[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. II.--NO. 68. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, February 15, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: PERILOUS COASTING.--SEE NEXT PAGE.]
A RIPPER.
BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
"It's nothing on earth but a pair of bobs. We've rigged that kind of
thing lots of times over on our hill. All you need is a couple of sleds
and a plank."
"Yes, Rod, and when you've done it, they won't steer worth a cent."
"Yes, they do. Dig your heels in."
"Stop your sled just so much every time you dig. A rudder's just as bad.
We've tried 'em."
"So've we, Court Hoffman. I guess there wasn't ever anything much
started on your hill till after we'd showed you how, over on ours."
"You never showed anybody how to make a ripper like this."
"Ripper? We'll see about that."
There they stood looking at Courtland Hoffman's new coasting machine. He
was the undoubted leader of the West Hill coasters, as Rodney Sanderson
was of the East Hill boys.
The new ripper was a beauty, and had cost some money. It was, as Rod
said, a pair of bobs, with a plank on top to hold them together. There
was room on it for half a dozen boys, and more if they packed, and it
was handsomely finished. The one thing about it that no boy in Cuzco
Centre really believed in, except Court Hoffman, was the steering gear.
This was a half-wheel, as wide as the sled, mounted on the front bob, on
an axle that went down through the plank; and the idea that when you
turned that wheel the front bob would turn too, and the ripper be
steered by it, was too much for anything. Some of the oldest men in the
village had shaken their heads at that sled, and Squire Sanderson
himself had remarked to Deacon Rogers, "They didn't spile the boys with
any sech nonsense in our day, Deacon."
Cuzco Centre had two hills, one on each side, and they were tremendous
affairs. The older people believed they were put there so as to have a
valley between them for the village to stand in, but the boys knew
exactly what they were really for, especially in winter, and when the
coasting was good.
The main street ran through the middle of the valley and the village;
but it failed to make a fair division of things, for the river ran a
crooked parallel with it a short distance eastward. It was the glory of
the East Side boys that the river ran through their ground--fish,
swimming-hole, ponds, skating, old bridge, and all--but it cut off the
lower end of their long coast from the hill road. No sled in Cuzco had
ever reached the bridge, however, so it was just as well; but the West
Side boys told wonderful stories of the distances they had buzzed over
on the half-mile level at the bottom of their hill. That was what Court
Hoffman meant, too, when he said:
"You wouldn't have room for a ripper on your hill. If you want to see
how one works, you'll have to come over and look on. Give you a ride,
too, if you think you wouldn't be afraid. They go just like lightning."
Rod Sanderson did not say anything, but he looked up the road toward the
East Hill, and the high, white, snow-covered ridge seemed to say:
"Look up here. There is as much of me as ever there was. You do your
share, and we'll beat 'em."
Court Hoffman made two boys happy by letting them drag his ripper home
for him, and Rod Sanderson walked off with an idea in his head.
"There'll be a moon to-night. Never was better coasting. I'll just try
it on."
Part of that idea was now lying over in his father's barn-yard, in the
shape of an old weather-beaten, worn-out double-seated sleigh, with a
goose-neck front. It had been a handsome affair in its day, but it had
not had any day to speak of since Rodney could remember. It was drifted
under now, and it took a good hour to get it out, even with the help of
Put Willoughby.
"Going to make a ripper of it?" said Put, doubtfully. "The runners are
all right, but the box is on it yet, and the seats."
"We'll put in buffalo robes and blankets, and fix it fine."
"How on earth'll you steer? There isn't any boy in Cuzco with legs
enough to heel it for a sleigh of that size."
"I'll show you. I'm going to rig a boom out astern for a rudder. Steer
like a ship."
"You don't say!"
Put had a good deal to say, however, when he saw Rod cut a hole in the
back of that sleigh box, and shove through it a long pole with a spike
on the end.
"Steer? Of course it will. I could steer it myself. Only how on earth'll
we ever get it up to the top of the East Hill?"
There might have been some difficulty about that, if all the boys on
that side of the main street had not taken the matter in hand. They were
a public-spirited lot, and they were all jealous of Court Hoffman's
town-made, new-fangled, fancy-painted gimcrack. They knew it wouldn't
work, and they said so, and they pulled and pushed at Rod's wonderful
idea that evening until they got it up the hill. Then they all got in,
or tried to, and the old ark looked more like a pyramid of boys than
anything else.
It was a splendid moon-lit evening, and the West Hill boys were out,
every soul of them, and the best friends Court Hoffman had were half
afraid he wouldn't invite them to ride on his ripper the first time.
Then they were more than half afraid he would, for they all knew Deacon
Rogers had said there was no telling where that thing would go to if it
once got well a-going.
The valley, and the village, and the river, and the East Hill would be
in the way, to be sure, and that was something; but the hill road was as
slippery as ice, and the new ripper looked more and more like a shark
when Court Hoffman lifted it to show them how bright and smooth the
runner irons were.
He showed them also how the wheel worked, and declared that he could
steer that ripper all around a house. That was what made Jim Delany ask,
"Could ye stheer it round a wood-sleigh, wid three yoke of oxen, av ye
met 'em in the sthrate yonder?"
"I'll show you. Now, boys, who's going with me? Hurrah! The more the
merrier."
"I'm wid ye," shouted Jim Delany. "It'll be bad luck for any horned
baste we run into."
One after another the larger boys followed Jim, and Court never stopped
to count.
"Keep your feet on the foot-rests," he shouted. "Hold on hard. Hold
steady as rocks. We'll be off in a minute. Ready, all? Go, then."
And go it was, with nearly a mile of sloping road before them, and
beyond that the long glittering reach of the level.
There was time for a cheer or two, and they gave one, and nearly half of
another; but that second cheer seemed to be cut in two by something.
Court Hoffman grasped his wheel tiller with all the strength he had in
him, and looked straight ahead. He had ridden on that sort of machine
before, and he knew what was coming the moment she got her speed on.
But the other boys?
Dan Varick's grip on Jim Delany would have brought a yell from him if he
had dared to open his mouth. Jim was thinking, too, but he and all the
rest were thinking the same thought.
"Fences? They're nothing but two black streaks at the side of the road.
Oh dear! we'll go clean through the village. What if we should run into
something!"
They held on like good fellows, and made that ripper-load of boys as
nearly as possible one solid mass, so that it was easier for Court
Hoffman to steer. Even he, though, was beginning to have his doubts as
to where they would bring up, and whether he could steer safely around
the curve where the road from the West Hill crossed the main street, and
met the road from the East that led over the bridge.
The speed was awful! No express train ever went faster, and a race-horse
would have been passed as if he were standing still.
Danger in it? Of course there was, and the lives of all of them depended
upon the nerve and pluck of Court Hoffman, and the skill he might show
in getting around the curve. Yes, and on whether or not there should be
a clear road, or a stray team or cow or human being to run against.
It was a terrible risk to run, and all the boys left on the hill were
glad they had let somebody else try the first ride on the ripper.
Before the beginning of that swift, perilous dash, however, Rod
Sanderson and the East Side boys had completed their preparations. Some
of them had to get off and push to get the old sleigh started, and only
one of these managed to get on again. Three more jumped off before the
"whopper," as Rodney called her, had gone ten rods, and it may have been
because they had doubts as to where she would fetch up.
"She just steers lovely," remarked Put Willoughby, as he noticed how Rod
Sanderson was straining at the long handle of his rudder.
"She's beginning to go faster!"
"She's a-gaining!"
"Don't she go it!"
"Hurrah--ah--aw--aw!"
They all joined in that, but at just that moment the old sleigh shoved
her goose-necks over the little roll at the edge of the first really
steep slope of the East Hill road, and she seemed to give a great jump.
"Rod, where's your rudder?"
"Gone! I--"
There was no more to be said. It had been jerked from him, through the
hole he had cut for it, the moment the bent spike caught in an icy
place, and the old sleigh had things in her own hands from that moment.
She seemed to know it, and to be tickled half to death over the notion
of doing her own running, without a span of horses in front of her. She
was not a ripper, indeed, but she was a whopper, and she had weight
enough on board to give her all the impetus she needed down that hill.
How she did plunge and slip! and how the loose snow and bits of ice did
fly! Still, she had been over that road many a time, and seemed to know
it like a book now; that is, the ruts were deep, and her runners kept in
them as surely as the wheels of a street car keep in the grooves of the
track. Faster and faster, with nobody to steer, and no earthly chance of
stopping her! There never was such coasting, nor so many boys doing it
on one big sled.
Rod Sanderson looked out ahead over his crouching load, and the wind cut
by his face as if there had been a hurricane. A team on the bridge! What
if it should come on into the road? What if the old sleigh should take a
notion to go on over the bridge and into the village, or anywhere?
"Oh dear! she's going faster!"
The short stretch of level road at the bottom of the East Hill was
reached like a flash, and it was now going by like another flash--a
little slower, to be sure, but with no sign of stopping.
The driver of the team on the bridge had halted his oxen, and the boys
in the sleigh seemed all at once to feel the same impulse to dodge. They
leaned toward the right, and it may be some of them meant to jump; but
the pressure helped a clog of wood the runners touched at that moment to
turn the "whopper" out of the ruts of the road, and into the well-worn
slide that led down the river-bank. It was her last plunge, and she was
nearly out of breath when she took it, but it was well for those boys
the ice was so thick. It bore them splendidly, sleigh and all, and away
they went, until their ride used itself up, just half way over. Just as
they were all drawing their breath for a grand hurrah, something black
and long shot down from the western bank of the river, and out upon the
very ice that belonged to them.
"Coming right for us!"
"Boys! boys! that's Court Hoffman's ripper!"
Court had done it. He had steered successfully around the curve, partly
because some of his speed had gone when he reached it, and his remaining
impetus had carried him on until he slipped into the gentle declivity
toward the bridge and the river.
"I say," said Rod Sanderson, as the passengers of the ripper sprang to
their feet, "how far did you have to haul that thing after you got down
hill?"
"Ran all the way itself."
"Well, so did our whopper. Steered herself, too, and that's more'n yours
can do."
"Well, yes, I should say so."
Court was looking and feeling a little thoughtful. The coasting on the
West Hill was almost too good for his ripper, and he wanted to consider
the matter before he tried it again.
As for the "whopper," there was no such thing as persuading the East
Hill boys to haul her up the road for another free ride that evening.
CHATS ABOUT PHILATELY.
III.
BY J. J. CASEY.
In a previous chat with you I gave a few directions how to start
properly in collecting stamps. You also got an inkling of the vast
extent of Philately. While it embraces but two classes, stamps for
postal purposes and stamps for revenue purposes, it has divided these
two classes into several divisions, each of which has an equal
importance, and each of which claims for itself all that can be given to
it either of time or money. Jack of all trades, and master of none, can
very truly be applied to stamp collecting. One who attempts to collect
all kinds of stamps may, by the expenditure of a very large amount of
money, succeed in accumulating a very great number of stamps; but one
becomes merely an accumulator, and has ceased to be a Philatelist. The
rule among collectors to-day is to take up some special portion of
Philately, and to direct all their efforts to that portion.
Stamps for postal purposes include government adhesive stamps, local
stamps recognized by several governments, private express stamps and
private post-office stamps once prevalent in this country, stamped
envelopes and stamped newspaper wrappers, postal cards, and proofs and
essays. Stamps for revenue purposes include government adhesive stamps,
municipal stamps, private die stamps of the United States, and proofs
and essays. Here are divisions enough. To attain excellence, or even
good results, in any one division, the others must be given up. One is
just as fruitful of interest as another, but postage stamps of
government issue are the most popular, being the easiest within reach.
Stamped envelopes and wrappers and postal cards should not be mutilated
by having the design cut out. In the early days of collecting, attention
was generally paid to the design only, which, whether in adhesive stamps
or on envelopes, was trimmed up to the printed portion. The album-makers
were responsible for this mutilation by marking off spaces in their
albums. Collectors foolishly trimmed their stamps to fit into the
prescribed spaces--a course which they have since regretted; for these
trimmed specimens, exceedingly valuable, and oftentimes priceless when
not mutilated, would not now be admitted into any first-class
collection. Even to this day the album-makers virtually compel the
collector to cut the impression out of the envelope, or else have an
album with unsightly pages here and there. But under no consideration
should the envelope or postal card be mutilated. You may say that it is
not practicable to keep the entire envelope in a book. But you do not
keep butterflies or birds' eggs in a book. Keep the envelopes and cards
in a box until you can devise a plan of your own for mounting them. I
have a very excellent plan for mounting envelopes and cards, and one of
these days I may explain it to you.
Government local stamps are privileges extended to individuals or
localities for postal purposes within limits. The most important of
these are the Russian local stamps. You are aware that Russia has a
large extent of territory; the postal service of the Russian Empire is
not yet adequate enough to cover properly this vast extent, and
accordingly it has extended to all the governments or provinces of
Russia local mail privileges. As a result of this, over a hundred and
ten towns have their special postage stamps. These are the most
interesting of all stamps, from the many historical or emblematical
designs engraved on them. A full collection of these stamps would number
between four and five hundred specimens.
With these government local stamps must not be confounded what are
sometimes, but erroneously, called "United States locals," but which are
in reality nothing more than private express stamps. Between thirty and
forty years ago, private individuals, and sometimes express companies,
carried letters between various cities, or most usually within the
limits of certain cities or towns. Payment was indicated by stamps. The
Post-office Department soon broke up these concerns, as interfering with
the postal privileges of the government, and none are now in existence
as letter-carrying concerns save a few firms in this city to whom the
privilege is given by one of the old colonial charters, and with which
the government can not interfere. I shall not discuss the admissibility
of these stamps into a collection, although opinion is divided. But I
would advise my young friends to give them a wide berth. Of the hundreds
which are known, you can not possibly get together enough genuine
specimens to fill up a page of your book. To supply the demand there is
no lack of counterfeits, or concoctions, which will be represented to
you as just as good as the stamps themselves.
But do not fill your albums with these vile forgeries. Many an album
containing many fine stamps has been rendered almost worthless because
page after page was plastered over with forgeries, reprints, and
re-strikes of these private express stamps.
Among revenue stamps there are two most interesting classes--the
municipal stamps of Italy and the private die or private proprietary
stamps of this country. Revenue stamps are more in number than postage
stamps, and, generally speaking, are more difficult to obtain, because
of the higher values which the stamps represent. But the Italian
municipal and the United States private die stamps will well repay the
efforts of the young collector.
On one other point I wish to counsel you. Let there be consistency in
your collection. By this I mean, let your stamps be all cancelled or all
uncancelled!! Nothing looks so bad as to see part of a set bright and
clean, and the rest all smudged with cancelling ink. Cancelled stamps
are in the main much cheaper than uncancelled stamps, and the collector
has less difficulty in procuring cancelled specimens than he has in
procuring uncancelled specimens. In fact, one difficulty collectors of
clean stamps have to contend against is that it is almost impossible to
procure clean copies of some of the great rarities. But these will not
trouble you for some time. Bear in mind what I said in a previous paper
about putting in your collection none but perfect specimens. If you are
careless on this point, you may be often imposed upon by many dealers,
who will take particular pains to offer you their worst specimens.
[Illustration]
MY FIRST MUFF.
BY F. C.
Here's my little lady,
Dressed with thoughtful care,
Smiling at the sunlight,
Smiling at the air.
Whither, little lady,
Whither shall we go?
O'er the lofty hill-tops--
Through the winter's snow?
Will you with me wander
Through the copses bare,
Where the dead leaves linger?--
Autumn left them there.
No, my little lady;
Snows would damp your feet;
Thorns would tear your jacket,
Trimmed with ermine neat.
I will fetch a carriage,
Drawn by ponies fine,
Lined with silken cushions,
Fit for lady mine.
We will drive right swiftly
O'er the hill-tops then--
Drive as quick as lightning
Through the merry glen.
Then my little lady
Safe from harm will be,
And her rich soft ermine
From sharp thorns be free.
[Begun in No. 58 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, December 7.]
TOBY TYLER;
OR, TEN WEEKS WITH A CIRCUS.
BY JAMES OTIS.
CHAPTER X.
MR. STUBBS AT A PARTY.
Toby was about to say that he did not intend to represent the matter
other than it really was, when a voice from behind the canvas screen
prevented further conversation.
"Sam-u-el, come an' help me carry these things in."
Something very like a smile of satisfaction passed over Signor Castro's
face as he heard this, which told him that the time for the feast was
very near at hand, and the snake-charmer, as well as the Albino
Children, seemed quite as much pleased as did the sword-swallower.
"You will excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," said the skeleton, in an
important tone; "I must help Lilly, and then I shall have the pleasure
of helping you to some of her cooking, which, if I do say it, that
oughtn't, is as good as can be found in this entire country."
Then he too disappeared behind the canvas screen.
Left alone, Toby looked at the ladies, and the ladies looked at him, in
perfect silence, while the sword-swallower grimly regarded all, until
Mr. Treat appeared bearing on a platter an immense turkey, as nicely
browned as any Thanksgiving turkey Toby ever saw. Behind him came his
fat wife carrying several dishes, each one of which emitted a most
fragrant odor; and as these were placed upon the table, the spirits of
the sword-swallower seemed to revive, and he smiled pleasantly, while
even the ladies appeared animated by the sight and odor of the good
things which they were to be called upon so soon to pass judgment.
Several times did Mr. and Mrs. Treat bustle in and out from behind the
screen, and each time they made some addition to that which was upon the
table, until Toby began to fear that they would never finish, and the
sword-swallower seemed unable to restrain his impatience.
At last the finishing touch had been put to the table, the last dish
placed in position, and then, with a certain kind of grace, which no one
but a man as thin as Mr. Treat could assume, he advanced to the edge of
the platform, and said,
"Ladies and gentlemen, nothing gives me greater pleasure than to invite
you all, including Mr. Tyler's friend Stubbs, to the bountiful repast
which my Lilly has prepared for--"
At this point, Mr. Treat's speech--for it certainly seemed as if he had
commenced to make one--was broken off in a most summary manner. His wife
had come up behind him, and, with as much ease as if he had been a
child, lifted him from off the floor, and placed him gently in the chair
at the head of the table.
"Come right up and get dinner," she said to her guests; "if you had
waited until Samuel had finished his speech, everything on the table
would have been stone-cold."
The guests proceeded to obey her kindly command, and it is to be
regretted that the sword-swallower had no better manners than to jump on
to the platform with one bound, and seat himself at the table with the
most unseemly haste. The others, and more especially Toby, proceeded in
a leisurely and more dignified manner.
A seat had been placed by the side of the one intended for Toby for the
accommodation of Mr. Stubbs, who suffered a napkin to be tied under his
chin, and generally behaved in a manner that gladdened the heart of his
young master.
Mr. Treat cut generous slices from the turkey for each guest, and Mrs.
Treat piled their plates high with all sorts of vegetables, complaining,
after the manner of housewives generally, that the food was not cooked
as she would like to have had it, and declaring that she had had poor
luck with everything that morning, when she firmly believed in her heart
that her table had never looked better.
After the company had had the edge taken off their appetites, which
effect was produced on the sword-swallower only after he had been helped
three different times, the conversation began by the fat woman asking
Toby how he got along with Mr. Lord.
Toby could not give a very good account of his employer, but he had the
good sense not to cast a dampener on a party of pleasure by reciting his
own troubles, and he said, evasively,
"I guess I shall get along pretty well, now that I have got so many
friends."
Just as he had commenced to speak, the skeleton had put in his mouth a
very large piece of turkey--very much larger in proportion than he was
himself--and when Toby finished speaking, he started to say something
evidently not very complimentary to Mr. Lord. But what it was the
company never knew, for just as he opened his mouth to speak, the meat
went down the wrong way, his face became a bright purple, and it was
quite evident that he was choking.
Toby was alarmed, and sprang from his chair to assist his friend,
upsetting Mr. Stubbs from his seat, causing him to scamper up the tent
pole, with the napkin still tied around his neck, and to scold in his
most vehement manner. Before Toby could reach the skeleton, however, the
fat woman had darted toward her lean husband, caught him by one arm, and
was pounding his back, by the time Toby got there, so vigorously that
the boy was afraid her enormous hand would go through his
tissue-paper-like frame.
"I wouldn't," said Toby, in alarm; "you may break him."
"Don't you get frightened," said Mrs. Treat, turning her husband
completely over, and still continuing the drumming process. "He's often
taken this way; he's such a glutton that he'd try to swallow the turkey
whole if he could get it in his mouth, an' he's so thin that 'most
anything sticks in his throat."
"I should think you'd break him all up," said Toby, apologetically, as
he resumed his seat at the table; "he don't look as if he could stand
very much of that sort of thing."
But apparently Mr. Treat could stand very much more than Toby gave him
credit for, because at this juncture he stopped coughing, and his face
was fast assuming its natural hue.
His attentive wife, seeing that he had ceased struggling, pulled him up
above the chair, and sat him down with a force that threatened to snap
his very head off.
"There!" she said, as he wheezed a little from the effects of the shock;
"now see if you can behave yourself, an' chew your meat as you ought to.
One of these days when you're alone you'll try that game, and that'll be
the last of you."
"If he'd try to do one of my tricks long enough, he'd get so that there
wouldn't hardly anything choke him," the sword-swallower ventured to
suggest, mildly, as he wiped a small stream of cranberry-sauce from his
chin, and laid a well-polished turkey bone by the side of his plate.
"I'd like to see him try it!" said the fat lady, with just a shade of
anger in her voice. Then turning toward her husband she said,
emphatically, "Samuel, don't you ever let me catch you swallowing a
sword!"
"I won't, my love, I won't; and I will try to chew my meat more,"
replied the very thin glutton, in a feeble tone.
Toby thought that perhaps the skeleton might keep the first part of that
promise, but he was not quite sure about the last.
It required no little coaxing on the part of both Toby and Mrs. Treat to
induce Mr. Stubbs to come down from his lofty perch; but the task was
accomplished at last, and by the gift of a very large doughnut he was
induced to resume his seat at the table.
The time had now come when the duties of a host, in his own peculiar way
of viewing them, devolved upon Mr. Treat, and he said, as he pushed his
chair back a short distance from the table, and tried to polish the
front of his vest with his napkin:
"I don't want this fact lost sight of, because it is an important one.
Every one must remember that we have gathered here to meet and become
better acquainted with the latest and best addition to this circus, Mr.
Toby Tyler."
Poor Toby! As the company all looked directly at him, and Mrs. Treat
nodded her enormous head energetically, as if to say that she agreed
exactly with her husband, the poor boy's face grew very red, and the
squash pie lost its flavor.
"Although Mr. Tyler may not be exactly one of us, owing to the fact that
he does not belong to the profession, but is only one of the adjuncts to
it, so to speak," continued the skeleton, in a voice which was fast
being raised to its highest pitch, "we feel proud, after his exploits at
the time of the accident, to have him with us, and gladly welcome him
now, through the medium of this little feast prepared by my Lilly."
Here the Albino Children nodded their heads in approval, the
sword-swallower gave a little grunt of assent, and thus encouraged, the
skeleton proceeded:
"I feel, when I say that we like and admire Mr. Tyler, all present will
agree with me, and all would like to hear him say a word for himself."
The skeleton seemed to have expressed the views of all present
remarkably well, judging from their expressions of pleasure and assent,
and all waited for the honored guest to speak.
Toby knew that he must say something, but he couldn't think of a single
thing; he tried over and over again to call to his mind something which
he had read as to how people acted and what they said when they were
expected to speak at a dinner table, but his thoughts refused to go back
for him, and the silence was actually becoming painful. Finally, and by
the greatest effort, he managed to say, with a very perceptible stammer,
and while his face was growing very red:
"I know I ought to say something to pay for this big dinner that you
said was gotten up for me, but I don't know what to say, unless to thank
you for it. You see I hain't big enough to say much, as Uncle Dan'l
says, I don't amount to very much 'cept for eatin', an' I guess he's
right. You're all real good to me, an' when I get to be a man, I'll try
to do as much for you."
[Illustration: TOBY SITS DOWN ON MR. STUBBS.]
Toby had arisen to his feet when he began to make his speech, and while
he was speaking, Mr. Stubbs had crawled over into his chair. When he
finished, he sat down again without looking behind him, and of course
sat plump on the monkey. There was a loud outcry from Mr. Stubbs, a
little frightened noise from Toby, an instant's scrambling, and then
boy, monkey, and chair tumbled off the platform, landing on the ground
in an indescribable mass, from which the monkey extricated himself more
quickly than Toby could, and again took refuge on the top of the tent
pole.
Of course all the guests ran to Toby's assistance; and while the fat
woman poked him all over to see that none of his bones were broken, the
skeleton brushed the dirt from his clothes.
All this time the monkey screamed, yelled, and danced around on the tent
pole and ropes as if his feelings had received a shock from which he
could never recover.
"I didn't mean to end it up that way, but it was Mr. Stubbs's fault,"
said Toby, as soon as quiet had been restored, and the guests, with the
exception of the monkey, were seated at the table once more.
"Of course you didn't," said Mrs. Treat, in a kindly tone; "but don't
you feel bad about it one bit, for you ought to thank your lucky stars
that you didn't break any of your bones."
"I s'pose I had," said Toby, soberly, as he looked back at the scene of
his disaster, and then up at the chattering monkey that had caused all
the trouble.
Shortly after this, Mr. Stubbs having again been coaxed down from his
lofty position, Toby took his departure, promising to call as often
during the week as he could get away from his exacting employers.
Just outside the tent he met old Ben, who said, as he showed signs of
indulging in another of his internal laughing spells,
"Hello! has the skeleton an' his lily of a wife been givin' a blow-out
to you too?"
"They invited me in there to dinner," said Toby, modestly.
"Of course they did, of course they did," replied Ben, with a chuckle;
"they carries a cookin'-stove along with 'em, so's they can give these
little spreads whenever we stay over a day in a place. Oh, I've been
there!"
"And did they ask you to make a speech?"
"Of course. Did they try it on you?"
"Yes," said Toby, mournfully, "an' I tumbled off the platform when I got
through."
"I didn't do exactly that," replied Ben, thoughtfully; "but I s'pose you
got too much steam on, seein' 's how it was likely your first speech.
Now you'd better go into the tent an' try to get a little sleep, 'cause
we've got a long ride to-night over a rough road, an' you won't get
more'n a cat-nap all night."
"But where are you going?" asked Toby, as he shifted Mr. Stubbs over to
his other shoulder, preparatory to following his friend's advice.
"I'm goin' to church," said Ben, and then Toby noticed for the first
time that the old driver had made some attempt at dressing up. "I've
been with the circus, man an' boy, for nigh to forty years, an' I allus
go to meetin' once on Sunday. It's somethin' I promised my old mother I
would do, an' I hain't broke my promise yet."
"Why don't you take me with you?" asked Toby, wistfully, as he thought
of the little church on the hill at home, and wished--oh, so
earnestly!--that he was there then, even at the risk of being thumped on
the head with Uncle Daniel's book.
"If I'd seen you this mornin', I would," said Ben; "but now you must try
to bottle up some sleep agin to-night, an' next Sunday I'll take you."
With these words old Ben started off, and Toby proceeded to carry out
his wishes, although he rather doubted the possibility of "bottling up"
any sleep that afternoon.
He lay down on the top of the wagon, after having put Mr. Stubbs inside
with the others of his tribe, and in a very few moments the boy was
sound asleep, dreaming of a dinner party at which Mr. Stubbs made a
speech, and he scampered up and down the tent pole.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
STANLEY'S GREAT JOURNEY.
BY WILLIAM L. ALDEN.
The great journey of Mr. Henry M. Stanley, in which he crossed the
continent of Africa, was both the longest and the most important journey
that any African traveller has made. Both Dr. Livingstone and Commander
Cameron had already crossed Africa, but they crossed it by a more
southerly and much shorter path than that taken by the American
traveller. They suffered a great deal from fever and weariness and the
terrible heat; but Mr. Stanley, in addition to these miseries, was
compelled to fight his way through tribe after tribe of blood-thirsty
cannibals, and to follow the course of a dangerous river, full of
rapids, in a frail boat. It is almost a miracle that he ever lived to
reach the civilized world; and had he not been as prudent and skillful
as he was brave and persevering, he never would have finished his
journey.
Mr. Stanley started from Zanzibar--a town on the east coast of
Africa--in November, 1874, with three young Englishmen and three hundred
and fifty-three native Africans. Only a few of these were armed with
rifles, for most of them were porters. In Africa, calico and beads are
used for money, and as a traveller must have plenty of these with him,
he has to employ a great many porters. You will ask why he does not have
horses or oxen to carry his goods. The reason is that there is an insect
in Africa, called the tsetse, the bite of which kills all animals of
burden, so that travellers have to hire natives to carry all their
property on their heads.
Stanley marched first to Lake Victoria--a lake discovered by Captain
Speke in 1858, and which is one of the sources of the Nile. After
sailing all around this lake in a boat which was made for him in
England, and was built so that it could be taken apart and carried by
the porters, he went to another great lake, discovered by Captain Burton
in 1856, and called Lake Tanganyika. This he also circumnavigated in his
boat, and discovered that it had no outlet. West of Lake Tanganyika Dr.
Livingstone had discovered a great river, which he thought might be the
Congo. Commander Cameron had also seen this river, and both of them
wanted to descend it to its mouth, but they thought it would be
impossible to make their way through the fierce savages who live on its
banks.
When Stanley reached this great river, two of the young Englishmen that
had started with him, Fred Barton and Edward Pocock, had already died of
the deadly African fever, and so many of his other men had died, or
deserted, or been killed, that he had only one white man, Frank Pocock,
and one hundred and forty-nine natives--some of whom were women--who
were willing to join him in a voyage down the river. He bought a number
of canoes, and with these and his English boat, the _Lady Alice_, began
his voyage. He had to fight almost constant battles with the natives,
and the great river, with its swift current, that swept many of his
canoes over the rapids, was almost as dangerous as the savages. In one
of these rapids poor Frank Pocock was drowned, and when, after suffering
the most terrible hardships, Stanley reached the Portuguese settlement
near the mouth of the Congo, he had only one hundred and fifteen
followers left, and these, like himself, were nearly dead from
starvation, disease, and hardship.
One day Mr. Stanley was sailing on Lake Victoria in the _Lady Alice_
with eleven natives, and being out of provisions, and very hungry, they
rowed toward the shore, intending to land and buy food. About two
hundred savages, armed with spears and bows and arrows, gathered to meet
them. Stanley's men called to them, and told them they were friends, and
wanted to buy food. The savages seemed to be peaceful, but as soon as
the boat touched the shore, they seized it, and dragged it twenty yards
up the beach, with Mr. Stanley sitting in it.
Then they swarmed around him, yelling and flourishing their clubs and
spears. Many of them took aim at Stanley with their arrows; but he told
his men to speak gently to them, and to convince them that they were
friends. They demanded calico and beads, and Stanley gave them all they
asked. Then they seized the boat's oars, and carried them off; but still
the traveller made no resistance. The crowd constantly increased, until
there were at least three hundred of the savages, all armed and painted
for battle. They abused Stanley and his men, telling them they were
cowards, and that they were going to kill them, and twenty times Mr.
Stanley thought his last moment had come. Finally he told one of his men
to go a little distance away from the boat, and to engage the attention
of the savages, while the rest of them should take hold of the boat on
each side, and at the word of command try to launch it. They did so; but
the savages saw the boat moving, and rushed to the water's edge just as
she glided into the lake. The man who had tried to attract the attention
of the wretches while the boat was launched sprang into the water after
her, and a savage was just on the point of spearing him, when Stanley
fired, and saved his follower's life by shooting the spear-man. The men
now climbed into the boat, and tearing up the bottom boards, tried to
paddle with them away from the shore, while Stanley threatened the
savages with his gun, and for a few moments kept them at a distance.
They soon plucked up courage, however, and springing into their canoes,
paddled after the _Lady Alice_. There was no escape except by driving
the enemy back, and Mr. Stanley, with four shots from his elephant
rifle, loaded with explosive balls, sunk two of the canoes, and killed
five men, after which the others retreated, and the _Lady Alice_, after
paddling all night, and driving before a heavy gale all the next day and
all the next night, in imminent peril of sinking, brought her exhausted
crew to an uninhabited island, seventy-six hours after the fight.
Instead of showing a hard-hearted readiness to fire on the poor
Africans, in this, as in all his other fights, Stanley showed the most
wonderful self-control, and only used his rifle when he had to choose
between being killed, together with his men, and firing on his brutal
foes.
[Illustration: STANLEY ATTACKED BY THE NATIVES.]
The greater part of Stanley's battles were fought while descending the
Congo. Sometimes the natives came out in canoes and attacked him on the
river, and sometimes they attacked him while he was camping on the
shore. Once fifty-four canoes, carrying at least two thousand men, were
successfully beaten off in a sharp battle. At night the camp had to be
protected by a stockade made of brush-wood; and often the tired
explorer, after paddling all day, had to watch all night to repel the
constant attacks of the enemy. Sometimes, when they were dragging the
canoes through the forest around the rapids, the woods would suddenly be
alive with cannibals who had been lying in ambush. Armed with clubs and
spears and poisoned arrows, they would rush on Stanley and his handful
of men, shouting that they would eat the strangers for dinner. But
whether there were a hundred or a thousand of them, Stanley always
managed to drive them back. It was his cool courage, quite as much as
the rifles of his men, which gave him the victory. Had he not been a man
born to command, he could never have inspired his men with courage to
face such swarms of savages; and had he not been as brave a man as ever
lived, he could never have fought hand to hand with a score of hungry
cannibals all at once, and driven them back in terror of the dauntless
white man.
Mr. Stanley has furnished a splendid example of what patience,
perseverance, and courage can accomplish in the face of the most
formidable obstacles, and he will always be celebrated as one of the
greatest explorers the world has ever known.
[Illustration: "PERSEVERANCE."]
A STRANGE VALENTINE.
BY KATE McD. R.
"When _will_ you be ready to go down street for our valentines, Lilla?"
asked Margie Goold, as she stood listlessly at the window watching the
passers-by. "You said you'd go half an hour ago, and I've been waiting
ever since."
But Lilla was deep in her arithmetic, and apparently unconscious that
Margie had asked any question, until suddenly she jumped up, and
throwing some papers well covered with figures into the grate,
exclaimed,
"I would have been ready long ago had it not been for that horrid D."
"Why, Lilla Goold, you ought to be ashamed to call D. _horrid_," cried
little Fay, indignantly, from her seat on the rug, where she was giving
Fido a lesson in making believe dead.
"Yes, indeed, you ought," seconded Margie. "Mamma was saying just a day
or two ago that we must respect D., and remember what a faithful nurse
she was to all of us. And you, of all others, to call her names, when
she sat up night after night with you when you were so ill! And anyway
she has only come to bring the clothes home, and will probably go right
away again, as she always does."
Lilla interrupted Margie's praise of their old nurse by throwing herself
on the sofa and laughing immoderately.
Margie looked indignant, Fay puzzled, while Fido came quickly to life
and barked vociferously.
"There! even Fido resents having D. so talked about," cried Margie,
triumphantly.
"I never meant _Dinah_ at all," laughingly protested Lilla. "She is a
dear old soul. I mean the D in my example, who is digging a ditch with
A, B, and C, and I'm to find out how long it takes them, and then how
much faster D works than A. I get along finely until D appears, and then
I don't know how to go on."
"Oh," said Margie, in a relieved tone; "but wasn't it strange that just
as you said something about D, old nurse D. came across the street with
the washing, and of course I thought you meant her. Here she comes out
again, and the poor thing can hardly stand, it is so slippery.
Mamma"--as Mrs. Goold entered the room--"why does D. bring the clothes
still? I should think Rosa would offer to come with them, instead of
sending her old aunt out. Why, just see! she can scarcely stand."
"Rosa does not send her, dearie," said Mrs. Goold, joining her little
girls at the window, "for she told me she thought it dangerous for Dinah
to be out in the winter so unprepared as she is, but that Dinah
_persists_ in coming, no matter what the weather, that she may inquire
_herself_ about 'de chillen.'"
"Good old D.," said Fay, using the name that Lilla--the first baby--had
given Dinah, and both the others had adopted in their turn. "Why,
mamma," continued the little one, straining her eyes to catch a glimpse
of Dinah's departing figure, "how will she ever get home? There! good!
Rosa has met her. I'm so glad!"
"D. needs a pair of that new kind of rubbers that we stopped to look at
to-day in Mr. Brooks's store window," said Lilla, putting away her
books, "and then she could get along finely."
"Let's get her a pair," exclaimed the wide-awake Margie, "when we go for
our valentines. Will you give us the money, mamma? I think the price is
a dollar."
"I'll give twenty-five cents toward it," answered Mrs. Goold, as she
laid some money on the table, and left the room.
"Of course mamma means by _that_ that we ought to give the rest. What do
you say to getting the rubbers, instead of valentines for Lou and Jess?"
suggested Margie.
"Then they won't send us any. They never do, you know, until they get
ours."
"That's so; and Madge Hammond proposed to-day that all the girls bring
their valentines to school Monday, and we want to have as many as we
possibly can, and here"--spreading them out upon the table as she
spoke--"so far I've got only three."
Fay's brown eyes were opening wider and wider as she listened. "Papa
gave me a lot of pennies to send a vantaline to Cousin Daisy, but I'd
rather send a rubber vantaline to Dinah."
"You little darling!" cried Lilla, kissing her, "you're a lesson to us."
Then, turning to Margie: "I guess if baby can give _her_ money, _we_
can. Let's go right down for the rubbers, and send them in valentine
style, as Fay proposes. Yes, of course Fay shall go too," she added,
noticing the large eyes turned questioningly to hers.
About an hour later they rushed into the sitting-room, exclaiming,
"We've got them, and they're beauties--lined throughout, and come over
the ankles."
"How did you know the size?" inquired Mrs. Goold, after she had duly
admired them.
"The most fortunate thing in the world," answered Margie, "was our
meeting Rosa just as we were going into the store, and after she had
promised not to breathe a syllable to D., we told her the plan, took her
into the store with us, and she selected the rubbers."
And as Margie paused, Lilla went on: "Rosa says they're just the thing,
and she's coming over to-night to tell us how D. likes them. Mr. Brooks
waited on us himself at first, and looked crosser than a bear. He had
his green glasses on, and stared at us so hard that I was glad when a
gentleman came in to see him, and one of the clerks took his place."
"And the clerk," put in Margie, "kept telling us that the rubbers were
the latest thing in the market, and I laughed right out at the thought
of D.'s knowing or caring whether they were in style."
"Then," resumed Lilla, "as we were leaving the store, Mr. Brooks stepped
forward, and said, in the sternest tone, to Rosa--you know she used to
work at his house--'I wish you would wait a few moments, Rosa; I desire
to speak to you;' so we left her there."
It was a picture not soon to be forgotten that met Mr. Goold's gaze as
he came upon the little group in the cozy sitting-room, lighted only by
the bright coals in the grate.
"Still talking valentines?" he asked, kissing mamma, and lifting Fay
from her arms to his own. Then sitting down, and putting her on his
knee, he questioned, "Well, how about them?"
Lilla and Margie then began an account of buying Dinah's rubber shoes,
and when they were brought for his inspection, to their great delight he
dropped a piece of money in each.
"Now Rosa will have a s'prise too," cried Fay, clapping her hands.
Supper over, the sleigh came round, and soon the package was left at
Dinah's door, and the children were home again.
"Now I must try that example once more," announced Lilla, as she bent
over her book. Then, after a few moments' study, "Oh! I see--I have it!"
she cried, triumphantly: "D works just twice as fast as A."
"D must have worn a pair of stylish rubbers," laughed Margie. "Probably
A couldn't stand as firmly in the ditch."
While they were laughing at Margie's explanation, Jane came to the door
with some valentines, which excited the usual amount of wonderment.
"I had no idea we'd get so many," said Lilla, in a satisfied, tone; "I
don't believe Madge can be ahead of us."
Another knock, and Rosa presented herself with a "Can I come in?" which
showed all her beautiful teeth. The children made a rush for the young
colored girl, and overwhelmed her with questions.
"Oh, chillen, she _was_ so pleased, and so berry thankful! She wanted to
come right over and show dem to you all, but I 'suaded her to wait till
mornin'." And then Rosa went on to say what a perfect fit the rubbers
were, and how Dinah was singing around, as happy as could be, and in a
hurry for morning, that she might wear them.
"Does she s'pect who sent 'em?" asked Fay.
"I's 'fraid she does, honey, 'cause when she went to try dem on, some
money fell out, an' I said: 'Dem careless chillen! I's feared Miss
Goold's bringin' dem up to tink money grows on bushes'; an' Aunt Dinah
said, 'Did dey gib 'em?' so I jest said, 'I'll take de money dar fust,
anyway, an' see,'" and Rosa held up two silver pieces, saying, "Who
lost, I's found?"
"Why, Rosa, it's your s'prise," explained Fay--"your vantaline," at
which Rosa's astonishment and delight knew no bounds.