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Title: Harper's Young People, May 3, 1881 - An Illustrated Weekly
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Harper's Young People, May 3, 1881 - An Illustrated Weekly" ***

This book is indexed by ISYS Web Indexing system to allow the reader find any word or number within the document.



       *       *       *       *       *


Tuesday, May 3, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: Three Sisters]

A May-Day Story for Girls


"'Across the little covered bridge, and then along the village street
about quarter of a mile.' Do go on, mother."

Pidgie Mullen looked up at her pale mother with a sweet, flushed
eagerness, which brought her a trembling kiss, as Mrs. Mullen answered,
"You know the story better than I do now, dear!"

"Yes," said little invalid Belle from her pillow on the lounge, "and
then you turned up the narrow north road--a very, very shady, cold
road--and went up hill, and up hill, and up hill. Oh, you tell it,
mother, you make it so much nicer!"

So the tired little mother, working hard from day to day for her
fatherless young brood, waited a few moments before lighting the evening
lamp for her sewing, and told the girls for the five-hundredth time the
lovely story of how she used to go "May-flowering" when she was a little
girl. Just as she was closing, a light step was heard on the stairs, and
in came Cherry. Cherry was fifteen, and she took care every day--coming
home at night--of the children of Mrs. Lester, in the big house around
the corner.

"I heard you before I opened the door," she began, laughing, and kissing
her mother. "I knew it was the same old story, and that you had just
about got to the place where you fell into the brook, and the arbutus
went sailing off down stream. I declare I'd enjoy hearing it over again

"Not to-night," said her mother, smiling. "I must go to work now, and
you will have to rub Belle, and give her her medicine, and put her to

The short hour of rest was over, and Mrs. Mullen turned wearily again to
her sewing. Pidgie took up her books and began to study, and Cherry and
Belle went into the little bedroom close by, where Cherry gently
undressed her feeble little sister.

"Oh, Cherry," said Belle, who, though only two years younger than
Cherry, was no taller than ten-year-old Pidgie, and not nearly so
heavy--"oh, Cherry, it seems as though if I could only go up to that
dear little village where mother used to live, and get some May-flowers,
and smell them, and the fresh earth! Oh, Cherry!"--the tears streamed
down the child's thin cheeks--"I wouldn't tell mother for the world, for
I know she would feel so badly; but I'm so very, very tired of the city,
and I seem to grow sicker and sicker."

"It isn't very nice up in the country in this April weather," said
Cherry, cheerfully. "The roads are muddy, and there's lots of rain and
snow. Mother says it's often horrid."

"Only," interrupted Belle, "when there _is_ a pleasant day, it is
perfectly splendid."

"Yes," said Cherry, doubtfully, "but I fancy they don't come more than
once a week or so."

"Oh yes," cried Belle, deprecatingly, "oftener than that."

"It costs nearly four dollars a ticket to go up there, too," continued

"Yes, I know"--Belle spoke a trifle crossly and impatiently, she was so
tired, and so weak, and so seldom "had anything"--"I know I can't go,
but it must smell very sweet up there; and oh! I'd love to go."

"Dear little sister," said Cherry, tucking her in tenderly, and setting
a tumbler of water and a call-bell and the camphor bottle on the little
stand by the bedside, "maybe we'll have things some time." She kissed
Belle softly, and then went back to sit by her mother. Soon her needle
was flying fast too. Cherry was a good girl, and they all depended a
great deal upon her.

"Your story reminds me, mother," said Cherry, as she sewed, "that I saw
some bunches of May-flowers for sale when I was out walking with the
children to-day."

"Did you?" said Mrs. Mullen, in some surprise. "They are very early this

"Yes," said Cherry, absently. "I asked the woman how much they cost, and
she said twenty-five cents, but that they would be ten by a week more."

"I wish that we could pick a few bushels from the great banks of them
that stretch along by the brook that I have told you about."

"Are there so many as that?" Cherry's voice was full of astonishment,
and Pidgie looked up from her book, and began to grow interested.

"Oh yes," said her mother, "and back on the hill there are banks more
that open later."

Cherry thought hard that night until she fell asleep. The next day she
had a long conversation with Mrs. Lester, and at night she had another
one with her mother.

"Dear Cherry," Mrs. Mullen said, as Cherry rose at last to cover the
fire and go to bed, "if you can get the money, and if you feel sure that
you can take the whole charge of Belle and all, why, I'll write up to my
old school-mate, Mrs. Rogers--how I'd love to see her again!--and I'm
sure that she would keep you; but I don't see how you'll ever do it."

But in less than a week after this conversation, such was Cherry's
business-like promptness, a hack came to the door and bore Cherry and
pale little Belle, in whose tired eyes a new light was shining, to the
railroad station; and late in the afternoon they alighted at the door of
the big, old-fashioned mansion in Clearpond, where Mrs. Rogers lived,
and where they were very near the house in which Mrs. Mullen had lived
twenty years before. Alas! the dear grandfather and grandmother and the
uncles and aunts were all dead or scattered now!

Belle had borne the journey wonderfully well. It is amazing how much
happiness will help us to bear!

The secret of all this was that Cherry, as you must have already
suspected, had determined in her own quick, brave little mind, to take
Belle and come up into the country to pick May-flowers!

Early the next morning, having fixed Belle up as well as she could, and
promising to bring her some May-flowers by noon, Cherry set off to see
what she could see.

"Across the little covered bridge," just as her mother had said, "about
a quarter of a mile through the village street, then a sharp turn to the
right, then up the narrow, cold north road."

A steep tug for half a mile. Then into the pastures. Ah! how lovely it
was! Cherry looked off, and saw the river below, and beyond it the
mountain that her mother had so often told her about. The day was one of
those rare sunny ones that Belle had hoped for. The sunlight seemed to
sift through the air in even, kindly measure upon everything. Cherry sat
down upon a big stone, and warmed and rested herself after her long,
cold journey up "the very, very shady road." Then she fell to work:
Alas! alas! she found the green leaves of the arbutus, which she knew
very well, all about--by poking for them under the brown covering of
last year's twigs and foliage--but though there were green buds in
profusion, she found only half a dozen tiny half-opened fragrant

"Well," thought Cherry, bravely, but, after all, with a sinking at
heart, for she feared that the flowers wouldn't open for a week, "it's
better to be too early than too late, and Mrs. Lester has said that I
might stay a month--but I do wish that they were open now."

As she walked down the quiet road she felt very lonesome.

"How nice it would be," she wished, "if Belle would only get well enough
to climb the hill with me!" But Cherry sighed. She feared that dear
little Belle would never get well enough to climb such a hill as that.
Altogether Cherry felt a bit blue. As she neared the pretty village,
however, she remembered the myriads of buds that she had left behind
her, and how happy Belle was, and before she had taken her hat off,
these thoughts, and the sunshine, and the sweet spring smells that were
blowing all about her on the soft spring breezes, had brought a color to
her face and a gayety to her manner that quite overcame little Belle,
waiting with almost pathetic eagerness at the window to welcome her

"I tried to lie down--I really did, Cherry," she said; "but I thought
I'd walk out into Aunty Rogers's garden--she says always call her
_Aunty_ Rogers--and see her daffodils, and I did."

"You did!" cried Cherry, her cup of delight overflowing. "What! after
that journey, and everything? Why, it's splendid! But I'm afraid you've

"Oh no." Belle's happy voice did not sound at all alarming.

"See here," said Cherry, drawing out a spray of arbutus from her basket.
"_Almost_ May-flowers, Belle. Just smell of them." The half-opened
little buds were indeed as fragrant as though they were in their prime.

The sick girl's face flushed. She ran to the lounge, and hid her face in
the pillow.

"Oh, Cherry," she cried, looking up a moment later, tearful but smiling,
"if mamma were only here, I should be perfectly happy!"

Just then Aunty Rogers came in to call them to supper.

"Well, well," she said, pleasantly, "I can't see what folks dew think so
much o' them little May-flowers for. I'm sure my daffies is a great deal
handsomer. But then they be sweet-scented, May-flowers be, and I'm glad
they're here, seeing you like 'em."

That night the little spray was placed in a vase by Belle's camphor
bottle on the table.

"I don't believe I'll want the camphor to-night, Cherry," she said; "the
May-flowers'll be all I'll want. If I wake up in the night, I'll smell
of them." And, at the risk of anticipating my story a little, I must
tell you that the camphor bottle was never put back again.

The next day was a warm and showery one, a hot sun blazing out between
the quiet little rains. Cherry did not go up on the hill at all. In
fact, young and strong as she was, and soundly as she had slept on Aunty
Rogers's plump feather-bed, she was a trifle lame after her unaccustomed
exertions of the day before.

"If it's May-flowers you want," said Aunty Rogers, as she looked out at
the April weather, "this'll fetch 'em quicker'n anything else, an'
there'll be more'n a fortnit of 'em, countin' in them that's back on the
hill. They're dretful late."

It was only five o'clock the next morning when Cherry Mullen stepped
briskly up the "cold north road." She carried with her two big
market-baskets. Aunty Rogers had assured her that if she only looked
"long-side o' them clumps o' laurels that's scattered on the west side,
across from the old Thayer place," she would find plenty of arbutus
after such a day as the one before. So Cherry felt very comfortable in
the bright morning, as she marched along, munching a big slice of bread
and butter with great zeal.

She went home at ten, and though she had to take one market-basket
empty--for she was still a little hasty in her expectations--the other
was quite full of such delicate, fragrant, rose-tinted arbutus as grows
only, I believe, in Clearpond.

Once home, you would have thought that Cherry would have thrown herself
on the lounge to rest, for she was pretty tired; but she did no such
thing. On the contrary, she sat down with a pair of scissors, beside the
mass of pink fragrant blossoms, and industriously culled and clustered
the brightest among them, under the delighted supervision of dear little
Belle, into dozens of sweet little bouquets, each with its sprig of
"running pine," and its bright furbishing of partridge or checker
berries. These she sprinkled, and bringing out from her trunk a
mysterious roll, which Belle had inquired about several times, she cut
off a generous allowance of cotton batting, dampened it, and carefully
surrounding her precious little nosegays with it, she put them into a
box, tied it up, and sent it by the noon train to "Miss Pidgie Mullen."

The train reached the city at four o'clock, and a bright, modest little
girl was at the station to welcome it, and to bear away the box as soon
as the express agent could hand it to her. Cherry had told her just how
to do it.

Then catching a car, she was soon at a certain prominent street, where
she got off. The gentlemen and ladies who were sauntering along this
street presently saw such an array of fresh spring blossoms before them
that very few of them felt that they could resist buying, for ten cents,
a bunch of the lovely things, and by a little after six Pidgie's boxful
was entirely gone.

Then she ran home, and up the narrow, creaking stairs her light step
passed more lightly and joyously than ever.

"I meant to save one for you, mamma," she cried, excitedly; "but a
gentleman came along just as I was starting for home, and he said, 'None
left?' 'Only one.' I told him I was going to take that to my mother.
'Won't this do just as well?' he said, and he held up a silver quarter.
'Oh, it's only ten cents,' I told him. 'But if I take your mother's,' he
said, 'of course I ought to pay more,' and he took the bunch--it was
such a sweet bunch, mamma!--and tossed me the quarter. And just look
here!" and Pidgie emptied her porte-monnaie, full of shining silver
pieces, into her mother's lap.

This kind of life was continued by the Mullens for nearly a month. The
grand event of that month up in the country was the celebration of the
1st of May, a week after Cherry and Belle had arrived there. This
consisted--as the 1st of May was one of the very sunniest and most
delightful that ever was seen--of a kind of picnic, in which Aunty
Rogers and her husband participated, and which was actually attended by
Belle. She was carried up to the pasture in Mr. Rogers's wagon,
scrambled out to the arbutus beds on her own little feet, with Cherry's
help, and finding a seat on a big warm rock beside the little brook, ate
some of Aunty Rogers's nice sandwiches there with a relish which a week
before was quite unknown to her.

Then there was a surprise. Mr. Rogers had built a fire, hung a kettle
over it between some crotched sticks, and was soon stirring with a long
stick a mass of golden-colored liquid, which gave out an odor that
Cherry declared was almost as good as that of her beautiful flowers.
Before long Mr. Rogers conducted her and Belle to a cool, shady place,
just on the edge of the woods, where the sun had spared, as in several
other similar spots, a great solid snow-drift. From this the top was
scraped smoothly away, leaving a shining hard white surface, on which
Aunty Rogers dropped spoonful after spoonful of the clear, fragrant
syrup, which hardened as it touched the snow into delicious maple wax.
The girls had never eaten anything so nice before, and they thought that
they never had enjoyed themselves quite so well as in the sunshine of
that exquisite May-day, picking sweet flowers, watching the swift,
sparkling little brook, and eating the delicious sugar that had been
made only the March before from Mr. Rogers's own maple-trees. Belle said
that she gained a whole pound of flesh that day, and indeed perhaps she
did. She certainly gained several pounds before the time came for them
to go back to the city again.

For that time did really come, just before the May glided into June.
Nearly every day during the delightful four weeks of their happy visit
Cherry had trudged early up to the pasture with her baskets, coming back
in time to make up her sweet bouquets for the noon train, and resting
through the long pleasant afternoons; and every day in the city, when
school was done, a merry, tidy little girl hurried down to the express
office, and back to the busy streets laden with the fresh pink nosegays,
for which the frequenters of those streets soon learned to watch with
interest, and which they bought generously. Indeed, Pidgie's demands,
like Oliver Twist's, for "more," grew so urgent, and her reports of her
profits were so encouraging, that Cherry had to employ one of the
neighbors' boys to go up in the pastures with her every morning during
the last ten days of her stay. But she did not have to get any one to
help her "make them up," for Belle, under the longed-for country air and
sights and sounds, grew able to help her herself, and before she went
home she could do quite the lion's share of that work.




"I wish my mother would never have company. A fellow can't get enough to
eat when people are staring at him."

As I was visiting Frank's mother at the time, I thought this remark was
rather personal. I suppose I blushed. At any rate, Frank at once added,

"Now, Aunt Marjorie, I did not mean you when I said that; I meant
strangers, like ministers, and gentlemen from out West, and young

"Oh," said I, "I am very glad to be an exception, and to be assured that
I do not embarrass you. Really, Frank, it is an unfortunate thing to be
so diffident that you can not take a meal in comfort when guests are at
the table. I suppose you do not enjoy going out to dine yourself?"

"No," he said; "I just hate it."

Perhaps one reason why boys and girls do not feel so comfortable and so
at ease as they might on special occasions at the table is because they
do not take pains to be perfectly polite when there is no one present
but the ordinary home folks. In the first place, we owe it to ourselves
always to look very neat and nice at our own tables. Nobody should
presume to sit down to a meal without making a proper toilet beforehand.
Boys ought to be careful that their hair is brushed, their hands and
faces clean, their nails free from stain and soil, and their collars and
ties in order before they approach the table. A very few moments spent
in this preparation will freshen them up, and give them the outward
appearance of little gentlemen. I hope girls do not need to be cautioned

Then there are some things which good manners render necessary, but
about which every one is not informed. Of course you know that you are
not to eat with your knife. Fifty years ago people frequently ate with
their knives, and it is quite possible that now and then you may see
some old-fashioned person doing so; but it is not customary now, nor is
it safe or convenient. When you send your plate for a second helping, or
when it is about to be removed, you should leave your knife and fork
side by side upon it.

It is not polite to help yourself too generously to butter. Salt should
be placed on the edge of the plate, never on the table-cloth. Do not
drink with a spoon in the cup, and never drain the very last drop. Bread
should be buttered on the plate; and cut a bit at a time, and eaten in
that way. Eating should go on quietly, and not hastily. Nothing is worse
than to make a noise with the mouth while eating, and to swallow food
with noticeable gulps.

Do not think about yourself, and fancy that you are the object of
attraction to your neighbors. Poor Frank's unhappy state of mind was
caused by his thinking too much about himself, as well as by a little
uncertainty as to what were precisely the right things to be done.




  He was a sailor old and bold,
    And he had sailed the seas
  For forty years and more, and bore
    The marks of sun and breeze.
  And now to stay at home he'd come,
    Delighted with the noise,
  That others much perplexed and vexed,
    Of many girls and boys.
  His sisters' children they, and gay
    As any elfish throng,
  And never tired they grew, 'tis true,
    Of briny tale and song;
  And this he told one night, by light
    Of stars and silver moon,
  And chorus all joined in with din,
    But not a scrap of tune.


  Oh! it was a party in the deep blue sea--
    Fishing-Frog and the Whale were the givers--
  One bright summer eve, and their funny finny friends
    Came in shoals from the oceans and rivers.
  The Skate and his wife skated gayly along,
    Making all kinds of comical faces,
  And the Drum-fish he drummed, and the Skipper he skipped,
    And the Porgy and the Shad swam races.
  Sing ri-toodle-dum and ri-toodle-dee
  For the jolly old party in the deep blue sea,

  The Pipe-Fish invited the company to smoke,
    The Lobster threw somersaults by dozens,
  The Pilot-Fish escorted the Prawns and the Shrimps,
    And the Crab clan, their queer-looking cousins;
  The Saw-Fish and Sword-Fish of saws and swords bragged,
    The Flat-Fish and Gudgeons round them flocking,
  And Torpedo and the Eel (the electric) behaved
    In a way that was really most shocking.
  Sing ri-toodle-dum and ri-toodle-dee
  For the merry old party in the deep blue sea,

  And they splashed, and they dashed, and they spouted and jumped,
    And the Flying-Fish flew--such a wonder
  And the Walking-Fish walked with his climbing friend Perch,
    And the Sea-Lion roared like young thunder.
  But at last, near the morn, the Whale gave a yawn,
    An example the Fishing-Frog followed,
  And the party was quite over when their months closed again,
    For the guests, every one had been swallowed.
  Sing ri-toodle-dum and ri-toodle-dee
  For the jolly old party in the deep blue sea,



The clock in the castle had just sounded forth the hour of noon. It was
in the little German town of Hausewitz, and the narrow, roughly paved
street that ran in front of the High School was soon filled with
students, all wearing tiny green caps set jauntily on the side of the
head, and seemingly stuck there with mucilage.

"Yes, Albert," one of a pair was saying, as the two strolled off
homeward together, "the time has come to carry out our plan."

"It has," solemnly responded the other, who was rather a
delicate-looking youth with blue eyes and yellow hair. "Now or never;
but which way shall we go?"

"Oh, I'll attend to that later, if you'll only say you're ready whenever
I am;" and Rudolph Schweizer looked down upon his companion (who was a
few inches shorter than himself) with a sort of majestic air that he no
doubt thought eminently befitting the only son of one of the first
lawyers in Hausewitz.

Before Albert could reply, some friends joined them, and the subject was

Now the project about which there was this touch of mystery was no less
a one than that of emigrating to America, in order to escape serving in
the army. The lads had selected the United States as their destination,
because they imagined that there everybody speedily became possessed of
fabulous wealth, as all the tourists from that country who put up for a
night or two at the Golden Grape-vine Hotel seemed to be blessed with an
unlimited supply of money.

They had been cherishing the scheme for months, and from having talked
it over so often it had come to assume to them the proportions of an
event that had almost grown into an actuality.

"Come around this afternoon after school, Albert," called out Rudolph,
as the friends separated at the market-place. And thus, quarter past
four found the two in young Schweizer's room in earnest consultation.

They agreed that the whole enterprise was to be conditional, and that no
risks were to be run; that is, if the boys could find no opening at
Hamburg for them to work their passage on some vessel to New York, they
would return to Hausewitz again, and confess to only going as far as the
sea-port, saying nothing about the grander scheme they had had in view.

"You see," explained Rudolph, "we'll divide our plan into air-tight
compartments, so to speak, such as they have on the steamers: the first
one from here to Hamburg, and the second from there to New York; for if
within two weeks, say, after our arrival out there we are not on a
straight road to making our fortunes, we can close up the other
compartment, and work our way back again. We'll do the thing on
first-class business principles, and not in the old-fashioned
runaway-boy style. Now how much can you give toward the expenses of our
journey to Hamburg? We'd better reckon in dollars, so as to be sure of
how much we'll have left when we get to America. The fare from here,
second class--"

"But why can't we go third class?" interrupted Albert. "We don't expect
to meet any of our friends on the way--or at least it is to be hoped we
sha'n't--and then we'd have so much more to help us along in New York."

"All right, then, we'll reckon on third," replied Rudolph, rather
impressed by the stern common-sense displayed in the other's reasoning.
"But you haven't told me yet how much you have."

After a short calculation, Albert announced as the result that he had
saved up about fifteen dollars.

"Good! and I have twenty," exclaimed his friend. "The fare's only five
apiece, so we'll have twenty-five left over when we go aboard."

"But we've got to get something to eat, and we must sleep somewhere,"
put in Albert.

"Oh! it won't take much for two or three meals; and as for sleeping,
why, we're sure to find a ship before night, so all we'll have to do
will be to tumble into our bunks. Don't you see how nicely it all comes
out?" cried Rudolph, enthusiastically. "I can almost imagine myself
already walking about the New York streets, with my hands in two pockets
full of money, and taking first-cabin passage back again."

"But what do you suppose the folks'll say at home here?" again
interposed Albert, who, notwithstanding his readiness to fall in with
all his schoolmate's propositions, now and then allowed his own private
scruples to come to the surface. "Besides, I don't believe we can come
back after running away from the army."

"Don't call it 'running away,'" objected Rudolph. "We're simply going to
seek our fortunes like the knights of the olden time, and we prefer to
do it in a free country, that's all. Now, then, to details," and during
the remainder of the afternoon the two boys were busily employed in
making out a list of the articles they should select from among their
possessions to stow away in the moderate-sized bag, the capacity of
which was to be divided between them.

Now both these lads had kind parents, besides brothers and sisters, and
in a manner of their own they were each attached to their respective
families; but such considerations as "domestic affections," which was
what Rudolph styled his sentimental feelings on the subject, they
thought should have no weight where the matter of fortune was concerned.

The all-important day of departure at length arrived, and having
succeeded in smuggling the satchel safely out of the house, the two
young adventurers hurried through back streets to the station, intending
to set out on the 5 P.M. train for Hamburg. On reaching the passengers'
waiting-room, they shoved the tell-tale bag under one of the seats, and
then went outside to walk up and down in as unconcerned a manner as they
could assume.

Suddenly Albert clutched his friend by the arm, and exclaimed, "Look,
Rudolph! I'm perfectly sure that fellow's an American"--indicating a
youth of about their own age, who was coming from the other end of the
platform toward them. "I can tell by the cut of his clothes; and, yes,
there's the red guide-book they all carry, under his arm. I wonder if
he's on his way back to New York?"

But before very long both boys were too much absorbed in wondering why
their train did not come, to bestow a second thought on anything else.

"What can be the matter?" cried Rudolph, anxiously, fearful lest they
should not get off until supper-time, when they would be sure to be
missed at home.

The American lad too seemed annoyed; and when the three were next
brought face to face in their walk, he stopped in front of Albert, and
in passable German inquired of the latter if he knew what had delayed
the cars. Then they all went to the ticket office, and ascertained from
the agent that an accident to an engine ahead had obstructed the track,
and in consequence the Hanover and Hamburg train would not arrive at
Hausewitz for a half-hour or more.

This information was rather startling to the two runaways, and Albert
had made up his mind to confide in their new acquaintance, when Rudolph
opened the subject by remarking that they thought of going to America
shortly. One question brought on another, and by half past five, in a
mixture of German and English, the whole plan of the expedition,
together with its wonderful air-tight compartment system, had been
poured into the attentive ear of the young American.

"Oh my! how funny!" he exclaimed in English, when he had heard all, and
then he fell to laughing so long and heartily that the two German lads
began to grow rather red in the face. On observing this the other
restrained his merriment, and finding that his new friends were better
acquainted with English than he was with German, asked if they would
listen to a bit of advice, which they hastened to assure him they would
be only too glad to do. "Well, then, to begin with," said the youthful
republican, "my name is Edward Sharring, of New York, and I'm travelling
in Europe with my father and the family, who are now in Hanover. I've
been about a good deal in Germany, and have come to the conclusion that
I'd rather be a Prussian officer than anything else."

Edward continued: "Why, boys, do you know what you are undertaking? Work
your way on shipboard? In the first place, you'd probably have to hunt a
week or two before you could find a ship that would take you; and then,
oh my! the rough treatment you'd get from the mates!"

"But we're ready for all that," Rudolph ventured to interpose. "We don't
expect to make our fortunes without working for them."

"Well, I must say I admire your pluck," returned the other; "but wait
till you hear more. When you arrive in New York, in the course of a
month or so after leaving Hamburg, what are you going to do then?"

"Go to work," promptly responded Albert.

"But at what?"

At this question both boys hesitated, and their friend suggested
hod-carrying, brick-laying, loading ships, or car-driving.

Now this list was not a very attractive one, nor were these the sort of
accomplishments on which the ambitious youths had reckoned. Where should
they board, who would befriend them in a strange land, or what were they
to do when their clothes wore out and they had no money with which to
buy new?

These were pointed questions, and so sharply did the lads' foreign
counsellor apply them, that at ten minutes to six Albert drew forth the
satchel from its place of concealment, and Rudolph expressed his
determination of becoming an officer in the German army.

Five minutes later the train came along, and after a hearty grasp of the
hand to each of them, Edward Sharring stepped into a second-class
carriage, and was soon whirling off to Hanover.

Luckily the would-be runaways had decided to delay purchasing their
tickets until after they had left the town, so there was nothing lost by
their honorable "backing out."

"You didn't count the Hausewitz station as one of the air-tight
compartments, did you, Rudolph?" said Albert, as the two wended their
way home to supper.

"I didn't think we'd need one so soon," replied his friend. "What a nice
sort of a chap that New York fellow was, though! and to think he can't
be a German officer when he wants to, and I can!"

"So can I, and will, too," added Albert; and thus it came to pass that
the army of the Empire was enriched by two recruits, gained for it by a
young republican from America.


This is a very ancient custom in England, and one that is particularly
interesting to boys, as they have generally taken a very prominent part
in it. First, it must be understood that all England is divided into
parishes--a division recognized by the civil as well as the
ecclesiastical law of the land. A parish is that circuit of ground,
whether in the city or country, which is committed to the spiritual care
of one clergyman. Now the boundaries of these parishes are very rarely
defined by any law, except that of custom; and hence in most places it
was and is customary once a year to make a solemn procession around the
bounds of the parish.

The time appointed by the Church for this procession is one of the three
days before Holy Thursday, or Ascension-day, and it had two acknowledged
motives: one, to supplicate the blessing of God on the coming harvest;
the other, to preserve a correct knowledge of the parish bounds and
rights from one generation to another.

Before the Reformation, these processions were conducted with great
pomp. The lord of the manor, carrying a large banner, and the priests,
carrying crosses, led the procession, "saying or singing gospels to the
growing corn." The principal men and all the boys of the village
followed them, and the day ended in feasts and games, with "drinking and
good cheer." After the Reformation, Queen Elizabeth ordered the custom
to be continued. The curate or minister of the parish was required, at
certain places, to stop and give thanks to God, and pray for His
blessing on the coming harvest; and when the parish bounds had been
clearly defined, the procession was to return with singing to the parish
church and listen to the 104th Psalm, and such sentences as "Cursed be
he which translateth (altereth) the bounds and doles of his neighbor."
Izaak Walton says the great and good Bishop Hooker never by any means
omitted this custom, and that during the walk he "would always drop some
facetious and loving observations to the boys and young people, still
inclining them to mutual kindness and love, because love thinks no evil,
but covers a multitude of infirmities."

These processions were justified by the civil law in maintaining the
ancient parish bounds, even if they were opposed by the owners of the
property over which they beat or walked; and this necessity to keep the
old track often caused curious incidents. If a canal had been cut
through the bounds, or a river formed part of the line, some one must
pass over it; and the lads of the parish were all so ambitious of the
honor that it was usually settled by lot. If a house had been erected on
the bounds, they claimed and took the right of passing through it. In a
house in Buckinghamshire, still standing, the oven only is on the
boundary line, and a boy is put into the recess in order to preserve its
integrity. A still more comical scene occurred in London about seventy
years ago, as the procession of church-wardens and an immense concourse
of boys were "beating the bounds" of the famous parish of St. George,
Hanover Square. The march was stopped by a nobleman's carriage standing
fairly across the boundary line. The carriage was empty, waiting for its
owner, who was in the opposite house. The principal church-warden,
therefore--who was also a nobleman--desired the coachman to drive out of
the way. "I won't," he answered; "my lord told me to wait here, and here
I'll wait till his lordship tells me to move." Upon which the
church-warden coolly opened the carriage door, entered it, passed out
through the opposite door, and was followed by the whole procession,
cads, sweeps, and scavengers.

At this time the religious character of the ceremony had been quite
lost, and "beating the bounds" had become an excuse for a great deal of
rudeness and excess; so that for half a century the custom fell into
very general contempt and disuse. However, within the last few years it
has been restored in many parishes, and with all those pleasant
solemnities that made the good Bishop Hooker regard it so favorably. The
clergyman in full canonicals, and the boy choristers in their white
robes, singing, lead the procession, which includes now, as it has
always done, every lad who can by any means procure a holiday from
school or work to follow it.

And surely it is a beautiful custom. How sweet must be the voices of the
young choristers singing psalms among the growing corn to Him who maketh
the "sun to shine and the rains to descend upon the earth, so that it
may bring forth its fruit in due season!"


[Illustration: TOWED BY A WHALE.--DRAWN BY J. W. TABER.]



One of the most exciting scenes with a whale which I ever witnessed
occurred while I belonged to the ship _Luminary_, upon a cruise in the
Arctic Ocean.

The noble game had at that period become very wild. Chased successively
from the North Pacific, from the Okhotsk, and from the Sea of
Kamtschatka, they had finally taken refuge above Behring Strait; and
thither the fleet of eager "blubber-hunters" had followed them, like
Nelson in pursuit of the French.

The stately old _Luminary_, with all her royals set, and her trim,
handsome boats upon the cranes, had stood gallantly to the northward,
braving, with her many expectant consorts, the keen breezes from the
pole. The Arctic was to be our Trafalgar, where the fleeing enemy, at
last driven to bay, must yield to a general attack.

It should be borne in mind that the right-whale, the species of which we
were in pursuit, grows to a much larger size than the sperm. Some which
we captured "stowed down" more than two hundred barrels each, and we
heard of others of still greater bulk.

They were dangerous old fellows too, although, unlike the sperm-whale,
they acted solely on the defensive, and never came at us head on.

After a time there was circulated through the fleet a rumor of a certain
great whale that everybody wanted, and nobody could get. Captain
Burdick, of the _Canova_, had seen and ventured upon him.

"He kicked like a mustang," said the Captain; "stove two of my boats,
and threw me twenty feet high, so that if I hadn't seen where I was
going to fall, and _turned myself in the air_, I should have come down
among all those harpoons and lances and splinters. There's three hundred
and fifty barrels under that old black hide if there's a gallon."

But Captain Burdick would _lie_--he was proverbial for it--and the men
said, "Oh, that's only one of Burdick's yarns." He was blown up once in
a steamer loaded with carpenters' tools, and told how he dodged the
augers that whizzed about his head.

We soon found, however, that Captain Burdick and the _Canova_ were not
the only master and ship that had encountered the great whale. Captain
Atwell, of the _Atlantic_, had seen him; Captain Soule, of the _South
America_, had seen him; Captain Robbins, of the _Tartar_, had seen him;
and they all told us that he had more irons in his back than a porcupine
had quills.

The boats of the _Dolphin_ had "cut from him," because, after a long run
to windward, he "sounded," taking out three lengths of line, and coming
near carrying all hands to the bottom.

The _Rorqual_'s boats had met with worse luck than this, for three of
them had been knocked into splinters, and several of their men killed
and wounded by the sweep of those terrible "flukes." We found the crew
of this ship sober enough as they related their experience.

Such accidents are very common among whalemen; but when a number of them
are successively caused by the efforts of a single well-known
individual, the animal becomes famous throughout the fleet--as if he
were a leviathan Bruce, or Tell, or Hereward, gallantly defending the
invaded rights of his race.

How many of the big, shy fellows we chased to no purpose! for, as our
boats were paddled cautiously upon a school, some one of the wary
creatures would turn a small black eye upon us, then put himself
leisurely in motion, like a steamboat gliding from a pier-head,
increasing his speed as he went, and all the others would depart with
him, leaving only the vacant water and their long white wakes behind.

The _Canova_ and the _Luminary_ were much in company, and often we could
hear the cheery voice of old Burdick from his quarter-deck.

At length the way of the two ships became much impeded by ice. All about
us were floating masses, which in the slant polar sunbeams took on hues
of exceeding beauty. Some of these moving islands were very high, and
reminded us of immense cathedrals with hundreds of glittering windows;
others were low and far-reaching, like treeless plains. But in all the
open channels, the spouts of great right-whales went up like crystal
fountains. We could see them close at hand, and away off on the horizon.
A spectacle so inspiring I had never looked upon before, nor have I

Back to the mast went the maintopsail of each ship, and down splashed
her four boats. Captain Wayne, of the _Luminary_, looked nervously in
the direction of his old acquaintance Burdick, and called upon us to
give way in earnest.

What a chase it was! around points of the ice, through narrow channels,
up temporary lagoons, and anon in the broad, open sea.

The game avoided us. Pull as silently as we would, the great leviathans
would still glide away at the very moment we seemed about to close with

In one of the ice-formed lagoons, round as the "round table" of the
famous knights, and perhaps a mile in diameter, there were at least a
dozen of the animals, "blowing," "breaching," and "turning flukes."
This place we finally entered for a dash at the school.

But it was like entering a corral of bison, where heels and tails are
all in the air at once. One of our boats was stove forthwith, and one of
Captain Burdick's. The jovial commander himself got fast, but was
obliged to cut from his whale to avoid being taken under the ice.

My own place was with our third mate, a young, athletic man, who,
although an excellent whaleman, had of late, through no fault of his
own, been so unfortunate that Captain Wayne, in an unreasoning fit of
temper, had threatened to "break" him, and send him before the mast. But
he had the sympathy and respect of his boat's crew, who knew the

We all hoped, on Mr. Brewer's account even more than our own, that our
boat would this day get a whale.

Bob Rivers, a brawny, powerful fellow, was our boat-steerer. But the
boat-steerer has nothing to do with steering until he has struck the
whale, when he exchanges places with his superior, and goes from the bow
to the stern.

In spite of our hopes, however, it seemed as if we must at last return
to the ship without a single laurel from this stirring field. We had
only the poor consolation of beholding others as little fortunate as

But the moment of triumph was at hand, when all our disappointments were
to be well repaid.

We were at the farther side of the lagoon, all the other boats being
dispersed here and there, and a whale, which Bob Rivers had thought to
strike, was just moving out of our reach, when suddenly, a little off
our starboard bow, there rushed to the surface, and shot high above it,
a monster much larger than any of the others.

With a loud noise, his great frame fell upon the water, which rolled
away from his sides in long wide swells. And then, catching sight of us,
he started swiftly off, crossing the head of our boat at a distance
which would have seemed hopeless to an ordinary harpooner; yet I felt
the quick motion of Bob Rivers as he gathered himself, for the dart.

Once, twice, the boat shook from end to end under his feet; and both his
good irons were sped. One missed, but the other reached the mark.

"Hurrah!" cried Mr. Brewer; "you're fast! you're fast!--and clear up to
the hitch! It was a noble throw, Bob. I was afraid you couldn't hit

Bob and the third mate now changed places, the former taking the
steering oar, and the latter, lance in hand, planting himself at the
bow. The whale started off with astonishing velocity; and, shipping our
oars, we turned with our faces to the bow, alert for the least sign of
mishap, and ready with knife or hatchet to sever the line at an
instant's notice.

My hat went off my head, but I did not know it. The water boiled higher
than the boat's sides; and the harpoon line looked like a rod of iron.
Old Bob Rivers clung to his steering oar with both hands, seeming, with
all his strength, hardly more than a pigmy in that tremendous commotion.

The other boats were passed in a moment. Captain Wayne looked on with
inexpressible interest. Captain Burdick stood up and shouted. We could
distinguish only a few words:

"You've got him! you've got him! You'll find half a dozen of my irons in
his back. But look out for him--he'll stave you yet."

But he did not stave us. He headed out of the lagoon, and ran for a long
distance beyond it. At length he sounded, taking out such a quantity of
line that we lost almost all hope of saving him. Then, to our great
relief, he began coming up. Up, up, up he came, and we gathered in the
slack as he rose.

When he had reached the surface, the boat was hauled quietly to the
right position, and Mr. Brewer, standing upon the bow, gave him the
lance with a true and powerful stroke.

We then instantly "sterned off," although not until the broad flukes had
gone over our heads, fearfully close to us; and the whale at once
commenced spouting thick blood--a sign that all was over with him.

The _Luminary_ ran down to us, and the huge prize was towed alongside of
her. We found in his back a number of harpoons, one of which, sure
enough, was Captain Burdick's; and from this circumstance, together with
the fact of his unusual size, there remained no doubt that the animal
was the same which had so excited the curiosity of the fleet.

He yielded the very large amount of two hundred and ninety-six barrels.

"Old Burdick," remarked Mr. Brewer--whom this adventure made the lion of
the fleet--"wasn't so far out of the way, after all. He came within
fifty-four barrelfuls of the truth--didn't he?"



After this, don't say anything more to me about babies. There's nothing
more spiteful and militious than a baby. Our baby got me into an awful
scrape once--the time I blacked it. But I didn't blame it so much that
time, because, after all, it was partly my fault; but now it has gone
and done one of the meanest things a baby ever did, and came very near
ruining me.

It has been a long time since mother and Sue said they would never trust
me to take care of the baby again, but the other day they wanted awfully
to go to a funeral. It was a funeral of one of their best friends, and
there was to be lots of flowers, and they expected to see lots of
people, and they said they would try me once more. They were going to be
gone about two hours, and I was to take care of the baby till they came
home again. Of course I said I would do my best, and so I did; only when
a boy does try to do his best, he is sure to get himself into trouble.
How many a time and oft have I found this to be true! Ah! this is indeed
a hard and hollow world. The last thing Sue said when she went out of
the door was, "Now be a good boy if you play any of your tricks I'll let
you know." I wish Mr. Travers would marry her, and take her to China. I
don't believe in sisters, anyway.

They hadn't been gone ten minutes when the baby woke up and cried, and I
knew it did it on purpose. Now I had once read in an old magazine that
if you put molasses on a baby's fingers, and give it a feather to play
with, it will try to pick that feather off, and amuse itself, and keep
quiet for ever so long. I resolved to try it; so I went straight down
stairs and brought up the big molasses jug out of the cellar. Then I
made a little hole in one of mother's pillows, and pulled out a good
handful of feathers. The baby stopped crying as soon as it saw what I
was at, and so led me on, just on purpose to get me into trouble.

Well, I put a little molasses on the baby's hands, and put the feathers
in its lap, and told it to be good and play real pretty. The baby began
to play with the feathers, just as the magazine said it would, so I
thought I would let it enjoy itself while I went up to my room to read a
little while.

That baby never made a sound for ever so long, and I was thinking how
pleased mother and Sue would be to find out a new plan for keeping it
quiet. I just let it enjoy itself till about ten minutes before the time
when they were to get back from the funeral, and then I went down to
mother's room to look after the "little innocent," as Sue calls it. Much
innocence there is about that baby!

I never saw such a awful spectacle. The baby had got hold of the
molasses jug, which held mornagallon, and had upset it and rolled all
over in it. The feathers had stuck to it so close that you couldn't
hardly see its face, and its head looked just like a chicken's head. You
wouldn't believe how that molasses had spread over the carpet. It seemed
as if about half the room was covered with it. And there sat that
wretched "little innocent" laughing to think how I'd catch it when the
folks came home.

Now wasn't it my duty to wash that baby, and get the feathers and
molasses off it? Any sensible person would say that it was. I tried to
wash it in the wash-basin, but the feathers kept sticking on again as
fast as I got them off. So I took it to the bath-tub and turned the
water on, and held the baby right under the stream. The feathers were
gradually getting rinsed away, and the molasses was coming off
beautifully, when something happened.

The water made a good deal of noise, and I was standing with my back to
the bath-room door, so that I did not hear anybody come in. The first
thing I knew Sue snatched the baby away, and gave me such a box over the
ear. Then she screamed out, "Ma! come here this wicked boy is drowning
the baby O you little wretch won't you catch it for this." Mother came
running up stairs, and they carried the baby into mother's room to dry

You should have heard what they said when Sue slipped and sat down in
the middle of the molasses, and cried out that her best dress was
ruined, and mother saw what a state the carpet was in! I wouldn't repeat
their language for worlds. It was personal, that's what it was, and I've
been told fifty times never to make personal remarks. I should not have
condescended to notice it if mother hadn't begun to cry; and of course I
went and said I was awfully sorry, and that I meant it all for the best,
and wouldn't have hurt the baby for anything, and begged her to forgive
me and not cry any more.

When father came home they told him all about it. I knew very well they
would, and I just lined myself with shingles so as to be good and ready.
But he only said, "My son, I have decided to try milder measures with
you. I think you are punished enough when you reflect that you have made
your mother cry."

That was all, and I tell you I'd rather a hundred times have had him
say, "My son, come up stairs with me." And now if you don't admit that
nothing could be meaner than the way that baby acted, I shall really be
surprised and shocked.

[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 66, February 1.]






Summer had gone. Visitors had gone. Graham had gone to school. The banks
of the lake were red and yellow, brown and purple, with autumnal
foliage. Aunt Rachel was superintending the making of preserves. Lisa
was at work on the piazza. Phil was sketching.

Slowly up the garden path came old Joe. He took off his hat and stood
still a moment waiting for Phil to speak.

"Well, Joe, what is it?" said Phil, hardly looking up, he was so busy.

"This is just as fine as ever the garden of Eden was, but old Adam had
to go, you know, Massa Phil." He had lately, of his own accord, put the
Massa before Phil's name.

"What are you driving at, Joe?" asked Phil, absently.

"I mean I's a-gwine home, Massa Phil."

"To the city?" said Phil, surprised into attention.

"Yes, back to New York. I wants to go to work."

"Have you not enough to do here?"

"No," said Joe, with a chuckle. "It's all play here--no real hard work
sich as I's 'customed to."

"It is time you took it easy, Joe," said Phil.

"True nuff, but I's not one of the easy sort. Besides, who knows, Massa
Phil, but there may be other chillen--poor sick chillen--waitin' for to
hear my fiddle an' be comforted?"

Phil looked up hastily; a bright look of gratitude and love came into
his eyes.

Just then Miss Schuyler appeared, with a glass jar of jelly in her hand;
the maid was following with a tray full.

"Joe wants to go to the city, Aunt Rachel," said Phil.

"I dare say," was the ready response. "He wants a little gossip over the
kitchen fires, and he wants this nice jar of jelly for his bread and
butter when he has company to tea; and as we all are going home next
week, he may as well wait for the rest of us."

"Aunt Rachel!" said Phil, in dismay. Going home to the city seemed like
going back to poverty, and illness, and the garret room he so well

Aunt Rachel divined it all. "You belong to me now, Phil. Lisa and I are
partners henceforth; and while you and I travel in search of health,
study, and improvement, Lisa is going to keep house for us in her own
nice quiet way."

"Travel!--where?--when?" said Phil, eagerly.

"The doctors suggest our going abroad--to a warm climate for the winter,
where we please; in summer, to the German baths."

"Oh, Aunt Rachel!"

This was enough for Phil to think of and wonder about all the rest of
the happy days at the lake. He could walk now with comparative ease, not
of course without crutches, and the gold and scarlet glory of the autumn
leaves was a perpetual delight to him. He gathered them for wreaths and
bouquets, he pressed them, and ironed them, and varnished them, and
tried every method suggested to him for keeping them; and when it came
packing time it was found necessary to get an extra trunk to contain all
the woodland treasures.

The happy summer had ended, and not without a lingering look of regret
that it could not last longer was the farewell said to house, and lake,
and every pretty graceful tree or plant that adorned them.

They found the city house all in nice order for them, for Aunt Rachel
was always wise in her forethought and provision for future comfort.

Phil's little room near her own had been especially attended to, and he
found it in all its arrangements as complete and satisfactory as the
lovely summer nook he had vacated.

In three weeks' time they were to start for Europe. The days were spent
in preparation. Phil must have a steamer chair, plenty of clothes,
wraps, and contrivances. All Aunt Rachel's thoughts were for Phil's
comfort; but it did not spoil him nor make him selfish; he had the happy
faculty of receiving kindness gracefully, as if glad to be the means of
making others happy by his gratitude, not as if it were his due in any
way. And in his turn he was thoughtful and considerate for others, in
trifles light as air, but nevertheless showing by the gentle, tender
manner that he meant them as evidences of his affection. He knew Lisa
dreaded parting from him, so before her he was quite silent as to his
expected pleasures, although his imagination was constantly picturing
the details of an ocean voyage. His sketch-book was getting full of
yachts and craft of all sorts and sizes--some that would have astonished
a sailor very much. Whenever he met Lisa he kissed her, whether with hat
on she was hurrying out on some errand for Miss Schuyler, or on her
return, with arms full of bundles, she was hastening through the hall.

He was necessarily left much alone, and thus had the chance to draw a
charming little picture for Lisa, and frame it with acorns, lichen, and
red maple leaves. He hung it in her room one day when she was out, and,
to his surprise, the next day it was missing. He had expected some
recognition of it, but none coming, he kept still, wondering what Lisa
had done with it. The secret came out in due time.

A day or two before their departure, Lisa came to him with tears in her
eyes, and a little package in her hand.

"Open it, dear; it is for you."

It was a tiny leather purse, with four dollars in it.

"Lisa, you must not give me all this."

"Yes, it is yours--your own earnings. I sold your little picture, and
bought this purse with part of the money, so that you might have
something to spend just as you pleased.".

"Oh, Lisa!" was all Phil could say, for though grateful, he was yet
disappointed that Lisa had not kept his picture.

"Now, dear," she said, "you can buy some little trifle for Joe, and any
one else you want to make a present to."

"Thank you, Lisa; yes, I will. It is a very nice purse," he replied; but
as soon as he could find Miss Schuyler, he unburdened his heart. "After
all the pains I took with that little picture, Aunt Rachel, to think of
Lisa's selling it! Oh, how could she?"

"Hush, dear Phil; Lisa is the most unselfish creature in the world. Has
she not given you up to me? And for the pleasure she supposed it would
give you to have money of your own earning, she was willing to part with
even a thing so precious as a picture painted by you for her. Do not
question her motive for a moment. Take the money, and buy her something
useful. Come, we will go get a pretty work-basket; she will find it even
more to her taste than a picture."

So they went out and bought a light, nicely shaped basket, with little
pockets all around it, and Aunt Rachel made it complete with a silver
thimble, a strawberry emery cushion, a morocco needle-book, and an ample
supply of silk, thread, needles, pins, and buttons.

Lisa was delighted; but Phil could not be satisfied until he had painted
another little picture, and made Lisa promise that no one else should
ever have it.

Joe was made happy with some new bandana handkerchiefs in brilliant
yellows and red, a pipe, some tobacco, and a suit of clothes from Miss

       *       *       *       *       *


It was a tranquil, lovely day in the fall when the steam-ship sailed
with Aunt Rachel and Phil on board. All the bay sparkled in the
sunshine, and boats of every shape and size danced upon the blue water.
After the bustle and confusion of getting off, the leave-takings, the
cries and shouts of sailors, the blowing of whistles and ringing of
bells, they sat quietly down to watch the receding shores, and look out
upon the glittering water.

"Aunt Rachel," said Phil, "it all seems like another fairy story to me,
and we are sailing in a nautilus to the island of Heart's Ease."

"Yes, dear child, so it does. And let us hope that we shall find that
beautiful island, and never wish to leave it."



[Illustration: PATERMUS. "Come, Children, your Mother and I have decided
to emigrate. I overheard Mrs. Housekeeper say last night that she had
engaged Chinese help, and we have concluded that it is hardly safe for
us to stay any longer."]

[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX]

In answer to repeated inquiries, we would again state that there is no
charge for printing exchanges or any other matter in the Post-office
Box. Whatever is suitable and interesting is printed if space can be
made for it. To make that space is a constant and never-ending problem,
the solution of which is that hundreds and hundreds of pretty letters
never appear at all. They lie week after week on the editor's table, and
their turn never comes, for the simple reason that five hundred lines
can not be crowded into a column that only holds half--a great deal less
than half--of that number.

The editor's heart aches every week over the heaps of letters from the
dear little folks who are doomed to disappointment. It is not one bit
pleasant to think that the bright little eyes will watch in vain for the
carefully written letter which was intended to "surprise mamma," or
"please grandpa, who gives me my paper," but there is no help for it.
There are so many of you that to let you all speak in print would keep
an army of printers busy day and night.

Perhaps if you could peep for a moment at the editor's Post-office
Department, you would be comforted to find yourselves in such a crowd of
other little folks. There is no big waste-basket, such as you all appear
to dread so much, but there are some very big pigeon-holes, and a great
many of them; and there you all are, packed snugly away, thousands and
thousands of you, talking of your pretty living pets, shedding quiet
tears over the "kitties that died," playing with your baby brother or
sister, "the dearest pet in the world," or offering unlimited sympathy
to Toby Tyler. Here are fifty or sixty boys every one of whom wishes
Toby Tyler would come and live with him, "and my mamma will be so good
to him, and always give him enough to eat!" There are plenty of homes
offered to Mr. Stubbs too, but the poor old monkey does not need them
now. We do not believe any monkey was ever honored by such a large
circle of mourners. His name has been bestowed upon great numbers of pet
dogs and cats, and it will be many years before he will be forgotten.

Now when you feel badly because you can not find your letter or even
your name in the Post-office Box, just remember that your pretty message
to YOUNG PEOPLE is not thrown away or neglected, but that it is all
safe, and in the company of a whole crowd of little companions from all
parts of the world.

       *       *       *       *       *


     I am nine years old, and I enjoy reading YOUNG PEOPLE, as we all
     do, even papa and mamma. When the paper comes, all make a rush for
     it, to see how poor Toby Tyler is getting along. He attracts as
     much attention among the big folks as with us children. Mamma says
     his story teaches us all a good lesson.

      All of us are obliged to stay from school now on account of
      scarlet fever. I feel very sorry, for I love to go to school, and
      I was trying very hard for a prize. I can not get it now. This is
      my first attempt at writing a letter.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I am seven years old, and I feel awful sorry for Toby Tyler. If
     Uncle Daniel won't have Toby, he can come and live with us. My
     mamma says so. Grandma says we can't have Mr. Stubbs; but she likes
     to have a good time herself, and I know she will laugh at his
     tricks when she gets used to him. Toby and Mr. Stubbs can sleep
     with me, for I have no brother or sister. And Toby can have half of
     my marbles, and play on my drum, and he shall have all he wants to
     eat. Tell him to come, and not go back to the circus.


This cordial invitation was written before the sad end of Mr. Stubbs,
and the arrival of Toby at his home, and in their name we thank Master
Willie for his generous intentions.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following information in reference to the meaning of the word
Toronto has been sent to the Post-office Box by a gentleman in Detroit
for the benefit of Henry M. R.:

     Toronto is an Indian word (Iroquois, if I remember right),
     signifying "oak-trees growing up or rising from the lake." This I
     learned from one of my old school-books when a boy in Canada,
     nearly fifty years ago.

  J. R.

       *       *       *       *       *


     We are little boys of the same age, ten years. We live on a cotton
     plantation. There are no little boys near on the same side of the
     river as we are. The farms are large, so we have to go a great
     distance to see any one. There are two thousand acres in
     cultivation, and there are miles and miles of woods all around. As
     soon as we leave our yard we are in the woods. We can go hunting
     for rabbits, or squirrels, or partridges. We have the largest
     pecans growing here that I ever saw. They measure two inches round,
     and are an inch and a half long. We have a plantation of magnolias,
     walnut-trees, pears, figs, and pomegranates, besides peaches and

      We each have a bay colt, which we must get up early in the morning
      and groom. Our father says we are to know all about a farm. He
      often sends us three or four miles alone to see how the log heaps
      are burning, or how the corn or cotton is being planted. He makes
      us row ourselves over the river in a little boat we have.

      We have a governess who wants to make us very elegant, but we do
      not like to brush our teeth and nails so often, and go to the
      table in such prime order. But she reads YOUNG PEOPLE to us, and
      we would do almost anything to hear the paper read better than we
      can read it for ourselves.

      If any little boy would like to know more about this country, we
      will write again to YOUNG PEOPLE, and tell all we know.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I want to tell you how I get YOUNG PEOPLE. Our teacher takes it for
     the school, and all that stand perfect in the lessons draw for it.
     This is jolly. I think it is the best paper in the world.

      I live near the great Mammoth Cave, one of the largest caves in
      the world, and also near the Green River, which is one of the
      deepest rivers.

      I went the other day to see _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ played, and
      thought it was splendid.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I am a very little girl. I like YOUNG PEOPLE very much. I think
     Jimmy Brown is a very funny boy. My little nephew, named Horace, is
     so much like him! My sister has to tie him to the bed-post when she
     goes out-of-doors. Once he broke loose, and when she came back she
     found him working over her bread, which she had left by the stove
     to rise. He is only nineteen months old, and sister thinks he will
     grow up just like Jimmy Brown. I am saving all my YOUNG PEOPLE for
     him to read when he gets big.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I send the inscription on the inside of the cover of a snuff-box
     that we have, as I thought the other children might like to read it
     Here it is:

      "Respect me for what I have been. From a sprightly plant I was
      advanced to the sovereignty of the forest; the birds of the air
      were happy under my shadow, and afforded me their sweetest notes
      for my protection. After filling a respectable situation, and
      living to a good old age, I was cut down, stripped of nature's
      robes, and became a pillar in the church, where I screened alike
      the sinner and the saint from the stormy blast; and after a
      faithful servitude of seven hundred and one years, I have become
      in every convivial circle a ready token of friendship--part of my
      remains make a snuff-box; and except when carried away by wicked
      hands, regularly attend the sanctuary. One thousand eight hundred
      and twenty-four."

      On the outside of the cover is the picture of a church, with the
      inscription, "Glasgow Cathedral. Founded 1123."


       *       *       *       *       *


     I am six years old, and mamma is going to write just every word I
     say to YOUNG PEOPLE. We have "tooken" it ever since it began.
     Georgie likes "Biddy O'Dolan" and "Toby Tyler" the best. I do like
     "Phil's Fairies," because he is a poor little sick boy.

      I have a little sister Prill. She is 'most three years old. She
      tries to say, "Twinkle, twinkle, little star," and runs to the
      window, and tries to see the stars. We love her a thousand million

      I have two dollies. Winnie was a year old when I was six, and
      Mabel came that day. I named Winnie my own self for the dollie in
      "Trouble in the Play-Room," in YOUNG PEOPLE, and Mabel after
      "rosy-cheeked Mabel" in "Wingy Wing Foo," which I can recite.

      Georgie and I went with papa to grandpa's when he was sixty years
      old. We had to go a hundred miles. At the depôt a man asked me
      where I was going, and I said, "To grandpa's birthday party; he is
      sixty years old this afternoon," and all the people laughed.

      We live on the St. Clair River, and can see all the boats that go
      to Lake Superior and Chicago. The Indians live across the river.
      We can see their log-houses. They come across in boats, and sell
      baskets. Sometimes their papooses are tied on their backs. I can
      write my own name.


     I am four years old. Ethel is my sister.

      We had a bran pudding Christmas morning, after we had our oatmeal.
      We liked it.

      Bill and Kit are my horses. They are wooden.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I hope the little boys and girls who read this letter will not
     laugh when I tell them I am going to write about cats. My dear old
     Sheppie dog was poisoned, so I can't write about him, and our
     kittie is not just a common kind of a cat, for she has seven toes
     on each of her fore-paws, and she can catch more rats and mice than
     any other three cats I ever saw. She came in the other day with an
     awfully big rat, and when I went to pat her a little, the rat bit
     me. She is striped just like a tiger.

      Mamma told us such a funny story about a kittie she had when she
      was a little girl. One day she went up an apple-tree near the
      house after some dear little birds. Mamma ran after her, but was
      too late to save even one little bird. She was so provoked with
      her kittie that she ran up stairs, and tore a big piece out of a
      dress, and made a bag. Then she put poor kittie in it, with a big
      stone for a pillow, and ran as fast as she could to a big pond
      over past the corn field, and threw poor kittie in. When mamma got
      back to the house, the first thing she saw was that same little
      kittie sitting beside the door, washing herself off, and looking
      so sorry and pitiful that mamma took her in her arms, and dried
      her with her apron. Then she carried her into the house, and put
      her in the oven to get warm. She thought she would not let grandpa
      and grandma know about it, for fear they would laugh at her, but
      the colored driver was there, and saw it all, and he told them
      when they came home. They laugh at mamma about it yet.

      I think YOUNG PEOPLE is just the nicest, jolliest paper in all the

      We are making up a boxful of things to send to the poor little
      boys and girls at the Howard Mission, in New York.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I live in the far West. It is a very nice place. Our schools are
     just splendid. They are graded, and we have the best of teachers.

      Sometimes the Ute Indians come here. They are awful dirty and
      lazy, and very mean. They steal and beg all the time, and we are
      glad to see them go away. Once in a while we have a visit from
      gypsies. I am twelve years old.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I must tell you about a funny mistake I made the other day at the
     breakfast table. I was talking about Toby Tyler calling his monkey
     Mr. Stubbs because he looked like a man he knew by that name, and I
     said I did not think the man would feel very much _complicated_.
     Papa and mamma and my two big brothers all laughed very much. At
     first I did not know why, and was feeling very uncomfortable, when
     mamma explained to me that I should have said _complimented_, and
     told me the difference in the meaning of the words. Then I laughed
     as much as any of them. I am eight years old.


       *       *       *       *       *

     I wish to inform my correspondents that I have received so many
     applications for my minerals and other curiosities that they are
     all gone. I will try to get some more, but I will now exchange
     stamps with those correspondents who are not willing to wait. I
     would like some South American postage stamps (no duplicates).

  P. O. Box 151, Palmyra, Marion Co., Mo.

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *

     My supply of stamps is exhausted, and I can not exchange any more.
     I will return the stamps I have received for which I can give no


       *       *       *       *       *

     I do not wish any more exchanges of soil. I will now exchange
     Florida moss, for postage stamps.

  Lock Box 6, Greenville, Darke Co., Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

Johnny P. Crozier, of Carlyle, Kansas, who offered exchange in YOUNG
PEOPLE No. 75, is in trouble. He has no more Indian arrow-heads nor
rattlesnake rattles, and packages of curiosities are still reaching him
by every mail. He begs correspondents to send him nothing more, for he
will be compelled to return all these things, or wait until a new crop
of rattlesnakes comes in.

It would always be well if those wishing to exchange would write before
sending a package, in order to find out if the exchange can be made.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following exchanges are offered by correspondents:

     Minerals and stamps, for Indian arrow-heads, stamps, or minerals.

  P. O. Box F, Penn Yan, Yates Co., N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Prince Edward Island stamps and some others of foreign countries,
     for rare stamps. Mexican especially desired.

  Care of Rev. George Hodgson,
  Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Two German, one French, and one English stamp, for four other
     foreign stamps.

  Care of E. Belknap, Yonkers, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foreign stamps, for curiosities.

  BERTHA A. BRUMAGIM, Summerdale, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     One twenty-five cent internal revenue stamp, for a Chinese stamp.

  Kankakee, Kankakee Co., Ill.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Postage and revenue stamps and postmarks. Postmarks from the
     Eastern States especially desired.

  J. C., P. O. Box 3, Aurora, Kane Co., Ill.

       *       *       *       *       *

     East Indian, Japanese, French, Canadian, German, and United States
     stamps, for other foreign and United States stamps. Those from
     Central and South America especially desired.

  11 Wendell Street, Cambridge, Mass.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Rare foreign stamps, for stamps from Turkey, Egypt, Straits
     Settlements, or for other stamps of value.

  224 Ridge Avenue, Alleghany City, Penn.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stamps and postmarks, for stamps or any curiosity, except minerals
     and postmarks.

  25 Columbia Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Postmarks, for good specimens of insects, especially a death's-head

  375 Quincy Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Copper or iron ore, for curiosities.

  AMELIA FRINK, Marshall, Calhoun Co., Mich.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Thirty-five postmarks (no duplicates), for a cent of any date
     earlier than 1840. Or forty postmarks for a half-cent of any date
     earlier than 1857.

  Center P. O., Gardner, Worcester Co., Mass.

       *       *       *       *       *

     One hundred foreign stamps (no duplicates), for an Indian bow and
     arrow; or seventy-five foreign stamps (no duplicates), for a
     tomahawk or pipe. Will also exchange foreign stamps on most liberal
     terms for Indian or other good curiosities.

      Correspondents will please write and state what they have for
      exchange before sending.

  238 Warren Street, Jersey City, N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foreign postage stamps.

  810 Grand Street, Jersey City Heights, N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foreign stamps. Those from Iceland, Asia, South America, or Cape of
     Good Hope desired in exchange.

  Mamaroneck, Westchester Co., N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Fifteen revenue stamps (no duplicates), for every set of six
     different kinds of woods from any State except Massachusetts. Or
     Massachusetts woods, for the same from other States. Specimens must
     be two inches long, and labelled. Also sea-shells from the Atlantic
     coast, for Indian relics.

  B. M. and M. N. H.,
  Hull Street, Newtonville, Middlesex Co., Mass.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Soil from Iowa, for soil from Switzerland.

  FRED HUNTOON, Stuart, Iowa.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Twenty-five stamps and fifteen postmarks, for the set of Egyptian
     stamps of 1865, containing seven stamps.

  9 West Nineteenth Street, New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Easels, picture-frames, small brackets, match safes, or autumn
     leaves, for sea-shells, ocean curiosities, minerals, or anything
     suitable for a museum. Correspondents will please state which
     article they prefer in exchange.

  Milton, Chittenden Co., Vt.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Indian arrow-heads, for any ocean curiosities except a sea-urchin
     and a horseshoe crab. Correspondents will please pack specimens
     carefully, that they may not get broken.

  Darlington Heights, Prince Edward Co., Va.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stamps from the United States of Colombia, Germany, France, Great
     Britain, and some other foreign countries, for other foreign or
     United States Department stamps.

  145 London Street, East Boston, Mass.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Twenty-five foreign stamps, or a good-sized piece of petrified
     moss, for five South American stamps.

  H. L. J.,
  Lock Box 721, Granville, Licking Co., Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Twenty-five United States postmarks, for eight foreign postmarks or

  Reynoldsburg, Franklin Co., Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Twenty foreign stamps, for an eight-cent Canada register stamp and
     a three-cornered Cape of Good Hope.

  4065 Aspen Street (Room G),
  West Philadelphia, Penn.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stamps, autographs of renowned men, coins, pieces of silk, and
     postmarks, for shells.

  P. O. Box 1221, Plainfield, Union Co., N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foreign postage stamps, for other stamps.

  HARRY WILSON, Rutherford, N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Southern birds' feathers, crystallized salt, or iron, for forest
     and ocean curiosities, scraps of silk, moss, pressed flowers, or
     other pretty things.

  327 Hudson Avenue, Albany, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stamps, coins, minerals, and postmarks, for rare foreign postage,
     or United States Department stamps.

  181 East Ninety-fifth Street, New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Fifty-five postmarks, for twenty-four United States old issues, or
     department stamps, or foreign stamps.

  DAISY NORTON, 56 Henry Street, Detroit, Mich.

[_For other exchanges, see third page of cover._]

       *       *       *       *       *

S. AND F.--You can buy pongee, Surah, or some other kind of soft
cream-colored or dull yellow silk, at almost any large dry-goods store
in New York city. You can vary the color of the background and the
outline of the flowers according to your taste, but it is prettier
always to outline the steins and leaves with green. If you put your work
in a frame, you will find it difficult to do the darning stitch of the

       *       *       *       *       *

R. A. E., AND HARRY Q.--We shall be glad to receive an occasional letter
from you describing any interesting experience you may have during your
contemplated excursions. Letters from all boys and girls who, during
their summer vacation, see anything new and worth writing about, will
also be welcome. Write your communications on one side of the paper
only, and try to tell only those things which are of interest to other
boys and girls.

       *       *       *       *       *

H. H.--You can make very good molasses candy by boiling together half a
pound of brown sugar and one quart of molasses. Drop a little in a cup
of cold water, and if it hardens, it is ready for cooling. When it is
sufficiently boiled, put in a small piece of butter and a little essence
of wintergreen. Cool in a flat, buttered pan. If you wish to make it
white, flour your hands and pull it as soon as it is cool enough to
handle. Then make it into small twisted sticks.

       *       *       *       *       *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Maude P. A., Ray B.,
Annie Brayton, Gertrude Ball, Archie and Hugh Burns, Maude M. Chambers,
Amelia Frink, David Griggs, Willie E. Green, Rachel Haviland, Alice C.
Hammond, William Hadley, Grace R. Holden, Laura A. Ivins, Jennie E.
Jaquer, Jenny Kempton, H. Keppel, E. K. Knapp, Henry King, "Lode Star,"
"Lansing, Iowa," Bessie H. Moore, Percy McDermott, Augusta Lou Parke,
"_Pepper_," C. A. Quin, M. May Robinson, A. E. S., "Stars and Stripes,"
"Sir Finley," "Starry Flag," Adda Thomson, W. I. Trotter, _George
Volckhausen_, Nelse Walton, Willie F. Woolard.

       *       *       *       *       *


No. 1.


  In pike, not in fish.
  In stove, not in dish.
  In yard, not in mile.
  In chisel, not in file.
  In poem, not in rhyme.
  In clock, not in time.
  In kite, not in owl.
  My whole a handsome fowl.

  C. R. B.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 2.


1. My first is a volume. My second is a reptile. My whole is a student.


2. My first is to study. My second is a banner. My third is daily food.
My whole is a great fire.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 3.


1.--1. A bundle. 2. A sea in Asia. 3. An animal. 4. A river in Europe.


2.--1. A boy's name. 2. Proportion. 3. A famous mountain. 4. Costly.


3.--1. A tropical tree. 2. At a distance. 3. Latest. 4. A fable.

4.--1. A boy's name. 2. Not handsome. 3. Sullen. 4. A song of praise.

  G. A. K.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 4.


  In dog, but not in cat.
  In fly, but not in bat.
  In man, but not in boy.
  In weapon, not in toy.
  In meat, but not in bone.
  In white, but not in roan.
  In sleet, but not in rain.
  In dye, but not in stain.
  My whole is stronger than a chain.

  C. W.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 5.


  1. I am a pretty proverb composed of 27 letters.
  My 12, 7, 4, 16, 25, 11 is a small fish.
  My 10, 19, 14, 5, 20 is never late.
  My 13, 15, 6, 23, 16 is an animal.
  My 26, 10, 21, 8, 3, 18 is to improve.
  My 1, 27, 2 is a poisonous reptile.
  My 17, 22, 8, 24, 9, 23, 3, 18 is a curious insect.


  2 (_To Oliver Twist_). I am composed of 8 letters, and am a character
      familiar to the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE.
  My 4, 5, 7, 8 are found in every kitchen.
  My 6, 5, 2, 3, 4 is to break open.
  My 1, 2 is an abbreviation.


       *       *       *       *       *


No. 1.


No. 2.

  R A I N   L E A D
  A N N E   E L L A
  I N C A   A L U M
  N E A R   D A M P

No. 3.

1. Scandinavia. 2. Toby Tyler. 3. Mammoth Cave.

No. 4.

      I         C
      N         H
  T R A M O N T A N E
      U         L
      G         Y
      U         B
      R         E
  F L A G E L L A T E
      T         T
      E         E

No. 5.

Diana, Venus, Vesta.

       *       *       *       *       *

Charade, on page 384--Island.


As some of our new subscribers do not understand what "Wiggles" are, we
will repeat our explanation. The drawing marked New Wiggle, No. 19, on
page 432, forms a portion of the _outline_ of a picture. The endeavor of
a wiggle contributor is to furnish a sketch which will resemble our
artist's idea.


Two Serial Stories will begin in the next Number of HARPER'S YOUNG
PEOPLE, entitled respectively




       *       *       *       *       *

DECISION," are commenced in No. 80 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, issued May
10. The former is by W. L. ALDEN, author of "The Moral Pirates," and
relates the cruise of four boys in a small yacht along the south shore
of Long Island. During a dense fog they drift out to sea, and meet with
many adventures. The youthful reader will find the story intensely
interesting as well as instructive. The illustrations are drawn by W. A.

"SUSIE KINGMAN'S DECISION" is the story of a May Party, written for
girls by KATE R. MCDOWELL, and is fresh, breezy, and full of interest.
It is illustrated by Mrs. JESSIE CURTIS SHEPHERD.


The publishers will furnish HARPER'S MAGAZINE, beginning with the June
Number (which is the commencement of Volume LXIII.), and HARPER'S YOUNG
PEOPLE, beginning with Number 80, published May 10, 1881 (containing the
first installments of the new serials)--the two periodicals together for
one year--on receipt of FIVE DOLLARS.


SINGLE COPIES, 4 cents; ONE SUBSCRIPTION, one year, $1.50; FIVE
SUBSCRIPTIONS, one year, $7.00--_payable in advance, postage free_.

The Volumes of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE commence with the first Number in
November of each year.

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

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

  Franklin Square, N. Y.

NEW WIGGLE, No. 19.]

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