Chapter II: Part 2

"All; got no more; gentleman's word for it."

Lizzie heard most of this sad scene in her little room overhead, and when she heard the father go groping up the stairs, and fall heavily on his bed in the room next to hers, she hurried down to Jenny with her heart full of pity and love.

"What are you thinking of, Jenny darling?" she said, laying her hand on the bright hair which was now shaken down over the small misshapen shoulders, and covered the whole tiny figure with its soft yellow waves.

"I was thinking," said Jenny, with her small chin in her hands, "what I would do to _him_ if he should turn out to be a drunkard."

"Him" always meant the husband little Jenny firmly believed was some time going to come for her and take her out of all her trouble.

"Oh, but he won't," said Lizzie, cheerfully. "You'll take care of that beforehand."

"Yes, I shall try to take care of it beforehand; but, Lizzie, you know, he might deceive me. Oh, my dear, I _couldn't_ bear it in _him_. I would do some dreadful thing to him--I know I should."

"No, you wouldn't, dear."

"Well," said the little creature, after a pause, and speaking in her softer voice again, "you generally know best, Lizzie; but, oh! you haven't got a bad child to make you sick and tired!" And then the poor little dolls' dressmaker cried with her head on Lizzie's shoulder.

* * * * *

One day Lizzie had a holiday, and she and Jenny set out to walk into the city by the pleasant river-side. Lizzie carried Jenny's little scrap-basket on her arm, and they were in luck, for a man driving a market wagon saw the small figure and the crutch, with the beautiful hair flowing around them, and stopped his horses, nodded respectfully to Lizzie, and asked if they wouldn't like a lift. So they rode into London.

"You'll like my fairy godmother," said Jenny, after the teamster put them down, as they went along the narrow street of St. Mary Axe. "He has a very nice old face and a long white beard."

"He!" said Lizzie, wondering.

"Oh yes, he!" Jenny answered, promptly. "A man can be a godmother if he's the right kind, can't he?"

They stopped in front of a yellow house with the blinds drawn down. Jenny struck the door smartly with her crutch, and it was opened by a man in an old-fashioned coat with long skirts and wide pockets. He was old; the top of his head was bald and shining, and long gray hair beginning just above his ears flowed down and mixed with his beard.

"It's a holiday, godmother," said Jenny, smiling at him, "and I've brought my Lizzie-Mizzie-Wizzie I've told you of, you know. Godmother's name's Riah," she added, turning to Lizzie.

The old man bowed very low to Lizzie, and helped Jenny over the sill.

"I've come for more waste," said Jenny, meaning the remnants of lace, ribbon, beads, and other finery, which with other odd things were on sale in the shop where this quiet old man was the clerk.

He led them into this shop at the back of the house, and when Jenny had picked out and paid for what she needed, she said,

"Now take us up to your garden, godmother. We've got all day, and there's some lunch, and Lizzie's going to read to me. Come."

The old man looked pleased, and went before them to the second floor, and then up a narrow flight of steps to a door in the roof. Pushing this door aside, he came down and carried Jenny up, and Lizzie followed.

As they came out upon the roof, a light cool wind caught up Jenny's bright hair, and Lizzie exclaimed, "How kind you are, Mr. Riah, to let us come up here!"

And it was a pleasant place.

An old canvas awning stretched between three of the chimneys made a nice shade, without shutting out the view on any side. A square of bright-colored carpet was spread on the roof under the awning; around the big blackened chimney a green creeper had been trained, and together with some boxes of evergreens and flowers made the place look and smell like a garden.

The girls sat down, and invited Mr. Riah to sit by them, and have some of the fruit and sandwiches they had brought. But just as he was about to do this, a thin, fretful voice called out from below,

"Where are you, old chap?"

"It's my master," said Mr. Riah, hurrying away.

"His master!" repeated Lizzie, in surprise.

Jenny nodded her head, and looked vexed.

"Godmother's poor," said she, "but a good fairy for all that. This ain't his place, and these ain't his things I buy. He works for somebody else, just as we do, and somebody else gets the most of him, just as they get the most of us, Lizzie-Mizzie-Wizzie. Never saw the man, but I suspect he's a beast."

"Sh! they're coming," said Lizzie.

The old man, followed by a young slim man with a thin foxy face, came out upon the roof. Lizzie rose, with her book in her hand.

"I can't get up, whoever you are," said Jenny, promptly, "because my back's bad and my legs are queer."

"This is my master, Mr. Fledgeby," said Mr. Riah, as he came forward.

"Don't look like anybody's master," exclaimed Jenny.

"This, sir," the old man went on, "is a little dressmaker for little people.--Explain to the master, Jenny."

"Dressmaker for dolls," said Jenny, hitching her chin and her eyes with that look which made her seem so old and sharp and wise. "They're very difficult to fit, too, Mr. Master Fledgeby, because their figures are so uncertain; you never know where to expect their waists."

"This is the little one's friend," said Mr. Riah, pointing to Lizzie. "Worthy girls both, sir. They are busy early and late, and at times, when they have a holiday, they take to book-learning."

"Not much good to be got out of that," said Mr. Fledgeby.

"Depends upon the person," exclaimed Jenny, with a snap of her teeth, that made it seem as if her eyes snapped too.

"The way I came to know them," said the old man, "was by Miss Jenny's coming to buy of our remnants and waste for her work."

"She's been buying that basketful to-day, I suppose, then?" Mr. Fledgeby asked.

"I suppose she has," cried Jenny, with another little snap, "and paying for it too, most likely."

"Let's have a look at it," said the foxy-faced young man. "How much for this, now?"

"Two precious silver shillings. Put it down, please; it's paid," Jenny said.

He set the basket down, but not until he had poked his finger about in it.

"Do _you_ buy anything here, miss?"

"No, sir," said Lizzie.

"Do you _sell_ anything?"

"No, sir."

Jenny put up her hand, and pulled Lizzie down beside her.

"We come here to rest, sir. It roars down there," waving her hand toward the city, "and it sometimes smokes up here," lightly touching the big chimney where she sat. "But it's so high, and you see the clouds rushing on above the narrow streets, and you feel as if you were dead."

"How do you feel when you are dead?" asked Mr. Fledgeby, staring at her in surprise.

"Oh, full of peace and thankfulness," said the little creature, smiling. "You don't work, you just rest, and you hear the people who are alive crying and working and calling to one another down in the close, dark, noisy streets, and you pity them, for the burden has fallen off from you, and you feel so strange, so easy, and light."

They all looked at her in silence.

"Why, it is only just now," she said, turning to old Mr. Riah, "that I thought I saw you come up out of your grave. You came up through the dark narrow door in the roof, and you were all bent over, and hot and tired; but then you took a breath, and stood up straight, and looked round at the sky, and the wind blew your white beard on your breast, and your life down in the dark was over--until _you_ called him back to life."

Her voice changed as she said these last words with a sudden little snap at Mr. Fledgeby. "_Why_ did you call him back? _You_ are not dead, you know. Go down to life." She pointed one little forefinger, and turned her small head, and shook her bright hair, and looked wonderfully like a small cunning bird of much golden plumage.

As they started to go down, she caught at Mr. Riah's long gown. "Don't be gone long," said she. "Come back and be dead." And they heard the sweet voice following after, more and more faintly, half calling, half singing, "Come up and be dead, come up and be dead."

"My dear," said Jenny that night, when they were at home again and going to bed, "the master _is_ a beast, and he wants to eat up my godmother," which was the little creature's odd way of saying that she felt sure old Mr. Riah worked very hard for very little money under the foxy-faced young man he called his master.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

DOT'S LETTER.

Here's a picture of Dot
As she sat at her ease
With a letter she'd got.
"Dear Dot," it began,
"We so want you to come!
'Twas to-day we began
Our new plan of 'At Home.'

"There is Mollie and me
And our new dolls, you know,
Whom you're certain to see.
We give plum-cake at tea,
Besides sweets when you go.
Your friend I remain,
With much love, as you know."

THE REHEARSAL.

A duet, if you please, between Norman and Grace;
Sister Olive is player; she's there in her place;
Tiny Grace is Soprano, and Norman is Bass.

Little Grace is so eager she can not keep time,
But runs on ahead without reason or rhyme.

"Sing slower!" cries Norman; "it is not a race;
Still slower, Soprano, and _do_ keep your place."

"It is Olive," says Gracie; "what _is_ she about?
She waited too long there, and quite put me out."

"No, indeed," answers Olive, that mark means a 'rest';
You don't understand, Grace--indeed I know best."

"Try again. Ah! that's better, by far than before;
Now if people were here, they would cry out 'Encore,'
Which means, you know, Gracie, 'Please sing it once more.'"

"A MAN OF STRAW."

Finch and Goldie,
Redpole fine,
In the corn field
Came to dine.

"Oh! what is that?"
They startled cry,
All in a flutter
Rushing by.

"Look, silly birds,
And you will know
It can not hurt,"
Cawed Father Crow.

"Tis but a thing
'Gainst nature's law,
Only a sham--
'A man of straw.'"

THE BATH-ROOM.

Cries Tom, in the bath, "I'm a seal at the Zoo."
Says Ted, on the rug, "Then I'm glad I'm not you."
"Ah, but, Ted," answers Tommy, "you know you're my brother;
And if _I_ am a seal, why, you _must_ be another!"

We want to tell you a little story, by way of introducing the letters this week. The other day three boys we know went off for an afternoon's skating. The ice was as smooth as glass, and they flew over it like the wind, sometimes describing great circles, sometimes spinning around like tops, then cutting all sorts of pretty fancy figures, and again racing along as fast as their skates could go.

After a while Fred paused for breath. On the bank of the pond he saw a schoolmate, who was watching the sport with wistful eyes.

"I declare, boys," said Fred to Harry and Phil, "I don't believe that fellow has had a chance to skate this winter. He hasn't any skates, I'm sure."

"Skates?--not he. A good many days, I'm afraid, he don't get any dinner," answered Harry, as he finished a splendid pigeon-wing.

"Well"--Fred smothered a little sigh as he spoke, but he spoke bravely--"I think it's mean for us to have so much fun while he has none, and here goes! I say, Dan," he shouted to the boy on the bank, "come, take a turn on the ice. I'll lend you my skates awhile."

Dan needed a little urging, but the other boys, who liked their comrade none the less because he happened to be poorer than themselves, insisted, and the rest of the time he was among the skaters instead of Fred.

They all went home happier than usual, for those who do kind things are always repaid by the double delight they feel, and those who accept kindness gracefully are the happier for it too. How many of you boys and girls are enjoying the luxury of helping others along the way? We like to think that every day some of you are making the world gladder by simply doing the best you can wherever you happen to be. Do not wait for the chance to distinguish yourselves by great deeds, but seize the little opportunities as they come. It may be only amusing a fretful child, or helping a dull one to learn a hard lesson, or sewing a rip in an unlucky brother's gloves, or, as these three little fellows did, loaning a pair of skates, but believe me no unselfish action is ever done in vain.

* * * * *

PALMYRA, NEW YORK.

I have a nice auntie in Washington, who sends me YOUNG PEOPLE every
week, and I have all but the first six numbers. I was out at
Shortsville this summer visiting my cousins; and while I was there
we had the play given in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 92, "Mother Michel and
Her Cat," and it was a great success. I was Mother Michel.

I have a toy Mr. Stubbs, sent me by a kind gentleman in Washington
who had read the story of "Toby Tyler." We have three birds-- But
there! I must not write any more, for if I do I fear my letter will
be too long to publish, and I want it to be printed, as I would
like to surprise my auntie. I am glad Mr. Otis is having so good a
time with his little yacht.

MINA L. C.

* * * * *

The little people who, like Mina, wish Mr. Otis a pleasant voyage, will be glad to read another letter from his pen:

ON THE PASQUOTANK.

Since it is neither a large nor important water-course, some of the
readers of YOUNG PEOPLE may not know where the Pasquotank River is;
but as it can readily be found on the map, those who care to read
more about the cruise of the _Toby Tyler_ should learn about it
from their books, in order to better understand the direction taken
by the little yacht after it came out of the Dismal Swamp. It will
be remembered that the yacht arrived at the terminus of the canal
quite late at night, so that it was impossible for any of the party
to judge of the river they were to enter; but they had been told it
was very crooked, and, without any other reason, all believed the
journey of twenty-three miles to Elizabeth City would be a tedious
one.

Never were travellers more pleasantly surprised than were those on
the _Toby_ during that Saturday morning sail.

The start was made about eight o'clock, just after the birds had
cleared the breakfast things away, and were beginning their
forenoon concert. The large audience, composed of the crickets,
flowers, and leaves, were all in the best of moods, because the
singing was really good, as well as in perfect harmony, and
everything around was as bright and gay as possible, save, perhaps,
the steward, who had fallen against the boiler and burned one of
his ears.

The first two miles sailed after the last canal lock had been
passed was not different from the trip through the swamp, for the
little stream which ran into the river from the canal had been
widened and straightened until it had almost ceased to be a natural
water-course. But when the yacht glided around a sharp curve of the
stream into the river, each one rubbed his eyes to assure himself
that he was awake, and not dreaming of some land enchanted by the
perfume and beauty of the flowers that were everywhere in the
greatest profusion. They had crept to the very tops of the tallest
trees, and then reaching down to the water, had left behind long,
beautifully colored wreaths; they hung from every branch, and
peeped from behind each tree trunk, disputing possession with the
long gray moss, that seemed suddenly to have grown pale because of
the almost overpowering perfume. Each side of the river seemed to
be a bank of flowers, from out of which the branches of the trees
rose like stems, while one could almost fancy the country one
immense dish of water, in which flowers had been placed profusely,
and that the wind had blown them apart, leaving a narrow channel
for the yacht.

In the midst of such beauty the _Toby_ seemed suddenly to have
grown dingy-looking and dirty, and although she was at once decked
out in her brightest flags and most brilliant adornments, the
flowers put to blush any such feeble attempts at beautifying.

There was no question as to the truth of the statement that the
river was crooked; it was much as if some one had marked out a
number of W's, into which the water had flowed. It was necessary to
sail almost directly first toward one bank, and then back, in the
opposite direction, to the other, in order to keep in the channel;
but no one regretted the devious course that made the journey
longer, since the way was through the flower-trimmed trees on water
so smooth and mirror-like that the foliage appeared as if painted
on it.

Sometimes, when sailing around a bend in the river, the voyagers
would come suddenly upon the gnarled and bleached trunk of some
gigantic tree that uprose from amid the blooming forest like a
withered stalk in a bouquet, causing everything around it to look
more bright and cheerful because of the contrast.

There had been times during the journey when the yacht did not move
through the water fast enough to satisfy some of the party, but
during this sail there was not one who did not regret he was
leaving so quickly a river so beautiful as this.

Although the Pasquotank is a charming stream throughout its entire
course, its banks are not thus literally lined with flowers more
than ten miles, but after that the scenery is sufficiently
beautiful to make it interesting without approaching so near to
enchantment.

When the _Toby_ was about ten miles from Elizabeth City a
draw-bridge was seen just ahead. It was not different from most
other bridges, and yet it was approached with wonder and curiosity,
for on it were nearly as many negroes as could be crowded there
without too much risk that some of them would fall overboard. There
were old men and women, young men and girls, and children of all
ages, from a good-sized boy down to the tiniest and blackest of
darky babies. Perhaps they were surprised at seeing the little
yacht coming so swiftly toward them; certain it is that those on
the _Toby_ were surprised at seeing such a company, and awaited the
meeting with no small degree of curiosity.

"Is yer gwine ter 'Liz'beth?" asked an old gray-headed darky, as he
opened the draw of the bridge cautiously, as if he feared the yacht
might escape him if he made ready for her coming too quickly.

On being told that the yacht was on her way to Elizabeth, he,
assisted by nearly all present, told the reason of the assembling.
They were all anxious to reach the city in order to attend a
Conference which was to be held on the following day; the steamer,
due some hours earlier, had not arrived, and they were waiting for
her with many fears as to whether she would come during the day. As
soon as the story had been told, the entire party began to plead
that they be taken on board the _Toby_, with a force and
earnestness that resulted in a terrible din.

There was not room enough on the little boat for one-tenth of the
would-be passengers; but it was almost impossible to convince the
anxious ones of that most palpable fact, and after every one on the
yacht had screamed himself nearly hoarse in the effort, they were
made to understand that but five of the party could be taken. It
was comical, the sight they presented as they tried to decide as to
whom the fortunate ones should be; each one urged that he or she
was most needed at the Conference, and as each was overruled by the
rest, they would loudly urge their claims to the party on the
yacht, one old man proposing that he be taken on board, "an' leave
der odder fool niggers ter fight it out."

It was fully half an hour before the question was decided, and then
the _Toby_ went on her way, with an addition to her passenger list
in the shape of five as happy and inquisitive darkies as ever
sailed down the Pasquotank Paver. They peered in at the cabin,
careful not to touch anything, but anxious to see all the little
room contained; they examined the machinery in the engine-room
critically, while the oldest tried to explain how the boat could be
propelled by the confusing-looking assortment of steel rods and
bars. Then they went forward, where they gave themselves up to the
enjoyment of the hour, as enthusiastic in their praise of the
little steamer as one could wish they should be. After their
delight had subsided in a measure, they began to be troubled about
the amount they might be called upon to pay for their passage, but
all their joy returned when they were told no money would be
received. From that moment they were as happy as children, and
insisted on singing a great number of camp-meeting songs as a means
of showing their gratitude.

It was ten o'clock when the _Toby_ was made fast to the dock at
Elizabeth City, where the passengers were landed, evidently sorry
to leave the little boat, even though it was to a Conference they
were going.

JAMES OTIS.

* * * * *

GERMANTOWN, PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA.

I sent you a letter a little while ago, but when I read in the last
number about somebody seeing a dandelion on December 9, I thought I
would write and tell you that to-day my cousin came in, and holding
up a dandelion, said, "Look at that!" We have a pet cat. I went
skating last Monday, and saw a man break through the ice.

W. S. N.

* * * * *

WOODSIDE, NEAR LINCOLNTON, NORTH CAROLINA.

MY DEAR YOUNG FRIENDS,--There are so many things I want to talk to
you about that I am almost afraid to begin this letter, for fear I
may take up too much room in the precious columns of the
Post-office Box.

Our great feast and Christmas pleasure is over. The tree, thanks to
your dear, generous, kind little hearts, was a perfect success. We
had some nice garments of clothing for them all, toys and books for
the children, and candy for every one. They were so happy! I would
have given almost anything to have had you all here to see the tree
you had done so much to make, and to see the happy school. Some
little ones who were so eager to taste it, and could not get into
their candy quickly enough, sucked the sweet through the lace bags
that it was in. In fact, we were all very happy; as my children
said, it was the "best part" of Christmas to us all.

More new scholars keep coming all the time. We want to start a
school also for the many poor little white children, who need one
as badly as the colored ones did; so you see I will have use for
the books, papers, and all the other things you may send.

I must thank the lady who sent the presents to my own family; also
thanks for the _Scribner_ and _Nation_ sent me; and, once more,
thanks to the little boy who sent me the pretty Christmas card. The
work on the school building will begin immediately. I will write
you when we have it done. I have kept all your names; they are all
to go in there in paint on tablets. I have not quite decided _how_.
I will write you again when it is done, for I am going to do that
part myself. Packages, Sunday-school papers, and cards have come
from kind hearts and hands in many places, and in every instance
have been appreciated and used where they were needed. The one cent
sent by many little children was accepted with much pleasure, as
were the nice large boxes of clothing, candy, and toys sent by many
kind ladies. Uncle Pete was radiant when he came to wish a Happy
New Year in his nice suit that had grown on the tree for him, with
all the others in their nice wristlets, mitts, and the other
welcome gifts that they received. They have been smiling ever since
Christmas. Adieu, dear friends.

Truly yours,
MRS. RICHARDSON.

Mrs. Richardson inclosed as usual a list of the names of the kind friends who make her their almoner, but we have not room for it among the good things which crowd the Post-office Box this week. They will each please accept her general acknowledgment as intended to include every individual.

* * * * *

FAYETTE, NEW YORK.

I am a little boy six years old. I have not taken HARPER'S YOUNG
PEOPLE very long, but I like it very much. I have a pet cat which I
call Nero. I have also nine bantams; one I call Gyp, and I often
bring him in the house and set him on the back of a chair, and then
I say to him, "Crow, Gyp," and then he crows very loud. My pa has a
farm about two miles from the village where we live. We often drive
over there, and I enjoy it very much. I have no brothers nor
sisters, but I have a nice little playmate named Edward, who lives
across the street. I am just beginning to write a little, but not
well enough to write myself, so I told mamma what to write.

ROY H.

* * * * *

OAKDALE, PENNSYLVANIA.

I thought I would write you a letter and tell you of two nice
games, one for in and the other for out doors. The one for the
house is called "Going to Jerusalem." One person plays the piano,
or makes some kind of a noise. Place the chairs in a row across the
room, every other chair in an opposite direction, one less than
there are players to go round the chairs, and when the music stops,
each player must sit down, and of course one will be left out. Then
one chair is taken away, and the person who could not get seated
can not play any more, and so on until there are but two players
going round one chair, and the one who gets seated goes to
Jerusalem, and wins the game.

The other is called, "I Spy the Wolf." One is wolf, and the others
hide their eyes and count, and the wolf hides, and when done
counting they go and hunt the wolf, who when spied runs and tries
to tag somebody before they tag base, and if so, both are wolf.
When the wolf is spied, the person must say, "I spy the wolf," and
run and tag base. The game is finished when all are wolf.

I am ten years old. I found two dandelions to-day, January 9.

MARY E. O.

* * * * *

PALATKA, FLORIDA.

I live on the St. John's River, opposite Palatka. We have a fine
orange grove. We are having bananas this winter, although most of
our neighbors lost theirs by the cold last winter. We will have
plenty of guavas next summer if we don't have a "freeze," and I
hope we may not. I wish some of the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE were
here; we would have lots of fun. I have a puppy three months old.
His name is Toby Tyler. I hope Mr. Otis will come to Palatka with
his boat. I am nine years old.

T. ROBERT P.

* * * * *

We hope the bright eyes that have been watching for the flowers that this mild winter has made, like Ben Buttles, "dretful venturesome," will before many weeks of ice and snow be reporting from the South first, and afterward from colder localities, the earliest out-peeping of the spring darlings. There is a stanza of Mrs. Whitney's which we like very much:

"God does not send us strange flowers every year;
When the spring winds blow o'er the pleasant places,
The same dear things lift up the same sweet faces,
The violet is here."

We must have storm and snow first, dears; but courage! the violets will be here by-and-by.

* * * * *

CALUMET, MICHIGAN.

Will you make room for another stranger?--one who from her cold
Northern home, wishes to come into a corner of the Post-office Box
to be warmed and comforted. Will not some of the writers to the
Post-office Box tell of their Christmas vacations, and how Santa
Claus treated them on his journey round the world Christmas-eve?

We have a debating society here, in which all the boys and girls,
and grown folks too, are very much interested. We meet once a week,
and have, besides the debate, one or two essays, a reading,
declamations, and music, and altogether have a very enjoyable time.

Then we go skating on the lake, and coast on the terrific-looking
hill behind the town. We go with our sleds to the top of the hill,
and slide all the way down, and away out on the lake, without
stopping.

We have a very pleasant school, too. Where the boats come in, in
the summer, we can look right down over the town, and see
everything that is going on.

RAY R.

* * * * *

BUFFALO, NEW YORK.

I am a little boy three years old. Have taken YOUNG PEOPLE from the
first number. Mamma reads the stories and letters, and tells me
about them, and I am every day measuring myself to be big and do my
own reading. On the 26th of December we saw dandelions peeping out
of the grass, and looking out to Lake Erie, wondering what had
become of all the boats of last summer. Mamma had a bunch of cherry
blossoms on New-Year's Day. One of our neighbors cut a bunch from a
cherry-tree in November. The buds were very large then, after the
warm rains. The water was changed every day; now it is covered with
blossoms, and the leaves are coming out.

I have a little sister Ruby, and we have great fun together. When
papa brings YOUNG PEOPLE, he takes her on his lap; then she teases
to have me get up, and says, "Come, Bover," and "Up, Bover," and
will not look at the pictures until I am up too. Then we enjoy them
together. Mamma is writing this for me. I hope soon to write for
myself. A Happy New Year to HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE!

ERNEST.

* * * * *

C. Y. P. R. U.

"OLD MORTALITY."--Sir Walter Scott's novel of _Old Mortality_ is one of the recognized masterpieces of English literature. Its scenes are laid in Scotland during the reign of Charles the Second and James, his successor, a period which was characterized by intense religious excitement, and fiery struggles between the Royalists, on the one hand, and the Covenanters, or Presbyterians, on the other. In this novel Colonel Grahame, of Claverhouse, cool, dauntless, and insensible to pity, is one of the central figures. There is a tender love-story running through the book, but its main interest, after all, is derived from its splendid descriptions of battles and forays, which stir the blood to enthusiasm, and rouse the martial impulse which is latent in the most tranquil natures. The third, fourth, and fifth chapters of _Old Mortality_ are full of power, and of that vivid word-painting which is the highest style of writing. They possess the Homeric quality of dramatic movement and majestic strength, and for reading aloud on a chill winter night, when the wind is raging outside and the fire is bright within, they are surpassed by nothing else that the Postmistress remembers.

"Old Mortality" himself is scarcely an ideal character, as Sir Walter drew his portrait from a peasant who for thirty years wandered through the western districts of Ayr, Galloway, and Dumfries, spending his time in freshening the inscriptions on the graves of the martyrs. Mounted on a gaunt white pony, his gray locks straggling beneath an immense blue "bonnet," his old coat of hodden-gray the worse for years of hard service, his feet incased in hobnailed shoes, and his limbs covered with leggings of strong black cloth, this old man, whose real name was Robert Paterson, went from one church-yard to another among the wild moors and lonely hills, removing the moss from the rude tombstones, and deepening the fading letters with his chisel. He lived from house to house, entertained by hospitable farmers, who revered him, and finally, when very aged, was found expiring upon the highway, his faithful white pony standing on guard by his side.

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WILLIE F.--Your idea that time spent in the study of the dead languages is lost time, and that you would prefer to devote yourself wholly to your native tongue, is perhaps a natural one, but it is based on an error. Latin and Greek are dead languages in the sense that they are not spoken in any land by living people to-day. But they are not dead in the sense of having lost their vitality. They enter largely into our modern languages, and no one can be a precise and thorough scholar in English without some acquaintance with Latin at least. Study your Latin grammar patiently, as your teacher advises, and though you do not yourself see what good it will do you, believe me that after a while you will find yourself repaid. There are some things which we must acquire by way of discipline, for it is the disciplined mind which does the best work with ease, just as the trained soldier can march farther and fight better than the raw recruit.

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The Postmistress is fond of looking up the history of words. Some common words have a very curious history. For instance, demijohn, a glass bottle covered with basket-work, is a sort of puzzler. Why is it demijohn? Why John at all? Or if John, why half-john? The truth is, it has nothing to do with John; but was first manufactured at a town called Damaghan, in Khorassan, a province of Persia, a place once renowned for its glass-workers.--Calico, which is so dainty and pretty, and which the little girls wear to school in summer, derives its name from Calicut in India, from which handsome cotton goods were once imported to England.

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There are two articles in this paper that we want the members of the C. Y. P. R. U. to read, because they will add to the stock of solid and valuable information that the society is endeavoring to store away in eager, appreciative minds, viz., "The Waves at Work," by Mr. Charles Barnard, and "The Scullion who became a Sculptor," by Mr. George Cary Eggleston. But there are two others that we want the boys and girls to make the basis of prompt and energetic action. To begin with, we want the article "On Cigarette Smoking" to produce such an impression that the stoves and ranges in all houses inhabited by the coming men of the next generation shall have a grand smoke, consuming in the operation all the compounded horrors in the way of bad paper, bad tobacco, dirt, opium, etc., that we now see defiling lips and destroying the nerve and brain power of the gallant lads to whom the world will soon look for the wit, the wisdom, the sagacity and the command, that shall keep her moving in the right direction. Then we want nobody to omit the sketch of "A School Restaurant," with its pretty illustrations. Papas and mammas do not like to say no when their pets ask them for pocket-money, and the pocket-money is nearly sure to go to the confectioner's till. Suppose you all ask your parents and teachers to consider our idea of a school dinner nicely served every day. Most of you are sensible folk, and know just as well as your physicians, or the Postmistress does how much brighter, better, and rosier you would feel and look if you could have a hearty nourishing meal to sustain you through the labors and pleasures of the latter half of the day.

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PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

HIDDEN TREES.

1. Please bring me a pin, Ella dear? 2. We could not sleep last night, for we heard the croaking of ravens. 3. Bring me the map, Lena, and help me find the Amazon. 4. Elma is going to boarding-school, and so are Jessie and Sue. 5. Has Helen her books, and has Arthur his slate? 6. I was stung by a wasp or a bee, Charlie. 7. Don't go near the fire, Emma. 8. Tom, bring me your cap, please. 9. What did you do with the tape, Arthur?

PSCHYE.

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No. 2.

CHARADE.

My first is sometimes used
When boys are very bad.
My second's oft abused,
And then 'tis very sad.

A pet name is my third,
To boys it does belong.
My whole's a native bird,
Three notes compose its song.

TOBY TYLER.

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No. 3.

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.

I am composed of 49 letters.
My 5, 24, 39, 24, 31, 33, 29 is a peculiarity of the moth's tongue.
My 12, 42, 25, 38, 40, 10 is something the bee uses.
My 1, 22, 26 is peculiar to the feet of some birds.
My 1, 46, 12, 2, 14, 2 is a kind of deer.
My 19, 43, 19, 24 is a large bird.
My 11, 32, 44, 28 is an animal.
My 23, 16, 3, 46, 7, 42, 28, 12, 4, 42, 45, 36, 45 signifies change.
My 9, 17, 47, 21, 49, 49, 13, 8 enables insects to feel.
My 18, 21, 29, 30, 45, 46, 37, 6, 45 is the first change of a
caterpillar.
My 34, 15, 49 is part of a fish.
My 42, 28, 17, 48, 20, 21, 42, 28, 4, 30, 10, 41, 21, 24, 45 is a
strange animal.
My whole contains a useful animal.

PAUL.

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No. 4.

BEHEADINGS.

Behead a sharp, quick noise, and leave part of a chain. Behead a wooden shoe, and leave a bulky piece of timber. Behead learning, and leave metal in the rough. Behead a part of a carriage, and leave a part of the body. Behead a useful implement, and leave an apartment. Behead soft mud, and leave delicious ripeness. Behead part of a whip, and leave a tree.

LITTLE MOLLY.

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No. 5.

A RIDDLE.

I am numerous, yet but one. I am found in the rare and curious, and still am in general use all over the English-speaking world. I am found in every school-room, and no collegiate course is complete without me. I am valuable in geography and history, and the poets could not well get along without my aid.

EDNA A. GUERNSEY.

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ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 114.

No. 1.

Addition.--1. Hoodwink. 2. Feather. 3. Capuchin. 4. Philippine. 5. Cornice.

Subtraction.--1. Reserved. 2. Coward. 3. Basket. 4. Market. 5. Socotra.

Multiplication.--1. Pa-pa. 2. So-so.

Division.--1. Adieux. 2. Tick-tick. 3. Chow-chow. 4. Frou-frou.

No. 2.

Wink-el-ried.

No. 3.

Ygdrasil.

No. 4.

N
R O D
R O M A N
N O M I N A L
D A N D Y
N A Y
L

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Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Ralph Birdsall, Agnes L. Hawley, Edgar Seeman, J. C., "Queen Bess," Louis Burnett, Amy Lee, Grace Arrowsmith, "Peggy," Boland T. C., "Mother Bunch," Earle Demarest, Schuyler Lamb, "Fill Buster," Mamie and Clara Blank, Robert Andrews, Jun., Johnnie Miller.

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[_For Exchanges, see 2d and 3d pages of cover._]

THE SPECTRE SPECS.

I have seen a great deal of fun and laughter produced by a very simple little device, which I call the Spectre Specs.

A large party of people at a small country hotel were yawning away the evening, as they often do in such places, when the inspiration seized one of the most able-bodied yawners to do something to break up the monotony. Taking into his confidence little Tom Wittles, an admirable boy, with a large faculty for fun and mischief, he induced that youth to purloin his grandmother's spectacles. With this modest instrument and a paint-box belonging to one of the guests, they retired to a bedroom, where the gentleman painted the surface of the spectacles all over with white paint, and then neatly cleared a round spot in the centre of each glass. He then painted a couple of pointed eyebrows on his own forehead with black, and put on the spectacles. Then he tousled his hair, and twisted a few threads of white and red worsted amongst it. This gave him an appearance awful to behold, of which Fig. 1 gives but a very faint idea.

Thus transformed, he walked into the dimly lighted parlor doorway, and inquired in a deep voice of the other yawners whether a gentleman of the name of Samercanderoffsky was boarding in that hotel. There was no more yawning after that.

When all the company had completely recovered from their surprise, the gentleman retired again to his chamber, and began to transform Tom Wittles. He first painted a pair of eyebrows in the middle of the boy's forehead, and then slightly altered the eyeballs in the spectacles so as to give them the appearance of a squint. Placing them on Tom's forehead just above the real eyebrows, he told him to close his eyes. He led him into the parlor, and introduced him as the son of Mr. Samercanderoffsky. Fig. 2 is his portrait. Of course there was no surprise now, but the lad looked very funny, and produced no end of laughter with his long face and melancholy expression.

One word as to the material to be employed in painting the spectacles. Chinese white, such as artists use, is all that is needed; but as very few people are apt to own such a thing, perhaps the best plan is to cut two oval pieces of white paper the shape of the spectacle bows, with a round hole in the middle, and stick them on the back of the glasses.

"For it's our delight of a shiny night at this season of the year."]

End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, January 24, 1882, by Various