Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, February 14, 1882, by Various

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.

Title: Harper's Young People, February 14, 1882
       An Illustrated Weekly

Author: Various

Release Date: October 17, 2016 [EBook #53297]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, FEB 14, 1882 ***




Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]

       *       *       *       *       *

VOL. III.--NO. 120. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.

Tuesday, February 14, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.

       *       *       *       *       *




[Illustration: "NO ONE HAD A LARGER SUPPLY THAN THEODORA AND BESSIE."]

A VALENTINE AND A MISSION.

BY MARGARET EYTINGE.


Electa Eliza was never seen without that baby. Ever since it was three
weeks old--it was born in August and now it was February--she had taken
the whole care of it every day, excepting Sundays, from morning until
night.

Mrs. Googens, her mother--her father was dead--when she wasn't out
washing and ironing, was washing and ironing at home and having no other
children besides Electa Eliza and the baby, of course the care of the
small boy fell almost entirely on his sister.

This was rather hard, for she was only twelve years old, and lame
besides, and it requires a great deal of patience and good nature to
mind a baby, especially a lively, wide-awake baby who jumps, and
"pat-a-cakes," and "goos," and "guggles," and wants to go "day-day" all
the time.

It wasn't a pretty baby, and it wasn't an ugly baby. It had round blue
eyes, round red cheeks, round wee nose, and a very bald head, and
sometimes it looked so wise you couldn't help thinking it wasn't a baby
at all, but a jolly, lazy old gentleman dwarf just making believe to be
one, to be carried around and waited upon.

Electa Eliza had gone to school before the baby came, and had been a
very good scholar--at the head of her class, in fact; but ever since she
had been obliged to stay at home altogether, and it was but seldom she
got a chance to look at her books.

Now around the corner from the house where Electa Eliza lived was a
church, and on the steps of this church, sheltered by the porch, she
often rested when tired walking with the baby.

Indeed, it was her favorite resting-place, and even when the weather was
quite cold, she spent many hours there, watching most of the time the
house directly opposite, at whose windows often appeared another girl
and another baby.

This young girl, who was about three years older than Electa Eliza, and
whose name was Theodora Judson, and her little brother were her mother's
only children, just as Electa Eliza and her baby were her mother's only
children.

But, ah! how far apart their paths in life were!

The Judson baby had a nurse-maid in constant attendance upon him, his
sister only playing with him when she felt so inclined, and Miss
Theodora had a French and German teacher, and a music teacher, and a
riding-master, besides being one of the day-pupils at a celebrated
academy famous for its excellent scholars. And her father and mother
were the most indulgent of parents, refusing her nothing that she
desired.

But yet Theodora was not contented, but was continually wishing to be
something that would make her of more importance in the world, and
wondering when, if ever, she would find a mission. On St. Valentine's
morning--Valentine's Day happening that year to fall on a Saturday--she
was holding forth, as she had held forth a hundred times before to her
mother, who was listening patiently, as mothers usually do, on the
subject which always lay nearest her heart.

"I'd like to become famous," said Theodora, her eyes sparkling and her
cheeks glowing; "be an artist, or an author, or an inventor, or somebody
great. It seems so hard to live in this big world, and be a woman and
nothing more. To paint a lovely picture, to write a beautiful book, to
make a discovery that would gain me the praise and thanks of thousands
of people--ah! if I dared to dream I should ever do any of these things,
I should be perfectly happy."

"My dear," said her mother, mildly, "there are many other ways besides
those which you have mentioned by which praise, and thanks, and love,
and happiness can be gained. It isn't easy to become famous, but it is
easy--that is, if one's heart is in the work--to do a great deal of good
to one's fellow-beings. Young as you are, I have no doubt there are many
sad hearts you might gladden, and many gloomy homes to which you might
bring brightness."

"Oh, mother, can you show me one?" said Theodora, eagerly.

"I could, many a one," answered the mother, smiling; "but surely so
bright and intelligent a girl as yourself ought to be able to find out
who needs your help and encouragement without my assistance."

It was now just about the hour for the morning's mail to come in, and
within ten minutes of the time when this serious conversation took
place, Miss Theodora and her friend Bessie Lee were on their way to the
post-office.

What a hurrying and skurrying there was! what a laughing and shouting!

How did the deaf old clerk in the post-office ever manage to take charge
of such dainty missives? There were big valentines and little
valentines, valentines with coarse figures accompanied by bad poetry,
and valentines that were marvels of art. There were hearts, and darts,
and Cupids, and roses, and posies, and everything that goes to make the
valentine a wonder and delight.

No one had a larger supply than Theodora and Bessie, and arm in arm they
walked down the street displaying their treasures, and demanding
everybody's sympathy, from the old doctor, on his way to treat a
critical case, to Pussie Evans, the minister's little girl, who was
forbidden to leave the door-step, and had to wait for somebody to bring
her valentines to her.

Not one of the merry party noticed Electa Eliza. Yet there she was, and
without the baby--a fact so remarkable that it might well have attracted
attention had there been a person in the world to give the poor child a
thought.

But Electa Eliza had a special interest in this Valentine's Day. Not
that she expected a valentine; such a thing would have been too absurd.
Still, her interest in those wonderful missives at the post-office was
quite sufficient to induce her to give up fully one-half of her dinner
to a friend who agreed to mind the baby for an hour. Then with her
little crutch she mounted the hill to the post-office, waiting quietly
about until Miss Theodora received the gay envelopes addressed to her.

Now when this young lady reached home she found among the great bundle
handed her by the old clerk a large yellow envelope on which her name
was written in a print-like hand.

With rather a scornful expression on her pretty face Theodora opened it,
and found a rude drawing of two babies looking smilingly at each
other--at least it had been intended that they should be looking
smilingly at each other--one with very round eyes, nose, and mouth, and
plain dotted slip; the other with indistinct features, but a most
elaborately embroidered dress, over which floated an immense sash.
Underneath the picture was this verse:

  "You are such a pretty girl
  With your lovely hair in curl
  With your lovely eyes of blue
  How I wish that I was you."

And underneath the verse was the following letter:

"DEAR YOUNG LADY,--I am a poor, little girl and I'm lame too because of
a dreadful fall I got once and broke something in my knee. Maybe you
have saw me sittin cross the way from your house on the church steps
with a baby. Hese awful heavy but hese good but I cant go to school
cause I have to mind him and he wants to mused ever so mutch but hese
very good and I love pictures and books and now Alonzo that's my baby's
name is a beginin to go to sleep erly and if I had some Ide be so glad.
I named him out of a story I read once and I thort maybe you had some
picktures and books you dident want no more and you might give them to
me. I wrote this potry I had to say pretty girl cause lady woodent go
with curl and I drawed the babies I coodent make his face right cause I
never seen him close but I think his dress is right my mother washes
dresses like them sometimes I did it when Alonzo was asleep he dont
sleep mutch days hese a very lively baby but hese good If you will let
me have some of your old picktures and books I will thank you ever so
mutch and so will Alonzo when hese big enuf cause he rely is a very good
baby Your baby's nurse told me your name and she says your baby is a
sugar plum from Heaven.

  "ELECTA ELIZA GOOGENS."

"What a queer valentine!" said Theodora, laughing, as she finished
reading it.

"What a nice one!" said her mother. "Far above half of those all lace
and nonsense that you have received to-day. And, Dora, those babies are
drawn better than you could have drawn them."

"Yes," said Theodora, frankly, "they are."

"So it appears this poor child has more artistic talent than you."

"And the verse is but little worse than I might have done myself. I'll
save you the trouble of saying that, mother," said the daughter,
merrily; "and so she may stand just as good a chance of becoming a
writer or an artist as I do, she being so much younger. Poor little
thing! I've seen her sitting on the church steps, with the baby that is
so 'good,' many a time, but I am ashamed to say I never gave her a
second thought."

"And yet, my dear," said Mrs. Judson, "there was your mission right
before your eyes waiting for you to take it up. Help this poor child to
the learning for which it is evident she longs so much. Give her and
Alonzo some happy hours. And who knows?--you may at the same time be
helping the world to a noble woman and a noble man, and what greater
work than that could be found?"

"I will, mother--dear, wise, good mother, I will," said Theodora, and
she flew to the window and beckoned to Electa Eliza, who had resumed the
charge of Alonzo, and although the snow was falling fast, sat under the
church porch, with Alonzo, well wrapped in an old woollen shawl, in her
arms.

And that was the beginning of the "Star in the East Mission School."
From one little girl and a baby it grew in a year to forty children
small and large, and now--for the valentine was sent and the mission
founded several years ago--a hundred and more bless the name of their
pretty young teacher and friend, Miss Theodora Judson, and look up with
affection and pride to her clever assistant, still younger than herself,
Miss Electa Eliza Googens.




"PICCIOLA."

BY MRS. SOPHIA B. HERRICK.


There is a beautiful little French story which has been translated into
English, and called "Picciola," the Italian for little flower. It is the
story of a French nobleman who was thrown into prison on an unjust
charge of plotting against the government of his country. He was a man
of talent and education, as well as of wealth and position. Somehow,
with all his life had given him, it had never taught him to look with
open eyes at nature, or to see beyond nature a God who had created it.

He was restless and impatient in his close cell and the little strip of
court-yard where he paced up and down, and up and down, in his misery,
longing to be free. One day he saw between the heavy paving-stones of
the yard the earth raised up into a tiny mound. His heart bounded at the
thought that some of his friends were digging up from below to reach
him, and give him his liberty again.

But when he came to examine the spot closely he found it was only a
little plant pushing the earth before it in its effort to reach the
light and the air. With the bitter sense of disappointment which this
discovery brought, he was about to crush the little intruder with his
foot, and then a feeling of compassion stopped him, and its life was
spared.

The plant grew and throve in its prison, and the Count de Charney became
every day fonder of his fellow-prisoner; he spent hours, which had
before been empty, watching it as it grew and developed, until it became
the absorbing interest of his life. As he watched it day by day, and saw
the contrivances by which it managed to live and grow, he was compelled
to believe that there must be somewhere a great and wonderful power that
could design and make so marvellous a thing. The little flower was like
a little child taking him by the hand; and leading him away from his
dark, bitter, unbelieving thoughts into the light of God's love.

I want to take some common flower, something you have seen a hundred
times every summer of your lives, and show you a few of the marvellous
contrivances that make it able to live and grow and bear blossoms and
fruit. If you will study them closely for a while, it will not seem so
strange then that the Count de Charney, who had lived so many years
without learning anything of the wonders of nature, should have had them
opened for him by one little flower that he had carefully watched and
studied.

Most plants are alike in having roots, stems, and leaves, and some sort
of flower and seed-vessel. But the parts look so very different in
different plants that it is sometimes a little hard to tell which is
which. In some the roots grow in the air, and in others the stems grow
underground. It is only by studying what the parts do that it is
possible to be sure what they are. The most important part of every
living thing is its stomach, because everything that lives must eat and
drink, or die. There are some very curious plants which have regular
stomachs into which their food goes, just as it does in an animal, and
is digested, but these are not very common. Some day, however, when we
have learned a little more about simpler things, I mean to tell you
something about these strange plants. Ordinary plants have roots to
supply them with food and water in the place of a stomach.

Let us study the roots of some plant. Almost anything will do. If you
can do so, get a hyacinth glass and bulb. The bulb is the root, and
looks very much like an onion; the glass is a vase made for the purpose
of growing hyacinths in water. It slopes in from the bottom upward, and
then bulges out suddenly. The bulb rests in this bulging part, and has
water below it and around its lower part. The glass being clear, you can
see the roots grow as plainly as you can see a leaf or a flower bud
unfold. Perhaps you have no hyacinth glass, and can not get one; then
try to make one for yourself out of a small glass jar. There will
certainly be a pickle bottle or a preserve jar about the house that will
answer perfectly well. All you want is to have the bulb rest half in and
half out of the water, with room below for the roots to spread through
the water. Be careful to keep the water up to the right mark by adding a
little every day as the plant soaks it up.

Or you may take a dozen grains of seed corn, soak them overnight, and
then plant them an inch deep in a box, having about six inches or more
depth of good earth. In about three days the blade will come above
ground. Put your hand or a trowel down beside one of the plants, and
scoop it gently up. Be sure you make your hand or trowel go away down
below where the seed was planted, so as not to bruise the tender
growth. Shake and blow the dust away, and you will see several little
white thread-like roots coming from the grain. If you take up in this
way all the young plants, one or two every day, you will see how they
sprout and grow.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.--CORN AND MAGNIFIED ROOT.

1, Corn four days planted: _r r_, Roots; _l_, Leaf; _a_, Grain of corn;
2, Root magnified; _c_, Root cap; _g_, Growing point.]

If you have a microscope[1] and a sharp knife, carefully split the end
of one of these roots and look at it. If you have not, you will have to
trust me so far as to take this drawing as correct (Fig. 1). All these
tiny roots have a cap over their growing end, so that when they have to
push their way among the hard earth and stones, the growing part will
not get bruised. These roots take in all the water and the food which
the earth supplies to the plant.

[1] I recommend No. 3055 of James W. Queen's Catalogue, price $3, as a
very good glass--The Child's Microscope.

The hyacinth can grow in water alone, because it has been a provident
little body, and stored away enough food in the little round carpet-bag
of a bulb to supply the plant for the few weeks of its life. It only
asks for the water it needs to keep it alive and growing. When the
thirsty little roots have sucked up water enough, the bulb begins to
grow in the other direction. If you look, you will see a solid lump of
pale green come up from the top like the horns of a calf, or a baby's
tooth. This is the young plant coming up out of its dark cradle into the
light and air and sunshine. The delicate growing end of the plant, which
will after a while bear its beautiful spike of bells, is very tenderly
wrapped up in the leaves. After it gets through the tough skin of the
bulb, the plant grows straight up. It stretches itself after its long
sleep in the sweet air and light, the leaves lengthen and broaden and
open out, and the stem with its little knobby buds comes up in the
midst. These will soon grow and unfold into beauty and fragrance, and
you will be rewarded for all your long waiting, if watching the
wonderful growth day by day has not carried its own reward with it.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.--GERANIUM PISTIL.

_p_, Lily pistil; _b_, Pollen grains; _c_, where cut was made across; 2
_c_, the cut piece showing ovules; _o_, ovule.]

Many plants are grown from roots or bulbs, but a greater majority by far
come from seed. Tulips and lilies, onions and potatoes, are all
instances of plants grown from roots which sprout out from the old ones.
The root is in every case the beginning, the seed the ending, of the
life of a plant.

[Illustration: FIG. 3.--GERANIUM STAMEN AND POLLEN GRAINS.

_a_, Stamen with pods burst open; _b_, Pollen grains; 2 _b b b_, Pollen
grain much enlarged.]

Take two of the commonest of our window and garden plants--the geranium
and the heart's-ease. Let us take the geranium first. On the cluster of
bloom we will probably find flowers partly withered, flowers full blown,
and buds nearly ready to open. Look at a full-blown flower. You will see
with your naked eye something standing up in the middle which looks like
a tiny pink lily; around it are little rounded white spikes. If you
carefully strip off the green cap outside, and then the colored petals,
you will find a lily like the one in the figure (Fig. 2); this is called
the pistil. Now open one of the nearly blown buds; you will find the
lily pistil still closed, and on two of the spikes around it two
double-barrelled rosy pods. When the pods, or stamens, are nearly ripe,
they look for all the world like a pink gum-drop made in the shape of a
French roll. If they are ripe they look as you see in Fig. 3.

To make a perfect seed the stamen and pistil have to enter into
partnership. The stamen sends out thousands of clear orange pollen
grains (Fig. 3, _b_), and when these fall on the top of the lily or
pistil, as some have done in. Fig. 2, they stick fast. The lily, for all
its innocent look, has laid a trap for them; it is covered with a sticky
substance that holds them fast. The tiny little grain begins to send out
a tube like a little hose-pipe, which grows down and down to the bottom
of the lily. There it finds some very small egg-shaped bodies called
ovules (Fig. 2, _o_). The busy little hose-pipe pushes its way into a
little opening at the end of one of the ovules, pumps away till the
pollen grain is empty, and the liquid out of it is all safely stored in
the ovule, and then it withers away. The ovule when it is ripe is a
seed, but if the pollen has not emptied itself in the way just
described, the ovule dies.

[Illustration: FIG. 4.--PISTIL OF HEART'S-EASE.

1, Side view of pistil sliced in two. _b_, Pollen grains which have
found their way in; _o_, ovules; 2, Front view of pistil not cut.]

If you look at Fig. 4 you will see the pistil of a pansy, or
heart's-ease. No. 1 is a side view of the pistil sliced down so you can
see into it, as you can into a baby-house. You see the pollen grains,
_b_, sending down their tubes to the ovules, _o_. No. 2 in this drawing
is the front view of the heart's-ease pistil. The beautiful colored
leaves of a flower are only meant to cover and protect the pistil and
the pollen of the plant, as the fruit is meant to cover its seed. There
has been a tender care for us in all this that the covering for both
should have been made so beautiful and so delicious.




THE TALKING LEAVES.[2]

[2] Begun in No. 101, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

An Indian Story.

BY W. O. STODDARD.

CHAPTER XIX.


Fortune had been hard upon Bill and his two mates, or at least they
thought so. The trees to which they had been tied by the Lipans were so
situated that it was only necessary for them to turn their heads in
order to have a good view of what was doing on the plain to the
westward. They saw their captors ride out, and heard their whoops and
yells of self-confidence and defiance.

"Don't I wish I was with the boys just now!" growled Bill. "Three more
good rifles'd be a good thing for 'em."

"Skinner'll fight, you see 'f he don't. He'll stop some of that
yelling."

"He's great on friendship and compromise," groaned Bill. "He may think
it's good sense not to shoot first."

The three gazed anxiously out toward the scene of the approaching
conflict, if there was to be one. They could not see the advance of
their comrades, but they knew they were coming.

"Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Bill. "That's the boys. Opened on 'em. Oh,
don't I wish I was thar!"

The other two could hardly speak in their excitement and disgust. It was
a dreadful thing for men of their stamp to be tied to trees while a
fight was going on which might decide whether they were to live or die.

Suddenly a squad of Lipans came dashing in; the cords that bound them
were cut--all but those on their hands; they were rudely lifted upon
bare-backed ponies, and led rapidly away to the front of the battle.
They could not understand a word of the fierce and wrathful talking
around them; but the gesticulations of the warriors were plainer than
their speech. Besides, some of them were attending to wounds upon their
own bodies or those of others. Some were on foot, their ponies having
been shot under them. More than all, there were warriors lying still
upon the grass who would never again need horses.

"It's been a sharp fight," muttered Bill, "for a short one. I wonder if
any of the boys went under? What are they gwine to do with us?"

A tall Lipan sat on his horse in front of him, with his long lance
levelled as if only waiting the word of command to use it. It remained
to be seen whether or not the order would be given, for now
To-la-go-to-de himself was riding slowly out to meet Captain Skinner.

"He can't outwit the Captain," said one of the miners. "Shooting first
was the right thing to do this time. Skinner doesn't make many
mistakes."

It was their confidence in his brains rather than in his bones and
muscles which made his followers obey him, and they were justified in
this instance, as they had been in a great many others. The greetings
between the two leaders were brief and stern, and the first question of
old Two Knives was: "Pale-faces begin fight. What for shoot Lipans?"

"Big lie. Lipans take our camp. Tie up our men. Steal our horses. Ride
out in war-paint. Pale-faces kill them all."

The chief understood what sort of men he had to deal with, but his pride
rebelled.

"All right. We kill prisoners right away. Keep camp. Keep horse. Kill
all pale-faces."

"We won't leave enough of you for the Apaches to bury. Big band of 'em
coming. Eat you all up."

"The Lipans are warriors. The Apaches are small dogs. We are not afraid
of them."

"You'd better be. If you had us to help you, now, you might whip them.
There won't be so many of you by the time they get here. Pale-faces are
good friends. Bad enemies. Shoot straight. Kill a heap."

Captain Skinner saw that his "talk" was making a deep impression, but
the only comment of the chief was a deep, guttural "Ugh!" and the
Captain added: "Suppose you make peace. Say have fight enough. Not kill
any more. Turn and whip Apache. We help."

"What about camp? Wagon? Horse? Mule? Blanket? All kind of plunder?"

"Make a divide. We'll help ourselves when we take the Apache ponies. You
keep one wagon. We keep one. Same way with horses and mules--divide 'em
even. You give up prisoners right away. Give 'em their rifles and
pistols and knives."

"Ugh! Good! Fight Apaches. Then pale-faces take care of themselves. Give
them one day after fight."

That was the sort of treaty that was made, and it saved the lives of
Bill and his mates, for the present at least.

It was all Captain Skinner could have expected, but the faces of the
miners were sober enough over it.

"Got to help fight Apaches, boys."

"And lose one wagon, and only have a day's start afterward."

The chief had at once ridden back to announce the result to his braves,
and they too received it with a sullen approval, which was full of
bitter thoughts of what they would do to those pale-faces after the
Apaches should be beaten and the "one day's truce" ended.

The three captives were at once set at liberty, their arms restored to
them, and they were permitted to return to the camp and pick out,
saddle, and mount their own horses.

"The Captain's got us out of our scrape," said Bill. "I can't guess how
he did it."

"Must ha' been by shootin' first."

"And all the boys do shoot so awful straight!"

That had a great deal to do with it, but the immediate neighborhood of
the Apaches had a great deal more. To-la-go-to-de knew that Captain
Skinner was exactly right, and that the Lipans would be in no condition
for a battle with the band of Many Bears after one with so desperate a
lot of riflemen as those miners.

The next thing was to make the proposed "division" of the property in
and about the camp. The Lipan warriors withdrew from it, all but the
chief and six braves. Then Captain Skinner and six of his men rode in.

"This my wagon," said Two Knives, laying his hand upon the larger and
seemingly the better stored of the two.

"All right. Well take the other. This is our team of mules."

So they went on from one article to another, and it would have taken a
keen judge of that kind of property to have told, when the division was
complete, which side had the best of it. The Lipans felt that they were
giving up a great deal, but only the miners knew how much was being
restored to them. It was very certain that they would take the first
opportunity which might come to "square accounts" with the miners.
Indeed, Captain Skinner was not far from right when he said to his men:

"Boys, it'll be a bad thing for us if the Apaches don't show themselves
to-morrow. We can't put any trust in the Lipans."

"Better tell the chief about that old man and the boy," said one of the
men.

"I hadn't forgotten it. Yes, I think I'd better."

It was easy to bring old Two Knives to another conference, and he
received his message with an "Ugh" which meant a good deal. He had
questions to ask, of course, and the Captain gave him as large an idea
as he thought safe of the strength and number of the Apaches.

"Let 'em come, though. If we stand by each other, we can beat them off."

"Not wait for Apaches to come," said To-la-go-to-de. "All ride after
them to-night. Pale-faces ride with Lipans."

That was a part of the agreement, but it had not been any part of the
intention of Captain Skinner.

"We're in for it, boys," he said, when he returned to his own camp. "We
must throw the redskins off to-night. It's time to unload that wagon.
We're close to the Mexican line. Every man must carry his own share."

"Guess we can do that."

"I don't believe we can. It'll be as much as a man's life's worth to be
loaded down too much with all the riding we've got before us."

"We won't leave an ounce if we can help it."

"Well, not any more'n we can help."

It was a strange sight, a little later, the group those ragged,
weather-beaten men made around their rescued wagon, while their leader
sat in front of it with a pair of scales before him.

"Some of the dust is better than other some."

"So are the bars and nuggets."

[Illustration: "EVERYTHING'S GOT TO GO BY WEIGHT. NO ASSAY-OFFICE IN
THIS CORNER OF ARIZONA."]

"Can't help that," replied Captain Skinner. "Everything's got to go by
weight. No assay-office down in this corner of Arizona."

So it was gold they were dividing in those little bags of buckskin that
they stored away so carefully. Yellow gold, and very heavy.

Pockets, money-belts, saddle-bags, all sorts of carrying places on men
and horses were brought into use, until at last a miner exclaimed:

"It's of no use, boys. I don't care to have any more load about me.
Specially if there's to be any running."

"Or any swimming," said another.

"Swimming! I've got enough about me to sink a cork man."

"And I've got all I keer to spend. Enough's as good as a feast, I say."

One after another came to the same opinion, although Captain Skinner
remarked:

"We're not taking it all, boys. What'll we do with the rest?"

"Cache it. Hide it."

"For the Lipans to find the next day? No, boys; we'll leave it in the
wagon, under the false bottom. That's the safest place for it, if any of
us ever come back. No redskins ever took the trouble to haul a wagon
across the mountains. It'll stay right here."

The "false bottom" was a simple affair, but well made, and there was
room between it and the real bottom to stow a great deal more than the
miners were now leaving.

They would have had no time to dig a hiding-place in the earth if they
had wanted to, for messengers came from To-la-go-to-de before sunset to
tell them he was nearly ready to start, and from that time forward the
keen eyes of strolling Lipan horsemen were watching every step that was
taken in the camp of their pale-face allies.

"If they want to know how much supper we eat," said the Captain, "we
can't help it. I only hope I can blind 'em in some way before morning."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




TIGER TOM.

AN ADVENTURE ON THE WEST COAST OF AFRICA.

BY DAVID KER.


"Any sign of a breeze yet, Mr. Brown?"

"No, sir."

"Humph!"

The Captain's discontented grunt, as he ran his eyes over the lifeless
sea and the hot, cloudless sky, was certainly not without reason. To be
suddenly becalmed when one is in special haste to get home is at no time
the most agreeable thing in the world; but to be becalmed off the
pestilential coast of Western Africa, with food and water beginning to
run short, and good cause to expect an attack at any moment by an
overwhelming force of savages, might overtask the patience of Job
himself.

"I guess we've just got to grin and bear it," muttered the Captain. "If
the niggers'll only keep as still as the air does! But I'll bet my last
dollar they won't. They must have seen us by this time, and a ship in
distress to _them_ is like an open door to a tramp."

As he spoke, his keen eye wandered with a troubled look along the
endless line of the African coast, one impenetrable mass of dark thicket
as far as the eye could reach, except at one single point. Just
opposite, the becalmed vessel, a long, low reef of brown rock, masking
the mouth of a small river, broke the interminable perspective of
clustering leaves; and it was to this point that the Captain's watchful
look was most often and most anxiously directed.

His uneasiness seemed to have infected the officers and the crew
likewise. Just abaft the foremast a tall, wiry Portlander was turning a
grindstone, upon which another sailor was sharpening in turn five or six
rusty cutlasses; while a gaunt, keen-looking fellow from Maine was hard
at work cleaning the Captain's double-barrelled shot-gun--unluckily the
only fire-arm on board.

But there was _one_ on board who seemed to trouble himself very little
about the matter. This was the cabin-boy--a brown-faced, curly-haired,
bright-eyed little fellow, active as a leopard and fearless as a lion.
The way in which he was employed, amid all this bustle and anxiety,
would have rather astonished a stranger. With a piece of raw meat in his
hand, he dived down the fore-hatchway, ran along the low narrow passage
that led between-decks, and opening the door of a small dark recess just
abaft the store-room, called out, "Tom!"

A very strange sound answered him, partly like the squall of a cat, and
partly like the growl of a wild beast.

"He's hungry, poor old boy," said the lad, stepping forward and holding
the meat to the bars of a cage in the farther corner, through which was
dimly visible the gaunt outline of a young tiger, bought cheap in
Southern India by the Captain, who expected to make a profit by selling
it to some menagerie when he got home. For a tiger, it was tame enough;
but the only one of the crew for whom it showed any liking was the
little cabin-boy, who had named it Tom, after his favorite brother, and
never lost a chance of talking to it, always insisting that it
understood him perfectly.

"You see, Tom," said he, as the tiger seized the meat, "there ain't much
for you, 'cause _we're_ gittin' short ourselves; but you'll have plenty
by-and-by, never fear."

The beast rubbed its huge yellow head caressingly against the hand which
Jack thrust into the cage as unconcernedly as if he were only petting a
kitten, and lifted, in obedience to the familiar call of "Shake hands,
Tom," the mighty fore-paw, one stroke of which would have crushed the
boy like an egg-shell.

But just as the two strangely assorted playmates were in the height of
their sport, a sudden clamor of voices from above startled them both.

"Can't stop now, Tom," said the boy, as gravely as if he were excusing
himself to one of his messmates. "There's something up, and the
Captain'll want me to help him manage the ship, you know. By-by."

And up he went like a rocket.

When he reached the deck, the cause of the tumult at once became
apparent. From behind the low reef five rudely built native boats, each
with ten or twelve men on board, were creeping out toward the doomed
vessel.

"They're coming now, sure enough," muttered the Captain through his set
teeth; "but I guess they won't be here for another twenty minutes yet,
for them boats o' their'n are too heavy and lubberly built to go fast.
Say, boys, we must fight for it now, for them black sarpints won't leave
a man of us livin' if they git the best of it. You that hain't got
cutlasses, take boat-hooks or capstan bars, and jist break a few
bottles, and scatter the glass around the deck: it'll astonish their
bare feet some, I reckon. Hickman, lay that grindstone on the gunnel,
and be ready to tip it over on to the first boat that comes alongside.
If these black-muzzled monkeys want our scalps, they've got to pay for
'em."

The men obeyed his orders; but they did so with a subdued air which
showed how little hope they had of anything beyond selling their lives
as dearly as possible.

In truth, the bravest man might have been pardoned for despairing in
such a situation. Even including the officers, the ship's company
(already thinned by storm and sickness) could muster only sixteen men,
while the savages numbered nearly sixty, all big and powerful fellows,
whose huge muscles stood out like coils of rope on their bare black
limbs. In weapons, again, the advantage, if there was any, was on the
side of the assailants; for although the latter appeared at first sight
to be unarmed, the Captain's spy-glass soon showed him clubs and spears
and bows, with one or two muskets as well.

On came the human tigers over the smooth bright water, with the
cloudless blue of the tropical sky overhead, and the dark green mass of
clustering leaves, surmounted here and there by the tall slender column
of a palm-tree in the background. They had evidently chosen the heat of
noon for their hour of attack in the expectation of finding the white
men asleep; and there was a visible start among them as the Captain's
tall figure appeared from behind the main-mast, gun in hand.

"Keep off!" roared he, as they made signs of wishing to trade. "Keep
off! you ain't wanted here."

But seeing that they swept on unheeding, he let fly both barrels into
them, the double report being followed by a sharp howl from the foremost
boat as the buckshot rattled among its crew. Four out of the twelve
oarsmen were struck down, overthrowing several others in their fall, and
the clumsy craft, turning half round, lay completely helpless for
several minutes. But on came the other four boats, and ran alongside,
two to port and two to starboard. The carpenter launched his grindstone,
but the ponderous missile splashed harmlessly into the water within a
foot of the nearest boat, and in another moment the whole deck was
flooded with yelling savages, thirsting for blood.

All that followed was like the confusion of a hideous dream--blows
raining, blood flowing, men falling, and death coming blindly, no one
knew whence or how. Despite the fearful odds against them, the American
sailors, fighting like men who fight for their lives, were still holding
their ground, when an exulting yell from behind made them turn just in
time to see the eight surviving rowers of the fifth boat (which had
crept up unperceived in the heat of the fray) clambering over the stern.

Another moment and all would have been over, but just then a tremendous
roar shook the air, and a huge gaunt, yellow body shot up through the
after-hatchway, right among the startled assailants. Little Jack had
crept aft and let loose the tiger, which fell like a thunder-bolt upon
the blacks, four or five of whom lay mangled on the deck almost before
they could look round.

This unexpected re-enforcement ended the battle at one blow. The
superstitious savages, taking the beast for an evil spirit raised
against them by the white men's magic, leaped panic-stricken into their
boats (some even tumbling into the sea in their hurry), and made off
with all possible speed. A light breeze, springing up from the eastward,
soon bore the vessel far beyond their reach.

"Well done, Jack, my hearty!" cried the Captain, grasping the little
hero's slim brown hand with a force that made every joint crackle. "That
was a mighty cute trick of yours, and no mistake. I guess you'll make a
smarter sailor than any of us before you've done; and it sha'n't be my
fault if you don't git something good for this when we see New York
again."

And the Captain kept his word.




[Illustration: CURLING-MATCH AT CENTRAL PARK, JANUARY 30.]

THE GAME OF CURLING.

BY SHERWOOD RYSE.


Curling is a Scotch game. For centuries past everybody who has been
anybody in the Land o' Cakes has played golf in the spring, summer, and
autumn, and curling in the winter; and wherever Scotchmen have gone to
live they have introduced their national games.

For a good game of curling a sheet of clear ice and a number of
curling-stones are necessary. But what is a curling stone, or "channel
stane," as it is sometimes called, from the fact that stones found in
the channels of rivers were formerly used in the game? It is a large
stone, of such a shape as an orange would be if it were crushed down so
that its sides bulged out without breaking. The stone is generally about
twelve inches in diameter, and four or five inches high. It is polished
until it is perfectly smooth, and on the upper side it has a handle,
something like that of a smoothing-iron, so that it may be thrown with
greater ease and accuracy. Its weight is from thirty to fifty pounds,
but in days gone by heavier weights were used. One well-known curler
played with a stone weighing seventy pounds, and his uncle used one that
was even heavier. What a remarkable family that must have been!

A match at curling is called a "bonspiel," and many a tale of
hard-fought bonspiels in the "auld countree" can an old Scot tell. But
we have bonspiels even here. On January 30 the great bonspiel of the
year in this country was played on one of the lakes in Central Park, New
York, and our artist has depicted the scene on this page. Americans were
matched against Scotchmen, and were not ashamed to suffer defeat at
their hands, for of late years American curlers have enjoyed more than
their share of victory. In this match eight rinks were prepared, and
four players of each side played at each rink. And now let us describe
the rink.

It is a stretch of ice swept perfectly clean, and measuring forty-two
yards by eight or nine. A few feet from each end is a mark, called the
"tee," and around this a circle is drawn measuring fourteen feet in
diameter. This circle is called the "hoose." Each player has two stones,
and they take turns to throw their stones along the rink, and try to let
them stop as near the "tee" as they can.

It may seem easy to throw the stone along the glassy surface of the ice
to that distance, and so it is. There are instances on record of a
curling-stone having been thrown across a pond a mile in width; but it
is not so easy to make the stone stop just where the player wants it to.
There are all sorts and varieties of play in this game. See, nearly all
the men have played their stones. The rink is thick with them at the far
end. Some are right up close to the "tee," most of them have reached
the "hoose," but some have fallen short.

There is only one opening left by which a stone can reach the "tee." The
next player is unsteady. Can he get through, or had he better send a
slow one to close the "port" against the next player, his adversary? He
is a young player, and old heads are better than young ones in curling.
His "skip" (Captain) advises the latter course. But, alas! he throws too
gently. The stone seems tired out almost before it has reached the
middle of the rink. Then there arise shouts of "Soop! soop!" (sweep,
sweep), and his comrades fall to with a will, and sweep the ice in front
of the lagging stone as if life depended on it.

What is the meaning of this? Well, it means that when a stone is
travelling very slowly, the least bit of snow is liable to bring it to a
stand-still, and so the players are armed with brooms to clear away
whatever snow may have been blown on the rink.

Perhaps next to skill in throwing the stone, judgment in sweeping is the
most valuable accomplishment for a curler. It is very like working the
brake on a horse-car. If you do it too much, you stop the car too soon,
and the ladies have to get off in the mud instead of at the clean
crossing. So, in curling, if you do not sweep enough, the stone will
stop before it reaches the hoose; but if, on the other hand, you sweep
too much, the stone reaches the hoose, and perhaps passes the tee, and
then your opponents begin to "soop," and make the ice so smooth that
your stone passes clear out of the hoose, and so is lost, amid cries of
"Weel soopit!" (well swept).

The last play of the "head," or end, is reserved by the "skips" of the
two sides, for they are always the best players, being chosen skips on
that account. The excitement grows intense. The way is blocked, but the
experienced eye of the skip sees how the stones lie. "Wick, and curl
in," cries an eager comrade, by which he means carom off an outlying
stone, and curl in so as to avoid the stones that lie in front. This the
skip does. By a peculiar turn of the wrist he gives a twist to his
stone, so that when it touches another stone it glances sharply off, and
avoiding the block, makes straight for the tee.

When the last stone of the head has been played, the excitement of
counting begins. Only one side can count at one time, and that side can
only count as many as it has stones nearer to the tee than the nearest
stone belonging to the other side. Thus the nearest stone may belong to
the Scotchmen, and the next to the Americans, and after that the
Scotchmen may have three or four nearer than the next American stone;
but the Scotchmen can only count one. It often happens that the distance
is so nearly equal that it is impossible to decide between two stones,
and then the measuring string is produced to settle the claims of the
rival players. A bonspiel generally consists of twenty-one ends at each
rink, and as many rinks are used as are necessary to accommodate the
players, eight playing at each.




[Illustration: MR. THOMAS CATT AND FAMILY AT DINNER.]




BITS OF ADVICE.

BY AUNT MARJORIE PRECEPT.

PRESENCE OF MIND.


Presence of mind is that quality which leads a person to do the right
thing at the right moment. There are times of sudden peril, times of
accident, and times of illness when the person who has presence of mind
becomes the leader, and helps everybody else.

If a fire break out in a building where a crowd is assembled, there is
often a panic, and people trample upon and kill each other in their
fright. Some months ago an alarm of fire was caused by the appearance of
smoke in a New York public school. Fortunately the lady principal was a
person who had presence of mind. She controlled herself and her pupils,
and they all marched safely into the street, without hurry or riot. She
knew what ought to be done, and she did it promptly.

People who know what ought to be done do not always do it at once,
however, or they are flustered, lose their wits, and do something
dreadful. A very loving mother once scalded her baby so that it will
bear the marks of the burn for its life, because she lost her presence
of mind. She knew that a child in a convulsion should be put into a warm
bath, and in her terror she immersed her little one in a _boiling_ bath,
the hot water running from a faucet at that point of heat.

A person whose clothing catches fire should be rolled at once in a rug,
or quilt, or large shawl, to stifle the flame. When a fire breaks out
anywhere the doors and windows should be shut as quickly as possible, to
prevent a draught. But most people rush out-of-doors, screaming, in
their terror, and others rush after them, throwing pails of water, or
doing anything but the right thing. If a person is wounded or cut, the
way to stop the flow of blood is to bandage tightly above the wound,
between that and the heart; but instances are not rare where people
bleed to death because nobody at hand has enough knowledge or presence
of mind to attend to this simple thing at once. Like other desirable
qualities, this one can be cultivated, and you may possess it as well as
another.




MISS HOLSOVER'S "TREASURE."

A Story of St. Valentine's Day.

BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE.


"Mr. North!--please, Mr. North!"

The voice, a delicate, childish one, seemed to be almost caught up and
whirled away in the snow-flakes. The speaker--a little boy of about
twelve years, scantily clad, and carrying a heavy basket--was running as
well as he could along the dreary country road, while he tried to make
himself heard by the invisible occupant of a wagon lumbering ahead of
him.

It was a covered wagon, and to the boy's eyes it seemed to be the
embodiment of comfort and warmth. He was chilled to the bone, thoroughly
tired, and disheartened. What could he do if Mr. North failed to hear
him?

But he did not. Suddenly he pulled up his horses, and peered around him
in the gloomy twilight.

"Be some one a-calling?" he said, loudly.

"Yes, sir, please." The boy's voice was just audible.

"Why," said Mr. North to himself, "derned if that bean't Miss Holsover's
boy!"

It _was_ Miss Holsover's nephew, Jesse Grey, and he was soon at the side
of the wagon, looking up into the driver's kindly weather-beaten face.

"Oh, please, Mr. North," the little fellow said, trying to get his
breath, "I'm so tired! and I thought, perhaps, you'd give me a lift."

"Of course I will," Mr. North answered, good-humoredly. "Come, can ye
git in there?" and he lifted the little figure into the back of the
wagon, where, with many bundles, there was a pile of straw. "You be
about as wet as water. I declare to mercy! Where _hev_ you been?"

Jesse was comfortably seated on the straw by this time behind Mr.
North's burly figure, and as the wagon jogged on he almost forgot his
fright and fatigue.

"I've been in to market with butter and eggs," he said, "and brought
back a basketful of things for Aunt Jemima."

"Humph!" Mr. North's exclamation was characteristic as he looked around
at the delicate face of the child, which had about it so many tokens of
refinement that it was hard to believe he really was the nephew of the
coarse, hard-featured woman who lived in grim seclusion at Holsover
Farm.

"I say, Jesse," he said, shortly, "how comes it you be a relation o'
hern?" He jerked his head toward the cross-roads they were approaching.

Jesse's face flushed. "I'm not, _really_," he said, with a little quiver
of the lip. "I know I have a real aunt somewhere in Boston, if I could
only find her; but Aunt Jemima never will tell me anything about her."
There was a pause, and then Jesse added, quickly: "Oh, Mr. North, _do_
you suppose you could hunt for her when you go to Boston next time? Oh,
I know her name--Marian Lee. I know that because I have a book of hers.
'From Helen to Marian Lee,' it says in it, and Helen was my mother"--the
child's eyes looked very wistful and pleading. "And when Bill was home
he told me it was my aunt's, and she lived in Boston. I never could get
him to say any more."

"Why, how come you to be up to Miss Holsover's?"

Jesse shook his head. "I don't know," he answered. "I've always been
there."

They jogged on a few minutes in silence. Jesse felt the soothing effect
of the warmth and stillness, and half dozed. Mr. North turned a
compassionate gaze on the sad young face which in sleep showed such worn
lines.

"No Holsover blood there!" he muttered.

Mr. North was the only expressman, or carrier, in this very obscure part
of the country. Twice a week he came and went, carrying letters and
packages, as well as occasionally a traveller, to the different villages
of towns about. Once a month he visited Boston. His own house stood on a
country road about three miles from Holsover Farm. There he lived almost
alone, his widowed mother being too infirm to be considered very much of
a companion for a hearty, burly, good-humored man like himself.

The old farm-house in which Miss Holsover lived stood near the
cross-roads. It was a long low building with one story and an attic,
above which rose the slanting roof. Some old trees grew at one side, but
everything about it was dismal and uninviting to visitors. Miss Holsover
said she was glad of this. She liked to shut herself away as much as
possible from her fellow-creatures.

Not a human being in all the country about ever remembered a sympathetic
word or look from her. She was a tall grim woman of sixty, with bushy
eyebrows, gray hair, and thin, bluish lips. What comfort she could take
in life every one wondered, but it was whispered that she was hoarding
money; that if the truth was but known, untold sums lay hidden somewhere
in the old house.

Certainly Jesse Grey saw nothing of the kind. As the boy had said to Mr.
North, he did not know _how_ he had come to Holsover Farm. Jesse only
knew that he had "always been there." There were no dim remembrances in
his mind of any past which did not include the desolate house, and Miss
Holsover's cruel face and figure. The only variations in his
surroundings had been visits from the one human being Miss Holsover had
ever shown any fondness for. This was her reprobate nephew Bill.

The boy had appeared and disappeared so many times in the course of
Jesse Grey's remembrance that he had felt as if he might expect him any
particularly windy night, or any time when things were going on a
little comfortably. For Bill's visits to the farm were his seasons of
terror. Bill was a coarse, violent-tempered lad, who delighted in
terrifying him in every way possible, who forced his so-called aunt into
new cruelties to the helpless child, and who seemed only to know that he
could suffer.

Of late Jesse had begun to wonder when Bill would reappear. Last year,
just at this season, he had suddenly arrived, and how well Jesse
remembered his saying with a coarse laugh that he had come back as a
valentine! What _was_ a valentine? Jesse wondered. He looked at Mr.
North's spacious back a moment before he said,

"Mr. North, can you tell me what a valentine is like?"

Mr. North peered around with a queer smile at his little companion.
"Wa'al," he said, slowly, "there's all kinds. I think it's sort o' good
luck, or good wishes, like as if you wuz to do me a favor. I don't know
as I've seen many in my day. They hev 'em in store winders--paper
things, with Cupids; but they say on 'em, 'I'm your valentine.' Neow ef
eny one wuz to say he wuz _my_ valentine, he'd oughter do me a good
turn; seems to me as if a valentine _oughter_ be good luck."

It was a long speech, and Mr. North delivered it with some difficulty,
flecking his horses with his whip now and then, and apparently taking a
great interest in the weather.

"I wish _I_ could have something like a valentine, then," sighed Jesse.

"Wa'al," said Mr. North, "ter-morrow's the day."

But the boy only laughed sadly.

The dark road suddenly seemed to come to an end. Jesse jumped up and
looked out. There across the fields lay the gloomy brown farm-house. He
felt his heart sink within him as he thanked Mr. North, got down from
the wagon, and taking the basket turned in at the gate.

The door was opened with a click, and Miss Holsover stood there holding
a candle-light above her head.

"'Sthat you?" she said, in a shrill voice.

"Yes," answered Jesse. His entrance into the house was helped by Miss
Holsover giving him a decided push by the shoulders.

Jesse put the basket down, and began at once taking off his coat. In
spite of his rest and little sleep, he was shivering with cold and
fatigue.

"What's the matter?" said Miss Holsover, giving him another shake by the
shoulder.

"I'm wet and tired," said Jesse, timidly.

"Wet and fiddlesticks!" retorted the old lady. "None of that nonsense!
You've plenty to do to-night, let me tell you. I'm goin' across fields."

Jesse knew what this meant. Once in a while Miss Holsover took it into
her head to pay a visit to a cousin of hers living at the next
village--"across fields," as she called it. These nights were the
child's especial horror. Unhappy as was the farm-house _with_ Miss
Holsover, it had an element of terror for the child when he was left
alone--and then on such a night! Jesse stood still a moment looking at
Miss Holsover with dilated eyes, anticipating all the horrors of the
lonely evening; not all the work he knew there was left for him to do
would keep him from being frightened at every gust of wind that blew
around the old house, or moaned in the group of cedar-trees.

"Don't stand gapin' like that," exclaimed Miss Holsover. "Sit down and
eat your tea, and then go out and do your chores."

Jesse obeyed. The supper--some weak milk and stale bread--was soon
eaten, and then he followed Miss Holsover, who laid his work out, and
gave him his instructions for the night. He was to perform the tasks she
had set him, and not think of going to bed until she returned.

Jesse was too well accustomed to the hardships of his life to rebel
against anything. He stood still, listening quietly, and even helped the
old lady to go away in comfort.

Instead of going at once to work, he knelt down a moment before the
fire, thinking about the questions Mr. North had asked him.

Jesse never knew how it came into his head that _perhaps_ there might be
some escape for him. I suppose that in the loneliness of his position
that evening, and with the fear of being by himself in the desolate
house, there came a certain sense that he could do as he pleased. Then,
too, he knew absolutely nothing of the world, and it gradually seemed to
him quite feasible that he should run away, and try to find his real
aunt in Boston.

His plan, childish as it was, developed very quickly. Jesse had an idea
that he could walk very far before morning, and that he might meet Mr.
North somewhere on the way. He knew there was no time to lose, and so,
running up to his little attic room, he began hastily putting together
such things as seemed necessary for his long journey. The book with his
aunt's name was carefully tied up in the bundle. Jesse thought that the
name written there might perhaps help him in some way.

He had only a small bit of candle, and it so happened that this went out
before he had quite finished his preparations. He was standing by the
little dormer window, and almost at once he felt rather than saw the
gleam of a lantern. It was moving, and seemed to come from the barn
loft. In a moment there was a second flash, and this time it illumined a
man's figure.

Jesse shrank back in fear and trembling. Who could it be? But though
afraid of the lonely house, it frightened him still more to think of not
finding out who was in the barn. He hesitated but a moment, and then
sped down stairs, and creeping across the space between the house and
barn, slowly unlatched the door. He was scarcely inside the barn before
he caught the sound of voices. Two men were speaking, and Jesse's heart
sank within him as he recognized one voice as that of Bill Holsover.

The boy's feet seemed rooted to the spot. He was standing just by the
ladder leading to the loft, and in the absolute stillness and darkness
it was easy to hear what the men were saying. The first sentences were
of no importance, but suddenly the strange voice said,

"Do you know where she keeps it?"

Then came Bill's answer: "I'm most sure it's in the cupboard to the
right of the fire-place, under the floor."

"Will there be trouble getting it?"

"Not if we make sure she's in bed. There's that little young 'un around;
but we won't have any trouble keepin' him quiet."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




BRAN'S CONSCIENCE.


There is not the slightest doubt that Bran had a conscience. No dog who
was not fully aware that he had misbehaved himself, and deeply penitent
on account of it, could have shown so much sorrow and contrition.

We were staying at Yarmouth, and Bran, who was allowed perfect liberty,
was _lost_ for one entire day.

At night, just before the house was shut up, he made his appearance,
very tired and travel-stained. Being met at the hall door, he was
rebuked, and his offered paw not taken, in token that he was in
disgrace.

His nightly resting-place was a cellar, where he had a comfortable straw
couch provided for him, and his usual custom was to run down stairs
immediately to his bed and supper; but on this evening he remained at
the top of the stairs, and cried and whined piteously.

Presently my brother said, "You must come and make it up with Bran, or
the poor fellow will cry there all night."

Accordingly we opened the door, and one by one shook Bran's paw in sign
of forgiveness, whereupon he quietly walked down stairs, and after
eating his supper with avidity, curled himself up on the straw and went
to sleep.




OUR BALLOON.

BY JIMMY BROWN.


I've made up my mind that half the trouble boys get into is the fault of
the grown-up folks that are always wanting them to improve their minds.

I never improved my mind yet without suffering for it. There was the
time I improved it studying wasps, just as the man who lectured about
wasps and elephants and other insects told me to. If it hadn't been for
that man I never should have thought of studying wasps.

One time our school-teacher told me that I ought to improve my mind by
reading history, so I borrowed the history of _Blackbeard the Pirate_,
and improved my mind for three or four hours every day. After a while
father said, "Bring that book to me. Jimmy, and let's see what you're
reading," and when, he saw it, instead of praising me, he-- But what's
the use of remembering our misfortunes? Still, if I was grown up, I
wouldn't get boys into difficulty by telling them to do all sorts of
things.

There was a Professor came to our house the other day. A Professor is a
kind of man who wears spectacles up on the top of his head and takes
snuff and doesn't talk English very plain. I believe Professors come
from somewhere near Germany, and I wish this one had staid in his own
country. They live mostly on cabbage and such, and Mr. Travel's says
they are dreadfully fierce, and that when they are not at war with other
people, they fight among themselves, and go on in the most dreadful way.

This Professor that came to see father didn't look a bit fierce, but Mr.
Travers says that was just his deceitful way, and that if we had had a
valuable old bone or a queer kind of shell in the house, the Professor
would have got up in the night, and stolen it and killed us all in our
beds; but Sue said it was a shame, and that the Professor was a lovely
old gentleman, and there wasn't the least harm in his kissing her.

Well, the Professor was talking after dinner to father about balloons,
and when he saw I was listening, he pretended to be awfully kind, and
told me how to make a fire-balloon, and how he'd often made them and
sent them up in the air; and then he told about a man who went up on
horseback with his horse tied to a balloon; and father said, "Now listen
to the Professor, Jimmy, and improve your mind while you've got a
chance."

The next day Tom Maginnis and I made a balloon just as the Professor had
told me to. It was made out of tissue-paper, and it had a sponge soaked
full of alcohol.[3] and when you set the alcohol on fire the tumefaction
of the air would send the balloon mornamile high. We made it out in the
barn, and thought we'd try it before we said anything to the folks about
it, and then surprise them by showing them what a beautiful balloon we
had, and how we'd improved our minds. Just as it was all ready, Sue's
cat came into the barn, and I remembered the horse that had been tied to
a balloon, and told Tom we'd see if the balloon would take the cat up
with it.

[3] We would caution our boy readers in regard to the terrible results
that may come from pouring alcohol on burning substances. The flame will
catch the stream as it falls, and, mounting to the bottle, accidents of
the most disastrous character may ensue.

[Illustration: "PRESENTLY IT WENT SLOWLY UP."]

So we tied her with a whole lot of things so she would hang under the
balloon without being hurt a bit, and then we took the balloon into the
yard to try it. After the alcohol had burned a little while the balloon
got full of air, and presently it went slowly up. There wasn't a bit of
wind, and when it had gone up about twice as high as the house, it stood
still.

You ought to have seen how that cat howled; but she was nothing compared
with Sue when she came out and saw her beloved beast. She screamed to me
to bring her that cat this instant you good-for-nothing cruel little
wretch won't you catch it when father comes home.

Now I'd like to know how I could reach a cat that was a hundred feet up
in the air, but that's all the reasonableness that girls have.

The balloon didn't stay up very long. It began to come slowly down, and
when it struck the ground, the way that cat started on a run for the
barn, and tried to get underneath it with the balloon all on fire behind
her, was something frightful to see. By the time I could get to her and
cut her loose, a lot of hay took fire and began to blaze, and Tom ran
for the fire-engine, crying out "Fire!" with all his might.

The firemen happened to be at the engine-house, though they're generally
all over town, and nobody can find them when there is a fire. They
brought the engine into our yard in about ten minutes, and just as Sue
and the cook and I had put the fire out. But that didn't prevent the
firemen from working with heroic bravery, as our newspaper afterward
said. They knocked in our dining-room windows with axes, and poured
about a thousand hogsheads of water into the room before we could make
them understand that the fire was down by the barn, and had been put out
before they came.

This was all the Professor's fault, and it has taught me a lesson. The
next time anybody wants me to improve my mind I'll tell him he ought to
be ashamed of himself.




[Illustration]

MAKE WAY FOR HIS MAJESTY!


  Oh dear! what a fuss! It is certainty true.
  Sweet Love is our ruler, whatever we do.
  The lions and tigers his dainty whip feel;
  He harnesses both to his chariot wheel.
  Oh, none can escape. The eagle's fleet wing
  Is no manner of use, or the hare's rapid spring.
  The ostrich may stride, the eagle may fly,
  But Love is their ruler--he ever is nigh.
  The quick little rogue, with his whip and his wings,
  He is ever about, and he ruleth all things;
  And Mollie and Ted, as they hurry along,
  Are only two more in his worshipping throng.

  Oh, Love in the school-room has tenses and moods.
  And Love in the kitchen quite often intrudes,
  And Love o'er the ledger drops fancies of bliss.
  Till the figures get mixed with the thought of a kiss;
  And Love on the avenue raises his cap
  To Love in the parlor with work in her lap,
  And Love in a cottage or Love in a palace
  Drink nectar alike from a cup or a chalice:
  Let cross people scold, and let prim people frown.
  Love reigns like a prince both in country and town.
  Hurra for sweet Cupid! Ye laggards, give way,
  While the lads and the lasses greet Valentine's Day.




"AS STUPID AS A GOOSE."


This is a very common saying indeed, and is used to denote the extreme
of stupidity, and as regards geese in general it is near enough to the
truth.

But all geese are not stupid. History tells us that the cackling of
geese once saved the city of Rome, and we find in a Scotch newspaper the
following instance of sagacity and reasoning on the part of a persecuted
goose:

"A haughty and tyrannical chanticleer, which considered itself the
monarch of a certain farm-yard, took a particular antipathy to a fine
goose, the guardian of a numerous brood, and accordingly, wheresoever
and whenever they met, chanticleer immediately set upon his antagonist.
The goose, which had little chance with the nimble and sharp heels of
his opponent, and which had accordingly suffered severely in various
rencontres, got so exasperated against his assailant that one day,
during a severe combat, he grasped the neck of his foe with his bill,
and dragging him along by main force, he plunged him into an adjoining
pond, keeping his head, in spite of every effort, under water, and where
chanticleer would have been drowned had he not been rescued by a servant
who witnessed the proceeding. From that day forward the goose received
no further trouble from his enemy."

Another writer gives the following incident, which he says was witnessed
in the north of England:

"One morning, during very cold weather, the geese on a large farm were,
as usual, let out of their roosting-place, and, according to their
custom, went directly to the pond on the common. They were observed by
the family to come back immediately, but you may guess their
astonishment when in a few minutes the geese were seen to return to the
pond, each of the five with a woman's patten in its mouth. The women, to
rescue so useful a part of their dress from the possession of the
invaders of their property, immediately made an attack, but the waddling
banditti presented such a stout resistance that it was not till some
male allies were called in that a victory could be obtained."

It would have been interesting had the geese been let alone, as we shall
never know what they intended doing with those pattens. Who knows but
they might have devoted them to some purpose that would have won geese a
reputation for wisdom for all time?

So much for the saying, "As stupid as a goose."




[Illustration]

THE NIGHTINGALE'S LESSON.


  _"Unlearned is he in aught_
    _Save that which love has taught,_
      _For love has been his tutor."_




[Illustration]

OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.


  The sweetest of letters.
    Miss Bessie, for you,
  From bonny Prince Charlie
    Or Little Boy Blue.

  The brightest of letters,
    Sir Arthur, for you.
  From fair Lady Edith
    Or dear little Sue.

  Your name is not Arthur?
    Your name's not Bess?
  Peep into your letter;'
    You'll find it, I guess.

  For the loveliest missives
    Are flying all round
  As thick as the white flakes
    That fly to the ground.

  And Our Post-office Box,
    Like a ship in the bay,
  Is crammed and is jammed
    This Valentine's Day.

       *       *       *       *       *

  DETROIT, MICHIGAN.

     The other night, about eleven o'clock, as my father and Mr.
     Sherrill (he is a student, and my father is a doctor) were reading
     in the office, they heard a noise on the steps, and my father went
     out, and saw a large owl right before him. So he threw a rubber
     cloak over him, and brought him in, and Mr. Owl screamed and yelled
     like anything, but he was put safely into a bushel basket, and a
     cover clapped over it. The next morning we went out on the steps,
     and found a large dead rat, which the owl had brought there with
     the purpose of eating. The following night we let him go.

  ROYAL T. F.

       *       *       *       *       *

  NEW YORK CITY.

     My name is Paul. I live in New York, near Central Park. I am five
     years old, and go to school. My teacher is my beau. My teacher is
     Miss Lizzie C. I love her. I printed this all on my slate myself,
     and my mamma copied it off for me. I can draw a boat; and I can
     draw it nice, too. My big brother has a big boat. Susie helped me
     spell all the big words in this letter. Susie is eight. She is my
     sister, and she had a big French doll named Eva. Naughty Charlie
     broke Eva's head, and Susie cried. Charlie is our baby girl. We
     haven't any cat or dog, but the firemen on our block have a nobby
     little dog named Prince, and we boys all play with him. He
     sometimes follows me into our house, and we think he is so cute. I
     drew the boat all myself. Don't you think it a nice one?

  PAUL L. L.

Yes, Paul, the boat you drew in your letter was very well done indeed
for such a little boy. You must send us some Wiggles.

       *       *       *       *       *

  CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS.

     I live in Cambridge, very near the famous Washington Elm, of which
     you gave an illustration in Vol. I., No. 25, page 340. It does not
     look very much like that now, but resembles any other large old
     tree, and has an iron fence around it, and an upright slab, with an
     inscription, saying,

     Under This Tree

     WASHINGTON

     First Took Command

     of the

     American Army.

     July 3d. 1775.

     It is on Garden Street. On the north side is the Common, on the
     southwest is the Shepard Congregational Church. Near to this,
     though on another street, is Longfellow's house. I had Miss Anna
     Longfellow for my Sunday-school teacher last Sunday. I very much
     liked the picture in YOUNG PEOPLE entitled "Little Dreamer." I have
     had the two volumes of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE bound in your handsome
     cover. I am glad to have Tuesday come, because I get my paper on
     that day.

  ARTHUR M. M.

       *       *       *       *       *

  WASHINGTON, D. C.

     My name is Eugenia A. I am nine years old, and my sister Bessie is
     five. Every summer we go to visit our Aunt Ella in Pennsylvania,
     near Pittsburgh. Last summer we made the journey alone, changing
     cars at Cumberland. The conductor helped us, and a gentleman was at
     the last station to help us off, and take care of us. We had a
     trunk and a lunch basket. When mamma was packing, papa said she
     might as well take the trunk for our lunch and the basket for our
     clothes. Aunt Ella came down for us, and bought me a large doll,
     which I named Mignonette, and a set of dishes, and Bessie two dolls
     and a rocking-chair. We hunted eggs, and tried to milk, and had a
     good time. Aunt Ella sends me YOUNG PEOPLE, and Bessie _Our Little
     Folks_.

       *       *       *       *       *

  CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.

     I am going to tell YOUNG PEOPLE about my great fishing last summer.
     I went to Milwaukee on an excursion, and staid there a few days.
     While there I thought I would go a-fishing. So I went one morning
     early, and staid on the pier until noon, but did not catch a single
     fish, missed a half-day's pleasure while there (because there were
     other places I could have gone to), spent nearly all my money for
     car fare, lost my fishing-tackle, and, besides, broke my
     fishing-pole, and since that time I have not been fishing.

  F. E. K.

You had quite a day of disappointment. But we have no doubt other
fishermen have at times had equally bad luck, and the only way to do is
to take such misfortunes philosophically.

       *       *       *       *       *

  NEW YORK CITY.

     I am nothing but a little white mouse, and I am almost two years
     old. I was born in a market, and my mate and I were bought by a
     little girl. I have had over twenty babies, and have only one left.
     My mistress lets us run around the room once a day to exercise
     ourselves. One evening she let us run out as usual, and my son that
     I have now and his little sister were about two weeks old. My
     grandmistress had company, and my mate ran right under the rockers,
     and was killed instantly. My troubles seemed to come right in a
     bunch, for a few days after, my little daughter was carried down
     stairs by the old cat. My mistress weighed me and my little son
     this morning, and I heard her say I weighed one-sixteenth of an
     ounce, and my son one-fourth of an ounce. My mistress takes YOUNG
     PEOPLE, and I often hear her say it is the nicest little paper she
     ever read. I have travelled about a great deal, and my name is

  LITTLE MOTHER MOUSE.

Ever so many thanks to Maud for helping her pretty white mouse to write
this tragic tale.

       *       *       *       *       *

  CLANTON, ALABAMA.

     I live in a little town of about three hundred inhabitants. It is
     only eleven years old, though, and builds up tolerably fast; don't
     you think so? About half a mile from this place there is an old
     field in which we think there must have once been an Indian battle
     fought, because the ground is almost covered with broken arrow and
     spear heads. My brother and I found some that were perfect. He
     found one that was stained with blood.

  JOHN NAT T.

       *       *       *       *       *

  NEWARK, NEW JERSEY.

     I go to school every day. We have HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE in our
     school, and I have taken it at home from the first number. We are
     soon to have an entertainment, which is going to be splendid. I
     wish you could attend it. Our principal is a very nice man when he
     has no boys to punish. I think he does not like to punish boys. We
     have a very nice teacher. At the end of the last term the pupil who
     had received the greatest number of merits was rewarded by an
     elegant medal. Her name was Nellie A. The best writer received a
     story-book, and the scholar with the highest average a silver
     napkin-ring. Do you not think it is very nice for the teachers to
     present the best scholars with handsome presents? In the last class
     that I was in I received the medal. It was made out of solid
     silver, with a bar attached to a round plate by a little chain. On
     the bar the word Merit was engraved: on the medal there was a
     wreath, inside of which were my initials.

  C. F. K.

       *       *       *       *       *

  MOUNT PULASKI, ILLINOIS.

     I am a little girl eight years old. My home is in Mount Pulaski,
     Illinois. I am not going to school this winter. I have had the
     typhoid fever, and now have the whooping-cough. My papa hears me
     say my lessons at home, so that I may not get behind my class. I
     read in the Fourth Reader, and study spelling, arithmetic, and
     geography. I have two pet rabbits, and I keep them in a cage. They
     are black and white. I shall turn them out in the spring. We have a
     little niece at our house. She is two years old, and her name is
     Ella. Her mother died last fall.

  LENA A. A.

We are glad, dear, that you are safely through the typhoid fever, and we
advise you to study very little, and play a great deal for a good while
to come. Never mind if your class does get on a little faster than you
can. Health is more important for you just now than rapid progress in
study.

       *       *       *       *       *

  URBANA, OHIO.

     I have taken HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE from the first number. My mamma
     reads me all the stories and letters, and I enjoy them very much. I
     have several pets: a white rabbit, which is very pretty, a
     large-yellow-striped cat named Tiger, but called Tige for short,
     and two canaries. I have also quite a case of butterflies, which I
     caught last summer. Some of them I took when caterpillars, and fed
     them until they spun their cocoons, and then watched them as they
     came out. I am learning to read, write, and draw, but can not write
     well enough yet, so mamma is writing this for me. I will not be
     seven years old until next spring.

  JAMES A. N.

       *       *       *       *       *

  STOCKTON, CALIFORNIA.

     I think YOUNG PEOPLE is a very nice paper. I am nearly eleven years
     old. I have a sister nine years old. A friend of mamma's told me
     this story one day: A father was telling his little daughter that
     the earth turned around once every twenty-four hours. The little
     girl sat quietly on his knee for a few minutes, and then said,
     'Papa, I do think I feel a little dizzy.' She lisped a little bit.
     I got a great many nice things Christmas. Papa gave me a gold pen.
     We have a pet canary-bird.

  LOUIE E. P.

Did you write your letter with your new pen? We think so, it was so
beautifully written.

       *       *       *       *       *

  WENTWORTH, NEW HAMPSHIRE.

     My brother Harry has taken YOUNG PEOPLE a year, and we like it very
     much. I read about the little girls' dolls in their letters, and
     want to tell them about mine. I have eight. Papa says he don't know
     about supporting so many children for me. I had a large wax doll at
     Christmas last year; her name is Jennie, a small one this year,
     named Florence, and one named Mamie, and others named Budge, Todie,
     and George. I have a very large cat named Nicodemus. There are no
     children but my brother Harry and myself. He is thirteen, and I am
     seven. Harry takes HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE and _Wide Awake_ magazine,
     and I _Our Little Ones_ and the _Pansy_. I go to school when we
     have one, and can read all our papers; but can only write in
     printing, so I asked mamma to write this for me. Please give my
     love to all the little girls.

  L. ADDIE M.

       *       *       *       *       *

  SOUTH AMBOY, NEW JERSEY.

     I am twelve years old. I am going to tell you about the little
     canary-bird we have. When we first got him, several years ago, his
     eyesight was perfectly good. We used to let him fly around the room
     with another canary-bird we had. That canary-bird died, and the
     other bird gradually got blind in one eye, and then in the other;
     and now he is perfectly blind. But he sings from morning until
     night. We have to cover him in the morning, he sings so early he
     wakes us up before the time. You can hear him singing all over the
     house during the day. Children, how much happier ought we to be,
     who have our eyesight, than this poor little blind canary!

  JULIA S.

       *       *       *       *       *

  HASTINGS.

     I write to tell you that I have learned the names of all the Kings
     and Queens of England, and the dates of their coronation; I learned
     them in just one week. I have to walk nearly two miles to school. I
     have no brother or sister; my sister Ella died one year ago, and
     was buried on my ninth birthday. I want to tell you about a
     trout-pond we have on our farm, and how we raise the little
     speckled trout. We put their spawn on wire screens in a wooden
     trough, and let spring water run through it. It takes about fifty
     days for them to hatch. When they are hatched, they have something
     attached to their stomach which is called a food sac, and on which
     they live for about forty days. After that is gone we have to feed
     them. Last winter we hatched twenty thousand, and expect to raise
     as many more this year. Trout spawn in November and December, and
     the eggs are hatched in the winter. A few weeks ago my father
     noticed his screens had been disturbed in the night. We set a trap,
     and in the morning it had a musk-rat caught in it. My auntie takes
     HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for me, and I am very glad every week when it
     comes.

  BERT CAMPBELL.

In what State is your Hastings? You forgot to tell us.

       *       *       *       *       *

  BARDSTOWN, KENTUCKY.

     I want to tell you all what a nice pony I have. My papa presented
     him to me when I was eight years old. I call him Leander. Oh, he is
     perfectly splendid! and although I am only eight years and a
     _little over_, I can ride and manage him quite well. I know some of
     the little girls, and boys too, would laugh to see me when I start
     off to school, which is only six or seven squares from home. I ride
     every morning on my pony, and there is a little colored boy named
     Ed, who lives in our family, who likes to ride so well that he runs
     along beside me to school so that he can ride home alone. He thinks
     it is jolly.

     I have the cutest little black-and-tan terrier, which I call Tim. I
     just wish you _could_ see him. And then my papa and I have a very
     fine mocking-bird, which we call Dick.

     I saw the letter of dear Rosie K. B., and know her very well; so,
     dear Editor, please put my letter in, and see if anybody can guess
     who I am.

  FLORENCE E. MCK.

       *       *       *       *       *

  BOWLING GREEN, KENTUCKY.

     I am a little boy nine years old, and I have a little dog just the
     same age, named Fannie. She has been my constant companion ever
     since I was six months old. I have two white rabbits, one named
     Floss and the other Fleece. I would like some of the little boys
     who have had some experience in raising rabbits to tell me how to
     treat them. I have the smallest little pony you ever saw. He is
     nearly white. I call him Santa. I live in the sweetest little city
     in Kentucky. We have nice hills to coast on in the winter, and the
     finest river in the world to go swimming in in the summer; it is
     clear as glass on account of its gravel bottom. We go up to a
     sand-bar, and jump off the sycamore logs into the water over our
     heads. Sometimes fishing parties of young ladies and gentlemen come
     by in boats while we are swimming, and in trying to hide ourselves
     we look like so many turtles sitting on logs. I have two brothers
     older than myself. I have no sisters, but I have a darling little
     cousin. I called her Little Buttercup once, and she said, "You
     tan't dink out of me."

  RICHARD T.

       *       *       *       *       *

  ABERDEEN, MISSISSIPPI.

     We are two little Southern girls, and live away down in
     Mississippi. We read the YOUNG PEOPLE, and like it ever so much. We
     are little girl neighbors. Emma and Eugenia are our names. We are
     great friends, go to the same school, and take music lessons.
     Eugenia's mamma gave her a Christmas tree. Emma received on it two
     nice books and a ring, and Eugenia one book, one talking doll, and
     a work-box. Our tree was just too lovely. We had it in our parlor,
     and some other little girls were here. We were just too happy. We
     wish Christmas would come oftener, and are sorry when it is over.
     We have three pet cats, two gray ones and one yellow one. Eugenia
     is very anxious for a canary. Mamma had two; the cat caught one,
     and the owl caught one at night. That was a long time ago. We have
     violets and white hyacinths in bloom. Mamma has a great many
     flowers.

     If you do not think this too long, we would be so glad to see it in
     print, as it is our first letter to the little people. Eugenia was
     the first to take this little paper in Aberdeen, and now several
     are taking it, mamma spoke so well of it to her friends. Emma has
     three sisters.

  EMMA and EUGENIA.

How we wish we had violets too! But we must wait a while in this
latitude for out-door flowers.

       *       *       *       *       *

CLARA W.--Your little story about "May in Fairy-land" is very well
written, and we advise you to cultivate your taste for composition by
writing such stories frequently.

       *       *       *       *       *

RUBY R.--Your dear little poem is put away safely in a pigeon-hole, but
not to stay there forever. If you have patience to wait until the year
rolls around again, you will probably see it in Our Post-office Box.

       *       *       *       *       *

FRANK B. B.--You are very kind to read the stories in YOUNG PEOPLE to
your little sisters, and we are glad to hear about your fun with your
sled and velocipede. There is not room for your letter, nor for those of
at least a hundred other boys, but we will be pleased to hear from you
again. Why don't you solve some of the puzzles?

       *       *       *       *       *

FLORENCE.--Read what I said to Rita in last week's paper.

Isn't it fun to put your dollies to bed at night? We hope you undress
them carefully, little girls, and fold up their garments, and put on
their night-gowns nicely. Here is a rhyme for you to sing to them when
they are going to sleep:

A BED-TIME SONG.

  Hushaby, baby--now, baby, don't cry;
  You are quite safe, dear, when mother is by.
  Lullaby, dolly, lie still now, and rest,
  Safe in your cradle as bird in a nest.

  Hushaby, baby--now, baby, be good;
  Only the naughty are angry and rude.
  Lullaby, dolly, to-morrow you'll ride
  Out in your carriage, with me by your side.

  Hushaby, baby--you sweet little pet!
  Mother is pleased when her baby don't fret.
  Lullaby, lullaby, what shall I do?
  For I am afraid I am half asleep too.

And as we do not mean to neglect the boys, here is a song for them:

HURRAH!

  Hurrah for the ice,
    For the snow and sleet!
  Hurrah for the wind
    That is fierce and fleet!

  Hurrah for lessons!
    Hurrah for fun
  When lessons are over,
    And school is done!

  Hurrah for the boys
    Who are full of glee!
  Hurrah for old winter!
    The time for me!

       *       *       *       *       *

LUCY P. N.--Mr. James Payn is writing a series of articles descriptive
of thrilling adventures, experiences, and disasters. They appear under
the general title of "Perils and Privations," and will be given from
time to time. They will not be dependent upon each other for interest,
but each will stand by itself. We are glad you like such reading.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thanks to Mary P. L. for the spray of trailing arbutus from her mother's
window garden. It must be delightful to have this darling of spring
perfuming the sitting-room in midwinter.

       *       *       *       *       *

Little correspondents will please write their address plainly at the
head of their letter--town, county, and State--in every case. We like to
know where you live as well as who you are.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Editor of YOUNG PEOPLE can not conduct any business or supervise any
correspondence which concerns exchanges. Exchangers must write directly
to each other, to the addresses given in the notices, and not to the
care of Messrs. Harper & Brothers.

       *       *       *       *       *

Exchangers will please address Vaux Chadwick, 44 St. George Street,
Toronto, Canada. In No. 116 his name was incorrectly printed Vance.

       *       *       *       *       *

C. Y. P. R. U.

Do you know, dear C. Y. P. R. U., that a princess named Kudsia Begum,
whose palace was at Bhopal, India, has lately died, leaving behind her a
very beautiful train of memories? This princess was very good to the
poor, and every month a great many aged and sick men and women received
a sum of money from her treasury. She also fed a great many forlorn
dogs; and as for the birds, hundreds of them built their nests around
her palace, and were tenderly cared for by the kind lady.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Colorado correspondent sends us a slip from the Pueblo _Daily
Chieftain_, giving a thrilling description of the bravery of a boy
twelve years of age who was suddenly confronted by a savage beast. We
condense the account. The boy's name was Amos Bennett, and he lives at
the Carlile Springs Ranch. He started off one day lately, with his dog
Curly, to hunt rabbits, armed only with a gun loaded with small shot.
The boy and dog went up the gulch a little way, when the latter began to
tremble, whine, and take hold of his master's clothing, evidently urging
him to go back. Little Amos kept on, however, until, rounding a point of
rocks, he came on a huge mountain lion which had just killed a large
gray mare which was being wintered on the ranch. The monster left his
prey, and came gliding toward the boy, lashing his sides with his tail.

The boy stood perfectly still, his dog crouching at his feet. He waited,
with his gun cocked and thrown forward, ready for the assault,
determined to sell his life dearly. When the lion sprang into the air,
the boy took steady and deliberate aim, and fired when the animal was
high in the air, the charge entering the animal's mouth, and passing out
through the top of its head, going directly through the monster's brain,
and killing it instantly, the animal dropping dead at the boy's feet.
The beast measured eleven feet and three inches from the end of its nose
to the tip of its tail, and was one of the largest and most powerful
animals of the kind ever seen in this section of the State. The young
hero of this exploit says that he does not think he was much scared, but
does not care to have his courage tested in that way again.

Honor to the brave little fellow who did not lose his presence of mind
in those terrible moments.

       *       *       *       *       *

Members of the C. Y. P. R. U. will find in this number, under the title
of "Picciola," a most interesting article by Mrs. Sophia Herrick,
illustrating some of the leading principles in the growth of plants. The
boys will be interested in an account by Sherwood Ryse of the Scottish
game of "Curling,", including the description of a match recently played
at Central Park. Aunt Marjorie Precept also gives us some excellent
hints how to act in sudden and dangerous emergencies, in her little
article entitled "Presence of Mind."

       *       *       *       *       *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

A NINE-LETTER DIAMOND.

1. A letter. 2. A spider. 3. Inclosed. 4. A provider. 5. Endured, 6.
Scolds. 7. To prevent by fear. 8. Certain foreign coins. 9. A letter.

  RENGAW.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 2.

ENIGMA.

  My first is in pen, but not in ink.
  My second is in iron, but not in link.
  My third is in wonder, but not in surprise.
  My fourth is in danger, and also in disguise.
  My fifth is in engine, and also in steam.
  My sixth is in rafter, but is not in beam.
  My whole is a something destructive and black,
  And when it's in motion you'd better keep back.

  PERCY F. JAMESON.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 3.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.

1. Purchasing. 2. A thief. 3. A drug. 4. A long dress. 5. High regard.
Primals--The envied of her sex. Finals--A servant. Combined--The
happiest of men.

  BOB.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 4.

A WORD SQUARE.

1. A city in France. 2. A part. 3. To rob. 4. A sluggard. 5. Prophets.

  BOB.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 5.

A HALF-SQUARE.

1. To refrain. 2. The east. 3. Stiff. 4. German for leg. 5. Termination.
6. A preposition. 7. A letter.

  W. D. M.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 117.

No. 1.

Pine. Oak. Maple. Elm. Ash. Beech. Fir. Apple. Pear.

No. 2.

Whip-poor-will.

No. 3.

Tubular. Pollen. Web. Wapiti. Emeu. Deer. Metamorphosis. Antennæ.
Chrysalis. Fin. Ornithorhynchus.

With time and patience the mulberry leaf will become satin.

No. 4.

Clink. Clog. Lore. Wheel. Broom. Slush. Lash.

No. 5.

The letter R.

       *       *       *       *       *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Jamie Richardson,
George E. McGreevey, "Gun Tzer," "Queen Bess," Belle T. Smart, Clara,
Nellie, John S. Payne, May and Harvey Ridgway. "Fill Buster,"
"Lodestar," S. Brewster, William A. Lewis, Georgie Wardell, H. Jacobs,
C. N. B., George P. Deacon, Anna F. Brown, Mabel Strobridge, Robert
Andrews, Jun., "Rengaw," Arthur E. Dornin, Frank Lomas, Georgie Wardell,
Jessie Godine.

       *       *       *       *       *

Answer to Enigma on page 224--Courtship.

       *       *       *       *       *

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




A FIRST VALENTINE.


[Illustration]




WHAT'S IN A NAME?


Here is a pastime for winter evenings that will compel the players to
keep wide awake unless they want to incur any number of forfeits. The
name of each person playing should be written on little pieces of card,
shaken together in a wide vase or bag, and drawn from it, so that all
the players have exchanged names, but they do not tell their new names
until they appear in the course of the game.

At the beginning, one player alone does not put in his name, and does
not draw for a new one. This player now stands in the middle of the
circle, questioning the others, ordering them about, and trying in every
way to take them by surprise, so as to make them answer or stir at their
real names.

After every ten questions or orders, the names are rapidly drawn from
the bag again. This leads to more and more confusion, because there
is an inclination not only to answer the sound of real names, but
that of the last names possessed. The questioner must have ten
counters--marbles, shells, or anything small--to give away, and a
counter has to be taken by any one who stirs for his own name, and by
any one who hesitates, forgetting to answer to the name which is drawn
by lot.

When the ten counters are given away, the questioner sits down, puts his
name in the bag, and draws out another name, the owner of which has to
be questioner instead, and goes at once to stand in the middle. It will
be his object to get rid of the ten counters now, and the object of the
players to keep their wits clear, and not be taken by surprise. The
questions and orders should go very quickly, thus: "Give me your hand,
Mary." "Ethel and Tom, change places." "Pull your hair, Alfred." "Kate,
look miserable." "Have you long holidays, Kate?" "Ethel, count your
fingers." Or, with a change of tone, "What a pretty locket, Mary!" when
perhaps Tom is Mary for the time being, and Mary must not so much as
stir her head.

The frequent changing of the names is necessary for the fun and
confusion in this game.




AN EXPERIMENT IN SWITZERLAND.


Scientific men have often to perform elaborate experiments for small
results, but in the present case the question at issue was both
interesting and instructive. Being desirous of testing the velocity of
sound between two places of different heights above the sea-level, two
Frenchmen arranged for a small brass cannon to be fired from the top of
a mountain in Switzerland (Faulhorn), and another from a little village
near Lake Brienz, 6500 feet lower than the former spot. The
cannon--which were those used by the homely villagers in their
festivals--were discharged twenty-eight times, and it was found that
though the speed of the sound was not affected by the height, there was
a very decided difference in the strength.

The report from the cannon at the lake was well heard on the
mountain-top, while that from the latter was feeble, the strength of the
sound being found to depend partly upon the density of the air at the
place of its production, and not at the place of its being heard.

Thus, in order to produce a sound whose intensity should be the same at
both spots, it was necessary to put eight parts of powder in the cannon
on the mountain for every seven used in the charge for the gun by the
lake.




[Illustration: FUN ON THE ICE--TREATING THE LADIES TO A SLEIGH-RIDE.]





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Harper's Young People, February 14,
1882, by Various

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, FEB 14, 1882 ***

***** This file should be named 53297-8.txt or 53297-8.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/2/9/53297/

Produced by Annie R. McGuire
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive
specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this
eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook
for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports,
performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given
away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks
not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the
trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
1.E.8.

1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the
Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country outside the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

  This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
  most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
  restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
  under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
  eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
  United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you
  are located before using this ebook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain
Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
provided that

* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
  the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
  you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
  to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
  agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
  within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
  legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
  payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
  Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
  Literary Archive Foundation."

* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
  you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
  does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
  License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
  copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
  all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
  works.

* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
  any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
  electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
  receipt of the work.

* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
  distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The
Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm
trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
www.gutenberg.org



Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the
mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its
volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous
locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt
Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to
date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and
official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

For additional contact information:

    Dr. Gregory B. Newby
    Chief Executive and Director
    gbnewby@pglaf.org

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works.

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.

Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.