POLYPOD'S CAT.

BY ROSE TERRY COOKE.

Her real name was Mary; but there never was such a family for nicknames as the Dyers. Why they ever called pretty Nelly, the oldest girl, "Norken," instead of her royal name Eleanor, nobody could tell; or sober John, "Jinky," or Alice, the "big little girl," as Mary called her, "Pob" and "Phœbus"; but they did, and there are a great many things in this world one has to take as they are, without rhyme or reason. But she always was called Polypod by all the family; and when a stranger said, "What is your little girl's name?" whoever he asked only said, "Mary," and laughed.

Polypod was a dear little soul, as rosy and jolly and loving as a child could be; but sometimes she wanted a playmate. Nelly taught her every day, the school was so far off; and Jinky and Pob always took their dinner when they went, and were too tired or too grown up to play with Polypod when they came home at night; so she racked her brains for amusement. The Dyers lived on a great farm, and back of the house was a hill covered with woods. Polypod had a wild garden, as she called it, under the edge of these woods, where she planted all the pretty wilding flowers, adder's-tongue, squirrel-cups, Dutchman's-breeches, spring-beauty, Quaker-ladies, wet-root, jack-in-the-pulpit, columbine, blue and white violets—everything she could find, except trailing arbutus, which she could not make grow at her pleasure any more than other people can. Then she had a play-place in the big wood-shed for rainy days; a house furnished with broken crockery and nutshells, and inhabited by squash dollies and ladies made out of hollyhock petals. She could stay here all summer whenever she was tired of her garden, or it rained; but in winter was the hard time. She had her rag doll Miss Rosalinda Squires, to be sure, but there was no place to play except in the kitchen or the sitting-room, and Grandpa Dyer always sat by the sitting-room stove asleep, or smoking his pipe, or trying to read the newspaper; he did not like little girls; he was too old, and they made such a noise. Then everybody else was in the kitchen, and mother kept it so awfully clean! All Polypod could do was to go under the dinner table with Rosalinda and play they were living in a cavern, or shut up in jail; for when the leaf was down, and the brown cover on, they found it naturally quite dark under that table.

"Oh dear!" she said, one day, "I do wish I had somefing or somebody to p'ay with me."

Nelly came into the room just as she spoke, and heard her. It never had occurred to anybody in that house that Polypod could be lonely before. She was a little thing, and they all loved her, but they didn't stop to think much about her. If she had warm clothes, plenty to eat, and a dolly, why shouldn't she be satisfied?

"Why, child," said Nelly, "haven't you got the doll?"

"Yes, I've got her, an' she sits there an' sits there, Norken; she don't go a 'peck, she don't talk a singal wingal mite, not the very leastest word. I wish somefing would make her mad an' strike, she keeps so still;" and Polypod heaved a deep sigh as she looked at Rosalinda with melancholy disapproval.

"Mother," said Nelly next day, "can't Polypod have a kitten? The child gets lonesome for something to run about and play with her."

Polypod's eyes sparkled under the table where she was just putting Rosalinda to bed with the measles and scarlet fever—maladies she had herself experienced, and knew how to treat.

"I don't know," answered mother, stopping on the door-sill to consider. "She might for 't I know, but I'm afraid 'twould get into the keepin'-room and plague grandpa. I guess 'tain't best to resk it; she can play with Dolly;" so she shut the door behind her, and Nelly went out into the shed.

"Danpa's real mean an' horrid," sobbed Polypod, making a very bad face at the wall behind which he sat, the better to express her hurt feelings. She did not know how tired old folks are, how their bones ache, and their eyes get dim after they have lived and worked so long and so hard; and poor grandpa could not remember how he felt when he was a rosy naughty little boy himself. He did not think of much now but how to keep warm and quiet, and not have anybody push against his chair, or hit his lame foot that lay up on a carpet stool all the time. No wonder he did not like kittens, they jump about so everywhere!

But before spring came grandpa died one day, and there was a funeral. Nobody cried much: grandpa was too old to cry for; they all knew—all the grown-up people—that he must be glad not to ache any more, and he had been pretty cross, poor old man. The day of the funeral Polypod noticed her mother putting some black ribbon on Nelly's felt hat, and trying on to her own head a new black bonnet.

"What is you putting that ugly black bow on to Norken's bonnet for, muvver?" she asked.

"It's mourning, Polypod; people wear black when their folks die."

"What for?" curtly inquired the child.

"Oh, well, I s'pose to show they feel bad."

"I don't feel bad one mite," said Polypod, thoughtfully. Her mother in her busy hurry did not hear this comment, or Polypod would have been reproved, no doubt. But nobody puts black on so small a child for the loss of a grandfather, so Polypod made no more remarks.

The next week Nelly came into the sitting-room where the child had for once established herself in a corner of the old chintz-covered sofa.

"Polypod," she called out, "what do you suppose I've got in my apron?"

Polypod did not stop to guess; she jumped down and peeped in at a corner.

"Oh, Norken, a real live kitty! Oh! oh! oh! My vely own kitty?"

"Yes, you little goose," laughed Nelly; she could not comprehend what a wonderful and delightful treasure the kitten was to her little sister.

Polypod was not lonely any more; she hugged her precious kitty with all the tender passion of her warm little heart, she paddled out to the barn in all weathers to get it new milk, she taught it all sorts of tricks, it slept on her bed at nights, played hide-and-seek with her in the day-time, knocked Rosalinda Squires down from her silent state every time it found that neglected lady anywhere, and made things lively generally in the Dyer house. Even Pob and Jinky, solemn as they were with age and learning, could not help laughing at kit's tricks, and father Dyer, tired, and wet, and hungry as he might be when he came in from doing the chores, owned gruffly that, "That 'ere kitty's the spryest of all the critters I ever did see."

This was great praise from father, the most silent of men generally, and so little given to expressing his feelings that Polypod could not remember that he ever kissed her but once, and that was the day grandpa died.

Great was his mistress's joy when kit caught his first mouse; she did not like mice; but oh! how she cried and scolded when he fetched in a young robin panting, quivering, bleeding, its beautiful eyes dark with death. Polypod was almost ready not to love kit any more, but the tender little heart soon forgave her darling on the wistful plea that he was "only a kitty."

When Polypod's treasure was only a year old, one day he was missing; nobody could find him. He had taken to sleeping in the shed under the floor, and Jinky had made a bed there for him, to please his little sister, by taking up a board of the floor, and putting down an armful of hay and a bit of carpet. Kit liked this much; he had become a great hunter, and he could range the woods on moonlit nights after squirrels and winter birds, and then seek his retreat for a morning nap, going in from the outside through a hole in the rough stone foundation of the wood-shed. But he always came in for his breakfast; and to-day when Polypod called, there was no answer. Bobbin, as she had named him, did not come running to the step, his tail high in air, the end curved like a fish-hook, his ears forward, and his yellow eyes shining; nor did he come all day. It had snowed very hard the night before, and perhaps he had gone into a neighbor's barn, they thought; when it cleared up he would come trotting in as usual. But he did not. Day after day went by; somebody asked the neighbors, to no purpose, if they had seen the cat; somebody else trudged over to the lonely barn, two miles away, where they stored the surplus hay, but Bobbin was not there. Polypod cried till her eyes ached.

"Mercy me! don't take on so, child," said mother; "there's cats enough, dear knows. Pa'll fetch ye another kitty the next time he goes to the 'ville."

"Muvver! I want my kitty!" Polypod indignantly answered.

In about two weeks from Bobbin's disappearance a heavy rain and thaw set in: drifts disappeared, the earth was brown again, and out from that hole in the stones crept—who but Bobbin! thin as a shingle cat, eyes big as saucers, feeble, staggering, rough: but Bobbin! Now Polypod sobbed for joy; she would not let anybody touch him; she made him a flannel bed, and fed him with a tea-spoon till his voice came back, and he purred a faint song of gratitude. Polypod loved him now better than ever; and as his loose skin filled out, and his beautiful dark gray coat, dashed and striped with black, regained its gloss and depth, his attachment to the child seemed to increase; he followed her everywhere, into the woods after the first shy blossoms that laid off their gray furs and smiled up at the sun, down into the swamp edge to pick cowslip greens for dinner, into the lots for wild strawberries, and even up on the ledge for red raspberries; if anybody wanted Polypod, they said, "Where's the cat?" Mother looked on him with much favor now, for he not only rid the house of mice and rats as well as ever Whittington's cat could have done it, but he also caught all the little green or striped snakes that lurked in and about the old garden, which mother "could not a-bear!" It was very pretty to see him toss the coiling, squirming creatures high up in air, and then watch them with his handsome head cocked aside, and his paw held up ready for a pat as soon as they moved, or another toss. He never ate them, which pleased Polypod, for she felt as if she never could kiss him again after he had swallowed a snake.

It was in the late autumn that Bobbin most distinguished himself, however. Polypod had been quite ill; a touch of fever, the doctor said. She had been taken out of her tiny bedroom opening from mother's into the spare chamber up stairs, and put into that big old-fashioned bed that had a tester and white dimity curtains at the corners. One night Nelly had given her her medicine, and set down the tallow candle on the light stand, drawing the curtain to keep the light out of Polypod's eyes, when she was called down stairs to see one of the neighbors.

Half an hour after, as she was talking very busily, Bobbin came running into the room and began to walk round her, pull at her dress with his paw, go to the door, come back, rub against her, look up at her with great asking eyes, and at last mewed so impatiently that the neighbor said, "What upon earth ails that cretur? Seems as though he wanted suthin real bad."

"Oh! I guess he wants to get up into Polypod's room," said Nelly; "he sets by her dreadfully; but I was real sure I left him on to the foot of her bed, and I know I shet the door."

"Mebbe you'd better let him go up," suggested the visitor, who found Bobbin's importunity rather distracting to a very important conversation he wanted to begin.

So Nelly opened the door, and Bobbin rushed up the front stairs, and began to mew loudly at the top.

"I did shut the door, certain sure," laughed Nelly, going up to open it, and turning quite pale at the smell of fire, and then at the sight of Polypod calmly asleep in the bed, though the end of one pillow and the dimity curtain next the light stand were blazing and smoking away with a good-will.

Polypod might have burned or smothered to death but that Nelly had left the window over the shed roof open a little way when she went down, the night was so unusually warm; and probably Bobbin, seeing something wrong, had gone out here, jumped off the shed roof, and, making his way into the front door, gone to the first person he found for help. Now this is a true story, or I shouldn't dare to tell it. And thanks to Bobbin, and the visitor, who came tearing up when Nelly screamed, "Oh, George!" and pulled down the curtain very quickly, and stamped on it, there was no great harm done; for Polly's dose of skull-cap tea kept her quiet even when she awoke with the noise.

But nobody ever saw a cat so admired and well treated as Bobbin was after that. Nothing in the Dyer house was too good for him; and when, that same winter, he was chased by a dog of the tin peddler's, and fell into the well, from which he was fished out next day dead and dripping, Polypod's heart was broken. It was small comfort that Jinky dug a neat little grave under the Bell pear-tree, and put up a shingle head-stone, with the tender inscription:

"Here lies Bobbin,
Pretty as a robin,
Smart as a whip.
Why did he slip,
Sad to tell,
And get drowned in the well?"

This was all good, as far as it went, but Polypod cried harder and harder. At last she went to mother.

"Muvver," she piteously sobbed, "ca-can't I have a b-black bonnet to w-w-wear to meetin'?"

"Land alive, child! what under the canopy do you want a black bonnet for?"

"Why, you s-said folks w-wore 'em when any-b-body they loved was d-dead, to show they was s-sorry, and I'm aw-awful sorry 'bout Bobbin; more'n I ever w-was before—ev-ever so much!"

Mother upset the churn, and spilled the buttermilk on the spot. It was a hasty movement did it, but anything was better than to have dear little Polypod see her smile. She compromised for a black bow on the child's hood, on the ground that nobody in meeting was acquainted with Bobbin, and if the bow was noticed it might be thought that some distant relative of the family was dead. Polypod could only sob, "W-well, I don't c-care so vely much. I fe-feel real b-black inside."

Dear Polypod! may she live to grow up in the faith that it is better and truer than any depth of outward mourning to rend the heart, not the garments—in her own quaint phrase, to "feel real black inside!"

THE WHIRLIGIG HOUSE.

BY CHARLES BARNARD.

They were a very young couple, and as soon as they were married they tried to find a place where they could begin housekeeping. After looking about for some time, they found a lovely house, sheltered from the north and open to the south. It was a pleasant, airy spot, and quite sunny, so they decided to move in at once. Everything went beautifully in the new house until the third day, when, to their great alarm, they woke early in the morning, and found the sun rising in the south. This was very curious, for they had read in their school-books that "if you stand with your face to the south, the sun will rise on your left hand, and set on your right hand." Yet there was the sun rising as plain as could be in front of the house, and they knew the house faced south. However, the sun came up in the most natural manner in the world, went up to the middle of the sky at noon, and went down among some beautiful clouds at night in the north.

Next morning something still more wonderful happened: the young people slept quite late, for the sun rose behind the house, and they did not know it was morning until he was shining brightly.

"My dear," said the husband, "this is very singular. The sun rose in the north, and I suppose it will set in the south."

So it did, for they both watched it go down in front of the house.

"Never mind," said the wife. "I dare say the sun knows the way, and I'm very sleepy. I think I'll go to bed."

Then for a week the sun rose every day in the north, and set in the south, as if it were quite the proper thing to do. Then came a still more wonderful day: the sun rose in the north; but while the family were at dinner in the front parlor, it gave a jump and went clear round to the south, and set at night in the old-fashioned way.

"My love, I think the sun behaves in the most surprising manner. I hope there is nothing wrong with it."

"Oh, I hope not, I'm sure," said she, "for father could not afford to give us a mantel clock for a wedding present, and I have to depend on the sun. It would be very distressing if it should get out of order."

The next morning the sun rose in the west, and before it had been an hour high, it gave a big jump and ran round to the east, and then went calmly in the old way, as if nothing had happened. The young people were, of course, greatly surprised, and were much pleased to see it go down in the west, just as it used to do before it fell into such bad habits.

The next day the little wife went home to see her mother, and told the family all about it. They said it was very strange, but they had not noticed anything wrong with the sun. At night her father went home with her, and when he came in sight of the house, he sat on the fence and laughed so heartily that he nearly fell off. When he went home he told all the folks about it, and they had a good laugh over the young people who went to housekeeping in a ventilator.

[Begun in Harper's Young People No. 66, February 1.]

PHIL'S FAIRIES.

BY MRS. W. J. HAYS,

Author of "Princess Idleways," etc.

Chapter XIII.

THE FAIRY'S STORY CONCLUDED.

The owl replied softly, telling her errand, praising the bravery of the frog, and evidently pleasing the kingfisher with the news of the death of his enemy the night-hawk.

"I will go," he answered. "I do not pretend to be chivalric; I should prefer to sleep; nevertheless I will go. Rise, follow me. I expected to breakfast at home; now we will get some sea-food."

"He is always thus," whispered the owl, as Arthur and she rose high in the air. "He is a wonderful naturalist, a student of ichthyology, has a vast and profound fund of knowledge, but a great gourmand, always considering what he will eat; but he is reliable; we may trust him."

They sailed now high, now low, over ravines and gulfs, until the continuous murmur which had accompanied them deepened into the steady, solemn roar of the ocean. Great crags, broad sands, and huge waves tossing their white crests now met their eyes.

The soft faint gray of early dawn lit the heavens. The kingfisher perched himself on the top of a rock, and watched the seething waves with a steady and keen outlook. The owl fluttered down to the long line of breakers, and bade Arthur notice the immense quantity of sea-weed fringing the rocks in all directions.

"Now how to carry it back is the question," said Arthur, rather dolorously.

"My friend, have no fear," said the owl. "Go to work bravely, and gather all you can, then we will arrange to transport it. Hasten, however, as much as you can."

Arthur hopped about zealously. He was half deafened with the thunder of the waves, half blinded with the dashing spray, half drowned with the salt-water pouring from every cliff and cranny of the rocks. Still, he tore and clutched at the sea-weed, dragging it in masses larger than his own frog body to where the owl waited for him on the beach in a sort of grotto hollowed out by the waves. There they piled it until they both were assured they had the proper quantity. Then the owl flew to a promontory and hailed the kingfisher. Arthur, quite worn out, fell asleep. When he awoke, he found himself most strangely placed.

MAKING THE STURGEON USEFUL.

So soundly had he slept that the owl and kingfisher, having completed their arrangements for the removal of the sea-weed, had removed Arthur also, and he woke to find himself on the back of an enormous sturgeon, with sea-weed under him, over him, and about him. Tightly about the sturgeon was bound an old rope, which the kingfisher had procured from the remains of a wreck on the rocks, and in which he had entangled the sturgeon; this rope the owl and kingfisher took turns in holding, keeping the sturgeon near the surface of the waves by its check upon his movements, which were very bold and rapid. Thus, by the double force of flying and swimming, Arthur was carried with immense speed into the quiet waters of a bay, from which they had emerged on arriving at the ocean.

From the bay they sailed up into the river, and were coursing rapidly on to its narrower surface, when the sturgeon suddenly gave a great leap, very nearly throwing Arthur and his precious load off his back.

The owl screamed, the kingfisher shouted hoarsely, but tightened his hold upon the rope, while the sturgeon dashed madly on.

Again he made another frantic leap, whereupon the kingfisher gave him a thrust with his beak, to which the sturgeon replied:

"The current is becoming too shallow; I can go no farther. I must have air. How can you expect me to go up this trout stream? have you no mercy for such a beast of burden as you have made me?"

"Forward again!" shouted the kingfisher, tightening the rope again.

Arthur felt the sturgeon shiver, and was conscious that his movements were weaker. Another leap, and he burst the rope; but as he jumped, he tossed his load of sea-weed high in the air; it fell, and Arthur with it, on a rock.

The owl gave a long, dismal cry, the kingfisher swept madly away after the sturgeon, and Arthur, bruised and sore, lay panting on the rock. For a long while he could do nothing. The owl went off in search of food, promising to return at night-fall. The day wore on. Arthur, weak with hunger, tried to devour some of the sea-weed. It was too bitter and salt. Leaning over the edge of the rock, he saw a shoal of tiny fishes playing hide-and-seek in the eddies of the stream. He clutched at one of them, and devoured it. Never had he tasted a sweeter morsel. He caught another, and another, until his hunger was fully appeased. Evening came again; the moon shone early; Arthur was awakened from a long nap by the hooting call of the owl, which said,

"Here I am again, my distressed friend."

At the same moment the kingfisher swooped down on them, and stood tilting and flapping his wings on a corner of the rock. "Now," said he, "as I am a bird of my word, and have promised to help you, we will proceed to business. This sea-weed is dry, as you see, and very much lighter. You, Mrs. Owl, can easily carry it, while I will take your young friend Mr. Frog. Let us be off at once, you, madam, directing the flight."

The kingfisher and Arthur then heaped the sea-weed upon the owl, and Arthur, clambering on the rather oily back of the kingfisher, was once again going over the tree-tops.

Before morning they had reached the desired spot, the flat rock under the chestnut-tree, placed the sea-weed upon it, and, hardly waiting for thanks, the kingfisher left them.

Arthur thanked the owl warmly, assuring her of his deep gratitude. To which the owl replied: "You have done me quite as good service, and my thanks are quite as due to you. I return to my empty nest a desolate mother, but never shall I forget your generous sympathy. Possibly I may find consolation, but should I ever raise another brood, it could never equal the beauty of my lost darlings. Alas! we feathered creatures have great trials: we toil diligently for our families, build nests at great cost of time and effort, often to see them swept away by the winds; or, our nests lasting, and unattacked by enemies, many a young bird is thrown to the earth by the violence of storms, and comes to an untimely end through starvation. Sympathy, therefore, we appreciate; it helps us to bear our sorrows with becoming fortitude. Never shall I forget your gallantry, my friend; the thought of it will cheer many a solitary hour when all the world is asleep. I bid you farewell." So saying, the owl flapped her wings, and was gone.

Arthur hopped away from the chestnut-tree to the place where he had lost himself. It was early morning, but he was wearied, and slept in spite of all his anxiety. When he awoke he was no longer a frog, but a very hungry boy. The noonday sun was shining, and at his side hopped a little brown bird. It twittered gladly, as if congratulating him, but not one word could he understand. Before this adventure he would have probably frightened it away, but now he reached out his hand softly and stroked its feathers, then seeking berries, he placed them where the little creature could feast upon them. It peered at him with its bright little eyes, and even perched upon his shoulder. Never again did Arthur idly destroy any living creature of the woods—not the humblest weed or flower, bright-winged insect or speckled egg. Nor did he loiter again when sent upon errands. The elves thereafter left him in peace.

"Good-by, dear Phil; I am off now. This is my last story."

"Where am I? Has the music stopped? Was it my wind harp—my poor little wind harp?"

"Why, Phil, your wind harp is broken. Did you not know that it fell from your window last night?" said Lisa, coming into the dining-room.

"No. I wonder if I shall ever see the wind fairy again?"

"Dreaming again, Phil?" said Lisa.

"You always think I dream, Lisa, whenever I speak of fairies."

"Do I, dear? Well, you must get ready now for Graham; he is coming to take you out on the lake. Miss Schuyler will not be home to dinner, and we three are to have ours on Eagle Island."

Phil went up stairs and gathered together the broken pieces of his wind harp. He folded each piece up carefully in paper, and put them all away. "No more fairy stories," he said to himself. "Well, I suppose I am getting beyond them, and must put up with sober facts; but they are not half so nice," he said, with a sigh—"not half so nice." Then he took out his sketch-book and pencils, and prepared for work.

[to be continued.]

AN ORPHLING.

Mr. Kullchaw. "Good gracious, children, you must not think of bringing such a forlorn-looking cur as that in the house!"

Fanny. "Oh, but, Papa dear, when he is washed and mended, I think he'll look real nice, and we can exhibit him at the Dog Show."

Four different postmarks, for one foreign stamp.

Samuel K. Smith,
Mohrsville, Berks Co., Penn.

Four postmarks for each, foreign stamp. Only present issues desired.

J. W. Siddall, Jun.,
213 South Fifth Street, Philadelphia, Penn.

Postmarks, for stamps.

G. R. Siddall,
3958 Myrtle Street, Philadelphia, Penn.

Five foreign stamps, for one United States Department stamp. Fifty foreign stamps, for a two-dollar or five-dollar State Department. One hundred foreign stamps, for a ten-dollar or twenty-dollar State Department.

Charlie E. Sturgiss,
Marietta, Ohio.

Butterflies.

Charlotte Wood,
Care of J. J. Wood & Co., Columbus, Ohio.

Zinc ore, for foreign postage stamps.

Mary White,
132 East Forty-fifth Street, New York City.

One French or English stamp, for every ten common United States stamps.

Julie Wickham,
338 Lexington Avenue, New York City.

A few War and Treasury Department stamps, for stamps from China, Spain, Egypt, and the Argentine Republic.

Willie Walker,
1011 M Street, Northwest, Washington, D. C.

[For other exchanges, see third page of cover.]

Robert C. K.—Your specimen is a piece of bark of the white birch.

Evelyn A. and Elisabeth De Yonge.—Your pretty wiggles had so very far to travel—one all the way from Oregon, and the other across the sea from Holland—that they arrived too late for insertion. A very graceful lily introducing the wiggle, drawn by Theodora B, a little invalid girl of ten years, was also too late in making its appearance.

Newton C.—Directions for the care of rabbits have already been given in Young People, in the Post-office Box of Nos. 25, 31, and 54.

Alice M. and A. L. D.—Roller skates may be bought or ordered at any hardware store, or at any place where common skates are sold. The price varies according to the finish of the skate, but none of them are expensive. They can only be used on a smooth surface like city pavements, or a well-made floor.

Lise B.—There is no prettier way of celebrating the festival of May-day than the old-fashioned English custom of raising a May-pole covered with wreaths of flowers and green sprays, and choosing a Queen for the day. In ancient times every village in England observed the May-day pageant. A sort of bower or arbor was built on the green where the May-pole was raised, covered all over with flowers, and there the young girl who had been chosen Queen sat in great state, a wreath of flowers for a crown, and looked on while her subjects danced and played. It must have been rather tiresome to sit there and do nothing but look on, while the others were enjoying themselves with pleasant games, but it was thought to be a great honor to be chosen Queen, even for a day, especially as it was always the prettiest girl in the village who was selected.

As we have no Kings or Queens in this country, you might modify the festival, and when your father takes you and the other little girls out for your May-day picnic, you can leave out the Queen. Some of the boys in your party can easily raise a May-pole in some green spot, and you can decorate it with wreaths and flowers, just as the boys and girls of England did in the olden time. It will be a very pretty sight, and you can have your picnic spread around it on the soft grass.

A very pretty effect is sometimes made by tying stout cords to the top of the pole before it is raised, and covering them with vines, wreaths, and flowers. Afterward these cords are stretched out on all sides, and securely fastened to pegs driven into the ground, thus forming a sort of bower.

If you are fond of archery, you can imitate another old English May-day custom by playing the game of Robin Hood. The game is too elaborate to be followed exactly, but you can have bows and arrows and targets, and by dividing into two parties you can have very pleasant sport in trying your skill. In England the best archer represented Robin Hood, and the second best Will Stukely, both renowned men in the old ballads for their skill in the use of the bow. Then there was Friar Tuck and Maid Marian, and other characters, about whom you have read in the Robin Hood legends, who took part in the game; but it would take too much space to describe them all here, and you can get along just as well without them.

All May-day sports of the olden time were celebrated out-of-doors, and all had the same general character. Grown people as well as the young joined in the merry-making, and the whole day was given up to rejoicing that the reign of winter was over, and the season of soft airs and beautiful flowers had come again.

We have received a large number of puzzles on topics suited to the Easter holiday, some of which were excellent, but they all, without exception, arrived too late for insertion at the proper season. We accordingly acknowledge them with thanks, and with regrets that we can not print them.

Z. G. S.—Your stamps of different colors are different issues, the rose being that of 1868, and the blue of some years previous. If your stamp-book is large, and allows spaces for these different issues, it is interesting to keep both.

E. M. W.—Try the recipe for mucilage given in the Post-office Box of Young People No. 68. Spread it first on your stamp, and allow it to dry; then wet it slightly, and paste the stamp in your book. The leaves wrinkle because you use too much paste, and wet the paper more than is necessary.

Murray R. U.—Any change you desire will be made, but you must send your old as well as your new address, and both must be very distinctly written.

Jessie A.—Read the answer to Adele M. in the Post-office Box of Harper's Young People No. 36, Vol. I.

Alice C.—The little foreign girl you inquire about would, we are sure, prefer leaves pressed and varnished, so as to preserve their color.

E. B. A.—Many thanks for your favor, but as it is not new, we can not print it.

May and June.—1 and 2, French Republic; 3, German; 4, Sandwich Islands; 5, German (Bavarian). These stamps are all very common, and can be bought in New York city for a few cents.

Ned Nemo.—The address of the editor of the little paper has been changed, and we do not know the new one.

Belle and Carrie N.—There are so many dialogues and charades that it is difficult to select for you. It would be good practice for you to follow the example of Ida B. D., whose letter you will find in the Post-office Box of No. 63; that is, choose some story you all like, and arrange your own dialogue. If you have any brothers who could take part, a very pretty play might be made of "Mildred's Bargain."

A Constant Reader, Tennessee.—1. Music copied by hand pays letter postage. 2. Interesting as a curiosity; we do not know its market value. 3. Yes, if genuine. 4. No.

Willie F. C., Annie L. W., and Others.—You will find by referring to The Life and Career of Major John André, by Winthrop Sargent (published by Ticknor & Fields, Boston), that on page 312 it is stated that on the day preceding André's capture "seven young men, including Paulding, had agreed to waylay the road in quest of spoil, three of whom—Isaac Van Wart, David Williams, and John Paulding—kept the ambush, while four watched from a hill-top lest the light-horse should come on them unawares." Then, if you turn to page 315, you will find that when André prayed them to lead him to an American post, they set forth toward their comrades on the hill, Paulding leading the horse on which the captive was mounted. As the parties drew together, the guide informed Yerks, the chief man of the remaining four, of their capture.

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Claude S. Burr, Bessie Bolton, Maud M. Chambers, Clara E. Commons, J. I. Crane, R. O. Chester, Alice C. Hammond, Charles W. Hanner, L. A. Jones, Howard B. Lent, Beth D. L., "L. U. Stral," Percy McDermott, G. Massa, George M. McClure, Bessie H. Moore, C. H. Nichols, "Pepper," Torrance Parker, C. A. Q., Percy Ryan, Herbert M. Rogers, "Sir Finly," Gilbert P. Salters. John and Alice S., "Starry Flag," John W. Stout, W. I. Trotter, "Will a Mette."

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

ENIGMA.

First in meat, not in bone.
Second in pebble, not in stone.
Third in meal, not in corn.
Fourth in stem, not in thorn.
Fifth in girl, not in boy.
Sixth in hoop, not in toy.
Seventh in paper, not in book.
Eighth in turn, not in crook.
Ninth in youth, not in change.
The whole a noted mountain range.

Eugene S.

No. 2.

PYRAMID.

Across.—Fifty. A wager. Kindness. A sailor. Down.—One thousand. A note in music. An obstruction. A boy's name. A weight. A note in music. A letter.

Pepper.

No. 3.

NUMERICAL CHARADES.

1. I am a familiar proverb composed of 20 letters.
My 16, 6, 8, 11 is a bird.
My 1, 19, 6, 7, 20 is a man's name.
My 2, 18, 4 is not old.
My 9, 8, 5 is an unruly crowd.
My 10, 17, 13, 3, 14 is refreshing.
My 11, 1, 15, 14 is an insect.
My 12 is a vowel.

G. D. L.

2. I am composed of 10 letters, and am an ancient British Prince who bravely opposed the Romans for nine years, but was at last defeated, and carried captive to Rome.
My 1, 2, 3 is a vehicle.
My 4 is a vowel.
My 5, 7, 8, 6, 9, 10 is a plant.

F. B. W.

3. I am composed of 7 letters, and I once caused the death of a celebrated Greek.
My 1, 2, 3 is to confine.
My 4, 5, 6, 7 is to fasten.

Annie B.

4. I am a city in Europe composed of 10 letters.
My 6, 2, 3 is a dance.
My 1, 7, 10 is a tin vessel.
My 6, 4, 5 is in every farm-yard.
My 3, 9, 8 is often used by shoemakers.

Damon and Pythias.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 75.

No. 1.

Across.—1. Nail. 2. Nest 3. Yawn. 4. Love. 5. Lone. 6. Ague. 7. Lane. 8. Sate. 9. Many. 10. Lord. Zigzags.—New England.

No. 2.