BARNUM'S SHOW IN WINTER-QUARTERS.

BY J. C. BEARD.

Last week, boys, I was too busy to tell you anything myself about my experiences among the birds and beasts so snugly located in the "Winter-Quarters." This time I am able to talk to you a little, as well as draw you some pictures.

Suppose we take a look at this party of cranes and pelicans and other queer birds. In spite of his long legs and clumsy bill, the pelican has more or less beauty to recommend him. The prevailing color of his feathers is a lovely rose shading off to white, while his breast wears an orange tinge. The cranes are also really handsome birds, in spite of their long thin legs. They have soft gray plumage, with snow-white crests, and two gracefully flowing plumes besides on the head.

But if you want to see a homely bird, look at the adjutant. Certainly the one that roams so confidently about the inclosure is the most hideous creature I ever saw. A great clumsy body, long legs, thick bare neck, and bare, ragged head make up a sum total of amazing ugliness. The adjutant's beak is the most remarkable feature about him, being nearly a yard long, and thick in proportion. This huge beak is strong enough to kill a man with one blow. As you see in our illustration, the keeper when feeding these birds is obliged to carry the dish of food upon his head; if held in his hands, those enormous beaks would make short work of dish, meat, and all. The adjutant acts the part of watch-dog, and cats and other stray animals that value their lives are careful to avoid this yard.

One of these birds reminded me of an expert at base-ball. Especially is he a good "catcher." The keeper stood fully fifteen feet from him, and tossed great pieces of meat toward him. Each time the bird's great beak opened exactly at the right moment, and closed with a snap upon the huge piece of raw meat. The bird seemed to enjoy the sport fully as much as the by-standers.

The adjutant in the lower sketch, whom we see apparently holding a confidential chat with his keeper, is a little fellow, quite tame, and even socially inclined. This position upon the keeper's knee, as the latter sits by the fire, is a favorite one with him.

The monkeys in Mr. Barnum's collection are well worth seeing. They are of various kinds. A blue-faced baboon named Napper is evidently the leader of monkey society at Bridgeport. He is a brilliant object to look at, for his cheeks are blue, his nose and eyebrows are bright scarlet, while his pointed beard is yellow. He is not a monkey of good character, and has actually been known to get intoxicated. Mr. Hodges, the keeper, is very fond of Napper, who seems to return affection. He will sit for hours upon his friend's knee before the fire, turning himself from side to side that he may receive the full benefit of the welcome heat. The monkeys suffer dreadfully from cold draughts, and are very apt to die of consumption.

Mr. Hodges assured me that most if not all of the cageful of monkeys would be dead before spring, and seemed much affected by the loss of his pets. Some of them seemed to be in the last stages now, coughing violently, and holding their slender hands affectedly to their chests. If the monkeys could be clothed, they would better endure the cold; but a jacket in the cage would remain whole on the back of the wearer just about five seconds.

A keeper fed the monkeys while I was there, and it was a funny sight. He put the pan of rice and sugar inside the cage, and I expected a general scramble, but instead of this I found the distribution of food to be a most orderly process. The big fellows calmly served themselves first. They ate as much as they could, then crammed their cheeks full, and grasping as much as their hands would hold, retired to a corner to finish at their leisure. The smaller monkeys now modestly proceeded to dine in the same fashion. They follow the example set them by their elders, and all is done in the most orderly manner.

Feeding the monkeys with pea-nuts is great fun. The instant they see a pea-nut they rush pell-mell to the front of the cage, eager to reach through the bars and catch the delicious morsel. The fortunate possessor retires with his prize to a corner, proceeds to crack the shell, and eats it with quite as much delight as you would, if presented with something you particularly like.

Aard-vark, or the "hog with a wart," is not a pretty name, and he is not a pretty animal. The domestic hog is quite a beauty in comparison, as this one has enormous tusks, stiff bristles, scarcely any eyes at all, and hideous lumps on his face and head; not one wart, but plenty of them. But he eats the pailful of carrots with as much relish as if he were the handsomest beast in the world.

The coach-dog which is such a favorite with the elephants is named Denver, and the huge animals take the entire charge of him. A gentleman saw the keeper put a piece of meat before one of the elephants near him, and the great creature seized it in his trunk, and gave the "mother-call" for Denver. This mother-call is the sound they make in calling their young ones. Denver understood in a moment, and rushed toward them; the elephant gently laid the meat on the ground before the dog, and watched him with great interest while he devoured it.

Denver was lost once for two weeks, and the elephants would not perform until he was found. The welcome he received from his huge friends on his return was nearly the death of him. They caressed him with their trunks, rolled him over and over, "purring" all the while like distant thunder, and stuffed him with all the meat he could eat.

The Bridgeport boys are very careful about their behavior to Denver, for if a howl of pain or annoyance is heard from him on the outside of the building, the elephants inside become so enraged that there is danger of their breaking their chains and avenging their favorite.

As I left the "quarters" I found a crowd of Bridgeport boys gathered about a small Irish jaunting-car with a beautiful striped zebra harnessed before it. This zebra's name is Sheik, and is often seen in the streets of the city, with some of the ladies belonging to the circus driving him. Sheik is gentle, swift, and has as much endurance as a mule. Zebras are generally supposed to be untamable, and Sheik's keeper deserves great credit for the wonderful manner in which he has succeeded in training this wild creature. Sheik is not, however, a "true zebra," but one of the species called asinus Burchelii. A "true zebra" has never been brought to this country. Bridgeport boys think Sheik driven in the jaunting-car a fine show.

[NINE MEN'S MORRIS.]

BY JAMES OTIS.

As an in-door amusement, a very interesting game is that of Nine Men's Morris, or Shepherd's Game, as it is known by some. A board may be made of anything at a moment's notice, and bits of paper, peas, beans, or anything of that sort may be used for men.

To make the board, draw three squares, one within the other, with a space of at least an inch between them; then draw four lines to connect each of the sides, and it is complete.

Each player has nine men, it making no difference what they are made of, so long as one set may be readily distinguished from the other.

Then each player places alternately a man on any one of the intersections, which on the plan are numbered from 1 to 24 simply for the purpose of better explaining the game. The first point is for one of the players to get three men in a line; that is to say, have them on three direct stations, as 16, 17, 18, or 10, 11, 12, but not on the angles, as at 1, 4, 7. If either player succeed in so placing his men, he can remove one of his adversary's men from the board; this is called pounding. One of three men in a line can not be pounded, provided there are any others on the board.

As the game is really divided into three distinct phases of playing, it may be well to illustrate each phase, taking the work of placing the men first, and allowing Black to open the game:

Black.White.
911
1318
1415
87
52
64
21 pounds 1116
1217 pounds 12
1224

By this play White has the best of the game, and then the moving begins, which consists in moving a man from one intersection to another which is not occupied, never passing over a man or out of the direct lines. For example, a man at 11 might move to 10, 19, 4, or 12, provided those stations were not occupied.

To continue the game illustrated: Black has only one man which he can move, and that is from 21 to 20. White moves 2 to 3, and pounds 20, selecting that one because 6, 14, or 20 must be removed, or a line could be made by Black, who would have pounded 7, and had the advantage. Black then moves 14 to 21; White, 15 to 14; Black, 21 to 20; White, 3 to 2—White now being able to make a line at 3, 15, or 24 whenever he chooses, despite Black. Black now moves 20 to 21. At this point it would be possible for White to block the game by moving 17 to 20; but in the hope of winning, even though he gives his adversary an advantage, he moves 2 to 3; then—

Black.White.
5 to 24 to 5
21 " 2014 " 15 pounds 20
13 " 1417 " 20
9 " 1324 " 23
14 " 2118 " 17 pounds 21
8 " 923 " 24 pounds 12
6 " 1424 " 23 pounds 13

Black has now but three men; and when either party is so reduced in numbers he can jump to any part of the board, regardless of men or intersections, provided the station at which he wishes to stop is not occupied.

To illustrate this latter portion of the game: Give White seven men, on stations 3, 6, 8, 9, 11, 17, and 18, and Black three men, at 7, 12, and 15. White moves from 6 to 14; Black, 7 to 13; White, 17 to 20; Black, 15 to 7. By this last move of Black's he can jump to 16, make a line, and pound. White moves 3 to 15; Black, 13 to 16, and pounds 14.

When Black is reduced to two men he loses the game, and this would have occurred had he pounded any other man but 14, as otherwise White could have made a line by the next move.

The game is continued by—

White.Black.
15 to 1416 to 13
20 " 2113 " 16 pounds 9
8 " 97 " 13
11 " 1913 " 7 pounds 9
18 " 177 " 20

This portion of the game calls for the most skillful playing, since White can also jump when he has but three men left; and as his men stand now, he could complete a line in one or two moves despite Black, provided he could jump. Black must therefore play to gain the advantage of position rather than to pound:

White.Black.
14 to 612 to 18
21 " 1416 " 21
17 " 1618 " 17
6 " 5

Now if Black should make his line by jumping from 21 to 23, and pound one of White's men, White could make a line in two moves by jumping to 6, 11, or 12, and thus win the game; but in such a position, between equal players, the game should be a draw.

It is possible to display quite as much skill in Morris as in checkers. But the one, although it looks so simple, requires quite as much study as the other.

In playing, avoid crowding all your men on two squares. If you have the first move, take the corners, and try to make a cross with three men. Keep your adversary blocked as much as possible, and leave your own men free to move. Do not try too hard to form a line while placing the men, or your adversary will have an opportunity to place his for position, and you will be beaten easily when the moving begins.

When possible, try to arrange men so that you can make two or three lines by successive moves, as, for example, men on 9, 13, 18, 20, and 23. Then 18 can move to 17 and make a line, back to 18 for another, and so on.

Before reducing your adversary to three men, and thus giving him an opportunity to jump, try to arrange your men so that you will be able to form your lines in successive moves. For example: Black has eight men, at 2, 11, 13, 15, 16, 19, 21, and 24; White has four, at 3, 9, 12, and 22. Black moves 24 to 23; White, 22 to 10. If Black made a line at 14 or 20, White, being reduced to three men, could jump either to 20 or 14, whichever was vacant, and thus prevent the second line from being made; but if Black moves 2 to 5, White can not prevent him from making a line either at 4, 14, or 20, even if he can jump.

THE MUSIC-ROOM.

[THE CHILDREN'S CARNIVAL.]

There are matter-of-fact people nowadays who do not believe in the Arabian Nights, and fairies, and Mother Goose, and the wonderful things that we have all read about and heard stories about. I confess that I was one of those people; but I have gone back to dear old Mother Goose, and Aladdin, and Sindbad the Sailor. From henceforth I am Prince Carnival's most devoted subject. And now I will tell you why.

But suppose I ask you to fancy that you are with me at the Academy of Music in New York on the eve of St. Valentine's Day. Beautiful music is heard in the distance, and presently a gauzy curtain is lifted up, and disappears out of sight. Then the music grows louder, as an immense army of fairies and goblins is seen, from the midst of whom a graceful figure issues forth, and dances along in front until he comes to a huge hen's nest, on which is lying a great white egg. The Court Jester—for that is his name—stops when he comes to the egg, hits it with his staff, and, lo! the top falls off, and Prince Carnival, a ruddy little fellow about six years old, is seen waving his wand for the fun to begin.

And thus it began: First came the Court Jester, dancing and bowing and leaping with the utmost grace; then followed three clowns; after them came three Shanghai chickens, each about as big as a horse, and dancing as gayly as if they knew they were too big to be eaten. Then came Prince Carnival himself, in his broken egg on the nest, which was drawn by his attendants in fantastic costumes. After him came an old rooster and an old hen.

Then came a carriage drawn by two live white goats, containing a boy and girl gorgeously dressed, and after them a band of Gypsy Maidens. But what have we here? A lot of little old things with blue-gray gowns and red hoods and blue-gray beards, and behind them a wonderful being, riding on a chariot of gray rocks in which the gold dust glitters. Surely this is the Queen of Fairy-land.

Then came Aurora, the rosy Goddess of Dawn; Zuleika, the beautiful Grecian Princess; and behind her were actually twenty babies in their night dresses and night-caps, with pink sashes. What little things they were! Some of them were so small that they could hardly toddle fast enough to keep up with the procession. And last of all came the Gardener in his cart, drawn by a live donkey, and attended by a group of Flower Maidens.

Then the dancing began. Whenever Prince Carnival waved his hand, a beautiful being stepped forward and danced in the most enchanting fashion, until the whole building rang with the applause that greeted each. There was the Queen, of Fairy-land, who came without her little gray-bearded attendants, and danced beautifully. But the little gnomes soon missed her, for before she had finished they ran up and huddled themselves together to watch her. Then, when she rested, they began their dance. It was just such a dance as you would expect little imps of mischief to perform. They didn't dance at all. They simply romped. They played "snap-the-whip," chased each other about the floor, and at last left the stage more on their heads than their feet, for they all turned head over heels time after time, until they were back among the crowd of fairy folk again.

A little later, the twenty babies in their night dresses came on, and they tried to dance, and were doing very nicely until, as they were all standing in a line, the end one fell, and so they all fell and knocked one another over, just like a row of tin soldiers. After that they gave up dancing, and just frolicked as the gnomes had done, until five little soldiers came, when they retreated in just such another head-over-heels fashion as the gnomes had.

The most wonderful dancing of all was that of Zuleika, the Grecian Princess, who was about twelve years old, and was dressed in a beautiful costume of blue and white satin. She was attended by a group of Grecian maidens who performed the brilliant cymbal-dance. The applause was loud and long, and hardly had Zuleika collected the beautiful bouquets, when little Prince Carnival waved his wand, and five mysterious figures appeared, arrayed in long cloaks covering them from head to foot. The Prince stepped forward, and going from one to another, he waved his wand over them, and they threw off their long cloaks, and appeared as five beautiful little fairies, representing the Five Continents—Europe, Asia, Africa, America, and Australia. Then each came forward and danced, but the prettiest dance of all was danced by America, who had a bow and arrow, like an Indian.

It was not long after this that Fairy-land broke loose. I was standing watching the brilliant scene, and wishing that I might remain in Fairy-land forever, when I heard a sweet little voice saying, "Please let me pass." I looked round, and it was—could I be awake, or was I dreaming?—yes, it was the Queen of Fairy-land herself asking me to let her pass. I drew back, and she went right up to a beautiful lady, who called her "My child," and kissed her. Happy lady to be the mother of the Queen of Fairy-land!

And so they were not fairies, after all, but real children, and they had mothers, who kissed them, and called them "My child," "My darling!"

Did the fairies we read about have mothers? I think not. So much the happier, then, these fairies. And since they are prettier far than any of the fairies the story-books tell us about, and dance more gracefully, and are altogether far more wonderful, therefore I believe in fairies—this kind of fairies—from this time forth, and swear allegiance to my sovereign lord Prince Carnival and all his merry band.

THE CHILDREN'S CARNIVAL.

SLEEPING IN THE MEADOW.

[OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]

Newark, New Jersey.

There are four of us children in this house to enjoy Harper's Young People, besides our little wee baby, and we gave four subscriptions on Christmas-day as presents to our little cousins, and they enjoy the papers so much! But what we want to tell you about is our little brother M., who is only four years old. A few days ago he took his papa's mucilage bottle and brush, and pasted it all over his little sister's face. They thought it was fine fun at first, but lying down almost immediately to take a nap, when she woke up she was fast to her pillow. Her crying brought us, and when we saw what was the matter, we made him quite ashamed of what he had done, and he didn't want us to tell his papa when he came home from business. When he said his prayers at night he said, "Dear Dod, pease dive me more ense [sense] o me won't do my little ister o any more."

Lena and Eulalie McD.

Fort Apache, Arizona.

My papa is in the army, and we travel about a good deal. We have no schools out here, but I study with papa. I have a big sister, who rides on horseback. There are lots of Indians about these mountains. The soldiers had a battle with them last August. I suppose you read about it in the papers. General Carr was in command. My papa was wounded, but he is well now. I take Young People, and love it very much. My sister takes St. Nicholas. We have only one mail a week; the mail-day is Wednesday. There are not any girls here, or even boys. I like the story called "Talking Leaves" very much. I am afraid my letter is too long, so good-by.

Bessie G.

Your letter is not too long, dear. You might have told us how you amuse yourself without any little companions. How glad you must be that your papa's wound is healed!

Monroe, Iowa.

My name is Johnny. I am eight years old. I have a little brother, Joe, six years old. We both have the whooping-cough badly. I have to stay at home from school, and don't like it a bit. I have a big cat that looks just like a tiger. She has no name yet. What shall I call her? I can set type just a little for papa's paper.

Johnny V.

We are very sorry that you and Joe have the whooping-cough. It is one of the few things it is right to be very selfish about. You must be ever so careful not to give any of it away, you know, and that's why you have to stay at home from school. One comfort is that next winter your mamma will say, "I am not afraid of whooping-cough any more, for my boys have had it." At least she will not be afraid of your having it very severely again. Perhaps some of the little correspondents will send you a name for Madame Puss. We think Mouser is as good as any. Is it difficult to set type?

Nachitoches, Louisiana.

I have been going to school ever since the new year began. Our teacher is good; she has twelve scholars. We are doing very well. I read all of the letters in the Post-office Box, and I thought I would write to you. I have a horse and gun, and go hunting very often. The river runs right in front of our house, and the ducks are plentiful. Recently my brother and I went hunting, and brought home a good many ducks. I have three brothers and one sister. She is just learning her letters. I think she is anxious to learn. Our teacher has a little book in which she marks off our lessons. She has a page which she calls the Black List. She has not marked me yet, and I am not going to get on that list. I spent my Christmas holidays at home. Our greatest fun was in popping fire-crackers. The river rises every winter, so we have to use a boat to cross. This is tiresome to little boys who are lazy.

Elisha W. B.

Has that good teacher a Roll of Honor for the well-behaved as well as a Black List for the naughty scholars? We hope so, because we are sure that if she has, your name will appear on that.

Dobbs Ferry, New York.

I am a little girl nearly nine years old. I do not take Harper's Young People, but my grandma does. I have a little sister who was three weeks old yesterday. I hold her very often. She is a real sweet little thing. She is ever so fat. And she can smile, too. I heard that the Editor wants all the little girls to tell about their pets and dolls. I have no pets except two cats, a mother cat and a kitten. The mother's name is Mollie, and the kitten's name is Dot. I have a beautiful doll that I got on Christmas. She has lovely golden curls, and little pink socks, and everything to complete a baby's toilet. We haven't very good coasting, for the snow is so deep. We have in front of our house a great big snow-drift that is higher than a man.

Isabella T. N.

Foochow, China.

I shall be eight years old next month. I came here from Massachusetts a year ago with my mamma and two little brothers to stay with my papa, who has been in Foochow a good many years. Our house is on the river, and we can see a great many sampans and junks. When we go out to ride, we go in a chair on two poles, and it is carried by two or three coolies. We had ten rabbits, but we gave away the three old ones, and now have the seven young ones left. It is not cold enough for snow or ice here, so there is no chance for coasting or sliding, but the flowers blossom all winter.

I am getting a lot of nice stamps for my book; I have over three hundred. I like Harper's Young People very much, and get two or three by every mail, twice a month.

Amy C J.

We felt the more interested, Amy, in your little letter, which left Foochow just before Christmas, because the very day it came we had been talking with a lady who had spent many years in China, and who told us some very interesting things about its people. We will be pleased to have you write again, and tell us whether you intend to learn to speak and write Chinese while you are in the Flowery Land. We would try to do so if we were there, difficult as it is.

Georgetown, D. C.

Can you make room for a stranger who would like very much to see her letter in the Post-office Box? I think one of the nicest stories in your paper is "The Little Dolls' Dressmaker." In No. 118 there was a short article called "Home Gymnastics for Stormy Days," which I think I shall try. I am a little girl just twelve years old, and have one brother and one sister, both grown-upers.

Virginie T. B.

Eutawville, South Carolina.

I am a boy of nine. I am spending the winter at my grandfather's plantation in South Carolina, but my home is in the Pennsylvania mountains. The Santee River is near here, and a deep swamp with bears in it. There are many young lambs here, and one day the buzzards caught two little weak ones. Another boy and I drove them off from getting another. The birds are very gay, and the woodpeckers tap on the house like mad. Love to the Editor.

E. B. C. Jun.

Poor little lambs! We are so glad you and your friend were in time to drive off the cruel buzzards before they carried away any more of them. Have you ever happened to meet a bear, or do they hide themselves in the swamp? What would you do if one came along? And are you studying the habits of the birds, so that when you go home again you will have acquired a fund of information about the warblers of the South?