



Produced by Annie McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S

YOUNG PEOPLE

AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]


       *       *       *       *       *

VOL. I.--NO. 17. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.

Tuesday, February 24, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.

       *       *       *       *       *




[Illustration: COLD MORNING IN A COUNTRY SCHOOL.]




TRACKING A BURIED RIVER.

THE ADVENTURE OF TWO SAILOR BOYS.


     "The sum of 3000 francs [$600] will be paid by the Scientific
     Association of Morlaix to any one who shall succeed in tracing the
     course of the Larve, and ascertaining whether it has any
     under-ground communication with the sea.

  "FELIX DELAROCHE, President."

Such was the announcement which, posted in the quaint three-cornered
market-place of the old French town of Longchamp, attracted a good many
readers, and among the rest two lads in sailor costume, one of whom
remarked to the other:

"What a holiday we'd have if _we_ could earn it! eh, Pierre, my boy?"

"I should think so! But nobody will earn _that_ reward very soon. Don't
you remember how, a year ago, they widened the cleft into which the
stream falls, and let down a man with a lantern, and how, before he'd
gone thirty feet, he got bumped against a rock, and broke his lantern,
and hurt himself so badly that he had to be hauled up again?"

"True; it's not a very likely job. Well, come along, and let's get the
boat out."

Pierre Lebon, the younger of the two, was a lithe, olive-cheeked, merry
little fellow, whose slim figure and jaunty black curls contrasted
markedly with the burly frame and thick sandy hair of his chum, Jacques
Vaudry. The latter ought rightly to have been called Jack Fordrey, for
he was an English boy, born in Guernsey; but having been adopted by a
Breton fisherman after his father's death, both he and his name had got
considerably "Frenchified."

The two boys had to manage by themselves the boat of which they were
joint owners, for old Simon Lebon, Pierre's real and Jack's adopted
father, was now too aged and rheumatic to help them in their work,
except by advising them when to start and where to go. But his advice
was always good, for in his time he had been one of the best fishermen
on the coast, and the lads were usually very successful.

On this particular day, however, their good luck seemed to have forsaken
them, for, try as they might, they could catch nothing worth mentioning.
Possibly they were thinking too little of their work, and too much of
the reward offered by the Scientific Association; for three thousand
francs would have been quite a fortune to them both. Moreover, the idea
of tracking an under-ground river had a spice of romance and adventure
about it which was the very thing to tempt them.

The little stream of the Larve had long been the acknowledged puzzle of
the whole neighborhood. After skirting the town for some distance, it
vanished into the earth through a narrow cleft, and was seen no more.
Where it went to after that, no one could tell; and, as we have seen,
the first attempt to find out had succeeded so badly that nobody felt
much inclined for a second.

Tired out at length, the unsuccessful fishers went home, inwardly
resolving to try whether they might not have better fortune by night
than by day. Pierre, indeed, when the night came, began to have some
doubts about the wisdom of the idea, having heard his father say once
and again that it was a very dangerous thing to attempt at that season.
But the hardest thing in the world for a boy to do is to draw back from
anything simply because it is dangerous. Rather than let Jack think him
afraid, Pierre would have gone to sea on a hen-coop; so they stole out
of the cottage as noiselessly as possible, and away they went over the
dim gray waste of sea, half lighted by the rising moon.

The "take" of fish was a very good one this time, and the boys began to
think their night voyage a lucky idea; but they were rejoicing too soon.
A little after midnight the sky began to cloud over and the sea to rise
in a way which showed that there was a storm brewing. They put about at
once, and made for the shore, but long before they reached it the storm
burst upon them in all its fury.

In an instant the boat was half full of water, and it was all they could
do to keep her from foundering outright, as they flew through the great
white roaring waves, thumped and banged about from side to side, and
drenched to the skin at every plunge by the flying gusts of spray.
Pierre grasped the tiller in his half-numbed hands, while Jack held on
with all his might to the "sheet" that steadied their little
three-cornered sail, at which the wind tugged as if meaning to tear it
away altogether.

The little craft held her own gallantly, and the young sailors began to
hope that, after all, they might make the entrance of the bay without
accident. But just then an unlucky shift of the wind tore the sail clean
away, and the boat, falling off at once, was swept helplessly toward the
formidable cliffs beyond.

"Not much chance for us now," said Jack, shaking his head. "Pierre, my
boy, I'm sorry I've brought you into this mess; it's all my fault."

"Not a bit, old fellow. I ought to have warned you of what I'd heard my
father say. However, if the worst comes to the worst, we can swim for
it."

However, there seemed to be little hope, for not a foot of standing-room
was to be seen on the rocky sides of the vast black precipice upon which
they were driving headlong. All at once Jack shouted:

"Port your helm, Pierre--port! We'll do it yet."

His keen eye had detected a cleft in the rock, just wide enough for the
boat to enter.

Pierre had barely time to obey, when there came a tremendous crash, and
the boys found themselves floundering amid a welter of foam, nets, sand,
dead fish, and broken timbers, in a deep dark hollow that looked like
the mouth of a cave.

"There goes father's boat," sputtered Pierre, as soon as he could clear
his mouth of the salt-water.

"And there go our fish," added Jack. "Here's that loaf that we put in
the locker, though; and even wet bread's better than none, in a place
like this. Now, then, let's be getting higher up, for the tide will be
upon us here in no time."

But to get higher up was no easy matter. They were in utter darkness,
and (as they had already found by groping about) on the brink of a chasm
of unknown depth. The ledge upon which they had been cast was evidently
very narrow, and almost as slippery as ice; and Jack, being encumbered
with the loaf, and Pierre badly bruised against the rocks, they were not
in the best condition for climbing.

But the roar of the next wave as it came bursting in, splashing them
from head to foot where they sat, was a wonderful quickener to their
movements, and away they scrambled through the pitchy blackness,
clinging like limpets to the rough side of the cavern as they felt their
feet slide upon the treacherous rocks, and thought of the unseen gulf
below.

Onward, onward still, deeper and deeper into the heart of the cold,
silent rock, fearing at every moment to feel their way barred by a solid
wall, and find themselves cut off from escape, and doomed to be drowned
by inches. But, no; the strange tunnel went on and on as if it would
never end, their only consolation being that they were unmistakably
tending _upward_, and already (as they calculated) beyond the reach of
the flood-tide.

Suddenly Jack uttered a shout of joy:

"Hurrah, Pierre! here's one of the lantern candles in my inner pocket,
and I know I've got my matches somewhere. We'll be able to see where we
are at last, my boy!"

The matches (luckily still dry) were produced, the candle was lighted,
and our heroes took a survey of their surroundings.

They were in a long narrow passage, rising to a considerable height
overhead, and with another ledge on its opposite side, steeper and more
broken than the one on which they were. In the centre lay the chasm
already mentioned; but instead of the frightful depth which they had
imagined, it was only six or seven feet deep at the most, and more than
half full of water.

"There's our terrible precipice," laughed Jack, stooping over it. "I
don't think _that_ would hurt us much. But--holloa! I say, Pierre, this
isn't sea-brine; it's _fresh-water_, running water! It's a stream that's
tunnelled its way through the rock; and if we follow it far enough,
we'll get out. Hurrah!"

"Hurrah!" echoed Pierre, brightening up. "We sha'n't run short of water,
anyhow; and as for food, we may as well have a bite of that loaf before
starting again."

The under-ground breakfast was soon finished, and the adventurous lads
started once more.

But the pain of Pierre's bruises, which he had manfully concealed
hitherto, began to master him at last. His tired limbs began to drag
more and more heavily; his feet slipped again and again, and only the
strong hand of his comrade saved him from more than one serious fall.

"Better sit down and rest a bit, old fellow," said Jack, kindly;
"there's no hurry, for this candle will burn a long while yet. I know
you won't own it, but you _did_ get a nasty bump against that rock
yonder."

"I fancy you're right there," answered Pierre, sinking wearily upon the
ledge. "But we don't need the candle while we're sitting still, you
know. Blow it out, and light it again when we start."

Jack did so, and they sat silent in the darkness. All at once Pierre
heard his comrade call out,

"I say, don't you hear water falling somewhere?"

"To be sure I do," replied Pierre, after listening a moment. "We must be
close to the place where this stream falls down into the tunnel, and now
we'll have a chance of getting out at last. Bravo!"

Jack slapped his hands together, with a shout that made the cavern echo.

"I've got an idea, Pierre, my boy! What a fool I was not to think of it
before! This stream that we've been following is the Larve, and we've
got to the very place where it falls through the cleft. Now if we can
only get out with whole bones, it's fifteen hundred francs apiece to us.
Come along, quick!"

All Pierre's weariness was gone in a minute. Already, in his mind's eye,
he saw his ailing father comfortably provided for, and Jack and himself
standing out to sea in a brand-new boat. The instant the candle was
lighted they were off again at a pace which would have seemed impossible
a few minutes before.

Guided by the increasing din of the water-fall, they were not long in
reaching a huge perpendicular funnel or chimney in the rock, down one
side of which poured a stream of water, while through a cleft above,
dazzlingly radiant after the darkness of the buried passage, came a
bright gleam of _sunshine_. Just then a big stone, flung from above,
came thundering down into the chasm, falling close to the feet of the
two explorers.

"That's the boys at their fun," said Jack, laughing. "I've done it many
a time myself. Above there--hoy!"

The only answer was a howl of terror and the sound of flying feet.
Pierre, alarmed at the thought of being deserted, shouted in his turn,

"Help, comrades! help!"

"Who's that calling?" asked a gruff voice from above, while the light
was obscured by a broad visage peering down into the hole.

"Holloa, Gaspard! is that you?" cried Pierre, recognizing the voice of
one of his father's fisher cronies.

"What, Pierre Lebon! _you_ down there? Well, who ever saw the like? Just
wait a minute, while I run for a rope."

But before he could return there were already more than a hundred people
gathered around the hole, for the news of a human voice having been
heard out of the "Larve Chimney," as the chasm was called, had spread
far and wide.

The water-fall on one side and the sharp rocks on the other made it no
easy matter to draw the boys up safely. But at length they were dragged
forth into the daylight, to be embraced and shouted over by the whole
town, and to receive, a few days later, the praises of the entire
Scientific Association, together with the three thousand francs which
they had so bravely earned.




BIDDY O'DOLAN.

BY MRS. ZADEL B. GUSTAFSON.


CHAPTER I.

Do you remember Biddy O'Dolan, the little rag-picker and ash girl who
found Lily De Koven's broken doll in the ash-can that cold winter's
morning? I have not forgotten my promise to tell you the rest about her.

Biddy had a boy-friend, a little Irish boy, who called himself
"Chairlier-Shauzy." I suspect his name was Charley O'Shaughnessy. He was
just as poor and alone in the world as Biddy, and almost always staid in
the same cellar at night.

When Biddy ran off with her doll that cold morning, she not only thought
of the hospital and the little girl who had there brought her the
flowers, but she thought how she would tell Charley that night about her
doll.

The first thing to be done was to get Dolly a dress, and this was the
way Biddy managed it. She took an old knife and hacked out a piece of
her skirt, then she pulled out of her dingy pocket a little wad. A wad
of what? Pins. Pins that she had picked up on the street in the summer,
when she swept the street crossings, and had stuck thick and
"criss-cross" in a bit of woollen rag. With some of these pins Biddy
fastened together the two sides of the cut in her skirt. Next she took
the piece of cloth she had cut out, and punched her tough little
forefinger through it in two places, and through one of these holes
pushed the whole arm and through the other the broken arm of her doll,
and pinned the cloth together in the back.

Thus Dolly was dressed, and nearly as well as Biddy, too. Biddy had been
very quick about this, and had often looked over her shoulders to see
who came in and out of the cellar.

You who do not live in a cellar, and do not get shoved about and slapped
as Biddy did, can hardly imagine how glad she was that no one happened
to take notice of her.

She hid Dolly under the straw where she was to sleep at night, and then
hurried out to pick over as many more ash cans and barrels as she could,
in hopes of finding something this time which would please Mrs. Brown,
so that she could dare to show her doll, and perhaps be allowed to sit
up and play with it a little.

Mrs. Brown was the cross old woman who kept the cellar, and the children
on the street called her "Grumpy."

Biddy did not find anything in particular, and got fewer pennies than
usual for errands and for showing people the way to places, so that old
Mrs. Brown was very cross indeed, and Biddy went to bed without daring
to pull Dolly out where she could see her. She lay awake, with her hand
on it, waiting for Charley.

Charley was a newsboy, but he was not a lucky little boy. He had the
large and beautiful deep blue eyes you may often see in the children of
Irish immigrants. But he was weak in body, and very shy. He lived as
Biddy did, among rough people, who were all the more rough because they
were so poor and miserable. So he got knocked about a great deal, and
stood no chance at all among other newsboys, who shoved him aside, and
called their papers so loud that Charley's thin voice could not be
heard. Some newsboys make money selling papers--make so much that they
can start in other kinds of business for themselves, and get on very
well in the world among other successful men. I have seen this kind of
newsboy. They have bright, sharp, old-looking faces. They have wiry,
strong bodies, good health, and seem to be afraid of nothing.

Charley wasn't this sort of boy at all. He got poked, and pushed, and
cuffed, and tripped up, and laughed at. The girls called him
"fraid-cat," because they thought he was a coward. The boys said he was
just like a girl, and shouted, "Hallo, Polly!" when they saw him.
Charley did not say much to all this. He went with his papers every day,
and managed to sell a few; and, besides, he did errands quickly and
well. In these ways he earned enough to pay for his straw in Mrs.
Brown's cellar, and to buy enough to eat to keep life in him.

Charley's straw was next to Biddy's straw, and when he came in that
night Biddy whispered to him all about her doll, telling him especially
how one of its arms was broken off at the elbow. Charley put out his
hand in the dark, and asked her to let him take the doll a moment. He
felt it over carefully, and gave it back without saying anything. Biddy
whispered a little more, and then they went to sleep.

One day Biddy happened to come in a little after noon. She was going
right out again; but first she stooped, and felt under her straw--the
doll was gone! Biddy sat down, quite faint for a moment; then she sprang
to her feet, darted up the cellar steps, and around the corner where old
Mrs. Brown sat behind her apple and candy stand. Biddy reached over and
put both hands in the knot of gray hair in the old woman's neck, pulling
as if she would carry her off, stand and all.

Biddy's face was pale, and her eyes were like white-hot coals, as she
gasped out:

"Give it me! Give it me! I'll never leave go till ye give it me!"

"Howld an, an' lave go av me!" cried the old woman. She grasped Biddy's
wrists, and drew them toward her to ease the strain on her hair; but
Biddy's little fingers were strong. She tugged hard, and kept on
gasping,

"I'll never, never leave go till ye give it me. Oh!"

Never had such an "Oh!" come from Biddy's lips before, and with the very
sound of it she had torn herself away from Mrs. Brown, and had seized
and almost knocked over little Charley, who had vainly been making signs
at her as he came up behind Mrs. Brown.

[Illustration: MENDING THE DOLL.]

Mrs. Brown rubbed her neck, smoothed down her apron, and jabbering
fiercely, came panting up to the children. Biddy had let go of Charley,
and was sitting right down on the cold pavement holding her doll, and
looking with wild delight and wonder at its wooden arm, new from the
elbow. Charley knew an old man who used to whittle out all sorts of
things with his jackknife, and who seemed as ready to give away as to
sell his work. Charley had taken Biddy's doll to this man, who had
willingly and quite skillfully mended it. He was on his way back to get
it hid under Biddy's straw for a surprise for her, when he found Biddy
struggling with Mrs. Brown. Charley's plan was perfect. The trouble was
that he couldn't plan for Biddy too, and she had spoiled everything
without knowing it.

"How ever _could_ ye git a new arm?" said Biddy. "It's a miracle."

"Be whisht wid yer mary-cles!" exclaimed old Mrs. Brown, snatching the
doll, holding it high out of reach, and spreading out her other hand to
keep Biddy off.

But Biddy did not spring at her this time. She stood up, and put her
hands together, and twisted them till the knuckles were white, and she
spoke as if there were cotton in her throat when she begged the old
woman to give her the doll. She promised never to be a bad girl any
more; to give every cent she could get to Mrs. Brown--every one; to do
everything Mrs. Brown asked her to do; and she called her over and over
again "_good_ lady," and "_dear_ lady."

Mrs. Brown kept on talking too fast to be understood. She was very
angry, and slapped Biddy's cheeks, and pushed her toward the cellar.
Biddy stumbled along as she was pushed, and kept on praying for her
doll, and making every promise she could think of to the old woman. When
they reached the cellar steps, Charley pulled Mrs. Brown's dress, showed
her a bright new quarter dollar, and said she might have it if she would
give up the doll to Biddy.

Mrs. Brown took the quarter, looked at it, rang it on the step, and then
handed the doll to Biddy, telling her that she might have it that night,
but that she must pay extra every day for what she called the
"craythur's boord an' lodgin'."

This idea seemed to please Mrs. Brown very much, for she called it a
great joke, and put her hands on her hips and laughed. Then she looked
savage again, and said, she would keep the doll herself on nights when
Biddy could not pay extra. She went off to her fruit stand, with her
hands on her hips, laughing and muttering by turns. Biddy sat down with
her doll. Now and then she looked at Charley and smiled, and seemed to
be thinking very hard about something.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




NEW YORK PRISONS IN 1776-77.


Those who tread the floor of what was recently the Post-office, once the
great Middle Dutch Church, and now a Brokers' Exchange, at the corner of
Nassau Street and Cedar, can scarcely believe that it was once a
military prison, that its walls re-echoed the groans and cries of sick
and dying patriots, that a large part of Washington's army was once
confined on the very spot where now the broker is calling his stocks and
the photographer fitting his lenses. The fine church in 1776 was
converted at once into a royal prison. Its pews were torn out, its
interior defaced, but the walls are the same that shut in the
unfortunate Americans, and their only shelter was the lofty roof that
still rises among the haunts of trade. The ancient building is one of
the most touching of the historical remains of the early city. The
number of persons shut up at once within its precincts is variously
estimated; one account gives 800, another 3000, as the probable limit.
It is certain that they were crowded in with no care for comfort, no
regard for health or ease; that one aim of the royal captors was to
"break their spirit" by ill usage, and win them back to their loyalty by
no gentle means.

As the motley train of prisoners came down to the city after the capture
of Fort Washington, they were met by the royal officers with every mark
of contempt and hate. They were stripped of their arms and uniforms,
robbed of their money, insulted with rude taunts and even blows. War had
not yet been robbed of some of its brutality by the slow rise of
knowledge, and the British officers had not yet learned the politeness
of freemen. A savage Hessian made his way up to Graydon, the young
American officer, and threatened to kill him. "Young man," said to him a
Scotch officer of more humanity, "you should never rebel against your
king." The prisoners were taken before the British provost-marshal to be
examined. "What is your rank?" said the officer to a sturdy little
fellow from Connecticut, ragged and dirty, who seemed scarcely twenty.
"I am a _keppen_," said he, in a resolute tone; and the British
officers, clad in scarlet and gold, broke into shouts of laughter. It
was not long before they were flying before the "keppens" of New Jersey
and New York, glad to escape from the rabble they despised.

[Illustration: JAIL IN CITY HALL PARK.--[FROM MISS MARY L. BOOTH'S
"HISTORY OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK."]]

When they had been examined, plundered, ridiculed, the unlucky prisoners
were divided into companies, and marched away to the different prisons
of New York, that were for so many weary months to be their homes or
their graves. Those who were confined in the Middle Dutch Church were
probably the most fortunate of all; they had air and light; but two of
the prisons are covered with some of the saddest memories of the war for
freedom. One of them was a common jail in the Park, now the Hall of
Records, and the other was the old Sugar-House in Liberty Street, next
to the Middle Dutch Church. The jail was so crowded with the captured
Americans that they had scarcely room to lie on the bare floor. The air
was stifling, the rooms pestilential, full of filth and fever.

[Illustration: OLD SUGAR-HOUSE IN LIBERTY STREET.--[FROM MISS MARY L.
BOOTH'S "HISTORY OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK."]]

But the most painful circumstance of their lot was the character of the
keeper. His name was Cunningham; he seems to have been a monster. Many
years afterward he was executed in England for some hideous crime, and
boasted that he had put arsenic in the flour he served to the prisoners.
It was under this man--one of those horrible natures war often brings
into use--that the young men of New York, Connecticut, and New Jersey
were to pass their miserable captivity. Soon even the English officials
were forced to take notice of the horrors of the jail in the Park. The
neighbors complained that they could get no sleep for the outcries and
groans of the prisoners. Cunningham ruled over them with lash and sword.
They were starved, reviled, beaten, "to win them," he said, "to their
duty." The chill winter and the hot summer found them crowded in their
pestilential prisons. The old Sugar-House in Liberty Street was also
under Cunningham's care. It was a tall building, several stories high,
with small windows, low ceilings, and bare walls. Every story was filled
thickly with the captured Americans. They starved, pined away, died by
hundreds. Cunningham withheld their food, and cheated even the miserable
sick and dying. They froze to death in the chill winter of 1776-77.
Sometimes the famished prisoners would come to the narrow windows of the
old Sugar-House, crying for charity to those who passed, but the
sentries drove them back. They pined away in the dark corners of the
crowded rooms, dreaming of the old homestead in Connecticut,
Thanksgiving cheer, and smiling friends. When they were brought out for
exchange, Washington wrote indignantly to Sir Henry Clinton, "You give
us only the sick and dying for our healthy, well-fed prisoners." Such
were the sorrows our ancestors bore for us. They were the authors of our
freedom. And he who treads the floors of the old Dutch Church, or seeks
out the spot where stood the Sugar-House in Liberty Street, may well
pause to think how much we owe to those who once pined within their
walls. Such, too, is war. Modern intelligence has shorn it of some of
its horrors. It may be hoped that education will at last banish it
altogether, and the people of Europe and America join to force upon
their governments a policy of peace.




ZACHUR WITH THE SACK.


A stately-looking man, wearing suspended on his left side by a strong
strap a simple gray sack, while a well-filled leather purse hung on his
right, was one day slowly wandering through the crowded bazar of Bagdad.
He remained standing before one of the stalls, and then, after a little
reflection, proceeded to purchase the largest and softest carpet
there--one of those in which the foot seems gently to sink down, and the
sound of each step is completely hushed.

The merchant was greatly surprised to see the richly dressed stranger
without retinue, and said, politely, "Sir, as your slaves are not at
hand, I will send one of my young men with you to carry the carpet."

"It is not necessary," said the purchaser, as he paid the price in
shining gold pieces; "I can manage it myself."

He quickly took up the immense roll of carpet, and pushed it slowly but
surely into his sack. Then, without heeding the amazement and shaking of
the head of the dealer, he passed on.

His desire of purchasing seemed now to be thoroughly roused. Twelve
flasks of otto of roses, from Schiraz, found their way into his sack;
ten pounds of the finest Turkish tobacco followed them; then came, quite
appropriately, a magnificent nargileh, with a long tube and a yellow
amber mouth-piece, on the top of which he carelessly threw a heavy ebony
box, inlaid with copper.

Notwithstanding the crowd, he attracted continual notice, and a
dignified-looking man had long been following him attentively, without,
however, addressing him. But when he had reached the middle of the
bazar, where the best and most costly wares are exposed for sale, and
when, as though intoxicated by the sight, he seized the most incongruous
things, and untiringly pushed them into his sack--pearls from Ormuz and
blades from Damascus, tons of Mocha coffee, and bales of silk, fishes
and rings, bracelets and dates, watches, saddles, and diamonds--then the
Caliph, for it was no less a personage who was following him, could
contain himself no longer, and said:

"I have seen many wonders, O stranger, and by the beard of the Prophet,
thou art not the least. Have, then, thy purse and thy sack no end? Why
does thy sack not burst? How canst thou carry it? How canst thou find
but one of the thousand things which thou art unceasingly cramming into
it? And tell me, how will those poor tender pearls, which were too dear
for me to buy for Zuleika, fare among tons and crates?"

Zachur--such was the name of the stranger--crossed his arms on his
breast, and bowed low.

"Ruler of the Faithful," he said--"for it is in vain that thou hidest
thy noble figure under a homely dress; thy portrait, painted by a
Giaour, and offered to me in Frankestan, is also in my sack, and I
recognize thee at once--Allah is great, and His gifts are wonderful.
Thou carest for the lovely daughters of the shell? Look here!"

He quickly put his right hand into the sack, and brought forth unhurt,
from the very midst of sabres and boxes, the double row of large
milk-white pearls, which he respectfully presented to the Caliph.

The Caliph was astonished at Zachur's riches and dexterity, rejoiced at
his present, and was curious to learn more concerning him.

"Then we will sit down there, on the broad stone steps at the foot of
the murmuring fountain," said Zachur; and in a minute he had spread out
his soft carpet, and lighted two nargilehs filled with the costly
aromatic herb.

They sat down, with their legs crossed under them, peacefully sent
little blue clouds into the air, and the stranger began his tale:

"I am the son of a poor man, O sire, and seemed doomed to poverty. But
there stood a good fairy by my cradle, and laid on it this bag and this
purse, saying:

"'Grow up, Zachur, and look around thee, in the world. Buy what pleases
thee. Pay for it out of this purse, which will not become empty, and
preserve it in this sack, which will not become full; but especially
pack in all that is valuable--the weight of it will not weary thee.'

"It has held more than she promised. All that I have ever possessed or
loved is contained, imperishable, safe forever, and always at hand, in
this sack."

"Wonderful, highly singular, and wonderful!" said the Caliph. "But tell
me more, friend."

"Details would take too long to relate, but the whole is soon said,"
answered Zachur. "Thou wast surprised to-day at my rapidity in
purchasing--thou shouldst have seen me in my young days! When the world
still looked sunny and bright to my childish gaze, when thousands of
objects attracted me, my hand was rarely out of my purse and my sack. I
took long journeys over sea and desert, through lonely villages and
large cities, and whatever pleased me I bought, and joyfully put into my
capacious sack. Indeed, it filled itself, without aid from me; shining
green birds and brilliant snow-white blossoms flew into it.

"The first impetuous joy was, however, soon stilled. Sometimes a feeling
of indifference came over me, and I passed unmoved by the most beautiful
things, because I already possessed so much that was lovely. 'Another
opportunity will occur,' I thought, 'if I should ever wish for it.' But
it never came, just as no moment of time ever returns; and now I mourn
over many a neglected chance.

"Then, again, I comfort myself with the thought of how many things I
possess, and take old and new out of my sack, according to my
inclination--a quilted silk counterpane from Japan in which to envelop
myself, or the Egyptian phoenix to lull me to sleep.

"Besides, the world is still large, and Zachur is not old yet. I have
still time to buy; and sometimes the old longing is very strong within
me. Thus to-day, O sire, when I entered thy city, I gave praise to Allah
that He had enabled man to form, out of the dirty wool of the sheep, the
brilliant carpet on which we are sitting, and caused the fragile amber
now between our lips to rise up from the sand of the sea--that He
brought the gold from the bowels of the earth, and the pearls from the
depths of the sea! And eagerly I seized the things, O sire, until the
eye of thy favor rested on me, and the blessed breath of thy mouth
reached me, and gave me what can not be purchased with gold and
silver--the honor and delight of thy presence!"

"Well spoken!" said the Caliph, delighted, as he blew a thick cloud
before him; "it is easy to see that thou hast travelled, and been in
courts too, friend Zachur. But one thing, before I again forget it in my
amazement. The Prophet, praised be his name! has forbidden to make a
likeness or picture of man, the image of Allah. But as thou possessest
mine, done by some unbelieving dog--I can not conceive how he found time
and opportunity to do it--"

"They paint rapidly," interrupted Zachur; "and are quick in all evil
arts."

"True, very true. I should like to look at the thing. The people need
know nothing about it. Couldst thou not take it out for me to have just
one glimpse of it?"

"Thy wish is a command to me," answered Zachur, who was already fumbling
in the sack, but for some time in vain.

"Well," called the Caliph, getting angry, "art thou sorry that thou hast
promised? Or--"

"Here it is, O sire," said Zachur, breathing freely; and the anger of
the ruler disappeared as he gazed with curiosity on a small silver
medal.

"It _is_ I, and yet it is not," he said, shaking his head. "It is my
fez, with the ruby clasp, and the embroidery on my state dress; but I do
not really look so stiff. Where are the brown cheeks, the brightness of
the eyes, the coloring, friend? And--what do I see?--the thing is
broken; look here! there is a crack across it that separates the feet of
my horse from his body. Therefore thou canst not keep all thy things
unhurt in that sack--thou canst not find them all in a minute: confess
thou hast also lost some entirely."

"I am the son of a poor man," answered Zachur, blushing, "but I learned
two things when only a boy: to use a sword, and to speak the truth. Yes,
I have lost many a thing; and when I was boasting just now that I had
everything in my sack, I was guilty of exaggeration, as men of limited
capacity are, in the use of the two words _everything_ and _nothing_. I
should have said _most things_."

At this moment appeared two outriders on swift Arab steeds, and behind
them came a gilt carriage, drawn by four Barbary horses. At sight of
them Zachur sprang to his feet.

Without for a moment losing sight of the approaching procession seeing
the Caliph rise too, he quickly pushed his carpet and nargileh into his
sack, and exclaimed, with sparkling eyes, "To whom does this
magnificence belong? Though how can I ask? for who but thou, O sire,
could call such splendor his own?

"How beautifully the Nubian in his purple contrasts with the gray horse,
and the pale Christian slave in the blue silk with the shining black
steed! If only thou wert a merchant with this equipage for sale!"

"Princes do not barter," said the Caliph, as he put a little silver
whistle to his mouth, and blew a shrill blast, when horses and carriage
suddenly stood still by the side of the fountain.

"But thou hast made me a handsome present, friend Zachur, and what is
more, given me a pleasant hour. Take what thou praisest so
enthusiastically; be my guest to-day, and to-morrow, or when it pleases
thee, drive away into the wide world in this carriage--it must be weary
work dragging such a sack."

Zachur crossed his arms on his breast, bowed low, and answered: "Thy
favor is like dew on a barren land, even for the richest, and if I had
not promised a sick friend to be with him this evening, I would
willingly enter within the shadow of thy halls. Therefore let me go in
peace; but these beautifully kept horses and carriage shall not go
through the dust of the suburbs."

Saying this, he quietly pushed the Nubian with his gray steed, the black
horse and his rider, the carriage and horses, into the sack, bowed down
to the ground again, and then stepped lightly and erect toward the city
gate.

The Caliph shook his head as he looked after him, went home full of
thought, and hung the double row of pearls round Zuleika's neck.

Then he sent for his private secretary and said:

"Take a swan quill and a sheet of the finest parchment, and write down
carefully what I shall dictate: the story of Zachur with the Sack."

       *       *       *       *       *

Many of our young readers have doubtless long since seen the meaning of
this tale shine forth through its thin veil. We should all be surprised
at a Zachur, and yet, like him, we have each a faithful capacious
sack--_memory_--into which, from our youth upward, we have crammed what
is noble and common, pearls and pebbles, and yet it does not become
full, nor our purse--our power of comprehension--empty.




THE DIFFERENCE.


  Who warms his slippers for papa
    When he comes home at night?
  Who meets him with a joyous laugh,
    And blue eyes beaming bright?
  Who climbs upon his ready knee,
  With kisses sweet as kiss can be?--
                            Our Kitty.

  Who teases poor old grandmamma,
    And pulls her work away,
  And with her gold-rimmed spectacles
    Too often tries to play?
  Who's full of mischief, sport, and fun,
  From early morn till day is done?--
                            Our Kitty.

  Whose little arms "hug mamma tight"?
    Whose lips give kisses sweet?
  Who follows nurse about the house
    With little restless feet?
  Who sings to Dolly, _scolds_ her, too,
  And tries to act as "big folks" do?--
                            Our Kitty.

  Who, bent on mischief, truth to say,
    Like any little elf,
  Within the pantry hides to taste
    The "goodies" on the shelf?
  Who _bothers_ cook, where'er she goes,
  And makes her scold, you may suppose?--
                            Our Kitty.

  But lest our Kitty chance to get
    More than her share of blame
  For mischief, I'll explain there is
    Some difference in the name:
  _One_ Kitty is our _child_, you see;
  The other, Kitty's c-a-t!




A PEEP INTO ROYAL TREASURIES.


The Hasne, or imperial treasury, of Constantinople, contains a costly
collection of ancient armor and coats of mail worn by the Sultans. The
most remarkable is that of Sultan Murad II., the conqueror of Bagdad.
The head-piece of this suit is of gold and silver, almost covered with
precious stones; the diadem surrounding the turban is composed of three
emeralds of the purest water and large size, while the collar is formed
of twenty-two large and magnificent diamonds.

In the same collection is a curious ornament, in the shape of an
elephant, of massive gold, standing on a pedestal formed of enormous
pearls placed side by side. There is also a table, thickly inlaid with
Oriental topazes, presented by the Empress Catherine of Russia to the
Vizier Baltadji Mustapha, together with a very remarkable collection of
ancient costumes, trimmed with rare furs, and literally covered with
precious stones. The divans and cushions, formerly in the throne-room of
the Sultans, are gorgeous; the stuff of which the cushions are made is
pure tissue of gold, without any mixture of silk whatever, and is
embroidered with pearls, weighing about thirty-six hundred drachmas.
Children's cradles of solid gold, inlaid with precious stones; vases of
immense value in rock-crystal, gold, and silver, incrusted with rubies,
emeralds, and diamonds; daggers, swords, and shields, beautifully
wrought and richly jewelled--all tell a story of ancient grandeur and
wealth, when the Ottoman power was a reality, and Western Europe
trembled before the descendant of the son of Amurath.

Notwithstanding these jewelled riches of Turkey, however, they are
surpassed by the splendor of the Shah of Persia's treasury, the contents
of which have accumulated in successive periods.

Nadir Shah of Persia, in the first half of the eighteenth century,
amassed enormous riches by the spoils of war. He is said to have had a
tent made so magnificent and costly as to appear almost fabulous. The
outside was covered with fine scarlet broadcloth, the lining was of
violet- satin, on which were representations of all the birds and
beasts in the creation, with trees and flowers; the whole made of
pearls, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, amethysts, and other precious
stones; and the tent poles were decorated in like manner. On both sides
of the peacock throne was a screen, on which were the figures of two
angels in precious stones.

This splendid tent was displayed on all festivals in the public hall at
Herat during the remainder of Nadir Shah's reign.

It would be impossible to describe in a short article the splendor of
the Persian treasury. One extraordinary object may be mentioned: a
two-foot globe covered with jewels from the north pole to the
extremities of the tripod on which the gemmed sphere is placed. His
Majesty had coats embroidered with diamonds and emeralds, rubies,
pearls, and garnets; he had jewelled swords and daggers without number;
so because he did not know what else to do with the rest of his jewels,
he ordered the globe to be constructed, and covered with gems; the
overspreading sea to be of emeralds, and the kingdoms of the world to be
distinguished by jewels of different color.




WINGED FREEBOOTERS.


The great goshawk, a bird in a coat of blackish-brown covered with
blotches of black and reddish-white, is a terrible enemy to wild
rabbits, hares, and squirrels, and to all the small feathered
inhabitants of field and forest. It is about two feet long, and although
it is not a bird of very rapid flight, its cunning and strength are such
that its prey rarely escapes. Should the terrified hare hide itself in
some thicket, the goshawk patiently perches on an elevated branch near
at hand, where it will wait hours, motionless, until the poor hare,
thinking its enemy departed, ventures from its retreat, when in an
instant it is swooped down upon, and struck dying to the ground.

Goshawks are found in the Middle and Western States during the autumn
and winter. In the summer they go far to the northward to rear their
young. They build a large nest of twigs and coarse grasses on some lofty
branch of a tree, and lay three or four eggs of dull bluish-white
slightly spotted with reddish-brown.

These savage birds are very common in Maine, where they make great havoc
among the flocks of wild-ducks and Canada grouse, and will even, when
driven by hunger, venture an attack on the fowls of the farm-yard. Its
sharp eye always gleaming and on the alert, the goshawk sweeps over
fields and woods, changing its course in an instant by a slight movement
of its rudder-like tail whenever any desired prey is sighted. It is the
most restless of birds, and is almost constantly on the wing, seldom
alighting except for breakfast and dinner.

Audubon relates a curious instance of sagacity in a goshawk, which he
himself witnessed. A large flock of blackbirds flying over a pond were
pursued by one of these birds, which, dashing into the flock, seized one
after the other of the poor little victims, apparently squeezing each
one with its powerful talons, and then allowing it to drop on the
surface of the water. Five or six had been captured before the fleeing
blackbirds gained the shelter of a thick forest. The goshawk then swept
leisurely back, and with graceful curves descended to the pond and
collected its victims, taking the dead birds one by one and carrying
them away as if laying up a store for its evening meal.

[Illustration: A DASH FOR LIFE.]

Instances have been known where this bird has itself fallen a victim to
its own designs. Dead goshawks have been found with their talons
hopelessly entangled in thorn and furze bushes, upon which they had
pounced with the object of seizing some little rabbit or squirrel which
had sought shelter beneath the undergrowth. A hunter once witnessed such
an occurrence, the rabbit scampering away in safety across the field,
while the great bird remained entangled in the bush. The hunter forbore
to shoot at the little rabbit which had made so fortunate an escape, and
killed the wicked bird of prey instead.

Goshawks are found in nearly every portion of Europe, and have sometimes
been trained to assist in hunting; but as they are more ferocious than
the falcon, they are less easily controlled, and are always on the watch
to regain their liberty.

A smaller variety of the great hawk family, but one spreading equal
terror among small birds, is the sparrow-hawk--a bold, provoking bird,
with dark brown back and wings, and breast of rusty brown or
grayish-white crossed by narrow bars of a darker tint. The sparrow-hawk
feeds mostly upon small birds, but it will also catch moles, field-mice,
and even grasshoppers. It flies low, skimming along but a few feet from
the ground, its sharp little eyes always on the watch for prey.

When tamed, the sparrow-hawk becomes affectionate toward its owner, but
will rarely accept civilities from any other person. One of these birds,
which had been tamed by a lady, was accustomed to perch on the shoulder
of its mistress, and eat from her hand. It was intensely jealous, and
would fly savagely at any one to whom its mistress showed the least
favor. This particular pet proved as troublesome as a thieving cat, for
was any fine fat chicken or partridge left lying on the kitchen table,
if the cook's back was turned for a moment, the prize was either mangled
or borne away to a hiding-place by the mischievous bird.

The sparrow-hawk is not a nest-builder, but will usurp the nest of the
crow or some other large bird. If a deserted nest can be found, the
sparrow-hawk will immediately take possession; but if no such presents
itself, this bad-hearted, quarrelsome bird does not hesitate to depose
the rightful owner, and proceed to occupy a home to which it has neither
right nor title.

The sparrow-hawk, the malicious hen-hawk, and cruel pigeon-hawk, are
very common throughout the United States and Europe.




[Illustration: THE WRECK OF A COASTER.]




UNCLE PHIL'S THIMBLE.

BY ELINOR ELLIOTT.


"A rag-picker!"

"That's just what I am," sighed a poor girl who stood at one of the long
tables in the rag-room of a large paper-mill. Down each side the table
stood a row of girls, some older, some younger, than herself, all
miserably clothed, and all with worn, pinched faces.

These girls came each day to their work with an eager look in their
eyes, which burned brightly in the morning, flickered fitfully through
the day, and faded out at night, leaving the patient, tired look which
want and hunger and disappointment bring, and which is always ready to
take courage and look forward once more; for in a pile of rags there
sometimes lay a treasure--an odd penny, an old knife, a pair of
scissors--something that might be taken to the little pawn shop round
the corner and sold.

A little while ago a girl--a _lucky_ girl--had a "find," a bright silver
quarter. Her good luck had been whispered up and down the row, but no
one betrayed her fortune. When the overseer came through the room, no
exultant look nor envious glance suggested anything unusual, for this
band of "rag-pickers" had its honor, which it held to as closely as the
most compact trades-union in the land.

To some of the girls the thought sometimes came, "Is what we find really
ours?" but long generations of workers in the mill had appropriated
these "finds," and it had become a custom if not a right.

To-day Nance, at the head of the table, felt a keener longing than usual
to secure something. She had never felt the utter dreariness of her
loneliness and poverty so strongly as she had in the last bright
Christmas season, which had been to her only a vision; not the sweet
reality that it becomes to us, who bring it close to us in happy
anticipation weeks before it really comes, who live in its light and
peace and cheer, in its sweet givings and receivings, and keep its
memory with us throughout the year.

For a whole year Nance had been at work in the mill, and had had
nothing but her regular five-cent salary. Now her long nervous fingers
ran rapidly through the pieces, making four divisions, as she called;
"Linen, cotton, woollen, silk--linen, cotton, woollen, silk," and the
different bits dropped into their proper piles like falling leaves;
while the girl on her right took the cottons, and assorted them, and the
girl on her left went through the woollens in the same way, and a girl
further on took the silks.

A stranger was always amused to watch the long rows of quiet bodies,
nimble fingers, and moving lips, and to hear the half-whispered counting
and calling of colors as they divided the pieces.

To-day Nance had a bag to pick from. Here lay her chance. The girls who
took the rags from the bags were the most apt to find treasures, and
their turn came only once a month.

She was fast nearing the bottom of the last bag. Every time she thrust
her hand in, her heart beat fast, and she thought, "Shall I keep it, if
I find anything?"

Once more, and her hand touches something cold; her fingers close round
it, and she draws it out. Her head swims, she clutches the table with
her other hand to keep from falling--perhaps, after all, it is only a
button. She collects herself, and peeps slyly into her hand.

A gold thimble!

No one has seen it, no one knows, and Nance slips it into her pocket,
and goes on with her work; but somehow it doesn't run smoothly. It is
"Silk, cotton, woollen, linen," and then "Cotton, woollen, linen, silk,"
and the girls find fault because the piles are "mixed," and then the
bell rings, and they are free for to-day.

Cautiously Nance makes inquiries about the "finds." How much did they
sell things for, if they found any?

"My aunt," said one girl, "onst foun' a gol' ring, an' the jew'ler give
her a dollar for 't."

"He melted it down," explained another. "They allus does that. He told
me one day that if ever I found a gold breas'pin or a bracelet, 'which
'tain't noways likely you will,' sez he, 'fetch it to me, an' I'll give
you what's right for it.'"

So Nance's "find" was really worth money. More money, too, than she
could earn in many days' steady toil. What would it not buy! Food,
clothing, warmth, everything, seemed within her reach now that she held
that source of wealth in her hand.

"'Tain't stealin', I hope," thought Nance. "Course not. I don' know who
it belongs to."

When alone, Nance took out the thimble. What a dainty little thing it
was! She tried it on each of her hard, bony fingers, and laughed to see
the poor grimy things wearing a golden crown.

Why, there were letters on it!

"Reel writin'!" cried Nance, as she paused under a street lamp to spell
the word by its light.

"Onst I could read writin'. That first mus' be a capertin--that's what
they call them big fellers that stands first--a kin' of a Gennyrel with
his soljers. Oh! I don' know the capertins--never got acquainted when I
went to school; common letters was good enough for me.

"That tall one, that's _l_, an' there's round _o_, then _r_, an' then
_i_ with a dot. L-o lo, r-i ri, lori; _m_, _e_, an' then another tall
_l_ on the end--that's m-e-l mel, lorimel. Now what's the capertin's
name?--lorimel, lorimel; I've heerd that name some'eres. Why, it's her
that came that day mother lay a-dyin' an' spoke so soft like; an' the
gennelman with her he called her 'lorimel'--no that warn't it--Florimel,
Florimel, that's the name!

"Tain't yourn now, Nance. You know where it belongs. You ain't got no
right to it now."

And then came other thoughts.

"What's a gold thimble to her? She can buy all she wants--gold thimbles,
and gold scissors, and gold needles; and sit in a gold chair, and sew on
a gold gown. She hadn't no business leavin' a gold thimble in a rag bag.
Them that's careless has to pay for it."

       *       *       *       *       *

The curtains were drawn in an elegant house on the Avenue. A bright fire
burned in the grate, throwing a warm glow on the delicate walls, the
beautiful pictures, and the snowy marble statues, and reflecting itself
in the long mirrors, seemed, as it sparkled and glowed, the only thing
of life in the room; for the young girl who lay back in the luxurious
depths of the large chair by the hearth, with her fair hands lying
listlessly in her lap, was as white and motionless as the statues around
her.

Now and then her lip quivered, and an occasional tear stole from under
her long lashes, but she did not look up till a gentleman entered the
room. Then she sprang into his arms, and sobbed out, in reply to his
question of how she had spent the day,

"I've been perfectly miserable, papa. I've lost my thimble--the thimble
Uncle Phil gave me. I'd give everything in the world to see it again."

"Why, my dear little girl, that would hardly be worth while, when you
can get another for a few dollars. We'll go to-morrow and buy the
prettiest--"

"Ah! papa, you don't understand. All the money in the world can't buy a
thimble to take the place of the one Uncle Phil gave me. It was the last
thing he ever bought."

"Was it, darling?"

"Yes; and he said that morning, 'Florimel, can you sew pretty well?' and
I laughed, and said, 'Of course not, Uncle Phil; what's the need of my
sewing?' 'Great need, great need, little niece,' he said. 'Sewing is
woman's most womanly work, and though you may never need to sew for
yourself, if you knew how, you might teach hundreds of poor girls to sew
and clothe themselves and their families.'"

"My little daughter teaching a sewing-school! How funny it would be!"

"So that afternoon we went into Shreve's and selected one, and had my
name engraved on it; and that night Uncle Phil was taken ill. So of
course I feel badly, papa; don't you see why?"

"Yes, Florimel; but perhaps we shall find this thimble. Have you had
Janet search for it?"

"Indeed I have, all day long. I had it yesterday at work on my
Kensington, and think Janet must have taken it up among the bits of
worsted when she put them into the scrap bag; and Ann sold all the
scraps last night to the ragman. Oh dear! I shall never see it again."

"Hif you please, sir," said Jacobs, appearing in the doorway, "there's a
vagrant at the basement door. Three times hi've sent 'er away, han'
three times she 'as returned, hevery time hasking for Miss Florimel,
han' sayin' she _must_ see 'er."

"To see me? At the basement door? How strange!" and Florimel forgot her
tears in her eagerness to see what the poor child at the door could
want.

Her papa hurried down stairs after her, and saw her face radiant with
joy as she held in her hand a gold thimble, while a scantily clothed
girl stood beside her awkwardly twisting the corner of her shabby shawl.

"Oh, papa! this girl Nancy found my thimble among some rags, and brought
it back to me. Oh, what can I do for her, papa?"

"How did you know whose the thimble was, my child?"

"I warn't sure, sir," faltered Nance, whose honor had outweighed her
longing for money and the comfort it would bring, and had brought her
through the long city to seek the rightful owner of the thimble--"I
warn't _sure_; but I knew her name, for herself an' a gennelman came
onst to see mother long ago."

"That was Uncle Phil," said Florimel. "He used often to take me when he
went to visit the poor. But how did you know where I lived?"'

"I knew the house, 'cause he told me to come here onst for some soup for
mother, an' I came an' got it."

"How is your mother now?"

"She's dead, miss," sobbed Nance.

"And so is Uncle Phil;" and the two girls--the one so fair and beautiful
and carefully guarded, the other so pale and pinched and
friendless--forgot for a moment all but their sorrow, their longing for
the dear dead faces they could never see again.

But Florimel's papa called Janet to see that Nancy was warmed and fed
after her long cold walk, and took Florimel into the library to see what
they really could do for this poor but honest girl.

Florimel at first insisted upon having her for her own little maid, but
her papa convinced her that Nancy was too ignorant for such a position;
and they finally decided that the best thing to do for her would be to
give her a good home, where she could learn to do all kinds of nice
work, and could also go to school.

"Why, papa, I know the very place for Nancy. Nurse Susan lives all
alone, now her niece has gone out to service, and Nancy could live with
her."

"That is a very bright thought, little daughter. It would be a comfort
to Susan to have a young girl with her, and the money we should pay for
Nancy's board would lighten her expenses. Let us send now for Nancy, and
see if she likes the idea."

Did Nance like the idea?

Did she like to think she need never go back to the bustling, dusty
mill; that she need not go again to that miserable tenement-house which
she called home, where she shared one tiny room with seven other girls;
that she need not know again what it was to battle with hunger and cold?
Did she like to feel that she should have a home in the sweet fresh
country; that her work should be in a garden, in a dairy, in a neat
little cottage; that clothing, food, and the learning to be a good woman
would lie within her reach?




LIFE ON BOARD A TRAINING-SHIP.


Training-ships, on board which boys are taught to become first-rate
seamen, form an important portion of every navy; and in the accompanying
sketches our artist has endeavored to convey correct ideas of the daily
life of these boys to those of our readers who live far inland, are not
familiar with ships and sailors, and who perhaps have never seen the
sea.

[Illustration: FURLING SAIL.]

The first sketch is one showing the boys undergoing a part of their sail
drill, and engaged in furling the mizzen top-gallant-sail and royal. The
sails of a man-of-war are furled and stowed with the utmost care and
precision, so that the ends of the yard look exactly alike, and
sometimes the boys have to do their work over and over again before the
critical eye of the officer watching them is satisfied. In storms, when
the great ship rolls so that the yard-arms sometimes touch the water,
lying out on them and furling sails is very difficult and dangerous
work, and it is only on account of the constant drill they have
received during fair weather that the boys are able to accomplish the
task under these circumstances.

[Illustration: BATH-ROOM.]

Above all things, on these training-ships the boys are obliged to keep
themselves neat and clean. They are expected to bathe frequently, and
are always compelled to do so on Sunday. The bath-room, provided with
tubs, basins, and a plentiful supply of water, is located in the bows,
in the extreme forward part of the ship.

[Illustration: SCHOOL-ROOM.]

Generally amidships, but sometimes in the stern of the ship, is the
school-room; for sailor boys have other things to learn besides the
practical sailing of a ship. In this school-room the young sailors spend
four or five hours of each day, and are taught reading, writing,
arithmetic, history, geography, and grammar.

[Illustration: DINNER-TIME: EIGHT BELLS.]

At noon, or eight bells, as they say on shipboard, the bugles sound the
dinner call, and from all parts of the ship the boys tumble down the
hatchways to the berth-deck, where is a long row of short tables swung
from the ceiling, and where the young sailors eat the bountiful dinner
provided for them as only healthy, hearty boys can eat.

[Illustration: ORLOP DECK, OR COCKPIT.]

The fourth or lowest deck of the ship is called the "orlop deck," and it
is here that the boys stow away their muskets and cutlasses after drill.
On this deck also the boys receive at four bells, or six o'clock in the
evening, the allowance of bread and molasses, or treacle, that composes
their regular supper.

[Illustration: SERVING OUT BREAD AND TREACLE.]

[Illustration: GUN PRACTICE.]

[Illustration: GUN-DECK--FIRING A SALUTE.]

Next to the sail drill, perhaps the most important is the gun drill, or
practice with the heavy guns. This gun drill is not important merely
because the guns are to be used in case of a fight, but because they are
also used in the firing of salutes. These salutes must be fired whenever
another man-of-war comes into port or a distinguished officer comes on
board, on national holidays, and at many other times; therefore it is
very important that the boys should be familiar with the great guns.
Each gun has its crew, each one of whom has an especial duty to perform.
The long cord that the boy in the last picture holds in his hand is
called a lanyard; and as he pulls it with a smart jerk, a hammer falls
on the breech of the gun, and with a roar that shakes the ship, the
great gun is fired.




[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]


  SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA.

     I am twelve years old, and go to the Lincoln School. It is so
     called because it has a statue of Abraham Lincoln in front of it.
     It was built in 1864, has over twelve hundred pupils enrolled, and
     I think it is the best school in the city. I have been making vases
     out of Farallon eggs to send East to my cousins. The eggs come from
     the Farallon Islands, twenty-one miles outside of the Golden Gate.
     They are of a blue color, and have marks on them that look like
     hieroglyphics. The birds that lay them are a species of gull. I was
     born in San Francisco, and have lived here most of my life. Four
     years I spent up in the mountains on a farm, or ranch, as they call
     it here.

  CHARLES W. S.

Farallon, the name of these islands near the entrance to San Francisco
Bay, is a Spanish word signifying a small pointed islet in the ocean.
The islands, of which there are six, are so called because they consist
of rugged towering peaks of granite! A more desolate place could not
well be imagined. There is nearly always a fierce wind blowing, and the
waves dash wildly into the numerous spouting caves along the rocky
coast. There is a light-house here three hundred and sixty feet above
the sea, and its keepers are the only human inhabitants of the desolate
sea-bound rock; but thousands of sea-lions congregate upon the cliffs,
and vast numbers of gulls and wild rabbits make their home there. During
the egging season men visit the islands, and gather thousands of eggs
for the San Francisco market. A very interesting account of these
islands, is given in Mr. Nordhoff's book on _Northern California,
Oregon, and the Sandwich Islands_.

       *       *       *       *       *

  FORT ASSINIBOINE, MONTANA TERRITORY.

     I am always glad to see YOUNG PEOPLE come with papa's mail. Out
     here in the wilderness we do not often see nice papers; but then we
     see what city people never see--plenty of Indians. Many of them are
     very poor, and so hungry that they pick bread and scraps of meat
     out of the swill barrels to eat--old stuff that the soldiers have
     thrown away. I think people should send the poor Indians something
     to eat. I send you a picture of some Indians as they look hunting
     for food this cold day. I am only nine years old, and can not draw
     very good pictures.

  BERTIE BROWN.

[Illustration: INDIANS HUNTING FOR FOOD.--DRAWN BY BERTIE BROWN.]

       *       *       *       *       *

  WORCESTER, MASSACHUSETTS.

     I have a canary, which is the only live pet I ever had. It was
     eight months old the 17th of February. I plant canary-seed, and let
     it grow until it is about two inches high, and then I give it to my
     canary. It likes to eat it very much.

  LOUIE E. WARE.

       *       *       *       *       *

     I live way off in Washington Territory, and thought I would tell
     you something about this distant country. We live near the Simcoe
     Mountains. They are covered with evergreen pines. We can see the
     snow-capped mountains every day in the year--Mounts Jefferson,
     Hood, St. Helen's, and Adams. It snows here sometimes in winter,
     but the wind comes up from the sea, and takes it away in a few
     days. I do not live near any school, but I study and recite my
     lessons at home. Six miles away, at the new town of Goldendale,
     there is an academy, and they are teaching in it now. I am ten
     years old, and was born in this country. Sometimes troops of
     Indians come riding past on their spotted ponies. They bring salmon
     from the Columbia River, huckleberries from the mountains, and now
     and then ponies to sell. I am very fond of reading, and am
     delighted with YOUNG PEOPLE. I read every word in it.

  GERTRUDE BALCH.

       *       *       *       *       *

  HECKATOO, ARKANSAS.

     I am a little girl eight years old. I take YOUNG PEOPLE, and like
     it very much. I have a doll named Laura Martin. I live on a cotton
     plantation on the Arkansas River, and I can stand on the front
     gallery of our house and see all the boats that pass. We have never
     been to school, and we have no governess now, so mamma has to teach
     us. We have a great many pecan-nut trees here, and there is a pond
     near our house with a boat on it, and my sister and I row
     sometimes.

  CYNTHIA R. SMITH.

       *       *       *       *       *

  UTICA, NEW YORK.

     I am six years old. My birthday was the 18th of January, and mamma
     gave me a little party. We had a nice time, and sat down to tea all
     by ourselves, without any grown people. I have two birdies; they
     will put their little heads clear out of the cage, and take seeds
     from my mouth. Sometimes they nip my tongue, and one birdie will
     fly out right into the cup I keep seed in. I taught them to eat in
     that way by not letting them have anything until they would take
     it.

  BESSIE L. CARTER.

       *       *       *       *       *

     Papa brought me the numbers of YOUNG PEOPLE a few days ago. I had
     been waiting anxiously for them, and I was so delighted when he
     gave them to me. I have known all about Harpers' publications for a
     long time. Mamma says that papa took HARPER'S MAGAZINE long ago,
     before the war. I like the stories, letter-box, and puzzles in
     YOUNG PEOPLE very much, and I have succeeded in getting answers to
     some of the puzzles. My pets are cats and dogs, and I would like to
     get a parrot. Alabama was my native place, but now I live in
     Maryland.

  LIDIE B. DUKE.

       *       *       *       *       *

  RUSSELVILLE, ARKANSAS.

     I thought you might like to know about "Dr. Pruitt's boys," so I
     concluded to write you a letter. I am Will, aged twelve; then there
     are Fred, Edward, and Charley. Papa takes HARPER'S MONTHLY, and
     mamma takes the BAZAR, and when YOUNG PEOPLE was advertised papa
     proposed that each of us give something and take that too. We four
     boys earned just one hundred dollars picking cotton last fall, so
     we all contributed. We like the paper very much, and watch for its
     coming; and we read everything in it.

  WILL E. PRUITT.

       *       *       *       *       *

  GRAND ISLAND, NEBRASKA.

     I am ten years old. My uncle takes YOUNG PEOPLE for me, and I can
     hardly wait until it comes. I have got the elephant on his four
     legs, and he looks well. I have a little prairie-dog named Jenny.
     It lives in a hole in the yard, where I think it must have a good
     nest, for I gave it lots of rags last fall to put in the hole. It
     comes to the house almost every day to get something to eat, and
     seems glad to see us. I have also a little dog named Frisk, only I
     sold one-half interest in him yesterday for twenty-five cents to a
     doctor who lives next door. He wanted him for his baby to play
     with. Can you tell me what kind of a place a junk-shop is?

  HARRY K. HEFFLEMAN.

A junk-shop is where old ropes, old anchors, old iron, and cast-off odds
and ends of all kinds are kept for sale. There are many such shops to be
found in every large city, and if it is a seaport, they are generally
located near the waterfront, as a vast quantity of such rubbish is
picked up along the wharves. In New York city junk dealers drive wagons
round the streets, and buy old stoves or any worn-out household goods.

       *       *       *       *       *

  LONOKE, ARKANSAS.

     I found in mamma's front yard, near a brick wall, a little <DW29>,
     which I send you. It bloomed out the 29th of January.

  SARAH F. S.

It was fortunate for the little <DW29> that it was picked and pressed,
for Katie Black writes, also from Arkansas: "There was a very pretty
snow-storm here on the 2d of February. It began in the morning, and
snowed all day."

       *       *       *       *       *

WARD A. P.--Your puzzle is neatly done, but as we have already published
one having the same solution, we can not use it.

       *       *       *       *       *

  WHEELING, WEST VIRGINIA.

     Can you tell me what five words in the English language end in
     "cion"?

  S. R. W.

Can any correspondent answer this question?

       *       *       *       *       *

J. R. B.--Jupiter will be evening star until March 15, morning star
until October 6. Mars will be evening star until October 25. Saturn will
be evening star until April 7, morning star until October 18. Venus will
be morning star until July 13, evening star the rest of the year.

       *       *       *       *       *

KATE.--You may write us any interesting things you know about
prairie-dogs in Kansas.

       *       *       *       *       *

"JONATHAN."--You will find brief accounts of the ancient Roman
road-builders in any history of Rome, also in _Appleton's Encyclopedia_
under "Roads." _Lempriere's Classical Dictionary_ also contains much
information, especially of the Appia Via.

       *       *       *       *       *

MAE W. T.--"The Youthful Philomathesians" would be a pretty name for
your literary society. Philomathesian is a Greek word signifying loving
to learn, or lover of knowledge.

       *       *       *       *       *

WALTER S. DODGE.--The picture on the first page of YOUNG PEOPLE No. 14
is a fac-simile of a pencil drawing reproduced by a photographic
process.

       *       *       *       *       *

Very neat "Wiggles" are received from R. V. R., Hattie Strong, and F. B.
Myers, which we regret being unable to publish.

       *       *       *       *       *

LOUISE S.--You write so prettily that we are sorry your enigma is not
good enough to print. Do not be discouraged. Try again, and the next
time see if you can not make rhymes.

       *       *       *       *       *

JOHN F. S.--Persevere with your locomotive-engine drawing, and some day
you may be able to put it to good use. Engines and machinery of all
kinds are good things for a boy to become familiar with, and if you are
really fond of them cultivate your inclination all you can.

       *       *       *       *       *

Netta Franklin, Freddie C., Emma S., Pussy K., and Robbie V. R. are very
youthful correspondents who favor us with letters printed with
remarkable neatness. May R. also writes a very legible "Wiggle." When
you learn to print, little girl, write again.

       *       *       *       *       *

Acknowledgments for favors are due to C. Fannie Anderson, William F. B.,
John T. I., Perceval Hill, Frank Yarington, Angie T. Tenny, Florence G.,
Istalina Beach, George P. R., Orie Maude, Albert A., Mary Buchanan,
Jennie E. Anderson, Myrtle Gilman, Alice M. S., Minta Holman, Mary
F. W., Walter Jennings, Locke S., Sue Dawson, Ida S., Annie Black,
Freddie L., Minnie Parker, Della L. Grimshaw, Bert Wellman, Eliza E.
Crowell, Clarence C. Culver, Ada R., Ida M. C., Mary Landon S., Arthur
D. Miller, Eddie Carnes, Bertha B. H., Daisy J. M., Katie Bouck,
W. C. B.

       *       *       *       *       *

Correct answers to puzzles received from Effie K. T., P. S. Heffleman,
C. F. Langdon, Louise Swift, Maude K. Smith, E. and M. D., Florence
Schaffenburg, H. M. H., J. H. Merrick, Harry E. Sears, Lewis K. Davis,
M. Barton, P. Karberg, "the Boys, Bessie, Mamma, and I," Katie W., Harry
S., Pussy Kellogg.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN NO. 14.

The following solution to "A Latin Word Square," on page 155, is from a
correspondent in Pennsylvania:

  R O M A
  O L I M
  M I L O
  A M O R

  The square is made of magic spells
    That speak of Horace and of Homer;
  The third the glory that was Greece,
    The first the grandeur that was _Roma_.

      Tales of eating and of drinking,
      And of falling roofs upholden,
            Call up _Milo_;
      _Milo_ backward murmurs _Olim_,
      These, all these, were in the olden
            Time long ago.

  Lo! in yon brilliant window niche
    My fourth--how statue-like he stands!
    His bow and arrow in his hands,
  Ah, _Amor_, from the regions which
        Are Holy Lands.

       *       *       *       *       *

Answer to "Throwing Light," on page 168--"Draught, draft."

       *       *       *       *       *

We have received numerous answers to the Puzzle Picture on page 168,
which are correct with the exception that more beasts are there than any
one has yet discovered. A great many little folks have found seven. Only
one has found eight. There are nine concealed in the picture, and we
give one more week in which to hunt for them before publishing the
answer.




ADVERTISEMENTS.




HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE will be issued every Tuesday, and may be had at
the following rates--_payable in advance, postage free_:

  SINGLE COPIES                     $0.04
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Subscriptions may begin with any Number. When no time is specified, it
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The extent and character of the circulation of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
will render it a first-class medium for advertising. A limited number of
approved advertisements will be inserted on two inside pages at 75 cents
per line.

  Address
  HARPER & BROTHERS,
  Franklin Square, N. Y.




CANDY

Send one, two, three, or five dollars for a sample box, by express, of
the best Candies in America, put up elegantly and strictly pure. Refers
to all Chicago. Address

  C. F. GUNTHER,
  Confectioner,
  78 MADISON STREET, CHICAGO.




CHILDREN'S

PICTURE-BOOKS.

Square 4to, about 300 pages each, beautifully printed on Tinted Paper,
embellished with many Illustrations, bound in Cloth, $1.50 per volume.

The Children's Picture-Book of Sagacity of Animals.

     With Sixty Illustrations by HARRISON WEIR.

The Children's Bible Picture-Book.

     With Eighty Illustrations, from Designs by STEINLE, OVERBECK, VEIT,
     SCHNORR, &c.

The Children's Picture Fable-Book.

     Containing One Hundred and Sixty Fables. With Sixty Illustrations
     by HARRISON WEIR.

The Children's Picture-Book of Birds.

     With Sixty-one Illustrations by W. HARVEY.

The Children's Picture-Book of Quadrupeds and other Mammalia.

     With Sixty-one Illustrations by W. HARVEY.

       *       *       *       *       *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.

_Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on
receipt of the price._




Old Books for Young Readers.

       *       *       *       *       *

Arabian Nights' Entertainments.

     The Thousand and One Nights; or, The Arabian Nights'
     Entertainments. Translated and Arranged for Family Reading, with
     Explanatory Notes, by E. W. LANE. 600 Illustrations by Harvey. 2
     vols., 12mo, Cloth, $3.50.

Robinson Crusoe.

     The Life and Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York,
     Mariner. By DANIEL DEFOE. With a Biographical Account of Defoe.
     Illustrated by Adams. Complete Edition. 12mo, Cloth, $1.50.

The Swiss Family Robinson.

     The Swiss Family Robinson; or, Adventures of a Father and Mother
     and Four Sons on a Desert Island. Illustrated. 2 vols., 18mo,
     Cloth, $1.50.

     The Swiss Family Robinson--Continued: being a Sequel to the
     Foregoing. 2 vols., 18mo, Cloth, $1.50.

Sandford and Merton.

     The History of Sandford and Merton. By THOMAS DAY. 18mo, Half
     Bound, 75 cents.

       *       *       *       *       *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.

_Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on
receipt of the price._




BOOKS FOR YOUNG MEN.

       *       *       *       *       *

Character.

     Character. By SAMUEL SMILES. 12mo, Cloth, $1.00.

It is, in design and execution, more like his "Self-Help" than any of
his other works. Mr. Smiles always writes pleasantly, but he writes
best when he is telling anecdotes, and using them to enforce a moral
that he is too wise to preach about, although he is not afraid to
state it plainly. By means of it "Self-Help" at once became a standard
book, and "Character" is, in its way, quite as good as "Self-Help."
It is a wonderful storehouse of anecdotes and biographical
illustrations.--_Examiner_, London.

       *       *       *       *       *

Self-Help.

     Self-Help; with Illustrations of Character, Conduct, and
     Perseverance. By SAMUEL SMILES. New Edition, Revised and Enlarged.
     12mo, Cloth, $1.00.

The writings of Samuel Smiles are a valuable aid in the education of
boys. His style seems to have been constructed entirely for their
tastes; his topics are admirably selected, and his mode of communicating
excellent lessons of enterprise, truth, and self-reliance might be
called insidious and ensnaring if these words did not convey an idea
which is only applicable to lessons of an opposite character and
tendency taught in the same attractive style. The popularity of this
book, "Self-Help," abroad has made it a powerful instrument of good, and
many an English boy has risen from its perusal determined that his life
will be moulded after that of some of those set before him in this
volume. It was written for the youth of another country, but its wealth
of instruction has been recognized by its translation into more than one
European language, and it is not too much to predict for it a popularity
among American boys.--_N. Y. World._

       *       *       *       *       *

Thrift.

     Thrift. By SAMUEL SMILES. 12mo, Cloth, $1.00.

The mechanic, farmer, apprentice, clerk, merchant, and a large circle of
readers outside of these classes will find in the volume a wide range of
counsel and advice, presented in perspicuous language, and marked
throughout by vigorous good sense; and who, while deriving from it
useful lessons for the guidance of their personal affairs, will also he
imbibing valuable instruction in an important branch of political
economy. We wish it could be placed in the hands of all our
youth--especially those who expect to be merchants, artisans, or
farmers.--_Christian Intelligencer_, N. Y.

In this useful and sensible work, which should be in the hands of all
classes of readers, especially of those whose means are slender, the
author does for private economy what Smith and Ricardo and Bastiat have
done for national economy. * * * The one step which separates
civilization from savagery--which renders civilization possible--is
labor done in excess of immediate necessity. * * * To inculcate this
most necessary and most homely of all virtues, we have met with no
better teacher than this book.--_N. Y. World._

       *       *       *       *       *

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.

_Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on
receipt of the price._




THE FIRE-FLY GAME.


[Illustration]

[Illustration]

The game of fire-fly is very graceful and amusing for dull days or
winter evenings in the house. Out of a piece of Bristol-board (an old
playing-card will do) cut a figure in the shape of the annexed diagram.
If you have water-colors, and can paint it brightly in red and green or
red and yellow stripes, all the better. Lay it flat on the cover of a
book so that part of one of the wings projects over the edge; hold the
book at a slight angle, pointing toward the ceiling, and then with a
pencil or pen-holder give the projecting wing a smart blow, so as to
send it flying upward; it will go twirling through the air toward the
ceiling, and then return twirling back to the neighborhood of your feet.
The game consists in trying to catch it on the cover of the book when it
comes back. If you succeed, it counts you ten points; if you fail, you
allow the fly to lie where it has fallen. Your adversary now takes his
turn, and if he fails to catch his fly, then you see which fly has
fallen nearest to a certain line on the floor on which you have
previously agreed, and the owner of the nearest fly scores five. Whoever
first scores one hundred wins the game.

       *       *       *       *       *

=A School in Morocco.=--If one, happening to be in the south of Spain
some day, should run across the Straits of Gibraltar in a southwesterly
direction, he would come to the ancient city of Tangier, in Morocco.
Here he would see many curious sights, but none more picturesque than
the schools for children, of which there are several. A row of tiny
slippers at the door and a hum of childish voices inside prompt the
passer-by to look in. He sees a room, empty of furniture, and lit only
by the open door. The school-master, a veritable Moses in appearance, is
squatted on his haunches in the centre, and around him squat his pupils.
Each has his slate before him, and repeats his lesson with monotonous
chant, keeping his body moving backward and forward as if he were rowing
hard the whole time against stream. The school-master's whip is of
sufficient length to reach every boy around him, and now and then,
without rising from his seat, he touches one or other up in the same
manner as the driver of a mail-coach takes a fly off his leader's ear.
The imperturbable gravity of the master, and the comical looks and
quaint attire of the boys, form a picture which could not be transferred
to canvas.




[Illustration]

THE CHICKEN PUZZLE.


Here is an orange. With four cuts of the scissors and the prick of a pin
transform it into a chicken.




CHARADE.


  My first belongs to an ancient race;
  They say his pedigree he can trace
    To the time of the ark, and before;
  But this I know, though his family tree
  Be spread as wide as the sounding sea,
    He was _not_ a companion of Noah.

  My next in death plays a cruel part,
  And yet 'tis dear to a woman's heart,
    And sets her pulse beating high.
  Of all sizes and shapes, it can fly or bound;
  When most 'tis inflated it trails on the ground;
    When base, then it soars in the sky.

  My whole is extracted from earth and from sea;
  Compounded with care, from obstacles free,
    'Tis dear to the Yankee, I own.
  'Tis famous in song, and famous in story,
  And yet 'tis indebted for most of its glory
    To the time when 'twas taken alone.




[Illustration: PUSSY AT A DISADVANTAGE.--"WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO COME
IN?"]





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Harper's Young People, February 24,
1880, by Various

*** 