Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, July 13, 1880, by Various
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Title: Harper's Young People, July 13, 1880
An Illustrated Weekly
Author: Various
Release Date: June 4, 2009 [EBook #29034]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, JULY 13, 1880 ***
Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 37. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, July 13, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: SETTING THE CRAB NET.--DRAWN BY C. S. REINHART.]
A CRABBING ADVENTURE.
BY MATTHEW WHITE, JUN.
There were George and Bert, Sarah and the baby.
"And you and I have pretty good appetites, Bert," George would say,
whenever the Fieldens' finances were discussed, which, since the
father's death, had been pretty often.
"If we could only have staid on in the house in Fayetville! The garden
was getting along so nicely, and now to think all the fruit and
vegetables will be picked and sold or eaten by somebody else!" and Sarah
sighed, as she thought of the spring budding and blossoming in which she
had taken such an interest.
"But why can't we live off the river in place of the garden?" asked
George. "The boys down at the dock say they can make lots of money
selling soft crabs. They get from sixty to seventy-five cents a dozen,
and, oh, mother, if Bert and me could only have a net and a boat and a
crab car, and roll up our pants like Nat Springer, we'd just bring you
so much money that you needn't hardly sew at all!" and in his enthusiasm
George's eyes sparkled, and he ruthlessly trampled upon every rule of
grammar he had ever learned.
At first Mrs. Fielden was inclined to discourage the young would-be
fishermen, she having a perfect terror of their both being swallowed up
by the river, as if it were some beast of prey. But she was finally
prevailed upon to give her consent. A second-hand boat was purchased at
a trifling price from Captain Sam, an old sailor, who had taken a great
fancy to the boys, and he gave them a net, which he showed them how to
use.
Thus fitted out, the boys would anchor near the shore a short distance
below the village, roll up their trousers above their knees, and then
stepping overboard, each take hold of an end of the net, and, keeping
quiet as mice, wait until a crab came sailing up or down with the tide,
when they would scoop him up, and shout "Hurrah!" if it proved to be a
soft shell, and "Oh, pshaw!" if it was hard. However, in the latter
case, it was not thrown away, but shaken off into the boat's locker, to
be transferred to the car and left to "shed."
They did not at once make their fortune, for although they might have
good "catches," that did not always insure a ready market; but as the
warmer weather came on, and the village began to fill up with people
from the city, the boys procured two or three regular customers, who did
not grudge the fair prices paid for the "little-boy lobsters," as Bert
called them.
Captain Sam stood firm friend and adviser to them from the first, and
when some of the other crabbers were inclined to find fault with what
they termed the injury done their business, he did his best to make
peace, saying the river was big enough for all.
But one very hot afternoon, George and Bert came down to the shore
looking rather blue, for the day previous some of the other village boys
had repaired in a body to where the two were anchored, and made such a
splashing about as to frighten all the crabs away.
"I think it's an awful shame," muttered George, as he pushed off. "This
is a free country, and I don't see why we haven't as good a right to
make money out of the river as Teddy Lee or Nat Springer. They--"
"Hold on a minute, George!" cried Bert, as his brother, with one knee on
the bow, was about to send the _Sarah_ into deep water with the other
foot. "Here comes Captain Sam. Let's tell him about it; maybe he'll know
what we ought to do;" and so they waited till the good-natured old man
came up.
But there was no need to tell him anything, for he had already heard of
the new outbreak on the part of the village boys, and now appeared with
a suggestion, by acting on which hostilities might in the future be
avoided.
"I'm real sorry, boys," he began, as he took his seat on the side of his
own boat, which was drawn up close beside the _Sarah_. "I'm real sorry
as how these Yorking youngsters don't treat you no better. They only
hurt theirselves by it, they do," and Sam spoke with unusual emphasis,
at the same time polishing up the glass of his "jack-light" with an
energy that threatened to break the panes. "But now I'll tell you what
tack I think you'd better take, an' thet right off, fer the tide's 'most
out a'ready. Jist you row across nigh to the other side o' the river,
drop yer anchor on the flat right opposite thet little sort o' bay
yonder, and then put down yer net to good business. D'ye understand whar
I mean, lads?" and the Captain pointed with his long, water-shrivelled
forefinger, adding, "It seems purty far to go, but it'll pay when you
git thar--it'll pay;" and leaning forward, Sam gave the _Sarah_ a shove
that sent her clear of the shore, out into the centre of the cove which
served as the harbor for all the fishing-boats in Yorking.
With their hearts considerably lightened by their friend's sympathy and
advice, the two Fielden boys lost no time in following his instructions,
and each taking an oar, they were soon spinning straight across the
river at a speed that in ten minutes or so brought them to the flat.
Here the anchor was dropped over the side, and the boys got out in the
shallow water.
The net was quickly put in place, and Captain Sam's predictions amply
verified, for the outgoing tide brought down quantities of soft shells
and "shedders," to say nothing of hard crabs. It was fortunate Bert had
the car with him, for he was always seeing "such splendid fellows" just
a little further up, that the _Sarah_ was soon left quite a distance
behind, the lads being not only much interested in their success, but
also in the exploration of the flat, which appeared to be long and
narrow, with deep channels on every side.
Absorbed in the water at their feet, the boys failed to notice the
change that was taking place in the sky overhead, and the first
intimation they had of the storm that had been brewing all the afternoon
was a terrific squall, which struck them with a suddenness that almost
took away their breath.
"Make for the boat, Bert," shouted George, the next instant; and the two
splashed their way through the now wave-capped waters with all possible
speed.
But what was their horror, when they had almost reached the _Sarah_, to
see the latter break away from her anchorage, and drift swiftly down
stream with the gale!
The rope had parted, and they were left helpless on the flats.
"Oh, George, what shall we do?" almost sobbed Bert, for he was only ten,
and the wind, and rain, and seething floods around him raged most
furiously.
George was frightened too, but remembering his twelve years, he tried to
look confident and hopeful, as he pointed out the fact that some one
would surely come after them.
"But--but won't the tide come in before then?" queried Bert, his voice
trembling still, and his cheeks all wet with rain. "I think I feel it a
little higher now."
"It's only the waves makes that," returned George, soothingly, although
the same horrible possibility had just presented itself to him.
The storm, however, did not last long; but with the going down of the
wind, the tide began to come in faster, and Bert stood on his toes, and
then sank the crab car, and stood on that. It was a good mile across the
river to Yorking--too far to permit of any signals being seen there--and
the nearer shore was quite wild, the woods extending down almost to the
water's edge.
And still the tide came rushing in; and then the sun went down, and Bert
began to cry in earnest, for he was both cold and hungry, besides
feeling it a decidedly unpleasant sensation to have the water creep up
little by little toward his neck.
"Why don't Captain Sam come after us?" he sobbed, hiding his face on
George's coat sleeve.
"Perhaps he will; but, you see, he don't know we've lost our boat; so
we'll just have to wait long enough for them to get worried about us at
home."
George spoke bravely, but his heart beat very hard and fast, for now the
water had reached above where his trousers were rolled, while Bert, who
was almost a head shorter, was wet to the waist.
And so the minutes passed by as if they were hours, with the tide
creeping up around the lads higher, higher, till just as Bert's
shoulders were about to disappear into its cold embrace, George
exclaimed:
"A light! a light! Look, Bert, it's coming this way!"
And now both boys strained their eyes to see if they might hope, and
then cried out with all their might.
Nearer and nearer came the welcome beacon, casting a shining pathway
before it over the waters, and soon answering shouts were echoed back,
and a girl's voice rang out, "George! Bertie!" and the next moment
Captain Sam's boat shot into view, with the "jack-light" on the bow, and
Sarah sitting pale and anxious in the stern.
Tenderly Sam's strong arms lifted the two shivering lads on board, and
their sister fell to weeping and laughing over them in the most
confusing fashion.
On the way back George told the story of their captivity on the flats,
and the Captain explained that soon after they had left him in the
afternoon he had gone to Fayetville to see his daughter, not getting
back till after supper, when he found Sarah rushing up and down the
shore in a most distracted state of mind.
"But we've got lots of crabs," put in Bert, from his seat on the car,
which he had guarded safely through it all. "And George was real brave,
too. He didn't cry once."
"We've lost our boat, though, I'm afraid," returned his brother, anxious
to change the conversation.
"Oh, I guess we'll find her somewheres 'long shore to-morrow," replied
Sam; and they did, and afterward took good care not to practice false
economy by having an old worn-out rope to their anchor.
The next day the lads' adventure was known all over Yorking, and in
future the other crabbers treated them in quite a respectful manner,
evidently thinking that now the Fielden boys had really earned the right
to follow the business.
EDDIE'S LANTERNS.
BY ALBERT H. HARDY.
Eddie loves to watch the fire-flies
As the summer evenings pass,
Flashing like a shower of diamonds
In and out the meadow-grass.
"What are all the lights?" I ask him.
"Gracious! papa, don't you know?
God has sent these little lanterns,
So the plants can see to grow."
EASY BOTANY.
JULY.
June, with its rounded freshness unsullied by a faded leaf, its wood
paths gay with flowers, its glorious sunsets and sunrises, its
_perfection_ of beauty and sweetness--June has passed along to make room
for the fervid July. This midsummer month has its charms, and can show a
fair array of bright blossoms, the yellows becoming more prevalent, and
all the colors deepening as the heat grows more intense. The delicate
spring flowers are succeeded by a stouter and somewhat coarser display.
The species of veratrum, or false hellebore, which is now to be seen in
New England swamps and pastures, is a very striking plant; it has long
leaves, strongly veined and most beautifully plaited, with numerous
racemes of green flowers, forming a large terminal pyramid. The Indiana
veratrum, found in deep woods at the West and South, is a tall plant,
five or six feet high, with very large leaves, and has a kind of unholy
look, the flowers almost black, with red stamens.
This is the month for hosts of wild peas and vetches: the purple vetch
in New England thickets; the everlasting-pea on Vermont hill-sides; the
pink beach-pea and marsh-pea on New Jersey coasts and Western lake
shores: the pale purple myrtle-pea climbing over banks by New England
road-sides; the blue butterfly-pea, two inches broad, very showy, and
found in woods and fields of New York and Pennsylvania. These are all
graceful and pretty.
On Western prairies blossoms the deep pink prairie rose, the only native
climbing rose of the States, and on rocky banks in Pennsylvania woods
may be found the beautiful wild hydrangea flowers, silvery white or
rose-color. Let the young flower-seeker not fail to look for the
interesting parnassia, or grass of Parnassus, so named by the learned
Dioscodorus more than eighteen hundred years ago, who found it growing
on Mount Parnassus. One species of this little plant is abundant in damp
fields in Eastern Connecticut and in the Middle and Southern States. The
leaves are round and firm, the flower star-shaped, white, and streaked
with fine green lines.
By ponds and in damp thickets in Connecticut and New Jersey may be found
the showy rhexia, or meadow-beauty, the petals bright reddish-purple,
with crooked stamens brilliant yellow, and captivating seed-vessels
shaped like little antique vases. Several species of the singular orchis
tribe are in bloom during this month. As a general thing, these
remarkable plants delight in cold, damp, boggy, muddy pastures, and old
dark woods and thickets.
The flowers are beautiful, and several are fragrant; the colors white,
yellow, and shades of purple, and one, the fragrant purple-fringed
orchis, is as perfect and beautiful as can be imagined, and well repays
the tramp through damp woods. So also does the superb white
lady's-slipper, found in the same localities, and contrasting finely
with the dark, shaded places it loves, the large white blossoms, with
purple or red lines, two or three on a stalk. In shallow pools and wet
places the white arrow-head is plentiful; and the whiter wild calla,
really handsomer than its majestic relative the cultivated calla, and
the brilliant cardinal-flower gleam out beside the water-courses.
WILD FLOWERS OF JULY.
COMMON NAME. COLOR. LOCALITY, ETC.
Aconite, wolf's-bane Purple, poison Dry rocky places; Pennsylvania.
Agrimony Soft yellow Open woods; New Jersey.
Archangelica White Dry open woods; Middle States.
Beach-pea Purple, large Sea-coast; New Jersey.
Black snakeroot White racemes Deep woods; Maine, West.
Butterfly-pea Violet, large Sandy woods; Maryland,
Virginia.
Button-ball White Wet places. Common.
Callirhoe Red-purple Dry fields, prairies; Illinois.
Cardinal-flower Intense red Wet places. Common.
Coral-berry Pink Dry fields and banks. Middle
States.
Deptford pink Rose-color,
white spots Dry soil; Mass. to Virginia.
Evening primrose Pale yellow Sandy soil. Common.
Everlasting-pea Yellowish-white Hill-sides; Vermont, Mass.
Fringed orchis Purple Dark woods; New England.
Fumitory Rose-color,
nodding Sandy fields; New Jersey.
Ginseng White Cool, rich woods. Rare.
Glade mallow White Limestone valleys;
Pennsylvania.
Grass of Parnassus Wh., green
lines Damp meadows; Connecticut.
Hardhack Rose-color Damp meadows; New England.
Hedysarum Purple Vermont, Maine.
Hercules's club Greenish-white River-banks; Middle States.
Indiana dragon-root Black and red,
poison Damp woods; West.
Indian physic White, pink Rich woods; Pa., New York.
Lady's-slipper White, red
lines Deep, boggy woods; New England.
Lead-plant Violet Crevices of rocks; Michigan.
Marsh-pea Blue, purple Moist places; New England.
Meadow-beauty Bright purple Borders of ponds; Conn., N. J.
Meadow-sweet White, pink Wet, low grounds; New England.
Moss-campion Purple, white White Mountains.
Myrtle-pea Pale purple Climbing; New England thickets.
New Jersey tea White clusters Dry woodlands; Middle States.
Nondo, lovage Wh., aromatic Rich woods; Virginia.
Passion-flower Green'h-yellow Damp thickets; Pa., Illinois.
Pencil-flower Yellow New Jersey; pine-barrens.
Poison-hemlock White, poison Waste, wet places. Common.
Prairie rose Deep pink Climbing; prairies West.
Prickly poppy Showy yellow Open woods; South and West.
Rattle-box Yellow Sandy soil; New Jersey.
Royal catchfly Deep scarlet Western prairies.
Sea-rocket Purplish New England coast and West.
Slender sundew White Shores of Western lakes.
Snow-berry White Rocky banks; Vermont to Pa.
Spikenard White Rich woodlands; New England.
St. Andrew's cross Yellow, stamens
crossing New Jersey; Illinois.
St. John's wort Yellow, large River-banks; New England.
Stone-crop Yellow Rocky road-sides. Common.
St. Peter's wort Light yellow Pine-barrens of New Jersey.
Touch-me-not Pale yellow Moist banks. Common.
Veratrum (false
hellebore) Purple, poison Swamps; New England.
Vetch Blue, purple Thickets; New England.
Western wall-flower Orange-yellow Limestone cliffs; West.
Wild calla White Wet places. Common.
Wild hydrangea Purple, white Rocky banks; Pennsylvania.
Wild larkspur Purple, blue Rich woods; Pa., New York.
Wild licorice Dull purple Damp woods. Common.
Wild senna Yellow Damp soil; Middle States.
Wolf-berry White, pink West and South.
THE STORY OF THE AMERICAN NAVY.
BY BENSON J. LOSSING.
CHAPTER I.
"You have no right to tax us without our consent," said the
English-American colonists to the British Parliament more than a hundred
years ago. "The Great Charter of England forbids it."
"We have the right to control you in all cases whatsoever," answered the
Parliament.
"Taxation without representation is tyranny, and we will not submit to
it," the colonists declared. A mighty quarrel then began, which lasted
ten years, and ended in blows. The colonists thought with Cromwell that
"rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God."
The Parliament levied a stamp tax, but could not enforce it. A tax on
tea was laid, when the patriotic women of America ceased drinking tea,
while the men resolved that not a pound of the plant should be landed on
our shores until the tax should be taken off. Nevertheless, tea ships
came to Boston, when the citizens cast their cargoes into the waters of
the harbor.
That tea party made the British government very angry. The King called
his American subjects "rebels," and proceeded to punish the people of
Boston. All the colonists stood by them. British troops were sent to
make the Americans obedient vassals instead of loving subjects. The
representatives of the colonists all over the land met in a General
Congress at Philadelphia. That was in 1774. In that Congress Patrick
Henry, of Virginia, said, "We must fight." At the same time Joseph
Hawley, of Massachusetts, said in the Provincial Congress, "We must
fight." The patriotic people everywhere, with compressed lips and
valorous hearts, said, "We must fight."
Faint-hearted men and women shook their heads, and said: "Be prudent.
You know Great Britain has scores of ships of war, and we have not one;
how can we hope to win in such a contest?"
Stout-hearted men and women replied, "We will buy or build ships, make
warriors of them, man them with hardy New England fishermen, and with
the faith of little David meet the Goliath of England, trusting in the
Lord, who will defend the right."
And the people said, "Amen."
The Congress appointed a "Marine Committee"--a sort of distributed
Secretary of the Navy. They ordered more than a dozen war vessels to be
built. Officers were appointed, crews were gathered, and Esek Hopkins, a
seaman of Rhode Island, then almost sixty years of age, was made
Commodore and Commander-in-chief of the Continental Navy. This was the
germ of the United States Navy.
Early in 1776 Hopkins sailed from the Delaware to the Bahama Islands,
with four ships and three sloops. At New Providence he captured the
forts, nearly one hundred cannon, and a large quantity of ammunition and
stores. On his return he fought several British vessels, captured two,
and took his little squadron safely into the harbor of New London,
Connecticut. Not doing so well as the Congress desired, he was soon
afterward relieved of command, and no successor was appointed.
John Paul Jones, a little Scotchman less than thirty years of age, was
one of the most active officers of this Continental Navy, and became the
most conspicuous marine hero of the old war for independence. He was the
first who raised an American flag over an American vessel of war, in
December, 1775; and in various ships he gained such great renown that
after the war he received special honors from the French monarch, became
Vice-Admiral in the Russian navy, and when he died, the government of
France decreed him a public funeral.
There were other Americans at that time who became naval heroes only a
little less famous than Jones. There was John Manly, the veteran sailor
of Marblehead, whom Washington appointed Captain when he fitted out some
privateers at Boston before a navy was created. While the Congress were
talking about a navy, Manly was cruising off the coast of Massachusetts
in the armed schooner _Lee_, keenly watching for British vessels laden
with military supplies for the army in Boston. He captured three of them
laden with arms and munitions of war, then much needed by the patriots
who were besieging the New England capital.
There was young Nicholas Biddle, who had served with Nelson in the Royal
Navy, and who accompanied Hopkins to the Bahamas. He did gallant service
as commander of the _Randolph_, until she was blown up in battle, when
Biddle and all his men perished.
[Illustration: FRANKLIN ON HIS WAY TO FRANCE.--DRAWN BY HOWARD PYLE.]
There was Captain Wilkes, with the little _Reprisal_, of sixteen guns,
who frightened all England by his daring exploits. After fighting
British armed vessels, and taking several prizes in the West Indies, he
took Dr. Franklin, the representative of the Congress, to France. Then
he cruised in the Bay of Biscay, captured a number of English
merchantmen, and with the _Reprisal_ and two or three other small
vessels, sailed entirely around Ireland, sweeping the Channel its whole
length, destroying a number of merchant vessels, and creating great
alarm in all the British ports. Poor Wilkes perished soon afterward with
all his crew when his ship was wrecked on the rocks of Newfoundland.
New England privateers were very busy and successful, capturing no less
than thirty vessels laden with supplies for the British army in Boston.
Among the most active of these was a little Connecticut cruiser of
fourteen guns, named the _Defense_. She took prize after prize; and on a
starry night in June, 1776, she, with some other small vessels, fought
and conquered two British transports near Boston, laden with two hundred
soldiers and a large quantity of stores. By midsummer (1776), American
cruisers had captured more than five hundred British soldiers.
Captain Whipple, a bold Rhode-Islander, who, when a British naval
commander threatened by letter to hang him "to the yard-arm" for an
offense against the majesty of Great Britain, replied, "Catch a man
before you hang him," was in command of the Continental vessel _Doria_.
He was so successful off the coasts of New England, that when, he
returned to the Delaware his prizes were so numerous, that, after
manning them, he had only five of his original crew left on board the
_Doria_.
The gallant Jones meanwhile had swept the seas along the coasts of Nova
Scotia, and sailed into Newport Harbor with fifteen prizes. After
resting on his laurels awhile, he was again on the Acadian coast late in
1776, where he captured a large British transport laden with supplies
for Burgoyne's army in Canada. By this time cruisers sent out by
Congress and privateers were harrying British shipping in all
directions.
Dr. Franklin carried with him to France a number of blank commissions
for army and navy officers, signed by the President and Secretary of
Congress. These Franklin and the other Commissioners filled and signed,
and under this authority cruisers sailed from French ports to attack
British vessels. It must be remembered that France at that time, in
order to injure her old enemy, England, was giving secret aid to the
Americans in revolt.
How active and how harmful to the British marine were some of the
cruisers commissioned by Franklin and his associates, and sent out from
French ports, we shall observe presently.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
[Begun in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 31, June 1.]
THE MORAL PIRATES.
BY W. L. ALDEN.
CHAPTER VII.
The sun was getting to be rather too hot for boating, when the boys saw
the half-sunken wreck of a canal-boat close to the west shore, where
there was a nice shady grove. They immediately crossed the river, and,
landing near the wreck, began to get their fishing-tackle in order.
As there were only two poles, one of which belonged to Harry and the
other to Tom, the two Sharpe boys were obliged either to cut poles for
themselves, or to watch the others while they fished. Jim cut a pole for
himself, but Joe preferred to lie on the bank. "I don't care to fish,
anyhow," he said. "I'll agree to eat twice as much fish as anybody else,
if I can be excused from fishing."
"If you don't want to fish, you'd better hunt bait for us," said Tom.
"I never thought about bait," exclaimed Harry. "How are we going to dig
for worms without a spade?"
"Who wants any worms?" replied Tom. "Grasshoppers are the thing; and the
field just back of here is full of them. Come, Joe, catch us some
grasshoppers, won't you?"
"How many do you want?" asked Joe. "I don't want to waste good
grasshoppers on fellows who won't use them. Let's see: suppose I get you
ten grasshoppers apiece. Will that do?"
"Are you getting lazy, Joe?" said Tom, "or are you sick? A fellow who
don't want to fish must have something wrong in his insides. Harry,
you'd better give him some medicine."
"Oh, I'm all right," replied Joe. "I'm a little sleepy to-day, but I'll
get your grasshoppers."
Joe took an empty tin can and went in search of grasshoppers, while the
rest were getting their hooks and lines ready. In a short time he
returned, and handed the can to Tom.
"There's just thirty-one grasshoppers in that can," said he. "I threw in
one for good measure. Now go ahead and fish, and I'll have a nap." So
saying, he stretched himself on the ground, and the other boys began to
fish.
[Illustration: AN UNEXPECTED CATCH.--DRAWN BY A. B. FROST.]
There were quantities of perch near the old canal-boat, and they bit
ravenously at the grasshoppers. It took only about a quarter of an hour
to catch nearly three dozen fish. These were more than the boys could
possibly eat; and Tom was just going to remark that they had better stop
fishing, when they were startled by a loud cry from Joe. Harry, in
swinging his line over his head so as to cast out a long way into the
river, had succeeded in hooking Joe in the right ear.
Of course Harry was extremely sorry, and he said so several times; but,
as Joe pointed out, "talk won't pull a hook out of a fellow's ear." The
barb made it impracticable to draw the hook out, and it was quite
impossible that Joe should enjoy the cruise with a fish-hook in his ear.
Jim said that the hook must be cut out; but Joe objected to having his
ear cut to pieces with a dull jack-knife.
In this emergency, Tom proposed to break off the shank of the hook, and
then to push the remainder of it through the ear. It was no easy matter,
however, to break the steel. Every time the hook was touched Joe winced
with pain; but finally Tom managed to break the shank with the aid of
the pair of pliers that formed part of the stores. The hook was then
gently and firmly pressed through the ear, and carefully drawn out.
"I knew," said Tom, "that something must be wrong when Joe said he
didn't want to fish. This ought to be a warning to him."
"It's a warning to me," said Harry, "not to throw my line all over the
State of New York."
"Oh, it's all right now," said Joe. "Only the next time I go cruising
with Harry, I'm going to take a pair of cutting pincers to cut off the
shanks of fish-hooks after he gets through fishing. We'd better get a
pair at Hudson, anyhow, or else we'll all be stuck full of hooks, if
Harry does any more fishing."
Harry was so humbled by the result of his carelessness that he offered,
by way of penance, to clean and cook the fish. When this was done, and
the fish were served up smoking hot, they were so good that Joe forgot
his damaged ear, and Harry recovered his spirits. After a course of fish
and bread, a can of peaches was opened for dessert, and then followed a
good long rest. By three o'clock the heat began to lessen, and the
_Whitewing_ started on her way with a better breeze than she had yet
been favored with.
The boat travelled swiftly, and the breeze gradually freshened. The
whitecaps were beginning to make their appearance on the river before it
occurred to the boys that they must cross over to the east shore, in
order to camp where they could find shade while getting breakfast the
next morning. It had been one of Uncle John's most earnest bits of
advice that they should always have shade in the morning. "Nothing
spoils the temper," he had said, "like cooking under a bright sun; so
make sure that you keep in the shade until after breakfast." Harry felt
a little nervous about crossing the river in so fresh a breeze, since,
as the breeze blew from the south, the boat could not sail directly
across the river without bringing the sea on her beam. He did not
mention that he was nervous, however, and he showed excellent judgment
in crossing the river diagonally, so as to avoid exposing the broadside
of the boat to the waves, that by this time were unpleasantly high. The
east bank was thus reached without taking a drop of water into the boat,
and she was then kept on her course up the river, within a few rods of
the shore.
This was a wise precaution in one respect; for if the boat had capsized,
the boys could easily have swum ashore; but still it is always risky to
keep close to the shore, unless you know that there are no rocks or
snags in the way. Harry never thought of the danger of being shipwrecked
with the shore so close at hand, and was enjoying the cooling breeze and
the speed of the boat, when suddenly the _Whitewing_ brought up with a
crash that pitched everybody into the bottom of the boat. She had struck
a sunken rock, and the speed at which she was going was so great that
one of her planks was stove in. Before the boys could pick themselves
up, the water had rushed in, and was rising rapidly.
"Jump overboard everybody!" cried Harry. "She won't float with us in
her."
There was no time in which to pull off shirts and trousers, and the boys
plunged overboard without even taking their hats off. They then took
hold of the boat, two on each side of her, and swam toward the shore.
With so much water in her, the boat was tremendously heavy; but the boys
persevered, and finally reached shallow water, where they could wade and
drag her out on the sand.
"Here we are wet again!" exclaimed Jim. "The blankets are wet too this
time."
"Never mind," replied Tom; "it's not more than five o'clock, and we can
get them dry before night."
"We'll have to work pretty fast, then," said Harry. "Jim and Joe had
better build a big fire, and dry the things, while you and I empty the
boat; or I'll empty the boat, and you can pitch the tent. We'll have to
put off supper till we can make sure of a dry bed."
Harry took the things out of the boat one by one. Everything was wet
except the contents of the tin boxes, into which the water luckily had
not penetrated. As soon as the fire was built, Jim and Joe gave their
whole attention to drying the blankets and the spare clothing; and when
the boat was emptied, it was found that a hole nearly six inches long
and four inches wide had been made through one of the bottom planks.
Harry and Tom set to work to mend it. They took a piece of canvas--which
had luckily been kept in one of the tin boxes, and was quite dry--and
tacked it neatly over the outside of the hole.
They next covered the canvas with a thin coating of white lead, except
at the edges, where the white lead was laid on very thickly. Over the
canvas the piece of zinc that had been brought for just such a purpose
was carefully tacked, and then thin strips of wood were placed over the
edges of the tin, and screwed down tightly with screws that went through
the zinc, but not through the canvas. Finally, white lead was put all
around the outer edge of the zinc, and the boat was then left
bottom-side up on the sand, so that the white lead could harden by
exposure to the air.
Nobody cared to go for milk in wet clothes; and so, when the boat was
mended, the boys all sat around the fire to dry themselves, and made a
supper of crackers. What with the heat and the wind, it was not very
long before their clothes and blankets were thoroughly dried, and they
could look forward to a comfortable night. The tent was pitched where no
steamboat swell could possibly touch it, and the boat was apparently out
of reach of the tide. It was very early when the boys "turned in," and
for the first time in the cruise they slept peacefully all night.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
THE MANGOSTEEN.
FROM ADVANCE SHEETS OF "THE BOY TRAVELLERS IN THE FAR EAST." PART
SECOND. BY THOMAS W. KNOX.
During their stay upon the island of Java, Dr. Bronson and his young
travelling companions took a trip on a railway from Batavia to
Buitenzorg, in order that they might learn something of the interior of
the island. While on this trip the boys observed, among other things,
that the trees in some instances grew quite close to the track. Doctor
Bronson explained to them that in the tropics it was no small matter to
keep a railway line clear of trees and vines, and sometimes the vines
would grow over the track in a single night. It was necessary to keep
men at work along the track to cut away the vegetation where it
threatened to interfere with the trains, and in the rainy season the
force of men was sometimes doubled. "There is one good effect," said he,
"of this luxuriant growth. The roots of the vines and trees become
interlaced in the embankment on which the road is built, and prevent its
being washed away by heavy rains. So you see there is, after all, a
saving in keeping the railway in repair."
At several of the stations the natives offered fruit of different kinds,
and nearly all new to our young friends. They had been told that they
would probably find the mangosteen for sale along the road; they had
inquired for it in Singapore, but it was not in season there, and now
their thoughts were bent upon discovering it between Batavia and
Buitenzorg. Two or three times they were disappointed when they asked
for it; but finally, at one of the stations, when Fred pronounced the
word "mangosteen," a native held up a bunch of fruit, and nodded. The
Doctor looked at the bunch, and nodded likewise, and Fred speedily paid
for the prize.
Perhaps we had best let Fred tell the story of the mangosteen, which he
did in his first letter from Buitenzorg:
"We have found the prince of fruits, and its name is mangosteen. It is
about the size of a pippin apple, and of a purple color--a very dark
purple, too. The husk, or rind, is about half an inch thick, and
contains a bitter juice, which is used in the preparation of dye; it
stains the fingers like aniline ink, and is not easy to wash off. Nature
has wisely provided this protection for the fruit; if it had no more
covering than the ordinary skin of an apple, the birds would eat it all
up as soon as it was ripe. If I were a bird, and had a bill that would
open the mangosteen, I would eat nothing else as long as I could get at
it.
"You cut this husk with a sharp knife right across the centre, and then
you open it in two parts. Out comes a lump of pulp as white as snow, and
about the size of a small peach. It is divided into sections, like the
interior of an orange, and there is a sort of star on the outside that
tells you, before you cut the husk, exactly how many of these sections
there are. Having got at the pulp, you proceed to take the lump into
your mouth, and eat it; and you will be too busy for the next quarter of
a minute to say anything.
"Hip! hip! hurrah! It melts away in your mouth like an overripe peach or
strawberry; it has a taste that is slightly acid--very slightly,
too--but you can no more describe all the flavor of it than you can
describe how a canary sings, or a violet smells. There is no other fruit
I ever tasted that begins to compare with it, though I hesitate to admit
that there is anything to surpass our American strawberry in its
perfection, or the American peach. If you could get all the flavors of
our best fruits in one, and then give that one the 'meltingness' of the
mangosteen, perhaps you might equal it; but till you can do so, there is
no use denying that the tropics have the prince of fruits.
"Everybody tells us we can eat all the mangosteens we wish to, without
the slightest fear of ill results. Perhaps one might get weary of them
in time, but at present we are unable to find enough of them. If
anything would reconcile me to a permanent residence in the tropics, it
would be the hope of always having plenty of mangosteens at my command.
"You may think," Fred added, "that I have taken a good deal of space for
describing this fruit, but I assure you I have not occupied half what it
deserves. And if you were here, you would agree with me, and be willing
to give it all the space at your command--in and beyond your mouth. But
be careful and have it fully ripe: green mangosteens are apt to produce
colic, as Frank can tell you of his own knowledge."
ROBINSON CRUSOE'S ISLAND.
The island of Juan Fernandez has always been said to be the island on
which Robinson Crusoe was cast away. Nothing can be further from the
truth. Crusoe never saw Juan Fernandez, and, so far as we know, never
once so much as thought of casting himself away there.
No man has ever charged Robinson Crusoe with not telling the truth. He
may have had his faults--and he certainly did show very little judgment
when he built his first boat so far from the shore that he could not
possibly launch it--but he always told the truth. We ought therefore to
believe what he says about the situation of his island. He informs me
that, having sailed from Brazil on a voyage to the coast of Guinea, he
was driven northward by stormy weather, and was finally wrecked
somewhere between the mouth of the river Orinoco and the Caribbean or
West India islands. Now the island of Juan Fernandez is in the Pacific
Ocean, about three hundred and sixty miles southwest of Valparaiso. To
suppose that Crusoe was wrecked on Juan Fernandez, while on his way from
Brazil to Guinea, is like saying that a ship on her way from New York to
Liverpool was wrecked on one of the Sandwich Islands. Such a story would
be perfectly absurd. However, when we have Crusoe's word that he was
cast away near the mouth of the Orinoco, there is an end of the matter.
He probably could not have told a lie if he had tried to.
In the year 1704 an English vessel called the _Cinque Ports_ came to
Juan Fernandez. One of her officers, Alexander Selkirk by name, had
quarrelled with the Captain, and he said he would much rather stay on
this island than sail any longer on board the _Cinque Ports_. The
Captain was glad to get rid of him, and therefore sailed away, and left
him behind. What Selkirk and the Captain had quarrelled about has never
been certainly known, but when we reflect that Selkirk was a Scotchman,
we can understand that very likely he was unwilling to practice piracy
on Sunday, while the captain insisted that any day was a fit day on
which to rob a Spanish ship. This would have led to a quarrel, and very
possibly was the precise cause of the quarrel which resulted in Selkirk
leaving the ship at Juan Fernandez. It is true that the _Cinque Ports_
was called a buccaneer, instead of a pirate, but no man can see the
difference between buccaneering and piracy without the help of a
large-sized compound microscope.
Selkirk remained all alone on the island for four years and four months,
when another English vessel took him off. When he reached home, he wrote
an account of his adventures, and very stupid people have since claimed
that Daniel Defoe, the author of the story of Crusoe's adventures, had
read Selkirk's book, and that it suggested to him the idea of inventing
Robinson Crusoe. To suppose that so great a man as Defoe could not write
a book without stealing his ideas from Alexander Selkirk is ridiculous.
Selkirk and Crusoe were as unlike as two men could well be. The only
resemblance between them was that both had lived alone on unfrequented
islands, as many other unfortunate men have done before and since.
We thus see how it came to pass that people have mixed up Selkirk's
island with Crusoe's island, and have finally convinced themselves that
Crusoe was wrecked on Juan Fernandez. Selkirk's island is firmly
believed by nearly everybody to have been Crusoe's island, though we
might just as well call it Smith's or Jones's island.
It must be admitted that Juan Fernandez is a beautiful island, with
every convenience that Crusoe could have wished for, except cannibals.
Selkirk, however, could do nothing with it. He did contrive to catch
goats by running after them until they were tired out, but he never
thought of taming them--fattening them on tomato cans--as Crusoe did. Of
course he never had a Man Friday, and he never built himself a canoe, or
periagua. In fact, he did very little that was creditable to him, and
there is only too much reason to believe that if he had seen a foot-step
on the sand, he would not have known that it was his duty to be terribly
frightened.
[Illustration]
Juan Fernandez is about sixteen miles long and five and a half miles
wide. The shore, especially on the northern side, is steep and rocky.
The interior is very picturesque, and contains several beautiful valleys
separated by high ridges. On the north side of the island is a very
steep mountain of lava, which is eight thousand feet high, the top of
which is said to be inaccessible. Part way up this mountain is the place
where Selkirk used to watch for passing vessels. In one of the valleys
there is a cave where Selkirk lived. It is thirty feet in length and
about twenty feet in breadth, with a ceiling of nearly twenty feet in
height. While it is a fair substantial cave, it can not be compared for
a moment with the cave which Crusoe had on his own island, and which he
enlarged with so much perseverance.
[Illustration]
The island belongs to Chili, and more than a hundred years ago the
Chilian government sent convicts to Juan Fernandez as a punishment. A
fort was built, which has now crumbled away, and cells were dug in the
solid rock on the side of a hill, and the convicts were locked up in
them every night. The convicts, not liking their treatment, rebelled,
killed their guards, and seizing on a vessel that had visited the
island, escaped to Peru. Since then Juan Fernandez, or Mas-a-tierra, as
the Chilians call it, has been inhabited by a few Chilian farmers, who
raise, with very little labor, food enough to live on. They also catch
fish, which they send to the mainland, and at certain seasons of the
year they kill large quantities of seals, which frequent a little rocky
island half a mile from Juan Fernandez. At the present time the island
is governed by a Mr. Rhode, who rents it from the Chilian government,
and proposes to raise quantities of cattle.
In 1868 the British man-of-war _Topaz_ touched at Juan Fernandez, and
her officers erected an iron tablet in honor of Selkirk. It bears the
following inscription:
In memory of Alexander Selkirk,
Mariner,
a native of Largo, in the County of Fife, Scotland,
who lived on this island in complete solitude for four years and four
months.
He was landed from the _Cinque Ports_ galley, 96 tons, 16 guns, A.D.
1704, and was taken off in the _Duke_ privateer, 12th February, 1709.
He died Lieutenant of H. M. S. _Weymouth_, A.D. 1722, aged 47 years.
This tablet is erected near Selkirk's Look-out by Commodore
Powell and the officers of H. M. S. _Topaz_, A.D. 1868.
As there is excellent water at Juan Fernandez, vessels occasionally
touch there to fill their casks, but it has no regular communication
with the rest of the world.
Of course Juan Fernandez will always continue to be called Robinson
Crusoe's island, though it is certain that Crusoe was never within
three or four thousand miles of it. As for the unbelieving people who
pretend that Robinson Crusoe never lived, nobody should listen to them
for a moment. There never was anybody more thoroughly real than Robinson
Crusoe. Selkirk was not half so real; and in comparison with the
shipwrecked mariner of Hull, Julius Cæsar was grossly improbable.
Crusoe's island undoubtedly exists somewhere "near the mouth of the
great river Orinoco."
PHILEMON'S CIRCUS.
BY MARY DENSEL.
"--together with fifes and drums. The gigantic procession, headed by the
stupendous gilded chariot, will move through the town at seven o'clock
A.M. precisely,'" ended Tom Tadgers, quoting from the handbills.
"Through _this_ town?" asked Philemon, much excited.
Tom Tadgers gave him a withering glance.
"Do you suppose that N. Ticeum and B. Phoolum's 'Great Moral Show,' with
'six tigers, five elephants, a giraffe, hippopot_a_mus, kangaroo,
in-nu-mer-a-ble monkeys, wild men of Borneo, living skeleton, educated
bull, and a ship of the desert,' would come to a mean little village
like this? Skowhegan's the town it's going to move through, and it will
pass Tucker's Corner at five o'clock to-morrow morning. So Silas Elder
says to me, 'You get into the back of my milk cart, Tadgers'" (Tommy
felt deeply the dignity of being "Tadgers"), "'and I'll give you a lift
as far as the Corner, Tadgers. Then you can follow the procession, and
go to the show at Skowhegan, Tadgers,' says he. Now, Philemon, how would
you like to come along too?"
"And Romeo Augustus with me?" questioned Philemon, eagerly.
Tadgers shook his head.
"Come by yourself, or not at all," said he, firmly. "What's more, you
must be on hand by four o'clock to-morrow morning."
How could Philemon wake at that early hour? It was his wont not only to
"sleep like a top all night," but also to "sleep at morn."
Tom, however, agreed to manage that. So when Philemon went to bed at
night, it was with one end of a piece of stout twine tied to his ankle,
while the other end hung out at the open window.
Neither Elias, John, nor Romeo Augustus, who shared his chamber, spied
the cord. Philemon waited till they were sound asleep before he arranged
it.
The sun had not begun to show his face above the horizon when there came
a brisk twitch on the twine. Philemon was broad awake in a twinkling,
and rolled out of bed to dance a one-footed ballet, by reason of a
series of jerks given to the cord by the sprightly Thomas below. It was
only after Philemon had knocked over two chairs and a cricket that he
managed to hop wildly to the window, and to call out in a hoarse
whisper, "You'll wake the whole house if you don't quit," that Tom
condescended to desist; and a few minutes later the two comrades were
climbing into the back of Silas Elder's cart, all ready to start for
"The Great Moral Show."
The cart was not spacious, and its springs were few and far between, as
Philemon's bones bore witness. He began, all at once, to wonder if it
might not have been _polite_ to have mentioned to his parents that he
intended to be absent the greater part of the day.
He recollected, with a pang, that it was his mother's custom to be
anxious when one of her six precious boys was long out of her sight.
Suddenly, "Look there! there! there!" shouted Tom Tadgers.
Sure enough; there--there--there, in the distance, was a caravan moving
slowly toward Tucker's Corner. It must be--it is N. Ticeum and B.
Phoolum's show.
Nearer and nearer it came. Tom and Philemon jumped out of the cart, that
they might be ready to join the "gigantic procession."
And now they were in its midst. To be sure, the glories of "the
stupendous gilded chariot" were shrouded by brown canvas; the monkeys,
tigers, and the hippopotamus were shut up in their cages; neither were
the giraffe and kangaroo visible as yet. But here were the elephants
marching majestically along; here was the educated bull, with a ring
through his nose; and so near that Philemon could have touched him was
the living skeleton in all his enchanting leanness.
Philemon actually danced up and down in ecstasy. The man who seemed to
have charge of affairs caught sight of his beaming face, and broke into
a good-natured laugh.
"Hallo, my little chap, would ye like a ride to-day?" said he, and
before Philemon knew what was going to happen, he found himself astride
of the back of a huge gray elephant.
Was there ever such a morning! It did seem as if the sun fairly outdid
itself, such billows of light did it pour forth. The rollicking breeze
danced round and about the caravan, and would by no means be left
behind. The corn in Farmer Tucker's field waved its silken tassels in a
delighted frenzy. All the golden-rod and asters were alert to see the
sight.
At last the coverings were taken from the gilded chariot; fifes and
drums struck up a tune. All the Skowhegan boys came flocking out of town
to meet the caravan. Some one put an American flag into Philemon's hand.
What an honor! The lad's heart swelled with pride. He held his head
high. He was actually a part of "The Great Moral Show."
So absorbed was he in his new dignity that he did not notice that they
were nearing the bridge which stretched across the Kennebec River, just
outside of Skowhegan. Neither did he observe that the elephants were
separating themselves from the rest of the train, until, just as the
gilded chariot passed on the bridge, the animal Philemon rode broke into
a trot--and what a trot!--starting down the river-bank, followed by the
other four elephants. Philemon clung with both his hands.
Into the stream plunged the beasts, wading clumsily along until the
water was breast-high, when they began to swim. Philemon stuck like a
little burr to the gray back.
At last the elephants gained a foot-hold once more. But they were by no
means ready to give up the cool water. They snorted; they tramped; they
plunged; they sucked the water into their trunks, and poured it out
again in great streams. Never had Philemon had such a shower-bath. One
of the elephants lay down and rolled playfully over and over. Philemon
was frightened nearly out of his wits: suppose his elephant should do
likewise? Instead of that, he rose to within a few feet of the bank,
and, having first treated his rider to a few extra bucketfuls of water,
twisted his trunk round one of Philemon's legs.
There was a jerk, a dizzy whirl through the air, and our friend lay
"high," but by no means "dry," upon the earth.
The crowd gathered round. He heard Tom Tadgers's voice in a terrified
wail: "He's dead! he's dead!"
Then some one else spoke: "Bring water."
That was adding insult to injury. Up as straight as a ramrod sat the
afflicted Philemon. "If anybody dares to put another drop of water on
me, I'll--I'll--I'll go _home_!" gasped he.
There was a burst of merriment at that tremendous threat, and the young
hero was lifted on some one's shoulder, and borne along in triumph.
Strange to say, he was not even bruised, and he almost forgot his
mishap, when, an hour later, he was permitted to help in spreading tan
around the open space where Madame Lucetta Almazida was to ride the
famous horse Pegasus, and perform her "world-renowned feat" of jumping
through seventeen hoops and a "barrel wrapped in flames."
That noon Philemon was actually invited to dine with Mons. Duval, the
"incomparable gymnast," and a host of other circus celebrities.
"You're a plucky little fellow, and fit to feed along o' us," said Mons.
Duval, with a grin.
Philemon was much pleased by the compliment, which, though perchance not
expressed in the most refined language, showed a kindly appreciation of
his merits.
He entirely forgot Tom Tadgers, who, not having had the luck to meet
with an accident, was left outside. In fact, Philemon saw Tom no more
that day, and the latter, at the close of the afternoon, met Silas Elder
once more, and rode peacefully home, where he went to bed, quite
omitting to say a word to anybody about Philemon.
In the mean time that worthy ate his dinner with his new companions. He
wondered vaguely what his mother would say if she knew where he was.
He might have wondered more had not one of the men poured a yellow
liquid into a cup, and handed it to him.
"Drink this, my man," said he.
Then everybody laughed. The liquid was sweet. Philemon liked it. He
drank every drop. Soon he began to feel very bright and merry; and when
a new song was sung he joined lustily in the chorus. He had a clear,
high, ringing voice.
"Bless us!" exclaimed Mons. Duval. "Tip us a song yourself, boy."
Not a whit abashed, Philemon began to sing.
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Mons. Duval. "Tim Luker, what used to do our first
tribble, was took sick this morning. What d'ye say, youngster, to being
blacked up, and singing this evening to the circus along o' our minstrel
troupe?"
That yellow liquid was in Philemon's blood. His eyes sparkled, his
cheeks flamed.
"Yes, I'll sing," cried he, boisterously, "and I'll go to the ends of
the earth with you."
After dinner--it was strange--he felt very drowsy. Mons. Duval, for some
reason, was extremely amused, and considered it a great joke.
"You lay down here and take a nap," he said, and actually took off his
own coat to put over Philemon. The boy slept all that afternoon; indeed,
he never opened his eyes till it was nearly time for the evening's
entertainment to begin.
The big dingy tent where the performance was to come off was lighted.
Philemon followed Mons. Duval into the small tent behind the large one,
where those who were to take part awaited their several turns.
He stood meekly silent, while his face, hands, and neck were daubed with
some sticky black stuff; and then, as bidden, he arrayed himself in some
extraordinary baggy yellow clothes, and a big paper collar.
He caught sight of himself in a bit of glass. He looked like a little
black imp. What would his mother say to see him? A feeling of intense
shame surged over him. He crouched down in a corner, wishing he could
hide himself from the eyes of all men.
Philemon looked around him, and there, close by, was a boy about his own
age, with large brown eyes and white cheeks. He was dressed in
flesh-colored tights.
"Who are you?" asked Philemon, as the boy stared and half smiled.
"I'm the 'Phenomenal Trapezist,'" announced the lad, solemnly.
"What do you do?"
"Oh, I go up on the trapeze, at the tiptop of the tent, and my father
and uncle--they're the crack gymnasts, you know--they toss me about as
if I was a ball. By-and-by I'm going to learn to hang by my toes, and
take a flying leap, sixty foot, to the slack-rope near the ground."
"Aren't you frightened?" exclaimed Philemon.
"Ye--" began the boy, and then quickly changed his tone, as a man clad
in scarlet and gilt came near. "No, I ain't scared. I like it."
"Of course he ain't scared," said the man, roughly. "Come, Bill, it's
time for you and me to show ourselves."
They were joined by Bill's uncle, and the three passed into the outer
tent. Philemon put his eye against a hole in the canvas to watch them.
Like monkeys the two men and the child swung themselves aloft, and
reached the tent roof. Here they twisted, they turned, they made fearful
leaps from one trapeze to another, until Philemon trembled to see them.
At last both men hung by their knees, head downward, and Bill crept
carefully to the end of a long rope, gave a spring, and caught his
father's hands. There was an awful pause; then small Bill was sent
spinning through the air, sixty-five feet from the ground, to be caught
by his uncle, tossed back to his father, now seized by an arm, now by a
leg, now almost missed, now twirled round and round like a ball.
Philemon caught his breath, and stretched out his hand in an agony of
fear. His hand touched another, which was as cold as ice. Glancing up,
he found Madame Lucetta Almazida close by, her eye glued to another hole
in the canvas, her breath coming short and thick, her face livid and
drawn. Not knowing what she did, she clutched Philemon's hand, and he
heard her mutter,
"My baby! my baby!"
"Bill" was her own "Phenomenal Trapezist," and under Madame Lucetta
Almazida's shabby bodice a mother's heart beat wildly.
Philemon's heart beat too. What if he had been a "Bill," and his own
sweet mother had worn short skirts and ridden Pegasus? Horrible!
Poor Lucetta Almazida! Poor little Bill!
But there was time to think of them no more. The band of negro minstrels
was ready to sing. A clown seized Philemon's hand, and hurried him into
the ring. There was a shout from the spectators. Some one gave him a
nudge.
"Pipe up, boy. We're ready for 'Massa's in the cold, cold ground.'"
Philemon opened his mouth, but no sound came. The eyes on every side
burned into him. His one desire was to rush away from those blackened
men, from the choking odor of tan and kerosene, from the disgrace of
standing there, like a little black fiend, to be hooted at and expected
to make fun for the crowd. His brain reeled. With a cry he broke from a
detaining hand, and ran headlong across the arena, his yellow coat tails
flapping about his heels.
Through the back tent he sped, past Madame Lucetta Almazida, who was
holding the "Phenomenal Trapezist" in her arms, past Mons. Duval, out
into the night. Home--home--home--that was the place toward which, if he
had had wings, he would have flown. Being neither an angel nor even a
bird, only a little wretched boy, all he could do was to stumble along
the dark road. Eight miles away was his home. On and on he went, and at
last his weary feet began to flag.
It seemed as if the chirping crickets were hissing at him. The frogs in
the ponds croaked disapprovingly. Even the stars winked reproachfully.
He was growing exhausted. He sank down by a fence, and his eyelids
closed heavily.
The sun was high when he awoke, and then a colder, hungrier boy you
never saw. Six miles from home was he. There was nothing for it but to
plod along, for there were no houses on that road. One mile, two miles,
he walked. He picked some apples by the road-side, but they were sour
and hard. Sometimes he tried to run, but had to give that up.
At five o'clock that afternoon the cook at a certain farm-house was
frying doughnuts in the back kitchen. She was looking very sober, and
near her sat a very sober boy, who every now and then drew his hand
across his eyes. At last he spoke.
"Cerinthy," said he, "do you cal'late they'll ever find him?"
Cerinthy put another doughnut into the expostulating fat. "Romeo
Augustus," said she, "it's my opinion that maybe they may and maybe they
mayn't; an' like as not if they do, it'll only be his body, and-- Oh!"
Cerinthy gave a great scream, and dropped her panful of doughnuts on the
floor, for on the threshold of the "pump-room" stood a boy as black as
the ace of spades, clad in startling yellow clothes, his neck ornamented
with a huge paper collar.
This image opened his mouth and spake. "Where's my mother? Give me a
doughnut."
Cerinthy shrieked louder than ever. An opposite door opened, and out
rushed a lady whose eyes were swollen with crying.
"Mother!" called out the black boy, as he flew into her open arms.
"Philemon! mother's own little boy!" she sobbed; while Romeo Augustus
performed a war-dance about the two.
I think Philemon's father was so relieved when he beheld his fifth-born,
that he would have _whipped_ him soundly. But his mother would by no
means allow that. She gave him preserved peach and cream toast instead.
"For you'll never do such a thing again, will you?" demanded she,
tenderly.
Philemon gazed lovingly at her, with a mouth full of toast. "_Catch
me_," said he.
[Illustration]
JAPANESE CHILDREN.
Here we have a genuine picture of Japanese _kodoma_. They are in
every-day dress, with hair and shoes just as one sees them in their own
village. There is the baby carried pickapack, and laid on the back of
its sister like a slice of meat on a sandwich. Baby's head is shaved as
smooth as one's palm, and kept so until it is two years old. Then the
next style--a little fringe of hair above the ears and one near the
neck--will be proper. The next step will be a tiny top-knot and a
circle, in addition to the ear-locks.
All these children live on boiled rice, and they are as round and chubby
and rosy-cheeked as it is possible to be without bursting. See their
nice loose clothes, with neither a pin to stick nor a button to fly off!
They do not wear socks nor stockings, for it is not very cold in Japan.
One little tot has on a pair of straw sandals, and the girl and old man
wear clogs, held on by a strap passing between the "thumb of the foot,"
as the Japs call the big toe, and its next-door neighbor.
It would do American boys good, and set them a good example, to notice
how kind to animals Japanese children are. There is old daddy telling
his children to treat their pet kindly, and doggy knows it will be good
for him to have such playmates. See his little straw kennel made like a
tent, with a crock of water in it. I'll wager that the children will
feed the little _inu_ with tidbits from their own chopsticks.
A SEA-SIDE ADVENTURE.
AS RELATED IN A LETTER PROM BESSIE MAYNARD TO HER DOLL CLYTEMNESTRA,
WHOM SHE LEFT AT HOME.
OLD ORCHARD BEACH, _July, 1880_.
MY DEAREST CLYTEMNESTRA,--Do you miss me? and are you wondering why I do
not write? Well, my dear, writing is an impossibility when one is at the
sea-shore. You never knew such times as we are having all day long. I
must tell you, first of all, of an adventure that befell me
yesterday--not _me_ exactly, either; it _most_ befell Lucille, the
beautiful Paris doll that Fanny Bell was so proud of; and well she might
be, for a handsomer creature never walked. You remember her, of course;
the lovely Mademoiselle Lucille, as she was called, that being the
French for Miss, for it would never do to call her plain Lucille, such a
fine young lady as she was, just from France, with all the airs and
graces that belong to Paris, the politest city in the world. It's no
great wonder she was proud--Lucille, I mean--for I'm afraid most of us
would be if we looked like her. Such hair as she had, all natural curls
down below her waist; and such a _nelegant_ wardrobe, or "trooso," as
Fanny calls it. Perhaps I haven't spelled trooso right, but please
excuse it; indeed, _you_ wouldn't know whether it was right or wrong,
you are such a poor little ignorant thing. I'm ashamed of myself for
neglecting your education as I have done, when I see the dolls here, and
realize how much they know. Just as soon as I get home, we'll begin with
regular lessons every day. It isn't _your_ fault, you sweet lamb, that
you don't know anything. _I_ am the only one to blame, and I'll try to
make up for lost time when I come home.
But, dear me, how I do run on, without telling you a word of the
adventure. The "sad sea waves" put all sorts of ideas into my mind, and
I get terribly confused. I heard a lady sing last night about the "sad
sea waves," and I think it sounds prettier than "the ocean"--don't you?
Well, to begin at the beginning: Yesterday morning Fanny Bell, Dora
Mason, and I went down to the beach as usual, Mademoiselle Lucille
walking along by her mamma, just like a real live beautiful child. We
scooped holes in the warm sand, and made caves, and then we built the
Pyramids. _They_ are in Egypt, you know, curiosities that people go to
see; but we make them of sand, so they look just exactly like the
pictures, "Sfinks" and all. Perhaps you don't know what the "Sfinks" is,
but I will tell you some day, when I begin your education, my poor
Clytemnestra.
Well, at last we wanted to go round the point to pick some wild
morning-glories, so we sat Lucille up on a kind of throne behind the
Pyramids, and left her. We were only gone a little bit of a while, but
what do you think? when we came back the tide was in, and the sad sea
waves had washed away Pyramids, Sfinks, Lucille, and all! Oh, the
despair we were in! Poor Fanny jumped right up and down, and screeched,
and then sinking down upon the sand, as the story-books say, "she buried
her face in her hands, and wept as if her heart would break." All at
once I saw something bobbing around, and if there wasn't Lucille about
four feet from the shore, fastened to a rock by the flounce of her pink
satin dress! Fanny shrieked aloud, but Dora and I seized a pole, and
after working a long, long time, we managed to fish her out of the
water. Here is a picture that I have drawn to show you how we looked in
our awful excitement.
[Illustration]
Lucille is frightfully pale to-day, and her curls are gone forever. She
is a bald-headed "faded beauty," as a gentleman truly said when he saw
her this morning. When I look at her, and remember how fine she used to
think herself, I can't help saying, "Well, my dear, 'pride must have a
fall.'" I pity her, though, from the very bottom of my heart, for it
must be dreadful to be so changed, and all of a sudden, too. I guess we
sha'n't have to be so particular any more about calling her
"Mademoiselle."
I can not be thankful enough that I left you at home, my sweet Clytie.
The sea-shore is a lovely place for children who know how to take care
of themselves, but 'tis dreadful dangerous for _dolls_.
And now good-night, my pet.
Your loving mamma,
BESSIE MAYNARD.
P.S.--Dora has just come in to say that Fanny has changed Mademoiselle's
name, and hereafter she is to be called "Jane." Poor thing!
[Illustration: A BABE IN THE WOODS--"I 'ANT TO DO HOME!"]
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
SYRACUSE, NEBRASKA.
We have taken YOUNG PEOPLE ever since it was published, and we
like it very much. I think "The History of Photogen and Nycteris"
was the best story of all, but sister Addie likes "Across the
Ocean" best, because it teaches her geography.
I have no brother, but three sisters. Addie is thirteen, Mabel is
nine, and Sadie is five. I was eleven yesterday.
I live on a farm in Eastern Nebraska, and I take care of the
little chickens and turkeys for mamma. I like to do it, for they
are so cunning.
I think that the Tree Album would be nice, and I am going to make
one. There are a great many trees here. And we have many birds and
pretty birds' eggs. I would like to preserve some eggs, only I
don't know how. I would be glad if some correspondent would tell
me the best way.
I have no pets but cats and kittens, and there are so many of
those that mamma votes them a nuisance.
GEORGINE D.
* * * * *
POULTNEY, VERMONT.
I am ten years old, and my uncle Charlie takes YOUNG PEOPLE for my
sister Daisy and me.
I have a pretty kitty named Dusty, Carlo, a big dog, and Petite, a
canary.
We are going to camp out at the Lake in July. Last summer we had a
tent, but we are going to have a cottage this year.
H. M. C.
* * * * *
ELIZABETH, NEW JERSEY.
I am seven years old. I am living with my grandma in the country.
I have thirteen children. They all eat at one table. Minnie,
Flora, Daisy, Tally, Mamie, Allie, Lulu, Jennie, Lillie, Annie,
Pinkey-Ketto, Harry, and Johnny. My papa likes Daisy best, but I
like Minnie.
I have a pet cat named Chubby, a chicken named Drabee, and a hen
named Coachee. Uncle has a horse named Dolly, that eats sugar out
of my hand, and always when she goes by the window she looks up
for a lump of sugar.
I made a little pie a few days ago, which was said to be very
good.
My papa reads me the stories and letters in YOUNG PEOPLE, and I
thought I ought to write a letter too.
GRACIE.
* * * * *
STANBRIDGE, CANADA.
I am seven years old, and I have a sister twelve years old.
HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE was a Christmas present from our grandpa. I
read all the letters in the Post-office Box every week, and I like
them the best.
I have a pet dog I call Nestor. He is a spaniel. And I have a
bantam hen which has five little chickens. I have also two dear
little kittens that I found in the wood-shed.
I am going to school this summer, and I like my studies very much.
On my way from school to-day I stopped and picked some
strawberries. They are just getting ripe.
JANET M. G.
* * * * *
TRENTON, NEW JERSEY.
I am a little girl six years old, and I am going to write and
spell this letter all myself. I have three brothers, but no
sister. The youngest is a baby one year old. We have a puppy named
Nip, and he is full of fun. The other day Lewis was pulling me in
our express wagon, and Nip ran after us as if the cart was a
carriage and he a grown-up dog.
We are going to the sea-shore this summer, where we expect to have
a nice time playing in the sand.
FANNY S. S.
* * * * *
CANTON, ILLINOIS.
I tried Bessie L. S.'s recipe for doll's cup-cake, and I thought
it was very nice. I have a little brother and a little sister
younger than myself. I am eleven. I am always glad when papa
brings me home my YOUNG PEOPLE. I think it is a very nice paper.
MAGGIE M.
* * * * *
FRANKLIN, OHIO.
My papa made me a Christmas present of YOUNG PEOPLE, and I like it
so much.
I have three pets. One is a little black dog named Aristotle. We
call him Tot for short. I have a little kitty named Malty, and an
old cat named Tabby. They play very pretty together. I have two
nice dolls. One is very handsome. My papa brought her from Paris,
and I called her Rosa Bell. The other one's name is Stella.
I live on a hill, and we have beautiful views of the sunset.
ETTA D.
* * * * *
CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS.
I am making a collection of birds' eggs. My brother sent some eggs
to Alice Paine. I hope she will receive them safely.
We have two cats; one of them is fifteen years old; he is a pure
Maltese, with the exception of a few white hairs under his chin.
We have a little gray squirrel too, and he is so tame that when my
brother opens the door of his cage he will jump out and run all
over him.
I should like to know if English sparrows build in trees as robins
do.
DAISY R.
English sparrows build in little houses, if kind hands provide them,
otherwise they seek out any cozy corner wherever there is a shelf upon
which to lodge their nest. They never build in trees. You will find an
article about them in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 14.
* * * * *
SEDALIA, MISSOURI.
I wish to tell Rebecca H. that I tried her recipe for candy, and
found it just splendid. I will send Puss Hunter's club a recipe
for butter-scotch, and I hope Rebecca H. will also try it, and
like it as well as I did hers. I wish she would let me know if she
thinks it is good. Here is the recipe: Three table-spoonfuls of
molasses, two of sugar, two of water, one of butter; add a pinch
of soda before pouring out to cool.
KITTIE G.
* * * * *
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.
Here is a recipe for apple-cake for Puss Hunter. Take one pint
bowl of apples, pare, core, and chop them; then add three cups of
cold water, one cup of sugar, one table-spoonful of butter. Bake
about twenty minutes in a quick oven.
L. GRACE P.
Is this mixture intended as a filling for pie-crust, or as apple jam? In
writing out recipes, our young housekeepers must be very careful to omit
nothing, and to explain all details, as a slight error may ruin a
delicious dish.
* * * * *
HARTFORD, OHIO.
I like HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE so much that I wish it would come
every day.
Here is a recipe for Puss Hunter. I call it maple candy. One and a
half cups of maple syrup, and one-fourth of a cup of vinegar. When
I think it is done, I pour it into a buttered dish to cool. Then I
pull it till it becomes white. I tried R. C. W.'s recipe for
candy, and I think it is very nice. I would like to be a member of
the cooking club.
We have two pet bird dogs, two robins, and a canary, and I have
about seventy-five little chickens.
MAUD K.
* * * * *
SEDALIA, MISSOURI.
I have taken YOUNG PEOPLE from the first number, and I like it
very much.
I have a mocking-bird that is only five weeks old, and I have to
feed it.
Here is a recipe for ginger cookies for the cooking club: One cup
of lard; one cup New Orleans molasses; one cup New Orleans sugar;
two eggs; two-thirds of a cup of boiling-hot water poured over a
heaping tea-spoonful of soda, and a little salt. Ginger to taste.
ABBIE R.
* * * * *
PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA.
My sister and I tried Fanny S.'s recipe for caramels. The candy
was very nice. Here is a recipe for Shrewsbury cake for the
cooking club: One cup of butter; three cups of sugar; one and
one-half pints of flour; three eggs; one tea-spoonful of royal
baking powder; one cup of milk; one tea-spoonful of royal extract
of rose. Rub the butter and sugar to a smooth white cream; add the
eggs one at a time, beating five minutes between each; then add
the flour, well sifted, with the powder and the extract. Add the
milk last, and heat until the batter is light and thoroughly
mixed. Bake in well-greased cake moulds about forty minutes in a
quick oven.
FLORENCE MCC.
* * * * *
FRANK F. R. sends a recipe for caramels to the cooking club, which is
the same as the one from Fanny S. in Post-office Box No. 31, with the
addition of three table-spoonfuls of flour.
* * * * *
RYE, NEW YORK.
We have about fifty pigeons, and a whole flock of hens, chickens,
turkeys, and guinea-fowls. I have a flower garden, and some lovely
rose-bushes. I wish some correspondent could tell me how to kill
the rose-bugs, and how to tame my pigeons. I am nine years old.
ANNA S.
* * * * *
We moved up in the country the 1st of April. I like YOUNG PEOPLE
very much, especially the story of "The Moral Pirates," and the
Post-office Box.
I have a little Shetland pony. I called her Bessy. She is less
than four feet high. She likes to eat corn.
What can I feed my turtles on?
I am collecting postage stamps, and would like to exchange.
MALCOLM STUART,
Rye, Westchester County, New York.
If you will read former numbers of the Post-office Box, you will find
full directions for feeding turtles.
* * * * *
If all the readers of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE like to read it as
well as I do, they like it well enough to take it forever. Nearly
all of the correspondents write about their pets, but I have not
one, except my little baby brother, who is nicer to me than all
the pets in the world. We have a few roses in bloom, but they are
almost all faded now.
If John H. B., of Greensburg, Kentucky, can spare any of his flint
arrow-heads, I would be very thankful for one or two, because I
never saw but one in my life. I am fourteen years old.
WINIFRED J. YORK,
Fort Scott, Bourbon County, Kansas.
* * * * *
I have been making a collection of birds' eggs for about two
months, and I have forty-seven different kinds. If any one living
in the far West or South would exchange eggs with me, I would be
much pleased.
WALLACE ROSS,
Lock Box 97, Rutland, Vermont.
* * * * *
I am making a collection of birds' eggs, and if any correspondent
will send me some plainly marked, I will send some in return. I am
also collecting postmarks, and if any one is doing the same, I
would be happy to exchange.
JAMES A. SNEDEKER,
60 Asylum Street, New Haven, Connecticut.
* * * * *
I would like to exchange postage stamps with Sidney St. W. if he
will send me his full name, and a list of what stamps he would
like. I live at No 26 West Nineteenth Street, New York city, but
during the summer my address is,
JOHN RICE BLAKE,
Old Cliff House, Newport, Rhode Island.
* * * * *
I am making a collection of pens. I have seventy-seven different
kinds, and if any little boys or girls have any strange or rare
specimens of pens they do not wish to keep, I wish they would
kindly send them to me.
R. COMFORT, Franklin Avenue,
near 169th Street, New York City.
* * * * *
I think YOUNG PEOPLE is a real nice paper for girls and boys.
Whenever it comes I always read all the letters in the Post-office
Box, and I thought I would write too, and tell you about our pet
colt. It follows papa all round, and once it went after him clear
up in town, and into a store. When it was born its mother died, so
papa has to raise it the best way he can. One time he let it run
round for a little exercise, and when he wanted to put it in the
stable, the colt put its fore-feet on the gate and tried to jump
over, but its hind-foot caught, and it turned a comical somersault
in the air.
I would like to exchange pressed leaves with any of the
correspondents of Our Post-office Box.
WILLIE HUGHES,
P. O. Box 301, Greenville, Ohio.
* * * * *
ALTOONA, PENNSYLVANIA.
I am always very glad when my HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE comes.
I have a little dog named Pompey, and he is a very cunning little
dog. I have had him ever since he was a little puppy. We have
splendid races over the lawn together. Some time I will tell you
more about him. I am nine years old. From your affectionate little
reader,
BLANCHE T.
* * * * *
H. SUTHERLAND.--The engraving of "A Little Miser," in YOUNG PEOPLE No.
33, is after an oil-painting by Adrien Marie, a French artist.
* * * * *
I. O.--There is a very good swimming school at the Battery, New York
city.
* * * * *
JERSEY CITY HEIGHTS, NEW JERSEY.
I was interested in the article about the "New York Prison-Ships,"
and I think that many of the correspondents who live far away
would be interested to know what has been done in New York in
commemoration of the Old Sugar-house Revolutionary martyrs. Not
long ago I was walking past Trinity Church yard with my father,
when the largest and most beautiful monument attracted my
attention, and I asked papa to take me in the church-yard to see
it. When I got close to it I saw that it was a massive structure
with Gothic openings. It is fully sixty-feet high and twenty feet
square, with fine carvings, and of beautiful workmanship. On one
side is an inscription stating that the monument was erected in
memory of the patriots who suffered as prisoners and died in the
Old Sugar-House. It was paid for by private subscription. If any
correspondents from a distance visit New York, they will be
interested to see this monument in Trinity Church yard, for the
sake of the noble heroes to whose memory it was erected.
EDDIE A. L.
Correspondents will also be interested to know that the ashes of the
prison-ship martyrs now rest in a handsome tomb built in the hill-side
of Fort Greene, Brooklyn--a pretty grassy spot, now known as Washington
Park. As these brave men died, they were taken ashore and buried in the
swampy land forming the shore of Wallabout Bay. There they lay until
1808, when they were removed to a vault near the Brooklyn Navy-yard. In
time this vault became very much dilapidated, and was almost forgotten,
until in 1855 the question of removing the remains to a more suitable
resting-place began to be agitated by the citizens of Brooklyn. Nothing,
however, was done for some years, when finally the Legislature of New
York appropriated a sum for the building of the tomb on Fort Greene, to
which place the coffins were removed in the spring of 1873.
* * * * *
ISABELLA S. R.--In preparing ferns for skeleton-leaf bouquets it is not
necessary to place them in the macerating bowl before bleaching, as the
texture of the fern is so delicate as to be ruined by maceration. Before
bleaching, the fern should be pressed, and as it becomes dry and
brittle, more care is required in the bleaching process than for
skeleton leaves. Hang your sprays in the jar, and fill gently with warm
water. Then pour in the bleaching solution in the proportion of half a
tea-cupful to a pint of water. Allow the jar, which must be covered
tightly, to stand in a warm place about twenty-four hours. The liquid
should then be renewed. It will take several days for the ferns to begin
to whiten. They must then be watched carefully, and each spray removed
as soon as it attains the required whiteness. The spray must then be
washed carefully in a basin of clean warm water, and floated on to a
sheet of paper, after the manner followed in pressing sea-weeds. It
should then be kept under pressure away from the air until you are ready
to make your bouquet, as otherwise it has a tendency to curl. Do not be
discouraged if you fail in your first attempts, as much experience is
needed to render the bleaching of ferns a success.
* * * * *
W. D. V.--In the outer wall of St. Mark's Church, Stuyvesant Street, New
York, is the original tablet from the tomb of Peter Stuyvesant, who was
buried in the family vault within the old church which formerly stood on
the site of the present edifice. On this tablet is inscribed the fact
that Petrus Stuyvesant died in August, 1682, aged eighty years.
* * * * *
JASPER B.--The insect called the death-watch is a small beetle that
perforates the small round holes often seen in old furniture or in the
panelling of old houses. If one of these beetles be concealed in a
panel, it will reveal itself by ticking in answer to any gentle tapping
on the wood-work.
* * * * *
Favors are acknowledged from F. K. Reasoner, Eva and Ella, Carter
Colquitt, Harry B. McGraw, Johnny R. Glen, Mabel Lowell, Julian Gresham,
Alma Hoffman, Claire B., Mantie Miller, Millie Etta Martin.
* * * * *
Correct answers to puzzles are received from Cora Frost, Graham B.,
Beryl Abbott, Charles F. Crane, Harry Starr Kealhofer, George W.
Raymond, Marion E. Norcross, Eddie S. Hequembourg, Dora Williams, Albert
E. Seibert, George Volckhausen, Eddie A. Leet.
* * * * *
PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.
No. 1.
DECAPITATION.
My whole is a fish, but if you behead
An exclamation will be left instead.
Behead again, and you will behold
A craft that was famous in days of old.
A. H. E.
* * * * *
No. 2.
ENIGMA.
My first is in odor, but not in scent.
My second is in strike, but not in dent.
My third is in man, but not in boy.
My fourth is in modest, but not in coy.
My fifth is in cover, but not in lid.
My sixth is in done, but not in did.
My seventh is in sound, but not in ring.
My whole is a sparkling, beautiful thing.
C. H. C.
* * * * *
No. 3.
WORD SQUARE.
First, to rush. Second, a surface. Third, to close. Fourth, a glory.
W. A.
* * * * *
No. 4.
DIAMOND.
In crystal. An animal. To delay. To attempt. In crystal.
H. S. P.
* * * * *
No. 5.
GEOGRAPHICAL DOUBLE ACROSTIC
An English town celebrated for its naval arsenal. An Italian maritime
city. A Spanish sea-port. A city of Prussia celebrated for its royal
gardens. A volcano in San Salvador. A Scottish sea-port. A South
American republic. Answer--Two seas lying east of Europe.
C. P. T.
* * * * *
No. 6.
NUMERICAL CHARADE.
I am composed of 15 letters.
My 4, 13, 9, 5 is contemptible.
My 10, 8, 7 is an animal.
My 15, 3, 14 is to strike.
My 12, 5, 9, 14 is what plumbers do to my 11, 1, 2, 10, 5, 6.
My whole was a distinguished author.
A. S. W. (10 years).
* * * * *
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN NO. 34.
No. 1.
A
A S P
A S T E R
P E A
R
No. 2.
Madison.
No. 3.
G R A I N
R O N D O
A N G E R
I D E A S
N O R S E
No. 4.
1. Fashionable. 2. Machinator. 3. Eliminated. 4. Inheritance. 5.
Stenography. 6. Faithfulness.
No. 5.
W illia M
Y edd O
O nio N
M oun T
I ow A
N apki N
G il A
Wyoming, Montana.
No. 6.
Walter Scott.
A Latin Word Square, on page 488:
O M E N
M A R E
E R A M
N E M O
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* * * * *
Our Children's Songs. Illustrated. 8vo, Ornamental Cover, $1.00.
* * * * *
Songs for the nursery, songs for childhood, for girlhood, boyhood,
and sacred songs--the whole melody of childhood and youth bound in
one cover. Full of lovely pictures; sweet mother and baby faces;
charming bits of scenery, and the dear old Bible story-telling
pictures.--_Churchman_, N. Y.
* * * * *
Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.
HARPER & BROTHERS will send the above work by mail, postage prepaid, to
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Books for the School and Family.
* * * * *
ARITHMETIC.
FRENCH'S FIRST LESSONS IN NUMBERS. First Lessons in Numbers, in their
Natural Order: First, _Visible Objects_; Second, _Concrete Numbers_;
Third, _Abstract Numbers_. By JOHN H. FRENCH, LL.D. Illustrated. 16mo,
Half Leather, 25 cents.
FRENCH'S ELEMENTARY ARITHMETIC FOR THE SLATE. Elementary Arithmetic for
the Slate, in which Methods and Rules are based upon Principles
established by Induction. By JOHN H. FRENCH, LL.D. Ill'd. 16mo, Half
Leather, 37 cts.
FRENCH'S MENTAL ARITHMETIC. Mental Arithmetic, in which Combinations of
Numbers, Solutions of Problems, and Principles of Arithmetical Analysis
are based upon the Laws of Mental Development. By JOHN H. FRENCH, LL.D.
Illustrated. 16mo, Half Leather, 36 cents.
NATURAL SCIENCE.
FIRST LESSONS IN NATURAL HISTORY AND LANGUAGE. Entertaining and
Instructive Lessons in Natural History and Language for Primary and
Grammar Schools. 12mo, Cloth, 35 cents.
THE CHILD'S BOOK OF NATURE. The Child's Book of Nature, for the Use of
Families and Schools: intended to aid Mothers and Teachers in Training
Children in the Observation of Nature. In Three Parts. Part I. Plants.
Part II. Animals. Part III. Air, Water, Heat, Light, &c. By WORTHINGTON
HOOKER, M.D. Illustrated. The Three Parts complete in One Volume, Small
4to, Half Leather, $1.12; or, separately, in Cloth, Part I., 45 cents;
Part II., 48 cents; Part III., 48 cents.
HOOKER'S FIRST BOOK IN CHEMISTRY. A First Book in Chemistry. By
WORTHINGTON HOOKER, M.D. Ill'd. Revised. Square 4to, Cloth, 48 cts.
FARADAY'S CHEMISTRY OF A CANDLE. Chemistry of a Candle. A Course of Six
Lectures on the Chemical History of a Candle, to which is added a
Lecture on Platinum. By M. FARADAY. Edited by W. CROOKES. Illustrated.
16mo, Cloth, $1.00.
FARADAY'S PHYSICAL FORCES. Physical Forces. A Course of Six Lectures on
the Various Forces of Matter, and their Relations to Each Other. By M.
FARADAY. Edited by W. CROOKES. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, $1.00.
FRENCH AND GERMAN.
FRENCH PRINCIPIA, PART I. A First French Course: containing Grammar,
Delectus, and Exercise-Book, with Vocabularies. On the Plan of Dr.
Smith's _Principia Latina_. 12mo, Cloth, 50 cents.
FRENCH PRINCIPIA, PART II. A First French Reading-Book. Containing
Fables, Anecdotes, Inventions, Discoveries, Natural History, and French
History. With Grammatical Questions, Notes, and a Copious Etymological
Dictionary. On the Plan of Dr. Smith's _Principia Latina_. 12mo, Cloth,
80 cents.
GERMAN PRINCIPIA, PART I. A First German Course. Containing Grammar,
Delectus, Exercise-Book, and Vocabularies. On the Plan of Dr. Smith's
_Principia Latina_. 12mo, Cloth, 50 cents.
GERMAN PRINCIPIA, PART II. A First German Reading-Book. Containing
Fables, Anecdotes, Natural History, German History, and a Comedy. With
Grammatical Questions, Notes, and a Dictionary. On the Plan of Dr.
Smith's _Principia Latina_. 12mo, Cloth, 80 cents.
COMFORT'S GERMAN PRIMER. A German Primer. By GEORGE F. COMFORT, A.M.
12mo, Half Leather, 50 cents.
COMFORT'S FIRST BOOK IN GERMAN. A First Book in German. By GEORGE F.
COMFORT, A.M. 12mo, Half Leather, 60 cents.
COMFORT'S FIRST GERMAN READER. The First German Reader: to succeed the
"First Book in German." By GEORGE F. COMFORT, A.M. 12mo, Cloth, 50
cents.
OBJECT LESSONS.
WILLSON'S MANUAL OF OBJECT LESSONS. A Manual of Information and
Suggestions for Object Lessons, in a Course of Elementary Instruction.
By MARCIUS WILLSON. 12mo, Cloth, $1.00.
CALKINS'S PRIMARY OBJECT LESSONS. Primary Object Lessons, for Training
the Senses and Developing the Faculties of Children. A Manual of
Elementary Instruction for Parents and Teachers. By N. A. CALKINS.
Fifteenth Edition. Rewritten and Enlarged. 12mo, Cloth, $1.00.
* * * * *
Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.
_Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on
receipt of the price._
[Illustration]
OUR LOUIE.
BY M. D. BRINE.
What in the world is our Louie about?
Studying her lessons, I haven't a doubt;
Filling her brain with useful lore,
Thinking and reading o'er and o'er
Ancient history--many a story
Of battle and conquest and warlike glory;
Or maybe 'tis only a difficult rule
Which has followed our student home from school.
Wise little maiden with golden hair,
Brown-eyed, winsome, loving, and fair!
Not even the sunbeams so merry and gay
Can tempt the young scholar from lessons away.
Not even _our_ presence she seems to heed--
An industrious girl is our Louie, indeed.
I'll venture to say such a wonderful lass
Is sure to be always "up head" in her class.
I'll frankly acknowledge I'd like to see
What a lesson so truly absorbing can be;
Over her shoulder I'll take one look,
And--dear me, children, what kind of a book
Do you think she is studying? History?--no.
Much as it grieves me to tell you so,
Little cares she for its ancient glory,
For Louie is deep in--a _fairy story_!
* * * * *
[Illustration: SOLUTION OF THE MISSING-LINK PUZZLE IN _YOUNG PEOPLE_ No.
34.]
* * * * *
=The Catacombs of Paris.=--The vast catacombs by which a large portion
of the city of Paris is undermined were only known by popular tradition
until the year 1774, when some alarming accidents aroused the attention
of the government. The old quarries were then surveyed, and plans of
them taken, and the result was the frightful discovery that the
churches, palaces, and most of the southern parts of Paris were
undermined, and in great danger of sinking into the pit below them. A
special commission was appointed, and on the very day it met, a house in
one of the streets sunk ninety-one feet below the level of its
court-yard. The pillars which had been left by the quarry-men, in their
blind operations, without any regularity, were in many places too weak
for the enormous weight above, and in most places had themselves been
undermined, or perhaps originally stood upon ground which had previously
been hollowed. The aqueduct of Arcueil passed over this treacherous
ground; it had already suffered some shocks, and if the quarries had
continued to be neglected, an accident must sooner or later have
happened to this water-course, which would have cut off its supply from
the fountains of Paris, and have filled the excavations with water.
Repairs were forthwith commenced, and promptly completed, and a portion
of the old quarries was devoted to receive the bones of the dead. This
took place in April, 1786; the remains of the dead were removed at night
in funeral cars, covered with a pall, and followed by priests chanting
the service for the dead. When they reached the catacombs, the bones
were shot down a well, and the rattling and echoing which they made in
their fall were as impressive as any sound ever heard by human ears.
Thus the limestone quarries that had supplied the materials for building
the superb monuments, palaces, and houses of Paris became huge
charnel-houses, which they now remain! Calculations differ as to the
number of bones collected in the catacombs, but it is certain that they
contain the remains of at least _three millions_ of human beings!
[Illustration: RETRIBUTION--A WARNING TO STONE-THROWING BOYS.]
End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, July 13, 1880, by Various
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