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Title: Harper's Young People, April 25, 1882 - 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, April 25, 1882 - 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, April 25, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "'NOW BE ALL READY TO RUN,' HE SAID."]


[1] Begun in No. 127, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.





It certainly seemed, when they arrived at the pasture again, as if
everything was conspiring in favor of their circus, for Chandler Merrill
had willingly consented to let them use his pony; but he had done so
with the kindly prophecy that the little animal would "kick their brains
out" if they were not careful with him.

In order to make sure that the consent would not be withdrawn, and at
the same time to prove that he told the truth, Bob had brought the pony
with him, and, judging from his general appearance as he stood gazing
suspiciously at the Douglass horse, he deserved all that was said of him
regarding his vicious qualities. He was about half the size of an
ordinary horse, and his coat was ragged-looking, owing to its having
been rubbed off in spots, thus giving him the air of just such a pony as
one would suppose willing to join a party of boys in starting a circus.

"Now there's a hoss that ain't either lame or blind," said Bob, proudly,
as he led the pony once around the ring to show his partners how he
stepped. If he was intending to say anything more, he concluded to defer
it while he made some very rapid movements in order to escape the blow
the "hoss" aimed at him with his hind-feet.

"Kicks, don't he?" said Toby, in a tone which plainly told he did not
think him very well suited to their purpose.

"Well, he did then;" and Bob fastened the halter more securely by
putting one end of the rope through the pony's mouth; "but you see
that's because he ain't been used much, an' he's tickled 'cause he's
goin' to belong to a circus."

"How long before he'll get over bein' tickled?" asked Joe. "I'm willin'
to train Jack Douglass's hoss; but I don't know 'bout this one till he
gets sorry enough not to kick."

"Oh, he'll be all right jest as soon as Toby rides him 'round the ring a
little while."

"Do you think I'm goin' to ride him?" asked Toby, beginning to believe
his partners expected more of him than ever Mr. Castle did.

"Of course; a feller what's been with a circus ought to know how to ride
any hoss that ever lived," replied Bob, with considerable emphasis,
owing to the fact that the pony kicked and plunged so that his words
were jerked out of him, rather than spoken.

"I s'pose some fellers can; but I wasn't with the circus long enough to
find out how to ride such hosses as them;" and Toby retired to the shade
of the alder bushes, where Abner was sitting, to wait until Bob and the
pony had come to terms.

It was quite as much as Bob could do to hold his prize, without trying
to make any arrangements for having him ridden, and he called Reddy to
help him.

Now, as the ring-master of the contemplated circus, Reddy ought to have
known all about horses, and he thought he did until the pony made one
plunge, just as he came up smiling with whip in hand. Then he said, as
he ran toward Toby,

"I don't believe I want to be ring-master if we're goin' to have that

"Here, Joe, you help me," cried Bob, in desperation, growing each moment
more afraid of the steed. "I want to get him up by the fence, where we
can hitch him, till we find out what to do with him."

Joe was perfectly willing to assist the unfortunate clown in his
troubles; but as he started toward him, the pony wheeled and flung his
heels out with a force that showed he would do some damage if he could,
and Joe also joined the party among the bushes.

Bob was thus left alone with his prize, and a most uncomfortable time he
appeared to be having of it, standing there in the hot sun, clinging
desperately to the halter, and jumping from one side to the other when
the pony attempted to bite or strike him with his fore-feet.

"Let him go; he hain't any good," shouted Reddy, from his secure

"If I let go the halter, he'll jump right at me;" and there was a
certain ring in Bob's voice that told he was afraid.

"Hitch him to the fence, an' then climb over," suggested Joe.

"But I can't get him over there, for he won't go a step;" and Bob
continued to hold fast to the halter, afraid to do so, but still more
afraid to let go.

He had borrowed the pony, but it certainly seemed as if the animal had
borrowed him, for his fear caused him to cling desperately to the halter
as the only possible means of saving his life.

The boys under the alder bushes were fully alive to the fact that
something should be done, although they were undecided as to what that
something should be.

Joe proposed that they all rush out, and scare the pony away, but Bob
insisted that he would be the sufferer by such a course. Reddy thought
if Bob should show more spirit, and let the vicious little animal see
that he was not afraid of him, everything would be all right; but when
it was proposed that he should try the plan himself, he concluded there
might be serious objections to such a course.

Ben thought that if they all took hold of the halter, they could pull
the pony to the fence, and this plan was looked upon with such favor
that it was adopted at once.

Every one except Abner took hold of the halter, after some little delay
in getting there, owing to the readiness of the pony to use his heels at
the slightest provocation. But just when they were about to put forth
all their strength in pulling, the pony jumped toward them suddenly,
rendering their efforts useless, and starting all save Bob back to the
alder bushes in ignominious flight.

Bob still remained at his post, or, more correctly speaking, the halter,
and it was very much against his will that he did so.

"I wish Chandler Merrill would come up here, an' get his old hoss, for I
don't want him any longer," he said, angrily. "He ought to be prosecuted
for lettin' us have such a tiger."

Bob did not seem to remember that if he had been refused the loan of the
pony he would have considered Chandler Merrill very selfish; in fact, he
hardly remembered anything save his own desire to get rid of the animal
as quickly as possible.

"What shall I do?" he cried, in desperation. "I can't stand here all
day, an' the hoss don't mean to let me get away."

"We've got to help Bob," said Toby, decidedly, as he arose to his feet
again, and went toward the unfortunate clown. "If you fellers will try
to hold him, I'll get on his back, an' then Bob can get away."

"But he'll throw you off, an' hurt you," objected Abner, trying to
protect his newly made friend.

"I can stop him from doing that, an' it's the only way I know of to help

"You get on, Toby, an' then I'll scoot jest as soon as you get hold of
the halter," said Bob, happy at this prospect of being relieved. "Then,
when you get a chance, you jump off, an' we'll let somebody else take
him home."

It was a hard task, and they all ran considerable risk of getting
kicked; but at last it was accomplished, so far as mounting was
concerned. Toby was on the pony's back, with a firm grasp of the rope
that was made to serve as bridle.

"Now be all ready to run," he said; and there was no disposition to
linger shown by any of his friends. "Let go!" he shouted, and at the
sound of his voice the boys went one way and the pony another at full

It was not until the would-be circus managers were within the shelter of
the clump of bushes that they stopped to look for their partner, and
then they saw him at the further end of the pasture, the pony running
and leaping as if doing his best to dislodge his rider.

Even the Douglass horse seemed to be excited by the display of spirit,
for he capered around in a manner very unbecoming one as old and blind
as he.

Only for a few moments could they watch the contest, and then the
distant trees hid Toby Tyler and Chandler Merrill's pony from view.

Some time the boys watched for Toby's return; and just as they were
beginning to think they ought to go in search of him, and fearing lest
he had been hurt by the vicious pony, they saw him coming from among the
trees, alone and on foot.

"Well," said Bob, with a sigh of relief, "he's got rid of the hoss, an'
that was all we wanted."

Toby's story, when at last, hot and tired, he reached the alder bushes,
was not nearly so exciting as his partners anticipated. He had clung to
the pony until they entered the woods, where he was brushed off by the
branches of the trees as easily as if he had been a fly, and with as
little damage.

How they should get the pony back into its owner's keeping was a
question difficult to answer, and they were all so completely worn out
by their exertions to get rid of him that they did not attempt to come
to any conclusion regarding it.

While they were resting from their labors, and before they had ceased to
congratulate each other that they had succeeded in separating themselves
from the pony, Leander Leighton, his accordion under his arm and his
clappers in his hands, made his appearance.

His struggle with the baby had evidently come to an end sooner than he
had dared hope, and the managers were happy at this speedy prospect of
hearing what their band could do in the way of music.

"Boys!" shouted Leander, excitedly, while he was some distance away,
"there's a real circus comin' here next week--the same one Toby Tyler
run away with--an' the men are pastin' up the bills now down to the

The boys looked at each other in surprise; it had never entered into
their calculations that they might have a real circus as a rival, and
certainly Toby had never thought he would again see those whom he had
first run away with, and then run away from. He was rather disturbed by
the prospect at first, for it seemed certain that Job Lord and Mr.
Castle would try to compel him to go with them; but a moment's thought
convinced him that Uncle Daniel would not allow them to carry him away,
and he grew as eager for more news as any of the others.

Leander knew no more than he had already told; after having been
relieved from his care of the baby, he had started for the pasture, and
had seen the show-bills as he came along. He was certain it was the same
circus Toby had gone with, for the names on the bills were the same, and
he had heard some of the townspeople say so as he came along.

"An' I shall see the skeleton an' the fat woman again," said Toby, very
much delighted at the idea of meeting those kind friends from whom he
had thought himself parted forever.

"Don't you s'pose you could get 'em to leave that show an' come with
ours?" asked Bob, thinking perhaps some kind fortune had thrown this
opportunity in their way that they might the better succeed in their

Toby was not sure such a plan could be made to work, for the reason that
they were only intending to give two or three performances, and Mr. and
Mrs. Treat might not think it worth their while to leave the circus they
were with on the strength of such uncertain prospects.

"And you shall go to the show, Abner," said Toby, pleased at the
opportunity he would have of making the crippled boy happy for one day
at least; "an' I'll take all of you fellers down, an' get the skeleton
to talk to you, so's you can see how nice he is. You shall see his wife,
an' old Ben, an' Ella, an'--"

"But won't you be afraid of Job Lord?" interrupted Leander, fearful lest
Toby's dread of meeting his old employer might prevent them from having
all this promised enjoyment.

"Uncle Dan'l wouldn't let him take me away; an' now I'm home here, I
don't believe old Ben would let him touch me."

There was evidently no probability that they would transact any more
business relative to their own circus that day, so intent were they on
talking about the one that was to come, and it was not until nearly time
to drive the cows home that they remembered the presence of their band.

Ben proposed that Leander should show them what he could do in the way
of music, so that he need not be at the trouble of bringing his
accordion up to the pasture again, and the boys ceased all conversation
for the purpose of listening to the so-called melody.



India is a land of wonders; but among the strange sights few are more
utterly ridiculous than that of a party of natives driving quail.

The quail-hunter throws a large white cloth over his head, which is
extended in front by means of two sticks held in the hands. Arrayed in
this manner, the quail-hunter performs various antics and movements
which would lead a looker-on to suppose him insane.

There is a method in his madness, however. This remarkable adjustment of
the white cloth is supposed to transform the man into a bull or other
horned animal. He pretends to paw the earth, tosses his make-believe
horns, turns round and round, pretending to scratch himself in true
bovine fashion. It is irresistibly comic to watch him, and a little
attention generally pleases him to such an extent that he will redouble
his efforts and multiply his ridiculous pranks until the spectator is
thrown into convulsions of laughter.

There are several distinct varieties of quail in India; they frequent
open places near rivers, keeping near the ground when flying, and
running rapidly among the grasses. The hunters spread fine nets around
two sides of the field, and at the end they place a large cage with one
or more decoy birds inside.

The idiotic-looking cow has all his wits about him. He proceeds warily;
his keen eye detects the coveys of quail, and sees which way they are
running. He is no more like a cow than that respectable animal is like a
cucumber, but his ruse succeeds wonderfully. He moves about, tosses his
head, switches his ingeniously contrived tail, and so manoeuvres that
he keeps the running quail away from the unprotected edges of the field.

When they get to the verge protected by the net they begin to take
alarm. They are probably a little uncertain about the peculiar-looking
"old cow" behind them, and running along the net, they see the decoy
quail apparently feeding in great security and comfort. The V-shaped
mouth of the large basket cage looks invitingly open. The puzzling nets
are barring the way, and the cow is gradually closing up behind.

As the hunter moves along, he rubs two pieces of dry stick gently up and
down his thigh with one hand, thus producing a crackling sound. It is
not enough to startle the birds into flight, but alarms them
sufficiently to make them get out of the way. One bird, perhaps a little
bolder than the others, irritated by the queer crackling sound, now
enters the basket, when the others follow like a flock of sheep, and
once in, the puzzling shape of the entrance prevents their exit.

Hunters will not unfrequently bag twenty or thirty brace of quail in one
field by this absurdly appearing but ingenious method.



  May I come in? My little Grace
  Peeps round the door with laughing face.
  I lift my head, and feign surprise
  At wistful mouth and roguish eyes.

  I know she'll trip across to me,
  And give me kisses, one, two, three.
  May she come in? Of course she may--
  The sweetest thing I've seen to-day.





The design of the postage stamps of Surinam, or Dutch Guiana, is shown
in the accompanying illustration, the name being spelled, of course,
after the Dutch method. In English the final "e" is omitted.

Surinam lies on the northern coast of South America. On the east is
French, and on the west British, Guiana. The territory over which the
Dutch claim dominion is about fifty-eight thousand square miles in
extent, or more than four times the size of Holland, but the actual area
under cultivation is a little over two hundred square miles. The
principal settlements are in the lower valley of the Surinam River,
which at its mouth is three miles wide. The water is of a dirty yellow
color, with bubbles on its surface, and its current can be traced far
out to sea. Its source has not yet been found.

The Dutch began to visit the coasts of Guiana about 1580. In 1614, the
States of Holland granted to any Dutch citizen four years' monopoly of
any harbor or place of commerce he might discover in that region. The
first settlement in Surinam, in 1630, was made by an Englishman, whose
name is still preserved by Marshall's Creek. Thirty-six years afterward
the English settlement was taken by the Zealanders, and one hundred
thousand pounds of sugar were exacted as a ransom. Finally, the country
was confirmed to the Dutch by treaty, in 1674.

The most renowned name connected with Surinam is that of Cornelis van
Aerssens, lord of Sommelsdjik, who in 1683 purchased one-third of the
territory from the New Dutch West India Company. Sommelsdjik agreed to
govern the colony at his own expense, and his rule was marked by rare
wisdom and energy. He repressed and pacified the Indians, he erected
forts, established a court of justice, introduced the cultivation of the
cocoa-nut, and, in short, devoted himself to the welfare of his people.
But his soldiery turned against him, and massacred him, after five years
of beneficent rule.

His death threw affairs into great confusion. It became necessary to
make some new arrangement, and his widow offered to sell his large
interest in the colony to William III. of England. The arrangement would
not, however, have been satisfactory to Holland, and Sommelsdjik's
portion of the territory was finally purchased by the city of Amsterdam.

Surinam has continued under Dutch rule from 1804, with the exception of
a period of eleven years, when it was in possession of the English.
Slavery was abolished during this period. There is a House of Assembly,
the members of which may never be less than nine nor more than thirteen.
Four are appointed by the government, and the others are regularly
elected by the colonists. There is one curious provision. A royal decree
may overrule a unanimous decision of the Assembly, and not infrequently
a command will arrive from Holland undoing all that has been
accomplished by that body.

The capital of Dutch Guiana is Paramaribo. It has a population of
22,000, a large proportion of which are negroes. The city is regularly
built, and the streets present a pleasant sight, owing to the rows of
tamarind and orange trees which line them on both sides. In 1832 the
city was nearly destroyed by a band of negro slaves, who set fire to the
city. The flames were fortunately subdued before they made any great
headway. In order to deter others from making a similar attempt, the
negroes who executed the horrible deed were publicly burned alive.

There are about seventeen thousand bush negroes in Surinam. These are
descendants of runaway slaves, and consist of three tribes. They retain
curious traces of their former connection with Christianity, though they
are, and consider themselves, pagans. Their chief god is Gran Gado
(grand god), his wife is Maria, and his son Jesi Kist. Various minor
deities are also worshipped; Ampeeka, the bush god, Toni, the water god,
etc. Among themselves these people speak a language based on a corrupt
English, mingled with many Dutch, Portuguese, and native elements.

I came near neglecting to state that in Surinam, in addition to postage
stamps, there are also in use postal cards, and an extensive series of
revenue stamps. These are of two kinds, stamped and unstamped, and in
color correspond to the postage stamps of the colony. The cards were
introduced in July, 1876. A very neat frame surrounds the card, with the
word "Briefkaart" at the top, and four lines for the address.

A card for fifteen cents was first issued; then followed, in 1877, a
card for twelve and a half cents. But last year, a change being made in
postal rates, a card of seven and a half cents was issued. As an example
of the economy so characteristic of the Dutch, the old cards were still
kept in use, and the change made by simply printing the new value on
them in black figures.



Few strangers ever came to Cornham after the 1st of April. It was a
sleepy little Southern town, and even the approach of spring made it too
warm for comfort.

But one morning, when the sun was pouring down its beams with particular
brightness, the few loungers at the railway station were astonished by
the arrival of a middle-aged gentleman with a red beard and a pair of
gold spectacles. He took lodgings at the only tavern in the place--the
Bull's Head--and before he went to bed that night he had posted up by
the side of the tavern door the following notice:


     "The undersigned will pay for a live rattlesnake, not less than
     thirty inches long, and with at least three rattles, the sum of one
     dollar. The fangs of the snake must be extracted before it is
     offered for inspection, but the animal must not be injured in any
     other way, and must be perfectly healthy and lively. For a snake
     four feet long, with six or more rattles, two dollars will be paid.


This notice attracted the attention of a number of the people of the
town, who gathered in a little crowd to read it; and after that had been
done, most of the good folks sat down on the benches in front of the
tavern to talk about it. It was generally agreed that Mr. Harriman must
be either a showman, or one of those scientific fellows who go about the
country collecting weeds and bits of stone, and all manner of worms and
insects. Whatever he might have been, any one in the town who had
happened to own a live rattlesnake would have been glad to let him have
it for a dollar; but it was pretty certain that no one possessed such a
creature. There were, however, in the stony hills and mountains around
Cornham plenty of rattlesnakes, and it was in the hope of inducing some
of the villagers to capture one of these for him that Mr. Harriman had
put up his notice.

About nine o'clock Tom Welden came walking by the tavern, and stopped to
read the notice. Tom was fourteen years old, and was the son of a farmer
in the neighborhood. He had finished his morning's work about the barn,
and had come into town to get something from the store.

The notice was very interesting to Tom, and he read it twice. A dollar
was to him quite a large sum of money, and he was not long in making up
his mind to try to get a rattlesnake for Mr. Harriman. If he could catch
one four feet long, so much the better. He had nothing in particular to
do that day, and he would start off at once for Block Mountain, where it
was understood there were always rattlesnakes to be found.

He did not, however, wish to go on such an expedition by himself, and so
he called on Charlie Crawford, one of his boy friends, and asked him to
go with him.

"Is it to be half and half?" asked Charlie.

Tom hesitated a little at this. He had not thought of dividing the

"All right," said Charlie, laughing. "I don't want any of the money;
I'll go for fun."

But Tom was too generous a fellow to consent to anything like that. "We
will first get the snake," he said, "and then we will see about dividing
the money. But we must hurry up, for I've got to stop at the house on my
way to the mountain."

In an hour from this time the boys had begun the ascent of Block
Mountain, which was about two miles from the village. They had not gone
very far up the mountain-side before they came to a cabin standing by
itself on a small level space. An elderly man, very roughly dressed, was
sitting on a bench by the door.

"Charlie," said Tom, "I'm going to stop for a moment to speak to old
Ramsay. He can tell us more about rattlesnakes than anybody in these

The boys found old Ramsay very willing to talk about rattlesnakes. "If
it wasn't for my rheumatism," he said, "I'd just as lief go with you as
not. But if you go up to the Break-Neck Rocks, and look around in the
sunny places, you'll be sure to find some. You know how to scotch 'em,
don't you?"

"Oh yes," said Tom, "I've done it before; but what bothers me is how to
get the fangs out of the snake after we catch it. It's got to have its
fangs out before it's delivered."

"Don't you try to take 'em out at all," said Ramsay. "Just you get your
snake into this basket, and fasten the lid down tight, and then bring it
to me. I'll take the fangs out."

The man then handed Tom a small but strong basket, made of split white
oak, and thanking him for it, the boys started off again. On the way up
Tom cut a pole about six feet long. He whittled off the upper branches,
leaving only a small crotch at the top.

The Break-Neck Rocks were near the top of the mountain, but before they
got there the boys sat down to rest.

"Tom," said Charlie, "if I'd been you, I would have put on my shoes
before I came out to hunt rattlesnakes."

Tom looked at his bare feet in despair. "I never thought of it," he
said. "I had so many things to do, that shoes never entered into my

"If your feet had entered your shoes, that would have been much better,"
said Charlie.

"Well, I'm not going back," said Tom, "for it's too far. I'll pick my
way gingerly, and I guess I won't tread on a snake."


For some time the boys rested on the side of the mountain, looking out
over the country below them, and at the river which flowed not far away.
Then they started up again, and soon reached the Break-Neck Rocks.

These rocks covered several acres, and between them were clefts or
openings, often a yard or more wide at the top, and extending downward
for fifteen or twenty feet. In the middle of the day, when the sun shone
down into these great fissures, the ground at the bottom was a favorite
resort for rattlesnakes; and here it was old Ramsay had meant the boys
to look for them.

Tom and Charlie now began their search, stepping from rock to rock, and
carefully looking into every cleft. It was not long before they saw very
plainly a large rattlesnake on the ground at the bottom of the cleft. He
was coiled up, and evidently fast asleep.

"How are we going to get him?" whispered Charlie. "The pole won't reach
down there."

"I think we can manage it," said Tom. "I'll get part of the way down,
and then you can hand me the pole, and I'll rouse him up, and when he
sticks his head out to crawl, I will clap the crotch down over his neck,
and hold him fast."

"All right," said Charlie.

Tom now began to cautiously clamber down the sides of the cleft. He had
often gone down into these little ravines, but the walls here were much
smoother than he had generally found them, and he did not meet with many
projections on which he could place his feet. He was, however, slowly
working his way down, when, to his own horror, and that of Charlie, who
was watching him from above, he suddenly began to slip. He vigorously
thrust out his arms and legs on either side, and as the cleft gradually
narrowed in a downward direction, he succeeded by a great exertion in
stopping himself when about half-way down. But now his position was very
critical. If he slipped to the bottom, he might not only hurt himself,
but he would most likely come down with his bare feet right on the
sleeping snake. In working his way down he had, without intending it,
got into a position directly above the creature.

It was a situation of great peril, and Charlie, who watched the scene
from above, was even more frightened than Tom. He reached down the pole
to his companion, but Tom could not take either of his hands from the
rocks to seize it, and even if he could have done so, it would have been
of little service, for Charlie was not strong enough to pull him up.

Then another idea struck Charlie. "If I can drive away the snake," he
thought, "it will not be so bad for Tom, if he must fall." He picked up
some small pieces of stone, and going back a little distance, where
there would be no chance of his hitting Tom, he began to hurl the stones
at the sleeping snake. One of them soon struck it, and in an instant the
animal was aroused; but instead of uncoiling himself and crawling away,
he thrust up his head and glared around, at the same instant raising his
tail and rattling violently.

"Now I have done it," thought poor Charlie. "Tom might have got away
from the snake when it was asleep, but now it is all ready for him."
Charlie was in despair, but stepping back to a point just above Tom, and
looking down upon his friend, another idea entered his mind.

"Tom," he cried, "can you hold on for half a minute longer?"

"Yes," said Tom, rather faintly.

"All right, then," cried Charlie. "Hold on tight, and shut your eyes."

Charlie turned around, and looking about him, picked up a piece of rock
as big as his head. Taking this in both hands he stepped across the
chasm, and stood astride of it, not exactly over Tom, but a little in
front of him. Charlie had noticed that the snake had moved a little, and
its head was now so far forward that a large stone might possibly be
dropped upon it without hitting Tom. To do so, however, the stone must
almost graze Tom's nose. But there was no time to be lost, and this was
the only plan Charlie could think of to save his friend.

"Keep your eyes shut," he cried, "and don't move."

Down dropped the stone, and the wind of it as it passed Tom's face made
him jerk back his head.

"Did it touch you?" cried Charlie, excitedly.

"Nothing touched me," answered Tom.

"It's on top of the snake!" cried Charlie. "Now get down as fast as you

Tom gave a glance downward, and then, half-slipping, half-scrambling, he
came heavily to the bottom of the ravine. Charlie now ran off some
distance to a place where there was a comparatively easy descent to the
paths among the rocks, and he soon reached the spot where Tom stood.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No," said Tom, "only scratched a little. But there isn't a man alive
who would give three cents for this snake. You've smashed its head
nearly off."

"That is what I tried to do," said Charlie. "Now we will go and look for
another one."

The boys moved slowly among the rocks, and it was not long before they
saw another snake, coiled up and asleep. Tom roused him with the
crotched end of his pole, and when the snake, after rattling and
hissing, laid his head upon the ground to crawl, Tom clapped the crotch
over his neck, and held him firmly down. It was of no use for the
creature to squirm and wriggle; he could not get his head from under
that crotch. Charlie carried the basket, and he now ran up to the snake.
Taking a piece of twine from his pocket, he slipped it under the head,
and tied it around the neck just in front of the crotch. It required
some care to tie the cord tightly enough to prevent its slipping, but
not so tight as to choke the snake. The ends of the cord were about two
feet long, and each of the boys took hold of one of them. The stick was
now removed, and the snake began to struggle violently, but could not
get at either of his captors. He was then lifted up by the cord, and
dropped, tail foremost, into the basket, when the lid was clapped down
quickly upon him, and securely fastened. The ends of the twine, which
hung outside, were tied together under the basket, and the boys started
homeward with their prize.

When they reached the cabin of old Ramsay, the veteran snake-hunter was
still sitting at his door. As soon as he heard that the boys had caught
a snake, he began to make preparations to take out its fangs.

"It's too tetchy a business for young boys like you," he said.

Ramsay hobbled into the house, and brought out a strong leather strap.
He then untied the ends of the twine, giving one to each of the boys to
hold. The lid of the basket was removed, and the snake angrily raised
its head. Ramsay then held the end of the strap toward it, when, quick
as lightning, the shake struck at the leather, and fiercely bit it. The
moment the creature's fangs entered the strap, Ramsay violently pulled
it away.

Glancing at the end the snake had bitten, Ramsay held it out toward the

"Thar's his fangs," he said, "sticking into the leather. I jerked 'em
out. Now the varmint couldn't hurt a baby--that is, till his fangs grow
again, which won't be for a good while."

When the snake was delivered that afternoon to Mr. Harriman, it was an
object of great attention to that gentleman and many of the villagers.
It was found to be forty-nine inches long, and had seven rattles.

"Why, it's a two-dollar snake!" said Tom.

"Yes," said Mr. Harriman, "it is a very fine specimen, and I gladly pay
you the two dollars. To which of you must I give the money?"

"This is Tom's snake," said Charlie, quickly. "The one I got, I smashed
to flinders."

And in spite of Tom's arguments, he refused to accept a cent of the

"It was a plucky thing in you," said Tom to his friend as they walked
away, "to drop that big stone so close to my face."

"There was nothing plucky about it," said Charlie, laughing. "It
wouldn't have hurt me if it had hit you."

"I don't believe a word of that," said Tom. "I believe it would have
hurt you just as much as me."

Which was exactly the truth.



I suppose that every one who enjoys music likes to hear either a band or
an orchestra. There is something very inspiring and fine about a
performance where a great many people take part.

It is always well, even in the most delightful music, to stop and think
how much you enjoy because you _understand_ it; that is, if you are a
student, and I am addressing myself chiefly to young people who are
studying music.

Is not an orchestra a confusing sight in one way? You look at all the
violins and violoncellos, the flutes, the hautboys, the wind
instruments, and finally the conductor, and even if he waves his baton
ever so knowingly, you wonder _how_ he knows just what to do.

I think the conductor of an orchestra always looks like the possessor of
some curious secret. His baton goes here and there; he waves it in a
rhythmical or sharp fashion, and yet if you look closely you will see
that not one in the orchestra but feels that he is his leader. There is
a regular meaning in everything he does.

There are very few portions of musical history so interesting to me as
the orchestra. To-day we have such excellent music in public orchestras
that I suppose we forget there ever was a time when even musicians were
not sure how orchestras ought to be arranged. In the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries there were flutes and many stringed instruments;
but the people who played on them did not know that they might be used
harmoniously together. I am sure that seems almost funny to you now, but
it undoubtedly was the case.

You see, music was in just that unformed condition then that they did
not know what they could do with it. Now we will try and think a little,
and see when orchestras began, and how they gradually prospered.

To go very far back, I must tell you that certain instruments, like
lutes and lyres, were used among the ancients. I think they played them
in concert. At all events, they had a dim idea that, performed upon
together, they would sound well. But it was not until the sixteenth
century--in 1581--that anything like a real orchestra was known. And
just here I want to tell you what the word itself means.

_Orchestra_ is a Greek word. It really means an open space where people
sit, but it expresses now a place for an instrumental band and a chorus,
and, properly speaking, an orchestra must sit. This is one of the chief
distinctions between an _orchestra_ and a _band_. Bands must, by right,
stand while they play; orchestras ought, by right, to sit, that is,
unless the weight of their instruments obliges them to stand. Besides
this distinction, a _band_ is composed of wind instruments; an
_orchestra_ has both wind and stringed instruments.

Now, when you hear any orchestral concert, look back into olden days and
see the first orchestra that we have record of. It was in the days of
the sixteenth century.

In France there lived a certain famous nobleman--the Duc de Joyeuse. The
splendor and beauty of his entertainments were renowned; and when, in
1581, he married the Lady Margaret of Lorraine, a very gorgeous festival
was gotten up by him regardless of the expenditure of time or money or

Now at this entertainment was produced a sort of dramatic performance
with an instrumental band--the first on record. But it was in a very
different fashion from the performance of an orchestra of to-day. They
knew very few rules for harmonizing the instruments, yet, from the
accounts given, the effect must have been very pleasing. Certain it is
the gay audience were delighted by it.

Of course writing for orchestras was soon adopted by the various
composers of the seventeenth century. Before the close of the century
there were some quite well-ordered orchestras of stringed instruments,
and when Bach began to write, the science of orchestration had gone very
much further.

In writing for orchestras Bach used a great many times what is called
the _obligato_. This word, when written over a part, means that it can
not be left out--it must be played.

The other day I was listening to Beethoven's Fourth Symphony performed
by some of the best players in the world, and led by a famous conductor,
and I could not help thinking how very interesting it might be even to
very young students to listen to any such performance, having a copy of
the music with them, and then, on going home, to pick out certain parts
and try to play them, reproducing some of the stringed effects. Now
perhaps you will think this work for very advanced students. So it is,
but little hands can try it too. Try some little chosen part of any
symphony you may hear at a good concert, and see if you can remember,
when you play, just what part of the expression belonged to any one
particular instrument. I have heard pianists who seemed to me to almost
reproduce the feeling of an entire orchestra.

Another interesting and useful study is to find out, before hearing a
concert, the names of the various instruments used, and then, by means
of a dictionary or encyclopædia, you can read all about them. See if it
will not transform the whole concert to you.

Here is a list of the instruments of a complete orchestra: First violins
15, second violins 12, violas 10, violoncellos 10, double basses 8,
flutes 2, piccolo 1, oboes, cor Anglais, clarionet, corno di bassetto,
bassoon, double bassoon, trumpets, horns, trombones, timpani, cornet à
piston, bass trumpet, tenor tuba, ophicleide, contra bass tuba, harp,
bass drum, cymbals. The number and kind of instruments can of course be
varied to a certain extent without losing the effect.

Chamber music differs from ordinary orchestras because none of the
instruments are doubled; that is, only one of a kind is included in it,
and it is adapted to a small number of performers on stringed

Many famous musicians have been equally famous conductors of orchestras.
Mendelssohn and Moscheles, who were dear friends and great musicians,
were celebrated for their conducting. Mendelssohn had a peculiar power
over the musicians. They looked at his face as well as at his baton.
Those sweet keen eyes seemed to tell each what to do--his whole soul was
in the work. Very many stories are told of how on certain occasions
parts of the score were found missing just as the men were taking their
places, and yet Mendelssohn always contrived to get it together again
with his marvellous faculty for rapid musical work. Once he is said to
have dashed off a whole part while the audience were waiting, writing it
from memory.

In an old house in London there is a book full of Mendelssohn's sketches
when he and Moscheles were on their concert tours; and looking at
them--some bright, some humorous, all happy and kindly--one could fancy
just how much heart and soul he carried into his work; he put his fun
into it as well as his sadness. Whatever he had, he gave it all to those
around him when he stood in the conductor's place.

[Illustration: AN APRIL SHOWER.]


Who does not know the Mother Goose jingle of

      "The man in the moon
      Came down too soon
  To ask his way to Norwich"?

But the question is, how did he get in the moon, and what is he doing
there? Most people can see only a face in the moon, and not always that;
but in old times it was firmly believed that there was an actual man in
the moon, with a bundle of sticks on his back, which he had to carry
always as a punishment for gathering them on Sunday.

Some of the old English poets represented the man in the moon as a
thief, who had been sent there for stealing, with a thorn bush on his
back. Sometimes he had a dog with him for company, and in Shakspeare's
_Midsummer Night's Dream_ it is said,

  "This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn,
  Presenteth moonshine."

In Sweden, the country people say that the spots on the moon are a girl
and boy carrying a pail of water between them, whom the moon once
kidnapped and carried up to heaven. But the Germans see a man and woman
in the moon, who were put there for punishment; the man because he
strewed thorns and brambles on the path to church to prevent people from
going there on Sunday morning, and the woman because she did her
churning on that holy day. The man has to carry a bundle of thorns, and
the woman her butter tub, and to stand in the moon always as a warning
to other Sabbath-breakers.

The Dutch say that the man was caught stealing vegetables. But in the
island of Ceylon they speak of "the _hare_ in the moon," instead of the
man, and tell this story about it:

Buddha, the god whom they worship, was once a hermit on earth, and got
lost in a forest. He wandered about until he met a hare, which said to
him, "I can help you out of your trouble; take the path on your left
hand, and it will lead you out of the forest."

"I am very much obliged to you," replied Buddha, "but I am very poor and
very hungry, and have nothing to offer you as a reward for your

"If you are hungry," returned the hare, "I am again at your service.
Make a fire, kill me, roast me, and eat me."

Buddha made the fire, the hare at once jumped into it, and has been seen
in the moon ever since.

There are any number of old superstitions and strange beliefs in regard
to the moon. In Suffolk County, England, it is considered unlucky to
kill a pig when the moon is waning. The pork, so the old wives say, will
waste in the boiling. Another fancy is that to look at the moon for the
first time through glass brings ill luck. According to an old rhyme,

      "A Saturday's moon,
  If it comes once in seven years,
      Comes once too soon."

The application of this is that if the new moon happens on a Saturday
the weather will be bad for the ensuing month.

The Chinese represent the moon by the figure of a rabbit pounding rice
in a mortar, and sometimes by a beautiful young woman with a rabbit at
her feet. But, after all, we have got to let most of our fancies in
regard to the moon go. They will not stand for a moment after one glance
through an astronomer's telescope.




Jumbo has arrived. Two weeks ago there was published in YOUNG PEOPLE an
account of his departure from England by a lady who knew him very well,
and who was very familiar with his doings during his last days on
English soil.

Now we have the great elephant with us, safe at the Hippodrome, under
Mr. Barnum's care, and where thousands of American children can make his
acquaintance, and find out what made him such a wonderful favorite on
the other side of the ocean.

Jumbo had a great time crossing the sea. A big elephant is a very
awkward passenger when he travels by water. He weighs so much that he
must be kept in the centre of the ship, and he must be fastened so
securely that he can not possibly break loose. Jumbo made the passage in
the same box in which he was drawn eight miles from the Zoological
Gardens in London to the dock where the great steamer that was to carry
him to America lay.

This box was made as strong as oak and iron could make it, and was
provided with openings in the front, through which Jumbo could stretch
out his trunk to receive his food and drink. Jumbo's cage was only a
trifle smaller than the main hatchway of the steamer, and yet it fitted
him almost as closely as if it had been an Ulster overcoat. Being wedged
closely into the hatchway, the box could not be moved by the rolling or
pitching of the ship, and Jumbo, being packed tightly in the box, could
not bruise himself. Thus he was as well situated as a sea-faring
elephant could expect to be.

Jumbo did not like the sea, particularly when he was seasick. When we
remember how seasick a child weighing sixty pounds often is at sea, we
can understand how tremendously seasick an elephant weighing six tons
can be. For the first two or three days of the passage Jumbo suffered
greatly from seasickness. He lost his appetite. He frequently sighed
like a small earthquake, and he tried to get rid of his headache by
beating his head against the front of his box. This remedy seemed to
help him, for on the third day he began to get better, and made a light
breakfast of two hundred pounds of hay, two bushels of oats, a bushel of
biscuits, fifteen loaves of bread, twenty buckets of water, and a few
trifles, and in a few hours he felt well enough to receive visits from
the passengers.

Two keepers--Mr. Scott, who has been with Jumbo seventeen years in
England, and one whom Mr. Barnum had sent over from New York--were with
him constantly while at sea, taking turns in sitting up with him at
night, so that he need never feel lonesome. Lamps were also kept burning
in front of him all night, in case he should want to read, and far more
care was taken of him in every way than of any other passenger. Most of
the time he was amiable, and conducted himself in a way to win the
approbation of everybody. Once, however, he became very ill-tempered,
and his keepers could not please him, no matter what they did. Finally
they brought some little children to him. The sight of them reminded
Jumbo of his happy life in the Zoological Gardens, where he was
accustomed to carry children on his back. The ill-temper vanished, and
he became once more the gentle beast that he had been before he was
forced to go to sea.

In spite of his general amiability, Jumbo does not like to be treated
with disrespect. One of the sailors of the vessel found this out. The
man was washing his clothes near Jumbo's box, and he rudely slapped the
elephant's trunk to make him move it out of the way. This was, in
Jumbo's opinion, an outrage which no gentleman would offer to a
respectable elephant, and he determined to resent it. Presently the man
went away, leaving his clean clothes within Jumbo's reach. The latter
instantly seized them, wiped the deck with them until they were far
blacker than before they had been washed, and with a sweet smile, handed
them back to the astonished sailor.

The great ship, the _Assyrian Monarch_, arrived at New York on the
morning of Easter Sunday. An immense floating derrick was brought
alongside of the vessel, and heavy chains being made fast to the
elephant's box, it was hoisted out of the ship, and lowered to the deck
of a big lighter. Jumbo strongly disapproved of this proceeding, and
mentioned it loudly. It was his opinion that the chains would break
while the box was in the air, and that he would get a terrible fall. In
this he proved to be mistaken, for he was brought without accident to
Pier No. 1, North River, which, being built of stone and iron, was
strong enough to bear his weight, and there he was landed.

It was nearly nine o'clock in the evening by the time that everything
was ready for a start. Eight horses were harnessed to the box, which,
with Jumbo, weighed over twelve tons, and long ropes were fastened to
the axles, so that men could assist the horses in dragging the enormous
load. Each rope was about two hundred feet long, and at least five
hundred people took hold of them. The horses and the men made a
tremendous effort, but after they had pulled the box about three feet,
the wheels sank into the ground, and it could not be stirred. Mr. Barnum
then sent to the Madison Square Garden for two elephants. He proposed to
take Jumbo out of his box, and to introduce him to the two elephants,
hoping that he would accept their invitation to take a stroll up
Broadway with them, and to stop at their hotel--as they would politely
call the Madison Square Garden.

Before the elephants arrived, eight more horses were harnessed to the
box; it was pried out of the mud, and started slowly on its way. At the
Bowling Green the two elephants from Madison Square Garden were met, and
welcomed Jumbo with enthusiastic "trumpetings," to which he courteously
replied. Two or three times the box came to a stop while on the way up
Broadway, but the horses and men pulled and the two elephants pushed
until it was in motion again. It was after midnight when the Madison
Square Garden was reached, and then it was found that the box was so big
it would not go through the doors. So poor Jumbo had to pass the night
in the street.

On Monday, however, he was safely installed in his new home. He has not
mentioned how he likes this new continent, or the strange people among
whom he has come; but considering the attention he receives, and the
dainties fed him by thousands of admiring little folks, he ought to be a
serene and satisfied elephant.




"What a jolly place for a swim! I'll have one as soon as my dinner's

"Take my advice, and don't do nothin' of the sort; for if you do, as
sure as eggs are eggs, there'll be somethin' else digested besides your

"How do you mean?"


And with this impressive conclusion, the worthy Captain turned on his
heel and walked off.

We had run three parts of the way down the Red Sea, and were now
anchored close to the Arabian shore, just off the Turkish fort of
Koomfidah, the low massive wall of which stood out white and bare in the
blistering sunshine, while beyond it stretched, far as the eye could
reach, the dim immensity of the great central desert.

Our vessel lay fully a mile and a half from the shore, although it
seemed within a stone's-throw in the clearness of that wonderful
atmosphere. But between us and the interminable waste of flat sandy
beach the clear bright water was flecked with a broad band of white,
very much like a streak of thick cream, marking the whereabouts of one
of those treacherous coral reefs which make the Red Sea as dangerous a
place as any in the world.

Outside the reef where we lay the sea was still heaving restlessly from
the effects of the gale that had blown overnight; but the broad shallow
lagoon within was as calm as a mill-pond. Half a dozen gaunt, swarthy
Arabs were splashing and wallowing in the smooth water with shouts of
delight, which were very tantalizing to us as we "stood on the burning
deck," with the very pitch melting between the planks under the
intolerable heat. Others still were trooping down to the beach in their
long white robes, like a train of ghosts, from the little group of
tumble-down mud hovels which, clustering around the outer wall of the
fort, represented the "town" of Koomfidah.

Their bathing-place was of course safe enough, for no shark could enter
there; but as if on purpose to show us how little they cared for this,
several of the nearest Arabs scrambled across the reef and began to swim
toward us; and in a twinkling the water around our ship swarmed with
dusky figures (including not a few round-faced "pickaninnies" who could
not have been more than six or seven years old at the outside), plashing
and paddling about as merrily as if no such thing as a shark had ever
been heard of.

"Some o' them chaps'll be gettin' picked up, if they don't look out,"
said a young sailor, looking down at them over the bows.

"Not they!" rejoined a veteran "salt," who had made the Red Sea voyage
many a time before. "Sharks never touches a Harab."

"Nor a darky neither," added another. "I've see'd the darkies in the
West Injies, jist afore they dived, put tar on the palms o' their 'ands
where they was rubbed white, so as to give the sharks nothin' to aim at,

"I take it them Harabs ain't good enough to suit Mr. Shark's taste, and
mayhap it's the same way with the darkies," said No. 1, with a grin.

And the two old sea-dogs, perching themselves upon the bulwarks, watched
with a look of quiet amusement the whirl of lean brown limbs that kept
darting to and fro like shoals of fish through the cool, clear water.

"You see," remarked No. 1, "there ain't a sign o' _their_ bein' touched,
and yet there's lots o' sharks close by, I'll be bound. But if you or
me, Bill, was to jump in there, we wouldn't ha' touched the water afore
there'd be 'arf a dozen o' them sea-lawyers at us all to once."

This conversation, following so closely upon the Captain's warning,
certainly did not encourage me to try a swim in these perilous waters,
and a little incident which occurred that very afternoon encouraged me
still less.

I was standing near the binnacle, watching the bursting of the waves
upon the reef, when one of them suddenly broke into a high jet of
glittering spray, flinging off a shower of tiny rainbows in every
direction. A second glance showed me that the rainbows were a shoal of
flying-fish, which plunged again the next moment, and then leaped a
second time into the air, flashing and sparkling till the whole sea
appeared to be on fire.

All of a sudden, just as the graceful little sea-fairies were passing
close to our stern, up through the bright, smooth water shot a huge
shovel-like snout and sharp three-cornered back fin, seeming to come
right from under the ship itself, and in the very midst of the
fluttering column appeared a monstrous black shark, at least sixteen
feet from snout to tail. One snap of his powerful jaws took in a round
dozen of the terrified fish, which scattered in all directions, two or
three of them leaping even clear over our bulwarks, and falling upon the
deck, where the sailors inhospitably seized and cooked them for supper.

This last incident was more effectual in keeping me from risking a "dip"
than either the Captain's warning or that of the sailors. But what was
to be done? To be roasted as if by a slow fire for six or seven days
together in a temperature of 117 in the shade, with this splendid cool
sea always before me to invite me to a bath, was not to be thought of,
while to escape this martyrdom by going down the throat of a shark would
be a case of "out of the frying-pan into the fire."

At last a bright idea struck me. One of our quarter-boats, which was
getting rather shaky, had been moored astern, and allowed to fill with
water, in order to keep it from being split by the heat of the sun.
Here, then, was a first-rate bath ready-made, which, if not exactly big
enough for a swim, would serve admirably for every other purpose. The
first experiment was a complete success, and from that time regularly
every morning I slid down the mooring-rope, and had a "duck" in my
floating tub, to the unbounded amusement of the Arab boys, who came
splashing and chattering around me.

In this way things went on up to the very day of our departure from
Koomfidah. That morning I rose earlier than usual from my "luxurious
couch" (which consisted of a spare sail on the planks of the after-deck)
to have just one more bath before leaving. But it is always that "just
one more" which does all the mischief; and as a matter of course, after
being prudent and cautious up to the very last moment, I ended by
committing an imprudence which all but cost me my life.

The sea, as I well remember, seemed cooler and more tempting than ever
that day, and since the appearance of that energetic gentleman who had
such a good appetite for flying-fish, no sharks had been seen except at
a great distance. In short, I got tired of wallowing from side to side
of my boat-bath, like a hippopotamus in a tank, and decided to scramble
out of it, and have a swim round the ship itself.

Twice, thrice, four times, I made the circuit of the vessel, and then,
seeing no sign of danger, determined to strike farther out to sea. I was
already about a hundred yards from the ship's bow, when I suddenly heard
a shout that made me feel _creepy_ all over.

"Look out! here's a shark!"

Instantly came a rush in the water beside me, and up started between me
and the ship the big ungainly head, the grinning teeth, the small,
narrow, cruel eye, the huge pointed fin, like some ugly vision in a

Luckily the shark's overlapping snout forces him to turn on his side in
order to bite, or all would have been over at the first rush. A sudden
turn foiled the monster, but the next moment he was round and at me
again like an arrow. And so we went plunging to and fro, churning the
smooth blue water into foam, while the shouts of the sailors (who had
clustered like bees along the ship's side) seemed to rend the very sky.

But my enemy was too hungry to be scared by noise, and although we were
gradually nearing the ship, always kept himself between. My breath began
to fail, and I felt that before the boat could be lowered I should be
past help, for the shark had turned short round and met me front to

There was a loud halloo from above--something splashed heavily into the
water--and then the sea all round me became a whirl of foam. A billet of
wood, flung from the upper deck, had hit the shark on his tenderest
point, the snout; and before he could rally from this stunning blow, I
had seized the anchor-chain and was safe on board.

"Captain," said I, as the worthy man came up just in time to witness my
ascent, "I shall certainly take your advice after this."

"Dare say you will, when it's too late to be of any use!" growled the
uncourteous skipper. "I always thought you was a fool, and now I'm sure
of it."

This was certainly not complimentary, but on reflection I was much of
the same opinion myself.




There is in Chatham Street, New York city, an old Irish-woman who sits
all day beside a stand on which is piled a substance, of a dark purple
color, that strongly suggests dried red cabbage. No one seems to
purchase any of this puzzling material, yet there she sits, serene and
contented, behind a short black pipe.

Taking up a fragment, I found it soft and pliable. Smelling it, I seemed
to be at once down by the shore at Canarsie Bay, packing soft crabs in

The old woman continued silently smoking her pipe, neither asking me to
purchase nor informing me as to the cost of the mysterious substance,
its use, its name, or that of the manufacturer.

Being an American, it was but natural that I should wonder if it was
"patented." This word, however, proved too much for the old lady, and so
I had to come down to the commonplace inquiry,

"Madam, what is this?"


"What is it good for?"

"To ate."

"Where does it come from?"

"From the say."

"I mean from what country."

"Tralee, County Kerry."

"How do you sell it?"

"Twinty cints a quart, tin cints a pint."

"Can I have this piece?"

"Yez can for a cint."

Taking a Third Avenue car for home, I secure a quiet corner seat, and
say to myself, "I was born in New York city; I know it from one end to
the other, particularly all things that are good to eat, but I don't
know dellusk.'"

Presently we arrive at the Cooper Institute, and I ask the conductor to
let me out. Hastily directing my steps toward the Astor Library, and
entering, I ask the librarian for DEL in all the cyclopædias he has. I
make a thorough search, and find nothing. Then I think of looking under
DUL. What have we here? Not Dellusk by any means, but the following
account of Dulse (_Rhodomenia palmata_): "A sea-weed of a dark purple
color growing on rocks. It is used as food by the poor of Ireland,
Scotland, Finland, and Iceland, and occasionally by those of the
wealthier classes who have acquired a taste for it. It is eaten raw or
roasted, or with vinegar as a salad. In Ireland it is boiled with milk,
or broiled between hot irons. It is an important plant to the
Icelanders, who eat it with zest."

Further on the same author, who is an Englishman, informed me: "In
Kamtchatka a fermented liquor is made from it. Sheep are fond of it,
eagerly seeking it at low water. 'De-ulse!' was once a common cry in the
streets of Scotland. It is common to our coasts, but is imported from

Some time after my conversation with the dulse woman, I purchased a pint
of the sea-weed from which to obtain a perfect specimen to make a
drawing. Taking it home, I left it spread out on my table. It had been
there but a short time when "Landy," our old housekeeper, detected the
strong odor that rises from it. In a moment she had seized my specimen,
and with rapturous delight began to devour it, without even asking
permission so to do.

"Oh, the beautiful, darling dellusk!" she exclaimed, between the pauses
in the feast! "Shure it's thirty-five years gone last November, whin I
was a slip of a girl, an' was clim'ing over the big stones in the big
say, a-dryin' yez on them in the sun, till the lovely white salt would
flake off, an' 'ating yez every day, till I grew so round and fat and
rosy that me mother didn't know me."

I myself tried a bit of the dulse, but I can not say I liked it. At the
same time I was glad to learn of one more article of food that I did not
before know existed.




Simple as it appears to the looker-on, it requires no little practice to
spin a top. Only after a series of mortifying failures can a boy make
sure of seeing his top successfully describe an arc through the air,
disengage itself from the string, and then spin round triumphantly for
some seconds upon its sharp iron point.

In order to spin a top of the common kind, the player should be provided
with quite a stout piece of whip-cord, with a knot at about an inch from
one end, and a large metal button attached to the other. Hold the top in
the left hand, unravel the end of the whip-cord beyond the knot, and
slightly wet it. Now lay the wet end along the top just above the peg,
and hold it down with the thumb. Take the string in the right hand and
wind it round the top, beginning at the upper part of the peg and
winding gradually upward. When you have wound up all the string, put the
button between the middle and third fingers; place the thumb under the
peg and the fore and middle fingers on the top. Take care to keep the
string tight, as otherwise it will become unwound, and all your labor
will be lost.

To give the top a spinning motion, hold your hand high, and bring the
arm down with a bold swing from the shoulder. It will then fly from the
string with a kind of "swishing" sound, and come down on its peg with
great force. A little practice will make you perfect in spinning the
top, and if you know the length of your string, you can make it strike
the ground exactly where you please, merely by measuring with your eye
the distance from the point where you stand to the spot on which you
want the top to strike.

PEG IN THE RING. To play this game, first draw a circle five or six feet
in diameter, and in the centre of this draw a smaller circle about a
foot in diameter. The first player throws his top at the ring, allowing
it to spin. If, when it falls, it remains within the large ring, it is
called "dead," and the owner is obliged to lay it in the little ring,
where any one may play on it. The same penalty is incurred if the top
fails to spin, and in neither case can the owner have his top again
until it has been knocked out of the ring by some other player, who thus
counts to himself one point. The great object in this game is to split
some other player's top and keep your own safe. In order to do this,
skillful players have a way of throwing the top in such a manner that if
it miss the object aimed at, it leaps out of the ring with a single
bound, thus getting out of danger. This feat is performed by drawing the
arm smartly toward the body just before the top reaches the ground. It
is not an easy thing to do, but can be accomplished by practice.


CHIP STONE is a game in which a wooden spoon is needed. Two lines are
drawn on the ground five or six feet apart, and some smooth, flat stones
about the size of a penny are placed between them at equal distance from
each. The first player spins his top in the usual manner, slips the bowl
of the spoon under it, and lifts it off the ground. He then drops it on
one of the stones, and tries to drive it toward the boundary line. He
may pick the top up in the spoon and drop it on the stones so long as it
continues to spin, so that if a top be properly spun it may be dropped
six or seven times on the stone, and drive it fairly across the
boundary. When this is done, he holds the stone as a trophy of success,
or wins a marble from each of the other players, as may be decided upon.


WHIP-TOPS will spin better if the point is armed with a hollow-headed
brass nail, such as are used for furniture. The whip may be made of
leather shoe-lacings, but the best and most lasting is eel-skin, kept in
a moist condition. To whip a top the stroke should never be a high one,
but the real motion should come from the wrist rather than the arm. In
playing the game, tuck the whip under the left arm, and take the point
between the hands, the fingers pointing downward; then place the point
on the ground, and give it a twirl from right to left, which will make
it spin for a second or two. As soon as you have made it spin, snatch
the whip from under the arm, and give it a smart lash at the top,
drawing the hand toward you as you strike. If you hit the top fairly,
this stroke will make it spin well, and then you can do what you like. A
way of fighting whip-tops is for two boys to stand about twenty yards
apart, and lash their tops toward each other, so as to make them come in
contact. Of course each player tries to knock over his adversary's top
with his own. If, however, he touches his opponent's top with his whip,
he is adjudged to have lost. Racing tops is another very interesting way
to show one's expertness in the game.

Humming-tops are so made now that it requires no skill to spin them, and
since nothing in the way of games can be done with them, save to keep
them humming, it is not necessary to speak of them at any length.

[Illustration: THE DUNCES' BENCH.]

[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]

The other day the Postmistress was riding in a horse-car, and she saw a
lad whom she will call Jack, though she does not know his name. He was
in the company of a sweet-looking old lady, who seemed to be his
grandmamma. Jack was a fine healthy boy, large for his age, which was
about twelve. But, dears--would you believe it?--he allowed the old lady
to carry her own little basket and bundle; and when they left the car,
this thoughtless boy jumped nimbly off and ran to the sidewalk, while
the feeble grandmamma was helped down by the conductor, and then
tottered on as well as she could, by herself.

You would have assisted her, would you not, had it been your
grandmother, and given her your arm, and carried her bundles? Of course
you would.

Probably Jack does not read HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

       *       *       *       *       *


     I am a little girl of thirteen, and rather short for my age. We
     live at Naples in a nice villa by the sea-side, and there are lots
     of rocks, from which I get fishes and crabs. I have a little
     aquarium, in which are some very pretty specimens of anemones and
     three fishes, one large and two small. The large one knows me quite
     well, and dances about when I come near.

     My father takes HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for me, and I like it so
     much! I like Jimmy Brown's stories best, and thought "The Little
     Dolls' Dressmaker" was beautiful. I am very fond of reading, and
     have 135 books, many of which came from the United States.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I am ten years old, and papa says a right smart boy for my age;
     anyway, I heard him say so to a captain of the army last week.
     Father is a scout, and goes out with the soldiers after Indians.
     There used to be lots of bad Indians in New Mexico. My papa was
     wounded just one year ago. He and two miners were prospecting for
     gold, when five Indians jumped on them from a cañon. Papa was up on
     the side of a hill, and when the Indians began to fire he climbed
     up to the top, while the other men went for the horses, and got
     them out of the cañon to the creek. Papa staid and fought the
     Indians for about twenty minutes. He kept them off until the miners
     got to the creek, and after that he had a running fight for a mile.
     He was shot in the left hand, the bullet taking part of his
     gunstock with it. I own a little rifle, and am a good marksman; I
     can hit the bull's-eye three out of five times at fifty yards. I
     can ride a bucking bronco, too, and so can sister Eva. I have been
     reading all the letters in the Post-office Box, and thought some
     little folks would like to hear from New Mexico. Papa is in the
     mountains now, and mamma said I could write if I wished.


What is a bucking bronco? You will have to write again and tell us. What
else do you learn besides riding and shooting? Those accomplishments are
very necessary ones on the frontier and in a new country, but we hope
you study faithfully; and we should think your sister Eva and yourself
might sketch, botanize, and collect curious specimens for your cabinets.
We hope your papa may not come to such close quarters with "bad" Indians

       *       *       *       *       *


     I am a little girl ten years old, and I have never been away from
     my country, but I am learning English with my governess, and I hope
     papa will take me to New York this summer. As perhaps you have
     never been in Cuba, I wish to tell you something about my beautiful
     island. The climate is delightful and healthy enough. We have many
     fine fruit trees--oranges, limes, and lemons. When the trees are
     young they are a lighter green than when they are old; they have
     many thorns, and the leaves are pointed. The fruit is not very
     large, but is very good, and is planted by seeds in the rainy
     weather. We have several kinds of oranges; the best is called
     China. The trees have white flowers, which are called azahar, and
     make a very good essence and oil.


       *       *       *       *       *


     We live at a country seat very near the city of Havana. It is a
     very pretty farm; it has many flowers and trees, two or three
     fountains playing bright water all the time, and also two ponds.
     One of them is for gold-fish. There are nineteen gold-fish, and in
     the centre of the pond is a cave for them to play with their little
     ones. In the other pond lives a beautiful white lily all alone. It
     is the size of a tea-plate, and as white as my paper. Then, in the
     farm-yards there are lots of chickens, turkeys, ducks, guinea-hens,
     and also two cranes. We have a pair of horses, four goats, eight or
     nine pigs, and eight rabbits. One of the rabbits had ten little
     ones, but they all died.

     I am a Cuban boy eight years old. I know how to read and write in
     English better than in Spanish, but I can speak Spanish better,
     because it is my native language. Do you think this is good enough
     to put in your paper? My teacher sends you her regards, and thanks
     you for your paper because it gives us so much pleasure. She wishes
     me to ask the young people if any of them have read a story called
     _The Runaway_, and if they can tell us who is the author, and where
     the book can be obtained. It is one of the best children's stories
     she has ever read. It is about two little girls named Olga and


Among our thousands of young readers there may be some who can answer
Domingo's question about the book which his teacher likes so well. Will
they send us the author's name, as we should be glad to give our little
friend the information he desires?

       *       *       *       *       *


     I want to tell the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE about my pet. It is a
     little bird; I call it Jenny Wren. We take it out of the cage, and
     let it fly around the room. It has two principal places where it
     alights, and those two are each at the top of a window. We can make
     it play that it is a dead bird. It will eat sugar from my hand. I
     like Jimmy Brown's stories very much. I liked "Art's Organ
     Adventure," "Todd and Ketchum's Grate Show," "Mr. Thompson and the
     Bull-Frog," and lots of other stories. I just love to read the
     Post-office Box.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I live away up among the hills in New Hampshire, almost in the
     White Mountains. I suppose you city boys think I am about out of
     the world, and don't have any good times, but I would not change
     places with you. I have a papa who gets lots of papers and
     magazines for us to read, and a mamma who is always ready to read
     them to us, and a grandpa who will play checkers with me, but
     almost always beats, a little sister who is ready for any fun, and
     Ida, the girl who does the housework, is very kind in helping us to
     have a good time, and the two men who work on the farm let me work
     with them whenever I wish. I know it is pretty cold when the high
     hills are covered with snow, but it is just fun sliding down them
     on my new sled. I have a pair of steers, yoke, and sled all
     complete; they will work like oxen. I can get up wood or ice with
     them; they are better than your ponies. We have three horses I can
     drive, and thirty cattle to tend. When it is warm weather I can go
     hunting for partridges, gray squirrel, etc. I don't always find
     any, but when I do I feel pretty big. I go fishing pretty often
     too. My little cousin Willie and I went up on the side of Mount
     Cube last summer after trout; he got forty, and I got seventy-five.
     But if you had seen us when we came home, you would have thought
     something had bit besides fish. I will say black flies were
     plentier than fish, but we enjoyed it. We have good clear springs
     of water, pure air, and plenty to eat. I think you will believe it
     when I tell you I am thirteen years old, and weigh one hundred and
     seventy-five pounds. Boys, please make me a visit. We are making
     sugar, and I promise you a "sweet" time. I always go to school when
     we have one, but that is not more than six months in a year, and I
     will have to attend Haverhill Academy this spring. Please pity me.
     I was glad to see "Mr. Stubbs's Brother." I think it is going to be
     just as good as "Toby Tyler."


We are sure that many boys will wish they might go and see you in the
home among the hills, where you have such a kind grandpa, and such
loving parents, and so many delightful occupations. But we shall not
pity you in the least that you must be sent away to school, for six
months' tuition in the year is not quite enough for a boy of thirteen.
You need at least nine months, under a good teacher, and so success to
you, Harry, at Haverhill Academy!

       *       *       *       *       *


     I am a Louisiana boy eleven years old. My brother Bertie is eight,
     and my little sister five. If any of the young people wished to
     visit me now, they could come all the way in a boat. You have no
     idea what a sea of water covers this whole country! It never was so
     high here before! It has done a great deal of damage, and caused a
     great deal of suffering. It would make you sad to see how the poor
     cattle suffer from the water and gnats. The deer, too, are dying in
     the woods. A gentleman who came to town in a canoe said he saw six
     dead ones floating in the water. Deer horns are no rarity with us,
     as I have an uncle who kills a great many deer. They have no horns
     at this season of the year; they shed them in the winter. Although
     it is sad to see such an overflow, still it brings some fun to
     little boys who are fond of boating. Bertie and I and our little
     sister Kate spend a great deal of our time on the water in our
     little boat. It would make my letter too long to give you a
     description of our trips to the pasture to look after the cattle,
     and to town on errands for mamma. We have been taking YOUNG PEOPLE
     for nearly a year, and enjoy reading it so much! Mamma gave it to
     us this year, but Bertie and I have made enough to take it
     ourselves. I take it down to school sometimes, and our teacher
     reads it aloud to the pupils, who enjoy it so much!


       *       *       *       *       *

Which little girl will read these stanzas, and see her own portrait?


  When mother is ill, you ought to see
  How kind and loving I try to be.
  I step about in the gentlest way;
  I bathe her head, and I set her tray
  With the best of tea and the brownest toast,
  And whatever I think will tempt her most;
  And I keep the little ones, oh, so still!
  You ought to see me when mother is ill!

  I carry the baby up the stair;
  I let him play with my dollies there--
  I give him the one that I keep on the shelf;
  And I rock him to sleep just my own self.
  I never scold, and I never fret;
  I call him a darling, a pink, a pet.
  And I'm ever so kind to Jack and Will,
  Ever so patient when mother is ill.

  When mother is ill, I take her place,
  As well as I can, with a sober face.
  I go to the door when father goes,
  And bid him good-by on my tip-toes;
  I watch for the doctor, and let him in,
  And he's sure to tip me under the chin;
  I help when Bridget is making cake,
  And a taste of the cookies she lets me take;
  And I baste in my dress a nice white frill,
  For I try to be neat when mother is ill.

  What's that you are saying? You think that Nell
  Should do those things when mother is well?--
  Should sit in the corner, like a mouse,
  And mind the baby, and help keep house,
  And be as dear as a child can be,
  As sweet as a lily! Oh, you shall see,
  Just watch me now, and I know you'll tell
  The folks I'm good when mother is well.

       *       *       *       *       *


     I enjoy reading your nice stories very much indeed, especially the
     stories written by Mr. Otis. I think Jimmy Brown's stories are very
     funny indeed. Mamma laughs till she cries reading them sometimes. I
     wonder if there ever was a Jimmy Brown.

     Little boys and girls tell about their pets in their letters. All
     the pets my sister Mary and I have are five hens and one rooster.
     Specky is my hen, and I think a great deal of her; she will hold
     still and be patted.

     I have been very sick this winter, and I enjoyed hearing YOUNG
     PEOPLE read to me. I am very much better now, so that I am able to
     write this all alone myself. I was ten years old last 22d of
     January. I have never written before.


The Postmistress assures you, dear, that she has frequently seen Jimmy
Brown. How pleasant it is to be well now that spring is here! If one
must be sick, winter is the best period of the year to be shut in-doors.
Don't you think so?

       *       *       *       *       *

The wee tots must not think the Postmistress forgets them. She thinks
this little story about a poor alarmed mother whose children ran away
will be just what they will ask their own mammas to read to them two or
three times over:


     She was a nice old mother, but not like yours, little children,
     because she was covered all over with feathers, and she had two
     wings, which, when she felt crusty, she would spread out until she
     seemed three times her usual size. She had always lived in the
     country, roaming around in the grass or scratching in the garden.
     She was a fluttering, fuming creature, but sometimes very civil and
     pretty-looking. This little mother was just an old hen.

     Once upon a time she had been very quiet for three weeks. She had
     sat still the most of that time, and, indeed, the poor thing went
     half-starved often rather than forsake the little white eggs in her
     nest. She knew she must keep them warm, no matter what happened.

     At last there came a fine spring morning, when Mrs. Hen stepped
     very carefully off her nest. In it there lay a mass of broken
     shells. She led into the sunlight a half-dozen golden balls. As
     they tottled along by her side, they looked very pretty. Of such a
     brood any mother might be proud.

     Mother Hen was ever so proud. Any one could see that. She flustered
     about, calling one little bright speck to her, and then another,
     while scratching in the earth in search of something very nice for
     her pets.

     Four weeks sped by. The country grew prettier and greener day by
     day. This kind mother thought she would give her darlings a
     treat--a sort of picnic. So off she started toward the meadow, the
     little brood walking after her. They went in single file through
     the path, the old hen's head bobbing up and down through the
     clover, as she encouraged the little mities waddling along to keep
     up with her. She came to a brook which fairly danced in the
     sunlight under the old willows. She drew near, and began to cluck,
     when, lo! her little brood stepped off all at once into the
     sparkling waters. The golden balls floated on the amber stream.

     Poor old hen! how she fluttered and clucked and called! But all in
     vain; her children did not mind her. They knew more about water
     than she did, for these chicks were mere goslings. On they swam,
     and the poor hen did not know what to do.

     But the little goslings came back after a while, and cuddled that
     night under their mother's wing.

  A. E. T.

       *       *       *       *       *

Let me tell you a story about a dog and a cat.

Wolf, the dog, was a great stag-hound, who could run almost as fast as a
swift horse.

He loved to chase cats, and was their constant foe. One morning he spied
a poor gray pussy in the garden, and away he went after her in full

She ran as fast as she could, but her short legs were no match for
Wolf's long ones. The dog's master tried to call him off, but he was too
excited to pay any heed to his voice.

Suddenly pussy stopped running. She crouched in the middle of the path,
and looked pitifully at the great form of her foe.

On he came, panting. Suddenly he stopped, stared, and stood still,

Pussy began to purr.

Wolf turned around and walked slowly home. He could not hurt the little
creature who gave herself up to his mercy.

       *       *       *       *       *


     I want to tell you about my baby brother. He is five weeks old, but
     has only been down stairs twice, as the March winds have been
     blowing very hard. He was born on the 20th of February, and we
     think he is so sweet!

     There is a wild bush in our yard which bears red blossoms, and I
     have been gathering them, with some others, and arranging them in a
     box, and they look very pretty. With the red blossoms and pink
     peach ones, the yellow buttercups and the lovely little hyacinths,
     make it quite a pretty ornament.

     I am ten years old. I study spelling, reading, writing, grammar,
     French, geography, botany, and arithmetic. My grandmamma teaches me
     at home. I hope my letter is not too long. Good-by.


How glad we are to hear about the baby brother! Flowers brighten the
house wonderfully. Do you make pretty bouquets for the breakfast table?

       *       *       *       *       *


     Among the eager little ones who look anxiously for the coming of
     HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE is a brown-eyed little boy, three years old,
     named Carlos--called Carlie, for short. He knows all his letters,
     and recites some of the _Mother Goose Melodies_, and frequently
     makes funny speeches, sometimes to the great discomfort of his
     parents. While at the depot at Lockport waiting for a train, a very
     fleshy lady, weighing not less than two hundred and fifty pounds,
     came in, and very unfortunately seated herself next to Master
     Carlie and his mamma. He had been very naughty, and now wanted to
     make up with mamma. He said, "Please kiss me, won't you, mamma?"
     "No, no; I am displeased with you," replied she. He teased until
     she finally kissed him. But the kiss lacked warmth, and did not
     satisfy him, so he pleaded, "Kiss me again, mamma; give me a _big_
     kiss--one as big as--as that big fat lady," pointing his finger at
     her. Everybody present laughed heartily, except the "big fat lady,"
     who failed to see the joke.

     Another time he had been unusually trying all day long, and mamma
     was quite out of patience, and asked, "Carlie, why don't you be
     good? When papa comes home and I tell how you have behaved, it will
     make him have a pain in his heart." He looked up from his play, and
     said very seriously, "_What_ makes you tell him, then?" His aunt, a
     very dignified, middle-aged lady, came to visit us, and of course
     all Carlie's accomplishments had to be shown off--the chief one
     being turning summersaults. After one or two failures, over he went
     and hurt himself against the bed. He rose rubbing his back, and
     looking very earnestly at his aunt, said, "Aunt Lydia, does it hurt
     your back when you turn summersaults?" He took it for granted she
     turned summersaults every day of her life, like himself. He
     occasionally tries to make rhymes (regardless of measure, however).
     One day he said, "One, two, three, a flea bit me;" and another
     time, in saying his letters, came to Y, said, "Y, y, y, what a
     smart boy am I." Every week mamma reads HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE to
     him, all the stories and letters, poetry, etc.; but that does not
     satisfy if I omit the advertisements, so they are read too. He is a
     queer little fellow.


       *       *       *       *       *

GUSTAVUS W. S.--The editor would think it unfair to other exchangers to
do what you propose.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thanks to the little friends who have found arbutus, and sent it to us.
The little boxes fairly smiled at us when opened, and the sweet shy
perfume of the flowers was like a kiss from Spring herself.

       *       *       *       *       *

IRENE.--Messrs. Harper & Brothers have recently published a practical
little volume entitled _Money-Making for Ladies_, by Ella Rodman Church.
It gives many excellent suggestions to girls who, like yourself, are
anxious to find some pleasant way of adding to their incomes.

       *       *       *       *       *

GERTRUDE H.--Although we do not think your story, "The Morning Ride,"
quite good enough to print, we like it very much as the composition of a
little girl who is only eleven years old.

       *       *       *       *       *

LOUIS P. P.--_Bancroft's History of the United States_ (new edition)
will be adapted to your purpose. We do not advise the organization of a
formal club. One or two friends and yourself will do better work if you
read with each other when you can conveniently meet.

       *       *       *       *       *

C. Y. P. R. U.

DOLLY.--The Postmistress advises you not to mind a few freckles or a
little deeper brown on your skin, but to go out every day and walk in
the sunshine and fresh air. Begin by taking short walks, and going home
before you are very tired. Try to keep the mouth closed, and breathe
through the nose. You may walk a little farther each day than you did
the day before, as you grow stronger. The bright eyes and rosy cheeks of
health will soon make up for the pallor you lose, and the freckles, if
they come, will be little beauty-spots. Do not wear a veil unless it is
very windy indeed, but tie on a large shade hat. Try a little gardening.
With a sun-bonnet and a pair of long loose gloves you can protect your
complexion thoroughly, if mamma desires you to do so, and you will have
hours of real delight among your lilies and roses.

       *       *       *       *       *

THEODORE.--Whether the reform in spelling, of which some writers and
scholars are in favor, will be adopted by people generally I can not
tell. Of course it would be a good thing if our English spelling could
be more uniform, but at present the best way for your friend and
yourself, and for a Postmistress too, is to spell according to the
standard dictionaries. The English language is derived from many
sources, and there is danger that in spelling words by their sound we
may lose some of their sense, as we find it, by tracing the word back to
its root. It is quite interesting to notice what great changes have
taken place in our spelling and grammar by comparing our style of the
present with that of some of the earlier authors, as Chaucer, for
instance, or Spenser. If you will take your New Testament, and turn to
the parable in Matthew, vii. 27, where allusion is made to the two men
who built their houses, the one on the sand and the other on the rock,
we read: "And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds
blew, and beat upon that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of
it." In the version of Wycliffe, in 1380, the same text is given as
follows: "And rayn came doun, and floode's camen, and wynde's blewen,
and thei hurliden in to that house, and it felle doun, and the fallying
doun thereof was grete."

       *       *       *       *       *

Members of the C. Y. P. R. U. will find in this number a variety of
articles from which to choose. The boys will be interested on "Chats
about Philately," describing the postage stamps and cards of the far-off
colony of Surinam, while the girls will welcome "The Orchestra of
Yesterday and To-day," another of Mrs. John Lillie's entertaining
articles on music. Mr. William L. Alden tells us, in his humorous
fashion, "How Jumbo Crossed the Ocean." Mr. A. W. Roberts has something
interesting to tell us about the curious plant which our Irish friends
find so palatable, and to which they apply the curious name of
"Dellusk." It is top-time too, and we have an article by "An Old Boy"
which ought to make us all successful as top-spinners.

       *       *       *       *       *


No. 1.


1.--1. A letter. 2. An instrument. 3. A tree. 4. An animal. 5. A letter.

2.--1. In leaf. 2. A liquor. 3. A stone. 4. Finis. 5. In tent.

3.--1. A letter. 2. Before. 3. To wrong. 4. An animal. 5. A letter.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 2.



  My first is in Ernest, but not in Dora.
    My second is in Arthur, but not in Willie.
  My third is in George, but not in Flora.
    My fourth is in Larry, in Lem, and Lillie.
  My fifth is in Demas, but not in Dan.
  Tell me my name, little boys, if you can.

  A. T. F.


  First in down, not in up.
  Second in saucer, not in cup.
  Third in ivory, not in bone.
  Fourth in sound, not in tone.
  Fifth in yes, and not in no.
  Whole in meadows is seen to grow.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 3.


1. The duty of the besieged. 2. Something soldiers do. 3. A good way
from morning. 4. Not continents. 5. Faint answers. 6. A shelter. 7. A
rush. 8. A small hole. 9. A busy place. 10. A warbler. 11. A bird. 12. A
motor. 13. A high place. Primals compose the name of a celebrated


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 4.



  My first a silken gown may wear.
  My second crown sweet golden-hair.
  My whole, though on no map outlined,
  Is a state full well defined.


  Harry hurried home from school,
    Famished as a boy could be.
  With my first he did begin,
    With my second ended he.


  Such a sight as Jennie was,
    Playing by the door;
  But my second brought my first
    To the child once more.



  My first is soft and fleecy,
    My second is hard and tough,
  My whole is a thing of beauty,
    And will stand usage rough.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 5.


1. A nobleman in jewels. 2. A seed-vessel in a wrap. 3. An owl's cry in
small branches. 4. A strong drink in soldiers' quarters. 5. A margin in
an account-book. 6. A little stream in the stem of a tree. 7. An
entranceway in stones. 8. A mountain in a fiddle-string. 9. Everything
in partitions. 10. Fishing-tackle in snarls.

  J. P. B.

       *       *       *       *       *


No. 1.

1. Maple. Birch. Pine. Elm. 2. Genoa. Athens. Oxford. Omaha.

No. 2.

  A damsoni  A
  N  enupha  R
  E    b     B
  M  oinea   U
  O palescen T
  N   and    U
  E    ya    S

No. 3.

Scamp. Coat. Speck. Strap. Flower. Squills. Grace. Taunt. Mace. Prink.
Thatch. Swill.

No. 4.

"The May-Queen."

No. 5.


      M           T
    H O E       L E T
  M O U N D   T E X A S
    E N D       T A P
      D           S

       *       *       *       *       *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Florence H. Chambers,
Helen S. H., Henry Berlan, Jun., George P. Taggart, Nan T., Alice Mabon,
William Binney, "Owl," Jack Bolcher, Fanny Green, Jennie Van Winkle, Tom
Talbot, A. F. Ford, "Silver," Eda L. Baldwin, Hattie Sylvester, George
Sylvester, George M. Baird, H. R. G., "Phil I. Pene," Jacob Marks,
Maggie Thompson, W. S. Rose.

       *       *       *       *       *

[_For Exchanges, see 2d and 3d pages of cover._]

[Illustration: THE PUPPET SHOW.]



  Our Dinah has a baby
    That you really ought to see;
  Its skin is black all over,
    Like a piece of ebony;
  Its hair is black, and curly too,
    And Dinah never fails
  To braid it so it stands around
    Its head in little tails.
  We play together now and then,
    And both of us get hurt;
  But Dinah's baby seldom cries,
    And never shows the dirt,
  Is real good-natured all the time,
    And that's the reason, maybe,
  Why everybody makes a fuss
    With Dinah's little baby.

  My skin is white and satin-soft,
    My mother calls me Pearl,
  And says there never, never was
   So sweet a little girl!
  And Dinah's baby stares at me,
    And I keep staring back;
  She wonders why I am so white,
    I wonder why she's black.

  And Dinah gives her loving hugs
    And kisses that must be,
  I really think, as sweet, as those
    My mother gives to me.
  Oh, mothers' hearts are all alike,
    And that's the reason, maybe,
  Why every mother thinks she has
    The very nicest baby.



This being a game of mystery, it is, of course, necessary that it should
be unknown to, at any rate, a few of the company--the more the better.
One of the gentlemen well acquainted with the game undertakes to
represent Æsop. In order to do so more effectually, he may put a cushion
or pillow under his coat to imitate a hump, provide himself with a stick
for a crutch, make a false nose, and put a patch over one eye.

The rest of the company must then each assume the name of some subject
of the animal kingdom--a bird, beast, or fish--and having done this,
must prepare themselves to listen to the words of their great master.

Limping into their midst, Æsop then tells them that the wrath of the
great god Jupiter has been aroused, and as the cause of a calamity so
terrible must be that one or more of them have been committing some
crime or other, he is anxious to discover without further delay who are
the guilty subjects. "I shall therefore," continues he, "question you
closely all round, and I shall expect you every one to give me truthful
answers." He then fixes his mind upon a certain letter--for instance,
O--and begins, "Mr. Lion, as you are the king of beasts, I sincerely
hope you have done nothing derogatory to your high position; still, as
it is absolutely necessary that you should be examined with the rest of
your friends, will you please tell me what food you have eaten lately?"
Should the lion have eaten a lamb, a sheep, a tiger, a bear, or any
other dainty that is spelled without the letter O, he is acquitted as
innocent; but should he have eaten a leopard, a goose, a fox, or any
other creature in the name of which the letter O occurs, he is
pronounced by Æsop to be deserving of punishment, and is therefore
sentenced to pay a forfeit.

The other animals, in turn, then undergo a similar examination, during
which each one must remember that in naming his prey he must confine
himself to such food as is suited to the species he has himself adopted.
The game may be carried on for any length of time, or until all have
discovered the secret in it.

There is no fear of the interest flagging so long as even only one of
the company is still left unable to solve the mystery.

[Illustration: FUN AT RECESS--"LEAP-FROG."]

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