Part 3

"That is the name of an island there with some extremely beautiful ruins upon it. Few travellers ascend the river further; they stop there and return; but I did not; I continued on to the south a long distance. One day, just before I reached the Second Cataract, I had stopped on the west bank of the river to rest my men for an hour or two. It was a burning hot afternoon, perfectly calm, with the sun blazing down on the white sand of the desert and on the glass-like water of the river, until it was enough to almost fry one's brain. Three or four palm-trees grew at this point, and it was their shade which had induced me to stop; but I found to my great delight that what was probably a temple had formerly stood there, and some of the fragments still remained. One of these fragments represented a human figure seated. The head was gone, and one arm; the other arm was perfect, with the hand lying on the knee, and I began to make a drawing of the whole.

"Just as in my drawing I reached the hand, and was sketching its shape on the paper, a little blue and red bird passed me, with a cry somewhat like the one you may hear any morning from our American species, and swinging up he perched himself on the very hand which I was drawing at the moment. It was a lovely little kingfisher. He sat there but a moment, and then darted to a hole in the river-bank, which he entered, and which I knew must contain his nest. It was such a burrow as our American species makes, and forthwith came back to my mind the time when I was a boy, and when Tom and Charlie and the rest of us worked so hard at digging toward Deacon Moseley's lot.

"I watched till the little fellow came out. Then he flew away, and I soon lost sight of him. His name is _Corythornis cyanostigma_, and the sight of another here in your hat carried me away so completely that for the moment I almost fancied I was on the Nile again, the association was so powerful."

"Well, papa, I am very glad of it. I will wear him only a day or two, and then I will take him out and give him to you, and get mamma to put something else in his place. You may be sure I shall never forget my Nile-bird hat. But did you not say that there are kingfishers found in other countries? I suppose they must be like this, even if they are not so beautiful."

"Yes, there are; and I must tell you of one most remarkable species, Millie--remarkable for his voice, though not for any beauty of color. We will call him _Dacelo gigas_--gigas meaning very large, for he is a great clumsy bird. He lives in Australia. The first night I ever spent there 'in the bush'--which means out in the wild country--I was waked just before daylight by a most outrageous racket in the thicket close to me. I started up in some fright, and roused a man near me. 'Oh, go to sleep; that is nothing but a jackass.' But as we were where a donkey would not be likely to come, I could not tell what to make of it, and I did not go to sleep, and by-and-by I heard him again and again, but my comrades paid no attention to the sound, and so I said nothing further.

"After breakfast I took my gun, and started out to look for birds. Among others I shot a great coarse-looking kingfisher, larger than a crow; and when I returned to camp, the man whom I had roused in the morning remarked, as I laid out my game: 'There, you have got him. That is the very fellow that you heard this morning. We always call him the laughing jackass.' And often after that I heard their harsh cry, like laughing and braying together."

MAX RANDER'S WILD TIGER.

BY MATTHEW WHITE, JUN.

I didn't like that little French village. Thad and I were at our wits' end to find some way to amuse ourselves. There wasn't any river to row on, nor any hills to climb, and not a single person we could talk to out of the family.

Then you sort of felt as if you were a lunatic in an asylum; for instead of fences, every house had a high stone wall around it; that is, every house except the one where we boarded, which was surrounded by an iron railing, with the bars just far enough apart to make it look like a cage in a menagerie. At least this is what Thad said it reminded him of, and sometimes I used to see him tearing up and down behind it, playing he was an African lion. I didn't tell him it was silly, because once in a while I turned panther myself. It was an awfully poky town.

About three times every day Thad and I used to beg father to go somewhere else, but he always said, "Have patience, boys." I wonder if anybody ever counted the number of times fathers and mothers say, "Have patience"? If it's as tiresome to say as it is to listen to, I feel sorry for them.

Well, one morning when they both were out driving, and the landlady had gone to market, and there was nobody at home but the French cook and us boys, I was that sorry for Thad, not to mention how awfully dull I was myself, that I felt I must do something. So I called Thad down-stairs, and told him I'd invent a new play for him.

"We can use the fence just the same for a cage," I explained, "and you're to be a tiger a keeper's trying to tame. I'll be the keeper, and at first you must snap at me through the bars; but I'll look you straight in the eye all the time (that's the way keepers do), and then all of a sudden I'll open the door, rush into the cage, and you'll be tamed."

Thad said that would be fun, and then I got father's cane, and we both went out into the front yard. Hardly anybody ever walked on that street, so I wasn't afraid of being interrupted.

I went outside, shutting the gate behind me, and Thad having curled himself up close to the railing, pretending to be asleep, I began operations by poking him with my stick.

At first he only gave a low growl (I wasn't sure whether tigers growled or howled, but I told him a growl would do); but when the cane slipped and tickled him under the arm, he jumped up, and neither growled nor howled, but screamed, until I was obliged to remind him that he wasn't a wild-cat.

"But tickling's no fair," he cried, still squirming a little.

"All right," I answered, beginning my taming operations, and keeping my eye on him in a way that I think really began to frighten him.

Then he started racing up and down inside the fence, I after him on the outside, until we were both quite out of breath, and then he stood still, and snapped at me between the bars.

We were right by the gate, and while he had his head out, pretending to gnaw my stick, I suddenly let go of it, and slipping through the gateway, rushed up behind him before you could say "Jack Robinson."

"Now you must turn around, and we'll look at each other for a minute, and then you'll give in," I cried, making believe crowd into a corner of the cage.

"But I can't turn round," exclaimed Thad. "I can't get my head out."

"Why, how did you get it in, then?" I replied, stepping up to examine into matters. "Twist it the other way."

Thad thereupon obediently gave a fresh tug, but all in vain; his head remained stuck between the bars like a cow's in the patent stalls.

I was scared then, and never thinking about tigers, took him by the neck, and tried my best to get him free; but I couldn't. Then he set up a very unbeastlike yell, which brought the French cook out of the house, with a bunch of garlic in her hand.

When she saw what had happened, she screamed louder than Thad. The noise they both made together was something frightful, while I ran first one side of the fence, then the other, wondering dismally if we'd have to live in that town always because Thad couldn't get his head out.

If we'd had any neighbors except a deaf old man, a woman who never left her bed, and two young men who went to work three miles away, I suppose we'd soon have had a crowd around us, but as it was, nobody appeared but a little girl with a hunk of bread, the sight of which caused Thad to stop hollowing, and declare that we must bring him something to eat.

When I had opened and shut my mouth several times, pointing my finger down it and then at Thad, the cook comprehended what was wanted, and rushing outside of the fence, put that bunch of garlic right under my brother's nose.

"Pah!" he exclaimed, and wrenched his head back so suddenly that I half expected to see both his ears drop off.

"Oh dear," I groaned, "if he can't free himself with such a jerk as that we can never get him out at all."

Then recollecting that Thad hated the smell of garlic as much as I did, and seeing that the cook was still trying to feed him with it, I motioned sternly toward the house, and ordered her to "departez," which wasn't hard to say, as you just take an English word and put a little French end to it.

She understood me at once, and seemed to feel quite insulted, for she walked straight back to the kitchen, slamming the gate after her.

The next minute somebody slapped me on the shoulder, and turning, I jumped as if I had seen a ghost, for it was Thad, and I was at least five feet from the fence. You see, when the gate was open the space between those two particular bars was a little smaller than when it was shut. Thad and I might have remained in that pickle for any length of time, he screaming at the top of his voice, and I dancing around him in agony. Who knows how long it would have taken us to find out that all we had to do was to shut the gate, if that woman hadn't got mad and given it such an awful slam?

RUSTIC ADORNMENTS FOR LAWN AND GARDEN.

BY A. W. ROBERTS.

Small fingers always want to be kept busy. No matter how warm the weather is, they can not lie comfortably quiet, but must be doing something. Why not try a little rustic-work, setting up a good-natured rivalry with florists and landscape gardeners? It will require the boys and girls both--the boys to do the heavy work, and the girls to supply the grace and minor ornamentation.

Rustic-work is a term that by general consent is now applied to all structures of wood the forms and surfaces of which are left in their natural shape, or covered with material such as bark, cones, fungi, etc.

Fig. 1 is an excellent example of nature's rustic-work. How kindly the golden-rod, blackberry, Virginia creeper, and ferns have ranged themselves about the old stump to increase the picturesque beauty of its decay!

Now imagine this stump transplanted to a lawn or garden with its wealth of wild plants and shrubs, while in strong contrast to these are planted in the hollow of the stump a variegated mass of drooping vines, and the most beautifully marked and colored of the so-called "foliage" plants. Truly no imported and expensive _jardinet_ (small garden) of highest artistic workmanship was ever made that could compare with this of nature's wild and cultivated beauty.

There are thousands and thousands of just such stumps that with a little care and trouble might easily be converted into beautiful lawn and garden adornments.

When digging out such a stump, the ground must be well excavated from about and under the main roots, which are sawn (not chopped) off about one foot below the surface of the ground. In replanting the stump, try to imitate all the natural features of the ground surrounding it, even to rocks and toad-stools. The latter are not poisonous unless eaten, and are very picturesque.

The best soil for filling in the spaces about the roots and the bottom of the stump is the black and rich "vegetable mould" found in all old woods. Next to this comes peat, which can be obtained from dried-up ponds and ditches, only care must be taken to crush it fine, and mix with it about one-third of ordinary garden soil; otherwise it will be apt to cake after rains.

When setting up a stump _jardinet_ it is the easiest thing in the world to establish at the same time a small menagerie. Tree-toads, common garden-toads, all varieties of land-snails, field-mice, chipmunks, can be induced to make their homes in and about your stump if they are well treated and cared for.

To set up a successful stump menagerie, little nooks must be formed under the roots by means of stones so placed together as to leave open spaces of various sizes. These must connect with one another, as shown in Fig. 2. When covered with earth, these chambers are entered by means of runs which connect with the under-ground chambers. All creatures that set up a home in these chambers will have a good time if you do not dig them out every other day, "just to see, you know, how they are getting along."

But now let us imagine that no such rotted-out and picturesque stump is to be obtained. There is still quite an easy way to make a _jardinet_.

First obtain from a grocer a half butter-keg, which will cost about twenty cents. Wash it out thoroughly with hot water to cleanse it of all salt, that might prove injurious to growing plants. In the bottom bore a number of small holes, and place a layer of broken flower-pots or pieces of charcoal two inches in depth. The holes are for the purpose of draining off all surplus water. The layer of charcoal is to prevent the soil at the bottom of the tub from being carried away through the draining holes. If these precautions are not taken, the earth in the tub will "sour," and the roots of the plants will rot. Next obtain a log of wood of rough exterior, and also some rough bark. The tub must be fastened to the top of the log, as shown in Fig. 3, and the latter firmly planted in the desired spot. The bark must be nailed to the tub so as to join and match the bark on the stump.

On dead and decaying white-birch-trees many kinds of fungi are to be obtained, and at the bases of very old trees many varieties of lichens. These, when fastened to the _jardinet_ as shown in Fig. 4, produce a very natural and picturesque effect. About the base of the _jardinet_ rude-shaped stones are piled up. The spaces of earth between the rocks are dug out to the depth of from one-half to three-quarters of a foot. These are technically known as "pockets," and are for the reception of vegetable mould. The rookery is now in condition for planting with cultivated and wild ferns, and also low-growing varieties of plants. The tub is also filled with mould, and planted with "foliage" plants and vines.

Fig. 5 is a _jardinet_, vinery, and fernery combined. The upright post is of red cedar or locust, with the bark on. A square piece of board two inches in thickness is nailed on top of the post, and on this is placed a half butter-tub, on which pointed slats half an inch thick and two inches wide are nailed. These slats are painted green, and a light and graceful trimming of rustic vinery is tacked on near the top and bottom of the slat-work. Instead of slats, straight rustic branches split in half and pointed at both ends can be used.

The branch-work consists of a circle of branches of drooping habit, the ends or stocks of which are both nailed and bound with wire or stout twine, so as to support the weight of vines when they reach it from the tub above and the trellis below. The twine-work for the vines consists of gray or green twine. There is a twine sold by florists by the name of "invisible twine," which is of a light green color, and is used for training vines; this is far superior to the white cotton cord generally used, which always looks cheap and inartistic, and in course of time frays out and breaks. But this cheap cord can be made very durable and pleasing in color by running it through hot yellow bees-wax in which has been mixed any of the cheap chrome greens.

A small wooden hoop is securely fastened to the bottom of the post close to the ground by means of four wooden hooks; to this hoop the lower ends of the twine are securely fastened; the upper ends are tied to the branch-work, which helps to retain them in a drooping position. To obtain the best results and light and graceful effects, always plant Madeira or cypress vines; avoid the fancy gourds and other heavy climbers, as they are apt to break down the twine-work during heavy storms. At the base of the structure a heavy rockery is massed, containing numerous pockets. In these, ferns and the English ivy and the so-called German ivy are planted.

All rustic-work should present the appearance of solidity and durability, and must be strongly put together. Never use in any way marine forms or material in conjunction with rustic-work or rockery. They are entirely out of keeping and harmony with nature, and indicate a great want of taste. Nothing can exceed the ugliness of a bordering of clam or oyster shells, or Florida conch shells; they are worse than calcimined or white-washed rocks.

JAPANESE FAN TALES.

BY KIRK MUNROE.

A bright little Jap is Tommi Taroo, And he swings on a piece of round bamboo; For round bamboo is the very best thing That a boy can use as a seat for a swing.

He lives in the town of Hiogo-- A very nice place to live, you know, Because it's such fun to go to Kobe, The city of strangers, just over the way:

A city of Yankees and English too-- Comical fellows to Tommi Taroo-- French and Dutch and Portuguese, And many another from over the seas.

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Fish-day, fish-day in Hizen; Fish for the women, but not for the men; Fish for the girls, but not for the boys. To-day only women know fishermen's joys.

And all on account of Queen Jungu, Who once caught a fish as fishermen do; The fish said, "Go and conquer Corea," And this she did within a year.

And that is the reason the girls to-day Are all out fishing, instead of at play; And I think the fish they show to you Is as fine as that of Queen Jungu.

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Lu-wen lived in Hakodadi; Lu-wen was a little laddie. Lu-wen's head was nicely shaved. He was very well behaved. Suzume was Lu-wen's mother; Nakamura was his brother. Very fine was Nakamura, And his dress was silk of Surah. His umbrella and his fan Were the largest in Japan. Once he gave them to Lu-wen, But bade him bring them back again. This Lu-wen was glad to do When he'd gone a block or two; For people left their tea and soy To stare at him, and call out, "Halloo, big umbrella! where are you going with that little boy?"

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Three little Satsumas and old Satsuma, Or four Satsumas in all, Laid aside their tasks, and put on their masks For a grand Matsuri ball.

They howled and growled, and acted like Wild animals born and bred. To make an impression they formed a procession, With old Satsuma ahead.

Just then the clown, of all the town The funniest man to be found, Jumped on to the back of the first of the pack, And merrily rode him around.

Now, when he begun, they thought it was fun, And acted as though they'd gone mad, Until old Satsuma, in very bad humor, Said, "Enough of this thing we have had."

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Eight little girls of Japan, All running as fast as they can For fear she'll be late, Each one of the eight Is running as fast as she can.

Did you ever see children so fat? In Japan, though, they say, "What of that?" To be fat is a duty; It adds to your beauty. And that is the reason they're fat.

NOT QUITE SATISFIED.

This dear little Mabel, She isn't quite able To say what it is has gone wrong; But she looks in the glass. And the shadow-frowns pass O'er a face that is sweet as a song.

She is thinking of Lizzie, Whose hair is so frizzy. She wishes her own could be cut; But papa, only said When she showed him her head, "What, spoil it, my darling?--tut! tut!"

OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.

The other day, as the Postmistress was driving down a pretty rural road, she came upon a farm-house which stood all alone. It was late in the afternoon, and there was nobody stirring about the place; doors and windows were closed; the dog was asleep beside his kennel; the gray cat, with two kittens cuddling close to her, was taking a nap on the mat by the front door; and it was as quiet as could be all around, until--peep! peep! cluck! cluck!--there came suddenly in view the prettiest brood of chicks in the world; thirteen of them, dears, and every one as white as swan's-down. The little snowy puff-balls were taking an airing with their sober cream-colored mamma, and the Postmistress will not soon forget how cunning Mrs. Hen and her family looked. Pray, Daisy and Mattie, Freddy and Guy, have you a dainty brood of chicks at your house? And why haven't you sent the Postmistress word about them?

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DANBY FOUR CORNERS, VERMONT.

I am a little boy nine years old, and will be ten the 9th of August. I have a calf and a canary-bird and a little kitten. I go to school almost every day. I have an auntie who sends me the money to buy HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. I hope she will send money every year. My grandma sends me a little pin-money every month. I have over fifty dollars in the bank. I have no father, and my mamma is poor. I can't think of any more to write this time.

ROBERT.

When you are a man, as you will be one of these days, you will be able to work for your dear mamma. She is not very poor if she has a good and loving son ten years old. I am glad to hear that you do not spend for toys and candies all the money grandma sends you, but save some of it for future use.

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ROCKPORT, MASSACHUSETTS.

As I have never seen a letter in Our Post-office Box from Rockport, I thought I would write one to tell you how much I enjoyed reading "Toby Tyler," and how much I like "Mr. Stubbs's Brother." I have a dear little baby sister nearly eight months old. Her name is Mattie. We think she is the prettiest baby in the world. Mamma says that every one thinks the same of their baby, so I suppose all are satisfied. I am twelve years old, and go to the Grammar School. My studies are arithmetic, reading, spelling, history, grammar, and geography. I take music lessons twice a week. My sister and I are much interested now in reading the works of C. C. Coffin. I like _The Story of Liberty_, _Old Times in the Colonies_, _Boys of '76_, and _Winning his Way_ the best.

ANNIE L. B.

You could not read better books, dear, than those you mention. _Boys of '76_, in particular, should be in the library of every American child.

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SULLIVAN, INDIANA.

I am a little girl ten years old. I have a Maltese cat; its name is Mallie. I have three chickens. One of them is a bantie. My sister Libbie gave it to me. Its name is Chickie, and the other two are Dick and Topie. My papa gave me HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for a Christmas present. My sister Effie took it two years, and now I am taking it. I wrote a letter once before, and it was not published. Oh, I hope this one will not be put in a pigeon-hole! We have a pea-fowl. We call him Sancho, because he speaks the word so plainly, and mamma thinks he tries to be like Sancho Panza. I am taking music-lessons, and learning to ride on horseback, and when papa leaves the old gentle horse at home we go out riding. I have two sisters and one brother. I signed the red-ribbon pledge. I think Jimmy Brown's stories are very nice.

MAGGIE A. C.

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CAHTO, CALIFORNIA.