Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 23. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, April 6, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: JIM AND CHARLEY IN THE WOODS.]
A RABBIT DAY.
BY W. O. STODDARD.
"Jim," said Charley, "has that dog of yours gone crazy?"
"Old Nap? No. Why? What's the matter with him?"
"Just look at the way he's diving in and out among the trees. He'll run
full split right against one first thing he knows."
"No, he won't. He's after rabbits. We're 'most to the swamp now, and Nap
knows what we've come for as well as we do."
There was no mistake but what he was a wonderfully busy dog just then.
It looked as if he was trying to be all around, everywhere, at the same
time; and every few moments he would give expression to his excitement
in a short sharp yelp.
"He means to tell us he'll stir one out in a minute," said Jim. "It's a
prime rabbit day."
"Are there more rabbits some days than there are others?"
"Easier to get 'em. You see, there came a thaw, and the old snow got
settled down, and a good hard crust froze on top of it; then there was a
little snow last night, and the rabbits'll leave their tracks in that
when they come out for a run on the crust. Old Nap knows. See him; he'll
have one out in a minute."
"Is this the swamp?" asked Charley.
"All that level ahead of us. In spring, and in summer too, unless it's a
dry season, there's water everywhere among the trees and bushes; but
it's frozen hard now."
"What is there beyond?"
"Nothing but mountains, 'way back into the Adirondacks. We'd better load
up, Charley."
"Why, are not the guns loaded?"
"No. Father never lets a loaded gun come into the house. Aunt Sally
won't either. Shall I load your gun for you?"
"Load my gun! Well, I guess not. As if I couldn't load my own gun!"
Charley set himself to work at once, for the movements of old Nap were
getting more and more eager and rapid, and there was no telling what
might happen.
But Charley had never loaded a gun before in all his life. Still, it was
a very simple piece of business, and he knew all about it. He had read
of it and heard it talked of ever so many times, and there was Jim
loading his own gun within ten feet, just as if he meant to show how it
should be done. He could imitate Jim, at all events; and so he thought
he did, to the smallest item; and he hurried to get through as quickly,
for it would not do to be beaten by a country boy. And then, too, there
was old Napoleon Bonaparte--that is to say Nap--beginning to yelp like
mad.
They were just on the edge of the swamp, and it was, as Jim said, "a
great place for rabbits."
"He's after one! There he comes!"
"Where? Where? I see him! Oh, what a big one!"
Bang!
Charley had been gazing, open-mouthed, at the rapid leaps of that
frightened white rabbit, and wondering if he would ever sit down long
enough to be shot at, with that dog less than half a dozen rods behind
him.
He was in a tremendous hurry, that rabbit, and he would hardly have
"taken a seat" if one had been offered him; but he was down now, for Jim
had not only fired at him--he had hit him.
"One for me. I meant to let you have the first shot. Never mind; you
take the next one. Keep your eyes out. He may be along before I'm
loaded."
Old Nap's interest in a rabbit seemed to cease the moment it was killed,
for he was now ranging the bushes at quite a distance.
"Here comes one. Quick, Charley! He's stopped to listen for the dog."
So he had, like a very unwise rabbit, and was perking up his long ears
within quite easy range of Charley's gun as he levelled it.
"Cock it! cock it!" shouted Jim. "Cock your gun!"
"Oh, I forgot that."
But he knew how; and when he once more lifted his gun, and pulled the
triggers, one after the other, they came down handsomely.
"Only snapped your caps?" said Jim. "I never knew that gun to miss fire
before. He's gone."
The rabbit had taken a hint from the bursting of the caps, and was now
running a race with Napoleon Bonaparte across the swamp.
Charley looked at his weapon very gravely, and put on another pair of
caps, remarking, "I never had a gun miss fire like that with me before."
Jim's own gun was ready again in short order, but there was a queer
questioning look stealing into his face, and he said,
"Take mine, Charley; I'll look into that business."
Charley traded guns, and stood anxiously watching for another rabbit,
while Jim "looked into" both barrels of the offending piece, and tried
them with the ramrod.
"Got enough in 'em; no mistake about that. Guess I'd better draw the
charges."
There was a corkscrew on the end of the ramrod for that sort of thing,
and in a moment more Jim had a wad out of each barrel.
"Hullo! Powder? I declare! Why, Charley, you've put your ammunition in
wrong end first. You might have cracked caps on that thing all day. Your
shot's all at the bottom."
"Is that so? Well, you see, I never used that kind of a gun before,
and--"
"Here comes Nap! Big rabbit. There's a chance for you. Take him on the
run."
He tried. That is, he raised Jim's gun, and blazed away with one barrel,
but all the harm he did that rabbit was to knock down a whole bunch of
bright red mountain-ash berries from a branch twenty feet above him.
"Quick, Charley! Your other barrel. He's turning on Nap, around those
sumac bushes."
Charley had held his gun a little loosely, and it had given him a smart
kick in consequence; but he saw what Jim meant, and his reputation as a
sportsman was at stake. He knew, too, that Jim was trying his best not
to laugh, and he was determined to get that rabbit.
"Bow-ow-ow-wow!"
Rabbit and dog seemed somehow to come within range of that gun at the
same instant, just as it went off. It was a grand good thing for old Nap
that his master's city cousin aimed so high, and that the gun kicked
again. As it was, the astonished dog was now making the snow fly in a
whirl, as he dashed around in it after the tip of his tail, where one of
the little leaden pellets had struck him.
That was only for a moment, however, and then he came gravely marching
across the crust, and looked up in the faces of the boys, one after the
other, as much as if he was asking, "Which of you was green enough to
take me for a rabbit?"
He had not been very badly hurt, except, perhaps, in his sense of
justice; but now Charley suddenly gave a shout, and sprang forward.
"I hit him! I hit him!"
"Fact," said Jim; "so you did. Come here, Nap. Poor fellow! How's your
old tail now?"
Charley was back in a twinkling with his own rabbit and the one Jim had
killed, but there was a wide difference between them. There was shot
enough in the latter to have killed half a dozen, while all the mark
they could find on Charley's game was one little spot at the roots of
his ears.
"So much for making the shot scatter. If I hadn't put in a double load
of shot, you'd have lost 'em both."
"There wasn't but one," said Charley.
"I mean that rabbit and old Napoleon Bonaparte. Come on now. Your gun's
all right. Let's try the other side of the swamp."
He pointed out a rabbit, sitting among some bushes, on the way, and
Charley's gun went off finely, now that the powder had been put in
first.
"Don't you ever shoot them when they're sitting still, Jim?"
"No; and you won't when you're used to it. There's one coming for me.
I'll take him as he goes by."
Nap was entirely safe this time. Indeed, he seemed inclined all the rest
of that morning to do his rabbit-hunting at a somewhat unsociable
distance from his friends.
There were plenty of rabbits in the swamp, and the boys were more than a
little proud of their success, especially Charley; but when the time
came for going home, it was curious how ready they both were to go. So
was Napoleon Bonaparte. Truth to tell, it had been hard work, and the
boys declared the rabbit a remarkably heavy beast, for his size, by the
time they reached home with their game.
THE AWAKENING.
BY M. M.
Down all the rugged mountain-slopes,
Through all the mossy dells,
There comes a gentle purling sound,
Like peals of fairy bells.
A tinkling, rippling, gurgling song
Is borne on every breeze;
Mysterious whispers seem to stir
The grim old forest trees.
The tiny grasses wave their hands
And gayly nod their heads
To lazy buds, still half asleep
In cozy winter beds.
And now the riotous sunbeams come;
They draw the curtains wide;
Nor leave untouched the smallest nook
Where sleepy buds may hide.
"Awake! awake!" the whole Earth cries:
"King Winter's reign is past;
His crown he yields to his fairest child,
And Spring is Queen at last."
SALT AND ITS VALUE.
All our young readers know the value of that familiar and useful
substance, salt, which enters so largely into our daily wants, and is so
essential to our existence. Formerly prisoners in Holland were kept from
the use of salt; but this deprivation produced such terrible diseases
that this practice was abolished. The Mexicans, in old times, in cases
of rebellion, deprived entire provinces of this indispensable commodity,
and thus left innocent and guilty alike to rot to death.
This mineral is frequently mentioned in the Bible. The sacrifices of the
Jews were all seasoned with salt, and we read of a _covenant_ of salt.
Salt was procured by the Hebrews from the hills of salt which lie about
the southern extremity of the Dead Sea, and from the waters of that sea,
which overflow the banks yearly, and leave a deposit of salt both
abundant and good.
Among ancient nations salt was a symbol of friendship and fidelity, as
it is at present among the Arabs and other Oriental people. In some
Eastern countries, if a guest has tasted salt with his host, he is safe
from all enemies, even although the person receiving the salt may have
committed an injury against his entertainer himself.
Among the common people all over Scotland, a new house, or one which a
new tenant was about to enter, was always sprinkled with salt by way of
inducing "good luck." Another custom of a curious nature once prevailed
in England and other countries in reference to salt. Men of rank
formerly dined at the same table with their dependents and servants. The
master of the house and his relations sat at the upper end, where the
floor was a little raised. The persons of greatest consequence sat next,
and all along down the sides, toward the bottom of the table, the
servants were placed according to their situations. At a certain part of
the table was placed a large salt vat, which divided the superior from
the inferior classes. Sitting _above_ the salt was the mark of a
gentleman or man of good connections, while to sit _beneath_ it showed a
humble station in society.
Salt is found in greater or less quantities in almost every substance on
earth, but the waters of the sea appear to have been its first great
magazine. It is found there dissolved in certain proportions, and two
purposes are thus served, namely, the preservation of that vast body of
waters, which otherwise, from the innumerable objects of animal and
vegetable life within it, would become an insupportable mass of
corruption, and the supplying of a large proportion of the salt we
require in our food, and for other purposes. The quantity of salt
contained in the sea (according to the best authorities) amounts to
_four hundred thousand billion_ cubic feet, which, if piled up, would
form a mass one hundred and forty miles long, as many broad, and as many
high, or, otherwise disposed, would cover the whole of Europe, islands,
seas, and all, to the height of the summit of Mont Blanc, which is about
sixteen thousand feet in height.
If salt, however, were only to be obtained from the sea, the people who
live on immense continents would have great difficulty in supplying
themselves with it; and here you see how kindly Providence watches over
the comfort of human creatures, for nature has provided that the sea, on
leaving those continents, all of which were once overspread with it,
should deposit vast quantities of salt, sufficient to provide for the
necessities of the inhabitants of those parts. In some places the salt
is exposed on the surface of the ground in a glittering crust several
inches thick; in others, thicker layers have been covered over with
other substances, so that salt now requires to be dug for like coal or
any other mineral. Salt is found in this last shape in almost every part
of the world; though in the vast empire of China it is so scarce that it
is smuggled into that country in large quantities.
[Illustration]
A SUN-DIAL.
Our young friends would, we doubt not, like to know how to make a
sun-dial that will give the time very accurately. Common sun-dials
depend on the shadow of a post, which is thick and heavy, and affords
only a very rough idea of the time. But the one we are going to tell
them about will show the time as precisely as a clock. And it is quite
easy to make. It has, in the first place, a face set up slanting on a
pedestal. The proper slant answers to the latitude of the place. At and
near New York it should be about forty-one degrees from the
perpendicular, or a little more than half upright. The face is divided
into hour spaces, just like the face of a clock, but the whole circle is
not used. A semicircle is all that the sun can traverse, except in the
long days of summer. The fourth part of a circle is about all that can
be used in ordinary windows. It will answer for the hours between nine
o'clock and three. It is divided into six equal parts for the hour
spaces, and each of these is subdivided for the minutes. If the radius
of the circle be one foot, the minute spaces will be about one-sixteenth
of an inch, or about the same as on the face of a watch. The dividing is
easily done with a pair of compasses, a ruler, and a sharp lead-pencil.
Now we will explain the indicator. It is made of three pieces--a base
and two uprights. The base is fifteen inches long, three wide, and
three-quarters of an inch thick. The uprights are of the same thickness,
and about seven inches high. They are morticed into the base, and have
the shape shown in the picture. A hole half an inch in diameter is bored
through the upright at A, and another at B. Over each of these holes
pieces of tin are tacked, with a little hole in the centre about as
large as a pin's head. When the sun-dial is placed in position, the sun
shines through these holes, and makes a little bright circle on the
other upright. The upper hole, A, is for summer, when the sun is high,
and the lower one, B, for winter. The indicator is pivoted by a large
screw to the centre, C, of the face, so that it can be turned round like
the hand of a clock. At the upper end of the indicator a little pointer
is fastened directly over the scale of hours and minutes. A needle, or a
pin with the head cut off, makes a good pointer.
After the sun-dial is made, the next thing is to set it in its proper
position, which is so that when the pointer is at XII. it will also be
directed exactly south, while the lower end of the indicator is to the
north. Then, at noon by sun time, the sun will make its little bright
circle exactly in the middle of the lower upright. A line should be
drawn up and down to show the middle; then this line will cut the sun
circle equally in two. To find out the time before and after noon, the
indicator is moved so that the sun circle will fall on the same middle
line, and the pointer will show the time. This sun time differs somewhat
from clock time. The difference for every day in the year is given by
the almanacs, and very exactly by the Nautical Almanac. This difference
being added or subtracted, makes known the true clock time. Thus, for
the 1st of March, clock time is twelve minutes faster than sun time.
Hence noon by the sun-dial is just that much later than noon by the
clock. Any of our readers who have a little mechanical skill can make a
sun-dial, on the plan described, that, when put in proper position, will
be more reliable than the best of clocks, and that will be found a
convenient means of setting them right. But don't despise the clocks;
for very likely you will have to resort to one in order to get the
sun-dial in position; and then, too, remember that the sun does not
shine all the while, but is very fond of hiding behind clouds.
[Begun in No. 19 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, March 9.]
ACROSS THE OCEAN; OR, A BOY'S FIRST VOYAGE.
A True Story.
BY J. O. DAVIDSON.
CHAPTER V.
FRANK AND THE CAPTAIN.
Austin was still the centre of an admiring group, when a deep voice made
itself heard from behind.
"Say, mates, ye'd better let the lad git on some dry duds, 'stead o'
fussin' over him that way; why, he's as wet as the lee scuppers."
Frank recognized old Herrick, the quartermaster, who had roused him from
his nap on the coil of rope the first night of the voyage.
"Come, youngster," pursued the old man, "hurry up and git a dry shirt
on. What d'ye look so queer for?--hain't ye got nary one?"
Frank explained that his bag and bundle had "disappeared somehow,"
before they had been two days at sea.
"Stolen, I reckon," growled a sailor; "but 'twarn't nobody on the
fo'c'stle as done it, anyhow. It's been some o' them blessed
firemen--thievin' wharf-rats every one!"
"Ay, _they're_ the boys for hookin' things," added another. "Last v'y'ge
I made, there was a fireman we called Sandy, as I'd seen hangin' around
my sea-chest jist afore I missed suthin'. So I fixed a fish-hook to the
lock, and nex' day Mr. Sandy had a precious sore finger somehow; and
from that day for'ard we never called him nothing but 'Sandy Hook'. [A
loud laugh from the rest applauded the joke.] But _I_'ll lend the
younker a shirt, willin'."
"And I."
"And I."
"Well, look'ee here, boys," said old Herrick, "let's give him poor
Allen's chest and kit. _He_'ll never need it more, poor fellow, and I've
heerd him say he'd nary relation ashore. Seems to me Frank's the one as
ought to have it: what say ye all?"
All agreed, and the drowned man's chest was pulled out and rummaged. Out
came caps, jackets, trousers, shirts, sea-boots. Out came three or four
letters and a photograph, which were laid aside to be handed over to the
purser; and lastly, out came a small, well-thumbed Bible of
old-fashioned look, which Herrick (after eying it thoughtfully for a
moment) put into his own pocket.
"Whew! who'd ha' thought Allen kep' a Bible?"
"I _have_ seen him spellin' in it, though, once and again; but he always
shet it up when anybody cum nigh him."
"Well, well, 'twarn't _it_ as brought him his ill luck, anyhow. Now,
young un, let's see how the duds fit you."
But, as might have been expected, everything was "miles too big," and
bagged about him in such a way as to make one of the men remark, with a
grin, that "if he carried so much loose canvas, he'd founder in the
first squall."
"We must take in a reef or two, then, that's all," said Herrick. "Bear a
hand, my boy, and we'll soon turn you out ship-shape."
[Illustration: FRANK AND OLD HERRICK.]
To work went the two amateur tailors, while Frank seized the chance of
taking a good look at his new friend. The old tar was certainly well
worth looking at. Tall, broad-shouldered, active, with his brown hard
face framed in iron-gray hair and beard--a pleasant twinkle in the keen
blue eyes that looked out from beneath his bushy brows, and a kindly
smile flickering over his rugged features ever and anon, like sunshine
upon a bare moor--he looked the very model of one of those sturdy old
sea-dogs who held their own against England's stoutest "hearts of oak"
in the old days of '76.
As he worked on, making stitches which, though they would have horrified
a fashionable tailor, were at least strong and durable, he began to pour
forth a series of yarns, a tithe of which would "set up" any novelist
for life. Fights with West-Indian pirates; hair-breadth escapes from
polar icebergs; picturesque cruises among the Spice Islands; weary days
and nights in a calm off the African coast, on short allowance of water,
with the burning sun melting the very pitch out of the seams--were
"reeled off" in unbroken succession, while Frank listened open-mouthed,
and more than once forgot his tailoring altogether.
But the stroke of a bell overhead broke in upon the talk.
"My watch on deck," said the old man, springing up as nimbly as a boy.
"Now, lad, slip on them togs agin. Ay, _now_ you look all a-taunto."
Frank was indeed improved. His shore clothes, which, with grease,
coal-dust, tar, salt-water, and the rents made by the fight with Monkey,
were (as the boatswain said) "not fit for a 'spectable scarecrow to wear
of a Sunday," were exchanged for a blue flannel shirt and a pair of trim
white canvas trousers. A neat black silk handkerchief was knotted around
his neck, and his battered "stiff-rim" replaced by a jaunty sailor cap.
"Hello, youngster! the cap'n wants yer," shouted a sailor, as Frank
appeared on deck.
"You're in luck, my boy," said Herrick. "Keep a stiff upper lip, but
don't speak unless you're spoken to, and then say as little as you can."
On entering the captain's room Frank found the latter busied in
"pricking out" the ship's course on the chart, and was thus able to
survey him at leisure. Captain Gray's plain black suit and standing
collar, his grayish-brown hair, close-cut whiskers, and mild expression,
made him look more like a preacher than like one who had led a forlorn
hope over the ruins of Fort Sumter, and had captured, single-handed, the
ringleader of a dangerous mutiny in the West Indies. This mutiny,
however, had occurred aboard another vessel, for nothing of the sort had
ever been heard of on his own. The crew "froze to him" in all he did or
said; and any "sea-lawyer" who tried to breed a disturbance soon found
the _Arizona_ too hot for him.
"Talk 'bout the officers as ye like," was the constant saying on the
forecastle, "but nary word agin the old 'deacon.'"
For, strange to say, Captain Gray _was_ a deacon when ashore, and not a
few of his best hands were members of the old white church at home in
Nantucket.
[Illustration: THE CAPTAIN'S ROOM.]
His room was like himself--simple, but perfectly orderly. A neat bed,
with snow-white coverlet and pillow; a little cupboard beside it,
containing a pitcher and wash-basin; a Bible in a neat wooden rack on a
small table; a rifle, cutlass, and two revolvers, all bright and clean,
hanging on the wall above it; a cabinet of books, mostly works of travel
and navigation; several chairs, on one of which lay the captain's coat
and cap; and a curtain along the wall, above which appeared various
articles of clothing hung on pegs.
Presently the captain looked up, and after "figuring" a moment on a slip
of paper, touched a bell. Instantly a panel flew open, and a hoarse
voice shouted, "Ay, ay, sir!"
"How's her head now, quartermaster?"
"S.E. by S., sir."
"All right; keep her so."
"Ay, ay, sir;" and the panel closed again.
Then, for the first time, the captain appeared to become aware of
Frank's presence, and bending forward, fixed upon him a look that seemed
to read his very soul. It was a proverb with the crew of the _Arizona_
that "no rogue could ever face the old man's eye;" and although he was
never known to utter an oath or unseemly word, his very glance had more
effect than any amount of bluster and bullying.
"So you're the boy who oiled the outboard bearing to-day? I hear you've
been fighting with Monkey. We won't say any more about that now, but
don't let it happen again. Can you read and write?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is this your handwriting on the ship's articles, and in the store-room
account-book?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you studied arithmetic? Well, then, work me out this example."
Austin obeyed.
"Right," said the captain, glancing at the result. "After this, Mr.
Hurst [the chief engineer] will put you in the place of the oiler who
was lost this morning. The fifty dollars reward is in the purser's
hands, where I advise you to leave it till you really need it. You may
go now. Good-night."
* * * * *
"What! couldn't they make ye nothin' better'n a kettle-iler?" growled
old Herrick, on hearing the result of the interview; for, like a true
sailor of the old school, he abominated everything connected with "that
'ere new-fangled steam." "A _sailor's_ what you're cut out for, and a
sailor's what every man ought to be as can. Howsomdever, there's no fear
but you'll git on well enough with the old man; for he's a good feller,
if ever there was one. We shipped together for our first v'y'ge, him and
me, when we were no bigger'n you are; and if we ever part comp'ny agin,
'twon't be _my_ fault, anyhow."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
HOUSEHOLD PETS.
An amusing story is told of a modern puss which sailed across the seas.
A Polynesian missionary took a cat with him to the island of Raratonga,
but Puss, not liking her new abode, fled to the mountains. One of the
new converts, a priest who had destroyed his idol, was one night,
sleeping on his mat, when his wife, who sat watching beside him, was
terribly alarmed by the sight of two small fires gleaming in the
doorway, and by the sound of a plaintive and mysterious voice. Her blood
curdling with fear, she awoke her husband, with wifely reproaches on his
folly in having burned his god, who was now come to be avenged on them.
The husband, opening his eyes, saw the same glaring lamps, heard the
same dismal sound, and, in an agony of fright, began to recite the
alphabet, by way of an incantation against the powers of darkness. The
cat on hearing the loud voices felt as much alarm as she had caused, and
fled in the darkness, leaving the worthy pair much relieved.
A short while afterward Puss took up her quarters in a retired temple,
where her "mews" struck terror into the breasts of the priest and
worshippers who came with offerings to the gods. They fled in all
directions, shouting, "A monster from the deep! a monster from the
deep!" to return with a large body of their companions in full war
array, with spears, clubs, and shields, and faces blackened with
charcoal. The cat, however, was too nimble for them, and escaped through
the midst of their ranks, sending these brave warriors flying in every
direction.
That night, however, Puss, tired of her lonely life, foolishly entered a
native hut, and creeping beneath the coverlet under which the whole
family were lying, fell asleep. Her purring awoke the owner of the hut,
who procured the help of some other models of valor, and with their
assistance murdered poor Pussy in her tranquil and confiding slumbers.
But cats, though thus at first misunderstood, were afterward welcomed in
Raratonga, which was devastated with a plague of rats. The missionaries
imported a cargo consisting of pigs, cocoa-nuts, and cats.
A youthful clerk who was once appointed to make out an invoice of
shipments on a Mississippi steamer, was perplexed by the item of "Four
boxes of tom-cats." On inquiry, the mystery was solved. "Why," said the
indignant sutler, "that means four boxes of _tomato catsup_. Don't you
understand abbreviations?"
An amusing reason is given for cats washing their faces after a meal. A
cat caught a sparrow, and was about to devour it, but the sparrow said,
"No gentleman eats till he has first washed his face."
The cat, struck with this remark, set the sparrow down, and began to
wash his face, on which the sparrow flew away. This vexed Pussy
extremely, and he said,
"As long as I live I will eat first, and wash my face afterward."
Which all cats do even to this day.
Here is another cat and sparrow fable:
"I wonder," said a sparrow, "what the eagles are about, that they don't
fly away with the cats? And now I think of it, a civil question can not
give offense." So the sparrow finished her breakfast, went to the eagle,
and said: "May it please your Majesty, I see you and your race fly away
with the birds and the lambs, that do no harm. But there is not a
creature so malignant as a cat; she prowls about our nests, eats up our
young, and bites off our own heads. She feeds so daintily that she must
be herself good eating. Why do you not feed upon a cat?"
"Ah!" said the eagle, "there is sense in your question. I had a worm
here this morning, asking me why I did not breakfast upon sparrows. Do I
see a morsel of worm's skin on your beak, my child?"
The sparrow cleaned his bill upon his bosom, and said, "I should like to
see the worm that made that complaint."
"Come forward, worm," the eagle said. But when the worm appeared, the
sparrow snapped him up and ate him, after which he went on with his
argument against the cats.
HOW HE BROUGHT HIS ENGINE DOWN.
BY CHARLES BARNARD.
It was one of the most difficult parts of the whole line. A range of
high hills lay directly north and; south, and the railroad ran nearly
east and west; that is, the stations on each side of the range of hills
lay east and west, but to cross the range the road wound about in the
most complicated and curious fashion. At the summit of the range, where
the line crossed, there was a water tank, and a cross-over switch, and a
house for the line-man. This place was eight miles from the station, on
the east side, as the crow flies; by rail it was seventeen miles, a
steady up grade all the way. All the west-bound trains had to have help
in getting over this seventeen-mile grade, and for this service there
were several pushing-engines kept there to go behind the trains, and
help them up the grade. When the top of the grade was reached, the
trains went on, for there were no passengers to be taken or left there.
The line-man's house was the only house within five miles, and all the
rugged hills round about were covered with deep woods. The
pushing-engines that came up the grade usually stopped for a moment or
two for water, took the cross-over switch, and ran back on the down
track without using steam, as it was down grade all the way. Of course
all east-bound trains, both freight and passenger, came down without
help, and, in fact, without using steam, except to get a good start at
the top.
One day a long freight train moving west came to the foot of the grade,
and took on an extra engine to help it up the hill. This extra engine
stood on a siding, and when the freight had passed, it drew out on the
main line, and took its place behind the train. It was not coupled to
the train, as its duty was merely to push behind. There were about
thirty-five cars in the train, chiefly empty grain cars going west, and
with a "caboose" behind. There were half a dozen brakemen and the
conductor scattered along the train on top of the cars. All these points
you must remember, to understand what happened soon after.
The line for the seventeen miles up the grade is very crooked, with
several high embankments and very sharp turns. Not a nice bit of road
for a fast run with a heavy train. Nearly all the distance is through
thick woods, so that the brave engineer's deeds were not seen by any one
save the few men who were on the train, and in the greatest peril.
The two engines and long line of cars crept slowly up the grade, and
without accident, till almost at the top. The forward engine reached the
top, and kept straight on; there was no need to stop; and when the train
fairly passed the summit, and began to descend the grade on the western
side of the hills, the pushing-engine merely stopped, and was left
behind. Just then something very singular happened. The engineer
reversed his engine, and started to run back to the cross-over switch
that was just below. He intended to take the down track, and return to
the station, seventeen miles below. The station-master was at the
switch, and had already opened it. Suddenly the fireman gave a cry, and
the engineer looked out his forward window to see what had happened. The
train was still in sight up the line, but it was moving down instead of
up. It had broken apart. A coupling had given way, and some of the cars
were rolling down the grade right on to his engine. He could see the men
on top waving their hands for him to get out of the way. The
freight-cars had broken loose, and were running away. The men on top
could not stop them.
Where would it end? Where would the cars go? Would they ever reach the
bottom of the long grade without jumping the rails at some sharp curve,
only to plunge into the woods down some lofty embankment? No time to
think about that. The thing to do was to get out of the way, and prevent
the runaway train from dashing into the engine. He whistled to the
station-master to close the switch, and give him the clear line. He must
run away from the runaway train. He put on steam, and started down the
grade. The station-master seemed to understand what had happened, and
promptly closed the switch. Faster and faster rolled the cars, and the
engine shot ahead to keep out of the way.
Now for a race for life and death. If he kept ahead, he was safe--safe
from collision, but not from running off the line at the terrible curves
below. On and on the engine flew, down and down through the woods, till
the trees seemed to whirl past in a dizzy dance. Faster and faster came
the train gaining speed at every rail. How the woods roared with the
rush of the runaway cars, and the engine flying on before! The cars
swayed from side to side, and the men on top sat down, as if calmly
waiting their dreadful fate. They swept round a curve, and the engineer
had a chance to look back up the line, and saw to his dismay that there
were more cars behind. A second and shorter train was fast following the
first. The train had evidently broken into three parts, and two of the
parts, one of eighteen cars, and one of nine cars, were tearing down the
grade at forty miles an hour. It was a killing pace, and growing worse
every second. It was sure death to all to keep it up much longer.
Something must be done to save engine, men, and cars.
The engine was using steam, and kept ahead of the cars; but it could not
do so much longer. What if he let them gain on him, and then time the
speed till they collided? It was a desperate experiment, but he would
try it. Slowly and very carefully he took off the steam, and ran slower.
In a moment he had the speeds just alike. Then he made the pace of the
engine a little less, and a little less, while the roaring and swaying
train came nearer and nearer. Both were still flying down the grade at a
fearful pace. The men on the cars watched the engine sharply. They saw
what the engineer meant to do. If he succeeded, he would save their
lives--provided he could let the cars strike the engine, could hitch on,
and then pull ahead before the train behind smashed into them from the
rear. On and on flew train and engine. Slowly they drew nearer, and at
last they bumped with a gentle jar. The fireman was on the pilot all
ready to couple on. He dropped the pin in the coupling, and the men on
the car gave a ringing cheer that was heard above the roar of the train;
and the engineer opened the throttle wide, and away they dashed down the
grade, just in time to escape the train behind.
The men wanted to climb down on the engine to shake hands with the
engineer, but he motioned them back. The danger was not over. One of the
men stood on top of the caboose, with his back to the engine and his
arms extended. One of the others held him up, for the cars swayed
frightfully in the terrible pace they were going. He watched the train
following behind, and with his hands made motions to the engineer to run
slower and slower, till, with a crash, the two parts of the train came
together. This feat was not so successful as the first, as the engineer
could not see the rear cars. The engine was reversed, and the brakes put
on, and they came to a stop--not a wheel off the metals, and not a man
hurt. Two of the cars badly smashed, but that was all. What had
threatened to be a fearful disaster, with a loss of men, engine, and
cars, was only a slight splintering of two cars that the carpenters
could repair in a day. They had a general shaking of hands alone there
in the woods over the engineer's splendid feat; and for months it was
told to listening men in every flag station and freight-house along the
line how the brave and cool engineer brought his engine down the
seventeen-mile grade.
AN OFFICER'S DOG.
BY BOB THORNBURGH.
FORT OMAHA, NEBRASKA, _March 2, 1880_.
I am eight years old, and I have a Gordon setter--liver and white--just
as old as I am. His name is Paul. He was born in Tennessee, and given to
my papa as a puppy, and soon learned to be a good retriever, to carry
newspapers and bundles, and to bring papa's slippers to him.
When I was old enough to crawl, he would watch to see that I did not get
hurt, and if I got too near a flight of steps, he would stand between me
and them, and pull my dress to get me away. If I went to crawl under
him, he would lie down, and over him, he would stand up, and so guarded
me safe till my nurse came, and she often found me asleep with my head
on Paul's back, who kept still till I waked up.
At Fort Foote, Maryland, Paul became an excellent hunter, and was out
with my papa nearly every day, bringing home plenty of quail and other
game. He was a happy dog, taking great interest in garrison life, always
attending retreat and tattoo with the officer of the day, and even going
the rounds with him on his tour of inspection after midnight. No weather
was too bad for Paul, who knew every note of the bugle, and was always
on hand at the proper "call."
When we went to Fort Brown, Texas, Paul staid behind for cooler weather;
then he was sent around by sea from New York. He landed at Point Isabel,
and came over by rail to Brownsville, where my papa met him early one
morning. Paul barked a welcome at once, and was wild with joy when papa
released him from the box in which he had travelled, and let him run
after him out to our quarters. I was still asleep, but Paul knew I must
be near, so he ran all over the house till he found my bed, when he
jumped in, and lay down beside me; it woke me up, and we had a fine
meeting, after six months' separation.
When I went out to ride on my Mexican pony--General Robertson--with our
boy Florentio, then Paul, and then Billy (my goat), we made quite a
procession. Paul always looked so dignified, and never noticed one of
Billy's tricks, who pranced along, butting him in the funniest way, and
trying to attract his attention.
Poor Paul's misfortunes began in Texas, where a large black dog bit him
through the shoulder, causing a lameness that has never left him, and
making him hate all black dogs.
After I went North, Paul went with my papa all over Texas, from one fort
to another, and always rode in his ambulance, which he would leave for
no one but him. At one of the upper posts he once followed a
deserter--who had fed him--and to avoid suspicion, the man put Paul down
a deep hole, and left him. After searching some time, my papa at last
found him; but he was almost starved, as he had had nothing to eat for
several days.
Paul next went with us to Omaha, where he suffered from the great change
of climate, and was too lame for much hunting. He was very jealous of
our two other dogs, Tom and Bill, and would not let them come near my
sister, brother, or me.
Then we went to Fort Steele, Wyoming, where he hunted a little, and
played with me a great deal. The high and dry air did him good. He was
very fond of my little brother George--our "Centennial baby," whose
birthday was the 22d of February. When George and I got the scarlet
fever, Paul would visit both our rooms, and look so sorry for us. After
Georgie "fell asleep," Paul would trot off every day, alone, to the
cemetery, and lie down by his "resting-place" awhile, then get up and
walk home again, his mind satisfied.
Paul has always been an "officer's dog," and never visited the barracks
at any post, and will not follow soldiers, except the one who feeds him.
He dislikes citizens, and any stranger _not_ in uniform arouses his
suspicions at once, and he watches him closely till satisfied he is a
friend of ours; but did he wear _uniform_, it would be all right at
first.
Paul is now at Fort Omaha on the "retired list," and valued for "the
good he has done." He is getting as fat as a seal, and has the gout--my
sister says the go-out. But he's a good old fellow. My grandpa takes
HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for me, and I like it so much I thought I would
like to tell you about my dog.
[Illustration: THE HOBBY-HORSE REGIMENT ON THE MARCH.]
THE HOBBY-HORSE REGIMENT.
When the Thirty Years' War was finally brought to a termination by the
treaty of peace of Westphalia, which was concluded at Nuremberg in 1560,
the authorities of that place ordered in commemoration public rejoicings
of various kinds--banquets, balls, fire-works, etc. But among all these
public diversions, none was more distinguished for singularity and
originality, and perhaps childish simplicity, than the procession of
lads and boys on sticks or hobby-horses. Thus mounted, they rode,
regularly divided into companies, through the streets, and halted before
the hotel of the Red Horse, where was staying the Imperial Commissioner,
Duc D'Amali.
The Duke was so pleased with the novel cavalcade that he requested a
repetition of the same procession at an early day of the following week,
which they performed in much larger numbers. On arriving before his
hotel, the Duke distributed amongst them small square silver medals
which he had in the interval caused to be struck. The coin represented
on the obverse a boy on a hobby-horse with whip in hand, and the year
1560 was inscribed in the centre, while the reverse represented the
double eagle and armorial bearings of Austria, with the inscription,
"Vivat Ferdinandus III., Rom. Imp. vivat!"
THE LITTLE SWISS MAN.
There was once a little Swiss man who had a mind and will of his own. He
was one inch high, and carved out of wood by the busy people of Brienz,
in the long cold winter season. Perhaps the bit of wood out of which he
was cut was unusually hard, and even knotted; but certainly he had more
character than his companions, the pretty birds perched on boxes, the
deer and chamois supporting vases, and all the trinkets made in that
town, where the wooden houses with projecting roofs, and balconies
filled with flowers, on the border of Lake Brienz, are precisely like
the tiny toy mansions in shop windows.
When he was finished, the little Swiss man was very proud of himself. He
wore gaiters, a jacket, a broad straw hat--all in wood--and carried a
creel on his back, as if just about to climb a mountain, laden with
butter, cheese, or wine.
The contents of the workshop were scattered like a handful of leaves in
the wind. The chamois were sent to Paris and London, the little birds on
the boxes journeyed as far as Russia and America, with the luggage of
travellers.
"I am sure to be much admired wherever I go," said the little Swiss man,
with a smile, which was none the less conceited because it was a wooden
one.
Soon he found himself in the window of a shop at Geneva, and he was not
immediately bought, to his own surprise. However, he was in very good
company, although he took upon himself to look down on his companions,
and he only an inch high!
The shop was located on the Rue du Rhone, but the small window where the
toys were exposed opened on the rear. The river Rhone, of a beautiful
color, as pure as ice, quitting the Lake Leman above, swept down under
the bridges past this window, dividing the city of Geneva. Had the
little Swiss man possessed any eyes except for his own importance, he
would have found the view from his shelf interesting. On the right the
Isle Rousseau was visible, where the ducks and swans live; opposite, a
foot-bridge crossed the rushing Rhone; and below were the tall old
houses of the island, with plants in the windows, terminating in a clock
tower. Along the river margin the Geneva washer-women toiled all day,
not like those of America, scrubbing at a steaming wash-tub, but under
long sheds which appeared to float on the surface of the stream, and
dipping their linen in the flowing water.
The little Swiss man could not understand why he was not bought
immediately. To be sure, the next shop displayed sparkling heaps of
crystal, veined agate, and onyx, yet he found himself better than all.
Children paused before the pane, and laughed with delight, pointing out
different objects. Our hero took all this admiration to himself as his
due. On the same shelf was a goose, wearing top-boots, the Ulster of a
tourist, a bag fastened over his shoulder with a strap, and an eyeglass.
Here were to be found also a fat little boy in India rubber, from
Nuremberg; a beautiful pasteboard theatre, with a lady of blue paper
advancing from a side scene; tiny Swiss houses in boxes; two
rope-dancers hanging over their cord; balls and tops. The shelf below
held the most tempting dishes, representing cakes and dessert, in china,
ever placed on the table of a doll-house; wax babies rocking in cradles;
tiny lamps; sewing-machines; miniature goats and cows.
The little Swiss man observed especially a large bear of Berne, wearing
a cotton night-cap with a red tassel, and a white shirt collar, who
carried a hand-organ, and a good St. Bernard dog, with the flask
suspended about his throat, ready to help the poor wanderers lost in the
snow. Beyond was an interesting company of monkeys on a music-box, some
playing harps, others scraping violins in obedience to the head monkey,
who stood in the attitude of a leader of the orchestra, wearing a black
coat with long tails. The vain little Swiss man fancied the passers-by
paused only to admire him.
Night came, and the master of the shop closed the door, placed shutters
before the show-cases, and seated himself at his desk. The little window
in the rear was still uncovered, and revealed the light on the desk
where the master wrote. He heard the scratching of his pen on the paper,
and the patter of rain-drops outside, for the night was stormy. There
was another sound in the shop, softer than fall of the rain, and finer
than chirp of a cricket, or humming sound of a mosquito: the toys in the
window were talking together.
"I have been here for a month, and everybody says I am too dear at five
francs," said the goose in top-boots.
"How could you expect to sell, when I am in the same window?" growled
the bear.
"What do you say?" cackled the goose, indignantly.
"He is only a bear," said one of the rope-dancers, cutting a caper.
"Do you know who I am?" retorted the bear, with dignity. "I am the Bear
of Berne. You will find me on the shield of the city, and kept in a pit
by the citizens to this day."
"What is the use of boasting?" interposed the St. Bernard dog,
pettishly. "The bears of Berne live in idleness; they walk about in a
pit all day, or stand on their hind-legs begging for nuts. A St. Bernard
dog is better employed, I should hope. We save the travellers in the
snow who lose their way on the great St. Bernard mountain. If you wish
to see the dog Barry, who saved fifteen lives, look for him in the Berne
Museum, stuffed, and kept in a glass case."
The bear was very cross at this reply. He pulled his cotton night-cap
over his right eye, which gave him a very savage appearance, and turned
the handle of his organ as if his life depended on it.
"I am not Swiss; I am a German," said the Nuremberg fat boy, puffing out
his India rubber cheeks.
"Hear him!" cried the lady made of blue paper, on the stage of the
little theatre--"hear the rubber boy boast of being a German, when there
are French toys about!"
At this all the little babies made of pink wax, in the cradles, laughed;
and even the goats shook their heads, because they came from the Savoy
side of Lake Geneva, which made them very French in their feelings.
"If somebody would wind us up, we would play," said the monkeys.
The little Swiss man listened.
"I shall not stay in the shop window a month," he said.
His neighbors looked at each other in surprise. On the wall was placed a
card, and on it was grouped a bunch of flowers like white velvet.
"See, we are above the rest of you; we are the Edelweiss," said these
flowers. "We grow high up on the mountains, and as we can only bloom in
such a pure air, a poet has compared us with Gratitude."
At this moment something happened. A boy pressed his face against the
pane, and stared at the toys. Crack!--a stone hit the glass, and the boy
ran away. The wind and the rain swooped in together, upsetting the
theatre, and knocking the dolls about. The master hastened to close the
shutter.
The little Swiss man had fallen outside.
In the morning a porter passing by kicked the tiny bit of wood toward
the parapet, and the next comer sent it spinning into the river.
"Pride goes before a fall," said the St. Bernard dog.
"Why did he feel so superior to the rest of us?" inquired the goose.
"It was all in the grain of the wood," said the leading monkey.