Title: Harper's Young People, June 22, 1880
Author: Various
Release date: May 31, 2009 [eBook #29009]
Most recently updated: January 5, 2021
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Annie McGuire
| Vol. I.—No. 34. | Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. | Price Four Cents. |
| Tuesday, June 22, 1880. | Copyright, 1880, byHarper & Brothers. | $1.50 per Year, in Advance. |
RECESS AT THE ACADEMY.—Drawn by A. B. Shults.
aby, Bee, and Butterfly,
Underneath the summer sky.
Baby, bees, and birds together,
Happy in the pleasant weather;
Sunshine over all around,
In the sky, and on the ground;
Hiding, too, in Baby's eyes,
As he looks in mute surprise
At the sunbeams tumbling over
Merrily amid the clover,
Where the bees, at work all day,
Never find the time for play.
Happy little baby boy!
Tiny heart all full of joy;
Loving everything on earth,
As love welcomed him at birth;
Ever learning new delights,
Ever seeing pleasant sights;
Taking each day one step more
Than he ever took before.
Shine out, sunbeams, warm and bright,
Lengthen daytime, shorten night,
Till so wise he grows that he
Spellsbaby with agreat big B.
One hundred and twenty years ago there lived a plain, honest farmer inthe beautiful town of Woodstock, in the province of Connecticut, by thename of Eaton. He belonged to the fine, intelligent New England stock,and did his duty like a man in the state of life to which God had beenpleased to call him, working on his farm in summer, and teaching schoolin winter; for he needed all he could earn to put bread in the mouths ofhis thirteen children, who were taught early to help themselves, afterthe fashion of their stalwart Anglo-Saxon forefathers. One of FarmerEaton's boys, named William, was born February 23, 1764, and was ahigh-spirited, clever, reckless little chap, keeping his mothercontinually in a state of anxiety on his account; indeed, if she had notbeen so used to boys with their pranks and unlimited thirst foradventures, I think Bill would have been the death of her, for she neverknew what he would be about next. For all his love of sport and out-dooramusement, the boy was so fond of reading that he nearly always managedto conceal a book in his pocket when he went out to work in the fieldsor woods, and often, when left alone, or when his companions stopped forrest or meals, Bill would steal time to read. When his elders caught himat it he would often get soundly scolded for not being better employed,but the very next chance he would be at it again.
One Sunday, when he was ten years old, he was returning from church, andpassing a tree laden with tempting red cherries, climbed up in his usualreckless fashion to help himself; but either the branch broke or he losthis footing, for he fell to the ground with such violence that hedislocated his shoulder, besides being so stunned that he lay senselessfor several days after he was picked up and carried home. The neighborscame in to offer their services when they heard of the accident, forthough they no doubt shook their heads and remarked, "I told you so," "Iknew how it would be," they were, all the same, very kind to the poorlittle chap who lay there, white and death-like, for so many long hours.
A neighbor, who was a tanner by trade, was sitting by his bed when atlast he opened his eyes. I suppose the tanner was glad enough to see theboy come to life again; but all he said was, "Do you love cherries,Bill?"
"Do you lovehides?" spoke up Bill, as quick as a flash.
You see, he came to the full possession of his senses at once after hislong sleep, and wasn't going to let himself be taken at a disadvantageby any tanner in the land.
When Eaton was twelve our country declared itself free and independent,and all true patriots rose up to defend, by sword or whatever othermeans was in their power, the sacred cause of liberty.
Our young friend Bill fairly burned with desire to go off and dosomething great. His soul was on fire with patriotic ardor. How could hestay quietly in Woodstock, and lead a humdrum life, when the soldiers ofthe tyrant were threatening all the Americans held most dear? But hisfriends at home did not encourage his practical patriotism. He was toldthat he must stay at home, and work on the farm, and get ready forcollege; the country would get on very well without him; and so he didstay for four years, and the war seemed no nearer an end than ever. Atlast one night he could stand it no longer; so he ran away, and joinedthe nearest camp, where he enlisted. But the pride of thesixteen-year-old boy received a blow: they made him servant to one ofthe officers, and in this menial position he was obliged to stay. Hefound that he was far from being his own master now. He behaved so well,though, that he was placed in the ranks after a while, and in 1783 wasmade a sergeant, and discharged.
He went home, and taught, to support himself, while he prepared forcollege; for he had no father now to help him along. He enteredDartmouth College, and graduated honorably, though he had lost fiveyears for study out of his young life. Not long after his graduation,while he was teaching again, he was given a captain's commission in thearmy for his service during the Revolution. A soldier's life suited hisbold character far better than the quiet occupation of country teacher.Then he married, and went first west, then south, on military service,and saw plenty of wild life, and made enemies as well as friends, forthe best of us can not expect to please everybody, and Captain Eaton hadtoo strong a character not to make some people, who did not think as hedid, very angry.
When he was about thirty-five years old, trouble rose between the UnitedStates government and some of the countries of Africa, and the Presidentsent Eaton out to Tunis as consul. Tunis is one of the Moorish kingdomsof Africa that border on the Mediterranean Sea, and were called "BarbaryStates." The other Barbary States were Morocco, Algiers, and Tripoli.For a long time these countries had been nests of pirates, who madetheir living by preying on the commerce of Christian nations, and makingslaves of their seamen, so that the black flags of their ships were theterror of the Mediterranean. These robbers had the daring to demandtribute of European nations, which many of them paid annually for thesake of not being molested, and lately they had tried to extort moneyfrom the United States on the same plea. Eaton managed so cleverly andsuccessfully with the Bey, or ruler, of Tunis, that he made a verysatisfactory arrangement with him, and then returned home: but the otheragents did not manage so well, and at last war was declared, for theUnited States had no idea of being[Pg 475] cowed and threatened by thesepirates and murderers—far otherwise! The memory of her recentsuccessful struggle with the greatest nation of the earth was too freshto make it possible that an American ship should voluntarily lower itsflag before a Moorish marauder. But what we would not do voluntarily wehad to do by compulsion. The frigatePhiladelphia, sailing in Africanwaters, under Captain Bainbridge, was captured by the Bey of Tripoli,and towed into the harbor of that town. Her crew was carried off intoslavery by the pirates, some languishing in hopeless imprisonment,others toiling their lives away under the burning sun of Africa.
Captain Decatur soon after sailed into the harbor in a vessel that hehad captured from the Tripolitans, and retook and burned thePhiladelphia; but, alas! hero as he was, he could not rescue hisunfortunate countrymen. A few months later, in 1805, Eaton was sent backto the Barbary States as Naval Agent, and first stopped in Egypt. Herehe made up his mind that he would bend all his energies toward rescuingthe captives at Tripoli. He found that the rightful ruler of Tripoli,named Hamet Caramelli, had been driven away from his dominions by hisbrother Yusef, and was in Alexandria. Eaton offered to assist him torecover his throne, and collected a little army of five hundred men,most of them Mussulmans, a few Greek Christians, and nine Americans.With these followers he and Hamet marched across the desert towardDerne, in the kingdom of Tripoli. Eaton had not lost his boyish love ofadventure yet, you see. This was just one of the bold, daringundertakings that he may have dreamed of in those early days when hestole away from his work to read with eager delight stories of wildventure and perilous escape in the peaceful shades of the forest aroundWoodstock. Doubtless these desert marches now entered upon far exceededall his young imagination had pictured them.
It was a perilous journey, for the Arab sheiks and their followers, whomade up most of his army, sometimes behaved in a very mutinous manner,and it took all Eaton's force of will and strict discipline to keep themin any sort of order, for Hamet showed very little decision ofcharacter, and proved that he was not very well fitted to be a ruler ofmen.
They were liable to be attacked by brigands from the mountains, too, sothat ceaseless vigilance was needed. Some friendly Arab bands joinedthem on the road; so, when they reached Derne, Eaton found himself atthe head of quite an army. Here he was met by two American ships, andwith their help he bombarded the town, and took it by assault, drivingthe wild Arabs who were defending it back to the mountains. Now Eatonwas in a situation to dictate his own terms to the usurper Yusef Bey,since he had brought Hamet Caramelli triumphantly into his own city ofDerne, and had driven all enemies before him. He had laid his plans tomarch on Tripoli, drive off the usurper, and deliver his poor captivecountrymen at the edge of the sword, when suddenly his successful careerwas brought to an end in rather a mortifying way. Yusef, frightened outof his defiance, consented to come to terms with Colonel Lear, AmericanConsul-General at Algiers. If Colonel Lear had not been too hasty inconcluding a treaty which forced the United States to pay sixty thousanddollars ransom money, when not a cent should have been given, and leftthe cruel Yusef safe on his throne, General Eaton might have marched onTripoli with his victorious army, restored Hamet, and let the captivesgo in triumph.
Most people agreed that but for Eaton's promptness and bravery thetroubles might have lasted much longer; and when he returned to America,soon after, he was received with great distinction by his countrymen,who made him quite an ovation. The Massachusetts Legislature voted himten thousand acres of land in the district of Maine. The remainder ofhis life was passed in his pleasant home at Brimfield, Massachusetts,where he died June 1, 1811, at the age of forty-seven.
Aaron Burr tried to draw Eaton into his famous conspiracy, but Eaton wasa firm patriot, and refused with horror to play the traitor. Wishing tomake his true sentiments known, once for all, he gave this toast at apublic banquet, in Burr's presence: "The United States—palsy to thebrain that shall plot to dismember, and leprosy to the hand that willnot draw to defend our Union!"
A good while ago there lived near the Clack-clack Mountains an old manand his wife, who, having no child, made a great deal of a pet hare.Every day the old man cut up food and set it out on a plate for his pet.
One day a badger came out of the forest, and in a trice drove away thehare, and eating up his dinner, licked the plate clean. Then, standingon his hind-legs, the badger blew out his belly until it was as round asa bladder and tight as a drum, and beating on it with his paws to showhis victory, scampered off to the woods. But the old man, who was veryangry, caught the badger, and tying him by the legs, hung him up headdownward under the edges of the thatch in the shed where his old womanpounded millet. He then strapped a wooden frame to hold fagots on hisback, and went out to the mountains to cut wood.
The badger, finding his legs pain him, began to cry, and begged the oldwoman to untie him, promising to help her pound the millet. The tiredold dame, believing the sly beast, like a good-hearted soul laid downher pestle and loosened the cords round the beast's legs. The badger wasso cramped at first that he could not stand; but when well able to move,he seized a knife to kill the old woman. The hare, seeing this, ran awayto find the old man, if possible, and tell him. The badger, afterstabbing the old woman, crushed her to death by upsetting the bureauupon her, and then threw her body into the mortar, and pounded her intoa jelly. Setting the pot on to boil, he made the woman's flesh into amess of soup, and ate all he could of it. Then the badger, by turningthree double somersaults, turned himself into an old woman, lookingexactly like the one he had just eaten. All being ready, he waited tillthe husband came home tired and hungry.
Soon the old man came back, thinking of nothing more than the hot supperhe was soon to enjoy. Throwing down his fagots, he came into the house,and while he warmed his hands at the hearth, his wife (as he supposed)set the mess of soup and millet, with a slice of radish, before him on atray. He fell to, and ate heartily, his wife (as he supposed) waitingdutifully near by till her lord was served. When the meal was finishedhe pulled out a sheet of soft mulberry paper from his bosom and wipedhis old chops, smacking them well, as he thought what a good supper hehad so much enjoyed. Just then the badger took on his real shape, andyelled out: "Old fool, you've eaten your own wife. Look in the drain,and you'll find her bones." And he puffed out his body, beat it like adrum, whisked his tail scornfully, and ran off.
Almost dead with grief and horror, the old man gathered up the bones ofhis wife, and decently buried them. Then he made a vow to take revengeon the badger. Just then the hare came back from the mountains, andafter condoling with the old man, said he would also take revenge on thebadger.[Pg 476]
So the hare buckled on his belt, in which he kept his flint and steel,and made ready a plaster of red peppers.
Going into the forest, he saw Mr. Badger walking home with a load offagots and brush on his back. Creeping up softly behind him, the hareset the bundle on fire. The badger kept on, until he heard the cracklingof the burning twigs. Then he jumped wildly, and cried out, "Oh, Iwonder what that noise is!"
"Oh, this is the Clack-clack Mountain; it always is crackling here,"said the hare, looking down from the top of the hill.
The fire grew more lively, and the badger became scared. He fell down,and threw out his fore-paws wildly.
"Katchi-katchi" (clack-clack), went the dry fagots, as the red-hot coalsflew about.
"What can it be?" said Mr. Badger.
"This mountain is called Katchi-katchi (Clack-clack); don't you knowthat?" said the hare, coolly standing on the bridge, and leaning on hisaxe.
"Oh! oh! oh! help me!" howled the badger, as the blazing twigs began toburn the hair off his back. And running through the woods to a streamnear by, he plunged in, and the fire was put out. But his running hadonly increased the fire and burning, and his back was all raw. When thehare found the badger at home in his house, he was howling in misery,and expecting to die from his burn.
"Let me take a look at your burn, Mr. Badger," said the hare; "I havesome famous salve to cure it"—as he pretended to be very pitiful, andheld up a bowl of what seemed to be fine salve in one paw, while in theother was a soft brush of fine hair. Then the hare clapped on thered-pepper plaster, and ran away, while the badger rolled in pain.
By-and-by, when the badger got well, he went to see the hare, to have itout with him. He found the hare building a boat. "Where are you going inthat boat?" said the badger.
"I'm going to the moon," said the hare. "Come along with me. There'sanother boat."
So the badger, thinking to catch some fish by going on the water, gotinto the boat, and both launched away.
Now the boat in which Mr. Badger rowed was made of clay, which soonbegan to melt away in the water. Seeing this, the hare lifted hispaddle, and with one blow sunk the boat, and the badger was drowned.
The hare went back and told the old man, who was glad that his wife hadbeen revenged, and more than ever petted the hare to the end of hislife.[Pg 477]
Some time in the middle of the night Joe Sharpe woke up from a dreamthat he had fallen into the river, and could not get out. He thoughtthat he had caught hold of the supports of a bridge, and had drawnhimself partly out of the water, but that he had not strength enough todrag his legs out, and that, on the contrary, he was slowly sinkingback. When he awoke he found that he was very cold, and that his blanketfelt particularly heavy. He put his hand down to move the blanket, when,to his great surprise, he found that he was lying with his legs in apool of water.
Joe instantly shouted to the other boys, and told them to wake up, forit was raining, and the tent was leaking. As each boy woke up he foundhimself as wet as Joe, and at first all supposed that it was rainingheavily. They soon found, however, that no rain-drops were pattering onthe outside of the tent, and that the stars were shining through theopen nap.
"There's water in this tent," said Tom, with the air of having made agrand discovery.
"If any of you fellows have been throwing water on me, it was a meantrick," said Jim.
All at once an idea struck Harry. "Boys," he exclaimed, "it's the tide!We've got to get out of this place mighty quick, or the tide will washthe tent away."
The boys sprung up, and rushed out of the tent. They had gone to bed atlow tide, and as the tide rose it had gradually invaded the tent. Theboat was still safe, but the water had surrounded it, and in a veryshort time would be deep enough to float it. The tide was still rising,and it was evident that no time should be lost if the tent was to besaved.
Two of the boys hurriedly seized the blankets and other articles whichwere in the tent, and carried them on to the higher ground, while theother two pulled up the pins, and dragged the tent out of reach of thewater. Then they pulled the boat farther up the beach, and having thusmade everything safe, had leisure to discover that they were miserablycold, and that their clothes, from the waist down, were wet through.
Luckily, their spare clothing, which they had used for pillows, wasuntouched by the water, so that they were able to put on dry shirts andtrousers. Their blankets, however, had been thoroughly soaked, and itwas too cold to think of sleeping without them. There was nothing to bedone but to build a fire, and sit around it until daylight. It was by nomeans easy to collect fire-wood in the dark; and as soon as a boysucceeded in getting an armful of driftwood, he usually stumbled andfell down with it. There was not very much fun in this; but when thefire finally blazed up, and its pleasant warmth conquered the cold nightair, the boys began to regain their spirits.
"I wonder what time it is?" said one.
Tom had a watch, but he had forgotten to wind it up for two or threenights, and it had stopped at eight o'clock. The boys were quite sure,however, that they could not have been asleep more than half an hour.
"It's about one o'clock," said Harry, presently.
"I don't believe it's more than nine," said Joe.
"We must have gone into the tent about an hour after sunset," continuedHarry, "and the sun sets between six and seven. It was low tide then,and it's pretty near high tide now; and since the tide runs up for aboutsix hours, it must be somewhere between twelve and one."
"You're right," exclaimed Jim. "Look at the stars. That bright star overthere in the west was just rising when we went to bed."[Pg 478]
"You ought to say 'turned in,'" said Joe. "Sailors never go to bed; theyalways 'turn in.'"
"Well, we can't turn in any more to-night," replied Tom. "What do yousay, boys? suppose we have breakfast—it'll pass away the time, and wecan have another breakfast by-and-by."
Now that the boys thought of it, they began to feel hungry, for they hadhad a very light supper. Everybody felt that hot coffee would be verynice; so they all went to work, made coffee, fried a piece of ham, and,with a few slices of bread, made a capital breakfast. They wrung out thewet blankets and clothes, and hung them up by the fire to dry. Then theyhad to collect more fire-wood; and gradually the faint light of the dawnbecame visible before they really had time to find the task of waitingfor daylight tiresome.
They decided that it would not do to start with wet blankets, since theycould not dry them in the boat. They therefore continued to keep up abrisk fire, and to watch the blankets closely, in order to see that theydid not get scorched. After a time the sun came out bright and hot, andtook the drying business in charge. The boys went into the river, andhad a nice long swim, and then spent some time in carefully packingeverything into the boat. By the time the blankets were dry, and theywere ready to start, the tide had fallen so low that the boat was highand dry; and in spite of all their efforts they could not launch herwhile she was loaded.
"We'll have to take all the things out of her," said Harry.
"It reminds me," remarked Joe, "of Robinson Crusoe that time he builthis big canoe, and then couldn't launch it."
"Robinson wasn't very sharp," said Jim. "Why didn't he make a set ofrollers, and put them on the boat?"
"Much good rollers would have been," replied Joe. "Wasn't there a hillbetween the boat and the water? He couldn't roll a heavy boat up hill,could he?"
"He could have made a couple of pulleys, and rigged a rope through them,and then made a windlass, and put the rope round it," argued Jim.
"Yes, and he could have built a steam-engine and a railroad, and draggedthe boat down to the shore that way, just about as easy."
"He couldn't dig a canal, for he thought about that, and found it wouldtake too much work," said Jim.
"But we can," cried Harry. "If we just scoop out a little sand, we canlaunch the boat with everything in her."
TOM MAKES A CALCULATION.The boys liked the idea of a canal; and they each found a large shingleon the beach, and began to dig. They dug for nearly an hour, but theboat was no nearer being launched than when they began. Tom stoppeddigging, and made a calculation. "It will take about two days of hardwork to dig a canal deep enough to float that boat. If you want to dig,dig; I don't intend to do any more digging."
When the other boys considered the matter, they saw that Tom was right,and they gave up the idea of making a canal. It was now about teno'clock, and they were rather tired and very hungry. A second breakfastwas agreed to be necessary, and once more the fire was built up and ameal prepared. Then the boat was unloaded and launched, and the boys,taking off their shoes and rolling up their trousers, waded in the waterand reloaded her. It was noon by the sun before they finally hadeverything in order, and resumed their cruise.
There was no wind, and it was necessary to take to the oars. Thedisadvantage of starting at so late an hour soon became painfullyevident. The sun was so nearly overhead that the heat was almostunbearable, and there was not a particle of shade. The boys had not hada full night's sleep, and had tired themselves before starting by tryingto dig a canal. Of course the labor of rowing in such circumstances wasvery severe; and it was not long before first one and then anotherproposed to go ashore and rest in the shade.
"Hadn't we better keep on till we get into the Highlands? We can do itin a quarter of an hour," said Tom.
As Tom was pulling the stroke oar, and doing rather more work than anyone else, the others agreed to row on as long as he would row. They soonreached the entrance to the Highlands, and landed at the foot of thegreat hill called St. Anthony's Nose. They were very glad to make theboat fast to a tree that grew close to the water, and to clamber alittle way up the hill into the shade.
"What will we do to pass away the time till it gets cooler?" said Harry,after they had rested awhile.
"I can tell you what I'm going to do," said Tom; "I'm going to get someof the sleep that I didn't get last night, and you'd better follow myexample."
All the boys at once found that they were sleepy; and having brought thetent up from the boat, they spread it on the ground for a bed, andpresently were sleeping soundly. The mosquitoes came and feasted onthem, and the innumerable insects of the summer woods crawled over them,and explored their necks, shirt sleeves, and trousers legs, as is thepleasant custom of insects of an inquiring turn of mind.
"What's that?" cried Harry, suddenly sitting up, as the sound of a heavyexplosion died away in long, rolling echoes.
"I heard it," said Joe; "it's a cannon. The cadets up at West Point arefiring at a mark with a tremendous big cannon."
"Let's go up and see them," exclaimed Jim. "It's a great deal coolerthan it was."
With the natural eagerness of boys to be in the neighborhood of acannon, they made haste to gather up the tent and carry it to the boat.As they came out from under the thick trees, they saw that the sky inthe north was as black as midnight, and that a thunder-storm was closeat hand.
"Your cannon, Joe, was a clap of thunder," said Harry. "We're going toget wet again."
"We needn't get wet," said Tom. "If we hurry up, we can get the tentpitched and put the things in it, so as to keep them dry."
They worked rapidly, for the rain was approaching fast, but it was noteasy to pitch the tent on a side-hill. It was done, however, after afashion, and the blankets and other things that were liable to beinjured by the wet were safely under shelter before the storm reachedthem.
On the Long Island shore, where the Navy-yard now extends its shops andvessels around Wallabout Bay, there was in the time of the Revolution alarge and fertile farm. A number of flour mills, moved by water, thenstood there. The flat fields glowed with rich crops of grain, roots, andclover. Their Dutch owners still kept up the customs and language ofHolland; at Christmas the kettles hissed and bubbled over the hugefires, laden with olycooks, doughnuts, crullers; at Paas, or Easter, thecolored eggs were cracked by whites and blacks, and all was merriment.The war no doubt brought its difficulties to the Dutch farmers; theywere sometimes plundered by both parties, and they had little love forKing George. They lived on in decorous silence, waiting for the comingof peace, remembering how their ancestors in Holland had once foughtsuccessfully for freedom against the Spaniards and the French. But infront of the quiet farm at Wallabout, and anchored in the bay, were seenseveral vessels,[Pg 479] decayed, unseaworthy, and repulsive. They were theprison-ships of New York. Here from the year 1776 a large number ofAmerican prisoners were confined until the close of the war, and thetragic tales of their sufferings and fate lend a melancholy interest tothe Wallabout shore.
The largest of the prison-ships—the oldJersey—was crowded withmiserable captives. She was an old man-of-war, worthless, decayed; herlow decks and dismal hold were converted into a jail; her crowdedinmates were only thinned by the hand of death. The oldJersey maywell be taken as one of the best symbols of the terrors of war. Hermiserable captives pined away for months and years, deprived of all thatmakes life tolerable. In the chill and bitter frosts of winter no fireswarmed her half-clad inmates; in the hot summer they faded away beneaththe pitiless heat. Disease preyed upon them, yet no physician, it issaid, was suffered to visit them. They were clothed in rags and tatters;their food was so scanty and often so repulsive that they lived incontinual starvation. The fair youth of Connecticut and Rhode Island,the young sailors of New York and New Jersey, confined in these floatingdungeons, were the sacrifices to the ambition of King George. They diedby hundreds and even thousands during the war; the whole shore was linedwith the unmarked graves of the patriot dead; the prison-ships were thescandal of the time, and their starved inmates seldom bore long thepains of the merciless imprisonment. It is said that the bones of eleventhousand dead were found upon the shore, and reverently buried in acommon tomb.
Yet the prisoners of the oldJersey and the other ships were not leftalways without sympathy and aid. Often a boat was seen sailing from therich farms on the Wallabout, laden with provisions for the famishedpatriots. The Dutch farmers from their own diminished resources gavebountifully to the sufferers. The ladies of the household worked warmstockings with the busy knitting-needle; the spinning-wheel was neveridle; the fair Dutch damsels, demure and prudent, blushing with the richcomplexions of Amsterdam, were never weary of their charitable toil; andmany a poor prisoner was saved and strengthened by the gifts of hisunknown friends. As the war advanced, too, the successes of theAmericans seem to have convinced the royal chiefs that they were atleast deserving of tolerable treatment. Some of the worst abuses of thesystem were removed. Hospital-ships were provided; the sick wereseparated from the healthy; theWhitby, the most infamous of thefloating jails, was abandoned. Yet still, an observer relates, the deadwere carried away every morning from the oldJersey, and still thehorrors of captivity in the prison-ships exceeded all that had beenknown in every recent European war.
Several curious escapes are related. Once, in 1777, as a boat hungfastened to the oldJersey unnoticed, three or four prisoners letthemselves down into it quietly, cast off the rope, and drifted awayslowly with the tide. It was evening, and the darkness saved them. Theirescape was discovered, and guns were fired at random after them; butthey floated unharmed along the East River, passed what are now theFulton and South ferries, and reached by a miracle the New Jersey shore.Here they found friends, and were safe. At another time, in the coldwinter of 1780, fifteen half-clad, half-famished prisoners escaped inthe night on the ice; others who followed them turned back, overpoweredby the cold. One was frozen to death. It is almost possible to see infancy the miserable band of shivering fugitives fleeing over the ice ofthe restless river in the deep cold of the winter's night, chased by thefierce winds, half lost in the blinding snow. They made their way to theConnecticut shore. A very remarkable escape from the Old Sugar-House isrelated of a Boston prisoner. He dug a passage under Liberty Street fromthe prison to the cellar of the house on the opposite side of the way.The difficulty of making the excavation will be plain to every one wholooks at the labors of a party of workmen opening a trench for gas-pipesor water. Yet the Boston boy burrowed under-ground until he foundhimself free.
The prison-ships were retained in use until 1783. Several were burned atdifferent times, either by accident or by the prisoners in theirdespair. At the close of the war the remaining ships were all sunk orburned. A few years ago the wreck of the oldJersey could still beseen on the Wallabout shore.
The royal tiger of Asia is an animal celebrated for its beauty and itsagility, cunning, and prodigious strength. Its skin is a bright tawnyyellow, with glossy black stripes running downward from its back. Itstail, which is long and supple, is ringed with black, and its large headis marked in a very handsome manner. It is like a great cat. Its puffycheeks are ornamented with white whiskers, and its big paws are likethose of a pussy magnified fifty times. Its motions are very graceful,and whether lying down, its nose on its paw, sleeping, or walkingthrough the paths of its native jungle with soft cat-like tread, itappears formed of muscle and sinew, without a bone in its body, sogracefully does it curve and twist itself as it moves.
The tiger is not considered a courageous beast by hunters, who say thatif it is faced boldly, it will turn and slink away among the bushes, ifit can. But if it can attack a hunter from behind, it will spring uponhim, filling the air with its savage growls, and probably kill him withthe first blow of its mighty paw.
The strength of this creature is almost incredible. It will break theskull of an ox, or even that of a buffalo, with the greatest ease. Astory is told of a buffalo belonging to a peasant in India, which, whilepassing through a swamp, became helplessly entangled in the mire andunderbrush. The peasant left the buffalo, and went to beg his neighborsto assist him in extricating the poor beast. When the rescuing partyreturned, they found a tiger had arrived before them, and having killedthe buffalo, had just shouldered it, and started to march home to itslair with the prey. The tiger was soon dispatched by the peasant and hisfriends, and his beautiful skin was made to atone in a measure for themurder of the buffalo, which, when weighed, tipped the scales at morethan a thousand pounds—a tremendous load for so small an animal as atiger to shoulder and carry off with ease.
The tiger is very troublesome to the inhabitants of certain localitiesin India, as it attacks the herds, and makes off with many a fatbullock; and when unable to find other provender it will even attack thehuts of the natives, sometimes tearing away the thatch, and springing inwith a loud roar on a startled family. Instances are rare, however, oftigers attacking human beings, except when surprised and driven toself-defense. In some portions of the country they are very abundant,and may be heard every night roaring through the jungles in search ofdeer and other beasts upon which they prey. Even the savage wild boar ofIndia does not terrify this queen of cats, and often bloody battlesoccur between these two powerful beasts.
As a mother the tiger is very devoted, and will fight for its prettykittens to the last extremity. A story is told of an English officerwho, while hunting in India, came upon the lair of a tiger, in which atiny kitten, about a fortnight old, was lying all alone. Thinking thatthe mother was probably among the beasts killed by his party, theofficer took the kitten to the camp, where it was chained to a pole, andamused the whole company with its graceful gambols. A few hours later,however, the whole camp was shaken by terrible roars and shrieks ofrage,[Pg 480] which came ever nearer and nearer. The kitten heard them, andbecame a miniature tiger at once, showing its teeth, and answering witha loud wail. Suddenly there leaped into the camp inclosure a furioustigress with glaring eyes. Without deigning to notice the robbers of herbaby, she seized the little thing in her teeth, snapped the small chainwhich held it with one jerk, and briskly trotted off with it into thejungle. Not a man in the camp dared move, and no one was maliciousenough to fire at the retreating mother that had risked her life toregain possession of her baby.
A ROYAL BENGAL TIGER.Any one who has watched the feeding of caged tigers in a menagerie caneasily imagine how terrible a hungry tiger would be, were he runningfree in his native jungle. As supper-time approaches, the tigers beginto roar and growl, and march restlessly up and down the cage. When thekeeper approaches with the great pieces of raw beef, their roaring makeseverything tremble. With ferocity glaring in their eyes, the tigersspring for the food, and begin to devour it eagerly. They often lie downto eat, holding the meat in their fore-paws like a cat, rolling it overand over while they tear it in pieces, growling savagely all the while.
The royal tiger is found only in Asia; for the beast called a tiger inSouth America and on the Isthmus of Panama is properly the jaguar, andits skin is not ornamented by stripes, but by black spots. It is not sopowerful as its royal relative, but very much like it in its habits.Like the tiger, it is an expert swimmer, and as it is very fond of fish,it haunts the heavily wooded banks of the great South American rivers,and is a constant terror to the wood-cutters, who anchor their littlevessels along the shore.
The crocodiles and the jaguars are at constant war with each other. If ajaguar catches a crocodile asleep on a sand-bank, it has the advantage,and usually kills its antagonist; but if the crocodile can catch itsenemy in the water, the jaguar rarely escapes death by drowning.
Jaguars are not as plentiful on the Isthmus of Panama as formerly,before the scream and rumble of the locomotive disturbed the solitudesof the dense tropical forest. Still, large specimens are occasionallykilled there, and their beautiful skins bring a high price when broughtto market.
One of the prettiest and most interesting sights ever seen in the gaycity of Newport was the parade of bicyclers last Decoration-day, where,among the one hundred and fifty riders, were to be seen the uniforms oftwenty-five crack clubs.
The illustration of the procession on next page shows it on BellevueAvenue while passing the quaint and beautiful Casino Building. First ofall rides the commander, Captain Hodges, of the Boston Bicycle Club, anddirectly behind him, riding three abreast, are the six marshals of theprocession, who act as his aides. Then come the men of the New YorkClub, in gray and scarlet, riding in column of fours, and followed bythe long line of glittering steel and gay uniforms that stretches fornearly a mile along the pleasant street.
Crowds of people have gathered to watch the procession, and theircheers, as some particularly well-drilled club passes, cause the men toride with great care, and to preserve their lines so well that they movewith the steadiness and precision of a body of cavalry.
Of all the riders in this long procession, the youngest was probably thebest. Theodore R——, or "the young captain," as he is called, is butfourteen years old, and looks much younger. He lives in Philadelphia,and has practiced riding the bicycle in a rink in that city until hisperformances upon it are as wonderful as those of a circus rider on hishorse.
In the picture of "the young captain" he is represented as mounted onhis own machine, of which the driving-wheel is but forty-two inches indiameter. His most wonderful riding is, however, done upon a bicycletwelve or fourteen inches higher than this, and of which he can[Pg 481] butbarely touch the pedals as they come up. Thus he keeps the machine inmotion by a succession of little kicks or pushes. He rides bicycles sotall that to gain the saddle he has actually to climb up the backbone ofthe machine after he has set it in motion with a vigorous push.
"The young captain" is a very bright boy, and excels in all games andfeats of skill, while at the same time he is a good scholar, and standswell in all his classes.
Since the great Newport meet of bicyclers, or "wheelmen," as they arenow generally called in this country, a number of letters containingquestions about bicycles have been written by boys anxious to becomeriders, and sent toYoung People. In the following hints to young ridersI will try and answer all these questions:
Any active boy of ten years of age and upward may become a wheelman.
It is best to learn to ride on an old-fashioned wooden machine, or"bone-shaker," or on a bicycle so low that the rider may touch theground with his toes. By this means he will learn to maintain hisbalance without getting any serious falls.
Anybody who can ride a "bone-shaker" can ride a bicycle, though in thelatter case he must learn to mount his machine before he can ride it.
To learn the "mount" take your machine by the handles, give it a runningpush, place your left foot on the step, and, rising from the ground,maintain your balance as long as possible in that position withoutattempting to gain the saddle. After trying this a dozen times or more,try to take your seat in the saddle, not with a spring, but slide ineasily, and do not let your body lean forward or you may pitch over thehandles.
A beginner should have his saddle set well back on the spring. Althoughthis position gives less power, it is much safer.
In going up hill lean well forward, and transfer the entire weight fromthe saddle to the pedals. Do not be ashamed to dismount in going uphill, but do so in every case rather than exhaust yourself.
In going down hill lean back as far as possible, and keep your machineunder control. A little practice in back-pedalling, or pushing againstthe pedal as it comes up rather than as it goes down, will enable you totake your machine down very steep hills at ordinary walking pace. Ifyour machine does escape from your control, throw your legs over thehandles, and "coast," as you are less liable to get a bad fall while inthis position than in any other.
Keep to the right of the road as much as possible. Always keep to theright when you meet a team, foot-passenger, or other bicycle, and inovertaking any of these always pass to the left. Dismount and walk pastany horse that becomes frightened at your bicycle.
Always carry a light when riding at night.
Be careful not to use your whistle or bell more than is absolutelynecessary, otherwise you will become a nuisance, and as such will not bea welcome addition to the ranks of wheelmen.
Remember that while you have rights for which you are bound to stand up,others have equal rights, which you are equally bound to respect.
In selecting a bicycle, be sure that it fits you perfectly. Do notgratify a mistaken ambition by trying to ride a wheel that is too largefor you. The larger the wheel, the more difficulty you will find indriving it up hill.
As soon as you own a bicycle, make yourself familiar with every part ofit, and especially with all its adjustments.
Never lend your bicycle.
Always clean and adjust it yourself. If it gets broken, send it to nonebut a first-class machinist for repairs.
FIRST GRAND MEET OF AMERICAN WHEELMEN.—Drawn by W. P.Snyder.It was the pig did it.
The bigger that pig grew, the more he squealed, and the less he seemedto like his pen.
Ben knew it, but for all that he wondered how it came to pass that heshould find that pig in the village street, half way down to the tavern.
"Out of the pen into the barn-yard, and out of that into the street whenthe gate was open. Won't I have a time getting him home!"
There was little doubt of that, for the pig felt that it was his duty toroot as he went, and he refused to walk quietly past any goodopportunity to thrust his snub-nose into something.
Ben worked, and so did the pig.
"Hullo! What's that?"
The pig had turned up a clod of earth with something sticking on it, andBen sprang forward to pick it up.
"It's a cent!"
It was round; it was made of copper; it was a coin of some kind; but itwas black and grimy, and Ben rubbed hard to clean it.
"I never saw a cent like that before. I can't even read what it says onit."
"What have you found, Ben, my boy?"
"Guess it's a kind of a cent. The pig found it."
All the boys in the village knew old Squire Burchard, only they werehalf afraid of him. It was said he could read almost any kind of book,and that was a wonderful sort of man for any man to be.
"The pig found it? I declare! I guess I'll have to buy it of you."
"Don't you s'pose it'll pass?"
"Well, yes, it might; but it'll only buy a cent's worth. I'll give youmore than that for it."
"Going to melt it over and make a new cent of it?"
"No, Ben, not so bad as that. I'll keep it to look at. It's a very oldGerman coin, and I'm what they call a numismatist."
Ben listened hard over that word for a moment, and tried to repeat it.
"Rumismatics—I know; it's a good deal like what father says he hassometimes. Gets into his back and legs."
"Not quite, Ben; but it makes me gather up old coins, and put them in aglass case, and look at them."
"Father's is worse 'n that; it takes him bad in rainy weather."
"Well, Ben, I'll give the pig or you, just as you say, a quarter of adollar for that cent."
Ben's eyes fairly danced, but all he could manage to say was, "Yes, sir.Thank you, sir. Guess I will."
"There it is, Ben. It's a new one. I don't care much for new ones.What'll you do with it?"
Ben hesitated only a moment, for he was turning the quarter over andover, and thinking of just the answer to the squire's question.
"It's a puppy, sir. Mrs. Malone said I might have it for a quarter, andfather said I couldn't buy it unless I found the money."
"It'll be the pig's puppy, then? All right; but you can't make pork ofhim."
The pig was driven home in a good deal of a hurry, without anotherchance given him to root for old coins; and when Ben's father came infrom the corn field that night, there was Ben ready to meet him with thepuppy.
"Got him, have you?"
Ben had to explain twice over about the old cent and the Squire.
"Oh, the pig did it. Well, Ben, I don't see what we want of another dog;though that is a real pretty one. Too many dogs in this village,anyhow."
The next day Ben's father went to town with a load of wheat, and Benwent with him.
He had not owned that puppy long enough to feel like leaving him athome, so the little lump of funny black curls and clumsiness had to goto town with him.
Ben's father was in the store, selling his wheat, and Ben was sitting ontop of the load in the wagon, when a carriage with a lady in it waspulled up in the street beside it.
"Is that your puppy, my boy?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Will you sell it? I want one for my little boy."
"It's a real nice puppy—"
"What will you sell him for?"
Ben did not feel at all like parting with his new pet, but he knew verywell what his father thought about it. Still, it might save him thepuppy if he asked a tremendous price for it.
"I'll take five dollars, ma'am."
"Bring him to me, then. It's just such a dog as I thought of buying."
It seemed to Ben a good deal as if he were dreaming; but he did as hewas told, and climbed back to his perch on the heaped-up bags of wheatto wait for his father.
It was not long before he had sold the wheat and came out.
"Why, Ben, where's your puppy?"
"There he is, father."
"Why, if that ain't a five-dollar bill! You don't say so!"
Ben explained, and added, "The pig did it, father."
"Well, yes, the pig did it. It just beats me, though."
"He won't know what to do with a five-dollar bill."
"Nor you either. But soon's I can throw off this load we must drive onup town. There's to be a horse auction."
Ben knew what that meant, for his father knew all about horses, and wasall the while buying and selling them. So it was not long before thewagon was empty, and Ben and his father made their way to where thehorses were to be sold.
"There's a good many of 'em," said Ben's father, "but the whole lotisn't worth much. I guess there isn't anything here I want."
Not many people were bidding for the horses, and they were indeed apoor-looking lot; but pretty soon a gray horse was led out that limpedbadly, and was as thin as if he had been fed on wind. One man bid adollar for him, and another bid two, and there was a good deal of funmade about it; but Ben's father had very quietly slipped down from thewagon, and taken a careful look at the lame horse.
For all that, Ben was a little surprised when the auctioneer's hammerfell, and he shouted, "Sold! for five dollars, to—What's your name,mister?"
"Ben Whittlesey."
Ben's father said that. But it wasn't his name. His name was Robert.
"Ben," said his father, when he came back to the wagon, "hand me thatfive-dollar bill. If I can get that horse home, I'll cure him in afortnight. There's no great thing the matter with him."
There was trouble enough in making the poor lame animal limp so manymiles, and they got home after dark; but that was just as well, fornobody saw the new horse, or had a chance to laugh at him or his owner.
"It's the pig's horse," said Ben.
Ben's father was as good as his word about curing the lameness, andplenty of oats and hay, and no work, and good care, did the rest. Theman who sold the gray for five dollars would not have known him at theend of two weeks.
It was just about two weeks after that that Ben's father[Pg 483] drove thepig's horse to town and back in a buggy, and with a nice new harness on.He stopped at the blacksmith's shop on his way home, and Mr. Corrigan,the blacksmith, seemed to take a great fancy to the gray.
"Just the nag I want, Mr. Whittlesey; only I've no ready cash to pay forhim."
"I don't sell on credit, you know," said Mr. Whittlesey. "Anything totrade?"
"Nothing that I know of. Unless you care to take that vacant lot ofmine, next the tavern. Tisn't doing me any good. I had to take it for adebt, and I've paid taxes for it these three years."
"Will you swap even?"
"Yes, I might as well."
There was more talk, of course, before the trade was finished, but itcame out all right in the end. Before the next day at noon Mr. Corriganowned the pig's horse; but the deed of the town lot was made out in thename of Ben Whittlesey, and not of the pig.
"Father," said Ben, at the tea table, "mayn't I let that pig out intothe road every day?"
"No, Ben; all the pigs in the village can't root up another cent likethat."
"He did it."
"Well, Ben, he did and he didn't. Do you know how he got the town lotfor you?"
"Why, yes. Don't I?"
"Not quite. You saw him turn up the cent, and knew what to do with it;he didn't."
"Yes, father."
"And Squire Burchard saw the cent, and knew what to do with it; youdidn't."
"Yes, father."
"And the lady saw your puppy, and knew what to do with it, and youdidn't, nor I either. And I saw the gray horse, and knew what to do withhim; the rest didn't."
"But I don't know what to do with the pig's town lot."
"No, nor Mr. Corrigan didn't, nor I either; but the man from town that'sjust bought the old tavern is going to build it over new, and wants tobuy that lot to build on. I tell you what, Ben, my boy, there isn't muchin this world that's worth having unless somebody comes along that knowswhat to do with it."
"Ben!" suddenly exclaimed his mother, as she looked out of the window,"there's that pig out in the garden!"
"Jump, Ben," said his father. "If he gets into your patch ofmusk-melons, he'll know just exactly what to do with them."
Before Ben got the pig out of the garden, the pig learned that Ben knewexactly what to do with a big stick.
"Mamma, will you please listen a moment?"
"How can I, Quillie dear? just see how busy I am," answered mamma,turning over a letter she was writing, while a man was bringing intrunks from the store-room, and another man was waiting for orders, andthrough a vista of open doorways was seen a dress-maker at work upongingham slips and linen blouses.
"If you please, ma'am, a bit of edging will look none the worse on thesecambrics, and the flannels need a touch of scarlet; even the wildflowers have vanity enough for a little color of their own."
"True enough, Ellen. Well, get your samples ready. Now, Quillie, I amgoing to address this letter, and then I promise to listen to you."
Quillie sighed—she found it so difficult to wait when she had so muchto say. But she only fidgeted a little as mamma scrawled off an addressin letters which Quillie thought would cover half her copy-book, thenthe little taper was lighted, the wax was melted, the pretty crest wasimprinted on the seal, and mamma turned with a relieved smile to thelittle girl.
"Well, Quillie, what is it?"
"It's only this, mamma," began Quillie, impetuously: "I want to take afriend to the country with us."
"Who is the friend? why can not she go with her own people?" said mamma.
"Now, mammy dear, please don't hurry me; you know madame, our Frenchteacher at school, has a little girl about my age—eight and a half.Well, if it wasn't for her, madame says she could go with some pupils totheir country-seat, and teach them all summer, but they will not haveher child, which is very hateful and disobliging, I think; and it poppedinto my head that perhaps you would let us have Julie with us, for themadame says she can not leave her alone in the city, and she has norelatives—hardly any friends—and I think it would make madame so happynot to lose this chance of giving lessons, and yet to have Julie,and—and—"
Mamma stooped down and kissed her little girl. "There," she said, in herquick, decisive way, "that will do. It was a kind thought, and I willconsider it. Now run off and dig in the garden; your seeds are coming upnicely."
"But, mamma," said Quillie, not quite satisfied, "are you sure you won'tforget?"
"I promise not to," was the answer, and she arose to change thecoquettish cap and morning-gown for her street costume. Then she tookout her pencil, and jotted down two or three errands in hermemorandum-book, and gathering up the samples to match for Ellen's work,out she went.
It was a warm day, a balmy air, but one which induces languor, and asMrs. Coit stopped at a street corner and bought a bunch of roses, shethought she would get the children out of town as soon as possible. Hereye was next attracted by some exquisite laces. She wanted a few yards,and stopped to price them. They were thread, filmy as cobwebs; they werecostly; and as she held them in her hand, debating the purchase, shethought of Quillie's request: the cost of the lace would more than meetthe expense of sending little Julie away. She concluded not to buy thelaces. And so she went on with her errands.
At last she had finished, and turned off into a side street, got into acar, and was whisked away to a quiet place in the old part of the city.She stopped before a house which had in its day been fine; now it lookedlike a person who is keeping up appearances—a little shabby and worn,and wanting freshness. She rang the bell, and asked if Madame Garnierlived there. She was directed by a slovenly maid to a room on an upperfloor, and left there. The air was redolent of garlic. She knocked atthe door, and a little pattering of feet was heard, the door was openedon a crack, and a small head was to be seen, covered with a tinyhandkerchief tied under the chin; a large checked apron concealed therest of the small person. When the small person saw that the visitor wasa lady, she no longer kept the door more than half closed, but throwingit wide open, she made a profound courtesy, and said, "Pardon, madame;please to enter."
Mrs. Coit paused, smilingly taking in the background of this interior. Asunny window full of plants, a bed with ruffled pillow-cases, a giltclock, a canary, a table set out for two, a writing-desk and books in acorner, and a cooking stove, with a bubbling saucepan sending the coverdancing up and down. It was very close and warm, and the little hostesswas pale, despite the heat.
Mrs. Coit had no time to spare. She asked the child if she were JulieGarnier, and if she wanted to spend two or three months in the country.[Pg 484]
The child opened her eyes in silent wonder. "Could madame be in earnest?Was it possible?"
Mrs. Coit explained, and in addition took out her pencil, and withrapidity wrote a note to madame.
The little Julie fairly wept with delight. To be in the country, withbirds and bees and brooks—ah! it was too much felicity. Her motherwould be wild with pleasure.
Then Mrs. Coit was going; but Julie could not let her depart without ataste of herpot au feu, which she was cooking for her dearpauvrepetite maman—just one sip, if madame could take no more; and pushing achair to the table, and hurriedly wiping off an old cracked faiencebowl, pretty enough in its day, the little eager hands dipped out aladleful of soup. Mrs. Coit found it delicious. Warm as was the room andthe repast, it was yet refreshing; so thanking the child for herhospitality, she at last took her departure.
A week from this time behold an eager group of little ones on the deckof a Hudson River night boat kissing their hands to Mr. and Mrs. Coit onthe wharf. Nurse is on guard, and counts the heads to see if all arewith her. Quillie's yellow locks are beside Julie's dark tresses; Fredand Willie come next; and little Artie, who scorns being the baby, wavesin great dignity, as color-bearer, a small American flag. Long beforethe stars are out they beg to go to their state-rooms. They creep intothe little beds, and imagine themselves on the tossing ocean. Nursehears them discussing who shall be in the upper and who in the lowerberths, and whether they shall be able to remain in them at all, for thevessel may pitch them all out; then Julie silences all with a vividaccount of her travels. She gesticulates as she talks, occasionallyrolls those dark eyes of hers, speaks of the great steam-ships, themighty waves, the roar of the wind, the scream of the fog-whistle, andthe terriblemal de mer. Instinctively they yield to her vastexperience, and offer no more remarks, but silently prepare for theirslumbers.
Quite with the early dawn they awake again, refreshed, eager, and takingin long draughts of the pure air into which they have come. Where arethe docks and wharves and shipping? where the scenes of the nightbefore? In the rosy flush of the morning lie the green hills andmeadows. The birds are straining their throats with melody, the cocksare crowing, the geese cackling, and they hear the lowing of cows andthe bleating of sheep.
"Is it paradise?" asks Julie.
"No, it is only Catskill," responds Quillie, tossing back her yellowlocks.
"Hallo! there is Mr. Brown's wagon," screams Fred; and Will shouts tillthe farmer responds with a smiling nod.
FRED'S STEAMBOAT.—Drawn by W. M. Cary.Soon they are all safely stowed in the wagon, and jolting over thewell-remembered roads, an hour or more bringing them to the comfortablefarm. Then what savages more wild than they in their gambols! They roamfrom one haunt to the other, visit the cattle and the poultry, andexpect a welcome from all. Breakfast waits, but no one comes. Nurse hasto go after them. There they are on an old hay wagon, which Fred hasmade into a steamboat by dragging out of the lumber-room of the barn apiece of stove-pipe, and Artie's flag at the stern. Julie has her doll,and Will has the puppy he claims already, but Quillie emerges from someother corner with two darling kittens. What can nurse do to get them into Mrs. Brown's table, with its wild strawberries, its crisp radishes,its cream, and golden butter, and piles of brown-bread? She hits upon ahappy plan.
"Children, if you will all come in this moment, I will tell yousomething splendid."
Their ears were pricked at once. "What is it, nurse? what is it?"
"Not a word more till you obey me."
They scrambled down at that, and hastened into the house.
Leadville, Colorado.
We live 'way up in Leadville, in the Rocky Mountains, ten thousandfeet above the level of the sea. Although it is very cold here,some people live in tents all the year round. We live where we cansee the snow on the range of the Rocky Mountains all summer. Wehave a little shepherd dog that eats candy. We likeYoung Peoplevery much, and watch eagerly for its coming. I am eleven yearsold, and Susie is ten.
Clara and Susie J.
Omaha, Nebraska.
We have a great many pets. We have a nice gray mare and a pony,both named Nell, and a little colt a week old that we callCyclone. He is a cunning little fellow, and pretends to eat haylike his mother. We have lots of chickens of all kinds. I havesome little white bantams, and my brother has some game bantams.My oldest brother keeps fancy chickens.
S. V. B.
Petaluma, California.
I read the letter of Arthur N. T. about gophers. They are verynumerous where I live. I kill them sometimes, but they are veryshy. I have a large gray cat that catches a great many of them.The wild flowers bloom here about the first of March. I takeYoungPeople, and like it very much. I learn lots of things from it,too. I live so far away that I do not get it till almost two weeksafter it is published.
O. A. H.
Windsor, Connecticut.
I found a great number of flowers in May, but I do not think youwill print my list of names, for mamma says it is too long, andwould take up too much space inYoung People. One day when I washunting for flowers in the woods, I found a turtle marked "L. E.1816."
Harry H. M.
We are pleased to see that you take such an interest in botany, for itis a beautiful study, but as your list contains the names ofthirty-seven different flowers, it is a little too long to print,especially as many of them are given in the paper on "Easy Botany," inNo. 29.
Laredo, Texas.
I live 'way out on the Rio Grande. I like to read the letters inYoung People. I have two pet pigeons, one blue and one white. Iwould like to know how to catch and tame birds. My kite, which youtold me how to make, was a success.
William C.
Troy, Ohio.
I had a water turtle that I wanted to pet. I kept it in a bucketof water, and it would swim round and round, and try to get out.When I would take it out, it would creep toward the river. I feltsorry for it, and my brother put it back in the river again. Itried Puss Hunter's recipe, and think it real nice. I am going tosend a recipe for her club some time.
Bertha D. A.
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
Papa takesYoung People for me, and I like it so much! I have alittle sister who is very much interested in fancy-work, and shewishes to know if you will not give some instructions for makingsome fancy and at the same time useful articles for an old lady. Ihad some rabbits, and one bit me. I have tried Fanny S.'s recipefor caramels, and I like it very much. I have a little dog, but heeats very little. Can any one tell me what is the matter with him?
Tom G.
Lexington, Kentucky.
I take great pleasure in letting you know that I am one of themany readers ofYoung People. I am a little Scotch girl, but canremember nothing of my country. I have become crippled sincecoming to America, and I enjoy reading very much indeed. I wishYoung People much success.
Maggie C.
Helena, Arkansas.
I wish to tell you of an entertainment which was given by ourSunday-school. We called it a Bazar, because we had ever so manypretty things, made by the Sunday-school children, to sell. Therewas a nice stage in the hall where we had the Bazar, and we had apretty little exhibition. Some of us represented an art gallery.We had pictures and statues. I represented a statue. We made overone hundred dollars, and we are going to buy a new library for theSunday-school with the money.
Julia S.
New London, New York.
I like the letters in Our Post-office Box best of all, and readevery one of them myself, but as I am only six years old, I cannot write very well, so I have asked mamma to write for me. Myfather has takenHarper's big paper many years, and when the firstYoung People came, I coaxed him to subscribe for it for me.
We live on a nice, pleasant farm in Oneida County, and have allkinds of domestic animals. My pets are a pair of pure white twincalves, just alike. My brother climbed a tall tree in the woodsyesterday, and brought down four young crows, which he killed, andhung in the corn field to scare away the big crows.
Walter C. R.
The following letter will be welcome to the many inquirers for thislittle flower girl of the Pacific coast:
When my letter was published inYoung People, I was away fromhome, and I have only just now seen it in print. I am sorry theprettiest flowers of the valley are gone, but I have a few pressedthat I will send to each address, and I will ask some of myfriends to send me some of the mountain flowers.
Genevieve Harvey,
Galt, Sacramento County, California.
My father has a nice cabinet of minerals, corals, shells, Indianrelics, and other things. I would like to exchange spar ofdifferent colors, iron ore, and other minerals, with some littlegirls, for pressed flowers and shells. I have a great manyflowers, and this fall, when the seed gets ripe, I would like toexchange flower seeds.
There is an abundance of lovely ferns here. Will you please tellme the best way to press ferns and flowers?
Edith Lowry,
Elizabethtown, Hardin County, Illinois.
Ferns and flowers should be laid carefully between two sheets of cleanpaper, the leaves artistically arranged in graceful shape, and placedunder heavy pressure until they are dry. If the ferns are to be used fordecoration, a warm iron, not too hot, must be passed over them, alwaysputting clean paper between them and the iron, otherwise the heat of theroom will curl them as soon as they are placed upon the wall. It isbetter not to iron them until they are dry, as the suddenly applied heatis liable to change the color of fresh ferns, causing them to look dulland faded. The sugar-maple leaf you send is well pressed, andbeautifully varnished. What kind of varnish did you use? No doubt somelittle girls who are preserving leaves would like to know.
I would like to exchange postage stamps of foreign countries withsome other boys who are readers ofHarper's Young People.
Sidney St. W.,
326 East Fifty-seventh Street, New York city.
May 31, 1880.
I am making a collection of birds' eggs, and as soon as I collecta few more, I would like to exchange some with Samuel P. Higgins,if he will send me his full address. I have seen morning-gloriesin blossom this year, and would like to know if any othercorrespondents have seen them so early.
Thomas Horton,
Care of Benjamin J. Horton, Lawrence, Kansas.
If Mary Wright will send me some leaves, I will be very happy tosend her some. And I would like to exchange flowers with MabelSharp, if she will send me some as soon as possible. I will sendher some in return as soon as I receive hers. I would like toexchange leaves or flowers with any others who would like to doso. Those sending any will please mark each specimen distinctly,so that I may know the name. I am fourteen years old, and my petsare birds and flowers, which I will write about another time.
Ida P. Smith,
P. O. Box 380, Holyoke, Massachusetts.
I takeYoung People, and like it very much. I have two pigeonsthat laid eggs and hatched two little ones. I am making acollection of birds' eggs, and would like to exchange eggs withany of the correspondents ofYoung People. My address is No. 308Carlton Avenue, Brooklyn, New York; but after the 25th of June Iwill be at Glen Cove, where I get almost all of my eggs. My nameis T. Augustus Simpson, and my address this summer will be care ofS. M. Cox, Glen Cove, Long Island.
T. A. S.
Rochester, New York.
I send a recipe for Puss Hunter's Cooking Club. It is forFlorentines. Make a rich pie crust, using butter instead of lard;mix with cold sweet milk, roll it thin, spread it with butter,fold it, then roll it again into a sheet one-eighth of an inchthick; now spread it with jam, and place it in the oven. When itis baked, frost it; strew it plentifully with minced almonds ornuts of any kind; sift sugar over it, and place it in the oven afew moments to brown.
Winifred B.
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
I tried Nellie H.'s recipe for candy, only I used maple sugarinstead of molasses, and I liked it very much. Here is anotherrecipe for candy Puss Hunter may like to try: Six dolls' cups ofsugar; one of vinegar; one of water; one tea-spoonful of butter,put in last, with a little pinch of saleratus dissolved in hotwater. Boil, without stirring, half an hour, or until it crisps incold water; flavor to taste, and pull it white with the tips ofyour fingers.
Sadie McB.
Aylett's Post-Office, Virginia.
I have never written to the Post-office Box before, and I thoughtnow I would send Puss Hunter some recipes for her cooking club. Ihave tried hers, and I liked it very much. One of mine is for nicemolasses candy: One quarter of a pound of sugar and one pint ofmolasses. Boil quickly, and drop a little in water occasionallyuntil it crisps. A small piece of butter is an improvement. Whendone, cool it in buttered tins. Here is a recipe for Evertontaffy: One pound of brown sugar; three ounces of butter; a littlelemon flavoring. Boil about twenty minutes, until it crisps,stirring constantly.
Louisa W.
Cloyd D. B.—Write again, and tell us how you amuse yourself while youare sick, and we will try to print it. Your last letter was so much abusiness communication that we could not put it in the Post-office Box.
Jacksonville, Florida.
I saw a letter from Indian River, so I thought I would write too.I have a little sister, five years old, who goes to a Kindergartenschool. I have a little turtle, and I would like to know how tofeed it. I am almost nine years old.
Ralph D. P.
Turtles like a diet of flies, and small insects, and fruit. You willfind directions for the care of different kinds of turtles in thePost-office Box ofYoung People No. 5 and No. 18. The "Letter from aLand Turtle," inYoung People No. 27, will also give you information.
I thank Zenobia in regard to the whip-poor-wills, but she does notsay when was the earliest she heard them this year. The first oneI heard was on the morning of March 30, which is the earliest Iever heard one in this locality. Zenobia lives farther north thanI do, and probably whip-poor-wills are not so early in hervicinity. I want to learn all I can of this mysterious bird, andwould be thankful for any information concerning its habits. IfZenobia will send me her address, I would like to exchange pressedMissouri flowers for Illinois flowers with her. I have pressedflowers from California and Tennessee, and I have been studyingbotany this spring.
Wroton M. Kenny,
Pineville P. O., McDonald County, Missouri.
The whip-poor-will is a native of North America, and is found from thePacific to the Atlantic. In winter it travels southward, and spends thecold season in the forests of Central America. It is a brownish-graybird, and has a large mouth, armed with bristles at the base of thebill, with which it retains the moths and other soft-bodied insects uponwhich it feeds. It is a very shy bird, and hides itself all day, comingout at evening and early morning to skim along with noiseless flightnear the ground, seeking its food. It is sometimes called thenight-swallow. It makes no nest, but deposits two greenish eggs, spottedwith blue and brown, in some snug corner, among fallen leaves, on theground.
Elk City, Kansas.
My paper comes on Saturday, and I read all the letters in thePost-office Box first. I have a pet. It is a very funny one. It isa horny toad. I found it near Pocket Creek. I would like to knowwhat to feed it with. Papa found a little bug this morning on thesweet-potato vines. It changes its color very often. Sometimes itis gold, sometimes green, sometimes red. Can any one tell me thename of it?
Mary W. (11 years old).
Your bug is probably one of the small iridescent beetles, of which thereare many varieties. As they move about in the light, the color appearsto change, like the color of the head and throat of a South Americanhumming-bird. If the appetite of your horny toad is like that of acommon toad, it will prefer an insect diet. But it will live weekswithout eating anything, and unless you allow it to hunt for itself, itwill probably die of starvation some day.
George H. M.—A neat black walnut box, about five inches deep, will makea good case for butterflies. Glue pieces of cork in the bottom, on whichto mount your specimens, and have a tightly fitting glass cover. Youmust scatter bits of camphor in your case, to keep[Pg 487] away moths, as theydestroy dried insects, and when your case is full, paste thin paper overthe cracks to make it as air-tight as possible.
L. B. Post.—See Post-office Box No. 18.
"Admirer."—ThePassion Play, which is celebrated once in ten years inthe peasant village of Oberammergau, in the Bavarian Tyrol, is a relicof the ancient Miracle Plays and Mysteries which were so popular amongthe common people throughout Europe during the thirteenth and fourteenthcenturies. ThePassion Play represents the closing scenes in the lifeof Christ, and sometimes includes, as it does this year,tableauxvivants of incidents in the Old Testament. Usually about five hundredperformers appear on the stage, although the speaking roles number onlya little over two hundred. All the characters are represented by thepeasants of the village, the principal ones being selected fully twoyears previous to the performance, that they may become perfectlydrilled in the parts allotted to them, and allow their hair or beards togrow to imitate as nearly as possible the best existing pictures of thevarious characters they are to represent. The theatre is an immensewooden structure erected for the purpose, capable of containing nine orten thousand spectators; for, so widespread is the fame of this peasantfestival that crowds flock to see it from every part of Germany, andtravellers from England and the United States make efforts to be presentat this strange performance. You will find a full account of thePassion Play inHarper's Magazine for January, 1871.
In errand. A poisonous reptile. A flower. A vegetable. In errand.
A. H. E.
My first is in May, but not in June.
My second is in lead, but not in copper.
My third is in day, but not in gloom.
My fourth is in ink, but not in water.
My fifth is in season, but not in year.
My sixth is in house, but not in tent.
My seventh is in hound, but not in deer.
My whole was an honored President.
M. B. and M. H.
First, a minute quantity. Second, a kind of tune. Third, wrath. Fourth,thoughts. Fifth, an ancient language.
Willie.
[From each sentence make one word.]
1. Ben has a foil. 2. I harm no cat. 3. I lent a dime. 4. The nice rain.5. Harry, go past. 6. Shun fat flies.
A boy's name. A city in Japan. A vegetable. To ascend. One of the UnitedStates. A household article. A river west of the Rocky Mountains.Answer—Two Territories of the United States.
M. E. N.
My first is in brown, but not in green.
My second in candy is always seen.
My third is in lamb, but not in kid.
My fourth is in kettle, but not in lid.
My fifth is in lean, but not in fat.
My sixth is in rabbit, but not in cat.
My seventh is in modest, but not in meek.
My eighth is in cone, but not in peak.
My ninth is in cold, but not in freeze.
My tenth is in turnips, but not in peas.
My eleventh is in watch, but not in look.
My whole is the author of many a book.
Chesly B. H.
Favors are acknowledged from Philip D. Rice, May S., Matie Greene, J. S.,Howard Starrett, Carrie Smith, Walter H., Jennie Hall, Alice G. M.,Fannie W. O., Irene V. Over, Willie C. Pattison, Dorsey E. Coate,Charlie Iankes, Willie H. Joyce.
Correct answers to puzzles are received from Rebecca Hedges, Percy T.Jameson, M. S. Brigham, Harry Starr K., Willie Gray Lee, Julia Smith,Anne M. Franklin, Josie and Austin, Louie P. Lord, J. R. Blake, W. H. W.,L. B. and R. H. Post, S. V. B., Marion E. Norcross, George S.Schilling, Cora Frost, Anna L. Kuhn, Leon M. Fobes, Mamie E. F., EddieS. Hequembourg, Eddie A. Leet, "Blue Light."
Bolivar.
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Raleigh.
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Defoe, Burns.
Charade on page 440—Courtship.
Harper's Young People will be issued every Tuesday, and may be had atthe following rates—payable in advance, postage free:
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The extent and character of the circulation ofHarper's Young Peoplewill render it a first-class medium for advertising. A limited number ofapproved advertisements will be inserted on two inside pages at 75 centsper line.
Address
HARPER & BROTHERS,
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The Child's Book of Nature, for the Use of Families and Schools:intended to aid Mothers and Teachers in Training Children in theObservation of Nature. In Three Parts. Part I. Plants. Part II. Animals.Part III. Air, Water, Heat, Light, &c. ByWorthington Hooker, M.D.Illustrated. The Three Parts complete in One Volume, Small 4to, HalfLeather, $1.12; or, separately, in Cloth, Part I., 45 cents; Part II.,48 cents; Part III, 48 cents.
A beautiful and useful work. It presents a general survey of the kingdomof nature in a manner adapted to attract the attention of the child, andat the same time to furnish him with accurate and important scientificinformation. While the work is well suited as a class-book for schools,its fresh and simple style cannot fail to render it a great favorite forfamily reading.
The Three Parts of this book can be had in separate volumes by those whodesire it. This will be advisable when the book is to be used inteaching quite young children, especially in schools.
FRENCH'S FIRST LESSONS IN NUMBERS. First Lessons in Numbers, in theirNatural Order: First,Visible Objects; Second,Concrete Numbers;Third,Abstract Numbers. ByJohn H. French, LL.D. Illustrated. 16mo,Half Leather, 25 cents.
FRENCH'S ELEMENTARY ARITHMETIC FOR THE SLATE. Elementary Arithmetic forthe Slate, in which Methods and Rules are based upon Principlesestablished by Induction. ByJohn H. French, LL.D. Ill'd. 16mo, HalfLeather, 37 cts.
FRENCH'S MENTAL ARITHMETIC. Mental Arithmetic, in which Combinations ofNumbers, Solutions of Problems, and Principles of Arithmetical Analysisare based upon the Laws of Mental Development. ByJohn H. French, LL.D.Illustrated. 16mo, Half Leather, 36 cents.
FIRST LESSONS IN NATURAL HISTORY AND LANGUAGE. Entertaining andInstructive Lessons in Natural History and Language for Primary andGrammar Schools. 12mo, Cloth, 35 cents.
THE CHILD'S BOOK OF NATURE. The Child's Book of Nature, for the Use ofFamilies and Schools: intended to aid Mothers and Teachers in TrainingChildren in the Observation of Nature. In Three Parts. Part I. Plants.Part II. Animals. Part III. Air, Water, Heat, Light, &c. ByWorthingtonHooker, M.D. Illustrated. The Three Parts complete in One Volume, Small4to, Half Leather, $1.12; or, separately, in Cloth, Part I., 45 cents;Part II., 48 cents; Part III., 48 cents.
HOOKER'S FIRST BOOK IN CHEMISTRY. A First Book in Chemistry. ByWorthington Hooker, M.D. Ill'd. Revised. Square 4to, Cloth, 48 cts.
FARADAY'S CHEMISTRY OF A CANDLE. Chemistry of a Candle. A Course of SixLectures on the Chemical History of a Candle, to which is added aLecture on Platinum. ByM. Faraday. Edited byW. Crookes. Illustrated.16mo, Cloth, $1.00.
FARADAY'S PHYSICAL FORCES. Physical Forces. A Course of Six Lectures onthe Various Forces of Matter, and their Relations to Each Other. ByM.Faraday. Edited byW. Crookes. Illustrated, l6mo, Cloth, $1.00.
FRENCH PRINCIPIA, PART I. A First French Course: containing Grammar,Delectus, and Exercise-Book, with Vocabularies. On the Plan of Dr.Smith'sPrincipia Latina. 12mo, Cloth, 50 cents.
FRENCH PRINCIPIA, PART II. A First French Reading-Book. ContainingFables, Anecdotes, Inventions, Discoveries, Natural History, and FrenchHistory. With Grammatical Questions, Notes, and a Copious EtymologicalDictionary. On the Plan of Dr. Smith'sPrincipia Latina. 12mo, Cloth,80 cents.
GERMAN PRINCIPIA, PART I. A First German Course. Containing Grammar,Delectus, Exercise-Book, and Vocabularies. On the Plan of Dr. Smith'sPrincipia Latina. 12mo, Cloth, 50 cents.
GERMAN PRINCIPIA, PART II. A First German Reading-Book. ContainingFables, Anecdotes, Natural History, German History, and a Comedy. WithGrammatical Questions, Notes, and a Dictionary. On the Plan of Dr.Smith'sPrincipia Latina. 12mo, Cloth, 80 cents.
COMFORT'S GERMAN PRIMER. A German Primer. ByGeorge F. Comfort, A.M.12mo, Half Leather, 50 cents.
COMFORT'S FIRST BOOK IN GERMAN. A First Book in German. ByGeorge F.Comfort, A.M. 12mo, Half Leather, 60 cents.
COMFORT'S FIRST GERMAN READER. The First German Reader: to succeed the"First Book in German." ByGeorge F. Comfort, A.M. 12mo, Cloth, 50cents.
WILLSON'S MANUAL OF OBJECT LESSONS. A Manual of Information andSuggestions for Object Lessons, in a Course of Elementary Instruction.ByMarcius Willson. 12mo, Cloth, $1.00.
CALKINS'S PRIMARY OBJECT LESSONS. Primary Object Lessons, for Trainingthe Senses and Developing the Faculties of Children. A Manual ofElementary Instruction for Parents and Teachers. ByN. A. Calkins.Fifteenth Edition. Rewritten and Enlarged. 12mo, Cloth, $1.00.
My first was highly prized of old;
They thought the future it foretold,
And nothing did without it;
But now we listen with a smile
When once 'tis mentioned in a while,
And hardly think about it.
My second has no proper hue,
Though white, red, yellow, black, and blue,
'Tis called by one or t'other.
We pass it over night and day,
And yet when man becomes its prey
They swallow each the other.
My second backward spells my third,
And shows what magic's in a word.
It makes a part of being.
'Tis singular, and yet 'tis true,
Imperfect as it is, to you
It shows how time is fleeing.
Now take my first, reverse its spell,
'Twill make my fourth; andhe, note well,
Could solve the problems mighty—
To square the circle, change to gold,
Perpetual motion to unfold,
And make elixir vitæ.
Put on your thinking cap, and see if you can not find out the trueinwardness of these sausages.
This play, although instructive, can not fail to be amusing, as the bestscholars can hardly help making blunders in the excitement and hurry ofthe game. Two leaders are chosen, who each select in turn, until all theplayers are taken, and are formed in two lines facing each other, achair for each being placed behind him. The leader on one side calls outsome letter, and says "Sea," or mentions some other body of water. Theleader on the other side immediately names one beginning with theletter, and each one on his side gives another in rapid succession. Ifthere is a pause, the leader of side No. 1 counts ten rapidly, and calls"Next"; the player who stands next answers, and the one who missed takeshis seat. If a mistake is made by giving a wrong name to the piece ofwater called for, as by calling a river by the name of a sea or isthmus,or by giving the wrong letter as its first one, and it is not correctedby some member of the same side before the leader of the opposite sidecalls out "Miss," then all of side No. 2 must take their seats, whichcounts two for side No. 1.
The leader of side No. 2 requests all his side to again stand in line,with the exception of those who missed, and calls out some piece ofland, as mountain, State, county, etc., and a letter, which the oppositeside answer in the same way; and if every one succeeds in answering tothe call, and each one gives a correct reply without mistake, they scorethree for their own side. The game is won by the side that first scoresten; and as all who have missed must keep their seats until the end ofthe play, they have abundant opportunity for laughing at the mistakeswhich are made by their friends. If it should happen that the leader ofone side has no one to call upon to stand in line, he is obliged toanswer alone; and if he also fails, the victory belongs to the other,even if they have not scored ten.
Another game of geography is played by each person taking pencil andpaper, and in a given time—say, five minutes—writing as manygeographical names, beginning with a certain letter, as he can remember.When "Time" is called, a player reads his list, and any name that hehas, and the others have not, counts as many for him as there areplayers besides himself. Each then reads his list in turn, and the onewho scores the greatest number, when all have read, wins the game. Ifduring the reading any name is challenged, and the writer is unable todescribe it, if it be a river, sea, bay, etc., or locate it if it is acity, town, or cape, every other player counts one.
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