Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

178 hereafter. You see two men standing in the foreground. One of these —the man with his coat off and an apron on —is evidently the foreman of the com posing room; and the other man is probably one of the editors or owners of the paper, telling him of something that he wants to have done. The fore man has control of the composing room, and directs in everything that is done. He gives the compositors their copy, reads the proofs to see if there are any errors in what has been set, superin tends the making-up of the paper (of which more further on), and does many other things, as you will discover before we are done. Next week, we will tell you more about type-setting, and some of the other things necessary to be done, be fore they are ready for the press. But we have said enough for the present. fj if: HI IfeJ ?fsm ( & K *1 £ \ 1 P w \ ill Ifflill ab eh vh 00 wt be b? bo btjj rl'fl RMiUffS fit ft Q tsisMl Kntpq jSriir art betbjtfKanw II raMiiin^potnecoxae. Sty Will bt if?)One{n#att() fMriii trefpaf fOT&toe {pew not into tempts | from rbitg HORN BOOK. A Little One’s Talk with the Stars. O U little twinkling stars, that (gmO shine Above my head so high, m k«t a paar w^ng3, fYfP I’d join you in the sky. fey “I do not know how old you are, Or whether you can speak; But you may twinkle all night long, And play at hide and seek. “Oh, tell me, little stars, for much I wonder, why you go The whole night long from east to west, So patiently and slow.” “We have a Father, little child, Who guides us on our way; We never question when He speaks— We listen and obey.” Inscribe injuries on sand, and bene fits on marble. BURKE’S WEEKLY FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. Written for Burke’s Weekly. THE YOUNG EXPLORERS; OR, 80Y-MFE IS TEXAB. BY JOHN C. DUVAL, Author of “ Jack Dobell; or, A Boy's Ad ventures in Texas," “ The Adventures of Big-Foot Wallace," etc CHAPTER XXI. Whiling Away the Time — Cudjo's Opinion of Indiana —Bears versus Mexican Hogs — Un cle Seth Looks A head Fifty Years His Prison Experiences He Makes Friends vsith a Mouse —Nothing to do, the Hardest Kind of Work —Abundance of Wild Turkeys Turkey Shooting in Bed —Exploring the Canon —A Race after Buffaloes, the job of furbishing up our arms had been completed Uncle Seth’s satisfaction, each one amused himself for the rest of the evening as he thought best, Henry was on guard ; Mr. Pitt and Lawrence went out ‘‘pro specting” among the gulches for gold and silver; Uncle Seth stepped out, as he said, “to git a little/resA for supper;” Cudjo set to work, with needle and thread, to sew up some terrible rents iu his pants — made by the sharp thorns of the chaparral bushes ; and Willie and myself went out fishing in a deep, clear pool of water about a hun dred yards below the camp. It was literally swarming with fish of several varieties, and they were so totally unsuspicious of a hook that it really seemed cruel to take ad vantage of their ignorance. In half an hour we caught as many as we all could possibly eat for sup per, and returned to camp. Mr. Pitt and Lawrence came back soon afterwards, each with a pocket full of rocks, but there were no nug gets among them —nothing, in fact, more valuable than some beautiful crystals of quartz. In a little while Uncle Seth re- turned also, bringing with him the tender loin and hams of a yearling doe he had killed. By this time Cudjo had got through with his tailoring, and set to work to cook supper out of the abundant ma terials we had furnished him. Several of us occasionally lent him a hand, and in spite of the old saying, that “too many cooks spoil the broth,” in a few moments we sat down to a supper that would have tempted Diogenes out of his tub —hot coffee, roast bear meat, venison steaks, fried trout and perch, flanked by platters of smoking “dunde funk,” highly seasoned with red pepper. Each of the party wielded a trenchant knife and fork, especially Cudjo, who, when he had finished his protracted re past, gave it as his deliberate opinion, “ dat dis ‘ Übalde Canon ’ would be a fust-rate place to live in, ef’twan’t fur dem dratted Ingens dats always layin round here, wid dare bow and arrow, jess to git a chance to sculp people dats gwying about tending to dare own biz ness. What you reckon sich folks made for, anyhow, Mass Lawrence? ” “ I’ll answer your qurstion,” replied Lawrence, “ifyou’ll tell me what havi linas were made for.” “ Oh, shucks! Mass Lawrence,” said Cudjo, “aint you nebber gwying to quit talking ’bout dem Maxican hog? I ’spose deys made to run arter nigger ; but de} r don’t cotch ’em ebbery time, do, I kin tell you.” “No,” replied Lawrence, “norbears neither.” “Well, I’d ruther have the bars arter me,” said Cudjo, “fur es dey do scare a body sometimes, deys mitygood meat when you kill ’em ; but dem dratted long-legged Maxican hog will run a nig ger tell his tongue 101 l out, and den when he shoots ’em, dey so strong dat a turkey-buzzard heself would turn up he nose at ’em.” “ How many did you shoot the other day, when they run you into camp?” asked Henry. But Cudjo, like some other people I have known, had a very handy way of not hearing questions that were hard to answer, and just then his attention was engrossed by a batch of fish that needed turning. “A penny for your thoughts,” said Willie to Uncle Seth, who was sitting, silently puffing his pipe, and diligently whittling a splinter of cedar wood with his butcher knife. “Well,” said Uncle Seth, “I was jest then thinking, if a feller could only come back to this country fifty or sixty years from now, what a great change he would find in every thing. The In gens, the bufferlos, and the bars would then be gone ; houses, fields and gar dens would everywhere meet his sight; and instead of the howling of cayotes, and the screams of ‘ painters,’ he’d hear the church bells ringing, the chicken cocks crowing, or the children laughing —as they went to school or hunted haws and persimmons in the woods—and may be so the puffing of a steam ingine, with a long train of cars rattling on the iron rails behind it. “It does beat all natur,” he con tinued, “the way things changes in these new countries. I aint a very old man yit, and still I’ve seed three States grow up already out of the wilderness, and all of em are now filled with white folks, and their houses and farms, and their big cities. I reckon its all for the best; but yit I can’t help feeling a leetle sorry when I see the bufferlo driv back further and further ev’ry day, and big cotton plantations whar my choicest huntin’ grounds used to be. Howsom dever, I reckon there’ll be game enough to last my time out, and that’s all I s’pose I need care about. I aint got no family to look arter, and I kin foller it up as I’ve been doin’ for the last thirty odd years.” “ You’ll not have to say then,” said Mr. Pitt, “as the §Moor did, that ‘ Othello’s occupation’s gone.’ ” “ I don’t know Mr. Othello,” said Uncle Seth, “ nor what “sort of bizness he follers ; but es lie’s got nothing to do I pities him. F'neveUwas in that fix but once, and that was when the Mexicans had me ‘jugged’ at Matamo ras. They kep me nigh on two months in a little room about ten feet squar, with only one winder to it, which wa’nt bigger than my two hands, and not a thing inside ’except your Uncle Seth, and the bufferlo robe I had to sleep on. I tell you, boys, I never was so hard put to it to pass off the time in all my born days. Es Uhad had a leetle soft pine for whittling, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but they wouldn’t let me have that even, though I offered the chap that brung me my bread and water fifty cents for a small chunk of it. I believe in my soul es they had kep me tliar two weeks longer, I would have gone plum crazy. I counted every crack in the walls, and made a kalkerlation of how many squar inches thar 'was in ’em, which occupied me a considerable spell —for you see I never was very quick at cyphering; but at last I got through with that, and then I said over and over to myself everything I had ever larnt by heart the multerplication table, and every scrap of a song ballad I could think of, and two or three prayers besides, my mammy had larnt me when -I was a little shaver, and which I hadn’t repeated for many a long year before —the more’s the shame for me. At last, when I would git through with everything I could think of, I would lay me down on my bufferlo robe and stare at the naked walls of the room that shut out the blue sky, and the sunshine, and the green grass. “One day, when I was layin’ in this way, looking at the white walls, and just ready to give in for good, I seed a little mouse poke his head out’ll a crack in one corner, and peep around in an enquirin’ sort of way. ‘ Come in, my little feller,’ says I, before I thought; ‘come in, and you shall be welcome to the best I’ve got,’ which was a crust of bread. But in place of cornin’ in, as soon as he heard me, he dodged back in his hole, and I didn’t see nothing more of him for an hour. All this time, though, I watched the hole like a hawk, and then I seed him peep out agin, and take another look around. This time I didn’t holler at him, but lay perfectly still, and arter a while he crep out easy, and little by little he sidled up to a crust of bread that was laying close to my face. I didn’t wink my eyes for fear of scaring him, and when he had eat as much as he wanted, he slipped back agin into his hiding place. “ Well, from that time on, every day he’d come out for his breakfast, dinner and supper (and I always kep a crust of bread for him near my bed), until at last, when he found I wa’nt so danger-