Part 2

First of all, you must have a lawn; not necessarily a perfectly level piece of turf as smooth as a parlor carpet, but a fairly level plot of grass, which a scythe or a mowing-machine can soon put into order. Of course all stones and sticks must be picked up, and if you have a roller at hand, you will improve your lawn greatly by running the roller over it once or twice. When the ground is prepared, get some small pointed sticks and some string, and lay out the "court" according to the lines on the diagram on this page, stretching the string from one stick to another at the distances marked on the diagram. When this is done, get some whitewash and a brush two inches wide, and mark lines on the grass wherever the string passes over it. Then you may pull up the stakes and the string.

The broad line across the middle of the diagram is where the net goes. If any one of the party knows how to make a net with a two-inch mesh, so much the better; but most of my readers will prefer to buy one, I think. The net is twenty-four feet long and four feet wide, and is fastened to posts, about five feet high, at each side of the court. The posts are supported on the outer side by "guy-ropes" fastened to stakes driven into the ground, while the strain of the net between the posts supports them on the inner side. And now that the court is marked out, and the net pitched, we have everything ready except the bats and balls.

The bat, or racquet, is a very pretty piece of workmanship, and I dare not venture to hope that the cleverest of my readers could make one, so we will assume that, even if everything else is home-made, the racquet must be bought. And so, indeed, must the balls; but a hollow India rubber ball of about two and a half inches diameter is so well known to all boys that we may dismiss it with the remark that it is as well to have at least two balls at hand in a game, to save time.

The game may be played by either two or four persons. In the latter case each pair will play as partners on each side of the net. The one who strikes the ball first (and this is decided by agreement) is called the "server." Standing with one foot outside the line at the end of the right-hand court, and the other foot inside the court (position marked A in diagram), the server strikes the ball so that it falls in the court diagonally opposite him, just over the net at B, where a player on the other side will be waiting to receive it. After the ball has bounced once, the player must strike it over the net, and it must be returned from one side of the net to the other until some one fails to do so properly. One partner plays in the inner court and the other in the outer one, and after the "service" and the first return, either of the players may return the ball to any part of their opponents' court, according as it pitches nearer to one than to the other. When a player fails to return the ball properly, it counts one for the other side, and the server begins again from his old position, except that he must serve from the left-hand court this time if he served from the right-hand court last.

_Counting_.--A game consists of _four_ "points." It counts against one side, and in favor of the other,

1. When the server makes two "faults" in succession. (A "fault" is the failure of the server to send the ball into the proper court.)

2. When a player does not return the ball over the net.

3. When a player sends the ball so far that it falls outside the court.

4. When a player allows the ball to strike the ground more than once before he returns it.

When one side has made four points, a new game is begun, but the same side must not "serve" two games in succession, for there is some advantage in the "service," and it would not be fair for one side to have it oftener than the other.

It will often happen that both sides will have made three points at the same time, and when that does happen, the score is called "deuce," and either side has to make two points in succession to win the game. If the server's side makes a point when the score is "deuce," it is called "advantage in," and if the other side then makes a point, their point cancels the other, and the score is set back to "deuce" again. When the other side (not the server's) makes a point after "deuce," it is called "advantage out," and this point may be cancelled by the other side making one, as before. When one side has made two points in succession after "deuce," the game is won. The side which wins six games first wins the "set," and then the players may rest awhile, or choose fresh sides.

All the principal rules of the game are included in the description of the game given above, but if you buy a full tennis set, a little book containing the rules will be included in it.

As I have said, everything but the bats and balls can be made at home, since nothing is required but two posts, five feet high and an inch and three-quarters in thickness, four tent-pegs to fasten the guy-ropes to, and a net.

But even if it is decided to purchase a set, the cost is not very great compared with that of some other games, especially if two or three families club together. A good tennis set, consisting of four bats, four balls, a net, two posts, guy-ropes, four stakes, and a mallet for driving these last into the ground, can be bought for fifteen dollars. The bats alone of this set would cost eight dollars, and the net two dollars. The poles are rather expensive, as they are made each in two pieces so as to pack into a box, the pieces fitting together in a brass socket. Poles without a joint in the middle can easily be made, thus saving four dollars in the cost of the outfit. The guy-ropes, runners, and stakes cost seventy-five cents a set, but these can easily be made. The cost would thus be reduced to eleven dollars, namely, eight dollars for four bats, one dollar for four balls, and two dollars for a net.

Of course players will dress lightly for the game. A flannel suit is the best thing to wear, as it is cool, and prevents the wearer from taking cold easily. Ordinary shoes can generally be worn, but most players prefer canvas shoes with rubber soles of an uneven surface to prevent slipping. For girls--and this is as much a girl's game as a boy's--short dresses of blue flannel, or some other material that is both cool and strong, are recommended; and canvas shoes with rubber soles can be bought, in girls' sizes, at almost any shoe store. English girls wear the "Jersey," shown in the cut on the preceding page, as a tennis costume, and this neat, close-fitting dress is already becoming popular in this country.

Lawn tennis is a game that requires a quick hand and eye, lively movement, and a good temper. There are two things which spoil the game, even among good players. These are lack of interest in the game, so that a player does not play his best all the time, and a show of bad temper. Angry words and solemn sulks are nowhere more out of place than on the tennis lawn.

GOING TO BE A PIRATE.

BY JIMMY BROWN.

I don't know if you are acquainted with Johnny McGinnis. Everybody knows his father, for he's been in Congress, though he is a poor man, and sells hay and potatoes, and I heard father say that Mr. McGinnis is the most remarkable man in the country. Well, Johnny is Mr. McGinnis's boy, and he's about my age, and thinks he's tremendously smart; and I used to think so too, but now I don't think quite so much of him. He and I went away to be pirates the other day, and I found out that he will never do for a pirate.

You see, we had both got into difficulties. It wasn't my fault, I am sure, but it's such a painful subject that I won't describe it. I will merely say that after it was all over, I went to see Johnny to tell him that it was no use to put shingles under your coat, for how is that going to do your legs any good, and I tried it because Johnny advised me to. I found that he had just had a painful scene with his father on account of apples; and I must say it served him right, for he had no business to touch them without permission. So I said, "Look here, Johnny, what's the use of our staying at home and being laid onto with switches and our best actions misunderstood and our noblest and holiest emotions held up to ridicule?" That's what I heard a young man say to Sue one day, but it was so beautiful that I said it to Johnny myself.

"Oh, go 'way," said Johnny.

"That's what I say," said I. "Let's go away and be pirates. There's a brook that runs through Deacon Sammis's woods, and it stands to reason that it must run into the Spanish Main, where all the pirates are. Let's run away, and chop down a tree, and make a canoe, and sail down the brook till we get to the Spanish Main, and then we can capture a schooner, and be regular pirates."

"Hurrah!" says Johnny. "We'll do it. Let's run away to-night. I'll take father's hatchet, and the carving-knife, and some provisions, and meet you back of our barn at ten o'clock."

"I'll be there," said I. "Only, if we're going to be pirates, let's be strictly honest. Don't take anything belonging to your father. I've got a hatchet, and a silver knife with my name on it, and I'll save my supper and take it with me."

So that night I watched my chance, and dropped my supper into my handkerchief, and stuffed it into my pocket. When ten o'clock came, I tied up my clothes in a bundle, and took my hatchet and the silver knife and some matches, and slipped out the back door, and met Johnny. He had nothing with him but his supper and a backgammon board and a bag of marbles. We went straight for the woods, and after we'd selected a big tree to cut down, we ate our supper. Just then the moon went under a cloud, and it grew awfully dark. We couldn't see very well how to chop the tree, and after Johnny had cut his fingers, we put off cutting down the tree till morning, and resolved to build a fire. We got a lot of fire-wood, but I dropped the matches, and when we found them again they were so damp that they wouldn't light.

All at once the wind began to blow, and made a dreadful moaning in the woods. Johnny said it was bears, and that though he wanted to be a pirate, he hadn't calculated on having any bears. Then he said it was cold, and so it was, but I told him that it would be warm enough when we got to the Spanish Main, and that pirates ought not to mind a little cold.

Pretty soon it began to rain, and then Johnny began to cry. It just poured down, and the way our teeth chattered was terrible. By-and-by Johnny jumped up, and said he wasn't going to be eaten up by bears and get an awful cold, and he started on a run for home. Of course I wasn't going to be a pirate all alone, for there wouldn't be any fun in that, so I started after him. He must have been dreadfully frightened, for he ran as fast as he could, and as I was in a hurry, I tried to catch up with him. If he hadn't tripped over a root, and I hadn't tripped over him, I don't believe I could have caught him. When I fell on him, you ought to have heard him yell. He thought I was a bear, but any sensible pirate would have known I wasn't.

Johnny left me at his front gate, and said he had made up his mind he wouldn't be a pirate, and that it would be a great deal more fun to be a plumber, and melt lead. I went home, and as the house was locked up, I had to ring the front-door bell. Father came to the door himself, and when he saw me, he said, "Jimmy, what in the world does this mean?" So I told him that Johnny and me had started for the Spanish Main to be pirates, but Johnny had changed his mind up in Deacon Sammis's woods, and that I thought I'd change mine too.

Father had me put to bed, and hot bottles and things put in the bed with me, and before I went to sleep, he came and said: "Good-night, Jimmy. We'll try and have more fun at home, so that there won't be any necessity of your being a pirate." And I said, "Dear father, I'd a good deal rather stay with you, and I'll never be a pirate without your permission."

This is why I say that Johnny McGinnis will never make a good pirate. He's too much afraid of getting wet.

THE KING'S PET LION.

BY DAVID KER.

A long time ago there lived a young King in the east of Germany, who was so famous for strange adventures and out-of-the-way exploits that the people in those parts talk of him still; and if you turn away from the railway track, and march off with your knapsack through the passes of the "Giant Mountains," you will hear many a curious story about him, and many a strange old song, from the miners and charcoal-burners, whose queer little huts are dotted all over the higher slopes. And if, after three weeks or a month among those grand old forests, and green upland pastures, and shining water-falls, and huge black precipices--sleeping in your plaid under the lee of a big rock, and sharing some charcoal man's fried potatoes beside a pine-log fire--you do not come back with health and strength enough for a dozen, and good old stories enough for a library, it will certainly be your own fault.

This German prince had become King when he was little more than a boy, and hardly fit to manage such a difficult business as taking care of a whole kingdom at once. Indeed, he often wished that the kingdom could take care of itself, and leave him a little more liberty; for he would far rather have been galloping over hedge and ditch on his good horse than wading through piles of musty state papers, and he thought it far better fun to follow the deer up the hills with his gun than to sit perched up on a throne in his crown and robes, with ever so many people coming and making long speeches to him, of which he hardly understood a word.

But, happily for our poor prince, he had _one_ good friend at his court who was never tired of trying to amuse and entertain him. This was an old friend of his father's, called Count Thorn, who had taught him his lessons as a child, and still kept a kind of charge over him now that he was growing to be a man. The Count looked so tall and grand, with his fur-trimmed robe, and high frilled collar, and long gray beard, that he seemed like one of the old portraits in the great dining hall stepping down from its frame. But there was a merry twinkle in his deep dark eyes every now and then which showed that he could enjoy a joke as well as any one, and that he had a kind heart underneath all.

And so, indeed, he had; and the young King (who was very fond of him, and used to call him "uncle") always ended by doing what the Count told him, although he grumbled a little at times. "Happy as a King?" he would say, when he came back from a long morning in the council chamber: "I believe I'm the least happy man in my kingdom, for I'm the only one who can't do as he likes."

And then the old Count would lay a hand on his shoulder, and say, kindly: "My boy, you weren't made King just to do as you like, and to amuse yourself. You have to think of your people, and try to make _them_ happy; and if you want to be a really great King, such as your father was, that's what you must do." And the young King would laugh, and answer, cheerily, "You're quite right, uncle, and I'll do my best." And after that there would be no more grumbling for a good while, and everything would go on quite comfortably.

Now the King had another favorite besides the Count, and one with whom very few people cared to meddle; for this other favorite was nothing less than a fine young African lion, big enough and strong enough to kill a man with one bite. He and his master might almost be said to have grown up together, for the lion had been given to the King when it was a mere cub and he a mere boy, and it was so tame that it would follow him everywhere like a dog, and eat out of his hand. At night, when the King went to bed, the lion slept on a mat outside his door; and I promise you there was no fear of any one disturbing him while _that_ sentinel was on duty.

Now the King used jokingly to call this lion his brother, because whenever he flew into a rage (as he very often did), Count Thorn would say, gravely, "My boy, an angry man is no better than a wild beast; and if you choose to be just the same as that lion yonder, we may as well make him King instead of you."

And then the King would pat the lion's huge tawny head, and say, laughingly: "Do you hear that, old fellow? How would _you_ like to have to sit all day with a big crown on, and a heavy robe round you, hearing a lot of fellows make long speeches? I don't think it would suit you at all." And the lion would open its great red mouth and give a long yawn, as much as to say, "I don't think it would."

So long as the beast was only a cub, Count Thorn made no objection to it, and indeed was rather pleased that his pupil had found something to amuse him. But now that the cub had grown into a full-sized lion, with teeth that would crack a man's skull like a nut, and a paw that would beat in an oaken door at one blow, it was a very different thing; and the old Count began to be somewhat anxious. He knew that the lion's savage nature might awake at any moment, and that, if it did, the King would be torn in pieces before a hand could be lifted to save him. The more he thought of the whole business, the less he liked it; and at last he made up his mind to speak out. So one day he came to the King in his garden, with such a grave face that the young man cried out at once: "Why, uncle, what's the matter? you look as if you were just going to be beheaded."

"My boy," said the Count, gravely, "I want to talk seriously with you."

"Which means that I'm going to get a scolding," observed the King, folding his arms, with such a rueful look that Count Thorn could scarcely help laughing.

"I don't want to scold you," he answered, "but I _do_ want to advise you, and I hope you won't be vexed at a word of counsel from your old friend. My dear boy, that lion of yours is a dangerous pet, and I want you to get rid of him."

"What! get rid of old Max?" cried the King. "You can't mean that, surely, uncle? Why, I couldn't do without him now--he's the oldest friend I've got, except yourself. Besides," he added, slyly, "if I _did_ send him away, what would you do when you wanted to scold me for being passionate, and you had no 'wild beast' to point to?"

"This is no laughing matter," said the Count, shaking his head. "Suppose he were to spring upon you all at once, and seize you in those great jaws of his, what then?"

"As if he'd ever dream of doing anything of the sort!" laughed the King. "Why, he's as tame as any dog, and tamer, too."

"Well, if you won't send him away," urged the Count, "at all events have him chained up, or put in a cage, so that he can do no harm."

"Come, come, uncle," cried the young man, reproachfully, "that's really a little too bad! How long do you think _I_ should live if I were chained or caged up like that? and Max is quite as fond of his liberty as I am of mine. No, no; I'll do anything else you like, but I can't have my poor old lion ill-treated."

In short, let Count Thorn talk as he pleased, the King was not to be persuaded; and like most people who are fond of having their own way, he had to pay dearly for it in the end, as you shall see.

One night, having gone to bed later than usual, he had a strange dream. He thought that he was lying on the bed with his uniform coat on, and that a servant came into the room, and began to brush his sleeve with a hard brush. Presently the man passed from the sleeve to the hand that hung out of it, and rasped the skin with the rough bristles until it grew so painful that the King could bear it no longer, but gave a start and a cry, and--awoke.

For a moment he hardly knew whether he was still dreaming or not. His left hand _was_ hanging over the side of the bed, and something hard and prickly _was_ rasping it and making it painful; but that something was the rough tongue of the lion, which had crept softly into the room (the King having for once forgotten to shut his door), and was licking the outstretched hand, which was just beginning to bleed!

At this taste of fresh blood--the first he had ever had--the beast's fierce nature suddenly awoke. Already his mane was beginning to bristle, and his tail to jerk restlessly to and fro, and his great yellow eyes to flash fire. Bitterly enough, now that it was too late, did the poor King recall his old friend's warning, which he had treated so lightly. He was utterly alone, far from all help, and before him was no longer his tame, affectionate favorite, but a raging beast of prey.

But the young King was as brave a man as ever lived, and even when so suddenly brought face to face with this awful danger, he never flinched. He saw instantly that there was only one thing for him to do, and that it must be done without losing a moment. Never withdrawing his look for a moment from the savage eyes of the beast, or attempting to withdraw the hand which it was licking, he slid the other hand softly up to the bed's head, where his loaded pistols always hung.

Flash! bang! The room was filled with smoke, and as the servants rushed in, they saw the lion dead on the floor, and the King sitting with his face buried in his hands.

So ended all Count Thorn's troubles and anxieties; but somehow he did not appear much pleased after all. In his heart he was sorry for the brave beast that his pupil had loved so long; and when the King looked up from burying his dead favorite among the flowers in his garden, he saw that the old Count's keen gray eyes were as dim as his own.

THE GRAMMAR COURT.

BY W. T. PETERS.

Clinton was a rosy-cheeked boy, with a pair of dirty hands, and a very stupid head for the nine parts of speech. In fact, as far as his knowledge of grammar went, he was a dunce, and that's a very unpleasant thing to be, especially when one gets a daily thrashing, you know. Well, Clinton was a dunce, and his teacher knew it, and all the school knew it, and he knew it, and he felt very sulky about it on this particular day when I write of him; for he has come out of school with a red, swollen hand, and a pair of red, swollen eyes, though he wouldn't cry about a thrashing, not he--oh no, he is too brave for that.

Now Clinton lived in a nice little house near a nice little village, in which stood the school-house, and when he went home every day he had to go through an open field, and then through a piece of woods. It was about four o'clock on a summer afternoon--he had been kept in again--and the heat had not yet faded away. The sun looked hot and stary through the mist in Clinton's eyes, but its saucy, knowing look put him out, for it seemed to have too much information for a well-balanced sun.

Presently he came to a fresh bit of grass, by such a lordly old tree; so he threw himself down, all breathless and rosier than ever, and folding his inky fingers under his head, he fell to watching a domestic robin up in the tree, and thinking about the detested lessons at the same time.

"Now," said he--for he had a great habit of talking to himself aloud--"what good can there be in a fellow's learning that horrible stuff? I'll never have the faintest idea of what it all means, I'm sure, any more than that round robin up above me."

Whereupon the round robin looked very wise, as if it knew what it knew; but Clinton didn't mind it, but went on talking to himself.

"I was always rather shaky on the subject of fairies, but I'm blest if I wouldn't like to get a glimpse of one this moment, for I don't believe anybody else could help me."

And just then the robin looked down from his nest, and called out, "You're right there."