THE MONTHS.—By Kate Greenaway.
SUMAC HUNTING.
BY J. ESTEN COOKE.
Anybody visiting the valley of Virginia in the autumn will be sure to notice, after sunset, all along the slopes of the Blue Ridge Mountains, little glimmering lights like stars. These are the fires in front of the small tents of the sumac hunters, who, after gathering sumac all day long, are laughing and talking with their wives and children as they eat their suppers before lying down to sleep.
Sumac is a very pretty plant or shrub which grows a few feet high only, and has beautiful blood-red leaves springing from a delicate shoot, or bough. The stalk is smooth, and the leaves are almond-shaped, only more pointed. On the top of the plant and its larger boughs grow bunches of red berries in the shape of grape bunches; and the leaves and berries are of such a deep, rich crimson in the late autumn that they sometimes make the slopes of the hills appear as if they were on fire. If any little girl would like to dress the vases on the parlor mantelpiece prettily, she could not do better than collect a handful of these delicate tendrils with their scarlet leaves, and use them as a background to the lovely little autumn flowers—late primroses, stars-of-Bethlehem, wild honeysuckles, and fringed ferns—which grow in the woods and fields at this time of the year.
But the honest country people who take so much pains about collecting sumac are not thinking about dressing vases with it. They gather it to sell, and are paid from one cent to a cent and a half a pound for it at the sumac mills. This may not seem much, but then the ocean is made up of drops, and with poor people a little money goes a long way. As little children can pull sumac just as well as grown people, a whole family may gather in a day several dollars' worth.
It is used for dyeing, and is said to be better for that purpose than anything else to color fair leather and certain other fabrics. Great quantities of it are employed in printing calicoes in rich patterns, and the dresses worn by ladies and girls often owe their bright colors to the leaves of the sumac. The way in which it is collected and prepared for use is very simple. As soon as the leaves turn red, which is toward the end of summer, the sumac hunters begin their work. They scatter through the fields, or along the sides of the mountain, and break off the twigs on which the leaves are growing; for these twigs do not make the leaves less valuable. Then, when they have collected an armful, they put it in a pile or into bags, and as night comes on the whole is taken to one spot, from which it is hauled home in wagons. Here it is laid on the floor of the barn or any out-house, in the shade, so that it may dry very gradually, and keep the juices which afford the coloring matter. When this process of drying is gone through with, and the leaves are in a proper state, it is loaded on carts or wagons, in bags, and taken to the sumac mills, where it is weighed, and paid for by the owner of the mills at the rate, as I have said, of from one cent to a cent and a half a pound. The largest mills in Virginia, where the finest sumac grows—or at least a very fine article—are at Richmond; but at Winchester, in the lower part of the Shenandoah Valley, toward the Potomac, there is a big mill, where great quantities are purchased, and prepared for the use of the dyers. The leaves and small twigs are pounded and reduced to a fine dust, and then it is ready to be sent away. When it reaches the manufactories where it is to be used as a dye for leather, calico, etc., it is mixed with what are called mordants, certain substances that make it bite in, as the word means, and take fast hold of the material to be dyed; and then there is the pretty calico with its bright colors, which can not be washed out.
It is only of late years that much attention has been paid to it in Virginia. People thought more about raising corn and wheat than of gathering sumac; but in twenty years they have learned a great deal, and now begin to understand that "every little helps," and that if they can go with their wives and children and pull sumac, and then sell it, they can take their money and buy sugar and coffee, and perhaps some of the very calico for their little girls' dresses which the red leaves of the sumac make so pretty.
The children like the "camping out" on the mountain in the pleasant summer and fall nights very much. It is a sort of frolic, and it is a very good thing to mix up pleasure with work: it makes the work much easier. The tents are very simple little affairs—only a breadth of canvas stretched across a ridge-pole, like the "comb" of a house, held up by forked sticks set in the ground. In this are spread what in Virginia are called "pine tags," that is, the tassels, or needles, of the pine-trees, which are dry and brown, and by spreading a blanket or old comforter on these you have an excellent soft bed. In front of the tent a fire is built to cook by, and by means of forked sticks a pot can be hung above the fire for making soup, boiling meat, etc. By this fire, as I have told you, the sumac hunters gather in the evening, after work, and laugh and talk and sing, and eat their suppers; or perhaps some one of them can play the fiddle, and he strikes up a dancing tune, and the girls and boys dance on the grass, and laugh and enjoy themselves much more than if they were in fine drawing-rooms. After a while the long day's work makes them sleepy, and they lie down on the fresh pine tags in the tent, and go to sleep—to be up at daylight, and once more at work hunting and gathering their sumac.
OLD TIMES IN THE COLONIES.
BY CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN.
No. VIII.
THE BATTLE OF THE RANGERS.
When war broke out between France and England in 1755, the French and Indians came down from Canada and attacked the settlers of New England and New York, as they had done in previous wars, burning their dwellings, killing men and women, or carrying them to Canada as prisoners.
The French had a fort at Crown Point, on Lake Champlain, and another at Ticonderoga; while the English had Fort William Henry, at the southern end of Lake George, and Fort Edward, on the Hudson.
The English officers who had been sent over by the King to command the "Provincials," as the people of England called all who lived in America, thought that soldiers must march in the wilderness with just as much precision as along a hard beaten road, that they must move in platoons and columns, keeping step to the drum-beat. The French officers, on the other hand, adopted the plan of the Indians, marching in single file, each man carrying his provisions. They made quick movements, falling suddenly upon a settlement, with their Indian allies, making all the havoc possible, and before the settlers could gather to resist them, would be far on their way to Crown Point or Canada.
Robert Rogers, of New Hampshire, who was fighting the French, prevailed upon Lord Loudon, the English commander-in-chief, to allow him to form a battalion of troops, who should have the privilege of scouting the woods around Lake George and Lake Champlain, to discover the movements of the French and Indians, to fall upon them just as they were stealing upon the English, strike a blow, and be gone before the French would know what had happened. He would play their own game upon them.
Lord Loudon having given his consent, Major Rogers went to New Hampshire and enlisted his men. They were all young, strong, athletic. They had tramped over the hills and mountains of that province, hunting bears, and had set their traps along the streams for beavers. They could pick their way through the forest on a cloudy day when there was no sun to guide them, and could tell in the darkest and cloudiest night which way was north by feeling the bark on the trees—for the bark is always more mossy on the northern than on the side exposed to the sun.
It was to be a service of hardship and privation. They would have to make long marches; to sleep on the ground; to endure great fatigue; brave the cold of winter, wrapping themselves in their blankets at night, and lying down with the snow for their bed.
Although the hardships would be so great, Robert Rogers had no difficulty in obtaining all the men he wanted. The settlers had suffered so much from the enemy that they were eager to take their revenge. There was a fascination in the service. How stirring the thought of stealing through the woods, making roundabout marches, shooting a deer or bear, eating the nice steaks, lying down to sleep beneath the trees; up again in the morning, coming upon the French and Indians unawares, pouring in a volley, killing the savages or taking them prisoners, and returning in triumph!
Major Rogers chose as lieutenant the man who had knocked the Indians about, right and left, when called upon to run the gauntlet—John Stark, who could follow a trail as well as any Indian, who was always cool and collected, and as brave as a lion. The men were called Rangers. They wore green frocks, and besides their rifles each man had a long knife which he could use in a close fight. They wore boots and leather leggings, and each man carried his rations—bread and cold corned beef—in a bag.
The ice on Lake George was thick and strong in March, 1757, when the Rangers, seventy-four in number, with iron spurs on their feet, several days' rations in their bags, their blankets rolled upon their shoulders, marching in single file, with trailed arms, Major Rogers at the head, and John Stark in the rear, started from Fort William Henry.
They made their way over the gleaming ice for two days, but on the third day they left the lake, put on their snow-shoes, entered the woods, marched past Ticonderoga, and came out upon the western shore of Lake Champlain, discovered a party of French, with horses and sleds, on their way from Ticonderoga to Crown Point. Stark, with a part of the Rangers, made a dash and captured seven prisoners. He did not see another party of French around a point of land in season to capture them. They escaped to Ticonderoga, and gave the alarm.
Major Rogers knew that a large party of French and Indians would be sent out from Ticonderoga to intercept him, and at once started to return.
It was a rainy day. The snow was damp and heavy. "We will go to our last night's camp, and dry our guns," said Major Rogers.
They reached the camping-place, where the fires were still burning, dried their guns, put in new priming, and started once more, Rogers in front, Stark bringing up the rear.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon. Rogers descended a hill, crossed a brook, and was picking his way up another hill, when he found himself face to face with more than two hundred French and Indians, the nearest not twenty feet distant.
A volley. Lieutenant Kennedy and John Gardiner fall dead; a bullet glances from Rogers's skull, for a moment taking away his senses; the blood flows down his face, blinding him. Several other Rangers are wounded.
"Form here."
Lieutenant Stark issues the order, and the Rangers under his command take position on a little hill. The Rangers down in the valley fire a volley at the French, holding their ground till all the wounded can make their way back to Stark's position.
Rogers wipes the blood from his face, and issues his orders.
"You are to command the centre," he says to Stark.
He sends Sergeants Walker and Phillips with eight men to the rear, to give notice of any attempt of the enemy to crawl round and attack from that direction.
"Don't throw away your ammunition; keep cool; don't expose yourselves," are the orders, and each Ranger takes position behind a tree. They know that the enemy outnumber them three to one, that they have had the advantage of the first fire; but each Ranger prepares to fight to the bitter end.
Round through the woods steal a part of the French and Indians, making a wide circuit. Major Rogers reasoned correctly, and he posted the two sergeants in the right place. The eight Rangers pick off the French one by one, giving them such a warm reception that instead of rushing on, they remain at a distance.
The other French, with a horde of Indians howling the war-whoop, begin the attack in front, the Indians springing from tree to tree, getting nearer and nearer. But the Rangers are on the watch, and many of the savages leap into the air and fall dead, or crawl away, leaving bloody trails upon the snow.
"If you will surrender, we will give you good quarter," shouts the French commander.
Major Rogers was faint from the loss of blood, and at the moment was faint-hearted. He feared that the Rangers would all be picked off before the fight would cease. It would be three hours to sunset. Could they hold out till then? He had no thought of surrendering, but would it not be best to retreat?
John Stark's blood is up.
"Retreat! No; that will be certain destruction. We can beat them here. I'll shoot the first man that attempts to retreat."
It was bold language for him to use to his commander, but he knew that Rogers had been stunned by the bullet that had glanced from his skull, and was not quite himself.
CUTTING OFF A QUEUE TO BIND A WOUND.
The fight goes on, the Rangers taking sure aim, the French firing more wildly, but still one by one the Rangers drop. Captain Spikeman and Mr. Baker are killed. A bullet strikes the lock of Stark's gun, and renders it useless. He sees a Frenchman fall at the instant, springs forward, seizes his gun, returns to his tree, and renews the fight.
A bullet tears through Rogers's wrist, and the blood spurts out in a stream. It must be stopped, or he will bleed to death. Rogers wears his back hair braided in a queue.
"Take your knife and cut off my queue," he says to one of the Rangers, who whips out his hunting-knife, cuts off the queue, and Rogers sticks it into the wound to stop the flowing of the blood.
All through the dreary afternoon the fight goes on. The snow is crimsoned with blood. The killed and mortally wounded lie where they fall. For the Rangers there is no escape; they must conquer or die.
The shades of night steal on; the fire of the French and Indians has been growing less; the war-whoop dies away; the last gun is fired. The enemy, picking up their wounded, retire to Ticonderoga, leaving the Rangers victors. What a dear-bought victory!—one-half of them killed or wounded. Of the enemy one hundred and sixteen have fallen!
The Rangers were only four miles from Ticonderoga, and might expect to be attacked again in the morning. They were forty miles from Fort William Henry. They were weary and worn, but they must move on. They made litters for the wounded, and started, marching all night, but making only a few miles.
The snow had ceased, the air was chill. They must have help. John Stark, leaving them, started for Fort William Henry, reaching it at sunset. Soldiers with horses and sleds started at once, and John Stark with them, stopping not a moment to rest his weary limbs. At sunrise he was back to the Rangers with the re-enforcements and supplies. The French had not followed them, and they made their way safely back to Fort William Henry, having fought one of the most obstinate, unequal, yet victorious battles recorded in history.
THE ANGEL IN THE LILLY FAMILY.
BY SHERWOOD BONNER.
There was something rather queer about the Lilly family. In the first place there were so many of them—fourteen precious children. This alone is queer, when it is the fashion of the day to have small families, and "well-springs of pleasure" are as scarce as diamonds in any properly regulated household. But Mrs. Lilly's heart was made on the omnibus plan; and there was no miserable little "Complet" ever scrawled over its door.
Then it was queer how they avoided nicknames in the Lilly family. Each child was called by its full name, which sometimes happened to be a pretty long one.
It was through a sad accident that one of the Lilly children turned into a regular little angel.
The day after Christmas Mrs. Lilly's aunt—grandaunt of the children—carelessly allowed poor Katharine Kirk Lilly to fall on a marble floor. A serious injury to her spine was the result.
Dear! dear! how Mrs. Lilly screamed! She threw herself on the bed, and poured forth tears enough to put out a Christmas bonfire. She was not soothed until the doctor came, and after a careful examination—which the sufferer bore without a word or moan—pronounced that poor Katharine Kirk would live. But, alas! he added that she must always be an invalid. And smiling with the patient sweetness that distinguished her, the dear child sank back on the pillows from which she was never to lift her golden head. All the rest of the Lilly children stood round, showing by a sort of paralyzed expression on their faces how deeply they were moved; but none of them cried.
"Perhaps, dears," said the poor little mother, sobbing, "this affliction will be blessed to you."
"It will," cried the penitent great-aunt, clasping Mrs. Lilly in her arms; "it will teach them lessons of patience, of self-denial, of love, that will be as good as—"
"As the Prince's pricking-conscience ring in the family," suggested Mrs. Lilly's mother, who had a way of turning things into fun, and never gave way to her feelings.
It was surprising what a change from that time dated in the Lilly family. They had been like other children, a little faulty, perhaps, rather apt to stand on their rights—a fierce footing—but merely to look at the darling invalid, her shining hair outspread, her blue eyes ever bright, was to receive a lesson in sweetness and good temper.
Take the case of Phillips Arthur Cliff Lilly. This young gentleman was the youngest of the family, and his mother's favorite. Why, no one knew, except that he was so ugly. He had so many scars on his face, from falls and fights, that somehow he produced the impression of a target. His hair stood out like a halo of straw, and one defiant wisp reared itself above his forehead with the grace of a cat's whisker. Mrs. Lilly could never sleep until he was safe in her arms, and his life knew no cross until after the accident to Katharine Kirk, who became, in her turn, the pivot round which the family revolved. Horrible to relate, his mother one evening, in her hurry to get back to the invalid, forgot her youngest, and left him in the Common. There he lay all night, like a tramp, with the stars twinkling at him, and stray dogs sniffing as they passed him by. Yet when he was found he did not utter one word. He opened his blue eyes as he was picked up, and only gave a single plaintive cry as he was pressed to his frantic mother's bosom.
Then there was Myra Miles. She was one of the young ladies of the family, and, as might be forgiven in a beauty, a trifle vain. She was to receive calls on New-Year's Day, and had expected to come out in a fine new dress. Pink tarlatan it was to be, trimmed in the French taste with blue, with a train to thrill you to your finger-tips, which seemed to bear the same relation to Myra Miles as the rest of a snake does to its head. Mrs. Lilly's mamma was making it; but her time was suddenly demanded to do something for the invalid, and the dress was thrown aside. The consequence was that poor Myra Miles appeared in the gorgeous pink dress with a black lace scarf instead of the waist. Still, not one word of complaint did she utter, although her sisters Dorothy Dimple and Martha Bonn—the favorites of Mrs. Lilly's aunt—appeared in exquisite raiment of green and blue. There was something very beautiful about her resignation.
When the lovely Susan Mears Lilly was married, Katharine Kirk was taken in her pretty bed to view the ceremony, and was quite a feature of the occasion. Indeed, she did not begin to look so weak and ill as the bridegroom, who, poor youth, was so tottering that Mrs. Lilly's aunt cruelly suggested that his back should be propped with a hair-pin. You may imagine how the girls laughed at this, especially Teresa Fehmer Lilly, a wicked little bridemaid in red satin.
And such attentions as the sufferer had from friends of the Lilly family! The beautiful belle Miss Lilian Love spent many hours over a dainty quilt of silk and lace to adorn the sick-bed. A glorious poet sent in a box of agreeable medicine, with a note running like this:
"My dear Mrs. Lilly,—I send you a little book for your sick child, and some medicine for her poor broken back. The peculiarity of this medicine is that in order to produce any good effect it must be taken by the nurse. This is rather hard upon the nurse; but if she is a good nurse she will not mind it much."
Jane Jumper was the nurse really; but while the medicine lasted Mrs. Lilly herself took entire charge, and administered the sweet doses to herself, without one word from Katharine Kirk.
It may have occurred by this time to some shrewd little reader that under no circumstance was any member of this household apt to give utterance to silver speech. Shall I confess? Or, my dear children, have you guessed that Katharine Kirk and all the cherished fourteen belonged to the beloved, the beautiful, the dumb, family of—Dolls?
Viareggio, Italy.
I am nearly six years old. I would like to have a tea party on my birthday. After my birthday has come I will write again, and tell you all about it.
In Rome I have a big play horse and two kitties. My little cat is gray and white, and is called Bimbo. He walks on his toes, and makes a long face. Papa's cat's name is Cavaliere. He is a big Maltese cat.
In Rome we have a nice house and a nice garden, and in the garden there is a straw hut.
We are finishing the summer at Viareggio, and we have nice sea-baths.
Imogen R.
Smith's Hill, Feather River, California.
I enjoy the letters in Young People, especially those that tell of birds and flowers I have not seen. There are mocking-birds here in summer, and a beautiful bird called goldfinch. There are also robins, bluebirds, and many varieties of sparrows. The bluebirds and robins stay here all winter. It is too bad to take eggs from the birds to give away in exchange. The pitcher-plant grows in a valley not far from here.
My sister Bell went to Lassens Peak last week. It is 10,600 feet high. There is no snow on the mountain now except a small patch on top. Hundreds of small butterflies were flitting about on the mountain-side and alighting on the rocks. As there is no vegetation, except a few hardy plants scattered among the ledges, I wonder what they find to live on. A lake which could be seen from the top of the peak had the appearance of being frozen. In the valley below there are hot boiling springs.
Lou R. K.
Yes, it is too bad to take so many birds' eggs. But if our correspondents are careful to take only one or two from each nest, and to always leave more than half, as we have already begged them to do, the mother-bird will not suffer. If we could believe for a moment that our little friends would be so cruel as to disturb the brooding mother, and rob her nest of all its eggs, we would never publish another letter requesting an exchange of these pretty natural curiosities. The nesting season is now over in all the Northern States, but when it returns, we trust the young egg collectors will never allow their eagerness to secure the coveted treasure to overcome their sense of honor and their kindness of heart.
Charleston, South Carolina.
I am ten years old. I take Harper's Young People, and I like it very much. I am always glad when Wednesday comes, for that is the day I get it. I think it is a very nice paper for boys and girls. I have a pet dog whose name is Lion.
Samuel P.
Belleville, Texas.
I am ten years old. I have no pets except a Maltese cat and a dog. I was very much interested in the dog and cat of Madelaine, the little French girl. I like "The Moral Pirates" and "Who was Paul Grayson?" best of all the stories. My father gave me a piano for my birthday present; and when I was seven years old he gave me a pony, and I named him Button. I dearly love to gallop over the hills.
I went to New Hampshire in 1875 to see my grandfather, and we visited the White Mountains.
I think Young People is the nicest paper I ever saw, and I intend to take it until I grow up.
Josie C.
New York City.
B. I., of Radnor, Ohio, asks how to feather arrows. Choose goose or turkey feathers of a suitable size. Cut them carefully from the quill; put on hot glue, and fasten them to the sides of the arrow, about an inch from the notch, at equal distances apart. There should always be three feathers.
A. H.
It is a good plan to fasten the feathers to the arrow with pins until the glue is perfectly dry, when they can be carefully removed.
San Francisco, California.
I have a pet now, a lovely little dog, with long curly hair and large bright eyes. He is snowy white all over, and his name is Mischief. I am going to have his picture taken some time. He looks just like a bundle of cotton, with three black spots shining through. Those are his eyes and nose.
The tree represented in the illustration of the beetles in Young People No. 38 is just like the California buckeye-tree. The blossoms are exactly the same.
I am very much interested in the directions for making salt and fresh water aquariums. When I was in Monterey I might have collected lots of sea-anemones, snails, and pink and white star-fish, but I did not think of it. One of the gentlemen at the hotel went fishing with a net, and caught a little baby cuttle-fish, or devil-fish, as it is commonly called. It had seven or eight long legs, all lined with little suckers, like buttons. It was a dreadful ugly-looking thing. It must have been very young, for it was only ten or eleven inches long. The gentleman was going to keep it for a curiosity, and until he could get something better he put it in a pan of salt-water; but he forgot to cover the pan, and in the night the fish crawled out on to the floor, and died.
I have exchanged Farallon Island eggs and leaves and specimens of trees with a good many children since my letter was printed.
Is there any difference between postage stamps and postmarks? I don't believe I know what postmarks are.
Ida Belle Diserens.
A postmark is the stamp put on the outside of a letter at the office where it is posted. It certainly is not of much value in itself, but if a collection is neatly pasted in a book, States and countries being arranged together, counties being written under towns in the United States, and a note made of any manufactories or natural productions for which the town is celebrated, such a collection may become an interesting gazetteer, and valuable as a book of reference.
Hoboken, New Jersey.
On September 27 I found a blossom on the peach-tree in our back yard. I picked it, and have pressed it to send to you. I think it is very odd to have peach blossoms in September, and I would like to know if any girl or boy has ever seen them blooming in that month in this climate.
I think the story "Who was Paul Grayson?" is splendid.
Reba H.
South Eliot, Maine.
I bought three silk-worms' cocoons at the Educational Department of the Permanent Exhibition at Philadelphia. In about a week's time the cocoons broke, and the moths came out and began to lay their eggs on a sheet of brown paper which I laid them on. They have laid about all their eggs now, and there are a great many.
Chester B. F.
Howard, Texas.
I am seven years old. Mother teaches me at home. I am studying spelling, geography, arithmetic, and the Third Reader.
I love so much when Wednesday morning comes, for then I get my Young People, and I read until I have finished it.
I received a beautiful pressed bouquet, from Mary Lowry. It was real nice, and I am going to send her some seeds very soon.
I have three dolls, one wax and two china ones. Every day, when I am through with my lessons, my sister Myrtle and I have nice times playing with them.
Mabel P.
West Chester, Pennsylvania.
I live on a farm about one mile from town.
We had a ring-dove given to us, and we bought a mate for it, and now we have four more. One is just hatched. Last summer, a year ago, we had a present of a pair of guinea-pigs, and we have raised six others. One of the little ones is pure white, except its head, which is black. It looks as if it had a mask on. My brother, who is ten years old, has a pigeon-house and about thirty pigeons. And he has six rabbits, which are all the time burrowing out of the pen, and a young shepherd dog. We have black and brown bantams, and two little red calves we call Spot and Lina, because one has a red spot on its back, and the other a white line.
Last spring I planted one small ear of pop-corn, and now I have gathered nearly eighty ears from it. I also planted ground-nuts.
My brother, my sister, and I have each a pair of stilts, and we have lots of fun inventing new ways to walk on them.
Bessie R. H.
I would like to exchange postage stamps of France and Germany with any readers of Harper's Young People. Correspondents will please put "Viâ England" on the envelope, as letters thus addressed are more likely to come safely.
B. D. Woodward, 49 im Trutz,
Frankfort-on-the-Main, Germany.
I would like to exchange postmarks for foreign postage stamps, or for other postmarks, with any boy in the South or West.
William F. Penney,
559 Henry Street, Brooklyn, New York.
I have a collection of postage and revenue stamps, and would like to exchange with readers of Young People.
W. H. Eastman,
Emporia, Kansas.
My mamma takes Young People for my sister Laura and me. We read all the stories, and are never tired of it.
We have a pair of pet pigeons named Polly and Dolly. When we first got them we had to put the food in their mouths, but now they can eat alone. When we come they hunt in our hands for something to eat.
I am a little Iowa girl, but my father came to live in Old Virginia almost five years ago. We live near Greenway Court, the old home of Lord Fairfax, and where General Washington surveyed the land when he was a very young man.
I am thirteen years old. I have a cabinet and a museum, and am collecting postmarks and stamps, which I would like to exchange with any correspondent.
May Bell Miller,
Care of Joseph A. Miller,
Nineveh, Warren County, Virginia.
I am having a splendid time in Mamaroneck. I have a lot of chickens, and it is very funny to see the young roosters fight. I shall leave the country soon, and I would like to say to those wishing to exchange stamps with me that after October 25 my address will be
Pierre Jay,
291 Madison Avenue, New York City.
I am making a collection of postmarks, and would like to exchange with any correspondents of Young People.
C. H. McBride,
Rexford Flats, Saratoga County, New York.
I am making a collection of birds' eggs, and would like to exchange with any readers of Young People.
Joseph Skirm, Santa Cruz,
Santa Cruz County, California.
I am very much interested in the letters in Young People. I would like to exchange birds' eggs with any of the readers.
H. Gray,
Albion, Orleans County, New York.
My younger sister takes Young People, and I like it as well as she does. I have no pets, but I have a flower garden and a good many house plants. I would like to exchange flower seeds with any correspondent of Young People. I have sweet-pea, cypress, rose-moss, dew-plant, and other seeds.
Mollie C. Michener,
Kokomo, Howard County, Indiana.
I have read Young People ever since it started, and like it very much. I like "The Moral Pirates" and Jimmy Brown's stories about Mr. Martin the best.
I have a Chilian, a Greek, and a Portuguese coin which I would like to exchange with any reader who is collecting foreign coin. I have a collection of almost two hundred.
John Pyne,
Wiscasset, Maine.
I thought you would like a letter from this town, where a great battle was fought.
I spend many happy hours with the dear Young People. I love, most of all, the little letters, as it seems like talking to little people.
I am sick in bed, and have been for almost ten weeks. If my cough would get better, then I would get strong again. I am nine years old. I can read and write, and play little tunes on the piano. I fear the other little girls will get ahead of me now.
I wish "Wee Tot," or any of the little readers, would send me some ocean curiosities or quartz crystals for pressed leaves and ferns gathered on Round Top. My pet canary died last week.
Nerva Wible,
Care of J. Ed. Wible, Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.
I have a nice collection of curiosities, and would like to exchange with any correspondent for sea-shells or other curiosities. I have iron ore, soft gypsum crystals, stalactites, stalagmites, pretty pebbles, different kinds of limestone, pressed ferns, and other things. In sending specimens, correspondents will please mark each plainly with the name and the locality where it was found.
A few days ago I got my hand mashed in a cider mill, and can not use it now. My brother is writing this letter for me.
Harry R. Bartlett,
Greensburg, Green County, Kentucky.
I would like to exchange curiosities and stuffed birds with any correspondent of Young People.
C. H. Mathias, Ingersoll, Ontario, Canada.
I have taken every number of Young People since it was published, and I think it is just splendid.
I am gathering specimens and curiosities, and would be glad to exchange with any one.
Charlie Leadbetter,
174 Plum Street, Cincinnati, Ohio.
I have a printing-press and a small breech-loading shot-gun that father made for me. I had a cat named Bill, but he is dead. He would jump over my arms, and stand up on his hind-feet and kiss me, and sit up in the corner.
I like the story of "The Moral Pirates" best of all. I and some other boys are planning to go off on a cruise next summer.
I have a lot of foreign stamps which I would like to exchange for Indian arrow-heads or Indian relics. I am eleven years old.
Bertie Harrison,
Berlin Heights, Erie County, Ohio.
I am just beginning a collection of curiosities, and would like to exchange with some of the correspondents.
I have one brother. We live near a pond. Our pet kitten is very fond of fish; and I go out in a row-boat and catch minnows for it. I tie mussels on a string, and the minnows bite the bait and hold fast. I caught two large minnows with a string alone.
Jessie A. Brown,
South Norwalk, Connecticut.
I should like to exchange birds' eggs with any correspondent of Young People. I have eggs of the following birds: hedge, song, house, and chipping sparrow, bluebird, swallow, brown and red thrush, peewit, woodpecker, meadow-lark, cat-bird, pigeon, turtle-dove, ring-dove, and cardinal-grosbeak.
R. D. Britton, Wyoming, Ohio.
I would like to exchange postage stamps, minerals, shells, and Indian arrow-heads for stamps, pressed sea-weeds, or birds' eggs. The shells are labelled with their scientific names.
E. G. W.,
P. O. Box 487, Binghamton, New York.
We would request all correspondents not to send us long lists of stamps, eggs, and other things, as they occupy too much space in the Post-office Department. It is much better for them to prepare their lists neatly, and have them ready to send to those who write to them for exchange, after their request has been published in Young People.
We are compelled to condense the requests for exchange from the following correspondents:
Postage stamps and birds' eggs for postage stamps.
William S. Aldrich,
Freeport, Cumberland County, Maine.
Postage stamps, postmarks, and Indian relics for postage stamps.
A. S. Barrett,
Fort Wayne, Allen County, Indiana.
Postage, Treasury, and revenue stamps for others.
Handy Daniel,
Fredonia, Chautauqua County, New York.
Postage stamps and postmarks for postage stamps.
John A. Wolff,
92 Second Street, Albany, New York.
Foreign and United States postage stamps for others.
W. C. V. Chadwick,
44 St. George Street, Toronto, Canada.
Mabel.—The recipes you wish are in Young People Nos. 24 and 28.—A good method for varnishing leaves is described by Edith L. in Post-office Box No. 38.
W. De Veau.—The different species of the order Chelonia, to which turtles and tortoises belong, are distinguished mainly by the limbs. The common fresh-water turtles have distinct toes, which are webbed and provided with long nails. They are easy and powerful swimmers, but are very helpless on land. They feed upon all kinds of aquatic worms and insects. The tortoises, or land turtles, have short clubbed feet adapted for travelling on the ground, and stout, short claws. They feed upon roots, vegetables, fruit, and small bugs and flies. Their upper shell is more rounded than that of the water turtle. They are capable of swimming, but seldom enter the water.
W. S. B.—Alaric the Goth was proclaimed King of the Visigoths about a.d. 400. He was a bold and artful warrior, and under his leadership the Goths ravaged Greece, and entered Athens. He afterward determined to invade Italy, and after numerous repulses and misfortunes his armies succeeded in entering Rome in 410, eleven hundred and sixty-three years after the foundation of the city, which for six hundred years previous to the Gothic conquest had remained unviolated by the presence of any foreign enemy. Alaric, who had already embraced Christianity, showed much moderation in his treatment of the vanquished city, and after a short occupation he retired his troops, and proceeded to ravage Southern Italy. He was about to invade Sicily, and form an expedition to Africa, when his death, after a short illness, put an end to his conquests. His army, anxious to conceal his death, and even his burial-place, from the enemy, employed a band of captives to divert the course of the Busento, a small river which washes the walls of Cozenza, an ancient fortified town, and secretly at night a grave was dug in the river-bed, and the body of the dead chieftain was buried. The waters of the Busento were then turned back, and underneath the peaceful river the grave of the warlike Goth was securely concealed. His death occurred in 410, only a few months after his triumphal entry into Rome.
Gertrude C.—Your letter is very gratifying, and we are sorry we can not accede to your request, but the article in question would occupy too large a space in Young People.
Favors are acknowledged from Hamilton W., Willie C. Bartlett, Isabelle Van Brunt, M. L. Hannam, Macy Walcutt, C. F. Moses.
Correct answers to puzzles are received from Ida Belle Diserens, A. H. Ellard, Mary R. De La Mater, Harvey B. Ridgway, Miss N. J. Tiddy, Nella Coover, N. Bumpus, Clarence J. Washington, W. S. Ferguson, May Wells, H. A. Bent.
PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.
No. 1.
ACROSTIC.
Place the names of five trees in such order that their initials read downward spell the name of another tree.
Bolus.