[to be continued.]
IN THE VALLEY.
The night has filled the valley up
Brimful of darkness, like a cup;
But day will spill the mists again
Over the brim—in driving rain.
Marrion Wilcox.
A PARSLEY BED.
BY EMMA J. GRAY.
"I wish I could make a little money," said confidential Florence to her friend Annette.
Now Annette was notably practical, and though a diligent student, managed to find time for apparently everything else, money-making included. Indeed, had she not been as enterprising, much of her enjoyment would necessarily have been left out. Her father and mother had many conferences to contrive ways and means to supply their children's needs. And stern necessity made frequent entertainments and many dainty gifts quite impossible. So Florence appealed to the right person, and her friend's advice would apply to any boy or girl who, like Florence, would like to make a little money.
"Raise parsley." And Annette smilingly nodded her bright little head.
"Why, how could I make any money out of parsley?" was the doubting query.
"If, Florie dear, you'll do exactly as I will tell you, you will see. Now listen:
"Next spring have your ground turned to the depth of one foot. And be sure to have it well manured, for parsley loves a rich soil. Some people put soot around the young plants, and think it is very helpful. Before planting your seeds soak them for an hour in warm water. Cover them half an inch with soil, and watch carefully. The ground must never be allowed to become parched, for your parsley would die. Raise as much as you can, and if the supply is greater than the demand, dry some. Cut off close to the roots, and dry in a shallow tin pan in a moderate oven. It will scorch very easily, so look out. When it is dry, powder it in your fingers, and pack in paper or tin boxes. You will find the dried parsley will help out your winter supply wonderfully."
"But, Annette," interrupted Florence, "surely you cannot raise parsley in the house?"
"Why not? Of course you can. During September, and later at intervals, plant seeds in boxes and pots, and place in your sunny windows. It will grow beautifully all winter, and you'll find you can get good prices for it. By-the-way, so that your prices may be honest, inquire in any grocery store, and aim to sell at the same figure. Of course in summer it will be much cheaper.
"About customers. Arrange for them while your plants are growing. Your family and friends will do to start with, and soon you will find more and yet more. For parsley has such multiplied uses. For soups, fish, entrées, meat, and game, for flavoring and garnishing. You know people must have it. And remember parsley may be cut down to the root again and again, and up it will come bravely each time. But frost is a great enemy. Before its approach gather all you can and try transplanting the roots. They may not always be depended upon, but often they will live and flourish from season to season."
THE EAST-SIDE BOY AND HIS GAMES.
BY REV. JOHN T. WILDS, D.D.
Being a boy in a crowded city and being a boy in a village are two different things, though boys the world over are always boys. The balance of fun and sport is, after all, in favor of the city lad, the offspring of the tenement-house.
WAR.
After spending my boyhood in a delightful mountain village, and after being much of a boy, although a man, for years in the crowded tenement section of the East Side of New York, I am inclined to believe that pity is greatly misplaced when a youthful reader of the Round Table spreads himself in summer days under a great tree, feels sorry for the poor East-sider of New York, and says, "It's too bad he can't be here with me." Right now, my delightful friend under the tree, shouts of merriment ring in my ears from boys who last night slept in a close room, or possibly on the fire-escape, whose breakfast was most meagre because their parents are poor and honest. They are as happy as the day is long. They are happier longer than the day, because they never go to bed until ten o'clock, and they only go then because the hall light is turned out at that hour, and they don't like to climb up to the top story, or go through a long alleyway in the dark any more than you enjoy going through a graveyard in the night-time.
Necessity keeps the East-sider active. If he lolls on the street the police stir him; if he hangs about a store the keeper chases him away; but they tolerate him when he is playing. Necessity also make him inventive. They make their games and have them in season. They would as soon think of wearing an ulster in summer-time as play top in July. I don't know but that they have a code quite as reasonable as the high-classed youth who patterns after the dude.
Our happy lad of the tenement, until he is fourteen when he leaves school and goes to work, is compelled to play in crowded streets where hundreds of children swarm like bees, and necessarily within a narrow space. But he has broad ideas, and insists upon doing, accommodating the space in some way, whatever others do. The asphalt pavements are of the greatest blessing—far better than roof-gardens, and since we cannot have many parks, they are of greater importance to all concerned than the little squares that dot our city. At evening-time, when the street-organs have not gathered all the girls of the block for a dance and during the day on the sunny side of the street one may find a most energetic crowd of boys, eager, and intensely excited over a game. The streets and pavements are all marked over with strange diagrams, each one of which tells of a conflict. "Tip Cat" is always popular, but played, as a rule, in the morning; so also is "Kicking the Stick or Can." When the sun is hot they get on the shady side and play "Long Branch" and "War." Later on they have the "Hopping Game" and "Spread the Woman." Then when night comes—and it is not night, for the streets are as light as day because of the electric-light or gas—they dart about as detectives and robbers playing "Relievio."
BASEBALL.
It will be observed that they play what men do. You may often hear an imitation of the fire-gong, and see boys rush out before an imaginary wagon and engine, and go through the motion of having a fire. Children are rescued, the dead are laid out, medals are awarded for bravery. When the Ludlow Street Jail robbers escaped, the boys devised a jail, and the three noted robbers were impersonated, and escaped. The jailer was in dismay. Detectives and police went forth, climbing on tops of houses, over fences, eagerly searching for the men. And they were successful, be it said to the honor of the boys.
Of course they play baseball. What boy does not? These East-siders have not the green diamond—if they had they would roll over the grass, pat it in love, sit down and look at it a long time before they would play ball upon it. I have taken children to the Park, far up to the Bronx, where everything is delightfully free, and they have sat down and rubbed the grass, and petted it as a child will a tender animal. But they have their ball games and get excited over them, although the diamond is on stone, and not two feet square.
They are always at something, and less frequently in mischief than one would think. They are divided into crowds, each street or block has its gang, and woe be to him who dares encroach. They have chosen leaders whose command they obey. There is a vast deal of honor among them, and I am not sure but that he is somewhat better than the lad that hangs around the country store or goes swimming, in the mill-pond of the village.
The following are some of the summer games that engage his attention and keep him out of mischief: