D. McKillop.—The 10c. green U. S. 1861 is worth 6c., the 6c. Lincoln 2c., the one shilling English 15c., the threepenny English 1c.
Philatus.
THE OLD STAGE-COACH.
Dingy and old and worn,
Battered and scratched and torn,
Flapping in every sudden gust
Doors that creaked with their ancient rust,
So it stood in the Burbank shed—
One hundred and ten years old, they said—
When I was a lad, and used to play
"Driving stage," at the close of day.
Never an inch did the old wheels stir;
Rusted fast at the hubs they were.
Yet how strong were my steeds, and fleet,
Streaming out 'neath the driver's seat!
Over what hills and plains I sped,
Rocking there in the Burbank shed!
Crack! and the leaders sprang away;
Satin-sheened in their coats of bay,
Six broad backs at the driver's feet,
Surging into the village street.
Oh, it was grand! What a race we led!
Though the stage stood still in the Burbank shed.
Ah! the fright of a certain day,
Just at dusk, in the month of May,
When I climbed to the creaking door—
Bolder, surely, than e'er before—
Crying, "Out here, you ghosts—be quick!"
And struck the seat with resounding stick.
Ha! with a din that would wake the dead
Straight there sprang at my shrinking head
Something winged and as white as snow!
Down I sank in a heap below,
While with cackle of loud reproach
Flew a hen from the old stage-coach,
Leaving there on the tattered seat
Something fit for a king to eat!
Long ago to the junkman's store
Last of the old stage-coach they bore;
Bolt and axle and rusty tire
All were mixed in the forge's fire.
But I can see it in tattered state
Waiting yet for its ghostly freight:
Powdered sirs with their shovel-hats,
Stately dames with their cloaks and mats;
While to the box, with a shivering joy,
Climbs a rosy-faced country boy!
Oh, the charm of the Long Ago,
Youth's Valhalla, and Fancy's glow
Lighting many a dim old page
With such a relic as Burbank's stage!
Just for a glimpse of its chrome and red,
Fading there in the ruined shed!
Just for an hour of the rare old play,
"Driving stage" at the close of day!
What are all one may say or do
To what he dreams when his life is new?
James Buckham.
THE PROPER USE OF A SHOT-GUN.
Though shooting, like many other sports, can be a very dangerous amusement for boys—and men, too, for that matter—there is no reason why boys as well as men should not learn how to use a gun, and get much amusement and benefit out of hunting. It is all a question of learning what the dangers of gunning are, and learning how to avoid them. Fire is a dangerous thing in its way, and yet we all have fires. Gunning is no more dangerous, if carefully taken up, and a boy of fifteen or sixteen is quite old enough to learn what the dangers of a shot-gun are, to respect them and avoid them. Naturally any parent, especially one who knows nothing about rifles or shot-guns himself, is very chary about letting his son go off alone with one on his shoulder, and it is quite as natural for his mother to think she has seen the last of her boy as he disappears in the woods on his first sporting expedition. But there is really no other reason for this than that boys are naturally careless, and guns can be dangerous and deadly if treated in a careless manner.
The whole secret of shooting and the use of fire-arms can be stated in a few words: Never, under any circumstances, point a gun at any one, whether loaded or not, whither in pieces or ready for use. If it is never pointed at any one, it cannot very well kill or wound any one. In like manner you can never succeed in shooting yourself unless you have already pointed the muzzle at yourself. I have seen many a crack shot and old-time sportsman shudder as he saw a green hand hold up the detached barrel of a shot-gun while cleaning it, and point it at some one. Of course the two steel barrels could not possibly "go off" by themselves, with no butt and no cartridges, and the sportsman shudders only because he dreads the greenhorn who, even under such circumstances, allows himself to get into the habit of putting up the muzzles in such a position. If he does it at home while cleaning the barrels, he may do it out in the woods some day when the barrel is attached to the stock, and perhaps loaded with cartridges, and then there may really be danger for any one who is near by.
The only accidents that can occur if the muzzle is never pointed at any one are, first, the bursting of the gun itself, which is unlikely, unless the piece is badly made, cheap, or very old; and secondly, the presence of some one in the woods who is not within the cognizance of the sportsman. As I say, the first is uncommon nowadays with the carefully made breech-loading guns. The second never occurs if the sportsman invariably keeps his muzzle pointed toward the earth, about five feet or less in advance of him, and if, when he does fire, he makes sure what he is firing at and where his shot is likely to go after firing.