Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, July 20, 1880, by Various

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Title: Harper's Young People, July 20, 1880
       An Illustrated Weekly

Author: Various

Release Date: June 5, 2009 [EBook #29043]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, JULY 20, 1880 ***




Produced by Annie McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S

YOUNG PEOPLE

AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]

       *       *       *       *       *

VOL. I.--NO. 38. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.

Tuesday, July 20, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.

       *       *       *       *       *




[Illustration: "A POOR, DOOD, DEAD BEAR."--DRAWN BY W. M. CARY.]

THE BIGGEST BLACKBERRY PICKER.

BY W. O. STODDARD.


Dot Calliper had come out on the mountain-side, with all the rest of
them, after blackberries.

She had picked her little pail full industriously, but she was too fat
and too small to climb any further among the rocks and stumps and
bushes, so they had left her there, in the shade of the great
chestnut-tree, to watch the milk-pails.

Not that there was any milk in them just now, for all three of them were
more than half full of great, plump, overgrown berries--blackberries,
and the best and largest anybody had ever seen among those mountains.
Such a season for berries!

There had been a great fire three years before, and it had burned the
woods away, and nobody knew where the blackberry bushes had come from,
but they had moved right in as if the country belonged to them, and they
had climbed all over everything.

Dot sat by her pails and looked around, and she was half sorry all the
berries near her had been picked and put into the big pails.

All the rest, even Johnny Coyne and Pen Burke, had little pails or else
baskets, except Dot's big brother Bob, and he was now away up the
mountain-side with a pail that would hold almost as much as a milk-pail.

Dot knew where the others were picking, for they didn't keep still a
minute. Jessie Mack and Betsy were down among the rocks at her right,
and Molly Calliper was with the boys up there on the left.

Dot was not in the least afraid at being alone, but she did wish she was
hungry enough to eat some more berries.

She thought of it, and she tried to, but it was of no use, for all the
while she had been picking she had put one berry in her rosy little
mouth every time she had put another in her little tin pail.

"Oh, so much berries!" sighed Dot. "They're all our berries, too."

Yes, and Mrs. Calliper meant to dry them all and sell them, and buy some
things for Dot and Molly and the baby. Bob had said that he meant to
sell his own berries and buy him a new gun.

Want of appetite was the trouble with Dot; but there was somebody else
in there, among the thickest of those bushes, picking, picking, picking,
and eating every one he picked, and that fellow had never seen an hour
in all his life when he could not have eaten some more blackberries.

An enormous fellow he was, and fatter for his size than Dot Calliper was
for hers. He did not look at all ill-natured, and there was even a sort
of funny twinkle in his little black eyes, as he pulled the branches
full of fruit to his mouth with his great clumsy-looking paws.

They were not half so clumsy as they looked, and they were armed with
long, sharp, cruel claws that were bent in a curve, like the teeth of
the big shell comb Dot's mother bought of the peddler for her back hair.
Then, too, when his mouth opened wide, as it did when he made one of his
lazy, sleepy yawns, the teeth he showed were something dreadful to look
at. Teeth of that size were never needed for eating such things as
blackberries. They looked a great deal more as if they were meant for
eating Dot Callipers.

He was evidently very fond of berries, and did not seem to have any
doubt but what they all belonged to him. It was just as if he had
offered a prize that summer for the bush that would bear the most
blackberries, and was now going around among them to see which had won
it. Every bush he came to just held out its branches for him to look at;
but if Dot had been watching him, she would have seen at once that the
fat old rascal never seemed to count the berries at all, but just
gathered and swallowed them. How would he be able to tell, when he was
done, which bush had done the best for him?

But Dot was not watching him. She had not even seen him yet, and she did
not know he was there till he made a great crash among the bushes, when
his foot slipped, and he rolled down through half a dozen of them.

"Bob," exclaimed Dot, "is that you? Did you tumble down?"

There was no answer, and she asked again, "Bob, did you 'pill your
berries?"

Then she thought she heard something like a grunt, such as the pigs made
when they were rooting in the garden, and she and Bob went to drive them
out, and she said, "Oh, the pids are come! they'll pick all our
berries."

Then there came more rustling and crashing among the bushes, and then
Dot jumped up and got behind the three big pails, for it was not
anything like a pig that came out and began to walk toward the
chestnut-tree.

"Oh dear me!" whispered the frightened Dot. "I daren't 'peak to him."

Neither did he say a word to her. He did not even tell her his name was
Bruin, and that he was fond of blackberries, but he walked straight
forward, and his little black eyes were twinkling more brightly than
ever.

As fast as he came forward Dot stepped back, till she stood right
against the tree, and then she slipped around behind it, and began to
feel that she was perfectly safe.

Bruin looked into one pail after another, as if he saw at once that all
the bushes were beaten, and was trying to decide to which of the pails
the prize belonged.

"Bob! Bob!" screamed Dot, at the top of her little voice, "there's a
bear come, and he's 'tealing our berries."

He was eating them up very fast, that was a fact--for all the world as
if they had been picked for his benefit.

Perhaps he would have liked them better with plenty of milk and sugar,
but he did not ask Dot for anything of the kind. He just sat down on the
grass, and took a big pail up in his lap with his clumsy fore-paws, and
then lifted it high enough to bury half his head in it.

Dot saw that he knew exactly how to eat blackberries out of a milk-pail,
and she felt sure they would not last him long.

"Molly! Jessie! Betsy! Johnny Coyne! Pen Burke! the bear's 'tealing the
berries!"

The other children heard her, and they all began to scream together:
"Bear! bear! He's eating up Dot and the berries."

Bruin had not so much as said a cross word to Dot, although it was true
that he had not thanked her for the berries; but he was just lifting the
second pail to his mouth, when Dot's big brother Bob heard the
screaming, and came hurrying down the hill toward the chestnut-tree.

"Der's one pail left, but he's eat up the odders," said Dot, excitedly,
as Bob sprang out of the nearest bushes; but to her surprise he did not
pay the least attention to the berries or the bear. He just caught up
Dot herself in his strong arms, and ran away with her.

"Bob, did you lose your pail?"

"Boys! Betsy! Molly!" shouted Bob, "run! run!"

They did run; but they were not like Bob, for every one of them kept
tight hold of their berry pails. They could not run fast among so many
rocks and bushes, but they could scramble, and they had not gone far
before they heard a great rough voice near them shouting,

"Hullo! What's arter ye all? Did ye git skeered?"

"Joe--Joe Mix!" exclaimed Bob. "The biggest bear you ever saw in your
life. Ain't I glad you've got your gun along!"

"Bar? Whar?"

"Up among the blackberries."

"And I haven't a bullet nor a buckshot; nothin' but small shot. Tell ye
what, Bob. Drap that little one. The bar won't foller ye. You jest run
for the house and git yer gun, and tell yer father, and have him come
along, and bring some buckshot and slugs for me. Bars is fat now, and
we'll jest gather this one."

Bob was putting Dot on the ground, when she said to him,

"Make the bear div back the pails, too."

While Bob was gone, Joe Mix made Dot tell him all about it, but he said,

"I guess I won't go ahead and scare him off; he'll stay and pick
around."

"He'll pick all our berries."

"Now, Dot, there's berries enough. We'll pick him. It won't do to have
him come and pick some of your father's pigs."

"Would he pick me?"

"Not unless the berries were all gone, and the nuts too, and the pigs.
But I'm glad Bob got away with ye. He might have mistaken ye for a
berry."

"I wasn't in a pail; I got behind a tree."

Dot had been pretty well scared, but Bruin had behaved very well, except
about the berries, and she was not half so much frightened as the older
children were. Molly and Betsy came and hugged her ever so hard, and
Johnny Coyne exclaimed,

"Tell you what, Joe, if I'd had a gun!"

"Oh, don't I wish I'd had a gun!" echoed Pen Burke; and then they both
said they'd bring guns with them the next time they came after berries.

Bob Calliper must have been a good runner, and his father too, for it
was wonderful how soon the noise they made among the bushes below told
that they were coming.

That was not all, either, for a little distance behind them was Mrs.
Calliper herself, all out of breath, with the baby in her arms, and she
was not nearly so careful as usual in handing the baby to Molly, she was
in such a hurry to hug Dot, and kiss her, and exclaim, "Dear! dear!
dear! My pet! Bears! Oh, Dot, bears! Berries! My precious!"

"The bear dot the berries, mamma."

"Berries indeed! Who cares for berries!"

Joe Mix asked, the moment Bob came near enough, "Any slugs for me?"

And Bob held out to him a handful of buckshot and rifle-bullets.

Joe had been drawing the old charge out of his gun, and loading it again
with more powder, and now he poured in half a dozen big buckshot and
three bullets.

"They'll do for slugs. Got yer rifle, Mr. Calliper?"

"No, Bob's brought that. I've got my double-barrelled deer gun, and I've
stuck an awful charge into it."

"That'll do."

"Mary Jane," said her husband to Mrs. Calliper, "you and the children go
on down the hill. Pen, you and Johnny see if you can't haul out that old
stone-boat. It lies up this way, close to the foot of the mountain.
We'll need it to get the bear home."

"Oh, mamma," exclaimed Dot, "is the bear comin' to our house?"

She knew very well that if he did, he would eat up all the berries that
were spread out on the roof to dry, but her father and Joe Mix and Bob
hurried away in the direction of the big chestnut.

Mrs. Calliper would not let any of the children go, but she put down Dot
to carry the baby.

Pen and Johnny were a little sulky at not being allowed to help hunt the
bear, but they were glad to have something to do, and went on after the
stone-boat.

That was a kind of flat sled, made of a thick piece of plank, and used
to haul stones on, and they found it just where Mr. Calliper said.

He and Joe and Bob went on up the mountain-side more and more carefully,
but they had not far to go, and pretty soon Bob whispered, "There he is;
he hasn't gone."

"Got a pail on each side of him, and another in his lap," said his
father.

"Now," said Joe, "we've got him. We must all shoot together. Keep yer
second barrel a moment, Mr. Calliper. Then give it to him."

Joe was an old hunter, and he wasn't good for anything else; but he knew
all about bears.

Mrs. Calliper and the children heard the guns go off pretty quickly
after that--bang! bang! bang! and then another bang.

"Oh dear! I hope they won't either of them get hurt!"

There was no danger of that, for the distance had been short, and ever
so many slugs and buckshot had struck Dot's bear almost at the same
time. He dropped the pail and rolled over on the ground, and he could
not have hurt any one after that. He could not have picked a blackberry.

There came a great shout of triumph down the mountain-side. "Mary Jane!
come and look at him!"

The boys heard it, and they tugged harder than ever at the stone-boat.

Such a bear that was!

"Such a berry big bear!" said Dot.

It was hard enough work to get him upon the stone-boat after it came,
and Mr. Calliper and Joe Mix and Bob were so long in dragging that load
to Mr. Calliper's house that the children had time to pick the three big
pails full of berries again.

Joe Mix sat down on a log in front of the door, and mopped his face with
his handkerchief, and Pen and Johnny took a useless pull at the
stone-boat with the bear on it, and Mrs. Calliper stood behind her
husband and hugged the baby.

They had put the three pails of berries down only a few feet from the
nose of the bear as he lay on the stone-boat, and Jessie Mack and Betsy
went and stood behind the pails, where they were safe, but Dot wasn't a
bit afraid of that bear now. She toddled close up to her father, as he
stood at the head of the stone-boat, and looked down on the great furry
berry picker.

"He didn't pick me, papa."

"No, Dot," remarked Joe Mix; "he couldn't sit up now ef you brung him
all the berries you've got."

"He's a poor, dood, dead bear," said Dot, pityingly. "Poor bear!"

"Wa'al, no, Dot," said Joe, "he's the fattest bar I ever hauled on. It's
all along of thar being sech heaps and heaps of berries this year."




IN THE SWING.

BY M. M.


  Oh, swing me high, and swing me low,
    Under the linden-tree,
  Whose fragrant blossoms, like a shower,
    Fall down and cover me.

  The sunshine flickers through the leaves
    As to and fro I swing;
  Gay butterflies go flashing by;
    Birds in the tree-top sing.

  The brook tells stories to the flowers
    The livelong summer day;
  And everywhere the earth is bright,
    And all the world is gay.

  So swing me high, and swing me low,
    Under the linden-tree,
  And let the blossoms, like a shower,
    Fall down and cover me.




PEARLS--REAL AND IMITATION.

FROM ADVANCE SHEETS OF "THE BOY TRAVELLERS IN THE FAR EAST." PART
SECOND.

BY THOMAS W. KNOX.


While on their way from Bangkok to Singapore, Frank and Fred were much
interested in accounts of some of the wonders of the Eastern seas given
them by Captain Johnson, a fellow-passenger. In answer to some of their
inquiries about pearls, he gave them the following information:

"One of the favorite fishing grounds for pearls is at Bahrein, on the
Persian Gulf. The divers bring in the oysters from the fishing banks in
the Gulf, and pile them on the shore in great heaps. Here they lie till
they are rotted; and the stench that arises is enough to turn any
inexperienced stomach. When the substance of the oyster is quite
decomposed, the shells are opened, and the mass of matter they contain
is thrown into tubs, and washed with water. It is necessary to pass the
pulp very carefully through the fingers, for fear that some of the
pearls will be lost, and consequently the washing is very slow. When a
pearl beyond a certain size is found, the washer receives a handsome
present; but below the regulation figure he gets nothing but his daily
wages. Large pearls are very rare, and consequently the chances that a
pearl-washer will make a fortune by a lucky find are exceedingly small.

"There is a belief quite current through the East that the pearl is a
drop of rain-water which has fallen into the shell of the oyster when he
was at the surface, and been afterward hardened. This is a pretty bit of
sentiment; but as the oyster never goes to the surface unless he is
carried there, the story does not have much foundation to rest upon."

"If the pearl is so valuable, and so difficult to get, I should think
there would be men who would try to imitate it," Frank remarked.

"You are quite right," was the reply; "and men have tried a great many
times to make false pearls."

"Have they succeeded?"

"Partially, but not altogether. No counterfeit pearls have yet been made
that could pass all the tests of the genuine; but their lustre is quite
equal sometimes to the best pearls of Ceylon, and they can be made to
deceive anybody but an expert."

"How do they make them?"

[Illustration]

"The best of the false pearls," said the Captain, "are made by what is
known as Jaquin's process. M. Jaquin was a manufacturer of beads in
France, and he spent a great deal of time and money in trying to make
his beads better than any other man's. One day he was walking in his
garden, and observed a remarkably silvery lustre on some water in a
basin. It instantly occurred to him that if he could put that lustre on
his beads, he would have something decidedly new.

"So he called his old servant, and asked what had been in the water. She
answered that it was nothing but some little fish called _ablettes_,
that had been crushed in the basin, and she had neglected to throw the
water out.

"M. Jaquin was very glad, for once, that she had neglected her duty. He
began experimenting with the scales of the ablette, or bleak--a little
fish about the size of a sardine, and very abundant in certain parts of
Europe. After several trials he adopted the plan of washing the scales
several times in water, and saving the sediment that gathered at the
bottom of the basin. This was about the consistency of oil, and had the
lustre he desired. Next, he blew some beads of very thin glass, and
after coating the inside of a bead with this substance, he filled it up
with wax, so as to give it solidity. Thus the fish scales gave the
lustre, the glass gave the polish and brilliancy that we find on the
genuine pearl, and the wax furnished a solid backing to the thin glass.
It is fortunate that the bleak is very abundant, or he would run the
risk of extermination."

"Is the manufacture of false pearls so great as that?" Fred inquired.

"It is pretty extensive," was the Captain's response, "but not
enormously so. The fact is, it requires more than a thousand of these
little fish to make an ounce of the 'essence d'Orient,' as the French
call it, or essence of pearl. Other substances have been tried, in the
hope of obtaining the same result for a smaller outlay, but none of them
have been entirely successful.

"In China and Japan the natives have long followed the practice of
putting small beads of porcelain inside the oyster, and then returning
him to the water, where he is left undisturbed for three or four years.
At the end of that time he is taken up and opened, and the beads are
found to be coated with the pearly substance. They also have the trick
of putting little images or idols into the oyster, and in course of time
these become coated over in the manner I have described."




[Begun in No. 31 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, June 1.]

THE MORAL PIRATES.

BY W. L. ALDEN.


CHAPTER VIII.

The next morning the boys awoke early, having had a thoroughly good
night's rest. Tom, whose turn it was to go for milk, found a
well-stocked farm-house, where he obtained not only milk, bread, and
eggs, but a supply of butter, and a chicken all ready for cooking. After
breakfast the boat was put in the water, and, to the delight of all,
proved to be almost as tight as she was before running into the rock. A
little water came in at first under the edges of the zinc, but in a
short time the wood swelled, and the leak entirely ceased.

The boat was loaded, and the boys were ready to start soon after six
o'clock. There was no wind, but the two long oars, pulled one by Tom and
the other by Jim, sent her along at a fine rate. They rowed until ten
o'clock, resting occasionally for a few moments, and then, as there were
no signs of a breeze, and as it was growing excessively hot, they went
ashore, to wait until afternoon before resuming their journey.

[Illustration: JIM AND JOE PLAY MUMBLE-TO-PEG.]

The sun became hotter and hotter. The boys tried to fish, but there was
no shade near the bank of the river, and it was too hot to stand or sit
in the sunshine and wait for fish to bite. They went in swimming, but
the sun, beating on their heads, seemed hotter while they were in the
water than it did when they were on the land. Jim and Joe tried a game
of mumble-to-peg, but they gave it up long before they had reached
"cars." It was probably the hottest day of the year; and as it was
clearly impossible to row or to do anything else while the heat lasted,
the boys brought their blankets from the boat, and going to a grove not
far from the shore, lay down and fell asleep.

They were astonished to find, when they awoke, that it was two o'clock.
None of them had been accustomed to sleep in the daytime, and they could
not understand how it came about that they had all slept for fully two
hours. They had yet to learn that one of the results of "camping out,"
or living in the open air, is an ability to sleep at almost any time.
All animals and wild creatures, whether they are beasts or savages, have
this happy faculty of sleeping in the daytime. It is one of the habits
of our savage ancestors that comes back to us when we abandon
civilization, and live as Aryan tribes, from whom we are descended,
lived in the far East, before they marched with their wives and children
and cattle from India, and made themselves new homes in Europe.

After lunch the boys prepared to start, although there was still no
wind; but when they went down to the boat they found that the sun was as
hot as ever. So they returned to the shade of the grove, and made up
their minds to stay there until the end of the afternoon.

"Harry," said Tom, "we've been on the river three days, and we are only
a little way above Hudson. How much longer will it be before we get to
Albany?"

"We ought to get there in two days more, even if we have to row all the
way," replied Harry.

"And after we get to Albany, what are we to do next?"

"We are going up the Champlain Canal to Fort Edward. There we will have
a wagon to carry us and the boat to Warrensburg, on the Schroon River,
and will go up the river to Schroon Lake. Uncle John laid out the route
for us."

"How many days will it take us to get to the lake?" asked Tom.

Harry thought awhile. "There's two days more on the Hudson, two on the
canal, and maybe two on the Schroon River. And then there's a Sunday,
which don't count. It'll be just a week before we get to the lake."

"I've got to be home by two weeks from next Monday," continued Tom, "so
I sha'n't have much time on the lake. Can't we get along a little
faster? There's a full moon to-night, and suppose we sail all night--or
row, if the wind doesn't come up?"

"That's a first-rate idea," exclaimed Harry. "We can take turns sleeping
in the bottom of the boat. Why, if the breeze comes up in the night, we
might make twenty or thirty miles before morning."

All the boys liked the plan of sailing at night, and they resolved to
adopt it. While they were yet discussing it, a light breeze sprang up,
from the south as usual, and they hastened to take advantage of it. In
the course of an hour more the sun began to lose its power; and when
they went ashore at six o'clock to cook their supper, they had sailed
about fifteen miles.

As they expected to make so much progress during the night, they were in
no hurry about supper, and it was not until after seven o'clock that
they again made sail. Harry divided the crew into watches--one
consisting of himself and Joe Sharpe, and the other of Tom and Jim. Each
watch was to have charge of the boat for three hours, while the other
watch slept. At eight o'clock Tom and Jim lay down in the bottom of the
boat, and Joe came aft to take Tom's customary place at the sheet.
Harry, of course, steered.

All went well. The breeze was light but steady, and Harry kept the boat
in the middle of the river to avoid another shipwreck. The watch below
did not sleep much, for they had had a long nap at noon, and, besides,
the novelty of their position made them wakeful. They had just dropped
asleep when eleven o'clock arrived, and they were awakened to relieve
the other watch. Tom went sleepily to the helm, and Harry and Joe gladly
"turned in," and were soon fast asleep.

Tom always declares that he never closed his eyes while he was at the
helm, and Jim also asserts that he was wide-awake during his entire
watch, though neither he nor Tom spoke, for fear of waking up the other
boys. It was strange that these two wide-awake young Moral Pirates did
not notice that a large steamboat--one of the Albany night boats--was in
sight, until she was within a mile of them, and it is just possible
that, without knowing it, they were a little too drowsy to keep a proper
look-out.

As soon as Tom saw the steamboat, he remarked, "Halloo! there's one of
the Albany boats," and steered the boat over toward the east shore. The
breeze had nearly died away, and the _Whitewing_ moved very slowly. The
steamboat came rapidly down the river, her paddles throbbing loudly in
the night air. Jim began to get a little uneasy, and said, "I hope she
won't run us down."

"Oh, there's no danger!" replied Tom; "we shall get out of her way easy
enough."

But, to his dismay, the steamboat, instead of keeping in the middle of
the river, presently turned toward the east shore, as if she were bent
upon running down the _Whitewing_. Tom was now really alarmed; and as he
saw that the sail was doing very little good, he hurriedly told Jim to
take down the mast and get out the oars as quick as possible. Jim
rapidly obeyed the order, dropping the mast on Harry's head, and
catching Joe by the nose in his search for the oars. By this time Tom
had begun to hail the steamboat at the top of his lungs; but no
attention was paid to him by the steamboat men, since the noise of the
paddles drowned Tom's voice. Harry and Joe, who were now wide-awake, saw
what danger they were in, and they sprang to the oars. The steamboat was
frightfully near, and still hugging the shore; but Tom called on the
boys to give way with their oars, and steered straight for the shore,
knowing that there must be room for the boat between the steamboat and
the bank of the river, and fearing that if he steered in the opposite
direction the steamboat might change her course and run them down, when
they would have little chance of escape by swimming.

It was certainly very doubtful if they could avoid the steamboat, and
Tom was well aware of it. He told the other boys that, if they were sure
to be run down, they must jump before the steamboat struck them, and
dive, so as to escape the paddles. "I'll tell you when to jump, if worst
comes to worst," said he; "but don't you look around now, nor do
anything but row. Row for your lives, boys."

And the boys did row gallantly. Harry had a pair of sculls, and Jim had
a long oar, and between them they made the boat fly through the water.
As they neared the shore, it seemed to them that there was not more than
three feet of space between the steamboat and the land; and Tom had
almost made up his mind that the cruise was coming to a sudden end, when
the great steamboat swung her head around, and drew out toward the
middle of the river. She did not seem to be more than a rod from them as
she changed her course, though in reality she was probably much farther
off. At the same moment the _Whitewing_ reached what appeared to be the
shore, but what was really a long row of piles projecting about a foot
above the water. The boys had just ceased rowing, and Tom had given the
boat a sheer with the rudder, so as to bring her alongside of the piles,
when the steamboat's swell, which the boys, in their excitement over
their narrow escape, had totally forgotten, came rushing up, seized the
boat, and threw it over the piles into a shallow and muddy lagoon.

It was almost miraculous that the boat was not capsized; but she was
actually lifted up and thrown over the piles, without taking more than a
few quarts of spray into her. When they saw that they were absolutely
safe, the boys began to wonder how in the world they could get the boat
back into the river, and Jim proposed to light the lantern and see if
anything was missing out of the boat, and if she had been injured.

"Now I see why the steamboat did not notice us," exclaimed Tom.

"Why?" asked all the others together.

"Because," he replied, "we have been such everlasting idiots as to sail
at night without showing a light."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




HOW GIL PLAYED VENTRILOQUIST.

BY JAMES B. MARSHALL.


It was before Dora and Gil Norman came back to the city last fall with
their mamma from Farmer Jonathan's, where their papa joined them every
Saturday afternoon and staid until Monday morning. If you had asked Dora
or Gil what the farmer's full name was, the answer would probably have
been, "Why, Farmer Jonathan, of course." Every one called him Farmer
Jonathan, but his letters were usually directed, "Mr. Jonathan
Wainwright."

One morning he came to the house from his great barn, and told Dora and
Gil to go down there and see the largest load of hay that he had ever
had on his hay-wagon.

Going to the barn, they saw the huge load of hay waiting for the horses
to be put to the wagon tongue, and a long ladder reared against the
wagon, by which the farm men had descended from the top of the load
after completing it.

"I'm going to the top to see how high it looks," said Gil, beginning to
climb.

Dora watched him until he was about half way up the ladder, and then
thought that she too would like to see how high it looked. Gil had not
thought of Dora following him, nor of the danger she would run, even
more than his own small self, climbing to that considerable height,
until he had reached the top, and saw that she was half way up. Then he
did wisely, encouraging her to continue to climb rather than frightening
her by sending her back, and he joyfully caught her in his arms, drawing
her to the middle of the broad top of the load of hay. When Farmer
Jonathan should come down to the barn to see the horses put to the load,
or when Sam should come with the horses, Gil intended to call out, and
have Dora carried down the ladder. Gil couldn't see over the sides of
the hay, but he knew he would hear Farmer Jonathan or Sam the moment
that either of them should come into the barn.

It was so very pleasant to lie half buried on the sweet hay, watching
the swallows darting and circling among the barn rafters away above
them, that while Gil was wondering why Dora should be taking a nap, his
own head nodded in sleep.

When Gil awoke, the whole load was shaking, and he called out, "Are you
there, Farmer Jonathan?" Receiving no answer, he rubbed his eyes, and
found that he was not in the barn at all. "I've been asleep," said Gil,
sitting up, "and Farmer Jonathan is taking us to town on top of his hay,
and don't know it. That's jolly. When we get to town, and stop, I can
make him hear me, if I can't now, and he will take us down. Then we can
see him sell the hay, and afterward, as we ride home, perhaps he will
let us take turns driving."

"Oh, won't that be just splendid!" said Dora, having awakened in time to
hear nearly all that Gil had been saying to himself.

When they began to pass houses, though they could see nothing of them
below the second-story windows, Gil and Dora knew that Farmer Jonathan
had reached the town, and was driving along the streets. Directly Dora
discovered the steeple of the church that stood just below their aunt
Mary's house. Then Gil, looking ahead, saw the very house, and, what was
more, Cousin Will eating from a paper of buns while he leaned out of the
window to watch the great load of hay coming down the street. Before the
wagon came opposite the window it was going on a noisy trot; Will caught
sight of Dora and Gil on top, and he was so much surprised that, when
Gil made a motion to him to throw them a bun, he threw the whole
paperful right on the hay.

While the hay-wagon rolled on, Gil and Dora began eating the buns, and
Will disappeared from the window. He went down stairs four steps at a
jump, tumbled into the dining-room, and astonished Aunt Mary, his
mother, very much by demanding, "Oh, mamma dear, can I go and take a
ride on an awful big load of hay?" Aunt Mary was for some time puzzled
to know just what her excited boy meant; but when she did understand,
she told him he might go and invite Farmer Jonathan, Gil, and Dora to
dinner. The hay-wagon had then disappeared down the street, and Will had
to stop every few minutes to inquire which way it had gone, for many
persons had noticed how large the load was.

As it was market-day in town, a number of people soon collected around
the wagon, when Farmer Jonathan stopped in front of Grocer Bacon's, and
went into the store to ask Bacon if he wouldn't buy the hay. Gil didn't
like to call to Farmer Jonathan while the people stood around, though by
getting as close to the edge of the hay as he dared, Gil could just have
a peep at him through the loose hay, as he stood in the store door
talking with Dionysius Bacon.

As Dionysius considered himself a pretty smart fellow, and enjoyed
cracking jokes with people, particularly when the joke was on his side,
he went on chaffing Farmer Jonathan about the hay. He offered to trade
brooms, clothes-lines, etc., for it, while those standing around
laughed, and those passing along the street paused to see what the fun
was.

"Now is this all nice hay?" asked Dionysius, speaking as though he was
done joking, and was very much in earnest. At the same time he was slyly
working a clothes-peg into the hay, which he intended to find in a
moment after, and then go on joking again.

"Every spear of it sweet and dry," was the answer.

"That's so, Grocer Bacon," exclaimed Gil, earnestly, and then lying very
quiet, so as not to be discovered, and also cautioning Dora.

Dionysius Bacon jumped away from the hay, dropped the clothes-peg, and
looked foolish, for the voice seemed to him, as well as to others, to
come right out of the middle of the load of hay.

"I didn't know that you pretended to be a ventriloquist, Farmer
Jonathan," said he, laughing; "but if you can't imitate a boy's voice
better than that, you should take some more lessons in the art."

Farmer Jonathan only smiled, and looked about him to see if he could
discover who the ventriloquist was.

"Mr. Dionysius Bacon, don't stand in the sun without your hat," said
Gil, in a queer voice. At this every one laughed and shouted, except
Dionysius. Gil and Dora laughed, because the people did, and this made
the others laugh and shout harder than ever.

"Good for you, Farmer Jonathan!" said half a dozen persons. "You ought
to hire the Music Hall, and start a show."

"I don't know anything about ventriloquism," said he, putting his hands
into his pockets, and chuckling at the very idea.

"But you can't imitate this," said Dionysius, trying not to appear
provoked: "'If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.'"

"'If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers,'" said Gil, imitating
the grocer's voice as near as he could. At which you could have heard
the people's ha! ha! has! and their shouts of delight a block away.

"Now do you still mean to tell me, Farmer Jonathan, that you are not
playing this trick?" asked the grocer.

"Certainly I do. But why don't you suspect some of these gentlemen?"

Then Dionysius appealed to each one separately, not even missing the
boys and girls who had been drawn to the spot by the merriment; but all
denied being able to ventriloquize, and said that they were sure it had
been Farmer Jonathan.

Still, of course, the farmer had to deny it.

"See here," said Dionysius, "I'll buy your hay, and treat every man,
girl, and boy present to Smith's best twenty-five-cent oyster stews, if
you're not the man; and if you are, you are to pay for the stews."

"One, two, three," said Farmer Jonathan, beginning to number those who
stood around.

"It don't matter if there are fifty of them," quickly interposed
Dionysius; "will you accept my wager or not?"

"I accept it, of course," said Farmer Jonathan.

Will, having sighted the hay-wagon, just then came running up the
street. "Please, Farmer Jonathan," said he, "mother wants you to come to
our house to dinner, and bring Gil and Dora. May I too climb up on your
hay?"

"Why, my little man, I left Gil and Dora out in the country, at my
farm," answered Farmer Jonathan.

"Oh no, you didn't. I saw them on top of your hay-wagon here when you
went past our house."

"How are you, Will?" shouted Gil, standing up on the hay.

Then, though the people could see nothing of Gil but his head, they knew
at once that Dionysius Bacon had lost his wager. When Farmer Jonathan
and some others had lifted Gil and Dora down to the sidewalk, they told
how they came to be on the hay. Afterward, Farmer Jonathan, Dionysius,
Dora, Gil, and Will headed a procession to Smith's oyster saloon of
those who had heard Dionysius make the wager.

It took forty-two oyster stews to supply all, and if it hadn't been a
market-day, and just about dinner-time, Smith wouldn't have known how to
have served them quickly. Forty-two stews, at a quarter each, you see,
would amount to $10.50, and though Smith only charged Dionysius an even
ten-dollar bill, the latter seemed to think that he wouldn't make any
more wagers that day.

The hay having been unloaded in the mean time, Farmer Jonathan drove
around by Will's home, stopping long enough to tell Aunt Mary about the
ventriloquist, and then continued on to the farm with Gil and Dora.

But the children hadn't been missed, because mamma thought that they
were over at the next farm-house, and she was looking for their return
every moment.




BEETLES.


The great family of beetles is one of the most important in the insect
world. In burning sandy plains, in tropical jungles, in fresh green
fields, in bogs and swamps--wherever there is a bit of earth or
water--there are beetles of one kind or another, following out the
instincts assigned to them by nature.

The beetle known as the sacred scarabaeus was held in great veneration by
the ancient Egyptians, and is carved in great profusion on their tombs.
Small gold and porcelain figures of the scarabaeus, which were strung on
necklaces, and used in other ways for personal ornaments, have also been
found in Egyptian sarcophagi.

The way the sacred scarabaeus deposits its eggs is a wonderful exhibition
of animal instinct. First collecting an ample supply of the material
which the young larvae will need for food, she places her eggs in the
middle of it. She then rolls it into a lump, and starts with it on a
voyage of discovery. She works backward, pushing the ball containing her
eggs behind her, until she finds soil in which she can burrow and
conceal her precious burden. It is said to be for this peculiarity that
the scarabaeus was venerated by the ancient Egyptians. The lump of earth
containing the eggs was considered an emblem of fruitfulness, and the
devotion of the scarabaeus, which would lose its life rather than its
precious eggs, was thought to symbolize the exceeding love of the
Creator toward men.

The tiger-beetles, of which there are many varieties, are one of the
most important branches of the family. They have great hooked jaws,
formed to seize the small insects upon which they live. They can not
exist in very cold countries, and they are rarely found in cultivated
land, as they prefer burrowing in loose, sandy soil, where their little
homes are not in danger of being disturbed by the gardener's spade. A
remarkable tiger-beetle is the gold-cross of India, which has a deep
velvety black body, and a golden mark on its wings in shape like a St.
Andrew's cross. The prevailing colors of the tiger-beetle are black,
green, and blue; but there is a little Brazilian member of the family of
a glistening metallic crimson. It has very long legs, and prefers
climbing among the foliage to living on the ground, like most varieties
of the tiger-beetle. Its movements are very quick. It will pounce like
lightning on a fly, which can rarely escape the grasp of this formidable
enemy.

A very curious beetle is the bombardier, a brown creature with green
gloss on its wings. It carries a little bomb-shell, which it uses as a
weapon of defense when disturbed by an enemy. It is a very sociable
little bug, and will gather in a crowd under big flat stones in damp
places. If the stone is suddenly overturned, the bombardiers at once
begin a cannonade like the explosion of a grain of gunpowder, and throw
out a puff of whitish vapor resembling smoke. The bombardiers of South
America, China, and other warm countries, are much larger than those
found in England, and the fluid they eject, which causes the tiny
explosion, is capable of making a black stain, and leaving an unpleasant
burning sensation upon the hand of any one trying to capture them.

A large member of the beetle family is found in Nicaragua. It is about
five inches long, and is called the big-bodied elephant. It is black in
color, but appears of a yellowish-chestnut, as it is entirely covered
with a thick, soft fur, something like the down on a butterfly's wing,
which rubs off very easily, and shows the scaly black surface beneath.
The big-bodied elephant is armed with a formidable black horn, forked at
the end, which curves upward like the horn of a white rhinoceros.

Certain species of the elater beetles are familiar to every school-boy.
Elater signifies striking or bounding. Boys will know better what is
meant by an elater beetle if they are told that it is the same thing as
a skip-jack, or snapping-bug. If this beetle is laid on its back, its
legs are unable to reach to either side and gain a foot-hold, and it can
not roll over. It accordingly goes through a gymnastic movement. Curling
its legs closely to its body, it arches itself a little, and suddenly
springs into the air, landing on its feet, in which position it is again
master of itself.

The most remarkable among the elater beetles is the cuculio, or
fire-fly, of the tropics. It is a very common-looking dark brown beetle
in the daytime, the two beads, one on each side of its head, which at
night are so luminous and beautiful, being dull white. But, wait until
night comes, and then what countless pairs of tiny yellow-green lanterns
are flying over the fields, and creeping about among the foliage! Boys
and girls in Cuba make cages of stout reeds, and fill them with
cuculios. If the cage is hung in a dark room, the light from the
cuculios is strong enough to enable one to read print, if the book is
held near the cage. There is also a small place underneath the body from
which this singular beetle emits light, but the effect is not so
beautiful as that of the two beads on the head. If the cuculio is
disturbed by being shaken in its cage, or in any other way, the light it
throws out intensifies until it is fairly dazzling.

These beautiful beetles may easily be brought across the ocean in their
little cages, and if guarded from cold air, and fed plentifully with
sugar-cane, from which they suck the juice, or even with coarse brown
sugar moistened a little, they will live a long time.

[Illustration: BEETLES--AN EVENING FLIGHT.]

These varieties of beetles mentioned are only a small handful among
thousands, for there are more members of this great family than
naturalists have yet been able to count. There are beetles that fly by
night, and beetles that fly by day; some that live in the ground, others
in the water, and yet others on trees and among the leaves and flowers.
They are of all colors, and of varied appetites, some living solely on
insects, others on fruits and vegetables and leaves of different kinds.




[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 37, July 13.]

THE STORY OF THE AMERICAN NAVY.

BY BENSON J. LOSSING.


CHAPTER II.

There was war on the bosom of Lake Champlain, in Northern New York, in
the fall of 1776. The British were about to invade the colonies from
Canada by way of that lake. To meet the danger, the Americans built a
small flotilla of gun-boats and gondolas in its upper waters. The
British constructed a flotilla at its foot. The former sailed from
Ticonderoga, under the command of Benedict Arnold, to confront the foe
at the foot of the lake. They met not far from Plattsburg, fought
desperately, but not decisively, and during the ensuing dark night
Arnold with his vessels escaped up the lake. The British pursued, and
gained a complete victory, but did not begin the invasion until the next
year.

In May, 1777, Captain Conyngham sailed from Dunkirk, France, in the brig
_Surprise_, with one of Franklin's commissions, and soon returned to
port with a British brig and packet as prizes. The French were
embarrassed. They desired to help the Americans, but did not wish to
provoke an open quarrel with the English just then. The English
Ambassador at Paris protested, and Conyngham and his crew were
imprisoned. They were soon released, and sailed in the _Revenge_ for
British waters, where they spread havoc among the English shipping. The
British were so scared that they were at their wits' end. Insurance rose
to twenty per centum; and so unwilling were English merchants to risk
their goods in British bottoms that at one time forty French vessels
were taking in cargoes in the Thames. The _Revenge_ tried to intercept
the British transports taking hired German troops to America, but
failed.

After the treaty of alliance with France was signed, the French openly
assisted the Americans, whose cruisers and privateers became more active
than ever. The story of their exploits in detail forms a most romantic
chapter of American history.

In the spring of 1778, John Paul Jones first appeared in European
waters. With the _Ranger_, of eighteen guns, he went up the western
coast of England to Whitehaven; seized the fort, spiked the cannons, set
fire to the shipping, and departed as quickly as he came. Then he
attempted to make his father's old friend, the Scotch Earl of Selkirk, a
prisoner, but failed. His men carried off the family plate, which Jones
restored to Lady Selkirk. Sweeping around Ireland, he made several
prizes, and sailed for France. This raid greatly frightened the people
of the English coasts. To their imagination Jones seemed like a revived
old Sea King of the North.

Jones was again in British waters in September, 1779. Dr. Franklin and
the French King had jointly fitted out an expedition to cruise in the
British Channel and the German Ocean, and placed Jones in command. His
flagship was the _Bon Homme Richard_. With his little squadron he went
far up the eastern coast of Great Britain; and on a moon-lit evening had
a desperate battle with the _Serapis_, the larger of two armed vessels
just started to convoy the English Baltic fleet across the German Ocean.

[Illustration: BATTLE BETWEEN THE "BON HOMME RICHARD" AND THE
"SERAPIS."--DRAWN BY HOWARD PYLE.]

Jones ran the _Richard_ alongside the _Serapis_, lashed them together;
and so, muzzle to muzzle, they poured destructive broadsides into each
other for an hour and a half. Sometimes both vessels were on fire. When
for a minute the _Richard_ ceased firing, the Captain of the _Serapis_
called out, "Have you struck your colors?" "I have not yet begun to
fight," answered Jones. The struggle was fierce for a few minutes
longer, when the colors of the _Serapis_ were hauled down. When the
vessels were separated, the _Richard_ was sinking, and soon went to the
bottom of the sea. Her people took refuge on the _Serapis_, and she and
her consort were taken into the Texel, in Holland. When, afterward,
Jones heard that the King had knighted the commander of the _Serapis_,
he said, "He deserves it; and if I fall in with him again, I'll make a
lord of him."

The fame of this victory soon spread abroad. The Congress gave Jones a
gold medal. European monarchs gave him tokens of high regard. At a grand
court banquet the King of France made him a Knight of the "Military
Order of Merit," and decorated him with its jewel. He is known in
history as the "Chevalier John Paul Jones."

Among the younger naval heroes of the war for independence, who
afterward became renowned, was Joshua Barney. At the close of 1780, when
he was less than twenty-two years of age, he was made Captain, put in
command of the frigate _Alliance_, and conveyed to France John Laurens,
a special envoy of the Congress. On his return Barney was attacked by
two armed English vessels, and after a severe engagement captured both
of them.

In the spring of 1782, Barney, in command of the _Hyder Ali_, a
Pennsylvania cruiser keeping the Delaware clear of English marauders,
honored the infant American navy by a brilliant exploit. He was
convoying some merchant vessels, and while at anchor near Cape May was
attacked by an English cruiser with two companions. He sent the
merchantmen up the river, and by an expert movement got the _Hyder Ali_
entangled with her antagonist in such a way that her great guns swept
the decks of the foe with a destructive raking fire. In less than half
an hour the British vessel (which proved to be the brig _General Monk_)
surrendered. She was badly bruised, and had lost fifty men. This was
"one of the most brilliant actions that ever occurred under the American
flag," wrote Cooper, fifty years afterward.

The war for independence was now about to close with triumph for the
Americans and their cause. The little Continental Navy had fully
justified the faith of the stout-hearted people by its grand
performances. This little David had fought the Goliath of England most
valiantly for seven years, and in the might of right its "pebbles from
the brook" had been equal in efficiency to the huge "spear" of the
boastful oppressor. Divine help gave final victory to the patriots.

During the war the Americans had thirty-six public vessels afloat,
besides swarms of active and efficient privateers. They had also built a
large 74-gun ship (the _America_), but before she was put to sea she was
presented to the French government. The veteran Manly, the pioneer of
the naval warfare on the part of the Americans, after a long captivity,
cruised in the _Hague_ among the West India Islands, until the
preliminary treaty of peace was signed in the fall of 1782. He there
closed the regular maritime operations which he had opened in 1775. The
cruisers were recalled, the commissions of the privateers were revoked,
and of all the vessels of the remarkable little Continental Navy only
the _Alliance_ remained in 1783. Nothing but the recollection of the
services and sufferings of the navy was left behind. The _Alliance_ was
reluctantly sold in 1785 to save the expense of repairs. The exhausted
Americans craved the enjoyment of peace, and felt no need of a navy.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




MR. MARTIN'S EYE.

BY JIMMY BROWN.


I've made up my mind to one thing, and that is, I'll never have anything
to do with Mr. Martin again. He ought to be ashamed of himself, going
around and getting boys into scrapes, just because he's put together so
miserably. Sue says she believes it's mucilage, and I think she's right.
If he couldn't afford to get himself made like other people, why don't
he stay at home? His father and mother must have been awfully ashamed of
him. Why, he's liable to fall apart at any time, Mr. Travers says, and
some of these days he'll have to be swept up off the floor, and carried
home in three or four baskets.

There was a ghost one time who used to go around, up stairs and down
stairs, in an old castle, carrying his head in his hand, and stopping in
front of everybody he met, but never saying a word. This frightened all
the people dreadfully, and they couldn't get a servant to stay in the
house unless she had the policeman to sit up in the kitchen with her all
night. One day a young doctor came to stay at the castle, and said he
didn't believe in ghosts, and that nobody ever saw a ghost, unless they
had been making beasts of themselves with mince-pie and wedding cake. So
the old lord of the castle he smiled very savage, and said, "You'll
believe in ghosts before you've been in this castle twenty-four hours,
and don't you forget it." Well, that very night the ghost came into the
young doctor's room, and woke him up. The doctor looked at him, and
said, "Ah, I perceive: painful case of imputation of the neck. Want it
cured, old boy?" The ghost nodded, though how he could nod when his head
was off I don't know. Then the doctor got up and got a thread and
needle, and sewed the ghost's head on, and pushed him gently out of the
door, and told him never to show himself again. Nobody ever saw that
ghost again, for the doctor had sewed his head on wrong side first, and
he couldn't walk without running into the furniture, and of course he
felt too much ashamed to show himself. This doctor was Mr. Travers's own
grandfather, and Mr. Travers knows the story is true.

But I meant to tell you about the last time Mr. Martin came to our
house. It was a week after I had scalped him; but I don't believe he
would ever have come if father hadn't gone to see him, and urged him to
overlook the rudeness of that unfortunate and thoughtless boy. When he
did come, he was as smiling as anything; and he shook hands with me, and
said, "Never mind, Bub, only don't do it again."

By-and-by, when Mr. Martin and Sue and Mr. Travers were sitting on the
piazza, and I was playing with my new base-ball in the yard, Mr. Martin
called out, "Pitch it over here; give us a catch." So I tossed it over
gently, and he pitched it back again, and said why didn't I throw it
like a man, and not toss it like a girl. So I just sent him a swift
ball--a regular daisy-cutter. I knew he couldn't catch it, but I
expected he would dodge. He did try to dodge, but it hit him alongside
of one eye, and knocked it out. You may think I'm exaggelying, but I'm
not. I saw that eye fly up against the side of the house, and then roll
down the front steps to the front walk, where it stopped, and winked at
me.

I turned, and ran out of the gate and down the street as hard as ever I
could. I made up my mind that Mr. Martin was spoiled forever, and that
the only thing for me to do was to make straight for the Spanish Main
and be a pirate. I had often thought I would be a pirate, but now there
was no help for it; for a boy that had knocked out a gentleman's eye
could never be let to live in a Christian country. After a while I
stopped to rest, and then I remembered that I wanted to take some
provisions in a bundle, and a big knife to kill wolves. So I went back
as soon as it was dark, and stole round to the back of the house, so I
could get in the window and find the carving knife and some cake. I was
just getting in the window, when somebody put their arms around me, and
said, "Dear little soul! was he almost frightened to death?" It was Sue,
and I told her that I was going to be a pirate and wanted the carving
knife and some cake and she mustn't tell father and was Mr. Martin dead
yet? So she told me that Mr. Martin's eye wasn't injured at all, and
that he had put it in again, and gone home; and nobody would hurt me,
and I needn't be a pirate if I didn't want to be.

It's perfectly dreadful for a man to be made like Mr. Martin, and I'll
never come near him again. Sue says that he won't come back to the
house, and if he does, she'll send him away with something--I forget
what it was--in his ear. Father hasn't heard about the eye yet, but if
he does hear about it, there will be a dreadful scene, for he bought a
new rattan cane yesterday. There ought to be a law to punish men that
sell rattan canes to fathers, unless they haven't any children.




POLLY.

BY FIDELIA REES MORTON.


"It's no use to tell me Polly Clark's only young and flighty, and that
she's got a good heart, and she'll be all right when she gets older, and
all that kind of thing. That's all stuff and nonsense. I tell you she's
the wickedest child I ever laid eyes on, and if she were a boy, I'd know
she'd be hung afore she died; as it is, she's sure to get her death in
some queer way, with all them outlandish goings on of her'n." Having
given vent to her feelings, and settled poor Polly's fate to her own
satisfaction, Deacon Jones's wife proceeded to relate the particulars of
the latest scandal to Sallie Perkins, the village gossip.

Mrs. Jones--alas that I am forced to say it!--was not alone in her
convictions. The majority of the inhabitants of L---- would have assured
you, with a solemn shake of the head, that Polly Clark was, without
exception, the "most ornery youngster" that ever was born, and "sech a
pity, too, that Squire Clark's only child should be sech an everlastin'
worrit to him." And yet a look at Polly would disarm suspicion. A more
gentle, lovable-looking girl it would be difficult to find; but then we
all know that appearances are deceitful. At church on Sunday she looked
so fair and innocent, always paying such good attention to the sermon,
and gazing so earnestly at the minister with those clear, soft brown
eyes of hers, as if _so_ anxious to understand every word he uttered,
that the uninitiated would be ready to declare that hers was indeed a
heart without guile. But those who knew her best were well aware that
behind this calm exterior was a mind in which the love of mischief
reigned supreme, and for aught they knew, at the very moment when she
seemed most impressed by the minister's arguments, she had unexpectedly
thought of some brilliant plan that promised ill for the peace of mind
of some intended victim. Indeed, as poor nervous little Mrs. Clark said,
"No one ever knows what Polly is going to do next. I never get up in the
morning but I dread what may happen before night. I don't even feel safe
about her after she goes to bed, since the time she went into the woods
in the middle of the night to try some trick or other with a dead cat,
thinking, silly child, that in that way she could cure a wart she had on
her thumb. But then," Mrs. Clark always adds, "Polly is always so
good-tempered when she is scolded for doing wrong, and seems really to
be so sorry about it, that I can't help forgiving her, and hoping she
will do better next time. But she don't; she keeps on doing the most
dreadful things, and--" And here the poor little woman generally broke
down completely, and wept bitterly over the unaccountable depravity of
her only child.

As her mother said, Polly did indeed do "dreadful things." Many were the
sermons the kind-hearted old minister had preached, which, although
delivered to the congregation at large, were expressly intended to move
Polly's heart, while she would sit calmly unconscious through them all,
wondering what old Aunt Cassy would say when she found her pet Tabby
gayly decorated with red, white, and blue paint in honor of the glorious
Fourth; or whether Granny Lukens would enjoy the flavor of Cayenne
pepper in her tea.

All the old ladies in the neighborhood stood in wholesome awe of her,
and Mrs. Jones's melancholy predictions for her future were called forth
by the remembrance of how, a week before, Polly had presented her with a
batch of doughnuts of her own making, which, when partaken of by some
friends invited to tea, were found to be filled with cotton; and that
was not the worst of it, for when Mrs. Jones attempted to pull the
cotton from her mouth, her teeth came with it, which unexpected letting
of the cat out of the bag, so to speak, was more than a nine days'
wonder in L----. It is hardly necessary to add that from that time forth
there was open warfare between Mrs. Jones and Polly.

It would be too great a task for me to tell you of all my heroine's
adventures. How, for instance, she frightened the servant-girl into
convulsions one night by suddenly appearing to her in a dark hall, after
having, with the aid of some sulphur matches, succeeded in making her
face bear a startling resemblance to a grinning, ghastly-looking skull;
and how she tied a bunch of fire-crackers to the tail of her father's
best mule, and set them off, in return for which doubtful favor that
agile animal bestowed upon her a kick that broke two ribs, and confined
her to her bed for many weeks, during which period the old ladies of
L---- were allowed to rest in peace.

These are but samples of the dozens of tricks with which Polly busied
her active brain, and by means of which she was enabled to keep those
around her in a continual state of uncertainty as to what unheard-of
thing she would attempt next.

But Polly, like Napoleon, was doomed to meet her Waterloo. Her last and
most disastrous exploit ended sadly both for herself and others. It
happened in this way. Polly went to the circus. From that time forth her
daring acrobatic feats supplied the gossips of L---- with plenty of
material for conversation. They would tell how Polly broke her horse's
leg by urging him to jump over a stone wall, and how she almost
dislocated her collar-bone in turning a double somersault off a
hay-rick; and in fact, they argued, "If she was any one else but Polly
Clark, she'd 'a been dead long ago; but them that's born to be hanged
will never be drowned," though in what way that proverb was appropriate
in Polly's case they themselves could not have told you.

One day Polly conceived a brilliant idea. She would get up a circus of
her own. The little boys of the town eagerly agreed to Polly's plan of
proceedings. They were to meet and rehearse in her father's barn on
Wednesday night, while Mr. and Mrs. Clark were attending the Lyceum
meeting.

The appointed hour drew near, and so did the boys. With Polly at their
head, they marched in grim silence past the house, and when they reached
the barn, she informed them that Bridget, thinking she had gone to bed,
was entertaining her beau in the front parlor, so they could make all
the noise they wanted to, without fear of detection.

After a moment's search Polly unearthed a couple of candles, which Tommy
Briggs lighted; and while he and Polly adjusted the trapeze he had
constructed in stolen moments, the other actors in the drama rigged up a
remarkably insecure tight-rope.

At last all was ready. "Down in front!" shouted Tommy, in an imperative
manner, to the imaginary audience. "The performance is a-goin' to begin.
First, Mr. Adolphus Popinjay is goin' to do some gymnastics with the
trapeze."

Mr. Adolphus Popinjay, otherwise Jack Hybbed, after many attempts, and
with much assistance, succeeded in getting into the trapeze, where he
went through a number of extraordinary antics, the most difficult of
which was that of standing on one foot, the other leg being extended
stiffly behind him, while with both hands he clutched convulsively to
the sides of the trapeze. Polly felt a keen sense of disappointment over
Jack's performance. Somehow or other it lacked the ease and grace that
the man in the circus had exhibited. She was impatient for her turn to
come, that she might show them her idea of acrobatism. She was delighted
when Tommy announced that "Pauline, the great unbeaten tight-rope
walker, is now a-goin' to come out."

Polly advanced majestically toward the tight-rope, which was fastened at
one end to a big hook in the side of the barn, and at the other end to
the loft, against which was placed a ladder, which she proceeded to
ascend. There was a beam overhead, which Polly was to hold on to in
order to keep herself from falling, and assisted by it, she started out
quite bravely; but she had taken but four steps when Tommy shouted,
"Hold on fast, Polly! the hook's comin' out." Alas! the warning came too
late. Before she could get hold of the beam securely, the hook came out,
and with a cry of terror poor Polly fell with a dull thud to the floor.
Her dress knocked over the candle as she fell, and in a second the hay
that was scattered on the floor was in a blaze. All the boys except
Tommy Briggs rushed screaming from the barn, but he, by straining every
muscle, succeeded in dragging Polly out of the now blazing building, and
then, the necessity for exertion on his part being over, he fell in a
dead faint by the side of the unconscious girl.

Help soon arrived, and the doctor being summoned, Polly was found to be
severely injured, while Tommy escaped with some slight burns and an
attack of brain-fever. Poor Polly! for weeks she suffered the most
intense pain, and when at last she was able to leave her bed, she rose
up a sadder and a wiser girl.

Polly is a young woman now, but she still bears the mark of her last
frolic in the shape of a long scar on her cheek, where she struck on the
rake when she fell.

Polly has one peculiarity. She is the confidential friend of every wild
tom-boy of a girl in town, because, as she says, she has such unbounded
sympathy with them, and also because she is so anxious to keep them from
trying any such dangerous experiments as the one to which she fell a
victim.




HOW TROTTY GOT HIS JUMPING-JACK.

BY AGNES CARR.


[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Trotty sat on the nursery floor, gazing sadly at a broken jumping-jack,
with only one leg, no arms, and not much of a head to speak of. It was
weeks since Christmas, and all the toys Santa Claus had stuffed into
Trotty's little striped stocking were cracked and broken, and now this
jumping-jack, the last and dearest of all, had gone to pieces too.

"I sink it's time Santa Tlaus tomed aden," remarked Trotty at last.

"Oh no," said nurse, who was holding baby by the window; "he is busy
now, making toys to give the good children next Christmas."

"Where does he live?" asked Trotty.

"In a house set in a garden of Christmas trees," began nurse; but just
then somebody called her from the room.

"I b'lieve I'll try and find dat house," thought Master Four-year-old,
"and ask Santa Tlaus to div me anodder jumping-jack."

To think, with Trotty, was to do, and five minutes later he had on his
beloved new rubber boots, and was running down the road as fast as his
little fat legs would carry him, with a big apple in his hand to eat on
the way.

He came first to a pond where a duck was swimming. "Quack, quack," said
the duck; which meant, "What a nice red apple! I wish I had some."

"I will div you a bite," said Trotty, "if you will show me the way to
Santa Tlaus's house."

"I don't know the way," said Ducky; "but give me some, and I will take
you to the cat, and she will tell you."

So Trotty gave her a bite, and the duck came out of the water, and
waddled along in front of Trotty till they came to a barn, where the cat
and her five kittens were playing in the door.

"Please, Mrs. Pussy," said Trotty, "show me the way to Santa Tlaus's
house, and I will div you a bite of my apple."

"Mew, mew," said the pussy cat; which was, "I don't know the way; but
give me some, and I will take you to the dog, and he will tell you."

So Trotty gave her a bite, and she led him to the dog-kennel, where
Towser the dog was snapping at flies in the sun.

"Please, doggy," said Trotty, "show me the way to Santa Tlaus's house,
and I'll div you a bite of my apple."

"Bow, wow, wow," said Towser; which meant, "I don't know the way; but
give me some, and I will take you to the horse, who can tell you."

So Trotty gave him a bite, and together they went on to a green field,
where a horse was feeding, and Trotty asked him to show him the way.

[Illustration]

"Neigh, neigh," said Horsy, "I don't know; but give me a piece of your
apple, and I will take you to the boy, who will surely tell you."

So Trotty gave him a bite, and the horse took him on his back, and
galloped away, until they came to a nice little boy sitting on a fence
whistling. There was nothing now left of the apple except the core; but
Trotty said, "Please, boy, show me the way to Santa Tlaus's house, and
I'll div you the tore of my apple."

"I don't know the road," answered the boy; "but give it to me, and I
will take you to the little old woman who lives under the hill, and she
will tell you."

So Trotty gave him the core, and the boy took him to a wee bit of a
cottage, where an old woman was spinning, and a girl with yellow hair
was stirring something in a pot over the fire.

"Please, ma'am, will you show me the way to Santa Tlaus's house?" asked
Trotty. But now he had no more apple to offer.

"Yes, my little dear," said the old woman, sweetly. "Come in and rest,
and then I will take you there."

[Illustration]

But the moment he was inside, she caught hold of him, took off all his
pretty clothes, and dressed him in old rags, and would have cut off his
curls, but the yellow-haired girl said the scissors were rusty, and she
must wait till they were sharpened.

Trotty was dreadfully frightened, and thought he should never get home
again; but when it grew dark the old woman went to sleep on a bed in the
corner, and then the girl with yellow hair dressed him in his own
clothes again, opened the door, and let him run away.

Trotty ran along in the dark until he saw a light, and found it came
from a large house, and all around the house grew beautiful evergreen
trees.

[Illustration]

"Dis must be Santa Tlaus's house," thought Trotty, "for there are the
Tismas trees." So he trotted up to the door, and knocked. It was opened
by a big man with bushy whiskers.

"Is you Santa Tlaus?" asked Trotty.

"Bless us!" said the man. "And if I am, what do you want?"

"I wants a jumping-jack," sobbed Trotty. "And oh! I's tired, and I wants
my supper."

"Bless us!" said the man again. But he caught Trotty up in his arms,
carried him in, and set him in a high chair in front of a great bowl of
bread and milk.

Trotty went to eating right away, for he was very hungry; but before he
came to the bottom of the bowl his head nodded, his eyes closed, and he
was fast asleep.

He never knew how long he slept; but when he woke up he was in his own
little white bed at home, and papa, mamma, and nurse were hugging and
kissing him.

But on the pillow by his side lay a beautiful new jumping-jack; so he
knew he had found the house in the garden of Christmas trees, and seen
good old Santa Claus himself.




BIRDIE'S VANITY.

BY C. L.


  Pussie and Kittie strolled out one day
  Into the garden to walk and play;
  They rolled on the grass, and jumped so high
  That the old drake "quacked" as he passed by.
  Said he, "I wish I could hop so light,"
  And on he hobbled with all his might.

  Above, little Susie's Birdie swung;
  His cage from a lofty window hung.
  As soon as he heard the drake's lament,
  His head on mischief was quickly bent.

  "Oho, Mister Drake, you soon shall see
  That Mistress Puss can not outjump _me_;
  And although my legs are short and thin,
  I'll wager that in a race I'll win."
  So saying, he flapped against the door
  Till his pretty wings were getting sore.

  At last, with a snap, the door came loose,
  And Birdie flew out--the little goose!
  He flew right down to the very ground
  Where Pussie and Kittie played around.
  And now there began a lively race,
  Which gained excitement at every pace.

  Little Birdie chirped, and hopped about,
  And Pussie followed him in and out,
  Under the rose-tree and through the hedge,
  Until they came to the garden's edge;
  And then Mister Birdie, full of pride,
  Mounted a tree by the water's side;
  And there he perched, with a proud delight,
  Boasting and singing with all his might,
  Until, quite weary and worn, at last
  He drooped his head, and soon slept fast.

  Then up jumped Puss from her hiding-place,
  And mounted the tree with nimble grace;
  But so gently did her footsteps fall,
  Not a sound the sleeper heard at all.

  And now, alas! Pussie crouches low:
  Poor Birdie will soon be gone. But no!
  A shrill little scream is heard to rise,
  And there stands Susie with frightened eyes.
  Old Pussie scampers with might and main,
  And Birdie pops wide his eyes again.

  Now think of his horror when he saw
  How near he had been to Pussie's paw!
  I really think he deserved the pain,
  Because he had been so very vain;
  And I'll venture that he did not seek
  Another frolic within a week.




[Illustration: "KITTY, WHAT MAKES YOU SO CROSS?"]




[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX]


Our exchange department is increasing so rapidly that we find it
necessary to offer a few suggestions to our young correspondents. In the
first place, if you desire to exchange with other correspondents, always
give your full address. If you live in a large city, like Brooklyn, New
York, or Philadelphia, you should state your residence, street and
number, or the number of your post-office box, as otherwise it is not
probable that you will ever receive an answer to your request. You have
all heard about hunting for a needle in a haymow; and if you stop to
think, you will see it would be just as useless to hunt for any little
boy in New York city, unless you knew the street in which he lived; and
the faithful "little man in gray" who hurries from house to house with
his load of letters certainly can not be expected to know the residence
of every Johnny Smith in the city. With many of you who live in the
country the case is different. Probably the postmaster himself knows
you, and will give you your letter, even if it is not addressed to your
father's care. In future we trust you will be careful always to give
your residence or your father's address, otherwise, as Uncle Sam's
postman does not keep a directory of every little boy and girl in the
land, many of you may wait in vain for a chance to exchange your pretty
pressed flowers and other objects of interest.

One thing more. When any correspondent offers exchange, and gives a full
address, as many have done, it would simplify matters very much, and
save us unnecessary trouble, if any one desirous of accepting the offer
would write at once to the given address instead of to us. As we can in
no case take charge of the transfer of specimens, which must always be
directly between yourselves, it is useless for you to write and tell us
you are willing to accept the offer of exchange made by any particular
boy or girl. Write directly to them, and you will gain time, and save
yourself unnecessary postage.

As our exchange department is intended to develop in our readers a
knowledge of the flowers, trees, butterflies, birds' eggs, minerals, and
other natural products of different sections of their own country, we
pay no attention to requests for exchanges of useless things, which
could lead at best to nothing higher than the gratification of an idle
curiosity.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following communication was written in Danish, but as we fear that
language is not understood by many of our readers, we publish only the
translation:

  RISERUP PARSONAGE, FALSTER, DENMARK.

     I am seven years old, and I live in Denmark. I like the pictures
     in YOUNG PEOPLE very much, and my aunt translates the stories to
     me, for I can not read English. We have made a drawing of Wiggle
     No. 11, and send it to you. I have a little white cat, and a big
     black dog called Sagax. Just outside of our garden there is a wood
     dove on its nest. I can stand close by it, and it is not at all
     afraid of me.

  EMIL KOCH.

We are very sorry your Wiggles came too late to be printed among our
answers to No. 11, for they are very pretty.

       *       *       *       *       *

  MARION, IOWA.

     I take YOUNG PEOPLE, and I don't know what I should do without it.
     I am eleven years old, and I have three brothers, all older than
     myself. We have two colts. One of them kicked me on the hip, but
     did not hurt me very much. I wish some little girl would send a
     nice recipe for making cookies.

  NELLIE E. O.

       *       *       *       *       *

  YONKERS, NEW YORK.

     I have read every number of YOUNG PEOPLE, from the first to the
     last one published. I enjoy reading the letters sent by the
     correspondents, and I like to read all the recipes for candy and
     cake. During vacation I am going to try them all. I have a pet
     canary-bird, which was a birthday gift.

     I am pressing a few leaves that I gathered on the Palisades, and I
     am going to press a good many this summer. When they are ready, I
     shall try to exchange with some little girl.

  EDITH L. G.

       *       *       *       *       *

  ST. HENRYS, OHIO.

     I like YOUNG PEOPLE better than any other paper I have ever taken.

     I have a pet 'coon, a squirrel, a canary, a dog, and two cats. And
     I have a large doll. She is three feet and eight inches tall. Her
     name is Gervaise. I got her at the Centennial Exhibition.

     I love to read the letters in the Post-office Box.

     I went fishing this spring for the first time, and caught six
     fish. I am eleven years old, and now in the summer I am not going
     to school.

     Will any little girl send me a recipe for cream candy?

  FLORA B.

       *       *       *       *       *

  OKOLONA, MISSISSIPPI.

     I am a little girl six years old, and I can not write very well
     yet. I do not go to school, but mamma teaches me at home. I like
     YOUNG PEOPLE so much! I have a little dog named Snip. I live in
     the South, and it is pretty warm here now.

     Two mocking-birds have a nest and four little baby birds in a
     rose-bush near our sitting-room window.

     Mamma and I are going to Michigan in a few weeks to see my grandma
     and grandpa. My papa is a preacher. I have no brother or sister.

  BESSIE M. MCL.

       *       *       *       *       *

  BELLE PLAINE, IOWA.

     Captain William Eaton, the subject of the sketch, "An American
     Soldier of Fortune," in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 34, was my mother's
     great-uncle on her father's side. So on her mother's side was
     Colonel William Knowlton.

  CORA F.

       *       *       *       *       *

  CEDAR FALLS, IOWA.

     I thought I would write about my pets. They are two old cats,
     three kittens, and a dog. Two of the kittens are gray, the other
     one is Maltese. My dog meets me every night when I come home from
     school, and always accompanies me when I go after wild flowers. I
     live in the country, and I think it is a very pretty place to
     live. I have no canary, but the birds sing very sweetly
     out-of-doors, and I like that much better than having one in a
     cage. I think Misfits are very amusing. I have no sister, and only
     one brother.

  JOSIE M. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

  HOKENDAUGAU, PENNSYLVANIA.

     I tried the recipe for kisses sent by C. H. S., and printed in
     YOUNG PEOPLE No. 35, and the kisses were splendid.

  B. H. T.

       *       *       *       *       *

  EXCELSIOR FARM, KANSAS.

     A pair of mocking-birds are rearing a nest of young birds in our
     front yard, and I would like to tame two of them. Can you tell me
     how to feed them and care for them?

  SIDNEY B. P.

Directions for feeding mocking-birds were given in Post-office Box No.
13, but no doubt some of our young correspondents in the South can give
farther particulars respecting the care of young birds. We will gladly
print any information they will kindly send.

       *       *       *       *       *

  WILMINGTON, NORTH CAROLINA.

     In the summer we go to the sea-shore, about eight miles from where
     we live. We ride there in carriages, and see many pretty flowers
     along the road. There is a very curious one among them. It is
     called Venus's-flytrap. If you put a fly in it, it will kill it
     and eat it.

     I think YOUNG PEOPLE is the best paper I ever read. I am ten years
     old, and my name is

  LOTTIE MAY W.

The Venus's-fly trap does not eat the fly, but at the end of each leaf,
which springs from the root, it has a kind of appendage, armed on the
edge by glands resembling hairs, which contain a sweet liquid attractive
to insects. No sooner does a fly alight upon this sensitive leaf, than,
with a sudden spring, it closes, and crushes its victim to death. When
the fly is dead, the leaf again unfolds. This singular plant is a native
of North Carolina.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Papa and I took a ride early this morning, before six o'clock. We
     saw three little squirrels, and we passed many chestnut-trees in
     full bloom (June 28), and saw wild raspberry bushes covered with
     ripe fruit.

     My canaries have hatched, but one egg broke, and one tiny birdling
     died, but out of five eggs I have three fine young birds. Their
     names are Ganarra, Goldie, and Downy. They are hopping around on
     the perches now. The mother bird behaved so badly that I took her
     out of the cage, and now the father takes care of the little ones.
     Is such an action common on the father's part, or is my Neddy the
     sweetest, dearest little bird in the world?

     I have tried almost all the recipes sent to the cooking club, and
     I send one myself, for white cake: Half a cup of butter; one cup
     of sugar; the whites of three eggs; half a cup of sweet milk; one
     and a half cups of flour; one tea-spoonful cream of tartar; half a
     tea-spoonful soda. Beat the butter and sugar to a cream, and froth
     the whites of the eggs before stirring in.

     I think the Tree Album is very nice, and I would like to exchange
     specimens of our trees for some of other localities as soon as I
     have enough ready.

  ALTIA R. AUSTIN,
  Portland, Connecticut.

       *       *       *       *       *

  ELIZABETHTOWN, ILLINOIS.

     I varnish leaves with rosin. I sprinkle fine powdered rosin on the
     leaf, and then pass a hot iron over it. The rosin melts and
     spreads over the leaf, varnishing it beautifully. The method is
     both cheap and easy.

     Here is a recipe for cream candy for the cooking club: Three
     pounds of sugar; one cup of rich cream. Stew until the syrup
     candies when dropped in cold water. Flavor with lemon, and pour
     into buttered tins, or pull, as you prefer.

  EDITH L.

       *       *       *       *       *

Rodetta F. Bartlett and Margery R. H. send the cooking club recipes for
sugar-candy. We acknowledge them with thanks, but do not print them, as
they vary only slightly from recipes given in previous numbers.

       *       *       *       *       *

  WATERVLIET CENTRE, NEW YORK.

     Here is a recipe for citron cake for Puss Hunter's cooking club:
     One tea-cup of sugar; two-thirds of a tea-cup of butter; two
     tea-cups of flour; half a tea-cup of milk; one tea-spoonful of
     soda dissolved in the milk; a little essence of lemon. Stir in
     bits of citron cut thin, and bake in hearts and rounds.

     I have taken YOUNG PEOPLE since Christmas, and I look eagerly for
     it every week. I have two dolls, Nellie and Pearl. I am eleven
     years old.

  ANNA W. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I have a few specimens of trees arranged according to the
     directions given in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 31. I would like to exchange
     them with some little girl living in any locality except San
     Francisco.

     As I live in the city, I do not have many opportunities to get
     specimens, but when I do go to the country I make good use of my
     time, and in spite of being very much afraid of cows, snakes, and
     lizards, I sometimes venture in pretty wild places for good
     specimens.

     This year we went out to Napa Valley with a friend, who drove us
     all over the valley. We saw hundreds and hundreds of acres of
     vineyards, and passed lots of places where they were laying out
     more.

     I am an only child, and I have no pets now except my flowers and
     dolls, and my own lovely piano.

  IDA BELLE DISERENS,
  734 Grove Street, San Francisco, California.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I would like to exchange pressed flowers with some little girl,
     and when the seeds are ripe I will exchange seeds. I have some
     nice flowering beans, and different kinds of larkspurs. I will
     exchange larkspur seed for pink seed. There are many varieties of
     ferns here.

     Can any one tell me how to varnish leaves, and also if there is
     any way to keep pressed flowers from fading?

  MARY LOWRY,
  Elizabethtown, Hardin County, Illinois.

       *       *       *       *       *

     As a great many of the other little girls write to Our Post-office
     Box, I thought I would write too. Papa takes YOUNG PEOPLE, and we
     children like it very much. I guess he does too.

     I have no pets, but my older sister has a pet calf, and it is very
     pretty. Its name is Lily May. She feeds it on meal and water. I
     have three dolls. Two are china, and one is a large wax doll, with
     beautiful brown hair.

     I would like to exchange pressed flowers with any little girl.

  SALLIE M. BROWN,
  London, Kentucky.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Since my letter was published in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 33, I have
     received so many letters from different States--several of them
     accompanied with eggs--that it is impossible for me to answer them
     all promptly. I wish to tell the correspondents, through the
     Post-office Box, that I will surely answer all their letters and
     return them eggs, but they must not be surprised if it is not
     immediately, for nearly all asked me for the same kind of eggs,
     and I can only send them as fast as my agents, who are colored
     children, find them and bring them to me.

  ALICE I. PAINE,
  Ingleside Farm, Cherokee County, Georgia.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I would like to exchange birds' eggs with some one in a distant
     State or Territory.

  GEORGE L. RUSBY,
  Franklin, Essex County, New Jersey.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I am eleven years old. My papa is a doctor, and my mamma teaches a
     Kindergarten school. I have a little sister we call Fredie. We
     each have a kitten, and I have a canary.

     I am making a collection of bugs, butterflies, shells, and
     minerals, and I would like to exchange with "Wee Tot" Brainard,
     or any other little girl. I have not a very large collection yet,
     but I am adding to it fast.

  JESSIE MAY ALLEN,
  Charlotte, Michigan.

       *       *       *       *       *

  SALT LAKE STATION, UTAH.

     My new telescope works a great deal better than my first one. We
     had to exclude about half of the light by putting a piece of
     pasteboard with a hole in it in front of the object-glass, which
     has a diameter of two inches, and a focus of sixty inches. It
     magnifies the moon about forty times, as near as we can judge. How
     can I tell exactly how many times a glass magnifies?

     How many of the other boys have tried to make a telescope
     according to the directions given in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 1?

     How can I make a cheap camera obscura?

     Is it injurious to the eyes to look at the moon through the
     telescope without smoked glasses?

  OLAF T.

The oculist from whom you obtained your lenses will tell you their
magnifying power.--You do not need smoked glass when looking at the
moon.--A simple form of the camera obscura (dark chamber) is a box
furnished with a lens whose focal length is equal to the length and
height of the box. At the opposite end of the box from the lens a mirror
is placed at an angle of forty-five degrees, from which the image
received through the lens is reflected upon a piece of glass, the under
side of which should be ground, placed flat directly above the mirror.
The image will of course be inverted. It will be more distinct if the
ground glass be shaded from the light.

       *       *       *       *       *

GEORGE L. R.--You will see by the letter of Alice Paine in this
Post-office Box that she did give her right address. Why your letter
miscarried we can not explain.

       *       *       *       *       *

H. SCOTT.--Send your full address, and we will gladly publish your
request for exchange.

       *       *       *       *       *

W. CHAPMAN, MARY L. L., AND OTHERS.--Write directly to the address given
by those with whom you desire to exchange.

       *       *       *       *       *

MAUD W.--Paste your leaves firmly to the paper, and leave them under
heavy pressure until they are dry, and you will not be troubled by their
curling up. When you take them from the press varnish them, and they
will give you more satisfaction.

       *       *       *       *       *

G. W. DAVIS.--A projectile kaleidoscope may be of any convenient size,
varying from six to ten inches in length, fitted with two lenses--one at
the object end, to throw light from a lamp through the instrument, and
the other at the eye end, through which the image is projected on a
screen, placed at the proper focal distance. Any ingenious boy can fit
these lenses to an ordinary kaleidoscope, and fit it to a stand, which
may be placed on a table.

       *       *       *       *       *

H. T. WILSON.--The correspondent you inquire about did not desire
exchange, and we have no authority to give full address. Any short
communication you may wish to make in reference to minerals will be
printed in Our Post-office Box.

       *       *       *       *       *

Favors are acknowledged from Bertha B. Allen, "Dick Deadeye," Elsie H.
Tatum, George Empey, S. F. W., Lizzie Allie Hill, Jessie H. R., May Bell
and Laura Milles, John R.

       *       *       *       *       *

Correct answers to puzzles are received from A. H. Ellard, Warren S.
Banks, Frank E. Hayward, Anna W. Cragier, Jennie F. S., C. B. Howard,
L. M. Fobes, Maud Mathewson, Eddie S. Hequembourg, R. D. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

DIAMOND.

In Reynard. A performance. A seed. To attempt. In Reynard.

  C. P. T.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 2.

WORD SQUARE.

First, an animal. Second, a border. Third, a sickness. Fourth, an
aquatic plant.

  S. H.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 3.

ENIGMA.

  My first is in vain, but not in proud.
  My second is in wind, but not in cloud.
  My third is in cat, but not in dog.
  My fourth is in timber, but not in log.
  My fifth is in foot, but not in head.
  My sixth is in silver, but not in lead.
  My seventh is in ink, but not in pen.
  My eighth is in cave, but not in den.
  These hidden letters, set in place,
  Reveal a lady of royal race.

  THERESA.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 4.

EASY BEHEADINGS.

Behead an article of dress, and leave an animal. Behead a fastening, and
leave a light. Behead skillful, and leave a mechanical power. Behead to
dart, and leave a noise. Behead cunning, and leave a float. Behead
clear, and leave suitable. Behead an article of dress, and leave a
farmer's implement. Behead a small portion, and leave a boy's name.
Behead an inclosure for animals, and leave ancient. Behead a learned
man, and leave a period of time. Behead a support, and leave a contest.
Behead affectation, and leave an insect.

  JOHNNIE.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 5.

ENIGMA.

  My first is in slipper, but not in shoe.
  My second is in chop, but not in hew.
  My third is in pistol, but not in gun.
  My fourth is in hop, but not in run.
  My fifth is in cap, but not in glove.
  My sixth is in hate, but not in love.
  My seventh is in turnips, but not in corn.
  My eighth is in day, but not in morn.
  My ninth is in cape, but not in coat.
  My tenth is in vessel, but not in boat.
  My eleventh is in tape, but not in lace.
  My twelfth is in lip, but not in face.
  My whole arises, mighty and grand,
  Above the plains of a sunny land.

  MINNIE.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN NO. 35.

No. 1.

  T U R K
  U P O N
  R O S E
  K N E W

No. 2.

      S
    S I R
  S I O U X
    R U M
      X

No. 3.

  P R O S P E R
    L E P E R
      N E T
        N
      A S H
    D E E D S
  B E A R I N G

No. 4.

Pleasure.

No. 5.

  R omanof F
  O versko U
  B oabdi  L
  E  gber  T
  R odrig  O
  T ennyso N

Robert Fulton.

No. 6.

Titian, Rubens.




ADVERTISEMENTS.




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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
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  Franklin Square, N. Y.




FISHING OUTFITS.

CATALOGUE FREE.

R. SIMPSON, 132 Nassau Street, N. Y.




ELEMENTARY EDUCATION.

Books for the School and Family.

       *       *       *       *       *

ARITHMETIC.

FRENCH'S FIRST LESSONS IN NUMBERS. First Lessons in Numbers, in their
Natural Order: First, _Visible Objects_; Second, _Concrete Numbers_;
Third, _Abstract Numbers_. By JOHN H. FRENCH, LL.D. Illustrated. 16mo,
Half Leather, 25 cents.

FRENCH'S ELEMENTARY ARITHMETIC FOR THE SLATE. Elementary Arithmetic for
the Slate, in which Methods and Rules are based upon Principles
established by Induction. By JOHN H. FRENCH, LL.D. Ill'd. 16mo, Half
Leather, 37 cts.

FRENCH'S MENTAL ARITHMETIC. Mental Arithmetic, in which Combinations of
Numbers, Solutions of Problems, and Principles of Arithmetical Analysis
are based upon the Laws of Mental Development. By JOHN H. FRENCH, LL.D.
Illustrated. 16mo, Half Leather, 36 cents.

NATURAL SCIENCE.

FIRST LESSONS IN NATURAL HISTORY AND LANGUAGE. Entertaining and
Instructive Lessons in Natural History and Language for Primary and
Grammar Schools. 12mo, Cloth, 35 cents.

THE CHILD'S BOOK OF NATURE. The Child's Book of Nature, for the Use of
Families and Schools: intended to aid Mothers and Teachers in Training
Children in the Observation of Nature. In Three Parts. Part I. Plants.
Part II. Animals. Part III. Air, Water, Heat, Light, &c. By WORTHINGTON
HOOKER, M.D. Illustrated. The Three Parts complete in One Volume, Small
4to, Half Leather, $1.12; or, separately, in Cloth, Part I., 45 cents;
Part II., 48 cents; Part III., 48 cents.

HOOKER'S FIRST BOOK IN CHEMISTRY. A First Book in Chemistry. By
WORTHINGTON HOOKER, M.D. Ill'd. Revised. Square 4to, Cloth, 48 cts.

FARADAY'S CHEMISTRY OF A CANDLE. Chemistry of a Candle. A Course of Six
Lectures on the Chemical History of a Candle, To which is added a
Lecture on Platinum. By M. FARADAY. Edited by W. CROOKES. Illustrated.
l6mo, Cloth, $1.00.

FARADAY'S PHYSICAL FORCES. Physical Forces. A Course of Six Lectures on
the Various Forces of Matter, and their Relations to Each Other. By M.
FARADAY. Edited by W. CROOKES. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, $1.00.

FRENCH AND GERMAN.

FRENCH PRINCIPIA, PART I. A First French Course: containing Grammar,
Delectus, and Exercise-Book, with Vocabularies. On the Plan of Dr.
Smith's _Principia Latina_. 12mo, Cloth, 50 cents.

FRENCH PRINCIPIA, PART II. A First French Reading-Book. Containing
Fables, Anecdotes, Inventions, Discoveries, Natural History, and French
History. With Grammatical Questions, Notes, and a Copious Etymological
Dictionary. On the Plan of Dr. Smith's _Principia Latina_, 12mo, Cloth,
80 cents.

GERMAN PRINCIPIA, PART I. A First German Course. Containing Grammar,
Delectus, Exercise-Book, and Vocabularies. On the Plan of Dr. Smith's
_Principia Latina_. 12mo, Cloth, 50 cents.

GERMAN PRINCIPIA, PART II. A First German Reading-Book. Containing
Fables, Anecdotes, Natural History, German History, and a Comedy. With
Grammatical Questions, Notes, and a Dictionary. On the Plan of Dr.
Smith's _Principia Latina_. 12mo, Cloth, 80 cents.

COMFORT'S GERMAN PRIMER. A German Primer. By GEORGE F. COMFORT, A.M.
12mo, Half Leather, 50 cents.

COMFORT'S FIRST BOOK IN GERMAN. A First Book in German. By GEORGE F.
COMFORT, A.M. 12mo, Half Leather, 60 cents.

COMFORT'S FIRST GERMAN READER. The First German Reader: to succeed the
"First Book in German." By GEORGE F. COMFORT, A.M. 12mo, Cloth, 50
cents.

OBJECT LESSONS.

WILLSON'S MANUAL OF OBJECT LESSONS. A Manual of Information and
Suggestions for Object Lessons, in a Course of Elementary Instruction.
By MARCIUS WILLSON. 12mo, Cloth, $1.00.

CALKINS'S PRIMARY OBJECT LESSONS. Primary Object Lessons, for Training
the Senses and Developing the Faculties of Children. A Manual of
Elementary Instruction for Parents and Teachers. By N. A. CALKINS.
Fifteenth Edition. Rewritten and Enlarged. 12mo, Cloth, $1.00.

       *       *       *       *       *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.

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




[Illustration: SOME ANSWERS FROM OUR SUBSCRIBERS TO WIGGLE No. 12; OUR
ARTIST'S IDEA OF THE SAME; AND NEW WIGGLE, No. 13.]

The following is a list of the names of those who sent us their ideas of
Wiggle No. 12, given in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 32:

Joey Thacher, Sam Hogg, Thomas Allen, Alma Hoffman, John J. A. Flaherty,
Dick, Jack Schlenker, Eugene L. Pratt, F. J. U., C. D. J., P. J. P.,
Katie Huntington, Clara L. Kellogg, Lizzy King, Arthur Pane, Herta Pane,
Sally Garrison, Mab, M. H. Vail, George T. Slade, Alice Carey, Frank
Metcalf, L. G. S., W. I. S., Dolly Bragdon, Vesper L. George, B. Pratt,
M. Pratt, Antoinette, W. B. Morrie, Julia D. Stryker, Dollie Kopp, Bella
Levy, Fred Kimberly, Harry Swanton, J. D. Steele, Jun., Leon M. Fobes,
Alexis Shultz, Grace Carey, John S. Brown, Charlie Conklin, Ruth Hoxie,
H. K. Smith, H. O., V. Olmstead, Frank Waid, Robert Hoyt, Clarissa Bon,
Emily Tietze, Walter Tietze, Emily Bidwell, Grace Cousins, L. R. B., Tom
F. Hotchkiss, Albert Wooley, W. M. H., Arthur Meggatt, Harry L. B.
Waters, Charles F. Peck, Jun., Harry G. Brownell, Frank S. Miller, A. B.
Stoddard, E. P. X., Mary, J. M. P., Alice E. Macomber, A. O. Thayer,
G. E. Herrman, William Reeve, W. G. Howard, Carlie Thompson, George
Wooley, A. M. Townsend, Rowan W. Stevens, Sophie I. Hall, E. B. C., Hal.
H. Moore, W. Cantrell, Mary E. Hartwell, F. A. Conklin, May L. Wight,
Charles A. W., D. G. Hicks, S. R. Townsend, Everett C. Fay, Arthur
Bumpus, G. M., J. M. Ingersoll, Benson J. Lossing, May Sawans, J. R.,
Walter B. Wyman, J. Daland, Jun., Buttercup, Daisy, M. F., G. B.
McLaughlin, William A. Lewis, G. C. Southard, Nelson Wilson, H. H.
Gottsleben, John B. Whitlock, "North Star" (John R. Blake), Willie
Seaman, Edith B. Ensign, Addie Seaman, Russell L. Jones, Willie Fowler,
Fred A. W., Maggie Maynard, A. M. J., H. Western, Hattie D. Condon,
Jules, A. C. Jaquith, O. Beck, Louise Hall, Minnie Sanford, Matilda R.
Boure, P. Schamp, May A. Lobdell, Arthur Starrett, William Atkinson,
Annie Reeves, Harry Meekes, Osborn Dodge, Enid M. Saunders, E. W.
Little, C. H. Friend, Fanny Grimes, W. R. Dutton, Henry M. Alexander,
Jun., W. H. Western, Edith Cornelius, Ynez Maxia, Katie Mayo, Edna
Griswold, Carrie Peddle, M. C. Supplee, E. H. Supplee, Isabelle, S. P.
Halleck, Sarah Q., M. L. Thacher, Henry Hobart Nichols, Wiggler,
L. V. H., May and Ida Parsons, Allie Voorhees, Mollie Voorhees, Jennie
Voorhees, A. D. Gihon, Mabel Warner, A. A. Dell, Ambler Reeves, William
Lacy, Louise D. Blake, Julia Maguire, May W. Ensign, H. R., M. B.
Wightman, Roswell Starrett, Harry B. Poinier, B. E. S., Henry B.
Alexander, Annie Oliver, Baby Oliver, John M. Perry, John R. Glen,
Winnie York, Julian Gresham, H. Bush, Jasper Blines, E. Ker, Dotty
Seaman, J. McL., Marion Buster, Robbie Martin, J. F. S., F. Holton,
W. H. B., Benjamin F. Waterman, Jeanie Graves, C. D. J., G. F. McKinney,
Caroline, John R. Skeen, Jennie Hamilton, Fatinitza, Louise Buckner,
Dot, Mamie Snider, Mabel, Lou S., Frank Schmitt, Gypsy, Elsie H. T.,
Altia R. Austin, Howard Rathbone.





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