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Produced by Annie McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S

YOUNG PEOPLE

AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]


* * * * *

VOL. I. - NO. 7. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS. NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.

Tuesday, December 16, 1879. Copyright, 1879, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.

* * * * *




[Illustration: "AIN'T THEY LOVELY? AND ARE THEY ALL REALLY YOURS?"]

ONE TOUCH OF NATURE.

BY MRS. W. J. HAYS,
AUTHOR OF "THE PRINCESS IDLEWAYS."


Mrs. Douglas was looking over her shopping list, and Lily Douglas was
looking over her mother's shoulder. The Christmas Charity Fair was so
soon to be held that Mrs. Douglas had a world of business to attend to,
for of course her table must be full of pretty things suitable for the
season. She was going out this morning to finish all her purchases, and
Lily had been promised a corner of the carriage if she would be as quiet
as she knew how to be, and not take cold. This was joyfully acceded to,
for with all the glories of the shops to look at, could she not be
still? and with her new velvet cloak and warm furs, how could she take
cold?

So she bounced into the brougham after her mother, and curled herself
into the smallest possible space, that there might be room for all the
packages. Such smiling brown eyes under sweeping lashes looked up at the
sky as she wished for snow, and so warm a little heart beat under the
velvet and furs as the brougham rolled down the street, that more than
one passer-by gave her smiles in return. They had not long been out when
the snow came indeed, as if just to oblige the little maiden; first in a
sulky, slow way, then taking a start as if it were in earnest, down came
the feathery flakes.

"Oh, mamma," she cried, "aren't you glad? Just look at the lovely,
lovely snow!"

"Yes," said mamma, abstractedly, reading off her list; "one dozen
decorated candles; three screens, gilt; six lace tidies; fifteen yards
blue ribbon; dolls - oh, Lily, I have forgotten the dolls, and I must
have them in time to dress them. Knock on the window, and tell Patrick
to turn down town again; but I am afraid the snow will be deep before we
can get home."

"So much the better, mamma," exclaimed Lily. "Oh, I _am_ so glad it has
come!"

Mamma smiled back at her little girl's radiant look, as she said, "What
will all the little poor children do?"

"Do?" answered Lily; "why, they will sweep the walks - look! there they
are now. What fun! I wish I had a broom, and a tin cup for pennies."

Mamma could have preached a little, but she refrained. She did not even
venture to call to Lily's notice the pinched and blue noses and the
chapped hands of the little army of sweepers which had so suddenly
appeared.

The brougham stopped at her signal, and Mrs. Douglas went into an
immense toy-shop, while Lily watched the movements of a little girl who
had attracted her. The child was thin and pale; an old ragged sacque was
her only outer garment, and the sleeves were so short that half her arms
were exposed; on her head was an old untrimmed straw hat; on her feet
shoes large enough for a woman; a faded bit of cotton cloth was twisted
about her neck; in her hand was a broom, made of a bundle of sticks,
such as street-sweepers use. She would make a hasty dash at the snow,
and then, as if struggling between duty and pleasure, would rush from
her sweeping to the shop window, and gaze with an eager and fascinated
intentness at the toys within. Lily looked at her until she became
tired; then, impatient of restraint, she jumped out of the carriage,
and went into the shop after her mother; but Mrs. Douglas was down at
the end of the counter, surrounded by people, and in front of Lily, near
the door, was a basket of dolls gazing up at her with bewitchingly
inviting glances. She began to name them - Jessie, Matilda, Clarissa,
Marguerite, Cleopatra - no, she concluded, she wouldn't have Cleopatra.
What should this other darling be named? - Rosamond.

"Do you think Rosamond a pretty name?" said a timid little voice near
her. It came from the girl she had watched from the carriage window.

"Well, not very," answered Lily; "but you see I have such a large family
that I don't know what to call them all. What name do you like best?"

"Oh, I like almost anything - something short and sweet for such
beauties. Ain't they lovely? and are they all really yours?"

"I'm playing they are mine, and that I keep an orphan asylum. Don't you
want to be a nurse?"

"Oh, if you'd let me! - but I'm too dirty."

"No matter for that. See how the darlings smile at you. I mean to ask
mamma to buy them all. See, I can get one in my muff: she goes in
beautifully."

"So she does; but I like the one that's asleep best. She's awful
cunning. Have they any teeth, and real hair?"

"They are just cutting their teeth, and that's the reason I want a good
nurse; they are so troublesome. They haven't much hair, just a little
bang under their caps."

"A little what?"

"Their hair is banged like mine - don't you see? - out short right across
their foreheads, so it don't come in their eyes: that is Charles the
First style - so my aunt Tilly says."

"Oh, how I wish I had just one doll!"

"Haven't you one?"

"No; she's worn out. She was only rags to begin with, and now she's
nothing, since Pete Smith tossed her in the mud-puddle."

"That was just as hateful as it could be."

"Yes. I cried all night - more than I did when father died, because, you
see, he never did nothing but tell me to get out of the way, and go and
earn money for him to spend in drink. But my dolly used to love me, and
I loved her, and I always had her with me at night, and I told her
stories, and played she was a queen."

"A queen! how funny!"

"I don't think so. Every ribbon I could get I dressed her in it, and
once I found some beads which looked just like the things you see at the
jewellers', and I put them on her, and she was grand; but Pete Smith
took them off when he chucked her into the mud, and now she's good for
nothing."

"Little girl, what are you doing here?" suddenly said a stern voice, and
Lily's acquaintance shot like an arrow from a bow, and began plying
vigorously her broom. Mrs. Douglas, too, came up at that moment, and
pricing the dolls, ordered them to be sent to her.

"Mamma," said Lily, softly, "may I have just this one?" - showing her
muff, into which she had stuffed the coveted article.

"Lily dear, you don't want any more dolls, surely."

"Yes, mamma, just this one."

"Well, take it, child, though I really think it is foolish, when you
have so many."

Mrs. Douglas got into her carriage again, and Lily jumped in too. The
little sweeper looked wistfully after them; but the snow was becoming
more and more in the way of pedestrians, and she had to work hard to
clear the crossing.

A few days after this the Fair was opened, and Mrs. Douglas, at Lily's
request, placed the basket of dolls, which now were glittering in pink
and blue gauze, in the very centre of her table. Every day Lily went
with her mother to the Fair, but never without the one doll, her
mother's latest gift, in her arms. Out of all her stock of clothing she
had dressed it in the very prettiest little frock she could find, and
wrapped it in a merino cloak. It was noticed that whenever she was in
the street she seemed to be looking for some one, and every time the
carriage went down town Lily insisted upon going too.

One morning, to her aunt Tilly's surprise, as they rolled through the
still snow-covered streets, Lily shrieked out, "Oh, there she is! there
she is! Please, Aunt Tilly, let me get out."

Her aunt being good-natured, and supposing that the child saw one of her
companions, stopped the brougham, and away Lily ran. To the aunt's
horror, she saw Lily rush up to a dirty poor little creature sweeping
the crossing. Taking the doll she so faithfully carried every day out of
her arms, she put it in the little street-sweeper's ready embrace with a
most affectionate manner.

"There," she said, "I have been watching for you every day, and I have
dressed this dear thing all for you; and don't you let Pete Smith throw
_her_ in the mud-puddle."

The little sweeper gazed at her as if she were an angel of light, hardly
daring to touch the infant beauty committed to her care.

"And now," said Lily, dragging the girl up to the carriage door, for the
child was abashed and reluctant, "you shall come to the Fair, and see
our other beauties: come. _Please_ let her, Aunt Tilly; she never has
seen anything so lovely before."

How could Aunt Tilly refuse? Side by side with the velvet and furs were
the poor tattered garments of the little sweeper. Side by side were the
two child faces, one so rosy and radiant, the other so pale and
care-worn; and the brougham rolled them both to the Fair.

Exultingly Lily took the child up to her mother's table, proudly
pointing out all its wonderful wealth; but when they both bent over the
basket of dolls that they had played with at the shop door that wintry
morning, and both little pairs of eyes sparkled to behold the increased
beauty of their charms, they forgot everything else, and touchingly
discussed the merits of each dear doll as if they had been two little
mothers in a nursery.

A passer-by said to Mrs. Douglas, as he noticed the contrast in the
children's appearance, "'One touch of nature makes the whole world
kin.'"

"Yes," nodded Mrs. Douglas, in reply; and she resolved that Lily's
little acquaintance should have not only a doll, but plenty of good warm
clothing, and herself for a friend.




THE POCKET BLOW-PIPE.

BY WILLIAM BLAIKIE,
AUTHOR OF "HOW TO GET STRONG, AND HOW TO STAY SO."


Stand erect, with the chin turned a little up. Draw through the nose all
the air you can, till your chest is brimful. Now place in the mouth a
piece of clay pipe stem, say an inch long, and blow through it as long
and hard as you can, as if you were trying to blow out a flame.

Well, what does this do? Try a few whiffs, and see. If not used to it,
at first it may make you feel dull, perhaps dizzy. But this soon wears
off, and you find that a few minutes of this lung-filling now and then
through the day is working wonders. The chest seems to be actually
growing larger; and it really is, for you are stretching out every
corner of it. But the heart and stomach - indeed, about all the vital
organs - feel the new pressure, and better digestion, brisker
circulation, and a warmer and very comfortable feeling over the whole
body are among the results. M - - , an oil-broker in New York, says that
at thirty-six he had a weak voice, stood slouched over and inerect, was
troubled with catarrh, and knew too well what it was to have the stomach
and bowels work imperfectly. Most people can not inflate the chest so as
to increase its girth over two inches. By steady practice at his little
pipe, he in about a year got so that he could inflate five whole inches.
But now his chest is noticeably round and full, and he is as straight a
man as any in a dozen. His weak voice has gone; indeed, he says he has
the strongest voice of any in a choir in which he now sings. The catarrh
has left, while his stomach is simply doing nobly. The fuller veins in
his hands and the swifter reaction when he bathes tell that his
circulation is also stronger and quicker than formerly, while he has a
general health and buoyancy to which he had long been a stranger. These
are surely wonderful changes in a man of his age, and in that brief
time, and each change is plainly for the better. Not only do his friends
remark it, but he delights in telling all who will listen. A lady
friend, following his example, found her angular shoulders and
indifferent chest fast improving in a way most gratifying. A friend, at
our suggestion - one of the fastest half-mile runners in America,
by-the-way - tried the pipe. In five weeks of faithful practice he so
enlarged his chest that when his lungs were full he could scarcely
button his vest. He says that in severe running he finds his throat and
bronchial tubes do not tire as easily as before, but are tough and equal
to their work, and so help him to more sustained effort.

Though all the results of this deep breathing are not known, it can
hardly fail to bring great good to many of us in-door people, who most
of the day never half fill our lungs, and at all events it is very easy
to try. Any ivory-worker will for a dime turn you a pipe of bone or
ivory an inch long, three-eighths thick, and with a hole through it a
sixteenth of an inch in diameter, with the sides fluted so that your
teeth may hold it, and prevent you from swallowing it. This, too, can be
readily carried in the pocket. Try it.




[Begun in No. 1 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, Nov. 4.]

THE BRAVE SWISS BOY.

_VI. - ON THE TRACK._


The night passed slowly away. Just as Sol was pouring his earliest
morning rays into the little room where Walter had lain unconsciously
for so many hours, the sleeper awoke, rubbed his eyes, and called aloud
for his companion, but, to his surprise, received no answer. He was
astonished to find that he had gone to bed without taking off his
clothes, but he suspected nothing until he saw that Seppi was not in the
room, and at the same moment missed the belt from his waist and the
papers from his pockets. When the whole extent of the calamity flashed
upon him, he felt completely overwhelmed. A cold perspiration started to
his face; he trembled in every limb, and but for the support of the bed,
would have fallen on the floor. "Merciful powers!" he exclaimed, when he
recovered his speech, "can it be possible that Seppi has robbed me and
gone?"

He rushed to the door, which he found was locked. After kicking at it
with great violence for some time, he aroused the attention of André,
who came up, and, after opening the door, demanded the reason of such
behavior.

"Where is Seppi?" exclaimed Walter, paying no heed to his inquiries.
"Tell me instantly what has become of him."

"How should I know?" was the rough reply. "He left the inn before
daybreak."

Walter's fears were fully confirmed. He sank into a chair, and gave way
to an outburst of indignation.

"Don't trouble yourself about being left alone," said André; "your
friend told me last night that he would be sure to return to-morrow, and
has given me orders to let you have everything you ask for."

"You've seen the last of him," returned the youth. "He has robbed me,
and has got safe away by this time. But I won't rest till I have hunted
him down; and woe to him then!"

He rushed to the door to carry out his purpose; but André stopped him.
"Oho, my fine fellow, that's what you're up to," said he. "I see now
that your friend was right when he told me that you were not quite right
in the upper story. You will please stay quietly here till to-morrow
morning, and then you can make it all right with him yourself. You
sha'n't stir out of this room till he comes back, so make up your mind
for it."

With these words the fellow quietly turned on his heel and left the
room, and having locked the door, went down stairs again without paying
further regard to Walter's indignant remonstrances.

There being no possibility of escape by the door, Walter ran to the
window, and looking out, saw that the window-sill was scarcely twenty
feet from the ground, and that no one was visible outside. His plans
were quickly formed. Tying the sheets together, he fastened one end to
the window-frame, and lowered himself to the ground. But a new
difficulty presented itself. Which direction should he take? While he
thus stood for an instant in doubt, he heard a shout from the window
overhead, and looking up, beheld André, who by this time had brought his
breakfast.

"What game is this you're up to?" exclaimed the unwelcome custodian.
"Stir a foot from there till I come, and it will be the worse for you."

Paying no heed to this threat, Walter ran at the top of his speed toward
the main road, and would perhaps have made good his escape had not a
broad ditch barred his way, which he was in the act of crossing, when he
slipped, and was overtaken by André, who, after a struggle, managed to
secure his charge.

"I've got you again, my boy!" said his captor, triumphantly. "You might
as well have paid attention to what I told you, for now you must march
back again, and take up your quarters in the cellar, instead of having a
comfortable room. I'll warrant you'll not get away again in a hurry."

The unfortunate youth, half stunned with the events of the morning, and
considerably bruised with the fall, was overpowered by the superior
strength of his pursuer, and had to resign himself quietly to his fate.
They had just got back to the inn, and were in the act of entering, when
the sound of wheels was heard; and on looking back, a post-chaise with
four horses was seen rapidly approaching the inn.

The carriage was open, and two young men reclined upon the soft
cushions, while a handsome dog lay upon the front seat, and looked up
with an intelligent glance at one of the gentlemen, who seemed to be its
master.

"Let us have some refreshment," said the gentleman to André, who was
somewhat taken aback by the unexpected arrival of travellers at that
early hour. "Look sharp, my man! We must be in Paris in an hour, and
have no time to lose."

Forgetting his prisoner, André hurried in to make the necessary
preparations, while Walter, pale and breathless, leaned against the side
of the door.

"Mr. Seymour!" he suddenly exclaimed, on beholding one of the
travellers. "Mr. Seymour! Pray assist me."

The stranger leaped from the carriage and hastened toward the unhappy
youth.

"Can I believe my eyes? - Watty!" he exclaimed - "Watty, from the Bernese
Oberland! Look here, Lafond; this is the boy that got me the young
vultures from the Engelhorn, the narrative of whose courage you admired
so much. But what are you doing here, my boy? And what is the meaning of
all this distress?"

"I have been robbed of a large sum of money here, and the thief has
escaped with it. I was going in pursuit of him - "

"Don't believe a word of what he says, Sir," interrupted André, who at
that moment issued from the inn. "The poor fellow is not right in his
mind. His companion told me so, and I am going to take care of him till
he comes back. He'll be here to-morrow."

"Fool!" exclaimed Mr. Seymour, angrily, "this young man is an old
acquaintance of mine. Don't you dare to lay hands on him, or you shall
suffer for it! And now, Walter, tell me the whole story as quickly as
you can."

The young man related all that had happened since his arrival in Paris.

"It's a bad affair, my good fellow," said Mr. Seymour, shaking his head
and shrugging his shoulders thoughtfully. "Your companion has most
likely travelled all night, and it will be hard work to find out which
way he has gone. But never mind; we must try what can be done. Come with
us to Paris, and I will get the police to make instant search for the
thief. But in the first place," he continued, turning to André, who
looked on in sullen astonishment, "let us have something to eat; and
then we'll be off to Paris, where the scoundrel is most likely hiding
himself."

Mr. Seymour's companion, a pale and delicate-looking man, had listened
in silence to all that had passed, but while they were partaking of the
refreshment that had been hastily prepared, he joined in the
conversation.

"My dear Seymour," said he, "I think I know a better plan to get on the
track of this swindler than if we had the help of all the policemen of
Paris."

"Name it," returned his friend.

"Well, you know the St. Bernard dogs are the best in the world for
following up a scent; and as Hector is a capital specimen of the breed,
I think we can not do better than set him on the track."

"But the dog doesn't know him, so how can he trace him?"

"The fellow has perhaps left something behind him in his hurry; if so,
then let Hector get his nose to it, and I'll wager anything that he'll
follow him up even if he is fifty miles off."

"That's a capital idea," assented Mr. Seymour, delighted at the prospect
of serving his young friend. "Hector knows that we're speaking about
him. See how knowing he looks! Run, Walter, and see if your precious
companion has left anything behind him."

Accompanied by André, who began to perceive that Seppi had cheated him,
Walter sped up stairs to the room in which he had slept, and soon
returned in triumph.

"He has left some of his clothes," exclaimed the now excited youth.
"They are worthless things; and certainly no loss to him, after getting
possession of all that money."

"Not so worthless after all," signified Mr. Seymour. "Who knows but we
may find this bundle worth fifty thousand francs to you, Walter, or
rather to Mr. Frieshardt? Lay it down here. Now then, Hector, take a
good sniff."

The hound jumped from the carriage, smelled the bundle all round, then
looked up at his master in an intelligent way, and gave a short deep
bark.

"Hector will be on the track immediately," was the assurance given by
Mr. Lafond. "Find - lost - find, my fine fellow!" he exclaimed.

The animal thoroughly understood its master's wish, and ran round the
inn with its nose close to the ground. Suddenly it came to a stand,
looked back, and gave another short bark, as if to say, "Here!"

"Bravo, Hector!" exclaimed both the gentlemen, in delight. "Come and
smell again. Good dog!"

The dog sniffed the bundle once more, and after making another detour of
the inn, stood still at the old spot.

"He has got the scent now, without a doubt," said the stranger. "Keep up
your heart, young man, and we'll get the money out of this scoundrel's
clutches just as certain as you got the birds from the Engelhorn for my
friend. Jump into the carriage. Follow the dog, postilion. Off with
you!"

The pursuit continued rapidly. The sharp-scented hound never showed the
least doubt or wandering. On a few occasions it turned off into by-paths
to the right or left, but always returned in a few seconds to the main
road that led to Havre.

The horses were changed two or three times, but the dog seemed as fresh
as when the pursuit commenced. It was growing late in the afternoon; but
although Hector continued to hold on as before, Mr. Lafond shook his
head, and began to doubt whether they were on the right track after all.

The two friends made a careful calculation of the time and distance, and
Mr. Seymour also began to feel rather anxious. He stopped the carriage,
called the dog back, and made him smell Seppi's bundle again, which they
had taken care to bring with them. The dog gave the same short sharp
bark as before, then turned round again, and continued the journey in
the old direction.

"I haven't the least doubt now," said Mr. Seymour, cheerfully. "We must
be on the right track. Go on, postilion!"

After the lapse of half an hour the dog stopped suddenly, threw its head
up in the air, and sniffed all around in evident confusion; then, after
making a slight detour with anxious speed, leaped across the ditch by
the road-side. With a loud bark that seemed to express satisfaction, the
intelligent creature made for a small clump of bushes at a little
distance from the road, into which it disappeared. In the course of a
minute or two the barking was renewed, but this time in a threatening
tone.

"We've got him!" exclaimed Mr. Seymour. "There's no doubt the fellow
found he could get no farther, and has taken up his quarters in the
cover yonder, to make up for the sleep he lost last night."

"Let us go over there, then," said his companion, leaping from the
carriage and across the ditch. "Hector is calling us, and is sure to be
right."

[Illustration: "PINNED TO THE EARTH BY THE SAGACIOUS ANIMAL."]

Mr. Seymour leaped the ditch, followed by Walter and one of the two
postilions. Guided by the barking of the dog, they soon reached the
thicket, and there found the man they were in quest of, pinned to the
earth by the sagacious animal.

"Oh, Seppi! Seppi!" exclaimed Walter, in astonishment and sorrow, "how
could you be guilty of such an act as this!"

The conscience-stricken man paled before the indignant youth.

"I will give you back everything, and beg your pardon for all I've
done," whined the wretched drover, "if you will only release me from
this savage brute that has nearly been the death of me."

At the call of his master the dog quitted his hold, and Seppi handed


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Online LibraryVariousHarper's Young People, December 16, 1879 → online text (page 1 of 3)