"Why, Millie, where did you get that bird-skin which you wear in your hat?"
"I am sure I do not know, papa. But it is very seldom you take notice of my hats, and I am very glad that for once I am wearing one which interests you. Mamma bought the bird somewhere down town; I did not ask her where. I think he is just lovely; don't you?" and off came Millie's hat for the Professor's inspection. "Only see his breast, so bright that it almost looks to be on fire, and just above it his throat as white as a patch of snow! Isn't he perfectly splendid?"
Her father had taken the hat in his hand, and was examining the bird with an expression of face that showed he was thinking of something more than what was before him. He stood so long without speaking that Millie broke out in her usual lively manner:
"Why, papa, I never saw you look at a girl's hat so closely before—mine or any one's else. I have had handsomer hats than that, and you did not say a word about them. The bird is very beautiful, I know, but what do you see so wonderful in him?"
"I was wondering how he could come here, my child. You do not know where your mother bought the skin, but do you know where the bird lives?"
"No, sir, not at all. I have no doubt you do, but I never thought of it. Did you ever see them in their native country?"
"Yes, Millie, I have seen them often. The species is African; I saw them very often in South Africa—once, I recollect, at Zanzibar, and on the West Coast I have seen them in Senegambia and at the mouth of the Gaboon. Shall I tell you where I first saw the bird?—for I can never forget it, and the sight of this skin brought back that day to me so forcibly, that for a moment I forgot where I was."
"Oh! do, papa, do. You know how I rejoice in the stories. What a favorite hat this will be!"
"Let us go into the library, then, where I can show you an engraving that I have. Please hand me the russet-leather portfolio from that lower drawer. See, I have opened at once to the very one I wished to find. It will give you an excellent idea of the two bright little kingfishers that I saw that day on the west bank of the Nile."
"The Nile, papa! I wonder if mine came from the Nile? Only think of my Nile-bird hat!"
"That I can not tell, Millie. But before I go on with my story it is well that you should know something about the family of birds to which this one belongs, for he has many relatives, and they are scattered in almost all countries, and one at least of them has been famous among poets for two thousand years. Did you ever hear or see the expression used of halcyon days, meaning days of great prosperity and happiness?"
"Yes, sir, I recollect it was in one of the pieces of poetry we read only last week in school, and I wondered at the time what it meant, and I intended to ask you."
"I will tell you. This little bird of the drawing and of your hat is a kingfisher, and the kingfishers are found, as I explained, in almost all parts of the world. We have one species, not at all uncommon, throughout the United States, which is known in the books as the belted kingfisher. Our little African here, you see, is not larger than a sparrow, but his belted brother is almost as large as a common pigeon, and well do I recollect what a time a lot of us had, when I was a boy about twelve years old, in trying to get at the nest of a pair of them. Kingfishers the world over build their nests in deep burrows which they make in river-banks and similar places. Eight of us gathered one Saturday, with Tom Perkins—a stout boy of fifteen—for a sort of Captain, and Charlie Mason for Lieutenant. We worked all that day, and then nearly until night, of the following Saturday, before we found the end of the burrow. Tom said he really thought we should dig across Deacon Moseley's farm and out into Widow Whitman's pasture lot. It was sixteen feet and a half that the birds had burrowed into a very hard bank of clay.
"This was our American species, whose name is Ceryle alcyon; but all about the shores of the Mediterranean a similar smaller species is found which by the old Latins was called Alcyon or Halcyon, though in ornithological works, now it is named Alcedo hispida. Most absurd stories have always been told concerning it. It was said to have the power of preventing storms, of keeping the sea perfectly quiet, so that while the female was sitting on her eggs the weather was always calm and peaceful, and you see readily how the word halcyon came therefore to have in poetry the meaning to which I have referred. Of course this was all foolishness, but it was only one of many tales which have been told about that very bird, and some of which I have no doubt are believed by ignorant people to this day."
"Is he a handsome bird, papa, like this one in my hat?"
"Oh no; on the contrary, he is of quite plain plumage. You must not fancy that our species or the European possess any such brightness of color. Now look at the picture again. You see both the male and the female. Notice, by-the-way, that they are sitting near the mouth of their burrow. Look at those long crest feathers. They are shining blue, almost like the sky, with light ashy green spots, while the jet-black ones fairly sparkle on their blue background. And then his blazing red lower surface, with his white throat and that enormous bill of bright vermilion, makes such an assemblage of brilliant color as you seldom see."
"Let me get the map, papa, and then please show me just where you found my little bird."
"That is right, Millie; you will be more interested the more definitely you fix the knowledge. How well I remember that day. It seems as though it had been but yesterday. Among all the rivers of the world, there is not one which can be compared with the Nile. It does not seem like any other water. There's a sort of magic about it. All the time that I spent there I felt myself living in dreamland rather than in anything that belonged to this life and this world. It is not the river itself, for I have seen a number of much finer and grander streams of water in other countries. The Danube or the Ganges can either of them surpass it, while here in America I could select half a dozen which are more than its rivals. But any one of them I always felt that I could understand. They were beautiful, they were grand, with charming banks and forests and fields and cities, but there was nothing strange about them. They seemed like other parts of the world. But the Nile is not like them; it never looked to me like a reality. Everything about it was so mixed with mystery that if I had waked any morning and found that there was no Nile to be seen where I saw it the night before, I should have thought it was all right.
"All around me were monuments and temples and houses so old that those who built them had died and been forgotten hundreds and perhaps thousands of years before the earliest history of which we have any knowledge commenced. Who were those people? I could tell how they looked, for there were their figures and faces carved on the stones, but—who were they? Where did they come from? Negroes, Asiatics, Egyptians, such as were about me every day; there they were carved, and sometimes painted, on the ruins, and I used to wander around and wonder, and dream, and wonder, and it was in the midst of just such wondering as that that a little kingfisher flashed upon me, and it is not strange that I remember him. Do you see the First Cataract, Millie, on the river?"
"Yes, here it is. P-h-i-l-a-e, Philæ; is that it?"
"That is the name of an island there with some extremely beautiful ruins upon it. Few travellers ascend the river further; they stop there and return; but I did not; I continued on to the south a long distance. One day, just before I reached the Second Cataract, I had stopped on the west bank of the river to rest my men for an hour or two. It was a burning hot afternoon, perfectly calm, with the sun blazing down on the white sand of the desert and on the glass-like water of the river, until it was enough to almost fry one's brain. Three or four palm-trees grew at this point, and it was their shade which had induced me to stop; but I found to my great delight that what was probably a temple had formerly stood there, and some of the fragments still remained. One of these fragments represented a human figure seated. The head was gone, and one arm; the other arm was perfect, with the hand lying on the knee, and I began to make a drawing of the whole.
"Just as in my drawing I reached the hand, and was sketching its shape on the paper, a little blue and red bird passed me, with a cry somewhat like the one you may hear any morning from our American species, and swinging up he perched himself on the very hand which I was drawing at the moment. It was a lovely little kingfisher. He sat there but a moment, and then darted to a hole in the river-bank, which he entered, and which I knew must contain his nest. It was such a burrow as our American species makes, and forthwith came back to my mind the time when I was a boy, and when Tom and Charlie and the rest of us worked so hard at digging toward Deacon Moseley's lot.
"I watched till the little fellow came out. Then he flew away, and I soon lost sight of him. His name is Corythornis cyanostigma, and the sight of another here in your hat carried me away so completely that for the moment I almost fancied I was on the Nile again, the association was so powerful."
"Well, papa, I am very glad of it. I will wear him only a day or two, and then I will take him out and give him to you, and get mamma to put something else in his place. You may be sure I shall never forget my Nile-bird hat. But did you not say that there are kingfishers found in other countries? I suppose they must be like this, even if they are not so beautiful."
"Yes, there are; and I must tell you of one most remarkable species, Millie—remarkable for his voice, though not for any beauty of color. We will call him Dacelo gigas—gigas meaning very large, for he is a great clumsy bird. He lives in Australia. The first night I ever spent there 'in the bush'—which means out in the wild country—I was waked just before daylight by a most outrageous racket in the thicket close to me. I started up in some fright, and roused a man near me. 'Oh, go to sleep; that is nothing but a jackass.' But as we were where a donkey would not be likely to come, I could not tell what to make of it, and I did not go to sleep, and by-and-by I heard him again and again, but my comrades paid no attention to the sound, and so I said nothing further.
"After breakfast I took my gun, and started out to look for birds. Among others I shot a great coarse-looking kingfisher, larger than a crow; and when I returned to camp, the man whom I had roused in the morning remarked, as I laid out my game: 'There, you have got him. That is the very fellow that you heard this morning. We always call him the laughing jackass.' And often after that I heard their harsh cry, like laughing and braying together."
I didn't like that little French village. Thad and I were at our wits' end to find some way to amuse ourselves. There wasn't any river to row on, nor any hills to climb, and not a single person we could talk to out of the family.
Then you sort of felt as if you were a lunatic in an asylum; for instead of fences, every house had a high stone wall around it; that is, every house except the one where we boarded, which was surrounded by an iron railing, with the bars just far enough apart to make it look like a cage in a menagerie. At least this is what Thad said it reminded him of, and sometimes I used to see him tearing up and down behind it, playing he was an African lion. I didn't tell him it was silly, because once in a while I turned panther myself. It was an awfully poky town.
About three times every day Thad and I used to beg father to go somewhere else, but he always said, "Have patience, boys." I wonder if anybody ever counted the number of times fathers and mothers say, "Have patience"? If it's as tiresome to say as it is to listen to, I feel sorry for them.
Well, one morning when they both were out driving, and the landlady had gone to market, and there was nobody at home but the French cook and us boys, I was that sorry for Thad, not to mention how awfully dull I was myself, that I felt I must do something. So I called Thad down-stairs, and told him I'd invent a new play for him.
"We can use the fence just the same for a cage," I explained, "and you're to be a tiger a keeper's trying to tame. I'll be the keeper, and at first you must snap at me through the bars; but I'll look you straight in the eye all the time (that's the way keepers do), and then all of a sudden I'll open the door, rush into the cage, and you'll be tamed."
Thad said that would be fun, and then I got father's cane, and we both went out into the front yard. Hardly anybody ever walked on that street, so I wasn't afraid of being interrupted.
I went outside, shutting the gate behind me, and Thad having curled himself up close to the railing, pretending to be asleep, I began operations by poking him with my stick.
At first he only gave a low growl (I wasn't sure whether tigers growled or howled, but I told him a growl would do); but when the cane slipped and tickled him under the arm, he jumped up, and neither growled nor howled, but screamed, until I was obliged to remind him that he wasn't a wild-cat.
"But tickling's no fair," he cried, still squirming a little.
"All right," I answered, beginning my taming operations, and keeping my eye on him in a way that I think really began to frighten him.
Then he started racing up and down inside the fence, I after him on the outside, until we were both quite out of breath, and then he stood still, and snapped at me between the bars.
We were right by the gate, and while he had his head out, pretending to gnaw my stick, I suddenly let go of it, and slipping through the gateway, rushed up behind him before you could say "Jack Robinson."
"Now you must turn around, and we'll look at each other for a minute, and then you'll give in," I cried, making believe crowd into a corner of the cage.
"But I can't turn round," exclaimed Thad. "I can't get my head out."
"Why, how did you get it in, then?" I replied, stepping up to examine into matters. "Twist it the other way."
Thad thereupon obediently gave a fresh tug, but all in vain; his head remained stuck between the bars like a cow's in the patent stalls.
I was scared then, and never thinking about tigers, took him by the neck, and tried my best to get him free; but I couldn't. Then he set up a very unbeastlike yell, which brought the French cook out of the house, with a bunch of garlic in her hand.
When she saw what had happened, she screamed louder than Thad. The noise they both made together was something frightful, while I ran first one side of the fence, then the other, wondering dismally if we'd have to live in that town always because Thad couldn't get his head out.
If we'd had any neighbors except a deaf old man, a woman who never left her bed, and two young men who went to work three miles away, I suppose we'd soon have had a crowd around us, but as it was, nobody appeared but a little girl with a hunk of bread, the sight of which caused Thad to stop hollowing, and declare that we must bring him something to eat.
When I had opened and shut my mouth several times, pointing my finger down it and then at Thad, the cook comprehended what was wanted, and rushing outside of the fence, put that bunch of garlic right under my brother's nose.
"Pah!" he exclaimed, and wrenched his head back so suddenly that I half expected to see both his ears drop off.
"Oh dear," I groaned, "if he can't free himself with such a jerk as that we can never get him out at all."
Then recollecting that Thad hated the smell of garlic as much as I did, and seeing that the cook was still trying to feed him with it, I motioned sternly toward the house, and ordered her to "departez," which wasn't hard to say, as you just take an English word and put a little French end to it.
She understood me at once, and seemed to feel quite insulted, for she walked straight back to the kitchen, slamming the gate after her.
The next minute somebody slapped me on the shoulder, and turning, I jumped as if I had seen a ghost, for it was Thad, and I was at least five feet from the fence. You see, when the gate was open the space between those two particular bars was a little smaller than when it was shut. Thad and I might have remained in that pickle for any length of time, he screaming at the top of his voice, and I dancing around him in agony. Who knows how long it would have taken us to find out that all we had to do was to shut the gate, if that woman hadn't got mad and given it such an awful slam?
Small fingers always want to be kept busy. No matter how warm the weather is, they can not lie comfortably quiet, but must be doing something. Why not try a little rustic-work, setting up a good-natured rivalry with florists and landscape gardeners? It will require the boys and girls both—the boys to do the heavy work, and the girls to supply the grace and minor ornamentation.
Rustic-work is a term that by general consent is now applied to all structures of wood the forms and surfaces of which are left in their natural shape, or covered with material such as bark, cones, fungi, etc.
Fig. 1 is an excellent example of nature's rustic-work. How kindly the golden-rod, blackberry, Virginia creeper, and ferns have ranged themselves about the old stump to increase the picturesque beauty of its decay!
Now imagine this stump transplanted to a lawn or garden with its wealth of wild plants and shrubs, while in strong contrast to these are planted in the hollow of the stump a variegated mass of drooping vines, and the most beautifully marked and colored of the so-called "foliage" plants. Truly no imported and expensive jardinet (small garden) of highest artistic workmanship was ever made that could compare with this of nature's wild and cultivated beauty.
There are thousands and thousands of just such stumps that with a little care and trouble might easily be converted into beautiful lawn and garden adornments.
When digging out such a stump, the ground must be well excavated from about and under the main roots, which are sawn (not chopped) off about one foot below the surface of the ground. In replanting the stump, try to imitate all the natural features of the ground surrounding it, even to rocks and toad-stools. The latter are not poisonous unless eaten, and are very picturesque.
The best soil for filling in the spaces about the roots and the bottom of the stump is the black and rich "vegetable mould" found in all old woods. Next to this comes peat, which can be obtained from dried-up ponds and ditches, only care must be taken to crush it fine, and mix with it about one-third of ordinary garden soil; otherwise it will be apt to cake after rains.
When setting up a stump jardinet it is the easiest thing in the world to establish at the same time a small menagerie. Tree-toads, common garden-toads, all varieties of land-snails, field-mice, chipmunks, can be induced to make their homes in and about your stump if they are well treated and cared for.
To set up a successful stump menagerie, little nooks must be formed under the roots by means of stones so placed together as to leave open spaces of various sizes. These must connect with one another, as shown in Fig. 2. When covered with earth, these chambers are entered by means of runs which connect with the under-ground chambers. All creatures that set up a home in these chambers will have a good time if you do not dig them out every other day, "just to see, you know, how they are getting along."
But now let us imagine that no such rotted-out and picturesque stump is to be obtained. There is still quite an easy way to make a jardinet.
First obtain from a grocer a half butter-keg, which will cost about twenty cents. Wash it out thoroughly with hot water to cleanse it of all salt, that might prove injurious to growing plants. In the bottom bore a number of small holes, and place a layer of broken flower-pots or pieces of charcoal two inches in depth. The holes are for the purpose of draining off all surplus water. The layer of charcoal is to prevent the soil at the bottom of the tub from being carried away through the draining holes. If these precautions are not taken, the earth in the tub will "sour," and the roots of the plants will rot. Next obtain a log of wood of rough exterior, and also some rough bark. The tub must be fastened to the top of the log, as shown in Fig. 3, and the latter firmly planted in the desired spot. The bark must be nailed to the tub so as to join and match the bark on the stump.
On dead and decaying white-birch-trees many kinds of fungi are to be obtained, and at the bases of very old trees many varieties of lichens. These, when fastened to the jardinet as shown in Fig. 4, produce a very natural and picturesque effect. About the base of the jardinet rude-shaped stones are piled up. The spaces of earth between the rocks are dug out to the depth of from one-half to three-quarters of a foot. These are technically known as "pockets," and are for the reception of vegetable mould. The rookery is now in condition for planting with cultivated and wild ferns, and also low-growing varieties of plants. The tub is also filled with mould, and planted with "foliage" plants and vines.
Fig. 5 is a jardinet, vinery, and fernery combined. The upright post is of red cedar or locust, with the bark on. A square piece of board two inches in thickness is nailed on top of the post, and on this is placed a half butter-tub, on which pointed slats half an inch thick and two inches wide are nailed. These slats are painted green, and a light and graceful trimming of rustic vinery is tacked on near the top and bottom of the slat-work. Instead of slats, straight rustic branches split in half and pointed at both ends can be used.
The branch-work consists of a circle of branches of drooping habit, the ends or stocks of which are both nailed and bound with wire or stout twine, so as to support the weight of vines when they reach it from the tub above and the trellis below. The twine-work for the vines consists of gray or green twine. There is a twine sold by florists by the name of "invisible twine," which is of a light green color, and is used for training vines; this is far superior to the white cotton cord generally used, which always looks cheap and inartistic, and in course of time frays out and breaks. But this cheap cord can be made very durable and pleasing in color by running it through hot yellow bees-wax in which has been mixed any of the cheap chrome greens.
A small wooden hoop is securely fastened to the bottom of the post close to the ground by means of four wooden hooks; to this hoop the lower ends of the twine are securely fastened; the upper ends are tied to the branch-work, which helps to retain them in a drooping position. To obtain the best results and light and graceful effects, always plant Madeira or cypress vines; avoid the fancy gourds and other heavy climbers, as they are apt to break down the twine-work during heavy storms. At the base of the structure a heavy rockery is massed, containing numerous pockets. In these, ferns and the English ivy and the so-called German ivy are planted.
All rustic-work should present the appearance of solidity and durability, and must be strongly put together. Never use in any way marine forms or material in conjunction with rustic-work or rockery. They are entirely out of keeping and harmony with nature, and indicate a great want of taste. Nothing can exceed the ugliness of a bordering of clam or oyster shells, or Florida conch shells; they are worse than calcimined or white-washed rocks.
A bright little Jap is Tommi Taroo,
And he swings on a piece of round bamboo;
For round bamboo is the very best thing
That a boy can use as a seat for a swing.
He lives in the town of Hiogo—
A very nice place to live, you know,
Because it's such fun to go to Kobé,
The city of strangers, just over the way:
A city of Yankees and English too—
Comical fellows to Tommi Taroo—
French and Dutch and Portuguese,
And many another from over the seas.
Fish-day, fish-day in Hizen;
Fish for the women, but not for the men;
Fish for the girls, but not for the boys.
To-day only women know fishermen's joys.
And all on account of Queen Jungu,
Who once caught a fish as fishermen do;
The fish said, "Go and conquer Corea,"
And this she did within a year.
And that is the reason the girls to-day
Are all out fishing, instead of at play;
And I think the fish they show to you
Is as fine as that of Queen Jungu.
Lu-wen lived in Hakodadi;
Lu-wen was a little laddie.
Lu-wen's head was nicely shaved.
He was very well behaved.
Suzume was Lu-wen's mother;
Nakamura was his brother.
Very fine was Nakamura,
And his dress was silk of Surah.
His umbrella and his fan
Were the largest in Japan.
Once he gave them to Lu-wen,
But bade him bring them back again.
This Lu-wen was glad to do
When he'd gone a block or two;
For people left their tea and soy
To stare at him, and call out, "Halloo, big umbrella! where are you going with that little boy?"
Three little Satsumas and old Satsuma,
Or four Satsumas in all,
Laid aside their tasks, and put on their masks
For a grand Matsuri ball.
They howled and growled, and acted like
Wild animals born and bred.
To make an impression they formed a procession,
With old Satsuma ahead.
Just then the clown, of all the town
The funniest man to be found,
Jumped on to the back of the first of the pack,
And merrily rode him around.
Now, when he begun, they thought it was fun,
And acted as though they'd gone mad,
Until old Satsuma, in very bad humor,
Said, "Enough of this thing we have had."
Eight little girls of Japan,
All running as fast as they can
For fear she'll be late,
Each one of the eight
Is running as fast as she can.
Did you ever see children so fat?
In Japan, though, they say, "What of that?"
To be fat is a duty;
It adds to your beauty.
And that is the reason they're fat.
This dear little Mabel,
She isn't quite able
To say what it is has gone wrong;
But she looks in the glass.
And the shadow-frowns pass
O'er a face that is sweet as a song.
She is thinking of Lizzie,
Whose hair is so frizzy.
She wishes her own could be cut;
But papa, only said
When she showed him her head,
"What, spoil it, my darling?—tut! tut!"
The other day, as the Postmistress was driving down a pretty rural road, she came upon a farm-house which stood all alone. It was late in the afternoon, and there was nobody stirring about the place; doors and windows were closed; the dog was asleep beside his kennel; the gray cat, with two kittens cuddling close to her, was taking a nap on the mat by the front door; and it was as quiet as could be all around, until—peep! peep! cluck! cluck!—there came suddenly in view the prettiest brood of chicks in the world; thirteen of them, dears, and every one as white as swan's-down. The little snowy puff-balls were taking an airing with their sober cream-colored mamma, and the Postmistress will not soon forget how cunning Mrs. Hen and her family looked. Pray, Daisy and Mattie, Freddy and Guy, have you a dainty brood of chicks at your house? And why haven't you sent the Postmistress word about them?
Danby Four Corners, Vermont.
I am a little boy nine years old, and will be ten the 9th of August. I have a calf and a canary-bird and a little kitten. I go to school almost every day. I have an auntie who sends me the money to buy Harper's Young People. I hope she will send money every year. My grandma sends me a little pin-money every month. I have over fifty dollars in the bank. I have no father, and my mamma is poor. I can't think of any more to write this time.
Robert.
When you are a man, as you will be one of these days, you will be able to work for your dear mamma. She is not very poor if she has a good and loving son ten years old. I am glad to hear that you do not spend for toys and candies all the money grandma sends you, but save some of it for future use.
Rockport, Massachusetts.
As I have never seen a letter in Our Post-office Box from Rockport, I thought I would write one to tell you how much I enjoyed reading "Toby Tyler," and how much I like "Mr. Stubbs's Brother." I have a dear little baby sister nearly eight months old. Her name is Mattie. We think she is the prettiest baby in the world. Mamma says that every one thinks the same of their baby, so I suppose all are satisfied. I am twelve years old, and go to the Grammar School. My studies are arithmetic, reading, spelling, history, grammar, and geography. I take music lessons twice a week. My sister and I are much interested now in reading the works of C. C. Coffin. I like The Story of Liberty, Old Times in the Colonies, Boys of '76, and Winning his Way the best.
Annie L. B.
You could not read better books, dear, than those you mention. Boys of '76, in particular, should be in the library of every American child.
Sullivan, Indiana.
I am a little girl ten years old. I have a Maltese cat; its name is Mallie. I have three chickens. One of them is a bantie. My sister Libbie gave it to me. Its name is Chickie, and the other two are Dick and Topie. My papa gave me Harper's Young People for a Christmas present. My sister Effie took it two years, and now I am taking it. I wrote a letter once before, and it was not published. Oh, I hope this one will not be put in a pigeon-hole! We have a pea-fowl. We call him Sancho, because he speaks the word so plainly, and mamma thinks he tries to be like Sancho Panza. I am taking music-lessons, and learning to ride on horseback, and when papa leaves the old gentle horse at home we go out riding. I have two sisters and one brother. I signed the red-ribbon pledge. I think Jimmy Brown's stories are very nice.
Maggie A. C.
Cahto, California.
A little girl, a subscriber of Harper's Young People, thinks all the little girls should say something, to Mr. Harper to tell him how pleased we are every week to receive our paper. I wish every little girl could have as nice a time as I do, fishing for trout. Away out here where we live is a creek that has fish in it. Brother and I go fishing every Saturday, and I enjoy the sport very much. Brother Ed cut down a tree which was one hundred and fifty feet tall, and in the top of it was a rat's nest. We thought it strange that a rat would go so high to build its nest. I brought the little rats home, but they died.
Sophia R. (aged seven.)
That was a very ambitious rat, little Sophie. It was just as well the rat babies did not live; they would have been very troublesome pets. Do you ever forget to come home to dinner when you are waiting for the trout to bite? That is what a little friend of mine does sometimes.
Montclair, New Jersey.
I want to tell you about my pets. In the first place, we have two canaries; mine is Dick, and Dandy belongs to my brother Willie. Dicky was bought for me, but Dandy came to us. One Sunday morning papa was reading, and Dicky hung on the piazza. We suddenly heard two canaries singing, and looking to see what was the matter, we saw a strange bird eating Dick's seed. He was willing to be caught, and papa gave him to Willie. Dick and he sing together a great deal now. Dick was once carried down into the cellar in the mouth of Henry, our cat, who laid him on the coal-bin, and was just preparing to eat him when the girl came down and took him up-stairs. We did have a mocking-bird too—his name was Jack—but he died. A horrid cat came in one dark night and frightened poor Jackie to death. Another pet is a dog, whom we call Chaucer. He is five years of age, and we have had him since he was two weeks old.
Effie E. H.
What a good thing the birdie was rescued in time from the clutch of Madame Puss, who can not help being a hunter, as it is her nature.
Pensacola, Florida.
I am a little boy nine years old. I like to read about Mr. Stubbs's Brother, and I watch every week for Young People to come. I have two dear sisters. Mary, aged five, who is in Jacksonville with our grandma, and Ethel, who is the sweetest and the prettiest baby in the State. My papa is the principal of the High School here. I am going to take lessons on the piano from my mamma this summer. It is nice to walk down to our lovely bay, and see it full of ships from all countries.
Alfred McC. W.
Indianapolis, Indiana.
Papa says if I want to be pretty sure to have my first letter published in Young People's Post-office Box, I must write something new and interesting. As I have read or had read to me by mamma all the letters since Young People started, and do not remember having heard anything about railroads, I will tell you about them. Papa works in a railroad office, and often takes me with him on trips out on the road, and into the shops and yards, and has taught me the difference between a journal and an axle, a truss-rod or hog-chain and a stay-chain, and other parts of a car. I have seen an engine in the shops all taken apart, the wheels all out from under it, and all the bright Russia iron stripped off the boiler, which left it a dull, rusty-looking piece of hollow iron, for they take out the front end and flue sheets and flues, and you can see clear through back to the fire-box, and all cold; so unlike an engine when fired up and full of steam, coupled to a train, ready to pull it out when the conductor says, "All aboard!" I would like to tell you about a ride I took on an engine at night, but I am afraid I have made my letter too long now. I am eight years old, and mamma helped me to spell the hard words.
Re.
Write again, little bright-eyed Re, and tell us about your ride. We would like to hear from you.
Little Johnny Jump-up,
Under the trees,
Laughing in the sunshine,
Nodding to the breeze.
Little Johnny Jump-up,
Some folks call him Pansy;
Johnny doesn't care a bit—
Follow out your fancy.
Poor little Daisy, with ruffles and tucks,
Has to sit still, lest she spoil her fine dress.
Dear little Rose, in a calico gown,
And a checked gingham pinafore, plaided and brown,
Is the happier girlie, I guess.
"I can paint pictures," says sweet little Nell;
"I study music," says darling Estelle;
"I ride my pony," cries dear little Lou.
Here's our wee Margie, and what can she do?
Bless her, the good little sister at home:
"I take care of baby and brother Jerome."
When you think you are hungry.
And are not quite sure,
Then candy or cake, dears,
The hunger will cure.
But when you've been playing,
We'll say by the brook,
And fishing with pins, dears,
Instead of a hook,
Then good bread and butter,
A generous slice;
For boys and for girls, dears,
There's nothing so nice.
New Haven, Connecticut.
I am a little girl nine years old. I have a little pet kitten. The mother and she played beautifully together, until two great dogs came in the yard, and she ran to protect her kitten; but instead of killing the kitten, they killed the mother. This is all I am going to write to-day.
Nelly M. F.
Indeed, dear Nelly, I am very sorry for the fate of your poor cat. Could nobody save her from her enemies? She had the true mother spirit. Even a timid bird will grow brave, and fight to defend its fledglings if they are attacked.
San Antonio, Texas.
We have a little farm three miles from San Antonio, and we borrow a little donkey, or burro, as the Mexicans call it, to go out there; and you would be amused to see us. Mamma bought us a saddle, and the good old man who loans us the burro has a little dog-cart. Sometimes we use the saddle, and sometimes the cart, and away we go. It would remind you of Punchinello and his horse and black cat on his way to Paris. When the little donkey concludes to go fast, and when he wants to go slow, we are very much at his mercy, for he does as he pleases. We go out to the farm, and swim, and hunt eggs for papa, and gather wild flowers to bring mamma; and, dear Postmistress, we caught three little mocking-birds, and have them in a cage. We would send them to you if we could; and if we go to New York, as we think we will, we will bring them to you. Mamma told us we were very naughty indeed to take the little birdies, and asked us how we would like to be kidnapped and carried from home. Then we were very sorry we had taken them, and wanted to carry them back; but she said it was too late then; that the poor mother had probably gone away when she found her babies stolen. So we promised mamma not to take a bird again, and we will keep our word, for when we took them we did not think a mother bird would grieve as our mamma would if we were stolen. The mocking-birds sing any song, and if they hear any one play on the piano, they will whistle the same tune; and one used to call like the little chickens, and papa hunted everywhere, thinking some little chick had lost its mother, when what should he see but a mocking-bird on the gate, making the same noise a little chick does when its mother is out of sight!
Our farms look fine now; everywhere in Texas crops are good, and the people rejoice in the hopes of a heavy cotton and corn crop. On our little farm the tenant last year planted three acres of oats, that he sold out there for ninety dollars, and this spring very early the volunteer oats (as papa calls them) came up in place of the ones planted last year, and the man sold them as they stood in the ground for thirty-one dollars, and then, after they were cut, he planted corn and pumpkins on the same land, and we now have a fine crop. Mamma thinks it is a pity that more poor people do not come here and farm. Sometimes she tells us of the poor in New York and other cities, and we wish they were here in our warm climate, where, if we are not very rich, we are not often so very poor. But we are not satisfied here, as the doctors tell mamma this climate is too warm for her, and as soon as she can she must go North to live.
I must tell you about our two little brothers, Josie and Edward. Mamma was very ill, and the doctor said all must be quiet; so she asked Joe and Edward if they would go and board. The poor little fellows' eyes filled with tears, and almost in the same breath they said: "We don't want to go, mamma; but if doctor says it will make you well, we will try to go. But, mamma, we will get so hungry to see you!" Now wasn't that good for little six and four year old boys? Mamma is almost well now, and we are so glad!
Dear Postmistress, you are tired out, and we will say good-afternoon for the present.
George and Sterling F.
I am never tired of reading my children's letters, whether they are long or short, and I remember that my San Antonio boys sent me a very nice letter some time ago. I too am sorry that George and Sterling took the poor birdies from the nest. I am sure they will never again rob a mother bird of her brood. Boys do wrong from want of thought many a time, when they mean to do right, if they would only stop and consider what they are doing. Please do not bring the mocking-birds to me, little friends, though I hope very much that you will come yourselves. The little birds I take care of, although I do everything I can to keep them strong and well, always die, and I have now decided that it is pleasanter to hear about the pets my correspondents have than to be grieving over my own. But accept my thanks for your kind intention.
On the River, near Ashville, North Carolina.
On the top of the Black Dome, not very far from here, the high-bush blackberry grows without any thorns. It is called the thornless blackberry, and is wonderful. But as this Dome—Michell's Peak—is the highest land this side of the Mississippi, the berries ripen a month or two later than ours on the river. We gather them by great basketfuls, juicy, lovely berries, that nearly spoil common ones. A great gardener up here said he long ago bought some Lawtons at $1 a plant, but soon pulled them up by the roots, they had so little flavor. He was used to the mountain berries.
But there is one complaint, and it makes trouble. Some people pick other's fruit just as if it was theirs, and the owners don't like it. If everybody only knew the meaning of two little words, mine and thine, there'd be peace, they say. One day, when we were getting large blackberries at Jack's Patch, a famous place, a troop of colored people climbed over the fence.
"Whose place is this?" asked the leader, coming up with a pair of large buckets.
When we told him, he quickly took off his hat, and said, bowing very humbly. "Can I have a few blackberries, missis?"
Behind him came a party of his people—some were children—bringing empty tin cans and baskets of all sizes and queer shapes. When we answered, "We are only boarders ourselves, and strangers," he seemed pleased.
"Your pardon," he said; "I thought you was owners of the place," and he turned away with all speed into the high blackberry bushes, where all the cans and baskets and buckets were filled to go to the Ashville market.
S. G.
This little incident, sent us by a lady who reads Our Post-office Box, will please the merry troops of Northern children who are going these bright afternoons to gather blackberries. What fun it is to set off, just after the mid-day dinner, with pails and baskets, to pick enough ripe, luscious berries for tea! Some of you, perhaps, pick berries and sell them to friends who wish to make blackberry jam, or who have no children of their own to send on such delightful expeditions. But I am sure you do not imitate the conduct of those poor people of whom S. G. tells, who were so ready to take what did not belong to them.
We should be glad if G. F. Weller, who was successful with Wiggle 25, and Ben Darrow, Warnie B. Purdy, Churchill Hungerford, and W. J. H., who were successful with Wiggle 26, would each send us his or her address.
Mount Vernon, Ohio.
Dear Little Exchangers,—I have been sick, and could not attend to your letters. I have only answered four, but will reply to more, and will return all contributions that I don't use. I did not expect to hear from so many of you when I wrote for the exchange, and can not supply you all, as I have over sixty letters, but I will return all your cards in good order. I have taken Harper's Young People for four years. Every year I like it better. I hope some of you will see this letter, if Mr. Harper is kind enough to print it, and then you will know that I don't intend to cheat, for I like all the children who take Young People.
Carrie Stone.
How Pottery is Made.—In looking over some old papers I came across this essay, and thought it might interest the Postmistress:
The various kinds of clay used in making pottery are found in nearly all the countries of the globe. There is a particular kind found at Amboy, New Jersey, of a grayish-white color, so caused by the presence of iron.
The first process, after being taken from the ground, is kneading it until it resembles bread in the sponge. After this process, it is thrown upon a slab, where it is taken by a second workman, who places it upon a circular board made to revolve by a wheel underneath it, worked by a treadle.
The second process is the designing of articles, which requires a great deal of skill and patience. After being turned, patted, and hollowed out by the workman, the clay is ready for baking, after sometimes being ornamented with figures cut in the pottery while wet, and painted with blue or some other color.
The baking of pottery is very slow, and requires great care. The articles to be baked are placed on several wire shelves, and when the oven is full, the door is bricked up to make it air-tight.
Below this oven are two sets of arches; in the lower of which a fire is made, which increases in heat gradually.
After twenty-four hours a second fire is made in the upper arches, of still greater heat, which is kept up for twenty-four hours more.
At the end of fifty hours the door is partially removed, and the ware taken out by means of long, slender sticks, and examined to see if it is thoroughly done.
The glazing process was discovered by accident. A workman in a pottery in Germany, some time in the Middle Ages, to spite his employer, threw salt on some ware which was baking, but, to his amazement, found a beautiful glaze on the pottery instead of the ruin he had desired.
C. S. C., C.Y.
We would call the attention of the C. Y. P. R. U. this week to Mr. C. W. Fisher's sketch of "The First Grenadier of France," and to "Millie's Nile-Bird Hat," by Mr. Arthur Lindsley. Dr. Van Giesen's article on "Advice to Boys" contains a number of suggestions that our readers will do well to make themselves familiar with before setting out on adventurous boating and bathing expeditions. Who will try and work out Mr. A. W. Roberts's suggestions in regard to "Rustic Adornments for Lawn and Garden"? If any of you do so, and are successful, the Postmistress would be glad to have you write to her about it.
Contributions received for Young People's Cot, in Holy Innocent's Ward, St. Mary's Free Hospital for Children, 407 West Thirty-fourth Street:
Amy L. Lamprey, 50c.; Arthur Day, Clive Day, Willie Boyle, Harry Kellogg, Willie Kellogg, Louie Butler, and Mabel W., from Hartford, Conn., $13; Children's Sunday-school offering in memory of a little boy who was sick, H. H. H., G. H. McD., F. O. S., T. W. M., C. L., L. C. G., and C. A. W., Troy, N. Y., $8; Harry Johnston, Lausanne, Switzerland, $10; total, $31.50; previously acknowledged, $1170.35; grand total, July 15, $1201.85.
E. Augusta Fanshawe, Treasurer, 43 New St.
Children: I want to ask you all, those of you who have never taken an interest in Young People's Cot, and those of you who, by your earnings, savings, and contributions, have already helped us, if you will not set to work in earnest, and let us see how soon we can have our Cot endowed. You know it will not be "our very own" until we can give three thousand dollars to the hospital, and the money that we already have is waiting in the savings-bank until we can collect the whole amount. During these lovely summer days, when you are well and strong, and enjoying the delights of the country, playing in the green fields, gathering flowers, or off at the sea-shore watching the great waves as they roll in one after the other, please think of the poor little sick children, and think of the Cot, in which I hope every reader of Harper's Young People will have a share. We want that little Cot to be a resting-place for many a poor sick child, where each one, in its turn, will have the best of care and attention from the kind sisters and doctors, and be sent home quite well and happy. It is just about a year since you first heard of Young People's Cot. We have done very well in the past year, but let us try and do even better in the coming one. You know we must never stand still, but always improve as each year passes. I want each one of you to take a personal interest in that little Cot, and to feel that you have done something toward making the life of some poor sick child brighter, that you have helped to bring some sunshine into a sorrowful little life. Let each one of us do what we can, for the dear sake of one who loved little children when He was here upon earth.
E. A. Fanshawe.
1. Part of an animal. 2. A river in Italy. 3. To raise. 4. A reptile. Primals—A stag. Finals—A stream. Connected—A city in New England.
Frank McF.
1.—1. Spoke. 2. A part in music. 3. A fact. 4. A roof.
2.—1. A boy's name. 2. Atmosphere. 3. Attempt.
Charles R. F.
3.—1. A night-bird. 2. A river in England. 3. A verb.
4.—1. A utensil. 2. Custom. 3. An insect.
Effie.
1. A letter. 2. An animal. 3. A letter. 4. To gain. 5. A letter.
P. D. Sarah.