 Section 1 of Harper's Young People, Volume 1, Issue 15, February 10th, 1880. This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Harper's Young People, Volume 1, Issue 15, February 10th, 1880. OLD FATHER TIME Father, said May, turning on the sofa where she was lying, Jack has brought me a calendar that runs for ever so many years. You know the doctor says I'll not be well for two whole years, or perhaps three. I've been wondering what month among them I shall be able to run about in, and then I began to think, who could have made the first calendar, and what led him to do it? That's very simple, May. OLD FATHER TIME just measured the days off with his hourglass in the first place and marked them down with the point of his scythe. The world has known all about it ever since. Please don't, Jack, let the professor tell. It would be hard, May, to tell who made the first calendar, answered the professor. All nations seem to have had their methods of counting the years and months long before they began writing histories, so that there is no record of the origin of the custom. The book of Genesis mentions the lights in the heavens as being for signs and for seasons and for days and years, and Moses used the word year so often that we see it must have been common to count the years among those who lived before him. The number 1880 means that it is so many years since the birth of Christ, does it not? asked Joe. Yes, said the professor, it has been the custom among Christian nations to reckon the years from that great event. They began to do this about the year of our Lord, 532. Why did they wait so long? asked Joe. You know, he said, that at first the Christians were very few and weak. During the first three hundred years they had all they could do to escape with their lives from their enemies. But after that they became very numerous and powerful and were able to establish their own customs. So in 532 a monk named Dionysius Exeggagus proposed that they should abandon the old way of counting the years and adopt the time of the birth of Christ as a starting point. He thought this would be a very proper way of honoring the Savior of the world. So he took great pains to find out the exact time when Christ was born and satisfied himself that it was on the twenty-fifth day of December in the 753rd year from the foundation of the city of Rome. Roman Empire at one time included most of the known world, and the Roman people, proud of their splendid city, counted the years from the supposed time of its being founded. At first the Christians did the same, but they were naturally pleased with the idea of Dionysius. Was he the first man who tried to find out what day Christmas came on? asked Joe. I should think everybody would have been anxious to know all about it. Doubtless there was much interest on the subject, but you know the early Christians had no newspapers and very few books. Scarcely any of them could even read. Besides, it was very difficult in those times to travel or gain information. It was dangerous to ask questions of the heathen, or for a man to let them suspect that he was a Christian. And then, when we consider that the calendar was in confusion, because even the wisest men did not know the exact length of the year, and there were various ways of counting time, we need not be surprised that the Christians disagreed and made mistakes as to the time when the Saviour was born. In the fourth century, however, Saint Cyril urged Pope Julius I to give orders for an investigation. The result was that the theologians of the east and west agreed upon the 25th of December, though some of them were not convinced. The chief grounds of the decision were the tables in the public records of Rome. But let us return to Dionysius. His idea of making the year begin on the 25th of December was thought to be rather too inconvenient, and so the old commencement on the first day of January was retained as the Robins had arranged it. But the plan of Dionysius was carried out with regard to the numbers by which the years were to be named and called. Thus the year which had been known as 754 became under the new system, the year one, and the succession of years from that year one is called the Christian era. To get the numbers of its years, you have only to subtract 753 from the years in the Roman numbering. If we add 753, said Joe, to 1880, will we get the number of years since old Rome was founded by Romulus and Remus? Yes, said the professor. The rule works both ways. There is, however, some uncertainty as to whether the Romans themselves were correct in regard to the age of their city. Very early dates are hard to settle. Where did the months get their names, asked me, and how did months come to be thought of at all? The months were suggested by the moon. In most languages the word month is very nearly like moon, as you see it is in ours. From new moon around to new moon again is about 29 days, which is nearly the length of a month. The exact time between two new moons is a very puzzling problem. It always involves a troublesome fraction of a day and is in fact never twice alike. So it was found convenient to divide the year into 12 parts, nearly equal, and to call each one a month. Why didn't they make them just equal, asked Gus? To do so would have made it necessary to split up some of the days which would have been awkward. If you divide the 365 days of the year by 12, there will be five remaining. How was it found out that the year had 365 days in it, asked Joe? It took the astronomers to do that, said the professor, and until nations became civilized enough to study astronomy accurately they did not know the number of days in the year. This however did not prevent them from being able to count the years because they could know that every time summer or winter came a year had passed since the last summer or winter. But now the length of the year, that is the time occupied by the earth and going completely round the sun, is known within a fraction of a second. Was it worthwhile to go into it so precisely, asked May? Would it not have been enough to know the number of the days? By no means, said the professor, for then the calendar could not have been regulated so that the months and festivals would keep pace with the seasons. If 365 days had been constantly taken for a year, Christmas, instead of staying in the winter, would long since have moved back through autumn into summer and so on. In about fourteen hundred years it would travel through the entire circle of the seasons as it would come some six hours earlier every year than it did the last. In like manner the Fourth of July would gradually fall back into spring and into winter and the fireworks would have to be set off in the midst of a snowstorm. The old Romans saw the difficulty and to prevent it Julius Caesar added an extra day to every fourth year which you see is the same thing as adding one fourth of a day to each year, only it is much more convenient. This was done because the earth requires nearly 365 and a quarter days to move around the sun. The year that receives the extra day is called, as you know, leap year. But even this to not keep the calendar exactly right. In the course of time other changes had to be made, the greatest of which was in 1582 when Pope Gregory XIII decreed that ten entire days should be dropped out of the month of October. This was called the change from old to new style. It was rather stupid, said Gus, to shorten the pleasantest month in the whole year I would have clipped December or March. Please don't forget to tell us, said May, how the months got their names. The first six of them were called after the heathen deities, Janus, Febraus, Mars, Aphrodite, Maya, and Juno. July was named after Julius Caesar, the inventor of leap year, August after Augustus the Emperor. The names of the last four months simply mean seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth. But, said Joe, December is not the tenth month nor is September the seventh. That is true, said the professor. But those names are supposed to have been given by Romulus, who ranged a year of only ten months and made it begin with March. His year only had three hundred and four days in it and was soon found to be much too short. So the months of January and February were added, and instead of being placed at the end, they came in some way to stand at the beginning. Now please tell us about the names of the days of the week, and we will not ask any more questions. They were called after the sun, moon, and five planets known to the ancients, Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, and Saturn. You easily recognize sun, moon, and Saturn. Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday are from names given by some of the northern tribes of Europe to Mars, Jupiter, and Venus. Mercury's day seems scarcely at all connected with his name, but it comes from Woden, who is imagined to be chief among the gods of those barbarous tribes. End of Section 1. Section 2 of Harper's Young People, Volume 1, Issue 15, February 10, 1880. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Bill Mosley, Lano County, Texas, USA. Harper's Young People, Volume 1, Issue 15, February 10, 1880. Tommy's Valentine by Mrs. M. D. Brine. He was only a little street sweeper, you know, barefooted, ragged as one could be, but blue were his eyes as the far-off skies, and a brave-hearted laddie was Tommy McGee. But it chanced on the morning of Valentine's Day. Our little street sweeper felt lonely and sad, for there's no fun, thought he, for a fellow like me and a Valentine's something that I never had. But he flourished his broom, and the crossing made clean for the ladies and gentlemen passing his way, and he gave them a smile, seeing gaily the while, in honor, of course, of St. Valentine's Day. Now it happened a party of bright little girls, all dainty and rosy and brimming with glee, came over the crossing, a careless glance tossing to poor little barefooted Tommy McGee. But all of a sudden then one of them turned, and running to Tommy, dressed into his hand, with a smile and a blush, and the whispered word, Hush, a beautiful Valentine. You'll understand how Tommy stood gazing, with wondering eyes, after the group of wee ladies so fine. As with joy without measure he held his new treasure. And this is how Tommy got his Valentine, lost in the snow. Among the dangers of the winter in the past of St. Gothard is the fearful snowstorm called the Guxeten by the Germans and the Tormenta by the Swiss. The mountain snow differs in form, as well as in thickness and specific gravity, from the star-shaped snowflakes in the lower heights and in the valleys. It is quite flowery, dry and sandy, and therefore very light. When viewed through a microscope it assumes at times the form of little prismatic needles, at other times that of innumerable small six-sided pyramids, from which, as from the morning star, little points jut out on all sides, and which, driven by the wind, cut through the air with great speed. With this fine ice dust of the mountain snow, the wind drives its wild game through the clefts of the high alps and over the passes, particularly that of St. Gothard. Suddenly it tears up a few hundred thousand cubic feet of this snow, and whirls it up high into the air, leaving it to the mercy of the upper current, to fall to the ground again in the form of the thickest snowstorm, or to be dispersed at will like glittering ice crystals. At times the wind sweeps up large tracks of the dry ice dust, and pours them down upon a deep lying valley amid the mountains, or on the summit of the passes, obliterating in a few seconds the laboriously excavated mountain road at which a whole company of rutiners have toiled for days. All these appearances resemble the avalanches of other alps, but cannot be regarded in the same light as the true snowstorm, the tormenta, or guxaten. This is incomparably more severe, and hundreds on hundreds of lives have fallen sacrifices to its fury. These have mostly been traveling strangers who either did not distinguish the signs of the coming storm, or in proud reliance on their own power, refused to listen to well-meant warnings and continued their route. Once every year adds a large number of victims to the list of those who have fallen a prey to the snowstorm. History and the oral tradition of the mountains record many incidents of accidents which have been occasioned by the fall of avalanches. During the Belenzono war in 1478, as the Confederates, with a force of ten thousand men, were crossing the St. Gothart, the men of Zurich were preceding the army as vanguard. They had just refreshed themselves with some wine, and were marching up the wild gorge shouting and singing in spite of the warnings of their guides. Then in the heights above an avalanche was suddenly loosened, which rushed down upon the road, and in its impetuous torrent buried sixty warriors far below in the roice, in full sight of those following. On the 12th of March, 1848, in the so-called Plongen, above the tent of shelter at the Matteli, thirteen men who were conveying the post were thrown by a violent avalanche into the bed of the roice, with their horses and sledges. Three men, fathers of families, and nine horses were killed. The others were saved by hastily summoned help. But one of their deliverers, Joseph Miller of Hospenthal, met a hero's death while engaged in the rescue. He had hastened to help his neighbors, but in the district called the Harness, he and two others were overwhelmed by a second violent avalanche and lost their lives. In the same year, the post going up the mountain from Eirola was overtaken by an avalanche near the house of shelter at Pate Trimola. A traveler from Bergamo was killed. The rest escaped. History tells of a most striking rescue from an avalanche on the St. Gothard. In the year 1628, Landemann Kaspar of Brandenburg, the newly chosen governor of Belenz, was riding over the St. Gothard from the Zug, accompanied by his servant and a faithful dog. At the top of the pass the party was overtaken by an avalanche which descended from the Lucindro. The dog alone shook himself free. His first care was to extricate his master. But when he saw that he could not succeed in doing this, he hastened back to the hospice and thereby pitiful howling and whining announced that an accident had happened. The landlord and his servant set out immediately with shovels and pickaxes and followed the dog which ran quickly before them. They soon reached the place where the avalanche had fallen. Here the faithful dog stopped suddenly, plunged his face into the snow and began to scratch it up, barking and whining. The men set to work at once, and after a long and difficult labor succeeded in rescuing the Landemann, and soon afterward his servant. They were both alive after spending thirty-six fearful hours beneath the snow, oppressed by the most painful thoughts. They had heard the howling and barking of the dog quite plainly, and had noticed his sudden departure, and the arrival of their deliverers. They had heard them talking and working without being able to move or utter a sound. The Landemanns will ordained that an image of the faithful dog should be sculptured at his feet on his tomb. This monument was seen till lately in St. Oswald's Church at Zug. Section 3 of Harper's Young People, Volume 1, Issue 15, February 10th, 1880. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Harper's Young People, Volume 1, Issue 15, February 10th, 1880. The Story of Grandma Lorenzo and the Monkey by Mrs. A. M. Diaz. The children told the family storyteller they did not believe he could make a story about a grandma going to mill, especially, said the children's mother, a grandma troubled with rheumatism. Family storyteller smiled as much to say, you shall see, took a few minutes to think, and began. Grandma Stimpsons' trunk was a very small, leathery, beady bag, and in this bag was a written recipe for the sudden remedy, a sure cure for rheumatism, sprains, bruises, and all lamenesses. The bag and the recipe were given her by an Indian woman. To make the sudden remedy, grandma got roots, herbs, barks, twigs, leaves, mints, moss, and tree gum. These were scraped, grated, or pounded, sifted, weighed, measured, stewed, and stirred, and the juice simmered down with the oil of juniper and bumblebees wax and various smarty, peppery, slippery things whose names must be kept private for a particular reason. The sudden remedy cured her instantly, and, as meal was wanted, and no other person could be spared from the place, she offered to go to mill. She went in the vehicle, an old chaise which had lost its top. Taken with her, her bottle of the sudden remedy, in case, as Mr. Stimpsett said, the rheumatism should return before she did. Shall you be back by sunset? asked Mr. Stimpsett as he fastened the bag underneath the vehicle. Oh, yes, said she, I shall eat dinner at Debbie's and come away right after dinner. You will see me back long before sunset. Her daughter Debbie lived at Mill Village. Mr. Stimpsett shook his head. I don't know about that, said he. If I am not back before sunset, said she, I will give you, give you five hundred dollars. The people laughed at this, for all the money Grandma had was only about twenty dollars put away in case of need. Now when Grandma had driven perhaps two miles on her way to mill, she stopped at a farmhouse to water her horse, and here something curious happened. A woman came to the door of the house, and the next moment a large boy named Lorenzo hopped out on one foot and two canes, and began stumping about the yard at a furious rate, cackling, crowing, and barking. That's the way he does when he can't sit still any longer, said the woman. He asked to sit still a great deal on account of a lame knee, which is a pity, said she, for a spry fellow like him, a good true-spoken fellow he is, too. The woman then told how he lame his knee. Lorenzo said he wanted very much the use of his legs that day, because there was to be a circus just beyond Mill Village. He said he wanted to go to the circus so much, he did not know what to do. He said he began when he was four years old to go to circuses, and he had been to every circus that had come around since. Now this circus is only a little more than two miles off, said he, and here I am, cooped up like a hobbled horse. Grandma smiled and took out the bottle. This bottle, said she, contains a sudden remedy, a quick cure for rheumatism, sprains, bruises, and all lamenesses. Rub on with a flannel and rub in briskly. Lorenzo rubbed on with a flannel and rubbed in briskly, and then seated himself upon a stone to hear the story's grandma and the woman were telling of people who had been upset or thrown from horses, or had fallen over stone walls into wells, or down from trees, rocks, house tops, or chamber windows. Lorenzo told some stories, and at last, in actin' won out, he thrust forward his lame leg without thinking of it, and found it was no longer lame. He tried it again, he sprang up, he stepped, he walked, he leaped, he skipped, he ran, he hurried, he flung his canes away. Grandma then invited Lorenzo to ride with her to Mill Village, near which the circus was to be, and he quickly took the seat in the vehicle, and having no time to put on his best clothes, he put on only his best hat, tipping it one side in order to give himself a little of a dressed up look. When Grandma and Lorenzo reached Mill Village, Lorenzo got out at a peanut stand, and Grandma drove on to her daughter Debbie's. She had just stepped from the vehicle when Lorenzo came running to beg that she would bring her sudden remedy to the miller's house. For the miller had been taken that morning with a dartin' rheumatism, and the mill was not runnin', and people were waitin' with their corn. Lorenzo drove Grandma to the miller's house, and in two hours' time, the miller was in the mill, the wheel turnin', and the corn grindin'. Grandma's corn among the rest. Something which was very important to the circus will now be told. The chief jumper, the one who was to do the six wonderful things, lame'd his foot the night before, and could not jump. Now, in the man who owned the circus was lookin' at the chief jumper's foot, a circus errand boy in uniform passed by. This errand boy had been to the mill to get corn for the circus horses, and he told the man who owned the circus that a woman had just cured the miller of the dartin' rheumatism, and told the name of the medicine. The circus owner took one of the circus riding wagons and the errand boyin' uniform, and set off immediately to find the woman who had the sudden remedy, and found Grandma and her daughter Debbie's just stepping into the vehicle to go home. Lorenzo was there, fastenin' the bag a meal securely under the vehicle. The circus owner offered Grandma five dollars if she would go and cure his chief jumper, and as there was time to do that and reach home before sunset, she went, Lorenzo driving her in the vehicle. The circus owner and the errand boy in uniform kept just in front of them, and some children who knew no better said that that kindly lookin' old lady and the great boy belonged to the circus, and had their circus clothes in the bag underneath. Grandma was taken into a tent which led out of the big tent where she saw the chief jumper in full jumping costume, and the dwarf, and the fat man, and the clown, and the flying cherub, and the remedy worked so well that the chief jumper thought he might jump higher than ever before. The clown led Grandma to the cage where monkeys were kept, and asked her if she would be willing to cure a poor, suffering monkey whose leg had been hurt by a stone thrown by a cruel boy. Grandma said certainly for that she pitied even an animal that had to suffer pain. The clown then took the monkey and held its paw while Grandma patted its head and stroked its back and poured on the remedy, the flying cherub standing nearby to see what was to be done. The circus owner invited Grandma to stay to the circus, but as she had not time, he paid her eight dollars and then led her to the vehicle. Now we are coming to the most wonderful part of my story. People going home from mill had told the tale of the miller's cure, and on her way back, Grandma was stopped by various people who begged her to come into their houses and cure rheumatism, sprains, bruises, and other lamenesses. This took a great deal of time, but the kind-hearted old lady was so anxious to ease pain that she forgot all about her promise to Mr. Stimpsett, and when she reached home, it was ten minutes past sunset. Three buggies stood near Mr. Stimpsett's house. Grandma thought they were doctor's buggies. Oh dear, she said to herself, something dreadful must be the matter. She counted the children playing at the doorstep. They were all there, Moses, Obadiah, Deborah, and little Cordelia. At this moment, Mr. Stimpsett came forward and said to Grandma that three gentlemen had come one after another and had each asked to have a private talk with her. There was a large, fleshy man in the front room, a chubby little man in the kitchen, and a sleek, long-faced man in the spare chamber. Grandma talked with these one at a time. They were all medicine sellers. Each one wished to buy the recipe for making the sudden remedy and would pay a good price for it. For they knew that thousands and thousands of barrels of this remedy could be sold all over the United States, Mexico, Canada, and Central America. An enormous sums of money made by the sale. The summer border, Mr. St. Clair, said that the man who would pay the most money for it ought to have the recipe. Grandma brought from her trunk the small, leathery, beady bag which contained the recipe and Mr. St. Clair stood in the vehicle, held up the bag and said, Bid, gentlemen, bid, how much do I have for it? The bidding was interrupted by a jumper. It was a circus jumper, but not the chief jumper. While the people were all looking at Mr. St. Clair, a monkey sprang from the meal bag underneath the vehicle and jumped upon Grandma's shoulder, nearly knocking her over. It was the same one she had cured. On account of his lameness he had been loosely tied and from a feeling of thankfulness, no doubt, for being cured, he had run away and followed Grandma. The Stimson children, Moses, Obadiah, Deborah, and little Cordelia, shouted and capered so that the selling of the recipe could hardly go on. But at last it was sold, leathery, beady bag and all, to the sleek long-faced man for $900, of which Grandma gave 500 to Mr. Stimson, according to the promise she made before going to mill. The circus people were written to, but as they did not send for Jacko, he was kept for the children to play with. Mrs. Stimson dressed him in a pretty suit of clothes and a cap and feather on his head. He showed much affection for Grandma, followed her about day-times, both indoors and out, and would sleep nowhere at night, but at the foot of her bed, where a band box was at last placed for him. The children loved him dearly, but poor Jacko did so much mischief in trying to knit and to cook and to weed the garden that it was finally declared that something must be done about that monkey, and Grandma gave him to Lorenzo with money enough to buy a grand harmonica. Lorenzo came for the monkey toward the close of a calm summer's day and fed him with frosted cake, which caused him to feel pleased with Lorenzo. There was a string fastened to his collar. Lorenzo took the string in one hand and some frosted cake in the other and led Jacko away. The children, Moses, Obadiah, and Debra, and little Cordelia, following on for quite a distance, all weeping. Lorenzo went about for some time with a circus company. Evenings he stayed inside the Big Tent to see the doings, and day-times he had a two-cent sideshow in a small tent of his own, where the monkey played wonderful tricks and marched to the music of the grand harmonica. At last he came to Grandma and told her that, as for the clown, he was a kind-hearted, sensible man, but that the others were commonly either drunk or cross or both, and that he had to travel nights, wet or dry, and that he was sick of that kind of life. He sold the monkey to a hand-organ man and went back to live in his old home. And the last that was known of Jacko, he was seen in the streets of a town carrying around the hand-organ man's hat for pennies. It was Grandma and Mr. Stimpsett who saw him as they were riding past in the vehicle. And he saw them and gave a bound and broke his string and leaped into the vehicle and clasped his paws around Grandma's neck. And the hand-organ man was obliged to place six maple-sugar cakes in a row upon the sidewalk before Jacko would return to him. The sleek, long-faced man made his fortune by selling the sudden remedy, but few of those who bought it and took it knew what old lady it was who sold him the recipe for it. The family storytellers next was a story of mistakes and odd mistakes they were. End of section three, recording by Scotty Smith. Section four of Harper's Young People, volume one, issue 15, February 10th, 1880. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Betty B. Harper's Young People, volume one, issue 15, February 10th, 1880. The Children's Wedding. It very often happens the children of royal families are by their parents or by why statesmen engage to marry each other almost as soon as they are born, but the actual weddings do not generally take place until the children are grown up. One of these weddings did, however, actually take place a great many years ago between two children and the story of it is as follows. January 15th, 1478 was the day appointed when Richard, Duke of York, second son of Edward IV, aged four years and created already Duke of Norfolk, Earl Warren and Surrey, and Earl Marshall of England in right of his intended wife was to lead to the altar the little girl whose tiny hand would bestow upon him the immense estates and riches of the Norfolk inheritance. The little lady Anne, who was as an old book informs us, the richest and most noble match of that time appears to have been two years older than her intended husband and must have reached the advanced age of six years. She does not appear to have objected to the match, but to have been quite ready to act her part in the pageant and no doubt the little Duke was eager to receive the notice and applause of the courtly throng whilst both children looked with astonishment at the sumptuous preparations and the costly splendor of their own and the spectator's dresses. The ceremony began by the high and mighty princess as the little girl was called in the formal language of the day, being brought in great state and in solemn procession to the king's great chamber at Westminster Palace. This took place the day before the wedding on the 14th of January. The bride splendidly dressed most probably in the bridal robes of white cloth of gold, a mantle of the same bordered with ermine and with her hair streaming down her back and confined to her head by the coronet of a duchess was led by the Earl of Rivers, the bridegroom's uncle. She was followed of course by her mother and by the noblest of the court ladies of rank and the gentle women of her household. Whilst behind came Dukes, Earl's and Barren's all in attendance on the little bride. As soon as she had arrived in the lofty hall of Westminster Palace, she was led to the dais or place of estate as it was called where under a canopy and seated on a chair of estate or kind of throne, she kept her estate, i.e. set in royal pomp with the king, queen and their children seated on either hand whilst her procession of piers and pierces stood around and waited upon her. Refreshments were then brought according to the form and a state of the realm which must have been a very wearisome and formal ceremony for a little girl of six years old in which ended that day's ceremony. On the 15th, the princess came out of the queen's rooms where she had slept and led on one hand by the Earl of Lincoln, nephew to the king and on the other by the Earl of Rivers, she passed through the king's great chamber in the palace into the white hall and from there to St. Stephen's Chapel. She was followed by a long suite of ladies and gentle women. Meanwhile, the little bridegroom, the queen and a noble procession of lords and gentlemen had already entered the chapel and taken up their places on the seats appointed for them, ready to receive and welcome the bride. There were also present the king and the prince of Wales, the king's mother and the three princesses who acted as bridesmaids, Elizabeth, Mary and Cecily. As soon as the bride drew near to the door between her two noble supporters, the bishop of Norwich came forward and received her at the chapel entrance, intending to lead her and the bridegroom to their proper places and begin the service. Then the bishop asked who would give the princess away. In answer, the king stood up and took her hand and gave it to the bishop who placed it in the bridegrooms and went on to the rest of the service, concluding with high mass. When this part was concluded, the Duke of Gloucester brought into the chapel basins of gold filled with gold and silver pieces which he threw amongst the crowds of people who had pressed in to see the wedding and who were highly delighted with this part of it. Then followed the usual wine and spices which were actually served out to the royal party in the church itself. The bridal party then left the chapel, the little bride and bridegroom escorted by the Duke of Gloucester and the Duke of Buckingham, Richard's two uncles on either side. They returned to St. Edward's chamber in the palace where a splendid banquet was prepared and their numbers were increased by the bride's mother who stayed at home, strange to say, instead of accompanying her daughter in the Duchess of Buckingham. Another guest who now presided at a table on one side of the room with many ladies waltzed the Earl of Dorset. The queen's son by her first husband set opposite at another side table was the Earl of Richmond. Afterward Henry VII, who, wonderful to say, was present and whom Edward IV must have invited to get him into his power. However, as soon as the marriage feasts were over, he managed to escape abroad without being stopped by the king. The banquet completed the festivities of the wedding day and tired and weary, the baby couple must have been glad to close their eyes and sleep. No marriage, however, was complete without a tournament and so on the 18th, when the children had recovered the fatigue of their wedding, a grand tournament took place when the bride became the princess of the feast, took up her place at the head of the first banqueting table and there, supported by the dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham, gave her largesse to the heralds who proclaimed her name and title in due form. All the royal family were present and the foreign ambassadors and one of the most distinguished spectators was my lord of Richmond. The corsers were running at each other with either spear or sword and at the close of the jousts, the princess of the feast with all her ladies and gentle women withdrew to the king's great chamber at Westminster to decide upon the prizes. First, however, the high and mighty princess called in her minstrels and all the ladies and gentle women, lords and knights, fell to dancing right merrily. Then came the king at arms to announce to the princess the names of those whose valor deserved the rewards she was to give away as the principal lady on whom the duty devolved. But the little lady was both very young and bashful and so to help her, the lovely princess Elizabeth, then a girl of 14 was appointed and a council of ladies was held to consider the share each should take. The prizes were gold in letters, A, E and M. The initials of Anne, Elizabeth and Mowbray set in gems and were delivered to Elizabeth by the king at arms. The A was to be awarded to the best jouster, the E to the best runner and harness and the M for the best swordsman. The first prize was then presented by the little bride aided by Elizabeth to Thomas Fiennes on which the chief herald cried out, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, Sir William Trustwell josted well. William say josted well. Thomas Fiennes josted best for the witch the princess of the feast awarded the prize of the joust's royal. That is to say the A of gold to him, both Clarence you. Then the other prizes were given with the same ceremonies. The king at arms Clarence you, proclaiming in a loud voice before each, right high and excellent princess. Here is the prize which you shall award to the best jouster, which Elizabeth received and then handed to her little sister-in-law until all had been given and the tournament was over. And now the infant marriage with its pretty pageantry and joyous festivities was concluded and the children returned to the daily routine of play and lessons whilst the wonderful wedding must have gradually faded from their memories. End of section four. Section five of Harper's Young People, volume one, issue 15, February 10, 1880. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org recording by Sunbeard, Chattanooga, Tennessee. Harper's Young People, volume one, issue 15, February 10, 1880. A Hunting Adventure. While traveling in India, an English officer once spent a night in a small village, the inhabitants of which were much alarmed by a large panther which lurked in the jungle just beyond their houses. They begged the officer to kill it before he proceeded on his journey. He succeeded in finding and wounding it the next morning, but before killing it, had a terrible struggle, which he describes as follows. Having warned at the village, chicory to keep close behind me with the heavy spear he had in his hand, I began to follow the wounded panther, but had scarcely gone 25 yards when one of the beaters, who was on high ground, beckoned to me, and pointed a little below him and in front of me. There was the large panther sitting out unconcealed between two bushes and a dozen yards before me. I could not, however, see his head, and whilst I was thus delayed, he came out with a roar straight at me. I fired at his chest with a ball, and as he sprang upon me, the shot barrel was aimed at his head. In the next moment he seized my left arm and the gun. Thus, not being able to use the gun as a club, I forced it into his mouth. He bit the stock through in one place, and whilst his upper fangs lacerated my arm in hand, the lower fangs went into the gun. His hind claws pierced my left thigh. He tried very hard to throw me over. In the meanwhile, the chicory had retreated some paces to the left. He now, instead of spearing the panther, shouted out and struck him using the spear as a club. In a moment the animal was upon him, stripping him of my shikhar bag, his turban, my revolving rifle, and the spear. The man passed by me, holding his wounded arm. The panther quietly crouched five paces in front of me, with all my dispoiled properties stripped from the chicory around and under him. I retreated step by step, my face toward the foe, till I got to my horse, and to the beaters, who were all collected together some 40 yards from the fight. I immediately loaded the gun with a charge of shot and a bullet, and taking my revolver pistol out of the holster and sticking it into my belt, determined to carry out the affair to its issue, knowing how rarely men recover from such wounds as mine. I was bleeding profusely from the large tooth wounds in the arm, the tendons of my left hand were torn open, and I had five claw wounds in the thigh. The poor chicory's arm was somewhat clawed up, and if the panther was not killed, the superstition of the natives would go far to kill this man. I persuaded my horsekeeper to come with me, and taking the hog spear he had in his hand, we went to the spot where lay the weapons stripped from the chicory. A few yards beyond them crouched the huge panther again. I could not see his head very distinctly, but fired deliberately behind his shoulder. In one moment he was again upon me. I gave him the charge of shot, as I supposed, in his face, but had no time to take aim. In the next instant the panther got hold of my left foot in his teeth, and threw me on my back. I struck at him with the empty gun, and he seized the barrels in his mouth. This was his last effort. I sprang up and seizing the spear from the horsekeeper, drove it through his side, and thus killed him. Eagles and their ways. The great golden eagle is one of the most distinguished members of its mighty family. It is found in many parts of the world, a kingly inhabitant of mountainous regions, where it builds its nest on rocky crags, accessible only to the most daring hunter. This noble bird is of a rich, blackish brown tint on the greater part of its body, its head and neck inclining to a reddish color. Its tail is deep gray, crossed with dark brown bars. Some large specimens, which have been captured, have measured nearly four feet in length, while the magnificent wings expanded from eight to nine feet. The golden eagle is no longer found in England, but is still plentiful in the Scottish Highlands, where it makes its nest on some lofty ledge of rock among the mountain solitudes. Swiss naturalists state that it's sometimes nest in the lofty crotch of some gigantic oak growing on the lower mountain slopes. But Audubon and other imminent ornithologists declare that the eagle's nest built in a tree has never come under their observation. The nest of this inhabitant of the mountains is not neatly made, like those of smaller birds, but is a huge mass of twigs, dried grasses, brambles, and hair heaped together to form a bed for the little ones. Here the mother bird lays three or four large white eggs speckled with brown. The young birds are almost coal black and only assumed a golden and brownish tinge as they become full grown, which is not until about the fourth year. Eaglets two or three years old are described in books of natural history as ring-tailed eagles and are sometimes taken for distinct species of the royal bird, while in reality they are the children of the golden eagle tribe. Eagles rarely change their habitation and, unless disturbed, a pair will inhabit the same nest for years. It is very faithful to its mate and one pair have been observed living happily together through a long life. Should one die, the bird left alone will fly away in search of another mate and soon return with it to its former home. Eagles live to a great age. Even in captivity in royal gardens, specimens have been known to live more than a hundred years. Eagles are very abundant in Switzerland, although not so powerful as the Great Vulture, which also inhabits the lofty mountains. They are bolder and more enduring. For hours the golden eagle will soar in the air, high above the mountaintops, and move in wide sweeping circles with a scarcely perceptible motion of its mighty wings. When on the hunt for prey, it is very cunning and sharpsighted. Its shrill scream rings through the air, filling all the smaller birds with terror. When it approaches its victim, its scream changes to a quick kick, kick, kick, resembling the barking of a dog and gradually sinking until sufficiently near, it darts in a straight line with the rapidity of lightning upon its prey. None of the smaller birds and beasts are safe from its clutches. Fawns, rabbits, and hares, young sheep and goats, wild birds of all kinds, fall helpless victims, for neither this swiftest running nor the most rapid flight can avail against this king of the air. The strength of the eagle is such that it will bear heavy burdens in its talons for miles until it reaches its nest where the hungry little ones are eagerly waiting the parent's return. Here, standing on the ledge of rock, the eagle tears the food into morsels, which the eaglets eagerly devour. It is a curious fact that near an eagle's nest, there is usually a storehouse or larder, some convenient ledge of rock, where the parent bird lays up hordes of provisions. Hunters have found remains of lambs, young pigs, rabbits, partridges, and other game heaped up ready for the morning meal. Over its hunting ground, the eagle is king. It fears neither bird nor beast. It's only enemy being man. In Switzerland, during the winter season, when the mountains are snowbound, the eagle will descend to the plain in search of food. When driven by hunger, it will seize on carrion and even fight desperately with its own kind for the possession of the desired food. Swiss hunters tell many stories of furious battles between eagles over the dead body of some poor shami or other mountain game. Eagles are very affectionate and faithful to their little ones as long as they need care. But once the eaglets are able to take care of themselves, the parent birds drive them from the nest and even from the hunting ground. The young birds are often taken from the nest by hunters who, with skill and daring, scale the rocky heights during the absence of the parents which return to find the desolate and empty nest. But it goes hard with the hunter if the keen eyes of the old birds discover him before he has made his safe descent with his booty. Daring at him with terrible fury, they try their utmost to throw him from the cliff. And unless he be well armed and use his weapons with skill and rapidity, his position is one of the utmost peril. The young birds are easily tame and the experiment has already been tried with some success of using them as the falcon to assist in hunting game. The golden eagle is an inhabitant of the rocky mountains but is very seldom seen farther eastward. Autobahn reports having noticed single pairs in the Alleghenies in Maine and even in the Valley of the Hudson. But such examples are very rare for this royal bird is truly a creature of the mountains. It fears neither cold nor tempestuous winds nor icy solitudes. The eagle's plume is an old and famous decoration of warriors and chieftains and is constantly alluded to, especially in Scottish legend and song. The Northwestern Indians ornament their headdresses and their weapons with the tail feathers of the eagle and institute hunts for the bird with the sole purpose of obtaining them. Indians prize these feathers so highly that they will barter a valuable horse for the tail of a single bird. Royal and noble in its bearing, the eagle has naturally been chosen as the symbol of majesty and power. It served as one of the imperial emblems of ancient Rome and is employed at the present time for the regal insignia of different countries. The bald eagle, the national bird of the United States, belongs to the same great family as its golden cousin and is a sharer of its lordly characteristics. End of Section 5, recording by Sunbeard, Chattanooga, Tennessee. Section 6 of Harper's Young People, Volume 1, Issue 15, February 10th, 1880. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Larry Wilson. Harper's Young People, Volume 1, Issue 15, February 10th, 1880. The hidden beauties of the snow. In the falling of the snow, we have snow showers and snow storms. In the snow shower, the air is filled with light fleecy flakes which descend gently and noiselessly through it and either melt away and disappear as fast as they alight or else when the temperature is below the point of freezing, slowly accumulate upon every surface where they can gain allotment until the fields are everywhere covered with a downy fleece of spotless purity. And every salient point, the tops of the fences and posts, the branches of the trees and the interminable lines of telegraph wire are adorned with a white and dazzling trimming. In such a fall of snow as this, the delicate process of crystallization is not disturbed by any agitations in the air. The feathery needles from each little nucleus extend themselves in every direction as far as they will. And combining by gentle contacts with others, floating near them, form large and fleecy flakes involving the nicest complications of structure and filling the air with a kind of beauty in which the expression of softness and gracefulness is combined with that of mathematical symmetry and precision. In a snow storm, the force of the wind and the intensity of the cold usually change all this. The progress of the crystallization which to be perfect must take place slowly and under the condition of perfect repose is at once hastened by the low temperature and disturbed by the commotion in the air across the broad expanse of open plains along mountain sides through groves of trees and over the smooth surface of frozen lakes and rivers. Millions of misshapen and broken crystals are driven by the wind, piled up in heaps or accumulated in confused masses under the lee of every obstruction, having been subjected on the way to such violence of agitation and collision that the characteristic beauty and symmetry of the material is entirely destroyed. If we examine attentively the falling flakes, whether of snow showers or of snow storms at different times, under the varying circumstances in which snow forms and descends, we shall be surprised at the number and variety of the forms which they assume. They may be received and examined upon any black surface, the crown of a hat, or a piece of black cloth, for example, previously cooled below the freezing point. At any one time, the crystallizations are usually alike, but different snowfalls seem to have each its own special confirmation. Sometimes, however, a change takes place from one style of flake to another in the course of the same storm or shower, and during the period of transition, both varieties fall together from the air. Persons interested in such observations may easily make drawings with a pen of the different forms that present themselves from time to time, and thus in the course of a winter make a very curious and interesting collection. The number and variety of the forms which the snowy crystallizations assume seem greatest in the polar regions, and the celebrated scientific navigator, Scorsby, studied them there with great attention during his various arctic voyages. He made drawings of 96 different forms, and the number has been increased since by more recent observers to several hundred. It will be observed that all the forms have a hexagonal character. They consist of a star of six rays or a plate of six angles. There is a reason for this, or rather there is a well-known property of ice in respect to the law of its crystallization, which throws some light upon the subject. The law is this, that whereas every crystallizable substance has its own primitive crystalline form, that of ice is rhomboid with angles of 60 degrees and 120 degrees, and consequently all the secondary forms which this substance assumes are controlled by these angles and derive from their hexagonal character. The most striking of the methods adopted for the inspection of ice crystals is one discovered by Professor Tyndall and consists of melting the ice from within. This is done by means of a lens by which the sun's rays are brought to focus within the mass of ice, so as to liquefy a portion of it in the interior without disturbing that at the surface. In the Section 6 Section 7 of Harper's Young People, Volume 1 Issue 15, February 10, 1880 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Shelly Turner Harper's Young People, Volume 1 Issue 15, February 10, 1880 Section 7 Nettie's Valentine by Agnes Carr They are all so lovely I hardly know which to choose, said Nettie Almor to herself as she paused at the entrance of a large station or shop to gaze in at the window where it was spread a tempting display of valentines of all kinds and sizes from the rich, expensive ones and handsome embossed boxes to cheap penny-pictures strung on a line across the entire casement. I want them to be the prettiest ones there, continued Nettie to herself and she gave her little pocket-book a squeeze inside her muff as she thought of the bright two-dollar and a half gold piece which Uncle John had given her that morning to spend all for valentines. For Nettie was invited that evening to a large party for her schoolmates and after supper a post-office was to be open through which all her class were to send valentines to each other. Great fun was anticipated while at the same time there was considerable rivalry as to who should send the handsomest missives and at school nothing else had been talked of amongst the scholars for a week. Please, Miss, buy just a little bunch. The words sounded close to Nettie's ear and she turned to encounter a pair of pleading blue eyes gazing into hers while the plaintive voice repeated, please buy a little bunch of flowers. I haven't sold one today and Mina wants an orange so much. It was a pitiful little figure that stood there with an old shawl over her head and her feet hardly protected from the icy pavement by a pair of miserable ragged shoes while the tiny hands purple with cold held a small pine board on which were fastened small bouquets of rose buds violets and other flowers which she tried to sell to the passersby most of whom, however, pushed her rudely aside or passed indifferently by. Who is Mina? asked Nettie gently after a moment's survey of the little girl. She is my sister and she is so bad, so very bad with the fever. She cried all last night with thirst and begged me to bring her an orange to cool her tongue. Please, Miss, buy some of my flowers. Nettie's tender heart was touched and her eyes filled with tears in sympathy with the poor child who is now crying bitterly. Has she been sick very long? she asked. Oh, yes. And the hair doctor said she will die if she does not have wine to strengthen her. But where could we get wine? The mother can hardly pay the rent and I sell flowers to buy bread, but I can only make two or three cents on a bunch and some bad days they fade before I can get rid of them. So I'm afraid Mina must die. But please, give me enough to get her an orange. An orange? Of course I will, exclaimed Nettie. And more than one. Come with me. And she caught the child eagerly by the hand and drew her toward the street. At this moment, however, her eye fell on the valentines in the window and she stopped hesitating. Should she give up the pretty gifts for her little friends and lose half of the evening's anticipated enjoyment, or should she let this little poor girl lose existence she was ignorant five minutes before, go home empty-handed to her sixth sister. There was an instant of sharp conflict as she thought of how mean she should appear in her schoolmate's eyes. And then, with a resolute air, Nettie turned her back on the fascinating window and conducted the little flower girl to a fruit store near at hand. A basket was supplied to the kind-hearted proprietor of the store, to whom Nettie explained what she wanted. And this she filled with golden Havana oranges and rich clusters of white grapes, a delicious basketful for a feverish invalid. This, Nettie found, took nearly half the money and the remainder she gave to the grocer begging him to get her a bottle of the best sherry wine which was quickly done and added to the basket. Now, she said, turning to her poor companion, who had stood meanwhile, hardly believing the evidence of her eyes, take me home with you and we will carry these to Mina right away. Oh, miss, thou art too heavenly kind and will save Mina! She need not die now! And with smiles chasing away the tears, the happy child took hold of the basket while Nettie carried the other. And together they wended their way to a poor tenement house in a dark narrow street and climbed the rickety stairs to a back room on the fourth floor. As they pushed open the door, a low moan was heard from within and a weak voice asked, Gretel, is it thou? Have thou brought the orange? Gretel sprang to the bedside and in an eager voice exclaimed, Oh, Mina, yes! Yes, I have the oranges and so much more. See this good little lady and what she has brought thee! Look! Oranges! Grapes! Wine! Oh, Mina, sweetheart! Thou wilt soon be well now! The pale child, reclining among the pillows, her golden hair brushed back from a brow on which the blue veins camefully distinct, stretched forth a thin, little hand for the grapes, and said to Nettie, Oh, I have dreamed of fruit like this, thou art an angel to bring it to me. Gently Nettie brushed back the fair hair of the little patient and pressed the cool grapes to her parched lips, while Gretel poured some of the wine into a cracked tumbler and administered it to the sick girl, and the talk much soon sank into a quiet, refreshing slumber with one of Nettie's hands clasped tightly in both her own. And as Nettie sat by the humble pallet, she felt fully repaid for the loss of her valentines. And Mina still slept when the German mother entered who, after listening to Gretel's whispered story exclaimed, as Nettie rose to depart and stole softly from the room, Bless thee, young lady, for what thou has done this day? It is week since my Mina has slept like that. And throwing her apron over her head, the poor woman burst into happy tears. It was with a light heart that Nettie tripped homeward, and she never even glanced at the great window where the brilliant hearts and cupids gleamed as gaily as ever in the bright sunlight. Well, Pussy, how many valentines have you bought? Asked Uncle John meeting Nettie in the hall as she entered the house. Only one, but it was a very nice one and you mustn't ask any questions, answered Nettie with a blush as she ran upstairs to avoid further questioning. It was rather trying, though, when evening came, and Nettie, dressed in her white dress and blue ribbons, stood among the other girls in the dressing room, and they all crowded round, how many valentines she had for the post-office. To be obliged to confess that she had none and to hear the whispered comments of how mean I didn't think that of Nettie Allmer. She kept her spirits up, however, by thinking of Mina and the joy of her mother and sister, and soon forgot the valentines entirely, while dancing and joining in the merry games with which the first part of the evening was passed. But after supper the mortification and almost regretful feelings returned when the other children drew forth mysterious packages and invited them to Mrs. Hope, the mother of the young hostess, and she was becoming quite unhappy when a servant entered saying someone wished to see Miss Nettie Allmer. Gladly she hastened from the room, but what was her surprise when a messenger handed her a box addressed to Nettie from St. Valentine in return for the valentine she sent Mina and Gretel. On removing the lid the box was found to contain a dozen small bouquets of sweet, fragrant flowers and a card saying they were intended as valentines for her little friends. Nettie shrewdly suspected them to be the same bouquets Gretel had tried so unavailingly to sell in the morning, but she did not know that Uncle John had been an unobserved spectator of the little episode in front of the stationers and that he had made a later call at the humble tenement and gladdened the poor family a second time that day by buying all Gretel's flowers and paying a good price for them too. It was with very much happier feelings that Nettie entered the parlor and handed in her contribution for the letter box and when the office was opened in the back drawing-room and Mr. Hope, disguised as St. Valentine, distributed the mail all said none of the valentines could equal Nettie's for in the center of each bouquet was hidden a tiny golden heart in closing a motto appropriate for the occasion. Hope always said that that 14th of February was the happiest day she had ever spent and it was also a turning point in the fortunes of the German family. For Mrs. Allmer having heard from Uncle John of her little daughter's protégés interested some of her friends in them who gave work to the mother and when summer came found a pleasant cottage on a farm for them in the country and with the mother now happy and hopeful Gretel, well-clad and rosy and Mina quite restored to health they were sent away from the dark, dreary tenement to a happy home among the green fields and pastures fair and it all came about through Nettie's valentine. End of Section 7 Recording by Shelly Turner Section 8 of Harper's Young People Volume 1, Issue 15 February 10th, 1880 This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by April 6,090, California United States of America Harper's Young People Volume 1, Issue 15 February 10th, 1880 Ant Suki's First Slay Ride Oh Nan! Look how the snow comes down! I thought it would never snow at all this winter. Just look at it! Now that's what I call tip-top. Said Tom Chandler, gazing at the fast whitening landscape and drumming a cheerful tattoo on the window panes with his fingers. For some time the children stood in silence watching the snowflakes as they whirled and danced and floated like so many feathers, only to fall and pile up and cover the brown earth and the bare branches as with a lovely mantel of swans down. Suddenly a thought seemed to have entered Tom's curly head and he broke the silence with an air of profound mystery, saying, I say, Nan, can you keep a secret? Well, look square in my face and say, upon my word in sacred honor, I'll never, never, never tell anybody what Tom's going to tell me. There! Do you think you could keep it? It's the off-list jolliest thing you ever heard of. Why, Tom, returned Nan with dignity. Did I ever tell anybody anything that is a secret when you told me not to? Now do tell me this one. Let me see now. Haven't you told lots of my secrets, Madam? Who went and told Pa about my painting? The white gobbler's feathers? Black? Hey? Who told about my putting the mouse into Aunt Supe's soup? Who told about my tying the clothesline across the grass last summer? Who told about my that's real mean, you know? I couldn't help it. Ma was so vexed. You can keep your old secret. I won't listen to it. There! Seeing there was danger of one of Nan's showers called her sudden tears, the young gentleman lowering his voice said soothingly, Never mind, old girl, just say, Pa and Honour once more, and that you will never tell if you are shot for it, and I'll tell you what it is. That's what I call a solemn promise, exclaimed Tom, as Nanny concluded the prescribed speech. Well, here goes. Just what was said in Nan's ear we may never know, but all the parties may be judged by what followed. The moment the grand secret became the property of two, there was such a clapping of hands and whooping and laughing, and such a dancing up and down the room as made the board's tremble, and brought old Aunt Susan from her realms in the kitchen to the dining room door. Rest allore, chilling. What does your mean, guttin' up like that? Steak! Stop that noise! I guess you just remember there's company in the spare room yonder getting ready for tea. Now, you never mind the company, Aunt Suki. Nan and I are only practicing a war jig. We've got to dance for Miss Almyra tonight. Grat your war jigs and have like a spectable chilling. Ring the T-bell and make yourselves useful. You've got younger bones than this old Susan. Tink the lore. Remember," said Tom, with a warning gesture to Nan for he heard footsteps coming. The next morning, after breakfast, Tom walked into the kitchen where Aunt Suki was putting the finishing touches to a dozen or more pies, for it was baking day. Look here, Aunt Susan, exclaimed to the youngster, I've heard you say how much you would like to see Mars Lincoln, haven't I? Well, you've never had a sleigh ride since you came north, have you? And I was just thinking last night that I'd take you for one when Nan and I go to school this morning. There, it won't take more than a few minutes. Get your hood and shawl and come along. It's only beyond Deacon Johnson's. Mars Lincoln would like to see you first rate. O breasted lore, honey, who told you that? Has old Auntie lived to lay her eyes on the savior of her people? He used to don't wait for old Susan and she'll be with you in a jiffy. Hurry up, Choco's waiting, screams Tom, as the old lady bustled off to get her fixings. But Tom, what'll Mars say? And she's got company too, asked Nan uneasily. Why, it's all the better for our fun. She'll have someone to help her. Miss Almyra can turn to and do up the pies and things. It'll be useful as well as ornamental. The warp the great rebellion was nearly over and the old woman, like many of her people, had made her way north and this was her first winter. So Tom and Nan expected great sport over her new experience. A sleigh ride, with considerable trouble, where Auntie was stout and unwieldy and the little cutter was narrow and high. She was at last bundled in. Nan and Tom followed to the infinite satisfaction of Choco, which was pawing the snow and jingling his bells impatiently. When the robes were all tucked in, Tom gave the word and away they rushed down the lane into the road, speeding on. They turned a curve so sharply that Aunt Suki was wild with alarm. Her eyes rolled and her teeth glistened from ear to ear as, with mouth distended, she screamed, Oh, Mars Tommy, for the Lord's sake, hole in that beast! Yawn and vent a fool to trust my mutton to a house like that. Oh, Mars Tommy, Massa Tommy, ya'lls be to death of old Aunt Susan, oh, the forlorn sex, stop him! Hooray, Choco, go it, old boy! was Tommy's laughing response. Ogress us and save us, Missy Nanny, be a good child and make Mars Tom stop that year beast, or we'll be up salt and break every bone in our bodies. Don't mind, Auntie, Choco knows every step of the way and we won't let you get hurt," cried Nann with a patronizing air. Oh, Lord! Habit Missy on a poor old nigger and bring her safely to her journey's end, for Missy Dee's chilling had none, ejaculated Aunt Susan, as another sharp curve was so rapidly turned that the very trees and fences seemed rushing madly away in opposite direction. In less than twenty minutes and the trees to a frighted Susan, Choco, with a snort and an extra jingle of his bells stood stock still in front of the schoolhouse. A score of eyes peeped from the window, says Tom, alighting, with mock ceremony, handed out Nann and Aunt Susan, exclaiming, ladies, we shall soon be in the presence of Mars Lincoln. Oh, tink to Lord, there's no bones broken, and we's really going to see de-blessed Mars Lincoln art'er all. Nann, take Aunt Susan up on the stoop, till I blanket Choco and I put him in the shed. Now, Missy Nann, whispered Aunt Susan when they found themselves alone on the Piazza. Does I look spectable not to see de-president? You look often nice, Auntie, replied Nanny, turning away her head to conceal her laughter. Ah, here comes Tom. Now Aunt Susan, exclaimed that youngster, when I introduce you, say this, I hope I find her excellently, well, and all the people of color in the south send you greeting. While now, what a genius that child is, to be sure! muttered Susan, walking behind Tom and Nanny. Mr. Lincoln, exclaimed Tom, advancing toward that gentleman with a merry twinkle in his ruggish eyes, allow me to present to you a new pupil, Aunt Susan Woodington. She's come all the way from Louisiana to see you. Oppressed to Lord that have given this old woman the privilege of laying her eyes on the gloriousness of the man who have staved all her people and has struck and off the de-chains what held them fast and made them free, forever and forever. Hallelujah, hallelujah, amen! O, bless me, I've done gone and make a mistake art or all. Oh, your presidency, no, your elegancy. I hope I find you well. All the people of color in the south send you, send you, greeting. Aunt Susan, I'm very sorry, but that little rascal Tom has been deceiving you all the time. I'm not the Mars Lincoln you take me for. I'm sorry to tell you, for I'm only playing James Lincoln, schoolmaster of the district. Tom, I say, how did you dare to treat Aunt Susan and myself in this way? I have in mind to punish you. Oh, do Lord forget Mars Tommy, that he full-aspectable old body like me, and to Lord save me, all my pies and things going to construction, and to Mrs. all alone to him with company. It's too much, it's too much for sure. Come, auntie, cried Tom, sittingly, for he was beginning to be afraid himself. We'll drive home ever so slow. Come now, forgive us, and don't get us a whipping. I's most ready to forgive you's now, but just use this remember, how the chilling in the Bible we're eating up along of the bars for saying, go up old ballhead. And don't you never, never again fool old Aunt Susan. Amira had turned to, as Tom predicted, and was helping his mother with the dinner when the lady exclaimed, this is another of that boy's tricks. But boys are boys and there's no help for it. I hope Aunt Susan's enjoying the ride. Everything was in apple pie order when the party returned, apparently in fine spirits. Tom thought it might queer that nothing was said about his escapade. And dying to tell it, he felt his way cautiously for an opportunity and it came. In the evening when the family were discussing nuts and cider around the glowing fire, he related the morning's adventure with such gay good humor that pie and Ma Chandler and Augustus and Almyra made the walls ring again with their laughter, bringing old Aunt Susan to the sitting-room door, where poking her head in. She had courage to say, peers to me use folks is having great sport over Aunt Susan's first sleigh ride. End of Section 8. Section 9 of Harper's Young People, Volume 1, Issue 15, February 10th, 1880. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public command. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Larry Wilson. Harper's Young People, Volume 1, Issue 15, February 10th, 1880. New York's First Great Fire. The First Great Fire in New York happened in September 1776. Just after Washington had been driven from the city. New York was then a small but beautiful town. It reached only to the lower end of the park, but Broadway was lined with shade and its fine houses stretched away on both sides to the battery. Trinity Church stood as now on the head of Wall Street. St. Paul's, a building of great cost and beauty for the times, almost bounded the upper end of Broadway. The British soldiers marched into the pleasant but terrified city. The leading patriots fled with Washington's Army, and in the hot days of the autumn of 1776 New York seemed to offer a home for the officers and men of the invading forces. They took possession of the deserted country seats. Of the patriots at Bloomingdale or Murray Hill and occupied the finest houses in the best streets of the town. Here they hoped to pass a winter of ease, and in the spring complete without difficulty the route of the disheartened Americans. But one night in September the cry of fire was heard and the flames began to spread through all wooden buildings near Whitehall where now are the Proudis Exchange and Staten Island fairies. In those days there were no steam engines nor hydrants, no croton water nor well organized fire companies. But as the flames continued to advance, the British soldiers sprang from their beds and began to labor to check the fire with all the means in their power. They used no doubt buckets of water brought from the cisterns in the river. They found it was said several persons setting houses on fire and in their rage threw them into the flames. But their labor was all in vain. All night the fire spread over the finest quarters of New York from Whitehall that passed up Broadway on the eastern side devouring everything until it was stopped by a large new brick house near Wall Street. It crossed to the western side and laid nearly the whole street in ruins. It fastened on the roof in the tower of Trinity Church and soon with its graceful proportions only a few shattered fragments remained. Then the flames passed rapidly up to the west of Broadway from Trinity as far as St. Paul's. Houses and shops crumbled before them. A long array of buildings seemed to have fed the raging fires until at last they reached the walls of the great church itself and were about to envelop it in ruins. But here it is said the zeal of the people checked their progress. They mounted the roof of the church, covered it with streams of water, put out the sparks that fell on it until at last the building was saved. The flames died out and St. Paul stands today almost as it stood in 1776. The monument of the close of the great fire. It is not difficult to imagine the melancholy change wrought in the appearance of the city. Broadway once so beautiful remained until the end of the war where the street part the street of ruins. From Wall Street to the battery from St. Paul's church to the bowling green the miserable waste was never repaired. Up its desolate track paraded each morning the British officers and their followers shining in red and gold to the sound of martial music. But they had no leisure nor wish to repair the ravages of war. On the wasted district arose a collection of tents and hovels called St. Paul. Here lived the miserable poor, the wretched, the vile. Robbers who at night made the ruins unsafe and the incendiaries who never ceased to terrify the unlucky city. The British garrison was never suffered to remain long at ease. It was said that the great fire of 1776 was the work of the patriots who had to resolve to burn New York and drive the invaders from their safe resting place. The question of its origin has never been decided. It may have been altogether accidental or possibly the work of design. But it was followed by a singular succession of other fires during the period of the British ascendancy that seemed to show some settled plan to annoy and discourage the invaders. The newspapers of the time are filled with accounts of the misfortunes of the garrison and the royalists. To My Valentine by M.M. In love and hope with these blossoms fair I lay at your dear feet. Deep folded in the roses heart you'll find My secret sweet. End of Section 9. Section 10 of Harper's Young People Volume 1, Issue 15 February 10th, 1880 This is a LibriVox recording. While LibriVox recordings are in the public domain, for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Betty B. Harper's Young People Volume 1, Issue 15 February 10th, 1880 Our Post Office Box Lowell, Massachusetts I would like to know how old is the Festival of St. Valentine's Day? I have painted some little cards myself and am going to send them to my schoolmates. I think that it is better than buying them, even if I cannot make them quite so pretty. I am going to copy a little verse on the back of each one. Mama has chosen the verses for me. SFW There is no clear record of the origin of St. Valentine's Day. St. Valentine himself was a priest of Rome who was martyred some time during the third century, but he had nothing to do with the peculiar observance of his day. In ancient Rome, a great part of the month of February was devoted to feasts in honor of Pan and Juno during which the young man drew by lot the name of their companion for the festivities. It is supposed that this ancient custom changed gradually into the present observance of the day. Many allusions to St. Valentine's Day are found in English poetry of the earliest date, as the festival was much more generally observed four centuries ago than now. I am a little boy eight years old. I want to tell you that I have never heard a bluebird sing in a chestnut tree on January 11th. I have six cats and three ducks. One of my cats died last week and I buried her. Or Susie, S-B-H. The little bluebird must have left its winter quarters in the southern states and traveled with the warm wave which swept northward in January. It is to be hoped it will escape being frozen to death and live to sing its sweet spring song at a more gentle time. Shelbyville, Tennessee, January 20th. I send you some flowers which grew in the front yard. The buttercups and purple magnolias are blooming also but I could not press them to send them to you. I have seen some bluebirds and redbirds. Many of our flowers are blooming. It is just like summer outdoors. E.B. Cooper. Hudson, Wisconsin. I have a little rabbit I like very much. It lives with the hands in winter. Papa bought two in Chicago. They traveled to Washington in a peach basket. When Papa brought them home he gave one to me. The other was drowned last summer in a hard storm. My rabbit likes apples, potato skins, clover, grass, hay and corn and I must not give it oats nor anything greasy. Carrie E. Silman. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I have a little dog named Fanny who shakes and cats too when she gets a chance. She talks and she shows her teeth when she laughs and sneezes when she is pleased. Laura B.W. Eight Years. Wellsburg, West Virginia. As you have asked us to write about household pets I thought I would tell you about a pet fish we kept in a stone basin about three feet square and two feet deep. We caught the fish in Cross Creek and brought it home in a bucket and placed it in the water. It was a yellow bass about ten inches long and very pretty. It soon got very tame and would take a fishing worm out of my fingers. It committed suicide one night by jumping out on the floor and killing itself. I have a sunfish in the basin now but I don't expect it will ever get so tame. There are four or five pretty red birds staying in our yard and lots of snow birds. Samuel J. New York City. People number eleven. There is an article on the dead letter office at Washington which mentions some curious things to go through the mail. There are three more very queer things I would like to mention. The first is two centipedes which are on the shelf with the snake. The second is an iron hitching post and the third is a live alligator about a foot and a half long. There is an old record in the office of 1778 which lasted at that time eleven years but which a clerk said would last now about 15 minutes. K.P. George B. Webster. Coons are very fond of fish and you might bait your trap with salt cod fish roasted to give it a strong smell. The sense of smell of a coon is very acute and it will rarely pass a trap dated with any preventer it can scent. Louie E. The song you require is not yet published but will probably be issued before long. I.H. Merkel Jr. Any letter sent to the care of Harper and Brothers will be forwarded. M.N.E.N. Early numbers of young people can be obtained on application to the publishers. F.A. Riggs and Ernest A.F. You must inquire at your post office for missing numbers. They have all been mailed to your address. Charles W.L. The best way to understand the construction of certain kinds of puzzles is to study the answers and puzzles together. You will find some answers given in this number which will help you. Golden, M.E.B. and others. We cannot print puzzles unless accompanied with full name and address as guaranteed that they are original. Correspondents will please pay attention to this as we have been compelled to reject some very pretty puzzles because they came without address. Never send old puzzles as some have done for they are worthless. Be very careful to give a clear and correct definition of words used in word squares, diamond puzzles, beheadings, acrostics and charades. One poor definition will spoil an otherwise excellent puzzle. Do not take a name little known like that of some western town to form an enigma for children in some other part of the country will find it difficult to solve. Favors are acknowledged from Bessie, Canada, Mary A. Tucker, Nebraska, H. Russell, P. Hamburg, Germany, Mary DeMott, Wisconsin, Allie A.J. Minnesota, ASK Missouri, Florence May, Michigan, Allie M. Washington Territory from Indiana, W.A. Burr, Allie W.F., H.I.Y. from Illinois, Harry Atkins, Helen and Hattie, from Ohio, Hazy H.P., Vincent J. Nolan, James W.R., from Pennsylvania, Fanny K. Amy F., from New York, George J.B., U.Wiler, Hattie Wagner, Anna L.A., May Thornton, Irvie Easton, Grace P., Charlie L., M.A.T., and F.V.B., Kentucky, Percy B.M., Massachusetts, Birdie, Washington, D.C., Harry Lovell, New Jersey. Correct answers to puzzles received from N.L. Colomer, Washington, D.C., Samuel J., West Virginia, Florence Dixon, Delaware, Sally Teal, Oregon, Ernest B. Cooper, Tennessee, Arthur P.S., Wisconsin, Dorsey Cote, Indiana, Albert W.J., Illinois, ESC, Michigan, from Ohio, Bell M., Nellie B., Fanny Barnett, B.M.E., from Pennsylvania, Little Marie, Laura B., W., Eddie H.K., Spot, Charles H.C., Minnie and Florence M., Charles W. Lisk, Clarissa H.H., from New York, Frank H. Dodd, F.W.P., O.G. Boyle, V.O., Allie D.D., George K., N., W.E. Baker, Colleen G., Gus A.S., Birdie Reed, J.E. Hardenburg, Nina Cromelin, Rosie McDonald, Alonso Stag, New Jersey, Daisy B.H., Maine, from Rhode Island, Ella W., F.H. Vaughn, M.W. Dam, Annie Baker, Richard E.Allen Cushing, Puzzles from Young Contributors. Number 1. Enigma. My first is in good, but not in bad. My second is in funny, but not in sad. My third is in sit, but not in stand. My fourth is in tune, but not in band. My fifth is in pan, but not in pot. My sixth is in clear, but not in musical instrument. Spot. Number 2. Diamond puzzle. A consonant. A vegetable. A South African animal. Tonning. A vowel. Spot, 12 years. Number 3. Enigma. My first is in feel, but not in see. My fifth is in friend, but not in foe. My fifth is in seek, but not in go. My sixth is in flower, but not in go. My seventh is in tin, but not in can. My eighth is in grain, and also in brand. My whole was the name of an eminent man. ESC, 12 years. Number 4. My sixth is a school boys game. My 14, 9, 8, 11, 13 is something most children like. My 17, 9, 18, 12 comes from the clouds. My 19, 15, 3, 1 is part of a church organ. My 2, 5, 4 is not cold. My 10, 16, 11 is a boys name. My 13, 7, 9, 19, 15 is used in making bread. My whole is the name of an interesting story for children. Nellie B, 7 years. Number 5, double acrostic. To seize, to regret, a tune. Close to, to endeavor. Answer, to great military commanders. NL columnar. Number 6, word square. First, a crack. Second, a rope. Third, soon. Fourth, departed. NL columnar. Answers to puzzles in number 11. Number 1, war. Ada. Raw. Number 2, street. Number 3, Washington. Number 4, Athens. Number 5, candle. Number 6, Nora. L. Web. Anna. Run. Newark, Albany. Number 7, no, I thank you. Number 8, Harper's young people. End of section 10. Section 11 of Harper's young people. Volume 1, issue 15. February 10, 1880. This is a LibraVox recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. Recording by Betty B. Thank you. Recording by Betty B. Harper's young people. Volume 1, issue 15. February 10, 1880. Advertisements. Harper's young people. Harper's young people will be issued every Tuesday and may be had at the following rates. Payable in advance, postage free. Single poppies, four cents. One subscription, one year, $1.50. Five subscriptions, one year, $7. Subscriptions may begin with any number. When no time is specified, it will be understood that the subscriber desires to commence with the number issued after the receipt of order. Remittances should be made by post office money order or draft to avoid risk of loss. Advertising. The extent and character of the circulation of Harper's young people will render it a first class medium for advertising. The first number of approved advertisements will be inserted on two inside pages at 75 cents per line. Address, Harper and Brothers, Franklin Square, New York. A liberal offer for 1880 only. Harper's young people and Harper's weekly will be sent to any address for one year, commencing with the first number of Harper's weekly for January 1880 on receipt of $5 for the two periodicals. Candy. Send one, two, three or five dollars for a sample box by express of the best candies in America. Put up elegantly and strictly pure. Refers to all Chicago. Address, CF Gunther, Confectioner, 78 Madison Street, Chicago. Wooden wedding presents ready made and to order. Scrollsaws, Designs and Wood at Little Tool Store 59 Fulton Street, New York City. Circulars free by mail. Six months for 10 cents on trial. The Puy's monthly miscellany, a large eight page newspaper, sample free, CG The Puy Syracuse New York. Old books for young readers. Arabian Nights Entertainments, The Thousand and One Nights or the Arabian Nights Entertainments, translated and arranged for family reading with explanatory notes by E. W. Lane. 600 Illustrations by Harvey. Two volumes, Duo Decimo, Cloth, $3.50. Robinson Crusoe, The Life and Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe of York, Mariner by Daniel Defoe with the Biographical Account of Defoe Illustrated by Adams Complete Edition, Duo Decimo, Cloth, $1.50. The Swiss Family Robinson The Swiss Family Robinson or Adventures of a Father and Mother and Four Sons on a Desert Island. Illustrated, Two volumes, Octo Decimo, Cloth, $1.50. The Swiss Family Robinson continued being a sequel to the foregoing. Two volumes, Octo Decimo, Cloth, $1.50. Sanford and Merton The History of Sanford and Merton by Thomas Day. Octo Decimo, Half Bound, $0.75. Published by Harper & Brothers New York. Sent by mail, postage prepaid through any part of the United States on receipt of the price. Mrs. Mortimer's Books for the Nursery Lines Left Out Lines Left Out or some of the histories left out in line upon line. The first part relates events in the times of the Patriarchs and the Judges. Illustrated by Mrs. Elizabeth Mortimer. Sexto Decimo, Cloth, $0.75. The volume is an attractive juvenile book, handsomely brought out, rendering Scripture incidents into pleasant paraphrases. Northwestern Christian Advocate Chicago. More About Jesus More About Jesus, Illustrations and a Map by Mrs. Elizabeth Mortimer. Desimo, Cloth, $0.75. It consists of a series of stories embracing the whole of the events in the life of our Blessed Lord, fold in a plain, simple style suited to the capacities of children of seven or eight years of age. But better still, all good children's books are good for adults and this will be found equally useful to put into the hands of very ignorant grown up people who may from this learn the story of man's redemption in an intelligent manner. Many of the lessons are illustrated with pictures of the places mentioned. Streaks of Light. Streaks of Light, or 52 facts from the Bible for 52 Sundays of the year. Illustrated by Mrs. Elizabeth Mortimer, Sexto Decimo, Cloth, $0.75. This little work says the author has received the distinguished honor of being appointed to be one of the class books of the Samoan Collegians and has been made to subserve the highest of all purposes, the preaching of the gospel. To that purpose it is adapted when the hearers are untaught, untrained and unreflecting. Each lesson can be understood by those who have no previous knowledge and each is calculated to be the first address to one who has never before heard of God or his Christ. Reading Without Tears. Reading Without Tears, or a pleasant mode of learning to read. Illustrated, Small Corto, Cloth by Mrs. Elizabeth Mortimer. Two parts, Part 1, 49 cents, Part 2, 62 cents. Complete in one volume, $1.03. An easy, simple and pleasant book for the tiny scholars of the nursery room. It contains a picture for every word of spelling capable of pictorial explanation. The reading lessons have been carefully selected, being composed of the preceding spelling lessons. By which means, together with the picture meanings, the words are easily impressed on the memory of a very young child. Athenaeum London. Published by Harper & Brothers, New York. Harper & Brothers will send any of the above works by mail, postage prepaid to any part of the United States on receipt of the price. Dew Shailu's Stories of Adventure in Africa. Stories of the Guerrilla Country by Paul B. Dew Shailu. Illustrated, Duo Desimo Cloth $1.50. It is a capital book for boys. The stories it contains are full of the kind of novelty, peril and adventure which are so fascinating. Spectator London. These stories are entertaining and are well told, and they are calculated to impart much knowledge of natural history to youthful readers. Boston Traveler. Wildlife Under the Equator by Paul B. Dew Shailu. Illustrated, Duo Desimo Cloth $1.50. The amount of enjoyment that was afforded to the children by the previous work of this author, Stories of the Guerrilla Country is beyond computation. We have read every word of wildlife under the equator with the liveliest interest and satisfaction. No ingenious youth of twelve in the land will find it more awfully jolly than did we. New York Evening Post. Lost in the Jungle by Paul B. Dew Shailu. Illustrated, Duo Desimo Cloth $1.50. Full of adventures with savage men and wild beasts shows how these strange people live, what they eat and drink, how they build and what they worship and will instruct as well as amuse. Boston Journal. A whole granary of information dressed up in such a form as to make it nutritious for young minds as well as attractive for youthful appetites. Philadelphia Ledger. My Apingi Kingdom with life in the great Sahara and sketches of the chase of the ostrich hyena etc. by Paul B. Dew Shailu. Illustrated, Duo Desimo $1.50. In this book, Mr. Dew Shailu relates the story of his sojourn in a Pingi land of which he was elected king by the kind-hearted and hospitable natives. We assure the reader that it is full of stirring incidents and exciting adventures. Many chapters are exceedingly humorous and others are quite instructive. The chapter for instance on the habits of the white and tree ants contains an interesting contribution to natural prosperity. New York Herald. The Country of the Dwarfs by Paul B. Dew Shailu Illustrated, Duo Desimo cloth $1.50. Hail to thee, Paul, thou hero of single-handed combats with gorillas and every imaginable beast that ever held through the deserts from the elephant to the kangaroo thou unscathed survivor of a thousand and one vicissitudes by fire, field thou glowing historian of thine own superlatively glorious deeds, thou writer of books that make the heirs of the children stand on every available end, thou proud king of the a Pingi savages of the equator. Hail, we say. Eudica Herald published by Harper and Brothers, New York sent by mail postage prepaid to any part of the United States on receipt of the price. Wiggles. Here are some of the answers to the Wiggles published in number 10 of Harper's Young People. So many were sent in that it was impossible to publish them all. And so our artists selected those that he considered the best. Those that he used were sent in by J.R.S., J.B.G., M.E., A.T. Jones, Paul, D.C. Gilmore, H. and B. and Burt W.S., several of whom sent a number of different figures. Others, and some of them very good, were sent in by W.B.B., Ethel M., S.A.W., Jr., John Petal, C.F., Nettie S.H., Willie H.S., Mabel M., E.H.S., Heady M. Ward, Phillip M., Aminio E.A., Willie H., H.W.P., J.L., Mary P., Archie H.L., C.B.F., R.S.M., W.A. Burr, Percy B.M., Paul B.T., E.S., C.F.C., Gracie C., Eva M., and Anita R.N. Figure number eight is what our artists made of the wiggle. And figure number nine is a new wiggle in two parts, which must be combined in one long-eared bat. A long-eared bat went to buy a hat, said the hatter, I've none that will do, unless with the shears I shorten your ears, which might be unpleasant to you. The long-eared bat was so mad at that he flew over lands and seas, till in Paris renowned for its fashions he found a hat that he wore with great ease. Another sagacious dog. A story was told of a sagacious newspaper dog. Having read this, a western editor sends the following story of his dog, in which he says, my dog is a beautiful Gordon setter, and has been so well-trained that while the carrier is delivering papers on one side of the street, Bob the dog delivers on the other. He receives his papers folded half a dozen at a time, and going to the first place they're all bundled down, and then picks it up, all but one, and so on, till they are all gone. End of section 11. End of Harper's Young People, volume 1, issue 15, February 10th, 1880.