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´╗┐Title: Harper's Young People, August 29, 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, August 29, 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, August 29, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A STAMPEDE IN CAMP.]


[1] Begun in No. 146, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.




Luckily the water was only four feet deep, as Charley found when he
tried to touch bottom; so he stopped swimming, and with the water nearly
up to his shoulders, stood still and began to think what to do next.

The canoes--including the sunken _Midnight_--were a good mile from the
shore, and although the sandy shoal on which Charley was standing was
firm and hard, it was of small extent, and the water all around it was
too deep to be waded.

"You'll have to get into one of our canoes," said Harry.

"How am I going to do it without capsizing her?" replied Charley.

"I don't believe it can be done," said Harry, as he looked first at the
_Sunshine_ and then at the _Twilight_; "but then you've got to do it
somehow. You can't swim a whole mile, can you?"

"Of course I can't, but then it won't do me any good to spill one of you
fellows by trying to climb out of the water into a canoe that's as full
now as she ought to be. Besides, I'm not going to desert the

"I thought the _Midnight_ had deserted you," said Joe. "If my canoe
should go to the bottom of the lake without giving me any warning, I
shouldn't think it a bit rude to leave her there."

"Don't talk nonsense!" exclaimed Charley; "but come here and help me get
my canoe afloat again. We can do it, I think, if we go to work the right

Charley found no difficulty in getting hold of the painter of his canoe
with the help of his paddle. Giving the end of the painter to Joe, he
took the _Dawn_'s painter, and by ducking down under the water succeeded
after two or three attempts in reeving it through the stern-post of the
sunken canoe, and giving one end to Harry and the other to Tom. Then,
taking the bow painter from Joe, he grasped it firmly with both hands,
and at a given signal all the boys, except Joe, made a desperate effort
to bring the wreck to the surface.

They could not do it. They managed to lift her off the bottom, but Harry
and Tom in their canoes could not lift to any advantage, and so were
forced to let her settle down again.

"I've got to unload her," said Charley, gloomily. "I think we can get
her up if there is nothing in her except water. Anyhow we've got to

It was tiresome work to get the water-soaked stores and canned
provisions out of the canoe, and Charley had to duck his head under the
water at least a dozen times before the heaviest part of the
_Midnight_'s cargo could be brought up and passed into the other canoes.
His comrades wanted to jump overboard and help him, but he convinced
them that they would have great difficulty in climbing back into their
canoes, and that in all probability they would capsize themselves in so
doing. "He's right!" cried Joe. "Commodore, please make an order that
hereafter only one canoe shall be wrecked at a time. We must keep some
dry stores in the fleet."

When the _Midnight_ was partly unloaded, a new and successful effort was
made to raise her. As soon as she reached the surface Charley rolled her
over, bottom upward, and in this position the small amount of air
imprisoned under her kept her afloat.

The cause of the leak was quickly discovered. There was a hole through
her canvas bottom nearly an inch in diameter, made by some blow she had
received while on the way to the lake. The wonder was, not that she sank
when she did, but that she had floated long enough to be paddled a mile.
It is probable that the ballast-bag, which was close by the hole, had
partly stopped the leak at first, but had afterward been slightly moved,
thus permitting the water to rush freely in.

The surface of painted canvas dries very quickly in the hot sun, and it
was not long before the bottom of the _Midnight_ was dry enough to be
temporarily patched. Harry lighted his spirit-lamp and melted a little
of the lump of resin and tallow which had been provided for mending
leaks. This was spread over a patch of new canvas; the patch was then
placed over the hole, and more of the melted resin and tallow smeared
over it. In about fifteen minutes the patch was dry enough to be
serviceable, and Charley righted the canoe, bailed her out, and by
throwing himself across the cockpit, and then carefully turning himself
so as to get his legs into it, found himself once more afloat and ready
to paddle.

The canoe still leaked, but the leak could be kept under without
difficulty by occasional bailing, and in the course of half an hour the
sand-spit for which the fleet had started was reached. It was part of a
large island with steep, rocky shores and a beautiful little sandy
beach. It was just the place for a camp; and though the boys had
expected to camp some miles farther north, the sinking of Charley's
canoe had so delayed them that it was already nearly six o'clock, and
they therefore decided to paddle no farther that day.

The canoes were hauled out on the beach and unloaded, and shored up with
their rudders, back-boards, and a few pieces of drift-wood so as to
stand on an even keel. Then came the work of rigging shelters over them
for the night. Harry's canoe tent was supported by four small upright
sticks resting on the deck and fitting into cross-pieces sewed into the
roof of the tent. The sides and ends buttoned down to the gunwale and
deck of the canoe, and two curtains, one on each side, which could be
rolled up like carriage curtains in fair weather and buttoned down in
rainy weather, served both as the doors and windows of the tent. The
shelters rigged by the other boys were much less complete. The two masts
of each canoe were stepped, the paddle was lashed between them, and a
rubber blanket was hung over the paddle, with its edges reaching nearly
to the ground. The blankets and the bags which served as pillows were
then arranged, and the canoes were ready for the night.

It was a warm and clear night, and a breeze which came up from the south
at sunset blew the mosquitoes away. Harry found his tent, with the
curtains rolled up, cool and pleasant; but his fellow-canoeists found
themselves fairly suffocating under their rubber blankets, and were
compelled to throw them aside.

Toward morning, when the day was just beginning to dawn, the canoeists
were suddenly awakened by a rush of many heavy, trampling feet which
shook the ground. It was enough to startle any one, and the boys sprang
up in such a hurry that Harry struck his head against the roof of his
tent, knocked it down, upset the canoe, and could not at first decide
whether he was taking part in a railway collision, or whether an
earthquake of the very best quality had happened. The cause of the
disturbance was a herd of horses trotting down to the water's edge to
drink. There were at least twenty of them, and had the canoes happened
to be in their path, they might have stumbled over them in the faint
morning light; in which case the boys would have had the experience of
being shipwrecked on dry land.

A gentle southerly breeze wrinkled the water while breakfast was
cooking, and the Commodore ordered that the masts and sails should be
got ready for use. It was impossible to make an early start, for
Charley's blankets had to be dried in the sun, and the hole in his canoe
had to be repaired with a new patch in a thorough and workmanlike way.
It was therefore ten o'clock before the canoes were ready to be
launched; and in the mean time the wind had increased so much that the
boys decided to use only their mainsails.

The moment the sails drew, the canoes shot off at a pace which filled
the young canoeists with delight. The canoes were in good trim for
sailing, as they were not overloaded; and while they were skirting the
west shore of the island the water was quite smooth. Each canoe carried
a bag partly filled with sand for ballast, and every one except Joe had
lashed his ballast-bag to the keelson. This was a precaution which Joe
had forgotten to take, and before long he had good reason to regret his

As soon as the northern end of the island was passed, the canoes came to
a part of the lake where there was quite a heavy sea. The _Dawn_ and the
_Twilight_ were steered by the paddle, which passed through a row-lock
provided for the purpose; and Joe and Tom found little difficulty in
keeping their canoes directly before the wind. The two other canoes were
steered with rudders, and occasionally, when their bows dipped, their
rudders were thrown nearly out of the water, in consequence of which
they steered wildly. All the canoes showed a tendency to roll a good
deal, and now and then a little water would wash over the deck. It was
fine sport running down the lake with such a breeze, and the boys
enjoyed it immensely.

The wind continued to rise, and the lake became covered with white caps.
"Commodore," said Charley Smith, "I don't mean to show any disrespect to
my commanding officer, but it seems to me this is getting a little

"How is it risky?" asked Harry. "You're a sailor, and know twice as much
about boats as I do, if I am Commodore."

"It's risky in two or three ways. For instance, if the wind blows like
this much longer, a following sea will swamp some one of us."

"Oh, we're going fast enough to keep out of the way of the sea," cried

"Just notice how your canoe comes almost to a dead stop every time she
sinks between two seas, and you won't feel quite so sure that you're
running faster than the sea is."

The boys saw that Charley was right. The canoes were so light that they
lost their headway between the seas, and it was evident that they were
in danger of being overtaken by a following sea.

"Tell us two or three more dangers, just to cheer us up, won't you?"
asked Joe, who was in high spirits with the excitement of the sail.

"There's the danger of rolling our booms under, and there is a great
deal of danger that Harry's canoe and mine will broach to when our
rudders are out of water."

"What will happen if they do broach to?"

"They'll capsize, that's all," replied Charley.

"What had we better do?" asked Harry. "There's no use in capsizing
ourselves in the middle of the lake."

"My advice is that we haul on the port tack, and run over to the west
shore. The moment we get this wind and sea on the quarter, we shall be
all right--though, to be sure, we've got more sail up than we ought to

The canoes were quite near together, with the exception of the
_Twilight_, which was outsailing the others; but even she was still near
enough to be hailed. Harry hailed her, and ordered the fleet to steer
for a cove on the west shore. As soon as the wind was brought on the
port quarter, the canoes increased their speed; and although the
_Twilight_ made more leeway than the others, she drew ahead of them very
fast. The wind was now precisely what the canoes wanted to bring out
their sailing qualities. The _Sunshine_ soon showed that she was the
most weatherly, as the _Twilight_ was the least weatherly, of the fleet.
The _Midnight_ kept up very fairly with the _Sunshine_; and the _Dawn_,
with her small lateen-sail, skimmed over the water so fast that it was
evident that if she could have carried the big balance-lug of the
_Sunshine_ she would easily have beaten her.

The canoes were no longer in danger of being swamped; but the wind
continuing to rise, the boys found that they were carrying more sail
than was safe. They did not want to take in their sails and paddle, and
though all of the sails except the _Dawn_'s lateen could be reefed,
nobody wanted to be the first to propose to reef; and Harry in his
excitement forgot all about reefing. The wind, which had been blowing
very steadily, now began to blow in gusts, and the boys had to lean far
out to windward to keep their canoes right side up.

"We can't keep on this way much longer without coming to grief," Charley
cried at the top of his lungs, so that Harry, who was some distance to
windward, could hear him.

"What do you say?" replied Harry.

"We've got too much sail on," yelled Charley.

"Of course we'll sail on. This is perfectly gorgeous," was Harry's

"He don't hear," said Charley. "I say, Joe, you'd better take in your
mainsail, and set the dandy in its place. You'll spill yourself

"The dandy's stowed down, below, where I can't get at it. I guess I can
hold her up till we get across."

Tom was by this time far out of hailing distance, and was apparently
getting on very well. Charley did not doubt that he could manage his own
canoe well enough, but he was very uneasy about Harry and Joe, who did
not seem to realize that they were carrying sail altogether too
recklessly. The fleet was nearly two miles from the shore, and a capsize
in the heavy sea that was running would have been no joke.

Charley turned part-way around in his canoe to see if his life-belt was
in handy reach. As he did so he saw that the water a quarter of a mile
to windward was black with a fierce squall that was approaching. He
instantly brought his canoe up to the wind, so that the squall would
strike him on the port bow, and called out to Harry and Joe to follow
his example. Harry did not hear him, and Joe, instead of promptly
following Charley's advice, stopped to wonder what he was trying to do.
The squall explained the matter almost immediately. It struck the
_Sunshine_ and the _Dawn_, and instantly capsized them, and then rushed
on to overtake Tom, and to convince him that Lake Memphremagog is not a
good place for inexperienced canoeists who want to carry sail recklessly
in squally weather.




The postman in our Western lands is a common sight to city children;
they meet him at every corner, jostle against him on their way to
school, and spring for the messages which he brings from far-off friends
and distant relatives. No child but has a welcome for the postman.

But the carrier whose strange and picturesque figure is shown in the
illustration on the following page has but little resemblance to our
daily visitor on his hurrying round through our crowded cities. His
route is the desert--a dangerous, solitary, and fatiguing journey. Borne
by his lithe dromedary over its arid wastes, he paces the desert track,
with no pause in the nine days' travel, save when at some oasis he stops
to drink the cool water and to refresh his tired camel. At the edge of
the desert he leaves his precious load, taking in exchange the return
mail. He seldom penetrates into the cities' depths and crowded bazars,
or rests in the fragrant gardens of Damascus, but jogs backward and
forward over the dreary waste, loaded with messages from the outer
world, and yet indifferent to them all, except to deliver each one in

I wonder if he never wearies of his monotonous existence, or sighs for
some excitement in his silent journey, and for some companionship
besides that of his enduring steed?

I could never see this express-courier start forth on his desert journey
without being reminded of some lone mariner setting sail on a wide sea
for some distant port. The desert is so much like the ocean, with its
boundless expanse, the same unbroken curve of the horizon, the same
tracklessness and solitude. So the camel is often called "the ship of
the desert." Yet monotonous as the journey of this postman seems, he has
to be continually on the alert. It is not always silent meditation under
the burning sky and changeless heavens. There are hidden dangers lurking
on every side--plundering Arabs and terrible sand-storms. Many a
traveller is buried under the fierce drifts, suffocated by the driving
sand sleet.


As this singular postman swings on his way under the coppery sky, his
Syrian song fills the silence of the desert noon; the high shrill notes
tremble and ring in the air in a dreary strain, harmonizing with the
sultry, unchanging landscape. The camel steps more quickly to the music,
but the rider seems lost in a deep reverie.

No monk in his cell is more isolated than this old letter-carrier, so
shut out from the world, so separated from all human kind, yet carrying
messages of such lively interest.


A True Story.


"Mamma," said Willie Beetham, "may I go down to the beach this morning?"

"No, my boy; you know I don't like your going down there by yourself,
and nurse is too busy to take you and Lucy out just yet. You can go
there with her after luncheon."

Willie looked very much disappointed. "There's no fun going out with
nurse," he said; "she won't let me do anything. It is always: 'Now,
Master Willie, don't go there; you'll soil your shoes. Master Willie,
come back; you'll tumble into the water.' Going with her is all very
well for girls and babies; but I am a big boy now. You said so yourself
to papa the other day. I can take care of myself quite well."

The "big boy" was a bonny little fellow of six years' old, with golden
hair, and a sunny smile that won every one's heart. He was a bold,
thoughtless boy, always getting into mischief, but of such an
affectionate disposition, so sorry for having done anything to vex those
he loved, that no one was ever angry with him long. This made him less
careful, perhaps, in being obedient than he ought to have been.

"No, my boy, you can't be trusted to go by yourself just yet. You can go
into the garden and play with Lucy for a little. When nurse is ready,
she will take you both out for a walk on the beach."

Willie was very fond of his little sister, who cared for nobody so much
as for him. So he drew her about for a while in his little cart, ran
races, and pulled daisies with her in the field. But all would not do.
He wanted to go down to the shore. Where he stood he could see the
bright waves rolling in to land. He forgot all that had been said to
him, and resolved to go. He would not stay long.

"Lucy, I am going down to the beach for a little while. Wait here till I
come back, and don't tell any one where I have gone. I'll be back in a
quarter of an hour."

Off he ran without waiting for a reply. Lucy remained quietly sitting,
pulling the daisies, and plaiting them into a long chain, thinking how
it would please her brother. The quarter of an hour passed, half an
hour, an hour. Willie did not appear. Lucy was too faithful to leave her
post; but time was beginning to hang heavy on her hands, and, besides,
she was growing frightened at his absence. Lucy began to cry.

What was Willie about meanwhile? On reaching the shore, which was only
about five minutes' walk from the house, his delight knew no bounds at
being able to scamper about everywhere without being perpetually called
to order. He ran races with the waves that were rolling in, clear and
shining, and breaking in white foam on the yellow sands, and shouted
with glee when he just saved his distance, and escaped without even
wetting the toes of his boots. Then he tossed about the great heaps of
brown weed and tangle, and searched for the lovely crimson sea-weed his
elder sister used to gather and set so prettily on white paper when she
came home for the holidays. Then, as the tide was low, he scrambled in
among the rocks, and in the clear pools he found crabs and cockles and
beautiful red and striped sea-anemones. Willie was very fond of natural
history, which his papa used to teach him occasionally, and he became so
absorbed in examining these pretty things that he not only forgot what
his mamma had said, but also his promise to his little sister of
returning in a quarter of an hour.

He was still busy poking about in the clear water of the pool, when he
suddenly felt a cold plash on his foot. Starting up, he saw, to his
dismay, that the water had been gradually creeping up and surrounding
the low rock on which he was standing looking into the pool. At first he
could not think how that had come about, as the sands had been quite dry
toward the land side when he first went on to it. Suddenly it dawned on
him that the tide must be rising. He did not know very well what the
rising and falling tide meant, as his parents had not lived very long by
the sea, but he remembered hearing his papa speak of people having been
caught by the high tide and drowned. If he had started at once, he might
still have got safely to shore by wading. But he was too much terrified
to think of trying it. Looking about him, he saw a large flat rock near,
and with some difficulty he succeeded in scrambling on to it. He thought
it must be high enough to shelter him, until the tide should fall again.
Had he not heard papa say that the tide fell as well as rose?

Placed thus, as he thought, in a position of safety, Willie's spirits
began to rise again. All his fear had vanished, and he began to pretend
to himself that he was a shipwrecked sailor cast away on a desert
island; and he could not help laughing with glee when the merry little
waves, dashing against the rock he was standing on, sent up sparkling
showers of spray that seemed trying to reach him, but couldn't.

"Aha!" he thought, "you'll be clever if you catch me here on this big
rock. I wish you'd be quick and go lower, though. I want to go home to
mamma and Lucy."

Instead of going lower, however, the water kept rising higher and
higher, until at length a wave, in breaking on the rock, sent a shower
of spray in Willie's face.

The tide had been rising so fast that the shore seemed a long distance
away now. The rock where he had been standing looking into the pool was
now completely covered with water.

Oh, how he wished himself now sitting with Lucy plucking daisies in the
field! How he repented of having been so disobedient to his kind mamma,
who, he remembered now when it was too late, never forbade him anything
except for his own good! How he resolved that he would never, never more
be disobedient if he should ever again reach the land! But still the
water kept rising.

In the mean time poor little Lucy sat crying on the lawn with her lap
full of daisies.

"Miss Lucy! Miss Lucy! come in and get on a clean pinafore before

"Lucy tan't tome in yet, nursie; Lucy p'omised to wait here for Willie."

"Why, I thought Master Willie was here with you. Where is he gone to?"

"Lucy no tell oo where Willie is don to. Lucy p'omised no tell 'at
Willie is don to de beach."

"Gone down to the beach, indeed? Well, his mamma will be real angry, and
his papa too."

Lucy began to cry again at the thought of papa and mamma being angry
with Willie; but nurse carried her off to get her clean pinafore on
before luncheon.

"Are the children ready, nurse?" called papa from the dining-room. Papa
liked to have his little people about him at meal-times.

"Miss Lucy is a-coming, sir; but she says Master Willie has gone down to
the shore."

"To the shore! impossible!" says mamma. "I told him this morning he was
not to go alone."

"Well, ma'am, all I know is that Miss Lucy says so; and, as I can't find
him nowhere, I think it must be so."

"Run down to the beach and see if he is there," says papa. "If he is
disobedient like this, we must be more severe with him in future."

They began luncheon.

Suddenly, in the midst of carving a fowl, Mr. Beetham dropped the
carving knife and fork.

"My dear," he said to his wife. "I hope it is not a spring-tide to-day.
If it be, and that boy has got among the rocks, it might be a bad

The almanac was consulted, and announced a high spring-tide for that
day. Any little boy or girl who had seen the dismay on Mr. and Mrs.
Beetham's faces on learning this would have resolved never to be
disobedient again so as to grieve such kind parents.

Mr. Beetham was starting up to go himself in search of the naughty
little truant, when nurse rushed in to the room.

"Oh, sir!" she cried, "Master Willie is standing on a rock far out in
the sea. He is waving his handkerchief and shouting, but there is no
getting to him."

"Run for Fisherman Ralph," said Mr. Beetham.

"My dear," to his wife, "don't be afraid. Ralph's boat will soon get him
ashore. Mind little Lucy while I run down and help to get it out."

But he was very much afraid, for all that, when, on reaching the beach,
he saw his little boy standing on a point of rock that threatened every
instant to be covered with the rising water.

"Ralph," he cried, as the fisherman--a tall, stalwart figure in a blue
cap and corduroys--came up, "where is your boat?"

"Jack's gone a-fishing in it," said Ralph.

"Heavens! what shall we do?" cried Mr. Beetham. "My boy will be drowned
before my very eyes."

"Not if I can help it, sir," said Ralph, throwing off his jacket. "I'm
big enough. I'll see if I can't wade to him."

"He'll never reach him," cried Mr. Beetham, running up and down the
beach in an agony of anxiety, which was shared by all the by-standers,
as the strong man strode on with the water above his waist, and the rock
still not reached. It was nearly up to his shoulders before he got to
where Willie stood.


"Steady, steady, young master. Don't be afraid of a wetting, and don't
hold on so fast. I've got you safe enough now." And so, half wading,
half swimming, the gallant fellow, battling with the great waves that
were now rolling in heavily, brought poor Willie, drenched and cold, to
land, and laid him in his glad father's arms.

Another minute and the rock had disappeared.

Willie learned a lesson that day which he has never forgotten, and after
papa, mamma, and little Lucy, there is no one he loves so much as big
Fisherman Ralph, who saved his life on the day of the high tide.




It is not seldom, in the melancholy records of shipwreck, that the
"noble savage" maintains the character with which writers of romance
have invested him. He is generally cruel, pitiless, greedy of gain, and
more to be feared by the helpless mariner than the reef or the storm.
There have been, however, one or two exceptions to this general rule,
and the British sailor Captain Philip Austin had reason to speak well of
the Caribs of Tobago.

In 1756 he sailed from Barbadoes, in a brig of eighty tons, to the Dutch
settlement of Surinam. These people were so much in need of horses that
at that time no vessel was permitted to trade with them of whose lading
horses did not form a part, and, as well may be imagined, they were not
the safest kind of cargo. So rigidly was this strange rule enforced that
masters of ships were compelled to preserve the ears and hoofs of horses
dying on the passage, and to make oath that they had embarked them alive
for the colony.

On the night of the 10th of August, of the year mentioned, when near
their journey's end, and while Austin and his mate were keeping watch
together, "sitting on hen-coops" and "telling stories to one another, in
order to while away the time, according to the customs of mariners of
all countries," the broadside of the brig suddenly turned to windward,
through the fouling of the tiller, and there being a heavy sea on, she
filled at once, so that five out of the nine men who formed her crew
"were drowned in their hammocks without a groan." The vessel then upset,
going completely over, with her masts and sails in the water, "the
horses rolling out above each other, and the whole together exhibiting a
most distressing sight."

The coast was of sand, and the sea comparatively shallow, so that some
portions of the brig were above water. To these the survivors clung, and
at once stripped themselves of their clothes, except one who could not
swim, and who was therefore without hope of saving himself by that
means. There was one small boat, twelve feet long, fortunately unsecured
by lashings, and this floated out, and was seized upon by the mate, but
it was bottom upward.

Austin swam out to him, and the two endeavored to right her. This, after
many efforts, was accomplished, "the mate contriving to put his feet
against the gunwale and to seize the keel with his hands," while Austin
"tilted her up from the opposite side with his shoulders." She was
still, however, full of water. This was got rid of in a very ingenious
manner, for the enormous hat which Austin wore, "after the fashion of
the dwellers in the West Indies," was useless to bail her. The mast of
the brig rose and fell some twenty feet, and the captain fastened a rope
to its top, and held on to it from the boat. Whenever the vessel rose,
it lifted up him and the boat, by which three-fourths of the water was
emptied; but "having no means of disengaging her from the masts and
shrouds, they fell down, driving him and the boat under the surface, and
nearly breaking his thigh."

Despite his wound, which, however, rendered any further attempt without
assistance hopeless, Austin threw himself into the water, and with the
rope in his mouth swam to the men on board the brig, who, by their
united strength, hauled the boat over the brig's stern, and emptied it.
A hole, however, was knocked in it by this rough treatment, which was
repaired by being stuffed with the shirt of the man who could not swim,
and had therefore retained that garment. They had no oar, no sail, and
except a dog belonging to the captain, "which was gladly taken in case
of necessity," no provisions.

The brig remained longer above water than might have been expected, for
she had casks of flour and butter on board, "the former of which slowly
imbibes water, and the latter always swims," but none of these things
could be got at. When she sank, the boat being still kept near her, a
chest containing clothes and linen, with chocolate and sugar, floated
out of her, and for these poor sailors it contained more than the riches
of the Indies. It was too large, however, to be lifted into the boat,
which, indeed, it would have sunk; and though they exhausted every means
to open it, they found this impossible, and had to let it go. They
picked up thirteen floating onions, and that was all.

They had no fresh-water; they were without any kind of implement except
a knife, which was in the pocket of the sailor who could not swim, and
they calculated that at the very nearest they were one hundred and fifty
miles from land. Surely never were human creatures in a worse position.

Not a moment, however, was lost in vain regrets. By patient perseverance
they loosened one of the planks with which the boat was lined, and
formed it into a kind of mast, which they tied to the foremost thwart;
another piece of plank served as a yard, and to this they fixed their
only pair of trousers for a sail. Two of the men had always to lie along
the gunwale with their backs to the waves, which would otherwise have
swamped the boat, and, even so, another had constantly to bail it by
means of the Dutch hat.

Thus they ran before the wind all night at the rate of about a league an
hour. At daylight they ate half an onion each, which "wonderfully
revived them," but they were tormented with agonies of thirst. Their
naked limbs, too, were so scorched with the sun that from head to foot
they were red and blistered as from fire. On the third day the captain
killed his dog. He "afterward reflected on it with regret, but at that
time no such sentiment affected him."

At last the exhausted men gave themselves up to despair, and refused to
make any more exertions for their own deliverance, nor would he who had
to bail the boat continue to do so, though Austin fell "on his knees to
entreat him."

On the fifth day an enormous shark followed the boat--an omen the dark
meaning of which was only too well known to them; and this depressed
them still further. The dog had long been eaten, and they caught but one
flying-fish, which was little indeed among so many. There were several
heavy showers, but there was nothing to catch the rain in but the hat
and the trousers, which had become so impregnated by salt-water that
they were almost useless for that purpose. "Their only resource was
endeavoring to catch a few drops as they fell into their open mouths to
cool the heat of their tongues."

The two seamen drank sea-water and became delirious, but the captain and
mate resisted that temptation; they each kept a nail in his mouth, and
sprinkled his head with water, which afforded but slight relief to their
sufferings. On the eighth day the two men died, but in the evening the
boat reached land, and the two survivors, "forsaking the bodies of their
companions, crept out of the boat and crawled on all fours" along the
sand. The cliffs that walled it they were quite unable to climb up.

At eight in the morning a young Carib discovered them, "whose eyes, upon
beholding their forlorn appearance, filled with tears." He understood a
few French words, and informed them that they were on the island of
Tobago. He brought them fresh-water, which they drank with passionate
eagerness, and cakes of cassava and broiled fish, which they could not

Other natives showed them similar kindness, removing the two corpses out
of the boat "with signs of the utmost compassion," and following in all
respects the example of the good Samaritan. They brought soup, which
seemed to Austin the most delicious food he had ever tasted, but his
stomach was in so weak a state that it refused to retain it. Herbs and
broth were prepared for him by the women, and his wound was bathed with
a lotion made of tobacco. Every morning the men lifted these
unfortunates from their hammocks, and carried them in their arms under
the shade of a lemon-tree while they anointed their blistered skin with
a healing oil pressed from the tails of crabs.

In consequence of this friendly care and attention Austin was able in
three weeks to go about on crutches, and receive Carib visitors from all
parts of the island, "none of whom came empty handed." He gave boards
with his name cut on them, to be shown to any ship captains who might
chance to touch on the island, and after many weeks this plan met with
success. A sloop, bound for Martinique, laden with mules, touched at
Sandy Point, the western extremity of Tobago, and its master at once
sent the intelligence to Messrs. Roscoe & Nyles at Barbadoes, the owners
of Captain Austin's bark, who promptly sent a small vessel to fetch him.

When about to depart, the friendly Caribs loaded him down with presents
of poultry and fruit, especially oranges and lemons, which they thought
useful for his recovery. He had absolutely nothing to give them in
return, save the boat in which he had arrived, and which they might have
taken without his leave. More than thirty of them accompanied him to the
beach, where, at parting from them, "neither Austin nor the mate could
refrain from tears."

The effects of the poor captain's privations were lasting. His digestion
was so impaired that he could hardly speak or walk, and had to give up
his calling and return to England. His case excited much public
attention. A Bath physician, Dr. Russell, who had resided in the East,
and was accustomed to deal with cases arising from long-protracted
thirst in the Arabian deserts, came to London to prescribe for him. By
means of constant bathing, and asses' milk for his only diet, Austin
regained his health in six months, and survived his disaster
two-and-twenty years.



Part I.

This is the story of a boy who had red hair, a good appetite, and much
else in common with other boys; one who rose very high in the world, who
came down and rose again, not so high, but in a better way. He was not a
genius, or I should not tell his story; for there are so many boy
geniuses nowadays in books that the record of a common red-haired child
may be more interesting, as a change.

One day fifteen years ago there had been a county fair in Langham. The
grounds were full of people even at six o'clock in the afternoon. But
under the tent the gay bed-spreads, the oil-paintings, the hair flowers,
and the wax-works were being taken down, while the farmers' wives were
exchanging compliments, sample biscuit, and currant jelly. Outside the
canvas the men were taking away the cattle--the great oxen with prize
tickets on their horns, or sheep, or swine, or poultry. Everywhere there
was bellowing, grunting, shouting, scolding, and some grumbling. This
last was chiefly done by a noisy party who came to the fair, not to
bring the grain or cattle raised by their industry, but to stare at the
two-headed calf never raised by anybody, to bet on horses, to steal
water-melons, and to join at last the crowd that was elbowing around a
man with a balloon, in which he was to go up when ready. This balloon,
already inflated, was fastened by a rope to a well-driven stake, and
floated a little way above the ground. Among the lookers-on, some who
pretended to know declared that it was not a very good balloon, and must
surely come to grief.

After a while the man drew down the car low enough to get into it, and
cried out: "Does anybody wish to accompany us in our grand aerial
flight?" He said "us," as sounding fine; but he immediately explained
that he would take a light gentleman only.

In a moment there shot from the crowd a long-legged, keen-eyed boy about
fourteen years old, who nimbly stowed himself into the car, amid great
laughter and shouts of "There goes Billy Knox!" "Good-night, Billy!"
"Bring us down a star, Billy!" and like efforts at wit.

"Did you ever see a chap so ready and willing to risk his life for
nothing?" asked somebody; and another man answered, coolly, "'Tain't no
loss if he does break his neck; nobody owns him, and the world will be
well rid of him."

Billy heard the heartless words, and turned to look at the speaker,
while the owner of the machine arranged the ropes before getting into
the car.


Suddenly, like a bubble from a pipe bowl, up rose the balloon, Billy in
and the man out! The crowd gave a gasp of surprise, the man stared
stupidly, and then, just too late, leaped up like an acrobat, and
clutched--only air. Billy, moving slowly up, sat like a statue; but loud
and clear came down from the car a cry, not of terror, almost one of

"He'll be killed, sure," said the former speaker, emphatically, and his
companion echoed, "Don't seem to care a bit about it either, just as you

Some of the people thought it a trick of the owner of the balloon, but
his frantic denial and his evident distress at the loss of his property
proved it to have been a mishap. Meanwhile the news flew like the wind
over the field, and in a moment hundreds of faces were upturned toward
the vanishing balloon. Everybody hoped the boy would not meet a dreadful
death, though a goodly number said it might better be Billy than any one
else; and all alike watched, not sorry, if such a thing must happen,
that they were there to see it.

Up, up, went the car, and "nobody's boy" was rising far above the earth.
The sunset light smote his red hair, and made it glitter like gold. But
Billy was soon too far away for the crowd to jeer at him, even if the
roughest could have done so while the boy was in such terrible peril.

Billy looked down once and shouted. Then he began to wish that his
conveyance would travel sideways, instead of rising so steadily.

It occurred to him at last that if the man who owned the balloon were in
the car, he would probably turn some "stop-cock" or other, and let
himself down. However, Billy was not sure that he wanted to go down even
if he could.

As he rose higher and higher, the people on the ground below him began
to look like small things crawling, and the great white tent almost like
a card-board house. He questioned whether or not he should meddle with
any mysterious part of the balloon. He remembered, not unpleasantly,
having heard some one early in the day say it would certainly collapse
of itself. If collapse meant to come down, to meddle with it might be to
turn on steam and send him beyond the sun and moon, where he had no
desire to go. He sailed across a forest, over a river, lost sight of the
fair ground, and then began to come nearer earth, slowly nearer, then
faster, the car rocking in a way that threatened to dump him out.

"We are surely 'collapsing,'" thought Billy. He grew a little dizzy, the
earth seemed coming to meet him, and all the houses, barns, and
hay-stacks were inflated, in their turn, and getting bigger. At last a
gnarled old tree that had been charging straight on the balloon ran into
it, upset, tore it, and after entangling Billy in ropes and branches,
tearing his clothes, scratching his hands and switching him like an
old-time school-marm, let him fall roughly down to earth. He was glad to
lie quiet, thinking first of the torn balloon, then of himself.

While he was thinking, the words that he had heard that afternoon as he
entered the car came back to him: "Nobody owns him, and the world will
be well rid of him."

Heretofore he had been proud of the fact that nobody owned him. He had
never thought of himself as a nuisance to the community. Billy had not
much sentiment, but to-night his heart ached as well as his limbs. He
thought of all his past life as intently as a boy could think. He had
begun to take care of himself when he was only eight years old. He dimly
remembered his poor mother as always enveloped in the steam from hot
soap suds, a practical kind of a halo, the result of her efforts to feed
him with honestly earned bread. She died and left him to the care of a
drunken father, who two years later followed her to the grave.

The town gave Billy a home in the poor-house, but he staid there only
three days. At the end of it he resolved to start out into the world and
earn his own bread. He ran away to the nearest city, where he blacked
boots, sold papers, learned a certain amount of evil in the streets, and
some good, in a night school. Finally he tired of city life, and started
for California, but after getting ten miles on the way, his money gave
out, and his courage too. He found himself in the town of Langham, and
there he staid, doing odd jobs when he could get them, and at other
times amusing himself as best he could.

There never was a fire that Billy was not close behind the hose-cart, or
a circus that he did not ride the kicking donkey, or a county fair where
he was not present looking out for anything in the way of fun that
offered. His last undertaking was going up in a balloon. Now here he
was, down again, and the question was, what should he do next?

A boy in a book would have decided to become a judge, or a merchant, or
an artist; but Billy had another ambition. He desired to become a
negro-minstrel. He knew one, a man who wore fine clothes and had plenty
of money. He earned it by being funny--oh, so extremely funny.

While Billy was considering the matter, he heard a voice, and looking up
saw a man following a cow. Naturally enough, the balloon, attracted the
man's attention, and he came near enough to discover the boy.

A conversation followed, in which the whole story was told.

"Well," said Billy's new friend, who proved to be a tailor in a very
small way of business, "how do you feel now?"

"Lonesome and sort of empty."

"Do you mean hungry?"

"Perhaps that's it," said Billy.

"Then you may come home with me to-night," said the man, "and after
supper I'll see if the balloon is spoiled.'

"It is only collapsed," said Billy, very pompously; but when on getting
up to walk he found his clothing reduced to about half what he had
before, he assumed a meeker tone, and followed his new friend
thankfully. The cow going first, turned down a lane bordered with
sunflowers, and stopped by the door of a wee red house. A moment after,
a small figure with a tin pail came out of the house, and sat down to
milk the cow.

"This is my son Ben," said the host.

At first Billy had taken the child for a girl, for the little boy's
checked apron came down to his copper-toed shoes, and he wore a green
sun-bonnet, under which Billy saw soft white hair, and a very sweet
face. They entered a kitchen, small, bare, but very clean, where a table
was spread with blue dishes, brown-bread, baked apples, and cold pork.
In the chimney-corner sat a little old woman, who sang as she rocked.
She was very deaf, but she smiled on Billy, on the tailor, and on her
little grandson. She would have smiled on anybody, as to that. But a
grandmother's kind face being new to Billy, he thought it beautiful. He
found the supper exceedingly good, if not very abundant, and he was
interested in watching Ben. The child soberly washed the dishes, and
neatly swept up the crumbs, saying very little. The reason for his
silence was after a while apparent to Billy: little Ben stuttered.

After supper, the room being warm, and Billy being tired, he dozed in a
corner of the old lounge. While he slept the tailor went to see about
the balloon, and staid a long time.

Later in the evening Billy was awakened by a voice. Ben was reading to
his grandmother. She had her cap off, and her hair was as white as snow.
She was warming her feet over the last coals, while Ben held a candle in
one hand, and bent over an old book.

"'He shall call upon me, and I will answer him,'" read the boy, in his
awkward, stuttering tones. "'I will be with him in trouble. I will
deliver him, and honor him. With long life will I satisfy him, and show
him my salvation.'"

Billy did not catch the last word, for the child could scarcely
pronounce it, but he asked, abruptly, "Who will do it?"

The old grandmother heard the boy's voice, and answered: "God will do it
all for those who love Him."

"Folks like you, old and good, I suppose," added Billy, as she tottered
away to bed.

Once she would have stopped to teach him some holy lesson, but now she
had crept in her feebleness so close to the door of heaven that she was
forgetful of all darkness that might be behind her for younger
travellers. Billy fell asleep again, then waked up blinking. The outer
door was open, and Ben was pulling, bracing, and otherwise guiding his
father into the house.

When the tailor was safely dumped into a wooden chair, he began to
jabber about the "b'loon, you know--scientif'--experiment. If I got a
chance--like to own b'loon myself--always was scientific."

"Humph! that's it, is it?" said Billy, stretching out again for the
night. He had seen too much of life to be either shocked or surprised.
Doubtless Ben could get his drunken father to bed alone; and the child
did indeed do it, as he often had done it before.


[Illustration: THE RABBIT HUTCH.]



"But you can't expect Hatty to put off her birthday, can you?" and Ralph
Wicksley shied a small pebble against the hand of his friend by way of
emphasizing the absurdity of the idea.

"Oh, pshaw! of course not," replied the other boy, with a half-smile;
"but ten chances to one it rains at a picnic anyway, and on a Friday,
and the 13th of the month, there's no knowing what may not happen."

"Why, George Hendon, how long since you've turned a superstitious
pagan?" exclaimed a voice behind the two, who were taking a "sun bath"
on the beach at Seamere.

"Hello, Graham!" cried Ralph, springing to his feet. "We'll leave the
matter to you. You know about the picnic we're to give your sister on
her thirteenth birthday? Well, we've just discovered that it occurs not
only on the 13th of the month, but on a Friday besides, and George here
thinks we ought to postpone it on that account. It's all nonsense, isn't

"I don't believe any of the girls will go on that day," put in George,
by way of influencing Graham Burd's answer.

"And I don't believe one of them has thought of the coincidence,"
returned the latter; "and probably never will, unless you put it into
their heads. You're not afraid to go yourself, are you?"

"Well, no, I'm not exactly afraid, but I think we'd feel more
comfortable all around if we should choose some other day. You know
sailors are terribly superstitious, and if, while we are in the boat,
some one should mention the three queer facts (although I give you my
word it won't be me), all the pleasure for some of the girls would be

"Oh, don't you believe it!" cried Graham. "I'm sure Hatty, for one, has
too much sense to make herself miserable because of a mere silly old
wives' tale, so don't put it off on her account. Besides, there'll be
more than thirteen in the party, which fact of itself ought to calm the
fears of the most timid."

George said no more on the subject; everybody went on making
preparations for the long-anticipated expedition to Forest Island; and
when the day arrived, no more beautiful one could have dawned. By ten
o'clock the Burds' tiny wharf was crowded with the young summer
residents of Seamere, who were transferred, amid much laughter, chatter,
and playful shrieks, to Ralph Wicksley's handsome Whitehall row-boat.

"It's too bad the Maxtons can't go, isn't it?" remarked Hatty, as the
boys pushed off, and good-byes were waved to fathers and mothers on the
lawn. "Their cousin Jack arrived from South America last night, and as
he can only stay with them one day, of course they didn't like to leave

"Yes, I had the other boat all ready to bring along," added Ralph; "but
as the party was thus reduced by four, I thought it would be pleasanter
for us all to keep together."

"Why, I do declare," exclaimed Albertina Brown, a few moments later,
"there are just thirteen of us! It's lucky we're to eat on the grass and
not at a table."

"And to-day's Friday!" cried Fanny Ray.

"And the 13th of the month!" added her sister Helen.

"And my thirteenth birthday!" finished Hatty, whereupon a chorus of
dismal "Oh! oh! ohs!" arose from all the girls, while Ralph cast a
despairing glance toward Graham, and George Hendon smiled the least bit
triumphantly at them both.

"Let's go back," proposed a faint girlish voice, after the first
excitement had subsided; but such a "cowardly course" was at once vetoed
by a deep-toned "Forward!" from the boys, who bent to their oars with
curved backs in their determination to prove how splendidly everything
could be made to go off in spite of the series of ill omens.

The girls, however, could think of nothing else but the wonderful
inauspicious coincidences, and although not one of them, when questioned
individually, would acknowledge to being really superstitious, still the
numberless stories told in which unlucky days and figures were shown at
their worst were almost sufficient, one would think, to sink the boat of

Among others was the tale of the matter-of-fact ship-owner, who put no
faith in any of the sailors' silly beliefs, and who, to prove their
absurdity, laid the keel of a vessel on Friday, named it _Friday_,
launched it on a Friday, at length succeeded in finding a crew for it
commanded by a Captain Friday, set sail on that day, and--was never
heard of afterward.

To offset the depressing effects of this tragic albeit somewhat doubtful
narrative, Ralph told about the Thirteen Club which had been recently
organized in the city, the membership of which was restricted to
thirteen, and which met _for dinner_ on the 13th of each month at a
hotel the name of which was spelled with thirteen letters. "And nothing
'perfectly awful' has befallen any one of the members so far as heard
from," concluded Ralph, exultingly.

There were certainly several grains of comfort to be extracted from this
fact, and cheerfulness began to diffuse itself once more over the party,
when Fanny Ray, who was steering, suddenly declared that the sight of
salt-water on every side of her always made her thirsty for a drink of
fresh, and a search was at once instituted for the water jug.

"I saw Graham put it somewhere in the stern here," continued Fanny; "but
don't any of you boys try to get at it, for you'll be sure to put your
foot into the basket of cake or the jar of jelly. Here, Hatty, I think I
feel it right down here; but Ralph says I mustn't let go of the ropes;
so will you please stoop down and lift it out for me?"

Now, as may be imagined, with a party of thirteen aboard, there was not
much spare room in the boat, so when anything was wanted from the bottom
of it, it had to be felt, not looked for.

"I've got hold of the cork, at any rate," she presently announced, "but
the jug seems to be wedged in some way. There, now! I've pulled the cork
out. Oh dear! why didn't I find the handle?"

"Let me try," proposed George, giving his oar to Phil Hallibey, and
making his way aft.

"Here's the glass!" exclaimed Albertina; "and I'm thirsty too."

"Oh, George Hendon, right on my foot!" cried Helen.

"Careful now," commanded Fanny. "I'm awfully sorry to make all this
trouble, and--"

"O--h--h! we're sinking! we're sinking! Help! help!"

And the next moment it became known to them all that Hatty had mistaken
the boat plug for the cork of the water bottle, had pulled it out, and
that now the river was pouring in with appalling swiftness.

"Pull for the flats, fellows!" shouted Ralph, tearing off his jacket as
he spoke. "Here, George, see if you can stuff this coat into the hole;
and, girls, keep perfectly quiet, or you'll overturn the boat. Don't
mind if you do get wet, but sit still."

Ralph spoke in loud, commanding tones that were at once obeyed; but the
danger was by no means over. The boat was settling rapidly, the water
being already half-way up to the thwarts, but ruined skirts and soaked
shoes were never thought of as all sat watching breathlessly, now
George's efforts to stop the leak, now the light streak on the river
that marked the edge of the flats, and which was still several yards

"Pull! pull!" cried Ralph, working himself with all his strength. "Can't
you stop it, George? We're nearly there, girls."

Higher and higher rose the water in the boat; again and again was George
baffled in his attempts to stem the incoming floods, as in the crowded
condition of the stern he could not see what he was doing, and to ask
any one to move would be to endanger capsizing the whole party. And all
the while the sun shone brightly down on the sparkling river; the
village, too, was still in sight, and not far off was the shady island
where the picnic was to be held. It seemed terrible to think of going
down, down amid such--

"Saved!" suddenly shouted Ralph, as the boat shot out from the channel
and in among the eel-grass. "Somebody's sure to see and take us off very
soon, and meanwhile you needn't mind sitting in the water, as long as it
isn't up to your eyes. It's salt, so you won't catch cold."

Nevertheless the situation of the party was anything but a pleasant one,
for the boat settled until it touched bottom, and then careened over,
throwing both Graham Burd and Phil Hallibey into the river.

"Here comes a boat!" suddenly exclaimed Albertina.

"And it's the Maxtons out rowing with their cousin Jack," added Hatty.

The young cousin from South America proved to be an old sailor, and
under his superintendence the girls were soon carried ashore in
detachments to the nearest point, after which he returned to help "raise
the wreck."

The thirteen having been dried and lunched at their several homes, they
all met to spend the afternoon at the Maxtons', where the same useful
cousin proved himself likewise a master-hand at entertaining, so what
with games, stories, music, and ice-cream, the lost excursion was
lavishly atoned for; and when a terrible thunder-storm about three
o'clock caused them all to feel glad that they were not on Forest
Island, even George Hendon acknowledged that in spite of coincidences
and the boat plug, their Friday picnic was a lucky one after all.




Travelling in our country is both comfortable and agreeable, if the
traveller will pay attention to a few directions. I suppose, dear little
friends, that you have seen fussy and fidgety people on the road, who
made themselves and other people unhappy by their behavior. The cars
were too warm or too cold, the locomotive was going too fast or too
slow, they feared the baby in the next seat had the whooping-cough, or
they were sure there would be a collision. If on the water, they were in
terror lest the engineer was racing, and the uneasiness they felt made
them wretched.

Now, my dears, listen to me. When you go on a journey you are a
passenger; your ticket is paid for; and as you are neither captain,
pilot, conductor, nor engineer, give yourself no trouble about the way
car or boat is being managed. Never take responsibility that does not
belong to you.

The old Romans used to call baggage _impedimenta_. They tried to have as
little of it as they could when on a march. Unless you are going to stay
a long time, take no more luggage than is necessary. A little hand-bag
or a shawl-strap, with perhaps an umbrella, is all that a young
traveller should have to care for on a journey.

When you purchase your ticket, if no older friend is with you to attend
to the checking of your trunk, you must see to it yourself. This is very
simple. Go with your ticket to the place to which the expressman has
taken your trunk, show your ticket to the baggage-master, and he will
attach a check to your goods, and give you one precisely like it. You
must put this away in a place where you can get at it conveniently, as
you must return it to the steamer or railway company when you claim your

Never tuck your ticket out of sight or into some out-of-the-way pocket.
Have it ready to show the conductor whenever it is called for.

A little girl is sometimes uncertain what to do about her money if she
is travelling with a gentleman. For instance, Eda is going to visit
Angeline, and at the station in New York she is met by Angeline's
brother Dick. She does not wish him to purchase her ticket, but she
feels awkward about offering him the money to pay for it.

The proper thing for Eda is to hand her pocket-book to Mr. Dick, and
request him to take from it the amount of her fare. The pleasantest way,
if the journey be a long one, would be for Eda's papa to give her escort
a sufficient sum to pay all her expenses.

People on a journey should not be selfish. Nobody should take two seats
when only entitled to one. Two or three merry boys and girls travelling
together should be careful not to laugh and talk so loudly that they
annoy others. Ladies and gentlemen never do this. You can have a great
deal of fun without being conspicuous.

Never neglect a chance to do a kindness to an aged or feeble person.
Nothing is more beautiful on the road than courtesy from the young to
those who are old or in trouble.



How often has it happened that on reaching a camping ground, hotel, or
boarding-house near river or lake, where pickerel, bass, and large perch
abounded, I have found no provision for the angler's sport but a boat;
no lines, sinkers, or floats; no nets for catching live bait, and no
bait but worms! For sunfish, cat-fish, and small perch, worms are very
fair bait; but for pickerel, bass, and large perch, live bait is best.
Under such trying circumstances, I have learned to get up at short
notice and at small expense many make-shifts and aids that may be of
great assistance and consolation to other young anglers when placed in a
similar position.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.]

Fig. 1 is an end section of a mosquito-net seine for taking live bait.
The length of the seine is thirty-eight feet; depth, five feet. The
"cork line" (A A) consists of a small-sized clothes-line. Corks not
always being obtainable, I have used pieces of thoroughly seasoned white
pine three inches in length and one inch in diameter (C C C). Through
these rounded pieces of wood holes are bored, through which the
clothes-line passes. These floats are placed eight inches apart, and are
kept in position by the clothes-line fitting tightly in the holes. At
the bottom of the seine another clothes-line is sewed to the netting;
(B B). This is called the "lead line," and is for the purpose of keeping
the lower part of the seine close to the bottom of the water. On the
"lead line" pieces of sheet-lead one inch in length are fastened
(H H H) twenty-eight inches apart. The "staff" (D) is a well-seasoned
piece of hickory six feet long, to the lower end of which sheet-lead is
also fastened (at E) to keep it down. To the staff is attached the staff
line (F F F), thirty feet long, which is for the purpose of drawing in
the seine after it has been cast.

A seine of this size is generally worked by two persons and two boats.
Each person takes one of the staff lines in his boat, and rowing toward
the shore with the extended seine, describes a semicircle between the
boats. As the shore is approached, each boat closes in, thereby causing
the two staffs to meet, and imprison, all the fish that have come within
the bounds of the seine. When one person works the seine, one of the
staff lines is tied to a rock or stake on the shore, and the other line
is taken into a boat, or the operator wades out, and causes his end of
the seine to describe a circle until the two staffs meet. Great care
must be taken to keep the lead line close to the bottom, otherwise the
fish will escape. In the selection of the seining ground always avoid
stony bottoms, snags, and brush, which will cause the seine to "roll up"
and tear.

The cost of the above-described seine ranges from three to four dollars,
and is capable of lasting two seasons if carefully handled and spread
out on the grass to dry after using it. A much superior article to
mosquito net is bobinet, which will last several seasons.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.]

Fig. 2 is a bait boat, for keeping the bait alive. It is towed behind or
kept by the side when fishing. The top and bottom pieces consist of
half-inch pine "stuff"; in the centre of each piece square openings are
cut; that on the top is protected by a door made of wire-cloth of
quarter-inch mesh, fastened to two small staples, which answer the
purpose of hinges; over the opening in the bottom piece wire-cloth is
nailed, to admit of a free circulation of water. Under the back end of
the top piece a cleet is nailed, also two cleets on the bottom piece, as
shown in the figure. At the bow of the boat an upright piece of wood is
fastened to the top and bottom of the bait boat by means of screws. The
sides of the boat consist of one piece of wire-cloth, the ends of which
meet at the upright piece of wood at the bow, and are nailed with
broad-headed galvanized nails. The top and bottom edges of the
wire-cloth are also fastened with nails to the edges of the top and
bottom of the boat, as shown in the figure. A tow-line is fastened to
the bow, and the boat is complete.

[Illustration: FIG. 3.]

When handling the bait a small hand-net (Fig. 3) is used, consisting of
a stout piece of wire bent as shown in the figure; the straight parts of
the wire are bound together with fishing-line, and constitute the
handle; to this frame netting is sewed to form the net bag.

When fish are caught, they ought to be kept in water to keep the scales
soft, otherwise they become dry and set, and are troublesome to clean.

[Illustration: FIG. 4.]

For a make-shift float I have found nothing better than a good-sized
bottle cork, into which a cut has been made with a sharp knife or razor,
extending from the side to the centre of the cork. Into this cut the
line is drawn as shown in Fig. 4, A.

Sheet-lead is always a useful aid in make-shift fishing-tackle, and for
light lines makes excellent sinkers when bent and compressed around the
line, as shown at Fig. 4, B.

For a pole nothing is nicer than a light and straight piece of the
aromatic sweet-birch. I am not a convert to hundred-dollar fishing-poles
with polished mountings, but have reasons to still believe there is much
virtue in birch.

[Illustration: FIG. 5.]

For cleaning out a boat a stiff whisk-broom made of fine birch twigs
bound together with wire or fishing-line, as shown at Fig. 5, will be
found very useful.

[Illustration: FIG. 6.]

Fig. 6, A and B are hand-made sinkers beaten and carved out of old lead
pipe. The carved one, B, is first roughed out with a jackknife and
finished up with fine emery or sand paper. A is beaten into shape with a
railroad spike on an anvil or smooth stone. This beating and carving of
lead is very pleasant work, the lead being of such an easy and
good-natured temper.

[Illustration: FIG. 7.]

For a cheap and easily obtainable bailer I have made use of an empty
tomato or corned beef can, as shown in Fig. 7. A hole sufficiently large
to admit of the handle is punched in the side of the can, the inside end
of the handle is champered off so as to fit close to the inner side of
the can; through the can and into the end of the handle a stout nail is
driven, as at A.

[Illustration: FIG. 8.]

A good bait for large fish is a strip cut from the under side of a small
pickerel, perch, or sunfish, which is placed on the hook as shown in
Fig. 8.

For black bass I have found the black field and house crickets most
excellent bait. Within the last two weeks I have taken good messes of
horned pouts (cat-fish) with set night lines baited with "cat-worms" (so
named by the inhabitants of the lake where I am camping). These
"cat-worms" are those elderly, corpulent, and well-to-do angle-worms,
that pay their respects to one another on dewy, moonlight nights. When
using angle-worms I place them in damp moss for three days, to rid them
of all earthy matter; this toughens them so that they may be run on the
hook with more certainty and less bother; and, besides, they have more
squirm in them, which is a decided gain.




  See! This Italian boy,
  Much to the children's joy.
  Has taught his goat
  With the furry coat
  To caper and prance
  To the tune of a dance,
  While he will play
  All a summer's day
  On his mandolin
  His bread to win.
  At night he'll lie
  'Neath the open sky,
  With the grass for bed,
  And beneath his head
  For pillow the goat
  With the furry coat,
  And sleep till day,
  When again he'll play
  On his mandolin
  His bread to win.



What fun it is to pack a trunk! Is it not, little travellers? And how
much more troublesome the packing is when you are coming home than it
was when you were going away! So many pretty things collected during the
summer are to be carried safely, so that the dear ones at home may see
them, and that they may adorn brackets and corners, and make rooms
beautiful the whole winter long. I hope the children who are going back
to school with brown faces and rosy cheeks are all ready to pack away
plenty of learning in the little minds, which are not precisely like
trunks. You may get a trunk so full that it can hold no more; but a
healthy boy and girl can never fill his or her mind so full of useful
knowledge that there will not be room for something else.

So, little folks, trip merrily to school, and show how much you have
enjoyed your play by working like beavers, bees, and birds, building
character, gathering honey, and singing cheerily all the while.

       *       *       *       *       *


     I am a boy eight years old, and I want to write you a letter about
     my little kitten Daisy. I made a little house out of a box, and I
     made steps for her to go in the house, and I put it out in the
     wood-shed. I put her in front of the steps, and she walked right in
     and went to sleep, and now she sleeps there always. Last Sunday
     evening she caught her first mouse, and she played with it for a
     long time, and when it was dead she tried to make it alive again by
     tossing it up in the air. This is all I have to say this time, but
     if you like I will write to you again.


You were a clever boy to make a house for your kitty. A friend of mine
took pity one cold winter on a wandering cat that had no home. As the
ladies of the family did not want to take so forlorn and wild a thing
in-doors, this kind man set a box in the yard, put some straw in it for
a bed, and every day placed a saucer of milk or a plate of food beside
it for the poor hungry puss. Like your kitty, this one learned to know
her own house, and grew quite plump and handsome, as well as tame, under
the gentle treatment.

       *       *       *       *       *


     My mother, father, brother, and myself are spending the summer at
     Cottage City. Last Saturday we joined an excursion to Gay Head. Gay
     Head is on the other end of the island. We enjoyed the steamboat
     ride through Vineyard Sound, although the scenery was not very
     pretty. We were obliged to land in row-boats, which were managed by
     natives. These natives are a cross between the negro and American
     Indian; they are generally very homely, with the exception of the
     children, who soon lose their prettiness, judging by the looks of
     their elders. We walked some distance along the beach before we
     came to the cliffs. These cliffs extend about half a mile along the
     shore, and are formed entirely of different-colored clay--green,
     yellow, red, blue, white, and brown. The red resembled sunburned
     rocks, only much brighter; the yellow looked from a distance as if
     a load of sand had been dumped there, and rolled half-way down the
     cliffs; the white was very pure and dazzling, and with the dark
     green bayberry growing on it, the effect was very fine. We went
     into the light-house and saw the light, which belongs to the first
     class. The keeper said it flashed in ten seconds, and revolved in
     four minutes. He has to wind it up every hour. While in the
     light-house the steamer began to whistle, so we had to hurry back,
     as we did not wish to get left. We found the sail home rather
     tiresome, and were glad enough when the Seaview wharf hove in
     sight. I am afraid that the Postmistress will think this too long
     to print. If she does not, I will write again, and tell about my
     excursion to Nantucket. Good-by.

  A. B.

Yes, dear, write again. Letters which describe what you see, and tell
where you go, are very welcome.

       *       *       *       *       *


     I wish some of the boys and girls who write to you could see my
     room. The ceiling is papered with nursery papers; then there is a
     border of Japanese pictures, and the rest of the wall is entirely
     covered with advertisement cards, some of which I bought and some
     of which were given me. I have a large cupboard in my room, and
     that is covered with the same cards. I have over two thousand cards
     on the wall. I have been to New York this summer, and visited on
     Governor's Island. I saw Generals Hancock and Sherman, and the
     former gave me an orange. I am seven years old, and although I have
     never been to school or studied much at home, I have learned to
     read. I have been reading _Boys of '76_ and _Old Times in the
     Colonies_, and like both very much. I went to Coney Island in June,
     and came very near being lost or stolen. I have over two hundred
     little soldiers, and have fun having battles with them. I hope you
     will publish this very soon, and excuse me for writing such a long

  L. W. M.

Your room must be very beautiful, dear. It is what we call unique, and I
think it must be quite gay and rainbow-like. I am glad you were neither
lost nor stolen at Coney Island.

       *       *       *       *       *


     I am a resident of St. Louis, and am spending my school vacation in
     Texas, where I am visiting a brother. I have taken YOUNG PEOPLE
     since its first number, and have often wanted to write a letter to
     the other boys. I left St. Louis July 5, coming through the State
     of Missouri, and down through the Indian Nation, the prettiest
     country I ever saw. I came the entire distance alone. I like Texas
     very much, and will probably stay here until Christmas. The Brazos
     River runs through the town, dividing it into East and West Waco.
     It is spanned by one suspension-bridge and two railroad bridges.
     This is one of the prettiest places in the State.


I like to hear from a self-reliant and manly little fellow who is able
to take care of himself on a journey.

       *       *       *       *       *


     I'm going to send a letter to you, but I don't know exactly what
     I'm going to say until I think of it as I go. I live on the banks
     of the Hudson River. The mowing-machine is just cutting down the
     grass. The view is beautiful from here, but still more beautiful
     from Mr. Church's, who lives on the hill. I haven't many pets to
     tell you about, except two canary-birds, and a lamb that is hardly
     a lamb now, but a full-grown sheep.

  NELLY G. E. (not yet six years old.)

I suppose little Nelly sometimes climbs the hill to gaze with her own
bright eyes at the golden sunsets which Mr. Church looks at from his
pleasant home, and then paints so beautifully for the rest of us to
enjoy. Do you know, dear, that the best letters ever written are written
in your way--just by thinking what to say as you go on?

       *       *       *       *       *


     I thought I would write you a letter to let you know how much I
     like to read YOUNG PEOPLE. I think it is a very good paper, and I
     watch every week for the number to come. The first piece I read is
     "Mr. Stubbs's Brother." I think a good deal of a good circus. Jimmy
     Brown's stories are very interesting. We have a pet crow; he is
     very tame. He flies all over the farm, and goes wherever he
     pleases. He is afraid of other crows. When they come too close, he
     flies to the house if he is not too far away. He likes to follow
     along in the corn field, and pick up the bugs and worms. Good-by.

  JOHN S. R.

Is your crow afraid of a scarecrow? I suppose you will be surprised, but
I once had a pet crow of my own. He was as black as black could be, and
oh! such a mischief, and so fond of stealing things and hiding them. His
favorite perch was on the sewing-machine. I was very, very glad when one
day Mr. Crow flew over the hills and far away, and never came back. In
which State is your Hillsdale, John? You forgot to tell me.

       *       *       *       *       *


     My grandpa has moved his house down near to ours. First they put
     great beams under the house, and wooden rollers under them, and
     then they built a platform in front of it to roll it on. Then they
     fastened a chain to the house, and a rope to the chain, and then a
     horse pulled it round a block and tackle. My grandma came out here
     to-day and took me to ride. When my birthday comes I am going to
     have a little party, and give the children presents instead of
     having people give me things, and I am making some balls for some
     of the boys. My papa has taken HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for me ever
     since its beginning. I like Toby Tyler very much, and I hope his
     circus will not come to an end. I wish that lady who wrote the
     letter about the hospital for little children would write another
     one. I have a bird and a cat. When I give my cat anything to eat,
     he tries to get it before I can put the plate on the ground. I went
     to Luray this summer and took my doll, and it took me a long time
     to get her ready. The next time I write I will tell you about the
     cave I went into. I guess I am getting sleepy now, and I want to go
     to bed, and I will end off my letter by saying, "Won't you please
     print this in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE?"

     I send you a picture of my bird and cat. I am seven years old, but
     I can only write printing letters, so mamma wrote this for me.


Thank you for the pretty picture. I like your idea of making others
happy on your birthday. A sweet Bible verse tells us that it is more
blessed to give than to receive. How much you must have enjoyed watching
the moving of grandpa's house! Were you frightened when you explored the
Luray Cave?

       *       *       *       *       *


     We are spending the summer at Lake Ontario, and see a great number
     of butterflies fluttering along the road-side, and over the fields.
     Reading the article in No. 142 of YOUNG PEOPLE on butterflies, my
     brother and I started a collection. We have caught several
     specimens of _Papilio turnus_ and _Papilio asterias_. We also
     caught a beautiful butterfly which is not described in YOUNG
     PEOPLE. Its wings are velvety black, and the hind-wings are tailed.
     The fore-wings are marked with rows of greenish-yellow spots on the
     margin, and the hind-wings with rows of spots of a peculiar green
     (called gas green, I believe), and above the spots is a large
     irregular spot covering two-thirds of the wing. We have only one
     specimen of those yellow butterflies spoken of. They are very
     plentiful, but I find them hard to catch, as they take alarm very
     quickly. About four o'clock in the hot afternoons we go over to the
     edge of the woods, where there is a break in the trees, and the
     grass is deep, and find quantities of tawny orange butterflies
     marked with black on the upper side and silver on the under. The
     black and green butterfly that we caught was prettier on the under
     side than it was on the upper. Its hind-wings were marked
     underneath with light blue, silver, and orange. I hope that my
     letter is not too long.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I like the stories written by Jimmy Brown very much. I am very much
     interested in "Mr. Stubbs's Brother." We have three kittens, and
     their names are Toby, Abner, and Mr. Stubbs. While my sister and
     brother were out driving one evening they heard a kitten crying
     behind them, and brother got out, picked it up, and brought it
     home. Mr. Stubbs is very playful. I have a pet lamb and a pet
     chicken. The lamb's mother died when it was very young, so I took
     it, and it is a large lamb now. I raised the chicken myself too. I
     had a calf, but it died. I was twelve years old the third day of
     June. I have three brothers and two sisters. All of us read YOUNG
     PEOPLE except the two youngest.


"A snow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden by its side." Do you say,
"Drink, pretty creature, drink," to your lamb, as Barbara Lethwaite does
in Wordsworth's poem?

       *       *       *       *       *


     We are a little brother and sister seven and five years old. Papa
     buys HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for us, and mamma reads the stories
     first, and then tells us what she thinks we can understand. We had
     a pair of rabbits sent to us from Indianapolis last year, but they
     were so much trouble we gave them away; we had a little turtle no
     larger than a twenty-cent piece, but that is dead; it lived two
     years. The sweetest pet we ever had was our dear little brother
     Arthur. He died last November, and we all miss him very much. He
     was so cunning! He was one year and a half old. We have never
     written to YOUNG PEOPLE before, and hope this will be published.


A baby brother is indeed a darling, and the best of pets. I am very
sorry your little Arthur died.

       *       *       *       *       *


     I thought I would write to you to tell you about my dolls. I have
     four; three of them are wax and one is china. One of the wax ones
     is nearly two years old, and I like her the best of all. She has
     curly hair all over her head, and can open and shut her eyes. Her
     name is Bessie B. Stamford. My next oldest doll is Kitty C.
     Stamford. She has light hair, which she wears braided down her
     back. Next comes Gertrude Bell Stamford. Santa Claus gave her to me
     last Christmas at a Christmas tree in our church. She was sitting
     in a cunning blue chair. She has dark hair and a bang. My littlest
     one is a four-cent china doll. Her name is Bertha Agnes Cross. I
     have a cunning little doll carriage with a canopy top. As I can not
     write very well myself, my sister is writing this for me. I like to
     read the letters in Our Post-office Box very much.


       *       *       *       *       *


     Some time has passed since I have had the pleasure of writing to
     the Post-office Box. I will begin by telling something about the
     Isle of Pines, where I am spending some months. The air of this
     place is very pure and healthy, because there are a great many
     beautiful pines and warm mineral springs; so a great many sick
     people come to breathe this delicious air. It is also famous for
     its exquisite fruits--pine-apples, mangos, and others. When it
     rains, in less than a half-hour the ground dries, as it is sandy.
     There are many parrots and mocking-birds and wood-peckers and larks
     here. The wild flowers are very beautiful, and there is a great
     variety of them. The "St. Peter" flowers, which grow out of old
     trees and fences, look like pretty butterflies; some are yellow and
     white, some rose-color and brown. I send you one to show you how
     pretty they are.


Thank you very much for the pretty specimen, which lost none of its
beauty on the way to New York, it had been so daintily pressed.

       *       *       *       *       *


     I want to tell all your readers of the beautiful view we have from
     here. The town is situated between New York and Newark bays. From
     the back balcony we can look out through the Narrows and see all
     the shipping, and down the bay, and see the Coney Island steamers,
     the Staten Island ferry-boats, and the great ocean steamers that
     come puffing up the bay. We also have a lovely view of Staten
     Island and Brooklyn. We have delightful bathing in New York Bay and
     in Newark Bay; it is still. We go in nearly every day, and enjoy it
     very much. I have a brother Henry who is nine years old, and a
     sister Hattie, seven years old. Our mamma and papa are both dead,
     and we live with grandma and uncle. I love to lie in the hammock on
     the balcony and look out over the bay and watch the sails and


       *       *       *       *       *


     I feel almost acquainted with you. I have a nice little black dog.
     I have a cart and harness. I hitch him up, and drive him all
     around. I had a hard time training him. I have two pet cats; one is
     Molty White; a little girl in Nebraska gave him to me when he was a
     kitten. He is a big cat now. My other is a kitten; I call her Het.
     I also have a pet canary-bird, whose name is Mart. I had a pigeon,
     and it got out of the box, and flew away. I have a little Leghorn
     rooster as white as snow, and his comb is as double and as red as a
     tulip. I had a female canary; she was a lovely singer. Did you ever
     hear of a female bird singing before? My father is a doctor. There
     are five doctors in town.


What a beauty that rooster must be! I'm afraid the little black dog
thought _he_ had a hard time when you were training him to act as a

       *       *       *       *       *


     My first letter was not put in. I thought I would write again. My
     little sister Alice has a pet duck; it sleeps in mamma's room. One
     night it slept in mamma's slipper, and another night it got into
     the baby's crib and slept there all night, and in the morning when
     mamma took the baby up it cried to get up too. I think that was
     very cunning. We have three pet chickens. It has been very rainy;
     it rains nearly every evening. Mamma has some very large spring
     chickens. We have an old dog fourteen years old. I have five
     sisters and one brother: Rena Louisa, Sadie Summers, Emily Palmer,
     Alice Remington, Lilian, and Charles Palmer. Good-by.


What a droll duck! Please thank sister Rena for her letter. We have not
room to print both this time.

       *       *       *       *       *

C. Y. P. R. U.

A TOWER OF PORCELAIN.--The Porcelain Tower at Nankin, in China, is nine
stories high, and rises two hundred feet into the air. It is founded on
a strong and solid basis of brick-work. Twelve feet thick at the bottom,
it tapers gradually and gracefully to the top, where it ends in a point,
crowned by a golden ball. Around it is a railing of rough marble. By
twelve steps you reach the first floor, and by narrow stairs you climb
to the ninth story. Between each story and the next there is a kind of
pent-house or shed on the outside of the tower, from the eaves of which
are hung little brass bells, growing smaller as you approach the top.
These are set in motion by the wind, and keep up a musical chiming. Each
story is built of strong timbers, the ceilings are adorned with
paintings, and the light comes in through latticed windows. Every roof
is covered by tiles of delicately painted porcelain, and the whole
elegant, fairy-like structure is a wonder of architecture.

       *       *       *       *       *

We direct the attention of the members of the C. Y. P. R. U. to "The
Trials of Philip Austin," another of Mr. James Payn's thrilling
narratives of "Peril and Privation"; also to an interesting and timely
article entitled "Aids for Young Anglers," and to Aunt Marjorie's "Bits
of Advice" on travelling.

       *       *       *       *       *


Contributions received for Young People's Cot, in Holy Innocent's Ward,
St. Mary's Free Hospital for Children, 407 West Thirty-fourth Street:

     In memory of Walter Griswold Hartshorn, born July 17, 1870, New
     York, $5; Franklin P. Noble, Cornwall-on-Hudson, $2.20; Mathilde,
     Nattie, and Eugene Reynal, New York, $15; Frank, Lottie, and Belle
     Wood, Columbus, Ohio, $1; May Ringwalt, Cincinnati, Ohio, $1; C. E.
     Carney, Sheepscott Bridge, Maine, $2; Louis How, St. Louis, 50c.;
     In memory of little Margie's birthday, Chicago, $2.50; Cash, $1;
     total, $30.20. Previously acknowledged, $1201.85; grand total,
     August 15, $1232.05.

  E. AUGUSTA FANSHAWE, Treasurer, 43 New St.

       *       *       *       *       *


     Please accept the inclosed one dollar for Young People's Cot from
     May Ringwalt, Cincinnati, Ohio. She has taken great pleasure in
     saving little by little until said amount has been reached. May it
     help to comfort some little one, blessing him that gives and him
     that receives. Yours,


       *       *       *       *       *


     I am thirteen years old. I have taken YOUNG PEOPLE ever since it
     started. I have had to leave my school. The doctor says I hurt my
     knee on my velocipede, and I have been doctored ten weeks. I can go
     without my crutch now some. I am very glad when I am in the hammock
     to see my YOUNG PEOPLE coming, and thought about the Cot for little
     children, so my father has given me two dollars for a birthday
     present, and I send it for the Cot, and hope it will help some poor
     little lame boy. He bought me a printing-press, but I am too lame
     to use it.


       *       *       *       *       *


     The inclosed two dollars and twenty cents are the proceeds of a
     circus which my brothers, my sisters, and my little friends held
     recently. I ought to mention Victor, the shepherd dog, who I
     thought did his part better than anybody else. Some of our mothers
     contributed the refreshments because we went without fire-crackers.
     We all voted to send it to you for Young People's Cot. The poor
     children that occupy the Cot don't have so much fun as we do in
     sending the money and in the circus.


       *       *       *       *       *


     I send fifty cents, which I earned myself by gargling alcohol when
     I was sick. I did not like to do it, so mamma said she would give
     me five cents each time I did it. The money is for Young People's
     Cot. Yours truly,


       *       *       *       *       *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from "Gretchen," Mabel
Louise Grey, Don, Tommy Tipton, Maude Estelle Remsen, "Fuss and
Feathers," Lulu Dodge, John Botts, "Joco," A. E. Cressingham, "Queen
City of the Lakes," Lina Schoonmaker, Frank Nathan, Hammond and Lubman,
Edgar Seeman, Charlie Lamprey, Kate Marshall, L. D. and F. G., Ione I.
Austen, George D. C., Thomas Morgan, Bessie and Blanche Niven, Alice
Ward, Mary E. Bromley, "Catspaw," "Try, try again," Lucie Dickson,
Cecile and Fanchon, Emma Nusbaum, Harold Tucker, Joe Dunn, P. J. M.,
Ellen M. M., Lois Sinclair, William K., Albert Feihl, Prudy, Louis
Frost, Florence Hanington, "Old Putnam's Pet," George A. Drovin, Addie
W. Robson, David Heinemann, Willie Gilmour, Eleanor Conklin, Harry
Johnston, and Eddie S. Hequembourg.

       *       *       *       *       *


No. 1.


1.--1. A heavenly body. 2. One of the United States. 3. Liquids. 4. A

2.--1. A bird. 2. To lessen. 3. A girl's name. 4. Not far.

  F. D. M.

3.--1. A fabric used in printing-offices. 2. Not dead. 3. Languishes. 4.
Something that comes to pass. 5. Ceases.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 2.


  My first is a dish
    You often have seen.
  My second is to test
    Or to strive, I ween.
  My whole is a place
    For both fat and lean.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 3.



  My first is in ginger, but not in spice.
    My second in oven, but not in range.
  My third is in lovely, but not in nice.
    My fourth is in steady, but not in change.
  My fifth is in even, but not in smooth.
    My sixth is in narrow, but not in wide.
  My seventh is in roughen, but not in soothe.
    My eighth is in movement, but not in glide.
  My ninth is in ruddy, but not in pale.
    My whole is a flower on hill and in dale.



  My first is in crown, but not in king.
  My second in article, not in thing.
  My third is in round, but not in straight.
  My fourth is in come, but not in wait.
  My fifth is in stung, but not in sting.
  My sixth is in clasp, but not in ring.
  My whole is a flower of early spring.


  First in hay, but not in grass.
  Second in girl, but not in lass.
  Third in cave, but not in den.
  Fourth in duck, but not in hen.
  Fifth in orange, but not in plum.
  Sixth in fraction, not in sum.
  Seventh in way, but not in rut.
  Whole a tree that bears a nut.



  First in Anna, not in Prue.
  Second in Susie, not in Fan.
  Third in Tina, not in Nan.
  Fourth in Ella, not in Lou.
  Fifth in Rosa, not in Kate.
  Do I bloom, dears, early or late?


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 4.


  I am composed of 18 letters, and commemorate an important event in
      American history.
  My 4, 8, 18, 16 is a toy.
  My 3, 14, 11, 1, 5, 6 is a word describing quantity.
  My 7, 12, 15, 16 is a favorite place.
  My 11, 2, 9, 10, 5, 13 is a plant.
  My 10, 16, 17, 18 is a fast.


No. 5.


  1. How wet the rain makes the roads!
  2. Well, I dare say you are right.
  3. Go, my child, and learn your lessons.
  4. Look, Ted, it has frozen the milk.
  5. Dear mamma, be lenient to him.
  6. The Lizard is a cape in England.
  7. Ethel, lay hold of baby's frock, or he will fall.
  8. Ah, well, endeavor to do your best, and then I shall be pleased.

       *       *       *       *       *


No. 1.

      S           S
    M A N       A P E
  S A L A D   S P E A R
    N A P       E A R
      D           R

      M            S
    M A D        I N K
  M A D A M    S N E E R
    D A M        K E N
      M            R

No. 2.


No. 3.

  S Y C A M I N E
  Y A R D A R M
  C R E A S E
  A D A P T
  M A S T
  I R E
  N M

No. 4.

  A L A B A S T E R
    O P I A T E S
      E A R E D
        S O W

No. 5.

  SIX - IX = S
  IX  -  X = I
  XL  -  L = X

No. 6.

  H E A R T
  E N T E R
  A T O N E
  R E N T S
  T R E S S

       *       *       *       *       *

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

[Illustration: A REBUS.]


[2] From _New Games for Parlor and Lawn_. By GEORGE B. BARTLETT. New
York: Harper & Brothers. _In Press._

This merry game may seem trifling, but if any wise scoffer thinks he can
play it without making many ludicrous mistakes, let him try it and see;
for simple as it is, it keeps the attention on the alert, and the
faculties on the strain. The players stand in two lines, facing each
other, with a leader at the head of each line. It is the duty of the
leaders of the lines to call out the letters, which they can change as
often as they please. There must be an umpire chosen also, who sits at
the head of the lines at an equal distance from each. The umpire must
call out the numbers, which are number two and number four, and also
count ten slowly while each player is guessing. He calls out either one
of the above numbers the moment the leader has given out the letter, and
then begins to count. When the leader of the right side gives out a
letter, the second in line on the left side listens to the number called
by the umpire, as he knows that number two refers to a biped, and number
four to a quadruped, and that he must name some member of the animal
kingdom answering to the above description which begins with the letter
called by the leader of the opposite side. If he fails to do this
correctly before the umpire counts ten, he must cross over and take his
place at the foot of the opposite line. The umpire must see that there
is no mistake, such as repeating any name once used, or giving to any
animal too many or too few feet. When the player on the left has
answered, whether correctly or not, the leader of the same side in his
turn calls out the same or any other letter, the umpire follows with his
number, as before, and if the second player on the right fails to answer
correctly, he crosses over and belongs to the left side, standing at the
foot of the line. If the player answers the question properly, he keeps
his place, and ties a white handkerchief around his neck to show that
the next question addressed to his side must be answered by the player
who stands next him in the line. When the game has gone on for half an
hour, the umpire calls out "Time," and the side which has the most
players is declared the victor.

The game must go on with the greatest rapidity, and the efforts of the
players to answer rapidly without mistake are very amusing, as most of
them make the most ludicrous blunders, after which they are obliged to
march across to the other side as prisoners. The shouts of laughter with
which they are received by their captors render their play-fellows
anxious to avoid their fate, while their very anxiety makes them more
liable to follow in their footsteps.

Thus the fortunes of each side may vary, as it often happens that a
side, when reduced to but one or two players, may fortunately gain in
number, until at last it may triumph.

So this little game teaches concentration, perseverance, and natural
history, and furnishes amusement also.

       *       *       *       *       *


A pair of swallows built their nest, composed chiefly of clay, in the
corner of an out-house. Owing to the extreme heat and dryness of the
weather the nest lost its moisture, shrank, and was splintered into
several pieces, the half-fledged brood of four being thrown to the
ground. They were found huddled together amongst the ruins, no doubt
thinking, like chickens contemplating their broken egg-shells, that it
was very extraordinary. In the hope that, if suitable accommodation was
provided, the parents would again feed and tend their young, I fixed a
small wooden box by means of a few nails against the wall exactly where
the nest had been, first transferring into it the lining of the latter,
and depositing within the young swallows. In half an hour the old birds,
who had been flying about in a state of great excitement, and watching
the proceedings, took food to their young family, and continued to do so
day after day, quite recognizing the box as their new home. I used daily
to unfix it, and look in to see how my young friends were progressing.
This I did during the parents' absence, putting the box back before
their return. One day, however, they caught me with the box in my hand.
I of course replaced it at once, and withdrew. When I next looked, a few
hours afterward, I found that the birds had procured some moist clay,
and so buttressed the box against the wall that it could not be
dislodged without first breaking the clay. Being thus checkmated, I was
compelled to wait until the young birds were able to leave the home I
had provided for them.

       *       *       *       *       *


  What's become of little May?
  She has disappeared to-day,
  And instead of her sweet self
  Here's a strange and frowning elf.

  Pouting lips and angry brow--
  Ah! but they are changing now,
  And the smiles have come to stay;
  Welcome back, you darling May.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A BAD PLACE TO MEET.]

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