flush that crossed it, his dark face never changed a whit.

"Sire," answered he, firmly, "this is the proudest moment of my life; but I can not accept what does not belong to me."

A murmur of astonishment ran through the group, and even Napoleon's marble face wore a look of surprise.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "You have fairly won this cross, and I give it to you freely."

"Your Majesty has said," replied Dreadnaught, "that you give it to the bravest in the regiment; and there is one who has this day done a far braver deed than mine."

"Indeed?" said the Emperor. "Well, I should like to see the man who could do that. Where is he?"

"Here," answered the officer, stepping suddenly back among his men, and leading out a little drummer-boy barely twelve years old, whose blue eyes widened into a stare of terrified wonder as he found himself, for the first time in his life, face to face with the great Emperor.

"I saw this boy," said Dreadnaught, "drag two wounded soldiers out of a burning house in the village yonder; and he had hardly got them out when down came the roof, singeing his hair, as you see."

"Good!" growled Marshal Ney, rubbing his hands.

"And as if that was not enough," continued Dreadnaught, "he went into the thickest of the fire to fetch water for our wounded; but as he was coming back with it, a ball hit his leg, making him stumble and spill the water. What does he do but hobble all the way back and fill his pail again, with the blazing timbers falling on every side, and the enemy's shot flying about his ears like hail!"

THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON PRESENTING THE CROSS OF THE LEGION OF HONOR TO THE DRUMMER-BOY.

The listening soldiers broke into a cheer that made the air ring, and Napoleon, with a smile such as few men had ever seen him wear, stepped forward and fixed the cross with his own hands upon the drummer-boy's breast.

"I'll find you another cross to-morrow, Colonel," said he; "but you say truly that this fine fellow should go first. It's the first time I've heard of him, but I'll warrant it won't be the last."

He was right; for, not many years later, the little drummer-boy had become a General.

[Pg 537]

IN THE CORNER.

[Pg 538]

## A TROPICAL HURRICANE.

### BY FRANK H. CONVERSE.

High noon in the little Anglo-Spanish town of Queenston, island of St. Vincent: everything and everybody seem to be dozing quietly in the hot, drowsy atmosphere.

"Why, all the people must be asleep or dead," mutters Ned Brandon, discontentedly, as he stands on the corner of the one principal street of Queenston, under the shade of a neat silk umbrella, and stares about him. Truth to tell, Ned, who is something of a dandy, had before going ashore dressed himself with exceeding care in his little state-room on board the brig Calypso, owned by his father, and in which, under the care of good Captain Hardy, he is making a vacation trip to the West Indies.

He has on a dazzling suit of pure white linen, a handsome Panama hat, a white neck-tie, low patent-leather shoes, and striped silk stockings.

"Well, I certainly took a great deal of trouble for nothing in this matter of dressing," grumbles Ned, looking listlessly up and down the almost deserted street.

Gayly painted shops, where one may buy anything from a penny roll to a steam-boiler, alternate with small, one-story "bonnet-roof" houses, with barred and jail-like windows. Past these an occasional group of meek-looking yellow coolies, as much alike in appearance as a flock of sheep, shuffle over the rude pavement. Occasionally the blackest kind of a negro from some neighboring plantation appears, driving before him three or four diminutive donkeys laden with sugar-cane or panniers of ripe fruit.

In the shade of the little stone custom-house, the open door of which is guarded by a negro, in tattered uniform, bearing a flint-lock musket, sits a drowsy Creole woman on the edge of the pavement. Before her, on a brazier of glowing coals, bubbles a pot of odorous soup, to be retailed to possible customers at a penny per bowl. Whatever may be the remaining ingredients of the compound, it is plainly evident that garlic predominates.

The reason why there is no one to admire the elaborately dressed young fellow on the corner is very simple. Queenston is taking its noonday siesta.

In every little court-yard and inclosure swing sleeping forms in grass hammocks, shaded by luxuriant growths of pawpaw, banana, and plantain, orange, mango, and tamarind, while above all towers the beautiful cocoa-palm with its clusters of golden green fruit.

"I might as well go down to the landing-steps and signal the Calypso to send the boat ashore," mutters Ned, with a yawn, himself not unaffected by the drowsy surroundings.

"Oh, I say!" suddenly exclaims a boyish voice behind him. Ned feels a timid touch on his shoulder, and he wheels sharply round. "I'm Joe Sampson," continues the new-comer, who is a young fellow a year or two younger than Ned, speaking in an eager, hurried tone, "and I belong out to Dedham, Massachusetts. I ran away from a Provincetown whaler. Don't you think your Cap'n will give a fellow a chance to work his passage back to the States?" And the gaunt, hollow-eyed, sun-browned face of the speaker is lit up with eager anticipation as he breathlessly awaits the other's answer.

Ordinarily Ned would have answered, "Of course he will," with hearty cordiality. But the thermometer indicates ninety-two degrees in the shade; he is hot, hungry, and irritable. Besides, Joe Sampson in his rimless straw hat, coarse blue shirt, tattered trousers, and worn-out shoes is anything but prepossessing as to outward appearance.

"I don't think Captain Hardy cares to ship a green hand," coldly begins Ned, and is thoroughly ashamed of his words as soon as he has spoken. But before he can mend them, Joe, with a mute gesture of despair, turns the corner, and hurries off.

"Hi, there!" shouts Ned, remorsefully, "hold on a bit." But Joe either can not or will not hear. He is walking along a narrow street of picturesque but unclean negro cabins—a street which ascending as it leaves the town limits, widens into a mountain road, leading upward to the heights which overhang Queenston on all but the harbor side.

Impulsive Ned stands for a few moments irresolute.

"Hungry no doubt, and homesick of course," he says, half aloud. "What a wretch I am, to be sure!"

With the words he furls his umbrella, and unmindful of the scorching rays of the sun, starts in rapid pursuit of the runaway, who is now out of sight in a bend of the rising road.

Past the dirty suburbs Ned hastens, and now he is climbing the steep side of Monte Rosa. On either hand are great thickets of tree-ferns, which as he ascends give place to thickets of the wild-growing banana festooned through and through with fragrant flowering vines where humming-birds of gorgeous hue disport themselves. Across the reddish earth of the roadway dart green and gold lizards with black beady eyes, land-crabs scuttle hastily away from his hurrying footsteps, and once or twice the ugly face of a harmless iguana leers at him from a way-side stump.

Breathless, and dripping with perspiration at every pore, Ned reaches the summit, but runaway Joe is nowhere in sight. The plateau at the left is smooth and level, a crumbled stone parapet follows the edge of the cliff, and the ruins of what was once a small fortress stand further back. Perhaps Joe is hidden thereabouts.

"This is a pretty go; now isn't it?" exclaims Ned, in a disgusted tone, as, tearing off his saturated collar and tie, he throws himself at full length on the greensward under the shade of a cabbage-palm which grows close to the parapet, to cool off a bit. Yet the wonderful outlook almost repays him for the exhaustive climb. Before his gaze lies the far-reaching Caribbean Sea, not sparkling and blue as is its wont, however, but strangely calm, and of an oily smoothness, unbroken by a ruffle of wind. There is a curious yellowish haze, too, which has been creeping up from the distant horizon since morning, and is now tempering the heat of the sun, which shines through it with a singularly brassy effect.

"I think," drowsily remarked Ned, "that I'll take a bit of a nap, and hunt for Joseph the unfortunate later."

So Ned, resigning himself to slumber, dreamed that he was the admiral of a fleet manned by deserters from whaling vessels. This fleet was anchored in Queenston Harbor, and was returning the fire from the guns of the fortress above. The cannonading grew louder and louder, until Ned awoke with a start.

But what is this?

Above him is a sky blacker than the ink with which the Calypso's log is written. Great sheets of rose-colored lightning shimmer continually upward from the distant horizon like the rays of aurora borealis, while rattling peals of thunder follow each other in quick succession. Then, as he starts up in a fright, the heavens directly overhead are rent asunder with one blinding flash, simultaneous with which comes a crash of thunder that seems to jar his very brain. Then, as though this were a pre-concerted signal, the sound of a mighty rushing wind, constantly increasing in intensity, is heard, before which, hurtling through the thickening gloom, come clouds of dust, branches of trees, and débris of every sort. The force of the hurricane is not only sufficient to throw Ned to the ground, but to pin him there as by giant hands, as it goes roaring seaward with an awfulness of deafening roar which can not be described in words.

"It is the Day of Judgment!" is the thought which sweeps through Ned's bewildered mind. And then as suddenly as the storm arose there is a lull, followed by[Pg 539] an ominous silence as terrifying as the roar itself, for the darkness seems if possible to grow more intense.

"The Calypso," thinks Ned; "where is she?" Crawling to the edge of the parapet, he strains his eyes downward through the darkness. A momentary flash illumines the gloom, and shows a phantom sail, which he hopes may be the Calypso's, scudding out of the harbor mouth.

And now the hurricane breaks forth from an almost opposite quarter, bringing with it torrent upon torrent of driving rain, drenching Ned to the skin, and fairly blinding him with its force. He is about to fly, he knows not whither, when some one, dimly seen through the darkness, clasps his hand.

"This way—quick!" exclaims the voice of Joe; and feeling himself urged rapidly forward, Ned in a moment or two finds that at last he has reached a place of shelter.

"I stop here nights," laconically observes Joe, as the two boys drop, dripping and out of breath, on a pile of dry leaves and grasses in one corner of what Ned sees by the continuous play of lightning is a low circular stone cell, and which Joe explains was probably used as a sort of powder-house before the fort was demolished.

For three long hours the hurricane swept above them, and the sea roared beneath, while the crash of thunder, almost without cessation, seemed to jar the stones about them. At last its violence subsided by degrees, and as Ned and Joe finally emerged from their refuge, it was to see the clouds rolling away in great rifted masses, through which shone the beams of sunset.

"And now, if the Calypso is only safe," said Ned, as they made their way with difficulty down the mountain road, which had become the bed of a small stream, "you shall have your passage back to the States, Joe, and not work it either."

"Ah! if," returned Joe, soberly. He was wondering how they should live until the brig arrived, even if she was safe; and what on earth would become of them if she was lost! For the Queenston people do not take kindly to penniless wanderers, as poor Ned found to his cost before another twenty-four hours had passed over his head.

Fortunately for the companions in misfortune, fruit had been dislodged by the hurricane in such quantities that it was to be had for the taking. The boys supported life for a fortnight on oranges, ripe bread-fruit, bananas, guavas, mami apples, and soursops, which are "all very well for dessert," as Ned afterward remarked, "but for a steady diet I prefer roast beef; fruit gets monotonous after the forty-fifth or forty-sixth meal."

Thus for three weary weeks the boys wandered listlessly by day through the streets of Queenston, and by night suffered innumerable tortures from mosquitoes.

"Tell those two dirty-looking darkies to sheer off, Mr. Nason," sharply said Captain Hardy, as with only the stump of her foretopmast standing, and her bulwarks completely gone, the brig Calypso slowly swung to her moorings.

There had been a terrible struggle with tempest and storm, and it was only after a succession of head-winds and exasperating calms of many days' duration that the Calypso had finally managed to work back to the anchorage from which the hurricane had driven her so many miles out to sea.

"Be off there!" gruffly commanded Mr. Nason, in obedience to his Captain's orders, as a shore boat touched the vessel's side. "We don't want yams or fruit, and we've got nothing for you to beg or steal."

"If you've only got something to eat, that's all we want," replied a familiar voice, whose owner sprang lightly over the rail, while his companion followed more slowly.

"Upon my word!" ejaculated the Captain, in amazement. "Is that you, Ned, and what do you look like?"

A white linen suit that has been soaked with rain or dew and dried in the sun several times has a tendency to cling to its possessor's figure with more closeness than ease; its hue becomes dingy by being slept in and used to wipe fruit-stained fingers on. Such was the case with Ned's once brilliant costume. He was also barefooted and nearly bare-headed, while his face was burned to the color of shoe leather.

"I used to think," said Ned, helping himself to his fifth hot biscuit, and passing the corned beef to Joe, who sat opposite him at the tea table in the Calypso's cabin that evening, "that it would be rather nice to try a touch of vagabond life on some island in the tropics, but I rather think I prefer my regular meals at a table, and all night in bed—eh, Joe?"

And Joe, whose heart and mouth were too full for utterance, nodded an emphatic assent.

## ADVICE TO BOYS.

### BY H. C. VAN GIESON, M.D.

### CUTS AND BRUISES.

The boys of America are venturesome, but I do not think, as a rule, that they rush into danger heedlessly. But in all the active pursuits of life, in play as well as in business, accidents are liable to occur, and it is well to know what to do, as thereby life may sometimes be saved.

It is my intention to tell boys what they should do under certain circumstances, when there is no help near.

Many persons are alarmed at the sight of blood. Now cuts are very common, but rarely are they very serious. If a simple cut is inflicted, if no artery is severed, it is only necessary to tie a handkerchief wet with cold water over the cut, and wait for an opportunity to get some adhesive plaster, which should be cut into strips one-eighth to one-half an inch wide, according to the size of the cut, and applied at right angles to the line of the cut, drawing it together by this means.

But when the blood flows in spurts or jets of a bright red color, it shows that an artery has been cut. An artery carries blood from the heart, and consequently, to control the bleeding, if the cut or wound is on an arm or leg, pressure with the finger must be made above the cut toward the body, not toward the hand or foot. If the bleeding does not stop with pressure continued a little while, then take a handkerchief, tie a knot in it, and placing the knot above the cut, tie the handkerchief firmly around the limb. Then take the injured person to the nearest physician, that the artery may be tied. Simple bleeding from the veins, which stops soon with a little pressure, needs only the application of a cool wet cloth.

When a person becomes faint from the sight of blood, or the loss of any considerable quantity, always place him flat on his back, with the head level with the body. Don't raise him up or try to stand him up. Apply cold water to the face, if available, or fan him with a hat.

Bruises are often very painful, but usually they are not dangerous. Cold water or ice applied to a bruise when first received will allay pain and prevent somewhat the swelling that follows. A bruise that is followed quickly by a soft bluish tumor or swelling indicates the rupture of a vein, and it should not be punctured or pricked, but should be allowed to disappear by absorption; a bandage making moderate pressure will hasten this process; and here let me say that any bandage should be applied from the extremity to the point where it is needed, that is, from the hand or foot to the parts on arm or leg where the bandage is needed. This is to prevent swelling of the parts below, as the circulation in the veins is impeded by any bandage between them and the heart. A bandage, then, should always commence at the toes or the ends of the fingers, and be applied smoothly and evenly up to and over the injured parts.

[Pg 540]

PADDY AND THE FISH.

## PADDY RYAN'S BIG FISH.

### BY W. M. LAFFAN.

A few weeks ago I tried to give some good advice to young anglers in regard to trout fishing with hook and line. Now I am going to tell them of one or two curious methods of capturing trout that are practiced by fishermen on the other side of the Atlantic.

The trout in the rivers of Great Britain, as a general thing, attain a larger size than ours do. Occasionally, however, exceptions may be made to this rule, as, for instance, in the Rangeley Lakes, in the State of Maine, where trout are taken that are as large as any in the finest streams of England or Ireland.

The brook trout of the latter countries is usually from ten to fourteen inches in length, but in certain streams it is occasionally found of a much larger size, weighing in some instances seven or eight pounds. In color it is yellowish-brown above, shading off to yellow on the sides, the spots on the back being reddish-brown, while those on the sides are bright red.

In certain wild parts of Ireland there is fine trout fishing, four and five pound fish being frequently caught. There are two methods of catching them practiced by the inhabitants—tickling and snaring. The snare is a simple noose made of gray horse-hair, plaited, and of the strength of perhaps a dozen hairs. This snare is fastened to the end of a ten-foot pole, slender and springy, and the device is complete. Its use requires great training of the hand, and even more of the eye. When I was a boy I was in the County Tipperary, where so many tall Irishmen come from, where some of the people still speak Gaelic, and where the trout in the streams are free and frisky. The rivers of Tipperary flow into the Shannon and the Suir, and the Shannon is a noble river, and an immense one when you consider how small the accommodations of the country are.

To snare a trout, you pick out the clear shallows where the water flows softly over the yellow gravel. You approach the spot with great caution, and with such slow and easy movement that the fish is not alarmed, or if he does dart off to deeper water or some dark lurking-place, presently returns, revealing himself by his flickering shadow, that seems even more real than himself. Then, slow as the minute-hand of a clock, descends the rod, and the horse-hair noose sinks under the surface. The trout's nose points against the current, and down toward him drifts the unseen loop of horse-hair. Unfailing must be the judgment of the distance, and certain the estimate of the depth, and as it glides over his shoulders a swift stroke sends him flying over your head into the grass behind you. It is incredible how difficult this method of fishing is, what great craft it needs, what subtlety of approach, and what fine discernment in the execution. I have seen a Tipperary woman so skillful that she could beat all comers in the number of trout she would take in a day's fishing. It was a fine sight to see her on the bank, rigid as a statue, with uncovered head crowned with jet-black hair, her bare feet planted in the sod, and not a trace of movement to be seen until up went her rod, and a fine flashing trout, as heavy perhaps as her plaited noose would bear, went kicking through the air.

But tickling the trout is the more curious method, and is a practice that has its origin doubtless in the character of the streams, which, run for the most part by low grass-grown banks, which, being undermined, shelve over on the edge of the current, or fall into it in great scraughs, or sods. Beneath these lurk the trout of all sizes, sallying out every now and then like sunbeams into the amber water to catch some luckless victim passing by. On such an overhanging bank the skilled Tipperary fisher lies at full length, with shirt sleeves rolled up, and hands thrust as far beneath the bank as he can reach. If his fingers touch a fish, away it flies, but only to return shortly and sidle up against his hand, and be again alarmed. Over and over again this is repeated, until the fish seems to lose all sense of fear, when the stealthy, tickling, stroking fingers steal about the gills, and with a sudden encircling clutch and[Pg 541] murderous thrust of the thumb in the gullet, that too confiding fish's day is ended.

The Tipperary men catch fine fish, and plenty of them in this way. It is not a lofty style of angling, but it is a curious instance of the application of means to ends, the end being the fish, the motive hunger, and the means being confined to strong hands.

Many a fine catch of fish have I seen made by the fishermen of Tipperary, but the most extraordinary was that of my friend Paddy Ryan. Paddy had a way of his own, and it was better than snaring or tickling, and it made Paddy famous as a brave and original fisher.

Up these little tributary streams that flow into the Shannon the salmon come in the spawning season, ascending until the upper shallows are reached, when they deposit their eggs, and then work their way back to the ocean. Great fun it is, too, to watch these lordly fish at some point where they must leap clear over some small water-fall or mill-dam if they would pass further up. The water breaks with a mighty swish, and out comes the salmon, his back like black velvet, and all the rest of him like a flash of burnished silver, his tail uncurving from the strong blow that he has struck in his leap, and his fine force and vigor landing him in the top water, where one great whisk and splash carries him clean over and out of all danger. Sometimes he falls short, or can not strike fast enough to overcome the current, and so tumbles back; but he goes at it again, and, making note of his experience, finally succeeds.

Paddy Ryan was nine years old, and was a spectator while I cast flies for trout; and although I was very far up the river, it was not altogether above the spawning grounds that the salmon sought. I was sitting on the parapet of an old bridge, and about one hundred feet down the stream below me there crossed a rough stone dam that diverted some part of the stream to the little mill owned by Paddy's father. Under the dam was a deep pool; above it was another, and the water fell over the dam along its whole length. But just inside the dam, and running parallel with it for a short distance, was a bank of gravel, which the last heavy freshet had thrown up. Paddy walked out on this gravel, and stretched himself on it at full length in pure idleness and lazy enjoyment of my useless fly-fishing. The trout were not in the humor to rise, and I had about made up my mind to give up and go home, when all at once I heard a splash and saw a great salmon come up with a mighty curve over the dam, overleap it completely, and land in about three inches of water on the gravel bank within a foot or two of Paddy.

The water flew in every direction, and all over Paddy, who turned with a startled yell to see what had happened. In another instant he was on top of the salmon, clutching it with arms and legs, while the powerful fish struggled and kicked, and Paddy bawled and roared at the top of his voice. Over rolled Paddy, and over rolled the fish, the water splashing and the gravel flying so that you could not tell which had the best of it. Paddy's mother, hearing the commotion, ran out of the cottage up above the mill.

"Och, murther!" she screamed. "Dinnis! Dinnis! where are ye, Dinnis? an' a fish atin' me child! Dinnis! Dinnis!"

Paddy's father heard her frantic screams, and came running up from the mill.

"D'ye see yer child et up be a dirthy fish?" she yelled.

"Begorra!" said the astonished Denis, as he seized a pitchfork, cleared the mill-race at a bound, ran along the dam, fell into the stream, scrambled out on the gravel bank, and reached the scene of the conflict.

"Let go of him till I shtick him!" said he.

"I won't," spluttered Paddy; "he'll get away."

"Let go of him, I tell ye!"

"Prod him now, daddy, where he is;" and seeing his chance, prod him Denis did, and dragged him kicking out on the gravel bank, Paddy, breathless and exhausted, still holding on to him.

It was a splendid salmon, and it weighed thirty-eight pounds, and I went home, not feeling as if I cared to pursue fly-fishing any further that day.

[Pg 542]

As we happen to know that father and mother as well as the boys and girls take a weekly peep at the contents of Our Post-office Box, we insert for their benefit a paragraph which appeared in the Boston Journal of May 23. The Journal has a very honorable and influential place among American newspapers, and we are glad to have it express its appreciation of Harper's Young People in terms so cordial:

> "When this weekly, intended specially for young readers, was first started, we were somewhat curious regarding the special field it would make for itself. It seemed as if the reading public, old and young, was supplied with literature adapted to the diversified wants of all, but we felt assured that the Messrs. Harper were too thoroughly acquainted with their business as publishers to launch a craft without a knowledge of the demand which existed for its support. Time has shown that Harper's Young People was wanted to fill a vacancy. It is already welcomed every Saturday to thousands of New England homes. Its tone is pure, its articles are always interesting, and its illustrations are superior to anything ever attempted in juvenile literature of its class. While it is intended for the perusal of Rob and Mabel, of Sam and Lucy, we venture to say that it has been the experience of others, as it has been our own, that the older heads of the family find in its pages each week matter not at all beneath their notice on the score of information and general interest."

Rochester, New York.

> I am a little boy eight years old. My papa has two hunting dogs named Steck and Rob, and I have a pet cat. The dogs are very gentle and kind, and let us tumble all over them; but when they have a bone given them, they fight terribly. Whenever Rob gets a chance he steals the cat's meat, and then she gives him a good scratch. My brother Harry is four years old. He has a little girl friend named Floy, whom he calls his little sweetheart. When I had the scarlet fever, and the doctor said my skin would peel off, Harry said, "Then, Georgie, when your skin peels off, I can see your soul, can't I?" I am sick, and mamma is writing this for me. I hope you will print it, so we can surprise papa, for we have not told him about it. He gave me Harper's Young People last Christmas, and I enjoy it more and more every week. Good-by.

George B. M.

Frankfort-on-the-Main, Germany.

> We have taken Harper's Young People from the beginning, and we enjoy it very much.

> It is just nine years since we left America. Six of these have been spent in Paris, one in Freiburg, in Baden, and two here. We like this city exceedingly. It is very beautiful and interesting. In the "Judengasse," the principal street of the old Jewish quarter of the town, in an ancient rickety house still standing, were born the ancestors of the wealthy Von Rothschilds. Near by, in a similar house, Boerne was born. Goethe's birth-house, in another street, is more respectable, and full of souvenirs of Germany's great poet.

> The opera-house here is as beautiful as the one in Paris. Other attractions are the Palmengarten, the Zoological Garden, the forest, the river, the cathedral, picture-galleries, museums, historical buildings, monuments, and the renowned and graceful sculpture of Ariadne on the lion's back, by Dannecker. The town is encircled by the "Promenade," a zigzaggy avenue of green woods, lovely lawns with flower beds, lakes, fountains, statues, etc., at the place of the old fortifications.

> There are numbers of Hebrews here. They have many noble traits of character, and some we know are more Christian-like than many Christians. Besides that, they are very intelligent and quick. We have plenty of friends among them, and we like them very much.

> I have two sisters and two brothers. We all go to school, except my elder sister, who studies at the Conservatory of Music, of which the great composer Joachim Raff is director, and which counts among its teachers Frau Clara Schumann and the violinist Hermann.

> My baby brother, who was born in Paris, understands perfectly French and English, but will speak nothing but German. He attends the Kindergarten. I take lessons on the violin, and in drawing, elocution, Italian, and "the grand dialect the prophets spake," Hebrew.

> I love Longfellow, and I feel so grieved at his death! I have a precious autograph of his, written expressly for me; it is the first verse of his beautiful poem, "Excelsior," and his name.

> I think, upon the whole, that America is the best country in the world. However much we are attached to Europe, we will be glad to get home. Papa is now in New York; he has crossed the Atlantic Ocean twenty times.

> Would the editor or any of the readers please give me a list of all the different inventions and discoveries made by Americans, and oblige their loving compatriot,

A. M. W.

A complete list of all the inventions and discoveries, small and great, which have been made by Americans, would fill a very large space in Our Post-office Box, even if printed in the closest and tiniest of type. Not to speak of that fairy of the household, the sewing-machine, and of that wizard, the electric telegraph, there are dozens of useful and beautiful things to make life easier and homes more charming which the world owes to our countrymen. We shall leave the question of A. M. W. to our bright little correspondents, and we hope to print some replies to it before long.

#### BED-TIME.

#### BY LUCY RANDOLPH FLEMING.

Tell you a story? Dear me!
And which one shall I tell?
How Tommy Green, in cruel sport,
Dropped Pussy in the well?
Shall I tell you of Dame Hubbard's dog,
And the wonderful things he did;
Or of poor Bo-Peep, who could not tell
Where her wandering sheep were hid?
Or shall I tell of the dreadful wolf
Who met Red Riding-hood;
Or will you hear the sad, sad tale
Of the Children in the Wood?
Of Cinderella, who sat by the fire,
And wanted to go to the ball,
And the nice old godmother who came
With the slippers of glass, and all?
Or shall I sing of the active cow
Who jumped right over the moon?
Perhaps she frightened the man up there,
And made him come "down too soon."
Or will you hear of the famous birds
All baked in the royal pie?
I think we could make a better dish
With "a pocket full of rye."
What! baby mine, you are going to sleep,
And none of the stories are told?
The blue eyes are shut, and the pillow waits
For the touch of the curls of gold.

Nashua, New Hampshire.

> I am a little girl ten years old. I have two pet rabbits; they are white, with pink eyes. We have a little toy terrier, all blue, with long silky hair; she is one of the smallest dogs in America or Europe. I have been taking music lessons ever since I was seven years old; I have been studying Mozart's sonatas. My grandpa has four kittens, and I play with them every day. We have three cages of birds, two in one cage, two in another, and fourteen in the third. I have two brothers. We go to school, and all study German.

Harriet E. S.

Girard, Kansas.

> My brother and I have concluded to write a letter together. I am twelve, and he is a year and a half younger. Our aunt Minnie, living in Pennsylvania, made us a present of Harper's Young People this year. We think she is a good, kind aunt, although we have never seen her. We are going to get up a club next year, as we want all our school-mates to read it. Eddie and I signed the pledge during the Murphy movement never to use tobacco or profane language, and we intend to keep it, and hope our little friends will do the same. We live five miles from Girard, the county seat. My mamma came thirteen years ago, and saw the first house erected, and now the place has two railroads, and a population of 1731. We live near Lightning Creek, and have lots of fun fishing, although the fish are not so fine as some we read of, being mostly sunfish and catfish, although sometimes we get a nice bass. We have a nice garden, and had new potatoes and pease the 28th of May. Our two little brothers, named Colimo and Lew, love to look at the pictures in Young People. We do not go to school this summer, as there is none in our district; we had a six months' school last winter. But we are not idle; we weed and hoe in the garden, help to milk, chop wood, and do many other things. We have sixty-nine little chickens, and had fifteen little turkeys, but they have all died except four. Could any one tell us what was the cause of it? They seemed weak and drooping for several days. Mamma was advised to feed them with cooked food, and so she did, but it did no good.

Willie D., Eddie D., and Mother.

You were not more unsuccessful than many others with your flock of turkeys. Young turkeys are very hard to raise, and sometimes their mother takes them out into the wet grass, and they get tired, and take cold. Should you have another brood at any time, be very careful to keep them dry and warm. A friend who has had experience with turkeys tells the Postmistress that the little ones require almost as careful tending as babies do.

The Postmistress wonders whether you ever heard of a young woman's expecting to be paid for being so good as to learn to sew? Most of us think we ought to pay those who are good enough to teach us anything, as teachers really have to take more trouble than pupils do. Many years ago a lady undertook to show some women in the South Sea Islands how to make their own dresses. They were quite anxious to look like the missionary ladies, who were the only Europeans they had ever seen. A young woman attended very regularly for some weeks, and became quite skillful. One Saturday night she presented herself with the native servants, and begged to be paid her wages for learning to sew.

Mrs. Ellis said: "Why should I pay you? In our country those who learn pay their teachers."

The woman answered, very earnestly: "You asked me to come and learn. I have been here so long I have learned. It must be in some way an advantage to you, or else you would not be so anxious about it. As I have done it to please you, you ought to pay me for my goodness."

She was pacified by being engaged to sew for the missionaries.

Greenfield, Illinois.

> I am a boy twelve years old. We live near the woods, and mamma is helping me to make a leaf-album. I have a good many sheets of paper covered with pressed leaves, such as elm, cotton-wood, plum, willow, etc. It is a very interesting occupation, and the leaves look very pretty when pressed out. It teaches us so much about the woods too. I have a small cabinet of curiosities also. We live near a school-house, and the other day I found a wren's nest in a rose-bush in the school yard. We watch it very closely to keep the boys away until the little ones can fly. We think it is a very pretty idea to build a nest among the roses. Don't you? Young People is the best of papers.

Jess L. B.

Yes, indeed. Wrens are so sociable that they like to build close by people, and probably the wee mother liked the rose-bush because it was near the school-house. I wonder if she listens, while you boys recite your lessons? A leaf-album is both interesting and instructive. It is a good plan to write the name of each leaf under it, and the date of the day it was gathered, as well as whatever you know about the place where it was found.

#### THE SKIPPING-ROPE.

Now all ye tearful children, come and listen while I tell
About the little fairy folk, and what to them befell;
And how three little fairies sat them down, one summer day,
And cried among the grasses till the others flew away.
They flew away bewildered, for it gave them such a fright
To see the fairies crying, with the jolly sun in sight:
And so they left them all alone, and there they sat and cried
Six little streams of fairy tears, that trickled side by side.
And looking down, the laughing sun among the drops did pass,
And he laid a little rainbow beside them on the grass.
Then quickly rose the fairies, and clapped their gleeful hands—
"We've found the brightest skipping-rope in all the fairy lands."
And there they jumped their tears away, and jumped their dimples in,
And jumped until their laughter came—a tinkling, fairy din.
What! you say you don't believe it, you saucy little elf?
Then run and get your skipping-rope, and try it for yourself.

East St. Louis, Illinois.

> I am a little girl twelve years of age. I live in the country. I thought I would write and tell you about my pets. I have a little Alderney calf; its name is Baby Mine, and it follows me all around. I have a little colt two years old; its name is Celeste. My uncle is a stock raiser, and when my brother was eight years of age and I was six he took us to his pasture and told us each to pick out a colt. Those colts are now six years old. Mine is named Blaze. My brother has two colts, one named Rosalie T. and the other Roxie. I have a Spitz dog named Beauty; he got[Pg 543] into a fight not long ago, and was badly hurt. I have two kittens named Budgy and Toddie. I have a ball with a string tied to it for my kittens. I have four canary-birds and a beautiful red-bird. I have been taking music lessons ever since I was eight years old. This is the first letter I have ever written.

Rosalie T.

Ocean Grove, New Jersey.

> I am at Ocean Grove for the summer, and expect to stay until October. On my way down I saw the wrecked coffee ship Pliny. The coffee is washed all along the beach. The other day I went up the beach toward the wreck, and found five bags, each holding about two bushels. The coffee is green, that is, not roasted, and is now quite black in color. I emptied about ten bushels on the sand, and brought the bags home. The Captain of the wrecked vessel issued a circular warning people not to use the coffee, as there had been hides on the vessel which were cured with arsenic. There are piles of coffee on the sand.

> I will exchange an ounce of coffee from the wrecked vessel Pliny, for ten foreign stamps (no duplicates). Please inclose a 2-cent stamp for postage on coffee.

Harry C. Crosby,
Box 2104, Ocean Grove, N. J.

Brooklyn, New York.

> In No. 130 of your paper a reader of the same asks if any one of your readers knows anything about a, book called The Runaway. We have it, and like it ever so much. The copy we have only says, "By the Author of Mrs. Jerningham's Journal," and it is published by Macmillan & Co., in London and New York, and our copy was published in 1872. We think it is so nice.

> I am one of the "little girls who have many pets." We have a beautiful English setter, and I have a lovely Maltese cat, two kittens, and a canary-bird—a very sweet singer. He is singing now. I would write about them, but it would only be to tell what so many little girls have already done, though I want to ever so much.

Bessie W.

Adams, Massachusetts.

> I am a little girl six years old; I live in Adams; and my sister is five, and her name is Clara. We have a good many dollies; my best one is a large wax doll named Ruth. I can not write, so my mamma is writing this for me. We have two kitties; mine was born without any tail. Mamma read to us about Jumbo in the Young People, and so we call my kitty Jumbo. Clara's kitty has a nice long tail, and her name is Cherrie. We do not go to school, but papa and mamma teach us at home. Papa takes Harper's Young People for us, and we like to read the letters in the Post-office Box; and mamma reads us the stories. Papa says I may have a garden this summer all my own. I had one last summer, and I had beans in it, and mamma cooked them.

Helen W. H.

Tarrytown, New York.

> I am a little girl nearly six years old. My pet is a gray cat named Tiger, whom I love very much. Last fall my papa had two little kittens in his store, and Tiger was so jealous of them that he ran away, and staid six months, and then came home again. Mamma reads Young People to my brother and me every week, and she is writing this for me. Please print it.

Marion M. D.

Thanks, dear, for the daisy and fern.

Mount Vernon, New York.

> I am sore (four) years old. Mamma is writing this sor (for) me, as I can not write. I have a white kitty with a black nose; mamma will tell you his long name (Don Tomosa Felini Blackernosa, or Backernoisa, as little four-year-old always calls him). I sit on a cushion at the table. This morning kitty sat on the same cushion by me, but he did not take any of my breakfast. Kitty has his supper on the soar (floor). Jack (our little Skye terrier) sleeps with kitty on a carpet chair. Jack bit the baby kitten (sister to Don) because she took his meat. Brother Bertie buried the little kitten. The kitten's mamma got shot in her paw. She was so sick we gave the baby kitty a little bottle with milk in it, and a little piece of sponge in it, so kitty could drink; she put both her little sont (front) paws on the bottle when she took the milk. It cried and ran after mamma when it was hungry. I like "Toby Tyler."

C. Harold C.

> P.S.—My baby boy can not sound the f's at all.

Mamma.

Newton, Iowa.

> This is next to the last week of school, and we are anxiously waiting for our long summer vacation. We expect to have a nice time. My mother, brother, and I are going to Nebraska the week after school closes, as we have cousins living there. They have a little pony for the children, and each has a saddle of its own, and I expect to learn to ride horseback. As the town is only a few years old, it will seem almost like the country. The Postmistress said she would like to hear from the girls having flower beds. I have one. There are seven children in our neighborhood—two boys and five girls—who have each a flower bed, and want to see who can have the nicest. My auntie sent us Harper's Young People two years ago, and last year's are being bound for my brother Lewis, and this year's will be bound for me, and our names will be put on the backs of them. I thought that I would write a letter to have in mine, and have been expecting to write sooner. I enjoy reading the letters and continued pieces the most; also Jimmy Brown's—those about the animals, and the rest.

Celia L.

Elizabeth, New Jersey.

> I am a little girl nine years old, and have as funny a dog as ever you saw, only I do not own him. I have two brothers. One of them was my birthday present. I am going to the country soon, and you are to be sent to me every week. I like you ever so much, and would be very lonely without you, dear Young People.

Sophie M. S.

Troy, New York.

> I am a little boy, and have a dear little brother George. I go to school, just the same as all the other little boys do that write you. I have taken your paper ever since it was first issued, and I have all the back numbers, and whenever any of my little friends come to see me, he or she always wants to look at them, they are so nice; and I sometimes send an armful over to the hospital for the poor little sick children to look at, and you can't imagine how pleased they are to get them. My paper is read every week by eight or ten persons, and some of them big folks too. The only fault I have to find with Young People is that it is not large enough.

Clarence G.

#### C. Y. P. R. U.

Alice asked me why strawberries were so called. She was eating a delicious plateful of them; and as they were heaped high on the dish, sprinkled with sugar and covered with cream, they were very inviting. But why were they strawberries, and not red-berries, or blush-berries, or best-berries? Because, dear, I told her they grow on the ground on a pretty running vine, and are found strewn, or strawn, among their green leaves. From strewn or strawn berries the way is short to strawberries, which name slips easily over the lips in our talk.

For the Commonplace-book.—Here, dear girls, is a picture from Mrs. Browning for your busy pens to copy:

She was not so pretty as women I know,
And yet all your best, made of sunshine and snow.
Drop to shade, melt to naught, in the long-trodden ways.
While she's still remembered on warm and cold days— My Kate.
Her air had a meaning, her movements a grace,
You turned from the fairest to gaze on her face;
And when you had once seen her forehead and mouth,
You saw as distinctly her soul and her truth— My Kate.
Such a blue inner light from her eyelids outbroke
You looked at her silence and fancied she spoke;
When she did, so peculiar yet soft was her tone.
Though the loudest spoke also, you heard her alone— My Kate.
I doubt if she said to you much that could act
As a thought or suggestion; she did not attract
In the sense of the brilliant or wise; I infer
'Twas her thinking of others made you think of her— My Kate.

A Boy.—We will shortly publish an article giving you the information you desire.

Chestnut Hill, Pennsylvania.

> I wrote to Young People once before, but not finding my letter in print, I thought I would try again, hoping you will publish it. I am going to tell you something real funny. One morning at breakfast, while eating her mutton-chop, one of my friends said to her father, "Papa, this meat tastes sheepy." The next morning they had beef-steak, and her father said, "Do you think the meat tastes sheepy this morning?" But her little sister, about eight or nine years of age, said, "No; it tastes bully." Of course every one at the table laughed. But she did not mean it for a slang expression; she meant that it tasted sort of "beefy."

Bertha C.

We would call the attention of the C. Y. P. R. U. this week to Mrs. Herrick's article on botany entitled "The Thirsty Flowers," and to the story of the heroic drummer-boy at the battle of Jena, which Mr. David Ker tells under the title of "The Bravest Feat of All." In his sketch entitled "Paddy Ryan's Big Fish," Mr. W. M. Laffan tells the boys about curious methods of capturing trout that are practiced on the other side of the Atlantic. Dr. Van Gieson gives them some sage advice about how to treat the "Cuts and Bruises" that they are always inflicting upon themselves in their eager pursuit of pleasure.

### PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

### No. 1.

### GEOGRAPHICAL PUZZLE.

A gentleman named (a city in New Zealand), and whose Christian name was (a city in Australia), went to (a town in Vermont) to attend a party. His partner was a lady whose Christian name was (a river in Siberia), and whose surname was (a town in Tasmania). During the evening he spoke a great deal of (a cape on the coast of North America), about her dress, which was composed of (a valley in Asia), trimmed with lace from (a city in Belgium). Her shoes were made of (a city in Africa). Her hair was dressed beautifully with (a river in Africa) flowers. After dancing they strolled on the terrace, and she happened to step on (a city in Germany), and fainted from (a cape east of the United States). He flew for (a city in Europe) to revive her. When she had recovered she partook of a plate of (islands in the Pacific Ocean), and also ate a whole (county in New York State). She now said it was time to go home. They said good-night to their hostess, and took a tender (cape of Greenland) of each other at the lady's door.

J. H. B.

### No. 2.

### ENIGMAS.

### 1.

My first is in bracket, but not in rack.
My second is in plunder, but not in sack.
My third is in running, but not in fast.
My fourth is in end, but not in last.
My fifth is in sitting, but not in sat.
My sixth is in kittens, but not in cat.
My seventh is in gravel, but not in sand.
My eighth is in water, but not in land.
My ninth is in horse, but not in mule.
My tenth is in cotton, but not in spool.
My whole was a battle in time of old
In which the oppressors lost their hold.

G. B. B., Jun.

### 2.

My first is in hen, but not in rat.
My second is in boat, but not in flat.
My third is in ship, not in scow.
My fourth is in scare, but not in fear.
My fifth is in courtesy, but not in bow.
My sixth is in owl, but not in hen.
My seventh is in tomtit, but not in wren.
My eighth is in cat, but not in kitten.
My ninth is in hand, but not in mitten.
My whole is a game played by us boys,
In which we often make a great noise.

Edward Dana S.

### No. 3.

### TWO EASY DIAMONDS.

1.—1. A letter. 2. Time for work. 3. A bird. 4. A consent. 5. A letter.

C. C.

2.—1. A letter. 2. A winged animal. 3. Large bundles. 4. A post-horse. 5. A name given to the earth. 6. A body of water. 7. A letter.

Allie W. C.

### No. 4.

### WORD SQUARE.

1. A fright. 2. To expiate. 3. A story. 4. Dull. 5. An ancient people.

### ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 135.

### No. 1.

Princeton. United States.

### No. 2.

Beatrice. Faustina.

### No. 3.

T | U | F | T
P | O | C | O
P | L | U | S
D | O | R | R
C | O | M | A
B | A | T | S
L | I | E | U
S | I | L | O
R | U | N | E
M | A | T | E

### No. 4.

|  | C |  |  |  | B
| L | A | R |  | O | R | A
C | A | R | I | B | R | A | D | S
| R | I | B | O | A | D | D
|  | B | O | A | T | S
| I | R | A | T | E | L | K
B | R | A | S | S | L | A | I | N
| A | S | H |  | K | I | N
|  | S |  |  |  | N

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from George P. Taggart, Jerry Helsey, Florence Kahn, Hattie Kahn, Frank H. Powell, A. E. Cressingham, Charles C. Jacobus, Georgie Wardell, "I. Scycle," Josephine Hopgood, Florence Chambers, Eloise, "Fuss and Feathers," Emily Nelson, John P. Talbot, Eunice Dean, Frank Ellis, Fay Latimer, Bessie, C. A. G., Louis Meyers, Emil Shultz, and Irene Prescott.

[For Exchanges, see 2d and 3d pages of cover.]

[Pg 544]

## SOLUTION OF ASTRONOMICAL ACROSTIC PUZZLE.

### (PUBLISHED ON PAGE 476 OF No. 134.)

#### Prologue.

tars in the heavens brightly shine;
ta rs in the th eatr e shout and stride;
tars on our flags along the l ine
erved to arouse the soldiers' pride.

#### First Verse.

winkletum Shine was a little sta r
ucked in a fa r-away nook in the sky;
aking a look at the world from afar,
hinking his station exce edingly high.

#### Second Verse.

m bition to rise is unknown in a star,
nd Twinkletum felt that he wanted to fall,
-shooting he went without asking his "mar,"
nd he shot down head first 'gainst a high ga rden wal l.

#### Third Verse.

eca lle d by a view of companions on high,
ecol lections of home came to Twinkletum Shine;
emorse gnawed his b reast as he clung to the vine
unning over the stone wa l l 'way up toward the sky.

#### Fourth Verse.

till not high enough to reach his dear home,
o the naughty star, sorrowing, faded and died.
mall stars in the future should not try to roam;
uspended above, the y should be satisfied.

The letters replacing stars are italics, and they will be found to make the following names:

Prologue.—First line, e a e r g i; this, transposed, will give the word Egeria, a primary planet. Second line, a r t h e r e n i e makes Irene and Earth, two planets. Third line, n u a o n t l i, Lunation, applied to a movement of the moon. Fourth line, e a s s d p i, Apsides, also relating to movements of the moon.

First Verse.—First line, n u n a l a r gives Annular, when the sun is totally obscured except a bright ring around a dark body in the centre (Mattison's Primary Astronomy, p. 118). Second, third, and fourth lines, c e a r y h e s g k e m a r n s c e e, Ceres, Hygea, and Mars, planets; and Encke, an astronomer who discovered an apparently oval comet (Mattison, p. 143).

Second Verse.—First line, m b r u a gives Umbra, a part of the moon. Second line, t t a o l, Total, one form of eclipse. Third and fourth lines, o e e m r o e g i a r l l, Galileo, who invented the telescope, and Roemer, a distinguished foreign astronomer.

Third Verse.—First line, a l e d e p i s, Pleiades, a cluster of stars. Second line, l l s e a l s, Lassell, who discovered a satellite of Neptune (Mattison, p. 130). Third and fourth lines, m r a d i b r s t v i o r e s a l l o e s, Variable, a term applied to stars which move in unexpected directions; Lord Ross, a titled astronomer; and Metis, a planet.

Fourth Verse.—First line, t h n o r, Thorn, Prussia, the birth-place of Copernicus (Mattison, p. 10). Second and third lines, h g t r o r n e n i l s h t, Northern Lights. Fourth line, s d e y h a, Hyades, a cluster of stars.

### LETTER SEQUENCES.

### BY G. B. BARTLETT.

This little game consists in preparing a sentence or story in which the letters of the alphabet are used in regular order.

When several persons are engaged upon it at the same time, the game may be played in two ways. A certain amount of time may be allowed, and the one who has the most complete and connected story being the winner. It very often happens, however, when this plan is pursued that some one with a special talent for remembering words will win every time. It may be better, therefore, to have all the story when completed placed in a hat or some other receptacle. Then let them be drawn out one by one and read, the authorship remaining unknown.

When all have been read, a ballot is taken to decide upon their merits, and the author of the one which receives the most votes is declared the winner of the prize.

Of course these stories are not expected to be sensible, as a great part of the fun consists rather in their absurdity. Ex may always be used in place of X.

Specimen Story.—A braying, careless donkey eats green hay in June's kind, lovely month. No opening posy quaintly roared, "Spare thou us, vain warbler!" Excuse yours, zealously.

FUN ON THE POND—LAUNCHING THE RAFT.

### FOOTNOTES:

[1] Begun in No. 127, Harper's Young People.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, JUNE 20, 1882 ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE

## THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

> This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided that:

- • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”
- • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.
- • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.
- • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.