“Robinson Crusoe;” “Benjamin Franklin,” 2 vols.; “Life of
    Napoleon,” 2 vols.; “Schoolmaster Stories;” “Hans Brinker;”
    “Swiss Family Robinson;” “Dickens’s Child’s History of England;”
    “Kenilworth;” “The Scottish Chiefs;” “The Boy Emigrants;” “Sparks’
    Life of Washington;” “Glaisher’s Aerial Navigation.”

    This letter, dear Jack, is sent, not by way of puffing George, but
    as a sort of spur to studious boys and girls who may follow his
    example, if somebody puts them up to it.—­Yours truly,

    SILAS GREEN.

* * * * *

“SEE HOW I HELP!”

One of Jack’s good friends, L.W.J. sends you this new fable: 

  “See how I help!” said a little mouse
    To the reapers that reaped the grain,
  As he nibbled away, by the door of his house,
    With all of his might and main.

  “See how I help!” he went on with his talk;
    But they laid all the wide field low
  Before he had finished a single stalk
    Of the golden, glittering row.

  As the mouse ran into his hole, he said: 
    “Indeed, I cannot deny,
  Although an idea I had in my head,
    Those fellows work better than I.”

* * * * *

AMONG THE CRANBERRY BOGS.

    New Jersey, 1877.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT:  You would not think, from their names, that cranberry bogs are pleasant places, but I enjoyed very much a visit to one last year in the fall.  Seen merely from the road, a bog doesn’t show very well, for the leaves are small, and the vines are crowded in heavy masses; but, when you get near, the white and red berries look pretty among the dark-green leaves.

The meadow is checquered with little canals by means of which the whole surface is flooded in winter-time, so as to protect the vines from the ill effects of frosts and thaws.  In the spring, the water is drawn off at low tide through the flood-gates.

When the cranberry-pickers are at work, they make a curious sight, for there are people of all ages, odd dresses, and both sexes among them, and often a tottering old man may be seen working beside a small child.  The little ones can be trusted to gather cranberries, for the fruit is not easily crushed in handling.  Where cranberries grow thickly, one can almost fill one’s hand at a grasp.

The overseer’s one-roomed shanty, where he cooks, eats and sleeps, is on a knoll, and near it are the barrels in which the berries are packed, after they have been sorted according to size and quality.

Picking cranberries may be pleasant enough in fine weather, but it
must be miserable work on a cold, drizzly day.