Title: Harper's Young People, October 26, 1880 - An Illustrated Weekly
Author: Various
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Harper's Young People, October 26, 1880 - An Illustrated Weekly" ***


[Illustration: HARPER'S

YOUNG PEOPLE

AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]

       *       *       *       *       *

VOL. I.--NO. 52. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.

Tuesday, October 26, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.

       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration: UNDER THE CHESTNUT-TREE.]

WORK'S A MINT; OR, WILBERT FAIRLAW'S NOTION.

BY FRANK H. TAYLOR.


"What's your name, boy?"

The question came so suddenly that the boy nearly tumbled from the fence
upon which he was perched, as Judge Barton stopped squarely in front of
him, and waited for an answer.

"Wilbert Fairlaw, sir," was the timid reply.

"Go to school?"

"No, sir."

"Do any work?"

"Yes, sir; I 'tend marm's cows and fetch wood."

"Well, that's something. But don't you think there's plenty to do in
this part of the world that's better than kicking your heels against the
fence all the morning? Now just look around, my boy, until you find
something that wants fixing up, and take off your coat and go at it. You
won't have to look far about here." And the Judge gave a contemptuous
glance toward the widow Fairlaw's neglected farm. "Take my word for it,
boy," he added, "work's a mint--work's a mint." And then he turned away,
walking with dignified pace toward the Willows--the name of his place.

Now I think that most boys would have been tempted to talk back, but
Wilbert only sat still and looked after the man as he walked away, and
then down at his bare feet.

"It's all true. Somehow our place does look badly, but I can't 'tend to
everything," he thought, "like a hired man; an' if I did try to patch
things, likely I'd get a lickin' for doin' something I oughtn't. I don't
see as it makes any difference whether I work or not. It's all the same
about here; but, oh, I would like to have something to do for pay, so I
could have a little money--ever so little--and I could feel it in my
pocket, and know it was there. I wonder what the Judge meant by saying,
'Work's a mint.' I guess it is something about getting paid. How I wish
I had a little money! but I would like to earn it myself."

"Here, bub, get a bucket, will you, and bring my nag some water?"

This time it was a keen-looking young man sitting in a light wagon who
addressed him.

"Now stir your pegs, bub, and here's a nickel for you."

Wilbert was already on the way to the well, for he was always quite
willing to do a favor, and so he didn't hear the last sentence. Then he
unfastened the check-rein by standing upon a horse-block, and gave the
tired animal a pail of water.

The driver meanwhile searched his pockets in vain for a nickel.

"Got any change, bub?"

"No, sir."

"Well, then, never mind; here's a quarter to start your fortune. I guess
it'll do you more good than it would me," and away he drove at a lively
pace up the road, and Wilbert sat down in the grass by the road-side,
too happy even to whistle or dance.

So people sometimes paid for having their horses watered? Why not keep
watch for teams, and have a bucket ready? There was plenty of travel
over the road. Carriage-loads of excursionists went by to the "Glen"--a
resort about six miles distant--almost daily, and the only place to
water on the way was always made muddy by the pigs.

But people wouldn't be willing to wait while he went clear to the well
every time for water, especially when there were two horses.

Behind the barn lay an unused trough, made for feeding pigs. Wilbert
tied a rope around it, and hitching the one old horse his mother owned
to this, dragged it to a point in the road where the shadow of a large
chestnut-tree rested most of the day. Then he built a stone support
about it, out of the plentiful supply of bowlders in the fields. Next
the water was to be brought. It took a long time to carry enough with
one pail to even half fill the trough, and then the very first farmer
who drove along the road stopped his horses, and looking with some
surprise at Wilbert's "improvement," let his animals drink most of the
contents, and was off before Wilbert returned from the pump.

Several teams watered during the morning, and one man tossed the boy ten
cents. How pleasantly his two coins jingled, to be sure!

Early the next morning Wilbert was on his way to a ravine which lay back
of the big chestnut-tree. He carried a spade, and began to dig where the
grass was greenest, and slime was gathered upon the stones. At a depth
of two feet he saw the hole fill with water, which speedily became
clear, as he sat down to rest, and soon trickled down the slope.

Then he went to that repository of all odds and ends, the shed back of
the barn, and selected a number of boards left over when the fence was
built; with these and some nails he made a trough to carry the water
down the hill, placing them one end upon another in forked stakes, and
after two days of hard work was delighted to find that his trough was
easily filled with clear cool spring-water.

Upon that day he made twenty cents, and a good-natured peddler gave him
a large sponge, and taught him how to rinse out the parched mouths of
the horses.

He rode to town with the peddler, and bought a handsome bucket with his
money, feeling sure that he would soon get it all back.

Business was now fairly under way, and many were the praises bestowed by
passers-by upon his work. Some paid, and others only said "Thank you."
The crusty Judge, who had a kind heart in spite of his rough ways,
halted his team, and after learning from Wilbert that it was all his own
work, told his driver always to stop there when passing, and said he
thought he had better pay for the season in advance, and so handed the
boy a dollar.

One day Wilbert sat by his trough under the chestnut, looking very
thoughtful. He knew that summer would soon be over, and was thinking of
the coming winter days, when his occupation would be gone. He had earned
quite a nice little sum--ten dollars or more--and had formed and
rejected many plans for using it to the best advantage. He became quite
unhappy through his uncertain frame of mind. You see, even the
possession of money is a cause of sorrow sometimes. There was one thing
settled. He had determined to buy a new woollen shawl for his mother
with a part of his riches.

Wilbert took his money out of his pocket, and counted it for perhaps the
hundredth time. While thus engaged his attention was drawn to a cloud of
dust in the road, out of which a pair of black ponies dashed at full
speed. They seemed to be running away. Men were shouting to the
pale-faced boy who held the reins, and who was presently thrown
violently from his seat, and now lay still and senseless by the
road-side. There was but a moment in which to form a resolve. Wilbert
seized a loose board from the fence and held it squarely across the
road, throwing it with all his strength toward the ponies. Thus
attacked, they became confused, and turned to the road-side, upsetting
the watering-trough, and stopped. Wilbert scrambled up out of the dust
into which he had been thrown by the force of his effort, and caught the
reins. Two men ran to the horses' heads, while another brought the
injured boy to the spot.

"I guess we had better get him home as soon as we can," said one of the
men. "He's stopping over to the Judge's, and is his nephew. Here, you,
Wilbert, just git in, and hold his head up, while I manage these little
scamps. Things ain't much broken, considering how the critters run."

So they drove back to the Willows. Wilbert went in with the man,
secretly wondering at the beautiful rooms, the rich carpets, pictures,
and easy-chairs. They surpassed anything he had ever seen or dreamed of.
Then Wilbert was sent after the doctor, and made himself so handy that
it was agreed he should stay and help nurse Clarence, for that was the
boy's name.

For six weeks the injured lad lay in bed, and Wilbert remained
faithfully by him. As Clarence grew stronger, the boys became very fond
of each other, though they had never met before the accident, Clarence
having just arrived from Boston on a visit to his uncle.

He told Wilbert that his father was a manufacturer, and that his mother
was dead. The young visitor had a great many books, some of which
Wilbert found time to read while watching by the bedside. One of these
was a story of the life of George Stephenson, who invented the first
locomotive. This was such a favorite with Wilbert that the sick boy gave
it to him.

All that he read set him to thinking. Why couldn't he too invent
something, and become famous? Long after everybody else slept Wilbert
lay in bed with his eyes wide open, until he had thought out a plan for
hitching horses to carriages in such a manner that they couldn't run
away.

The very next day he walked to the village and bought a few tools and
such material as he thought his device would require, and then set about
making a model.

The Judge good-naturedly laughed at his "notion," as he termed it, but
allowed him to work at it all of his spare time. "Work's a mint," said
he, "and such work ain't mischief, at any rate."

At last Wilbert had his model completed, save a single part, and was
obliged to make another trip to the village to get the proper material.
When he returned he was alarmed by the discovery that his model was
gone. He ran down stairs to the study, but held back as he saw the Judge
and a stranger intently examining his missing work.

"I always believe," said the Judge, "in letting boys work out their
notions. It don't hurt 'em, and it teaches 'em patience."

"Of course, of course," replied the stranger. "For instance, this
'notion,' as you call it, will never do. It isn't the thing at all; but
see here, Judge, examine this hub. There's a 'notion' in that worth
something. I tell you what it is, any boy who can stumble on such an
idea, even by accident, has got good stuff in him."

Just then the Judge caught sight of Wilbert.

"Here's the lad himself. And so," said he to the boy, with a great show
of severity, "this is all that your work for two weeks has brought out.
Mr. Congdon here, Clarence's father, says your invention ain't worth
anything. What do you say to that? Your work ain't much of a mine, after
all, is it?"

Wilbert felt very much like choking with vexation and grief. He couldn't
bear to have fun made of his model, especially before a stranger, but he
wisely remained silent.

"So your name is Wilbert?" inquired Mr. Congdon. "Well, now, Wilbert, I
want you to let me take this toy of yours home with me. I have come
after Clarence. We leave this evening for Boston. Trust me with it, and
you won't regret doing so."

So Mr. Congdon left with Wilbert's companion and his "notion," after
which the boy seemed lost for a few days. He went back to the old farm,
and handed his mother the wages the Judge had paid him, and an order for
a new suit of clothes kindly added by Mrs. Barton.

Toward the close of the year he sat one night, reading, as usual, by
candle-light, and oddly enough it happened to be Christmas-eve, when a
rap came at the door, and Judge Barton entered. He held in his hand an
important-looking envelope, which he reached toward Wilbert, saying,
"Here's a Christmas gift for you, boy. Work's a mint--work's a mint.
Yes, indeed, it's better than a gold mine, for it brings its reward
already coined."

Now, you see, Wilbert had never had but one letter before in his life,
and that was a little boyish scrawl from Clarence, and no wonder he
opened the big envelope timidly. The contents began, "Know all men by
these presents," and here Wilbert looked again into the envelope to see
where the presents it spoke of were hidden.

The Judge explained that this was a paper from the United States
Patent-office, granting a patent to Wilbert Fairlaw for an improved
carriage hub.

"Now," said the Judge, "that patent was secured for you by Mr. Congdon,
who got the hint for the hub from that 'notion' of yours. It will sell
for considerable money, but I advise you to hold it. I think, Mrs.
Fairlaw"--turning to the widow--"that you had better let your boy go to
school for a couple of years. I'll see that the royalty on the
manufacture of this hub will pay for his keeping; and when he is old
enough, he can do as he thinks best about the patent."

Ten Christmas-eves have come and gone since that visit by the Judge, and
many changes have occurred. The old house has been partly rebuilt, and
Mrs. Fairlaw still lives there. The Judge, too, is living, and comes
down frequently to see the "firm" and the new factory, which stands
close by the ravine and the big chestnut-tree. The name of the firm and
its purpose is seen upon the large sign:

  FAIRLAW & CONGDON,

  MANUFACTURERS OF IMPROVED HUBS AND SPOKES.

When the Judge came over upon his first visit to the works after
business was started, he was conducted to the long work-room, full of
whizzing machinery, by Wilbert and Clarence, and shown, greatly to his
delight, his favorite motto, which was painted across the wall:

  "WORK'S A MINT."



[Illustration: A NUTTING PARTY--BUMPING THE HICKORY-TREE.]



POSY PARKER'S HALLOWEEN.

BY MRS. E. W. LATIMER.


Posy and Bob Parker, of Baltimore, went to visit their cousins in
England. Posy, who was a little girl, was surprised to see the customs
and observances supposed to belong in England to different days. On
Michaelmas-day (September 29), for instance, her uncle's family all
dined upon roast goose, because Queen Elizabeth, having received at
dinner news of the defeat of the Armada on that day, stuck her royal
knife into the breast of a fat goose before her, and declared that
thenceforward no Englishman should have good luck who did not eat goose
upon St. Michael's Day.

When All-hallow Eve came (October 31) the children and their cousins
were invited to a beautiful old country place five miles across the
Yorkshire moors to keep Halloween.

"But what is Halloween kept for, anyway, uncle?" said little Posy, as
they rode over the moors that evening.

"'Really and truly,' Posy, as you would say, the night of October 31 is
the vigil of All-saints' Day, one of the four high festivals in the
Roman Catholic Church, and a day on which all Christians who hold to
ancient forms commemorate the noble doings of the holy dead. But the
All-hallow's frolics you will see this evening have nothing whatever to
do with Christianity. They are relics of old paganism, of the days when
'millions of spiritual creatures' were supposed to be allowed that night
'to walk the earth'--ghosts, fairy folk, witches, gnomes, and brownies,
all creatures of the fancy whose home is fairy-land."

"What is the proper thing to eat on Halloween, uncle?" said Posy.

"To eat, little Posy?"

"Yes, uncle. Every great occasion in England seems to me to have
something proper to eat on that day."

"Oh, now I understand you. Apples and nuts, Posy. A vigil was always a
fast in the olden time, so those who kept Halloween could have no
substantial dainties for their supper."

"Nurse Birkenshaw used to call it Nut-crack Day," cried Posy's eldest
cousin. "But here we are!"

They were ushered into a low long room on the ground-floor, paved with
flag-stones, having an immense hearth at one end. Inside the chimney,
and on each side of the blazing fire built of logs and turf, were two
oak benches, so that six guests could literally sit in the
chimney-corner. This recess was made beautiful by blue and white Dutch
tiles.

About thirty people soon assembled. From the ceiling hung a stick about
two feet long, and five feet from the floor. On one end of this stick
was stuck an apple, to the other hung a small bag stuffed loosely with
white sand. On one side of the room were three great washing tubs filled
with water. Three crocks stood on a side table, and baskets filled with
apples, walnuts, chestnuts, and fresh filberts were placed about the
room.

The performance began by reading "Tam o' Shanter," accompanied by
illustrations, made by a magic lantern. When this was over, and lights
were again brought into the room, the tubs of water were drawn forward.
Twelve apples were set floating in each tub. Three little boys had their
arms pinioned, and water-proof capes were put over their clothes. Then
each one was led up to a tub, and told to name one of the girls present;
if he could catch an apple in his teeth, she would be his next year's
valentine. Fun, splashing, and laughter followed for five minutes; then
time was up, and three more boys took their turn. After many such trials
Posy's big cousin (an old hand, with a big mouth) brought up a little
apple, another fellow caught an apple by its stalk, and Bob (good at a
dive), after plunging his face to the bottom of the tub, and holding his
apple steady between his nose and chin, rose with it in his teeth,
triumphant but dripping.

After this had gone on for some time with varying success, the wet boys
were sent off to change their clothes, and the girls' turn came. Many
more apples were put into the tubs, and each girl in turn was told to
hold a fork as high as she could in her right hand over the tub, and
drop it on the apples. If she could spear one, she might choose her
valentine. The boys joined in this also, but hardly so many apples were
speared as had been caught in the boys' teeth, and the victors in the
tub fishery set up a shout of triumph.

Next boys and girls had their hands tied behind them, and took turns to
run up to the apple on the stick suspended by a string. This string had
been twisted by the master of the revels, and the stick turned round
rapidly. The fun was to jump up, and with their teeth to seize the
apple. If they missed (which, of course, they did nearly every time),
the bag of sand swung round and hit them on the face, to the amusement
of the company.

Meantime there were many nuts roasting on the hearth, each named for a
boy or girl. If one bearing a boy's name swelled up and popped away, his
lady-love would lose him; if it flared up and blazed, he was thinking
about her tenderly. If two nuts named for two lovers blazed at once,
they would soon be a happy couple.

Some of the older boys and girls of the party were then blindfolded, and
hand in hand were conducted to the gate of the walled kitchen-garden,
where they were told to find their way into the cabbage patch, where
each was to pull up a cabbage stump. When they returned with their
prizes to the house, great fun and much dirt were the result. Posy's
eldest cousin had brought in a big crooked cabbage stalk, with plenty of
mould hanging to its roots: he was to marry a tall, stout, misshapen
wife with a large fortune. Miss Clara, the young lady of the house,
brought in a tall and slender stalk, with little soil adhering to it; so
by-and-by, as some one said, she would marry a tall, straight, penniless
bridegroom.

Then the table with the three crocks was brought into the middle of the
room. Into one crock was poured fresh water, into another soapy water,
and the third was empty. Posy, among the rest, was blindfolded, and led
up to the table. She was instructed to dip her fingers into one of the
crocks. She felt around, and at last dipped into the one that held the
soapy water: she was told that she would marry a widower. Miss Clara
dipped into clear water, and would marry a bachelor. One of the other
girls put her fingers into the empty crock, and would die an old maid.

By this time it was nearly midnight--time for the fairy folk as well as
children to be in bed. But Miss Clara first went up stairs to an empty
room, and holding a candle in one hand, ate an apple before the
looking-glass. Captain Strickland (slender and tall) crept softly up
stairs after her, and as she ate her last mouthful, she saw his face
over her shoulder. She dropped her candle, with a scream, and they came
quietly down after a while in the dark together.

Miss Clara's elder sister had meantime gone out into the flower garden,
taking with her a ball of blue yarn. This she flung from her as far as
possible, keeping hold, however, of one end, and dragging it after her.
As she went back to the house she sang,

  "Who holds my thread? who holds my clew?
  For he loves me, and I him, too."

Suddenly the ball of yarn refused to follow her. She jerked at it in
vain. She dared not let her clew break, because if she should lose the
lover supposed to be holding its other end, she would die unmarried.
"Let me see you! let me see you!" she cried, eagerly, and a figure drew
near her in the darkness. An arm covered with dark cloth was almost
round her. She drew away with a scream, and began to run, pursued by
Bob, the young American, who had stolen away from the other guests to
follow her, and whose appearance produced much laughter; for Bob was
twelve, and she was seven-and-twenty.

The children had not cared much for these last two tests. They had been
popping nuts and eating apples. They were now called to supper. There
was at the end of a long table a great tureen of soured oatmeal
porridge. The master of the house, who was of Scotch descent, called it
"sowens," and declared that every one present must eat some with butter
and salt if he desired to have luck till next All-hallow Eve. There were
other good things on the table, however, much better, Posy thought, than
sour porridge. And when supper was over the children went off to bed,
solemnly assured by their elders that the fairy folk--the witches,
ghosts, and so on--had already gone to their beds under the earth, not
being permitted, even on such a night as Halloween, to sit up any
longer.



[Begun in No. 46 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, September 14.]

WHO WAS PAUL GRAYSON?

BY JOHN HABBERTON,

AUTHOR OF "HELEN'S BABIES."


CHAPTER VII.

A BEAUTIFUL THEORY RUINED.

When Benny Mallow went to bed at night, after the great exhibition, he
suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to ask what the grand total of
the receipts for the Beantassel family had been. Under ordinary
circumstances he would have got out of bed, dressed himself, and scoured
the town for full information before he slept. On this particular night,
however, he did not give the subject more than a moment of thought, for
his mind was full of greater things. Paul Grayson an Indian? Why, of
course: how had he been so stupid as not to think of it before? Paul was
only dark, while Indians were red, but then it was easy enough for him
to have been a half-breed; Paul was very straight, as Indians always
were in books; Paul was a splendid shot with a rifle, as all Indians
are; Paul had no parents--well, the tableau made by Paul's own friend
Mr. Morton, who knew all about him, explained plainly enough how Indian
boys came to be without fathers and mothers.

Even going to sleep did not rid Benny of these thoughts. He saw Paul in
all sorts of places all through the night, and always as an Indian. At
one time he was on a wild horse, galloping madly at a wilder buffalo;
then he was practicing with bow and arrow at a genuine archery target;
then he stood in the opening of a tent made of skins; then he lay in the
tall grass, rifle in hand, awaiting some deer that were slowly moving
toward him. He even saw Paul tomahawk and scalp a white boy of his own
size, and although the face of the victim was that of Joe Appleby, the
hair somehow was long enough to tie around the belt which Paul, like all
Indians in picture-books, wore for the express purpose of providing
properly for the scalps he took.

So fully did Benny's dreams take possession of him, that although he had
been awake for two hours the next morning before he met Paul, he was
rather startled and considerably disappointed to find his friend in
ordinary dress, without a sign of belt, scalp, or tomahawk about him.
Still, of course Paul was an Indian, and Benny promptly determined that
no one should beat him in getting information about the young man's
earlier life; so Benny opened conversation abruptly by asking, "Where do
you begin to cut when you want to take a man's scalp off?"

"Why, who are you going to scalp, little fellow?" asked Paul.

"Oh, nobody," said Benny, in confusion. "I'd like to know, that's all."

"I'm afraid you'll have to ask some one else, then," said Paul, with a
laugh. "Try me on something easier."

"Then how do you ride a wild horse without saddle or bridle?" asked
Benny.

"Worse and worse," said Paul. "See here, Benny, have you been reading
dime novels, and made up your mind to go West?"

"Not exactly," said Benny; "but," he continued, "I wouldn't mind going
West if I had some good safe fellow to go with--some one who has been
there and knows all about it."

"Well, I know enough about it to tell you to stay at home," said Paul.

This was proof enough, thought Benny; so although he was aching to ask
Paul many other questions about Indian life, he hurried off to assure
the other boys that it was all right--that Paul was an Indian, and no
mistake. The consequence was that when Paul approached the school-house
half of the boys advanced slowly to meet him, and then they clustered
about him, and he became conscious of being looked at even more intently
than on the day of his first appearance. He did not seem at all pleased
by the attention; he looked rather angry, and then turned pale; finally
he hurried up stairs into the school-room and whispered something to the
teacher, at which Mr. Morton shook his head and patted Paul on the
shoulder, after which the boy regained his ease and took his seat.

But at recess he again found himself the centre of a crowd, no member of
which seemed to care to begin any sort of game. Paul stopped short,
looked around him, frowned, and asked, "Boys, what is the matter with
me?"

"Nothing," replied Will Palmer.

"Then what are you all crowding around me for?"

No one answered for a moment, but finally Sam Wardwell said, "We want
you to tell us stories."

"Stories about Indians," explained Ned Johnston.

Paul laughed. "You're welcome to all I know," said he; "but I don't
think they're very interesting. Really, I can't remember a single one
that's worth telling."

This was very discouraging; but Canning Forbes, who was so smart that,
although he was only fourteen years of age, he was studying mental
philosophy, whispered to Will Palmer that people never saw anything
interesting about their own daily lives.

"You can tell us something about birch canoes, can't you?" asked Ned
Johnston, by way of encouragement.

"Oh yes," Paul replied; "they're made out of bark, with hoops and strips
of wood inside, to give them shape and make them strong."

"How do they fasten up the ends?" asked Ned.

"They first sew or tie them together with strings, and then they put
pitch over the seams to make them water-tight."

"Did you ever see the Indians race in birch canoes?" asked Sam.

"Oh yes, often," Paul replied; "and they make fast time too, I can tell
you."

"Did you ever race yourself?" asked Benny.

"No," said Paul, "but I learned to paddle a canoe pretty well. I'd
rather have a good row-boat, though, than any birch I ever saw. If you
run one of them on a sharp stone, it may be cut open, unless it's pretty
new."

"How do the Indians kill buffaloes?" asked Will Palmer.

"Why, just as white men do--they shoot them with rifles. Nearly all the
Indians have rifles nowadays."

This was very unromantic, most of the boys thought, for an Indian
without bows and arrows could not be very different from a white man.
Still, something wonderful would undoubtedly come before Paul was done
talking.

"Are buffaloes really so terrible-looking as the story-papers say?"
asked Bert Sharp.

"Well, they don't look exactly like pets," said Paul. "A bull buffalo,
in the winter season, when he has a full coat of hair, looks fiercer
than a lion."

"Do the Indians really kill or torture all the white people they catch?"
asked Canning Forbes.

"I don't know; I suppose so, but perhaps they're not all as bad as some
white people say."

[Illustration: "YOU'RE A CHIEF'S SON, AREN'T YOU?"]

Canning shook his head encouragingly at Will Palmer: evidently this
young Indian had a manly spirit, and was not going to have his people
abused. There was a moment or two of silence, each boy wondering what
next to ask. Finally, Napoleon Nott said,

"You're a chief's son, aren't you?"

"What?" exclaimed Paul, so sharply that Notty dodged behind Will Palmer,
and put his hand to his head as if to protect his scalp.

"I meant," said Notty, tremblingly-- "I meant to ask what tribe you
belonged to."

"I? What tribe? Notty, what are you talking about?"

Notty did not answer, so Paul looked around at the other boys, but they
also were silent.

"Notty," said Paul, "what on earth are you thinking about? Do you
imagine I'm an Indian?"

"I thought you were," said Notty, very meekly; "and," he continued, "so
did all the other boys."

"Well, that's good," said Paul, laughing heartily. "What made you think
so, fellows?"

"Benny told us," explained Ned.

"Benny?" exclaimed Paul. "What put that fancy into your head?"

"I--I dreamed it," said Benny, almost ready to cry for shame and
disappointment.

"And you told all the other boys?"

"Yes, I believed it; I really did, or I never would have said it."

Then Paul laughed again--a long, hearty laugh it was, but no one helped
him. Most of the boys felt as if in some way Paul had cheated them. As
for Ned Johnston, he evidently did not believe Paul, for he began to ask
questions.

"If you're not an Indian, how do you know so much about a birch canoe?"

"Why, I've seen dozens of them in Maine, where I used to live; the
Indians make them there."

"Wild Indians?" asked Ned, and all the boys listened eagerly for the
answer.

"No," said Paul, contemptuously; "they're the tamest kind of tame ones."

This was dreadful, yet Ned thought he would try once more. "How did you
come to know so much about buffaloes?" he asked.

"I saw two in Central Park, in New York," Paul replied. "Oh, boys! boys!
you're dreadfully sold."

"Say, Paul," said Benny, edging to the front, and looking appealingly at
his friend, "you've been away out West anyhow, haven't you?--because you
told me you knew about it." Benny awaited the answer with fear and
trembling, for he felt he never would hear the end of the affair if he
did not get some help from Paul.

"No, I've never been farther West than Laketon," was the disheartening
reply. "All I know of the West I've learned from books and newspapers."

"Dear me!" sighed Benny; and for the first time in his life he wished
the bell would ring, and give him an excuse to get away. Within a moment
his wish was gratified, and he scampered up stairs very briskly, but not
before Bert Sharp had caught up with him, and called him "Smarty," and
asked him if he hadn't some more dreams that he could go about telling
as truth. Poor Benny's only consolation, as he took his seat, was that
Notty had been the first to suggest the Indian theory, and he ought
therefore to bear a part of whatever abuse might come of the mistake.

At any rate he had learned that Paul had been in Maine and New York;
certainly that was more than he had known an hour before.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



THE SONS OF THE BRAVE.

[See double-page illustration.]


Boys and girls now travel so much and so far that no doubt a great
number of "Harper's Young People" will have an opportunity to see these
fine little fellows, perhaps some pleasant day next summer. Mr. Morris
has drawn them just as they are leaving their school for their weekly
parade.

This school is in Chelsea, England, and is for the support and education
of seven hundred boys and three hundred girls, whose fathers have either
been killed in battle or died on foreign stations, or whose mothers have
died while their fathers were on duty in foreign lands. The school is a
fine building of brick and stone, and the front entrance, out of which
you see the boys filing, has a spacious stone portico, supported by four
noble pillars of the Doric order, the frieze bearing the following
inscription: "The Royal Military Asylum for the Children of Soldiers of
the Regular Army."

The Asylum is inclosed by high walls, except before the great front,
where there is an iron railing. The grounds connected with this part are
beautifully laid out in flower and grass plats, and shaded with fine
trees. Attached to each wing are spacious play-grounds, as well as a
number of covered arcades. In the latter the children play when the
weather is too wet or cold for open-air exercise.

All the domestic affairs are regulated by Commissioners appointed by the
Queen's sign-manual, and the officials consist of a commandant,
adjutant, and secretary, chaplain, quartermaster, surgeon, matron, and
various other persons; for everything about the school is conducted
according to military discipline.

The boys are taught reading, writing, and arithmetic, and after they are
eleven years of age they are employed on alternate days in works of
industry. Five hours daily in summer and four in winter is the time
required of them, and in this short period they make every article of
clothing they require for their own use. About one hundred boys work as
tailors, fifty each day alternately; about one hundred are employed in a
similar manner as shoe-makers, capmakers, and coverers and repairers of
the school's books. Besides, there are two sets or companies of knitters
and of shirtmakers, and others who are engaged as porters, gardeners,
etc. Everything is done by those who work at the trades, except the
cutting out. This branch, requiring experience, is managed by old
regimental shoe-makers, tailors, etc., who, with aged sergeants and
corporals and their wives, manage the affairs of the institution.

The school also furnishes its own drum and fife corps and a very fine
military band, the players, of course, devoting a proper proportion of
their time to the practice on their instruments. Friday is the best day
on which to visit the school, for on that day the entire force is turned
out for a dress parade. The boys are then dressed in full uniform--red
jackets, blue trousers, and little black caps--and with their flags
flying, drums beating, and band playing, they march to the
parade-ground, where they give a fine exhibition drill. After the parade
they are trained in various difficult and skillful gymnastic exercises.

There is no compulsion on any boy to join the army; but when any
regiment is in want of recruits, a notice is placed in the school-rooms,
and any boys above fourteen years of age who wish to go into the army
are allowed to join that regiment. For those who prefer trades or other
occupations situations are provided, and if at the end of a certain
number of years they can produce certificates of good conduct from those
who employ them, they are publicly rewarded in the chapel of the
institution.

The girls, in addition to the usual branches of a good common-school
education, are taught needle-work of all kinds, and fitted for
lady's-maids, dressmakers, cooks, and the various higher positions of
household services. Their dress is uniform, and consists of blue
petticoats, red gowns, and straw hats.

The school is supported by an annual grant from Parliament, and by the
gift of one day's pay in every year from the whole army.



"MAMMA KNOWS HOW."


  The awful fact is beyond a doubt,
  The cage was open, and Dick flew out.
  "What shall I do?" cries Pet, half wild,
  And Nurse Deb says, "Why, bress you, child,
  I knows a plan dat'll nebber fail:
  Jes put some salt on yer birdie's tail."

  "Why, you silly old nurse, 'twould never do;
  That plan is worthy a goose like you.
  What! salt for birds. No, sugar, I say;
  I'll coax him back to me right away."
  But wicked Dick, with his round black eyes,
  He wouldn't be caught in this gentle wise.

  Mamma comes in, and she sees the plight;
  It will take her wits to set it right:
  That big bandana on Deb's black head,
  Ere Dick can jump, 'tis over him spread;
  Then two soft hands they hold him fast:
  The bright little rogue is caught at last.

  As into his cage the truant goes
  Pet says, "Now, nurse, I do suppose
  That salt and sugar, though two nice things,
  Are not a match for a birdie's wings;
  And, Deb, I think we must just allow,
  When a thing's to be done, mamma knows how."



[Illustration]

[Illustration: "SONS OF THE BRAVE."--FROM A PAINTING BY P. R. MORRIS,
A.R.A.--[SEE PAGE 767.]]



THE KING JACK-O'-LANTERN.

BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.


"There, boys, that's the pumpkin."

"That'll do, Phil; but what'll your father say? Doesn't he mean to take
that pumpkin to town?"

"Well, no, I guess not. Anyhow, he said I might have it."

"Did you tell him what it's for?"

"Of course I did. Only I guess he guessed near enough that I didn't mean
to make any pies."

"What did he say, Phil?"

"Why, he laughed right out--it's easy to get him laughing--and he said
if we could invent anything ugly enough to scare the Sewing Society, we
might have a cart-load of pumpkins, if we'd see that they were pitched
into the big feed kettle after we got done with them, so they could be
boiled for the cows."

"Isn't that a whopper, though! Biggest pumpkin I ever saw. Let's go
right at it."

Clint Burgess had his knife out, and was opening the big blade, but Prop
Corning stopped him.

"Hold on, Clint. Let's practice on some of the little ones first.
Besides, we don't want to carry the big one too far after it's done. We
might drop it and break it."

"That's so," said Clint. "I say, Phil, where'll we go?"

"Up behind the corn-crib--close to the barn; best place in the world to
hide 'em till we want 'em. The Sewing Society don't half get here till
pretty near tea-time."

"We'll show 'em something."

"Teach the girls, too, not to laugh at fellows of our age."

"It's too bad. When a man gets to be thirteen, it's time they let him
come in to tea."

That was where the rules of the Plumville Sewing Society were pinching
the self-esteem of Phil Merritt and his two friends, and Phil's father
and his uncle and his two grown-up brothers had gravely expressed their
entire sympathy, even to the extent of furnishing unlimited pumpkins.

That was a large pumpkin. It had grown by itself in a corner of the corn
field, where it had plenty of room, and, as Clint Burgess remarked when
they were rolling it in behind the corn-crib, "it had just sat still and
swelled."

Prop Corning was the best hand any of them knew of with a jackknife, and
he knew all about jack-o'-lanterns; but they all had learned more by the
time they had worked up four of the smaller pumpkins.

"They look more like big apples alongside that other."

"That's the King Pumpkin."

"That's it," shouted Prop. "We'll make the King Jack-o'-lantern. I'll
show you! Phil, you run to the house for a big iron spoon."

"To scoop with? I know. The rind'll be awful thick."

So they found it; and the outer shell was so hard that Phil went to the
tool-room after one of his father's small key saws and a gimlet.

"Now we won't break our knives, nor the shell either."

"Nor cut our fingers. But we must keep every piece of shell we cut out,"
said Prop. "I've got a big idea in my head."

"Big as that pumpkin?"

"Big as the whole Sewing Society. We want a piece out of the top first,
about six inches square."

The top piece came out nicely, and it was a wonder what a mass of seeds
and pulp was pulled out after it.

Then the spoon was plied till the boys all had a turn at getting tired
of scraping, and then Prop Corning went to work with the little saw.

"I'll just cut through the rind," he said, "and we won't make a hole
anywhere. We'll cut the pieces out so they'll all stick in again, and
then we'll scoop the places thin from the inside--thin as we want 'em,
and no thinner. When we come to light it up out here after dark, and try
it, we can scrape any spots thinner if they need it."

"That's the way. You never know just how a jack-o'-lantern's going to
look till after you've got a candle in it," said Clint Burgess, very
seriously. "We must make this one so it would scare a cow if she'd been
eating pumpkins all day."

"There," remarked Prop, "that round spot down there'll stand for his
chin. Now for his mouth. We must make it turn up at the corners, and
have teeth like a mill saw."

That was the hardest kind of a thing to do, and do it right; but Prop
was a patient worker, and there was nothing to be said against such a
mouth as he sawed for that pumpkin.

"He mustn't have too much nose. Two round holes at the bottom: they're
his smellers. Then a long slit away up to above his eyes; that's the
bridge of his nose, and they'll have to imagine the rest of it."

"Can we give him any cheeks?" asked Phil, doubtfully.

"Yes, but there mustn't too much light come through 'em. It's to be a
Goblin King, and they always have most fire coming out of their mouths
and eyes."

Clint and Phil both admitted that Prop was right about that, but they
ventured to suggest, "He won't be a King worth a cent if we don't give
him some kind of a crown."

"Crown? You wait and see. His teeth won't be anything to the crown we'll
put on him. But I mustn't lose a square inch of the rind. He must have
ears too--a half-moon on each side--and you can let any amount of blaze
shine out there."

It was a long job of sculptor work; but when it was done the three boys
could hardly take their eyes away from it. Not until Prop had carefully
fitted back to their places all the pieces of rind he had sawed out.

There was nothing to be done after that but for Prop and Clint to go
home and attend to their "chores," and for Phil to go after his cows;
but the Sewing Society had an experience before it that evening.

It was just as Phil Merritt said it would be about their coming
together, and his mother had never before seen him so cheerful and
willing about doing all he could, and about not going in to tea with the
rest. His father noticed it too, and he whispered to him, once, "Phil,
did you take the pumpkin?"

"Don't let 'em know a word about it, father," said Phil, anxiously.
"You'll see, by-and-by."

"All right, Phil. I'll wait."

He had to wait until about nine o'clock, and some of the ladies were
almost ready to go home, when suddenly there was a great noise out by
the front gate.

"What's that?"

"Dear me!"

"Something's happened!"

Whoever made that sound must have been dreadfully unhappy about
something; they all felt sure of that--and there was a grand rush to the
front door and the windows.

"Sakes alive!"

"What can it be?"

"Mrs. Merritt, there's somethin' awful a-stickin' on the top of one o'
your gate posts."

So there was, indeed. Something very large and round, and that looked
very dark in spite of strange, mysterious rays of light that crept out
of it here and there.

The whole gate post looked like a wooden man without any arms, but with
more head than would have answered for half a dozen such men.

Nobody in the house heard Prop Corning whisper at that moment across the
front-door walk, "Keep down, Clint, keep under the bushes. We're all
ready. Pull out his chin." And then he added, in a lower whisper,
"Ain't I glad I brought along my kite-string?--we've used it 'most all
up, but we can show 'em that King."

One of the ladies, a second later, gave a little scream, and exclaimed,
"Look at it now!--it's on fire."

"Dear me!" added another, "it's got a mouth."

"And a nose."

"And a cheek."

"Oh, Deacon Merritt, eyes too."

There was a subdued chuckle down there among the lilac-bushes, as if
somebody were listening to all that was said by the growing crowd on the
front-door step, and another whisper went across the walk: "Clint, give
him his right ear. The left sticks. I'm afraid I'll pull him off the
post."

"There it is."

"Here comes mine too. Now for his crown. Jerk your half."

"Oh!" "Oh!" "Oh!" More than a dozen ladies of all ages said "Oh!" in the
same breath, and Deacon Merritt himself exclaimed:

"Capital! capital! The boys have done it. It's by all odds the best
jack-o'-lantern I ever saw in my life. It's a King Jack-o'-lantern."



EMBROIDERY FOR GIRLS.

BY S. H. W.


There is lying beside me on the table as I write a sampler, worked in
pink, green, blue, and dull purple-red silks, on which I read these wise
sentences, "Order is the first law of Nature and of Nature's God," "The
moon, stars, and tides vary not a moment," and "The sun knoweth the hour
of its going down." Below, inclosed in a wreath of tambour-work,[1] are
two words, "Appreciate Time." Under the first four alphabets (there are
five in all) comes the date, "September 19, 1823," and in the lower
corner another date, "October 24," when the square was completed, with
the name of the child who wrought it, long since grown to womanhood, and
now nearly forty years dead, but there recorded, in pink silk cross
stitch, as "aged eight years."

And these dainty stitches, set so exactly, assure me that the little
girls for whom I write are not too young to embroider neatly. Will you
let its two mottoes remind you that a few moments carefully used each
day will make you as good needle-women as your grandmothers were, and
that your work-boxes or baskets should be in such order that you can
find your thimbles in the dark, and can tell each several shade of wool
by lamp-light? But I leave you to apply the mottoes for yourselves.

If you are to begin work with me, will you buy a few crewel-needles, No.
5 or 6, and two or three shades of crewel of any given color, such as
old blue, dull mahogany, or pomegranate reds, or old gold shading into
gold browns? These are colors that will always be useful.

[Illustration: Fig. 1.]

First, your wools must be prepared so they can be used in making tidies,
or anything that must be washed. The best crewels are not twisted, and
will wash; still, as you are never sure of getting the best, it is well
to unwind your skeins, pour scalding water on the wools, and rinse them
well in it, squeeze out the water, shake the wools thoroughly, and hang
them up. When dry, cut the skein across where it is tied double, and
with a bodkin and string, or with a long hair-pin, draw the crewel into
its case. This case (see Fig. 1) is made by folding together a long
piece of thin cotton cloth a foot wide, and running parallel lines
across its width half an inch or so apart. When the wools are drawn in
in groups--reds, blues, greens, yellows, each by themselves, carefully
arranged as to shades--cut the upper end so you need not be tempted to
use too long needlefuls, and there your wools are neatly put away, and
soon you can distinguish any shade by its position in the case, no
matter how deceptive the lamp-light may be. Still, you will not need
your case till you have a dozen different colors. If you buy your wools
at first by the dozen, which is the cheaper way, be sure that your
pinks, blues, greens, etc., have, so far as may be, a yellowish tone.
Remember that yellow is the color of sunlight, and that without it your
work will look cold and lifeless; and always avoid vivid greens and
reds.

[Illustration: Fig. 2.]

First learn the stem stitch, and you can practice on any bit of coarse
linen or crash. Draw a line with a pencil (see dotted line Fig. 2); then
put your needle in at the back, bringing it out at 1; then put it in at
2, taking up on the needle the threads of cloth from 2 to 3, so making a
stitch that is long on the upper but short on the under side of your
cloth. The needle points toward you, but your work runs from you, and
you put in the needle to the right of your thread. When you wish a wide
stem, slant your stitches across the line; if it must be narrow, take up
the threads exactly on the line, or you can make two or more rows of
stem stitch where you wish the line broadened.

[Illustration: Fig. 3.]

Stem stitch can be used by beginners in many ways. Squares of duck,
fringed out on the edges, and overcast or hem-stitched, can have simple
borders or stripes of any desired width worked in this stitch (see Fig.
3). You can draw the lines yourself with a pencil and ruler; those lines
which slant in one direction may be worked in one shade, those slanting
in the opposite direction in another shade. The heavier lines can be
worked with double crewel, and these squares make very pretty tidies to
protect the arms of chairs. Figs. 4, 5, and 6 are set patterns that can
be used for borders upon doylies, towels, or table-covers. They should
be worked with crewels, outlining crewels--exceedingly fine wools--or
fine silks, according to the quality of the linen or other stuffs used.
Stem stitch is the foundation of good modern embroidery, and we must not
go on with the building until this foundation is laid.

[Illustration: Fig. 4.]

[Illustration: Fig. 5.]

[Illustration: Fig. 6.]


FOOTNOTES:

[1] Tambour-work is a chain stitch in which the thread is drawn
up through the cloth by a hook. Muslins and thin cloths used to be
embroidered in this way.



[Illustration]

FILBERT.

BY AGNES CARR.


A pussy cat, a parrot, and a monkey once lived together in a funny
little red house, with one great round window like a big eye set in the
front. And they were a very happy family as long as they had an old
woman to cook their dinner and mend their clothes. But one sad day the
old woman was taken ill and died, and then the cat, the parrot, and the
monkey were left to take care of themselves and the red house, and very
little they knew about it.

"Who will cook the porridge now?" asked the cat.

"And who will make the beds?" asked the parrot.

"And who will sweep the floor?" asked the monkey.

But none could answer, and they thought and thought a long time, but
could come to no decision, until at last the parrot nodded his head
wisely, and said, "We must learn to do them ourselves."

"But who will teach us?" asked Miss Pussy.

"I know," said the monkey. "We will go to town, and watch how the men
and women cook their meals and take care of their homes, and then we
will be able to do the same."

"So we will," said the other two, and all three immediately put on their
scarlet cloaks and blue sun-bonnets, and set off for the town, but they
were in such haste that they forgot to lock the door.

They had not been gone long when a ragged little girl, with bare feet
and sunburned face, came up the dusty road, and she was very tired and
very hungry. Her real name nobody knew, not even herself, but she was
always called Filbert, because her hair, eyes, and skin were all as
brown as a nut.

"Oh dear! oh dear!" sighed Filbert, as she dragged her weary feet along,
"I wish I had a fairy godmother, like the girl in the fairy book, for
then I could wear silk dresses every day, and ride in a golden coach."

Just then she spied the funny little house, and thought, "Well, as I am
not so lucky as to have a rich godmother, I will go in here and ask for
a drink of milk, and rest awhile on the door-step."

So she went up to the door and knocked, but nobody came. Again
rap-tap-tap; still nobody; and at last she lifted the latch and walked
in.

"Oh, what a cunning little place!" cried Filbert, "and nobody home: so I
will help myself."

In the closet she found meal and milk, which she boiled over the fire,
and ate with a great relish. Then she went all over the house, exploring
the nooks and corners of every room, and wondering what had become of
the people who lived there.

She also thought it very queer that in so pretty a house, where almost
everything was neat and well kept, the floors should be dirty and the
beds not yet made up.

At last the little girl, who had walked far along the dusty road in the
hot sun that morning, found herself growing very tired and sleepy, and
as the tumbled beds did not look very inviting, she went down stairs and
took a nap in a large rocking-chair that had belonged to the old woman.
When she was quite rested, she helped herself to a needle and thread out
of the work-basket, and went to work to mend her dress, which was badly
torn. Just as she had sewed up the last rent she heard steps outside,
and glancing out of the round window, saw the pussy cat, the parrot, and
the monkey coming in at the gate.

Frightened nearly out of her wits at sight of the queer trio, Filbert
jumped up, and ran and hid behind the curtain.

In came the three, as gay as could be, chattering and laughing.

"For I have learned to cook porridge," said the cat.

"And I have learned to make beds," said the parrot.

"And I have learned to sweep the floor," said the monkey.

"Then do let us hurry," cried all three, "for we are hungry and sleepy,
and the house is very, very dusty."

[Illustration]

The cat set to work first, mixed the meal and milk, and set it over the
fire to boil; and it smelled so good they all felt hungrier than ever;
but when they came to taste the porridge they found it was burned, and
pussy had forgotten the salt.

"Bah! bah!" cried the parrot and monkey, throwing down their spoons in
disgust; "you can't cook, and we shall have to go to bed hungry."

"We can't go to our beds either unless you hurry and make them," said
the cat, who was vexed at having failed.

[Illustration]

So the parrot set to, and tried to spread the clothes on the bed with
her beak; but as fast as she pulled them up one side, they slipped off
the other, and at last she gave up in despair.

"Oh dear, we shall have to sleep on the floor," cried the other two.

"Then you had better sweep it first," retorted the parrot.

[Illustration]

So the monkey took the broom and began to sweep, but only succeeded in
raising such a dust that they were nearly blinded, and had to run out of
the house and sit on the door-step until it settled.

[Illustration]

And they were so discouraged that they cried, and cried, until their
tiny handkerchiefs were wet through, and the tears ran down and formed
quite a pool in front of the door.

"It's of no use to try and keep house by ourselves," said the monkey;
"we shall have to go to some museum and board."

"What! leave our own pretty little house, where we have lived so long,"
said the cat.

"I'll stay here and starve before I'll go to the old museum," said the
parrot. And overcome with grief at the idea of breaking up their happy
home they embraced, and sobbed aloud on each other's necks.

Now Filbert had watched all that was going on, and felt very sorry for
the little creatures; so as soon as they left the room she slipped out
from behind the curtain, and in a few minutes did all they had tried so
hard to accomplish, and returned to her hiding-place just as the three
came in, saying sadly to one another, "The dust must have settled, so we
will try and sleep on the floor and forget how hungry we are; and
to-morrow we will go to town again, and try very much harder than we did
to-day to learn how to keep house."

But here they stopped short and stared in surprise, for the floor was as
clean and bright as a new penny; the little white beds were tucked
smoothly up, and on the table smoked three bowls of nice hot porridge.

"What good fairy has been here!" they all exclaimed.

"A nut-brown maiden, nut-brown maiden," chirped a cricket on the hearth.

"And where has she gone?" they asked.

"Behind the curtain, behind the curtain," sang the cricket.

And in a twinkling Filbert was dragged, blushing and trembling, from her
hiding-place.

"Who are you, and how came you here?" asked the cat.

"My name is Filbert, and I came in to rest," said the girl, "for I have
no friends and no home."

"And can you cook and sweep and sew?" asked the parrot.

"Yes, indeed, and many other things."

"Oh! will you stay and live with us?" asked the monkey.

"What will you give me?" asked Filbert.

"A good home," said the cat.

"Brand-new clothes," said the parrot.

"And a brass, a silver, and a gold penny every week," said the monkey.

[Illustration]

So Filbert staid, and was as happy as a bird in the one-eyed house. She
sang so cheerfully as she went about her work that things seemed almost
to do themselves for her. The monkey watched in admiration whenever she
swept the floor, and wondered why there was no dust. They all learned to
love her dearly, and were as good as fairy godmothers to her, giving her
everything she wished, and her pile of pennies grew so fast that she
became quite rich; and, at last, if she had chosen, could have married a
prince.



[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]


The present Number closes the first volume of YOUNG PEOPLE, and we wish
to express our great pleasure at the thought that thousands and
thousands of children who one year ago were strangers to us are now our
little friends, and, we might say, seem to us like one large family. We
have done our best to amuse and instruct them, and to make them happy;
and by giving them weekly a rich fund of beautiful pictures, stories,
poems, and instructive reading, to awaken in them noble thoughts and
impulses, a desire for information, and also to teach them to think for
themselves.

Through the letters addressed to our Post-office Box we have become
acquainted with large numbers of our readers, and feel as much interest
in their little enjoyments, their pets, their studies, and their plans
for the future as if they were personally known to us.

Our Post-office Box is the most complete department of its kind in
existence. We print all the letters we possibly can, and would be glad
to print every one if our space allowed, for each contains some pretty
bit of childish life which we are sure would be delightful to other
little folks. Our letters come to us from all parts of the globe--from
every corner of the United States and Canada; from England, Germany,
France, and Italy; from the West Indies and South America; and even from
distant islands far across the sea. It would seem that wherever there
are English-speaking children, even in the most remote localities, YOUNG
PEOPLE has found its way to their hands; and critical and exacting as
little folks are, their expressions of delight in their "little paper"
are unqualified.

Our exchange department has developed a fact that is very gratifying,
and that is that boys and girls throughout the country are interested in
making collections of minerals, pressed flowers and ferns, ocean
curiosities, and other specimens of nature's beautiful and perfect
handiwork. It affords us much pleasure to bring them into communication
with each other for the exchange of these instructive objects, thus
cultivating in them a desire for useful information, which, as they grow
older, may develop, in many instances, in ways which will lead to a
life-long benefit to themselves and others.

It has also afforded us the greatest satisfaction to answer the numerous
and varied questions of our inquisitive little readers; and except in
instances where the answer, were it given correctly, would occupy too
much space in our columns, or be too scientific for the comprehension of
the youthful querist, we have left but two or three questions to be
noticed.

We thank all of our readers most sincerely for the hearty expressions of
approval and delight which we have received; and we promise them that
the new volume of Young People shall continue to bring them weekly an
entertaining and instructive variety of stories and papers by the most
popular writers, good puzzles of all kinds, directions for making
various articles useful to boys and girls, and a very full and
interesting Post-office Box. We are confident that before the end of the
second volume we shall make friends with thousands of little people
whose handwriting is still unknown to us.

       *       *       *       *       *

  DORSET, CANADA.

     I am fourteen years old, and I live in the northern part of
     Canada. My sister takes YOUNG PEOPLE. I liked the story of "The
     Moral Pirates" very much. Our nearest neighbor is about six miles
     away. There are lots of lakes here in which are a great many
     speckled and salmon trout, and there are troops of red deer in the
     woods. I have killed thirteen myself. We have two hounds which run
     the deer in the lakes, and we have birch-bark canoes in which we
     row. There is a sporting club comes here every year from New York
     and Toronto.

  ERASTUS W. L.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I am seven years old. I live North, among the rocks and mountains
     and lakes of Canada. I never went to school, except once for five
     weeks, but I can read in the Fourth Reader. I have a pet cat and a
     chicken, and papa says he will catch me a fawn. I love YOUNG
     PEOPLE very much.

  NETTIE L.

       *       *       *       *       *

     My sister Nettie and I can crochet, and we would be very much
     obliged if Gracie Meads would send us the pattern she wrote about
     in her letter. We would send her some flower seeds in return.

  ADDIE LOCKMAN,
  Dorset P. O., Haliburton, Ontario, Canada.

       *       *       *       *       *

  MARENGO, IOWA.

     I like YOUNG PEOPLE very much, but I like best of all the
     Post-office Box, and all the pretty things. I am going to make a
     Manes life-boat, and a cucuius.

     My sister has two white mice and a brown one, and I have a
     canary-bird. One of our white mice was sick, but is getting
     better.

     Can any one tell me a good way to make a scrap-book?

     I am beginning a collection of stamps. I have only eight different
     kinds, but will soon have more. I am also collecting birds' eggs
     and nests. I would like to know what bird lays a white egg
     speckled with brown.

  JESSIE LEE R.

There are several varieties of birds that lay white eggs speckled with
brown. The king-bird's egg has brown blotches on one end, and is
speckled all over; the wood-peewit lays a small white egg speckled with
brown, the spots forming a ring around one end; the egg of the
meadow-lark is long and white, with brown spots on the large end;
swallows' eggs are white, covered with brown spots; and other common
varieties of birds lay eggs of a similar appearance.

       *       *       *       *       *

  CLAREMONT, MINNESOTA.

     I have taken YOUNG PEOPLE ever since it was published, and I like
     it very much. I enjoy reading the letters from all the children in
     the Post-office Box. I am thirteen years old.

     There is nothing much to do here except go to school and play. My
     father keeps a store, and during the summer I worked for him.
     School began on the 4th of October. I have ten chickens, and am
     building a coop for them; and I have a very large cat named Buff.
     I am saving money now to buy a cornet.

     Will you tell me whether the stamps the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE
     are collecting are used or new? I have quite a number of used
     ones.

  GEORGE H. H.

The stamps in the albums of young collectors, if they are genuine
issues, have, with but few exceptions, done service on some letter or
package before they find their way to the collector's hands. Unless they
are too much defaced by postal marks they form as valuable specimens as
if they were new, and are perhaps more interesting. To obtain full
collections of new foreign stamps would be difficult and very expensive.

       *       *       *       *       *

  ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA.

     I like HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE very much. I have a paint-box, and I
     am going to color all the pretty pictures. I have a pony named
     Tiny, two cats, and a canary which sings delightfully. I am eight
     years old.

  EMILY T. H.

       *       *       *       *       *

  BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS.

     Little "Wee Tot" wishes to say that she is getting a great many
     requests for ocean curiosities. She can not possibly answer all
     the letters, but whoever will send her a box of pretty curiosities
     in minerals, insects, birds' eggs, skulls and skeletons of
     reptiles, rare postage stamps, coins, relics, Revolutionary
     mementos, ancient newspapers, or anything else that is of value,
     shall receive an equivalent in things from the ocean.

     Last week "Wee Tot" received through the Post-office a beautiful
     Indian bow and three arrows from the Indian country, and yesterday
     she received fifty-six baby water-snakes and some beautiful
     butterflies.

     With much love to you, dear YOUNG PEOPLE,

  "WEE TOT" BRAINARD,
  257 Washington Street, Boston, Massachusetts.

       *       *       *       *       *

  LEWISBURG, PENNSYLVANIA.

     I can give some good directions to Daisy F. for pressing
     sea-weeds. The implements used are a dish of water, a camel's-hair
     brush, sheets of paper, blotting-paper, and linen or cotton rags.
     After cleaning all the sand and dirt from the weeds, put one in a
     dish of water, and slip a sheet of paper under it. Then lift it
     carefully nearly out of the water, and arrange all the little
     branches naturally with the brush. Now lay the paper which
     contains the weed on a piece of blotting-paper: over it put a rag,
     so that the weed is entirely covered by it, and over that another
     piece of blotting-paper, and on this in turn lay another sheet of
     paper upon which a weed has been floated. Proceed in this manner
     until you have a pile ready. Place it between two boards, and
     leave it under heavy pressure for three or four days, until it is
     dry. Then remove the blotting-papers and rags very gently, taking
     care not to pull the sea-weeds from the paper on which they are
     pressed.

  WILLIAM A. L.

When floating certain kinds of sea-weeds on to the paper it will be
found necessary to cut away, with a sharp, fine-pointed scissors, many
superfluous stems and branches, as otherwise the sea-weed when pressed
will present a matted appearance, and much of the delicacy be lost.

       *       *       *       *       *

  BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.

     I have taken YOUNG PEOPLE from the first number, and have learned
     a great deal from it.

     I have a collection of three thousand five hundred and thirty-one
     stamps, no two alike, six hundred and six of which are American
     varieties. I would like to know if any reader has one as large.

     The young chemists' club have elected me President, and I am
     desired to thank the readers of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for the
     experiments they have sent, and to request them to favor the club
     with more.

  CHARLES H. W.

       *       *       *       *       *

  DUBUQUE, IOWA.

     I like YOUNG PEOPLE so much! and I always read all the letters in
     the Post-office Box.

     Ann A. N. is just my age, and I would like to tell her some more
     things that a birdie likes. There is a little seed called millet,
     which I get at the market in the heads as it grows, and the
     birdies love to pick out the little round seeds. A bit of cabbage
     leaf is a treat to them, and any one living in the country can
     give birds the long seed heads of the plantain, or the little
     satchel-like seeds of the pouch-weed. I sometimes give my birds a
     little hard-boiled egg, but one must be careful not to give enough
     of these things to make the bird too fat.

     Tell Anna Wierum it would be better to put her cuttings in warm
     moist sand for a few days, until they throw out little white
     roots; then wrap each in a bit of florist's moss or cotton-wool,
     and put a bit of oiled paper around the roots. Very thin brown
     paper, oiled with butter or lard, will do, so it will not absorb
     moisture. Pack all carefully in a small pasteboard box, and tie it
     up instead of sealing it. A package tied, with no writing in it,
     goes cheaply through the mails as third-class matter.

     Will any correspondent tell me how to keep goldfish healthy in a
     globe?

  GEORGIA G. S.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I would like to exchange rare foreign stamps. I have fifteen
     hundred in my collection. I would especially like to obtain new
     issues.

  W. PAGE GARDNER,
  16 Hanson Street, Boston, Massachusetts.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I would like to exchange postmarks for birds' eggs with any reader
     of YOUNG PEOPLE. To any one who will send me ten varieties of
     birds' eggs, I will send twenty-five postmarks, or for five
     varieties, I will send twelve postmarks.

  JAMES THOMPSON,
  Middlefield, Geauga County, Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Can any correspondent tell me where I can get a catalogue of
     birds' eggs? I am starting a collection of eggs, and would like to
     exchange an egg of a brown thrush for one of a meadow-lark.

  MILTON D. CLOSE,
  Berlin Heights, Erie County, Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     If any reader of YOUNG PEOPLE will send me twenty different
     foreign postage stamps, I will send by return mail a Chinese coin.

  WILLIE B. GORDON,
  P. O. Box 116, Upper Sandusky, Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I would like to exchange birds' eggs with any of the readers of
     YOUNG PEOPLE. To any one who will send me a list, and the number
     of each kind he has for exchange, I will send my list in return.

  FRED C. TODD,
  Milltown, New Brunswick.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I would like to exchange a little of the soil of Virginia for that
     of any of the Western States. I am twelve years old.

  H. JACOB, Darlington Heights,
  Prince Edward County, Virginia.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I have received a letter from a correspondent desiring exchange,
     but there is no name or address. I think the postmark is Harrison,
     but am not sure. Please publish this, as I do not wish the writer
     to think it is my fault that no attention is paid to his letter.

  WILLIAM WINSLOW,
  74 De Soto Street, St. Paul, Minnesota.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I have a collection of postage stamps and a number of duplicates.
     To any correspondent sending me twenty good stamps, I will send
     the same number in return.

     Can any one tell me the price of silk-worm cocoons?

  PHILIP TYNG,
  403 North Madison Street, Peoria, Illinois.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I take YOUNG PEOPLE. I am very much interested in the Post-office
     Box, because I like to read of the boys and girls who make
     collections. I am collecting postmarks and minerals, and I will
     gladly exchange a specimen of iron ore for any other mineral.

  BENNIE C. GRAHAM,
  165 West Goodale Street, Columbus, Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I would like to exchange United States and foreign coins with any
     reader of YOUNG PEOPLE.

  WILLIAM F. SALTMARSH,
  512 North New Jersey St., Indianapolis, Indiana.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I have been gathering autumn leaves, and preparing them for
     decorating lace curtains, picture-frames, and other things. They
     are mostly maple, as we have very few others here. I would like to
     send some to any little girl or boy in exchange for sea-shells or
     other ocean treasures. To any one sending me an address I will
     send some leaves right away.

  NELLIE S. G. VAUGHAN,
  Chazy, Clinton County, New York.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I have a cabinet in which I have a number of war relics. I also
     have an aquarium. I would like to exchange foreign and United
     States postmarks and stamps with any readers of YOUNG PEOPLE.

  W. PAUL D. MOROSS,
  Care of C. A. Morass & Co.,
  Chattanooga, Tennessee.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I have several kinds of Norwegian stamps, and if any stamp
     collector will send me some shells, sea-weeds, or any such things,
     I will be very glad to send some of my stamps in return.

  ELIZABETH KOREN,
  Decorah, Winnesheik County, Iowa.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I would like to exchange postmarks or stamps with any one in the
     United States or Canada.

  CLIFFORD POTTS,
  412 Walnut Street, Reading, Pennsylvania.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A little girl who is making an interesting collection of monograms
     would be very glad to exchange with any boy or girl. Please
     address

  E. M., P. O. Box 1132,
  Plainfield, New Jersey.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I am just beginning a collection of monograms. As yet I have but
     very few, but I would be very glad to exchange with any readers of
     YOUNG PEOPLE.

  ISABELLE VAN BRUNT,
  27 West Thirtieth Street, New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     All boys from fourteen to twenty are invited to become members of
     a debating club on a legal basis. The debates are carried on by
     mail. For further information address the recording secretary,

  N. L. COLLAMER,
  Room 49, Treasury Department, Washington, D. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I would like to exchange stamps or postmarks with any readers of
     YOUNG PEOPLE.

     I have mislaid the address of May A. J. Cornish, of Washington,
     and if she will kindly send it to me I will answer her letter
     requesting exchange.

  GEORGE G. OMERLY,
  616 Arch Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

       *       *       *       *       *

E. M. W.--Many thanks for your trouble in copying the pretty version of
the legend of the forget-me-not. But as it is very long, and is not new,
we can not print it.

       *       *       *       *       *

A. C.--The military organization of the ancient Romans which was called
a legion numbered from 3000 to 6000 men. It combined cavalry and
infantry and all the constituent elements of an army. Originally only
Roman citizens of property were admitted to the legion, but at a later
period the enrollment of all classes became common.--There are so many
large printing establishments in New York city that it is difficult to
answer your other question. The best thing for you to do is to make a
personal application to any one you may select.

       *       *       *       *       *

CHARLIE.--You will find the advertisement of the "Royal Middy" costume
in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 27.--The Indian ponies of the far West are very
serviceable and hardy little animals. The Canadian ponies and Texan
mustangs are useful, but sometimes too vicious for a little boy like
you. A shaggy little Shetland is pretty, if you can obtain one.

       *       *       *       *       *

W. S. W.--Your florist friend will know better than we can tell you in
what way to procure you a plant of the Venus's-flytrap. He can, no
doubt, send you some young roots. As the plant is only a cluster of
leaves, low on the ground, from which springs a single stalk, about six
inches high, crowned with a bunch of white flowers, it can not easily be
propagated by cuttings. It is a matter of dispute if this plant feeds
upon the insects it captures or not. The unfortunate fly imprisoned in
its leaves is macerated in a juice which the leaf again absorbs, but the
plant would probably thrive as well from the nourishment derived from
the sun and air and earth alone.

       *       *       *       *       *

HARRY I. F.--We can not print your request for exchange, as you gave no
address, not even the town in which you live.--We can not give addresses
of correspondents, but if you have any questions to ask of the one you
name, you can write them to the Post-office Box, and if they are
suitable, we will print your letter.

       *       *       *       *       *

N. W. J.--We have not made the arrangements about which you inquire. We
thank you sincerely for your pretty letter and your kind intentions.

       *       *       *       *       *

MIRIAM B., FLORENCE N., HARRY F. H., AND MANY OTHERS.--We refer you to
the introductory note to the Post-office Box of YOUNG PEOPLE No. 45 for
the reason why your requests for exchange are not published. Such
collections as yours are very pretty and interesting, but as our
Post-office Box is not large enough to contain every pretty thing, we
can only print those requests for exchanges of articles which we
consider in some way instructive.

       *       *       *       *       *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

WORD SQUARES.

1. First, a household pet. Second, a surface. Third, an animal. Fourth,
a measure.

  WINNIE.

2. First, a narrow board. Second, vitality. Third, at a distance.
Fourth, a portion of time.

  H. N. T.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 2.

MALTESE CROSS.

Central letter.--In valetudinarianism.

Top.--A vegetable. Something found in nearly every newspaper. An
untruth. Snug. A metal. A letter.

Right.--Having many names. A register of deaths. Having two ways. One
who assumes a part. Excommunication. A letter.

Left.--A root. Decrease. An officer of a university. Pertaining to a
wall. A loud noise. A letter.

Down.--To personify. Dimly. A violent revolutionist. A cone-bearing
tree. A small cask. A letter.

Centrals read downward spell a word applied to certain species of
minerals; read across, a word signifying a counter-accusation.

  RIP VAN WINKLE.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 3.

DROP-LETTER PUZZLE--FOR LITTLE READERS.

A familiar verse:

  M--r--h--d--l--t--l--l--m--,
    I--s--l--e--e--a--w--i--e--s--n--w;
  A--d--v--r--w--e--e--h--t--a--y--e--t
    T--e--a--b--a--s--r--t--g--.

  LITTLE ROSIE.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN NO. 49.

No. 1.

  S P A R E    H E A T H
  P A N E L    E X T R A
  A N G L E    A T L A S
  R E L I C    T R A C T
  E L E C T    H A S T E

No. 2.

        O
      F R O
    F E T I D
  O R T O L A N
    O I L E D
      D A D
        N

No. 3.

  D I R E F U L
    N O M A D
      Y E A
        R
      A S S
    D R O L L
  Q U I N I N E

No. 4.

October.

       *       *       *       *       *

Charade on page 728--Vane, vein, vain.



ADVERTISEMENTS.



COLUMBIA BICYCLE.

[Illustration]

Bicycle riding is the best as well as the healthiest of out-door sports;
is easily learned and never forgotten. Send 3c. stamp for 24-page
Illustrated Catalogue, containing Price-Lists and full information.

THE POPE MFG. CO.,

79 Summer St., Boston, Mass.



_Notice._

Now is the Time to Subscribe.

       *       *       *       *       *

Within a year of its first appearance HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE has secured
a leading place among the periodicals designed for juvenile readers. The
object of those who have the paper in charge is to provide for boys and
girls from the age of six to sixteen a weekly treat in the way of
entertaining stories, poems, historical sketches, and other attractive
reading matter, with profuse and beautiful illustrations.

The conductors of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE proceed upon the theory that it
is not necessary, in order to engage the attention of youthful minds, to
fill its pages with exaggerated and sensational stories, to make heroes
of criminals, or throw the glamour of romance over bloody deeds. Their
design is to make the spirit and influence of the paper harmonize with
the moral atmosphere which pervades every cultivated Christian
household. The lessons taught are those which all parents who desire the
welfare of their children would wish to see inculcated. HARPER'S YOUNG
PEOPLE aims to do this by combining the best literary and artistic
talent, so that fiction shall appear in bright and innocent colors,
sober facts assume such a holiday dress as to be no longer dry or dull,
and mental exercise, in the solution of puzzles, problems, and other
devices, become a delight.

The cordial approval extended to HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE by the
intelligent and exacting audience for whose special benefit it was
projected shows that its conductors have not miscalculated the
requirements of juvenile periodical literature. The paper has attained a
wide circulation in the United States, Canada, Europe, the West Indies,
and South America. The "Post-office Box," the most complete department
of the kind ever attempted, contains letters from almost every quarter
of the globe, and not only serves to bring the boys and girls of
different states and countries into pleasant acquaintance, but, through
its exchanges and answers to questions, to extend their knowledge and
quicken their intelligence.

The Bound Volume for 1880 has been gotten up in the most attractive
manner, the cover being embellished with a tasteful and appropriate
design. It will be one of the most handsome, entertaining, and useful
books for boys and girls published for the ensuing holidays.

       *       *       *       *       *

TERMS.

FOUR CENTS a Number. SINGLE SUBSCRIPTIONS for one year, $1.50 each; FIVE
SUBSCRIPTIONS, one year, $7--payable in advance: postage free.
Subscriptions will be commenced with the Number current at the time of
receipt of order, except in cases where the subscribers otherwise
direct.

The Second Volume will begin with No. 53, to be issued November 2, 1880.
Subscriptions should be sent in before that date, or as early as
possible thereafter.

The Bound Volume for 1880, containing the first fifty-two Numbers, will
be ready early in November. Price $3, postage prepaid. The cover for
YOUNG PEOPLE for 1880 is now ready. Price 35 cents; postage 13 cents
additional.

Remittances should be made by _Post-office Money Order or Draft_, to
avoid risk of loss.

  Address
  HARPER & BROTHERS,
  FRANKLIN SQUARE, NEW YORK.



[Illustration]

THE BABY-MOUSE.


  Oh, rock-a-by, baby-mouse, rock-a-by, so!
  When baby's asleep to the baker's I'll go,
  And while he's not looking I'll pop from a hole,
  And bring to my baby a fresh penny roll.



IMITATION STAINED GLASS.

BY FRANK BELLEW.


[Illustration: Fig. 1.]

A very pretty and cheap imitation of stained glass can be made by any
one possessing a little ingenuity, a pair of scissors, a few sheets of
colored tissue-paper, and a paste-pot, and the humblest cottage window
can be made resplendent as those of a cathedral--more or less.

[Illustration: Fig. 2.]

[Illustration: Fig. 3.]

Take a sheet of white or yellow tissue-paper of the exact size of your
window-pane, and with some very fine boiled paste paste it thereon. When
this is dry, take two sheets of another color, and fold them; then cut
from these folded sheets a form like Fig. 1. You will now, on opening
them, have two shields, as in Fig. 2. Now paste one of these shields in
the centre of your yellow window-pane. When this is perfectly dry, paste
the second shield over the first, only a little to one side and lower
down, as represented in Fig. 3, and you will have an effect much
resembling stained glass. If you choose you can cut out some design from
a fourth sheet to resemble a crest--say, the head of a lion--and paste
that in the centre of the shield; this should be of some other colored
paper. Or, to produce another effect, you may, after first neatly
outlining the design with a pencil, cut and scrape away all the paper
within the limits of the design with a sharp-pointed knife, so as to
leave the plain glass, which will have a very pretty effect,
particularly if you shade the design on the edges with Indian ink. Or,
again, you may fill in this space with some bright contrasting color;
say, red on blue, or blue on red.

[Illustration: Fig. 4.]

[Illustration: Fig. 5.]

Of course, in decorating your window, it will be desirable to have a
different design on every pane, or at least a great variety. To obtain
another and more elaborate form it is only necessary to fold your two
sheets of tissue-paper twice, and then cut out, say, a figure like Fig.
4, when, on unfolding it, you will have two patterns like Fig. 5, which
will, when pasted over each other, produce a rich effect.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Bravery is of no Nation.=--It is admitted on all hands that the
Afghans, of whom we are hearing so much just now, fought bravely, and
the same as to the Zulus. In Sir Charles James Napier's _History of the
Administration in Scinde_ there is a story relating to the brave
hills-men of Trukkee, which is well worth repeating. It was their
custom, when their friends fell fighting bravely, face to the foe, to
strip them and leave them unburied, but to tie round the right wrist a
thread either of green or red. The red thread was the very highest honor
that a brave man slain could receive. In the course of one of Sir
Charles James Napier's campaigns eleven out of an army of English
soldiers lost their way in the mountain gorges, and came "full butt"
upon a fort guarded by forty of these formidable mountaineers. The
little band of eleven English soldiers at once attacked the fort, and
reduced the number of the mountaineers to sixteen. They themselves were
all slain, as might be expected. When the English came for the dead
bodies of their comrades they found them naked, under the open sky, with
a red thread tied round the wrist of every man. The savage hills-men had
bestowed upon the corpses of their enemies the highest honor in their
code of homage to the brave.



[Illustration: No. 1.--FALL SPORTS.]

[Illustration: No. 2.--THE SPORT.]

[Illustration: No. 3.--THE FALL.]





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Harper's Young People, October 26, 1880 - An Illustrated Weekly" ***

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