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Title: Harper's Young People, June 14, 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, June 14, 1881 - An Illustrated Weekly" ***

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[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]

       *       *       *       *       *

VOL. II.--NO. 85. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.

Tuesday, June 14, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ON WHEELS--INCIDENTS OF THE RECENT BICYCLE MEET IN
BOSTON.]

ON WHEELS.

BY THE CAPTAIN.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHATS ABOUT PHILATELY.

BY J. J. CASEY.

IV.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



[Illustration: A CHILD OF SOUTHERN GERMANY.]



THE APPRENTICE'S LEAP.

A STORY OF LONDON BRIDGE.

BY DAVID KER.


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

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

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

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

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

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

"He has her!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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



[Illustration: LETTING THE OLD CAT DIE.--DRAWN BY JESSIE MCDERMOTT.]



[Begun in No. 80 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, May 10.]

THE CRUISE OF THE "GHOST."

BY W. L. ALDEN,

AUTHOR OF "THE MORAL PIRATES," ETC.

CHAPTER VI.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: IN THE GREAT SOUTH BAY.]

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

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

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

"What's that?" asked Charley.

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

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

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

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

"What's that?" exclaimed Tom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



[Illustration: "IN THE BARN."--FROM A PAINTING BY H. ALLINGHAM.]



HOW TOM RAN THE ENGINE WITHOUT WOOD OR WATER.

BY CHARLES BARNARD.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'd rather n-n-not--not tell."

"Why not?"

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

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

"Y-y-yes--yes, sir."

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

"Do you belong to the Railroad School?"

"Y-y-yes--yes, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you ready, sir?"

"Y-y-yes--yes, sir."

"Then go ahead."

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

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

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

"T-t-twenty--twenty pounds, sir."

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

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

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

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

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



BEES IN THE MEADOW.

BY MRS. SANGSTER.


  Bees in the meadow,
    Birds on the bough,
  Bloom on the hill-side--
    Play-time is now.

  Stones in the pasture,
    Weeds in the bed;
  Haying and harvest,
    Hard work ahead.

  Loud sings the robin,
    "If you'd be gay,
  Take to the work, lad,
    The _heart_ of the play."



[Illustration: PUNCH AND JUDY IN A CONVENT.]

PUNCH AND JUDY IN A CONVENT.


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

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

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



THE DAISY COT.

A STORY IN TWO PARTS.

BY MISS LILLIAS C. DAVIDSON.

PART I.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: THE NEW DAISY.]

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

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

[Illustration: DR. SANTA CLAUS.]

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

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

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

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



[Illustration: SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE.--DRAWN BY S. G. MCCUTCHEON.]



BITS OF ADVICE.

BY AUNT MARJORIE PRECEPT.

ABOUT GETTING UP IN THE MORNING.


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

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

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



[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]


  LONDON, ENGLAND.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  HARRY G.

       *       *       *       *       *

  FARMER CITY, ILLINOIS.

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

  HARRY B. L.

       *       *       *       *       *

  DANBURY, CONNECTICUT.

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

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

  GEORGIE E. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

  EDEN, GEORGIA.

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

  FAIRLEY C.

       *       *       *       *       *

  NEW YORK CITY.

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

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

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

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

  R. R.

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

       *       *       *       *       *

  POMONA, CALIFORNIA.

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

  GEORGIE B. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  FRANK K. THOMAS,
  P. O. Box 16, Lansing, Allamakee Co., Iowa.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  GEORGE C. BAKER, Comstocks, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     My brother takes YOUNG PEOPLE, and we were very sorry when the
     story of "Toby Tyler" was ended.

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

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

  JESSIE SHARP,
  Madera, Fresno Co., Cal.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  HERBERT HOTALING,
  P. O. Box 387, Mankato, Minn.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  CORA GRIFFITH,
  Calumet, Pike Co., Mo.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  MADISON COOPER, JUN.,
  Evans Mills, Jefferson Co., N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

The following exchanges are offered by correspondents:

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

  FRANK ALABASTER, P. O. Box 1423,
  Ann Arbor, Washtenaw Co., Mich.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  FREDDY ANDRIESSEN, Beaver, Beaver Co., Penn.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  HOWARD S. ABBOTT,
  1115 Fifth Street, E. D., Minneapolis, Minn.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stamps. No duplicates given or taken.

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  MATTIE BECK,
  Holton, Jackson Co., Kan.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  A READER OF "YOUNG PEOPLE,"
  P. O. Box 59, Cumberland, Md.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  JOHN H. FISHER,
  Mount Washington, Baltimore Co., Md.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  ARTHUR D. PRINCE,
  Corner First and Simpson Streets, Lowell, Mass.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  EDWARD T. PERINE, Plainfield, N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  IONE WATTS, care of O. Watts & Co.,
  34-1/2 Macdougal Street, New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  JULIUS WIEMAN,
  P. O. Box 3149, New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foreign coins, for minerals and Indian relics.

  CHARLES WELCH,
  176 High Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  WALTER B. WYMAN,
  108 Sixth Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  FRED S. ALLIS,
  Lock Box 18, Erie, Erie Co., Penn.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  S. B. AYRES, JUN.,
  Penn Yan, Yates Co., N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  M. ANDERSON and H. PHILLIPS,
  P. O. Box 41, Corsicano, Navarro Co., Texas.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

  PAUL E. BONNER,
  463 Waverley Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

H. F.--The signals given by steamboats are fully described in Chapter
II. of "The Cruise of the 'Ghost,'" published in No. 81 of HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

G. A. M.--Wiggles are explained in the Post-office Box of YOUNG PEOPLE
No. 79.

       *       *       *       *       *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

ENIGMA--(_To North Star_).

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

  DOUGLAS.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 2.

DIAMOND.

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

  PRINCESS.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 3.

DIAGONALS.

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

Diagonals.--Two rivers in Europe.

  GOODY TWO-SHOES.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 4.

TWO EASY SQUARES.

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

  PICKWICK.

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

  LAURA.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 5.

GEOGRAPHICAL DOUBLE ACROSTIC.

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

Primals.--A lake in South America.

Finals.--An island in the Mediterranean Sea.

  LADY BETTY.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 82.

No. 1.

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

No. 2.

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

No. 3.

Cricket.

No. 4.

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

No. 5.

1. Harvard College. 2. Maple sugar.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

Charade, on page 480--Sinbad.

       *       *       *       *       *

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



BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS.


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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

[2] _West Point and the Military Academy_. By EDWARD S. FARROW, U.S.A.
Second Edition. Revised. 16mo, pp. 75. New York: John Wiley & Sons.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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



HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.


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

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

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

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

  HARPER & BROTHERS,
  Franklin Square, N. Y.



[Illustration: KIND-HEARTED OLD GENTLEMAN. "What are you crying for,
Bub?"

POOR BOY. "Lost a dime."

K. H. O. G. "Did you drop it in the water?"

P. B. "No, sir. My little brother he dropped in with it."

K. H. O. G. "Gracious me! we must call for assistance."

P. B. "Yes, sir. I want them ten cents awful bad."]



THE NAUGHTY ISLANDS IN NEW YORK STATE.

A LESSON IN GEOGRAPHY.


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

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



THROWING A LIGHT.

BY E. M.


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

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

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



[Illustration: A DANCE IN THE MEADOW.]





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