Part 3

From end to end the great boat was filled with wonder-eyed and rather awe-stricken little girls, and somewhat subdued but mischievous-looking boys. All of them were provided with luggage for a two weeks' stay in the country, but there seemed to be a great difference in their ideas of how much to bring. A little paper bag tied with a piece of string, and an empty basket, were all one very serene-looking little fellow had brought. Many of the girls brought their wardrobes packed in their school satchels, and one little lass had under her arm such a box as a gentleman's suit generally comes home in from the tailor's.

In the wistful little faces that peered out over the rail could be read stories too sad to be more than hinted at to our young people. Here were little girls and boys who had never felt the green sod under their feet, nor picked a flower, but who had spent all their lives penned up in great towering houses, their only play-ground the burning roof, a hundred feet above the streets.

It did not take the little passengers long to get used to their surroundings, and long before the darkness came the decks of the good steamer _Minnie Cornell_ were alive with such pranks as only city urchins ever think of. At nine o'clock, mattresses were spread upon the cabin floors, and without any special preparation, except that some of the boys took off their hats and stuffed them into their coat pockets, the children lay down to sleep.

Long before the sun came up next morning the forward deck swarmed with little folks eager to catch the first glimpse of green fields and blue hills. It was here that your artist saw a bright little boy holding a very large satchel, on which was painted in eccentric letters, "Jerry Doyle, Avenue A." Beside him a tiny little fellow sat swinging his feet in a very contented manner.

"Me and Tim are havin' a boss time," said Jerry. "We had a state-room on de cabin floor, layin' crosswise on a mattress. We didn't allow any snorin', and when any feller tried it, we hauled him round the deck by the heels till he quit. There was a man there to see we didn't none of us walk in our sleep. I don't believe he enjoyed hisself much."

Here Tim interrupted the thread of his brother's narrative to inquire what that crooked thing was on the bank, and Jerry, who had been up to Tompkins Square once, replied that it was a tree.

At Troy, four hundred and sixty-seven happy but very hungry youngsters left the boat, and marched through the streets, like an invading army, to a public hall, where tables loaded down with good things awaited them.

It would be impossible to tell whether their host, Mr. Shepard Tappan, or his little guests, enjoyed the occasion most. I rather think that one little fellow who climbed up on the platform, and drummed upon the grand piano with his fists, while some of the boys pelted him with biscuits, had the best time of all.

On the way to the depot, after breakfast, all the early risers of Troy were out waiting to see the children pass by.

When the special train drew up at a little station on the shore of Lake Champlain, a very lively gentleman, with a note-book in his hand, jumped to the ground, followed by fifty or sixty little folks, who were no sooner off the cars than they rushed into the field of buttercups and daisies that skirted the track to gather bouquets.

After shaking hands very rapidly with the foremost of a group of kind-hearted farmers who had come down to welcome their little guests, and handing one of them a list of the children's names, the lively gentleman was on the cars again, and the train was out of sight in a moment.

My friends Jerry and Tim were among the number to get off at the station, and a few days after, while riding by a fine old farm-house, I was greeted by a "Hi, mister!" from Jerry himself.

"Me and Tim is puttin' up at this hotel," said he. "You oughter see me apartments! Mrs. Bromley is the lady what lives here. Tim calls Mr. Bromley 'Father.' He promised to take Tim out with him to hoe corn or 'taters, or somepin this mornin'; so as soon as breakfast was over, Tim shoulders the hoe, and says he, 'Come, father, if you want to hoe, come with me; you must hurry up.' Didn't they smile! Of course I don't say nothin' to them," continued Jerry, confidentially, "but I think the milk out here is kind of thick. We all went to church Sunday. I rode on horseback this mornin'. The horses here is more frisky than the street-car horses, and there ain't no lumps on their knees. There ain't any milkmen or organ-grinders like there is on Avenue A, but I like to wade in brooks better than our gutter."

Here a little girl came up, with a wreath of daisies around her head, and little Tim ran round her chasing a butterfly. Jerry ran to help him, and the happy children soon disappeared in the tall shrubbery of the farm-yard.

WHAT THE WOLF HID.

BY M. P. HARDY.

We were standing at the window watching Lion, the house-dog, burying a bone in the dead leaves near the fence.

"Why does he do that?" asked my little cousin.

"Animal instinct," replied my father, to whom the question was addressed. "He has more dinner than he cares to eat just now, and so puts away some for the next time. Other animals do the same thing sometimes. I once knew an old lady who when a child had a singular adventure in connection with this same instinct."

Of course there was an immediate demand for the story. Father teased us for a little while, and then he told it, as follows:

"Sixty or seventy years ago, my friend's father was a pioneer in the region bordering on the Ohio River. He and his son were cutting wood in the forest one day, and Polly, then a little girl of five years old or so, was playing near them while they worked. When the time came to go home, Polly was nowhere to be seen.

"'That's strange,' said her father. 'She always obeys so well. I don't see how she could have strayed off.'

"'She wouldn't have gone home without telling us,' said her brother. 'Look! here's her sun-bonnet full of nuts. She must be somewhere around.'

"They looked again and again in every direction, calling, 'Polly! Polly!' all in vain. There were no Indians living near, but wolves and panthers were plenty, and only the winter before the father and son had killed two bears in an attack on the cow-house. So they began to feel seriously alarmed.

"Presently the brother, looking anxiously about, espied an odd-looking heap of leaves on the farther slope of the hill, where no wind could possibly have tossed them. He went to have a closer look at it. Carelessly throwing aside a portion of the heap, he uncovered, to his joyful surprise, a bit of Polly's red frock.

"'Father, come here,' he called, and in a moment more they had the child safe and sound, but fast asleep, in their arms.

"'That's strange,' said her father once more. 'John, take Polly home. I'm going to stay here, and see if I can't find out what this means. She never covered herself up this way, I'm certain. Come back as quick as you can, and bring your rifle with you. Here, hand me mine before you go.'

"So saying, he piled the leaves up neatly once more, putting a small log of wood into the place where the child had lain. He then crouched down behind a fallen tree near by to see what would happen.

"He did not have long to wait. John had scarcely had time to return, almost out of breath with the haste he had made, when the soft patter of paws was heard on the dry leaves, and they saw three gray wolves approaching at full trot, with another slightly in advance leading the way.

"The wolf in front led his comrades straight to the heap of leaves, and scratching eagerly, quickly uncovered the buried log. His dismay was almost comical to behold. He sniffed and smelled and turned his head this way and that in utter bewilderment. How a dainty little girl, plump and soft, and just suited to the taste of a wolf who enjoys a good dinner, could suddenly turn into a great uneatable log of wood was too much for him to understand. He finally gave the problem up in despair, and turned to his companions, cowering like a beaten hound.

"There were some sharp barks of disappointment, followed by snarls, as the three guests, who had evidently been bidden to a feast which was not forth-coming, expressed their indignation at the supposed hoax.

"The other wolf only whined dolefully, but in vain, for the three fell upon him, and in less time than it takes to tell of it, tore him into pieces, and began to devour him. They did not finish the meal, however, for the two rifles behind the log cracked once and again, and all three wolves lay dead beside the comrade whom they had punished so terribly.

"I have every reason to believe this story literally true," continued my father; "and the other day I told it to Mr. E. S. Ellis, the well-known writer of stories of Western adventure.

"'I have no doubt it happened just as you heard it,' he said. 'The incident is uncommon, but not unknown in natural history. My grandfather knew a lumberman who went to sleep in the woods in Northern New York, and was awakened by a panther covering him with leaves. He lay still till the animal got through and went off, when he jumped up and left too. He didn't wait for the panther to come back.'"

HOMING PIGEONS.

BY C. W. FISHER.

As long ago as the days of the great Roman Empire pigeons were employed as message-bearers. Since that time both the breed and training of carriers have so steadily improved that to-day the accounts of their intelligence and skill are almost marvellous.

In Belgium and Turkey, perhaps, of all the countries of Europe, the most perfect results have been achieved, though Germany and France have established government depots, educating the birds for practical use in time of war or other necessity.

In America the carrier is used chiefly for sporting, and pigeon-racing has become quite common. Associations have been formed all over the country for the purpose of perfecting the stock, and having frequent trials of speed, and so lively and wide-spread an interest is taken in the sport that there is a general desire to know more of the birds and the means by which their remarkable instincts are developed.

As the name implies, "homing" pigeons are birds which possess so strong a love for home that their first impulse when free is to return there. They are so keen of sense that they are able to find their way back even from distances of several hundred miles, and in an incredibly short time.

The pigeon now known as the carrier was probably originally used for homing. Its usefulness in that direction, however, has long since departed; it is to-day simply a fancy bird, and a carrier by courtesy only.

The name "homing" is not given to any one variety of pigeons, several kinds possessing the faculty. They are all large in frame, and resemble the carrier in appearance, being undoubtedly descended from the same stock. They are easily raised and easily taught, and the pleasure derived from the teaching amply repays the little care required. A boy can certainly find no more absorbing occupation for his spare hours, and with a little patience can train a bird very successfully.

In the first place, the "loft," as the pigeon-cote is called, should be lofty. The birds are very keen of vision, it is true, but so great a tax is made upon their keenness that we should aid them all we can; therefore build your cote so high that it can be readily distinguished among surrounding objects.

As they are likely to return from a flight at any hour, the loft must be so arranged as to admit the birds at all times, while egress is permitted only at the owner's pleasure. Either or both of two very simple devices will meet this need. One is a square opening in the roof large enough to allow the passage within of a bird with folded wings, but too small to permit its outward flight with wings spread. The other is a wire drop door, which yields easily to pressure from the outside, and falling after the pigeon has entered, keeps him a prisoner.

Having prepared the loft, in buying be careful to select only young birds. Old ones, if good for anything, will upon the first opportunity return to the home from which you have taken them. Remember, in training, that the simple secret of success lies in teaching your bird to know its home and its vicinity thoroughly.

To aid you in this, let your cote be provided with a broad wire-inclosed ledge, from which the pigeons may have an uninterrupted view of the neighborhood even while confined. Their education may begin as soon as they are grown. Commence it by carrying them half a mile from home in a covered basket, and loosing them by tossing well up in the air. If made of the right stuff, they will rise high enough to command a good view, then fly directly to the loft. Should any fail to do so, they are little loss to the brood, and had far better show their uselessness at an early stage of their training than later. So waste no time in regrets over any such good-for-naughts; they are not worth it.

Those that return should be taken out again, the day following, about the same distance, but in a different direction, and this process continued until they are perfectly familiar with all the landmarks within half a mile of home. When this has been accomplished, half the battle is won.

The distances may then be increased, by one or two mile stages, up to ten miles, always loosing the birds hungry. From ten miles advance by five-mile steps to twenty-five miles, and thence by ten-mile increases to fifty miles. Long flights must be gone over by longer or shorter stages, depending upon the smartness of the pigeon in training. It is almost useless to expect one to reach home over a wholly unknown route. The probabilities are that some of the birds will fail to reach the cote in almost every flight. This is to be expected, and the young trainer may be reconciled to their loss by the thought that those that have returned have proved themselves all the more worthy of his care and instruction.

Their speed is almost beyond belief, thirty, sixty, and even ninety miles an hour being recorded of them--a rate which would carry one across the Atlantic in three days.

Aside from the pure sport derived from their rearing, the practical uses to which their intelligence may be put are very many.

During the siege of Paris a daily pigeon-post was established, by means of which persons within the beleaguered city were enabled to correspond with friends without.

The messages, were printed and photographed microscopically upon a very thin film of paper, which was rolled in a quill, and fastened to the leg or one of the tail feathers. At intervals numbers of the pigeons were returned in balloons, so that constant communication was had. Country doctors in England long employed carriers to convey medicines to distant patients, and only a few days since it was announced that the Prussian government had determined to make use of them in the coasting service to establish communication with the light-ships lying off the coast of the North Sea. Since 1876 experiments with them have been made with great success. Such communication is of the utmost importance not only to the light-ships themselves, but to incoming vessels that may be in distress. Birds are being bred and trained especially for this service, and a number have made the distance from light-ship to shore--thirty-five miles--in thirty minutes, and that in the face of a heavy gale. News of distress can be thus sent to the land with the greatest dispatch and under circumstances when life may depend upon the loss of a moment; a single "homer" may be the means of saving a crew.

At this season of the year particularly very many trials of speed are taking place, and often birds are on the way home a number of days, returning long after they have been given up.

Raising homing pigeons is a pursuit which all who are fond of pets must enjoy, and one which the boys would do well to engage in.

BURIED TREASURES.

In an old country like Japan, which has a history of two thousand years, there must be much treasure buried in the soil. There have been centuries of war, when people lived in continual danger of robbers or soldiers.

In those times money and other valuables were often secreted in the ground, out in the woods or meadows, or under the foundations of a house. The death of the owner would leave the spot unknown, to lie in obscurity forever, or to reward some accidental finder of the prize. In almost all the old settled parts of Japan every spot of ground has been built and burned, farmed and fought over, many times, and the discovery of hidden treasure is a common occurrence. The Japanese government has passed laws declaring that all such treasure belongs to the state. The honest finder is always, however, liberally rewarded.

While living in Japan, from 1870 to 1874, I heard of several cases of buried treasure coming to light. Some of them were old pieces of money, like bullets, or lumps of silver and gold of all shapes, and simply stamped in one place. The happy finder in the picture has struck upon a mass of the thin oval gold coins called obans, which are worth from ten to fifty dollars each in our money. Even his dog shares his glee, while behind him is his envious neighbor, who is vexed because he did not see the coins first.

There are many foolish persons in the United States who have spent great labor and wasted much time to find the pots of gold which Captain Kidd is said to have buried near the sea-shore. So in Japan: I met, while there, several foolish people, whose whole mind was set on getting suddenly rich by finding buried money. The amount of spade-work and field-digging which they accomplished without any success would have sufficed to have made good farmers of them. It is a surer thing in Japan, as in America, to seek to find gold by steady work and a mind on the lookout for opportunities than by digging for it at random.

The Chinese way of talking about a person who is "waiting for something to turn up" is "sitting beside a stump, on the watch for a hare." A farmer in ancient times was ploughing a rice field, when he saw a hare dash itself against a stump that stood in his field; and immediately fall dead. The foolish farmer, leaving his plough, sat down upon the stump and waited for another hare to come and do likewise, which no other hare was foolish enough to do.

Do you know where the laurel climbs over the mountain In great blushing clusters so dewy and sweet? Do you know where the buttercups laugh in the meadow, And the daisies shine out on the edge of the wheat?

Come wander with me in the glad sunny morning; I'll show you where flowers by hundreds are found; Some up on the hill-tops, some down in the valleys, And some like stars dropped on the green mossy ground.

Do you know a wise robin with three little children? Could you find, safely hidden, the humming-bird's nest? Do you think, if you saw it, you'd guess by the color The flash of the tanager's beautiful crest?

Come, I know the birdies; they sing for me often; They fly in and out, and don't mind me at all; I watch their bright eyes and their quick little motions, And I know when in anger or trouble they call.

I've an armful of flowers and feathery grasses-- I'm taking them home to my mother, you see; She'll help me to weave them in baskets and bunches For pale Susy Rice and for lame Mattie Lee.

I'm so strong and so well, and I never am tired, And they are so quiet, and often in pain, That I'm sure they'll be glad when they hear my steps coming, And ask me to gather them flowers again.

A real satisfaction is afforded us in the perusal of such a note as the following from an appreciative reader. We are very glad indeed that while our paper delights the little ones, it also receives the cordial approbation of their parents.

ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI.

DEAR HARPERS,--I just want to thank you for publishing HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. Though not a youngster--in fact, my oldest son is nineteen, and wears a mustache--I doubt whether anybody gets more solid enjoyment from the periodical than I do. I am what is called a great reader. Even during the busiest period of my life I always allowed myself one hour at least per day for reading. So my enjoyment is not exactly that of a vacant mind. Gratefully yours,

A FRIEND.

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MONTROSE, SCOTLAND.

I thought you would like to hear from a girl in Scotland who gets your paper, and enjoys it so much. I have had it from the first number. If you would like a bit of heather, I will send it to you when it is in bloom. The next letter I write will be in my native tongue--Scotch; that is to say, if you are pleased with this one. My best love to the Postmistress.

A. M. G.

If by your native tongue you mean the Gaelic, I fear I will just have to keep your next letter as a curiosity; but if the sweet Scottish dialect which rings so tunefully through the songs of the poet Burns is what you are thinking of, dinna forget your promise, dear bairn. And be sure you send the bit of heather, the mere mention of which this summer day sends my thoughts off to breezy moors and purple hills, where sheep graze and goats scramble.

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CRAWFORD, MISSISSIPPI.

I am a little girl nine years old. I have two little sisters, Saidie and Laura. Saidie is six years old, and Laura is four years old. Grandma lives with us, and teaches Saidie and me. I study geography, arithmetic, spelling, reading, writing, and music. We have a swing and a baby doll apiece. My baby is named Nellie, Saidie's Lily, and Laura's Annie. We have one old cat and three little kittens. The old cat's name is Mammy; she is mine. My kitten's name is Topsy, Saidie's Beauty, and Laura's Nannie. They don't know any tricks, but Mammy broke my cup and saucer that papa and mamma gave me on Christmas. I can sew very well on the machine. I made a dress all by myself. I am making a quilt. I hope you can find room for this in my dear, dear paper, as it is my first letter. I don't know what I would do without my YOUNG PEOPLE. I live in the country.

BETTIE F. Y.

I think it must be very pleasant for three little sisters to go to school to a dear grandma. Mammy was quite tricksy when she broke your cup and saucer, whether she knows any tricks or not. I am always very much pleased when I hear that little girls are learning to sew. Do you know that thimble used to be called thumb-bell, and that those clever people the Dutch brought thumb-bells to England with them in 1605? Finger-cap would be a pretty name for the tiny thimble which, no doubt, fits Bettie's rosy finger-tip to a T.

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SUCCESS, MISSOURI.