{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_29009/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_29009","id":"gutenberg_29009","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/29009","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Category: Short Stories","Children's periodicals, American","Harper's Young People"],"text":"Produced by Annie McGuire\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: HARPER'S\n\nYOUNG PEOPLE\n\nAN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nVOL. I.--NO. 34. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR\nCENTS.\n\nTuesday, June 22, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per\nYear, in Advance.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: RECESS AT THE ACADEMY.--DRAWN BY A. B. SHULTS.]\n\n\n\n\nBABY, BEE, AND BUTTERFLY.\n\nBY MARY D. BRINE.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n  Baby, Bee, and Butterfly,\n  Underneath the summer sky.\n\n  Baby, bees, and birds together,\n  Happy in the pleasant weather;\n\n  Sunshine over all around,\n  In the sky, and on the ground;\n\n  Hiding, too, in Baby's eyes,\n  As he looks in mute surprise\n\n  At the sunbeams tumbling over\n  Merrily amid the clover,\n\n  Where the bees, at work all day,\n  Never find the time for play.\n\n  Happy little baby boy!\n  Tiny heart all full of joy;\n\n  Loving everything on earth,\n  As love welcomed him at birth;\n\n  Ever learning new delights,\n  Ever seeing pleasant sights;\n\n  Taking each day one step more\n  Than he ever took before.\n\n  Shine out, sunbeams, warm and bright,\n  Lengthen daytime, shorten night,\n\n  Till so wise he grows that he\n  Spells _baby_ with a _great big B_.\n\n\n\n\nAN AMERICAN SOLDIER OF FORTUNE.\n\nBY M. LOCKWOOD.\n\n\nOne hundred and twenty years ago there lived a plain, honest farmer in\nthe beautiful town of Woodstock, in the province of Connecticut, by the\nname of Eaton. He belonged to the fine, intelligent New England stock,\nand did his duty like a man in the state of life to which God had been\npleased to call him, working on his farm in summer, and teaching school\nin winter; for he needed all he could earn to put bread in the mouths of\nhis thirteen children, who were taught early to help themselves, after\nthe fashion of their stalwart Anglo-Saxon forefathers. One of Farmer\nEaton's boys, named William, was born February 23, 1764, and was a\nhigh-spirited, clever, reckless little chap, keeping his mother\ncontinually in a state of anxiety on his account; indeed, if she had not\nbeen so used to boys with their pranks and unlimited thirst for\nadventures, I think Bill would have been the death of her, for she never\nknew what he would be about next. For all his love of sport and out-door\namusement, the boy was so fond of reading that he nearly always managed\nto conceal a book in his pocket when he went out to work in the fields\nor woods, and often, when left alone, or when his companions stopped for\nrest or meals, Bill would steal time to read. When his elders caught him\nat it he would often get soundly scolded for not being better employed,\nbut the very next chance he would be at it again.\n\nOne Sunday, when he was ten years old, he was returning from church, and\npassing a tree laden with tempting red cherries, climbed up in his usual\nreckless fashion to help himself; but either the branch broke or he lost\nhis footing, for he fell to the ground with such violence that he\ndislocated his shoulder, besides being so stunned that he lay senseless\nfor several days after he was picked up and carried home. The neighbors\ncame in to offer their services when they heard of the accident, for\nthough they no doubt shook their heads and remarked, \"I told you so,\" \"I\nknew how it would be,\" they were, all the same, very kind to the poor\nlittle chap who lay there, white and death-like, for so many long hours.\n\nA neighbor, who was a tanner by trade, was sitting by his bed when at\nlast he opened his eyes. I suppose the tanner was glad enough to see the\nboy come to life again; but all he said was, \"Do you love cherries,\nBill?\"\n\n\"Do you love _hides_?\" spoke up Bill, as quick as a flash.\n\nYou see, he came to the full possession of his senses at once after his\nlong sleep, and wasn't going to let himself be taken at a disadvantage\nby any tanner in the land.\n\nWhen Eaton was twelve our country declared itself free and independent,\nand all true patriots rose up to defend, by sword or whatever other\nmeans was in their power, the sacred cause of liberty.\n\nOur young friend Bill fairly burned with desire to go off and do\nsomething great. His soul was on fire with patriotic ardor. How could he\nstay quietly in Woodstock, and lead a humdrum life, when the soldiers of\nthe tyrant were threatening all the Americans held most dear? But his\nfriends at home did not encourage his practical patriotism. He was told\nthat he must stay at home, and work on the farm, and get ready for\ncollege; the country would get on very well without him; and so he did\nstay for four years, and the war seemed no nearer an end than ever. At\nlast one night he could stand it no longer; so he ran away, and joined\nthe nearest camp, where he enlisted. But the pride of the\nsixteen-year-old boy received a blow: they made him servant to one of\nthe officers, and in this menial position he was obliged to stay. He\nfound that he was far from being his own master now. He behaved so well,\nthough, that he was placed in the ranks after a while, and in 1783 was\nmade a sergeant, and discharged.\n\nHe went home, and taught, to support himself, while he prepared for\ncollege; for he had no father now to help him along. He entered\nDartmouth College, and graduated honorably, though he had lost five\nyears for study out of his young life. Not long after his graduation,\nwhile he was teaching again, he was given a captain's commission in the\narmy for his service during the Revolution. A soldier's life suited his\nbold character far better than the quiet occupation of country teacher.\nThen he married, and went first west, then south, on military service,\nand saw plenty of wild life, and made enemies as well as friends, for\nthe best of us can not expect to please everybody, and Captain Eaton had\ntoo strong a character not to make some people, who did not think as he\ndid, very angry.\n\nWhen he was about thirty-five years old, trouble rose between the United\nStates government and some of the countries of Africa, and the President\nsent Eaton out to Tunis as consul. Tunis is one of the Moorish kingdoms\nof Africa that border on the Mediterranean Sea, and were called \"Barbary\nStates.\" The other Barbary States were Morocco, Algiers, and Tripoli.\nFor a long time these countries had been nests of pirates, who made\ntheir living by preying on the commerce of Christian nations, and making\nslaves of their seamen, so that the black flags of their ships were the\nterror of the Mediterranean. These robbers had the daring to demand\ntribute of European nations, which many of them paid annually for the\nsake of not being molested, and lately they had tried to extort money\nfrom the United States on the same plea. Eaton managed so cleverly and\nsuccessfully with the Bey, or ruler, of Tunis, that he made a very\nsatisfactory arrangement with him, and then returned home: but the other\nagents did not manage so well, and at last war was declared, for the\nUnited States had no idea of being cowed and threatened by these\npirates and murderers--far otherwise! The memory of her recent\nsuccessful struggle with the greatest nation of the earth was too fresh\nto make it possible that an American ship should voluntarily lower its\nflag before a Moorish marauder. But what we would not do voluntarily we\nhad to do by compulsion. The frigate _Philadelphia_, sailing in African\nwaters, under Captain Bainbridge, was captured by the Bey of Tripoli,\nand towed into the harbor of that town. Her crew was carried off into\nslavery by the pirates, some languishing in hopeless imprisonment,\nothers toiling their lives away under the burning sun of Africa.\n\nCaptain Decatur soon after sailed into the harbor in a vessel that he\nhad captured from the Tripolitans, and retook and burned the\n_Philadelphia_; but, alas! hero as he was, he could not rescue his\nunfortunate countrymen. A few months later, in 1805, Eaton was sent back\nto the Barbary States as Naval Agent, and first stopped in Egypt. Here\nhe made up his mind that he would bend all his energies toward rescuing\nthe captives at Tripoli. He found that the rightful ruler of Tripoli,\nnamed Hamet Caramelli, had been driven away from his dominions by his\nbrother Yusef, and was in Alexandria. Eaton offered to assist him to\nrecover his throne, and collected a little army of five hundred men,\nmost of them Mussulmans, a few Greek Christians, and nine Americans.\nWith these followers he and Hamet marched across the desert toward\nDerne, in the kingdom of Tripoli. Eaton had not lost his boyish love of\nadventure yet, you see. This was just one of the bold, daring\nundertakings that he may have dreamed of in those early days when he\nstole away from his work to read with eager delight stories of wild\nventure and perilous escape in the peaceful shades of the forest around\nWoodstock. Doubtless these desert marches now entered upon far exceeded\nall his young imagination had pictured them.\n\nIt was a perilous journey, for the Arab sheiks and their followers, who\nmade up most of his army, sometimes behaved in a very mutinous manner,\nand it took all Eaton's force of will and strict discipline to keep them\nin any sort of order, for Hamet showed very little decision of\ncharacter, and proved that he was not very well fitted to be a ruler of\nmen.\n\nThey were liable to be attacked by brigands from the mountains, too, so\nthat ceaseless vigilance was needed. Some friendly Arab bands joined\nthem on the road; so, when they reached Derne, Eaton found himself at\nthe head of quite an army. Here he was met by two American ships, and\nwith their help he bombarded the town, and took it by assault, driving\nthe wild Arabs who were defending it back to the mountains. Now Eaton\nwas in a situation to dictate his own terms to the usurper Yusef Bey,\nsince he had brought Hamet Caramelli triumphantly into his own city of\nDerne, and had driven all enemies before him. He had laid his plans to\nmarch on Tripoli, drive off the usurper, and deliver his poor captive\ncountrymen at the edge of the sword, when suddenly his successful career\nwas brought to an end in rather a mortifying way. Yusef, frightened out\nof his defiance, consented to come to terms with Colonel Lear, American\nConsul-General at Algiers. If Colonel Lear had not been too hasty in\nconcluding a treaty which forced the United States to pay sixty thousand\ndollars ransom money, when not a cent should have been given, and left\nthe cruel Yusef safe on his throne, General Eaton might have marched on\nTripoli with his victorious army, restored Hamet, and let the captives\ngo in triumph.\n\nMost people agreed that but for Eaton's promptness and bravery the\ntroubles might have lasted much longer; and when he returned to America,\nsoon after, he was received with great distinction by his countrymen,\nwho made him quite an ovation. The Massachusetts Legislature voted him\nten thousand acres of land in the district of Maine. The remainder of\nhis life was passed in his pleasant home at Brimfield, Massachusetts,\nwhere he died June 1, 1811, at the age of forty-seven.\n\nAaron Burr tried to draw Eaton into his famous conspiracy, but Eaton was\na firm patriot, and refused with horror to play the traitor. Wishing to\nmake his true sentiments known, once for all, he gave this toast at a\npublic banquet, in Burr's presence: \"The United States--palsy to the\nbrain that shall plot to dismember, and leprosy to the hand that will\nnot draw to defend our Union!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE HARE AND THE BADGER.\n\nA Story from the Japanese.\n\nBY WILLIAM ELLIOT GRIFFIS.\n\n\nA good while ago there lived near the Clack-clack Mountains an old man\nand his wife, who, having no child, made a great deal of a pet hare.\nEvery day the old man cut up food and set it out on a plate for his pet.\n\nOne day a badger came out of the forest, and in a trice drove away the\nhare, and eating up his dinner, licked the plate clean. Then, standing\non his hind-legs, the badger blew out his belly until it was as round as\na bladder and tight as a drum, and beating on it with his paws to show\nhis victory, scampered off to the woods. But the old man, who was very\nangry, caught the badger, and tying him by the legs, hung him up head\ndownward under the edges of the thatch in the shed where his old woman\npounded millet. He then strapped a wooden frame to hold fagots on his\nback, and went out to the mountains to cut wood.\n\nThe badger, finding his legs pain him, began to cry, and begged the old\nwoman to untie him, promising to help her pound the millet. The tired\nold dame, believing the sly beast, like a good-hearted soul laid down\nher pestle and loosened the cords round the beast's legs. The badger was\nso cramped at first that he could not stand; but when well able to move,\nhe seized a knife to kill the old woman. The hare, seeing this, ran away\nto find the old man, if possible, and tell him. The badger, after\nstabbing the old woman, crushed her to death by upsetting the bureau\nupon her, and then threw her body into the mortar, and pounded her into\na jelly. Setting the pot on to boil, he made the woman's flesh into a\nmess of soup, and ate all he could of it. Then the badger, by turning\nthree double somersaults, turned himself into an old woman, looking\nexactly like the one he had just eaten. All being ready, he waited till\nthe husband came home tired and hungry.\n\nSoon the old man came back, thinking of nothing more than the hot supper\nhe was soon to enjoy. Throwing down his fagots, he came into the house,\nand while he warmed his hands at the hearth, his wife (as he supposed)\nset the mess of soup and millet, with a slice of radish, before him on a\ntray. He fell to, and ate heartily, his wife (as he supposed) waiting\ndutifully near by till her lord was served. When the meal was finished\nhe pulled out a sheet of soft mulberry paper from his bosom and wiped\nhis old chops, smacking them well, as he thought what a good supper he\nhad so much enjoyed. Just then the badger took on his real shape, and\nyelled out: \"Old fool, you've eaten your own wife. Look in the drain,\nand you'll find her bones.\" And he puffed out his body, beat it like a\ndrum, whisked his tail scornfully, and ran off.\n\nAlmost dead with grief and horror, the old man gathered up the bones of\nhis wife, and decently buried them. Then he made a vow to take revenge\non the badger. Just then the hare came back from the mountains, and\nafter condoling with the old man, said he would also take revenge on the\nbadger.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nSo the hare buckled on his belt, in which he kept his flint and steel,\nand made ready a plaster of red peppers.\n\nGoing into the forest, he saw Mr. Badger walking home with a load of\nfagots and brush on his back. Creeping up softly behind him, the hare\nset the bundle on fire. The badger kept on, until he heard the crackling\nof the burning twigs. Then he jumped wildly, and cried out, \"Oh, I\nwonder what that noise is!\"\n\n\"Oh, this is the Clack-clack Mountain; it always is crackling here,\"\nsaid the hare, looking down from the top of the hill.\n\nThe fire grew more lively, and the badger became scared. He fell down,\nand threw out his fore-paws wildly.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Katchi-katchi\" (clack-clack), went the dry fagots, as the red-hot coals\nflew about.\n\n\"What can it be?\" said Mr. Badger.\n\n\"This mountain is called Katchi-katchi (Clack-clack); don't you know\nthat?\" said the hare, coolly standing on the bridge, and leaning on his\naxe.\n\n\"Oh! oh! oh! help me!\" howled the badger, as the blazing twigs began to\nburn the hair off his back. And running through the woods to a stream\nnear by, he plunged in, and the fire was put out. But his running had\nonly increased the fire and burning, and his back was all raw. When the\nhare found the badger at home in his house, he was howling in misery,\nand expecting to die from his burn.\n\n\"Let me take a look at your burn, Mr. Badger,\" said the hare; \"I have\nsome famous salve to cure it\"--as he pretended to be very pitiful, and\nheld up a bowl of what seemed to be fine salve in one paw, while in the\nother was a soft brush of fine hair. Then the hare clapped on the\nred-pepper plaster, and ran away, while the badger rolled in pain.\n\nBy-and-by, when the badger got well, he went to see the hare, to have it\nout with him. He found the hare building a boat. \"Where are you going in\nthat boat?\" said the badger.\n\n\"I'm going to the moon,\" said the hare. \"Come along with me. There's\nanother boat.\"\n\nSo the badger, thinking to catch some fish by going on the water, got\ninto the boat, and both launched away.\n\nNow the boat in which Mr. Badger rowed was made of clay, which soon\nbegan to melt away in the water. Seeing this, the hare lifted his\npaddle, and with one blow sunk the boat, and the badger was drowned.\n\nThe hare went back and told the old man, who was glad that his wife had\nbeen revenged, and more than ever petted the hare to the end of his\nlife.\n\n\n\n\n[Begun in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 31, June 1.]\n\nTHE MORAL PIRATES.\n\nBY W. L. ALDEN.\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nSome time in the middle of the night Joe Sharpe woke up from a dream\nthat he had fallen into the river, and could not get out. He thought\nthat he had caught hold of the supports of a bridge, and had drawn\nhimself partly out of the water, but that he had not strength enough to\ndrag his legs out, and that, on the contrary, he was slowly sinking\nback. When he awoke he found that he was very cold, and that his blanket\nfelt particularly heavy. He put his hand down to move the blanket, when,\nto his great surprise, he found that he was lying with his legs in a\npool of water.\n\nJoe instantly shouted to the other boys, and told them to wake up, for\nit was raining, and the tent was leaking. As each boy woke up he found\nhimself as wet as Joe, and at first all supposed that it was raining\nheavily. They soon found, however, that no rain-drops were pattering on\nthe outside of the tent, and that the stars were shining through the\nopen nap.\n\n\"There's water in this tent,\" said Tom, with the air of having made a\ngrand discovery.\n\n\"If any of you fellows have been throwing water on me, it was a mean\ntrick,\" said Jim.\n\nAll at once an idea struck Harry. \"Boys,\" he exclaimed, \"it's the tide!\nWe've got to get out of this place mighty quick, or the tide will wash\nthe tent away.\"\n\nThe boys sprung up, and rushed out of the tent. They had gone to bed at\nlow tide, and as the tide rose it had gradually invaded the tent. The\nboat was still safe, but the water had surrounded it, and in a very\nshort time would be deep enough to float it. The tide was still rising,\nand it was evident that no time should be lost if the tent was to be\nsaved.\n\nTwo of the boys hurriedly seized the blankets and other articles which\nwere in the tent, and carried them on to the higher ground, while the\nother two pulled up the pins, and dragged the tent out of reach of the\nwater. Then they pulled the boat farther up the beach, and having thus\nmade everything safe, had leisure to discover that they were miserably\ncold, and that their clothes, from the waist down, were wet through.\n\nLuckily, their spare clothing, which they had used for pillows, was\nuntouched by the water, so that they were able to put on dry shirts and\ntrousers. Their blankets, however, had been thoroughly soaked, and it\nwas too cold to think of sleeping without them. There was nothing to be\ndone but to build a fire, and sit around it until daylight. It was by no\nmeans easy to collect fire-wood in the dark; and as soon as a boy\nsucceeded in getting an armful of driftwood, he usually stumbled and\nfell down with it. There was not very much fun in this; but when the\nfire finally blazed up, and its pleasant warmth conquered the cold night\nair, the boys began to regain their spirits.\n\n\"I wonder what time it is?\" said one.\n\nTom had a watch, but he had forgotten to wind it up for two or three\nnights, and it had stopped at eight o'clock. The boys were quite sure,\nhowever, that they could not have been asleep more than half an hour.\n\n\"It's about one o'clock,\" said Harry, presently.\n\n\"I don't believe it's more than nine,\" said Joe.\n\n\"We must have gone into the tent about an hour after sunset,\" continued\nHarry, \"and the sun sets between six and seven. It was low tide then,\nand it's pretty near high tide now; and since the tide runs up for about\nsix hours, it must be somewhere between twelve and one.\"\n\n\"You're right,\" exclaimed Jim. \"Look at the stars. That bright star over\nthere in the west was just rising when we went to bed.\"\n\n\"You ought to say 'turned in,'\" said Joe. \"Sailors never go to bed; they\nalways 'turn in.'\"\n\n\"Well, we can't turn in any more to-night,\" replied Tom. \"What do you\nsay, boys? suppose we have breakfast--it'll pass away the time, and we\ncan have another breakfast by-and-by.\"\n\nNow that the boys thought of it, they began to feel hungry, for they had\nhad a very light supper. Everybody felt that hot coffee would be very\nnice; so they all went to work, made coffee, fried a piece of ham, and,\nwith a few slices of bread, made a capital breakfast. They wrung out the\nwet blankets and clothes, and hung them up by the fire to dry. Then they\nhad to collect more fire-wood; and gradually the faint light of the dawn\nbecame visible before they really had time to find the task of waiting\nfor daylight tiresome.\n\nThey decided that it would not do to start with wet blankets, since they\ncould not dry them in the boat. They therefore continued to keep up a\nbrisk fire, and to watch the blankets closely, in order to see that they\ndid not get scorched. After a time the sun came out bright and hot, and\ntook the drying business in charge. The boys went into the river, and\nhad a nice long swim, and then spent some time in carefully packing\neverything into the boat. By the time the blankets were dry, and they\nwere ready to start, the tide had fallen so low that the boat was high\nand dry; and in spite of all their efforts they could not launch her\nwhile she was loaded.\n\n\"We'll have to take all the things out of her,\" said Harry.\n\n\"It reminds me,\" remarked Joe, \"of Robinson Crusoe that time he built\nhis big canoe, and then couldn't launch it.\"\n\n\"Robinson wasn't very sharp,\" said Jim. \"Why didn't he make a set of\nrollers, and put them on the boat?\"\n\n\"Much good rollers would have been,\" replied Joe. \"Wasn't there a hill\nbetween the boat and the water? He couldn't roll a heavy boat up hill,\ncould he?\"\n\n\"He could have made a couple of pulleys, and rigged a rope through them,\nand then made a windlass, and put the rope round it,\" argued Jim.\n\n\"Yes, and he could have built a steam-engine and a railroad, and dragged\nthe boat down to the shore that way, just about as easy.\"\n\n\"He couldn't dig a canal, for he thought about that, and found it would\ntake too much work,\" said Jim.\n\n\"But we can,\" cried Harry. \"If we just scoop out a little sand, we can\nlaunch the boat with everything in her.\"\n\n[Illustration: TOM MAKES A CALCULATION.]\n\nThe boys liked the idea of a canal; and they each found a large shingle\non the beach, and began to dig. They dug for nearly an hour, but the\nboat was no nearer being launched than when they began. Tom stopped\ndigging, and made a calculation. \"It will take about two days of hard\nwork to dig a canal deep enough to float that boat. If you want to dig,\ndig; I don't intend to do any more digging.\"\n\nWhen the other boys considered the matter, they saw that Tom was right,\nand they gave up the idea of making a canal. It was now about ten\no'clock, and they were rather tired and very hungry. A second breakfast\nwas agreed to be necessary, and once more the fire was built up and a\nmeal prepared. Then the boat was unloaded and launched, and the boys,\ntaking off their shoes and rolling up their trousers, waded in the water\nand reloaded her. It was noon by the sun before they finally had\neverything in order, and resumed their cruise.\n\nThere was no wind, and it was necessary to take to the oars. The\ndisadvantage of starting at so late an hour soon became painfully\nevident. The sun was so nearly overhead that the heat was almost\nunbearable, and there was not a particle of shade. The boys had not had\na full night's sleep, and had tired themselves before starting by trying\nto dig a canal. Of course the labor of rowing in such circumstances was\nvery severe; and it was not long before first one and then another\nproposed to go ashore and rest in the shade.\n\n\"Hadn't we better keep on till we get into the Highlands? We can do it\nin a quarter of an hour,\" said Tom.\n\nAs Tom was pulling the stroke oar, and doing rather more work than any\none else, the others agreed to row on as long as he would row. They soon\nreached the entrance to the Highlands, and landed at the foot of the\ngreat hill called St. Anthony's Nose. They were very glad to make the\nboat fast to a tree that grew close to the water, and to clamber a\nlittle way up the hill into the shade.\n\n\"What will we do to pass away the time till it gets cooler?\" said Harry,\nafter they had rested awhile.\n\n\"I can tell you what I'm going to do,\" said Tom; \"I'm going to get some\nof the sleep that I didn't get last night, and you'd better follow my\nexample.\"\n\nAll the boys at once found that they were sleepy; and having brought the\ntent up from the boat, they spread it on the ground for a bed, and\npresently were sleeping soundly. The mosquitoes came and feasted on\nthem, and the innumerable insects of the summer woods crawled over them,\nand explored their necks, shirt sleeves, and trousers legs, as is the\npleasant custom of insects of an inquiring turn of mind.\n\n\"What's that?\" cried Harry, suddenly sitting up, as the sound of a heavy\nexplosion died away in long, rolling echoes.\n\n\"I heard it,\" said Joe; \"it's a cannon. The cadets up at West Point are\nfiring at a mark with a tremendous big cannon.\"\n\n\"Let's go up and see them,\" exclaimed Jim. \"It's a great deal cooler\nthan it was.\"\n\nWith the natural eagerness of boys to be in the neighborhood of a\ncannon, they made haste to gather up the tent and carry it to the boat.\nAs they came out from under the thick trees, they saw that the sky in\nthe north was as black as midnight, and that a thunder-storm was close\nat hand.\n\n\"Your cannon, Joe, was a clap of thunder,\" said Harry. \"We're going to\nget wet again.\"\n\n\"We needn't get wet,\" said Tom. \"If we hurry up, we can get the tent\npitched and put the things in it, so as to keep them dry.\"\n\nThey worked rapidly, for the rain was approaching fast, but it was not\neasy to pitch the tent on a side-hill. It was done, however, after a\nfashion, and the blankets and other things that were liable to be\ninjured by the wet were safely under shelter before the storm reached\nthem.\n\n[TO BE CONTINUED.]\n\n\n\n\nNEW YORK PRISON-SHIPS.\n\n\nOn the Long Island shore, where the Navy-yard now extends its shops and\nvessels around Wallabout Bay, there was in the time of the Revolution a\nlarge and fertile farm. A number of flour mills, moved by water, then\nstood there. The flat fields glowed with rich crops of grain, roots, and\nclover. Their Dutch owners still kept up the customs and language of\nHolland; at Christmas the kettles hissed and bubbled over the huge\nfires, laden with olycooks, doughnuts, crullers; at Paas, or Easter, the\ncolored eggs were cracked by whites and blacks, and all was merriment.\nThe war no doubt brought its difficulties to the Dutch farmers; they\nwere sometimes plundered by both parties, and they had little love for\nKing George. They lived on in decorous silence, waiting for the coming\nof peace, remembering how their ancestors in Holland had once fought\nsuccessfully for freedom against the Spaniards and the French. But in\nfront of the quiet farm at Wallabout, and anchored in the bay, were seen\nseveral vessels, decayed, unseaworthy, and repulsive. They were the\nprison-ships of New York. Here from the year 1776 a large number of\nAmerican prisoners were confined until the close of the war, and the\ntragic tales of their sufferings and fate lend a melancholy interest to\nthe Wallabout shore.\n\nThe largest of the prison-ships--the old _Jersey_--was crowded with\nmiserable captives. She was an old man-of-war, worthless, decayed; her\nlow decks and dismal hold were converted into a jail; her crowded\ninmates were only thinned by the hand of death. The old _Jersey_ may\nwell be taken as one of the best symbols of the terrors of war. Her\nmiserable captives pined away for months and years, deprived of all that\nmakes life tolerable. In the chill and bitter frosts of winter no fires\nwarmed her half-clad inmates; in the hot summer they faded away beneath\nthe pitiless heat. Disease preyed upon them, yet no physician, it is\nsaid, was suffered to visit them. They were clothed in rags and tatters;\ntheir food was so scanty and often so repulsive that they lived in\ncontinual starvation. The fair youth of Connecticut and Rhode Island,\nthe young sailors of New York and New Jersey, confined in these floating\ndungeons, were the sacrifices to the ambition of King George. They died\nby hundreds and even thousands during the war; the whole shore was lined\nwith the unmarked graves of the patriot dead; the prison-ships were the\nscandal of the time, and their starved inmates seldom bore long the\npains of the merciless imprisonment. It is said that the bones of eleven\nthousand dead were found upon the shore, and reverently buried in a\ncommon tomb.\n\nYet the prisoners of the old _Jersey_ and the other ships were not left\nalways without sympathy and aid. Often a boat was seen sailing from the\nrich farms on the Wallabout, laden with provisions for the famished\npatriots. The Dutch farmers from their own diminished resources gave\nbountifully to the sufferers. The ladies of the household worked warm\nstockings with the busy knitting-needle; the spinning-wheel was never\nidle; the fair Dutch damsels, demure and prudent, blushing with the rich\ncomplexions of Amsterdam, were never weary of their charitable toil; and\nmany a poor prisoner was saved and strengthened by the gifts of his\nunknown friends. As the war advanced, too, the successes of the\nAmericans seem to have convinced the royal chiefs that they were at\nleast deserving of tolerable treatment. Some of the worst abuses of the\nsystem were removed. Hospital-ships were provided; the sick were\nseparated from the healthy; the _Whitby_, the most infamous of the\nfloating jails, was abandoned. Yet still, an observer relates, the dead\nwere carried away every morning from the old _Jersey_, and still the\nhorrors of captivity in the prison-ships exceeded all that had been\nknown in every recent European war.\n\nSeveral curious escapes are related. Once, in 1777, as a boat hung\nfastened to the old _Jersey_ unnoticed, three or four prisoners let\nthemselves down into it quietly, cast off the rope, and drifted away\nslowly with the tide. It was evening, and the darkness saved them. Their\nescape was discovered, and guns were fired at random after them; but\nthey floated unharmed along the East River, passed what are now the\nFulton and South ferries, and reached by a miracle the New Jersey shore.\nHere they found friends, and were safe. At another time, in the cold\nwinter of 1780, fifteen half-clad, half-famished prisoners escaped in\nthe night on the ice; others who followed them turned back, overpowered\nby the cold. One was frozen to death. It is almost possible to see in\nfancy the miserable band of shivering fugitives fleeing over the ice of\nthe restless river in the deep cold of the winter's night, chased by the\nfierce winds, half lost in the blinding snow. They made their way to the\nConnecticut shore. A very remarkable escape from the Old Sugar-House is\nrelated of a Boston prisoner. He dug a passage under Liberty Street from\nthe prison to the cellar of the house on the opposite side of the way.\nThe difficulty of making the excavation will be plain to every one who\nlooks at the labors of a party of workmen opening a trench for gas-pipes\nor water. Yet the Boston boy burrowed under-ground until he found\nhimself free.\n\nThe prison-ships were retained in use until 1783. Several were burned at\ndifferent times, either by accident or by the prisoners in their\ndespair. At the close of the war the remaining ships were all sunk or\nburned. A few years ago the wreck of the old _Jersey_ could still be\nseen on the Wallabout shore.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TIGER.\n\n\nThe royal tiger of Asia is an animal celebrated for its beauty and its\nagility, cunning, and prodigious strength. Its skin is a bright tawny\nyellow, with glossy black stripes running downward from its back. Its\ntail, which is long and supple, is ringed with black, and its large head\nis marked in a very handsome manner. It is like a great cat. Its puffy\ncheeks are ornamented with white whiskers, and its big paws are like\nthose of a pussy magnified fifty times. Its motions are very graceful,\nand whether lying down, its nose on its paw, sleeping, or walking\nthrough the paths of its native jungle with soft cat-like tread, it\nappears formed of muscle and sinew, without a bone in its body, so\ngracefully does it curve and twist itself as it moves.\n\nThe tiger is not considered a courageous beast by hunters, who say that\nif it is faced boldly, it will turn and slink away among the bushes, if\nit can. But if it can attack a hunter from behind, it will spring upon\nhim, filling the air with its savage growls, and probably kill him with\nthe first blow of its mighty paw.\n\nThe strength of this creature is almost incredible. It will break the\nskull of an ox, or even that of a buffalo, with the greatest ease. A\nstory is told of a buffalo belonging to a peasant in India, which, while\npassing through a swamp, became helplessly entangled in the mire and\nunderbrush. The peasant left the buffalo, and went to beg his neighbors\nto assist him in extricating the poor beast. When the rescuing party\nreturned, they found a tiger had arrived before them, and having killed\nthe buffalo, had just shouldered it, and started to march home to its\nlair with the prey. The tiger was soon dispatched by the peasant and his\nfriends, and his beautiful skin was made to atone in a measure for the\nmurder of the buffalo, which, when weighed, tipped the scales at more\nthan a thousand pounds--a tremendous load for so small an animal as a\ntiger to shoulder and carry off with ease.\n\nThe tiger is very troublesome to the inhabitants of certain localities\nin India, as it attacks the herds, and makes off with many a fat\nbullock; and when unable to find other provender it will even attack the\nhuts of the natives, sometimes tearing away the thatch, and springing in\nwith a loud roar on a startled family. Instances are rare, however, of\ntigers attacking human beings, except when surprised and driven to\nself-defense. In some portions of the country they are very abundant,\nand may be heard every night roaring through the jungles in search of\ndeer and other beasts upon which they prey. Even the savage wild boar of\nIndia does not terrify this queen of cats, and often bloody battles\noccur between these two powerful beasts.\n\nAs a mother the tiger is very devoted, and will fight for its pretty\nkittens to the last extremity. A story is told of an English officer\nwho, while hunting in India, came upon the lair of a tiger, in which a\ntiny kitten, about a fortnight old, was lying all alone. Thinking that\nthe mother was probably among the beasts killed by his party, the\nofficer took the kitten to the camp, where it was chained to a pole, and\namused the whole company with its graceful gambols. A few hours later,\nhowever, the whole camp was shaken by terrible roars and shrieks of\nrage, which came ever nearer and nearer. The kitten heard them, and\nbecame a miniature tiger at once, showing its teeth, and answering with\na loud wail. Suddenly there leaped into the camp inclosure a furious\ntigress with glaring eyes. Without deigning to notice the robbers of her\nbaby, she seized the little thing in her teeth, snapped the small chain\nwhich held it with one jerk, and briskly trotted off with it into the\njungle. Not a man in the camp dared move, and no one was malicious\nenough to fire at the retreating mother that had risked her life to\nregain possession of her baby.\n\n[Illustration: A ROYAL BENGAL TIGER.]\n\nAny one who has watched the feeding of caged tigers in a menagerie can\neasily imagine how terrible a hungry tiger would be, were he running\nfree in his native jungle. As supper-time approaches, the tigers begin\nto roar and growl, and march restlessly up and down the cage. When the\nkeeper approaches with the great pieces of raw beef, their roaring makes\neverything tremble. With ferocity glaring in their eyes, the tigers\nspring for the food, and begin to devour it eagerly. They often lie down\nto eat, holding the meat in their fore-paws like a cat, rolling it over\nand over while they tear it in pieces, growling savagely all the while.\n\nThe royal tiger is found only in Asia; for the beast called a tiger in\nSouth America and on the Isthmus of Panama is properly the jaguar, and\nits skin is not ornamented by stripes, but by black spots. It is not so\npowerful as its royal relative, but very much like it in its habits.\nLike the tiger, it is an expert swimmer, and as it is very fond of fish,\nit haunts the heavily wooded banks of the great South American rivers,\nand is a constant terror to the wood-cutters, who anchor their little\nvessels along the shore.\n\nThe crocodiles and the jaguars are at constant war with each other. If a\njaguar catches a crocodile asleep on a sand-bank, it has the advantage,\nand usually kills its antagonist; but if the crocodile can catch its\nenemy in the water, the jaguar rarely escapes death by drowning.\n\nJaguars are not as plentiful on the Isthmus of Panama as formerly,\nbefore the scream and rumble of the locomotive disturbed the solitudes\nof the dense tropical forest. Still, large specimens are occasionally\nkilled there, and their beautiful skins bring a high price when brought\nto market.\n\n\n\n\nBICYCLING.\n\nBY THE CAPTAIN.\n\n\nOne of the prettiest and most interesting sights ever seen in the gay\ncity of Newport was the parade of bicyclers last Decoration-day, where,\namong the one hundred and fifty riders, were to be seen the uniforms of\ntwenty-five crack clubs.\n\nThe illustration of the procession on next page shows it on Bellevue\nAvenue while passing the quaint and beautiful Casino Building. First of\nall rides the commander, Captain Hodges, of the Boston Bicycle Club, and\ndirectly behind him, riding three abreast, are the six marshals of the\nprocession, who act as his aides. Then come the men of the New York\nClub, in gray and scarlet, riding in column of fours, and followed by\nthe long line of glittering steel and gay uniforms that stretches for\nnearly a mile along the pleasant street.\n\nCrowds of people have gathered to watch the procession, and their\ncheers, as some particularly well-drilled club passes, cause the men to\nride with great care, and to preserve their lines so well that they move\nwith the steadiness and precision of a body of cavalry.\n\nOf all the riders in this long procession, the youngest was probably the\nbest. Theodore R----, or \"the young captain,\" as he is called, is but\nfourteen years old, and looks much younger. He lives in Philadelphia,\nand has practiced riding the bicycle in a rink in that city until his\nperformances upon it are as wonderful as those of a circus rider on his\nhorse.\n\nIn the picture of \"the young captain\" he is represented as mounted on\nhis own machine, of which the driving-wheel is but forty-two inches in\ndiameter. His most wonderful riding is, however, done upon a bicycle\ntwelve or fourteen inches higher than this, and of which he can but\nbarely touch the pedals as they come up. Thus he keeps the machine in\nmotion by a succession of little kicks or pushes. He rides bicycles so\ntall that to gain the saddle he has actually to climb up the backbone of\nthe machine after he has set it in motion with a vigorous push.\n\n\"The young captain\" is a very bright boy, and excels in all games and\nfeats of skill, while at the same time he is a good scholar, and stands\nwell in all his classes.\n\nSince the great Newport meet of bicyclers, or \"wheelmen,\" as they are\nnow generally called in this country, a number of letters containing\nquestions about bicycles have been written by boys anxious to become\nriders, and sent to YOUNG PEOPLE. In the following hints to young riders\nI will try and answer all these questions:\n\nAny active boy of ten years of age and upward may become a wheelman.\n\nIt is best to learn to ride on an old-fashioned wooden machine, or\n\"bone-shaker,\" or on a bicycle so low that the rider may touch the\nground with his toes. By this means he will learn to maintain his\nbalance without getting any serious falls.\n\nAnybody who can ride a \"bone-shaker\" can ride a bicycle, though in the\nlatter case he must learn to mount his machine before he can ride it.\n\nTo learn the \"mount\" take your machine by the handles, give it a running\npush, place your left foot on the step, and, rising from the ground,\nmaintain your balance as long as possible in that position without\nattempting to gain the saddle. After trying this a dozen times or more,\ntry to take your seat in the saddle, not with a spring, but slide in\neasily, and do not let your body lean forward or you may pitch over the\nhandles.\n\nA beginner should have his saddle set well back on the spring. Although\nthis position gives less power, it is much safer.\n\nIn going up hill lean well forward, and transfer the entire weight from\nthe saddle to the pedals. Do not be ashamed to dismount in going up\nhill, but do so in every case rather than exhaust yourself.\n\nIn going down hill lean back as far as possible, and keep your machine\nunder control. A little practice in back-pedalling, or pushing against\nthe pedal as it comes up rather than as it goes down, will enable you to\ntake your machine down very steep hills at ordinary walking pace. If\nyour machine does escape from your control, throw your legs over the\nhandles, and \"coast,\" as you are less liable to get a bad fall while in\nthis position than in any other.\n\nKeep to the right of the road as much as possible. Always keep to the\nright when you meet a team, foot-passenger, or other bicycle, and in\novertaking any of these always pass to the left. Dismount and walk past\nany horse that becomes frightened at your bicycle.\n\nAlways carry a light when riding at night.\n\nBe careful not to use your whistle or bell more than is absolutely\nnecessary, otherwise you will become a nuisance, and as such will not be\na welcome addition to the ranks of wheelmen.\n\nRemember that while you have rights for which you are bound to stand up,\nothers have equal rights, which you are equally bound to respect.\n\nIn selecting a bicycle, be sure that it fits you perfectly. Do not\ngratify a mistaken ambition by trying to ride a wheel that is too large\nfor you. The larger the wheel, the more difficulty you will find in\ndriving it up hill.\n\nAs soon as you own a bicycle, make yourself familiar with every part of\nit, and especially with all its adjustments.\n\nNever lend your bicycle.\n\nAlways clean and adjust it yourself. If it gets broken, send it to none\nbut a first-class machinist for repairs.\n\n[Illustration: FIRST GRAND MEET OF AMERICAN WHEELMEN.--DRAWN BY W. P.\nSNYDER.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE PIG'S PENNY.\n\nBY W. O. STODDARD.\n\n\nIt was the pig did it.\n\nThe bigger that pig grew, the more he squealed, and the less he seemed\nto like his pen.\n\nBen knew it, but for all that he wondered how it came to pass that he\nshould find that pig in the village street, half way down to the tavern.\n\n\"Out of the pen into the barn-yard, and out of that into the street when\nthe gate was open. Won't I have a time getting him home!\"\n\nThere was little doubt of that, for the pig felt that it was his duty to\nroot as he went, and he refused to walk quietly past any good\nopportunity to thrust his snub-nose into something.\n\nBen worked, and so did the pig.\n\n\"Hullo! What's that?\"\n\nThe pig had turned up a clod of earth with something sticking on it, and\nBen sprang forward to pick it up.\n\n\"It's a cent!\"\n\nIt was round; it was made of copper; it was a coin of some kind; but it\nwas black and grimy, and Ben rubbed hard to clean it.\n\n\"I never saw a cent like that before. I can't even read what it says on\nit.\"\n\n\"What have you found, Ben, my boy?\"\n\n\"Guess it's a kind of a cent. The pig found it.\"\n\nAll the boys in the village knew old Squire Burchard, only they were\nhalf afraid of him. It was said he could read almost any kind of book,\nand that was a wonderful sort of man for any man to be.\n\n\"The pig found it? I declare! I guess I'll have to buy it of you.\"\n\n\"Don't you s'pose it'll pass?\"\n\n\"Well, yes, it might; but it'll only buy a cent's worth. I'll give you\nmore than that for it.\"\n\n\"Going to melt it over and make a new cent of it?\"\n\n\"No, Ben, not so bad as that. I'll keep it to look at. It's a very old\nGerman coin, and I'm what they call a numismatist.\"\n\nBen listened hard over that word for a moment, and tried to repeat it.\n\n\"Rumismatics--I know; it's a good deal like what father says he has\nsometimes. Gets into his back and legs.\"\n\n\"Not quite, Ben; but it makes me gather up old coins, and put them in a\nglass case, and look at them.\"\n\n\"Father's is worse 'n that; it takes him bad in rainy weather.\"\n\n\"Well, Ben, I'll give the pig or you, just as you say, a quarter of a\ndollar for that cent.\"\n\nBen's eyes fairly danced, but all he could manage to say was, \"Yes, sir.\nThank you, sir. Guess I will.\"\n\n\"There it is, Ben. It's a new one. I don't care much for new ones.\nWhat'll you do with it?\"\n\nBen hesitated only a moment, for he was turning the quarter over and\nover, and thinking of just the answer to the squire's question.\n\n\"It's a puppy, sir. Mrs. Malone said I might have it for a quarter, and\nfather said I couldn't buy it unless I found the money.\"\n\n\"It'll be the pig's puppy, then? All right; but you can't make pork of\nhim.\"\n\nThe pig was driven home in a good deal of a hurry, without another\nchance given him to root for old coins; and when Ben's father came in\nfrom the corn field that night, there was Ben ready to meet him with the\npuppy.\n\n\"Got him, have you?\"\n\nBen had to explain twice over about the old cent and the Squire.\n\n\"Oh, the pig did it. Well, Ben, I don't see what we want of another dog;\nthough that is a real pretty one. Too many dogs in this village,\nanyhow.\"\n\nThe next day Ben's father went to town with a load of wheat, and Ben\nwent with him.\n\nHe had not owned that puppy long enough to feel like leaving him at\nhome, so the little lump of funny black curls and clumsiness had to go\nto town with him.\n\nBen's father was in the store, selling his wheat, and Ben was sitting on\ntop of the load in the wagon, when a carriage with a lady in it was\npulled up in the street beside it.\n\n\"Is that your puppy, my boy?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Will you sell it? I want one for my little boy.\"\n\n\"It's a real nice puppy--\"\n\n\"What will you sell him for?\"\n\nBen did not feel at all like parting with his new pet, but he knew very\nwell what his father thought about it. Still, it might save him the\npuppy if he asked a tremendous price for it.\n\n\"I'll take five dollars, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Bring him to me, then. It's just such a dog as I thought of buying.\"\n\nIt seemed to Ben a good deal as if he were dreaming; but he did as he\nwas told, and climbed back to his perch on the heaped-up bags of wheat\nto wait for his father.\n\nIt was not long before he had sold the wheat and came out.\n\n\"Why, Ben, where's your puppy?\"\n\n\"There he is, father.\"\n\n\"Why, if that ain't a five-dollar bill! You don't say so!\"\n\nBen explained, and added, \"The pig did it, father.\"\n\n\"Well, yes, the pig did it. It just beats me, though.\"\n\n\"He won't know what to do with a five-dollar bill.\"\n\n\"Nor you either. But soon's I can throw off this load we must drive on\nup town. There's to be a horse auction.\"\n\nBen knew what that meant, for his father knew all about horses, and was\nall the while buying and selling them. So it was not long before the\nwagon was empty, and Ben and his father made their way to where the\nhorses were to be sold.\n\n\"There's a good many of 'em,\" said Ben's father, \"but the whole lot\nisn't worth much. I guess there isn't anything here I want.\"\n\nNot many people were bidding for the horses, and they were indeed a\npoor-looking lot; but pretty soon a gray horse was led out that limped\nbadly, and was as thin as if he had been fed on wind. One man bid a\ndollar for him, and another bid two, and there was a good deal of fun\nmade about it; but Ben's father had very quietly slipped down from the\nwagon, and taken a careful look at the lame horse.\n\nFor all that, Ben was a little surprised when the auctioneer's hammer\nfell, and he shouted, \"Sold! for five dollars, to--What's your name,\nmister?\"\n\n\"Ben Whittlesey.\"\n\nBen's father said that. But it wasn't his name. His name was Robert.\n\n\"Ben,\" said his father, when he came back to the wagon, \"hand me that\nfive-dollar bill. If I can get that horse home, I'll cure him in a\nfortnight. There's no great thing the matter with him.\"\n\nThere was trouble enough in making the poor lame animal limp so many\nmiles, and they got home after dark; but that was just as well, for\nnobody saw the new horse, or had a chance to laugh at him or his owner.\n\n\"It's the pig's horse,\" said Ben.\n\nBen's father was as good as his word about curing the lameness, and\nplenty of oats and hay, and no work, and good care, did the rest. The\nman who sold the gray for five dollars would not have known him at the\nend of two weeks.\n\nIt was just about two weeks after that that Ben's father drove the\npig's horse to town and back in a buggy, and with a nice new harness on.\nHe stopped at the blacksmith's shop on his way home, and Mr. Corrigan,\nthe blacksmith, seemed to take a great fancy to the gray.\n\n\"Just the nag I want, Mr. Whittlesey; only I've no ready cash to pay for\nhim.\"\n\n\"I don't sell on credit, you know,\" said Mr. Whittlesey. \"Anything to\ntrade?\"\n\n\"Nothing that I know of. Unless you care to take that vacant lot of\nmine, next the tavern. Tisn't doing me any good. I had to take it for a\ndebt, and I've paid taxes for it these three years.\"\n\n\"Will you swap even?\"\n\n\"Yes, I might as well.\"\n\nThere was more talk, of course, before the trade was finished, but it\ncame out all right in the end. Before the next day at noon Mr. Corrigan\nowned the pig's horse; but the deed of the town lot was made out in the\nname of Ben Whittlesey, and not of the pig.\n\n\"Father,\" said Ben, at the tea table, \"mayn't I let that pig out into\nthe road every day?\"\n\n\"No, Ben; all the pigs in the village can't root up another cent like\nthat.\"\n\n\"He did it.\"\n\n\"Well, Ben, he did and he didn't. Do you know how he got the town lot\nfor you?\"\n\n\"Why, yes. Don't I?\"\n\n\"Not quite. You saw him turn up the cent, and knew what to do with it;\nhe didn't.\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\n\"And Squire Burchard saw the cent, and knew what to do with it; you\ndidn't.\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\n\"And the lady saw your puppy, and knew what to do with it, and you\ndidn't, nor I either. And I saw the gray horse, and knew what to do with\nhim; the rest didn't.\"\n\n\"But I don't know what to do with the pig's town lot.\"\n\n\"No, nor Mr. Corrigan didn't, nor I either; but the man from town that's\njust bought the old tavern is going to build it over new, and wants to\nbuy that lot to build on. I tell you what, Ben, my boy, there isn't much\nin this world that's worth having unless somebody comes along that knows\nwhat to do with it.\"\n\n\"Ben!\" suddenly exclaimed his mother, as she looked out of the window,\n\"there's that pig out in the garden!\"\n\n\"Jump, Ben,\" said his father. \"If he gets into your patch of\nmusk-melons, he'll know just exactly what to do with them.\"\n\nBefore Ben got the pig out of the garden, the pig learned that Ben knew\nexactly what to do with a big stick.\n\n\n\n\nMISS VAN WINKLE'S NAP.\n\nBY MRS. W. J. HAYS.\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\"Mamma, will you please listen a moment?\"\n\n\"How can I, Quillie dear? just see how busy I am,\" answered mamma,\nturning over a letter she was writing, while a man was bringing in\ntrunks from the store-room, and another man was waiting for orders, and\nthrough a vista of open doorways was seen a dress-maker at work upon\ngingham slips and linen blouses.\n\n\"If you please, ma'am, a bit of edging will look none the worse on these\ncambrics, and the flannels need a touch of scarlet; even the wild\nflowers have vanity enough for a little color of their own.\"\n\n\"True enough, Ellen. Well, get your samples ready. Now, Quillie, I am\ngoing to address this letter, and then I promise to listen to you.\"\n\nQuillie sighed--she found it so difficult to wait when she had so much\nto say. But she only fidgeted a little as mamma scrawled off an address\nin letters which Quillie thought would cover half her copy-book, then\nthe little taper was lighted, the wax was melted, the pretty crest was\nimprinted on the seal, and mamma turned with a relieved smile to the\nlittle girl.\n\n\"Well, Quillie, what is it?\"\n\n\"It's only this, mamma,\" began Quillie, impetuously: \"I want to take a\nfriend to the country with us.\"\n\n\"Who is the friend? why can not she go with her own people?\" said mamma.\n\n\"Now, mammy dear, please don't hurry me; you know madame, our French\nteacher at school, has a little girl about my age--eight and a half.\nWell, if it wasn't for her, madame says she could go with some pupils to\ntheir country-seat, and teach them all summer, but they will not have\nher child, which is very hateful and disobliging, I think; and it popped\ninto my head that perhaps you would let us have Julie with us, for the\nmadame says she can not leave her alone in the city, and she has no\nrelatives--hardly any friends--and I think it would make madame so happy\nnot to lose this chance of giving lessons, and yet to have Julie,\nand--and--\"\n\nMamma stooped down and kissed her little girl. \"There,\" she said, in her\nquick, decisive way, \"that will do. It was a kind thought, and I will\nconsider it. Now run off and dig in the garden; your seeds are coming up\nnicely.\"\n\n\"But, mamma,\" said Quillie, not quite satisfied, \"are you sure you won't\nforget?\"\n\n\"I promise not to,\" was the answer, and she arose to change the\ncoquettish cap and morning-gown for her street costume. Then she took\nout her pencil, and jotted down two or three errands in her\nmemorandum-book, and gathering up the samples to match for Ellen's work,\nout she went.\n\nIt was a warm day, a balmy air, but one which induces languor, and as\nMrs. Coit stopped at a street corner and bought a bunch of roses, she\nthought she would get the children out of town as soon as possible. Her\neye was next attracted by some exquisite laces. She wanted a few yards,\nand stopped to price them. They were thread, filmy as cobwebs; they were\ncostly; and as she held them in her hand, debating the purchase, she\nthought of Quillie's request: the cost of the lace would more than meet\nthe expense of sending little Julie away. She concluded not to buy the\nlaces. And so she went on with her errands.\n\nAt last she had finished, and turned off into a side street, got into a\ncar, and was whisked away to a quiet place in the old part of the city.\nShe stopped before a house which had in its day been fine; now it looked\nlike a person who is keeping up appearances--a little shabby and worn,\nand wanting freshness. She rang the bell, and asked if Madame Garnier\nlived there. She was directed by a slovenly maid to a room on an upper\nfloor, and left there. The air was redolent of garlic. She knocked at\nthe door, and a little pattering of feet was heard, the door was opened\non a crack, and a small head was to be seen, covered with a tiny\nhandkerchief tied under the chin; a large checked apron concealed the\nrest of the small person. When the small person saw that the visitor was\na lady, she no longer kept the door more than half closed, but throwing\nit wide open, she made a profound courtesy, and said, \"Pardon, madame;\nplease to enter.\"\n\nMrs. Coit paused, smilingly taking in the background of this interior. A\nsunny window full of plants, a bed with ruffled pillow-cases, a gilt\nclock, a canary, a table set out for two, a writing-desk and books in a\ncorner, and a cooking stove, with a bubbling saucepan sending the cover\ndancing up and down. It was very close and warm, and the little hostess\nwas pale, despite the heat.\n\nMrs. Coit had no time to spare. She asked the child if she were Julie\nGarnier, and if she wanted to spend two or three months in the country.\n\nThe child opened her eyes in silent wonder. \"Could madame be in earnest?\nWas it possible?\"\n\nMrs. Coit explained, and in addition took out her pencil, and with\nrapidity wrote a note to madame.\n\nThe little Julie fairly wept with delight. To be in the country, with\nbirds and bees and brooks--ah! it was too much felicity. Her mother\nwould be wild with pleasure.\n\nThen Mrs. Coit was going; but Julie could not let her depart without a\ntaste of her _pot au feu_, which she was cooking for her dear _pauvre\npetite maman_--just one sip, if madame could take no more; and pushing a\nchair to the table, and hurriedly wiping off an old cracked faience\nbowl, pretty enough in its day, the little eager hands dipped out a\nladleful of soup. Mrs. Coit found it delicious. Warm as was the room and\nthe repast, it was yet refreshing; so thanking the child for her\nhospitality, she at last took her departure.\n\nA week from this time behold an eager group of little ones on the deck\nof a Hudson River night boat kissing their hands to Mr. and Mrs. Coit on\nthe wharf. Nurse is on guard, and counts the heads to see if all are\nwith her. Quillie's yellow locks are beside Julie's dark tresses; Fred\nand Willie come next; and little Artie, who scorns being the baby, waves\nin great dignity, as color-bearer, a small American flag. Long before\nthe stars are out they beg to go to their state-rooms. They creep into\nthe little beds, and imagine themselves on the tossing ocean. Nurse\nhears them discussing who shall be in the upper and who in the lower\nberths, and whether they shall be able to remain in them at all, for the\nvessel may pitch them all out; then Julie silences all with a vivid\naccount of her travels. She gesticulates as she talks, occasionally\nrolls those dark eyes of hers, speaks of the great steam-ships, the\nmighty waves, the roar of the wind, the scream of the fog-whistle, and\nthe terrible _mal de mer_. Instinctively they yield to her vast\nexperience, and offer no more remarks, but silently prepare for their\nslumbers.\n\nQuite with the early dawn they awake again, refreshed, eager, and taking\nin long draughts of the pure air into which they have come. Where are\nthe docks and wharves and shipping? where the scenes of the night\nbefore? In the rosy flush of the morning lie the green hills and\nmeadows. The birds are straining their throats with melody, the cocks\nare crowing, the geese cackling, and they hear the lowing of cows and\nthe bleating of sheep.\n\n\"Is it paradise?\" asks Julie.\n\n\"No, it is only Catskill,\" responds Quillie, tossing back her yellow\nlocks.\n\n\"Hallo! there is Mr. Brown's wagon,\" screams Fred; and Will shouts till\nthe farmer responds with a smiling nod.\n\n[Illustration: FRED'S STEAMBOAT.--DRAWN BY W. M. CARY.]\n\nSoon they are all safely stowed in the wagon, and jolting over the\nwell-remembered roads, an hour or more bringing them to the comfortable\nfarm. Then what savages more wild than they in their gambols! They roam\nfrom one haunt to the other, visit the cattle and the poultry, and\nexpect a welcome from all. Breakfast waits, but no one comes. Nurse has\nto go after them. There they are on an old hay wagon, which Fred has\nmade into a steamboat by dragging out of the lumber-room of the barn a\npiece of stove-pipe, and Artie's flag at the stern. Julie has her doll,\nand Will has the puppy he claims already, but Quillie emerges from some\nother corner with two darling kittens. What can nurse do to get them in\nto Mrs. Brown's table, with its wild strawberries, its crisp radishes,\nits cream, and golden butter, and piles of brown-bread? She hits upon a\nhappy plan.\n\n\"Children, if you will all come in this moment, I will tell you\nsomething splendid.\"\n\nTheir ears were pricked at once. \"What is it, nurse? what is it?\"\n\n\"Not a word more till you obey me.\"\n\nThey scrambled down at that, and hastened into the house.\n\n[TO BE CONTINUED.]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]\n\n\n  LEADVILLE, COLORADO.\n\n     We live 'way up in Leadville, in the Rocky Mountains, ten thousand\n     feet above the level of the sea. Although it is very cold here,\n     some people live in tents all the year round. We live where we can\n     see the snow on the range of the Rocky Mountains all summer. We\n     have a little shepherd dog that eats candy. We like YOUNG PEOPLE\n     very much, and watch eagerly for its coming. I am eleven years\n     old, and Susie is ten.\n\n  CLARA AND SUSIE J.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  OMAHA, NEBRASKA.\n\n     We have a great many pets. We have a nice gray mare and a pony,\n     both named Nell, and a little colt a week old that we call\n     Cyclone. He is a cunning little fellow, and pretends to eat hay\n     like his mother. We have lots of chickens of all kinds. I have\n     some little white bantams, and my brother has some game bantams.\n     My oldest brother keeps fancy chickens.\n\n  S. V. B.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  PETALUMA, CALIFORNIA.\n\n     I read the letter of Arthur N. T. about gophers. They are very\n     numerous where I live. I kill them sometimes, but they are very\n     shy. I have a large gray cat that catches a great many of them.\n     The wild flowers bloom here about the first of March. I take YOUNG\n     PEOPLE, and like it very much. I learn lots of things from it,\n     too. I live so far away that I do not get it till almost two weeks\n     after it is published.\n\n  O. A. H.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  WINDSOR, CONNECTICUT.\n\n     I found a great number of flowers in May, but I do not think you\n     will print my list of names, for mamma says it is too long, and\n     would take up too much space in YOUNG PEOPLE. One day when I was\n     hunting for flowers in the woods, I found a turtle marked \"L. E.\n     1816.\"\n\n  HARRY H. M.\n\nWe are pleased to see that you take such an interest in botany, for it\nis a beautiful study, but as your list contains the names of\nthirty-seven different flowers, it is a little too long to print,\nespecially as many of them are given in the paper on \"Easy Botany,\" in\nNo. 29.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  LAREDO, TEXAS.\n\n     I live 'way out on the Rio Grande. I like to read the letters in\n     YOUNG PEOPLE. I have two pet pigeons, one blue and one white. I\n     would like to know how to catch and tame birds. My kite, which you\n     told me how to make, was a success.\n\n  WILLIAM C.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  TROY, OHIO.\n\n     I had a water turtle that I wanted to pet. I kept it in a bucket\n     of water, and it would swim round and round, and try to get out.\n     When I would take it out, it would creep toward the river. I felt\n     sorry for it, and my brother put it back in the river again. I\n     tried Puss Hunter's recipe, and think it real nice. I am going to\n     send a recipe for her club some time.\n\n  BERTHA D. A.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA.\n\n     Papa takes YOUNG PEOPLE for me, and I like it so much! I have a\n     little sister who is very much interested in fancy-work, and she\n     wishes to know if you will not give some instructions for making\n     some fancy and at the same time useful articles for an old lady. I\n     had some rabbits, and one bit me. I have tried Fanny S.'s recipe\n     for caramels, and I like it very much. I have a little dog, but he\n     eats very little. Can any one tell me what is the matter with him?\n\n  TOM G.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  LEXINGTON, KENTUCKY.\n\n     I take great pleasure in letting you know that I am one of the\n     many readers of YOUNG PEOPLE. I am a little Scotch girl, but can\n     remember nothing of my country. I have become crippled since\n     coming to America, and I enjoy reading very much indeed. I wish\n     YOUNG PEOPLE much success.\n\n  MAGGIE C.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  HELENA, ARKANSAS.\n\n     I wish to tell you of an entertainment which was given by our\n     Sunday-school. We called it a Bazar, because we had ever so many\n     pretty things, made by the Sunday-school children, to sell. There\n     was a nice stage in the hall where we had the Bazar, and we had a\n     pretty little exhibition. Some of us represented an art gallery.\n     We had pictures and statues. I represented a statue. We made over\n     one hundred dollars, and we are going to buy a new library for the\n     Sunday-school with the money.\n\n  JULIA S.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  NEW LONDON, NEW YORK.\n\n     I like the letters in Our Post-office Box best of all, and read\n     every one of them myself, but as I am only six years old, I can\n     not write very well, so I have asked mamma to write for me. My\n     father has taken HARPER'S big paper many years, and when the first\n     YOUNG PEOPLE came, I coaxed him to subscribe for it for me.\n\n     We live on a nice, pleasant farm in Oneida County, and have all\n     kinds of domestic animals. My pets are a pair of pure white twin\n     calves, just alike. My brother climbed a tall tree in the woods\n     yesterday, and brought down four young crows, which he killed, and\n     hung in the corn field to scare away the big crows.\n\n  WALTER C. R.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe following letter will be welcome to the many inquirers for this\nlittle flower girl of the Pacific coast:\n\n     When my letter was published in YOUNG PEOPLE, I was away from\n     home, and I have only just now seen it in print. I am sorry the\n     prettiest flowers of the valley are gone, but I have a few pressed\n     that I will send to each address, and I will ask some of my\n     friends to send me some of the mountain flowers.\n\n  GENEVIEVE HARVEY,\n  Galt, Sacramento County, California.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     My father has a nice cabinet of minerals, corals, shells, Indian\n     relics, and other things. I would like to exchange spar of\n     different colors, iron ore, and other minerals, with some little\n     girls, for pressed flowers and shells. I have a great many\n     flowers, and this fall, when the seed gets ripe, I would like to\n     exchange flower seeds.\n\n     There is an abundance of lovely ferns here. Will you please tell\n     me the best way to press ferns and flowers?\n\n  EDITH LOWRY,\n  Elizabethtown, Hardin County, Illinois.\n\nFerns and flowers should be laid carefully between two sheets of clean\npaper, the leaves artistically arranged in graceful shape, and placed\nunder heavy pressure until they are dry. If the ferns are to be used for\ndecoration, a warm iron, not too hot, must be passed over them, always\nputting clean paper between them and the iron, otherwise the heat of the\nroom will curl them as soon as they are placed upon the wall. It is\nbetter not to iron them until they are dry, as the suddenly applied heat\nis liable to change the color of fresh ferns, causing them to look dull\nand faded. The sugar-maple leaf you send is well pressed, and\nbeautifully varnished. What kind of varnish did you use? No doubt some\nlittle girls who are preserving leaves would like to know.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     I would like to exchange postage stamps of foreign countries with\n     some other boys who are readers of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.\n\n  SIDNEY ST. W.,\n  326 East Fifty-seventh Street, New York city.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  MAY 31, 1880.\n\n     I am making a collection of birds' eggs, and as soon as I collect\n     a few more, I would like to exchange some with Samuel P. Higgins,\n     if he will send me his full address. I have seen morning-glories\n     in blossom this year, and would like to know if any other\n     correspondents have seen them so early.\n\n  THOMAS HORTON,\n  Care of Benjamin J. Horton, Lawrence, Kansas.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     If Mary Wright will send me some leaves, I will be very happy to\n     send her some. And I would like to exchange flowers with Mabel\n     Sharp, if she will send me some as soon as possible. I will send\n     her some in return as soon as I receive hers. I would like to\n     exchange leaves or flowers with any others who would like to do\n     so. Those sending any will please mark each specimen distinctly,\n     so that I may know the name. I am fourteen years old, and my pets\n     are birds and flowers, which I will write about another time.\n\n  IDA P. SMITH,\n  P. O. Box 380, Holyoke, Massachusetts.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     I take YOUNG PEOPLE, and like it very much. I have two pigeons\n     that laid eggs and hatched two little ones. I am making a\n     collection of birds' eggs, and would like to exchange eggs with\n     any of the correspondents of YOUNG PEOPLE. My address is No. 308\n     Carlton Avenue, Brooklyn, New York; but after the 25th of June I\n     will be at Glen Cove, where I get almost all of my eggs. My name\n     is T. Augustus Simpson, and my address this summer will be care of\n     S. M. COX, Glen Cove, Long Island.\n\n  T. A. S.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  ROCHESTER, NEW YORK.\n\n     I send a recipe for Puss Hunter's Cooking Club. It is for\n     Florentines. Make a rich pie crust, using butter instead of lard;\n     mix with cold sweet milk, roll it thin, spread it with butter,\n     fold it, then roll it again into a sheet one-eighth of an inch\n     thick; now spread it with jam, and place it in the oven. When it\n     is baked, frost it; strew it plentifully with minced almonds or\n     nuts of any kind; sift sugar over it, and place it in the oven a\n     few moments to brown.\n\n  WINIFRED B.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA.\n\n     I tried Nellie H.'s recipe for candy, only I used maple sugar\n     instead of molasses, and I liked it very much. Here is another\n     recipe for candy Puss Hunter may like to try: Six dolls' cups of\n     sugar; one of vinegar; one of water; one tea-spoonful of butter,\n     put in last, with a little pinch of saleratus dissolved in hot\n     water. Boil, without stirring, half an hour, or until it crisps in\n     cold water; flavor to taste, and pull it white with the tips of\n     your fingers.\n\n  SADIE MCB.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  AYLETT'S POST-OFFICE, VIRGINIA.\n\n     I have never written to the Post-office Box before, and I thought\n     now I would send Puss Hunter some recipes for her cooking club. I\n     have tried hers, and I liked it very much. One of mine is for nice\n     molasses candy: One quarter of a pound of sugar and one pint of\n     molasses. Boil quickly, and drop a little in water occasionally\n     until it crisps. A small piece of butter is an improvement. When\n     done, cool it in buttered tins. Here is a recipe for Everton\n     taffy: One pound of brown sugar; three ounces of butter; a little\n     lemon flavoring. Boil about twenty minutes, until it crisps,\n     stirring constantly.\n\n  LOUISA W.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nCLOYD D. B.--Write again, and tell us how you amuse yourself while you\nare sick, and we will try to print it. Your last letter was so much a\nbusiness communication that we could not put it in the Post-office Box.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA.\n\n     I saw a letter from Indian River, so I thought I would write too.\n     I have a little sister, five years old, who goes to a Kindergarten\n     school. I have a little turtle, and I would like to know how to\n     feed it. I am almost nine years old.\n\n  RALPH D. P.\n\nTurtles like a diet of flies, and small insects, and fruit. You will\nfind directions for the care of different kinds of turtles in the\nPost-office Box of YOUNG PEOPLE No. 5 and No. 18. The \"Letter from a\nLand Turtle,\" in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 27, will also give you information.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     I thank Zenobia in regard to the whip-poor-wills, but she does not\n     say when was the earliest she heard them this year. The first one\n     I heard was on the morning of March 30, which is the earliest I\n     ever heard one in this locality. Zenobia lives farther north than\n     I do, and probably whip-poor-wills are not so early in her\n     vicinity. I want to learn all I can of this mysterious bird, and\n     would be thankful for any information concerning its habits. If\n     Zenobia will send me her address, I would like to exchange pressed\n     Missouri flowers for Illinois flowers with her. I have pressed\n     flowers from California and Tennessee, and I have been studying\n     botany this spring.\n\n  WROTON M. KENNY,\n  Pineville P. O., McDonald County, Missouri.\n\nThe whip-poor-will is a native of North America, and is found from the\nPacific to the Atlantic. In winter it travels southward, and spends the\ncold season in the forests of Central America. It is a brownish-gray\nbird, and has a large mouth, armed with bristles at the base of the\nbill, with which it retains the moths and other soft-bodied insects upon\nwhich it feeds. It is a very shy bird, and hides itself all day, coming\nout at evening and early morning to skim along with noiseless flight\nnear the ground, seeking its food. It is sometimes called the\nnight-swallow. It makes no nest, but deposits two greenish eggs, spotted\nwith blue and brown, in some snug corner, among fallen leaves, on the\nground.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  ELK CITY, KANSAS.\n\n     My paper comes on Saturday, and I read all the letters in the\n     Post-office Box first. I have a pet. It is a very funny one. It is\n     a horny toad. I found it near Pocket Creek. I would like to know\n     what to feed it with. Papa found a little bug this morning on the\n     sweet-potato vines. It changes its color very often. Sometimes it\n     is gold, sometimes green, sometimes red. Can any one tell me the\n     name of it?\n\n  MARY W. (11 years old).\n\nYour bug is probably one of the small iridescent beetles, of which there\nare many varieties. As they move about in the light, the color appears\nto change, like the color of the head and throat of a South American\nhumming-bird. If the appetite of your horny toad is like that of a\ncommon toad, it will prefer an insect diet. But it will live weeks\nwithout eating anything, and unless you allow it to hunt for itself, it\nwill probably die of starvation some day.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nGEORGE H. M.--A neat black walnut box, about five inches deep, will make\na good case for butterflies. Glue pieces of cork in the bottom, on which\nto mount your specimens, and have a tightly fitting glass cover. You\nmust scatter bits of camphor in your case, to keep away moths, as they\ndestroy dried insects, and when your case is full, paste thin paper over\nthe cracks to make it as air-tight as possible.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nL. B. POST.--See Post-office Box No. 18.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"ADMIRER.\"--The _Passion Play_, which is celebrated once in ten years in\nthe peasant village of Oberammergau, in the Bavarian Tyrol, is a relic\nof the ancient Miracle Plays and Mysteries which were so popular among\nthe common people throughout Europe during the thirteenth and fourteenth\ncenturies. The _Passion Play_ represents the closing scenes in the life\nof Christ, and sometimes includes, as it does this year, _tableaux\nvivants_ of incidents in the Old Testament. Usually about five hundred\nperformers appear on the stage, although the speaking roles number only\na little over two hundred. All the characters are represented by the\npeasants of the village, the principal ones being selected fully two\nyears previous to the performance, that they may become perfectly\ndrilled in the parts allotted to them, and allow their hair or beards to\ngrow to imitate as nearly as possible the best existing pictures of the\nvarious characters they are to represent. The theatre is an immense\nwooden structure erected for the purpose, capable of containing nine or\nten thousand spectators; for, so widespread is the fame of this peasant\nfestival that crowds flock to see it from every part of Germany, and\ntravellers from England and the United States make efforts to be present\nat this strange performance. You will find a full account of the\n_Passion Play_ in HARPER'S MAGAZINE for January, 1871.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.\n\nNo. 1.\n\nDIAMOND.\n\nIn errand. A poisonous reptile. A flower. A vegetable. In errand.\n\n  A. H. E.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNo. 2.\n\nENIGMA.\n\n  My first is in May, but not in June.\n    My second is in lead, but not in copper.\n  My third is in day, but not in gloom.\n    My fourth is in ink, but not in water.\n  My fifth is in season, but not in year.\n    My sixth is in house, but not in tent.\n  My seventh is in hound, but not in deer.\n    My whole was an honored President.\n\n  M. B. AND M. H.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNo. 3.\n\nWORD SQUARE.\n\nFirst, a minute quantity. Second, a kind of tune. Third, wrath. Fourth,\nthoughts. Fifth, an ancient language.\n\n  WILLIE.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNo. 4.\n\nANAGRAMS.\n\n[From each sentence make one word.]\n\n1. Ben has a foil. 2. I harm no cat. 3. I lent a dime. 4. The nice rain.\n5. Harry, go past. 6. Shun fat flies.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNo. 5.\n\nDOUBLE ACROSTIC.\n\nA boy's name. A city in Japan. A vegetable. To ascend. One of the United\nStates. A household article. A river west of the Rocky Mountains.\nAnswer--Two Territories of the United States.\n\n  M. E. N.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNo. 6.\n\nENIGMA.\n\n  My first is in brown, but not in green.\n  My second in candy is always seen.\n  My third is in lamb, but not in kid.\n  My fourth is in kettle, but not in lid.\n  My fifth is in lean, but not in fat.\n  My sixth is in rabbit, but not in cat.\n  My seventh is in modest, but not in meek.\n  My eighth is in cone, but not in peak.\n  My ninth is in cold, but not in freeze.\n  My tenth is in turnips, but not in peas.\n  My eleventh is in watch, but not in look.\n  My whole is the author of many a book.\n\n  CHESLY B. H.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFavors are acknowledged from Philip D. Rice, May S., Matie Greene,\nJ. S., Howard Starrett, Carrie Smith, Walter H., Jennie Hall, Alice\nG. M., Fannie W. O., Irene V. Over, Willie C. Pattison, Dorsey E. Coate,\nCharlie Iankes, Willie H. Joyce.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nCorrect answers to puzzles are received from Rebecca Hedges, Percy T.\nJameson, M. S. Brigham, Harry Starr K., Willie Gray Lee, Julia Smith,\nAnne M. Franklin, Josie and Austin, Louie P. Lord, J. R. Blake,\nW. H. W., L. B. and R. H. Post, S. V. B., Marion E. Norcross, George S.\nSchilling, Cora Frost, Anna L. Kuhn, Leon M. Fobes, Mamie E. F., Eddie\nS. Hequembourg, Eddie A. Leet, \"Blue Light.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN NO. 31.\n\nNo. 1.\n\nBolivar.\n\nNo. 2.\n\n  C O R D O V A\n    P A R I S\n      R E D\n        S\n      I D A\n    G H E N T\n  G R A N A D A\n\nNo. 3.\n\n      M\n    N E D\n  M E R R Y\n    D R Y\n      Y\n\nNo. 4.\n\n  B I D E\n  I D E A\n  D E A R\n  E A R L\n\nNo. 5.\n\nRaleigh.\n\nNo. 6.\n\n  D   um    B\n  E   lih   U\n  F  athe   R\n  O  ttoma  N\n  E uripide S\n\nDefoe, Burns.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nCharade on page 440--Courtship.\n\n\n\n\nADVERTISEMENTS.\n\n\n\n\nHARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.\n\nHARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE will be issued every Tuesday, and may be had at\nthe following rates--_payable in advance, postage free_:\n\n  SINGLE COPIES                     $0.04\n  ONE SUBSCRIPTION, _one year_       1.50\n  FIVE SUBSCRIPTIONS, _one year_     7.00\n\nSubscriptions may begin with any Number. When no time is specified, it\nwill be understood that the subscriber desires to commence with the\nNumber issued after the receipt of order.\n\nRemittances should be made by POST-OFFICE MONEY ORDER or DRAFT, to avoid\nrisk of loss.\n\nADVERTISING.\n\nThe extent and character of the circulation of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE\nwill render it a first-class medium for advertising. A limited number of\napproved advertisements will be inserted on two inside pages at 75 cents\nper line.\n\n  Address\n  HARPER & BROTHERS,\n  Franklin Square, N. Y.\n\n\n\n\nFISHING OUTFITS.\n\nCATALOGUE FREE.\n\nR. SIMPSON, 132 Nassau Street, N. Y.\n\n\n\n\nThe Child's Book of Nature.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Child's Book of Nature, for the Use of Families and Schools:\nintended to aid Mothers and Teachers in Training Children in the\nObservation of Nature. In Three Parts. Part I. Plants. Part II. Animals.\nPart III. Air, Water, Heat, Light, &c. By WORTHINGTON HOOKER, M.D.\nIllustrated. The Three Parts complete in One Volume, Small 4to, Half\nLeather, $1.12; or, separately, in Cloth, Part I., 45 cents; Part II.,\n48 cents; Part III, 48 cents.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA beautiful and useful work. It presents a general survey of the kingdom\nof nature in a manner adapted to attract the attention of the child, and\nat the same time to furnish him with accurate and important scientific\ninformation. While the work is well suited as a class-book for schools,\nits fresh and simple style cannot fail to render it a great favorite for\nfamily reading.\n\nThe Three Parts of this book can be had in separate volumes by those who\ndesire it. This will be advisable when the book is to be used in\nteaching quite young children, especially in schools.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPublished by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.\n\n_Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on\nreceipt of the price._\n\n\n\n\nELEMENTARY EDUCATION.\n\nBooks for the School and Family.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nARITHMETIC.\n\nFRENCH'S FIRST LESSONS IN NUMBERS. First Lessons in Numbers, in their\nNatural Order: First, _Visible Objects_; Second, _Concrete Numbers_;\nThird, _Abstract Numbers_. By JOHN H. FRENCH, LL.D. Illustrated. 16mo,\nHalf Leather, 25 cents.\n\nFRENCH'S ELEMENTARY ARITHMETIC FOR THE SLATE. Elementary Arithmetic for\nthe Slate, in which Methods and Rules are based upon Principles\nestablished by Induction. By JOHN H. FRENCH, LL.D. Ill'd. 16mo, Half\nLeather, 37 cts.\n\nFRENCH'S MENTAL ARITHMETIC. Mental Arithmetic, in which Combinations of\nNumbers, Solutions of Problems, and Principles of Arithmetical Analysis\nare based upon the Laws of Mental Development. By JOHN H. FRENCH, LL.D.\nIllustrated. 16mo, Half Leather, 36 cents.\n\nNATURAL SCIENCE.\n\nFIRST LESSONS IN NATURAL HISTORY AND LANGUAGE. Entertaining and\nInstructive Lessons in Natural History and Language for Primary and\nGrammar Schools. 12mo, Cloth, 35 cents.\n\nTHE CHILD'S BOOK OF NATURE. The Child's Book of Nature, for the Use of\nFamilies and Schools: intended to aid Mothers and Teachers in Training\nChildren in the Observation of Nature. In Three Parts. Part I. Plants.\nPart II. Animals. Part III. Air, Water, Heat, Light, &c. By WORTHINGTON\nHOOKER, M.D. Illustrated. The Three Parts complete in One Volume, Small\n4to, Half Leather, $1.12; or, separately, in Cloth, Part I., 45 cents;\nPart II., 48 cents; Part III., 48 cents.\n\nHOOKER'S FIRST BOOK IN CHEMISTRY. A First Book in Chemistry. By\nWORTHINGTON HOOKER, M.D. Ill'd. Revised. Square 4to, Cloth, 48 cts.\n\nFARADAY'S CHEMISTRY OF A CANDLE. Chemistry of a Candle. A Course of Six\nLectures on the Chemical History of a Candle, to which is added a\nLecture on Platinum. By M. FARADAY. Edited by W. CROOKES. Illustrated.\n16mo, Cloth, $1.00.\n\nFARADAY'S PHYSICAL FORCES. Physical Forces. A Course of Six Lectures on\nthe Various Forces of Matter, and their Relations to Each Other. By M.\nFaraday. Edited by W. CROOKES. Illustrated, l6mo, Cloth, $1.00.\n\nFRENCH AND GERMAN.\n\nFRENCH PRINCIPIA, PART I. A First French Course: containing Grammar,\nDelectus, and Exercise-Book, with Vocabularies. On the Plan of Dr.\nSmith's _Principia Latina_. 12mo, Cloth, 50 cents.\n\nFRENCH PRINCIPIA, PART II. A First French Reading-Book. Containing\nFables, Anecdotes, Inventions, Discoveries, Natural History, and French\nHistory. With Grammatical Questions, Notes, and a Copious Etymological\nDictionary. On the Plan of Dr. Smith's _Principia Latina_. 12mo, Cloth,\n80 cents.\n\nGERMAN PRINCIPIA, PART I. A First German Course. Containing Grammar,\nDelectus, Exercise-Book, and Vocabularies. On the Plan of Dr. Smith's\n_Principia Latina_. 12mo, Cloth, 50 cents.\n\nGERMAN PRINCIPIA, PART II. A First German Reading-Book. Containing\nFables, Anecdotes, Natural History, German History, and a Comedy. With\nGrammatical Questions, Notes, and a Dictionary. On the Plan of Dr.\nSmith's _Principia Latina_. 12mo, Cloth, 80 cents.\n\nCOMFORT'S GERMAN PRIMER. A German Primer. By GEORGE F. COMFORT, A.M.\n12mo, Half Leather, 50 cents.\n\nCOMFORT'S FIRST BOOK IN GERMAN. A First Book in German. By GEORGE F.\nCOMFORT, A.M. 12mo, Half Leather, 60 cents.\n\nCOMFORT'S FIRST GERMAN READER. The First German Reader: to succeed the\n\"First Book in German.\" By GEORGE F. COMFORT, A.M. 12mo, Cloth, 50\ncents.\n\nOBJECT LESSONS.\n\nWILLSON'S MANUAL OF OBJECT LESSONS. A Manual of Information and\nSuggestions for Object Lessons, in a Course of Elementary Instruction.\nBy MARCIUS WILLSON. 12mo, Cloth, $1.00.\n\nCALKINS'S PRIMARY OBJECT LESSONS. Primary Object Lessons, for Training\nthe Senses and Developing the Faculties of Children. A Manual of\nElementary Instruction for Parents and Teachers. By N. A. CALKINS.\nFifteenth Edition. Rewritten and Enlarged. 12mo, Cloth, $1.00.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPublished by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.\n\n_Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on\nreceipt of the price._\n\n\n\n\nA LATIN WORD SQUARE.\n\nBY H.\n\n\n  My first was highly prized of old;\n  They thought the future it foretold,\n    And nothing did without it;\n  But now we listen with a smile\n  When once 'tis mentioned in a while,\n    And hardly think about it.\n\n  My second has no proper hue,\n  Though white, red, yellow, black, and blue,\n    'Tis called by one or t'other.\n  We pass it over night and day,\n  And yet when man becomes its prey\n    They swallow each the other.\n\n  My second backward spells my third,\n  And shows what magic's in a word.\n    It makes a part of being.\n  'Tis singular, and yet 'tis true,\n  Imperfect as it is, to you\n    It shows how time is fleeing.\n\n  Now take my first, reverse its spell,\n  'Twill make my fourth; and _he_, note well,\n    Could solve the problems mighty--\n  To square the circle, change to gold,\n  Perpetual motion to unfold,\n    And make elixir vitae.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MISSING LINK PUZZLE.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nPut on your thinking cap, and see if you can not find out the true\ninwardness of these sausages.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GAME OF GEOGRAPHY.\n\nAS ARRANGED BY G. B. BARTLETT.\n\n\nThis play, although instructive, can not fail to be amusing, as the best\nscholars can hardly help making blunders in the excitement and hurry of\nthe game. Two leaders are chosen, who each select in turn, until all the\nplayers are taken, and are formed in two lines facing each other, a\nchair for each being placed behind him. The leader on one side calls out\nsome letter, and says \"Sea,\" or mentions some other body of water. The\nleader on the other side immediately names one beginning with the\nletter, and each one on his side gives another in rapid succession. If\nthere is a pause, the leader of side No. 1 counts ten rapidly, and calls\n\"Next\"; the player who stands next answers, and the one who missed takes\nhis seat. If a mistake is made by giving a wrong name to the piece of\nwater called for, as by calling a river by the name of a sea or isthmus,\nor by giving the wrong letter as its first one, and it is not corrected\nby some member of the same side before the leader of the opposite side\ncalls out \"Miss,\" then all of side No. 2 must take their seats, which\ncounts two for side No. 1.\n\nThe leader of side No. 2 requests all his side to again stand in line,\nwith the exception of those who missed, and calls out some piece of\nland, as mountain, State, county, etc., and a letter, which the opposite\nside answer in the same way; and if every one succeeds in answering to\nthe call, and each one gives a correct reply without mistake, they score\nthree for their own side. The game is won by the side that first scores\nten; and as all who have missed must keep their seats until the end of\nthe play, they have abundant opportunity for laughing at the mistakes\nwhich are made by their friends. If it should happen that the leader of\none side has no one to call upon to stand in line, he is obliged to\nanswer alone; and if he also fails, the victory belongs to the other,\neven if they have not scored ten.\n\nAnother game of geography is played by each person taking pencil and\npaper, and in a given time--say, five minutes--writing as many\ngeographical names, beginning with a certain letter, as he can remember.\nWhen \"Time\" is called, a player reads his list, and any name that he\nhas, and the others have not, counts as many for him as there are\nplayers besides himself. Each then reads his list in turn, and the one\nwho scores the greatest number, when all have read, wins the game. If\nduring the reading any name is challenged, and the writer is unable to\ndescribe it, if it be a river, sea, bay, etc., or locate it if it is a\ncity, town, or cape, every other player counts one.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: BESIEGED.]","title":"Harper's Young People, June 22, 1880: An Illustrated Weekly","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":16191}