Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, May 10, 1881, by Various
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Title: Harper's Young People, May 10, 1881
An Illustrated Weekly
Author: Various
Release Date: December 13, 2014 [EBook #47656]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, MAY 10, 1881 ***
Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. II.--NO. 80. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, May 10, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: PAUL REVERE AT LEXINGTON.--DRAWN BY HOWARD PYLE.]
HOURS WITH THE OCTOGENARIANS.
BY BENSON J. LOSSING.
Between thirty and forty years ago I went on a pilgrimage to places
hallowed by events of the great and successful struggle of Americans for
freedom and independence.
I there found many things and persons remaining as mementos of that
contest. All were hoary with age, and some were crumbling and tottering
ruins. All were rapidly passing within the veil of human forgetfulness,
for houses, fortifications, battle-fields, and men and women would soon
become only pictures on Memory's wall.
From the lips of the venerable men and women whom I saw I heard
thrilling narratives of their experience in those days of strife. In
hidden recesses of memory and in written notes I preserved those
narratives for the entertainment and instruction of the youth of this
generation, hoping to be with them to tell the tales myself. Here I am,
and I propose to relate to the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE some of the
stories I then received from living lips. I will begin with the story of
THE FIFER OF LEXINGTON.
Lexington! Concord! What American boy or girl has not heard of these two
little villages in Massachusetts, where the first blow was struck for
independence, and where the hot flames of the Revolution first burst
out, on the 19th of April, 1775? One of my first pilgrimages was to
these villages.
It was a bright, sunny morning in October, 1848, when I travelled by
railway from Boston to Concord--a distance of seventeen miles northwest
of the New England capital. There I spent an hour with Major Barrett and
his wife, who "saw the British scamper," and had lived together almost
sixty years. The Major was hale at eighty-seven, and his wife, almost as
old, seemed as nimble of foot as a matron in middle life. She was a
vivacious little woman, well-formed, and retained traces of the beauty
of her girlhood.
After visiting the place of the skirmish at Concord, I rode in a private
vehicle to Lexington, six miles eastward, through a picturesque and
fertile country, and entered the famous village at the Green whereon
that skirmish occurred, and where a commemorative monument now stands.
After a brief interview with two or three aged persons there, we drove
to the house of Jonathan Harrington, in East Lexington, who, a lad
seventeen years old, had opened the ball of the Revolution on the
memorable April morning with the war-notes of the shrill fife.
As we halted before the house of Mr. Harrington, at a little past noon,
we saw an old man wielding an axe vigorously in splitting fire-wood in
his yard. I entered the gate, and introduced myself and my errand. The
old man was the venerable fifer.
"Come in and rest yourself," he said, kindly, as he led the way into the
house.
Although he was then past ninety years of age, he appeared no older than
many men do at seventy. His form was nearly erect, his voice was firm,
his complexion was fair, his placid face was lighted by mild blue eyes,
and had but few deep wrinkles, and his hair, not all white, was very
abundant. I took a seat on a chintz-covered lounge, and he sat in a
Boston rocking-chair.
"I have come," I said, "to make some inquiries about the battle of
Lexington."
"It wasn't a battle," he answered; "only a skirmish."
"It was a sharp one," I said.
"Yes, pretty sharp, pretty sharp," he replied, thoughtfully. "Eight fine
young men out of a hundred were killed; two of them my blood-relations."
"I understand you played the fife on that morning," I said.
"As well as I could," he replied. "I taught myself to play the year
before, when the minute-men were training; and I was the only person in
Lexington who knew how to fife. That ain't saying much, though, for then
there were only eight or ten houses in the village besides the
meeting-house."
"Did you belong to the minute-men?" I asked.
"I was a minute-_boy_. They asked me to fife, to help Joe Burton make
music with his drum for Captain Parker's company. Poor Joe! His
drum-head was smashed, and he lost a little finger in the fight. Captain
Parker's company was drilled the night before the fight, for Sol Brown,
our nearest neighbor, came from Boston at sunset, and said he had seen
nine British soldiers in overcoats walking toward Lexington. Sam Adams
and John Hancock were at Parson Clark's house, where Dorothy Quincy,
Hancock's sweetheart, was staying. Gage wanted to catch and hang 'em,
and it was believed the soldiers Sol had seen had been sent out to seize
'em that night. A guard of eight men under Sergeant Munroe (who kept a
tavern here) was stationed around Parson Clark's house. A little past
midnight Paul Revere--you've heard of Revere--came riding like mad from
Cambridge, his horse all afoam, for the weather was uncommonly warm. He
told Munroe he wanted to see Hancock. 'He didn't want to be disturbed by
noise,' said the Sergeant. 'Noise!' said Revere; 'you'll have noise
enough soon, for the regulars are coming!' Hancock heard him, and
opening a window, called out, 'Revere, I know you; come in.' He went
into the house a moment, then came out, mounted his horse, and started
on a gallop toward Concord. Very soon everybody in Lexington was astir."
"Were you on duty then?" I inquired.
"No," he said. "I went to bed at eleven o'clock, and, as all boys should
do, slept soundly. My mother (who was a Dunster, and one of the most
patriotic women of the time) called out to me at three o'clock:
'Jonathan! Jonathan! get up. The regulars are coming, and something must
be done.' I dressed quickly, slung my light gun over my shoulder, took
my fife from a chair, and hurried to the parade near the meeting-house,
where about fifty men had gathered, and others were arriving every
minute. By four o'clock a hundred men were there. We did not wait long
wondering whether the regulars were really coming, for a man dashed up
to Captain Parker and told him they were close by. The Captain
immediately ordered Joe to beat the drum, and I fifed with all my might.
Alarm-guns were instantly fired to call distant minute-men to duty.
Lights were now seen moving in all the houses. Daylight came at half
past four o'clock. Just then the regulars, who had heard the drum-beat,
rushed toward us, and their leader shouted, 'Disperse, you rebels!' We
stood still. He repeated the order with an oath, fired his pistol, and
ordered his men to shoot. Only a few obeyed. Nobody was hurt, and we
supposed their guns were loaded only with powder. We had been ordered
not to fire first, and so we stood still. The angry leader of the
regulars then gave another order for them to fire, when a volley killed
or wounded several of our company. Seeing the regulars endeavoring to
surround us, Captain Parker ordered us to retreat. As we fled, some
shots were sent back. Joe and I climbed a fence near Parson Clark's
house, and took to the woods near by. Climbing over, Joe fell upon a
heap of stones, and crushed in his drum-head. His hand was bleeding
badly, and he found a bullet had carried off a part of his little
finger. Eight of our men had lost their lives."
"Where were Adams and Hancock all this time?" I inquired.
"Not far off," he replied. "When the first shots were heard, they were
advised to fly to a place of safety, for their lives were too valuable
to the public to be lost. At first they refused to go, but were finally
persuaded, and retired to a thick wooded hill not far off. Dorothy
Quincy went with her lover. They were married in the fall. It is said
Sam Adams, hearing the firing on the Green, exclaimed, 'What a glorious
morning for America is this!' I have no doubt he said so, for it was
just like him."
"You said two of your blood-relations perished in that fight," I
observed.
"Yes," he replied; "they were Jonathan and Caleb Harrington. Caleb, and
Joe Comer, who lived a mile from Lexington, had gone into the
meeting-house to get some powder stored in the loft. They had taken it
to the gallery when the British reached the meeting-house. They flew to
the door, and started on a run for the company. Caleb was shot dead at
the west end of the meeting-house, but Joe, though wounded, escaped.
Jonathan had stood his ground with the rest. His house was near the
meeting-house. He was in front of his own house when the regulars fired
the third time. He was shot in the breast, and fell. His wife, Ruth,
stood looking out of the window, with their only child, nine years old,
by her side. She saw her husband fall, and ran out to help him. He
raised up, stretched his arms toward her, fell again, and was dead
before she could get to him. Oh, it was too cruel, too cruel!"
"There were brave men in that little band of patriots," I remarked.
"Brave men!" said the old man, his mild eyes beaming with unusual
lustre, "braver men never lived. Not one of them left his post until
Captain Parker, seeing it was useless to fight against so many regulars,
told them to disperse. There was one man who wouldn't go even then. It
was Jonas Parker of this town. He lived near Parson Clark's. He had said
he would never run from an enemy, and he didn't. He had loaded his
musket, put his hat, containing powder, wadding, and bullets, between
his feet, and so faced the regulars. At the second fire he was wounded,
and fell on his knees. Then he fired his gun; and, though he was dying,
he reached for another charge in his hat, when a big red-coat killed him
with a bayonet on the very spot where Jonas first stood. Wasn't that
pluck?"
"Rare pluck," I answered. "The names of such men should never be
forgotten."
"They never will be," replied the old patriot, excitedly. "Their names
are all cut deep in marble on the little monument down yonder on the
Green--Robert Munroe, Jonas Parker, Samuel Hadley, Jonathan Harrington,
Jun., Isaac Muzzy, Caleb Harrington, John Brown, and Asahel Porter.
Should the marble perish, their names are cut deeper in the memory of
Americans."
"You said it was a warm night when Paul Revere rode from Cambridge to
Lexington," I said.
"Yes," he replied; "it was a very early spring. Young leaves appeared on
the 1st of April. The grass on the village green was so tall on the
morning of the 19th that it waved in the light wind that was blowing. At
noon that day, when the British were driven from Concord, the
quicksilver was eighty-five degrees in the shade, and the door-yards
were bright with dandelions. The minute-men made it hotter than
that--full a hundred in the shade--for the British before they got back
to Cambridge that evening."
"Did you serve in the army afterward?" I inquired.
"No," he said; "father went to the war, and I staid at home to help
mother take care of things, for I was the oldest boy. I played the fife
sometimes after that when the young men in the neighborhood were
training for the fight."
By permission of Mr. Harrington I drew a likeness of him sitting in his
rocking-chair; and under it he wrote, with a trembling hand--which he
attributed to the use of the axe that morning--
JONATHAN HARRINGTON,
Aged 90, the 8th July, 1848.
His brother Charles, two years younger than he, came in before I had
finished the sketch. I could not but look with wonder and reverence upon
these strong old men--children of one mother, who had borne five sons
and three daughters--who were nearly grown to manhood when the old war
for independence broke out. I bade them farewell, received from the old
fifer the benediction "God bless you!" went back to the village green,
sketched the monument, and called upon their kinsman, Abijah Harrington,
who was a lad fourteen years of age at the time of the skirmish. He saw
nearly all of the fight. He had two brothers in it, and had been sent by
his mother, trembling on account of her sons, to watch the fray at a
safe distance, and obtain for her information concerning her brave boys.
They escaped unhurt.
From Mr. Harrington's I went to the house of Parson Clark, where I found
Mrs. Margaret Chandler, a remarkably intelligent old lady, then
eighty-three years of age. She had lived in that house ever since the
Revolution, had a clear recollection of events at Lexington on the
memorable April morning, and gave me a version of the escape of Adams
and Hancock somewhat different from that given me by the venerable
fifer. A few more words about the latter.
On the seventy-fifth anniversary of the affair at Lexington and Concord
(1850), Jonathan Harrington was invited to participate with his
fellow-citizens in the proceedings of the day. In the procession was a
carriage containing Jonathan, aged ninety-two, his brother Charles, aged
ninety, Amos Baker, aged ninety-four, Thomas Hill, aged ninety-two, and
Dr. Preston, aged eighty-four. Jonathan gave as a toast at dinner: "_The
19th of April, 1775. All who remember that day will support the
Constitution of the United States._"
The Hon. Edward Everett made a speech on that occasion, in which he
remarked that "it pleased his heart to see these venerable men beside
him, and he was very much pleased to assist Mr. Jonathan Harrington to
put on his top-coat a few minutes ago. In doing so, he was ready to say,
with David, 'Very pleasant art thou to me, my brother Jonathan!'"
Late in March, 1854, when he was almost ninety-six years of age,
Jonathan Harrington died, and was buried with public honors. In the
funeral procession was a large body of military as an escort, and the
hearse was followed by the committee of arrangements, the Governor of
Massachusetts, the Lieutenant-Governor and Council, and a vast multitude
of citizens gathered from the neighboring towns. After impressive
religious services in the church at Lexington, his remains were
deposited in the family tomb.
Sacred be the memory of the FIFER OF LEXINGTON!
CANARIES AND OTHER CAGE-BIRDS.
I can not remember the time when we had not a canary or a pet bird of
some kind. My brother Ned, when he was a boy at home, had a great fancy
for canaries and bullfinches, and he had one of the latter which he
taught to whistle very beautifully the tune of "Ye banks and braes o'
Bonnie Doon." The bullfinch's cage hung side by side with that of a
canary, and after a time the canary caught the trick of whistling too,
and although he could not do it so well as the bullfinch, yet he managed
one or two lines very well. When the bullfinch died, the canary
gradually forgot the art he had learned, and by-and-by he gave up
whistling altogether, though he never forgot how to sing. There are
many varieties of canaries, some of them very odd-looking birds indeed.
There are bright yellow ones and orange-colored ones, and one family,
called Lizards, are of a beautiful green color. Then there are canaries
with tufts of feathers on their heads just like little caps; these are
called Norwich canaries.
The Belgian canary is a tall bird, with very high shoulders, and its
head, instead of standing erect, bends down and hangs forward a long way
below its shoulders. It is one of the most interesting things I know to
rear a brood of young birds. Mrs. Canary takes charge of the eggs, and
sits upon them patiently day by day, whilst Mr. Canary looks after the
food for madame, and then sits down by her side, and sings his loudest,
sweetest songs to cheer her in her trying, wearying task. By-and-by the
time arrives for the young canaries to appear, and then there is a
pretty fluster in the nest, I assure you. The cock looks as important as
an alderman, and the hen can hardly be persuaded to leave the nest, even
for her food. At last the young birds break through the shells, and the
first thing they do is to open their big mouths for something to eat.
This the happy parents readily and promptly supply, and if all goes well
the youngsters soon grow out of their babyhood, and learn to feed
themselves.
But things do not always go well, especially if you happen to have a cat
or a dog in the house, or, as happened to me on one occasion, both. I
had a splendid Norwich canary, with a top-knot, which was the admired of
all admirers. He used to sing all day long in my room; but one day, the
servant having moved the cage into another room, Carlo and Tom got at
it, and frightened my poor pet to death.
Carlo was ashamed of himself as soon as he had knocked over the cage,
but Tom was a fierce old cat, and made such efforts to get at the canary
that the poor little thing died from sheer fright. I do not like to see
birds confined to very small cages, especially where more than one is
kept. It is best to give them plenty of air, and room to fly about in.
The best of all is an aviary where they can move as freely as if they
were out-of-doors. I know a gentleman who has by kindness got quite a
collection of birds to come into his garden and make their homes there
without living in confinement at all.
[Illustration: JAMES T. FIELDS'S LIBRARY.]
JAMES T. FIELDS'S LAST POEM.
The following poem was written by Mr. James T. Fields, of Boston, for
HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, only a few days before his death, which took
place on the 25th of April. It is the last poem that he wrote, and will
therefore have an interest for our readers apart from its merit. Mr.
Fields was for many years a partner in the publishing house of Ticknor &
Fields, afterward, on the death of Mr. Ticknor, changed to that of
Fields, Osgood, & Co. On retiring from business, several years ago, Mr.
Fields devoted himself to literature, and published several popular
books. He was a kind-hearted man, and helped many young men and women,
who never went to him in vain for encouragement and assistance. Like the
English poet Wordsworth, he believed that men should never mix
"their pleasure or their pride
With suffering to the meanest thing that feels,"
and his last poem shows how strongly he could plead for a poor brute
creature in distress.
ROVER'S PETITION.
"Kind traveller, do not pass me by,
And thus a poor old dog forsake;
But stop a moment on your way,
And hear my woe, for pity's sake!
"My name is Rover; yonder house
Was once my home for many a year;
My master loved me; every hand
Caressed young Rover, far and near.
"The children rode upon my back,
And I could hear my praises sung;
With joy I licked their pretty feet,
As round my shaggy sides they clung.
"I watched them while they played or slept;
I gave them all I had to give;
My strength was theirs from morn till night;
For only them I cared to live.
"Now I am old, and blind, and lame,
They've turned me out to die alone,
Without a shelter for my head,
Without a scrap of bread or bone.
"This morning I can hardly crawl,
While shivering in the snow and hail;
My teeth are dropping one by one;
I scarce have strength to wag my tail.
"I'm palsied grown with mortal pains,
My withered limbs are useless now;
My voice is almost gone, you see,
And I can hardly make my bow.
"Perhaps you'll lead me to a shed
Where I may find some friendly straw
On which to lay my aching limbs,
And rest my helpless broken paw.
"Stranger, excuse this story long,
And pardon, pray, my last appeal:
You've owned a dog yourself, perhaps,
And learned that dogs, like men, can _feel_."
Yes, poor old Rover, come with me;
Food, with warm shelter, I'll supply--
And Heaven forgive the cruel souls
Who drove you forth to starve and die!
THE CRUISE OF THE "GHOST."
BY W. L. ALDEN,
AUTHOR OF "THE MORAL PIRATES," ETC.
CHAPTER I.
The boys had talked all winter of the cruise which they hoped to take in
a sail-boat during the coming summer, and they spent a great many
Saturday afternoons at boat yards and places in New York, Jersey City,
and Brooklyn, where sail-boats are laid up for the winter. They found
several cat-boats that suited them very well, and that could be bought
at a low price; but they did not find it so easy to convince Uncle John
that a sail-boat cruise would be a safe enterprise for boys so young as
Tom Schuyler, Jim and Joe Sharpe, and Harry Wilson. They did not say
much about it to Mr. Schuyler, Mr. Sharpe, or Harry's father, for, as
Joe pointed out, when Uncle John Wilson gave his consent, it would be
time enough to speak to them. "If I go now," he said, "and ask father if
I can go cruising in a cat-boat, he'll say, 'Most certainly not, my son;
boys have no business with sail-boats.' But if Uncle John goes to him,
and tells him all about it, he'll be perfectly satisfied, and say, 'My
son, I think you had better do as Mr. Wilson suggests.'" Joe was quite
right, for Mr. Sharpe, while he knew nothing about boats, had entire
confidence in Mr. John Wilson's prudence and judgment; and though he
would have been very apt to refuse to give his sons permission to go
sailing--on any ordinary occasion--he would have consented to any plan
proposed by so careful and trustworthy a man as Uncle John was known to
be.
When the sail-boat cruise was first proposed to Uncle John, he was not
inclined to think well of it. "You've been Moral Pirates in a row-boat,"
said he, "and now you want to try Moral Piracy in a sail-boat. To tell
you the truth, boys, I don't half like the idea. To manage a sail-boat
requires more coolness and judgment than boys generally have, so I don't
think the Department will be able to put a sail-boat in commission this
year."
It was not until Uncle John found that the water in the bays on the
south side of Long Island, where Tom Schuyler wanted to cruise, was in
nearly all places too shallow for drowning purposes, that he consented
to say that he would "think about" the sail-boat plan. He thought about
it for some time without seeing any good reason to approve of it. He
told Tom that while it was true that the water in the bay was deep only
in certain narrow steamboat channels, a sail-boat might capsize in one
of these very channels. Besides, if one of the boys were to fall
overboard, the sail-boat could not pick him up as quickly as he could be
picked up were he to fall out of a row-boat. "After all," he added, "the
real difficulty is that not one of you is accustomed to manage a
sail-boat, and that is a difficulty which we can't get over."
The boys still continued to talk among themselves about their desired
cruise, without giving up the hope that Uncle John would change his
mind, and when spring came something happened that did make him change
it. Tom received a letter from his friend Charley Smith, who was in the
Naval Academy at Annapolis, saying that he would come and spend the
months of July and August with him. Now Charley was a very fine fellow,
nearly a year older than Tom. He had been two years at the Academy, and
was already a good sailor. Tom immediately wrote to him and asked him
how he would like to be captain of a sail-boat, and go on a cruise
through the south bays. Charley was delighted with the plan, and wrote
to his guardian--for he had no father nor mother--and easily obtained
his consent.
Now Uncle John knew Charley Smith well, and thought very highly of him,
and when Tom came to him and showed him Charley's letter, he said at
once that the Department of Moral Piracy would be glad to put Captain
Charles Smith in command of a cat-boat.
"My dear boy," he continued, "I hated to say no when you proposed your
plan, and I am as pleased as you are now that I can conscientiously
approve of it. Charley is perfectly competent to manage a sail-boat, and
if he will take charge of the boat, and you and the other boys will obey
his orders, you shall have your cruise if I can bring it about."
And he did bring it about, as Joe said he would. Mr. Sharpe, Mr.
Schuyler, and Harry's father all gave their consent when Uncle John
explained the matter to them; and when this important business was
settled, Uncle John went with the boys to select a boat.
They found one at Gowanus which they all agreed was just the boat they
wanted. She was twenty feet long, with plenty of beam, and with room
under her forward deck to carry a good deal of cargo. She was only two
or three years old, and was perfectly sound and very strong. There was a
good copper pump fastened to the after-end of the centre-board trunk,
and all she seemed to need to fit her for immediate use was a good coat
of paint. The boatman from whom she was bought was ordered to deliver
her at Harlem, and the boys went home delighted.
For the next few weeks the boys went to look at the boat at least twice
a week, and devoted most of their spare time in drawing up lists of
things to be taken with them on the cruise, and to studying the Coast
Survey charts of the south shore of Long Island. Tom contrived a plan
for making a cabin to be used at night. He had small iron sockets placed
at each end of the cockpit so as to hold two upright sticks. Across
these an oar was laid for a ridge-pole, and over the ridge-pole was
stretched a piece of canvas, the sides of which were tied to rings
fastened on the outside of the washboard. In this way the cockpit was
entirely covered, and in the cabin thus formed the boys could lie or sit
on the bottom of the boat and keep perfectly dry in the heaviest shower.
Of course this cabin, or tent, could be used only when the sail was
furled, and the boom hoisted a foot, so as to be out of the way, but it
was not intended to use it except at night, when the boat would be at
anchor or moored to the shore.
The various lists of stores drawn up by the boys showed that their
cruise in the _Whitewing_ had taught them what things were necessary and
what things were unnecessary for a long boating expedition. Uncle John
had cushions made for the seats, not, as he told the boys, because they
needed cushions to sit on, but because these cushions could be laid on
the bottom of the boat at night and used as mattresses. This
particularly pleased Joe Sharpe, who had put down on his list, "Thirty
pounds of tenpenny nails for a bed." He said, in explanation of this:
"I'm tired of sleeping on coffee-pots and tin cups, as I used to when we
slept in the _Whitewing_, and I thought some good big nails would be a
good deal more comfortable. However, if Uncle John supplies mattresses,
I'll cross off the nails, for I don't think they would be quite as
comfortable as a mattress."
As on their former cruise, the boys decided to wear only blue flannel
shirts and trousers, and to take neither coats nor waistcoats. Of course
each one had a change of clothes, besides a blanket and a rubber
blanket, but Harry's proposal that they should take rubber overcoats
with them was voted down. When Uncle John came to look over their lists,
he found scarcely a single article which could be spared, with the
exception of Tom's cannon. This was an iron cannon about a foot long,
and with an inch bore, and the boys were so anxious to take it with them
that Uncle John consented, telling them that it might prove useful in
the way of ballast should any of their sand-bags be lost overboard.
[Illustration: "I DON'T LIKE HER AT ALL."]
It was decided not to paint the boat or to name her until Charley Smith
should see her. On the 1st of July he arrived in town, and was met by
the boys, who instantly carried him to Harlem to show him the boat. They
expected that he would be delighted with her; but what was their dismay
when, after looking at her for a few minutes in silence, he answered
Tom's question, "How do you like her?" by saying, gravely, "I don't like
her at all."
"Why, what in the world is the matter with her?" demanded Tom, while the
others looked wonderingly at the young sailor who did not like their
beautiful boat.
"Nothing that can't be cured," answered Charley. "The trouble with her
is that she's a cat-boat, and a cat-boat is just the meanest kind of
boat in the world."
"Can't we turn her into a dog-boat or a horse-boat?" asked Joe. "To tell
the truth, boys, I don't believe a cat-boat can be good for much if she
is anything like a cat. I wonder if cat-boats can climb back fences and
howl?"
"I always thought that a cat-boat was the best kind of sail-boat anybody
could have," said Tom. "There's only one sail and three ropes to
handle."
"There are two reasons why a cat-boat isn't fit for a cruise where you
are liable to meet all kinds of weather," replied Charley. "One is that
you can't run before a gale with her. You've no sail except the
mainsail, and even if you close reef it and drop the peak, you will
sometimes have more sail than the boat ought to carry. Then, when you're
scudding, the boom is apt to roll under, and if this happens when it is
blowing hard, and there's a good deal of sea on, you'll capsize so quick
that you won't have time to put on your overshoes."
"But what good would overshoes do you in deep water?" asked Tom.
Charley smiled, but did not answer him. "The other reason why I don't
like a cat-boat is that she won't work to windward with her peak
dropped. If you are sailing in a wind, no matter how hard it blows, you
must keep the peak up, or you can't keep the boat from falling off. I
don't care how many rows of reef-points the sailmaker may have put on
the sail, you can't reduce it to more than half its original size if you
expect the boat to beat to windward. If a cat-boat is caught in a heavy
gale blowing directly off shore, she can't carry sail enough to work
into the lee of the land, and she is liable to be blown a hundred miles
out to sea."
"What kind of a boat ought we to have, then?" inquired Tom, who did not
understand everything that Charley said, but who knew that he must be
right.
"A jib-and-mainsail boat, of course," replied Charley. "If you have to
scud, you can scud all day under your jib, and keep as dry as a bone,
and you can work her to windward with the mainsail close reefed. If you
have your jib sheets led aft, the boat can be handled by one man just as
easy as a cat-boat. The only thing a cat-boat is good for is sailing in
a dead calm on a mud-bank."
"But how can you sail if there's a dead calm?" asked Tom.
"What we ought to do with that boat," Charley continued, "is to step her
mast about eighteen inches aft of where it is stepped now. Then we can
rig out a bowsprit and put a jib on her. She ought to be lengthened at
the stern too, so that we could reach the end of the boom and put in a
reef without going ashore to do it."
"We might make the bowsprit ourselves," said Tom; "but we couldn't
lengthen her ourselves, and it would cost a good deal to get it done."
"I'll undertake to lengthen her myself," said Charley. "It won't cost us
anything but the price of a few nails and some pieces of wood."
"How on earth would you go to work?" cried Jim. "Do you mean to saw her
in two, put a piece in, and nail her together again?"
"Perhaps," said Joe, "he means to steam her, and then stretch her. If
you can bend wood by steaming it, you ought to be able to stretch it."
[Illustration: BUILDING THE "OVERHANG."]
"I'll show you what I mean if you fellows will only pay attention,"
replied Charley. "Now here's her transom, this flat board at her stern,
where her name ought to be painted. You see it's all above water, and
that the end of every plank is nailed to it. Now the first thing to do
is to take four pieces of joist--I believe that's what carpenters call
it--about four inches square, and bolt them to the transom. You want to
put them about six inches apart, and they must be just as long as the
transom is deep."
"I don't quite understand," said Tom, "what you mean by saying they must
be as long as the transom is deep."
"I mean that each piece that you bolt on must reach from the level of
the deck, that is, from the top of the transom, to the lower edge of the
transom."
"Oh, now I understand," exclaimed Tom.
"Very well. Now you want to take four pieces of inch plank, two feet
eleven inches long, and fasten them with screw-bolts to the side of each
piece of joist, so that they will extend in a straight line from the
stern. To the ends of these planks you must nail a new transom, which
will have to be smaller in every way than the old one, because the
lines of the boat, when carried out three feet, will approach each
other. After you have put braces between the pieces of plank, so as to
keep them firm, you must carry out your planking and your deck to the
new transom, and there you have your boat lengthened three feet. The
lengthened part will be all 'overhang,' but the boat will be all the
prettier for it."
"Won't she be very weak?" asked Tom.
"Not if you do the work carefully. The new planking mustn't all begin at
the old transom, or she wouldn't hold together; but if you cut every
other one of the old planks off at the first timber (rib, I suppose
you'd call it) forward of the transom, and fasten the end of the new
plank to this timber, and follow the same plan in carrying out the deck
planks, she'll be strong enough. We'll leave a hole in the deck for the
rudder head to come through, and will have to move the iron rod that the
sheet-block travels on a couple of feet further aft. I'd like no better
fun than to lengthen her, if you fellows would like to have me do it,
and we can get the tools."
The boys were greatly pleased with Charley's proposal. The boat, when
lengthened, and sloop-rigged, would, they thought, be a real yacht, and
altogether a much more imposing craft than a cat-boat. The matter was
laid before Uncle John that night, and he willingly agreed to pay the
cost of carrying out Charley's plans. "He is right," said Uncle John,
"about the rig, and I suppose he is right about lengthening the boat. He
shall have whatever he needs; but I hope you'll all remember that if the
Department spends all its money in fitting out this boat, you'll have to
turn round and keep the Department in food and clothes for the rest of
its days."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
THE DRAGON-KILLER.[1]
A STORY OF THE ISLAND OF RHODES.
BY DAVID KER.
[1] The name of dragon is often applied to large serpents by the old
chroniclers. The knight's exploit, which was performed in 1342, may
perhaps have given rise to our modern legend of St. George and the
Dragon.--D. K.
Many, many years ago, when the isle of Rhodes was still unconquered by
the Turks, and belonged to the Christian Knights of St. John, a great
crowd was gathered one morning in the streets of its capital, before the
fortress where the knights and their Grand Master lived. A grave-looking
man in the uniform of the Order (a long white frock, with a scarlet
cross on the breast) had just issued from one of the gates, side by side
with a herald bearing a trumpet. The herald blew three long blasts, and
the grave man cried aloud, "Thus saith Helion de Villeneuve, the most
noble Grand Master of the Order of St. John: Forasmuch as five knights
of the Order have fallen in combat with the dragon [serpent] that
dwelleth by the Mount of St. George, this adventure is henceforth
forbidden to all who wear the red cross, and he who shall presume to
disobey this command shall be disgraced and banished as a rebel."
The faces of the crowd grew blank with dismay as they listened; for this
serpent was the pest of the whole island, and had already destroyed many
of them. Their only hope lay in the Knights of St. John; and when they
heard that even these famous warriors were forbidden to fight for them,
they gave themselves up for lost, and went sadly home to tell the bad
news to their wives and children.
Amid the throng there were not a few of the knights themselves who
seemed quite as ill pleased as the rest, for these dangerous adventures
were just what they delighted in, and every man of them secretly hoped
to have the glory of delivering the island from the monster that was
laying it waste. But the Grand Master's commands were positive, and what
could they do? Biting their lips in stifled rage, the brave men turned
slowly away--all but _one_.
That one was a tall, noble-looking knight from Sicily, Dieudonné[2] de
Gozon by name. He had proved his courage in many a hard battle with the
Turks, and was held to be one of the bravest of the Order; and one might
see by his set lips and stern eyes that _he_ had no thought of giving up
the dragon adventure even now.
[2] God-given.
Long after all the rest had gone he stood motionless in the midst of the
empty market-place, with his arms folded upon his broad breast, buried
in thought. At length a sudden light broke over his downcast face, and
he moved away with a brisk step, as if he saw his way through the
difficulty at last.
The next morning De Gozon was nowhere to be found, and some of his
comrades said that he had got leave from the Grand Master to go home to
Sicily for a while, and no one thought any more about him.
But had they seen what he was doing in the mean time, it would have
puzzled them a good deal. The first thing he did on getting home was to
make a complete figure of the dragon-serpent with wood and canvas, and
to paint it as life-like as he could--scales, forked tongue, fiery eyes,
and all. Not much to be done _that_ way, you will say, toward killing
the monster; but wait a little.
The next thing was to buy two fierce hounds, for whom the killing of a
wolf or the pulling down of a full-grown deer (or of an armed man for
that matter) was a mere joke. Then he mounted his war-horse, called his
dogs, and went right up to the pictured figure of the monster. But at
the first glimpse of this hideous creature, uglier and stranger than
anything they had ever seen before, the hounds ran yelling away, and the
good steed reared so that he all but threw his rider.
This, however, was just what De Gozon expected, and he was not a whit
disheartened. He tried again and again, and yet again, until horse and
hounds were able to face the horrible figure without flinching. Then he
trained his dogs to throw themselves under it, and fasten their teeth in
its sides, where the flesh was soft and unprotected by scales; and the
dogs learned their lesson readily enough--so readily, indeed, that once
or twice they all but tore the figure to pieces. Then the knight thought
it time to begin his work, and sailed back to Rhodes again.
The moment he landed, off he set for the Mount of St. George,
accompanied only by the two esquires who served him. As he neared the
fatal spot, the hills around seemed to grow darker and steeper, and a
cloud came over the sun, and the gloomy gorge through which his path
began to wind looked blacker and drearier than ever. It was as if he
were going down alive into the grave. No sight, no sound, of life; the
whole place seemed smitten with a curse. Now, too, he began to see
fearful tokens of the monster's presence: here the skull of a horse,
there the half-devoured skeleton of a bullock, yonder a heap of rusty
armor, mingled with the crushed bones of some good knight who had gone
forth upon the same quest as himself, and never come back. Suddenly he
turned a sharp corner, and right before him yawned the black mouth of
the dismal cavern in which the destroyer had made its den.
Just across the valley, under an overhanging rock, stood a little
chapel, now silent and deserted, for those who used to pray there had
fled in terror, and the poor old priest who tended it had been devoured
by the serpent long ago. Kneeling before the moss-grown altar, the brave
man prayed to God to strengthen him in the battle, and help him to
destroy the enemy of the land.
Just then his horse started, and sent forth a neigh like a trumpet
blast. Out of the darkness of the cavern a huge flat head was rearing
itself, with its forked tongue quivering, and its sunken eyes
glittering fiercely at the sight of prey.
"Now, my friends," said De Gozon to his esquires, "draw back, and let me
try this fight alone. If it be God's will that I should conquer, He can
strengthen my single arm to do the work; if I am to die, better that one
life be lost than three."
There were tears in the eyes of the strong men as they listened, but
they knew better than to dispute their leader's will. They bowed in
silence, and drew back, while the knight, couching his lance, charged
furiously upon his terrible foe. But the spear slid harmlessly over the
slippery scales, and the monster's hot, foul breath and hideous aspect
proved too much for the good war-horse. He started back, and neither
spur nor call could urge him forward again.
There was but one thing to do, and De Gozon did it. Leaping to the
ground, he drew his sword, and renewed the attack on foot. A blow
fell--another--yet another. But the good blade which had cloven helmet
and turban like pasteboard fell vainly upon the tough, slimy body of the
reptile. One lash of that mighty tail, and down went De Gozon, stunned
and bleeding, with the terrible jaws gaping over him like the mouth of
the grave. The knight commended his soul to God, and thought all was
over.
But just then a fierce yell was heard, and in sprang the dogs, fixing
their teeth in the monster's undefended flesh with a grip that all its
struggles could not shake off. The pain paralyzed it for a moment, and
that moment was enough for the fallen knight to raise himself on his
elbow and plunge his sword hilt-deep in the snake's exposed side. One
mighty quiver ran through every coil of the huge body, and the terror of
the island lay dead upon the trampled grass, overwhelming its conqueror
in its fall.
Meanwhile the news that another champion had gone forth to meet the
dragon had run abroad like wild-fire, and when the fight began, hundreds
of trembling lookers-on were watching it from the surrounding hill-tops.
There was a groan of dismay when the knight's war-horse failed him, and
he had to face the monster on foot. When he was struck to the ground and
the huge jaws were seen gaping over him, the in-drawn breath of the
terrified crowd sounded like a hiss amid the dead silence; but when the
battle ended, and they saw their terrible enemy lying dead before them,
up went a shout that seemed to rend the very sky. Strangers embraced
each other like brothers; children clapped their hands, and shouted for
joy; women hid their faces, and wept aloud; and the whole throng poured
downward like a wave into the gloomy valley which they had so long
avoided like a plague-spot.
When De Gozon opened his eyes again, he found himself in the midst of
thousands of people, who were shouting his name, and blessing him as
their deliverer. His ride back to the town, with the dead monster in a
wagon behind him, was like a triumphal procession. Every one struggled
for a sight of him. Flowers and laurel leaves were showered upon him
from the windows. Even the stately Knights of St. John lent their voices
to swell the cheering; and so the great procession swept on to the hall
of the Order, and into the court where the Grand Master was sitting in
his chair of state, with his chosen knights around him.
As soon as the uproar lulled a little, De Gozon told his story in a
quiet, matter-of-fact way which showed that _he_ had no wish to make
much of what he had done. Every one expected to see the Grand Master
start up and embrace him; but the old knight sat firm as a rock, and his
face was very grim.
"Thou hast done a great deed," said he at last; "but tell me, what is
the _first_ duty of every true knight?"
"To obey," answered the dragon-slayer, with a faint flush on his
sun-browned cheek.
"And how hast _thou_ obeyed?" asked the Grand Master, sternly. "Is it
not written in our laws that no knight of the Order shall undertake any
adventure without the bidding of his chief? _Thou_ hast acted not only
without my bidding, but against it; and in the ranks of our Order there
is no place for one who sets his own will before his vow of obedience.
Loose that cross from thy breast, and begone!"
The crowd stood aghast at hearing this terrible rebuke given to their
hero, and all eyes were turned expectantly upon him. For a moment he
stood like one thunder-struck; then, without a word, he took the scarlet
cross from his breast, laid it meekly at the Grand Master's feet, and
turned to depart.
Then the old man's iron face yielded suddenly, as ice yields at the
coming of spring. He leaped from his chair, and rushing after the
banished man, threw his arms round him like a father embracing his
child.
"Come back, my son," he cried, "and take up again that cross which none
is worthier to wear. He who in his hour of triumph could bear without a
murmur such a reproof as mine, deserves to be not only a knight of our
Order, but its head; and when it shall please God to call me, I shall be
well content to have _thee_ my successor."
And a very few years later De Gozon did succeed the old warrior as Grand
Master of the Order, and is still remembered as the best and kindliest
chief who ever ruled it. If you ever go to Rhodes (as I did a few years
ago), you will see there, unless the Turks have destroyed it, an old
tomb, quaintly carved, bearing this inscription, "Here lies Dieudonné de
Gozon, the Dragon-killer."
[Illustration: A MAY PARTY.--DRAWN BY W. M. CARY.]
[Illustration: THE KNITTING BEE.--ENGRAVED BY J. TINKEY, FROM A PAINTING
BY G. H. STORY.]
BOB PERKINS'S PARCEL.
A STORY FROM CHICAGO.
BY A. A. HAYES, JUN.
A good many boys who read this story may live in Chicago, or have made a
visit to that great Western city, but those who have never been there
must hope to see it some day. It lies on one of the great lakes, so much
like the ocean that one can hardly believe that he has not been
transported, on the back of the Enchanted Horse, over a thousand miles
of land, and is looking at the broad Atlantic. Certainly that is what
young Bob Perkins thought as he entered the city one pleasant morning
about ten years ago. He had come from New York with his father, who had
business in Chicago which would probably detain him for a year or more,
and had therefore taken his family with him to reside there. They left
New York at night, and Bob saw Niagara Falls for the first time as the
train crossed the famed Suspension-Bridge the next day. In the morning
he had seen the Falls of the Genesee at Rochester, and been told of the
useless feat in which Sam Patch lost his life, saying that "some things
could be done as well as others," and then leaping to his death. He was
thus better prepared to appreciate the splendid achievement of which his
father told him as the train, weighing many, many tons, rolled slowly
across the bridge hung by wire cables over the roaring and foaming
rapids. It seems that when Mr. Roebling, the engineer, made known his
plans, people declared that they were foolish and dangerous, and that
such a bridge could not be made safe enough to support carriages, much
less a train. He did not argue with them, but he did something which,
while quite convincing to the public, showed a rare faith in his own
skill and care. When he had stretched one wire across, he suspended a
basket on it, and in this basket he, his wife, and his child were drawn
from bank to bank.
Next morning, when Bob had dressed himself and looked out of the window
of the sleeping-car, he saw the waves dashing up from Lake Michigan high
enough to wet the wheels of the train as it ran swiftly along the shore.
A few minutes more saw him in the station, and with that day his life in
Chicago began.
The city seemed even busier to him than New York. The people moved
faster through the streets, and were apparently more absorbed in the
pursuit of their various occupations. It was early autumn, and very dry,
as the summer had been. Bob heard his father say that the farmers were
complaining greatly of the want of rain, and when he rode out on the
prairie, everything looked yellow and parched. He preferred to walk
along the shore of the lake, and out to the mouth of the river, where he
could see the lumber vessels coming in from Wisconsin and Michigan, and
enjoy the cool breezes.
One Sunday evening, while reading, he heard the bells ring, and, like
almost all boys, wanted to run to the fire. His father told him that he
himself would like a walk, and that they might go a certain distance,
but would probably find that the fire was extinguished. Bob remembered,
however, that the wind was blowing hard when they were coming home from
church, and then it suddenly occurred to him that in that absence of
rain of which he had heard, the wooden buildings so common in the city
must be as dry as tinder. When they turned the corner of the street,
both uttered a cry of surprise. The sky was all aflame, and dense clouds
of smoke, in which cinders were thickly mingled, were driven by the wind
over their heads.
"I do not think that it is near my office, Bob," said his father; "but
it seems a great conflagration, and we had better find out if it is
likely to spread."
They walked rapidly toward one of the bridges over the Chicago River,
and crossed it. As they passed on they met a gradually increasing
throng, apparently fleeing from the fire and seeking a place of safety.
The smoke and cinders grew more plentiful, and the sky was now lit from
horizon to horizon. At last they reached the office, and Mr. Perkins
opened it with his key. Everything inside was quiet and undisturbed; but
he felt a strange degree of alarm, none the less acute because somewhat
vague. He almost mechanically opened his safe, and stood looking at its
contents, and mentally wondering whether it would preserve them in case
of the advent of the flames. Even while he was thus engaged, the noise
outside grew louder and louder. Crowds were heard hurrying through the
street, and many were crying and shouting. Bob went to the door and
opened it, only to shrink back almost in terror. The burning cinders had
been blown over to the street where the office was, and the block had
taken fire.
Mr. Perkins saw in a moment that his office must be destroyed, and that
he had not even time to save all the contents of his safe. He hurriedly
selected a few documents, wrapped them up in a paper, and gave them to
Bob, telling him to carry them in his hand, and be sure not to let them
pass from his possession. Then, with a caution to keep close to him, and
hurriedly closing the safe, he started again for his house. They were
compelled to go a long distance around, and even then reached their
destination with much difficulty. Mr. Perkins, as they passed along, had
carefully observed the course of the flames, and made up his mind that
they would reach his house, as they had already reached his office. He
proceeded at once, therefore, to send his family to the residence of
some friends in the country, again cautioning Bob about the parcel of
papers. Then he called some men to his aid, took as much furniture as
possible out of his house, and sent it in carts to one of the parks. As
the last cart started, the flames caught the eaves, and he looked back
to see them enveloping what had been a pleasant home. There was no time
for regrets; he only hurried his driver along, hoping that he would
reach a place where his effects would be secure. All in vain: he saw
them consumed in their turn, and he was finally compelled to seek
protection himself under a bridge, where he passed the rest of that
terrible night. In the morning he joined his family at the house whither
they had gone. The calamity which had happened was so great that none of
them quite realized it. In a few hours not only had their beautiful city
been laid in ashes, but their pretty home, Mr. Perkins's place of
business, and much of their property had been likewise destroyed.
"Well," at last remarked Mr. Perkins, "I am glad of _one_ thing. I
secured a good many valuable mortgages, railroad bonds, and notes of
hand, and wrapped them in a package, and gave them to my careful Bob to
keep, and I know that he has them now."
"Yes, papa," cried Bob, with a glowing face. "The parcel never left my
hands except for a few minutes, when I laid it on the piano while I was
helping mamma put her jewels in a bag. Here it is;" and he handed his
father a paper parcel. Mr. Perkins opened it, and took out--half a dozen
sandwiches![3] To such a state of excitement had the terrible events of
the night brought every one that poor Bob never knew when he exchanged
the precious bundle of documents for the parcel of provisions which his
thoughtful mother had put up.
[3] Fact.
* * * * *
Bob staid in Chicago, which, as every one knows, has been rebuilt, and
is handsomer than ever. Perhaps his name can be found in the directory;
but if any one should meet him who has read this story, it would be well
not to allude to either parcels or sandwiches.
MEMPHIS.
Memphis was one of the oldest of the world's great cities. It was built
on the banks of the Nile when all Europe was a savage wilderness, and
its inhabitants barbarians living in huts and caves. The great city grew
up under the rule of the Pharaohs to be a scene of busy trade, almost as
thickly peopled as London or New York. To-day its site can scarcely be
traced. But four thousand years ago Memphis was a city of palaces and
temples. Pharaoh was lodged more splendidly than Louis XIV., and Cheops
provided himself with the most magnificent of tombs. One of the Memphian
temples is thus described: "He seemed to be in Memphis, his native city;
and entering the temple of Isis, saw it shining with the splendor of a
thousand lighted lamps; all the avenues of the temple were crowded with
people, and resounded with the noise of the passing throngs." The inner
shrine was supposed to be the residence of the goddess. To Memphis,
perhaps, came Joseph, the gentle Jew, to become the ruler of the land.
There came his brethren and the Israelites to buy corn. Here the Jews
passed their four centuries of captivity; from its palaces they bore off
the jewels and gold of the Egyptians; from its memorable shore they set
out on their march; from the gates of Memphis the furious Pharaoh
followed with chariot and horse, to perish in the treacherous sea.
Nowhere can be found more striking incidents than are connected with
this desolate narrow part of the shore of the Nile. Moses, perhaps,
floated in his basket near by, and won his life with the smile of
infancy, always irresistible. It was the scene of the plagues, of the
terrible darkness, of the years of plenty and the years of want. It
nourished in splendor and wealth for a period that makes the age of most
cities seem trivial. New York is more than two hundred and fifty years
old, London about nineteen hundred: Memphis flourished for more than
three thousand years. It has passed away, but one of its labors can
never apparently perish. Cheops, one of the Memphian Kings, built the
largest of the Pyramids, and near it are several others not much less in
size. A Pyramid was no doubt a royal tomb. Various explanations have
been given of the origin and purpose of these wonderful buildings. Some
suppose them intended for astronomical purposes; others suggest that
they were designed to mark the dimensions of an inch, and fix the system
of computing distances. But history and tradition assert that they were
the tombs of the Memphian Kings.
SUSIE KINGMAN'S DECISION.
BY KATE E. McDOWELL.
CHAPTER I.
"I'm getting to quite like papa's present," said Susie Kingman, as she
thoughtfully turned over a leaf of her _Silent Comforter_, "though I
_did_ want a ring awfully, and expected one as much as could be; but
then this is much better, for it teaches me something. I've learned ever
so many verses already, for it's the first thing my eyes open upon in
the morning, and every time I come into the room I unconsciously read
over the text for the day. Let me see--yes, to-day is the 20th." And
having put back the leaf numbered nineteen, she read, "'Be kindly
affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honor preferring one
another.' 'In honor preferring one another,'" she repeated,
musingly--"'in honor preferring one another.' I don't exactly see what
that means. I believe I'll look in the Commentary before I go to
breakfast, for if it's to be my verse for the day, I ought to understand
it at the beginning."
The breakfast bell rang as Susie descended the stairs, so she hastened
into her father's study, and taking from the book-case the volume she
wanted, turned over the leaves until Romans, xii. 10, was reached.
"Yes, here is an explanation of the very words, 'In honor preferring one
another.'" And she read, half aloud: "'The meaning appears to be this:
consider all your brethren as more worthy than yourself, and let neither
grief nor envy affect your mind at seeing another honored and yourself
neglected. This is a hard lesson, and very few persons learn it
thoroughly.'"
Susie paused with her finger on the words, saying: "I hope I shall be
one of the few that learn it. I just wish I had a chance to show that I
felt glad to have some one honored; but"--less confidently--"I don't
know as I would care to be _neglected_. No, that would be a great deal
harder." Then exclaiming, as she read on, "Why, this writer says the
very same thing: 'If we wish to see our brethren honored, still it is
with the secret condition in our own minds that we be honored _more_
than they.'" Susie slowly closed the book, saying, "It's perfectly clear
to me now"; then as baby's voice heralding the approach of the others
was heard on the stairs, she hastily replaced the book and joined them.
An hour later she might have been seen on her way to school, taking a
last look at one of her lessons as she walked along, and so occupied
with her book as not to notice a group on the school steps waving
handkerchiefs and beckoning her to hasten. At last, as she still read
on, the eager girls, too impatient to wait until she reached them, with
one accord darted down the street to meet her.
Josie Thorp playfully snatched away her book, exclaiming, "No more
studying for _you_ until you've heard the news!"
"How can you speak so disrespectfully to her Majesty?" laughed another;
at which the rest, following the last speaker's example, made low
courtesies to the bewildered Susie, who a moment before had been deep in
the grammar rules.
"What do you mean, girls?" she wonderingly stammered, looking at Sadie
Folger, who was kissing her hand in mock solemnity, and then at the
others, still courtesying and saying, "Your Majesty." "Seems to me
you're in fine spirits for Friday. I believe you've all got excused from
composition class. Tell me. What is it? Has Mr. Gorham given us a
holiday?"
"Better than that!" they exclaimed, in one voice.
"Don't keep me in suspense," pleaded Susie.
"It's too good to keep," said Sadie; "but still, girls, we must tell it
by degrees." Then, to Susie, "Well, we're going to have a May party!"
"A May party! Splendid! Who--"
"And," broke in one of the others, wondering if Susie's face _could_
look any brighter, "_you_ are to be our Queen."
"Your Queen! Are you in earnest!" she cried, her eyes dancing with
delight. "Whose party is it, and how do you know I'm to be Queen?"
"Because we're all going to vote for you," they answered, ignoring the
first part of the question. So Susie repeated,
"But whose party is it? who is getting it up?"
"All the teachers. We left Mr. Gorham talking to Miss Page and the rest.
They had a meeting at half past eight, and we five happened to be here
early; so after they had decided the matter, they told us one or two
things, and before recess Mr. Gorham will tell the whole school."
"But," said Susie, a trifle doubtfully, "then it's not certain I'm to be
Queen?"
"Just as good as certain," said Stella Morris; "for the choice is
between Florence Tracy and yourself. Mr. Gorham says you stand exactly
the same--three marks against each--and that the way to decide it will
be by vote this afternoon."
[Illustration: "I AM SURE YOU'LL HAVE EVERY VOTE."]
"I am sure you'll have every vote," said Josie, confidently, "for we
scarcely know Florence Tracy. She's _so_ quiet, and doesn't seem to care
for anything but study. Not that I dislike her at all, for she's always
pleasant enough; but still--_she isn't like you_," and she took Susie's
arm in undisguised admiration.
Susie was an acknowledged favorite, and it is needless to say she
enjoyed this school-girl homage. Others had joined the group since they
commenced talking, and each in turn had said, "You are sure of _my_
vote, Sue."
"Thank you all," she answered, looking around gratefully. "I'm half in a
dream. It seems too good to be true."
"I've just been having another talk with Miss Page," called Sadie,
bounding down the walk. "She knows more about it than any of the others,
I guess, for she saw a May-day celebration at some place on the Hudson
last summer. Every one in the school is to take part. The primary class
are to dance round a May-pole; and then there are to be garland-bearers
and maids of honor, so we'll all be something; but of course Susie will
have the highest honor."
Susie's happy look of a moment before was gone. That word _honor_ had
set her to thinking.
"What is the matter?" asked Sadie, mistaking the cause of her changed
expression. "Don't you want us to be in it?"
"Want you to be in it! Of course I do," cried Susie. "You must think me
a monster of selfishness. I only wish you could all be queens."
"We are satisfied to be your subjects," said Sadie, putting her arm
around Susie, as they all started by twos and threes for the school, as
the bell was ringing.
"I wish I'd never seen that verse," thought Susie, not heeding Sadie's
chatter, as they went up the walk. "It's just going to spoil the whole
thing."
"Here comes Florence Tracy," remarked Sadie, as a carriage stopped at
the foot of the walk, and a young girl alighted. "Do you know, Susie, I
don't believe she has a good time at all, if she does drive to school,
and live in the handsomest house in town. I fancy her uncle isn't very
kind to her, for she never seems very happy. Just look: don't you think
she has a sad face?"
"I don't know," answered Susie, anxious to change the subject. "Isn't
the parsing hard for to-day? Miss Page gives such long lessons."
But Sadie was far too interested in Squire Tracy's spirited horses, with
their gilded harness, to turn her thoughts to discussing the length or
difficulty of any lesson.
"Wouldn't I like to jump in!" she exclaimed. "It's just the morning for
a drive." Then, in a lower tone: "Strange that Florence never asks any
of the girls. There's room for four, yet every afternoon she goes for
hours all alone."
"Hush!" cautioned Susie; "she's right behind us."
Florence joined them with a good-morning, and the three went up the
steps together, Susie and Florence stopping a moment on the porch to
talk over a troublesome sentence in the parsing.
"I know she didn't hear you," said Susie, in answer to Sadie's anxious
question as she passed her seat, "for she is as pleasant as can be."
"Perhaps she _would_ invite us," said Sadie, striving to make amends for
her hasty speech, "if the Squire would let her. Poor girl! I really pity
her."
Susie took her seat, and glanced across to Florence's. "She _does_ look
sad," she was forced to acknowledge; "but then deep mourning makes
almost every one look so. Sadie is always getting up things to make one
uncomfortable;" and she tried to busy herself in arranging her desk, and
so forget the sad face opposite. "I'm sure she has everything money can
buy." Here Conscience asked, "But are you not really far richer, with a
loving father and mother, and a bright happy home?"
"Yes," thought Susie. "I wouldn't exchange places with her for all her
pretty things, though I did think yesterday I'd give anything for that
watch she wore. But then think of baby! How cunning she was this
morning!--worth more than all the watches in the world!" and Susie
almost felt the little arms about her neck.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
PINAFORE RHYMES.--(_Continued_.)
[Illustration]
I'm glad to see you all so gay
On little Trottie's third birthday;
She's happy as a little queen,
And wants her presents to be seen;
She's got a doll that laughs and cries,
Opens her mouth, and winks her eyes;
A silver bird with painted wings,
And lots of other pretty things.
And all of us are very gay,
Because we have a holiday.
[Illustration]
Our Johnny has a fishing-pole
That reaches up so high
That I'm afraid 'twill make a hole
Right through the clear blue sky.
It reaches up so very far,
If he'd come out at night,
And go a-fishing for a star,
He'd catch one, so he might.
[Illustration]
Through the sparkling, dewy grass
To the water's rim,
See my downy duckies run
For a merry swim.
Mother duck, as well as I,
Knows they can not drown,
And the water will not even
Wet the yellow down.
[Illustration]
They sat in the circus, all six in a row,
And thought that they never had seen such a show;
They laughed at the clowns and their comical tricks,
And all went home a-laughing, that party of six.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX]
We offer a few suggestions to our young exchangers, which we hope they
will read and remember. In the first place, be very careful to prepay
postage on letters and packages, otherwise they will be sent to the
Dead-letter Office. The correspondent to whom they are directed will be
notified, but he is not obliged to send for them unless he wishes to do
so. If he does not, you will blame him for not answering you, when the
fault is wholly your own. Many of our correspondents find this matter of
sending to the Dead-letter Office for unpaid packages very burdensome,
and we see no reason why they should do it. As it is through the
carelessness of the sender that the postage is not paid, the loss and
the trouble should fall on him.
When you send specimens of minerals, pressed flowers, or any other
natural curiosity, mark each distinctly, stating the name, if you know
it, and the locality where it was found.
Always be sure to give your full address, distinctly written; and do not
neglect to pay attention to the suggestion to note down the letters you
receive, which we gave you in the Post-office Box of No. 78.
If you have only a very few specimens to exchange--perhaps only one
arrow-head--we would advise you not to ask for an exchange through YOUNG
PEOPLE, for you will receive a large quantity of letters, and as you
have but one thing to dispose of, you will be in trouble, and very sadly
out of your spending money, which will all go for postage, because if
boys and girls send you things you have asked for, you must return them
unless you can send a fair equivalent.
This matter of postage you must also consider before you enroll your
name among our exchangers. A good many boys and girls have been
compelled to withdraw their names because their allowance of
pocket-money would not begin to cover the postage on the answers they
had to write.
What you can do is this: If you have one arrow-head, or a very few
stamps, or pressed flowers, which you wish to exchange, watch in the
Post-office Box until you find the name of some boy or girl who offers
just what you wish, for just what you have to give. Then you can write
to the correspondent and arrange a pleasant exchange without any
trouble, and without subjecting yourself to big postage bills, or to the
task of writing to scores of applicants that your stock is exhausted.
* * * * *
WAKEFIELD, MASSACHUSETTS.
The canoes we have built here after the directions given in YOUNG
PEOPLE for April 27, 1880, have, without exception, been successes.
They all weigh somewhere in the vicinity of fifty-five pounds, and
are exceedingly graceful in shape. Within three weeks after the
publication of the directions in YOUNG PEOPLE two canoes were in
preparation in our town, and in three months a fleet of seven
canoes was fully equipped and prepared. These canoes can be made
inside of seven dollars.
At first we obtained spruce, and laid our keelson, which any boy
can make in one afternoon with a good splitting saw. Of the ribs,
nine were of soft wood, and three of hard. For slats to stretch
over the frame-work, we used the strips of wood which come around
hay bales. These we soaked and planed. After fastening these to
the bow and stern, also to the ribs, and having made the
frame-work for the deck, we were ready for the canvas. This having
been carefully tacked to the keelson and gunwale, was oiled, and
then painted. Then, having finished the well, we fastened the keel
over the canvas along the keelson and the bow and stern, and added
another coat of paint.
While this was drying, the paddle was made, and then we were ready
for our trial trip. It was with fear and trembling that we
carefully lowered our canoes into the water, and then, with still
greater anxiety, stepped into them. Imagine our delight when,
instead of keeling over, as we had feared, our boats sat as evenly
and nicely as any we had ever seen. That day was a joyous one, and
I can tell you we didn't lose the opportunity of being on the lake
whenever we could. Two of us enjoyed a long trip, and a greater
number are planning one for this coming summer.
I think almost any boy, with the proper tools and plenty of care,
could make a canoe inside of a month. I hope this account of our
success will stimulate some to make the attempt.
S. A.
* * * * *
SOUTH ROYALTON, VERMONT.
I am a little boy of six years. I have no brother, and only one
sister. She is teaching lots of little girls and boys in Iowa. I
want to see her very much. I print letters to her, and she writes
to me, and sends me lots of pretty things.
I wish the children that write letters for the Post-office Box
would come and play with me. I am sorry for the sick ones, and for
the one whose brother perished in the snow last winter while he
was hunting in Canada.
I have good times making and eating maple sugar.
I have live sheep and two lambs of my own, and we have ten pretty
calves. I get the eggs every night, and I shut up the turkeys.
The school-house is very near, and when school commences I shall
have some boys to play with me. I am going to carry my YOUNG
PEOPLE to school, so as to let the scholars see it.
LEON D. L.
* * * * *
MOUNTAIN HOUSE, CALIFORNIA.
My home is a large public-house, and our nearest neighbor lives a
mile away. We have beautiful scenery here in the Sierra Nevada
Mountains, and now the snow has gone, the wild flowers are coming
up everywhere.
There are mines very near our house, and my grandpa has a
saw-mill.
We have a governess with us all the time. I am nine years old, and
I have a sister eleven, and a little brother. We have a
post-office and a telegraph office. I can telegraph some, and my
sister can send and receive messages.
Not only my sister and I read YOUNG PEOPLE, but also all the big
folks here, and they thought "Toby Tyler" was just splendid.
IDA C.
* * * * *
LAKEVILLE, NEW YORK.
I am the oldest of three boys. I have a little sister, who looks at
my YOUNG PEOPLE, and reads it in her baby way, and kisses all the
pretty pictures.
I live at the foot of Lake Conesus. It was named by the Indians,
and the word in their language means "beautiful waters." There are
three steamers and two sailing yachts on the lake.
My papa has moved to his farm this spring. He has just bought a
span of fine young horses, and if any of Harper's YOUNG PEOPLE
will come to see me, I will give them a ride.
HARRY F. W.
* * * * *
BLEAK HOUSE, ILLINOIS.
I am a little girl seven years old, and I want to write to YOUNG
PEOPLE.
It has been such a long winter! We think it is time for spring.
The snow-banks are thawing to-day (April 10), and this morning the
birds were singing, and a prairie-chicken went boo-o-o-o.
I live on a farm, and when my uncle William goes into the woods, I
go with him, and ride back on a load of wood, and I see squirrels,
and acorns, and moss, and hawks' nests in the tops of the trees.
I have a little sister in Scotland. She is eleven years old. She
writes me nice letters. She has seen London and the Queen's
palace. Santa Claus brought her a doll, and she has named it Grace
Anastasia.
DUDIE A. C.
* * * * *
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA.
I like "Toby Tyler" and "Phil's Fairies" best of all the stories in
YOUNG PEOPLE.
I am twelve years old. My mamma died five weeks ago, and left me
with my sister and papa. I have been an invalid all my life until
now, when I can run as fast as any little girl.
The flowers are all in bloom (April 14), and everything is so
green and lovely!
LAURA B.
* * * * *
DOWNIEVILLE, CALIFORNIA.
We have had a warm, pleasant winter here. I found the first
buttercup on the 8th of January, and now (April 10) there are
quantities of buttercups and wild pansies, and a few days ago I
found two wild larkspurs. This time last year the snow was between
four and six feet deep.
I have a dear little kitten named Frisky, and she deserves her
name, for a more playful little thing I never saw. She loves to
play with a ball of yarn. Sometimes she will get angry with it and
kick it, then she will hug it, then she will bite and kick it
again. We have another kitten named Beauty. He is not so playful
as Frisky, but sometimes she will coax him to play, and if you
could only hear the noise they make when they chase each other
across the floor, you would think they were two little mules
instead of two little cats. I often call Beauty "Professor,"
because he is such a serious kitten. He will sit still and stare
at a thing so long, and he has such very big round eyes!
MARY A. R.
* * * * *
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.
I am nine years old. I go to Lincoln School. I want to tell YOUNG
PEOPLE about our temperance meeting we have every Wednesday
afternoon. We call ourselves the Band of Hope, because our teacher
says we are the hope of the nation. She reads to us how alcohol
hurts the brain and the health, and does not allow one to be a
strong man. Then we have singing, and say the Lord's Prayer. Before
we go home the young ladies give us papers. From sixty to seventy
boys meet every week. We are going to try to have a reading-room
for the bigger boys.
I hope all the children will read this letter, and I want lots of
boys to have temperance meetings, as we do.
JAMES MCD.
* * * * *
WATERBURY, VERMONT.
In YOUNG PEOPLE No. 77, G. H. inquired how much sap it takes to
make a pound of maple sugar. My papa has a sugar orchard of three
hundred trees, and has made seventeen hundred pounds of sugar this
year. He says it takes from fourteen to twenty quarts of sap to
make a pound of sugar.
M. H. M.
* * * * *
COLD SPRING, NEW YORK.
I want to tell the boy in Ohio that I had ten chickens hatched on
the 11th of March, seventeen days earlier than his.
FRED D. M.
* * * * *
We acknowledge a package of letters from the scholars of the Marcella
Street Home, Boston Highlands. These little fellows who write to us are
from seven to twelve years old. We are very glad to hear from them, and
gratified to see from their neat and correctly written letters that they
are profiting by the kind attention of their teachers. We thank them for
their expressions of pleasure in YOUNG PEOPLE, and like to know that
they spend so many happy hours reading its stories, working out the
puzzles, and learning pieces from it to speak in school. We print two of
the letters, and are sorry we have not space to print them all.
MARCELLA STREET HOME, BOSTON, MASS.
I am a little boy eleven years old. All the boys here have been
very much interested in the story of Toby Tyler. I think his lot is
something like ours, for we are all poor boys without homes; but
there are many things to make it a happy home for us here.
We have four beautiful school-rooms, pleasant teachers and
officers, and a kind Superintendent.
At noon we leave our school-rooms, and fall in line to march into
the dining-hall, and afterward we go to a large play-room, where
we play.
In the evening we come again to the school-rooms for half an hour.
We have silent prayer, and take off our shoes, and march out into
the dormitories for the night.
I like holidays, for then the boys have a good time and a big
dinner.
GEORGE JOHNSTON.
I am a very small boy. I am eight years old, and I have been at the
Marcella Street Home four years. We have just moved into our new
school-room, and it is so very pleasant and so sunny! There are
nine windows in it, seven blackboards, with nine drawings on them
made by us boys, and two gas jets with Easter-eggs on them, and
seven plants. Don't you think it must be nice?
We have sixty-four boys in our school, and all have new desks. How
good our Superintendent is to us! We have two radiators, two
numeral frames, and three spelling frames, and lots of blocks that
the babies play with.
I like the story of Toby Tyler, and think he is smart. I hope he
will never run away again. I like the puzzles too. My teacher told
us that smart boys answer your puzzles, so we try, if we _are_ in
the lowest room.
JOSEPH MINON.
We have received many correct answers to puzzles from these ambitious
little students, and hope we shall hear from them again and often.
* * * * *
SOLDIERS' ORPHAN HOME, KNIGHTSTOWN, INDIANA.
I am a little girl twelve years old. My father and mother are both
dead. I have been here at the Home nearly four years. I was here
when it burned down; but it has been rebuilt more beautiful than
ever. My teacher and governess are very kind to the children. We
have three ranks of boys, and one rank of girls. There are four
little boys here who wear dresses yet. We have a dog that has been
here twelve years. We are all happy, and I shall be lonesome when
the time comes for me to leave.
HATTIE E. R.
* * * * *
I live on a farm three miles from the post-office. I went on
horseback for the mail yesterday. I had a nice ride. A short
distance from our house is a high hill, and from its summit is one
of the grandest views in Northern New York State.
Right at the base of the hill live some little friends of mine.
They are getting a collection of minerals and insects, and I am
making a collection of woods. I have one hundred and twenty-five
different kinds. I would like to exchange elm, bass-wood, maple,
and ash, for black walnut or cottonwood. Please label specimens.
CLAIR W. AUSTIN,
Copenhagen, Lewis Co., N. Y.
* * * * *
I wish to exchange foreign stamps, fossils, minerals, and other
specimens, for minerals, fossils, shells, sea plants, corals, or
other ocean curiosities, arrow-heads, spear-heads, and other
genuine Indian relics, or any good curiosities. Correspondents will
please label every specimen distinctly, and state the locality
where it was found.
I wish to give notice to those who are exchanging with me that my
address is changed.
LOUIS D. ORRISON,
1206 Independence Avenue, Kansas City, Mo.
* * * * *
Edna Wheeler, Williamsville, Vermont, wishes to notify correspondents
that she can not exchange any more maple sugar for shells and mosses.
* * * * *
Robert T. Parke, Downingtown, Pennsylvania, desires to withdraw his name
from our exchange list, as his stock of coins and other articles for
exchange is exhausted.
* * * * *
If the correspondent who sent me stamps in an unsealed letter, and
wished arrow-heads in return, will favor me with his address, I
will answer him. I also request the addresses of others who have
sent me things and have received no answer.
RUSSELL S. JANNEY,
Rainbow Box, Marietta, Washington Co., Ohio.
* * * * *
I wish to say to correspondents that my stock of Chinese coins is
exhausted. I will now exchange peacock coal, minerals, stamps, and
postmarks, for sea-shells, sea-moss, and arrow-heads or other
Indian relics.
WILLARD BARNES,
Wellsville, Allegany Co., N. Y.
* * * * *
The following exchanges are offered by correspondents:
A printing-press and outfit in good order, for a stamp-book but
little used.
JAMES NELSON, JUN.,
Mount Vernon, Westchester Co., N. Y.
* * * * *
A Newfoundland stamp, for a petrified shell.
ARCHIE C. NIVEN,
Care of Rev. T. M. Niven, Dobbs Ferry, N. Y.
* * * * *
An ounce of soil from Pennsylvania, for the same from any other
State.
JAMES A. PARKER,
Williamsport, Penn.
* * * * *
Florida moss and iron ore, for fifteen postage stamps from Japan,
Spain, Cuba, Newfoundland, and other foreign countries.
H. LEONARD POTTS,
P. O. Box 18, Pottstown, Montgomery Co., Penn.
* * * * *
Soil of Long Island, New York, for the same from any other State.
SAMUEL D. PINE,
Jamaica, Long Island, N. Y.
* * * * *
A specimen of tourmaline, for minerals or Indian relics; or some
stamps, for a curiosity.
JOHN G. REEVS,
P. O. Box 720, Yonkers, N. Y.
* * * * *
Stamps from Russia, Montevideo, Argentine Confederation, Chili,
Brazil, and Germany (no duplicates), for other foreign stamps.
Those of China, Italy, and France especially desired.
M. B. RAUCH,
713 Girard Avenue, Philadelphia, Penn.
* * * * *
Ten postmarks, for one stamp, either a United States 90-cent
Agricultural, Executive, or Justice Department, Cape of Good Hope,
Western Australia, Persia, or Egypt.
HARRY B. ROOD,
Poultney, Rutland Co., Vt.
* * * * *
Foreign stamps and insects, for insects.
ARTHUR R. TORREY,
1 Hubbard Avenue, West Cambridge, Mass.
* * * * *
Stamps from Bavaria and Denmark, for United States department
stamps.
DAN TALMAGE,
Bound Brook, N. J.
* * * * *
Specimens of garnet rock, kyanite, or limestone, for postage
stamps, or other minerals.
LOUIS TREADWELL, Redding, Fairfield Co., Conn.
* * * * *
Ocean curiosities, fossils, old coins, and other curiosities, for
Indian relics.
WILLIAM A. WHITE,
Sag Harbor, Suffolk Co., Long Island, N. Y.
* * * * *
United States and foreign stamps, for sea-shells, Indian relics,
ore, coral, or other curiosities.
JOHNNIE WOOD,
188 State Street, Rochester, N. Y.
* * * * *
Minerals and curiosities, for United States department and revenue
stamps, and foreign postage stamps.
GEORGE E. WELLS,
P. O. Box 466, New York City.
* * * * *
Ten foreign stamps, for fifty postmarks (no duplicates).
ANNE H. WILSON,
Clermont, Columbia Co., N. Y.
* * * * *
Stamps.
CHARLIE E. WHEELER,
Chesterville, Franklin Co., Me.
[_For other exchanges, see third page of cover._]
* * * * *
P. C. H.--In most book establishments the printing is done from
stereotype or electrotype plates, taken from the type pages. In the
first process one or more pages are placed in an iron frame, and from
these a mould is taken in plaster of Paris. Type-metal--a composition
mainly of lead and antimony--is poured into this mould, forming a cast
of the face of the type. These casts, or "plates," are planed down upon
the back to a regular thickness, and from them the printing is made
precisely as from the types themselves. In electrotyping, a mould of
beeswax, coated with black-lead to give it a metallic surface, is forced
by a powerful pressure upon a page of type, producing a perfect
fac-simile. After receiving another coating of black-lead, the mould is
placed in a tank filled with a solution of sulphate of copper, into
which enter the poles of a galvanic or electric battery, the mould being
connected with the positive pole, the negative pole being attached to a
plate of copper. In an instant a thin film of copper appears on the
"black-leaded" surface of the mould. This increases in quantity until it
has acquired the thickness of a sheet of stout paper. The upper surface
of this "shell," when taken from the mould, is a perfect fac-simile of
the face of the original page. This thin shell would be crushed flat by
the immense pressure of the printing-press. It must be "backed up" with
type-metal. This metal will not, even when melted, adhere firmly to a
sheet of copper, but it will adhere to tin, and melted tin will adhere
to copper. A sheet of tin-foil is laid upon the back of the copper
shell, which is secured in a shallow iron tray, and heated. Melted
type-metal is then poured over the plate, filling up every depression,
and forming a solid backing, firmly soldered to the shell. The plates
are then shaved down to the proper size, and are ready for the press.
* * * * *
REBECCA D.--There are several works on the Egyptian Pyramids, but all of
them are too scientific and learned to be interesting to young readers.
If you live near a library which contains encyclopædias, you will find
in them all that you would care to read at present about their age and
probable origin and purpose. The largest and most interesting are at
Jeezeh, about twelve miles from Cairo, and seven from the banks of the
Nile. Learned men differ in regard to the time when they were built, as
well as for what use they were intended. Some calculations place the
date at about 2170 years B.C., and while some scholars hold that these
enormous structures were intended for royal sepulchres only, others
suppose that they were built for astrological purposes. Although erected
in the childhood of the human race, the masonry of the Pyramids is far
superior to that of modern times. The joints of the casing-stones, that
still partially cover the sides, are so close that the thinnest paper
can not be inserted in them.
* * * * *
B. T. H.--As allegory is a figurative representation in which a story or
a picture signifies something more than its literal meaning, it is the
privilege of an artist to call his ideal picture "Temperance,"
"Fortitude," or anything else he pleases. Probably the pictures you saw
were given those names because to the artist's mind they represented the
characteristics of those particular virtues.
* * * * *
A very large number of our little correspondents have sent us poems on
spring and the fresh grass and flowers. We can not print any of them,
but we thank them for their favors. Their fancies are all pretty, and we
are glad to see that boys and girls are such close observers of Nature,
and that they love her changing moods well enough to write her praises
in verse.
* * * * *
The editor thanks Tillie S. for her pretty Easter-egg, with its kind
wishes.
* * * * *
G. S. H.--Long Island is a part of New York State, and is included
within its boundaries. It may properly be said to be in New York State.
* * * * *
NELSE W., W. L. W., R. C. ORR, AND OTHERS.--The coins and paper money
you inquire about are interesting as curiosities, but have no great
value. United States cents and half-cents of an early date are usually
sold for from ten to thirty cents, according to date and condition. The
only coinage upon which any special value is placed is that of 1799,
which was so small that but few perfect specimens now remain in
existence. It is not always the age which determines the value; for
instance, a cent of 1810 is worth considerably more than one of 1798. If
you live near any large public library, and can consult the Mint Reports
of different years, you can find out whether the coinage of that year
was large or small, and in that way determine if your specimen be rare
or not. Every mail brings us questions concerning the value of coins,
which we can not answer, partly because the descriptions, as a rule, are
not sufficiently accurate, and also because the value depends very much
on condition, and that we can not know without a careful examination of
the coin in question. If any of you have old coins, the best thing is to
keep them and look upon them as curiosities, without seeking to know
their money value, which is arbitrary at best, as every dealer or
collector to whom you might take them will offer you a different price.
* * * * *
Correct answers to puzzles have been received from W. Aiken, R. Burke,
J. Cott, J. Reagan, and P. Riley, Marcella Street Home, "A. B. C,"
_Courtland F. Bishop_, Charles S. Bingham, A. E. Cressingham, R. O.
Chester, Bernie Collins. Frank C. F., Ernest Frankel, E. L. Hunt, Willie
Hartwell, Frank Hayward, William B. Hadley, W. E. J., Samuel Kridel,
Beth D. L., "_L. U. Stral_," Otis J. Loomis, H. B. Lent, Charles F.
Meyer, Percy L. McD., F. Nichols, Bessie and Edith Nesbitt, "Pepper,"
Charles H. P., Ned Robinson, John Richardson, "Starry Flag," G. P.
Salters, T. W. Siddall, _Howard J. Van Doren_, Maude Wilson, "Will A.
Mette."
* * * * *
PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.
No. 1.
HOUR-GLASS PUZZLE.
Additional. Surrounded by water. Wrath. Fodder. In spring. A decree. A
song. An architectural term. Innocent. Centrals--A useful Southern
product.
C. W. S.
* * * * *
No. 2.
ENIGMA.
In chains, but not in bands.
In hearts, but not in hands.
In hoping, not in sighing.
In laughing, not in crying.
In mountain, not in valley.
In trifle, not in dally.
In castle, not in tower.
In rain, but not in shower.
My whole a graceful flower.
OWLET.
* * * * *
No. 3.
DIAGONALS.
Across.--A metal. Taste. Toil. A model. A part of a cask.
Diagonals.--From left to right, a cape of the United States; from right
to left, islands west of South America.
WILL A. METTE.
* * * * *
No. 4.
HALF-SQUARES.
1. A dreary place. A vegetable substance. A river in Europe. A title. A
preposition. A letter from Tennessee.
2. Advantage. A bird. Something useful in a kitchen. A marsh. A
preposition. A letter from Montana.
R. F. L.
* * * * *
No. 5.
ENIGMA.
In wan, but not in pale.
In wind, but not in gale.
In game, but not in play.
In wagon, not in dray.
In light, but not in dark.
In wren, but not in lark.
In spade, but not in rake.
The whole the children like to make.
POLLY.
* * * * *
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 77.
No. 1.
Parsnip, Spinach.
No. 2.
S P R I N G S T R E A M
P I A N O T R E A T
R A I N R E A R
I N N E A R
N O A T
G M
No. 3.
C A R A C A S
S A L A D
B A T
B
R A T
L A M A S
B A N A N A S
No. 4.
1. S-nag. 2. F-air. 3. O-live. 4. S-hut. 5. G-lad. 6. B-rook. 7.
P-Russia. 8. S-pain. 9. O-range. 10. B-arrow. 11. A-den. 12. Z-one. 13.
S-tone. 14. S-tale. 15. H-eight. 16. S-late. 17. H-ill.
No. 5
Jerusalem.
* * * * *
NOTICE.
The publishers will furnish HARPER'S MAGAZINE, beginning with the June
Number (which is the commencement of Volume LXIII.), and HARPER'S YOUNG
PEOPLE, beginning with Number 80, published May 10, 1881 (containing the
first installments of the new serials)--the two periodicals together for
one year--on receipt of FIVE DOLLARS.
HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.
SINGLE COPIES, 4 cents; ONE SUBSCRIPTION, one year, $1.50; FIVE
SUBSCRIPTIONS, one year, $7.00--_payable in advance, postage free_.
The Volumes of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE commence with the first Number in
November of each year.
Subscriptions may begin with any Number. When no time is specified, it
will be understood that the subscriber desires to commence with the
Number issued after the receipt of the order.
Remittances should be made by POST-OFFICE MONEY-ORDER OR DRAFT, to avoid
risk of loss.
HARPER & BROTHERS,
Franklin Square, N. Y.
[Illustration: "MISTER, PLEASE PULL THE BELL FOR ME."]
THE ELECTRIC TRICK.
BY G. B. BARTLETT.
At a noted game club in Boston this little trick was introduced by the
writer to show how easily the keenest intellects can be puzzled when off
their guard. Three substances are first chosen with great care--one
animal, one mineral, one vegetable. After each has been subjected to the
closest examination to discover that but one kingdom is represented in
its composition, they are laid, side by side, the mineral toward the
north, after some pains have been taken to discover the points of the
compass as nearly as possible. The attention of the company is then
called to the subject of electricity in the human body, and after each
has spoken of his powers in that direction, such as the common ones of
lighting the gas with the finger, or by giving shocks or causing sparks
after rubbing the feet on a thick carpet, etc., the operator says, "I am
about to try a simple experiment of this kind, and to judge which of
these three substances was touched by any one gifted with magnetic
power." He then closes his eyes, while some one touches one of the
substances, and then he remarks, "I am perfectly willing to let you do
this for yourselves if you are able: just rub your finger very hard on
the carpet, and judge by a faint tingling sensation which of those three
articles was last touched." After some hesitation, he lifts up the
substance last touched, and repeats the experiment until all are
satisfied. Many imaginative people think that they feel a faint
sensation, and if they happen to select the right article, are much
elated, and it is very funny to see several sensible people on their
knees rubbing the carpet with their forefingers to feel the faint
tingling of electricity.
This trick was played for weeks without discovery, so the author was
ashamed to tell that the scientific mystery was owing to a confederate,
and that a quiet and demure lady signified the article which had been
touched by giving an almost imperceptible cough as his finger touched
the right one; and to make it more difficult of detection, when two had
been touched without the signal, he of course knew that the third was
the right substance for him to select.
CHARADE.
If my first is my second,
'Tis sure to be fleet;
If my second's my first,
It is not fit to eat.
And what is my whole
Will depend upon whether
My second and first
You fit rightly together.
If my second comes first,
'Tis an animal; but
If my second comes second,
Why, then, 'tis a nut.
So if it's an animal,
Then you may back it;
But supposing it isn't--
I leave you to crack it.
THE PAN OF FLOUR.
[Illustration: He would pull the Cloth.]
[Illustration: Result.]
[Illustration: "Look at dat Chile! His own Farder wouldn' know 'im!"]
End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, May 10, 1881, by Various
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