C. Y. P. R. U.

Do mothers ever peep into the Post-office Box? The Postmistress feels sure they do, and so she tells this little story as much for them as for their children. Perhaps some loving mother will gather her boys closer to her and pet them more tenderly when she reads about this dear little fellow, who was taken from a charitable institution to be "bound out" to a farmer in New Jersey. The agent noticed that the boy kept placing his right hand inside of his jacket on the left side, and occasionally would peep within with a tender look. At last he said,

"What have you got in there, my little friend?"

"Oh, nothing, sir," he replied, "only a bit of my mother's dress, which I've sewed in my coat; it was the dress she had on when she died, and now it kind o' comforts me to touch it."

I am glad to print this composition of a school-girl of thirteen, first, because it does her credit, and next, because it may give some people an idea which will be useful, especially if they have careless children or servants to vex them:

The "Pound" as a Means of Education.—Neatness and order are two of the most praiseworthy and necessary habits to be formed. Without them we can not be good-natured or happy; for if we are continually fretting and fuming about something that we are "sure we put on the table yesterday, and now it has disappeared, and who has taken it?" etc., etc., we can not be as contented and pleasant as though each thing were in its proper place, and we could go right there and get it without any trouble.

Our mother had discovered this. Her family was growing up with disorderly habits, which grew worse every day, and she now determined to put a stop to it. A school in the neighborhood had had a great deal of trouble on account of the disorder in which the recitation-rooms were left by the pupils after dismissal in the afternoon.

Since the lady principal has had a "pound"—which, I can assure you, was filled to overflowing each day—the pupils recognized the fact that it was, to use their own words, a "cure."

So, one Saturday morning, mother decided to set up a "pound" in our last summer's picnicking basket. At breakfast she declared to father that her patience with us had "given out," and that she resorted to this as the last hope of reforming her careless young people.

Accordingly, after father had gone down town, mother told us to ransack every nook and cranny in the house, and gather together all our things that were not in their proper places.

Jack's umbrella, which had evidently seen better days, was soon hauled from the depths of the wood-box, where "it just fell in—hadn't time to pull out—sorry," as he explained. The remains of a pair of Harry's arctics and my skates, besides countless numbers of mufflers, fur gloves with no mates, torn books, jackknives, marbles, and—what do you think?—Bridget's switch, that, "begorra, she'd missed sence the new gurrul came." That finished the wood-box, which we left for Harry's closet.

Dozens and dozens of half-worn shoes, foot-balls, several packs of cards, and last year's school-books in fragments, with several of his new neck-ties, and his best white kids, all "sort of thrown together, you know," with a quart or so of Excelsior taffy, which we had manufactured on Halloween. As one would imagine, it took an hour or two to dig through this mixture; but as "perseverance will conquer," it was accomplished by dinner-time.

But do not think this was the last of the wonders of neatness we routed out that day. Little Julie too was thoroughly "up" in the art of disorder. Even her tiny play-house was nothing short of a show. Why, Timothy Todkins, her paterfamilias, had lost both his legs and an eye, and the poor fellow's nose was in a shockingly damaged condition. And Mrs. Zenobia Franklin Todkins! Well, she was altogether unmentionable. To see mother's face when we piled all the things in a heap before her? She did not say a word, but just placed them in the basket, and put it on a shelf in the library closet.

I think that Harry did look a little bit glum while mother sat there; but don't tell me it was his conscience pricking him. More likely 'twas because he wouldn't be able to wear his white kids at Puss Pringle's party on Wednesday. Jack and I went out, but we met father in the hall, with little Julie hanging on his arm, and begging him to "det Dulie's Toddie for her; poor Toddie was pounded all up from Dulie." Mother showed to our astonished papa the contents of that pound, and after having a hearty roar over them, he closed operations by administering a sound scolding to us, of which this was the moral:

Little girls and little boys
Should aspire to be neat,
And not destroy their pretty toys,
But them in order keep.
Sue Bradley.

We would call the attention of the C. Y. P. R. U. this week to the interesting article by Miss Sarah Cooper entitled "Some Odd Relations of the Jelly-Fish," in which we learn more about the curious creatures that seem to us simply plants, but which that magical instrument the microscope shows to be living animals eating and drinking, and leading strange, mysterious lives way down in the depths of blue sea. You all know well the name of England's great Prime Minister, Mr. W. E. Gladstone, and you will be glad to read the little sketch of his noble and laborious life. The boys will not need to have their attention called to the story of "A Buffalo Hunt in South Africa," told by an adventurous English sportsman; nor will it be necessary to repeat the suggestion made by the author of "An Old-fashioned Amusement," that all our readers, young and old, spend an occasional leisure hour trying what they can do in the way of forming new and entertaining "Anagrams."

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Willard S. M., Philip Ruxton, Victor C. Thorne, Jesse Godine, Georgie Wardell, E. Cressingham, Louis and Frank Clark, Florence A. Nickerson, May Barklie, Bernard W. Spilman, Clara K., Ella Chirney, Kittie Lewis, Harper Richardson, "Mamma, Robbie, and Papa," J. Ames, Fannie D. Posey, Willie Layton, "Bob," Everett Fay, Edith M. Wetmore, Jerome Bouton, "Lodestar," Fred H. Lanneker, Ashley H. Thorndike, "Queen Bess," "Fill Buster," William A. Lewis, "King Charles," "Helen of Troy," "Francis," S. Whitlock, I. C. Tomes, Carrie D. B. Brisbin, Rosa M. Benedict, R. Louis Lloyd, and Ernest D. Elam.

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.

A proverb of Solomon. I am composed of 76 letters.
My 13, 3, 49, 44 is an English watering-place.
My 40, 50, 57, 30, 76 is an aromatic plant.
My 41, 27, 48, 52, 19, 65 is part of the fire-place.
My 34, 66, 38, 60, 74, 10, 35 is a season of rest.
My 56, 62, 58, 67, 69, 8, 70 is uncurrent coin.
My 6, 36, 59, 5, 55, 42, 63 is a shrub.
My 26, 16, 9, 43, 68, 76, 28, 8, 72, 11 is a racket.
My 71, 61, 25, 2, 52, 31, 37, 7, 51 is an author.
My 47, 20, 30, 70, 3, 75, 18, 39, 30 is a school.
My 24, 45, 1, 32, 54, 73, 17, 12, 29, 21 is a game.
My 22, 8, 12, 53, 64, 46, 14 is a flowering herb.
My 15, 69, 7, 33, 4, 23, 70, 71, 42 is wakefulness.

Busy B.'s.