Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, October 4, 1881, by Various

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.

Title: Harper's Young People, October 4, 1881
       An Illustrated Weekly

Author: Various

Release Date: July 4, 2015 [EBook #49360]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, OCT 4, 1881 ***




Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]

       *       *       *       *       *

VOL. II.--NO. 101. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.

Tuesday, October 4, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "THEY ARE TALKING LEAVES."]

THE TALKING LEAVES.

An Indian Story.

BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.

CHAPTER I.


"Look, Rita! Look!"

"What can it mean. Ni-ha-be?"

"See them all get down and walk around."

"They have found something in the grass."

"And they're hunting for more."

Rita leaned forward until her long hair fell upon the neck of the
beautiful little horse she was riding, and looked with all her eyes.

"Hark! they are shouting."

"You could not hear them if they were."

"They look as if they were."

Ni-ha-be sat perfectly still in her silver-mounted saddle, although her
spirited mustang pony pawed the ground and pulled on his bit as if he
were in a special hurry to go on down the side of the mountain.

The two girls were of about the same size, and could not either of them
have been over fifteen years old. They were both very pretty, very well
dressed, and well mounted, and they could both speak that strange,
rough, and yet musical language, but there was no other resemblance
between them.

"Father is there, Rita."

"Can you see him?"

"Yes; and so is Red Wolf."

"Your eyes are wonderful. Everybody says they are."

Ni-ha-be might well be proud of her coal-black eyes, and of the fact
that she could see so far and so well with them. It was not easy to say
just how far away was that excited crowd of men down there in the
valley. The air was so clear and the light so brilliant among those
snow-capped mountain ranges that even things far off seemed sometimes
close at hand.

For all that, there were not many pairs of eyes, certainly not many
brown ones like Rita's, which could have looked as Ni-ha-be did from the
pass into the faces of her father and brother, and recognized them at
such a distance.

She need not have looked very closely to be sure of one thing
more--there was not a single white man to be seen in all that long,
deep, winding green valley.

Were there any white women?

There were plenty of squaws, old and young, but not one woman with a
bonnet, shawl, parasol, or even so much as a pair of gloves. Therefore
none of them could have been white.

Rita was as well dressed as Ni-ha-be, and her wavy masses of brown hair
were tied up in the same way with bands of braided deer-skin; but
neither of them had ever seen a bonnet. Their sunburned, healthy faces
told that no parasol had ever protected their complexions; but Ni-ha-be
was a good many shades the darker.

There must have been an immense amount of hard work expended in making
the graceful garments they both wore. All were of fine antelope-skin,
soft, velvety, fringed, and worked and embroidered with porcupine
quills. Frocks, and capes, and leggings, and neatly fitting moccasins,
all of the best, for Ni-ha-be was the only daughter of a great Apache
chief, and Rita was every bit as important a person, according to Indian
notions, for Ni-ha-be's father had adopted her as his own.

Either one of them would have been worth a whole drove of ponies, or a
wagon-load of guns and blankets, and the wonder was that they had been
permitted to loiter so far behind their friends on a march through that
wild, strange, magnificent land.

Had they been further to the east or south or north it is likely they
would have been kept with the rest pretty carefully, but Many Bears and
his band were on their way home from a long buffalo-hunt, and were
already, as they thought, safe in the Apache country, away beyond any
peril from other tribes of Indians, or from the approach of the hated
and dreaded white men. To be sure, there were grizzly bears, and wolves,
and other wild animals to be found among those mountain passes, but they
were not likely to remain very near a band of hunters like the one now
gathered in that valley.

Great hunters, brave warriors, well able to take care of themselves and
their families, but just now they were very much excited about
something.

Something on the ground.

The younger braves, to the number of more than a hundred, were standing
back respectfully, while the older and more experienced warriors
carefully examined a number of deep marks on the grass around a bubbling
spring.

There had been a camp there not long before, and the first discovery
made by the foremost Apache who had ridden up to that spring was that it
had not been a camp of his own people.

The prints of the hoofs of horses showed that they had been shod, and
there are neither horseshoes nor blacksmiths among the red men of the
Southwest.

The tracks left by the feet of men were not such as can be made by
moccasins. There are no heels on moccasins, and no nails in the soles of
them.

Even if there had been Indian feet in the boots, the toes would not have
been turned out in walking. Only white men do that.

So much was plain at a mere glance, but there were a good many other
things to be studied and interpreted before Many Bears and his followers
could feel satisfied.

It was a good deal like reading a newspaper. Nobody tears one up until
it has been read through, and the Apaches did not trample the ground
around the spring until they had searched out all that the other
trampling could tell them.

Then the dark-faced ferocious-looking warriors who had made the search
all gathered around their chief, and, one after another, reported what
they had found.

There had been a strong party of white men at that spot three days
before. Three wagons drawn by mule-teams. Many spare mules. Twenty-five
men who rode horses, besides the men who drove the wagons.

"Were they miners?"

Every warrior and chief was ready to say "No," at once.

"Traders?"

No, it could not have been a trading party.

"All right," said Many Bears, with a solemn shake of his gray head.
"Blue coats. Cavalry. Come from Great Father at Washington. No stay in
Apache country. Go right through. Not come back. Let them go."

Indian sagacity had hit the nail exactly on the head, for that had been
a camp of a United States military exploring expedition looking for
passes and roads, and with instructions to be as friendly as possible
with any wandering red men they might meet.

Nothing could be gained by following such a party as that, and Many
Bears and his band began at once to arrange their own camp, for their
morning's march through the pass had been a long and fatiguing one.

If the Apache chief had known a very little more, he would have sent his
best scouts back upon the trail that squad of cavalry had come by, until
he found out whether all who were travelling by that road had followed
it as far as the spring. He might then have learned something of special
importance to him.

Then at the same time he would have sent other scouts back upon his own
trail, to see if anybody was following him, and what for. He might have
learned a good deal more important news in that way.

He did nothing of the kind, and so a very singular discovery was left
for Rita and Ni-ha-be to make without any help at all.

As they rode out from the narrow pass, down the mountain-side, and came
into the valley, it was the most natural thing in the world for them to
start their swift mustangs on a free gallop. Not directly toward the
camping-place, for they knew well enough that no girls of any age would
be permitted to approach very near to warriors gathered in council. Away
to the right they rode, following the irregular curve of the valley,
side by side, managing the fleet animals under them as if horse and
rider were one person.

So it came to pass that before the warriors had completed their task the
two girls had struck the trail along which the blue-coated cavalry had
entered the valley.

"Rita, I see something."

"What is it?"

"Come! See! Away yonder."

Rita's eyes were as good as anybody's, always excepting Apaches' and
eagles', and she could see the white fluttering object at which her
adopted sister was pointing.

The marks of the wheels and all the other signs of that trail, as they
rode along, were quite enough to excite a pair of young ladies who had
never seen a road, a pavement, a sidewalk, or anything of the sort; but
when they came to that white thing fluttering at the foot of a mesquit
bush they both sprang from their saddles at the same instant.

One, two, three--a good deal dog's-eared and thumb-worn, for they had
been read by every man of the white party who cared to read them before
they were thrown away, but they were very wonderful yet. Nothing of the
kind had ever before been imported into that region of the country.

Ni-ha-be's keen black eyes searched them in vain, one after another, for
anything she had ever seen before.

"Rita, you are born white. What are they?"

Poor Rita!

Millions and millions of girls have been "born white," and lived and
died with whiter faces than her own rosy but sun-browned beauty could
boast, and yet never looked into the fascinating pages of an illustrated
magazine.

How could any human being have cast away in the wilderness such a
treasure?

Rita was sitting on the grass, with one of the strange prizes open in
her lap, rapidly turning the leaves, and more excited by what she saw
than were Many Bears and his braves by all they were discovering upon
the trampled level around the spring.

"Rita," again exclaimed Ni-ha-be, "what are they?"

"They are talking leaves," said Rita.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




BITS OF ADVICE.

BY AUNT MARJORIE PRECEPT.

A STITCH IN TIME.


The other day a poor woman who lives near my house came running in in
great excitement. "Oh," she exclaimed, "Mrs. Marjorie, I am in so much
trouble! I have just lost all the money I had in the world, between my
house and the corner. I must have dropped it in the street. What shall I
do?"

The only thing I could advise was that she should insert an
advertisement of her loss in the paper; and as she did not know how to
write, I wrote one for her. Then I said, "How came you to lose your
pocket-book? Was there a hole in your pocket?"

She showed me a rip between the lining and the outside of her dress, and
said she supposed she had slipped her money through that instead of into
the right place. "I've been meaning to sew that for a week," she said,
very sadly.

I felt too sorry for her to tell her that experience had taught her a
very dear lesson, but it did seem hard that the savings of two months
should have been lost for want of a stitch in time.

The homely old proverb says, "A stitch in time saves nine." Please think
of it when you are studying your etymology, and are not sure about a
derivation. It will take only a few seconds to look it up now, but it
may save you much trouble at examination-day to be sure on the subject.
Think of it, too, when your little playmate passes you coldly; and when
you feel that you have given offense to your teacher or mother, a frank
word of apology, a kind, forgiving look _in time_, may save you from
many hours of regret and distress. A great many tangled and troublesome
things in this world would be set right speedily if everybody believed
in a stitch in time. You may apply this principle to everything in life,
and it will never fail you. A great poet, Mr. Tennyson, says,

  "It is the little rift within the lute
  That by-and-by will make the music mute."

A very tiny leak, if not repaired, will cause the great ship to go down
in the midst of the sea. Any small wrong thing may be corrected or
mended while it is small, but every day that it is left alone it will
grow larger and stronger. One weed is easier to pull up than ten are.
Don't forget the stitch in time, wherever you may be.




THE CALL OF THE CROW.


  Caw! caw! caw!
    Over the standing corn
    The cheery cry is borne--
  Caw! caw! caw!

  Caw! caw! caw!
    Into the school-room door,
    Over the clean-swept floor--
  Caw! caw! caw!

  Caw! caw! caw!
    The crow he is free to fly,
    But the boy must cipher and sigh--
  Caw! caw! caw!

  Caw! caw! caw!
    And I wish I could go with him
    Where the woods are wild and dim--
  Caw! caw! caw!




GALILEO IN THE CHURCH AT PISA.


One day Galileo, a young student of medicine at Pisa, saw the great
bronze chandelier of the cathedral swing to and fro. He watched it
carefully, and found that it moved regularly. It always came back to the
same place. He thought he could imitate it, and suspended a weight to a
string, and thus formed the first pendulum. His invention has never
ceased to be of use to every one. The pendulum was attached to the works
of a clock, and has from that moment continued the chief means of
measuring time. It rules every family, directs the business of cities,
and tells when to go to school and when school is out. The great clock
in the City Hall and the clocks in all the steeples and towers are
guided by Galileo's pendulum. The wooden clock we buy for two or three
dollars, and the costly French clock that ticks on the mantel, owe their
chief value to the invention of the young student. The pendulum,
wherever it swings to and fro, seems to speak of Galileo.

[Illustration: GALILEO IN THE CHURCH AT PISA.]

He was born at Pisa in 1564, the same year with Shakspeare. His father
was poor, and wished to apprentice him to the wool trade. But Galileo
showed a strong love for mechanics and mathematics; he professed to
study medicine at the University of Pisa, but was always busy with
mechanical experiments. He worked incessantly with his tools and books,
and produced a great number of inventions, more, perhaps, than any other
man. From youth to extreme old age he was constantly in his workshop,
and labored while others slept. One of his inventions was the
thermometer that measures the heat or cold of every land. It is used to
mark the temperature of the highest mountains, and is plunged into the
depths of the sea; tells the boiling-point and the freezing-point, and
governs in the house and the factory.

At last, in 1609, Galileo invented the telescope. It had been thought of
in Holland, but never brought to any perfection. Galileo caught up the
idea, and produced the remarkable instrument that brings distant things
near. Until that time no one had supposed men could see beyond a certain
limit, and the sailor on the ocean and the travellers by land could look
only a few miles before them. Galileo's first telescope was made of
lead, small and imperfect, but it was polished and perfected with his
wonderful skill and industry. It filled all Italy and Europe with an
intense excitement. Men came in crowds to look through the first
telescope. At Venice, where Galileo was staying, the merchants climbed
to the top of the highest tower to see their ships far off on the water
two hours before they could have been seen without the telescope.
Galileo was enriched with honors and a large salary. He went to
Florence, and was received with wonder and delight by great crowds of
his countrymen.

Next came a still more startling discovery. Galileo turned his telescope
to the skies, and saw things that had never before been witnessed by
mortal eyes. The Milky Way dissolved into a bed of stars; Jupiter showed
its four satellites, Saturn its rings; the moon seemed covered with
mountains, seas, and rivers. The heavens seemed revealed to man, and
Galileo soon after, startled by his own discoveries, published his
"Message from the Stars." In this pamphlet he describes the wonders of
the skies he was the first to see. It was read all over Europe, and the
people and the princes heard with awe the account of the new heavens.
Many persons denied that there was any truth in the narrative; it was
looked upon as a kind of "Moon hoax" or "Gulliver's Travels"; some said
it was an optical delusion, and Galileo was attacked by a thousand
enemies.

His health was always delicate, and he was always kept poor and in debt
by a worthless son and an idle brother. His life, so prosperous, ended
in misfortune. His telescope proved to him that the world moved round
the sun, and he ventured to say so. Unfortunately the Inquisition and
nearly every one else believed that the sun moved round the earth.
Galileo was forced to say that he was mistaken. He was tried at Rome,
condemned, and obliged on his knees to confess his error, and during the
last years of his life was kept a prisoner in his own house near
Florence. He passed his time in constant work, studying the moon, and
making instruments. At last he became blind. Here Milton visited him,
and looked upon him with veneration. He died in 1642, and was buried
privately in the church of Santa Croce, at Florence.

Galileo was of a pleasant countenance, always cheerful. His hair was of
a reddish tinge, his eyes bright and sparkling until they became dimmed
like Milton's. His figure was strong and well formed. It was said of him
that no one had ever seen him idle. He was never weary of improving his
telescope. The first one he made only magnified three times, a second
eight times, and then he made one that magnified thirty times. It is the
men who are never idle that help themselves and others.




[Illustration: MAKING READY TO EMBARK.]

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

TIM AND TIP;

OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A BOY AND A DOG.

BY JAMES OTIS,

AUTHOR OF "TOBY TYLER," ETC.

CHAPTER X.

BILL THOMPSON'S TENT.


Hardly had the boys ceased to talk of their grand hunt, when they were
thrown into the greatest excitement by news which Bill Thompson had
called them together to impart. This is what he said, when at least a
dozen were present behind the same barn that had been ornamented with
the skin of Tip's victim:

"Fellers, my father has just brought home a great big tent--a reg'lar
canvas one--an' he says we may take it, an' all go off campin' for a
week. What do you think of that?"

For some moments it was impossible to learn just what the boys did think
of it, for they all attempted to talk at once, and some, who could not
speak as loud as the others, began to cheer, until Tip, who of course
had been called into council with the others, barked loudly at the
confusion of sound. Although Bill knew that his companions were almost
beside themselves with joy at the news, it was fully ten minutes before
the noise had subsided sufficiently for him to learn that fact from
their words.

Bobby Tucker was positive he and Tim would be allowed to go with the
party, because his father had told them they might enjoy themselves in
their own way until the summer term of school began, and the majority of
those present were equally certain they could go. Those who had any
doubts on the matter started off at once to gain the desired permission,
and in a short time it was decided that just an even dozen--eleven boys
and Tip--would make up the party. Then the serious work began.

It was necessary to decide where they should go, how they were to get
there, and how a supply of provisions could be obtained.

Bobby Tucker was sure he could get a bushel of potatoes as his share,
and a large piece of pork as Tim's. Bill Thompson owned three of the
hens in his father's flock, one of which he agreed to carry, in order
that at least one "big" dinner might be served, and he also agreed to
get three dozen of eggs. Jimmy Newcomb, whose father kept a store, was
certain he could get a large supply of crackers, and a small supply of
candy. Another of the party promised butter, pepper, and salt; another
agreed, in the name of his mother, to have some gingerbread and pies,
and so the list of provisions was made, up, thus settling the last
question first.

Where the camp should be pitched was a more difficult matter to decide.
Some were in favor of going in the same direction as that taken on the
bear-hunt; but this was voted down at once by Bill Thompson, who,
because he was the party furnishing the tent, had great weight in the
discussion.

"We want to go 'way off where we can't get back for a good while," he
said, decidedly. "An' besides, we must go where nobody lives, so's we
can find more bears for Tip."

Then another of the party suggested getting a horse and cart, and going
as far into the interior of the island as possible; but this Bill
objected to on the ground that they would then be obliged to follow some
road, which would still keep them within the range of civilization.

"Can't we get a boat, an' go 'way round to the other side of the island,
where nobody lives?" asked Tim.

"That's the very thing," said Bill, decisively--"that's the very thing;
an' Jimmy Newcomb can get the one his father keeps at Dunham's wharf."

All three of the questions having thus been settled, the boys went over
to Bill Thompson's to view the tent which was to afford them their
highest idea of enjoyment. It was found to be quite large enough to
shelter the entire party, being fully twelve feet square, and complete
in everything save pegs and stakes, which could easily be made before
starting, or after they should arrive on the spot where it was to be
pitched.

It was some time before the boys had gazed sufficiently upon this canvas
house so wonderfully come into their possession, and they would probably
have spent more time in admiration of it had there not been some little
doubt as to whether Jimmy Newcomb's father had the same idea regarding
the loan of his boat as his son.

It was thought best to have an interview with Mr. Newcomb at once, and
the entire party marched down the village to a point almost opposite the
store, and waited there while Jimmy went in to ask the important
question.

He remained inside so long that every boy's face began to grow sad, for
each moment he was there seemed to tell that he was not succeeding in
the project.

"I guess his father won't let him have it, an' he's stayin' there to
coax," said Bill, sadly; but he had hardly spoken when Jimmy appeared.
He could not wait until he crossed the street before he imparted the
joyful news, but waved his hat even while he stood on the threshold of
the door, and shouted at the highest squeak of his voice:

"It's all right, boys; we can have her as long as we want if we're
careful not to get her stove up."

In the twinkling of an eye every one of those boys had started at full
speed toward Dunham's wharf, that they might look at the craft which was
to carry them on their journey. They had all seen the boat at least a
hundred times before, but now that she was theirs for a while, she
seemed like a new one.

Since the boat was ready, and the tent nearly complete for pitching,
Bill Thompson proposed that each one should spend that day getting ready
for the trip. The time set for the start was seven o'clock on the
following morning, and every one was expected to be on hand promptly at
that hour. Tim, Bobby, and Bill promised to make the tent pegs and
stakes, and it was decided that if any important question should come up
meanwhile, they could meet behind Bobby Tucker's barn that night to
discuss it.

With this agreement the conference broke up, and during the remainder of
that day, when any of the towns-people saw a boy running at full speed,
or staggering under a load of bed-clothing, they knew he was one of the
party who were going out camping for a week.

It would not be surprising if the mothers of those boys lost their
temper several times during the following ten hours, so numerous were
their wants, and such vague ideas did they have as to the amount of
provisions necessary for a week's stay in the woods. But greatly to the
delight of both the boys and their parents, the day came to a close, as
all days will, and a very happy party met in the rear of Mr. Tucker's
barn.

Each one had secured the articles promised, while some had been able to
do even more. Bobby had found a flag, rather the worse for wear, to be
sure, but still showing enough of the stars and stripes to allow one to
see what it had been, and this was looked upon as the crowning triumph
of all.

Tim, Bobby, and Bill had worked hard at the tent pegs, but had made only
about half the required number. This, however, was not considered
important, since the remainder could be made after they arrived at the
camping place.

When the party broke up that night it was with the understanding that
each one would be at the wharf as early as possible, and it was hard
work for any of them to get to sleep that night. But nearly all of them
were up and dressed before the sun had any idea that it was time for him
to show his face in the east.

It was hardly half past six when everything, from the tent to Bill
Thompson's live hen, was in the boat, packed snugly. The flag was raised
at the stern on a thin slab of drift-wood, held in place by Jimmy
Newcomb, who was given the position of helmsman, owing to the fact that
his father owned the boat. The remainder of the party were to take turns
at rowing, and when the boat was pushed away from the wharf, four oars
were worked as vigorously as the boys at the end of them knew how.

Bill Thompson started a song, in which all joined; Tip barked until
there was every danger that he would become hopelessly hoarse; and the
old hen cackled and scolded as if she knew just what her fate was to be.

There was only one settlement on Minchin's Island, and it was the plan
of the party to row around the coast until they reached a point as
nearly opposite the village as possible. The distance was fully ten
miles; but no one thought the labor would be too great if, by dint of
hard rowing, they could reach a place that was uninhabited, and each one
was ready to take his turn at the oars whenever another was tired.

Now Bill Thompson was a great stickler for discipline, and although he
had said nothing about it when the details of the voyage were under
discussion, he had a plan which he began to carry into execution as soon
as the journey was fairly commenced.

"Now we've got to do this thing right," he said, as he braced himself in
the bow, where he could have a view of all hands. "We must choose
different ones to do different things, so's we'll know what we're about.
We've got to have cooks, an' I nom'nate Tim Babbige an' Bobby Tucker to
take care of the victuals, an' do the cookin'."

Bill paused as if for some one to second the proposition, and Jimmy
Newcomb said, not very properly to be sure, according to the rules laid
down for the election of gentlemen to office, but still quite decidedly
enough to show he meant it, "That settles it," and Tim and Bobby were
considered elected to the responsible offices of cooks and guardians of
the food.

"Now I go in for makin' Jimmy Newcomb captain of the ship, an' he must
boss the job when we're out on a trip, an' when we're landin'."

This time Tim, being already one of the most important officers of the
expedition, considering it necessary to assist in the election of some
of the others, said quickly, "That's jest the thing."

After Bill had appointed certain of the boys to cut wood and bring
water, he said, with just a shade of hesitation in his voice, as if he
was troubled with bashfulness,

"Now somebody's got to be captain of the huntin', an' if you boys are
willin' I'll do that; an' whatever kind of wild animals we scare up, I
promise to be the first one to rush in an' cut their throats after Tip
has caught 'em."

This was considered as a sort of oath of office, and each member of the
party made some sign of agreement in Bill's self-election, feeling
perfectly satisfied that he should fill what was looked upon as a
dangerous position.

After they had rowed at least three hours, different members of the crew
insisted that they must have gone entirely around the island, and were
then proceeding toward home; but Jimmy quickly put a stop to any
grumbling. Both he and Bill knew when they were about opposite the
village, for they had been there several times with Captain Thompson,
and they were both equally positive that they had yet some miles to go
before gaining the extreme end of the island.

It was about eleven o'clock, and nearly every boy was tired out with his
work at the oars, when Jimmy ordered them to stop rowing, and pointed
inshore.

The view which presented itself was a lovely one. Two points of rocks
projected some distance into the sea, forming a little harbor, at the
head of which was a smooth shelving beach of sand. Just back of the
beach was a dense grove of pine-trees, and through them led a narrow
path, now so covered with vines and weeds as to show it had not been
used, by man at least, for some time.

Jim had no need to ask what his companions thought of camping there, for
each one appeared delighted with it, and the boat was pulled up to the
beach.

Bill Thompson was the first to leap ashore, and even though he was only
the chief huntsman, he assumed full charge of the expedition, so far as
landing and setting up the tent were concerned.

A cleared spot in the grove about fifty yards from the beach was
selected as the site of the tent, and then they wished that the pegs had
all been made before they started, for the canvas could not be put up
until they were done. Bill and two others set about this important work,
while Tim and Bobby bustled around to get something to eat, and Jim made
sure the boat was anchored securely.

The first thing done by the two cooks was to tie Bill's hen by her leg
to a tree, and then it was found necessary to fasten Tip some distance
from her, since he showed a decided inclination to treat her as he had
the woodchuck.

Then the more skillful work of building the fire-place was begun, and
this Tim took charge of, while Bobby unpacked the kettle and spider, got
the potatoes ready for cooking, and made himself generally useful.

Tim made rather a good job of the fire-place, and after he had finished
it to his satisfaction he cut three forked sticks on which to hang the
kettle, but immediately afterward found that they had forgotten to bring
a chain, and would be obliged to suspend the pot by a rope, thereby
running some risk of its burning.

Meanwhile the wood and water carriers had done their part of the work,
and the cooks found plenty of material close at hand for the beginning
of their cooking operations. The potatoes were put on to boil, and
thanks to the generous fire underneath them, gave promise of speedily
being ready to do their allotted duty in the dinner which the hungry
boys were anxiously expecting.

Bill had finished making his tent pegs, and by the time Tim had
succeeded in hanging the kettle, the tent was up, needing only the
delicate operation of setting the stakes properly to make it a large and
habitable dwelling.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




A TYROLESE NATIONAL DAY.


Napoleon has many sins to answer for, but there is no one deed of his
for which he has been more justly blamed than for the killing of Andreas
Hofer, the Tyrolese patriot. From 1363, when Tyrol by inheritance came
to belong to Austria, the Tyrolese had never wavered in their devotion
to the house of Hapsburg, and therefore when in 1805, by the Peace of
Presburg, Austria was forced by Napoleon to cede Tyrol to Bavaria, a
thrill of indignation stirred the hearts of the sturdy mountaineers at
being against their will forced to change rulers; and when they found
that the mild rule to which they had been accustomed was exchanged for
severe impositions, taxes, and drafting to fight against their friends
the Austrians, it is no wonder they revolted against their oppressors.
The Tyrolese are a nation of marksmen, and though ready to fight when
occasion requires, they will not endure regular military service such as
Bavaria then demanded (being obliged to furnish a certain number of men
for the French armies), and, besides, rather prided themselves on their
ignorance of military manoeuvres. They have a rhyme--

  "You say 'tis luck alone when those
  Unskilled in tactics beat their foes,
  But better 'tis without to win
  Than with these tactics to give in,"

and their encounters with the French and Bavarians during the year 1809
only served to confirm them in this belief.

The Archduke John of Austria had been much in Tyrol, and had endeared
himself to the people, and when the cession in 1805 forced him to quit
the country, he disbanded his Tyrolese army, promising them, however,
that if the time should ever come when it would be safe to try and
recover their liberty, he would send them word, and become their leader;
he also promised to keep up intercourse with the chief Tyrolese, and his
favored correspondent was our patriot, Andreas Hofer.

Hofer was an innkeeper in the Passeyr Valley, as his ancestors had been
before him, a wine dealer, and horse drover, all of which occupations
brought him in contact with people of every rank in life. A Tyrolese
innkeeper is a very important person, often serves as a banker for the
neighboring settlements, and his house is always the place appointed for
political meetings. Hofer's inn was called the "Sand House," and he was
known and trusted from one end of Tyrol to the other. He was born in
1767, and was forty-one when chosen leader of the Tyrolese forces.

The Archduke in January, 1809, sent word that he would like to confer
with Hofer and other tried friends, and they accordingly went to receive
his orders. He directed them to hold themselves ready, promised that
they should have due notice when a general rising was to be made, and
desired Hofer to let the different districts know, in order that the
suddenness of the revolt in so many places at one time might arouse all
Germany. The signal was to be the floating of sawdust on the streams,
and though more than two months passed before the plan could be carried
out, and many were necessarily in the secret, there was never a
suspicion excited in the minds of the enemy.

Within three days (from March 31) the whole of Tyrol was in arms, and
Hofer captured at Innsbruck and Hall over eight thousand French and
Bavarian prisoners; within the next fortnight the whole province was
free, and over ten thousand French and Bavarian troops destroyed. The
defeat of Austria at Wagram by the French caused a demand that the
Austrians should evacuate Tyrol, and though three separate armies were
sent against them, Hofer and his brave countrymen routed them all, and
Tyrol declared herself free, formed an independent government, and Hofer
was declared absolute Dictator.

For some time the Tyrolese fought against a superior foe. In the last
battle the women bore arms alongside the men, and nearly four hundred
were killed by the enemy's cavalry; but finding resistance vain, Hofer
disbanded his forces. Refusing all requests to leave the country and
seek refuge in Austria, he went to a lonely hut on the mountain, some
miles above his inn. Here, though he remained for over two months,
supplied by the peasantry with food, no reward could induce his
countrymen to betray him; but one Douay, a traitor, and no Tyrolese,
offered to lead a band to the place, and on the 27th of January two
hundred men were sent to capture him. They reached his hut after dark,
and when he was aware of their presence, he submitted to be ironed, and
with his wife, daughter, and little son was marched to Botzen amidst the
taunts of the French and the tears of his countrymen. He retained his
cheerfulness, though worn with privation, believing that not even
Napoleon could condemn him. He was taken under strong escort to Mantua,
it not being deemed safe to keep him in Tyrol, and tried by a
court-martial. The majority of his judges voted he should be imprisoned;
two, that he should be liberated; but Napoleon, then at Milan, sent word
that he should be shot within twenty-four hours. Hofer received the news
with calmness; and on February 20, 1810, at eleven o'clock, he was led
out to execution.




[Illustration: "THE NAUGHTY BOY."--FROM THE PAINTING BY C. T. GARLAND.]




ANDREW JACKSON WASHINGTON JONES.


[Illustration: AS BLACK AS BLACK COULD BE.]

Andrew was quite as black a little colored boy as if he had been well
painted, and his mammy was in the habit of telling him that he was as
lazy as he was black, a fact which Andrew Jackson never took the trouble
to deny.

He had not a very clear idea of the proper definition of the word lazy;
but even though he never made any attempt to correct the error into
which his mother had fallen, he believed he could point out at least a
dozen boys who were really indolent, while he was only what might be
called tired.

He looked upon such work as carrying wood and water as something
especially adapted to cultivate the muscles of older people, but
decidedly injurious to boys of his age. Therefore whenever he saw
anything at home which indicated the possibility of his being set at
work, he always had immediate and urgent business which called him as
far away as he felt able to walk, and he could go a long distance,
however warm the day, when he believed he was fleeing from labor.

But one day Andrew Jackson Washington Jones's father came home with a
very long and stout willow switch in his hand, and told the ever-tired
little darky that it was his intention to "use it upon his back, shuah,"
if a certain pile of wood was not split and into the shed by sunset.

Andrew would have turned pale if his skin had not been quite so dark,
for from the way his father spoke, he was quite certain he would be just
cruel enough to carry his threat into execution; and he went out by the
wood-pile wondering which would be the hardest--to do the work or
receive the promised whipping.

He had just made up his mind that he would rather have the willow cut up
by his back than to cut that pile of wood with the dull axe, while all
the other boys were out cat-fishing; and he was already smarting from
anticipation when another and more horrible thought came to him. He
would probably not only be obliged to feel the willow, but to do the
work also, and he was discouraged.

"Daddy'll lick me fo' a fac', an' mammy will tear round drefful till
it's done," he said, musingly, and he shivered at the thought. "Dar's
gwine to be no rest fo' dis chile till dat yere wood am cut."

If Andrew had only ceased discussing matters with himself then, and set
to work in earnest on that unlucky wood-pile, all would have been well,
and one little colored boy would not have been missing from home that
night. But he continued the discussion until he had decided to do the
task, and afterward concluded that he could, by trying remarkably hard,
catch just one cat-fish, and yet have the wood in the shed before the
sun got through work and went to bed.

"Keep remembrancin' dis yere switch," cried his mother, when she saw him
feel of the axe, then put his best bone clappers in his pocket, and
start in the direction of the wharves.

Andrew nodded his head and shrugged his shoulders as if he had it ever
before his eyes, but hurried on.

If he had attacked the wood-pile with half the energy that he started
for the cat-fish, all would have been well with both him and the wood,
for he walked along at a really rapid rate, considering how tired he
always was.

At the wharves he saw none of his friends, but a steamer was there
taking on freight, and to Andrew's mind it would be quite as interesting
to examine her as to catch three or even four cat-fish.

His wanderings on board, unchecked by any of the officers because there
was a possibility he might be a passenger, led him to the furnace-room,
which was entirely deserted. A cozy seat made of rough boards was just
beside the open door of the furnace, from which the heat was escaping in
very welcome quantities, and Andrew popped into it, smiling as he
thought of the difference between cutting the wood and sitting there
where he was so thoroughly comfortable.

"Talk 'bout dat yere wood-pile," he muttered, and then he was sound
asleep, while the light of the glowing coals played about his face,
causing it to assume all shades from a light bronze to an intense black.

[Illustration: ASLEEP IN THE FURNACE-ROOM.]

No boy ever slept more soundly than did Andrew Jackson Washington Jones
then, and none ever awoke more quickly than he when a heavy hand was
laid upon his shoulder, and he was pushed on to the iron floor in
anything rather than a gentle manner.

"G-'way from me, g'way--" and then he stopped speaking that he might
open his mouth wide with astonishment as he saw a man, a very big, stout
man, looking at him angrily.

"What are you doing here?" asked the big party, whom Andrew would have
known to be the fireman, if he had been better acquainted with steamboat
life.

"I's gwine cat-fishin' fur a spell," said the boy, his eyes opening wide
as he closed his mouth to speak.

"Cat-fishin'! Perhaps you're runnin' this craft, and are goin' to take
her out on a fishin' cruise?"

The sneer which accompanied the words was lost on the boy, as, suddenly
thinking of the neglected work, he replied, in a dazed sort of way:

"Daddy's gwine to lick me now fo' a fac'."

"He won't do it half as quick as I will," roared the fireman, evidently
enraged by the astonished way in which the boy stared at him, his eyes
seeming to increase in size each moment.

Before Andrew Jackson Washington Jones had any idea as to what was about
to be done, the man had seized him by the collar of his jacket, and he
felt blows compared with which those from the willow switch would have
been pleasure.

"Now shovel over that coal," shouted the man, as he released his hold of
Andrew Jackson's collar so suddenly that the boy spun around against the
iron-clad sides of the room like a top in a box.

"Mammy says I's to come right back," blubbered Andrew, as he rubbed coal
dust over his face in his efforts to wipe his eyes.

"It'll be quite a spell before you do get back, for the steamer left the
dock ten minutes ago."

"Den I mus' shinny along, fur I carn't stay here," said Andrew,
hurriedly, as he started toward the door.

"Come back here," and the man made sure he would obey by catching him by
the jacket, and pulling him toward him. "Didn't you hear me say that the
boat had left the dock? We're two miles away by this time."

"Wha--wha--wha'll I do?" and Andrew Jackson burst into a fresh flood of
tears, as the most lonely feeling he ever had in his life came over him.

"You'll take hold of that shovel and exercise it as lively as you know
how," replied the man, and from the way in which he spoke Andrew did not
think it prudent to make any objections.

Shovelling coal in the hot furnace-room of a steamer is work by the side
of which almost any other seems like mere play, and if Andrew Jackson
Washington Jones could suddenly have been carried back to that wood-pile
he would have attacked it with an energy that would have astonished his
mother.

But he was not there, which was his own fault, and he was obliged to
shovel coal, which was the fault of the ill-natured fireman, both of
which facts made of Andrew Jackson as miserable a little colored boy as
ever strayed into mischief for the sake of a few cat-fish.

For nearly two hours--and he would not have been surprised had he been
told two days had passed--he shovelled coal, while the perspiration
rolled down in streams from his face, and to add to his misery he lost
his valued clappers through the grating. Then the fireman said:

"Now, then, boy, we're going to stop pretty soon, and you'd better get
on deck if you want to go ashore; for you're only about twenty miles
from home now, and at the next stopping-place you'll be fifty miles
away."

Andrew dropped that shovel as if it had suddenly become hot, and when
the steamer stopped he was the first person who landed, having
carelessly stepped on the mate's foot, and been thrown ashore by him
before the gang plank was out.

The moment he was fairly on his feet he started up the pier toward the
town at a speed that would have persuaded his mother he had a fit, could
she have seen him, and it was not until he got into the very centre of
the village that he attempted to form any plan as to the future.

There he was, twenty miles from home, without any money, and his
clappers lost. His hands were blistered, his clothes covered with
cinders and coal dust, and he was more thoroughly hungry and tired than
he ever remembered being before.

He looked down the road which a gentleman told him led to his home, and
as he thought of that wood-pile twenty miles away, it seemed as if it
would have been happiness indeed if he could only be there cutting it up
and carrying it into the shed. He was hungry too, wonderfully hungry,
but fortunately an old lady gave him two doughnuts and three crackers
after she heard his story, and then she told him he was a cruel, wicked
boy for not having done as his father had commanded him.

He knew it was necessary for him to trudge along if he ever wanted to
get home, and every lazy bone in his body rebelled against the exercise.

He walked and walked until he thought he must have gone fully a hundred
and seventeen miles, and yet there was no sign of a town, while it had
grown as dark as it well could be on a moonlight night.

He sat down by the side of the road to rest, but he heard so many
strange noises, and fancied he saw so many horrible things, that he was
forced to go on again, although his legs were so tired it seemed as if
they would drop from his body, and his feet were very sore.

There was one thing he could do, which was to cry, and he set about that
work with more real energy than he had ever set about anything before.

He roared so that the woods fairly rang with the echoes, and the night
birds peered out very carefully to see what the matter was. But all his
crying did not take him one inch nearer home, and the sound of his own
voice actually frightened him.

After he had walked what ought to have been another hundred miles, and
thought he should surely die from fatigue, he heard sounds in the rear
which caused his heart to stand almost still, while he expected every
moment to be killed and scalped.

No such fearful fate awaited him, however, for the horrible noise he
heard was simply the driver of an ox-team singing to cheer himself on
his journey.

It was singular how sweet that music sounded after Andrew knew what it
was, and he ran back to meet the team rather than wait for it to come to
him.

The oxen and the man were going directly past his home, though it would,
of course, be some time before they reached there, and the boy who went
for cat-fish rather than chop wood was to be allowed to ride over all
level places in the road, and down hill. Up hill he must walk, for the
load was heavy, and the patient oxen had about all they could draw
without him.

If the driver of that team was to be believed, Andrew Jackson had walked
about four miles; but the boy felt certain that either the man was
mistaken or was wickedly concealing the truth.

The journey was not ended until noon of the next day, and it surely
seemed as if it had been all up hill, so often was Andrew called upon to
get down and walk.

His father and mother were both out hunting for him when he arrived
home, and the way he made that wood fly, tired and hungry though he was,
should have been a caution to any lazy boy. It was all cut and in the
shed when his parents got home, but nevertheless the willow switch was
well worn, and from that day forth Andrew Jackson Washington Jones was
nearly, if not quite, cured of being lazy.




THE BOY WHO COULD NOT BE HURT.

BY DAVID KER.


I.

Many many years ago, about the time that Hendrick Hudson was smoking his
first pipe with the Manhattan Indians on the site of New York, a group
of school-boys were assembled one quiet summer evening in front of a
house in the quiet little Swedish village of Hornelen.

"That's where the nest is, up there by the corner of the highest
window," said one. "But who's to get it?"

"Oh! can't you really, Karl?" piped a poor little pale-faced cripple in
the centre of the group. "That's just the egg I've been wanting ever so
long. _Can't_ you get it somehow?"

"I wish I could, little one, if only for _your_ sake; but I've tried it
twice, and got nothing but a good tumble for my pains."

"And so has Austrian Moritz here--haven't you, old fellow?" cried
another, clapping the shoulder of a slim, dark-haired boy, who was
spending his holidays at Hornelen with one of his father's Swedish
friends.

"True enough," said Moritz von Arnheim, with a grimace. "But here comes
Johnny Banner, and _he'll_ do it if any one can."

"Hurrah for the boy who can't be hurt!" shouted several voices, as a big
square-built lad, with a bold, bluff, sunburned face, joined the group.
"Why, Johnny, man, how dusty you are!"

"And so would _you_ be, if you'd just been run over by a wagon," grunted
Johnny.

"Run over by a wagon!" echoed the boys, staring.

"Just so. You see, I was up in the big elm yonder, having a swing on one
of the boughs, when Farmer Jansen, not seeing me, let fly at a rook that
had perched there, and put a charge of shot through my cap. Look here;"
and he held up the riddled cap to view.

"Another escape, I declare," laughed Moritz. "We shall have to call you
'Jack-of-Nine-Lives,' at this rate."

"So then, as you may think," pursued Johnny, "I came down again faster
than I went up, and got into the road just in time to meet old Nils, the
carrier, rattling along at his usual slap-dash pace. In trying to avoid
him, I slipped and fell right before the cart, and horse and cart and
all went merrily over me. Luckily, I had fallen lengthwise, so that the
wheels went on each side of me, and here I am, all right."

"Well, old boy," cried Karl, "here's another chance for you. Try if you
can get those eggs up yonder for little Olaf. None of _us_ can."

The words were hardly spoken, when Banner was over the fence, and the
next moment he was seen scrambling up the side of the house by the
notches which time and weather had made in the masonry. Once he slipped,
and came down with a run; but he only set his hard mouth a little more
firmly, and went to work again. Inch by inch he worked his way upward,
the boys holding their breath as they watched him, until at length a
general shout proclaimed that he had got a firm hold of the ivy.

Once there, the rest was easy. Another minute brought him within reach
of the nest, and the eggs were carefully stowed away in a kind of pouch
in the breast of his jacket.

Just then the village school-master came by, and seeing what was going
on, cried, indignantly,

"You cruel boy! it would serve you right if you were to fall and injure
yourself."

The words were truer than he intended, for Banner, startled by the
shout, lost his hold and fell headlong to the ground. A cry of horror
burst from the lookers-on, who were all over the fence in an instant,
and the old teacher, dismayed at the effect of his rebuke, was not the
hindmost. But to their amazement they found that "the boy who could not
be hurt" had deserved his name once more. He had alighted upon a heap of
straw, and though stunned and slightly bruised, was otherwise not a whit
the worse.

"All right, boys," said he, faintly, "the _eggs_ aren't broken, anyhow.
Here, Olaf." And he put his prize into the trembling hands of the little
cripple, who was crying bitterly.

"God bless thee, my brave lad!" said the old teacher, losing all his
anger in honest admiration of the boy's courage. "Thou art one who will
be heard of yet."


II.

"Stand firm, lads! we'll beat them yet," shouted a tall handsome man in
the uniform of an Austrian Colonel, who was doing his best to keep his
men steady in the crisis of one of the hardest battles of the Thirty
Years' War.

Few of his old playmates would have recognized little Moritz von Arnheim
in that bearded face and towering figure; but it was he nevertheless,
and the soldiers who were pressing him so hard were men from the very
part of Sweden where he had once spent his holidays.

"Forward, my Swedes!" roared a tremendous voice from the other side, and
through the rolling smoke in front broke a long line of glittering
pike-heads and stern faces, sweeping down upon them like a mighty sea.
There was a crash and a terrible cry, and the Austrian ranks were rolled
together like leaves before the wind.

Foremost among the Swedes, as they swept onward with a joyous cheer, was
a big red-bearded man with the plumed hat of a General, whose face every
Austrian leader already knew to his cost.

"Here's that fellow again," growled the Colonel. "He shan't escape
_this_ time, anyhow."

He discharged his pistol full at the General's broad breast, but the
ball glanced off as if from a rock, and the next moment Colonel Von
Arnheim and his horse were rolling in the dust together, under the very
feet of the Swedish pikemen.

"Don't hurt him, on your lives!" roared the General. "Take him to my
tent, and keep him safe till I come."

"Ha!" muttered the Colonel, "I ought to know _that_ voice. A strange
adventure, truly, if this be indeed he!"

But all his doubts were ended a few hours later when the Swedish General
came striding into the tent, and holding out his huge brown hand, said,
with a broad grin,

"Do you know me, friend Moritz?"

"John Banner, sure enough!" cried Von Arnheim, grasping the offered hand
cordially. "Well, I see you're still 'the boy who can't be hurt,' for
I'm certain I saw my bullet hit you right on the breast."

"Hitting's not killing," answered Banner, throwing open his uniform, and
showing a breastplate of fine steel underneath. "I've had many a
narrower escape than that since I climbed for the nest at Hornelen."

"Well, speaking for myself, I'm very glad you _have_ escaped," said the
Colonel; "but for the sake of Austria and the imperial flag, I rather
wish _that heap of straw hadn't been there_."

Banner answered with a hearty laugh, and the two old comrades, thus
strangely reunited, spent a very merry evening together.




[Illustration: A SCHOOL FOR YOUTHFUL PRISONERS IN MAZAS, PARIS.]

A PRISON SCHOOL IN PARIS.


In the large and gloomy prison called Mazas, in Paris, there is a school
for the instruction of youthful offenders against the law. Most of them
are very ignorant when they enter the prison, but they are taught
reading, writing, and arithmetic during their term of confinement, and
most of them leave their cells not only improved in morals, but fitted
to earn their living in honest employment.

The prison is a gloomy place for a school; but it is better than the
dreadful places from which its youthful inmates are taken, where they
had begun to learn the ways and habits of older criminals. It is a wise
thing to give them useful instruction as well as punishment, so that
when they are set free they may not sink back into evil ways, and go on
from bad to worse in a downward course.

No class in this prison school contains more than eight pupils at a
time, and the school-room is very different from the pleasant, cheerful
rooms where the pupils of our free schools are taught. It is a vaulted
court lighted with gas, and the doors of the cells open into it. At each
door is a plain wooden table, and the pupils sit in such a position that
they can not see each other, while all are under the eye of the teacher.

The teacher, as may be seen in the picture, walks slowly back and forth
in front of the open doors, listening to the recitation of the lessons.
All the pupils respond at once, either reading from their slates or
answering questions orally. It is really wonderful to see how quickly
he detects the slightest error, and corrects it, when all are speaking
at the same time. You may think that this is a very inconvenient way to
learn; but bright boys, who were entirely ignorant when they entered the
prison, have been known to write legibly in a month's time, and to do
quite difficult sums in multiplication and division. The fact that they
have nothing to divert their minds from their lessons, and that study is
really a new kind of recreation for them, may account for this rapid
progress.

When Louis Napoleon overthrew the French Republic in 1851, and made
himself Emperor, Mazas became famous for the number of distinguished
patriots who were confined there by the order of the usurper. A full
description of the prison is given in Victor Hugo's _History of a
Crime_.




ANECDOTES ABOUT CATS.


A cat that belonged to a coachman had a very curious way of bringing up
her kittens. Soon after her first family was born, she disappeared one
morning with all the little things, and could not be seen anywhere. In
the evening she came in for food, but as soon as she had had enough, ran
away again. I think it was the next morning that one of the kittens was
found lying under a large tree in the drive, and it was then discovered
that the mother had taken her favorite children up to where two
branches, separating, formed a kind of nest for them, leaving the one
poor little thing that she did not care for down below to shift for
himself. Strange to say, she and the rest of her family remained safely
up in the tree until they were old enough to run about, when she got
them all down again. I do not remember whether the little cast away was
ever taken into favor and allowed to share his brothers' airy home, but
I think not. She found this plan succeeded so well with her first set of
kittens, that she followed it with all the others.

A rather strange thing once happened to an ugly sandy-colored cat that
lived chiefly in the stables. The coachman found her one morning in a
most pitiful state, hopping about on three legs, with the fourth hanging
down quite limp, and apparently useless. He took her up, and after
examining it, felt quite sure that it was broken; and calling the
gardener, asked his opinion, which was the same. They were both very
sorry for the poor creature, and decided that she had better be killed,
as she seemed to be in great pain, and would most likely never get
better. Just then a farmer passed, and wanted to know upon what they
were holding such a grave discussion. They told him, and after feeling
the paw very carefully, he came to the same conclusion about the injury.
"But," said he, "you need not kill poor Pussy; I will try and cure her."
So he took her into the kitchen, and cut some little wooden splints.
While he held her quiet, the housekeeper bound the leg carefully up
between the splints with tape, which was then securely sewed, and poor
Pussy was put to bed, with a great deal of petting and plenty of food.
About two hours later she was found walking about firmly on her four
legs, with no signs of the bandage that had been on her paw, and was
never seen to limp again.




THE GARDENS.


  Three children and three gardens
    In this picture you may see;
  One has planted a lily,
    And one a red-rose tree.

  And one in the earth with a little stick
  Has written her name, and then quite thick
  The seeds of the water-cress has laid
  In the little track the stick has made.

  And here she sits with folded hands--
    In this picture you may see
  What a very patient little girl
    This little girl must be.

  And if you'd like to know her name,
    Why, when the cresses grow,
  You can see as well as she,
    And then her name you'll know.

[Illustration: THE THREE GARDENS.]




[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]


Our first letter this week comes from a young lady who writes to the
Natural History Society. All the way from Japan came a letter from a
bright boy describing the Feast of Lanterns in his far-off home. We
think the same boy, if he would, could tell us something about mission
work in Nagasaki. Every letter we print is interesting, and we are very
sorry that you can not enjoy the letters we have had to keep to
ourselves. We are glad that so many of you like Our Post-office Box.

  WATERTOWN, NEW YORK.

     Good-morning, boys and girls! How are you progressing with your
     studies in natural history? Have you been successful in finding
     facts for your societies, and securing specimens for their
     collections? No doubt those who spent vacation away from home
     brought back many trophies which will be greatly valued. Have you
     added some of them to a cabinet where all the members of your
     society can enjoy them? Those of you who have staid at home,
     plodding on in the same old paths, have you noticed anything
     wonderful there? Surely there is no place where God is not, and
     where His works may not be studied. Sometimes children make fine
     and well-arranged collections not only of flowers, but of leaves,
     ferns, and mosses, some varieties of which can be obtained in all
     parts of our country.

     One branch of natural history which is full of instruction is often
     neglected. I refer to the study of insects. Not only may
     butterflies and moths lay claim to beauty, but many beetles, flies,
     spiders, and worms. "Ugh!" says some little girl--"spiders and
     worms! The horrid things! Who ever heard of their being beautiful?"
     Little sister, have you been walking all this time with your eyes
     shut, so that you have not seen their velvet coats of many colors,
     ringed, streaked, and speckled? If you would but stop and watch
     them in the trades they follow and the houses they build, instead
     of running with fright or turning away in disgust, you would find
     them more interesting than you now imagine they can be.

     I have a friend who has for a few months past been studying
     entomology. She has used her fernery, covering the top with
     mosquito bar, as a cage for worms, and there we have fed them with
     the leaves of the plants on which they were found, and have been
     quite delighted with their transformations. She had two green ones,
     with black bands running around them, dotted with orange. They were
     found on celery. We watched one hang itself to a piece of
     apple-tree branch put in for that purpose; saw it spin a small,
     thick patch of web, hook its hind-feet into it, then pull with all
     its might, apparently to see if the web was strong. After that it
     spun a silken cord for its back, attaching the ends to the bark,
     holding up its fore-feet and passing it back and forth over them to
     make it long enough. It then passed its head through the loop so
     made, and wriggled itself in. In about thirty-six hours the skin
     split on the back, and it slipped it off, unhooking its tail, and
     hooking it into the web again; and after repeating the operation of
     pulling, the little creature settled down for a long nap. As the
     skin came off, he looked like an entirely different fellow, both in
     shape and color. He is now a chrysalis, without legs or a
     distinctly defined head; in color, light gray, with brown stripes
     running lengthwise; there is also a delicate trace of wings. We are
     now looking for his last change, which will be to a dark
     swallow-tailed butterfly, spotted with yellow, blue, and orange.

     All parts of the cabbage butterfly, even its eyes, can be clearly
     traced in the chrysalis.

     Another worm, pale green, very large, nearly like the tomato-worm,
     laid himself away in the earth in one corner of the fernery, there
     to change into a pupa, and remain until spring, when he will become
     a pretty moth--ash-color and pink, with brown spots. It will
     measure over three inches when the wings are spread.

     A stupid-looking bug, somewhat like a May-beetle without wings, was
     also put into the cage. It soon attached itself to the branch,
     split open its back, and out came a lace-winged cicada, wrongly
     called a locust. You would be surprised to see how much larger it
     was than the case out of which it came.

     Have any of you ever watched the wrigglers in your mother's barrel
     of rain-water, and have you seen them change to mosquitoes? If not,
     keep your eyes open early in the morning, is the advice of

  MARY P.

       *       *       *       *       *

  JERICHO, LONG ISLAND.

     I live on Long Island, not very far from where HARPER'S YOUNG
     PEOPLE is published.

     My sister Annie and I started for school two weeks ago. We have a
     new teacher, and we like her very much.

     The only pets we have are three cats, Tiny, Daisy, and Lillie. Tiny
     is the nicest. We think they are all pretty smart. I suppose all
     who have pets think the same.

     I am eleven years old. We have a piano, and take music lessons. I
     am a little farther along than Annie, so I teach her. I have no
     teacher now, but hope I shall soon have one. I like music very
     much.

     I like "Tim and Tip" very much. "Toby Tyler" was splendid. I hope
     Jimmy Brown will favor us with another account of his misfortunes
     soon.

  MAGGIE J. L.

How charming it is for you to be able to teach Annie what you have
learned! You will find that your doing this will help you to become a
finer performer yourself. We like to hear of girls who believe in
helping along.

       *       *       *       *       *

  BAYOU VERMILION, LOUISIANA.

     I live on the bank of Vermilion River, in Louisiana, nine miles
     from Abbeville. I have been taking your paper for seven months. I
     have two little sisters and one little brother. I have a pet 'coon.
     It is a cunning little animal. When my little sister has a piece of
     bread in her hand, and he sees her, he comes and takes it away from
     her, and will then run and hide. I like "Toby Tyler," and I like
     "Tim and Tip" also.

  FRANK C. R.

       *       *       *       *       *

  LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND.

     A lady sends me HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE every week from New York. I
     read all the stories, and I like "The Cruise of the 'Ghost'" and
     "Aunt Ruth's Temptation" better than any of the others. I have two
     little sisters who like pets. They have two pretty canaries, and
     between us we have a darling dog, a collie, and we call him Bruno.

  GUSSIE L.

       *       *       *       *       *

  FORT CAMERON, UTAH TERRITORY.

     I saw a large spider this morning. When I first observed it, it had
     already woven a large web in the corner of the windows and had
     attached it by long braces to a rustic lounge beneath the window.
     As I was watching it, a house-fly became entangled in the web. As
     it was struggling to free itself, the spider saw it, ran up to the
     spot where it was caught, seized and covered it with a slimy stuff,
     after which it proceeded to eat the fly up. It had a very small
     head, and a body the size of a small marble. It had four feelers
     curved over its head, and four legs, in three colors, red, white,
     and black, and covered with a kind of fur.

  WILLIAM L.

What you supposed to be feelers were legs, spiders having eight legs,
and no wings nor antennæ. If you could have looked at the threads of
your spider's web through a microscope, you would have seen that each
thread was composed of hundreds of fine strands. Inside the spider's
body are bags filled with a gummy substance, out of which these strands
are drawn through several knobs, called spinnerets, each of which is
full of exceedingly tiny tubes, a thousand of them taking up about as
much space as the point of a pin. The spider usually covers its victim,
as yours did the fly, with a sticky substance, and if it is not very
hungry it hangs it up for future use. Spiders live both out doors and
in, and some of them select very splendid habitations. King Solomon
said, "The spider taketh hold with her hands, and is in kings' palaces."
A spider once saved the life of Robert Bruce of Scotland by weaving a
web over the mouth of a cave where he had taken refuge from his enemies.
They saw it, and concluded there was no one inside. Spiders belong to
the order of articulate animals, though they breathe like insects. There
is another peculiarity about the garden spider, which you may have an
opportunity of watching. The liquid silk of which a spider weaves its
web is slowly secreted, and the spider never wastes it. So spiders do
not spin or mend their webs when it is likely to rain, and if you see
them with plenty of work on hand, you may take it as a sign of fine
weather.

       *       *       *       *       *

  ALTON, ILLINOIS.

     I am seven years old, and I like the stories in YOUNG PEOPLE very
     much, especially "Toby Tyler" and "Phil's Fairies." I like "Tim and
     Tip" too. My little brother cried when mamma read how Captain Pratt
     whipped Tim. I felt sorry too, and hope Tim won't stay with him
     long. My little brother is five years old, and his name is Clay. We
     have three cats. The old cat's name is Spot, and the two kittens
     are called Browny and Blacky.

  ETHEL B.

       *       *       *       *       *

  NAGASAKI, JAPAN.

     As some of my little friends in America have asked me to write them
     about some Japanese festival through HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, I will
     tell them about the "Feast of Lanterns," which has just passed. The
     Japanese call it _Bon mat suri_. It took place on the 13th, 14th,
     and 15th evenings of the August moon. The first night is not of so
     great importance as the other two, for then they only light the
     graves of those who have died during the past year. Nagasaki is
     right down among hills, and the grave-yards are on their sides.
     Some of them are quite covered with graves. On the festival
     evenings they light up the grave-yards with lanterns. Sometimes one
     grave has from twenty to thirty lanterns, and as they are very
     close together, you can imagine how pretty it looks. They hang the
     lanterns on bamboo frames, which are made by sticking two or three
     bamboos in the ground and fastening others across them. The
     Japanese think that on these nights the spirits of their ancestors
     come from heaven to see them, and so they make a feast for the
     spirits, and offer food and wine. On the third night the spirits
     are sent back to heaven in boats made of straw, containing food and
     wine. They also have lanterns on the boats. They first parade the
     boats around the city, after which they carry them down to the bay,
     and wade out into the water as far as they can, then set fire to
     them, and push them off. The spirits are supposed to go to heaven
     in the flames and smoke. This is the end of the "Feast of
     Lanterns."

  J. PROVOST S.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I heartily indorse the suggestion made by John W. S. in No. 97, and
     have wondered much that the young people, who seem to be such
     enthusiastic collectors of all sorts of things, did not think of
     adding the beautiful things of the insect world to their cabinets.

     I advertised to exchange stamps for insects early in the spring,
     thinking that the bright boys and girls whose letters appear in the
     Post-office Box would be just the ones to help me with my
     collection, but I have had very few responses.

     It is a pity there are so few books on the subject in simple
     language, and I hope some of our writers will be kind enough to
     interest the children in this branch of science. I know by
     experience that it is a very fascinating study.

     Will John B. T. please tell us how he preserves spiders for the
     cabinet?

  H. H. K.

       *       *       *       *       *

  JEFFERSON COUNTY, KENTUCKY.

     I am a little boy almost eight years old. We live in Jefferson
     County, near Louisville, Kentucky, one of the prettiest cities in
     the United States. Papa gets HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for us every
     week. I have two dear little brothers, Luddie and Charlie, and the
     sweetest little sister six months old. She can _pat a cake_, and
     laugh when she sees us boys coming, for we have lots of fun
     together. Her name is Annie Estelle. We have four kittens--Flossy,
     Tabby, Dot, and Snow. I have a fine dog named Tip. Papa says he
     will be a watch-dog when he grows up, but he does not look much
     like it now, for I can hide him in my hat. We have a calf named
     Bob. We do not play with him much for fear he may butt us. We are
     going up to our grandfather's next week on a visit, papa, mamma,
     and all of us, and we intend to take Tip. Mamma says this letter is
     long enough, so good-by.

  WILLIE R. B.

       *       *       *       *       *

  PLUTON CAÑON, CALIFORNIA.

     I live in Oakland, and have come to Pluton Cañon to camp. There is
     a high cliff across the road from where we are camping, and every
     once in a while the stones come rattling down.

     Every evening I see a cunning little gray squirrel running down to
     get a drink of water.

     Just below the cliff there is a large and swift stream, which has a
     great many fish in it, and where I saw a whirlpool the first day I
     came here. There is a rock on the cliff which looks just like a man
     laughing.

     I have a brother who to-day started with me to get some pine gum.
     We had to cross the stream to get it. When we were about to cross
     it, a wasp stung my brother twice, and me once.

  LOUISA L. S.

       *       *       *       *       *

  SLATE HILL, NEW YORK.

     My kitten's name is Tricksy, and she deserves the name, for she is
     full of play, and as cunning as she can be. There is an old cat
     that comes prowling around every night to get something to eat. We
     have to drive her away, or else she will come into the house. The
     other night our puss knew that mamma did not want the old cat to
     come in the house, so she ran after her and chased her off. I think
     puss has caught eight mice and one meadow-mole.

     We have a cow named Daisy, two horses, named Billy and Fanny, and
     two pigs, named Grunt and Squeal.

     Please tell Jimmy Brown to write about some more of his troubles,
     and ask him if he never has anything to be glad about.

     I can not tell which of the stories in YOUNG PEOPLE I like best,
     but papa thinks Jimmy Brown's sad tales are the best.

  ELSIE M. K.

       *       *       *       *       *

  WESTMINSTER, MARYLAND.

     I would like to tell the readers of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE about my
     goat Dixie. He is almost white, and very large and strong, and can
     haul a barrel of flour from the dépôt, a half-mile off. I have a
     nice strong wagon and harness. I curry him, and treat him like a
     horse. I take the girls out riding, and often carry vegetables from
     place to place for our friends. Everybody knows Dixie. He loves
     mamma, and will follow her anywhere for bread, of which he is very
     fond; but he likes sister Mary best of all. My cousin says he is
     worth between twenty and thirty dollars, and I think so too. He
     walked into the parlor one day.

  WILLIE T. S. (aged 5).

       *       *       *       *       *

  PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA.

     In No. 94 I saw a communication about white mice, signed "L. B. G."
     I have five, two of which I raised by hand. The mother had six
     little ones, and died when they were a few days old. A neighbor
     told me to dip a small piece of washed muslin in warm milk. I
     rolled one end of it into a small point so that they could suck it,
     and I fed them every two hours for a week and a half, holding the
     little mouse in one hand and the rag in the other, and squeezing
     the rag so that the milk would run into the tiny mouth. I sometimes
     leave my mice on the table to play. One day, when they had been out
     of their box several hours, I wanted to shut them in it again, and
     one was missing. I looked all over, but could not find it; so I set
     a trap overnight, and in the morning there was little Sallie safely
     caught. I have two pet dogs, Gyp and Tiny.

  FRED K. M.

       *       *       *       *       *

George L. W. may be sure we are glad that the truant bird found its way
home again; and Bertha B. need not be afraid of the waste-basket: her
grandfather did well to give their town its pretty Indian name. Loula
and Bessie M. sent beautiful little letters; and don't we wish we could
see Beauty and Topsy, and go with the girls to watch Ponto swim? We have
a canary named Dick at our house. Yes, Roy S., your way of growing is
more comfortable for a boy than the slipping off your skin would be.
Thanks to Willie B. H. for letting us read the two pretty stanzas,
although we can not make room for them in Our Post-office Box. Thanks,
too, to Lilian E. W. H. for her verses. Joseph T. F., Jennie B., M. K.,
B. K., Percy P. E., and Ray B. have sent entertaining letters. Dear
little Blanche E. H. printed her letter beautifully. Did that best of
grandmas show her how? We could not have formed the characters more
plainly.

       *       *       *       *       *

L. G. B.--The best bicycle for your use is probably a "Youth's Mustang,"
with a front wheel of thirty-six inches in diameter. Go to 597
Washington Street, Boston, for it.

       *       *       *       *       *

FRANK B.--Apply to the nearest dealer in birds, gold-fish, etc., for
white mice. You would not have to pay expressage if you purchased them
in this way, but if you obtained them from a boy who had white mice to
spare, or from any private source, you would, of course, pay their
travelling expenses.

       *       *       *       *       *

BESSIE L.--In pressing flowers the most necessary thing is to select
perfect specimens, and then laying them carefully between smooth sheets
of paper, press them down with a heavy weight. Change the paper
frequently. There is a way of preserving flowers by placing them stems
upward in a dish, and pouring fine white sand upon them till they are
entirely covered. Leave them a few days, and then remove the sand. This
method is recommended for autumn flowers.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mary Anderson, owing to prolonged illness, withdraws from our exchange
list. Several correspondents complain of careless writers who forget to
sign their names or state where they live!

       *       *       *       *       *

C. Y.

     DEAR EDITOR OF THE CHAUTAUQUA COLUMN,--It gives me pleasure to
     learn that the Harpers have decided to publish a series of articles
     in the YOUNG PEOPLE as Required Reading for the new Chautauqua
     Reading Union, and that you are to open a correspondence through
     your Post-office Department with our C. Y.'s in all parts of the
     land.

     Were we in the auditorium at Chautauqua, under the shadow of the
     great trees, or in the amphitheatre, I should call for the
     "Chautauqua Salute" in honor of the Harpers; and then in the
     evening, the amphitheatre or auditorium all ablaze with the
     splendors of the electric light, I would make "the white lilies
     bloom" in another "Chautauqua Salute" to you.

     As it is, I am delighted to recognize the honor thus conferred upon
     our new Chautauqua movement in behalf of pure, elevating, refining
     reading among young people.

     Readers of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE who desire to become regular
     members of the Chautauqua Union, to have their names recorded in
     our huge book, and to receive the president's annual address,
     memoranda, and other documents, should address me at Plainfield,
     New Jersey, sending their names and post-office address, not
     forgetting to inclose nine cents in postage stamps.

  Yours truly,
  J. H. VINCENT,
  President C. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

A WORD TO OUR READERS.

Enter Postmistress. You need not be surprised to see a meditative and
rather important look on her face. You have read the letter of the Rev.
J. H. Vincent, D.D., so we have only to tell you that the Postmistress
has become much interested in the host of young people to whom
Chautauqua is a dear and honored name. She would like to gather them
around her. She has heard that they wish to know about the world they
live in, the history of the past, and the treasures of literature. This
column, which will hereafter be headed C. Y. P. R. U., is to be bright
and cheery. It will touch on many subjects, and vary from week to week
as may be necessary. The Editor will give her and you at least one
column every week in Our Post-office Box, and you may write to her on
any subject you please--etiquette, household ways, social duties, what
to do and how to act in company. Consult the Postmistress. Some may feel
dissatisfied with their present positions, and anxious to prepare for
wider usefulness; see what the Postmistress thinks of the situation.
Some of you may find charming, wise, and witty bits of verse and prose
in your reading: slip them, neatly copied, into an envelope, and send
them to her.

Address your letters for this column to

  THE POSTMISTRESS,
  Care of Harper & Brothers, Franklin Square, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

Contributions received for Young People's Cot in Holy Innocent's Ward,
St. Mary's Free Hospital for Children, 407 West Thirty-fourth Street,
New York. The next list will appear November 1:

  F. D. W.                                                     $3.00
  Clarence Cook, Flat Rock, Mich.                                .25
  "One of the Sick Ones," Bryn Mawr                             1.00
  Emila and Stanley Mitchell, Miamiville, Ohio                  2.00
  Charlie, Clare, and Fred Ray, Wabash, Ind.                     .30
  Russell Grinnell, Providence, R. I.                            .68
  Helen E. Villard and brother, Dobbs Ferry                    25.00
  Ned Bishop, St. Louis                                          .50
  "In Memoriam," ---- Bishop, St. Louis                         2.00
  Monroe J. Rathbone, Parkersburg, W. Va.                        .27
  Wilfred Hostetter, Alleghany City                             2.00
  Fletcher, A. H., Inland, Ohio                                 1.00
  Gracie Blakeslee, ----                                         .25
  Fred, Edith, and Robbie Caton, Fort Bennett, Dakota           1.00
  Marian Wallace, Bennetville, S. C.                             .10
  Charlie G. Halliday, ----, N. Y.                              1.00
  Willie C. Chipman, Spring Hill                                 .25
  Mary Appleton, Boonton, N. J.                                  .50
  "D.," Elmira, N. Y.                                            .25
  Nellie Littlehale, Stockton, Cal.                             2.50
  Mollie W. Franklin, Vicksburg, Mich.                           .25
  Helena ----, Boonton, N. J.                                   5.00
  Fannie T. Metzgar, Butternut, Wis.                             .25
  Helen Savery, Fort Cameron, Utah                               .25
  William Savery, Fort Cameron, Utah                             .75
  M. D. L., Madison, N. J.                                      1.00
  Percy and Guy Wilson, Fort Randall, Dakota                    1.00
  Maud Russell, New Haven, Conn.                                 .25
  ----, Refugio, Texas                                          1.00
  Annie Louise Huck, Dunning's Bridge, Tex.                     1.00
  Carrie and Helen Yardley, Lockhaven, Penn.                     .75
  Lee Gray Wilson, Water Valley, Miss.                           .27
  Edmond Genis, Terre Haute, Ind.                               1.00
  Bessie M. Morris, Lexington Avenue, N. Y.                     1.00
  May H. Wilson, Columbus, Ohio                                  .55
  Carlotta and Lulu R. Keep, Smith's Hill, Cal.                 1.00
  Allan Carpenter, Fort Dodge, Iowa                              .10
  Ally J. Dent, Columbia, S. C.                                  .10
  Collected by Florence Woodcock, Morgan City, La.:
    Louisa Davis                                    $0.25
    Arthur St. Clair                                  .25
    May Woodcock                                      .25
    Charles Woodcock                                  .25
    Willie Crawford                                   .10
    Joanna Luker                                      .10
    Anonymously contributed                          2.05       3.25
  Kate's "Little Kate," Brooklyn                                5.00
  Myrtle and Walter Wells, Oswayo, Penn.                        1.00
  Charles A. Lutz, Cane Spring Dépôt, Ky.                       1.00
  K. E. S., Philadelphia                                         .10
  Vena L. Haskin, Portland, Me.                                 1.00
  Da Walker, Butte City, Montana                                1.00
  Mathilde Neil, Philadelphia                                    .50
  Nellie T. Willets, Westbury, L. I.                             .50
  Samuel Willets, Westbury, L. I.                                .50
  Alice W. Titus, Westbury, L. I.                                .50
  Minnie W. Titus, Westbury, L. I.                               .50
  Edna Pearl Lisk and Philip Clyde Lisk, Grahamville, Fla.       .25
  May Blakeslee, ----, Kan.                                      .25
  J. B. Senior, Niagara, Ont.                                    .36
  John R. Blake, Seabright, N. J.                               1.00
  Mabel and Harry Wheeler, Birmingham, Ala.                     2.00
  Perly D. Temple, Blue Earth, Minn.                             .15
  From six readers of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE,
    Convent Station, N. J.                                      2.00
  "Elliot," Bangor, Me.                                         1.00
  Virgie McLain, Nassau, Bahamas                                 .30
  Birdie Dorman, Carthage, Ohio                                  .25
  Alice Ward, Carthage, Ohio                                     .25
  Nellie Nelson, Cold Spring, N. Y.                              .25
  Sadie Nichols, St. Joseph, La.                                 .50
  Abbie Louise Bendel, Greenville, N. Y.                         .25
  L. D. C., Chicago                                              .25
  Mary and George Hamlin, Willimantic, Conn.                    1.00
  Anna and Levi Paxson, Reading, Penn.                          1.00
  Florence and Nellie Bates, Winchester, N. C.                  1.00
  Alice Perkins, Rising Sun, Ind.                                .25
  May Lilian Bishop, New Haven                                  1.00
  ---- Wilkeson, Washington                                     1.00
  Ina Giles, Rugby, Tenn.                                        .25
  Etta Giles, Rugby, Tenn.                                       .25
  Horace Giles, Rugby, Tenn.                                     .05
  L. D. C., Chicago                                             2.00
  Oliver Meeker, Puyallup, Wash. Ter.                            .50
  Edna Bean, Puyallup, Wash. Ter.                                .15
  Harry Campbell, Puyallup, Wash. Ter.                           .25
  Alida Spining, Puyallup, Wash. Ter.                            .10
  Susy Wilson, Puyallup, Wash. Ter.                              .25
  Alice Winkler, Puyallup, Wash. Ter.                            .10
  A Friend, Puyallup, Wash. Ter.                                 .50
  Bertha Sherwood, Puyallup, Wash. Ter.                          .15
                                                             -------
    Total                                                     $93.08
  Amount previously acknowledged                               45.53
                                                             -------
    Total, September 14, 1881                                $138.61
                                                             =======

E. A. FANSHAWE, Treasurer.

Contributions for the Cot should be sent to Miss E. A. Fanshawe, 43 New
Street, New York.

       *       *       *       *       *

We select for publication a few of the letters received during the last
month by the Treasurer of St. Mary's Free Hospital.

  ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI.

     Here are fifty cents out of my bank for the Harper's Young People's
     Cot, and mamma sends two dollars for my little sister who is dead.

     I like my paper ever so much, and I hope all the little boys and
     girls who read it will send some money for the cot.

  NED BISHOP.

       *       *       *       *       *

  NIAGARA, ONTARIO, CANADA.

     I saw your letter about the Young People's Cot, and I thought I
     would send a little, which I earned myself. I made some little
     boats and sold them in the store, and I now send thirty-six cents,
     and will send some more after a while.

  J. B. SENIOR.

       *       *       *       *       *

  CANE SPRING DÉPÔT, KENTUCKY.

     I saw your letter in YOUNG PEOPLE about Young People's Cot, and
     sold my chickens, and received $1, which I inclose.

  CHARLES A. LUTZ.

       *       *       *       *       *

  BLUE EARTH CITY, MINNESOTA.

     I am a little girl eleven years old. I take HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE;
     have taken it ever since the first number, and like it very much. I
     picked up blocks for papa, and got fifteen cents, which I am going
     to send to you for the Young People's Cot. I wish it were more.

  PERLY D. TEMPLE.

       *       *       *       *       *

  PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND.

     I send you the money that I have earned picking berries for my
     mamma. It is for the Young People's Cot. I am six years old.

  RUSSELL GRINNELL.

       *       *       *       *       *

  NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT.

     Little May Lilian Bishop wishes to send $1 toward the Young
     People's Cot, 50 cents being from her own small savings and 50
     being the prize taken by her doll at a doll show last week.

       *       *       *       *       *

  WINCHESTER, NORTH CAROLINA.

     My sister Nellie and I wrote a letter some months ago for the
     Post-office Box, but it was not published. I now write again to
     send one dollar for the Hospital Cot. Nellie is North at school
     now, but half of the money sent is hers. Mamma gives us all the
     surplus eggs, and we sell these and have the money to do with as we
     please. We have over one hundred chickens, young and old; they are
     quite tame. One rooster was so large that we harnessed him to a
     small cart. I have a little gold mine with a tunnel, pump,
     windlass, and a small rubber doll to go down in the bucket. I am
     nine years old.

  FLORENCE JULIA BATES.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I hope that you will succeed in getting a real nice cot. Here is
     twenty-five cents that I have earned myself by helping my mamma, as
     she has not been well.

  MAY BLAKESLEE.

       *       *       *       *       *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from "Castor and Pollux,"
George Sylvester, George McLaughlin, "Young America," Nellie Brainerd,
Emma Roehm, Agnes G. F., "Florence Nightingale," Willie B. H., Maggie J.
Laurie, T. M. Armstrong, Maud Williams.

       *       *       *       *       *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

HALF-SQUARE.

1. The Christian name of one of our most honored Presidents. 2.
Supports. 3. A runner. 4. Single spots. 5. A pronoun. 6. A consonant.

WORD SQUARE.

1. A bird. 2. To infer. 3. Nips. 4. Sluggish. 5. Homes without hands.

  CLAUDE.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 2.

ENIGMA.

  My first is in fork, but not in knife.
  My second is in guitar, but not in fife.
  My third is in chain, but not in locket.
  My fourth is in fire-works, and also in rocket.
  My fifth is in early, and also in late.
  My sixth is in pencil, and also in slate.
  And when you have uttered my musical word,
  You will find that my whole is a beautiful bird.

  LULA.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 3.

TWO DIAMONDS.

1.--1. A letter. 2. A verb. 3. A fruit. 4. An abbreviation of a boy's
name. 5. A letter.

2.--1. A letter. 2. A part of the body. 3. A retreat. 4. A wild flower.
5. A musical term. 6. A track. 7. A letter.

  LULA.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 98.

No. 1.

Clothes-horse. Sun-shade.

No. 2.

Locust. Sirena.

No. 3.

      S           V
    R U M       T I N
  S U G A R   V I P E R
    M A Y       N E T
      R           R

       *       *       *       *       *

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




CONVENTIONAL ART; OR, RAPHAEL JOHN AND THE MOON.

  A sadder moon you never knew.
      She was sailing away
      (As poets would say)
      O'er heaven's deep bay
      Of invisible blue:
      But of what avail
      Was her silvery trail,
      When the earth, rolling by
      In the distant sky,
  Brought a zealous young artist to view.

[Illustration]

  For Raphael John was learning to draw;
      He could "do" very fair
      A table or chair,
      And he thought he might dare
      "Do" the moon; for what flaw
      In the world could be found
      If he made it look round,
      And with nose, mouth, and eyes,
      Like the one in the skies,
  A likelier moon, why, who ever saw?

  But Raphael John was an artist too free
      And a boy far too smart
      To mistake for true art
      What is only a part
      Of her sphere; so, thought he,
      "Not to make it too real,
      I will add my ideal
      Of a face. Who need care
      If I just--bang her hair?"
  But a madder moon you never did see.

[Illustration]




A (LAKE IN CANADA) STORY.

BY C. E. M.


"(Lake in Switzerland)!" cried a voice beneath my window early one (cape
in New Jersey) morning, "do you want to go (lake in Canada) with me?"

Of course I accepted with alacrity, and having effectually protected
myself from sunburn by putting on my broad-brimmed (city in Italy) hat,
trimmed with (island off the coast of Scotland), ran quickly down
stairs, where I found my cousin (river in Virginia) (mountains in
Australia) waiting impatiently. Now we had lived but a short time in
this (river in Africa), and knew very few of the neighboring families,
so that (river in Virginia) and I were continually in each other's
(islands in the Pacific).

We walked briskly along the (one of the Bahama islands) path through the
(river in Australia), and finally reached our destination, a pretty
little brook, in the middle of which rose a small (city in Illinois).
This we contrived to reach by means of wading, though in scrambling up
the bank I ran a (town in Prussia) into my hand.

"One comfort is that we can't get much (island of Malaisia) than we are
already," (port in Africa) my cousin, "and it certainly does look as
though we should have a (lake in Canada) day. Come," he continued, "now
we'll try our (bay in Newfoundland) (cape in Canada), and don't make any
noise."

So we waited patiently, watching the insects skating over the (cape in
Madagascar)-colored water, until I suddenly felt a (head on the Shetland
Islands) jerk on my line, and after a slight struggle, succeeded in
landing an unusually small (lake in Canada).

"What a (river in Africa)!" cried my cousin, sarcastically. "Why, you
will need a (island off the coast of Australia) to carry it home."

Notwithstanding this unpromising beginning, we did have very good luck,
and bore home in triumph to the (strait in New Zealand) a mess of fine
(lake in Canada), off which we made a (lake in Canada) lunch.




[Illustration: A SHORT STOP.]





End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, October 4, 1881, by Various

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, OCT 4, 1881 ***

***** This file should be named 49360-8.txt or 49360-8.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        http://www.gutenberg.org/4/9/3/6/49360/

Produced by Annie R. McGuire
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive
specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this
eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook
for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports,
performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given
away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks
not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the
trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
1.E.8.

1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the
Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country outside the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

  This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
  most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
  restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
  under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
  eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
  United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you
  are located before using this ebook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain
Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
provided that

* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
  the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
  you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
  to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
  agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
  within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
  legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
  payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
  Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
  Literary Archive Foundation."

* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
  you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
  does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
  License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
  copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
  all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
  works.

* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
  any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
  electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
  receipt of the work.

* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
  distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The
Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm
trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
www.gutenberg.org



Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the
mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its
volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous
locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt
Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to
date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and
official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

For additional contact information:

    Dr. Gregory B. Newby
    Chief Executive and Director
    gbnewby@pglaf.org

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works.

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.

Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.