Chapter II: Part 2

So expert do some players become that they will throw the ball straight and swiftly from goal to goal. Mr. Lally, of the Shamrock Club, is able to throw the ball four hundred and fifty feet. The ball is of India rubber sponge, not less than eight nor more than nine inches in circumference. As the game is now played, twelve players are on each side, placed according to the best judgment of their captains for working the ball toward the opposite goal, or keeping it from going through their own goal.

All the play, the running, dodging, leaping, twisting, throwing, is simply to get the ball through the goal. This part of it is easily learned. Of course it requires practice to enable one to handle the crosse well. But any active lad can soon get the hang of that, and once learned, it is doubtful if he will give up lacrosse for base-ball, with its broken fingers and sprained thumbs, or for foot-ball, with its kicked shins and sometimes broken ribs.

But lacrosse is no girls' play. There is sufficient hard work and danger to make it quite exciting enough for anybody; but there is not much danger of a player's getting maimed for life, as has often happened in these other games. There are no spiked shoes worn, no wrestling, no holding, no intentional tripping, no striking. It is simply a game of agility and endurance.

To be a good player, one must be able to run well and to run long. It is remarkable what speed and endurance some of the players possess. To have these, they must take good care of their health, and good lacrosse players are careful seldom or never to touch tobacco or strong drink, nor to eat unwholesome food at unnatural hours.

Lacrosse is a good game, because it cultivates courage in a boy, knocks the timidity out of him, gives him confidence and pluck, and teaches him to govern his temper. It develops judgment and calculation, promptness and decision, and gives him a healthful and manly recreation. Besides, it is a cheap game. It can be played on almost any vacant lot. In Canada it is played in the streets of the towns and on the village greens. The balls are not expensive, and last well, and the crosses do not cost a large sum.

It is a pretty game. It is very interesting to watch twenty-four players, especially if they are wearing tasteful uniforms, all rushing, leaping, dodging, over the green grass, each side intent upon driving that little black ball through the goal.

There have been games of lacrosse that were not so pretty. History tells of one that ended in a fearful tragedy. It was played over one hundred years ago, in 1763. One of the British chain of forts in the North was Fort Michilimackinac. On the 4th of June, 1763, it was garrisoned by thirty-five soldiers, and contained about ninety other persons, men, women, and children. It was the birthday of King George, and the soldiers were celebrating the day.

There had been rumors that the Ojibway Indians had conspired with Pontiac, the great chief, to capture the fort, but Captain Etherington, the commandant, paid no attention to them. So, when on this day the Ojibways sent an invitation to the fort to see a grand game of "baggataway," or lacrosse, between them and the Sacs, on the plain in front of the fort, the soldiers gladly accepted.

"The gates were opened wide," says Mr. W. G. Beers, in his account of the game; "the soldiers were lying and standing about in groups, the majority without arms. Captain Etherington and Lieutenant Leslie stood close by the gate, betting on the game.

"A large number of squaws were collected near the fort. Then the game began. The players, nearly naked, yelling, with leaps and dashes, chased and fought for the ball, kicking, wrestling, rolling over each other. The spectators roared with laughter. No one thought of anything but the game. But slowly the ball neared the fort. Once or twice it shot into the air, and fell inside the pickets, and was thrown out. Gradually the great body of players neared the fort, all playing with might and main.

"Suddenly the ball was thrown high into the air, and as it fell near the gate, the players made a great rush, followed by all the warriors who had not been playing.

"The war-whoop rang over the plain; the ball sticks were thrown away; the squaws threw open their blankets, and the players snatched the tomahawks and other weapons they had concealed there."

Then the massacre began, and of that little band of English but twenty escaped alive. So you see when you play lacrosse you are playing a purely American game, and a historical game too.

A YARN FROM THE LOG-BOOK OF TOM FAIRWEATHER.

A Visit to an Ostrich Farm.

BY LIEUTENANT E. W. STURDY, U.S.N.

"Hello!" cried Tom, "we're off."

Off from Cape Town, South Africa. Wasn't Tom a lucky fellow? He was cruising around the world in his father's ship. To-day he was going a few miles inland to visit Mr. Van Zeilin's ostrich farm. Queer kind of farm, eh? Are you wondering whether the ostriches were the farmers? Well, you'll see.

It was a lovely trip in a railway car, much like our cars at home, by-the-bye, over fair fields bright and sweet with flowers.

Tom enjoyed it after having been cooped up on ship-board for some time; in fact, he grinned from ear to ear with pleasure. I have a colored photograph of him I would like to show you. Blue, roving eyes, yellow hair, round, rosy cheeks--dressed in a suit of sailor clothes. His messmates thought him a nice boy, and called him "Little Boy Blue."

"Ostrich farming is a new thing, is it not?" asked Tom's father, Captain Fairweather, of Mr. Van Zeilin, the owner of the farm they were going to visit, and who, as his name showed, came of the early Dutch settlers of the colony.

"Yes; the attempt was first made only about twenty years ago." (Tom thought twenty years made a very old thing of it.) "We have been fairly successful; our only profit is in the feathers, as you doubtless know."

"Don't you sell the eggs, sir?" asked Tom.

"As other farmers sell hens' eggs? No. The eggs are worth five dollars apiece. We hatch a good many of them by artificial means. These birds are careless of their eggs, and leave them lying around, so that it is part of our business to collect them. In other parts of Africa the natives eat the eggs, however, roasting them in the shell, and stirring the meat with a stick. They also use the thick hard shells for drinking-cups."

The party reached their journey's end, and after eating luncheon at Mr. Van Zeilin's comfortable house, started off to explore.

"Good gracious!" cried Tom; "what's that?" In the next breath he recognized the strange object before him as an ostrich, but just at first he was thoroughly amazed. It was hard to realize that any mere bird could be so big. It was as tall--well, its head would be on a level with the top of an ordinary-sized wardrobe. Its legs alone were four or five feet long. Bird, indeed! it looked more like a young camel than anything else; only it had but two legs. Tom stared and stared. He had expected to see something like a prize turkey, and now this! Meanwhile Mr. Van Zeilin had halted. He began cutting off branches from the tree beneath which they were standing.

"I wish to show you a nest," he said; "but we shall have to be wary. We may meet with a warm reception. Tom, you are a traveller. What do you propose doing if the ostrich shows fight?"

"I'll fight back," said Tom, valorously. "He's only a bird. I guess I can whip him."

"Not so fast," said Mr. Van Zeilin, continuing to trim his branches, which he forked at one end. "Ostriches are very strong. Their strength is in their legs, and they fight with them. An ostrich has been known to knock down a lion with one well-aimed blow; so I fancy an angry bird would make short work of you, my plucky little fellow. No, I wouldn't advise you to fight."

"He who fights and runs away may live to fight another day," laughed Tom's father. "What do you say to taking to your heels, my boy?"

"You would be likely to get the worst of that too," replied Mr. Van Zeilin. "The ostrich outstrips the horse. He is said to run sixty miles an hour at the start, although he can not keep up this speed. He would soon catch up with you."

"I give it up," said Tom, heartily.

"Fortunately," continued Mr. Van Zeilin, distributing the branches he had been cutting to their party of six, "the ostrich is as stupid as he is strong and swift. I will give you two points. In the first place, when you are pursued by an ostrich, if you come to a fence, get over it, and you are safe, even if it is only two feet high. The fellow could get over it with the greatest ease, but he doesn't know it, and I doubt if he ever will."

"What is your other point, sir?" inquired Tom.

"Just this. If an ostrich makes for you, present a forked stick at him--thus--and slowly retreat. It does not occur to him to dodge you. He conceives himself to be hopelessly pinned, and he abandons the attack. You see now, gentlemen, why I have provided you each with a branch."

"I wonder you don't run up a lot of fences all over your field, sir," suggested Tom.

"That might be a good idea," returned good-humored Mr. Van Zeilin, "except that the ostriches require a long tether. They would die if we fenced them in."

They had entered a field where were collected a number of ostriches in groups, in pairs, and singly.

"The male and female take turns in hatching the eggs," said Mr. Van Zeilin. "But there is a nest that is deserted for the moment. That huge black bird over there is the owner. I wish you to see the nest, and as there are enough of us to intimidate him, I think we may venture."

So saying, the party approached; but the black ostrich showed such evident signs of annoyance, coming up angrily, and craning his neck in a defiant way, as though measuring the strength of the party, that Mr. Van Zeilin directed some of his men to drive him off with their branches.

Mr. Van Zeilin went on: "The long plumes grow in the tail and wings, you observe. Now for the nest. As you see, it is merely a huge hole scraped out in the ground."

"One, two, three, four, five, six eggs," counted Tom. "How big they are!"

Tom dropped behind the party presently as they strolled away, but a piercing scream from him suddenly rent the air. His friends turned in consternation, and saw him tearing after them in a panic, the black ostrich in hot pursuit.

Mr. Van Zeilin had barely time to throw himself between the boy and the bird. In another moment he would have been too late, and Tom's cruising around the world would have come to an untimely end. When Mr. Van Zeilin had succeeded in driving off the ostrich, he turned to Tom. "How did it happen?"

"He looked so quiet, I thought there could be no harm in taking another look at the nest. I only just looked in, and he flew at me."

"But your branch--why didn't you use your branch?"

Tom owned up like a man. "To tell the truth, I was so scared, sir, I didn't know what I was about. I threw away my branch."

It was hard to keep from laughing, now that the danger was over. Tom's hair nearly stood on end, his eyes started from their sockets, and his voice shook with fright. His enemy stood eying him for a moment or two at a little distance, then went back with great strides to his nest, over which at that moment was standing a gray ostrich. Black eyed his visitor suspiciously, then angrily.

"These fellows can not endure any approach to their nests," said Mr. Van Zeilin. "Look at him now!"

Black, in fact, was going through a most singular performance. He threw himself on the ground, wallowed about in the dust, and struck the earth with his wings as though he had gone crazy.

"He is trying to work himself up to a fighting pitch," said Mr. Van Zeilin. "See! the gray is coming nearer. Watch him. Look! he is going through the same manoeuvre as the other."

It was extraordinary to see the two birds. The gray did his best to work himself into a passion, the black meanwhile keeping his eye on him, and walking about in an uneasy way. Finally the rightful owner of the nest made one rush, and the other, alas! ran away.

"Oh, what a coward!" cried Tom.

"Not at all," returned Mr. Van Zeilin. "He recognizes the rights of property, and knocks under to the real owner of the nest."

"Hi!" exclaimed Tom, suddenly, and he jumped two feet at least. An ostrich had come up to him quietly, and had begun to peck at the brass buttons on the sleeve of his jacket.

Mr. Van Zeilin laughed. "No danger this time," he said. "That is a female bird. The females are very gentle. Now she is pecking at the locket on my watch chain. Her eyes are as soft as those of a gazelle, are they not?"

"She is a pretty creature, but she has no long plumes," said Tom, examining her.

"No, only short downy feathers, useful for trimming."

"My sister has a coat trimmed with little soft feathers like these," Tom said. "I wonder if ladies and girls ever think of the trouble it is to get their feathers for them?"

"Trouble and danger too," said Mr. Van Zeilin. "I tell you what, I once saw an ostrich come down on a man like a battering-ram. He knocked the breath out of him with one blow; then he rolled him over and over until he thought he had finished him, when he walked away. The man picked himself up slowly, blinded and bleeding. He had kept his face and head covered as best he could, and had realized that his only chance lay in making no resistance."

"Oh, Mr. Van Zeilin," said Tom, "how glad I am you rescued me in time!"

But this yarn is too long already, so we will not stop to tell you about Tom's return trip to Cape Town. Some other time we may spin you another taken from the log-book of "Little Boy Blue."

NURSERY RHYMES.

"Willy boy, Willy boy, where are you going?
I will go with you, if I may."
"I'm going to the meadow to see them a-mowing;
I'm going to help them make the hay."

A diller, a dollar, a ten-o'clock scholar!
What makes you come so soon?
You used to come at ten o'clock,
But now you come at noon.

Tell-tale Tit,
Your tongue shall be slit,
And every little dog in town
Shall have a little bit.

To market, to market, to buy a plum-cake;
Home again, home again, market is late.
To market, to market, to buy a plum bun;
Home again, home again, market is done.

Jack Sprat could eat no fat,
His wife could eat no lean;
And so, between them both,
They licked the platter clean.

Lucy Locket lost her pocket,
Kitty Fisher found it;
There was not a penny in it,
But a ribbon round it.

Cross Patch, lift the latch,
Sit by the fire, and spin;
Take a cup, and drink it up,
Then call your neighbors in.

Ride a cock horse
To Banbury Cross,
To see little Johnny
Get on a white horse.

Polly, put the kettle on,
We'll all have tea;
Sukey, take it off again,
They've all gone away.

VENICE, ITALY.

I must tell you about this lovely city and the beautiful sights I
have seen. The fine old Church of St. Mark faces a square or
piazza, and near this is an arch with a large clock; on top of this
is an immense bell, with two bronze figures of men with hammers in
their hands, with which they strike the bell when the hour comes
round. There are several hundred pigeons here, which are fed by the
city every day at two o'clock, and many times I have bought corn
and fed them too; they are so tame that two or three have eaten
from my hand at once. Two weeks ago this square was illuminated. It
was called "The Illumination of the Architecture," and there were
one hundred thousand lights in the piazza. The gas lamps, which are
always lighted, had this night red glass globes on, thirty for each
lamp. On the Campanile, or belfry, was the "Star of Italy," which
had three thousand lights. The Church of St. Mark looked
magnificent, illuminated by electric lights placed in front of it.
An island called St. George was flashing with thousands of lights,
so that it looked like an enchanted palace rising out of the water.
Altogether it was the most beautiful sight I ever saw. A regatta
also took place, which I watched from the balcony of an old palace.
First I saw the King and Queen of Italy in a gondola, with their
son the Prince of Naples. They had four men to row, called
gondoliers. These men wore scarlet coats trimmed with gold braid.
After a little while the nine gondolas of the race passed, their
crews dressed according to the color of their boats--green, white,
blue, yellow, solferino, gray, purple, red, and orange. The one in
green won the first prize. After the race, the gondola in which was
the royal family went up and down the Grand Canal, followed by
hundreds of gondolas, some of them with streamers of silk, some
with velvet trimmed with gold and silver fringe trailing in the
water. Some boats larger than a gondola, called "bissom," were all
covered with silk and velvet, the gondoliers dressed in gay colors.
Some had eight and some ten men to row. It was a beautiful scene.

ALBERTO DAL M.

You have described the brilliant illumination in a manner both vivid and picturesque, and the thousands of bright eyes which peer into Our Post-office Box every week will thank you, Alberto, for this glimpse at fairy-like Venice, the Bride of the Sea.

* * * * *

DES MOINES, IOWA.

We moved to Iowa last December, and the best thing I have had since
I have been here is your lovely paper, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. How
we did laugh when we read about Miss Julia Nast's cooking party!
When we lived in New Jersey I used to see her sometimes, and I
sometimes saw her father and brother riding past our house, with
those great English hounds running on behind the horses. The
funniest picture I ever saw is the little De Lesseps children in
the dog-cart with their father. I wish the baby had been in the
cart too, with her mamma. I have been wanting to see Mollie
Garfield, and, to my delight, there she was in last week's YOUNG
PEOPLE. I feel so sorry for her and the rest of the family! My
brothers and sister and I gave some money for the monument. When I
become a grown-up lady, and the monument shall have been erected, I
will go to see it.

I am now ten years old. I attend a school which the Western people
call a college; in the East we would call it a seminary. I have two
beautiful birds. The name of one is Cassius, and of the other Ida.
I have three brothers and one sister. My big brother is in the East
at college. My brother fourteen years old is getting ready for
college here in Des Moines. My little brother Paul stays at home
and learns his ABC's with mamma. My sister Blanche is seven years
old, and can spell a little, but can not write. She is learning how
to crochet.

HELEN H.

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OSAGE MISSION, KANSAS.

This is the first letter I have ever written to your dear little
paper. I am seven years old. I go to school. I have so many nice
books, and a little secretary to keep them in. I have a velocipede,
a wagon, and a wheelbarrow, and many other things. My papa is
postmaster. I hope you will find this good enough to print.

ERNEST H.

You printed your letter so elegantly in those large capitals that we were delighted with it, and were very glad to send it to the press to be made into a dear little letter for Our Post-office Box.

* * * * *

REXFORD FLATS, NEW YORK.

I would like to belong to the Natural History Society, and when I
find anything interesting I will report. Last spring, as my mother
was digging in the garden, she unearthed a queer specimen. It was a
common white grub, with one of the little knobs on its head grown
to about an inch in length, and the other was about half as long.
How many of the Natural History scholars have seen such a specimen?
Not many, I am afraid. I found a ripe wild strawberry Friday, the
14th of October.

CHARLES MCB.

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WHEATLAND, NEAR LANCASTER, PENNSYLVANIA.

I have a Cashmere goat and two wagons. The goat is entirely white.
His name is Billee G. Taylor. I have painted his horns with gold
paint, and it makes him look beautiful. He eats everything, from
old shoes down to grass, newspapers, leather, and especially dry
beech and sycamore leaves, but he will not touch maple leaves.
Isn't it funny?

H. E. J., JUN.

* * * * *

CULLEOKA, TENNESSEE.

Many copies of YOUNG PEOPLE are sent to Culleoka every week, and
yet I have never seen a letter from here. We use YOUNG PEOPLE in
school instead of Readers. I am very much interested in "Tim and
Tip." Please tell Jimmy Brown to write some more of his troubles; I
enjoy reading his letters so much. I can work the Labyrinth Puzzle.

ADDIE C. W.

P. S.--I put in something for the Daisy Cot.

* * * * *

CULLEOKA, TENNESSEE.

I used YOUNG PEOPLE as a Reader for two sessions, and liked it
better than any Reader I ever used. At examination we had to write
off as much of "Toby Tyler" as we could remember. Why is it that
editors like you to write on only one side of the paper? I like
Friday to come, because YOUNG PEOPLE arrives on that day. I have
worked the Labyrinth Puzzle. I live in Nashville, at the Vanderbilt
University, but am now attending school in Culleoka.

SUSIE S.

Addie's contribution has been sent to Miss Fanshawe, the Treasurer of St. Mary's Free Hospital. In reply to Susie, the reason why editors prefer correspondents to write on one side of the paper, and not on both, is a twofold one. It is mainly for the convenience of printers that the request is made, because sometimes ten or a dozen printers are setting the type for an article at the same time. The pages are divided, and assigned to different compositors as "copy," and the article can be set up much more rapidly if the writing is on one side only of the paper. Sometimes a page has to be cut in two when there is much need for haste. Editors, who are very busy people, can read manuscript which is written in this way with more ease than if it were otherwise. As they read, they do not need to turn their leaves, but can lay them down as they get to the end of each.

* * * * *

ALBANY, NEW YORK.

I like the letters in the Post-office Box very much. I have a
brother nine years old, and we have three pets--two kittens, one we
call Topsy and the other Spotsy, and a large Newfoundland dog.
Every morning he brings papa his paper before he is up out of bed,
and we play hide and seek with him, and he runs to papa and puts
his face in his arms, and waits until we call "Ready," and then
hunts until he finds us.

When mamma read to my little brother Bennie about Tim and Tip,
where Captain Pratt did not use Tim well, and threw the knife and
fork at him, and whipped him so much, he went out into the garden,
and we did not know where he was. He sat down and put his arms
around Flora's neck, and cried to think how hard it was for Tim to
part with Tip.

I could tell you a great many more of Flora's tricks, but I am
afraid to make my letter too long, for fear it may go into the
waste-basket, and I would feel very sorry to have that happen. I am
twelve years old.

ELLA M.

Not the waste-basket, dear, but the pigeon-hole. We do not destroy the letters which we can not publish, and even when they are not printed, we enjoy reading them, and feel obliged to those who write to us.

* * * * *

CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA.

Papa gave YOUNG PEOPLE to me as a birthday present, and I am so
glad when he brings it home every week. I read all the stories, and
I love to read the letters from all the little girls and boys. You
will see I am a little Southern girl, and in the winter here the
orange-trees are all in bloom, and the gardens are filled with
flowers, as we do not often have the snow and ice that some of your
readers do. There are only two of us. My sister Isa is ten, and has
dark eyes and brown curls. I have light eyes and curls, and am
eight years old, so you see that we don't look alike. I have been
at a kindergarten for two years, and now I am in school with the
larger girls. I am very fond of dolls, and have a great many of
them. My sister is godmother to all of them, and makes all their
clothes, which is a great help to me. We have a very boisterous
puppy, and his name is Leo. He chewed up my prettiest wax doll. It
was great fun for him, but not for me. Papa gave me another in her
place, and she is very pretty. I take great care of her, so that
Leo shall not get hold of her. We found a little stray kitten a few
days ago in the street. We brought it home, and fed it, and as it
is a tortoise-shell, and very pretty, we have named it Mrs.
Langtry. What I like best of everything in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE is
the poetry. Such pretty pieces you publish! I studied, and recited
at school on Friday "Only One," by George Cooper. So do find some
more for me. This is a long letter from a little girl you don't
know, and as my hand is tired, I will say good-by.

MAY P.

We feel quite well acquainted with you, May, and will be glad to hear from you again. It was too bad that your poor doll met with so dreadful a disaster. We can sympathize with you, for we once had a mischief-making little dog who chewed our favorite books, tore our dresses, hid our handkerchiefs, buried our gold pencil, frightened the chickens, and flew at all our friends, until they were afraid to enter the front gate. He grew more sedate and much less entertaining, however, in the course of time, which has a very subduing effect on puppies.

* * * * *

Some time has passed since I wrote you, and I feel to-day as if I
would like to write again. My home is on a pretty little Southern
River--the Tensas--and if I were a photograph artist, I would send
you some of the prettiest river views you ever looked at. I often
wish I could have some of the lovely vine-covered trees in our
yard. The river is so very low at present that in places one can
ride across it on horse-back; yet you would scarcely believe this
could you see it in early spring, for nearly every year we are
overflowed, and do all our visiting and church-going in skiffs. We
have steamboats all the winter season, which carry off our cotton
to New Orleans, and bring back all supplies, etc., from there. The
boats have nice accommodations for passengers, and trips to the
city are very pleasant. I am hoping to take one this winter.

This country has been unusually healthy this summer. Papa says
_distressingly_ so; that is because he is the doctor. We had church
service yesterday. We have it only once a month, for our minister
has two other appointments besides this. He lives only a quarter of
a mile from us. He has six children, two boys and four girls, and
they are so fair and delicate mamma often calls them our "Lilies of
the Valley." Mollie, the second girl, is just a year older than I,
and we are very dear friends, so we visit very often. I have a nice
set of croquet, and the children sometimes come to play with me,
and we enjoy the game ever so much. Please tell me, may other than
subscribers have letters in YOUNG PEOPLE.

My letter is growing long. I do not like to take too much room, and
crowd out other correspondents, so I will propose an exchange, and
finish it. I have a large pair of deer horns, which I will send in
return for a piece of jet, gold ore, or silver ore, or a petrified
lizard or frog. I will exchange for a bunch of white violets,
Wandering Jew; and grasses for grasses. Write before sending.

MARIE LOUISE USHER,
Wild Wood Post-office, Catahoula Parish, La.

Any one, whether a subscriber or not, may write to our Post-office Box.

* * * * *

UTICA, NEW YORK.

There are three cats which I would like to tell you about, but as
it would be too long a letter, I will divide it into two, and send
you the other another time. The first was a little half-bred
Persian, and as she had beautiful fur, we called her Fluffy. She
belonged to my sister, so we took her to a boarding-school in
England, for we lived there then. After breakfast at school we used
to have prayers, and I am sorry to say Fluffy used to behave very
badly. She would jump up on the table and lick the butter off the
bread, or run up the curtains, and look down from the top with such
a catch-me-if-you-can air that it was very difficult to keep from
laughing. We had great fun with her, for she used to walk into the
school-room in the middle of lessons, and of course we used to try
and hide her from the governess. We had her at school about a year,
and then she died. All the girls were very fond of her, she was
such a bright, loving little creature, so all the boarders went
into mourning for her for a week.

JANIE P. G.

* * * * *

DETROIT, MICHIGAN.

I have written once before, but my letter was not printed. I
suppose you have a great many letters to attend to. I have a sweet
little brother. He has been very sick, but he is getting better
now. We have a cute little kitten, and its name is Toby Tyler. My
papa is going to New York to open a studio this winter. I am very
sorry, because it will be so lonesome here without him. He says
maybe he will go where they publish this nice paper, and then he
will write and tell us all about it. When Toby Tyler's monkey died,
my little brother cried like everything, and I felt like it too.
Please ask Jimmy Brown to tell us some more of his sad mishaps.

KATIE J. C.

* * * * *

ROCKFORD, IOWA.

I have written two letters to HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, and have never
seen them in print; but I will try once more. I thought the first
one went into the waste-basket, but I have since found out that
both were put safely into a pigeon-hole. One day not long ago I was
sitting in school, and I heard a curious noise at my ear. I stopped
studying, and listened. I distinctly heard the words: "Oh dear! I
am so tired squeezed in here so tight. This morning when the mail
came, that great monster of a man pushed a whole lot more letters
in beside me. I am going to get acquainted with them." I then heard
a rustling noise, and then: "How do you do? Aren't you rather
tired?" "Oh my! I should think so. I am packed in so that I can
scarcely breathe. How long have _you_ been here?" "Ever since last
April." "I have just come this morning, but I have been on the road
three days. I came from Kansas, and the name of the little girl who
wrote me is Maudie B. She has seven kittens, a pet lamb, and a
little pony, besides a whole family of dolls." I heard another
curious noise, almost like thunder, only not so loud, then a bang
and--awoke to find it half past two, my lesson not learned, and a
boy beginning to ring the bell which is always rung just before
recess.

BAT B.

* * * * *

UTICA, NEW YORK.

I am a little boy eleven years old, and I wish to tell you what my
papa brought me from Canada a short time since. He had been fishing
there for about a week, and brought me a tame white rat with pink
eyes. It was a curious enough pet at first, but I gave it away, as
I do not like rats. I go to New York quite often to see my grandpa
and grandma who live there. I always have a nice time, and see lots
of pretty things. I have a collection of cards. If any little boy
or girl would like to exchange cards, please address

GEORGE S. KLINCK,
7 Steuben Street, Utica, N. Y.

* * * * *

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS.

I saw in YOUNG PEOPLE lately some anecdotes of cats, and I thought
that I would like to describe a very strange cat owned by a friend
of mine. This gentleman calls her a rabbit-cat, and she is very
much like a rabbit. She has a "bob" tail, and her hind-legs are
much longer than her fore-legs, so that she seems to tip forward as
she runs.

She runs like a rabbit, and is very wild. It was very hard to get
near enough to examine her. But the queerest parts are her feet;
she has five toes on each hind-foot, and seven on each fore-foot.
The fore-foot looks as if she had originally had four toes on it,
and the three extra ones had been hitched on afterward.

I should much like to have this printed.

W. S. D.

* * * * *

RED OAK, IOWA.

I live in the western part of Iowa. My brother Herbert has taken
HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE ever since it was first published. I did not
seem to care for it at first, but now I like the stories very much
indeed. I have just been reading "The Talking Leaves," and can
hardly wait for the rest of it to come. I have learned two pieces
from YOUNG PEOPLE to speak at school.

We have a great many pets, but those I like best are a pair of
ducks. They were given to me when very small. They eat so cunningly
out of my hand, and follow me all about the yard; and it is the
funniest thing to see them swim in a pond that was made for them.
We have a very handsome horse named Kit, and she is so gentle that
I drive her down town sometimes to bring papa home, though I am
only a little girl nine years old.

When I learn to write better I will write again if you want me to.
I like the other children's letters very much.

NORA L.

Your writing is very plain, and we will compare your next letter with this one, and see what improvement you shall have made a few months from now.

* * * * *

BRIDGEPORT, CONNECTICUT.

I am a little boy ten years old, and have taken HARPER'S YOUNG
PEOPLE ever since it was first published, and enjoy it very much.
Papa buys it of the news-dealer. I think the pictures very nice
indeed. How very pretty is the one of M. De Lesseps and children!
How cunning they look perched up in their village cart, and what
jolly times they must have together! I attend the Kindergarten
School. I study geography, arithmetic, read in the Third Reader,
and also study German. My teacher is, besides being thorough and
efficient, a real Christian lady, and we all love her very much.
Should you chance to be in Bridgeport some Friday morning, come in
and see us. There are a great many who take HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
among our scholars, and they would be delighted to see the editor.
Papa and mamma take me occasionally to your beautiful city, and
next time I go papa says he will show me where YOUNG PEOPLE is
published; but I will not write more, for fear my letter may be too
long.

CLINTON T. P.

* * * * *

CORNELL UNIVERSITY, ITHACA, NEW YORK.

Will Miss Lena W., of Tuckernuck, Pennsylvania, who writes to the
YOUNG PEOPLE, as printed in the number for October 11, 1881, that
she has a three-legged cat, kindly send her full name to Professor
B. G. Wilder, Ithaca, New York, who has hitherto supposed himself
to be the only possessor of a feline tripod?

* * * * *

M. J. L.--The piece of music called "Tam o' Shanter" can be purchased at any large music store in New York, and you can procure it through the book-seller in your village, or by writing directly to one of the dealers whose addresses are given on your sheet music. You will have to explain your other question more fully if you wish a reply. It is rather indefinite.

* * * * *

C. Y. P. R. U.

Which question shall I answer first? It needs a very wise Postmistress indeed to decide which has done the most for the world, peace or war; and to answer the question decidedly, we would have to be familiar with all the histories that have ever been written, and all the systems of political economy which have governed different nations and countries in ancient and modern times. It carries our thoughts back to the days of knight-errantry, to the Middle Ages, to the period of Rome's glory, to Alexander the Great, to Babylon and Nineveh, and to Egypt and the Pharaohs. A young friend was talking with me the other day on this very subject, and he said, "I think there is a great deal more told in history about war than about peace." So there is. Wars are like storms or fierce tornadoes. They do an immense amount of damage. They devastate vast regions, and they cause many broken hearts. There is nothing more terrible than war. Still, wars are sometimes necessary. They clear the moral atmosphere; they settle questions which can be settled only by the sword, which decides which party is the stronger; and they prepare the way for peace. Some great wars have sent scholars and artisans into exile, and thus learning and useful arts have been carried to new lands, and mankind has been benefited in the end. Peace gives time for the growth of that which is best in the life of nations. Science, literature, and industry flourish in an era of peace, and home happiness and good morals prevail. More and more, as the world becomes highly civilized, and the religion of Christ is spreading from land to land, peace obtains victories, and war goes out of fashion. Nations resort to arbitration about disputed matters, and rulers learn that they can not be allowed to plunge thousands of people into distress and poverty to satisfy their personal ambition. But the thunder makes itself heard, while the dew is distilled silently, and the wheat which makes the world's bread grows without any sound, and there, after all, is the difference between war and peace.

* * * * *

OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA.

DEAR POSTMISTRESS,--A dear little friend of mine wishes me to send
you her history. Her name is Georgia Brand, and she is living with
her "adopted papa," as she calls him, at a military station in one
of our Western States. Little Georgia was found, rolled up in a
tattered old shawl, under a shrub somewhere in the wilds of
Colorado, with a paper pinned on her shawl, on which was written,
"Take good care of my darling child," and nothing more. The
soldiers who found her took her to the Colonel, who befriended the
child at first, and then adopted her. He named her for his native
State, Georgia, and gave her his last name, Brand. One day, when
her father was telling her of some scars he had gained during the
civil war, Georgia said, "See, papa, I have a scar too," and
stripping up her sleeve, she showed some marks near her shoulder,
which her father said looked like a brand. "Then," said little
Georgia, "I am not Georgia Brand, but branded Georgia." She is a
witty little thing, and the soldiers call her "the life of the
regiment." What the mark meant, and who her parents were, have
never been known; but she is very happy with her "adopted papa,"
who gives her every advantage. Even now her father says she can
sing and play better than any other little girl of ten.

GEORGIA'S AUNT NELLIE.

* * * * *

LIZZIE H. B.--The splendid hues of the autumn leaves are due to their ripening, and not to the frost, as was formerly supposed by many persons. The gay leaves

"wear, in sign of duty done,
The gold and scarlet of the sun."

There are many beautiful allusions in our American poetry to the charms of the autumn woods. The Postmistress will give you a chaplet of verses next week, taken from some of the poets she loves best, and she hopes that you and others, who keep a commonplace book, will take pains to copy these stanzas into its pages in the neatest possible manner. Those who draw or paint might illustrate their book, and make it a delightful souvenir for the future.

The little webs which you refer to as stretched from one blade of grass to another in dry weather are made by spiders, whose instinct teaches them to spin their webs when there is little probability that the rain will destroy them.

* * * * *

INQUIRER.--If you have read the story of Ariadne, you will remember that after she had married Theseus, and had been deserted by him on the island of Naxos, she was found and comforted by the young god Dionysus, or Bacchus. Venus herself had come to her, checked her weeping, and told her she should become the wife of a god. Bacchus, the god of wine and pleasure, was generally represented as a beautiful youth with long flowing tresses. The vine, ivy, and pomegranate were sacred to him, and he was often represented as seated in a car drawn by panthers and lions. You can see that the sculptor who represents Ariadne as seated on the back of a lion may have had her union with Bacchus in mind. The more beautiful part of her history is the first, where she puts into Theseus's hand the clew of thread which shall guide him in safely through the windings of the labyrinth until he can reach and slay the Minotaur. The lion is the symbol of strength and dominion, and Ariadne seated upon him is upon a throne.

* * * * *

We would direct the attention of the C. Y. P. R. U. to the very instructive article entitled "The Rocks," by Mr. Charles Barnard, and to the interesting description of "A Visit to an Ostrich Farm," by Lieutenant E. W. Sturdy, U.S.N. For those who are interested in athletic sports, and to the lesson which is always attached to them, that no game requiring quickness, precision, and endurance can be successfully played unless great attention is paid to health, and all habits of intemperance and self-indulgence renounced, we would recommend Mr. B. G. Smith's excellent article upon the game of Lacrosse.

* * * * *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

TWO ENIGMAS.

1.

First in butter, but not in cheese.
Second in burn, but not in freeze.
Third in virtue, but not in sin.
Fourth in needle, but not in pin.
Fifth in lie, but not in truth.
Sixth in Nettie, but not in Ruth.
Seventh in wagon, but not in sled.
Eighth in white, but not in red.
Ninth in narrow, but not in wide.
Tenth in run, but not in ride.
My whole is a town on a lake's fair side.

D. B. C.

2.

First in game, but not in play.
Second in evening, but not in day.
Third in knife, but not in fork.
Fourth in stopper, but not in cork.
Fifth in eyrie, but not in nest.
Sixth in labor, but not in rest.
Seventh in minute, but not in hour.
My whole the name of a beautiful flower.

ALICE.

* * * * *

No. 2.

CHARADE.

My first is an animal spry.
My second is an animal spry.
My whole is an animal spry.

WILL A. METTE.

* * * * *

No. 3.

WORD SQUARE.

1. To improve. 2. A landed estate. 3. To follow. 4. Parts of speech. 5. To clothe.

R. O. BERT.

* * * * *

No. 4.

DOUBLE SQUARE.

Across.--1. The blanched leaves of the artichoke. 2. A concealer. 3. A girl's name. 4. Dissolves. 5. A metal.

Down.--1. The rim of a cask. 2. One who contracts for service. 3. A girl's name. 4. Sums of money. 5. To clothe.

MILTIADES.

* * * * *

No. 5.

TRANSFORMATIONS.

Behead me, and you'll find an act
No mortal lives without, in fact.
Now turn my final letter back,
And whether green, or brown, or black,
Your mother wants me from the store,
And when I'm gone will send for more.
Clap on my head. You can not be
A happy person without me.

FREDDIE.

* * * * *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 103.

No. 1.

Pansy, Phlox, Pink, Poppy, Daisy, Verbena, Rosemary, Jessamine.

No. 2.

Rhine.

No. 3.

Megrim, Ice-Cream, Pine-Apple.

No. 4.

Spill, Yam, Box, Omission, Trice, Stable.

No. 5.

G
B A A
G A U G E
A G E
E

No. 6.

Level.

* * * * *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from T. Knight Durham, _Lizzie Webster_, Ella Lark, Camilla M. Serrano, Forrest F., Belle Foster, Frank Duff, D. B. C., Maud Muller, Belle F. Snart, G. Chapman, Frank Lomas, "Dandy," Eddie S. Hequembourg, Susie Shipp, and "Queen Bess."

* * * * *

[_For Exchanges, see third page of cover._]

GOOD COMPANY.

"I'll Try!" is a soldier,
"I Will!" is a King;
Be sure they are near
When the school-bells ring.

When school-days are over,
And boys are men,
"I'll Try" and "I Will"
Are good friends then.

SCIENTIFIC PUZZLES.

The experiment shown in Fig. 1 requires no other apparatus than a decanter and a strong piece of straw. The straw is bent before being passed into the bottle of water, so that when it is lifted the centre of gravity is displaced, and brought directly under the point of suspension. The illustration shows the method of lifting the decanter of water by the straw very plainly. It is well to have at hand several pieces of straw, perfectly intact, and free from cracks, in case the experiment does not succeed with the first attempt.

The experiment shown in Fig. 2 is apparently very difficult, but it will be found easy enough in practice if the hand be steady. Take a key, and by means of a crooked nail, or "holdfast," attach it to a bar of wood by a string tied tightly round the bar, as in the picture. To the other extremity of the bar attach a weight, and then drive a large-headed nail into the table. It will be found that the key will balance, and even move upon the head of the nail, without falling. The weight is under the table, and the centre of gravity is exactly beneath the point of suspension.

Figs, 3 and 4 are examples of the force of inertia; that is, the tendency of a thing that is at rest to remain in that state.

To perform the experiment in Fig. 3 a needle is fixed at each end of a broomstick, and these needles are made to rest on two glasses, placed on chairs; the needles alone must be in contact with the glasses. If the broomstick is then struck violently with another stout stick, the former will be broken, but the glasses will remain intact. The experiment answers all the better the more energetic the action. It is explained by the resistance of inertia in the broomstick. The shock suddenly given, the impulse has not time to pass on from the particles directly affected to the adjacent particles; the former separate before the movement can be transmitted to the glasses serving as supports.

It is possible, for the same reason, to extract from a pile of money a piece placed in the middle of the pile without overturning the others. It suffices to move them forcibly and quickly with a flat wooden ruler. The experiment succeeds very well also if performed with draughtsmen piled up on the draught-board, Fig. 4.

THE CAMEL.

The expression of his soft, heavy, dreamy eye tells its own tale of meek submission and patient endurance ever since travelling began in the deserts. The camel appears to be wholly passive--without doubt or fear, emotions or opinions of any kind--to be in all things a willing slave to destiny. He has none of the dash and brilliancy of the horse; that looking about with erect neck, fiery eye, cocked ears, and inflated nostrils; that readiness to dash along a race-course, follow the hounds across country, or charge the enemy; none of that decision of will and self-conscious pride which demand, as a right, to be stroked, patted, pampered, by lords and ladies.

The poor camel bends his neck, and with a halter round his long nose, and several hundred-weight on his back, paces patiently along from the Nile to the Euphrates. Where on earth, or rather on sea, can we find a ship so adapted for such a voyage as his over those boundless oceans of desert sand? Is the camel thirsty--he has recourse to his gutta percha cistern, which holds as much water as will last a week, or, as some say, ten days even, if necessary. Is he hungry--give him a few handfuls of dried beans; it is enough; chopped straw is a luxury. He will gladly crunch with his sharp grinders the prickly thorns and shrubs in his path, to which hard Scotch thistles are as soft down. And when all fails, the poor fellow will absorb his own fat hump. If the land-storm blows with furnace heat, he will close his small nostrils, pack up his ears, and then his long defleshed legs will stride after his swan-like neck through suffocating dust; and having done his duty, he will mumble his guttural, and leave, perhaps, his bleached skeleton to be a landmark in the waste for the guidance of future travellers.

End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, November 8, 1881, by Various