  ON THE TRACK. ON THE TRACK. A butterfly lived like a princess in a green and golden wood, guarded day and night by the trees; but as there was never a butterfly yet that did not prefer sunshine to safety, she came fluttering out one morning, and after dazzling all the flowers in the neighborhood, spread her wings for a long flight. There was no one to warn her of the dangers abroad, so when she came to the railroad track she just settled upon it, with no more fear than if it were a twig. An ugly brown worm that had been sunning himself on a sleeper crept up to her. "You are in a dreadfully dangerous place," he groaned. "Why?" asked the little rainbow, not a bit scared. "There is a great monster coming soon. He crushes everything he meets; he has no heart; his bones are made of iron." "How funny!" exclaimed the butterfly. "See how dark the sky is getting; he will soon be here," went on the worm, solemnly. "Oh, pshaw! it's only a shower coming up," said the butterfly, stretching her wings. "No, it is the monster; don't you feel the ground shake? The storm is coming, but the monster is coming too. Get into this hole under the track; I beg you, I entreat you, get into this hole and be saved." "Nonsense!" laughed the butterfly. The rail was trembling, and in the distance a strange wild shriek was heard, a great puff of smoke went rolling up to the sky. "Quick! quick!" implored the worm. "Do as I do, or you will be killed. There is no time to lose." But the only answer he got was a laugh. The monster was getting nearer and nearer, and the worm, with one more vain petition to the butterfly to follow him, squirmed into a crevice under the rail. On came the monster, its great iron limbs pounding back and forth. A rattle, a shriek, a puff of smoke: he had come and gone. The worm—where was he? Limp and dead in his little hole under the rail. And the butterfly—the poor beautiful butterfly? Oh, she had simply flown away. New York City. In a short paper entitled "The Paradise of Insects," in Young People No. 10, some interesting facts are told of small sand-flies, called sancudos, which abound on the Upper Amazons and other swampy localities of South and Central America. Boys will like to know the origin of their name. Stilts are called zancos in Spanish, and these flies, a species of mosquito, are called sancudos—more properly spelled zancudos—on account of their very long, slender legs and disproportionately small bodies, which remind one of a very small boy on very high stilts. Flies on stilts is a funny idea, but not more funny than the appearance of these troublesome little insects. Rodrigo. I am a little girl twelve years old, and live at Fort Supply, Indian Territory. My father is a captain in the Twenty-third Infantry. We live in huts made of logs, and the cracks filled with mud to keep out the cold, and the inside lined with canvas. We have frequent visits from the Indians. Not long ago a party of about fifty Indians were here, some of whom were on the war-path last fall. We have a school, and about sixteen scholars. If it were not for school I should be very lonesome, as I have only one playmate. There are plenty of children here, but they are all too small to play with. I take Young People, and it is a great addition to my small fund of amusements. Grace W. Henton. Putnam, Connecticut. Dear "Young People."—I thought when you made your first appearance that you were as pretty and interesting as possible, but when you arrived in your new dress, looking so fresh and bright, wishing us a "Merry Christmas," I was still more delighted with you. I hope the number of your subscribers will grow as fast as you have, you are such a dear little paper. Anna C.B. The two following letters are from very young readers, who wrote in big capitals with their own little hands: New York City. I am so glad you have published Young People. I am five years old. I have a little kitten, and my papa says it will soon be a cat. I wish it wouldn't. Jimmie B. Stockport, New York. I thought I would drop you a line or two about the Young People and the "Wiggles," and I will. I send you what I make of the last number of the "Wiggles," and I like the new paper. So good-by. From Robbie Reynolds (six years). Here are two more little folks, who employ an amanuensis: Belmont. I thought I would write you a letter to let you know how I like Young People. Grandpa takes it for me. I am only eight and a half years old. Grandpa is going to copy this, as I can not write very well. Edgar. E. Hyde. New York City. I am only five years old, and can not read or write yet, but my nurse reads me the stories in Young People every week, and I like them very much, and the pictures and the letters; and papa says I ought to send you a letter, and tell you how much I like it. So does my little sister Lulu, and she is only three years old, and I have got a little brother only three weeks old, but he hasn't any name yet. I told papa I would send a letter, but I could not write it, and he said it would be fair if Nurse Belle would write, only I must tell her what to put in—I and nobody else—and so I did it. Lizzie F. Lansing, Michigan. A few days ago I was walking with a friend when we saw a rabbit in the road. We ran to catch it, but could not, for it ran too. Suddenly it stopped. My friend whistled, and then it ran right up to her, and we caught it. I suppose that rabbits like music. Laura B. Newton, New Hampshire. I am going to tell you about a butterfly my brother Willie brought in from the woods this winter. It flew about the rooms for a few days, till one morning he seemed almost dead. Mamma took him to the door, and he flew away up over our barn and some great tall pine-trees. I am ten years old this winter. L. Mabel Marston. What color were the butterfly's wings, and how large was it? Hoboken, New Jersey. I once had a pet rabbit. He was gray and white, and I named him Mac, after papa. Once I gave him a peach, and another rabbit ran away with it; then he stood up on his hind-legs and begged for another. Harry F. George D.B. and Cora B.E., both of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, also write of pet rabbits, and Spitz and Newfoundland dogs. New York City. I have a chicken that I hatched out by putting the egg in ashes. While I am writing this letter it is sitting on my hand. When I call it, it comes to me. I have also four white mice, which are as tame as the chicken. I did have a squirrel, but it died. I wish you would tell me how to feed my mice. Joseph P. White mice will eat nuts of all kinds, canary-seed, and various other grains. They will also nibble bread and cake. They must have plenty of water, and like a little milk now and then. They should be given a soft, warm nest of dry moss or of flannel. J.G.D.—In all rooms where meal is kept, the worms generally breed much faster than they are wanted. The meal-moth is very pretty. Its fore-wings are light brown, with a dark chocolate-brown spot on the base and tip of each. It is often to be seen clinging to the ceiling of kitchen or store-room, with its tail curved over its back. This moth deposits its eggs in the meal, and in a short time the worm is hatched, which soon forms itself into a cocoon, from which the moth again comes forth. You may find this worm crawling in old flour barrels or some box in which meal has been kept; and if you keep a box of meal standing open in some warm place, the moth will be very likely to find it, especially in the summer-time, and use it as a deposit for her eggs. Meanwhile you can feed your mocking-birds on meal and milk, mixed now and then with very fine chopped raw beef and with bits of fruit. You can also buy prepared food for them. Be sure to give them plenty of clean gravel in the bottom of the cage. "Subscriber," Moline, Illinois.—Hephaistos is the correct Greek spelling of Vulcan's name, but HephÆstos is the accepted English spelling of the word. Either is correct.—The translation of Don Quixote has become such a standard English work that the ordinary English pronunciation of the name is allowable. In Spanish it is pronounced Ke-ho-tay, with a slight accent on the second syllable. Favors are acknowledged from Belle R., Tennessee; Willie D.V., Indiana; Robbie B.H., St. John, New Brunswick; Alpha T.E., Pennsylvania; from Illinois—Mamie Ripley, Tommy C.H., Edith Patterson, Joseph K.; from Massachusetts—Kennie Norwood, L. Tyler P., Stanley K.H., Harry B., F.U.T.; from Ohio—Lulie H., Oscar B., Willie Gordon, Ralph M.F., Hattie Mitchell; from Michigan—Nellie M.C., L.A. Waldron, Edward D.E.; from New York—Fred L. Colwell, A.M. Tucker, D.C. Gilmore; Eddie R. Derwart, Toronto, Canada. Correct answers to puzzles received from Walter S. Dodge, Washington, D.C.; Merton L.T., Massachusetts; James A.S., Connecticut; Sallie V.B., Nebraska; L.A.W., Canada; Harry Lewis, Kentucky; C.M.J., Ohio; from Pennsylvania—R.O. Lowry, George N. Hayward, Walter Lowry, Chester B.F., Florence M.; from New Jersey—K.H. Talbot, Otto M. Rau; from California—Violet A. Francis, F.T. Swett; from New York—H.G.S., Florence, Main, Perkins S., G.A. Page, Van Rensselaer, Etta R., Etha F. Smith, "Oats," Nellie H., B.F.W., F.N. Dodd. |
|
