    Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, February 7, 1882, by Various

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    Title: Harper's Young People, February 7, 1882
           An Illustrated Weekly

    Author: Various

    Release Date: October 2, 2016 [EBook #53187]

    Language: English

    Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

    *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE ***

    Produced by Annie R. McGuire

ART'S ORGAN ADVENTURE.
THE SNOW.
TOBOGGANING.
FUN AND PICTURES.
THE TALKING LEAVES.
THE BOY COMMANDER OF THE CAMISARDS.
BIRDS' NESTS FOR SOUP.
THE LITTLE DOLLS' DRESSMAKER.
A LOVING KISS.
IN THE CORNER.
MONOGRAM PUZZLE.
OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.
ENIGMA.
EXPERIMENTS WITH ELECTRICITY.

[Pg 225]

Vol. III.—No. 119. | Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. | price four cents.
Tuesday, February 7, 1882. | Copyright, 1882, by Harper & Brothers. | $1.50 per Year, in Advance.

"HE WAS DRINKING COFFEE OR SOUP OUT OF A CUP FILLED FROM A BOTTLE IN THE HANDS OF A LITTLE GIRL."

## ART'S ORGAN ADVENTURE.

### BY MATTHEW WHITE, JUN.

The Dicksons were spending the winter in Paris, and Art, who was fourteen, resolved to make the most of the grand opportunity thus afforded him of thoroughly exploring the handsomest city in the world. He had "done" the galleries, the churches, the prisons, and the palaces with the rest of the family; but now that all the principal points of interest had been visited, his mother and sister became absorbed in "dressmaking and millinery" while his father spent hours at the Herald office reading the American papers. As neither of these occupations was lively enough to suit the taste of an eager, restless boy like Art, he took to going off on long exploring trips by himself, up, down, across, and around the city!

[Pg 226]

"Now, Arthur, do, I beg of you, be careful," his mother would say to him. "If you could speak French, I wouldn't worry, but as it is, what if you should get lost?"

"Why, I'd just call a cab, sing out through my nose as loud as I could the name of our hotel, and I'd be back here"—Art was going to add "in no time," but recollecting that he was not supposed to be riding behind his father's fast team in New York, changed it to "some time."

One morning he had planned to spend on top of an omnibus running on a route he had not yet been over, but on awaking he found quite a snow-storm raging in the air, although the flakes melted as soon as they touched the heated pavements.

Now Art had not seen snow before all that winter, so when it had cleared off he determined, instead of taking his omnibus ride, to walk out to the Bois de Boulogne and feast his eyes on the "genuine article."

He set out about eleven, walking at a brisk pace in order to be back in good season for lunch at one. There was plenty to see on the way, so although the distance from the hotel to the Bois was a long one, it did not seem a great while to Art before he came within sight of a pure white covering of snow on tree, shrub, and grass. His boyish heart thrilled at once with delight, although he could not but acknowledge to himself that a hill and a sled would not have come amiss. As a substitute for these he fell to making quantities of soft snow-balls to shy harmlessly at nowhere in particular.

"I suppose, though," he presently reflected, "if one of those gens-d'armes should happen to see me, he'd march me off to the Bastile (if it hadn't been pulled down), for fear of my snow-balls suggesting bullets to this revolutionary people."

As this thought struck him he fired what he resolved should be his last shot, which, as it happened, just grazed the money cup on top of a hand-organ in the next path.

The organ was resting on a portable stool, and behind it Art could see its owner sitting on the low iron railing. He was drinking coffee or soup out of a cup filled from a bottle in the hands of a little girl seated on a basket in front of him. The group made quite a pretty picture, which the lad stopped a moment to gaze at, thankful that his snow-ball had not disturbed it.

Then a squirrel nearer at hand caught his eye, and he stood watching the cute little fellow frisk about, with his bright eyes and gracefully waving tail, for fully five minutes.

Presently, however, the confused sound of many voices coming from the other path again turned Art's attention in the direction of the hand-organ. He soon saw that it had been left by the man in charge of the little girl, who was being teased by a company of school-boys.

One of the latter had possessed himself of the bulging cotton umbrella which had stood leaning against the post, and was making as if he were going to run off with it, while the little girl chased him about, scolding at a terrible rate in her fast French.

At first Art was inclined to think that the boys were only in fun. But when he saw two of them catch hold of the organ and hurry away with it into the woods while the girl was running around the corner after her umbrella, all his American blood was up, and he started after "the young highwaymen."

"I may not be a match for both of them in a fight," he reflected, as he sped along, "but perhaps I can frighten them a little;" and making his voice as deep as possible, Art shouted out after the runaways, who, thinking a gen-darme was on their track, dropped the organ in the snow, and dashed on at double-quick.

Our hero slackened up a bit until they were out of sight, and then hurried forward to see if anything had been broken. Luckily the organ had escaped all damage, and picking it up, Art started to carry it back to the little girl. But somehow he could not recollect the exact direction from which he had entered the woods, and after tramping about through the snow for some time, he was compelled to put his burden down and rest awhile.

"Well, well," he mused, as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead, "this is a pretty fix for me to get myself into. I wonder what the fellows at home would say at seeing me lug this hand-organ about through the woods as if I were an Italian looking for a monkey. And, after all, I don't believe those fellows really meant to steal it. Very likely they only wanted to hide it from the little girl. Still, it was a mean thing to do, and I'm—" But at this instant he became aware of a man running toward him, shouting and shaking his fist, and before Art could make up his mind what to do, he saw that it was the organ-grinder.

Forgetting for the time that ten chances to one the man would not understand a word he said, Art at once began explaining to him how he had recovered his property, when, to his amazement, he was suddenly interrupted by a rough grasp on the collar of his coat, and a torrent of French fury, which ought to have caused him to tremble in his shoes, if he had only deserved and comprehended it.

He did comprehend the tight clutch by which he was held, however, and quite naturally began to grow highly indignant at the injustice done him.

"But don't I tell you I half raced my legs off to get your organ back for you?" he cried. "Why, I actually believe you think I was one of the fellows that stole it!"

Then, as the man took a still firmer grasp of his coat, and began a louder series of exclamations, the boy became finally convinced that this was really the state of the case.

Explanations were of no avail; indeed, they only seemed to make matters worse, for whenever Art attempted to make himself understood either by loud talk or dumb-show, the organ-grinder only gripped deeper and rattled on faster.

"Well, this is a go!" muttered our hero to himself as he finally gave up all resistance, and tried in vain to call up a word or two of French that would be likely to help him out of the scrape. "He must certainly know that I'm not French, but I don't see that that makes any difference to him. I wonder, though, what he's going to do with me?"

This query was soon answered, for now the man made signs to Art to pick up the organ.

"What! he wants me to carry the thing for him!" and the lad's hatred of injustice again rose up strong within him, causing him to shake his head in a most decided fashion.

For reply the Frenchman simply shrugged his shoulders, and muttered the word "Gens-d'armes."

This was enough for Art. As has been already stated, he had a decided prejudice to becoming intimate with the Paris police, and as the spectacle of his being marched off to jail by one of them, before he could hope to make himself understood, passed before his mental vision, he stooped down, picked up the organ, and walked on by the side of its owner, who all the while kept a hand on his shoulder.

It was certainly a most humiliating situation, but Art managed to extract some degree of consolation from the reflection that he was being wronged. Then he suddenly recollected the snow-ball he had thrown which had nearly overturned the money cup.

"He must have noticed it, after all. What an awful combination of circumstances against me! I wonder if I can't buy him off?" and as he stumbled along beneath his burden, Art began to calculate how much money he had in his various pockets.

"But no," he suddenly resolved, "I will not act as if I were guilty. I did what I thought was right, and now I'll stand by the consequences. I know that I'm innocent, which is lots of comfort, and surely the Frenchman will soon let me go when he sees how meekly I take my punishment."

[Pg 227]

By this time they had reached the edge of the woods, and the man was leading the way along one of the paths in the direction of the city.

"Where on earth is the fellow going to take me, I wonder?" mused Art, "and what can have become of the little girl and the big umbrella?"

Presently they left the park behind them, and now our hero was given to understand that his punishment was but just begun; for suddenly the man stopped, opened the camp-stool arrangement, motioned to Art to set the organ on top of it, and then intimated that he expected him to turn the crank.

"Never!" cried the boy, excitedly, and he attempted to shake himself free of the Frenchman's grasp. But the struggle that ensued only served to draw a gaping crowd around them, and Art speedily saw that the easiest thing for him to do was to submit.

So, with the man's hand still on his shoulder, he caught up the crank, and began to grind out the waltz from the Chimes of Normandy, all the while busily wondering how he could get back to the hotel in time for lunch, and thus save his mother a deal of anxiety.

Once he had thought of mentioning the name of the hotel to the organ-grinder, but as often gave up the idea when he recollected in what capacity he would be obliged to traverse the principal boulevards in order to reach it.

By this time faces began to appear at the windows of the houses, and pieces of money were now and then thrown out. Some of these fell quite a distance from the organ, and having noted this fact, Art set to work to contrive a plan of escape.

The Frenchman, however, was not to be easily fooled, for whenever he was compelled to leave Art's side in order to pick up a coin, he pointed to the crank and made a circular motion with his arm, to intimate that his ears were open if his eyes were turned away, and that the instant the music ceased he would know the reason why.

Still our hero hoped for success in his scheme, in spite of the Frenchman's wariness, so he played steadily on and waited his opportunity, meanwhile taking from one of his pockets with his left hand a five-centime piece, which is equal to one cent in American money.

Presently that for which he had been watching happened. The second story window of a house three or four doors off was opened and some money thrown out. The man started to pick it up. As soon as his back was turned, Art quickly transferred his sou from his left hand to his right, continuing, meanwhile, to grind out the tune with the former. Then with all the dexterity acquired as pitcher on the nine at home he threw the money on ahead of the organ-grinder, started on a run up the street and around the corner.

He knew that the neighborhood—that of the American quarter—was a quiet one, so he dashed on fearlessly until he came out on the Place of the Star, in the centre of which stands the magnificent Arch of Triumph.

From this point twelve different avenues diverge. Quickly selecting the one leading furthest away from the spot where he had left the organ, Art walked rapidly down it until satisfied that he was safe from pursuit. He then crossed over to the Boulevard Haussmann, and in twenty minutes was safe back at the hotel.

When he related his adventures to the family, his father said he ought to have appealed to the police, and his sister called him a goose for having stood it as long as he did.

But not so with the mother. Mrs. Dickson drew him to her side and whispered that he was her gallant American knight, and after that Art could not regret his attempt to right a wrong, although he often says that the man did not deserve the sou he had thrown him so successfully.

## THE SNOW.

Hurry and skurry! Hurrah for the snow!
How the flakes dance, and how the winds blow!
Run for the sleighs, and for mufflers run,
Little ones eager for frolic and fun.
Pull on the mittens, and ring out the bells,
Jolly, I say, is the music that tells
Winter has come and the Snow King is here—
There! a big snow-ball hit me on the ear!

## TOBOGGANING.

### BY B. HARDWICKE.

This sport, under different names, is popular both in Canada and Russia. Before Nihilism had terrified a great part of the life and gayety out of the Russian court, it was a popular pastime even among members of the imperial family.

As soon as the Neva was frozen over sufficiently to bear the weight, two immense piers of solid ice were built at distances of about a quarter to half a mile apart. On one side there was a flight of steps to the top, and on the other a precipitous descent at about an angle of forty-five degrees. The sport consisted in descending this incline in a small sleigh, or toboggan. The pilot and his one or more passengers having descended the first incline, ascended the steps of the other pier on foot, and made the return journey. The trip was repeated back and forth until the parties were weary of the sport.

THE TOBOGGAN.

A toboggan may accommodate three or four persons, as shown in our picture, but the smaller sleighs made to hold only two are more common in Russia. A very slight movement suffices to guide the toboggan, or to throw it out of its course. The steering is done by the occupant of the back seat. An inexperienced pilot, finding his toboggan careering toward the right, is apt to put too much force into his efforts to change its course, and so upset both himself and his passengers. The toboggan responds to the slightest touch. A stick of wood is sometimes used in the guiding, but it can be readily done by the hand.

To enjoy a toboggan ride it is necessary to be well skilled in the art of guiding the sleigh, or to have great confidence in the person who is to do the steering. By the time the toboggan has reached the level, it has acquired velocity sufficient to carry it a very long distance.

In Canada, where some people who are not fond of cold weather assert that the winters are "thirteen months long," tobogganing is a most popular sport. While the nights are enlivened with balls, hops, and concerts, the days are devoted to snow-shoeing excursions and tobogganing parties, in which all, both sexes and all ages, join, and which brighten the hill-slopes and river-banks throughout the dominion.

The Canadian toboggan proper is a light curved slip of birch bark, daintily painted or embroidered in quaint Indian style, which glides down the icy slope with delicious swiftness, and, skillfully guided, carries its occupant far along the level ground at the base. In some places in Canada there are courses of wood erected, and during the long winters the sport can be frequently enjoyed.

There is just danger enough in tobogganing to make it exciting. An incautious guide may upset his passengers or run into another toboggan. The pace being from thirty to sixty miles an hour, a collision may result in some serious bruises. In most places the course chosen is some natural declivity where the undulations may be smoothed down so that the incline is even. Water is sometimes poured down the slope and allowed to freeze, so as to increase the slipperiness of the surface.

If any of our readers should have an opportunity of indulging in the sport, they will do well to bear in mind our advice, and if they undertake to act as pilots, must be very careful not to get excited. The fun which boys in[Pg 228] the United States call coasting is only tobogganing on a small scale; but the prepared course and the long run of the sleigh on the level make the pastime much more exciting. Toboggans are sold at all the large general stores in Montreal and Toronto. There is very little demand for them in New York, but they may be obtained through a firm in William Street, New York.

## FUN AND PICTURES.

### BY CHARLES BARNARD.

Within a year or two there has been introduced into this country a new set of tools for girls and boys that will not only enable them to procure a great deal of useful information, but lots of downright fun as well.

The first thing necessary is a small wooden box painted black, and having a brass tube placed in one side. In this brass tube is a lens. You see what that is. It is a camera. With the camera is a set of sticks, hinged in the middle, and called a tripod. When folded up, it makes a neat package that can be carried in the hand. When opened and set up, the camera is placed on top, and kept in place by a screw.

There is also a little cap for the tube of the camera, and two, or even more flat little wooden boxes, with openings at each end, closed by wooden slides. There is also a small pocket-lantern that gives a red light. Before we can do any work we must buy some sensitive plates. These come in packages of a dozen each, wrapped in black paper. They are called gelatine plates, and sometimes dry plates. They are so sensitive that the smallest ray of white light would ruin them at once. We must open the package, therefore, by the light of our lantern in a dark room when we come to put our plates in the little wooden boxes. Say we take two and put them back to back; that gives us a chance to take four pictures.

It is a bright sunny day. Let us start for some fun and pictures. Ah! there's a girl knitting on the door-step under a grape-vine. She is busy, and sits quite still. We set the camera up before her. Point the brass tube at her, and draw out the bellows at the back of the camera. We have with us two sheets of pasteboard bound together at the edges, like a book, with black cloth. Hold this before the ground glass on the camera and look between the leaves or sheets of pasteboard. There is a picture of the girl. It is upside down, and a little dim and hazy. The first we can not help, and by moving the bellows in or out we change the picture until each twig and leaf is sharp and clear on the glass.

Now take off the ground glass very carefully, and place one of the wooden boxes in its place, taking care to put the two handles at the right, and to fasten the box to the camera by the clasp on top. Softly now! Do not stir the camera. Put on the cap, and carefully draw out the slide in the box next the camera. Steady. Take off the cap, and wait six seconds. Put on the cap, and put the slide in the box again. "Much obliged, little girl. We will send you your picture to-morrow." After that we see a boy fishing, a rose-bush in full bloom, and a pretty house by the pond, and we have a shot in the same way at each.

GIRLS TAKING EACH OTHER'S PHOTOGRAPHS.

Among other things we bought with the camera were three shallow pans and four paper boxes containing dry chemicals, together with a few cents' worth of oxalic acid in dry powder, a little sulphuric acid in a bottle, and a bottle of dry bromide of ammonia. We shall also find a small pair of scales and weights useful.

Now for work. Open the box marked neutral oxalate of potash, and weigh out two ounces, and put it in a bottle with six ounces of hot water. Then to this add a few grains of the oxalic acid. For measuring the water we use a glass graduate. From the box marked protosulphate of iron weigh out two ounces, and put it in a bottle with six ounces of hot water. To this add six drops of sulphuric acid. Let them stand until they are cool. From[Pg 229] the box marked hyposulphite of soda take one ounce, and from the box marked alum two ounces, and put the chemicals in bottles containing six ounces of cold water each. Lastly, weigh out one hundred and twenty grains of the bromide of ammonia, and mix with two ounces of cold water. Pour the first two mixtures into clean bottles, taking care to keep back the sediment. For convenience, we will call the bottle of oxalate of potash No. 1, the iron mixture No. 2, the hyposulphite of soda No. 3, and the alum No. 4.

After supper we will light the lantern, open our picture game-bag, and see what we have captured. On the table we place the three pans, the numbered bottles, and bromide of ammonia, which is called the "restrainer." Now measure out one ounce of No. 1, and put it in one pan. Then add one-quarter ounce of No. 2, and a few drops of the "restrainer." In another pan pour enough of No. 3 to cover the bottom, and in the third some of No. 4.

Open one of the boxes, and take out a plate. Hold it right side up for a moment in a bowl of cold water, and then drop it lightly into the pan containing Nos. 1 and 2. Hold the pan in front of the lamp, and gently rock it up and down. Why, look at that! See that black spot on the plate. There's another in the corner. Oh, that's the sky. There are two more spots. That is—yes, that's the girl's dress. There's her face, and those two small spots are her hands.

Now wash the plate at the sink, and place it in the pan containing No. 4 for a moment. Then take it out, and put it in the pan containing No. 3. How strange! The picture is fading away. No. That's all right. Wait a moment, and then hold it up to the light. There it is, with the white film quite faded away. Give it one more washing, and place it in No. 4 for five minutes. Take the other plates and treat them each in the same way.

Next day we find that our four plates are regular photographic negatives, and if we take them to the photographer, he will give us prints of them at a very low price. Keep the negative, for if it is a very pretty one, you can have as many prints made as you wish. Another and cheaper way is to print them yourself. We buy a little picture-frame having a movable back, and called a printing-frame. We place in this one of the negatives, with the smooth side out, and lay over it a piece of paper called ferroprussiate paper, or sensitive paper, and locking the back of the frame, we put it in the bright sunshine for three or four minutes. Then we open the frame in a shaded room, and taking out the paper, we put it in a pail of water in a dark closet, and leave it floating there for half an hour. When we open the closet, we take out the paper, and hang it up to dry in the dark. When it is dry, there is the picture, in blue and white.

Any boy or girl twelve years old can do this work. The new tools cost only a few dollars, and they bring a great deal of fun, and in a little while a whole gallery of pictures.

P.S.—Don't forget to send the picture to the girl as we promised.

## THE TALKING LEAVES.[1]

#### An Indian Story.

### BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.

### Chapter XVIII.

fair amount of beauty as well as convenience marked the spot which the Apache braves had chosen for their camp on the bank of the river. Many Bears had approved of it when he came, but he had said nothing about the beauty of it. He had only ordered two or three trusty warriors to go at once and hunt for a ford, so that he could get upon the opposite bank of the river if necessary.

It was some little time before they found one, a mile lower down, and then they and the great chief were astonished by a report brought to him by Dolores. Some of the squaws, she said, had taken their children into the river for a bath, right there by the camp, and one of them had found a place where she could wade across and back.

It was afterward found to be a flat ledge of rock, with deep water above and below, but it was none the less a bitter pill for the pride of the warriors.

To think of squaws and children presuming to find, right there under their noses, the very thing they were hunting for up and down so anxiously! That, too, when any man's eyes, or any woman's, could now perceive a slight ripple in the water on the shallow place, such as ought to have made them suspect it at once.

The discovery of the ford made the spot safe for the camp. Orders were given not to put up any lodges or unpack any baggage until morning, and the whole band prepared for a night in the open air.

[Pg 230]

Long after Ni-ha-be was sound asleep, her adopted sister was lying wide awake, and gazing at the stars overhead.

"I remember now," she said to herself. "It was my father told me about the stars. That's why I knew what the talking leaves meant. He was very good to me. I can see him plainer and plainer all the while."

Rita gazed and gazed, and thought and thought, until at last her eyelids closed heavily, and she too was asleep. Not so soundly as Ni-ha-be, for many strange dreams came to her, and all she could remember of them was the very last and latest of all.

It was just like the picture in the talking leaves which Many Bears had spoken about the day before, only that now the miners did not look like that, and Rita in her dream actually thought she saw Many Bears himself among the Indians who were attacking them.

"He said he was there. I see him. They are coming. The squaw I saw in the book. Mother!"

And suddenly Rita found herself wide awake, and all the rest of her dream was lost to her.

Ni-ha-be too was awake.

"What is the matter, Rita?"

"Oh, a dream!"

"Ugh! I never dream. That's the talking leaves. Dreams are big lies like them. What was it?"

"The fight in the picture."

"Miners? Pale-faces? Look, Rita, the braves are mounting. It is hardly sunrise, but they are going. Did your dream say there was any danger coming to us?"

"No, it did not say."

"I don't care. The Apaches are warriors, and Many Bears is a great chief. He will not let an enemy come near his camp."

"Besides, we can cross the river."

"Yes, by the ford."

THE APACHE WOMEN WAITING FOR THE RETURN OF THE BRAVES.

The return of the warriors was eagerly watched for, but Many Bears did not seem disposed to hurry back to his camp after his meeting with Steve and Murray.

Perhaps he was the more willing to ride slowly because it gave him an opportunity to ask a great many questions, and to consider the answers given.

He did not seem very curious as to the past history of his new friends. Indian politeness compelled him to let them keep their own affairs to themselves. Besides, the account they gave sounded well.

"Send Warning and Knotted Cord find mine? Ugh! Good. Apache not want him. Friend keep him. Then other pale-faces come for mine? Ugh! Bad. Drive off friend. Too many rifle. Too many big strong. You not like it. Ugh! Apaches drive 'em all away. Take every scalp. You see."

"We're in no hurry about the mine," said Murray. "Go back for it some day. Too many Lipans now."

"They go away too. Go beyond mountains. Never come over here before. Apaches teach 'em a lesson."

The mind of Many Bears was very much troubled. He wanted to travel westward as fast as possible, and yet here was a band of his tribe's worst and most ancient enemies within easy striking distance. Not to speak of Captain Skinner and his men, and the "plunder" there might be in their "outfit."

"What you say? Send Warning tell friend what do."

"Let 'em all alone," said Murray, promptly. "Maybe Lipans fight pale-faces. Maybe not. Both get scared and go away. No good to lose warrior for nothing."

"Get scalp. Get big name. Tribe say great chief."

That was the difficulty. His pride was in the way of his good sense.

Murray did his best in the remainder of that ride, and his peaceful advice might perhaps have been taken if it had not been for the hot temper of the younger braves and the "war spirit" they found at the camp on their arrival.

"They're a venomous lot," said Murray to Steve, as he looked around him, while they were riding in. All the mixed "reserve" who could get ponies had mounted them and ridden out to meet their chief and his warriors. More than one squaw was among them, ready to ply bow and arrows, or even a lance, if need should be.

Rita, who was on the look-out, saw the party as it approached, and called out to Ni-ha-be:

"Where are your eyes? Don't you see who is coming?"

"Father? All the braves? Oh, Rita, there are Knotted Cord and Send Warning!"

They did not so much as guess how eagerly their faces were all the while sought for by the eyes of the two pale-faces.

"Do you see them, Murray?" had been the first thing Steve had said as they were riding in.

"Not yet. Be careful, Steve. If you see them, you must not speak to them. Contrary to rule."

"Not speak to them!"

"Not till the chief himself introduces you. Even after that you must not say too much."

Steve was well pleased, as he looked around him, to see how very strong was that band of Apaches. It seemed as if he had just so much more reason to feel safe about again falling into the hands of the Lipans.

True, he was among the wildest kind of Indians, but he was not a prisoner, and the Apaches had no claim on him.

"They will not care whether I go or stay," he said to himself.

He had not gotten away from them yet, however, and among the first to welcome him was Red Wolf.

Steve was glad to meet the young brave again, and showed it, and so did Murray.

The latter, indeed, won the heart of Many Bears by saying of his son, in the presence of the warriors standing by,

"Brave young man. Stand right up and fight. Make a great war chief some day. I like him."

"Young men go," said Many Bears. "Send Warning stay with gray-heads."

Steve walked away at his new friend's side, both of them a little puzzled what to do or say, until Steve asked a question in Mexican Spanish.

The ice was broken. Red Wolf understood that tongue as well as Steve did.

"You are my brother. You are not a pale-face."

Steve was not altogether ignorant of Indian manners and of their bitter prejudices, and he replied:

"Brother. Yes. All right. I am an Apache now. Fight for tribe. Fight for brother."

That was precisely what he had already done, so that it was more than a mere profession, but the reply of Red Wolf had a great deal of frankness in it:

"Red Wolf is an Apache. He hates pale-faces. Glad his brother has come to be an Apache. Eat with him now. Show him foolish young squaw that ran away and got caught. Squaw know very little."

They had walked along for some distance when Red Wolf said that he was very near his own camp fire. He had not intended this remark for any ears but those of Steve Harrison, and his pride forbade his noticing the ripple of laughter which immediately followed it.

"Did you hear him, Rita?" said Ni-ha-be. "He was one of the braves who went to find the ford. They forgot to ask the squaws where to look for it."

Steve heard the rippling laugh, but he did not understand the words. Could they be making fun of him?

His cheeks burned red hot at the thought of it, for he turned his head just long enough to see that those two pairs of bright and searching eyes were looking straight at him. They dropped instantly, but not before they had seen the quick flush rise to his face.

"Ni-ha-be," said Rita, "he will think we are rude."

[Pg 231]

"Ni-ha-be, Rita," said Red Wolf at that moment, "tell Dolores she must cook for Knotted Cord. The chief says so. Bring blanket. Bring water. Be quick."

"Rita," said Ni-ha-be, while they were dipping their water gourds in the river, "he is as handsome as an Apache."

The two girls were certainly beginning to take a very great interest in their white friends and visitors, but they both stood gravely and silently enough before Red Wolf and Knotted Cord when they brought them the water.

"Young squaws thank you for help," said Red Wolf. "Both very glad. Very young. Very foolish. Daughters of great chief himself."

Steve almost forgot Murray's caution, for he frankly held out his hand, saying,

"I'm glad Murray and I were on hand to help. They're too nice to be killed. Glad to see them both well."

Mother Dolores was looking on, and was deeply scandalized by the terrible boldness of Ni-ha-be, for that young lady actually took the hand Steve held out, and shook it, for all the world as if she had been a brave.

Such a thing was unheard of, and what made it worse was the fact that Rita instantly followed her example.

Red Wolf hardly knew what to say, but he was pretty well used to seeing Ni-ha-be have her own way. He was pleased that they had stopped short of so grave an offense as speaking.

"Rita will go. She will bring the talking leaves by-and-by. Red Wolf has a question to ask of his brother. Ni-ha-be go too."

Steve would have been glad to make a longer "call" upon the daughters of the great chief, but they quietly walked away, as became them, not even laughing until they were at some distance.

Then it was Ni-ha-be who laughed, for Rita was thinking about the talking leaves, and wishing with all her heart that she could manage to ask some questions of her own concerning them.

"If he could not answer me, I am sure Send Warning could. He is old and he is wise, and I know he is good."

#### [to be continued.]

## THE BOY COMMANDER OF THE CAMISARDS.

### BY GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON.

When Louis XIV. was King of France, that country was Catholic, as it is still, but in the mountainous region called the Cevennes more than half the people were Protestants. At first the King consented that these Protestant people should live in quiet, and worship as they pleased; but in those days men were not tolerant in matters of religion, as they are now, and so after a while King Louis made up his mind that he would compel all his people to believe alike. The Protestants of the Cevennes were required to become Catholics. When they refused, soldiers were sent to compel them, and great cruelties were practiced.

When this persecution had lasted for nearly thirty years, a body of young men who were gathered together in the High Cevennes resolved to defend themselves by force.

Among these young men was one, a mere boy, named Jean Cavalier. This boy, without knowing it, had military genius of a very high order, and when it became evident that he and his comrades could not long hold out against the large bodies of regular troops sent against them, he suggested a plan which in the end proved to be so good that for years the poor peasants were able to maintain war against all the armies that King Louis could send.

Cavalier's plan was to make uprisings in several places at once, so that the King's officers could not tell in which way to turn. As he and his comrades knew the country well, and had friends to tell them of the enemy's movements, they could nearly always know when it was safe to attack, and when they must hide in the woods.

One Sunday, Cavalier, who was a preacher as well as a soldier, held services in his camp in the woods, and all the Protestant peasants in the neighborhood attended. The Governor of Alais, whose name was De la Hay, thought this a good opportunity not only to defeat Cavalier's small force, but also to catch the Protestant women and children in the act of attending a Protestant service, the punishment for which was death. He collected a force of about six hundred men and marched toward the wood, where he knew he should outnumber the peasants three or four to one. He had a mule loaded with ropes, declaring that he was going to hang all of the rebels at once.

When news of their coming was brought to the peasants, they sent away all the women and children, and began to discuss the situation. They had no commander, for although Cavalier had led them generally, he had no authority to do so. On this occasion many thought it best to retreat at once, as there were less than two hundred of them; but Cavalier declared that if they would follow him, he would lead them to a place where victory might be won. They consented, and he advanced to a point on the road where he could shelter his men. Quickly disposing them in line of battle behind some defenses, he awaited the coming of the enemy.

De la Hay, being overconfident because of his superior numbers, blundered at the outset. Instead of attacking first with his infantry, he placed his horsemen in front, and ordered an assault. Cavalier was quick to take advantage of this blunder. He ordered only a few of his men to fire, and this drew a volley from the advancing horsemen, which did little damage to the sheltered troops, but emptied the horsemen's weapons. Instantly Cavalier ordered a charge and a volley, and the horsemen, with empty pistols, gave way. Cavalier pursued hotly, giving the enemy no time to rally. A re-enforcement coming up, tried to check Cavalier's charge, but so violent was the onset that these fresh troops gave way in their turn, and the chase ended only when the King's men had shut themselves up in the fortified towns.

When the battle was over it was decided unanimously to make Cavalier the commander. He refused, however, unless they would also give him power to enforce obedience, and his troops at once voted to make his authority absolute, even in questions of life and death. According to the best authorities, Cavalier was only seventeen years old when this absolute command was conferred upon him.

On one occasion Cavalier attacked a party of forty men who were marching through the country to re-enforce a distant post, and killed most of them. While searching the dead bodies, he found in the pocket of the commanding officer an order signed by Count Broglio, the King's Lieutenant, directing all military officers and town authorities to lodge and feed the party on their march. No sooner had the boy soldier read this paper than he resolved to turn it to his own advantage.

The castle of Servas, near Alais, had long been a source of trouble to Cavalier. It was a strong place, built upon a steep hill, and was so difficult of approach that it would have been madness to try to take it by force.

CAVALIER PERSONATING THE LIEUTENANT OF THE COUNT BROGLIO.

When he found the order referred to, he resolved to pretend that he was the commander of the detachment which he had just destroyed. Dressing himself in the dead officer's clothes, he ordered his men to put on the clothing of the other dead royalists. Then he took six of his best men, with their own Camisard uniforms on, and bound them with ropes, to represent prisoners. One of them had been wounded in the arm, and his bloody sleeve helped the stratagem. Putting these six men at the head of his troop, with a guard of their disguised comrades over them, he marched toward the castle. There he declared himself to be Count Broglio's lieutenant, and said that he had met a company of the Barbets, or Camisards, and had defeated them, taking six prisoners; that[Pg 232] he was afraid to keep these prisoners in the village overnight lest their friends should rescue them; and that he wished to lodge them in the castle for safety. When the Governor of the castle heard this story, and saw the order of Count Broglio, he was completely imposed upon. He ordered the prisoners to be brought into the castle, and invited Cavalier to be his guest there for the night. Taking two of his officers with him, Cavalier went into the castle to sup with the Governor. During supper several of his soldiers, who were encamped just outside, went into the castle upon pretense of getting wine or bread, and at a signal from Cavalier they overpowered the sentinels, and threw the gates open. The rest of the troop rushed in at once, and before the garrison could seize their arms, the boy commander was master of the fortress.

Failing to overcome him by force or strategy, Cavalier's foes fell back upon the hope of starving him during the winter. But in indulging this hope they forgot that the crown and glory of his work in the field had been his wonderful fertility of resource. He knew quite as well as they did that he must live all winter in the woods, so he gave his whole mind to the question of how to do it.

He began during the harvest to make his preparations. He explored all the caves in the mountains, and selected the best ones for use as store-houses, taking care to have them in all parts of the mountains, so that if cut off from one he could draw upon another. In these caves he stored quantities of grain and other provisions, and whenever he needed meal, some of his men, who were millers, would carry grain to some lonely country mill and grind it.

To prevent this, the King's officers ordered that all the country mills should be rendered unfit for use, but before this could be done, Cavalier directed some of his men, who were skilled machinists, to disable two or three of the mills by carrying away the important parts of their machinery and storing them in his caves. Then, when he wanted meal, his machinists had only to replace the machinery in some disabled mill, and remove it again after his millers had done the necessary grinding. His bakers made use of farmers' ovens to bake bread in, and when the King's soldiers, hearing of this, destroyed the ovens, Cavalier sent his masons—for he had all sorts of craftsmen in his ranks—to rebuild them.

Having two powder-makers with him, he collected salt-petre, burned willow twigs for charcoal, and made all the powder he needed, in his caves. For bullets he melted down the leaden weights of windows, and when this source of supply failed, he melted down pewter vessels and used pewter bullets—a fact which gave rise to the belief that he used poisoned balls. Finally, in a dyer's establishment, he had the good luck to find two great leaden kettles, weighing more than seven hundred quintals, which, he says, "I caused immediately to be carried into the magazines with as much diligence and care as if they had been silver."

Chiefly by Cavalier's energy and military skill, the war was kept up against fearful odds for years, and finally the young soldier succeeded in making a treaty of peace in which perfect liberty of conscience and worship—which was all they had been fighting for—was guaranteed to the Protestants of the Cevennes. His friends rejected this treaty, however, and Cavalier soon afterward went to Holland, where he was given command of a regiment in the English service. His career in arms was a brilliant one—so brilliant that the British made him a General, and Governor of the island of Jersey; but he nowhere showed greater genius or manifested higher soldierly qualities than during the time when he was the Boy Commander of the Camisards.

[Pg 233]

"THEY WERE ACTUALLY STUCK AGAINST THE PERPENDICULAR WALL OF ROCK."

## BIRDS' NESTS FOR SOUP.

### BY RALPH WATSON.

One pleasant morning in the early part of last April I had just landed in Macao. Having no idea that I was acquainted with any person in Asia, you can imagine that I was not a little surprised to hear an exultant shout burst forth behind me, and the familiar old college cry. "Rah! rah! rah! Y—a—l—e! 26 South College, or there is no faith in the blue! Well, Well, if this isn't glorious!"

With the first sound a hand came down vigorously on my shoulder, swinging me around in a way that reminded me of past experiences, and lo! Jack Merriman had hold of me in earnest.

"What a splendid fellow you have grown to be, Tom!—six feet, if you are an inch. Look at me—five feet six; never could amount to anything, you know."

"But how come you here, Jack? What are you doing?"

"In tea, my boy, in tea. And not a bad thing, now, tea is, when you take it in the right way. But for yourself—whence and whither bound?"

[Pg 234]

"From London last, by Suez, Bombay, and Calcutta; to Canton to-morrow, and then up the coast."

"Very good; then we will make the most of our time to-day. Here we are at my office, and this is, of course, your head-quarters. Three o'clock now. I'll just send around and tell old Man Lok to be ready for us, for I am going to give you something you never had—a regular Chinese dinner. The old fellow has some of the best nests I have seen in months, and you shall have trial of the same. Would you like a few fins too, or perhaps a pacu-qui? But I forget; you are not yet up in our style of rations. Never mind; I will show you what we can do."

The rest of the afternoon Jack and I talked about old times. Then we repaired to the restaurant, which he told me was noted for the excellence of Chinese dishes served up in their own peculiar style.

"Up to the chopsticks, Tom? I suppose not, and we must make allowance for you. Man Lok has doubtless provided, for I told him you were a poor Mellican man who did not know much yet. He will have a knife and fork for you."

On the table at my place were a knife and fork, as Jack had promised; at his were the chopsticks, the use of which was a mystery to me then, though subsequently I became expert in managing them. The dinner was a most elaborate one, course succeeding course in great number and variety, all very elegantly served. Many of them were such articles of food as I had never seen, and as to the nature of some I could not even hazard a guess. But I will not describe them at present, excepting a single one.

This was a soup, which made its appearance at, I think, the fifth course. It was rather thick, and having a decidedly gelatinous look and feeling, it might almost have been called a diluted jelly rather than a soup. It was served very hot, and the flavor was excellent. With it were brought small dishes of very peculiar preserves, which I thought the most delicious things in their way that I had ever tasted. Jack said nothing until some little progress had been made with the soup.

"How do you like it, my boy? A twang of Asia clear through, is not there? Recalls all your memories of Lalla Rookh and Sindbad the Sailor, and those other worthies of ancient history, eh?"

"It is certainly delightful," said I; "unlike anything I ever tasted."

"I should think it might be. Precious little of it you ever see outside the Flowery Land. And what is more, there is not, as I believe, another man even in all China who can match old Man Lok in serving it. This is the famous bird's-nest soup, about as much a peculiarity and a glory of China as the Great Wall, and I was determined that you should make your acquaintance with it under the auspices of Man Lok, the great high-priest, the Soyer, of bird's nest."

"But what is it, Jack? What are you talking about? How can you eat grass, and sticks, and feathers, and leaves, to say nothing of mud? for those make up birds' nests in general. I must say I never heard of their being used for food."

"Well done, old fellow! Hurrah for Yale! Here is education for you!—a graduate of high standing who never even heard of bird's-nest soup. Why, Tom, you are all adrift, man. I learned more than that in the course of my college life, though I did graduate in the second term of Sophomore year. But I see how it was; classics, mathematics, and boating were all you studied, instead of taking to something useful."

"All right, Jack, I acknowledge your wisdom; only I wish it would enlighten my ignorance."

"So I will, Tom—so I will; but we will wait till evening, and do it at my lodgings, for I have some of the nests there, as well as the birds which build them, and you shall see for yourself. For the present we will do honor to Man Lok." Full honor was done to Man Lok, and evening found me in Jack's rooms.

"Now, Tom, if you will sit down and behave yourself properly, I will give you a practical lecture on ornithology viewed as a science which relates to soup. And that we may start right, I will show you in the first place the origin of the soup."

As he spoke, Jack opened a drawer, from which he took five or six stuffed skins of small dark-colored birds, and after them three curious-looking objects, which he gravely placed on the table before me by the side of the skins. These queer things were irregularly circular, rather broader than my hand, an inch and a half or two inches thick on one side, thinning out almost to an edge on the opposite side. The thickened side was flat, as though it had been formed against some hard substance, from which it had been subsequently torn away.

The one which Jack had placed nearest my hand was dark and dirty, had feathers and filth of all kinds mixed in with its upper surface, and as, like the others, it was sufficiently hollowed out above for such a purpose. I could easily see that it might have been a nest in which a brood of young birds had been hatched and reared. The one next to it was cleaner, free from feathers, and showed no signs of having been used as a nest; but it was of a dingy brown color, and looked generally dirty. The third, however, was really beautiful. It was clean, clear as though its fibres were of pure gelatine, and so brilliant that it looked almost white.

"What in the world are these things?"

"Soup," said Jack, with great gravity—"undeveloped soup."

"Do, for pity's sake, talk sense, Jack. Do you mean to tell me that I have been eating such stuff as this?" pointing to the one nearest me.

"Such are not my intentions. You dined, I think, at the establishment of my friend Man Lok, and that sort of article never comes under his hand. This light one is like what you caused to become part of you, and I believe that even your prejudiced appetite can not fail to admit that it was good. But come, Tom, let's commence with the birds, and we will take up the nests afterward. Look at this little fellow, now; dull-colored beggar, is not he? Do you recognize him? Or rather did you ever know any bird which he resembles?"

"No, none that I can remember."

"Look again. Would he look natural whirling down into a chimney just at evening?"

"What! Do you mean a chimney-swallow, Jack?"

"That is precisely what I mean. Yes, Tom, these nests, which are such a peculiar delicacy to Chinese palates, are all made by swallows, and there are, as far as I can trace them, four species which build nests of this sort. They belong to a division of the swallows which are sometimes called swifts, our common chimney-swallow of the United States being included among the swifts. Those which build the edible nests are found only on the islands of this Asiatic region, and mostly on the coasts of the islands, though sometimes they go forty or fifty miles inland. They are all of one genus, Collocalia, and this one in my hand, which I shot myself, is the Collocalia fuciphaga.

"Four years ago I made a run down to the north coast of Java, and it was there I obtained these, the nests and the birds. The coast on that part of the island is very rocky, and large caves exist in some places, penetrating the rocks quite deeply. I knew that these caves were said to be specially frequented by the swallows, and I found that the report was true, for I visited five or six of them. The birds were very abundant, and I had opportunity to see their nests in every stage of their history. I brought away these three as fair representatives. You can see how they were placed, and this engraving gives you a correct[Pg 235] idea of it. They were actually stuck against the perpendicular or sloping wall of rock, precisely as a chimney-swallow sticks his nest against the side of a chimney, his, however, consisting only of a worthless mass of twigs. The Chinamen gather them from these places in boat-loads, and bring them to market. Most of those which are brought here come, I think, from Java and Borneo, though a good supply is obtained also in Ceylon, the species which is found there being the Collocalia nidifica. The nests, however, of the different species are sold together, the only distinction being in quality as to cleanness and color.

"Of course the value of the nests, as with all other goods, depends upon the quality. This dirty fellow here, which has evidently done its work, and furnished board and lodging to a rising family, is of small value; and yet even such as these Chinese patience and ingenuity can clean and clear so perfectly that they are fit for use, though never becoming of first class. This next one had not been used for rearing a brood, but it was soiled in some way in the building, and is of about middle grade. But this is what we call a prime article, this light one, and the whiter it is the better price it commands. The best are worth more than their weight in silver."

"But of what do the birds build them, Jack? Where do they get any such material? It is a strange-looking substance."

"No more strange than honey, Tom, and made in the same way. It used to be thought that it was something which the birds gathered from the surface of the sea, but we know now that that is all foolishness. I saw the swallows catching flies as industriously as I ever watched the barn-swallows doing it over the Green in New Haven, and I opened the stomachs of many specimens which I shot, and found them always filled with insects, and with nothing else, so that we know that their food is the same as that of other birds of their tribe.

"But they have a set of glands, corresponding to the salivary glands at the sides of the mouth, which form this peculiar gelatinous material used by them in building their nests. You know the song says, 'Little by little the bird builds its best,' and that is the way they deposit these fine fibres. When first placed they are always clear and nearly white, and of course nests gathered in that condition are highly prized; few, however, are obtained that have not been more or less soiled. I do not understand the mystery of Man Lok's art, but I know that bird's-nest soup is made very much as any other form of such material—say isinglass or gelatine—would be prepared for the table."

## THE LITTLE DOLLS' DRESSMAKER.

#### ADAPTED FROM CHARLES DICKENS.

### BY MRS. ZADEL B. GUSTAFSON.—(Concluded.)

There stood on the door-step a rather overgrown boy, with a great many buttons on his clothes, and a very kind, pleasant face; though not at all handsome.

"Come in, sir," said the little dressmaker. "And who may you be?"

"My name's Sloppy, miss."

"DON'T OPEN YOUR MOUTH SO WIDE; SOME DAY IT'LL CATCH SO."

"Ought to be Buttons," laughed Jenny. But when Master Sloppy threw back his head and laughed, she exclaimed, "Goodness me! don't open your mouth so wide; if you do, some day it'll catch so, and never come shut again."

The big boy shut his mouth, and looked around the room for all the world as if it had been described to him, and he was trying to verify the description.

"How do you like it?" asked Jenny.

"Pretty well, miss."

"And what do you think of me?"

This question confused Master Sloppy. He pulled at his coat buttons, and looked at her foolishly.

"Don't be afraid," said she. "Speak out. You think I'm queer, now, don't you?" She shook her head at him, and the broken-toothed comb with which she had pushed back her hair fell out, so that the shining locks came down and made a golden bower all around the tiny little figure.

"Oh," cried Sloppy, "what a lot of it! and what a color!"

"What did you come for?" asked Jenny, in her gentle voice, after a short silence.

"I heard you dressed dolls, miss," said Sloppy, giving a very odd look at the door.

"Did you, indeed? Do you want a doll dressed?"

"You don't live here all alone, do you, miss?" said Sloppy, with another look at the door.

"No; I live here with my fairy godmother."

"With—with—who did you say, miss?"

"Well, of course you don't understand," Jenny explained. "With my second father, or with my first, really." She shook her head and sighed. "If you'd known a poor child I used to have, you'd have understood me; but as it is, you don't, and you can't."

"You must have been taught a long time, miss, before you could do such nice work, and so pretty," Sloppy said, looking at the gay doll and the quick fingers.

"Never was taught a stitch. Just cobbled and cobbled until I found out how. Did badly at first, but better now."

"And here have I been ever so long a-learning of my trade—cabinet-making," said the boy. "I'll tell you what, miss; I should like to make you something."

"Much obliged," said the little creature, with her sharp look, and her head on one side. "You're a new sort of customer. What would you like to make for me, now?"

Sloppy looked all around the room. "I could make you a handy set of nests to lay the dolls in, or I could make you a handy little set of drawers to keep your silks and threads in, miss, or I could turn you a pretty handle for that crutch. It belongs to him you call your godmother?"

"It belongs to me," said Jenny, blushing over her face and neck; "I'm lame."

Sloppy blushed too, for he was a kind boy in spite of his big mouth and his lots of buttons.

"I'm glad it's yours, miss," said he, very quickly, "because I'd rather make it pretty for you than for any one else. Please may I look at it?"

"You'd better see me use it," said Jenny, getting up. "See, this is the way—hoppety-kickety-peg-peg-peg! Not graceful, is it?"

"Why, it seems to me that you hardly want it at all," said Sloppy, very kindly.

The little dressmaker sat down again and gave the crutch to him, thanking him with that soft voice and that better look that gave her a kind of beauty all her own. He measured the handle on his sleeve, and then gently laid the crutch down.

"It would be a real pleasure to me, miss, to fix it. I've heard that you can sing beautiful, and a song would pay me any time a deal better'n money."

"You're a very kind young man, and I accept your offer," said the little creature, with a smile. "I suppose he won't mind," she added, thoughtfully; and then, tossing her head, "if he does mind, why, he may, that's all."

"Meaning him you call your godmother, miss?" Sloppy asked.

"No, no—him, him, him," said Jenny, with an odd, amused look at Sloppy's wonder.

"Him, him, him," repeated Sloppy, staring.

[Pg 236]

"Yes, him who is coming to court and marry me."

"Oh, him," said Sloppy. "When is he coming, miss?"

"What a question! How should I know?" cried the little dressmaker.

"Where is he coming from, miss?"

"Why, goodness gracious, boy, how can I tell that either? He's coming from somewhere, I suppose, and he's coming some day. That's all I know about him."

At this Master Sloppy threw back his head and laughed so heartily, and seemed so merry, that the dressmaker began to laugh too, and even Mr. Riah joined in.

"Now," said Jenny, when she had got her breath again, "you haven't told me yet what you've come to see me for.—Oh, godmother! what's that?"

"It's a bride, miss, a bride. And a wagon, a coach, a chariot, miss!" roared Sloppy, who sprang up and threw the door wide open.

There was a most unusual sound of wheels and voices, and in the same moment the little dressmaker, golden bower of hair and all, was caught up in the arms of Lizzie—Lizzie, in a wonderful silk dress, with shining pearls around her neck, and lace to drive a little dolls' dressmaker wild. Behind Lizzie stood a handsome gentleman, thin and pale yet, but with the happiest look Jenny had ever seen in a man's face in all her little watchful life.

"Come," said this gentleman to Lizzie—"come, Mrs. Wrayburn, let me take Miss Golden Hair, and you bring on the godmother."

Sloppy was already out and on the driver's seat. And almost as quickly as I have told it, the pretty coach and the span of dark gray horses—which behaved as if they had been told all about it—were flying away toward London.

In the coach were Mr. Riah, who hardly knew how he came to be there, and the little dressmaker, who sat between the handsome gentleman and Lizzie—her own dear, kind Lizzie; but, oh, how different and how much more beautiful! Jenny thought.

When they had been riding into the city for a little while, the horses stopped in front of a beautiful house, and Lizzie's "him" carried Jenny up the wide stairs, by tall stands of lovely flowers, to a little room. And oh, what a little room it was! The paper on the walls was a tea-rose color; there was a pretty moss-rose carpet, and a little inlaid working bench with little scissors, and a dainty basket with silks and ribbons and velvets pouring out of it, all fit for a dressmaker to the fairies; and a low chair, cushioned to be as soft as a bunch of clover; and a beautiful book of pretty patterns, in which was written: "For my darling Jenny Wren, from her Lizzie-Mizzie-Wizzie."

Such a change—so great and so delightful that any real fairy godmother might have been proud to have made it with her fairy wand—almost took away the little dolls' dressmaker's breath.

But while she sat in the soft low chair, and Lizzie told her how Mr. Wrayburn had been very ill, and how when he got better he had asked to keep his nurse always, and how she had said yes, if she might have her Jenny Wren, and how he had said he couldn't do without Jenny Wren either, the little dressmaker's eyes filled with tears, almost the first happy tears that had ever come into them.

She took Mr. Wrayburn's hand and kissed it, and wound some of her beautiful hair around it, and then twisted some of Lizzie's dark hair around that, and said, "It's a bargain."

Then Lizzie told her that Mr. Riah was going to live in the little house in Church Street, because he liked it best, and he was going to do some nice work for Mr. Wrayburn, and be well paid for it. "And we are going to take tea with him sometimes," said Lizzie, "and he is going to take tea with us very often, my dear, and Sloppy is going to make you the prettiest things, and go on your errands, Jenny love, and you are going to live with us, and be as happy as the day is long, till 'he' comes."

"Oh, he! He can stay away now," said Jenny, with the merriest little laugh. "If he couldn't come when a person was alone, and had trouble, and lots of work to do, he can stay away now as long as he likes."

"And serve him right, miss," said Sloppy, who stood in the doorway, and laughed as merrily as Jenny.

"And, Jenny dear," said Lizzie, after the little dolls' dressmaker had gone to bed under the pretty lace curtains, and both were looking through the window into the pleasant evening sky, "now you can see your long bright slanting rows of children?"

Jenny waited a moment. "Yes, but not here," said she, softly. "By-and-by, when I've gone up to be dead."

#### THE END.

[Pg 237]

## A LOVING KISS.

A big jar of sweetmeats
Stood high on the shelf;
All eager to reach it,
Climbed up a sweet elf.
A thumb and a finger
Were daintily dipped,
When all of a sudden
A little foot slipped.
Then oh, what a tumble!
And oh, what a cry!
But you see a big brother
Was standing close by.
He saw in a moment
Just what was amiss—
A bruised little forehead
Was cured by a kiss.

## IN THE CORNER.

On the chair an open lesson, open wide at A B C,
In the corner little Lettice, just a little girl of three.
Little Lettice is not stupid; she can learn if she will try;
And she knows her A B C just as well as you or I.
But to-day she really will not think of anything at all
But the shining china dishes and the flowers on the wall;
When to big A mother pointed, saying, "Letty, this you know,"
Letty twirled her little fingers and sedately answered, "O!"
This is why our little Lettice in the corner there you see,
There to stand until it pleases her to say her A B C;
For she knows the printed letters just as well as you or I,
And the little miss could say them if she only chose to try.

## MONOGRAM PUZZLE.

There is a novelty and ingenuity about this puzzle that can not fail to delight our puzzle-loving readers. Here, under a fanciful disguise, are four lines of poetry. Our artist has taken each word of a simple stanza, and worked the letters into a graceful monogram. Among the monograms may be found four well-known names. Take the four diagonals, beginning with the one in the left-hand corner. The first two and the last give the names of three popular authors, and the third that of a famous play.

[Pg 238]

There is not a bit of use in being discouraged about it, children; but we are not ashamed to tell you that sometimes we feel just a very little blue when we have to lay aside so many of your dear letters simply because we have not room enough to print them. And then we think of the sweet faces that will be clouded with disappointment, and the provoked faces that will frown, when the Post-office Box comes week after week without the letters John and Jenny are watching for so patiently. But, as we said, it isn't worth while to fret and cry, and so we, for ourselves, make up our minds to enjoy hearing about the goats that draw the little wagons, and the kittens that have such fearful fits, and the birds which are so cunning, and the babies who are so cute. We like to be told, even though we can not print the letters which so inform us, that Molly's little sister Bess is learning to walk, and that Arthur's brother Freddie claps his hands when he looks at the pictures in Harper's Young People. And if you'll keep the secret, and never whisper it to anybody, we'll tell you that we love just as dearly, and perhaps a wee, tiny morsel more dearly, the boys and girls whose words we do not print, than those whose letters are published in Our Post-office Box.

Cedar Hill, Pulaski County, Kentucky.

> We have been taking Young People since last June; I like it very much. I am ten years old. We live in the country, and our home is called Cedar Hill because it has a great many cedar-trees in the yard, and is on a hill. We have six canaries; they sing very sweetly, and are very nice pets. We have a little black shepherd dog; we call him Jipsy; he is very playful.

Sophie M.

This dear little fellow who feeds the sparrows forgot to print his address at the top of his letter. It is a very nice letter notwithstanding:

> I can not write good, so I will have to print my letter. I like Harper's Young People better than any of my story-books. I have about two hundred pets. You could never guess what they are, so I will tell you; they are sparrows, and they are so tame that they will come and perch on the window-sill and look for me to feed them. I give them bread every day. Sometimes, if I do not see them, they go around to the dining-room windows, and peep for me to come. They have a nest inside our garret window.

> I wish Jimmy Brown would write and tell what he got for his Christmas. I hope his stocking was full. I got lots of nice things from Santa Claus. Good-by.

Theodore G. H.

Yoncalla, Oregon.

> We have a dog and five cats. Our dog's name is Telephone. He is a good dog to catch rats and mice. We had a merry Christmas. My brother and I milk the cows and chop the wood. I am eleven years old, and my twin brother and I are going to grub all the ground we can this winter, and pa is going to plough it, and give us the proceeds. We have got about an acre and a half grubbed out. We grubbed up a snake four feet long.

George L.

Grubbing must be hard work, George, and we have no doubt it develops your muscles wonderfully. What are your brother and you going to do with your money when you receive it?

Danvers, Massachusetts.

> I am a little girl in the third class in the grammar school, and my age is nine years. I have never seen a letter from Eastern Massachusetts in Young People, and so I thought that perhaps you would put mine in print.

> Danvers is noted as the birth-place of the celebrated London banker George Peabody; also of General Putnam, who was so famous in the Revolution.

> I am very fond of your paper, and wish it came every day.

May P. G.

Salubria, Idaho.

> I have taken Harper's Young People for almost a year. I like it very much. I look every week to see what new trouble has befallen poor Jimmy Brown, and if I were his sister I would make him a jacket and stuff it with feathers. I can hardly wait for the papers to come, so as to hear what has become of Rita and Ni-ha-be. I have lived almost all my life in the valleys of Idaho. There are many beautiful sights here, such pretty flowers grow in valley and mountain. One kind grows right near the edge of the snow, away up the mountain-side. One can step right from the blossoms to the snow.

> I wish I could have a good school to go to, like so many little girls of my age. I have attended school but nine months in my life. My mother teaches me at home. I have two horses all my own and a saddle, and can ride splendidly, mamma says. I am twelve years old.

Alma C.

Though deprived of the opportunity of going to school, you have learned to use your eyes, and see the beautiful things which God has made; and if you study and read and profit by your mother's instruction, you will lay a good foundation for the class-room when you are older. It is quite an advantage, too, to ride so well, and the health you gain as you canter over the hills is something to be thankful for.

Prospect, Oneida County, New York.

> I live up here near the North Woods, and it is hard work to get books to read, and the winters are long. My father is a guide, and will send any one who will mail me a good book, a map of the Canada lake region, showing the route from Utica, via Trenton Falls, through the wilderness to the lakes.

> My father was in the war, and when the powder-magazine blew up at Yorktown, Virginia, in December, 1863, he found between the walls of an old brick house a curious pipe, made of mahogany, bone, and brass, and he says I may offer it in exchange for a printing-press and type, or a very fine scroll-saw and the attachments.

> I am eleven years old, and my pa says your paper is full of the best reading for boys.

Alfred B. Worden.

Arivaca, Arizona.

> My brother takes Young People, and we both enjoy reading it very much. We wish to tell you of our pony, which we all love dearly. When we have ridden him, he always wants a piece of bread or some sugar, and if we do not give it to him as soon as he is unsaddled, he opens the side door by turning the knob with his lips. Should we drive him away and shut the door, he immediately opens it again, and stands by it until he gets his piece, when he will go off to eat grass. He is very gentle and knowing. Our mamma writes this for us, as we were afraid you would have too much trouble to study it out if we wrote it.

Lena and Charlie B.

What a wise pony! He deserves a large piece of bread with sugar on it; and we hope he never has to wait long for his reward after taking his little master and mistress to ride.

Detroit, Michigan.

> I am a little boy eight years old. I take Young People. My sister takes St Nicholas. I was twelve miles out in the country the other day. The cars pass our door. We have a type-writer, and I write on it instead of with a pen. My papa is a lawyer, and I copy testimony sometimes. We have a little baby, and we call him Mr. Google, but his right name is Herbert.

Norman F.

Your beautiful type-writing made us feel like congratulating your father that he has so intelligent and skillful a copyist.

Woodbury, New Jersey.

> Can any one beat Woodbury for late dandelions? The one inclosed was found on our lawn this morning, January 10.

H.

And a little beauty it must have been, as we can testify, who received it pressed.

Beulah, Kansas.

> I read before our lyceum the story of Jimmy Brown and his monkey; it made everybody laugh. My uncle sent me a pair of Italian Leghorn chickens. They are beauties. We call the rooster John, and the hen Biddy. Biddy lays an egg every day. I think it pays to keep a hen. We live in Southeastern Kansas; this is the great coal, lead, and zinc region. We have had a very mild winter so far. This country is thickly settled. There has been a large immigration during the last two years. We have school nine months out of the year. I am eight years old, and read in the Fifth Reader, and study geography, grammar, arithmetic, spelling, and writing.

William Pitt A.

> I am a little girl just six years old, and my name is Joe. I read all the letters in Young People. I have a cat named Cutty; but her whole name is Connecticut, because she came from there in a box by express. She is very smart, and can do a great many tricks. She can lie down as if she were dead; can stand on her hind-legs; says her prayers, gives her paw to shake hands, sits upon the piano-stool with her paws on the keys, and her head thrown back, as if she were singing a song. She sits at the table in a high chair, with a napkin around her neck, and laps milk from a saucer without putting her paws on the table. Now have any of the Young People got a smarter cat than mine? I like Harper's Young People very much, and when I have finished reading it, I send it to a little boy who lives on a farm in the country, where I spent last summer. I have no brothers or sisters. But I am going to be a doctor when I am big.

J. W. K.

We would like to know where this little girl lives, as she forgot to tell us. Perhaps she will write again.

Santa Cruz, California.

> As I have seen only one letter from here, and that from my friend Edith D., I thought I would write and tell you about my doll Martha Washington. She is very large, and a perfect beauty. She has a nice dress, and my mother is going to make me a nice hat for her. My doll has brown eyes and white hair. We have two dogs and two cats at our house, and each of the children has a fine bow and a set of arrows, and we have a target to shoot at.

Jessie N. D.

When you have learned to sew so well that you can make Madam Martha Washington a dress and a hat with your own skillful fingers, you must write and tell us how much you enjoy working for the darling yourself. Little girls often learn to sew very beautifully by making clothes for their dolls, and we think it is a great accomplishment to sew neatly by hand as well as on the machine. What does your mother think?

Cross Village, Michigan.

> I live on the shore of Lake Michigan, about twenty-five miles from old Fort Mackinaw. It is lovely in the summer season to see the vessels pass. Many of them land at the dock. We can also see two light-houses. I think "Talking Leaves" is splendid. I have two brothers and one sister. Ernest, Henry, and Olla are their names. My grandma sent Young People to me last year. Isn't she a dear good grandma? I am eleven years old.

M. Effa G.

Be sure to try your skill at unravelling our puzzle column, little readers. You will find it a charming occupation for winter evenings. Try to send us some puzzles of your own invention, inclosing the answer invariably with the puzzle. We wish to print a long list of successful solvers next week. If you can not untangle every enigma and arrange every word square, never mind, but send us the answers of those which you can puzzle out, and do not be discouraged by a little trouble at the outset. The fun of making out a puzzle is in conquering it.

#### C. Y. P. R. U.

A lady writes to us that she has found great satisfaction in reading Harper's Young People to a number of boys, whom she invites to meet at her house every Wednesday evening. She says she finds the stories and articles excellent and charming. Besides reading aloud to the boys, she lends them books, and, we presume, assists them in other womanly and Christian ways to grow up to a useful and intelligent manhood. We desire to thank Miss E. J. Y. for her kind letter, and we are not without the hope that our allusion to it may indicate to other friends an easy and beautiful method for doing good.

Angie.—To make nice sago gruel for your invalid sister, wash an ounce of sago very carefully, and then soak it for two hours in a pint of tepid water; simmer it in the same water about fifteen minutes, stirring it gently. Sweeten and flavor it, and serve it at once.—Your milk toast will be delicious if you brown your toast very evenly, dip it for an instant into boiling water, and then spread it with a very little butter. Lay it in a deep hot plate; a soup plate will do. Boil a tea-cupful of milk, which you must thicken with a tea-spoonful of corn starch mixed with a pinch of salt in a little cold water. Pour this over your toast.

In serving sick people with food please be sure not to offer them too much at a time. Do not bother them by saying, "Would you like this?" and "Will you have that?" They do not know what they wish, and they think they want nothing. They have to be coaxed to eat, not in words, but by offering them dainty things daintily and prettily prepared. The finest, cleanest napkin, the thinnest, loveliest cup and saucer, and the brightest silver should be taken when you are arranging the meals of invalids. Sometimes, after all your trouble, they will scarcely taste what you have prepared, and perhaps they[Pg 239] may be a little cross and petulant. Remember then that suffering has made them weak and tired, and do not be discouraged, but try again, for on good and patient nursing the doctor depends for success in treating the sick as much us he does on his medicines and his skill.

D. C. H.—There is a real Jimmy Brown. The Postmistress has seen him several times.

J. B.—It is easy to make a tennis net if you have any one to show you how, but it is almost impossible to describe the manner of making it so as to be understood. If you live near the sea-shore, you can get some fisherman to teach you. If not, perhaps your mother or her seamstress can show you how to make it. If you can not learn before next summer, and yet want the net very badly, you may buy one for three dollars.

Rita.—You will probably obtain the information you desire about the care of silk-worms by addressing the Ladies' Silk-culture Association, 1028 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (over Keystone National Bank). This association, which is doing much to stimulate this branch of industry, has recently given an exhibition at St. George's Hall in Philadelphia. It was formally opened by Governor Hoyt, ex-Governor Pollock, and other distinguished gentlemen. It was designed to illustrate the various branches of the silk industry from the forming of cocoons to the perfected fabric.

It would seem as if the variety of the articles to which we would call the attention of the C. Y. P. R. U. this week was extensive enough to please readers of all tastes and ages. Mr. George Cary Eggleston carries us back to those terrible days of religious persecution when differences in creed bathed the soil of France with blood; Mr. Ralph Watson tells us of the curious "Collocalia," whose nests supply the Chinese with the principal ingredient of one of their most highly esteemed soups; Mr. Charles Barnard gives us full information how to while away our leisure hours with the interesting and inexpensive and at the same time instructive pastime of taking photographs; and Mr. B. Hardwicke tells the boys and girls how to supersede the pleasures of coasting by the more exciting sport to be had with the toboggan.

#### YOUNG PEOPLE'S COT.

We publish this week the January report of Miss E. Augusta Fanshawe, and repeat that the contributions for Young People's Cot should be sent to the treasurer of the Cot Fund, and not to Messrs. Harper & Brothers. Please read Aunt Edna's letter, children.

New York City.

> In my last letter I told you I would soon let you know something from our hospital. Well, the other day I went there, and such a chatter of little voices as met my ear when the door opened! I could hardly believe I was going to a place where there was sickness and pain. I went up stairs to Holy Innocent's Ward—our ward, you know—and how bright and sunny it looked! Sister Miriam, the kind Sister who has charge of it, and who I wish you all knew, as she is sunshine itself, was putting the finishing touches to the morning dressing of the little ones. Every bed had its occupant, though many of the children were not then in bed, but were running about the room; and I was quickly surrounded by several little "tots," who wanted to rub my muff, and see some cards I had that a kind lady had sent them. But just now I am only going to speak of two children and one cot, though I could easily tell you interesting things of many more if I did not feel afraid the Postmistress would shake her head.

> Sister Miriam is much pleased with your efforts, and thinks you will certainly raise the whole amount if you will only keep on trying, and to encourage you all she has selected a cot that will be ours just as soon as we raise the money, but not before, remember. It is the first cot in the south end of the room, right in the sunshine, near a big window, where our child can look down on Thirty-fourth Street. When I was there the occupant of that cot was a funny little colored boy named Willie Stanward. He had been very sick with something called by a very long name—pneumonia—but was a great deal better, and when I saw him he was sitting in a little chair near the window playing with something—looking very much like a doll. He was only a wee boy, you know. He was going home very soon, well, and Sister Miriam thought she would put in his place a little white boy named Robert McGee, who, she said, made very queer speeches, and was ever so funny. The doctor had been making his legs straight, which before were crooked, and though it was pretty hard to bear, he was getting on very nicely. He also was a very little boy. I took up a "mite chest" and put it over that cot, and think when we open it we will find something to help on our work.

> Now good-by, but don't forget that we have not got the cot yet, but must all try hard and raise the money, and then think how glad we will all feel when we can say that is the Young People's Cot.

Aunt Edna.

> Contributions received for Young People's Cot in Holy Innocent's Ward, St. Mary's Free Hospital for Children, 407 West Thirty-fourth Street, New York:

> Willie and Georgie Campbell, Drummondville, $1; Clare Gardiner, Troy, N. Y., 25c.; In Memoriam M. A., "a dear little one who will never need the cot," $30; Kitty Tutwiler, Flatonia, Texas, 10c.; Nobe Taylor, Flatonia, Texas, 10c.; Charles Roy Bangs, Brooklyn, $3; Mary Dean, 25c.; Jennie Dart, Kingston, N. Y., $1; Ida Allison, Harlem, N. Y., $2; Willie Allison, Harlem, N. Y., $2; T. Robert Palmer, Palatka, Fla., 50c.; Will D. Sayer, Meadville, Penn., $2; Green Clay, Jun., Mexico, Mo., $1; Ellie Earle, Chelten Hills, Penn., $1; Agnes D. Cram, Mechanic Falls, 10c.; Jennie Bolton, New York City, $1—total, $45.30. Previously acknowledged, $201.39; total, January 16, $246.69.

E. Augusta Fanshawe, Treasurer,
43 New Street, New York City.

Flatonia, Texas, December 15, 1881.

> I send you my Three Little Kittens book for all the children in that room. I send you a dime for that bed you wrote about. Papa read us that letter, and our black boy said he wanted to send a dime too. His name is Nobe Taylor. He has lived with us for nine years, and nursed me when I was a baby. He is big and fat. This is all I've got to send. Aunt Net sent me the book from Alabama last Christmas. Our school-teacher is going to give us a Christmas tree. I can't write good enough, and got papa to write this for me.

Kitty Tutwiler.

> P.S.—Nobe incloses his dime too.

Chelten Hills, Pennsylvania.

> I got a good many china animals for Christmas, and now I have forty-one altogether. Sophie and Horace, two of my school-mates, have one hundred and fifty-one; Sophie has only fifteen of them, though. I got a lovely coaster for Christmas, and I want to use it very much. There is about an inch of snow on the ground now, but not enough for coasting; there has not been deep snow on the ground all winter. In my letter I send a dollar for the Young People's Cot. Our tree was just taken down to-day, and the room where it was looks all bare to me.

Ellie Earle.

There are a number of other little letters about the Cot, and they are very bright and sweet, but we have not room to insert any more.

### PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

### No. 1.

### ENIGMA.

I am composed of 12 letters, and mean yielding content.
My 1, 2, 3 is having placed.
My 4, 5 is a verb.
My 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 is a manufactory.

Emma A.

### No. 2.

### A WORD SQUARE.

1. To surrender. 2. A sluggard. 3. A funeral dirge. 4. Lawful. 5. Sarcastically spoken.

Empire City.

### No. 3.

### HISTORICAL ACROSTIC.

1. A battle of the Revolution. 2. A President. 3. An inventor. 4. An island. 5. A river in Asia. 6. One of the great lakes. 7. A battle of the French and Indian war. 8. One of the United States. 9. A country in Africa. The primals form the name of a distinguished French general.

### No. 4.

### PI.

Ti asw het meit ehnw seliil lobw.
Dan doulcs rea gihhset pu ni rai.
Rold noladr gouhtbr a yill heitw oed
Ot iveg sih sioune dyal lerac.

Straighten out, and form a stanza from Tennyson.

Emma.

### No. 5.

### ?

Forward, I am a lady's name. Backward, I stand for something which will make men forget troubles. You will find me in Anglo-Saxon nurseries, and in ancient mythology.

Robert.

### No. 6.

### DIAMOND.

1. A consonant. 2. A hut. 3. Reeds. 4. Good policy. 5. Fretful. 6. A pen. 7. A letter.

### No. 7.

### A DOUBLE SQUARE.

Across.—1. A girl's name. 2. A word used in prayers. 3. A hole. 4. Finishes. Down.—1. A cavern. 2. A sign. 3. To tear. 4. Small insects.

Eloise.

### ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 116.

### No. 1.

The eye.

### No. 2.

|  | S |  |  |  |  |  |  | S
| S | H | E |  |  |  |  | R | O | T
S | H | A | L | L |  |  | S | O | L | A | R
| E | L | M |  |  |  |  | T | A | R
|  | L |  |  |  |  |  |  | R

### No. 3.

Adder. Cobra.

### No. 4.

C | al | M
A | nemon | E
M | attres | S
E | dific | E
L | audanu | M
L | am | B
I | dle | R
A | bundantl | Y
J | erbo | A
A | mazo | N
P | in | T
O | stric | H
N | ightingal | E
I | ce-crea | M
C | hapea | U
A | lar | M

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Eva Brown, Annie Brown, Ambrose Elting, F. M. S., "Jack Frost," Artie Secor, John Phelan, J. and H. Bates, Hetty R., J. C., Alice E. Garretson, "Prince," Henry Berlan, Jun., "Bud," R. H. L., Maggie Dutto, Meredith Knapp, Susie Perkins, "Snap," Alice Emmons.

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

## HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

#### Special Inducements to Youthful Agents.

To any boy or girl who shall procure for Harper's Young People, before April 1, 1882, ten new yearly subscribers, and forward their names and addresses to this office, with the sum of fifteen dollars, Messrs. Harper & Brothers will, on receipt of the same, present any one of the volumes mentioned in the following list which may be selected:

#### Col. Knox's Books of Travel in the Far East.

The Boy Travellers in the Far East.—Part I.—Adventures of two Youths in a Journal to Japan and China. Copiously Illustrated. 8vo, Ornamental Cloth, $3.

The Boy Travellers in the Far East.—Part II.—Adventures of two Youths in a Journey to Siam and Java. With Descriptions of Cochin China, Cambodia, Sumatra, and the Malay Archipelago. Copiously Illustrated. 8vo, Ornamental Cloth, $3.

The Boy Travellers in the Far East.—Part III.—Adventures of two Youths in a Journey to Ceylon and India. With Descriptions of Borneo, the Philippine Islands, and Burmah. Copiously Illustrated. 8vo, Ornamental Cloth, $3.

#### Coffin's Historical Reading for the Young.

The Story of Liberty.—Copiously Illustrated. 8vo, Ornamental Cloth, $3.

Old Times in the Colonies.—Copiously Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $3.

The Boys of '76.—A History of the Battles of the Revolution. Copiously Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $3.

Messrs. Harper & Brothers further offer to present to the boy or girl from whom they shall receive, before April 1, 1882, the largest number of new yearly subscriptions, with $1.50 for each.

Harper's Household Edition of Charles Dickens's Works, in Sixteen Volumes, handsomely bound in Cloth, in a box. Price $22.

These prizes will be sent by mail or express, prepaid.

In order that an accurate account may be kept of the number of subscriptions received, it will be necessary for each one, when sending a list of new subscriptions, to refer to these offers, and to state that he or she desires to compete for these valuable prizes.

Cash must accompany each order.

Harper's Young People, $1.50 a year.

☞ The extension for one month of the time for sending subscriptions in competition is designed to accommodate boys and girls residing in different parts of the country.

#### HARPER & BROTHERS,

#### Franklin Square, New York.

[Pg 240]

## ENIGMA.

Within the compass of my first
Are right and wrong, dissected;
Bold falsehood there is put to shame,
And villainy detected.
Of constant port, with royal parts,
Tall, strong, and stately reckoned,
But hauled about with tarry coat—
By these marks know my second.
My whole, devoted to one aim,
One prize intent on gaining,
Expends its life in the pursuit,
And dies in the obtaining.

## EXPERIMENTS WITH ELECTRICITY.

Fig. 1.

This mysterious "agent," as people call it for want of a better word, can be produced in the easiest fashion, and some of its ways studied with the simplest kind of apparatus, constructed of articles that lie close at hand.

If we rub a stick of sealing-wax with a piece of cloth, we shall see that it will attract some small fragments of paper placed near it. Nothing is easier than to construct a small pendulum to show with perfect clearness the wonder of electric attraction. A piece of iron is fixed on a wooden pedestal, and holds a thread of silk, to the end of which is fastened a little ball cut out of a piece of cork. The stick of sealing-wax, after being rubbed with the cloth, will attract the ball, as shown in Fig. 1.

Fig. 2.
Fig. 3.

We can easily construct other electrical apparatus. Take a lacquered tea-tray about a foot long, and cut out a sheet of thick wrapping paper so that it will lie over all the level portion of the tray. At each side of this sheet of paper fix two bands of paper, as in Fig. 2, so as to serve as handles. The tea-tray should be placed upon two tumblers to support it and to insulate it, glass being a "non-conductor." By a non-conductor is meant a substance that will not convey electricity, or allow it to pass away.

Now rub the thick packing-paper over a hot fire or a stove until it is thoroughly dry, and as hot as possible without charring. When this has been done, place it quickly upon a wooden table, and rub it rapidly with as dry and hard a clothes-brush as can be obtained. Place the paper upon the tray; touch the tray with the knuckle, and draw away the paper by the handles fixed to it (see Fig. 2); a spark will result. Then if the paper be replaced upon the tray, and the hand again presented, the same result will follow. This may be done five or six times, at least, with success.

We have in this tea-tray and its paper covering a real electric machine. How can we manage to provide a Leyden-jar (so named from its inventor, Muschenbrock, of Leyden) to contain our electricity? Nothing is more easy. Let us take a tumbler, and partly fill it with shot; insert into the glass a tea-spoon, and if all the articles are quite dry, we shall possess a Leyden-jar.

To charge the jar we must work our other machine. While one person lifts off the paper as directed, another must hold the glass to the edge of the tray, and touch the corner with the tea-spoon; the spark will then enter the "jar." We can thus charge the jar as we please, and by presenting the finger, as in Fig. 3, we shall obtain a discharge from it.

FUN ON THE ICE—"KEEPING THE POT BOILING."

### FOOTNOTES:

[1] Begun in No. 101, Harper's Young People.

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