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Title: Harper's Young People, September 27. 1881

Author: Various

Release date: June 28, 2015 [eBook #49303]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Annie R. McGuire


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, SEPTEMBER 27. 1881 ***




Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]

       *       *       *       *       *

VOL. II.--NO. 100. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.

Tuesday, September 27, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
$1.50 per Year, in Advance.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: READY FOR THE ATTACK.]

[Begun in No. 92 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, August 2.]

TIM AND TIP;

OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A BOY AND A DOG.

BY JAMES OTIS.

CHAPTER IX.

THE FAMOUS BEAR-HUNT.


When Tim went home with Bobby he saw Mr. and Mrs. Tucker, and from them
received such a kindly greeting that he thought he must be remarkably
good in order to repay them for their kindness! He was a happy boy when
he went to bed that night, and made more so by seeing Tip stretched out
on a rug by the side of the bed whenever he took the trouble to look
that way.

On the first morning after Tim's arrival Mr. Tucker, without saying what
his intentions were regarding the future of the homeless boy, told him
and Bobby they could enjoy themselves after their own fashion for two
weeks, at the end of which time school began. Therefore there was
nothing to prevent the bear-hunt from taking place, unless it should be
the failure of the bears to show themselves.

Bill Thompson was the first of the party to arrive at the rendezvous
back of the shed, and almost before he spoke to the boys he made another
and a more critical examination of Tip. Bill was not only eager for the
fray, but he was thoroughly well armed. He had a murderous-looking
carving-knife stuck in a belt that had been hastily made of a strip of
black cloth, and in his hands he carried a small shot-gun, which he
might have some difficulty in discharging, owing to the fact that he was
obliged to carry the lock in his pocket.

When Bill's attention was called to this fact, he explained that he did
not depend so much upon the gun to shoot with as he did for use as a
club, with which the bear's brains could be easily dashed out. The knife
was the weapon in which he put more dependence, and he proved that it
was a good one by making shavings of fully half a shingle in less than
five minutes.

This display of weapons and air of ferocity on Bill's face so pleased
Tim and Bobby that they blamed themselves severely for not having made
their own preparations for a fight. That oversight was quickly remedied,
when Bobby produced an old army musket, the weight of which made him
stagger, and a veteran revolver that had lain at the bottom of the ocean
for nearly a year, and was now preserved by Bobby's father as an
ornamental rather than a useful relic.

"You'll want the pistol, Tim," he said, as he handed that weapon to his
friend, "'cause it'll be a good deal handier to fire when you're close
up to the bear, an' you know you'll have to go pretty snug to him so's
to keep Tip from eating the skin."

Bobby, with all possible precaution against accidents, loaded the army
musket with the powder taken from six fire-crackers, and rammed home
five or six small stones in place of bullets. He had no percussion-caps;
but he felt certain he could discharge it as well by holding a lighted
match at the nipple as if he had all the caps ever made. Owing to
Bobby's mother's decided refusal to loan two of her carving-knives, they
were obliged to get along without anything of that sort, and depend on
the one carried by Bill to skin their game when it was killed.

The other hunters arrived in parties of twos and threes, and each new
arrival thought it necessary to make another and more minute examination
of Tip, in order to be certain that he was in the best possible
condition for the hunt. Each of the new-comers was armed, but none could
boast of having more destructive weapons than those carried by the three
leaders.

Bill was anxious to start at once, in order, as he said, to get the skin
nailed up on the barn before night; and as they were about to set out,
Bobby exclaimed:

"Here! how do you s'pose we can get any bears if we let Tip go on ahead?
Why, he'll rush off jest as soon as he sees one, an' we can't catch him
before he eats 'em all up."

It was almost a shudder that ran through the party as they realized how
near they had been to losing their game before it had been caught.

"What shall we do?" asked Bill, completely at a loss to arrange matters.
And then, as a happy thought came to him, he cried, "I know now: we can
take turns carryin' him."

A look of scorn came upon Bobby's face as this brilliant idea was given
words, and he said, almost with a sneer:

"Now what a way that would be, wouldn't it? How do yer s'pose he could
smell out the tracks if we didn't let him run on the ground?"

That one question made Bill Thompson feel very cheap indeed, for it
showed plainly that he was not posted in bear-hunting, and he was
anxious to be looked upon as one who knew all about it.

"What shall we do, then?" he asked, mournfully.

"We must tie a rope round his neck, so's we can hold him back."

Bill actually looked ashamed when this very simple plan was proposed,
and he was angry with himself for not having been the first to think of
it. But he saw a way to save his reputation.

"That's a good plan," he said, gravely, as if he had thought of
it--before, but had not suggested it, hoping a better one would be
proposed, "but you'll want more'n one rope. Why, if Tip should see a
bear suddenly, he'd break the biggest rope we could get, an' go after
him before we'd know anything."

Every boy there agreed with Bill, and they again regarded him as an
experienced bear-hunter.

Bobby got two pieces of an old clothes-line, each about five yards long,
and these were fastened securely around Tip's neck, while Tim and Bobby
each held an end, with the understanding that if the dog struggled very
hard to get away, the others of the party were to rush in and help hold
him.

The party was ready for the start, and the precautions they took even
before they were clear of the shadow of the wood-shed told that they did
not intend to lose any game by carelessness. Tim and Bobby went in
advance, leading Tip, who did not make the slightest effort to get away,
and followed by Bill Thompson, carrying his gun in one hand and his
knife in the other. Then came the remainder of the party, near or at a
distance, as their fear of bears was much or little.

Although it could hardly be expected that any bear had been so
venturesome as to cross a field almost in the centre of the town, Tip
was encouraged to smell of the ground, and each of the boys was ready
for an immediate attack before they were beyond the sound of Mrs.
Tucker's voice.

The march to the edge of the grove was necessarily a slow one, for Tip,
finding that he was encouraged to run from one side of the path to the
other, did so to his heart's content, while the boys expected each
moment to see him start off like a race-horse, and were ready to spring
at once to the aid of Tim and Bobby.

If their caution was great before they left the field, it would be
almost impossible to find a word to express their movements when they
entered the woods. Every weapon was handled as though it was to be used
at once, and the greater portion of the time every eye was fixed on Tip.
But not once had he pulled at the ropes that held him; not once had he
shown any desire to start away at any furious rate of speed. But after
half an hour he suddenly smelled of the ground, and then started away on
a run.

"He's after the bear now, sure," cried Bill Thompson, as he brandished
his knife savagely, and swung his gun around so that it would be ready
for use as a club.

At this startling announcement one or two of the boys who had been
careful to keep well in the rear ran considerably slower, as if they
were perfectly willing their companions should have all the glory and
fight, while one of the party actually turned back, and went home.

On sped Tip, now really pulling on the ropes, and Bobby's face grew pale
as he thought how rapidly he was being forced toward the dangerous and
anxiously expected fight.

Tip, not understanding that two boys were obliged to follow directly
behind him, and still hot on the scent of some animal, suddenly darted
between a couple of trees standing very near each other.

It was impossible for both Tim and Bobby to pass through this narrow
space together; but in their excitement they did not stop to think of
that, and the consequence was that they both fell sprawling to the
ground, while Tip was brought to a very sudden stop.

The dog seemed rather discouraged by the sudden check to his speed, and
it was some time before he could be persuaded to start again. This
second race had just begun, and the boys were growing eager again, when
Bill Thompson shouted:

"There he is! there he is! Hold on to your dog now, an' let's get all
ready before we rush in."

"Where is he?" "Where is he?" asked each one, as he halted and tried to
distinguish the form of the animal in the direction pointed out by Bill;
but none of them feeling quite as brave as they did a moment before.

"Look right there;" and Bill pointed to a certain spot in the woods
where the trees grew thickest. "Now watch, an' you'll see him move."

It was possible to see some dark-colored body moving among the thick
foliage, and there was no longer any doubt but that one of the animals
they were in search of was very near to them.

A shade of fear came over the faces of quite a number of that hunting
party then, and the most frightened-looking one was Bobby Tucker. He who
had been so proud a few moments before because he had been given the
post of honor was now perfectly willing that some one else should hold
Tip when the expected rush was made, and he appeared to have suddenly
lost all desire for the bear-hunt.

Bill Thompson now assumed the command of the party, and no one
questioned his right to do so. The orders he gave were obeyed as
promptly as could have been expected under the circumstances, and he
began the delicate task of posting his men in those positions best
calculated to bring out their fighting qualities.

Tim and Bobby, being nearer the dangerous animal than the others, were
ordered to keep strict watch of the spot where the bear was last seen,
and on no account to let him get away without their knowledge.

"Keep your eyes right on him," shouted Bill to the two who were
preventing Tip from eating the bear. "The first minute he starts to run
let Tip go, an' yell as loud as you can."

Then he ordered this boy behind a tree, and another into the branches,
making such a warlike hubbub as probably was never before heard in those
woods. Meanwhile Tip had concluded the best thing he could do was to
take a rest, and he lay at full length under the tree, as if such an
idea as chewing a bear had never entered his head.

Finally Bill made all his arrangements, and cautiously stepped a yard or
two in advance, with both knife and gun ready for instant use.

"What do you think, Tim, had we better rush right in, or shall we throw
a stone, an' let Tip catch him when he runs out?" he asked, in a
whisper, as if he was afraid of scaring the beast after all the noise
that had been made.

"Heave a stone in; that's the best way," said Bobby, quickly, not liking
the idea of being one of the party who were to make the rush.

Nearly all the boys showed that they preferred the most peaceable way of
commencing the fight, and Bill prepared to start the savage beast from
his lair.

At first he was at a loss to know what to do with his weapons while he
cast the stone that might do so much mischief: but finally he arranged
it to his satisfaction by holding the knife under his left arm, so that
it could be drawn readily, and by keeping the gun in his left hand.

"Now look out!" he shouted, "an' be ready to let Tip go when the bear
comes out. All yell as loud as you can when I fire, so's to scare him."

Then Bill raised his hand, took deliberate aim at the centre of the
clump of bushes, and threw the stone.

The instant he did so he grasped his knife, and the others set up such a
cry as ought to have startled a dozen bears.

It was some seconds before any sign was made that the animal in hiding
even knew the stone had been thrown, and then there was a movement in
the bushes as if it had simply changed its position--nothing more.

Bill stood silent with astonishment; he had expected to see that bear
come out of the bushes with a regular flying leap, and he was thoroughly
disappointed.

"Better let Tip go in an' snake him right out," suggested Bobby, who was
afraid Bill would again propose a charge by the party.

Bill looked at Tim to see what he thought of such a plan, and the dog's
owner nodded his head in approval.

"Then all get ready, an' take the rope off his neck," shouted Bill, as
he set his teeth hard because of the struggle that it was evident would
come soon.

Having the most perfect faith in the ability of his dog to kill any
animal not larger than an elephant, Tim cautiously untied the ropes. But
Tip did not appear to be excited by the prospect; he did not even get up
from the ground, but lay there wagging his stub tail as if he was
playing at "thumbs up."

"Set him on!" cried Bill, tired of the inactivity; and Tim, now afraid
his pet might be accused of cowardice, set him on with the most
encouraging cries of "s't-aboy." But Tip, instead of running toward the
bear, seemed to be bewildered by the noise, for all hands were shouting
at him; he jumped to his feet, and ran round and round his master, as if
asking what was wanted of him.

Tim grew nervous, more especially as he saw some of the boys who had
appeared the most frightened when the stone was first thrown now smile,
as if they were saying to themselves that Tip couldn't be so very much
of a bear dog after all, if he was afraid to kill one that had been
found for him.

Tim walked as near the bushes as he dared to go, pointed with his
finger, and urged Tip to "go an' bring him out," but all to no purpose.
The dog seemed willing enough, but it was evident he did not understand
what was wanted of him. Then Tim picked up a piece of wood, and after
showing Tip that he was to follow it, threw it in the direction of the
supposed bear.

This time Tip understood, and he bounded into the thicket, while each
one of the party almost held his breath in suspense, and grasped his
weapons, ready for immediate use.

The moment Tip was hidden by the bushes he began to bark furiously, and
there was no doubt but that the battle had commenced. Even Bill Thompson
appeared to be a little timid, and he no longer advised a rush, even
though there was a chance that the skin was being destroyed. However, he
did suggest that Tim and Bobby should go in and put a rope around Tip's
neck, so that he could be pulled away as soon as the bear was dead; but
his advice was not taken, nor did there seem any chance it would be.

Once Bobby took deliberate aim in the direction of the noise made by
Tip, and was just lighting a match to discharge the weapon, when Tim
stayed his hand.

"You might kill Tip, an' then we'd have to fight the bear all by
ourselves, 'cause Tip must have bit him some by this time, and made him
mad."

No suggestion could have been made which would have stopped Bobby
quicker, and he turned very pale at the thought of being deprived of
Tip's protection, dropping his gun very quickly.

Just at this time, when all were growing nervous and excited, the sounds
in the bushes told that the beast was at last being driven from its
lair. Quite a number of the party lost all interest in the matter when
they found they were to have a full view, and immediately retreated to a
safe distance.

The crackling and crashing of the bushes told that some large animal was
being driven out by Tip; and as they watched in breathless--perhaps
frightened--anxiety, one of the causes of the commotion stalked out into
view, while at the same time an exclamation of disgust and relief burst
from Bill Thompson's lips:

"Gracious! it's only Bobby Tucker's cow."

And so it was. The bear had turned into a peaceful, rather
sleepy-looking old cow, who had sought the shade of the bushes only to
be driven from her cool retreat by Tip Babbige and a lot of noisy boys.

How brave they all were then, and how they laughed at each other's
cowardice, declaring that they had only feared it might not be a bear
after all! But they patted Tip's head, and spoke to him kindly, as if he
had relieved them from some terrible peril, instead of only disturbing a
cow.

After the first excitement attending the finding of the cow had
subsided, the question arose as to the proper course to pursue, and it
was decided that the bear-hunt must be continued, as it would not be at
all the right thing to delay another day in nailing a skin to Bobby
Tucker's father's barn.

This time the march was not made with so much caution, and Tip was
allowed to roam about loose, in the hope that he might find the bear's
trail more quickly. Bobby even proposed to shoot a squirrel; but this
plan was quickly frowned down by Bill Thompson, who reminded him that he
had no more powder, and that the bear might come upon them at the very
moment when the gun was empty.

Tip ran on, joyous at having recovered his freedom, and in a short time
was out of sight. Then the boys ceased even to keep a look-out for large
animals, growing so careless as to watch the squirrels, hunt for birds'
nests, and to act in every way unbecoming bear-hunters.

But suddenly they were roused into activity and excitement by furious,
angry barking some distance away.

"He's caught one this time!" shouted Bill, as he drew his knife from his
belt, and started forward rapidly, followed closely or afar off by the
remainder of the party, according to their degree of courage.

As the scene of the conflict was reached, and it was positive that a
fight was in progress, because Tip's barking had changed to short angry
yelps, the greater portion of the party found that they were too tired
to run any farther, and fell into such a slow pace that they could not
arrive until the battle was over.

"I can see them!" shouted Bill, exultantly; "an' it ain't a very big
bear, only a small one. Come on quick."

As the leaders of the party dashed into a small cleared space they saw
Tip actually fighting, and this time it was no cow, but a small
dark-colored animal, which, if it really was a bear, must have been a
very young one.

Bill was not afraid of so small an animal, and he jumped forward with
his knife; but Tim cried: "It's only a young one. Let's get him away
from Tip, an' take him home alive."

He spoke too late to save the animal's life, for just then Tip gave the
small bundle of fur a toss in the air, and when it came down it was
dead.

Tim caught Tip by the neck to prevent any further attack on his part,
and the boys gathered around the victim. It was no bear, but a woodchuck
Tip had killed, as they all knew after a short examination, and the
disappointment they felt at not having slain a bear was greatly lessened
by the fact that they had really killed something.

How they praised and petted Tip then! Not a boy among them, from that
moment, but believed he could have killed a bear as easily as he had
killed the woodchuck, and Tim was happy.

That night there was a skin nailed on Bobby Tucker's father's barn, but
it was not a bear-skin, and it was wofully cut and hacked, owing to
Tip's teeth and Bill Thompson's very unscientific skinning.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




SPARROWS AND SQUIRREL IN MONTREAL.

BY FRANK BELLEW.


[Illustration: THE SPARROWS AND THEIR ENEMY.]

Very early one morning, as I was strolling along one of the quiet
streets of Montreal, and feasting myself with the wonderful beauties of
that most beautiful city, my attention was attracted by a great
commotion going on among a flock of sparrows, which flew together from
one place to another, sometimes alighting in the roadway of the street,
and sometimes among the branches of the trees. At first I could see no
cause for all this unusual fuss; but presently my eyes fell upon a
little squirrel on the sidewalk, which seemed quite as much excited as
the sparrows. If he ran along the street, the sparrows flew after him;
if he stood still, the sparrows alighted, and faced him like a regiment
of soldiers; if he scampered up the trunk of a tree, the sparrows
collected in the branches above him, with a great chattering, until he
ran down again, and then they followed him as before. The poor little
fellow seemed fairly distracted, and I felt quite sorry for him. But
then he was a thief. He had come down from the mountain at the back of
the town to rob the sparrows' nests of their eggs, just like some
Scottish Highland chief of old descending on the Lowlands to levy
black-mail. What became of him I do not know, for after watching the
encounter for ten or fifteen minutes I moved on. No doubt he was driven
back to his mountain home a wiser and a better squirrel, having learned
a lesson to content himself with vegetable diet, and not hanker after
the luxuries of the city.

Many a country boy can draw a moral from this, if he chooses.




CHILDREN OF BOHEMIA.

BY LAURA LEDYARD.


  The Daisies have come to town:
  Perhaps here and there a new gown,
  But mostly in tatters--oh, not that it matters;
  Not one of them cares half a crown
                If they are.

  They'll pitch their small tents on your lawn,
  And if you should bid them begone,
  Will smile in your face with the sunniest grace,
  And nod to you gayly next morn
                If you scoff.

  A happy-go-lucky young crew,
  As merry as heaven is blue,
  These gypsies of flowers will stay a few hours,
  And then tell your fortunes for you,
                And be off.




[Illustration: M. DE LESSEPS AND HIS CHILDREN.]

THE CHILDREN OF M. DE LESSEPS.


The picture which we give on the preceding page presents the famous
builder of the Suez Canal, and seven of his children, as they are to be
seen in the Paris Park, the Bois de Boulogne. The gray-haired father is
seventy-six years of age. His companions in the "village cart" are
Mathieu, ten years old; Ismaïl, nine, named after the man who ruled
Egypt when the great canal was dug; Ferdinande, eight, named for her
father, and his special pet; Bertrand and Consuelo, twin boys of six;
Hélène, five; and Solange, between three and four. Besides these the
sturdy old man has two sons, grown-up men, whose mother is dead, and a
little blonde baby about a year old, for whom, small as he is, there
seems no room in the cart. M. De Lesseps has his ideas about children's
health and habits. All his little ones go with bare arms and legs summer
and winter, and are toughened with active life in the open air.
Ferdinande, who travels much with her father, is as brown as an Indian,
and very self-helpful. She goes about without a maid, cares for herself,
and has as much pluck and as little fear as her father. The mother of
this happy-looking family is a native of the island of Mauritius, and a
very bright and lovely lady. Her wedding with M. De Lesseps took place
twelve years ago, in Egypt, the morning after the great festival that
was held at the opening of the Suez Canal. In spite of her large family
she finds time to keep her house open to many guests, who come gladly
and go away delighted.

Of the children in our picture three have been in this country. They are
Mathieu, Ismaïl, and Ferdinande, who bears the queer pet name of Tototé.
They went with their father in the winter of 1879 and 1880 to the
Isthmus of Panama, the strip of land which unites North America and
South America. M. De Lesseps has started a canal across this isthmus--no
small task for a man three-quarters of a century old! He finds the work
much harder than across the Isthmus of Suez, because on the Isthmus of
Panama there are very high and very rocky hills--a strip, so to speak,
of the great backbone of mountains which runs all the way down the two
continents of North and South America. The lowlands, moreover, are
terribly unhealthy, and already the poor workmen, brought mostly from
China and from the West Indies, are dying rapidly from the fever. But
such vast works only too often cost many human lives. When the canal is
finished, ships can sail through it, which now have to go around Cape
Horn, at the south end of South America, or else have to land their
passengers and loads to send them across the Isthmus by a railway. Many
well-informed persons in this country think that the last great work of
M. De Lesseps is a mistake, and will not be of much real use. But it is
surely a very great and daring thing for an old man to try to do.




A PRICKLY PET.


How many boys know that they can have one of the oddest kind of pets,
and yet at the same time have one which their mother and all the
servants will look upon with the greatest possible favor, however much
they may dislike pets generally?

Such a pet is a hedgehog, a sort of walking pincushion or animated burr,
which is easily tamed, easily cared for, and in return simply for a
place to sleep and something to drink will rid the house of rats, mice,
cockroaches, beetles, spiders, or, in fact, anything of that kind to
which housekeepers particularly object.

The writer once caught a hedgehog in a box trap, he having ventured
there probably in search of a spider, and in two weeks he was so tame as
to run around the kitchen in a very much more harmless way than a cat,
making himself generally useful and contented by sleeping all day and
working all night. He was the most industrious mouser one could ask for,
and in addition to these duties, he cleared the house entirely of
roaches, not one showing his head there until after a very fat cook
ended his useful life by stepping on him. When the dog attempted to be
too familiar with him he rolled himself into a prickly ball, lying
perfectly quiet and safe, until the dog had fully convinced himself that
he had no very urgent business with such a globe of spines, and then
Master Prickle would begin to unroll himself; first the snout would
appear, then the head, then the feet, and the old fellow would trot off
toward the pantry, grunting in the most contented fashion. Prickle was
quite fond of being petted, and with his spines lying down like hair,
would make a queer little sound indicative of pleasure at being
caressed.

A hedgehog is really no hog at all, but simply resembles one in having a
snout with which to dig in the ground, for when cold weather comes he
digs a hole and buries himself in it, where he awaits the approach of
spring. The spines with which he is armed are rather uncomfortable if
one chances to get them in his flesh, and will cause a sore, as would
any foreign substance, if not removed; but if they are immediately
removed there is no more to be feared from them than from the prick of a
pin.

During the autumn, or until the first frost comes, is the best time to
catch hedgehogs, and a common large box trap, baited with a piece of
fresh meat, is all that is needed. Select such a place in the woods as
these prickly pets have taken up their temporary abode in, and then
cover the trap as nearly as possible with leaves or underbrush. The
hedgehog will scent the bait, and then proceed to dig for it, very
likely overturning the trap unless it is weighted down.

It is possible to secure them after they have retired to their
winter-quarters by digging them out of their holes, but by such a course
it is almost impossible to secure the animal without injuring him in
some way, thus perhaps depriving him of his usefulness.

Having once secured your needle-pointed prize, make a cage for him of a
reasonably large box, inside of which is a smaller one filled with hay
or straw, where he can hide until his first fright is over. Feed him
with meat, eggs, bread, or, in fact, as you would a cat, and give him
plenty of milk to drink. Serve him his meals about sunset or very early
in the morning, and do not attempt to force him to show himself for a
week or ten days.

At the end of that time leave his cage open in the kitchen, or any other
place most infested with roaches and mice, and after that first night's
work his education in the way of becoming a pet is completed. In the
morning he will probably be found curled up in one corner of the darkest
closet, sound asleep, looking as if he had been having a very hearty
dinner.

Do not disturb him then, but leave him to his own devices a few days
longer, and he will make no attempt to leave the place where he can get
his food so easily. In two or three weeks he will have become so tame
that he will no longer raise his quills when any one tries to pet him,
but will allow himself to be fondled like a cat or dog.

When it becomes necessary to feed him--and he will so clear the house of
vermin that in a few weeks his own larder will have become exhausted--he
should be given animal food, as well as milk and water, for without such
food he will die.

He is remarkably fond of raw eggs, and if while he is hunting for mice
he finds any, he will bite off the smaller end neatly, sucking them
without spilling so much as a drop. But he does not climb trees for the
purpose of biting off the fruit, as some of his enemies charge, nor is
he guilty of many mischievous things of which he is accused, save, as
has been said, in the way of sucking eggs. He would probably prefer meat
to mice, and would take it if it was left in his way; but that a cat
will do, and she will also kill birds, if any are kept as pets in the
house, which sin can not be laid to the hedgehog's door.

Treat him as you would a cat, and you will find him equally as pleasant
to pet, at the same time that he is more industrious.




CHATS ABOUT PHILATELY.

BY J. J. CASEY.

VI.--BHOPAL.


[Illustration]

Among the most interesting and curious stamps are those issued by a few
of the native states of India. The cut represents one of the stamps
issued for the state of Bhopal. The first series, the date of which is
not yet settled by collectors, consisted of two values, a quarter-anna,
represented in the cut, and a half-anna, similar to it. The central
portion of the stamp is embossed without color. The inscription between
the lines is "H H Nawab Shah Jahan Begam," or the name and title of the
native ruler--Her Highness, Nawab Shah Jahan, Begam (or Begum) of
Bhopal--a lady, as will be seen. The characters in the lower part of the
octagonal frame represent the value. The quarter-anna was printed in
black, the half-anna in red, the central design or seal being, as was
stated, without color.

In 1878, this series was replaced by one smaller and rectangular in
shape. The inscription given above is arranged in an oval; the oval is
filled with what is presumably the signature of the Begum. The value is
below. These stamps also have the uncolored embossment as in the first
series.

Like its predecessor, this series has also two values, the quarter-anna,
green, and the half-anna, red. I believe that these stamps are intended
to prepay postage only within the limits of the kingdom of the Begum,
and are not officially recognized by the general government of India.
Bhopal is a native state in Malwah, in Central India. The length of the
state from east to west is 157 miles, breadth from north to south, 76
miles, the estimated area being 8200 square miles. It was founded in
1723 by Dost Mohammed Khan, an Afghan adventurer. In 1818, a treaty of
dependence was concluded between the chief and the British government.
Since then Bhopal has been steadily loyal to the British government, and
during the Mutiny it rendered good services. The present ruler is a
lady, and both she and her mother, who preceded her as head of the
state, have displayed the highest capacity for administration, and their
territory is the best-governed native state in India. The Queen, or
Begum, has the power of life and death. She is a Knight Grand Commander
of the Order of the Star of India (G. C. S. I.), and is also a member of
the Imperial Order of the Crown of India, instituted the 1st of January,
1878, and composed exclusively of ladies of high degree.




A TALK ABOUT TRAVELLING.

BY CAROLINE B. LE ROW.


Of course every intelligent and ambitious American boy and girl wishes
to go to Europe, and hopes to do so at some future time. The wish is a
sensible one, for it shows an appreciation of the things to be seen
abroad, and a desire to know more about them than can be learned by mere
reading or study.

In the mean time, while "waiting for papa's ship to come in," you are
going to school, busy with the conjugation of irregular French verbs and
the pronunciation of "Ich," the location of Mont Blanc and the length of
the River Rhine, the Elizabethan age of English literature and the poems
of Wordsworth, the cause of the Thirty Years' War and the reason why
Charles the First had his head cut off.

Sometimes all these things grow tiresome, and seem both needless and
stupid, but in reality this school-time is giving you the best chance
that you will ever have to prepare for that trip across the Atlantic of
which you like to think and talk.

For such a trip needs preparation. It is true that you might enjoy
everything to be seen abroad without knowing anything about it, as a
child delights in the bright colors of a picture--just as well upside
down as any other way. But no sensible person could be content with
that, and to rely on guide-books, although they are necessary for much
that can not be learned elsewhere, is like depending upon stilts or
crutches for getting along in the world.

An English wit was once asked some simple question in history. "_I_
don't know," he replied, with a wave of his hand. "You'll find it in
some book. Books are made to keep such things in." But we can not carry
a whole library around with us, even in the Handy Volume or Vest Pocket
series. It is troublesome enough to carry a dictionary, and a small one
at that. A great many things we can trust to books to keep for us, and
go for them when they are wanted. You would not think of carrying a
glue-pot on your arm or a bottle of arnica in your pocket all the time.
You need them only once in a while, and know where to find them when you
do. But your pencil and your handkerchief--these of course you want with
you every hour of the day, wherever you may be. Your school-time is
spent in selecting from books facts in history and geography, literature
and science, and putting them safely away in your mental pockets.

Of course you read as well as study. What? The world is full of books
which are as bright and sweet as sunshine and apple blossoms. There are
good books which make you want to be noble and generous and heroic; wise
books which teach you how great men and women have thought and worked,
and what they have done for the good of the world in which they lived.
Read the best books, and read for the best purpose, not simply to amuse
yourselves, for you will get heartily tired of that after a while, nor
to kill time, which is one of your best friends, but to take for your
own possession the knowledge which the wisest of all men calls "more
precious than rubies." When you start upon that dreamed-of and
longed-for trip, you will be surprised to find how much the pleasure and
profit of every mile of the way will be increased in exact proportion to
the amount of what is well called "general information." Even the voyage
is a different thing from what you imagine, and whether on sea or
shore, you will find that ignorance is worse to carry about than a
Saratoga trunk in a country which never checks baggage.

Last summer one of the Scotch steamers carried out a large number of
young people, who quickly became acquainted, and were the best of
friends.

"Where are you going?" asked one boy of another.

"To Scotland," was the answer.

"Scotland! I thought you were going to Europe. _We_ are."

"Well, Scotland's in Europe, isn't it? I suppose you mean the
Continent," which was exactly what he did mean, although he did not know
it.

Four days out, and the steamer was feeling her way through a fog so
thick that the whistle was obliged to do nearly all of the work on
board.

"We are just getting off the Banks," the Captain said, in answer to a
question from a young lady.

"The Banks?" she repeated, in a puzzled tone.

"Yes; Newfoundland."

She was more mystified than ever. "Why, Newfoundland is on the coast,
and we have been out four days."

The Captain laughed, and passed on.

That evening, as a variation from concerts, tableaux, mock trials, and
the usual kinds of amusements devised to pass away time on shipboard,
there was a school and a spelling match in the cabin. The Captain,
passing through, and catching sight of the young lady, said, with a
twinkle in his eye, "Ask 'em all round where's Newfoundland."

Every one was sure it was on the coast. Most of them thought it was east
of Nova Scotia, though a few were doubtful on that point. All were sure
that it was north-east of Maine, and that Maine was one of the New
England States. But the New England States joined New York, and it
seemed strange that the ship had sailed fully one-third of the distance
between New York and the British islands, and yet was not beyond those
mysterious Banks.

The ship's surgeon drew a large triangle on a sheet of wrapping paper,
placing the steamer at one angle, New York and Newfoundland at the
others. This was hung up in the saloon, a perpetual reminder to the end
of the voyage--and, it is to be hoped, afterward--of the practical
reality of latitude and longitude.

But when you find yourselves in John Knox's old house in Edinburgh, at
Alloway-Kirk, in Ayr, in the Douglas chamber of Stirling Castle, on the
field of Marston Moor, at the ruins of Kenilworth, at famous Rugby
School, at Stonehenge, at Canterbury Cathedral, where is your stock of
geography, history, literature, and general information? What do you
know of the great reformer and the times he lived in? of the poet Burns
and the circumstances of his life? of the tragedy of the beautiful
Scottish Queen? of Lord Leicester and poor Amy Robsart? of Dr. Arnold,
the Druids, and the assassination of Thomas à Becket? What interest can
you have in a castle if you do not know who lived in it? or a
battle-field, unless you know for what cause men fought upon it? or a
poet's favorite haunts, if you know nothing that he has written about
them? Read profitably and study hard, not only to fit yourselves for
sensible, contented stay-at-homes, faithful workers in your own fields
of usefulness, but for intelligent and appreciative travellers if
leisure and good fortune give you the opportunity to go abroad.




[Illustration: "SAY GOOD-BY, DOLLY."--DRAWN BY F. S. CHURCH.]




[Illustration: GATHERING APPLES.--DRAWN BY MILLER AND HAYDEN.]




THE VIOLET VELVET SUIT.

BY MARY A. BARR.


One morning last winter Katie Dawson stood at the window looking out
upon the avenue. She stood amid flowers as fresh and green as if it were
July instead of January. The fire in the bright steel grate burned
cheerily, and the room was cozily warm and comfortable.

She was dressed for the street, and she made a very pretty picture. Her
face was bright and piquant, her figure graceful, and her abundant hair
carefully and becomingly arranged. But her whole attitude expressed a
secret dissatisfaction, and she cast frequent discontented glances at
her costume. And yet it was a very pretty one; Madame Dubaney had
declared it to be her ideal school-girl's toilet. It was of fine
material and exquisite fit, and the girl's Ulster and cap, boots and
gloves, were alike neat and stylish.

She stood slowly buttoning the latter when her mother entered the room.

"Katie, do you know the time? You will lose your place in the French
class. Listen;" and as she spoke, the clock on the mantel-shelf chimed
in clear silver tones _ten_. "There, child, you ought to be in school
now."

"I know, mamma, but I have no heart for French this morning."

"I am sorry for that, Katie. What is the matter?"

The girl was silent a moment, and then, in a low tone, she said,
"Mother, can I have a velvet suit made for school?"

The answer was prompt and decisive: "Certainly not, my dear. The suit
you have on is perfectly appropriate. I should not think of wearing
velvet myself, except as an evening or visiting costume. It would be
absurd in a school-room."

"Clara May has a velvet suit; so have Jenny and Julia Smith; and Cecile
Bradley's is very nearly all velvet. I think that papa can afford it
just as well."

"It is not a question of money, but of good taste and propriety. If you
wear velvet as a school-girl, what do you propose to wear when you are a
young lady? I am sorry you have missed your French in order to make a
request so silly. Now, dear, had you not better hurry a little? Madame
disapproves of late pupils."

Katie took up her books, and went off with a frown on her pretty face.
All the way to Madame's she was considering how to accomplish her wish.
Her grandfather would give her the dress, or her aunt Lucy; but even
then her mother would not permit her to wear it to school, and if she
could not wear it in the presence of Clara May and the Smith girls,
there would be no consolation for her in velvet.

When she reached school her class had finished its recitation; she had
lost her place, and Madame was cross. Katie to-day was careless of these
things. Her mind was occupied with one ambition, a very foolish one,
doubtless, but a very important one in her own eyes.

Never before, either, had Clara May looked so triumphantly happy and
handsome. She had taken Katie's place at the head of the class, and the
bright winter sun fell upon the girl's fair hair, turning it to gold,
and made dark lustres in the folds of the envied black velvet. The
Smiths were awkward, angular girls, and she scarcely envied them
costumes which were not in the least becoming. As for Cecile Bradley's
suit, it was _home-made_. Katie's critical eyes had detected that fatal
fault at once. It was Clara May who sat in Katie's sunshine; for
handsome and stylish as Clara was, Katie was certain if she only had a
velvet suit she would far eclipse her.

Now it is a fact that among girls to be the belle of the school-room is
quite as envied a position as it is to young ladies to be the belle of
the ball-room. Hitherto Katie Dawson had been the recognized belle of
Madame Blanc's fashionable classes. She had been an authority on the
subject of braids and curls, and on all matters pertaining to rose-bud
toilets. But Clara May--quite a new-comer--was heading an "opposition."
She had declared she would not wear braids because Katie Dawson did,
that frizzes suited her better; and frizzes, though still in the
minority, held their own against remarks of the most cutting kind.

There is no contest some girls so thoroughly enter into as that of
outdressing rivals. The black velvet suit was Clara's last defiance, and
Katie was at a loss how to take it up.

"I will go and tell Agnes Hilton about it this afternoon," she thought,
and in the mean time she kept a sulky silence, equally proof against
curiosity and sympathy.

Agnes was older than Katie, but they had been companions for years, and
now, though Agnes was released from regular school routine, and was
"finishing" comfortably with private masters, she still regarded Katie
as her chief friend and adviser.

Agnes had a bad cold, and was nursing it in her room. A good talk over
things with Katie Dawson was just what she liked. She was soon helping
Katie to take off her Ulster and cap, and she noticed at once--as it was
meant she should--Katie's look of anxious annoyance.

"What is the matter, dear?"

Then Katie drew a large comfortable chair opposite her friend's, and
told her all about her school troubles.

"I never thought Clara May had any style at all," said Agnes, with the
authority of sixteen.

"Still, the girls copy her, and she is so unbearably independent. I
merely said that frizzes and curls were going out of fashion, and she
said pretty things were always in fashion, and that even if they were
not, they suited her, and she meant to wear them. Why, you know, Agnes
love, if every one was to follow that rule, there would be absolutely no
fashions at all. Then," added Katie, after an effective pause--"then she
came to school in a velvet suit, and immediately the Smith girls and
Cecile Bradley imitate her."

"Get one still handsomer."

"Mother won't hear of it--says it is ridiculous, and unsuitable, and all
that. Of course mother can't feel as I do about it, though I remember
very well that she would not have diamonds at all unless they were
bigger than Aunt Jemima's."

"Could you not get her to buy you a velvet suit for church, and then
contrive to wear it once to school, just to show it? For a general
stand-point you could take your mother's argument--it sounds sensible."

"I don't think mother would do it. Grandfather might, but there would be
the delay, and very likely Clara would say I had copied her."

"What color did you say Clara's was?"

"Black."

"Oh, that is very common. See here, Katie;" and Agnes went to her
wardrobe, and brought forward a most suggestive box. The two girls bent
over its contents in a kind of rapture; Katie could only exclaim, with
her pretty hands thrown upward,

"_Violet velvet!_"

"That is _the_ shade, dear. Now look here;" and the dress was carefully
unfolded. "Do you see the linings? They are all of pale violet satin. Do
you see the bunch of violets worked on the cuffs, collar, and left
breast? Ah, it is exquisite! I got it last week for Lydia Lane's
wedding. It was the prettiest dress in the church. Katie, you stay here
all night, and wear it to school to-morrow morning. You know to-morrow
is Wednesday. The classes close early for the matinée, and you can say
you dressed on that account. You could even apologize to the girls for
the unsuitable school toilet, which would be quite a snub, you know, to
those who consider velvet the proper thing for school suits."

"Oh, Agnes, you are an oracle! There is nothing I should enjoy so much."
Then the dress was tried on, found to fit admirably, and Katie laid it
away while she wrote a note to her mother, telling her that she was
going to spend the night with Agnes.

The next morning was as perfect as if made to Katie's order. The sun
shone brilliantly over the bright, breezy streets and squares, and Katie
got up with a sense of triumph in her heart. The girls had breakfast in
their own room, and then the toilet was made. Certainly the dark violet
velvet set off Katie's delicate, flower-like beauty, and her crown of
yellow hair, just as a violet velvet cushion sets off the lustre of a
diamond. There were a few exclamations, but for the most part the
dressing was done in an eloquent silence. Then the Ulster was carefully
buttoned over the magnificence, and the two girls kissed each other
good-by.

Katie timed herself perfectly. She entered the class-room at the last
moment, when the girls were all seated, and Madame in her place. They
would have to endure her appearance in decorous silence, and she knew
exactly how it would affect them. She advanced to her place, with a
graceful indifference which she felt to be a triumph. Her place this
morning was at the bottom of the class; she took it with a kind of
deliberate pleasure. She knew that she was effectually scattering the
wits of her class-mates, and some one would change with her before the
recitation was over.

In ten minutes she had taken her seat at the head again. Clara May had
not been equal to participles and conjugations in the presence of that
violet velvet. On the contrary, there was a distracting calmness about
Katie, and when the quarter's recess came she was not to be confused by
the questions and compliments that assailed her.

"Where _did_ you get it?" said Julia Smith, who was not the least
jealous.

"It is an imported suit."

"Worth's?"

"Oh dear no. Worth is becoming quite common. It is from De Lisle's."

"It fits exquisitely."

"I think it does."

"And is so becoming."

"Yes. Agnes Hilton says I look charming in it."

Katie was far too wise to undervalue herself in any way, and she
accepted the girl's compliments as her right.

"Are you going to wear it every day?" asked little Florence Dixon, as
she touched admiringly the wrought violets on the cuffs.

Katie stroked her curls with a patronizing kindness, and answered: "No,
Miss Foolishness, that would be wretched taste. To the school-room, the
school dress. Ladies have the proper toilet for all occasions." Then,
before any one could answer her, she dropped her little air of
instruction, and said, with the frankness of equality: "Girls, you must
excuse me appearing in such a morning toilet. The fact is, I am going to
the matinée, and one likes to be early at a Gerster matinée. You know
how little time Madame gives us to dress in."

"Oh dear me, there is no need of apology," said Clara May, a trifle
defiantly. "One understands quite well that there would be no pleasure
in having a suit like that unless there were opportunities to show it;
and whether it be in the morning or evening, in the school-room or the
opera boxes, is all the same. I don't see why one should not wear as
nice things in Madame Blanc's company as in Madame Gerster's; and some
people would think a school-room just as worthy of a fine dress as an
opera-house."

This argument was received with a murmur of approval. Girls rarely look
beneath the surface, and it sounded well; but upon the whole, Katie felt
that she had had a great triumph. For a month afterward she wore her
brown cloth school suit with the air of one who has vindicated her
taste, and who was quite content with its serviceable fitness.

The velvets began to look common, and a little shabby; imitations of a
cheaper kind were plentiful on the streets. She almost wondered how she
ever could have thought them so desirable. It was just when she had
reached this position, when velvet suits had sunk below the tide of
wishing for in her mind, that they were again forced on her attention.

One morning Clara May came to school in a state of great excitement. She
threw aside her Derby and Ulster, and hastened to the group chatting by
the open fire.

"Girls," she said, in a tone which implied something far beyond the
words--"girls, I was at the charity fair last night."

"Oh!" from half a dozen voices at once.

"And I saw Agnes Hilton there. She had a stand--Japanese things."

"Did you buy?"

"I priced some scrolls; they were horrid, and very dear. What do you
think she wore?"

"Could not guess; she has such lots of things," said an old pupil who
remembered Agnes.

"A--violet--velvet--suit!"

"Oh!"

"Lined with pale violet satin!"

"Oh!"

"And little bunches of violets worked on the cuffs, collar, and left
breast!"

"Never!"

"Yes, it is, I positively declare."

"Katie Dawson's?" inquired some one, in a hesitating voice.

"Or else--Katie Dawson wore Agnes Hilton's suit that day."

"They might have suits alike," said Julia Smith; "they are great
friends."

"They _might_, but I don't believe they have."

Just then Katie entered the room, and there was a moment's silence. Then
Clara said:

"Good-morning, Miss Dawson. Were you at the fair last night?"

"Yes. What a horrid crush it was!"

"Do you think so? What did you wear?"

"Navy blue silk."

"Why did you not wear your violet velvet?"

"In that crush? What an idea!"

"Agnes Hilton had hers on. I saw her; I priced some goods at her stand.
I noticed particularly the flowers on her cuffs. It was a suit _exactly_
like the one you wore that morning you came dressed for the matinée.
Your suit was made precisely the same as hers. Perhaps it was"--and then
she stopped, and with a very irritating smile turned to her books.

The attack had been so sudden that for once Katie was tongue-tied. That
group of inquisitive girls was too much for her. She turned haughtily on
her heel, and disdained to answer, but she felt that her sceptre had
departed. There were whisperings in her presence, and confidences in
which she had no share. Girls looked meaningly at her dress, and a week
afterward, when the day for translations came round, Clara May read
aloud the fable of the jay in peacock's feathers, which she had freely
rendered into French from the English version.

To Madame it had no particular meaning; to the whole school-room it was
startlingly intelligent. Katie tingled with shame and burned with anger.
She had pretended not to notice much that had wounded her deeply. Should
she continue a course which left her a text for sermons of this kind, or
should she boldly take her punishment in her own hand? She decided that
the latter would be the bravest and wisest thing to do, and as soon as
Clara sat down she rose and asked, "Will Madame allow me to answer Miss
May's fable in English?"

"This is the French class, Miss Dawson."

"But, Madame, I desire all present to understand me clearly."

"You have a motive? Ah! then it is well you speak as you wish."

"Madame, _I_ am intended to point the moral of the jay and the peacock's
feathers. If Madame permits me, I will explain."

"I desire not to interrupt."

Then Katie spoke frankly of her desire for a velvet suit, and repeated
her mother's objections to it--to which objections Madame said,
emphatically, "Good, they were good."

"Then I went to Agnes Hilton's, and she proposed I should wear her
dress, and I agreed to it very gladly. Madame perhaps remembers the
dress?"

Madame nodded her head decidedly.

"And then, Madame, Miss May saw Miss Hilton at the fair in the violet
velvet, and Miss May is very shrewd, and supposed what is really the
case. I might, of course, have said that Agnes and I had dresses alike,
and so have left the matter in doubt. But I have regretted my folly very
often since, and I prefer to tell the truth. Whatever punishment Madame
thinks I deserve, I am ready to accept."

"This is a great pleasure to me," said Madame. "What is a velvet
suit?--a few dollars, a thing that quite common people may have. But the
truth!--but the brave heart to confess a fault! That is beyond all
price. Miss Dawson has taken her punishment this morning; now I give to
her, with great pride, my hand."

There had never been such a sensation in the school before. Katie lifted
her eyes, full of tears, to Madame, and in that moment the girl gained a
point in character which vanity and deception never again will conquer.

Then the translations went on as usual, but when the books were closed,
Madame said: "We have learned a lesson this morning, young ladies, which
is the same in all the languages--the power of simple truth to conquer
even the vanity and the ill-will. If you forget the French, then you
will try always to remember this."

The girl whom I have called Clara May told me the story of the violet
velvet suit, and she added: "I like no one so well as I do Katie Dawson
now. Madame Dubaney will make our school dresses alike next winter, and
they will _not_ be velvet."




[Illustration: RUSSIAN CHILDREN AT PLAY.]

A PLAY-GROUND IN THE CZAR'S PARK.

BY DAVID KER.


No Russian boy with a half-holiday before him could wish for a
pleasanter place to spend it than the great park which lies around the
Czar's country palace of Tsarskoë-Selo (Czar's Village), sixteen miles
southeast of St. Petersburg. The poor Czar himself very seldom goes
there now, fearing to be shot or blown up: but plenty of his subjects do
all through the summer, and many a hard-worked clerk or tired
store-keeper, lying on the soft grass, with his children frolicking
around him, or eating moroshki (Finland raspberries) and cream in one of
the little trellis-work summer-houses near the lake, doubtless
congratulates himself that he is not important enough to be
assassinated, and can take a day's pleasure without fear of pistols,
daggers, or dynamite bombs.

If you strike straight out through the park from the eastern corner of
the palace, and head toward Pavlovsk (which lies two miles distant), you
will soon hear a chorus of little voices, as if a party of children were
enjoying themselves somewhere near. Ask any one what this means, and
the answer will be, "Matchta" (the mast), and in another moment you see
the top of a tall mast above the trees, and come out upon a small open
space with a shed along one side of it, and the mast itself in the
middle.

All around the foot of it, for safety's sake, is spread a strong net,
upon which a crowd of girls and boys are dancing, rolling about, and
jumping backward and forward, while other boys of a more adventurous
turn are chasing each other up and down the "stays" and rope-ladders,
laughing and hallooing at the full pitch of their voices.

See what rosy cheeks this little lassie in the pink sash has got. She
looked pale enough two months ago, but fresh air and out-door games have
done wonders for her already. She and her sister Alexia (Alice) have
taken her big doll between them, and joining hands with their cousin
Nadejda (Hope) are dancing round and round in time to a funny little
Russian song.

But who is that tall, bright-eyed, curly-haired boy who is skipping up
and down the rigging as nimbly as a cat, watched admiringly by the old
Russian sailor who has charge of the play-ground? Young as he is,
Michael Suvôrin has already made up his mind to go to sea, and never
loses a chance of "practicing for a sailor." He is rather a wild boy,
and just a little too fond of playing tricks upon his aunt and cousins,
who are watching him rather nervously from below; but with all his
wildness, he staid in only last week all through a half-holiday to read
to his little sister when she was ill.

Suddenly he flings his straw hat to the ground, and starts right for the
mast-head hand over hand in true man-of-war fashion. Up he goes--up, up,
up--reaches the top, and giving a triumphant hurrah, turns to come down
again.

All at once he is seen to lurch forward; a cry is heard; and the next
moment he is hanging head downward in the empty air, caught by one foot
in the strands of the rope-ladder.

Instantly all is confusion. Ladies scream, children cry, and the old
sailor himself darts forward to mount to the rescue, when the
mischievous boy clews himself up again with a loud laugh, and slides
down unhurt, the whole thing having been only a trick.

But when he sees his aunt's white scared face, and his little cousins
crying bitterly, Michael's warm heart smites him.

"I'm very sorry, aunt; I only meant it for fun, and I never thought I'd
frighten you so. Scold me as much as you like; it'll just serve me
right."

"Nay, don't be too hard on him, barina" (madam), puts in the old sailor.
"Boys will have their fun; but he's got the heart of a man in him, and a
man that you'll be proud of yet."

And I should not wonder if old Ivan's prophecy some day came out true.




THE KITTEN AND FALLING LEAVES.

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.


  That way look, my infant, lo!
  What a pretty baby-show!
  See the Kitten on the wall,
  Sporting with the leaves that fall--
  Withered leaves, one, two, and three--
  From the lofty elder-tree!
  Through the calm and frosty air
  Of this morning bright and fair,
  Eddying round and round, they sink
  Softly, slowly; one might think,
  From the motions that are made,
  Every little leaf conveyed
  Sylph or fairy hither tending,
  To this lower world descending,
  Each invisible and mute
  In his wavering parachute.

  --But the Kitten, how she starts,
  Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts!
  First at one, and then its fellow
  Just as light and just as yellow;
  There are many now--now one--
  Now they stop, and there are none.
  What intenseness of desire
  In her upward eye of fire!
  What a tiger-leap! Half way
  Now she meets the coming prey,
  Lets it go as fast, and then
  Has it in her power again;
  Now she works with three or four,
  Like an Indian conjurer;
  Quick as he in feats of art,
  Far beyond in joy of heart,
  Were her antics played in the eye
  Of a thousand standers-by,
  Clapping hands with shout and stare,
  What would little Tabby care
  For the plaudits of the crowd?
  Overhappy to be proud,
  Overwealthy in the treasure
  Of her own exceeding pleasure!

[Illustration]




[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]


We feel sure that our readers will be pleased by the announcement on the
next page of a serial story by their friend Mr. W. O. Stoddard. The
story is a long one, and will contain a chapter of intensely interesting
reading for each week of the coming winter.

       *       *       *       *       *

Sometimes when we open the Post-office Box, and read the letters you
send us, we try to imagine how you look, and wonder whether we would
know you if we happened to meet you going to school, or riding your
gentle ponies over the hills, or perhaps busy feeding your pets, and
helping along at home. We fancy we would recognize our own Young People
by their bright faces and straightforward speech and polite manners.
Though we can not print all the letters, we like to read them, and we
think just as much of the letters we can not publish as of those which
appear in these columns. Remember this, Hannah and Joe, Theodore and
Bessie, and write to us again.

Please use black ink, boys and girls, and, to spare our eyes, do not use
red ink nor a lead-pencil.

       *       *       *       *       *

  FORT RENO, INDIAN TERRITORY.

     Would you like to hear about an Indian dance, or "medicine," which
     I saw a little while ago? It was in a very large tent composed of
     several "tepees," or tents of the kind the Indians live in. The
     dancers were almost naked, painted black or yellow with white
     marks, and most of them had willow wreaths on their heads, wrists,
     and ankles. They jumped up and down, blowing on whistles made of
     the bone of an eagle's wing. In one corner of the tent was a
     "tom-tom," or big drum, which was beaten by five or six Indians,
     who sang at the same time, or at least did what they called
     singing, though it sounded more like howling in my ears. After much
     drumming and singing, the "medicine-man" and two or three others
     came forward and stood near the middle pole. One took down two
     ropes, while another sat down. The "medicine-man" then picked up a
     knife and some sticks and went up to the side of the man who was
     sitting down, and pinching up some of the skin on either side of
     his breast, ran the knife through it, and then taking one of the
     sticks, he put it through the hole. Then he and another man slipped
     the ropes over the sticks and went away. The tortured Indian got up
     and jumped first to one side and then to the other, trying to break
     loose. The skin stood out about four and a half inches, but would
     not break: at last it gave way, and the man went head first into
     the fire which was behind him. After this several others were tied
     up in the same way. The dance continued several days.

     I like "The Cruise of the 'Ghost,'" "The Brave Swiss Boy," and
     "Across the Ocean," but "Toby Tyler" is my favorite. I have taken
     YOUNG PEOPLE from the first number, and could hardly do without it.
     I am just eleven years old.

  WILLIAM WIRT L.

       *       *       *       *       *

  COVINGTON, KENTUCKY.

     Most of the young folks who write to you tell of their pets. To
     avoid sameness, I will not tell of mine, but briefly mention the
     many curious things I lately saw at Spang's Natural History Rooms.

     There were four or five kinds of sharks, the most
     formidable-looking being the hammer-head. It was indeed a monster;
     its head was three feet across, and its great goggle eyes stood out
     on each side. The man-eater was a hideous-looking thing, and would
     not be a very pleasant bathing companion. It has double rows of
     teeth, and is fully capable of making mince-meat of a person in a
     very short time. The manatee, or sea-cow, is an ugly-looking
     customer, in shape resembling the whale. This specimen weighs
     nearly two thousand pounds. The saw-fish is a queer-looking fellow,
     who has the advantage of all other workmen, as he carries his
     tool-chest with him all the time without inconvenience. This chest
     contains one formidable saw, which grows out from his snout. We saw
     two or three very large fish of this class, the saws being fully a
     yard long, with teeth on both sides. The king of fishes, the whale,
     would not care to combat with a saw-fish. Of all the odd-looking
     reptiles we saw it would be too tedious to make mention, so I will
     only allude to the little alligators, all dead and stuffed, which
     the ingenious Mr. Spang has arranged in the most laughable
     attitudes. He must have at least five hundred, some of them not
     more than a couple of weeks old. I hope that those of your readers
     who are fond of studying natural history may have an opportunity to
     visit this or some other equally good collection.

  EDITH C.

       *       *       *       *       *

  CONCORD, CALIFORNIA.

     My home is away out in the country, in Contra Costa County. I have
     two sisters and three brothers. My sisters are Emma and Tina, and
     my brothers are Charlie and Louis; the baby's name we have not yet
     decided upon. Emma, Tina, and I go to a little school about two
     miles from home. I have some chickens, turkeys, ducks, and pigeons,
     four dogs, and more than a dozen cats. I must tell you what my
     brother Louis did to a pet pigeon of mine. He saw it walking around
     the yard, and he thought he would make it a prisoner by putting it
     in the tin oven of the stove. We built a fire in the stove next
     day, and soon we heard a noise in the oven. We took the captive
     out, and tried to save it, but it died in the night. My papa gave
     me a nice little pony, which I ride. His name is George. I am
     twelve years old, and as this is my first letter, I would like very
     much to see it in print. Good-by.

  BERTA E. L.

Of course your brother did not mean to leave the poor bird in prison,
and he must have felt very sad at its unhappy fate.

       *       *       *       *       *

  ELYRIA, OHIO.

     I have been wanting to write you a letter for a long time, for I
     see many letters in the Post-office Box from little girls who are
     about the same age as myself.

     I want to tell you about a large black and yellow spider that had
     its home in the corner of a house of ours. Of course it was
     out-of-doors, for my mamma will not have spider webs in the house
     where we live. In the middle of her web Mrs. Spider made a kind of
     curtain, behind which she retired to eat her food. One morning I
     went to look at it, and there hung a brown bag about the size of a
     hickory-nut. The bag looked as if it had been drawn together at the
     top and tied with a string. It had all been made in one night.
     There was soon another, and then the spider was gone. My papa took
     one of the bags and opened it. The outside was thick and tough like
     leather, but soft and smooth as satin inside. In it there was a
     little round bowl with a lid; we lifted the lid, and found the bowl
     full of tiny yellow eggs. All around this bowl was something that
     looked like fine brown cotton. I wonder if it was put there to keep
     the eggs warm, or as food for the baby spiders. I am going to let
     the other bag hang as long as it will, and watch it.

     I have taken HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE almost a year; it was a birthday
     present.

  ADA L. B.

       *       *       *       *       *

  BETHALTO, ILLINOIS.

     I want to tell you about my dear little sparrow, which I found in a
     mill, all covered with flour. I took him home, and fed him for a
     week. When I thought he was old enough, I let him fly, but the
     cunning little fellow did not want to go. He chirruped all day in
     the trees around the house, and at night, when I called him, he
     flew right into my open hand. We continued to feed him, and now
     think we will have to keep him always. He flies out every day, but
     is sure to be close to his cage at night, and there he is satisfied
     till morning.

     I also have a canary, which always whistles when he sees my papa,
     and keeps on calling till papa answers him.

  FREDDIE M.

       *       *       *       *       *

  HAZELWOOD, KENTUCKY.

     I sold my last year's turkeys, and invested a part of the proceeds
     in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. It has proved the best investment I ever
     made. Papa, mamma, and my brothers and sisters older and younger
     than myself all enjoy each week's issue. I now have another flock
     of young turkeys, and when they are disposed of, I will certainly
     renew my subscription. I raised over two hundred chickens this
     year. I now have five brown Leghorn chickens, beauties, from which
     I hope to raise a flock next year.

  MATTIE L. O.

When you write again, tell us something about your turkeys, whether they
are fond of wandering from home, and which you like best to care for,
turkeys or chickens.

       *       *       *       *       *

  QUINCY, ILLINOIS.

     My little son Alfred is, through his affliction, not able to write
     himself, so he requests me to say to you what he would like to say
     himself. When he wrote you the letter you were kind enough to put
     in your valuable paper for him, we thought it probable some few
     sympathizing children would send him something to read, and so help
     to pass away the to him weary time. He little thought of the almost
     universal interest it would awake among your readers. He has
     received, I suppose, one hundred and fifty letters, and books,
     magazines, and newspapers enough to last him some time. Letters
     have come to him from almost every State in the Union, and one from
     a very kind lady in Helena, Montana. I have answered several by
     mail, but a great many kind friends have sent papers without name,
     and we wish in his place to thank all who have so kindly answered
     his letter, and we hope some day to do to others as they have done
     to our little boy.

  S. JUDD, for ALFRED.

       *       *       *       *       *

  WINDHAM, NEW YORK.

     My friend from New York city and I thought we would write and tell
     you about our camping out upon a hill behind our house. We built a
     little shanty just large enough to sit up and lie down in, besides
     a little place to put our apples and drinking water in. We slept
     with soft hats on, pulled down over our ears to keep from catching
     cold, lying on and under blankets. It was quite a cold night
     outside, but with the aid of a lantern we read YOUNG PEOPLE, and
     kept warm inside by hugging up close together. We were very careful
     about the light being seen by the boys, for fear they would come up
     and trouble us as they did last year. We covered the cracks around
     the sides with old carpets, and the roof with oil-cloth, to keep
     from getting wet if it should happen to rain. We slept well, and in
     the morning I heard some one call, "Time to get up; half past
     five," so we got up and opened our house; and next summer, if we
     live, we will camp out again. We hope to have YOUNG PEOPLE till we
     grow up, and we always welcome it.

  RIP VAN WINKLE.
  E. O. P.

       *       *       *       *       *

  ELIZABETH, NEW JERSEY.

     I think I must tell you about my gray cat. My papa brought him home
     from New York one day, and he was at first very wild, but plenty to
     eat and kind treatment soon tamed him. His color is gray, and he
     has black stripes on his head, paws, back, and sides. He is very
     greedy; we may feed him all day, and then he will come and rub up
     against us, as if begging for more. He is a very affectionate cat,
     for when I go out into the yard, he comes up out of the
     honeysuckles and purrs with pleasure. I have had him about three
     months.

  ROSIE E. W.

You might call your gray pussy Oliver Twist, after a certain poor boy
who was abused quite as much as poor Tim, and who was always asking for
"more," though he had far less to eat than your cat, and so had an
excuse for being always hungry. Do you know who wrote the story of
_Oliver Twist_?

       *       *       *       *       *

     My brother and I are making a "zoo," and have quite a collection. I
     would like to increase my stock with a live turtle or terrapin, and
     I will exchange twelve picture cards for a small one.

     We are now reading _Life and her Children_, and find it adds much
     to the pleasure of our work in collecting.

     My brother is eleven and I am nine years old.

  F. C. ELY, 238 S. Third St., Philadelphia, Penn.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following exchanges are offered by correspondents:

     Stamps, foreign and domestic, for exchange.

  F. H. WATERS, Cambridge, Dorset Co., Md.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Rare South American and East Indian stamps, for others equally
     rare.

  B. F. MCLAUGHLIN,
  122 Front St., New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A stone from Illinois, for three postmarks from any other State.

  RALPH B. LARKIN,
  New Windsor, Mercer Co., Ill.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A hand-power scroll-saw, one iron stone, one flint Indian
     arrow-head, two books, entitled _The Six Little Rebels_ and _The
     American Family Robinson_, for a bicycle, stamps, or coins.

  H. B. MCGRAW,
  206 Prospect St., Cleveland, Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A 20-inch miniature yacht, sloop-rigged, and warranted to sail, a
     three-draw spy-glass, and fifty stamps, for a foot-power scroll-saw
     and appliances in good condition.

  WILLIAM E. ELDRIDGE,
  323 York St., Jersey City, N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

     U. S. stamps, postmarks, New York papers and editors' names, for
     curiosities, stamps, etc., or for a printing-press and type.

  THOMAS J. STANTON,
  39 Madison St., New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Fifty foreign and official stamps, several rare English and other
     foreign coins, for type in good condition.

  WILL J. DANTE,
  1212 Sixth St., N. W., Washington, D. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Internal revenue stamps, ores, postmarks, insects, and arrow-heads,
     for stamps from Asia, Africa, or South America.

  ELMER POST,
  Box 1503, Towanda, Penn.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Pressed flowers and ferns from Pennsylvania, lichens, etc., for
     ocean curiosities, minerals, or old coins. Please label specimens.

  Box 26, New Bloomfield, Perry Co., Penn.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A dix-centimes French coin, for a stamp from Paraguay and one from
     Cashmere; an English half-penny, for a stamp from Honduras and one
     from Orange States.

  ALFRED C. ROWLAND,
  Montclair, Essex Co., N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Hot Springs specimens, for a popular poem entitled "We've drank
     from the same Canteen," sent in order for a scrap-book.

  MAIE G. HAMBLEN, Hot Springs, Ark.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Pretty pebbles from Lake Erie, for foreign stamps or curiosities.

  ALTHEA LEHMAN,
  Bloomville, Seneca Co., Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Postmarks, for curiosities.

  HARRY T. LONG, Malden, Mass.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stones from Colorado, mica from Illinois, stones and sand from
     Africa, 197 foreign stamps (no duplicates), four sea-beans, a fine
     collection of sea-shells, gold and copper ores, a book, and a $1
     gold piece, for a bicycle, wheel not less than 36 inches.

  BUTTON MCPHETRIDGE,
  Danville, Hendricks Co., Ind.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Seven postmarks, for one foreign stamp.

  PERRY R. S. SWAYZE,
  New Columbus, Luzerne Co., Penn.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Rare European and other foreign stamps, for the same.

  CHARLIE L. MILLER,
  Lock Box 108, Bristol, R. I.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foam of different colors from Oswego Iron-Works, or European
     stamps, for specimens of woods 5 inches long and over 1-1/2 inches
     in circumference.

  HOSEA WOOD, 448 Eighth St., Portland, Oregon.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Woods from Indiana, for foreign or department stamps.

  Box 266, Bloomington, Monroe Co., Ind.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Nine fancy picture cards, for an Indian arrow-head.

  NELLIE M. BLODGETT,
  119 Warburton Avenue, Yonkers, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Seven rare postmarks, for one foreign stamp or U. S. issue older
     than 1860.

  MAC ENTWISTLE, 603 Rives St., Troy, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Two hundred feet of good cotton fish-line, for an Indian tomahawk
     or other Indian curiosities; seventy-five postmarks, for an Indian
     pipe or string of beads.

  E. C. SHAW,
  459 Superior St., Toledo, Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foreign stamps, for old and foreign coins, relics, and curiosities.

  C. SMITH,
  Box 636, Pittston, Penn.

       *       *       *       *       *

     U. S. stamps, for foreign ones.

  J. N. BUTLER, care of Hall & Macdonald,
  1651 Broadway, New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Postmarks or foreign stamps, moss from Idaho or Oregon, for a 7 or
     90 cent U. S. department stamp of 1869. Oliver Optic's _Up the
     Baltic_, bound in cloth, for a stamp album little used.

  CHARLES W. GIBBS,
  155 Taylor St., Portland, Oregon.

       *       *       *       *       *

     White birch bark, specimens of iron ore, mica, quartz crystals, and
     fossils, for rare or foreign coins, relics, and specimens.
     Everything must be carefully labelled.

  J. S. WARREN, Brooklyn, Ontario, Can.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Crystals, very clear and large, from the Black Hills, ores,
     petrifactions, and metallic specimens, for curiosities.

  CARL KEHRWEIDER, JUN.,
  1711 Rittenhouse St., Philadelphia, Penn.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Two hundred and twenty-five postmarks, for foreign stamps and
     curiosities.

  HORACE TOMKINSOL,
  Mount Salem, Wilmington, Del.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foreign stamps, for the same, minerals, Indian relics, and other
     curiosities.

  HARVEY C. SHAW, Box 607, Jamestown, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Minerals, woods, ores, Indian relics, and curiosities, for coins,
     minerals, curiosities, and copies of the old _Farmer's Almanac_
     older than 1879.

  HERBERT CARR, Box 1112, Brockton, Mass.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A stone and soil from New Jersey and New York, for the same from
     any other State; and a paper from New York and New Jersey, for the
     same from any other State except Massachusetts.

  M. STIEFEL,
  36 East Sixtieth St., New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Three good books, called _The Burning Prairie_, _Ten Cents_, _Dick
     Cheverly's Adventures and Misadventures_, a stamp album containing
     142 stamps, and three sets of fancy cards, for a good self-inking
     printing-press with font of type.

  JAMES E. HARDENBERGH,
  109 Lexington Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Ores and other minerals, and cocoons of a very large moth, six
     inches across the wings, some of the cocoons nearly as large as my
     fist, for Indian relics, ocean curiosities, and sea-shells.
     Correspondents will please write to arrange exchange. Also, if
     desired, large butterflies properly spread for collector's case.

  ARTHUR C. SMITH,
  554 Division St., Chicago, Ill.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Three stamps of Argentine Republic, three of Brazil, two of Cape of
     Good Hope, three of Chili, four of Egypt, three of Hong-Kong, three
     of Norway, four of Russia, and one of Turkey, for a complete set of
     Curacoa or of Surinam; twelve Switzerland stamps, for a 7-cent
     State Department. No duplicates in any of the above.

  H. HARBECK,
  142 East Thirty-sixth St., New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foreign stamps, shells, minerals, and curiosities, for 7, 90, and
     15 cent War and State, 15 and 24 cent Agriculture, 10-cent
     Executive, and 24-cent Treasury stamps, St. Helena coins, U. S.
     cents of 1793, 1799, 1804, and 1809, and Indian arrow-heads. I
     belong to the Providence Natural History Society, and am Secretary
     of it. H. R. Guild is President. Any letters addressed to the
     head-quarters of the club will reach me.

  H. BUFFUM,
  101 Waterman St., Providence, R. I.

       *       *       *       *       *

     _Three Months' Rustication_, by Ballantyne, or _Don Quixote_, for
     one of Bayard Taylor's books of travels or Irving's _Astoria_.

  CHARLES BENNETT,
  Boonville, Warwick Co., Ind.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Specimens, for Indian relics and U. S. half-cents and old cents.
     Porcupine quills from Manitoba and silk-worm eggs from Japan, for
     rare U. S. postage stamps.

  STILLMAN GRIFFIN, Moline, Ill.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Twenty foreign stamps (no duplicates), for a triangular Cape of
     Good Hope.

  BENNIE SQUIER, Box 585, Orange, N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

     All the stamps of British Honduras, for a set of Justice or State.
     Two stamps from Brazil, Russia, Turkey, Victoria, Jamaica, Egypt,
     Greece, Japan, French Colonies, British Honduras, British Guiana,
     Brunswick, Queensland, or New South Wales, for any of the
     following: Post-office 10-cent; Agriculture 1, 2, 10, 12, 15, 24,
     or 30 cent; Justice 1, 2, 10, 12, 15, 24, 30, or 90 cent; Navy 7 or
     90 cent; War 7, 24, or 90 cent; and any of State or Executive.

  A. B. C.,
  166 West Fifty-fifth St., New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Ten postmarks, for a penny of 1850, or a half-penny of 1839 or any
     other year up to 1871; five different U. S. stamps, for one foreign
     stamp.

  MAUDE SMITH, 111 Greene St., Dayton, Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A few pieces of fossil limestone, for rare foreign stamps. Stamps
     from Asia, Africa, and South America especially desired.

  E. C. BAILEY, Decorah, Iowa.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stones from the road made by General Anthony Wayne in 1792 going
     from Pittsburgh to Detroit, for sea-shells or pieces of different
     kinds of wood an inch and a half long and three-quarters of an inch
     square. Label the specimens.

  ALDA M. MICHAEL, Congress, Wayne Co., Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A good work in five volumes, for an alligator's tooth and other
     curiosities. Write to arrange.

  CONSTANT READER, Box 465, Rome, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A pair of roller skates in good order, for a pair of ice skates in
     good order. Please send postal describing skates before sending.

  GRACIE A. PETTIT, Box 554, Yonkers, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Three books, nearly new, _Rational Method for Learning French_,
     _Acme Biography_, and _American Patriotism_, a steel bracket-saw,
     and artist's sketching camera, papers and magazines, all for a
     self-inking press, chase not less than 4 by 6 inches. Write and
     describe before sending press.

  C. H. NICHOLS,
  Cumming P. O., Forsyth Co., Ga.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A sword-fish sword, from the waters around Block Island, and two
     books, for a pair of white mice and a young alligator. Write to
     arrange exchange.

  EWING WATTERSON,
  Everett House, New York City.

[_For other exchanges, see third page of cover._]

       *       *       *       *       *

Exchangers will please notice again that we do not allow fire-arms to be
exchanged, and that offers of anything curious or valuable for money are
not accepted. We repeat, in answer to several questioners, that there is
no charge for inserting exchanges.

       *       *       *       *       *

We are very glad that Perry W. had such a delightful visit at his
grandpa's, and would like to have eaten some of the fish he caught. The
little sister's birthday was charmingly remembered. Spencer P. H. sent
us a very bright little letter about the ants. Did he ever read H. H.'s
clever story, "My Ant's Cow?" Ethel I.'s little sisters Marion and
Muriel must be as sweet as their beautiful names. We would like to see
the pets, of which we are sure Rena and Elsie take good care. Della C.
may be sure we quite agree with her about the unfortunate Jimmy Brown.
Nellie F. may write and tell us about the fair. We are very sorry with
Curtis and Appa that their dear cousin Freddie is dead. We may live, as
they do, in a Happy Valley, and still feel the touch of sorrow. But
Freddie had been ill "a long, long while," and he is now forever free
from pain.

       *       *       *       *       *

E. A. Houston's address is changed from Monmouth Beach, N. J., to 9 West
Nineteenth St., New York City. "Reader of YOUNG PEOPLE," Box 114,
Cumberland, Md., has received over 100 answers to his exchange, and his
supply of coins is exhausted. He will return their postmarks to all who
shall send him a stamp for the purpose.

       *       *       *       *       *

C. H. B.--Articles in YOUNG PEOPLE are paid for according to their
value. It is not best for very young writers to be in haste about
sending their stories and poems to any paper for publication.

       *       *       *       *       *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from "Castor and Pollux,"
"_Queen Bess_," Ed. S. Harrington, Willie Volckhausen, "Lodestar,"
Charles H. Battey, "Phil I. Pene," G. Volckhausen, C. A. N., "Young
America."

       *       *       *       *       *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

TRANSPOSITION--(_To Aerolite_).

I am a boy's nickname. Change my head, and I become a pest; again, a
rug; again, a flying creature; again, a useful animal; again, an article
of apparel; again, an adjective; and again, a verb.

  LODESTAR.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 2.

ENIGMA.

  In weaving, not in twining.
  In dazzling, not in shining.
  In trimming, not in clipping.
  In stepping, not in tripping.
  In church, but not in steeple.
  My whole an ancient people.

  OWLET.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 3.

TWO EASY DIAMONDS.

1.--1. A letter. 2. A liquor. 3. A dazzling light. 4. To miss the way.
5. A letter.

2.--1. A letter. 2. A girl's name. 3. A boy's name. 4. To help. 5. A
letter.

  CASTOR AND POLLUX.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 4.

EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.

  I am composed of 12 letters, and am the title of a poem by John G.
      Whittier.
  My 2, 5, 6, 3 is a place of industry.
  My 9, 7, 4, 1 is saucy.
  My 12, 10, 8, 11 is a timid creature.

  R. T.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 5.

CHARADE.

  In every city my first is free;
  In each back yard on the fence 'twill be.
  My second is owned by every man;
  You'll find it in can't, you'll find it in can.
  My third, with a spring to the good roan steed,
  The cry of the hounds impatient heed;
  Ride like the wind, nor risk a fall,
  For savage and fierce is my tameless _all_.

  AEROLITE.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 97.

No. 1.

  C or D
  O tt O
  R ea R
  A nn A

No. 2.

C O N S U M P T I O N
  H U R R I C A N E
    C O W S L I P
      P O S T S
        L I E
          S
        A S P
      W H I T E
    W E E P I N G
  S A N D P I P E R
S U P E R I N T E N D

No. 3.

      M
    P E T
  M E D A L
    T A N
      L

No. 4.

Aar, bar, car, ear, far, jar, lar, mar, oar, par, tar, war.

No. 5.

Because last year was 1880, and next year will be 1880 too (1882).




A NEW SERIAL.


In No. 101 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, issued October 4, will appear the
first chapter of a fascinating serial story, entitled

THE TALKING LEAVES,

BY W. O. STODDARD.

The story of "The Talking Leaves" is one of Indian life in the far
Southwest, the scenes being laid in Arizona and Mexico. Without being
sensational or exaggerated, the story is of absorbing interest. The
descriptions of places and persons are true to nature, and the
illustrations, drawn by THULSTRUP, are reproductions of actual
characters and incidents. Mr. Stoddard is already so well known to the
readers of YOUNG PEOPLE as the author of some of their favorite stories
that the mere mention of his name is a sufficient introduction.




QUEER KITES.


I was once passing along a side street in an Eastern city when I caught
sight of an object in the sky which seemed to be neither bird, nor
balloon, nor kite. It darted about like a skipper on the surface of a
pool. It would rush off to one side and the other, going through the
queerest contortions and doublings, opening and shutting and throwing
itself about like an acrobat. I started toward it, determined to know
what the indescribable, twitching thing was. Before I had gone far I
caught sight of a young Chinaman on a house-top making some queer
motions with his hands. I soon saw that my curiosity in the heavens was
a kite, and he was flying it.

I now saw that the kite was in the form of a parallelogram (this page is
in the form of a parallelogram), and that it had no tail. What kept it
from whirling round and round, as all my kites had done when their tails
came off, I could not imagine. So I sought an acquaintance with the
young Chinaman, and obtained a good look at the kite. I measured all the
distances, and got the proportions. I looked at the materials, and
learned all I could. Then I went home, and tried to make one.

I turned out something that looked very much like it. There is not much
trouble in that. We can make a gong that _looks_ like a Chinese gong,
but it will not work. Neither would my kite. I took it out to try it,
and before I had let out three feet of string it was whirling like a
windmill. If it had any Chinese blood in its veins, it certainly hadn't
become aware of it. It had all the characteristics of the rest of
American-born kites.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.]

I loosened strings and tightened strings, cut strings and slipped
strings, and tied knots, but it still acted more like a windmill than a
kite. I was about giving it up in despair when I happened to try a
decided slip of the balance down, and the diving ceased. It would now
stand still, looking as hob-tailed as one of the "three blind mice." I
could make it dart about, and perform all the antics. By pulling it in
rapidly I could even make it pass over my head, and go some distance
back of me against the wind, and when I stopped pulling it would float
back into place. I could make it double itself, and bow and dance as
oddly as its Chinese model. It would sail up in the slightest breath of
wind, and altogether was so entertaining that I believe some of the boys
who read this paper would like to follow my recipe.

The frame is made of split bamboo. Get a piece of a bamboo or cane
fish-pole (the dealers generally have broken ones which they will give
you). Split it up into very thin strips, perhaps an eighth of an inch
wide and a sixteenth thick. They must be very thin, for when your kite
is done it ought to stand bending double as safely as a Damascus blade.
You need five sticks in all. After you have these ready, make your frame
in this manner (see Fig. 1): The heavy lines are the sticks, which must
be tied together at A, B, C, and D. The dotted line represents the
string which is put around them. A good size for the kite is about two
feet. You now have the frame ready. For the cover get the lightest paper
you can that is strong. Toughness of paper is very important. Put on
your paper, pasting it over the strings and the stick A C. Now fasten
the end of a string at A; lay the kite down with the sticks undermost;
bring the string to C, and draw it until the stick A C rises in a
moderate bow, B rising about two inches; then fasten at C, and clip.

The balancing is much the same as for an ordinary kite. Fasten the ends
of a balance at o, o, o, o, etc., letting them cross each other about
eight inches from the kite. Having got these all even, let fall one more
string to support the centre (D), and tie this in with the rest. Attach
your string at a point (J) about opposite the cross-stick F E, and you
are ready to try it.

Take it out when there is a light wind (they never behave well in a
gale), and let it off. Very likely it will spin round at first, but by
sliding the knot downward upon the balance strings you are certain to
reach a point where the diving will cease. Then begin working it upward
until the disposition to dive is but moderate, regulating the tendency
to go to one side or the other by sliding the knot toward that side, and
you will have a kite which will afford you more amusement than you have
found in all your kite-flying before.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.]

Another very curious kite is called the "dragon kite" (see Fig. 2), and
when in the air it twists and makes a snake-like movement which is
exceedingly curious and attractive. They can be easily made, and will
fully repay the labor and pains taken.

The round hoops are made of bamboo or very light whale-bone, and are
about twelve inches in diameter in the centre, growing smaller at each
end. The hoops are covered with thin strong paper, pasted carefully over
the edges, and so loosely as to sink in the centre so as to hold the
wind. Five strings connect the hoops together, the one in the centre
passing through each one, and is part of the cord held by the
kite-flyer. The little balls are made of many-colored down, fastened by
threads to each quarter of the hoops, while the tails are made of
worsted pulled out about six inches. They are easily raised and managed.




[Illustration: LOTS OF FUN.]




[Illustration: NOT SO FUNNY.]







*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, SEPTEMBER 27. 1881 ***


    

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