Part 2 — THE OLD, OLD STORY.

BY JIMMY BROWN.

We've had a most awful time in our house. There have been ever so many robberies in town, and everybody has been almost afraid to go to bed.

The robbers broke into old Dr. Smith's house one night. Dr. Smith is one of those doctors that don't give any medicine except cold water, and he heard the robbers, and came down-stairs in his nigown, with a big umbrella in his hand, and said, "If you don't leave this minute, I'll shoot you." And the robbers they said, "Oho! that umbrella isn't loaded;" and they took him and tied his hands and feet, and put a mustard plaster over his mouth, so that he couldn't yell, and then they filled the wash-tub with water, and made him sit down in it, and told him that now he'd know how it was himself, and went away and left him, and he nearly froze to death before morning.

Father wasn't a bit afraid of the robbers, but he said he'd fix something so that he would wake up if they got in the house. So he put a coal-scuttle full of coal about half-way up the stairs, and tied a string across the upper hall just at the head of the stairs. He said that if a robber tried to come upstairs, he would upset the coal-scuttle, and make a tremendous noise, and that if he did happen not to upset it, he would certainly fall over the string at the top of the stairs. He told us that if we heard the coal-scuttle go off in the night, Sue and mother and I were to open the windows and scream, while he got up and shot the robber.

The first might, after father had fixed everything nicely for the robbers, he went to bed, and then mother told him that she had forgotten to lock the back door. So father he said, "Why can't women sometimes remember something," and he got up and started to go down-stairs in the dark. He forgot all about the string, and fell over it with an awful crash, and then began to fall down-stairs. When he got half-way down, he met the coal-scuttle, and that went down the rest of the way with him, and you never in your life heard anything like the noise the two of them made. We opened our windows, and cried murder and fire and thieves, and some men that were going by rushed in and picked father up, and would have taken him off to jail, he was that dreadfully black, if I hadn't told them who he was.

But this was not the awful time that I mentioned when I began to write, and if I don't begin to tell you about it, I sha'n't have any room left on my paper. Mother gave a dinner party last Thursday. There were ten ladies and twelve gentlemen, and one of them was that dreadful Mr. Martin with the cork leg, and other improvements, as Mr. Travers calls them. Mother told me not to let her see me in the dining-room, or she'd let me know; and I meant to mind, only I forgot, and went into the dining-room, just to look at the table, a few minutes before dinner.

I was looking at the raw oysters, when Jane—that's the girl that waits on the table—said, "Run, Master Jimmy; here's your mother coming." Now I hadn't time enough to run, so I just dived under the table, and thought I'd stay there for a minute or two, until mother went out of the room again.

It wasn't only mother that came in, but the whole company, and they sat down to dinner without giving me any chance to get out. I tell you, it was a dreadful situation. I had only room enough to sit still, and nearly every time I moved I hit somebody's foot. Once I tried to turn around, and while I was doing it I hit my head against the table so hard that I thought I had upset something, and was sure that people would know I was there. But fortunately everybody thought that somebody else had joggled, so I escaped for that time.

It was awfully tiresome waiting for those people to get through dinner. It seemed as if they could never eat enough, and when they were not eating, they were all talking at once. It taught me a lesson against gluttony, and nobody will ever find me sitting for hours and hours at the dinner table. Finally I made up my mind that I must have some amusement, and as Mr. Martin's cork leg was close by me, I thought I would have some fun with that.

There was a big darning-needle in my pocket, that I kept there in case I should want to use it for anything. I happened to think that Mr. Martin couldn't feel anything that was done to his cork leg, and that it would be great fun to drive the darning-needle into it, and leave the end sticking out, so that people who didn't know that his leg was cork would see it, and think that he was suffering dreadfully, only he didn't know it. So I got out the needle, and jammed it into his leg with both hands, so that it would go in good and deep.

"WASN'T THERE A CIRCUS IN THAT DINING-ROOM!"

Mr. Martin gave a yell that made my hair run cold, and sprang up, and nearly upset the table, and fell over his chair backward, and wasn't there a circus in that dining-room! I had made a mistake about the leg, and run the needle into his real one.

I was dragged out from under the table, and— But I needn't say what happened to me after that. It was "the old, old story," as Sue says when she sings a foolish song about getting up at five o'clock in the morning—as if she'd ever been awake at that time in her whole life!

"CHERRIES ARE RIPE."

Three cheers for the Fourth of July! What American boy does not love it? Where is the little girl who is not glad when it arrives? We hope you will all have a splendid time on the happy holiday, meet with no accidents, and when night comes, go to bed, to enjoy pleasant dreams.

Vacation has come to many of you by this time. You have said good-by to school and teachers, and have laid aside lessons and slates for a while. Be out-doors all you can in these bright summer days, and lay in a good stock of health for future use when the play spell is over.

We think you will all be pleased with the feast Our Post-office Box gives you in this Fourth-of-July number.

Orworth, Kansas.

Have you ever seen a Kansas dug-out? If you have not, I will write you a description of one. In the first place, a hole is dug in the ground four or five feet deep, and walled up with limestone or sandstone about six feet high, and covered with a dirt roof. They make these dirt roofs by putting a log lengthwise of the building, and laying poles crosswise; then they cover the poles with sunflowers, and place hay next, and on top of that usually a foot or more of dirt. They usually have earth floors, and sometimes there isn't a solitary window. I have seen dug-outs built of sod. Wouldn't you like to live in such a house, where it is a common thing for mice to tumble into the water bucket? The Wiggle I send is a picture of the dug-out we used to live in when we first came here. Will you please give it to the Wiggle master?

We had a beautiful sunset not very long ago. It was grand. It had been raining, and it slacked up as the sun was going down. Off in the north-west there were some very black clouds; one of them looked like a whale's back, another like a volcano in action. In a few minutes they changed shape, and the best idea I can give of them is a lot of giants contending together. The clouds seemed to come clear to the ground. Papa said he never saw anything like it before. The most beautiful of all was the rainbow. There was at first a perfect arch, with rays of glory coming from the centre. In a few minutes there was a reflected rainbow. All the time that the rainbows lasted there was a very peculiar light, which I can't describe.

Papa and I are alone here, and I have to do the cooking. We will begin to harvest next week. I am to have fifty cents per day for cooking. I hope my letter is not too long to be published.

Theodore G. B.

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

I am a little boy nine years old. Papa takes Harper's Young People for my sister and me, and we like it very much. I have had the pneumonia, and have been kept in the house two weeks, but that is not so bad as it is for the little boy I read about in Our Post-office Box who had to stay in the house two months, and can not walk yet. I feel so sorry for him! I have a pet cat, and I love it very dearly.

Ruliff Y. L. H.

By this time, Ruliff, I hope you are well, and able to fire off torpedoes as gayly as did the boys in Miss Porter's story.

London, Ontario, Canada.

I wrote a letter some time ago, and have been watching for it ever since, and I was much disappointed, and think perhaps you did not get it, and I thought I would try again. I have three little sisters, and they all enjoy Harper's Young People, and I think "Toby Tyler" was the best story in it, and we have great laughs over Jimmy Brown. We have five hens, and they all lay eggs; we get four or five every day. Papa and I are gardening to-day, and we have a lovely garden, and it is pretty hard work attending to it, and we have hard times looking after our chickens; they dig holes in the ground with their feet, and we are trying to shut them up for the summer.

Freddie W. F.

New York City.

I am a little girl nine years old. I have no pets except four dolls. One has not any head. Their names are Maud, Mabel, Emily, and Sadie. I wish somebody would write more fairy stories. I am very fond of them. I used to live in Brooklyn, and like it much better than here. I am glad Mr. Otis has written more about Toby Tyler, because I like him very much. My brother and I had scarlet fever this winter, but we are all well now. I like Harper's Young People very much. I have had it since it began. We have a parrot here who cries like a baby and then imitates a nurse singing to it. We go to the country every summer.

Bessie H.

What a charming parrot! Who taught him to cry and sing so cleverly? Dear Bessie, can not you put a new head on the poor dolly who has not any? I feel quite sad on her account.

CAUGHT.

Now, Bumble-bee, you just keep still; you needn't jump and buzz. I've had such a time to catch you as never, never wuz. I've chased you round the garden; a-cause I didn't look, I almost fell right over into that drefful brook. And I'm going to put you in it, though I s'pose you think you're hid. For last week you stung my pussy; you know very well you did. Yes, and you made us 'fraid that she was going to have a fit, She jumped up so, and tried to catch the place where you had bit. Yes, I shall surely drown you. But p'r'aps you've got a home, And your little ones will wonder why you don't ever come; And I think p'r'aps you're sorry you went and acted so: If you'll only wait till I run away, I b'lieve I'll let you go.

Parkersburg, West Virginia.

I have been taking Young People ever since it was published, and I like it very much. This is the first letter I have ever written to Our Post-office Box. We have a nice little pet canary-bird and a little monkey. We have had the monkey four years, but we can not tame him. Last winter it was so cold that once he was almost frozen. At first we thought he was dead, and mamma was about to throw him away, when she saw him move. Then she took him by the stove to warm him, and he got well again.

Victoria R.

HOW THEY KEPT THE FOURTH.

BY MARY J. PORTER.

"Halloa! Walter, wake-up!" cried Georgie. "Don't you know it's the Fourth of July, and we must get up and celebrate it? All the rest of the folks are going to the Town-Hall to hear a speech and get their dinner, and we'll have a good time by ourselves. Do you know what the Fourth of July is for?"

"No," answered Walter, in a very sleepy way.

"Well, I do; mamma told me last night. It's the anniversary of the time when the United States made up their mind to take care of themselves. That was more than a hundred years ago; that's ever so long, mamma says. Now to-day, Walter, you and I will be like the United States, and take care of ourselves; that's what independence means, and this is Independence-day. Say, Walter, don't let anybody know that I told you, but I heard papa telling mamma that he's going to s'prise us each with lots of fire-works. Now I guess you'll wake up."

"Guess I will, too," said Walter, springing to his feet.

It did not take the boys long to dress. Sure enough they were surprised and delighted when to each was given a toy gun and a package of torpedoes, and then they were left to amuse themselves.

"Tell you what I'll do," said Georgie. "I'll make an oration, and you must be the audience, and when I get through, you must clap very hard, and make me do it all over again."

"All right," said Walter. "Jump up there on papa's desk, so I can hear you better."

Georgie mounted the desk, and began "Ladies and gentlemen,—I s'pose you know this is the Fourth of July." Then he couldn't think of anything else to say, so he jumped down. In doing so his foot hit the inkstand, and a black, black stream of ink followed him to the floor.

"Oh, dear! that's too bad!" he exclaimed. "Won't papa be sorry? Wish I hadn't made a speech. Hurry up, Walter; get something to wipe it off with."

Walter tried hard; but he could not wipe away all the ink. Several big spots remained.

"Never mind," he said; "we'd better go out-doors and forget about it. Let's play soldier. You and I'll be the Americans, and Brush can be the British."

Brush was the Newfoundland dog.

This plan suited Georgie, and he and Walter looked about for a red coat to put on Brush. They soon found Cousin Sarah's embroidered jacket, which they thought would do nicely. Then they went into the yard and coaxed Brush to be dressed up. He looked very funny when he stood on his hind-legs with the jacket buttoned around him.

"Now we must stand before him and present arms," said Georgie.

"Yes, and then I'll turn around quick, and fire a torpedo. Won't that frighten the old fellow?"

So, after presenting arms, Walter turned his back to the enemy, and threw a torpedo into the grass. Brush jumped after it, and in doing so he knocked both of the Americans to the ground. Walter was a little hurt, and he began to whimper, but Georgie helped him up, saying, "Don't you know that soldiers never cry?"

When the rest of the family came home, and found the ink spots in the parlor, and Cousin Sarah's jacket spoiled, they thought it was a poor plan to leave little boys to take care of themselves, even on the Fourth of July.

GENOA, SOUTHERN ITALY.

A. E. T.

As our great national holiday approaches, perhaps the readers of Young People would like to hear something about Genoa, where the great Christoforo Colombo, as the Genoese call him, was born. Genoa is situated at the foot of the Appenine range. The town, which is a very ancient and picturesque one, commences at the river-front, and extends some distance up these mountains. A friend of mine writes that there you can not go up town in the sense that we do here, for so steep is the incline that all carriages have to be furnished with brakes, lest, after having once gone up town, one should not be able to get down town again. The drive overlooking the river is delightful. This place is a great stopping-point for ships plying the Mediterranean.

The seasons there are far in advance of ours, and at this present time the climate is intensely hot. Genoa has many beautiful buildings. The people are so proud of their favorite that they name their hotels after him, and also very many minor places of trade. Thus the name of Colombo meets the traveller nearly everywhere. These devoted countrymen have also erected a handsome monument to perpetuate his memory. Ancient as is the city, yet they regard this noble hero with the freshness of yesterday. Well may they be proud of a man capable of such grand achievements, the conception of which was regal in its grandeur.

You all know that to him we owe the blessing of our beautiful America. What wonder that we sing so sweetly and so often, "Hail, Columbia!"

Let us always revere his name as devoutly as his countrymen, who hug the memory of this noble hero as close as Patti did her doll, when at the age of ten she could not sing without it; it was an inspiration to the little songstress.

Let then this great man, Genoa's hero, command our love and gratitude, while it inspires to noble deeds.

Washington Heights, New York.

I have taken your paper for some time, and I look forward from week to week with so much pleasure, thinking of reading the pretty stories; and I am very much interested in the puzzles; I find the answers out myself. I am eleven years old, and have a little sister Mollie, who is a very quaint child. We love to read about all the little girls' pets, especially the cats and kittens, for we have two; the mother we call Dud, and her kitten Gipsy we nickname Gip. They are very knowing and cunning. Dud follows us when we go out, and sometimes, when she has gone very far, waits an hour in one place until we come back, delighted when she sees us, and runs along perfectly contented. Our birds, Pete and John, both died, one of old age, and the other of fits. We are to have a little dog soon. A gentleman has made us a present of him—an English fox terrier. We have never been to school, but are taught at home, and I have read quite a number of letters from little girls in Young People that have lessons at home also. We get along, because we study, and enjoy our books. I read music quite well, so can Moll; we practice an hour a day. We have each a baby doll that we are very fond of; Violet Depeyster is the name of mine, and Daisy Livingston Moll's, named after some aunties. They are very pretty and good; they have very many pretty things we make them, for we can both sew. I write to an uncle in Europe, and a little cousin in the country, and rather like letter-writing, and hope this is not too long.

Lulu K.

Your puzzle will appear before long. It is very nicely done.

Crete, Nebraska.

I want to tell you what I did two years ago, when I was six years old. My papa and uncle bought a drove of cattle in Colorado when they were in the western part of the State. Papa took me out there, and I rode one of the ponies, and helped to drive the cattle about two weeks. I could ride just as fast as the pony could go, and often beat the men in a race.

I have a little saddle. We had a tent, and camped out; it was rare fun, except when it rained. My sister Myrtle and I have a pair of pet doves, a Maltese cat, and two dogs. I like all the stories and letters very much.

George A. J.

Kau, Hawaii, Sandwich Islands.

We live on a sugar plantation, and the flume that carries the cane to the mill runs near our house. The whole length of the flume is eight miles. We have lots of hens, and we children take care of and feed them, and so mother lets us sell some of them, and we saved the money and bought a cow. She had a calf, but she was so wild that we sold her and got another. She had a pretty little white calf; it is real tame. We call him David. He has a collar on, and we put a rope through the collar and lead him anywhere, and he kicks up his heels, and seems to enjoy the play. We children have three horses that we can ride whenever we like—Flora, Maud, and Nellie. Nellie is very small, because she lost her mother when she was small (a few weeks old), and had to be fed with a bottle, but she is very gentle now.

Fred N. H.

PUSSY'S STORY.

Of course you all think I am a pussy cat. No wonder, when folks call me Pussy. But you must know that one cold day in March I was hatched. Did you ever hear that a pussy was hatched, I'd like to know?

Laugh away, Sue and Ned, Joe and Tom, Mattie and Artie, Polly and Fanny! It is all true.

One day my master went out to the barn, and there were a whole dozen of us, shivering with cold. He brought us into the kitchen and put us right down by the stove. Everybody came to see us, and they all said: "Oh, the cunning little chicks! Where has the naughty mother hen gone?"

Then my mistress ran and brought a box, and lined it with soft wool and warmed it, and then all of us little brothers and sisters were crowded into it.

The others slept like good chicks all night, but I just cried and cried. Even the grandma was kept awake, and said, "That chicken will not live."

The next morning we were taken out to be fed, but my mistress said, when she saw me, "Oh, here is one poor little fellow dead.

"No," said grandma; "I think there is a little life in him still."

I tried hard, and made a faint motion of my eyes, and so I was put back under the stove. As I grew warm I kicked my little feet about, and then the children screamed, "The chick is alive; it was in a trance."

So for two days they called me Cat-a-lep-sy. When I began to run around and eat crumbs, they called me Puss-a-lep. By-and-by they named me Pussy-willow, when the pussy-willows pushed out their funny little fuzzy buds.

Do you know I have been a traveller? Yes, indeed. When I was two weeks old I was carried in a tiny basket over a hundred miles. Two children had me, and we went in the cars.

When we got to the new home, I was lifted out and set—where do you suppose? Why, right in the middle of the tea table. I tell you, things looked nice, I was so hungry.

It is June now, and I have grown so big that my old friends would not know me. I like the folks here. I eat out of their hands, I perch on their heads, and hop about after them all day long, and my name being Pussy, I try to behave as much like a kitten as possible.

That's all. Good-by.

Pussy-Chick ——.

C. Y. P. R. U.

You could not possibly find a prettier bit of verse than this to learn by heart or to copy in your book of choice quotations, even though you hunted through great volumes. It is by Lord Houghton (Richard Monckton Milnes), and we are sure he had some dear child in his mind's eye when he wrote it:

A fair little girl sat under a tree, Sewing as long as her eyes could see; Then smoothed her work, and folded it right, And said, "Dear work, good-night, good-night." Such a number of rooks came over her head, Crying, "Caw, caw," on their way to bed; She said, as she watched their curious flight, "Little black things, good-night, good-night." The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed, The sheep's "Bleat, bleat," came over the road, All seeming to say, with a quiet delight, "Good little girl, good-night, good-night." She did not say to the sun, "Good-night," Though she saw him there, like a ball of light; For she knew he had God's time to keep All over the world, and never could sleep. The tall pink fox-glove bowed his head, The violet courtesied, and went to bed, And good little Lucy tied up her hair, And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer. And while on her pillow she softly lay, She knew nothing more till again it was day— And all things said to the beautiful sun, "Good-morning, good-morning; our work is begun."

Did you ever wonder where the word etiquette came from? In former times it was the custom in France on occasions of ceremony, or at fêtes and festivals, to give each guest a little slip of paper, on which was written the order of the proceedings, and some rules for the conduct of the company. Then, if things were properly done, they were said to be done by ticket. After a while the word etiquette, being a convenient one, was brought into use in English. It is a short word for describing how to do things in the right way.

There is no charge for the publication of exchanges. Birds' eggs and fire-arms are prohibited as articles of exchange.

We would call the attention of the C. Y. P. R. U. this week to "Burning the 'Toro'," by Mrs. Helen S. Conant, and to the conclusion of the heart-rending story of Wager Island by Mr. James Payn. Then we hope the boys will all read and profit by the "A Fourth-of-July Warning."

YOUNG PEOPLE'S COT.

Contributions received for Young People's Cot, in Holy Innocent's Ward, St. Mary's Free Hospital for Children, 407 West Thirty-fourth Street:

Cash, New York, $1.25; Warrie and Edna, Sheridan, Nevada, 30c.; Emily and Josephine Patterson, Cassel Prairie, $1; Annie Hindley, Broadalbin, N. Y., $1.50; Clara M. Shank, Dayton, Ohio, 50c.; May, Fred, Charlotte, and Annie Haley, Kau, Hawaii, Sandwich Islands, $4; Willie Pier, Richland Centre, Ohio, $1; Fred Russell, Detroit, Mich., 50c.; Ella H. and Arthur B. Poindexter, Jeffersonville, Ind., 50c.; Mite Chest in Holy Innocent's Ward, $2.67; Nellie and Charlie Rowe, New Haven, 75c.; Lulu and Anna Burrows, Melroy, Neb., 30c.; James A. Nelson, Arbana, Ohio, 30c.; A. Mixia, $1; Richard B. Morgan, Harrison, Ohio, 10c.; F. W., Gloversville, N. Y., 54c.; total, $16.21. Previously acknowledged, $1154.14; grand total, June 15, $1170.35.

E. Augusta Fanshawe, Treasurer, 43 New St.

New Haven, Connecticut.

Please find inclosed seventy-five cents from Nellie and Charlie Rowe for Young People's Cot. They have saved their pennies for this purpose instead of spending them for candy and the like.

Respectfully yours, Mrs. James B. Rowe.

The dollar I inclose I saved during Lent, but have neglected sending before now.

A. Mixia.

P. S.—It is for the Young People's Cot.

Kau, Hawaii, Sandwich Islands.

Inclosed please find four dollars, which my young people send to Young People's Cot. There are four of them, May L. Haley, Fred N. Haley, Charlotte A. Haley, and Annie S. Haley. Little Annie is only three years old, and of course is too young to know or care anything about it, but the others want me to send a dollar for her, and when she is older, they say they will tell her all about it, and read the papers to her, and she will be so glad that her name is on the list, and that some little baby is lying in the Cot that she helped to pay for. My children talk often of that little Cot that they feel will belong partly to them. I think it was such a beautiful idea for the children to each give their mite toward buying it. It seems to me to be something that they will always think of with real pleasure; it will be a little warm spot in their hearts that will do them good, and help to make them think more of those that are not so well off as themselves. If we did not live so far away, we would only be too glad to send picture-books, toys, etc. But we can only send kind wishes, and hope that you will soon get enough money to pay for the Cot.

Mrs. C. E. Haley.

Cassel Prairie, Wisconsin.

We are two little sisters; I am ten years old, and my little sister will be six years old in July. We live in a nice valley a little way from the Wisconsin River; it is called the Patterson Valley. We often climb on the bluffs and pick flowers. We have to walk a mile and a half to school. We have a very nice lady teacher. I am in the Fourth Reader. I study reading, writing, arithmetic, and geography. I also take music-lessons. We like Young People very much. Two kind friends in New York made us a present of it at Christmas for this year. We send one dollar for Young People's Cot. We like to read the letters in Our Post-office Box. I hope you will print my letter in it. My sister and I have four dolls. We have a dog named Dixie.

Emily C. and Josephine N. Patterson.

Correct answers to puzzles have been sent by Alfred Bruno, "Bo-Peep," Clarence Stimson, C. B. K., Ted, Blanche Foster, "Butterfly," Ethel Cox, "I. Scycle," Lucy A. Moise, Gustav Metz, Arthur A. Beebe, George J. Fiske, Carrie, Charlie, and Willie Lloyd, May Wilson, Emma L. Gilbert, Elvira R. U., Florence, Annie, and Mabel Knight, Lottie Lee Buxton, Clara N. B., Percy M. B., Lizzie P. A., Frank Lomas, "Eureka," Frank Millspaugh, "Sam Weller, Jun.," Allie C. Little, Bessie W. Spaulding, R. B. Beals, Ella M. Brotherton, "North Star," Edna S., Eda C. Baldwin, Cortland F. Bishop, E. G. Holmes, and Lulu Kirtland.

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

AN ACROSTIC.

1. An article of food popular in summer. 2. A feminine occupation. 3. A Dutch cake. 4. A wild flower. 5. Something sweet. 6. A fairy. 7. A cloud. 8. A mark of beauty. 9. Rest for the weary. 10. A sleeping potion. 11. A confection. 12. A lofty perch. 13. A planet. 14. A bird. 15. The happiest time of life. Primals spell the name of a favorite American holiday.

Mother Bunch.

No. 2.

FOUR ENIGMAS.

1.

First in cradle, not in bed.

Second in barn, not in shed.

Third in one, not in ten.

Fourth in quail, not in wren.

Fifth in under, not in over.

Sixth in rover and in clover.

Seventh in top, not in cover.

My whole is considered a charming game,

And the answer to this will be its name.

Eda L. B.

2.

In dog, not in cat.

In mouse, not in rat.

In man, not in boy.

In marble, not in toy.

In ale, not in wine.

In rose-bush, not in vine.

In Kate, not in Jane.

My whole is a brave little land,

Which gave birth to an author charming and bland.

Sam Weller, Jun.

3.

First in line, not in mark.

Second in dog, not in bark.

Third in clasp, not in ring.

Fourth in queen, not in king.

Fifth in stone, not in fling.

Sixth in time, not in hour.

My whole a tree with a fragrant flower.

4.

First in snow, not in hail.

Second in arrest, not in jail.

Third in drink, not in sot.

Fourth in pan, not in pot.

Fifth in wood, not in tree.

Sixth in bone, not in knee.

Seventh in ear, not in mouth.

Eighth in north, not in south.

Ninth in ripe, not in sweet.

Tenth in tidy, not in neat.

My whole is a thing delicious to eat.

Queen City of the Lakes.

No. 3.

THREE DIAMONDS.

1.—1. A letter. 2. An exclamation. 3. To fascinate. 4. Skill. 5. A letter.

2.—1. A letter. 2. A serpent. 3. Not old. 4. A girl's name. 5. A letter.

3.—1. A letter. 2. Quick. 3. A country. 4. A fastening. 5. A letter.

Eureka.

No. 4.

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.

I am composed of ten letters, and am a city in the United States.

My 3, 5, 10, 7 is a musical act.

My 1, 2, 5, 8 is to tarry.

My 2, 3, 4 is a tree.

My 1, 5, 6, 7 is part of a bird.

My 4, 9, 8 is warm.

Arthur A. B.

No. 5.

AN EASY WORD SQUARE.

1. An omen. 2. A Latin pronoun. 3. Joy. 4. Want.

Emma L. G.

No. 6.

A MORE DIFFICULT SQUARE.

1. An article of luxury. 2. An adjective. 3. Very cold. 4. To ascend. 5. An additional clause.

Edgar S.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 137.

No. 1.

Mount Washington.

No. 2.

TridenT

IndigO

MaB

AbilitY

NaughT

DimlY

TilL

ImpedE

PokeR

No. 3.

Crow. Robin. Snow-birds. Swan. Hawk.

No. 4.

HOWL

OGRE

WREN

LENT

No. 5.

Egypt. Obelisk.

[For Exchanges, see 2d and 3d pages of cover.]