foot, it can walk over the sharpest stones, or thorns, or roots of trees
without the least danger of wounding itself, and that what this strange
beast most dreads is wet and marshy ground.
We read that "the instant it places its feet upon anything like mud, it
slips and slides, and generally, after staggering about like a drunken
man, falls heavily on its side."
The use of the camel to the various peoples of the East is almost
incalculable. Many an Arab finds his chief sustenance in the cheese,
butter, and milk of the mother camel. The flesh of young camels is also
often eaten.
The Roman Emperor Heliogabalus is said to have reckoned camel's feet one
of the daintiest dainties of his sumptuous banquets, and he considered a
portion of tender camel roast a thing to be by no means despised. To
this day, indeed, camel's hump cut into slices and dissolved in tea is
counted a relish by the Tartar tribes.
Camel's skin is made into straps and sandals, while brushes and ropes,
cloth and tents, sacks and carpets, are made entirely from camel's hair.
Every year toward the beginning of summer the camel sheds its hair,
every bristle of which vanishes before the new hair begins to grow. For
three weeks this bare condition lasts. His camelship looks as if he had
been shaved without mercy from the tip of his tail to the top of his
head, and during this shaven season he is extremely sensitive to the
cold or wet, shaking in every limb if a drop of rain falls, shivering
painfully in the chilliness of the night air.
By-and-by the new hair begins to grow--fine, soft, curly wool that
gradually becomes long, thick, soft fur; and after this, the rain may
rain as much as it likes, the night air may be as chilly as it will, the
camel will not care a grain. In that armor of nature's providing he will
not shiver or shake any more.
The hair of a camel, on an average, will weigh about ten pounds. It is
said to be sometimes finer than silk, and longer than the wool of a
sheep. In the course of my reading, a short time ago, I met with an
account of a camel market in a town of Tartary especially noted for its
trade in that species of live stock.
In the centre of Blue Town, it seems, there is a large square, where the
animals are ranged in long rows together, their front feet raised upon
mud elevations constructed expressly for the purpose, the object of
which is to show off the size and height of the ungainly creatures.
The confusion and noise of this market are described as something
frightful and "indescribable," with the continual chattering of the
buyers and sellers disputing noisily over their bargains, in addition to
the wild shrieking of the camels, whose noses are pulled roughly to make
them show off their agility in rising and kneeling.
Nature has given the camel, you must remember, no means of defense
except its prolonged piercing cry, and a horrible sneeze of its own,
whereby the object of its hatred is sometimes covered with a mass of
filth from its mouth.
It can not bite its tormentor, and--at least the Tartar camel--seldom
kicks, or if it does, as seldom does any harm with that fleshy foot of
which I have told you already.
Can you wonder, then, that the air of Blue Town is made hideous with the
shrieking of the camels as, to test their strength, they are made to
kneel while one thing after another is piled on their backs, and made to
rise under each new burden, until they can rise no longer?
"Sometimes while the camel is kneeling a man gets upon its hind-heels,
and holds on by the long hair of its hump; if the camel can rise then,
it is considered an animal of superior power"--according to the writer
above quoted.
"The trade in camels is entirely conducted by proxy; the seller and the
buyer never settle the matter between themselves. They select different
persons to sell their goods, who propose, discuss, and fix the price,
the one looking to the interests of the seller, the other to those of
the purchaser. These 'sale-speakers' exercise no other trade. They go
from market to market, to promote business, as they say. They have
generally a great knowledge of cattle, have much fluency of tongue, and
are, above all, endowed with a knavery beyond all shame. They dispute by
turns furiously and argumentatively as to the merits and defects of the
animal, but as soon as it comes to be a question of price, the tongue is
laid aside as a medium, and the conversation proceeds altogether in
signs."
A LITTLE GIRL'S ASCENT OF VESUVIUS.
BY KATIE C. YORKE.
One beautiful morning we took a carriage and started from Naples on a
trip to Mount Vesuvius. We drove along the bay for several miles, and
when we reached the foot of the mountain we began to ascend through vast
fields of lava, which had flowed there during previous eruptions. I
always imagined that lava was white and smooth, but this was of a
grayish-black color, and very ragged.
The carriage-road ends at the Observatory, which is a building where a
scientific man resides, being appointed by the government to watch the
state of the volcano. He can tell when there is going to be an eruption,
and always notifies the people.
There we found guides and men with saddled horses waiting to take us to
the foot of the cone. After a short ride we reached it, and dismounted,
and started up. The cone is so steep, and covered with cinders, that
people that are unaccustomed to such walking can't get up it without
assistance, because every step you take you slide back several inches.
We thought we would be pulled up by the guides, but the rest of the
party got tired, and had to be carried on their shoulders. I managed to
walk nearly all the way, and when I got tired my guide carried me too.
About half way up we stopped at a cave where some men were waiting to
sell us some new Lacrima Christi wine. We drank some, and rested, and
went on to the top. When we reached it we were nearly four thousand feet
above the level of the sea, and had a beautiful view of Naples, the bay,
the islands, the villages, and the surrounding mountains.
We enjoyed the view very much, but every little while the wind would
blow a cloud of sulphurous vapor from the crater, and nearly suffocate
us. We walked to the edge of the crater and looked down, but we couldn't
see much, because of the vapor. One of the guides went down into it a
little way, and brought us up some pieces of sulphur. The cinders were
so hot they burned our feet, and when we poked sticks into some cavities
they caught fire.
The thick vapor annoyed us so that we soon decided to go down. Just as
we were starting, the mountain gave a low, deep growl, and trembled
under us, so we were very glad to leave. It was great fun going down,
because the cinders were so loose that at each step we would slide a
long way. Part way down we caught a pale yellow butterfly that was
almost stifled by the sulphurous fumes.
When we reached the foot of the cone, we found we had been only twenty
minutes coming down, although it took us an hour and a half to go up. No
sooner had we arrived at the Observatory than we were surrounded by
crowds of ragged, beggarly looking men and boys, who insisted on
blacking our shoes, or pretended they had been guides, and tried to make
us pay them for things they had never done at all. We ordered them away,
but they kept on tormenting us, so we jumped into the carriage, and
drove off as fast as we could, leaving them all behind, shouting,
screaming, and wildly gesticulating.
Since I was there they have built a railroad up the mountain, but I
should not think it would be half so much fun to go up in the cars.
A LETTER FROM INDIA.
LUCKNOW, INDIA, _June 20, 1880_.
My Dear Friends,--My auntie has sent me several copies of HARPER'S YOUNG
PEOPLE, and I thought maybe you would like to know a little how we
children in India live. I don't know anything about your life except
what I read, and my mamma tells me, because I was born here. I am nine
years old, and in a little while we are going home. I say home because
mamma and papa do, but the only home I know is here, where it is so hot
sometimes it seems as if I should die. Last night mamma had to get up
and take a towel as wet as it could be, and rub my sheets with it,
before I could get to sleep at all, and if the punka stops a single
minute, it wakes me right up again. I read my letter to mamma so far,
and she says you won't know what a punka is. That is funny to me; but I
will tell you. They are very stiff cloth things fixed on frames, and
fastened to the ceiling so that they move, and by fanning the air keep a
breeze in the room all the time. There are holes in the wall, and ropes
put through the holes, and a man outside on the veranda pulls the ropes,
and keeps the punka moving. One night I was so hot I got up and went out
on the veranda, but the boards of the step burned my feet; so I slipped
on my slippers, and tried again. There sat the punka wala nodding, fast
asleep, but keeping his arms moving all the time. It looked funny, I can
tell you.
We have good times in the winter, though. Christmas-day we always have a
picnic. The children of the native Sunday-schools and English schools
join together, and have a good time in some grove. And all through the
winter we play out under the trees, just as mamma says you do in the
summer. But here in summer we can only go out very late in the afternoon
or very early in the morning, because if the mid-day sun touches us, it
will make us very sick, and perhaps we will die. Theo Carter, a girl I
know, when she was real little got away from her nurse, and ran out in
the sun without her hat. It was in the morning, too; and now every time
she gets warm or tired she has the most dreadful headache, and mamma
says she don't believe she will ever be strong, even if she goes to
America. But I guess she would, because everybody that gets sick here
goes to America, else England, and when they come back they are ever so
much better; but sometimes they don't come back, and mamma says people
die even in America.
There are lots of thieves in this country. One night last week they got
into our house. The servants would keep shutting the bath-room
window--the bath-room is between mamma's room and mine--and we wanted it
open for air, and mamma told them so; but they said the thieves would
climb in from a fig-tree near by. But mamma said if they did, they would
be welcome to all they could get. They did get in, and took the clothes
Bertie and I had worn through the day. Baby woke, and they were probably
frightened, and snatched the first thing they could, which was a box of
homoeopathic medicine mamma brought from home. We laughed in the
morning, because they thought, no doubt, it was something valuable, and
it will be worse than nothing to them; but papa says we will cry when we
are sick, and have to take bitter medicine instead of little sugar
pills.
Last week there was a big procession--something about the
government--and one of papa's friends asked us to go to see it, and ride
on an elephant. I was real glad, for I never rode on one but once, and
then I was so little I don't remember much about it. We had a nice ride.
Papa had one elephant to himself, but mamma and I and Mrs. Carter and
Theo rode on another. We could see into the up-stairs rooms of people's
houses, and it was a delightful view we had of the procession. We had a
real good time until our elephant became frightened at a loud noise they
called music, and trumpeted dreadful loud. We wanted to get off, but our
elephant wouldn't kneel, and the man couldn't make him. Papa came, but
mamma said if we tried to get off 'twould only frighten him more. I was
real scared, and ready to cry; but mamma took hold of my hand, and spoke
just as pleasant as if we were at home, and I didn't think till
afterward how white she looked, nor about that man whose elephant ran
away with him last winter and killed him; but I guess mamma remembered
all the time, for pretty soon the noise passed by, and the men were able
to quiet the elephant, so he kneeled, and let papa help us down. And
when he took mamma, she fainted, and everybody said it was the fright;
but I didn't know she was frightened a bit. I must stop now, because the
Home Mail is going very soon; but if you like this, some time I will
write you again.
JENNIE ANDERSON.
LITTLE COUSIN RANNA.
BY MRS. LUCY MORSE.
"Will and Almida Handly were rather sorry when they learned that their
little cousin Marianne Joy was coming to make them a long visit.
"She won't know a bumble-bee from a butternut," said Will. "City
children don't know anything, and she'll be awfully in the way. Won't
she tag after you and me, though, Almy?"
"Oh dear!" said Almy, in a complaining tone; "we'll have to keep her
every speck of washing and baking days."
"I wish they'd leave her where she belongs," said Will.
The children were silent awhile, and then Almy heaved a sigh, and said:
"I s'pose that's just the trouble, Will. If her mother has--has _died_,
where _does_ she belong? Where would you and I--"
"I know it," exclaimed Will, gruffly. "Come on, if you want me to help
fix up your old baby-house for her."
The day after Marianne came the children's feelings were altered.
Walking down the lane all together, the little cousin was dazzled by
buttercups, and ran hither and thither gathering them in such wild
delight that she came upon Dowsabell, the cow, unexpectedly. Dowsy only
raised her sleepy nose from the grass to sniff at the buttercups, but
Marianne dropped the whole bunch, with a cry of terror, and ran like
the wind to Will for protection. She flung herself upon him with such a
pretty confidence that Will took her right into his big boyish heart,
and wished on the spot that Dowsy was a raging lion, or, to say the
least, Neighbor Stethaway's cross bull.
"After all," he confided to Almida, "she's only a poor city child: what
can you expect? _I_ don't mind seeing to her."
"Laws, no," said Almida, with a matronly air. "And if her father's gone
to Europe, and every day is baking, or washing, or mending, or
something, who is there besides you and me for her to look to, I'd like
to know? Only you needn't think you're going to have more than just your
own half of the care-taking, Will Handly."
The mother looked on in silence, and understood perfectly the very
things which her children thought she had not noticed.
"At first I was troubled lest Will and Almy wouldn't notice the child,"
she said, one afternoon, to Mrs. Stethaway, as they watched the three
children crossing the opposite field. "Next I thought they would
tyrannize over her, and that Will would tease her to death."
"And now," said Mrs. Stethaway, "it looks as if they would neglect
everything just to follow her bidding. What are you going to do about
that?"
"Well," said Mrs. Handly, smiling after the children as they disappeared
among the daisies, "it isn't always that old folks know the best turn to
take. I'm going to see what the little one's course will be. It seems
very much as if my own two children were in the way of getting some
lessons in gentleness and self-forgetfulness from the poor little
motherless child, which I don't know so well as she does how to teach
them."
The children went through the field, the orchard, and over the bars into
the lane, through which Ria Bell was just driving the cows.
"Quick! quick! Oh! oh!" screamed Marianne, as soon as she saw the cows.
"Not that way; you're running right into the face of the enemy, Ranna,"
said Will, laughing, and taking hold of her as she was trying to climb
the bars.
But Ranna struggled, crying, "Get me over! get me over! I ain't 'fraid
of tows; it's the birds;" and was so excited that Will on one side and
Almida on the other lifted her into the lane as quickly as possible.
"Oh, goodness!" screamed Almy, as Ranna made a dive, right under
Dowsabell's very nose, toward a little mound of leaves. Crouching down
and spreading her arms over it, she looked up at Dowsy so savagely that
Will exclaimed, much amused: "Thunder and lightning! what has poor Dowsy
done? I thought you were afraid of her, Ranna, and now you look ready to
take her by the horns, and are frightened at two poor little robins
flying overhead."
"No, I ain't. Nor I won't mind Teazle even if he is going to bite
my--my--my head off," cried Ranna, pale with fright, as the dog ran his
nose into her face.
Will called Teazle away, while he and Almy tried very hard not to laugh.
"What have you got under the leaves?" asked Will, while Almy stooped
over Ranna, and said, tenderly,
"Show us your treasure, darling, and we won't tell Teazle, nor Dowsy,
nor anybody a word about it."
[Illustration: THE FALLEN NEST.--DRAWN BY S. G. MCCUTCHEON.]
Ranna sat up, brushed away the leaves, and took from under them a pretty
little nest full of young robins. "They're my own baby birds, and I
thought Dowsy would step on them," she said. "I found them just before I
ran to bring you, only the nest was in a great, ugly, dark bush, where
the poor little birdies couldn't feel any sun shinin', and I brung them
here, and tovered them with leaves, so the chittens wouldn't frighten
them while I was gone. What are those big birds flying round me for?
Tover my birdies up again; they are crying 'cause they are frightened."
"Hi! ho! hum! Harry!" exclaimed Will. "Those two birds are the excited
and anxious parents of your baby birdies, Ranna, and they feel just
about as comfortable as your father and mother would feel if a great
giant--" But Will remembered suddenly that poor little Ranna had no
mother, and, blushing fiery red, said: "I'm a good-for-nothing old
blunderbuss. You tell her, Almy; it's girl's talk, anyway."
Almy, with her arms around her little cousin, explained the situation.
Ranna eagerly pointed out the exact spot from which she had taken the
nest, and when Will had carefully restored it, watched with great
delight the old birds return to it.
"I'll never touch another nest in my life," she said; and holding one
arm tight around Almy's neck, she beckoned to Will with the other.
Putting it around him, she drew his head close down to Almy's, and
whispered: "_I_ don't think you're a _bundlefuss_, Will. I think you and
Almy know just as well how to take care of little birds when their papas
and mammas can't find them, as you do of little girls when their mammas
is--is--is lost. And I'm going to tell all the children in the world
that when they lose their mammas, the best thing they can do is to find
my cousin Will and my cousin Almy."
[Illustration: "I'S LEARNING TO SWIM, MAMMA."]
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
We wish to express to our young correspondents our sincere regret that
our limited space compels us to simply acknowledge so large a number of
the pretty letters which reach us daily from every part of the United
States. Do not think, because your letters are not printed, that we do
not consider them as well written or as interesting as those that are.
We are very sorry not to print all your little histories of your pet
dogs, and kittens, and birds, and other little domestic creatures, or
the excellent descriptions many of you write of the beautiful natural
scenery surrounding your homes; but if there is no more room in Our
Post-office Box, your letters can not be printed. We thank you heartily
for the pleasure you express in "Across the Ocean," "The Moral Pirates,"
"Miss Van Winkle's Nap," and other stories and poems; and the eagerness
with which you "run to meet papa when he brings home YOUNG PEOPLE" is
very gratifying. We trust you will continue your pretty favors to us,
and we, in return, will print all of your letters that we can possibly
make room for, and will promise to give you more and more pleasure with
every new number of YOUNG PEOPLE.
* * * * *
CAMP CARLING, WYOMING TERRITORY.
I have wanted to write to the Post-office Box for a long time, but
mamma said there were so many children writing that my letter
would not be printed.
We live in a camp, and see many curious things. When we look out
of our windows, we see the _aparejos_, which are the saddles put
on the mules when they are loaded. The saddles are arranged in
long rows, with pieces of tent cloth thrown over them. Every day
we see a great many mules going out and coming in. Then there is
another queer thing. It is the "condemned heap." Almost every day
my two little brothers go down to the pile and find a great many
treasures. Every month lots of things from the warehouses are
condemned, and brought to the heap to be burned. There are sixteen
warehouses here, filled with government stores.
A great many of the men who were in the first Ute fight under
Major Thornburgh went from this camp, and we know some of those
that were wounded.
Every night and morning we hear the bugle-call that tells the
soldiers when to get up, when to go to work, when to stop work,
when to change guard, and when to go to bed. We always feel safe
here, because we are guarded by soldiers.
EDNA S. B.
* * * * *
NEEDY, OREGON.
I like to read the letters in the Post-office Box of YOUNG PEOPLE
so much that I thought I would write one from 'way out here in the
backwoods of Oregon. I live in the Willamette Valley, where we can
see Mount Hood any time when the weather is clear. It is a
glorious sight, especially in the evening just before sundown. In
the winter and spring the mountain is hid behind clouds more than
half the time. Sometimes the top of it will peep out above the
mist. Then it looks so strange. It is considered to be nearly
12,000 feet high.
ESTELLE M.
* * * * *
PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA.
It is so nice to have a new YOUNG PEOPLE every week. My papa is an
artist, and I am going to be one too. I draw a picture from YOUNG
PEOPLE almost every day, and I read about Rosa Bonheur, and Miss
Thompson, and all the great painters.
I have been to the Zoological Gardens. I rode the donkeys and the
elephant, and I have made their pictures. I have a little Zoo in
our back yard. I have a nice cat, two rabbits named Jack and Jill,
and a turtle, and a fish in an aquarium that eats flies from my
hands. My bird died, and papa painted its portrait. I called the
picture "The Burial of the Dead Bird."
M. ELECTA F.
* * * * *
OTTAWA, OHIO.
I am nine years old, and for my birthday present mamma gave me one
year's subscription to YOUNG PEOPLE, beginning with the first
number. I like "The Moral Pirates" very much, and I was just
wishing for a serial with girls in it, and the very next paper had
the beginning of "Miss Van Winkle's Nap." I was delighted with it.
I think the stories about Mr. Martin and Miss Pamela Plumstone's
piano are so funny.
As Fourth of July came on Sunday this year, we had no public
celebration, but some of the children in our neighborhood got up a
celebration of their own at our house. Mamma made the oration, and
played the national airs on the piano, after which we had a
parade. We all had paper caps, and we had a flag and a
drummer-boy. My little two-year-old cousin Gordon brought up the
rear of the procession, with a paper cap on, and as gay as any of
us.
BERTHA K.
* * * * *
JERICHO, LONG ISLAND.
I am a little girl ten years old, and I have a sister one year
younger. We have very nice times together.
About a week ago my papa found a poor little bird with its wing
broken. We took it home and fed it, and we thought it was getting
better, but it died.
I have seen some letters from the children about little turtles.
Once we had one, and we used to dig worms for it to eat. It was in
a globe, and once when we did not dig worms enough it ate the tail
of one of the gold-fish.
We tried Sadie McB.'s recipe for candy, and it was a success.
M. J. L.
* * * * *
LOCKPORT, NEW YORK.
I saw some letters in Our Post-office Box asking for remedies for
songless canaries. We have used "Sheppard's Canary Powder, or Song
Restorer," for our canary, and found it very beneficial.
ALICE.
* * * * *
BRIDGEPORT, CONNECTICUT.
My mamma raised four canaries this spring. The first one mamma had
to feed, and it is very tame. We are training it to do tricks.
When our birds are sick and do not sing, mamma gives them "Dr.
Gunning's Universal Bird Tonic," and it always restores their
song.
I have two gold-fish. I did have three, but one died, and I buried
it in the yard, under the Madeira vines.
BLANCHE T. S.
* * * * *
SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA.
I tried Louisa W.'s recipe for Everton taffy, only I added half a
tea-cupful of water. I like it very much.