Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, March 23, 1880, by Various
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Title: Harper's Young People, March 23, 1880
An Illustrated Weekly
Author: Various
Release Date: March 26, 2009 [EBook #28417]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, MAR 23, 1880 ***
Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 21. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, March 23, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
A DUET.
BY MARGARET EYTINGE.
Sunshine on the meadow,
Sunshine on the sea;
Green buds on the rose-bush,
Blossoms on the tree.
Two wee children singing
In a rapt delight--
One as fair as morning,
One as dark as night.
Hymn-book held between them
With the greatest care,
Though they can not read a word
That is printed there.
"Jesus, Saviour, meek and mild,
Friend of ev'ry little child,
Once a child Thyself, we pray
Thou wilt guard us day by day;
For such helpless things are we,
We can only sing to Thee!"
Standing in the doorway,
Arnak smiles to hear
Bird-like voices blending
Sweet and loud and clear.
"'Pears to me de angels
Mus' be lis'nin' too--
Lis'nin' an' a-lookin'
From de hebbens blue;
Lookin' an' a-smilin'
At de pretty sight;
An' in dar eyes--bress de Lord!--
_Bofe_ dem chillun's white."
EASTER FLOWERS.
BY F. E. FRYATT.
"Come, Nell, and you too, Harry. I have planned a delightful trip for
you, and we must be off bright and early."
"Where--where, Miss Eleanor?" cried both children together.
"To the large greenhouses just beyond the city line. You remember the
minister said on Sunday, 'Let every person bring flowers, if but a
single lily or a rose, to make God's house beautiful on Easter-day'?
There are millions of flowers in blossom now at the greenhouses, and I
wish you to see them, and learn how the florists make them bloom out of
season."
"I hope you will tell us something about it," said Harry, as we rattled
swiftly over the rails in the steam-dummy; "that is, when we get out of
this noisy old trap."
In a few minutes we alighted at the city line, and Harry, taking my arm,
declared himself ready for more "flower talk."
"Suppose," said I, "that a florist wishes to have several thousand
plants in bloom for Easter, does he allow them plenty of water and
sunshine, and opportunity to bloom several months in advance of the day?
No; he stows them all away to rest, or sleep, as he calls it, for weeks
and weeks, in cool, dry, shady places, some on shelves, some in sand,
and some in pots 'in cool houses.'
"After a time the bulbs are taken out of the sand, and placed in earth,
and with the other plants are allowed to enjoy a little warmth and
sunshine.
"The rose-bushes are pruned, bound, and tied in trim forms, and placed
in rows, and though destitute of foliage, look so healthy and neat one
can not but admire them. In a week or two, as if by magic, thousands of
buds are swelling and bursting into leaf on every stem.
"Five weeks ago I visited the greenhouses we are now going to, and as I
stood in the Easter 'roseries,' I thought it must be quite delightful to
be a young rose in training for Easter, the sunshine was so warm and
golden, the air so soft and dewy sweet. Every bush showed signs of
coming buds--very, very tiny, but they were there. The bulb houses were
stocked with rows and rows of cherry-red pots filled with rich brown
mould; in some the point of a tulip or hyacinth leaf peered up green and
bright, in others there were already brave crowns of strong leaves.
"'Ah,' thought I, 'these will surely please the florist's eye;' but I
assure you they had a very different effect, for he looked at them with
a frown that said, plainer than words, 'My brave young folks, wouldn't
you like to blossom before Easter, and spoil my fine show for me? Indeed
you shall not.' He thought that, of course; for the next minute he cried
out, 'John, take these forward bulbs and put them back in the "cold
house."'"
"What a pity!" murmured Nell.
"Not at all," replied I, "for soon they would have had spikes of fine
blossoms; then Madam Hyacinth and Mr. Tulip might bid farewell to all
thought of going to church on Easter-day, for long before that time
their gay clothes would be faded and spoiled."
"What is the 'cold house'?" inquired Harry.
"A greenhouse where the mercury stands below 50°. Jonquils, tulips,
hyacinths and lilies, and most other Easter plants, need warmer air than
that to grow rapidly in. The 'cold houses' are not neglected, for they
have a certain amount of moisture and sunshine allowed them too, or the
plants would die.
"As the happy day draws nearer and nearer, great activity reigns in the
greenhouses: batches of plants are seen going back to the 'warm houses,'
and such a showering, sponging, snipping and training, and general
petting going on, that if plants had any brains, they would go mad with
it all. But as they are not troubled with brains, they enjoy the warm
sunshine, and the gentle vapors that rise steaming from the earth, and
just set themselves to blossoming and looking as lovely as they can."
"So it takes earth, sunshine, wind, and water to raise flowers?" said
Harry.
"Yes, and labor and knowledge."
Here the flower lecture ended, for we were at the greenhouse gates. In
another moment a door was opened, and we were ushered into a world of
beauty.
"How lovely!" cried Nell, looking down the green aisles of the "azalea
house."
"They look like swarms of great white butterflies among the dark
leaves," remarked Harry.
"Or giant snow-flakes ready to melt or blow away," suggested Nell.
"If you call those white azaleas so handsome, I wonder what you will say
to these!" exclaimed the florist, opening wide the door of a "lily
house."
"Come here, children," cried I. "Was there ever a more heavenly sight
than these hosts of lilies holding up their white chalices to the
flooding sunshine?"
"Or anything more delicious?" murmured Nell, bending lovingly over a
group of Ascension lilies.
Further on there were ranks and ranks of tall callas, stately as
sceptred queens, starry narcissus, white as snow, and jasmine
bouvardias, with ivory tube-like blossoms in fragrant clusters.
Something "new, and strange, and sweet" greeted us at every step. Here
it was a Deutzia, with starry cup-like blossoms; there a Spiræa, with
spikes of milk-white plumes; here sprays of creamy Lantanas, and yonder
clusters of tasselled Ageratum.
"Don't go yet," pleaded Nell and Harry, as I turned to leave.
"You'll admire the 'rosery' more than this," said the gardener, opening
another door, and standing aside.
A marvellous fragrance saluted us as we looked down the long ranks of
tall nyphetos shrubs laden with hundreds of silken buds and opening
blossoms, in every shade from lemon to purest white.
How dainty!--how exquisite! Here and there a full-blown rose showed its
closely folded centre, and long slender petals so delicately hung that a
breath might scatter them.
Along the walls were trained vine-like Marshal Neils, with great golden
buds and blossoms, while below rows of Safranos lifted fragrant cups
rivalling in tint the bloom of an apricot's cheek.
In a second "rosery" we were fairly smothered in sweets. Scores of pale
pink Hermanos, blushing Bon Silenes, and Plantiers--living balls of
snow--and white Lamarques mingled their spicy breaths in one soft cloud
of incense. Pink and white, ruby, buff, and golden, they hung and nodded
on every stem, till, like Aladdin in the magician's garden, we knew not
which way to turn.
As for the "carnation houses," they made us think of spice islands
floating on seas of green; the "pansy houses" were beds of gold and
amethyst; the "violet houses" and "smilax greeneries," perfect visions
of spring.
There were, besides, ferns, lilies-of-the-valley, camellias on tall
tree-like shrubs that made quite a respectable forest in a house by
themselves, and rows upon rows of dainty pink, crimson, and white
primroses.
Like a true artist, the florist had reserved his most wonderful picture
for the last. As he opened the door of an Easter bulb house, he said,
"What do you think of that?"
With a cry of delight, as the glory of colors burst upon her, Nell stood
entranced in the doorway. Down the middle of the house hundreds and
hundreds of potted tulips flamed and glowed with vivid dyes.
On either side the long walks, on the shelves, stood rows and rows of
hyacinths in splendid bloom.
Here vases and urns of yellow, purple, saffron, scarlet, pink and white,
pied and streaked with living flames.
There bells of ivory, azure, lilac, rose, and buff, fluted, feathered,
fringed, and spicy sweet.
It seemed as if some fairy alchemist had melted in magic crucible topaz,
ruby, sapphire, gold, and amethyst, to deck each fragrant cup and bell.
THE SHORTEST BAMBOO; OR, HOW TO CATCH A THIEF.
AN EAST INDIAN STORY.[1]
There was a terrible stir in the barracks of the --th Native Infantry at
Sekundurabad (Alexander's Town) one bright morning at the beginning of
the "dry season." Some money had been stolen from the officers' quarters
during the night, and all that could be made out about it was that the
theft must have been committed by one of those inside the building, for
nobody had got in from without.
The officers' native servants and the sepoy soldiers, to a man, stoutly
declared that they knew nothing about it; and the officer of the day,
with very great disgust, went to make his report to the Colonel.
Now the Colonel was a hard-headed old Scotchman, who had spent the best
part of his life in India, and knew the Hindoos and their ways by heart.
He heard the story to an end without any sign of what he thought of it,
except a queer twinkle in the corner of his small gray eye; and then he
gave orders to turn out the men for morning parade.
When the Colonel appeared on the parade-ground, everybody expected that
the first thing would be an inquiry about the stolen money; but that was
not the old officer's way. Everything went on just as usual, and the
thief probably chuckled to himself at the idea of getting off so easily.
But if so, he chuckled a little too soon. Just as the parade was over,
and the men were about to "dismiss," the Colonel stepped forward, and
shouted, "Halt!"
The men wonderingly obeyed. The Colonel planted himself right in front
of the line (carrying a small bag under his arm, as was now noticed for
the first time), and running his eye keenly over the long ranks of white
frocks and dark faces, spoke to them in Hindoostanee:
"Soldiers! I find there are dogs among you who are not 'true to their
salt,' and after taking the money of the Ranee of Inglistan [Queen of
England], steal from her officers. But such misdeeds never go
unpunished. Last night" (here the Colonel's tone suddenly became very
deep and solemn) "I had a _dream_. I dreamed that a black cloud hovered
over me, and out of it came a figure--the figure of Kali."
At the name of this terrible goddess (who holds the same place in the
Brahmin religion as the Evil One in our own) the swarthy faces turned
perfectly livid, and more than one stalwart fellow was seen to shiver
from head to foot.
"'There is a thief among your soldiers,' she said, 'and I will teach you
how to detect him. Give each of your men a splinter of bamboo, and the
thief, let him do what he may, will be sure to get the _longest_; and
when he is found, let him dread my vengeance.'"
By this time every soldier on the ground was looking so frightened that
had the Colonel expected to detect the thief by his looks, he might have
thought the whole regiment equally guilty. But his plan was far deeper
than that. At his signal each man in turn drew a bamboo chip from the
bag which the Colonel held; and when all were supplied, he ordered them
to come forward one by one, and give back the chips which they had
drawn.
He was obeyed; but scarcely had a dozen men passed, when the Colonel
suddenly sprang forward, seized a tall Rajpoot by the throat, and
shouted, in a voice of thunder, "You're the man!"
"Mercy, mercy, Sahib" (master), howled the culprit, falling on his
knees. "I'll bring back the money--I'll bear any punishment you
please--only don't give me up to the vengeance of Kali."
"Well," said the Colonel, sternly, "I'll forgive you this once; but if
you're ever caught again, you know what to expect. Dismiss!"
* * * * *
"I say, C----, how on earth did you manage that?" asked the senior
Major, as he and the Colonel walked away together; "I suppose you don't
want me to believe that you really _did_ get that idea in a dream?"
"Hardly," laughed the Colonel. "The fact is, those bamboo chips were all
exactly the same length; and the thief, to make sure of not getting the
longest, _bit off the end of his_, and so I knew him at once. Take my
word for it, there'll be no more thieving in the regiment while _I'm_
its Colonel."
And indeed there never was.
FOOTNOTES:
1 This story is perfectly true, and was told by its hero, Colonel C----,
of the Ninety-first Highlanders.
[Begun in No. 19 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, March 9.]
ACROSS THE OCEAN; OR, A BOY'S FIRST VOYAGE.
A True Story.
BY J. O. DAVIDSON.
CHAPTER III.
OUR HERO'S FIRST FIGHT.
It was well for Austin that he had been struck by the small coal instead
of the heavier pieces, or he might have been killed outright; as it was,
after a dash of cold water, and a short rest in his bunk, he was almost
as sound as before. But the accident had worse results than a few
bruises. He was at once set down as an "awkward landlubber," dismissed
from his coal-shovelling, and ordered to do duty in the lamp-room.
[Illustration: STORE-ROOM.]
This was a dismal hole in the lowest part of the ship, where even what
little light there was had to struggle through an iron grating. Behind
the counter that ran half way round it stood several large iron tanks,
strongly padlocked, labelled "Soap," "Oil," "Waste," "Lamp Wicks," etc.
The floor was covered with various necessaries for engine use, and from
the beams overhead swung lamps of all shapes and sizes, while the walls
were covered with bolts, bars, hammers, and tools of every kind.
This pleasant place usually fell to the charge of some one who was fit
for nothing else; and its present occupant was a lanky youth known as
"Monkey"--a name fully warranted by his narrow watery eyes, enormous
under-jaw, and huge projecting bat-like ears. He had been cruising
backward and forward in the _Arizona_ for years, till he seemed quite to
belong to her; and although he disappeared as soon as she reached port,
he always found out the day of her departure in time to join her
again--how, no one knew, for he could neither read nor write.
Frank's appointment, of course, displaced Monkey, and neither was
pleased with the change. Monkey much preferred even the dismal lamp-room
(where he had only to serve out a certain quantity of stores daily, and
to see that nothing was lost or stolen) to the harder work of scrubbing
the engine-room, which now fell to his share; while Austin, used as he
was to out-door exercise, felt quite miserable in this dungeon-like
hole, where he could not even see to read. He was on duty from dawn till
dusk, and even liable to be roused up at night should anything be
wanted. His meals were given him after all the rest were served, and
only very rarely did he get the chance of asking a question, or
learning anything that he wished.
Nor did his troubles end here. The men, who in Monkey's time had been
allowed to help themselves pretty freely to the ship's stores, were
enraged at finding that their new store-keeper could neither be bribed
nor bullied into letting them have anything without orders. One of
Frank's greatest troubles was the giving out of soap--a priceless luxury
in the forecastle of a steamer, where the "grit," coal-dust, and
irritating brine are unbearable if not promptly washed off. For a piece
of soap (the ship's allowance being unusually small), shirts, stockings,
and even tobacco, were gladly bartered; and those who had been shrewd
enough to lay in a stock before sailing drove a brisk trade.
This gave our friend Monkey a chance which he was not slow to use. He
began by hinting to the crew that Frank's care of the stores was meant
to "curry favor" with the officers; and then he went on to losing or
stealing whatever he could, and laying the blame on Austin. Nor were
these the most serious tokens of his ill-will. One day he managed to
give Frank a push which sent him down through a trap-door, though he
luckily escaped unhurt. Another time, a similar trick hurled him into
the well in which the ship's pump worked, and he only avoided serious
injury by clinging to the shaft.
At last, as Frank was serving out stores one afternoon, Monkey suddenly
darted off with a bar of soap, and being pursued into the engine-room by
Austin, declared that the latter had been about to sell it to one of the
men, and that _he_ had just come in time to prevent him--a statement
confirmed by the sailors. In vain poor Frank denied the charge; he was
roughly ordered to hold his tongue, and give up the store-room keys to
their former possessor, Monkey.
This was hard indeed; but, as the proverb says, "It is a long lane that
has no turning," and our hero's affairs suddenly took a turn which
neither he nor any one else could have foreseen.
The pride of a steamer is her machinery, and at all hours of the day men
may be seen polishing it with balls of cotton "waste," till it shines
like silver; but if you venture to touch the glittering surface, you
find it burning hot, and scorch your fingers pretty smartly. One day
Frank was polishing the broad round top of the cylinder, protected by a
thick rope mat from the burning metal, when Monkey, sneaking up behind,
suddenly jerked away the mat, throwing him right on to the hot surface.
Smarting with pain, Austin sprang to his feet, and regardless of his
enemy's superior bulk and strength, flew at him like a tiger. The two
grappled, and rolled on the floor, Frank undermost.
[Illustration: FRANK'S FIGHT WITH "MONKEY."]
Monkey's small, cunning eyes gleamed wickedly as he saw that they were
close to the edge of the "crank-pit" (the space in which the crank of
the shaft revolves), and he exerted all his strength to fling Austin
into it. But the latter, who had not played foot-ball for nothing,
suddenly wrenched himself free, and dodging round behind his enemy,
sprang upon his back, and grasped his throat like a vise. Down went the
valiant Monkey upon the hard grating with a whack that made his big
mouth swell up bigger than ever; and, pinned beneath Frank's knee, he
howled shrilly for help.
His cries were answered by a loud laugh from the sky-light above,
through which several of the crew had been watching the combat. At the
same moment the second engineer appeared on the scene.
"What! fighting? You young imps, is _that_ how you do your work? Here,
Williams, take 'em both to the first officer, and report 'em for
fighting on duty."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
THE BABY KING.
"I, Henry, born at Monmouth,
Shall small time reign and much get.
But Henry of Windsor shall long reign and lose all,
But as God will, so be it."
This strange bit of doggerel is said to have been composed and repeated
by King Henry V. of England on the birth of his only child Henry. The
baby first saw the light of day in Windsor's royal palace, where he was
born on the 6th of December, 1421, and was welcomed with delight by the
English nation as the son and heir of their idolized King.
Before little Henry was more than nine months old, the King his father
was dead. The poor little baby was already King of England, and within
another month his grandfather, Charles VI. of France, was also dead, and
another heavy crown was burdening the infant's brow.
No sooner had Queen Katherine, the mother of the little King, fulfilled
her duty of seeing the funeral rites belonging to her husband properly
accomplished, than she hastened to Windsor to embrace her child, and
pass in solitude the early months of her widowhood. She was only in her
twenty-first year, and had many arduous duties before her. The first of
these was to see her baby King properly received and acknowledged as
their sovereign by the nation. The sanction of Parliament was required,
and accordingly the Queen removed from Windsor to London, passing
through the city on a moving throne drawn by white horses, and
surrounded by all the princes and nobles of England. In her lap was
seated the infant King, and "those infant hands," says one of the
chroniclers, "which could not yet feed himself, were made capable of
wielding a sceptre, and he who was beholden to nurses for milk, did
distribute support to the law and justice of the realm!" "The Queen,
still holding her baby on her knee, was enthroned among the lords, whom,
by the chancellor, the little King saluted, and spake to them his mind
at large by means of another's tongue." It was declared that during this
scene in Parliament the baby King conducted himself with marvellous
quietness and gravity. Henry VI. had been already proclaimed King of
France, at Paris, before even he thus held his first Parliament on his
mother's lap. For as soon as the last service had been performed over
the dead body of Charles VI., and the body lowered into the vault
belonging to the royal Kings of France, the impressive ceremony followed
of the ushers belonging to the late King breaking their staves of
office, throwing them into the grave, and reversing their maces, whilst
the king-at-arms, or principal herald, attended by many heralds, cried
in a loud, solemn voice over the tomb, "May God show mercy and pity to
the soul of the late most penitent and most excellent Charles VI., King
of France, our natural and sovereign lord!"
Hardly had these solemn words rolled echoing through the vaulted roof,
striking the hearts of the 26,000 spectators with mournful awe, than the
herald raised his voice again, and twice demanded their prayers, for the
living this time, and not the dead. And thus he cried, "May God grant
long life to Henry, by the grace of God King of France and of England,
our sovereign lord!"
[Illustration: "LONG LIVE THE KING!"]
Then, when an infant ten months old had been proclaimed King over two of
the greatest kingdoms in Europe, the sergeants-at-arms and ushers turned
their maces, and shouted together, "Long live the King! long live the
King!"
The Duke of Bedford was now sole Regent of France, whilst a council of
prelates and peers, with the Duke of Gloucester at its head, governed
England in the baby King's name, making use of the amusing fiction of
issuing all their decrees and mandates as though they were dictated by
the mouth of an infant still in arms.
Sometimes Henry misbehaved, or rather showed the natural temper of a
baby. In 1423, when his Majesty was nearly two years old, he was taken
by his mother to London to hold another Parliament. It was Saturday when
they left Windsor, and at night the Queen and her baby King slept at
Staines instead of going on. On the Sunday the Queen wished to proceed,
and had her son carried to her car, when, instead of comporting himself
with his usual dignity, "he skreeked" (says the quaint chronicler), "he
cried, he sprang, and would be carried no further; wherefore they bore
him into the inn, and there he abode the Sunday all day. But on the
Monday he was borne to his mother's car, he being then merry and full of
cheer, and so they came to Kingston, and rested that night. On Tuesday,
Queen Katherine brought him to Kennington, on Wednesday to London, and
with glad semblance and merry cheer, on his mother's barm [lap] in the
car, rode through London to Westminster, and on the morrow was so
brought into Parliament." The old historian would make us believe that
Henry refused to travel on Sunday, even at two years old.
The guardianship of the baby King had been intrusted to the Earl of
Warwick, and in the pictorial history of this Earl he is represented as
holding the King, a lovely baby of fourteen months old, in his arms,
while he is showing him to the lords around him in Parliament. The Earl,
however, only held his sovereign lord on public and state occasions,
leaving the young King in his private walks and hours of retirement to
the care of a certain Dame Alice Boteler, his governess, and his nurse
Joan Astley. "We request," says his infant Majesty, in a quaintly worded
document proceeding from his council, but as usual written in his name,
and in regal form, "Dame Alice from time to time reasonably to chastise
us as the case may require, without being held accountable or molested
for the same at another time. The well-beloved Dame Alice, being a very
wise and expert person, is to teach us courtesy and nurture, and many
things convenient for our royal person to know."
It was whilst Dame Alice was still in power as the King's chastiser that
we again find the royal child noticed as holding the opening of
Parliament in 1425. Katherine entered the city in a chair of state, with
her child sitting on her knee as before. But Henry was now four years
old, and no longer needed to be held on Warwick's arm or placed upon his
mother's lap. As soon then as he reached the west door of St. Paul's
Cathedral, the Protector lifted the child King from his mother's chair,
and set him on his feet, whilst the Duke of Exeter, on the other side,
conducted him between them to the high altar up the stairs which led to
the choir. At the altar the royal boy knelt for a time upon a low bench
prepared for him, and was seen to look gravely and sadly on all around
him. He was then led into the church-yard, placed upon a fair courser,
to the people's great delight, and so conveyed through Cheapside to his
residence at Kennington. There he staid with his mother until the 30th
of April, when he returned through the city to Westminster in a grand
state procession. The little King was again held on his great white
horse, and when he arrived at his palace, the Queen seated herself upon
the throne of the White Hall where the House of Lords was held, with her
child placed upon her knee. This procession drew the people in crowds to
see and bless their infant sovereign, whose features they declared were
the image of his father.
His tutor, the Earl, was now always with him, whilst his young friends
had distinct and separate instructors, for whom reception and
entertainment were carefully provided by the Privy Council. Henry's
governor, Warwick, was ordered by the King's guardians (speaking, as
usual, in the King's person) "to teach us nurture, literature, and
languages, and to chastise us from time to time according to his
discretion." Unfortunate little Henry! we find more said about his being
chastised than about his being rewarded, as if he were of a rebellious
and obstinate temper. On the contrary, he was remarkable for his
mildness and the meek submission of his character, and we fear the blows
which he had to endure only saddened and subdued him, and rendered him
unfit to cope with the ambitious and high-spirited nobles who surrounded
him.
Little Henry was no sooner eight years old than it was determined by his
uncles and his council that he should be crowned King of England in
London, and afterward King of France at Paris. So, after much delay, the
royal child was taken to Westminster on the 6th of November, 1429, and
there crowned with much pomp and state, amongst the acclamations of the
people. As soon as the ceremony was over, the little King, in his robes
and crown, created, under the direction of his governor, thirty-six
Knights of the Bath. Then followed a sumptuous feast in the great Hall
of Westminster, where a noble company were assembled, and nobody of note
allowed to be absent. Immediately after this, Henry and a great escort
of nobles went to Paris, where he was crowned King of France.
His journey to France, his coronation there, the homage and presents he
received from French subjects as their King, must often in his
after-life have appeared like a dream.
When Henry VI. returned to England he was eleven years old, having been
allowed the pleasure of having far more of his own way than he could
have obtained in England. Perhaps the ceremony of his coronations, the
homage, smiles, and deference shown him, the young companions whose
acquaintance could not then be refused, had some exciting influence on
his naturally meek and quiet temper. Certain, however, it is that he
began at this time to rebel, and demanded from his Privy Council freedom
from personal chastisement, which appears to have tried him sorely. The
poor boy, however, gained little by his petition, for the Earl addressed
the council, and complained that certain officious persons "had stirred
up the King against his learning, and spoken to him of divers matters
not behoveful," and he begs that he may "have power over any or all of
those belonging to his household, and to exchange them for others if he
should find it necessary. Also that none be admitted to have speech with
the King, except he or some persons appointed be present." He besides
besought them to stand by him when the King begins "to grudge and loathe
his chastising him for his faults, and to impress their young King with
their assent that he be chastised for his defaults or trespasses, and
that for awe thereof he forbear to do amiss, and entered the more busily
to virtue and to learning."
So Henry, like any other school-boy, submitted, and said no more until
he entered on his sixteenth year, when he demanded to be admitted into
the council, and to be made acquainted with the affairs of his kingdom.
This was granted, and he was after this allowed to conduct his own
affairs.
CHILDREN'S SAYINGS.
Georgie was a sharp-eyed little fellow still in frocks, who saw
everything, and blurted right out what he thought of it. One morning,
while he was playing with his toys at his mother's feet, a lady called,
bringing with her one of the homeliest little pug-nosed pet dogs that
ever lived. Georgie was all attention at once, and his eyes followed
Pinkie wherever he went. Presently the little dog came and sat right
down before him, and looking straight in his face, wagged his tail, and
seemed delighted to see him. Georgie stared at him for a while, and then
looked up earnestly into the lady's face, then at the dog, and then at
the lady again, as if trying to make out a puzzle. Finally, when he had
settled it, out it came. "Mamma," he asked, "hasn't Mrs. Donson dot a
nose just like Pinkie's?" and the worst of it was that it was true.
Mamma tried to smooth the matter over, but Mrs. Johnson never forgave
Georgie.
* * * * *
Everybody has heard of the little girl who, on being asked, after her
first visit to an Episcopal church, how she liked the service, replied
that it was "all very nice, only the man preached in his shirt
sleeves." That story may or may not be true, but it is true that a
little girl in New Jersey said on a similar occasion, "Oh, mamma, the
minister had on a long white apron to keep his clothes clean."
* * * * *
Another young church-goer, the daughter of a well-known Baptist
clergyman in Brooklyn, who was a critic in her way, and who had a faint
suspicion that anecdotes generally were "made up" for the occasion, went
one day with her father to hear his Thanksgiving sermon. He told a
melting story about his poor blind brother who, notwithstanding his
infirmity, was always cheerful and happy. The audience was deeply
impressed, and many, including the speaker himself, were moved to tears.
On her return home, Mary, we will call her, said, with deep earnestness,
"Papa, when you were telling that about Uncle Nat this morning, did you
say the real truth, or were you only preaching?"
* * * * *
A four-year-old Sunday-school girl did the best she could with a
question that was asked of the infant class. Said the teacher, reading
from Isaiah, xxxvii. 1: "'And it came to pass, when King Hezekiah heard
it that he rent his clothes.' Now what does that mean, children--he
_rent_ his clothes?" Up went a little hand. "Well, if you know, tell
us."
"Please, ma'am," said the child, timidly, "I s'pose he hired 'em out."
(This is an actual fact, and the name of the town where it occurred
begins with "M.")
* * * * *
A pretty anecdote is told of a little girl to whom the unseen world is
very real. "Where does God live, mamma?" she asked, one evening, after
saying her prayers.
"He lives in heaven, my dear, in the Celestial City whose streets are
paved with gold."
"Oh yes, I know that, mamma," she said, with great solemnity; "but
what's His _number_?"
Doubtless she expected to go there one day, and wanted to make sure of
finding the way.
* * * * *
"How does the Lord make cats?" asked an inquisitive little fellow, who
was always trying to find out the whys and wherefores of things. "Does
He make the cats first, and sew the tails on, or does He make the tails
first, and sew the cats on?" Every clergyman who comes to the house is
asked the same question, but no satisfactory reply has yet been given.
He threatens now that unless he finds out very soon, he will take his
favorite Topsy all to pieces, and see for himself.
* * * * *
A little girl in Oil City is just recovering from a severe attack of
scarlet fever. During her illness she has been greatly petted by her
indulgent parents, who bought her any number of toys and nice things. A
few days ago, as she was sitting up, she said, "Mamma, I believe I'll
ask papa to buy me a baby carriage for my doll." The brother--a
precocious youngster of only six years of age, spoke up at once, and
said, "I would advise you to strike him for it right away, then; you
won't get it when you get well."
* * * * *
A little girl went timidly into a store at Bellaire, Ohio, the other
morning, and asked the clerk how many shoe-strings she could get for
five cents.
"How long do you want them?" he asked.
"I want them to keep," was the answer, in a tone of slight surprise.
* * * * *
It was just after Christmas, and Kenneth's mind was full of the story of
the Babe who was born at Bethlehem. When, therefore, he was taken into
mamma's room to see his new little brother, he looked with wonder on the
dainty cradle, trimmed with lace and ribbons, wherein the little baby
lay, and asked, in an awed whisper, "Mamma, is that a _manger_?"
* * * * *
A neighbor asked a little girl the other day if her father wasn't one of
the pillars of the Miamus M. E. Church. "No, indeed," she warmly
replied; "they don't have any _pillows_ there."
I SHOULD LIKE TO KNOW.
When in budding trees
Bluebirds sweetly sing,
And the pretty early flowers
Come to welcome spring,
"No more cold," we _think_,
"No more sleety rain";
But sometimes old Winter turns,
Mocking, back again.
Then the bluebirds hide,
And the buds stand still,
And the flowers droop and shrink
With a sudden chill,
And the young vines stop
Growing in the wood,
Waiting patiently until
He is gone for good.
But when, some fine night,
In a friendly throng,
From the swampy places where
They have slept so long
Hop the frogs, and all
Loudly croak together,
_Then_ there will be, we are _sure_,
No more wintry weather;
And the birds rejoice,
And the buds unfold,
And the sun upon the grass
Lies in bars of gold.
Now I'd like to know,
For it's surely so,
How when spring is _really_ here
Frog-folks chance to know.
THE CHAMOIS AND THEIR FOES.
The only European species of the antelope family are the chamois
(_Antelope rupicapra_), which inhabit the highest regions of the Alps,
the Pyrenees, and the Caucasus. On inaccessible cliffs and rocky crags
these graceful mountaineers make their home, and except when disturbed
by the approach of man, lead a peaceful and harmless life. The chamois
resembles the wild goat of the Alps, but is more elastic and spry. It is
especially distinguished from it by the absence of beard, and by its
black glistening horns, which are curved like a hook and pointed.
In the spring the chamois is very light-colored, but as summer advances,
its coat assumes a reddish-brown hue, which by December often becomes
coal black. Its eyes are large, black, and full of intelligence, and its
delicate hoofs are surrounded by a projecting rim which renders it
firm-footed and able to march with ease over the great glaciers or along
narrow ledges of rock.
These pretty animals live in herds, five, ten, and sometimes twenty
together. They are merry, wise creatures, graceful and agile in their
movements, and spring from cliff to cliff and across chasms with
extraordinary lightness and sureness of foot.
In the winter the chamois seek the upper forests on the mountain slopes,
where, under the shelter of the widely branching umbrella fir, the
drooping boughs of which hang almost to the ground, they find snug
quarters, and long dry grass for winter provender.
The opening of spring in the Swiss Alps is attended by many wonderful
phenomena. It would seem that no power was strong enough to break the
icy chain in which the high Alps are bound fast; but there comes a day,
generally early in April, when beautifully tinted veils of cloud form
over the southern horizon, and a death-like stillness prevails in the
mountains. The eye of the experienced hunter detects this sign in a
moment, and knows it to be the token of approaching danger. If among the
glaciers, he hastens to the valley below, where he finds the villages in
commotion. Sheep and cattle are being hurriedly housed, and everything
being secured against the dreaded _Föhn_, which is surely coming from
beyond those rose-tinted clouds in the south. The _Föhn_ is a warm wind
which, in the spring, comes blowing northward from the hot African
desert. On a sudden the stillness is broken by a terrible rushing sound,
and a burning breath like fire strikes on the snowy pinnacles and
glaciers. All nature is soon in an uproar. Mighty banks of snow,
loosened from their winter resting-place, roar and rumble down the
mountain-side in avalanches, bearing huge rocks and giant trees in their
arms. The whole winter architecture of the mountains crumbles to ruins
before the burning desert wind.
[Illustration: BATTLE OF THE CHAMOIS.]
When the storm is over the great ice beds and banks of snow cease their
pranks, and peace reigns once more in the mountains. But the strength of
winter is broken. The _Föhn_ returns again and again, and soon patches
of bluish-green begin to appear here and there among the high
precipitous crags. When the highest mountain pastures are open, the
chamois leave their forest retreat, and troop upward into the most lofty
regions. Here they lead a happy life. They are most frolicsome in the
autumn, and may be seen for hours together gambolling and chasing each
other upon the very smallest ledges of rock, where it would seem almost
impossible to maintain a foothold. There are sometimes bitter fights,
too, between the male chamois, terrible contests for leadership.
Grappling each other with their horns, they battle until the superiority
of strength is decided.
The chamois is very shy, and is always on the alert. Its sense of
hearing, of smell, and of sight is very acute, and the most skillful
hunter will sometimes search the mountain pastures for days without
securing his game. When the troop is grazing, a sentinel is always
appointed, who stands on the watch sniffing the air. At the least
approach of danger the careful sentinel gives a shrill whistling signal
of warning, and instantly the troop is filing off between the rocks and
along the chasms, where no human foot could follow, all whistling
together as they march. The only chance of the hunter to escape
detection by these watchful creatures is to approach them from above,
for, as if conscious that there are few so daring as to penetrate the
upper regions of eternal snow, the sharp eye of the sentinel is on the
look-out for danger from below.
As the greatest skill and courage are required to secure this valuable
game, a good chamois-hunter is a person of importance in the wild Swiss
valley where he lives, and the family of which he is a member glory in
his deeds, and relate them to awe-struck listeners around the evening
fireside. Chamois-hunting is the central point around which cluster all
the charms of romance and dangerous adventure; it is the subject of many
popular ballads, and its hold upon the imagination of the people is
wonderful. Chamois skulls adorned with the black hooked horns may be
seen among the most precious treasures of many a Swiss household, each
one suggestive of some tale of wonderful bravery and endurance.
The chamois-hunters of Switzerland lead a strange life. None knows when
he departs from his home in the morning with his gun, ammunition, and
alpen-stock, if he will ever return from the mysterious misty heights
towering before him far aloft in the clouds. The pursuit of the chamois
will often lead him to the narrowest boundaries between life and death,
to overhanging cliffs, and across gorges where even the falling of a bit
of turf or the loosening of a stone would be fatal. Up, up, the hunter
must go in search of the cunning game, until lost among the cliffs, and
blinded by the thick mists which appear as clouds to those in the valley
below, he may often wander in the trackless solitudes for days, with the
terrible roar of avalanches sounding in his ears, before being able to
return to his home. And yet in face of all these dangers, the Swiss,
apart from the price they obtain for the flesh, skin, and horns of the
chamois, have an inborn love of this sport, and stories are told of many
celebrated hunters, men to whom every rock, tree, and path on the high
mountains was as familiar as the streets of their native village, and
who feared neither fogs, snowstorms, nor avalanches. But few of these
hunters, however, have died at home in their beds, for in the end
accident overtook them, and their lofty hunting ground became their
grave.
[Illustration: THE RED WILLOW AND ITS USES.]
INDIANS AND RED WILLOW.
To the Indians of the great Western plains the red willow, which is only
found in that country, proves so very useful that its loss would be
greatly felt by them. It is a bushy growth, never reaching more than
fifteen or twenty feet in height, and is found along the river-banks,
where it grows rapidly and in great abundance.
The Indian most values the red willow because from its bark he makes
what to him is a very good substitute for tobacco. To do this he strips
one of the long, slender shoots of its leaves, and with his knife cuts
the bark until it hangs from the wood in little shreds. Then he thrusts
the stick into the fire, but not so that it will burn, only so that the
bark will become thoroughly dried. When this is done, he carefully rubs
it between his hands until it is crumbled almost to a powder.
This willow-bark powder he mixes with a small quantity of real tobacco,
if he has any; if not, he mixes it with the dried and crumbled leaf of a
small and very bitter shrub that grows on the mountain-sides, and has a
leaf looking somewhat like our box-wood. The Indians call it
killicanick, and often mix it with tobacco when they have no red willow.
So fond are the Indians of their red-willow tobacco that they prefer it
to the real unmixed article, which seems to be too strong for them.
The squaws use the red willow to make temporary shelters or wick-i-ups,
which are used instead of the heavy skin lodges, or tepees, when the
Indians are on the move, and only camp in one place for a night or so.
When a pleasant spot by some running stream, where there is plenty of
red willow, has been fixed upon for a camping-place, and a fire has been
lighted, the squaws cut a quantity of the willow, and, making a rude
framework of the larger branches, of which the butt-ends are fixed
firmly into the ground, and the small ends bound together to look like a
small dome, they weave the smaller branches and twigs in and out until
the whole affair looks like a great leafy basket turned upside down. The
entrance is very low, and when once inside, a grown person can only lie
or sit down, for if he should stand up, he would probably lift the house
with him.
While the squaws are building the wick-i-ups the Indian has been
stretched on the ground, smoking his long-stemmed pipe, with its stone
or iron bowl, or else he has been kneeling beside the fire preparing his
much-loved red-willow tobacco. Over the same fire is hung a jack rabbit,
skinned, and spitted upon a slender red-willow stick, and from a tree
near by the baby swings in his red-willow cradle.
From the same red willow the squaws make baskets and mats. On its tender
twigs the ponies browse in winter, when the grass is covered deep with
snow. And to these same red-willow thickets the Indians go in winter in
search of deer or antelope, which are pretty sure to be found browsing
among them.
So you see the Indian has good reason to be fond of the red willow, and
he dreads the approach of white farmers, who clear it off from the rich
bottom-lands wherever they locate, for it is on these lands that they
can raise their heaviest crops of corn.
"THIS LITTLE PIG STAID AT HOME."
BY MARY DENSEL.
Six tow heads bobbing about a pen in the big barn. In the pen were
thirteen small pigs, all squealing as only small pigs know how to
squeal.
The owners of two of the tow heads soon departed. They were Solomon and
Isaac. Being fourteen years old, they were too ancient to care much for
pigs. Elias and John also went away. They had business elsewhere in the
shape of woodchuck traps. Philemon would fain have lingered near, had he
not made an engagement to play "two old cat" with Tom Tadgers.
As for Romeo Augustus, no charm of bat or ball would have drawn him from
that pen, since he had seen one of the small pigs stagger about in a
strange fashion, and then sink down in a corner. Something was wrong
with that pig.
Romeo Augustus peered and peeped. At last into the pen he climbed, and
caught the little pig in his arms.
Then there was a hubbub indeed. Up rushed the mother in terrible
excitement. Round and round spun the twelve brothers and sisters, each
crying, "No, no, no, no," in a voice as fine as a knitting-needle, and
as sharp as a razor edge.
But Romeo Augustus kept a steady head. Back over the pen he scrambled,
pig and all, and sat down on the barn floor to find out the trouble.
Ah! here was enough to make any pig stagger. Two little legs dangled
helplessly--one fore-leg, one hind-leg. The bones were broken.
At first Romeo Augustus was tempted to weep. What good would that do? It
was far better to coax the bones into place, put sticks up and down for
splints, and bind one leg tight with his neck-tie, the other with his
very best pocket-handkerchief.
It was not an easy job. The pig did writhe and twist, while the frantic
mother danced up and down in the pen behind, and drove the surgeon
nearly crazy with her noise. But he toiled bravely on, and when at last
the operation was done, the heart of Romeo Augustus was knit unto that
small pig in bonds of deep affection.
"I love him as if he was my--_daughter_," said Romeo Augustus,
solemnly. He did not confide this to his twin brother Philemon: Philemon
would have jeered. He told it to Elias, who was poetical, and had a soul
for sentiment. Elias nodded, and said,
"Just so!" That showed sympathy. He also added, "Why don't you keep him
for your own, and call him Leggit or Bones?"
"No," answered Romeo Augustus, with dignity; "his name shall be
Mephibosheth, for the man who followed King David, and was lame in both
his feet."
For five weeks Romeo Augustus nursed and fed and tended that pig. In
time the legs grew strong. Mephibosheth was as brisk as any pig need be.
Romeo Augustus rejoiced over him, and loved him more and more. So the
days went on, until a certain morning dawned.
The sun rose as usual; the cocks crowed as cheerfully as they always
did. Solomon and Isaac had gone to drive the cows to pasture, as was
their wont. Elias and John were peacefully skinning their woodchucks in
the shed. Philemon had been sent back to his chamber (as he was every
morning of his life) to brush his back hair. There was nothing to
suggest the storm which was to break over Romeo Augustus, who stood by
the kitchen stove watching the cook fry fritters.
"Fizz, fiz-z-z, fiz-z-z," hissed the fritters.
"_Aren't_ they going to be good!" said Romeo Augustus, smacking his
lips.
Suddenly came a voice. It was Romeo Augustus's father speaking to the
man-servant:
"Those little pigs are large enough to be killed. How many are there?
Never mind. Carry them all to market to-morrow, and sell them for what
they will bring. I don't want the trouble of raising them."
Romeo Augustus listened in horror. "Large enough to be killed?" "Carry
them all to market?" "_All?_ ALL?" Why, that included Mephibosheth.
Terrible thought!
Not a fritter did Romeo Augustus eat that morning. After breakfast he
roamed aimlessly about the farm. He would not go near the barn. How
could he look upon poor doomed Mephibosheth?
Once he thought of going to his father, and pleading with him for his
pig's life. But Romeo Augustus was shy, and somewhat afraid of his
father, who was a stern man. So he kept his grief to himself, and
meditated.
Elias unconsciously deserted him at this time of need, and curdled Romeo
Augustus's blood by asking twice for pork at dinner. Ask for pork? Why,
speaking coarsely, Mephibosheth was also--_pork_. How could any one eat
pork with such a relish? Romeo Augustus shivered, and kept his own
counsel. All that afternoon he pondered. Then the darkness of night came
on.
The next morning off started the man-servant with his load of little
pigs.
"Have you all?" asked Romeo Augustus's father.
"I would ha' swore, sir, there was thirteen, but it seems there was only
twilve. Yes, sir, I has 'em all;" and away he drove.
As for Romeo Augustus, a change came over him. Far from shunning the
barn, he hung about it constantly. Moreover, he was always present when
the cows were milked, morning and night. He had a playful trick of
dipping his own tin cup into the foaming pail, and scampering away with
it full to the brim. Nobody objected to that. If he chose to strain a
point, and drink unstrained milk, he was welcome to do it.
"And if you see fit to save half your dinner, and give it away, I am
willing," said his mother, who was busy, and hardly noticed what Romeo
Augustus asked her. "But you must _not_ soil your jacket fronts as you
do. This is the fifth time within a week I have sponged your clothes."
Soon after this, Philemon and Romeo Augustus were out in the barn,
rolling over and over, burying themselves in the sweet-smelling hay.
Suddenly Philemon pricked up his ears.
"What's that?" quoth he. "I heard a little pig squealing. Where can he
be?"
"Philemon," said Romeo Augustus, earnestly, "let's climb to that top
mow, and jump down. Hurrah! It's a good twenty feet. Come on, if you
dare!"
If he dare! Of course he dared. It was great fun to launch one's self
into space, and come whirling down on the hay. There was just enough
danger of breaking one's neck to give spice to the treat. How Romeo
Augustus did scurry about, hustling Philemon whenever he stopped to
breathe, and urging him on, shouting at the top of his lungs,
"One more jump, old boy. Hurrah! Hurray!"
Philemon had no spare time in which to wonder if he heard a small pig
squeal.
That very night, when all the family was wrapped in slumber, Elias felt
a hand on his shoulder. Another hand was on his mouth, to prevent any
exclamation.
"Come with me," whispered Romeo Augustus; and he held out Elias's jacket
and trousers. Elias took the hint, also the clothes. Down the stairs
crept the two. Out the front door, which would creak, into the moon-lit
yard stole they. Elias's eyes were snapping with excitement; for, as I
said, Elias was poetical, and, like all poets, he was always expecting
something to turn up. At this present he was on the look-out for what he
called "the Gibbage."
Elias himself had grown to believe the marvellous stories he told his
brothers. He had full faith in the Lovely Lily Lady, who lived in the
attic; in the Mealy family, with their sky-blue faces and pea-green
hands, in the cobwebby meal chest under the barn eaves; in the Peely
family, who inhabited the tool-box in the shed, and whose heads were
like baked apples with the peel taken off; in the big black bird, which
came from the closet under the stairs at night, and flew through the
chambers to dust the boys' clothes with its wings.
And now Elias had suspected in his own mind that there existed a
creature, somewhat like a mouse, somewhat like a red flower-pot, which
glided around during the night-watches to sharpen slate-pencils, smooth
out dog-ears from school-books, erase lead-pencil marks, polish up
marbles, straighten kite strings, put the "suck" into brick-suckers, and
otherwise make itself useful. If there were not such a creature, there
ought to be, and Elias became daily surer that there was. He called it
"the Gibbage."
Perchance Romeo Augustus had caught a glimpse of it. No wonder Elias's
eyes snapped as he was hurried across the yard, and led back of the
barn, where there was a space between the underpinning and the ground.
By lying flat one could wriggle his way under the barn, and when once
beneath, there was room to stand nearly up-right.
"Elias," said Romeo Augustus, breathlessly, "I keep Mephibosheth under
here."
"Sakes and daisies!" gasped Elias.
That was a very strong expression. When somewhat moved, Elias often
exclaimed, "Sakes!" but when he added, "and daisies!" it was a sign he
was stirred to his inmost depths.
"Sakes and daisies!" said Elias.
"Yes," Romeo Augustus went on, "I heard father say he didn't want the
trouble of raising him, so I concluded I would. But nobody must see him
till he's raised, and Philemon he heard him this very day. I must take
him somewhere else. Where, Elias, oh, where can I carry him?"
Elias frowned and pondered. He was grieved not to have discovered "the
Gibbage," but he would do the handsome thing by Romeo Augustus.
Half an hour later the jolly old moon nearly fell out of the sky for
laughing. There were Elias and Romeo Augustus straining and tugging,
coaxing and scolding, trying with might and main to stifle the
expostulations of Mephibosheth, as they bore him down to an unmowed
meadow.
The ox-eye daisies opened their sleepy petals to see what all the stir
was about. The buttercups and dandelions craned themselves forward to
peep.
Down in the meadow the boys drove a stake, and to it they fastened
Mephibosheth. It was no joke taking food to him now. The unmowed meadow
was in sight of the house, and it seemed as if one or another of the
boys was always at the window. But Elias aided Romeo Augustus, and
between them Mephibosheth got his daily rations. Surely he was safe at
last. Far from it.
"Who has been trampling the grass in the north pasture?" asked Romeo
Augustus's father, a fortnight later. "I followed the path made by feet
that had no right there. At the end I found a stake. Tied to the stake I
found a--"
Solomon and Isaac looked surprised. John and Philemon shook their heads.
They knew nothing of the matter. Elias and Romeo Augustus quaked.
"At the end I found a--" repeated their father, gazing sternly round the
table--"I found a--"
"_Pig_," said Romeo Augustus, in the smallest possible voice; and he
fled from the table in an agony of tears. His labor had been in vain.
After all, Mephibosheth must die. How could he endure it? He dared not
glance out of the window of the chamber where he had taken refuge, lest
he should behold Mephibosheth led to slaughter. It seemed as if his
heart would break in two.
But listen! What is that noise? A clatter as of falling boards. There is
a sound as of hammering. At first it seems to Romeo Augustus like
Mephibosheth's death-knell. Thud, thud, thud, go the blows. Drawn almost
against his will, Romeo Augustus stealthily approaches the window. He
glances fearfully out. What does he see? His father pounding busily,
making--what is he making? Can it be? It is--it is a _pen_.
"Father!" gasps Romeo Augustus.
His father looks up and smiles. "Your pig must have a house to live in,"
says he. "I can't have my meadow grass trampled."
Before noon Mephibosheth was in his new quarters. There was a parlor
with two pieces of carpet on the floor; there was a chamber with plenty
of straw, whereon Mephibosheth could repose; there was a dining-room,
with what, in common language, might be termed a trough.
Such a life as that pig led! He was cared for tenderly. He was washed
all over every morning, and put to bed every night. He was not a very
brilliant pig as far as his intellect went, it must be confessed. He
could do no tricks with cards; he could not be taught to jump through a
hoop.
One year passed; Mephibosheth was large. Two years went by; Mephibosheth
was wonderful. I would I could say he was _plump_; that word does not
begin to express his condition. It would be pleasant to call him
_stout_; that would not give the glimmer of an idea of his size.
_Corpulent_ would be a refined way of stating it. Alas! corpulent means
nothing as far as Mephibosheth is concerned. That animal measured _seven
feet and twenty-two inches_ round his body. He weighed--truth is great,
and must be spoken--he weighed _five hundred and fifty and two-third
pounds_.
He could not walk; his legs were pipe-stems under him. He could scarcely
breathe. That is the excuse for what happened.
One day Romeo Augustus came home from school. Mephibosheth's pen was
empty. Mephibosheth's pen would be empty for evermore. That is a gentle
way of telling the story. In vain it was explained to Romeo Augustus
that Mephibosheth's life had become a burden; that common humanity
demanded his departure. In vain Philemon offered three fish-hooks and a
jackknife by way of solace. In vain Solomon was sure his father would
present a calf to the mourner for a pet.
Elias was the only one who gave the least comfort.
"We will make a tombstone, and I will write an epitaph," said he.
Soon he brought a board, on which were drawn an urn and a couple of
consumptive weeping-willows (for Elias was an artist as well as a poet),
and underneath were these lines, which being written partly in old
English spelling, were so much the more consoling:
Sacred to the Memorie
of
MEPHIBOSHETH.
Kinde Reader, pause and drop a teare,
Y^e Pig his bodie lieth here;
Y^e Auguste third of fiftie-nine
Was when his sun dyd cease to shine.
He broke two legs, which gave him wo;
He doctored was by Romeo,
Who cherished him from yeare to yeare,
As by this notice doth appeare.
He fed him till he waxed soe big
He was obliged to hop the twig.
Y^e friends do sadly raise their waile,
And fondly eke preserve his tayle.
"And here's his tail," said Elias, presenting the pathetic memento.
"The only trouble is in the line, 'Y^e Pig his bodie lieth here,'"
sobbed Romeo Augustus. "It doesn't lie here. He's been sold to a
butcher."
"It's Elias who '_lieth_ here,'" remarked Isaac.
That was a heartless joke. No one was so low as to laugh at it.
"They often have monuments without the--the--the body," said Elias, with
great delicacy.
Romeo Augustus was content.
He is a grown man now, but to this very day he keeps Mephibosheth's
monument. It is nailed on the wall of his chamber. He sometimes smiles
when he looks at it, but he does not take it down.
[Illustration: HAVING A LITTLE FUN.]
THE TAILOR AND THE WOLVES.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.
Ever so long ago there lived a tailor's apprentice, a merry,
light-hearted fellow, but with a large hump, so that he always looked
like a country-woman going to market on a Saturday, carrying her goods
on her back.
One night, as he was returning from some festivity in the town, he had
to go through a thick wood, in which it was so dark that he could not
see his hand before his face. As he was dawdling along quite merrily,
and whistling the tune of the last waltz that he had danced, he lost his
way, and fell into a deep pit, so that sight and hearing forsook him,
and he gave himself up for lost. But when he found out that he was
unhurt after the fall, he began to cry pitiably and to call for help,
till he suddenly heard talking not far off.
In the pit, which sloped sideways far down into the earth, lived a large
wolf with his wife and two little ones, and when they had heard the
tailor's fall and screams, the old wolf said, joyfully, to his wife,
"Be quick, my dear, hang the pot over the fire; I think we shall have
something good to-night."
These words reached the ears of the tailor, who, in the deepest anxiety
for his life, became as still as a mouse.
But the wolf opened the door of his den, put a lamp in his paw, and
peered all round till he had discovered the tailor, whom he then seized
by the legs, and, without more ado, dragged into his sitting-room.
When he was about to be killed, the poor fellow cried and bemoaned
himself in such a heart-rending manner that the wife, who was a good
soul, put in a word for him to her husband.
"Well, then," said the wolf, "he may live, but he must never return to
men, or he would betray us; he must stay here and become a wolf."
"Most joyfully," said the tailor, "for I would rather live as a wolf
than be cooked and eaten as a man."
Whereupon the wolf fetched one of his old furs out of the cupboard, and
his wife had to sew the tailor into it.
So the tailor staid with them, soon learned to howl perfectly, and to
walk on all fours; besides which, he became quite expert in catching
rabbits.
One day, when they had all gone out hunting together, it happened that
the King of the same land was also hunting in the wood. As soon as the
hunters came near the wolves, they and the tailor took to their heels.
They ran into a neighboring thicket, and hid themselves behind some
bushes, when the old wolf whispered to the others to keep quiet, without
fear, for he had seen no dogs, and without their help no huntsmen would
find them.
He spoke truly, for it so happened that a wild boar had killed every
single dog.
Then it occurred to the King to take a pinch of snuff; after which he
sneezed violently.
The tailor, who had not yet lost his knowledge of polite ways, said,
respectfully, "Your health, sire!"
When the King heard these words he rode toward the bush, and all his
huntsmen followed him.
Here they perceived the wolves, and the King and his companions set up a
loud shout of joy. They threw their spears so well that only the old
wolf could escape; and the tailor was the last to be seen, because he
had hidden himself so well, but before the huntsmen could aim at him, he
had rolled himself, howling piteously, toward the King, saying,
"I beg your pardon, sire; I am really a tailor's apprentice, and only by
accident among the wolves."
Then they all began to laugh, and a huntsman cut him out of his skin. A
horse also was brought, that he might ride by the King's side and relate
his tale.
"Tailor," then said the King, very graciously, "you have caused me much
amusement, and if you like you may remain with me."
This speech pleased the little man right well, and he rode straight away
to the castle, where he lived in joy and luxury for some time, as the
King's court and private tailor.
But the old wolf, who had escaped with his life, felt raging anger
against all human beings, especially toward the tailor, who had been the
cause of the death of his wife and children, and he determined to
revenge himself.
So he lay continually on the watch, and any man who appeared in his
sight was a child of death. The whole land was full of grief and sorrow,
for hardly a day passed in which at least one human being did not meet
with a sorrowful end in the grip of the fierce old wolf.
But he said, "It is not yet enough; they must all come to it; and the
tailor shall suffer the most for bringing about the death of my wife and
children, because he could not hold his tongue."
Saying which he went to the castle, where the tailor was just looking
out of the window smoking a pipe.
"Fellow!" said the wolf, "you must die, or I can not rest."
Terror seized the little man, and he told the King what the wolf had
threatened.
"Wait, tailor," answered the King; "it is now high time that we should
catch this wretch, even if it costs me my only daughter. He has not even
respect for the court tailor; so what will such conduct lead to? And
besides, he is eating up all my subjects, which I can not allow; for if
I have no subjects, I can no longer be a king."
He spoke, and caused it to be proclaimed through the whole land that he
who brought the wolf alive should be his son-in-law.
The tailor had not dared to leave the castle for days, for fear of the
monster; but at length he could sit still no longer, and went into the
garden one bright summer's day. Suddenly the wolf sprang from behind a
tree, caught the poor fellow by the tail of his coat, and dragged him
far into the wood, in spite of all his wriggling and screaming.
"Rascal of a tailor!" said he; "you have brought me into misery,
therefore you must die."
Then, in his dire need, a cunning, artful idea occurred to the tailor,
and he exclaimed, "Look! there come the huntsmen!" and as the wolf
turned round in alarm, the tailor leaped on to his back, and held his
hands tightly over the creature's eyes.
Then the wolf ran as he had never run in his life before, so that each
moment he thought his hated rider must fall to the ground.
And as the creature could not see, the tailor guided him toward the
castle, to an open stable door; there got down, pushed him into one of
the stalls, and then bolted the door on the outside.
The King was highly delighted that the tailor was such a cunning fellow,
and consented that the betrothal to his daughter should take place at
once.
The wolf was hanged, and his skin, which the tailor received among his
wedding gifts, has been preserved to the present day, and just now lies
under the table, belonging to the author of this little tale.
[Illustration: AN EASTER EGG.]
[Illustration]
THE TALE Of A TAIL.
There was a rat lived in a mill--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill;
If she's not dead, she lives there still--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill.
This rat she had a great long tail--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill;
One day she caught it on a nail--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill.
[Illustration]
She pulled so hard she pulled it out--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill;
And then she turned herself about--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill.
At home I've got a little babee--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill;
I wonder if she will know me--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill.
[Illustration]
Oh, mother! mother! where's your tail?--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill.
Yonder it hangs upon a nail--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill.
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
It gives us the greatest pleasure to receive all the pretty favors which
come to us by every mail from all parts of the country. Those
communications which we think will be of interest to other children we
print whenever we can make space for them, and all, without any
exception, are carefully read, and their receipt acknowledged. These
letters give pleasant, satisfactory glimpses into many homes, and we see
the group of eager young faces watching, as they tell us, "for papa to
bring our paper." Do not be disappointed, any of you, when you fail to
find your pretty letter, which you have written so carefully and neatly,
printed in the Post-office Box. We can not print all. If we did, you
would have no stories to read, no pictures to look at--nothing but
letters; for your busy little brains and fingers would fill the whole
paper every week if we did not crowd some of you out. But keep on
writing, for we like to hear what stories please you best, and in what
subjects you are most interested. In that way there is always a mutual
understanding between us, and our acquaintance is more likely to be
intimate and lasting. We are also very much interested in what children
write about the seasons in different regions of the country, showing how
spring advances from Texas up into the far northern State of Oregon.
Such letters are always interesting and instructive. One request we
would make, that is, always write your signature very distinctly. Often
we can not make out even your initials, and your name may be misprinted
in our acknowledgments.
* * * * *
WARREN, OHIO, _March 1, 1880_.
The robins and the bluebirds came here about the middle of
February, and if it does not get colder, willow "pussies" will be
out in a few days. Please tell me what the "wind-flower" is. I do
not think, as Bertie Brown does, that people ought to send the
Indians something to eat, for mamma had an uncle who lived in
Minnesota, and he used to feed them whenever they came, and they
killed him and three of his children. So I don't like Indians.
D. J. MYERS.
The wind-flower is found in the early spring growing among dry leaves
and in sunny nooks by old stone walls, sometimes in open pasture lands
where the soil is damp. The blossoms, which are pale pinkish-white, grow
on a stem from two to four inches in height. There is only one drooping
flower on a stem. This plant is more properly called _anemone_, from
_anemos_, a Greek word signifying wind. It is interesting to know that
it was called anemone by the ancient Romans. Pliny alludes to it, and
says it was called wind-flower because it opened its petals only when
the wind blew.
* * * * *
FAIRFIELD, ALABAMA.
My heart is gladdened once a week when papa says, "Daughter, here
is your paper." I am far away in the South, but Uncle Sam's mail
arrangement is so grand that it finds us all. I was eleven years
old last month, and had a nice birthday party. I go to school, and
love my teacher very much.
MAMIE JONES.
* * * * *
ATLANTA, GEORGIA.
I have lived in the South two years, although I was born in Ohio.
There is never any snow here, and I long to get back North on
account of winter sports. Atlanta is surrounded by beautiful
scenery, and also by many traces of the war, such as intrenchments
and breastworks. In answer to Edwin A. H., I will say that I have
a cabinet, but have not so many specimens as he. I have minerals
and other things from many parts of the far West, collected by
myself, and also dried flowers from New Zealand, and a nut from
Vancouver Island.
JOHN G. WILSON.
* * * * *
MONMOUTH, OREGON.
I thought I would drop a line to you, and let you know that I am
one of the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE. I like it very much. I am nine
years old. I have a little brother who has some pet rabbits. I
left Wales with papa and mamma when I was three years old. Then I
could not speak a word of English, but now I don't remember a word
of Welsh. We are having lots of snow here this winter.
DAVID FOULKES.
* * * * *
WRIGHTSTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA.
I live in a very quiet little village. Just across one field from
our house stands a house which was Washington's head-quarters at
the time of the Revolutionary war. About one-quarter of a mile
away there is a tree, more than a century old, under which
Washington stood just before he started for Trenton on
Christmas-night, 1776. He crossed the Delaware six miles east of
this place. Near this village is a barn two hundred years old.
ROSE W. SCOTT.
* * * * *
ERIE, PENNSYLVANIA, _March 3, 1880_.
About five weeks ago a lady in this place found two pansies in
bloom in her garden, and last week a man told my papa he saw a
large flock of robins in some cherry-trees in his yard. If they
were looking for cherries, they were disappointed. Had they come
into our yard, they would have seen a large bed of bright yellow
crocuses. I am eight years old.
CARRIE L. WILLARD.
* * * * *
JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA.
In YOUNG PEOPLE No. 13 Joseph P. writes that he hatched a chicken
by putting the egg in ashes. I tried it. I put the egg in a
tobacco-box, and put it by the stove. Mamma's servant built a hot
fire, and the egg, instead of hatching, baked.
EDDIE E. PADDOCK (8 years).
* * * * *
PETERSBURG, INDIANA.
I am a little girl seven years old, and I live on a farm with my
grandpa and grandma. My dear mamma died last December. It was very
hard to part with her, but I am not destitute of friends. I have
three uncles, who are very kind to me. I have a little
canary-bird. He is a beautiful singer, and is company for me. And
I have a large dog that plays with me every day. I call him Watch.
I can read in the Third Reader, although I never went to school
but one week in my life, on account of ill health. I have had the
chills for five years--not all the time, but very severe.
ANNA SHANDY.
* * * * *
Answers to S. R. W.--including, however, no new words--are received from
Polly Pleasant, Ethel S. M., Herbert W., Mamie E. F., Maud Chase, F. E.
Bacon, B. E. S., Connie, Frank N. Dodd, Carrie S. Levéy, R. W. Dawson,
"School-Children," C. B. F.
* * * * *
SALEM, NORTH CAROLINA.
Mamma takes YOUNG PEOPLE for me, and I like it very much. I made a
Soapboxticon to-day, and had trouble with it at first, but now it
works nicely. I hope all who try to make one will succeed as well
as I did.
A. H. PATTERSON.
* * * * *
George F. Powers, Willie G. Lee, Frank Shennen, M. Paul Martin, and Fred
A. Conklin report trouble with the Soapboxticon, but if they persevere,
and carefully follow directions, they will soon have a pretty toy.
* * * * *
ATHENS, ALABAMA.
I must tell you how I enjoy YOUNG PEOPLE. My good uncle Henry
takes it for me. I must tell about my pet geese. Their names are
Boss and Susan. They are very gentle, and as smart as they can be.
I have a puppy named Bang-up. My grandpa named him. I am six years
old, and my mamma is writing this for me.
WILLIAM S. PEEBLES.
* * * * *
EVANS MILLS, NEW YORK.
Can any one tell me who is the oldest man in the United States?
MADISON COOPER.
Who among our young correspondents can answer this question?
* * * * *
CHELTON MILLS, PENNSYLVANIA.
I have a bird named Cherry, and a dog named Jack; and I have a
little sister named Mae, and she is so cute. She has a doll, and
she nurses her so sweetly! I am eight years old, and I go to
school. We have heard robins and bluebirds singing.
ELLIE CARLE.
* * * * *
BELLE PLAINE, MINNESOTA.
My kitty comes to my room every morning, and jumps upon my bed.
His name is Jim. He is a nice kitty, and full of play. He
scratches me sometimes awful hard, but I love him all the same. I
saw a picture in YOUNG PEOPLE of a little girl and her kitty.
ELVIRA F. IRWIN.
* * * * *
ALLEGHENY, PENNSYLVANIA.
I have a canary named Frank. He used to bite my nose and fingers
when I put them in his cage, but he will not bite them now. I also
have a small turtle, whose shell is about two inches long. It came
from the Niagara River. It sleeps in winter, excepting when the
sun shines on it, and it will not eat. But in summer it eats flies
and bits of raw meat.
FLORENCE E. M.
* * * * *
DENVER, COLORADO.
I have no pets to write about, but I expect to have a Newfoundland
dog soon. We live in a new house, and do not need a cat; but when
the rats come, we are going to get one. I have thirteen dolls. The
largest one has black hair and gray eyes, and her name is
Josephine. I am nine years old.
SADIE T.
* * * * *
WALTHAM, MASSACHUSETTS.
I am seven years old. I have no brothers or sisters, but I have a
squirrel and a fish. The squirrel was caught after he made his
home in the woods, and he was so wild that he would bite if we
touched him; but we were so kind to him that he begins to feel
better. We let him out now, and he runs round the room, and I can
put my hand on him. My fish is the last of three. The other two
started to go back to their native river one night, and they fell
on the floor and were killed.
FRANKIE L. WHITNEY.
* * * * *
John B. M., Nicholas P. G., and Robbie C. write pretty stories of their
pet cats, dogs, and foxes, which we regret having no room to print. In
answer to Robbie's question, we would say that the bite of a fox is
painful, but not dangerous like that of a dog.
* * * * *
WILLIE R. C.--When you recover from your illness, and can write your
"own self," we will print your letter if it is interesting.
* * * * *
LOUDON ENGLE and HARRY D.--Pigeons like to eat bird seed, broken corn,
or any kind of grain, and enjoy that kind of food much better than
bread-crumbs. They need fresh water to drink, and will bathe now and
then, like a canary, if they have a bath dish large enough to flutter
in.
* * * * *
W. M. L.--There is many a one much older than you who would be glad to
know an easy and quick way to make ten dollars. Unfortunately we can not
tell you how to accomplish your object.
* * * * *
META.--Your poetic idea of beauty is very pretty, and shows much
imagination for such a little girl.
* * * * *
BESSIE D. L.--Call your bird Rosie, and your kitty Clover. There was
once a big Maltese cat named Clover who did many funny tricks, and lived
to be very old. If you name your kitty after her, perhaps she will live
as long.
* * * * *
MARY B.--Your plan for a picture scrap-book is very good. Try to select
some pictures of historical localities and celebrated buildings, and
then, when you show your book to your little friends, you will have
something interesting to tell them.
* * * * *
CLARA M. H.--Your "old bachelor uncle" is very kind to send you YOUNG
PEOPLE, and you will be glad to hear that a large number of other uncles
have made their little nieces happy in the same way.
* * * * *
Favors are received from H. M. H., John V. Gould, Alfred D. S., W. E.
Liddy, Fannie Spencer, Grace Field, P. S. Heffleman, Alice Maud T.,
Beatrice W., Margaret Baird, Elva E. Groat, Eugene Lewis, Lucy Cole, May
and Josie Minton, Gertie Harrison, Ella E. Ball, George Kohler, Fred
Castle, Annie P., H. S. Richardson, "Theo. Glenwood," Horace G. S., C.
Reynolds, George P., Addie and Minnie Goodnow, Frank Harris, Frank
Fowler, W. H. W., Jessie I. Sturgis, Gordon C., Willie A. Kyh, G. M.
Brockway, Arthur Mills, Katty Voorhees, Joseph A. U., May Harvey,
C. E. C., Pierre F. C., Bertha Young, E. G. R., Nettie Carleton, Albert
A. Bosworth, Mary S. Talbot, Samuel Maurer, Percy L., F. G., Diana S.,
Oswald, C. W. L., Mattie E. Wilson, F. R. Newton, May H.
* * * * *
Correct answers to puzzles received from Louie E., Mabel Lowell, "Red
Light," Bertie Collins, J. Turner, Mamie and Mattie S., Lily and Violet
Levéy, Loudon Engle, Georgie H. B., J. Cohen, G. K. Richards, Ernest B.
Cooper, Fannie Peirce, Fred Brown, Fred H. T., Johnny W., Kate H.
Talbot, Florence E. M., R. F. Losee, Otto M. Rau, Laura Wallis, Hen, A.
Brigham, Ralph M. Fay, H. K. Pryer, W. P. D. M., J. M. Rector, George
P. G., C. A. M., Peter Slane, Jessie Sansum, Emma Shaffer, J. D. P.,
Ralph and Blanche S., Walter K., Nena Crommelin, G. E. Edwards, Tillie
Mosley.
* * * * *
PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.
No. 1.
ENIGMA.
My first is in victim, but not in shoot.
My second is in blind, but not in mute.
My third is in rot, but not in decay.
My fourth is in linger, but not in stay.
My fifth is in bear, but not in man.
My sixth is in pot, but not in pan.
My whole is a beautiful flower.
JENNIE C. (10 years).
* * * * *
No. 2.
NUMERICAL CHARADE.
I am composed of 21 letters.
My 4, 9, 5 is a boy's name.
My 7, 17, 3, 1, 2 is white and sparkling.
My 10, 11, 13, 20, 15 is a beast.
My 19, 14, 18, 8 is not sweet.
My 16, 6, 12, 21 grows on pine-trees.
My whole is a delight to all boys.
FRANK C. (12 years).
* * * * *
No. 3.
HIDDEN CITIES.
1. Play till dinner, Rosa; then sit and sew. 2. It either lies on the
floor or leans against the wall. 3. The ship came into port on last
Friday. 4. We walked over to Aunt Mary's. 5. How that dog ran! Ada could
not catch it. 6. Go take a nap, Leslie; you look worn out. 7. The dog is
mad; ride away quickly. 8. What made papa rise and dress so early this
morning? 9. Why is Hesba sleepy to-day? 10. Be sure you come in
December; Linton will be here then. 11. I laid a lily on Sadie's plate.
FANNY P. (12 years).
* * * * *
No. 4.
ENIGMA.
My first is in candle, but not in lamp.
My second is in dark, and also in damp.
My third is in night, but not in day.
My fourth is in bed, but not in lay.
My fifth is in alley, but not in street.
My whole is something very sweet.
LAURA B. W.
* * * * *
No. 5.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
An ancient nation. A screen. To be silent. A country in Asia. Grain. A
noise made by certain animals. Answer--Two rivers in the United States.
MARIE D. (12 years).
* * * * *
No. 6.
ENIGMA.
My first is in warm, but not in cold.
My second is in deck, but not in hold.
My third is in lady, but not in man.
My fourth is in meal, but not in bran.
My fifth is in nick, but not in batter.
My sixth is in din, but not in clatter.
My seventh is in fright, but not in scare.
My eighth is in stallion, but not in mare.
My ninth is in county, but not in State.
My tenth is in manner, but not in gait.
And in these lines there can be found
The name of a general much renowned.
C. A. M.
* * * * *
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN NO. 18.
No. 1.
Cincinnati.
No. 2.
N antucke T
A thlon E
S aigo N
H udso N
V enic E
I llinoi S
L ewi S
L ouisvill E
E ri E
Nashville, Tennessee
No. 3.
Cellar.
No. 4.
B O N E
O V A L
N A I L
E L L A
No. 5.
C
A L E
C L E A R
E A R
R
No. 6.
Abraham Lincoln.
* * * * *
Charade on page 232--Brigade.
ADVERTISEMENTS.
CANDY
Send one, two, three, or five dollars for a sample box, by express, of
the best Candies in America, put up elegantly and strictly pure. Refers
to all Chicago. Address
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Confectioner,
78 MADISON STREET, CHICAGO.
=KEEP YOUR BIRD= IN HEALTH AND SONG by using =SINGER'S PATENT GRAVEL
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OUR CHILDREN'S SONGS.
* * * * *
Our Children's Songs. Illustrated. 8vo, Ornamental Cover, $1.00.
* * * * *
The best compilation of songs for the children that we have ever
seen.--_New Bedford Mercury._
This is a large collection of songs for the nursery, for childhood, for
boys and for girls, and sacred songs for all. The range of subjects is a
wide one, and the book is handsomely illustrated.--_Philadelphia
Ledger._
It contains some of the most beautiful thoughts for children that ever
found vent in poesy, and beautiful "pictures to match."--_Chicago
Evening Journal._
An excellent anthology of juvenile poetry, covering the whole range of
English and American literature.--_Independent_, N. Y.
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
any part of the United States, on receipt of the price._
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, $1.31; or, separately, in Cloth, Part I.,
53 cents; Part II., 56 cents; Part III., 56 cents.
* * * * *
A beautiful and useful work. It presents a general survey of the kingdom
of nature in a manner adapted to attract the attention of the child, and
at the same time to furnish him with accurate and important scientific
information. While the work is well suited as a class-book for schools,
its fresh and simple style cannot fail to render it a great favorite for
family reading.
The Three Parts of this book can be had in separate volumes by those who
desire it. This will be advisable when the book is to be used in
teaching quite young children, especially in schools.
* * * * *
Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.
_Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on
receipt of the price._
CHILDREN'S
PICTURE-BOOKS.
Square 4to, about 300 pages each, beautifully printed on Tinted
Paper, embellished with many Illustrations, bound in Cloth, $1.50
per volume.
The Children's Picture-Book of Sagacity of Animals.
With Sixty Illustrations by HARRISON WEIR.
The Children's Bible Picture-Book.
With Eighty Illustrations, from Designs by STEINLE, OVERBECK,
VEIT, SCHNORR, &c.
The Children's Picture Fable-Book.
Containing One Hundred and Sixty Fables. With Sixty Illustrations
by HARRISON WEIR.
The Children's Picture-Book of Birds.
With Sixty-one Illustrations by W. HARVEY.
The Children's Picture-Book of Quadrupeds and other Mammalia.
With Sixty-one Illustrations by W. HARVEY.
* * * * *
Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.
_Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on
receipt of the price._
Old Books for Young Readers.
* * * * *
Arabian Nights' Entertainments.
The Thousand and One Nights; or, The Arabian Nights'
Entertainments. Translated and Arranged for Family Reading, with
Explanatory Notes, by E. W. LANE. 600 Illustrations by Harvey. 2
vols., 12mo, Cloth, $3.50.
Robinson Crusoe.
The Life and Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York,
Mariner. By DANIEL DEFOE. With a Biographical Account of Defoe.
Illustrated by Adams. Complete Edition. 12mo, Cloth, $1.50.
The Swiss Family Robinson.
The Swiss Family Robinson; or, Adventures of a Father and Mother
and Four Sons on a Desert Island. Illustrated. 2 vols., 18mo,
Cloth, $1.50.
The Swiss Family Robinson--Continued: being a Sequel to the
Foregoing. 2 vols., 18mo, Cloth, $1.50.
Sandford and Merton.
The History of Sandford and Merton. By THOMAS DAY. 18mo, Half
Bound, 75 cents.
* * * * *
Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.
_Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on
receipt of the price._
[Illustration: EASTER REVERSES.--]
"Break, break, break,
For the tables are turned, we see;
And the damaged heads of the boys that are 'bumped'
Are warnings to you and me."
TENNYSON (_altered eg(g)regiously for the occasion_).
[Illustration: SOLUTIONS BY SUBSCRIBERS TO WIGGLE No. 9, AND A NEW
WIGGLE, No. 10.]
WIGGLES.
Drawings of Wiggle No. 9, given on page 184 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No.
15, have been sent in by Alph A. H., J. M. W., R. B. C., F. H. Denman,
Arthur H. Spear, G. L., Isabelle Oakey, "Trombone-blower," J. H. G.,
John Peddle, Laura C. Parmelli, F. S. J., John T. Hall, Fred Houston,
Ettie Houston, J. G. T., Harry Austin, D. W. C. F., Willie H. Speller,
M. D. J., Lena E. Schmidt, Harry Moore, G. H. Fisher, Miriam Hill, John
G. Wilson, William Atkinson, Mabel Lowell, Walter Stillman, Mabel H.,
J. R. G., R. S. G., J. S. E., Josie Vail, W. C. N., Willie R. H.,
E. J. B., K. T., Entomologist, Bertha Childs, J. R., John H. Grensel,
J. H. G., R. C. Jopp, Karst, B. R. I., I. H. J., George Town, Russ,
C. T. Hamilton, Leon M. Forbes, W. F. Pinkham, E. T. J., M. H. V., Jessy
Sander, Amenia G. Alger, Frank M. Richards, Morton D. H., F. G. Wurdman,
K. T., Herbie Ferguson, C. H. Theberath, Willie H. Spiller, J. K. M.,
Dollie Murdock, Theo. F. John, Percy and George, Aggie R. H., G. S. D.,
Matthew Latin, Julia West, Olive Russell, Charles Conner, Willie R. C.
Corson, Effie E. Parks, Margaret E., Carter Colquitt, M. O. K., Mattie
L. F., B. H. Smith, Irwin McDowell, C. H. A., F. E. G., and E. We have
only room to publish some of the best of the many drawings offered. Fig.
No. 10 is a new Wiggle; now let us see what you can do with it.
End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, March 23, 1880, by Various
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