Chapter II: Part 2

Next came the potato race, in which each boy was provided with a basket and a row of potatoes, the latter being placed about three feet apart, all the rows of course being of equal length. The task consisted in trying who could first transfer a row of potatoes from the ground to the basket.

But we have not time to further describe this nor the succeeding three-legged race, in which the right and left legs of two boys were tied together, and their arms placed around one another's necks, the object being to run faster than other pairs similarly fettered. We must hasten on to the grand feature of the programme, the bicycle race, the riders in which presently made their appearance on the track trundling their machines.

There were five entries for the contest--Frank Le Grand, Harry Clare, Dick Summers, Murray Hart, and Alec Barsbey. The latter is pale but determined-looking, and there is that in the ease with which he slides into his seat that causes a by-stander to remark, "That slim young fellow in the blue shirt doesn't make much show, but he has the look of both speed and endurance."

The start was to be from the saddle, and the distance twenty-one times around the track, which latter was simply marked out with lime, as a barrier offering any resistance was apt to prove dangerous.

Quickly and quietly the five lads range themselves in line, with the help of their friends, and when the word is given, off they glide, all abreast, on their smooth-running steeds. Very soon, however, Harry Clare shoots ahead, and a great shout goes up from the spectators as he keeps the lead for the remainder of the first lap.

But sharp eyes can see that he is overexerting himself too early in the race, and now the applause of the multitude inspires him to an additional spurt, which so exhausts him that he is soon obliged to materially slacken his speed.

Alec and Murray Hart keep together for round after round, and it is evident that both are saving themselves for the finish.

Frank Le Grand comes next, not far behind; but poor Dick Summers is soon dropped "out of sight," so to speak, and before making the tenth lap he rides outside the line, dismounts, and resting his elbow on the saddle, good-naturedly turns his attention to cheering on the others.

By this time Alec has left Murray, and is rapidly gaining on Clare, who now reaps the fruits of his over-enthusiasm at the start. He loses inch after inch of his lead, until finally Alec dashes past him amid the wild cheers of the spectators and a special burst of brass from the band.

Harry, however, has no intention of giving up so easily; for after his friends have provided him with a match or two to chew on, he appears to feel re-inspired, and rolls around the track with old-time swiftness.

And now the excitement begins in earnest. Frank Le Grand having followed Dick's example, there are only three competitors left; and as Murray seems to be taking things pretty comfortably, all eyes are centred on Alec and Harry. The former is exerting every nerve, resolved not to take second place again, while Clare seems as determined that he shall.

Around and around they fly, their noiseless movements lending an additional interest to the race. They look neither to the right nor left, except that Alec, every time he approaches a certain spot opposite the grand stand, gives a single glance toward one corner of it.

"Keep it up, Harry!"

"Go it, Alec!"

"Catch 'em, Murray!"

These and other cries, sent forth with the full power of youthful lungs, urge their subjects on to victory, and presently keen observers can trace a gradual widening of the breach between Barsbey and his pursuer. Both boys are working terribly hard, and an on-looker not accustomed to such contests, and ignorant of the careful training that is supposed to precede them, might expect to see one or both lads fall in their tracks.

Suddenly Alec gives an extra spurt, and an instant later reaches the point where he is in the habit of throwing his strange glance toward the grand stand. True to his custom, he raises his eyes, and at once a troubled expression overspreads his face. Then, instead of continuing on for his triumphant eighteenth lap, to the amazement of all he steers into the centre field and quickly dismounts. He leaves his machine lying on the grass, runs back across the track, and disappears among the crowd on the stand.

What can it mean? He has certainly not given out, or he could not have moved about so easily. A number of the boys, in their curiosity, hurry over to examine Alec's machine, but a warning shout from Murray turns the general attention back to the race between the only two now remaining in it.

Harry seems to be completely exhausted, while Hart, who is only half a lap behind now, appears to be almost as fresh as at the start. Harry makes a feeble final effort, and thus causes the race, amid the wildest excitement, to result in a tie.

What was to be done? The bicycle could not be presented to both, nor could the race be repeated later on, as the games were now over.

In the midst of the discussion Murray disappeared, for he was anxious to find out what had happened to Alec. Somebody had seen him leave the grounds; so, tired as he was, Hart mounted his machine and posted off to the Barsbeys'. He met Alec at the gate, just coming out.

"Who won?" was the latter's first question; but Murray did not answer it.

"Tell me, Alec Barsbey," he exclaimed, "why on earth you dropped out of that race?"

The other colored, glanced back toward the house, and then linking arms with his friend, drew him out toward the orchard as he replied: "I'll tell you, Murray, but don't look so fierce about it. You know how nervous mother is? Well, I told her she'd better not come to the games if she thought she'd worry about me; but she declared she'd worry worse if she didn't keep me in sight. She's never very well, and any overexcitement may bring on one of her bad turns. At first I didn't know what to do about it. I hated to give up the race, although I knew that was the safest plan, and at the same time didn't want to run the risk of frightening mother into another sick spell. Then I thought of a way to fix matters, which was to have mother go with father, and take a seat near the entrance where I could see her every time I came around. She was to carry in her pocket a green silk handkerchief, which I believe once belonged to some Irish ancestor of the family, and when she found the excitement was becoming too much for her nerves she was to wave it, and I would stop at once--which I did, as you saw, and just in time, too, for she hated to give the sign, and had nearly fainted. Father and I helped her out, brought her home, and now she's all right. Of course I'm no end sorry to have missed the finish, but then it would have been dreadful to have gone on and let mother suffer. And now tell me who's won the machine."

"You have," cried Murray; "and if you'll go up to your room and rest, and promise not to stir out of it until I come back in about fifteen minutes, I'll have it brought over and duly presented."

"But why can't I go--" began Alec.

"Hush! not a word!" returned his friend, authoritatively. "Imagine your mother's feelings if you should go near those grounds again to-day! Now go in and tell her the good news, with my compliments."

"But I don't see how I could have won, when--" but Murray was already speeding off on his "wheel," and Alec could do nothing else than wait patiently for him to come back.

When Mr. Lancewood heard the story of the green silk handkerchief he hailed it as the best solution possible of the difficulty caused by the tie to announce Alexander Barsbey as winner of the bicycle.

Harry Clare declared that no way of settling the matter could have pleased him better, while as for Murray, he hurried back to the Barsbeys' so eagerly that he took two "headers" in one block.

Of course the machine itself could not be presented until the size of the winner was known. Murray had forgotten this fact when he promised Alec to return with the prize, but the precious slip of paper Mr. Lancewood had given him to deliver answered every purpose.

The bicycle, which was truly a beauty, arrived early the next week, and all Vilney affirms that it was most bravely won.

AUTUMN LEAVES.

BY A. W. ROBERTS.

Last year hundreds of persons obtained from the Superintendent of Central Park, in New York, special permits to gather autumn leaves, _from the ground only_, in any part of the Park. These leaves, when dried, are used by artists and designers as types of nature's beautiful forms and color-work, also by botanists and wax-flower workers, and for home decoration, or are disposed of to city florists, at so much per hundred leaves, to be worked up in various floral designs. Thousands of "American Autumn Leaves" are sent every year to Europe, where they are highly prized.

Among some of the best varieties of leaves as regards color, form, and durability are those of the maples, sweet gum, sumac, dogwood, Virginia creeper, and crane's-bill geranium. The popular idea that an early frost is needed to insure the brilliancy and perfection of autumn foliage is a mistake. A lingering and moist fall is all that is required to produce the most brilliant colors.

When gathering leaves, always select those that are fully matured, and are leathery and fibrous. It is always best to secure them in small bunches, each bunch to contain several leaves attached to a small twig. Be careful also not to have the twig so long or thick that it will interfere with the pressing. I have found a small and light box with a close-fitting cover very useful when collecting leaves. A layer of damp (not wet) moss or grass should be placed on the bottom of the box to keep the air moist, and thus prevent the drying up or wilting of the leaves.

For drying the leaves, old and smooth newspapers, useless books, old sheet music, and old account-books will answer just as well as the most expensive botanical dryers. When arranging the leaves in the dryers, try and place those of the same thickness together, so that there may be a uniform pressure when the weights are applied. I have found a soap-box, filled with stones or other heavy material, and placed on the dryers, one of the best of make-shifts in the way of a well-ordered botanical press.

The time required for drying the leaves is governed by the amount of sap they contain, and the dryness of the atmosphere. Never attempt what is known as "hot-pressing"--that is, pressing with a hot flat-iron--unless you wish to sacrifice the delicate tints of the leaves, and turn to an unpleasant brown the masses of heavy and strong color. I have found by experience that coating the surfaces of the leaves with varnish, bees-wax, and other materials of a waxy nature, is not an advantage. This is particularly true of varnish, which gives to the leaves a glossy and unnatural look, while bees-wax, stearine, and spermaceti cause dust to adhere, which soon disfigures and obscures their beautiful colors.

Some years ago I became acquainted with a large number of children who lived on "our block," and their mothers and their fathers; in fact, I was one of the fathers. As a rule, they were all pleasant young people, and it became a pastime with me to entertain, amuse, and find them something to do, particularly during holidays and on Saturdays. In course of time two large and vacant rooms were secured in one of the houses, and I received a sort of standing commission from the parents of the children to fit up and furnish the two rooms as a play house. The following description will give a pretty fair idea as to how the walls were furnished.

First a reliable and communicative colored kalsominer was called in to kalsomine the walls of one room in alternate perpendicular bands of a very light blue and a very quiet gray tint, each band or stripe of color being nine inches in width. The other room was papered with a cheap wall-paper which cost about nine cents a roll. This paper was twenty inches wide; the pattern consisted of several styles of imitation chestnut-wood graining. Having on hand a very large quantity of autumn leaves, we set to work disposing of them on the walls of the rooms in the following manner:

First two glue-pots were made, as shown in Fig. 1, from empty fruit cans, the inner or smaller can to contain the glue, and the outer or larger boiling water. To the outer can a wire handle is attached. With the two cans a constant supply of hot glue was always on hand.

To the grained paper the leaves and tendrils of the Virginia creeper were fastened as shown in the right hand part of Fig. 2. The design, which is here horizontal, will of course be upright on the wall. To every other stripe of graining the leaves of the Virginia creeper without the tendrils were fastened, so as to avoid too much sameness. In this room the top bordering consisted of sumac leaves and berries, as shown in Fig. 3.

To the blue and gray bands of kalsomine were fastened the brilliant leaves and clusters of the crimson berries of the staghorn sumac, as shown in Fig. 4, and a top bordering of sumac and maple leaves, as shown in Fig. 5.

The leaves were used in a bold and vigorous manner; all fine and close work was avoided, as it would be lost, and the general effect spoiled. For the amount of time expended and the labor and trouble this work cost, we felt well repaid, and every one decided that the result was a great success, and that we had certainly discovered a novel and beautiful use for autumn leaves.

THE DARING MICE.

BY PALMER COX.

Some mice in council met one night,
And vowed by this and that
That they would arm themselves for fight,
And brave the tyrant cat.

Said they: "Why longer fear her power?
'Tis time our strength to try.
We'll hang her by the neck this hour,
Or in the effort die!"

Two pistols and a carving-knife,
A rifle and a rope,
Were instruments of war enough
To justify their hope.

So with the Captain in the front,
The hangman in the rear,
They started out to search for puss
Without a thought of fear.

Through silent halls and broken walls
With cautious step and slow,
And furtive glances right and left,
From room to room they go.

Now pausing by a nook or sill,
Where trouble might be found,
Now crowding close and closer still
At every trifling sound.

But when before an open door
The cat appeared in sight,
The very instruments they bore
Seemed paralyzed with fright.

The Captain shrinking in the van,
The hangman crouched behind,
The pistol-shot and rifleman
Had but a single mind.

In doubt and dread they turned and fled,
And lucky mice were they
To find a hole so large that all
At once could run away.

OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.

NEW YORK CITY.

DEAR READERS OF THE POST-OFFICE BOX,--I have a story to tell you
which will certainly please all those who have cute little kittens
to pet and play with. I hope, too, it will put into some of your
hearts a sweet thought of imitating the children I am going to
write about. I think I will call the story

PUSSY'S CONTRIBUTION.

"That ends it; not another one will I make! Bother! just to break
off when I wanted it! Well, I don't care."

The speaker was a boy about fourteen, sitting in a scantily
furnished room, busily cutting sticks by the light of a small lamp,
and surrounded by a plentiful supply of chips. On a bed in one
corner was a little girl some four years younger, the last of a
family who had moved out West, father, mother, and some older
children having died, leaving only these two. The little girl had
been for some years a cripple with spinal trouble, and the boy the
worker and care-taker.

Very pale looked the little face, and sad the voice sounded that
called just then,

"Andrew, can you come here a minute?"

"Yes, Jessie. What's the matter?"

As he sat down on the bed she took his hand, saying:

"What was it broke? Your knife? I was afraid that was it. What will
you do?"

"Do? Nothing, except give you a nice blaze with those old sticks.
You don't often have one."

"And give up the Cot? Oh, Andrew!" and her dark eyes spoke the
disappointment even more than her voice.

"Well," said Andrew, a little upset by her distress, "what's the
use? My knife's broken; I can't pay to have it mended, nor buy
another, and even if I wanted to, I don't know where I could borrow
one, and then, when I get my sticks all made, it will be only a
dollar, which great sum won't go far to help buy the Cot that the
paper wants. Besides, after all, it will really be Mrs. Fuller's
money, for I know she could get them made cheaper at the
carpenter's. I heard her say to her daughter the day she gave me
the order, 'Nellie, as Andrew is wishing to make some money to give
to Young People's Cot, I will let him make the flower sticks for me
instead of giving them to Mr. Dawson, and he will have that to
give--ten dozen, at ten cents a dozen.' I suppose you told Miss
Nellie what I was wishing for?"

"Yes, after she brought the paper asking for the money for the Cot.
Don't you remember, you read it to me, and how we were wishing we
could make some money to give? I think it is very kind of Mrs.
Fuller to think of you."

"Well, at first I thought so too; but to-night, as I sat working at
the sticks, I felt as she was somehow _giving_ it to me, and just
taking the sticks to make believe I was working for the money, and
it made me feel angry. Then I have only six dozen finished, and it
is tiresome, after working hard all day, to spend the evening
working too, and I don't believe it worth all the trouble, just for
one dollar."

Throwing himself on the bed, he looked as if he considered the
matter settled.

Not so Jessie, the little comforter.

"Why, Andrew, Miss Nellie said the other day, when she was here,
how fast you had worked, and how nicely the sticks looked tied up
in bundles, and I should not wonder if she could mend your knife. I
think she can do almost anything."

"Why, Jessie," said Andrew, laughing merrily, "she couldn't do
that. Girls can't mend knives."

"Miss Nellie is not a girl, Andrew. You should not speak so of
her."

"Well, she's a young lady, and that's pretty much the same. They
can't do much."

"Oh, Andrew, how can you speak so?" said Jessie, indignantly. "I
should like to know who it was persuaded Mr. Fuller to give you the
place in his office, and often gives you shoes and clothes, but
Miss Nellie, and who lent us money to help pay the rent the time
you were sick, and comes to see me so often, bringing books,
papers, and many things, but a _young lady_, even Miss Nellie. You
ought to be ashamed of yourself." And the voice which began so
strongly to fight Miss Nellie's battle ended in a sob.

In a moment Andrew, who was really a kind-hearted, manly boy, only
just now tired and disappointed, had his arm around the little
girl.

"There, don't cry, Jessie; you know I didn't mean anything. I know
Miss Nellie is very good to us. I don't know what we would do
without her, only I'm sure she couldn't mend a knife," boy-like,
not willing to give up his opinion.

"Well, Andrew, I don't know about that, only I wish I could be just
such a young lady as she is, and I'm sorry I spoke so cross, and
just when we were trying to work for the good of others; that's a
poor way to copy Miss Nellie."

"Meow, meow," now sounded in very decided tones from somewhere
below the quilt.

"Oh, Andrew, I forgot kitty," said Jessie, pulling out from under
the covers a very pretty little Maltese kitten, with a blue ribbon
on its neck, the latter a present from the famous Miss Nellie!

The kitten had strayed into the room some weeks before, and staid
with Jessie ever since then, a much-loved companion to the lonely
little girl. At present she had been occupying her usual abode
under the covers near Jessie, and in the making up of the children
had rather suffered from close quarters. When pussy had been made
comfortable again, Jessie said:

"Andrew, I want to tell you a secret. Put your head down on the
pillow by me, but don't hurt Twilight"--the name Jessie had chosen
for her cat because of its color and its coming to her at that time
of day. "I was talking to Miss Nellie the day she was speaking of
the Cot, and wished I could do something for it, but could not, as
I was not able to work. She said perhaps I could find something to
give up that would bring some money, something to bear instead of
do, and said she would try and think, and so must I. Well, she had
not been gone more than an hour when there was a knock on the door,
and in came a lovely-looking little girl about my age, holding
Twilight in her arms, and saying, 'Is this your kitty? Will you
sell her to me? I'll give you a dollar for her. I just want a
little cat, and saw this one as I passed, and came in to see if you
would let me have her. My name is Helen Lathrop, and I live in that
big house on the hill that you see from here.' 'Sell my kitty!' I
said; catching her rather roughly, I am afraid, out of her hands,
'no, indeed, not for any money,' and at once I put Twilight under
the covers for fear she might take her away. 'I think you might,'
she said; 'I will take such good care of her--better than you can
here,' looking round the room. Then turning to me, she said, 'Why
don't you get up, and not lie in bed this time of day; it is 'most
three o'clock?' When I told her I was sick, and could not get up,
she seemed very sorry, and said she would not ask any more for
kitty, only if I ever wanted to sell her, she would buy her, and
went away. When she was gone I gave Twilight a scolding for being
out, and then had a good cry to think how near I came to losing
kitty, and was so startled with my strange visitor. After I got
quiet I lay looking at the house on the hill, and telling kitty all
my trouble, but she seemed quite happy, and would shut her eyes and
then open them partly, just, I think, to let me know she was
listening, and finally went to sleep, but I could not, I felt so
upset. While I lay looking at the house suddenly a thought seemed
to jump into my mind: 'You were wishing to make some money for the
Cot. Here is a chance--sell Twilight.'"

"Oh, Jessie, you wouldn't, would you?" for besides Jessie's
pleasure, Andrew had a soft little corner in his own heart for
kitty.

"Wait, Andrew, until I tell you. I said nothing to you, and Miss
Nellie did not come for a few days, so I just thought and talked to
Twilight. At first it seemed so hard I told her I would never let
her go, and then I would think of all Miss Nellie told me of the
poor little sick children in New York so much worse off than I
am--you know, she used to live there--and how comfortable they were
made at St. Mary's Hospital. So I thought and thought in the
daytime, and dreamed about it at night, until Miss Nellie came, and
we had a long talk about it, and Miss Nellie said she thought it
would be a great deal for me to do, and told me the story of the
widow's mite, and said it would be something like that, though I
couldn't see exactly why, as I don't think kitty a mite, but a
great deal, so I made up my mind, and kitty must go. I couldn't
help crying over her some, Andrew. You know I shall miss her so!
And I think Miss Nellie was sorry to lose her too, for I saw tears
in her eyes as she kissed me good-by, and she is going to write a
note to Helen Lathrop, and tell her she can buy dear Twilight."

"Jessie, you must not give puss away. How can you get along without
her? she is all you have to love," said Andrew, taking one of the
little dark paws lying out of the covers and rubbing it softly.
Puss blinked her eyes, as much as to say she knew very well how
important she was.

"Oh, Andrew, don't say that. You know, first, I have Jesus, who
loves and takes care of me, and helps me bear my pain," said
Jessie, reverently; "and dear Miss Nellie, who taught me to love
Him and all that is good; and then this dear boy, who is always so
kind and loving to me--I can't sell you at any price," putting her
thin little hand lovingly on his face, the fear of hurting kitty
preventing a kiss; "and even Mrs. O'Brian upstairs, when she comes
to 'cheer me up like,' as she says, 'with a wee bit of a story,'
although she 'most always tells such queer ones, I feel frightened
when she goes away. And then, Andrew, you know Twilight will be so
much better off--I suppose live on cream and sleep on a silk
cushion. And you know sometimes when you are away she gets into
trouble, and I can't help her, like the day the cross boy threw
stones at her. So, Andrew, won't you finish your sticks? and then
we can send two dollars to the Cot."

"Well, Jessie, I rather guess I will, indeed, and perhaps I can
grind my knife enough to use. I will run over now to Mr. Hammond,
who is still working, and see," said Andrew, getting up; and I
think, if the light had been stronger, Jessie would have thought
Andrew sorry to lose kitty too, for there were a good many tears in
his eyes. And as he went out he thought to himself: "Well, I ought
to feel ashamed. Here is Jessie, only a girl, as I often say, and a
sick one at that, setting me such an example of unselfishness. Dear
little thing, I don't wonder Miss Nellie loves her so."

In one acknowledgment of the Cot in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE appeared
the following: "Twilight, $1, Andrew Thornton, $1, Seneca,
Kansas."

AUNT EDNA.

* * * * *

LA GRANGE, ILLINOIS.

Perhaps some little readers, less fortunate than I, may like to
hear about my pleasant trip this summer to Denver, Colorado. We
were forty-two hours in the cars between Chicago and Denver, and I
was tired crossing the plains, as there is nothing to see but
prairie grass, and it was so dusty, but when we arrived at our
destination I was quite delighted. Denver is a fine city, and has
some buildings as pretty as those in Chicago, and then the
mountains are so near!

We took a trip up Clear Creek Cañon to Idaho Springs, thirty-eight
miles through the Rocky Mountains, and the scenery was just awfully
grand--mountains above mountains, with lots of gold and silver in
them! The air is light and clear, and this mountain refuge stands
about eight thousand feet above the sea-level. It was funny to see
the hot springs; the water was so warm that I could not hold my
hand in it. And then there are ice-cold soda springs; but the water
does not taste good, although they say it is wholesome to drink it.
I would rather have lake water. We climbed up a good way, and got
some nice stones with silver and gold in them.

My papa also took us to the great mining exposition, and, oh, my!
it would have done your readers good to see the great chunks of
gold ore. One big piece was valued at twenty-seven thousand
dollars. And then there were so many pretty stones and
metals--gold, silver, galena, copper, iron, lead, zinc, tin, soda,
salt, granite, marble, and coal. It is built of stone, and is
outside of the city. You get there by the steam-cars for ten cents.
It is a permanent structure, and will be in better order next year.

It would take too much space to tell all we saw, but I would urge
on all who can to take a trip to Colorado. We intend going next
year again, and until then adieu.

ELIZA B. S.

* * * * *

LOCKLAND, OHIO.

I have taken your paper only a short time, beginning August 15. I
have two kitties--one Snip, and the other Tabbie. I have some
chickens. I think a good deal of one I call Bess. She knows her
name, and will come to me when I call her. I have a little
curly-headed brother, who is the sunshine of the whole house. I
have a swing, and Albert, the little darling, likes to swing. I
have to hold him in my lap. He is two and a half and I am thirteen
years, and we are the only children. I want to take music lessons,
but we have no piano. Papa does not know I am writing this letter,
and it will please him very much to see it in print. Mamma always
looks over my letters, so of course she knows this is the first
letter I have ever written to you.

GRACE M. S.

If I were you, I would learn to read music, and then when you have a piano, as I hope you will some day, you will be all ready to begin your study in earnest.

* * * * *

NEW YORK CITY.

As I see so many little girls and boys writing to YOUNG PEOPLE, I
thought I would like to write too, and tell you how I have enjoyed
myself in the country this summer. We went to Pine Plains, a place
up the Hudson River, about one hundred miles from New York city.
Pine Plains is in a beautiful part of Dutchess County; the country
is very mountainous, some mountains rising to the height of one
thousand feet. There are also some very nice lakes, where we found
beautiful pond-lilies growing.

In the village there are four churches, and a free library, which
contains a great many interesting books. The library is in the
Post-office Building, and close by is the Pine Plains Bank. The
main street is about half a mile long, beautifully shaded by large
trees, beyond which is a lovely valley, in which was situated the
house where we were staying, entirely secluded from the village by
trees.

We had a croquet lawn in front of the house, and a short distance
back of it was a splendid running brook, where we spent a great
deal of our time wading in the water, and amused ourselves by
building a dam. In some parts the water was deep enough for us to
go in bathing, which we enjoyed very much.

I could write of many other things we did while there, but fear to
make my letter too long.

GRACE PASCALL F.

* * * * *

ELLERSHOUSE, NOVA SCOTIA.

I was writing a letter last March to tell you how much we all liked
HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, but before I had it finished we were taken
ill with diphtheria, and one of my little brothers died. His name
was Herbert; he was six years old, and he liked HARPER'S YOUNG
PEOPLE too. I had three brothers and a little baby sister. Now I
have two brothers. Arthur is eight years old, Cecil is three and a
half, and baby is two and a half. I will be ten on the 1st of
January. We live in the country, and have a governess. We are
saving all the HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLES to have them bound. We had a
little pet squirrel, and kept it for a little while, and then let
it go, as it did not seem happy.

FRANKIE C.

You did right to set your squirrel free if he seemed to long for liberty. I am sorry to hear that you have lost a dear little brother.

* * * * *

FOND DU LAC, WISCONSIN.

I had two little kittens--one was white and yellow, and the other
was white and gray--but I lost them both, for they ran away. I go
to school, and am number seven in my class, and I am seven years
old. I have a box of tools, and make little boats, and sell them to
my playmates for pins. Last Saturday papa took me out in the
country, and we gathered some hickory and hazel nuts. We had a fine
time. I have taken HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE nearly a year, and I enjoy
the stories so much, and the letters also. Mamma is writing this
letter for me, as I can not. Please try and print it. Good-by.

HARRY S.

* * * * *

CAHTO, MENDOCINO COUNTY, CALIFORNIA.

The picture in the Post-office Box of August 1 looks very much like
my sister Sophia. In your answer to our letters you said, "Did we
ever forget to come to dinner?" Very often. Brother Ed has been out
hunting again. You told me to persuade him not to go unless we
needed a deer for food. He killed a fat deer. While he was thinking
how he could get his deer on the horse to fetch it home, he heard a
noise in the tree above him, and looking up, he saw a swarm of bees
that had come out of a hollow in the tree.

After that he succeeded in getting his deer on the horse, came
home, and told father his luck of finding a bee tree and killing
his deer. Father went with him to cut the tree down and get the
honey. Only going prepared to get a gallon, when the tree was cut
it had over one hundred pounds of honey. Oh dear! nothing to save
it in, and five miles from any one else!

ALLIE R.

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I live in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and Aunt Maria, who lives near
Buffalo, New York, sends us YOUNG PEOPLE. When it comes we all call
out, "HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for me first!" Ross, my little brother,
likes the funny page best. I go for Jimmy Brown's stories, but I
like "The Cruise of the Canoe Club" very much. We have two
mocking-birds and a kitten. We have a horse too, but we don't pet
him much.

ACKLAND J.

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XENIA, OHIO.

I am a little girl eleven years of age. My sister Fanny gave me
YOUNG PEOPLE for a New-Year's gift, and you can not imagine what an
amount of pleasure I get out of it. My sister Mary takes _St.
Nicholas_, and I your paper, and we have such good times reading
them. All the boys and girls tell about their pets, and so I
thought I would tell you about an old cat that stays here. One
morning father met her in the hall, and the minute she saw him she
ran upstairs and stood by one of the doors and mewed. Father opened
the door, and she ran in. After breakfast my little sister and I
went upstairs, and we found two kittens with her--wee little ones.
Afterward she hid them, and we could not find them, until just the
other day, when we found them in a covered box in a shed. Papa
thinks she was afraid of us. I have a beautiful wax doll; her name
is Violet. I think of all the stories I like "Mr. Stubbs's Brother"
the best.

BESSIE DE M.

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FORT MCKAVETT, TEXAS.

I have been at this post since April, and like it here very much.
Papa was on a leave of absence, and we were staying in
Philadelphia. When his leave was over he was ordered to Fort
McKavett. We had a very pleasant trip out here. We came as far as
San Antonio in the cars. When we were in the cars we passed cotton
fields and sugar plantations; they were the first I had ever seen.
From San Antonio we came by stage. We started at eight o'clock in
the morning, and rode until ten at night. The next morning we
started at about half past six, and rode until six o'clock the next
morning. We were all very tired when we got here, and it took us
two or three days to get rested.

I brought my little canary-bird all the way with me, and he stood
the stage trip very well. There are lots of funny little horned
toads about here, and plenty of prairie-dogs. When we go out riding
we see whole towns of them. One day, when my sister and a friend
and I were out riding, the driver killed a large rattlesnake. It
had eight rattles. We killed two tarantulas in our dining-room one
evening.

HATTIE J.

* * * * *

Some of my little friends ask me to tell them of interesting games for the long evenings. Here are two, one of which you will find instructive, and the other amusing. Please try both:

JUDGE AND JURY.

The players elect a judge and three jurors.

Before the game begins, the players, except the judge and jury, take the names of historical personages, as Alfred the Great, Queen Philippa, etc. The judge calls up a player, and asks questions about his or her reign or life.

The player must pay a forfeit for any mistake in answering.

We will suppose a number of children engaged in this play. Edith is the judge. She reads from a paper handed to her:

"I find on my list Sir Philip Sidney, Semiramis, Philippa, Joan of Arc, Margaret of Anjou, Elizabeth, and Mary of Scotland. Come before us, Sir Philip Sidney, and tell us in whose reign you lived."

ANTHONY (_as Sir Philip Sidney_). I lived in the reign of the great Queen Elizabeth, and my home was in Kent.

JUDGE. What did you do in your lifetime?

ANTHONY. I wrote books, and I fought and fell at Zutphen.

JUDGE. On which action of your past life can you look back with most pleasure?

ANTHONY. Giving a cup of cold water to a dying soldier on the field of battle.

JUDGE. You may go without a forfeit. Now, Semiramis, what have you to say for yourself?

MARY. I was very ambitious, and have no good to say of myself.

JUDGE. Where did you live?

MARY. In Nineveh and Babylon. I built Babylon chiefly myself.

JUDGE. Relate your story as well as you can.

MARY. I showed King Ninus how to take a city, but he must have been very stupid not to think of such an easy plan himself. He married me. I asked him to let me be Queen for a day, and the first use I made of my power was to cut off his head. I fought a great deal when I became Queen all alone, but at last I was killed.

JUDGE. Your story is quite correct, I believe, but the jury wish to say something.

JURY. We think Mary must pay a forfeit for choosing the name of so bad a Queen. (_Mary pays it._)

JUDGE. Queen Philippa, come forward.

Queen Philippa relates her story, but as she forgot her favorite poet, Chaucer, when she was questioned about him, she had to pay a forfeit.

Joan of Arc forgot the name of the King for whom she fought, and had to pay a forfeit.

Queen Margaret could not repeat the names of her twelve battles, and paid a forfeit.

Elizabeth was correct in all matters, like a wise Queen as she was.

Mary of Scotland forgot where she had been brought up, and also paid a forfeit.

After this the judge and jury may be changed.

It is always a good plan to prepare beforehand for this game, as it is mortifying to little students to make too many mistakes.

ADONIS PUT UP AT AUCTION.

In this game two players--the Auctioneer and the Salesman--agree as to the thing to be offered in exchange for Adonis, but this they keep secret between themselves.

Then as many slips of paper are cut as there are players. On one the name of Adonis is written. They are folded up and put into a bag. The players draw them, and he or she who draws Adonis is seated on a chair in the middle of the circle (the Auctioneer beside him), and is put up for sale by auction.

The Auctioneer says: "Here is Adonis, remarkable for his great beauty and love of hunting. What will you bid for him?"

Each player has five bids alternately, but none must bid money.

FIRST PLAYER. I will give a bunch of roses for Adonis.

AUCTIONEER. A bunch of roses. Who bids for Adonis? Going, going, for a bunch of roses. (_He raises his hammer, which may be a pencil._)

SECOND PLAYER. I will bid a lump of sugar.

AUCTIONEER. A lump of sugar for Adonis. Going, going, for a lump of sugar.

THIRD PLAYER. I will bid an old gray goose.

AUCTIONEER. Going, going, etc., etc.

FOURTH PLAYER. I will bid a postage stamp.

And thus they go on bidding, until one of the players says, "I will bid a looking-glass," which being the thing the auctioneer and seller had this time agreed on, Adonis is knocked down to her, and is bound to do whatever she commands, such as sing a song, tell a story, hop round the room, etc., etc. Should the right price not be given by the time the bidding has gone round five times, the Auctioneer tells what it is, and says, "I have bought Adonis in with a ring," a bouquet, or whatever else has been fixed on between him and the seller. Then all the circle have to pay forfeits to Adonis.

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PHILO.--It was not possible to insert your exchange at the time you requested. If you still desire its publication, please send it again, with your new address, and it shall duly appear.

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PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

TWO DOUBLE ACROSTICS.

1.--1. A household utensil. 2. Inactive. 3. Pure. 4. Not distant. 5. Rest. 6. An extremity. Primals compose the name of a land, and finals of a sea-bird.

JUNE BUG.

2.--1. A fruit. 2. A heavenly body. 3. A sort of down. 4. A building. 5. A girl's name. 6. A precious stone. Primals and finals compose the names of two articles in favor with ladies.

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No. 2.

TWO WORD SQUARES.

1.--1. Something to burn. 2. A fabled giant. 3. Minerals. 4. A piece of school furniture.

2.--1. Small animals. 2. An image. 3. Something found in mines. 4. A girl's name.

ARTHUR G. B.

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No. 3.

A RIDDLE.

Nobody sees me,
I'm everywhere seen;
You were never without me,
Or peasant or queen.
All live by my help,
Yet catch me who can,
I can outrun the fastest,
My dear little man.
Now riddle-me-ree,
Whoever you be,
And tell me my name if you can.

MOTHER BUNCH.

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No. 4.

THREE DIAMONDS.

1.--1. A letter. 2. An enemy. 3. A weight. 4. A stopping-place. 5. A letter.

2.--1. A letter. 2. Part of a verb. 3. Not sadly. 4. Cunning. 5. In parchment.

3.--1. In plush. 2. A covering. 3. Something essential to HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. 4. A beverage. 5. A letter.

CHRISTINE and GRETCHEN.

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ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 152.

No. 1.

P E R I L L U N E T
E B O N Y U N I T E
R O V E R N I T E R
I N E Y E E T E R N
L Y R E S T E R N S

A T O M E D E N
T Y N E D O V E
O N C E E V E R
M E E K N E R O

No. 2.

King-fisher. Looking-glass.

No. 3.

L C
F A T C A P
F A C E D C A I R O
L A C O N I C C A I T I F F
T E N S E P R I N T
D I E O F T
C F

No. 4.

G L A R E
L O S E
A S K
R E
E

E V E N T B R I E R
V I N E R A C E
E N D I C E
N E E E
T R

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Answer to Enigma on page 784.--A share.

* * * * *

Correct answers to puzzles have been sent by Christine and Gretchen, C. P. Sutton, Birdie Bell, Edgar Coe, Tom Duncan, William A. Lewis, R. T. A., Charles St. Clare, Benny Dunn, Fanny Chester, Archie Hughes, Anne C., Daisy Dean, Johnston & Co., Dora Payne, Thomas B., Lawrence Fisher, and Maud Marian Thompson.

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

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WHO WAS HE, AND WHAT DID HE INVENT?

BY I. R. OQUOIS.

He was born on the 9th day of June, 1781, in a small village eight miles west of a large town whose name occurs in an old and well-known saying about carrying coals.

His father, who went by the name of "Old Bob," and was fireman of the pumping engine in a colliery, was a hard-working man, and so poor that the floor of the house in which he lived was of clay, and the walls and ceiling unplastered.

He was the next to the eldest in a family of six children.

When he was eight years old his father moved to Dewly Burn. After they went there he soon began earning twopence a day for herding Widow Ainslie's cows. He was anxious to work in the colliery, and before long he obtained a position there. When he was fourteen he was assistant to his father. His wages were a shilling a day, and he was so afraid he would be thought too young for the work that he would hide whenever the owner came to the mines. He was always happy and good-natured about his work, and full of fun. When he was seventeen he had advanced until he was receiving twelve shillings a week, but he was not able to read. He was fond of studying machinery, and had a decided taste for inventing and improving, but he could not do much without books, so he attended night school three nights in the week. At the age of twenty he added to his other earnings by shoe-making.

He was married when he was twenty-one. He devoted all his spare time to the study of mechanics and to inventing, but none of his inventions were successful as yet. He devoted his evenings to mending clocks and watches to get the means to send his only son to school.

Before 1812 he was deeply interested in and at work on the invention which afterward made him famous. His invention was tried in 1814, and proved a failure.

He still worked on, and after various experiments made great improvements in it. In 1825 his invention was declared a success, and in 1829 he received a prize of £500 for it.

Ho soon became wealthy and famous. His invention came into common use, and is seen every day by most of the readers of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

He died on the 12th day of August, 1848.

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THE TOMB OF AN EMPRESS.

Should you ever visit Agra, in India, you would see one of the most beautiful tombs in the world. It is called the Taj Mahal, and was built by the Emperor Shah Jehan in memory of his beautiful and dearly loved wife.

He began to erect it in 1630, and it was not finished until 1647, though twenty thousand workmen were employed on it during those seventeen years. One hundred and forty thousand cart-loads of pink sandstone and marble were used in this mausoleum, and every province in the empire sent jewels to adorn it.

From the Punjab came jasper, from Broach carnelians, from Thibet turquoises, from Yemen agates, from Ceylon lapis lazuli, from Arabia coral, from Bundelcund garnets, from Punnah diamonds, from Persia onyx, from Malwah rock-crystal, and from Colombo sapphires.

The tomb stands on the bank of the Jumna, its golden crescent rising two hundred and seventy feet above the level of the river. The garden in front of it is surrounded by high walls, with a pavilion at each corner.

At the end of a wide avenue bordered by cypress-trees stands the Taj, a dazzling mountain of white marble, uplifted from a terrace of pink sandstone. In shape it is an irregular octagon, the longest sides of which measure one hundred and twenty feet, with a terraced roof, and a magnificent dome in the centre.

From base to summit the edifice is inlaid with arabesques, inscriptions, and mosaics as dainty and delicate as the finest lace. Bishop Heber said of this tomb that it was "built by Titans and finished by goldsmiths."

Within, the ceiling walls and tombstones are a mass of precious stones representing flowers, fruits, and birds. The windows are rose-tinted.

Through the silence steals now and then a faint and musical echo, caused by the dome, which being closed by the ceiling of the hall, forms a whispering-gallery.

All this magnificence commemorates an Empress whose goodness and loveliness were such that her name is honored throughout the East.

* * * * *

THE MONKEY AND THE SUGAR.

I remember once in India giving a tame monkey a lump of sugar inside a corked bottle. The monkey was of an inquiring mind, and it nearly killed it. Sometimes in an impulse of disgust it would throw the bottle away, out of its own reach, and then be distracted until it was given back to it.

At others it would sit with a countenance of the most intense dejection, contemplating the bottled sugar, and then, as if pulling itself together for another effort at solution, would sternly take up the problem afresh, and gaze into it. It would tilt it up one way and try to drink the sugar out of the neck, and then, suddenly reversing it, try to catch it as it fell out at the bottom.

Under the impression that it could capture it by a surprise, it kept rasping its teeth against the glass in futile bites, and warming to the pursuit of the revolving lump, used to tie itself into regular knots round the bottle. Fits of the most ludicrous melancholy would alternate with spasm of delight as a new idea seemed to suggest itself, followed by a fresh series of experiments.

Nothing availed, however, until one day a light was shed upon the problem by a jar of olives falling from the table with a crash, and the fruit rolling about in all directions. His monkeyship contemplated the catastrophe, and reasoned upon it with the intelligence of a Humboldt. Lifting the bottle high in his claws, he brought it down upon the floor with a tremendous noise, smashing the glass into fragments, after which he calmly transferred the sugar to his mouth and munched it with much satisfaction.

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End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, October 17, 1882, by Various