sexta-feira, 7 de julho de 2017

Song of myself - Walt Whitman

   



 

Song of myself - Walt Whitman


I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.

Walt Whitman (1819–1892)

was an American poet, essayist and journalist.




Walt Whitman - Canção de Mim Mesmo (PT)


Eu celebro o eu, num canto de mim mesmo,
E aquilo que eu presumir também presumirás,
Pois cada átomo que há em mim igualmente habita em ti.
Descanso e convido a minha alma,
Deito-me e descanso tranqüilamente, observando uma haste da relva de verão.

Minha língua, todo átomo do meu sangue formado deste solo, deste ar,
Nascido aqui de pais nascidos aqui de pais o mesmo e seus pais também o mesmo,
Eu agora com trinta e sete anos de idade, com saúde perfeita, dou início,
Com a esperança de não cessar até morrer.

Crenças e escolas quedam-se dormentes
Retraindo-se por hora na suficiência do que não, mas nunca esquecidas,
Eu me refugio pelo bem e pelo mal, eu permito que se fale em qualquer casualidade,
A natureza sem estorvo, com energia original.

Walt Whitman (1819–1892) foi um poeta americano.





 




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segunda-feira, 12 de junho de 2017

A Igreja do Diabo - Machado de Assis

       



A IGREJA DO DIABO



ÍNDICE

CAPÍTULO PRIMEIRO
CAPÍTULO II
CAPÍTULO III
CAPÍTULO IV

CAPÍTULO PRIMEIRO

DE UMA IDÉIA MIRÍFICA

Conta um velho manuscrito beneditino que o Diabo, em certo dia, teve a idéia de fundar uma igreja. Embora os seus lucros fossem contínuos e grandes, sentia-se humilhado com o papel avulso que exercia desde séculos, sem organização, sem regras, sem cânones, sem ritual, sem nada. Vivia, por assim dizer, dos remanescentes divinos, dos descuidos e obséquios humanos. Nada fixo, nada regular. Por que não teria ele a sua igreja? Uma igreja do Diabo era o meio eficaz de combater as outras religiões, e destruí-las de uma vez.
— Vá, pois, uma igreja, concluiu ele. Escritura contra Escritura, breviário contra breviário. Terei a minha missa, com vinho e pão à farta, as minhas prédicas, bulas, novenas e todo o demais aparelho eclesiástico. O meu credo será o núcleo universal dos espíritos, a minha igreja uma tenda de Abraão. E depois, enquanto as outras religiões se combatem e se dividem, a minha igreja será única; não acharei diante de mim, nem Maomé, nem Lutero. Há muitos modos de afirmar; há só um de negar tudo.
Dizendo isto, o Diabo sacudiu a cabeça e estendeu os braços, com um gesto magnífico e varonil. Em seguida, lembrou-se de ir ter com Deus para comunicarlhe a idéia, e desafiá-lo; levantou os olhos, acesos de ódio, ásperos de vingança, e disse consigo: — Vamos, é tempo. E rápido, batendo as asas, com tal estrondo que abalou todas as províncias do abismo, arrancou da sombra para o infinito azul.
CAPÍTULO II
ENTRE DEUS E O DIABO
Deus recolhia um ancião, quando o Diabo chegou ao céu. Os serafins que engrinaldavam o recém-chegado, detiveram-no logo, e o Diabo deixou-se estar à entrada com os olhos no Senhor.
— Que me queres tu? perguntou este.
— Não venho pelo vosso servo Fausto, respondeu o Diabo rindo, mas por todos os Faustos do século e dos séculos.
— Explica-te.
— Senhor, a explicação é fácil; mas permiti que vos diga: recolhei primeiro esse bom velho; dai-lhe o melhor lugar, mandai que as mais afinadas cítaras e alaúdes
o recebam com os mais divinos coros...
— Sabes o que ele fez? perguntou o Senhor, com os olhos cheios de doçura.
— Não, mas provavelmente é dos últimos que virão ter convosco. Não tarda muito que o céu fique semelhante a uma casa vazia, por causa do preço, que é alto. Vou edificar uma hospedaria barata; em duas palavras, vou fundar uma igreja. Estoucansado da minha desorganização, do meu reinado casual e adventício. É tempo de obter a vitória final e completa. E então vim dizer-vos isto, com lealdade, para que me não acuseis de dissimulação... Boa idéia, não vos parece?
— Vieste dizê-la, não legitimá-la, advertiu o Senhor.
— Tendes razão, acudiu o Diabo; mas o amor-próprio gosta de ouvir o aplauso dos mestres. Verdade é que neste caso seria o aplauso de um mestre vencido, e uma tal exigência... Senhor, desço à terra; vou lançar a minha pedra fundamental.
— Vai.
— Quereis que venha anunciar-vos o remate da obra?
— Não é preciso; basta que me digas desde já por que motivo, cansado há tanto da tua desorganização, só agora pensaste em fundar uma igreja?
O Diabo sorriu com certo ar de escárnio e triunfo. Tinha alguma idéia cruel no espírito, algum reparo picante no alforje de memória, qualquer coisa que, nesse breve instante da eternidade, o fazia crer superior ao próprio Deus. Mas recolheu o riso, e disse:
— Só agora concluí uma observação, começada desde alguns séculos, e é que as virtudes, filhas do céu, são em grande número comparáveis a rainhas, cujo manto de veludo rematasse em franjas de algodão. Ora, eu proponho-me a puxá-las por essa franja, e trazê-las todas para minha igreja; atrás delas virão as de seda pura...
— Velho retórico! murmurou o Senhor.
— Olhai bem. Muitos corpos que ajoelham aos vossos pés, nos templos do mundo, trazem as anquinhas da sala e da rua, os rostos tingem-se do mesmo pó, os lenços cheiram aos mesmos cheiros, as pupilas centelham de curiosidade e devoção entre o livro santo e o bigode do pecado. Vede o ardor, — a indiferença, ao menos, — com que esse cavalheiro põe em letras públicas os benefícios que liberalmente espalha, — ou sejam roupas ou botas, ou moedas, ou quaisquer dessas matérias necessárias à vida... Mas não quero parecer que me detenho em coisas miúdas; não falo, por exemplo, da placidez com que este juiz de irmandade, nas procissões, carrega piedosamente ao peito o vosso amor e uma comenda... Vou a negócios mais altos...
Nisto os serafins agitaram as asas pesadas de fastio e sono. Miguel e Gabriel fitaram no Senhor um olhar de súplica. Deus interrompeu o Diabo.
— Tu és vulgar, que é o pior que pode acontecer a um espírito da tua espécie, replicou-lhe o Senhor. Tudo o que dizes ou digas está dito e redito pelos moralistas do mundo. É assunto gasto; e se não tens força, nem originalidade para renovar um assunto gasto, melhor é que te cales e te retires. Olha; todas as minhas legiões mostram no rosto os sinais vivos do tédio que lhes dás. Esse mesmo ancião parece enjoado; e sabes tu o que ele fez?
— Já vos disse que não.
— Depois de uma vida honesta, teve uma morte sublime. Colhido em um naufrágio, ia salvar-se numa tábua; mas viu um casal de noivos, na flor da vida, que se debatiam já com a morte; deu-lhes a tábua de salvação e mergulhou na eternidade. Nenhum público: a água e o céu por cima. Onde achas aí a franja de algodão?
— Senhor, eu sou, como sabeis, o espírito que nega.
— Negas esta morte?
— Nego tudo. A misantropia pode tomar aspecto de caridade; deixar a vida aos outros, para um misantropo, é realmente aborrecê-los...
— Retórico e sutil! exclamou o Senhor. Vai; vai, funda a tua igreja; chama todas as virtudes, recolhe todas as franjas, convoca todos os homens... Mas, vai! vai!
Debalde o Diabo tentou proferir alguma coisa mais. Deus impusera-lhe silêncio; os serafins, a um sinal divino, encheram o céu com as harmonias de seus cânticos. O Diabo sentiu, de repente, que se achava no ar; dobrou as asas, e, como um raio, caiu na terra.
CAPÍTULO III
A BOA NOVA AOS HOMENS
Uma vez na terra, o Diabo não perdeu um minuto. Deu-se pressa em enfiar a cogula beneditina, como hábito de boa fama, e entrou a espalhar uma doutrina nova e extraordinária, com uma voz que reboava nas entranhas do século. Ele prometia aos seus discípulos e fiéis as delícias da terra, todas as glórias, os deleites mais íntimos. Confessava que era o Diabo; mas confessava-o para retificar a noção que os homens tinham dele e desmentir as histórias que a seu respeito contavam as velhas beatas.
— Sim, sou o Diabo, repetia ele; não o Diabo das noites sulfúreas, dos contos soníferos, terror das crianças, mas o Diabo verdadeiro e único, o próprio gênio da natureza, a que se deu aquele nome para arredá-lo do coração dos homens. Vedeme gentil a airoso. Sou o vosso verdadeiro pai. Vamos lá: tomai daquele nome, inventado para meu desdouro, fazei dele um troféu e um lábaro, e eu vos darei tudo, tudo, tudo, tudo, tudo, tudo...
Era assim que falava, a princípio, para excitar o entusiasmo, espertar os indiferentes, congregar, em suma, as multidões ao pé de si. E elas vieram; e logo que vieram, o Diabo passou a definir a doutrina. A doutrina era a que podia ser na boca de um espírito de negação. Isso quanto à substância, porque, acerca da forma, era umas vezes sutil, outras cínica e deslavada.
Clamava ele que as virtudes aceitas deviam ser substituídas por outras, que eram as naturais e legítimas. A soberba, a luxúria, a preguiça foram reabilitadas, e assim também a avareza, que declarou não ser mais do que a mãe da economia, com a diferença que a mãe era robusta, e a filha uma esgalgada. A ira tinha a melhor defesa na existência de Homero; sem o furor de Aquiles, não haveria a Ilíada: Musa, canta a cólera de Aquiles, filho de Peleu... O mesmo disse da gula, que produziu as melhores páginas de Rabelais, e muitos bons versos do Hissope; virtude tão superior, que ninguém se lembra das batalhas de Luculo, mas das suas ceias; foi a gula que realmente o fez imortal. Mas, ainda pondo de lado essas razões de ordem literária ou histórica, para só mostrar o valor intrínseco daquela virtude, quem negaria que era muito melhor sentir na boca e no ventre os bons manjares, em grande cópia, do que os maus bocados, ou a saliva do jejum? Pela sua parte o Diabo prometia substituir a vinha do Senhor, expressão metafórica, pela vinha do Diabo, locução direta e verdadeira, pois não faltaria nunca aos seus com o fruto das mais belas cepas do mundo. Quanto à inveja, pregou friamente que era a virtude principal, origem de prosperidades infinitas; virtude preciosa, que chegava a suprir todas as outras, e ao próprio talento.
As turbas corriam atrás dele entusiasmadas. O Diabo incutia-lhes, a grandes golpes de eloqüência, toda a nova ordem de coisas, trocando a noção delas, fazendo amar as perversas e detestar as sãs.
Nada mais curioso, por exemplo, do que a definição que ele dava da fraude. Chamava-lhe o braço esquerdo do homem; o braço direito era a força; e concluía: muitos homens são canhotos, eis tudo. Ora, ele não exigia que todos fossem canhotos; não era exclusivista. Que uns fossem canhotos, outros destros; aceitava a todos, menos os que não fossem nada. A demonstração, porém, mais rigorosa e profunda, foi a da venalidade. Um casuísta do tempo chegou a confessar que era um monumento de lógica. A venalidade, disse o Diabo, era o exercício de um direito superior a todos os direitos. Se tu podes vender a tua casa, o teu boi, o teu sapato, o teu chapéu, coisas que são tuas por uma razão jurídica e legal, mas que, em todo caso, estão fora de ti, como é que não podes vender a tua opinião, o teu voto, a tua palavra, a tua fé, coisas que são mais do que tuas, porque são a tua própria consciência, isto é, tu mesmo? Negá-lo é cair no absurdo e no contraditório. Pois não há mulheres que vendem os cabelos? não pode um homem vender uma parte do seu sangue para transfundi-lo a outro homem anêmico? e o sangue e os cabelos, partes físicas, terão um privilégio que se nega ao caráter, à porção moral do homem? Demonstrando assim o princípio, o Diabo não se demorou em expor as vantagens de ordem temporal ou pecuniária; depois, mostrou ainda que, à vista do preconceito social, conviria dissimular o exercício de um direito tão legítimo, o que era exercer ao mesmo tempo a venalidade e a hipocrisia, isto é, merecer duplicadamente.
E descia, e subia, examinava tudo, retificava tudo. Está claro que combateu o perdão das injúrias e outras máximas de brandura e cordialidade. Não proibiu formalmente a calúnia gratuita, mas induziu a exercê-la mediante retribuição, ou pecuniária, ou de outra espécie; nos casos, porém, em que ela fosse uma expansão imperiosa da força imaginativa, e nada mais, proibia receber nenhum salário, pois equivalia a fazer pagar a transpiração. Todas as formas de respeito foram condenadas por ele, como elementos possíveis de um certo decoro social e pessoal; salva, todavia, a única exceção do interesse. Mas essa mesma exceção foi logo eliminada, pela consideração de que o interesse, convertendo o respeito em simples adulação, era este o sentimento aplicado e não aquele.
Para rematar a obra, entendeu o Diabo que lhe cumpria cortar por toda a solidariedade humana. Com efeito, o amor do próximo era um obstáculo grave à nova instituição. Ele mostrou que essa regra era uma simples invenção de parasitas e negociantes insolváveis; não se devia dar ao próximo senão indiferença; em alguns casos, ódio ou desprezo. Chegou mesmo à demonstração de que a noção de próximo era errada, e citava esta frase de um padre de Nápoles, aquele fino e letrado Galiani, que escrevia a uma das marquesas do antigo regímen: Leve a breca o próximo! Não há próximo! A única hipótese em que ele permitia amar ao próximo era quando se tratasse de amar as damas alheias, porque essa espécie de amor tinha a particularidade de não ser outra coisa mais do que o amor do indivíduo a si mesmo. E como alguns discípulos achassem que uma tal explicação, por metafísica, escapava à compreensão das turbas, o Diabo recorreu a um apólogo: — Cem pessoas tomam ações de um banco, para as operações comuns; mas cada acionista não cuida realmente senão nos seus dividendos: é o que acontece aos adúlteros. Este apólogo foi incluído no livro da sabedoria.
CAPÍTULO IV
FRANJAS E FRANJAS
A previsão do Diabo verificou-se. Todas as virtudes cuja capa de veludo acabava em franja de algodão, uma vez puxadas pela franja, deitavam a capa às urtigas e vinham alistar-se na igreja nova. Atrás foram chegando as outras, e o tempo abençoou a instituição. A igreja fundara-se; a doutrina propagava-se; não havia uma região do globo que não a conhecesse, uma língua que não a traduzisse, uma raça que não a amasse. O Diabo alçou brados de triunfo.
Um dia, porém, longos anos depois notou o Diabo que muitos dos seus fiéis, às escondidas, praticavam as antigas virtudes. Não as praticavam todas, nem integralmente, mas algumas, por partes, e, como digo, às ocultas. Certos glutões recolhiam-se a comer frugalmente três ou quatro vezes por ano, justamente em dias de preceito católico; muitos avaros davam esmolas, à noite, ou nas ruas mal povoadas; vários dilapidadores do erário restituíam-lhe pequenas quantias; os fraudulentos falavam, uma ou outra vez, com o coração nas mãos, mas com o mesmo rosto dissimulado, para fazer crer que estavam embaçando os outros.
A descoberta assombrou o Diabo. Meteu-se a conhecer mais diretamente o mal, e viu que lavrava muito. Alguns casos eram até incompreensíveis, como o de um droguista do Levante, que envenenara longamente uma geração inteira, e, com o produto das drogas, socorria os filhos das vítimas. No Cairo achou um perfeito ladrão de camelos, que tapava a cara para ir às mesquitas. O Diabo deu com ele à entrada de uma, lançou-lhe em rosto o procedimento; ele negou, dizendo que ia ali roubar o camelo de um drogman; roubou-o, com efeito, à vista do Diabo e foi dá-lo de presente a um muezim, que rezou por ele a Alá. O manuscrito beneditino cita muitas outras descobertas extraordinárias, entre elas esta, que desorientou completamente o Diabo. Um dos seus melhores apóstolos era um calabrês, varão de cinqüenta anos, insigne falsificador de documentos, que possuía uma bela casa na campanha romana, telas, estátuas, biblioteca, etc. Era a fraude em pessoa; chegava a meter-se na cama para não confessar que estava são. Pois esse homem, não só não furtava ao jogo, como ainda dava gratificações aos criados. Tendo angariado a amizade de um cônego, ia todas as semanas confessar-se com ele, numa capela solitária; e, conquanto não lhe desvendasse nenhuma das suas ações secretas, benzia-se duas vezes, ao ajoelhar-se, e ao levantar-se. O Diabo mal pôde crer tamanha aleivosia. Mas não havia duvidar; o caso era verdadeiro.
Não se deteve um instante. O pasmo não lhe deu tempo de refletir, comparar e concluir do espetáculo presente alguma coisa análoga ao passado. Voou de novo ao céu, trêmulo de raiva, ansioso de conhecer a causa secreta de tão singular fenômeno. Deus ouviu-o com infinita complacência; não o interrompeu, não o repreendeu, não triunfou, sequer, daquela agonia satânica. Pôs os olhos nele, e disse:
— Que queres tu, meu pobre Diabo? As capas de algodão têm agora franjas de seda, como as de veludo tiveram franjas de algodão. Que queres tu? É a eterna contradição humana.

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Harper's Young People

       

Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, May 31, 1881, by Various

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
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Title: Harper's Young People, May 31, 1881
       An Illustrated Weekly

Author: Various

Release Date: December 17, 2014 [EBook #47684]

Language: English


*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, MAY 31, 1881 ***




Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]

       *       *       *       *       *

VOL. II.--NO. 83. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.

Tuesday, May 31, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PHIL AND HARDWICK.]

TWO KINDS OF COURAGE.

BY M. E. W. S.


Old Slack Limestone had sat on the steps of the tavern in Dicksonville,
and chewed tobacco and told stories until he had acquired the highest
perfection in the doing of each. Neither of these roads to fortune is to
be commended to youth; but as a proof that excellence is to be achieved
by constant practice, Slack Limestone's example became a good one.

Now and then he would condescend to be useful for a few days. He had a
specialty which was invaluable--he was good at laying turf. Perhaps
anything that was destined to keep still for a number of years attracted
Slack Limestone. That was what _he_ would like to do. So when our
lawn-tennis ground was being made, Slack agreed to leave the village
door-steps to cool for a few days while he turfed the graded ground.

Horatio said that he was going to get Slack to tell him the story of
little hunchbacked Philip while the turfing was going on, and we all sat
round under the trees and listened. Slack spoke the purest Yankee. It
was like the French of the Academy, the pure Tuscan of Florence; it was
a language by itself.

"Wa'al," said Slack, pushing back the fringed edge of a lattice-work
that had once been a straw hat (Slack had better hats, for he was not
poor, but when he relapsed into usefulness he always put on this hat, as
a soldier does his helmet when going into action; it was a token to him
of the demoralizing influence of labor)--"wa'al, hunchbacked Phil's
back's considerably straighter to me than most folks' backs, I tell you.
When I comes to rekillect how an' where he got that 'ere back, it looks
to me like a plumb-line. He's what I call real grit, anyhow."

"It was some act of bravery in the war, I believe," said Horatio,
adroitly pretending to lay a piece of turf straight with his foot.

"No, it warn't," said Slack; "you're jest about as much out of your
perpendicler there as that 'ere piece of green swad is out of line. I
always calkilates to lay my green swad by water-level, and not to kick
it 'round with my boot."

"Oh!" said Horatio, retiring gracefully, "I remember: it was at sea."

"Wa'al, naow, I guess you're pretty well mistaken, tu; 'twarn't neither.
Philip he got that 'ere broken back up to Milliken's Mill a-doin' an act
of duty, such as none of them lazy fellows that went from here to the
war and got paid for layin' 'round and eatin' and kinder handlin' a
muskit never did."

"Don't abuse the soldiers, Slack," said Horatio, taking off his hat.
"Remember whose grave you turfed up in the cemetery."

"'Scuse me, sir," said Slack, rising and touching the lattice-work; "I
ain't forgot Mr. Max, sir. Didn't I take him fishin', didn't I teach him
to shoot? But there's soldiers _and_ soldiers, and if Mr. Max, your
brother, sir, went off to the war because he was a gentleman, there was
some as went off because they hedn't no call to stay to hum, and they
jest went to git the money. Naow poor little Phil he was too young to go
to the war, but I tell you he fit a battle up there to his mill that was
a good 'un."

Slack dallied with his "water-level" and his "green swad" for some
seconds; like the adroit story-teller that he was, he did not disdain
the art of delay.

"The machinery got too much for him, I suppose?" said Horatio, looking
at the turf with one eye shut, as if he doubted the water-level.

"Wa'al, there I guess you're as much out of kilter as you were before,
naow, for Phil he tended to that 'ere mill before he was seven years
old. I remember him, the little shaver, as straight as a popple-tree; no
hunch on to him then, naow, you better believe!"

"A child of seven tending that great wheel over that tremendous
water-power?" said Horatio.

Slack never answered a question except by asking another, unless his
emotions were aroused. He had, like most men of his queer class, a fund
of good feeling behind his humor which sometimes betrayed him; but he
preferred to be considered contrary and cross-grained.

"Don't you know nothin' about a saw-mill?" said he, cocking up a little
gray eye at Horatio, with an enormous contempt hidden behind his
pent-house eyebrow.

"Yes; I suppose I know that the water furnishes the power, and that the
man shoves in the log," said Horatio, modestly.

"Wa'al, 'tain't that egzactly," said Slack, stamping down a piece of
turf. "S'pose I couldn't make you understand ef you don't know nothin'
about saw-mills." So, with a deep sigh at the gulf of ignorance that
opened before him, he abandoned the idea of instruction, and plunged
into his story.

"Ye see, Tim Thompson, Phil's father, he married Seth Jaquith's daughter
down to Hardscrabble. She warn't a rugged woman, neither; pritty
good-lookin', though, an' real lady in her manners. She kep' the
deestrict school three winters, and I guess she hed some edication.
Wa'al, Tim he was ambitious, an' he hed a tannery, and a saw-mill, an' a
quarry for grave-stuns, and he hed I guess six or seven more irons in
the fire; an' sometimes he was rich, and then agen guess he was pritty
poor; an' his wife (Alice they called her) she was sick considerable
spell, and this 'ere boy Phil was all the children they hed; but they
lived up there to the saw-mill, and hed solid comfort when things were
a-goin' right. Wa'al, Phil he was awful smart at learnin', so they sent
him to the 'cademy winters, and let him tend mill in summer with the
feller that helped Tim. What was his name? Wa'al, I forgit names. Jest
naow I am a-gittin' old; we're all a-gittin' old all the time. An' Tim
he used to tell us, there to the tavern, how smart his little shaver
was. Spell! why, he could spell like a team o' horses before he could
walk 'most; an' grammar and jography I guess didn't fetch him neither.

"But there was a man named Hardwick up to the 'cademy, an' he was a
whacker. The boys called him Hardwhack, and I guess that kinder
described him. Seems though he tuk a great dislike to Phil, cos he
outspelled and outrecited everybody. He give him some terrible lickings,
and I tell you didn't Alice Thompson riz right out of a sick-bed, and go
down to the 'cademy, and give it to Hardwhack jest, you bet, before the
hull school, for licking them boys, and she tuk Phil away. Sez she, 'Mr.
Hardwick, I have been a teacher, an' I know that cruelty is not
necessary. I see amongst your pupils some of my former scholars, and
although they were big boys when they attended my school, I never hed
any difficulty with them. Is not that so, boys?' An', by George! if them
boys didn't git up and give her three cheers. And Hardwick he turned as
white as a turnip, and sez he, 'Miss Thompson,' sez he, 'you're severe;
your son deserved chastisement.'

"Sez she, 'No words, Mr. Hardwick. I hope my son _will return good for
evil_.'

"Wa'al, after that Hardwick he hedn't no show at all; the hull village
riz agen him, and he was turned out; and next we heard of him he hed
been a-sittin' of his own four-year-old onto a hot stove, and he licked
his wife, and he was as cruel as a meat-axe, and they tarred and
feathered him, and rid him on a rail out of town.

"That was the year old Stewart was murdered down to Crooked Forks, and
the last man it was seen with him was Hardwick.

"Wa'al, the hull county turned out to find Hardwick, and he jest warn't
to be found. Put yer finger onto a flea, and 'tain't there.

"Sez I to the Sheriff, sez I, 'Hardwick didn't do that murder; he hain't
the courage. Takes a bigger-sized man,' sez I, 'to commit a murder than
a man as whops boys and burns up children. He's a white-livered coward,
sez I.'

"'Oh, yes, he did, Slack,' sez he. 'Circumstantial evidence,'sez he.

"Wa'al, naow here's where the story comes in," said Slack, laying down
the water-level, and rising to the occasion. "Philip he got to be a
good-sized lump of a boy, and he tended saw-mill fust rate. Timothy
Thompson he hed to go off up to the quarry, and some days Phil was there
all alone, and Alice she used to come out and sit in the sun. She was
dreadful weakly all that year, but she and Phil hed solid comfort
together. Wa'al, she'd jest gone in to get him a meal o' vittles one
day, when there came out o' the woods the awfulest-looking man ye ever
see. Why, this hat o' mine is a John Jacob Astor fust-class satin beaver
compared to what he hed on, and he was all beard and whiskers, and dirt
and rags. Oh, he looked awful.

"Sez he, 'Philip, save me!' And who was it but that Hardwhack, that hed
licked him 'most to death!

"'Philip,' sez he, crouching jest like a hound, 'I hain't treated you
well,' sez he, 'but as God is my witness, I didn't commit the murder.
Hide me in the cock-loft of this 'ere mill till persecution's passed,
and I tell you I'll be a better man.'

"Phil he give a great gulp, and jest then he heard his mother a-singing
as she was gettin' his dinner. It seemed as though he couldn't help to
save that mean lick-spittle that was a-kneelin' there, but Alice she
kept on singing, and both on 'em heard her.

"'_Don't tell her! Don't tell her!_' sez Hardwick, a-tremblin' all over.
Phil he thought a minnit, and then he made room for him to pass.

"'Climb up the ladder there, master,' sez he, 'and put a lot o' sawdust
over ye. I'll go in and get ye something to eat.' Hardwick he climbed up
behind the wheel mighty quick. So Phil he fixes the gearing, and goes in
to dinner. I guess he looked pritty red, and the poor boy was a-cryin'.

"Sez Alice, 'Why, what's the matter, dear?'

"Sez he, 'Mother, don't you ask no questions. You can trust me, can't
you?'

"'Yes, my boy,' sez Alice, as proud as could be.

"'Then give me a plate of dinner to carry to the mill, and ef I appear
queer any time, you jest know that the time has come for paying good for
evil.'

"Alice she looked at him a minnit, and then she cried too. She warn't
one of the crying kind, but when she did go it, I tell you them
sluiceways warn't nuthing to her, and so she kissed him, and give him
the dinner. These two didn't need to talk; feelin's crept right out of
their elbows towards one another. Somehow, I guess, they understood each
other.

"'Twarn't an hour before the Sheriff and his posse they arrived to the
mill. There Alice was a-sittin', sewin' as if butter would melt in her
mouth, and Phil he was a-sawin' logs fit to kill.

"Sez the Sheriff, 'Miss Thompson,' sez he, 'hev you seen the murderer
Hardwick? He was seen half a mile back a-comin' this way.'

"'I hev not,' sez she. Wa'al, that was true; she hedn't seen nor heard
him.

"'It is your duty if you know anything of his whereabouts to communicate
that knowledge to me,' sez he. He was old Jimmy Grey, the Sheriff, and
he talked big.

"'I hev no love for Mr. Hardwick,' said Alice, simply. 'He whipped that
boy of mine almost to death. It is not probable that I should hide him.'

"That's true,' sez Sheriff Grey. 'But he's a-hidin' somewheres about,'
sez he.

"'_If I see him_, I'll let you know,' sez Alice, standin' up, and
looking at the Sheriff as stiff as a double holly-hock.

"Wa'al, all there is about it is, the Sheriff's folks came a-watchin'
that mill all day, and that boy and his mother they sat and defended the
skulkin' dog in the cock-loft--a-sawin' and a-sewin'--and that day's
work broke Phil's back. He was a-growin' boy, and it jest killed him.
When night came, and Hardwick got away, Phil he fainted right down, like
a mowed mullein stalk.

"But the next day sez he, 'Mother, I'm a-goin' in to the Sheriff to tell
what I done. It warn't right of us to interfere with the law, even if we
did want to do good for evil.'

"And sez she, 'Phil, I guess you're right, and I'll go too.'

"I tell you there was a stir to Dicksonville when them two told their
story, and they clapped Phil right into jail. It was a cold, gloomy
place--jails ain't comfortable, particler in the fall when the courts
puts folks in, generally after the harvest's done. Naow there was Sol
Sullivan that murdered his wife; they knew it in August, but Sol warn't
arrested till October, cos they wanted him to help on his father's farm
gettin' in the wheat and corn and potatoes, and when they asked Sol why
he done it, he said 'he didn't want to winter her.' Farmin' folks think
o' these things. Wa'al, I guess that cold Phil took there didn't help
his back none, for he was awful sick afterwards.

"Tim Thompson and his wife they druv home considerably worked. Tim he'd
been awful mad at his wife for gittin' Phil into this scrape, or
a-helping it along, but she sat kinder quiet, and, sez she, 'Tim, you'll
see I did right. These men would hev torn Hardwick limb from limb if
they'd ha' catched him then.' 'Wa'al,' sez Tim, 'I shouldn't ha' minded
if they hed. I don't want Phil to sleep in that damp jail to-night
nohow.'

"Now here's the interestin' point of this 'ere story. Crazy Nichols was
the murderer after all, and they found that out three days afterwards,
and they let Phil out of jail in a burnin' fever, and old Dr. Twitchell
he took him up home in his own carriage, and then the Sheriff, he said,
and Lawyer Edwards, he said, and Lawyer Chamberlain, he said, sez he,
'Tim, your son has served the ends of justice,' sez he, 'for if we
hedn't had time to think, we should hev hanged Hardwick on
circumstantial evidence. We never should hev thought of crazy Nichols.'

"Wa'al, Tim Thompson he never got over it for years. He said he didn't
want his son ruined for nothing; but somehow Phil ain't ruined; he an'
his mother they kinder suffered along together there for a spell of
years, and then Phil got so as he could do some copyin', and Lawyer
Edwards he took him in, and he kinder studied law, and now he's a
forehanded man.

"I was up a-turfin' Miss Thompson's grave for him last year come fall,
and he said he was a-goin' to put up a monument. Wa'al, I guess it's
most done. I was in to Calhoun's a-lookin' at it, and I see the
letterin'. I don't egzactly rekillect what it was, all of it; somethin'
about 'Alice, beloved wife of Timothy Thompson,' but I knowed that he
said down to the foot that she hed two kinds of courage, and I guess she
hed, and _I knew_ that hump-backed Phil has hed courage, several kinds
of 'em, and so he looks all right to me," said Slack.




THE WEASEL.


The weasel is one of the prettiest and most graceful little creatures
that can be imagined. It lives in all cool countries, and makes its home
in hollow trees, in stone heaps, or in any convenient hole where it can
find shelter. It is no larger than a good-sized rat, but has longer
legs. It has a long, lithe, slender body, long neck, and dainty little
head, with small round ears and bright eyes. It is covered with smooth,
sleek hair, of a brown color on its back, and white below. It has long
whiskers on its nose, and a very short tail. Its weapons are its strong
claws and sharp teeth, which it knows how to use so well that many
larger animals live in constant terror of this bold and wicked little
marauder. The weasel itself has very few enemies. Even the powerful
birds of prey, which are ever on the alert for rabbits and other small
game, rarely swoop down on the weasel, for although they can easily
carry it away in their strong talons, it often proves very troublesome
booty. A hunter once noticed a large hawk, high in the air, which was
flapping its wings violently, and apparently in great trouble. Suddenly
it darted, and fell to the earth almost at the hunter's feet, where it
lay gasping and dying, while a tiny weasel sprang from the heap of
feathers, and scampered away to hide itself in the stone wall near by.
On examining the bird, the hunter found that its throat was torn to
pieces by the weasel's sharp teeth. The little creature, although unable
to escape from the powerful grip of the hawk, had twisted itself until
it could reach its enemy's throat, when it easily inflicted a deadly
wound.

[Illustration: THE WEASEL AND HIS VICTIM.]

The defenseless hares and rabbits are bitterly persecuted by the weasel,
which springs upon them, and with wonderful instinct knows exactly where
to fasten its sharp teeth. The unfortunate hare may scamper away as fast
as it can, but its enemy clings to its neck, and the poor little animal
must soon fall, faint and dying, from loss of blood. The tragedy
pictured in our engraving is acted over and over again by these two
pretty inhabitants of woodland thickets, and the rabbit is always forced
to yield to its little enemy.

Rats and mice, squirrels, moles, frogs, and birds of all kinds are
hunted by the weasel, and it may often be seen twisting itself in and
out of stone heaps or walls in the vicinity of barn-yards, where it
watches for chickens, doves, and other domestic fowls.

If taken very young, weasels may be tamed, and a whole army of cats will
not free a house so quickly of rats and mice as will one little weasel.
Pussy must sit patiently by the rat's hole and wait until the
mischievous beast ventures forth; but where a rat can go, the weasel can
follow. Weasels and ferrets are often kept on board of ships, and are
petted by the sailors, for a ship with a weasel as passenger is always
free from rats.

There are many pretty stories told of tame weasels, and of the affection
they manifest toward those who care for them. A lady who received a
present of a very small and very young weasel fed it with milk, which it
drank from her hand. The little creature became so attached to its
mistress that whenever she called it, it would instantly appear from
whatever corner in which it was curled up, and would climb all over her
like a squirrel. It never bit her, and would play with her cat and dog,
often riding round on their backs; but it never injured them. Its
curiosity afforded its mistress much amusement. If she opened a box or
trunk, Master Weasel would raise himself on his hind-legs and make every
effort to peep inside.

This little creature is much hunted by man, and large numbers are caught
in traps, it being a general impression that they do more harm than
good; but although a weasel may now and then carry off a chicken from
the farm-yard, it does much good by freeing barns and corn fields of
mice and other small destructive animals.




[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 IV.


"How do all the boats that go through the inlet manage, I wonder?" asked
Tom. "They can't all get as wet as we did, and we saw that the boat that
went through just ahead of us didn't take in any water."

"That was just her luck," Charley answered. "We followed right after
her, and happened to catch it pretty heavy."

"But I don't believe it's always so rough at the inlet. If it is, nine
boats out of ten would get full of water."

"I'll tell you how they manage it," exclaimed Charley. "They wait till
the tide is just right, and that's what we ought to have done. Don't you
see there is a swell coming in from the ocean, and it meets the tide
going, out? Now if the tide was coming in, or if it was slack water, the
inlet would be smooth enough. Boys, I made a mistake in starting before
the tide changed, and, come to think of it, I've been awfully stupid
about this whole business. If we had waited two or three hours, we could
have gone through the inlet without the least trouble; that is, if the
wind hadn't changed."

"It's going to change before long," remarked Harry. "The breeze is dying
away now, and in a little while we'll have a dead calm."

They were now entering the narrow channel leading to Hempstead Bay. A
few years ago a heavy winter storm threw up a low island of sand just
outside of the beach at Far Rockaway. The channel between this island
and the beach communicated with Hempstead Bay, and although the island
injured the business of the bathing-house proprietors, it saved the
Hempstead fishermen the risk of passing out to sea through the regular
inlets.

As the wind died out it grew uncomfortably hot; and as the _Ghost_ had
passed beyond the houses at Far Rockaway, the boys took in sail,
anchored, and had a splendid bath. After the bath they were, of course,
ravenously hungry, and so proceeded to get dinner. By this time the
breeze had completely vanished, and the _Ghost_ was lying motionless on
the glassy waters. Suddenly the low growling of thunder was heard. The
clouds had come up from the west without attracting the notice of the
boys, and they now saw that a thunder-shower would soon reach them.

"We're going to get wet again," said Joe, gloomily. "I think I'll quit
wearing clothes altogether, so that I can manage to have something dry
to put on."

"What's the use of getting wet?" said Harry. "We can rig up our canvas
cabin, and we won't get a drop of rain on us."

"If we're going to do that, we must be quick about it, for it's going to
rain in a very few minutes," said Charley. "I guess it's the best thing
we can do, though this isn't the best anchorage in the world. Come, Joe,
you and I will roll up the sails, while the other fellows rig up the
canvas. We've got to make things pretty snug, for it may blow hard."

The sails were quickly furled, and Tom and Harry had the canvas cabin
ready just as the first drops of rain began to fall. The boys crept
under the canvas, congratulating themselves that they had a secure
shelter, and that they had noticed the approach of the shower in time to
prepare for it.

The wind blew very hard, and the _Ghost_ began to pitch uneasily.

"It's a good job we've got such a lot of cable," said Charley. "When I
saw that the _Ghost_ had fifty feet of inch rope coiled up on her deck,
I couldn't help laughing, and wondering if Harry expected to anchor in
fifty feet of water; but, after all, a long cable is a handy thing to
have, and we needn't have the least fear that we shall drag our anchor
or part our cable."

"This canvas cabin works splendidly," remarked Harry. "Tom, you deserve
all our thanks for inventing it. Why, it's fairly dry on the inside." So
saying, Harry put the palm of his hand against the canvas over his head,
and rubbed it to see if it was wet.

"Now you've done it," cried Tom. "Don't you know how a tent will leak if
you touch it when it is wet? You'll have a stream of water running in
here presently."

Tom was right. In a few minutes the water began to drip steadily on the
unfortunate Harry, who was forced to sit with a tin pail in his lap to
catch the stream that he had introduced into the cabin.

The rain was now pouring down in a perfect cataract, and the gusts of
wind were trying their best to tear the canvas away. Tom felt a strong
desire to look out and see how things were getting on. Accordingly,
without saying anything to anybody, he quietly unfastened the opening in
the after-end of the cabin, and put his head out into the rain. No
sooner did the wind find an entrance into the cabin through the opening
Tom had made than the canvas gave a tremendous flap, which broke the
cords that held it in place; and had not Harry caught hold of it, and
dragged it inside the cockpit; it would have been overboard in a second.

"Well, I never in all my life!" began the astonished Tom.

"I told you we were going to get wet," said Joe. "We always do. We got
wet about three times every day in the _Whitewing_."

"There's nothing to be done but to sit here till the shower's over,"
said Charley. "It can't last very long, and it won't do us any harm.
You're sure the covers of those cushions are water-proof, Harry?"

"Oh, they're all right. They'll be dry enough if we just rub them off
with a towel."

"It's all my fault," said Tom; "but who would ever have thought that the
whole concern would blow away that way?"

"Never mind, Tom," said Charley. "It will teach us to use stronger cords
to lash the canvas down with next time. There! the sun's coming out
again, and the rain is about over. Let's try and get the inside of the
boat dry, and the canvas rigged up again, before dark."

The cabin was a little damp, it must be confessed, but the beds and
blankets were dry. This time the canvas was lashed down so stoutly that
it would have stood a gale of wind, and under it the crew of the _Ghost_
slept without hearing the singing of a single mosquito, and without
suffering any unpleasant effects from the dampness.

[Illustration: THE MAN IN THE ROW-BOAT.]

The boys had finished their breakfast the next morning, and were
preparing to resume their voyage, when they were hailed by a man in a
row-boat.

"Where be you from?" asked the new-comer.

"From New York," replied Charley. "Whereabouts is the best channel in
Hempstead Bay? Do we want to keep near the beach, or near the other
shore?"

"Where be you going?"

"To Amityville or thereabouts. Will we have any trouble in finding the
way there?"

"Who be you, anyway?"

"Oh, never mind him," said Harry, in a low tone. "He'll ask questions
all day, and never answer any."

But the man was not quite so exasperating as Harry imagined. After
looking at the _Ghost_ with some admiration, and expressing the opinion
that she was "a tidy boat," he condescended to answer Charley's
questions about the channel.

"Channel? Why, bless you, you can't find the channel to save your life.
It jest winds in among the islands, and runs every which way. You've got
to be brung up on this bay before you can ever learn the channel."

"But we can find it if we keep searching for it, can't we?" inquired
Charley.

"You'll be growed up before you do," answered the man. "You can try it,
I s'pose, if you want to. You must keep a-gradooally working up to the
nor'ard, and if one of you gets up the mast and watches the color of the
water, mebbe you can find the way. Say, where was you last night--aboard
this consarn?"

"We've been here ever since that thunder-shower came up."

"You hain't seen nothing of no suspicious-looking fellows in a row-boat,
have ye?"

The boys told him that they had seen nobody since they had cast anchor.

"Well," resumed the man, "you keep a smart look-out. There's been half a
dozen sail-boats stole out of this bay in the last two weeks by some
fellows that sneak 'round in a row-boat at night. Why, they stole a
colored man's boat last week while he was asleep in her. Chucked him
right overboard, they did. Those fellows is regular pirates, and if they
catch you lying at anchor in some out-of-the-way place, you'll have
trouble with 'em."

The man's caution did not alarm the boys, but they thanked him, and said
they would remember his advice. "We'll set an anchor watch at night,"
said Charley. "It's what we ought to do, anyway. This anchoring the
boat, and then going to sleep and letting her look out for herself, is
too much like the way Frenchmen manage ships. We might have been run
down by some big fishing-boat last night, for we didn't hang out our
lantern, and we were all sound asleep."

The wind was fair, and the crew of the _Ghost_, thinking that the man
had greatly exaggerated the difficulty of finding the channel, were not
disturbed when they presently found themselves in what looked like a
narrow creek winding through a low marshy meadow. Charley climbed up the
mast hoops, and saw that the _Ghost_ had entered an archipelago. In
every direction, as far as he could see, the low meadow was divided into
hundreds of little islands, separated by narrow creeks varying in width
from a few feet to a dozen rods. He made up his mind that it was going
to be a difficult task to find a channel deep enough for the _Ghost_,
for he could see that the water had the appearance of being very shallow
in nearly all the creeks. He had just decided on the course that it
would be best to steer for the next ten minutes, when the _Ghost_ ran on
a mud-bank, and came to a stop.

It was some time before she could be pushed off again, so deep and
sticky was the mud; and when at last she was once more on her course,
Charley took the helm, and sent Joe aloft to look for the channel. Joe
had no sooner climbed the mast hoops than the _Ghost_ was aground again,
and another half-hour had to be spent in getting her afloat. The whole
morning was passed in this unsatisfactory way, and the boat was at least
half the time stuck in the mud. At noon the crew let her remain aground
while they had lunch, and rested for an hour. Then they resumed the
tiresome business of running aground and getting afloat again, and when
the end of the afternoon approached, they anchored in a little cove
where the water happened to be deep enough to float the boat, and
acknowledged to one another that the inquisitive old man was right, and
that they would probably have to spend a long time in working their way
out from among the islands.

"I don't believe what the old man said about pirates," said Harry, as
they were rigging the canvas cabin, and preparing for the night; "but I
did see what you may think was a suspicious-looking boat when I was up
aloft this afternoon."

"Let's hear about it," said Charley.

"It was a row-boat tied up to the shore in a little bit of a creek about
half a mile from here, and there were three men lying asleep in her. Now
what were they doing that for, I'd like to know?"

"I don't see what could induce anybody to row into such a place as this,
and then go to sleep. If they had been fishing, now, I could understand
it," said Charley. "What sort of looking men were they?"

"I could only see the face of one of them. He woke up, and lifted up his
head to look at me, and he didn't look a bit like a fisherman. He seemed
to me just like one of those fellows that you see in New York--a regular
'rough,' you know."

"You're sure he saw our boat?" asked Charley.

"Sure as sure can be," replied Harry. "And he watched it very sharp,
too."

"Boys," asked Charley, "has anybody got a pistol? I know there isn't any
gun aboard."

"We didn't bring pistols, for Uncle John wouldn't consent to it,"
answered Harry; "and he said we wouldn't need a gun. I've got a lot of
powder for the cannon, but it wouldn't be much good against the pirates
that the old man told us of."

"We have got a cannon, haven't we!" said Charley, thoughtfully. "I'd
forgotten that. Let me have a look at it."

He examined the cannon closely, and carefully dried the bore with the
help of his handkerchief and a small stick. Then he came back to the
cockpit and asked, "Does anybody happen to have anything that will do
for shot?"

"I've got about a handful of marbles," said Joe. "I forgot to leave them
behind."

"They're just the thing," said Charley. "Give 'em to me, will you, and
let me have a lot of that thick brown paper that was wrapped round the
stove, provided there is any of it left."

Charley wrapped the marbles in three or four thicknesses of paper, and
then loaded the cannon, ramming the package of marbles close up against
the powder. Then he laid a piece of cloth over the cannon to protect it
from the dew, and put the powder-flask in his pocket. "Now if anybody
attacks us," he exclaimed, "we can give him a dose of canister-shot."

"You'll have to ask him to be kind enough to come right up in front of
the cannon," remarked Joe, "for you can't aim it at anybody while it's
lashed fast."

"That's so," said Charley. "I am smart not to think of cutting the
lashing." So saying, he cut the cannon loose, so that he could turn it
in any direction. "Now, boys, turn in, and I'll keep a look-out till ten
o'clock, for I'm not a bit sleepy. I don't believe anybody will trouble
us, but at any rate we'll take care not to be surprised."

The boys felt so safe, in spite of what the old man had said, that they
were soon peacefully sleeping, with the exception of Charley, who was
sitting very wide awake, with his back against the mast. It was not yet
ten o'clock when Tom was awakened by feeling a hand laid on his
forehead. "Hush!" whispered Charley. "I can hear a row-boat coming
toward us. Wake up Harry and Joe, and come on deck; but don't make any
noise. I've unshipped the tiller, and you can use it for a club."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




HISTORICAL TREES OF THE UNITED STATES.

BY MARY A. BARR.


I have a suggestion to make, my little friends, which I think you will
all like. It is to keep an Album of Leaves. Not only can you collect and
exchange leaves of different varieties, but of famous trees, of which
there are many in the United States. Arrange them neatly; write below
them where and why you gathered them, if they are historical or famous,
and what made them so; and to prove to you how interesting such an album
can be made, I will tell you of some trees that are as celebrated as
either Washington or General Grant.

In the year 1682, under the wide-spreading branches of a huge elm in
Philadelphia, the good and wise William Penn held a council with the
chiefs of the Pennsylvania Indians, and made a treaty with them which
was never broken, and from which the tree received its name and fame as
"Penn's Treaty Tree." It was blown down in 1810, and when its rings were
counted it proved to be 283 years old, having been 155 years old at the
time of the treaty. It was so honored that when the English held
possession of Philadelphia during the winter of 1778, Colonel Simcoe
placed a sentinel under it to protect it from the soldiers who were
cutting down all the trees near for fire-wood. A large part of it was
sent to the remaining members of Penn's family at Stokes, near Windsor,
in England, where it still remains, and the rest was made into
work-boxes, chairs, and many other ornaments.

You have all heard of the "Charter Oak" at Hartford, Connecticut; it
became famous in 1687, just five years after Penn's treaty with the
Indians in Pennsylvania. King James sent a proud, tyrannical man from
England as Governor of Connecticut, called Sir Edmund Andros, who on his
arrival at Boston immediately demanded the surrender of the charter of
Connecticut. Of course he was refused, and nearly a year went by, every
day of which proved him to be more masterful, and unworthy the trust and
confidence of the people. So at last, in October, 1687, he took a
company of soldiers and went to Hartford, where the Assembly met, and
again demanded from the people their charter. He was received with great
politeness, and calmly listened to until candle-light, when the charter
was brought out and laid upon the table around which the Assembly sat.
Sir Edmund was just about to seize it, when the lights were suddenly put
out, and there was a great tumult and much confusion, and before the
candles could be relit, one Captain Wadsworth, of Hartford, seized the
charter, and, unseen, carried it off, and put it into the hollow trunk
of a large oak-tree near. Of course Sir Edmund was very angry, but no
one could or would tell where the charter was, and his lordship had to
go back without it. The Hartford people are very proud of their oak, and
I am sure some of you have seen the piano made from it after it had been
blown down in 1856. The Vice-President's chair in the Senate-Chamber at
Washington is also made of the Charter Oak, and many other things,
which, perhaps, some of you own.

At the corner of what is now Washington and Essex streets, Boston, there
stood a large elm-tree, in 1765, called the "Tree of Liberty." Under its
branches a society calling themselves the "Sons of Liberty" held
meetings against taxation and oppression of all kinds from the English
government. Sir Francis Bernard, the royal Governor at that time, had
not interfered with them for fear of serious consequences, and so, early
on the morning of August 14, 1765, several of the Sons of Liberty hung
two effigies, or pictures, from a limb of Liberty Tree, one of which was
a likeness of Andrew Oliver, Secretary of the Colony, and the newly
appointed stamp distributer for Massachusetts, and the other represented
Lord Bute as the devil peeping out of an enormous boot. Crowds gathered
around the tree all day, and at night the effigies were cut down and
carried in a great procession through the streets, while the people
cried out, "Liberty and prosperity forever! No stamps! No taxation
without our consent!" Four months after that, the people made Andrew
Oliver go under Liberty Tree and publicly read his resignation. This
famous elm of liberty was cut down in 1775 by the British soldiers,
exactly ten years to the month after the Sons of Liberty had decorated
its branches with the pictures of Andrew Oliver and Lord Bute. The
soldiers made fire-wood of Liberty elm, and got fourteen good cords from
it.

The same year that the Sons of Liberty were gathering under Liberty Tree
in Boston, the Declaration of Independence was read and meetings were
held under a splendid live-oak at Charleston, South Carolina, which the
people also called Liberty Tree, and decorated in very nearly the same
manner as the Boston Liberty Tree. It also was cut down and burned by
the British in 1780, five years after the one in Boston. Many canes and
a ballot-box were made from what was left of it, but the box was
destroyed in the great fire at Charleston in 1838.

An oak brought from the forest and planted in an open field at Norwich
was Connecticut's Liberty Tree, and under it meetings were held. On the
celebration of the repeal of the Stamp Act, its branches were hung with
appropriate devices, and it was crowned with an enormous Phrygian cap. A
tent was erected under it, and here the people gathered to hear the
news, and to encourage each other in resisting every kind of oppression.

One morning, the 3d of July, 1775, General Washington, accompanied by
the officers of his staff, walked under the shadow of a magnificent
elm-tree which grew near the entrance of his quarters at Cambridge,
Massachusetts, and which is still standing, made a few remarks, drew his
sword, and took command of the American army. This elm is famous also as
the tree under which the celebrated preacher Whitefield preached to
those who had a much harder battle to fight with themselves and the Evil
One than Washington and his brave soldiers, who fought for liberty and
gained it.

If any of my readers ever visit Fort Mercer, at Red Bank, New Jersey,
they may perhaps still see the remains of an old hickory-tree that was
used for a flag-staff during the battle of Fort Mercer in 1777.

The only trees left standing on Rhode Island after the British had
occupied it in 1779 were two sycamores, which were preserved as long as
possible by the owner of the land on which they grew.

When Lafayette visited Yorktown in 1824, the people made a crown of
laurel, which they took from a beautiful tree that grew near the place
where they received him, and put it upon his head, with many assurances
of love and respect; but he took it from his head, and stepping forward,
placed it upon the brow of Colonel Nicholas Fish, of the Revolution, who
was present, saying as he did it, "No one is better entitled to wear
this mark of honor than our friend."

Peter Stuyvesant, the last and most renowned of the Governors of New
Amsterdam (now New York) while it belonged to the Dutch, brought from
Holland many fruit and flower trees for the garden which surrounded his
house of yellow brick that stood near Tenth Street and Second Avenue.
One of these, a pear tree, which he planted in 1647, on what is now the
corner of Thirteenth Street and Third Avenue was still in existence in
1868, and bore fruit until very near that time. Many of the pears have
been preserved in liquor as curiosities, and I have a little friend who
has a wreath made of the leaves pulled from the old tree and the one
planted after it had been blown down. Both are now dead, and there is
nothing left to show where this famous landmark used to be.

At Fort Edward, on the Hudson, there once stood a beautiful
balm-of-Gilead-tree, under which a little Indian boy gave to a wounded
soldier, during the Revolution, his last crust of bread, saying as he
did so, "I am a warrior's son; I want nothing." The soldier adopted him,
and took him to England with him, but he came back, married a daughter
of the same officer, and it is not long since I saw one of his
descendants, who are very proud of their Indian ancestor.

The chestnut-tree under which the brave General Wooster received his
death-wound has long since been cut into rails, and Lossing, the
historian, says: "The owner of the land pointed out the locality to me,
and expressed the patriotic opinion that Congress ought to do something.
He had long contemplated the erection of a chestnut post at his own
expense, but having done that, the public would expect him to paint some
lettering on't, and he was not disposed to bear the whole burden
himself."

The oak on the Van Cortland estate which was used as a whipping-post
during the Revolution; the chestnut on Gallows Hill, where the spy
Edmund Palmer was hanged by order of General Putnam, who would not
listen to the poor young man's wife as she begged piteously for his
life; the tulip-tree on which ten Tories were hanged the morning after
King's Mountain battle in 1780; and the whitewood under whose shadow the
captors of André caused him to strip, and found the papers they were
looking for, in his stockings, and which was struck by lightning the
very day that the news of Arnold's death reached Tarrytown, and many
more--are all of interest; and a leaf from the old trees or those that
have sprung from them, or even a blade of grass from the spot, could be
got with a little trouble, and would make a most interesting album. At
the Peekskill Military Academy there are several historical oaks, and
one under which General Putnam watched the British fleet off the
Dunderberg, and the smoke of the British encampment at Verplanck's
Point, and on which the spy Daniel Strong was hanged for enticing men to
desert from the American army. Salem, New Jersey, has a venerable oak in
one of its principal streets that must have been a tree of majestic
proportions when John Fenwick landed there one fine October day 205
years ago. New Haven, Connecticut, is noted for its elms, and is called
the "City of Elms"; those around the public square and vicinity were
planted by the Rev. David Austin and the Hon. James Hillhouse, and some
of them are quite famous for the deeds they have witnessed.

At Charleston, South Carolina, upon the grounds of a colored man called
Mitchell, are the only cork-trees in North America. They were given him
by a lady to whom he had rendered some slight service. There are two of
them, and he is very proud of them, giving a leaf from them as so much
gold. There have been many beautiful poems written about trees that
might well be copied into your leaf albums, and which would add greatly
to their interest.

A leaf can be obtained from the Washington Elm, Peekskill Oak, New Haven
Elms, Salem Oak, and the Mitchell Cork-trees, as they are still
standing, and a blade of grass or a flower can be easily got from the
place where most of the others grew.




[Illustration: SUMMER GARDENING--SETTING OUT PLANTS.--DRAWN BY S. G.
MCCUTCHEON.]




[Illustration: THE SLIPPER-MAKER'S BAZAR.--FROM A PAINTING BY F. A.
BRIDGMAN.]




AN AFRICAN SLIPPER-MAKER.

BY DAVID KER.


Noon in Algiers--a scorching African noon--bringing out the white-walled
houses and white-domed mosques of the city, and the black shadows which
they cast, sharp and clear as in a photograph, driving even the seasoned
Arabs to the shelter of roofs and gateways, and making old Selim the
slipper-maker, as he puffs his long pipe in the shady doorway of his
shop, stroke his white beard with a self-satisfied air while eying the
hot faces and dusty uniforms of the luckless French soldiers who come
tramping past in the full mid-day glare.

To look at the old fellow as he squats there on his little mat, with his
huge blue turban pulled over his eyes, and the long white folds of his
heavy _burnoose_ (mantle) rippling over the floor on every side, as if
some one had upset a pitcher of milk over him, you would think that no
amount of customers would get _him_ on his feet again to-day. But there
is _one_ customer coming who will do it in a moment.

Dodging fearlessly past the huge gaunt camels which almost block the
narrow street as they go slouching past with their long, noiseless
stride, roped together in single file like beads on a string, a tiny
figure stands upon the threshold, looking down at Selim from under its
party-colored hood, with a great show of white teeth and laughing black
eyes.

"Aha!" cries the old slipper merchant, springing up with wonderful
briskness for a Mussulman. "Welcome to this house of mine, my pearl!
What seeks Zuleika, daughter of Hussein, from her father's friend?"

"I want a pair of shoes," answered the little woman, with a
business-like air; "and my father says they must be very fine indeed,
for to-morrow some friends are coming to us, and _you_ are to come too,
and eat of our pilaff [rice and roast meat] and our sweetmeats, and see
what a welcome we'll give you!"

Old Selim, with a sly twinkle in his small gray eye, rummages among the
clusters of shoes that hang like grapes overhead, and produces a pair
that make Zuleika's eyes open wide in wondering delight. _Such_ a pair!
all ablaze with scarlet and bright green and spangles of shining tinsel.
And when he had tied them on, and set her down again, Selim gave her
back two of the heavy copper pieces she had given him, and bade her buy
fresh dates with them.

But her joy was suddenly checked. A passing water-carrier had let his
skin bag come undone, and turned the dust into thick black mud all
around Selim's threshold. Poor Zuleika, unable to untie her shoes again,
unwilling to soil them, and not liking to disturb the old man any more,
looked very rueful indeed.

But just then Selim looked up, and seeing her difficulty, kicked off his
green slippers in a moment, carried her gallantly over the puddle, and
then, looking down at his bemired feet, said, with the hoarse chuckle
which is an Arab's nearest approach to a laugh, "Now are we even, my
daughter: if I have given thee colored shoes, thou hast given me black
ones."

And as the child held up her little rose-bud mouth to kiss him, Selim
the slipper merchant felt well repaid for his trouble.




ONLY A BIRD.

BY JAMES OTIS.


For the many words of loving sympathy from the warm little hearts of the
readers of YOUNG PEOPLE for Toby Tyler very many thanks are due. The
praise has been very sweet; and that I may in some measure repay you for
your kindness, I am going to tell you a true story of a little bird that
I owned at the time Toby's history was being written, and who sat on the
leaves of the book, keeping me company far into the night. The little
fellow is dead now, and there is a corner in my heart sacred to the
memory of the dearest little pet I ever had, even though it was only a
bird.

Two years ago, on a chilly, wet morning, the servant-girl came into the
library with a very ragged, discouraged-looking little fellow covered
with her apron, who, on being released from his imprisonment, hopped in
front of the fire, opening his mouth so wide that it seemed as if he was
about to swallow grate, coals, and everything warm. It was a young
robin, a naturally active little body, who had got up too early for the
worms. Ellen had found him on the curb-stone, where he was looking down
at the pools of water in the gutter much as if he believed it would be
better to drown himself at once rather than wait for the rain to wash
him entirely away.

Some crumbs of bread soaked in milk, and two or three worms, dropped
into the large hole that served as mouth, and which seemed nearly as big
as his entire body, had the effect of cheering Bobby wonderfully. In
less than an hour he was hopping around the library as if he was the
owner of it all; and from that time until he died he was thoroughly
saucy and perfectly independent while in that room.

For about a month it was necessary to feed Bobby, but after that time he
was able to take care of himself. If any one was eating anything that he
fancied he should like, he would hop on to his shoulder, and, without so
much as saying "By your leave," would peck at it until he was satisfied,
or driven away. In the latter case he would seat himself on his master's
shoulder, and scold at the offender until he was hoarse, and the
occupants of the room nearly deafened.

Now although Bobby was so nearly drowned on the day when he first made
his appearance in our family, a bath was his great delight, and whenever
he heard the water running from the faucet, he would fly up on the slab,
flapping his wings and screaming until the water was poured on his head
and back. Then, when he had had quite as thorough a bath as he thought
he needed, he would fly to the top of the canaries' cage, and shake the
water from his feathers over them, enjoying the trouble he caused.

Of course he had a cage of his own, into which he would retire when he
wanted a lunch or a nap; but it was a rule with him never to stay there
quietly if he was fastened in. So long as the door of the cage was open,
he was perfectly contented; but when it was closed, he would dance back
and forth, scolding and screaming, until, for the sake of peace and
quiet, one was quite willing to unfasten the door.

Bobby trotted gravely over the entire house, never offering to go
out-of-doors when the windows were open, although he sometimes surveyed
the street from the window-ledge. No one was ever more punctual at the
table than this same saucy Bob; the back of a chair served him as a
seat, and a cake with a quantity of plums in it was regularly put on the
table for his especial benefit. He was very well behaved at meal-time,
except when the plums were baked in too hard, and then he would pull and
tug at the offending dainty until, it coming out suddenly, he would
tumble on his back, with the plum held tightly in his beak.

At twilight his favorite position was on my shoulder, where, with his
little body as close to my neck as possible, he would remain until
driven away.

But it was in the library, the room in which he was first introduced to
the family, that he most liked to stay. There, perched high on the desk
while his master was writing, he would gravely watch the work, or,
tiring of that, amuse himself by dragging pencils or pen-holders to the
edge of the desk, and pushing them off. With his head tipped on one
side, he would watch the fall of the articles, his little bright eyes
fairly twinkling with mischief and pleasure.

It was when the story of Toby Tyler was being written that Bobby
appeared to settle down into a grave and sedate citizen, acting very
much as if he thought he was aiding in the work. He would sit quietly on
the pen rack until the book was opened and the writing begun; then he
would hop down on the open page, watching every movement of the pen,
singing over and over again two or three soft notes, as if giving
advice, only stepping from the book when it was necessary to turn the
pages. In this manner Bobby would pass hour after hour, until he thought
he had been neglected too long, when he would peck and strike at the
pen, as much as to say that it was time he was attended to. Then he
would fly back and forth from the desk to the closet where his grapes
were, calling loudly for his favorite fruit. From one end to the other
of the table he would roll the grapes, after eating all he wanted,
almost as if he were having a regular game at ball.

After having been thus feasted and amused, Bobby would take up his
position on the book again, standing there on one leg until he was so
sleepy that he could hardly keep erect, but never attempting to go to
bed until the book was closed. Of the many pages of manuscript that made
up the story of Toby, there certainly were not more than four or five on
which he had not perched somewhat after the fashion of general
assistant; and his life was ended very shortly after his work on the
story was done.

In November, at about the same time Toby's story was begun in YOUNG
PEOPLE, little Bobby disappeared. All search for him was vain, and we
grieved sorely for him, believing some strange cat had devoured him.
Each one in the house missed the poor little fellow almost as much as if
he had been a child, and for many days Bobby's perch on the desk,
without its bright-eyed occupant, made the room seem too lonely for
work.

A few weeks ago the heavy draperies that had been hanging at the windows
were taken down to give place to lighter ones for the summer; and there,
far up, at one corner, under the cornice, with his feet caught in the
ravelled edges of the lace curtains, was the body of poor Bobby. He had
probably crept up there in search of flies, been imprisoned by the
threads, and died, the heavy covering over him preventing his cries from
being heard.

It was a sad ending to the little life which made that home bright,
whose walls have never echoed to the music of childish voices and the
patter of tiny feet.




A SUMMER SHOWER.

BY GEORGE COOPER.


  "Hush!" sighed the leaves;
    "Hurry, birds, hurry!
  See yonder sheaves
    All in a flurry."

  "Come under quick,
    Grasshopper, cricket!"
  Whispered the vines
    Down in the thicket.

  "Hide," lisped the grass,
    "Lady-bug, spider;
  Ant, here's a place;
    Fly, sit beside her."

  "Rest, katydid,
    Here in my bushes;
  Butterfly, too;
    How the rain rushes!"

  Why, there's the sun!
    Hark the birds singing,
  "Good-by, dear leaves,
    Off we'll be winging."

  "Bee," smiled the rose,
    "Thank you for calling;
  Drop in again
    When the rain's falling."




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

SUSIE KINGMAN'S DECISION.

BY KATE R. McDOWELL.

CHAPTER IV.


"May-party day at last!" cried Susie, dancing gayly about her room.
"School ended, and now for a splendid time to-day!" As she went toward
the window the sweet June air was coming softly in, the birds, too, were
singing, and unconsciously she found herself chanting, "Let everything
that hath breath praise the Lord." Then, stopping suddenly, "Why, that
reminds me, I forgot to turn over to a new leaf in my _Silent Comforter_
before breakfast. Oh, surely it's the 20th, and I've come round again to
that verse with 'In honor preferring one another' in it, which perplexed
me so. How this month has flown! It seems at once the longest and
shortest I remember. To think Florence is so changed a girl! Why, she
really seems like one of the family, rushing in and out at all times,
bringing or sending mamma flowers every day; and the girls all like her
so well, and wouldn't need any urging _now_ to vote for her. Why, there
she is this minute!" as a pretty phaeton stopped at the gate.

"Could the day be finer?" called Florence, as she tied the gray pony. "I
thought I saw you drinking in this air, when I was at the turn in the
road about half a mile off. Come, bring your hat and take a drive with
me. I've something very important to tell you," and she opened the gate
to take some rare flowers to Mrs. Kingman, who was sewing on the piazza,
with the baby playing near her chair. Florence took the little one in
her arms, begging it to say her name. "She can not get any farther than
'Flo,'" said Mrs. Kingman, putting aside her work to go and arrange her
flowers.

"That's what my sister Bessie always calls me," said Florence, kissing
the little one more tenderly.

"When are you going to show me the picture of that wonderful Bessie?"
asked Susie, straightening out the daisies on her hat as they went
slowly down the walk.

"I should have brought it over this morning if I hadn't something else
on my mind to tell you."

A moment later the pretty pony was carrying the young girls along at an
easy gait, pricking up his ears occasionally, as if to catch the drift
of the gay chatter going on behind him.

"By-the-way," Florence was saying, "I found this scrap of paper on the
floor this morning when I was over at school," handing it to her
companion. "The girls were all clearing out their desks--"

But Susie had read the few pencilled words, and looked aghast: "_Vote
for F. T. We're all going to. S. K. wishes it._"

The pony was walking leisurely along. Florence had dropped the reins;
her arms were about Susie's neck. "To think I never suspected it!" she
said, kissing her.

"I never wanted you to know," said Susie, "and if it hadn't been for
Sadie's carelessness--"

"Oh, I'm glad I _do_ know--just as glad as can be, and I can never thank
you enough."

"I don't deserve any thanks at all," protested Susie; "and if I did, I
felt fully repaid when your uncle offered his grounds, and looked so
kindly at--"

"Yes," said Florence, "and from that moment my life changed entirely.
Oh, Susie, you can not imagine how lonesome I used to feel, for uncle
seldom spoke to me, and I felt that I never could get used to so many
strange faces, and I kept wishing myself back with Bessie. But no; our
home was broken up. When papa died, mamma only lived a week longer, and
after that, where were we to go? Mamma's sister Rebecca was with us at
the time, and offered to take one of us, which was a great deal, for
she has a large family of her own, and then she wrote to uncle to take
the other. He chose me, because I was named after mamma, and I suppose
he fancied I would look like her, whereas Bessie is her very image.
Well, when I got here, uncle met me at the dépôt, asked one or two
questions, and then we rode to Maplewood without another word. I was too
homesick to talk. So things went on, one day exactly like another, with
simply a Good-morning and Good-night to begin and end up the day. I
often found money and other presents in my room, and, oh! how I longed
to send each thing on to Bessie, but I really was afraid to ask if I
could. But I must hurry on to the red-letter day of my life, the 20th of
May. That day, at dinner, after the scene at school, uncle praised my
high standing, and began to ask me about Bessie. I showed him her
photograph, and he looked a long time at it, murmuring something about
'Florence of long ago,' and asked me if she didn't look a great deal
like mamma. 'Everybody used to speak of the wonderful resemblance,' I
answered. 'Well,' said he, 'we must have a larger picture of her.' And
what do you think he has done? _Sent on to have Bessie's portrait
painted_, and I'm to have it for my room."

"The tears are for joy," continued Florence, in answer to Susie's
earnest, "Oh, this is enough! don't tell me any more."

"Uncle grew more and more kind. He seemed to enjoy planning for the May
party, and you'll see this afternoon some of the arrangements he has
made. It has given him something to think of, which Dr. Folger said
yesterday was the best thing in the world for one of his melancholy
disposition. Uncle has said again and again, 'I'm glad you take an
interest in your studies; it pleases me greatly.' And, Susie, I know all
this happiness would never have come to me unless the girls had voted
for me that day as they did. I know they used to think me selfish, for
one morning--"

"What! you heard what Sadie said?"

"Yes; but I've made up for it since, haven't I? For I haven't been alone
once since the day uncle said, 'You can take whoever you choose when you
go out.' By that time I had lost all fear, and kissed and thanked him.
And so things have gone on, each day better than the last. Uncle handed
me a telegram this morning, which read, 'The portrait is on the way'; so
we expect it by the first express. Susie, I can never thank you--never,
as long as I live; all I _can_ do is to tell you that, next to Bessie, I
love you best of any one on earth."

There was a great lump in Susie's throat. She was crying softly, with
her cheek against Florence's. At the gate Mrs. Kingman met them.

"Tell your mother all about it," called Florence, touching up the horse;
and Susie did.

       *       *       *       *       *

"To think it's all over!" said Susie, about seven o'clock that evening,
as they were going down to supper. "Didn't Florence look lovely?"

"No lovelier than a certain maid of honor that crowned her," said papa,
drawing Susie toward him.

"Well, didn't the Squire appear delighted?"

"Yes," said Mr. Kingman, "I think he was; but I doubt if he was as happy
as I"--with a loving look at his little daughter--"for mamma had been
telling me something."

"And you were glad?" she asked, nestling closer.

"Far more than to have seen you Queen"--kissing her. Then taking a spray
of delicate green from a vase near by, "I will crown you myself;" and he
tenderly twined it round her head.

But the day was not yet done. A sharp ring was heard soon after at the
door, and Susie, on hearing Sadie's breathless "I must see Susie right
away," darted into the hall.

"Have you heard?" gasped Sadie, handing her a note.

"No--what?" questioned Susie, in the same excited tone, grasping the
paper, and pulling Sadie into the library. She turned up the light,
which fell upon the words:

"Oh, Susie! the portrait has come, _and it's Bessie herself_! She has
come to Maplewood _to live_. I'm the happiest girl on earth. Bessie says
_she_ is, and we owe it all to God through _you_."

"_I_ am happier than either," said Susie, a great joy lighting up her
face. "Isn't it like a story, Sadie?"

[Illustration: BESSIE'S PORTRAIT.]

"Yes," said Sadie, excitedly. "I was there when she came. The Squire
came to Florence's door and asked, 'Shall I bring in the portrait?' We
looked around, and there stood Bessie. I shall never forget Florence's
face as she rushed forward, nor the Squire's as he said, 'She has come
to live with us, Florence.' The first I knew I was crying away as hard
as could be, Florence was on her knees, the Squire had his arm round
Bessie, and--and--"

"What next?" asked Susie, her face growing more and more bright as she
listened.

"Oh, they're _so_ happy! When I came away, the Squire had an arm around
each, and said, 'I've got two daughters now'; and they made a lovely
picture. Nothing in the May party compared with it. Then Florence said,
'Won't you take this note to Susie, as you go by her house, and tell her
how happy I am, if any words _can_ tell?' But how late it's getting!
Good-by." Then, coming back: "I forgot to say they want you to come over
the first thing in the morning. Florence told her uncle that it was
through your unselfishness that she was made Queen, and she keeps saying
she _owes Bessie to you_. I don't half understand it, but I know it was
lovely in you to give up the honor;" and off she ran.

"I can hear the word _honor_ now, and not shut my ears to it," thought
Susie; and with Florence's note in her hands, and papa's crown on her
head, she murmured, "My cup runneth over."

THE END.




[Illustration]

A FABLE FOR SMART LITTLE BOYS.

  There was a little Hottentot
  Who wandered in a shady spot,
  Beside a sluggish river's brink,
  Where savage beasts came down to drink,
  When suddenly he ran across
  A monstrous, grim rhinoceros.
  The little blackamoor was pert,
  And not afraid of being hurt;
  So, without any hesitation,
  He entered into conversation,
  And, just to make his smartness clear,
  Began to ridicule and jeer:

  "My gracious! what an ugly beast!
  Your skin is all begrimed and creased
  And what a nose for shape and size,
  With a great horn between the eyes!"

  Whereat that big rhinoceros
  Just gave his nose a little toss,
  His funny little critic eyed
  With grim good-humor, and replied:

  "My nose, young darky? take a look
  At yours, reflected in the brook:
  Now tell me what you think of _that_?"

  "Mine? Why, 'twas beautifully flat
  When I was born; my mother's care
  To give me a distinguished air
  Has broadened it to what you see,
  And made my playmates envy me."
  "Yes, made you quite a beau! But hark 'ee,
  You most impertinent young darky,
  And let me tell you I was made
  With this huge form, and thus arrayed
  With a great horn upon my nose,
  To serve as warning to all those
  Who poke in other folks's platters,
  And make free with their neighbors' matters.
  I've half a mind--'twould serve you right--
  To toss you fairly out of sight.
  I'm coming for you now! Here goes!
  Say, now, how do you like my nose?"

  "Oh, don't, you dear, good, lovely beast!
  I didn't mean it in the least;
  You are the sweetest beast I know,
  And every one will tell you so."

  "You little impudence! begone!
  Quick, or my nose shall help you on!"

  That frightened little Hottentot
  Departed on a lively trot.




[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX]


  LYNN, NORTH CAROLINA.

     I am nine years old. I have a little baby sister named Jeanne. We
     had to leave papa, and come here with mamma for her health. We have
     a little mule named Kit, that is very little and gentle, and we
     ride it nearly every day. Kit just suits these mountain roads. The
     mountains are very high and beautiful. A great many people come
     here with their little boys and girls, so I always have playmates.

     We go fishing and riding. I have a garden of my own. I study part
     of the day, then I play, and have a good time. Strawberries are
     ripe now, and peaches will be ripe in June on the mountains in what
     they call the thermal belt, where the frost has not killed them as
     it has in other places this year.

     Just now the mountains are covered with flowers. There are azalias,
     kalmias, rhododendrons, wild phlox, and other flowers, and many
     trees are blooming. Mamma says she never saw so many flowers in her
     life. When you look up the mountain from below, it looks like the
     made pyramids of flowers we have at home in the city, only so much
     bigger. I wish everybody could see. Papa sends me YOUNG PEOPLE, and
     I am delighted with it.

  FRED J. T.

       *       *       *       *       *

  BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.

     The other afternoon papa took my little sister Annie to Mr.
     Barnum's circus, and I want to tell YOUNG PEOPLE the joyful news
     she brought when she came home. She rushed into the house in great
     excitement, calling out: "Oh, mamma, mamma, Mr. Stubbs isn't dead,
     because Mr. Barnum has got him all safe and well! I saw him myself
     in a big wagon, and Toby Tyler was there talking with him." Annie
     has mourned bitterly over the sad death of the poor monkey, and
     since she went to the circus and saw him alive, she has been a much
     happier little girl. She says a dozen times a day: "I'm so glad Mr.
     Stubbs didn't die! I knew they couldn't be so _cooel_ as to let him
     die!" She tells everybody that comes to the house that Mr. Stubbs
     is alive, and that Mr. Barnum has got him all safe.

     I don't know what we children would do without YOUNG PEOPLE. We can
     hardly wait for Tuesday night, when papa brings it home.

  H. C. L.

       *       *       *       *       *

  BETHLEHEM, NEW YORK.

     I want to tell YOUNG PEOPLE about my guinea-fowls. I wish all the
     little readers could see them. They have such lovely spotted
     feathers, and such cunning little heads, and they make such a
     funny, screeching noise that they frighten away the chicken-hawks.
     I wish I could send all the little girls some of their pretty
     feathers.

     I am eleven years old, and my music teacher says I can play the
     piano very well.

  I. L. K.

       *       *       *       *       *

  BURLINGTON, VERMONT.

     I have an Excelsior printing-press. I have not had it very long,
     but I have earned a few dollars with it. My uncle has a
     printing-office, and three or four presses. I like to go and watch
     him print, and I like to print myself very much.

     We have a summer-house on the shore of the lake, and a boat. We go
     there in the long vacation, and stay two or three months. I have a
     great deal of fun. I own a sail-boat about two feet long. It sails
     splendidly.

  FRANK P. L.

       *       *       *       *       *

  MARSHALLTOWN, IOWA.

     We take YOUNG PEOPLE in our school because the teacher says "it
     gives her ideas." We have lately organized a club in our school
     called the "Little Pitcher Club," so named, I suppose, because all
     its members are "little pitchers with big ears."

     We are bound by our by-laws to relate once a fortnight some story
     or incident which we have heard or read, in a natural manner, and
     in our own language, and subject to the fiercest criticism from the
     rest of the class, who pounce upon us like little tigers as soon as
     we are done. It is great fun, I think. We have a fine large
     play-ground, and the School Board have kindly given us permission
     to lay it out in flower-beds, one for each room, and there are four
     in the building. Our room is going to try for the premium offered
     at our county fair for the best set of letters from any school in
     the county, and we get a good many ideas from the Post-office Box
     in your little paper. The teacher says some of the letters printed
     there are models of correct letter-writing, and she chooses one
     every week for us to study and copy. We hope you will print this
     letter. Your little friend

  CARRIE A. (eight years).

       *       *       *       *       *

  BROOKLYN, E. D., NEW YORK.

     A number of boys and girls, readers of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, have
     corresponded with me about an object which no doubt would prove
     interesting and instructive to them. The object was, viz., a
     Natural History Society, composed of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE readers
     residing in all parts of the world where its welcome visits extend.

     My idea is that an organization of this kind would prosper much
     better if it was taken up by the boys and girls themselves. So I
     leave it in their hands, and would request that if they are in
     favor of such an association, to send their ideas, suggestions, and
     questions to the Post-office Box.

  CHARLES H. WILLIAMSON,
  President of the Young Chemists' Club.

       *       *       *       *       *

  LIMA, NEW YORK.

     I was born in India. My father is a missionary there now. Two years
     ago he sent me here to my grandpa's, and I like it very much. I am
     nine years old. I have saved money enough to take YOUNG PEOPLE all
     myself.

  HARRY L MCM.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I have no more arrow-heads to exchange, but I will exchange moss
     from the mountain cliffs, ore, periwinkles, and mussel shells from
     the river; or flints that will strike fire, for ocean shells, a
     piece of lava, or foreign postage stamps.

  C. D. MANSFIELD, Merville, Powell Co., Ky.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I would like to exchange coins, minerals, stamps, shells,
     postmarks, woods, butterflies, and other curiosities, for foreign
     stamps. Please send stamps, and I will pick out what I wish, and
     return the others with curiosities equal in value to the stamps I
     keep.

  FRANK B. ELDREDGE,
  P. O. Box 458, Attleboro, Mass.

       *       *       *       *       *

     We wish to notify correspondents that we have no more arrow-heads
     to exchange, and hope no one will send things requesting
     arrow-heads in return. We will now exchange lead ore, quartz, and
     flint, for other minerals and Indian relics.

  JOHN L. and MINNIE SCOTT,
  P. O. Box 39, Frankfort, Franklin Co., Ky.

       *       *       *       *       *

     After the 1st of June I can make no more exchanges.

  JULIE WICKHAM,
  338 Lexington Avenue, New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I have received three Chinese postage stamps from New York city,
     but as the sender did not give any name, I can not return
     specimens.

  AMELIA FRINK, Marshall, Calhoun Co., Mich.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I have received some things from a boy in Beattie, Marshall County,
     Kansas, but he did not sign his name. I will send him his
     sulphurates as soon as he sends me his name.

  GEORGE HAWES,
  73 Gilbert Street, Bridgeport, Conn.

We have often endeavored to impress upon the minds of our young readers
the importance of giving full name and address when writing a letter
requiring an answer. Every day the Post-office Box receives letters
requesting exchange, often concluding with, "Please, Mr. Editor, make
room for this," and in their anxiety lest their letter be not printed,
the boys and girls often forget to sign their request, and except for
the postmark on the envelope, the editor would never know in what part
of the world the careless little correspondent lived. Now there are a
great many of you watching every paper for your exchange. You are sure
you wrote it clearly, and in every number you see others asking for the
same thing you asked for, so you know your exchange was not against the
rules. You can not understand why it is not printed. It never will be
printed, because you forgot to give your name and address; and if you
wish to exchange your stamps or other things, you must write again, and
be more careful than before.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I have no more arrow-heads, but I hope to have some soon, and will
     send them to correspondents who have written to me.

  WILLIE G. WHITE,
  Yorkville, York Co., S. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

Louis Treadwell, Redding, Connecticut, and Nat B. Blunt, New York city,
withdraw their names from our exchange list, as they have no more
specimens.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following exchanges are offered by correspondents:

     Rare foreign and United States postmarks, for rare coins or Indian
     relics.

  CLINTON C. ANDREWS,
  Kirkwood, St. Louis Co., Mo.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Pink and mushroom coral, ivory nuts, three kinds of South-Sea
     beans, or Mexican, Western coast, and South-Sea shells, for shells.
     Only good specimens desired.

  J. S. ARNHEIM,
  Drug Store, 248 Oak Street, San Francisco, Cal.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Postmarks.

  CLARENCE L. AVERY,
  Herkimer, Herkimer Co., N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A Chinese coin, for twenty foreign stamps. A Japanese coin, for
     forty foreign stamps. A stone from Ohio, for one from any other
     State.

  WILLIAM ALTER,
  P. O. Box 790, Kenton, Hardin Co., Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     German, French Republic, Great Britain, Holland, Hong-Kong, India,
     or Roman States stamps, for a 90-cent United States, issue of 1851,
     a 30-cent due stamp, issue of 1879, a 1, 10, 12, 15, and 24 cent
     Interior Department, or a 1, 7, 10, 12, 24, 30, or 90 cent Navy
     Department.

  J. C. STEWART,
  P. O. Box 64, Bound Brook, N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Silver of the United States, for silver of any other country except
     Canada.

  EDSON T. BOYD,
  P. O. Box 41, Harmony, Chautauqua Co., N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Some coins over a hundred years old, for other curiosities.

  ED. BYNON,
  37-1/2 Vickroy Street, Pittsburgh, Pa.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stamps from India, for those of any other foreign country except
     South America.

  LAURA M. BUCK,
  634 Girard Avenue, Philadelphia, Pa.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Four stones from the "Blue Juniata," for stones from any other
     river, and crystallized salt.

  S. FRED BLYMYER, Lewistown, Mifflin Co., Pa.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A stone from Massachusetts, for one from any other State.

  L. BROOKS,
  Care of Mr. P. C. Brooks, West Medford, Mass.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Pressed flowers and United States stamps, for curiosities.
     Correspondents will please write before sending any specimens.

  IDY and JENNIE BATES,
  Peoria, Franklin Co., Kan.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Fifteen Indiana postmarks, for the same from any other State.

  CHARLES BEEMER,
  Lock Box 398, Muncie, Delaware Co., Ind.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Five postmarks, for one stamp. Foreign stamps, for United States
     internal revenue stamps.

  C. S. BROWN,
  Lock Box 406, Muncie, Delaware Co., Ind.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Postmarks.

  HENRY M. DALAND,
  440 Jefferson Avenue, Elizabeth, N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A good ten-key accordion, for a good foot-power scroll-saw.

  H. DAMM,
  Lancaster, Grant Co., Wis.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Butterflies, and other insects.

  A. R. EVERETT, Sweetland, Nevada Co., Cal.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A piece of crystallized quartz, for a piece of copper, lead, or
     iron ore. A foreign stamp, for every five postmarks (no
     duplicates). Fifteen different foreign stamps, for any good
     curiosity.

  EDWARD D. FOWLER,
  P. O. Box 51, Newburgh, Orange Co., N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Curiosities and foreign coins to exchange for old American coins.

  G. H. HETZEL,
  Cumberland, Alleghany Co., Md.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stamps, for ocean curiosities. A good collection of two hundred
     stamps (no duplicates), for a genuine Indian bow and arrow.

  C. D. HAINES,
  565 Seventeenth Street, Oakland, Cal.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stamps, postmarks, and monograms, for curiosities.

  FRANK HAINES,
  54 West Fifty-seventh Street, New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     United States internal revenue stamps, for stamps from Cuba,
     Brazil, Mexico, China, Australia, or Cape of Good Hope.

  M. MASSIE,
  101 East Eighth Street, Covington, Ky.

       *       *       *       *       *

     An ounce of soil from Cook County, Illinois, for the same from any
     other State.

  T. E. MORFORD,
  P. O. Box 32, Riverside, Cook Co., Ill.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foreign postage stamps, for Indian arrow-heads.

  FRANK C. MOTHERWELL,
  247 South Sixth Street, Philadelphia, Penn.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Minerals, for silk scraps for a quilt.

  FLAVEL MINES,
  P. O. Box 41, Kirkwood, St. Louis Co., Mo.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Iron ore from Missouri, coral, stones from the Atlantic coast, and
     a few petrified sharks' teeth, for stamps; Nova Scotia, Baden,
     Newfoundland, and United States department stamps especially
     desired.

  L. W. MULLIKIN,
  Room 37, Hackettstown Ins., Hackettstown, N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Florida shells, sulphur as it is dug, and stones and shells from
     Lake Ontario, for ocean curiosities, Indian relics, and ores.

  ALBERT PFANS, care of William Schenck,
  290 Washington Street, Newark, N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foreign stamps. Australian and Asiatic stamps especially desired.
     Correspondents will please send list of stamps before sending
     specimens.

  HELEN POTTER,
  1519 North Twenty-second St., Philadelphia, Penn.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Pine, birch, maple, and oak of different kinds, poplar, ash, wild
     cherry, and alder, for ocean shells and curiosities, postmarks, or
     other kinds of woods. New Hampshire granite or cobble-stones, for
     stones from any other State.

  SCOTT E. SANBORN,
  54 Pennacook Street, Manchester, N. H.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A very good stamp album, for a genuine Indian bow and arrow in good
     condition.

  WALTER S. RUSSELL,
  Cooperstown, Otsego Co., N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A British stamp, for a Cape of Good Hope stamp.

  ATTIE SUTTON, Bradford, Penn.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Five postmarks, for every ordinary foreign postage stamp; and ten
     postmarks, for every rare foreign stamp.

  S. G. SMITH,
  Heckatoo, Lincoln Co., Ark.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Iron ore and sea-shells, for minerals.

  G. W. STEVENS,
  10 Broadway Street, Utica, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A Russian stamp, for a three-cornered Cape of Good Hope. Five
     postmarks, for a Newfoundland or Turkish stamp.

  ROBERT SHIELL, JUN.,
  39 Sibley Street, Detroit, Mich.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A piece of coral eleven inches high, for a stamp from Japan,
     Russia, or Liberia.

  F. R. SATTERLEE,
  56 West Seventeenth Street, New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Ten postmarks, for one foreign stamp. Sand from Ohio, for the same
     from any other State or Territory.

  E. STANDISH,
  44 West University Street, Columbus, Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Mexican and State Department stamps, for stamps from Liberia,
     Prince Edward Island, Nicaragua, Uruguay, Feejee Islands, and Costa
     Rica.

  M. U., P. O. Box 63, San Antonio, Texas.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Fifteen postmarks of any one State of the Union, for good
     curiosities.

  J. M. VALERINOS,
  388 Clifton Place, Brooklyn, E. D., N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A stone from Massachusetts, for one from any other State.

  JOSEPH WELCH,
  607 Broadway, South Boston, Mass.

       *       *       *       *       *

     A one-shilling English stamp, 5 and 25 centime French stamps, and
     25-centime Swiss stamp, for other foreign stamps.

  C. WILKINS,
  228 South Fourth Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Rare seeds or bulbs, for postage stamps.

  FRED A. WILSON, care of "American Grocer,"
  28 West Broadway, New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Two sea-watches and four English stamps, for any foreign stamps
     except English.

  JENNIE VOTER, Biddeford, Me.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stamps and American and foreign coins.

  CARL WHEELOCK,
  P. O. Box 421, Woonsocket, R. I.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foreign stamps, or old issues of United States stamps, for the
     same, or for anything suitable for a museum.

  R. WILSON,
  Norwalk, Huron Co., Ohio.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Twelve varieties of foreign stamps, for ten stamps from Japan,
     Ionian Isles, Liberia, Natal, Orange States, Parma, Paraguay,
     Poland, West Australia, or Bolivia.

  GEORGIE C. WEISSERT,
  193 Twelfth Street, Milwaukee, Wis.

       *       *       *       *       *

     English telegraph, old United States, and rare European stamps, for
     Mexican and South American stamps--a stamp for a stamp; also,
     relics from Niagara Falls, for relics from other places.

  ROUNSVILLE WILDMAN, Niagara Falls, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Rare old issues of United States stamps, for rare foreign stamps.

  M. WILLIS,
  P. O. Box 208, Flushing, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Pressed leaves and stones, for insects. Please pack specimens
     carefully in cotton.

  KITTIE WEAVER, Mankato, Minn.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Sections of a shark's backbone, for fossils or petrifactions of any
     kind.

  D. ALLEN WEBBER,
  Searsport, Waldo Co., Me.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Silver ore, for foreign postage stamps and postal cards.

  J. E. WILLIAMS,
  4 Harrison Street, New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Two cancelled three and ten cent Treasury stamps, for any Asiatic,
     African, Australian, or South American stamp.

  CARL WAGNER,
  200 Peachtree Street, Atlanta, Ga.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Ten foreign stamps, for one copper coin of any foreign country.

  H. F. WELCH,
  St. Nicholas Hotel, New York City.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Postmarks, for curiosities of any kind. Soil of New York, for the
     same of any other State. White and red cedar, for other woods.

  R. E. SUMNER,
  468 Classon Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Trap-rock with mica in it, for an Indian arrow-head.

  R. B. W.,
  P. O. Box 51, Ridgewood, Bergen Co., N. J.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foreign stamps, for Indian relics.

  HARRY SULLIVAN, Indianapolis, Ind.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Postmarks, for insects.

  WALTER S. STILLMAN,
  P. O. Box 966, Council Bluffs, Iowa.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Foreign stamps, for minerals, coins, Indian relics, or any kind of
     curiosities.

  JOHN T.,
  14 Carver Street, Boston, Mass.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Stamps and sea-shells from Florida, for South American or Asiatic
     coins.

  F. P. T.,
  Okawville, Washington Co., Ill.

       *       *       *       *       *

JOSEPH W.--There is an old tradition that the loadstone was discovered
by a Greek shepherd on Mount Ida. His crook was tipped with iron, and on
touching a large mass of rock with it, he was amazed and terrified to
find it held fast, as if by invisible hands. The name of this shepherd
was Magnes, and the word magnet is said by some to be derived from it.
Others, with more probability, think that the word comes from a region
of Lydia called Magnesia, where the loadstone was found in large
quantities. This stone has the remarkable power of imparting its own
property of attraction to hard iron or steel, without losing any of its
power.

       *       *       *       *       *

C. H. C.--Whistles may be made of willow, bass-wood (linden), or elder.
The process is very simple: Take a smooth piece of willow or bass-wood
branch, of fresh growth, and full of sap, about half an inch in diameter
and three or four inches long. Trim the smaller end as shown in the
diagram, and cut a circle through the bark near the larger end, and then
loosen the bark between the cut and the smaller end by gently tapping it
with a stick or the back of your knife. If you break or bruise it, your
whistle will be spoiled. When the bark is thoroughly loosened, it will
slip off with a gentle pull. Cut away the wood as indicated by the
dotted lines of the diagram, and make a small incision in the bark just
above where the inside slope of the wood begins. Moisten the wood, slip
on the bark, and you have your whistle. To make a whistle out of elder,
punch out the pith, plug up one end tightly, and leave an air-space on
one side of the plug at the other end. Cut an air-hole, as in the willow
whistle.

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

R. V. C.--Horses are not used in crossing the great deserts of Africa,
as they can not go without water, like the camel, which can take into
its stomach at one time a supply for several days.

       *       *       *       *       *

O. W.--The phrase "passing-bell" originated in this way. In ancient
times, when people were more superstitious than they are now, it was
believed that bells which had been consecrated had the power to drive
away evil spirits; and so, when any one was supposed to be dying, the
church bell was rung to scare away the wicked demons which were supposed
to be waiting at the foot of the bed, ready to seize the "passing" soul.
Bells were also supposed to have the power of protecting buildings from
lightning and storms of wind, and some bells were inscribed with verses
describing their qualities. The following verses are found on some old
bells in England:

  "Men's death I tell by doleful knell.
  Lightning and thunder I break asunder.
  On Sabbath all to church I call.
  The sleepy head I raise from bed.
  The winds so fierce I do disperse.
  Man's cruel rage I do assuage."

       *       *       *       *       *

C. R. F.--You can obtain the numbers of YOUNG PEOPLE you specify.

       *       *       *       *       *

H. S.--Our word bead comes from the old Anglo-Saxon BEAD, or BEDE, which
means a prayer, strings of beads being used to number prayers. Beads are
made of many kinds of material--glass, amber, coral, wood, precious
stones, gold, and other metals. They are largely manufactured in China,
and every mandarin, when in full dress, wears a magnificent string of
them. The beads used for dolls' eyes are mostly made at Birmingham,
England.

       *       *       *       *       *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Jennie Bates, Gertie
Childs, Maggie J. Callahan, _L. M. Fobes_, Lottie, "_Lodestar_," Flavel
S. Mines, F. Nichols, "North Star," "Pepper," _Harry Phillips_, M.
Parkinson, C. A. Quinn, "_Queen Bess_," Charlie A. Smith, "Tel E.
Graph," "Wall and Thisbe."

       *       *       *       *       *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

ENIGMA.

  In canter, not in walk.
  In chatter, not in talk.
  In yarn, not in string.
  In music, not in sing.
  In winter, not in snow.
  In water, not in row.
  In muscle, not in might.
  In quarrel, not in fight.
  In church, not in people.
  In altar, not in steeple.
  My whole is a place of summer delight
  Where children learn to do what is right.

  HELEN.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 2.

FOUR EASY SQUARES.

1.--1. A couple. 2. A plant. 3. A small quantity. 4. To cut down.

2.--1. A token. 2. An island. 3. Joy. 4. Necessity.

3.--1. To bend. 2. A surface. 3. To peruse. 4. Small cushions.

  TEL E. GRAPH.

4.--1. To wither. 2. Old. 3. An exploit. 4. A whirlpool.

  GOODY TWO-SHOES.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 3.

TRIPLE ENIGMA.

  In scholar, not in learn.
  In mouse-ear, not in fern.
  In ringing, not in toll.
  In ladle, not in bowl.
  In tyranny, but not in kings.
  My whole comprises three sweet things.

  DAME DURDEN.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 4.

CHARADE--(_To Rip Van Winkle_).

  In shady woods and sunny fields
    My first is often found.
  As lithe and fleet as any bird,
    Yet never leaves the ground.

  Of life and death my second tells,
    Of sorrow and of mirth;
  It dwells with stately pomp, and by
    The simplest household hearth.

  My whole, a graceful, modest flower,
    By lonely way-sides grows,
  And trembles on its slender stem
    With every wind that blows.

  OWLET.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 80.

No. 1.

  A C C E S S O R Y
    I N S U L A R
      A N G E R
        H A Y
          R
        A C T
      C H A N T
    C O R N I C E
  B L A M E L E S S

No. 2.

Hepatica.


No. 3.

  _S_   T    E    E   _L_
   S   _A_   V   _O_   R
   L    A   _B_  _O_   R
   M   _O_   U   _L_   D
  _S_   T    A    V   _E_

Sable, Lobos.


No. 4.

  P R I S O N  P R O F I T
  R E S I N    R A V E N
  I S A R      O V E N
  S I R        F E N
  O N          I N
  N            T

No. 5.

Wiggles.

       *       *       *       *       *

Charade, on page 448--Horse-chestnut.




HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.


SINGLE COPIES, 4 cents; ONE SUBSCRIPTION, one year, $1.50; FIVE
SUBSCRIPTIONS, one year, $7.00--_payable in advance, postage free_.

The Volumes of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE commence with the first Number in
November of each year.

Subscriptions may begin with any Number. When no time is specified, it
will be understood that the subscriber desires to commence with the
Number issued after the receipt of the order.

Remittances should be made by POST-OFFICE MONEY-ORDER OR DRAFT, to avoid
risk of loss.

  HARPER & BROTHERS,
  Franklin Square. N. Y.




[Illustration: WEIGHING THE BABY.]




THE GREAT-GRANDFATHER OF CROQUET.

BY G. B. BARTLETT.


As summer dries up the moist paths and lawns, the boys are eager for new
out-of-door games, and we will hunt for them, where most good things
come from--in the distant past, the games of which are the new ones of
to-day.

The boys of 1881 are advised to reproduce one of the first games ever
played in merrie England, one in which kings and princes delighted to
join, and in honor of which a celebrated avenue still retains its
ancient name. Very little can be ascertained about this game and the
manner of playing it, as the only authentic record which we can find
consists of a picture of one of its balls and mallets in the Bodleian
manuscripts. A hint has also been discovered in another book, from which
we have gathered ideas enough to describe a game full of novelty and
interest to both boys and girls, in addition to its deep historical and
literary associations. From the form of the simple implements preserved
in the picture, Pall Mall may certainly be considered as the ancestor of
Croquet, for the idea of a ball driven by a mallet was doubtless derived
from it.

The best mall for this game is a hard concrete or gravel walk seven feet
in width and forty feet in length. Doubtless after this game becomes
widely known through the great circulation of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE,
malls for this purpose will be made on many pleasure-grounds; but it can
be played on any lawn by inclosing a space with small posts, to which a
line is fastened six inches from the ground, and ruling out all balls
that roll outside of the boundary or pass under the line. When played on
a path or avenue, the boundaries are marked by the grass or border on
each side. Any number of players can join, each one being provided with
one ball and mallet. The best ball for the purpose is the smallest size
of those used in bowling-alleys, made of hard heavy wood, four inches in
diameter. Each player must be able to identify his ball at once among a
crowd, for which purpose each should be marked with a spot of different
color. The mallet must be made of oak, with a head nine inches long and
four inches thick, through which a very strong handle is securely
fastened, projecting three feet at least. It is well to have the handles
of these mallets of various lengths, to accommodate tall or short
players, as the ball should be hit without stooping, and on the run.

Upon the mall lines are made with white lime, flour, or plaster; one for
the starting-point, one in the centre, one at the goal, and one six feet
from the starting-point. All these lines cross the mall, excepting the
one six feet from the start, which is a circle four feet across, made by
fastening a string to a post, and drawing a ring on the ground with
another stick tied to the post by a string two feet long, and marking
the circle thus made with plaster. The goal is a small board, with a peg
eighteen inches long at the middle of the lower edge, by which it is
driven into the ground. At equal distances from this peg arches are cut
in the goal six inches high and five inches wide, and just over the peg
a circle of the same size as the ball is made with white chalk.

As the first stroke is important, it is determined by placing all the
balls on the circle in front of the starting-place, and allowing each
player to knock his ball; and the one whose ball goes farthest along the
mall has the precedence, and the next one in order has the second
choice. These two players then choose sides in turn, and direct the
game. The object is to hit the white circle of the goal, with the fewest
strokes, without sending the ball outside of the mall. Any player who
sends his own ball or that of an adversary off the mall before it
reaches the centre line causes that ball to be out of the game. Any ball
knocked off the mall, after passing the centre line, may return once
only to the starting-point for a second trial. Any ball sent through
either of the arches in the goal, before hitting the white ring, is out
of the game. Players who have passed the centre line may knock either
way, but before reaching the centre must always play toward it.

When a player has hit the circle on the goal, without being hit, he can,
if he prefers, let his ball remain, and play against the others, or
remove his ball to count on his side; but if not taken off, his ball is
equally liable with the others to be knocked off the mall or through the
arch, in which case it is out of the game.

A player who clears the centre line at one knock can play again, and if
he hits the circle with one knock more, his side wins the game. Great
judgment is thus required in the force applied to each stroke,
especially when many balls are in the mall, as the player runs the risk
of knocking off friends and adversaries alike. To gain force for the
blow each has the choice of running along the mall from the
starting-point. The side wins which hits the centre ring first with the
most balls, as it seldom happens that more than three balls reach the
goal without going through it or being knocked off the mall. The contest
grows hot around the goal, as many players send their own balls off the
mall in their eager efforts to knock away those of their adversaries,
and the game is at an end only when every ball has hit the circle or is
out of the game either by going through the goal or off the mall, as
after passing the centre line one may play toward the goal or against
any ball in either direction.




[Illustration: "Hey, Johnny, come and get these purps quick--one of
'em's for you, anyhow--I's caught fast to somethin'!"]





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Just Go #JustGo - Sanderlei Silveira - Viagem Volta ao Mundo

Bíblia Online

Poetry in English

Poesia em Espanhol

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Sanderlei Silveira

História e Geografia

Sanderlei Silveira

Sanderlei Silveira

History in 1 Minute

Áudio Livro - Sanderlei

Billboard Hot 100 | Song Lyrics - Letras de Músicas

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Santa Catarina - Conheça seu Estado

Conheça seu Estado - História e Geografia

Poesia em Português, Inglês, Espanhol e Francês

Obra completa de Machado de Assis

Dom Casmurro - Machado de Assis

Quincas Borba - Machado de Assis

Esaú e Jacó - Machado de Assis

Song Lyrics - Letras Música - Tradução em Português:


2U - David Guetta Featuring Justin Bieber

Strangers - Halsey Featuring Lauren Jauregui

Butterfly Effect - Travis Scott

No Longer Friends - Bryson Tiller

Element. - Kendrick Lamar

Bon Appetit - Katy Perry Featuring Migos

do re mi - blackbear

There For You - Martin Garrix x Troye Sivan

Run Me Dry - Bryson Tiller

No Such Thing As A Broken Heart - Old Dominion

Don't Get Too High - Bryson Tiller

Met Gala - Gucci Mane Featuring Offset

Weak - AJR

Self-Made - Bryson Tiller

Wokeuplikethis* Woke up like this - Playboi Carti Featuring Lil Uzi Vert

Thunder - Imagine Dragons

Swish Swish - Katy Perry Featuring Nicki Minaj

No Promises - Cheat Codes Featuring Demi Lovato

Yours If You Want It - Rascal Flatts

Most Girls - Hailee Steinfeld

Somethin Tells Me - Bryson Tiller

Flatliner - Cole Swindell

Loyalty. - Kendrick Lamar Featuring Rihanna

Drinkin' Problem - Midland

Felices Los 4 - Maluma

Every Time I Hear That Song - Blake Shelton

Privacy - Chris Brown

Strip That Down - Liam Payne Featuring Quavo

My Girl - Dylan Scott

1-800-273-8255 - Logic Featuring Alessia Cara & Khalid

Crying In The Club - Camila Cabello

Love. - Kendrick Lamar Featuring Zacari

If I Told You - Darius Rucker

The Cure - Lady Gaga

Magnolia - Playboi Carti

Everyday We Lit - YFN Lucci Featuring PnB Rock

Bad Liar - Selena Gomez

Attention - Charlie Puth

Slow Hands - Niall Horan

Now Or Never - Halsey

Despacito Remix - Luis Fonsi Feat. Justin Bieber, Daddy Yankee

I'm The One - DJ Khaled Featuring Justin Bieber, Quavo, Chance The Rapper & Lil Wayne

Migos:


Migos

Migos - Wikipedia em Português

Culture - Migos featuring DJ Khaled

Culture - Tradução em Português

Culture - La traducción en español

T-Shirt - Migos

T-Shirt - Tradução em Português

T-Shirt - La traducción en español

Call Casting - Migos

Call Casting - Tradução em Português

Call Casting - La traducción en español

Bad And Boujee - Migos Featuring Lil Uzi Vert

Bad And Boujee - Tradução em Português

Bad And Boujee - La traducción en español

Get Right Witcha - Migos

Get Right Witcha - Tradução em Português

Get Right Witcha - La traducción en español

Slippery - Migos Featuring Gucci Mane

Slippery - Tradução em Português

Slippery - La traducción en español

Big on Big - Migos

Big on Big - Tradução em Português

Big on Big - La traducción en español

What the Price - Migos

What the Price - Tradução em Português

What the Price - La traducción en español

Brown Paper Bag - Migos

Brown Paper Bag - Tradução em Português

Brown Paper Bag - La traducción en español

Deadz - Migos Featuring 2 Chainz

Deadz - Tradução em Português

Deadz - La traducción en español

All Ass - Migos

All Ass - Tradução em Português

Top 10 BLOGs by Sanderlei Silveira


Slippery - Migos Featuring Gucci Mane - Letra Musica - Tradução em Português

Slippery - La traducción en español

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Mein Kampf (Minha luta) - Adolf Hitler - PDF Download em Português

Macunaíma PDF - Mário de Andrade

As festas populares no estado do Paraná PR

Os ciclos da economia do Mato Grosso do Sul MS

A escultura, depois de Alexander Calder

As festas populares no estado de São Paulo SP

As festas populares em Santa Catarina SC

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