Chapter II: Part 2

"Yes, the plague. All these filthy Oriental towns are scourged by it every now and then; Bassorah has had its share in the visitation. A long time ago Bassorah had a large population--as high as 800,000, they say, but that is an Oriental way of saying it was very populous. But pestilence, and war, and capture by the Persians, and recapture by the Imam of Muscat for the Sultan, have reduced it to very modest proportions indeed. The Turks founded it, to begin with. One of their early Caliphs gave it the first start 'way back--let me see--in the seventh century."

"Six hundred A.D.," put in Tom.

"Yes; the Turks wanted to keep the way open for trade to the Gulf. These Turks generally know what they are about. But of course the best business men in Bassorah are the Jews."

Here a curious coincidence occurred. A procession slowly approached, coming down the narrow street.

"Jew funeral," said the Arab boatman.

The officers and our Tom gave way, crowding themselves against the houses, as the procession advanced. In front of them it halted. The corpse about to be buried lay in an open coffin placed on a bier hung with black. The persons comprising the procession had been chanting doleful funeral songs, but when they halted they ceased singing, and instead repeated in a mournful monotone funeral prayers as they all marched around the coffin. On the corpse was placed an urn, and as each person passed it he threw into it a piece of money. Seven halts were made, the routine being the same in each instance. At the final one the priest who was conducting the ceremonies uplifted the urn and said, in solemn tones: "We know that no one in the world is free from the sin Sera Lebathalah. We therefore give to thee this money, in order that thou mayst let his body and his soul rest in peace. In the name of the Eternal and His Holy Word, and with the consent of the members of the congregation here present, we lay upon thee the Anathema, which shall compel thee to flee into wild and solitary regions, where thou canst no more persecute any one."

As a matter of course Tom was completely mystified. The Lieutenant had been studying his guide-book. "It's this way, Tom," he explained. "This Jewish community have this curious custom peculiar to themselves. That great long word Sera Lebathalah is the name of a mystic sin or spirit, who is said to be the father of countless dark fiends who torment a man after his death, under the pretext that they are his children and ought to have part of his inheritance. Anathema is a Greek word, signifying that a thing shall be condemned or devoted to destruction. So the friends of the dead buy off this spirit as you have seen, and get rid of him in that way."

"But what becomes of the money?" asked Tom.

"That's more than I can say," said his friend. "But here we are at the grave."

The procession marched solemnly around the grave, and having placed the body in it returned to the town.

Tom and the Lieutenant had quite a walk to take before they again fell in with their companions. They discovered that the next feature on the programme was a further pull up the canal, in accordance with which arrangement they again embarked in the bellem. The canal was full of other boats, which passed them going and coming, the boatmen singing Arab ditties. Great loads of grain came down the stream.

"A good deal of that grain," said the Captain, "goes to Jeddah, and is sold to the pilgrims arriving at that port for Mecca."

In places remote from the Shat-el-Arab or the Tigris it is difficult and expensive to find means of transportation, so a large quantity of grain is used for fuel, and some rots away, or is consumed by rats in the granaries.

"Look at that," cried Mr. Jollytarre, pointing toward a warehouse close to the river-bank, tottering to its fall, as though an earthquake had suddenly overtaken it. "The rats have been having a fine time there."

As he spoke, the building he had pointed out fell with a loud crash.

"Pull ashore," cried the Captain. "We must see what all this means. Jollytarre, you must be dreaming. Rats, indeed!" Hastily running ashore, they came up against a sedate, imperturbable Turkish official, who re-assured them: "It is only one of the government grain stores that has fallen. It often happens. The rats undermine the walls to get at the grain, and from time to time a building gives way."

"Extraordinary!" cried Tom's father. "Well, I don't see that we can do anything here." So they re-embarked.

"These embankments are very well built," remarked some one, when they were again moving up the creek.

The boatman told them they were built by Nassir, a powerful Sheik; that he made a general levy of laborers for the purpose, without pay, although, to be sure, the villages around were compelled to provide food. The laborers made a strike for regular pay, whereupon Nassir built a few of the refractory men into the embankment, and declared he would construct it all of the bodies of the strikers if they did not at once go on with their work. There the strike ended. "As well it might, with such an employer," said the Captain. "And now," he added, "we'll turn around, for if you propose to start for Bagdad to-morrow, Tom, you'd better have a rest."

JOB'S TURKEY.

BY J. R. GALBRAITH.

"De ole speckle hane's done gone en keel ober, missus. Wot's we gwine ter do wid de young turkey?"

These words were addressed to me one fine spring morning by a small and very black boy, whose name was Job. Job always took a great interest in the poultry, and, indeed, was of no little assistance to me in its care. To be sure, he sometimes caused a great deal of trouble, when the chickens were hatching, by his great anxiety to know how they were getting on. He would lift up the hens to see if the little chicks were all out of their shells, and would even try to assist them in breaking the latter open, by which kind-hearted operation he invariably caused their death.

The speckled hen to which he referred that morning had been so unfortunate as to lose all her brood of young turkeys except one, and now she herself was dead. What to do with the young turkey was indeed a puzzling question. It was too young to take care of itself, and none of the other hens would take it, because their broods were not of the same age.

"Well, Job," I said, "I really do not know what we will do with the poor little thing: there is no mother for it."

"Dat's so," said Job; "but it make me feel moughty bad ter see dat leetle turkey a-cryin' roun' de dade hane. De ole rooster-cock he go er crowin' roun' jes ez big ez ef nuffin ain't done gone en happen. Oh, he's a precious vilyen, is dat same ole rooster-cock!"

I reflected a few moments, and then I said, "Job, you may have that little turkey, and when it gets big enough to sell, you can have the money all for your own."

"You don't mean dat, do you, missus?"

"Yes."

"Well, den, dat ar turkey ain't gwine ter die, not ef dis chile kin help it."

Any one who is familiar with poultry knows what delicate little things young turkeys are, and how difficult they are to raise under the most favorable circumstances. What, then, were Job's chances? Not one in a thousand.

Job went at once and put the young turkey in a coop by itself. He then procured some soft grass, with which he covered the floor; and having placed some water and food where the little thing could get at them, he spent the remainder of the day in lying on the ground before the coop, looking in at his new possession.

That night when I went out to superintend the feeding of the young chickens, which duty had devolved upon Job, he informed me that it was necessary to be very careful in regard to the rooster, and from what he said I inferred that he believed that fowl entertained some wicked scheme against not only all the young of its own kind, but all young poultry in general.

"De ole rooster-cock," said Job, as we paused before the coop that held the young turkey, "he come up en look through de slats at dat ar turkey--he did, sho. I hez ter keep a moughty close watch out, I duz. 'Member de time w'en he picked de young goslin' en de leetle chicken ter def, kaze dey wanted ter foller him. He'd do jes dat ar way wid de turkey ef he had half a chance. Oh, he's a precious vilyen, is dat same ole rooster-cock!"

To the surprise of us all, Job's turkey lived to be a full-grown bird, and, unlike the traditional Job's turkey, grew as plump and fat as any turkey need wish to be.

Yes, it lived and grew fat, but perhaps, after all, it was an unenviable kind of life, for it lost that which is the pride of all young gobblers--its tail. There was not a single feather of it left. Job in catching it had so often pulled out so many tail feathers that at last they were all gone.

Nor was this the only trial it had to bear. Job was continually shutting it up, and then changing his mind and letting it out again. One morning, when his mother was picking geese, Job caught his turkey, and gave it to his grandmother to hold until he could fix a coop to put it in. His grandmother, who was entirely blind, thinking that it was a goose, picked almost every feather from its body.

One day Job's father invited a few friends to take dinner with him. The dinner was to be given on the Fourth of July, and Job was very much afraid that his turkey would be sacrificed to the occasion.

"I's moughty feerd dat pap is gwine ter kill dat turkey," he said. "Ef he do, I won't hab no way ter git no money, kaze I won't hab nuffin ter sell w'en de hux'er comes roun'. I hope you won't let him kill dat turkey, missus, he am sich a fine gobbler. Ef 'twas de ole rooster-cock I wo'dn't keer, kaze eberybody knows he ain't no 'count. All he duz is ter walk roun' en 'tend like he's foun' suthin, en scratch up de groun'. Ef he'd git inter de yard, he'd scratch up all de flowers--he wo'd, sho."

"Oh, I guess he'll hardly kill your turkey, Job," I said, trying to re-assure him.

"I don' know," said Job; "I's feerd he will. Yuther day Elder Sales wuz ter our house, en a-readin' outer de Bible 'bout Job. Pap he tole me ter lissen how de man wot I woz named after wuz 'flicted. Den presently he axed de elder whar wuz de passage wot tole 'bout 'Job's turkey.' De elder said he didn't know jes zactly, but he 'lowed he'd soon fin' it. Dey look en dey look, but dey didn't fin' whar 'twas. 'Well,' sez pap atter a while, 'I knows a boy wot's got a turkey, ennyhow, en it's dat ar _Job_ dar; en a moughty fine fat one too. It'll make a good ros' fer us some dese yere days.'"

From a remark that I overheard Old Dick make, I found that he actually did intend to kill Job's turkey. It was too bad, after the trouble the boy had taken to raise it. So that evening when I saw Old Dick, I told him not to kill Job's turkey, and that I would give him one. He bowed and made a great to-do thanking me.

"I'll kill de turkey to-morrow ebenin', so's ter hab it all ready in good season."

Job, who had been weeding a flower bed near by, came up just in time to hear this, and I noticed a peculiar expression on his face, but thought nothing of it at the time. Old Dick then made a low bow, and making Job do the same, the two departed in the direction of their cabin.

Everything went on as usual until about dusk the next day, when Old Dick made his appearance at the sitting-room window, and informed me that Job was missing.

"I's looked ebery whar, high en low, en I can't fin' de po' boy no'ers," he said.

"Oh, he will turn up before long; don't be frightened," I said. "Very likely he has climbed up into the haymow and fallen asleep. You remember we found him there once."

"I clar, missus, I's done look all fro de barn; but I'll go look agin ef yer say so. I 'members now I didn't look in de ole mangers in de wagon-house; but I don't reckon he'd git in dem hardly."

I went about my work, having little doubt but that Job would turn up all right, as he always had done before. But in a few minutes, happening to glance out of the window, I saw Old Dick running toward the house, having lost his hat, and making wild gestures with his arms. As soon as he caught sight of me he commenced to cry: "Oh, missus! Oh! oh! oh! Joby's done gone en fell in de barn well."

I ran out to him at once. "You must be mistaken," I said.

"Oh dear no, missus; I wisht I wuz. De bucket wuz hangin' down de well, en I jes let it down inter de water, thinkin' I'd draw up a leetle, w'en I heerd him a-splashin' roun' down dar."

"It was only the bucket when it struck the water."

"Oh no, 'twan't; I drawed de bucket up, en could atterwa'ds hear de po' boy. Can't nobody help me git him out? De po' boy is drownin' down dar--he is sho'. Whar _is_ Mr. Williams? Oh, missus, whar _is_ Mr. Williams?"

Great excitement ensued. Dinah, the cook, having seen Old Dick come running toward the house, had come out to see what was the matter. Now she ran back to my husband's study, and addressed him in these words. "De Lord help us, Marster Williams, Job's done gone en fell in de barn well."

He jumped up at once, and came running out in his dressing-gown, which, being of light material, was taken up by the wind and floated out behind him like a streamer. We three repaired to the well, where Old Dick had preceded us. Dinah was armed with the rolling-pin, my husband had the notes of a prospective sermon in his hands, which were scattered to the four winds, and I had some fancy-work, which, in my excitement, I had forgotten to lay aside. Truly we were well equipped for extricating a drowning boy from a well.

When we arrived at the well, it had begun to grow dark, and when we looked down into it, it appeared a deep black hole that might extend to the centre of the earth. Old Dick was leaning over the frame gazing into the dark depths below.

"Joby," he cried, "jes keep yo' hade 'bove water till we git down to yer. Hole onter de stones on de side, Joby. Does yer hear me, honey?"

No response from the well.

"Joby," he cried, in a louder voice, "does yer hear me?"

This was succeeded by a confused splashing at the bottom of the well.

"Oh, de po' boy!" cried Old Dick, wringing his hands; "he'll be drown', sho! Joby, o-o-oh, Joby, does yer hear me, honey?"

Here Old Dick leaned so far over the well frame that if Mr. Williams had not caught him he would have pitched headlong into the well.

Mr. Williams, having detached the rope from the bucket, fastened it around his waist, and telling Old Dick to hold on to the crank and let the rope unwind slowly, began to descend into the well, holding on to the sides with his hands and feet.

"Oh, dear me!" muttered Old Dick, as he unwound the rope; "ef he wuz ter lose his holt, en de cord wuz ter break, wot wo'd become ob po' Joby den?"

"Here he is!" Mr. Williams cried from the bottom of the well.

"Dade, I reckon?" said Old Dick.

"No," said Mr. Williams; "for a wonder he is alive. Wind up the rope, Richard."

Old Dick slowly wound up the rope. We were leaning over the well frame, peering anxiously into its black depths, when Mr. Williams came in sight, bearing in his arms poor Job? No. What? Job's turkey.

Dinah and I shouted with laughter, but Old Dick looked more distressed than ever.

"Where's Joby?" he cried. "You ain't gone en lef him dade at de bottom ob de well?"

"No," said Mr. Williams; "he is not there."

Old Dick could not seem to realize this at first. When he did, his features broadened into a smile. "Well, I thought," he said. Then he suddenly became grave again, as he remembered that, after all, we had not found Job.

We hunted all over the premises, and Old Dick went around to the neighbors and made inquiries, but it was all in vain. Job was nowhere to be found.

The next day, as I was passing through an unoccupied room at the back part of the house, I thought I heard a noise, like something falling, in a long disused closet. I opened the door to see what it was. All that I could see was a pair of bright eyes peering out from the cave-like blackness of the closet. I started back in fear.

"Don't be skeered, missus."

"Job!" I cried.

The boy tumbled out on to the floor at my feet.

"Don't whip me, missus, please don't whip me."

"Whip you, Job? of course not."

"Is de turkey alibe, missus?"

"Yes. What ever put it into your head to play such a trick as this?"

"Well, yer see, missus, I heerd pap say he wuz gwine ter kill dat turkey las' night. I had tole him 'twa'n't no fittin' time ob year ter eat turkey, but he boun' ter kill it er bust. Well, I seed dat dar wuz water nuff drawd fer de hoss, en I jes cotch dat turkey, en chuck him in de well bucket tight, so he can't git out, en let him down de well."

When Old Dick was informed of Job's whereabouts it was with great difficulty that I prevailed upon him not to whip the boy. He, however, at length consented to let him off that time.

"But ef eber I heers ob sich cuttins up agin I'll larrop him sho. A pirty-lookin' creeter he is, a-skeerin' his mammy en me half outen our senses!"

Job's turkey lived without any more adventures until he sold it for a good price to the huxter. He took the money and bought himself a pair of red-top boots, and when he put them on and walked about the yard he was indeed a happy boy.

KITTY'S DREAM.

Little Kitty Martin
Had a vision in her slumbers
Of little cherub kitty cats
In most prodigious numbers.

They looked just like her own gray pets--
She saw them all quite clearly;
And still she wasn't frightened,
Because she loved them dearly.

Ever so many letters, which the Postmistress reads with great pleasure, have to be left out of Our Post-office Box every week. The little writers must not be discouraged, but try again. The Postmistress has many a hearty laugh over droll letters for which she can not find room in print; and sometimes she cries, all by herself, over some that are sorrowful, wishing so much that she could help the dear children who have troubles of their own to bear.

* * * * *

BUTTERNUT, WISCONSIN.

I live on a beautiful lake five miles long, but I do not know quite
how wide. Our mountain-ash tree has been just lovely, all in bloom.
I wish I could send you all the flowers I have seen this summer.
What kind of a school-house do you think I go to? A little
log-cabin--not hewed logs either--with unplaned seats and desks,
and a floor which has large cracks in it. We have a "scoop roof,"
and for a teacher's desk we have a large box, and for a water bench
only a block of wood. There are two windows and one door. We had in
the city a red brick school-house, and everything was very nice
there. Oh! I forgot to tell you how many scholars we have--six
girls and three boys. My sister Fannie and I both go. I would like
to have a photograph of you, the one who likes to darn stockings,
for I do too. Our lake is pretty rough to-day.

KATE BELLE M.

Well, dear, there are more luxurious school-houses than yours, but some of the best and greatest men our country has ever had, and those whose names we most honor, attended just such plain, homely little school-houses. It is the sort of teaching and of learning which goes on in school which is of the most importance. A dunce would not gain much on a velvet carpet and at a rose-wood desk, and a bright, diligent girl may learn much that is worth knowing, even in a rough, unplaned building. I think that you girls and boys might coax your papas and big brothers to plant vines and shrubs around the school-house, and make a garden in front of it. The teacher's desk might be covered with maroon-colored muslin, on which bright pictures might be pasted. Wreaths of evergreen, and after a while garlands of autumn leaves, might be hung upon the bare walls. Train some German ivy, which grows rapidly, around the windows. If I were there, I could help you make the place pretty I am sure. I am glad you are fond of darning stockings, but I can not send you my photograph, because I am one of the people who never happen to get a good likeness when I sit down before the camera.

* * * * *

I have been sick a long time, and am not able to get out of bed, so
I have not much to do but read or paste stamps in my book, when I
have them. One of my friends lends me HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. I
would like to exchange an Indian, a Hong-Kong, a Cape of Good Hope,
or a Brazilian stamp, for a 10, 24, 30, or 90 cent of the 1869
issue, the 24 or 90 cent of the 1870-71 issue of U.S. stamps, or
the 10, 30, or 90 cent unpaid letter stamps, or any of the U.S.
periodical, State, Navy, or Treasury Department stamps except the
lowest denominations.

D. J. HAINES,
Cheltenham, Montgomery Co., Penn.

* * * * *

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.

I am not a girl, but a boy ten years old. I saw in Our Post-office
Box of No. 139 a letter from a little girl who wanted to know what
kind of a pet she should have. I think a bird or a cat would be the
thing. I wish the Postmistress would please tell Jimmy Brown to
write some more of his stories.

JOSEPH A. B.

* * * * *

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.

It is very nice where I live. There are trees in front of every
house on the block. We have cool winds from Lake Michigan. Chicago
has a great many gardens, and it is called the Garden City of the
West. I have three pets. Their mother is a rat terrier; her name is
Fanny. I like them very much. They have their eyes open already.
They are very fat, and have little feet that can hardly carry their
bodies about. I go to school, and learn reading, arithmetic,
geography, spelling, and writing. I am just half-way through the
school. This is a very large school; it has twenty rooms in it.
There is a building in Chicago that is eleven stories high. We will
have vacation in a few days, and then all the school-children will
be glad. We boys go down to the lake and bathe ourselves, and have
a jolly time. We are allowed to fish in Humboldt Park on Saturday;
I go there almost every Saturday. It has a very clear lake; there
are sunfish, trout, and bull-heads in it.

ALVIN H.

Of course you are now in the full tide of vacation. Is Saturday the only day when the boys are allowed to fish, or do you go to the Park on other days, now that school is over for a while?

* * * * *

DETROIT, MICHIGAN.

We have a canary-bird, and a dog, and some chickens. The dog's name
is Dan, and he chases the chickens all over the yard. We have the
darlingest baby you ever did see. She is so sweet! She loves the
chickens. I am nine years old.

R. J. R.

* * * * *

LITTLE PATTY.

Cross little Patty sat under a tree,
As fretful as ever a child could be.

"Keep still!" to a singing-bird she said;
"You are out of tune, and you hurt my head."

"Do stop!" she cried, to a dancing brook.
A lamb and a pussy cat came to look

At cross little Patty beneath the tree,
As fretful as ever a child could be.

The pussy cat wondered to see her pout,
And the frisky lambkin skipped about;

But the brook tripped on over stones and moss,
And never found out that Patty was cross.

The bird in the tree-top sang away,
And these were the words she meant to say:

"You poor little girl, why can't you see
That there's nothing at all the matter with me?

"Mend your manners, my dearie, soon,
Or you'll find the whole world out of tune."

Somehow the wind in the leafy tree,
And the rippling water so wild and free,

The bird on the bough, and the snow-white lamb,
And the gentle pussy so mild and calm,

Made Patty ashamed of her naughty mood;
She shook herself well, and said, "I'll be good."

And, presto! the Patty beneath the tree
Was just as sweet as a child could be.

* * * * *

BRANDY STATION, VIRGINIA.

I am nine years old, but will soon be ten. I thought I would tell
Kate E. what pet to get. I think a pony would be very nice. I have
written to HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE several times, but my letters
never have been printed. I hope you will print this. My sister was
taken sick yesterday. I have no pets, but my sister Emily has a pet
cat. It is very cunning. Papa is having the porch fixed up.
Good-by.

RENA LOUISA S.

* * * * *

EDEN, DAKOTA TERRITORY.

My papa came here thirteen years ago, when only savages inhabited
this part of Dakota. I can remember, when a very small child, how
the Indians used to come to our house, and beg for corn and fresh
meat, for we used to kill lots of pigs. Papa named this town. Eden
is situated in the southeastern part of Dakota, on the Big Sioux
River, fifty miles above Sioux City. I have only one sister, nine
years old, and I am eleven. Mamma promised me a birthday party, but
as I have an invalid grandpa, and my birthday comes in the cold,
cold month of December, and we could not go out-of-doors to play,
mamma said I might have a lawn party instead this summer, as we
have a beautiful grove to play in. I have taken HARPER'S YOUNG
PEOPLE for nearly two years, and am very much pleased with it.

M. ELSIE W.

* * * * *

HOWE, ILLINOIS.

I am a little boy nearly seven years old. I have never been at
school, but recite my lessons at home. I have one Maltese cat I
call John Crawford, and another Jerusha (I call her Jerry for
short). Jerry has two little kittens; they are just as funny as
they can be. I have a shepherd dog named Jack; he and the cats and
kittens eat from the same dish, and do not quarrel one bit. Then I
have a cow and two little calves, and two colts. My colts are named
Dick and Daisy; they are one year old, and my papa says I may ride
them next fall. The last, and almost the least, is my little pig
Bessie. Papa says my brother Jo and I will bankrupt him yet feeding
our stock. Jo is my only brother; he is thirteen. My papa has been
real sick almost a year; he expects to go to the sea-shore this
summer.

I do hope you will print this letter. I have not seen any from this
part of Illinois. If you do, in my next I will tell you about a
rat-hunt my grandpapa and I had. I like HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE best
of all.

CHARLIE W.

* * * * *

DES MOINES, IOWA.

I am a little girl ten years old. I have lived in Des Moines for
nearly one year. I do not like Des Moines very much. I have written
three letters to YOUNG PEOPLE, but as none of them have been
published, I thought I would write again. On the 18th of June a
cyclone passed here, and on the 22d of June a cyclone passed not
far from our house, and mamma said it would have been here if it
had not been for the rain. In Kansas, when they see a cyclone
coming, they all go to large holes in the ground, and stay there
until it is all over, and then they come out again to their houses.
I have a cousin in Germany, and she takes HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
too. I have been taking it ever since the first number. I am very
glad that the vacation months have come, it has been so warm here
ever since the 1st of June.

E. K.

* * * * *

JACKSONVILLE, ILLINOIS.

Ma says I may write a letter too,
As many of the little boys and girls do;
So I will try and write, and see
How it will look in poetry.
I'm a little girl just twice six and one,
With this world's work just begun.
My father is a farmer, and bridge-builder too,
So, you have guessed wisely, there is plenty to do.
We all help to plant, to dig, and to hoe;
To be sure, in time we've plenty to mow;
For of all good times for children to play,
The best of all is on hay-making day.
Now 'tis our old house I must tell you about:
'Twas built for a tavern, all on a stage route;
Great trees of walnut were cut and hauled,
And placed together firmly to make these old walls;
It looks very old and ancient to some,
But yet it is a very dear and comfortable home.
My grandpa says, near sixty years ago or more
He made latches and hinges for these very doors.
The things that were made then were made to wear,
But now things of that kind you'll find very rare.
He had his shop where he could get the breeze,
And he hung his bellows between two trees,
But now his locks are silvery and gray,
And his house is the best place for children to play.
Dear Postmistress, should you be weary and need rest,
The best of all places is near the Athens of the West.
We take HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, think it grand indeed,
And take great pleasure when your stories we read.
If you will please print my letter,
I will close by signing my name.

NINETTA.

I wonder if I can match this poetical letter by some jingles. Let me try:

An epistle, dear Netta, so charmingly rhymed,
For weather like this I think very well timed.
I'm glad that at grandpa's, when lessons are done,
Yourself and your friends can have plenty of fun.
And I hope you will try to be thorough, my dear,
So that your work, like his, may last many a year.

* * * * *

BALTIMORE, MARYLAND.

I look forward to the day HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE comes with very
much pleasure. The stories are very amusing, and the letters are
very nice indeed. All seem to like "Mr. Stubbs's Brother" very
much. I like it too. I am nine years old, and I have had three
birds. One poisoned itself eating the leaves of the trumpet-vine;
another broke its leg; the other died a natural death. And now my
other little bird is living, and is very tame. I have never written
to HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE before, but I hope my first trial will be
successful.

LYDIA D. D.

* * * * *

MINEOLA, TEXAS.

I am a little girl seven years old. I want to tell you about my
pets. I have two kitties; one is named Tabby, the other is named
Jumbo. I did have a little rabbit, but Tabby caught it and ate it.
I can play four tunes on the organ. As this is my first, please
publish it.

ANNIE H. N.

* * * * *

PLAINFIELD, NEW JERSEY.

I have only taken YOUNG PEOPLE a little while, and I like it very
much. I have a little sister named Alice, and a little cousin named
Marie. One day Alice did something that Marie did not like, and
looking up in Alice's face, she said, "Lallie, you make me
nervous." Grandma gave me a year's subscription of YOUNG PEOPLE for
a philopena present, and my uncle gave me a bound copy for the year
1881.

E. U. O.

* * * * *

CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS.

I went to New York with mamma to see my grandpa, and had a good
time. I liked the elevated railroad very much; I wasn't afraid at
all. I went to Central Park, and saw some monkeys, birds,
buffaloes, a polar bear, and lots of other things. One bird picked
the other bird's feathers out. A man put his finger right in the
buffalo's mouth, and another man let the birds eat pea-nuts out of
his mouth. I used to have curls, and they were cut off when I was
in New York. My sister thinks I look like a monkey, but I think I
look nice. We are all going to Barnum's Circus to see Jumbo. I saw
the picture of him in the paper that you send us. My sister wrote
this letter for me, because I couldn't print it good enough.

GEORGE L. W.

* * * * *

MARENGO, ILLINOIS.

I am twelve years old, and live on a farm of one hundred and one
acres. I have lots of fun on the farm. I have a few pets; they are
rabbits, tame canaries, a dog, a cow, and a little calf. I had a
horse, or one that I called mine. One day my dog Fido--for that is
his name--went into the barn to catch rats, and he got caught in a
steel trap, and it took two of us to set him free, and his foot was
almost crushed.

JOHN R. W.

I am very sorry for Fido's misfortune.

* * * * *

CHERRIES.

Under the tree the farmer said,
Smiling, and shaking his wise old head:
"Cherries are ripe! but then, you know,
There's the grass to cut and the corn to hoe;
We can gather the cherries any day.
But when the sun shines we must make our hay.
To-night, when the work has all been done,
We'll muster the boys, for fruit and fun."

Up in the tree a robin said,
Perking and cocking his saucy head:
"Cherries are ripe! and so to-day
We'll gather them while you make the hay;
For we are the boys with no corn to hoe,
No cows to milk, and no grass to mow."
At night the farmer said: "Here's a trick!
Those roguish robins have had their pick."

* * * * *

PEOLI, OHIO.

I live in the country, and we have many kinds of birds, but I want
you to tell me why they change so. A few years ago there were lots
of peewees and wrens. Now there are none of them at all, and the
birds that used to be so shy are building close by, the redbird in
the bushes near the front door, the winter king in a hole in an old
peach-tree by the back door. There is going to be a picnic just a
few rods from our house. I am ten years old, and have no little
brothers or sisters. I have two brothers. One is married; the other
is older than I. He can draw nice pictures of our house and barn,
and lots of other things. We have two canaries, and they go to
setting as soon as they lay one egg. We have had lots of pets. One
was a crow, which could do the most mischievous things, and was
very funny. We have only a dog named Bran, some kittens, and a pet
lamb. Bran will stand with his mouth open for Fred to milk in it,
and sit before us on a horse to ride. I have a cousin Nelly coming
to spend vacation with me. We shall have bathing-dresses, and will
play in the brook. There is not enough water to swim in. I wish
there was.

ROBBA M.

The new birds must have driven the wrens and peewees away to find other homes. Perhaps you may be able to coax them back again.

* * * * *

A few Sundays ago, while service was in progress in the Presbyterian church at Rome, New York, what should walk demurely up the aisle but a little gray kitten. She stood on the pulpit steps, and looked at the boys and girls, who were in quite a flutter for fear somebody would say "scat," or pick kitty up and carry her out-doors. But nobody troubled her, and presently the little thing jumped up to one of the chairs in front of the pulpit, laid her head on her paws, and fell asleep. There she staid until church was out.

* * * * *

N. P. G.--Messrs. Harper & Brother's will send _Toby Tyler_, or any other volume on their list, to any address on receipt of the published price. It is necessary only to direct your order to Harper & Brothers, Franklin Square, New York. Letters designed for the various periodicals, or for any department in either of them, should be addressed in the same way.

* * * * *

A SUBSCRIBER.--I can not recommend any manual on the subject to which you refer. A few lessons from a good teacher are indispensable.

* * * * *

A lady of Yonkers, New York, lately sent to the Flower Mission in New York City two thousand clove pinks tied in bunches of fifty each. On account of their sweet, spicy fragrance these were sent to the blind sufferers in hospitals.

* * * * *

Little lovers of birds will send their good wishes to the kind Mr. and Mrs. Robin of whom this pretty story is told. A gentleman in Milton, Massachusetts, owns a mocking-bird, whose cage hangs under the piazza. Near by is a nest containing young robins. The parent birds are busy all day bringing worms to their young family. Twice, says the observer, the robins have been seen to pause on their way to their brood, and drop worms through the bars of the cage to the little prisoner.

* * * * *

ELSIE G.--Your cat is really a gifted creature, but if I were papa, I would not like him to be quite so familiar. Did you ever dress him up with a paper cap, and a ruff around his neck?

* * * * *

GERTIE AND LOTTIE B.--Such a century plant as yours is a treasure worth owning.

* * * * *

BESSIE H. B.--I am glad that you find it a pleasant occupation to help mamma in her garden. You forgot to tell me what you are raising besides strawberries. Did they turn out well, and repay you for your labor?

* * * * *

COUNT RUMFORD.--The ball of the foot must be on the pedal of the bicycle.

* * * * *

MAX L.--The story of "Mr. Stubbs's Brother" began in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, Vol. III., No. 127, published April 4, 1882.

* * * * *

C. Y. P. R. U.

GREAT PAUL.--Great Paul is an enormous bell which was cast for St. Paul's, in London, and has lately been hung in its belfry. It measures ten feet across the mouth, and weighs sixteen tons. You may imagine what deep tones will issue from this immense bell when it is rung on occasions of joy or grief. Large as Great Paul is, however, there are bigger bells in the world. The largest one in actual use is at Moscow, and it weighs nearly a hundred and thirty tons. The next largest is in Pekin, where there is a bell which weighs fifty tons. At Notre Dame, in Paris, there is a bell which weighs seventeen tons. The true test of a bell is its strength of sound. How far can you hear it? is the question, not how heavy it may be. High up in the steeple and on an elevation a bell ought to be heard for miles. In old times the bells summoned the people to gatherings called folk-motes. If anything of importance was to be decided, if an enemy's ship appeared in the offing, or there were rumors of an invasion on the coast, the solemn call of the bell hurried the men to a council. On the bell of St. Mary's, at Oxford, this line is inscribed, "Keepe tyme in anye case."

* * * * *

ARAB BREAD.--It is made of coarse flour resembling our Graham flour, and the loaves, which are very thin, are round, and about fifteen inches in diameter. It is placed on the table in piles, and is broken by those who wish to partake of it, not cut in slices like our bread.

* * * * *

FLO.--You are quite right in asking the Postmistress about any little thing that puzzles you. If you and cousin Theodore are both going up-stairs, you must let him go first. In going down-stairs he should step aside and let you go before him. Introduce your little visitor to your mother, mentioning mamma's name first.

* * * * *

A pleasant amusement in summer, when people are coming and going, is found in the game of Preferences. It is played in this manner:

Keep a blank book of sufficient size on the parlor table, and ask each guest to write out answers to the following questions:

Who is your favorite hero in history?
Who is your favorite heroine in history?
Who is your favorite King in history?
Who is your favorite Queen in history?
What is your favorite male Christian name?
What is your favorite female Christian name?
What is your favorite flower?
What is your favorite color?
What is your favorite style of music?
What is your favorite style of climate?
What is your favorite study?
What is your favorite exercise?
What is your favorite book? etc., etc.

* * * * *

We would call the attention of the C. Y. P. R. U. to Mrs. Helen Conant's admirable article on "Catching Butterflies." Not only does it contain clear and simple directions for making a collection of these beautiful insects, but much is to be learned from it of their various characteristics and habits. There is a most interesting article on travel by Lieutenant E. W. Sturdy, entitled "Tom Fairweather goes to Bassorah, the Home of Sindbad the Sailor." The boys and girls both may learn a valuable lesson of presence of mind and heroism from the little incident told under the title of "A Brave Boy."

* * * * *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.

I am composed of 13 letters and 2 words. My name is known to all lovers
of art.
My 1, 2, 7, 7 is a manufactory.
My 1, 2, 7, 6 is a measure of distance.
My 8, 9, 10, 6, 7 is a messenger.
My 1, 5, 1, 1, 5 is a sweet word.
My 1, 5, 2, 7 is a defense.
My 5, 9, 9, 2, 6 is a girl's name.
My 4, 13 is an exclamation.
My 2, 3, 11 is used both in summer and winter.

GEORGE E.

* * * * *

No. 2.

FIVE EASY DIAMONDS.

1.--1. A letter. 2. A bed. 3. A friend. 4. A beverage. 5. A letter.

2.--1. A letter. 2. A speck. 3. A shelter. 4. A number. 5. A letter.

EDGAR S.

3.--1. In sauce. 2. A trap. 3. A number. 4. Another number. 5. In snow.

4.--1. In chicks. 2. A vessel. 3. A darling. 4. Something good to eat. 5. In ducks.

5.--1. A letter. 2. A limb. 3. A state. 4. An opening. 5. A letter.

R. B. B.

* * * * *

No. 3.

BEHEADINGS.

1.

1. I am a metal; behead me, and I am infirm.
2. I am a garment; behead me, and I am a grain.
3. I am something to use; behead me, and I am elevated.
4. I am not good; behead me, I am not out.
5. I am a flavor; behead me, and I am a fluid.
6. I am part of the body: behead me, and I am a part of speech.
7. I am a boy's name; behead me, and I am a color; again, and I am
again a boy's name.

HELEN U. G.

2.

1. I am part of an apple; beheaded, I am a metal.
2. I am useful around the fire; beheaded, I am a home.
3. I am part of time; beheaded, I am necessary to hearing.
4. I am sometimes used for bad boys; beheaded, I am a familiar sound.
5. I am something to wear; beheaded, I am a useful implement.

GEORGIE.

3.

1. I am in a lady's work-stand; behead me, and I am out-of-doors.
2. I am a clever device; behead me, and I stand in the field.
3. I am a medicine; behead me, I am under-foot.

MADGE.

* * * * *

No. 4.

TRANSPOSITION.

A redyra clpea dlowu eb sith htrea,
Rewe ethre on tilelt elpoep ni ti;
Eht gnos fo ilef lduow eols sti htrim,
Erwe ethre on lichnerd ot ebign ti.

* * * * *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 139.

No. 1.

W A S T E S A I N T
A D O R N A I M E R
S O L I D I M A G E
T R I C E N E G U S
E N D E R T R E S S

No. 2.

Buckram.

No. 3.

HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. Harp. Eagle. You. Sugar. Poe.

No. 4.

J es C
U u A
L eav E
I vie S
U n A
S teame R

No. 5.

A D S
I C E L I E D U E
A C O R N D I A R Y S U N N Y
E R A E R R E N D
N Y Y

* * * * *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from "Fay," "Fern Heather," Lucie Timpson, Emil Hirsh, Eddie S. Hequembourg, Annie Meeker, Maud Mary Chambers, Florence V. Williams, Benjamin Smith, Lottie Hope, Ernest Pullen, Norman Cary, Elsie, "Rose-bud," "Fuss and Feathers," "Bright Eyes," C. J. C., Leslie Meigs, "Empire City," Annis Temple, John P. Mott, Emma Ray, Louise Prescott, Guy Paynter, Viola C., Ray M., Evarts Folsom, Etta Wheelock, and Flossie Dean.

* * * * *

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

* * * * *

THE FOX'S DINNER PARTY.

BY F. CASSIDY.

One of the funniest animal stories I ever heard was lately told by a sober Quaker gentleman from New Jersey, who said it was related to him by the eye-witness himself. He was one day in a field near a stream, where several geese were swimming. Presently he observed one of them disappear under water with a sudden jerk. While he looked for her to rise again he saw a fox emerge from the water, and trot off to the woods with the unfortunate goose in his mouth.

The fox chanced to go in a direction where it was easy to watch his movements. He carried his burden to a recess under an overhanging rock. Here he scratched away a mass of dry leaves, made a hole, hid his treasure within, and covered it up very carefully. Then off he went to the stream again, entered behind the flock of geese, and floated noiselessly along, with merely the tip of his nose visible above the surface. But this time he was not so fortunate in his manoeuvre. The geese by some means took the alarm, and flew away with a loud cackling.

The fox, finding himself defeated, walked off in the direction opposite to the place where his victim was buried. The man went to the place, uncovered the hole, put the goose in his basket, replaced the leaves carefully, and stood patiently at a distance to watch further proceedings. The sly thief soon returned with another fox, whom he had apparently invited to dine with him. They trotted along right merrily, swinging their tails, snuffing the air, and smacking their lips in expectation of a rich repast.

When they arrived under the rocks, Reynard eagerly scratched away the leaves; but, lo! his dinner had disappeared. He looked at his companion, and plainly saw by his countenance that he more than doubted whether any goose was ever there at all. Appearances were certainly very much against the host. His tail slunk between his legs, and he held his head down, looking sideways, with a timid glance, at his disappointed companion. Indignant at what he supposed to be an attempt to get up a character for generosity on false pretenses, the offended guest seized his unlucky associate and cuffed him most unmercifully. Poor Reynard bore the infliction with the utmost patience and sneaked off, as if aware that he received no more than might naturally be expected under the peculiar circumstances.

* * * * *

PARLOR MAGIC.

HOW TO MAKE A QUARTER PASS INTO A BALL OF WORSTED.

Procure a ball of worsted, and also a piece of tin about three inches long and about an inch and a quarter broad, and turn up one-eighth of an inch of it on each side at an angle inward, and roll the worsted round this piece of tin until you make a ball, taking care to leave that part of the ball where one end of the tin slide is open so as to enable you to drop the quarter into it.

The ball of worsted is now placed on the table, and having borrowed a quarter, which you get the owner to mark, you turn to the table, and take up the worsted ball, dropping the marked quarter quickly down the slide or tube, which you then secretly withdraw from the ball. Now turn to the audience, and show them the ball of worsted (the hole where the tube was taken from will not be visible), and hold up a quarter (another one) which you have had secreted in your right hand until now, or which you can have fastened to an elastic attached to the inside of your sleeve, and inform them you will pass the coin into the ball.

Now get one of the company to cover the ball of worsted with a tumbler; hold up the quarter, and say, "Presto, go, fly!" then pretend to throw the quarter to the ball. Give one end of the worsted to the company to unwind, when the marked quarter will be found in the centre of the ball.

End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, July 18, 1882, by Various