C. Y. P. R. U.

An Indian Elephant.—Some of you have been very much interested in Jumbo and his enormous appetite. A traveller who engaged an elephant to carry him over a part of India during a journey which occupied some weeks, gives this account of the elephant's food, and of the care which he received while on the march: Every day he was fed with cakes composed of flour, ghee (which is clarified butter), and coarse salt. Twenty-five pounds of flour were mixed and baked, and one-half the quantity was given to the elephant in the morning, and the other in the evening. Besides these cakes, he ate freely of the leaves and branches of trees. Each morning he would go with his mahout, or driver, into the jungle, and there he would choose and pick the branches he liked best, loading them on his back, and taking the supply home to the camp. There was a kind of marshy grass which he considered a very choice dessert. When a person engages an elephant, he of course engages the mahout as well. The mahout usually takes his wife and children with him, as it takes several people to keep an elephant comfortable. Every morning and evening he must have his bath, and before beginning the day's march his forehead, ears, paws, and every part of his body likely to be cracked with the sun must be greased. When the party comes to a halt, the elephant's heavy trappings are always taken off, and he is allowed to rest under a spreading tree. When an elephant does not feel well, he makes a pill for himself without saying a word to the doctor. With his trunk he rolls up a ball or two of red earth, and swallows it, just as naturally as pussy, when her head aches, scampers off to the catnip bed, and takes a dose of her favorite herb.

Myrtle.—I think a Shakspeare club such as you and your girl friends have organized must be both pleasant and instructive. Instead of so many stories, dear, let me persuade you to read books of travel which will give you an idea of the world we live in; and when you tire of them, and want a change, try history. The books you mention are too exciting and highly wrought to be good reading for you at present. I think you would find Sir Walter Scott's "Lady of the Lake" and "Marmion" very fascinating, and Miss Strickland's Queens of England would keep you delightfully occupied all summer.

Tom H.—Sir Richard Whittington, the hero of the tale of Whittington and His Cat, was born about 1354, in Gloucestershire, England. He was not a beggar boy, but belonged to a good family. When less than ten years old he was sent to London to be a little apprentice. From step to step he rose, until he became a great merchant, and finally Lord Mayor of London. Very likely he did send his cat away on one of his employer's ships to clear the vessel of rats and mice, and it would not be at all strange if he sometimes fancied he heard the sweet tones of the Bow-Bells calling to him

"Turn again, Whittington,
Lord Mayor of London."

Few boys become successful men without ambition. It is a good thing to mean to be somebody one of these days. But doing well is better than dreaming. The lad who works with all his might at whatever he begins, never slighting any duty until it is done, will be sure to make a useful and honored man. Now, as I have preached my little sermon, let me tell you some of the noble things Dick Whittington did. He caused a conduit, or pipe, of water to be put on tap in the wall of St. Giles's church, thus making a drinking fountain five hundred years ago very much like those we have now. He built the Guildhall Library in 1419. He repaired hospitals, and did a great deal of good among the poor and the sick, and was very kind to children. He died in 1423.

We would call the attention of the C. Y. P. R. U. this week to the article entitled "Handel and 'The Messiah,'" by Mrs. John Lillie, to "Oiling the Waves," and to "Photography and Work." In the latter Mr. Allan Forman endeavors to point out to young amateur photographers the way to overcome some of the difficulties that are likely to attend their earlier efforts. We hope that no one who has procured an outfit will become discouraged or induced by a few failures in the beginning to abandon this delightful and improving pastime, which has recently become so popular.

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

TWO ENIGMAS.

1.

My first is in rope, but not in string.
My second is in throw, but not in fling.
My third is in rill, but not in brook.
My fourth is in glance, but not in look.
My fifth is in lance, but not in dart.
My sixth is in tremble, but not in start.
My seventh is in servant, but not in slave.
My eighth is in grotto, but not in cave.
My ninth is in manage, but not in wield.
My whole's an American battle-field.

Empire City.