



Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]

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VOL. III.--NO. 123. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.

Tuesday, March 7, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.

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[Illustration: "I DON'T BELIEVE THE PEOPLE OF THE EARTH WOULD HAVE DARED
TO TREAT YOU AS THEY HAVE TREATED US."]

FATHER TIME'S DILEMMA.

BY RAJA.


There was a commotion in the moon. Father Time had the rheumatism in
both legs, and could not move from his seat by the fire-place. This was
a horrible state of affairs. For thousands upon thousands of
years--nobody knows how many--he had never failed to make his visit to
the earth, and now he was helpless; and what would be the result of a
day's neglect of duty? Perhaps the world would come to an end; for with
the end of Time, what else could be expected? At all events, his
reputation would be ruined, and the bare idea made him writhe and groan.

"My dear, pray be more careful," said his wife, anxiously. "If you toss
your arms about in that reckless fashion, you will certainly do some
mischief. I have picked up your scythe seven times, and your hour-glass
was just on the point of tumbling from the table."

"Let it tumble," growled Father Time, crossly. "If my reputation goes,
what do I care for the hour-glass? Aïe! aïe! where do you suppose I took
this rheumatism? Never dreamed that I could have it at my age, after all
the draughts that I've been exposed to. It must have been that dreadful
eclipse that made the air so chilly."

At this there went up such a howl from the Moon that all the inhabitants
of Venus, which happened to be in the neighborhood, thought there was a
thunder-storm. Father Time's billions and trillions of children had just
come quietly into his room to ask how he felt, and when they heard their
usually gentle parent express himself in such impatient tones they
thought he must certainly be delirious, and wept aloud in anguish. He
was rather ashamed of his burst of passion when he saw how they took it
to heart, and hung his head for a while, upon which his wife tried to
comfort him.

"It's almost time for Sol to go to earth, and how can he if I'm not with
him? I shall go crazy if this state of things continues."

"Papa," cried two billion of his children, "why could not we take your
place for to-day?"

"Oh yes," echoed all the rest; "we do so long to be useful!"

A gleam of hope lighted their father's gloomy face, but he looked a bit
doubtful. "Are you sure that you know what to do and where to go? You
have not my power of ubiquity; that is to say, you can not be everywhere
at once as I am."

"But there are more than enough of us to go around," answered the
children. "Each one of us will spend the day by the side of some mortal,
and we are sure you will not be missed. As for old Sol, it will be easy
enough to explain your absence to him. It is all his fault for letting
himself be eclipsed."

"Very well, then, my dear children; go, and success attend you. Do not
forget our family motto." He stretched out both his arms in blessing,
and solemnly pronounced the words "Tempus fugit."

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Earth's daylight had fled, and all its inhabitants were soundly
sleeping. Father Time's children trooped back into his room, and a more
dejected multitude was never seen before. With very few exceptions, they
were all pale and tired and forlorn. He looked at them for a moment, and
then a sly twinkle crept into his eyes as he said:

"What is the matter, children? Haven't you enjoyed your day on the
earth?"

They raised their heads to groan an emphatic "No," and wearily let them
drop again.

"Why, you have envied me my daily trip there for ages"--they gave a sigh
in unison--"and never would believe me when I said it had its
drawbacks."

They looked too crushed to answer, but finally one of them said, "I
don't believe the people of earth would have dared to treat you as they
treated us."

Father Time leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud. "Let me hear
what they have done to you," he said. "You begin," nodding to the child
who sat nearest to him, an attenuated little creature with hollow
cheeks. She raised her head, and began, in a feeble voice:

"I am so weak that I can hardly speak, for I have had the most dreadful
day that can be imagined. I took my place by a nice-appearing little
boy, whose mischievous look and dancing eyes attracted me to him at
once. At first I got on very well; he seemed to take a fancy to me. But
after a while he grew careless, dropped his books, yawned and stretched.
Then he began to get into mischief, and did more naughty things in the
course of an hour than I imagined could be done in a day; and so matters
went on from bad to worse. I felt myself wasting away, but he never once
thought of me, never gave me another bit of attention, and I thought I
should not live to get home. Finally, when his mamma came in, and wanted
to know what he had been doing, the naughty child threw all the blame of
his neglected duties on me; said that I was a 'hateful Time to go so
fast,' and called me a hundred other unjust names. I am so tired!--so
tired!"

Father Time smiled pityingly, and stroked his poor child's head.

"You have been terribly wasted, my dear; I know how unpleasant that is.
But never fear; a good sleep will quite restore you.--What have you to
say, my son?" to the next child.

"Look at me," moaned the one questioned. "I am one mass of bruises from
head to foot. I can hardly walk. I was never so treated in my life."

"What has happened to you?"

"I went into the house of a child who seemed very fond of study, and
whom I thought would be very pleasant company. Stupid little
thing!"--with a burst of rage--"she began to practice her music, and
that moment I felt a sharp pain; she set to work beating me with all her
might and main, great irregular thumps, now on my head, now on my
shoulders, until I thought I must scream. I did groan and moan; it was
all of no use, for she went on, as it seemed to me, forever. By-and-by
her teacher came in, and that was better, for although he beat me, it
was in an entirely different way, that did not hurt at all. It was as if
he were caressing me. But the little vixen, belabored me again, and I am
all black and blue."

"Never mind, poor boy," said Father Time. "You will be all right
to-morrow; but I have had enough of such beatings to sympathize with you
fully."

"They have neither of them suffered as much as I," remarked a third
young Time, in a pathetic, subdued voice, "for they at least were abused
in an open sort of way; but I have been mortified beyond conception.
Shortly after my arrival in the world I entered the house of a
respectable middle-aged woman: you know I have always been fond of
associating with my elders, and I thought that I should be likely to
learn something from her which might be of use to me."

"Quite right, my child," said Father Time, nodding his approval.

"But there never was a greater mistake," continued his son. "From
morning until night that same respectable middle-aged lady has done
nothing but attempt to hide me, as if I were something to be ashamed of;
I, a scion of the oldest house in existence; I, a Time with a pedigree
which goes farther back than Adam, though it consists of only one
generation besides my own." (He said this with such pride that the
trillions of dejected Times for one second really straightened
themselves with family feeling.) "The first thing that she did was to
cover my face with the most disgusting paint and powder that were ever
invented, sighing all the time about wrinkles, crow's-feet, and the
ravages of time. Then she put on some untidy mess of hair all over my
forehead, and into my very eyes, after which she dressed me in a style
which made me blush under the paint. Such furbelows! such gew-gaws! Then
followed visits and conversations. She giggled; she simpered; she talked
to me and of me as if I were a babe in arms; why, she talked like Mother
Goose herself, and Father Gander, and the whole family of geese,"
indignantly. "I declare it made my blood boil."

Father Time looked grave. "I know thousands of such women," he said,
"who are ashamed of their acquaintance with us. Very foolish of them,
since they can not possibly cut us, and since, if they only knew it,
there is no alliance in the world more highly respectable. Cheer up, my
dear. You have nothing to be ashamed of.--And now tell me your
experience," to a fourth young Time, who was holding his head with both
hands, and groaning in agony.

"I am tired almost to death, if a Time could die," was the reply. "I
have been with a poet."

"Good things in their way," remarked his father.

"But this one wasn't a good one, though he thought himself so. And the
worst of it all was that he insisted upon writing an ode to Time. Before
the day was over I almost wished that you, my dear father, had never
existed."

"I know the man you mean," said Father Time, gravely; "he lives in every
town on the globe, and is the greatest time-waster on record. You look
thin with the fatigue.--Why, why, what is this?"

A beautiful child stepped up before Father Time, and smiled in answer to
his exclamation.

"Don't you know me, papa?"

"Are you--is it possible--can you be one of my children? What has
happened to make you so lovely?"

"I have been improved," was the answer. "I have never had a happier day
in all my life."

Her brothers and sisters looked up in amazement.

"Yes, I think I am the only one of us all who has been fortunate to-day.
I went into the house of the dearest child in all the world. Why, the
first thing that she did was to kiss and pet me, and say, 'Dear Time,
let us see how we can help each other to-day.' From the moment I came
until the moment I left she never faltered. In the first place, she
studied her lessons with great diligence--"

"Ah!" said Father Time, "that is what makes your eyes shine so
brightly."

"Then she played with some little friends, and was always sweet and
gentle with them. She talked so cheerfully and lovingly--"

"That is what gives your lips that lovely smile," said Father Time
again.

"She helped them in various little ways; picked up one when she fell,
fetched some toys to amuse another--did all she could to make them
happy. And when I left her this evening, she was as much improved as I.
Do you wonder that I have had a happy day?"

"No, indeed," replied Father Time, while his children cried, in chorus,

"Oh, I wish there had been more like her!"

"Well," said the father, "now go to bed, you poor unfortunate creatures,
and sleep off your woes. My rheumatism has disappeared, and I shall be
able to go to earth myself to-morrow. Repeat our motto once more."

With one voice the trillions of children replied: "Tempus Fugit.
Good-night."




MY BEAR HUNT.

BY ALLAN FORMAN.


It wasn't a regular bear hunt; that is, I didn't do nearly as much
hunting as the bear did. I did not start out intending to hunt. He did.
I went to get the butter, when-- But I am getting ahead of my story. It
was when I was about thirteen years old that my father took my brother
and myself camping with him in the Adirondacks. We pitched our tent at
the head of Little Tupper Lake. There was a spring of fine cold water
not far back in the woods. So, after making our beds out of pine boughs,
building a fire, and setting up the table, we went down to the spring,
and put our butter--which was in a tin pail fitted with a water-tight
cover--in it to keep cool.

All went well for the first few days. Father and brother Will (who was
fifteen) shot a deer, so that we had plenty of venison. The guide caught
a quantity of trout, and we were enjoying ourselves so thoroughly that
we began to dread the time when we should have to return home.

"Can't we stay longer than two weeks?" I asked father one morning.

"We'll stay until the butter gives out," he replied, laughing.

The nearest place to get butter was twenty miles away, and as it was
disappearing rapidly, owing to the appetites of growing boys, father had
already warned us of the necessity of economy in that direction. We
were, after that, very sparing in our use of butter, and it seemed, to
bid fair to last longer than the promised two weeks. As the guide was
preparing supper one evening, father said, "Will, I wish that you would
go down to the spring and get some water; and, Charlie, you go too, and
bring up some butter." It was a simple request, but thereby hangs the
tale of my first and only bear hunt.

We started off, and soon came to the spring. The path led around it into
a thicket of huckleberry bushes. Will proposed that we should pick some
for supper. We plunged into the thicket, and soon were busy picking the
delicious fruit. We had not been occupied in this manner very long when
we heard a crashing in the bushes near the spring, and as we looked
back, we saw a great black bear. He was not fifty feet away from us, and
was gazing into the spring with a complacent air.

"He's looking at himself," said Will.

"See him grin," I replied, divided