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Title: Harper's Young People, August 23, 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, August 23, 1881 - An Illustrated Weekly" ***

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


       *       *       *       *       *


Tuesday, August 23, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.

       *       *       *       *       *




"Hamp See a dunce! Well, maybe so; but arter what I've seed, it 'ud take
a smarter school-master than you to make me think so."

It was old Riley Vaughn who spoke, and although old Riley had no
education, his hard sense and sound judgment were respected by all the
men who sat there in the village post-office waiting for the mail. He
had grown prosperous by dint of hard work and good judgment, and his
neighbors were accustomed to ask for and to respect his opinions.

"I did not say precisely that, Mr. Vaughn," replied Mr. Penruddock, the
school-master. "I only said that my best efforts to educate the boy were
rendered futile and nugatory by reason of his inexplicable inability to
grasp and retain so simple a thing as the accidence of the Latin verb."

"That means, in plain English, that he ain't got no grip on what you
teach him, don't it?" asked Riley.

"Yes, that is what I mean," replied the school-master, with something
like a shudder at old Riley's English. "But I will make an honorable
exception in the matter of mathematics. He seems instinctively to grasp
arithmetical principles."

"Yes," drawled old Riley; "one o' your boys tole me Hamp could figger
out how long it 'ud take fer a cistern to git full ef they was three
pipes o' different sizes a-runnin' into it, an' two others o' still
different sizes a-runnin' out."

"Yes, he is expert in the practical applications of arithmetic; and yet
even in arithmetic his standing is not good, because he seems incapable
of mastering the exact terms of the formulæ and rules."

"Well, now, look here," said old Riley, rising and striking the counter
with his big fist; "it jest comes to this here: the boy ain't got no
grip on your words an' things; but he's got a good grip on idees an'
principles, an' it's my belief that's the inside o' sense. I don't want
to be unnecessarily offensive, but you an' all school-masters like you
ought to teach parrots. They don't want no idees; they jest want the
words, an' that's your notion o' learnin'. That's the trouble o' this
here country down here: men learn words, an' kin make speeches, but they
can't do nothin'. Now I've seed that boy Hamp See do what nary a man in
this county could do. I bought the fust reapin'-machine as was ever seed
in these parts, an' when it come it was all to pieces, an' packed in
boxes. I sent one arter another fer all the blacksmiths an' wheelwrights
an' carpenters hereabouts to set the thing up, an' I'm blest ef one on
'em could make out which end o' the thing was foremost. Not one on 'em
could put any two pieces together. That 'ere boy hung around all the
time, with his forred creased up like, an' finally he says to me, says
he, 'Mr. Vaughn, let me try.' 'Well, try,' says I; 'an' ef you git her
together, I've got a five-dollar bill fer you.' Maybe you won't believe
it, but afore noon that very day that there reaper was a-reapin' wheat
like a dozen hands. The boy jest seed right into the thing. Now I say ef
he's a dunce, the sooner most people in these here parts loses their
senses an' gits to be dunces, the better 'twill be for all concerned."
And with that old Riley stalked indignantly out of the post-office.

Notwithstanding all that old Riley could say, however, public opinion
was against Hamp See. It was certain that he was dull in his lessons. He
could not keep up with Mr. Penruddock's classes, and instead of studying
his Latin verbs, he was perpetually interrupting the school by asking
Mr. Penruddock to explain things like thunder and lightning, and the
presence of shells in the rocks on the mountain, and the curious ways
that plants have of taking care of themselves--things which had no
relation to the work of the school. It was agreed that Riley Vaughn
could not know anything about education, because he was not himself
educated. It was even said--and this came to Riley's ears--that he was
prejudiced against education.

Even Hamp's mother was discouraged. Hamp was always "pottering," she
said, instead of attending to his books.

"Why," she said, "he's been fooling with a spring up on the hill back of
the house the whole season through. He's laid pipes to bring the water
down here, and now he's turned the whole house into a mill." Then she
would show her visitor what Hamp had done. He had constructed an
ingenious water-wheel with which to make the most of the power afforded
by the spring, and had set it at a variety of tasks. A stretch of line
shafting passed under the floor of the house, and bands were passed
through the floor to the churn and the sewing-machine, and even the
sausage-chopper could be attached at will. "I don't deny that it's
handy, and saves work," said his mother. "And now he's made a sort of
fan in the dining-room, and has set that going too, so that it keeps the
flies off the table. If we had a baby in the house, I believe he'd make
the water rock the cradle. But it's discouraging about his studies. Mr.
Penruddock is in despair, and says he don't know what is to be made of
the boy."

The summer proved to be a very dry one, and the gardens especially
suffered for water. When the people began to complain, Hamp had an idea.
He always had an idea when an emergency arose. He went into his mother's
garden and worked all day, digging a trench down the middle, and making
little trenches at right angles to the main one, so that each bed was
surrounded by them, and the larger beds crossed as well. He was very
careful to keep all these trenches on one level. When he had finished,
he laid a drain from his water-wheel to the main trench, so that the
waste water, after turning the wheel, was carried into the garden and
emptied into the trench. Little by little the main trench filled; then
the water trickled into the smaller trenches, and as the spring from
which it came was a never-failing one, the garden was supplied with
water throughout the dry, hot summer, and such a garden nobody in that
region had seen that season.

People said that Hamp See certainly was a handy sort of boy; but they
were sure to add, "It's a pity he is so dull."

One day old Riley Vaughn was offering extravagant prices for horse,
mule, or ox teams to haul stone. He had taken a contract to supply from
his quarry the stone for the railroad bridge over Bushy Run, and now the
time for delivery was near at hand, and no teams could be had. All the
horses were at work on the crops, and it began to appear that old Riley
must either lose money on the contract by hiring horses and mules and
teamsters at ruinous prices, or forfeit the contract itself. He tried in
every direction to get mules and wagons, offering twice the usual wages,
but still he could get very few. He was in real trouble, with a loss of
several thousands of dollars threatening him.

One day Hamp, who knew what trouble Riley was in, went down to the
creek, and, cutting several twigs, began setting them up at a distance
from each other, and sighting from one to the other. The few teamsters
who were at work watched him curiously, but could not make out what he
was doing. He went up the creek with his sticks, moving one of them at a
time, and always carefully sighting from one to another, or rather from
one over another to a third. In this way he worked up to the quarry,
which was immediately on the creek, nearly a mile above the point where
the bridge was to be built.

When he had done, he walked back, examining the banks as he went; then
he presented himself before Riley Vaughn.

"Mr. Vaughn," he said, "I've an idea that will help you out of your

"Will it hire teams to haul stone?" asked Riley.

"No; but it will enable you to haul stone without teams."

"If it will-- Well, let me hear what it is," said Riley, changing his
purpose while speaking.

"Raft the stones down," said Hamp.

"Now look a-here, Hamp See," said old Riley, "I've stood up fer you, an'
said you wa'n't no dunce when everybody else said you was; but this here
looks as ef they was right an' I was wrong. How in natur' kin I raft
stone down a creek that ain't got more'n six inches o' water in it,
a-bubblin' around among the stones of the bottom?"

"Well, you see," said Hamp, "I've levelled up from here to the quarry,
and there's only two feet fall, or a little less, and the banks are
nowhere less than five feet high; and so, as there's a good deal more
water running down in a day than anybody would think, it's my notion to
build a temporary dam just below the bridge--you've enough timber and
plank here to do it with two hours' work of your men--building it, say,
six feet high, there where the banks are closest together. Before noon
to-morrow the water will rise to the top of the dam, and run over. When
it does, you'll have six feet of water here, and four feet at the
quarry, and your men can push rafts down as fast as they can load them."

"How do you know there's only two foot fall?" asked old Riley, eagerly.

"I've levelled it," said Hamp.

"That is, you figgered it out with them sticks?"


"Are you sure you've got the right answer?" asked the old man, wild with

"Perfectly sure. You see, it's simple. I plant my sticks--"

"Never mind about how you do it; I can't understand that ef you explain
it; but look me in the eyes, boy. This thing means thousands o' dollars
to Riley Vaughn ef you've got your answer right. I kin understand that
much; an' ef you've worked out this big sum right for me, I'll choke the
next man that says you're a dunce jest 'kase you don't take kindly to
old Penruddock's chatterin' sort o' learnin'. I'll do it, or my name
ain't Riley Vaughn, an' that's what I've been called for nigh onto
fifty-five year now."

Old Riley was visibly excited. He called all his men to the place
selected, and set them at work building the dam, while Hamp looked on,
and occasionally made a suggestion for simplifying the work. The dam was
finished at three o'clock in the afternoon, and at six o'clock the water
had risen two feet six inches, while the back water had passed the

"There!" said Hamp; "that proves my work. The water is level, of course,
as far up as back water shows itself, and we have six inches of back
water at the quarry to two feet six inches at the dam: so the fall is
two feet."

"It looks so," said Riley, who was also eagerly watching the rise of the
water. The workmen had gone home, all of them convinced that this
attempt to back the water a mile up the creek was the wildest
foolishness; but old Riley and Hamp waited and watched.

"It doesn't rise so fast now," said Riley.

"That's because it has a larger surface; but it still rises, and the
surface won't increase much more now, as there's a steep place just
above the quarry, and it can't back any further up."

The two waited and watched. Midnight came, and the measurement showed
three feet six inches depth at the dam. Still they waited and watched.
At six o'clock in the morning the depth was four feet two inches. Then
Riley sent a negro boy to his house with orders to bring back "a big
breakfast for two." At seven o'clock the breakfast arrived, and the
measurement showed four feet three inches and a half.

"It's a-risin' faster agin," said Riley.

"Yes; the level is climbing straight up the bluff banks now, and not
spreading out as it rises," said Hamp.

At nine o'clock the depth was four feet eight and a half inches, and the
men at the quarry had a raft ready, and were beginning to load it. Ten
o'clock brought four feet eleven inches of water, and at noon there were
five feet and four inches.

"I've missed it a little," said Hamp. "I said the water would run over
the dam by noon, and it has still eight inches to rise before doing

"Well, that sort o' a miss don't count," said Riley. "You've worked the
sum out right anyhow, an' the water's deep enough for raftin', an' still
a-risin'. It'll go over the dam in two or three hours more, an' I'll do
what I said: I'll choke any man 'at says John Hampden See's a dunce or
anything like it. An' that ain't all," said the old man, rising and
striking his fist in the palm of his hand. "They've been a-sayin' that
ole Riley Vaughn didn't vally edication; now I'll show 'em. I'm a-goin'
to make this dam a permanent institution. I'm a-goin' to build Vaughn &
See's foundry an' agricultooral implement factory right down the creek
there, an' put a big lot o' improved machinery in it; an' I'm a-goin' to
send my pardner, John Hampden See, off next week to get the rest o' his
edication where they sell the sort o' edication as is good fer him--not
a lot o' words, but principles an' facts. You tell your mother you're
a-goin' to New York right away, boy, an' 'at ole Riley Vaughn's a-goin'
to foot all the bills outen your interest in the comin' factory. You'll
study all sorts o' figgerin' work an' machine principles in the big
school in New York what's called the School o' Mines, an' then you'll go
to all the big factories an' things."

This scheme was carried out. Hamp spent three years in study, and
returned an accomplished mechanical engineer. He went into the factory
as old Riley's partner, and his work has been to improve machinery and
processes. The firm own many patents now on things of his invention, and
the factory is the centre of a prosperous region, in which Mr. Hampden
See is an especially respected citizen.



There are many knots used by sailors that would prove of good service to
people on shore if they only knew how to make and apply them. Boys on a
farm can put to excellent advantage these simple contrivances when they
have to rely upon their own resources in the use of ropes and small
lines. On shipboard there is a great variety of knots, hitches, bends,
splices, etc., but the larger portion of these can only be adapted to
the particular requirements of a vessel, many of them having a special
duty to perform. The chief virtue of a knot is to hold well and be
easily cast off.

There are three parts to a rope besides the ends: the _standing part_,
which is the part leading from the end made fast; the _running part_,
which is the part used or hauled; and the _bight_, which is the curve of
the rope.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.]

[Illustration: FIG. 2.]

[Illustration: FIG. 3.]

_A square or reef knot._--First make a plain overhand knot as in Fig. 1.
Take the uppermost end _b_, place it over and under the part _a_, and
draw the ends tightly. Then it will appear as in Fig. 2. If you pass the
ends in a contrary direction, you will make what sailors call a _granny_
knot, which is a term of ridicule to the green hands, who often tie them
through mistake. A story is told that a sea-captain, who had on board of
his packet a number of passengers, and was continually missing from his
well-stocked larder some of his choicest bits, concluded to set a trap,
and catch the thief. He was uncertain whether the latter was among the
sailors or passengers, so he secured his pantry door with a piece of
rope, and made a _granny_. The next day he found a square knot in its
place, and so traced the culprit to his crew, knowing that a passenger
would naturally have tied the former over again. The square knot is used
mostly in tying reef points, and can be easily undone. Now if you want a
knot that will not slip in doing up bundles with twine, take another
turn as in Fig. 3.

[Illustration: FIG. 4.]

[Illustration: FIG. 5.]

[Illustration: FIG. 6.]

A _bowline_ is one of the best knots in use, and can be applied in many
different ways. Lay the parts together as in Fig. 4. Then curl the part
_a_ over _b_, bringing the end up through the loop as in Fig. 5. This
little twist must be acquired by practice. Now carry _b_ around and
under _a_, passing it down through the loop as in Fig. 6. Here you have
a knot that is perfectly secure, and will not slip. A man can sit in the
bight (_c_), and be hoisted to any height with safety; and if you want
to lead an ox, a calf, or a horse, you can pass the bowline around his
neck for a temporary halter, without any danger of choking in case of a
sudden prance. This is the most important knot, and can be used in more
situations than any other, and is always readily undone. It is very
handy in making fast a boat's painter, and in tying fish-lines to

[Illustration: FIG. 7.]

[Illustration: FIG. 8.]

[Illustration: FIG. 9.]

[Illustration: FIG. 10.]

By means of two _half-hitches_ (Fig. 7) one can secure with the end of a
rope almost anything. When the same hitch is made around a spar it is
called a _clove-hitch_ (Fig. 8). A fisherman once had a daughter for
whose hand there were two suitors--a sailor and a landsman. The father
of the maiden was in a quandary which of the young men to choose for her
future husband, as they both seemed to be equally attractive; so one day
he summoned them to his side, and gave each a long cord, saying that the
one who made the greatest number of overhand knots (Fig. 1) in the least
time should be accepted. They started to work in good earnest, the
landsman drawing his long ends carefully through the loops, while the
sailor rapidly slipped small half-hitches over his thumb as in Fig. 9,
and when he had used up his cord in this way, passed the end through all
the hitches, and quickly drew it out with the effect seen in Fig. 10, to
the astonishment of his rival, who gave up the contest in despair.

[Illustration: FIG. 11.]

[Illustration: FIG. 12.]

If you have a very long rope and wish to shorten it, the best way to do
is to make a _sheep-shank_, which will never slip, no matter how taut
the strain may be. Lay the parts as in Fig. 11, and then take
half-hitches over the bights as in Fig. 12.

[Illustration: FIG. 13.]

[Illustration: FIG. 14.]

[Illustration: FIG. 15.]

A _true-lovers' knot_ is only useful between sailors and their
sweethearts. It has the peculiar charm of foretelling the feelings of
the one you love. Place your cord or ribbon as in Fig. 13. Then put your
fingers down through the loop _a_, and catch hold of the bight at _b_ as
in Fig. 14. Now withdraw your hand, carrying the bight along, and you
will have the two knots as they appear in Fig. 15. After this, conceal
them with your hand, and ask your fair friend to select one cord from
each side and pull. If the knots separate, your hopes have been drawn
asunder, but if they remain together, your future prospects are assured.
Thus _a_ and _b_ would draw them apart.

[Illustration: FIG. 16.]

[Illustration: FIG. 17.]

There is a favorite little trick called a _Tom-fool's knot_. It amounts
only to a sleight-of-hand, and must be made very deftly to be effective.
First hold the cord by the parts _a_ and _b_ as in Fig. 16. Then pass,
with the forefinger and thumb of the right hand, the part _c_ under _d_
and up through the loop. With the left hand pass _d_ over _c_ down
through the loop, after which you will have the knot represented in Fig.
17, which can be at once drawn apart by the ends _e_ and _f_.

[Illustration: FIG. 18.]

[Illustration: FIG. 19.]

A _breastknot_ is only an ornament. It can be tied with ribbon, and
makes a very pretty bow, or can be used by the ladies as a frog for a
sacque. It consists, first, of three half-hitches overlapping each other
as in Fig. 18. Interweave the part _a_ under _b_ and over _c_; _b_ over
_a_ and under _d_. Then draw out the bight _a_ over _e_, and the bight
_b_ over _f_, when we will have the knot as in Fig. 19.

[Illustration: FIG. 20.]

If you wish to fasten together the ends of two ropes on which there is
to be considerable strain, form them in the shape of a _becket-hitch_ as
in Fig. 20.

[Begun in No. 92 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, August 2.]







During the first day of Tim's stay at the Simpson farm he was careful to
help in every kind of work, and many were the praises he won from Mrs.
Simpson, who held him up as an example to Sam, until that young man
almost felt sorry he had brought him there.

At night Tim went with Sam for the cow, and here it was that Tip made a
most miserable failure, so far as showing that he was a valuable dog was

Sam, remembering how easily the dog had found the cow the night before,
wanted to wait by the bars, and let Tip go in and bring her out, and Tim
was obliged to tell him that his pet had not been trained to do that.

Then Sam put on an injured air, as if his mistake had come from
something Tim had said, rather than being an idea from his own rather
thick head.

That night the boys and the dog went again to Mr. Coburn's store; not
because Tim proposed to spend any of his two dollars, but because there
was a great fascination about the place for Sam. He delighted to lounge
around there at a time when he ought to have been in bed, listening to
the conversation of older loafers, believing he was gaining wisdom and
an insight into the ways of the world at the same time.

On that particular night there were not as many loafers present as
usual, and the conversation was so dull that Mr. Coburn found plenty of
time to question Tim as to every little particular about himself.

Tim saw no reason why he should gratify the store-keeper's curiosity,
and perhaps let some one know his story who would think it his duty to
send information to Captain Babbige, so he contented himself by simply
saying that he had come there in the hope of getting some work to do.

"Want to work, do yer?" asked a stout man with a very red face and gruff
voice, who had been listening to the conversation.

"Yes, sir," replied Tim, a trifle awed by the gruffness of the voice.

"What can you do?" and the red-faced man now turned to have a better

"'Most anything, sir."

"Where are yer folks?"

"My father an' mother are dead," said Tim, sadly, as he stooped to pat
Tip's head in a loving way.


"Well, now, see here," and the man took Tim by the arm, as if he was
about to examine his muscle. "I'm the captain of a steamboat that runs
out of the city, and I want just such a boy as you are to work 'round at
anything. I'll give you three dollars a month, and find you. What do you
say to it? Will you come?"

Tim was not exactly certain what the gruff-voiced man meant when he said
he would pay him so much money and "find him," and he hesitated about
answering until he could understand it.

Mr. Coburn thought it was the wages that prevented a speedy acceptance
of the brilliant offer, and he hastened to show his friendliness to the
captain by saying:

"Such offers as them don't grow on every bush, sonny, an' you had better
take it. I've known Captain Pratt a good many years, an' I know he will
treat you just as if he was your father. Three dollars is a good deal of
money for a little shaver like you."

Tim looked at Sam for a moment doubtfully, and then he thought of what
Mr. Simpson had said about his remaining at the farm.

"Can I take Tip with me?"

"Oh, that's your dog, is it? He hain't a very handsome one, but I
suppose you can find a chance for him somewhere on the boat. Yes, you
can take him."

"Then I'll go with you."

"All right. I shall start from this store to-morrow morning at ten
o'clock. Will you be here?"

"Yes, sir," replied Tim, and then he beckoned Sam to go out. He had made
up his mind suddenly, and now that it was too late to draw back, he
wanted to talk the matter over, and hear what Sam had to say about it.

There was no need for him to have feared that Sam did not look with
favor upon the plan, for before they were out of sight of the loungers
in the store that young man burst out in an envious tone:

"Well, you are the awfulest luckiest feller I ever heard of! Here you've
gone an' got a chance to run a steamboat, where you won't have anything
to do but jest sail 'round wherever you want to. I wish it was me that
was going."

If Tim had been in doubt before as to the wisdom of the step he was
about to take, he was perfectly satisfied now that Sam was so delighted
with it, and he began to think that perhaps he had been fortunate.

Mr. Simpson did not seem to think the opening in life which had been so
suddenly discovered for Tim was so very brilliant, and Mrs. Simpson
actually looked as if she felt sorry. But as neither of them made any
objection to it, or offered the boy a home with them, there was nothing
to prevent him from carrying out the agreement he had made.

At a very early hour on the following morning Tim was up and dressed.
Sam's glowing pictures of the happy life he was about to lead had so
excited him that he was anxious to begin it at once, and his sleep had
been troubled by dreams of life on a steamboat under all kinds of
possible and impossible circumstances.

Mr. Simpson gave him twenty-five cents as a nest-egg, to the fortune he
was about to make, and when Mrs. Simpson packed a generous lunch for
him, he choked up so badly that it was only with the greatest difficulty
he could thank her for her kindness.

"Be a good boy, and never do anything to be ashamed of," was the good
lady's parting charge, and he answered:

"I'll try hard, so's you sha'n't be sorry you was so good to me."

Sam walked toward the store with him, while as lonely and envious a
feeling as he ever knew came over him as he thought of all the things
Tim would see, simply because he had neither home nor parents, while he,
who had both, was obliged to remain where he could see nothing.

"I wish it was me that was goin'," he said, with a sigh of envy.

"If I had as good a home as you've got I wouldn't want to go away,"
replied Tim, gravely; and yet Sam had talked so much about the charms of
the life he was so soon to lead, that he had already begun to look upon
himself as a very fortunate boy, and was impatient to begin his work at

The walk to Mr. Coburn's store was not a long one; and although they
were there fully half an hour before the time agreed upon, they found
Captain Pratt ready and waiting for them. In fact, it seemed almost as
if he feared his new boy, however unimportant the position he was to
occupy, would not keep the agreement he had made.

"I'm glad to see you on hand early, for it's a good sign," and the
captain's face was wreathed in what he intended should be a pleasing
smile, but which really was an ugly grimace.

Tim hardly knew what reply to make, for that smile caused him to feel
very uncomfortable; but he managed to say that he would always try to be
on time, and the captain, in the excess of his good nature, gave him
such a forcibly friendly slap on the shoulder that his teeth chattered.

In order to reach the city from the four corners where Mr. Pratt lived
it was necessary to ride four miles in a carriage, and then take the

An open wagon was the mode of conveyance, and as the driver was quite
large, while Captain Pratt was no small party, there was no other way
for Tim to ride save curled up in the end, where he could keep a
look-out for Tip, who was, of course, to follow on behind as fast as his
short legs would permit.

When everything was ready for the start, and Captain Pratt was making
some final business arrangements with Mr. Coburn, Sam bade Tim good-by.

"You're awful lucky," he said, as he clambered up on the wagon, where he
could whisper in his friend's ear, "an' if you see any place for me on
the steamer, send word right up--you can tie a note on Tip's collar an'
send him up with it--an' I'll come right down."

Sam would have said more, but the horse started; he nearly tumbled from
his perch, and Tim's journey to the city had begun.

It seemed to Tim that Captain Pratt changed as soon as they started.
Instead of keeping up the idea of fatherly benevolence, which he had
seemed to be full to running over with, he spoke sharply, and did not
try to avoid hurting the boy's feelings.

If, when the wagon jolted over the rough road, the boy's head came in
contact with his arm, which was thrown across the back of the seat, he
would tell him to keep down where he belonged; and if he heard Tim's
heels knocking against the axle, he would scold him for not holding them

Between this sudden change in the kind captain's ways and his fear that
Tip would not be able to keep up with the wagon, Tim was feeling rather
sad when the dépôt was reached.

During the ride on the cars Captain Pratt took very little notice of
Tim, and when they arrived at the dépôt he simply said:

"Here, boy, go down to Pier 43, and tell the steward of the _Pride of
the Wave_ that I have hired you; he'll set you to work."

Tim had no more idea of where Pier 43 was than he had of the location of
the Cannibal Islands, but he started out with a great show of pluck and
a heavy heart.

With Tip following close at his heels, Tim walked some distance without
seeing either wharves or water, and then he inquired the way.

The first gentleman to whom he spoke was a stranger in the city, and
knew no more about it than he did; the second directed him in such a
confusing way that he went almost opposite to where he should have gone;
but the third one gave him the directions so clearly that he had no
further trouble in reaching the desired place.

The _Pride of the Wave_ was not a large boat, and to any one accustomed
to steamers would have seemed very shabby; but to Tim she appeared like
a veritable floating palace, and it was some time before he dared to
venture on board of her.

Finally he saw one of the deck hands, who, despite his dirty clothes,
did not appear to be awed by the magnificence of the boat, and Tim asked
him where he should find the steward.

The man told him to go below, and, with Tip still close at his heels, he
went down the brass-covered stairs to the cabin, which was lined with
berths on either side, wondering at all he saw, until he almost forgot
why he was there.

He was soon startled out of this state of wonderment, however, by
hearing a gruff voice shout, "Now, then, youngster, what do _you_ want?"

"I want to see the steward," replied Tim, in a voice which could hardly
be heard.

"I'm the steward. Now what else do you want?" replied the party who had
spoken first, and who was a little, old, rather pleasant-faced man, with
a voice about six sizes too large for his body.

Tim repeated the captain's words as nearly as he could remember them,
and the steward looked him over carefully with just the faintest show of
pity on his face.

"You don't look as if you'd stand it very long to work for the captain
of this boat; but that's none of my business. Whose dog is that?"

"That's Tip: he's mine."

"You'd better take him ashore. The captain ain't over and above fond of
dogs, and he won't be likely to fall in love with one as ugly as that."

"But he told me I could find a place for him somewhere on the boat,"
said Tim, quickly, alarmed even at the suggestion that he part with Tip.

"Did he tell you so before or after he hired you?"

"Before I agreed to come he said I could keep Tip with me," replied Tim,
wondering at the question.

"Then he'll forget he ever said so; and if you think anything of the
dog, you'd better leave him on shore."

"But I can't," cried Tim, piteously, his eyes filling with tears. "Tip's
the only relation I've got, and there's no place where he could go."

Tim's distress touched the man's heart evidently, for he said, after a
moment's thought: "Then you must find some place on board where the
captain won't be likely to see him, for he would throw him overboard in
a minute if he took the notion. Come with me."

The steward led the way to the bows of the boat, where the freight was
stored, and after looking about some time, pointed out a little space
formed by some water barrels.

"You'd better tie him in there for a while, and then if you are going to
stay very long on the boat, give him away."

"But the captain said I might keep him with me," cried Tim, fearing to
leave Tip in so desolate a place.

"Well"--and now the steward began to grow impatient--"you can try
keeping him with you if you want to run the risk, but I promise you the
captain will make quick work of him if he sees him."

Tim hesitated a moment, and then stooping down, he kissed Tip on the
nose, whispering to him, "I wouldn't leave you here if I could help it,
Tip; but be a good dog, and we'll have it fixed somehow pretty soon."

Tip licked his master's face in reply, but did not appear to understand
the command to be a good dog; for when the rope was put around his neck
he began to howl dolefully, and his cries went straight to Tim's heart,
inflicting as much pain as a blow on his flesh.

With the tears dropping very fast from his eyes, Tim tied Tip in the
narrow place which was to serve him as home, at least until Captain
Pratt's intentions concerning him could be known, and then returned to
the cabin as the steward had told him.

But as he started to go, Tip looked up at him so piteously, uttering a
whine that sounded in Tim's ears so sad, that he ran back, knelt down by
his dumb friend, and kissed him over and over again, saying, as he did
so: "Do be good, Tip. You don't know how bad it makes me feel to have to
leave you here, an' I'd do anything in the world to have you go with me
every step I take; but you've got to stay here, Tip, an' I've got to
leave you."

Then as the dog whined again, he cried, passionately, "Oh, what lonesome
things we are, Tip! an' we ain't got anybody but each other in all this
wide world"; and with both arms around Tip's neck, he gave way to a
perfect flood of tears. "Now _do_ be good, Tip, an' don't make me feel
so bad," he said, as he wiped his eyes on the dog's head, and prepared
once more to leave him.

It seemed almost as if the dog understood what his master had said, for
he stopped whining, and made no sound, but kept wagging his little stump
of a tail until Tim did not dare to look at him any longer.

He turned resolutely away, and, with eyes still blinded with tears,
walked down into the cabin, where he was soon busily engaged in the not
very pleasant occupation of cleaning knives.



The flamingo is a beautiful inhabitant of all marshy regions in the
tropics. It is found in great numbers in South America and the West
Indies, and in Africa, Southern Asia, and China. It is a bird of
wondrous beauty. It has a slender, gracefully formed body, long thin
legs, and a very long, flexible neck. When it stands erect, its neck
stretched in the air, its head is fully six feet from the ground.

The feathers on the body of the flamingo are white, delicately tinted
with rose-color. Its wings, which are very large, are of the most
brilliant scarlet, and the long quills are black. It is a very sociable
bird, and is always seen in flocks of several hundred. The appearance of
a flock of flamingoes, as described by travellers, is one of startling
magnificence. Seen from afar, wading or swimming in the inlets of
salt-marshes--for the flamingo loves best to keep near the
sea-coast--one would think that an immense army of red-coated soldiers
was encamped there, instead of a flock of harmless, defenseless birds.
In South America the flamingo is called "the soldier-bird" by the
natives, and Humboldt, the great German traveller and naturalist,
relates a very amusing story, which he gives as an actual occurrence,
illustrating the fitness of this name. A new township of Angostura had
been formed; but the inhabitants were scarcely settled in their new
homes when, one morning, a wild cry of alarm spread through the little
village that an immense body of men in red garments, probably hostile
Indians, was advancing. Such weapons as were at hand were hastily
seized, and all the men rushed out to defend their homes. Suddenly the
supposed hostile army rose in the air, and forming a long line of
flashing scarlet against the clear blue sky, took its course in the
direction of the great salt-marshes around the mouth of the Orinoco.

Naturalists have encountered great difficulty in their attempts to study
the habits of the flamingo in its native haunts, for it is a very shy
and cautious bird, and no flock is ever found without a sentinel posted
to give notice of the approach of danger. This is usually the largest,
and probably the oldest and wisest, bird of the flock. At the least
sound it lifts its large head as high in the air as the long neck will
allow, and looks about on every side. If any boat or hunter is seen, the
whole flock, with loud screechings, instantly vanishes among the tall

When the flamingo sleeps it draws one leg up among its breast feathers,
and bending its neck backward, rests its head on the middle of its back,
with the beak erect in the air or buried in its wing. It is a graceful,
rapid swimmer, and flies easily, stretching its long neck before and its
legs behind, like the crane and stork. Its nest is described by those
naturalists who have been fortunate enough to see it as an immense heap
of mud and water-grasses in the depths of some solitary swamp, where the
mother bird broods patiently for thirty days on her two glistening white
eggs. When the little ones are hatched they take to the water
immediately, and swim about as lively as young ducks; but they are not
strong enough to fly for some months, and not until they are three years
old do they attain the full magnificence of their scarlet plumage.


The harmless and peaceful flamingo has many enemies besides man. Beasts
of prey are prowling abroad at night, and pounce upon these birds while
they are sleeping in their marshy homes. In the great South American
swamps the ocelot is one of its most formidable foes. The ocelot is a
very small member of the panther family, and is found in Mexico and all
through the American tropics. It is a tawny-colored creature, covered
with glistening black markings. It has the same habits as other members
of its family, spending the day asleep in some secluded thicket, and
roaming the forests at night and early dawn in search of birds and small



  Mamma, my dear, if a robber should come,
    A terrible robber, one might, you see,
  I'd frighten him off with my sword and drum,
    And you would be perfectly safe with me.

  And if you and I in a gloomy wood
    Should meet a bear as we walked some day,
  With my bow and arrows, like Robin Hood,
    I would drive the fierce old bear away.

  But now I am tired, and sleepy too,
    And I wish my mamma would lift me down.
  There's a laughing look in her eyes of blue,
    As they answer her boy's so big and brown.

  She feels on her lips his coaxing touch,
    She clasps him fast in her loving hold,
  And she murmurs, I'll never fear robber much,
    Unless he should steal this heart of gold.



  1066.--William the First, "The Conqueror," came over the sea from
         Matilda of Flanders, his Queen, worked the far-famed Bayeux

  1087.--William Rufus built Westminster Hall, London Bridge, and added
            to the Tower;
         But had no gracious Queen to share his throne and power.

  1100.--Henry I., "Beauclerc," his Saxon subjects' favor strove to gain;
         Matilda of Scotland, his first wife, then Adelicia of Louvain.

  1135.--Stephen, his crown to gain, cost England many precious lives;
         Matilda of Boulogne--her abbey at Feversham no longer survives.

  1154.--Henry II., Fitz Empress, first of the Plantagenet line of Kings;
         Eleanor of Aquitaine, of whose beauty "the troubadour" sings.

  1189.--Richard I., the first King who fought in Palestine;
         Berengaria with him went, Princess of Navarre's royal line.

  1199.--John signed the Magna Charta--o'er his crown the great sea rages;
         Isabella of Angoulême his Queen, "the Helen of the Middle Ages."

  1216.--Henry III. had civil wars, where many of his people fell;
         Eleanor of Provence his Queen, surnamed "La Belle."

  1272.--Edward I., the last King to hold the Crusader's lance;
         Eleanora of Castile first wife; then Marguerite of France.

  1307.--Edward II., murdered monarch of a kingly race;
         Isabella, "the Fair," from France, most beauteous of face.

  1327.--Edward III., to claim his rights in France, lost many brave men
         Philippa of Hainault, his loving wife, from Belgium's fertile

  1377.--Richard II., feeble King, to Bolingbroke his crown he did resign;
         Anne of Bohemia, then Isabella of France, Queen at the age of

  1399.--Henry IV. obtained a usurper's crown through many cruel deeds;
         Joanna of Navarre, a lovely lady, long imprisoned in the Castle
            of Leeds.

  1413.--Henry V. carried war again to the sunny land of France;
         Katherine of Valois, not long a Queen, whose beauty did entrance.

  1422.--Henry VI.'s reign was troubled by the wars of York and Lancaster;
         Margaret of Anjou's varied life was one of sorrow and disaster.

  1461.--Edward IV.'s stormy reign first learned the art of printing;
         Elizabeth Wydville, an English widow, won the heart of this King.

  1483.--Edward V., whose reign was the shortest in English history;
         The death of this King and his brother was for some time a

  1483.--Richard III., last of the Plantagenets, cruel King and dreaded
         Anne Neville, hopeless Queen, daughter of Warwick the King-maker.

  1485.--Henry VII.'s coronation united the red and white roses,
         With Elizabeth of York wedded, the flowers were blended in

  1509.--Henry VIII., six Queens had he: Katherine of Aragon and Anne
         Jane Seymour, Anne of Cleves, Katherine Howard, Katherine Parr,
            who outlived him.

  1547.--Edward VI., gentle, scholarly Prince, who wept to sign an
         His short reign gave future fears to those of the rising

  1553.--Mary I. lost many faithful subjects by her fires and her bigotry;
         Philip II. of Spain exceeded her in deep designs and cruelty.

  1558.--Elizabeth, wise, despotic Queen, last of the line of Tudor;
         To crush her sovereign power, Spain sent her great "Armada."

  1603.--James I., a Scottish King, of the old Stuart race;
         Anne of Denmark, who in dramatic shows displayed much art and

  1625.--Charles I. trouble had with Church and State that led to civil
         Henrietta Maria of France, whose queenly life was one of toil
            and care.

  1649.--An interregnum followed, and Oliver Cromwell ruled with power
            and strength
         O'er England, the "Lord Protector of the Commonwealth."

  1660.--Charles II., restored to his forefathers' throne of wealth and
         Catherine of Braganza, with Goa, in Hindostan, in addition to
            her dowry.

  1685.--James II., whose bigotry and cruelties exiled him from his
            native land;
         Mary Beatrice of Modena, a beauteous lady, born to command.

  1689.--William III., the Prince of Orange, wise statesman and great
         Mary II., of the house of Stuart, foundress of Greenwich

  1702.--Anne, last of the house of Stuart, celebrated for her victories;
         Prince George of Denmark her husband, and admiral of her navies.

  1714.--George I., a German Prince, first monarch of the house of Hanover
            is seen;
         Sophia of Zell his wife, but never crowned in England Queen.

  1727.--George II. had fought on German soil, and troubles had with the
         Caroline of Anspach, a Queen of superior talents, grace, and

  1760.--George III. lost the American colonies during the longest reign
            in English annals;
         Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, a lady of the strictest code
            of morals.

  1820.--George IV., in his reign were numerous inventions;
         Caroline of Brunswick, whose woes caused great dissensions.

  1830.--William IV., "the Sailor King," had served in England's navy;
         Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen, a benevolent, kind, and gentle lady.

  1837.--Victoria now reigns, and her people love her dearly;
         Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg, for whom she mourns sincerely.



"Say, Uncle Harry, you've shot 'most everything; did you ever shoot a
panther?" inquired Charlie, as he looked up from the book he was

"Of course he has," interrupted Tom. "Don't you remember the skin he has
in his room?"

"That panther was nothing to my first," said Uncle Harry, with a laugh.

"Tell us about it," pleaded Charlie, as he drew his chair closer to his

Uncle Harry laughed again good-naturedly, and commenced as follows:

It was the summer your father got married that I took my first trip into
the Adirondacks. I went up to Martin's, hired a guide, and we started
off for Little Tupper Lake, where we were to camp. We selected a
camping-place at the head of the lake, where there was a good spring of
water, and soon had our tent up, and the camp fixed. Certain bear and
panther tracks around the spring did not add to our sense of security;
but the guide assured me that they would not come into camp in the
daytime, and that at night the dog would give warning. For the first
three or four days all went well; we shot a deer, caught plenty of
trout, and had a good time generally. But one afternoon, about four
o'clock, Hank Sweeny, my guide, came to me with the announcement that
the dog was gone.

"Chawed up his rope, and skedaddled," as Hank expressed it. "I reckon he
must 'a smelled that thar panther that was to the spring last night.
He's death on panthers."

"What are you going to do?" I inquired, anxiously.

"Well, I reckon I'll fetch some more wood into camp, so as you can keep
up a fire, then I'll take and row around the lake and up the creek, and
yell for him; he won't go fur," answered Hank.

"Then why not let him come home himself?" I suggested, for I had no
fancy for being left in camp alone; for we had been in camp all the
morning, and Hank had filled my head so full of panther stories that I
trembled at every sound.

"Why, you see, he'd start out for home over on Long Lake ef he got
lost," explained Hank. "And then ef he should tree a panther, he'd set
at the foot of the tree till 1976 ef I didn't call him off. You ain't
afraid to keep camp for an hour or two?" he added.

"O-h-h n-o-o!" I murmured.

For the next few minutes Hank busied himself in collecting a large pile
of pine boughs and dry sticks for the fire. Then he shouldered my light
rifle, and handing me his heavy one, he remarked: "I guess I'll start.
Keep up a good fire, and don't go fur away from it, as the panthers come
close to camp sometimes along the edge of the evening, and climb into a
tree; then when a feller goes under, they drop on him. I'll leave my
heavy rifle for you, for it would give you a better chance if anything
should turn up."

"Hadn't I better go with you?" I ventured.

"And leave the camp alone?" answered Hank, in fine scorn. "Why, that
deer would draw all the cats in the neighborhood. Keep the fire a-going,
and you're all right."

I thought to myself that I would much prefer to be out of the way when
all the cats in the neighborhood came to investigate the deer; but Hank
was in the boat, and I could hear the splash of the oars as he pulled up
the lake. I sat by the fire, with Hank's rifle on my knees, listening as
the sound of his voice calling the dog died away in the distance. I
examined the rifle, and saw that it was loaded; it was one of the old
pattern repeating rifles, and kicked like a mule. I tried to whistle,
but it was a failure. I endeavored to turn my thoughts to something
else, but it was no use. The story of the man who fell asleep beside the
camp fire and was eaten up by a panther, of the other man who had a
panther jump on him from a tree and who lost both eyes in the struggle,
and of various other men who had been killed or wounded by the fierce
animals, were uppermost in my mind. I sat and watched the sunlight fade,
the gold and crimson melt off the fleecy clouds, and the shadows as they
gathered thicker and deeper in the valleys. Except for the occasional
weird and demon-like laugh of the loon far down the lake, everything was
perfectly still, and every sound seemed magnified; the cracking of a
twig seemed the tread of a bear, the buzz of a night beetle, the growl
of a panther. I sat, I don't know how long, till suddenly my heart
almost stopped beating as I heard the steady but stealthy sound of
footsteps on my left. I did not dare to move. At last, with a desperate
exertion, I turned, and there in the crotch of a low tree, about twenty
feet from me, sat an immense panther just ready to spring. It was so
dark that I could just distinguish the outlines of his form, and his two
eyes gleaming like coals of fire. I raised the rifle carefully to my
shoulder. I took aim right between the eyes, fired, and missed, I
supposed, for the beast was in the same position, and I could see his
eyes wink and glare at me vindictively. I shot again, but as before with
no effect. I grew desperate, and fired the whole five shots as rapidly
as I could, and was just reaching for my revolver, when Hank came
rushing up the bank followed by his dog.

"What on earth is the matter?" he shouted. I pointed to the motionless
form in the tree, and gasped, "A panther! See his eyes! Shoot him,
Hank!" I was nearly beside myself with fear by this time, and my hair
stood on end, like wire.

Hank looked at the tree for a moment, then turning to me, fairly
shouted, "A panther! Why, you--" and here he burst into a roar of
laughter. "A panther! Why, it's--" and again he laughed so heartily that
he had to hold on to a tree for support. At last, when he had recovered
himself somewhat, he went to the tree, and reaching up into the crotch
he took down a--blue army coat with brass buttons. As he unrolled it and
gazed at the holes made by my bullets he burst into a fresh fit of
laughter. Every bullet had taken effect, and as Hank remarked, "It was
of no use except for the top to a pepper box." Here Uncle Harry stopped
and laughed at the recollection of the scene, then he added, in
explanation, "You see, children, the coat was rolled so that two of the
brass buttons showed and glittered in the fire-light like the eyes of
some wild animal. I promised Hank a new coat and unlimited tobacco if he
would say nothing about it; but the story was too good to keep, and all
the way home I was teased with sly hints about my panther hunt. Hello,
it's ten o'clock. Come, off to bed every one of you," added Uncle Harry,
looking at his watch.

"You didn't save the skin of that panther, did you, Uncle Harry?" said
Charlie, as he left the room.

[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 94, August 16.]




To any one unaccustomed to serving in a shop the duties seem very
perplexing. Left alone, Nora sat down behind the counter feeling
decidedly confused by the novelty of her position. There was a glare of
gas-light in the window above the fancy articles, and Nora watched the
faces of the passers-by who peered in, sometimes pausing for a more
critical survey, sometimes hurrying on with absent-minded glances, but
it seemed to her as if a real customer never would appear. Finally, with
a rush of frosty air, a small boy appeared who wanted some needles; then
a bevy of girls who had wools to match, and drove Nora wild with their
questions. These were followed by a cross old gentleman, who had
evidently been induced by his wife to match some silk, and who vented
his ill-humor on poor little Nora, scolding her about the silk, and the
change she made, and everything she tried to do for him. To his visit
succeeded an interval of solitude, and then the pleasant figure of Mrs.
Bruce came hurrying in, her face glowing from the night air, and a
tempting parcel of Cambridge sausages in her hands.

"Now, my dear," said Mrs. Bruce, "what do you say to stopping another
'arf an hour, and then trying a bit of supper? Why, wot's on your mind?"

For Nora's face had suddenly colored.

"Dear Mrs. Bruce," she exclaimed, "I have such a favor to ask of you.
You sell fancy articles, and I know we have one or two things that might
fetch something. Oh, _could_ I put them in your window?"

"Why, of course," said Mrs. Bruce, cheerily; "why not? Here, run and get
them. I'll wait a minute."

Nora flew up stairs, but on reaching the upper room found her mother
sleeping so peacefully she had not the heart to disturb her. But she
felt sure her purpose could not be disapproved, and so she opened a
small trunk, searching among their few possessions for the articles she
had referred to. There was a sandal-wood box which Nora knew from
childhood, in it were a few of Mrs. Mayne's girlish treasures, and
opening this Nora drew out a pretty, old-fashioned hand screen, just
such as fashion, tired of novelty, is bringing back to use. The faded
colors, the delicate scent, the decoration, all would have made it
valuable to the bric-à-brac collector of to-day. And there, painted
fancifully across the back, was the name

[Illustration: Penelope.]

Nora held the little screen carefully in her hands, puzzling over the
name, unknown in her family she was sure, yet bringing back to her mind
the wintry morning when she had seen the Deanery gate open, and that
pretty, unknown "Penelope" come out in the clear crisp sunshine of the
morning. "Oh, if she were only here to buy it!" thought Nora, hastening
down stairs with her treasure. Mrs. Bruce approved highly of it.

"You see, people are buying the old things now," said the good woman.
"So put it in the window, and we'll see what it will do."


Nora tremblingly chose a place for the little screen. She tried to be
very conscientious, and interfere with none of Mrs. Brace's wares, but
she contrived to hang the screen so that the name "Penelope" shone in
the glare of the gas. Then she sat down, feeling as if she were awaiting
a Fate. People came and went; a few customers who were more troublesome
than profitable; some of the hurrying glances were bestowed upon Nora's
screen, but no one asked to examine it. The savory odors from Mrs.
Bruce's kitchen were finding their way into the shop, making poor Nora
hungrier than ever, when she noticed a tall young man in passing look
critically at the screen, and then turn back, and finally open the door.

Nora's heart throbbed.

"Will you let me see that screen, miss, if you please?" he said,

Nora unfastened it from the line with rather nervous fingers. The young
gentleman held it up in the light, f examining it carefully. It was a
moment of suspense that to Nora seemed an hour. Then she heard him say,
half under his breath, "Penelope--queer--"

"Yes, sir," said Nora, earnestly; "it _is_ an odd name. I don't know how
it came there; it--" Then she stopped short, remembering there was no
necessity for explanation to this stranger.

The young man seemed, however, scarcely to have heard what she had said.
He continued his inspection of the quaint little screen, finally lifting
his eyes with a look of amusement or pleasure in them, as he said:

"How much is this?--it is wonderfully good."

Nora hesitated.

"What do you think it is worth?" she asked, timidly.

The customer looked surprised.

"Is there no fixed price?" he asked.

"Oh, sir," exclaimed Nora, "it is mine, you see. Mrs. Bruce let me put
it in the window. I--we--my mother--"

Her cheeks were crimson. She stopped, not knowing how to continue the
explanation. The young man looked at her very kindly. Something in the
care-worn little face, the pathetic eagerness of the eyes, told Nora's

"I think," said her customer--"I think it is worth about two pounds."[1]

[1] Ten dollars.

Nora's eyes glistened. Two pounds! She could scarcely believe her
senses. Was it possible!

"Oh!" she whispered. "Is it _really_--do you want it so much?"

The young man laughed good-naturedly.

"I want it very much," he answered. "I have a cousin named Penelope."

And almost before the young girl could realize her good fortune her
customer was gone, the evidence that she was not dreaming being the two
gold pieces shining in her hand.

Mrs. Bruce was delighted; but when Nora wished her to accept the money
in payment for the room--the rent of which was long overdue--she stoutly
refused. "Give me ten shillings," she said, busily making the change.
"There, now. I've a cozy bit of supper ready for your mother, if you'll
carry it up to her." A nice plate of mashed potatoes and steaming brown
sausages was ready in the little parlor. Nora could hardly express her
appreciation of the good woman's kindness. She carried the little tray
up stairs with a grateful heart. Her mother was awake, and, putting down
the supper, Nora hastened to tell her story; but to her surprise her
mother listened in dismay.

"Oh, Nora!" exclaimed Mrs. Mayne. "What have you done, my darling? I
would rather have parted with _anything_, before that little screen. It
was my one relic of the past!"

Poor Nora! her heart swelled with grief. She was tired and worn with
anxiety, and looking at her mother piteously she burst into a flood of

       *       *       *       *       *

The Deanery at Nunsford is a large old house full of beautiful rooms,
each, it seems to me, setting the charms of the next at defiance. There
is a wide long hall leading to the dining-room, with deep windows
fronting the garden, and in winter-time their seats are always full of
flowers: roses clambering against the old lattice-work panes; hyacinths
filling the air with odors; and pots of yellow primroses, which so early
star the borders of every Devonshire garden.

On a certain January morning one of these bright windows was made
brighter still by the figure of a tall, brown-haired young lady who had
stopped to open a parcel on her way to breakfast.

"Penelope--Penny!" called half a dozen voices further up the hall, where
the Dean's children were grouped about the fire. "Do come; we won't go
in to breakfast without you."

"I _am_ coming," said Penelope, slowly. "I've got a birthday present
from Lionel," she added. "Poor boy! he is far enough away now." And
still looking at her gift, Penelope Harleford, the Dean's niece, made
her way toward the eager little group just as the Dean himself appeared
in the dining-room door.

"Lion has sent Penelope a present," said Joe, the youngest boy. "Look,
papa; it is a funny old fan."

"No," said Penelope; "it is a hand screen, and it is so quaint and

And the little screen, which at that moment Nora Mayne would have given
a great deal to possess again, was put into the Dean's hands.

"Mayn't I show it to Aunt Letitia before breakfast?" pleaded Penny, with
a coaxing air. "I know she would be so interested in it; she dearly
likes old things."

"As you like, dear," said the Dean, giving her blooming cheek a pinch.
"Hurry back, though; we don't see so much of you, now that Aunt Letty is
back again."

Pretty Miss Penny laughed and ran away, holding her treasure tightly,
stopping half a minute in a bend of the old staircase to look at it
again, and to whisper, "Poor dear Lion--poor Lion!" and then hurrying on
to a door, before which she paused, knocking lightly.

The "Come in" was in a sweet low voice. Penelope opened the door leading
into a beautiful room rich in color and arrangement. A crippled lady,
the same Nora Mayne had seen carried to the Bath-chair, was seated near
the window.

"Well, my love, have you breakfasted already?" said the lady, holding
out a thin white hand.

"No, aunt," said Penelope, kneeling beside the invalid's chair; "but I
want you to see Lion's birthday present to me. Poor boy! He put it up
the night before he sailed for India. Isn't it charming?"

Miss Harleford, Penelope's aunt, took the screen rather carelessly in
her hands, then she uttered a quick, sharp little cry.

"Penny," she exclaimed, "where did Lion get this? I have not seen it in
over twenty years, but I remember it perfectly."




  Isn't it dreadfully horrid,
    Caught in this hoople again?
  Here with the sun on my forehead,
    Ever so far down the lane.
  Caught in this hoople again;
    Nurse didn't know I was skipping
  Ever so far down the lane,
    Hope I'm not in for a whipping.

  Where is my bonnet, I wonder?
    I think I have dirtied my dress;
  Just like a hoop-skirt, ain't it?
    Makes me look grown up, I guess.
  Yes, I _have_ dirtied my dress;
    Pity to vex mamma so;
  Yet if I get in a mess
    She will forgive me, I know.

  Pity to vex mamma so;
    Think I'll go home and be sorry;
  She will forgive me, I know.
    And call me her dear little Florry.
  And it is dreadfully horrid,
    Here all alone in the lane,
  With the hot sun on my forehead,
    Caught in my hoople again.

[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]


     I am going to tell HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE about a flood which we had
     here July 27. It was caused by the breaking of a water-spout, and
     nearly drowned mamma's gray pony Sally, which was picketed near the
     creek. It happened in the afternoon. Mamma was reading to us. We
     could hear the sound of the water coming, but thought it was the
     rain on the hills. Sarah, our nurse, went out for something, and we
     followed her and when we got to the door, we saw Sally in trouble,
     and Sarah ran to see what was the matter. There was Sally in about
     eight feet of water; she had run down in a gully when she saw the
     water coming, but she broke her rope and got out, without being
     hurt much, though the force of the water rolled her over several
     times. Mamma and Pleasance went further down, and saw the wave
     coming, and mamma said it was like a great column of muddy water.
     The flood lasted about twenty minutes, but it did not do us any
     harm. It took a tub and a hen-coop away, and moved a great many
     large stones, besides destroying a bridge.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I live in Alleghany City, Pennsylvania, but we came up here in the
     mountains for the summer. It is very cool and pleasant here, and I
     like it very much. I have been an invalid for two years, and have
     to walk on crutches. I can not walk far at a time. I have a chair
     on wheels in which I ride when I am tired of walking. My brother
     and I have a pony that we call Daisy. I have a phaeton to drive out

     I like "The Cruise of the Ghost'" best of all the stories so far. I
     like the Wiggles very much; mine have appeared in three numbers. I
     can draw quite well, and I am learning to paint in oil colors. When
     in the country I try to sketch a little.


       *       *       *       *       *


     As so many little boys and girls have told about their pets, I
     thought I would tell about mine. I have a white mouse named Pippo;
     he is very tame, and I have taught him to jump through a ring. I
     have a cat named William A. Bolus, and a dog named Dottie Dimple,
     besides numerous hens and chickens, and a few pigeons. I have a
     goldfinch named Bright Eyes. Having no brothers or sisters, I think
     a great deal of my pets.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I live on a farm, am twelve years old, and have lots of chickens
     and turkeys, a pet deer, and a pet lamb. We have thirteen cows, and
     sell cream. The pasture is a distance from the house, so I
     sometimes go after the cows on horseback. Once, lately, my horse
     stuck fast in the mire, and another time the horse and I rode
     straight into a bees' nest. Sometimes I have great trouble in
     driving home the cows.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I am twelve years old. I am a little cripple, and have not been out
     of bed for six months, with the hip-disease. I can not move except
     as others move me. Will some of the young people who read your
     paper send me something to read, as that is the only amusement I
     have? We used to live in Chicago, where my father got me books from
     the public library, but there is no public library here, so I have
     nothing to read. I shall be very much obliged if some of the little
     boys and girls who can run about will send me something to amuse
     me. I have no mother, and my sister takes care of me.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I read all of "Toby Tyler," and am very glad Mr. Otis is writing
     another story. I liked "The Cruise of the 'Ghost,'" and it reminded
     me of a boat my brothers and I made last summer. We built a raft
     seventeen feet long and four feet wide. We made oars, and went
     rowing after pond-lilies; and when we reached a place in the river
     where we could dive, we would jump into the water, and have a good
     swim. I am ten years old, and am learning to ride. I like to read
     the letters in the YOUNG PEOPLE, and so thought that perhaps some
     little boys would like to read what I have written.

  J. C. B., JUN.

Your brother Walter's letter came safely with yours, but we could not
give space to both.

       *       *       *       *       *


     Having seen a letter from Blanche P. in No. 92, I thought that I
     too would send a letter from our town.

     I went yesterday to the Devil's Lake, which is about three miles
     from here. It is surrounded by bluffs. On one side of the lake
     there is a large hotel called the Cliff House, where a hundred
     guests from all parts of the country are being entertained. But the
     other side is generally chosen by picnickers. It is called
     Kirkland, because it is owned by a man whose name is Kirk.

     Arriving at 7 o'clock A.M. at Kirkland, we went over to Sandy
     Beach, a place famous for bathing. From there we strolled to Alaska
     Grotto, which is a kind of little cavern in the rocks, where it is
     as cold as ice. In the afternoon we went in bathing, and had a ride
     on the lake in a row-boat to a little log-cabin owned by a club of

     At Kirkland there are four cottages, and a large house called the
     Pavilion, all of which are furnished with dishes, cot beds, etc.,
     and rented to persons who wish them at so much a week.


       *       *       *       *       *


     We live a mile from the village. We have a great black curly
     Newfoundland dog named Bruno, who is very nice, but runs off to the
     village whenever he can get a chance. We have two canary-birds, two
     cats, two horses, and a colt.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I have wanted to write a letter to YOUNG PEOPLE ever since I first
     subscribed to it, but mamma thought I wrote too badly. I am very
     glad that another story is to be published by the author of "Toby
     Tyler," as that is my favorite story. My little brother has the
     smallest pony I ever saw. It is so gentle that he can easily catch
     and ride it, though he is only seven years old. I am nine, and have
     never yet been to school.


       *       *       *       *       *


     A hard trip we had across the English Channel from Southampton to
     Havre, and then we had a half-hour trip in a steamboat over to
     Trouville. We staid a week there, till we found a pretty chalet in
     Villers-sur-Mer, called "Chalet des Bosquets," where we kept house
     for three weeks, and went to the beautiful beach every day, and
     found shells and petrified things. The Normandy peasants were great
     fishers; even the women were out in deep water catching shrimps and
     crabs. The summer weather coming on, we hurried through Paris to
     Switzerland, spending one night in Bâle. We are in Luzerne for five
     weeks, and have been all over the place, have seen the old walls,
     the bridge of the "Dance of Death," Thorwaldsen's "Lion," in memory
     of the brave Swiss guards slain in defending Louis XVI. in 1792. We
     read Schiller's "William Tell," and have seen his chapel on the
     lake, as we visited Seelisberg, high up on a high hill, with
     beautiful pine forests, and a lovely view.


       *       *       *       *       *


     Every winter flocks of paroquets fly about, and last year we had
     one for a pet. We fed him on cockle-burrs and sugar-cane, and cold
     mornings he would sit under the stove with the cats. Sometimes he
     would slip away, and once he staid out all night. In the morning we
     heard him calling, went out, and brought him in. We have had ripe
     figs this summer. They are very nice when eaten fresh from the
     tree. I was eight years old last May.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I am eleven years old, and my brother is seven years. I had a sweet
     little baby brother, and he was so pretty and cunning that every
     one loved him. He had golden curls, and could say everything,
     although he was not yet two years old. He died on the 19th of July
     last, and we all miss him. I think "Tim and Tip" promises to be

  JOHN H. B.

       *       *       *       *       *


     I think I ought to write something for HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE,
     because I look just like Toby Tyler. My hair is red, my face is
     freckled, and I have an Uncle Dan'l, only I don't live with him. I
     have a black cat; its name is Tish, and it has two little kittens.

     I have three big brothers. One of them has been to Colorado. He
     came home last winter, and brought nearly a trunkful of specimens.

     I liked "Toby Tyler" the best of any of the stories, but I think
     Jimmy Brown is cute, and I was sorry he made such "A Terrible
     Mistake." My sister writes this for me, because I'm too small to do


       *       *       *       *       *


     My sister and I take YOUNG PEOPLE, and love it dearly. We always
     look for it on Thursday. We enjoy reading the letters in the
     Post-office Box. My sister is twelve, and I am nine years old. We
     have three brothers younger than ourselves. I saw a letter in one
     of our papers written by a little boy who signed his name Frankie
     Thomas, which is the very same name as that of our youngest
     brother. We have talked a great deal about it, and we wonder if he
     is as sweet and pretty as our dear little Frankie is.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I am a little girl six years old. I can not read very much yet, so
     my mamma reads YOUNG PEOPLE to me. I have a little brother Arthur;
     he is in the country now. _I_ would rather stay with my mamma.
     Before we moved to the city we had a black dog named Prince, who
     would play "hide-and-seek" with us, and would always find us. I had
     a dear little pussy named Flossie, but she died. She used to curl
     herself up in my hat and go to sleep. I have four dolls, and lots
     of _treasures_. When I am old enough I will write a letter myself.


       *       *       *       *       *

In the little letter which accompanied the stanzas which follow the
writer said:

     My mamma has written some verses for my little brother and sister
     and myself, and I think they are very sweet. Mamma has been very
     sick, and not able to read or write for eight years, and she had to
     write these verses by FEELING, as she can not look over and write
     them. I am eight years old, and my home is in Eatonton, Georgia. My
     name is



  I drove them down to the meadow,
    Dolly and Dilly and Kate,
  And my steps like theirs grew quicker
    As we neared the pasture gate;

  For beneath the shade of a cedar,
    Where no clover ever grew,
  I had built a MASTER bird-trap,
    And set the trigger true.

  I knew a little redbird
    Whose feathers every one
  Were as bright as the juice of a berry,
    Or the stain of the setting sun.

  My heart went patter, patter,
    As I thrust my fingers through
  The trap that held a captive
    Where the gnarled old cedar grew.

  My heart beat like the rain-drops,
    And (the redbird in my thought)
  I felt a fluttering winglet,
    And cried, "You're caught! you're caught!"

  But alas for the dreams of childhood!
    The bird was only gray;
  And with angry frown and feature
    I tossed it far away.

  That night beside my mother
    I told my grief with tears,
  And I've not forgot her answer
    Through all these weary years.

  She said: "Oh, little Richard,
    The bird with the homely coat
  Has all the sweetest music
    Of the forest in its throat!

  "And never forget, my darling,
    As life you travel through,
  That some of its sweetest blessings
    May gray-coated come to you."

       *       *       *       *       *


     I wanted my mamma to write to you when I was in Troy, but I had not
     any pets to write about, and my mamma told me to wait till I got to
     the sea-shore.

     Now we are here. The ocean is all around us except on one side. We
     are on the lowest part of Rhode Island, on a point reaching away
     out into the ocean. I am almost the only little girl, as there is
     only one other here. She is May Kempton, and she lives here always.

     May has five kittens. One kitten has double paws, and three kittens
     have two to three toes more than they ought to have, and one kitten
     is like all other kittens. There are a great many interesting
     things about here, but my mamma says I must not tell about too many
     at a time. Captain Williams is the lobster man, and once in a while
     he takes us out sailing in his vessel. It will hold about twelve
     people. His arms are all tattooed, and he tells very nice stories
     about shipwrecks. I am trying to learn the names of all the sails,
     and to "box the compass." I am going to a Rhode Island clam-bake.
     In my next letter I will tell you about some real live decoy-ducks.


       *       *       *       *       *

We wish the little folks who read the letter which Mrs. Richardson has
sent to this number of Our Post-office Box would begin to think how nice
it would be to save a little _money_ to send her, so that the
school-house which she so much wants could be built. As she will give
the land and the timber, and Pete and the other men will perform most of
the labor, it will take but a small amount of money. Who will do without
a pretty ribbon or a pound of candy, and help to raise this little
school-house under the grand old pines at Woodside?

     DEAR LITTLE FRIENDS,--It is with very much pleasure that I now
     acknowledge the little packages that I have had from you since I
     wrote before. We still keep hoping that we will get the
     school-house in time, and in the mean while we keep on with the
     Sunday afternoon school in the dining-room. How much I would like
     you all to be here and help us teach them! When they get very
     sleepy, my sister wakes them up by letting them sing. Since I wrote
     I have had packages from Miss Nellie J. Parker, 748 Bedford Avenue,
     Brooklyn, N. Y.; Willie Olmstead, Cleveland. Ohio; Mrs. Nettie
     Birkitt, Winnebago, Ill.; Frank Butzow, Martha Butzow, Mary Butzow,
     Emma Butzow, Watseka, Ill.; Gracie Macomber, Grand Isle, Vt.;
     Nellie and Samuel Willets, Old Westbury, Long Island; Georgie
     Hitchcock, Champlain, N. Y.; Mrs. C. B. Keese, Asa Keese, David
     Keese, Ed. Bukan, Turner's Junction, Ill.; Carroll P. Wilson,
     Troy, Tennessee; David Shipman, 29 Clinton St., Brooklyn; Miss Mary
     O'Neil, Rochester, N. Y.; Hubert D. Richardson, Box 492, Nashua,
     N. H.; Glenn Woolfenden, Neosho, Newton Co., Mo.; Alberta Ulman,
     White Sulphur Springs, W. Va.; Fanny Stains, Adrian, Mich.; Martin
     C. Longstreth, 500 N. Broad St., Philadelphia, Pa.; Grace and
     Louisa Todd, Meriden, Conn.; Louise Keney, Salina City, Cal.;
     Charley Ungen, Eaton, Ohio; Elmer Wallace, Elk Point, Dakota;
     Nellie Ritz Burns, Lewistown. The State was not written on your
     postal, my dear Nellie, so I could not write to you, as I wished.
     With many thanks to you all from myself and family, Uncle Pete, and
     the whole Sunday-school, I am very truly your grateful friend,


The members of the Natural History Society will be glad to learn that
Mrs. Richardson will organize the Woodside branch, and send reports from
time to time. Her own family and her scholars will form the branch,
under her charge.

       *       *       *       *       *


     The Holton branch of the Natural History Society met for the first
     time on July 26. There were but few members. George S. Linscott was
     elected president. I am glad the society has been organized, as it
     will promote an interest in nature among the children of this town.
     We have a good book that we intend to use at the meetings of the
     club. There are three or four boys and girls here who take YOUNG
     PEOPLE, but who are only nine years old. As yet none of our club
     have discovered any facts worth reporting. We will meet every two
     weeks, and I will report the doings of this society regularly once
     a month.

  E. S. BECK, Secretary.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following exchanges are offered by correspondents:

     One stamp from each of the following countries, for a triangular
     Cape of Good Hope stamp and a Straits Settlement stamp: Denmark,
     Austria, Switzerland, Canada, Holland, Brazil, Belgium, Hungary,
     England, France, Germany, and Bavaria.

  Walton House, Clayton, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stamps from Germany, England, Canada, Bermuda, island of Cuba, and
     U. S. Revenue stamps, for stamps from any other nation. Stamps from
     Mexico especially desirable.

  E. E. HIDE,
  Allegany Co., Belmont, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I would like to exchange 2-cent (brown) issue of 1871, and 5, 6,
     10, and 30 cent U. S. stamps, and 1 and 2-1/2 penny English stamps.

  236 South Second St., Brooklyn, E. D.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A newspaper published at Natal with news of the war there, for five
     specimens of minerals, to weigh about three ounces each.

  Groesbeck, Limestone Co., Texas.

       *       *       *       *       *

E. H. Randolph wishes to be addressed during the summer at 13 and 15
Park Row, New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I live in the country, and two of my cousins are visiting us this
     summer. Papa takes HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE this year for my brother.
     I would like to exchange a stone and a little soil from New York,
     for the same from any other State or Territory; and also some
     everlasting-flowers that grow here, for pressed leaves, ferns, or
     flowers from any place in the United States. Correspondents will
     please label what they send, and be sure to write their address in
     full so I will know where they come from. Will they please inform
     me if they receive what I send, and wrap their packages securely?

  West Kortright, Delaware Co., N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Minerals, for minerals, ores, and other curiosities.

  M. L. E., 51 Spencer St., Albany, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stones and soil from California, for stamps, coins, or sea-shells.

  E. T. WHEELER, Berkeley, Cal.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A card printer wishes a pair of good French fencing foils, for a
     font of script type.

  ARTHUR POOL, Earlville, Ill.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stamps from Cuba, Belgium, and Barbadoes, and other rare stamps,
     for a three-cornered Cape of Good Hope; or other foreign stamps,
     for ore or any kind of curiosities.

  99 Broadway, Brooklyn, E. D.

       *       *       *       *       *

     _Golden Days_, for HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. Have all the first
     volume, except between 7, and 23, and 31. Wish HARPER'S YOUNG
     PEOPLE between 20 and 40, and 41 and 53; U. S. and other stamps,
     for curiosities and Cape of Good Hope stamps.

  J. H. TODD,
  Box 225, Oakland, California.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A 2-cent U. S. Internal Revenue stamp, for any foreign stamp,
     except from Canada. England, Denmark, France, Austria, Italy, and
     Germany. Five U. S. postmarks, for any foreign stamp, except from
     the above-named countries. Will receive offers for a New York State
     coin of 1863, and for an eagle cent of 1857.

  7 Sycamore St., Buffalo, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Rare U. S. stamps, newspaper stamps of Austria, a South German
     state stamp, and rare stamps of Italy, Spain, and Brazil, also an
     Agricultural Department stamp, for stamps from Spain, which are an
     earlier issue than 1870, or 1-penny Bahamas 1859, or 10, 12, 15, 30
     cent Post-office Department, U. S.

  CHARLES WARREN, Box 54, Plymouth, Mass.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A fret-saw, designs, saws, and all complete, for a printing-press
     and materials, autographs of eminent persons, or a microscope.
     Stones from Madagascar, U. S., and foreign postmarks, for books,
     coins, minerals, stamps, ocean curiosities, or Indian relics.

  ALBERT E. DWELLE, McPherson, Kan.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A piece of oak cut by a soldier friend from the prow of the
     iron-clad _Merrimac_; a piece of olive-wood from Jerusalem, and a
     piece of asbestos, for a genuine Indian bow and arrows. Please
     write to arrange exchange.

  F. W. GLASIER, Adams, Mass.

       *       *       *       *       *

     White coral, curious rocks from Crève-Coeur Lake, shells from the
     Pacific Ocean, quartz crystals, for books of all kinds on

  "MINERALOGIST," 903 Cardinal Avenue,
  West St. Louis Station, Mo.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Sea-shells and other ocean curiosities, for Indian curiosities.

  C. PERCY RUSSELL, Deal Beach, N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Postmarks and rare stamps, for curiosities.


       *       *       *       *       *

     Hard stamps and postmarks, etc., for department stamps of all
     kinds, stamps from Africa, Asia, Canada, South and Central America,
     Cape of Good Hope triangular especially desired, or curiosities of
     any kind, wood from historic trees, etc.

  F. S. MILLER, Westfield, N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Five foreign stamps, for one from Asia or Africa (no duplicates
     given or taken).

  Box 584, Saratoga Springs, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Specimens of red granite, antimony as it comes from the mine,
     Spanish fivepenny and eleven pence values, old English pennies and
     halfpennies, and other coins, for foreign coins or old American
     cents coined before 1815, or nickel cent with small eagle 1856, or
     two-cent pieces 1872 and 1873 if in good condition, or U. S.
     half-dimes 1794-1805. Please write before sending any coins and
     arrange exchange.

  ABNER H. GRAHAM, P. O. Box 22,
  Milltown, Charlotte Co., New Brunswick.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Ten postmarks (no duplicates), four U. S. postage stamps, all
     different, and one German postage stamp, for one triangular Cape of
     Good Hope stamp.

  Minier, Tazewell Co., Ill.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Five or six pounds of good type, leads, and copper cuts to exchange
     for Indian relics, minerals, fossils, skulls, curiosities, shells,
     and old coin.

  130 E. N. York St., Indianapolis, Ind.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A stamp of Hong-Kong, Brazil, and Mexico, for one three-cornered
     stamp of the Cape of Good Hope; twenty foreign stamps (no
     duplicates), for a stamp of Egypt, Japan, Peru, and Iceland.

  431 Clinton Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stamps, for stamps. Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and Hong-Kong
     especially desired.

  1710 Geary St., San Francisco, Cal.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Indian arrow-heads picked up near the spot where General G. A.
     Custer fell; also some of the bayonets from the guns used in the
     battle of Bull Run, for anything suitable for a museum. Please
     write before sending.

  H. E. RALD,
  Care of Mr. Collin,
  Rye Beach Hotel, Rye, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Three-dollar printing-press with type, for a scroll-saw or
     something useful.

  357 East Fifty-third St., New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A good microscope, for any of the following U. S. coins: Half-cents
     of 1796, 1831, '36, '40 to '49, inclusive, cents of 1799 and 1804,
     or a quarter-dollar of 1823 or 1827. Exchangers will please write
     before sending coins.

  VANCE S. SHOBER, Cumberland, Md.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

GEORGE L. D.--A drop of camphor or of chloroform will kill a moth or
butterfly painlessly, and you can then fasten it to a card; to preserve
them from dust, it is best to keep your specimens in a glass case.

       *       *       *       *       *

R. L. H.--The worm you send was so crushed in the mail that it could not
be identified, but it is not a parasite which usually infests rabbits.
To free your rabbits from vermin, wash them with a strong infusion of
carbolic soap.

       *       *       *       *       *

HALLIE J. PERKINS, LYNCHBURG, VIRGINIA.--In forming your Natural History
Society you may include any friends you choose. Whether or not they are
subscribers to YOUNG PEOPLE makes no difference. You will find it a good
plan to read the correspondence in YOUNG PEOPLE at your meetings. Be
sure to send your reports.

       *       *       *       *       *

H. F. L.--To have beautiful autumn leaves you must take pains to gather
perfect ones, of rich colors and pretty shapes. You may preserve them by
passing over the freshly gathered leaves a warm iron, on which you have
rubbed bees-wax, or you may press the leaves between the pages of an old
book, and when dry, coat them with very thin varnish, put on with a soft
camel's-hair brush. The secret of pressing flowers and ferns
successfully is in laying them immediately in a dark place under a
weight, and changing the papers over them as these become moist.

       *       *       *       *       *

Fred Gutyalin, 3 East Forty-seventh Street, New York City, withdraws
from exchange list.

       *       *       *       *       *

Daisy Rollins's address is Post-office Box 186, Columbia, Missouri, not
Columbus, as published. Write to her until September 13.

       *       *       *       *       *

Some of our correspondents have sent such silly _noms de plume_ in
answer to puzzles that we have really felt ashamed to print them. In two
instances the names sent were inadmissible. Please select sensible
fictitious names when you do not desire your own to appear.

       *       *       *       *       *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from "Paxton," "Will O.
Tree." "_Unknown_," E. Pearl Lisk, John H. Busch, H. Elkena, "Comet,"
A. A. Beebe, Alice M. Walther, Annetta Jackson, Lee Marks, "School-Boy,"
Willie J. Baldwin, Eva J. Ward, H. N. Pleis, Jemima Beeston.

       *       *       *       *       *


No. 1.


1.--1. Appertaining to kings. 2. To cut off. 3. Donated. 4. A skilled
person. 5. Slow time in music.

2.--1. To stop. 2. An artist's picture rest. 3. Out of the true course.
4. An old-fashioned vehicle. 5. A girl's name.

  H. D.

3.--1. Sour. 2. A collection of laws. 3. Unemployed. 4. Far below the

  F. A. H.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 2.

ACROSTIC--(_To Cal I. Forney_).

Place the names of four animals in such order that their initial and
final letters read downward will spell the names of two others.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 3.


Behead to discourse, and have a movement of the arm; again, and have
either of two.

Behead a fraud, and have warmth; again, and have to take food.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 4.


  My first is in forest, but not in field.
  My second's in breastplate, not in shield.
  My third is in English, not in Dutch.
  My fourth is in little, not in much.
  My fifth is in inn, not in hotel.
  My sixth is in scream, and not in yell.
  My seventh's in blacksmith, not in miller.
  My whole is a massive pointed pillar.


       *       *       *       *       *


No. 1.


No. 2.

      C A N
    C A N E D
  L A N T E R N
    N E E D Y
      D R Y

No. 3.

1. Bowl. 2. Tart.

No. 4.

1. Pot. 2. Spar. 3. Are. 4. Brag.

No. 5.

1. Birds of a feather flock together.

2. A watched pot never boils.

No. 6.

1. A soap-bubble. 2. A walnut.

No. 7.

A peach.

NEW WIGGLE, No. 21.]


Although "Wiggles" have formed a feature of YOUNG PEOPLE from the
beginning, and have excited a very general interest amongst our youthful
artists, many of our correspondents write that they do not understand
them. For the benefit of these we will explain that Wiggles, sometimes
called "recondite forms," are lines forming portions of the outlines of
pictures. New Wiggle No. 21 is one of these lines, and it forms part of
the outline of a picture already drawn by "our artist." The object of
those who attempt to solve the Wiggle problem should be to draw a
picture containing this line. In looking over the Wiggles on this page
you will see that Bessie R. Hull had very nearly the same idea of a
picture that our artist had when he drew Wiggle No. 20. We have room to
publish only a few of the hundreds of ideas of each Wiggle that are sent
to us, and there is no regular time fixed for their publication; but
those that are drawn with the greatest care, and sent in the earliest,
stand the best chance of being published. Will Bessie R. Hull please
send us her full address?

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