CHAPTER IV.

[3] Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 101, October 4.

A mountain range is not at all like a garden fence. You do not just climb up one side of it, and drop down into another garden beyond. The one which arose before the Lipans that day, and through which the Apaches before them had driven their long lines of ponies, loaded with buffalo meat and all the baggage of an Indian hunting camp, was really a wide strip of very rough country, full of mountains, and rising to a high ridge in the centre. The Lipans were not very well acquainted with it, except by what they had heard from others, and there had been some murmuring among them at first when their leader announced his intention of following his war-path to the other side of such a barrier as that.

His speech had settled it all, however, and his warriors were ready to go with him, no matter where he should lead them. Anything rather than go back empty-handed to be laughed at.

The moment luncheon was over every man was on horseback. It was absolutely necessary to find grass before night, if their horses were to be good for anything the next day.

They knew that the particular band of Apaches they were pursuing must be two or three days' march ahead of them, but they also knew that every mountain range has its deep green valleys, and that the trail left by their enemies would surely lead through the best of these.

Up, up, up, through rugged ravines and gorges for nearly an hour, and then down again almost as far, and then, sooner than they had expected, they came upon the very thing they were looking for. It was not so large or so beautiful a valley as the one in which Many Bears and his men were encamped miles and miles beyond. It did not widen like that at its lower end into a broad and undulating plain, with a river and a forest far away, but there was plenty of grass in it for tired and hungry horses, and To-la-go-to-de at once decided that there they should halt for the night.

It was little beyond the middle of the afternoon, and a war party of Lipans has neither tents to pitch nor much baggage to care for. Little time was lost in "going into camp," and even before that was done every fifth brave was ordered out to look for game. Not only would fresh meat be better than dry if they could get any, but it would save their somewhat slender stock of provisions for another day.

"Steve! Steve Harrison!"

"What is it, Murray?"

"I've spoken to old Two Knives. You and I are to hunt."

"Hurrah for that! Which way are you going?"

"Most of the others seem to be setting out southerly. I guess they're right, so far as game is concerned. You and I'll try that gap to the northwest. There's no telling where it may lead to."

The gap he pointed at was a sombre-looking chasm, the mouth of which opened into the little valley where they were, at a distance of about half a mile.

Nobody could tell, indeed, where it might lead to, nor could any one have guessed, until he was actually in it, what a very remarkable gap it was.

The two white hunters had chosen to go on foot, and not one of their Lipan friends had accompanied them. If they were men to be "watched" at any other time, even the sharp eyes of Indian suspicion saw no need for it among the desolate solitudes of those "sierras."

They did not hear To-la-go-to-de say to some of the red hunters: "No Tongue great hunter. Bring in more antelope than anybody else. Yellow Head good too. You beat them? Ugh!"

They would try beyond a doubt, but more than one Lipan shook his head. The reputation of Murray as a slayer of game was too high to be questioned, and he had taught Steve Harrison like a father.

"Murray," said Steve, "do you mean that such a gap as that offers me a chance?"

"To get away?"

"Yes; that's what I'm thinking of."

"Can't say about that, my boy. Probably not. I don't believe it comes out on the western slope of the mountains."

"What do you want to try it for, then?"

"I don't exactly know. Game, perhaps. Then I want to teach you something more about mountains, and finding your way among them. More than that, I don't want to go the same way as any of the rest."

"I like that, anyhow. Seems as if I had ever so many questions to ask that I never felt like asking before."

"I never cared to answer any, Steve, when you did ask 'em--not so long as you and I were to be together. Now you're going away from me pretty soon, I don't mind telling some things."

"Going away? Do you mean to say you won't go too? Shall you stay and be a Lipan?"

"You'll go alone, Steve, when you go. That's all."

"Why won't you go with me?"

"That's one of the questions I don't mean to answer. You've told me all about your family and people. I'll know where to look for you, if I ever come out into the settlements."

"I wish you'd come. You're a white man. You're not a Mexican either. You're American."

"No, I'm not."

"Not an American?"

"No, Steve; I'm an Englishman. I never told you that before. One reason I don't want to go back is the very thing that sent me down into Mexico to settle years and years ago."

"I didn't ask about that."

"No good if you did."

"But you've been a sort of father to me ever since you bought me from the Lipans, after they cleaned out my uncle's hunting party, and I can't bear the thought of leaving you here."

If it had not been for his war-paint, and its contrast with his Saxon hair and eyes, Steve would have been a handsome, pleasant-looking boy, tall and strong for his years, but still a good deal of a boy, and his voice was now trembling in a very un-Indian sort of way. No true Lipan would have dreamed of betraying any emotion at parting from even so good a friend as Murray.

"Yes," said the latter, dryly, "they cleaned out the hunting party. Your uncle and his men must have run pretty well, for not one of them lost his scalp, or drew a bead on a Lipan. That's one reason they didn't knock you on the head. They came home laughing, and sold you to me for six ponies and a pipe."

"I never blamed my uncle. I've always wondered, though, what sort of a story he told my father and mother."

"Guess he doesn't amount to a great deal."

"He's rich enough, and he's fond of hunting, but there isn't a great deal of fight in him. He wouldn't make a good Lipan."

The circumstances of Steve's capture were evidently not very creditable to some of those who were concerned in it, and Murray's tone in speaking of the "uncle" who had brought him out into the Texas plains to lose him so easily was bitterly contemptuous.

At that moment they were entering the mouth of the gap, and Murray suddenly dropped all other subjects to exclaim,

"We've struck it, Steve."

"Struck what?"

"A regular cañon. See, the walls are almost perpendicular, and the bottom comes down from ledge to ledge like a flight of stairs."

Steve had been among mountains before, but he had never seen anything precisely like that.

In some places the vast chasm before him was hardly more than a hundred feet wide, while its walls of gray granite and glittering white quartz rock arose in varying heights of from three hundred to five hundred feet.

"Come on, Steve."

"You won't find any game in here. A rabbit couldn't get enough to live on among such rocks as these."

"Come right along. I want to get a look at the ledges up there. There's no telling what we may stumble upon."

Steve's young eyes were fully occupied, as they pushed forward, with the strange beauty and grandeur of the scenery above, beyond, and behind him. The air was clear and almost cool, and there was plenty of light in the shadiest nooks of the chasm.

"What torrents of water must pour down through here at some seasons of the year," he was saying to himself, when his companion suddenly stopped with a sharp,

"Hist! Look there!" and raised his rifle.

Steve looked. Away up on the edge of the beetling white crag at their right the first "game" they had seen that day was calmly gazing down upon them.

A "big-horn antelope" has the best nerves in the world, and it is nothing to him how high may be the precipice on the edge of which he is standing. His head never gets dizzy, and his feet never slip, for he was made to live in that kind of country, and feels entirely at home in spots where no other living thing cares to follow him.

That was a splendid specimen of what the first settlers called the "Rocky Mountain sheep." His strong, wide, curling horns were of the largest size, and gave him an expression of dignity and wisdom as he peered down upon the hunters who had intruded upon his solitudes. He would have shown more wisdom by not looking at all, for in a moment more the sharp crack of Murray's rifle awoke the echoes of the cañon, and then with a great bound the big-horn came tumbling down among the rocks almost at Steve Harrison's feet.

"He's a little battered by his fall," said Murray, "that's a fact; but he'll be just as good eating. Let's hoist him on that bowlder and go ahead."

"He's as much as we'd like to carry in."

"That's so; but we may bag something more, and then we could bring a pony up almost as far as this. I don't mean to do any too much carrying."

His broad, muscular frame looked as if it had been built expressly for that purpose, and he could have picked up at least one big-horn with perfect ease; but he had been among the Indians a good while, and they never lift a pound more than they are compelled to.

"Give me the next shot, Murray."

"I will, if it's all right. But you must use your own eyes. It won't do to throw away any chances."

The game was quickly lifted to the bowlder pointed out by Murray, and he and Steve pressed on up the great beautiful gateway deeper and deeper into the secrets of the mountain range.

Every such range has its secrets, and one by one they are found out from time to time; but there seemed to be little use in the discovery of any just then and there. It was a very useless sort of secret. What was it?

Well, it was one that had been kept by that deep chasm for nobody could guess how many thousands of years, until Steve Harrison stumbled a little as he climbed one of the broken "stairs" of quartz, and came down upon his hands and knees.

Before him the cañon widened into a sort of table-land, with crags and peaks around it, and Murray saw trees here and there, and a good many other things, but Steve exclaimed,

"Murray! Murray! Gold!"

"What! A vein?"

"I fell right down upon it. Just look there."

Murray looked, half carelessly at first, like a man who had before that day discovered plenty of such things; but then he sprang forward.

"We're in the gold country," he said. "It's all gold-bearing quartz hereaway. Steve! Steve! I declare I never saw such a vein as that. The metal stands out in nuggets."

So it did. A strip of rock nearly five feet wide was dotted and spangled with bits of dull yellow. It seemed to run right across the cañon at the edge of that level, and disappear in the solid cliffs on either side.

"Oh, what a vein!"

"It's really gold, then?"

"Gold? Of course it is. But it isn't of any use."

"Why not?"

"Who could mine for it away down here in the Apache country? How could they get machinery down here? Why, a regiment of soldiers couldn't keep off the redskins, and every pound of gold would cost two pounds before you could get it to a mint."

For all that, Murray gazed and gazed at the glittering rock, with its scattered jewels of yellow, and a strange light began to glow in his sunken eyes.

"No, Steve, I'm too old for it now. Gold's nothing to me any more. But that ledge is yours now you've found it. Some day you may come back for it."

"I will if I live, Murray."

"Well, if you ever do, I'll tell you one thing more."

"What's that?"

"Dig and wash in the sand and gravel of that cañon below for all the loose gold that's been washed down there from this ledge since the world was made. There must be bushels of it."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

OUR ICE-CREAM.

BY JIMMY BROWN.

After that trouble with Aunt Eliza--the time she staid up on the roof and was rained on--I had no misfortunes for nearly a week. Aunt Eliza went home as soon as she was well dried, and father said that he was glad she was gone, for she talked so much all the time that he couldn't hear himself think, though I don't believe he ever did hear himself think. I tried it once. I sat down where it was real still, and thought just as regular and steady as I could; but I couldn't hear the least sound. I suppose our brains are so well oiled that they don't creak at all when we use them. However, Mr. Travers told me of a boy he knew when he was a boy. His name was Ananias G. Smith, and he would run round all day without any hat on, and his hair cut very short, and the sun kept beating on his head all day, and gradually his brains dried so that whenever he tried to think, they would rattle and creak like a wheelbarrow wheel when it hasn't any grease on it. Of course his parents felt dreadfully, for he couldn't go to school without disturbing everybody as soon as he began to think about his lessons, and he couldn't stay home and think without keeping the baby awake.

As I was saying, there was pretty nearly a whole week that I kept out of trouble; but it didn't last. Boys are born to fly upward like the sparks that trouble, and yesterday I was "up to mischief again," as Sue said, though I never had the least idea of doing any mischief. How should an innocent boy, who might easily have been an orphan had things happened in that way, know all about cooking and chemistry and such, I should like to know.

It was really Sue's fault. Nothing would do but she must give a party, and of course she must have ice-cream. Now the ice-cream that our cake-shop man makes isn't good enough for her, so she got father to buy an ice-cream freezer, and said she would make the ice-cream herself. I was to help her, and she sent me to the store to order some salt. I asked her what she wanted of salt, and she said that you couldn't freeze ice-cream without plenty of salt, and that it was almost as necessary as ice.

I went to the store and ordered the salt, and then had a game or two of ball with the boys, and didn't get home till late in the afternoon. There was Sue freezing the ice-cream, and suffering dreadfully, so she said. She had to go and dress right away, and told me to keep turning the ice-cream freezer, till it froze and don't run off and leave me to do everything again you good-for-nothing boy I wonder how you can do it.

I turned that freezer for ever so long, but nothing would freeze; so I made up my mind that it wanted more salt. I didn't want to disturb anybody, so I quietly went into the kitchen and got the salt-cellar, and emptied it into the ice-cream. It began to freeze right away; but I tasted it, and it was awfully salt, so I got the jug of golden syrup and poured about a pint into the ice-cream, and when it was done it was a beautiful straw-color.

But there was an awful scene when the party tried to eat that ice-cream. Sue handed it round, and said to everybody, "This is my ice-cream, and you must be sure to like it." The first one she gave it to was Dr. Porter. He is dreadfully fond of ice-cream, and he smiled such a big smile, and said he was sure it was delightful, and took a whole spoonful. Then he jumped up as if something had bit him, and went out of the door in two jumps, and we didn't see him again. Then three more men tasted their ice-cream, and jumped up, and ran after the doctor, and two girls said, "Oh my!" and held their handkerchiefs over their faces, and turned just as pale. And then everybody else put their ice-cream down on the table, and said thank you they guessed they wouldn't take any. The party was regularly spoiled, and when I tasted the ice-cream I didn't wonder. It was worse than the best kind of strong medicine.

Sue was in a dreadful state of mind, and when the party had gone home--all but one man, who lay under the apple-tree all night and groaned like he was dying, only we thought it was cats--she made me tell her all about the salt and the golden syrup. She wouldn't believe that I had tried to do my best, and didn't mean any harm. Father took her part, and said I ought to eat some of the ice-cream, since I made it; but I said I'd rather go up stairs with him. So I went.

Some of these days people will begin to understand that they are just wasting and throwing away a boy who always tries to do his best, and perhaps they'll be sorry when it is too late.

At the end of its second volume, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE counts its little friends in every quarter of the globe. The promises made by its conductors a year ago have been amply fulfilled. The paper has grown steadily better, fuller, brighter, and stronger, and its weekly arrival is hailed by thousands of children and youth with eager delight.

Our Post-office Box numbers among its contributors correspondents from all parts of the United States and Canada, and from Europe, Asia, Australia, and the islands of the Pacific. Wherever there is an English-speaking community or colony, there our paper finds a welcome, and from thence come evidences of interest in Our Post-office Box. The pictures of child-life drawn by little fingers are very refreshing to older eyes. We see that there is a great deal of youthful happiness in the world, as the children write freely about their studies, their pets, and their pastimes. We aim to make the Post-office Box educational, and stimulating to intelligent inquiry, and we try to answer questions, impart useful information, and enter into the children's plans for improvement and recreation. We shall hereafter give enlarged space to the letters, and in the new column C. Y. P. R. U. the Postmistress will endeavor to be in entire sympathy with the older as well as the younger readers of YOUNG PEOPLE. She intends in this department to include extracts from favorite authors, and stories from English classics, told briefly, from time to time, in her own way. Not only the little folks, but the older sisters and brothers, will have their cozy niche, whenever they wish it, in this informal column.

The exchange department will be conducted, as heretofore, as fairly, attentively, and promptly as possible. Its primary object is to afford young people an opportunity to exchange instructive and interesting articles with each other. It ought to be an adjunct to their studying of geography, history, and natural science. We request that exchangers will write their names and addresses as plainly as they can in every case, that they will always correspond with each other by postal cards before sending their valuable stamps or other treasures, and that in writing to us they will condense their offers and consult brevity, so that we may be able to print a great many of their letters in each issue.

We intend to make the puzzle department more attractive than ever.

Now, little readers and larger ones, since you write to us so warmly in our praise, since you enjoy the stories, the sketches, the poems, and the whole weekly feast the beautiful paper brings to you, will you not recommend it to others? Tell all your friends how much pleasure and benefit you derive from it, and see whether you can not increase its circulation. The more subscribers YOUNG PEOPLE shall have, the better will the publishers be able to make it, and the more tempting will be the attractions it will offer through autumn days, winter evenings, spring sunshine, and summer leisure, for busy young people, all the year round.

* * * * *

NORWICH, CONNECTICUT.

My cousin made me a Christmas present of this paper, and I like it very much. I think "The Cruise of the 'Ghost'" and "Paul Grayson" are very nice stories, and I wish Jimmy Brown would write another story soon. Mr. Otis's stories are very nice. I have a cunning little ram that plays with me, and I have named him "Frisky." My sister has a little turtle or terrapin which is only a little larger than a fifty-cent piece. A friend of mine has a large goat named Billy, and a little sulky in which he rides around. Will you tell me if scrap-books are acceptable for Young People's Cot in St. Mary's Hospital, New York?

JOHN P. H.

We think the ladies who take care of the little sick children in St. Mary's Hospital can find use for pretty scrap-books.

* * * * *

NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE.

Papa brings HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE home to me every Friday evening. I have now one hundred and one numbers. I think the old cat watching the mice play base-ball is very funny, but the water-melon turning out to be a little black baby is just as funny. I like YOUNG PEOPLE very much. Papa says I look just like the stuck-up boy in No. 76; but mamma says I am like the little boy talking to the old candy woman in No. 76. When I come to think about it, I think I am apt to be around where the old candy women are, and maybe this is why papa calls me _stuck up_.

My head is red, just like mamma's. I have three little sisters, named Bessie, May, and Louise, and they all have red heads too. We used to have a pair of little sorrel ponies just the color of our heads, and papa called all of us--mamma, ponies, and children--his sorrel-tops; and sometimes, when we went out driving, papa wanted to borrow a little black-haired girl from some of the neighbors, to relieve the monotony. (This is what he called it.)

If ever I come to New York, the first thing I want to do is to call and see the editor of YOUNG PEOPLE and the ladies and gentlemen who help him get up so many nice, funny things.

GOODLOE L.

* * * * *

KOKOMO, INDIANA.

Our school commenced two weeks ago Monday, and I was so glad! I just love to study, and especially to have good lessons. My sister and I went to a museum several weeks ago, and among the many curious things we saw was Queen Anne's cat. It was indigo-color, with brown spots on it, and looked as if it would like to tear you to pieces; and there was also the earless white cat, which had a tuft of hair in place of ears. It did not look very savage. There was the mermaid, which had the body of a fish, and something which resembled the head of a monkey. I had many beautiful flowers this summer. I tried to raise some cotton, but did not succeed very well. It did not ripen at all. I picked off the oldest ball there was on the bush, and it was as green as grass. I would like to exchange flower seeds for Florida beans or sea-beans, also for foreign stamps, or sea-moss, or seeds for seeds, or will exchange postmarks for flower seeds.

MOLLIE, P. O. Box 575, Kokomo, Ind.

* * * * *

GROESBECK, OHIO.

I thought I would write to you to tell you about the funeral procession for President Garfield at Cincinnati. The banners were very pretty. The men on horses, and the little boys who were dressed in red pants and white waists, also looked very pretty. It was very sad to see the houses draped with black. All the business houses were closed, and the city was more quiet than if it had been Sunday. I hope President Arthur will be as good a President as Mr. Garfield was. I have not seen much about Mr. Garfield in Our Post-office Box. I go to school right across the road from my home. I think my letter is long enough.

HAZIE P.

You were interested in the article in No. 102 on the boyhood of President Garfield, were you not? If more of our children had written about him, we would have had more letters to print; but we think everybody's heart was almost too full to write during the weary weeks before his death.

* * * * *

FLEMINGSBURG, KENTUCKY.

As I have been taking your paper for a long time and have never written you a letter, I thought I would. I go to a military school, and attend drill every evening. Across from our school are several Indian mounds, and the boys opened one of them lately, and found several Indian arrows and other implements of war. I am sixteen years old, and a printer. Kindest regards for HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, and hoping it may prosper, I remain,

C. C.

* * * * *

ST. LUCIE, FLORIDA.

Some time ago one of your correspondents wrote a very interesting letter in answer to your inquiry about Florida sea-beans.

I send you some specimens gathered on the Atlantic beach, not very far from where the ill-fated steamer _City of Vera Cruz_ went down last August. But these do not grow on trees; they are the product of a vine, something like that of the common horse-bean. There are vines from this variety now growing on Indian River, though they are not indigenous. I have heard they grow in abundance on the Spanish main.

Mr. Bennett, of Syracuse, New York, presented me with some implements and a work on taxidermy, and I have learned to skin birds. Are ivory-billed woodpeckers numerous in the North?

I value my paper, and I know Mr. James Otis must Be a good man by what he writes.

JOHNNIE C. J.

You and the others who followed the fortunes of the little runaway with so much interest will be pleased to hear that Mr. James Otis has gone to Florida in a little steam-yacht named _Toby Tyler_ after his hero. Doubtless some account of his trip will be published in YOUNG PEOPLE.

Many thanks for the sea-beans.

The ivory-billed woodpecker is chiefly an inhabitant of the extreme Southern States, and especially those which border on the Gulf of Mexico. Very few are ever found north of Virginia. It is not a migratory bird, but is a resident where it is found. Mr. Audubon did meet one or two of the species so far north as Maryland, but they seemed away from home. West of the Lower Mississippi, it is found in all the dense forests, but the Carolinas, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Louisiana, and Mississippi are its favorite resorts. It bores a hole in the trunk of a live tree, early in the spring, for its nest, always at a great height from the ground. The male and female birds relieve each other in this work. The eggs are four or five in number, pure white, equally thick at both ends, and as large as pullets' eggs. The food of this woodpecker consists of beetles, larvæ, and large grubs, and it has a great fondness for wild grapes and ripe persimmons.

* * * * *

ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN.

I have taken YOUNG PEOPLE since the first number, and now I have a favor to ask. Will you not please give us a story on natural history? We have had some splendid stories; but I like "The Cruise of the 'Ghost'" the best of all, though "Tim and Tip" is very good.

I have a splendid large dog. He is an Irish setter, and his name is Spray. I wish some of the little writers to YOUNG PEOPLE could see him when I come down stairs in the morning. He is so pleased he growls as if he were trying to talk. He puts his head on one side, and looks so funny and wise. We have a very nice museum here, with a great many interesting things to be seen.

FRANK A.

We expect to publish a number of articles on different branches of natural history during the year, and though they may not be precisely stories, they will be equally as entertaining.

* * * * *

I am thirteen years old, and have two little nephews, one ten days old, and the other two years. I have been spending the summer in the southern part of Michigan, and had a splendid time. We got up a fairy play to play warm moonlight nights. I was Thumbergia, Queen of the Elves, and we called ourselves moonlight fairies. It was great fun. I used to sit up in a tree, and read Jimmy Brown's stories. I wish he would write some more. I think he is splendid, and wish I knew him. I am very fond of little boys from four to five years old. I had four little four-year-olds this summer who liked to race so much that every morning I would have them stand in a line, and when I would count three they would all start, and run as fast as their little legs would carry them. One of them would talk all the time, and another was very slow, but all were very cunning. They are the only pets I have.

THUMBERGIA.

* * * * *

SOUTH CORTLAND, NEW YORK.

I am a little girl five years old. My father is Postmaster, and he has taken HARPER'S WEEKLY twenty-four years, and YOUNG PEOPLE ever since its publication. The pictures have always pleased us.

My grandma is writing this for me, as I have to print my letters, and as she is seventy-eight, you will please excuse mistakes.

Little Spry, our dog, is a great favorite of mine. My uncle went to Europe, and left him in my care. I have a great many chickens, and two cats. Papa has five horses, and my sister can ride upon them when she is home from school; I dare not. We have a variety of fruit, which is so nice. Cortland Valley is beautiful, and I am glad it is my home. The grand old maple-trees surround our house.

Now please print my letter, so that I can hear it read when the paper comes next time, and I will play on the piano for joy.

LOUISE R.

* * * * *

JERSEY CITY, NEW JERSEY.

I was eleven years old the 6th of last month (September, 1881). Papa got the first volume of YOUNG PEOPLE bound for my birthday present. I would not exchange it for any book I ever saw. I like all the stories. I think if Jimmy Brown would spend more time in writing to the Post-office Box, his father would not have to call him up stairs so often, and I wish he would take my advice and try it. I am glad Tim and Tip have got away from that brute, Captain Pratt. Papa thinks the boys will lose their dinner if they don't get something better than a rope to hang their kettle on. When Tip kills a bear, I hope they will send it to HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, so you can put a picture of it in the paper. I did not mean to write so long a letter.

LILLIE C. S.

* * * * *

TREMONT, NEW YORK.

We have some very large ducks--they are as large as some geese--and we have a pair of young turkeys. I have some carrier-pigeons. I like the story of "Tim and Tip." I had two kittens, and they followed us to church one night, and afterward we heard that some boys set a dog on them, hurting one so badly that it died. Was it not a shame? When the boys found out to whom the kittens belonged, they were very sorry, and brought the other one home.

Mr. Editor, if you ever come up this way, I would like you to call in and see my pigeons. I wish all the boys and girls everywhere could take YOUNG PEOPLE.

EDDIE I. L.

We would be glad to see those pigeons, and we appreciate your kind invitation. But it is not often we can venture very far away from our corner here, where the mails bring us so many letters from young people. Have you ever sent your birds with messages tied around their necks, and have they brought the answers safely back?

* * * * *

LONDON, KENTUCKY.

I have already sent one letter to Our Post-office Box, and now I am going to write again. I live in a very small town; I don't think that I would like to live in a large city. I have been taking YOUNG PEOPLE for two years, and I hope to continue doing so as long as it shall be printed. I receive my paper every Thursday morning. I would like to exchange patterns of crocheted edging with some little girl. Why don't Jimmy Brown write oftener? It is pleasant to laugh at his troubles.

SALLY BROWN.

* * * * *

RICHMOND, VIRGINIA.

I spent some charming weeks this summer at the Rawley Springs, where I drank the pure mineral water, climbed the hills, and took long rides on my black pony Selim. Now I am again at home, and mother says she expects such a healthy hearty girl will make great progress.

One peculiarity about our girls would strike the New York girls as queer. It is their names. You see, in Virginia we are very proud of the old families, and care a great deal for good blood. So when there are not enough boys to have the family names, the girls have to wear them, and we often have Parker and Randolph and Tucker and Talbot and Gary among the girls as Christian names. But the names do not spoil the girls, nor make them unfeminine. Mother says Virginia is not ashamed of her daughters, for they are so womanly. I hope to learn to be a good housekeeper as well as a good scholar. I do not have very much time, but I help to give out flour and eggs to the cook, I often attend to the parlors, and I am learning how to cut and make my own dresses. One of the girls in my class says she means to be a missionary when she grows up, and thinks she will go to China, as she read a book she liked very much, called _Fourteen Months in Canton_. Do you think we gain much by reading books of travels?

Why do all who write to Our Post-office Box tell how old they are? I do not mean to tell my age, for I do not think it makes much difference to strangers whether I am twelve or sixteen.

VIOLA E.

Nobody is compelled to tell his or her age. We have lately seen an allusion to the retaining of family names, to which you refer, in a story of Virginia life. Books of travel are not only interesting, but very instructive. They help you to a clearer comprehension of your history and geography, and give you a sort of picture-gallery of the world you live in. The other day we were reading about Dean Stanley's childhood, and we found that his mother was in the habit of studying with her children. She would select a period, and then group around it all the pleasant and entertaining facts she could find, studying not only its history, but looking into the homes of the people who lived at the time, and making study like a panorama.

* * * * *

Hardly had the number of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE containing the stories of Kate Shelley and Charlie White gone to press, when we received the following letter, written by a boy in Minnesota to his uncle in New York. That the letter was not intended to be printed makes it all the more valuable. Willie Sammis (who is only twelve years old) writes about his every-day affairs; and then, between an account of his school life and a complaint about the wet weather, he tells us that he _saved a boy's life_. Like all true heroes, Willie is modest. You will remember what the old man says who tells the story of Charlie White's bravery:

"And this, I think, is the children's way; _they_ never mind praise or gain."

No; but praise will be freely bestowed, for such brave deeds are not so common that we can regard them without enthusiasm; and as for gain, the unselfish spirit that prompts such actions is in itself a possession beyond all price.

With these few words of introduction, to which we must add our thanks to Willie's uncle for kindly placing the letter at our disposal, we will let the young hero speak for himself:

MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA.

DEAR UNCLE JOHN,--I thank you very much for the HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. I think the stories are so nice. Please ask Fred to send my coin in a letter. Will you forgive me for not writing to you, but I have so much to do, and my school, that I can't find time. I like the city very much, and I have got acquainted. I like school very much. My teacher's name is Miss P. I like her very much. All the teachers are ladies. I have eight lessons, and that takes up all of my time. I have two pairs of pigeons.

We sail boats here all the time. One Saturday afternoon a lot of us boys went to a pond near by to sail our boats, and there was a raft on it, and we had a nice time until the last time, when we sailed three on it. It went on all right until we got into the middle, when the old thing tipped over, and we all went head first into the pond. We all had boots on, and I was the only one that could swim. I saved one of the boys, but the other got hold of the raft before I could help him. It does nothing but rain and rain here. You can't go a block without getting stuck in the mud. It is getting late now, so I must stop. Love to all. Your nephew,

WILLIE D. SAMMIS.

* * * * *

CONSTANT READER.--Harper & Brothers will send _Toby Tyler_ by mail on receipt of $1.

* * * * *

Miss A. Davidson, 143 East Thirty-second Street, New York city, would like to receive old storybooks and papers from readers of YOUNG PEOPLE for a poor crippled girl who sells papers for her living.

* * * * *

JAVA.--Javanese postage stamps are of no value here except to collectors. We think it likely that you can purchase a banker's draft on a New York or London bank, either of which would be negotiable here.

* * * * *

C. Y. P. R. U.

DETROIT, MICHIGAN.

Will the Postmistress tell a few boys and girls who have started a club, which meets every Friday evening, something nice to do? We would like to do something besides play. We would like to have badges. What kind do you think would be the best, and what color?

FLOSSIE M.

You have not told me whether or not you have selected a name for the club. If you have not done so, you might call it the Opal. The peculiarity of the opal is that it presents a play of delicate tints. There are precious opals, which emit a brilliant light; and fire opals, which shine with a red and yellow flame; and common opals, which are simply milk white. All are lovely. For a badge, each member might wear a bit of red ribbon, with the letter O embroidered upon it in yellow silk, and the members of the club might be styled "Opalescents." There is no advantage in belonging to a club unless your being thus united shall make you better, kinder, and more helpful, as young people, than you would otherwise be. So, Miss Flossie, your question what to do at club meetings is a very important one. Certainly you would grow tired of meeting if you did nothing but play. I think it would be pleasant to have one evening in the month--the first Friday, if you please--devoted to a musical and literary entertainment. You might arrange the programme beforehand, and then, when the evening arrived, Sue and Mollie would be prepared with their duet, Hugh would have his violin solo, Louise her song, and Harry his piano accompaniment, all ready for your entertainment. John, who declaims well, might learn and recite "How Kate Shelley Crossed the Bridge," one of the beautiful poems by Miss Mary A. Barr which appeared in No. 102. To vary the order, you might occasionally have tableaux or charades; and if the club could not get these up successfully without assistance, you could press your mothers and sisters into the service.

For the other evenings I would suggest that you try the game of authors, confining yourselves to one author an evening, instead of playing it the way it comes in boxes. On your Dickens evening you might select three or four characters from one novel, as, for instance, in _Dombey and Son_, Florence Dombey, Little Paul, Miss Cornelia, and Susan Nipper. Ascertain all you can about each of these persons, and tell it in your own words. Perhaps you do not feel quite old enough to enjoy Dickens. If so, take Mrs. Whitney or Miss Alcott, select one of the books of either, and read extracts from it. But I advise you to try Dickens, not _Dombey and Son_ in particular, but select any of his works you choose. _David Copperfield_ is a great favorite with me.

Another charming thing for you to do would be to spend some evenings in travelling. Bring your maps and geographies to your place of assembling. Start from Detroit in a straight line, and see how many towns you can touch, how many rivers you can cross, how many miles you must journey, before you can arrive at any point in the Old World which you may select.

I shall keep your club in mind, and when I think of anything I imagine you would like to do, I'll give you a hint in this column. Meanwhile be sure and send me word about the name.

* * * * *

BOTANIST.--Your questions about the herbarium are pertinent. In collecting plants it is not necessary that all the plants should be in flower, but when possible the whole plant, including the root, should be taken. With large plants it is customary to select portions which shall represent the whole--young shoots, buds, flowers, and fruit. When your specimens are thoroughly dried, they may be rendered safe from insect depredations by sprinkling them with an alcoholic solution of corrosive sublimate, and keeping them between papers until it is dry. Place one species only on a sheet, with full particulars as to genus, locality, and interesting associations connected with its discovery. Keep your sheets in large portfolios or in a cabinet, as you prefer, but guard against dust.

* * * * *

A mother, for her children's entertainment, combined in a poetic form the words assigned for sentence-making in No. 99. The Postmistress thinks them worth publication:

A MONARCH TO HIS SON.

I "abdicate" my crown to thee, My bright and noble boy; "Bequeath" the glories I had "planned" To bring thee light and joy. Oh, let no false and dark "design" "Encroach" thy wide domain. But prayerfully "foresee" the ill, And make thy footsteps plain. Then shall a "glory" from the sky, Fair "hero," fall on thee, And weapons in "impassioned" hands Ne'er place in "jeopardy" The noble "King" that I have crowned With "laurel" and with gold, But blessings from the good and great My darling boy infold.

* * * * *

We direct the attention of the C. Y. P. R. U. to Mrs. Herrick's illustrated article, entitled "A Flowerless Flour Garden," which will be found intensely interesting; also to a short article called "A Little Orphan," and to a descriptive account of the Game of Cricket.

* * * * *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

DOUBLE HALF-SQUARE.

Across.--1. An attendant upon persons of rank or wealth. 2. Wears in a river. 3. To soar. 4. To ask. 5. A bribe. 6. An abbreviation. 7. A termination. 8. A letter.

Down.--1. Interfering. 2. Fastening with a clasp. 3. Turkish coins. 4. A county. 5. Dry. 6. Before. 7. Ourselves. 8. A letter.

MILTIADES.

* * * * *

No. 2.

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.

I am a celebrated edifice composed of 21 letters. My 16, 19, 12, 3 is a bird. My 4, 18, 8 is color. My 10, 14, 17, 19, 21, 6, 11, 20 is customary. My 15, 2, 8, 7, 1 is a box. My 13, 5, 9 is to set down.

DAME DURDEN.

* * * * *

No. 3.

ENIGMA.

In scolding, not in chiding. In holding, not in gliding. In using, not in wasting. In tarrying, not in hasting. In trying, not in failing. In blushing, not in paling. In earning, not in buying. In doing, not in crying. In owning, not in spending. In borrowing, not in lending. In roving, not in stopping. My whole a phrase often dropping From your mother's lips, my dear, At this season of the year.

SUSAN NIPPER.

* * * * *

No. 4.

CHARADES.

'Tis pleasant to enjoy my first When wintry winds blow chill; And though your home be e'er so small, My second's smaller still. There's one thing may be understood By every romping boy-- Whenever he becomes my whole My first he can't enjoy.

THOMAS LUNHAM.

* * * * *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 101.

No. 1.

A B R A H A M B R A C E S R A C E R A C E S H E R A S M

No. 2.

R O B I N O P I N E B I T E S I N E R T N E S T S

No. 3.

Oriole.

No. 4.

A L A R M L E T A R B O R L E M O N A R B U T U S T O M M O T E T N R U T S

* * * * *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Claudia, F. Knight Durham, "Prince," William B. Hadley, Elsie, Alice Amy, C. B., Margaret M., David C., William A. Lewis, and "North Star."

* * * * *

[_For Exchanges, see third page of cover._]

End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, October 25, 1881, by Various