Part 3

Now the great thing to do is for one side to throw the ball through the goal of the other side. At the end of the play, the side having thus made the most goals is the winner. By throwing, it is not meant that the ball is thrown with the hands, as in base-ball. The ball is never to be touched by the hands. All the work is done with the crosse, which is made of a frame of bent wood, on which are woven thongs of rawhide or catgut. This has a long handle. With this crosse the ball is caught, carried, and thrown.

So expert do some players become that they will throw the ball straight and swiftly from goal to goal. Mr. Lally, of the Shamrock Club, is able to throw the ball four hundred and fifty feet. The ball is of India rubber sponge, not less than eight nor more than nine inches in circumference. As the game is now played, twelve players are on each side, placed according to the best judgment of their captains for working the ball toward the opposite goal, or keeping it from going through their own goal.

All the play, the running, dodging, leaping, twisting, throwing, is simply to get the ball through the goal. This part of it is easily learned. Of course it requires practice to enable one to handle the crosse well. But any active lad can soon get the hang of that, and once learned, it is doubtful if he will give up lacrosse for base-ball, with its broken fingers and sprained thumbs, or for foot-ball, with its kicked shins and sometimes broken ribs.

But lacrosse is no girls' play. There is sufficient hard work and danger to make it quite exciting enough for anybody; but there is not much danger of a player's getting maimed for life, as has often happened in these other games. There are no spiked shoes worn, no wrestling, no holding, no intentional tripping, no striking. It is simply a game of agility and endurance.

To be a good player, one must be able to run well and to run long. It is remarkable what speed and endurance some of the players possess. To have these, they must take good care of their health, and good lacrosse players are careful seldom or never to touch tobacco or strong drink, nor to eat unwholesome food at unnatural hours.

Lacrosse is a good game, because it cultivates courage in a boy, knocks the timidity out of him, gives him confidence and pluck, and teaches him to govern his temper. It develops judgment and calculation, promptness and decision, and gives him a healthful and manly recreation. Besides, it is a cheap game. It can be played on almost any vacant lot. In Canada it is played in the streets of the towns and on the village greens. The balls are not expensive, and last well, and the crosses do not cost a large sum.

It is a pretty game. It is very interesting to watch twenty-four players, especially if they are wearing tasteful uniforms, all rushing, leaping, dodging, over the green grass, each side intent upon driving that little black ball through the goal.

There have been games of lacrosse that were not so pretty. History tells of one that ended in a fearful tragedy. It was played over one hundred years ago, in 1763. One of the British chain of forts in the North was Fort Michilimackinac. On the 4th of June, 1763, it was garrisoned by thirty-five soldiers, and contained about ninety other persons, men, women, and children. It was the birthday of King George, and the soldiers were celebrating the day.

There had been rumors that the Ojibway Indians had conspired with Pontiac, the great chief, to capture the fort, but Captain Etherington, the commandant, paid no attention to them. So, when on this day the Ojibways sent an invitation to the fort to see a grand game of "baggataway," or lacrosse, between them and the Sacs, on the plain in front of the fort, the soldiers gladly accepted.

"The gates were opened wide," says Mr. W. G. Beers, in his account of the game; "the soldiers were lying and standing about in groups, the majority without arms. Captain Etherington and Lieutenant Leslie stood close by the gate, betting on the game.

"A large number of squaws were collected near the fort. Then the game began. The players, nearly naked, yelling, with leaps and dashes, chased and fought for the ball, kicking, wrestling, rolling over each other. The spectators roared with laughter. No one thought of anything but the game. But slowly the ball neared the fort. Once or twice it shot into the air, and fell inside the pickets, and was thrown out. Gradually the great body of players neared the fort, all playing with might and main.

"Suddenly the ball was thrown high into the air, and as it fell near the gate, the players made a great rush, followed by all the warriors who had not been playing.

"The war-whoop rang over the plain; the ball sticks were thrown away; the squaws threw open their blankets, and the players snatched the tomahawks and other weapons they had concealed there."

Then the massacre began, and of that little band of English but twenty escaped alive. So you see when you play lacrosse you are playing a purely American game, and a historical game too.

A YARN FROM THE LOG-BOOK OF TOM FAIRWEATHER.

A Visit to an Ostrich Farm.

BY LIEUTENANT E. W. STURDY, U.S.N.

"Hello!" cried Tom, "we're off."

Off from Cape Town, South Africa. Wasn't Tom a lucky fellow? He was cruising around the world in his father's ship. To-day he was going a few miles inland to visit Mr. Van Zeilin's ostrich farm. Queer kind of farm, eh? Are you wondering whether the ostriches were the farmers? Well, you'll see.

It was a lovely trip in a railway car, much like our cars at home, by-the-bye, over fair fields bright and sweet with flowers.

Tom enjoyed it after having been cooped up on ship-board for some time; in fact, he grinned from ear to ear with pleasure. I have a colored photograph of him I would like to show you. Blue, roving eyes, yellow hair, round, rosy cheeks--dressed in a suit of sailor clothes. His messmates thought him a nice boy, and called him "Little Boy Blue."

"Ostrich farming is a new thing, is it not?" asked Tom's father, Captain Fairweather, of Mr. Van Zeilin, the owner of the farm they were going to visit, and who, as his name showed, came of the early Dutch settlers of the colony.

"Yes; the attempt was first made only about twenty years ago." (Tom thought twenty years made a very old thing of it.) "We have been fairly successful; our only profit is in the feathers, as you doubtless know."

"Don't you sell the eggs, sir?" asked Tom.

"As other farmers sell hens' eggs? No. The eggs are worth five dollars apiece. We hatch a good many of them by artificial means. These birds are careless of their eggs, and leave them lying around, so that it is part of our business to collect them. In other parts of Africa the natives eat the eggs, however, roasting them in the shell, and stirring the meat with a stick. They also use the thick hard shells for drinking-cups."

The party reached their journey's end, and after eating luncheon at Mr. Van Zeilin's comfortable house, started off to explore.

"Good gracious!" cried Tom; "what's that?" In the next breath he recognized the strange object before him as an ostrich, but just at first he was thoroughly amazed. It was hard to realize that any mere bird could be so big. It was as tall--well, its head would be on a level with the top of an ordinary-sized wardrobe. Its legs alone were four or five feet long. Bird, indeed! it looked more like a young camel than anything else; only it had but two legs. Tom stared and stared. He had expected to see something like a prize turkey, and now this! Meanwhile Mr. Van Zeilin had halted. He began cutting off branches from the tree beneath which they were standing.

"I wish to show you a nest," he said; "but we shall have to be wary. We may meet with a warm reception. Tom, you are a traveller. What do you propose doing if the ostrich shows fight?"

"I'll fight back," said Tom, valorously. "He's only a bird. I guess I can whip him."

"Not so fast," said Mr. Van Zeilin, continuing to trim his branches, which he forked at one end. "Ostriches are very strong. Their strength is in their legs, and they fight with them. An ostrich has been known to knock down a lion with one well-aimed blow; so I fancy an angry bird would make short work of you, my plucky little fellow. No, I wouldn't advise you to fight."

"He who fights and runs away may live to fight another day," laughed Tom's father. "What do you say to taking to your heels, my boy?"

"You would be likely to get the worst of that too," replied Mr. Van Zeilin. "The ostrich outstrips the horse. He is said to run sixty miles an hour at the start, although he can not keep up this speed. He would soon catch up with you."

"I give it up," said Tom, heartily.

"Fortunately," continued Mr. Van Zeilin, distributing the branches he had been cutting to their party of six, "the ostrich is as stupid as he is strong and swift. I will give you two points. In the first place, when you are pursued by an ostrich, if you come to a fence, get over it, and you are safe, even if it is only two feet high. The fellow could get over it with the greatest ease, but he doesn't know it, and I doubt if he ever will."

"What is your other point, sir?" inquired Tom.

"Just this. If an ostrich makes for you, present a forked stick at him--thus--and slowly retreat. It does not occur to him to dodge you. He conceives himself to be hopelessly pinned, and he abandons the attack. You see now, gentlemen, why I have provided you each with a branch."

"I wonder you don't run up a lot of fences all over your field, sir," suggested Tom.

"That might be a good idea," returned good-humored Mr. Van Zeilin, "except that the ostriches require a long tether. They would die if we fenced them in."

They had entered a field where were collected a number of ostriches in groups, in pairs, and singly.

"The male and female take turns in hatching the eggs," said Mr. Van Zeilin. "But there is a nest that is deserted for the moment. That huge black bird over there is the owner. I wish you to see the nest, and as there are enough of us to intimidate him, I think we may venture."

So saying, the party approached; but the black ostrich showed such evident signs of annoyance, coming up angrily, and craning his neck in a defiant way, as though measuring the strength of the party, that Mr. Van Zeilin directed some of his men to drive him off with their branches.

Mr. Van Zeilin went on: "The long plumes grow in the tail and wings, you observe. Now for the nest. As you see, it is merely a huge hole scraped out in the ground."

"One, two, three, four, five, six eggs," counted Tom. "How big they are!"

Tom dropped behind the party presently as they strolled away, but a piercing scream from him suddenly rent the air. His friends turned in consternation, and saw him tearing after them in a panic, the black ostrich in hot pursuit.

Mr. Van Zeilin had barely time to throw himself between the boy and the bird. In another moment he would have been too late, and Tom's cruising around the world would have come to an untimely end. When Mr. Van Zeilin had succeeded in driving off the ostrich, he turned to Tom. "How did it happen?"

"He looked so quiet, I thought there could be no harm in taking another look at the nest. I only just looked in, and he flew at me."

"But your branch--why didn't you use your branch?"

Tom owned up like a man. "To tell the truth, I was so scared, sir, I didn't know what I was about. I threw away my branch."

It was hard to keep from laughing, now that the danger was over. Tom's hair nearly stood on end, his eyes started from their sockets, and his voice shook with fright. His enemy stood eying him for a moment or two at a little distance, then went back with great strides to his nest, over which at that moment was standing a gray ostrich. Black eyed his visitor suspiciously, then angrily.

"These fellows can not endure any approach to their nests," said Mr. Van Zeilin. "Look at him now!"

Black, in fact, was going through a most singular performance. He threw himself on the ground, wallowed about in the dust, and struck the earth with his wings as though he had gone crazy.

"He is trying to work himself up to a fighting pitch," said Mr. Van Zeilin. "See! the gray is coming nearer. Watch him. Look! he is going through the same manoeuvre as the other."

It was extraordinary to see the two birds. The gray did his best to work himself into a passion, the black meanwhile keeping his eye on him, and walking about in an uneasy way. Finally the rightful owner of the nest made one rush, and the other, alas! ran away.

"Oh, what a coward!" cried Tom.

"Not at all," returned Mr. Van Zeilin. "He recognizes the rights of property, and knocks under to the real owner of the nest."

"Hi!" exclaimed Tom, suddenly, and he jumped two feet at least. An ostrich had come up to him quietly, and had begun to peck at the brass buttons on the sleeve of his jacket.

Mr. Van Zeilin laughed. "No danger this time," he said. "That is a female bird. The females are very gentle. Now she is pecking at the locket on my watch chain. Her eyes are as soft as those of a gazelle, are they not?"

"She is a pretty creature, but she has no long plumes," said Tom, examining her.

"No, only short downy feathers, useful for trimming."

"My sister has a coat trimmed with little soft feathers like these," Tom said. "I wonder if ladies and girls ever think of the trouble it is to get their feathers for them?"

"Trouble and danger too," said Mr. Van Zeilin. "I tell you what, I once saw an ostrich come down on a man like a battering-ram. He knocked the breath out of him with one blow; then he rolled him over and over until he thought he had finished him, when he walked away. The man picked himself up slowly, blinded and bleeding. He had kept his face and head covered as best he could, and had realized that his only chance lay in making no resistance."

"Oh, Mr. Van Zeilin," said Tom, "how glad I am you rescued me in time!"

But this yarn is too long already, so we will not stop to tell you about Tom's return trip to Cape Town. Some other time we may spin you another taken from the log-book of "Little Boy Blue."

NURSERY RHYMES.

"Willy boy, Willy boy, where are you going? I will go with you, if I may." "I'm going to the meadow to see them a-mowing; I'm going to help them make the hay."

A diller, a dollar, a ten-o'clock scholar! What makes you come so soon? You used to come at ten o'clock, But now you come at noon.

Tell-tale Tit, Your tongue shall be slit, And every little dog in town Shall have a little bit.

To market, to market, to buy a plum-cake; Home again, home again, market is late. To market, to market, to buy a plum bun; Home again, home again, market is done.

Jack Sprat could eat no fat, His wife could eat no lean; And so, between them both, They licked the platter clean.

Lucy Locket lost her pocket, Kitty Fisher found it; There was not a penny in it, But a ribbon round it.

Cross Patch, lift the latch, Sit by the fire, and spin; Take a cup, and drink it up, Then call your neighbors in.

Ride a cock horse To Banbury Cross, To see little Johnny Get on a white horse.

Polly, put the kettle on, We'll all have tea; Sukey, take it off again, They've all gone away.

VENICE, ITALY.

I must tell you about this lovely city and the beautiful sights I have seen. The fine old Church of St. Mark faces a square or piazza, and near this is an arch with a large clock; on top of this is an immense bell, with two bronze figures of men with hammers in their hands, with which they strike the bell when the hour comes round. There are several hundred pigeons here, which are fed by the city every day at two o'clock, and many times I have bought corn and fed them too; they are so tame that two or three have eaten from my hand at once. Two weeks ago this square was illuminated. It was called "The Illumination of the Architecture," and there were one hundred thousand lights in the piazza. The gas lamps, which are always lighted, had this night red glass globes on, thirty for each lamp. On the Campanile, or belfry, was the "Star of Italy," which had three thousand lights. The Church of St. Mark looked magnificent, illuminated by electric lights placed in front of it. An island called St. George was flashing with thousands of lights, so that it looked like an enchanted palace rising out of the water. Altogether it was the most beautiful sight I ever saw. A regatta also took place, which I watched from the balcony of an old palace. First I saw the King and Queen of Italy in a gondola, with their son the Prince of Naples. They had four men to row, called gondoliers. These men wore scarlet coats trimmed with gold braid. After a little while the nine gondolas of the race passed, their crews dressed according to the color of their boats--green, white, blue, yellow, solferino, gray, purple, red, and orange. The one in green won the first prize. After the race, the gondola in which was the royal family went up and down the Grand Canal, followed by hundreds of gondolas, some of them with streamers of silk, some with velvet trimmed with gold and silver fringe trailing in the water. Some boats larger than a gondola, called "bissom," were all covered with silk and velvet, the gondoliers dressed in gay colors. Some had eight and some ten men to row. It was a beautiful scene.

ALBERTO DAL M.

You have described the brilliant illumination in a manner both vivid and picturesque, and the thousands of bright eyes which peer into Our Post-office Box every week will thank you, Alberto, for this glimpse at fairy-like Venice, the Bride of the Sea.

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DES MOINES, IOWA.

We moved to Iowa last December, and the best thing I have had since I have been here is your lovely paper, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. How we did laugh when we read about Miss Julia Nast's cooking party! When we lived in New Jersey I used to see her sometimes, and I sometimes saw her father and brother riding past our house, with those great English hounds running on behind the horses. The funniest picture I ever saw is the little De Lesseps children in the dog-cart with their father. I wish the baby had been in the cart too, with her mamma. I have been wanting to see Mollie Garfield, and, to my delight, there she was in last week's YOUNG PEOPLE. I feel so sorry for her and the rest of the family! My brothers and sister and I gave some money for the monument. When I become a grown-up lady, and the monument shall have been erected, I will go to see it.

I am now ten years old. I attend a school which the Western people call a college; in the East we would call it a seminary. I have two beautiful birds. The name of one is Cassius, and of the other Ida. I have three brothers and one sister. My big brother is in the East at college. My brother fourteen years old is getting ready for college here in Des Moines. My little brother Paul stays at home and learns his ABC's with mamma. My sister Blanche is seven years old, and can spell a little, but can not write. She is learning how to crochet.

HELEN H.

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OSAGE MISSION, KANSAS.

This is the first letter I have ever written to your dear little paper. I am seven years old. I go to school. I have so many nice books, and a little secretary to keep them in. I have a velocipede, a wagon, and a wheelbarrow, and many other things. My papa is postmaster. I hope you will find this good enough to print.

ERNEST H.

You printed your letter so elegantly in those large capitals that we were delighted with it, and were very glad to send it to the press to be made into a dear little letter for Our Post-office Box.

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REXFORD FLATS, NEW YORK.

I would like to belong to the Natural History Society, and when I find anything interesting I will report. Last spring, as my mother was digging in the garden, she unearthed a queer specimen. It was a common white grub, with one of the little knobs on its head grown to about an inch in length, and the other was about half as long. How many of the Natural History scholars have seen such a specimen? Not many, I am afraid. I found a ripe wild strawberry Friday, the 14th of October.

CHARLES MCB.

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WHEATLAND, NEAR LANCASTER, PENNSYLVANIA.

I have a Cashmere goat and two wagons. The goat is entirely white. His name is Billee G. Taylor. I have painted his horns with gold paint, and it makes him look beautiful. He eats everything, from old shoes down to grass, newspapers, leather, and especially dry beech and sycamore leaves, but he will not touch maple leaves. Isn't it funny?

H. E. J., JUN.

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CULLEOKA, TENNESSEE.

Many copies of YOUNG PEOPLE are sent to Culleoka every week, and yet I have never seen a letter from here. We use YOUNG PEOPLE in school instead of Readers. I am very much interested in "Tim and Tip." Please tell Jimmy Brown to write some more of his troubles; I enjoy reading his letters so much. I can work the Labyrinth Puzzle.

ADDIE C. W.

P. S.--I put in something for the Daisy Cot.

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CULLEOKA, TENNESSEE.

I used YOUNG PEOPLE as a Reader for two sessions, and liked it better than any Reader I ever used. At examination we had to write off as much of "Toby Tyler" as we could remember. Why is it that editors like you to write on only one side of the paper? I like Friday to come, because YOUNG PEOPLE arrives on that day. I have worked the Labyrinth Puzzle. I live in Nashville, at the Vanderbilt University, but am now attending school in Culleoka.

SUSIE S.

Addie's contribution has been sent to Miss Fanshawe, the Treasurer of St. Mary's Free Hospital. In reply to Susie, the reason why editors prefer correspondents to write on one side of the paper, and not on both, is a twofold one. It is mainly for the convenience of printers that the request is made, because sometimes ten or a dozen printers are setting the type for an article at the same time. The pages are divided, and assigned to different compositors as "copy," and the article can be set up much more rapidly if the writing is on one side only of the paper. Sometimes a page has to be cut in two when there is much need for haste. Editors, who are very busy people, can read manuscript which is written in this way with more ease than if it were otherwise. As they read, they do not need to turn their leaves, but can lay them down as they get to the end of each.

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ALBANY, NEW YORK.

I like the letters in the Post-office Box very much. I have a brother nine years old, and we have three pets--two kittens, one we call Topsy and the other Spotsy, and a large Newfoundland dog. Every morning he brings papa his paper before he is up out of bed, and we play hide and seek with him, and he runs to papa and puts his face in his arms, and waits until we call "Ready," and then hunts until he finds us.