PUNCH AND JUDY IN A CONVENT.
Although convents are religious houses occupied by nuns, who, under the names of Sisters of Charity, Mercy, etc., devote their lives to doing good by helping those who are sick or poor or in trouble, many of them are also schools. Young girls are received within their walls as scholars, and although they must all dress just alike, and submit to the strictest kind of discipline, they are trained in habits of simplicity, obedience, and industry that prove of great value to them in after-life.
These convent scholars are only allowed to see their friends from outside the convent walls on one day of the week, and even then in many convents they may only talk to them through iron gratings, as you may see several of the girls doing in the picture.
Although the amusements of the girls are very few, sometimes they are treated to a simple entertainment, such as a Punch-and-Judy show, which they enjoy much more heartily than children who are accustomed to seeing such things very often. In fact, you can see that one of the little girls in the picture is represented as laughing so loudly that the Sister who stands beside her touches her on the shoulder, and tells her that such loud and boisterous mirth is not lady-like nor becoming.
[THE DAISY COT.]
A STORY IN TWO PARTS.
BY MISS LILLIAS C. DAVIDSON.
PART I.
It was in a children's hospital. All down the long ward ran two rows of little iron bedsteads, each covered with its own red quilt with the white cross in the middle; but one cot was different from all the rest. It was all of shining brass, to begin with, and it had a little canopy, which none of the others had, and pretty soft curtains of pale blue, with a pattern of white daisies scattered all over them; even the bands that caught back the curtains were wreaths of daisies; and the dainty blue coverlet had the bright little flowers raised on it so naturally that you wanted to try and gather them.
Just opposite it, on the wall, hung a picture of little fleecy lambs, and the Good Shepherd carrying the smallest and weakest in His arms; and the frame of the picture was of daisies too. All down the walls of the ward there hung bright pictures, but none was so pretty as this, and it hung just where any one lying in the cot could see it best.
Everybody in the whole hospital knew the Daisy Cot and its story: and the nurses had to tell it half a dozen times a day, sometimes; for every fresh visitor who came into the girls' ward was sure to say: "What a pretty little bed! What makes it so different from the others?" And then the Sister (they called the nurses "Sisters" there) would tell how the cot and the picture had once belonged to a dear little girl named Daisy, and how, when the angels came and took her away from this world, her heart-broken mother could not bear to look at the empty bed, but sent it here, that some poor sick child might always use it, and stay in it until she was quite well again. More than once, before Sister Theresa's simple tale was done, a bright round drop fell quietly down among the daisies, for some of the visitors were mothers themselves, and couldn't help thinking of the precious babies at home.
One day there was a small excitement all down the ward. Heads popped up from one bed after another, and black eyes and blue exchanged signals, while half a dozen shrill voices at once called across to each other: "Oh, I say, just look here! There's a new Daisy in the cot."
So there was; and such a queer little flower this time! A tiny, tiny girl, with a white still face—as white as any of the daisies on the quilt—and such a wonderful head of tight red-gold curls as none of them had ever seen in all their lives.
"Daisies oughtn't ter have red hair," said one small damsel, with a great idea of the eternal fitness of things.
"Oughtn't they?" laughed the Doctor, who was busy tying a card to the brass rail at the foot of the cot, with the new Daisy's name, and her illness, and the food she was to have, written on it. "But I've seen daisies with red tips in Scotland, I can tell you. All the same, I like the big white ones better. There, nurse," he went on, as Sister Theresa's noiseless step drew near, "there's your new patient; Mercy Trafford is her name, and I shouldn't wonder if a story went with it. What did the people say who brought her in?"
"Yes, there is a story, and a sad one too," said the sweet-voiced Sister. "It seems her mother died last winter, and her father, a poor artist, was killed in a street accident a few weeks ago. Since that, the people in the house where she was have taken some sort of care of her, until last night, when the place caught on fire, and she was just saved from death, poor baby! But there must have been a fall, you know, to account for that broken leg, and the other injuries."
"Humph!" said the Doctor. It was rather a favorite exclamation of his, and had earned him, with some of his lady patients, the character of being a regular bear; but the bear had a warm and tender heart under his great rough coat, and the smallest baby in the hospital would look up in his face with a laugh, and try to snatch at his shaggy locks, as he bent over its crib.
Many, many long days went by before the new Daisy could do anything but lie with closed eyes and a drawn white face. Ah! those were weary, sorrowful days; and sometimes they began to fear the poor wee mite would never run about again, and that made them very sad, for her sweet, patient little ways had taught them all to love her. But at last there came a day when the Doctor looked less grave, and the Sisters nodded to each other over the cot, and said, "I really think she'll do now, do you know?" And then, at last, two big blue eyes opened wide, and a sweet high voice was heard to say, "Oh, please, I is so hungry!"
I don't know why they should all have accepted her from that very moment as the pet of the ward, but so they did; and never did Queen reign with more gracious dignity than did Miss Mercy.
Not that she went by that name, however; for the very first time any one ventured to call her by it, she answered, with stately emphasis, "I not Mercy now; I Daisy." So Daisy it became with everybody from that time forth—except the Doctor, that is.
"You a Daisy?" he said, standing before her, with both hands in his pockets. "Fiddlesticks! you're nothing but a white mouse. Mercy's a mistake—it's Mousie;" and Mousie he persisted in calling her.
THE NEW DAISY.
It was not long before she began to catch up the little story she heard so often about her own cot, and "My lady, my tind lady," became her great interest and topic of conversation. She tied up her handkerchief into something like a doll, and called it "my pitty lady," and she would lie and talk to it by the hour together in low cooing tones. Her picture, in its daisy frame, was a great delight too; she had a name for each of the fleecy lambs, and wished them all "dood-morning" as soon as she awoke, in that clear ringing voice of hers. So sweet a voice it was, and so like a bird's, that the Sisters used to declare it was like listening to an angel to hear her sing grace; and you would sometimes see a Sister in white cap and apron speeding down a passage with suspiciously wet eyes, murmuring "Bless her!" as the last "Amen" sounded through the wards.
Christmas-eve came, and with it a grand stir and bustle in the hospital: something was going to happen, though nobody quite knew what. Many and varied were the surmises. "I guess it's going to be real bears and lions from the show," said one girl, who was blessed with a rich imagination; but several nervous little patients shrieked so energetically at the idea that she hastily added, "But perhaps they'll be dead and stuffed." Curiosity had full swing, for each bed had been carefully shut in all day by its own folding-screen, and not a glimpse could be got, even through the cracks, of what was going on in the middle of the room.
DR. SANTA CLAUS.
But at last, when the gas was lit, the Doctor's voice was heard to give a word of command, and all the screens were folded up as if by magic, while a cry of wonder and delight burst from every mouth. The walls were all festooned with evergreens and paper roses, and in the midst there rose a Christmas tree, the most magnificent and imposing tree any of them had ever beheld, lit up with countless brilliant candles, hung with toys and beautiful glittering things, and presided over by— Could it be the Doctor? Oh no; it was a real Santa Claus, who had borrowed the Doctor's voice for that evening only. And with what delightful jokes and funny speeches did he unfasten the strange, beautiful fruit from its tree, and distribute it to the rows of eager, excited little people! There was a present for everybody—even the Sisters were not forgotten; and when all the laughing and rejoicing had begun to subside, and tea came in on the tiny wooden trays, there was not only the usual mug of milk and the well-known pile of bread and butter, but real poached eggs, and actual baked apples too!
As for the little Daisy, she had, besides the toys from the tree, a box of great golden oranges, and a perfectly lovely doll, with eyes that opened and shut, and a head that turned round; and box and dolly were labelled, "For the Daisy Cot, from E. M. B."; and as she had already begun to know from past experience of similar gifts, "E. M. B." was "my tind lady."
Long, long after tea was eaten and cleared away, and the ward tidied up and settled for the night, wee Mercy's blue eyes were still wide open, as she lay with the queer shining rings of red-gold hair pressed into her white pillow. The fact was that the busy brain wouldn't go to sleep; for Mercy was trying with all her baby might to think of something she could give the lady who had been so "tind" to her. But she had nothing of her own—not a single thing; and while impossible visions of dolls and candy and all the possessions which seemed to herself most desirable flitted through her mind, she grew wearier and still more weary, until at last they all ended in the land of dreams.
[to be continued.]
SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE.—Drawn by S. G. McCutcheon.
[BITS OF ADVICE.]
BY AUNT MARJORIE PRECEPT.
ABOUT GETTING UP IN THE MORNING.
There are two things that all the boys and girls are fully agreed upon. One is, that bed-time always comes too soon, and the other, that Bridget rings the rising bell shamefully early. Getting up in the morning is a great trial to many of us. We feel so rested and comfortable, and yet so uncommonly sleepy. It seems as though our eyes would never come really wide open, and as for dressing, it is a labor that is appalling. Oh for a good fairy to touch us with her wand, and set us, bright and resolute, right out into the middle of the morning!
The way to get up in the morning is just to do it promptly. The moment you are called, decide at once to rise. Do not wait until mother's gentle voice is tired, and Sister Lucy has determined that she will not call you again, and father comes to the foot of the stair, and calls, very seriously, "William!" "Ebenezer!" "Rebecca!" and you feel that you must rise in a hurry. Do not put off getting up until you can hardly take time to match buttons and hooks, and you can not find which strings belong to each other, and suspenders snap, and buttons fly off boots, and things are generally crooked.
When first you rise, let your thoughts go to God in thankfulness that you are alive and well, and ready to begin another day. Then wash from head to foot, with a sponge and cold water, and dry yourself with a rough crash towel, or take a rub with a stiff flesh-brush. You will feel quite warm and glowing after this exercise, which is the better for being rapidly performed. Dress so neatly and entirely, to the last touch of shoe polish and the last flourish of the hair-brush, that you need think no more about your dress all day. Be sure to attend to your teeth. They are good servants, and have so much work to do that they deserve to be carefully looked after, not with irritating powders, but with a clean brush, pure water, and occasionally a dash of white Castile soap.
.
London, England.
I am one of a large party, and we sailed in the Cunard steamer Atlas from Boston for Liverpool, April 23, at 4 p.m. Our friends stood on the wharf till we could see them no longer, and they had brought us flowers, grapes, eggs, and fresh butter, which we shared with our fellow-travellers.
The next day was Sunday, and the ship's surgeon read the morning service in the saloon, the sailors dressed up clean and came in, and we sang "Greenland's icy mountains" and "Nearer my God to Thee."
Not many passengers could come to dinner after the first day, for the sea grew rough, the ship rolled, the dish-racks (called the "fiddle") were put on, and the people were pale and seasick. In a few days they began to come out again; and having good weather, we saw the coast of Ireland May 3. When we stopped at Queenstown we sent up the Stars and Stripes, the English flag, and the flag of the Cunard Line on our mainmast.
The next day we reached Liverpool. Our trunks were lifted out of the hold, and we landed at 8 o'clock a.m. by a tug, and in a rain. The custom-house officers examined the luggage, and we drove to a hotel. We were glad to get rid of ship clothes, have our baths, and go early into real beds.
In Liverpool we saw St. George's Hall, and the statues of Queen Victoria and the Prince Consort Albert, and the lions on the gates. Hansoms were driving in the streets, and tulips were blooming.
The next day, May 5, we started for London, and I will tell about it in my next letter.
Harry G.
Farmer City, Illinois.
My school was out last week, and I with some other boys have been sprouting potatoes for my uncle Sam, to earn some spending money. I earned one dollar and twenty-five cents this week. We have been building a cave in our yard to keep milk, fruit, and vegetables in instead of a cellar. The country is so flat here that the cellars have to be drained, and that makes them so expensive that a good many people make caves. In making ours we dug down about three feet, then sided up the hollow with heavy timbers which projected two feet above the ground. Then we put a steep roof of boards over the top. At one end we made a door and steps to go down, and at the other end we put up a long square box for a ventilator. Then the roof was covered with dirt about a foot deep and sodded over. The cave looked like a little play house inside.
Harry B. L.
Danbury, Connecticut.
I want to tell Young People about a funny little chicken. It was born with only one leg and part of another. Papa is going to make it a wooden leg.
I am twelve years old, and I have had hip-disease all winter. I still wear a heavy weight, and have to stay in bed all the time. My brother brings me Young People every week, and I enjoy it so much!
Georgie E. C.
The Post-office Box has received a long letter from little Johnnie F., of Warrenton, Missouri. It is all about a bird's nest with some dear little eggs in it, which he has found in the orchard near his house, and which nobody is going to disturb until the birdies are hatched and flown away. We can not read one word of his little letter, but his papa assures us that it is the whole story of the finding of the birdies' home, and Master Johnnie himself has drawn a picture of the nest with its five little eggs.
Eden, Georgia.
I wish some of the little girls who write to the Post-office Box would tell me some of their games. I am nine years old. I live in the country, and I have two little sisters and one brother. One of my sisters is a dear little baby, not much more than a year old. She can say a few words.
Fairley C.
New York City.
I think what are called sea-beans are those large seeds known as ox-eyes. They are generally dark brown in color, but reddish and gray ones are also found. They do not grow in the sea, but in pods on large trees, which are found everywhere throughout the American tropics. They are very abundant, and the fact that they are often found strewn along sea-beaches, where they have drifted with the tide, may account for their name of sea-bean.
As they are very hard, they are capable of taking a high polish, and are often made into ornaments of different kinds.
In Cuba, where these beans are very abundant, they are the object of certain curious superstitions among the native Indian population. They are called ojos de buey (ox-eyes), or cayahabos, a word, the significance of which is evidently key-bean, the trees often growing on the keys and coral islands. The Indian women of Cuba boil these beans in a weak solution of ashes in water until they become soft enough to pierce with a stout wire, when they string them and make rosaries. They also string a bean to hang around the necks of their babies, believing that it will act as a charm against the evil-eye.
These beans grow very large in Cuba—as large as a good-sized horse-chestnut—and are so very abundant that in many places they cover the forest floor.
R. R.
Letters about the sea-bean have also been received from Charles Uhler, E. Rowland, and others.
Pomona, California.
Our cat has six cunning babies down in auntie's wood-house. One morning, when they were only a few days old, pussy came very early to get her milk, and she acted so queer that we all noticed her. She would not eat, but kept going to mamma, and mewing real loud. Then she would start down the path, and mew louder than ever, and then turn back when she saw no one was following her. Finally, mamma said pussy must have been frightened by some naughty dog, and was afraid to go back alone. Mamma started to go with her, and puss seemed so happy. She kept frisking about, and rubbing her glossy head on mamma's dress. Mamma was in a hurry to finish some work, so when she had gone half way she turned to come back, but puss lay down in the path, and began to meow so piteously that mamma started on again. When she reached the wood-house, and looked at the kittens, puss was not satisfied, but acted as if she wanted mamma to help her about something. Come to find out, one poor little kitty had fallen into a hole where puss could not reach it. Mamma reached down, and got the cold, half-dead little kit, and put it with the rest, and then pussie's joy knew no bounds, and she expressed her gratitude in every way she could. I wanted all the Young People children to know about this wise, old mother-cat.
Georgie B. C.
I will give a genuine Indian bow and two arrows to any boy or girl who will send me the largest and most rare amount of stamps (no duplicates). Please send a postal stating how many, and what kind of stamps you will give, and I will accept the best offer.
Frank K. Thomas,
P. O. Box 16, Lansing, Allamakee Co., Iowa.
My stock of coins and shells is exhausted, but I have some stamps and postmarks for exchange. I will give twelve foreign stamps, for any foreign coin except English; or eight postmarks, for one foreign stamp.
W. M. Waite,
36 Park Street, Lynn, Mass.
I will exchange a fac-simile of George Washington's signature, for twenty-three common or three rare stamps. It is a genuine fac-simile, for it is not engraved, but traced from his signature in a book given to my great-great-grandfather by General George Washington himself.
George C. Baker, Comstocks, N. Y.
My brother takes Young People, and we were very sorry when the story of "Toby Tyler" was ended.
We have five canaries, two old ones and three young ones. My sister's bird is as dark as any wild bird except a blackbird. His name is Bobby. One day mamma was passing through the hall, and heard him making a strange noise. She went to the cage, and found a chicken-snake twined in and out of the wires. She knocked the cage down, and killed the snake, but it had already pulled some feathers out of Bob's tail and neck.
I would like to exchange wild flowers, for sea-moss or shells—sea-moss preferred.
Jessie Sharp,
Madera, Fresno Co., Cal.
My stock of lava and fossilized fern is exhausted, but I have some cones and sea-shells that came from Wales, that I would like to exchange for a specimen of amethyst, iron pyrites, or other minerals. I would like to have correspondents write before sending specimens.
Harry C.,
Bergen Point, Hudson Co., N. J.
My supply of arrow-heads is exhausted, but I will send petrified wood, petrified moss, or postmarks to those correspondents I have not yet answered.
Herbert Hotaling,
P. O. Box 387, Mankato, Minn.
I will exchange ore, minerals, curiosities from Missouri, stamps, postmarks, pressed holly leaves, petrified wood from Colorado, and curious-shaped rocks from Hot Springs, Arkansas, for good agates, good specimens of ore, or any kind of minerals, or any curiosities except stamps and postmarks. I am especially anxious to obtain sea-shells and ocean curiosities, a good specimen of copper, zinc, or gold, and something from Mexico, South America, or Australia. Specimens must not be less than two inches square. I have a choice collection, and wish to obtain good things for it, and I will send the same in return.
Cora Griffith,
Calumet, Pike Co., Mo.
I withdraw my exchange which appeared in Young People No. 81, and I now offer twenty-five specimens of minerals, twenty-five specimens of woods, five pieces of Indian pottery, a tomahawk, a stamp album which cost one dollar and twenty-five cents, a pocket mariners' compass, and the numbers of Young People from 4 to 14, Vol. I., containing the stories of "Lady Primrose" and "Photogen and Nycteris," for a printing-press and type. Correspondents will please write describing press, and I will accept the best offer.
Madison Cooper, Jun.,
Evans Mills, Jefferson Co., N. Y.
Olive H. Causey, Putnam, Conn., withdraws her name from our exchange list, and requests parties who are owing her stamps to send them as soon as possible.
Lizzie Henston, Trempealeau, Wis., and Robert W. Sherdton, Toronto, Can., also withdraw their names.
We have received letters from S. Kelley, East Walnut Hills, near Cincinnati, Ohio; George E. Wells, New York city: Minnie Miller, Cincinnati, Ohio; E. P. Snively, Columbus, Ohio; Kenneth McKenzie, Cambridge, Mass.; Harriette B. Woodruff, Lake Mahopac, N. Y.; and Will and S. Hawkins, Steubenville, Ohio—all asking for addresses of careless correspondents, in order that they may make return for favors received. We have no room to specify all the different things which have been received by these correspondents unaccompanied by any address; but if any boys or girls are waiting impatiently to hear from any of them, they must not accuse them of dishonesty or neglect, but blame themselves for carelessness, by which they cause trouble, not only to the correspondent who receives the nameless package, but also to the Post-office Box.
The following exchanges are offered by correspondents:
One of Scott's International Postage-stamp Albums of 1880, and a collection of six hundred stamps, many rare, for a good foot-ball.
Frank Alabaster, P. O. Box 1423,
Ann Arbor, Washtenaw Co., Mich.
Stamps, minerals, and curiosities, including fossils, for postage stamps and coins; also, a few United States postal cards of the old issues, with printing on the back, but not otherwise used, for other postal cards or for rare stamps.
L. H. A., Jun.,
41 North Twelfth Street, Philadelphia, Penn.
Fine flower seeds and pressed ferns and flowers, for minerals, shells, petrifactions, and other interesting curiosities. No stamps wanted.
Freddy Andriessen, Beaver, Beaver Co., Penn.
Sand and stones from the Falls of St. Anthony, and specimens of wood, cut two and a half inches square, of bass-wood; red and white oak, red and white elm, black and white ash, cottonwood, iron-wood, cherry, red cedar, silver and bird's-eye maple, butternut, and white pine, for soil from the different States and countries, curiosities of any kind, or specimens of wood; same size as above. Foreign woods especially desired. Please state what is desired in exchange, and give name and locality in labelling specimens.
Howard S. Abbott,
1115 Fifth Street, E. D., Minneapolis, Minn.
Stamps. No duplicates given or taken.
A. P. Bennett,
1301 Forrest Street, Jersey City Heights, N. J.
Postmarks, for the same. Fifteen postmarks, for five foreign stamps (no duplicates). Also, postmarks and Kansas agates, for Indian relics or curiosities.
Mattie Beck,
Holton, Jackson Co., Kan.
All kinds of ores, including iron ore from Egypt and Denmark, Irish heather, and foreign stamps, for old American coins.
A Reader of "Young People,"
P. O. Box 59, Cumberland, Md.
Thirty foreign stamps, for a good Indian relic. Twenty, for Indian arrow-heads. Or stamps, for stamps.
Exchange,
108 West Fifty-seventh Street, New York City.
Stamps from France, Italy, Germany, and England, for stamps from Egypt, Cape of Good Hope, and Argentine Republic.
John H. Fisher,
Mount Washington, Baltimore Co., Md.
Rare stamps, minerals, coins, shells from China, insects, and curiosities, for stamps, coins, minerals, fossils, insects, Indian relics, or any good curiosities. Offers received for two Roman coins.
F. F. F., Lock Box 83, St. Johnsbury, Vt.
A hand fret-saw, for a collection of minerals and Indian curiosities.
Arthur D. Prince,
Corner First and Simpson Streets, Lowell, Mass.
Twenty foreign stamps (no duplicates) from Denmark, Sweden, and other countries, for an Indian arrow-head. A 90 or a 7 cent United States, for a Shanghai. A Western and a Southern Australian, for an Orange State. A Luxemburg, three Danish, two Swedish, two Norwegian, and three German, for a French colonies. Shells, for shells. Soil and stone from New Jersey, for the same from any other State.
Edward T. Perine, Plainfield, N. J.
Postmarks, for pressed wild flowers. Correspondents will please mark name of flowers, and state how many postmarks are required in return.
Ione Watts, care of O. Watts & Co.,
34½ Macdougal Street, New York City.
A new Rogers scroll-saw (foot-power), for a good bow and arrows, or a stamp collection. Correspondents please write to arrange exchange.
Julius Wieman,
P. O. Box 3149, New York City.
Foreign coins, for minerals and Indian relics.
Charles Welch,
176 High Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.
An Austrian, a German, a French, and a Bavarian stamp, for a stamp from Newfoundland with design of a fish, or for one from New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, British Columbia, Mexico, Granada, or South America.
G. B. Webster,
P. O. Box 188, Webster Grove, St. Louis Co., Mo.
Two hundred postage stamps (no duplicates), and some very rare, including stamps from San Salvador, Hawaiian Islands, South and West Australia, Turkey, Egypt, and South Africa, together with a new standard-stamp catalogue, for a new model yacht, with bowsprit, mast, jib, and mainsail, not less than twenty inches long, in good sailing order.
Walter B. Wyman,
108 Sixth Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y.
Twenty-five postmarks, for one Cape of Good Hope stamp.
Fred S. Allis,
Lock Box 18, Erie, Erie Co., Penn.
Rare and old United States postage stamps, for any other curiosity. Or type for exchange with any amateur printer.
S. B. Ayres, Jun.,
Penn Yan, Yates Co., N. Y.
Texas soil, cottonwood, dogwood, or mesquite bark and wood, for rare pressed leaves and flowers from any State except Texas.
M. Anderson and H. Phillips,
P. O. Box 41, Corsicano, Navarro Co., Texas.
Fifty foreign stamps, for any department stamps, except Treasury and Interior, or for stamps from New Brunswick.
Paul E. Bonner,
463 Waverley Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y.
F. F. F.—There has never been a King or Pope of Rome called Francis.
H. F.—The signals given by steamboats are fully described in Chapter II. of "The Cruise of the 'Ghost,'" published in No. 81 of Harper's Young People.
W. H. K.—It is not true that horse-hairs thrown into a running stream become living snakes, although many people believe that they do. A little city boy of our acquaintance once, when in the country, collected a large quantity of horse-hairs in a barn, and was throwing them into a stream, when an old farmer came along, and asked him what he was doing. "Throwing in horse-hairs," answered the boy, "and to-morrow I'll find 'em all turned into snakes." "Ah, sonny," replied the farmer, "you may watch till you're gray, but you'll never make snakes out of those horse-hairs." The boy was sadly disappointed, but the old farmer was right.
H. H.—Many kinds of toys imported into the United States from Europe are colored by means of poisonous substances, which injure the health of children. The French government has decided to stop the manufacture and sale of such toys in France, and will not hereafter allow them to be imported into that country. They will be seized on the frontier, and confiscated. Children are very much in the habit of putting toys into their mouths, and the colors, if poisonous, are sure to make them ill.
Thomas L.—The city of Brooklyn, Long Island, was originally called Breuckelen, meaning "marshy ground," after a town of that name near Utrecht, in Holland, whence the first settlers came. Instead of buying land on the high and healthy ground along the East River, now known as "Brooklyn Heights," these settlers selected the low and level land about Gowanus Bay, perhaps because it resembled the country of their birth. The first purchase of land was made in 1636, by Willem Arianse Bennet and Jacques Bentyn, who secured from the Indians a tract of 630 acres. The growth of Brooklyn was very slow. Up to the year 1820 it was only a provincial village, and in 1850 it had only about 97,000 inhabitants. It is now the largest grain dépôt in the world, and has a population, according to the census of 1880, of 566,689 people.
G. T. J. H.—See answer to C. N. C. in the Post-office Box of No. 67.
"Subscriber," Kansas.—You can send soil by mail if done up securely in a paper box, or in a very stout piece of wrapping paper. An ounce is the quantity commonly offered by our exchangers.
Alice L. R.—The egg of the Baltimore oriole is light brown, spotted with dark brown. That of the common wren is very small, and reddish-white in color. The bobolink builds its nest on the ground concealed among grass or grain. It lays five or six purplish-white eggs, which are spotted with brown at one end, and blotched all over with dark purple. The meadow-lark also builds her nest on the ground, usually in meadows where the grass is rank and tall. It is a very pretty nest, made of different grassy plants skillfully woven together.
A. A. B.—Crows' eggs are green, spotted with greenish-brown. The eggs of the redwing-blackbird are bluish-white, irregularly mottled with dark purple blotches. Its nest is suspended upon a bush or reeds in wet marshy meadows, often on tufts of cat-tails which are surrounded by water.
C. G.—All letters posted in the United States must be prepaid with United States stamps. Postage on all letters to Java and all other countries included in the Universal Postal Union is five cents for each half-ounce. The postage on a half-ounce letter to Australia, except New South Wales, Victoria, and Queensland, if sent viá San Francisco, is five cents; to New South Wales, Victoria, and Queensland, viá San Francisco, it is twelve cents for each half ounce.
G. A. M.—Wiggles are explained in the Post-office Box of Young People No. 79.