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TOMMY TUCKER'S HORSESHOE.

BY MRS. FRANK McCARTHY.

Tommy Tucker's family prospered exceedingly. The horse drew more and more vegetables to market, the cow gave more and more milk, the hens laid more and more eggs, and the cheery chink in Mother Tucker's stocking became more and more musical to the ear, until the last winter set in. Then the Tucker luck, which was proverbial in that neighborhood, suddenly took an evil turn.

First, and worst, Mr. Tucker fell on the ice and broke his leg. You may know it was a particular kind of ice that could bring Mr. Tucker down. It was about a dozen layers thick, and very treacherous. The winter had closed in some time before in a very unusual way. It was bitter cold, day in and day out; the heavens opened, and the snow fell, and opened again, and more snow came down, and kept on opening, and more snow kept falling, until the familiar gullies were all filled up, and the country around there grew white and level and changed, so that Tommy wondered sometimes if the world had lost its reckoning, and stopped turning when it reached the north pole.

It took the heart out of all of them, and everything went wrong. It went on freezing, snowing, and blowing outside; and do what Tommy could, the live stock began to give out. That charity waif of a horse yielded to the weakness in his windpipe again, and sprawled his legs and hung his head in the most ungrateful way; the cow went dry; two of the best pigs got frost-bitten, so that their squeal mingled with the melancholy soughing of the north wind around the Tucker mansion; and the hens wouldn't lay an egg for Mr. Tucker, though the doctor had particularly ordered it.

And about that doctor: Tommy used to dread to see him come, for instead of brightening things up, he made them gloomier. He took some of the cheery chink out of Mother Tucker's stocking every time he came, and Mr. Tucker seemed none the better for it, but lay with his face to the wall for hours together, and wouldn't read any book in the Bible but Job; and Tommy's three little brothers went on eating just the same as when milk was plenty and times were good.

The music in Mother Tucker's stocking got away down to the toe; and one morning, when Mr. Tucker had no appetite for anything, and Tommy's three little brothers had an appetite for everything, even their mother's poor share of what was left, Tommy saw the shadow of a big wolf called Hunger prowling around the door-sill, and out he ran and down the road, frightened, and sobbing as if his heart would break. He thought nothing of the poor shivering brutes that were left to his care, or thought they might as well all starve together. Luck was against them; there was no use trying any more; when all at once, over in the middle of the road, he saw through his blinding tears something round and shining. It wasn't a gold piece, nor one of silver, but he plunged through a snow-bank and over a ditch to get it. He dug it out of a chunk of ice, and cut his hands and tore his finger-nails; and his honest little face took the keen and hungry exultation of a miner's just then, though it was neither silver nor gold, but an old battered-out horseshoe.

For all the music in Mother Tucker's stocking hadn't helped his father's leg, but Tommy had heard say that a horseshoe honestly found was the best bit of luck to stumble on in the world.

He warmed the cold bit of metal against his heart, and ran home with it as fast as he could, never stopping until he reached his father's bed.

"Cheer up, Pop!" he cried. "See! Everything'll come right now. I've found a horseshoe."

Poor Mr. Tucker turned to look at it with a sickly sort of smile, but the hope that illumined his boy's face lent a feeble glow to his own.

"Heaven bless the boy!" he said. "I'm very weak, I suppose. But hang it up where I can see it."

Mother Tucker fastened it to a beam over the foot of the bed, having the good cry over it she'd been longing for, and out Tommy ran to see to the live stock.

He rubbed that horse into such a glow that before he left him the wheeze in his windpipe wasn't worth mentioning, and he held his head and legs up in the style of Mr. Croesus' steed; then he fed the cow, and drove the hens around to the manure heap, where they could keep warm in the steaming side next the sun; and while he was hard at work he heard a terrible racket up the road, and he thought it must be Mr. Croesus himself shouting and screaming for dear life, while his charger was flying along on the wings of the wind. Tommy dropped his pitchfork, and got there just in time to feel the hot breath from the runaway's nostrils, and make a spring for the bridle. They all went plunging along together a bit, then came to a stand-still, trembling all over, all of them. What was Tommy's delight to find that instead of Mr. Croesus, it was only their old doctor! He trembled more than his horse, and puffed like a grampus.

"Well done, sonny," he said. "I might have been in a worse plight than your father, if it hadn't been for you. My horse never cut up such a tantrum before."

Tommy knew what it was; it was the horseshoe. Something had to be done to soften that doctor's heart. Tommy plucked up courage to beg of him to take no more music from his mother's stocking, seeing it was away down to the toe.

"Why, no, sonny," said the doctor; "I'll take none out, but I'll put some in."

After that scare with the horse, nothing would do but Tommy must go around with the doctor to take care of it, and the doctor made a bargain with Tommy that paid him handsomely for three or four hours every day.

When Tommy reached home that night he found his father propped up in bed making a supper off of new-laid eggs. His father said it was driving the hens round on the sunny side of the farm, but Tommy stuck to it that it was the horseshoe. After that it was like the house that Jack built. The hens began to lay; Pop began to eat and get well, and read the Psalms instead of Job; the cow had a pretty calf, and began to give lots of milk; the winter began to break; and the doctor began telling the Tucker family of a noble way of squatting out West that beat their way all to nothing, and how there was lots of land out there considerably better than the sunken lots, and how, instead of watching one lazy horse, that wouldn't run away without there was a providence in it, Tommy might have a whole drove of chargers like Mr. Croesus', and Mr. Tucker might raise millions of bushels of golden grain, and he shouldn't wonder if Tommy would be President yet, and his three little brothers feeding away at a public crib that never gives out.

Tommy says it's all the horseshoe, but the doctor's made a sum of it in this way:

Pluck multiplied by Perseverance equals Prosperity. The doctor says the example is to be followed in a general sort of way, but principally by stopping a runaway horse when there's an old coward of a doctor behind him.

SOMETHING ABOUT SHIPS.

BY LIEUTENANT J. A. LOCKWOOD.

Under the general name of spars are included the masts, bowsprit, yards, booms, and gaffs of a ship. It will not be necessary to inform the boys who live near our seaports what masts and yards are; but perhaps some of America's future admirals, who have yet to see their first ship, will be interested in knowing that a mast is a stick perpendicular to the deck, and yards are sticks to which sails are bent, and are at right angles with the masts; the bowsprit is a stick projecting over the bow to carry sail forward.

Each of the three masts of all but very small vessels consists of a number of sticks one above another. The "heel" of the topmast comes a little below the "head" of the lower mast, and is secured by a "cap," a sort of iron band, and a bar, called a "fid." Above the topmast comes the top-gallant-mast, and above that the royal-mast.

At the head of the lower mast of a ship is a platform called the "top." Tops have usually holes in them, called the "lubbers' hole," large enough to permit a man to crawl through. Jack, however, scorns to make use of this hole, preferring to climb over outside by the futtock-shrouds.

A bark is square-rigged at her fore and main masts, but, unlike a ship, at her mizzenmast has no top, and only fore-and-aft sails.

A brig has but two masts, both of which are square-rigged.

A schooner may have either two or three masts, but carries fore-and-aft sails only.

A sloop has one mast, fore-and-aft rigged.

After the masts are stepped and the bowsprit put in, the standing rigging is "set up." The standing rigging consists of strong ropes, called stays, to support the masts fore and aft, and other ropes, called back-stays and shrouds, to lend support sideways. The shrouds on each mast are connected by little ropes placed crosswise, called ratlines, which the sailors use when ordered to "lay aloft." A good sailor is as nimble as a cat on these ratlines.

The running rigging consists of the ropes used in handling the yards and sails, and every rope has a distinguishing name. Halyards are ropes used to hoist yards and sails. Braces are ropes used to swing the yards round by.

To the beginner the names of ropes are apt to be very confusing. Old salts are fond of spinning a yarn about a lad who wanted to go to sea, until he heard that the fore-top-gallant-studding-sail-boom-tricing-line- thimble-block-mousing was the name of about the smallest bit of rope on board ship, when he at once concluded that, such being the case, he could never expect to master the name of the largest rope, and consequently decided to become a farmer.

A SONG OF APOLLO.

A LEGEND OF ANCIENT GREECE.

BY LILLIE E. BARR.

After the burning of Troy, to Argos there came A soldier aged and weary: Naught had he gained in the contest, treasure nor fame, So now he lifted his lyre, and day after day Stood in the streets or the market, and strove to play.

No one gave him a lepton, no one waited to hear A song so ancient and simple; Hungry and hopeless, he ceased: then a youth drew near-- A youth with a beautiful face--and he said, "Old man, Now strike on thy lyre and sing, for I know thou can."

"O Greek," said old Akeratos, "I have lost the power, With handling of swords and lances." "Then here's a didrachmon--lend me thy lyre an hour; Thou hold out the cap in thine hand, and I will play: Surely these men that are deaf shall listen to-day."

Then, with a mighty hand sweeping the trembling strings, Over the tumult and chatting, Like the call of a clear sweet trumpet, the young voice rings; For he sings of the taking of Troy, and the chords Sound like the tramping of hoofs, and clashing of swords.

There, in the market of Argos, is Hector slain, There, in their midst, is Achilles. Breathless, they listen again and again, Fill up the cap with coins, and shout in the crowded street, "Strike up thy lyre once more, O Singer strange and sweet!"

Ah! then came magical notes, soft melodies low; The air grew purple and amber, Scented with honey, and spices, and roses a-blow: And there in the glory sat Love--Mother and Queen-- And eyes grew misty with tears for days that had been.

Eyes grew misty, hearts grew tender, tender and free: Every one gave to the soldier Bracelets, and ring, and perfumes from over the sea. Then said the Singer, "Now, soldier, gather thy store, The hands that have fought for Greece need never beg more.

"Greeks, dwelling in Argos, this is a shameful sight-- A soldier wounded and begging." The Singer grew splendid and godlike, and rose in unbearable light: Then they knew it was Phoebus Apollo, and said, "Never again in Argos shall the brave beg bread."

AN INCIDENT OF INDIAN TRAVEL.

Although there are about ten thousand miles of railroad in Hindostan, the country is so vast, and in many portions of it so mountainous, that much of the travelling is yet performed by old-fashioned methods. We see one of them in the accompanying sketch, and perhaps our young readers will think that there is sometimes as much danger attaching to the "old slow coach" as to the swift-rushing iron horse. The conveyance in our sketch is what is known as a "hill cart," a curious kind of vehicle, with a seat before and behind covered with a leathern hood, hung very low, and possessing two strong wheels. It is drawn by two ponies, whose general pace is a hand-gallop.

The hill roads are narrow and uneven, with sharp curves bordering unpleasantly close to the edge of the "khuds," or precipices, over one of which the ponies in the sketch have taken a flying leap, having been frightened into shying at the remnants of a previous accident on the same spot.

At the best, the occupants of these hill carts have but a sorry time of it. The cart having only two wheels, the pole is supported by a chain fastened to a longitudinal bar across the backs of the animals, after the manner of an old-fashioned curricle, this method of harnessing causing a lurching, bumping motion, sometimes amounting to a perfect series of jumps when passing over a rough bit of ground, the occupants of the vehicle holding on by the rails to maintain their seats, from which, however, they are perpetually being jerked.

There is sometimes a good deal of fun in getting these hill carts set in motion for a start, the ponies generally having a will of their own, and sometimes not agreeing; one is prepared to start, the other objects, so he is thrashed by the driver; but to make things equal, so is the willing fellow. This unjust infliction causes him to make such a sudden and violent plunge that a trace breaks, which begets much hard language and delay. However, the trace gets mended somehow, and then there is another attempt to start. The cart is pushed on to the heels of the ponies, of which proceeding they show their disapproval by a series of most vigorous kicks. After an interval varying from five to fifteen minutes, the driver, with assistance from behind, finally triumphs, and the start is made, the balky animal having entirely altered his previous views of resistance, and taken it into his head to run madly away with himself, his quieter fellow, the cart, and its contents.

This scene is generally repeated at every stage with each fresh pair of ponies, so the fun of the thing becomes before long rather tiresome.

TOBY TYLER;

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