[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. II.--NO. 54. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, November 9, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A WORK OF ART.--DRAWN BY JESSIE CURTIS.]
JACK-O'-LANTERN.
BY MARY E. FOLSOM.
Who is this nabob come to town,
After a long vacation?
He seems to have a host of friends,
And makes a great sensation.
He stalks about these frosty nights,
While troops of boys run after
To welcome him with merry jests
And ringing shouts of laughter.
'Tis Mr. Jack-o'-Lantern.
He towers above the noisy group
As though he were a grandee,
And struts about upon his stilts
As agile as a dandy.
You might think him an Eastern prince,
Because his skin's so yellow;
But spite of all his airs, he is
A common sort of fellow,
This Mr. Jack-o'-Lantern.
All summer long upon the ground
He lay forlorn, dejected;
No one in all the country round
Was quite so much neglected.
But see him now! with head aloft,
He shines with regal splendor,
And loyal subjects by the score
Admiring homage render.
How proud is Jack-o'-Lantern!
Now give three cheers for Jack, my lads--
Three rousing cheers, and hearty;
For is he not the brightest one
In all your jolly party?
And though his is an empty head,
He can with satisfaction
Amuse a crowd, and make himself
The centre of attraction.
Hurrah for Jack-o'-Lantern!
[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 53, November 2.]
THE BOY-GENERAL.
BY EDWARD CARY.
CHAPTER II.
It was shortly after his reaching Philadelphia that Lafayette met
Washington for the first time. "Though surrounded by officers and
citizens," writes the young Frenchman, "his majestic face and form could
not be mistaken, while his kind and noble manners were not less
unmistakable." The veteran commander and the boyish lover of liberty and
adventure were instantly drawn to each other. Washington invited
Lafayette to join him at a review of the American army--"eleven thousand
men, only fairly armed, and worse clothed, their best clothing the gray
hunting shirts of the Carolinas." "We can not but feel a little
abashed," remarked Washington, "in the presence of an officer who comes
to us from the army of France."
"It is to learn, not to teach, that I am here," was the modest reply.
"This way of talking," adds Lafayette, "made a good impression, for it
was not common among the Europeans."
On the 11th of September, 1777, Lafayette saw his first battle. The
English had landed at the Capes of the Delaware, and marched on
Philadelphia. Washington was deceived by bad scouts, and before he knew
it the British had got past his army; and though the Americans fought
bravely, they were obliged to give way. In trying to rally them,
Lafayette was badly wounded by a musket-ball in the leg. For some time,
in his zeal, he did not notice the wound, until an aide-de-camp saw the
blood, which had filled his boot, and was running over the top. Hastily
dismounting to have the wound bandaged, Lafayette instantly took to his
saddle again; and it was only at midnight, a dozen miles from the
battle-field, and when a stand had at last been made, that he consented
to give up and be properly cared for. For six weeks he was kept in bed;
and it was not until the latter part of November that he again entered
active service, which he did before his wound was fully healed. On the
25th of that month, at the head of three hundred and fifty men, he was
making a "reconnoissance," _i. e._, trying to find where the enemy were,
and how many there were of them, when he suddenly came upon the British
advance guard, strongly placed, with cannon. With a daring joined with
prudence which was very rare in one so young, he attacked the enemy with
such spirit that they thought he must have a large force with him, and
retreated. Lafayette, who knew he might soon be surrounded with his
little band, withdrew rapidly to a place of safety. "My experiment would
have cost me dear," he writes, "if those who might have destroyed me had
not counted too much on those who ought to have captured me." The
British General was Lord Cornwallis, who then took the first of many
lessons which Lafayette, "the boy," as he called him, was to teach him
in the art of war.
This little fight had quite important results. It gave Washington time
to get his army safely back into the country, and to take up quarters
for the winter at Valley Forge. Congress was greatly pleased, and passed
a vote asking Washington to give Lafayette command of a division, which
was done. Scarcely turned twenty, the young soldier found himself at the
head of a body of picked men, mostly Virginians, whom he tried hard to
make the flower of the army in activity, discipline, and courage. He
shared all the hardships and miseries of the terrible winter at Valley
Forge, where the army underwent untold sufferings. From 18,000 men it
was reduced to 5000.
The British lay well housed and idle in Philadelphia. There was no
fighting going on, and the country simply forgot and neglected its
gallant soldiers. These were camped in a wooded hollow among the hills,
and during that winter deeper snow than had been seen for many years
buried the country.
Lafayette writes that "in his night visits about the camp" he found the
sentinels with bare feet frozen at their posts, and men without coats,
often without shirts, huddled on beds of branches about the camp fires,
unable, from hunger and cold, to sleep. For days together one scant meal
a man was all that could be had. In the midst of such suffering the
noble boy lived as his men did, fasting as they fasted, and denying
himself everything. "Ill at ease" as he had been "among the pleasures of
a Paris festival," he was at home on that cold hill-side, and attracted
universal admiration by his simple self-denial, his cheerful and
constant devotion.
Meanwhile Congress was divided into two quarrelsome parties; and while
it had not time to attend to Washington's earnest prayers for relief for
his starving army, it found plenty of time to plan to put another
General over his head, and to try to carry on the war without him. To
aid in this mad scheme they sought to win Lafayette by offering him a
separate command of an army that was to march into Canada.
Faithful in his duty to his commander and his friends, Lafayette refused
to take the place unless he could receive all his orders direct from
Washington. This could not be refused, but it cooled the zeal of
Congress, and when Lafayette arrived at Albany, where he was to have
found men and means for the invasion of Canada, he found neither one nor
the other. Seeing that it was too late to wait long for them, he
promptly gave up the plan. He took a long journey northward to try to
make friends with the Indians, whom he managed with great skill, and
then came back to camp with Washington. He was very glad to rejoin his
beloved General, who immediately gave him command of his old division,
and sent him out, as he had done in the fall, to get news of the enemy.
Clinton, the English commander, learned of the movement, and resolved to
capture the daring "youngster." Lafayette had only 2000 men and no
cannon; Clinton sent out 7000 with fourteen cannon after him. Some
militia placed to guard a road that led around Lafayette's little army
fled when the enemy came up, and before he knew it Lafayette was
surrounded. Clinton, delighted with the prospect, sent an invitation to
his lady friends in Philadelphia to meet Lafayette at supper that
evening, so sure was he of capturing him; and the Admiral of the fleet
was directed to set apart a vessel to take the prisoner to England. But
they were reckoning without their host. Lafayette never lost his cool
head for a moment. Arranging his men in the woods so as to make them
seem many more than they were, he marched with such order that the
English were deceived, and feared to attack him, and while they
hesitated he got his men out of the trap into which they had fallen, and
returned to the main camp.
Before the winter-quarters were broken up, and the fighting for the
summer of 1778 began, Lafayette had the great joy of announcing to the
American army that the King of France was going to send a fleet and an
army to aid the United States. Then, for the first time, he felt sure of
final victory. He was immensely pleased to think that he was going to be
able to fight side by side with his own countrymen on American soil for
American liberty. It was largely his own wisdom and zeal that had
brought about this result, for young as he was, he already showed
himself a far-sighted statesman, as well as a brave, skillful, and
prudent soldier.
Although he had been less than a year in the country, he had endeared
himself to all hearts, and had especially won the entire confidence of
General Washington.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
STAMP COLLECTING.
BY J. J. CASEY.
I have no doubt that many of the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE are stamp
collectors, and that many more are ready to become stamp collectors if
they are started properly. Little difficulty is experienced at the
present day in getting a good assortment of stamps, because the great
spread of the postal system, and the resulting increase of
correspondence, bring the stamps of every foreign country into the
business houses of New York. But the main difficulty is so to manage
with the stamps as to make them more than a plaything for a few
weeks--to make them really instructive, and their possessors real
Philatelists.
The materials requisite for the beginner are very few--a blank book,
some sheets of very thin writing-paper, and a small bottle of pure
gum-arabic dissolved in water and made thin. Of course, when the
collection increases and begins to assume form, this blank book must
give way to a special album; but in the beginning a small book, worth,
say, four or five cents, will suffice. Thus provided, you are ready to
begin your collection.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.]
[Illustration: FIG. 2.]
Every reader of YOUNG PEOPLE has friends who have a correspondence more
or less extensive, and whose desks are, therefore, store-houses of
postage stamps. Requests for these stamps will seldom be denied, and in
a very little while the beginner will have enough to make a start. Look
over the specimens, pick out those that are the cleanest, and put aside
as useless those that are torn or much defaced. Remove any superfluous
paper from the back of the stamps selected for use by carefully touching
the backs with warm water, when the adhering paper can easily be peeled
off. Then cut the sheets of thin writing-paper into strips half an inch
wide, gum along one edge of the strips, and lay the stamps on the gummed
edge as in Fig. 1. Next cut the strips and trim the paper as in Fig. 2.
Now fold this little strip of paper backward, so as to make a hinge, and
fasten it to the blank page by a touch of gum. This is called mounting
the stamp.
Now you may ask why all this labor, all this patience, with a lot of
common stamps. Simply this: this system has been adopted by all
Philatelists, but only after many trials, and the destruction of many
fine specimens; and it is well, therefore, to be guided by the
experience of others. Again, the collection will increase in interest,
which could not be the case if no pains were taken in the mounting, and
it will increase in size. You will, of course, desire to transfer the
stamps to a more pretentious and permanent album. A little moisture will
loosen the strip from the first book, when it can be placed in the new
book without damage. Even when here you may wish to replace it by a
better specimen without injury to the book. Another plan is to mount the
stamps on thin card-board a trifle larger than the stamp, gum a square
of paper to the back of the card, and a touch of gum to the centre will
fasten it to the page.
But why hinge the stamp? Simply to enable you to write under it the date
of issue, its cost, and certain other matters connected with the stamp
itself, so that you may have at hand the few facts necessary to be
known--all of which is necessary if you wish to be a true Philatelist.
[Illustration]
Another point to which particular attention is directed: do not cut the
stamps close up to the printed designs; if perforated, do not cut off
the perforations. Aside from destroying the appearance of the stamps,
you also destroy their value for collectors. Not long since a very large
collection of stamps was sold by auction. Hundreds and hundreds of
dollars must have been spent in purchasing the specimens, among which
were numbers of all rarities. The owner had trimmed and trimmed his
specimens, cutting away everything up to the printed design. The
collection went for a mere song, in comparison to what it would have
brought if the scissors had been left alone. No true collector fancies a
mutilated specimen.
[Illustration]
Thus far I have told you how to select your specimens, and prepare them
for your blank book. At the outset it is likely you will receive nothing
but current stamps of the several countries. Take all you get, select
the best of each kind for yourself, and keep the others to make
exchanges with your companions. That you may have some idea of the value
of your specimens, it would be well to provide yourself with a catalogue
of stamps, in which you will find full lists of all stamps issued, and
in some many illustrations of the stamps. By exercising judgment in your
exchanges you will soon be enabled to get together quite a number of
good specimens from all quarters of the globe, and these without
spending a single penny. Of course there is a limit to this mode of
collecting, and you will soon find that you will require some loose
change in order to add to your album. But do not let this frighten you.
As interest in your collection increases--and it will increase if you
start out properly--ways and means will suggest themselves for getting
desired specimens, and you will be astonished how much you can do at a
little outlay. My collection, which numbers over fourteen thousand
specimens, and which at the very lowest estimate is worth $15,000, has
not cost me $1500 in money. And all this by making judicious use of the
knowledge I acquired gradually, and by following out the principles I
have laid down for your guidance. And my stamps are to-day as great a
source of pleasure to me, if not greater, as were the first specimens I
got eighteen or twenty years ago.
[Illustration]
What I have written thus far applies only to postage or revenue stamps.
Stamped envelopes and wrappers and postal cards must be managed
differently, but it will be well to leave the proper mounting of these
until you have advanced with your "adhesives." For the present,
therefore, it will suffice to say, Do not cut out the designs from the
envelope, wrapper, or card. Keep whole. However, the system of stamps
has increased so enormously that it is next to impossible to keep up
with the different classes. As a consequence, collectors are turning to
specialties. Some devote themselves to postal adhesives, others to
revenue stamps; some to stamped envelopes and wrappers, others to postal
cards; and some, again, collect nothing but the private die proprietary
stamps of the United States. Each of these is a field large enough in
itself to be covered properly, and the one who attempts to cover all, or
even several, will require a very long purse, and more time than can be
spared in this busy age.
Make your choice, therefore, and stick to that alone.
FARM-HOUSE PETS IN JAPAN.
BY ELLIOT GRIFFIS.
The Japanese people are very fond of pets. It is very rare to find a
house entirely destitute of some favorite animal, from the costly _chin_
(King Charles spaniel) to the bob-tailed cat that purrs near the
tea-kettle on the _hibachi_, or fire-box. Canary-birds are quite common,
and in place of something more rare, tiny bantam fowls are caressed and
petted. Even a "rain-frog," or tree-toad, has been made a child's
darling, while the little water turtles with fringed tails are prized as
rare objects of delight.
In the country the boys of the family catch by trap or pit the wild
animals on the hills, and tame them. Hares are the most common creatures
caught, and in a little box of pine wood, with an open front of bamboo
cane, the little pet finds a home. It soon learns to run about the
house, and stand on its hind-legs to nibble bits of radish or lumps of
boiled rice from the children's hands.
Sometimes the farmers find bigger game in their snares, such as badgers
and foxes. If the badger is young, or if the boys can find an old mother
badger's nest, the little cubs can be easily tamed. If kindly treated,
kept from dogs, and not provoked, they are quite harmless.
[Illustration]
But the big badgers are very snappish, and their bites are dangerous. In
the picture we see the old lady of the farm-house, quite scared at the
big badger which one of her sons has caught and hung up by the legs. See
her girdle tied in front, as is the fashion with old ladies in Japan.
"_Naru hodo!_ what a nasty beast!" she is saying. By-and-by the boys
will kill the brute with arrows, and sell the skin to the drum-maker and
the hair to the brush-maker, and the dogs will have a fine feast.
What is that little board at the top, with a rope on either side?
That is the farmer's device to keep the birds away from his rice just
planted. The string makes the crows afraid, and the short bits of bamboo
clatter against the board, and scare off the little birds. The old
badger is tied up by the legs on one of these posts in the field.
[Begun in No. 46 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, September 14.]
WHO WAS PAUL GRAYSON?
BY JOHN HABBERTON,
AUTHOR OF "HELEN'S BABIES."
CHAPTER IX.
BENNY'S PARTY.
Mr. Morton's school closed on the last day of June, and the parents of
the pupils were so well pleased with the progress their sons had made
that they almost all thanked the teacher, besides paying him, and they
hoped that he would open it again in the autumn. Mr. Morton thanked the
gentlemen in return, and said he would think about it; he was not
certain that he could afford to begin a new term unless more pupils were
promised, although he did not believe the entire county could supply
better boys than those he had already taught at Laketon.
The boys, when they heard this, determined that they would not be
outdone in the way of compliment, so they resolved, at a full meeting
held in Sam Wardwell's' father's barn, that Mr. Morton was a brick, and
the class would prove it by giving him as handsome a gold watch chain as
could be bought by a contribution of fifty cents from each of the
twenty-three boys. Every boy paid in his fifty cents, although some of
them had to part with special treasures in order to get the money: Benny
Mallow sacrificed his whole collection of birds' eggs, which included
forty-seven varieties, after having first vainly endeavored to raise the
money upon two mole-skins, his swimming tights, and a very large lion
that he had spent nearly a day in cutting from a menagerie poster. The
chain, suitably inscribed, was formally presented in a neat speech by
Joe Appleby; Paul Grayson absolutely refused to do it, insisting that
Joe was the real head of the school; indeed, Paul himself asked Joe to
make the speech, and from that time forth Joe himself pronounced Paul a
royal good fellow, and even introduced him to all girls of his
acquaintance who wore long dresses.
For at least a month after school closed the boys were as busy at one
sort of play and another as if they had a great deal of lost time to
make up. Getting ready for the Fourth of July consumed nearly a week,
and getting over the accidents of the day took a week more. Some of the
boys went fishing every day; others tried boating; two or three made
long pedestrian tours--or started on them--and a few went with Mr.
Morton and Paul on short mineralogical and botanical excursions.
Then, just as mere sport began to be wearisome, August came in, and the
larger fruits of all sorts began to ripen. Fruit was so plenty in and
about Laketon that no one attached special value to it; a respectable
boy needed only to ask in order to get all he could eat, so boys were
invited to each other's gardens to try early apples or plums or pears,
and as no boy was exactly sure which particular fruit or variety he most
liked, the visits were about as numerous as the varieties. Later in the
month the peaches ripened; and as the boy who could not eat a hatful at
a sitting was not considered very much of a fellow, several hours of
every clear day were consumed by attention to peach-trees.
Besides all these delightful duties a great deal of talking had to be
done about the coming cold season. Boys who had spent unsatisfactory
autumns and winters in other years began in time to trade for such
skates, or sleds, or game bags, or other necessities as they might be
without, and the result was that some other boys who traded found
themselves in a very bad way when cold weather came. Between all the
occupations named, time flew so fast that September and the beginning of
another school term were very near at hand before any boy had half
finished all that he had meant to do during vacation.
There were still some pleasant things to look forward to, though: court
would sit in the first week of September, and then the counterfeiter
would be tried, while on the very first day of September would come
Benny Mallow's birthday party--an affair that every year was looked
forward to with pleasure, for Benny's mother, although far from rich,
was very proud of her children, and always made their little companies
as pleasant as any ever given in Laketon for young people. When Benny's
birthday anniversary arrived every respectable boy who knew him was sure
to be invited, even if he had shamefully cheated Benny in a trade a week
before, and Benny generally was cheated when he traded at all, for
whatever thing he wanted seemed so immense beside what he had to offer
for it, that year by year he seemed to own less and less.
At last the night of the party came, and even Joe Appleby, whose own
birthday parties were quite choice affairs, was manly enough to declare
that it was the finest thing of the year. The house was tastefully
dressed with flowers, which always grew to perfection in Mrs. Mallow's
garden, and the lady of the house knew just how to use them to the best
advantage. Benny and his sister received the guests; and although Benny
was barely twelve years old that day, and rather small for his age, he
appeared quite graceful and manly in his new Sunday suit, which had not,
like the new suits of most of the Laketon boys, been cut with a view to
his growing within the year. His sister Bessie was only a month or two
beyond her tenth birthday, but in white muslin and blue ribbons, with
her flaxen hair in a long heavy braid on her back, and her bright blue
eyes and delicate pink cheeks, she was pretty enough to distract
attention from some girls who wore longer dresses, and, indeed, from
several girls in very long dresses, who had been invited out of respect
for the tastes of Joe Appleby, Will Palmer, and Paul Grayson.
Mrs. Mallow was as successful at entertaining young people as she was in
dressing her children and ornamenting her little cottage. She had
prepared charades, and given Bessie a lot of new riddles to propose, and
she herself played on her rather old piano some airs that the boys
enjoyed far more than they did the "exercises" that their sisters were
continually drumming. Several of the boys were rather disappointed at
there being no kissing games, but they compromised on "choosing
partners"; and as there were some guessing tricks, in which the boys who
missed had each to select a girl, and retire to the hall with her until
a new "guess" was agreed upon, it is quite probable that most of the
boys enjoyed opportunities for kissing their particular lady friends
once or twice.
As for the supper, a month passed before Sam Wardwell could think of it
without his mouth watering. There were chicken salad and three kinds of
cake, and ice-cream and water ices and lemonade, and oranges and bananas
that had come all the way from New York in a box by themselves, and
there were mottoes and mixed candies and figs and raisins and English
walnuts, while so many of the almonds had double kernels that every girl
in the room ate at least two philopenas, and therefore had enough to
busy her mind for a day in determining what presents she would claim.
[Illustration: "DE COUNTERFEITER DONE BROKE OUT OB DE JAIL!"]
But, in spite of a well-supplied table and forty or fifty appetites that
never had been known to fail, full justice was not done to that supper,
for while at least half of the company had not got through with the
cream and ices, and Sam Wardwell had only had time to taste one kind of
cake (having helped himself three times to chicken salad), a small
colored boy, who knew by experience that news-carrying levels all ranks,
if only the news is great enough, knocked at the door, and asked for
Benny. While the door stood ajar, and Mrs. Mallow went in search of her
boy, the spectacle of a number of other boys standing in the hall was
too much for the colored boy, so he gasped, "De counterfeiter done broke
out ob de jail!"
Then there was a time. Two or three of the boys abandoned their partners
at once, and hurried to the door to ask questions, while one or two more
seized their hats, sneaked toward the back door, walked leisurely out,
as if they merely wished to cool off, and then started on a rapid run
for the jail. Benny wished to follow them--and not for the purpose of
bringing them back, either--and all of his mother's reasoning powers and
authority had to be exerted to keep her son from forsaking his guests.
Strangest of all, Paul Grayson, who had throughout the evening made
himself so agreeable to at least half a dozen of the young ladies that
he was pronounced just too splendid for anything, had been among the
first to run away! Benny said he never would have thought it of Paul,
and his mother said the very same thing, while the girls, who but a few
moments before had been loud in his praise, now clustered together, with
very red cheeks, and agreed that if a mean old counterfeiter was more
interesting than a lot of young ladies, why, they were sure that
_Mister_ Paul Grayson was entirely welcome to all he could see of the
horrid wretch.
Still, the party went on, after a fashion, although some of the girls
were rather absent-minded for a few moments, until they had determined
what particularly cutting speeches they would make to their beaux when
next they met them. They did not have long to wait, for soon the boys
came straggling back, Sam Wardwell being the first to arrive, for, as on
reaching the jail Sam could learn nothing, and found nothing to look at
but the open door of the empty cell, he shrewdly determined that there
might yet be time to get some more ice-cream if he hurried back. Somehow
none of the girls abused him; on the contrary, they seemed so anxious to
know all about the escape that Sam was almost sorry that he had not
remained away longer and learned more.
Then Ned Johnston returned. He had been lucky enough to meet a man who
had wanted to be Deputy-Sheriff and jail-keeper, but had failed; he told
Ned that the jailer had stupidly forgotten to bolt the great door, after
having examined the inside of the cell, as he did every night before
retiring, to see if the prisoner had been attempting to cut through the
walls. The prisoner had been smart enough to listen, and to notice that
the bolts were not shot nor the key turned, so he had quietly walked
out, and had not Mr. Wardwell met him on the street, and recognized him
in spite of the darkness, and hurried off to tell the Sheriff, no one
would have known of the escape until morning. There was not the
slightest chance of catching the prisoner again, the would-be deputy had
said to Ned; there wasn't brains enough in the Sheriff and all his staff
to get the better of a smart man; but things would be very different if
proper men were in office.
When the party finally broke up, several boys were still missing; but as
their absence gave several other boys the chance to escort two girls
home instead of one, these faithful beaux determined that they had not
lost so very much by remaining, after all.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
COUNTRY ANECDOTES.
I once saw a life-and-death struggle between two apparently very unequal
opponents--a frog and a beetle. As I was standing near the cellar
window, which was below-ground, and protected by an iron grating, I
noticed in the area below it a large frog, which, at regular intervals
of one or two minutes, leaped from one side of the little inclosure to
the other. I looked more closely, and saw that it was each time followed
by a black beetle, that walked backward and forward, not seeming at all
discouraged when the frog, every time it reached it, jumped back over
its head, and so escaped. It was evidently a trial of strength and
perseverance between the two, and I was anxious to see which would first
give in. They went on, however, for such a long time that I grew tired
of watching them, and went away. The next morning, as I was again
passing, I looked down the area to see what had been the result of the
struggle, and, strange to say, it was still going on; the beetle
deliberately hunting its victim, which, whenever they were about to
meet, escaped by a great leap to the other side of its prison. Not until
that evening did it end: then the poor frog, tired out, and too much
exhausted to make any resistance, became the prey of its enemy, and no
doubt furnished its meals for many a day.
As there were a good many rats about the out-houses and wood stacks,
professional rat-catchers used to come once or twice a year, with their
dogs and ferrets, and were paid according to the number they killed.
Once when our gardener was assisting at the work of destruction he
pulled one of the ferrets out of a hole, where it had been killing a
brood of young rats. The poor mother, who had probably just returned
from an expedition in search of food for her young ones, rushed out
after the ferret, ran up the man's leg, on to his shoulder, and down his
arm, quite blind to her own danger, and only desirous to reach the
object of her vengeance in his hand.
OUR BABY.
BY JIMMY BROWN.
Mr. Martin has gone away. He's gone to Europe or Hartford or some such
place. Anyway I hope we'll never see him again. The expressman says that
part of him went in the stage and part of him was sent in a box by
express, but I don't know whether it is true or not.
I never could see the use of babies. We have one at our house that
belongs to mother and she thinks everything of it. I can't see anything
wonderful about it. All it can do is to cry and pull hair and kick. It
hasn't half the sense of my dog, and it can't even chase a cat. Mother
and Sue wouldn't have a dog in the house, but they are always going on
about the baby and saying "ain't it perfectly sweet!" Why I wouldn't
change Sitting Bull for a dozen babies, or at least I wouldn't change
him if I had him. After the time he bit Mr. Martin's leg father said
"that brute sha'n't stay here another day." I don't know what became of
him, but the next morning he was gone and I have never seen him since. I
have had great sorrows though people think I'm only a boy.
The worst thing about a baby is that you're expected to take care of him
and then you get scolded afterward. Folks say "Here, Jimmy! just hold
the baby a minute, that's a good boy," and then as soon as you have got
it they say "Don't do that my goodness gracious the boy will kill the
child hold it up straight you good-for-nothing little wretch." It is
pretty hard to do your best and then be scolded for it, but that's the
way boys are treated. Perhaps after I'm dead folks will wish they had
done differently.
Last Saturday mother and Sue went out to make calls and told me to stay
home and take care of the baby. There was a base-ball match but what
did they care? They didn't want to go to it and so it made no difference
whether I went to it or not. They said they would be gone only a little
while and that if the baby waked up I was to play with it and keep it
from crying and be sure you don't let it swallow any pins. Of course I
had to do it. The baby was sound asleep when they went out, so I left it
just for a few minutes while I went to see if there was any pie in the
pantry. If I was a woman I wouldn't be so dreadfully suspicious as to
keep everything locked up. When I got back up stairs again the baby was
awake and was howling like he was full of pins. So I gave him the first
thing that came handy to keep him quiet. It happened to be a bottle of
French polish with a sponge in it on the end of a wire that Sue uses to
black her shoes, because girls are too lazy to use a regular
blacking-brush.
The baby stopped crying as soon as I gave him the bottle and I sat down
to read the YOUNG PEOPLE. The next time I looked at him he'd got out the
sponge and about half his face was jet black. This was a nice fix, for I
knew nothing could get the black off his face, and when mother came home
she would say the baby was spoiled and I had done it.
Now I think an all black baby is ever so much more stylish than an all
white baby, and when I saw the baby was part black I made up my mind
that if I blacked it all over it would be worth more than it ever had
been and perhaps mother would be ever so much pleased. So I hurried up
and gave it a good coat of black. You should have seen how that baby
shined! The polish dried just as soon as it was put on, and I had just
time to get the baby dressed again when mother and Sue came in.
I wouldn't lower myself to repeat their unkind language. When you've
been called a murdering little villain and an unnatural son it will
wrinkle in your heart for ages. After what they said to me I didn't even
seem to mind about father but went up stairs with him almost as if I was
going to church or something that wouldn't hurt much.
The baby is beautiful and shiny, though the doctor says it will wear off
in a few years. Nobody shows any gratitude for all the trouble I took,
and I can tell you it isn't easy to black a baby without getting it into
his eyes and hair. I sometimes think that it is hardly worth while to
live in this cold and unfeeling world.
THE UNLUCKY SETTLERS.
BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
Deacon Whitney's drug store fronted on the green, and Steve had just
come out, and his father was standing in the door.
Just then Andy Yokum called out across the street, "Steve! Steve
Whitney! what are we boys going to do with this here Saturday, now we've
lost our ball?"
"I know what I'd like to do. Come over here."
"What is it, Steve?"
"Well, you see, Andy, I was down to old Captain Hollowboy's after school
yesterday with a lot of all sorts of chemicals and things he'd been
buying, and I knocked and I knocked, and I couldn't get in; so I went
around to the back door, and there was Captain Hollowboy looking up at
the biggest hornets' nest you ever saw."
"Hornets' nest? Wasn't he trying to break 'em up?"
"No, sir! He was just looking at 'em. And he told me he'd been watching
that nest ever since the hornets began on it."
"Haven't they stung him yet?"
"Well, no; he said they hadn't. He's an old bachelor, you know, and he
said hornets were good enough neighbors as long as there weren't any
small boys around."
"Couldn't we get him to let us go in on that nest?"
"That's just what I asked him, and he said--"
"Hold up, Steve--here he comes!"
"Good-morning, Captain Hollowboy. Toothache, eh? I'll get you
something."
"Toothache, Deacon! No, it isn't toothache. Is this the drug store? Have
I got here? Can't but just see."
"Steve," shouted Andy, "just look at his face! It's all mud."
Captain Hollowboy had taken away his great red bandana handkerchief to
look around him, and Deacon Whitney was holding up both his hands.
"What is the matter, Captain?"
"Hornets, Deacon, hornets. The most pernicious and ungrateful of all
insects. I have applied aqueously saturated alluvium, but I want some
ammonia."
"Slapped on some mud first, and now you want to try some hartshorn?
That's right. I'll get you some quick."
He was getting behind the counter very fast for so fat a man, but Steve
shouted, "Hurrah, Andy! let's go for the Captain's nest."
"Do, my dear boys, do. I consent to their utter obliteration and
extermination; but I wish you would preserve their interesting domicile
intact."
"He means, Andy, that we may kill the hornets, but we mustn't spoil the
nest. He's awful on big words."
"How did it happen?" asked the Deacon, as he held out a big bottle and a
sponge.
"Happen? It was no fault of mine. I did but attempt an unobtrusive
inspection of the marvellous ramifications of their intricate
habitation."
"That's it," said Steve. "He stuck his nose into the nest, and they all
went for him. Come on, Andy."
They were out of sight by the time half the mud had been sponged from
the Captain's long lean face, but before they reached his queer little
house, at the further corner of the village green, the hornets were in
trouble.
Harman Strauss and Bill Ogden and Van Seaver had seen the Captain run,
and they all knew about that hornets' nest.
"Fire's the thing," said Van.
"Biggest smoke we can make," said Harm Strauss.
"We must wrap our heads up," said Bill Ogden, "but it'll be the biggest
kind of a Saturday."
Van had some matches in his pocket, and the heap of sticks and straw and
chips the boys gathered for him was a foot high by the time he got the
third match well a-going.
The hornet's nest was a big one, and there was a wonderfully numerous
tribe of winged settlers in it. They had picked out a fine airy place to
hang their house--just under the eaves of the open shed, back of Captain
Hollowboy's one-story kitchen, at the corner.
The right place for the fire was at the foot of the upright corner post,
but Harman Strauss told Van, "If we stick it there, Van, we'll set the
house afire."
"That'd never do," said Bill Seaver. "It's jam-full of all sorts of
chemicals and things. There'd be an awful blow-up if that house got
afire."
"Might spoil the village."
"Oh, but wouldn't it blow those hornets good and high!"
Just at that moment Steve Whitney and Andy Yokum came over the fence.
They did not even wait to put their handkerchiefs around their necks and
faces before they began to gather great bunches of weeds.
It was time every boy of them had some kind of a brush in his hand, for
the angry insects had smelled the smoke, and were coming out to see
about it.
Such a fire department as they turned themselves into! Or, rather, they
set out as a kind of police brigade to fight a crowd of young
incendiaries, and save Captain Hollowboy's house from being set on fire
and burned up. They were at least determined that not one of those boys
should get any nearer the house they had so carefully built for
themselves against the eaves.
"Mud! mud!" shouted Steve, in half a minute. "Boys, where does the
Captain keep his mud?"
"Have they stung you?"
"Oh, my nose!"
Steve had just started to run for some mud, when he gave another shrill
whoop, "Yow! he's in my neck!" and there was no such thing as any other
boy helping him, for each one of them was thrashing away at the nearest
hornet. That is, except Van, for he had been after some more sticks, and
was just putting them on the fire when he felt as if some one had
dropped a live coal right on his left ankle.
"Wah!" yelled Van; "I've burned a hole in one of my stockings. Ou! it's
burned another! Oh, boys, it's two hornets lit right side by side. Oh
dear!" and there he was, rolling over in the grass, and striking with a
bunch of weeds at something he saw in the air above him.
[Illustration: SMOKING THE HORNETS' NEST.--DRAWN BY S. G. MCCUTCHEON.]
Harman Strauss had been the wisest of them all, for he had pulled a
couple of damp towels off the clothes-line, and had wrapped his head in
one, and given the other to Bill Ogden.
Now he had found Captain Hollowboy's garden rake, and was shouting,
"Give it to 'em, boys! You kill the hornets, and I'll pull down the
nest. We must keep it for the Captain."
"He wants it for a specimen," explained Steve Whitney.
"Will he pickle it somehow?" asked Andy; but at that moment it seemed to
him as if he had leaned against a red-hot pin, and he clapped his hand
to his side. He had better not have dropped his bunch of weeds just
then, for in a second more he was calling out, "Van! Van! did you say
you knew where the mud was?"
"Here it is, Andy, right by the cistern. The Captain must have stirred
it up for himself."
"And they kept right on stinging him while he was putting it on."
"Yah! That's just what they're doing now. They can sting right through a
shirt sleeve."
"Sting? I guess they can; right through anything. Oh dear! I've got
another! Boys, we won't leave one of 'em!"
"Boys! boys! I say, boys, what are you doing? I never indicated my
assent to the application of fire!"
"I declare!" exclaimed Deacon Whitney, as he came through the gate
behind Captain Hollowboy, "the young rascals have set them all a-going."
"Can you see, Deacon? I can not with any accuracy. Where have they
located the combustion?"
"Stuck their bonfire right under the nest, Captain. Let 'em alone. The
upright's burnin' a leetle, but you can put it out easy."
As he said that, Harm Strauss made a valiant pull with his rake, and
down came the nest right into the bonfire.
"There!" exclaimed Steve, "you've spoiled it!"
"Such an exceptionally well-developed specimen!" groaned the Captain.
"Pull it out, one of you."
"Oh! oh!" roared the Deacon, clapping both hands on his ample stomach,
and doing his best to lean over; "I hope he has pulled it out. It must
have gone in half an inch."
The fire had rapidly blazed high and hot, for straw and splinters and
chips kindle fast; and there were no hornets in that nest now, nor any
nest left to hold hornets. In fact, for that matter, Captain Hollowboy's
yard and garden, and the road in front, were too small to hold what was
left of them, and any men and boys at the same time.
Old Mrs. Jones, who lived next door, put her head out of her window to
see what was going on, and then that window came down with a great slam;
and the next thing seen of Mrs. Jones, her silver spectacles were
dropping off into the water-pail as she stooped over it.
There was no doubt but what that settlement of hornets was thoroughly
broken up; but Captain Hollowboy led the way back to the drug store, and
they were all ready to go with him.
"I am sorry," he said to the Deacon, "that you or any of my young
friends are suffering physical inconvenience from the atrocious assaults
of those pernicious insects, but I regret the obliteration of so
remarkable a specimen of their ingenuity."
[Illustration: BUCKWHEAT CAKES.]
ANCIENT EGYPT.
Of all the curious works of the ancient Egyptians, the most strange and
dream-like are the sphinxes. They are innumerable along the Nile, half
man, half beast, carved in solid stone. But one--known as the
Sphinx--the largest and most wonderful, sits near the Pyramids, with
staring stone eyes that seem to have almost learned to see. It is half
buried in the sands. Its head rises more than sixty feet above its base.
Whole avenues of sphinxes lined the courts of the Egyptian temples. Then
there are the tombs, or catacombs, where the mummies are preserved--long
galleries cut in the rock, decorated with paintings, covered with the
dust of generations. Along the river these cemeteries are almost
numberless. On the walls are drawn all the various occupations of the
people. The fisherman is seen drawing his nets, the ploughman driving
his team, the soldier returning from the war. But the most curious of
the catacombs are those devoted to the preservation of the mummies of
cats, bulls, birds of all kinds, and crocodiles. The Egyptians
worshipped animals and birds, and when they died, preserved their bodies
by a singular process. The bull (Apis) was adored at Memphis, and his
death was a season of general woe. When a cat in a house at Thebes died,
all the family went in mourning, and shaved their eyebrows.
THE GRAND PROCESSION.
BY MARY DENSEL.
Elsie Baker was sitting on a log in the wood-shed, gloomily listening to
her brother Joe, who was talking with much enthusiasm.
"For I tell you, sir," said he to Elsie, "it isn't every boy who'll get
a chance to be in that percession to-night, sir. There'll be a thousand
torches, and speeches, and fire-works; and the train leaves Porter's
Corner at six o'clock; and Mr. Hill says to me, 'You be on hand, Joe,
you and Jack Stone, and you may go to Portland along of the
"Continentals," and march each side of the flag, and wear white rubber
capes, and carry a torch apiece if you like.' It's to be the biggest
show of the season, and--"
"I can't go," burst in Elsie. "Just because I'm a girl I can never go
anywhere or see anything."
"Of course not," assented Joe, cheerfully. "Girls never can. I go
because father's in Ohio, and I'm the man of the family. I declare I
shouldn't wonder if half the people in Portland should think Jack and I
could vote when they see us _percessing_. Three cheers for Hanfield!"
Hanfield? Hanfield? That did not sound quite right. Joe meditated.
Hanfield? Well, never mind. There was no time to waste over names. If
Joe would help toward the election of a President of the United States,
he must be off and away for Jack Stone, or the two would miss the train.
And Elsie? Poor little Elsie was left forlorn. She was quite alone, for
her mother had gone to visit a sick neighbor, and would not even be at
home for tea.
"Oh, _why_ shouldn't a girl do just what her brother does, and have some
fun?" thought Elsie, bitterly. "Or else why wasn't I born a boy?"
She sat close to the andirons in front of the wood fire, and more and
more dismal did she grow. She had nearly come to wondering whether it
was really worth while to live if one had to be only a girl, when the
front door burst open, and in bounced Master Joe.
"Elsie," cried he, grasping her by the arm, "here's your chance. You can
go."
"Go? go?" repeated Elsie, flushing crimson with excitement.
Joe hurried on. "Jack Stone's sick. Earache--both ears--onions on'
em--here's his cap--who'll know you're not a boy?--tuck up your
skirts--on with this big cape--come!"
Elsie was beside herself. "Mother wouldn't let me," she half gasped.
"Did she ever say you mustn't?" argued Joe. "Like as not we'll be back
before she is. Don't be a goose. There's no time to talk. Hurry! hurry!
You won't get such another chance."
Her eyes flashing, her brain in a whirl, Elsie pulled the blue cap over
her short curls. Her little petticoats were quickly pinned up and
covered by the rubber cape. With her unlighted torch over her shoulder,
who would not have thought her a sturdy younger brother of the boy who
held her tightly by the hand, and exhorted her not to let the grass grow
under her feet.
Down the road they flew, and reached the station just as the
"Continentals" came marching up with fife and drum.
"Here we are, Mr. Hill," said Joe, presenting himself and his companion.
"All right," said Mr. Hill, too busy to pay much attention. "Keep with
the rest of the men. How are you, Jack, my boy?"
There was no time for the make-believe "Jack, my boy" to answer. The
engine was puffing and panting. Elsie was swung on the train, where Joe
and she tucked themselves away on a back seat.
The "Continentals" were in the best of humor, so were the "Philbrick
Pioneers," who, gorgeous in their Zouave regimentals, came crowding into
the car at the next station, to crack jokes and talk politics.
"Well done, little chaps," said their captain, spying out Joe and his
comrade. "You're beginning early, eh? Nothing like getting the boys on
the right side. Ha! ha!"
Joe grinned, and was about to volunteer a "Hurrah for Hanfield!" but
thought better of it.
One of the men frightened Elsie nearly out of her wits by chucking her
under the chin, and shouting, rudely,
"You're a bright-eyed cove, you are. Does your mother know you're out?"
A sharp nudge from Joe kept her from saying, "No, she doesn't," but she
shrunk close up to him, whispering, fearfully,
"Me the only girl, Joe!"
"Hush! Nobody'll think it, if you keep quiet," said Joe, hastily,
himself a little disturbed; the men were so rough, and made so much
noise.
But while he was thinking what he should do if any one else insulted his
sister the train stopped with a jerk, and everybody was out in a
twinkling.