Title: Harper's Young People, August 10, 1880 - An Illustrated Weekly
Author: Various
Language: English
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[Illustration: HARPER'S

YOUNG PEOPLE

AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]

       *       *       *       *       *

VOL. I.--NO. 41. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.

Tuesday, August 10, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.

       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration: THE MORAL PIRATES ATTACKED BY TRAMPS.--[SEE NEXT PAGE.]]

[Begun in No. 31 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, June 1.]

THE MORAL PIRATES.

BY W. L. ALDEN.


CHAPTER XI.

"Boys," said Tom, as he was kindling the fire the next morning, "do you
know what day it is?"

"Saturday, of course," replied the others.

"You're wrong; it's Sunday."

"It can't be," exclaimed Harry.

"But it is," persisted Tom. "Last night was the sixth night that we've
slept out-doors, and we started on a Monday."

Tom was right; but it was some time before his companions could convince
themselves that it was actually Sunday. When they finally admitted that
it was Sunday morning they gave up the idea of proceeding up the canal,
and began to discuss what they had better do.

The boat, which had been drawn out of the water the night before, was
concealed by a clump of bushes from the canal boatmen. The boys decided
to leave it where it was, and to carry the tent and most of their
baggage to a grove a quarter of a mile distant, where they could pass a
quiet Sunday. The locks were not yet opened, and no canal-boats were
stirring, and the boys made their way to the grove at once while their
movements were unobserved. They were afraid that if they attracted the
attention of the boatmen to the clump of bushes, some one would steal
the _Whitewing_ while her crew were absent. They had already seen enough
of the "canalers" to know that they were a wild and lawless set of men,
and they were not anxious to put the temptation of stealing a nice boat
in their way.

The grove was a delightful place; and when they had pitched the tent
under the shadow of the great oak-trees, they were glad of the prospect
of a good day's rest. Tom and Harry walked nearly a mile to church in
the morning, leaving the Sharpe boys to look after the camp, and they
all slept most of the afternoon.

About dusk, as the fire for cooking supper was blazing briskly, Joe
returned from a foraging expedition quite out of breath, and with his
milk-pail half empty. He said that he had met three tramps on the road,
which passed through the grove not very far from the camp, and that they
had snatched a pie from him that he had bought at a farm-house, and had
chased him for some distance.

He had been badly frightened, as he frankly admitted; but the other boys
thought that it was a good joke on him. They told him that the tramps
would track him by the milk that he had spilled, and would probably
attack the camp and scalp him. They soon forgot the adventure, however,
with the exception of Tom, who, although he said nothing at the time,
poured water on the fire as soon as the supper was cooked--an act which
somewhat astonished the rest. Soon afterward he went into the tent for a
few moments, and when he returned he was beginning to advise Joe not to
laugh quite so loud, when the crackling of branches was heard in the
grove, and three very unpleasant-looking men appeared.

It was fast growing dark, but Joe immediately recognized them as the
tramps who had stolen his pie. "We've come to supper," said one of them.
"Let's see what you've got. Give us the bill of fare, sonny, and look
sharp about it."

Tom immediately answered that they had eaten their supper, and that
there was nothing left of it but some coffee. "If you want the coffee,
take it," said he. "There isn't anything else for you."

"That ain't a perlite way to treat three gen'lemen as come a long ways
to call on you," said the tramp. "We'll just have to help ourselves, and
we'll begin by looking into your tent. P'r'aps you've got a crust of
bread there what'll save a poor starvin' workin'-man from dyin' on the
spot."

Tom hastily stepped before the tent. "You can't go into this tent," he
said, very quietly; "and you'd better leave this camp and go about your
business."

"Just hear him," said the tramp, addressing his companions. "As if this
yere identical camp wasn't our business. Now, boys," he continued,
"you've got money with you, and you've got clothes, and one on you's got
a watch; and you're goin' to give 'em to three honest hard-workin' men,
or else you're goin' to have your nice little throats cut."

"Here, boys, quick!" cried Tom, rushing into the tent, where he was
followed by the other boys before the tramps could stop them. "Here,
Harry," he continued, "take the boat-hook. There's a hatchet for you,
Jim, and a stick for Joe. Now we'll see if they can rob us!" So saying,
he stepped outside the tent with the gun in his hand, followed closely
by his little army.

The ruffians hesitated when they saw the cool way in which Tom
confronted them. So they proposed a compromise, as they called it. "Look
a here," said the one who had hitherto been the spokesman; "we ain't
unreasonable, and we'll compromise this yere business. You give us your
money and that chap's watch, and we'll let you alone. That's what I call
a very handsome offer."

"We won't give you a thing," replied Tom; "and I'll shoot the first one
of you that lays a hand on us."

The tramps consulted for a moment, and then the leader, with a frightful
oath, ordered Tom to drop that gun instantly.

Tom never said a word, but he cocked both barrels and waited, with his
eye fixed on the enemy.

Presently the tramps separated a little, the leader remaining where he
had been standing, and the others moving one to the right and the other
to the left of the boys. They evidently intended to rush on Tom from
three directions at once, and so confuse him, and prevent him from
shooting.

"I'll take the leader and the man on the right," whispered Tom to Harry.
"You lay for the other fellow with your boat-hook. I've given you fair
warning," he continued, addressing the ruffians "and I'll fire the
minute you try to attack us."

The boys were standing close together in front of the tent, Tom being a
little in advance of the others. Suddenly the leader of the tramps
called out, "Now, then!" and all three made a rush toward Tom. He fired
at the tramp in front of him, hitting him in the leg, and bringing him
to the ground; but before he could fire again, the other two were upon
him.

The boys gallantly stood by Tom. Harry attacked one of the tramps with
the boat-hook so fiercely that the fellow cried out that he was stabbed,
and ran away. Meanwhile Tom was struggling with the third tramp, who had
thrown him down, and was trying to wrench the gun from him, while Jim
and Joe were hovering around them afraid to strike at the tramp for fear
of hitting Tom. But now Harry, having driven off his antagonist, flew to
the help of Tom, and seizing the tramp by his hair, and bracing one knee
against his back, dragged him backward to the ground, and held him there
until Tom regained his feet, and holding the muzzle of the gun at the
robber's head, called on him to surrender, which the fellow gladly did.

"Get some rope, Jim, and tie him," cried Tom. "Hold on to his hair,
Harry, and I'll blow his brains out if he offers to move."

The tramp was not at all anxious to part with his brains, and he
remained perfectly quiet while Jim and Joe tied his feet together, and
his hands behind his back.

"Now you stand over him with the boat-hook, Harry," said Tom, "and I'll
see to the other fellow."

The other fellow was, of course, the man who had been shot. Tom lighted
the lantern, for it was now quite dark, and found that the ruffian had
been shot in the lower part of his right leg, and had fainted from loss
of blood. Taking a towel, Tom tore it into strips, and bound up the
wound, and by the time he had finished the patient became conscious
again, and begged Tom not to take him to prison.

Now this was precisely what the boys did not want to do, as it would
probably delay them for several days, and perhaps put an end to their
cruise. Tom therefore said to the prisoner whom Harry was guarding, that
if he would promise to help the wounded man away, and take him to see a
doctor, he would be released. The tramp gladly accepted the offer, and
Harry unfastened the rope from his legs and arms, while Tom kept his gun
in readiness to use it at the first sign of treachery. The tramps,
however, had quite enough of fighting, and were only too anxious to get
away. The wounded man was helped to his feet by his companion, and the
two went slowly off, one half carrying the other, and both cursing the
coward who had run away. As they hobbled off, Tom called out, "I'm sorry
I had to hurt you, but I couldn't help it, you know; and if any of you
come back here to-night, you'll find us ready for you."

It was a long time before the boys fell asleep that night, and Tom was
overwhelmed with praise for his coolness and bravery. Though he felt
certain that the tramps would not return, he proposed that a sentinel
should keep guard outside the tent, offering to share that duty with
Harry, since the other boys were not familiar with guns. So all night
long Tom and Harry, relieving one another every two hours, marched up
and down in front of the tent, keeping a sharp watch for robbers, and
prepared for a desperate fight every time they heard the slightest
noise.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



EASY BOTANY.


AUGUST WILD FLOWERS.

The wild flowers of August have their own distinguishing
characteristics. We find the road-sides gleaming and glowing with
brilliant colors, and all the tribes of strong-growing and
strong-scented plants that prefer the later summer months.

Among others the singular desmodium, or bush trefoil, is interesting
from having the leaves and flowers grow on separate plants, quite
unconnected apparently, and often some little distance apart.

The large, spreading leaves grow on a stalk as if they had nothing to do
with anything else; but the young botanist who may grasp this plume of
leaves will find that the root leads along under-ground, till suddenly
up comes _another plant_--a tall stem with panicles of purplish flowers.
All these freaks or peculiarities become delightful to the observant
eye.

The ground-nut, or wild bean, is a very handsome climber, and peculiar
in appearance. The clusters of waxy flowers are rich brown and white,
growing very thick, and having the scent of violets. The tubers are
often eaten.

The wild kidney-bean is found in copses and along road-sides from
Connecticut to Illinois. It climbs high from a perennial root, with
clusters of small bright purple flowers.

In rich woodlands in the Middle States and west the pea-nut is very
interesting to young searchers. The plant bears two kinds of flowers,
the upper ones ripening no fruit, but the lower or under-ground ones
bearing the well-known pea-nuts.

Try to find a remarkable plant belonging to the convolvulus family, the
wild-potato vine, or "man of the earth." It is not very easily
overlooked. Several stems spring from the same root, growing and twining
seven or eight feet high. The leaves are large, and of various
shapes--heart-shaped, pointed, and fiddle-shaped. Three or four large
blossoms, several inches broad, grow in clusters; the flowers are white,
with purple in the tube. This remarkable vine is found in sandy fields
and by road-sides from Connecticut to Illinois and south.

A large plant grows by the end of an old country bridge near Canaan,
Connecticut. The stems are long and stout, and grow from a huge root
that weighs fifteen or twenty pounds.

The beautiful August lilies make the fields and meadows gay; the stately
pale yellow lily spotted with brown or purple, the darker yellow, and
the fiery red lily, contrasted with the white spiranthes, or
ladies-tresses.

Now the radiant heads of countless _composite_ flowers are highest and
most showy, and a walk or drive along any country road reveals such
masses of color as to arrest and enchant the most unobservant eye.

On one woodland road at Orange, New Jersey, the shades of asters, from
the deepest violet-blue and purple to the palest lilac, are
bewilderingly beautiful, while the splendid varieties of liatris, or
button snakeroot, the rose-purple and white ox-eyed daisies and white
asters, golden-rod, and the great open-eyed corn-flowers, or rudbeckias,
are certainly beyond description.

Try to find the elegant golden asters, which are more rare. At Cape Cod,
Massachusetts, at Nantucket, and on the pine barrens of New Jersey, they
may be found.

Look for the compass-plant, if you have the command of prairies. It is
not pretty, is rough and coarse-looking, but is immortalized by
Longfellow. The peculiarity consists in the arrangement of the leaves,
the lower and root leaves, which, being very large, spread out on the
open prairies, and are disposed to present their edges pointing north
and south, thus sometimes guiding the bewildered traveller.

Another beautiful prairie plant, two or three feet high, is found in dry
and sandy soils and in rocky crevices. The flowers are numerous, of a
beautiful bright blue or bluish-white, and what makes it interesting is
that it is supposed to prefer localities where lead ore prevails, and is
called lead-plant.

Now is the time for any so disposed to make a collection of _herbs_, as
they are called. In old-fashioned days these herbs were considered great
treasures, and cures for many of the ills of humanity. They were tied
carefully in bunches, and hung in the garret of the farm-house to dry.
The odor of dried herbs comes to me now as I think of a dear old
garrets--a favorite play-place of early childhood.

No child familiar with the garret of a country home can ever forget its
mysterious charm. But I must remember that I am writing of flowers, and
leave the captivating subject of garrets. Multitudes of potent herbs may
now be found in the woods, by the road-side, _everywhere_: tansy,
camomile, wormwood, everlasting, wild basil, lavender, germander,
pennyroyal, spearmint, balm, peppermint, horehound, hyssop, thyme,
rosemary, sage, wild bergamot, catnip, motherwort, comfrey, boneset,
thoroughwort, fennel, and many other life-giving plants. They are
generally coarse-looking and rough, with strong stems and strong odors,
and no beauty, though in some cases the flowers are a pretty blue or
rose-color. All these things, even to the summer gathering of herbs for
some dear relative, become interesting to the young student, because it
is a real pleasure to become familiar with the _varieties_ which are
presented in nature's domain, and the homely growths are sometimes of
more importance than the ornamental, a consoling thought to such of us
as are possessed of but little physical beauty.



[Illustration: DO YOU KNOW HIM?]

THE BOY EMIGRANT IN RUSSIA.

A True Story.

BY DAVID KER.


Many years ago, when Peter the Great was Czar of Russia, and when the
improvements that he was making all over the country gave foreign
workmen a fine chance of earning high wages, a number of emigrants
landed one cold winter morning at one of the Russian ports on the Gulf
of Finland, to see if they could find work, as so many others had done.

A curious mixture they were--men, women, and children from every country
on either side of the Baltic. Tall, fresh-colored Swedes, in gray frocks
and thick blue stockings; stout, light-haired Germans, and ruddy,
blue-eyed Danes; big-boned Pomeranians, with low foreheads and shaggy
brown beards; and short, squat Finns, whose round puffy faces and thick
yellow hair gave them the look of overboiled apple-dumplings.

But their first taste of Russia was not at all a pleasant one. At the
port where they had landed it was the rule that all emigrants who came
ashore should be kept in one place till the Czar's agents came to
examine them; and the place where they were kept was an old warehouse,
very bare and dismal-looking, with nothing in it but a few old sails and
some heaps of straw. Here they remained for two days, while the snow
fell and the wind roared outside, their food being brought them by the
soldiers of the port. The men smoked their pipes and played cards, the
women knitted stockings or mended the clothes of their husbands and
children, while the little people played hide-and-seek in and out of the
dark corners, and made the gloomy old place quite merry with their
shouts and laughter.

But there was one boy (a bright-eyed little fellow with brown curly
hair) who took no part in the fun, but sat in a corner by himself,
chalking curious figures on the wall, which he seemed to copy from the
book in his other hand. Any one who had looked closely at these figures
would have seen that they were _letters_--Russian letters--and that
sometimes he would write a whole word at once, and then put the meaning
opposite it in German. In fact, he was teaching himself the language of
this new country that he had got into, and seemed to be pretty well on
with it, for every now and then he would leave off writing, and read a
page of his book without meeting a single word that he could not master.

"Look at Karl Osterman yonder, slaving away at that book of his!" said
one of the men. "Much good that'll do him! As if one could saw a plank
or hammer a rivet any better for knowing that crack-jaw lingo!"

"He's going to teach the Russians their own language--that's what he's
at!" grinned another. "A regular professor, ain't he? far too clever for
poor fellows like us!"

"Ay, he'll be a great man one of these days," chimed in a third, with a
hoarse laugh, "and then perhaps he'll be kind enough to give us a job."

Little Karl's eyes sparkled, and he set his lips firmly, as if making up
his mind that he _would_ be a great man yet, somehow or other; but he
said nothing, and went quietly on with his work.

Suddenly the door flew open, and in came a Russian soldier in a shabby
green uniform trimmed with faded gold lace. He was a very tall and
powerful man, with a dark, weather-beaten face framed in close-cropped
hair, and great black eyes that seemed to pierce right through any one
whom they looked at.

"I say, my good fellows," cried he, "here's an order from the Czar,
which I'm to paste up in this room; and I want to have it in German and
Swedish as well as Russian, that every one who comes in may be able to
read it. Perhaps one of you would kindly lend me a hand with the job,
for I'm not very glib at foreign languages myself."

The men glanced meaningly at each other, and the two who had been making
fun of Osterman looked rather sheepish, as if thinking that they had
better have been learning Russian themselves instead of laughing at him.

"I'll do it for you, Mr. Soldier," said little Osterman, stepping boldly
forward, "if there aren't any very big words in it. I've only got as far
as three-syllable words in Russian yet, you know."

The soldier stared at him for a moment, and then began to laugh.

"Well, my boy, I don't think you'll find many big words on this paper;
it's pretty plain sailing so far as it goes. See if you can read it."

Karl took the paper, and read it off easily enough.

"Well done, my fine fellow!" cried the Russian; "you're a smart lad for
your age, I can see that. Now try if you can put it into German."

To work went our hero, with a look as solemn as any professor on his
little round face. Once or twice he stopped as if at a loss for a word;
but he got through at last, and having finished the German, began upon
the Swedish.

"What? do you know Swedish too?" cried his new friend. "Why, man, you're
a perfect dictionary!"

"My mother was a Swede," answered Osterman, "and she taught me her own
language; and my father was a German, and he taught me his."

"You're a lucky fellow!" said the Russian, with a sigh. "I only wish I'd
had some one to teach me when I was your age, I should know a great deal
more than I do."

"What? didn't your father teach you, then?"

"He died when I was a mere child," said the Russian, sadly, "and my
mother, too."

"Oh dear, I'm _so_ sorry! But had you no brothers or sisters?"

"I had a brother, but he was blind, poor fellow, and couldn't help me;
and as for my sister" (here his face darkened fearfully), "instead of
being kind to me, she tried to have me killed!"

"What a shame!" cried the boy, indignantly, clinching a fist about the
size of a large plum. "I only wish _I_'d been your brother!--I wouldn't
have let anybody touch you!"

This valiant promise of protection, made by a tiny boy to a stalwart
soldier of six feet three, tickled the other emigrants so much that they
burst into a roar of laughter which made the old walls ring. But the
soldier did not laugh; he only passed his hand tenderly over the child's
curly head, and then stooped to look at the book which Karl had been
reading.

"Ah! the story of Ilia the Strong. I used to be very fond of it when I
was a boy. How do you like it?"

"Very much indeed. I didn't think I'd have time to finish it, when they
said the Czar was coming to look at us; but I suppose he's too busy
amusing himself to care about us poor fellows."

The soldier gave such a terrible frown that the men nearest him started
back in dismay, and even Osterman himself looked startled. But the next
moment the Russian's face cleared again, though it was still very sad.

"You shouldn't talk like that, my boy," said he; "the Czar would have
come to you directly you landed, if he hadn't been ill. However, he's
well again now, and I shouldn't wonder if you were to see him here
to-day."

Just then the door opened again, and in tramped a dozen grand-looking
officers in splendid uniforms, the foremost of whom, making a low bow to
the shabby soldier, said, very respectfully, "All is ready, your
majesty."

At the word "majesty," all the emigrants started as if they had been
shot; for they now saw that this shabby-looking fellow, whom they had
taken for a common soldier, was no other than the Czar Peter the Great
himself. But little Osterman did not seem frightened in the least. He
slid his soft little hand into the Emperor's huge brown fist, and cried
joyfully:

"I'm so glad you're a good Czar after all, for the Czars that I've read
about were all very bad fellows indeed, and I know I shouldn't have
liked them."

"Well, well, my boy," said Peter, clapping him on the shoulder, with a
hearty laugh, "I hope you'll find me a little better than some of them,
even though I _am_ an Emperor. Come along with me, and I'll find you
something better to do than chalking an old wall."

The boy went with his new friend, and any history of Russia will tell
you how high Osterman rose, and what great things he accomplished. Peter
the Great made him his secretary; the Empress Catherine I. made him her
chamberlain; and the Czar Peter II. gave him a title of honor; and
before the Empress Anne had been many years on the throne, the little
student whom his comrades had laughed at in the old warehouse thirty
years before, had become Count Osterman, Prime Minister of Russia.



[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 37, July 13.]

THE STORY OF THE AMERICAN NAVY.

BY BENSON J. LOSSING.


CHAPTER V.

"We have a right to enter any of your vessels without your leave to seek
for suspected deserters from our navy, and to take them away when
found," said the British government to the Americans again after the war
with the Barbary States.

"By so doing you insult our flag. _Beware!_" replied the Americans.

There was no power in that "Beware!" for our little navy, which had
performed such valiant deeds, had, under the pretext of "public
economy," been transformed into a swarm of gun-boats--a "mosquito
fleet"--that was ridiculed at home and despised abroad. British cruisers
patrolled American waters, and insulted our flag whenever they pleased.
They became legalized plunderers, and no American merchant vessel
leaving port was safe from their depredations.

In 1807 a British squadron lay in a bay on the coast of Virginia. The
American frigate _Chesapeake_ put to sea from Hampton Roads, when the
_Leopard_, one of the English ships, stopped her, and demanded the
delivery of three or four alleged deserters on board of her. When the
demand was refused, the _Leopard_ sent no less than twenty round-shot
through the surprised and unprepared _Chesapeake_, and British officers
boarded her, and carried away the men. This outrage excited a hot war
spirit among the Americans. The government ordered all armed British
vessels to leave American waters immediately. Did they do it? No. There
was no power back of the order to enforce it. The ridiculous gun-boat
fleet was laughed at, and the government was placed in the position of a
weak blusterer. British cruisers continued to patrol American waters.
The people demanded more war ships. The government heeded the demand.
The gun-boats retired, and in 1810 the Americans had four frigates and
eight smaller armed vessels afloat.

In the spring of 1811 a British frigate was seen prowling along our
coasts. Commodore Rodgers went in search of her in the frigate
_President_, and on a pleasant May evening he gave chase to a vessel
which he supposed to be the one he was searching for. As he drew near he
asked, through his trumpet, "What sail is that?" The stranger repeated
the question. Rodgers again asked, "What sail is that?" and was answered
by a cannon-ball, which lodged in the main-mast of the _President_.
Rodgers opened a broadside upon the surly stranger, and after a short
combat silenced her guns. At daylight she was seen several miles away.
She was the British sloop-of-war _Little Belt_.

This affair created great excitement, and from that time until the
summer of 1812 the American war vessels were kept actively cruising
along our coasts. Meanwhile, navy-yards had been built, the moral tone
of the navy had been greatly improved, and its discipline was efficient.
It was almost unconsciously preparing for a great conflict, in which it
was to gain imperishable renown.

Insult after insult caused the Americans to declare war against England
in the summer of 1812. Measures were taken to create an efficient army,
but, strange as it may seem, when war was to be waged against a powerful
maritime nation there was persistent opposition in Congress to a navy.
The Southern members, representing a purely agricultural region, could
not sympathize with New Englanders in desires for a navy to protect
commerce. In vain it was wisely urged that protection to commerce is
protection to agriculture. A South Carolina member declared he would "go
further to see a navy burned than to extinguish the flames," and a
proposition of a Massachusetts member to build thirty frigates was voted
down. And yet, so unprepared for maritime war, the Americans went boldly
out on the ocean with a few public vessels and active privateers to defy
the royal navy of England. The United States had twenty war vessels,
exclusive of one hundred and twenty gun-boats. Great Britain had eight
hundred efficient cruisers.

The British had nothing but sneers at and ribald jokes about the
American Navy. They laughed in derision at our declaration of war. They
spoke of the _Constitution_ frigate, which had performed such gallant
deeds in the Mediterranean, as "a bundle of pine boards sailing under a
bit of striped bunting," and they declared that "a few broadsides from
England's wooden walls" would, "drive the paltry striped bunting from
the ocean." They did not heed the injunction, "Let not him that girdeth
on his harness boast himself as he that putteth it off."

When war was declared, there was a small American squadron in the harbor
of New York under Commodore Rodgers. It immediately went to sea in
search of a large fleet of Jamaica merchantmen known to be off the
coast. The _President_ frigate was Rodgers's flag-ship. She soon
encountered the British frigate _Belvidera_, which, after a sharp
combat, was lightened, and, outsailing the _President_, escaped. This
was the first battle on sea or land of the war of 1812-15, which is
properly called the "Second War for Independence." The _Belvidera_
carried the news of the declaration of war to the British at Halifax.

Captain Broke was sent from Halifax with a squadron to meet the
Americans. His flag-ship was the frigate _Shannon_. He soon captured the
little brig _Nautilus_, the _first_ vessel taken in that war. She was
retaken in the East Indies in 1815, and was the _last_ vessel captured
in the war.

The frigate _Constitution_, Captain Isaac Hull, had just returned from
Europe. She shipped a new crew, and cruised along the New England
coasts. In the middle of July she fell in with Broke's squadron.
Perceiving his peril, Hull sought safety in flight; and then began one
of the most remarkable naval retreats ever recorded, in which skillful
seamanship won the race. There was almost a dead calm. Down went the
boats of the _Constitution_, with long lines attached to them, and
strong sweeps were used with desperate energy in towing her. A long
cannon was placed at the stern on her spar-deck, and two others were
pointed out of her cabin windows.

[Illustration: ESCAPE OF THE UNITED STATES FRIGATE
"CONSTITUTION."--DRAWN BY J. O. DAVIDSON.]

A gentle breeze now sprang up, and the _Shannon_ approached and attacked
the _Constitution_ with her bow guns. The breeze died away. The water
was shallow, and Hull sent a kedge anchor with ropes attached, in a
boat, half a mile ahead. It was cast, and the crew pulled the ship
rapidly ahead. For a while Broke was puzzled by her mysterious movement,
but discovering the secret he used the same means. Through breezes and
calms, and a fierce thunder-storm that swept over the sea, the chase
continued sixty-four hours, when Broke gave it up, and the
_Constitution_ escaped. A rhymer of the day wrote:

  "'Neath Hull's command and a tough band,
    And naught beside to back her,
  Upon a day, as log-books say,
    A fleet bore down to thwack her.
  A fleet, you know, is odds or so
    Against a single ship, sirs;
  So 'cross the tide her legs she tried,
    And gave the rogues the slip, sirs."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



THE "BOSS" FISH.

BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.


[Illustration: JEFF AND CHARLEY FISHING BEFORE BREAKFAST.]

"No use, Charley. We might as well go home to breakfast."

"We got here early enough."

"I don't believe there's a trout in the brook."

"If there are any, they don't bite worms early in the morning any more'n
they do any other time."

Charley looked mournfully down at his float, as it lopped wearily over
on one side. The water of the little pool below the foot-bridge over the
trout brook was as smooth as a looking-glass, and the float had not so
much as wiggled since he dropped it in.

"I don't care much for trout, Jeff."

"I'd rather have some breakfast."

"And after that we'll take the boat, and go out on the pond. We've dug a
pile of worms."

Slowly and grudgingly the line was pulled in, but the faces of both the
boys brightened the moment they were turned in the direction of
breakfast.

Half an hour later they were stopping for a moment to look at a stout,
middle-aged man who was standing on the steps of the little village
hotel, talking with the landlord. A strap over one shoulder held up a
fishing-basket that swung behind his left hip, and in his right hand he
carried, all ready for use, the lightest fishing-rod Charley Morris had
ever seen. Even Jeff, who was from the city himself, and had looked at
such things in the show windows of the shops, had an idea the stranger
must have made a mistake in bringing that plaything into the country.

"It's a trout rod, Charley. If we'd had one like it this morning!"

"'Tisn't much bigger'n a horsewhip."

Just then the landlord was saying, "Thar isn't much in the pond 'cept
perch and sunfish, but you may take something in the creek above. Your
best show for trout is to work along the trout brook as far as the hill,
and then cut across to the creek, and fish down. 'Tain't far to cross.
To-morrer you can try the brooks beyond the hill. Some of 'em'll give
you a full baskit."

"Hear that, Jeff," whispered Charley. "Just isn't old Galloway a-fooling
him! Sending him to fish in that brook! Why, if our cows got at it all
at once, they'd drink it dry."

Jeff was looking at the high boots the stranger wore over his trousers,
and was just saying, "They're for wading, so he won't wet his feet,"
when Charley looked right up into the face of the "fancy fisherman" from
the city, and asked,

"Mister, do you want any worms?"

"Angle-worms, my lad?"

"And grubs? I know where you can dig lots of 'em. Where Jeff and I got
ours this morning."

"No, thank you, my little man. I don't care for any worms. Would you
like to see my bait?"

"Guess I would. Look here, Jeff, he's going to show his bait."

The stout stranger chuckled merrily as he drew from one of his great
side pockets a sort of little book, with a leather cover and flap.

"Jeff, he carries his worms in a pocket-book."

"Flies, my little man--flies."

"Our fish won't bite at flies, mister; and they won't hide a hook,
neither."

Charley's eyes were opening wide, a moment later, as the little book was
opened before them.

"Flies? Why, mister, there's pretty much every kind of bug, except
bumblebees. All sorts of hooks, too. If you put them pretty things into
the water, you'll get 'em wet, and spoil 'em."

Again the fat man chuckled.

"Will I? Well, now, you and I'll run a race. You two boys go ahead, and
see which of us'll catch the most fish and the biggest."

"Come on, Jeff," shouted Charley; "we'll beat him!"

But then he suddenly turned again to say:

"Now, mister, you've got your scoop-net along. Minners don't count, do
they?"

"No, sonny, minnows won't count. Only fish that are big enough to eat."

Charley had never seen a "landing-net" used in his life, but he knew
what minnows were good for.

"If we had some, Jeff," he said, as they hurried along toward the pond,
"we could try for some pickerel. There's some of them left. Only they've
been fished for so much, they know enough to let a hook alone."

"Big ones?"

"Some of 'em. There's one awful big one. Black Dan--he's the best
fisherman round here, only he's lame of one leg--he says it's the boss
fish, and he's fished for him a whole day at a time."

"Did he ever get him to bite?"

"No; but he says he's seen that pickerel smell of his bait, and then
swim up to the top of the water and wink at him."

"Wish we could catch him."

"If I had that feller's scoop-net, and could get some minners."

But he had no such thing; and in a few minutes more they were in their
boat on the pond, while the stranger was walking fast, for a fat man,
across the meadow toward the trout brook.

This was a very narrow, crooked affair, pretty deep in many places, and
almost hidden by high grass, trees, and bushes.

"We know there are no fish there," said Charley, confidently.

"Not even trout?"

"Well, yes, maybe there's trout. But they won't bite. Not even before
breakfast. Anyhow, they won't go for a bare hook, with a feather on it."

That seemed sensible, and Charley's own hook now had a worm on it, and
so had Jeff's.

"We'll beat him. I know just where to go. We're in the right spot."

Perhaps he did; but before the morning was over he and Jeff had moved
their boat into nearly a dozen more that seemed to be just as good.

The "pond" was a sort of miniature lake, and was nearly half a mile
long, although it was nowhere very wide. It was supplied by what Mr.
Galloway, the landlord, called the "creek"--a pretty stream of water
about ten times as large as the trout brook in the meadow.

There were fish in that pond, and it was a pity the man from the city
had not known it, and tried for some of them with angle-worms, instead
of wasting his time over there in the meadow.

As it was, Jeff and Charley had it all to themselves, and the latter was
half glad his city cousin got the first bite.

"Good for you, Jeff!"

"Bull-head! bull-head!"

"Look out for his horns."

"Ain't he a whopper?"

"I say, Jeff, did you ever read about flying-fish?"

"Course I have."

"Well, shouldn't you think their wings'd get wet under water?"

"Charley! mind your cork; it's gone under."

So it had, and in a moment more he could shout, "I'm even with you. Only
mine's a pumpkin-seed."

It looked as if the luck of that morning had settled upon the two boys.
It was hard to say which of them came in for the largest share of it.
Even before they moved their boat the first time they could count three
bull-heads, six perch, twice as many sunfish, or "pumpkin-seed," two
shiners, and a sucker. To be sure, none of them were very large fish,
but they were all big enough to eat, and would count when they came to
compare with the contents of the fat man's basket.

"That was a pretty big fish-basket," said Charley. "Most of 'em are flat
little things."

"It's bigger'n he'll need for all the fish he'll find in that brook.
Hullo, my bait's off again."

"So's mine. Just a nibble."

"Six prime worms gone hand-running. Jeff, I guess we might as well pull
up. The snappin'-turtles have come for us."

"Do they skin a hook that way?"

"That's just what they do. Black Dan says the fish put 'em up to it.
Particularly that there boss pickerel."

Charley had more than one story to tell about Black Dan, but he pulled
up the big stone that was doing duty as an anchor, and off they went to
another "tip-top spot."

It proved so for a while, and there Jeff pulled in his first eel. Then
he had a good time, as Charley said, getting the eel off the hook, and
untwisting him from the snarl he had got himself into with the
fish-line.

"There he goes," said Charley, "all over the bottom of the boat. Black
Dan says an eel just loves to travel round."

"They're mean things to catch."

"I've got one. Now I'll show you."

Charley knew how to take an eel off a hook, but that one bothered him,
and when he finally got him loose, he said,

"I say, Jeff, this won't do. I'd as lief fish for turtles. Let's move."

"Wait a bit. Maybe there's something else."

So there was, but not for any great length of time; and as the boys were
impatient, they made another move.

They would have given one of their eels to know how the fat man from the
city was getting along.

Toward noon their frequent changes brought them away up to the head of
the pond, near the mouth of the creek; but they had not been anchored
ten minutes before a deep-toned cheery voice from the bank hailed them
with,

"Hey, boys! Having good luck?"

"Pretty good," said Charley. "Have you caught anything?--anything
bigger'n minners?"

"Well, a fish or two. Come ashore and I'll show 'em. Besides, I want you
to give me a lift with your boat."

The boys were ready enough to have a look into that fish-basket, and the
anchor came up in a hurry.

"See," said the fat man, as he lifted the lid of his basket.

"Why, it's more'n half full."

"All trout too, and some of 'em are big ones."

"Mister," said Charley, "did you bring any of them from the city with
you?"

"I guess not," chuckled the fat man. "I got most of 'em in the brook,
but I did fairly well along the creek. Now do you see those bushes at
the foot of the steep bank just below the mouth of the creek?"

"Yes," said Charley; "there's an awful deep hole right there."

"Well, I want to float over, slow and silent, so I can throw a fly right
under those bushes."

"You'll get caught in 'em."

"I'll risk that."

He sat down on the front seat, and Charley rowed him over as if he were
afraid of making a ripple on the water. He and Jeff were almost holding
their breath with excitement over what their fat friend meant to do.

"That's it. Let her float."

The light graceful rod swung back, a remarkable length of very fine line
went floating through the air, and the boys could see something like a
small dragon-fly at the end of it.

"No sinker, Jeff," whispered Charley.

"It's just lit on the water."

It was a beautiful cast, and the fly fell at the very edge of the
bushes, on a dark and shady spot of water with a small eddy in it.

Splash!

What a plunge that was!

"He jumped clean out of the water," exclaimed Jeff.

"You've lost your hook this time, mister, and your bait too. That's a
pickerel, and we call him the boss fish."

"It's a bigger fish than I had reckoned on," said the stranger, "or I'd
have brought a heavier rod and tackle."

"He'll snap any line you've got."

"We'll see."

The pickerel had felt the sharp point of that small hook, and he was now
darting off toward the mouth of the creek.

The fat man took it coolly, holding his rod with one hand, while the
other rested on the large bright brass reel, that was now spinning
around as the fish drew the line out.

The tough little rod was bending, but there was no great strain upon it.

"He won't run far. Here he comes back again."

Not far indeed, but there were a hundred yards of fine line out before
he could begin to reel it in. Then he cried,

"There he goes, down under the bank. Means to sulk. I'll worry him out
of that."

"Why don't you pull him right in?" asked Jeff, excitedly.

"Because he wouldn't come if I did."

It was a good while before there seemed to be any prospect of his
coming, and the boys were almost tired of the fun of sitting still to
see their stout friend let out his line and reel it in again. But at
last the pickerel himself began to get a little tired of pulling and
being pulled, and was reeled in closer and closer to the boat, while the
trout rod bent nearly double.

"He'll break that line!"

"No, sonny; that's what the landing-net is for."

They saw it darted under the gleaming side of the great fish--a lift, a
splash, and the prize was floundering on the bottom of the boat.

"Hurrah, boys! We've got him."

"You've beat us, mister. I'm just going to go home and catch a lot of
flies," muttered Charley.

Half an hour later they were all standing on the hotel steps, and Black
Dan was holding up the pickerel.

"Dat ar's de boss fish, shuah! And you done cotch him wid a fly and dat
ar whipstalk? Was you dar, Charley Morris?"

"I saw him do it, and so did Jeff."

"Well, ef I ain't glad he's done got dat ar pickerel out ob my way. Dat
fish has been a soah trial to me!"

And Jeff and Charley had had their own fun, and their first lesson in
fly-fishing.



[Illustration: CAUGHT IN THE ACT.--DRAWN BY W. T. SMEDLEY.]



WHY PICKLE GAVE THE GERMAN TEACHER A PRESENT.

BY LAURA F. FITCH.


Pickle had waked in high spirits. That was unlucky, in the first place,
for Pickle's high spirits always bubbled over before the day ended into
some deed of mischief. Then, Miss Prim had a headache, and could not
appear in the school-room. That was unlucky, too, for the new German
teacher was to arrive that morning, and she would not be able to
introduce him to the girls, and enjoin upon them attention and
obedience. To be sure, Miss Meek, the assistant-principal, undertook to
perform all necessary ceremonies, but then the girls never minded Miss
Meek. In the third place, the new teacher was queer-looking. That was
the most unfortunate circumstance of all, and was really to blame for
the whole affair.

"What business," Pickle wrathfully demanded of her friend Sally, "has a
man, even if he is a German, to come to a girls' boarding-school looking
like a guy?"

Sally, who was trying to dispose of two thick slices of bread and butter
before recitation, was too much occupied to answer.

But Pickle was not particular about an answer, and continued, nodding
her head in the direction of the hall: "Look at him out there, now. Such
a great broad-shouldered man. And then see how he blushes. And do just
look at that long curly hair, 'way down to his shoulders. Gracious! I
should think he'd be ashamed of it."

Pickle evidently resented the teacher's fine curls, which _were_ too
long for a man, as a personal insult to herself, it being one of the
sorrows of her life that her own thick hair was kept cropped by her
mother's orders.

"I know I sha'n't like him," she added to herself, as the unfortunate
possessor of the obnoxious curls entered the room.

He was not naturally a nervous man, he thought, but he had never taught
girls before, and he found the calm, cool scrutiny to which he was being
subjected by every member of the class something formidable. He would
rather teach fifty boys, he said to himself, than these fifteen girls.

Pickle, from her desk, watched the new teacher's every movement. She
laughed to see him nervously twist his feet around the leg of the chair,
while a smile of scorn played over her lips when he ran his fingers
through his waving locks.

"Sal," she whispered, "ain't he too funny for anything, though? I hope
he speaks English with an accent; that is, if he ever gets the courage
to speak at all."

These disrespectful whispers, though inaudible to Herr Müller, were
terminated by his speaking at that moment. In the very mildest possible
tones he asked, "Vill some young lady haf ze goodness to acquaint me
eggsactly how far ze class haf read in ze book?"

"Oh, he's as meek as Moses, and speaks worse than Professor Schultz used
to!" was Pickle's murmured comment upon this speech; while Alice Smith
rose to say that the class had read as far as the twenty-fourth page,
fifteenth line.

"No, we haven't, either," immediately exclaimed Pickle. Then, as Herr
Müller looked inquiringly at her, "We only got to the fourteenth line. I
just mentioned it," she added, as the girls tittered, "because you
wanted to know eggsactly."

Herr Müller frowned, but judged it best to take no notice of this
speech, merely saying to the speaker, "Vill you haf ze goodness to read
a leetle?"

Pickle knew he was addressing her, but she ignored the request, and
gazed blankly before her. Sally nudged her, whispering, "Pickle, he
means _you_."

"He must address me by my name, then."

"Why, how can he, when he doesn't know what it is?"

"That's his look-out," was the reply.

Herr Müller, perceiving that every one else in the room knew whom he was
addressing, exclaimed, impatiently, "Vill ze young lady wiz ze _very
short hair_ please to read?"

Unconscious Herr Müller knew not what mortal offense he had given, as
Pickle quickly arose, glibly read as far as desired, and then sat down,
boiling with indignation.

"'Very short hair!'" she muttered to Sally. "Maybe it is; but it can
grow, I guess; anyway, it's no disgrace. But as for his curls, hair like
that is a disgrace to any man."

"Yes, indeed," assented Sally; "his curls are only fit for a girl.
They'd look nice, now, on _you_, Pickle."

Pickle replied to this apparently innocent speech with a withering
glance. The next moment, however, her face lighted up with an idea.

The door of the class-room opened, and Miss Meek entered to say that
some new German books had arrived, and to request Herr Müller to come
and look at them. No sooner had the door closed behind the two teachers
than Pickle exclaimed aloud, "I've forgotten my translation book," and
also left the room. Sally was suspicious of this errand. Pickle often
forgot her books, yet seldom took the trouble to go for them, unless
sent. But when she came into the class-room again, with several others
who had also seized this opportunity of walking out, she seemed hardly
to merit her friend's suspicions. She paused a moment by the teacher's
desk, and then took her seat.

In a few minutes Herr Müller's step outside caused all the girls to
scramble to their seats, so that when he entered they sat as quiet and
demure as though they had not stirred during his absence. He took his
seat, and opened his book again at the lesson, when the girls saw him
suddenly flush up to the roots of his hair, and run his fingers
nervously through his long curls. He next removed a small package that
had evidently been lying in his book, and laid it on the side of the
desk. In so doing, something fell out of the package on to the floor,
and showed itself to the wondering girls to be a _hair-pin_. Thereupon
some of the girls giggled, others smiled, and all involuntarily fastened
their gaze on the teacher's flowing hair.

Sally turned to Pickle. "How could you do it?" she whispered to her
companion, whose face, flushed with the effort to restrain her mirth,
was alarmingly red.

"What do you mean?" returned Pickle, with an unconscious air.

The next minute Miss Meek again entered, this time with an inkstand for
the teacher's desk. In placing it she evidently saw the bundle of
hair-pins, for she looked indignantly around the class before leaving
the room, while Herr Müller once more flushed a rosy red.

"She'll tell that to Miss Prim, Pickle--see if she don't," whispered
Sally, anxiously, to her friend.

"Do you think so?" queried Pickle, hastily; then, with marked
indifference, "Yes, I suppose she will. I wonder if she'll find out who
did it?"

"Oh, you needn't try to deceive me; as if I didn't know who did it!"
returned the other.

"Do you?" was the only reply she got to her attempt at confidence.

This provoked Sally. "Yes, I do; and Miss Prim'll find out, too, without
much telling--you can be sure of that."

Miss Prim did find out, but not without any telling. Pickle wisely
determined to forestall all investigations. She went privately to the
grieved Miss Prim, and announced herself as the culprit.

Although Miss Prim punished Pickle at the time for her disrespect, the
kind-hearted girl--for she was kind-hearted in spite of her love of
mischief--was much more severely punished by her own conscience when, a
few days later, she learned why Herr Müller allowed his curly locks to
grow down over his shoulders.

A brave young soldier in the German army, he had, during the siege of
Metz, left the shelter of the trenches, and in the face of almost
certain death rushed across the open ground where shot, shell, and
bullets fell thick as hail, to snatch up and bring safely back in his
strong arms a little child. It was a blue-eyed four-year-old girl who,
terror-stricken and bewildered by the death of her parents and the awful
firing, had wandered from one of the crumbling houses outside the walls
of the city. When the soldiers in the trenches first saw her she was
standing irresolute but unharmed amid the storm of flying death that
swept across the plain.

Just as he reached the trenches with his precious burden the young
soldier was hurled to the ground badly wounded, and apparently dead. A
fragment of a bursting shell had struck him on the back of the neck.
Although he lived and finally recovered, a terrible and unsightly scar
remained, and was only hidden from sight by the thick curls that Pickle
had so despised.

The brave soldier had adopted the child he had saved, and it was to
provide means for her support that he now taught German in Miss Prim's
school.

You may be sure that after this the little Elsie and her adopted father
had no firmer friend nor warmer admirer than Pickle, who through them
had learned a lesson that she never forgot.



A GAME FOR A RAINY DAY.


While every hour of a pleasant day by the sea-side or in the country
provides its own amusements, on a rainy day young people are apt to find
that time hangs heavily on their hands. So it happened, one day last
month, that the girls staying at Sandy Beach Hotel visited Miss Walker
in her room, and begged her to suggest some new game for them.

After a moment's hesitation she said that she had thought of a game that
might be new to them, though she had played it when a child.

"I shall want one assistant," she said, "to whom the secret of the game
will be intrusted; the others will have to try to guess it. I shall
remain in the room with the rest of you, and my assistant will go out.
During her absence I shall place my hand on the shoulder of some girl,
or upon the piano, or on my own shoulder, and when she returns she shall
tell you who has been touched."

Nobody seemed to know anything about the game, so Miss Walker chose
Alice Milne as her assistant.

The girl went out of the room. Miss Walker laid her hand on the girl
nearest to her, who happened to be Clara Lane, and on Alice's return
asked, "On whom did my hand rest?"

Alice at once replied, "On Clara."

"Right," was the answer.

But the girls, thinking they had found out the game, said, "You touch
the girl nearest to you, Miss Walker."

"I certainly did on this occasion; but the position of the girl has
nothing to do with the secret."

"I think I know it, but I shall see," said Bertha, and several girls
expressed a similar opinion.

Again Alice went out. Miss Walker touched Nellie, and Alice, as promptly
as before, named the right person on her return to the room.

The girls were at fault, and again failed to discover any look or
gesture that could help them.

"You must have heard, Alice," said one.

"But Miss Walker did not speak."

"She placed her hand in a particular position."

"Alice may come in blindfolded if you like," said Miss Walker.

One of the girls went out with Alice, brought her in backward, so that
she might not see Miss Walker, held her hands, and did everything but
find out the secret.

At last they said: "We give it up, Miss Walker. Do tell us the secret."

"Well," said Miss Walker, "if you really can not guess it, I will tell
you. As a rule, I placed my hand on the shoulder of the girl who spoke
last before Alice quitted the room. But sometimes there were two or
three speakers, and in this case I touched my own shoulders. If no one
spoke, I touched the piano. Any article that may be agreed upon will do
equally well. With this simple understanding, and an intelligent
assistant, a mistake is almost impossible."



SEA-BREEZES.

LETTER No. 3 FROM BESSIE MAYNARD TO HER DOLL.


  OLD ORCHARD BEACH, _August, 1880_.

Dear Child,--It is two weeks, I do declare, since I have written you one
word, and what a state you must be in all this time; for I remember
perfectly well how suddenly my letter closed, just at the very smilax of
that awful adventure. But really, Clytie, so many things have happened
since, and every minute is so full of pleasures or catastrophes, that,
as I look back, that one seems almost insignificant.

I suppose you are surprised at my using such large words; but here we
meet a great many "people of culture," as they are called, and they are
all very busy "improving their minds"; and you know Solomon says, "Never
do till to-morrow what you can put off to-day," so I am trying to
improve mine too, while I am under their confluence.

Papa bought me a little pocket dictionary, and I look out all sorts of
words in it, and that is how I get so many big ones that perhaps _you_
don't quite apprehend, but I must use them inasmuch.

Excuse me for scratching out inasmuch, I _should_ have said
nevertheless. When I am not quite sure of a word, I look it out, for I
always have my little dictionary close at hand, and that is a great
conveyance, you know. I am trying to get over my babyish way of talking,
or at least of writing, and hope I may exceed.

[Illustration: HOW WE LOOKED AFTER _IT_ HAPPENED.]

But to go back to my story: where was I? We were crossing over the board
to the island, weren't we? Well, Fan was going ahead, wheeling Jane in
her carriage, then Dora and Snip, and me on behind with Moppet in my
arms. Randolph stood in the water, and watched his chance till we were
all fairly on the board, and then he gave a regular Indian war-whoop,
and threw himself right across the middle of the board, and shook it
with all his might, so that it jiggled awfully right up and down. Before
we had time to scream or to paralize our danger, over we all went,
pell-mell, helter-skelter, higgledy-piggledy, down, down, down into the
foaming water! What do you think of that, Clytie? Every single one of
us--dogs, Jane, carriage, and all! 'Twas worse, a thousand-fole, than
when we lost Lucille. Fan sat right down on the pebbles at the bottom of
the sea, and gave herself up for lost. I threw Moppet as far as I could
on to the beach, while Dora screamed: "You hateful boy! Go at him, Snip!
bite him! throw him over! eat him up!" And Snip _did_ go at him, as if
he would "tear him limb from limb," as the story-books say.

Randolph looked scared out of his wits, and without waiting to help one
of us, he turned and ran as fast as he could go, and never stopped till
he was safe back at the hotel, the mean coward that he is! We heard
afterward how he ran into the house with such a roar as to frighten
every one there, crying out at the top of his lungs, "They've set the
dog on me, and he'll kill me!" Did you ever know such a horrid boy?

As for the rest of us, we scrambled out as best we could, by the help of
the other boys, for, to tell the truth--and you know, my Clytie, I
always do that, and never mean even to inangerrate when I am telling a
story--the water was not very deep where we fell, not more than half way
up to our knees, and we often go in wading there; but it _seems_ a good
deal deeper when you are dumped right down into it without any warning.
Now wasn't this a teragical end of our picnic on the island?

A few days later Mrs. Peyton and her party left Old Orchard. Where they
have gone I do not know, but we children believe they went away on
Randolph's account. We _tried_ to treat him politely, but how _could_
we? I don't think any one would blame us for turning our backs on him
whenever he appeared, and only saying good-morning to him in a lofty way
over our shoulders. He neverdently didn't like it, and proberly
_coaxed_ his mother to go away.

Whatever _other_ people can do, I am very sure _I_ shall never be able
to love my emernies. _Love_ Randolph Peyton! Just think of it, Clytie,
I'd be _ashamed_ to love such a mean boy even if I could, emerny or not.
I truly hope we may never see him again.

Such heaps and heaps of things as I shall have to tell you, dear
Clytemnestra, when I get home! No letter would ever be long enough to
get them all in. There will be enough to talk about all next winter.

You don't know anything about the clam-bake we had last week, nor how
Dora and I got lost one day in a cave--a real _boner fidy_ cave, as papa
says, dark and dreadful, where smugglers used to hide their things.

I'm saving up lots of things to tell you some day, and if your eyes
don't open wider than ever before, it will only be because something is
the matter with your wires. Such fun as I am having this summer! And,
oh, Clytie! what do you think? Mamma is busy packing the trunk, and we
are going away from here to-morrow. We are going with some other people
to Mount Desert, 'way round the coast of Maine, ever so much farther
than this.

It is lovely everywhere here, and I don't believe Maine is half so
crooked and queer along the shore as it looks in the geography, and I'm
going to tell the girls so when I get back to school.

There's no sense in working so hard on our maps if 'tisn't true, and
Maine was the very hardest State of all to draw, for 'twas so awful
jiggly along the edge. Really, it isn't so a bit, for I have seen it,
and ought to know.

Here come Snip and Moppet, and I hear Fan and Dora rushing up stairs for
me, so I will bid you good-by, or "orevo," as I heard Dr. Le Baron say
to Miss Farrar when he went away last night--that is, it _sounded_ like
orevo. I don't know as I spell it right, for I can not find it anywhere
in my dictionary.

With ever so much love to the rest of the dolls, as well as to yourself,
dear Clytie, good-night.

  Your little mamma,
  BESSIE MAYNARD.



WASHING THE BABIES' FACES.



THE GREEDY LITTLE MOUSE.

BY E. C.


Tottie and Lillie were twins, with the same wide-open blue eyes, the
same rosy dimples, and bright yellow hair. One day, when they were
seated at the little table in the nursery eating their dinner--for they
were too young yet to dine with mamma--Tottie thought she saw a little
black bead shining in a hole by the closet door. No, it could not be a
bead, for it popped in and out. Presently out came a little pointed
nose, with long stiff whiskers, two little round ears, and two bright
black--not beads, but eyes. The children sat very still, and thought
they had never seen anything quite so pretty as the little plump body
and long graceful tail whisking rapidly and noiselessly, while the
little creature peered cautiously about. Lillie threw gently a little
piece of bread, but terrified little mousie thought it was surely
intended to kill her, and flew back to her stronghold in the closet.
Tottie now put a little piece of bread quite close to the hole, and they
sat motionless for it to re-appear. They had not long to wait; the bread
was too sweet a morsel for mousie to resist, and they soon had the great
pleasure of seeing her first nibble a little, and finally drag it into
the hole. Lillie said, "Oh, don't you know, Tottie, mousie is the
mother, and she has a lot of little children in her house, and that is
going to be their dinner: let's give her some every day." And so they
did, until mousie grew so tame and so wise she seemed to know the dinner
hour as well as they, and would come nearer and nearer, and run in and
out under the table picking up the crumbs; but she was ever a little
distrustful.

If any one made an effort to catch her, or made ever so little noise,
off she flew to her hole, and would wait, and peep out for some time,
before she became re-assured. But when every one was fast asleep in bed,
then she became more brave; but with all her fine feeding, Mrs. Mouse
could not overcome her nature, and, I grieve to add, she was a _thief_.
She would rummage in pockets for cake and goodies, and climb to the
highest shelf if she smelt any dainty, and so, alas! fell a victim to
her greedy propensities.

Nurse had put a bowl of liquid starch, on the shelf in the closet, and
mousie, thinking she had a fine treat, scaled the side, and reaching
over for the dainty, lost her balance, and tumbled in. The fluid was too
heavy and the sides too steep and slippery for her to escape; so, after
vain endeavors, she sank exhausted to the bottom.

The next day, and the next passed, and no mousie came at the usual hour.
Tottie said she "_knew_ the old black cat had caught her." Lillie said
she "_knew_ the children were sick." So she threw little bits down the
hole for her. But when nurse went for her forgotten starch, the truth
was revealed. Poor mousie was dead. Many tears fell; and although the
children had many toys, nothing was equal to that sly, active,
bright-eyed, live little play-fellow.



[Illustration]



[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]


  GROESBEECK, TEXAS.

     I am twelve years old, and am a constant reader of YOUNG PEOPLE. I
     think the story of "The Moral Pirates" is the best of all.

     I am a member of the "Groesbeeck Cornet Band," considered the best
     band in the State for practice. I play second B flat cornet. I
     live not far from the railroad, and I have a little engine of my
     own that runs by steam. I was born in London, England.

  SAM RISIEN, Jun.

       *       *       *       *       *

  VANDALIA, ILLINOIS.

     I have taken YOUNG PEOPLE from the first number, and papa says he
     will have it bound for me if I keep it nice. Lots of times, when
     papa brings it home, and dinner is just ready, I go without my
     dinner to read it.

     I have three little ducks for my pets. They are real greedy when I
     feed them, and they fly upon my shoulders to get the first bite.

     I am making a little cook-book, and would like any recipe from the
     readers of YOUNG PEOPLE.

     I am much obliged to Etta D. for naming her Paris doll after me,
     although I don't suppose she knew she did it.

  ROSA BELL H.,
  Staten Island.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Dotty Seaman is my sister, but I am two years younger than she is,
     and I can not write very well yet, so she is writing this letter
     for me. I must tell you about my pets. I have a blue-bird that
     bites very hard when I try to catch him. He is very wild, but I
     hope he will get tame. My little sister Lucy has a pet lamb named
     Will. It was very cross the other day. We have a bay horse named
     Sue, and I ride round from the door sometimes. It is great fun. I
     like YOUNG PEOPLE very much, and I love to make Wiggles.

  WILLIE I. S.

       *       *       *       *       *

  NORTH ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS.

     I have noticed that several correspondents of Our Post-office Box
     inquire how to preserve eggs. Eggs should always be blown, for if
     they are not, they gradually change their color, becoming darker
     than is natural. Besides losing the delicacy of the tints, they
     are also easily broken, while if blown, they can be dropped quite
     a distance without being injured.

     In order to blow them, make two holes on the same side, a little
     distance apart. The holes should be very small. Boys often make
     them twice as large as necessary. It is better to make them both
     on the same side, as that side can be placed down in the case, and
     the egg looks neater.

  HARRY W. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

  TAYLORSVILLE, TEXAS.

     I love to read the letters in the Post-office Box very much, and I
     like the story of "The Moral Pirates." Do you know whether Frank
     Austin, the hero of "Across the Ocean," is living yet?

  JOSEPH L. P.

Yes, Frank Austin is living, and often comes into the office of YOUNG
PEOPLE.

       *       *       *       *       *

  BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.

     I am nearly thirteen years old. I have taken YOUNG PEOPLE from the
     beginning, and I think it is the nicest paper published.

     I have a collection of postage stamps, and am saving money to buy
     a stamp album. My father has taken HARPER'S WEEKLY and MONTHLY
     ever since I can remember. I wish YOUNG PEOPLE much success.

     Can you tell me why some correspondents sign fancy names to their
     letters?

  CHARLES C. M.

You probably know that many great authors sign a _nom de plume_ to their
writings, and some little authors like to do the same. Our young
correspondents, with but few exceptions, send us their real names, even
when they desire the publication of a fictitious one, and it would
please us better if they would always do so.

       *       *       *       *       *

  JACKSON, MISSISSIPPI.

     I am eight years old. I am writing this with my left hand, because
     my right arm is broken. I have broken it three times.

     I had a little turtle, but it died. Now I have a pet goat.

  HARRY D. F.

       *       *       *       *       *

  HOBOKEN, NEW JERSEY.

     I wish to tell Kittie G. that I tried her recipe for butterscotch,
     and found it splendid. I am glad she liked mine. I also tried
     Fanny S.'s recipe for caramels, and it was very nice.

  REBECCA H.

     I am five years old, and can not write myself, but my sister is
     writing for me, and I tell her what to say. I have some pet
     Plymouth Rock chickens, and they are all named. My brother Wilton
     has four beautiful pet pigeons, and one of them is making a nest.
     I have four cats, and a setter pup named Dash. Uncle Jimmie lives
     with us, and takes YOUNG PEOPLE for my brothers, Wilton and Eddie,
     and myself, and we all like it very much. Wilton reads everything
     in it.

     I have some beautiful morning-glories that have been blooming ever
     since the first of June, and I will send some seed to any little
     boy or girl who would like some, and will send me their address.

  MARY EARLE,
  Evergreen, Anderson County, South Carolina.

       *       *       *       *       *

  DENVER, COLORADO.

     I am very much obliged for my nice little paper, YOUNG PEOPLE. My
     uncle gave it to me for a Christmas present, and it amuses mamma
     and me very much.

     My only pet is a nice canary. When I let him out of the cage he
     flies and picks the buds off from mamma's plants.

     We can see the snow on the mountains all the time here where I
     live. I am twelve years old.

  LULU.

       *       *       *       *       *

  LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.

     I am seven years old. I like to read the letters in YOUNG PEOPLE
     so much that I want to write one myself. I live in a large orange
     grove. It is a lovely place, and summer lasts all the year.

     My pet is a hen named Tinny. She is so tame I can pick her up
     anywhere. She has eleven little chickens now. I can not write very
     well, for I have been to school only eight months.

  NELLIE E. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

  MONTICELLO, NEW JERSEY.

     I think YOUNG PEOPLE is the nicest little paper that I ever saw.
     The only pet I have is a dear little baby sister. I am eleven
     years old, and I have been to a private school two years.

     My papa is an editor, and in a year or two I am going to study
     stenography so that I can report for his paper.

     I have two younger brothers, and we are all learning to swim. I
     can take fifteen strokes.

  GEORGE E. W.

       *       *       *       *       *

  NETHERWOOD, NEW JERSEY.

     Here is a recipe for cookies for Nellie E. O.: One cup of butter;
     two cups of sugar; one cup of milk; one egg; one tea-spoonful of
     royal baking powder; a little grated nutmeg; flour enough to make
     it very stiff. Roll very thin. These cookies will keep good a long
     time. I have made them, and I know they are good. I am twelve
     years old.

  EVA LOUISE P.

       *       *       *       *       *

May M. Vinton, Mabel Lowell, Alberta F. Morrill, and K. R. send very
nice recipes for candy, but they are so very similar to recipes already
published that we can not make room for them. We would request the young
housekeepers to avoid repetition as much as possible, for while we thank
them all for their favors, we can only print such recipes as are new.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I would like to exchange for some birds' eggs a collection of
     Christmas, New-Year, and birthday cards, about sixty in number,
     and all in good order. Most of them are as good as new. If some
     correspondent would write to me, stating the number and the
     varieties of eggs he would be willing to exchange with me, we
     might agree on terms.

  VANCE MARTIN,
  243 Dearborn Avenue, Chicago, Illinois.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I am ten years old. My aunt takes HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for my
     sister and myself.

     I would like to exchange pressed leaves and flowers with some
     little girl in California.

  MAUD EVERETT,
  Newark, Delaware.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I am collecting different kinds of seeds, and I would like to
     exchange them with any correspondents of YOUNG PEOPLE. We have
     only purple and white larkspurs, and if Mary Lowry has any other
     colors, I will gladly exchange pink seed for them.

  DOTTY SEAMAN,
  Richmond, Staten Island, New York.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Some boys, friends of mine in this part of Brooklyn, are going to
     start a young chemists' club, and I desire recipes for simple
     experiments from any readers of YOUNG PEOPLE.

     I also send a recipe for Puss Hunter's cooking club. Currant
     ice-cream: one table-spoonful and a half of currant jelly or
     juice; one cup of sugar; one pint of sweet cream; the juice of one
     lemon. Stir until the sugar is thoroughly melted, and freeze.

     I will exchange flowers, ferns, leaves, and mosses from the Long
     Island woods with any readers of YOUNG PEOPLE.

  CHARLIE WILLIAMSON,
  293 Eckford Street, Brooklyn, New York.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I tried Fanny S.'s recipe for caramels, and thought it was very
     nice.

     I would like to exchange postage stamps with any boy or girl.

  J. FRED SEAMAN,
  114 Cumberland Street, Brooklyn, New York.

       *       *       *       *       *

     My home is eighteen miles from St. Paul, on Lake St. Croix. It is
     a beautiful lake, and is navigable for large steamers, and there
     is splendid fishing here for boys. We find many specimens of
     carnelian on the lake shore. It is a species of agate or
     chalcedony. I would like to exchange some for any curiosities from
     any other State.

  CARRIE E. SILLIMAN,
  Hudson, St. Croix County, Wisconsin.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I have taken YOUNG PEOPLE from the first number, and like it very
     much.

     I am collecting birds' eggs, and would be pleased to exchange
     varieties with any of the correspondents of YOUNG PEOPLE.

     I have six catalogues of the birds and eggs of Ohio, which I will
     take pleasure in forwarding to any six correspondents engaged in
     collecting, if they will send me the necessary postage.

  WALTER DOUGLASS,
  Mount Auburn, Cincinnati, Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I subscribed for YOUNG PEOPLE immediately on seeing it. I liked it
     ever so much then, and I like it more and more all the time.

     I have a lot of United States, official, and foreign postage
     stamps that I would like to exchange with any readers of YOUNG
     PEOPLE (especially with those just beginning a collection, as I
     have not many rare stamps) for minerals, curiosities, or relics of
     any kind.

     Correspondents will please write to me, stating what kind of
     stamps they would like, and what they have to exchange for them.

  GEORGE M. FINCKEL,
  P. O. Box 368, Washington, D. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

If Paul R. H., of Philadelphia, whose letter was in Post-office Box No.
35, will send his address to Annie M. Wickham, Titusville, Pennsylvania,
she will send him some Canton and Hong-Kong postage stamps for his
collection.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A dear friend sends me YOUNG PEOPLE every week. I have all the
     numbers, and enjoy them very much.

     I tried Puss Hunter's recipe for cake, and found it very nice.

     I am seven years old, and have been to school only one term, but
     mamma taught me to write more than a year ago.

     I have two flower beds of my own, in which are geraniums,
     verbenas, heliotropes, pansies, daisies, and forget-me-nots. I
     would like to exchange some of these pressed with Genevieve, or
     any other little girl.

  MAY DOOLITTLE,
  19 South Union Street, Rochester, New York.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I have a small stamp collection of two hundred and fifty different
     kinds, and I would be glad to exchange with any readers of YOUNG
     PEOPLE. I am thirteen years old.

  ERNEST ARONI,
  Bloomfield, Nelson County, Kentucky.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I would like to exchange minerals with some one in a Western or
     Southern State.

  EDWIN O. JORDAN,
  Thomaston, Knox County, Maine.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I have a pony of my own, and I ride him almost every day. I would
     like to exchange stamps with any readers of YOUNG PEOPLE. I have
     about four hundred stamps.

  PIERRE JAY,
  Mamaroneck, Westchester County, New York.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I am collecting postmarks of different towns and cities of this
     and foreign countries. I have only two hundred now, but am very
     anxious for more, and would like to exchange with any reader of
     YOUNG PEOPLE.

  STANLEY K. HAWKINS,
  United States Hotel, Boston, Massachusetts.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I am eleven years old, and my brother is nine. We are making a
     collection of butterflies, moths, and bugs. We have caught three
     hundred different kinds, and would like to exchange with any boy
     or girl in the Western or Southern States.

  WILLIAM M. LOW,
  No. 129 Wooster Street, New Haven, Connecticut.

       *       *       *       *       *

ALBERT S. BARRETT.--It is impossible for us to help you. Try some of our
exchanges. You might arrange to send them minerals, or some other
natural curiosity, in exchange for what you wish.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Yesterday morning auntie, uncle, and I went out for a long walk
     over the mountains. When we reached the ridge, about a mile and a
     half above us, we could look off and see one of the great peaks of
     the Sierra, at the base of which is one of the best paying quartz
     mines in California. It was a splendid sight--the great mountains
     towering up to the sky, while on the top of one higher than any of
     those immediately surrounding was the great black rock of the
     Sierra Buttes. The lower part of the rock was covered with snow,
     and behind it was the pale, misty, dull, blue sky. Off to the
     eastward the ridge was covered with snow, and we had a walk on a
     snow-bank several hundred feet long, and from four to six feet
     deep. When we reached home we had some ripe cherries for dinner.

     I keep every number of YOUNG PEOPLE, and auntie sews them
     together for me with twine. Her HARPER'S BAZARS, MAGAZINES, and
     WEEKLIES are all fixed the same way. I think YOUNG PEOPLE, is the
     best paper for children that was ever published. I have told my
     mamma, who lives in San Francisco, where I was born, a great deal
     about it.

     I am pressing some flowers for Genevieve Harvey, for although I
     live in the same State, uncle says we do not have the same kind of
     flowers here in the mountains as they have in the valley. We have
     some very beautiful and curious flowers up here, and I should be
     glad to exchange pressed mountain flowers for Eastern flowers with
     any little girl.

  MARY AUGUSTA REID,
  Downieville, Sierra County, California.

       *       *       *       *       *

CHARLIE W.--Iris was the daughter of Thaumas, a sea deity who
represented the majesty of the sea, and Electra. Originally she
personified the rainbow, but came afterward to be the swift messenger of
the gods. Homer alludes to her as darting "like hail or snow that falls
from the clouds," from one end of the world to the other, and diving
into all the hidden depths of the universe to execute the commands of
the gods. In ancient art Iris is represented with wings and a herald's
staff.

Aurora, or Eos, was the Goddess of Dawn. She was the mother of Boreas,
Zephyrus, Eurus, and Notus, the north, west, east, and south winds.
Another of her sons was Memnon, King of Æthiopia, who was slain by
Achilles. Ever since his death Aurora has wept constantly, and the dew
of the early morning is caused by her tears falling to earth. Aurora is
pictured as driving a chariot and four horses, or as gliding through the
air on wings, hastening to announce the arrival of the God of Day.

       *       *       *       *       *

JOHN JACOB.--As you do not tell us what style of reading you prefer, it
is a little difficult to tell you what books to choose. History is
always good reading for a boy of your age. You would find Macaulay's
_History of England_ both valuable and interesting, and a small volume
entitled _A History of Our Own Times_, by Justin McCarthy, might be read
in connection with it. The historical writings of Motley and Prescott
are also standard works of the greatest value. If you prefer biography,
the "English Men of Letters Series" will give you a complete outline of
English literature. It would be foolish for you to buy books which would
simply amuse you for a short time, and we trust you will select wisely,
and lay a solid foundation for a valuable library.

       *       *       *       *       *

Favors are acknowledged from Fred Dierking, E. C. P. and W. P., Edwin F.
Edgett, Harry R. Bartlett, "Waterloo," Robert R. T., C. E. S. and
K. T. W., Josie Frankenberg, Elwyn B. Bentley, Mamie Brooke, Samuel
McMullin, L. V. Nunemacher, I., Nellie L. Hutchinson, Cora A. Binninger,
W. R., Fred Haswell, Walter S. Nichols, Willie R. F. Grant, Eva M. W.,
Selma Witzel, John Avery, Maud Miller, Johnnie H. Fletcher.

       *       *       *       *       *

Correct answers to puzzles are received from W. Gilmour, George L.
Rushy, Bessie G. Bartlett, N. N., Helen M. Shearer, S. McK. Bayard,
Little Belle, Maud and Gertie, Mary A. Reid, Ernest C. Steward, Eddie A.
Leet, George G. Seitz, Cora Frost, George S. Schilling, Rory Barnhart,
George Haywood, Ford M. Goff, George Volckhausen, S. E. Davis, A. H.
Ellard, Katie M. Griswold, Bessie G. Strong, L. Mahler, Hattie Smith, S.
Hart, S. G. Rosenbaum.

       *       *       *       *       *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

DOUBLE ENIGMA.

  Our firsts in dimple, not in cheek.
  Our seconds in dahlia, not in leek.
  Our thirds in stagger, not in fall.
  Our fourths in rampart, not in wall.
  Our fifths in window, not in pane.
  Our sixths in tempest, not in rain.
  The names of two amusing birds
  Are hid away within these words.

  FRANK.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 2.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.

An article of food. The name of a prophet. Extended. A small animal. One
of the United States. A metal. A river in Europe. Where the sun sets. A
hole. Comfort. Answer--Two flowers.

  M. L.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 3.

DROP-LETTER PUZZLE.

A line from Shakspeare's play of the _Tempest_, Act First:
F--l--f--t--o--f--v--t--y--a--h--r--i--s.

  MABEL.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 4.

DIAMOND.

In beech. An article of ladies' dress. An animal. To request. In maple.

  BERTHA.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 5.

NUMERICAL CHARADE.

  I was a passenger in the _Mayflower_, and my name is spelled with 13
    letters.
  My 2, 12, 3, 4 is a portion of land.
  My 8, 6, 13 is a tree.
  My 10, 2, 9 is a noise.
  My 1, 11, 5, 7 is floating vapor.

  "THE TRIO."

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 6.

ENIGMA.

  My first is in man, but not in boy.
  My second is in trifle, not in toy.
  My third is in eight, but not in four.
  My fourth is in wisdom, not in lore.
  My fifth is in ten, but not in one.
  My sixth is in moon, but not in sun.
  My seventh is in cottage, not in hive.
  My eighth is in eleven, not in five.
  My ninth is in prosper, not in grow.
  A learned Greek these letters show.

  H. L.

       *       *       *       *       *


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN NO. 38.

No. 1.

      A
    A C T
  A C O R N
    T R Y
      N

No. 2.

  B E A R
  E D G E
  A G U E
  R E E D

No. 3.

Victoria.

No. 4.

C-ape, C-lamp, C-lever, S-hoot, C-raft, B-right, S-hoe, A-tom, F-old,
S-age, B-race, C-ant.

No. 5.

Popocatapetl.



ADVERTISEMENTS.



HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE will be issued every Tuesday, and may be had at
the following rates--_payable in advance, postage free_:

  SINGLE COPIES                     $0.04
  ONE SUBSCRIPTION, _one year_       1.50
  FIVE SUBSCRIPTIONS, _one year_     7.00

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

Remittances should be made by POST-OFFICE MONEY ORDER or DRAFT, to avoid
risk of loss.

ADVERTISING.

The extent and character of the circulation of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
will render it a first-class medium for advertising. A limited number of
approved advertisements will be inserted on two inside pages at 75 cents
per line.

  Address
  HARPER & BROTHERS,
  Franklin Square, N. Y.



OUR CHILDREN'S SONGS.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our Children's Songs. Illustrated. 8vo, Ornamental Cover, $1.00.

       *       *       *       *       *

This is a large collection of songs for the nursery, for childhood, for
boys and for girls, and sacred songs for all. The range of subjects is a
wide one, and the book is handsomely illustrated.--_Philadelphia
Ledger._

Songs for the nursery, songs for childhood, for girlhood, boyhood,
and sacred songs--the whole melody of childhood and youth bound in
one cover. Full of lovely pictures; sweet mother and baby faces;
charming bits of scenery, and the dear old Bible story-telling
pictures.--_Churchman_, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.

HARPER & BROTHERS will send the above work by mail, postage prepaid, to
any part of the United States, on receipt of the price.



Harper's New and Enlarged Catalogue,

With a COMPLETE ANALYTICAL INDEX, and A VISITORS' GUIDE TO THEIR
ESTABLISHMENT,

Sent by mail on receipt of Nine Cents.

HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE, N. Y.



ELEMENTARY EDUCATION.

Books for the School and Family.

       *       *       *       *       *

ENGLISH LANGUAGE.

SWINTON'S LANGUAGE PRIMER. Language Primer: Beginners' Lessons in
Speaking and Writing English. By WILLIAM SWINTON. A.M. 12mo, Half
Leather, 30 cents.

SWINTON'S NEW LANGUAGE LESSONS. New Language Lessons: an Elementary
Grammar and Composition. By WILLIAM SWINTON, A.M. 12mo, Cloth, 40 cents.

FOWLER'S ELEMENTARY ENGLISH GRAMMAR. An Elementary English Grammar for
Common Schools. By WILLIAM C. FOWLER, LL.D. 16mo, Half Leather, 53
cents.

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[Illustration]

EFFIE'S WISH.

BY M. D. BRINE.


  Oh, the shine of the laughing ripples,
    Dancing over the silver bay!
  Oh, the touch of the frolicsome breezes,
    Outward-bound on this summer's day!
  How they rustle and rush and hasten,
    Filling the distant sails so white,
  Kissing the cheeks of little Effie
    As she gazes, with blue eyes bright,

  Far away, where the waters widen,
    And fade in a mist so soft and blue.
  For what are you wishing, pretty watcher?
    That you might sail with the breezes too?
  That you might dance with the shining ripples
    Over the waters far away?
  Ah, little Effie, your _eyes_ may wander,
    But moored inshore is your _boat_ to-day.



[Illustration]

THE SQUARE PUZZLE.


Here is an old but very good puzzle. Cut five pieces like No. 1, and
five like No. 2. Arrange these ten pieces in the form of a square.



[Illustration]

THE RAJAH PUZZLE.


Here is an old treacherous Hindoo confined in a tower. With one straight
cut of the scissors expose his duplicity.



HISTORICAL ANECDOTE.

BY ESPERANZA.


The captivity of ____ ____ __ ____, ____ __, King of ____, son and
successor of ____ __, made a solemn vow to lead a ____ to the
deliverance of ____. Accordingly, in ____, accompanied by ____ ____,
King of ____, he set sail for the ____ ____; but in spite of the bravery
of both Kings, a year elapsed, and their object was not yet attained.
____ ____ was compelled to return to his kingdom. His ally, ____, strove
to continue the enterprise; but the desertion of ____ of ____, with whom
he had quarrelled at the siege of __ ____ ____, weakened his army to
such an extent that he was forced to abandon the struggle, and return to
____. On the return voyage a terrible storm came up, and after many
hours of anxiety, the ship was dashed to pieces against some rocks. All
on board perished excepting ____, who, deprived of everything but life,
and a few jewels which he wore, was obliged to continue his journey on
foot. His route lay through the estates of his enemy ____, and also
through those of ____ __, Emperor of ____. Both dignitaries were his
sworn enemies, and were very anxious to have him in their power. ____
knew this, and assuming a disguise, proceeded with the utmost caution.
He passed safely through a large portion of ____, and would have escaped
recognition had he not attempted to sell a valuable ring which he always
wore. One of ____'s servants saw the ring, his suspicions were aroused,
and he immediately warned his master of his discovery. ____ was seized,
delivered into the hands of ____ __, who threw him into prison, and
kept him captive for many weary months.

____ ____, Regent of ____ during his brother's absence, instead of
freeing him, left him to his sad fate. Indeed, ____ would probably have
died in prison had it not been for the devotion of his favorite, ____.
This man was a minstrel, and had spent many happy days in close
companionship with his beloved master. Hoping to find the King, he
journeyed from one castle to another, inquiring everywhere if a
distinguished prisoner was detained there, but all in vain. Weary,
foot-sore, and disheartened, he arrived near an ancient castle, and
seating himself by the road-side, played and sang his master's favorite
ballad. Imagine his surprise, his delight, when a well-known voice took
up the strain, and sang the remaining verses! In his great joy he
hastened back to ____, enlisted the sympathies of the Barons, and
gathered together a large ransom, in consideration of which ____ __
released his royal captive, after an imprisonment of almost __ months.



[Illustration: "I beg, madam, that you will pardon this almost
unwarrantable intrusion, but I am in search of the Coaching Club, and
would esteem it a great favor if you could inform me whether they have
lately passed the gates of your Park. Whoa, Nero!"]





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Harper's Young People, August 10, 1880 - An Illustrated Weekly" ***

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