Part 1

Produced by Annie R. McGuire

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VOL. III.--NO. 134. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR CENTS.

Tuesday, May 23, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per Year, in Advance.

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MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER.[1]

[1] Begun in No. 127, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

BY JAMES OTIS,

AUTHOR OF "TOBY TYLER," "TIM AND TIP," ETC.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE DINNER PARTY.

But the time was passing rapidly, and as there were many persons outside waiting for an opportunity to pay their money to see the various attractions of the show, Mrs. Treat gave the signal for the snake-charmer to begin. The entertainment, the skeleton explained, was given as a mark of respect to their friend Toby Tyler.

This private exhibition lasted about fifteen minutes; and when, at its close, the doors were thrown open to the public, the boys were not at all anxious to leave.

"Let them stay as long as they want to, Toby," said the skeleton, indulgently.

The boys were only too glad to avail themselves of this permission, and Toby said to Abner:

"I want to see if I can find Ella, an' you stay here till I come back."

"I'll keep him right here by me," said Mrs. Treat, "and he'll he safe enough."

Remembering how she had served Job Lord, Toby had no fears for the safety of his friend. He went at once, therefore, to deliver the invitation to the last of Aunt Olive's expected guests.

When, after some little time, Toby returned, the boys had satisfied their curiosity so far as the side show was concerned, and all except Abner had left the tent.

That Toby had found Ella was evident, as that young lady herself skipped along by his side in the greatest possible delight at having met her former riding companion; and that she had accepted his invitation to dinner was shown by the scrupulous care with which she was dressed.

"It's time to go up to Uncle Dan'l's," Toby whispered to Mrs. Treat, "an' Ben's harnessin' the hosses into your wagon, so you won't have to go to the trouble of puttin' on your other clothes."

"I don't know as we ought to go up there in this rig," said Mrs. Treat, doubtfully, as she looked down at her "show dress," made to display her arms and neck to the greatest advantage, and then at her husband's costume, which was as scanty as his body. "I wanted to dress up when we went there, but I don't see how I'll get the chance to do it."

"I wouldn't bother, 'cause Uncle Dan'l will like you jest as well that way, an' it will take you too long," said Toby, impatiently.

The skeleton, on being consulted as to the matter, decided to do as Toby wished, because by adopting that course they would the sooner get the dinner about which he had been thinking ever since he had received the invitation.

But while Mrs. Treat was ready to believe that her costume might be reasonably fit to wear to a dinner party, she was certain that something more than tights and a pair of short red velvet trousers was necessary for her husband.

Mr. Treat tried to argue with his much larger half, insisting that Uncle Daniel would understand the matter; but his wife insisted so strongly, and with such determination to have her own way, that he compromised by adding to his scanty wardrobe a black frock-coat and a tall silk hat, which gave him a rather more comical than distinguished appearance.

The audience were dismissed as soon as possible; Abner was helped into the wagon, perfectly delighted at being allowed to ride in a circus van, and the party started for Uncle Daniel's.

Toby sat on the box with Ben, to show him the way; and when the gaudily painted cart stopped in front of the farm-house, it was much as if a peacock had suddenly alighted amid a flock of demure hens.

Uncle Daniel was out in the yard to receive his strangely assorted guests, and the greeting they received from both him and Aunt Olive was as hearty as if they had been old acquaintances.

There was a look of calm satisfaction on the skeleton's face as the odor of roast lamb mingled itself with Uncle Daniel's welcome when he descended from the wagon; and as the company were ushered into the "fore-room," the air of which was pungent with the odors of herbs used to keep the moths from carpet and furniture, a restful feeling came over them such as only those whose lives are dreary rounds of travelling can feel.

Uncle Daniel insisted on taking care of the horses himself, for his idea of the duties of host would not allow that Ben should help him, and almost as soon as he had finished this work dinner was ready.

When all the guests were at the table, and Uncle Daniel bowed his head to invoke a blessing on those who had befriended the fatherless, the look of general discomfort old Ben had worn from the time he reached the house passed away, and in its place came the peaceful look Toby had seen on Sundays after the old driver had come from church.

It seemed to Toby that he had never really known Uncle Daniel before, so jolly was he in his efforts to entertain his guests; and the manner in which he portioned out the food, keeping the plates well filled all the time, was in the highest degree pleasing to Mr. Treat.

Of course very much was said about the time when Toby was an unwilling member of the circus, and Mrs. Treat and Ben told of the boy's experiences in a way that brought many a blush to his cheeks. Mr. Treat was too busy with Aunt Olive's lamb, as he affectionately spoke of it, to be able to say anything. He was also wonderfully fortunate in not choking himself but once, and that was such a trifling matter that it was all over in a moment.

Old Ben told Toby that night, however, that Treat would not have got on so well if his wife had not trodden on his toes frequently, as a hint to eat more slowly.

Although Abner had spent several hours in the side show, it seemed as if he would never tire of gazing at Mrs. Treat's enormous frame, and so intently did he look at her that he missed a good chance of getting a second piece of custard pie, though Toby nudged him several times to intimate that he could have more as well as not.

Ben told a number of stories of circus life; Mrs. Treat related some of her experiences in trying to prevent her husband from eating too fast; Ella told Aunt Olive of the home she and her mother lived in during winter; and the hour which had been devoted to this visit passed so pleasantly that every one was sorry when it was ended.

"You've got a trim little farm here," said Ben to Uncle Daniel, when the two went out to harness the horses; "an' I reckon that a man who has got land enough to support him is fixed jest about as well as he can be. I don't know of anything I'd rather be than a farmer, if I could only get away from circus life."

"Whenever you want to leave that business," said Uncle Daniel, solemnly and earnestly, "you come right here, and I'll show you the chance to become a farmer."

"I'd like to," said Ben, with a sigh of regret that the matter seemed so impossible; "but I've been with a circus now, man an' boy, goin' on forty-one years, an' I s'pose I shall always be with one."

Then he changed the conversation, making an arrangement with Uncle Daniel, for pasturing the ponies that were to be left behind, and by the time the bargain was completed the horses were at the door.

While Uncle Daniel and old Ben had been at the stables, Mr. Treat had been showing his liberality by giving Aunt Olive tickets for the side show and circus, and inducing her to promise that she and Uncle Daniel would see both shows. He had also given Toby fully a dozen circus tickets for distribution among his friends; and then, as Uncle Daniel entered, he said:

"I wish to express thanks--both for myself and my wife Lilly--for the very kind manner in which you have entertained us to-day."

Before he could say anything more, the others came to say good-by, and he was disappointed again. Aunt Olive kissed Ella several times, while the parting with the others was almost as between old friends. Then the guests started for the tent again, more than satisfied with their visit.

"Now, Toby, you look me up jest after the show is out this afternoon, an' we'll fix it so's you shall have a chance to talk with Mr. Stubbs's brother," said Ben, as they were driving along.

As a matter of course Toby promised to be there, and to bring Abner with him.

"You said that little cripple had to live at the poor-farm, didn't you?" asked Ben, after quite a long pause.

"Yes, an' it's cause he hain't got no father or mother, nor no Uncle Dan'l like I've got," said Toby, sadly.

"Hain't he got any relations anywhere?"

"No; Uncle Dan'l said he didn't have a soul that he could go to."

"It must be kinder hard for him to live there alone, an' I don't s'pose he'll ever be able to walk."

Toby was not at all certain whether or not Abner could ever be cured; but he told the old driver what he knew of the lonely life the boy led. Ben did not appear to hear what was said, for he was in one of his deep studies, and seemed unconscious of everything except the fact that his horses were going in the proper direction.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Toby," he said, after remaining silent until they were nearly at the tent. "I hain't got a child or a chick in the world, an' I'll take care of that boy."

Toby looked up in surprise, as he repeated, in a puzzled way,

"You'll take care of him?"

"I don't mean that I'll take hold an' tote him round, but he shall have as much as he needs out of every dollar I get. I'll see your uncle Dan'l, an' fix it somehow so he'll be taken out of the poor-house."

"Why, Ben, how good you are!" and Toby looked up at his friend with sincere admiration imprinted on his face.

"It hain't 'cause I'm good, my lad; but if I didn't help that poor fellow in some way, I'd see them big eyes an' that pale face of hisn every night I rode on this box alone; so you see I only do it for the sake of havin' peace," said Ben, with a forced laugh; and then he stopped the horses at the rear of Mr. Treat's tent. "Now you jump down, Toby, so's to see the skeleton don't break himself all to pieces gettin' out, for I'm kinder 'fraid he will some day. I'd rather drive a hundred monkeys than one sich slim man as him."

Then Ben had a fit of internal laughter, caused by his own remark, and Uncle Daniel's guests were ready to resume their duties at the circus.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

SOME DIAMOND STORIES.

BY ELLA RODMAN CHURCH.

Every one knows that the diamond is the hardest and most valuable of all precious stones; but every one does not know why it is always said to weigh so many _carats_. The _kirut_ is a small Indian seed, used in India for weighing diamonds, and it weighs itself about four grains, so that six carats are equal to a pennyweight.

The diamond mines of Golconda have been known all over the world for hundreds of years; and the largest stone ever found in them is the famous Koh-i-noor, or Mountain of Light, so called from its great size and brilliancy, for it weighed _nine hundred carats_. A Venetian diamond-cutter chipped away at it as though he had been sharpening a pencil, because it was not even in shape--the idiot!--until he left only two hundred and eighty carats of it. After being worn, it is said, for thousands of years, by the monarchs of India, it came into the possession of Queen Victoria; and it was again cut and polished, at an expense of about forty thousand dollars. There are only one hundred and twenty-three carats left of it now, but it is said to be worth seven hundred thousand dollars.

A great many stories are told about this wonderful diamond; and if it could only write its own history, the account would certainly be worth reading. It belonged to many different princes of India, one of whom would often take it by cheating, and even murder, from another; and this happened among the rest:

"The King of Lahore having heard that the King of Cabool possessed a diamond that had belonged to the Great Mogul, the largest and purest known, he invited the fortunate owner to his court; and there, having him in his power, demanded the diamond. The guest, however, had provided himself against such a contingency with a perfect imitation of the coveted jewel. After some show of resistance, he reluctantly acceded to the wishes of his powerful host. The delight of Runjeet was extreme, but of short duration, the lapidary to whom he gave orders to mount his new acquisition pronouncing it to be merely a bit of crystal. The mortification and rage of the despot were unbounded. He immediately caused the palace of the King of Cabool to be invested and ransacked from top to bottom. But for a long while all search was vain; at last a slave betrayed the secret--the diamond was found concealed beneath a heap of ashes."

The largest diamond now to be seen in the world belongs to a Rajah of Borneo, and weighs three hundred and sixty-seven carats. It is shaped like an egg, and is very pure and beautiful. For this three ounces of diamond the owner once refused to take in exchange two large war vessels completely equipped, and one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in money!

The next largest is the Orloff, or Grand Russian, of one hundred and ninety-three carats, which also has quite a history. It belonged first to the Great Mogul, and then to Nadir, the Shah of Persia, who was assassinated in 1747. At his death the great diamond disappeared, and no one could tell what had become of it, until many years afterward it was offered for sale in the city of Amsterdam. No one there could afford such an expensive ornament, which was fit only for royalty, and the English and Russian governments both tried to get possession of it. The Empress Catherine came off conqueror, her agent, Count Orloff, paying for it four hundred and fifty thousand rubles in cash, and a grant of Russian nobility. This diamond, although not perfect in shape, is of wonderful clearness and lustre, and as large as a pigeon's egg.

A Frenchman named Tavernier visited the mines of Golconda as long ago as 1677, and was much interested in watching the finding and sale of diamonds. The laborers who search for them have to be closely watched, as they will secrete valuable ones in the most ingenious ways, even swallowing them, and one miner hid a stone of two carats in the corner of his eye.

This traveller describes a group of boy traders who assembled every morning under a large tree in the middle of a village near the mines to wait for people with diamonds to sell. The boys were from ten to sixteen years old, and each one had his diamond weight in a bag on one side of his girdle, and a purse with considerable money in it on the other. When a diamond is offered, it is handed to the eldest boy, who examines it carefully, and passes it to his neighbor, who does the same, and hands it to the next, and so on through the group. It then returns to the head of the little band, who makes the bargain for it. If the others think he has given too much for it, he has to keep the stone on his own account.

In the evening the diamonds bought during the day are classed according to their size and purity, and the prices affixed which they are thought to be worth; the children return with them to their masters, and receive a good share of the profits, the head boy getting one-fourth more than the others.

THE MOUNTAIN DWARF.

BY ANNIE L. BELCHER.

You all know the old proverb, "Those who live in glass houses should not throw stones"? Well, I am going to tell you a story about it.

Years ago there stood a beautiful castle on the summit of a mountain. It had many towers and many wings, and was built entirely of glass. It stood in the midst of a garden brilliant with unknown flowers, and filled with trees weighted down with strange delicious fruits.

People from various parts of the world came to see this wonderful garden, with its glass palace, and strange birds and fruits and flowers; and not the least strange part about it was its master, christened, by order of the Mountain King, the Mountain Dwarf. He was an odd, grotesque little creature, with thin, crooked legs, and a sharp shrewd face set in a mass of yellow hair. He wore costly satins and velvets, and all his garments were trimmed with wee silver bells that kept up a perpetual jingling that seemed impertinently to assert their master's supremacy over all the world. It pleased this curious little man to build himself a glass castle. He liked that men should watch him dine from golden plates, and drink rare wine from diamond goblets. Admiration was to him the breath of life, and he was most happy when his neighbors were most envious. He laughed aloud when strangers, toiling up the hill, were forced to shield their eyes from the dazzling glare of the sun shining on his palace.

Half-way between the summit of this mountain and the pretty village at its foot stood a miner's settlement--a pitiful collection of log-huts so rudely put together that they kept out neither snow nor rain. In these huts lived the families of the men who toiled night and day in the mine underneath the hill. It was these half-starved, hard-worked men that made the money that enabled the Mountain Dwarf to live like a Mountain King. But little thought he of the poor wretches underneath his feet, save that their settlement was an eyesore, and must be destroyed. He denied their right to homes and families. Those uneducated machines, men! They were lower than the brutes, and but fit to live in mines. He had no thought of helping them to a higher life; he only wished to push them lower.

Every evening after sunset the Mountain Dwarf would wrap himself in his sable cloak, and walk down to the miners' homes, followed by a retinue of servants. At the first sound of the tinkling bells, women and children would rush from the huts and hide themselves in the forest.

One night he stood alternately gazing on the wretched hovels beside him and the castle on the hill. As he looked, his rage escaped all bounds.

"Down with that rubbish!" he shrieked, pointing to the settlement. "They have disgraced me enough. Strangers have to pass this to see my palace. Down with these huts!"

"But the miners and their wives and children!" ventured the boldest of the servants.

The Mountain Dwarf looked at the man with his small cruel eyes. "Ha! ha!" he yelled. "You dare defend them. Good! We will send you to the mines and work you hard. Now let every man take a stone and let him aim it well."

All the servants trembled, and the poor fellow who had pleaded for the miners fell on his knees with loud sobs. But not one man stooped to raise a stone.

"What!" thundered the Dwarf. "You dare defy me! Then I'll stone them down myself. Their ugly huts have stood in sight of my castle long enough."

With fiendish glee he danced from hut to hut, hurling stones that giants could barely move as though they were but pebbles, until not one log was left upon another. Then he clapped his hands and snapped his fingers in the air, and led the servants home. The Mountain Dwarf was in an ecstasy of delight, and roared with laughter, when the women and children crept timidly from the woods and sobbed over their ruined homes.

When the moon was at its full, and the castle lay shimmering in its yellow light with the pale soft tints of an opal, a long still line of men crept up the hill and through the beautiful gardens, close up to the castle walls. Their faces were fierce yet quiet, as though some great purpose was controlling their actions, and behind them some little distance came the women and children that had wept over the fallen settlement. They could see the Mountain Dwarf on his silver bed with its silken draperies, and even in sleep his lips wore the sneering smile of triumph they had worn a few hours earlier. The men looked from the bed to the stones in their hands, and then at one another.

"It is time," said a low voice, and every right arm stretched itself up and backward and flung a stone. There was a terrible crash.

"Again!" said the same low voice, and again with military precision the right hands went up and back, and the stones flew, and again came that terrible crash.

The Mountain Dwarf, stunned and bruised and bleeding, raised himself in his bed.

"Who is it?" he moaned feebly.

"The miners," came back in a terrible shout.

"Ah me!" he gasped. "Those who live in glass houses should not throw stones." They were his last words, and they have grown into a proverb.

"PETER."

BY EDWARD I. STEVENSON.

American boys and girls whose delight in looking at Jumbo and his celebrated legs may have been clouded by remembering how many of the little English cousins across the sea were lamenting the tall old elephant's absence will be glad to know that a new pet has already been found to take Jumbo's place.

They are flocking by hundreds daily to the Zoological Gardens, where once Jumbo reigned and carried them trumpeting upon his broad back, to be introduced to Peter--a splendid specimen of the "Chacma" baboon, whose sparkling countenance and symmetrical shape our artist has here pictured for the benefit of the readers of the YOUNG PEOPLE.

Peter came originally from South Africa on a war ship with his master, a British officer, who lately turned his monkeyship over to the "Zoo." It is disagreeable to state that his owner did so to get rid of him--he was fast growing too mischievous to be endured on shipboard. I fear Peter is, in truth, no model for the other monkeys in the Gardens. He steals; he bites; he loves to tear up anything he can once fasten his fingers upon. All this is very sad to learn. Possibly Mr. Barnum will see that he ought to be taught to be a good and happy monkey, and feel bound to buy him for America next year. Travel is so improving to the manners.

Peter has recently had a curious experience. Did any of you ever hear of a monkey who had the toothache, and who took chloroform to get rid of it? Such was Peter's fortune. Day after day the poor fellow sat in one corner of his roomy cage holding his paw close to his cheek. His friends, the children with their mothers and fathers and nurses, stood around pitying him and longing to help him, but in vain.

Peter's jaw began to swell terribly. At length his sufferings came to the point where his keepers said that the cause of all his woe, an aching molar tooth, must be drawn, or the poor fellow would die, for he refused to eat, and seemed to become each day weaker and more dejected. Suddenly a London gentleman, Mr. Hammond, came to the conclusion that he could extract the ailing tooth and save the pet's life.

Peter's illness had made him exceedingly afraid of any strangers--quite as cross, in fact, as a good many of my small readers are when they have the toothache. Mr. Hammond and his assistants, however, entered the cage and politely presented Peter with a nice linen handkerchief well soaked in chloroform.

Peter warily took it, examined it attentively, and presently proceeded--not to smell of it at all, but to calmly lick off all the chloroform with much pleasure. Chloroform must be smelled to best take effect, not swallowed. The handkerchief was prepared again, and again offered. A second time did the red tongue make its appearance and spoil Mr. Hammond's kind designs, and indeed for nearly half an hour did Peter cunningly get the best of his friends by licking up the chloroform.

Finally, however, the liquid began to take effect upon him. Peter's bright eyes grew dim, his head drooped. The handkerchief was held tightly to his nose, and suddenly he tumbled over sound asleep, able to undergo any operation without feeling it.