Americans and their cause. The little Continental Navy had fully
justified the faith of the stout-hearted people by its grand
performances. This little David had fought the Goliath of England most
valiantly for seven years, and in the might of right its "pebbles from
the brook" had been equal in efficiency to the huge "spear" of the
boastful oppressor. Divine help gave final victory to the patriots.
During the war the Americans had thirty-six public vessels afloat,
besides swarms of active and efficient privateers. They had also built a
large 74-gun ship (the _America_), but before she was put to sea she was
presented to the French government. The veteran Manly, the pioneer of
the naval warfare on the part of the Americans, after a long captivity,
cruised in the _Hague_ among the West India Islands, until the
preliminary treaty of peace was signed in the fall of 1782. He there
closed the regular maritime operations which he had opened in 1775. The
cruisers were recalled, the commissions of the privateers were revoked,
and of all the vessels of the remarkable little Continental Navy only
the _Alliance_ remained in 1783. Nothing but the recollection of the
services and sufferings of the navy was left behind. The _Alliance_ was
reluctantly sold in 1785 to save the expense of repairs. The exhausted
Americans craved the enjoyment of peace, and felt no need of a navy.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
MR. MARTIN'S EYE.
BY JIMMY BROWN.
I've made up my mind to one thing, and that is, I'll never have anything
to do with Mr. Martin again. He ought to be ashamed of himself, going
around and getting boys into scrapes, just because he's put together so
miserably. Sue says she believes it's mucilage, and I think she's right.
If he couldn't afford to get himself made like other people, why don't
he stay at home? His father and mother must have been awfully ashamed of
him. Why, he's liable to fall apart at any time, Mr. Travers says, and
some of these days he'll have to be swept up off the floor, and carried
home in three or four baskets.
There was a ghost one time who used to go around, up stairs and down
stairs, in an old castle, carrying his head in his hand, and stopping in
front of everybody he met, but never saying a word. This frightened all
the people dreadfully, and they couldn't get a servant to stay in the
house unless she had the policeman to sit up in the kitchen with her all
night. One day a young doctor came to stay at the castle, and said he
didn't believe in ghosts, and that nobody ever saw a ghost, unless they
had been making beasts of themselves with mince-pie and wedding cake. So
the old lord of the castle he smiled very savage, and said, "You'll
believe in ghosts before you've been in this castle twenty-four hours,
and don't you forget it." Well, that very night the ghost came into the
young doctor's room, and woke him up. The doctor looked at him, and
said, "Ah, I perceive: painful case of imputation of the neck. Want it
cured, old boy?" The ghost nodded, though how he could nod when his head
was off I don't know. Then the doctor got up and got a thread and
needle, and sewed the ghost's head on, and pushed him gently out of the
door, and told him never to show himself again. Nobody ever saw that
ghost again, for the doctor had sewed his head on wrong side first, and
he couldn't walk without running into the furniture, and of course he
felt too much ashamed to show himself. This doctor was Mr. Travers's own
grandfather, and Mr. Travers knows the story is true.
But I meant to tell you about the last time Mr. Martin came to our
house. It was a week after I had scalped him; but I don't believe he
would ever have come if father hadn't gone to see him, and urged him to
overlook the rudeness of that unfortunate and thoughtless boy. When he
did come, he was as smiling as anything; and he shook hands with me, and
said, "Never mind, Bub, only don't do it again."
By-and-by, when Mr. Martin and Sue and Mr. Travers were sitting on the
piazza, and I was playing with my new base-ball in the yard, Mr. Martin
called out, "Pitch it over here; give us a catch." So I tossed it over
gently, and he pitched it back again, and said why didn't I throw it
like a man, and not toss it like a girl. So I just sent him a swift
ball--a regular daisy-cutter. I knew he couldn't catch it, but I
expected he would dodge. He did try to dodge, but it hit him alongside
of one eye, and knocked it out. You may think I'm exaggelying, but I'm
not. I saw that eye fly up against the side of the house, and then roll
down the front steps to the front walk, where it stopped, and winked at
me.
I turned, and ran out of the gate and down the street as hard as ever I
could. I made up my mind that Mr. Martin was spoiled forever, and that
the only thing for me to do was to make straight for the Spanish Main
and be a pirate. I had often thought I would be a pirate, but now there
was no help for it; for a boy that had knocked out a gentleman's eye
could never be let to live in a Christian country. After a while I
stopped to rest, and then I remembered that I wanted to take some
provisions in a bundle, and a big knife to kill wolves. So I went back
as soon as it was dark, and stole round to the back of the house, so I
could get in the window and find the carving knife and some cake. I was
just getting in the window, when somebody put their arms around me, and
said, "Dear little soul! was he almost frightened to death?" It was Sue,
and I told her that I was going to be a pirate and wanted the carving
knife and some cake and she mustn't tell father and was Mr. Martin dead
yet? So she told me that Mr. Martin's eye wasn't injured at all, and
that he had put it in again, and gone home; and nobody would hurt me,
and I needn't be a pirate if I didn't want to be.
It's perfectly dreadful for a man to be made like Mr. Martin, and I'll
never come near him again. Sue says that he won't come back to the
house, and if he does, she'll send him away with something--I forget
what it was--in his ear. Father hasn't heard about the eye yet, but if
he does hear about it, there will be a dreadful scene, for he bought a
new rattan cane yesterday. There ought to be a law to punish men that
sell rattan canes to fathers, unless they haven't any children.
POLLY.
BY FIDELIA REES MORTON.
"It's no use to tell me Polly Clark's only young and flighty, and that
she's got a good heart, and she'll be all right when she gets older, and
all that kind of thing. That's all stuff and nonsense. I tell you she's
the wickedest child I ever laid eyes on, and if she were a boy, I'd know
she'd be hung afore she died; as it is, she's sure to get her death in
some queer way, with all them outlandish goings on of her'n." Having
given vent to her feelings, and settled poor Polly's fate to her own
satisfaction, Deacon Jones's wife proceeded to relate the particulars of
the latest scandal to Sallie Perkins, the village gossip.
Mrs. Jones--alas that I am forced to say it!--was not alone in her
convictions. The majority of the inhabitants of L---- would have assured
you, with a solemn shake of the head, that Polly Clark was, without
exception, the "most ornery youngster" that ever was born, and "sech a
pity, too, that Squire Clark's only child should be sech an everlastin'
worrit to him." And yet a look at Polly would disarm suspicion. A more
gentle, lovable-looking girl it would be difficult to find; but then we
all know that appearances are deceitful. At church on Sunday she looked
so fair and innocent, always paying such good attention to the sermon,
and gazing so earnestly at the minister with those clear, soft brown
eyes of hers, as if _so_ anxious to understand every word he uttered,
that the uninitiated would be ready to declare that hers was indeed a
heart without guile. But those who knew her best were well aware that
behind this calm exterior was a mind in which the love of mischief
reigned supreme, and for aught they knew, at the very moment when she
seemed most impressed by the minister's arguments, she had unexpectedly
thought of some brilliant plan that promised ill for the peace of mind
of some intended victim. Indeed, as poor nervous little Mrs. Clark said,
"No one ever knows what Polly is going to do next. I never get up in the
morning but I dread what may happen before night. I don't even feel safe
about her after she goes to bed, since the time she went into the woods
in the middle of the night to try some trick or other with a dead cat,
thinking, silly child, that in that way she could cure a wart she had on
her thumb. But then," Mrs. Clark always adds, "Polly is always so
good-tempered when she is scolded for doing wrong, and seems really to
be so sorry about it, that I can't help forgiving her, and hoping she
will do better next time. But she don't; she keeps on doing the most
dreadful things, and--" And here the poor little woman generally broke
down completely, and wept bitterly over the unaccountable depravity of
her only child.
As her mother said, Polly did indeed do "dreadful things." Many were the
sermons the kind-hearted old minister had preached, which, although
delivered to the congregation at large, were expressly intended to move
Polly's heart, while she would sit calmly unconscious through them all,
wondering what old Aunt Cassy would say when she found her pet Tabby
gayly decorated with red, white, and blue paint in honor of the glorious
Fourth; or whether Granny Lukens would enjoy the flavor of Cayenne
pepper in her tea.
All the old ladies in the neighborhood stood in wholesome awe of her,
and Mrs. Jones's melancholy predictions for her future were called forth
by the remembrance of how, a week before, Polly had presented her with a
batch of doughnuts of her own making, which, when partaken of by some
friends invited to tea, were found to be filled with cotton; and that
was not the worst of it, for when Mrs. Jones attempted to pull the
cotton from her mouth, her teeth came with it, which unexpected letting
of the cat out of the bag, so to speak, was more than a nine days'
wonder in L----. It is hardly necessary to add that from that time forth
there was open warfare between Mrs. Jones and Polly.
It would be too great a task for me to tell you of all my heroine's
adventures. How, for instance, she frightened the servant-girl into
convulsions one night by suddenly appearing to her in a dark hall, after
having, with the aid of some sulphur matches, succeeded in making her
face bear a startling resemblance to a grinning, ghastly-looking skull;
and how she tied a bunch of fire-crackers to the tail of her father's
best mule, and set them off, in return for which doubtful favor that
agile animal bestowed upon her a kick that broke two ribs, and confined
her to her bed for many weeks, during which period the old ladies of
L---- were allowed to rest in peace.
These are but samples of the dozens of tricks with which Polly busied
her active brain, and by means of which she was enabled to keep those
around her in a continual state of uncertainty as to what unheard-of
thing she would attempt next.
But Polly, like Napoleon, was doomed to meet her Waterloo. Her last and
most disastrous exploit ended sadly both for herself and others. It
happened in this way. Polly went to the circus. From that time forth her
daring acrobatic feats supplied the gossips of L---- with plenty of
material for conversation. They would tell how Polly broke her horse's
leg by urging him to jump over a stone wall, and how she almost
dislocated her collar-bone in turning a double somersault off a
hay-rick; and in fact, they argued, "If she was any one else but Polly
Clark, she'd 'a been dead long ago; but them that's born to be hanged
will never be drowned," though in what way that proverb was appropriate
in Polly's case they themselves could not have told you.
One day Polly conceived a brilliant idea. She would get up a circus of
her own. The little boys of the town eagerly agreed to Polly's plan of
proceedings. They were to meet and rehearse in her father's barn on
Wednesday night, while Mr. and Mrs. Clark were attending the Lyceum
meeting.
The appointed hour drew near, and so did the boys. With Polly at their
head, they marched in grim silence past the house, and when they reached
the barn, she informed them that Bridget, thinking she had gone to bed,
was entertaining her beau in the front parlor, so they could make all
the noise they wanted to, without fear of detection.
After a moment's search Polly unearthed a couple of candles, which Tommy
Briggs lighted; and while he and Polly adjusted the trapeze he had
constructed in stolen moments, the other actors in the drama rigged up a
remarkably insecure tight-rope.
At last all was ready. "Down in front!" shouted Tommy, in an imperative
manner, to the imaginary audience. "The performance is a-goin' to begin.
First, Mr. Adolphus Popinjay is goin' to do some gymnastics with the
trapeze."
Mr. Adolphus Popinjay, otherwise Jack Hybbed, after many attempts, and
with much assistance, succeeded in getting into the trapeze, where he
went through a number of extraordinary antics, the most difficult of
which was that of standing on one foot, the other leg being extended
stiffly behind him, while with both hands he clutched convulsively to
the sides of the trapeze. Polly felt a keen sense of disappointment over
Jack's performance. Somehow or other it lacked the ease and grace that
the man in the circus had exhibited. She was impatient for her turn to
come, that she might show them her idea of acrobatism. She was delighted
when Tommy announced that "Pauline, the great unbeaten tight-rope
walker, is now a-goin' to come out."
Polly advanced majestically toward the tight-rope, which was fastened at
one end to a big hook in the side of the barn, and at the other end to
the loft, against which was placed a ladder, which she proceeded to
ascend. There was a beam overhead, which Polly was to hold on to in
order to keep herself from falling, and assisted by it, she started out
quite bravely; but she had taken but four steps when Tommy shouted,
"Hold on fast, Polly! the hook's comin' out." Alas! the warning came too
late. Before she could get hold of the beam securely, the hook came out,
and with a cry of terror poor Polly fell with a dull thud to the floor.
Her dress knocked over the candle as she fell, and in a second the hay
that was scattered on the floor was in a blaze. All the boys except
Tommy Briggs rushed screaming from the barn, but he, by straining every
muscle, succeeded in dragging Polly out of the now blazing building, and
then, the necessity for exertion on his part being over, he fell in a
dead faint by the side of the unconscious girl.
Help soon arrived, and the doctor being summoned, Polly was found to be
severely injured, while Tommy escaped with some slight burns and an
attack of brain-fever. Poor Polly! for weeks she suffered the most
intense pain, and when at last she was able to leave her bed, she rose
up a sadder and a wiser girl.
Polly is a young woman now, but she still bears the mark of her last
frolic in the shape of a long scar on her cheek, where she struck on the
rake when she fell.
Polly has one peculiarity. She is the confidential friend of every wild
tom-boy of a girl in town, because, as she says, she has such unbounded
sympathy with them, and also because she is so anxious to keep them from
trying any such dangerous experiments as the one to which she fell a
victim.
HOW TROTTY GOT HIS JUMPING-JACK.
BY AGNES CARR.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Trotty sat on the nursery floor, gazing sadly at a broken jumping-jack,
with only one leg, no arms, and not much of a head to speak of. It was
weeks since Christmas, and all the toys Santa Claus had stuffed into
Trotty's little striped stocking were cracked and broken, and now this
jumping-jack, the last and dearest of all, had gone to pieces too.
"I sink it's time Santa Tlaus tomed aden," remarked Trotty at last.
"Oh no," said nurse, who was holding baby by the window; "he is busy
now, making toys to give the good children next Christmas."
"Where does he live?" asked Trotty.
"In a house set in a garden of Christmas trees," began nurse; but just
then somebody called her from the room.
"I b'lieve I'll try and find dat house," thought Master Four-year-old,
"and ask Santa Tlaus to div me anodder jumping-jack."
To think, with Trotty, was to do, and five minutes later he had on his
beloved new rubber boots, and was running down the road as fast as his
little fat legs would carry him, with a big apple in his hand to eat on
the way.
He came first to a pond where a duck was swimming. "Quack, quack," said
the duck; which meant, "What a nice red apple! I wish I had some."
"I will div you a bite," said Trotty, "if you will show me the way to
Santa Tlaus's house."
"I don't know the way," said Ducky; "but give me some, and I will take
you to the cat, and she will tell you."
So Trotty gave her a bite, and the duck came out of the water, and
waddled along in front of Trotty till they came to a barn, where the cat
and her five kittens were playing in the door.
"Please, Mrs. Pussy," said Trotty, "show me the way to Santa Tlaus's
house, and I will div you a bite of my apple."
"Mew, mew," said the pussy cat; which was, "I don't know the way; but
give me some, and I will take you to the dog, and he will tell you."
So Trotty gave her a bite, and she led him to the dog-kennel, where
Towser the dog was snapping at flies in the sun.
"Please, doggy," said Trotty, "show me the way to Santa Tlaus's house,
and I'll div you a bite of my apple."
"Bow, wow, wow," said Towser; which meant, "I don't know the way; but
give me some, and I will take you to the horse, who can tell you."
So Trotty gave him a bite, and together they went on to a green field,
where a horse was feeding, and Trotty asked him to show him the way.
[Illustration]
"Neigh, neigh," said Horsy, "I don't know; but give me a piece of your
apple, and I will take you to the boy, who will surely tell you."
So Trotty gave him a bite, and the horse took him on his back, and
galloped away, until they came to a nice little boy sitting on a fence
whistling. There was nothing now left of the apple except the core; but
Trotty said, "Please, boy, show me the way to Santa Tlaus's house, and
I'll div you the tore of my apple."
"I don't know the road," answered the boy; "but give it to me, and I
will take you to the little old woman who lives under the hill, and she
will tell you."
So Trotty gave him the core, and the boy took him to a wee bit of a
cottage, where an old woman was spinning, and a girl with yellow hair
was stirring something in a pot over the fire.
"Please, ma'am, will you show me the way to Santa Tlaus's house?" asked
Trotty. But now he had no more apple to offer.
"Yes, my little dear," said the old woman, sweetly. "Come in and rest,
and then I will take you there."
[Illustration]
But the moment he was inside, she caught hold of him, took off all his
pretty clothes, and dressed him in old rags, and would have cut off his
curls, but the yellow-haired girl said the scissors were rusty, and she
must wait till they were sharpened.
Trotty was dreadfully frightened, and thought he should never get home
again; but when it grew dark the old woman went to sleep on a bed in the
corner, and then the girl with yellow hair dressed him in his own
clothes again, opened the door, and let him run away.
Trotty ran along in the dark until he saw a light, and found it came
from a large house, and all around the house grew beautiful evergreen
trees.
[Illustration]
"Dis must be Santa Tlaus's house," thought Trotty, "for there are the
Tismas trees." So he trotted up to the door, and knocked. It was opened
by a big man with bushy whiskers.
"Is you Santa Tlaus?" asked Trotty.
"Bless us!" said the man. "And if I am, what do you want?"
"I wants a jumping-jack," sobbed Trotty. "And oh! I's tired, and I wants
my supper."
"Bless us!" said the man again. But he caught Trotty up in his arms,
carried him in, and set him in a high chair in front of a great bowl of
bread and milk.
Trotty went to eating right away, for he was very hungry; but before he
came to the bottom of the bowl his head nodded, his eyes closed, and he
was fast asleep.
He never knew how long he slept; but when he woke up he was in his own
little white bed at home, and papa, mamma, and nurse were hugging and
kissing him.
But on the pillow by his side lay a beautiful new jumping-jack; so he
knew he had found the house in the garden of Christmas trees, and seen
good old Santa Claus himself.
BIRDIE'S VANITY.
BY C. L.
Pussie and Kittie strolled out one day
Into the garden to walk and play;
They rolled on the grass, and jumped so high
That the old drake "quacked" as he passed by.
Said he, "I wish I could hop so light,"
And on he hobbled with all his might.
Above, little Susie's Birdie swung;
His cage from a lofty window hung.
As soon as he heard the drake's lament,
His head on mischief was quickly bent.
"Oho, Mister Drake, you soon shall see
That Mistress Puss can not outjump _me_;
And although my legs are short and thin,
I'll wager that in a race I'll win."
So saying, he flapped against the door
Till his pretty wings were getting sore.
At last, with a snap, the door came loose,
And Birdie flew out--the little goose!
He flew right down to the very ground
Where Pussie and Kittie played around.
And now there began a lively race,
Which gained excitement at every pace.
Little Birdie chirped, and hopped about,
And Pussie followed him in and out,
Under the rose-tree and through the hedge,
Until they came to the garden's edge;
And then Mister Birdie, full of pride,
Mounted a tree by the water's side;
And there he perched, with a proud delight,
Boasting and singing with all his might,
Until, quite weary and worn, at last
He drooped his head, and soon slept fast.
Then up jumped Puss from her hiding-place,
And mounted the tree with nimble grace;
But so gently did her footsteps fall,
Not a sound the sleeper heard at all.
And now, alas! Pussie crouches low:
Poor Birdie will soon be gone. But no!
A shrill little scream is heard to rise,
And there stands Susie with frightened eyes.
Old Pussie scampers with might and main,
And Birdie pops wide his eyes again.
Now think of his horror when he saw
How near he had been to Pussie's paw!
I really think he deserved the pain,
Because he had been so very vain;
And I'll venture that he did not seek
Another frolic within a week.
[Illustration: "KITTY, WHAT MAKES YOU SO CROSS?"]
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX]
Our exchange department is increasing so rapidly that we find it
necessary to offer a few suggestions to our young correspondents. In the
first place, if you desire to exchange with other correspondents, always
give your full address. If you live in a large city, like Brooklyn, New
York, or Philadelphia, you should state your residence, street and
number, or the number of your post-office box, as otherwise it is not
probable that you will ever receive an answer to your request. You have
all heard about hunting for a needle in a haymow; and if you stop to
think, you will see it would be just as useless to hunt for any little
boy in New York city, unless you knew the street in which he lived; and
the faithful "little man in gray" who hurries from house to house with
his load of letters certainly can not be expected to know the residence
of every Johnny Smith in the city. With many of you who live in the
country the case is different. Probably the postmaster himself knows
you, and will give you your letter, even if it is not addressed to your
father's care. In future we trust you will be careful always to give
your residence or your father's address, otherwise, as Uncle Sam's
postman does not keep a directory of every little boy and girl in the
land, many of you may wait in vain for a chance to exchange your pretty
pressed flowers and other objects of interest.
One thing more. When any correspondent offers exchange, and gives a full
address, as many have done, it would simplify matters very much, and
save us unnecessary trouble, if any one desirous of accepting the offer
would write at once to the given address instead of to us. As we can in
no case take charge of the transfer of specimens, which must always be
directly between yourselves, it is useless for you to write and tell us
you are willing to accept the offer of exchange made by any particular
boy or girl. Write directly to them, and you will gain time, and save
yourself unnecessary postage.
As our exchange department is intended to develop in our readers a
knowledge of the flowers, trees, butterflies, birds' eggs, minerals, and
other natural products of different sections of their own country, we
pay no attention to requests for exchanges of useless things, which
could lead at best to nothing higher than the gratification of an idle
curiosity.
* * * * *