Chapter II: Part 2

Before the elephants arrived, eight more horses were harnessed to the box; it was pried out of the mud, and started slowly on its way. At the Bowling Green the two elephants from Madison Square Garden were met, and welcomed Jumbo with enthusiastic "trumpetings," to which he courteously replied. Two or three times the box came to a stop while on the way up Broadway, but the horses and men pulled and the two elephants pushed until it was in motion again. It was after midnight when the Madison Square Garden was reached, and then it was found that the box was so big it would not go through the doors. So poor Jumbo had to pass the night in the street.

On Monday, however, he was safely installed in his new home. He has not mentioned how he likes this new continent, or the strange people among whom he has come; but considering the attention he receives, and the dainties fed him by thousands of admiring little folks, he ought to be a serene and satisfied elephant.

CHASED BY A SHARK.

A REMINISCENCE OF THE RED SEA.

BY DAVID KER.

"What a jolly place for a swim! I'll have one as soon as my dinner's digested."

"Take my advice, and don't do nothin' of the sort; for if you do, as sure as eggs are eggs, there'll be somethin' else digested besides your dinner."

"How do you mean?"

"_Sharks!_"

And with this impressive conclusion, the worthy Captain turned on his heel and walked off.

We had run three parts of the way down the Red Sea, and were now anchored close to the Arabian shore, just off the Turkish fort of Koomfidah, the low massive wall of which stood out white and bare in the blistering sunshine, while beyond it stretched, far as the eye could reach, the dim immensity of the great central desert.

Our vessel lay fully a mile and a half from the shore, although it seemed within a stone's-throw in the clearness of that wonderful atmosphere. But between us and the interminable waste of flat sandy beach the clear bright water was flecked with a broad band of white, very much like a streak of thick cream, marking the whereabouts of one of those treacherous coral reefs which make the Red Sea as dangerous a place as any in the world.

Outside the reef where we lay the sea was still heaving restlessly from the effects of the gale that had blown overnight; but the broad shallow lagoon within was as calm as a mill-pond. Half a dozen gaunt, swarthy Arabs were splashing and wallowing in the smooth water with shouts of delight, which were very tantalizing to us as we "stood on the burning deck," with the very pitch melting between the planks under the intolerable heat. Others still were trooping down to the beach in their long white robes, like a train of ghosts, from the little group of tumble-down mud hovels which, clustering around the outer wall of the fort, represented the "town" of Koomfidah.

Their bathing-place was of course safe enough, for no shark could enter there; but as if on purpose to show us how little they cared for this, several of the nearest Arabs scrambled across the reef and began to swim toward us; and in a twinkling the water around our ship swarmed with dusky figures (including not a few round-faced "pickaninnies" who could not have been more than six or seven years old at the outside), plashing and paddling about as merrily as if no such thing as a shark had ever been heard of.

"Some o' them chaps'll be gettin' picked up, if they don't look out," said a young sailor, looking down at them over the bows.

"Not they!" rejoined a veteran "salt," who had made the Red Sea voyage many a time before. "Sharks never touches a Harab."

"Nor a darky neither," added another. "I've see'd the darkies in the West Injies, jist afore they dived, put tar on the palms o' their 'ands where they was rubbed white, so as to give the sharks nothin' to aim at, like."

"I take it them Harabs ain't good enough to suit Mr. Shark's taste, and mayhap it's the same way with the darkies," said No. 1, with a grin.

And the two old sea-dogs, perching themselves upon the bulwarks, watched with a look of quiet amusement the whirl of lean brown limbs that kept darting to and fro like shoals of fish through the cool, clear water.

"You see," remarked No. 1, "there ain't a sign o' _their_ bein' touched, and yet there's lots o' sharks close by, I'll be bound. But if you or me, Bill, was to jump in there, we wouldn't ha' touched the water afore there'd be 'arf a dozen o' them sea-lawyers at us all to once."

This conversation, following so closely upon the Captain's warning, certainly did not encourage me to try a swim in these perilous waters, and a little incident which occurred that very afternoon encouraged me still less.

I was standing near the binnacle, watching the bursting of the waves upon the reef, when one of them suddenly broke into a high jet of glittering spray, flinging off a shower of tiny rainbows in every direction. A second glance showed me that the rainbows were a shoal of flying-fish, which plunged again the next moment, and then leaped a second time into the air, flashing and sparkling till the whole sea appeared to be on fire.

All of a sudden, just as the graceful little sea-fairies were passing close to our stern, up through the bright, smooth water shot a huge shovel-like snout and sharp three-cornered back fin, seeming to come right from under the ship itself, and in the very midst of the fluttering column appeared a monstrous black shark, at least sixteen feet from snout to tail. One snap of his powerful jaws took in a round dozen of the terrified fish, which scattered in all directions, two or three of them leaping even clear over our bulwarks, and falling upon the deck, where the sailors inhospitably seized and cooked them for supper.

This last incident was more effectual in keeping me from risking a "dip" than either the Captain's warning or that of the sailors. But what was to be done? To be roasted as if by a slow fire for six or seven days together in a temperature of 117 in the shade, with this splendid cool sea always before me to invite me to a bath, was not to be thought of, while to escape this martyrdom by going down the throat of a shark would be a case of "out of the frying-pan into the fire."

At last a bright idea struck me. One of our quarter-boats, which was getting rather shaky, had been moored astern, and allowed to fill with water, in order to keep it from being split by the heat of the sun. Here, then, was a first-rate bath ready-made, which, if not exactly big enough for a swim, would serve admirably for every other purpose. The first experiment was a complete success, and from that time regularly every morning I slid down the mooring-rope, and had a "duck" in my floating tub, to the unbounded amusement of the Arab boys, who came splashing and chattering around me.

In this way things went on up to the very day of our departure from Koomfidah. That morning I rose earlier than usual from my "luxurious couch" (which consisted of a spare sail on the planks of the after-deck) to have just one more bath before leaving. But it is always that "just one more" which does all the mischief; and as a matter of course, after being prudent and cautious up to the very last moment, I ended by committing an imprudence which all but cost me my life.

The sea, as I well remember, seemed cooler and more tempting than ever that day, and since the appearance of that energetic gentleman who had such a good appetite for flying-fish, no sharks had been seen except at a great distance. In short, I got tired of wallowing from side to side of my boat-bath, like a hippopotamus in a tank, and decided to scramble out of it, and have a swim round the ship itself.

Twice, thrice, four times, I made the circuit of the vessel, and then, seeing no sign of danger, determined to strike farther out to sea. I was already about a hundred yards from the ship's bow, when I suddenly heard a shout that made me feel _creepy_ all over.

"Look out! here's a shark!"

Instantly came a rush in the water beside me, and up started between me and the ship the big ungainly head, the grinning teeth, the small, narrow, cruel eye, the huge pointed fin, like some ugly vision in a nightmare.

Luckily the shark's overlapping snout forces him to turn on his side in order to bite, or all would have been over at the first rush. A sudden turn foiled the monster, but the next moment he was round and at me again like an arrow. And so we went plunging to and fro, churning the smooth blue water into foam, while the shouts of the sailors (who had clustered like bees along the ship's side) seemed to rend the very sky.

But my enemy was too hungry to be scared by noise, and although we were gradually nearing the ship, always kept himself between. My breath began to fail, and I felt that before the boat could be lowered I should be past help, for the shark had turned short round and met me front to front.

There was a loud halloo from above--something splashed heavily into the water--and then the sea all round me became a whirl of foam. A billet of wood, flung from the upper deck, had hit the shark on his tenderest point, the snout; and before he could rally from this stunning blow, I had seized the anchor-chain and was safe on board.

"Captain," said I, as the worthy man came up just in time to witness my ascent, "I shall certainly take your advice after this."

"Dare say you will, when it's too late to be of any use!" growled the uncourteous skipper. "I always thought you was a fool, and now I'm sure of it."

This was certainly not complimentary, but on reflection I was much of the same opinion myself.

"DELLUSK."

BY A. W. ROBERTS.

There is in Chatham Street, New York city, an old Irish-woman who sits all day beside a stand on which is piled a substance, of a dark purple color, that strongly suggests dried red cabbage. No one seems to purchase any of this puzzling material, yet there she sits, serene and contented, behind a short black pipe.

Taking up a fragment, I found it soft and pliable. Smelling it, I seemed to be at once down by the shore at Canarsie Bay, packing soft crabs in sea-lettuce.

The old woman continued silently smoking her pipe, neither asking me to purchase nor informing me as to the cost of the mysterious substance, its use, its name, or that of the manufacturer.

Being an American, it was but natural that I should wonder if it was "patented." This word, however, proved too much for the old lady, and so I had to come down to the commonplace inquiry,

"Madam, what is this?"

"Dellusk."

"What is it good for?"

"To ate."

"Where does it come from?"

"From the say."

"I mean from what country."

"Tralee, County Kerry."

"How do you sell it?"

"Twinty cints a quart, tin cints a pint."

"Can I have this piece?"

"Yez can for a cint."

Taking a Third Avenue car for home, I secure a quiet corner seat, and say to myself, "I was born in New York city; I know it from one end to the other, particularly all things that are good to eat, but I don't know dellusk.'"

Presently we arrive at the Cooper Institute, and I ask the conductor to let me out. Hastily directing my steps toward the Astor Library, and entering, I ask the librarian for DEL in all the cyclopædias he has. I make a thorough search, and find nothing. Then I think of looking under DUL. What have we here? Not Dellusk by any means, but the following account of Dulse (_Rhodomenia palmata_): "A sea-weed of a dark purple color growing on rocks. It is used as food by the poor of Ireland, Scotland, Finland, and Iceland, and occasionally by those of the wealthier classes who have acquired a taste for it. It is eaten raw or roasted, or with vinegar as a salad. In Ireland it is boiled with milk, or broiled between hot irons. It is an important plant to the Icelanders, who eat it with zest."

Further on the same author, who is an Englishman, informed me: "In Kamtchatka a fermented liquor is made from it. Sheep are fond of it, eagerly seeking it at low water. 'De-ulse!' was once a common cry in the streets of Scotland. It is common to our coasts, but is imported from Ireland."

Some time after my conversation with the dulse woman, I purchased a pint of the sea-weed from which to obtain a perfect specimen to make a drawing. Taking it home, I left it spread out on my table. It had been there but a short time when "Landy," our old housekeeper, detected the strong odor that rises from it. In a moment she had seized my specimen, and with rapturous delight began to devour it, without even asking permission so to do.

"Oh, the beautiful, darling dellusk!" she exclaimed, between the pauses in the feast! "Shure it's thirty-five years gone last November, whin I was a slip of a girl, an' was clim'ing over the big stones in the big say, a-dryin' yez on them in the sun, till the lovely white salt would flake off, an' 'ating yez every day, till I grew so round and fat and rosy that me mother didn't know me."

I myself tried a bit of the dulse, but I can not say I liked it. At the same time I was glad to learn of one more article of food that I did not before know existed.

TOPS, AND HOW TO SPIN THEM.

BY AN OLD BOY.

Simple as it appears to the looker-on, it requires no little practice to spin a top. Only after a series of mortifying failures can a boy make sure of seeing his top successfully describe an arc through the air, disengage itself from the string, and then spin round triumphantly for some seconds upon its sharp iron point.

In order to spin a top of the common kind, the player should be provided with quite a stout piece of whip-cord, with a knot at about an inch from one end, and a large metal button attached to the other. Hold the top in the left hand, unravel the end of the whip-cord beyond the knot, and slightly wet it. Now lay the wet end along the top just above the peg, and hold it down with the thumb. Take the string in the right hand and wind it round the top, beginning at the upper part of the peg and winding gradually upward. When you have wound up all the string, put the button between the middle and third fingers; place the thumb under the peg and the fore and middle fingers on the top. Take care to keep the string tight, as otherwise it will become unwound, and all your labor will be lost.

To give the top a spinning motion, hold your hand high, and bring the arm down with a bold swing from the shoulder. It will then fly from the string with a kind of "swishing" sound, and come down on its peg with great force. A little practice will make you perfect in spinning the top, and if you know the length of your string, you can make it strike the ground exactly where you please, merely by measuring with your eye the distance from the point where you stand to the spot on which you want the top to strike.

PEG IN THE RING. To play this game, first draw a circle five or six feet in diameter, and in the centre of this draw a smaller circle about a foot in diameter. The first player throws his top at the ring, allowing it to spin. If, when it falls, it remains within the large ring, it is called "dead," and the owner is obliged to lay it in the little ring, where any one may play on it. The same penalty is incurred if the top fails to spin, and in neither case can the owner have his top again until it has been knocked out of the ring by some other player, who thus counts to himself one point. The great object in this game is to split some other player's top and keep your own safe. In order to do this, skillful players have a way of throwing the top in such a manner that if it miss the object aimed at, it leaps out of the ring with a single bound, thus getting out of danger. This feat is performed by drawing the arm smartly toward the body just before the top reaches the ground. It is not an easy thing to do, but can be accomplished by practice.

CHIP STONE is a game in which a wooden spoon is needed. Two lines are drawn on the ground five or six feet apart, and some smooth, flat stones about the size of a penny are placed between them at equal distance from each. The first player spins his top in the usual manner, slips the bowl of the spoon under it, and lifts it off the ground. He then drops it on one of the stones, and tries to drive it toward the boundary line. He may pick the top up in the spoon and drop it on the stones so long as it continues to spin, so that if a top be properly spun it may be dropped six or seven times on the stone, and drive it fairly across the boundary. When this is done, he holds the stone as a trophy of success, or wins a marble from each of the other players, as may be decided upon.

WHIP-TOPS will spin better if the point is armed with a hollow-headed brass nail, such as are used for furniture. The whip may be made of leather shoe-lacings, but the best and most lasting is eel-skin, kept in a moist condition. To whip a top the stroke should never be a high one, but the real motion should come from the wrist rather than the arm. In playing the game, tuck the whip under the left arm, and take the point between the hands, the fingers pointing downward; then place the point on the ground, and give it a twirl from right to left, which will make it spin for a second or two. As soon as you have made it spin, snatch the whip from under the arm, and give it a smart lash at the top, drawing the hand toward you as you strike. If you hit the top fairly, this stroke will make it spin well, and then you can do what you like. A way of fighting whip-tops is for two boys to stand about twenty yards apart, and lash their tops toward each other, so as to make them come in contact. Of course each player tries to knock over his adversary's top with his own. If, however, he touches his opponent's top with his whip, he is adjudged to have lost. Racing tops is another very interesting way to show one's expertness in the game.

Humming-tops are so made now that it requires no skill to spin them, and since nothing in the way of games can be done with them, save to keep them humming, it is not necessary to speak of them at any length.

The other day the Postmistress was riding in a horse-car, and she saw a lad whom she will call Jack, though she does not know his name. He was in the company of a sweet-looking old lady, who seemed to be his grandmamma. Jack was a fine healthy boy, large for his age, which was about twelve. But, dears--would you believe it?--he allowed the old lady to carry her own little basket and bundle; and when they left the car, this thoughtless boy jumped nimbly off and ran to the sidewalk, while the feeble grandmamma was helped down by the conductor, and then tottered on as well as she could, by herself.

You would have assisted her, would you not, had it been your grandmother, and given her your arm, and carried her bundles? Of course you would.

Probably Jack does not read HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

* * * * *

VILLA SCIARRA, NAPLES.

I am a little girl of thirteen, and rather short for my age. We
live at Naples in a nice villa by the sea-side, and there are lots
of rocks, from which I get fishes and crabs. I have a little
aquarium, in which are some very pretty specimens of anemones and
three fishes, one large and two small. The large one knows me quite
well, and dances about when I come near.

My father takes HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for me, and I like it so
much! I like Jimmy Brown's stories best, and thought "The Little
Dolls' Dressmaker" was beautiful. I am very fond of reading, and
have 135 books, many of which came from the United States.

BLANCHE F. T.

* * * * *

FORT CRAIG, NEW MEXICO.

I am ten years old, and papa says a right smart boy for my age;
anyway, I heard him say so to a captain of the army last week.
Father is a scout, and goes out with the soldiers after Indians.
There used to be lots of bad Indians in New Mexico. My papa was
wounded just one year ago. He and two miners were prospecting for
gold, when five Indians jumped on them from a cañon. Papa was up on
the side of a hill, and when the Indians began to fire he climbed
up to the top, while the other men went for the horses, and got
them out of the cañon to the creek. Papa staid and fought the
Indians for about twenty minutes. He kept them off until the miners
got to the creek, and after that he had a running fight for a mile.
He was shot in the left hand, the bullet taking part of his
gunstock with it. I own a little rifle, and am a good marksman; I
can hit the bull's-eye three out of five times at fifty yards. I
can ride a bucking bronco, too, and so can sister Eva. I have been
reading all the letters in the Post-office Box, and thought some
little folks would like to hear from New Mexico. Papa is in the
mountains now, and mamma said I could write if I wished.

HARRY W. C.

What is a bucking bronco? You will have to write again and tell us. What else do you learn besides riding and shooting? Those accomplishments are very necessary ones on the frontier and in a new country, but we hope you study faithfully; and we should think your sister Eva and yourself might sketch, botanize, and collect curious specimens for your cabinets. We hope your papa may not come to such close quarters with "bad" Indians again.

* * * * *

FLORA, CUBA.

I am a little girl ten years old, and I have never been away from
my country, but I am learning English with my governess, and I hope
papa will take me to New York this summer. As perhaps you have
never been in Cuba, I wish to tell you something about my beautiful
island. The climate is delightful and healthy enough. We have many
fine fruit trees--oranges, limes, and lemons. When the trees are
young they are a lighter green than when they are old; they have
many thorns, and the leaves are pointed. The fruit is not very
large, but is very good, and is planted by seeds in the rainy
weather. We have several kinds of oranges; the best is called
China. The trees have white flowers, which are called azahar, and
make a very good essence and oil.

MARY DE A.

* * * * *

HAVANA, CUBA.

We live at a country seat very near the city of Havana. It is a
very pretty farm; it has many flowers and trees, two or three
fountains playing bright water all the time, and also two ponds.
One of them is for gold-fish. There are nineteen gold-fish, and in
the centre of the pond is a cave for them to play with their little
ones. In the other pond lives a beautiful white lily all alone. It
is the size of a tea-plate, and as white as my paper. Then, in the
farm-yards there are lots of chickens, turkeys, ducks, guinea-hens,
and also two cranes. We have a pair of horses, four goats, eight or
nine pigs, and eight rabbits. One of the rabbits had ten little
ones, but they all died.

I am a Cuban boy eight years old. I know how to read and write in
English better than in Spanish, but I can speak Spanish better,
because it is my native language. Do you think this is good enough
to put in your paper? My teacher sends you her regards, and thanks
you for your paper because it gives us so much pleasure. She wishes
me to ask the young people if any of them have read a story called
_The Runaway_, and if they can tell us who is the author, and where
the book can be obtained. It is one of the best children's stories
she has ever read. It is about two little girls named Olga and
Clara.

DOMINGO T. DE L.

Among our thousands of young readers there may be some who can answer Domingo's question about the book which his teacher likes so well. Will they send us the author's name, as we should be glad to give our little friend the information he desires?

* * * * *

BLUFFTON, INDIANA.

I want to tell the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE about my pet. It is a
little bird; I call it Jenny Wren. We take it out of the cage, and
let it fly around the room. It has two principal places where it
alights, and those two are each at the top of a window. We can make
it play that it is a dead bird. It will eat sugar from my hand. I
like Jimmy Brown's stories very much. I liked "Art's Organ
Adventure," "Todd and Ketchum's Grate Show," "Mr. Thompson and the
Bull-Frog," and lots of other stories. I just love to read the
Post-office Box.

TOMMY P. S.

* * * * *

ORFORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE.

I live away up among the hills in New Hampshire, almost in the
White Mountains. I suppose you city boys think I am about out of
the world, and don't have any good times, but I would not change
places with you. I have a papa who gets lots of papers and
magazines for us to read, and a mamma who is always ready to read
them to us, and a grandpa who will play checkers with me, but
almost always beats, a little sister who is ready for any fun, and
Ida, the girl who does the housework, is very kind in helping us to
have a good time, and the two men who work on the farm let me work
with them whenever I wish. I know it is pretty cold when the high
hills are covered with snow, but it is just fun sliding down them
on my new sled. I have a pair of steers, yoke, and sled all
complete; they will work like oxen. I can get up wood or ice with
them; they are better than your ponies. We have three horses I can
drive, and thirty cattle to tend. When it is warm weather I can go
hunting for partridges, gray squirrel, etc. I don't always find
any, but when I do I feel pretty big. I go fishing pretty often
too. My little cousin Willie and I went up on the side of Mount
Cube last summer after trout; he got forty, and I got seventy-five.
But if you had seen us when we came home, you would have thought
something had bit besides fish. I will say black flies were
plentier than fish, but we enjoyed it. We have good clear springs
of water, pure air, and plenty to eat. I think you will believe it
when I tell you I am thirteen years old, and weigh one hundred and
seventy-five pounds. Boys, please make me a visit. We are making
sugar, and I promise you a "sweet" time. I always go to school when
we have one, but that is not more than six months in a year, and I
will have to attend Haverhill Academy this spring. Please pity me.
I was glad to see "Mr. Stubbs's Brother." I think it is going to be
just as good as "Toby Tyler."

HARRY E. M.

We are sure that many boys will wish they might go and see you in the home among the hills, where you have such a kind grandpa, and such loving parents, and so many delightful occupations. But we shall not pity you in the least that you must be sent away to school, for six months' tuition in the year is not quite enough for a boy of thirteen. You need at least nine months, under a good teacher, and so success to you, Harry, at Haverhill Academy!

* * * * *

WINNSBORO, LOUISIANA.

I am a Louisiana boy eleven years old. My brother Bertie is eight,
and my little sister five. If any of the young people wished to
visit me now, they could come all the way in a boat. You have no
idea what a sea of water covers this whole country! It never was so
high here before! It has done a great deal of damage, and caused a
great deal of suffering. It would make you sad to see how the poor
cattle suffer from the water and gnats. The deer, too, are dying in
the woods. A gentleman who came to town in a canoe said he saw six
dead ones floating in the water. Deer horns are no rarity with us,
as I have an uncle who kills a great many deer. They have no horns
at this season of the year; they shed them in the winter. Although
it is sad to see such an overflow, still it brings some fun to
little boys who are fond of boating. Bertie and I and our little
sister Kate spend a great deal of our time on the water in our
little boat. It would make my letter too long to give you a
description of our trips to the pasture to look after the cattle,
and to town on errands for mamma. We have been taking YOUNG PEOPLE
for nearly a year, and enjoy reading it so much! Mamma gave it to
us this year, but Bertie and I have made enough to take it
ourselves. I take it down to school sometimes, and our teacher
reads it aloud to the pupils, who enjoy it so much!

EDDIE Y.

* * * * *

Which little girl will read these stanzas, and see her own portrait?

WHEN MOTHER IS ILL.

When mother is ill, you ought to see
How kind and loving I try to be.
I step about in the gentlest way;
I bathe her head, and I set her tray
With the best of tea and the brownest toast,
And whatever I think will tempt her most;
And I keep the little ones, oh, so still!
You ought to see me when mother is ill!

I carry the baby up the stair;
I let him play with my dollies there--
I give him the one that I keep on the shelf;
And I rock him to sleep just my own self.
I never scold, and I never fret;
I call him a darling, a pink, a pet.
And I'm ever so kind to Jack and Will,
Ever so patient when mother is ill.

When mother is ill, I take her place,
As well as I can, with a sober face.
I go to the door when father goes,
And bid him good-by on my tip-toes;
I watch for the doctor, and let him in,
And he's sure to tip me under the chin;
I help when Bridget is making cake,
And a taste of the cookies she lets me take;
And I baste in my dress a nice white frill,
For I try to be neat when mother is ill.

What's that you are saying? You think that Nell
Should do those things when mother is well?--
Should sit in the corner, like a mouse,
And mind the baby, and help keep house,
And be as dear as a child can be,
As sweet as a lily! Oh, you shall see,
Just watch me now, and I know you'll tell
The folks I'm good when mother is well.

* * * * *

WEST HAVEN, CONNECTICUT.

I enjoy reading your nice stories very much indeed, especially the
stories written by Mr. Otis. I think Jimmy Brown's stories are very
funny indeed. Mamma laughs till she cries reading them sometimes. I
wonder if there ever was a Jimmy Brown.

Little boys and girls tell about their pets in their letters. All
the pets my sister Mary and I have are five hens and one rooster.
Specky is my hen, and I think a great deal of her; she will hold
still and be patted.

I have been very sick this winter, and I enjoyed hearing YOUNG
PEOPLE read to me. I am very much better now, so that I am able to
write this all alone myself. I was ten years old last 22d of
January. I have never written before.

BESSIE L. C.

The Postmistress assures you, dear, that she has frequently seen Jimmy Brown. How pleasant it is to be well now that spring is here! If one must be sick, winter is the best period of the year to be shut in-doors. Don't you think so?

* * * * *

The wee tots must not think the Postmistress forgets them. She thinks this little story about a poor alarmed mother whose children ran away will be just what they will ask their own mammas to read to them two or three times over:

A FRIGHTENED LITTLE MOTHER.

She was a nice old mother, but not like yours, little children,
because she was covered all over with feathers, and she had two
wings, which, when she felt crusty, she would spread out until she
seemed three times her usual size. She had always lived in the
country, roaming around in the grass or scratching in the garden.
She was a fluttering, fuming creature, but sometimes very civil and
pretty-looking. This little mother was just an old hen.

Once upon a time she had been very quiet for three weeks. She had
sat still the most of that time, and, indeed, the poor thing went
half-starved often rather than forsake the little white eggs in her
nest. She knew she must keep them warm, no matter what happened.

At last there came a fine spring morning, when Mrs. Hen stepped
very carefully off her nest. In it there lay a mass of broken
shells. She led into the sunlight a half-dozen golden balls. As
they tottled along by her side, they looked very pretty. Of such a
brood any mother might be proud.

Mother Hen was ever so proud. Any one could see that. She flustered
about, calling one little bright speck to her, and then another,
while scratching in the earth in search of something very nice for
her pets.

Four weeks sped by. The country grew prettier and greener day by
day. This kind mother thought she would give her darlings a
treat--a sort of picnic. So off she started toward the meadow, the
little brood walking after her. They went in single file through
the path, the old hen's head bobbing up and down through the
clover, as she encouraged the little mities waddling along to keep
up with her. She came to a brook which fairly danced in the
sunlight under the old willows. She drew near, and began to cluck,
when, lo! her little brood stepped off all at once into the
sparkling waters. The golden balls floated on the amber stream.

Poor old hen! how she fluttered and clucked and called! But all in
vain; her children did not mind her. They knew more about water
than she did, for these chicks were mere goslings. On they swam,
and the poor hen did not know what to do.

But the little goslings came back after a while, and cuddled that
night under their mother's wing.

A. E. T.

* * * * *

Let me tell you a story about a dog and a cat.

Wolf, the dog, was a great stag-hound, who could run almost as fast as a swift horse.

He loved to chase cats, and was their constant foe. One morning he spied a poor gray pussy in the garden, and away he went after her in full career.

She ran as fast as she could, but her short legs were no match for Wolf's long ones. The dog's master tried to call him off, but he was too excited to pay any heed to his voice.

Suddenly pussy stopped running. She crouched in the middle of the path, and looked pitifully at the great form of her foe.

On he came, panting. Suddenly he stopped, stared, and stood still, trembling.

Pussy began to purr.

Wolf turned around and walked slowly home. He could not hurt the little creature who gave herself up to his mercy.

* * * * *

CHESLEY PLACE, KENTUCKY.

I want to tell you about my baby brother. He is five weeks old, but
has only been down stairs twice, as the March winds have been
blowing very hard. He was born on the 20th of February, and we
think he is so sweet!

There is a wild bush in our yard which bears red blossoms, and I
have been gathering them, with some others, and arranging them in a
box, and they look very pretty. With the red blossoms and pink
peach ones, the yellow buttercups and the lovely little hyacinths,
make it quite a pretty ornament.

I am ten years old. I study spelling, reading, writing, grammar,
French, geography, botany, and arithmetic. My grandmamma teaches me
at home. I hope my letter is not too long. Good-by.

CICELY DE G. MCC.

How glad we are to hear about the baby brother! Flowers brighten the house wonderfully. Do you make pretty bouquets for the breakfast table?

* * * * *

NEW YORK CITY.

Among the eager little ones who look anxiously for the coming of
HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE is a brown-eyed little boy, three years old,
named Carlos--called Carlie, for short. He knows all his letters,
and recites some of the _Mother Goose Melodies_, and frequently
makes funny speeches, sometimes to the great discomfort of his
parents. While at the depot at Lockport waiting for a train, a very
fleshy lady, weighing not less than two hundred and fifty pounds,
came in, and very unfortunately seated herself next to Master
Carlie and his mamma. He had been very naughty, and now wanted to
make up with mamma. He said, "Please kiss me, won't you, mamma?"
"No, no; I am displeased with you," replied she. He teased until
she finally kissed him. But the kiss lacked warmth, and did not
satisfy him, so he pleaded, "Kiss me again, mamma; give me a _big_
kiss--one as big as--as that big fat lady," pointing his finger at
her. Everybody present laughed heartily, except the "big fat lady,"
who failed to see the joke.

Another time he had been unusually trying all day long, and mamma
was quite out of patience, and asked, "Carlie, why don't you be
good? When papa comes home and I tell how you have behaved, it will
make him have a pain in his heart." He looked up from his play, and
said very seriously, "_What_ makes you tell him, then?" His aunt, a
very dignified, middle-aged lady, came to visit us, and of course
all Carlie's accomplishments had to be shown off--the chief one
being turning summersaults. After one or two failures, over he went
and hurt himself against the bed. He rose rubbing his back, and
looking very earnestly at his aunt, said, "Aunt Lydia, does it hurt
your back when you turn summersaults?" He took it for granted she
turned summersaults every day of her life, like himself. He
occasionally tries to make rhymes (regardless of measure, however).
One day he said, "One, two, three, a flea bit me;" and another
time, in saying his letters, came to Y, said, "Y, y, y, what a
smart boy am I." Every week mamma reads HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE to
him, all the stories and letters, poetry, etc.; but that does not
satisfy if I omit the advertisements, so they are read too. He is a
queer little fellow.

"MRS. CALIFORNIA."

* * * * *

GUSTAVUS W. S.--The editor would think it unfair to other exchangers to do what you propose.

* * * * *

Thanks to the little friends who have found arbutus, and sent it to us. The little boxes fairly smiled at us when opened, and the sweet shy perfume of the flowers was like a kiss from Spring herself.

* * * * *

IRENE.--Messrs. Harper & Brothers have recently published a practical little volume entitled _Money-Making for Ladies_, by Ella Rodman Church. It gives many excellent suggestions to girls who, like yourself, are anxious to find some pleasant way of adding to their incomes.

* * * * *

GERTRUDE H.--Although we do not think your story, "The Morning Ride," quite good enough to print, we like it very much as the composition of a little girl who is only eleven years old.

* * * * *

LOUIS P. P.--_Bancroft's History of the United States_ (new edition) will be adapted to your purpose. We do not advise the organization of a formal club. One or two friends and yourself will do better work if you read with each other when you can conveniently meet.

* * * * *

C. Y. P. R. U.

DOLLY.--The Postmistress advises you not to mind a few freckles or a little deeper brown on your skin, but to go out every day and walk in the sunshine and fresh air. Begin by taking short walks, and going home before you are very tired. Try to keep the mouth closed, and breathe through the nose. You may walk a little farther each day than you did the day before, as you grow stronger. The bright eyes and rosy cheeks of health will soon make up for the pallor you lose, and the freckles, if they come, will be little beauty-spots. Do not wear a veil unless it is very windy indeed, but tie on a large shade hat. Try a little gardening. With a sun-bonnet and a pair of long loose gloves you can protect your complexion thoroughly, if mamma desires you to do so, and you will have hours of real delight among your lilies and roses.

* * * * *

THEODORE.--Whether the reform in spelling, of which some writers and scholars are in favor, will be adopted by people generally I can not tell. Of course it would be a good thing if our English spelling could be more uniform, but at present the best way for your friend and yourself, and for a Postmistress too, is to spell according to the standard dictionaries. The English language is derived from many sources, and there is danger that in spelling words by their sound we may lose some of their sense, as we find it, by tracing the word back to its root. It is quite interesting to notice what great changes have taken place in our spelling and grammar by comparing our style of the present with that of some of the earlier authors, as Chaucer, for instance, or Spenser. If you will take your New Testament, and turn to the parable in Matthew, vii. 27, where allusion is made to the two men who built their houses, the one on the sand and the other on the rock, we read: "And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it." In the version of Wycliffe, in 1380, the same text is given as follows: "And rayn came doun, and floode's camen, and wynde's blewen, and thei hurliden in to that house, and it felle doun, and the fallying doun thereof was grete."

* * * * *

Members of the C. Y. P. R. U. will find in this number a variety of articles from which to choose. The boys will be interested on "Chats about Philately," describing the postage stamps and cards of the far-off colony of Surinam, while the girls will welcome "The Orchestra of Yesterday and To-day," another of Mrs. John Lillie's entertaining articles on music. Mr. William L. Alden tells us, in his humorous fashion, "How Jumbo Crossed the Ocean." Mr. A. W. Roberts has something interesting to tell us about the curious plant which our Irish friends find so palatable, and to which they apply the curious name of "Dellusk." It is top-time too, and we have an article by "An Old Boy" which ought to make us all successful as top-spinners.

* * * * *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

THREE EASY DIAMONDS.

1.--1. A letter. 2. An instrument. 3. A tree. 4. An animal. 5. A letter.

2.--1. In leaf. 2. A liquor. 3. A stone. 4. Finis. 5. In tent.

3.--1. A letter. 2. Before. 3. To wrong. 4. An animal. 5. A letter.

HELEN S. H.

* * * * *

No. 2.

TWO ENIGMAS.

1.

My first is in Ernest, but not in Dora.
My second is in Arthur, but not in Willie.
My third is in George, but not in Flora.
My fourth is in Larry, in Lem, and Lillie.
My fifth is in Demas, but not in Dan.
Tell me my name, little boys, if you can.

A. T. F.

2.

First in down, not in up.
Second in saucer, not in cup.
Third in ivory, not in bone.
Fourth in sound, not in tone.
Fifth in yes, and not in no.
Whole in meadows is seen to grow.

BY A LITTLE GIRL AGED SEVEN.

* * * * *

No. 3.

AN ACROSTIC.

1. The duty of the besieged. 2. Something soldiers do. 3. A good way from morning. 4. Not continents. 5. Faint answers. 6. A shelter. 7. A rush. 8. A small hole. 9. A busy place. 10. A warbler. 11. A bird. 12. A motor. 13. A high place. Primals compose the name of a celebrated statesman.

EDDIE.

* * * * *

No. 4.

FOUR EASY CHARADES.

1.

My first a silken gown may wear.
My second crown sweet golden-hair.
My whole, though on no map outlined,
Is a state full well defined.

2.

Harry hurried home from school,
Famished as a boy could be.
With my first he did begin,
With my second ended he.

3.

Such a sight as Jennie was,
Playing by the door;
But my second brought my first
To the child once more.

MOTHER BUNCH.

4.

My first is soft and fleecy,
My second is hard and tough,
My whole is a thing of beauty,
And will stand usage rough.

* * * * *

No. 5.

WORDS WITHIN WORDS.

1. A nobleman in jewels. 2. A seed-vessel in a wrap. 3. An owl's cry in small branches. 4. A strong drink in soldiers' quarters. 5. A margin in an account-book. 6. A little stream in the stem of a tree. 7. An entranceway in stones. 8. A mountain in a fiddle-string. 9. Everything in partitions. 10. Fishing-tackle in snarls.

J. P. B.

* * * * *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 127.

No. 1.

1. Maple. Birch. Pine. Elm. 2. Genoa. Athens. Oxford. Omaha.

No. 2.

A damsoni A
N enupha R
E b B
M oinea U
O palescen T
N and U
E ya S

No. 3.

Scamp. Coat. Speck. Strap. Flower. Squills. Grace. Taunt. Mace. Prink. Thatch. Swill.

No. 4.

"The May-Queen."

No. 5.

Parrot.

M T
H O E L E T
M O U N D T E X A S
E N D T A P
D S

* * * * *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Florence H. Chambers, Helen S. H., Henry Berlan, Jun., George P. Taggart, Nan T., Alice Mabon, William Binney, "Owl," Jack Bolcher, Fanny Green, Jennie Van Winkle, Tom Talbot, A. F. Ford, "Silver," Eda L. Baldwin, Hattie Sylvester, George Sylvester, George M. Baird, H. R. G., "Phil I. Pene," Jacob Marks, Maggie Thompson, W. S. Rose.

* * * * *

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

EBONY AND PEARL.

BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD.

Our Dinah has a baby
That you really ought to see;
Its skin is black all over,
Like a piece of ebony;
Its hair is black, and curly too,
And Dinah never fails
To braid it so it stands around
Its head in little tails.
We play together now and then,
And both of us get hurt;
But Dinah's baby seldom cries,
And never shows the dirt,
Is real good-natured all the time,
And that's the reason, maybe,
Why everybody makes a fuss
With Dinah's little baby.

My skin is white and satin-soft,
My mother calls me Pearl,
And says there never, never was
So sweet a little girl!
And Dinah's baby stares at me,
And I keep staring back;
She wonders why I am so white,
I wonder why she's black.

And Dinah gives her loving hugs
And kisses that must be,
I really think, as sweet, as those
My mother gives to me.
Oh, mothers' hearts are all alike,
And that's the reason, maybe,
Why every mother thinks she has
The very nicest baby.

IN-DOOR AMUSEMENTS.

ÆSOP'S MISSION.

This being a game of mystery, it is, of course, necessary that it should be unknown to, at any rate, a few of the company--the more the better. One of the gentlemen well acquainted with the game undertakes to represent Æsop. In order to do so more effectually, he may put a cushion or pillow under his coat to imitate a hump, provide himself with a stick for a crutch, make a false nose, and put a patch over one eye.

The rest of the company must then each assume the name of some subject of the animal kingdom--a bird, beast, or fish--and having done this, must prepare themselves to listen to the words of their great master.

Limping into their midst, Æsop then tells them that the wrath of the great god Jupiter has been aroused, and as the cause of a calamity so terrible must be that one or more of them have been committing some crime or other, he is anxious to discover without further delay who are the guilty subjects. "I shall therefore," continues he, "question you closely all round, and I shall expect you every one to give me truthful answers." He then fixes his mind upon a certain letter--for instance, O--and begins, "Mr. Lion, as you are the king of beasts, I sincerely hope you have done nothing derogatory to your high position; still, as it is absolutely necessary that you should be examined with the rest of your friends, will you please tell me what food you have eaten lately?" Should the lion have eaten a lamb, a sheep, a tiger, a bear, or any other dainty that is spelled without the letter O, he is acquitted as innocent; but should he have eaten a leopard, a goose, a fox, or any other creature in the name of which the letter O occurs, he is pronounced by Æsop to be deserving of punishment, and is therefore sentenced to pay a forfeit.

The other animals, in turn, then undergo a similar examination, during which each one must remember that in naming his prey he must confine himself to such food as is suited to the species he has himself adopted. The game may be carried on for any length of time, or until all have discovered the secret in it.