PERCE SETTLES WITH HIS PARTNERS.
There was no longer any question as to what should be done with the
contribution the boarders had made up to reward the humane efforts of
Olly’s rescuers.
They had collected ten dollars. To this Mr. Hatville begged the privilege
of adding ten more.
“For finding my watch—and for my treatment of the finder!” he said.
But Percival couldn’t bear that anything like that should cloud the great
joy with which the welcome light of truth filled his soul.
“I don’t want any reward for anything!” he exclaimed. “I can’t take your
money!” And he pushed back Mr. Hatville’s contribution across the hall
table. “But I’ve no right to refuse anything intended for my friends;
and, if the ladies insist, I will take their money and give it to Moke
and Poke.”
“Moke and Poke!” said Amy, with a laugh. “What names!”
“They are my partners, on the beach. The Elder boys—Moses and Porter,”
Perce explained.
The ladies did insist; and, with light feet and a lighter heart, he
hastened down the sandy path to the shore.
The twins, who had resumed their work, were inclined to show a little
resentment of their partner’s prolonged absence. They wished to know what
“that man” wanted of him, and where he had been all the while.
“I’ve been getting a reward for you!” said Perce gayly.
“A reward?” cried Moke.
“For what?” asked Poke.
“For rescuing Olly,” Perce replied, opening his hand and showing the
money. “Here it is,—with the compliments of the lady boarders at Mrs.
Murcher’s.
“Oh!” ejaculated Moke.
“Ho!” aspirated Poke.
“We didn’t want any pay for that!” said both together.
“But it took your time, and interrupted your work; and it really seemed
a pleasure for them to give you something. Olly’s a great favorite up
there,” added Percival.
“Five dollars!” shouted Moke, brandishing his share above his head.
“Five dollars!” shrieked Poke, capering wildly on the sand.
They had never in their lives been so rich. But where was Percival’s
share?
“They offered me ten dollars—or at least the man did. But I didn’t take
it. The truth is, boys,——” And, after a little hesitation, Perce told the
story of the watch that he had found and restored to the owner.
“And it was Olly that borrowed and lost it?” exclaimed Moke.
“And never told us!” ejaculated Poke.
“Why didn’t _you_ tell us you found it?” cried both together.
“As we were partners,—going halves in everything,—I didn’t know—” Perce
blushed and stammered—“I didn’t know but you’d want your share of that,
too!”
“Oh, nonsense!” said Poke.
“Of course we shouldn’t!” said Moke.
So that matter was settled,—far more easily and satisfactorily, Perce
thought, than might have been the case if no owner for the watch had been
found.
“Come!” said Moke, looking again at his money before pocketing it; “we’ve
done enough work for one day.”
“Never mind about hauling any more kelp,” said Poke.
“We’ll have the fun of coming again to-morrow,” said both together.
Perce himself was quite willing to go home to dinner. So, having dumped
their last load of seaweed (which would not be much more than a third of
a load when, after it was well rotted, they should haul it to the farms),
they filled up the cart-box with driftwood. Upon that they laid their
blankets; and presently climbed up to the top themselves, after bidding
good-bye to the beach and the bright sea, and turning the oxen into the
wild woodland road.
Then, mounted comfortably upon their loaded cart, they drove back through
beautiful sunshine and shade, making the woods ring once more with their
voices in glad chorus:
“Now, run and tell Elijah to hurry up Pomp,
And meet us at the gum-tree down in the swamp,
To wake Nicodemus to-day!”
Although he had no money to show, Percival was not the least contented of
the three with the result of their work.
He had done something for his friend Olly, and for Mr. Hatville; and no
reward could have given him quite so pure a satisfaction as the feeling
that he had done it without reward.
Moreover, as he had liberated the watch and chain from their slimy
environment of rockweed and kelp, even so his conscience and his good
name had been freed from the entanglement that at one time threatened to
drag them into a hideous abyss. To have kept his honor unsullied was a
greater joy than the possession of many watches.
Yet I can not say that Perce Bucklin was made very unhappy when, not long
after, he received by express from Boston a small package, which, on
being opened, was found to contain a very pretty silver Swiss watch, and
a card bearing Mr. Hatville’s name. It was certainly a gratifying token
of that gentleman’s confidence and regard.
THE END.
[Illustration: FUN IN HIGH LIFE.]
OLD TIME ARMS AND ARMOR.
BY E. S. BROOKS.
Do you not think that the garments of iron, of steel, or of bronze in
which the soldiers of five hundred years ago rode to the wars must have
been very uncomfortable? Look at the “effigies,” as they are called,
on the opposite page, representing four royal knights. These colossal
statues, with those of twenty-four other noted warriors of history and
romance, stand, a silent guard, around the magnificent tomb of the German
Emperor Maximilian I., at Innspruck, in the Tyrol. These four mail-clad
figures represent four of the bravest and most redoubtable of the knights
of old—Arthur of Britain, Theodeobert of Burgundy, Ernest of Austria,
and Theodoric, king of the Ostrogoths. The armor is rich in ornament
and decoration, but I have not a doubt that King Arthur felt much more
cool and comfortable when he was eating that famous “bag pudding,” which
Mother Goose assures us the queen “did make” for him, than when he rode
out from Camelot in the splendidly decorated iron war-clothes that are
shown in the picture; and I am very sure, too, that the brave Theodoric
was much happier and more at ease when as a boy he practiced Greek
gymnastics at the Court of Constantinople, where he was held as hostage
by the Emperor, than he did when, years after, he rode to the siege of
Ravenna with that ridiculous iron kettle on his head and weighed down
with the iron rosettes and jacket that we see in his picture before us.
But, while these metal clothes, uncomfortable, hot, and heavy though
they were, have been a necessary style of wearing apparel ever since the
forgotten ages when men began to quarrel and to strive, it was not until
a comparatively recent date that warriors rode to battle wholly incased
in armor. The Assyrians and Egyptians, the Greeks and Romans of the
earlier days were satisfied with such partial protection as would shield
the most vulnerable parts of their bodies—helmets, or head-coverings;
greaves, or shin-protectors; and the short oval breastplates that guarded
heart and ribs. The stout old Roman legionaries, bronzed and scarred
with exposure and fighting, laughed rather contemptuously at the fresh
levies which, when sent into the field, wished to shield their bodies
as much as possible. Indeed, the first use of the word armor, as we
understand it, is found in the works of a military writer of the latter
part of the fourth century A. D., one T. Vegetius Renatus, who refers
to armor as a defense worn only by the _young_ troops; so you see that,
after all, the boys were the first to incase themselves in armor and were
the earliest of the knights.
But gradually, as men grew more careful of their bodies, they increased
the safety-coverings; breastplate and greave and helmet grew into
coat-of-mail, and suit of plate, until in the days of the knights—the
thirteenth, fourteenth and fifteenth centuries—the men who couched lance
or wielded sword and met in the terrific battle-shock _seemed_ to be men
of iron, whatever they really were beneath their clanging clothes.
Look at the picture (Fig. I, p. 938) of a knight in a splendid suit of
armor, richly engraved. He lived and fought somewhere about the time
of the heroic Edward of England, whom men, because of his sable armor,
called the Black Prince. This warrior may have even followed the banner
of Prince Edward; he may have fought with Bruce at Bannockburn, or
against the cause of the people and Rienzi at Rome.
Certainly here is an instance in which “dress makes the man,” as the old
proverb declares. Not one of us could recognize the gentleman by his
countenance on a second meeting, for even his face is concealed behind a
decorated visor, or beaver,—a sort of face-door that works up and down on
well-oiled hinges. The short cloth sack, emblazoned with his crest and
worn over his armor, is the _tabard_, and from his plumed helmet to his
pointed _sollerets_, or shoes of iron, he is one mass of metal. The two
knights, alongside, in Fig. 2, are incased in somewhat less elaborate
iron suits, though they also belong to the age of splendid armor.
[Illustration: BRONZE STATUES AT THE TOMB OF MAXIMILIAN I., REPRESENTING
ARTHUR OF BRITAIN, THEODEOBERT OF BURGUNDY, ERNEST OF AUSTRIA, AND
THEODORIC, KING OF THE OSTROGOTHS.]
In those days of hard hitting with ax and lance, alike in tournament and
in battle, the head and the breast generally received the stoutest blows
and needed to be the most securely protected. The head-pieces grouped
together on page 939 are what a merchant nowadays would call “an assorted
lot”; the _casquetel_, or helmet with an iron cape for protecting the
back of the neck; the _bascinet_, or helmet with a pointed visor, and
another just beneath it that looks like three joints of stove-pipe;
the _tilting-helm_, used in the tournament or in the “tilting-field,”
looking very much like a “high hat” of to-day, in iron; the German
_heaume_, or old Gallic helmet, with the basket-like cage to shield the
face; the plumed _burgonet_, or old Burgundian helmet, and the rounded
one, sometimes called a _morion_; and the last of the helmets, the helm
and _casquetel_ of the harquebusiers—those stout old fighters of the
seventeenth century, who gave and took plenty of hard knocks in the Dutch
wars, or in the ranks of Cromwell’s Ironsides.
[Illustration: FIG. I.—A KNIGHT OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY IN A SUIT OF
ENGRAVED ARMOR.]
The breastplate, first worn in front only, was gradually added to until
it became a _cuirass_, or iron jacket, laced at the sides. Around the
neck was worn the metal collar, or _gorget_; the hands were incased
in iron gloves, or _gauntlets_, sometimes armed with long, saw-like
projections; and spurs of varying size and length were attached to the
heels of the curious iron shoes that were known as _sollerets_.
[Illustration: FIG. 2.—KNIGHTS OF THE FOURTEENTH AND FIFTEENTH CENTURIES.]
Dagger and poniard, mace and lance, bill and battle-ax were the terrible
weapons used by the gentlemen in the iron clothes to cut and carve, to
pound and pummel, to hack and pierce one another,—and yet those were
called the days of chivalry, of courtesy, and of courage!
War is always brutal, always terrible; but there seems something almost
cowardly in the custom of those “knights of old” in thus crawling for
safety into suits of steel and iron, while the poor people who followed
their banners to the wars—vassals and serfs, archers and bill-men—had
nothing but leather jerkins and iron head-pieces (often not even these)
to protect them from the charge and thrust of the mail-clad knights. And
the funny side of it all is that sometimes knights thus covered with
plate, like modern ironclads, would fight all day without either being
hurt. In one of the Italian battles of the sixteenth century, two armies
of knights sheathed in the best Milan armor fought from nine in the
morning until four in the afternoon without one valorous warrior being
killed or even being wounded. Do you wonder that Cervantes made such
sport of those men in kettles and stove-pipe, as he did in his marvelous
story of “Don Quixote”?
[Illustration]
But, as necessity is called the “mother of invention,” weapons, in
time, were made that iron-cased warriors feared even more than mace or
battle-ax. The archer’s “cloth-yard shaft” might not be able to pierce
the Milan armor, but a steel-headed “bolt” or “quarrel,” sped with
terrific force from the notch of a crossbow, has brought many a mail-clad
knight to grief, as William, the Red King of England, and Richard, called
the Lion-heart, found to their cost. For five centuries, the crossbow,
or arbalist, was a favorite weapon in war and in the chase, as Mr.
Maurice Thompson has already told you in his interesting “Story of the
Arbalist.”[1] And many a boy of those olden days was taught either by
the armorer of his father’s castle, or by that same knightly father, the
baron and lord of the manor, how to string the bow and how to lay the
bolt.
[Illustration: “MANY A BOY WAS TAUGHT HOW TO STRING THE BOW AND HOW TO
LAY THE BOLT.”]
The battle of Waterloo, in which the iron-sheathed cuirassiers of
Napoleon went down in defeat before the soldiers of Wellington, was the
death-blow to defensive armor.
[Illustration: LANCES, MACES, AND BATTLE-AXES.]
As gunpowder came into use in battle, and science improved the methods of
warfare, the iron coats were found to be of little avail as a protection
against shot and shell. Men grew braver as they dropped the heavy
plates behind which they had hidden for centuries. And now they march
unprotected by iron clothes, depending for victory upon their excellent
drill and discipline and upon the deadly fire-arms which science has
developed and perfected.
But, better yet, more helpful than casque or cuirass, lance or bill or
battle-ax, more effective even than the ponderous Krupp cannon, the
deadly Gatling gun, or the swift-loading Martini rifle, is the spirit
of justice, of kindly courtesy, and of real courage, which now settles
quarrels between men and nations. Argument, arbitration, and mutual
concession are doing more to civilize the world than all the cruel
war-weapons, and these kindlier methods render more and more useless the
arms and armor of the long ago, which sprang, not from the friendships,
but from the hatreds and passions of men.
[Illustration]
But breastplate, helm, and sword, and all the knightly accouterments have
served their purpose in the world’s advancement, and as they look down
at us from the walls of library or museum could tell us many a story of
daring and of valor in “the brave days of old.”
[1] See ST. NICHOLAS for September, 1882.
NED’S BUTTERCUP.
BY BESSIE CHANDLER.
Ned picked in the garden, one morning bright,
A buttercup, fresh and yellow;
And his warm, chubby fingers held it tight,
For it pleased the little fellow.
But soon it drooped its satiny head,
(Such a sorry trick to serve us!)
“Oh, give it some water, Mamma!” cried Ned;
“I think it is getting _nervous_!”
[Illustration: HER PICTURE.]
BY ANNA M. PRATT.
Such an ill-behaved man she never had seen!
When she wanted a picture, pray, what did he mean
By hiding his head? And, under her breath,
She whispered: “Mamma, is he frightened to death?”
She wondered and wondered when would he begin—
When, presto! that instant a round, dimpled chin,
And a mouth where sweet kisses seemed coming and going,
And two merry eyes with their fun overflowing
Were caught by the sunlight.—Now see! There she stands
With a flower on her breast and her doll in her hands,
Her bonny face framed in her fair, waving curls—
The sweetest and dearest of dear little girls!
[Illustration]
THE BROWNIES AT BASE-BALL.
BY PALMER COX.
[Illustration]
One evening, from a shaded spot,
The Brownies viewed a level lot
Where clubs from different cities came
To play the nation’s favorite game.
Then spoke a member of the band:
“This game extends throughout the land;
No city, town, or village ’round,
But has its club, and diamond ground,
With bases marked, and paths between,
And seats for crowds to view the scene.
At other games we’ve not been slow
Our mystic art and skill to show;
Let’s take our turn at ball and bat,
And prove ourselves expert at that.”
Another answered: “I have planned
A method to equip our band.
There is a firm in yonder town,
Whose goods have won them wide renown;
Their special branch of business lies
In sending forth these club supplies.
The balls are wound as hard as stones,
The bats are turned as smooth as bones,
And masks are made to guard the nose
Of him who fears the batter’s blows,
Or stops the pitcher’s curves and throws.
To know the place such goods to find,
Is quite enough for Browny-kind!”
When hungry bats came forth to wheel
’Round eaves and find their evening meal,
The cunning Brownies sought the store,
To work their way through sash and door.
And soon their beaming faces told
Success had crowned their efforts bold.
A goodly number of the throng
Took extra implements along,
In case of mishap on the way,
Or loss, or breakage during play.
The night was clear, the road was good,
And soon within the field they stood.
Then games were played without a pause,
According to the printed laws.
There, turn about, each took his place
At first or third or second base,
At left or right or center-field,
To pitch, to catch, or bat to wield,
Or else as “short-stop” standing by
To catch a “grounder” or a fly.
Soon every corner of the ground
Its separate set of players found.
A dozen games upon the green,
With ins and outs might there be seen;
The umpires noting all with care
To tell if hits were foul or fair,
The “strikes” and “balls” to plainly shout,
And say if men were “safe” or “out,”
And give decision just and wise
When knotty questions would arise.
But many Brownies thought it best
To leave the sport and watch the rest;
And from the seats or fences high
They viewed the scene with anxious eye,
And never failed, the contest through,
To render praise when praise was due.
While others, freed from games on hand,
In merry groups aside would stand,
And pitch and catch with rarest skill
To keep themselves in practice still.
And had our champion players found
A chance to view that pleasure-ground,
They might have borne some points away,
To put in use a future day;
For “double plays” and balls well curved
And “base hits” often were observed,
While “errors” were but seldom seen
Through all the games upon that green.
Before the flush of morn arose
To bring their contests to a close,
The balls and bats in every case
Were carried back and put in place;
And when the Brownies left the store,
All was in order as before.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ABOUT BREATHING.
BY HELLEN CLARK SWAZEY.
It is a curious fact that, although breathing is a very simple and
necessary accomplishment, there are a great many people who have
forgotten how to do it in the best way. If you will watch a perfectly
healthy baby when it is asleep, you will see that its shoulders are quite
low and even, that its mouth is usually closed, and that it is breathing
comfortably from its lower chest. We know that the lungs are the chief
purifiers of the blood; but to perform their duty satisfactorily the
air-cells of the lungs must be filled with filtered air and they must
have plenty of room in which to work,—so we are, on the whole, well
satisfied with the baby’s method of breathing. In fact, we have reason to
believe that the system has been taught by Nature herself; and when we
can get Nature’s methods at first hand, it is seldom worth while to try
to improve upon them very much.
But when the baby grows up, if it chance to be a girl, her clothing is
usually such that it interferes with the free action of muscles that are
concerned in enlarging the cavity of the chest, so that the lower part
of the lungs, which should be busy taking in their share of oxygen to
make the blood fresh and bright, are seldom used, and the blood goes away
from the lungs only partly freed from its impurities, while the lungs
themselves do not get exercise enough for their own good.
But tight dressing, though the most serious hindrance to the habit of
good breathing, is not the only obstacle. There are careless ways of
sitting and standing that draw the shoulders forward and cramp the chest;
and it is as hard for the lungs to do good work when the chest is narrow
and constricted as it is for a closely bandaged hand to set a copy of
clear, graceful penmanship. Then there are lazy ways of breathing, and
one-sided ways of breathing, and the particularly bad habit of breathing
through the mouth. Now the nose was meant to breathe through, and it is
marvelously arranged for filtering the impurities out of the air, and
for changing it to a suitable temperature for entering the lungs. The
mouth has no such apparatus, and when air is swallowed through the mouth
instead of breathed through the nose, it has an injurious effect upon the
lungs. A story is told of an Indian who had a personal encounter with
a white man much his superior in size and strength, and who was asked
afterward if he was not afraid. “Me never afraid of man who keeps mouth
open,” was the immediate reply. Indeed, breathing through the mouth gives
a foolish and weak expression to the face, as you may see by watching any
one asleep with the mouth open.
It is well to establish the habit of deep breathing if it does not
already exist, but, in addition to this, the reserve air which is left in
the lungs after an ordinary expiration should be expelled and the lungs
thoroughly ventilated at least twice every day. First, then, see to it
that the air in the room is as pure and fresh as out-of-door air can make
it. Then, with all tight and superfluous clothing removed, lie flat on
the back and, with the mouth firmly closed, take a full, deep breath.
Hold it eight or ten seconds, and then let it out. Take another, and yet
another breath in the same way.
After that, take a breath into the lungs as slowly as possible, beginning
to fill them at their lowest extremities, and inhaling gradually until
they are filled to their full capacity, when the air should be exhaled
in the same slow and steady manner in which it was taken in. Repeat this
exercise three or four times. Now watch and see if the shoulders are kept
drawn down and immovable while the air is inhaled, as they should be, or
if they are drawn up, and are thus robbing the diaphragm and muscles of
forced breathing of half their exercise.
When you have taken this movement again to make sure that the shoulders
are in good position, throw your arms vertically over your head and take
another quick, full inspiration, swinging the arms rapidly to the sides
close to the body and back again over the head. Swing the arms up and
down four times on the same breath, and repeat the exercise three or four
times.
After this, it is a good plan to stand erect with the arms horizontal at
the sides, and vigorously clap the hands from that position over the head
a few times. When taking such movements in an erect position, always keep
the chin two or three inches back of the vertical.
A few such exercises as these, for five or ten minutes at night and
morning, will promote refreshing sleep and give increased vitality for
duties and occupations of the day; and it may be noted in conclusion that
an anæmic or low condition of the blood is seldom found where there is an
established habit of full, deep breathing with the mouth closed.
[Illustration: BESSIE: “WHAT DOES ‘INHERIT’ MEAN, I WONDER? NURSE SAYS
THAT MY GRANDPA’S PAPA PLANTED THIS TREE, AND THAT I’LL HAVE TO INHERIT
IT. I DON’T SEE WHY HE DIDN’T INHERIT IT HIMSELF!”]
[Illustration: JAPANESE BABIES.]
A little bird sings from over the sea:
“I’ve been to a land that pleases me.
“’Tis a fabulous land where babies don’t cry
From the time they are born till the time they die.
You queer little baby, way over the sea,
Tell us, oh, tell us, how can it be.
Aren’t Japanese baby clothes ever too tight?
Don’t Japanese babies wake up in the night?
Do Japanese teeth come through without pain?
Or Japanese children tease babies in vain?
Don’t Japanese pins have points that prick?
Wont Japanese colic make little folk sick?
You queer little baby, if secret there be
Send it, oh, send it way over the sea!
There is no such secret. Far off in Japan
Some babies can cry, and they’ll prove that they can!
[Illustration: JINGLE.
being words and pictures by アルフレド ブレンナン]
This quaint little bit of a man
Insisted on using a fan
Until it was known
By some he had flown,
But others said _sailed_, for JAPAN.
RIDDLES FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
Ever so many days ago, away back in June before any of the hot days came,
ST. NICHOLAS gave the Very Little Folk some riddles to guess. And now
here are some more. These riddles, like the others, have little pictures,
and if you look well at the pictures, you can guess the riddles. But
nobody more than seven years old must try to guess them.
First of all is a riddle about Little Tommy Tinderpeg. You must have seen
him often. He makes a bright light when he burns his shoe.
[Illustration:
Little Tommy Tinderpeg
Burnt his shoe and blacked his leg.]
And now here is a riddle about another queer fellow, “Black-a-middle
Dick.” He is longer and stronger than Tommy Tinderpeg. And he leaves a
black track behind him when he travels. You can guess who he is. Many
little boys and girls know him very well, and have helped him to travel.
[Illustration:
Black-a-middle Dick though he never can stand,
He’ll travel all day if you give him a hand.]
Next comes a good riddle about a dozen bold riders. Have you never seen
the funny little fellows all riding one nag? When the wind blows, it is
not easy for them to keep their places, and if it blows very hard, some
of the little riders may fall off. But most of them ride well and hold on
tight.
[Illustration:
A dozen bold riders,
Astride of one nag;
No clothes on their bodies,
Not even a rag.
They ride without bridles
Or stirrups or spurs,
And stick to their saddles
Like so many burrs.]
Here, last of all, is another Tommy. He is not at all like Tommy
Tinderpeg. He has a round, pretty face, and he talks fast and keeps
saying the same thing over and over, all the time. You like to look at
him, and to hold him up to your ear to hear what he says. You can guess
who Tommy Locket is, just by his name. So this is the easiest riddle of
all.
[Illustration:
About Tommy Locket I’ll give you a rhyme
He rode in my pocket and always kept time.]
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
[Illustration]
I’m told, my friends, that a beautiful red flower, known as
“painter’s-brush,” abounds in Colorado. As it lies on the grass or
leans against the stones and fences, it looks in shape and color
precisely as if some painter had dipped the soft part of his brush in
his brightest paint, and thrown it carelessly down. In midsummer these
painter’s-brushes are to be seen by the thousand. Now, as we look about
us here in my meadow to-day, it seems as if a million painter’s-brushes
had been at work, high and low. Not only brushes dipped in red, but
brushes rich with yellows, browns, grays, pinks, and deep dark crimsons.
Ah, but it’s a fine piece of color, and the painting has been gloriously
done! And though I’m only a Jack-in-the-Pulpit, great thoughts stir
within me at the sight.
But now let us take up the subject of
A PERFECTLY QUIET DAY.
One afternoon, not long ago, the Little School-ma’am lay in a hammock,
looking up at the leaves.
“How perfectly still they are!” she said to herself. “Not a leaf moves!”
She was lying under an oak tree, a sturdy, steady kind of a tree, as you
all know.
“Look at that tree yonder!” said one of the prettiest girl-scholars,
pointing to a Norway poplar, the leaves of which are hung on long slender
stems.
Lo, and behold, it was all in a quiver!
“Oh, that shakes just for the fun of it!” replied the Little
School-ma’am, “for there is hardly a breath of air stirring. It is
perfectly quiet.”
The Deacon happened by just then, and overheard her last words. He
stopped and asked her if she had any idea how difficult it was to get a
perfectly quiet day? Whereupon, she owned that she thought it would be
impossible.
“Well,” he replied, “there was once an Italian named Guiglielmini, who
wanted to try an experiment in which it was necessary that some balls
should fall through perfectly still air from a certain height. So in
August, 1791, he went up on a tower in Bologna, and tied the balls to the
top with long, silken threads. Then he waited for a perfectly still day.
Sometimes the air was quiet, but the tower would slightly tremble, and
at other times the tower was steady, but the air was in motion. At last,
in February, 1792, there came a day when the air and the tower were both
still, and he climbed up as softly as a cat, and gently set his threads
on fire, and down dropped the balls!”
“And what was the experiment?” asked the Little School-ma’am.
“Oh, it had something to do with the motion of the earth!” said the
Deacon, as he walked away, smiling.
HOW HE PROVED IT.
That reminds me, by the way, of a funny rhyme sent to the Little
School-ma’am by a friend of hers, Miss E. L. Sylvester. Here it is:
A clever old man of Montrose
Said: “I’ll balance my cane on my nose;
For so shall I prove
That the world doesn’t move
As a great many people suppose.”
WALKING WITHOUT LEGS.
A little girl has sent you a question. She says she found three pretty
brownish shells in the woods, one day, and she took them home to her
little brother. They looked, she says, “very like similar shells that
often are found on the sea-shore.” Well, she put them on the sunny
piazza, and ran to find Bobby.—And now you shall have the rest of the
story in her own words:
“Bobby was eating bread and molasses, and so he ran out of the
kitchen all sticky. When we went together to look at the shells,
lo, and behold! the shells were gone! They had walked around
the corner of the piazza. And, oh Jack, what do you think? We
watched them, and they kept on walking! And they hadn’t any
legs!
“Now this is a true story, dear Jack, and I want you to tell it
to little boys and girls younger than Bobby and me (or Bobby and
I, whichever is right), and see if they know how those shells
walked, and what kind of shells they were, and if any other
little boys and girls ever found any of the same sort in their
woods or gardens.
“Your little friend,
“JAMESETTA C.
“I take up my pen again to say that we all know, of course,
that snakes move along the ground without legs. But they do
that motion entirely with their own insides, don’t they? Those
shells couldn’t possibly move as snakes do.
“For fear you may think my name is strange, I will tell you
that I am named after my grandfather, only James wouldn’t do
for a girl.”
A QUEER SUNSHADE.
A wise bird of my acquaintance, who has traveled far and wide, told me,
not long ago, of a queer sunshade that was invented for the benefit of
the British soldiers in the Soudan. (I don’t know where that is, I’m
sure, and my bird was in too great a hurry to explain. But who cares? I
know I can trust you young geographers to clear up any mystery of that
sort.)
Well, as to the sunshade, my bird-friend said that the upright parts are
simply light bamboo sticks. They are fastened to the shoulders of the
wearer, and they support at the top a curved awning made of paper and
painted green inside.
[Illustration]
“But it would look so queer!” I said. “Would anybody have the courage
to wear it?”—when from the grass near my pulpit up popped an old raven,
whose specialties are ancient history, scarecrows, and eavesdropping.
“Don’t you know,” he croaked, “that the man who first carried an umbrella
was ridiculed and hooted at?”
That raven, my dears, narrowly escaped a withering reply. But luckily
I remembered something the Little School-ma’am read aloud, one sunny
day, to a group of boys and girls, as they stopped to rest in my
meadow. And what she read was the story of that very man—the original
umbrella-carrier. And she was reading from ST. NICHOLAS itself!
The old croaker was right! So I assumed my most dignified air, and gave
in.
But did that satisfy him? Bless you, no! Before he left, I had to admit
that this new sunshade was merely a parasol carried on the shoulders
instead of in the hand; that it was lighter than the common sunshade;
that it left both hands free for sketching, playing ball, or what not;
and that the old raven _might_ live to see every civilized boy or girl
walking along on sunny days with a cupola of this sort over his or her
unabashed head.—Between ourselves, my dears, you needn’t yet count upon
this last as an up-and-down future certainty. I may take it back when
I’ve had time to recover from the raven’s lecture.
By the way, there’s one good thing about that raven,—his memory.
A QUEER JUMBLE.
Talking of queer things, here comes a queer jumble from a young fellow
who says he lives in Maine by the broad blue main; and that there’s
nothing like using the rod and the “line-upon-line” method when you find
a school of fish that won’t go to school; and——
Well, no Jack-in-the-Pulpit can make anything out of such stuff as that!
But perhaps some of you clever youngsters can understand it. He sends
these rhymes, too, which he calls
A LIQUID PRO QUO.
Oh, shun the ocean big with fate!
Nor strive to make the free strait straight.
Sauce, if thou wilt, the river’s source,
And brook no babbling brook, of course;
But keep the treacherous bay at bay.
(It’s tide no man hath tied, they say.)
And never see the midway sea,
But waive the wave that waits for thee!
THAT DEAR LITTLE LORD.
PITTSFIELD, ILL.
DEAR MR. JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I think it sounds rather saucy to
say just Jack, to the preacher. My Papa is a pulpit man, too,
and people call him Mr. Rose, but they leave off “in the
pulpit,” because he does not stay there all the time. He
can tell me nearly everything I want to know; but there is
one thing he is not sure about, and that is how to pronounce
Fauntleroy. Should it be Faunt-Le-Roy? Or should the middle
syllable be like the last syllable of the word little? I love
the little lord so much, I want to know his name exactly.
Your friend,
HORACE ROSE.
Faunt-le-roy is correct. The vowel is sounded in the middle syllable.
I’m always in my pulpit, dear Horace, but I’m not always preaching.
One eloquent sermon, however, I feel called upon to deliver at this
present moment, for it concerns little Lord Fauntleroy.—[Haven’t I
heard all about him from the Little School-ma’am and the scholars of
the red school-house, and, for that matter, from every boy and girl I
know?]—Well, the dear little lord is my text. In fact, he’s the sermon,
too. So I need say no more except to publicly announce from my pulpit,
with all due solemnity, that he is a boy after your Jack’s own heart. And
to every youngster among you, dearly beloved, I say, “Earl or no earl,—go
thou and be like him!”
THE LETTER-BOX.
BANGOR, ME.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am reading “Lord Fauntleroy,” and like it
very much, and I hope that the next number will be that the Earl
will want the mother to Lord Fauntleroy to come up and live with
them. I remain, yours truly,
K. W. S.
BUFFALO, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I like you so much that I wish you would come
every week instead of every month. I like the story of “Little
Lord Fauntleroy” best of all. But you must not let him lose his
title.
M. C. W.
During the last few months, many of those who have been so deeply
interested in “Little Lord Fauntleroy” have formed their own eager
opinions of just how that beautiful story could, would, or should end.
But all such readers, including K. W. S. and M. C. W., will agree that in
the concluding chapters, printed this month, Mrs. Burnett has anticipated
or fully satisfied their utmost desires.
* * * * *
CLOVERLEIGH, PA.
DEAR ST NICHOLAS: We are three little girls just the same age,
for we are triplets. We look and dress just alike, and our big
old brother calls us the “three little maids from school.” We
have a pony, a big dog, and a little cat, but we have no little
boy to play with, and we wish that little Lord Fauntleroy was a
really, truly boy and could come and play with us. We send our
love to you, dear ST. NICHOLAS, and we hope that this, our very
first letter, will be printed to surprise our dear Mamma and
Papa, and to spite our big brother, who says nobody would print
such a silly thing. Your loving little maids,
ROSY F., DAISY F., PANSY F.
Here it is in print, dear little maids,—with ST. NICHOLAS’S compliments
to you and the big brother.
* * * * *
DETROIT, MICH.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am nine years old; I have three sisters,
two older and one younger than I. Susie, the eldest, is a great
girl for reading; Helen, the next, is very fond of dolls,—she
has six; but Edna, the younger, is a little rogue and likes to
play ball with the boys best. We have taken you long before I
can remember. I enjoy the story of “Little Lord Fauntleroy”
very much. Is it a good long story? I hope it is. I went to
see the game of base-ball on the 19th between the Chicagos and
Detroits. I enjoy playing base-ball very much; although I am
only nine years old, I think I can pitch a curve. I hope you
will publish this. Your faithful reader,
JAMES C. M.
* * * * *
A CORRECTION.
COLORADO SPRINGS, COL.
EDITOR OF ST. NICHOLAS: I should like to correct two errors
that in some way have crept into my article on “Fishes and
their Young,” in the June ST. NICHOLAS. The two fishes figured
on page 601 are described under the cut as being from the
Sea of Galilee, and the impression given that they belong to
the genus _Ophiocephalus_. They really belong to the genus
_Chromis_, and are found in Lake Tiberias. On page 602, the
description of the sea-horse—“These have a perfect pouch, into
which the infant fishes are taken as soon as hatched”—is wrong;
it should read, The _eggs_ are taken into the pouch as soon as
laid and kept until hatched.
Very truly yours,
C. F. HOLDER.
* * * * *
PT. CHAUTAUQUA, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been reading “Little Lord
Fauntleroy,” and it is one of the very few stories by which I
am _perfectly fascinated_. I am going to write a story myself,
sometime, although I have tried more than once, and they got so
stale I couldn’t finish them. But I am writing one now, and I
am going to finish it, however stale it may get, or die in the
attempt.
Whenever I read a real nice story, I just sit and wonder how
any person _can_ ever think of so many things to happen in
such a mysterious yet “every-day” kind of way, and come out
in the end all cleared up, and just as plain as though it had
really happened! Then my wonder grows into admiration, and my
admiration into awe, my awe into actual reverence, and then I
throw down my book and give it up as past understanding, and
go outdoors and play. I am on pins and needles to know whether
“Ceddie” _was_ the real Lord Fauntleroy or not; but he _must_
be,—he’s too good not to be!
Next Tuesday I shall be fourteen. I take the whole care of the
horse, and, of course, of the barn, too, and as father and
mother are in Brooklyn, I am Papa! It is very wearing to have
such a multitude of responsibilities, but I think that I shall
be able to keep my family (one member of which is an unruly
little girl of twenty) straight until my father comes to take
the burden off my shoulders.
Your venerable and careworn friend,
ARTHUR MASON M.
* * * * *
ST. LOUIS, MO.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am one of your little readers, nine years
old. My sister began taking ST. NICHOLAS in 1876, and, though
she is now grown, papa still takes it for me. I have never
written to you before, but I enjoy the “Letter-box” very much,
and especially the letters about the pets the children have.
I would like to tell you about three pets we had. They were a
black-and-tan dog named Cricket, a Maltese kitten named Tiny,
and a pet chicken named Dick. They played together, and ate and
slept together. The dog had a rug on the side porch, and they
would lie down and cuddle up beside him, and all sleep soundly.
Morning, noon, and night we set a pan of milk out, and the
three pets would gather around and all drink at once. At play
they would roll over each other, and never, at any time, did
they disagree or seem to be tired of each other. The kitten and
chicken are both dead now, but we have the little dog yet; and
he knows a great many tricks, and seems to understand whatever
he hears us say about him, and always minds what we tell him.
If my letter is not too long, I hope you will print it. I love
your magazine very much, and am always impatient for it to come.
Your little friend,
M. C. S.
With the foregoing letter came also a letter from M. C. S.’s mother,
conveying such kind and hearty words that ST. NICHOLAS can not refrain
from printing it also:
ST. LOUIS, MO.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I wish I could tell you what a blessing
your magazine has been to our children, of whom the eldest,
now almost nineteen years old, enjoys it as much as her little
sister of nine. I have found it a great assistance in amusing
and instructing my little ones, and I am sure they will never
feel old enough to give it up.
We wish you a long and prosperous life, and hope you may for
many years to come send the same joy and delight to the hearts
of children everywhere that you have in years past, and to ours.
Respectfully,
MRS. S. E. S.
* * * * *
MEMPHIS, TENN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been taking you for nearly five
years, but I never wrote you a letter before. I think little
Lord Fauntleroy is the sweetest little fellow I ever read
about. Every time I get a new number of ST. NICHOLAS, I sit
down on the rug by mamma and read “Little Lord Fauntleroy”
out loud for mamma and my little sister to hear. Mamma and
papa both like it ever so much. I liked “Davy and the Goblin”
very much, too, and was sorry when it ended. But if I were to
go on telling you how many of your stories I liked, I would
make you so tired you would never put my letter in print. I am
eleven years old, and I live out in the suburbs of Memphis. I
sometimes get to studying out every one of the Brownies’ faces,
and whenever I do, it makes me laugh heartily.
Your faithful reader,
E. P. P.
* * * * *
GARDINER’S ISLAND, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken you for four years, and are
very glad when you come to us every month. We live on an
island, and are not very far away from Montauk Point, L. I.
The island is very beautiful, and of about three thousand five
hundred acres.
When we drive in the woods, we watch for the lovely deer, which
are wild and leap away when they hear the slightest sound.
We each have our riding-horse, and enjoy it very much here.
We like the “Letter-box” very much, and enjoy the letters from
Europe. My sister and I have crossed the Atlantic six times.
Last winter we spent in Germany studying. I liked the stories
of “Art and Artists” and “From Bach to Wagner” very much.
Hoping my letter is not too long, and that you will find a
corner for it in the “Letter-box,” as it is my first,
Very truly yours,
CORALIE L. G.
* * * * *
MONTVALE SPRINGS, BLOUNT CO., E. TENN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have heard people say that no one is
perfect, but I guess they did not know you, for the only fault
that any one could possibly find with you is that you don’t
come often enough. You were so much company to me all last
winter! For I live at a summer resort, and the children all go
away in the fall, and there is no school near, and my sister
and I have to be taught by a governess. I forgot to be lonesome
while you were telling me such nice stories.
I am ten years old.
I hope you will live to be a thousand years old, and make every
boy and girl that gets acquainted with you as happy as you make
me. Good-bye, dear, good friend.
Yours forever,
FRANK J. E.
* * * * *
DUBLIN, IRELAND.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I wonder if you ever had a letter from
Ireland. I have an uncle in America who sends you to me; we all
like you very much. The story of “Little Lord Fauntleroy” is
so nice. I have one sister and one brother; also a cousin who
lives with us. I do hope this will be printed, as this is my
first letter to a magazine. I remain, your constant reader,
FLORENCE E.
* * * * *
SPRING HILL, TENN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little Tennessee girl, and I live
in Maury Co. Mother gave you to me last year for a Christmas
present. Papa took you for me this year; and I think that
“Little Lord Fauntleroy” is the best thing of all. My little
brother is four years old; he likes the Brownies best. He calls
one of our Jersey calves “Dhonabar,” after a horse told about
in ST. NICHOLAS. I have a beautiful little brown pony. His name
is Bun. I am eight years old.
Your little friend,
IRENE M. C.
* * * * *
By an error in filing, several letters concerning curve-pitching were
overlooked two months ago, and so they failed to appear with the others
in the August “Letter-box.” But as the friendly correspondents who sent
them have taken great pains to explain their theories, it would be unjust
to withhold the letters and diagrams from the thousands of boy-readers
who are interested in the vexed questions of how and why a ball curves.
Some of these letters, therefore, are presented here; the remaining two
or three will appear in next month’s “Letter-box.”
* * * * *
FRANKLIN, PA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: May I have a word with your readers on
that vexed subject, curve-pitching? Though I am not one of
your subscribers, I have a younger brother who has been one
for several years, and who also pitches for an amateur club
here. Through him I have verified for myself the fact that a
ball will curve in the direction in which it is rotating; _i.
e._, it will curve to the right, or “in,” if it rotate in the
direction of the hands of a watch, and _vice versa_. In this, I
think, any careful observer of a curving ball will agree with
me.
Now, all will admit, I think, that if it were possible to throw
a ball in a straight line _without any rotation_ whatever,
there would be a cushion of air of greater density than the
surrounding atmosphere _exactly_ in front of the ball, and a
partial vacuum behind it. Nor would this cushion of air have
definite limits, but it would thin out gradually as it streams
over the sides of the ball, thus (Fig. 1):
[Illustration: FIG. 1.]
But now, suppose the ball be rotating rapidly to the right,
in the direction of the hands of a watch. The sides of the
ball, as they rotate, must carry by friction some of the
surrounding air with them. That is, the point b (Fig. 2), as
the ball rotates, will tend to carry air from its present
location around to d, and so with any other point on the ball
in proportion as it is on or near the equator of rotation.
[Illustration: FIG. 2.]
But when each point on the ball’s equator reaches the point
c with its load of air, it meets with a resistance produced
by this cushion of air in front of the ball, and, in order to
pass on, must leave its load behind it. In other words the air
carried around in the direction b c d becomes massed against
the cushion in front, and the cushion is thickened at and
around the point c. And, on the other hand, each point on the
equator tends to carry the air from the right-hand side of the
cushion, the point c, and consequently, to decrease the density
or thickness of the cushion at that point. So that we soon
have the cushion of air not exactly in front of the ball, but
somewhat to the left of front; thus (Fig. 3):
[Illustration: FIG. 3.]
Now, since action is always equal to reaction, the cushion of
air must push back against the ball just as hard as the ball
pushes against it. And since the cushion is thickest where
the combined forces of the ball are greatest, the cushion must
push back hardest in the direction of a line drawn through the
thickest part of the cushion and the center of the ball; _i.
e._, in the line a, b, Fig. 3, a direction against that of the
onward motion of the ball, and to the right of it.
[Illustration: FIG. 4.]
Finally, if at any instant we represent the force of the ball
and its direction by the line A, B (Fig. 4), and the backward
push of the cushion and its direction by the line A, C, then,
according to the law of physics, that, “if two forces act on
a point, and if lines be drawn from that point, representing
the forces in magnitude and direction, and on these lines, as
sides, a parallelogram be constructed, their _resultant_ will
be represented in magnitude and direction by the diagonal which
passes through that point,” the line A, D will represent the
actual force and direction of the ball at the given instant.
But both the forces, A, B and A, C, are constantly decreasing
from the moment the ball leaves the pitcher’s hand, and,
moreover, the force A, B decreases more rapidly than the force
A, C, inasmuch as A, B is acting against the resistance of
the air plus the attraction of gravity, while A, C is acting
against the resistance of the air alone. Consequently, the
direction of A, D is being constantly changed and away from A,
B, and becomes a curve, instead of a straight or broken line.
This curve will obviously have the direction, A, D (Fig. 5), or
to the right, which is the direction in which a ball rotating
to the right will curve.
[Illustration: FIG. 5.]
This reasoning will hold for a ball rotating in any direction,
so long as the axis of rotation is, or tends to be, at right
angles to the line of progression. The problem of the “drift”
of a projectile from a rifle or rifled cannon is entirely
different, and one I should like to see discussed after this
one of “curving” is settled to your readers’ satisfaction.
I think the above explanation solves the problem as well as
explains all the fallacies of your former correspondents.
Very respectfully,
S. P. E.
* * * * *
ANNAPOLIS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In your February number are two letters
about curved pitching: one written presumably by an army
officer, from Fort Monroe,—the other from Philadelphia,
presumably by a naval officer. The army man states facts, and
gives no explanation; the navy man fails to solve a well-known
problem.
In the days of smooth bores and spherical cannon-balls (round
like a base-ball, only larger), eccentricity, or difference
between the position of the center of figure and center of
gravity, or weight, had a very perceptible effect upon range
and accuracy. Placing the projectile in the gun, with the
center of gravity to the right, when the gun was fired, the
projectile or cannon-ball took up a motion of rotation from
left to right, and deviated to the right (Fig. 1); placing it
toward the upper part of the bore, the ball rotated from down
up, and deviated upward, or the range was increased (Fig. 2).
[Illustration: FIG. 1—VERTICAL.
FIG. 2—HORIZONTAL.
C. Center of shot. G. Center of gravity. A. Half ball moving
toward the resisting air. B. Half ball moving away from the
resisting air.]
All bodies free to move will follow the line of least
resistance. The force acting upon the ball (the resultant of
the forward movement, and the opposing resistance of the air)
will be _away_ from that half of the ball moving _toward_ the
resisting air, as the ball, in its effort to take up the line
of least resistance, is pushed away; no part of it is retarded.
This it what a “curve-pitcher” does.
A billiard ball having received a strong “draw,” or backward
rotation, striking another to one side of the center, makes a
very perceptible curve after impact, until the original motion
of translation has been overcome.
All these things were known before curved pitching ever was
spoken of. Curved pitching was discovered accidentally,
although, strange to say, many base-ball players were known
always “to throw crooked,” or with a curve.
Yours truly,
E. B. BARRY, Lieut. U. S. N.
* * * * *
BRIDGEPORT, CONN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Having seen so many articles in your
“Letter-box,” on Mr. Harvey’s excellent story, “How Science Won
the Game,” I thought I would write to you in regard to it.
I have carefully tried the experiments of throwing the ball
so that it would twist in the directions indicated by the
different writers, and so far but one method has been correct
in every particular; namely, the one given by F. C. J. in the
May number.
I wish I had been at the county fair when Arthur Dart’s father
offered ten dollars to any one who would successfully perform
the “three stake proof,” as I am certain that I should have
made that amount by the operation, whether I had been asked to
pitch the “in” or “out” curve, both of which I find equally
easy to accomplish.
The question of why the ball curves after it has left the hand,
I account for as follows: If the “in” curve is to be pitched,
the ball touches the index finger the last thing before
leaving the hand, and, as it does so, the hand is quickly and
forcibly clenched, so that the ball is given a twirling motion.
Therefore it curves to the right (provided it is thrown with
the right hand). In the case of the “out” curve, the ball
touches the thumb the last thing before leaving the hand, and
consequently twists to the left, producing the “out” curve.
The “out” curve is so called because it is a ball thrown to a
right-handed batsman when in position, so that it curves _out_
toward the end of his bat, while the “in” curve is a ball
thrown to a batsman which curves _in_ toward his body.
The following may be safely taken as a rule as to
curve-pitching. If the ball be thrown so it twists the way
shown in Fig. 1, the ball will curve in; but, if it be thrown
so it will twist as indicated by Fig. 2, the ball will curve
out.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.]
[Illustration: FIG. 2.]
Trusting that this explanation is clear and satisfactory, and
hoping to see it in the “Letter-box,” I remain the stanch
friend and admirer of our National Game,
WILL P. SNIKPOH.
* * * * *
FISHKILL, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been reading with much interest the
letters concerning the curving of a base-ball, and would now
like to try my hand at offering an explanation. The theory that
I present is not original, being taken from “Wood’s Analytical
Mechanics,” p. 462, but it seems to be the one offering the
best explanation of the actual facts of the case. I will omit
what mathematics there is in it, in order to render it a little
more easily understood.
[Illustration]
Suppose a ball is moving toward G, and rotating in the
direction shown by the arrow. Then the two quadrants A and D
will move with equal velocities. B and C will also move with
equal velocities, but B and C will not move as fast as A and D,
because in the case of A and D the velocity due to _rotation_
is to be _added_ to that of _direct forward motion_, and in the
case of B and C it is to be _subtracted_. Now the pressure of
the air on a moving body varies, as some power of the velocity
of the body; that is, the greater the velocity, the greater the
pressure. The quadrant A moves against the air with a certain
velocity, and the total pressure of the air on that quadrant
will be a force, acting toward the center (if we neglect
friction), which may be represented by the arrow at A. The
quadrant B moves against the air with a less velocity than A;
hence the pressure is less. Let it be represented by the arrow
at B. The quadrant C moves _away from_ the air with a velocity
equal to B; hence the pressure on C must be less than that on
B. The quadrant D moves _away from_ the air with a velocity
greater than that of C; hence the pressure on D will be less
than that on C. Evidently now from this arrangement of forces
the resultant force will lie somewhat in the position shown by
the arrow R. This will tend to force the ball away from the
direct line of flight and to curve it as shown by the dotted
line.
Thus we see that it is the _pressure_ of the atmosphere that
curves the ball, and not the friction. The tendency of the
latter is to curve the ball in the opposite direction, but
this tendency is unappreciable. This is where the mistake
of your correspondent in the February number lies; namely,
in considering the friction instead of the pressure. The
explanation of F. C. J. in the May number seems to me more
correct. The theory of “A Curver” in the May number, that a
ball could be curved more easily in a vacuum than in the air,
is entirely wrong. It violates Newton’s first law of motion.
“A body continues in a state of rest or of uniform motion in a
straight line unless acted upon by some external force.” In a
vacuum there would be no external force, and the ball would not
curve at all. Prof. Wood, in the article referred to, proves
that the more slowly a ball is thrown with a given velocity of
rotation the more will it curve. Does any one know how this is
practically? Hoping that I have not taken up too much of your
space,
I am, very sincerely yours,
J. R. S.
* * * * *
BRADY CITY, MCCULLOCH, TEXAS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Seeing Mr. Stevens’s letter on the
“curve” in your April number, I am tempted to reply to it.
Unfortunately, the data on which his theory is founded are
incorrect. A ball twisting to the left will curve, not to the
right, but to the left.
May I offer another explanation. The facts are that: 1, the
axis of rotation is perpendicular to (or rather the plane of
rotation or twist is parallel to) the plane in which the curve
lies; and, 2, that the curve is in the _same_ direction as the
twist.
When a ball is thrown with sufficient velocity, the air is (as
Mr. Stevens tells us) “compacted in front of the ball.” When
there is little or no twist, the resistance of the air is equal
on both sides of the ball, and there is no curve.
Now, if the wind be blowing across the path of the ball, the
resistance is unequal, and the ball curves away from the wind;
so that in practice allowance is made for this curve when
throwing a ball in a high wind.
When there is no wind, but the ball is thrown with sufficient
velocity to create considerable resistance from the air, and
at the same time is twisted so as to rotate on its axis, then
the resistance offered at a, c (Fig. 1) is greater than that
offered at a, b; for a, c is advancing with the velocity of the
throw _plus_ the velocity of the twist, while a, b is advancing
with the velocity of the throw _minus_ the velocity of the
twist. Consequently a greater resisting force being exerted at
a, c than at a, b, the ball yields and is forced into the curve
B, A′, just as a cross wind would deflect it. The result is
a curve—because the forces are constant while the ball is in
motion.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.]
Again, conceive of the ball B (Fig. 2) as at rest and the wind
acting on a, b in the direction c, a. The angle of incidence
being equal to the angle of deflection, the result will be to
force the ball in the direction c′, a—the same result as is
produced by the wind acting on a sail.
[Illustration: FIG. 2.]
On this theory, the relation of the velocity of the twist to
the velocity of the throw will determine the nature and degree
of the curve, and the point of departure from the straight line.
If the ball be thrown too slowly, there is not sufficient
resistance to affect its course materially. If it is thrown too
swiftly, the velocity of the throw will overcome the tendency
of the twist, and there will be no perceptible curve.
For this reason the ball, when first thrown, will proceed in an
apparently straight line until its initial velocity is so far
diminished as to nearly equal the velocity of rotation, when it
will begin to curve.
Again, the ball would have a tendency to curve in the direction
of rotation were there no resistance from the air. For, in the
plane of rotation the circumference at c moves more rapidly
toward A than at the point b (Fig. 3); hence it has a tendency
to advance over a greater distance than b in a given time,
but is held back by b. This gives centrifugal and centripetal
forces acting from b to c, and a consequent tendency of c to
revolve around b, which, in connection with the motion of both
toward a, would give the curved line a-A′ as the path of the
ball.
[Illustration: FIG. 3.]
As a familiar example, take a child’s wooden hoop and toss
it from you with sufficient upward tendency to overcome
gravity, at the same time causing it to revolve rapidly in a
plane parallel to the horizon, and you will find that it will
describe a curve in the direction of the rotation and fall at
your feet. This is an extreme illustration of this factor of
the base-ball curve; the diameter of the hoop being so much the
greater, of course gives a far greater velocity of rotation in
comparison to that of projection than the smaller diameter of
the base-ball can give.
This same principle is involved in the explanation of the
motion of the boomerang of the Australians and the toy of the
same name.
Yours sincerely,
ROBERT S. DOD.
* * * * *
Our thanks are due to the young friends whose names here follow, for
pleasant letters which they have sent us, but which are crowded out of
the “Letter-box”:
Arthur E. Clark, Jr., A. G. C., M. M. Stevens, Urbanna Myrover, “Gladys,
Gipsy, Sibyl,” Blue Bell, “Hie” and “Tie,” T. A. T., May Elden, Herman
N. Steele, “Yum” and “Tum,” Daisy Smith, Phil Riley, Annie M. Porter,
Daisy A. C., Lucy E. D., Mable H. W., Amelia N. F., and Annie L. D.,
Francie Mackenzie, “Maiden Hair and Moonlight,” Mabel F. Rigby, W., I. S.
B., E. T. C., Carl W., Isabel Eldridge, Kittie Loper, Aimée and Goldina
Mendelson, Herbert A. Megraw, Gerald B. Wadsworth, F. W. L., Amy D.
Smith, Imogene Avis, May, David Blair, and May E. Masten.
[Illustration: The Agassiz Association
SIXTY-SIXTH REPORT.]
LOUIS AGASSIZ.
HIS LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE.[2]
No person capable of appreciating a beautiful record of a consistent and
noble life can begin to read Mrs. Agassiz’s book and leave it unfinished;
and no one can finish reading it without receiving a fresh baptism of
faith, hope, and love.
“The work is written in so captivating a style that the reader seems
almost to see Agassiz, the boy, catching the fishes and studying their
movements in the old stone tank near the Swiss parsonage where he was
born. Sympathy is felt for the youth threatened with blindness, but still
so intent upon his chosen pursuits that he studies fossils in a darkened
room, using his tongue to feel out the impressions when his fingers are
not sensitive enough. Enthusiasm is aroused when the young man exploits
his glacial theory, which, opposed by Buckland and other scientists,
afterward makes converts of them all.”
I have been deeply impressed by the manifestation of Agassiz’s
distinctive traits and peculiar powers, at a very early age. It is this
that makes the record of his life so inspiring to young men. When our
boys read what a boy of nineteen may be, and may do, they will not be
satisfied with lives devoted in large measure to trivial enjoyments; and
they will regard as of less consequence the height of their new collars,
and the tie of their cravats.
From the time he was born in the little cottage by the Lake of Morat,
until he was laid to rest at Mount Auburn, the story of Agassiz’s life
is a constant inspiration. Whether Louis Agassiz was right or wrong, we
respect the manliness that refused to accept the doctrine of evolution,
because his reason was not convinced of its truth.
I can scarcely conceive a greater blessing to this country, restless as
it is in its haste for riches, vexed as it is by the clashing of opposing
interests, than that the sweet and consecrated spirit of Louis Agassiz
should steal into the unquiet breasts of American young men, and fill
them with the like self-forgetting devotion to simple truth.
[2] Edited by his wife, Elizabeth Cary Agassiz. With portraits,
illustrations, and index. In two volumes, crown, 8vo. Houghton, Mifflin &
Co., Boston and New York.
IN MEMORIAM.
It is with deep sorrow that I have to announce the death of one of our
most prominent and promising members. William D. Shaw, son of Mr. Thomas
Shaw, died at Côte St. Antoine, June 29, aged 19 years. Mr. Shaw was
one of those young men who had caught the spirit of Louis Agassiz, and
already at his early age he had given promise of a useful life.
He was the leading spirit in founding our Montreal Chapter, which grew,
principally under his direction, into one of the largest and strongest on
our roll. A member of the B. A. A. S., he was about going to England to
take part in the proceedings there. He was a devoted student of natural
science, and his collection which he recently gave to the Montreal
Chapter was one of the largest private collections in the city.
Mr. Shaw was our Canadian Secretary, and his loss will be deeply felt by
many Chapters of our Association.
NOTES.
_Water-spider._ I found a large water-spider under a bridge. I placed it
in a bottle and fed it flies. Instead of building a web, it stays on a
stick, and jumps at the flies when they come near it.—Alex. E. Wight.
_Electric light and insects._ In four or five evenings, by examining
the ground closely near our electric lights, I found specimens of Telea
Polyphemus, Actias Luna, Platysamia Cecropia, Callosamia Promethea, and
other large moths, including several hawk-moths; also many varieties of
beetles.
Hardly any were found outside the shadow around base of pole.—Peter T.
Bourne, Sec., Poughkeepsie, N. Y.
_Birds of Fulton Co., Ky._ No bird is given that I have not seen here and
fully identified. Nomenclature according to Coue’s Key:
1.—_Turdus migratorius._ American robin. Transient visitant in spring and
fall. Abundant. Many killed and eaten here.
2.—_T. Mustelinus._ Wood-thrush. Rare.
3.—_T. fuscescens._ Wilson’s thrush. Transient. Common.
4.—_Mimus polyglottus._ Mocking-bird. Summer resident. Growing scarce.
Many young taken for the cage. A young one sells for from 25c. to $1.
5.—_Mimus Carolinensis._ Catbird. Common.
6.—_Sialia sialis._ Bluebird. Resident. More common in winter than in
summer.
7.—_Lophophanes bicolor._ Tufted titmouse. Resident.
8.—_Parus atricapillus._ Black-capped titmouse. Abundant in winter.
9.—_Sitta Carolinensis._ Sap-sucker. Abundant in winter.
10.—_Troglodytes domesticits._ House-wren. Abundant in winter.
11.—_Dendræca æstiva._ Summer yellow-bird. Common.
12.—_Pyranga rubra._ Scarlet tanager. Summer resident. Rare.
13.—_Pyranga æstiva._ Summer red-bird. Common.
14.—_Hirundo erythrogastra horreorum._ Barn-swallow. Common summer
resident.
15.—_Passerina cyanea._ Indigo bunting. Common summer resident.
16.—_Cardinalis Virginiana._ Cardinal grosbeak. Common.
17.—_Trochilus colubris._ Ruby-throated humming-bird. Common.
18.—_Cathartes aura._ Turkey buzzard. Common resident.
19.—_Zenaidura Carolinensis._ Turtle-dove. Common.
20.—_Anas boscas._ Mallard. Very common.
[_These are only selections from a long and nearly complete list sent by
L. O. Pindar. It shows what an observing boy can do._]
_Grasshoppers climbing trees._ Toward evening, I noticed on an apple-tree
a very large number of grasshoppers, apparently climbing the tree.
It seemed to me that they were going to “roost” for the night.—E. F.
Stevens, Chapter 465.
_Ruffed Grouse drumming._ Hearing some one say that the thunder-like
noise was made by the grouse’s wings striking upon the log upon which
he was sitting, I determined to find out for certain. Since then I have
noted four things:
1. The wings are always held half-closed at first; _i. e._, the outer
joint half-doubled against the one next it.
2. The wing is first raised and then pushed outward from the body.
3. The wings are not used alternately, but both at once.
4. The wings do not strike the log, but are drawn in by a quick motion
against the sides of the bird.—E. L. Stephan, Pine City, Minn.
_Hydrae hunting._ I send you a drawing of a _hydra_ which (natural size)
is about half an inch long. I have seen a _hydra fusca_ catch little
animals smaller than itself by means of its lasso, and, when they were
dead, drop them without eating them.—Alex. Wight, Framingham, Mass.
_A motherly rat._ I found in a nest a mouse, of the common sort, so
young that its eyes were not yet open. A friend having a white rat with
a litter of young, we put the little fellow among them. The mother rat
at once adopted it and took good care of it for two weeks, when it
escaped.—Frank H. Foster, Sec. 440.
_Flowers, birds, insects, and worms of Japan._ Before coming to Japan I
was told that the flowers here had no perfumes, and the birds no songs.
This certainly was misinformation, as there are both, though not so
intense or so various as at home.
The skylark is the most conspicuous of the birds, at least, so far as
voice goes, and pours forth as much music as any half dozen of our
songsters. No wonder the poets have gone mad over him.
Will some of our English friends tell us whether the skylark sings any in
the _fall_ in England?
Very many of the worms and caterpillars that live on the leaves of trees
and shrubs—and every tree and bush seems to have one or more of these
enemies—have a queer way of spinning themselves a sort of sack or cocoon
covered with bits of twigs and leaves. One end of the cocoon is left
open, and through this the worm sticks its head and feet, thus carrying
its jacket around with it while eating.
The earth-worms are very striking. They all possess much more springing
power than any I ever saw at home. Even the small, common kinds will
jump entirely off the ground when touched. Some grow to an enormous
size. The largest I saw this summer were fully ten inches long and from
three-eighths to one-half an inch through when contracted. Some are
beautifully striped—in rings—with a prevailing blue color, but changing
in the light like variegated silk.—C. M. Cady.
_A robin fights._ While on a tramp, one day, I saw a robin give a
cow-bird a sound thrashing.
_A “fish-fly” walks out._ I found, one day, in Wine creek, some
queer-shaped larvæ. They looked like large wrigglers. I picked some up
and, while looking at them, I saw the back of one split open, and out
walked a fish-fly. I thought it would have trouble in getting its tail
out, but it didn’t. It just gave a twist and out came the tail.—F. V.
Corregan, Oswego, N. Y.
_Strange food for tortoises and mice._ I am very much interested in the
attempt to teach habits of scientific observation to the young people
of our country, and therefore venture to send you two facts new to me
in regard to the feeding habits of animals. Last summer I was passing
through a grove, about twenty rods from the Housatonic river, when my
attention was attracted by a large turtle (for reasons mentioned below,
I think it was a land-tortoise, though I do not know one kind of turtle
from another), with its neck stretched out to its utmost extent, busily
engaged about something. As I drew near, it pulled in its head with a
sharp hiss, and I saw that it was standing near a fungus, or toad-stool,
about an inch thick and three inches across (when whole), nearly half
of which looked as if it had been nibbled away; and, on looking at
the tortoise’s mouth, I saw bits of the toad-stool sticking to it. On
mentioning this to my brother (who knows far more about animals than I),
he said, “That is queer, for I found a land-tortoise eagerly eating a
toad-stool in my woods, this summer.” My brother lives on Long Island.
For many months my sister and I have been puzzled by seeing a mouse
in our room, though he had no apparent hiding-place. One window of
ours always stands open at the top all summer, and below it is a thick
woodbine. One evening in September, I was busily writing by this window,
of which the blinds were closed, but the slats open, when I heard a
tapping noise, which I thought was insects. Looking up, however, I saw
a little mouse, which, on seeing me, disappeared through the slats of
the blind. I sat quite still, and in a minute he came back, and, to my
astonishment, began catching and eating the small insects which my light
had attracted to the window. He was not a field-mouse, but an ordinary
house-mouse, and could not have been driven to this diet by extreme
hunger, for he was very plump.
Perhaps these habits in mice and turtles may be well known, but, as I
never heard of them, I venture to send them to you.
Yours truly,
V. Butler, Stockbridge, Mass.
THE SENSITIVE PLANT OF TEXAS.
This remarkable plant of Texas is one not frequently spoken of by
botanists, but nevertheless it is interesting and worthy of a high place
among the many beautiful flowers and plants which clothe the boundless
plains of Texas during eight months of the year. In its style of growth
it somewhat resembles the climbing rose, and is covered with densely
grown and flexible thorns about a quarter of an inch long, and turned
backward like hooks. Its top (that part above the earth’s surface)
dies out when the cold “northers” begin to blow; but early in spring
the tender shoots spring up from the old stock. It thrives best among
rocks mixed with the yellow alkaline clay common to these regions. Its
flower is of the most exquisite and delicate beauty, and its delicious
perfume is not to be classed with that of the rose or other sweet-scented
domestic flowers. The flower, when blooming, does not burst open after
the manner of the rose, but in one night a myriad of little silk-like
threads or petals of a deep pink color shoot out from a green ball, much
resembling those seen on the sycamore, though much smaller; and, as the
king of day peeps smilingly over the distant horizon, it greets him with
its delicate beauty and delicious odor. But now we come to the remarkable
part of its structure, the leaves. These grow from each side of a stem
much in the same manner as those on a walnut tree, but of course not so
large, the entire stem rarely exceeding an inch in length. Now draw your
finger along this stem, touching the bright green leaves on either side,
and what happens? The instant you remove your finger the little leaves
close with the uppermost sides tight together, and thus they remain for
several hours, as though insulted by such an act of impudence. Even the
touch of a stick or a strong wind will close these ill-tempered leaves.
If you touch one individual leaf it closes, while the others remain in
their natural position.
This plant is also known as the “Indian tracker,” it being said that
the Indians, who now roam about over the beautiful plains of the Indian
Territory, and even on those of Texas, used to track their enemies and
game by observing the condition of leaves on the sensitive plant.
It also grows in Missouri, and, perhaps, in Arkansas, but among the rocky
hills and cañons of Texas seems to be at home.—Alfred V. Kern, Wichita
Falls, Wichita Co., Texas.
YOUNG WALKING-STICKS.
I will tell you about a walking-stick I caught last summer. It was the
largest one I had ever seen, though they are quite numerous in the
woods about here. It measured four inches from its head to its tail.
While waiting to get a bottle to preserve it in, I kept it in a small
pasteboard box, and when I was ready to transfer it to the bottle of
alcohol, I found it had laid six eggs. The eggs were about the size of
a large pin’s-head, oval in shape, shiny black about four-fifths of
their length, the other fifth white. Well, I put the bug in the bottle,
and glued the eggs on a piece of stiff paper and put them away in a
pasteboard box. The other day I happened to open the box and found that
two of the eggs had hatched. The inmate of one was a perfectly formed
little walking-stick one-fourth of an inch long, its legs about the
thickness of a fine hair, and the same length as its body. The other
one was two-thirds outside of its shell, and was of a bright green
color.—John H. Kinzie, Riverside, Illinois.
EXCHANGES.
Mounted microscopic objects, mostly vegetal, for others, or for books on
the microscope, vegetable histology, etc.—A. E. Warren, Jefferson, O.
Determined botanical specimens, for same. Send lists.—Norman C. Wilson,
The Dalles, Oregon, Sec. Ch. 28.
Correspondence solicited.—Ch. 187, Newburyport, Mass. G. A. Noyes, Sec.,
Box 933.
I shall be glad to send specimens of anything I can get here, to those
who will pay the postage, or send pressed flowers in return.—Kittie C.
Roberts, 212 W. Peachtree street, Atlanta, Georgia.
A CORRECTION.
We were misinformed by an unscrupulous person regarding our badge-maker,
Mr. Hayward. He has not retired from business, but may be addressed as
heretofore at 202 Broadway, N. Y.
CHAPTERS, NEW AND REORGANIZED.
_No.
_No._ _Name._ of _Address._
Members._
975 London, Eng. (G) 4 Francis Felix Francillon, 21
Regent’s Park Terrace,
Gloucester gate, London,
N. W.
230 Brazil, Ind. (A) 11 Geo. B. Bennett, Box 169.
28 The Dalles, Oregon (A) 12 Norman C. Wilson, Wasco Co.
DISBANDED.
834 Westfield, Mass. (A) Miss Mary D. Clark.
511 Blackwater, Florida (A) Miss Kittie C. Roberts.
Secretaries of Chapters 701-800 will kindly forward their reports as soon
as convenient. All are invited to join the Association.
Address all communications for this department, to
MR. HARLAN H. BALLARD,
Lenox, Mass.
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE SEPTEMBER NUMBER.
CONNECTED PYRAMIDS. Centrals, Pastoral. Cross-words: 1. P. 2. bAa. 3.
guSto. 4. MonTero. 5. O. 6. eRa. 7. leAch. 8. galLeon.
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA. Engine.
BURIED QUADRUPEDS. 1. Alpaca. 2. Beaver. 3. Bison. 4. Ermine. 5. Chamois.
6. Genet. 7. Loris. 8. Llama. 9. Lemur. 10. Paco. 11. Paca. 12. Panda.
13. Tapir. 14. Jackal.
DIAMOND. 1. C. 2. Hap. 3. Humor. 4. Cambric. 5. Pored. 6. Rid. 7 C.
CONNECTED SQUARES. I. 1. Leap. 2. Earl. 3. Area. 4. Plan. II. 1. Plan. 2.
Line. 3. Ants. 4. Nest. III. 1. Plan. 2. Love. 3. Arts. 4. Nest. IV. 1.
Nest. 2. Echo. 3. Show. 4. Town.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Cold wave; finals, Manitoba. Cross-words: 1.
ClaM. 2. OlgA. 3. LoaN. 4. DemI. 5. WanT. 6. AltO. 7. VerB. 8. EllA.
TRIANGULAR PRISM. From 1 to 2, Celt; from 1 to 3, chip; from 2 to 5,
toupettit; 1 to 4, catechism; 3 to 6, proboscis; 4 to 5, mint; 4 to 6,
mass; 5 to 6, trellis.
DOUBLE ZIGZAG. From 1 to 10, Michaelmas; from 11 to 20, roast goose.
Cross-words: 1. Macaroni. 2. Bibulous. 3. Peculiar. 4. Cashiers. 5.
Gratuity. 6. Deterges. 7. Lampoons, 8. Imporous. 9. Chastise. 10.
Pristine.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
Graceful, tossing plume of glowing gold,
Waving lonely on the rocky ledge;
Leaning seaward, lovely to behold,
Clinging to the high cliff’s ragged edge.
_Seaside Goldenrod._
RHYMED WORD-SQUARE. 1. Bacon. 2. Aroma. 3. Coped. 4. Omega. 5. Nadab.
OCTAGON. 1. Hop. 2. Papal. 3. Harelip. 4. Operate. 5. Palaver. 6. Liter.
7. Per.
BEHEADINGS. Thomas Edison. Cross-words: 1. T-hank. 2. H-aunt. 3. O-pens.
4. M-isle. 5. A-skew. 6. S-urge. 7. E-bony. 8. D-rink. 9. I-deal. 10.
S-ewer. 11. O-read. 12. N-once.
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA. Husking frolic.
TO OUR PUZZLERS: In sending answers to puzzles, sign only your initials
or use a short assumed name; but if you send a complete list of answers,
you may sign your full name. Answers should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS
“Riddle-box,” care of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York
City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, before July
20, from “B. L. Z. Bub, No. 1”—Topsy and Eva—“Betsy and Bob”—Jo and
I—Maggie T. Turrill—Shumway Hen and Chickens—Joseph Brobston, Jr.—Mary
Ludlow—The Spencers—Little Miss Muffet—Francis W. Islip—Two Cousins—C.
and H. Condit—H. and S.—Madge and the Dominie—“Dash”—“Original Puzzle
Club”—J. L. A. O. F.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, before July 20,
from Pelham, 1—Reba Neal, 3—C. E. Thompson, 1—Paul Reese, 2—C. R. M.,
1—Capt. Bomb, 5—Maud E. Palmer, 8—Mamma and Katie, 1—Capt. Dag, 1—Tripod,
1—“A. D. Onis,” 1—Birdie Koehler, 7—Kittie, Belle, and Bird, 2—R. G.
Welson, 1—Yum-Yum, 1—Gum Tree, 3—Bee, 2—R. H. Wedin, 1—Moses, 1—W. L.
C., 3—Mush and Milk, 4—J. C. A., 5—Fin, Fur, and Feather, 3—“Me and Be,”
4—A. Maude Doty, 2—E. D. N., 4—“Pards,” 5—Lena B. R. Pierce, 4—“Sophia
and Traddles,” 5—C. Furstenberg, 1—W. K. C., 1—J. and M., 3—Aloha, 3—D.
B. Shumway, 7—Effie K. Talboys, 5—E. E. P. and A. S. C., 3—“Whiskers,”
1—Mamie R., 8—T. J. S., 4—Nellie and Reggie, 8—A. Hieronymous,
4—“Agricola,” 6—Spa, 1—Mab, 4—M. L. Everett, 8—L. C. B., 8—“Retlaw,”
1—Bat and Ball, 1—F. D., 5—“B. L. Z. Bub, No. 2,” 8—Addie C. Bowles,
1—Mary and Sallie Viles, 7—L. M. B., 8—Lee, 5—Jack Tar, 1.
DECAPITATIONS.
Behead the first word indicated by stars to make the second, the second
to make the third, and so on.
The ship rode in an * * * * * * * bay;
Asleep, * * * * * *, the master lay;
A * * * * * and rugged man was he,
And, like the * * * *, at home at sea;
He, like the * * *, swooped on his prey,
Whene’er the * * came his way.
But now, while * the needle kept,
Forgetting all, he lay and slept.
H. L. E.
EASY HALF-SQUARE.
1. An isthmus through which a canal is being cut. 2. Out of a straight
line. 3. A girl’s name. 4. A girl’s name. 5. A personal pronoun. 6. In
half-square.
ST. ANDREW’S CROSS OF DIAMONDS.
. .
. . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . * . . . . . .
. . . . * * * . . . .
. . * * * * * . .
* * * * * * *
. . * * * * * . .
. . . . * * * . . . .
. . . . . . * . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . .
. .
I. UPPER LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: 1. In fashions. 2. A cover. 3. Fastened with
cords. 4. Fabrication. 5. To condescend. 6. A title. 7. In fashions.
II. UPPER RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: 1. In fashions. 2. Part of a flower. 3. An
artificial water-course. 4. Papal envoys. 5. A coloring substance. 6. A
portion. 7. In fashions.
III. CENTRAL DIAMOND: 1. In fashions. 2. To doze. 3. Dating from one’s
birth. 4. Constitutions. 5. A city in Italy. 6. A meadow. 7. In fashions.
IV. LOWER LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: 1. In fashions. 2. A dance. 3. A public
house. 4. Heeds. 5. A kind of nut. 6. Three-fifths of a musical term
meaning slowly. 7. In fashions.
V. LOWER RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: 1. In fashions. 2. To endeavor. 3. Equipped.
4. Poetical comparisons. 5. An affray. 6. A river in Scotland. 7. In
fashions.
M. A. S.
CONNECTED WORD-SQUARES.
1 . . .
. * . .
. . * .
. . . *
* . . .
. * . .
. . * .
. . . 2
UPPER SQUARE: 1. A denomination. 2. To resound. 3. The sovereign prince
of Tartary. 4. To inter.
LOWER SQUARE: 1. A kind of nail. 2. A lineage. 3. A piece of land. 4.
Achievement.
Diagonals, from 1 to 2, a case.
“MYRTLE GREEN.”
UNIFORM REMAINDERS.
All of the words described contain the same number of letters; and the
letters of each word, after it has been beheaded and curtailed, may be
transposed to spell the same word. In short, the middle letters of each
word described are the same, and may be transposed to form the same word.
1. Zealous. 2. Rancor. 3. Membranes that cover the brains. 4. To
exchange. 5. To impede. 6. Baskets of wicker-work. 7. Uttered foolishly.
8. Divided. 9. Rush. 10. Pertaining to a Mediterranean island, 11. Looked
earnestly. 12. Negotiates.
SIDNEY J.
[Illustration: OCTOBER.]
Each of the small pictures may be described by a word which rhymes with
“celebration.” The initial letters of the words to be supplied spell a
busy season of the year. The following lines hint at the meaning of each
picture:
My first is great ——;
My next a common ——;
My third a thorough ——;
My fourth an under ——;
My fifth an earnest ——;
My sixth a painful ——;
My seventh, rapid ——;
My eighth, a terrible ——;
My ninth, a perfect ——;
My tenth, a foolish ——;
My last, compulsory ——.
“ROB ROY.”
DOUBLE ACROSTICS.
I. My primals spell one who inherits; my finals, a weaver’s machine;
primals and finals combined, a personal chattel, which descends by
inheritance.
CROSS-WORDS: 1. Pertaining to herbs. 2. An inhabitant of a northern
country. 3. A coloring matter. 4. Redemption.
II. My primals and finals each spell a name for the sperm whale.
CROSS-WORDS: 1. A fastening. 2. Like a monkey. 3. Demented. 4. Songs of a
certain kind. 5. Singly. 6. Smallest. 7. The emblem of peace. 8. A South
American animal.
“EUREKA” AND MAX.
PI.
Three si a tabufile tripis ringbathe wno
Tis wellom chinsers no eth drescutle steer,
Dan, morf a breake lufi fo cresthi syde,
Gourpin wen rylog no eth mutnau dowos,
Nad grippnid ni rawm ghlit eth lardpile uscold.
ANNIE AND A.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
I am composed of one hundred and forty letters, and form a stanza by
Bryant.
My 101-98-106-115 is a vast number. My 125-22-53 is astern. My
73-107-136-79 is animation. My 45-57-116-4 is to move. My 105-48-127-28
is unmixed. My 100-83-59 is used for illuminating purposes. My
17-63-90 is a nickname for Boston. My 69-34-111-119-13 is a fine
city. My 99-134-70-92-49 is to appropriate. My 129-2-122-25-40 is
the name of an eminent English naturalist and divine of Selborne.
My 35-6-132-65 is the name of a distinguished American poet and
artist, born in 1822. My 94-26-32-112-1-8 is a name well known to
literature, borne by a man and his wife. My 97-103-31-43-15-18-96-55
is another similar name. My 88-21-138-140 is a famous English humorist
and author. My 67-75-61-7-71 is the reputed author of the Iliad. My
113-50-11-102-37-12-91-38-114 is an eminent poet born at Pallas, in
Ireland, in 1728. My 47-76-109-86-42 is a celebrated Italian epic
poet. My 81-29-23-124-27-20-84 is the inventor of the Kindergarten.
My 110-14-126-51-16 is a celebrated Scottish poet. My 117-135-72-3
is “The Bard of Twickenham.” My 78-128-5-68-120-41 is a poet now
living. My 130-46-64-36-131-44 is a famous writer of witty verses
and essays. My 121-62-30-137-82-89-139-85-118-33 is the best-known
American poet. My 58-9-104-66-87 is “The Wizard of the North.” My
108-39-10-24-123-95-56-80-60 is the real name of “Michael Angelo
Titmarsh.” My 133-52-93-77-74-19-54 is the real name of “Boz.”
“CORNELIA BLIMBER.”
CUBE.
1 . . . . . . 2
. . . .
. . . .
5 . . . . . . 6 .
. . . .
. . . .
. . . .
. 3 . . . . . . 4
. . . .
. . . .
7 . . . . . . 8
On a pleasant day in August we took one of the many 1 _to_ 2 plying
between city and 2 _to_ 4, and with 3 _to_ 4 hearts started on a day’s
pleasure trip. Some 5 _to_ 7 pointed out many objects of interest. On
landing, we took a stroll and then seated ourselves on some old 1 _to_ 5
to eat a 6 _to_ 8 and to watch the beautiful white 3 _to_ 7 that were 1
_to_ 3 over the water. A few 5 _to_ 6, trying to gain health and 7 _to_
8 by a plunge in salt water, were thrown into a panic by a mischievous
boy who cried out that he saw 2 _to_ 6 close by. The bathers were glad to
take refuge on solid 4 _to_ 8.
“KATASHAW.”
PECULIAR ACROSTICS.
All of the words described contain the same number of letters. When
rightly guessed and written one below the other, the second and the sixth
row of letters will each spell a name given to the last day of October.
1. Military. 2. A small round mass. 3. Smoothly. 4. To treat with
tenderness. 5. A company of travelers. 6. Capable of being molded. 7.
Ardent. 8. Blooming. 9. Gross. 10. Regards with reverence. 11. To retain.
12. A little ring.
F. S. F.