[to be continued.]
A DISOBEDIENT SOLDIER.
BY DAVID KER.
"Now, lads, there's the battery; remember the Emperor himself is watching you, and carry it in true French style. The moment you get into it, make yourselves fast against attack; and mind that any man who comes out again to pick up the wounded, even though I myself should be among them, shall be tried for disobedience as soon as the battle's over."
So spoke Colonel Lasalle to his French grenadiers just before the final charge that decided the battle of Wagram. Then he waved his sword, and shouted, "En avant!"
Forward swept the grenadiers like a torrent, with the shout which the Austrians opposed to them already knew to their cost. Through blinding smoke and pelting shot they rushed headlong on, with mouths parched, faces burning, and teeth set like a vise. Ever and anon a red flash rent the murky cloud around them, and the cannon-shot came tearing through their ranks, mowing them down like grass. But not a man flinched, for the same thought was in every mind, that they were fighting under the eye of their "Little Corporal," as they affectionately called the terrible Napoleon.
Suddenly the smoke parted, and right in front of them appeared the dark muzzles of cannon, and the white uniforms of Austrian soldiers. One last shout, which rose high above all the roar of the battle, the bayonets went glittering over the breastwork like the spray of a breaking wave, and the battery was won.
"Where's the Colonel?" cried a voice, suddenly.
There was no answer. The handful of men that remained of the doomed band looked meaningly at each other, but no one spoke. Strict disciplinarian as he was, seldom passing a day without punishing some one, the old Colonel had nevertheless won his men's hearts completely by his reckless courage in battle; and every man in the regiment would gladly have risked his life to save that of "the old growler," as they called him.
But if he were not with them, where was he? Outside the battery the whole ground was scourged into flying jets of dust by a storm of bullets from the fight that was still raging on the left. In such a cross-fire it seemed as if nothing living could escape, and if he had fallen there, there was but little hope for him.
"I see him!" cried a tall grenadier. "He's lying out yonder, and alive, too, for I saw him wave his hand just now. I'll have him here in five minutes, boys, or be left there beside him."
"But you mustn't disobey orders, Dubois," said a young Captain (now the oldest surviving officer, so terrible had been the havoc), hoping by this means to stop the reckless man from rushing upon certain death. "Remember what the Colonel told you—that even if he were left among the wounded, no one must go out to pick them up."
"I can't help that," answered the soldier, laying down his musket and tightening the straps of his cross-belts. "Captain, report Private Dubois for insubordination and breach of discipline. I'm going out to bring in the Colonel."
And he stepped forth unflinchingly into the deadly space beyond.
They saw him approach the spot where the Colonel lay; they saw him bend over the fallen man, shielding him from the shot with his own body. Then he was seen to stagger suddenly, as if from a blow; but the next moment he had the Colonel in his arms, and was struggling back over the shot-torn ground, through the dying and the dead. Twice he stopped short, as if unable to go farther; but on he came again, and had just laid his officer gently down inside the battery, when, with his comrades' shout of welcome still ringing in his ears, he fell fainting to the earth, covered with blood.
By the next morning Colonel Lasalle had recovered sufficiently to amaze the whole regiment by putting under arrest the man who had saved his life; but the moment it was done, the Colonel mounted his horse, and rode off to head-quarters at full gallop. In about an hour he was seen coming back again, side by side with a short, square-built man in a gray coat and cocked hat, at sight of whom the soldiers burst into deafening cheers, for he was no other than the Emperor Napoleon.
"Let me see this fellow," said Napoleon, sternly; and two grenadiers led forward Pierre Dubois, so weak from his wounds that he could hardly stand.
"So, fellow, thou hast dared to disobey orders, ha?" cried the Emperor, in his harshest tones.
"I have, sire. And if it were to be done again, I'd do it."
"And what if we were to shoot thee for insubordination?"
"My life is your Majesty's, now as always," answered the grenadier, boldly. "And if I must choose between dying myself and leaving my Colonel to die, the old regiment can better spare a common fellow like me than a brave officer like him."
A sudden spasm shook the old Colonel's iron face as he listened, and even Napoleon's stern gray eyes softened as few men had ever seen them soften yet.
"Thou'rt wrong there," said he, "for I would not give a 'common fellow' of thy sort for twenty Colonels, were every one of them as good as my old Lasalle here. Take this, Sergeant Dubois"—and he fastened his own cross of the Legion of Honor to Pierre's breast. "I warrant me thou'lt be a Colonel thyself one of these days."
And sure enough, five years later, Pierre Dubois was not only a Colonel, but a General.
READY TO MOVE—MAY-DAY IN THE CITY.
THE NAUGHTY CUCKOO AND THE BOBOLINKS.
BY AGNES CARR.
Spring had come, with its buds and blossoms, warm bright days and gentle showers, and the old apple-tree at the end of the garden was putting on its new spring dress of green leaves and tiny pink buds, which before long would open into sweet blossoms, and still later turn into ripe golden fruit, when a pair of Bobolinks came flying through the garden one fine morning house-hunting, or rather looking for a nice place to build a nest and go to housekeeping.
"Here is a good spot," said the little husband, whose name was Robert, perching on a limb of the old apple-tree and poking his bill into a crotch formed by a crooked branch.
"So it is," said Linny, his wife, "for the leaves will soon be out and hide the nest from sight:" and they began to chatter so fast about the nice home they would have there, that it sounded like nothing but "Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, spink, spank, spink," so that two little girls who were playing with their dolls under the tree said, "What a noise those Bobolinks make! what are they chattering so about?"
Soon, however, they saw the little birds flying back and forth, back and forth, with bits of hair and straw in their bills, and then they said to one another, "The Bobolinks are building a nest," and they hung pieces of cotton and bunches of thread on the lower limbs of the tree, and watched to see Robert carry them off to weave into the outside of the nest, while Linny made a soft lining of hair inside. And at last the little home was finished, and three pretty eggs laid snugly inside; when one day, while Robert and Linny had gone to stretch their wings by a short flight around the garden, an ugly old Cuckoo, who had seen the Bobolinks flying in and out of the tree, came and laid a big egg in the nest; for Cuckoos are lazy birds, and never build houses for themselves, but steal places to lay their eggs, and let somebody else take care of their children.
Now Robert and Linny had never been to school, and could not count; so when they came back they did not notice that there were four eggs in the nest instead of three, and Linny settled down on them, quite happy, while Robert sang a merry song to her, all about birds and flowers, and brought her nice fat worms and flies to eat, and was just the best little Bobolink husband in the whole garden.
And after a while a faint "peep-peep" was heard, the eggs all cracked, and out came four little blind birdies, without any feathers, and ugly enough, you would have said, but their papa and mamma thought them lovely. One, however, was as large as the other three put together, and took up so much room that Linny said: "Oh dear, we have made the nest too small! When the children grow larger, some will be crowded out."
"That is strange," said Robert, "for it is the same size as the other Bobolinks have built, and they have plenty of room."
"Yes, but just see how big one of the babies is," said Linny.
Just then Robert saw the Cuckoo on a tree near by, winking one eye, and laughing until her sides shook, and exclaimed: "I see how it is: that old thief of a Cuckoo has laid an egg in our nest. I will throw her ugly child out, and she can look after it herself;" and he made a dive for the little Cuckoo, but Linny caught him by his tail-feathers, saying:
"No, no; poor little fellow, he will die if you throw him on the ground. Let him stay until he gets too big for the nest."
So the Cuckoo staid. But he was a very bad bird, for after a while, when he and the little Bobolinks got their eyes open, and had nice coats of feathers, he would peck at his companions, and take away all the best bits of bread and fattest worms that their papa and mamma brought them home for dinner, and was so cross and greedy that Robert would have pitched him out on the grass if Linny had not begged he might stay a little longer, and tried to make him behave better.
The apple-tree was now covered with pink and white blossoms, which grew around the little nest and made it like a bower. And now the birdies were learning to fly, and could go to the outer branches of the tree, where they sat in a row, while their father taught them how to sing.
"Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, spink, spank, spink," sang Robert. And the little ones, who could not speak plain, all repeated, "Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, pink, pank, pink"—all except the biggest bird, who would only say, "Cuckoo, cuckoo," in a harsh voice.
At last, one day, Robert said, "Now, children, you are old enough to leave the tree, and to-day you must begin to go a little way into the garden."
"Yes," said their mother, "but take care, and never sit on the ground, for there is a great yellow cat who will surely eat you up."
"We will be very careful," said all the little Bobolinks.
After Billy, Bobby, and Jenny, as well as Cuckoo, had had their feathers brushed nice and smooth, they were sent out to try their wings; but the Cuckoo was stronger, and could fly farther than the Bobolinks.
Bobby flew over to the fence, to see what was on the other side, and the first thing he spied was the yellow cat creeping slowly along, and she fixed her eyes right on him. He tried to fly back, but just then the Cuckoo came behind, and gave him a push which sent him fluttering to the ground, right in front of Mrs. Pussie. Poor Bobby gave himself up for lost; but as the cat was about to spring on him, a great dog came bounding across the yard, which sent the cat scampering off in a hurry, and saved Bobby, who hastened home as fast as his little wings could carry him.
"Pshaw!" said the Cuckoo; "I thought there would be one out of the nest. But there is the cat under a bush, and Jenny is tilting on a twig just above, without seeing her." So the naughty bird flew to the rose-bush, and said, "Jenny, you look as if you were having a nice time."
"I am," said Jenny; "but don't come on this twig, it won't hold you."
"Oh yes, it will," said Cuckoo, leaning on the slender spray, which broke, and fell with Jenny, who was too frightened to fly; and quick as lightning the cat seized and carried her off in her mouth.
"Ha, ha, ha," laughed Cuckoo; "there will be room in the nest now." But at that moment the two little girls came out of the house, saw the cat with the bird, and made her drop Jenny on the grass. She was not much hurt, and they carried her gently back to the apple-tree, and gave her to her papa and mamma. The Cuckoo then went to look for Billy; but as he was passing the flower garden he saw a juicy white angle-worm lying in a bed of violets, and feeling hungry, stopped to take a little lunch.
The worm was very nice, and Cuckoo enjoyed it very much, when, just as he was swallowing the last morsel, the cat came stealing softly from under a wood-pile, and thinking if birds could lunch on worms, she could lunch on birds, pounced upon Cuckoo, and carried him off; and nothing more was ever seen of him, except a few feathers scattered near the door of the wood-shed. These Billy saw, and went home to tell the sad story.
Oriskany, New York.
I am a little boy, and I take Young People, which I like very much. I enjoy reading the children's letters, and I want to tell you about my squirrel that I caught the 26th of March, while hunting with one of my playmates. His dog chased it into a hollow stump. He put his hat on top of the slump, and we built a little fire at the bottom, and the smoke drove the squirrel into the hat. I carried it home, and a few days ago I found in the cage five little baby squirrels. One of them died, but I hope the rest will live. I think they will, for their mother takes good care of them. I feed her with all kinds of nuts, and she is getting very tame.
Alfred H. H.
Lansing, Michigan.
I think that Young People is a very nice paper. I am making a collection of birds' eggs, shells, stones, and other curiosities. Papa made me a birthday present of some minerals, nicely labelled. I saw some willow "pussies" on March 21. Now we have robins, bluebirds, blackbirds, and many other birds singing. We have a great deal of fun with "Misfits," given in Young People No. 22.
Jessie I. B.
Brooklyn, New York.
I have been very sick, and can not go to school, so I will write you about my turtles. I brought them from Kiskatom last summer. There were five, but the smallest one died. The largest was two inches long, and the smallest one only an inch and a quarter. They are in the cellar, in a tub half filled with mud and water, in which they buried themselves last fall. I am anxious to see if they will come out again this spring. I fed them on flies and earth-worms, and they became very tame. I am going to take them back to their native place this summer, and let them go.
Eddie W.
Cardiff, South Wales, England.
I read Harper's Weekly and Young People in a subscription reading-room opposite my house, and some time ago I saw an invitation to English boys to write, which invitation I beg to accept. You invited correspondents to write about their pets. I have a paroquet. It was brought me by a captain. It was captured in India. It can not quite talk, but I often think it tries to. It imitates my whistle very well. Its usual note is a sort of chirping whistle. It always knows when meal-times are, and cries out until it has a share. About ten o'clock in the morning it becomes very talkative in its own language, and I answer it.
Lewis G. D.
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
I am a little girl seven years old. I go to a lovely place on the sea-shore in summer. Crabbing is the best fun you can have there. It is best to go on a rainy day. You take a crab-net, which is a long pole with an iron ring at one end, and a net dropping from it. Another person takes a line with some meat on it, and lets it down into the water. When the crab comes to eat, you catch it with the net. I went crabbing with my nurse one day, and we caught a peach-basketful of crabs.
N D.
Greenville, Ohio.
I want to tell you about some Punch-and-Judy figures I made myself. I give a Punch-and-Judy show every Saturday, and I make from five to ten cents each time. The boys tease me to play it all the time. I am eleven years old, and I can play Punch and Judy very well.
Willie G. H.
Hartford, Connecticut.
I was very much interested in Gertrude Balch's letter in No. 17, because her name is the same as my own. I have a little brother, who asks every day if that is not the day for Young People to come. At grandma's, where I am visiting, there are two cats, named Nancy and John, and my aunt has an Esquimaux dog that is very large and handsome. He sleeps under my bed every night. I wish some little girl would please tell me how I can tame birds.
Daisie Balch.
I thought, perhaps, you would like a letter from Tallahoma, Tennessee; and I want to tell you that Young People is a very welcome visitor at our house. The story "Across the Ocean" is just splendid. Spring is here. Peach-trees were in bloom before the middle of March, and now we have a great many flowers.
Robert H. D.
Brookside Farm, Missouri, March 30, 1880.
I heard a whip-poor-will this morning for the first time this year, and would be very glad if others would inform me if they have heard the bird this spring. I heard a cat-bird trilling its notes about a week ago, and bluebirds, martins, and other birds have made their appearance. Pewits are building their nests. Brother Le Verne gets Young People, and we have all the numbers published. We all like it very much. I like the articles on natural history best, and as I have seen some of the animals described, it makes it more interesting to me.
Wroton K.
Chambersburg, Pennsylvania.
I am very fond of reading; and when I go to my father's office every Wednesday evening to get Young People, the first thing I look at is the Post-office Department. Nearly all of your correspondents have pets. I have a dear little dog named Sport. He is very playful and mischievous, and is exceedingly fond of taffy and pea-nuts.
Emma M.
Angels Camp, California.
We like Young People ever so much. Mamma reads us the stories. I read the letters, and try to find out the puzzles. I have a pet dog named Rover. He plays hide-and-seek with me; and he will eat corn like a dog I read about in the Post-office of No. 18. My little sister has a pet hen named Tansie, and a boy who lives next door has two guinea-pigs.
Willie H. C.
Wilmington, Delaware.
I was nine years old last October. Papa subscribed for Young People for my New-Year's gift for 1880, and I like it so much! The puzzles are very interesting, and make many a pleasant evening for us children. I think the story of "A Boy's First Voyage" is grand. I have had two pets this winter—a beautiful English rabbit and a very handsome kitty. Kitty can open any of the doors in the house that has a latch, and walk in as independent as you please. Bunny was very jealous of her, and would chase her and tease her so that I gave him to Cousin Georgie, for kitty had the oldest right. Now she has three of the fattest little baby kittens you ever saw. When they begin to run around, they will make lots of sport for us. Old kitty has to give them several boxings a day with her paw.
Stimmie H. C.
Fairfield, New York.
I am eight years old. My sister Fannie and I have a pet cat. We were all at tea one evening, when we heard the piano in the other room. We ran in there, and kitty was sitting on the stool playing her best piece.
Jessie V. W.
Farmington, Maine.
I am a little girl eleven years old. I have a cat named P. T. Barnum. He always knows when the meat-man comes. Even if he is asleep, he will wake up, and begin to cry until he gets a piece of meat. He is a very handsome Maltese. I call him P. T.
Mabel S.
Edgewood Plantation, Louisiana.
I am a little girl eight years old, and I live on the banks of the Mississippi River. My mamma takes Young People for me. I ride a pony to school every day. I wanted to tell you about my pets, and my dolls too, but I must not make my first letter too long.
Lizzie C. M.
The two following communications were written in big capitals:
New York City.
There was a little girl who had four dolls. One of them was French; the other three were wax. There was a parrot in the house where the little girl lived. This little girl had a nurse she loved very much. The little girl had a brother whose name was Harry. He had a little boat that went by steam. He sailed it in the bath-tub.
Bessie Hyde.
Brooklyn, New York.
I have two canary-birds, but one of them will not sing. I had two pretty little guinea-pigs, but a big dog killed one of them, and ate it up. I am glad when the newsman brings Young People. Mamma reads all the stories to me.
Nannie Hayes.
St. Louis, Missouri.
I am eight years old. I am sick now with the measles, and mamma has read all the stories in the last Young People to me. I wish the next one would come. I have a little dog named Frolic. He will sit up, and turn over, and speak for something to eat.
Ned Bishop.
Boston, Massachusetts.
My name is "Wee Tot." My papa writes this letter for me. By-and-by I will write myself. I have shells, and ocean mosses, and stuffed birds that don't sing, and a big owl, and some alligators, and—oh! I don't know—lots of things. I wish some little boy or girl would send me some pressed flowers and grasses, and some pretty stones and leaves. Then I will send them some of my pretty things. I will put them in a tin case, and papa will send them in the Post-office.
"Wee Tot" Brainard,
257 Washington Street (Room 20), Boston.
I see the children telling about their pets. I have a little dog that can turn somersaults. He shuts doors when you tell him to, and gives you his paw if you ask him in French. He is a black and tan. Then I have a pet kitten, and I tie a blue ribbon round its neck. It jumps through my arms; but it is too fond of staying out all night on the fences. I have seventeen dolls. The largest is a Japanese baby, and is as large as a live one. Another doll is nine years old, and is named Shawnee. I have a very large baby-house. I wrote to Mamie Jones, and sent her some flower seeds to exchange. Will some other little girl exchange some with me?
Gussie Sharp,
438 Grand Avenue, Brooklyn, New York.
I live in Springwells, Detroit, Michigan. I have a little dog named Phanor. He is not as big as a rabbit. Je parle Français aussi bien que l'Anglais.
Marcel Ferrand.
If "Genevieve" will wait until summer, I will be very glad to exchange some of our pressed flowers for hers.
Bessie Barney,
142 Lake Street, Cleveland, Ohio.
If "Genevieve," of Galt, California, will send me her address, I will be pleased to exchange specimens of pressed flowers with her.
Lou Porter,
Corry, Erie Co., Pennsylvania.
Miss Rosenbaum, of Raleigh, North Carolina, wishes for "Genevieve's" address, for the purpose of exchanging pressed flowers with her.
If "Genevieve" will send me her address, I will send her a bouquet when our flowers bloom.
Maggie E. Deardorff,
Canal Dover, Ohio.
April 8, 1880.
I am a little girl eleven years old. I was out in the woods to-day, and I found this little hepatica which I send you. Although I live farther north than many of the children, I have found a spring flower as early as most of them. If that little girl named Genevieve, in California, will send me her address, I will be very glad to exchange pressed flowers with her.
Jessie Kilborn,
Petoskey, Michigan.
Detroit, Michigan.
I thought I would tell you about our goat Minnie. She is one year and a half old, and is pure white. In the winter we hitch her to a little sleigh, and she pulls us all around. She runs on the curb-stone very fast, and does not fall off, and what we think very strange is that she will come to no one but me. She plays cross-tag with us, and when she is "it," no one can tag her back. Will you please tell me in what month the crow builds its nest?
Joseph E. G.
The crow makes its nest at the beginning of warm weather. In England it is often at work collecting sticks by the first of April, but in this country, especially in the northern portion, it rarely begins its labors before the last of May. Its nest is in the top of very high trees, and when viewed from below resembles a shapeless bundle of sticks, but the inner nest, which is made of hair and wool, is a beautifully smooth and soft resting-place for the five green, spotted eggs. Young crows are very ugly and awkward, and make a singular noise like a cry, but they are very easily tamed, and make very affectionate although mischievous pets.
W. M. Chapman.—"Zoe mou, sas agapo" the refrain of Byron's poem to the "Maid of Athens," means "My life, I love you."
Ernest K.—The letter you inquire about is genuine, as are all the others we print.
Mabel G. H.—You will find the recipe of a pot-pourri in the Bazar for February 2, 1878.
Emma S. and Lyman C.—A pretty ornamental cover for Young People will be ready on the conclusion of the first volume.
Lily B.—If your poor canary allows you to handle it, you can hold it for a moment in tepid water, which will refresh it very much.
Tecumseh, Michigan.
I like to draw the "Wiggles" in Young People. We have a little black pony, and we call him "Nig." When he is hungry, he paws with his foot. I am twelve years old. Will you please tell me what fid-dle-de-dee is in French?
Nellie M. C.
There is no French translation of that word. If a Frenchman wished to express the same idea, he would probably shrug his shoulders and say, "Bah!"
Favors are acknowledged from Charlie Markward, Bessie H. S., Johnnie S., K. V. L., Perley B. T., R. Crary, Charles W. L., James B. E., Marion King, Bessie Longnecker, T. Horton, Lourina C., George Paul, T. H. V. T., Willie, Tom W. S., Miss E. P., Carrie Rauchfuss, Ida King, Willie Orcutt, M. L. Cornell, Mamie H., Elvira D. H., Rita F. Morris, Carrie H. and Olive R., Carrie Pope, E. M. Rosenberg, Louie, Edith W.
Correct answers to puzzles are received from Frank MacDavitt, Louisa Gates, William S., T. K. Durham, H. F. Phillips, Emma L. C., W. G. Warner, Willie H. Lane, "Tout ou rien," John Inghram, Jun., Mary Kingsbury, Jennie, George Fisher, Reginald F., "Hope," Lloyd Clark, Marion Norcross, Rosie Macdonald, Marie M., Jennie Yatman, Mary Randol, Emma Schaffer, Katie Gould, Emily Theberath, L. Mahler, Cora Frost, W. Kenney, Lizzie Chapman, Nellie W. and Birdie S., J. B. Whitlock, William and Mary Tiddy, W. S. Naldrett, J. R. Glen, E. A. Cushing, Gertrude R.
PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.
No. 1.
ENIGMA.
My first is in run, but not in walk.
My second is in shout, but not in talk.
My third is in barn, but not in house.
My fourth is in pheasant, and also in grouse.
My fifth is in April, but not in May.
My sixth is in night, but not in day.
My seventh is in bud, but not in flower.
My eighth is in rain, and also in shower.
My ninth is in flute, but not in fife.
My tenth is in cousin, but not in wife.
My eleventh is in circle, but not in ring.
My whole was the name of a Scottish king.
W. K.