THE NEW YORK AQUARIUM JOURNAL. 
51 
FACTS AND FANCIES ABOUT FISH, 
MARGERY’S RACE WITH THE TIDE. 
'We wonder if there are many of our young 
ffriends who will be sorry to learn that the Aqua- 
irium Journal will only come out once a month 
: after this. It would take too long to tell all the 
reasons why it is best to do this, and so you 
unust be content to take it as it is. 
Now we have something to say about those 
^compositions about Whales, and the prizes we 
:gave. You will remember that when t he p ikes 
were offered we said that the compositions musjj 
Ml be ready before a certain time. Now, since) 
.that dime we have received several good compo* 
Mtions, but they came too late to publish. 
We are.npw going to offer another prize, and 
•.this time .it will be for the best two compositions 
mbout Seals. Those who have been to the Aqua- 
rium know what bright and funny creatures the 
Seals are. Well, we want you to tell us all 
about them, and the one who tells the most and 
tells it best shall have a fish globe and gold fish, 
: and the one who does next best shall have a 
.book. 
Your compositions must not have more than 
1 five hundred words, and they must be written by 
yourself alone. No boy or girl need write who 
ids over twelve years of age. 
Boys, if you will look over the compositions 
<on Whales, you will see that the two which got 
.the first prizes were written by girls. What do you 
ithink of that ? and girls, you must try and win 
again just to show the boys that you can beat 
them every time. Now, these compositions must 
all be sent in on or before the 12 th day of Feb¬ 
ruary, and you can send them directed to the 
Editor of the Aquarium Journal, corner of Thir¬ 
ty-fifth Street and Broadway. 
On writing these compositions you must try to 
tell all that you can and to make what you say 
so interesting that when others read them they will 
see that Uncle Octopus has got some bright 
nephews and neices, and that in giving these 
prizes he is doing a good thing. Try to write 
plain and don’t forget to cross your t’s and dot 
your i’s. Begin at once and remember that 
nothing pleases an editor so much as to have a 
prompt contributor. Your obedient 
Uncle Octopus. 
BY MADGE ELLIOT. 
Down to the beach went Margery, 
One sunny day in June ; 
The wild rose blushed, the blackbird trilled 
His very sweetest tune 
And with the bird, as loud and sweet, 
The child sang merrily; 
For well she loved the wondrous things 
That loved the wondrous sea. 
Amongst the sands gay pebbles lay, 
And, lined with softest blue, 
The dainty mussel-shell she found, 
And dainty scallop too; 
And rare sea flow’rs, and living stars, 
All shining bright and clear, 
And strange green weeds, and jelly-fish, 
And many a horseshoe queer. 
And as the sun was sinking low, 
And evening shadows fell, 
Two soldier-crabs—both homeless ones— 
Seized on an empty shell. 
“I saw it first,” cried one, “’tis mine; 
I claim it as a right.” 
“You’ll find a wrong,” the other said, 
“When we begin to fight.” 
And on the head he gave his foe 
A most tremendous whack; 
Off went his claw—he tumbled o’er 
Quite helpless on his back. 
And while he wildly kicked the air, 
The victor said ‘ ‘ tis well; 
You cfowed too soon;” and turned about 
And wriggled in the shell. 
Just then, as Margery burst out 
In laughter at the fray, 
A wave ran up and touched her feet, 
And murmured “Speed away— 
The tide is in.” She quickly fled—■ 
The sea began to moan— 
And with her young heart beating fast, 
She leaped from stone to stone. 
The chasing waves closed o’er her path— 
Straight followed her the tide; 
But, thanks to Heav’n, she safely reached 
Her anxious mother’s side. 
And then she turned and looked behind 
And said a little prayer. 
No flow’rs—no stars—no beach she saw, 
But water everywhere! 
We have received the following interesting 
letter from one of our young nephews who lives 
in Staten Island, and who shows his interest in 
the Journal by sending these facts for us to give 
to our young readers. Thank you, Master Town¬ 
send, and your Uncle Octopus is mighty glad 
that you were not caught by that Shark. 
Uncle Octopus—Dear Sir:— At Clifton, Sta¬ 
ten Island, beyond Vanderbilt’s Landing, in front 
of the house of a Mr. Silva, was a bone of a 
large Whale, one end imbedded in the ground, 
in which was inserted an iron ring for tying hor¬ 
ses. The tradition was that the bone came from 
a whale stranded or captured in our waters. This 
may have been from the one exhibited many 
years ago. 
That a Shark has been exhibited on Staten 
Island I know. In the old steamer Wave’s dock, 
then plying as a ferry boat to and from Staten 
Island, I was bathing one afternoon, when I 
was warned to come out. Perhaps it was well I 
did, for after a few minutes I saw his gluttonous 
majesty pass under one^ of Jhe Jiridges of the 
dock, and he looked so villainous that I was 
glad to be ashore. In the course of an hour 
one of the fishermen had a shark hook out from 
the end of a long line or rope, baited with a 
porgy, and a buoy on the dock ready to be cast 
overboard if he took hold. He bit, was hooked, 
and darted off like mad. The line soon ran 
out, the buoy was cast off and went sailing out 
in the bay amongst the quarantined vessels. 
The fishermen manned a boat and had a long, 
vigorous pull to get him. After towing him 
ashore they killed him and exhibited his body 
on the dock—admission 6 \ cents ; and when 
decay ensued roped him alongside the pier in 
the water, and when a visitor came pulled him 
up. He was exhibited nearly a week, and was 
a profitable speculation for his captors, although 
very offensive to the nostrils of the last admitted 
to see him. He was, I think, 9 feet long. 
Capt. Kettletas, a giant of the South shore, 
was taking in at half tide his fyke net, and had 
lifted the outer stick when he saw a Shark rap¬ 
idly approaching. He made for shore as fast as 
he could, but before his Sharkship conld turn or 
stop himself he grounded. It then came the 
Captain’s turn for an attack. He ran into the 
water, seized the monster, dragged him on to the 
beach and finished his existence with the fyke 
stick, by beating his head to a jelly. No one 
on Staten Island, save the Captain, could have 
done it. He was, I think, 11 feet long. 
The Captain, who has lived all his life on the 
Island, never knew of but one life being lost by 
Sharks, and that one a negro boy who attempted 
to swim ashore from a boat anchored in Princess 
Bay. 
Respectfully yours, C. H. T. 
