A PRISON SCHOOL IN PARIS.
In the large and gloomy prison called Mazas, in Paris, there is a school for the instruction of youthful offenders against the law. Most of them are very ignorant when they enter the prison, but they are taught reading, writing, and arithmetic during their term of confinement, and most of them leave their cells not only improved in morals, but fitted to earn their living in honest employment.
The prison is a gloomy place for a school; but it is better than the dreadful places from which its youthful inmates are taken, where they had begun to learn the ways and habits of older criminals. It is a wise thing to give them useful instruction as well as punishment, so that when they are set free they may not sink back into evil ways, and go on from bad to worse in a downward course.
No class in this prison school contains more than eight pupils at a time, and the school-room is very different from the pleasant, cheerful rooms where the pupils of our free schools are taught. It is a vaulted court lighted with gas, and the doors of the cells open into it. At each door is a plain wooden table, and the pupils sit in such a position that they can not see each other, while all are under the eye of the teacher.
The teacher, as may be seen in the picture, walks slowly back and forth in front of the open doors, listening to the recitation of the lessons. All the pupils respond at once, either reading from their slates or answering questions orally. It is really wonderful to see how quickly he detects the slightest error, and corrects it, when all are speaking at the same time. You may think that this is a very inconvenient way to learn; but bright boys, who were entirely ignorant when they entered the prison, have been known to write legibly in a month's time, and to do quite difficult sums in multiplication and division. The fact that they have nothing to divert their minds from their lessons, and that study is really a new kind of recreation for them, may account for this rapid progress.
When Louis Napoleon overthrew the French Republic in 1851, and made himself Emperor, Mazas became famous for the number of distinguished patriots who were confined there by the order of the usurper. A full description of the prison is given in Victor Hugo's History of a Crime.
[ANECDOTES ABOUT CATS.]
A cat that belonged to a coachman had a very curious way of bringing up her kittens. Soon after her first family was born, she disappeared one morning with all the little things, and could not be seen anywhere. In the evening she came in for food, but as soon as she had had enough, ran away again. I think it was the next morning that one of the kittens was found lying under a large tree in the drive, and it was then discovered that the mother had taken her favorite children up to where two branches, separating, formed a kind of nest for them, leaving the one poor little thing that she did not care for down below to shift for himself. Strange to say, she and the rest of her family remained safely up in the tree until they were old enough to run about, when she got them all down again. I do not remember whether the little cast away was ever taken into favor and allowed to share his brothers' airy home, but I think not. She found this plan succeeded so well with her first set of kittens, that she followed it with all the others.
A rather strange thing once happened to an ugly sandy-colored cat that lived chiefly in the stables. The coachman found her one morning in a most pitiful state, hopping about on three legs, with the fourth hanging down quite limp, and apparently useless. He took her up, and after examining it, felt quite sure that it was broken; and calling the gardener, asked his opinion, which was the same. They were both very sorry for the poor creature, and decided that she had better be killed, as she seemed to be in great pain, and would most likely never get better. Just then a farmer passed, and wanted to know upon what they were holding such a grave discussion. They told him, and after feeling the paw very carefully, he came to the same conclusion about the injury. "But," said he, "you need not kill poor Pussy; I will try and cure her." So he took her into the kitchen, and cut some little wooden splints. While he held her quiet, the housekeeper bound the leg carefully up between the splints with tape, which was then securely sewed, and poor Pussy was put to bed, with a great deal of petting and plenty of food. About two hours later she was found walking about firmly on her four legs, with no signs of the bandage that had been on her paw, and was never seen to limp again.
[THE GARDENS.]
Three children and three gardens
In this picture you may see;
One has planted a lily,
And one a red-rose tree.
And one in the earth with a little stick
Has written her name, and then quite thick
The seeds of the water-cress has laid
In the little track the stick has made.
And here she sits with folded hands—
In this picture you may see
What a very patient little girl
This little girl must be.
And if you'd like to know her name,
Why, when the cresses grow,
You can see as well as she,
And then her name you'll know.
THE THREE GARDENS.
Our first letter this week comes from a young lady who writes to the Natural History Society. All the way from Japan came a letter from a bright boy describing the Feast of Lanterns in his far-off home. We think the same boy, if he would, could tell us something about mission work in Nagasaki. Every letter we print is interesting, and we are very sorry that you can not enjoy the letters we have had to keep to ourselves. We are glad that so many of you like Our Post-office Box.
Watertown, New York.
Good-morning, boys and girls! How are you progressing with your studies in natural history? Have you been successful in finding facts for your societies, and securing specimens for their collections? No doubt those who spent vacation away from home brought back many trophies which will be greatly valued. Have you added some of them to a cabinet where all the members of your society can enjoy them? Those of you who have staid at home, plodding on in the same old paths, have you noticed anything wonderful there? Surely there is no place where God is not, and where His works may not be studied. Sometimes children make fine and well-arranged collections not only of flowers, but of leaves, ferns, and mosses, some varieties of which can be obtained in all parts of our country.
One branch of natural history which is full of instruction is often neglected. I refer to the study of insects. Not only may butterflies and moths lay claim to beauty, but many beetles, flies, spiders, and worms. "Ugh!" says some little girl—"spiders and worms! The horrid things! Who ever heard of their being beautiful?" Little sister, have you been walking all this time with your eyes shut, so that you have not seen their velvet coats of many colors, ringed, streaked, and speckled? If you would but stop and watch them in the trades they follow and the houses they build, instead of running with fright or turning away in disgust, you would find them more interesting than you now imagine they can be.
I have a friend who has for a few months past been studying entomology. She has used her fernery, covering the top with mosquito bar, as a cage for worms, and there we have fed them with the leaves of the plants on which they were found, and have been quite delighted with their transformations. She had two green ones, with black bands running around them, dotted with orange. They were found on celery. We watched one hang itself to a piece of apple-tree branch put in for that purpose; saw it spin a small, thick patch of web, hook its hind-feet into it, then pull with all its might, apparently to see if the web was strong. After that it spun a silken cord for its back, attaching the ends to the bark, holding up its fore-feet and passing it back and forth over them to make it long enough. It then passed its head through the loop so made, and wriggled itself in. In about thirty-six hours the skin split on the back, and it slipped it off, unhooking its tail, and hooking it into the web again; and after repeating the operation of pulling, the little creature settled down for a long nap. As the skin came off, he looked like an entirely different fellow, both in shape and color. He is now a chrysalis, without legs or a distinctly defined head; in color, light gray, with brown stripes running lengthwise; there is also a delicate trace of wings. We are now looking for his last change, which will be to a dark swallow-tailed butterfly, spotted with yellow, blue, and orange.
All parts of the cabbage butterfly, even its eyes, can be clearly traced in the chrysalis.
Another worm, pale green, very large, nearly like the tomato-worm, laid himself away in the earth in one corner of the fernery, there to change into a pupa, and remain until spring, when he will become a pretty moth—ash-color and pink, with brown spots. It will measure over three inches when the wings are spread.
A stupid-looking bug, somewhat like a May-beetle without wings, was also put into the cage. It soon attached itself to the branch, split open its back, and out came a lace-winged cicada, wrongly called a locust. You would be surprised to see how much larger it was than the case out of which it came.
Have any of you ever watched the wrigglers in your mother's barrel of rain-water, and have you seen them change to mosquitoes? If not, keep your eyes open early in the morning, is the advice of
Mary P.
Jericho, Long Island.
I live on Long Island, not very far from where Harper's Young People is published.
My sister Annie and I started for school two weeks ago. We have a new teacher, and we like her very much.
The only pets we have are three cats, Tiny, Daisy, and Lillie. Tiny is the nicest. We think they are all pretty smart. I suppose all who have pets think the same.
I am eleven years old. We have a piano, and take music lessons. I am a little farther along than Annie, so I teach her. I have no teacher now, but hope I shall soon have one. I like music very much.
I like "Tim and Tip" very much. "Toby Tyler" was splendid. I hope Jimmy Brown will favor us with another account of his misfortunes soon.
Maggie J. L.
How charming it is for you to be able to teach Annie what you have learned! You will find that your doing this will help you to become a finer performer yourself. We like to hear of girls who believe in helping along.
Bayou Vermilion, Louisiana.
I live on the bank of Vermilion River, in Louisiana, nine miles from Abbeville. I have been taking your paper for seven months. I have two little sisters and one little brother. I have a pet 'coon. It is a cunning little animal. When my little sister has a piece of bread in her hand, and he sees her, he comes and takes it away from her, and will then run and hide. I like "Toby Tyler," and I like "Tim and Tip" also.
Frank C. R.
Liverpool, England.
A lady sends me Harper's Young People every week from New York. I read all the stories, and I like "The Cruise of the 'Ghost'" and "Aunt Ruth's Temptation" better than any of the others. I have two little sisters who like pets. They have two pretty canaries, and between us we have a darling dog, a collie, and we call him Bruno.
Gussie L.
Fort Cameron, Utah Territory.
I saw a large spider this morning. When I first observed it, it had already woven a large web in the corner of the windows and had attached it by long braces to a rustic lounge beneath the window. As I was watching it, a house-fly became entangled in the web. As it was struggling to free itself, the spider saw it, ran up to the spot where it was caught, seized and covered it with a slimy stuff, after which it proceeded to eat the fly up. It had a very small head, and a body the size of a small marble. It had four feelers curved over its head, and four legs, in three colors, red, white, and black, and covered with a kind of fur.
William L.
What you supposed to be feelers were legs, spiders having eight legs, and no wings nor antennæ. If you could have looked at the threads of your spider's web through a microscope, you would have seen that each thread was composed of hundreds of fine strands. Inside the spider's body are bags filled with a gummy substance, out of which these strands are drawn through several knobs, called spinnerets, each of which is full of exceedingly tiny tubes, a thousand of them taking up about as much space as the point of a pin. The spider usually covers its victim, as yours did the fly, with a sticky substance, and if it is not very hungry it hangs it up for future use. Spiders live both out doors and in, and some of them select very splendid habitations. King Solomon said, "The spider taketh hold with her hands, and is in kings' palaces." A spider once saved the life of Robert Bruce of Scotland by weaving a web over the mouth of a cave where he had taken refuge from his enemies. They saw it, and concluded there was no one inside. Spiders belong to the order of articulate animals, though they breathe like insects. There is another peculiarity about the garden spider, which you may have an opportunity of watching. The liquid silk of which a spider weaves its web is slowly secreted, and the spider never wastes it. So spiders do not spin or mend their webs when it is likely to rain, and if you see them with plenty of work on hand, you may take it as a sign of fine weather.
Alton, Illinois.
I am seven years old, and I like the stories in Young People very much, especially "Toby Tyler" and "Phil's Fairies." I like "Tim and Tip" too. My little brother cried when mamma read how Captain Pratt whipped Tim. I felt sorry too, and hope Tim won't stay with him long. My little brother is five years old, and his name is Clay. We have three cats. The old cat's name is Spot, and the two kittens are called Browny and Blacky.
Ethel B.
Nagasaki, Japan.
As some of my little friends in America have asked me to write them about some Japanese festival through Harper's Young People, I will tell them about the "Feast of Lanterns," which has just passed. The Japanese call it Bon mat suri. It took place on the 13th, 14th, and 15th evenings of the August moon. The first night is not of so great importance as the other two, for then they only light the graves of those who have died during the past year. Nagasaki is right down among hills, and the grave-yards are on their sides. Some of them are quite covered with graves. On the festival evenings they light up the grave-yards with lanterns. Sometimes one grave has from twenty to thirty lanterns, and as they are very close together, you can imagine how pretty it looks. They hang the lanterns on bamboo frames, which are made by sticking two or three bamboos in the ground and fastening others across them. The Japanese think that on these nights the spirits of their ancestors come from heaven to see them, and so they make a feast for the spirits, and offer food and wine. On the third night the spirits are sent back to heaven in boats made of straw, containing food and wine. They also have lanterns on the boats. They first parade the boats around the city, after which they carry them down to the bay, and wade out into the water as far as they can, then set fire to them, and push them off. The spirits are supposed to go to heaven in the flames and smoke. This is the end of the "Feast of Lanterns."
J. Provost S.
I heartily indorse the suggestion made by John W. S. in No. 97, and have wondered much that the young people, who seem to be such enthusiastic collectors of all sorts of things, did not think of adding the beautiful things of the insect world to their cabinets.
I advertised to exchange stamps for insects early in the spring, thinking that the bright boys and girls whose letters appear in the Post-office Box would be just the ones to help me with my collection, but I have had very few responses.
It is a pity there are so few books on the subject in simple language, and I hope some of our writers will be kind enough to interest the children in this branch of science. I know by experience that it is a very fascinating study.
Will John B. T. please tell us how he preserves spiders for the cabinet?
H. H. K.
Jefferson County, Kentucky.
I am a little boy almost eight years old. We live in Jefferson County, near Louisville, Kentucky, one of the prettiest cities in the United States. Papa gets Harper's Young People for us every week. I have two dear little brothers, Luddie and Charlie, and the sweetest little sister six months old. She can pat a cake, and laugh when she sees us boys coming, for we have lots of fun together. Her name is Annie Estelle. We have four kittens—Flossy, Tabby, Dot, and Snow. I have a fine dog named Tip. Papa says he will be a watch-dog when he grows up, but he does not look much like it now, for I can hide him in my hat. We have a calf named Bob. We do not play with him much for fear he may butt us. We are going up to our grandfather's next week on a visit, papa, mamma, and all of us, and we intend to take Tip. Mamma says this letter is long enough, so good-by.
Willie R. B.
Pluton Cañon, California.
I live in Oakland, and have come to Pluton Cañon to camp. There is a high cliff across the road from where we are camping, and every once in a while the stones come rattling down.
Every evening I see a cunning little gray squirrel running down to get a drink of water.
Just below the cliff there is a large and swift stream, which has a great many fish in it, and where I saw a whirlpool the first day I came here. There is a rock on the cliff which looks just like a man laughing.
I have a brother who to-day started with me to get some pine gum. We had to cross the stream to get it. When we were about to cross it, a wasp stung my brother twice, and me once.
Louisa L. S.
Slate Hill, New York.
My kitten's name is Tricksy, and she deserves the name, for she is full of play, and as cunning as she can be. There is an old cat that comes prowling around every night to get something to eat. We have to drive her away, or else she will come into the house. The other night our puss knew that mamma did not want the old cat to come in the house, so she ran after her and chased her off. I think puss has caught eight mice and one meadow-mole.
We have a cow named Daisy, two horses, named Billy and Fanny, and two pigs, named Grunt and Squeal.
Please tell Jimmy Brown to write about some more of his troubles, and ask him if he never has anything to be glad about.
I can not tell which of the stories in Young People I like best, but papa thinks Jimmy Brown's sad tales are the best.
Elsie M. K.
Westminster, Maryland.
I would like to tell the readers of Harper's Young People about my goat Dixie. He is almost white, and very large and strong, and can haul a barrel of flour from the dépôt, a half-mile off. I have a nice strong wagon and harness. I curry him, and treat him like a horse. I take the girls out riding, and often carry vegetables from place to place for our friends. Everybody knows Dixie. He loves mamma, and will follow her anywhere for bread, of which he is very fond; but he likes sister Mary best of all. My cousin says he is worth between twenty and thirty dollars, and I think so too. He walked into the parlor one day.
Willie T. S. (aged 5).
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
In No. 94 I saw a communication about white mice, signed "L. B. G." I have five, two of which I raised by hand. The mother had six little ones, and died when they were a few days old. A neighbor told me to dip a small piece of washed muslin in warm milk. I rolled one end of it into a small point so that they could suck it, and I fed them every two hours for a week and a half, holding the little mouse in one hand and the rag in the other, and squeezing the rag so that the milk would run into the tiny mouth. I sometimes leave my mice on the table to play. One day, when they had been out of their box several hours, I wanted to shut them in it again, and one was missing. I looked all over, but could not find it; so I set a trap overnight, and in the morning there was little Sallie safely caught. I have two pet dogs, Gyp and Tiny.
Fred K. M.
George L. W. may be sure we are glad that the truant bird found its way home again; and Bertha B. need not be afraid of the waste-basket: her grandfather did well to give their town its pretty Indian name. Loula and Bessie M. sent beautiful little letters; and don't we wish we could see Beauty and Topsy, and go with the girls to watch Ponto swim? We have a canary named Dick at our house. Yes, Roy S., your way of growing is more comfortable for a boy than the slipping off your skin would be. Thanks to Willie B. H. for letting us read the two pretty stanzas, although we can not make room for them in Our Post-office Box. Thanks, too, to Lilian E. W. H. for her verses. Joseph T. F., Jennie B., M. K., B. K., Percy P. E., and Ray B. have sent entertaining letters. Dear little Blanche E. H. printed her letter beautifully. Did that best of grandmas show her how? We could not have formed the characters more plainly.
L. G. B.—The best bicycle for your use is probably a "Youth's Mustang," with a front wheel of thirty-six inches in diameter. Go to 597 Washington Street, Boston, for it.
Frank B.—Apply to the nearest dealer in birds, gold-fish, etc., for white mice. You would not have to pay expressage if you purchased them in this way, but if you obtained them from a boy who had white mice to spare, or from any private source, you would, of course, pay their travelling expenses.
Bessie L.—In pressing flowers the most necessary thing is to select perfect specimens, and then laying them carefully between smooth sheets of paper, press them down with a heavy weight. Change the paper frequently. There is a way of preserving flowers by placing them stems upward in a dish, and pouring fine white sand upon them till they are entirely covered. Leave them a few days, and then remove the sand. This method is recommended for autumn flowers.
Mary Anderson, owing to prolonged illness, withdraws from our exchange list. Several correspondents complain of careless writers who forget to sign their names or state where they live!