## The Project Gutenberg eBook of Harper's Young People, September 12, 1882

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Title: Harper's Young People, September 12, 1882

Author: Various

Release date: May 25, 2019 [eBook #59600]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Annie R. McGuire

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, SEPTEMBER 12, 1882 ***

THE CRUISE OF THE CANOE CLUB.
LILY AND VIOLET.
CORALS.
DOWN CELLAR.
THE LONG STRIKE.
HOW BILLY WENT UP IN THE WORLD.
TOM FAIRWEATHER'S VOYAGE UP THE TIGRIS.
FIVE LITTLE ANGELS.
OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.

[Pg 721]

vol. iii.—no. 150. | Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. | price four cents.
Tuesday, September 12, 1882. | Copyright, 1882, by Harper & Brothers. | $1.50 per Year, in Advance.

"HE CAUGHT HOLD OF THE ROOT OF A TREE AND KEPT HIS CANOE STATIONARY."

## THE CRUISE OF THE CANOE CLUB.[1]

### BY W. L. ALDEN,

#### Author of "The Moral Pirates," "The Cruise of the 'Ghost'" etc., etc.

### Chapter V.

When the boys were compelled to jump overboard, they could see that the water was only about two feet deep, but they did not know whether they could stand[Pg 722] up against the fierce current. They found that they could, although they had to move slowly to avoid being swept off their feet. Harry's canoe was easily pushed off the rock on which it had run, and the moment it was out of the way the other canoes were free. Each canoeist seized the stern of his own canoe, and let it drag him down the rest of the rapid, which fortunately was a short one. While performing this feat the knees of the canoeists were scraped over the rocks, and they received several bruises; but they thought it was impossible to get into their canoes in swift water, and so had no choice except to float down hanging on to the sterns of the canoes.

Reaching the smooth water, they swam and pushed the canoes before them toward the shore. Here they found a great bank of sawdust that had floated down the river from the mill at Magog, and it was so soft and elastic that they determined to sleep on it that night instead of sleeping in their canoes, since the sky was perfectly clear and there was no danger of rain.

The canoes were hauled out on the bank, so that the stores could be readily taken out of them. The canvas canoe did not seem to be in the least injured either by the rock on which she had struck or by the collision with the other canoes. Harry's canoe had sustained a little damage where one of the planks had been ground against the rock on which she had hung so long, but it was not enough to cause her to leak, and the injuries of the other canoes were confined to their varnish.

"All the trouble," remarked Harry, "came from following too close after one another. To-morrow, if we find any more rapids, we will keep the canoes far enough apart, so that if one canoe runs aground, the others can turn out for her."

"We could have got into the canoes easy enough if we had only thought so," said Tom. "If I'd stood up on the rock and held the canoe alongside of it, I could have stepped in without any difficulty."

"Why didn't you do it, then?" asked Harry.

"Because I didn't think of it, and because all the rest of you had started to float down after your canoes."

"I noticed one thing about a rapid which if I was Commodore it would be my duty to impress on your faithful but ignorant minds," said Joe. "When you see a big ripple on the water, the rock that makes it isn't under the ripple, but is about four or five feet higher up stream."

"That's Macgregor!" cried Harry; "but I'd forgotten it. To-morrow we'll run our rapids in real scientific style."

"Provided there are any more rapids," suggested Tom.

"What did that Sherbrooke postmaster say about the Magog rapids?" inquired Joe.

"Said there weren't any, except one or two which we could easily run," replied Harry.

"Then we've probably got through with the rapids," said Charley. "I'm rather sorry, for it's good fun running them."

Supper was now over, and the canoeists, spreading their rubber blankets on the sawdust, prepared to "turn in." They were very tired, and, lulled by the sound of the rapids, soon dropped asleep.

The recent rains had dampened the sawdust to the depth of about two inches, but below this it was dry and inflammable. A fire had been made with which to cook supper, and the dampness of the sawdust had made the boys so confident that the fire would not spread, that they had not taken the trouble to put it out before going to sleep.

Now it happened that the damp sawdust on which the fire had been kindled gradually became dry, and finally took fire. It burned very slowly on the surface, but the dry sawdust immediately below burned like tinder. About two hours after Harry had closed his eyes he was awakened from a dream that he had upset a burning spirit-lamp over his legs. To his horror he saw that the whole bank of sawdust was on fire. Smoke was everywhere creeping up through the damp top layer, and at a little distance from the canoes the smouldering fire had burst into roaring flames.

Harry instantly called his comrades, and starting up, they rushed to the canoes, threw their blankets and stores into them, and prepared to launch them. They had not a moment to spare. The flames were close to them, and were spreading every moment, and as they shoved the canoes toward the water their feet repeatedly sank down through the ashes below the surface, the flames springing up as they drew them back. It did not take many minutes to get the canoes into the water and to embark, but as the canoeists pushed out into the river, the part of the bank where they had been sleeping burst into flames.

A light breeze had sprung up, which was just enough to fan the fire and to carry it into an immense pile of dry drift-wood that lay on the shore below the sawdust bank. The boys waited in the quiet eddy near the bank and watched the progress of the fire. It licked up the drift-wood in a very few moments, and then, roaring with exultation over the work it had done, it swept into the forest. In half an hour's time a forest fire was burning which threatened to make a terrible destruction of timber, and the heat had grown so intense that the canoeists were compelled to drop down the stream to avoid it.

Canoeing at night is always a ticklish business, but on a swift river, full of rapids, as is the Magog, it is exceedingly dangerous. The fire lighted the way for the fleet for a short distance, but before a landing-place was reached a turn on the river shut out the light, and at the same time the noise of a rapid close at hand was heard.

The boys had no desire to entangle themselves in unknown rapids in the dark, and paddled at once for the shore opposite to that where the fire was raging. They found when they reached it that it was a perpendicular bank on which it was impossible to land. They floated down a short distance, hoping to find a landing-spot, but none could be found. Then they attempted to cross the stream to the other shore, hoping that the fire would not spread in that direction. To their dismay they found that they were already almost within the clutch of the rapid. The current had become strong and swift, and it was evident before they had got half-way across the river that nothing but the hardest paddling could keep them from being drawn into the rapid. It was an occasion when everybody had to look out for himself, and depend on his own paddles for safety. The young canoeists struck out manfully. Harry was the first to reach the shore, where he caught hold of the root of a tree and kept his canoe stationary. Tom followed closely behind him, and Harry told him to catch hold of the Sunshine until he could make the Twilight's painter fast to the root. Joe arrived a little later, for his canoe had run on a rock, and for a few minutes he was in great danger of a capsize.

The three canoeists succeeded in tying up to the bank, where they expected every moment to be joined by Charley. The minutes passed on, but Charley did not appear. His comrades shouted for him, but there was no answer. Indeed, the rapid made such a noise, now that they were close upon it, that they could not have heard Charley's voice had he been a few yards from them.

The fear that an accident had happened to Charley made the other boys very uneasy. Joe cast his canoe loose, and paddled out into the river, and nearly across it, looking for some signs of the Midnight and her owner; but he came back unsuccessful, after having narrowly escaped being carried down the rapid. There could no longer be any doubt that the current had swept the Midnight away, and that Charley had been compelled to make the hazardous and almost hopeless attempt of running the rapid in the dark.

As soon as Joe returned, Harry said that he would paddle out into the middle of the river, where Charley was[Pg 723] last seen, and would let his canoe drift down the rapid, but Tom and Joe insisted that he should do no such thing. Said Joe: "Either Charley is drowned or he isn't. If he isn't drowned, he is somewhere at the foot of the rapid, where we'll find him as soon as it gets light. If he is drowned, it won't do him any good for another of us to get drowned."

"Joe is right," said Tom. "We must stay here until daylight."

"And meanwhile Charley may be drowned!" exclaimed Harry.

"I don't believe he is," replied Tom. "He's the best canoeist of any of us, and he is too good a sailor to get frightened. Then he is very cautious, and I'll bet that the first thing he did when he found himself in the rapid was to buckle his life-belt round him."

"If he did that it wouldn't hurt him if he were capsized."

"Not if the rapid is like those we've run, and the chances are that it is. I feel sure that Charley has got through it all right, and without losing his canoe. We'll find him waiting for us in the morning."

What Tom said seemed so reasonable that Harry gave up his wild idea of running the rapid, and agreed to wait until daylight. It was already nearly one o'clock, and at that time of year the day began to dawn by half past three. There was no opportunity for the boys to sleep, but they occasionally nodded as they sat in their canoes. About two o'clock Harry poked Tom with his paddle, and in a low voice called his attention to the crackling of the twigs in the woods a short distance from the bank. Something was evidently making its way through the forest, and coming nearer every minute to the canoes. The boys grasped their pistols, and anxiously waited. They remembered that there were bears in the woods, and they fully believed that one was on its way down to the water. "Don't fire," whispered Harry, "till I give the word;" but while he was speaking a dark form parted the underbrush on the bank above them, and came out into full view.

#### [to be continued.]

## LILY AND VIOLET.

### BY E. M. TRAQUAIR.

The lily blooms in gay parterre, the violet in the shade;
But each is sweet and most complete, where'er its lot is laid.
And what is true of plant and flower holds good of lord and churl.
The lady in her palace halls, or lowly village girl.
Within her lofty castle home grew up fair Lily Vane,
As pure and stately as the flower from which she took her name.
Yet gentle was the maid and good, like gold without alloy;
With every circling year that passed, her parents' pride and joy.
And modest Violet's mother kept the lodge beside their gate;
She learned betimes to knit and sew, content in humble state.
No gold or gems to deck her hair, no silken robe had she;
A loving heart and true was all the dower of Violet Lee.
These maiden-flowers grew, and waxed more sweet from day to day;
Each in her place the lesson learned, to love, to work, and pray.
They learned to smile at others' joy, to weep with others' woe,
To cheer the heart, and raise the head with sorrow drooping low.
Fair Lily in her lordly halls became a baron's bride;
Sweet Violet humbly labored by her peasant-husband's side.
Pure Lily's sway was felt among the great ones of the earth;
Sweet Violet cheered with heart and hand her lowly cottage hearth.
Their lots were far apart in life, the goal for each the same:
A faithful heart serves God and man in lady as in dame.
So, like the flowers whose name they bore, when past life's summer day,
A fragrance from their lives they left that ne'er shall pass away.

## CORALS.

### BY SARAH COOPER.

Most boys and girls like corals. They are so common and easily obtained that I hope each of you will lay aside your reading just here, and hunt up a piece, no matter how small, that we may examine it carefully, and see what we can find out about it. You must find, however, a piece of the natural coral, just as it was brought up out of the sea, and not an elegant and polished piece such as is made into ear-rings and brooches and long strings of beads to adorn the necks of ladies and little folk.

What makes this bit of natural coral so rough? The first glance will convince you that those curious pits and little cups on the surface mean something; and when we remember that all the corals which reach us are the skeletons of former living animals, they interest us at once.

Few of us, perhaps, will ever be so fortunate as to see living corals, since they grow principally in the deep water of warm oceans. The higher the temperature, the greater the variety and profusion of the coral. During life the skeleton is covered with soft flesh, the surface of which is thickly studded with star-like animals called polyps. In this way millions of polyps are sometimes clustered together in one community. As they wave their delicate tentacles of white, green, or rose color, they are said to be very beautiful, especially if seen in the bright sunlight through water that is clear and still.

Fig. 1.—Branching Coral Alive, with Polyps Expanded.

In Fig. 1 is shown a piece of living coral with the polyps expanded. The flesh has been removed from the upper branch on the left that we may see the skeleton. Let us suppose that the specimens we have selected for study are of this kind. Each of the tiny cups on the surface was once the frame-work of a separate polyp, and we shall find that its interior is divided by a number of partitions which do not quite reach the centre. Look into the cups with your microscopes,[2] and you will find them very beautiful. One set of partition-walls reaches almost to the centre, and between these walls are shorter ones. These give us a clew to the kind of animal that has lived here, and they will at once remind you of the partitions in the sea-anemone, as shown in Fig. 2 in the article on "Sea-Anemones," published in Young People No. 143. Indeed, the whole structure of a coral polyp is similar to that of an anemone, and we can now easily imagine the stomach of the polyp hanging down in the opening left between those delicate partitions. Coral polyps differ from sea-anemones, however, in three important ways—they have hard skeletons, they can not move about, and they usually grow in clusters.

When young, coral polyps are little jelly-like animals which swim about in the water. After they have chosen a resting-place, and the stomach and tentacles have grown, hard particles of lime, which they have drawn in from the sea-water, settle in their flesh to form a circular cup as well as the partitions inside. In this way the polyps soon acquire a solid frame, the soft parts being the stomach, the fringe of tentacles, and the fleshy mass covering the skeleton and the internal partitions. They can draw the tentacles entirely within the body, as the anemone does. Like the anemone they also have lasso-cells for capturing their food.

Should it be a branching coral whose history we are tracing, it will now begin to bud from the sides. The buds will grow into branches, throwing out other buds, somewhat as plants do, until we have an elegantly branching colony. Each bud is a new polyp, and remains attached to[Pg 724] the branch from which it sprang. Although the polyps in such a community have separate mouths and stomachs, there is a close connection between them, and a free circulation of fluids through the soft flesh.

As in other families one generation passes away and another takes its place, so in large branches of coral the lower and older portions may be dead, and living polyps will be found only at the ends of the branches. Corals seem to be delicate creatures, as they will not flourish under adverse circumstances. They require water of a certain depth, and they die immediately if exposed to the sun or to cold weather.

Besides increasing by budding, corals increase rapidly by eggs. Their eggs are pear-shaped, transparent bodies, covered with cilia, which are in constant motion, and which row the jelly-like lumps through the water. The parents, you remember, are firmly rooted to some object, but their little ones are gifted for a time with the power of motion. They may well enjoy the privilege while it lasts, for it is their only chance of exploring their ocean home. Presently they must settle down like other sedate corals. But it is in this manner that the young polyps are distributed through the ocean instead of growing in a crowded colony around the parent.

You will often hear coral spoken of as having been built by an insect, and you will see at once that this is far from correct. Coral polyps are very different from insects, and their skeletons grow, much as ours do, inside of the animal; so we can not say they have been built. All such animals as coral polyps, which have the mouth in the centre, with other parts radiating from it, are called "Radiates."

Besides these branching corals which resemble trees and shrubs, some grow in solid masses without sending off branches. Others assume the shape of graceful vases; all of these are gayly decked with star-like polyps of varied colors. Does it not seem to you as if the ocean was one vast store-house of beautiful things?

Fig. 2.—Mushroom Coral.

The mushroom coral (Fig. 2) looks indeed like a large mushroom, although you will notice that the leaflets are on the upper surface instead of being underneath, as they are in the vegetable mushroom. This coral is the skeleton of one huge polyp, and we see the depression in the centre corresponding to the little cups on most other corals.

Fig. 3—Organ-pipe Coral.

The organ-pipe coral consists of lovely crimson tubes standing upright, and connected at short distances by thin flat plates, which give it the appearance of being several stories in height. These plates may be distinctly seen in Fig. 3. When alive, a little polyp protrudes from the top of each tube, and being of a bright purple color, it makes a striking contrast with the crimson tube.

Fig. 4.—Fragment of Red Coral with Polyps.

Red coral, which is used for jewelry, grows in a bushy form on rocks at the bottom of the Mediterranean and Red Seas. The fleshy mass of this coral is colored red by the numerous red spicules it contains, while the polyps are pure white. The whole resembles a pretty red shrub spotted over with sparkling white flowers. The spicules in the centre of the branches form a solid stem, which takes a fine polish. Underneath the flesh the surface of the coral is marked with deep grooves, which are canals for the circulation of water. These grooves are shown at both ends of the branch in Fig. 4. They are always removed in polishing.

Red coral is generally obtained by fishermen, who drop into the water heavy wooden crosses to which strong nets are attached. As the boat moves slowly forward, the crosses are raised and lowered to break off the coral branches. The apparatus is then lifted from the water, and the fragments of coral which have become entangled in the net are carefully removed. There are many shops in Italy where the coral is polished and cut into various ornaments. Delicate rose-colored corals are considered very choice and elegant, but the natives of India prefer blood-red ones, which contrast finely with their dark rich complexions. Corals are their favorite ornaments, and large quantities are imported every year.

[Pg 725]

## DOWN CELLAR.

### BY JIMMY BROWN.

We have had a dreadful time at our house, and I have done very wrong. Oh, I always admit it when I've done wrong. There's nothing meaner than to pretend that you haven't done wrong when everybody knows you have. I didn't mean anything by it, though, and Sue ought to have stood by me, when I did it all on her account, and just because I pitied her, if she was my own sister, and it was more her fault, I really think, than it was mine.

Mr. Withers is Sue's new young man, as I have told you already. He comes to see her every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening, and Mr. Travers comes all the other evenings, and Mr. Martin is liable to come any time, and generally does—that is, if he doesn't have the rheumatism. Though he hasn't but one real leg, he has twice as much rheumatism as father, with all his legs, and there is something very queer about it; and if I was he, I'd get a leg of something better than cork, and perhaps he'd have less pain in it.

It all happened last Tuesday night. Just as it was getting dark, and Sue was expecting Mr. Travers every minute, who should come in but Mr. Martin! Now Mr. Martin is such an old acquaintance, and father thinks so much of him, that Sue had to ask him in, though she didn't want him to meet Mr. Travers. So when she heard somebody open the front gate, she said, "Oh, Mr. Martin I'm so thirsty and the servant has gone out, and you know just where the milk is for you went down cellar to get some the last time you were here do you think you would mind getting some for me?" Mr. Martin had often gone down cellar to help himself to milk, and I don't see what makes him so fond of it, so he said, "Certainly with great pleasure," and started down the cellar stairs.

It wasn't Mr. Travers, but Mr. Withers, who had come on the wrong night. He had not much more than got into the parlor when Sue came rushing out to me, for I was swinging in the hammock on the front piazza, and said, "My goodness gracious Jimmy what shall I do here's Mr. Withers and Mr. Travers will be here in a few minutes and there's Mr. Martin down cellar and I feel as if I should fly what shall I do?"

I was real sorry for her, and thought I'd help her, for girls are not like us. They never know what to do when they are in a scrape, and they are full of absence of mind when they ought to have lots of presence of mind. So I said: "I'll fix it for you, Sue. Just leave it all to me. You stay here and meet Mr. Travers, who is just coming around the corner, and I'll manage Mr. Withers." Sue said, "You darling little fellow there don't muss my hair"; and I went in, and said to Mr. Withers, in an awfully mysterious way, "Mr. Withers, I hear a noise in the cellar. Don't tell Sue, for she's dreadfully nervous. Won't you go down and see what it is?" Of course I knew it was Mr. Martin who was making the noise, though I didn't say so.

"Oh, it's nothing but rats, Jimmy," said he, "or else the cat, or maybe it's the cook."

"No, it isn't," said I. "If I was you, I'd go and see into it. Sue thinks you're awfully brave."

Well, after a little more talk, Mr. Withers said he'd go, and I showed him the cellar door, and got him started down the stairs, and then I locked the door, and went back to the hammock, and Sue and Mr. Travers they sat in the front parlor.

"THEY THOUGHT THEY WERE BOTH BURGLARS."

Pretty soon I heard a heavy crash down cellar, as if something heavy had dropped, and then there was such a yelling and howling, just as if the cellar was full of murderers. Mr. Travers jumped up, and was starting for the[Pg 726] cellar, when Sue fainted away, and hung tight to him, and wouldn't let him go.

I staid in the hammock, and wouldn't have left it if father hadn't come down-stairs, but when I saw him going down cellar, I went after him to see what could possibly be the matter.

Father had a candle in one hand and a big club in another. You ought to have been there to see Mr. Martin and Mr. Withers. One of them had run against the other in the dark, and they thought they were both burglars. So they got hold of each other, and fell over the milk pans and upset the soap barrel, and then rolled round the cellar floor, holding on to each other, and yelling help murder thieves, and when we found them, they were both in the ash bin, and the ashes were choking them.

Father would have pounded them with the club if I hadn't told him who they were. He was awfully astonished, and though he wouldn't say anything to hurt Mr. Martin's feelings, he didn't seem to care much for mine or Mr. Withers's, and when Mr. Travers finally came down, father told him that he was a nice young man, and that the whole house might have been murdered by burglars while he was enjoying himself in the front parlor.

Mr. Martin went home after he got a little of the milk and soap and ashes and things off of him, but he was too angry to speak. Mr. Withers said he would never enter the house again, and Mr. Travers didn't even wait to speak to Sue, he was in such a rage with Mr. Withers. After they were all gone, Sue told father that it was all my fault, and father said he would attend to my case in the morning; only, when the morning came, he told me not to do it again, and that was all.

I admit that I did do wrong, but I didn't mean it, and my only desire was to help my dear sister. You won't catch me helping her again very soon.

## THE LONG STRIKE.

### BY JULIA K. HILDRETH.

All along the banks of the Connecticut River are little towns consisting almost wholly of great cotton factories run by water power or steam, and the cottages of those who labor in them. Windham is one of these towns, and though perhaps you might not find it on the map, for it is a very small place, it turns out thousands of yards of muslin and cotton every year. All around the tall factory buildings are grouped the little red and white dwellings of the weavers, like chickens around their mother hen.

Usually these small houses are empty during working hours. All day long the hum and clatter of machinery shake the walls, and dense volumes of smoke pour from the tall chimneys.

But one morning everything was changed. The doors of the factories were closed; no smoke came from the chimneys, and no sound of machinery from the buildings. Around the cottages men stood in groups, with angry faces, scowling and talking in low tones. Presently the sound of a drum was heard. At this the men separated, and forming themselves into a line, marched off.

About a quarter of a mile from the village was an open field, where a tent had been erected for the accommodation of travelling lecturers, who were in the habit of stopping at Windham in the summer-time.

To this tent the men were going when Nelly Austin first saw them. Nelly lived all alone with her mother in a small house near the tent. She knew very little of factories or factory life, for she seldom went to the village, and had no companions living there. So when this crowd of men, with a boy beating a drum before them, came marching along the road, Nelly was astonished, and ran in the house to tell her mother.

Mrs. Austin was sitting by the window sewing, and grew very white when Nelly spoke.

"Mamma," cried Nelly, "look out of the window at that big army of men! They are going into the tent." As Nelly approached her mother she saw that there were tears in her eyes. "Are you frightened, mamma?" she inquired. "Do you think they will hurt us?"

"No, Nelly," answered Mrs. Austin; "they are only men from Windham. They are dissatisfied with something the owners of the factories have done, and so have come to the tent to talk it over. They do not want to work until they have their own way. That is what is called 'striking.'"

"Well, then, mamma," inquired Nelly, "if they only mean to talk, why do you feel so badly and cry?"

"Because, dear, years ago, when you were a baby, there was a strike at Windham that ended in a terrible fight, and your papa, who owned one of the factories, was killed and our house burned."

"How dreadful!" said Nelly. "I am so sorry!" Then she kissed her mother softly, and with a very sober face went to the door and peeped out.

The orchard wall ran across one side of the inclosure where the tent was placed. She ran to the wall, and climbing up on top, peeped down upon the assembled workmen. They did not look at all blood-thirsty. Some were even laughing; most of them had their pipes in their mouths, smoking. At a desk on one side of the room stood a man who was talking loudly to those around him. Every now and then Nelly heard the words "injustice," "never give up," "masters and men," but she could make nothing of them.

Week after week the workmen came to the tent, until Nelly grew so accustomed to their meetings that she scarcely noticed them. But one day, about ten weeks after their first meeting, when the strikers were assembled under the tent, they talked so loudly and made so much noise that Nelly clambered upon the orchard wall again, wondering what was going to happen. She noticed that there was no pleasant laughing and talking, as there had been at first; instead of which, the men seemed to Nelly to be scolding and shaking their fists at one another. She tried very hard to make out what they were saying, but as they all spoke at once, she soon found that impossible. But still she sat perched under the apple-tree, until at last all but two of their number got up and went away. These two kept their seats until the rest had disappeared down the road. Then they came just outside of the tent and stood close to Nelly without observing her.

"I will not bear it another day," said one, looking very miserable and angry. "My wife and young ones are starving. Can I stand by and see that? And yet you tell me to have patience!"

"It's all Mr. Willard's fault, Bill," said the other, more quietly. "If he would give in, all the other owners would follow his example. They always do."

"Well, then," answered Bill, shaking his fist, "he shall, if I have to kill him myself."

"Go home, Bill," said the other, in a warning voice, "and don't talk nonsense. It will all come right in time."

Then he turned away, and left Bill alone, scowling and muttering, while Nelly sat on the wall trembling with fear lest she might be discovered.

When Bill thought himself alone, he drew out a heavy pistol from his pocket, and Nelly saw him load it and thrust it into the breast of his red shirt. He then went back to the tent, and throwing himself upon one of the benches, appeared to fall asleep.

Nelly's fright increased. "I wonder," she said to herself, "if he really means to kill old Mr. Willard?" Then she determined to be very brave. What was best to do she could not tell. Finally she said to herself, "I'll just stay where I am and watch."

[Pg 727]

Nelly sat with her eyes fixed on Bill for a long time, but he did not stir until the clock in the Windham church struck six; then he stood up, and after looking all around, crossed the road and climbed the wall that inclosed Mr. Willard's wood.

"There!" said Nelly; "now I know he means to shoot Mr. Willard."

Nelly and every one living near knew that Mr. Willard, the richest factory owner in Windham, walked through these woods alone every evening, about half past six, to the post-office. Mr. Willard chose this way to the village, because it was the shortest and pleasantest.

When Nelly saw Bill climb the wall, she knew it must be for the purpose of meeting Mr. Willard, as the man's home was quite in an opposite direction; so she jumped down and followed him quickly. As she reached the upper stone of the wall inclosing the wood, she caught a glimpse of him hurrying toward the road that led to the post-office. But by the time she had reached the ground he was gone. So Nelly flew along without even glancing at the pretty golden-rod and squawberries that gleamed yellow and red between the trees.

At last Nelly gained the wide road, and looked around. Something red lying upon the ground attracted her attention. After a moment she perceived that it was Bill's red shirt, and that Bill himself was stretched upon the ground behind a large sycamore-tree, and he was almost hidden in the long grass and weeds.

Nelly stood in the path some time, fearing to pass him, he looked so angry and wicked. But she had determined to try and see Mr. Willard before Bill, and so perhaps save his life. At last she heard something that sounded like a footstep. This made her forget her dread of Bill, and she sprang past his hiding-place like a frightened hare, and never stopped until she reached a small rustic gate that separated the woods from the smooth green lawn surrounding Mr. Willard's home.

From where she stood Nelly could see the wide porch of the brown-stone house, and presently Mr. Willard himself appeared hurrying across the grass. When his hand was on the gate, Nelly drew back, for she felt very timid at what she was about to do.

When Mr. Willard saw Nelly, he put on his gold-rimmed eyeglass and examined her closely, as though astonished at seeing such a small girl all alone in the woods, with a very worried expression in her eyes.

"Well," said he, "who are you, little girl?"

"Nelly Austin," she answered, without moving.

"Austin! Austin!" repeated Mr. Willard. "Are you the daughter of Mr. James Austin that was killed by the mob at Windham some years ago?"

"Yes, sir," answered Nelly, "and I want to tell you something."

"Very well," said Mr. Willard, patting her on the head. "I am listening. But speak quickly, for it is late, and I must post my letters before the mail goes out."

"Oh, Mr. Willard," cried Nelly, excitedly seizing his hand and pulling him toward the gate, "don't go through the woods to the post-office to-night!"

"Why not?" questioned the old gentleman in surprise.

"Because there's a dreadful man waiting behind the sycamore-tree to kill you with a big pistol, just as they did my poor father."

"How did you learn this, Nelly?" asked Mr. Willard, wonderingly, and looking closely at her.

Then Nelly related all she had seen and heard from her hiding-place upon the orchard wall.

Mr. Willard stood in silence for some moments after Nelly had finished her story; then he lifted her upon his arm, and said:

"You are a good kind girl, little Nelly, and I thank you. Do you know that a man values his life more than anything else he possesses, and that you have saved mine? Now, Nelly, ask me for something you would like to have for yourself. No matter what it is, you shall have it. Remember, I am a very rich man."

"Would you really give me anything I ask for?" said Nelly, looking inquiringly into Mr. Willard's face.

"Yes, my dear, anything in my power. Now would you like a carriage with two beautiful little cream-colored ponies to drive yourself? Or what would you like? Speak out, Nelly, and don't be afraid."

"No," said Nelly, shaking her head. "Ponies would be very nice. But that's not it. What I want would cost ever so much more, I suppose. I want you," said she, hesitatingly, while she stroked his white beard softly with one hand, "to please give in to the poor people at Windham."

"What a strange child!" said Mr. Willard, slowly. "And is that all, Nelly?"

"Not quite," answered Nelly. "There's something more that I feel bad about."

"Speak, dear, what is it?"

"You know the wicked man in the woods waiting to kill you? Well, he said his wife and babies were starving. Please don't put him in prison."

"But, Nelly," said Mr. Willard, very kindly, "you know this man has done very wrong. It is he and others like him who stir up discontent among the factory people and cause these terrible 'strikes,' which only end in keeping them idle for weeks, until they grow so miserable that dreadful crimes are committed."

"Yes, but I want you to forgive them. Some people say they are very reasonable in what they want this time, and you can do it just this once. They are so poor and wretched and hungry. Please, please do!"

Mr. Willard kissed her. "Well, Nelly," he said, "I promise. The work-people shall have their own way, and Bill shall go unpunished. Now what shall I give you?"

"Nothing, thank you," answered Nelly, slipping from his arms. "I must go home, for mamma doesn't know where I am. Good-by, Mr. Willard; I thank you ever so much for your promise."

"Good-by, Nelly. Now kiss me, and take care of yourself until I see you again."

Next morning when the factory bells rang out, it was known all over Windham that the working people were to go to work on their own terms. Mr. Willard had given in. Once more the doors were flung open, black smoke rushed from the chimneys, the machinery hummed and buzzed, and busy, cheerful forms could be seen hurrying to and fro.

But a day or two later a meeting of the factory people was called, and then the story was told that Mr. Willard had yielded, not to the demands of Bill and his fellows, but to the prayer of a little girl who had forgiven the men who murdered her father, and who could not be content to see them suffer.

Not long after, Mr. Willard called on Nelly's mother, and sat talking with her for a long while. As he took his leave he put a folded paper in Mrs. Austin's hand, telling her there was something for Nelly. After he[Pg 728] was gone Mrs. Austin opened the paper and called Nelly to her.

"This," said she, "is what is called a deed, and Mr. Willard has given you the house we live in and the woods you love so much."

"For my own?" cried Nelly, opening her eyes very wide.

"Yes, dear," answered her mother.

"And the rabbits and squirrels and birds and everything in it?"

"Yes, dear, all of them."

I can not tell you all that Nelly said, or how much happiness there was in the little cottage. After this Nelly and Mr. Willard became close friends. He called her his "Wood Fairy," and they could be seen almost every day wandering hand in hand through Nelly's wood.

[Pg 729]

LITTLE MOTHER HUBBARD.

[Pg 730]

## HOW BILLY WENT UP IN THE WORLD.

### BY ANNETTE NOBLE.

### Part III.

One day it happened that the tailor had not been home for twenty-four hours. Billy's coming into his family had made Peter very negligent. When he failed to bring food for the old woman and child, he assured himself that most likely Billy would get some. Peter was sure he ought to do that much for the shelter of a comfortable home. So every week the tailor drank more and staid away from that home longer; but Billy, wholly absorbed in his own plans, hardly noticed the fact, and Ben never complained of anything that could be endured. As long as the cow had fresh grass, they had milk and did not suffer. If it happened that Billy heard granny ask for meat, he got it for her; if not, she went without and forgot it from one meal-time to another. Indeed, she forgot everything but her Bible.

Well, as I have just said, Peter had not been home for twenty-four hours. Sunset came, and Billy did not return. The minstrel troupe were getting ready to leave town, and he was probably with them. The cow did not come home as she had often been accustomed to do of her own accord.

All these non-appearances made Ben very uneasy. He laid the table with empty dishes, and then watched on the door-steps. The stars came out and winked at him; the crickets made lonesome music. Presently granny tottered across the room, took up an empty cup, and shook her head musingly.

"Was the tea strong to-night, dearie?" she asked. "It seems as if it must have been poor stuff, I feel so weak."

"You have not had any, granny, but I guess we will s-soo-" began Ben, and then stopped. It did not seem worth while to stutter long over a thing so doubtful. But when the old Clock struck eight, Billy took his torn hat from the peg behind the door and said, "I am going after Brownie; she must have got into Mr. Ellery's pasture."

"Yes, child. The green pastures and still waters," answered the old woman. "And there is the Shepherd, you know. I shall not want."

"There isn't any shepherd there, and we must go after our own cow when she strays away, granny."

Ben shut the door gently then, and went down under the sunflowers along the road and over a narrow bridge, stopping to look into the rapid stream where the cattle came to drink at noon-time. Yes, sly Brownie was in the neighbor's pasture; but she took little Ben's grave rebuke very meekly, as became a good cow, and started away home. She reached the bridge and clattered over it, her hoofs shaking the unsteady planks.

As soon as he saw her headed in the right direction, Ben lingered to look longingly up the main road, for it was not so dark that he could not see if any one should happen to be coming down that road. He was just turning to go on, when he discovered a man in the distance. As Ben saw him walking first in the dusty road, then in the dewy may-weed of the border, now here, now there, he sped briskly toward him to act as a walking-stick. How often he had performed this sad duty before! Yet there was no hesitation or delay in the way he sprang forward to help the unhappy father who had done so little for his child.

"Humph! I should think you had better be on hand, leaving poor fellow to find his way home all 'lone this time night."

Ben did not answer. He had all he could do to keep his small feet out from under Peter's great boots, and to keep both himself and his unhappy parent from falling to the ground. At the bridge they made more noise than even the cow had made in crossing. The old planks creaked and rattled, while Peter lurched from one side to another.

"Take care, father! See, oh, s-s-see!" stuttered Ben. "You go too near the edge!"

The shrill warning came too late. Peter staggered, pitched, and reeled over into the brown water. One hand vainly snatching at Ben only tore the shabby straw hat off his head. The poor child gave a long, loud shriek for help. Fear loosened his stammering tongue, and the cry, "Father will drown! Come, oh, come!" rang out wildly over the fields. Meanwhile, by kneeling, he had seized the drunkard's coat, and was able to hold him at least a moment.

It seemed an hour to Ben. Peter struggled madly, and flung both arms around the frail boy to draw him recklessly down with him to death. Over he went, without resistance, and the leaping, sparkling stream that was so beautiful by day swept over them both. The stars twinkled overhead and the crickets chirruped in the crisp grass, and at that very moment Brownie was softly lowing at the little red cottage door. Granny waked up and called out in the silence and shadow, "Bring the good Book, Bennie, then we will go to rest."

Two hours later Billy came gayly whistling home and found the cottage dark, the fire out, and the poor old woman shivering, troubled to understand the strange stillness around her and her own discomfort. He lit a candle and looked on the lounge, expecting to find little Ben curled up there asleep, but the kitten, mewing pitifully when he disturbed her, was there all alone.

"Where can he be, gran—" The words were arrested on Billy's lips. Farmer Ellery entered the room and motioned to him to keep still. A woman who followed him led granny tenderly into the next room, while outside the door Billy heard muffled voices and many footsteps.

A moment later how his blood seemed to freeze with horror! The door opened, and sad-faced men brought in, on a plank torn from the old bridge, Peter, the tailor, dead. His pallid face gleamed through the matted hair, the water dripped from his clothing, and clutched tightly to his breast was poor little Ben. The child's soft locks streaming back showed the sweet face that looked to Billy like an angel's, so pure was it now. The patient little helper! Billy burst into tears. He forgot the stuttering, the baby pinafore, the copper-toed shoes that used to make Ben so funny. He all at once remembered how he gave himself so lovingly to everybody's service—to his, to granny's, to the miserable father's, even unto death. It seemed as if Billy must get him back, if only to tell him how much he loved him. But that could not be ever again.

Farmer Ellery and the other kind neighbors made every effort to restore the two to consciousness, but all was of no avail. They could only keep the sad condition of things from the poor old woman until morning, and then vie with one another in bringing her comforts.

The next few days were very strange ones to Billy. He never forgot an hour of that morning when he sat on the door-step in the warm sunshine, and peeped every now and then into the cottage, where, on the old lounge, made white with snowy linen, was a child, strewn from head to foot with apple-blossoms.

"He was not great, or handsome, or very smart," thought Billy, "but he will be missed, for he was good, and he loved everybody. He was always ready and willing to help, or to do, or to suffer. He was worth twice as much as I am. Nothing is left for me but granny. I'll have to make up to her the loss of both of them."

Suddenly there came into Billy's mind the thought of his chosen occupation. Was he not to start out as a minstrel that very week?

I doubt if Billy had ever thought so much in all his life[Pg 731] before as he did in the days that lay between the time when little Ben was brought home so cold and white, and the funeral, when the kind neighbors buried him away out of sight under the green sod. He seemed to be taking a new view of life altogether. He could not have told the reason why, but the idea of starting off with the minstrel troup seemed to lose its fascination. He would have to leave that little green mound behind him, and he did not want to do it.

It was two days after the funeral when, as Farmer Ellery was at work in his field, there appeared quite unexpectedly a red head over the fence near him, and then a boy with a very earnest face.

"Good-day, Billy. Going to leave us, I hear."

"No, sir. I have come to say I want to make a man of myself by being just a hard-working boy, if you will show me how. And could I work for enough to keep an old lady, do you think? I am going to keep her, anyhow. The town shan't have granny. I am sorry I refused your offer. That minstrel nonsense is no go for me."

Billy's face grew as red as his hair, but he went on in a minute:

"Her Book tells what a fellow ought to be, you know, and I think I had better get into being something worth while. If I turn short around, maybe I can—"

"Make the most of yourself, with the help of God."

"That is it exactly."

"Come over the fence. Take a hoe and begin," said Farmer Ellery.

William Knox attended the last fair in Langham. He did not go up in a balloon, but his cattle and his farm produce took first prizes. If it had been becoming for a committee to decide what farmer was universally beloved and respected, in whose honor the community fully believed, perhaps there would have been another prize offered to William. If so, his face would again have been redder than his hair, for the best men are always modest.

#### the end.

## TOM FAIRWEATHER'S VOYAGE UP THE TIGRIS.

### BY LIEUTENANT E. W. STURDY.

The Blosse Lynch is the largest boat on the Tigris, being built somewhat on the model of the American river steamers, and on the Blosse Lynch Tom Fairweather was embarked on a trip from Bassorah to Bagdad.

Bagdad, the City of the Caliphs, is five hundred miles from Bassorah, first up the Shatt-el-Arab, and then against the swift current of the Tigris, which runs at the rate of five miles an hour.

This voyage generally lasts three days, but sometimes, when the river is low and the nights dark, it is impossible to steam by night at all, or to go fast even by day. But Tom seemed born to good fortune and the fair weather which his name bespoke. The steamer sped on her way favored in all respects.

Tom's father had been to Bagdad before, and did not care to go again, so Tom was put under the charge of Lieutenant Jollytarre, who had decided to make the trip, although he, too, had made it already.

Such a motley throng on deck! There were keen-eyed swarthy Arabs of the desert, and black-eyed, russet-hued Arabs of the Gulf (the Persian Gulf, be it understood); there were Mussulmans from India on a pilgrimage to Kerbela; Jews of Bagdad returning to their homes after a business visit to Bassorah; there were Christians of Bagdad and Christians of Mosul. To be sure, these latter looked as unlike the ordinary Christian of Tom's acquaintance as possible, in their flowing robes and bright colors. But then Christianity and trousers and frock-coats are not altogether inseparable. Besides, there were Arab women, closely veiled, squatted about the deck. Sometimes the veils fell, and displayed the adornment of rings in the noses of these fair Arabians, blue lines elegantly tattooed on their chins and foreheads and across their lips.

You may fancy that it was a source of endless amusement to Tom to observe these different groups. Orientals are a tranquil set, and the quaint figures about the deck of the steamer changed their positions but seldom throughout the day; they smoked their caldeoous and drank their coffee seated on carpets and mats, and only stirred at the hour of prayer.

"Ain't it queer to see them saying their prayers right out before everybody?" commented Tom.

"Yes, it is," agreed the Lieutenant.

Presently they began to approach Kumah.

"What's this other river?" demanded Tom.

"This is the junction of the Euphrates and Tigris, fifty miles above Bassorah."

"Why, isn't this the Garden of Eden? I think my father told me that the Garden of Eden was at Kumah."

"Well, he was right." Here Mr. Jollytarre hailed an Arab who had just come on board to peddle his wares, consisting of curiosities and relics.

The Arab stood in front of Tom, gravely offering him a small branch of a tree. His English was so bad, however, that Tom was forced to turn to Mr. Jollytarre for an interpretation.

"He says that is a branch from the original tree which bore the forbidden fruit."

"Good gracious, you don't say so!" And Tom forthwith purchased the branch, paying two or three prices for it, of course.

Then the peddler jumped ashore, and they left Kumah behind them.

Afterward, for hours and hours a monotonous stretch of lowlands was the only landscape. The river-banks were so low that the wash from the steamer went over and watered the grass. Here and there were rice fields cultivated by the Arabs, and where the land was drier green corn waved, but not a tree broke the dead level of the landscape.

"What are those?" cried Tom, pointing to some animals playing among the reeds. "Oh yes, I see now—pigs; wild pigs, I suppose? And those birds are pelicans, are they not—there, in those pools? How snowy white they are!"

"I was a youngster when I made this trip before," said the Lieutenant. "It was my first cruise. I shall never forget shooting at a lion and two lionesses which had climbed to the top of a bank, where they lay high and dry. I hit the lion at the first shot, whereupon he plunged and reared, and then charged desperately in the direction of the steamer. At the second shot he rolled over dead into the water. But he showed fight, I tell you, and the fury of the three animals was something to be remembered. After the lion was hit, one of the lionesses jumped into the water and swam for the steamer. She was killed alongside."

"And the other lioness?"

"I regret to state she turned tail. I have always supposed she had cubs at home."

"Hello!" cried Tom, "what's that? Some one firing on shore. Look!"

Mr. Jollytarre used his field-glass. The Captain of the Blosse Lynch sauntered up with his glass. On the banks of the river were two men firing at each other, one on either side, using the steamer apparently as a screen.

"Some of my crew tell me that those are two brothers," said the Captain, "who are fighting for the supremacy of their tribe. They keep up with us pretty well, don't they? Now look at that rascal shooting at that other fellow across the bow of the boat. By Jove! he's hit him. The man's down. Two or three men are running up to him and carrying him off. It's a dangerous country," continued the Captain, "and a bad lot of tribes all along here. They[Pg 732] are always giving trouble, robbing grain and cargo boats at every opportunity."

Every ten or twenty miles the vessel would steam by an Arab settlement, or rather encampment, where nothing could be ruder than the huts built of mats and reeds.

The Arab boys of these villages would run along the banks shouting to the passengers, who would throw them apples and onions and cabbages. The sight of this sport fascinated Tom, who first begged a cabbage of the steward, and then hurled it toward the shore. It fell midway, however, into the water, whereupon the boys set up a shout of baffled expectation. But in the next moment two or three of them had sprung in after the precious gift, swimming fearlessly, regardless of the swift current and the wash of the steamer.

"The grown-ups are at it now," cried Mr. Jollytarre. "Look, Tom, look!"

As he spoke three men and a woman plunged into the river and exerted all their energies to seize upon a handful of onions which some of the crew just then threw overboard. Loaded with their booty they swam ashore satisfied.

As they proceeded on their way the aspect of the country improved greatly. Little towns built of sun-dried bricks replaced the former villages of reeds and mats. Among the dwellers on the Upper Tigris are Bedouins who had wandered thither in the dry season to water their flocks, and had settled there.

A PARTY OF WANDERING BEDOUINS.

Have you all heard of the Bedouins of the desert? At certain seasons the desert is an arid waste, where flocks would perish of thirst. Many Bedouins, who had thus found their way to the river-banks, and had staid on, became farmers there. Some of them in the course of time would wander off to Bagdad or some other great town in search of employment, and thus these wanderers would cease to be the Bedouins of the desert.

Tom became thoroughly interested in all this. He looked with curiosity at the farmer Bedouins. Presently he saw a party of them mounted upon camels ("ships of the desert") steering their way along the river-bank.

"There's one queer thing," Tom said, looking about him on the steamer's deck. "Did you ever see so many blind people together before, Mr. Jollytarre? I mean blind of one eye. I never saw anything like it. What do you suppose is the cause?"

"Diseases of the eye are very common here on account, I suppose, of the glare of the sun on these hot plains. They have a way of using tobacco juice as a remedy for these diseases, which only makes them worse. The native doctors put out many an eye by this treatment. The patient is lucky if he escapes with even one good one. The natives have great confidence in the European doctors, and look upon them as magicians—that is, unless they propose to cut off an arm or a leg. That they won't submit to; they would rather die. The loss of an eye is evidently a trifling matter."

"That accounts for the Three Calenders," said Tom, "You remember those Three Calenders in the Arabian Nights? They were princes' sons, each blind of the right eye, who all met at the gates of Bagdad together. Now I've always thought it so very remarkable—all three blind of the same eye, all three princes, all meeting at the same place."

"What you might call a coincidence, or rather three of them. I always used to think that story hard to swallow myself, but since I've seen these Eastern folks in the flesh, I find it easier to believe. In fact, I have been told that it would be a very singular circumstance if three individuals came together at Bagdad, or any other town in the neighborhood, who could count six eyes among them."

So they went on their way, coming nearer and nearer to Bagdad. Five hours from their destination they came to the ruins of two cities, the "Twin Cities of the Arabs"—Seleucia and Ctesiphon.

Seleucia was built on the western bank of the Tigris, by Seleucus, one of Alexander's generals. After the death of Alexander his vast empire was divided between four of his generals, and the grand division called Syria fell to the share of Seleucus. This included part of ancient Assyria, and therefore the venerable city of Babylon, which was at one time the greatest city in the world. As Seleucia rose into power it gradually took the place of Babylon, which fell into decay in its turn.

Ctesiphon was built opposite Seleucia on the other bank, and was the capital of the Parthian Empire, its royal palace being one of the wonders of the ancient world.

Kingdoms were bowled up and down in those days just as they are now, and in this way Ctesiphon was sacked by the Arabs, when, a few years after the death of Mohammed, they prostrated the Persian kingdom.

"CÆSAR'S ARCH" AT CTESIPHON.

The wonderful royal palace was destroyed and its glories scattered. One marvellous carpet in particular, which covered the Hall of Audience, was sent to the Caliph Omar as a trophy worthy of him alone. He had it cut up and divided among the captors, and it was of course ruined.

Tom and Mr. Jollytarre wandered through the ruins of Ctesiphon, talking of these things.

"At one time," said Mr. Jollytarre, "they were rebuilding,[Pg 733] or rather refounding, Bagdad, in the time of a caliph called Almansur. He determined to use the devastated palace of Ctesiphon as a quarry for materials. He ordered the famous building to be entirely demolished for this purpose; but it was found to be impossible to carry out his orders, the pile was so stupendous. There is 'Cæsar's Arch,' for instance, which has escaped the destroyer's hand. The height and span of this arch are said to be unequalled in the world."

But Tom heaved a sigh. "I should have liked to see that carpet," he said.

"Yes, so should I. I hardly think carpet-makers of the East have improved since that day. They improve slowly out here. I don't believe things have altered much since Alexander's day."

"Those round boats, for instance," said Tom.

"So much for the 'Twin Cities of the Arabs,'" said the Lieutenant, as they embarked once more on the Blosse Lynch. "Tom, I wonder your small head does not burst with all the sights you have seen and the wonders you have heard since we left Bassorah."

"Most of it goes in one ear and out the other," replied Tom, frankly.

At night-fall of the third day they reached Bagdad, but it was too late to go on shore.

## FIVE LITTLE ANGELS.

Five little angels singing on high;
Five little angels drop from the sky.

The first to blow the fire ran;

The second then put on the pan;

The third poured in the porridge nice;

The fourth put in the salt and spice;

The fifth then brought it in a plate,
And, smiling, said to little Kate:
Your supper's very hot, I fear;
Be careful not to burn you, dear!

[Pg 734]

Two little cousins were going to school the other day, and as they passed my window I watched their faces. One of the boys, whose name was Harold, looked very happy. I was as sure as though he had told me so that he had been helped by a pair of twin fairies who are always very busy at this time of the year. The two little creatures flit from one school-room to another, and the boys and girls whom they assist may be known by several signs. They hold their heads up bravely, they walk with light steps, and they are never seen to frown or pout. I was sure by Harold's eyes that he and the fairies I mean were close friends.

Edgar, the other boy, went to school with an air which gave me pain. I was not at all surprised to hear him say that he had a cross teacher, and that he did not like his lessons, and could not learn them. Poor fellow! A naughty fairy had captured him, and I put on my spectacles and took my knitting while I thought of a plan to set him free from her power.

The fairies who help children at school are bright-eyed creatures, who teach you two things—the first is how to hold fast, the second is how to hold on. Fairy Holdfast will not let her friends look at a half-dozen things at once. She says, "Now, my boys and girls, ten times one is ten. Think of that, and of nothing else. Look, straight at the teacher if in the class-room; look straight at the book if it is study hour. I will hover about, and keep everybody who wants to bother you out of sight."

Fairy Holdon says, sweetly, "Dear little ones, Rome was not built in a day. One brick at a time, and the house is completed. One day at a time, and the century is finished. One lesson at a time, perfectly learned, and the little boy becomes a great scholar."

Some people call the Fairy Holdfast Attention, and the Fairy Holdon Diligence, but I think the other names are prettier and much easier to remember, don't you?

As for the wicked fairy who is the foe of all good boys and girls, her name is Fairy Scatterbrain, though some people call her Idleness. She is not nearly so strong as the kind fairies I have been talking about, and if you make an effort to snap the threads she weaves about you, they will break like spiders' webs. Only, you must make the effort. Nobody can do it for you.

I intend to whisper this secret to Edgar on the first opportunity.

New Brighton, Staten Island.

> I am nine years old. I live with my papa and mamma in the country. I have a little pug-dog whose name is Beauty, and I have a canary-bird and a young rabbit. The canary-bird's name is Buttercup, and the rabbit's name is Muff. I am going to tell you about the way in which I caught Muff. I was out walking with my teacher and my brother and another little boy and girl, and we went up to the woods, when all of a sudden I caught sight of a little brown thing in the bushes, and then I saw that it was a young rabbit, and I called my little friends to try and catch it, and at last the little boy succeeded in doing so. We took it home and put it in a box, in which we laid some straw.

> My brother is eight years old. He has a bicycle, and he rides very well. He began to ride when he was six years old.

Julie B. R.

Fort Bowie, Arizona Territory.

> This is my second letter to Young People. The first was written some time ago from Fort Apache. Most girls tell of their pets, but as I have only a pair of pigeons and a little "burro" (which is Mexican for donkey), I'll tell about our trip from Fort Apache to this place. We left Apache early on the morning of June 28, and arrived here on the afternoon of July 9, having travelled in an ambulance drawn by six stout mules. The road was very rough in some places, but the scenery was beautiful, especially when crossing the mountains. We passed by the graves of the men killed by Indians last May. In one grave there were five bodies. We also saw the charred remains of a wagon, to which the Indians had tied men and then burned them. We had a detail of sixteen soldiers, or we should have been very much afraid. We camped each night, and I thought how surprised Eastern people would have been had they seen us sitting outside the tents after supper, singing, in this wild country. I'll write again some time, and tell about this funny little fort—that is, if we stay here long enough.

Bessie G.

Your letter would not have been too long, dear, had you told about the fort before you concluded it. Little correspondents need not fear making descriptive letters too long.

"I want to look wise," said Maud, one day;
"I want to look clever and wise."
"Oho!" said the Owl, as he sat on a spray,
And blinked, as in solemn surprise,
"You had better by far remain as you are,
And learn to be clever and wise."
Then echoed the birds as they sat in a row,
"You hear what he says; you'd better, you know,
Just learn to be clever and wise."

### AN ALPHABET.

A is an apple, so rosy and sweet!
B is a butternut dropped at your feet.
C is a crow flying over the hill,
D is a duck in the pond by the mill.
E is an egg that the hen hid away;
F is a fan for a very warm day.
G is a golden-rod lifting a plume,
H is a honey-bee kissing its bloom.
I is an icicle, sharp as a spear;
J is a juniper, green all the year.
K is a katydid, singing at dusk;
L is a lily, much sweeter than musk.
M is a mouse peeping out of her hole;
N is a napkin in tight little roll.
O is an owl, looking solemn and wise;
P is a pussy, with fun in her eyes.
Q is a question that children may ask;
R is a recess when ended your task.
S is a sugar-plum ever so nice;
T is a tooth biting it in a trice.
U is an usher, to find you a place;
V is a violet hiding her face.
W is a wren, with a dear little nest;
X is the gladness that fills her wee breast.
Y is Young People you all love so well;
Z is for Zoe, who reads it to Nell.

Some little folks may think it odd that X stands for gladness. When they are older, and study algebra, they will find out that X is put for a quantity that is not known. Nobody can tell just how very glad a little mother-bird feels over her fledgelings.

Knoxville, Illinois.

> I like so well to read the letters from other little boys and girls that I thought I would like to write you one. I have two dogs: their names are Prince and Gip. Prince is a shepherd dog, but can not scent so well as Gip, who is a rat terrier; so Prince coaxes Gip to go rabbit-hunting with him, and scent and catch the rabbits, when Prince eats them. Gip does not always like to do the work and let Prince have all the enjoyment, and sometimes runs back after they get started, but Prince will rub his nose, pat, and coax until Gip will finally go. I have two ducks, and they sit on nests close together, and divide the eggs between them. I have also a cat named Bessie; she had a kitten, but it died. I have a little sister named "Tot." I have taken Harper's Young People ever since it first started, and I think "Toby Tyler" was the best story of all. I am in the country visiting, and my auntie is writing this letter for me, as I am only six years old, and can not write. I have been riding on horseback, chasing the cows and pigs, catching chickens for auntie, drinking all the milk I want, and having a real good time. I have not seen any letters from the Knoxville girls and boys; so I hope you will print this, and let me surprise my papa, who prints papers too.

Sterling H. C.

This is a very nice letter, only, dear Sterling, I am sorry those dogs hunt and eat the poor rabbits, and if I were their little master, I would stop such work if I could. The ducks are much kinder than the dogs, in my opinion.

Ellensburg, Oregon.

> Will you publish a letter from a little girl who lives away off on the Pacific coast, where no one is ever advised to "go West"? I am six years old. Papa subscribed for the Young People last winter, and it was so long coming that we began to fear that the money had been lost, when at last four numbers came all at once, and on my birthday at that. We live at the mouth of Rogue River. There is a large salmon cannery here, and a great many men are employed during the fishing season. A long time ago this place was called Gold Beach, on account of the very rich mines here. Sometimes we walk on the beach and gather moss and shells. From the front door we can see steamers passing up and down the coast, and can watch the fishing-boats. Last summer papa took me to San Francisco, and I enjoyed the trip very much. I have two brothers, Bertie and Harry, and a sister Pearl, and I am the oldest of them all. I have a number of dolls, and a kitten named Jessie. Bertie's kitten is named Daisy. We all think ever so much of Young People. I have a little friend named Clarence, who is going to subscribe. I can not read much myself, but mamma reads to us. Mamma is writing at my dictation, but she says we must "boil it down," or you will not even read my letter. I think that of all the subscribers in the United States, none live so far West as your little Oregonian friend,

May W.

The next time I cross the East River and see the busy steamboats going to and fro, I shall think of May watching the ships and steamers from her front door. How nice it was to have your first numbers of Young People arrive on your birthday, almost as though it had been planned to give you them for a birthday present.

We think the following letter from a lad of twelve will interest many other wide-awake boys who have never had the pleasure of seeing what goes on in a navy-yard. We will be pleased to hear from our young correspondent again:

> I live in the Boston Navy-Yard. I thought it would be interesting to the readers of Harper's Young People to hear something in regard to navy-yards in general. I have lived in two yards, and have visited several others. I think the Boston Navy-Yard by far the most interesting. In it is a rope factory which is 1300 feet long. All kinds of rope are made here. It is not only interesting but instructive to watch the process. First the hemp is combed and twisted into strands, then these strands are twisted into sections of rope, then three or four sections are twisted together to form a complete rope. Wire rope is also made here, which is used for stationary rigging. A manila rope was on exhibition at the Centennial which was made in this yard, the circumference of which was 28 inches; this was the largest rope ever made. The dry-dock is another very interesting feature of this yard. It is a place where ships float in for repairs. After they are in, gates are closed, and the water pumped out by a powerful steam-pump, leaving the ship high and dry, so that even her bottom can be repaired without the aid of divers. The dimensions of this dry-dock are 403 feet long, 99 feet wide, and 32 feet deep. It was begun July 10, 1827, and opened June 24, 1833, and cost $677,000.

Porter.

Round Mountain, Alabama.

> I want to tell you about our nurse's wedding, and I want you to put my letter in your dear little paper; but before I begin I must tell you that we live away out in the country in Alabama. We moved here from Augusta two years ago. Papa has an iron furnace here. There are about two hundred cabins all around the furnace. Our house is called the "Big House"; it stands off by itself.

> Well, when Cinda (that is nurse's name) told mamma she was going to be married, mamma gave her lots of nice things for a wedding supper, and told Cinda she could be married on our big piazza. Cinda was so happy, and was not cross a bit that day, and when she bathed us did not get a bit of soap in our eyes.

> Cinda is nearly forty years old, and mamma says her name is most appropriate (for she is as black as a cinder). Her husband "to be" was ten years younger than she, but he did not seem to mind that, for he had been begging Cinda a long time to marry him. When the hour came, mamma and some lady visitors went to the piazza. The friends of the bride and groom were there too. Then Cinda and Albert came on the piazza.

> Cinda wore a black cashmere dress and white gloves, and flowers in her hair and at her neck. We children thought she looked so nicely. When Mr. W—— asked Albert if he took Cinda to be his wife, and would protect and support her, Albert just hollered out, "You bet I will, boss"; and then Mr. W—— said they were "man and wife." Then they went to one of the cabins, and had their supper and a nice time.

Bolling S.

Dobb's Ferry, New York.

> I send a receipt which I made myself this morning, and I hope you will print it. Here it is:

> Pop-corn Candy.—Pop some corn; then fill a patty-pan or some small tin with the corn, and pour two tea-spoonfuls of molasses over it. Put it on the range for five minutes, and then let it cool. You will find it very nice.

Isabel N.

Santa Barbara, California.

> About two months ago I went to Los Angeles. There were seventeen in the party, and we had a very nice time. I should like to tell you about all we saw and did, but as that would take all the room in the Post-office Box, I will just tell you about something I saw in Los Angeles. We visited an old Hungarian, whose business was training mocking-birds and raising flowers for market. He had about one hundred large birds, and in a box by themselves a dozen or more young birds. He placed their food on the end of a stick, and put it through the wires of the cages, and each one would stretch out his wings to keep the others away while eating it. When he came[Pg 735] to the little ones, they all opened their mouths, and then they did look funny enough, for their throats are bright yellow, and one could see little except mouths. He teaches them to whistle tunes very sweetly. When they can not learn to sing, he turns them out; but they stay near by, and he feeds them. There was one bird near our camp that sang all night. The man had eleven dogs, and bought two sacks of flour and two dollars' worth of meat a month for them. He said he loved birds, dogs, and flowers better than human beings. We were gone from home two weeks, and saw a great deal of Southern California.

Emily G. B.

Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

> I don't know how to write, so mamma is writing this for me. I have all the Harper's Young Peoples for last year, and all for this year. I keep my books and papers in a trunk, and once a week I dust them all. The colored Odd-Fellows had a procession last week. They wore black broadcloth suits and tall beaver hats. Some rode on horseback, and they had on sashes, and looked so nice. They had some beautiful flags and banners, and one of them had the biggest axe over his shoulder I ever saw. I like to read the children's letters in the Post-office Box. We have two pets—a Maltese cat named Charley, and a big horse named Rex. Good-by.

Arthur B.

The Odd-Fellows must have looked quite brilliant and imposing with their sashes and banners. I am glad you save all your papers so carefully. You may always refer to a number when you wish, which is a great convenience.

Brooklyn, New York.

> I am a little girl seven years old, and I asked mamma to write this for me.

> I have one brother nine years old; he is away in the country, while I staid at home.

> I have ten dolls I play with. The prettiest one is a French doll named Edna. I have a baby doll with a long white dress and a cap on, and I love her ever so much. Then I have a Japanese doll, called Wingy Wing Foo, like the one in the story in one of your papers.

> I have one little black kittie, with white feet, and she has a red ribbon on her neck with a bell on, so I can tell where she is. Her name is Widdy.

> I like to hear about all the little girls and their pets, so thought I would write and tell you of mine. I hope you can print this. I should like it so much.

Mott Haven, New York.

> I am sorry the story about Mr. Stubbs's brother is ended, and still more sorry that Abner is dead.

> I have been in the country, and climbed the mountains at Highland Falls, and I brought home with me two lovely sunflowers, the first I ever saw, though I will be ten years old next month.

Lottie S. S.

Around and around a dusty little room
Went a very little maiden with a very big broom.
And she said, "Oh, I could make it so tidy and so trig,
Were I a little bigger and my broom not quite so big!"

Pass Christian, Mississippi.

> As I see that you receive letters from all parts of the country, I thought you would like to have one from this place. I am one of five boys in a family. We all enjoy reading the paper, even to my little sister, although she can only look at the pictures. We get it regularly every week. We have a pair of goats and a wagon. They resemble Rocky Mountain goats. We have a harness to fit our goats, so that we are able to drive a double team. Their names are Jack and Billy. They are snow white. The place I live in is large and shady. It is situated on a lake, in which we bathe. We are fifty-eight miles from New Orleans, where my father is in business. We have also a pony which we ride. Her name is Fate, and she is very gentle.

Sydney H.

I would like very much to see your goats, which are, no doubt, as well-behaved as they are beautiful. I hope you feed them generously, and never let them work too hard in their pretty harness.

San Francisco, California.

> I live in San Francisco, and often go out to ride to the Cliff House. It is very funny to watch the sea-lions on the rocks, which are called Seal Rocks. We were there the other day when a tug-boat came close to the rocks and blew a whistle. The seals took alarm, and it was very comical to see them make their way into the sea two by two. We went to the Persidio, and through the fort. We saw cannons, of which there are a great many. The walls are about six feet thick. The cannons are all pointed out of little windows, and are on tracks so that they can be placed in any position. We went to the top of the fort, and saw a little boat go through the Golden Gate. I have read Harper's Young People for two years. I look forward to Thursday with great pleasure, for that is the day when it comes.

Daisy H.

Netherwood, Ilkley, England.

> I am a little boy ten years old, and my real home is in Wisconsin, U. S. Mamma and I are staying here with grandmamma. We are to return in October. We are going to Paris to-morrow, and from there to London, where I hope to visit the Tower and other places of importance. I wish I could give you a little of my diary which I kept at sea, some of which I think would be interesting. I have taken your paper ever since the first number in 1881, and have liked it very much. I like "Mr. Stubbs's Brother" especially, and long each week for the paper which my father sends from America.

J. E. McC.

Perhaps you will keep a diary on the voyage home. If so, you may send me some quotations from it when you are again at your home in Wisconsin. I hope you are writing a little every day about the sights which to you are new and interesting in the Old World.

Marie G. L.—There is no charge for the publication of exchanges. Each person should pay the postage or expressage upon the articles which he or she sends. As to which should forward articles first, the Postmistress can not decide. In every case trouble would be saved, and misunderstanding and disappointment would be prevented, if exchangers would follow the advice always given at the head of the columns devoted to their interest and pleasure. Write first to the person with whom you wish to exchange your treasures, and await a reply before you send anything. This should always be done.

### C. Y. P. R. U.

A curious Chinese Custom.—The people who live in the southern part of China are said to observe, once a year, a festival to which all look forward almost as eagerly as Americans do to the Fourth of July. It is called the Filial Porridge festival. Instead of boiling rice by itself on that day, sugar, seeds, fruit, dried dates, and other things are cooked with the rice, making a dish which is almost black in color and very thick. This porridge is placed in bowls, and is set before the ancestral tablets and household gods which one finds in every Chinese house. Here it is left for a time, with incense and candles burning beside it. After a while, when the souls of the departed ancestors are supposed to have consumed all they wish, the family are at liberty to eat the remainder. Children who are married, and away from home, make and send a dish of this porridge to their parents if they possibly can. After the filial porridge has been eaten, the boys and girls amuse themselves by firing off crackers, playing merry games, and having a pleasant time.

This is a pretty story about a terrier, is it not? A hungry boy called at a house in Rochester, and asked for something to eat. He was told that there was nothing, but he pleaded with the servant, saying, "Give me only a piece of bread."

The dog, who had been standing by the domestic, suddenly ran away, and in a moment returned, carrying in her mouth a large piece of bread, which had been given to her for her breakfast. Going straight to the boy, she laid it down at his feet, looking up at him, and motioning with her head and paws, as if to bid him take it.

Du Chaillu, in his beautiful stories of travel in Scandinavia related in The Land of the Midnight Sun, tells about being driven through the country by young girls. He says:

> "At every station I had a young girl for a driver, and these children of the North seemed not in the least afraid of me. My first driver's name was Ida Catharina. She gave me a silver ring, and was delighted when she saw it on my finger. I promised to bring her a gold one the following winter, and I kept my word. She was glad indeed when, at the end of the drive, I gave her a silver piece. Another driver, twelve years old, was named Ida Carolina. The tire of one of our wheels became loose, but she was equal to the emergency. She alighted, blocked the wheel with a stone, went to a farm-house and borrowed a few nails and a hammer, and with the help of a farmer, made everything right in a few minutes. She did not seem in the least put out by the accident. She chatted with me all the time though I did not then understand what she said, for I did not then know the Finnish language. She was a little beauty, with large blue eyes, thick fair hair, and rosy cheeks. From early life children are here taught to depend upon themselves."

We would call the attention of the C. Y. P. R. U. this week to the very interesting article on "Corals," by Miss Sarah Cooper, and to Lieutenant E. W. Sturdy's account of "Tom Fairweather's Voyage up the Tigris."

### PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

### No. 1.

### FOUR WORD SQUARES.

1.—1. The time to rest. 2. A lounger. 3. A dell. 4. A fence. 5. Very large plants.
2.—1. A musical instrument. 2. A false god. 3. To defeat. 4. A girl's name.
3.—1. An imaginary monster. 2. Profit. 3. A husk. 4. To challenge.
4.—1. Air in motion. 2. A thought. 3. Close. 4. To brave.

A. L. W.

### No. 2.

### DOUBLE ACROSTIC.

1. A crawling animal. 2. A chemical substance. 3. A Swiss patriot. 4. A girl's name. 5. Destructive animals. Primals and finals spell the name of manufactories which are beautiful objects in a landscape.

Benjamin L.

### No. 3.

### FIVE DIAMONDS.—(To Eureka).

1.—1. A letter. 2. A meadow. 3. A fruit. 4. A unit. 5. A letter.
2.—1. A letter. 2. Part of a verb. 3. A color. 4. A fish. 5. A letter.

Count No Account.

3.—1. A letter. 2. A tavern. 3. To bring on. 4. A fruit. 5. A letter.
4.—1. A letter. 2. To increase. 3. Peculiar form of expression. 4. A point. 5. A letter.
5.—1. A vowel. 2. Permit. 3. A planet. 4. A utensil. 5. A letter.

Christine and Gretchen.

### No. 4.

### CHARADE.

My first is the lightest of things, without doubt.
My second we would not be always without.
My whole you will find as a great prize is reckoned
By people who are a long way from my second.

### ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 147.

### No. 1.

|  | D |  |  |  |  |  |  | N
| F | I | N |  |  |  |  | P | A | D
D | I | G | I | T |  |  | N | A | V | A | L
| N | I | B |  |  |  |  | D | A | N
|  | T |  |  |  |  |  |  | L

|  | S |  |  |  |  |  |  | T |  |  |  |  |  |  | C
| G | A | G |  |  |  |  | P | E | T |  |  |  |  | O | L | D
S | A | P | I | D |  |  | T | E | N | O | R |  |  | C | L | A | R | E
| G | I | N |  |  |  |  | T | O | N |  |  |  |  | D | R | Y
|  | D |  |  |  |  |  |  | R |  |  |  |  |  |  | E

### No. 2.

A | P | E
S | H | E
T | I | E
S | L | Y
M | A | Y
I | D | A
R | E | D
I | L | L
S | P | Y
S | H | Y
L | I | E
D | A | Y

### No. 3.

S | la | Y
T | og | A
E | conomi | C
A | ccomplis | H
M | el | T

### No. 4.

Cowl.

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from "Christine and Gretchen," Naomi Schultz, John Burr, Arthur Folsom, "Eureka," Sydney Heineman, Benjamin Lowenthal, E. C. DeWitt, "Lodestar," "Sunshade," Eddie S. Hequembourg, Daisy R., Louise Redwood, Archie McManus, Tom Rayburn, Elsie Lee, Maggie Murphy, Ella Hurd, Edith Maynard, Mollie Price, Puss Keeler, Richie Jenkins, Jesse Oppenheimer, Fred Lott, Hugh McAlister, "Al Bert," Rosa Lennox, W. A. W., Emma Christie, "Ye Owls," David Heinemann, Frank C. Farrow, G. Ritter, "Gazetta," "C. De Gangue," Alice W., and John Selim.

[For Exchanges, see 2d and 3d pages of cover.]

[Pg 736]

"A LITTLE TOO MUCH FISH."

## "MY SHARK."

### BY EESUNG EYLISS.

The experience of this comical youth who is struggling so valiantly with "A little too much fish" reminds me of my adventure with the finny monster that I always call "my shark."

"Hold on to him, I say. Don't let him get the better of you. Hold him tight. There, you have let him run again."

It was the minister who spoke; but I paid little heed to his advice, for at that moment I was busy—very busy; and not only that, but I was satisfied that the present business I understood better than my adviser.

The way of it was this. We were in Gardiner's Bay; had gone down to fish for porgees chiefly, though, of course, taking whatever came to hand. It was my custom to take with me on such occasions a shark line, and not unfrequently I had fine sport in that way. This day, of which I have been speaking, I had invited the pastor of the village church to accompany me, and with him had come a theological student who was visiting at his house.

We had a delightful sail down the bay, and commenced our fishing. The first porgee which I caught, I rapped on the head, and then putting him on my shark hook as bait I paid out the line (a half-inch rope to which the hook was attached) until it had run off with the tide about fifty feet astern of us, and resumed my fishing.

Our success was good, and we were enjoying it finely when r-a-s-p, r-a-s-p I heard my heavy shark line dragging out over the gunnel of the boat. I knew the sound well, and what it meant; a shark was going off with my baited porgee.

I caught the rope, gave it a quick and strong pull to hook him, and found at once that I had my hands full. I had taken many of them, and I knew on the instant, from the violent strain, that he was one of more than common size. He had not as yet become much alarmed, and he was simply swimming off with determination, but without any special excitement. We were in a large sail-boat, but he was swinging us in the tideway as though it was only a floating board. All this time I was gathering in the line, until I brought him up where I could see him; I judged him to be eight feet long at least.

When he came thus near the surface, he took fright and turned down. Of course I could not hold him, and he dragged the rope through my hands foot after foot, until he was nearly a hundred feet away. I made out to glance over my shoulder in search of my crew. I found that the party were mustered forward holding tight to the mast, and looking decidedly solemn. I could not, however, attend to them, but proceeded to gather in my shark again.

By the time that, after a heavy struggle, I had once more brought him to close quarters, he had become somewhat tired out, and dragging his head to the surface I dealt him a blow with a club. And it was as I took up the club that the parson volunteered his advice, as already mentioned. The blow was not sufficient to stun the shark, and off like a runaway horse he went again. But when I brought him up the third time it was manifest that he was becoming exhausted, and that I could hold him. And hereupon the pastor took heart of grace and came to the rescue.

"Hold him tight, now. Let me get at him; I want to pay him off for past scores. The sins of the fathers descend upon the children, you know; and I believe it was his grandfather that used to frighten me so when I played truant from school and ran off to Fulton Market to bathe. I will settle him," and, taking the club, he rapped the poor shark across the brain until life was extinct, and I could, with the help of my crew, haul him into the boat. He was a little less than nine feet long, and his name is Eugomphodus littoralis. He has long, slender teeth, almost like horseshoe nails, each tooth having a sharp point on each side near the base. He is the only shark of our coast with such teeth. The species is found from Cape Cod to Hatteras.

### ALLITERATION.[3]

Although this game requires close attention, it is much less difficult than it appears, for very young players succeed well in it after a little practice. The players are arranged in a circle, and to each a letter of the alphabet is assigned in order, from which he must produce a sentence every word of which begins with his letter.

At the expiration of ten minutes each one must read or say his line, in the order in which the players are seated. As it is harder to compose these sentences mentally than to write them, the manner of playing must be decided beforehand. The former way is better, even if the lines are shorter or less finished, as memory as well as invention is thus strengthened. A few examples are given below, which children can easily follow to the end of the alphabet.

"An aristocratic artist angrily argued against an ancient art article, anticipating all antagonistic announcements, and answering all æsthetic attacks."

"Busy bees brightly buzz by brilliant bowers, borrowing beneficent burdens by burrowing brown bodies below beautiful bean blossoms."

"Careless censure continually condemning can cause careful candor considerable consternation."

"Dainty deeds daily done dearly delight dutiful daughters."

"Each eager enthusiast exults every Easter, eagerly examining each Easter-egg."

AWFUL THIRSTY.

### FOOTNOTES:

[1] Begun in No. 146, Harper's Young People.

[2] A Coddington lens, which is inexpensive, is a useful thing to possess. It can be carried in the pocket; and if we have it always with us, we may find new beauties wherever we go.

[3] From New Games for Parlor and Lawn. By George B. Bartlett. New York: Harper & Brothers. In Press.

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