Harper's Young People, June 22, 1880 online

. (page 1 of 4)
Online LibraryVariousHarper's Young People, June 22, 1880 → online text (page 1 of 4)
Font size
QR-code for this ebook

Produced by Annie McGuire

[Illustration: HARPER'S



* * * * *


Tuesday, June 22, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.

* * * * *





Baby, Bee, and Butterfly,
Underneath the summer sky.

Baby, bees, and birds together,
Happy in the pleasant weather;

Sunshine over all around,
In the sky, and on the ground;

Hiding, too, in Baby's eyes,
As he looks in mute surprise

At the sunbeams tumbling over
Merrily amid the clover,

Where the bees, at work all day,
Never find the time for play.

Happy little baby boy!
Tiny heart all full of joy;

Loving everything on earth,
As love welcomed him at birth;

Ever learning new delights,
Ever seeing pleasant sights;

Taking each day one step more
Than he ever took before.

Shine out, sunbeams, warm and bright,
Lengthen daytime, shorten night,

Till so wise he grows that he
Spells _baby_ with a _great big B_.



One hundred and twenty years ago there lived a plain, honest farmer in
the beautiful town of Woodstock, in the province of Connecticut, by the
name of Eaton. He belonged to the fine, intelligent New England stock,
and did his duty like a man in the state of life to which God had been
pleased to call him, working on his farm in summer, and teaching school
in winter; for he needed all he could earn to put bread in the mouths of
his thirteen children, who were taught early to help themselves, after
the fashion of their stalwart Anglo-Saxon forefathers. One of Farmer
Eaton's boys, named William, was born February 23, 1764, and was a
high-spirited, clever, reckless little chap, keeping his mother
continually in a state of anxiety on his account; indeed, if she had not
been so used to boys with their pranks and unlimited thirst for
adventures, I think Bill would have been the death of her, for she never
knew what he would be about next. For all his love of sport and out-door
amusement, the boy was so fond of reading that he nearly always managed
to conceal a book in his pocket when he went out to work in the fields
or woods, and often, when left alone, or when his companions stopped for
rest or meals, Bill would steal time to read. When his elders caught him
at it he would often get soundly scolded for not being better employed,
but the very next chance he would be at it again.

One Sunday, when he was ten years old, he was returning from church, and
passing a tree laden with tempting red cherries, climbed up in his usual
reckless fashion to help himself; but either the branch broke or he lost
his footing, for he fell to the ground with such violence that he
dislocated his shoulder, besides being so stunned that he lay senseless
for several days after he was picked up and carried home. The neighbors
came in to offer their services when they heard of the accident, for
though they no doubt shook their heads and remarked, "I told you so," "I
knew how it would be," they were, all the same, very kind to the poor
little chap who lay there, white and death-like, for so many long hours.

A neighbor, who was a tanner by trade, was sitting by his bed when at
last he opened his eyes. I suppose the tanner was glad enough to see the
boy come to life again; but all he said was, "Do you love cherries,

"Do you love _hides_?" spoke up Bill, as quick as a flash.

You see, he came to the full possession of his senses at once after his
long sleep, and wasn't going to let himself be taken at a disadvantage
by any tanner in the land.

When Eaton was twelve our country declared itself free and independent,
and all true patriots rose up to defend, by sword or whatever other
means was in their power, the sacred cause of liberty.

Our young friend Bill fairly burned with desire to go off and do
something great. His soul was on fire with patriotic ardor. How could he
stay quietly in Woodstock, and lead a humdrum life, when the soldiers of
the tyrant were threatening all the Americans held most dear? But his
friends at home did not encourage his practical patriotism. He was told
that he must stay at home, and work on the farm, and get ready for
college; the country would get on very well without him; and so he did
stay for four years, and the war seemed no nearer an end than ever. At
last one night he could stand it no longer; so he ran away, and joined
the nearest camp, where he enlisted. But the pride of the
sixteen-year-old boy received a blow: they made him servant to one of
the officers, and in this menial position he was obliged to stay. He
found that he was far from being his own master now. He behaved so well,
though, that he was placed in the ranks after a while, and in 1783 was
made a sergeant, and discharged.

He went home, and taught, to support himself, while he prepared for
college; for he had no father now to help him along. He entered
Dartmouth College, and graduated honorably, though he had lost five
years for study out of his young life. Not long after his graduation,
while he was teaching again, he was given a captain's commission in the
army for his service during the Revolution. A soldier's life suited his
bold character far better than the quiet occupation of country teacher.
Then he married, and went first west, then south, on military service,
and saw plenty of wild life, and made enemies as well as friends, for
the best of us can not expect to please everybody, and Captain Eaton had
too strong a character not to make some people, who did not think as he
did, very angry.

When he was about thirty-five years old, trouble rose between the United
States government and some of the countries of Africa, and the President
sent Eaton out to Tunis as consul. Tunis is one of the Moorish kingdoms
of Africa that border on the Mediterranean Sea, and were called "Barbary
States." The other Barbary States were Morocco, Algiers, and Tripoli.
For a long time these countries had been nests of pirates, who made
their living by preying on the commerce of Christian nations, and making
slaves of their seamen, so that the black flags of their ships were the
terror of the Mediterranean. These robbers had the daring to demand
tribute of European nations, which many of them paid annually for the
sake of not being molested, and lately they had tried to extort money
from the United States on the same plea. Eaton managed so cleverly and
successfully with the Bey, or ruler, of Tunis, that he made a very
satisfactory arrangement with him, and then returned home: but the other
agents did not manage so well, and at last war was declared, for the
United States had no idea of being cowed and threatened by these
pirates and murderers - far otherwise! The memory of her recent
successful struggle with the greatest nation of the earth was too fresh
to make it possible that an American ship should voluntarily lower its
flag before a Moorish marauder. But what we would not do voluntarily we
had to do by compulsion. The frigate _Philadelphia_, sailing in African
waters, under Captain Bainbridge, was captured by the Bey of Tripoli,
and towed into the harbor of that town. Her crew was carried off into
slavery by the pirates, some languishing in hopeless imprisonment,
others toiling their lives away under the burning sun of Africa.

Captain Decatur soon after sailed into the harbor in a vessel that he
had captured from the Tripolitans, and retook and burned the
_Philadelphia_; but, alas! hero as he was, he could not rescue his
unfortunate countrymen. A few months later, in 1805, Eaton was sent back
to the Barbary States as Naval Agent, and first stopped in Egypt. Here
he made up his mind that he would bend all his energies toward rescuing
the captives at Tripoli. He found that the rightful ruler of Tripoli,
named Hamet Caramelli, had been driven away from his dominions by his
brother Yusef, and was in Alexandria. Eaton offered to assist him to
recover his throne, and collected a little army of five hundred men,
most of them Mussulmans, a few Greek Christians, and nine Americans.
With these followers he and Hamet marched across the desert toward
Derne, in the kingdom of Tripoli. Eaton had not lost his boyish love of
adventure yet, you see. This was just one of the bold, daring
undertakings that he may have dreamed of in those early days when he
stole away from his work to read with eager delight stories of wild
venture and perilous escape in the peaceful shades of the forest around
Woodstock. Doubtless these desert marches now entered upon far exceeded
all his young imagination had pictured them.

It was a perilous journey, for the Arab sheiks and their followers, who
made up most of his army, sometimes behaved in a very mutinous manner,
and it took all Eaton's force of will and strict discipline to keep them
in any sort of order, for Hamet showed very little decision of
character, and proved that he was not very well fitted to be a ruler of

They were liable to be attacked by brigands from the mountains, too, so
that ceaseless vigilance was needed. Some friendly Arab bands joined
them on the road; so, when they reached Derne, Eaton found himself at
the head of quite an army. Here he was met by two American ships, and
with their help he bombarded the town, and took it by assault, driving
the wild Arabs who were defending it back to the mountains. Now Eaton
was in a situation to dictate his own terms to the usurper Yusef Bey,
since he had brought Hamet Caramelli triumphantly into his own city of
Derne, and had driven all enemies before him. He had laid his plans to
march on Tripoli, drive off the usurper, and deliver his poor captive
countrymen at the edge of the sword, when suddenly his successful career
was brought to an end in rather a mortifying way. Yusef, frightened out
of his defiance, consented to come to terms with Colonel Lear, American
Consul-General at Algiers. If Colonel Lear had not been too hasty in
concluding a treaty which forced the United States to pay sixty thousand
dollars ransom money, when not a cent should have been given, and left
the cruel Yusef safe on his throne, General Eaton might have marched on
Tripoli with his victorious army, restored Hamet, and let the captives
go in triumph.

Most people agreed that but for Eaton's promptness and bravery the
troubles might have lasted much longer; and when he returned to America,
soon after, he was received with great distinction by his countrymen,
who made him quite an ovation. The Massachusetts Legislature voted him
ten thousand acres of land in the district of Maine. The remainder of
his life was passed in his pleasant home at Brimfield, Massachusetts,
where he died June 1, 1811, at the age of forty-seven.

Aaron Burr tried to draw Eaton into his famous conspiracy, but Eaton was
a firm patriot, and refused with horror to play the traitor. Wishing to
make his true sentiments known, once for all, he gave this toast at a
public banquet, in Burr's presence: "The United States - palsy to the
brain that shall plot to dismember, and leprosy to the hand that will
not draw to defend our Union!"


A Story from the Japanese.


A good while ago there lived near the Clack-clack Mountains an old man
and his wife, who, having no child, made a great deal of a pet hare.
Every day the old man cut up food and set it out on a plate for his pet.

One day a badger came out of the forest, and in a trice drove away the
hare, and eating up his dinner, licked the plate clean. Then, standing
on his hind-legs, the badger blew out his belly until it was as round as
a bladder and tight as a drum, and beating on it with his paws to show
his victory, scampered off to the woods. But the old man, who was very
angry, caught the badger, and tying him by the legs, hung him up head
downward under the edges of the thatch in the shed where his old woman
pounded millet. He then strapped a wooden frame to hold fagots on his
back, and went out to the mountains to cut wood.

The badger, finding his legs pain him, began to cry, and begged the old
woman to untie him, promising to help her pound the millet. The tired
old dame, believing the sly beast, like a good-hearted soul laid down
her pestle and loosened the cords round the beast's legs. The badger was
so cramped at first that he could not stand; but when well able to move,
he seized a knife to kill the old woman. The hare, seeing this, ran away
to find the old man, if possible, and tell him. The badger, after
stabbing the old woman, crushed her to death by upsetting the bureau
upon her, and then threw her body into the mortar, and pounded her into
a jelly. Setting the pot on to boil, he made the woman's flesh into a
mess of soup, and ate all he could of it. Then the badger, by turning
three double somersaults, turned himself into an old woman, looking
exactly like the one he had just eaten. All being ready, he waited till
the husband came home tired and hungry.

Soon the old man came back, thinking of nothing more than the hot supper
he was soon to enjoy. Throwing down his fagots, he came into the house,
and while he warmed his hands at the hearth, his wife (as he supposed)
set the mess of soup and millet, with a slice of radish, before him on a
tray. He fell to, and ate heartily, his wife (as he supposed) waiting
dutifully near by till her lord was served. When the meal was finished
he pulled out a sheet of soft mulberry paper from his bosom and wiped
his old chops, smacking them well, as he thought what a good supper he
had so much enjoyed. Just then the badger took on his real shape, and
yelled out: "Old fool, you've eaten your own wife. Look in the drain,
and you'll find her bones." And he puffed out his body, beat it like a
drum, whisked his tail scornfully, and ran off.

Almost dead with grief and horror, the old man gathered up the bones of
his wife, and decently buried them. Then he made a vow to take revenge
on the badger. Just then the hare came back from the mountains, and
after condoling with the old man, said he would also take revenge on the


So the hare buckled on his belt, in which he kept his flint and steel,
and made ready a plaster of red peppers.

Going into the forest, he saw Mr. Badger walking home with a load of
fagots and brush on his back. Creeping up softly behind him, the hare
set the bundle on fire. The badger kept on, until he heard the crackling
of the burning twigs. Then he jumped wildly, and cried out, "Oh, I
wonder what that noise is!"

"Oh, this is the Clack-clack Mountain; it always is crackling here,"
said the hare, looking down from the top of the hill.

The fire grew more lively, and the badger became scared. He fell down,
and threw out his fore-paws wildly.


"Katchi-katchi" (clack-clack), went the dry fagots, as the red-hot coals
flew about.

"What can it be?" said Mr. Badger.

"This mountain is called Katchi-katchi (Clack-clack); don't you know
that?" said the hare, coolly standing on the bridge, and leaning on his

"Oh! oh! oh! help me!" howled the badger, as the blazing twigs began to
burn the hair off his back. And running through the woods to a stream
near by, he plunged in, and the fire was put out. But his running had
only increased the fire and burning, and his back was all raw. When the
hare found the badger at home in his house, he was howling in misery,
and expecting to die from his burn.

"Let me take a look at your burn, Mr. Badger," said the hare; "I have
some famous salve to cure it" - as he pretended to be very pitiful, and
held up a bowl of what seemed to be fine salve in one paw, while in the
other was a soft brush of fine hair. Then the hare clapped on the
red-pepper plaster, and ran away, while the badger rolled in pain.

By-and-by, when the badger got well, he went to see the hare, to have it
out with him. He found the hare building a boat. "Where are you going in
that boat?" said the badger.

"I'm going to the moon," said the hare. "Come along with me. There's
another boat."

So the badger, thinking to catch some fish by going on the water, got
into the boat, and both launched away.

Now the boat in which Mr. Badger rowed was made of clay, which soon
began to melt away in the water. Seeing this, the hare lifted his
paddle, and with one blow sunk the boat, and the badger was drowned.

The hare went back and told the old man, who was glad that his wife had
been revenged, and more than ever petted the hare to the end of his

[Begun in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 31, June 1.]




Some time in the middle of the night Joe Sharpe woke up from a dream
that he had fallen into the river, and could not get out. He thought
that he had caught hold of the supports of a bridge, and had drawn
himself partly out of the water, but that he had not strength enough to
drag his legs out, and that, on the contrary, he was slowly sinking
back. When he awoke he found that he was very cold, and that his blanket
felt particularly heavy. He put his hand down to move the blanket, when,
to his great surprise, he found that he was lying with his legs in a
pool of water.

Joe instantly shouted to the other boys, and told them to wake up, for
it was raining, and the tent was leaking. As each boy woke up he found
himself as wet as Joe, and at first all supposed that it was raining
heavily. They soon found, however, that no rain-drops were pattering on
the outside of the tent, and that the stars were shining through the
open nap.

"There's water in this tent," said Tom, with the air of having made a
grand discovery.

"If any of you fellows have been throwing water on me, it was a mean
trick," said Jim.

All at once an idea struck Harry. "Boys," he exclaimed, "it's the tide!
We've got to get out of this place mighty quick, or the tide will wash
the tent away."

The boys sprung up, and rushed out of the tent. They had gone to bed at
low tide, and as the tide rose it had gradually invaded the tent. The
boat was still safe, but the water had surrounded it, and in a very
short time would be deep enough to float it. The tide was still rising,
and it was evident that no time should be lost if the tent was to be

Two of the boys hurriedly seized the blankets and other articles which
were in the tent, and carried them on to the higher ground, while the
other two pulled up the pins, and dragged the tent out of reach of the
water. Then they pulled the boat farther up the beach, and having thus
made everything safe, had leisure to discover that they were miserably
cold, and that their clothes, from the waist down, were wet through.

Luckily, their spare clothing, which they had used for pillows, was
untouched by the water, so that they were able to put on dry shirts and
trousers. Their blankets, however, had been thoroughly soaked, and it
was too cold to think of sleeping without them. There was nothing to be
done but to build a fire, and sit around it until daylight. It was by no
means easy to collect fire-wood in the dark; and as soon as a boy
succeeded in getting an armful of driftwood, he usually stumbled and
fell down with it. There was not very much fun in this; but when the
fire finally blazed up, and its pleasant warmth conquered the cold night
air, the boys began to regain their spirits.

"I wonder what time it is?" said one.

Tom had a watch, but he had forgotten to wind it up for two or three
nights, and it had stopped at eight o'clock. The boys were quite sure,
however, that they could not have been asleep more than half an hour.

"It's about one o'clock," said Harry, presently.

"I don't believe it's more than nine," said Joe.

"We must have gone into the tent about an hour after sunset," continued
Harry, "and the sun sets between six and seven. It was low tide then,
and it's pretty near high tide now; and since the tide runs up for about
six hours, it must be somewhere between twelve and one."

"You're right," exclaimed Jim. "Look at the stars. That bright star over
there in the west was just rising when we went to bed."

"You ought to say 'turned in,'" said Joe. "Sailors never go to bed; they
always 'turn in.'"

"Well, we can't turn in any more to-night," replied Tom. "What do you
say, boys? suppose we have breakfast - it'll pass away the time, and we
can have another breakfast by-and-by."

Now that the boys thought of it, they began to feel hungry, for they had
had a very light supper. Everybody felt that hot coffee would be very
nice; so they all went to work, made coffee, fried a piece of ham, and,
with a few slices of bread, made a capital breakfast. They wrung out the
wet blankets and clothes, and hung them up by the fire to dry. Then they
had to collect more fire-wood; and gradually the faint light of the dawn
became visible before they really had time to find the task of waiting
for daylight tiresome.

They decided that it would not do to start with wet blankets, since they
could not dry them in the boat. They therefore continued to keep up a
brisk fire, and to watch the blankets closely, in order to see that they
did not get scorched. After a time the sun came out bright and hot, and
took the drying business in charge. The boys went into the river, and
had a nice long swim, and then spent some time in carefully packing
everything into the boat. By the time the blankets were dry, and they
were ready to start, the tide had fallen so low that the boat was high
and dry; and in spite of all their efforts they could not launch her
while she was loaded.

"We'll have to take all the things out of her," said Harry.

"It reminds me," remarked Joe, "of Robinson Crusoe that time he built
his big canoe, and then couldn't launch it."

"Robinson wasn't very sharp," said Jim. "Why didn't he make a set of
rollers, and put them on the boat?"

"Much good rollers would have been," replied Joe. "Wasn't there a hill
between the boat and the water? He couldn't roll a heavy boat up hill,
could he?"

"He could have made a couple of pulleys, and rigged a rope through them,
and then made a windlass, and put the rope round it," argued Jim.

"Yes, and he could have built a steam-engine and a railroad, and dragged
the boat down to the shore that way, just about as easy."

"He couldn't dig a canal, for he thought about that, and found it would
take too much work," said Jim.

"But we can," cried Harry. "If we just scoop out a little sand, we can
launch the boat with everything in her."


The boys liked the idea of a canal; and they each found a large shingle
on the beach, and began to dig. They dug for nearly an hour, but the
boat was no nearer being launched than when they began. Tom stopped
digging, and made a calculation. "It will take about two days of hard
work to dig a canal deep enough to float that boat. If you want to dig,
dig; I don't intend to do any more digging."

When the other boys considered the matter, they saw that Tom was right,
and they gave up the idea of making a canal. It was now about ten
o'clock, and they were rather tired and very hungry. A second breakfast
was agreed to be necessary, and once more the fire was built up and a
meal prepared. Then the boat was unloaded and launched, and the boys,
taking off their shoes and rolling up their trousers, waded in the water
and reloaded her. It was noon by the sun before they finally had
everything in order, and resumed their cruise.

There was no wind, and it was necessary to take to the oars. The
disadvantage of starting at so late an hour soon became painfully
evident. The sun was so nearly overhead that the heat was almost
unbearable, and there was not a particle of shade. The boys had not had
a full night's sleep, and had tired themselves before starting by trying
to dig a canal. Of course the labor of rowing in such circumstances was
very severe; and it was not long before first one and then another
proposed to go ashore and rest in the shade.

"Hadn't we better keep on till we get into the Highlands? We can do it
in a quarter of an hour," said Tom.

As Tom was pulling the stroke oar, and doing rather more work than any

1 3 4

Online LibraryVariousHarper's Young People, June 22, 1880 → online text (page 1 of 4)