Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, January 13, 1880, by Various

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net


Title: Harper's Young People, January 13, 1880
       An Illustrated Weekly

Author: Various

Release Date: March 11, 2009 [EBook #28304]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, JAN 13, 1880 ***




Produced by Annie McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S

YOUNG PEOPLE

AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]


       *       *       *       *       *

VOL. I.--NO. 11. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.

Tuesday, January 13, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.

       *       *       *       *       *




[Illustration: JEANIE AND THE UMBRELLA.]

JEANIE LOWRIE, THE YOUNG IMMIGRANT.

BY MISS F. E. FRYATT.


It was early winter evening at Castle Garden, the scores of gas jets
that light the vast rotunda dimly showing the great hall deserted by all
the bustling throngs of the morning, save the few women and children
clustered around the glowing stove, and closely watched by the keen-eyed
officials who smoked and chatted within the railings near them.

Sitting apart from these, taking no notice of the gambols of the
children, was a wee lassie of perhaps eight summers, her round, childish
face drawn with trouble, and her great blue eyes brimful of tears. She
was evidently expecting somebody, for her gaze was fixed on the door
beyond, which seemed never to open.

It was little Jeanie Lowrie waiting for her grandfather's return. Old
Sandy Lowrie, thinking to take advantage of their stay overnight in New
York to visit his foster-son, who had left Scotland for America when a
lad, had gone out in the afternoon into the great city, bidding Jeanie
carefully guard their small luggage--a few treasures tied up in a silken
kerchief, and Granny's precious umbrella, which was a sort of heirloom
in the family.

While the great crowd surged to and fro, and the winter sunlight flooded
the room, Jeanie had been content to watch and wait, half pleased and
half frightened at the shouts and noises that fill the place on steamer
day; but when the men, women, and children all went away, by twos and
threes, save a few, and silence came with the increasing darkness, and
the dim gas jets were lighted overhead, her heart, oppressed by a
thousand fears, sunk within her, and she fell to sobbing bitterly.

Now there were not wanting kind hearts in the little groups around the
stove; for there was Mary Dennett, with her five laddies, going to join
her husband at the mines in Maryland; and Janet Brown, her neighbor,
with her three rosy lassies; and Jessie Lawson, with her wee Davie; and
not one of these three would see a child suffering without offering
consolation. Kind Janet soon had her folded in motherly arms in spite of
the bundle and the great umbrella, which the lassie stoutly refused to
part with for a moment; and Mary Dennett, crossing over to the counter
on the far side of the room, bought her cakes and apples; while the
children, not to be outdone, made shy endeavors to beguile her into
their innocent play.

But to each and all of these Jeanie turned a deaf ear, moaning
constantly: "I want my ain, ain gran'daddie; he hae gaun awa', an' left
me alane. Oh, gran'daddie, cam back to your Jeanie!"

The evening wore on into night, and still no Sandy came to comfort
Jeanie; but there came that great consoler, sleep. Soon she slumbered in
Janet's arms, and the kind soul, fearing to waken her, held her there
till the beds for the little company were spread on the floor; then she
laid Jeanie tenderly down, with her treasures still clasped in her arms,
and covering her, stooped to print a warm kiss on the round tear-stained
cheek, not forgetting to breathe a prayer for the missing Sandy's safe
return.

The snow glistened on the walks and grass-plats of the park without; the
wind roared down the streets and whistled among the bare branches of the
trees, and rushing along, heaped up the waters in huge billows, dashing
them against the great stone pier; men passed to and fro, but Sandy came
not, for far off in the great city he had lost his way.

In vain he had asked every one to tell him where his foster-son Alec
Deans lived. Meeting only laughter or rebuffs, he tried in the growing
darkness to find his way back to Castle Garden, but could not. No one
seemed to understand him, or cared to; so at last, worn out in mind and
body, he sunk down on the stone steps of a house, unable to proceed a
step further.

Bright and early the next morning at Castle Garden the women were roused
from their sleep, for the beds must be rolled up, and the place cleared
for the business of the day, and all must be ready for the early train.

In the confusion of preparing the children for breakfast and the
journey, the women had forgotten Jeanie for the time, till suddenly
Janet, spying her, with her bundle and her umbrella, standing and
casting troubled, wistful glances at the door, ran over and brought her
to where the women and children were drinking coffee from great cups,
and eating rolls of brown-bread and butter. Seating her in the midst of
them, she said, "Eat a bit o' the bannock, dearie. Gran'daddie will cam
back wi' a braw new bonnet for Jeanie, and then we'll a' gang awa' i'
the train togither."

"I dinna want a bonnet," cried Jeanie; "I on'y want gran'daddie."

"Dinna greet, bairnie; he'll no leave ye lang noo."

But the old man, contrary to their hopes, failed to appear, so there
rose a troubled consultation among the women regarding Jeanie. They had
all lived neighbors to the Lowries, a mile or so beyond the dike which
is a stone's-throw from the duke's palace, near Hamilton; the "gudemen"
of their families, hearing great reports of the mines in America, and
the times being hard for miners at home, had gone out to verify them,
Angus Lowrie among the rest. All four had prospered, and now sent for
their wives and bairnies. Young Lowrie, however, was doomed to the
bitter sorrow of never more seeing the bonny wife he had left behind
him, for a fever had carried her off in her prime; so that Jeanie, her
bairn, was left to the sole care of her grandfather, who loved her
tenderly, as the old are wont to love the young.

While the women were in the midst of their dilemma, half resolved to
carry off the "lane bairnie" privately, lest the officers should
interfere, the superintendent, seeing some trouble was afoot, came over
and soon settled the matter, for there was a law on the subject that he
was bound to obey.

But we are quite forgetting old Sandy all this time. Seeing that he was
lost, and there was no help for it, that he should sit down in the
particular spot he did was a peculiar stroke of good fortune, for it was
the very house he had been seeking, and what was most wonderful, just at
that moment the door above opened, and down came Alec Deans in time to
hear Sandy's faint cry, "God help my puir Jeanie!"

Alec Deans had not heard the dear Scottish accent in many a year, so
straightway that sound went to his very heart-strings, making them
thrill and tingle with a joy that was as suddenly turned to pain, when,
stooping down, he found the old man fallen back as one dead.

With little ado--for Sandy was small and thin--he lifted him bodily,
carried him up the steps, and rang a peal which soon brought his wife to
the door. Placing the old man on a sofa in the warm sitting-room where
the light fell on his poor, pale face, Alec Deans in a moment recognized
his foster-father, and set to work to restore him. The long stormy
passage, and the trials incident to emigrant life on shipboard, added to
the fatigue and fright of his night's wanderings, had so told on the old
man's feeble frame, that after much effort on the part of Alec Deans to
revive him, he could do no more than move restlessly, murmuring, "Puir
Jeanie! Puir wee bairnie Jeanie!"

Before he could well tell his story, the most of it became known to his
foster-son, for the Commissioners, finding he did not return to Castle
Garden, sending Jeanie weeping away to the Refuge on Ward's Island, and
notifying the police, advertised the missing man in the papers.

It was on the second day after Sandy's falling into such good hands that
Alec, reading the morning paper at his breakfast table, saw the
advertisement describing Sandy to the very Glengarry cap he wore on his
head when missing.

In short order he made his way to the Rotunda at Castle Garden, told the
old man's adventure, and obtained a permit to bring Jeanie away from the
Refuge.

There was an hour to spare before the little steamboat _Fidelity_ would
start for Ward's Island, so Alec, being a thoughtful man, employed it in
purchasing a pretty fur hat and tippet and some warm mittens, lest
Jeanie should suffer from cold, for it was a bitter day to sail down the
East River.

When Alec, arriving at his destination, was taken into the long
school-room, and saw the sad pale-faced little creatures bending wearily
over their lessons, stopping only to lift timid glances to his friendly
face, as if they would gladly pour out their little hearts to him, he
was filled with a great pity and a sharp regret that he could not take
the wee things away with him, and give them each the shelter of as happy
a home as that in which his own Phemie bloomed and flourished.

"Jeanie Lowrie, step this way; you are wanted," exclaimed a teacher.

Poor Jeanie, as she came reluctantly forward with downcast eyes, looked
as if she feared some new disaster. Pale and dejected, could this be the
blooming lassie who so short a time since parted with her grandfather?

"Jeanie," said Alec, softly, "I've come to take you to your gran'daddie.
Here's some warm things; put them on, and get ready."

"Oh, sir, may I gang awa' frae here to see my ain, ain gran'daddie once
mair?" cried the lassie, the glow of a great joy dawning on her pale
face and lighting her eyes.

"Yes, Jeanie," said Alec, brokenly, "home with my Phemie: he's there.
There, do not cry; the trouble is all over," said Alec, soothingly,
carrying her away in his arms, and trying to stay the sobs that
convulsed her small body.

Arrived at Castle Garden, a new surprise awaited him and Jeanie, for who
should be there, pacing up and down in his strong impatience to see the
bairnie, but Angus Lowrie. He had left his Southern cottage, which was
prepared for their arrival, and hastened on to know the fate of Sandy
and Jeanie. And now he had his darling in his strong arms, and so great
was his joy that he could do little but press her to his breast, then
hold her off and look into her eyes again and again, seeing mirrored
there the eyes of his girl-wife Elsie, whom he had loved with a love he
would bear to his grave.

And now they must hasten to the dear old father who had braved the
perils of the wintry deep that he might bring Elsie's one and only
treasure to her husband, little recking that, far away from kith and
kin, he should lay his old bones in a foreign land. If sorrow had had
power to steal the roses from Jeanie's cheek, joy planted new and fairer
ones there; and never did a brighter light dance in the blue eyes than
when, a little later, with a soft sound of rapture, she flung her arms
around Sandy's neck, crying, "My ain, ain gran'daddie, ye s'all never,
never leave me ony mair!" Jeanie's presence did more to set old Sandy on
his feet again than all the physic in the world; so in a few days the
happy trio were whirling off to the mining village in Maryland, where
they are living and prospering to-day.




LADY PRIMROSE.

BY FLETCHER READE.

       *       *       *       *       *


CHAPTER I.

  "As it fell upon a day
  In the merry month of May."

It was a long, long time ago that it happened--so long, in fact, that
most people have forgotten all about it--but once upon a time, as the
old, old stories tell, there lived in the village of Hollowbush an old
woman and a little girl.

And other people lived there too; but that does not concern us. The old
woman, plain and brown and wrinkled though she was, was the wisest and
kindest old lady anywhere to be found, which is reason enough for her
being in the story; and as for the little girl, you have already guessed
that she is Lady Primrose; but how she came to be Lady Primrose is what
makes the story.

The village of Hollowbush was as pretty a place as you would care to
see--a quiet, quaint little town, where the grass ran up and down the
streets in a wild, free way it had, to which no one thought of
objecting; but as year after year went by, and the little girl who lived
there grew older without, unfortunately, growing wiser, she became so
tired of Hollowbush and its grass-grown streets that she was almost
ready to run away.

"If I were only rich," she was constantly saying to herself, "then I
might go where I chose."

Now it came to pass that one day in the merry spring-time, when the
world is so sweet and fragrant that you can hardly put your nose
out-of-doors without feeling as if you had tumbled head-foremost into a
huge bouquet, this little girl sat by the open window, wishing and
wishing with all her might that she were rich.

"For then," she said to herself, "I could have a diamond necklace; and
perhaps," she added, aloud, "I might have a jewelled coronet, like a
queen."

Just then the wise old woman of Hollowbush, who had the amiable
peculiarity of appearing just when people most needed her, stopped
before the window, and said, as she looked up at her young friend, "You
were wishing for a diamond necklace, my child. What would you do if I
should tell you of a country where diamonds are as plenty as flowers are
here?"

"What would I do?"--and the child laughed at the idea of there being but
one thing she could do.

"I would go to it at once, and fill my hands with the shining, beautiful
things. But you don't mean that there really is such a place," she
added, after a pause.

The old lady smiled, and said, "If you really love gems better than
anything else in the world, I can tell you where to find all and more
than all you want."

"That would be impossible," answered the child. "I could never have more
than enough. But what a beautiful country it must be! Do tell me where
to find it."

Still smiling, this wonderful old lady, who knew all manner of strange
secrets, called the child to her, and having whispered in her ear,
pointed in the direction of the woods just beyond the village.

The girl's face looked serious, as if she were perhaps a little
frightened at what the old lady had told her; but if she could get all
the jewels she wanted, it was worth more than one fright, she thought;
so off she started without a word.

The shy little blossoms that hide their faces from the sunlight grew
here and there in the woods.

White star-flowers and purple hepaticas nodded on their slender stems,
while the crimson and white wood-sorrel fairly ran wild, creeping in and
out through bush and brier, like a host of fairies in striped
petticoats.

"A nice place enough," said the child, tossing her head, "for those who
know of nothing better; but I can't stop to admire such simple things.
Gems and jewels are the only flowers I care for."

The shadows were growing longer and deeper all around her, for the sun
was almost down, and as she looked up through the trees she could see
the pale face of the young moon peeping down at her through the
branches.

"Oh, if the wise old woman had only come with me!" said the child, in a
whisper. The shadows took on strange, ghostly shapes, and the tall
pine-trees, so high that their topmost branches seemed to rest against
the sky, sang softly and slowly and all together,

"Take care--take care--oh--oh--ough."

She had never realized before how full of sounds the stillness of the
deep woods may be, and it seemed to her as if the rustling of the leaves
and the singing of the wind were strange unearthly voices calling out to
her and warning her to go back. But in spite of the rustling leaves and
the mournful sighing of the pines the little girl hurried on. Perhaps,
just because of them, she hurried all the faster, for she felt quite
sure that she was nearing the place to which she had been directed. And
in a few moments she saw just before her the gray moss-grown rocks piled
one above another which the wise old woman of Hollowbush had described,
and heard far below the rushing and tumbling of a brook.

Surely I must have been deceived! she thought.

Here was no strange country sown with jewels, but simply a rocky ravine,
where ferns waved in the wind, clinging to the rocks, and catching the
spray from the water as it bubbled and hissed and fell in a snowy pool
below.

"This can't be the place," said the child, as she looked around; "but
while I am here I may as well see what it is."

So she clambered over the loose stones and decaying logs till she
reached the level of the stream, and there, strangely enough, scattered
among broken bits of granite, were small bright stones of a deep
wine-color. "These are not diamonds," she said to herself, "but they are
too pretty to lie neglected here, whatever they may be."

She gathered them one by one, tying her handkerchief into four knots at
the corners for a basket; and so absorbed was she that she had quite
forgotten the weird shadows and the strange noises in the wood, until
she was startled by a voice close beside her.

Her heart gave a sudden bound, as if it were going to jump away from her
without so much as saying by your leave, and turning quickly, she saw,
not the old woman--although the voice had sounded curiously like
hers--but a quaint pale-faced little man, with small faded-looking blue
eyes that blinked in the moonlight as if the brightest of June-day suns
had been shining upon him.

[Illustration: "SO YOU ARE FOND OF GEMS, MY LITTLE MAIDEN?"]

"So you are fond of gems, my little maiden?" said the small man, in a
small thin voice, winking and blinking good-naturedly as he spoke.

The child stood staring at her companion, too much astonished to answer
him a word, for she, nor you, nor I, I believe, had ever seen such a
curious being before. He was so small that she could have tucked him
under her arm and run away with him, but his pale blue eyes had a
strange light in them, like nothing seen above the ground, and she might
have gone on staring at him from that day to this if her handkerchief
had not slipped from her fingers, letting her stones roll here and there
over the ground, whereupon she uttered a low cry of disappointment.

"Oh, never mind those," said the little man, smiling; "they are nothing
but garnets. Just come with me, and I will show you stones a thousand
times more beautiful."

"So you live in the country where gems grow instead of flowers?" said
the child, recovering her voice and her self-possession at the same
time.

"Yes," he answered; "I am the keeper of the gate, and if you will come
with me, I will show you more beautiful things than any you ever dreamed
of."

This invitation was just what the child wanted, and she followed the
gate-keeper without another word.

What a strange place it was, this country of his into which he was
leading her! It was so dark that she could see nothing but gleaming
lights shining through the darkness, red and yellow and green and
crimson, like tiny magic lanterns hung at intervals high above her head
against the wall.

She began to perceive that they were going deep down under the earth,
and she shivered, partly with cold and partly with fear, as she stepped
carefully and slowly over the uneven path down which she and her guide
were descending.

"Is it far we have to go?" she asked at length, rather timidly.

"Oh no," answered her companion. "This is simply a long corridor that
runs through the base of the hills, but we have almost reached the end
of it. In a few moments I shall lead you into the presence-chamber of
the king."

"The king!" echoed the child, hardly knowing whether to be frightened or
pleased. "And am I to go before a king?"

"Yes, yes," laughed the little man. "You don't suppose we are a people
without a king?"

As he spoke he knocked three times against the wall, and a voice from
within called out, "Who's there? who's there? who's there?"

"Aleck the gate-keeper," answered her companion, and immediately a door
flew open.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




WILD-BOAR HUNTING IN JAPAN.

BY WILLIAM ELLIOT GRIFFIS.


[Illustration: SPEARING A WILD BOAR.--FROM AN ORIGINAL JAPANESE
DRAWING.]

Winter is the harvest-time of the Japanese hunter. The snow-covered
ground is a great tell-tale, and the deer, bears, rabbits, and wild hogs
can be easily tracked. Though the Japanese hunter often uses a matchlock
or rifle, his favorite weapons are his long spear and short sword. He
covers his head with a helmet made of plaited straw, having a long flap
to protect his neck, and keep out the snow or rain. His feet are shod
with a pair of sandals made of rice straw, his baggy cotton trousers are
bound at the calves with a pair of straw leggings, and in wet weather he
puts on a grass rain cloak. To see a group of hunters stalking through
the forests in Japan, as I have often seen them, reminds one of bundles
of straw out on a tramp.

I once enjoyed a dinner of fresh boar-steak at the house of a famous
Japanese hunter named Nakano Kawachi, who lived in a village at the top
of a mountain, between the provinces of Omi and Echizen. I had been
travelling all the morning on snow-shoes through the forests of Echizen.
The snow was full of tracks of deer, hogs, rabbits, woodchucks, weasels,
martens, porcupines, monkeys, and ferrets. The hunters were out in
force, and their shouts made the forest ring with echoes. Our path lay
through a valley, with rocks on either side.

Just as we were within a mile of a village named Toné, a wild boar,
closely pressed by a man with a spear, rushed down through the woods,
and around a huge mass of rocks. The hunter, knowing every inch of the
ground, sprang round a shorter curve, and reached the path at the end of
the gully just as the boar at full trot leaped down. Levelling his long
weapon, with all his might he drove the blade with a terrific lunge
between the boar's ribs, just back of the heart. So great was the
impetus of the swift animal that the hunter was nearly taken off his
feet, while the boar turned a complete somersault. We expected to see
the blade of the lance snap, or the handle wrench off; but no, steel and
wood were too true. The boar struggled and rolled over the bloody snow,
but was helpless to get on his feet again. The hunter quietly drew out
the steel, wiped it with a bunch of dead leaves, and then, with equal
coolness, drew his sword and severed the jugular vein of the dying boar.

By this time the hunter's two sons, who had helped to start the animal
from his lair, came down the hill. Passing two strands of rope made of
rice straw around the carcass, they inserted a thick bamboo pole under
the withes. Then swinging the pole over their shoulders, they started
off on a dog-trot to the village, shouting as they went. We followed
them, and when near the village gate heard a bedlam of unearthly yells
and whoops of triumph from all the boys and girls of the village, who
were proud of their famous hunter. We had entered into conversation with
him, and learned that his name was Nakano Kawachi.

Our party, at the invitation of the hunter, entered his house, first
taking off our shoes. We all sat round the fire, which was in a great
square hearth in the middle of the floor, while the chimney was a gaping
black funnel in the ceiling. My party consisted of three of my students
from the government school of Fukui, my interpreter, a brave soldier
named Inouyé, and my body-servant Sahei. The six mountaineers with huge
wide snow-shoes, whom I hired for the size of their feet to beat a path
in the snow-drift for our party, remained outside with the villagers.
They, with their children, stood in crowds outside to catch a sight of
me, as they had never seen an American before.

Our host, first unstrapping his sword, carefully wiped and cleansed his
spear, which he stands on its iron butt in the corner. We all sit around
the fire, on which turnips and rice are boiling and omelet is frying.
All around the ceiling from the smoky rafters hang strings of large
dried persimmons, almost as sweet and luscious as figs. These we munch
while Nakano cuts tenderloin steaks from half the carcass of a boar
which he speared the day before. In a few moments seven hungry
travellers are watching the sputtering, sizzling boar-steak as it wafts
its appetizing odors everywhere, as it seems, but up the chimney.

"Is this the second wild hog you've speared this winter?" asks Iwabuchi,
the interpreter.

"No, your honor," answers Nakano; "the snow began to fall ten days ago,
and this is the eighth hog I have killed; but yesterday I speared my
first boar this winter."

"How long have you been a hunter?"

"Hai! your honor, ever since I was a boy. I speared my first hog when I
was fifteen."

"What do you do with the boar's tusks?"

"Hai! your honor, they are the most valuable part of the animal. I sell
them to an agent of an ivory-carving shop in Tokio, who comes through
these parts in the spring. The Tokio men carve nétsukés from them. They
are not as good as ivory, but they do for bimbo [poor men]. My own
nétsuké is of boar's tusk."

"Meshi shitaku" (rice is ready), cried the housewife, at this moment,
and conversation was suspended. A little table of lacquered wood a foot
square and four inches high was set before each man of our party. With
chopsticks for the rice and knives for the boar-steak, we partook of the
hunter's fare. The march of eight miles in the frosty air, plodding our
way through drifts, and stepping on snow-shoes, which furnished good
exercise for our legs, had made us ravenously hungry. When full, and all
had said "Mo yoroshio" (even enough) to the polite girls who waited on
us, we walked out to the front, where a gaping crowd gazed at the
American white-face, as if they were at Barnum's, and he was the
Tattooed Man. I rushed at them, pretending to catch the children, when
they scattered like sheep. In their fright they tumbled over each other,
until a dozen or more were sprawling on the snow or had tumbled
head-foremost in the drifts. A smile, and the distribution of some
sugared cakes of peas and barley, made them good friends again. After an
hour's rest we bade the hunter, the villagers, and our snow-shoe men
good-by, and resumed our journey in single file over the mountains to
Tokio.




SEEKING HIS FORTUNE.

BY MRS. W. J. HAYS.


A boy sat whistling on a fence. He was a lad of twelve years, and worked
at all sorts of odd chores on the river farm, which sent most of its
produce down to the city on the barges which one sees on the Hudson
River, headed by little steam-tugs, and which are commonly called
"tows." This boy, Tom Van Wyck, was a poor boy, and worked hard; he did
not much care for the beautiful hills which encompassed the winding,
gleaming river, nor the fair and fertile fields beyond, but he had an
adventurous and daring spirit, which just now was working up in the
manner of yeast when it is pushing its way through the mass of unbaked
bread. All sorts of bubbles were bothering his brain, and foremost was
the wish to leave his country home, and go to the great city of which he
had heard so much, but about which he knew little. Aunt Maria, he was
sure, would never say "yes" to his project. She looked upon the city as
a great den of thieves, and she did not want Tom to go there; but he was
tired of being a farm hand, and thought it would be fine to stand behind
a counter, to wear kid gloves on a Sunday, to be able to buy good
broadcloth and shining boots--indeed, with one bound to be a merchant
prince whose grandeur should be the town talk.

He had not very clear ideas as to how all this was to be attained, but
he knew he could work hard; he had read how many a poor boy had
struggled up to fame, and he meant to try, anyhow. And now, as he sat on
the fence whistling, he was considering a plan of action. There was no
use in being too tender-hearted. He would have to leave Aunt Maria
without asking permission. True, the little red house by the hill was a
snug little home, and his aunt toiled hard to make it so; but would he
not come home to her with silks and diamonds which should so outshine
her best alpaca that it would only do for common use? Often down at the
dock he had talked with the men on the boats, but he knew none of them
other than as Jack and Bill. His proposed plan was to leave some night
quietly, get on a barge, go to the city, and secure work; then write
home to Aunt Maria, and make his peace with her. Perhaps if Aunt Maria
had known all these thoughts, she might have been less harsh when Tom
scolded about farm-work, and called it drudgery; but she had a scornful
way of sniffing at him and his ideas, which made Tom more and more close
and reserved. On this very day, when the momentous project was ripening,
she had said he was lazy, that "a rolling stone gathered no moss," that
the "boy was father to the man," and that if all he could do was to
whistle and whittle, he had better go over to Squire Green's and help
them shuck their corn.

"Shuck corn! In a week's or a month's time he'd show her what he could
do."

It was a clear October night, calm and beautiful, and Tom rose softly,
tied his best suit up in a bundle with a couple of shirts, took off his
shoes--he had not undressed--slipped down stairs, unfastened the door,
which, however, was only latched, and crept out into the moonlight. He
paused to count the few silver pieces in his little well-worn purse,
took one long look at the red house, and especially at the window where
little Jane's yellow head was oftenest to be seen--for Aunt Maria was
mother as well as aunt to these two motherless children--and away he
went. If he had any qualms of conscience, they were soon forgotten in
the excitement of the moment. The walk was not a long one to the
river-side, and he had made a right guess as to the time the night boat
would land. One by one a sleepy head appeared from the sheds as the boat
neared the wharf, but despite the moonlight, no one noticed him
particularly as he slipped stealthily on board, and to his great relief
the truck was soon shipped, the gang-plank drawn up, and the steamboat
making its white furrow through the sparkling water. He was too
wide-awake now to think of sleeping, and after paying his fare, sat down
to watch the progress of the boat. By-and-by the moon sank, and it was
dark; the chilly dawn soon came, and then long rows of sparkling lights
appeared; the tall spires of the town; the masts of the shipping; the
flitting ferry-boats, each with its green or scarlet blaze of lantern;
rows of house-tops; docks; wharves; flag-staffs; sheds. This, then, was
the great city of his hopes.

Now there was a stirring and calling; a rush of men to the work of
unlading; a heaving of ropes, winding of cables, shouts, curses, the
rattling of carts on the piers, the tinkle of bells on the cars, the
roar of escaping steam, the scream of whistles, and the foul smells of
garbage and bilge-water. He watched the men at their work, he saw the
passengers come out, with sleepy eyes and sodden faces, and take their
departure. He too must go--but where? He wandered off the pier in a
maze. Where should he go? what should he do in all this crowd of strange
faces? He was hungry, and stopped at an apple stand, where a woman in a
huge cap and plaid shawl sold him an apple and a molasses cake. He asked
her if she knew where he could get work.

"Shure an' I don't. It is hard enough to find it for my boy Jim, lettin'
alone sthrangers."

He went up to a man pitching boxes on a cart, and asked him the same
question.

"Be off, now! none of your nonsense with me," was the reply.

To a dozen he spoke, and with little variety in the replies.

This was somewhat disheartening, but of course he could not expect
success at once. He must keep up a stout heart, so on he walked. It was
a fine clear morning, but the air seemed to him heavy with bad odors,
and he had never seen such filth as lay in the streets before him. The
children looked wan and wizened and old, the grown people cross and
care-worn; but by-and-by the streets improved; he came to the region of
shops, where it was somewhat cleaner, and now every window attracted his
gaze. There was so much to look at that he forgot himself until hunger
again attacked him. One window was most inviting--raw oysters reposing
in their shells, boiled eggs, salad, strings of sausages, and a juicy
array of pies. He went in and asked the price of a dinner. "Fifty
cents," was the reply of a personage whose florid countenance and
well-oiled locks looked unctuous.

Tom glanced at his purse in a corner. It was all he possessed, so he
turned away. A little farther on was another window of the same sort,
only the pies looked drier, and the viands staler; and as an ornament,
flanked by beer bottles, was a queer, dwarfish-looking man built of
empty oyster shells. He peered into the shop, and looked so hungry, that
a man shouted at him in a manner that was not meant to be unkind, but
which startled him much: "Vat for you comes here, hey? Can you open
oyshters? Ve vant some one to open two or tree hundert; ve have one
supper here to-night--the 'Bavarian Brüders' meet. If you can do the
vork, you may have von goot sqvare meal." Tom hardly understood the man,
but the gestures aided him, and putting his bundle down, he set to work
on the cellar steps. Talk of farm-work being drudgery any more! In the
pure, sweet October air they were gathering apples for the cider-press
to-day. Tom remembered well what would have been his portion, as he sat
on the dirty cellar steps and pegged away with his oyster-knife. It took
him a long while to get the right touch, to clip off the muddy edge of
the shells, to pry into the bivalve without injury to the luscious
morsel within, and then to slip it into the big tin pail at hand. He got
a bad cut in the palm as he did it, but he bound it up with his
handkerchief, finished his score, and asked the man for his dinner.

"You tink I gif you von plate und knife und fork und napkin; no, go to
vork at the oyshters, und here is brod a blenty." So he had to take his
meal as he could get it on the cellar stairs, but he stowed away enough
to satisfy him before he again started on his travels. The food revived
his drooping spirits, and he made bold to ask more people for work. Some
shook their heads without a word; some said, "No, my boy," in a kind
sort of way that made a lump come in his throat; others told him to go
to the place assigned to evil spirits; and others again stared at him
and passed on. This was not very promising. It was now late in the day,
and he was far from the steamboat landing. He knew nobody, and was just
wondering where he should pass the night, when a boy with a box strung
by a leathern strap over his shoulder jostled him. He was a rough
fellow, about his own age, but there was a twinkle in his eye which
emboldened Tom to speak to him.

"Do you know where I can get any work to do?"

The boy put his fingers aside of his nose, winked violently, and made a
grimace, but said nothing.

"I'm in earnest," said Tom. "I want work badly."

"Yes, in my eye!" was the response, regarding Tom's more decent apparel.

"Oh, but I do. What is your trade?"

"Now see here, feller-citizen, if you've any idea of comin' on my beat,
I jist warn ye ye'd better git at once," and he shook his fist in Tom's
face to make the reply more emphatic.

"But I have not," said Tom, anxiously. "I only want work of some sort,
and a decent lodging. I'm just from the country, and don't know a soul
in this town; besides, I've hurt my hand, and it pains a good deal."

"Let's see. I'm a crack doctor on all the fellers' cuts."

Tom unbound his hand, and the youthful Æsculapius gazed at it with great
interest.

"That'll knock you up yet," was the comforting diagnosis, with a wise
shake of the head. "Bad place to git a cut. Jim Jones had one jist in
that spot, and it festered, and hurt him so he had to go to the
hospital."

"Pshaw!" said Tom.

"Ye'd better get yer granny to poultice it."

"I tell you I don't know a human being in this city, and I haven't an
idea where I am going to sleep to-night."

The boy surveyed him doubtfully.

"You might go to the station-house."

"Not if I know it," said Tom, whose visions of grandeur, though dimmer,
were not to be brought down so low.

"Then there's the Newsboys' Lodging-House."

"Could I get in there? But I don't know the way."

"Come along with me; I'll show yer. I sleep there most o' the time."

This was, indeed, unforeseen good fortune, and Tom embraced it heartily.
As they walked along, Tim got out of him his whole story; and when it
was finished, he said to him: "You were a big fool to leave a good home
and try your luck here. For one that swims, a hundred sinks. Why, half
the time I'm hungry, and the way we fellers gits knocked about is jist
awful."

They reached the Lodging-House, and Tom, with his companion's aid,
registered his name, got his ticket, and secured a bed. He was so tired
he could hardly speak, and the pain in his hand was increasing. In the
morning his friend had gone. The matron seeing his suffering dressed his
hand, and led him on to tell her who he was and what was his errand to
the city. Kindly and patiently, she pointed out to him the great wrong
of his beginning, the wickedness of leaving his aunt in ignorance of his
whereabouts, the mistake of supposing that it was an easy matter to work
one's way up from obscurity to places of trust and honor; that if his
endeavors were sanctioned by those in authority over him, and kind
friends were willing to assist him and procure him occupation, he yet
would find that it would only be by patient labor and constant effort
that he could maintain himself, and that larks ready cooked no longer
dropped into open mouths. All this and more came home to the sorrowful
Tom with great force, for the dirt and jargon of the city were to him
very distasteful. His castles were crumbling as he wended his way again
to the docks. It was a weary time he had to find the boat which would
carry him back, and it was with a grieved spirit that he found himself
again at the door of the little red house by the hill. Grieved and weary
and hungry, Aunt Maria, whose eyes were red with weeping, perceived him
to be, and with wonderful wisdom she kept down her questions, and
silently made him comfortable. Little Jane was full of curiosity, and
more than one neighbor put their heads in to have a word to say.

[Illustration: TOM TELLS THE STORY OF HIS DAY IN THE CITY.--DRAWN BY J.
HODGSON.]

A year afterward, as Tom, Ned Green, and Jonas were busy husking corn in
the calm stillness of the fall, when the stacks were all about them,
like Indian wigwams, and the stubble only of the golden pumpkins was
left in the field, and the beautiful river wound itself away in the
distance, bearing all kinds of craft, Tom told them about his day in the
city, and said he had concluded that the country was good enough for
him, and he meant to be a farmer all the days of his life.




A GREAT CATHEDRAL.


I remember well, when a child, hearing the Cathedral of St. Peter, in
Rome, spoken of as being so immense that I thought of an ideal cathedral
little less than a mountain in size, and the dome to be seen only as if
looking at the stars. When the real cathedral was seen, of course that
exaggerated idea had then long been tempered to something like the
reality. Yet it was not without a certain pleasure to find that to get a
good view, particularly of the dome, it was necessary for me to go from
it several miles--to the Pincian hill, or a terrace of the beautiful
Villa Doria-Pamfili. The latter view is one of the finest, as nothing
else of all Rome is seen. The cathedral stands on the site of Nero's
Circus, where many Christians were martyred, and where the Apostle Peter
is said to have been buried after his crucifixion. In the year 90 an
oratory was built there, and in 306 Emperor Constantine erected a
church. It was the grandest of that time, and exceeded in size all
existing cathedrals except two, yet was only half the size of the
present building.

This cathedral was begun in 1506, and after forty years all the
foundations were not built. Then Michael Angelo, though seventy-two
years old, was persuaded to be the architect. His predecessor had wasted
four years in making a model of the proposed edifice, at a great cost,
but he, with marvellous energy, completed his model in a fortnight.
Though the work went rapidly on, he knew he could not live to see his
cathedral finished, and he patiently made a wooden model of the great
dome of exact proportions. From this model his idea was carried out.
Twenty popes came and went, pressing the work to completion; eighteen
architects planned and replanned, and expended $100,000,000, brought
from the four quarters of the globe; and a hundred and fifty years
rolled around before St. Peter's was finished. Sixtus V. employed six
hundred men, night and day, ceaselessly at work upon the dome.

The cathedral was consecrated on the 18th of November, 1626, the
thirteen-hundredth anniversary of a similar rite in the first cathedral.
It covers 212,321 square feet of ground, nearly twice the area of the
next largest cathedral, that of Milan, which is a little larger than St.
Paul's, of London. Its length is about equal to two ordinary city
blocks, its width to that of a short block, and its total height that of
a long block, or a little less than the height of the Great Pyramid of
Egypt. The circumference of the base of the dome is such that two
hundred ten-year-old boys and girls clasped hand to hand would just
about stretch around it. The dome rests upon four buttresses, each
seventy feet thick, and above them runs a frieze carved in letters as
high as a man. Then, one above another, are four galleries, from the
lower one of which a fine view of the inside of the church can be had.

The little black things seen crawling on the pavement away down below
are grown men and women. The whole inside of the dome is of
mosaic-work, and set in this are mosaics of the evangelists--colossal
figures, you may know, as the pen which St. Luke holds is seven feet
long.

The roof of the cathedral is reached by means of an easy slope, up which
one could ride on a donkey. Emerging on the roof, all Rome is seen, the
country from the mountains, and the blue Mediterranean Sea in the
distance. The roof holds a number of small domes, and dwellings for the
workmen and custodians, who live there with their families. But stranger
still is a fountain fed from the rain caught upon the roof. There we
would be as high as the top of many church steeples, but away above us,
like a whole mountain, would rise the dome, with a little copper ball on
the summit. If our courage and knees did not fail us, we would ascend to
that ball by staircases between the internal and external walls of the
dome, and find it large enough to hold a score of persons.

So vast is the cathedral's interior that it has an atmosphere of its
own--in winter slowly losing the heat of the preceding summer, and in
summer slowly warming up for another winter. In cold weather the poor of
Rome go there for comfort, as a Roman winter sometimes brings frosty
days and ice. A traveller says he once saw a great sheet of ice around
the fountain before the cathedral, and some little Romans awkwardly
sliding on it. For the sake of doing what he never thought to do in
Rome, he took a slide with them. The mosaic pictures, statues, and
monuments are almost numberless, and the pavement of colored marble
stretches away from the doors like a large polished field. Formerly, on
Easter and June 28, the dome, façade, and the colonnades of the
cathedral were illumined in the early evening by the light of between
four and five thousand lamps. It was called the silver illumination, and
is described as having been very grand and delicate. Suddenly, on a
given signal, four hundred men, stationed at their posts, exchanged the
lamps for lighted pitch in iron pans fastened to the ribs of the dome.
Then the dome shone afar as a splendid flaming crown of light.




[Illustration: TIRED OUT.--DRAWN BY A. B. FROST.]




THE LYNX.


An ugly and savage member of the great cat family is the lynx, a
creature very numerous in Canada and in the wild forests of our most
northern States. It is found all over Northern Europe as well, and in
Germany and Switzerland; a smaller variety, called the swamp lynx, is
also an inhabitant of Persia, Syria, and some portions of Egypt.

The Canada lynx is a beast about three feet long, with a short stubbed
tail, and might easily be mistaken for a large wild-cat. Its fur, which
is short and very thick, and of a beautiful silver gray, is much used
for muffs, tippets, and fur trimming. The lynx is a cowardly beast, and
seldom attacks anything larger than hares, squirrels, and birds. It will
sometimes rob a sheep-fold, as the gentle and pretty lambs have no means
of defense against its terrible claws.

It is very much hunted for its valuable fur, and some years thousands of
these beautiful skins are sent to market. The ears are very curious,
having a tuft of bristling hair on the very point; indeed, this ear
ornament is a distinguishing characteristic of all the varieties of the
lynx tribe.

[Illustration: LYNX TREED BY DOGS.]

The large and powerful dogs which are found in Canada and the northern
portions of Michigan, Minnesota, and other border States, where they are
used as train dogs to drag the mail sledges over vast wastes of snow
during the winter, are natural enemies of the lynx, and pursue it
furiously through the snow-bound forests. Their loud barking often
warns the hunter before he himself catches sight of the game that the
desired prize is treed, and awaits its fate, with arched back and fur
bristling, after the manner of an enraged cat.

The Canada lynx is a very stupid beast, and easily trapped--a method of
catching it generally adopted by the Hudson Bay Company, as in this way
its beautiful fur is uninjured by bullets.

The European lynx is a much larger, stronger, and more ferocious beast
than its Canadian brother. Its great hairy paws are like those of the
lion and tiger, which, strange as it may seem, are also members of the
pussy-cat family. It lives in wild Siberian forests (where large numbers
of trappers subsist on the proceeds of its valuable fur), in Norway and
Sweden, in Switzerland, and also in other countries where wild forests
exist. Vast numbers roam through the steppes of Asia and the uninhabited
portions of the Eastern world.

So much is this creature dreaded in Switzerland for its depredations on
the flocks that the shepherds whose sheep feed on the mountain pastures
do all in their power to exterminate this cruel enemy of their fold, and
a prize is offered by the government for every one killed.

Driven by hunger, the European lynx will often attack deer and other
large animals. A story is told of a lynx in Norway which, much against
its will, was forced to take a furious ride on the back of a goat. The
winter had been very severe, and failing to find food in the forests and
rocky barrens, a young lynx spied a flock of goats feeding among the dry
stubble of a field. Giving a quick spring, it landed on the back of a
large goat, with the purpose of tearing open the arteries of its
neck--its method of killing large animals. But the goat, feeling its
unwelcome rider, set out at a gallop for the farm-yard, followed by the
whole herd, all bleating in concert. The claws of the lynx had become so
entangled in the heavy beard of its intended victim that escape was
impossible, and the farmer by a skillfully aimed shot put an end to its
life.

Patience is largely developed in the lynx. It will lie stretched out for
hours, on a branch of a tree, watching for its prey. If anything
approaches, it crouches and springs. Should the rabbit or bird escape,
the lynx never pursues, but slyly creeps back to its branch, and resumes
its patient watch.

When captured very young, lynxes may be tamed, and have been known to
live on friendly terms with domestic animals, such as dogs and cats. But
they are never healthy away from their native woods, and usually die in
a short time. Even in the wild state the lynx is short-lived, and is
said rarely to reach the age of fifteen years. In confinement the lynx
never thrives. Specimens kept in menageries never become friendly, but
grow sullen and suspicious. Spending the day in sleep, at night they
walk restlessly up and down their cage, giving vent to hideous howls
and yells.

The glistening, piercing eyes of the lynx were formerly the subject of
strange superstitions. In the days of Pliny it was known to the Romans
by the same name it still bears. Specimens were first brought to Rome
from Gaul (the country now called France), and so terrible was the
glaring eye that it was said to be able to look through a stone wall as
through glass, and to penetrate the darkest mysteries. Hence, no doubt,
the expression "lynx-eyed," which is so often used to indicate keen and
sharp watchfulness from which nothing can escape.




THE DEAD-LETTER OFFICE.

BY MRS. P. L. COLLINS.


Of course, dear readers, all of you have heard of the Dead-letter Office
at Washington, and I suppose you have the same vague idea that I had
until I went there and learned better--that it is a place where letters
are sent when they fail to reach those for whom they are intended, and
are thence returned to the writers. Really, now, I believe this is what
most grown-up people think too; but in truth, it is such a wonderful
place that I am sure you will be surprised when I tell you of some of
the things you may find there, and I think when you come to Washington
it will be one of the first places you will wish to visit.

Probably you have never written a great many letters, and I do not doubt
that each one had its envelope neatly addressed by your father or
mother, while you stood by to see that it was well done. I hope, too,
that in due time your letters had the nice replies they deserved. You
would have been much disappointed if any of them had been "lost in the
mail," as people say, wouldn't you? You will not forget your stamp, I am
sure, after I have related the following incident:

There was once a little girl, only ten years old, who was spending six
months in the city of New York, just previous to sailing for Europe. Her
heart was filled with love for her darling grandpapa, whom she had left
in New Orleans, and she wrote to him twice every week. Her letters were
in the French language; at least, the one that I saw was, and it began
"Cher Grandpère cheri." She said, "I hope that you have received the
slippers I embroidered for you, and the fifteen dollars I sent in my
last letter to have them made." But, alas! the package containing the
slippers had reached the "cher grandpère cheri," while the letter and
money were missing. Then this old gentleman wrote to the Dead-letter
Office, and said that it was the only one of his granddaughter's letters
he had ever failed to receive; that it could not have been misdirected;
and his carrier had been on the same route for many years, so he _knew_
him to be honest; therefore the money must have been mysteriously
swallowed up in the D. L. O.

What was to be done? Do you imagine the Dead-letter Office shook in its
shoes?

Not a bit of it. It turned to a big book, and found a number which stood
opposite the little girl's letter, and then straightway laid hands upon
the letter itself, and forwarded it to the indignant "grandpère."

Now why all this trouble and delay, and saying of naughty things to the
D. L. O., without which he might never have seen either his letter or
his money? Simply this: the dear child had dropped her letter into the
box _without a stamp_.

You will be surprised to learn that something over four millions of
letters are sent to the Dead-letter Office every year.

There are three things that render them liable to this: first, being
unclaimed by persons to whom they are addressed; second, when some
important part of the address is omitted, as James Smith, Maryland;
third, the want of postage. All sealed letters must have at least one
three-cent stamp, unless they are to be delivered from the same office
in which they are mailed, when they must have a one or a two cent stamp,
according to whether the office has carriers or not.

For the second cause mentioned above about sixty-five thousand letters
were sent to the Dead-letter Office during the past year; for the third,
three hundred thousand, and three thousand had no address whatever.

When these letters reach the Dead-letter Office, they are divided into
two general classes, viz., Domestic and Foreign, the latter being
returned unopened to the countries from which they started.

The domestic letters, after being opened, are classed according to their
contents. Those containing money are called "Money Letters;" those with
drafts, money-orders, deeds, notes, etc., "Minor Letters;" and such as
inclose receipts, photographs, etc., "Sub-Minors." Letters which contain
anything, even a postage-stamp, are recorded, and those with money or
drafts are sent to the postmasters where the letters were first mailed,
for them to find the owners, and get a receipt. From $35,000 to $50,000
come into the office in this way during the year; but a large proportion
is restored to the senders, and the remainder is deposited in the United
States Treasury to the credit of the Post-office Department.

When letters contain nothing of value, if possible they are returned to
the writers. There are clerks so expert in reading all kinds of writing
that they can discern a plain address where ordinary eyes could not
trace a word. For instance, you could not make much of this:

[Illustration]

A dead-letter clerk at once translates it:

  Mr. Hensson King,
  Tobacco Stick,
  Dorchester County,
  Maryland.
  In haste.

And such spelling! Would you ever imagine that Galveston could be
tortured into "Calresdon," Connecticut into "Kanedikait," and Territory
into "Teartoir"?

Recently the Postmaster-General has found it necessary to issue very
strict orders about plain addresses, and a great many people have tried
to be witty at his expense. I copied this address from a postal card:

  Alden Simmons,
  Savannah Township,
  Ashland County, State of Ohio;
  Age 29; Occupation, Lawyer;
  Politics, Republican;
  Longitude West from Troy 2°;
  Street Main
  No. 249;
  Box 1008.
  Color, White;
  Sex, Male;
  Ancestry, Domestic.
  _For President 1880, U. S. Grant!_

About once in two years there is a sale of the packages which are
detained in the office for the same reason that letters are. All the
small articles are placed in envelopes, on which are written brief
descriptions of their contents. Any one is allowed the privilege of
examining them before purchasing. There are thousands of these packages,
containing almost everything you can think of. I glanced over an old
catalogue, and selected at random half a dozen things that will give you
an idea of the endless variety: Florida beans, surgical instruments,
cat-skin, boy's jacket, map of the Holy Land, two packages of corn
starch, and a diamond ring--in truth, as the chief of the D. L. O. says
in his report, "everything from a small bottle of choice perfumery to a
large box of Limburger cheese."

But there were two things that nobody would ever buy, so this great
institution was obliged to keep them. One was a horrid, grinning,
skeleton head, that had been sent to Dr. Gross, the eminent Philadelphia
surgeon; but the box being nailed so that the postmaster could not
examine its contents without breaking it, he was obliged to charge
letter rates of postage, which the doctor refused to pay; consequently
it found a proper resting-place in the house appropriated specially to
dead things.

Occupying the same shelf are several glass jars containing serpents of
various sizes preserved in alcohol. These snakes were received at the
D. L. O. in two large tin cans, the ends of which were perforated to
admit air. They were addressed to a professor in Germany. It could not
be ascertained at what office they had been mailed. There were seventeen
in all, but some of the smaller ones were dead.

System, punctuality, industry, belong to the Dead-letter Office. It
seems to embrace every other branch of business, and, as I have shown
you, even to know how to treat such unwelcome guests as a nest of live
serpents.




HOW MOTHER ROBIN CALLED A NEW MATE.

BY E. JAY EDWARDS.


A friend of mine has a robin's nest that he guards with very great care,
and about which he tells a story to all the young and old people who
call upon him.

"There is a romance," he says, as he shows you the nest, "about this,
and if you want to hear it, I will tell it to you."

"It was a good many years ago," my friend begins, "that this nest was
made. There came one morning early in April two robins to the big
fir-tree in front of my window. One of them had, as sure as you live, a
club-foot, and he hobbled about upon it in a very lively manner, and I
know that it was this one--Mr. Robin, I call him--that fixed upon the
precise place for the nest. For he whetted his bill upon a bough a great
many times, and then he danced upon it with one foot and the other, as
though trying its strength, and at last he flew up to Mrs. Robin, who
was standing on the limb above looking at him. My window was open, and I
heard him peeping the gentlest little song to her that you can imagine.
Then she jumped down upon the limb, rubbed her bill upon it, and danced,
while he looked at her, and after she had done these things she sang the
same little melody. After that they flew away with great speed, and the
next that I saw of them they were working with might and main, bringing
twigs, moss, twine, and all sorts of things, until at last they had the
nest made."

Now my friend, when he gets so far in his story, always stops a moment
and laughs, though you can not see anything to laugh at. But he looks
closely at you, and just as soon as he observes the surprise that your
eyes show, he says: "I ought to say right here that my mother had a very
choice piece of lace, a collar or something of that sort, that was
washed and put out upon a little bush to dry on the very day that Mr.
and Mrs. Robin decided to build the nest in the fir-tree. A great fuss
was made that evening because the lace collar could not be found, and
mother wanted the police called, so that the thief might be arrested and
the collar got back, for that collar was worth, I have heard, a great
many dollars. But the police never found the thief.

"Now I will go on, with my story," always continues my friend, and he
generally takes the nest in his hands at this time. "Well, after this
nest--this is the very one I hold in my hand--was built, you never saw a
more attentive lover than this Mr. Robin. He would hop about with his
club-foot, and seem to put his eye right upon an angle-worm's cave every
time he flew down to the ground, and you might see him from early
morning to sunset flying back and forth with his mouth full of good
things for Mrs. Robin, and he would feed her as she sat upon the nest.

"One day he seemed specially excited and happy; you could hear him
singing in the tree more loudly than before, and I could see from my
window the cause of his joy. Four yellow mouths were put up to receive
the dainties he had brought, and then I knew that the little robins had
come. Well, old Mr. Robin was so excited that he did not see our cat
stealthily coming, as he was pulling away at a very long angle-worm.
Pussy had him in her mouth before he could even give a warning cry, and
the last I saw of Mr. Robin was the club-foot that hung out of Puss's
mouth.

"By-and-by Mrs. Robin seemed to get hungry, and I heard her uttering two
strange notes that I had never heard before, and which seemed to me to
sound just as though she was saying, 'Come here! come here!' Of course
that was not what she said, but I have no doubt that the notes meant
just that, and that every robin that might have heard them would have
understood them as a call for help. But no robin came. It rained all
that day, and poor Mrs. Robin kept up that cry, and her young ones
continually thrust their bills from beneath her body, and opened them. I
could not help them, of course, for little birds would rather starve
than be fed by any one but their parents.

"Now I am coming to the strangest part of my story," my friend always
says when he reaches this point. "The next morning was clear, and I
happened to be up early. Old Mrs. Robin had begun her plaintive call.
Suddenly I saw a great many robins--not less than twenty, I should
say--that had come together from some place, and rested upon the
branches of a great elm-tree that was only a few yards away from the
fir-tree. Of all the noises I ever heard from birds, those that these
robins made were the strangest. At last they were quiet, and two of them
flew off to the fir-tree, and cautiously made their way to the nest.
Mrs. Robin looked at them, and sang a little trill. One of the visitors,
with much shaking of his head, sang something in reply, and then the
other one did the same thing. Mrs. Robin repeated her trill, and then
she hopped up to the branch above, and sang another note or two, and the
smaller of the two robins took his place beside her. Then the other
robin flew away to his companions, and after singing a little, they all
went off together.

"When I looked back to the nest, Mrs. Robin sat there perfectly quiet,
and, not more than a minute after, the new Mr. Robin brought a worm, and
he was from that time until the little ones got their feathers and flew
off as kind and attentive to Mrs. Robin as had been poor old club-footed
Mr.

"Now isn't this a pretty love story?" my friend inquires, and of course
you say it is, and then ask him why he laughed, and what his mother's
lace collar had to do with it, and he will answer you in this way:

"Look in the nest. See what lies on the bottom, where the little robins
nestled. I got the nest after they all flew away together, and there in
the bottom was my mother's lace collar, not good to wear any longer, so
I have let it stay there ever since. Do you suppose young robins ever
had such a costly bed?"




CHARLEY BENNET'S GHOST STORY.

BY MRS. MARGARET EYTINGE.


  "It is a sin to steal a pin,
  As well as any greater thing,"

sang little Al Smith, in a loud, shrill voice.

"Very good sentiment, but very poor rhyme," drawled Hen Rowe (whose
father was a poet), patting the singer's flaxen head in a patronizing
manner.

"Talking of stealing," said Charley Bennet, dropping the pumpkin he was
turning into a lantern, "did I ever tell you fellers about the time I
went down to old Pop Robins's to steal apples, and came back past the
barn where the horse-thief hung himself years and years ago, 'cause he
knew the constables--they called 'em constables in those times--were
after him, and that he'd be hung by somebody else if he didn't? No?
Here's a ghost story for you, then, and I hope it will be a warning to
you all never to take anything that doesn't belong to you, 'specially
apples.

"You see, Billy Evans and I were staying with our folks at the hotel in
Bramblewood that summer, and about two miles away was Pop Robins's farm.
He used to bring eggs and chickens and vegetables and fruit to the
hotel; and, oh my! wasn't he stingy?--you'd better believe it. He
wouldn't even give you two or three blackberries, and if you asked him
for an apple, he'd tremble all over. A reg'lar old miser _he_ was, with
lots of money, and a bully apple orchard. 'Let's go there some night and
help ourselves,' says Billy Evans, one day. 'Dogs,' says I. 'Only one,'
says he; 'I know him, and so do you--old Snaggletooth; I gave him almost
all the meat we took for crab bait the day we didn't catch any.' 'All
right,' says I.

"But when the night we'd agreed on came, Billy had cousins--girls--down
from New York, and he had to stay home and entertain them. I don't care
much for girls myself, and I was afraid they might want me to help
entertain them too, so I made up my mind to go down to Pop Robins's
alone. It was a splendid night; the moon shone so bright that it was
almost as light as day. I scudded along, whistling away, until I got
within half a mile of the orchard, and then I stopped my noise and
walked as softly as possible, till I came to the first apple-tree. I
shinned up that tree in a jiffy (old Snaggletooth didn't put in an
appearance), filled my bag with jolly fat apples, and slid down again.
But when I came to lift the bag up on my shoulder, I found it was awful
heavy to carry so far, and I was just agoing to dump some of the apples
out, when I remembered all of a sudden that if I cut across the meadow
to the plank-road, I could get back to the hotel in a little more than
half the time it would take to go the way I came.

"So I shouldered my load, and was nearly across the meadow before I
thought of the haunted barn at the end of it. It wasn't a nice thing to
remember; but I wasn't agoing to turn back, ghost or no ghost, and I
tried to whistle again, when all at once that thing Al Smith was singing
just now popped into my head, and says I to myself, 'That's so, Charles
F. Bennet; you and your chums may think it's great fun to help
yourselves to other people's apples and water-melons and such things,
but it's just as much stealing as though you went into a man's house and
stole his coat.' It doesn't seem as bad when you're going for 'em; but
when you're coming back, up a lonely road, all alone, at ten o'clock at
night, a lot of stolen apples on your back, and a haunted barn not far
off, it seems _worse_.

"All the same, I held on to the apples. And when I faced the barn I
determined I'd whistle if I died in the attempt; but, boys, I don't
believe anybody could have told _that_ 'Yankee Doodle' from 'Auld Lang
Syne.' I tell you my heart jumped when I passed the tumble-down old
place; but it _stood still_ when, as I marched up the plank-road, I
heard a step behind me. I wheeled around in an instant, but there was
nothing to be seen. The moon shone as bright as ever, but there was
nothing to be seen! 'I must have imagined it,' says I to myself, and I
walked a little faster, listening with all my might, and sure enough
pat, pat, pat, came the step after me. Again I wheeled round. Not a
thing did I see. And again I started on, the apples growing heavier and
heavier. Pat, pat, pat, came the step. It wasn't like a human step. That
made it more dreadful. 'It _must_ be the ghost,' I thought; and I don't
mind telling you, fellers, I never was so frightened in my life. The
time I fell overboard was nothing to it. I made up my mind, when I
reached the bridge that crossed a little brook near our hotel, I'd
streak it (I hadn't exactly run yet, for I was saving my strength till
the last). But before I got to the bridge, says I to myself--and I must
have said it out loud, though I didn't mean to--'Perhaps he wants the
apples.'

"'Apples!' repeated a hoarse voice, with a horrid laugh.

[Illustration: "'THERE IT IS,' SAYS BARNEY."]

"I tell you, boys, those apples flew, and I flew too. Over the bridge I
went like lightning, and ran right into Barney Reardon, one of the
stable-men, who was coming to look for me. 'Something has followed me,'
I gasped, 'from the haunted barn--the ghost!' 'Did you see it?' says he.
'No,' says I, 'though I turned round a dozen times to look for it. But I
heard it pat, pat, pat, behind me all the way.' 'And it's behind you
now,' says Barney, bursting into a loud laugh. I jumped about six feet.
'There it is,' says Barney, roaring again, and pointing to--Pop Robins's
tame raven! The sly old thing looked up at me, nodded its shining black
head, croaked 'Apples!' and walked off. It had followed me from the
barn, and every time I wheeled quickly round, it hopped just as quickly
behind me, and so of course I saw nothing but the long road and the
moonlight on it. But I never want to be so scared again, and if ever any
of you boys go for anything belonging to other people, don't you count
me in."

"What became of the apples?" asked Jerry O'Neil.

"If you'd 'a been there I could have told you," said Charley.




THE HOUSE THAT BELL BUILT;

Or, the Sad End of a little Girl's Romance.


[Illustration]

  Sitting alone in the fire-light's flare,
  This is the house that Bell built.

[Illustration]

  This is the girl with the golden hair,
  That lived in the house that Bell built.

[Illustration]

  This is the garden fresh and fair,
  Where played the girl with the golden hair,
  That lived in the house that Bell built.

[Illustration]

  These are the peaches sweet and rare,
  That grew in the garden fresh and fair,
  Where played the girl with the golden hair,
  That lived in the house that Bell built.

[Illustration]

  This is the great and terrible bear,
  That ate the peaches sweet and rare,
  That grew in the garden fresh and fair,
  Where played the girl with the golden hair,
  That lived in the house that Bell built.

[Illustration]

  This is the prince with noble air,
  Who killed the great and terrible bear,
  That ate the peaches sweet and rare,
  That grew in the garden fresh and fair,
  Where played the girl with the golden hair,
  That lived in the house that Bell built.

[Illustration]

  This is the wedding beyond compare,
  In which the prince of noble air,
  Who killed the great and terrible bear,
  That ate the peaches so sweet and rare,
  That grew in the garden fresh and fair,
  Married the girl with the golden hair,
  That lived in the house that Bell built.

[Illustration]

  This is the house-maid, Biddy McNair,
  With face so red and arms so bare,
  Who took the poker without a care,
  And slew the prince of noble air,
  Who killed the great and terrible bear,
  That ate the peaches so sweet and rare,
  That grew in the garden fresh and fair,
  And married the girl with the golden hair,
  That lived in the house that Bell built.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Flower-Pots for Rooms.=--Fill a pot with coarse moss of any kind, in
the same manner as it would be filled with earth, and place a cutting or
a seed in this moss: it will succeed admirably, especially with plants
destined to ornament a drawing-room. In such a situation plants grown in
moss will thrive better than in garden mould, and possess the very great
advantage of not causing dirt by the earth washing out of them when
watered. The explanation of the practice seems to be this: that moss
rammed into a pot, and subjected to continual watering, is soon brought
into a state of decomposition, when it becomes a very pure vegetable
mould; and it is well known that very pure vegetable mould is the most
proper of all materials for the growth of almost all kinds of plants.
The moss would also not retain more moisture than precisely the quantity
best adapted to the absorbent powers of the root--a condition which can
scarcely be obtained with any certainty by the use of earth.

       *       *       *       *       *

=The Advantages of Foreign Tongues.=--In the _Letters of Charles
Dickens_, recently published, occurs this pleasant child's story: "I
heard of a little fellow the other day whose mamma had been telling him
that a French governess was coming over to him from Paris, and had been
expatiating on the blessings and advantages of having foreign tongues.
After leaning his plump little cheek against the window glass in a
dreary little way for some minutes, he looked round, and inquired in a
general way, and not as if it had any special application, whether she
didn't think 'that the tower of Babel was a great mistake altogether.'"




[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX]


  VANCOUVER, WASHINGTON TERRITORY.

     Mamma takes the _Bazar_, papa the _Weekly_ and _Magazine_. I have
     the first and second numbers of _Young People_. I like it very
     much, but I like "The Brave Swiss Boy" the best. I am ten years
     old. I saw in your letter to us that you wanted us to write to your
     paper. I think it must have been very funny to come across the
     plains in a wagon. I came across from Fond du Lac, Wisconsin (where
     I was born), in the cars, and not in the long trains of wagons.

     Oro Brown read "Two Ways of Putting It," from the first number of
     _Young People_, in school last Friday.

     The pets I have are gray and Maltese kittens. I did once have a
     chicken that would come and eat wheat out of my hand, and fly into
     my arms.

  JULIA B.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I live a little way from Scranton, Pennsylvania, and a friend takes
     _Harper's Young People_ for me. I have had a great deal of fun
     trying to draw a pig with my eyes shut. It is very funny to sit
     down with your eyes shut and try to feed another person with a
     spoon.

  DAISY.

       *       *       *       *       *

  MIDDLETOWN, NEW YORK.

     I wanted to write to you, and tell you how much I liked your nice
     paper. I like the story of "The Brave Swiss Boy" best. I live with
     my grandpa and grandma, who are very good to me, and I love them
     very much. Please print this, and oblige

  HARRY W. T.

       *       *       *       *       *

Pretty communications are received from Frederick B., Brooklyn, New
York; Perkins S., New York city; Annie L., New London, Connecticut; Mary
E. R., Albany, New York; Mabel L., New York city; and Lottie S. B.,
Boston, Massachusetts.

       *       *       *       *       *

A. M. S.--As it may interest other young readers, we print the whole
list of portraits on the United States postage-stamps in use at present,
as well as the one you require: One cent, Franklin; two cent, Jackson;
three cent, Washington; five cent, General Taylor; six cent, Lincoln;
seven cent, Stanton; ten cent, Jefferson; twelve cent, Clay; fifteen
cent, Webster; twenty-four cent, Scott; thirty cent, Hamilton; ninety
cent, Commodore O. H. Perry.

       *       *       *       *       *

BESSIE G.--Your "Bran Pudding" is excellent, but it came too late for
use. We shall reserve it for next Christmas, as it is good enough to
keep.

       *       *       *       *       *

Correct answers to Christmas Puzzle in No. 8 are received from Charlie
G. G., Gussie L., Birdie C., J. N. D., Fred A. O., Herbert W. B., Emily
J. M., Nina B. F., Willie C., Herbert H., Isabella C. Van B., and
William W. F. The answer will be published in our next number.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following easy puzzles from very young readers are offered for other
very young readers to solve:

No. 1.

WORD SQUARE.

  My first is a battle.
  My second is a girl's name.
  My third is not cooked.

  K. S. (nine years old).

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 2.

ENIGMA.

  My first is in stove, but not in coal.
  My second is in pit, but not in hole.
  My third is in rod, but not in pole.
  My fourth is in bear, and also in mole.
  My fifth is in head, but not in scroll.
  My sixth is in steal, and also in stole.
  If you can not guess this, you are not witty,
  For my whole is found in every city.

  C. G. (eleven years old).

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 3.

NUMERICAL CHARADE.

  I am a word of 10 letters.
  My 1, 2, 3, 4 is a kind of labor.
  My 8, 9, 10 is a weight.
  My 6, 5, 7 is what a boy of a certain race is often called.
  My whole was a great man.

  R. D. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 4.

NUMERICAL CHARADE.

  I am a word of 6 letters.
  My 1, 5, 2 is a noun.
  My 3, 4, 5 is a biped.
  My 6, 1, 2 is a verb.
  My whole is a city in Europe.

  F. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 5.

ENIGMA.

  My first is in cold, but not in hot.
  My second is in pan, but not in pot.
  My third is in nap, but not in sleep.
  My fourth is in sold, but not in keep.
  My fifth is in flute, but not in drum.
  My sixth is in example, but not in sum.
  My whole is useful in the dark.

  M. L.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 6.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.

A girl's name. A measure. A fine net. A girl's name. A verb. An
explanation. The answer is two cities of the United States.

  M. L.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 7.

RIDDLE.

Decline ice-cream.

  M. L.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 8.

NUMERICAL CHARADE.

  I am composed of 18 letters.
  My 17, 18, 9 is the Latin name of an animal.
  My 16, 10, 4, 13, 8 is a young animal.
  My 14, 11 is a prefix.
  My 6, 2, 12, 7 is a word applied to old clothes.
  My 1, 5, 3 is a pronoun.
  My 15 is a vowel.
  A good many little folks like my whole very much.

  M. E. R.

Answers to the above puzzles will be given in _Young People_ No. 15.




ADVERTISEMENTS.




HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE will be issued every Tuesday, and may be had at
the following rates--_payable in advance, postage free_:

  SINGLE COPIES                     $0.04
  ONE SUBSCRIPTION, _one year_       1.50
  FIVE SUBSCRIPTIONS, _one year_     7.00

Subscriptions may begin with any Number. When no time is specified, it
will be understood that the subscriber desires to commence with the
Number issued after the receipt of order.

Remittances should be made by POST-OFFICE MONEY ORDER or DRAFT, to avoid
risk of loss.

ADVERTISING.

The extent and character of the circulation of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
will render it a first-class medium for advertising. A limited number of
approved advertisements will be inserted on two inside pages at 75 cents
per line.

  Address
  HARPER & BROTHERS,
  Franklin Square, N. Y.




A LIBERAL OFFER FOR 1880 ONLY.

HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE _and_ HARPER'S WEEKLY _will be sent to any address
for one year, commencing with the first Number of_ HARPER'S WEEKLY _for
January, 1880, on receipt of $5.00 for the two Periodicals_.




FRAGRANT

SOZODONT

Is a composition of the purest and choicest ingredients of the vegetable
kingdom. It cleanses, beautifies, and preserves the =TEETH=, hardens and
invigorates the gums, and cools and refreshes the mouth. Every
ingredient of this =Balsamic= dentifrice has a beneficial effect on the
=Teeth and Gums=. =Impure Breath=, caused by neglected teeth, catarrh,
tobacco, or spirits, is not only neutralized, but rendered fragrant, by
the daily use of =SOZODONT=. It is as harmless as water, and has been
indorsed by the most scientific men of the day. Sold by druggists.




=PLAYS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE=, with Songs and Choruses, adapted for Private
Theatricals. With the Music and necessary directions for getting them
up. Sent on receipt of 30 cents, by HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, No. 5 Beekman
Street, New York. Send your address for a Catalogue of Tableaux,
Charades, Pantomimes, Plays, Reciters, Masks, Colored Fire, &c., &c.




Old Books for Young Readers.

       *       *       *       *       *

Arabian Nights' Entertainments.

     The Thousand and One Nights; or, The Arabian Nights'
     Entertainments. Translated and Arranged for Family Reading, with
     Explanatory Notes, by E. W. LANE. 600 Illustrations by Harvey. 2
     vols., 12mo, Cloth, $3.50.


Robinson Crusoe.

     The Life and Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York,
     Mariner. By DANIEL DEFOE. With a Biographical Account of Defoe.
     Illustrated by Adams. Complete Edition. 12mo, Cloth, $1.50.


The Swiss Family Robinson.

     The Swiss Family Robinson; or, Adventures of a Father and Mother
     and Four Sons on a Desert Island. Illustrated. 2 vols., 18mo,
     Cloth, $1.50.

     The Swiss Family Robinson--Continued: being a Sequel to the
     Foregoing. 2 vols., 18mo, Cloth, $1.50.


Sandford and Merton.

    The History of Sandford and Merton. By THOMAS DAY. 18mo, Half Bound,
    75 cents.

       *       *       *       *       *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.

HARPER & BROTHERS _will send any of the above works by mail, postage
prepaid, to any part of the United States, on receipt of the price_.




_The Fairy Books._

       *       *       *       *       *

=THE PRINCESS IDLEWAYS.= By Mrs. W. J. HAYS. Illustrated. l6mo, Cloth,
75 cents.

       *       *       *       *       *

=THE CATSKILL FAIRIES.= By VIRGINIA W. JOHNSON. 8vo, Illuminated Cloth,
Gilt Edges, $3.00.

       *       *       *       *       *

=FAIRY BOOK ILLUSTRATED.= 16mo, Cloth, $1.50.

       *       *       *       *       *

=PUSS-CAT MEW=, and other New Fairy Stories for my Children. By E. H.
KNATCHBULL-HUGESSEN, M.P. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25.

       *       *       *       *       *

=FAIRY BOOK.= The Best Popular Fairy Stories selected and rendered anew.
By the Author of "John Halifax." Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25.

       *       *       *       *       *

=FAIRY TALES.= By JEAN MACÉ. Translated by MARY L. BOOTH. Illustrated.
12mo, Bevelled Edges, $1.75; Gilt Edges, $2.25.

       *       *       *       *       *

=FAIRY TALES OF ALL NATIONS.= By É. LABOULAYE. Translated by MARY L.
BOOTH. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, Bevelled Edges, $2.00; Gilt Edges,
$2.50.

       *       *       *       *       *

=THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE.= By the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman."
Illustrated. Square 16mo, Cloth, $1.00.

       *       *       *       *       *

=FOLKS AND FAIRIES.= Stories for Little Children. By LUCY CRANDALL
COMFORT. Illustrated. Square 4to, Cloth, $1.00.

       *       *       *       *       *

=THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE=, as Told to my Child. By the Author of
"John Halifax, Gentleman." Illustrated. Square 16mo, Cloth, 90 cents.

       *       *       *       *       *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.

_Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on
receipt of the price._




"_A book beyond the pale of criticism._"
  N. Y. DAILY GRAPHIC.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE
Boy Travellers in the Far East.

       *       *       *       *       *

ADVENTURES OF

TWO YOUTHS IN A JOURNEY

TO

JAPAN AND CHINA.

Illustrated, 8vo, Cloth, $3.00.

       *       *       *       *       *

A more attractive book for boys and girls can scarcely be
imagined.--_N. Y. Times._

The best thing for a boy who cannot go to China and Japan is to get this
book and read it.--_Philadelphia Ledger._

Juvenile literature seems to have come to a climax in this book. In
literary quality and in material form it is a decided improvement on
anything of the kind ever before produced in America.--_N. Y. Journal of
Commerce._

One of the richest and most entertaining books for young people, both in
text, illustrations, and binding, which has ever come to our
table.--_Providence Press._

       *       *       *       *       *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, N. Y.

_Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on
receipt of the price._




WHAT MR. DARWIN SAW

In His Voyage Round the World
in the Ship "Beagle."

ADAPTED FOR YOUTHFUL READERS.

Illustrated, 8vo, Cloth, $3.00.

       *       *       *       *       *

A capital book on natural history for young readers.--_Hartford
Courant._

A superb volume filled with maps and pictures of beasts, birds, and
fishes, as well as the faces of all sorts of men, and with all this a
most delightful story of real travel round the world by a very famous
naturalist.--_Christian Intelligencer_, N. Y.

To the intelligent boy or girl the book will be a perfect bonanza.
* * * Every statement it contains may be accepted as accurately
true. * * * This book shows once more that truth is stranger than
fiction.--_Philadelphia North American._

It can scarcely be opened anywhere without conveying interest and
instruction.--_S. S. Times_, Phila.

       *       *       *       *       *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.

_Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on
receipt of the price._




"_A nice Gift for Children._"
  PITTSBURGH TELEGRAPH.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE PRINCESS IDLEWAYS.

A FAIRY STORY.

Illustrated, 16mo, Cloth, 75 cents.

       *       *       *       *       *

Written in a simple but charming manner, and illustrated by beautiful
pictures, so that a youngster just past the first reading-book would
appreciate every word.--_Christian Intelligencer_, N. Y.

The illustrations are worthy of special commendation. Any so airy,
pretty, and full of grace, have rarely appeared in any American book for
children.--_Hartford Courant._

The language in which it is told is so pure and agreeable, that parents
and good bachelor uncles will find it a pleasure to read it aloud to the
little ones.--_Boston Courier._

       *       *       *       *       *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, N. Y.

_Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on
receipt of the price._




"_A most enchanting story for boys._"
  PITTSBURGH TELEGRAPH.

       *       *       *       *       *

AN INVOLUNTARY VOYAGE.

By LUCIEN BIART,
Author of "Adventures of a Young Naturalist."

TRANSLATED BY
Mrs. CASHEL HOEY and Mr. JOHN LILLIE.

ILLUSTRATED.

l2mo, Cloth, $1.25.

       *       *       *       *       *

A very charming book, brimming full of adventures, and has not an
uninteresting page between its covers.--_Baltimore Gazette._

A book that is at once novel and entertaining. * * * All the book is
lively, and the voyagers have some adventures, the telling of which is
as entertaining as any book of Jules Verne's, besides having nothing in
them that is improbable or extravagant.--_Philadelphia Bulletin._

A most enchanting story for boys. * * * It is a story of adventure, and
also contains much interesting and useful information.--_Pittsburgh
Telegraph._

A narrative crowded with adventure, told in the lively and graphic style
for which the French writers of books for boys are so noted.--_Cleveland
Herald._

One of the most attractive books of the season. * * * Spirited sketches
of travel and adventure on the ocean wave, among the islands and on
southern coasts, fill these chapters. But the main point which gives
them their highest flavor is the experience of naval warfare during our
late civil conflict.--_Observer_, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, N. Y.

_Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on
receipt of the price._

       *       *       *       *       *


A BOOK FOR EVERYBODY.

       *       *       *       *       *

Ninth Edition now Ready.

       *       *       *       *       *

=HOW TO GET STRONG, AND HOW TO STAY SO.= By WILLIAM BLAIKIE. With
Illustrations. 16mo, Cloth, $1.00.

       *       *       *       *       *

Your book is timely. Its large circulation cannot fail to be of great
public benefit.--Rev. HENRY WARD BEECHER.

It is a book of extraordinary merit in matter and style, and does you
great credit as a thinker and writer.--Hon. CALVIN E. PRATT, _of the New
York Supreme Bench_.

A capital little treatise. It is the very book for ministers to
study.--Rev. THEODORE L. CUYLER, D.D., _in New York Evangelist_.

It is unquestionably one of the most practical and useful books on this
topic which have ever been published in this country.--_N. Y. Evening
Express._

We know of no man in America more capable of writing such a book, or who
has a better right to do so.--_Rutland Daily Herald and Globe._

It will pay any person--whether a farmer or lawyer, laborer or idler,
school-girl or housewife--to buy and read it, and follow its
teachings.--_Springfield Union._

A veritable treasury of muscular common-sense.--_Charleston News and
Courier._

       *       *       *       *       *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.

_Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on
receipt of the price._




[Illustration: CAPRICORNUS NO. 1. "You butter stop!"]

[Illustration: CAPRICORNUS NO. 2. "You butter get out of the way!"]




THE EGG TOMBOLA.


[Illustration: Fig. 1.]

[Illustration: Fig. 2.]

A very amusing toy can be made out of an egg, to resemble Fig. 1 in our
picture. The one from which our drawing is copied was constructed in
half an hour. The way to do it is this: Get a clean, well-shaped fresh
egg. With a strong needle make a hole at each end about the size of a
large shot, then suck out the contents of the egg. Now you have the
hollow shell. Through one of the holes drop in about half a tea-spoonful
of shot and the same quantity of pellets of bees-wax or tallow. Now take
a small bit of bread and work it between the fingers till it becomes a
paste; with this stop up the hole at the big end of the egg. Then
procure a cup of boiling water, and hold the egg in it till the wax is
melted, taking care to hold it quite upright, so that all the shot will
settle in the big end. This will take about five minutes. Then hold the
egg in very cold water till the wax has cooled. This will take about
five minutes more. You will now find that the egg will stand upright on
the table, no matter in what position you may lay it down. The next
thing is to paint or draw on it the figure of an old gentleman like our
picture, and you have the Tombola complete. If the figure be painted
with oil-colors, the Tombola can be made to perform his pranks in a
basin of water.

Fig. 2 shows the interior of the egg and the position of the shot and
wax.




STORIES OF DOGS.


We are sure all young people will read with pleasure the following
description of a very remarkable dog which belonged to the Hon.
Alexander H. Stephens. This dog, which is mentioned in the _Life of Mr.
Stephens_, was a very large and fine white poodle, named Rio, a dog of
unusual intelligence and affection, to which Mr. Stephens became very
strongly attached. While Mr. Stephens was in Washington, Rio staid with
Linton Stephens, at Sparta, Georgia, until his master returned. Mr.
Stephens would usually come on during the session of Greene County
court, where Linton would meet him, having Rio with him in his buggy,
and the dog would then return with his master. When this had happened
once or twice, the dog learned to expect him on these occasions. The
cars usually arrived at about nine o'clock at night. During the evening,
Rio would be extremely restless, and at the first sound of the
approaching train he would rush from the hotel to the dépôt, and in a
few seconds would know whether his master was on the train or not, for
he would search for him through all the cars. He was well known to the
conductors, and if the train happened to start before Rio had finished
his search, they would stop to let him get out. But when his search was
successful, his raptures of joy at seeing his master again were really
affecting. His intelligence was so great that he seemed to understand
whatever was said to him; at a word he would shut a door as gently as a
careful servant might have done, or would bring a cane, hat, or
umbrella. He always slept in his master's room, which he scarcely left
during Mr. Stephens's attacks of illness. In a word, Mr. Stephens found
in him a companion of almost human intelligence, and of unbounded
affection and fidelity, and the tie between the man and the dog was
strong and enduring.

"For nearly thirteen years he was," says Mr. Stephens, "my constant
companion, when at home, day and night, and until he became blind, a few
years ago, he always attended me wherever I went, except to Washington.
You may well imagine, then, how I miss him!--miss him in the yard, in
the house, in my walks; for though blind, he used to follow me about the
lot wherever I went. When I was reading or writing, he was always at my
feet. At night, too, his bed was the foot of my own. His beautiful white
thick coat of wool was soft as silk. Who that knew him as I did could
refrain from shedding a tear for poor Rio?"

Of course he was properly interred, in a coffin, in the garden, and
placed in the position in which he usually slept, with his face on his
fore-feet.

The smartest Newfoundland dog yet discovered lives at Haverhill,
Massachusetts. He meets the newsboy at the gate every morning, and
carries his master's paper into the house; that is, he did so till the
other day, when his master stopped taking the paper. The next morning
the dog noticing the boy passing on the other side without leaving the
newspaper, went over and took the whole bundle from him, and carried
them into the house. That's the kind of dog _he_ is.




[Illustration]

Ike and Tommy know that Aunt Patty is awfully scared of Tramps, and so
they rig up this figure, and knock at the door. Dreadful mean, wasn't
it?





End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, January 13, 1880, by Various

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, JAN 13, 1880 ***

***** This file should be named 28304-8.txt or 28304-8.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/3/0/28304/

Produced by Annie McGuire

Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.

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



*** START: FULL LICENSE ***

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1.F.

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

1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation

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

The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at http://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:
     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
     Chief Executive and Director
     gbnewby@pglaf.org


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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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


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


Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:

     http://www.gutenberg.net

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