Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]

       *       *       *       *       *

VOL. II.--NO. 88. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.

Tuesday, July 5, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: CANOEING IN NEW YORK BAY.--DRAWN BY J. O. DAVIDSON.]

CANOES AND CANOEING.

BY NAUTILUS.


On the preceding page are several spirited pictures illustrating scenes
during the annual regatta of the New York Canoe Club, which took place
last week in the Upper Bay, off the club-house on Staten Island. The
central picture is of the sailing race, with several of the leading
canoes passing the light on Robbin's Reef. The tiny craft, none of which
is over fifteen feet in length, carry enormous sails for their size, and
only the greatest skill and care on the part of their skippers prevent
them from upsetting. A few years ago, only leg-of-mutton sails were used
on canoes; then came various forms of sprit-sails, lateens, and
lug-sails; until now, for racing purposes and light winds, the sail
known as the "balance-lug," and shown in the illustration, is the most
popular. Although it is a large sail, it is very easily handled, and can
be quickly reefed or lowered. It has two battens, or thin strips of
wood, sewed into pockets running horizontally across it, and these cause
it to set very flat, so that the canoes can sail close into the wind.
With these large sails, the racing canoe must, of course, carry heavy
ballast, which is usually in the form of several bags of shot of from
twenty to fifty pounds weight each, and often the ballast carried weighs
as much as the canoe itself. Sometimes the skipper sits up on the
windward gunwale of his canoe; but as a general thing he is content to
sit as low down in the bottom of his little craft as possible.

The small illustrations show the other races of the regatta, the
paddling, and the upset race. The latter is a race in which, at a
signal, all competing canoes must be capsized so that they are
completely upside down. The owners, who are thus left struggling in deep
water, must right their boats, get into them, if possible, and paddle to
the float, the one who reaches it first winning the race. This race not
only affords much amusement to the spectators, but is excellent practice
for the canoeist, who may thus teach himself how to act when
accidentally upset while on a cruise.

Canoeing is a sport which is rapidly increasing in popularity in this
country, and early next month the Annual Convention of the American
Canoe Association will be held on Canoe Island, in Lake George, where a
large number of canoeists will gather. Much business will be transacted,
a number of races will be contested, and canoes of every known model
will be exhibited during the three days of the Convention. During their
stay the canoeists will camp out on the island, and they expect to have
a jolly good time.

Canoes are of many styles, and range in price from $20 to $100. The
former are canvas canoes, and the latter are of cedar and oak or birch,
beautifully finished in every detail.

A number of boys have already written to the editor of this paper asking
him what style of canoe is the best. This question can only be answered
when it is accompanied by a description of the water on which the canoe
is to be used, and the purposes for which it is wanted. For paddling on
inland waters, and large carrying capacity, the birch is a good canoe;
but being open, and without a keel, it is a "wet" craft, and not adapted
for sailing. The canvas canoe, of which a description and directions for
building have already been given in YOUNG PEOPLE, is also good for
inland waters, is easy to paddle, can carry sail, and being decked over,
will keep a cargo dry. The "Racine" and "Nautilus" canoes are the best
for both paddling and sailing, and will stand heavy weather. The
"Shadow" and "Jersey Blue" canoes are the best for sailing, and are
generally preferred for salt-water cruising.

Any of the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE who desire further information
concerning canoes may address "Nautilus," and he will try to furnish it
through Our Post-office Box.




THE BELL-RINGER OF 1776.

BY MARY A. P. STANSBURY.


  Up from the gateway of the dawn
    The great sun lifted slow,
  And touched with fire the State-house spire,
  To eyes that watched with strong desire,
    A hundred years ago.

  The ringer's foot was on the stair--
    A gray-haired man was he,
  But firm of step and strong of arm,
  With heart that, warm through night and storm,
    Beat time to liberty.

  "I'll climb the tower," he said. "My son,
    Stay thou to bring me word,
  And ere the glorious page be dry,
  My bell and I, 'twixt earth and sky,
    Shall bid the news be heard."

  The boy's face from his father's eyes
    Reflected radiance wore:
  Hour after hour, the annals tell,
  Young sentinel, he guarded well
    The Senate-chamber door.

  Hour after hour the shadow crept
    Along the State-house wall:
  The old man from his lofty seat
  Saw in the street the people meet,
    And looked upon them all--

  Looked down upon the waiting throng,
    And up with burning eye
  To where the great bell silent hung,
  And from the tongue a spider swung
    Her slender thread on high.

  He read the legend graven there--
    His trembling lips were pale--
  "Freedom through all the land proclaim."
  "God keep its name and spotless fame,
    Or rend it with His gale!"

  The gray-haired ringer called aloud,
    And backward thrilled again
  A low vibration on the air,
  As if, aware of that wild prayer,
    The bell had cried, "Amen!"

  Still crept the lengthening shadows on:
    Hope from his sinking heart
  Had well-nigh fled. He shook his head;
  "Alas! they will not sign," he said;
    His clasped hands fell apart.

  But hark! a step that spurned the stair,
    Glad hands that clapped for joy,
  And upward still, and yet more near,
  A young voice shouting full and clear--
    "Ring, father!" cried the boy.

  He sprang aloft; with both his hands
    He grasped the iron tongue;
  The strength of ten was in them then.
  He swung it once--again--again,
    And suddenly there rang

  From every steeple round about
    Such answering triumph-note,
  It seemed that all the world must hear,
  And cheer on cheer, afar and near,
    Went up from every throat.

  Was never such a glorious peal!
    As when a cloud somewhere
  Has burst around o'er all the ground,
  So little rills of mellow sound
    Went trickling here and there.

  And still the people shouted loud;
    No soul had room for fears;
  Even she whose son at Lexington
  The patriot-martyr's crown had won
    Smiled through her falling tears.

  The ringer's hand has turned to dust,
    His hoary head lies low,
  But still the Independence Bell
  Is left to tell who rang so well
    A hundred years ago.




[Begun in No. 80 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, May 10.]

THE CRUISE OF THE "GHOST."

BY W. L. ALDEN,

AUTHOR OF "THE MORAL PIRATES," ETC.

CHAPTER IX.


The Great South Bay, the eastern half of which is often called Moriches
Bay, is separated from Quantuck Bay by a neck of land less than a mile
wide. Through this neck a narrow channel was cut many years ago, and the
ebb and flow of the tides have scoured it out, until it is now ten or
twelve feet deep in many places. The _Ghost_, after passing Sunday at
anchor, sailed gayly up the channel on Monday morning, until she was
unexpectedly stopped by a bridge, and her crew found themselves again
compelled to take the mast out. She was brought close to the side of the
bridge, and made fast, for the tide was running rapidly, and the boys
went ashore to devise means for unstepping the mast.

"It's going to be hard work," said Charley, "but I think we can do it.
We can take the throat halyards and use them for a tackle, and we ought
to be able to hoist that mast out."

"Let's try the plan we tried at the Coney Island bridge," said Joe.

"We had two colored men to help us then," said Charley, "but they're not
here."

"Somebody will be here before long. Look at the road. There's a great
deal of travel on it, and if we wait a while we'll be sure to have some
help."

"But we don't want to ask people to help us," urged Charley. "We ought
to be able to get along without help."

"If people want to help us, why shouldn't we let them?" said Harry.
"Let's get everything ready for hoisting the mast out, and then if
anybody comes along and offers to help us, it would be ridiculous for us
to say no."

By the time the halyards were unrove, a wagon-load of men on their way
to the beach, drove up, and stopped to look at the _Ghost_. "You can't
get that mast out alone," said one of the men; "we'll just lift it out
for you." They did so, and then, after the boat had been brought to the
other side of the bridge, they were about to step the mast, when one of
them said, "If you boys are going right through to Shinnecock Bay, you'd
better not step that mast till you get to the other side of the Quogue
bridge."

"Is there another bridge that we've got to go under?" asked Charley.

"There's one on Quogue Neck, about a mile from here, and it won't be
worth while for you to try to sail that distance, and then have to get
your mast out again."

This was so evident that the boys at once decided to pole across
Quantuck Bay. The mast was therefore laid along the deck, and after
rowing the _Ghost_ through the deep channel into the shallow water of
Quantuck Bay, they poled her swiftly toward the entrance of the channel
that led to Shinnecock Bay.

It was easy enough to see where the entrance to the channel was, but it
was not an easy thing to reach it. The water was so shallow that the
boat continually ran aground. A dozen times the boys had to turn back
and try a new route, and more than once they had to get overboard to
push the boat clear of a sand-bank. It took them nearly four hours to
cross a bay that was less than a mile wide, and when they at last
reached the entrance to the Shinnecock ditch, it was long after their
lunch-time.

"There's another fog coming up," exclaimed Charley, looking toward the
southwest. "This is too bad."

"And what makes it worse is that the wind has all died out," remarked
Tom.

"We have had all kinds of weather since we started on this cruise,"
continued Charley. "Now I made sure that after the gale we had
yesterday, we should have clear weather for a while."

"Let's get through to Shinnecock Bay, anyhow," said Harry. "We may be
able to get as far as the light-house before the fog shuts down on us."

The oars were immediately got out, for the water was now too deep for
poling, and Tom and Harry rowed the _Ghost_ slowly up the ditch. It was
literally a ditch, having been lately dug to connect the two bays,
between which there had been no water communication for many years. Half
way to Shinnecock Bay was the Quogue bridge. Here too the boys met some
gentlemen, who had been snipe-shooting, and who helped them step the
mast. It was not, however, worth while to set the sail, for there was
not a breath of air stirring, and so the oars were resumed, and through
the thick fog the _Ghost_ proceeded into Shinnecock Bay.

"We might as well keep on till six o'clock," said Charley. "If we steer
about north-northeast by compass, we will get somewhere. I don't know
exactly where, but at any rate we can't go far out of our course. The
chart doesn't show any inlet into Shinnecock Bay, so we can't possibly
get out to sea."

"The tide is running into the bay, and it was running pretty strong at
the bridge. We can drift along with it, and row very easy," said Tom.

"How far down is the light-house?" asked Joe.

"Well, it's half way down the bay, so it can't be more than five miles
from where we are. We can certainly get there before night."

So the two oarsmen rowed easily onward, without bending their backs
enough to tire themselves, and frequently resting altogether and letting
the boat drift. Joe grew restless after a time, and threw himself down
on his back on the bottom of the boat, and began to sing. This was more
than Harry could stand, for Joe's singing reminded every one who heard
it, of the singing of a cat on the back fence. Harry tried to poke him
gently with an oar, but unluckily he hit the compass, knocked it over,
and broke it.

"Now we're in a nice fix," exclaimed Charley. "We won't find the
light-house to-night, and the best thing we can do is to try to find the
shore."

"Here's a little cat's-paw," said Tom. "Sha'n't we get the sail up?"

"I suppose we might as well. The wind is probably from the southwest,
for that is the way it was blowing this morning."

The sails were set, and as the breeze increased, the _Ghost_ began to
skim over the water.

"What are we going to do when we reach the east end of Shinnecock Bay?"
asked Charley, after a while.

"Why, I suppose," Harry replied, "we'll have to turn round and sail back
again."

"Why not get over into Peconic Bay, and come home through the Sound?
According to the chart, the two bays are only a mile apart at Canoe
Place, and there is a pond half a mile wide lying just in the middle of
the neck of land that separates them, so we should only have to make two
carries of a quarter of a mile each."

"But how do we know that there isn't a big hill, or something of that
kind, in the way?" asked Harry.

"The reason why it is called Canoe Place must be that the Indians used
to carry their canoes across from one bay to the other. Now if canoes
can be carried across, the road can't be very hilly. The chances are
that we should find nothing worse than a level meadow, and if we could
get a team of horses, I believe we could get the _Ghost_ into Peconic
Bay."

"It strikes me," interrupted Joe, "that we'd better find out where we
are now before we lay plans for what we're going to do next week. We may
sail around in this fog and never find the shore for three or four
days. This must be a pretty big bay, for there's a regular long swell
here."

"Oh, nonsense, Joe! we'll come to land in a few minutes now," replied
Charley.

"You weren't with us the time we were lost in a fog on Brandt Lake.
That's a little bit of a lake, but we rowed nearly all night before we
struck the shore."

"Never mind about that now, Joe," said Tom. "We want to talk about
Charley's plan for getting into the Sound. I'm in favor of it if it can
be done, for it would be a great deal better than sailing back over the
same ground twice."

"Same water, you mean," suggested Joe.

"Of course I do. Boats don't sail on the land, do they? Hullo! here is a
young squall."

"And a very lively one it is. I wish it would blow the fog away,"
exclaimed Charley.

"It's getting chilly," said Harry. "I should like to get ashore and
build a good fire.'"

"What do you say about going home through the Sound, Harry?" asked
Charley.

"I say let's do it by all means, if we can."

"What do you say, Joe?"

"The Sound can't be any wetter than the South Bay, so I'm in favor of
trying it," replied Joe.

"Then we'll consider it settled that we sail to the end of Shinnecock
Bay, and then go to Canoe Place and cross over to Peconic Bay. Slack
those peak halyards a little, will you, Tom. If this squall lasts, we
shall have to put in a reef."

The wind was now blowing so fresh that in almost any other circumstances
the young Captain would have reefed the mainsail, but he was in constant
expectation of reaching the shore. The long swell which gently rocked
the boat was very unlike the short swells of the Great South Bay.
"There's something very strange about this," said Charley. "We must have
sailed at least ten miles, and the bay is only ten miles long. Why
haven't we struck the shore?"

"How long ago was the chart made?" inquired Tom.

"I've had it--or rather father has had it--over three years," said
Harry.

"An inlet may have opened into Shinnecock Bay since that chart was
made," said Tom. "New inlets do open into these bays in winter storms,
for I've read of such things in the newspaper."

"Try if you can touch bottom with an oar. I'm pretty sure you can't,"
said Charley.

Tom tried, but could find no bottom.

"Then, boys, we'll haul down the mainsail and jib, and let her drift for
a while."

[Illustration: OUT AT SEA.]

The _Ghost_ came up in the wind, and the sails were dropped and furled.
"Now," resumed Charley, "I want you to keep cool, and not to let
yourselves get frightened. The truth is, boys, that we are out at sea."

"But we can't be," cried Harry. "There isn't any inlet."

"There must be an inlet," Charley replied, "and we've drifted out
through it. This swell is the swell of the Atlantic. It's impossible to
have anything like it in a little shallow bay."

"What shall we do?" asked the boys, all together.

"We can't do anything till the fog lifts, and we find out where we are.
The compass is gone, we don't know which way the wind is, and we can't
even hear the surf. The only thing to do is to wait for clear weather."

While they were talking, the sea had begun to break into white caps, and
Charley ordered the mainsail to be set close reefed. "If we don't get
some sail on her," he explained, "we shall have the water coming
aboard."

"But we may be running further away from the land all the time," said
Harry.

"Very likely; but we can't help ourselves, for we must keep steerage-way
on her, and keep her from getting swamped. We'll sail as close to the
wind as we can. If the wind is southwest, and if we keep it on our port
bow, we shall be drifting in toward the shore, and if it's blowing from
some other direction, we sha'n't be making headway enough to do much
harm."

"You know best," said Tom. "We'll do as you say."

"I would give almost anything," continued Charley, "if the fog would
only lift. However, the wind must blow it away."

"We must have gone out of the inlet when we were letting her drift with
the tide; but why we didn't notice it I can't understand," remarked
Harry.

"There was no wind at the time, and we were busy talking," said Charley.
"Come to think of it, we never noticed that we couldn't hear the surf
until just now. I remember hearing it when we were in the ditch, but I
haven't the least idea when we lost the sound of it."

"The fog is breaking," cried Joe. "It's clear overhead."

"And the wind is rising fast," added Charley, "and the sea is getting
up. In another half-hour we sha'n't dare to keep the mainsail on her,
for there will be too much of it, even though it is close reefed."

Joe and Charley were both right. The fog was growing thinner, and the
wind was rising, but the wind rose even faster than Charley had
predicted. In the course of the next twenty minutes it was blowing so
hard that it was no longer safe for the _Ghost_ to carry her mainsail.
Charley ordered it to be hauled down, the jib to be set, and the boat to
be put before the wind. The moment the jib filled, the _Ghost_ started
away like a runaway horse, but whether she was heading for the beach or
for the Bermuda islands it was impossible to guess. For another
half-hour the fog hung around them, and then all at once it vanished
like a curtain that is suddenly drawn up. The boys eagerly looked in
every direction for land. None was visible except in the northwest,
where the low gray line of Long Island, and the slender tower of a
light-house, could be faintly seen at a distance of at least twelve
miles. The wind blew directly from the land, and the impossibility of
beating back to the shore was manifest.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




[Illustration: "AND BLEW AS HE'D NOT BLOWN SINCE HE WAS BORN."]

JEREMY BLACK'S FOURTH OF JULY.

BY HOWARD PYLE.


  "I'll make a noise," said Jeremy Black,
            As the days drew nigh
            To the Fourth of July;
  "I'll make more noise than a cannon, or pack
    Of fire-crackers, or pistol, or gun,
    Or cannon-cracker; I'll have more fun,
  With fifty cents, than the rest of the boys
    With a dollar's worth of powder and things--
  With fifty cents I will make more noise
  Than all the rest of the town, by jings!"

            So he went down
            To Abraham Brown,
    The tinker back of the Blue Bell Inn,
  Who mended the pans for all the town,
    And he got him to make a Thing of tin.
  Then both of them tinkered and talked and planned,
    Between the mending of pot and kettle.
  And drew the patterns with chalk in hand,
    Until they managed the thing to settle;

  And all the boys were eager to know
  What kind of a Thing they kept tinkering so.
  Was it anything like a cannon, or rocket,
    Or Roman candle, or pin-wheel, or gun?
  Was it small enough to go into his pocket?
    Or could he lift it when it was done?
  Would the thing go off, or would powder go in it?
  And a dozen of such like questions a minute.
  But Jeremy Black just gave a sly wink,
  And they could not tell what in creation to think.

  So Fourth of July came around at last,
    And the day was fresh and the sun was bright;
  Then just as soon as the night was passed,
    At the earliest dawn of the dewy light,
            The boys turned out
            With noise and rout,
    And loud halloo and lusty shout,
  And racket of crackers, and boom and pop,
    And ringing of bells, and sizz and splutter,
  Till good folks trying to sleep would stop,
    And get up and close the window and shutter.
  But Jeremy Black just turned in his bed,
  And down in the pillow he nestled his head,
            And thought, with a grin,
            How the Thing of tin
    Would make enough noise to drown the din.
  At length he arose and dressed himself.
    And afterward managed his breakfast to eat;
  Then took the Thing from the wood-house shelf,
    And carried it with him out in the street.
  Now all the boys came running to see
  What ever the wonderful Thing could be--
    And, lo! 'twas a fish-horn six feet long.
  "Now stand a little away," said he,
    "And you'll hear a noise so loud and strong
  And deep and mighty that it will drown
  All popping of guns and cannons in town."
  Then all the boys stood back, while he
  Stepped up to the fire-plug under the tree,
  And rested thereon the end of the horn,
    Then took a breath that was long and deep,
  And blew as he'd not blown since he was born;
    And out from the Thing came--never a peep!
  He stopped, and wiped his mouth for a minute,
  Then blew as if the dickens were in it.
  He blew till the hair stood up on his head;
    He blew till everything swam around;
  He blew till his forehead and ears grew red;
    But out of the horn came--never a sound.

  At first the boys were half afraid
  Of the terrible sound that would soon be made;
  But after a while they began to chaff.
  And then to giggle, and then to laugh.
  Poor Jeremy knew that the noise was there--
  It only required a little more air.
  Once more he blows, till his muscles strain:
    Not a sound. And then he began to know,
  Though he had endeavored with might and main,
    The horn was too large for _him_ to blow.

_L'Envoi._

  As one goes over this world of ours
    One frequently finds a Jeremy Black,
  Who overrates the natural powers
    The Fates have granted him--somewhat slack.
  Those people who build, though they may not know it,
  A horn so large that they never can blow it.




WAS THE DAY A FAILURE?

BY KATE R. McDOWELL.


Had you known the Oliver family, many things would have shown you that
Fourth of July was near at hand. Especially did the Oliver wood-shed
herald its approach. That heap of tin cans in the corner had accumulated
by Maggie the cook's promising the boys that she would open all winter
the vegetables, soups, and fruits with greatest care, and see that not
one of the cans found its way into the ash-barrel.

"We can't have too many," said Hugh, taking one from the pile; "for you
know we all agreed that sending them up was the most fun of all last
year. How we did keep them whizzing!"

In another corner stood a good-sized hand-cart.

"Halloo!" exclaimed Hugh; "you've got that on hand in good season. Now
are you sure of the place, Dug? If we go so very early, it may be rather
dark, you know."

"Oh, I can find it. I was there with Eugene the day before he went away.
It's where a basket shop used to be, and the chips are in piles, some of
them three feet high. We couldn't ask anything better--ash, too, regular
blazers. They'll make a glorious bonfire."

"And as we are going in to Boston in the evening to see the fire-works,
why, we must have it early as we can in the morning," remarked Hugh.

The next morning, as Douglas fancied himself on the point of lighting a
huge fire-cracker that was to send up an enormous can with a picture of
thirty-eight tomatoes on it, Hugh substituted a sound shaking for the
expected explosion.

"Hush," said he, in answer to Douglas's remonstrances. "It's been
raining."

"_Raining!_" repeated Douglas, in a tone as though rain on the Fourth of
July were an impossible occurrence, and as unseasonable as a snow-storm.
"Raining!"

Five minutes later, Hugh and Douglas were out of sight and hearing, as,
each with a hand on the cart, they ran lightly down the hill, and turned
off at the first side road, walking and running by turns until Douglas
announced, "Here we are!"

"And so evidently is somebody else," added Hugh, as two little figures
were noticed by the chip pile, rapidly filling a large basket.

"They've come!" the boy had just whispered to his sister.

"Halloo!" cried Douglas. "Goin' to celebrate?"

"No, sir," in a girl's voice; "we uses 'em, sir."

Whether the announcement that any one could be gathering chips without
intention of celebrating was a revelation to Douglas, or whether the
"sir" pleased him, is uncertain, but something had the effect of making
him ignore Hugh's "Do come ahead, Dug, and help fill," as, suiting
action to word, his brother threw an armful of the light wood into the
cart.

"You don't get up so early as this every morning?" queried Douglas, with
surprise.

"Only since the day we heard you and another talk of coming here to get
wood for to-day. Since then we've worked pretty steady," said the girl,
with a weary smile.

"Hear this, Hugh, will you!" cried Douglas. "They overheard Eugene and
me planning to come here, and we're taking their wood."

"Oh no, you're not," said the girl, quickly. "It's nobody's but those as
gets it."

"Of course, Dug," frowned Hugh, impatiently. "Don't stand talking there.
Come on and fill, can't you. They've probably their wood-house crammed
by this time, anyway."

"Oh no," said the girl, turning to Hugh. "It's so far, sir. We can't lug
more nor ten baskets a day."

"Far!--where?" still questioned Douglas, as Hugh went to work again.

"You'll see when the fog lifts. The red cottage by the brook."

"What! not 'way down by the mill?"

"Yes, sir," said the girl, as she shook the basket, and piled some more
chips on top. "Come, Dick, this is your side," and off they started in
the light rain that was beginning to fall.

"Poor little things," said Douglas, "I haven't the heart to take their
wood," and he threw some chips indifferently into the cart. "Oh, Hugh,
I've a plan," and his face lit up. "Let's give 'em a lift--this cartful;
will you?"

Hugh deliberated. It was raining. The bonfire might as well be given up.
As the cart was filled, the mill children might as well have it. He only
wished it had been his plan instead of Douglas's.

It seemed but an instant later that the chips were shaking merrily in
the cart, as the boys started to overtake the little laborers; and they
were not entirely quieted when both children were carefully lifted to a
seat and told to hold on firmly.

"Ain't it splendid!" whispered Dick Ransom, loudly, to his sister. "Now
I can play on me bones and hunt fire-crackers all day; can't I, Jinny?"
almost losing his hold in delight at thought of a holiday. "Oh, _ain't_
it splendid! We're 'goin' as fast as Dr. Phisterer, ain't we, sis?"

Jenny smiled. "Won't granny be pleased?" was all she said, while the
chips seemed to dance again at her thought.

As you may have guessed, more than one load found its way to the red
cottage that morning. Three times did the Oliver boys heap the cart, and
three times did little Dick Ransom fancy he was Dr. Phisterer as he sat
perched up on the chips, having the best Fourth of July he had ever
known.

As the Oliver family was breakfasting it commenced to rain hard.

"The day is going to be a perfect fizzle," announced Hugh. "It'll be no
fun staying out; besides, nothing will go off. Imagine being cooped in
the house all day!"

The twins looked disconsolate.

"Cheer up," said Douglas. "We can put off some torpedoes in the attic if
it comes to the worst; and, best of all, we'll be back with the two
Wills in less than no time, and they always think up something."

The boys were at the station soon after, Hugh keeping two bombshells in
readiness to be fired the moment the two Wills got off the train.

"I'll signal," said Douglas, his eyes on the off-coming passengers; but
he had no need, for there was no Will Edson and no Will Hammond aboard.

"Missed the train," decided Douglas, a shadow on his usually happy face.
"Let's see if there's a telegram. Good! there is," as the operator
handed him an envelope.

Both read it, and each looked blankly at the other.

"Well, I never thought of their _not coming_."

"A perfect fizzle," said Hugh, pocketing the bombshells with a frown of
disappointment. "The whole day--just as I told you."

"We may as well go home"--in Douglas's voice, but without its usual
ring, as they slowly left the waiting-room.

"We mustn't let the weather get the best of us," said Douglas, as they
reached home. "We can at least give the others a good time."

So they went up stairs, and played nine-pins with the boys, and were
targets for their torpedoes, until the attic rang with merry shouts.

"The little ones are having quite a day, after all," thought Mrs.
Oliver, a pleased smile on her face, "and Bridget at last has that
long-promised _morning out_."

Another disappointment came with dinner--a dispatch from Mr. Oliver,
stating that he was called on urgent business out of Boston, and
preferred the boys did not come into town alone.

"That caps the climax," said Hugh, abruptly leaving the table. "And it's
clearing up, too. I should think papa might take one holiday in the year
for a change."

The boys had their heads together after dinner. Hugh had made up his
mind to accept the situation; indeed, he had done more than that in
going on with the train of thought that Douglas's unselfish suggestions
of the morning had opened to him.

"Why, it's a splendid idea, Hugh," Douglas was saying. "Maggie will get
us cloths and water, and we'll lock the library doors."

"They're fixin' the magic lantern," said the twins, as the children
stood three or four deep outside the door.

"P'r'aps tabberlows," ventured little Edith, remembering her success at
the Child's Hospital benefit, and determining to stay within call all
afternoon.

"Listen," advised the twins.

"Shakspeare here," they heard in Hugh's voice, "and Dickens there.
That's just exactly as they were."

"It's tabberlows," sobbed tired Edith on nurse's shoulder, as they all
went up for an afternoon nap.

"Yes," said the twins, as they toiled up the stairs after her. "We
remember that very one."

It was about four o'clock when Mrs. Oliver came to the door. "What is
going on?" she inquired. "Can not you let me in? I've some news for
you."

"We're just about through," they called, and a moment later opened the
door.

The mother's face expressed just the surprise and pleasure the boys had
looked for.

"If you knew how I had been dreading it," said Mrs. Oliver, after they
had talked it all over, "I could give you some idea of the relief I
feel. I'd been thinking that I must send for Mrs. Sanleitner, and give a
day right up to it, have every book taken out, the shelves dusted,
and--But you've done it all," her eyes again on the boys' work of a few
hours past; "and now that the children are asleep, Bridget can come in
with her chamois, and polish the doors."

"Yes, do have her," urged the boys, "and give papa a thorough-going
surprise."

"To match the one I have for you," said Mrs. Oliver. "Dr. Phisterer has
been here, and asked if I had two boys that would answer to his
description, and I had to confess I had. He then went on to say that he
and Freddy were going into town at half past four, and asked if he might
take charge of my boys as well."

"You don't mean it! Hurrah!" they cried, waving their dusters. "Hope
he'll take the bays; they're awfully fast."

"I don't care what he takes, so long as we get in town in time for the
fire-works. Dr. Phisterer evidently thinks it is going to clear."

"Clear!" exclaimed Mrs. Oliver, throwing open the blinds. "You're so
shut up in here, you don't know the state of the weather."

The sun had come out.

"I wonder if we'll have time-- But there he is this minute;" and Douglas
rushed out on the piazza, calling, "Dick! Dick!"

The boy approached slowly, his hands behind him. "It's one as has been
used," he said, producing a fire-cracker he had picked up in the yard.

"I didn't call you for that," said Douglas, hurriedly. "Didn't know you
had it. Here are some good ones--wait; these too. Give some to--"

But two bare feet were flying in the air. The putting into Dick Ransom's
hand of three unopened packs of crackers had deadened his sense of
anything else. He gave a sort of a whoop as he darted down the mill
road, which had the effect of rousing the neighborhood, and of making
scores of flying feet the principal things to be seen.

The Oliver boys talked in something of this strain when they got back
from town that night:

"Didn't those horses fly!"

"Isn't Dr. Phisterer splendid!"

"I never knew Fred was so nice a fellow."

"Will you ever forget the surprise of the two Wills as we dashed by the
Edson's?"

"'Twas rich; and then our meeting father before we'd gone a mile."

"And with Colonel Yale! I thought of the library right away."

"So did I; and you heard how delighted papa was; said he'd been thinking
all the way out if he'd only attended to having those books
straightened; for Colonel Yale has one of the finest collections, you
know."

"Oh yes; but do you know," interrupted Douglas, "that we haven't yet
touched upon the best thing of all?"

"What do you mean?" asked Hugh.

"Why, when they put off that big piece of 'General Washington on his
Horse,'and the crowd were all 'Ohs' and 'Ahs' over it, I thought, 'If
mamma could only be here!' for 'twas so much grander than I expected;
and then to look up, and see not only her, but papa and Colonel Yale,
each holding up one of the twins, why, I just joined in the
hip-hip-hurrah with all my might."

"The twins' verdict of the day wasn't bad?"

"What was it?"

"That they didn't believe anybody could ever have a better _Fourth o'
Ju' New-Years_."




[Illustration: GRANDPA'S DRUM.--DRAWN BY J. E. KELLY.]




[Illustration: YOUNG SOLDIERS.--"CHARGE BAYONETS!"]




FOURTH OF JULY IN KERIM.

BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.


"Now, you boys, what on airth are you a-doin' with that there ellum?"

"Is that you, Squire Garnsey?" responded a very youthful voice from the
darkness, many feet above the pile of rubbish at the foot of the tree,
and against which more was at that moment heaping. "Now, Squire, don't
you think this dead wood has stood here long enough?"

"What are you a-doin' with it?"

"We're going to let all Kerim know Fourth of July's come, quick as it
strikes twelve."

"That's it, is it? I declare! what a swarm of 'em there is, and how they
do work! Never saw the like of it. It's a fact, though, that old dead
ellum's been an eye-sore on the green these three year."

It was not far from the centre of the broad but somewhat ill-kept open
space in the middle of the village of Kerim, and the fact of its
deadness may have been due to its use as a hitching-post for country
people coming to church on Sundays, and for the academy boys to try
their knives on of week-days. It was about thirty feet high, but it had
never borne any fruit. Elms rarely do, but there were boys enough in
that one now.

"Squire Garnsey," piped another voice at his elbow, "they're a-greasin'
the tree so's it'll burn good."

"I declare! And I kem out here on purpose to put a stop to bonfirin'.
It'll make the tallest kind of a blaze, it will."

He was a tall man himself, and broad-shouldered, and grim-faced, but he
was puzzled for once. What should he do? All the great men of Kerim had
solemnly decided that there should be no Fourth of July that year; no
fire-works; no bonfires; no parade; no cannonading; no anything. People
with too much patriotism were free to go over to Plumville, three miles
east, and join the goings on there; but Kerim was to be a quiet village
all day.

The boys had not been taken into that council of great men. Not one of
them had been permitted to utter his voice in it; but they all uttered
as much voice as they had as soon as the tyrannical decision was made
public. Even now another of the shadowy speakers in the dead elm-tree
defiantly announced:

"Yes, sir. We've been a-gatherin' of grease and tar and things these
three weeks. It's after 'leven o'clock, now. Just you wait and see."

"I declare! Here's another lot of 'em comin'. There's a heap of public
spirit into our boys. My grandfather he fit at Bunker Hill. I say,
boys?"

"No, we won't. It's pretty nigh greased now, and the branches are tied
full of things. It'd be a shame not to fire it off."

"So it would--so it would. Washington was a great man. I say, boys,
there's a half-bar'l of tar over in my wood shed, and it's more'n a
quarter full. If you'd git it, and paste the trunk of that ellum with
tar--"

"Hurrah for Squire Garnsey!" shouted a pretty deep voice near him.
"That's the talk. We're going to have a celebration tomorrow, Squire.
None of our boys are going over to help the Plumvillains have a good
time."

"I like that. I'm for home industry myself."

Four boys and a wheelbarrow were already on a clean run toward the
Squire's front gate, across the green; but just then the sharp piping
note at his elbow broke out again with, "Yes, sir; and Mr. Mortis is
going to give us a 'dress, and Bill Allen's going to read the Decoration
of Inderpendence."

"Good!" again remarked the Squire. "I don't know exactly what to make of
myself, and I don't know what folks'll say, and somehow I feel as ef I
was beginnin' not to keer. Boys, it'll be Fourth of July in less 'n half
an hour."

"We're 'most ready. We've kept still about it, Squire, but we've laid up
stuff to burn, we have."

The pile at the foot of the old elm looked like it, and no one could
guess how they had daubed the branches. That, too, was nothing to the
way they daubed the trunk of it after the tar came.

"Look a-here! how are we to get down? We can't climb over all that tar."

"Stay up there," responded the deep tones of Mr. Mortis, the "speaker of
the day" that was to be. "You'll look first-rate when you're lighted
up."

"I declare!" exclaimed Squire Garnsey. "Boys, throw a rope around that
lower limb. They'll have to come down sailor fashion."

So they did, and no less than seven boys, of different sizes, were
compelled to make use of that rope. There was evidently a good deal of
"public spirit" among the younger generation of the people of Kerim.

The older people, with the single exception of the broad-shouldered
Squire, had gone to bed at a healthy hour that evening, well assured
that for once no patriotic racket would disturb their open-windowed
slumbers. A quieter village there was not in the whole United States
until just before the town clock prepared for the duty of telling them
it was midnight.

The clock got ready. So did the Kerim boys. Squire Garnsey remarked,
"I'll walk away a little, boys, so's I can see it burn."

Then a dozen matches were scratched at the same moment, and as many
wisps of tarred paper were lighted and put in positions to do the most
good.

How they did flash up, and how the fire did run! It was well there were
no boys in that tree.

Bang! bang! bang!

"If they haven't managed to git out three anvils!" remarked the Squire.
"Hear them guns. Crackers, too. Tin horns. They're workin' a hoss-fiddle
on the back fence. There never was sech a racket in this 'ere town
before. No, nor sech a blaze either. It beats a house a-fire."

So it did, but there was no insurance on the old elm.

When the good and quiet people around that square, on all sides except
the one where the meeting-house and the academy stood, sprang out of bed
and rushed to their windows, you could have read print, if it were large
enough, anywhere about the middle of the green. And every head out of
every window had something special to say about "those boys."

Up shot the flame over the pile of boxes and barrels, and the heap of
broken boards and fence rails; up the well-tarred trunk, with a fierce
fizzing and spluttering, and then it sprang along the boughs, and
mounted and mounted, until every head at the windows was compelled to
remark, also, "What on earth's got hold of that there tree?--it burns as
if it was rosin."

Fourth of July had come, and all Kerim knew it; but before
breakfast-time it was equally well known that the boys were going to
have a "celebration," with all the regular honors.

"Mr. Mortis?" said everybody; "why, he can't make a speech. Bill Allen?
It ought to have been one of the trustees, or somebody."

Perhaps so; but the old folks had thrown the day away, and the boys had
picked it up, and they worked at it like a swarm of bumble-bees.

By noon there was a big lumber wagon pulled out close to the spot where
the elm-tree had been.

It was a curious fact, but there were numbers of other wagons pulled up
near that one before two o'clock, and a good many of the Kerim people
had unexpected visitors of country friends from beyond Kerim, who said
"they'd a sight ruther stay and hear the home doin's than go on to
Plumville."

There was public spirit in them, and the thing spread so fast that when
two o'clock came, and Mr. Mortis climbed into the wagon, followed by
Bill Allen, and as many more of the boys as could get in, every man in
Kerim who thought himself at all eloquent envied them the very
respectable audience gathered around the elm-tree ash heap and the
"celebration."

Mr. Mortis was barely twenty, but he was studying law, and the boys had
picked him out because, as Bill Allen said: "He's got more voice than a
bull. What we want is noise."

They got it from Mr. Mortis, and the whole crowd got a big surprise with
it, for the "'dress" was wonderfully good. Bill Allen, too, did his part
well, and read the "Decoration of Inderpendence" as if it were something
in which he took a personal interest. Old Squire Garnsey stepped right
forward at the end of it to say,

"Bill Allen, you read that thing just prime."

"I didn't make it up, though."

"And, Mr. Mortis, I'm proud of you. All Kerim is. We'd no idee you could
do it."

"I knew it was a good one," said Mr. Mortis, calmly. "It's one Governor
Skyward made ten year ago. There wasn't any use of me trying to get up a
better one, so I took his'n. Guess I made everybody on the green hear
it."

That was precisely what he had done for the great speech of Governor
Skyward, and it was more than anybody else had ever done for that crowd.

As for the boys, they had won the day. That is, they had kept it from
the very minute it began--only there was no dead elm-tree left in the
middle of the green.

"There'll be heaps of public spirit in Kerim after this," said Squire
Garnsey to the other trustees; but they all shook their heads very
solemnly, and made no reply.




CHERRIES.

BY EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER.


  Who can tell how cherries grow,
  From the blossoms' fragrant snow;
  From the balls of green that hide
  Under glossy leaves, spread wide,
  Till they glisten, every one,
  Red as rubies in the sun;
  Swelling, warming, till they shine,
  Filled with summer's rosy wine?
  Five little babes in a basket,
    Up on a swinging bough:
  "Open your mouths," said the mother,
    "Here is a feast for you now."
  Mother and babies think it prime
  That cherries ripen in robin-time.
  Five curly heads at a window,
    Watching the merry crew:
  "Don't you wish we were birds in a nest,
    So we could have some too?
  Wings are better than legs to climb,
  And robins are thickest in cherry-time."




[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 87, June 28.]

AUNT RUTH'S TEMPTATION.

BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE.

CHAPTER II.


The final morning arrived at last, and as I drove away in papa's gig all
the children crowded the gateway, and Winifred, in their midst, strained
her eyes to see the last of me, and smile and wave a good-by.

Mrs. Ludlow's brother-in-law was to meet me at the station: he was on
his way from Albany to New York, and had agreed to look out for me at
C----, as the train passed through our town. The cars had hardly
stopped, when a tall young man appeared on the platform, and was soon
shaking hands with my father.

"I haven't seen you since you were a boy," my father said; "but I don't
see that you have changed much. Now, Mr. Ludlow, will you take charge of
my little girl?"

Mr. Ludlow declared himself well pleased to do so, and he was so genial
and good-humored that I quickly got over the sudden shyness which had
taken possession of me, and in half an hour I felt as if I had known him
all my life. He seemed a little old, it is true; he was twenty-eight,
and he had a dark, handsome face, with bright eyes and a merry laugh. I
was perfectly astonished when I heard he was preparing to be a
clergyman. I was soon chatting comfortably with him, and had told him
all about our home and the boys, and Winny and my father, and how
delighted I was to go to New York.

"And is Winny the housekeeper?" Mr. Ludlow asked. He knew that mamma was
dead.

I started and laughed. "Why, she is our sister," I said. "But then," I
added, "she does everything for us."

How well I remember our arrival! It was nearly dark, and the city
confused me with its many sights and sounds, the endless streets, and
lamps, and throngs of people. A carriage was waiting for us at the
dépôt, and we drove through a great many streets, stopping finally
before a big brick house with a low doorway, near Washington Square.

I had never been in New York before, and could not remember my one visit
to Albany, so the fine town house, the long beautiful hall we entered,
seemed to me like something I had read of or dreamed about. There was a
great staircase winding away to the left, and down this Cousin Mary came
hurrying, and I remembered having seen her at my mother's funeral--a
sweet, gray-haired lady, with a faded pretty face, a great deal of old
lace about her dress, and a quiet, friendly voice. Other voices sounded
in a room near by; young voices laughing and talking; and Cousin Mary
took me into a large beautiful room with fire-light dancing on the
walls, and where half a dozen gay people were playing some merry game:
they all stopped short as we entered.

"This is Ruth Grahame," said Cousin Mary; "your cousin from C----,
Milly."

Upon this, Milly Ludlow came forward and welcomed me kindly. She was a
tall girl about my own age; not so fashionably dressed as I had expected
a New York cousin to be, but very lady-like and gentle in her manners.
She soon introduced the others--Gray Roberts, Nelly and Jessie Price,
and Jack Ludlow; they were all cousins, and all seemed delighted to see
Mr. Ludlow, who was soon discussing the game with them, and entering
into all the fun like a school-boy. What an evening that was! I was soon
thoroughly at home, and very talkative, I assure you, for in our own
house I had been encouraged to talk a great deal too much. I was to
sleep with the Prices in a big room up stairs, and I was very much
struck by their fine clothes and city-bred manners when we were dressing
for the late dinner at which we were all to be present. The Prices were
rather silly girls, but good-natured, and they seemed interested in all
I had to say, though they criticised me very freely, and one said I must
"friz" my hair, and the other asked if I wore French heels, and openly
lamented the fact that I did not.

After dinner there was a most fascinating hour. Mr. Ludlow whispered to
Milly, and then she came up to me in the parlor, saying that we were all
to slip up to the attic, where they were rehearsing a little play
intended for a surprise to Cousin Mary and Cousin Henry on their wedding
anniversary. The elder sisters, Kate and Mary, were in it as well, and
we found them in the attic, lighting it up, and putting away some of the
costumes. That attic seemed to me a wonderful place: it extended over
the entire house, and the roof was higher than in most attics, for it
had been built with a view to being a play-room, long ago, when Kate and
Mary Ludlow were small. At one end a temporary stage was erected, and
preparations made for the curtains at either side and in front. All the
final work was to be done the day before the performance. As soon as we
were in the attic, Mr. Ludlow suggested that some part should be found
for me. Kate Ludlow had written the play, and there was a part adapted
specially for each person; but she very good-naturedly told her uncle
(young as he was, he was her uncle) that she would insert something for
me. I was fluttered with delight, and had sufficient confidence in
myself to feel sure it would be an easy matter to perform with credit to
all concerned. The story of the play was a domestic one. Kate introduced
a part for me with Jessie Price--a dialogue between two friends of the
heroine, rather artfully contrived to give me something to do, and at
the same time work out the plot. Jessie acted very badly, so that my
awkwardness showed the less, and I was rather well satisfied with the
prospect, and wildly delighted by the idea of wearing one of Kate's
longest silk gowns, and a white bonnet with a yellow bird in it.

We spent a merry enough hour in the attic, and were summoned there the
next morning and evening. All this time the novelty of town life, the
fascination of the theatricals, the talks with girls like the Prices,
filled me with a sort of intoxication of delight. Sometimes I used to
find Mr. Ludlow watching me very closely; sometimes I half fancied he
looked disapprovingly at some of my manners and my remarks; but I was
too full of self-conceit to think he could really find fault with
anything about me. It was all so delightful: the little councils in the
attic, sometimes about the acting, sometimes about the dresses; then, as
the day approached, the innumerable suggestions for "stage effects." We
were always scampering up there for this and that, and the fact of
concealing our purpose from Cousin Mary lent a new zest to our delight.
Now all this time I could not help feeling what a strong influence Mr.
Ludlow was in the little circle: with all his fun and good-humor, he had
a certain dignity which made people turn to him with a peculiar respect.
If ever I felt abashed, it was when I met his grave kindly glance; if
ever I stopped for an instant's criticism of my silly selfish self, it
was when I thought of what he would think of me. The secret of it was
that with all his love of honest fun and pleasure, he had higher lights:
he was seeking something of which I had never thought; he had a purpose
in his life which dignified it, so that in his lightest moments I felt
that his influence was a strong and serious one. At times he encouraged
me to talk to him, and I was startled one day by overhearing him say to
Kate, "I think you don't do Ruth justice; I believe there is more in her
than that."

I fancied directly that this referred to my acting, and the only result
was an increase of effort when it came my turn to appear at the
rehearsals.

The morning of the eventful day arrived. It had been agreed that we were
to marshal our forces at ten o'clock in the attic, and all help in the
adjustment of curtains, seats, lights, etc. It was a time of intense
fascination. We girls talked and laughed gayly, enjoying everything; and
I can hear now the sound of the hammer as Mr. Ludlow nailed up this and
that; the creaking of the boards as we ran across them before the
druggeting was tacked down; the voices of one and another asking
questions, offering advice, expostulating, criticising: it was a most
enjoyable morning. We had a luncheon sent up to us in the attic, and I
think that was the best of all; it was like a picnic, except that there
were hot dishes, and a servant to run up and down. There was to be a
dance after the play, and a supper; but that luncheon seemed to me a far
more delightful banquet than the one to be spread that evening in the
beautiful dining-room down stairs. Yet in my mind I kept anticipating
the glories of the evening, the dress I was to wear, my speeches, the
whole effect, finally the dance, with a real band of musicians, and the
supper, at which we young people were to have a table all to ourselves.
By three o'clock our luncheon was over, and Kate, who was arranging the
stage for the first scene, found she needed a book which was in the
parlor. She turned to me. "Come, Ruth," she said, a little sharply, "you
are doing nothing. Will you run down and get me that big book on the
parlor table?"

I assented willingly enough, and ran down the four flights of stairs,
scarcely thinking what I was doing, until I reached the parlor. I was
just going into the room, my hand was on the handle of the door, when I
saw through the glass of the front door the postman's figure outside.
Even now I can see the street with its covering of snow, the wide heavy
doorway, the dim hall with the winding staircase at the back, and I can
picture in fancy my own girlish figure standing there, not knowing that
one of the most important moments of my life had come. The postman
dropped a big letter into the box. I went forward, and taking it up, was
pleased to find on it papa's handwriting addressed to me. No one was
about the hall, the parlor into which I hurried was equally desolate,
and I sat down to read my letter before going up with the book Kate
wanted.

[Illustration: RUTH READING HER LETTER.--DRAWN BY E. A. ABBEY.]

I opened my letter with feverish haste, but the first glance dashed my
good spirits. I read the few lines with a sinking heart, and I can
almost see them now hurriedly traced across a bit of paper:

     "MY DEAR LITTLE GIRL,--You will know that I feel very sorry to cut
     short your visit, but Winny is not well, and Joe is ailing, and I
     am afraid you must come home at once. You will get this letter
     about three o'clock on Tuesday, and Mr. Barlow is coming up from
     New York on the six-o'clock train; so if Cousin Mary will see you
     safely to the dépôt, Mr. B. will look out for you.

  "In haste, your loving
  FATHER."

For a moment I sat still in the big arm-chair, staring at the letter,
not realizing just what it meant. Then I glanced at the clock. Yes, it
was only half past three. There was time to say good-by to them all, and
get down to the dépôt long before six; and as I said this mechanically
to myself, I burst into tears--selfish tears, I regret to say; tears not
for Winny and Joe at home, but for my great disappointment. It was
while I was crying that I began to think it would not really be
_necessary_ for me to go--no one knew of papa's letter; why need I tell
them until tomorrow? Surely twenty-four hours more or less could make no
difference. Winny would be the last person in the world to wish to spoil
my pleasure this way; and then she could not be _very_ ill, or papa
would have said so. There was Hester, our old nurse, always ready to
come up from the village when she was needed. As the temptation to
conceal my letter and disobey papa came upon me, I grew more sharply
conscious of everything around me. The fire burned more brightly, the
ticking of the clock seemed louder, and the snow-flakes fell against the
windows of the long room whiter and softer. Five minutes of selfish
reasoning passed, and then I had begun to see in myself only an injured
and reasoning person. I would wait until the morning.

With this decision, I crushed the letter into my pocket, seized the book
Kate wanted, and hurried out into the hall. But I never shall forget how
like a watched and guilty being I felt. The stairs looked shadowy; I
almost longed for courage to go into the attic, read them all my letter,
and say good-by; but the first sight of the gay little company, the
mimic stage, Milly seated on a ladder sewing curtain-rings, Jessie Price
trailing up and down the "boards" rehearsing her part, Kate and Mary and
Mr. Ludlow arranging candles, dispelled my conscience-pricks; it was too
fascinating to be left.

Milly looked up from her sewing. "Well," she exclaimed, "what has kept
you down stairs so long, Ruth?"

I felt confused, but tried to answer carelessly: "Oh, I was in the
parlor."

Mr. Ludlow turned around suddenly. "Why, was that Ruth's voice?" he
exclaimed.

I felt my cheeks flame, but I laughed, a little defiantly.

"Certainly, sir," I answered. And then Mr. Ludlow looked at me gravely
for a moment, but said no more.

"Here, Ruthie," Kate said, "go and find that other red curtain, will
you, like a dear?"

I was searching for it behind the scenes, when I heard the voices
outside discussing some expected letters. Then Mr. Ludlow called out,
"Ruth, did the postman come while you were down stairs?"

For an instant my heart beat so wildly that I could not speak; but one
idea possessed me: I must not admit to having received papa's letter.
All my moral courage fled, and scarcely knowing what it was that I was
saying, I answered, "No, sir."

There was a silence which it seemed to me I could not endure. Everything
seemed to stand still. I had told my first and last lie, and the words
burned my tongue. I had found the curtain, but I had no power to move.
Finally I roused myself, and rejoined the others. Their voices rose and
fell; they were laughing over some joke of Mr. Ludlow's; but to me
everything was changed.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




[Illustration: WILD BABES OF THE WOOD.--DRAWN BY DANIEL C. BEARD.]




[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]


  YELM, THURSTON COUNTY, WASHINGTON TERRITORY.

     I am a little boy not quite seven years old. I can read YOUNG
     PEOPLE, and have been a subscriber to it since the nineteenth
     number. I am delighted with it, and, as I told my papa to-day, wish
     it were a _daily_ paper. I too like "Toby Tyler" and "Phil's
     Fairies" best of all the stories, though I am interested in
     everything in it, especially the Post-office Box. Although I can
     read YOUNG PEOPLE quite well, I can not write, so I have got my
     papa to write this for me.

      My home is on the Yelm, the Indian name for a beautiful prairie in
      Washington Territory. From our house we have a splendid view of
      the Cascade Range; and of its grand snow peak, Mount Rainier. It
      is forty miles distant "as the crow flies," yet so clear and pure
      is the atmosphere (except in our "rainy season") it seems scarcely
      a third of that distance from the observer looking at it, for the
      first time. Rainier was no doubt once an active volcano. Several
      years ago two adventurous travellers climbed to the summit, and
      spent a night there, having been unable to ascend and return to
      the base of the mountain in one day. They found an ancient crater,
      and warmed their benumbed limbs by the small jets of hot vapor
      they found rising from one side of the crater. Smoke and steam are
      sometimes seen rising from the summit, and this has occurred quite
      frequently during the present season. After rising some distance
      above the summit, the vapor condenses partially sometimes, and
      forms a great cloud that for a time conceals the summit; at other
      times the vapor hangs above the mountain-top like an immense
      inverted bowl or Chinese hat; and again it is blown rapidly away
      by strong winds. My papa calls Rainier a great, natural barometer,
      as when it emits vapor that condenses in clouds about its summit
      it almost surely indicates "falling weather" within two or three
      days. The Indian name for Rainier is Tach-homa, the meaning of
      which I do not know. Some of the Indians are very superstitious
      about Rainier--will not hunt the mountain sheep far up the
      snow-line, and think its summit is the abode of an evil spirit.

      I would like to inform the little boy in Ohio who boasted of his
      early chickens, hatched March 28, and Fred D. M., of New York,
      whose ten chickens were hatched on the 11th of March, that I have
      a hen that hatched twelve chickens on the 21st of _January_. I
      raised them all, and the pullets (Cochins) are now--June 2--almost
      as large as common hens. The little chicks sometimes scampered
      over the snow-crust in February when wandering from their home in
      the wood-shed.

      I do not know whether Mr. Editor will think my letter worthy a
      place in the Post-office Box, but I have derived so much pleasure
      from what I have each week read there that I felt like attempting
      something for its columns.

  HARRY S. V. T.

       *       *       *       *       *

  COLCHESTER, VERMONT.

     I go to school, and we have an exercise of spelling the school
     down. We also speak pieces. I have been at school four terms, and
     have not missed a day. I like YOUNG PEOPLE very much. I think "Toby
     Tyler," "Mildred's Bargain," and "Susie Kingman's Decision" all
     just splendid. I live on a farm a little way from Lake Champlain,
     and it is very pleasant here. We went boating a few weeks ago. My
     little cousin, two years old, was up from Burlington, and she
     thought it a treat to play in the sand and water. I have a little
     sister who is seven years old, and I am nine.

  C. S. F.

       *       *       *       *       *

  RALEIGH, NORTH CAROLINA.

     I have one bound volume of YOUNG PEOPLE with my name on it. The
     next is to be sister's. We have read almost all the stories, but I
     have not read any that I liked so well as "Toby Tyler." I want to
     see the end of "The Cruise of the 'Ghost.'"

      I have a little fox. He will eat almost anything, but prefers raw
      lamb. I love him dearly. He follows me around. I am nine years
      old.

  GEORGE H. H.

       *       *       *       *       *

  BRUNSWICK, NEW YORK.

     I do not take HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, but my cousin, who is making a
     long visit here, does, and I like it very much. I want to tell you
     about a dog I had last summer. As soon as you began to scold him,
     he would sit down and look up at you so pitifully, and put first
     one paw up and then the other, as though he were begging you to
     stop. His name was Sam, and he was such a good dog! He is dead now.
     I am eleven years old, and I have a cat that is ten, and looks just
     like a tiger. I hope you will print this, for I have never seen any
     of my letters in print. Please tell me if you let others than
     subscribers write and send "Wiggles."

  DAISY.

All little readers, whether they are subscribers or not, may send
"Wiggles," and write to the Post-office Box.

       *       *       *       *       *

  ATHENS, ALABAMA.

     I have never written very many letters, but then I am only eight
     years old. When my grandfather was in Washington as a Senator, my
     letters were a source of great amusement to him, and he made a very
     prompt correspondent. The story of "Toby Tyler" was a fine thing. I
     was sorry when it ended. I have a lot of pets, and a splendid
     little garden that I cultivate myself. Tom McClellan, my cousin and
     constant companion, has gone to the country, and I am lonesome. My
     pony's name is Ribbon. I have six geese, fifteen chickens, and one
     pig. My dog is dead. I am your champion friend.

  WILLIE S. P.

       *       *       *       *       *

  LEBANON, MISSOURI.

     I am a little girl eight years old. My sister and I have taken
     HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE ever since the eighth number was printed, and
     we like it very much. Our school closed last week with an
     exhibition. We had a piece called the "Union Tea Party." Columbia,
     Uncle Sam, and Brother Jonathan received the States, Territories,
     and Boys from the West. All were dressed in costume, each wearing a
     sash with the name of the State upon it, and carrying a flag. Each
     brought an offering to Mother Columbia. My sister, dressed as a
     Quaker, was Pennsylvania, and I was Rhode Island, and dressed like
     a Dutch girl.

      The fourteen-year locusts are here, and I wish you could listen to
      them calling "Phar-a-oh! Phar-a-oh!" It sounds as if a thousand
      toads were singing all at once.

      Papa magnified some of the eggs, and they looked larger than
      grains of rice. He covered one of his fine trees with mosquito net
      to keep them from it.

      I have caught some locusts, and if any of the readers of YOUNG
      PEOPLE want a pair, I will send them, if they will give me
      something in return from their home. I send the editor a little
      box with some split twigs and two locusts in it.

  NETTA SERL.

       *       *       *       *       *

  CROW AGENCY, MONTANA TERRITORY.

     I have taken YOUNG PEOPLE ever since it was published. My aunt
     Georgia sends it to me from my old home in Columbus, Ohio. I like
     "Toby Tyler" the best of all the stories yet. My papa is the
     physician here, and when the camp is in, there are about
     thirty-five hundred Indians here. It was as good as a circus to see
     the Indians receive their annuities, May 11. On this occasion you
     might see three Indians riding the same pony; and some chiefs would
     tell of their brave deeds, such as killing a Sioux, or stealing
     horses from their enemies. The other day I saw a young bear at the
     trader's store; one of the Indians had brought him in. The Crows
     call my papa Ech-bar-rei, which means Doctor. I often play ball
     with the little Indians. There are six white children at this
     agency besides myself. We see the mountains covered with snow the
     year around.

  HARRY W.

We hope the boys who have no little Indians to play ball with will try
not to be envious of Harry.

       *       *       *       *       *

  DANVILLE, ILLINOIS.

     I saw in YOUNG PEOPLE that there is a prospect of a Natural History
     Society. I am very much in favor of this, and I hope it will
     succeed. I would like to know if those who do not take YOUNG PEOPLE
     can become members. I have a friend who does not take it, but she
     reads mine whenever she comes to see me, which visit occurs every
     other evening, I going to see her on other days. If the society is
     formed, every member should possess a book on natural history;
     also, if the reports were printed in a special department, it would
     be very nice.

  GRACIE B.

       *       *       *       *       *

  EVANS' MILLS, NEW YORK.

     I am in favor of having a Natural History Society, not to contain
     more than one hundred members, none to be admitted under ten or
     over fifteen. I think there should be no initiation fee, but
     members should pay ten cents each month for the purpose of buying
     books. I have a book which treats of animals, birds, insects, and
     fish.

  MADISON C., JUN.

       *       *       *       *       *

  BREMEN, INDIANA.

     I am in favor of the Natural History Society proposed in No. 83 of
     HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, but I have no suggestions to make. I will be
     very glad to hear from others on the subject.

  EDDIE M. W.

       *       *       *       *       *

  WINONA, MINNESOTA.

     I was very much pleased with the letter from the president of the
     Young Chemists' Club. I am interested in entomology, and I hope
     that the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE will organize a Natural History
     Society. I propose the following plan. Let a number of boys and
     girls living in the same neighborhood meet together, adopt a
     constitution, and elect officers. Each society thus formed might
     send its address to the editor of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, and as he
     is a very obliging gentleman, I think he would publish them for us.

  C. E. P.

       *       *       *       *       *

  WARWICK, PENNSYLVANIA.

     I think the idea advanced by Charles H. Williamson is a splendid
     one, and in so widely circulated a publication as YOUNG PEOPLE,
     correspondence could be obtained from all parts of the world, and a
     great deal of useful knowledge might be gained.

  E. G. K.

       *       *       *       *       *

  NEWARK, NEW JERSEY.

     Seeing Master Charles H. Williamson's letter with reference to
     forming a Natural History Society, in No. 83 of HARPER'S YOUNG
     PEOPLE, I beg leave to offer my opinion to him with regard to the
     same.

      I think that it would be a very good thing, and I also think that
      a great deal of interest would be taken in it. I hope that it will
      prove successful.

  PERRY W.

The letters we print in reply to Charles H. Williamson's proposal in Our
Post-office Box No. 83, show that his idea meets with general approval.
The boys and girls think they will enjoy the study of nature. The summer
vacation will give a famous opportunity for using eyes and ears
out-of-doors, and so we recommend that the society be organized at once.

Let it be called "The Young People's Natural History Society," having
its head bureau of information in Our Post-Office Box.

All boys and girls over ten and under fifteen may be allowed to join it,
provided only that they are readers of this paper. The number shall not
be limited.

For convenience' sake, we will imagine that the editor of YOUNG PEOPLE
is in the chair. The chair in this case assumes what is called the
appointing power. He will appoint Charles H. Williamson, Brooklyn,
E. D., N. Y., who was the original mover in the matter, president of the
society.

Branches may be formed in any city, town, or village where there are
intelligent boys and girls.

No initiation fee shall be charged, and no money shall be paid for any
purpose whatever. Owners of books about natural history may take them to
the club meetings, which ought to be held once a fortnight, at a
designated time and place.

The only officers necessary to a good organization shall be a president
and a secretary. It is always a good plan to have as few officers as
possible in such societies as these.

It shall be the duty of members to find out all they can about the
special department of natural history pursued by their branch. Of course
their studies must depend somewhat upon the place where they live,
whether inland or by the sea, in a warm or cold climate, etc.

Books are very helpful, but we advise you to try to _discover facts_
through your own observation.

On the first Monday of every month the various secretaries may send
reports to Our Post-office Box, telling what they have done. Please tell
the name of your president in the first report you send.

If difficulties arise, they will be adjusted by President Williamson;
and if any questions are too perplexing for him to settle, he may refer
them to the Editor, who will of course remain in the chair.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following exchanges are offered by correspondents:

     A history of Montreal, two colored pictures of the city, and a
     picture of the American Falls, and a pantograph, with full
     directions for enlarging pictures, for a foot-power scroll-saw.
     Please write to arrange exchange.

  CLARENCE MARSH,
  392 North La Salle St., Chicago, Ill.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Soil and stones of Ohio, for the same of any other State.

  KITTIE G. MATCHETTE,
  P. O. Box 103, Greenville, Darke Co., Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Chinese coins, for foreign and United States postage stamps. An
     ounce of soil from California, for the same from any other State.

  E. R. MANZY,
  Lock Box 19, Bloomfield, Sonoma Co., Cal.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Rare minerals, books, sea-shells, pressed flowers, and flower
     seeds, for rare foreign stamps, fossils, old coins, or Indian
     arrow-heads or pottery. Offers of exchange for a magic lantern
     solicited.

  JOHN MCKEEVER,
  212 East 113th St., New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Solid lead ore, for foreign stamps (no duplicates).

  JOE S. MCKNIGHT,
  Care of Pennsylvania Vaccine Company,
  Chambersburg, Franklin Co., Penn.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foreign and United States stamps and postmarks, for old coins or
     stamps. Nicaragua stamps especially desired.

  GEORGE W. MCFARLAND,
  121 Stockton St., Trenton, N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Twenty-five foreign stamps, for an Indian arrow-head and a few good
     United States stamps. Old issues of 2-cent stamps especially
     desired.

  THOMAS F. MANAHAN,
  P. O. Box 388, New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Ten foreign stamps, for one foreign coin.

  CHARLES H. OSLER,
  Mechanicstown, Frederick Co., Md.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stamps from Germany, France, Italy, Denmark, Holland, England,
     Belgium, and a few other countries, for stamps from other countries
     than those above named. Please exchange several stamps at a time.

  DOUGLASS D. MOORE,
  Care of Tom Moore,
  Livingston, Polk Co., Texas.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A piece of wood from the "Drake" well, the first oil well ever put
     down, for Indian relics, ocean curiosities, minerals, rare stamps,
     or anything suitable for a museum.

  FRANK MCFARLAND,
  Titusville, Penn.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foreign stamps, for old coins.

  ROBERT NOBLE, 221 North Twelfth St.,
  Richmond, Wayne Co., Ind.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Minerals, moss, and flower seeds, for a bracket-saw or an Indian
     bow and arrows. Please write before sending any package.

  C. H. NICHOLS,
  Cumming, Forsyth Co., Ga.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Postmarks, for minerals. Pressed ferns from Illinois, for ocean
     curiosities.

  WINNIE NEEDLES and BERTIE ELLIS,
  Nashville, Washington Co., Ill.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Insects, postmarks, foreign stamps, stones from Indiana, small
     shells from White River, different kinds of woods, and flints from
     Texas, for foreign coins, sea-shells, and all kinds of curiosities.
     African, Asiatic, and South and Central American coins especially
     desired.

  CHARLES E. OLDACRE,
  P. O. Box 341, Noblesville, Hamilton Co., Ind.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Ten United States postmarks and a rattlesnake rattle, for any kind
     of ore except gold. Soil from Nebraska, for ocean curiosities.

  LEE O'DONNELL,
  St. Edward, Boone Co., Neb.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Rare stamps, for stamps and coins. Please send list before
     exchanging.

  HENRY MAETZEL,
  49 West Livingston Avenue, Columbus, Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Moss, for sea-shells.

  MARY J. MANSFIELD, Merrill, Powell Co., Ky.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Sand of eight different colors from Minnehaha Falls, put up
     separately in bottles, for foreign stamps, ocean curiosities,
     Indian arrow-heads or relics, minerals, woods, or anything pretty
     and curious.

  BURTIE W. MCCRACKEN,
  1016 Western Avenue, Minneapolis, Minn.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I will exchange rare postage stamps, coins, or good books nicely
     bound, for a genuine Indian bow and arrow, a genuine Indian
     tomahawk, or Indian relics. Please state, when you send, what you
     want in return.

  C. HALL,
  318 West Thirty-third St., New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I will exchange a printing-press and complete outfit, for a magic
     lantern and slides, or a foot-power fret-saw.

  W. T. DEMAREST,
  106 Varick St., New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Spanish and Florida moss, for stones from Europe, Asia, or Africa.
     A few stones from Lake Erie, to exchange for same from other lakes
     or rivers; and stones from New York, for same from other States and
     Territories. A foreign coin, for an American newspaper printed
     previous to 1830; also old American coins, for others. Please send
     postal describing coin before sending the coin itself.

  H. F. KERR, 164 State St., Auburn, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I will exchange foreign or domestic stamps with any other
     collector.

  WILLIE A. RUDD,
  330 Evergreen Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Twenty-five foreign stamps, for a United States 5-cent newspaper
     stamp; fifty, for a 10-cent newspaper; 100, for a 25-cent
     newspaper. No duplicates given.

  EDWARD I. TIBBITTS, Sedalia, Mo.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Ocean curiosities and shells from South America, for any
     curiosities valuable for a museum.

  JOHN TSCHARNER,
  P. O. Box 3, Okawville, Washington Co., Ill.

[_For other exchanges, see third page of cover._]

       *       *       *       *       *

Julia F. Ehrman, Lillian E. Adams, and Walter C. Boult withdraw their
names from the exchange list.

       *       *       *       *       *

CONSTANT READER, AND OTHERS.--Asa Gray's _Botany_, Springer's _Forest
Life_, Browne's _Trees of America_, Ingersoll's _Friends Worth Knowing_,
and Rennie's works on Natural History (three volumes, on Birds,
Elephants, and Quadrupeds), will prove useful to you. These books are
published by Harper & Brothers.

       *       *       *       *       *

SAM D.--Gillespie's work on surveying will probably meet your need.

       *       *       *       *       *

F. A. L.--RED INK.--Boil two ounces of Brazil-wood, half an ounce of
alum, half an ounce of crystals of tartar, in sixteen ounces of pure
water till the water is reduced one-half. Dissolve in the strained
liquor half an ounce of gum-arabic, and add one and a half drams of
cochineal powder digested in one and a half ounces of alcohol. This will
make a beautiful, permanent ink. But if you prefer, you may take this
somewhat easier way: Dissolve an ounce of cochineal powder in half a
pint of hot water. When cold, add a quart of spirits of hartshorn.
Dilute with three ounces of water. Let it stand a few days, and then
pour off the clear liquid.

       *       *       *       *       *

INTERESTED FRIEND.--Gordon's _Electricity and Magnetism_, the last
edition of Ganot's _Physics_, Deschand's _Physics_, and Guthrie's
_Electricity and Magnetism_ can be comprehended by the ordinary
high-school boy. The school text-books on natural philosophy, as, for
instance, Cooley's _New Natural Philosophy_, give much that is easily
understood.

       *       *       *       *       *

HUMPTY DUMPTY.--The earliest posts for carrying letters between Brussels
and Vienna were established in 1516 by Franz, Prince of Thurn und Taxis.
His descendants enjoyed the monopoly until 1806, on the dissolution of
the German Empire. The present Prince has a palace in Ratisbon, a very
ancient city of Bavaria. It is sixty-nine miles north of Munich, on the
right bank of the Danube. Its cathedral was founded in 1275, and
completed in 1875. The abbey of St. Emmerau, the patron saint of the
city, was enlarged by Charlemagne. In the rear of his palace the Prince
of Thurn und Taxis can see a monument to Kepler, the astronomer, whose
remains lie in the Protestant burial-ground.

       *       *       *       *       *

E. T.--FIRST BISHOP OF LIVERPOOL.--The diocese of Liverpool was recently
formed mainly out of Chester. Its bishop is the Rev. John Charles Ryle,
D.D. He was nominated by Lord Beaconsfield, and was consecrated in 1880.
He is known as the author of some excellent books of a devotional
tendency, and as a commentator on the Gospels.

       *       *       *       *       *

COUNT NO ACCOUNT.--The address for which you inquire was published in
the Post-office Box, No. 82, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

       *       *       *       *       *

BICYCLING.

All boys who have asked questions concerning the price of bicycles are
referred to the advertisements of the Pope Manufacturing Company, of
Boston, and E. I. Horsman, of New York, on the last page of the cover of
YOUNG PEOPLE.

R. B. SWEET.--You can buy bicycles with front wheels of from 28 to 42
inches in diameter, with rubber tires and steel spokes, for from $12 to
$35.

GEORGE L. HALL.--See preceding answer for your first question. Only
bicycles with rubber tires and careful finish can be driven up hill.

A SUBSCRIBER, PHILADELPHIA.--Several of your questions are answered in
the preceding paragraphs. You can get a bicycle on the installment plan
from either of the dealers advertising in this paper if your references
are sufficiently good. You should not ride a wheel of less size than 46
inches, of which the price is $65.

D. R. ALLEN.--Send to G. W. Simmons & Son, Oak Hall, Boston, for samples
and price of L. A. W. suit.

HARRY N. NICHOLS.--See advertisements on cover.

EMANUEL SENN.--You would doubtless derive much pleasure from a bicycle,
and I should advise you to get one if you have friends of your own age
who own bicycles, and with whom you could ride.

GEORGE A. RICHARDS.--I can not answer the question as to which is the
best make, as every style of bicycle has its own peculiar merit. Either
the "Columbia" or the "Horsman" is a good bicycle. It is almost
impossible to ride a bicycle against a strong wind. Bicycles can not be
used to advantage on rough, hilly streets. To dismount, you wait until
the left pedal is _down_; then imagine it a stirrup, throw the right leg
backward over the backbone of the bicycle, and dismount exactly as you
would from the back of a horse.

E. A. HOARE.--A good bicycle, such as you want, will cost about $25, to
which you must add $1 for a crate and the express charges on a
fifty-pound package from New York to your place of residence.

  "THE CAPTAIN."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE NAUGHTY ISLANDS.--Answers to this puzzle have been sent by Frank S.
Davis, Marian, Bessie, Sam and Will, Julia E. Smith, and Richard Norton.

       *       *       *       *       *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Frank S. Davis,
"North Star," Henry Eikema, William B. Hadley, "School-Boy," Eddie S.
Hequembourg, Effie W. Rhino, "Tel E. Graph," Louis Lee Gamble, G.
Volckhausen, "Leadville," Harry Phillips, Mary A. Githens, "Queen Bess,"
Isobel Jacob, Maude Wilson, Edith Thurman, "Vi O. Let," Jemima Beeston,
Rupert Norton, and Edward N. Smith.

       *       *       *       *       *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

A STANZA AND THE AUTHOR'S NAME.

  Sviel fo aregt enm lal nimdre su
    Ew acn aekm ruo ivsel bsuilem,
  Dan, edaptrgni, aelve idnehb su
    Toforpuist no het snasd fo emti--
  Toforpuist hatt spaherp onahtre,
    Lisaign r'eo s'eilf nemols amin,
  A rofnorl dna pshirweekde rbohtre,
    Nigese labsl atek aehtr ignaa.

  YENRH THROWDSAW WOLGOLNLEF.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 2.

ENIGMA.

  In cat, but not in kitten.
  In gloves, but not in mitten.
  In cot, but not in bed.
  In lavender, not in red.
  In paper, not in cloth.
  In custard, not in broth.
  The whole a careful cook will take
  To flavor a delicious cake.

  NETTIE J.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 3.

WORD SQUARE.

1. A celebrated mountain. 2. Contact. 3. Gain in money. 4. Bitter. 5.
Shelters for cattle.

  LADY BETTY.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 4.

TWO EASY HALF-SQUARES.

1. An ambush. 2. Moved quickly. 3. An article. 4. A letter.

1. A fruit. 2. To masticate. 3. Near. 4. A letter.

  PERCY.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 5.

TWO EASY DIAMONDS.

1. A letter. 2. A fish resembling a snake. 3. A tree and its nut. 4. A
boy. 5. A letter.

1. A letter. 2. To place. 3. Part of a musical instrument. 4. To strike
gently. 5. A letter.

  SAMUEL K.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 85.

No. 1.

Picture.

No. 2.

        V
      T I N
    T O N I C
  V I N E G A R
    N I G E R
      C A R
        R

No. 3.

  R E U S S
  T H R E E
  L O I R E
  I N A N E
  E A G L E

Rhine, Seine.

No. 4.

  B A B E   B I T E
  A V O W   I T E M
  B O R E   T E A M
  E W E R   E M M A

No. 5.

  T  agu   S
  I  tasc  A
  T  ibe   R
  I celan  D
  C  hil   I
  A  rago  N
  C otopax I
  A tlant  A

Titicaca, Sardinia.

       *       *       *       *       *

Throwing Light, on page 528.--Bat.

       *       *       *       *       *

By filling up the blanks in the "Naughty Islands in New York State" you
will obtain the correct solution of the puzzling lesson in geography on
page 528: The Three Brothers, St. John, Three Brothers, Dead,
Chesterfield, Moorefield, Winfield, Navigators, Canary, Leghorn,
Heather, Brest, Swan, Coral, Rainy, Cashmere, Sugar, Salmon, Three
Brothers, Funen, Fire, Greece, Chesterfield, Boiling Spring, Fire,
Chesterfield, Berne, Lookout, Spree.

We regret that an error crept into our puzzle, but we are sure the whole
geography class has already found it out.




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SUBMARINE EXPLOSIONS.

BY FRANK BELLEW.


[Illustration: Fig. 1.]

At the back of an old farm-house, in a shady little grove, through which
rippled a shallow stream, which stopped on its way in the grove to make
a deep pool, we had some royal fun one Fourth of July in submarine
blasting. Our methods and materials were simple, but the result very
gratifying to us. In the first place, we made a rude cup of clay, to the
bottom of which we attached a string; then we stuck a fire-cracker to
the soft clay inside; and when all was ready, lighted the cracker, and
quickly but carefully lowered the cup, bottom up, into the water.
Presently we saw a puff of smoke away at the bottom of the pool; the
diving-bell was overthrown, and then hidden from view by the small cloud
of smoke as it came curling up and burst upon the surface. One side of
our diving-bell was blown out, but not sufficiently shattered to satisfy
us; so we set to work to construct one on a more extensive scale. We
procured half of a small water-melon, and scooping out the inside,
passed a string through the top, and weighted it heavily round with
stones; then we arranged three fire-crackers inside, with their heads
pointing together, all of which is represented in Fig. 1. We also bored
two holes in the top, and wedged a couple of crackers through them.
Then, taking care that all the fuses were in perfect order and of the
same length, we got our tackle ready, and prepared to lower our
diving-bell. At the right moment all the fuses were lighted at once, and
down she went to the bottom of the pool. It was an anxious moment as we
watched the result. Presently puff; then puff, puff, in rapid
succession; and then up came puffs of one at a time and two together,
and then a big one came to the surface. We had seen our diving-bell turn
white side up, like a shark, and now we hauled it up, to find it a good
deal blackened inside, and, if my memory serves me right at this length
of time, with one of the sides split. We were in hopes of blowing it to
pieces, but still, as it was, we pronounced it a glorious success.

[Illustration: Fig. 2.]

After this we tried some further experiments, the result of which
astonished me not a little. We simply attached small arrow-shaped pieces
of clay, like this (Fig. 2), to the ends of fire-crackers, lighted the
fuses, and then, waiting until they were on the point of explosion,
threw them into the water. Down they went, and exploded at the bottom,
and up came the little puffs of white smoke. I confess I was astonished,
for I certainly expected the water would extinguish them before they
were half way down. It was glorious fun, and we avoided the noise of the
crackers, and they burned nothing--except, perhaps, the fish.




JUST SO.

BY M. E.


  A young calf saw one day a circus pass,
    And cried at once, "Oh, _I_ must join that show;
  Just as they run to see the elephant;
    The folks would run to look at me, I know."
  "You're quite mistaken," said a sheep; "for while
    In this great land the elephants are few--
  And therefore wonders are--the world, my dear,
    Has seen a multitude of calves like you."




[Illustration: BIG FOURTH THIS TIME.
"Oh, look! what's coming with Pop! George Washington! won't we have a
Fourth of July this time!"]




[Illustration: A TROUBLED DREAM.]





End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, July 5, 1881, by Various