Very soon after General Washington was elected President a war broke out
between France and England. It was natural that people in this country
should wish to help the French, who had helped us. But General
Washington saw that if we once got in the way of taking a part in wars
between other countries, where our own rights were not in danger, we
should always be at war. He saw, too, that we were a small nation then,
compared to the nations of Europe, and that we might easily lose the
freedom we had fought so long for. He dreaded to put our freedom in
danger unless compelled to. So he issued an order to the people, as he
had a right to do, not to take part with one nation or the other, but to
mind their own business.
This was wise, because the British government was only too ready to pick
a quarrel with us. General Washington also went further. He made a
treaty of peace and commerce with Great Britain, which kept war from our
shores for twenty years, and gave the country a chance to grow. The
people did not like this treaty much. There was a great deal of
ill-feeling toward Great Britain, growing out of the long fight we had
had with her. But General Washington, who was ready to fight for real
rights, felt that it was wrong to get into a quarrel from mere angry
feeling. He was very anxious to keep the two countries at peace until
their people could get calm, and go to trading with each other, and
learn to live together in friendship. Surely this was both sensible and
good. It was fortunate for the country that a man was at the head of its
government wise enough to see what was right, and firm enough to do it.
Just at the time Washington was elected President, the French people
rose against their government, which had many faults, and drove away
many of their rulers, and cut off their King's head. Among the leaders
was Lafayette, who, however, was no party to the cruelties which were
practiced. The other kings of Europe undertook to restore the King of
France to power, and in the war which followed Lafayette was taken
prisoner and closely confined. His wife wrote to Washington, asking him
to try and get Lafayette released. Washington gladly did all that he
could, but it was of no use. However, he sent money to Madame Lafayette,
for her property had been taken away, and he brought over to this
country one of Lafayette's sons, and took him into his family, and cared
for him as if he were his own. The boy was named after Washington, and
always remembered the President's kindness with thankfulness.
When the first term of four years for which Washington was elected came
to an end, he was chosen again, without a single vote against him,
though he was very anxious to go back to private life.
Finally, at the end of his second term, when he had been eight years
President, he refused to serve any longer. Just as he had written a
farewell address to his soldiers, after being eight years in command, he
now wrote a farewell address to the American people. I hope all my young
readers will read it as soon as they are old enough to understand it. It
is written in a quaint and somewhat stiff style, for Washington always
found it easier to act than to talk or write; but it is full of wisdom.
Even now, eighty-four years after it was written, there is much in it
which we ought to remember and try to carry out.
It was the spring of 1797 when Washington gave up the President's
office, and returned to Mount Vernon. He had visited his beloved home
frequently during his Presidency, and had kept a very careful watch over
it in his absence. Again he took up with great delight the old round of
peaceful duties. Every day he was up before the sun. Every day he was in
the saddle, riding over his large farms, watching his laborers and his
crops, planning changes and directing work. In the evening he saw much
company--many, indeed, who had little claim on him, who came from idle
curiosity, and wearied him with their presence. But he was always
courteous. He enjoyed the society of his family and friends very keenly.
He had no children of his own, but he had reared first the children, and
afterward two of the grandchildren, of his wife in his home. He took
great pleasure with them, and was as merry as he was loving. He hoped to
live the remainder of his days in quiet in this circle.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
LITTLE FATIMA.
BY SARA KEABLES HUNT.
It was a beautiful Oriental picture, and I paused in my walk along the
banks of the Nile to sketch her, that dark-eyed Arab girl, as she half
reclined in the sand, the western sunlight flickering through the green
boughs of a clump of palms, and falling upon the upturned face and
purplish braids with their glitter of gold coins. In the background were
a few broken columns, relic of some past grandeur, and at a little
distance a camel crouched in the sand, gazing as mournfully as the
Sphynx across the desert. The flowing Eastern dress of the child was
pushed back from one beautifully rounded arm, but the other was
concealed, as if she had tried to hide it from even the sunlight. It was
crippled and pitifully deformed.
Poor little Fatima! I knew her sensitive spirit, and I put my pencil out
of sight as I came nearer, for I saw on her face the shadow of a
restless discontent. She smiled as she bade me welcome, but it was a sad
smile, and changed to tears as she spoke.
"I am of no use," she said in Arabic. "If I were a boy, they would care
for me; but a girl! They scorn me and my disfigured arm. I can never do
any good in the world; never, never. And, oh, lady, there is a soul
within me that longs to do something for somebody! I want to accomplish
something; not to sit here day after day making figures in the sand,
only to see them drift back again into a dull level. But I shall live in
vain. What can I do with this poor crippled arm?"
It was a difficult task to soothe her; but I think, after awhile, she
felt that the great Allah had done all things well, and peace crept over
her tired little heart.
"But, dear child," I said, as I left her, "it may be that you can do
more good with your one arm than I ever can with my two. We do not know
what may happen."
And so I went home to my little cottage, taking the field path instead
of the railroad track, as I usually did. When I reached the house, and
called for my little girl-baby, who often came toddling out to meet me,
all was silent, and in answer to my inquiries the nurse said she had
just gone down the track a little way to meet me.
"Down the track! Oh, the train! the train! It's time for the train! Why
do you stand here idle? Call Hassan and Mahomet. Run, and save her!"
I rushed wildly along the embankment. How plain it all is to me now,
even to the bits of pottery gleaming in the sand, and the distant echo
of an Arab's song as it floated over the hills! I saw the white dress
of my darling far ahead, and stumbled on--how, I hardly knew. The train
was coming! I could hear it plunging on; I could see the fearful light.
Oh, if I might reach her!
But who is that? Can it be Fatima? It is Fatima, waving her arms wildly
as she speeds onward. She is on the bank! She is there! She grasps the
child! And the train plunges past me with a wild glare; and there,
before me, is my baby, my golden-haired baby, safe and unharmed, but
Fatima lay dying on the iron rail. I clasped her to my heart, and called
her name amid my sobs. She lifted the long, dark eyelashes, and smiled.
"Allah be praised!" she murmured. Then in her weak, broken English she
said:
"Me do something wid dis poor arm; me die for you baby!" She fell back
in my arms; and so we carried her to my home, white and insensible.
But she did not die. The deformed arm had to be severed from the
shoulder, but her life was saved; and to-day, surrounded by all that
grateful hearts can give, she is one of the happiest little creatures on
the banks of the Nile.
A ST. ULRIC DOLL.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE CATSKILL FAIRIES."
The steam-ship _Columbine_ was crossing the ocean from Liverpool to New
York. On the deck the passengers walked about, looking at the sea and
sky. Occasionally they saw a flock of gulls circling about overhead, or
a shoal of dolphins leaping up in the blue waves. Among these passengers
was the shy gentleman. Now the shy gentleman was tall and large, with a
full brown beard, which should have made him quite bold, but he was not.
If a stranger spoke to him, he blushed, and if he tried to say something
really wise, he merely stammered, so that his meaning was lost. As for
tea-cups and wine-glasses, he always broke them with his elbow, or by
allowing them to slip through his big fingers, while chairs and little
tables seemed placed in his way for the sole purpose of his tumbling
over them.
In his cabin was his portmanteau, filled with all sorts of treasures. A
Paris doll and her wardrobe were given the place of honor. The beautiful
blonde hair of this fashionable lady must not be disarranged, and the
boxes containing her dresses and gloves, her boots, mantles, and
parasols, required much space. She was a very important person. In a
corner was wedged the case of one of those mechanical bears covered with
black fur, and wound up by means of a key in his side. In the opposite
corner were the Venetian lion of St. Mark, made of brass, trinkets of
straw and glass, and a little Neapolitan boy in mosaic on the lid of a
box. The St. Ulric doll, folded in a bit of tissue-paper, had been
allowed to fall down anywhere. She was made of a single stick of wood,
with a head carved on top, but without arms or legs, like the Italian
babies, who are wound about with cloths until they resemble little
mummies.
She remained quietly where she had been placed, between a flannel
waistcoat and a pair of stockings, with her head resting on a meerschaum
pipe. She thought of her home, and sighed. Yes, she was homesick,
because she loved her own land as only the Tyrolese and the Swiss love
their native mountains.
The shy gentleman had bought the St. Ulric doll at a booth under the
stone archway of one of the streets of Botzen. He could not carry away
with him the beautiful Austrian Tyrol, except as pictures in his own
mind, and therefore he picked up the droll and ugly little St. Ulric
doll.
"When I give the doll to Nelly, I will tell her about the mountain peaks
where the hunters climb to shoot the chamois and the black-cock, and the
valleys down toward Italy where the grapes ripen, and all about the
castles perched like watch-towers along the Brenner route," thought the
shy gentleman, wrapping the purchase in the bit of tissue-paper. "I must
not forget to add that this Brenner Pass, where the traveller of to-day
journeys on the railway from Munich to Verona, is one of the oldest
highways in the world; the Etruscan merchants used to pass here, trading
in iron with the Northern nations, long before the Romans."
One day a tremendous rattling was heard inside the case of the
mechanical bear.
"What is the matter? Are you seasick?" inquired the lion of St. Mark.
"No," grumbled the mechanical bear. "I have been standing on my head too
long, and if this voyage does not soon end, my machinery will be out of
order. I shall growl at the wrong time."
"We must be gifts for children. I hope they will like us," said the St.
Ulric doll.
"I hope we shall like _them_," said the French doll. "I come from a shop
window on the Boulevard des Italiens. How can I live out of Paris!"
Just then the lid of the portmanteau was lifted, and a Custom-house
officer looked in. The steamer had reached New York.
"Here he is, mamma!" cried a little girl, as a carriage paused before
the door of a house on Gramercy Square.
She had been looking out of the window. Now she ran down stairs, and
opened the front door. Two gentlemen got out of the carriage; one was
her uncle Fred, and the other a traveller with a brown beard, whose arms
were full of mysterious parcels and boxes. This was the shy gentleman,
and Nelly had always found him a good friend. Soon the parcels were
distributed. The mosaic box was for mother, the brass lion for Uncle
Fred, and all the rest for Nelly. She was wild with delight. The Paris
doll fascinated her. All her friends were invited to admire the lady
from the Boulevards. Nelly could not eat, or sleep, or study her
lessons. She tried on all the dresses, gloves, bonnets, and shoes.
The St. Ulric doll had been glanced at, laid on the table, and
forgotten. At length Nelly wearied of so much splendor, and her mother
found the Paris doll too fine for every-day play. Nelly noticed the St.
Ulric doll then.
"You have no clothes, poor thing," she said.
She opened her own work-box, sought in a bag for a piece of blue
flannel, and began to sew. Soon the St. Ulric doll was clothed. To be
sure, her gown was like a bag tied about her neck.
Nelly's mother, a pretty widow, said, "I did not know he loved me."
Nelly whispered to the St. Ulric doll that her mother was to marry the
shy gentleman.
"I thought there was a good reason for bringing us across the sea," said
the St. Ulric doll to the mechanical bear and the Paris lady.
The latter was out of temper.
"Already the little girl loves you best, because she has made your gown
herself," she said.
THE GRIZZLY BEAR.
The grizzly bear is the most terrible of all beasts. Its great strength,
its enormous size, its ferocity, and its courage render it a more
formidable enemy than the lion. It ranges the westward-lying slopes of
the Rocky Mountains from Mexico to British America, and is a constant
terror to the regions it inhabits.
The average length of the grizzly bear is about seven feet, and its
weight nine hundred to a thousand pounds, although much larger specimens
have been killed in Arizona and other Southern regions.
Grizzlies do not often attack men unless surprised or infuriated, or
driven by desperate hunger to seize upon everything which crosses their
path; but all animals, from a mouse to an enormous buffalo, fall an
easy prey to this monarch of the far West.
[Illustration: GRIZZLY BEAR AND BUFFALOES.]
The immense daring of the grizzly bear, and its entire confidence in its
strength, are evident from the fact that it will not hesitate to attack
buffaloes even when a whole herd are together. It has been known to kill
a buffalo with one blow of its terrible fore-paw, and afterward to drag
it away and bury it. It can easily dig a hole with its cimeter-like
claws, and it usually buries what it can not devour, as a store to fall
back upon when provisions are scarce.
Hunters tell many stories of sharp contests between grizzlies and
buffaloes. The bear will prowl by the side of a herd, keeping under
cover of the bushes until some big fat fellow comes within easy reach,
when it rushes on its victim, and with one blow fells it to the ground.
The other buffaloes may rush to the rescue of their comrade, but the
powerful grizzly is generally a match for them all, and instances are
rare where the savage beast has been driven to crawl away defeated.
The claws of this beast are longer than a man's finger, and are very
much prized as ornaments by the Indians. To wear a necklace of bear's
claws, taken from an animal killed by himself, is one of the highest
ambitions of an Indian brave; for if he is thus decorated, his courage
and superior strength are acknowledged by his whole tribe. An Indian
will sell his horses, his blankets, everything he possesses, but nothing
can induce him to part with his bear-claw necklace, which marks him as
an invincible warrior. To obtain this coveted prize Indians will run the
most extreme risks. Are the enormous foot-prints of a grizzly discovered
in the vicinity of the camp, the men all set out in hot pursuit, and
many a poor Indian has lost his life in fierce encounter with this
monarch of the mountains. If the bear can be traced to its den among the
rocks, the Indians will lay trails of powder leading from the lair in
different directions, which, as they burn, set fire to the dry grass and
stubble. As the animal, startled by the smoke and flame, rushes from its
hiding-place, the Indians, who lie concealed behind rocks and bushes,
pelt it with blazing pine knots, and fire volley after volley from their
rifles into its body, until some lucky shot enters the heart or brain,
and the monster staggers and falls dead to the ground.
This beast has a strong hold on life, and has often been known to run
with great speed, and even to swim deep rivers, with twenty or more
large rifle-balls in its body. It is so difficult to kill, and so
furious when aroused, that a hunter will never attack the grizzly
single-handed if the encounter can be avoided. The hunter may escape by
climbing a tree; for although young grizzlies can climb like a cat, the
old bears can do nothing more than stand on their hind-legs in vain
endeavors to reach the branches where the man lies concealed, and growl
spitefully. Their extreme heaviness, however, is thought by the Indians
to be all that prevents them from climbing.
A hunter once took refuge in a tree from one of these savage beasts, and
having vainly discharged all his ammunition at the monster, he
endeavored to hit it in the eye with cones, thinking to drive it away.
But the grizzly only became more infuriated, and began a brisk war-dance
around the tree, howling all the while in a terrible manner. At length
the branch upon which the hunter was sitting began to give way, and the
unfortunate man felt himself doomed to certain death. Closing his eyes,
he resigned himself to the worst, when, instead of falling, as he
expected, into the open jaws of the huge beast, he, together with the
heavy branch upon which he had been sitting, landed with a tremendous
thump upon the grizzly's head. The animal was so astonished and
frightened at this sudden and unexpected assault, that it took to its
heels, and soon disappeared in the forest. Such miraculous escapes,
however, are not frequent, and the number of Indians and hunters killed
by grizzlies is very large.
Young grizzlies have often been captured, and when very small are as
playful and affectionate as dogs. But they are not to be trusted, for as
they grow older, their savage nature develops, and they are liable to
become dangerous property. Unless they can be surprised away from the
mother, their capture is attended by the utmost peril. Nothing can
exceed the fury of the mother bear if her little ones are molested.
Rising on her hind-legs for a moment to survey the object of her hatred,
she will utter a hoarse "huff, huff, huff," and charge madly, and wary
and courageous must be the hunter who can overcome this savage monster.
Hunting the grizzly is usually accomplished by parties of men well
mounted, and with bands of trained dogs, but the huge beast will make a
desperate fight for its life, and often severely wounds numbers of its
assailants before being forced itself to succumb.
[Illustration: A MINIATURE YACHT REGATTA.--DRAWN BY F. S. COZZENS.--[SEE
NEXT PAGE.]]
MINIATURE YACHTS.
On the preceding page is an illustration of a miniature yacht regatta on
the Lake in Prospect Park, Brooklyn. In that beautiful Park there are
few sights to be seen as beautiful as this. The dainty yachts, perfect
in every detail, look like graceful white-winged birds skimming over the
water, and the announcement of a regatta on the Lake often attracts more
spectators than similar announcements of "grown-up" regattas down the
bay. Many of these spectators are very critical, and attend these
regattas in order to study fine points of sailing, and to learn what
models will show the greatest speed.
The little yachts are so carefully planned and built that they often
serve as models for those of many tons. Some of the finest yachts of the
New York, Brooklyn, Atlantic, and Seawanhaka Yacht Clubs are built from
models furnished by winners of races and regattas on the lakes of
Central and Prospect Parks.
Two regularly organized and officered clubs, the New York and Brooklyn
Miniature Yacht Clubs, are the rivals of these lakes, and many exciting
match races are sailed between the flyers of the two clubs. These races
and all the regattas are governed by the regular rules of yachting, time
allowances being made for differences of measurement, and the amount of
canvas allowed each boat, as well as the course to be sailed, being
accurately defined.
Of the miniature yachts, schooners of the first class are generally
about sixty inches long, are heavily sparred--that is, they have very
tall masts, long booms, and bow-sprit--and are ballasted with very deep
and heavy lead keels. They are either "built" or "cut"--that is, ribbed
and planked, or worked out from a single block of wood.
They carry rudders merely to make them look ship-shape, and are steered
entirely by their sails. These are so arranged as to balance fore and
aft, and the jib and main sheets are made of elastic rubber, so nicely
adjusted that if the boat is inclined to sail too close to the wind, the
main-sheet stretches, the mainsail is eased off, and she resumes her
proper course, with the wind free. If she is inclined to "fall off" too
much, and run before the wind, the jib-sheet stretches, the wind spills
out of the jib, and the pressure upon her aftersails quickly brings her
up on the wind again.
The fleet at Prospect Park this season numbers some fifty sail, from
sixty-inch schooners down to ten-inch cat-boats, and contains schooners,
sloops, cat-boats, catamarans, and one square-rigged steamer. An English
cutter will probably be added to the fleet very soon, and interesting
races between her and the boats of American model are expected.
EASY BOTANY.
JUNE.
June has many beautiful flowering trees, and many rare and remarkable
plants. Some of the anemones bloom in April and May, but several wait
for June. Among these the rare red anemone is found on rocky banks in
Western Vermont, in Northern New York, and Pennsylvania.
Among the pines and maples of Cape Ann, at Manchester, Massachusetts, we
find the laurel-magnolia, or sweet-bay, with silky leaves and buds, and
deliciously fragrant cream-white flowers. This charming shrub seems to
belong to the South, but has strangely strayed away, and made for itself
a cozy home on the "stern and rock-bound coast" of New England. This
magnolia also grows in Pennsylvania and Southern New York.
Belonging to the same fair family is the tulip-tree, with large
tulip-shaped flowers tinged with yellow, orange, and green. These trees
are found in rich soil in the Middle, Southern, and Western States.
Another wonderful plant of June is the large water-lily the _Nelumbo
luteum_, or water-chinquepin. This plant apparently belongs to the East
Indies, and seems to be nearly related to the pink lotus, or sacred bean
of India. The American species is rare, being found at but few places;
but Connecticut professes to possess it in the Connecticut River, near
Lyme; and it is found in the Delaware River, near Philadelphia, at
Woodstown and Swedesborough, New Jersey, and in several Western lakes.
The leaves are circular, from one to two feet in diameter, and raised
high above the water; the fragrant flowers are pale yellow; the seeds,
sunk deeply in a receptacle, are as large as acorns.
Our own beautiful white pond-lily is well known and well beloved; and
few New-Englanders are unfamiliar with the serene ponds and still waters
where the lily pods make a carpet on which rest the lovely heads of
these delicious favorites.
At Sandwich and Barnstable, Massachusetts, and Kennebunk, Maine, are
found lilies of a fine rose-color. The common cow-lily, as it is called,
though not a beauty like its relatives, is a pleasing variety, being of
a rich yellow color.
Next we come to the wonderful pitcher-plants, whose chosen homes are in
the black mud of peat-bogs and swamps.
The one with which we are most familiar is favored not only with a
botanical name of seven syllables, but has the common names of
side-saddle-flower, pitcher-plant, and hunter's-cup--all referring more
or less to the curious leaves, which are hollow, and shaped like little
pitchers, and are always found partly filled with water. The flower,
nodding on a tall stalk, is as singular as the leaves; it is of a deep
reddish-purple color, the petals arching over a little green umbrella in
the centre, which covers the stamens. This striking and interesting
plant may be easily found by any enterprising young botanist who is not
afraid of mud and water, as it grows from Maine to Illinois and
southward.
Another queer little dweller in bogs and swamps and wet meadows is the
sundew, one species of which may be found in June, and others later. The
leaves of this peculiar plant are covered with fine reddish-brown hairs,
or glands, which furnish small drops of fluid, glittering like
dew-drops.
Three species of wild oxalis, or wood-sorrel, should not be overlooked.
The _yellow_, which is found everywhere, is so common as to be
unappreciated; but the _white_, with petals streaked with red lines, is
very pretty: it is found in deep, cold woods in Massachusetts and the
Middle States. The _violet_ wood-sorrel is, however, the beauty of the
family, and rare enough to require being searched for. It springs from a
bulb in shady, rocky woods in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and New York;
three or four soft purple blossoms nod on a slender stalk, and it is a
lovely little plant. All the wood-sorrels are attractive and interesting
from the graceful and pathetic habit which they have of folding up and
drooping their delicate leaves at night-fall, opening them at the early
light of morning.
The showy wild lupine comes out with long racemes of purple, pink, blue,
and white blossoms, covering sandy fields with a flush of color.
The dear wild roses make the wood paths beautiful, and the indescribably
delicious fragrance of the sweet-brier betrays its location on the dry
banks and rocky road-sides.
The flowering raspberry, found in moist woods and shady dells, is as
beautiful as the rose, and the buds, if possible, more beautiful than
rose-buds. The flowers are large, of a vivid deep rose-red, and the
leaves maple-shaped, and very graceful.
In June, also, come six or eight species of _Cornus_, or dogwood, each
beautiful in its way. These shrubs, which are generally found in rich
soil in rocky, open woods, are rare in New England, but abundant in the
Middle States. The brilliant little bunchberry, however, which belongs
to the _Cornus_ family, delights in the deep cold woods of Maine, where
it grows luxuriantly, its rich red berries charming the eye in the
depths of the forest.
In the gloom of shady woods, at the roots of pine and oak trees, the
young botanist may perhaps be startled to see an array of little
_ghosts_, as it were, springing from dead leaves, and without one touch
of the green of summer, but waxen-white in every part, leaves, stems,
and all, sometimes having a faint shade of pink or tawny yellow. This is
the Indian-pipe, with none of the healthful honesty of other plants, but
stealing its existence from surrounding neighbors; and with this ghostly
parasite we will close the list for June, not that it is exhausted, for
hundreds stand waiting, but it would take a _book_ to tell of them all.
FLOWERS OF JUNE.
COMMON NAME. COLOR. LOCALITY, ETC.
Alpine azalea Wh., rose-color White Mts., rocky hills; N. E.
Alum-root Greenish-purple Rocky woodlands; Conn. to Wis.
Alum-root, downy Purplish-white Rich woods; Lancaster, Pa.
American ipecac Rose-color Deep woods; N. Y., Pa., and
West.
Arrow-wood White, light
blue berries Wet places. Common North.
Bell-shaped
sullivantia White Limestone cliffs; Ohio, Wis.
Bird's-eye primrose Pale lilac Shores of Western lakes; Mt.
Kineo, Me.
Black snakeroot Greenish-yellow Copses, open glades. Common.
Black huckleberry Reddish, berries
black Woodlands. Common.
Blue-tangle White, berries
dark blue Low copses; New England.
Bunchberry White flowers,
red berries Damp, cold, deep woods; Me.
Burning-bush Dark purple Shaded woods; N. Y., Pa.,
South.
Bush honeysuckle Honey yellow Rocks and thickets; Northward.
Buttercups Yellow Banks and fields. Common.
Cassiope Wh., rose-color White Mts., Adirondacks, Me.
Rare.
Chervil White Fields and copses; Lancaster,
Pa., N. J.
Chinquepin, American
lotus Pale yellow Conn., N. J., West. lakes. Rare.
Clustered
bell-flower Deeper blue Road-sides; Danvers, Mass.
Coffee-tree White racemes River-banks, rich soil; N. Y.,
Pa., West.
Collinsia Blue and white Moist soil; N. Y., Pa., West.
Common elder Flowers white,
berries black Banks, rich soil. Common.
Cornel, panicled Flowers and
berries white Thickets and river-banks.
Cornel, red osier Whitish, berries
white Damp New England pastures.
Cornel, silky White, berries
pale blue Wet places. Common.
Cow-lily Bright yellow Still waters. Very common.
Cranberry-tree Wh., red berries Low, damp grounds; N. J.
Crowberry White Mountains; New England.
Cuckoo-flower Rose-color, wh. Bogs, swamps; Vt., N. J.
Dahoon holly Yellow-white Swamps of Virginia.
Dwarf raspberry White Hill-sides; N. E. to Pa.
Common.
Dwarf wild rose Deep pink Dry rocky banks and fields;
N. E.
Evening primrose Pale yellow Sandy fields; N. J. and South.
False indigo Violet River-banks; Pa., South, West.
Feverwort B'wnish-purple Rich woodlands. Common.
Flowering dogwood Purplish-white, Rocky woods; Conn., N. J.,
red berries South.
Flowering raspberry Deep red purple Copses, wooded banks; New Eng.
Fumitory, climbing Purplish-white Wet woods; West.
Great-spurred violet Pale violet Damp shady woods; Mass. Rare.
Great willow-herb Pink-purple Low grounds, burned pastures,
and woods.
Green violet Greenish-white Open woods; N. Y., Pa. Rare.
Green-weed Yellow Dry hills; Mass., Middle
States, W.
Hedysarum Violet-purple Mountains; New England, Me.
Herb-robert Red-purple Shady ravines, wet woods;
N. E.
High blackberry White Woods, pastures, banks.
Common.
Ilex holly Greenish Moist woodlands; sea-coast,
N. J.
Indian-pipe Waxy white Dark shady woods; New England.
Inkberry White flowers,
berries black Sandy grounds; Cape Ann.
Labrador tea White Cold bogs and mountain woods;
New England.
Leather-flower Purple Rich woods; N. J., N. Y.,
West.
Low blackberry White Low woods, road-sides. Common.
Magnolia, sweet-bay White Cape Ann, Gloucester and
Manchester woods.
Marsh five-finger Purple Cool bogs; New England to Pa.
Marsh violet Pale lilac White Mts., high lands N. Rare.
Meadow-sweet White Damp soil, banks; N. J., West.
Mountain laurel Pink and white Rocky hills, damp soil. Common.
Mountain sandwort White Mountains; New England.
Nine-bark Wh., rose-color Rocky river-banks; West.
One-flowered pyrola White-pink Deep cold New England woods.
Pale laurel Light purple Cold peat bogs and mountains.
Partridge-berry Purple and white,
red berries Dry woods, creeping. Common.
Persimmon Pale yellow Woods and old fields; R. I.,
N. Y.
Pimpernel Scarlet, blue,
wh. Waste sandy fields; Mass., N. J.
Pitcher-plant Deep purple Peat-bogs and swamps; New Eng.
Poison-ivy, climbing Greenish Rocky thickets, low grounds.
Poison sumac Dull color,
very poisonous Swamps and wet pastures.
Pond-lily White, pink Ponds, pools, and still waters.
Common.
Prince's-pine Pale pink Dry woods. Common.
Pyrola Greenish-white Rich woods; Conn., N. J., N. Y.
Queen of the prairie Peach-color Open meadows; Pa., prairies W.
Red anemone Red Rocky hills; Vt., N. Y. Rare.
Red elder Flowers white,
berries red Rocky woods; New England.
Round-leaved cornus White, berries Rich soil, copses; Middle
blue States.
Roxbury wax-work,
climbing Red berries Thickets; N. E., Middle States.
Seneca snakeroot White Rocky soil; N. E., West, South.
Sheep-laurel Crimson Hill-sides, pastures. Common.
Shrubby cinque-foil Yellow Wet grounds; N. E. Common.
Silver-weed Yellow Brackish marshes and meadows;
New England, West.
Small cranberry Rose-color Peat bogs; N. E., Middle
States.
Spotted wintergreen Pink and white Open woods; Middle States.
Staghorn sumac Greenish Hill-sides, dry banks. Common.
Strawberry-bush Greenish-purple Wooded banks; N. Y., Ill.,
South.
Sundew White Bogs, wet pastures; New Eng.
Sundrops Yellow Open fields; N. J., N. Y., Pa.
Supple-jack,
climb'g. Greenish-white Damp meadows; Va. and South.
Swamp-honeysuckle White-pink Swamps; New England sea-coast.
Swamp-rose Pink Swamps and pastures. Common.
Swamp-saxifrage Greenish Bogs, wet pastures. Common.
Sweet-brier Pale pink Rocky banks, road-sides; N. E.
Sweet-cicely White Rich moist Northern woods.
Tall bell-flower Bright blue Rich soil; N. Y., N. J., West.
Three-toothed Brunswick, Me., White Mts.,
cinque-foil White Cape Cod. Rare.
Twin-flower Pale pink Moist, mossy woods; Me.,
N. J., N. Y.
Valerian Pale pink Wooded banks; Lancaster, Pa.,
O.
Wild elder Greenish-white Rocky banks, thickets. Common.
Wild flax Yellow Wet, boggy grounds; New
England, West. Rare.
Wild honeysuckle Light yellow Rocky banks; Catskill, Ohio, W.
Wild licorice White Sandy shores; Western N. Y.
Wild lupine Purple, blue,
pink, white Sandy open fields; Mass., Conn.
Wild monk's-hood Bright blue Rich shady hills; N. Y., N. J.,
S.
Wild pea Purple, white Dry sandy soil; North and
South.
Wild red raspberry White Thickets, road-sides; N. E.,
South, and West.
Wild sarsaparilla White Moist woods; North and West.
Wild touch-me-not Orange, brown Thickets, shades, beside
streams. Common.
Wood-sorrel Violet Rocky, damp woods; Orange,
N. J., South. Rare.
Wood-sorrel White, red veins Deep cold woods; Mass. to Pa.
Wood-sorrel Yellow Copses and open fields;
everywhere.
Yellow-wood Showy white Rich woods and hills;
flowers Middle States.
[Illustration: SWINGING "BRER RABBIT."-DRAWN BY PALMER COX.]
THE ADVENTURES OF A RAT RACE.
BY JAMES B. MARSHALL.
The carpenters came on a certain Monday morning to make some needed
alterations about Mr. Wilson's stable at the rear of his house yard. And
you know what a noise carpenters will make when working; far more than
enough to disturb the most contented of rats.
Peggy O'Conner, who was moving to and from the kitchen hanging up linen
to dry in the yard, said she saw no rat pass by her; but as a rat was
found in the library, it must have come there by way of the side yard
from the stable.
It was a rather warm summer morning, but with enough of a breeze blowing
to start Uncle Leonard sneezing if he should drop off to sleep while
sitting in a draught. Now, merry Uncle Leonard was asleep in an
easy-chair down in the library, where the two window-sashes were raised
and both doors were open. He had gone there, as usual, to read the
morning paper, but gradually it drooped nearer and nearer the end of his
nose, as usual, until it finally spread itself adroitly over his closed
eyes, to fend off the flies. Then he began to make that soft
steam-enginery sound that most stout gentlemen make when asleep, about
as loud as the purring of "Cattegat," Lou and Amy's cat.
Cattegat always followed Uncle Leonard to the library if possible, to
escape Lou and Amy, who, during their vacation, were trying to teach him
to hold a lump of sugar on the end of his nose while seated on his hind
paws. Cattegat, who liked the sugar but not the trick, had been so named
by a Danish gentleman who had presented him to Lou and Amy.
The rat as it entered the library thought, doubtless, that it was a
pretty comfortable-looking place, or else it wouldn't have gone about
the room smelling and sniffing until it found a piece of sponge-cake,
knocked by the canary from the wires of its cage.
That little breeze went on blowing across Uncle Leonard's head, and
directly he gave a rousing "ashoo!" of a sneeze. Such an
"a-a-sh-sh-shoo," that he actually sneezed himself into a sitting
position. The rat was more startled at such a noise than at all the
carpenters had made, and dropping the cake, peeped from behind an
ottoman where it took refuge.
Cattegat jumped up and looked at Uncle Leonard as if to ask him if he
had made that noise, and then glanced about the room.
"What can ail the cat!" exclaimed Uncle Leonard, as Cattegat went across
the floor in about three springs. Then quickly closing the yard door, he
called, "A rat! a rat!" as the rat ran from behind the ottoman.
Cattegat and the rat raced headlong around the room once, and Uncle
Leonard nearly kicked himself off his feet as the rat slipped unhurt by
him. Then away went the rat out of the library through the other door,
along the hall, and up the front stairs; away tore Cattegat not far
behind it; and quickly in pursuit trotted Uncle Leonard, calling, "Catch
him, Cattegat; catch him, Cattegat!"
At the moment, Lou, a very handy boy about the house, was in a
second-story room near the head of the stairs, and had just finished
gluing in the leg of Amy's rocking-chair. He had taken the chair there
to mend, because the floor was not carpeted, but smoothly varnished, and
any glue dropped could be easily removed. Amy stood watching him as she
slowly untied a package of prepared chalk for the teeth, with which she
had shortly before returned from the drug store.
"Gracious! what's coming up stairs?" said Lou, placing the glue brush on
the chair beside the glue-pot, and stepping to the door.
"Look out for the rat!" shouted Uncle Leonard.
Amy instantly sprang on the first object at hand, her just-mended
rocking-chair, which gave way, of course, and over she went. However,
she broke her fall by catching at the chair holding the glue-pot and
brush, though the glue rolled to the right and the brush to the left.
The package of prepared chalk, that had received an upward pitch as Amy
had toppled over, then came down in time to plentifully powder both her
and Lou.
The latter had turned to clear the way for the rat and Cattegat, not
more than an instant later than Amy had taken alarm, but the glue had
been spilled more quickly. And though Lou jumped over the pool of glue
safely, he landed right under the shower of chalk, and directly upon the
slippery glue brush. Presto! down went Lou, and shooting over the smooth
floor, vanished under the bed at the far end of the room, as though he
had been a clown playing in a pantomime.
Amy, so filled with laughter, could scarce manage to climb on the sound
chair before the rat and Cattegat came whizzing through the doorway;
both leaped clear of the spilled glue, and scampered in a flash across
the floor into the next room, and so on through several other rooms that
communicated.
"Oho! bravo, Cattegat!" said Uncle Leonard, as he came on, running at a
wonderful rate for him. Right through the doorway he ran, but on seeing
Amy, he was about to lessen his speed, and have her join in the chase,
when he stepped in the pool of glue. Slip, slip, slide across the room,
went Uncle Leonard, with his feet getting farther apart, as though the
floor was the slipperiest of ice. He slid to and against a wash-stand,
and then sank down slowly and gracefully at its foot in a way that would
have done credit to a champion gymnast. But he shook the stand so
violently that the water-pitcher was shaken over within its basin, and
emptied half its contents upon his head.
Amy rushed to his aid, righted the pitcher, and inquired if he was hurt.
"Not a bit," said Uncle Leonard, getting again on his feet, smiling
mirthfully at his own dripping coat, and giving one of those jolly
laughs of his at Amy's chalk-powdered head. "Come along, my dear,"
continued he; "keep the chase up, or the rat will yet have the best of
it. But where's Lou?"
"Here I am!" answered Lou, poking his laughing, powdered face from under
the bed, and crawling out. And away they all followed the chase, Uncle
Leonard kicking off his gluey slippers, and catching up a pair of Papa
Wilson's.
Cattegat and the rat in the mean time had been racing up and down the
front bedrooms, frightening Mamma Wilson and Aunt Laura into climbing up
on one of the beds, and Cattegat had distinguished himself by knocking
over a sewing basket and a screen. As the pursuers appeared upon the
scene, rat and cat ran out into the hallway again, through a door that
Aunt Laura had opened, hoping to get clear of them.
Then pat, pat, pat, again in chase went Lou and Amy's shoes; flap, flap,
flap, followed Uncle Leonard's slippers; and Mamma Wilson and Aunt Laura
brought up the rear with an irregular run and walk. Right through the
length of the whole second story, through the hallway, and from room to
room they rushed, with such a clatter and whoop as had never before been
heard in that house, merry as were its people.
Cattegat will now surely catch that ferocious rat in the last room,
thought every one. But no; straight down the back stairs plunged the
rat, and jump, jump, followed Cattegat, still several feet behind it.
And at the bottom of the stairway, closed by a door, the race would have
been doubtlessly won by Cattegat, but Peggy O'Conner, hearing such an
unusual commotion overhead, came to the door to inquire its cause. As
Peggy opened the door she heard several voices call: "Don't open that
door; Cattegat's after a rat."
Bang! went the door--closed quickly, I assure you; but something flew
past Peggy, and she only shut the door in Cattegat's face.
As that something, very much like a rat, flew past Peggy, and vanished
out of the kitchen, a piece of soap that Katie, the other girl, threw
with a very bad aim, went flying after it. But frightened Peggy, in
dismay, raised her hands, backed awkwardly against a tub of blue water
on the floor, and before she could recover her balance, splashed down
into the water, which flew about like the spray of a great fountain.
As the whole party filed down the back stairs, Katie was trying amidst
her merriment to help wringing-wet Peggy out of her queer bath, and all
but Cattegat had something to laugh at.
Cattegat seemed very much disappointed because the rat had escaped, and
went out in the yard, and hid himself under a rose-bush.
As for the rat, Lou is pretty certain that he sees it occasionally
capering about the stable, very much unlike a common rat that has never
had an adventure.
[Illustration]
THE MORNING MESSAGE.
BY K. M. M.
A beam was sent out by the morning sun
To carry the message that day had begun.
First the gay courier told his story
To the opening buds of the morning-glory.
The birds in their nest on the branch o'erhead
Heard every word that the sunbeam said,
And all at once in the trees was heard
The twittered "good-morning" of each little bird.
Then in at the window the messenger flew,
And all around him his gold he threw.
He scattered it here, and everywhere,
He gilded the braids of the mother's hair.
He glanced at the baby, who laughed with glee,
And danced for joy on his mother's knee.
And little Clara, the three-year-old,
Tried to catch at the shining gold;
And she said, "Mamma, if I'm good to-day,
Perhaps this beautiful sunbeam will stay."
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.
About a month ago my papa came home from Panama, and brought me
two beautiful little birds for pets. I do not know any English
name for them, but in Spanish they are called _Verdones del
Pacifico_. They are about the size of a canary. Their bodies are
beautiful dark blue, the wings and back are glossy black with a
blue stripe, and the top of the head irised green. The under side
of the wings is golden yellow. They have little bright black eyes,
long bills like a humming-bird, and dainty little red legs and
toes. They feed on bananas, and eat all day long. They are very
queer little gymnasts, and hang head downward from their perch to
reach their food. They do not sing, but the moment daylight begins
they commence a sweet little peeping, which they keep up from
morning till night.
We did not know they would eat insects; but one afternoon a big
fly came buzzing round their cage, and they fluttered and peeped
and pushed their bills through the wires in their efforts to catch
it. My brother caught it and gave it to them in his fingers. They
both dived for it, and had a fight to see which should get the
biggest half. Since then we catch flies for them all the time, and
whenever any one goes near their cage they begin to peep and
watch, hoping for a fly.
Sometimes we shut the windows and let them fly around the room and
hunt for themselves. They dart like lightning, and not a fly
escapes them. They are growing very tame, and will come and perch
upon my finger when they are tired flying.
I wonder if any other little boy or girl has any _Verdones_? Their
home is in the forests along the tropical Pacific coast. They
build a nest similar to that of the humming-bird, and are
considered members of the same family, although they do not hover
over their food like the humming-bird.
CARRIE R.
* * * * *
FORT ONTARIO, OSWEGO, NEW YORK.
My father is a lieutenant in the Second Artillery. We have been in
Oswego seventeen months. The fort is on the lake, and a very old
fort it is. The scarf wall facing Lake Ontario has never been
finished. In the fort grave-yard are some very old graves. There
is one of George Fykes, a Revolutionary soldier, who died in 1776.
This is a very pleasant post. In summer there is plenty of boating
and fishing. I went fishing the other day, but did not have very
good luck. There were a great many wrecks on the lake last fall.
I have one little brother four months old. When he gets old enough
I will write a letter for him too. I like YOUNG PEOPLE very much.
I am ten years old.
HOWARD M.
* * * * *
TABLE ROCK, NEBRASKA.
I like YOUNG PEOPLE ever so much. I have no pets except my little
baby brother, but there are lots of birds' nests in our orchard.
One day when we were in the orchard we saw a big nest with rags
woven in it, and I spied a corner of an embroidered handkerchief
that was given me a year ago last Christmas. Papa was up in the
tree, and he pulled it out and threw it down to me. I think it was
a blackbird's nest. The eggs were green, with dark brown spots on
them.
GERTIE B.
* * * * *
BROOKLINE, MASSACHUSETTS.
Here is a game that I invented. I have played it very often, and
it is very good fun. Two boys stand opposite each other, about ten
feet apart. Each boy has a ball--rubber ones are best, as they
will bounce. The balls must be thrown from one boy to the other,
both at the same time. When they hit in the air--which they do
oftener than you would think--each boy tries to catch one on the
first bounce or fly. Each ball so captured counts one. Whoever
gets ten first beats.
I have some tracing paper and a lithogram which papa gave me, and
I have a great deal of fun tracing pictures and copying them on
the lithogram.
WILLY A.
* * * * *
BEREA, KENTUCKY.
I have a pair of canaries. The singer I have named Sankey; the
other is Jenny. When I put mamma's mirror in the cage, Sankey will
look at himself and sing beautifully, and then he will peep behind
the mirror to see if any other bird is there. I am ten years old.
JULIA B. H.
* * * * *
HOBOKEN, NEW JERSEY.
I thought you would like to hear about our kitty. At night when we
go to bed he climbs over two sheds and a grape arbor up to mamma's
window, and shakes the shutter until mamma gets up and lets him
in. Then he goes down and waits at the front door till papa comes
in. Then he follows papa down stairs, and papa gives him something
to eat, and shuts him up in the kitchen. In the morning he runs
out in the yard and plays around until breakfast-time, when he
comes in and goes right to papa's place at the table. He puts his
fore-paws upon the table, and claws papa's arm until he gets a
piece of meat, or bread, which he likes best.
Here is a recipe for Puss Hunter and her club. I call it
jaw-breaker candy. It is a little different from Nellie H.'s
recipe. One cup of brown sugar; half a cup of vinegar; a piece of
butter the size of a hickory-nut. When I think it is boiled
enough, I drop a little into a glass of cold water, and if it
hardens, it is done, and I pour it into a buttered dish to cool.
REBECCA H.
* * * * *
CAMDEN, ALABAMA.
I am a subscriber to YOUNG PEOPLE, and this is the first letter I
have written for "Our Post-office Box." I had a large doll given
me last Christmas, and I have named her Fannie Sue. She has a
pretty little red trunk full of clothes, and a black satin hat
with red flowers on it. My papa got me a donkey a few weeks ago,
and when I learn to ride nicely he is going to give me a horse.
KATE C.
* * * * *
CHAMPAIGN, ILLINOIS.
I thought the boys and girls would like to hear about my auntie's
pets. She has four big birds and four baby birds. One of the baby
birds got out of its nest this morning, and hopped about the cage.
Another bird is sitting on five eggs. Then we have four cats and
four kittens, and a great big Newfoundland dog. I am eight years
old. I live in Indianapolis, but I am visiting auntie now.
FRED D. S.
* * * * *
NEWARK, NEW JERSEY.
I write to tell you of my success with the tarantula in YOUNG
PEOPLE No. 29. I had to work hard to get the body cut out nicely,
but at last it was done. A little girl showed it to her father,
and he thought it was a big live spider, and gave it a knock which
sent three of its legs flying, but I soon mended it.
EDDIE W. H.
* * * * *
DEEP RIVER, CONNECTICUT, _May 19, 1880_.
My sister subscribed for YOUNG PEOPLE for my Christmas present. I
learned the song "I am the Lad in the Blue and White," and now I
am learning "I am the Lad in the Cadet Gray."
I caught two baby trout out of a brook with a cup, but papa told
me to put them back in the water, so I did. There are lots of
violets here now, and our rose-bushes are budded. For the last two
weeks the air has been very sweet with apple blossoms. I was
eleven years old yesterday.
EDITH P.
* * * * *
PINE RIVER, COLORADO.
I live in Southwest Colorado, close to the Ute Indian Reservation.
My papa has a store, and the Indians often come to trade. These
Utes are not bad, like the Utes who killed Mr. Meeker. We had six
wild geese, but a bad dog killed one of them. Some time I will
write more about the Indians here.
HATTIE J.
* * * * *
BONANZA, IDAHO.
I like to read all the letters from the children in YOUNG PEOPLE,
and I thought I would tell about my puppies. They bark if any one
comes in the room. One catches another by the tail and growls, and
the other jumps around and barks. There are three of them. Their
mother is sick, and coughs up blood. I wish some boy could tell me
what to do for her.
The snow is eighteen inches deep here yet (May 8), but it has been
over six feet deep here this winter.
F. M. G.
* * * * *
MILLS CITY, MONTANA.
I am always glad when YOUNG PEOPLE comes. I like all the stories
very much. We have two buffaloes, ten cows, a little calf, two
horses, and a little colt; and I have two cats, a dog named Rose,
and some chickens of my own. We have beautiful house plants, and
flowers growing in the garden in summer. I have two sisters and a
brother. My oldest sister is at school in Bismarck. I am eleven
years old.
LAURA B.
* * * * *
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.
I have a pet guinea-pig, which came across the ocean with me. It
is pure white. I have made a house for it to live in during the
summer. I visited Paris, and saw the last Exposition. It was not
as large as ours, but it was very fine. I have a very nice
collection of stamps and coins. My oldest coin, a Moorish one, is
dated 1270. I have another dated 1275. Both the coins were given
to me by Captain Boyton. Is it true that he was killed? I would
like to know.
CHARLES L. S.
Captain Boyton is not dead, but is in good health, and on the occasion
of a recent boat-race at Washington was floating about in his famous
life-saving costume.
* * * * *
PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA.
I have copied all the recipes, and we have a nice cook that lets
me try them, and helps me, too. She makes the crust for me, and I
make the inside for an awful good lemon pie. Here is the recipe,
and I wish Puss Hunter and the girls would try it and say what
they think of it. Take one tea-cup of white sugar; one
table-spoonful of butter; one egg; one large lemon; one tea-cup of
boiling water; one table-spoonful of corn starch. Mix the butter
and sugar in a bowl; then put the boiling water over the fire, and
stir the corn starch (which you must first wet in a little cold
water) into it till it thickens. Now pour it over the butter and
sugar, and set it away to cool. When it is cold, add the juice and
grated peel of the lemon (carefully removing the seeds) and the
beaten egg. Bake it without any top crust. Three times all this
makes two nice pies for big people, our cook says.
YOUNG PEOPLE is--oh, too good for anything. When I grow older, I
am going to take a dozen copies for poor little boys and girls
whose papa and mamma can not take it for them, as mine do for me.
HELEN.
* * * * *
U. S. NAVAL ACADEMY, ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND.
This is a lovely place to live in. Every morning and afternoon the
band plays in the Naval Academy grounds, and almost every
afternoon we play croquet until the band stops. The music always
begins with "The Star-spangled Banner," and ends with "Hail,
Columbia."
LIZZIE C. F.
* * * * *
DANVILLE, ILLINOIS.
I thank you, dear contributors, for the recipes you have already
sent me, and I would like some more, especially a good recipe for
bread.
I would like to know the name of this little flower. It was given
to me, and I think it was found growing in the water.
PUSS HUNTER.
Your flower is a cowslip, which grows in wet meadows, and is one of the
earliest blossoms of spring.
* * * * *
PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA.
I am twelve years old, and I am very fond of flowers, and take
great delight in hunting for them. There is a flower which grows
in the woods and open fields here, called the "Star of Bethlehem."
The blossom is a little white five-pointed star, and it blooms in
great quantities in the month of May. If "Genevieve," of
California, sends her address, I shall like to exchange pressed
flowers with her.
BERTHA S.
* * * * *
I would be pleased to exchange pressed leaves with Mary Wright, of
Kansas, if she will wait until fall, as I always have a very nice
collection of autumn leaves. I would also like to exchange pressed
ferns with some little girl in the fall. I think HARPER'S YOUNG
PEOPLE is a splendid paper.
EMMA FOLTZ,
Chambersburg, Pennsylvania.
* * * * *
QUITMAN, GEORGIA.
I am a little Southern girl, eight years old to-day. Grandpa gave
me a gold ring, and papa gave me a beautiful doll. Oranges,
bananas, and sugar-cane grow here, and we have flowers and
mocking-birds all winter. Please tell me what willow "pussies"
are.
INDIA T.
If you look in the Post-office Box of No. 25 you will find a description
of willow "pussies," given in answer to questions from other young
correspondents in the far South.
* * * * *
JULIAN G.--The first volume of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE will be finished
with the fifty-second number, issued the last Tuesday in October, 1880.
* * * * *
S. G. SMITH.--"Tumble home" indicates curving in toward the top;
"tumbling in aft," curving under.
* * * * *
H. T. M.--The characters you inquire about are not letters, but signs
understood only by the members of a certain society.
* * * * *
NEW YORK CITY.
Could you tell me the origin of the name "Forget-me-not" as
applied to flowers? I have heard there is some historical legend
or story concerning it. I should be very glad if any of the
readers of YOUNG PEOPLE could inform me where such a legend is to
be found.
A CONSTANT READER.
There are many graceful, poetic stories told by poets and romancers,
especially by German authors, concerning the origin of the name
"Forget-me-not," but it is unlikely that any one of them has a
historical foundation. We leave the subject open for our youthful
correspondents to discuss.
* * * * *
"TOUT OU RIEN."--To send us your name and address once is sufficient.
* * * * *
CHARLES F. R.--If you send forty-eight cents in clean postage stamps,
the papers you require will be forwarded to you.
* * * * *
NINA.--The wife of an Earl has the title of Countess. There is nothing
to be said of the Countess of Rosebery beyond what you read of her in
HARPER'S BAZAR. She is a very estimable and charitable lady, and
universally respected.
* * * * *
RICHARD S. C.--The best thing for you to do is to visit some
establishment where the article you require is for sale. There are so
many kinds and so many sizes of bicycles that it is impossible for us to
give you any idea of prices.
* * * * *
PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.
No. 1.
ENIGMA.
My first in fortune, not in luck.
My second in canvas, not in duck.
My third in squadron, not in fleet.
My fourth in conquer, not in beat.
My fifth in battle, not in wreck.
My sixth in rigging, not in deck.
My seventh in union, not in flag.
My eighth in steadfast, not in brag.
All these letters will show to you
An officer gallant, tender, and true.
MARY D.
* * * * *
No. 2.
DROP-LETTER PUZZLE.
A familiar proverb:
--e--t--r--a--e--h--n--e--e--.
C. K. S.
* * * * *
No. 3.
WORD CHANGES.
[Taking two words of an equal number of letters, the change must be made
by altering one letter at a time, thus forming a new word, which must be
an English proper name, or a word given in an English dictionary. In
altering a letter, its position in the word must not be changed. Any
answers making the change correctly will be credited, although the
intermediate words may vary from the solution sent with the puzzle. Here
is an example changing Tom to Sam: Tom, T_i_m, _r_im, ri_p_, r_a_p,
ra_t_, _s_at, Sa_m_.]
1. Love to hate. 2. Vest to coat. 3. Cent to dime. 4. Head to foot.
5. Bear to stag. 6. Hard to soft. 7. Storm to quiet.
C. P. T.
* * * * *
No. 4.
ENIGMA.
My first is in schooner, not in ship.
My second is in beat, but not in whip.
My third is in bran, but not in meal.
My fourth is in cure, but not in heal.
My fifth is in pie, but not in cake.
My sixth is in shovel, but not in rake.
My seventh is in sick, but not in well.
My eighth is in tongue, but not in bell.
My ninth is in castle, but not in tower.
My whole is a fragrant, beautiful flower.
BELLE H.
* * * * *
No. 5.
NUMERICAL CHARADE.
My whole is a strait composed of 11 letters.
My 11, 7, 1, 4, 5 is a celebrated tower.
My 3, 10, 9 is useful at night.
My 6, 2, 8 is a member of the human family.
ADA.
* * * * *
No. 6.
DIAMOND PUZZLE.
In artist. A Spanish hero. A ferocious beast. A cavern. In artist.
M. V.
* * * * *
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN NO. 29.
No. 1.
1. Troy, Galveston. 2. Ithaca, Trenton. 3. Mobile, Lima. 4. Utica,
Macon. 5. Salem, Alton.
No. 2.
Macbeth.
No. 3.
O R G A N
R O L L A
G L O O M
A L O N E
N A M E S
No. 4.
The nineteenth century.
Ho. 5.
W
W A R
W A L E S
R E D
S
No. 6.
N anki N
A labam A
P eki N
L ockpor T
E urop E
S amo S
Naples, Nantes.
* * * * *
"Aunt Flora's Answer," a broken rhyme, on page 408:
Start, tart, art.
Skill, kill, ill.
Blend, lend, end.
Smothers, mothers, others.
* * * * *
Answer to "Throwing Light," on page 408.--Cruise, crews.
* * * * *
Correct answers to puzzles are received from Grace N. Whiting, Dollie
Murdoch, Clarence Howard, W. L. Naldrett, "Tout on rien," A. H. Ellard,
"Fatinitza," Alice and Mamie Grady, H. Starr Kealhofer, John B.
Whitlock, Robie D. Caldwell, Howard Rathbone, Harry E. Furber.
* * * * *
Favors are acknowledged from W. Holloway, Nelly, Willie H. D., J. F. K.,
Edith Bidwell, Lizzie B., J. W. Riley, Charles H. Bamford.
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The Child's Book of Nature.
* * * * *
The Child's Book of Nature, for the Use of Families and Schools:
intended to aid Mothers and Teachers in Training Children in the
Observation of Nature. In Three Parts. Part I. Plants. Part II. Animals.