CHAPTER II

GETTING READY

It seemed to Polly that no days before ever flew so fast as the ones between that rainy Thursday afternoon in April and the next Thursday morning. To be sure, Polly was not accustomed to having new clothes especially made for her, and the hours spent in being fitted and re-fitted were just a waste of precious time, in her eyes.

Aunty Peebles was the best dressmaker at Manser Farm. Her fingers were old and sometimes they trembled, but in her day she had been a famous seamstress, and even now she could hem a ruffle much better than Mrs. Manser.

“I don’t know just what the reason is my work looks better than some,” said Aunty Peebles, flushing with delight, one morning when Polly had said, “Oh, what bee-yu-tiful even, little bits of stitches you do make!”

“It’s experience, that’s all it is,” said Mrs. Manser, dejectedly, as she sat gathering the top of a pink gingham sleeve; “if I’d been brought up to it instead of all the education I had that’s no good to me now, I should be thankful, I’m sure.”

“She’d never be thankful for anything,” whispered Mrs. Ramsdell, who was ripping out bastings and constantly encountering knots which had been “machined in” and did not soothe her temper; “’taint in her, and you know it, Miss Peebles, well as I do.”

“Mary,” said Mrs. Manser, fretfully, “don’t sit there doing nothing. Let me see how you’re getting on with that patchwork. My back’s almost broken, and I’ve got chills. You go and tell Father Manser to bring in some wood, and then you thread me up some needles, and fill the pincushion, and I’ve got some basting for you to do. What a looking square you’ve made of that last one! Well, I don’t believe Miss Hetty’ll keep you more than just the month, and all this sewing and these two nice ginghams will go for nothing.”

“I’ll try to behave so she’ll keep me,” said Polly, with a flushed face as she hurried out to old Father Manser. She returned with him after a moment. He was a thin little man, who had a kind word for everybody, but spoke in a husky tone, which Mrs. Ramsdell claimed Mrs. Manser had “frightened him into with her education when she first married him.” However that might be, Father Manser never made a statement in his wife’s presence without an appealing glance toward her for approval.

“Fill up the stove,” said Mrs. Manser, in her most dismal tone, “and see if you can take the chill off this room, father. I presume, though, it’s in my bones and won’t come out; I notice the others are warm enough, for, of course, I’d have heard complaints if they weren’t. Then you might as well oil the machine and get ready to run up the seams of those aprons, if your mother ever gets them done.”

“I declare it riles me to see a man doing woman’s work,” said Mrs. Ramsdell, tugging at a vicious knot, “and doing it all hodge-podge into the bargain!”

Father Manser, all unconscious of her unfavorable criticism, filled up the stove, and then set about oiling the sewing-machine. By the time he had finished, Grandma Manser had put the last careful basting in the last apron seam, and his work was ready for him.

“Now, don’t make your feet go so fast,” cautioned Mrs. Manser, “and stop off carefully, so you won’t break the needles the way you did yesterday, and do keep by the bastings, father. Are your specs on? No, they aren’t. You put them on, this minute!”

“Yes’m,” said Father Manser, meekly, and when his spectacles were astride his nose, he was allowed to put his feet on the treadles and start on his first seam.

“He likes to run the machine,” said Aunty Peebles to Polly. “Seems as if he thought he’d got his foot in the stirrups and was riding, bold and free.”

There were many such times for Father Manser during this dressmaking season, and he enjoyed them, though he knew how much he would miss Polly when she had gone.

In spite of hours spent in the house instead of out in the sweet spring weather, in spite of unwonted tasks, and many serious rebukes from Mrs. Manser, the days flew by instead of dragging slowly along as little Polly wished they would. “Aunty” Peebles, who had never had a real niece; “Grandma” Manser, who had no grandchildren; even poor Mrs. Ramsdell, with her sharp tongue, who had “known all sorts of trials and seen better days,”--all were friends to Polly, the only friends she had in the world beside Mrs. Manser, who had brought her up, with much grumbling, to be sure; kind Father Manser, who sometimes gave her a stick of candy in the dark; and Uncle Sam Blodgett, with whom she had such exciting talks, the hero of the adventure, the tale of which was so suddenly interrupted.

Polly’s heart was sore at the thought of leaving them all; she even felt sorry that she must say good-bye to poor Bob Rust, the grown man with a boy’s mind, who could not be depended on to do the simplest errand.

“He’s scatter-witted, I know,” said Polly to herself, “but I shall miss seeing Bob, because I’m used to him.”

Thursday morning came all too soon. Miss Pomeroy was to come for Polly about ten o’clock. At half-past nine Polly, with anxiety written all over her rosy face, was twirling slowly around in the middle of the kitchen, while Mrs. Manser regarded her forlornly from her position in the doorway, with a hand pressed against her forehead.

“I suppose you’ll have to do as you are,” she said at last, with a heavy sigh. “My head aches so, I’m fit for nothing, or I’d see what more I could do with that hair of yours. Is that the very flattest you can get it, Mary? I hope you’re going to remember to answer Miss Pomeroy when she says ‘Mary’ better than you do me, child. It’s your rightful name, and, of course Polly’s no kind of a name for a girl to be adopted by. Did you say you’d done the very best you could with your hair?”

“Yes’m,” said Polly, twisting her hands together, locking and unlocking her fingers in evident excitement. “I wet it sopping wet, and then I patted it all down hard; but it doesn’t stay down very well, I’m afraid.”

Polly was right; in spots her hair was still damp and sleek on her little head, but around these satisfactory spots her short curls rose and danced defiance to brush and water.

“Oh, Ebenezer, I wish I had fur like yours instead of hair!” cried Polly, but Ebenezer only blinked at her, and retired hastily behind the stove as if he feared she might attempt an exchange of head-covering.

“Well,” said Mrs. Manser, dropping into a rocking-chair and clasping her head with both hands, “all I’ve got to say is, you must do the best you can by Miss Pomeroy and all of us. You know just how much depends on Miss Pomeroy’s adopting you. You know what it’ll mean to Father Manser and me and the old folks that I board for almost nothing to keep them off the town, if you are adopted. And Grandma--you’re always saying you’re so fond of her--you’d like her to have one of those new hearing apparatuses, I should suppose.”

“Oh, yes’m,” said Polly, eagerly, “I do love Grandma Manser so, and I want her to have the ap-apyoratus. Will it cost a great deal?”

“I don’t just know,” said Mrs. Manser; “but they say Miss Pomeroy’s going to give five hundred dollars to whatever institution or place she finds the child she keeps, and a present of money to the folks that have brought her up. She didn’t mention it to me, but the butcher told me yesterday ’twas known all about, and she’s been sent for to several places to see children. But she never took a fancy to one till she saw you in church with me. She thinks you’ve got a look about the eyes that’s like Eleanor, that was her brother’s little girl who died last fall. I guess you’re about as different from her as a child could be, every other way.”

“I suppose Eleanor was an awful good, quiet little girl, wasn’t she?” asked Polly, timidly. “Her name sounds kind of still. I don’t believe she ever tore her clothes, did she?”

“I don’t suppose another such good child ever lived, according to Miss Hetty’s ideas,” said Mrs. Manser, dismally. “She’d never been here in town since she was a baby, and the mother’s folks brought her and Bobby, the twin, one summer to Pomeroy Oaks. As I’ve told you, both parents died, leastways they were destroyed in an accident, when the twins were less than a year old.”

“And Bobby lives with his grandpa and grandma now,” said Polly, with the air of reciting an oft-repeated lesson, “and folks say that saw him when he was here last winter that he just sits and reads all the time; he doesn’t care for play or being out-doors much; and he never makes a speck of dirt or a mite of noise. And when somebody said what a good child he was, Miss Hetty Pomeroy, she said, ‘Wait till you see Eleanor!’ So anybody can tell what she must have been,” concluded poor little Polly, with a gasping breath.

“And so, of course,” said Mrs. Manser, fixing a forlorn gaze on the little figure in stiffly starched pink gingham, “if you run wild out-doors, picking flowers and chasing round after the live stock and wasting time with the birds the way you’ve been allowed to do here, you’ll lose your chance, that’s all. You came of good folks: your mother was my third cousin and your father was a well-meaning man, though he wasn’t forehanded, and always enjoyed poor health. I’ve brought you up the best I could for over seven years, but I expect nothing but what Miss Hetty’ll send you back when the month’s up.”

“I’ll try real hard not to lose the chance,” said Polly, earnestly. Her eyes shone with an odd mixture of determination and fright; there was, moreover, a decided suggestion of tears, but Mrs. Manser, with her head in her hands again, failed to notice it.

“It isn’t to be supposed you can take Eleanor’s place,” she groaned. “You’re willing to fetch and carry, and you’ve got a fair disposition, but you do hate to stay still. Your father was like that--one of these restless folks.”

Polly’s face was overcast with doubt and trouble, but she stood her ground. “I’ll be just as like Eleanor as ever I can,” she said, slowly. “If I could only ask Miss Pomeroy just what Eleanor would have done every day, I guess I could do the same. But you’ve told me I mustn’t speak about Eleanor, because Miss Pomeroy doesn’t want anybody to.” Polly looked wistfully at Mrs. Manser’s bowed head.

“That makes it harder,” said Polly, when there was no answer to this half-question, save another groan, “but I guess I can manage someway.” Her face looked as nearly stern as was possible for such a combination of soft curves and dimples, but her eyes were misty.

Through the open door the soft air of the April morning blew in to her, and her little body thrilled with the love of the spring, and living, growing out-door friends. But if on her behavior depended the bestowal of Miss Hetty’s princely sum, Manser Farm should have it. In all the ten years of Polly’s life she had never before heard of such a large amount of money, except in arithmetic examples, which, as everybody knows, deal with all things in a bold way, unhampered by probability.

With a final groan, Mrs. Manser rose and went to the door. Then she turned quickly to Polly.

“Here comes Miss Hetty now, up the road,” she said. “Go and make your goodbyes to the folks, child, and put on your hat and jacket and then get your bag, so as not to keep her waiting--she may be in a hurry.”

[TO BE CONTINUED]

* * * * *

Kind wishes and good deeds--they make not poor They’ll home again, full laden, to thy door.

_Richard H. Dana_

A RAMBLE IN EARLY SPRING

By Julia McNair Wright

Going out for a walk on some March morning, we find the air soft and warm, the skies of a summer blue, the water rippling in every little runnel. We look about, half expecting to see a bluebird perched upon a fence post, a robin stepping among the stubble. The stems and branches which appeared dry and dead all the winter have now a fresh exhibition of life. We can almost see the sap creeping up through their vessels and distributing vigor where it goes.

Let us go to the woods, to some sunny southern slope where maples grow.

Turning over the light, soft earth, we shall find the maple seeds that ripened last autumn and are now germinating. The seeds of the maple are in pairs, which are called keys. They look more like little tan-colored moths than keys; the distinctly-veined, winged husk is very like the narrow and veined wings of many moths.

These seeds are winged in order that they may be blown abroad on the wind and plant new forests farther afield. If they all dropped close under the shade of the parent tree few would live beyond a year or two.

Where the wing-like husks come together there is a thickening of the base of each into an ear-like lobe, holding a seed. The wrapping of this seed softens, the seed enlarges as the embryo within it grows, the husk is pushed open, and slowly comes forth the baby tree, composed of two leaves and a stem. These two leaves, although very small, are perfect and even green in the unopened seed.

They are soft and fleshy; in fact, they are pantries, full of food, ready for the weak little plant to feed upon until it is strong enough to forage and digest for itself. Everyone knows that babies must be carefully fed on delicate food until they get their teeth. The baby plant also needs well-prepared food.

Between the two leaves is a little white stem. The two leaves unfold, and in a few days the air and sun have made them bright green. The stem between them thrusts a little root into the earth; this root is furnished with hairs. When the root is well-formed and the two seeds have reached full size, a bud has formed in the axil between them.

This is the growing point of the new tree. This bud presently opens into a pair of well-formed maple leaves.

As these leaves increase the seed-leaves diminish; the plant is feeding upon them. The ascending stem presses its first pair of leaves upward, forms between them two more, and then two more, and thus on.

Small branches are formed by the end of summer, the seed-leaves are exhausted, and the plant is doing its own work.

Under the trees in March we find many interesting examples of seed-growth. The feeding or seed-leaves of the young plant are called cotyledons. All flowering plants have cotyledons; the plants whose leaves have dividing or radiate veins, and whose stems are woody, or, at least, not hollow, have two cotyledons; grasses, reeds, corn, and other grains, lilies, bamboos, all plants with hollow stems and the leaf-veins parallel have one cotyledon, while pines and trees of their class have from three to twelve cotyledons, always set in a circle.

The seeds, the new plants, or seedlings of any variety are very numerous. This is needful, as they are subject to many disasters. They may be eaten by animals or birds, withered by too great dry heat, devoured by worms, frozen or ruined by overmuch shade. If plantlets were not very numerous the varieties of plants would presently die out.

When the March winds shake out the leaf-buds and the seeds in the ground begin to stir with strong life, we are led to think of the plant’s host of enemies.

These enemies of the plant will not all begin their work in March, but they are enlisting, drilling, and furnishing their regiments for the season’s strife.

WITH THE EDITOR

In the early days of our country the guest was always honored. Friend or stranger, the door was thrown open to him, and the circle around the fireplace parted willingly to receive him. After his comfort had been assured, however, there came inevitably to the mind of the host the natural queries--seldom expressed in words--“What is his name? What his purpose?” Then the wayfarer, his reserve thawing before the friendly greeting, would just as naturally open his heart and speak of himself.

Such was the old-time hospitality which Hawthorne so quaintly pictures in “The Ambitious Guest.”

To-day, the railroad and the comparative luxury of travel have made the wayside visitor a being of tradition, but the primitive impulses of hospitality and curiosity still survive.

You have opened your doors to us and have welcomed us into that most sacred of places--the family circle. You do not ask, yet we cannot but feel, the old question in your kindly gaze. You would know our name?--our purpose?

Until better advised, we shall call ourselves Young Folks Magazine.

Our purpose is to provide good reading for young people. By good reading, we mean that which is interesting enough to catch and hold the attention of the reader, and which, in the end, leaves him better or wiser for having read it. But it must be interesting, or all its other virtues fail. The young person, particularly the boy, looks with distrust upon the story which comes too emphatically recommended as useful. To him, mere utility is closely related to dullness. With this knowledge fresh in our memory, we promise at the outset that our pages shall not be lacking in a keen and healthy human interest.

“But,” we hear our host exclaim, “why another magazine in a time and country already over-run with literature?”

Just think a moment. Count upon your fingers all the juvenile periodicals which you know even by name. Compare this supply with the demand. We are certainly understating the figures when we say that there are twenty million young people in the United States. Even the most widely-circulated of these periodicals does not claim half a million subscribers. We believe it safe to say that of our whole great nation of young people, not one in ten is yet supplied with a monthly or weekly periodical. After all, is there not ample room for us at the American fireside?

Finally, may we not ask of you a little lenience toward our early and inevitable shortcomings? In return, we promise you that our own most constant aim shall be, with each succeeding visit, better to deserve your kindly welcome.

* * * * *

In spite of its traditional violence we always look forward to the first month of spring. All the more do we hail it when, as in the present case, it brings with it the Easter season. The name Easter is supposed to have been derived from Oestre, the heathen deity of Spring, in whose honor the ancient Teutons held their annual festival. Since the Christian era, however, Easter has been in sole commemoration of the Resurrection.

During the centuries following its inauguration many quaint customs have sprung up and passed away. In parts of Ireland there is still a belief that on Easter morning the sun dances in the sky.

The use of eggs for decoration and as playthings for children at this season is of very early origin. Nowhere is this observance now so common as in the capital of our own country. By immemorial custom, on the Easter holiday, the grounds of the White House are thrown open to the sport of children, who come from far and near to roll their Easter eggs across its sloping lawns. It is a pleasant sight to see the home of the nation’s chief executive so completely in the hands of frolicking children.

EVENT AND COMMENT

The National University

Mr. Andrew Carnegie has offered the sum of ten million dollars to the government of the United States to endow a national institution for the promotion of the higher scientific research.

While the generosity of the donor is universally acknowledged, there are some who question the practical value of the proposed university.

“Why,” they ask, “devote this vast sum to the special education of a select few, while thousands of our children can only with difficulty obtain the rudiments of a common education?”

If the endowment in question were intended merely for the present generation, this question would be difficult to answer. In reality, however, the very form and nature of the gift show that it is dedicated not to the individual but to the race; and it is chiefly under the leadership of the scientific specialist that the race advances. It is his work rather than the influence of the common schools that has given to mankind the steam-engine, the telegraph, and the electric light.

Heretofore, however, the development of men like Watt, Morse, Bell, and Edison has been wholly dependent upon chance and their own phenomenal perseverance. Who can say how many more of such men have been lost to the public service through mere want of opportunity? It is this opportunity that Mr. Carnegie’s gift would insure to coming generations.

As our great military school at West Point supplies the nation with men educated for military leadership, so this institution will create and perpetuate a corps of savants, forever at the service of the whole people.

One cannot but feel that with this gift Mr. Carnegie has exercised an even wiser forethought than in his many other generous benefactions.

Wireless Telegraphy

Signor Marconi, by means of his system of wireless telegraphy, has at length succeeded in transmitting the equivalent of the letter “s” from Europe to America. A glance at the work of the young inventor, however, will show that his success is not yet insured.

His system--indeed, we might say all systems--of wireless telegraphy depends upon the properties of luminiferous ether--that mysterious medium that is supposed to exist in every known substance. The discharge of an electric spark produces in this ether a bubble-like wave which radiates in all directions. It is upon the reception and recording, at Newfoundland, of this wave, produced at England, that the success of Marconi’s experiment depends.

Even to the ordinary mind, such a proposition presents innumerable difficulties. One of the most apparent would be the confusion arising from two sets of signals operated in the same locality. But just as we can throw all the rays of a search-light in one direction, Marconi reflects these waves of ether toward his receiving station.

Perhaps one of the real drawbacks of this system would be the expense of maintaining a current of sufficient voltage to signal long distances. Nevertheless, we feel confident that, whether it be from the brain of Marconi or Tesla, or the united efforts of Orling and Armstrong, wireless telegraphy is insured to the future.

The Great Tunnel

We all remember with what wonder the public viewed the construction of the great suspension bridge between New York and Brooklyn. Remarkable as was that feat of engineering, a far more difficult one is now under way. It is proposed to run a continuous tunnel under the North river, New York City, and the East river, connecting the Pennsylvania Railroad in New Jersey with the Long Island Railroad at Brooklyn. It is to be eight miles long. Its chief purpose is to give trains, especially those from the West, a direct and unimpeded entrance to New York City.

Beginning in the neighborhood of West Hoboken, the tunnel will penetrate the hard ridge of the Palisades, and continue with a downward incline until, under the North, or Hudson, river, it will reach a depth of one hundred feet.

At Thirty-third street, in New York City, it will rise to within twenty-five feet of the surface, and at this level cross beneath Manhattan Island, where, at some central point, a large station will be erected. Proceeding, east, the tunnel will again take a dip to pass the East river, and come to light on the Brooklyn side in the neighborhood of the present terminal of the Long Island Railroad.

The work of construction will begin early in the summer of 1902, and will require a period of three or four years. Its estimated cost is not less than $40,000,000.

Isthmian Canal

An important question which has arisen recently is the location of the future Isthmian canal. Shall it cross at Nicaragua or Panama?

The House of Representatives, on January 9th, 1902, chose the former, the best reasons being:

The saving of two days in the voyage between our Atlantic and Pacific ports;

Its healthier climate, and the alleged lesser cost of construction.

The _Engineering Magazine_, on the other hand, sums up the advantages of the already-undertaken Panama canal as follows:

It is three-fourths shorter, and could be maintained at a cost of $1,350,000 a year less than the Nicaragua canal, is exempt from fifty miles of dangerous river navigation, and its completion would require but half the amount necessary to build the Nicaragua canal.

The Danish West Indies

On January 24th, 1902, the government of Denmark, through the pen of their minister in Washington, ceded to the United States the group of islands known as the Danish West Indies. Unsuccessful attempts to purchase these islands were made in the years 1869 and 1877.

This last effort which, so far, promises success, was begun two years ago. The delay has been due to a difference of price. The amount now agreed upon is believed to be $5,000,000.

IN-DOORS

PARLOR MAGIC

By Ellis Stanyon

The first thing for the student of magic to do is to learn palming, the art of holding small objects concealed in the hand by a slight contraction of the palm.

Practice first with a half-dollar. Lay it in the right hand as shown in Fig. 1. Then slightly contract the palm by pressing the ball of the thumb inward, moving the coin about with the forefinger of the left hand until you find it is in a favorable position to be gripped by the fleshy portions of the hand. Continue to practice this until you can turn the hand over without letting the coin fall.

When this can be accomplished with ease, lay the coin on the tips of the second and third fingers, steadying it with the thumb, as in Fig. 2. Then, moving the thumb aside to the right, bend the fingers, and pass the coin up along the side of the thumb into the palm, which should open to receive it, and where, if you have followed the instructions carefully, you will find no difficulty in retaining it.

Practice this movement with the right hand in motion toward the left, as if you really intended to place the coin in that hand. To get the movement perfect, it is advisable to work in front of a mirror. Take the coin in the right hand and actually place it in the left several times; then study to execute the same movement exactly, with the exception that you retain the coin in the right hand by palming.

The student who desires to become a finished performer should palm the various objects with equal facility in either hand.

When you can hold a coin properly, as described, practice with other objects of a similar size. In this case, however, owing to the greater extent of surface, it will not be found necessary to press the object into the palm, but simply to close the fingers round it, in the act of apparently placing it in the left hand.

THE PASS. Second only in importance to the palming is the pass. Hold the coin between the fingers and thumb of the left hand (Fig. 3), and then appear to take it in the right by passing the thumb under and the fingers over the coin.

Under cover of the right hand the coin is allowed to fall into the fingers of the left, where, by a slight contraction, it may be held between the first and second joints, or it may be allowed to fall into the palm proper. The right hand must be closed and raised as if it really contained the coin, and be followed by the eyes of the performer; the left falling to the side. This pass should be performed equally well from either hand.

THE FINGER PALM.--Lay a coin on the fingers as shown in Fig. 4. Then, in the act of apparently placing it in the left hand, raise the forefinger slightly and clip the coin between it and the second finger. The left hand must now close as if it contained the coin, and be followed by the eyes of the performer, while the right hand disposes of the coin as may be necessary.

Following is an illustration of the way in which this sleight can be employed with good effect.

Place a candle on the table to your left, and then execute the pass as above described. The thumb of the right hand should now close on the edge of the coin nearest to itself and draw it back a little; and at the same time the candle should be taken from the candlestick between the thumb and fingers of the same hand. (Fig. 5.) The left hand, which is supposed to contain the coin, should now be held over the candle and opened slowly, the effect to the spectators being that the coin is dissolved into the flame. Both hands at this point should be shown back and front, as the coin, owing to its peculiar position, cannot be seen at a short distance. You now take the upper part of the candle in the left hand, then lower the right hand to the lower end and produce the coin from thence, the effect being that the money is passing through the candle from one end to the other.

TO CHANGE A COIN.--Sometimes, in order to bring about a desired result, it is necessary to change, or, in conjurer’s parlance, to “ring” a borrowed or marked coin for a substitute of your own. There are many ways of effecting this, but having once mastered the various “palms” the student will readily invent means for himself. The following, however, is the one generally adopted by conjurers:

Borrow a coin and have it marked. Then take it between the fingers and thumb of the left hand, as in the pass (Fig. 3), having previously secreted the substitute in the palm of the right. Now take the coin in the right hand, and in so doing drop the substitute into the palm of the left, which you immediately close, and remark, “You have all seen me take the coin visibly from the left hand. I will now make it return invisibly.” Saying this, you appear to throw the marked coin into the left hand, really palming it, and showing your own, which every one takes to be the original borrowed one. You may now proceed with the trick in question, disposing of the marked coin as may be necessary.

Let the student practice faithfully the steps here given. He shall then be prepared to make practical use of them, as we shall endeavor to show in the next paper.

THE OLD TRUNK

This department we believe is destined soon to become one of the most popular features of the magazine. Not only shall we spare no pains upon our part, but we also earnestly ask your co-operation in providing puzzles of all shapes and descriptions to bewilder and tangle the most ingenious of intellects. To each of the first three persons who shall correctly solve all the following puzzles, we will give a year’s subscription to Young Folks Magazine, to be sent to any desired address.

ZIGZAG

1. A plant, but better known as a beverage. 2. To cross out. 3. An instrument for pounding. 4. A kind of ointment. 5. Reddish-brown. 6. To flee from danger. 7. To breathe out. 8. A planet.

When these words of six letters are correctly guessed and placed in the order given, from 1 to 8 will spell the name of a common mineral found in rocks.

. . . 1 . . . . . . 2 . . . . 3 . . . . . . 4 . . . . 5 . . . . . . 6 . . . . 7 . . . . . . 8 .

--_Frank F. Rider_

ENIGMA

I am composed of sixteen letters:

My 2, 9, 6, 8, 16, 12, is a very small but useful household implement.

My 5, 4, 10, 11, 1, 15, is another implement, very common in the school-room.

My 13, 14, 7, 3, is the part of a person closely in touch with both.

My whole is a building known throughout the land.

--_Samuel Baird_

BIRD PIE

Gtkinle, Yulbeaj, Orinb, Rildbbake, Rwco, Doshwhurot.

--_J. F. Stokes_

ENIGMA

I am composed of seventeen letters:

My 4, 9, 10, 12, grows on an evergreen tree.

My 11, 1, 14, 5, is a small valley.

My 8, 15, 16, 5, is to grow less.

My 17, 3, 7, is a noise.

My 2, 1, 6, 13, is the home of a wild animal.

My whole is a book which you have all, doubtless, enjoyed.

--_E. L. Barnes_

DIAGONAL

When the following words of eight letters are guessed correctly and placed one above the other in the order given, so as to form a square, the diagonal from the upper left-hand corner to the lower right will spell the name of one of the most important battles of the Revolution:

1. Reasonable. 2. Adherent. 3. Kind-hearted. 4. Ensnare. 5. Goods. 6. Resonant. 7. To barter. 8. One of Longfellow’s poems.

--_Bessie M_----

HIDING ANIMALS.

In each of the following sentences there are three hiding animals:

“It must be,” averred Caleb, earnestly, as he gazed at the new easel.

Wampum, a kind of money, used by the Indians, was made ere Cabot terrified them by his presence.

Morse altered his plans, and accepting the offer, returned from his foreign travel, knowing it to be for the best.

--_Margaret West_

A BUNCH OF KEYS

A JINGLE

A key to bear one up the mountain side; A key to guard where freedom is denied. The third, oft heard to chatter, ne’er in song. The fourth beware! ’twill lead to gravest wrong. This key his master serves, to ride, to work, to wait; This one, spring-hatched, at Christmas meets his fate.

--_Caroline L_----

Transcriber’s Notes:

A number of typographical errors have been corrected silently.

Archaic spellings have been retained.

Cover image is in the public domain.

The table of contents refers to a "With the Publisher" page that does not exist in the transcribed image so does not exist in the transcription.