A TREASTRY OF CHARADES, P DOUBLE ACROSTIC CHARADE. FOUNDATION WORDS. ALTHOUGH I am without an eye, I have a character of weight, And making breaches is my trade We 're found on every battle-field, We follow every battle, No. 20. Africa my native home, From this isle unknown to fame, Syria's waters worthless were, Jordan's worked the miracle, Perfect cleansing found I there; Greater wonder who can tell? Where swords and bayonets find no shield, In my mountain home I dwell, Wherever bullets rattle. CROSS WORDS. Useful in many ways to man, Hair of snow and pinkish eyes, Grecian poets knew me well; Of the race of nymphs am I, Merriest beings 'neath the sky. Flower of white with yellow centre, Of god and nymph the son and pride. CHARADES. No. 22. "T IS pity that the bright romance That whiled away our summer leisure, Gave meaning to each idle glance, And keener zest to every pleasure, Should fade so soon; but by and by When you are cooler, you'll remember That things were different in July From what they are in bleak December. Pleasures are sweet, but quickly pall, And towards my whole I have a leaning; And moonlight walks and talks, and all That sort of thing, have little meaning. Unless you are my first, you know The signs that show a lover's passion, His doubts, his fears, and hope's warm glow, Are getting sadly out of fashion. My love and summer both are past, They took their rapid flight together. You need not wish my love my last, 'T was only meant for summer weather. Don't cut your throat or tear your hair, But vent your feelings in a sonnet ; A certain cure for dull despair, And speedy too, my word upon it. CARL. No. 23. I'M a useful little body, And if you would know my name, You must listen to my story; Then I think you'll guess the same. I am seen in church quite often, And in preaching take a part; I am never heard in sighing, I am never heard in laughing, Yet I'm never seen in tears; But wherever you find friendship, There my form in full appears. I'm a busy little body, First in here and then in there; And now you've heard my story, You may look in anywhere. M. R. B. ENIGMA. No. 24. GEOGRAPHICAL. I am composed of 55 letters. My 49, 39, 20, 55, 33, 16, 21, is a strait in the Mediterranean Sea. My 23, 32, 15, 22, 41, is a river in Russia. My 1, 9, 29, 30, 50, is a town in France. My 45, 37, 42, 44, 51, is a group of small islands north of Scotland. My 20, 4, 33, 16, 26, is a river of France. My 3, 41, 20, 38, 41, 31, 3, 15, 2, is a river in Illinois. My 40, 35, 19, 53, 43, 52, 6, 17, 23, is a city in Ohio. My 34, 54, 13, 5, 25, is a small lake in Minnesota. My 10, 37, 52, 14, 9, 29, 24, 47, is a city in the northern part of Kentucky. My 32, 6, 40, 27, 17, 50, 39, 36, 11, is a mountain in Massachusetts. My whole is an old saying. PUZZLE. No. 25. HELEN W. OUR Letter Box receives a great many epistles which would be met with more than a passing acknowledgment, if editors were not the busiest persons in the world. But it makes us feel that we are on thoroughly good terms with our great circle of little readers, when they write to us so familiarly of the pleasant things they have been doing, and are still about. One little girl tells us of a happy day she spent at Niagara; here a sister gives a copy of a letter from her brother, a boy-soldier, who fell in the terrible war which after all was so gloriously ended; there is a little Kentucky girl's story of her letter to the soldiers, sent in a box containing "turkeys and socks, and ever so many nice things," and which found its way to her own father, ill in the hospital; several send us specimens of their school compositions; one or two "a piece of poetry which was not intended to be published, at first," (dear little folks, your magazine would not be the treasure to you that it is, if we published anything but the best efforts of those who have been studying and practising for years the art of writing well,)- and occasionally comes a letter the least bit in the world fault-finding, to which we do not object at all, as neither magazines nor people are supposed to be absolutely perfect. It is somewhat amusing to read the various judgments which are expressed about the puzzles. A "middling smart boy" in Buffalo says they are almost all too hard for him, and too hard to be guessed by any but "very ingenious boys and girls," - of whom we judge there is a large majority among our readers, as most of the puzzles are sent in by the "young folks" themselves, while others write that they are too easy, and that there are not enough of them. Meanwhile, as our young public are proving their satisfaction with their magazine by swelling its subscription list, we shall continue to do in their behalf the best we can, welcoming always any sugges tion they may make, whether it can be acted upon or not. Florence A. McK. You are right in thinking that the first syllable of the name which we write Goethe, is printed Gö or Go in German, but you are not right in thinking it is pronounced Ga. The sound heard in that syllable is not an English sound, and so it can only be conveyed to the eye by a reference to the nearest sound with which we are acquainted; and, if you consult any good German grammar or dictionary, you will find that the pronunciation we gave-much like the in "hurt" is the best that can be given in letters. Ga-the is certainly wrong. A Correspondent wishes the boys and girls to know about a game called Blowing the Feather, which he thinks very interesting. "You are to take a small downy feather that will float lightly in the air, hold it in the midst of a group of three or more people, and give it a puff. It will fly to the ceiling like a rocket, and come floating down softly within provoking reach of somebody's nose, when it should be immediately blown up again. "To play it with forfeits, a number, 1, 2, 3, etc., is given to each player, and all form a ring, with closed eyes, around the feather-holder, who gives it a puff that sets it going, and calls out for "No. 1," "No. 4," or "No. 10," to keep it up. Whoever, through lack of breath, or through laughter or laziness, lets it fall to the floor, pays a forfeit. "The most frantic efforts are often made to keep it from falling. The feather itself seems to enjoy the sport. Sometimes a hearty pair of lungs will give it such an impetus that it goes up like a balloon; then the delightful uncertainty which prevails as to where it will fall, or who will be obliged to rush out and blow it, keeps little nerves in a twitter. Older people like to join the fun..... This simple pastime will be found most enjoyable." "Gathering May Apples," is not quite up to the mark, but we thank the author for much kindly expressed interest. David Copperfield. You will never know who built the first boat, we fancy. - Let us see the dialogue. |