FÊTE DAYS IN FRANCE.
The French are a very merry nation, and for their fête or festival days have many jolly games to amuse both the children and older people. In one of these a weighted string is hung up at one end of a tent, and the children, starting from the other end, try to cut it with a pair of scissors. This would be easy enough, were it not that each player is blindfolded by a great hollow head with a grinning, ugly face, something like the comic masks we see in the shop windows. There are no holes for the eyes, and the head rests down on the shoulders of the player, like a great extinguisher, making her look like the caricatures in which little bodies are represented with big heads. The player turns around several times before starting, and having no idea of the proper direction, sometimes walks toward the sides, and snips the scissors in the faces of the spectators. A drummer marches toward the string, making a loud noise with his drum, but the sound oftener confuses than guides. If the player really succeeds in cutting the string, a present is awarded as a prize.
The same play-ground also serves at night as a dancing hall, for the French are very fond of dancing. Here is a little poem about French fêtes, which perhaps some of your grandparents will remember, as it was written about sixty years ago.
"Come with the fiddle, and play us a tune or two;
Lasses and lads, bring your dancing-shoes.
Here on the green is the light of the moon for you—
None but the lazy or lame can refuse.
Jig it with tweedledum,
Let frolic wheedle 'em,
Making Anxiety laugh as she views.
"Come, little Annette, with tresses all curling bright,
Sporting and frisking like lambkin or kid,
Foot it so sprightly, and dance it all down aright—
Never for languor shall Annette be chid.
Right hand and left again,
Round about set amain,
Jokingly, laughingly, just as you're bid.
"See, there is Lubin and Javotte already there—
Hark! 'tis the fife and the jerked tambourine—
Mother and granddad sitting all steady there,
Smiling and nodding, enjoying the scene.
They will delighted be,
While all benighted we
Dance in the moonlight that checkers the green.
"Farewell to misery, poverty, sorrowing;
While we've a fiddle we gayly will dance;
Supper we've none, nor can we go borrowing;
Dance and forget is the fashion of France.
Long live gay jollity!
'Tis a good quality—
Caper all, sing all, and laugh all, and prance."
THE CARE OF DOGS.
As most of the young people love dogs, and many of them own one or more of these faithful pets, they will, perhaps, be glad of a few hints as to their proper care and treatment.
Dogs are subject to accidents, and swellings or tumors of various kinds on different parts of the body; and in such cases, if you do not know just what to do, it is better to consult some good authority, such as the editor of a first-class sporting paper, than to try experiments which may or may not be for the good of your favorite. In order that you may be able to describe minutely and accurately the part of the animal's body where the trouble seems to be, the diagram showing the "points" of a dog is given:
Nearly all dogs enjoy an occasional washing, and if they do not get it, their skin is apt to become foul, and vermin may collect, which will prove very troublesome and difficult to remove. When the dog is to be washed, get two large buckets full of soft water, a rough towel, and a cake of Spratt's soap, for which you may be obliged to send to a dog-fancier. The water in one bucket should be lukewarm, and that in the other cold. Tie the dog in the yard or on the grass under a tree, and begin by pouring a little of the warm water on his shoulder, at the same time rubbing on the soap. Keep on in this way until every inch of the dog's body is covered with a lather, washing the head last, and taking care not to let the soapy water get into either his eyes or ears.
After the dog is thus thoroughly covered with lather, wash it off with clean warm water, at the same time gently squeezing the hide and rubbing downward. When the soap is all rinsed off, dash a few dipperfuls of cold water over the dog, and rub his jacket briskly with the rough towel. Then untie him and let him have a good run, after which, and when his coat is nearly dry, is the time to give him a thorough combing and grooming, carefully unravelling every bit of tangle or "mat" you may find in his feather. (The long hair of a dog is called his "feather," not feathers.)
In order that a dog may be kept in good health, his kennel requires frequent attention. Not only should the bedding be always sweet and dry, but the place should be occasionally scrubbed with soap and boiling water, and left to become thoroughly dry in the sun before it is again occupied.
If your dog has a collar—and every well-behaved dog deserves a pretty collar to wear when he goes out for a walk—be sure and take it off as soon as he comes in. Remember, also, that while the outside of the collar must be kept clean and bright in order to look well, it is very important for the good of the dog that the inside should be kept clean as well, and not allowed to become foul.
POINTS OF A DOG.
1. Nose.
2. Flews.
3. Nasal bone.
4. The stop.
5. The skull.
6. Occipital bone.
7. Dewlap.
8. Front of chest.
9. Top of the shoulder.
10. Top of the hip.
11. Shoulder-blade.
12. The rump.
13. The arm.
14. The elbow.
15. The fore-arm.
16. The knee.
17. The stifle joint.
18. The hock.
19. The tail; called in some breeds the flag, in others the brush, and generally in sporting dogs the stern.
20. The chest.
21. The pastern.
A DINNER IN TOKIO.
Very strange dishes came upon the board at our New-Year's dinner at the hotel in Tokio. A preliminary pipe of mild tobacco was handed around. The tobacco was too mild an affair altogether to take the edge off one's appetite, if intended for that purpose. The first course consisted of sweetmeats, served upon lacquered plates. The whole meal was of a Frenchified character. Balls of golden, scarlet, and green jellies were among the things in this dish; rice, flour, and sugar made up the constituents of the other parts of it. Saki (rice spirit) and the ever-present tea were then served round. The second course consisted of soup, into which were shredded hard-boiled eggs. This was served in bowls, but without spoons. I had, however, my purchased spoon, fork, and knife always with me, and so escaped trouble. Then came a very strange dish: it was a collop cut from a living fish wriggling on the sideboard. The Japs are a great fish-eating folk, and this raw fish-eating is quite common. The steak cut for Bruce from the living ox, told of in his Abyssinian travels, occurred to one's memory. The live tidbit is supposed to be eaten with the Japanese "Soy"—a sauce that makes everything palatable—but I let my portion of it pass. It is not possible to comply with all Japanese fashions at once. Time is necessary to the acquirement of taste. Cooked fish was next served, and that in great variety, including shell-fish. A sort of lime or small lemon was used as the flavoring to this dish. Then came boiled beans, with ginger roots, and some fried fish and horse-radish. To follow that came boiled fish and clams, the latter cut up, and served with pears. Rice in tea-cups followed, and then a salad, and the dishes were ended. The hot saki and tea cups were sent round after each course. The health of our landlord was proposed in Japanese, and drunk in saki. He then rose to reply. I thought that he would never have done bowing before he began to speak. He appeared to speak very well, and easily.
MR. HARVEY'S HOUSEKEEPERS, AND NAN'S EXAMINATION-DAY.
BY E. COOMBS.
Of the four little housekeepers, Patty, the eldest, who was fifteen, was chief. Johnny came next. He was housekeeper number two. And then there was Katie, who was eleven, and Nan, nine. Their mother had died two years before, and when the housekeeper left, about a year afterward, Patty, in all the dignity of her fourteen years, decided to dispense with help in future, and that they could do the work among themselves. Mr. Harvey was absorbed in his business, and never greatly disturbed by any irregularities in his household, provided the children were generally peaceable and happy.
So Patty's decision was allowed to stand. Housekeeping had seemed a very easy thing to her, as she had seen her mother go about quietly doing one thing after another, without hurry or confusion. But she found doing the same things herself to be another thing. Oh, the trouble they had with the cooking! The same fire that would not bake the biscuits burned the steak to a crisp. After repeated efforts and experiments, however, bread, steak, and potatoes that could be eaten appeared on the table.
Then they decided to try some cake. Patty, and Johnny, who was always ready to help, knit their brows and puzzled their brains over the recipes. Johnny volunteered to read the directions from the cook-book, while Patty measured and mixed the ingredients.
He read, "'Four eggs, two cups sugar—'"
"Stop, Johnny—don't read so fast. I wonder if the eggs ought to be beaten?"
"Course they ought to; sh'd think any goose'd know that," said Johnny, contemptuously.
"I don't believe they ought to be; the recipe doesn't say anything about beating." So the eggs were broken in with the sugar, and they were stirred together. Then the butter—a liberal quantity—and milk and flour. "'Two tea-spoons cream-tartar; flavor to taste,'" read Johnny.
At length the cake was in the oven, and they watched and waited for it to rise. But it never rose. The fire was made quick; then it was allowed to burn slower; still the cake was an inch below the top of the pan. More than an hour passed, then Patty took it from the oven. What could be the trouble? It was as heavy as lead. Johnny read the recipe over again carefully. "'One tea-spoonful soda'—that's the trouble, Pat; we forgot the soda."
Katie was the most unfortunate of the housekeepers. If she trimmed the lamps, she was sure to spill the oil; if she cooked the dinner, in spite of her wisest precautions it was sure to be burned. And Johnny used laughingly to warn her against looking at stakes, or nails, or twigs, as a rent in her dress was sure to be the result.
Then there was Nan. She did so hate dish-washing! Sometimes, if in the very midst of hot water and rattling crockery, she saw her girl friends outside at play, away she would go, not thinking again of her unfinished task until returning, perhaps half an hour afterward, she would find the towels wet and the water cold in the pan.
And it must be confessed that sometimes even Patty herself would drop her broom, and at the same time her dignity, and join the children, as eager as any of them, forgetful of the dinner hour and the uncooked dinner.
But the sewing—making the clothes—was the worst. Patty was so proud that she would not ask help from anybody—no, not if she ruined her eyes, and worked her fingers to the bone. Garments were picked to pieces, stitch by stitch, to learn how they were made. Dresses were puzzled over, and pulled this way and that; a little cut off here and a piece sewed on there to make them fit.
But now was coming the tug of war. In a week would be the examination at the grammar school to which Nan went, and she had not a thing fit to wear.
Patty wondered what she should do. She consulted her father.
"Why, buy her a dress," he said.
"But I can not buy one all made."
"Make her one, then," and he laid a crisp bill on the table.
So Patty was left to manage as best she might. Taking Nan with her, she went first to the shoe store, where she selected a pair of the daintiest, nicest-fitting boots; then to the dry-goods store, where she bought a number of yards of some sort of twilled goods of a lovely shade of blue. With these, a lace bib, and a large blue bow for her hair, Patty thought Nan would look very pretty.
Purchasing the material had been quite easy; but now came the cutting and making of the dress. The dresses of other girls were studied, fashion plates consulted by all the little housekeepers, and at last a style was decided upon. Then there was a laying on of patterns, and cutting, and basting, and ripping out, and sewing together, till at last the dress was completed. It is true that it was a little too long on the shoulder, and a little too short under the arm, and a little too scant in the skirt. But it was pretty, and the effect was good.
At length the day before examination came, and everything was ready. The lace had been basted into the sleeves, and the dress, French kid boots, bow, and collar were laid away in the best chamber.
But just before dark a lady living in another part of the city sent for Patty to come and spend the night with her, as she was alone. How could she go? There was Nan to be dressed in the morning. But then she could not disappoint her kind friend; so, after giving Katie and Nan many directions for the morning, she left them, promising to meet them at the school-house.
The next morning Johnny got the breakfast, and Nan and Katie cleared away the dishes. Then they went up stairs to dress. Nan had just finished her hair, having pinned on the blue bow, and was surveying its effect in the glass, when the sound of music on the street, just in front of the house, attracted her attention. She rushed to the window. There was a chariot painted in gay colors, and men in scarlet and gold uniforms, and such music! The new dress was forgotten, and she flew down stairs and out of the door. With a troop of children she followed the gaudy chariot and gayly caparisoned horses from street to street.
At length, before she realized how far she had gone, she found herself before the school-house door, and the clock was striking nine. There was no time to go back. She thought of the new dress. No matter; she had on the blue bow.
Patty had gone directly to the school-house, instead of first going home, and was awaiting Nan's appearance.
The bell rang for the second class to come down; and though trying to be calm and dignified, Patty could not help leaning eagerly forward, as the girls came trooping into the recitation-room. She wanted to see how Nan looked in the new blue dress and neat boots.
One by one the girls pushed forward and took their seats, until at last— Could that be Nan? Poor Patty's cheeks burned with mortification as she saw her pressing eagerly forward among the rest, her freckled face beaming with satisfaction. Instead of the beautiful blue dress, she had on a faded calico, considerably outgrown, and her coarse every-day boots with copper tips, half laced up, and much the worse for wear. But, in striking contrast, the blue bow was perched proudly on the top of her head. Then she had forgotten her pocket-handkerchief, and poor Patty was anything but soothed by the snuffs that she gave from time to time.
But when the recitations were heard Nan's dress was forgotten. Her answers were prompt, correct, and distinct; and Patty's feelings were somewhat soothed by the looks and words of praise that passed from one to another of the examining committee, as Nan, still fresh and unwearied, answered the last question correctly.
Then came the awarding of prizes. The silence of expectancy reigned in the school-room, unbroken, save by the whispered consultation of teachers and examiners. At last the principal called the second class forward to the recitation seats.
As the girls passed down the aisles, another great wave of mortification swept over poor Patty, as Nan, in striking contrast to the other girls, in their pretty dresses, still careless and eager, pressed forward among the rest. When the girls reached their places, and all had become quiet, one of the committee rose and said: "You have all done well. I am pleased with the interest which you seem to manifest in your school and studies, and with the industry and application shown by your ready responses. But for prompt, correct, and distinct answers, which her teachers tell me have been uniform throughout the term, I award to Miss Nannie Harvey the first prize." And as Nan, bright and unconscious as ever, stepped forward to receive it, an almost audible smile passed round the room, mingled with a murmur of applause.
But after this, as they trudged home together, Patty was almost as forgetful as Nan of the shabby dress and thick half-worn shoes.
